Lau. Then let the Victor's Reward be to go into the Town crowned with a Bur.

Vi. Well, 'tis done, provided you'll go before playing upon a Pipe.

Lau. It is very hot.

Vi. That is not strange when it is Midsummer.

Lau. Swimming is better.

Vi. I don't love to live like a Frog, I am a Land Animal, not an amphibious one.

Lau. But in old Time this was look'd upon to be one of the most noble Exercises.

Vi. Nay, and a very useful one too.

Lau. For What?

Vi. If Men are forc'd to fly in Battel, they are in the best Condition that can run and swim best.

Lau. The Art you speak of is not to be set light by; it is as Praise-worthy sometimes to run away nimbly as it is to fight stoutly.

Vi. I can't swim at all, and it is dangerous to converse with an unaccustomed Element.

Lau. You ought to learn then, for no Body was born an Artist.

Vi. But I have heard of a great many of these Artists that have swum in, but never swam out again.

Lau. First try with Corks.

Vi. I can't trust more to a Cork than to my Feet; if you have a Mind to swim, I had rather be a Spectator than an Actor.



The CHILD'S PIETY.

The ARGUMENT.

This Discourse furnishes a childish Mind with pious Instructions of Religion, in what it consists. What is to be done in the Morning in Bed, at getting up, at Home, at School, before Meat, after Meat, before going to Sleep. Of beginning the Day, of praying, of behaving themselves studiously at School, Thriftiness of Time: Age flies. What is to be done after Supper. How we ought to sleep. Of Behaviour at holy Worship. All Things to be applied to ourselves. The Meditation of a pious Soul at Church. What Preachers are chiefly to be heard. Fasting is prejudicial to Children. Confession is to be made to Christ. The Society of wicked Persons is to be avoided. Of the prudent chusing a Way of Living. Holy Orders and Matrimony are not to be entred into before the Age of Twenty-two. What Poets are fit to be read, and how.

ERASMUS, GASPAR.

ERASMUS. Whence came you from? Out of some Alehouse?

Ga. No, indeed.

Er. What from a Bowling Green?

Ga. No, nor from thence neither.

Er. What from the Tavern then?

Ga. No.

Er. Well, since I can't guess, tell me.

Ga. From St. Mary's Church.

Er. What Business had you there?

Ga. I saluted some Persons.

Er. Who?

Ga. Christ, and some of the Saints.

Er. You have more Religion than is common to one of your Age.

Ga. Religion is becoming to every Age.

Er. If I had a Mind to be religious, I'd become a Monk.

Ga. And so would I too, if a Monk's Hood carried in it as much Piety as it does Warmth.

Er. There is an old Saying, a young Saint and an old Devil.

Ga. But I believe that old Saying came from old Satan: I can hardly think an old Man to be truly religious, that has not been so in his young Days. Nothing is learn'd to greater Advantage, than what we learn in our youngest Years.

Er. What is that which is call'd Religion?

Ga. It is the pure Worship of God, and Observation of his Commandments.

Er. What are they?

Ga. It is too long to relate all; but I'll tell you in short, it consists in four Things.

Er. What are they?

Ga. In the first Place, that we have a true and pious Apprehension of God himself, and the Holy Scriptures; and that we not only stand in Awe of him as a Lord, but that we love him with all our Heart, as a most beneficent Father. 2. That we take the greatest Care to keep ourselves blameless; that is, that we do no Injury to any one. 3. That we exercise Charity, i.e. to deserve well of all Persons (as much as in us lyes). 4. That we practise Patience, i.e. to bear patiently Injuries that are offered us, when we can't prevent them, not revenging them, nor requiting Evil for Evil.

Er. You hold forth finely; but do you practise what you teach?

Ga. I endeavour it manfully.

Er. How can you do it like a Man, when you are but a Boy?

Ga. I meditate according to my Ability, and call myself to an Account every Day; and correct myself for what I have done amiss: That was unhandsomely done this saucily said, this was uncautiously acted; in that it were better to have held my Peace, that was neglected.

Er. When do you come to this Reckoning?

Ga. Most commonly at Night; or at any Time that I am most at Leisure.

Er. But tell me, in what Studies do you spend the Day?

Ga. I will hide nothing from so intimate a Companion: In the Morning, as soon as I am awake, (and that is commonly about six a Clock, or sometimes at five) I sign myself with my Finger in the Forehead and Breast with the Sign of the Cross.

Er. What then?

Ga. I begin the Day in the Name of the Father, Son, and holy Spirit.

Er. Indeed that is very piously done.

Ga. By and by I put up a short Ejaculation to Christ.

Er. What dost thou say to him?

Ga. I give him Thanks that he has been pleased to bless me that Night; and I pray him that he would in like Manner prosper me the whole of that Day, so as may be for his Glory, and my Soul's Good; and that he who is the true Light that never sets, the eternal Sun, that enlivens, nourishes and exhilarates all Things, would vouchsafe to enlighten my Soul, that I mayn't fall into Sin; but by his Guidance, may attain everlasting Life.

Er. A very good Beginning of the Day indeed.

Ga. And then having bid my Parents good Morrow, to whom next to God, I owe the greatest Reverence, when it is Time I go to School; but so that I may pass by some Church, if I can conveniently.

Er. What do you do there?

Ga. I salute Jesus again in three Words, and all the Saints, either Men or Women; but the Virgin Mary by Name, and especially that I account most peculiarly my own.

Er. Indeed you seem to have read that Sentence of Cato, Saluta libenter, to good Purpose; was it not enough to have saluted Christ in the Morning, without saluting him again presently? Are you not afraid lest you should be troublesome by your over Officiousness?

Ga. Christ loves to be often called upon.

Er. But it seems to be ridiculous to speak to one you don't see.

Ga. No more do I see that Part of me that speaks to him.

Er. What Part is that?

Ga. My Mind.

Er. But it seems to be Labour lost, to salute one that does not salute you again.

Ga. He frequently salutes again by his secret Inspiration; and he answers sufficiently that gives what is ask'd of him.

Er. What is it you ask of him? For I perceive your Salutations are petitionary, like those of Beggars.

Ga. Indeed you are very right; for I pray that he, who, when he was a Boy of about twelve Years of Age, sitting in the Temple, taught the Doctors themselves, and to whom the heavenly Father, by a Voice from Heaven, gave Authority to teach Mankind, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, hear ye him; and who is the eternal Wisdom of the most high Father, would vouchsafe to enlighten my Understanding, to receive wholesome Learning, that I may use it to his Glory.

Er. Who are those Saints that you call peculiarly yours?

Ga. Of the Apostles, St. Paul; of the Martyrs, St. Cyprian; of the Doctors, St. Jerome; of the Virgins, St. Agnes.

Er. How came these to be yours, more than the rest. Was it by Choice or by Chance?

Ga. They fell to me by Lot.

Er. But you only salute them I suppose; do you beg any Thing of them?

Ga. I pray, that by their Suffrages they would recommend me to Christ, and procure that by his Assistance it may in Time come to pass that I be made one of their Company.

Er. Indeed what you ask for is no ordinary Thing: But what do you do then?

Ga. I go to School, and do what is to be done there with my utmost Endeavour; I so implore Christ's Assistance, as if my Study without it would signify nothing; and I study as if he offered no Help but to him that labours industriously; and I do my utmost not to deserve to be beaten, nor to offend my Master either in Word or Deed, nor any of my Companions.

Er. You are a good Boy to mind these Things.

Ga. When School is done I make haste Home, and if I can I take a Church in my Way, and in three Words, I salute Jesus again; and I pay my Respects to my Parents; and if I have any Time, I repeat, either by myself, or with one of my School-fellows, what was dictated in School.

Er. Indeed you are a very good Husband of Time.

Ga. No wonder I am of that, which is the most precious Thing in the World, and when past is irrecoverable.

Er. And Hesiod teaches, that good Husbandry ought to be in the Middle, it is too soon in the Beginning, and too late in the End.

Ga. Hesiod spoke right enough concerning Wine, but of Time no good Husbandry is unseasonable. If you let a Hogshead of Wine alone it won't empty itself; but Time is always a flying, sleeping or waking.

Er. I confess so, but what do you do after that?

Ga. When my Parents sit down to Dinner I say Grace, and then wait at Table till I am bid to take my own Dinner; and having returned Thanks, if I have any Time left I divert myself with my Companions with some lawful Recreation till the Time comes to go to School again.

Er. Do you salute Jesus again?

Ga. Yes, if I have an Opportunity; but if it so happen that I have not an Opportunity, or it be not seasonable, as I pass by the Church I salute him mentally; and then I do what is to be done at School with all my Might; and when I go Home again I do what I did before Dinner: After Supper I divert myself with some pleasant Stories; and afterwards bidding my Parents and the Family good Night, I go to Bed betimes, and there kneeling down by the Bedside, as I have said, I say over those Things I have been learning that Day at School; if I have committed any great Fault, I implore Christ's Clemency, that he would pardon me, and I promise Amendment: and if I have committed no Fault, I thank him for his Goodness in preserving me from all Vice, and then I recommend myself to him with all my Soul, that he would preserve me from the Attempts of my evil Genius and filthy Dreams. When this is done, and I am got into Bed, I cross my Forehead and Breast, and compose myself to Rest.

Er. In what Posture do you compose yourself?

Ga. I don't lye upon my Face or my Back, but first leaning upon my Right-Side, I fold my Arms a-cross, so that they may defend my Breast, as it were with the Figure of a Cross, with my Right-hand upon my Left Shoulder, and my Left upon my Right, and so I sleep sweetly, either till I awake of myself, or am called up.

Er. You are a little Saint that can do thus.

Ga. You are a little Fool for saying so.

Er. I praise your Method, and I would I could practise it.

Ga. Give your Mind to it and you will do it, for when once you have accustom'd yourself to it for a few Months, these Things will be pleasant, and become natural.

Er. But I want to hear concerning divine Service.

Ga. I don't neglect that, especially upon holy Days.

Er. How do you manage yourself on holy Days?

Ga. In the first place I examine myself if my Mind be Polluted by any Stain of Sin.

Er. And if you find it is, what do you do then? Do you refrain from the Altar?

Ga. Not by my bodily Presence, but I withdraw myself, as to my Mind, and standing as it were afar off, as tho' not daring to lift up my Eyes to God the Father, whom I have offended, I strike upon my Breast, crying out with the Publican in the Gospel, Lord, be merciful to me a Sinner. And then if I know I have offended any Man, I take Care to make him Satisfaction if I can presently; but if I cannot do that, I resolve in my Mind to reconcile my Neighbour as soon as possible. If any Body has offended me, I forbear Revenge, and endeavour to bring it about, that he that has offended me may be made sensible of his Fault, and be sorry for it; but if there be no Hope of that, I leave all Vengeance to God.

Er. That's a hard Task.

Ga. Is it hard to forgive a small Offence to your Brother, whose mutual Forgiveness thou wilt stand in frequent need of, when Christ has at once forgiven us all our Offences, and is every Day forgiving us? Nay, this seems to me not to be Liberality to our Neighbour, but putting to Interest to God; just as tho' one Fellow-Servant should agree with another to forgive him three Groats, that his Lord might forgive him ten Talents.

Er. You indeed argue very rationally, if what you say be true.

Ga. Can you desire any Thing truer than the Gospel?

Er. That is unreasonable; but there are some who can't believe themselves to be Christians unless they hear Mass (as they call it) every Day.

Ga. Indeed I don't condemn the Practise in those that have Time enough, and spend whole Days in profane Exercises; but I only disapprove of those who superstitiously fancy that that Day must needs be unfortunate to them that they have not begun with the Mass; and presently after divine Service is over they go either to Trading, Gaming, or the Court, where whatsoever succeeds, though done justly or unjustly, they attribute to the Mass.

Er. Are there any Persons that are so absurd?

Ga. The greatest part of Mankind.

Er. But return to divine Service.

Ga. If I can, I get to stand so close by the Holy Altar, that I can hear what the Priest reads, especially the Epistle and the Gospel; from these I endeavour to pick something, which I fix in my Mind, and this I ruminate upon for some Time.

Er. Don't you pray at all in the mean Time?

Ga. I do pray, but rather mentally than vocally. From the Things the Priest reads I take occasion of Prayer.

Er. Explain that a little more, I don't well take in what you mean.

Ga. I'll tell you; suppose this Epistle was read, Purge out the old Leaven, that ye may be a new Lump, as ye are unleavened. On occasion of these Words I thus address myself to Christ, "I wish I were the unleavened Bread, pure from all Leaven of Malice; but do thou, O Lord Jesus, who alone art pure, and free from all Malice, grant that I may every Day more and more purge out the old Leaven." Again, if the Gospel chance to be read concerning the Sower sowing his Seed, I thus pray with my self, "Happy is he that deserves to be that good Ground, and I pray that of barren Ground, he of his great Goodness would make me good Ground, without whose Blessing nothing at all is good." These for Example Sake, for it would be tedious to mention every Thing. But if I happen to meet with a dumb Priest, (such as there are many in Germany) or that I can't get near the Altar, I commonly get a little Book that has the Gospel of that Day and Epistle, and this I either say out aloud, or run it over with my Eye.

Er. I understand; but with what Contemplations chiefly dost thou pass away the Time?

Ga. I give Thanks to Jesus Christ for his unspeakable Love, in condescending to redeem Mankind by his Death; I pray that he would not suffer his most holy Blood to be shed in vain for me, but that with his Body he would always feed my Soul, and that with his Blood he would quicken my Spirit, that growing by little and little in the Increase of Graces, I may be made a fit Member of his mystical Body, which is the Church; nor may ever fall from that holy Covenant that he made with his elect Disciples at the last Supper, when he distributed the Bread, and gave the Cup; and through these, with all who are engraffed into his Society by Baptism. And if I find my Thoughts to wander, I read some Psalms, or some pious Matter, that may keep my Mind from wandring.

Er. Have you any particular Psalms for this Purpose?

Ga. I have; but I have not so tyed myself up to them, but that I can omit them, if any Meditation comes into my Mind that is more refreshing, than the Recitation of those Psalms.

Er. What do you do as to Fasting?

Ga. I have nothing to do with Fasting, for so Jerome has taught me; that Health is not to be impair'd by fasting, until the Body is arrived at its full Strength. I am not quite 17 Years old; but yet if I find Occasion, I dine and sup sparingly, that I may be more lively for Spiritual Exercises on holy Days.

Er. Since I have begun, I will go through with my Enquiries. How do you find yourself affected towards Sermons?

Ga. Very well, I go to them as devoutly as if I was a going to a holy Assembly; and yet I pick and chuse whom to hear, for there are some, one had better not hear than hear; and if such an one happens to preach, or if it happen that no Body preaches, I pass this Time in reading the Scriptures, I read the Gospel or Epistle with Chrysostom's or Jerome's Interpretation, or any other pious and learned Interpreter that I meet with.

Er. But Word of Mouth is more affecting.

Ga. I confess it is. I had rather hear if I can but meet with a tolerable Preacher; but I don't seem to be wholly destitute of a Sermon if I hear Chrysostom or Jerome speaking by their Writings.

Er. I am of your Mind; but how do you stand affected as to Confession?

Ga. Very well; for I confess daily.

Er. Every Day?

Ga. Yes.

Er. Then you ought to keep a Priest to yourself.

Ga. But I confess to him who only truly remits Sins, to whom all the Power is given.

Er. To whom?

Ga. To Christ.

Er. And do you think that's sufficient?

Ga. It would be enough for me, if it were enough for the Rulers of the Church, and receiv'd Custom.

Er. Who do you call the Rulers of the Church?

Ga. The Popes, Bishops and Apostles.

Er. And do you put Christ into this Number?

Ga. He is without Controversy the chief Head of e'm all.

Er. And was he the Author of this Confession in use?

Ga. He is indeed the Author of all good; but whether he appointed Confession as it is now us'd in the Church, I leave to be disputed by Divines. The Authority of my Betters is enough for me that am but a Lad and a private Person. This is certainly the principal Confession; nor is it an easy Matter to confess to Christ; no Body confesses to him, but he that is angry with his Sin. If I have committed any great Offence, I lay it open, and bewail it to him, and implore his Mercy; I cry out, weep and lament, nor do I give over before I feel the Love of Sin throughly purged from the Bottom of my Heart, and some Tranquility and Chearfulness of Mind follow upon it, which is an Argument of the Sin being pardoned. And when the Time requires to go to the holy Communion of the Body and Blood of Christ; then I make Confession to a Priest too, but in few Words, and nothing but what I am well satisfy'd are Faults, or such that carry in them a very great Suspicion that they are such; neither do I always take it to be a capital or enormous Crime, every Thing that is done contrary to human Constitutions, unless a wicked Contemptuousness shall go along with it: Nay, I scarce believe any Crime to be Capital, that has not Malice join'd with it, that is, a perverse Will.

Er. I commend you, that you are so religious, and yet not superstitious: Here I think the old Proverb takes place: Nec omnia, nec passim, nec quibuslibet, That a Person should neither speak all, nor every where, nor to all Persons.

Ga. I chuse me a Priest, that I can trust with the Secrets of my Heart.

Er. That's wisely done: For there are a great many, as is found by Experience, do blab out what in Confessions is discovered to them. And there are some vile impudent Fellows that enquire of the Person confessing, those Things, that it were better if they were conceal'd; and there are some unlearned and foolish Fellows, who for the Sake of filthy Gain, lend their Ear, but apply not their Mind, who can't distinguish between a Fault and a good Deed, nor can neither teach, comfort nor advise. These Things I have heard from many, and in Part have experienced my self.

Ga. And I too much; therefore I chuse me one that is learn'd, grave, of approv'd Integrity, and one that keeps his Tongue within his Teeth.

Er. Truly you are happy that can make a Judgment of Things so early.

Ga. But above all, I take Care of doing any Thing that I can't safely trust a Priest with.

Er. That's the best Thing in the World, if you can but do so.

Ga. Indeed it is hard to us of ourselves, but by the Help of Christ it is easy; the greatest Matter is, that there be a Will to it. I often renew my Resolution, especially upon Sundays: And besides that, I endeavour as much as I can to keep out of evil Company, and associate myself with good Company, by whose Conversation I may be better'd.

Er. Indeed you manage yourself rightly: For evil Conversations corrupt good Manners.

Ga. I shun Idleness as the Plague.

Er. You are very right, for Idleness is the Root of all Evil; but as the World goes now, he must live by himself that would keep out of bad Company.

Ga. What you say is very true, for as the Greek wise Men said the bad are the greatest Number. But I chuse the best out of a few, and sometimes a good Companion makes his Companion better. I avoid those Diversions that incite to Naughtiness, and use those that are innocent. I behave myself courteous to all; but familiarly with none but those that are good. If I happen at any Time to fall into bad Company, I either correct them by a soft Admonition, or wink at and bear with them, if I can do them no good; but I be sure to get out of their Company as soon as I can.

Er. Had you never an itching Mind to become a Monk?

Ga. Never; but I have been often solicited to it by some, that call you into a Monastery, as into a Port from a Shipwreck.

Er. Say you so? Were they in Hopes of a Prey?

Ga. They set upon both me and my Parents with a great many crafty Persuasions; but I have taken a Resolution not to give my Mind either to Matrimony or Priesthood, nor to be a Monk, nor to any Kind of Life out of which I can't extricate myself, before I know myself very well.

Er. When will that be?

Ga. Perhaps never. But before the 28th Year of ones Age, nothing should be resolved on.

Er. Why so?

Ga. Because I hear every where, so many Priests, Monks and married Men lamenting that they hurried themselves rashly into Servitude.

Er. You are very cautious not to be catch'd.

Ga. In the mean Time I take a special Care of three Things.

Er. What are they?

Ga. First of all to make a good Progress in Morality, and if I can't do that, I am resolv'd to maintain an unspotted Innocence and good Name; and last of all I furnish myself with Languages and Sciences that will be of Use in any Kind of Life.

Er. But do you neglect the Poets?

Ga. Not wholly, but I read generally the chastest of them, and if I meet with any Thing that is not modest, I pass that by, as Ulysses passed by the Sirens, stopping his Ears.

Er. To what Kind of Study do you chiefly addict your self? To Physic, the Common or Civil Law, or to Divinity? For Languages, the Sciences and Philosophy are all conducive to any Profession whatsoever.

Ga. I have not yet thoroughly betaken myself to any one particularly, but I take a Taste of all, that I be not wholly ignorant of any; and the rather, that having tasted of all I may the better chuse that I am fittest for. Medicine is a certain Portion in whatsoever Land a Man is; the Law is the Way to Preferment: But I like Divinity the best, saving that the Manners of some of the Professors of it, and the bitter Contentions that are among them, displease me.

Er. He won't be very apt to fall that goes so warily along. Many in these Days are frighted from Divinity, because they are afraid they should not be found in the Catholick Faith, because they see no Principle of Religion, but what is called in Question.

Ga. I believe firmly what I read in the holy Scriptures, and the Creed, called the Apostles, and I don't trouble my Head any farther: I leave the rest to be disputed and defined by the Clergy, if they please; and if any Thing is in common Use with Christians that is not repugnant to the holy Scriptures, I observe it for this Reason, that I may not offend other People.

Er. What Thales taught you that Philosophy?

Ga. When I was a Boy and very young, I happen'd to live in the House with that honestest of Men, John Colet, do you know him?

Er. Know him, ay, as well as I do you.

Ga. He instructed me when I was young in these Precepts.

Er. You won't envy me, I hope, if I endeavour to imitate you?

Ga. Nay, by that Means you will be much dearer to me. For you know, Familiarity and good Will, are closer ty'd by Similitude of Manners.

Er. True, but not among Candidates for the same Office, when they are both sick of the same Disease.

Ga. No, nor between two Sweet-hearts of the same Mistress, when they are both sick of the same Love.

Er. But without jesting, I'll try to imitate that Course of Life.

Ga. I wish you as good Success as may be.

Er. It may be I shall overtake thee.

Ga. I wish you might get before me; but in the mean Time I won't stay for you; but I will every Day endeavour to out-go myself, and do you endeavour to out-go me if you can.



The ART OF HUNTING.

The ARGUMENT.

This Colloquy presents you with the Art of Hunting; Fishing, of bringing Earth-Worms out of the Ground, of sticking Frogs.

PAUL, THOMAS, VINCENT, LAWRENCE, BARTHOLUS.

Pa. Every one to his Mind. I love Hunting.

Th. And so do I too, but where are the Dogs? The hunting Poles? And the hunting Nets?

Pa. Farewell Boars, Bears, Bucks, and Foxes, we'll lay Snares for Rabbets.

Vi. But I'll set Gins for Locusts and Crickets.

La. But I'll catch Frogs.

Ba. I'll hunt Butterflies.

La. 'Tis difficult to follow flying Creatures.

Ba. It is difficult, but 'tis fine Sport; unless you think it finer Sport to hunt after Earth-Worms, Snails or Cockles, because they have no Wings.

La. Indeed I had rather go a Fishing; I have a neat Hook.

Ba. But where will you get Baits?

La. There are Earth-Worms enough every where to be had.

Ba. So there is, if they would but creep out of the Ground to you.

La. But I'll make a great many thousand jump out presently.

Ba. How? By Witch-Craft?

La. You shall see the Art. Fill this Bucket with Water, break these green Peels of Walnuts to Pieces and put into it: Wet the Ground with the Water. Now mind a little, do you see them coming out?

Ba. I see a Miracle. I believe the armed Men started out of the Earth after this Manner from the Serpents Teeth that were sown: But a great many Fish are of too fine and delicate a Palate to be catch'd by such a vulgar Bait.

La. I know a certain Sort of an Insect that I us'd to catch such with.

Ba. See if you can impose upon the Fishes so, I'll make work with the Frogs.

La. How, with a Net?

Ba. No, with a Bow.

La. That's a new Way of Fishing!

Ba. But 'tis a pleasant one; you'll say so, when you see it.

Vi. What if we two should play at holding up our Fingers?

Ba. That's an idle, clownish Play indeed, fitter for them that are sitting in a Chimney Corner, than those that are ranging in the Field.

Vi. What if we should play at Cob-Nut?

Pa. Let us let Nuts alone for little Chits, we are great Boys.

Vi. And yet we are but Boys for all that.

Pa. But they that are fit to play at Cob-Nut, are fit to ride upon a Hobby-Horse.

Vi. Well then, do you say what we shall play at; and I'll play at what you will.

Pa. And I'll be conformable.



SCHOLASTIC STUDIES.

The ARGUMENT.

This Colloquy treats of scholastic Studies, and School Plays, I. The Boys going into the School. The striking of a Clock. A whipping Master. Of saying a Lesson. Fear hurts the Memory. 2. Of Writing, the Paper sinks. Of making a Pen. Of a hard Nip. A soft Nip. Of writing quick, well.

SYLVIUS, JOHN.

Sy. What makes you run so, John?

Jo. What makes a Hare run before the Dogs, as they use to say?

Sy. What Proverb is this?

Jo. Because unless I am there in Time, before the Bill is called over, I am sure to be whipp'd.

Sy. You need not be afraid of that, it is but a little past five: Look upon the Clock, the Hand is not come to the half Hour Point yet.

Jo. Ay, but I can scarce trust to Clocks, they go wrong sometimes.

Sy. But trust me then, I heard the Clock strike.

Jo. What did that strike?

Sy. Five.

Jo. But there is something else that I am more afraid of than that, I must say by Heart a good long Lesson for Yesterday, and I am afraid I can't say it.

Sy. I am in the same Case with you; for I myself have hardly got mine as it should be.

Jo. And you know the Master's Severity. Every Fault is a Capital one with him: He has no more Mercy of our Breeches, than if they were made of a Bull's Hide.

Sy. But he won't be in the School.

Jo. Who has he appointed in his Place?

Sy. Cornelius.

Jo. That squint-ey'd Fellow! Wo to our Back-Sides, he's a greater Whip-Master than Busby himself.

Sy. You say very true, and for that Reason I have often wish'd he had a Palsy in his Arm.

Jo. It is not pious to wish ill to ones Master: it is our Business rather to take Care not to fall under the Tyrant's Hands.

Sy. Let us say one to another, one repeating and the other looking in the Book.

Jo. That's well thought on.

Sy. Come, be of good Heart; for Fear spoils the Memory.

Jo. I could easily lay aside Fear, if I were out of Danger; but who can be at Ease in his Mind, that is in so much Danger.

Sy. I confess so; but we are not in Danger of our Heads, but of our Tails.

* * * * *

2. Of Writing.

CORNELIUS, ANDREW.

Co. You write finely, but your Paper sinks. Your Paper is damp, and the Ink sinks through it.

An. Pray make me a Pen of this.

Co. I have not a Pen-knife.

An. Here is one for you.

Co. Out on't, how blunt it is!

An. Take the Hoan.

Co. Do you love to write with a hard-nip'd Pen, or a soft?

An. Make it fit for your own Hand.

Co. I use to write with a soft Nip.

An. Pray write me out the Alphabet.

Co. Greek or Latin?

An. Write me the Latin first; I'll try to imitate it.

Co. Give me some Paper then.

An. Take some.

Co. But my Ink is too thin, by often pouring in of Water.

An. But my Cotton is quite dry.

Co. Squeeze it, or else piss in it.

An. I had rather get some Body to give me some.

Co. It is better to have of one's own, than to borrow.

An. What's a Scholar without Pen and Ink?

Co. The same that a Soldier is without Shield or Sword.

An. I wish my Fingers were so nimble, I can't write as fast as another speaks.

Co. Let it be your first chief Care to write well, and your next to write quick: No more Haste than good Speed.

An. Very well; say to the Master when he dictates, no more Haste than good Speed.

* * * * *

_A Form of giving Thanks.

PETER, CHRISTIAN._

Pe. You have oblig'd me, in that you have written to me sometimes. I thank you for writing to me often. I love you, that you have not thought much to send me now and then a Letter. I give you Thanks that you have visited me with frequent Letters. I thank you for loading of me with Packets of Letters. I thank you heartily that you have now and then provoked me with Letters. You have oblig'd me very much that you have honour'd me with your Letters. I am much beholden to you for your most obliging Letters to me. I take it as a great Favour, that you have not thought much to write to me.

The Answer.

Ch. Indeed I ought to beg Pardon for my Presumption, who dar'd presume to trouble a Man of so much Business, and so much Learning with my unlearned Letters. I acknowledge your usual Humanity, who have taken my Boldness in good Part. I was afraid my Letters had given you some Offence, that you sent me no Answer. There is no Reason that you should thank me, it is more than enough for me, if you have taken my Industry in good Part.

* * * * *

A Form of asking after News.

Pe. Is there no News come from our Country? Have you had any News from our Countrymen? What News? Do you bring any News? Is there any News come to Town? Is there any News abroad from our Country?

The Answer.

Ch. There is much News; but nothing of Truth. News enough indeed; but nothing certain. A great deal of News; but nothing to be depended upon. Not a little News; but not much Truth. There is no News come. I have had no News at all. Something of News; but nothing certain. There are a great many Reports come to Town; but they are all doubtful. There is a great deal of Talk; but nothing true, nothing certain. If Lies please, I have brought you a whole Cart-Load of them. I bring you whole Bushels of Tales. I bring you as many Lies as a good Ship will carry.

Pe. Then unlade yourself as fast as you can, for fear you should sink, being so over-freighted.

Ch. I have nothing but what's the Chat of Barbers Shops, Coaches and Boats.

Han't you received any Letters. The Form.

Pe. Have you had no Letters? Have you had any Letters out of your own Country? Have no Letters been brought to you? Have you receiv'd any Letters? Have you had any Letters? Have you receiv'd any Letters from your Friends? Are there no Letters come from France?

The Answer.

Ch. I have received no Letters. I han't had so much as a Letter. I han't had the least Bit of a Letter. No Body has sent me any Letter. There is not the least Word come from any Body. I have received no more Letters for this long Time, than what you see in my Eye. Indeed I had rather have Money than Letters. I had rather receive Money than Letters. I don't matter Letters, so the Money does but come. I had rather be paid, than be written to.

* * * * *

I believe so. The Form.

Pe. I easily believe you. That is not hard to be believ'd. It is a very easy Thing to believe that. Who would not believe you in that? He will be very incredulous, that won't believe you in that Matter. In Truth I do believe you. You will easily make me believe that. I can believe you without swearing. What you say is very likely. But for all that, Letters bring some Comfort. I had rather have either of them, than neither.

* * * * *

Of Profit. A Form.

Ch. What signifies Letters without Money? What signifies empty Letters? What do empty Letters avail? What good do they do, what do they profit, advantage? To whom are Letters grateful or acceptable without Money? What Advantage do empty Letters bring? What are idle Letters good for? What do they do? What use are they of? What are they good for? What do they bring with them of Moment? What Use are empty Letters of?

The Answer.

Pe. They are useful, fit, proper, to wipe your Breech with. They are good to wipe your Backside with. If you don't know the Use of them, they are good to wipe your Arse with. To wipe your Breech with. To wipe your Backside with. They are good to cleanse that Part of the Body that often fouls itself. They are good to wrap Mackrel in. Good to make up Grocery Ware in.

* * * * *

Of wishing well.

1. To a Man whose Wife is with Child.

Pe. What? are our little Friends well? How does your Wife do?

Ch. Very well, I left her with her Mother, and with Child.

Pe. I wish it may be well for you, and her too: To you, because you're shortly to be a Father, and she a Mother. God be with you. I pray and desire that it may be prosperous and happy to you both. I pray, I beg of God that she, having a safe Delivery, may bear a Child worthy of you both; and may make you a Father of a fine Child. I commend you that you have shewed yourself to be a Man. I am glad you have prov'd yourself to be a Man. You have shew'd yourself to be a Gallus, but not Cybele's. Now you may go, I believe you are a Man.

Ch. You joke upon me, as you are used to do. Well, go on, you may say what you please to me.

* * * * *

2. To one coming Home into his own Country.

Ch. I hear, you have lately been in your own Country.

Pe. I have so, I had been out of it a pretty While. I could not bear to be out of it long. I could not bear to be out of my Parents Sight any longer. I thought it long till I enjoy'd my Friends Company.

Ch. You have acted very piously. You are very good Humour'd, to think of those Matters. We have all a strange Affection for the Country that hath bred us, and brought us forth.

As Ovid says:

Nescio qua natale solum dulcedine cunctos Ducit, et immemores non sinit esse sui.

Pray tell me how did you find all Things there.

* * * * *

All Things new. The Form.

Pe. Nothing but what was new. All Things changed, all Things become new. See how soon Time changes all human Affairs. Methought I came into another World. I had scarce been absent ten Years, and yet I admired at every Thing, as much as Epimenides the Prince of Sleepers, when he first wak'd out of his Sleep.

Ch. What Story is that? What Fable is that?

Pe. I'll tell you if you are at Leisure.

Ch. There is nothing more pleasant.

Pe. Then order me a Chair and a Cushion.

Ch. That's very well thought on, for you will tell Lyes the better, sitting at Ease.

Pe. Historians tell us a Story, of one Epimenides a Man of Crete, who taking a Walk alone by himself without the City, being caught in a hasty Shower of Rain, went for Shelter into a Cave, and there fell asleep, and slept on for seven and forty Years together.

I don't believe it. The Form.

Ch. What a Story you tell? 'Tis incredible. What you say is not very likely. You tell me a Fiction. I don't think 'tis true. You tell me a monstrous Story. Are you not asham'd to be guilty of so wicked a Lye? This is a Fable fit to be put among Lucian's Legends.

Pe. Nay, I tell you what is related by Authors of Credit, unless you think Aulus Gellius is not an Author of approv'd Credit.

Ch. Nay, whatsoever he has written are Oracles to me.

Pe. Do you think that a Divine dream'd so many Years? For it is storied that he was a Divine.

Ch. I am with Child to hear.

The Answer.

Pe. What is it more than what Scotus and the School-men did afterwards? But Epimenides, he came off pretty well, he came to himself again at last; but a great many Divines never wake out of their Dreams.

Ch. Well go on, you do like a Poet; But go on with your Lye.

Pe. Epimenides waking out of his Sleep, goes out of his Cave, and looks about him, and sees all Things chang'd, the Woods, the Banks, the Rivers, the Trees, the Fields; and, in short, there was nothing but was new: He goes to the City, and enquires; he stays there a little While, but knows no Body, nor did any Body know him: the Men were dress'd after another Fashion, than what they were before; they had not the same Countenances; their Speech was alter'd, and their Manners quite different: Nor do I wonder it was so with Epimenides, after so many Years, when it was almost so with me, when I had been absent but a few Years.

Ch. But how do your Father and Mother do? Are they living?

Pe. They are both alive and well; but pretty much worn out with old Age, Diseases, and lastly, with the Calamities of War.

Ch. This is the Comedy of human Life. This is the inevitable Law of Destiny.

* * * * *

Words, Names of Affinity.

Pe. Will you sup at Home to Day?

Ch. I am to sup abroad: I must go out to Supper.

Pe. With whom?

Ch. With my Father in Law; with my Son in Law; at my Daughter's in Law; with my Kinsman. They are call'd, Affines, Kinsmen, who are ally'd not by Blood, but Marriage.

Pe. What are the usual Names of Affinity?

Ch. A Husband and Wife are noted Names. Socer, Is my Wife's Father. Gener, My Daughter's Husband. Socrus, My Wife's Mother. Nurus, My Son's Wife. Levir, A Husband's Brother. Levir is call'd by the Wife, as Helen calls Hector, Levir, because she was married to Paris. Fratria, My Brother's Wife. Glos, A Husband's Sister. Vitricus, My Mother's Husband. Noverca, My Father's Wife. Privignus, The Son of my Wife or Husband. Privigna, The Daughter of either of them. Rivalis, He that loves the same Woman another does. Pellex, She that loves the same Man another does; as Thraso is the Rival of Phroedria, and Europa the Pellex of Juno.

* * * * *

Of inviting to a Feast.

Dine with me to Morrow.

Pe. I give you Thanks, I commend you, I invite you to Supper against to Morrow, I entreat your Company at Supper to Morrow. I desire you'd come to Dinner with me to Morrow. I would have your Company at Dinner to Morrow.

I fear I can't come.

Ch. I fear I can't. I am afraid I can't. I will come if I can; but I am afraid I can't.

Why?

Pe. Why can't you? How so? Why so? Wherefore? For what Reason? For what Cause? What hinders you that you can't.

I must stay at Home.

Ch. Indeed I must be at Home at that Time. I must needs be at Home at Night. I must not be abroad at that Time. I shall not have an Opportunity to go out any where to Morrow. I must not be absent at Dinner. I expect some Guests myself upon that Day. Some Friends have made an Appointment to sup at our House that Night. I have some Guests to entertain that Night, or else I would come with all my Heart. Unless it were so, I would not be unwilling to come. If it were not so, I should not want much entreating. I would make no Excuse if I could come. If I could come, I would not be ask'd twice. If I could by any Means come, I would come with a very little, or without any Invitation at all. If I could, I would obey your Command very readily. It is in vain to ask one that is not at his own Disposal: And there would be no need to ask me if I could come: But at present, though I had never so much Mind, I can't; and it would be altogether unnecessary to ask one that is willing.

Pe. Then pray let me have your Company the next Day after: However, I must needs have your Company at Supper the next Day after to Morrow. You must not deny me your Company four Days hence. You must make no Excuse as to coming next Thursday.

I can't promise.

Ch. I can't promise. I cannot positively promise you. I can't certainly promise you. I will come when it shall be most convenient for us both.

You ought to set the Day.

Pe. I would have you appoint a Day when you will come to sup with me. You must assign a Day. You must set the Day. I desire a certain Day may be prefix'd, prescrib'd, appointed, set; but set a certain Day. I would have you tell me the Day.

I would not have you know before Hand.

Ch. Indeed I don't use to set a Day for my Friends. I am used to set a Day for those I'm at Law with. I would not have you know before Hand. I'll take you at unawares. I'll come unexpectedly. I will catch you when you don't think on me. I shall take you when you don't think on me. I'll come unlooked for. I'll come upon you before you are aware. I'll come an uninvited and unexpected Guest.

I would know before Hand.

Pe. I would know two Days before Hand. Give me Notice two Days before you come. Make me acquainted two Days before.

Ch. If you will have me, I'll make a Sybaritical Appointment, that you may have Time enough to provide afore Hand.

Pe. What Appointment is that?

Ch. The Sybarites invited their Guests against the next Year, that they might both have Time to be prepar'd.

Pe. Away with the Sybarites, and their troublesome Entertainments: I invite an old Chrony, and not a Courtier.

You desire to your own Detriment.

Ch. Indeed 'tis to your Detriment. Indeed 'tis to your own Harm. To your own Loss. You wish for it. You pray for that to your own Ill-convenience.

Pe. Why so? Wherefore.

Ch. I'll come provided. I'll come prepar'd. I'll set upon you accoutred. I'll come furnish'd with a sharp Stomach; do you take Care that you have enough to satisfy a Vulture. I'll prepare my Belly and whet my Teeth; do you look to it, to get enough to satisfy a Wolf.

Pe. Come and welcome, I dare you to it. Come on, if you can do any Thing, do it to your utmost, with all your Might.

Ch. I'll come, but I won't come alone.

Pe. You shall be the more welcome for that; but who will you bring with you?

Ch. My Umbra.

Pe. You can't do otherwise if you come in the Day Time.

Ch. Ay, but I'll bring one Umbra or two that have got Teeth, that you shan't have invited me for nothing.

Pe. Well, do as you will, so you don't bring any Ghosts along with you. But if you please explain what is the Meaning of the Word Umbra.

Ch. Among the Learned they are call'd Umbrae, who being uninvited, bear another Person, that is invited, Company to a Feast.

Pe. Well, bring such Ghosts along with you as many as you will.

* * * * *

I promise upon this Condition.

Ch. Well, I will come, but upon this Condition, that you shall come to Supper with me the next Day. I will do it upon this Condition that you shall be my Guest afterwards. Upon that Condition I promise to come to Supper, that you again shall be my Guest. I promise I will, but upon these Terms, that you in the like Manner shall be my Guest the next Day. I promise I will, I give you my Word I will, upon this Consideration, that you dine with me the next Day.

Pe. Come on, let it be done, let it be so. It shall be as you would have it. If you command me, I'll do it. I know the French Ambition, You won't sup with me, but you'll make me Amends for it. And so by this Means Feasts use to go round. From hence it comes to pass, that it is a long Time before we have done feasting one with another. By this Interchangeableness Feasts become reciprocal without End.

Ch. It is the pleasantest Way of Living in the World, if no more Provision be made, but what is used to be made daily. But, I detain you, it may be, when you are going some whither.

Pe. Nay, I believe, I do you. But we'll talk more largely and more freely to Morrow. But we'll divert ourselves to Morrow more plentifully. In the mean Time take Care of your Health. In the mean Time take Care to keep yourself in good Health. Farewell till then.

* * * * *

Whither are you going? The Form.

Ch. Where are you a going now? Whither are you going so fast? Where are you a going in such great Haste. Whither go you? What's your Way?

* * * * *

I go Home. The Form.

Pe. I go Home. I return Home. I go to see what they are a doing at Home. I go to call a Doctor. I am going into the Country. I made an Appointment just at this Time to go to speak with a certain great Man. I made an Appointment to meet a great Man at this Time.

Ch. Whom?

Pe. Talkative Curio.

Ch. I wish you Mercury's Assistance.

Pe. What need of Mercury's Assistance?

Ch. Because you have to do with a Man of Words.

Pe. Then it were more proper to wish the Assistance of the Goddess Memoria.

Ch. Why so?

Pe. Because you'll have more Occasion for patient Ears, than a strenuous Tongue. And the Ear is dedicated to the Goddess Memoria.

Ch. Whither are you going? Whither will you go?

Pe. This Way, to the left Hand. This Way, that Way, through the Market.

Ch. Then I'll bear you Company as far as the next Turning.

Pe. I won't let you go about. You shan't put yourself to so much Trouble on my Account. Save that Trouble till it shall be of Use, it is altogether unnecessary at this Time. Don't go out of your Way upon my Account.

Ch. I reckon I save my Time while I enjoy the Company of so good a Friend. I have nothing else to do, and I am not so lazy, if my Company won't be troublesome.

Pe. No Body is a more pleasant Companion. But I won't suffer you to go on my left Hand. I won't let you walk on my left Hand. Here I bid God be with you. I shall not bear you Company any longer. You shan't go further with me.

* * * * *

A Form of Recommending.

Ch. Recommend me kindly to Curio. Recommend me as kindly as may be to talkative Curio. Take Care to recommend me heartily to Curio. I desire you have me recommended to him. I recommend myself to him by you. I recommend myself to you again and again. I recommend myself to your Favour with all the Earnestness possible. Leave recommendo instead of commendo to Barbarians. See that you don't be sparing of your Speech with one that is full of Tongue. See that you be not of few Words with him that is a Man of many Words.

* * * * *

A Form of Obsequiousness.

Pe. Would you have me obey you? Would you have me be obedient? Shall I obey you? Then you command me to imitate you. Since you would have it so, I'll do it with all my Heart. Don't hinder me any longer; don't let us hinder one another.

Ch. But before you go, I intreat you not to think much to teach me how I must use these Sentences, in mora, in causa, in culpa; you use to be studious of Elegancy. Wherefore come on, I entreat you teach me; explain it to me, I love you dearly.

* * * * *

In Culpa, In Causa, In Mora.

Pe. I must do as you would have me. The Fault is not in me. It is not in thee. The Delay is in thee. Thou art the Cause, is indeed grammatically spoken; these are more elegant.

In Culpa.

I am not in the Fault. The Fault is not mine. I am without Fault. Your Idleness has been the Cause, that you have made no Proficiency, not your Master nor your Father. You are all in Fault. You are both in Fault. You are both to be blam'd. Ye are both to be accus'd. You have gotten this Distemper by your own ill Management. In like Manner they are said to be in vitio, to whom the Fault is to be imputed; and in crimine, they who are to be blam'd; and in damno, who are Losers. This sort of Phrase is not to be inverted commonly; Damnum in illo est. Vitium in illo est.

* * * * *

In Causa.

Sickness has been the Occasion that I have not written to you. My Affairs have been the Cause that I have written to you so seldom, and not Neglect. What was the Cause? What Cause was there? I was not the Cause. The Post-Man was in the Fault that you have had no Letters from me. Love and not Study is the Cause of your being so lean. This is the Cause.

In Mora.

I won't hinder you. What has hinder'd you? You have hindred us. You are always a Hindrance. What hindred you? Who has hindred you? You have what you ask'd for. It is your Duty to remember it. You have the Reward of your Respect. Farewell, my Christian.

Ch. And fare you well till to Morrow, my Peter.

* * * * *

At Meeting.

CHRISTIAN, AUSTIN.

Ch. God save you heartily, sweet Austin.

Au. I wish the same to you, most kind Christian. Good Morrow to you. I wish you a good Day; but how do you do?

Ch. Very well as Things go, and I wish you what you wish for.

Au. I love you deservedly. I love thee. Thou deservest to be lov'd heartily. Thou speakest kindly. Thou art courteous. I give thee Thanks.

* * * * *

I am angry with thee. The Form.

Ch. But I am something angry with you. But I am a little angry with you. But I am a little provok'd at you. I have something to be angry with you for.

* * * * *

For what Cause. The Form.

Au. I pray what is it? Why so? But why, I beseech you? What Crime have I committed? What have I done? Promereor bona, I deserve Good; Commereor mala, I deserve Ill, or Punishment: The one is used in a good Sense, and the other in an ill. Demeremur eum, is said of him that we have attach'd to us by Kindness.

* * * * *

Because you don't Regard me.

Ch. Because you take no Care of me. Because you don't regard me. Because you come to see us so seldom. Because you wholly neglect us. Because you quite neglect me. Because you seem to have cast off all Care of us.

Au. But there is no Cause for you to be angry. But you are angry without my Desert, and undeservedly; for it has not been my Fault, that I have come to see you but seldom: Forgive my Hurry of Business that has hindered me from seeing you, as often as I would have done.

Ch. I will pardon you upon this Condition, if you'll come to Supper with me to Night. I'll quit you upon that Condition, if you come to Supper with me in the Evening.

Au. Christian, you prescribe no hard Articles of Peace, and therefore I'll come with all my Heart. Indeed I will do it willingly. Indeed I would do that with all Readiness in the World. I shan't do that unwillingly. I won't want much Courting to that. There is nothing in the World that I would do with more Readiness. I will do it with a willing Mind.

Ch. I commend your obliging Temper in this, and in all other Things.

Au. I use always to be thus obsequious to my Friends, especially when they require nothing but what's reasonable. O ridiculous! Do you think I would refuse when offer'd me, that which I should have ask'd for of my own Accord?



* * * * *

Don't deceive me. The Form.

Ch. Well, but take Care you don't delude me. See you don't deceive me. Take Care you don't make me feed a vain Hope. See you don't fail my Expectation. See you don't disappoint me. See you don't lull me on with a vain Hope.

Au. There is no Need to swear. In other Things, in other Matters you may be afraid of Perfidy. In this I won't deceive you. But hark you, see that you provide nothing but what you do daily: I would have no holy Day made upon my Account. You know that I am a Guest that am no great Trencher Man, but a very merry Man.

Ch. I'll be sure to take Care. I will entertain you with Scholars Commons, if not with slenderer Fare.

Au. Nay, if you'd please me, let it be with Diogenes's Fare.

Ch. You may depend upon it, I will treat you with a Platonick Supper, in which you shall have a great many learned Stories, and but a little Meat, the Pleasure of which shall last till the next Day: whereas they that have been nobly entertain'd, enjoy perhaps a little Pleasure that Day, but the next are troubled with the Head-ach, and Sickness at the Stomach. He that supp'd with Plato, had one Pleasure from the easy Preparation, and Philosopher's Stories; and another the next Day, that his Head did not ach, and that his Stomach was not sick, and so had a good Dinner of the sauce of last Night's Supper.

Au. I like it very well, let it be as you have said.

Ch. Do you see that you leave all your Cares and melancholy Airs at Home, and bring nothing hither but Jokes and Merriment; and as Juvenal says,

_Protenus ante meum, quicquid dolet, exue limen.

Lay all that troubles you down before my Door, before you come into it._

Au. What? Would you have me bring no Learning along with me? I will bring my Muses with me, unless you think it not convenient.

Ch. Shut up your ill-natured Muses at Home with your Business, but bring your good-natured Muses, all your witty Jests, your By-words, your Banters, your Pleasantries, your pretty Sayings, and all your Ridiculosities along with you.

Au. I'll do as you bid me; put on all my best Looks. We'll be merry Fellows. We'll laugh our Bellies full. We'll make much of ourselves. We'll feast jovially. We'll play the Epicureans. We'll set a good Face on't, and be boon Blades. These are fine Phrases of clownish Fellows that have a peculiar Way of speaking to themselves.

Ch. Where are you going so fast?

Au. To my Son's in Law.

Ch. What do you do there? Why thither? What do you with him?

Au. I hear there is Disturbance among them; I am going to make them Friends again, to bring them to an Agreement; to make Peace among them.

Ch. You do very well, though I believe they don't want you; for they will make the Matter up better among themselves.

Au. Perhaps there is a Cessation of Arms, and the Peace is to be concluded at Night. But have you any Thing else to say to me?

Ch. I will send my Boy to call you.

Au. When you please. I shall be at Home. Farewell.

Ch. I wish you well. See that you be here by five a-Clock. Soho Peter, call Austin to Supper, who you know promised to come to Supper with me to Day.

Pe. Soho! Poet, God bless you, Supper has been ready this good While, and my Master stays for you at Home, you may come when you will.

Au. I come this Minute.



The PROFANE FEAST.

The ARGUMENT.

Our Erasmus most elegantly proposes all the Furniture of this Feast; the Discourses and Behaviour of the Entertainer and the Guests, &c. Water and a Bason before Dinner. The Stoics, the Epicureans; the Form of the Grace at Table. It is good Wine that pleases four Senses. Why Bacchus is the Poets God; why he is painted a Boy. Mutton very wholsome. That a Man does not live by Bread and Wine only. Sleep makes some Persons fat. Venison is dear. Concerning Deers, Hares, and Geese: They of old defended the Capitol at Rome. Of Cocks, Capons and Fishes. Here is discoursed of by the by, Fasting. Of the Choice of Meats. Some Persons Superstition in that Matter. The Cruelty of those Persons that require these Things of those Persons they are hurtful to; when the eating of Fish is neither necessary, nor commanded by Christ. The eating of Fish is condemned by Physicians. The chief Luxury of old Time consisted in Fishes. We should always live a sober Life. What Number of Guests there should be at an Entertainment. The Bill of Fare of the second Course. The Magnificence of the French. The ancient Law of Feasts. Either drink, or begone. A Variation of Phrases. Thanksgiving after Meat.

AUSTIN, CHRISTIAN, a BOY.

Au. O, my Christian, God bless you.

Ch. It is very well that you are come. I am glad you're come. I congratulate myself that you are come. I believe it has not struck five yet.

Boy. Yes, it is a good While past five. It is not far from six. It is almost six. You'll hear it strike six presently.

Au. It is no great Matter whether I come before five or after five, as long as I am not come after Supper; for that is a miserable Thing, to come after a Feast is over. What's all this great Preparation for? What means all this Provision? What, do you think I'm a Wolf? Do you take me for a Wolf? Do you think I'm a Vulture?

Ch. Not a Vulture, nor yet do I think you a Grashopper, to live upon Dew. Here is nothing of Extravagancy, I always lov'd Neatness, and abhor Slovenliness. I am for being neither luxurious nor niggardly. We had better leave than lack. If I dress'd but one Dish of Peas, and the Soot should chance to fall in the Pot and spoil it, what should we have to eat then? Nor does every Body love one Thing; therefore I love a moderate Variety.

Au. An't you afraid of the sumptuary Laws?

Ch. Nay, I most commonly offend on the contrary Side. There is no need of the Fannian Law at our House. The Slenderness of my Income teaches me Frugality sufficiently.

Au. This is contrary to our Agreement. You promised me quite otherwise.

Ch. Well, Mr. Fool, you don't stand to your Agreement. For it was agreed upon that you should bring nothing but merry Tales. But let us have done with these Matters, and wash, and sit down to Supper. Soho, Boy, bring a little Water and a Bason; hang a Towel over your Shoulder, pour out some Water. What do you loiter for? Wash, Austin.

Au. Do you wash first.

Ch. Pray excuse me. I had rather eat my Supper with unwashen Hands this twelve Months.

Au. O ridiculous! 'Tis not he that is the most honourable, but he that is the dirtiest that should wash first; then do you wash as the dirtiest.

Ch. You are too complaisant. You are more complaisant than enough; than is fitting. But to what Purpose is all this Ceremony? Let us leave these trifling Ceremonies to Women, they are quite kick'd out of the Court already, although they came from thence at first. Wash three or four at a Time. Don't let us spend the Time in these Delays. I won't place any Body, let every one take what Place he likes best. He that loves to sit by the Fire, will sit best here. He that can't bear the Light let him take this Corner. He that loves to look about him, let him sit here. Come, here has been Delays enough. Sit down. I am at Home, I'll take my Supper standing, or walking about, which I like best. Why don't you sit down, Supper will be spoiled.

Au. Now let us enjoy ourselves, and eat heartily. Now let us be Epicures. We have nothing to do with Superciliousness. Farewell Care, let all Ill-will and Detraction be banished. Let us be merry, pleasant, and facetious.

Ch. Austin, pray who are those Stoics and Epicures?

Au. The Stoics are a certain melancholy, rigid, parcimonious Sect of Philosophers, who make the Summum bonum of Mankind, to consist in a certain, I can't tell what, honestum. The Epicures are the Reverse of these, and they make the Felicity of a Man to consist in Pleasure.

Ch. Pray what Sect are you of, a Stoic or an Epicure?

Au. I recommend Zeno's Rules; but I follow Epicurus's Practice.

Ch. Austin, what you speak in Jest, a great many do in Earnest, and are only Philosophers by their Cloaks and Beards.

Au. Nay, indeed they out-live the Asots in Luxury.

Ch. Dromo, come hither. Do your Office, say Grace.

Boy. "May he that feeds all Things by his Bounty, command his Blessing upon what is or shall be set upon this Table. Amen."

Ch. Set the Victuals on the Table. Why do we delay to eat up this Capon? Why are we afraid to carve this Cock?

Au. I'll be Hercules, and slay this Beast. Which had you rather have, a Wing or a Leg?

Ch. Which you will, I don't matter which.

Au. In this Sort of Fowls the Wing is look'd upon the best; in other Fowls the Leg is commonly esteemed the greater dainty Bit.

Ch. I put you to a great Deal of Trouble. You take a great Deal of Trouble upon you, upon my Account. You help every Body else, and eat nothing yourself. I'll help you to this Wing; but upon this Condition, that you shall give me Half of it back.

Au. Say you so, that is serving yourself and not me; keep it for yourself. I am not so bashful as to want any Body to help me.

Ch. You do very well.

Au. Do you carve for a Wolf? Have you invited a Vulture?

Ch. You fast. You don't eat.

Au. I eat more than any Body.

Ch. Nay, rather, you lye more than any Body. Pray be as free as if you were at your own House.

Au. I take myself to be there. I do so. I am resolv'd so to do. I design to do so.

Ch. How does this Wine please you? Does this Wine please your Palate?

Au. Indeed it pleases me very well. Indeed it pleases mightily. It pleases me well enough. It pleases me very well.

Ch. Which had you rather have, Red or White?

It is no Matter what Colour it is.

Au. Indeed I like both alike. It is no Matter what Colour 'tis, so the Taste be pleasing. I don't much mind how the Wine pleases the Eye, so it do but please the Palate. I an't much mov'd at the Sight of it, if the Taste be but grateful. It is no great Matter what Colour it is of, or what Colour it has, if it does but taste well. I don't desire to please my Eyes if I can but please my Taste. If it do but please the Palate, I don't regard the Colour, if it be well relish'd.

Ch. I believe so: But there are some Persons that are mighty deeply read in Table Philosophy, who deny that the Wine can be good, unless it pleases four Senses: The Eye, with its Colour; the Nose, with its Smell; the Palate, with its Taste; the Ears, by its Fame and Name.

Au. O ridiculous! What signifies Fame to Drink?

Ch. As much as many that have a good Palate mightily approve of Lovain Wine, when they believe it to be Bern Wine.

Au. It may be, they had spoiled their Palate by much Drinking.

Ch. No, before they had drank one Drop. But I have a Mind to hear your Opinion, who are a Man of great Skill in these Matters.

Au. Our Countrymen prefer White before Red, because the Red is a little more upon the Acid, and the White a smaller Wine; but that is the milder, and in my Opinion the more wholsome.

Ch. We have a pale red Wine, and a yellow Wine, and a purple Colour Wine. This is new Wine, this Year's Wine. This is two Years old, if any Body is for an old Wine. We have some four Years old, but it is grown flat and dead with Age. The Strength is gone with Age.

Au. Why, you're as rich as Lucullus.

Ch. Soho, Boy, where are you a loitering? You give us no Attendance; don't you see we have no Wine here? What if a Fire should happen now? How should we put it out? Give every one a full Glass. Austin, What's the matter that you are not merry? What makes you sit so Melancholy? What's the Matter with you, that you an't chearful? You are either troubled at something, or you're making Verses. You play the Crysippus now, you want a Melissa to feed you.

Au. What Story is this you are telling me of?

Ch. Crysippus is reported to have been so intent upon his logical Subtilties, that he would have been starved at Table, unless his Maid Melissa had put the Meat into his Mouth.

Au. He did not deserve to have his Life sav'd; but if Silence is an Offence to you, and you love a noisy Feast, you have gotten that will make one.

Ch. I remember I have. That's very well minded: We must drink more freely, we ought to drink more largely, more Wine and less Water.

You have hit on the Matter.

Au. You have hit the Nail on the Head. You are in the Right. You have hit the Mark. For,

Foecundi calices quem non fecere disertum?

Ch. That is very learnedly spoken, Austin, and so indeed is all that comes from you; but since we are fallen into a Discourse concerning Wine, since we have happen'd to make mention of Wine, I have a mind to ask you, for what Reason the Ancients, who will have Bacchus the Inventor of Wine, call him the God of the Poets? What has that drunken God to do with Poets, who are the Votaries of the Virgin Muses?

Au. By Bacchus, this is a Question fit to be put over a Bottle. But I see very well, what your Question drives at.

Ch. What, prithee?

Au. You very cunningly put a Question about Wine, by a French Trick, which I believe you learn'd at Paris, that you may save your Wine by that Means. Ah, go your Way, I see you're a Sophister; you have made a good Proficiency in that School.

Ch. Well, I take all your Jokes; I'll return the like to you, when Opportunity shall offer. But to the Matter in Hand.

Au. I'll go on, but I'll drink first, for it is absurd to dispute about a tippling Question with a dry Throat. Here's to you Christian. Half this Cup to you.

Ch. I thank you kindly. God bless it to you, much good may it do you.

Au. Now I'm ready, at your Service. I'll do it as well as I can after my Manner. That they have given a Boy's Face to Bacchus, has this Mystery in it; that Wine being drank, takes away Cares and Vexations from our Minds, and adds a Sort of a Chearfulness to them. And for this Reason, it adds a Sort of Youthfulness even to old Men, in that it makes them more chearful, and of a better Complexion. The same thing Horace in many Places, and particularly testifies in these Verses:

Ad mare cum veni, generosum et lene requiro, Quod curas abigat, quod cum spe divite manet. In venas, animumque meum, quod verba ministret. Quod me Lucanoe juvenem commendet amicae.

For that they have assign'd the Poets to this Deity, I believe by it they design'd to intimate this, that Wine both stirs up Wit and administers Eloquence; which two Things are very fit for Poets. Whence it comes to pass, that your Water Drinkers make poor Verses. For Bacchus is of a fiery Constitution naturally, but he is made more temperate, being united with the Nymphs. Have you been answer'd to your Satisfaction?

Ch. I never heard any Thing more to the Purpose from a Poet. You deserve to drink out of a Cup set with Jewels. Boy, take away this Dish, and set on another.

Au. You have got a very clownish Boy.

Ch. He is the unluckiest Knave in the World.

Au. Why don't you teach him better Manners?

Ch. He is too old to learn. It is a hard matter to mend the Manners of an old Sinner. An old Dog won't be easily brought to wear the Collar. He's well enough for me. Like Master like Man.

* * * * *

If I knew what you lik'd, I would help you.

Au. I would cut you a Slice, if I knew what would please you. I would help you, if I knew your Palate. I would help you, if I knew what you lik'd best. If I knew the Disposition of your Palate, I would be your Carver. Indeed my Palate is like my Judgment.

Ch. You have a very nice Palate. No Body has a nicer Palate than you have. I don't think you come behind him of whose exquisite Skill the Satyrist says,

Ostrea callebat primo deprendere morsu, Et semel aspecti dicebat littus echini.

Au. And you, my Christian, that I may return the Compliment, seem to have been Scholar to Epicurus, or brought up in the Catian School. For what's more delicate or nice than your Palate?

Ch. If I understood Oratory so well as I do Cookery, I'd challenge Cicero himself.

Au. Indeed if I must be without one, I had rather want Oratory than Cookery.

Ch. I am entirely of your Mind, you judge gravely, wisely, and truly. For what is the Prattle of Orators good for, but to tickle idle Ears with a vain Pleasure? But Cookery feeds and repairs the Palate, the Belly, and the whole Man, let him be as big as he will. Cicero says, Concedat laurea lingae; but both of them must give place to Cookery. I never very well liked those Stoicks, who referring all things to their (I can't tell what) honestum, thought we ought to have no regard to our Persons and our Palates. Aristippus was wiser than Diogenes beyond Expression in my Opinion.

Au. I despise the Stoicks with all their Fasts. But I praise and approve Epicurus more than that Cynic Diogenes, who lived upon raw Herbs and Water; and therefore I don't wonder that Alexander, that fortunate King, had rather be Alexander than Diogenes.

Ch. Nor indeed would I myself, who am but an ordinary Man, change my Philosophy for Diogenes's; and I believe your Catius would refuse to do it too. The Philosophers of our Time are wiser, who are content to dispute like Stoicks, but in living out-do even Epicurus himself. And yet for all that, I look upon Philosophy to be one of the most excellent Things in Nature, if used moderately. I don't approve of philosophising too much, for it is a very jejune, barren, and melancholy Thing. When I fall into any Calamity or Sickness, then I betake myself to Philosophy, as to a Physician; but when I am well again, I bid it farewell.

Au. I like your Method. You do philosophize very well. Your humble Servant, Mr. Philosopher; not of the Stoick School, but the Kitchen.

Ch. What is the Matter with you, Erasmus, that you are so melancholy? What makes you look so frowningly? What makes you so silent? Are you angry with me because I have entertained you with such a slender Supper?

Er. Nay, I am angry with you that you have put your self to so much Charge upon my Account. Austin laid a strict Charge upon you that you would provide nothing extraordinary upon his Account. I believe you have a Mind we should never come to see you again; for they give such a Supper as this that intended to make but one. What sort of Guests did you expect? You seem to have provided not for Friends, but for Princes. Do you think we are Gluttons? This is not to entertain one with a Supper, but victualling one for three Days together.

Ch. You will be ill-humour'd. Dispute about that Matter to-Morrow; pray be good humour'd to-Day. We'll talk about the Charge to-Morrow; I have no Mind to hear any Thing but what is merry at this time.

Au. Christian, whether had you rather have, Beef or Mutton?

Ch. I like Beef best, but I think Mutton is the most wholsome. It is the Disposition of Mankind to be most desirous of those Things that are the most hurtful.

Au. The French are wonderful Admirers of Pork.

Ch. The French love that most that costs least.

Au. I am a Jew in this one Thing, there is nothing I hate so much as Swine's Flesh.

Ch. Nor without Reason, for what is more unwholsome? In this I am not of the French Man's but of the Jew's Mind.

Er. But I love both Mutton and Pork, but for a different Reason; for I eat freely of Mutton, because I love it; but Hogs Flesh I don't touch, by Reason of Love, that I may not give Offence.

Ch. You are a clever Man, Erasmus, and a very merry one too. Indeed I am apt to admire from whence it comes to pass that there is such a great Diversity in Mens Palates, for if I may make use of this Verse of Horace,

Tres mihi convivae prope dissentire videntur, Poscentes vario multum diversa palato.

Er. Although as the Comedian says, So many Men, so many Minds, and every Man has his own Way; yet no Body can make me believe, there is more Variety in Mens Dispositions, than there is in their Palates: So that you can scarce find two that love the same Things. I have seen a great many, that can't bear so much as the Smell of Butter and Cheese: Some loath Flesh; one will not eat roast Meat, and another won't eat boil'd. There are many that prefer Water before Wine. And more than this, which you'll hardly believe; I have seen a Man who would neither eat Bread, nor drink Wine.

Ch. What did that poor Man live on?

Er. There was nothing else but what he could eat; Meat, Fish, Herbs and Fruit.

Ch. Would you have me believe you?

Er. Yes, if you will.

Ch. I will believe you; but upon this Condition, that you shall believe me when I tell a Lye.

Er. Well, I will do it, so that you lye modestly.

Ch. As if any Thing could be more impudent than your Lye.

Er. What would your Confidence say, if I should shew you the Man?

Ch. He must needs be a starveling Fellow, a meer Shadow.

Er. You'd say he was a Champion.

Ch. Nay, rather a Polyphemus.

Er. I wonder this should seem so strange to you, when there are a great many that eat dry'd Fish instead of Bread: And some that the Roots of Herbs serve for the same Use that Bread does us.

Ch. I believe you; lye on.

Er. I remember, I saw a Man when I was in Italy, that grew fat with Sleep, without the Assistance either of Meat or Drink.

Ch. Fie for Shame; I can't forbear making Use of that Expression of the Satyrist,

Tunc immensa cavi spirant mendacia folles.

Thou poeticisest. You play the Part of a Poet. I am loath to give you the Lye.

Er. I am the greatest Lyar in the World, if Pliny, an Author of undoubted Credit, has not written, that a Bear in fourteen Days Time will grow wonderfully fat with nothing but Sleep: And that he will sleep so sound, that you can scarce wake him, by wounding him: Nay, to make you admire the more, I will add what Theophrastus writes, that during that Time, if the Flesh of the Bear be boil'd, and kept some Time, it will come to Life again.

Ch. I am afraid that Parmeno in Terence will hardly be able to comprehend these Things. I believe it readily. I would help you to some Venison, if I were well enough accomplished.

Er. Where have you any Hunting now? How came you by Venison?

Ch. Midas, the most generous spirited Man living, and a very good Friend of mine, sent it me for a Present; but so, that I oftentimes buy it for less.

Er. How so?

Ch. Because I am obliged to give more to his Servants, than I could buy it for in the Market.

Er. Who obliges you to that?

Ch. The most violent Tyrant in the World.

Er. Who is he?

Ch. Custom.

Er. Indeed, that Tyrant does frequently impose the most unjust Laws upon Mankind.

Ch. The same Tyrant hunted this Stag, but the Day before Yesterday. What did you do, who used to be a very great Lover of that Sport?

Au. Indeed I have left off that Sport, and now I hunt after nothing but Learning.

Ch. In my Opinion, Learning is fleeter than any Stag.

Au. But I hunt chiefly with two Dogs, that is to say, with Love and Industry: For Love affords a great Deal of Eagerness to learn, and as the most elegant Poet says,

——Labor improbus omnia vincit.

Ch. Austin, you admonish after a friendly Manner, as you use to do; and therefore, I won't give over, nor rest, nor tire, till I attain.

Au. Venison is now in the Prime. Pliny tells us a very admirable Story concerning this Animal.

Ch. What is it, I pray you?

Au. That as often as they prick up their Ears, they are very quick of Hearing; but on the contrary, when they let them down, they are deaf.

Ch. That very often happens to myself; for if I happen to hear a Word spoken of receiving Guineas, there is no Body quicker of Hearing than I; for then with Pamphilus in Terence, I prick up my Ears; but when there is any Mention made of paying them away, I let them down, and am presently hard of Hearing.

Au. Well, I commend you; you do as you should do.

Ch. Would you have some of the Leg of this Hare?

Au. Take it yourself.

Ch. Or had you rather have some of the Back?

Au. This Creature has nothing good but its Flank and hind Legs.

Ch. Did you ever see a white Hare?

Au. Oftentimes. Pliny writes, that on the Alps there are white Hares; and that it is believed in the Winter Time they feed upon Snow: Whether it be true or no, let Pliny see to that: For if Snow makes a Hare's Skin white, it must make his Stomach white too.

Ch. I don't know but it may be true.

Au. I have something for you that is stranger than that; but it may be you have heard of it. The same Man testifies that there is the same Nature in all of them; that is, of Males and Females, and that the Females do as commonly breed without the Use of the Male, as with it. And many Persons assert the same, and especially your skilful Hunters.

Ch. You say right; but if you please, let us try these Rabbets, for they are fat and tender. I would help that pretty Lady if I sat nigher to her. Austin, pray take Care of that Lady that sits by you, for you know how to please the fair Sex.

Au. I know what you mean, you Joker.

Ch. Do you love Goose?

Au. Ay, I love 'em mightily, and I an't very nice. I don't know what's the Matter, but this Goose don't please me; I never saw any Thing dryer in all my Life; it is dryer than a Pumice-Stone, or Furius's Mother in Law, upon whom Catullus breaks so many Jests. I believe it is made of Wood; And in Troth I believe 'tis an old Soldier, that has worn itself out with being upon the Guard. They say a Goose is the most wakeful Creature living. In Truth, if I am not out in my Guess, this Goose was one of them, who when the Watch and their Dogs were fast asleep, in old Time defended the Roman Capitol.

Ch. As I hope to live I believe it was, for I believe it liv'd in that Age.

Au. And this Hen was either half starv'd, or else was in love, or was jealous; for this Sort of Creatures are much troubled with that Distemper. This Capon fatten'd much better; see what Cares will do. If we were to geld our Theodoricus, he would grow fat much the sooner.

Th. I an't a Cock.

Au. I confess you are not Gallus Cybeles, nor a Dunghil-Cock; but it may be you are Gallus Gallaceus.

Ch. What Word is that?

Au. I leave that Word to be unriddled by you: I am Sphinx, and you shall be Oedipus.

Ch. Austin, tell me truly, have you had no Conversation with French Men, have you had no Affinity with them? Had you nothing to do with them?

Au. None at all, indeed.

Ch. Then you are so much the worse.

Au. But perhaps I have had to do with French Women.

Ch. Will you have any of this Goose's Liver? This was look'd upon as a great Delicacy by the Ancients.

Au. I will refuse nothing that comes from your Hand.

Ch. You must not expect Roman Dainties.

Au. What are they?

Ch. Thistles, Cockles, Tortoises, Conger-Eels, Mushrooms, Truffles, etc.

Au. I had rather have a Turnip than any of them. You are liberal and bountiful, Christian.

Ch. No Body touches these Partridges nor the Pigeons, to-Morrow is a Fast-Day appointed by the Church; prepare against that Hunger; Ballast your Ship against the impending Storm. War is a coming, furnish your Belly with Provision.

Au. I wish you had kept that Word in, we should have risen from Supper more merrily. You torment us before the Time.

Ch. Why so?

Au. Because I hate Fish worse than I do a Snake.

Ch. You are not alone.

Au. Who brought in this troublesome Custom?

Ch. Who order'd you to take Aloes, Wormwood and Scammony in Physick?

Au. But these Things are given to Folks that are sick.

Ch. So these Things are given to them that are too well. It is better sometimes to be sick, than to be too well.

Au. In my Opinion the Jews themselves did not labour under such a Burden. Indeed I could easily refrain from Eels and Swines Flesh, if I might fill my Belly with Capons and Partridges.

Ch. In a great many Circumstances it is not the Thing, but the Mind that distinguishes us from Jews; they held their Hands from certain Meats, as from unclean Things, that would pollute the Mind; but we, understanding that to the Pure, all Things are pure, yet take away Food from the wanton Flesh, as we do Hay from a pamper'd Horse, that it may be more ready to hearken to the Spirit. We sometimes chastise the immoderate Use of pleasant Things, by the Pain of Abstinence.

Au. I hear you; but by the same Argument, Circumcision of the Flesh may be defended; for that moderates the Itch of Coition, and brings Pain. If all hated Fish as bad as I do, I would scarce put a Parricide to so much Torture.

Ch. Some Palates are better pleas'd with Fish than Flesh.

Au. Then they like those Things that please their Gluttony, but don't make for their Health.

Ch. I have heard of some of the AEsops and Apitius's, that have look'd upon Fish as the greatest Delicacy.

Au. How then do Dainties agree with Punishment?

Ch. Every Body han't Lampreys, Scares, and Sturgeons.

Au. Then it is only the poor Folks that are tormented, with whom it is bad enough, if they were permitted to eat Flesh; and it often happens, that when they may eat Flesh for the Church, they can't for their Purse.

Ch. Indeed, a very hard Injunction!

Au. And if the Prohibition of Flesh be turned to delicious Living to the Rich; and if the Poor can't eat Flesh many Times, when otherwise they might, nor can't eat Fish, because they are commonly the dearer; to whom does the Injunction do good?

Ch. To all; for poor Folks may eat Cockles or Frogs, or may gnaw upon Onions or Leeks. The middle Sort of People will make some Abatement in their usual Provision; and though the Rich do make it an Occasion of living deliciously, they ought to impute that to their Gluttony, and not blame the Constitution of the Church.

Au. You have said very well; but for all that, to require Abstinence from Flesh of poor Folks, who feed their Families by the Sweat of their Brows, and live a great Way from Rivers and Lakes, is the same Thing as to command a Famine, or rather a Bulimia. And if we believe Homer, it is the miserablest Death in the World to be starv'd to Death.

Ch. So it seem'd to blind Homer; but with Christians, he is not miserable that dies well.

Au. Let that be so; yet it is a very hard Thing to require any Body to die.

Ch. The Popes don't prohibit the eating of Flesh with that Design, to kill Men, but that they may be moderately afflicted if they have transgress'd; or that taking away their pleasant Food, their Bodies may be less fierce against the Spirit.

Au. The moderate Use of Flesh would effect that.

Ch. But in so great a Variety of Bodies certain Bounds of Flesh can't be prescrib'd, a Kind of Food may.

Au. There are Fishes that yield much Aliment, and there are Sorts of Flesh that yield but little.

Ch. But in general Flesh is most nourishing.

Au. Pray tell me, if you were to go a Journey any whither, would you chuse a lively Horse that was a little wanton, or a diseased Horse, who would often stumble and throw his Rider?

Ch. What do you mean by that?

Au. Because Fish-eating, by its corrupt Humours, renders the Body liable to a great many Diseases, that it can't subserve the Spirit as it should do.

Ch. To what Diseases?

Au. Gouts, Fevers, Leprosies, the King's-Evil.

Ch. How do you know?

Au. I believe Physicians. I had rather do so than try the Experiment.

Ch. Perhaps that happens to a few.

Au. Indeed I believe to a great many; besides, in as much as the Mind acts by the material Organs of the Body, which are affected with good or bad Humours, the Instruments being vitiated, it can't exert its Power as it would.

Ch. I know Doctors do very much find Fault with the eating of Fish; but our Ancestors thought otherwise, and it is our Duty to obey them.

Au. It was a Piece of Religion formerly not to break the Sabbath; but for all that, it was more eligible to save a Man on the Sabbath-Day.

Ch. Every one consults his own Health.

Au. If we will obey St. Paul, Let no Body mind his own Things, but every one the Things of another.