The life of a satyrical pvppy, called Nim who worrieth all those satyrists he knowes, and barkes at the rest / by T.M.

The life of a satyrical pvppy, called Nim who worrieth all those satyrists he knowes, and barkes at the rest / by T.M.

Table of contents

Title page

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, and moſt eminent GEORGE Duke of BUCKINGHAM, &c:

THE CONTENTS OF THE CHAPTERS.

THE LIFE OF A SATYRICAL PUPPY; Called NIM: WHO WORRIETH ALL THOSE SATYRISTS HE KNOWS, AND BARKS AT THE REST.

CHAP. I.

CHAP. II.

CHAP. III.

CHAP. IV.

CHAP. V:

CHAP. VI.

The Deſcription of a Grove

The Scholers Speech.

His Speech.

The speech, of a decayed Gentleman.

The deſcription of a forſaken Virgin.

Her Speech.

CHAP. VII:

CHAP. VIII.

CHAP. IX.

CHAP. X.

CHAP. XI.

CHAP. XII

CHAP. XIII

CHAP. XIIII.

CHAP. XV.

§

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THE LIFE OF A SATYRICAL PVPPY, Called NIM.

WHO WORRIETH ALL THOSE SATYRISTS HE KNOWES, AND BARKES AT THE REST.

By T. M.

LONDON, Printed by for Humphrey Moſeley, at the Prince's Armes in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1657.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, and moſt eminent GEORGE Duke of BUCKINGHAM, &c:

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Great Sir,

EXpectation flattering my hopes, ſhortned the way from London hither: but now the Servants ſlow aſpects, & reſerv'd behaviours, might ſcare young modeſty, from venturing to approach. Yet I excuſe the ſmal addreſs, they ſuffer to your noble perſon, by ſaying, they know the worth of it: therefore make it not cheap to every Eie. And in ſuppoſing all Strangers to be Sutors, they proclaim your aboad the very Seat, where all Juſtice doth inhabit. Here I arrive empty of mercenary Thoughts; for Duty hath prefer'd [Page] me to ſuch a strange ambition, that I do even give unto your gracious ſelf Nim, and Bung his man, both born to attend your Lordſhips mirth. It was made, tranſcrib'd, and bound up yours, nay I was ſo zealous in curioſity, that but this Copy (beſides the Original) is extant Had not learned friends (after peruſal) urg'd me to this boldneſſe, Nim had known humility, who now diſcovers the inſide of them▪ who moſt envy your Graces high, deſerved happineſs, whilſt every jeaſt proves by interpretation ſerious, though he nominates none. If in the leaſt kind he degenerate from my chaſt intents, tear it▪ into a form more diſpleaſing then your Anger▪ All my preſent ſute is, your Grace would deigne to read it▪ which when confirm'd by promiſe, I ſhall return to▪ London, and publiſh my ſucceſſe.

Your Graces humbleſt Servant T. M.

THE CONTENTS OF THE CHAPTERS.

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CHAP. I.

NIM, after his Proem to the Reader, diſcovers the place of his birth: and why the relation of his Childiſh proceedings, is omitted.

CHAP. II.

Nim tells the Story of his Patrons death, with other circumſtances worth the reading.

CHAP. III.

Nim reports the conditions of his Patrons Heir; with the reaſon, and manner of his departure from him.

CHAP. IV.

Nim riding towards London is overtaken by a Citizen; who tells them a merry ſtory: beſides their diſcourſe, together with the faſhion of [Page] their Hoſt in Mayden-head, is in this Chapter moſt punctually related.

CHAP. V.

Nim perſeveres in relating what befel them in the Inne: rides from thence to London, acquaints you with a Feaſt worth the laughing at: treats of the City-Cries, and promiſeth graver ſtuffe hereafter.

CHAP. VI.

Nim moſt wittily reveales his admirable Dream, urnes Satyriſt, and omits not the relation of thoſe reaſens, which induc'd him to it.

CHAP. VII.

Nim being drunk▪ goes to hire a Servant in Paul's, and after a ſober deſcription of the Church, and Walkers, recounts how ſtrangely he was ſupply'd with one.

CHAP. VIII.

Nim acquaints you with his firſt proceedings in his Satyricall calling; and inveighs againſt Threee Men, who publiqnely profeſſe themſelves to be of the ſame vocation.

CHAP. IX.

Nim doth in particular exclaim▪ againſt all thoſe Satyriſts, who hide themſelves, yet publiſh [Page] their Writings: ſhews reaſons for ſo doing: with a trick that he hath, bobs privately: delivers a brief ſuperficiall Character of the Hollanders, and relates in what manner he ſpent part of his time in London, when attended on by his Man Bung.

CHAP. X.

Nim being deſirous to make thee laugh, doth in this Chapter report a notable merry accident, which befel his Man Oliver Bung.

CHAP. XI.

Nim takes occaſion to preſent thy acceptance with a Character of a Whore, and hath graced his expreſſion, by the relation of Bungs moſt witty revenge.

CHAP. XII.

Nim complains of Bung's villanous ſervice, intends to be rid of him, declares what himſelfe hath ſpent ſince he came to London: and diſcourſes moſt wittily upon a Book, called, An invective againſt the Plebeians and Citizens of London.

CHAP. XIII.

Nim ripps open the Hearts of Citizens, condemns them juſtly, builds another Caſtle in the Air, and relates the pretty faſhion of it.

[Page]CHAP. XIV.

Nim mentions his proceedings againſt ſome of the Nobility; and what ſucceſſe he had: afterwards (in a Pamphlet) diſcovers all the defects of his own penning: ſends Bung to ſell it: whoſe bad adventures, moove him to raile on Fate.

CHAP. XV,

Nim's Hoſteſſe denies to truſt him, he faſts two Daies, pawns his Cloaths; then reſolving to part with Bung, ſends for him to a Tavern, and gives him learned Counſell. But after Bungs reply, he doth change his mind, and returns with him, to his Patrons Heir: promiſing (on a ſmooth condition) to bleſſe this Book with a ſecond Part.

FINIS.

THE LIFE OF A SATYRICAL PUPPY; Called NIM: WHO WORRIETH ALL THOSE SATYRISTS HE KNOWS, AND BARKS AT THE REST.

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CHAP. I.

NIM after his Proem to the Reader, diſcovers the place of his Birth; and why the relation of his childiſh proceedings, is omitted.

IF by divulging my defects, I preſent in ſome particular thine▪ to thy remembrance; it will not onely recompenſe my labour in Writing, but thine in Reading. I make the whole World my Confeſſor: [Page] preferring a publique commiſeration, before a private ſhrift. What I have done, I have done: nor ſhalt thou behold my Penitence, untill thine▪ Eyes arrive to the end of our Hiſtory. If thou findeſt my faults capital, ſeeke out my excuſe in thine own guilt; and then bluſh for us both. I entend to wrong no man but my ſelfe, as knowing where I may moſt preſume of pardon: therefore extract no dangerous ſenſe from any coorſe, ambiguous phraſe. If thy approbation ceaſe on my advice, may all the labour I ſpent to revive my griefs, beget mirth and thy future eaſe.

Firſt, to prevent all inquiſitive expectation concerning my Parentage, I will relate it to you. My Father was a Gentleman by birth, though Time hath ſtolne away his Coate, and diſguiſed him in neceſſitie. My Mother (ſubject to the ſame fortune) may pleade the like in her defence: leſt detraction (advantag'd by laing hold on my behavior in the World) might wrong her Anceſtors. He was never ſtak'd to a certaine place of reſidence: but went on Pilgrimage fourteen yeares to viſit the Shrine of Saint Charity; at laſt found it Wintring, (or at leaſt very cold) in Hackney, three Miles diſtant from London.

The fat Miller there (a notable old Thiefe) made him his Tenant: but he gul'd his own Conſcience with an excuſive Proverbe (fallere [Page] fallentem non eſt fraus) & him of five yeares Rent, with running away. Leaving me (very young) as pawne to the Pariſh for that, and other borrowed Money, till Fortune, and his honeſty, could procure my redemption. But as the Miller ſwore in a prophetique fury, (that will never be) ſo it hath prov'd: nor have I ſince ſo much as heard from him, or can deviſe whither he went. Therefore in revenge of ſuch unnaturall dealing I will quite exempt the memory of him from our Story, and returne to the Miller: as I needs muſt, ſince Neceſſity is my Guide, and hath left me no where elſe to goe. His Countenance (poore Man) lowers in a moſt prepoſterous forme: for his Eies are heavie, which naturally require the light. His plump Cheekes (that were wont to be ſo immodeſt as to kiſſe his ſhoulders) reſemble now Famine painted on a clean Trencher. His great Belly (that barr'd him the ſight of both his knees) is growne inviſible it ſelfe. All his diſcourſe tends to the deſcription of my Fathers dexterity in running away, which he admires with Curſes.

There is a goodly Meddow joyning to his Houſe, encompaſſed with a River: whoſe beauty in the Summer, did often invite my wantonneſſe, to ſport with May-Flies, dabble in the water, hunt my ſhaddow: all which [Page] expreſt how truly ſenſeleſs I was, that a Compell'd Charity from divers men, maintain'd my being. If the ſottiſh old Man mett me there, he would even ſindge his Beard with a ſcorching ſigh, and quench the Liquid flame againe with Teares. Villaine (quoth he) Where is my Rent? a plague upon your Fathers dexterity! his London debts, that were due to him on Whitſunday was Twelve-moneth! his Chriſtmas-tales! his coſtly-invitations; my Wife, my two Sonnes, and my ſelfe to a butter'd Parſnip, three poach't Egges, and a dride Cucumber. Goe from my ſight, you Baſtard: Mun you live ſo merry (with a pox) upon other Mens coſts? your greaſie chops (thanks to my ſinnes) doth coſt me for my ſhare, two pence a weeke. None of this could my young capacity apprehend; wherefore Nature did not only make ignorance worthy his envie, but a defence to me, and offence to him. It was not long after when Fortune expreſt her ſmiles, in delivering me from thence: for on a Tueſday night, a Gentleman (hot and dry with hard riding) lighted at the Mill, proffer'd money for a Cup of Beere, and had it: I held his his Horſe. The Miller (who greedily expected ſome occaſion, whereby he might proclaime his formerloſſe, and preſent Charity) accuſes me of cheating Boyes at play, how I had juſt my Fathers tricks even by ſucceſſion, [Page] at laſt blurts out all. The Gentleman marking my ſparkiſh behaviour, and with what an innocent reſolution I ſtood in defence of my Father, earneſtly enquires after my name, which was no ſooner told him, but he tooke me by the hand, & called me Kinſman: for he himſelf was a Glouceſter-ſhire NIM, but whether there were any propinquitie of blood between us, I could never yet learne. Well, he was a wealthy old Batchelor, and my good genius did ſo farre collogue with his, that without entreaty he promiſt to diſcharge the Pariſh of my Perſon within a weeke: his action purſued his promiſe too, as faſt as a good Horſe could bring it to me, and me to him. Under whoſe charge I lived, till I was one and Twenty yeares old: where, and in what manner I omit to diſcover, it being (indeed) nothing pertinent to that grave ſtuffe, wherewith I intend to line my Book. For what paſſages can ſuch green yeares afford, worthy thy knowledge or my deſcription? none at all: yet ſome have that way (heretofore) caught the approbation of learned Readers, when in another way, they have quite loſt themſelves. So great a difference is there between the Times paſt and ours: for Fancy (whoſe Weakeneſſe then foild off the defects of a bad writer) is now turned to a ſecond Zoïlus, and dulles the edge of her own delight, [Page] with abſur'd Carping. So ſingularly excellent likewiſe is naturall inſtinct, admitting no ſecond quality to paſſe approved under her expreſſion. But howſoever each circumſtance that my proceedings did beger after my nonage (impartiall of my future Fame, or the name of NIM) I will relate.

CHAP. II.

NIM Tells the Story of his Patrons Death, with other circumſtances, worth reading.

THe World had not owned me full one and twenty years when my good Patron dyed; being old, & rich: but too well ſtored with Kinſmen; there were more NIMS beſides my ſelfe. Wone Baby came poſt from Glouceſter, & arriv'd at our Houſe two dayes before the Funeralls were ſollemnized. A ſecond ſquint-eied-Fop of Teuxburie, that could ſcarce perceive a Mountaine through a Proſpective (Horſt on his covetuous deſires) arriv'd there, the Funeral day: not to mourn (heaven knows) but upon a certaine Phyſicall advertiſement, that Gold is ſoveraigne for the Eie-ſight. My fortune proved worth a Hundred Pounds, which the good man left me by Will: in recompence of which, & all former courteſies, I [Page] am pleaſed to extract him a ſecond life, from the true relation of the manner of his Death.

He lay ſick of a burning Fever a long time, his death being deferred more for the Phyſitians gaine, then his eaſe, or probability of ever recovering: A neceſſary knavery in them, and Lawyers, to make men give money for paine and trouble. Five howres before his departure hence, he bad me write his Will. The diſpoſing a thing of ſuch conſequence to the weake managing of our decayed ſenſes, and laſt minutes, expreſt in him that counterfit hope of longer life, which covetous men force from dead Hearts, and ſix to oppoſe ſenſe; moſt apparent in contradiction.

His ſick Groans accompanying his words, argued (me-thought) with what an ill will he parted from thoſe gifts, and how ſorry he was, he could not make his ſoul Executor. A great minde he had to erect an Almes-houſe for decayed Souldiers: but a poore benefic'd Parſon (who ſtood by) ſmothers in his owne particular want, the knowledg of that ſuperfluous height which generally his Tribe live in, and ſtrives by the force of zealous phraſe, to make himſelf diſpoſer of anothers Charity: pleading how much the building of a Colledge, with allowance for Twenty Fellowes, would encreaſe Learning, and memorize the noble Given. The Phyſitian (who till now ſat ſilent on the Bed) ſpeakes in approbation of [Page] the ſick mans former intent, and maintaines with luſty Argument, how neceſſary it is, poore Souldiers that loſe their Limbs abroad, in defence of their Country (returning not rich enough to buy Woodden ones) ſhould be relieved, leſt neceſſity arming them with an excuſe; they conſpire with forraigne Enemies to beſiege Ingratitude at home. The Parſon being croſs'd, fell from modeſt diſcourſe, to impious rayling, and mixing ſerious abſurditie, with a leaden witt he bandies Jeſts: amongſt the reſt this one was noted, becauſe he laught at it him ſelfe. Sir, (quoth he) belike Souldiers want Purſes for you to purge, & the Devill hath poſſeſt you with an imaginary inconvenience that follows good deeds. You are grown wearie too of miniſtring Phyſick to poore Men gratis, your Charity is cold, and lacks a wrought velved Gowne to warme it: or your Worſhip would ride a Cock-horſe, and change Foot-clothes every Spring. No (replied the Phyſitian) Cuſtome and rugged War is in the Souldier an Antidote that prevents the very effects of ſickneſſe: nor Cannon, nor Sword makes any worke for us: therefore if any man (in that kinde) be guilty of Covetuouſneſſe, it is the Chirurgion, to whom addreſs your accuſation. Yet I moſt admire how you can apply Pride to us, for being a thing that becomes no man we ſeldome [Page] weare it: but (contrary to the Proverb) it becomes you worſt, though it be now in faſhion with you. Your chief Men, that ſhould be fixt in a Civill poſture, thereby to nouriſh comely imitation, have caſt off ancient decency, and charme the eyes weake cenſure to an affectation of the Italian habit. Their ſtate is more reſerved then a Princes, or an old French Courtiers, who in his proudeſt diſtance, feares his worth too much undervalued. A fortunate Petitioner may (haply) with much obſequious phraſe, recover from ſome under Chaplaine an Emperious Nod, and dance attendance but halfe an houre longer, according to the laſt addition. This made the Parſon ſtronger in defiance: for all the company tooke his part, and inforc'd the Doctor to confeſſe it malicious detraction, which preſently he did.

But now returne we to my ſick Patron, who hearing his charitable motion begot ſuch ſtriffe, concludes negatively both waies: and preſently after, loſt the uſe of both his Eyes, denoting it with a piercing ſhreek, whilſt we that were in the Chamber (amaz'd at ſo ſudden an alteration) tire the Collerick Phyſitian, with abſur'd queſtions. The blinde man can ſee no more hope now of longer life in this world, no though the Doctor durſt once more be ſo impious to make him ſpectacles [Page] of covetuous flattery, therefore he growes holy, prayes, and talkes of Heaven, which the Parſon having by divine mercy fully aſſur'd him, he ſuddenly likewiſe loſt his ſpeech▪ ſome applying it to the Heavenly comfort he received, as if ſilence expreſt it, to be above expreſſion. Others, that (according to the Batavian Philoſophy) hold the Soul dividuall in her ſelfe, and each member particularly to enjoy ſome particular part of her, would needs perſwade me the Tongue dyed then, that the Soule of it might goe before to beſpeake room for her fellowes. It was not long after when all his Limbes diſclaimed motion, and he life: his eſtate unfurniſht with an Executor, by reaſon the time which he reſerved to determine of one was too ſhort, but the Gloſter Man (being his Nephew) diſinherited the other, whoſe hopes were ſtrengthened by a promiſe the old Man made five yeares before his death; not by any home alliance, for he was no more then his Coſen thrice remoov'd. They which followed the Coffin to buriall, went wetſhod in thoſe affectionate Teares, which flowed ſo abundantly from the young Heires Eyes. I never thinke on it, or on Doting Lovers, but I call Nature an Enemy to Love: who ſuffers it never to be expreſt with apparent demonſtration; but when it is expreſt, unneceſſary or hurtfull. I did a moneth after his [Page] deceaſe (whilſt his memory was young, luſty, & able to overcome detraction with diſproofe) publiſh him to the World in an impartiall Character, but 'tis requiſite I barr thee the ſight of it, becauſe (being loſt) I cannot ſhew it: yet if a deſire to encreaſe in knowledge, cauſe thee to think thy ſelfe wrong'd, be recompenc'd in reading this Dialogue between Death and me.

NIM.

Death, what crochet came into thy minde,

To ſtrike my honeſt Patron blind

Ere 'twas with him perpetuall Night?

Come tell me, didſt not thou ſuppoſe

His Soul the way to Heaven would loſe,

By being thus depriv'd of ſight?

DEATH.

No, Nim, I brought it ſo to paſſe,

Becauſe that he a Coward was

And had a very little Heart.

Therefore (to finde it) did deviſe

A way to pluck forth both his Eyes,

And ſticke them faſt on this my Dart.

NIM.

Death, now thou doſt him double wrong,

For when St Albons Bells were wrung

By great Devills in the Steeple,

[Page]He Valianrly climes up the Stayrs,

Arm'd only with a Dozen Prayers,

Which were heard by all the People.

DEATH.

Why true, but doſt not thou know Man

The Tongue is Weapon to a Woman,

And ſharper far then two-edg'd Swords

Which maketh in all conſequence

His Heart not ſtrong, but his Defence,

If they Speake blowes that fight with Words.

NIM.

Goe, baſe Detractor, doe not ſtrive

To kill his Fame, keepe that alive

The reaſon why he prayed there,

Was that (being darke) the Devill

Might know him from an Infidell

And not for Pidgeon-Liverd-Feare.

DEATH.

This ſtyle of baſe will (thou ſhalt ſee)

Call back my purpos'd Lenitie

And be reveng'd on Brittanie

When e're long thy dead Muſe muſt come

(Wafted on Teares) to Elyſium,

Where there is Sack, yet none for thee.

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NIM.

I, my Muſe, and Country, care not a Fart,

For thee, thy envy, or thy fatall Dart:

Nor thinke I any there Canary have

At leaſt my Patron thought it not; for he

Tooke his departure hence ſo heavily

That eight could hardly lift him to his Grave.

Thou ſhalt never ſo much admire my Courage, as in this my conference with Death; for though he frights other Mens Soules from their Bodies, yet canſt thou pick from theſe Verſes no defect that doth expreſſe more then a very little feare; they went rather a timerous pace then ſmoothly from my Tongue: which I diſcover to nouriſh thy Detraction not my glory.

CHAP. III.

NIM reports the conditions of his Patrons Heire; with the reaſon, and manner of his departure from him.

A Paſſionate, Man is a learned Beaſt; being moov'd, nor Man nor Beaſt: for he wants the ſence of the one, and in ſome kinde the unſenſibilitie of the other. He takes the quickeſt cure for his diſeaſe of any; for the next way to end his life, is his only Phyſick. I cannot in [Page] modeſty avouch that my Patrons Heire did counterfeit his Paſſion, for to penſiſt in the diſeaſe, is their cure becauſe it is their Death, & no man can counterfeit Death unleſſe he will be buried alive. Beſides to root in us a contrary opinion of him, we will only remember how his Unkle maintained him Ten yeares under his own Roofe, which fatherly Charity (proclaim'd conſtant likewiſe by Time, who is beſt able to judge of conſtancy) could not but beger a ſuperſtitious love, which ſtill labours to requite with prodigall-Gratitude, yet is never weary nor ſpent.

When he was returned from the Funerall, and by the conſent of the whole Country had taken poſſeſſion of all, he gave charge his Unkles Wardrobe ſhould be cheſted up, and kept as Reliques; only his Gloves, Points, and Garters he beſtowed upon the Overſeers, and others whom his choyce pickt out, beſt to deſerve their worth: conjuring each Man (for the deceaſed parties ſake) never to part from them, whilſt they (who before bleſt him in his Uncles name, ſtil mentioning the affinity of old acquaintance, in expectation of Rings▪) now curſe his thrifty Superſtition, divulging abroad how well his liberalitie hath requited their pains: though I blamed thoſe poore gifts from him, as nothing but an old ſimplicity of Love that values things according to a ſelfe eſtimation. [Page] A ſtrange dejected humour poſſeſt him three Months, his actions were quite void of formality, his domeſtick affaires by himſelfe neglected, & managed by men more officious then honeſt. Being adviſed by his friends to ſettle his Eſtate, he made anſwer he could not live long, therefore would buſie his Soule only with heavenly meditations. How (quoth I) God forbid your Worſhip ſhould diſparage the ſucceſſe of your new Fortunes with ſuch fond ſurmiſes. Nature in you is ſo luſty, that it almoſt breakes the Bonds of Continence: full of preſuming ſtrength, challenging all ſickly operations to a defiance, our youthfull blood, hardly to be tam'd with thoſe examples weh experience doth demonſtrate. I confeſſe (replied he) my immediate Heir cannot warrant his hopes either in my yeares or complexion, but I have a divining ſpirit which prompts me to ſuperſtitious obſervations, and breeds a confirmation ſtronger then thy opinion can remove. I anſwer'd, when our penſive thoughts doe ſtill accompany our hearts, they are (like our voyces accompanying our Maiden-heads) both loſt together. His melancholy dull humour could apprehend nothing, but the next morning ſent poſt to London for a Stone-cutter, who being come, was entertained as if he had feaſted his content. They allotted the morning to conſult of buſineſſes, wherein my [Page] advice was equally accepted with the beſt, although the Worke-mans gaine furniſht them with faſhions of more curious invention, handſome, in being coſtly; at laſt it was concluded two hundred pound ſhould be beſtowed upon a Marble Tombe to cover my Patron: the faſhion of it 'tis impoſſible to relate, for patience would tyre her ſelfe in the deſcription, being compos'd of nought but quirks, and various whim-whams.

Alteration appeares never more deformed, then when it appeares in Tombs, or Churches, where Antiquity ſhewes moſt reverend, moſt ſacred and begets Ceremonie; Cerimony, Superſtition: but who hath more cauſe to accept of our blame, then ſuch as will not limit their expence, according to that compudent Thrift, expreſt in ancient Monuments, but ſtrive with a zealous prodigality to exceede all the waies, modeſt Art can invent to conſume their Money. The Stone-cutter (like Time) went ſwiftly away from us, but never came back againe: for our Heires minde did change, differring the worke till the next Spring. He whoſe coſtly experience had too well acquainted him with ſuch inconſtant humors, labourd to prevent what he ſuſpected by a ſudden diſpatch: but the meſſage was delivered, before the ſtuff that ſhould have bin ſent to us was packt up: and gladly did the [Page] Stone-Cutter take a ſmall ſatisfaction for what he had begun, as confident it would never be effected. Premeditation in this kind (quoth he) prevents Action. Charitable deeds ſhould be beſtow'd e're we can have leiſure to examine why? Or on whom they are beſtowed: Our Natures▪ being prone to cenſure fair Deſert, with fowl Detraction, and eſteem that which is not altogether neceſſary, ſuperfluous: telling us likewiſe we ſhould not commit Evil that Good may come of it; but Toombs conſume the money of the Living, to preſerve the Fame of the Dead. Therefore he that wil have a Howſe for his Memory to dwel in, muſt build it himſelf, leſt being unhows'd, it die for cold, and we ſtarve for want of Cuſtom.

This ſudden change in our Heirs mind, did prognoſticate a generall alteration, though his affairs were conſtant to the diſpoſure of his Paſſion three Months: a time long enough to contradict the Proverb which ſaith, Violent things, are never permanent. He that did eat rather to ſatisfie thoſe hungry Worms, that will batten by his Death, than Nature that maintains Life: whoſe Soul was in his Mouth, even ready to depart with the next Sigh, now makes a Phyſition his Steward, feeds by preſcription, is more punctual to abſtain from Meat, that is out of ſeaſon, then a ſick [Page] Epicure: and hopes he ſhall live till Time, may throw a Dart at Death. After his eſtate was ſetled, he took order to diſcharge the Houſe of poor me: being mov'd to antipathize from his Unkle in ſo uncharitable a deed by my preſuming inſolence, that appear'd moſt commonly when I was drunk. Once my Tongue reeld ſo much, to ſay I had more intereſt in the Houſe then he, which was too ſoon diſprov'd by his thruſting me out of it. On that Morning prefixt for my departure, he brought into my Chamber the Hundred Pounds, left me by his Unkle, which being delivered me in a legall manner, he commends to my own Vain-glorious approbation, my Ingenious Countenance, Comly Perſon, and naturall wit: withall, told me my Schollerſhip expreſt both coſtly breeding, and great Induſtry; therefore I was ſtrong enough to erect my own Fortunes: with a great deal of good Counſell, which I valew'd, as coming from one whoſe Experience ſeem'd younger then himſelf. There were few Tears ſhed between us at parting; neither did he beſtow any thing on me more then what Cuſtom holds neceſſary to maintain Complement, (a Cup of Beer) or Complement neceſſary to maintain Friendſhip: A promiſe of welcome when I ſhal call upon him riding that way. Well, horſt I was, and well ſtor'd with money, having [Page] beſides my Portion, the worth of fourſcore Pounds in Jewels, which my wicked providence (advantag'd by the Old Mans ſickneſs) pocketted up, to withſtand all unfortunate aſſaults. Thus the way enforcing my Steed and I, to take an unmannerly farewell (by making our Arſſes his oppoſite Object) we rod towards London.

CHAP. IV.

NIM, riding towards London, is overtaken by a Citizen, who tells him a merry Story; beſides, their diſcourſes, together with the faſhion of their Hoſt in Mayden-head, is in this Chapter moſt punctually related.

IT was a fair Morning, the way fairer, which pleas'd both me, and my Horſe. All my Care I caſt into that Pocket which contain'd my: Money, as the naturalleſt Companion for it. My Thoughts ſeem'd to me heavier then my ſelf, but not to my Horſe, becauſe I felt their burden; he mine. My conceit wander'd like a Northern-Shepheards Tongue, when (half drown'd in a Weſſail Bowl) he tells the Story [Page] of a Lad that went to ſeek his Fortunes. Three hours before I came to Mayden-Head, I was overtaken by a London Citizen, who rode like an Admirer of the skill of Horſmanſhip: or as if he were hearing a Story of one that kill'd himſelf by falling from his Saddle; with ſuch a Complementall-fear did he embrace the Horſes Neck: committing the protection of all his Limmes to ſeveral ſupporters, but his Leggs wholly to his Stirrops. Well overtaken, Friend (quoth he); good High-way Rhetorique! produc'd to maintain Cuſtom, but chiefly to expreſſe him ſelf not bred, though born a Cockney; or not his Child, that being to journey forth in Rainy weather, told his Wife he had a trick to prevent all Clowdy inconvenience, by riding under the Pent-howſes, even from London to Cambridge. Some men doat ſo much upon their expreſſion, that, though want of reading bar them a tale pertinent to the Matter, Time, and Place; yet will they piece diſcourſe with an old ſtory: The remembrance of which his Grand-father recover'd by the Art of Memory; but he aſſures it (by ſome handſom oath) to be lately done; laying his Scene afar off, leſt he ſhould betray himſelf, to an eminent diſproof. Juſt ſuch a one encounter'd with my converſation: who fed my Ears with relating, what I have here ſet down.

[Page]Two Kentiſh Gentlemen, Friends, and worthy of Fortunes envy, were both their ruines of her Conqueſt; expreſt in their exſtream impoveriſhment: which forc'd Invention to beget diſhoneſt ſhifts. So much doth Equivocating Neceſſity ridle in her Actions; baſely preventing baſe living: amongſt the reſt, this one arrives to our knowledge.

A certain rich Creditor of theirs rode into Oxford-ſhire, about a Purchaſe he had lately bought: Theſe Gallants (hearing of it) plotted now to enrich themſelves by his return; at laſt agreed, that ſix of their Companions, ſhould ſet upon him on the high-way; diſſembling as if they entended not only to rob him of his Money, but alſo of his life: Whilſt they two (appearing to ride that way by chance) fight ſtoutly in his defence, and obtain the Victory, by putting the reſt to flight; not doubting, but this being carried too cloſe for his diſcovery, might move him really to conſider their counterfeit kindneſſe, in a large requitall. He had no Kinſman on whom his love could beſtow the keeping of his Purſe-ſtrings to a peculiar profit; which ſtrengthned their hopes. Having by a diligent enquirie got to know the time of his return, they all attended him under a Hill; three Miles diſtant from Town or Village. One of the Six ſerv'd as Scout, to prevent impediments, [Page] both by diſcovering his coming, and the paſſing by of others. But the Coaſt was clear, and the Sun almoſt ſet, when they behel'd their Creditor, walking down a Hill; ſinging of Pſalmes, attended on only by wone Man, who ſeem'd furniſh'd with two defenſive Weapons; an old ruſty Sword, and a liberall Hand: not to ſtrike, but to give away his Purſe, which was his politique device, to prevent robbing. Well, if he had valour in him, he was affraid to ſhew it: beſides it dwelt at leaſt a furlong from his face; for the cowardly form of that could not but encourage an Enemy. The Six preſently (upon a watch-word) aſſault them from behind a Hedge. Stand, deliver your Purſe? are words of no force here: the Maſter being old, weak, and unable to ſupport his fear, fell down to complement with their mercy. The Servant (being lightned by flinging them his Purſe) ran away: but they (leſt he ſhould have rais'd a hue-on-cry) brought him back again faſt bound. Now pleads the old Man for his life, his Prodigall fear offering Emperors ranſomes: whilſt they ſeem to abandon all remorſe, crying blood, blood! the Villain will reveal us, the Villain will reveal us. He ſwears by all oaths extant in his memory, he never will. But by this time his two Champions ſallied forth, ſaying, what noiſe is that? [Page] keep the Kings peace ho! and calling him by his name, they cheere him up with comfortable words, and counterfeit blows, which were received by the ſuppoſed Thieves, with as little hurt as Cowards could wiſh for. The old Man (doubtfull of the ſucceſſe) conſidering ſuch an advantage on the adverſe parties ſide; ſwore thoſe Six Gentlemen, to be his honeſt Friends, and what they did, was but in jeaſt: thinking if the other two were overcome, this would ſave his life. But it was their Qu' now to fly, as vanquiſh'd by two oppoſers, which they did with exquiſite diſſimulation; carrying along with them Fiveteen Pounds. Our two Gallants are yet to receive the Fruit of their labours: The old Man having nought about him now to beſtow upon them, but thanks, which they ſeem'd to receive in ample ſatisfaction; He earneſtly enquires after his Man, whom they all ſmelt out preſently, by reaſon of an immodeſt expreſſion of Fear: offenſive to their Noſes, and his own Breeches. It prov'd ſomthing troubleſome to unbind him, for every man imploy'd one of his Hands to ſtop his Noſtrills withall. At laſt (with much adoe) they all became Horſemen again, and rode a pace towards the next Town: he being very deſirous to ſend hu-on-cry after them for his Money, but by the force of premeditated reaſons, [Page] he was perſwaded to the contrary They had ſcarce enter'd their Inne, but he relates unto a publique Auditory what hapned unto him, ſtill interpoſing between his own danger, the Valour and kindneſſe of thoſe two Gentlemen, his Debtors. But they ſtrengthen their well compoſed plot with reporting that he moſt ' valiantly behav'd himſelf before they could come to his reſcue. Flatterie (that old ſiin) agrees beſt with Age, where Folly is grown out of her own knowledge, and oft miſtakes her ſelf for Wiſdom: the implication of the word, being loſt, when apply'd to Men of full deſert. It is a poor beggerly vice, yet ſtill accompanies the rich. It is a Thiefe that ſteals away the Heart through the Ear, and for that theft hangs on it like a Jewel ever after. It works the Soul from a compudent giving to a doating prodigality; and hath caught this man too: who though his knowledge bluſht in what it knew, and gave the Lie to his own forc'd belief; yet did he hugg a ſecond Youth within him, and talkt of what he could do, ſetting aſide great advantage: non Hercules contra duos. The next Morning they rode to his Houſe; where thanks, and welcome did no more appear ſhap't in words, but in little Baggs of Money, which were delivered with a courtlike entreaty of acceptance: he ſtriving to prove, there was no [Page] diſparagement in the receipt of them. Their old Bonds likewiſe he freely reſtor'd ſaying, Since Fortune (who is blind to all mens deſerts) could not ſee theirs, he was glad this occaſion had given Eies to his Duty, that can direct him on whom he may ſtill beſtow, yet never impoveriſh himſelf. They had what they deſir'd, and therefore pretended buſineſs which muſt needs occaſion their departure from him. His humour is ſtill conſtant to extremitie in kindneſſe, and ſtaies them to Dinner, where there was good Cheer and Mirth. But by and by one knocks at the Gate, whoſe entrance being licenc'd, he ask'd for the Maſter of the Houſe; the Servants perceiv'd him to be drunk, therefore deny'd at firſt their Maſter was at home: Well, anon the old Man riſes from Dinner to know his buſineſſe. After a little complement between them, this drunken Gentleman diſcovers himſelf to be one of thoſe Six men that robb'd him, and beggs his pardon for it, which being granted, he reveals' likewiſe the whole drift of thoſe two Champions, who are now his Gueſts. Owles (as they were) to truſt a ſecret in a Drunkards Breaſt, whoſe love to the taſt of Wine, ſeats his Heart upon his Palat, which being ſo near his Tongue, he cannot chuſe but ſpeak his Thoughts. He (poor man) was ſtruck with a fretfull admiration; yet thought [Page] it not a fit time to lowre now, being divers of his Friends were there at Dinner with them, who (unleſſe they could digeſt his Looks) would ſtomach his Meat in a diſpleaſing Senſe: therefore contriv'd a way to end all with merriment. Six of his Servants he commanded to robb the two Gentlemen in his Parlour, of what he had beſtow'd upon them, counterfeiting likewiſe an intent to kil them: whilſt he, and his Shit-breech Man, ſhould come in (as it were by chance) and ſave their Lives. This was acted to the life, whilſt my two Gallants, (being poopt of what they enjoy'd meerly to feel miſery in the loſſe) departed the Houſe, only furniſht with his pardon.

Such Tales as theſe baniſht tedious Time, and penſive conſideration, till wee arriv'd at Mayden-head, Twenty two Miles diſtant from London; where was an Inne preferd to my acceptance by my Cyttizens commendations, who knew the Servants Names, as well as if he had binne their Godfather, though the Howſe never ownde his company but one Night: men of his Coate deſiring much acquaintance, becauſe they will loſe by none. The money which I had about me, I convayd under my Bed, and ſo to ſupper wee went. The Howſe was full of Gueſts, which made our Hoſt limit his Perſon, to a quarter of an [Page] Houers tariance with each company. Every Room did but borrow him of one another, which ſhews (though no Mans Particular command had intereſt in his ſervice, yet (he had leaſt intereſt in himſelf. His Wife ſupplyd his abſence to all Companyes, for he could doe nothing elſe but talke to them, and her Tongue was heard every where. She it is, whoſe Beauty clips the Wings of a Travailers ſwift deſire, and begets the eaſe of his plodding Beaſt, for her Howſe appears his Journeys end; but her Company multiplies the Reckoning above the reach of Arithmetique. The Cittiſen had the diſcourſe at Table, which conſiſted (for the moſt part) of the antiquitie of his Company: he being a woollen Draper. Sometimes he deſcrib'd the humors of a deceaſed Round-Cap, his quondam Pariſhioner; which were all abſurd, and nothing witty: yet he laught at them heartily, and I at him. All his owne proceedings (in Eight yeares Prentiſhip) he related to me. How long he bore the water-Tankard, ſcrapt Trenchers, and made cleane Shooes: diſcovering a ſelfe-admiration, that ſuch mean Offices could bring him to the height which now he lives at. Next he reported how many Servants he keeps; upon what conditions he hath bought the leaſe of his Howſe: how long his father, and himſelfe have liv'd in that [Page] Pariſh, and what Offices they have undergonne, with divers other things impertinent to any Mans knowledge: not omitting to reveale (in a grave manner) how unworthy he was to be Conſtable, or Church-Warden, would willingly have fined for it, but the Pariſh (forſooth) did more need his Advice, then Money. After Supper he expreſſ't his libertie (in being from home) with a diſtracted Mirth, as if he were ſuddenly to recover ſo much of his Heart blood, as he hath ſigh'd away, when pennd within the Citty Walls, It is a certaine obſervation; They are the civileſt at home, and rudeſt being abroad.

But now my Hoſt and his Wife came both up to stay and taulke with us. Surely he was the very Mayden head of his Mother, begot, his father being aſleep, or but Practicioner in that art, as apeard by the workmanſhip of his face and Body, ſo illfavour'd and deform'd was he: Her ſhape proclaimed Nature prodigal of her riches, and vain-glorious of her cunning, ſo generally handſom was ſhe; yet ſeem'd to doate upon his feature, 'tis wondrous ſtrange, but Love is blind: which made my Muſe (though dull'd with a groſſe Supper) ſing thus;

Let none hereafter dare to blame

The Gods, for making Cupid blind,

[Page]Leſt his offence be plagu'd with ſhame,

And all Mens hate, beſeige his minde:

For by this Couple wee doe plainly proove,

That without blindneſſe; there could be no love▪

Short and ſweet, quoth my Poeticall-Cittiſen, who beg'd them to ſhew his Wives Brother: a Councellors Clerke, but an excellent Poet beleeve it. Our Hoſteſſe fell faſt aſleepe, as ſhe ſat by the fire ſide: her Huſband wak'd her with ſaying, ſhe was always ſleeping, or talking. This ſtird up a ſtrange frivolous queſtion: Why a Woman is more drowſie, and talkative then a Man? I made anſwer thus, Becauſe ſhe was made of Adam's fleſh when he was aſleepe; ſecondly ſhe was made of his Rib, the Rib lies neere to the Heart, the Heart is Mayſter of Thoughts, and thoughts beget words. This lik'd the Cittiſen ſo well, that he deſir'd to be farder acquainted with me, as afterwards he was; though to his coſt; in what kind, thou ſhalt underſtand 'ere long: but now wee both went to Bed.

CHAP. V:

[Page]

NIM perſeveres in relating what befell him in the Inne, rides from thence to London, acquaints you with a Feaſt, worth the laughing at; treats of the Citty-Cries, and promiſeth graver ſtuffe hereafter.

Morpheus deſtroy theſe vigilant Cariers, theſe unquiet diſturbers of reſt, that bawling (like Demy Cannons) rent the Porches of my Eares. Were my Eielids cut off, I could not be wider awake then I am now, though it be juſt three a Clock: the purblind Night newly turn'd a Bawd to Letchery; the time when Spirits, Ghoſts, and Payries viſit Toombs and Church-yards, whoſe unſubſtantiall ſhapes ſteals away our motion, ſcare our Reaſon from us. Yet durſt I goe rownd about the World, unarm'd, with Bedes, or bleſt with Crucifix: weare my Soul within my Scabbard, my Life ti'd to my Heel, as careleſſe of ſucceſſe: with ſuch an angry vallor, was I inſpir'd at that time, becauſe depriv'd of ſleepe. But by and by, the modeſt Morne bluſht in the Eaſt: and the Sunne (to recompence thoſe Teares ſhed by weeping [Page] Plants) ſhew'd forth his Head: guilding the tops of lofty Trees, plac'd there by unequall Nature, to intercept that Comfort, which Shrubs loſe by their low-humilitie. The elevated Larke leavs his dewy Bed to welcome him, and drops downe tir'de, by ſtriving to clime higher, then his Voyce. I bad farwell to ſleepe, and call'd up the Chamberlaine, who brought me word the Cittizen (being very ſick) deſir'd my company. To his Chamber I went, found him groaning in the Bed, encompaſt with Tokens of his Wives carefull Love; three Night-Caps, two Waſte-Coates, a large Tiffany to keepe his Neck warme, two payre of Italian-Drawers, and a little Downe-Cuſheon: which being thruſt into his Codpiſſe, makes his Breech (forſooth) unſenſible of a hard Saddle, or a trotting Horſe. His ſighs kindled pitty in the Hoſteſſe, whoſe Experience was his Phyſitian, and brought him a Poſſet, cleerd with the juice of ſundry Hearbs, which procurd him his health ſuddenly. So our Reckoning being pay'd we rod a modeſt pace towards Branford, from thence to London: where (after he had directed me to a handſome Lodging, and the place of his owne aboad) wee parted.

I had no friends in the Citty but my Gold, which I eſteem'd ſo much, that I made it Bed-fellow to my Thoughts. Yet there [Page] was a Marchant who hath ſworne heretofore he lov'd me, but how? as. Wiſe men love Money; for the uſe of it. Whilſt my Patron liv'd, I could have done him a courteſie; but now the caſe was alter'd, and therefore his friendſhip dead. Neither did the place ever harbor any acquaintance of mine, beſides him, but only one Man (a Cambridge Scholler) whom envious Death tooke from me at Tiburne; he was brought to that fatall end by a Cart, though indeed the main occaſion was his unfortunate Luſt. Let not the Reader, accuſe me of tedious digreſſion from our matter, if I relate the manner of it.

His violent Love ſeaſd upon the Beauty of an Inkeepers Daughter, who was thirty yeares old, and a Mayde: her Chaſtitie being ſtarv'd for want of naturall conſideration: and her Fort vanquiſht, by an unboned Member (the Tongue) for that, that is it, which charmes a Womans credulous minde to beleeve, what ſhe dares not feele, and feele becauſe tis more delightfull then to beleeve: let it ſuffice, the Scholler often knew her in the Hebrew phraſe. One Night amongſt the reſt, ſhe (being enflam'd with a covetous love, futurly to owne his Perſon, and eſtate as a Wife) contriv'd a way how her father, and Mother might (as if by chance) come into the Chamber, and finde them in the midſt of [Page] immodeſt action, ſo afterwards enforce him to marry her. She could not carry the plot ſo cloſe, but he perceav'd, her knocking with a Bedſtaffe, was Porter to their entrance. From out the Bed he leaps (untam'd with his amorous combat) faſtens on his good Sword, which bravely he advances in defiance. Her devided Spirits being ſent abroad, ſeverally to withſtand Feare, and Shame, ſhe creeps betweene the Sheets, and winks▪ a true Coward! whoſe ſenſeleſſe imagination commits the protection of his whole Body to his Eie-lids, and bullwarks it with cloſing them, as though he can feele nothing but what he ſees. The Mother (running forth to cry for helpe) is intercepted, by intercepting the Doore. The father ſtrives with a Ioynt ſtoole to beate him thence, which he by meere ſtrength tooke from him, but with looſing the forepart of his Shirt, the loſſe of which got under his ſubjection the old Woman▪ who bluſhing to behold his manhood, ranne (as frighted) behind the Bed, whilſt he immodeſtly (though for modeſtys ſake) turn'd his Breech towards them, and ſought backward. The ſcufle grew now hot, and lowde; therefore he (fearing it might wake the Servants) ſwore if he once more turn'd his face, he would kill them all, which made them quieter. His Doublet, and Stockings being [Page] neereſt his reach; were put on; in two Howers ſpace, not ſooner; becauſe his right Hand was wholly imploy'd to manage his Sword: leaſt the father (advantaged by any thing) might recover the Doore. The Mother came backwards to deliver him his Breeches, and ſo by chance ſtumbled over a Stoole; her Huſbands Eies look'd red as fire, ſome thought with anger, but ſure I think they bluſht to behold that, which made him put out the Candle. The darke bred feare in all, but eſpecially in my [...] Scholler, who hearing the Servants rayſ'd by the Womans cry, and not able to find his Breeches, ranne downe the Stayres without them; then climes over the back Gate into a narrow Lane, where after he had awhile accompany'd the Northerne Winde, a Drunkard (paſſing that way) reel'd ſull upon him, and falling fell faſt aſleepe upon the Ground, whilſt he depriv'd him of his Breeches: but by reaſon of too much fearfull haſte, and want of light, wore them, as he pul'd them off, with the Linings outward. O Wine! good for none but the fiery Zwitzer, who loves to have his face, richer then his Purſe: thou that ridleſt in operation, and makes this Drunkard happy by depriving him of ſenſe, for though his bare Breech kiſſ'd the cold ſtones, he ſlept ſowndly: whilſt our Scholler (walking [Page] through the neighbour Street) is taken by a Watch. The parlous Conſtable (ſpying how unhanſom he was dreſt) ſuſpected him guilty of ſome bawdy buſineſſe, and laughing ſufficiently at him, ſent him to the Counter. But one ſorrow treads upon the Heel of another (ſo ſwift are they in purſuit, when once running to us) the way to the Counter is through that Lane where the Drunkard was, who by this time had recovered his ſenſes, and walk'd ſhivering up and down, in ſearch of his Breeches. The Watch-men ſpying his white Shirt) ſtood ſtill, ſuppoſing him to be a Ghoſt. The Scholler perceiv'd his theft would be diſcover'd; yet was loath to run away, becauſe loath to be taken by another Watch▪ he lik'd this ſo ill. One of his Guardians (being fortify'd with an old charm) marches croſſe-legg'd, ſpitting three times Eaſt-South-Weſt: and afterwards prefers his vallor to a Catechiſing office. In the name of God (quoth he) what art thou? whence doſt thou come? what makeſt thou here? he anſwered, he was not himſelf half an Hour ago, but now he is a Man as others are; of Gods making; only ſome Villain had ſtoln away his Breeches. My acquaintance was found to be that Villain; his Buttock's once more diſrob'd, his ſecret parts too apparantly diſcover'd: And in that [Page] manner both were carried to the Counter.

But now let us return to what occaſion'd the relation of this Ieſt. After he was delivered thence, upon promiſe to marry his Whore, he met her Father riding towards Windſor: and being enflam'd with the remembrance of this diſgrace, kill'd him upon the High-way, for which fact, Tiburn depriv'd me of him.

Thus deſtitute of any Friend, to whom I might commit the keeping of my Money, I bought me a ſtrong Trunk, and therein enclos'd it. My Lodging was in Chancery-Lane, my Land-Lord, an old Atturney, who by frequent walking to and fro, about Law-buſineſſe, knew the form of every Stone, which pav'd the Ground, between that place, and weſtminſter-Hall. I obſerv'd nothing that Day worth relation, unleſſe it were the City-Cries: I mean, how every one hath got a differing pronunciation, from intelligible Engliſh. Either they have worn out the parts, wherein thoſe Syllables are particularly moulded, by a continual uſage (conſidering they ſpeak in any other kind plain enough) or elſe many of their words, (progreſſing through their Noſes) are drown'd in that flood which cold purges from the Brain. I ask'd an Oyſter-Wench once, what it was ſhe cry'd? She bad me look into her Basket. Why (quoth I) can I ſind [Page] your words there? Yes, ſhe anſwer'd, really ſhap'd too: Did not our Ware ſpeak for themſelves, little would be gotten by them; for we cannot foyl them off with trim Language, which my Ears witneſſing, I muſt needs believe. But leave we theſe Jeaſts, theſe ſuperficiall expreſſions of a full Brain. A Comick-Fancy wrinſt in ſparkling Claret, orwrapt in the Leaves of April Violets, could not wander in alacrative Sence, more then I do now. I tell thee Render, I will be grave, I vow I will: and ſhortly write things worthy thy ſerious obſervation. In the mean time let me commend to thy reading, this Dream; born the firſt Night I lay in London.

CHAP. VI.

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NIM moſt wittily reveales his admirable Dream, turnes Satyriſt, and omits not the relation of thoſe reaſon which ininduc'd him to it.

The Deſcription of a Grove

MY ſleepy imagination carried me into a melancholy Grove, whoſe courteous Trees by embracing one another, impriſon'd the Weſtern Wind▪ whilſt the ſweetneſſe of the place made it in love with bondages for paſſing through thoſe Boughs, adorn'd with cloſe whiſpering Leaves, it ſigh'd at liberty. The Birds (cag'd in Thickets) ſung ſadly. The mournſul Graſs alwaies wept for the abſence of the Sun, and with a morallizing Countenance, ſeem'd to exclaim againſt thoſe tall-Trees; which like great ones in a Common-wealth, deprive the leſſe of comfort by combining in their miſchief. In this Grove I met an aged Pilgrim, whoſe body being tir'd with Holy jaunts, his wandring-zeal tam'd with a ſuperſtitious Lameneſſe; liv'd there, impounded in a narrow Circuit. His lookes were as ſerious as his talke; his Beard knew little of the Barbers skill, but grew like his [Page] Experience, me thought longer then his Age▪ Hee brought me to a Cave, whoſe ſwee Mouth water'd at a Cryſtal Spring, which ran cloſe by it: and call'd to us from thence, one whoſe Tongue ſpoke him a Scholar▪ His Garments ſeem'd only faſhionable, in being quite out of Faſhion. His Armes, and Thighs were folded in the Leafs of old Manuſcripts: a parlous neceſſary (though cold humor in him) to diſſwade nakedneſſe from being ſenſible of the Northern Wind. After many denotations of a troubled Spirit, he charm'd attention with this Speech.

The Scholers Speech.

Farewel Philoſophy; and that prying knowledge, which, diſcovering Natures ſecrets, makes a modeſt apprehenſion bluſh, wraps wonder it ſelf in a ſtrong amazement, and ſooths the Athieſt in his damn'd belief; who termes the Souls Immortality a Childiſh ſuperſtition, and forg'd by politique States-men, to ſuppreſſe Vice in the Common-wealth, which otherwaies would ruine Government. Farewell Aſtronomy; an Art that beſt becomes the labour of a School-Boys weak Capacity: for every Fool can find his fatal-Star without a Perſpective, and feel it, though fixt a Thouſand Leagues above his reach. Or what is he that only looking on a Comet, cannot propheſie [Page] a Ruine? ſince his own Guilt doth prompt him. Farewell Phyſick; thou that circumventeſt Death, and with comfortable Herbes preventſt Autumn in Man, by a perpetual Spring. Farewel that thriving Spirit; which with the heig it of Knowledge makes Experience ſeem an Aſſe; deep Policy, ſhallow Surmiſes: Farewel Rhetorique; and that ſmooth phraſe which makes the Courtier appear a diſguis'd Saint, which ſcrews up Fancy to a belief repugnant unto Senſe, and works the ſilly, Auditor to delight in his own undoing. Farewel Poetry; thou trim Compoſer of diſjuncted Senſe; thou that with handſom Ornament doſt cloath a Lie in a true ſhape: Thou that raviſheſt the Mechanicks mind, to his delight, not torture; for though a dull apprehenſion bar at firſt thy pleaſing entrance, yet he loves thee for it ever after. Farewel that ſweet inſpir'd rapſody which cue's fluent expreſſion into perfect ſenſe: which in deſcriptions really deſcribes, corrects Nature, and makes it ſeem more natural. O farewell for thy Lawrel only flouriſheth on the dry Heads of thoſe, who can but lamely imitate, and withers on moiſt diviner Browes. Farewel in general the Scholers trade, ſince what to others is a comfort, is to him a orment; for he is tir'de with Hope, and tam'd by Ignorance: Ignorance! She that is only fortunate in ambition, yet fix'd on [Page] high, eſteemed leſſe in the Eies of thoſe, that with admiration gaze below.

Here the Pilgrim (being loth to let his ſick, overworn patience, ſerve as bridle to his Tongue) commands a ſilence, which he obay'd by ſtreight returning into the Cave. O how he weigh'd each word to the very poyſe of Accenting. Cicero either whip thy Tongue, or hereafter let thy Ghoſt be deaf to thy diſparagement. Had my Ears been long enough to have reach'd him in the Cave, I had kill'd the Proverb in contradiction, grac'd what an Aſſe wears to the contempt of all, and made his name worthy any Mans acceptance.

The Souldiers Speech after this his deſcription.

Soon after him buſſels forth the ruines of a luſty Man: one that ſtrove to tire Misfortune with a counterfeit comtempt of it, little bleſt with outward Habiliments; for his ambitious Stockins did diſlocate his Doublet, and ſerv'd inſtead of Sleeves: whilſt the Elbows made Caſements of neceſſity and peep'd out. Scarce had he any one Limb ſufficiently cloathed to keep warm the Spectators Eies. His Skin was pinckt quite over with thruſts, fearfully ſtoln by the Rapiers point of ſome oppoſing Coward. His Face (carv'd by the pattern of his mind) was rough, and ſeem'd ſecondly begot by the careful gain of a bungling [Page] Surgeon. The carriage of his Body expreſt him a Travailer, as if he had got the theorique of all Country poſtures, and loſt the practique of his owne. He ſpoke as if his Tongue (lately come from farr) had brought good utterance home, for theſe were his words.

His Speech.

Farewell luſtly-Warr! thou that with bloody Juſtice, doſt bravely arbitrate, 'tween Princes rights, and Souldiers Valors: farewell unbullwark'd Reſolution! thou careleſſe Sparke, whoſe father was a Roman: thou that exalts each Nerve to an ambitious hight, lifting the Body up to over-reach Danger: farewell that bewitching Winter which the ſprightfull Drum, tunnells through our Eares into our fleſh, when our Bloods freeze, and our Gorges heave at Peace, when wee eſteeme Life below eſteeme, when the longe Pike (that barrs cloſing with the Enemy) ſeems an impediment to true Valor, and the Sword, within the Scabbard, looks like Glory hid. farwell the lowde Trumpet with whoſe voyce, rewording Ecchoes ſcolde, whoſe cheerfull harmony makes the wanton Heart dance in a Breaſt beſiedg'd with Swords: farvvell the ſhrill Fiffe, vvhich drovvnds in the Covvards Eare Terror, compoſ'd of dying Groanes, and hideous ſhreeks: farwell the glorious Troope of [Page] comely Horſe! in whom Pride (as fitting none but Beaſts) ſits handſomer then in the Riders lookes farwell the bawling Cannon (Deaths bloody Executioner) from whoſe wide mouth Deſtruction (roundly ſhap'd) wraps it ſelfe in a Caſe of diſturbed Ayre, diſmembers lofty Steeples, pats away aſpiring Pinnacles, and ſteales at once a whole Ranke of Mortals: farwell learned Strategems! deepe Circumvention! wholſome Pollicy! and ſound compoſing of dangerous-Inductions: farwell Death! thou that begetſt the Souldiers life; who only breaths in honor: farwell life! thou that begetſt the Souldiers Death: who now lives ſmoother'd in diſgrace.

After he had thus talk'd awhile (bodying each word with active emphaſis) he return'd alſo into the Cave, being indeed interrupted by the haſty preſence of one, whoſe griefe bruſt from forth his Eies, becauſe ſo long barr'd of paſſage through his mouth. He was of perſon well ſhap'd, and proper▪ reſembling the decay'd remnant of a noble Stock. His Countenance (ſomewhat wither'd with infectious Griefe) cauſ'd him to looke like the very contempt of Happineſſe: as if he out-liv'd his owne deſire, was made an experiment by his cruell Pate, to try within a Haires breadth the ſufferance of a Man: or had binne wrack'd to confeſſe the ſtrength of Miſery, [Page] and now warranted by Experience, what before he did deny in happy Ignorance. He wore his Apparell (as he wore his Life) quite out of Faſhion, and took his farwell thus.

The speech, of a decayed Gentleman.

Farwell all thoſe nice points of Honour, which in the obſerving makes Reputation but a Trouble: farwell that haereditary reſpect, borrow'd from the merits of our Anceſters: by which wee enrich their fame, and impoveriſh our owne: farwell Gratitude, thou core of a noble Heart, that by Requitall makes thy ſelfe a Beggar: that ſknorſt to poyſe thy thanks with the ſucceſſe of a free Guift, but with the kind-diſpoſition of the Giver: farwell Temperance! thou phyſicall preſerver of naturall bleſſings, thou ſtrengthner of thoſe inſtinctive-faculties, which belong to each particular Senſe: thou that canſt beſt (with palpable demonſtrations) diſtinguiſh Men from Beaſts: farwell Hoſpitalitie: thou thrifty Prodigall, and ancientſt Herauld to proclaime us Gentlemen: farwell that handſome, decent Courteſie, which makes the Vulgar prowde of having Lives, for our commands to tread upon: farwell Decorum; and that ſweet premeditating judgment, which crownes Action with a bleſt concluſion: farwell Friendſhip! thou covetous engroſſer of all Earthly Comforts! [Page] thou that (with honeſt equivocation) includ'ſt two Men in one, tiing together their very heart ſtrings in a true love knot: tempering their minds, as if they had moulded one another, in their wiſhes. Their winged induſtry (begot by mutnall exchange of care) makes the concluſion of a weighty buſineſſe, come to prevent expectacie: is never tir'd, but ſtak'd in officious motion, and conſtant to variety of comforts, O! Farewell, Farewell Patience: that Roſe-lipp'd Cherubine, who heretofore was beautious, as the Infant morne in the Eaſt, when Sol doth paint her; but now ſhe is ugly, old, and Haglike withered, for unnaturall wrongs have ſo infected her.

The deſcription of a forſaken Virgin.

Here concluding with a ſigh, he returnes alſo from whence he came, leaving his roome ſupply'd by a creature purpoſely made to pleaſe curioſity in a detracting lovers Eie. I tell thee Reader ſhe was the pretieſt little Thiefe, that ever wanton Imagination hugg'd to defile; ſo farre above deſcription, that if I durſt attempt it, I ſhould leave (unreach'd) juſt ſo much Argument, as might ſerve Marots Muſe to compoſe a fit Miſtreſſe, for his Huſband. Griefe in her ſeem'd a handſome Peſſion; nothing did ill become her but her [Page] Fortune,▪ I cannot ſay the Garments which ſhe wore were coorſe and baſe, becauſe her beauty needed no baſeneſſe to foyle it off: neither is it poſſible Fate could be ſo hard-hearted, as to apparell her in want: No? that were a thought moſt lame in reaſon: for though her Gowne was made of home-ſpun ſtuffe, I am ſure ſhe wore Golden Hayre & wept Pearles: how! did ſhe weepe? I muſt not ſay ſo, leſt thou weepe to think on it, but never ſo handſomely as ſhe did. If the grey Hypocrite (whoſe yeares ſpeaks him olde, and exact in a diſguiſ'd behaviour) had but lookt on her, he would have ſworne the Politician ſtudies only to undermine himſelfe: for naked-Innocence grew on her face in ſuch a pleaſing ſhape, that Sinners (who before were maried to their Guilt) plead repentance, and proffer love to it. She never knew Man, with a knowledge more diſhoneſt then what harbours in her Eies, only by ſight: yet ſome Arch-Rogue, ſome damn'd Lover, (choak'd with too much happineſſe) hath done her wrong: whoſe errand now ſhe will deliver to the World, I mary will ſhe, and that ſowndly too. Sorrow 'ere while ſat on her Tongue, like bad expreſſion, and her Words were quarter'd in the utterance: but now ſhe'le brooke no more, her Tipett is unpin'd ſtands up (like a Beacon) to foretell a Warr of [Page] words, ſhe muſt ſcolde, which ſhe did thus; but other ways then thus ſhe could not ſcolde.

Her Speech.

Farwell the Uirgins peace, true Content; and all thoſe raviſhing effects which harmleſſe thoughts beget: when our dull Spirits are tickled with a frozen Joy: when the flaſh of Lightning cannot ſindge our Souls: nor the noyſe of Thunder fix us to a fearfull-admiration, ay me farwell. And farwell Love! thou unnaturall Thiefe, that requit'ſt obſequious paſſion, with ſtealing the motives of thoſe comforts: O hatefull Love! improper word, that doſt imply a double ſenſe, the good to ſhadow 'ore the bad: thou that toylſt only to be weary, and conſum'ſt more content, than eminent hopes can give ſatisfaction for. Farwell Faith in men! who never had any ſtrong enough, to keep unbroken their weake words: ſubtile, wicked Men, who diſguiſing falſhood in big Oaths, ſooth our fond credulitie, to a pittifull conſent. Such a one rob'd me of my Heart, and return'd it to make my Guilt exceed his: for no offence deſerves puniſhment ſo much, as to receave, or live by, what was ſtolne. His name beares ſuch a ſympathy with Sorrow, that falling from my Lips, my Teares would drowne it▪ farwell my well tun'd Voyce! which made [Page] my Tongue a Pillory; for more Eares were naild to it, then offences could condemne: which Made the Nightingall bluſh when we have ſung together; for Men would tell her! ſhe had loſt her Mayden-head: farwell my Lute, whoſe ſtrings are now as dumb as Silence, and ſhall never more be pegd to rob the Auditor of wonder: farwell all happineſſe, for the Time now, is maried to my Fortune, and begets more woes, then my poore eſtate of Patience is able to maintain.

Her laſt vvord loſt half its accent, ſhe being interrupted by a little Dove, who with an accuſtom'd tripping familiarity, allur'd her harmleſſe Fancy to go aſide, and ſport vvith it: So light in alteration is leaden Sorrow, when dvvelling in a Heart not guilty of its Birth. Though the Pilgrims hot deſires vvere mortified by Age; and his couragious Blood tam'd by a reſerv'd diet; yet he ſeem'd to bemoan her vvith an amorous Pitty: vvas about particularly to acquaint me vvith the rank, and conditions of all his Captives, likevviſe hovv they came thither: But I vvaking, depriv'd him of further labour, my ſelf of trouble.

This Dream needed no help from Aegypt to expound it, for the Time (vvith reall examples) ſerv'd as Interpreter. My Brains and Heart met in conſultation a vvhole Week [Page] before they could adviſe me vvhat courſe of life to take: at laſt I reſolved to turn Satyriſt: being induc'd to that holy calling by theſe four reaſons. The firſt was, a Divine inſpiration, which my Young turbulent zeal extracted from the Dream. Secondly, becauſe the State at that time felt alteration; and divers great ones (plac'd before as high as Fortune her ſelf could reach) ſate then on her foot-ſtool, humbled below vulgar reſpect. Thirdly, I being yet to chooſe acquaintance, ſtrove rather to have my wit prefer me to the better ſort at firſt, than that neceſſity ſhould furniſh me with ſuch, whom afterwards I would ſcorn to acknowledge; the World alwaies cenſuring a Man by the faſhion and demeanor of his Companions. Fourthly, my Purſe was then ſufficiently ſtor'd with Money: an Argument that might eaſily perſwade the World, I wrote to defend Vertue, not my own Poverty: As for thoſe qualities which compoſe a perfect Satyriſt, I had enough to proclaim Nature Prodigal, and Art is ſoon attain'd by induſtry. I travell'd far in Hiſtory, and knew the World by report, as well as if my pains had been a Tutor to my Knowledge. How I proceeded afterwards, thou maiſt partly underſtand by reading the next Chapter.

CHAP. VII:

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NIM being drunk, goes to hire a Servant in Paul's, and after a ſober deſcription of the Church, and Walkers, recounts how ſtrangely he was ſupply'd with one.

COnſideration had ſo much dull'd my Spirits, and black'd my Blood, that I reſolved one Morning to drown it in a Cup of Sack. To the Tavern I went, but being incredulous of thoſe commendations which the Drawer ſold with his Wine, and covetous to arbitrate judiciouſly; I taſted it with my Brains: For though it be more natural, the Palat ſhould give judgement in this kind▪ yet their verdict is prefer'd in Capital controverſies, and therefore ſet ſo light by this when I ſay light, you may take it in a contrary ſenſe, as if my Leggs were unable to ſupport my weight; Unable to ſupport my weight? Very well Goodman Nim! Goodman Fop! Goodman Doggs-Noſe! now my ſneaking modeſty creeps from the matter, and minces it with ambiguous phraſe? Is it not time to leave this? ha? well, howſoever Reader do thou ſuppoſe I was drunk, ſtarke drunk [Page] but not with Wine? rather with Liquor diſtill'd from a Womans Brains, and mingled with juice, ſqueeſ'd from a melancholy Heart; for ſo variable, and unproportion'd were my humours. To beat the Drawer, cut off the Heels from my ſhoo's, were only Peccadilloes (as the Italian ſaies) Pigmy-faults: but I forſooth (diſtaſting the Houſe attendance) muſt in all poſt haſt go hire a Servant; a Fellow of ſome Soul! whoſe ſervice muſt not meerly conſiſt in the ſtrength of his Lims, but in the apprehenſive quality of his Brains. Where to get ſuch a one ſuddenly, I could not tell, unleſſe in Paul's? which Church eaſily to paſſe over is impoſſible, 'tis ſo high: therefore ſomthing we will ſay of it. Only let us refrain to expreſſe with a pittifull-deſcription the ruines of Time, becauſe for the moſt part they are plac'd above our reach: even on the top of the Steeple. St. Gregories being compar'd to it, looks like a Church, whoſe charge of building was at the benevolence of a poor Uſurer; or dedicated to ſome undeſerving Saint, who meant to ſhew his humility in the acceptance. The uſe of thoſe Walks within, I do more pitty, then admire their ſpacious ſtate: For wouldſt thou know where the young Wards undoing is contriv'd? go thither, thou ſhalt perceive his Guardian newly enter'd, puffing with haſte, and ſweating [Page] by an unaccuſtomd labour he hath taken, to be there half an hour before his politique Companions: a ſpace ſiz'd out to advantage his old judgement, to prevent with premeditation all countermines: His Conſcience preſenting to his guilty fear a puniſhment, before the Sin be quite committed. Wouldſt thou know where the Uſurer, and his Scrivener conſult to cheat the young Heir of Morgag'd Land? Why there too: and are as eaſily diſtinguiſht from other Men by their walking, as from one another by their Garments. The Uſurer (hating the charge of a faſhionable Hat, or all Uoſtly care to preſerve his wither'd Beauty) wears his high-Crownd, according to the old ambitious form: with narrow Brims, leſt it might bar his covetous Face, the reflection of the Suns golden Beams. His long Cloke, Bumbas-Doublet, and Trunk Hoſe are thread-bare: only obſerve his left Thumb, Gloves, and Poſey ever ſticking in his Girdle: which is a Cuſtom graver then his Beard. He moves in bawdy pace, much like a diſeaſed French Man up a Hill: his weak Leggs being unable to ſupport his old Carcaſe: How! can a Uſurer live till he be old? Yes, becauſe his Soul is not worthy the Devils acceptance. The Scrivner is more formal in his Apparel: his whole credit (indeed) depending on a comely outſide. Near them, [Page] beholde two leane-Gallants compoſing of a cheat, One with his Nailes dig s freſh inductions from his buſie Head: the other (twirling his Band-ſtrings) findes there a way to tie all up with a ſtrong concluſion. Not far off likwiſe walks another, whoſe continuall diverſity of Garments, proclaimes him diſcended from the Man-in-the-Moone, that changes outſide every Month. He wears a long Scabbard with a Hilt in it, but never a Blade, for that was broak in ſtriving for the Wall, and the Money which ſhould buy an other, ſpent to reconcile himſelfe to his Adverſary: for they fell out of purpoſe to drink together, not like Dutch Men, who drink to fall out. Another in an melancholy trance, marches with his Eies faſtned to the Ground: whilſt his imagination wanders, like my Pen from the matter to which I muſt now returne.

Juſt when I was reading Papers paſted on the South Gate, a luſty young fellow (who perceav'd that I was drunke) pulls me by the Cloke, deſiring ſome privat conference with me: my knowledge never ſaw his face before, nor could his buſineſſe come within the reach of my ſuppoſe. Wel, I walk'd with him ſome halfe a ſcore turnes. Time and diſcourſe he ſpent in inquiring where I was bred? what Gentlemen of note I knew in Gloſterſhire? [Page] I told him of divers, whoſe names ſeem'd better acquainted with his Eares, then their Perſons with his Eies: withall aſk'd what urg'd in him this earneſt examination? faith Sir (quoth he) no harme, but I deſire you to give me a Crowne for a privat reaſon to my ſelfe. No thankes heartily quoth I: your privat reaſon appeares to me a publique cauſe (want) which though poorely worne by others, ſeems in you a phantaſticall Cloak, to hide, vvhat you cannot ſhevv. This could not ſuffice him; the Rogue purſſ'd his Brovves in a ſcornefull forme, laught (as it vvere) at my fooliſh thrift: and vvith active vvords, ſubtilly compoſ'd, perſvvaded me, it vvas a thing vvonderfull neceſſarie, or conſequent in hidden ſenſe, his deſires ſhould be accompliſht. Come, come (quoth he) give it me, piſh-give it me I ſay: vvhy thou fool! thou Enemy to thy ovvne good fortunes! fling it quickly, or I'le not ſtay to receave it. My drunken Braines could not apprehend this new impudence: the money I ſtrait vvays threvv him; he as nimbly convayd it into his Pocket: and marching forvvard hurls his Head over his left Shoulder, gives me this revvard. Be rich, be happy, I ſay be happy; for thou vvert borne (young Man) in a happy Hour-farevvell. Theſe words ſtrengthned thoſe ſurmiſes in me, vvhom vvine had [Page] made vveake. My ſuppoſitions concerning his qualitie vvere divers, and kill'd one another in contradiction: but at laſt memory ſeaſd on that Philoſopher's opinion, vvho held, every Mans Good Genius offers his ſervice to him, once before he be Thirty yeares old: yet is generally refuſ'd by that feare, vvhich ſpiritual Shapes beget, vvhen our underſtanding is ſcar'd from us. Now my imagination undervalue'd deſert ſo much as to think this my Good Genius in the ſhape of a Beggar. I had three reaſons vvhich vvrought me to this conjecture, and may likevviſe induce thee to believe it an accidentall truth. Firſt I vvas drunke, a ſtrong one, exſtracted from my irrationable-weakneſſe: for vve are apteſt to credit impoſſible things, vvhen the Soule conſideration is drovvn'd: vvhich ſhould dialogue with the Heart, before vve conclude to approve of any thing. Secondly the rawneſſe of my Youth: vvhich doth moſt palpably excuſe my imbecillitie in diſtinguiſhing Truth from falſhood, vvhen you call to mind hovv he diſguiſ'd both, in a ſubtill unknovvne ſhape. Thirdly my beautifull Face vvrapt me in ſuch a vainglorious eſtimation of my Merits; that I thought Fortune could not be too kinde, nor I covetous: for Beauty in a Man begets only a ſelfe-dotage, his imagination being his flattering Glaſſe: vvhere he beholdes vvhat he can never finde (that is) ſomething to attract [Page] amorous-amazment from the Spectators Eies: but indeed t'is no beauty, in being beauty, t'is—I vvot not vvhat: a ſuperfluous ornament vvhich vvanton Mayds doe envy more than love: vvhich vviſe Women ſcorne as a thing more inconſtant then their humors, and leſſe becoming. But novv to our purpoſe.

I was deviſing with a fearfull doubt, and Hopefull amazement what to ſay: at laſt aſk'd, whether Heaven had ſent him thus diſguiſ'd, to proffer me his ſervice? the Raſcall (as I underſtood afterwards) was newly diſcarded by his Maſter, and glad of any Mans entertainment: therefore told me (if I pleaſ'd) he would ſerve me with all his Heart, little ſuſpecting what I meant; but ſuppoſ'd ſo much of my Language, which appear'd improper in his apprehenſion, to proceed from ſuperfluous draughts. Well homewards I reel'd, raviſht with poſſeſſing a certaine kind of I knew not what: but ſtill glanc'd back mine Eie, expecting when my Good-Genius would transforme into a caeleſtiall ſhape: though he (a plague on him) was conſtant in the forme of a Roguiſh face, and chang'd only in behavior: for enough I had of ſuch obſervance as belongs to a new Maſter. The Winde had enter'd my Pate, as ſoone as I my Lodging: ſo that I was faine to goe to Bed, where I fell preſently faſt aſleepe. [Page] He boldly call'd for a Payre of cleane Sheets, and Trukled under me: never attempting to pick my Pockets: though wickedneſſe was advantag'd with an occaſion ſo provocative. About Midnight I wak'd and hearing one ſnort at my Beds feete, was ſtrucken ſilent with a fearfull admiration. My Thoughts examin'd my Heart concerning the laſt Days actions: my Heart ſummond the aſſiſtance of my Memory: ſo that I recover'd by peecemeale the knowledge of what befell me in Paul's: how my Good Genius brought me to my Lodging: who muſt (by all preſent conſequents) be he that now diſturbs my Ears: which when peruſ'd with ſober cogitation, ſeem'd both ſtrange, and ridiculous. I conſum'd three Howers in tedious ſuſpence, untill (ſtepping from betweene the Sheets) the Sunne Beames uſherd my perſon within his reach: where I beheld an illfavour'd face, adorn'd by a faſhionable Beard. My Hand (troubled with the Cowards-Pallſey) I thruſt towards him, to try whether I could feele what I ſaw; in fine, found him a ſubſtantiall Spirit, a human-Genius: ſo return'd to conſider of it on my Pillow. At Six a Clock he roſe, and after ſome obſequious diligence in the way of ſervice, deliver'd to my inquiſitive mind what thou haſt read: whilſt I finding him indu'd with a notable ſhifting wit, [Page] ſtood to a drunken bargain: his name was Oliver Bunge.

CHAP. VIII.

NIM acquaints you with his firſt proceedings, in his Satyricall calling; and inveighs againſt three Men, who publiquely profeſſe themſelvs to be of the ſame vocation.

NOthing can be ſo acceptable to a judicious Capacity, as naturall expreſſion; that is, to body out of matter with imaginary ſubſtance, to write (as it were) by inſpiration, to make real what Art but counterfeits, and with forc'd rapſody labours only to diſcover her imperfections. I ſtrove to be, (what others could but ſeem) a perfect Satyriſt. Cource Cynical diet ſowr'd my diſpoſition, bitter'd all my thoughts, by eating paſſage for my Gaul, to overflow my Heart: and Cuſtom ſetled my mind in affection of that, which before ſeem'd unnaturall to it. A Satyriſt hates only what he envies: 'twas formall in me to hate, and conſequent in ſenſe to envy: but whom to envy (unleſſe thoſe great ones [Page] which I did fear to hate ſatyrically) I knew not: therefore went by degrees to learn, what I was ſoon able to teach. Publick Walks, and Theaters I often haunted: for there Phantaſy might feed to ſurſeit: but on what? on Envy; which made me leaner then a Spaniſh Chandler. Gaudy rich Apparell cloth'd my young Thoughts, and after two Months ſpace, I could curſe Fortune as handſomly as a beggarly Souldier in his drink: ſurvey my worth (in compariſon of ſome rich Gallants) with vain-glorious partiality, gnaw my neather Lip at him, pitty my own poor Fate with an angry Paſſion: ſomtimes tire Melancholy with impoſſible ſuppoſitions; and in a ſerious Trance, ſtudy how to diſpoſe of thoſe revenews which belong to my imaginary Empire: wherein I am more liberal then drunken Prodigality: hurling (as it were) a Million, together with a courteous Nod, to him I n'ere convers'd withall but once; or elſe erect new Caſtles in the Air, and ſtrengthen their foundation with half an Hours perdurance longer then the former (that is) to give them life juſt till Dinner time: but then Hunger brought me to our Parlour-Table; where, when I beheld nothing but ſolid Beef, and tough Brawn (meer antipathies to thoſe various ſervices which would be equivalent with the ſtate of an Emperour) I could not but [Page] (humbling my ſelf) remember there was no ſuch matter: and ſo fall into a ſecond Melancholly, though leſſe pleaſing then the other.

Thoſe whom I firſt rail'd at, were Men of my own calling (Satyriſts) a new device, therefore likely to be approv'd of in this new World: wherein old waies are ſcorn'd; becauſe accuſtomary: though in the golden time, Cuſtom enjoy'd more able ſtrength then Law, was upheld by Superſtition, and might commend it ſelf without vain-glory. The chief motive that invited me to write againſt them, was their ignorant diſgracing of our profeſſion. Three flouriſh'd with vulgar approbation in my time: each of them publiſhing divers Satyrs: including ſtuffe, not worthy to be worn by our memory, unleſſe in deriſion. The firſt (who claims precendencie by previvation) ſtrove to excuſe his abſurd writing, by publiſhing a worſe fault (he was no Scholler): O impertinent diſcovery of what did moſt palpably diſcover it ſelf! what ridling Phyſick didſt thou miniſter to thy Fames health? for though the confeſſion of thy deficiencie, leſſen thy firſt defect in Catholique abſolution; yet thou haſt joynd a greater to it. Who but an Emperick would diminiſh in his Patient the torment of one Grief, by aggravating the Souls languiſhment with a ſecond [Page] diſeaſe? O thou Fool! thou Dunce! I fret as zealous of my calling, but never pitty thee, unleſſe when I conſider that Pitty yields no remedy.

The ſecond foyld off coorſe phraſe, and rugged Rime, with a ſawcy impudence: his ambitious Pen (made ſurely of an Eagles Quill) ſoar'd to reach the actions of great States-Men-Cynicall behaviour, and practiſing the rough, unfaſhionable rudiments of a Souldiers life, made him appear in our Plebeions apprehenſion (whoſe dull gueſſing judgments can only cenſure by the outſide) the thing which he had not wit enough to be. A Cur that barked like a Cur: unſenſible, what motiv'd his unſenſible Language: not able to expreſſe his weak faculties, but in that high Satyricall ſtrain, which did miſbecome it moſt: for he would be dumb two years, untill the untimely fall of ſome new born Family rais'd up his voice to kill quite their dying Fame. Cowardly Executioner! that durſt but deſtroy thoſe whoſe offences do condemn, and the State diſarm to ſuffer. But leave we thee too.

The Third is leſſe witty, but more ambitious in preferring his factious Spirit, to the eminent obſervation of our durty rabble: and by their encouragement, rears up his leaden Muſe to reach, what elſe dul weight might keep [Page] below a proper Patronage. His Childiſh Poems, and Mungrell Satyrs are his own Chronicle, and too much commend him; which as it is the cheapeſt Flattery, ſo 'tis the worſt. Many think he labour'd by it, to prevent the Readers labour: but I think it an unneceſſary care. Somtimes Fortune lends his dull apprehenſion Eies, to ſee his imperfections: occaſioning her blindneſſe as her puniſhment; and him a bad chance to ſucceed the pretence of a good omen, by beholding that defective which he cannot mend; no not excuſe, unleſſe in proclaiming to the World his Youth: an old trick, yet in faſhion ſtill with him. If thou haſt read his Satyr; which though proudly dedicated, is ſo poor in matter, ſo baſely obſequious for a reſolute offence; thou might'ſt perceive how his ſtrong weakneſſe inſults over a ſelf-conqueſt; how he asks too much pardon for that fault, which he doth not confeſſe himſelf guilty of, or elſe dares not. Somtimes he doth promiſcuouſly admire in himſelf a ſupernatural gift: ſaying, 'Tis wonderd how my youth ſo much corruption can diſcloſe. O preſuming confidence, and confident vain-glory! as if ought (worth admiration) could proceed from diſcloſing that, which is not hid from vulgar knowledge? beſides a ſquintEied Man may ſooner diſcern blindneſſe in another, then cure his own imperfections: yet [Page] this young inſpir'd Satyriſt (who is only skilful in the knowledge of what infects knowledge) doth catch the approbation of divers Gallants: but what are they? Souldiers of the Time, bigg Thigh'd Puffs, ſtronger in words then action, in Limbs then Judgement, in whom admiration is commendation, and Ignorance Father to the firſt: who apprehend meerly the Authors labour, on a Subject which might expreſſe wit▪ but cannot diſtinguiſh any.

CHAP. IX.

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NIM doth in particular exclaim againſt all thoſe Satyriſts who hide themſelves, yet publiſh their writings: ſhews Reaſons for ſo doing: with a trick that he hath bobs privately; delivers a briefe ſuperficiall Character of the Hollanders, and relates in what manner he ſpent part of his time in London, when attended on, by his man Bunge.

NOw though theſe Three did in publique preſent themſelves to our diſcovery; yet know we can diſcloſe thoſe Men too, that murmure in obſcure Corners: who are fearfull even of ſpeaking ſoftly; therefore proclaim to others a dumb ſilence in their own prattle: who whiſper with their Pens, and darkly bring their thoughts to light in Hieroglyphicall words, perſonating Men in the natures of Beaſts, whoſe names (literally or allegorically) doth ſympathize with theirs, whom they aime at. Some of them I hated, becauſe [Page] their Works (not ſo commonly extant as mine) took from the worth of mine; yet added not to their Fame: by reaſon they were loath to acknowledge thoſe Baſtards which their Muſe begot. Otherſome I could not hate, but pitty: becauſe they hated themſelves with ſufficient demonſtration in publiſhing their own folly: apply my meaning when thy labour is ill requited; by reading thoſe Verſes which ſo bitterly invegh'd againſt our King, his royall Paſtimes, and moſt judicious diſpoſure of his favour: but if a modeſt reverence (due to that ſacred Majeſtie) muſle thy Eies from beholding ſuch unnaturall blaſphemy; yet ſtrive to encourage thy revenge, by reading thoſe foppiſh ragged Lines; which ſome Iron-witted School-Boy, ſome Leaden-Sould-Puppy bark'd againſt him, whoſe compleat worth, and full deſert, prefer'd him to be his Favourite, that is ſtill conſtant in his politique choice. Or if thou wilt not tempt thy patience to ſuch a dangerous experiment, peruſe the ſenſe of that hypocriticall Satyr, which by way of prayer for the preſervation of his Soveraigns five ſenſes, moſt falſlyaccuſd every one, of a prepoſterous defect. Or if thy duty alſo be in love; and that love, blind to all ſuch Fame-murdering Libells: vouchſafe then to read the humble Petition of that ingenious Gentleman! that [Page] parlous wit! who to exceed in a new device; deliver'd it Queen Elizabeths Toomb, and anſwer'd it himſelfe: a neceſſary ſatisfaction, an unneceſſary requeſt; for he that talks to the dumb, muſt reply to his own ſpeech: beſides t'was more probable that the Stones would laugh, then ſpeake: for though Elizabeth's being there ſhould infuſe a contrary paſſion, yet his Jeaſt muſt needs make a Stone laugh; according to the Italian Proverb.

Well, henceforth be all your Lips ſowde up, burie your words (compoſ'd of ſuch unwholſome Breath) in your owne hollow Breaſts, leaſt they infect others. Let your Pens no more betray your thoughts: Nor do you by mimick lookes, ambiguous action with the Head, or politique geſture of the Body, ſeeme neutrally inclinde in your opinion concerning dangerous demaunds: for this Hypocriſie makes a Man a Stranger to his owne deſignes, like Time; ruins where it ſeaſeth: and is only good in that it rewards the uſer with deſtruction. Beſides if your owne particular weale cannot perſwade you to ſilence, yet let Charitie cauſe you to remember, the generall good of our Profeſſion: and how you have leſſend that eſtimation which the World held us in, by a Cowardly preſervation of your owne ſafeties; by a feare to diſcover your ſelves Authors of what privately [Page] you publiſh: but 'tis known, a Satyriſt ſhould uſher Action with more holdneſſe, than Reſolation can beget, when danger murders Feare. Impudence in a ſhrivd-Bawde doth not ſo confidently truſt to the helpe of equivocation, as he to the vallor of a factious Spirit. Holyzeale, and a care of his Country, are thoſe pretences wherwith he ſhould gull his owne Conſcience, and ſtrengthen his pure fame throughout the world: but your faint Courage argues Guilt, which you ſeeme privatly to confeſſe, as fearfull of a publique puniſhment: whilſt wee that are valiant, oppoſe our ſelves to ſuffer, what you craftily avoyd. Therefore I conjure you once more (by the paine of my correction) to be dumb hereafter; take heed: but eſpecially mutter not againſt him, whoſe fame is bullwark'd with my Soule, whoſe defence is my reputation▪ which I ſtrive to preſerve (unmaim'd) more for the love I owe his ſafety, then my owne Glory. Beſides your Envy, which when faſtned on others, ſhe ws pale and leane, will then anatomize it ſelfe, and appeare more deform'd, then your baſe diſhoneſty. But ſtay my deere Muſe do not in purſuit of an Enemy, runne thy ſelfe quite out of breath: or with the Caeleſtiall heat of true affection ſacrifize at once thy ſelfe to a friends acceptance. There is one more yet, eminent in thy Maſters hate, [Page] whom I diſcover for thy Conqueſt. Courage my Darling for thou muſt fly to Holland, where he lives that dulls our profit, with ſending hither little Pamphlets: which are new-years-guifts, for all thoſe turbulent Heads, who pry into the old yeares actions in hope of alteration. The Books are little worth; unleſſe value'd by the Stationer, who makes the Peoples fond eſtimation his gaine: and in that doth us a courteſie, for though comming from farr, make them more pleaſing to ignorant fancy, yet it makes them diſpleaſing to the Purſe: which being a thing neerer their love, and tie'd with their very Heart-ſtrings, cannot but prefer our cheape Bookes to the third degree of Compariſon. Some account them learned, but t'is in accuſation not in commendation: for Schollers (who have not long practiſ'd the Practique part of what they ſtudy) are naturally enclind to a prodigall utterance of ſuch deepe knowledge, as unprofitable Memory doth intrude into the company of Matter, which would expreſſe more Skill, with leſſe Art. It is a learned imperfection like▪I wot not what to call it: but they do ſtifle their meaning, by ſtriving with a multitude of Sentences to give it life: & thinking they can never make uſe of al which they have read; expreſſe their Schollerſhip with as much impertinencie, as want of [Page] Ignorance with palpabilitie. Beſides though his ſawcy treatiſes of our State, and Government are approv'd of by thoſe, that are faine to make Report a Tutor to their knowledge, that are meerly States-men by reading his Bookes. Yet others who get Experience in their high Offices, and abilitie to diſtinguiſh by their ſound learning, finde him unable to frame an Idea, of what he ſtrives really to compoſe much leſſe correct that, which Ignorance makes him dislike.

But returne wee now from Holland, leaſt the groſſe dull Ayre infect our Braines, the Boores our manners: ſo that we forget all the formall complement belonging to a new Book. They are a Nation that ſwimme in their owne profitable ſweat: that have found out what ſweet ſucceſſe depends on ſudden-Induſtry, therefore tire themſelves with▪ covetous▪ Labour, ſecurely to take reſt. Their faſhions are moſt uncivill, for did not a legall puniſhment curb their naturall diſpoſition, they would demonſtrate more Atheiſticall behaviour, then religious feare. They never fight but under the Banner of Bacchus, who having ſafely ſhrowded their Imagination in a Mote of Engliſh Beer, they can be deſperate not valiant. To call them Traytors were with blunt phraſe to conclude raſhely, what others with equivocating Arguments have tediouſly diſputed on, [Page] but never abſolutely agreed in arbitration▪ or rather poorely to require that ſawcy Language, which they utter againſt his ſacred Perſon, whom with love, and duty I equally adore. Their Government is a compoſ'd-confuſion of new Policy. Some think it an Oligarchie, ſome a Democracie, ſome between both. But ſure I am the Peoples Hearts rebell to attaine the firſt: though the ambition of rich Merchants labours for the ſecond, and compells them to live between both. I only grieve that our Gentlemen, Younger Brothers (who by comming a year lag of ſome nimble Fop into the World, come to ſoone to inherit Sorrow) ſhould lie Perdu in ſafeguard of ſuch Pedants, for three Shillings a Weeke: O penurious Neceſſitie! and neceſſarie Thrift! Who can Maintaine a Soul with ſo poore a ſtipend, for the love too of ſuch ingratefull Monſters, that peece up their pay with publique contempt, and privat fcoffs. I vow by the Spirit of a Nim, I had rather ceaſe to exſiſt. But I muſt come now to that, from which I have wander'd.

Full ſeaven Months did I labour by invective Songs to diſſect from the Body of my calling, unprofitable Members: ſuch who were meerly ſhapes of uneffectuall uſe, thereby thinking to enter into a publique Controverſie, with ſome one eminent in vulgar eſtimation, [Page] and too weake in faculties to withſtand my oppoſition: which had bin a choiſe way to have made my ſelfe famous in the World, and particular in all Mens notice▪ for he that diſcommends others, ſeemes to commend him ſelfe by a dumb-compariſon: and ſelfe-commendations the World will prie into, in expectation of ſome ſupernaturall guift, that may excuſe ſuch immodeſt Vaineglory. The publiſher of my Writings was my unfortunate Rogue Bunge, who preſeuted them to his old Maſters, as ſtolne from me▪ now whether they (unable to apprehend conceipt) neglected to divulge them abroad, or elſe (being divulg'd) None whom I challenged, durſt take exceptions; as fearfull to invire more Anger, I know not: but ſure I am they prov'd to me of no effect. One merry accident (occaſioned by theſe proceedings) I will not omit thy knovvledge.

CHAP. X.

[Page]

NIM being deſirous to make thee laugh, doth in this Chapter report a notable merry accident, which befellhis man Oliver Bunge.

A Certain young Gentlewoman (enrîcht with a compudent Portion by her diſceaſod Fathers Will) grew carnally acquainted with a wealthy Ward: one that did not long enjoy her to himſelf, becauſe he was not alwaies ſufficiently provided to pleaſe her inſatiable Appetite: for 'tis with Maids as with Tobacconiſts, who having once taſted in delight, what before with Pain they did avoid, they cannot live without it: which made her ſtray for freſh paſture. At laſt her Fancy lighted on a Drummer, whoſe name was Peel: a Fellow limm'd for prodigality in action: made to people Countries, to beget more Men, then the Plague devours. Her greedy Paſſion could not attend upon formality, or tedious Time, till Occaſion might preſent her with an accident that would excuſo her immodeſty, in diſcovering ſuch diſhoneſt Love: but boldly ſhe ſends for him to her Fathers Houſe, where firſt ſhe ſaw him (in the company of a Serving-man) [Page] and unfolds to him her mind, which he admir'd, and likld: ſo that the next Morning he ſtole her from her Friends, brought her to London, and married her. The ward hears of it, purſues them thither; and by a politique inquiſition found out their Lodging. Of late time ſhe had made his fooliſh dotage her mirth, wherefore now he entends ſhe ſhall be ſerved with the like Sawce: purpoſing to ſend her a Copy of Verſes, wherein he would bitterly deride, her & Peel the Drummer. Of theſe Verſes I became Author by this chance.

Bunge paſſing through Fleet-Street about my buſineſſe, met with an old Maſter of his, who accompany'd the Ward, and hath heretofore been: viſited with my Papers. After a little talk between them he acquainted him with what thou haſt read, deſir'd him that he would procure me to write ſome Verſes upon that ſubject, and bring them to the wards logding before night. Bunge preſently return'd home to tell me the Plot, on which I wrote thus.

(1)

Whore, wonder not I write to thee

In Verſe; like ſome lyrick Poet:

▪Tis 'cauſe thou haſt rejected me.

Yet thinkſt not, that I do know it:

[Page]But know, I know that thou art come;

To know Peel's Drum-ſtick, he thy Drum.

(2)

Perhaps thy Folly may admire

(Since heretofore my baſhfull mind

Did make me dumb) how I aſpire,

So ſoon to Thunder in this kind:

But know, I know that my great wrong

Would make him ſpeak that had no Tongue.

(3)

With fierce Alarum you intend

To ſummon every Senſe to come

Before this bawdy Night ſhall end

Trembling full faint about thy drum:

As how? I know not, but in this

They gueſſe aright, that gueſſe amiſſe.

(4)

Peel will ſuppoſe thy skin is tough

And his Stick too weak to break it

Unleſſe his blow be too too rough,

As gladly ſo thou wouldſt beſpeak it.

But (alas) 'tis plaid upon, and worn

By three Drum-ſticks beſides my own.

(5)

Not till Plagues are hot in houſe, & field,

Till all men die, do thou accord

[Page]With him; to venture for a Child,

'Cauſe whores Iſſues are ſo abhor'd

That 'twere not fit the Brat ſhould meet

A Swadling-Clout, but Winding-Sheet.

(6)

Give Peel the Lie; thou mangy Drab,

Not that I deign with him to fight,

But 'cauſe the Lie deſerues the Stab,

Which to receive it thy delight.

Now wonder not I ſing ſo hoarce what thou haſt read,

For, whore, thou knouſt that thou haſt had my Maiden-head.

Theſe being fairly written; Bunge convey'd unto the young wards Lodging, who was privately inform'd, that the Drummer, and his Wife knew of his being in Town, therefore (to avoid his company) chang'd their aboade: but whither went they? even into Turnball-Street: juſt the politique ſhift of a poor Souldier, whoſe neceſſity is ſo well accommodated, with convenient aſſiſtance, to raiſe him to the height of a good Fortune, that he often falls in climing, but ſo low, as he can never reach it again. The Houſe was polluted with a bawdy Tenant: whoſe acquaintance my Drummer bought dearly on a Saturday Night: reeling into the Door with a conſort [Page] of baſe Companions. His love-ſick Wife was eaſily perſwaded to believe the Rawd his Mothers own Siſter: and the place very convenient to conceal this ſtoln Marriage. Now thoſe who before enform'd the ward of their firſt lodging, dogg'd them alſo to this, and preſently brought him word, in what a ſtately Palace the poor Drummer entertain'd her. Out of a politique prodigalitie he gave Bunge three Pounds for the Verſes: thinking to buy a gratitude ſo potent in him, that he ſhould ſuppoſe no ſecond ſervice full in requitall, no though he ventured a beating by it. So whilſt the Gentleman (Bungs old Maſter) entertain'd him with impertient diſcourſe, the ward enclos'd the Verſes in an other Paper, which he ſeal'd and ſuperſcrib'd in the true name of his quondam Miſtreſſe, lodging at the Sign of Sun and Moon in Turnball-Street: knowing, though Bunge had heard of the name of Peel, yet with hers he was wholly unacquainted: beſides to prevent all motives of ſuſpition, he gave it him in private; ſaying, we are all mortall, Fleſh and Blood: Young men muſt be tamed when they are luſty. I am now ſick of too much health, but that ſuperſcription wil direct thee to a shee Galon, one that will purge the Body of all rampant humours: wholſom ſhe is, though poor. My own Man is a Country-Cockney, never [Page] came within the ſmell of a City, never ſaw the Cities Face; much leſſe the ſecret parts of it, therefore is unfit to be employ'd in this buſineſſe. Now if thou wilt go, and bring her to me, by the virtue of that Letter, I ſhall exceed in a gratuity: but make haſte back, for you muſt preſently alſo aſſiſt us in the delivery of our Verſes. The Rogue Bunge ſuſpected nothing, but did impudently ſteal a modeſt laughter: turn'd aſide, not as if he were aſhamed of what he heard, but of what he was about to ſpeak: Quoth he (as though loſt in complement) O Lord Sir! you ſhall not need to take care for that neceſſarie implement: I'le provide one againſt Night; but not out of Turnball-Street: that place cannot afford a Creature worthy your Worſhips embraces. The ward was glad that he inſiſted in ſtrengthning a miſtake, thank'd him for his kindneſſe, and ſaid he would uſe none but her: he knew ſhe was wholſome, but many of your brave, glorious whores are like Tedula Quinces; the fairer on the outſide, the rotner within. Bunge being greedy of ſudden imployment, took his leave, well ſatisfied with that reply.

He vvas no ſooner come vvithin the reach of their Tongues, vvho border in that hot Continent: but every one (as their faſhion is) lured him into their Kennell, there to coole [Page] him according to a Philoſophicall rule, Heat expells Heat. The Sunne attracts not Cloudes faſter then theſe Whores Paſſengers: in vvhom Beauty dravves corruption to defile it ſelfe. Bunge needed not enquire for the ſigne of the Sunne and Moone, becauſe the properties of both (heate and inconſtancie) did poſſeſſe a Wench, which ſtood in the ſame Doore: and thinking that he was ſome ſtarved Cuſtomer, enticed him to enter: vvhilſt his Eies looking on the ſigne; found it expedient her requeſt ſhould be accompliſhed.

After two Oathes ſworne in defiance of her ſecret-parts, and three Buſſes given in ſatisfaction for ſuch honeſt unkindneſſe; he enquires for that Gentlewoman, to whom his Letter was directed. The Whore being wholly unperfect in the knowledg of her Name, did expreſſe (by a forgetfull admiration, or an inquiſitive forgetfullneſſe) ſmall acquaintance; and that very young to: wherefore Bunge thought the Gentlewoman to be a wanton Country Wench, but not yet of reſidence long enough to know the Frenchdiſeaſe: a rare ignorance! which made his Appetite reſolve to taſte her, before him, that ſent him to her. Up Staires he mounted, and the Wench led him through a Labyrinth of darke Cloſſers: which the Workman ſeem'd ſubtitly to hide from his owne diſcovery: or [Page] from every Eie, as aſhamed to acknowledge the making of ſuch ſinfull Cabinets; where aged. Beds oppoſe each other in envious ſeituation. Having (I ſay) paſſed this reall Purgatory, ſhe directed him to a Chamber; wherein he entered, and found the Drummer, and his Laſſe warming the Fire. Beleeve it Reader, even ſo: for though the Fire would not warme them, they ſat by it to keepe away the Winde, or to encloſe the heate to a narrow diſperſion, that ſo it might reflect upon it ſelfe. Though t'is a queſtion whether there were any Fire at all? for Bunge ſvvore he could not diſcerne enough to warme his Eies. Which makes me think ſhe was enflamed with burning Love, that for his ſake could be content of ſuch cold entertainment.

Bunge liked her face well, but ſuppoſ'd the Drummer to be ſome learned Pander; that ſat expounding to her, the myſtery of that calling. When he ſtep'd in, they both ſtood up (an uſuall complement at the firſt ſight of Strangers) and gazeing upon one another with ſpeaking Eies; did (as it were) dumbly aſke, whether he vvere knowne to either? vvhilſt he took her aſide and kiſſ'd her. The Drummer did not like that, yet durſt not expreſſe anger, leſt a Quarrell might call up the Bawde, and Whores; ſo conſequently, his Wife diſcover the conditions of the Houſe, [Page] who was yet ignorant of them. But this his ſufferance did turne Bunge's likely conjecture (that ſhe was a Country Whore) into a ſtrong beliefe: for now he convayes her with an intreated force, and the mentioning of a Letter, into the next Chamber: Peeles creepes after them in ſearch of the event, and faſtening his Eie in a Key-hole; perceaved Bunge labouring to make him Cuckold: whilſt the Gentlewoman oppoſ'd his deſires, more with a new wonder, then an old defence, as ſhreekes, or loud acclamations.

The Souldier loſt his Patience, but with a conſidering. Eie found it againe: yet ſo thredbare that he ſcorn'd to weare it. Therefore through the Dores he went: demanding him, how he durſt offer his Perſon that diſgrace? Bunge knew no ſafer anſwer then a deniall: & ſuppoſ'd by theſe proceedings that Peele was ſome blunt Gentleman, who had lately undertaken to be her Lover. Therefore he deprives his Pocket of the Letter, and gave it her: telling him, how he knew the Gentlewoman would acknowledge him better wellcome, when ſhe had read that.

Thus whilſt he retyr'd him ſelfe aſſide, in conſideration how he might enjoy her Body, they unſealed the Letter: found that blanke, but the Paper therein encloſed, fill'd with Verſes. Peele being loath to degenerat from [Page] his Brethren of the Sword (who in this kind love to expreſſe more will, then they can abilitie) undertooke to read them: but indeed could not in any reaſonable time. And ſpying his own name by chance, was greedy to underſtand the cauſe of its being there, reſolving to tickle Bunge below, becauſe after her help was joyn'd to his, he deſcried the wrong, and entreated her to ſtay there: leaſt Bunge (urging the baſe cuſtom of the Houſe for his excuſe) might diſgrace him for bringing her to ſuch a Lodging. But ſhe, poore Soul, was willing to be commanded, whilſt Bunge at his entreaty, and promiſe to anſwer the Letter, walks with him downe the Staires. Having deſcended one Paire, Bunge entreated him to diſpatch the Letter in the next Chamber: in the meane time he would goe up, and diſcourſe with her about it: for he remembred now he was ſo commanded by the Gentleman that ſent him. Peeles fingers itch'd to be at his face: but the Roome being towards the Street, agreed not with that purpoſe. Therefore he entreated him to viſit the Celler: where (quoth he) having drunke a Health to the Gentleman, you ſhall goe up and commit your pleaſure. The phraſe lik'd him well; ſo down they went. Juſt upon their entring into the Seller Dore, [Page] Bung deſired to be acquainted with his name that he might tell the VVard to whom he was ſo much beholding. He anſwered, his name was Peel, by profeſſion a poor Drummer: at wch Bung ſtep'd back whilſt his Breech made as many Buttons, as he thought to have broke with drinking. His reſcue (which moſt commonly conſiſted in the dexterity of his Heels) was barr'd from him by Five ſtrong Dores. Therefore he pulls up his Spirits, even unto his Tongue: thinking to fright the Drummer with big words.

Juſt in ſuch a Celler as this (quoth he) this—let me ſee a little—I, in ſuch a one as this, did my weak Arm beat Nine Rogues; that would needs enforce me to pledg my Enemies Health. The Drummer thought that a fearfull Ly, and preſently ſaluted him with a Box upon the Ear, ſeconded that with another; which fell'd him to the Ground, and there kikt him. Bung ſcorned to reſiſt, but cryed Murder! murder! help ho! help! The Bawd came thundering down with a brace of Whores, to know what the matter was. Peel having acquainted them with the cauſe that motiv'd this revenge, they all cryed out, Geld the Rogue, geld the Canniball. Bung applies himſelf once more to be reſcu'd by an old Friend (his Tongue) and beggs mercy [Page] from them, ſwearing he knew not thoſe Verſes were incloſed in the Paper, which pacified the Whores: who brought him up to the Street dore, and thruſting him out, did ſhut it after him. Homewards he creeps with his Face muffled in his Cloak. Beating he did never greatly love: therefore wholly dedicates his Studies, how to revenge himſelf on the young Ward, and Peel the Drummer, which afterwards he did: but Preſerve the manner how to be related in the next Chapter.

CHAP. XI.

[Page]

NIM takes occaſion to preſent thy acceptance with a Character of a Whore: and hath graced his expreſſion, by the relation of Bung's moſt witty revenge.

IN our way of relating Bung's revenge, I hold it requiſte to paſſe through Turnbal-Street: and there admire (Cuſtom) which is to be ignorant in Folly: Not like a handſome Novice: who walks by with his Eies faſtned on his Back; prying careleſly who looks upon him? who beckens him in? if no body ſupplies that expectation, then he begins to hate his own Face, to diſcommend what before he prais'd, as purpoſing to ſell, like the poor Stallion, his maſculine beauty. No Reader; I intend to pick out from the whole rable a Whore: and prefer her in a Character to thy immaginary view. If thou affect my deſcription, thou wilt loath her: ſuch a ſtrange Antipathie bears it with its own ſenſe, having (indeed) choſen a Subject that infects wit. Suppoſe where ſhe ſtands in a Red-Waſtcot, that [Page] is more out of faſhion then her Face, which was made fifty years before it. No doubt ſhe hath worn a Gown too: but that was when the ſale of her Beauty could return the coſt of it into the Bawds Purſe. Talk with her, and ſhe will bring thee into an ignorant Jealouſie, or a Jealous ſuſpence; who was thy Father? For ſhe ſlanders all Women, to make her ſelf appear leſſe common in compariſon: and uſually in ſuch ambiguous phraſe, which effeminiſh policy affords: as thus. It may be ſhe is, it may be ſhe is not: but alas, alas, I know what I know, i faith, yet will accuſe no body.

She is afraid to go to Church, leaſt the Sermon might convert her: and hates the Story of a decayed Whore, becauſe ſhe affects not melancholly. Her Breath is ſtrong enough to overcome thy ſenſe of ſmelling, and hath already ſcorch'd up her Noſe: which to obſcure, ſhe wears before it a green Curtain. Being naked, ſhe ſeems an intire Scabbe; a great proportionable Boyle: and her Clothes being on her, look like plaiſters, yet this is ſhe who heretofore did mince a ſtolne pace as if ſhe ſcorn'd Motion: whom Pride did become as a full Oath doth a deſperate Gallant: that fichew'd with a degenerate poſture of the Chinne: tripp'd on her agill Toes like a Kibeheel'd-Fairie: that ſhreek'd at the drawing of [Page] a Knife: ſwoonded at the ſight of fat Meat: that affected ſingularity in gracefull Oathes, clipp'd the Kings Engliſh: and ſeemed ignorant how rightly to call that, which wantonly ſhe nicknam'd. Ogiddy-Headed Time! that doſt ſo delight in alteration: that haſt changed the ſhape of a glorious, handſome Curtezan, into the ſubſtance of a Fulſome, naſty, ſtinking Whore.

But now let our relation purſue Bunge: who within an Hour after he was beaten, return'd unto the VVard's Lodging: finding him at his arrivall tickled with a mad Laughter: whilſt he carried himſelf as altogether unſenſible of any beating, and demands what motiv'd that mirth. The VVard miſtaking the diſſimulation, changed his Humour into a ſadder: asking whether he had delivered the Letter to his Miſtreſſe? no (quoth Bung) ſhe was gone forth to Supper, in the company of a certain Sweet-Heart: but I left it with the Bawde: who told me ſhe was to meet them at Eight of the Clock in Old Exchange, and then ſhe would deliver it. The VVard ſuppos'd all this was true: but griev'd that the Verſes were ſo inſucceſſively left in Peel's Lodging: yet in expectation of ſome accidentall merriment, he commanded him to meet him likewiſe in the Exchange [Page] at the appointed Hour. Bung (promiſing to accompliſh his deſires) tooke his leave, and went to a Taverne, whoſe backDore enters into Turnball-Street: where he wrote a Note to Peele, and ſent it by a Drawer; accompanied with a Gallon of Sack. The Contents of which, deſired his Friendſhip, and that by the Vertue of the Wine, he might be licenſed preſently to ſpeak with him, where they would adviſe in compoſing of a Plot, how to be revenged upon the VVard.

Peel having received the Letter, and the [...] preſent, return'd him word, he was ſorrie for what was paſt, and greatly deſir'd that he would preſently come thither, to receive part of the Wine, and part of ſatisfaction. Bung was glad his Plot did thrive ſo well, went thither; and having made Peele promiſe that he would be in the Exchange about Eight of the Clock (to beat the VVard) he runnes to the Poultry-Counter: where he did Fee a brace of Serjeants to attend Peel in Cheap▪ Side, that as he came back from the Exchange, they might areſt him upon an Action of Battery.

The Hour of meeting was now at hand, and Bung arrived there firſt. But preſently after him, marched in the VVard, accompanied [Page] onely with the Gentleman, (of whom we have ſpoken heretofore) who came thither purpoſely to ſee the new married couple. Our revengefull-Polititian perceiv'd now a groſſe overſight, in the firſt contrivement of this geere. For whocan ſuppoſe the VVard would come thither alone? or that having another Gentleman with him, he was not able to reſtore more Blowes, then Peel could give. Therefore their Backs being turn'd, Bung ſteales out of the next Gate, and runnes almoſt as farre as Paules in ſearch of a Porter. At laſt hee hired one to flie to the Exchange, and entreat the Gentleman (relating to him his name, and faſhion of Apparell) to come preſently to the Queene's-Armes by Holborn-Bridge: for there (quoth he) you muſt ſay his Brother is arriv'd very ſick. The Porter delivered his errand effectually▪ and the Gentleman (without inquiring who ſent that meſsage) did take a haſty Farewell of the VVard. Bung returnes thither again, and finding him walking alone, went to him. By and by in comes Peel, and ſuddenly ſpyed that Face, which his Fiſt did intend to batter: not doubting but Bung (according as he had promiſed) would aſſiſt him in the aſſault.

The firſt Blow that he beſtowed upon the [Page] VVard, did ſo ſtagger him, that for the preſent he was unable to reſiſt. But Bung (taking a Key out of his Pocket) rewarded Peeles Pate with a prodigall recompence: and in the mean time the VVard recovered ſtrength enough, to be his own Avenger. Peele felt himſelf betray'd to the mercy of two mercileſſe Men: but ſtood yet ſtiffe to his tackling, being moſt pittifully maul'd with Bung's Key: who did not forget (neither) to lend ſome Seaven or Eight blowes with it, unto the VVards face: the which he delivered ſo cunningly, that the VVard thought they came from Peel; and cry'd out murder! ſwearing how Peele fought with a Smith's Hammer. He replies again (with a lowd voice) that it is nothing but a trick to excuſe his own treacherie: for I my ſelf (quoth he) have received Thirteen blowes, able to kill an Oxe. The people now came thronging on to part the Combatants. Peel being loath to be brought in publique examination, ſtole ſecretly away. The VVards Beaver Hat (bordered with Pearle, and adorn'd with a rich Hatband) lay upon the Ground: which Bunge (feeling with his Foot, and favour'd by the dark time of Night) convey'd into his Codpiſſe. The owner inquires diligently for it, and Bung [Page] ſeemes more diligent in the recovery: having borrowed a Light of one that ſtood by him purpoſely to ſeek it, or rather to darken the appearance of his own hypocritical Theft, at laſt proclaims it to be loſt. Thus whilſt controverſies are here decided by a buſie multitude, the poor Drummer (walking homewards) was arreſted, and carried to the Countor. A while after the Ward, and Bung were licenſed to go home to their Lodgings: for the Conſtable (whom this hurly-burly drew thither) was contented (ſince the Offenſive party could not be found) to commit a wonder, by ſtanding to reaſon. And our Ward in complementall gratulation, went home bare-headed.

The next Morning Bang's appearance was ſummon'd to anſwer that arreſt which was ſerv'd on Peele. He prepares himſelf to prove it warrantable, but thirſting for a more full revenge, he entrears an old Friend (who was a meer ſtranger in London) to enter an Action of Debt againſt him (in ſome unknown name) for Twelve Hundred pounds; which the Knave perform'd, and within an Hour after, departed from the City. Peel was clear'd of the firſt Action by asking Bung forgiveneſſe: who bought that honour with Four Shillings beſtow'd upon a Juſtices [Page] Clerk. The ſecond kept ▪him in the Counter Five daies: untill at laſt (having no Adverſarie to declare againſt him in the Court) he got his liberty: though he had payed ſoundly for being a Priſoner. What became of him and his Wife afterwards, I know not. But the Wards Face did almoſt enrich a Surgeon: for Bung's Key had batter'd it into ſuch an ugly form, that it ſeem'd ever after a Bugg-bear to his own affection.

CHAP. XII

[Page]

NIM complaines of Bungs villanous ſervice, intends to be rid of him; declares what himſelfe hath ſpent ſince he came to London. And diſcourſes moſt wittily upon a Booke of his, called; An invective againſt the Plebeians, and Cittyzens of London.

Though my Man Bunge was poſſeſt with a ſudden Wit, and enrich'd with all thoſe qualities that compoſe a perfect Sharke: yet Cuſtome did operat ſo potently in him, that he could not chooſe but coſen himſelf: which doth impertinently marr thoſe parts, that were bad enough before. He perſwaded himſelf how I loved to be cheated of my Mony. O credulous Confidence! can beleif faſten on that which Suppoſition cannot reach? t'is ſtrange: unleſſe he ſtrove to make himſelfe famous by being ſingular in a new Opinion. One morning he preſented me with a counterfeit Hat-band: verily beleeving that I would pay him forty Shillings for it. I miſliked the price before I knew the qualitie of the Stuffe; carried it to a Goldſmiths, who [Page] being aſked whether it was worth ſo much, laugh'd, and told me it was Copper. Then I return'd home againe, and demanded him, wherefore he went about to cheat me? but he enquir'd, of what? I anſwered, of Forty Shillings. Forty Shillings (ſay'd he)? that's Money. Money! (replied I) what of that? Mary (quoth he) for money I'le cheate my owne Father if I can. A gracious Sonne! but ſurely his Father begot him by ſtealth, whilſt the Servants coming ſcar'd him in the Action, for he was both a Thiefe, and a Coward. When I firſt entertained him▪ (perceaving me a Stranger in the knowledge of our City faſhions) he told me, that to let him goe in Cloaks linde with Velvet, would be much for my credit. I thankt him heartily for his care, but in the performance appeared an Heretique. Such like tricks as theſe made me reſolve to part with him the next Quarter Day. And t'was a tardy remedy: for to tell thee the plaine truth, I had by this time (being juſt Ten Months ſince I came to London) conſumed Six ſcore Poundes of my Eſtate; ſo there remained but Sixty Pounds behind: which conſiſted in the reſidue of thoſe Jewels, that were yet unſolde. And all this proceeded through▪ the prodigall directions of that damnable Rogue. Perhaps thou wilt admire [Page] (conſidering my Purſe was ſo ſhallow) how I could take ſo much out of it, yet never feel the Bottom, never call to mind that I dip'd not my Hand into a Fountaine. T'is true indeed, it could not ever flow, but my Hopes guided me to a flood: ſuch a one as Jupiter made, when he ſhowred down Gold to Danae. It encompaſt a certaine Caſtle; which I had built in the Aire: whoſe foundation was layd upon a little Book (then newly finiſhed) thinking it would have made me rich, both in Credit, and Money. But when conjectures came to the triall, the Stationer durſt not buy it, alledging that I was not publiquely knovvn to the World, and how t'is the Authors name which makes a Book ſell, not the vvorth of it. Then I anſwered; if it were printed, I ſhould ſoone be famous, and I vvas alſo contented to honor him vvith my Maydenhead. But (quoth he) I am not contented to be ſo honored. I doe not love to hoyſt any. Man high, with my own Purſe-Strings, or stoop to lift another up.

This Book vvas intituled An invective againſt the Cittyzens, and Plebeians of London. It treated of Plebeians firſt by reaſon of the humble courſe of my proceedings: becauſe I ever obſerved to aſcend by degrees. Beſides, Judgment being once ſtrengthned for ambitious [Page] Study, with the knowledge of materiall matter, eaſily climes to apprehend, vvhat othervvays had binne above its reach. I could not chooſe but think this Booke vvould proſper, becauſe the Subject ſavour'd of Divinitie: being made to ſuppreſſe uncivill commotions in the one, and in the other covetous abuſes.

The Blebeians did then much trouble the State, with inſolent behaviour. For Embaſſadors (paſſing through the Streets) were rudely interrupted, pointed, and laugh'd at in ignominious contempt, beſeig'd in their Houſes, and founde no Sanctuarie in their Offices: but were almoſt fain to beg a life of them, who (irrationably) under vale wed it in themſelves. Theſe outrages were moſt commonly committed by the baſeſt me chanicall ſont: who ſtilde themſelves Apprentices to attract more company. When they were once ſallied forth; they needed no encouragement to Action, for a raſh ſelfe will did make them blind to all impediments. Unleſſe thou wilt ſuppoſe a couple ſcaling up a Wall, whilſt another, that ſtands cloſe beneath them (perceaving they have got the generall applauſe, and himſelfe to be idle, becauſe no Brick-layer) ſerves them with this flattering encouragement, Well done Iack, well [Page] done Dick: by'th Maſſe, you are no Cowards: you care not two Strawes for King, nor Kings Mate.

Now ſome diſcontented Foreigners gave out, theſe Mutinies did continually revive, by the wilfull permiſſion of our City-Senators: whoſe actions reliſh much of Popular inclination. For Authoritie, or Wealth (being but fortunatly atchieved) cannot alter the conſtitution of the Blood. Yet howſoever my cenſure is more charitable: nor can any man ſuppoſe them faulty, but in a fearſull connivencie at the execution of ſtrict Statutes. Conſidering (likewiſe) they muſt neceſſarily have compell'd them, to be under the diſpoſure of the Law, before effectuall ſentence could paſſe upon them. And is there any thing more dangerous then to encounter with armed-Rebellion? eſpecially where the Adverſarie is animated with the hope of ineſtimable Pillage? no ſurely. But me thinkes I heare it alledg'd, how divers were caught, yet went unpuniſhed: to which I am loſt in a reply. For though exemplarie-puniſhment hath ſomewhat in it that is unjuſt, and in particular to the prejudice of ſome: yet t'is recompenced by the generall good of the whole. To deliver a Character of this monſter multitude, were but obſcurely to repreſent unto thy [Page] view, what themſelves (unwilling to hide their own defect) doe manifeſtly diſcover. Notwithſtanding, ſomething we will ſay of them.

They are parlous in their owne vocations: and proud of that ſkill which is gotten meerely by uſe, laughing at other Men with a kind of pittyfull-diſreſpect; becauſe they are not cunning in a Facultie, which is (indeed) below the deſire of knowledge. They account the Nobilitie, and Gentry, but as ſuperficiall Creatures: Men that cannot by managing a Saw or Mattock repleniſh a Double-Jugg. No nor maintaine life by ſlight of hand. They hold Schollers to be (as it were) Bl'oxford Men: unneceſſary-Gutts, that ſtudy only to grow hungry: and when they are hungry, will devoure a plaguy deale of Meate, or ſo. They runne headlong to a boiſterous Action, as though affray'd leſt Conſideration might overtake them before they have begunne it. But having once begunne, they ſcorne to deſiſt, untill the old ſaying be verified. Every beginning muſt have an ending. They are the Children of Report, compoſ'd of newes: and fed with the noyce of alteration. Ten yeares Peace doth make Coyne inviſible amongſt them, ſo that they forget the [Page] faſhion of a Shilling. Ten yeares Warrs makes them call Gold, Durt, and give it the defiance. But now their Swords have binne long ruſty, for want of Spaniſh-Throates to ſcowre them. They ſeeme moſt learned in Viſiognimie, and make of their Confidence a Perſpective, through which they can beholde a great Mans Heart, ſcituated in his Face: nay though he be a Coward, and have none at all. When they are ſick, they eſteeme the World to be a Buble, a tranſitorie thing, and all men mortall. They dye of the ſame Religion that the King profeſſes:

CHAP. XIII

[Page]

NIM rips open the Hearts of Cittyzens, condemns them juſtly. Builds another Caſtle in the Ayre; and relates the pretie faſhion of it.

LOndon was at that time poſſeſt with more ſeverall Humors, than Action could invent ways to expreſſe them in. High affaires ſeemed to ſucceed diverſly in effect: as though manadg'd by ſundry inclinations. And opulent Cittyzens drew much complementall obſervance from the Nobilitie. I held always an envious Antipathy with the Sonnes of Fortune: therefore in that Booke accuſed them of divers enormities: which if I ſhould here re-iterate I might be thought ſatyricall. Although my entent (by this Booke) is to deſtroy that Humor in others. Wherefore thou ſhalt only participate of this my Deſcription. They are exceeding covetous; and the Sinne is in them ſo naturall, ſo doatingly affected, that they neglect all [Page] modeſt forme to hide it from a publique obſervation: excuſing it to their Conſciences with a fearfull probabilitie of Warr. They never feele eaſe, but in Labour and trouble. Thoſe that are rich ſtrive to Gentilize their Female Of-ſpring: but evermore pay for that ambition. As Wealth exalts them into Office, ſo they diſcharge it with their Purſes, not with their Braines. Authoritie (though in a low degree) heaves their Heartes into their Mouthes: for they will vent their Thoughts, as if their Lips were opened by a Priveledge: peruſing the actions of the King with a ſawcy-comment, and diſcover a great deſire to mould his Affection in their owne diſpoſure: though (indeed) they weigh worth, like Gold, in a payer of Scales: where the lighteſt peece aſcends, but the heavieſt (which is the beſt) remaines below. The politique reaſon why they love Peace, is, becauſe they hate to buy a Warr. They deſpiſe Warr becauſe t'is good ſleeping in a whole Skinne. Beſides they are not valiant, even to the Fourth degree of Compariſon, (that is desperate); for they weare their Hearts in their Purſſes, like Cowards, who going to fight, carrie their Ranſoms in their Pockets. They [Page] alwayes profeſſe themſelves poore, becauſe t'is a chargeable-glory to be rich in the Kings Bookes. Their Religion is weake in effect, and ſtrong in forme: depending much on Cuſtome, more on Superſtition, and moſt of all on Zeale. But t'is a politique Zeale: ſuch as preſerves Government more then Religion. Or rather an exemplarie Zeale; that doth beget, and warme Faith in others, but heates not their owne Soules. Now though our opinion is more logically maintain'd; in that we do not argue from particulars, but make a generall accuſation: yet know (Reader) there have binne many Cittizens, whoſe Virtue lends ſome luſture to their poſteritie. Notwithſtanding I averr the Virtue of a good Cittizen, differeth very much from the Virtue of a good Man. For the one uſeth all virtues agreeable with a pure godly life: the other obſerves only the Lawes, which were made to preſerve civill commoditie.

But t'is time now that I returne unto my ſelfe. One Morning (lying in the Bed) I fell deeply to conſider, how I migh accrue profit by the diſburſment of my Ffty Poundes. At laſt (according to my old Cuſtome) I built another Caſtle in [Page] the Aire: laying the Foundation on my Face, and proper Perſon. But the ſubſtance of it, was to furniſh my ſelf with rich Apparell: and afterwards aſſault the diſpoſition of ſome Wealthy Lady. For my Man Bung had often told me, that divers Gentlemen (whom he knew) were bravely maintained by their Miſtreſſes. O ſuch fruitfull Land did I deſire to till! which makes Labour a delightfull ſport, and requites eaſe with Gold. As for Divinity, I would not think on it, leſt it ſhould make me melancholy. Beſides (like a damn'd Rogue) I held Whoredome to be the holieſt Sinne that is: becauſe Repentance ceaſeth on the Heart, preſently after it is committed.

Now, art thou ſtrangely deſirous to know the manner of my proceedings? to underſtand in what kind I did ſhape this purpoſed adventure? I'le tell thee: but firſt prepare to admire my Capacity, for thy knowledge never owned ſuch a parlous Plot before. Which was, that I ſhould go to ſee a Play in Black-Fryars: and there (by all neceſſary conſequences, or rather inſpired aſſurance) ſome rich Lady would caſt her Eie on me, and the ſame night me on her. Be not thou aſtoniſh'd [Page] Reader, neither ſuppoſe it impoſſible that Nature can be ſo opulent, or he that is mortall, poſſeſſe ſuch a ſtrong Brain. For (alaſs Man!) heretofore I was as full of theſe learned-Stratagems, as an Egge is full of meat.

Fifty Pounds accoutred me from Top to Toe: having been very thrifty in laying out my Money, and carefull to refuſe Bunges advice, for he brought me a Taylor, whom Cuſtome had made to ſteale from himſelf. A Slave that the Devill durſt not truſt with his old Clothes; no, though he might gaine his Soul in lue of the Theft.

Thus like a true Engliſh-man (who wears his Mother too much in his Apparell) I enter'd the Theater, and ſat upon the Stage: making low Congies to divers Gentlemen; not that I knew them, but I was confident, they would requite me in the ſame kinde: which made the Spectators ſuppoſe us of very olde, and familiar acquaintance. Beſides (that I might appear no Novice) I obſerv'd all faſhionable Cuſtomes; As delivering my Sute to a more apparant view, by hanging the Cloak upon one Shoulder: or leting it fall (as it were) by chance. I ſtood [Page] up alſo at the end of every Act, to ſalute thoſe, whom I never ſaw before. Two Acts were finiſhed before I could diſcover any thing, either for my Comfort then, or worth my relation now. Unleſſe it were punycall abſurdity in a Country-Gentleman: who was ſo caught with the naturall action of a Youth (that repreſented a raviſh'd Lady) as he ſwore alowd, he would not ſleep untill he had killed her raviſher: and how 'twas not fit ſuch Rogues ſhould live in a Commonwealth. This made me laugh, but not merry.

Anon after, I ſpied a Gentlewomans Eie, fix'd full upon me. Hope and Deſpaire threw me into ſuch Diſtractions, that I was about to bid a Boy (who perſonated Cupid in the Play) to ſhoot at her with his counterfeit Arrow. But ſhe preſently diſclaimed me her Object: and with the like inconſtancy gaz'd upon another. About the beginning of the Fourth Act, my Face withſtood a freſh encounter, given me by a Ladies Eie, whoſe Seate oppoſed mine. She look'd ſtedfaſt on me, till the Play ended; ſeeming to ſurvey my Limbs with amorous curioſity: whilſt I advanced them all, to encounter [Page] her approbation. A great deſire I had to ſee her Face: which ſhe diſcovered, by unmaſquing it to take her leave of a Gentleman. But if ever I beheld one ſo illfavour'd? do thou abhorre my Book. She look'd like December, in the midſt of April, old and crabbed in her Youth. Her Noſe ſtood towards the South-Eaſt point: and Snot had fretted a prepoſtrous Channell in the moſt remote corner of her Lip. Sure ſhe was chaſt, chaſt becauſe deformed: and her deformitic (repugnant to the common courſe of Nature) might beget that Chaſtitie: but in whom? in others, not in her ſelf; unleſſe Neceſſitie did force it. For no doubt ſhe would be as leacherous as the Mountaine-Goate, had not Natures qualmiſhneſſe proved a ſtrong contradiction to her deſire: who heaved the Gorge, at her imperfect perfecting: therefore had no Stomach to make a Man fitting her embracements. Yet ſhe wore Jewells, for the which I could willingly have kiſs'd her in the dark. And perhaps too (by guilded provocation) ſupplied the Office of a Husband.

Her uglineſſe made me ſuppoſe that nothing could be too baſe for her acceptance: therefore I (following her [Page] down the Staires) reſolved to diſcover a good-will to her, either by a wanton geſture of my Body, or whiſpering in her Ear juſt as ſhe came forth into the Street, (her Uſher being ſtep'd aſide to complement with parting Company) I proffer'd my ſervice to attend her home, if ſhe miſſed any of her Friends. She ſuſpecting that I thought her to be a Whore, told me aloud I was much miſtaken. Her Brother (unknown to me) ſtood behind us, and asked her; what the matter was? M'arry, (quoth ſhe) this Gentleman takes me for ſome common Creature. He with all violent dexterity ſtrucke me on the Face; and afterwards went about to draw his Sword. But I ſlunk through the preſſe of people, and very tamely conveied my ſelfe home. My Man Bunge (who attended there all the Play-time, to ſave charges) ſaw this: and heard the Young-Gallant ſwear (after I was gone) if ever he met me, he would make my Heart the Scabbard of his Sword. Theſe woful tydings hee brought to my Chamber, ſo that my coſtly Experiment was now concluded, and my glorious Garments altogether uſeleſſe. For I durſt not viſit Theaters any more, leſt I ſhould [Page] meete with him, or Women elſewhere, as fearfull of the like entertainment.

CHAP. XIIII.

NIM mentions his proceedings againſt ſome of the Nobilitie, and what ſucceſſe he had: afterwards (in a Pamphlet) diſcovers all the defects of his owne penning: ſends Bunge to ſell it, whoſe bad adventures mooves him to rayle on Fate.

Tuſh! hang up Sadneſſe! as a thing (indeed) only fit for the Gallowes, whereto each condemn'd Thiefe, brings as little as he can, leaſt it might deprive him of a minutes life, ſo cheate the Hangman of his Fee. There remained a way as yet untroden on; a high-way too: thou apprehendſt me Reader: My Pen never had to doe with the Nobilitie, whereof one was moſt eminent in high favor, ſo conſequently in vulgar Hate. For vulgar hatred proceeds [Page] from Envy. Him, and all his Kindred did I make progreſſe through Fidlers Noſes: but in Songs of ſuch fortunate compoſure, as in halfe a Terme made a whole Conſort Uſurers. Bunge by diſperſing Nine, gathered together Five and Thirty Shillings. Five he retained for ſwearing to his dull Chapmen, they were well pen'd; the reſt I receav'd with great joy, being the firſt time I ſold my Wit for Money.

Theſe Songs were ſeaſond with bitter accuſation, and not in ſuch hypocriticall phraſe, as doth diſguiſe Senſe from common Capacities, but ſtuft with immodeſt bluntneſſe. Enquire not what ground I had for this action, ſince there was ſo little that I beg thou wouldſt not ſtand upon't: and apprehend Reader (by way of ſecrecy) that Satyriſts (like Doggs) barke moſt at Men they know not: the reaſon lurks in Nature. Report is their chiefe Intelligencer: therefore their accuſation never ſingles out Vice in any particular Man, but obſerving the complexion and qualitie of the perſons make their generall aime at what is moſt probable to be hitten. This project was as ſhort liv'd as my other: for arriving at his Eare [Page] (whom they too much concern'd) the Fidlers were ſent to Priſon, where they ſung like Birds in Cages, to the tune of ô wofull dumps! and Bunge (who was purſu'd by a Warrant) play'd leaſt in ſight.

Invention was never barren, when it coupled with Neceſſitie. In two Weekes ſpace I finiſhed a little Pamphlet, that treated of Engliſh Oratory; collecting all the defects, in my owne Works, which after I had derided, were expoſ'd to publique laughter. Amongſt the reſt I acknowledg'd an affectation in phraſe; where Nature (confident of her owne abilities) too much deſpiſed Art. The Second was that in my inſerted Tales (which overſwiftly purſued one another) I ſometimes loſt the materiall relation, by finding Jeaſts. Thirdly I accuſ'd my Parentheſis of multiplicitie and length: which troubled the Reader to joyne the divided ſenſe, and recover his own breath.

Late after Supper I commanded Bunge to carry it unto a Stationer, and name ſome other Author, whoſe authoritie might advantage the ſale. He marches to the Shop, and Fathers it on a great Divine, who in his Youth, begot many of like complexion: and as bad luck would have it (being newly [Page] come from the Country) enterd there to buy Bookes. The Stationer wellcom'd him, ſaying; I hope you will be more reaſonable then your Man, in the price of this Pamphlet, conſidering the poore bargaine I had of the laſt. What Man? what Pamphlet, quoth the Doctor? Bunge (whoſe apprehenſion was as quick as his Feet) left them to admire at his cheating enterpriſe: ran up Saint Martins-Lane, and from thence to little Brittaine: where he proffer'd it to another, for Three Pounds, but return'd home loaden with an old anſwer; that their Shops were too full of ſuch triviall ſtuffe. A truth potent o're belief! For every Coxcombe that hath ſo much unfortunate wit, to know his own imperfections, will give Money to have them printed.

But O inſupportable miſery! can I thrive in no courſe? what rigled Fuſſe; dry-dugg'd, mangy Witch, produc't me from the Womb vvith horrid imprecations? what ſiniſter Planet govern'd at my Nativity? O Fortune! thou Whore! thou Bitch! more fickle then Inconſtancy! whoſe Alm'ner is the Southern Wind, whoſe Wheele is made of a Womans Brain-Pan. Though I had been born a Monſter, left a [Page] Begger; yet ſhap'd ſo ugly as might fright Compaſſion from comming near me with her Almes: doom'd to grow old in miſery, to live till Time had made me a ſecond Cripple, who knowes but kind Neceſſity would have turn'd to Patience in me: but here Patience muſt become a Miracle: Since I am diſcarded where probability crown'd my Hopes, and might ſeduce unbeliefe her ſelf, to confidence.

CHAP. XV.

[Page]

NIM's Hoſteſſe denies to truſt him, he faſts two Daies, pawnes his Clothes, then reſolving to part with Bunge, ſends for him to a Taverne, and gives, him learned Counſell; but after Bunges replie, he doth change his minde and returnes with him to his Patrons Heir, promiſing (on a ſmooth condition) to bleſſe this Booke with a ſecond Part.

Coſtly experiments, and Bunges attendance had ſo impoveriſhed my Purſe, that I wanted to ſupply my Stomack. I did owe my Hoſteſſe alſo for a Months diet; which fayling to pay (according to my promiſe) and ſhe perceaving I had few viſits from City Friends, urg'd her to ſay one Morning, ſhe would truſt me no longer So that my laſt refuge conſiſted in pawing my Clothes, which my Childiſh diſpoſition (never made impudent by want) durſt not attempt. Halfe an Houre [Page] before Dinner, and Supper, I ſent Bunge upon ſome frivolous errant: in the meane time ſlunke forth, walk'd out a Meale, and returned picking my Teeth, hoping to invent a ſhift leſſe diſgracefull. But two dayes faſting, and his grim looks at home, made me weary of ſuch modeſty: ſo that at Night (when there was nobody within but a little Boy) I ran to Charter Houſelane: where I walk'd to and fro, by a Broakers Shope, halfe an Houre, before Cowardly reputation would ſuffer me to enter. At laſt in I went: and deſired the the Broaker, his Man might goe home with me to fetch Two Sutes of Apparell. He granted my requeſt, and the things being packed up before, we ſoone returnd, but could not borrow above Eighteene poundes, upon that which coſt me Fifty: whereof Twelve Shillings they took back for regiſtring.

Thus my Heart being ſomewhat lightned by the weight of my Purſe, I went to a Taverne that was neere my Lodging, and ſent a Drawer home to attend Bung's arrivall, that he might fetch him, purpoſing now to diſmiſſe his ſervice, accompany the next Wind to Gellderland, and there ſerve in Garriſon. I ſatisfied my Hunger, with Cerberus his Diet [Page] (Sopps) which being made of rich Sack halfe fox'd me before he came. So ſoone as he had enter'd the Roome he ſwore himſelfe out of breath. I demanded the cauſe, Why Sir (quoth he) is the Ayre food for Men? or did you ſuppoſe me a Chamelion? I excuſ'd all by urging his owne Language, for he told me once: it was the faſhion for Servingmen to diſburſe Money for their diet, and require it when their Maſters Exechequer was able to repay. So having commanded a Gallon of Wine, and the Drawers abſence, I bad him ſit, drink, and expect alteration. By that time I had ſhar'd halfe the Wine, a ſtrange humor poſſeſt my Brain, and begot rare imaginations! ſuch as fool'd Don-Quixot, uttering in a lamentable veine this high and mighty ſenſe.

O Bunge! my Breſt hath entertain'd new Tennants ſince firſt I own'd thy ſervice, Thoughts of too tall a ſtature, ſuch as ſcorn'd thoſe humble Roofs, which the plaine Country held as gawdy faſhion, therefore went from me to change their Manſions: but returne maimed, able in nothing, unleſſe to affirme the Proverb; Pride will have a fall. Know Oliver! I am made an experiment by cruell Fate, to trie within a Haires breadth the ſufferance of [Page] a Man, croſſ'd in all deſigns with ſtrange prevention. Thou art of diſpoſition quick, and ſubtill, and haſt diſcern'd the World with a diſcreet Eie. Thy Experience is of a full Age, and muſt be now thy Maſter, thou no more my Servant. This health to thy good Fortunes—There's thy Wages; due ſince the laſt Quarter: which with ſome advice (ſent from my love) is all I can beſtow.

When thou thinkſt upon thy poore fortunes, compare them with a meaner Mans: for ſo thou mayſt leſſen in thy ſelfe the greatneſſe of an other, and by that aggravate thine own. The Plebeian whoſe naturall Spirit is humbled with a coorſe Prentiſhip, ſtrives for a mayſtery though it be only of his Trade. Doe not enrich thy ſelfe with a bawdy-induſtry, nor occaſion thy Maſters folly by thy apt preſentment of it. Sooth him not in's drinke; nor by admiring his unconquer'd lookes, tell him t'is a handſome Vice. Strive to make him more acquainted with thy privacy, then thy ſelfe with his ſecrets. Be not impudent in jeaſting, for that cheats thy Wit of her reward not procuring laughter, but deriſion: though the firſt be the true applauſe. Be not proude, for Time doth infect the owner of that Sinne with [Page] ſuch an ignorance, that he ſhall ſcarce know himſelfe. The gawdy Servant beggers his Purſe, to make his Maſters rich: for Faſhion, and comely thrift, bids a plain Cloake uſher a golden Livory. Buy not the envy of thy Fellowes, with his favour: nor loſe it by preſuming on't. Let not the poore Tennant obſerve thee as his Landlords Heir; whilſt thou with a ſawcy diſtance of lame ſtate, ſtrengthneſt his credulitie. Be honeſt in all things, for ſo thou mayſt live, to beſtow this counſell on a Servant of thy owne, and end thy dayes in peace. When thou ſhalt chance to talke of me hereafter, cleanſe my Fame with hiding thoſe defects, that ſhew me humane, and my Fortune blind. Goe, be happy.

All this while he was a greedy Auditor, but perceaving me about to take my ultimum vale, ſteps up and replies thus. Sir, we are ſo tender of our outward credit, that Neceſſitie is never diſcover'd, untill it diſcovers it ſelfe, I meane thorough the Ellbowes: but yours is not ſo little as to eſcape my ſight, I underſtood the cauſe why you imploy'd me about impertinent errants: though you expreſt ſmall charitie, and leſſe Phyſick, to preſcribe walking for an empty Stomack, when no ſatisfaction [Page] in meate, wellcom'd my returne. Neither was my fearfull Experience (feeling even now the lightneſſe of your Trunke) ignorant how, and where it had forſooke its weight. The tract and courſe of povertie I have often traced, and know ſhe is moſt undone in her reliefe. A pox upon your grave counſell! which is fram'd as though proceeding from a beggerly Patriarke. No advice is worthy of acceptance, but what accompanies a liberall Hand: t'is Money that makes a man able to keepe it. You direct me how to behave my ſelfe in ſervice, when I have no Maſter: an enterpriſe weake and Childiſh; juſt like your actions, ſince you became a Londoner: which if preſented to the World in Hiſtory, would beget more laughter then eſteem. Come if you will ſeaze on my advice, add unto your Money Fifty Pounds: furniſh me for a journey to the Court: where, by Wit, I will get relation to ſome Man of Ranke: grow a prompt intelligencer; and make you a Satyriſt. Such a one as Kings with flatterie ſhall be glad to ſilence. A plague on all beggarly occupations! I affect them not.

Now Reader, judge thou whether this Rogue was not able to ſeduce a Novice. I could ſooner eate Iron then part with him: [Page] but the next Morning, we ſat in conſultation how to get this Money. At laſt it was reſolv'd I ſhould counterfeit my ſelfe to be lately Knighted, and he ride with me to my Patrons Heir: adding on all occaſions Sir, unto my Chriſtian-name. But ſtay awhile, and let thy memory returne, unto the laſt part of our Fourth Chapter: where I threatned to make my acquaintance coſtly unto a Clothier; that overtook me on the high-way. He often viſited my Lodging, and now I requited him by borrowing his Gelding (worth Fourteene poundes) to take the ayre as far as Fullham but indeed detaind him a longer Iourney, and bought a Nagg for my Man Bunge. I riding like a Knight-errant.

But how my Patron's Heir entertain'd me, when I return'd, and all the reſt of my occurences, I am reſolv'd to publiſh with great care, and induſtry. Which if you ever meane to ſee, invoke the powers above, that what's already written may take him, whoſe acceptance makes my labor, eaſe: whoſe command (by I wot not what inſtinct) ties my Soule to a more delightfull ſervice, then either Gaine, or popular applauſe.

FINIS.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

The life of a satyrical pvppy, called Nim who worrieth all those satyrists he knowes, and barkes at the rest / by T.M.

T. M.

Edition statement

1657

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2005-12 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A70659

ID [STC]

Wing M82A

ID [STC]

ESTC R38869

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

18182417

ID [OCLC]

ocm 18182417

ID [VID]

106928

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Early English books online.

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A70659)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 106928)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books,1641-1700 ; 1128:4 or 1725:55)

Source

— The life of a satyrical pvppy, called Nim who worrieth all those satyrists he knowes, and barkes at the rest / by T.M., T. M., May, Thomas, 1595-1650..

Extent

[8], 118, [1] p., 1 (folded) leaf of plates : ill.

Printed by for [sic] Humphrey Moseley ...,. London :: 1657.. (Occasionally attributed to Thomas May by NUC pre-1956 imprints.) (Copy at reel 1725:55 includes frontispiece and advertisement at end.) (This item appears at reel 1128:4 as Wing M1411 (number cancelled in Wing 2nd ed.), and at reel 1725:55 as Wing M82A.) (Reproduction of originals in the British Library and the Huntington Library.)

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