CHAP. I.

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 2] 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 3] 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 4] 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 5] 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 6] 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.

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 7] 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 8] 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 9] 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 10] 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 11] 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.

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.

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 14] 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 15] 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 w^eh 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 16] 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 17] 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 18] 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 19] 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.

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 20] 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 21]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 22] 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 23] 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 24] 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 25] 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 26] 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 27] 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 28] 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;

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:

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 31] 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 32] 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 33] 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 34] 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 35] 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 36] 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 37] 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.

CHAP. VII:

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 51] 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 52] 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 53] 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 54] 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 55] 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 56] 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 57] 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 58] stood to a drunken bargain: his name was Oli­ver Bunge.

CHAP. VIII.

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 59] 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 60] (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 61] 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 62] 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 63] 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.

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 65] 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 66] 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 67] 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 68] 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 69] 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 70] 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 71] 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.

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 73] 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.

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 76] 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 77] 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 78] 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 79] 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 80] 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 81] 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 82] 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 w^ch 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 83] 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.

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 85] 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 86] 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 87] 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 88] 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 89] 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 90] 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 91] 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

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 93] 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 94] (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 95] 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 96] 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 97] 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 98] 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

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 100] 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 101] 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 102] 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 103] 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 101] 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 105] 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 106] 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 107] meete with him, or Women else­where, as fearfull of the like entertain­ment.

CHAP. XIIII.

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 108] 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 109] (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 110] 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 11] 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.

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 113] 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 114] (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 115] 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 116] 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 117] 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 118] 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.