Eu. You did wisely.

Gl. By this Man's Advice I married a Wife.

Po. Had she a very good Portion?

Gl. An indifferent good one, and according to the Proverb, in a competent Proportion to my own: For I had just enough to do my Business, and this Matter succeeded to my Mind.

Po. What was your Age then?

Gl. Almost two and twenty.

Po. O happy Man!

Gl. But don't mistake the Matter; all this was not owing to Fortune neither.

Po. Why so?

Gl. I'll tell you; some love before they chuse, I made my Choice with Judgment first, and then lov'd afterwards, and nevertheless I married this Woman more for the Sake of Posterity than for any carnal Satisfaction. With her I liv'd a very pleasant Life, but not above eight Years.

Po. Did she leave you no children?

Gl. Nay, I have four alive, two Sons and two Daughters.

Po. Do you live as a private Person, or in some publick Office?

Gl. I have a publick Employ. I might have happen'd to have got into a higher Post, but I chose this because it was creditable enough to secure me from Contempt, and is free from troublesome Attendance: And it is such, that no Body need object against me that I live only for myself, I have also something to spare now and then to assist a Friend. With this I live content, and it is the very Height of my Ambition. And then I have taken Care so to execute my Office, to give more Reputation to my Office than I receiv'd from it; this I account to be more honourable, than to borrow my Dignity from the Splendor of my Office.

Eu. Without all Controversy.

Gl. By this Means I am advanced in Years, and the Affections of my fellow Citizens.

Eu. But that's one of the difficultest Things in the World, when with very good Reason there is this old Saying: He that has no Enemies has no Friends; and Envy is always an Attendant on Felicity.

Gl. Envy always is a Concomitant of a pompous Felicity, but a Mediocrity is safe; this was always my Study, not to make any Advantage to myself from the Disadvantages of other People. I embraced as much as I could, that which the Greeks call Freedom from the Encumbrance of Business. I intermeddled with no one's Affairs; but especially I kept myself clear from those that could not be meddled with without gaining the ill Will of a great many. If a Friend wants my Assistance, I so serve him, as thereby not to procure any Enemies to myself. In Case of any Misunderstanding between me and any Persons, I endeavour to soften it by clearing myself of Suspicion, or to set all right again by good Offices, or to let it die without taking Notice of it: I always avoid Contention, but if it shall happen, I had rather lose my Money than my Friend. Upon the Whole, I act the Part of Mitio in the Comedy, I affront no Man, I carry a chearful Countenance to all, I salute and resalute affably, I find no Fault with what any Man purposes to do or does, I don't prefer myself before other People; I let every one enjoy his Opinion; what I would have kept as a Secret, I tell to no Body: I never am curious to pry in the Privacies of other Men. If I happen to come to the Knowledge of any thing, I never blab it. As for absent Persons, I either say nothing at all of them, or speak of them with Kindness and Civility. Great Part of the Quarrels that arise between Men, come from the Intemperance of the Tongue. I never breed Quarrels or heighten them; but where-ever Opportunity happens, I either moderate them, or put an End to them. By these Methods I have hitherto kept clear of Envy, and have maintained the Affections of my fellow Citizens.

Pa. Did you not find a single Life irksome to you?

Gl. Nothing happened to me in the whole Course of my Life, more afflicting than the Death of my Wife, and I could have passionately wish'd that we might have grown old together, and might have enjoy'd the Comfort of the common Blessing, our Children: But since Providence saw it meet it should be otherwise, I judged that it was best for us both, and therefore did not think there was Cause for me to afflict myself with Grief, that would do no good, neither to me nor the Deceased.

Pol. What, had you never an Inclination to marry again, especially the first having been so happy a Match to you?

Gl. I had an Inclination so to do, but as I married for the Sake of Children, so for the Sake of my Children I did not marry again.

Pol. But 'tis a miserable Case to lie alone whole Nights without a Bedfellow.

Gl. Nothing is hard to a willing Mind. And then do but consider the Benefits of a single Life: There are some People in the World, who will be for making the worst of every Thing; such a one Crates seemed to be, or an Epigram under his Name, summing up the Evils of human Life. And the Resolution is this, that it is best not to be born at all. Now Metrodorus pleases me a great Deal better, who picks out what is good in it; this makes Life the pleasanter. And I brought my Mind to that Temper of Indifference never to have a violent Aversion or Fondness for any thing. And by this it comes to pass, that if any good Fortune happens to me, I am not vainly transported, or grow insolent; or if any thing falls out cross, I am not much perplex'd.

Pa. Truly if you can do this, you are a greater Philosopher than Thales himself.

Gl. If any Uneasiness in my Mind rises, (as mortal Life produces many of them) I cast it immediately out of my Thoughts, whether it be from the Sense of an Affront offered, or any Thing done unhandsomly.

Pol. Well, but there are some Provocations that would raise the Anger of the most patient Man alive: As the Saucinesses of Servants frequently are.

Gl. I suffer nothing to stay long enough in my Mind to make an Impression. If I can cure them I do it, if not, I reason thus with myself, What good will it do me to torment myself about that which will be never the better for it? In short, I let Reason do that for me at first, which after a little While, Time itself would do. And this I be sure take Care of, not to suffer any Vexation, be it never so great, to go to Bed with me.

Eu. No wonder that you don't grow old, who are of that Temper.

Gl. Well, and that I mayn't conceal any thing from Friends, in an especial Manner I have kept this Guard upon myself, never to commit any Thing that might be a Reflection either on my own Honour or that of my Children. For there is nothing more troublesome than a guilty Conscience. And if I have committed a Fault I don't go to Bed before I have reconcil'd myself to God. To be at Peace with God is the Fountain of true Tranquillity of Mind, or, as the Greeks call it, [Greek: euthymia]. For they who live thus, Men can do them no great Injury.

Eu. Have you never any anxious Thoughts upon the Apprehension of Death?

Gl. No more than I have for the Day of my Birth. I know I must die, and to live in the Fear of it may possibly shorten my Life, but to be sure it would never make it longer. So that I care for nothing else but to live piously and comfortably, and leave the rest to Providence; and a Man can't live happily that does not live piously.

Pa. But I should grow old with the Tiresomeness of living so long in the same Place, tho' it were Rome itself.

Gl. The changing of Place has indeed something of Pleasure in it; but then, as for long Travels, tho' perhaps they may add to a Man's Experience, yet they are liable to a great many Dangers. I seem to myself to travel over the whole World in a Map, and can see more in Histories than if I had rambled through Sea and Land for twenty Years together, as Ulysses did. I have a little Country-House about two Miles out of Town, and there sometimes, of a Citizen I become a Country-Man, and having recreated my self there, I return again to the City a new Comer, and salute and am welcom'd as if I had return'd from the new-found Islands.

Eu. Don't you assist Nature with a little Physick?

Gl. I never was let Blood, or took Pills nor Potions in my Life yet. If I feel any Disorder coming upon me, I drive it away with spare Diet or the Country Air.

Eu. Don't you study sometimes?

Gl. I do. In that is the greatest Pleasure of my Life: But I make a Diversion of it, but not a Toil. I study either for Pleasure or Profit of my Life, but not for Ostentation. After Meat I have a Collation of learned Stories, or else somebody to read to me, and I never sit to my Books above an Hour at a Time: Then I get up and take my Violin, and walk about in my Chamber, and sing to it, or else ruminate upon what I have read; or if I have a good Companion with me, I relate it, and after a While I return to my Book again.

Eu. But tell me now, upon the Word of an honest Man; Do you feel none of the Infirmities of old Age, which are said to be a great many?

Gl. My Sleep is not so sound, nor my Memory so good, unless I fix any thing deeply in it. Well, I have now acquitted myself of my Promise. I have laid open to you those magical Arts by which I have kept myself young, and now let Polygamus tell us fairly, how he brought old Age upon him to that Degree.

Po. Indeed, I will hide nothing from such trusty Companions.

Eu. You will tell it to those that will not make a Discourse of it.

Po. You very well know I indulg'd my Appetite when I was at Paris.

Eu. We remember it very well. But we thought that you had left your rakish Manners and your youthful Way of Living at Paris.

Po. Of the many Mistresses I had there I took one Home, who was big with Child.

Eu. What, into your Father's House?

Po. Directly thither; but I pretended she was a Friend's Wife, who was to come to her in a little Time.

Gl. Did your Father believe it?

Po. He smelt the Matter out in three or four Days time, and then there was a cruel Scolding. However, in this Interim I did not leave off Feasting, Gaming, and other extravagant Diversions. And in short, my Father continuing to rate me, saying he would have no such cackling Gossips under his Roof, and ever and anon threatning to discard me, I march'd off, remov'd to another Place with my Pullet, and she brought me some young Chickens.

Pa. Where had you Money all the While?

Po. My Mother gave me some by Stealth, and I ran over Head and Ears in Debt.

Eu. Had any Body so little Wit as to lend you?

Po. There are some Persons who will trust no Body more readily than they will a Spendthrift.

Pa. And what next?

Po. At last my Father was going about to disinherit me in good earnest. Some Friends interpos'd, and made up the Breach upon this Condition; that I should renounce the French Woman, and marry one of our own Country.

Eu. Was she your Wife?

Po. There had past some Words between us in the future Tense, but there had been carnal Copulation in the present Tense.

Eu. How could you leave her then?

Po. It came to be known afterwards, that my French Woman had a French Husband that she had elop'd from some Time before.

Eu. But it seems you have a Wife now.

Po. None besides this which is my Eighth.

Eu. The Eighth! Why then you were named Polygamus by Way of Prophecy. Perhaps they all died without Children.

Po. Nay, there was not one of them but left me a Litter which I have at Home.

Eu. I had rather have so many Hens at Home, which would lay me Eggs. An't you weary of wifeing?

Po. I am so weary of it, that if this Eighth should die to Day, I would marry the Ninth to-Morrow. Nay, it vexes me that I must not have two or three, when one Cock has so many Hens.

Eu. Indeed I don't wonder, Mr. Cock, that you are no fatter, and that you have brought old Age upon you to that Degree; for nothing brings on old Age faster, than excessive and hard Drinking, keeping late Hours, and Whoring, extravagant Love of Women, and immoderate Venery. But who maintains your Family all this While?

Po. A small Estate came to me by the Death of my Father, and I work hard with my Hands.

Eu. Have you given over Study then?

Po. Altogether. I have brought a Noble to Nine Pence, and of a Master of seven Arts, I am become a Workman of but one Art.

Eu. Poor Man! So many Times you were obliged to be a Mourner, and so many Times a Widower.

Po. I never liv'd single above ten Days, and the new Wife always put an End to the Mourning for the old one. So, you have in Truth the Epitome of my Life; and I wish Pampirus would give us a Narration of his Life; he bears his Age well enough: For if I am not mistaken, he is two or three Years older than I.

Pa. Truly I'll tell it ye, if you are at Leisure to hear such a Romance.

Eu. Nay, it will be a Pleasure to hear it.

Pa. When I went Home my antient Father began to press me earnestly to enter into some Course of Life, that might make some Addition to what I had; and after long Consultation Merchandizing was what I took to.

Po. I admire this Way of Life pleas'd you more than any other.

Pa. I was naturally greedy to know new Things, to see various Countries and Cities, to learn Languages, and the Customs and Manners of Men, and Merchandize seem'd the most apposite to that Purpose. From which a general Knowledge of Things proceeds.

Po. But a wretched one, which is often purchas'd with Inconveniencies.

Pa. It is so, therefore my Father gave me a good large Stock, that I might begin to trade upon a good Foundation: And at the same Time I courted a Wife with a good Fortune, but handsome enough to have gone off without a Portion.

Eu. Did you succeed?

Pa. No. Before I came Home, I lost all, Stock and Block.

Eu. Perhaps by Shipwreck.

Pa. By Shipwreck indeed. For we run upon more dangerous Rocks than those of Scilly.

Eu. In what Sea did you happen to run upon that Rock? Or what is the Name of it?

Pa. I can't tell what Sea 'tis in, but it is a Rock that is infamous for the destruction of a great many, they call it Alea [Dice, the Devil's Bones] in Latin, how you call it in Greek I can't tell.

Eu. O Fool!

Pa. Nay, my Father was a greater Fool, to trust a young Fop with such a Sum of Money.

Gl. And what did you do next?

Pa. Why nothing at all, but I began to think of hanging myself.

Gl. Was your Father so implacable then? For such a Loss might be made up again; and an Allowance is always to be made to one that makes the first Essay, and much more it ought to be to one that tries all Things.

Pa. Tho' what you say may be true, I lost my Wife in the mean Time. For as soon as the Maid's Parents came to understand what they must expect, they would have no more to do with me, and I was over Head and Ears in Love.

Gl. I pity thee. But what did you propose to yourself after that?

Pa. To do as it is usual in desperate Cases. My Father had cast me off, my Fortune was consum'd, my Wife was lost, I was every where call'd a Sot, a Spendthrift, a Rake and what not? Then I began to deliberate seriously with myself, whether I should hang myself or no, or whether I should throw myself into a Monastery.

Eu. You were cruelly put to it! I know which you would chuse, the easier Way of Dying.

Pa. Nay, sick was I of Life itself; I pitched upon that which seem'd to me the most painful.

Gl. And yet many People cast themselves into Monasteries, that they may live more comfortably there.

Pa. Having got together a little Money to bear my Charges, I stole out of my own Country.

Gl. Whither did you go at last?

Pa. Into Ireland, there I became a Canon Regular of that Order that wear Linnen outwards and Woollen next their Skin.

Gl. Did you spend your Winter in Ireland?

Pa. No. But by that Time I had been among them two Months I sail'd into Scotland.

Gl. What displeas'd you among them?

Pa. Nothing, but that I thought their Discipline was not severe enough for the Deserts of one, that once Hanging was too good for.

Gl. Well, what past in Scotland?

Pa. Then I chang'd my Linnen Habit for a Leathern one, among the Carthusians.

Eu. These are the Men, that in Strictness of Profession, are dead to the World.

Pa. It seem'd so to me, when I heard them Singing.

Gl. What? Do dead Men sing? But how many Months did you spend among the Scots?

Pa. Almost six.

Gl. A wonderful Constancy.

Eu. What offended you there?

Pa. Because it seem'd to me to be a lazy, delicate Sort of Life; and then I found there, many that were not of a very sound Brain, by Reason of their Solitude. I had but a little Brain myself, and I was afraid I should lose it all.

Po. Whither did you take your next Flight?

Pa. Into France: There I found some cloath'd all in Black, of the Order of St. Benedict, who intimate by the Colour of their Cloaths, that they are Mourners in this World; and among these, there were some, that for their upper Garment wore Hair-Cloth like a Net.

Gl. A grievous Mortification of the Flesh.

Pa. Here I stay'd eleven Months.

Eu. What was the Matter that you did not stay there for good and all?

Pa. Because I found there were more Ceremonies than true Piety: And besides, I heard that there were some who were much holier, which Bernard had enjoin'd a more severe Discipline, the black Habit being chang'd into a white one; with these I liv'd ten Months.

Eu. What disgusted you here?

Pa. I did not much dislike any Thing, for I found them very good Company; but the Greek Proverb ran in my Mind;

[Greek: Dei tas chelonas e phagein e me phagein.]

One must either eat Snails, or eat nothing at all.

Therefore I came to a Resolution, either not to be a Monk, or to be a Monk to Perfection. I had heard there were some of the Order of St. Bridget, that were really heavenly Men, I betook myself to these.

Eu. How many Months did you stay there?

Pa. Two Days; but not quite that.

Gl. Did that Kind of Life please you no better than so?

Pa. They take no Body in, but those that will profess themselves presently; but I was not yet come to that Pitch of Madness, so easily to put my Neck into such a Halter, that I could never get off again. And as often as I heard the Nuns singing, the Thoughts of my Mistress that I had lost, tormented my Mind.

Gl. Well, and what after this?

Pa. My Mind was inflamed with the Love of Holiness; nor yet had I met with any Thing that could satisfy it. At last, as I was walking up and down, I fell in among some Cross-Bearers. This Badge pleas'd me at first Sight; but the Variety hindered me from chusing which to take to. Some carried a white Cross, some a red Cross, some a green Cross, some a party-colour'd Cross, some a single Cross, some a double one, some a quadruple, and others some of one Form, and some of another; and I, that I might leave nothing untry'd, I carried some of every Sort. But I found in reality, that there was a great Difference between carrying a Cross on a Gown or a Coat, and carrying it in the Heart. At last, being tired with Enquiry, it came into my Mind, that to arrive at universal Holiness all at once, I would take a Journey to the holy Land, and so would return Home with a Back-Load of Sanctimony.

Po. And did you go thither?

Pa. Yes.

Po. Where did you get Money to bear your Charges?

Pa. I wonder it never came into your Head, to ask that before now, and not to have enquir'd after that a great While ago: But you know the old Proverb; a Man of Art will live any where.

Gl. What Art do you carry with you?

Pa. Palmistry.

Gl. Where did you learn it?

Pa. What signifies that?

Gl. Who was your Master?

Pa. My Belly, the great Master of all Arts: I foretold Things past, present, and to come.

Gl. And did you know any Thing of the Matter?

Pa. Nothing at all; but I made bold Guesses, and run no Risque neither, having got my Money first.

Po. And was so ridiculous an Art sufficient to maintain you?

Pa. It was, and two Servants too: There is every where such a Number of foolish young Fellows and Wenches. However, when I came to Jerusalem, I put myself into the Train of a rich Nobleman, who being seventy Years of Age, said he could never have died in Peace, unless he had first visited Jerusalem.

Eu. What, did he leave a Wife at Home?

Pa. Yes, and six Children.

Eu. O impious, pious, old Man! Well, and did you come back holy from thence?

Pa. Shall I tell you the Truth? Somewhat worse than I went.

Eu. So, as I hear, your Religion was grown cool.

Pa. Nay, it grew more hot: So I went back into Italy, and enter'd into the Army.

Eu. What, then, did you look for Religion in the Camp. Than which, what is there that can be more impious?

Pa. It was a holy War.

Eu. Perhaps against the Turks.

Pa. Nay, more holy than that, as they indeed gave out at that Time.

Eu. What was that?

Pa. Pope Julius the Second made War upon the French. And the Experience of many Things that it gives a Man, made me fancy a Soldier's Life.

Eu. Of many Things indeed; but wicked ones.

Pa. So I found afterwards: But however, I liv'd harder here, than I did in the Monasteries.

Eu. And what did you do after this?

Pa. Now my Mind began to be wavering, whether I should return to my Business of a Merchant, that I had laid aside, or press forward in Pursuit of Religion that fled before me. In the mean Time it came into my Mind, that I might follow both together.

Eu. What, be a Merchant and a Monk both together?

Pa. Why not? There is nothing more religious than the Orders of Mendicants, and there is nothing more like to Trading. They fly over Sea and Land, they see many Things, they hear many Things, they enter into the Houses of common People, Noblemen, and Kings.

Eu. Ay, but they don't Trade for Gain.

Pa. Very often, with better Success than we do.

Eu. Which of these Orders did you make Choice of?

Pa. I try'd them all.

Eu. Did none of them please you?

Pa. I lik'd them all well enough, if I might but presently have gone to Trading; but I consider'd in my Mind, I must labour a long Time in the Choir, before I could be qualified for the Trust: So now I began to think how I might get to be made an Abbot: But, I thought with myself, Kissing goes by Favour, and it will be a tedious Pursuit: So having spent eight Years after this Manner, hearing of my Father's Death, I return'd Home, and by my Mother's Advice, I marry'd, and betook myself to my old Business of Traffick.

Gl. Prithee tell me, when you chang'd your Habit so often, and were transform'd, as it were, into another Sort of Creature, how could you behave yourself with a proper Decorum?

Pa. Why not, as well as those who in the same Comedy act several Parts?

Eu. Tell us now in good earnest, you that have try'd every Sort of Life, which you most approve of.

Pa. So many Men, so many Minds: I like none better than this which I follow.

Eu. But there are a great many Inconveniences attend it.

Pa. There are so. But seeing there is no State of Life, that is entirely free from Incommodities, this being my Lot, I make the best on't: But now here is Eusebius still, I hope he will not think much to acquaint his Friends with some Scenes of his Course of Life.

Eu. Nay, with the whole Play of it, if you please to hear it, for it does not consist of many Acts.

Gl. It will be a very great Favour.

Eu. When I return'd to my own Country, I took a Year to deliberate what Way of Living to chuse, and examin'd myself, to what Employment my Inclination led me, and I was fit for. In the mean Time a Prebendary was offered me, as they call it; it was a good fat Benefice, and I accepted it.

Gl. That Sort of Life has no good Reputation among People.

Eu. As human Affairs go, I thought it was a Thing well worth the accepting. Do you look upon it a small Happiness to have so many Advantages to fall into a Man's Mouth, as tho' they dropt out of Heaven; handsome Houses well furnish'd, a large Revenue, an honourable Society, and a Church at Hand, to serve God in, when you have a Mind to it?

Pa. I was scandaliz'd at the Luxury of the Persons, and the Infamy of their Concubines; and because a great many of that Sort of Men have an Aversion to Learning.

Eu. I don't mind what others do, but what I ought to do myself, and associate myself with the better Sort, if I cannot make them that are bad better.

Po. And is that the State of Life you have always liv'd in?

Eu. Always, except four Years, that I liv'd at Padua.

Po. What did you do there?

Eu. These Years I divided in this Manner; I studied Physick a Year and a half, and the rest of the Time Divinity.

Po. Why so?

Eu. That I might the better manage both Soul and Body, and also sometimes be helpful by Way of Advice to my Friends. I preached sometimes according to my Talent. And under these Circumstances, I have led a very quiet Life, being content with a single Benefice, not being ambitiously desirous of any more, and should have refus'd it, if it had been offered me.

Pa. I wish we could learn how the rest of our old Companions have liv'd, that were our Familiars.

Eu. I can tell you somewhat of some of them: but I see we are not far from the City; therefore, if you are willing, we will all take up the same Inn, and there we will talk over the rest at Leisure.

Hugh. [a Waggoner.] You blinking Fellow, where did you take up this Rubbish?

Harry the Waggoner. Where are you carrying that Harlottry, you Pimp?

Hugh. You ought to throw these frigid old Fellows somewhere into a Bed of Nettles, to make them grow warm again.

Harry. Do you see that you shoot that Herd of yours somewhere into a Pond to cool them, to lay their Concupiscence, for they are too hot.

Hugh. I am not us'd to overturn my Passengers.

Harry. No? but I saw you a little While ago, overturn Half a Dozen Carthusians into the Mire, so that tho' they went in white, they came out black, and you stood grinning at it, as if you had done some noble Exploit.

Hugh. I was in the Right of it, they were all asleep, and added a dead Weight to my Waggon.

Harry. But these old Gentlemen, by talking merrily all the Way, have made my Waggon go light. I never had a better Fare.

Hugh. But you don't use to like such Passengers.

Harry. But these are good old Men.

Hugh. How do you know that?

Harry. Because they made me drink humming Ale, three Times by the Way.

Hugh. Ha, ha, ha, then they are good to you.



The FRANCISCANS, [Greek: Ptochoplousioi], or RICH BEGGARS.

The ARGUMENT.

The Franciscans, or rich poor Persons, are not admitted into the House of a Country Parson. Pandocheus jokes wittily upon them. The Habit is not to be accounted odious. The Life and Death of the Franciscans. Of the foolish Pomp of Habits. The Habits of Monks are not in themselves evil. What Sort of Persons Monks ought to be. The Use of Garments is for Necessity and Decency. What Decency is. Whence arose the Variety of Habits and Garments among the Monks. That there was in old Time no Superstition in the Habits.

CONRADE, a Bernardine Monk, a Parson, an Inn-Keeper and his Wife.

Con. Hospitality becomes a Pastor.

Pars. But I am a Pastor of Sheep; I don't love Wolves.

Con. But perhaps you don't hate a Wench so much. But what Harm have we done you, that you have such an Aversion to us, that you won't so much as admit us under your Roof? We won't put you to the Charge of a Supper.

Pars. I'll tell ye, because if you spy but a Hen or a Chicken in a Body's House, I should be sure to hear of it to-Morrow in the Pulpit. This is the Gratitude you shew for your being entertain'd.

Con. We are not all such Blabs.

Pars. Well, be what you will, I'd scarce put Confidence in St. Peter himself, if he came to me in such a Habit.

Con. If that be your Resolution, at least tell us where is an Inn.

Pars. There's a publick Inn here in the Town.

Con. What Sign has it?

Pars. Upon a Board that hangs up, you will see a Dog thrusting his Head into a Porridge-Pot: This is acted to the Life in the Kitchen; and a Wolf sits at the Bar.

Con. That's an unlucky Sign.

Pars. You may e'en make your best on't.

Ber. What Sort of a Pastor is this? we might be starv'd for him.

Con. If he feeds his Sheep no better than he feeds us, they must needs be very lean.

Ber. In a difficult Case, we had Need of good Counsel: What shall we do?

Con. We must set a good Face on't.

Ber. There's little to be gotten by Modesty, in a Case of Necessity.

Con. Very right, St. Francis will be with us.

Ber. Let's try our Fortune then.

Con. We won't stay for our Host's Answer at the Door, but we'll rush directly into the Stove, and we won't easily be gotten out again.

Ber. O impudent Trick!

Con. This is better than to lie abroad all Night, and be frozen to Death. In the mean Time, put Bashfulness in your Wallet to Day, and take it out again to-Morrow.

Ber. Indeed, the Matter requires it.

Innk. What Sort of Animals do I see here?

Con. We are the Servants of God, and the Sons of St. Francis, good Man.

Innk. I don't know what Delight God may take in such Servants; but I would not have many of them in my House.

Con. Why so?

Innk. Because at Eating and Drinking, you are more than Men; but you have neither Hands nor Feet to work. Ha, ha! You Sons of St. Francis, you use to tell us in the Pulpit, that he was a pure Batchelor, and has he got so many Sons?

Con. We are the Children of the Spirit, not of the Flesh.

Innk. A very unhappy Father, for your Mind is the worst Part about you; but your Bodies are too lusty, and as to that Part of you, it is better with you, than 'tis for our Interest, who have Wives and Daughters.

Con. Perhaps you suspect that we are some of those that degenerate from the Institutions of our Founder; we are strict Observers of them.

Innk. And I'll observe you too, that you don't do me any Damage, for I have a mortal Aversion for this Sort of Cattle.

Con. Why so, I pray?

Innk. Because you carry Teeth in your Head, but no Money in your Pocket; and such Sort of Guests are very unwelcome to me.

Con. But we take Pains for you.

Innk. Shall I shew you after what Manner you labour for me?

Con. Do, shew us.

Innk. Look upon that Picture there, just by you, on your left Hand, there you'll see a Wolf a Preaching, and behind him a Goose, thrusting her Head out of a Cowl: There again, you'll see a Wolf absolving one at Confession; but a Piece of a Sheep, hid under his Gown, hangs out. There you see an Ape in a Franciscan's Habit, he holds forth a Cross in one Hand, and has the other Hand in the sick Man's Purse.

Con. We don't deny, but sometimes Wolves, Foxes and Apes are cloathed with this Habit, nay we confess oftentimes that Swine, Dogs, Horses, Lions and Basilisks are conceal'd under it; but then the same Garment covers many honest Men. As a Garment makes no Body better, so it makes no Body worse. It is unjust to judge of a Man by his Cloaths; for if so, the Garment that you wear sometimes were to be accounted detestable, because it covers many Thieves, Murderers, Conjurers, and Whoremasters.

Innk. Well, I'll dispense with your Habit, if you'll but pay your Reckonings.

Con. We'll pray to God for you.

Innk. And I'll pray to God for you, and there's one for t'other.

Con. But there are some Persons that you must not take Money of.

Innk. How comes it that you make a Conscience of touching any?

Con. Because it does not consist with our Profession.

Innk. Nor does it stand with my Profession to entertain Guests for nothing.

Con. But we are tied up by a Rule not to touch Money.

Innk. And my Rule commands me quite the contrary.

Con. What Rule is yours?

Innk. Read those Verses:

Guests at this Table, when you've eat while you're able. Rise not hence before you have first paid your Score.

Con. We'll be no Charge to you.

Innk. But they that are no Charge to me are no Profit to me neither.

Con. If you do us any good Office here, God will make it up to you sufficiently.

Innk. But these Words won't keep my Family.

Con. We'll hide ourselves in some Corner of the Stove, and won't be troublesome to any Body.

Innk. My Stove won't hold such Company.

Con. What, will you thrust us out of Doors then? It may be we shall be devour'd by Wolves to Night.

Innk. Neither Wolves nor Dogs will prey upon their own Kind.

Con. If you do so you will be more cruel than the Turks. Let us be what we will, we are Men.

Innk. I have lost my Hearing.

Con. You indulge your Corps, and lye naked in a warm Bed behind the Stove, and will you thrust us out of Doors to be perish'd with Cold, if the Wolves should not devour us?

Innk. Adam liv'd so in Paradise.

Con. He did so, but then he was innocent.

Innk. And so am I innocent.

Con. Perhaps so, leaving out the first Syllable. But take Care, if you thrust us out of your Paradise, lest God should not receive you into his.

Innk. Good Words, I beseech you.

Wife. Prithee, my Dear, make some Amends for all your ill Deeds by this small Kindness, let them stay in our House to Night: They are good Men, and thou'lt thrive the better for't.

Innk. Here's a Reconciler for you. I'm afraid you're agreed upon the Matter. I don't very well like to hear this good Character from a Woman; Good Men!

Wife. Phoo, there's nothing in it. But think with your self how often you have offended God with Dicing, Drinking, Brawling, Quarrelling. At least, make an Atonement for your Sins by this Act of Charity, and don't thrust these Men out of Doors, whom you would wish to be with you when you are upon your Death-Bed. You oftentimes harbour Rattles and Buffoons, and will you thrust these Men out of Doors?

Innk. What does this Petticoat-Preacher do here? Get you in, and mind your Kitchen.

Wife. Well, so I will.

Bert. The Man softens methinks, and he is taking his Shirt, I hope all will be well by and by.

Con. And the Servants are laying the Cloth. It is happy for us that no Guests come, for we should have been sent packing if they had.

Bert. It fell out very happily that we brought a Flaggon of Wine from the last Town we were at, and a roasted Leg of Lamb, or else, for what I see here, he would not have given us so much as a Mouthful of Hay.

Con. Now the Servants are set down, let's take Part of the Table with them, but so that we don't incommode any Body.

Innk. I believe I may put it to your Score, that I have not a Guest to Day, nor any besides my own Family, and you good-for-nothing ones.

Con. Well, put it up to our Score, if it has not happened to you often.

Innk. Oftner than I would have it so.

Con. Well, don't be uneasy; Christ lives, and he'll never forsake his Servants.

Innk. I have heard you are call'd evangelical Men; but the Gospel forbids carrying about Satchels and Bread, but I see you have great Sleeves for Wallets, and you don't only carry Bread, but Wine too, and Flesh also, and that of the best Sort.

Con. Take Part with us, if you please.

Innk. My Wine is Hog-Wash to it.

Con. Eat some of the Flesh, there is more than enough for us.

Innk. O happy Beggars! My Wife has dress'd nothing to Day, but Coleworts and a little rusty Bacon.

Con. If you please, let us join our Stocks; it is all one to us what we eat.

Innk. Then why don't you carry with you Coleworts and dead Wine?

Con. Because the People where we din'd to Day would needs force this upon us.

Innk. Did your Dinner cost you nothing?

Con. No. Nay they thanked us, and when we came away gave us these Things to carry along with us.

Innk. From whence did you come?

Con. From Basil.

Innk. Whoo! what so far?

Con. Yes.

Innk. What Sort of Fellows are you that ramble about thus without Horses, Money, Servants, Arms, or Provisions?

Con. You see in us some Footsteps of the evangelical Life.

Innk. It seems to me to be the Life of Vagabonds, that stroll about with Budgets.

Con. Such Vagabonds the Apostles were, and such was the Lord Jesus himself.

Innk. Can you tell Fortunes?

Con. Nothing less.

Innk. How do you live then?

Con. By him, who hath promised.

Innk. Who is he?

Con. He that said, Take no Care, but all Things shall be added unto you.

Innk. He did so promise, but it was to them that seek the Kingdom of God.

Con. That we do with all our Might.

Innk. The Apostles were famous for Miracles; they heal'd the Sick, so that it is no Wonder how they liv'd every where, but you can do no such Thing.

Con. We could, if we were like the Apostles, and if the Matter requir'd a Miracle. But Miracles were only given for a Time for the Conviction of the Unbelieving; there is no Need of any Thing now, but a religious Life. And it is oftentimes a greater Happiness to be sick than to be well, and more happy to die than to live.

Innk. What do you do then?

Con. That we can; every Man according to the Talent that God has given him. We comfort, we exhort, we warn, we reprove, and when Opportunity offers, sometimes we preach, if we any where find Pastors that are dumb: And if we find no Opportunity of doing Good, we take Care to do no Body any Harm, either by our Manners or our Words.

Innk. I wish you would preach for us to Morrow, for it is a Holy-Day.

Con. For what Saint?

Innk. To St. Antony.

Con. He was indeed a good Man. But how came he to have a Holiday?

Innk. I'll tell you. This Town abounds with Swine-Herds, by Reason of a large Wood hard by that produces Plenty of Acorns; and the People have an Opinion that St. Antony takes Charge of the Hogs, and therefore they worship him, for Fear he should grow angry, if they neglect him.

Con. I wish they would worship him as they ought to do.

Innk. How's that?

Con. Whosoever imitates the Saints in their Lives, worships as he ought to do.

Innk. To-morrow the Town will ring again with Drinking and Dancing, Playing, Scolding and Boxing.

Con. After this Manner the Heathens once worshipped their Bacchus. But I wonder, if this is their Way of worshipping, that St. Antony is not enraged at this Sort of Men that are more stupid than Hogs themselves. What Sort of a Pastor have you? A dumb one, or a wicked one?

Innk. What he is to other People, I don't know: But he's a very good one to me, for he drinks all Day at my House, and no Body brings more Customers or better, to my great Advantage. And I wonder he is not here now.

Con. We have found by Experience he is not a very good one for our Turn.

Innk. What! Did you go to him then?

Con. We intreated him to let us lodge with him, but he chas'd us away from the Door, as if we had been Wolves, and sent us hither.

Innk. Ha, ha. Now I understand the Matter, he would not come because he knew you were to be here.

Con. Is he a dumb one?

Innk. A dumb one! There's no Body is more noisy in the Stove, and he makes the Church ring again. But I never heard him preach. But no Need of more Words. As far as I understand, he has made you sensible that he is none of the dumb Ones.

Con. Is he a learned Divine?

Innk. He says he is a very great Scholar; but what he knows is what he has learned in private Confession, and therefore it is not lawful to let others know what he knows. What need many Words? I'll tell you in short; like People, like Priest; and the Dish, as we say, wears its own Cover.

Con. It may be he will not give a Man Liberty to preach in his Place.

Innk. Yes, I'll undertake he will, but upon this Condition, that you don't have any Flirts at him, as it is a common Practice for you to do.

Con. They have us'd themselves to an ill Custom that do so. If a Pastor offends in any Thing, I admonish him privately, the rest is the Bishop's Business.

Innk. Such Birds seldom fly hither. Indeed you seem to be good Men yourselves. But, pray, what's the Meaning of this Variety of Habits? For a great many People take you to be ill Men by your Dress.

Con. Why so?

Innk. I can't tell, except it be that they find a great many of you to be so.

Con. And many again take us to be holy Men, because we wear this Habit. They are both in an Error: But they err less that take us to be good Men by our Habit, than they that take us for base Men.

Innk. Well, so let it be. But what is the Advantage of so many different Dresses?

Con. What is your Opinion?

Innk. Why I see no Advantage at all, except in Processions, or War. For in Processions there are carried about various Representations of Saints, of Jews, and Heathens, and we know which is which, by the different Habits. And in War the Variety of Dress is good, that every one may know his own Company, and follow his own Colours, so that there may be no Confusion in the Army.

Con. You say very well: This is a military Garment, one of us follows one Leader, and another another; but we all fight under one General, Christ. But in a Garment there are three Things to be consider'd.

Innk. What are they?

Con. Necessity, Use, and Decency. Why do we eat?

Innk. That we mayn't be starv'd with Hunger.

Con. And for the very same Reason we take a Garment that we mayn't be starv'd with Cold.

Innk. I confess it.

Con. This Garment of mine is better for that than yours. It covers the Head, Neck, and Shoulders, from whence there is the most Danger. Use requires various Sorts of Garments. A short Coat for a Horseman, a long one for one that sits still, a thin one in Summer, a thick one in Winter. There are some at Rome, that change their Cloaths three Times a Day; in the Morning they take a Coat lin'd with Fur, about Noon they take a single one, and towards Night one that is a little thicker; but every one is not furnish'd with this Variety; therefore this Garment of ours is contriv'd so, that this one will serve for various Uses.

Innk. How is that?

Con. If the North Wind blow, or the Sun shines hot, we put on our Cowl; if the Heat is troublesome, we let it down behind. If we are to sit still, we let down our Garment about our Heels, if we are to walk, we hold or tuck it up.

Innk. He was no Fool, whosoever he was, that contriv'd it.

Con. And it is the chief Thing in living happily, for a Man to accustom himself to be content with a few Things: For if once we begin to indulge ourselves with Delicacies and Sensualities, there will be no End; and there is no one Garment could be invented, that could answer so many Purposes.

Innk. I allow that.

Con. Now let us consider the Decency of it: Pray tell me honestly, if you should put on your Wife's Cloaths, would not every one say that you acted indecently?

Innk. They would say I was mad.

Con. And what would you say, if she should put on your Cloaths?

Innk. I should not say much perhaps, but I should cudgel her handsomly.

Con. But then, how does it signify nothing what Garment any one wears?

Innk. O yes, in this Case it is very material.

Con. Nor is that strange; for the Laws of the very Pagans inflict a Punishment on either Man or Woman, that shall wear the Cloaths of a different Sex.

Innk. And they are in the Right for it.

Con. But, come on. What if an old Man of fourscore should dress himself like a Boy of fifteen; or if a young Man dress himself like an old Man, would not every one say he ought to be bang'd for it? Or if an old Woman should attire herself like a young Girl, and the contrary?

Innk. No doubt.

Con. In like Manner, if a Lay-Man should wear a Priest's Habit, and a Priest a Lay-Man's.

Innk. They would both act unbecomingly.

Con. What if a private Man should put on the Habit of a Prince, or an inferior Clergy-Man that of a Bishop? Would he act unhandsomely or no?

Innk. Certainly he would.

Con. What if a Citizen should dress himself like a Soldier, with a Feather in his Cap, and other Accoutrements of a hectoring Soldier?

Innk. He would be laugh'd at.

Con. What if any English Ensign should carry a white Cross in his Colours, a Swiss a red one, a French Man a black one?

Innk. He would act impudently.

Con. Why then do you wonder so much at our Habit?

Innk. I know the Difference between a private Man and a Prince, between a Man and a Woman; but I don't understand the Difference between a Monk and no Monk.

Con. What Difference is there between a poor Man and a rich Man?

Innk. Fortune.

Con. And yet it would be unbecoming a poor Man to imitate a rich Man in his Dress.

Innk. Very true, as rich Men go now a-Days.

Con. What Difference is there between a Fool and a wise Man?

Innk. Something more than there is between a rich Man and a poor Man.

Con. Are not Fools dress'd up in a different Manner from wise Men?

Innk. I can't tell how well it becomes you, but your Habit does not differ much from theirs, if it had but Ears and Bells.

Con. These indeed are wanting, and we are the Fools of this World, if we really are what we pretend to be.

Innk. What you are I don't know; but this I know that there are a great many Fools that wear Ears and Bells, that have more Wit than those that wear Caps lin'd with Furs, Hoods, and other Ensigns of wise Men; therefore it seems a ridiculous Thing to me to make a Shew of Wisdom by the Dress rather than in Fact. I saw a certain Man, more than a Fool, with a Gown hanging down to his Heels, a Cap like our Doctors, and had the Countenance of a grave Divine; he disputed publickly with a Shew of Gravity, and he was as much made on by great Men, as any of their Fools, and was more a Fool than any of them.

Con. Well, what would you infer from that? That a Prince who laughs at his Jester should change Coats with him?

Innk. Perhaps Decorum would require it to be so, if your Proposition be true, that the Mind of a Man is represented by his Habit.

Con. You press this upon me indeed, but I am still of the Opinion, that there is good Reason for giving Fools distinct Habits.

Innk. What Reason?

Con. That no Body might hurt them, if they say or do any Thing that's foolish.

Innk. But on the contrary, I won't say, that their Dress does rather provoke some People to do them Hurt; insomuch, that oftentimes of Fools they become Mad-Men. Nor do I see any Reason, why a Bull that gores a Man, or a Dog, or a Hog that kills a Child, should be punish'd, and a Fool who commits greater Crimes should be suffered to live under the Protection of his Folly. But I ask you, what is the Reason that you are distinguished from others by your Dress? For if every trifling Cause is sufficient to require a different Habit, then a Baker should wear a different Dress from a Fisherman, and a Shoemaker from a Taylor, an Apothecary from a Vintner, a Coachman from a Mariner. And you, if you are Priests, why do you wear a Habit different from other Priests? If you are Laymen, why do you differ from us?

Con. In antient Times, Monks were only the purer Sort of the Laity, and there was then only the same Difference between a Monk and a Layman, as between a frugal, honest Man, that maintains his Family by his Industry, and a swaggering Highwayman that lives by robbing. Afterwards the Bishop of Rome bestow'd Honours upon us; and we ourselves gave some Reputation to the Habit, which now is neither simply laick, or sacerdotal; but such as it is, some Cardinals and Popes have not been ashamed to wear it.

Innk. But as to the Decorum of it, whence comes that?

Con. Sometimes from the Nature of Things themselves, and sometimes from Custom and the Opinions of Men. Would not all Men think it ridiculous for a Man to wear a Bull's Hide, with the Horns on his Head, and the Tail trailing after him on the Ground?

Innk. That would be ridiculous enough.

Con. Again, if any one should wear a Garment that should hide his Face, and his Hands, and shew his privy Members?

Innk. That would be more ridiculous than the other.

Con. The very Pagan Writers have taken Notice of them that have wore Cloaths so thin, that it were indecent even for Women themselves to wear such. It is more modest to be naked, as we found you in the Stove, than to wear a transparent Garment.

Innk. I fancy that the whole of this Matter of Apparel depends upon Custom and the Opinion of People.

Con. Why so?

Innk. It is not many Days ago, since some Travellers lodg'd at my House, who said, that they had travelled through divers Countries lately discovered, which are wanting in the antient Maps. They said they came to an Island of a very temperate Air, where they look'd upon it as the greatest Indecency in the World, to cover their Bodies.

Con. It may be they liv'd like Beasts.

Innk. Nay, they said they liv'd a Life of great Humanity, they liv'd under a King, they attended him to Work every Morning daily, but not above an Hour in a Day.

Con. What Work did they do?

Innk. They pluck'd up a certain Sort of Roots that serves them instead of Bread, and is more pleasant and more wholsome than Bread; and when this was done, they every one went to his Business, what he had a Mind to do. They bring up their Children religiously, they avoid and punish Vices, but none more severely than Adultery.

Con. What's the Punishment?

Innk. They forgive the Women, for it is permitted to that Sex. But for Men that are taken in Adultery, this is the Punishment, that all his Life after, he should appear in publick with his privy Parts covered.

Con. A mighty Punishment indeed!

Innk. Custom has made it to them the very greatest Punishment that is.

Con. When I consider the Force of Persuasion, I am almost ready to allow it. For if a Man would expose a Thief or a Murderer to the greatest Ignominy, would it not be a sufficient Punishment to cut off a Piece of the hinder Part of his Cloaths, and sow a Piece of a Wolf's Skin upon his Buttocks, to make him wear a party-colour'd Pair of Stockings, and to cut the fore Part of his Doublet in the Fashion of a Net, leaving his Shoulders and his Breast bare; to shave off one Side of his Beard, and leave the other hanging down, and curl one Part of it, and to put him a Cap on his Head, cut and slash'd, with a huge Plume of Feathers, and so expose him publickly; would not this make him more ridiculous than to put him on a Fool's Cap with long Ears and Bells? And yet Soldiers dress themselves every Day in this Trim, and are well enough pleased with themselves, and find Fools enough, that like the Dress too, though there is nothing more ridiculous.

Innk. Nay, there are topping Citizens too, who imitate them as much as they can possibly.

Con. But now if a Man should dress himself up with Birds Feathers like an Indian, would not the very Boys, all of them, think he was a mad Man?

Innk. Stark mad.

Con. And yet, that which we admire, savours of a greater Madness still: Now as it is true, that nothing is so ridiculous but Custom will bear it out; so it cannot be denied, but that there is a certain Decorum in Garments, which all wise Men always account a Decorum; and that there is also an Unbecomingness in Garments, which will to wise Men always seem unbecoming. Who does not laugh, when he sees a Woman dragging a long Train at her Heels, as if her Quality were to be measured by the Length of her Tail? And yet some Cardinals are not asham'd to follow this Fashion in their Gowns: And so prevalent a Thing is Custom, that there is no altering of a Fashion that has once obtain'd.

Innk. Well, we have had Talk enough about Custom: But tell me now, whether you think it better for Monks to differ from others in Habit, or not to differ?

Con. I think it to be more agreeable to Christian Simplicity, not to judge of any Man by his Habit, if it be but sober and decent.

Innk. Why don't you cast away your Cowls then?

Con. Why did not the Apostles presently eat of all Sorts of Meat?

Innk. I can't tell. Do you tell me that.

Con. Because an invincible Custom hinder'd it: For whatsoever is deeply rooted in the Minds of Men, and has been confirm'd by long Use, and is turn'd as it were into Nature, can never be remov'd on a sudden, without endangering the publick Peace; but must be remov'd by Degrees, as a Horse's Tail is pluck'd off by single Hairs.

Innk. I could bear well enough with it, if the Monks had all but one Habit: But who can bear so many different Habits?

Con. Custom has brought in this Evil, which brings in every Thing. Benedict did not invent a new Habit, but the same that he wore himself and his Disciples, which was the Habit of a plain, honest Layman: Neither did Francis invent a new Dress; but it was the Dress of poor Country-Fellows. Their Successors have by new Additions turned it into Superstition. Don't we see some old Women at this Day, that keep to the Dress of their Times, which is more different from the Dress now in Fashion, than my Dress is from yours?

Innk. We do see it.

Con. Therefore, when you see this Habit, you see only the Reliques of antient Times.

Innk. Why then, has your Garment no Holiness in it?

Con. None at all.

Innk. There are some of you that make their Boasts that these Dresses were divinely directed by the holy Virgin Mother.

Con. These Stories are but meer Dreams.

Innk. Some despair of being able to recover from a Fit of Sickness, unless they be wrapp'd up in a Dominican's Habit: Nay, nor won't be buried but in a Franciscan's Habit.

Con. They that persuade People of those Things, are either Cheats or Fools, and they that believe them are superstitious. God will know a wicked Man as well in a Franciscan's Habit, as in a Soldier's Coat.

Innk. There is not so much Variety in the Feathers of Birds of the Air, as there is in your Habits.

Con. What then, is it not a very good Thing to imitate Nature? But it is a better Thing to out-do it.

Innk. I wish you would out-do it in the Variety of your Beaks too.

Con. But, come on. I will be an Advocate for Variety, if you will give me Leave. Is not a Spaniard dressed after one Fashion, an Italian after another, a Frenchman after another, a German after another, a Greek after another, a Turk after another, and a Sarazen after another?

Innk. Yes.

Con. And then in the same Country, what Variety of Garments is there in Persons of the same Sex, Age and Degree. How different is the Dress of the Venetian from the Florentine, and of both from the Roman, and this only within Italy alone?

Innk. I believe it.

Con. And from hence also came our Variety. Dominic he took his Dress from the honest Ploughmen in that Part of Spain in which he liv'd; and Benedict from the Country-Fellows of that Part of Italy in which he liv'd; and Francis from the Husbandmen of a different Place, and so for the rest.

Innk. So that for aught I find, you are no holier than we, unless you live holier.

Con. Nay, we are worse than you, in that; if we live wickedly, we are a greater Stumbling to the Simple.

Innk. Is there any Hope of us then, who have neither Patron, nor Habit, nor Rule, nor Profession?

Con. Yes, good Man; see that you hold it fast. Ask your Godfathers what you promis'd in Baptism, what Profession you then made. Do you want a human Rule, who have made a Profession of the Gospel Rule? Or do you want a Man for a Patron, who have Jesus Christ for a Patron? Consider what you owe to your Wife, to your Children, to your Family, and you will find you have a greater Load upon you, than if you had professed the Rule of Francis.

Innk. Do you believe that any Inn-Keepers go to Heaven?

Con. Why not?

Innk. There are a great many Things said and done in this House, that are not according to the Gospel.

Con. What are they?

Innk. One fuddles, another talks bawdy, another brawls, and another slanders; and last of all, I can't tell whether they keep themselves honest or not.

Con. You must prevent these Things as much as you can; and if you cannot hinder them, however, do not for Profit's Sake encourage or draw on these Wickednesses.

Innk. Sometimes I don't deal very honestly as to my Wine.

Con. Wherein?

Innk. When I find my Guests grow a little too hot, I put more Water into the Wine.

Con. That's a smaller Fault than selling of Wine made up with unwholsome Ingredients.

Innk. But tell me truly, how many Days have you been in this Journey?

Con. Almost a Month.

Innk. Who takes Care of you all the While?

Con. Are not they taken Care enough of, that have a Wife, and Children, and Parents, and Kindred?

Innk. Oftentimes.

Con. You have but one Wife, we have an hundred; you have but one Father, we have an hundred; you have but one House, we have an hundred; you have but a few Children, we have an innumerable Company; you have but a few Kindred, we have an infinite Number.

Innk. How so?

Con. Because the Kindred of the Spirit extends more largely, than the Kindred of the Flesh: So Christ has promised, and we experience the Truth of what he has promised.

Innk. In Troth, you have been a good Companion for me; let me die if I don't like this Discourse better than to drink with our Parson. Do us the Honour to preach to the People to-morrow, and if ever you happen to come this Way again, know that here's a Lodging for you.

Con. But what if others should come?

Innk. They shall be welcome, if they be but such as you.

Con. I hope they will be better.

Innk. But among so many bad ones, how shall I know which are good?

Con. I'll tell you in a few Words, but in your Ear.

Innk. Tell me.

Con.————-

Innk. I'll remember it, and do it.



The ABBOT and LEARNED WOMAN.

The ARGUMENT.

A certain Abbot paying a Visit to a Lady, finds her reading Greek and Latin Authors. A Dispute arises, whence Pleasantness of Life proceeds: viz. Not from external Enjoyments, but from the Study of Wisdom. An ignorant Abbot will by no Means have his Monks to be learned; nor has he himself so much as a single Book in his Closet. Pious Women in old Times gave their Minds to the Study of the Scriptures; but Monks that hate Learning, and give themselves up to Luxury, Idleness, and Hunting, are provok'd to apply themselves to other Kinds of Studies, more becoming their Profession.

ANTRONIUS, MAGDALIA.

Ant. What Sort of Houshold-Stuff do I see?

Mag. Is it not that which is neat?

Ant. How neat it is, I can't tell, but I'm sure, it is not very becoming, either a Maid or a Matron.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because here's Books lying about every where.

Mag. What have you liv'd to this Age, and are both an Abbot and a Courtier, and never saw any Books in a Lady's Apartment?

Ant. Yes, I have seen Books, but they were French; but here I see Greek and Latin ones.

Mag. Why, are there no other Books but French ones that teach Wisdom?

Ant. But it becomes Ladies to have something that is diverting, to pass away their leisure Hours.

Mag. Must none but Ladies be wise, and live pleasantly?

Ant. You very improperly connect being wise, and living pleasantly together: Women have nothing to do with Wisdom; Pleasure is Ladies Business.

Mag. Ought not every one to live well?

Ant. I am of Opinion, they ought so to do.

Mag. Well, can any Body live a pleasant Life, that does not live a good Life.

Ant. Nay, rather, how can any Body live a pleasant Life, that does live a good Life?

Mag. Why then, do you approve of living illy, if it be but pleasantly?

Ant. I am of the Opinion, that they live a good Life, that live a pleasant Life.

Mag. Well, but from whence does that Pleasure proceed? From outward Things, or from the Mind?

Ant. From outward Things.

Mag. O subtle Abbot, but thick-skull'd Philosopher! Pray tell me in what you suppose a pleasant Life to consist?

Ant. Why, in Sleeping, and Feasting, and Liberty of doing what you please, in Wealth, and in Honours.

Mag. But suppose to all these Things God should add Wisdom, should you live pleasantly then?

Ant. What is it that you call by the Name of Wisdom?

Mag. This is Wisdom, to know that a Man is only happy by the Goods of the Mind. That Wealth, Honour, and Descent, neither make a Man happier or better.

Ant. If that be Wisdom, fare it well for me.

Mag. Suppose now that I take more Pleasure in reading a good Author, than you do in Hunting, Drinking, or Gaming; won't you think I live pleasantly?

Ant. I would not live that Sort of Life.

Mag. I don't enquire what you take most Delight in; but what is it that ought to be most delighted in?

Ant. I would not have my Monks mind Books much.

Mag. But my Husband approves very well of it. But what Reason have you, why you would not have your Monks bookish?

Ant. Because I find they are not so obedient; they answer again out of the Decrees and Decretals of Peter and Paul.

Mag. Why then do you command them the contrary to what Peter and Paul did?

Ant. I can't tell what they teach; but I can't endure a Monk that answers again: Nor would I have any of my Monks wiser than I am myself.

Mag. You might prevent that well enough, if you did but lay yourself out, to get as much Wisdom as you can.

Ant. I han't Leisure.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because I han't Time.

Mag. What, not at Leisure to be wise?

Ant. No.

Mag. Pray what hinders you?

Ant. Long Prayers, the Affairs of my Houshold, Hunting, looking after my Horses, attending at Court.

Mag. Well, and do you think these Things are better than Wisdom?

Ant. Custom has made it so.

Mag. Well, but now answer me this one Thing: Suppose God should grant you this Power, to be able to turn yourself and your Monks into any Sort of Animal that you had a Mind: Would you turn them into Hogs, and yourself into a Horse?

Ant. No, by no Means.

Mag. By doing so you might prevent any of them from being wiser than yourself?

Ant. It is not much Matter to me what Sort of Animals my Monks are, if I am but a Man myself.

Mag. Well, and do you look upon him to be a Man that neither has Wisdom, nor desires to have it?

Ant. I am wise enough for myself.

Mag. And so are Hogs wise enough for themselves.

Ant. You seem to be a Sophistress, you argue so smartly.

Mag. I won't tell you what you seem to me to be. But why does this Houshold-Stuff displease you?

Ant. Because a Spinning-Wheel is a Woman's Weapon.

Mag. Is it not a Woman's Business to mind the Affairs of her Family, and to instruct her Children?

Ant. Yes, it is.

Mag. And do you think so weighty an Office can be executed without Wisdom?

Ant. I believe not.

Mag. This Wisdom I learn from Books.

Ant. I have threescore and two Monks in my Cloister, and you will not see one Book in my Chamber.

Mag. The Monks are finely look'd after all this While.

Ant. I could dispense with Books; but I can't bear Latin Books.

Mag. Why so?

Ant. Because that Tongue is not fit for a Woman.

Mag. I want to know the Reason.

Ant. Because it contributes nothing towards the Defence of their Chastity.

Mag. Why then do French Books that are stuff'd with the most trifling Novels, contribute to Chastity?

Ant. But there is another Reason.

Mag. Let it be what it will, tell me it plainly.

Ant. They are more secure from the Priests, if they don't understand Latin.

Mag. Nay, there's the least Danger from that Quarter according to your Way of Working; because you take all the Pains you can not to know any Thing of Latin.

Ant. The common People are of my Mind, because it is such a rare unusual Thing for a Woman to understand Latin.

Mag. What do you tell me of the common People for, who are the worst Examples in the World that can be follow'd. What have I to do with Custom, that is the Mistress of all evil Practices? We ought to accustom ourselves to the best Things: And by that Means, that which was uncustomary would become habitual, and that which was unpleasant would become pleasant; and that which seemed unbecoming would look graceful.

Ant. I hear you.

Mag. Is it becoming a German Woman to learn to speak French.

Ant. Yes it is.

Mag. Why is it?

Ant. Because then she will be able to converse with those that speak French.

Mag. And why then is it unbecoming in me to learn Latin, that I may be able daily to have Conversation with so many eloquent, learned and wise Authors, and faithful Counsellors?

Ant. Books destroy Women's Brains, who have little enough of themselves.

Mag. What Quantity of Brains you have left I cannot tell: And as for myself, let me have never so little, I had rather spend them in Study, than in Prayers mumbled over without the Heart going along with them, or sitting whole Nights in quaffing off Bumpers.

Ant. Bookishness makes Folks mad.

Mag. And does not the Rattle of your Pot-Companions, your Banterers, and Drolls, make you mad?

Ant. No, they pass the Time away.

Mag. How can it be then, that such pleasant Companions should make me mad?

Ant. That's the common Saying.

Mag. But I by Experience find quite the contrary. How many more do we see grow mad by hard drinking, unseasonable feasting, and sitting up all Night tippling, which destroys the Constitution and Senses, and has made People mad?

Ant. By my Faith, I would not have a learned Wife.

Mag. But I bless myself, that I have gotten a Husband that is not like yourself. Learning both endears him to me, and me to him.

Ant. Learning costs a great Deal of Pains to get, and after all we must die.

Mag. Notable Sir, pray tell me, suppose you were to die to-Morrow, had you rather die a Fool or a wise Man?

Ant. Why, a wise Man, if I could come at it without taking Pains.

Mag. But there is nothing to be attained in this Life without Pains; and yet, let us get what we will, and what Pains soever we are at to attain it, we must leave it behind us: Why then should we think much to be at some Pains for the most precious Thing of all, the Fruit of which will bear us Company unto another Life.

Ant. I have often heard it said, that a wise Woman is twice a Fool.

Mag. That indeed has been often said; but it was by Fools. A Woman that is truly wise does not think herself so: But on the contrary, one that knows nothing, thinks her self to be wise, and that is being twice a Fool.

Ant. I can't well tell how it is, that as Panniers don't become an Ox, so neither does Learning become a Woman.

Mag. But, I suppose, you can't deny but Panniers will look better upon an Ox, than a Mitre upon an Ass or a Sow. What think you of the Virgin Mary?

Ant. Very highly.

Mag. Was not she bookish?

Ant. Yes; but not as to such Books as these.

Mag. What Books did she read?

Ant. The canonical Hours.

Mag. For the Use of whom?

Ant. Of the Order of Benedictines.

Mag. Indeed? What did Paula and Eustochium do? Did not they converse with the holy Scriptures?

Ant. Ay, but this is a rare Thing now.

Mag. So was a blockheaded Abbot in old Time; but now nothing is more common. In old Times Princes and Emperors were as eminent for Learning as for their Governments: And after all, it is not so great a Rarity as you think it. There are both in Spain and Italy not a few Women, that are able to vye with the Men, and there are the Morites in England, and the Bilibald-duks and Blaureticks in Germany. So that unless you take Care of yourselves it will come to that Pass, that we shall be Divinity-Professors in the Schools, and preach in the Churches, and take Possession of your Mitres.

Ant. God forbid.

Mag. Nay it is your Business to forbid it. For if you hold on as you have begun, even Geese themselves will preach before they'll endure you a Parcel of dumb Teachers. You see the World is turn'd up-Side down, and you must either lay aside your Dress, or perform your Part.

Ant. How came I to fall into this Woman's Company? If you'll come to see me, I'll treat you more pleasantly.

Mag. After what Manner?

Ant. Why, we'll dance, and drink heartily, and hunt and play, and laugh.

Mag. I can hardly forbear laughing now.



The EPITHALAMIUM of PETRUS AEGIDIUS.

The ARGUMENT.

The Muses and Graces are brought in, as singing the Epithalamium of Peter AEgidius. Alipius spies the nine Muses, and the three Graces coming out of a Grove, which Balbinus can't see: They take their Way to Antwerp, to the Wedding of AEgidius, to whom they wish all joy, that nothing of Difference or Uneasiness may ever arise between 'em. How those Marriages prove that are made, the Graces not favouring 'em. Congratulatory Verses.

ALIPIUS, BALBINUS, MUSAE.

Al. Good God! What strange glorious Sight do I see here?

Ba. Either you see what is not to be seen, or I can't see that which is to be seen.

Al. Nay, I'll assure you, 'tis a wonderful charming Sight.

Ba. Why do you plague me at this Rate? Tell me, where 'tis you see it.

Al. Upon the left Hand there in the Grove, under the Side of the Hill.

Ba. I see the Hill, but I can see nothing else.

Al. No! don't you see a Company of pretty Maids there?

Ba. What do you mean, to make a Fool of me at this Rate? I can't see a bit of a Maid any where.

Al. Hush, they're just now coming out of the Grove. Oh admirable! How neat they are! How charmingly they look! 'Tis a heavenly Sight.

Ba. What! Are you possess'd?

Al. Oh, I know who they are; they're the nine Muses and the three Graces, I wonder what they're a-doing. I never in all my Life saw 'em more charmingly dress'd, nor in a gayer Humour; they have every one of 'em got Crowns of Laurel upon their Heads, and their Instruments of Musick in their Hands. And how lovingly the Graces go Side by Side! How becomingly they look in their loose Dress, with their Garments flowing and trailing after 'em.

Ba. I never heard any Body talk more like a mad Man in all my Days, than you do.

Al. You never saw a happier Man in all your Life-Time.

Ba. Pray what's the Matter, that you can see and I can't?

Al. Because you have never drank of the Muses Fountain; and no Body can see 'em but they that have.

Ba. I have drank plentifully out of Scotus's Fountain.

Al. But that is not the Fountain of the Muses, but a Lake of Frogs.

Ba. But can't you do something to make me see this Sight, as well as you?

Al. I could if I had a Laurel-Branch here, for Water out of a clear Spring, sprinkled upon one with a Laurel Bough, makes the Eyes capable of such Sights as these.

Ba. Why, see here is a Laurel and a Fountain too.

Al. Is there? That's clever, I vow.

Ba. But prithee, sprinkle me with it.

Al. Now look, do you see now?

Ba. As much as I did before. Sprinkle me again.

Al. Well, now do you see?

Ba. Just as much; sprinkle me plentifully.

Al. I believe you can't but see now.

Ba. Now I can scarce see you.

Al. Ah poor Man, how total a Darkness has seized your Eyes! This Art would open even the Eyes of an old Coachman: But however, don't plague yourself about it, perhaps 'tis better for you not to see it, lest you should come off as ill by seeing the Muses, as Actaeon did by seeing Diana: For you'd perhaps be in Danger of being turn'd either into a Hedgehog, or a wild Boar, a Swine, a Camel, a Frog, or a Jackdaw. But however, if you can't see, I'll make you hear 'em, if you don't make a Noise; they are just a-coming this Way. Let's meet 'em. Hail, most welcome Goddesses.

Mu. And you heartily, Lover of the Muses.

Al. What makes you pull me so?

Ba. You an't as good as your Word.

Al. Why don't you hear 'em?

Ba. I hear somewhat, but I don't know what it is.

Al. Well, I'll speak Latin to 'em then. Whither are you going so fine and so brisk? Are you going to Louvain to see the University?

Mu. No, we assure you, we won't go thither.

Al. Why not?

Mu. What Place is for us, where so many Hogs are grunting, Camels and Asses braying, Jackdaws cawing, and Magpies chattering?

Al. But for all that, there are some there that are your Admirers.

Mu. We know that, and therefore we'll go thither a few Years hence. The successive Period of Ages has not yet brought on that Time; for there will be one, that will build us a pleasant House there, or a Temple rather, such a one, as there scarce is a finer or more sacred any where else.

Al. Mayn't a Body know who it will be, that shall do so much Honour to our Country?

Mu. You may know it, that are one of our Priests. There's no doubt, but you have heard the Name of the Buslidians, famous all the World over.

Al. You have mention'd a noble Family truly, born to grace the Palaces of the greatest Princes in the Universe. For who does not revere the great Francis Buslidius, the Bishop of the Church of Bezancon, who has approv'd himself more than a single Nestor, to Philip the Son of Maximilian the Great, the Father of Charles, who will also be a greater Man than his Father?

Mu. O how happy had we been, if the Fates had not envy'd the Earth the Happiness of so great a Man, What a Patron was he to all liberal Studies! How candid a Favourer of Ingenuity! But he has left two brothers, Giles a Man of admirable Judgment and Wisdom, and Jerome.

Al. We know very well that Jerome is singularly well accomplish'd with all Manner of Literature, and adorn'd with every Kind of Virtue.

Mu. But the Destinies won't suffer him to be long-liv'd neither, though no Man in the World better deserves to be immortaliz'd.

Al. How do you know that?

Mu. We had it from Apollo.

Al. How envious are the Destinies, to take from us all desirable Things so hastily!

Mu. We must not talk of that at this Time; but this Jerome, dying with great Applause, will leave his whole Estate for the building of a College at Louvain, in which most learned Men shall profess and teach publickly, and gratis, the three Languages. These Things will bring a great Ornament to Learning, and Glory to Charles himself: Then we'll reside at Louvain, with all our Hearts.

Al. But whither are you going now?

Mu. To Antwerp.

Al. What, the Muses and Graces going to a Fair?

Mu. No, we assure you, we are not going to a Fair; but to a Wedding.

Al. What have Virgins to do at Weddings?

Mu. 'Tis no indecent Thing at all, for Virgins to be at such a Wedding as this is.

Al. Pray what Sort of a Marriage is it?

Mu. A holy, undefiled, and chaste Marriage, such a one as Pallas herself need not be asham'd to be at: Nay, more than that, we believe she will be at it.

Al. Mayn't a Body know the Bride and Bridegroom's Name?

Mu. We believe you must needs know that most courteous and accomplish'd Youth in all Kinds of polite Learning, Peter AEgidius.

Al. You have named an Angel, not a Man.

Mu. The pretty Maid Cornelia, a fit Match for Apollo himself, is going to be married to AEgidius.

Al. Indeed he has been a great Admirer of you, even from his Infancy.

Mu. We are going to sing him an Epithalamium.

Al. What, and will the Graces dance too?

Mu. They will not only dance, but they will also unite those two true Lovers, with the indissoluble Ties of mutual Affection, that no Difference or Jarring shall ever happen between 'em. She shall never hear any Thing from him, but my Life; nor he from her, but my Soul: Nay: and even old Age itself, shall be so far from diminishing that, that it shall increase the Pleasure.

Al. I should admire at it, if those that live so sweetly, could ever be able to grow old.

Mu. You say very right, for it is rather a Maturity, than an old Age.

Al. But I have known a great many, to whom these kind Words have been chang'd into the quite contrary, in less than three Months Time; and instead of pleasant Jests at Table, Dishes and Trenchers have flown about. The Husband, instead of my dear Soul, has been call'd Blockhead, Toss-Pot, Swill-Tub; and the Wife, Sow, Fool, dirty Drab.

Mu. You say very true; but these Marriages were made when the Graces were out of Humour: But in this Marriage, a Sweetness of Temper will always maintain a mutual Affection.

Al. Indeed you speak of such a happy Marriage as is very seldom seen.

Mu. An uncommon Felicity is due to such uncommon Virtues.

Al. But what! Will the Matrimony be without Juno and Venus?

Mu. Indeed Juno won't be there, she's a scolding Goddess, and is but seldom in a good Humour with her own Jove. Nor indeed, that earthly drunken Venus; but another heavenly one, which makes a Union of Minds.

Al. Then the Marriage you speak of, is like to be a barren one.

Mu. No, by no Means, but rather like to be the most happily fruitful.

Al. What, does that heavenly Venus produce any Thing but Souls then?

Mu. Yes, she gives Bodies to the Souls; but such Bodies, as shall be exactly conformable to 'em, just as though you should put a choice Ointment into a curious Box of Pearl.

Al. Where is she then?

Mu. Look, she is coming towards you, a pretty Way off.

Al. Oh! I see her now. O good God, how bright she is! How majestical and beautiful she appears! The t'other Venus compar'd with this, is a homely one.

Mu. Do you see what modest Cupids there are; they are no blind ones, such as that Venus has, that makes Mankind mad? But these are sharp little Rogues, and they don't carry furious Torches, but most gentle Fires; they have no leaden-pointed Darts, to make the belov'd hate the Lover, and torment poor Wretches with the Want of a reciprocal Affection.

Al. In Truth, they're as like their Mother as can be. Oh, that's a blessed House, and dearly belov'd by the Gods! But may not a Body hear the Marriage-Song that you design to present 'em with?

Mu. Nay, we were just a-going to ask you to hear it.

CLIO. Peter hath married fair Cornelia, Propitious Heaven! bless the Wedding-Day.

MELPOMENE. Concord of Turtle-Doves between them be, And of the Jack-daw the Vivacity.

THALIA. From Gracchus may he win the Prize, And for Cornelia's Life, his own despise.

EUTERPE. May she in Love exceed Admetus' Wife, Who laid her own down, for her Husband's Life.

TERPSICHORE. May he love her with stronger Flame, But much more happy Fate, Than Plaucius, who did disdain To out-live his deceas'd Mate.

ERATO. May she love him with no less Flame, But with much better Fate; Than Porcia chaste, her Brutus did, Whom brave Men celebrate.

CALLIOPE. For Constancy, I wish the Bridegroom may Be equal to the famous Nasica.

URANIA. The Bride in Chastity may she Superior to Paterculana be.

POLYHYMNIA. May their Offspring like them be, Their Honour equal their Estate; Always from ranc'rous Envy free, Deserved Glory on them wait.

Al. I should very much envy Peter AEgidius so much Happiness, but that he is a Man of such Candour, that he himself envies no Body.

Mu. It is now high Time for us to prosecute our Journey.

Al. Have you any Service to command me at Louvain?

Mu. That thou wouldst recommend us to all our sincere loving Friends; but especially to our antient Admirers. John Paludus, Jodocus Gaverius, Martin Dorpius, and John Borsalus.

Al. Well, I'll be sure to take Care to do your Message. What shall I say to the rest?

Mu. I'll tell you in your Ear.

Al. Well, 'tis a Matter that won't cost very much; it shall certainly be done out of Hand.



The EXORCISM or APPARITION.

The ARGUMENT.

This Colloquy detects the Artifices of Impostors, who impose upon the credulous and simple, framing Stories of Apparitions of Daemons and Ghosts, and divine Voices. Polus is the Author of a Rumour, that an Apparition of a certain Soul was heard in his Grounds, howling after a lamentable Manner: At another Place he pretends to see a Dragon in the Air, in the middle of the Day, and persuades other Persons that they saw it too; and he prevails upon Faunus, a Parish-Priest of a neighbouring Town, to make Trial of the Truth of the Matters, who consents to do it, and prepares Exorcisms. Polus gets upon a black Horse, throws Fire about, and with divers Tricks deceives credulous Faunus, and other Men of none of the deepest Penetration.

THOMAS and ANSELM.

Tho. What good News have you had, that you laugh to yourself thus, as if you had found a Treasure?

Ans. Nay, you are not far from the Matter.

Tho. But won't you impart it to your Companion, what good Thing soever it is?

Ans. Yes, I will, for I have been wishing a good While, for somebody to communicate my Merriment to.

Tho. Come on then, let's have it.

Ans. I was just now told the pleasantest Story, which you'd swear was a Sham, if I did not know the Place, the Persons, and whole Matter, as well as you know me.

Tho. I'm with Child to hear it.

Ans. Do you know Polus, Faunus's Son-in-Law?

Tho. Perfectly well.

Ans. He's both the Contriver and Actor of this Play.

Tho. I am apt enough to believe that; for he can Act any Part to the Life.

Ans. He can so: I suppose too, you know that he has a Farm not far from London.

Tho. Phoo, very well; he and I have drank together many a Time there.

Ans. Then you know there is a Way between two straight Rows of Trees.

Tho. Upon the left Hand, about two Flight Shot from the House?

Ans. You have it. On one Side of the Way there is a dry Ditch, overgrown with Thorns and Brambles; and then there's a Way that leads into an open Field from a little Bridge.

Tho. I remember it.

Ans. There went a Report for a long Time among the Country-People, of a Spirit that walk'd near that Bridge, and of hideous Howlings that were every now and then heard there: They concluded it was the Soul of somebody that was miserably tormented.

Tho. Who was it that raised this Report?

Ans. Who but Polus, that made this the Prologue to his Comedy.

Tho. What did he mean by inventing such a Flam?

Ans. I know nothing; but that it is the Humour of the Man, he takes Delight to make himself Sport, by playing upon the Simplicity of People, by such Fictions as these. I'll tell you what he did lately of the same Kind. We were a good many of us riding to Richmond, and some of the Company were such that you would say were Men of Judgment. It was a wonderful clear Day, and not so much as a Cloud to be seen there. Polus looking wistfully up into the Air, signed his Face and Breast with the Sign of the Cross, and having compos'd his Countenance to an Air of Amazement, says to himself, O immortal God, what do I see! They that rode next to him asking him what it was that he saw, he fell again to signing himself with a greater Cross. May the most merciful God, says he, deliver me from this Prodigy. They having urg'd him, desiring to know what was the Matter, he fixing his Eyes up to Heaven, and pointing with his Finger to a certain Quarter of it, don't you see, says he, that monstrous Dragon arm'd with fiery Horns, and its Tail turn'd up in a Circle? And they denying they saw it, he bid them look earnestly, every now and then pointing to the Place: At last one of them, that he might not seem to be bad-sighted, affirmed that he saw it. And in Imitation of him, first one, and then another, for they were asham'd that they could not see what was so plain to be seen: And in short, in three Days Time, the Rumour of this portentous Apparition had spread all over England. And it is wonderful to think how popular Fame had amplified the Story, and some pretended seriously to expound to what this Portent did predict, and he that was the Contriver of the Fiction, took a mighty Pleasure in the Folly of these People.

Tho. I know the Humour of the Man well enough. But to the Story of the Apparition.

Ans. In the mean Time, one Faunus a Priest (of those which in Latin they call Regulars, but that is not enough, unless they add the same in Greek too, who was Parson of a neighbouring Parish, this Man thought himself wiser than is common, especially in holy Matters) came very opportunely to pay a Visit to Polus.

Tho. I understand the Matter: There is one found out to be an Actor in this Play.

Ans. At Supper a Discourse was raised of the Report of this Apparition, and when Polus perceiv'd that Faunus had not only heard of the Report, but believ'd it, he began to intreat the Man, that as he was a holy and a learned Person, he would afford some Relief to a poor Soul that was in such dreadful Torment: And, says he, if you are in any Doubt as to the Truth of it, examine into the Matter, and do but walk near that Bridge about ten a-Clock, and you shall hear miserable Cries; take who you will for a Companion along with you, and so you will hear both more safely and better.

Tho. Well, what then?

Ans. After Supper was over, Polus, as his Custom was, goes a Hunting or Fowling. And when it grew duskish, the Darkness having taken away all Opportunity of making any certain Judgment of any Thing, Faunus walks about, and at last hears miserable Howlings. Polus having hid himself in a Bramble Hedge hard by, had very artfully made these Howlings, by speaking through an earthen Pot; the Voice coming through the Hollow of it, gave it a most mournful Sound.

Tho. This Story, as far as I see, out-does Menander's Phasma.

Ans. You'll say more, if you shall hear it out. Faunus goes Home, being impatient to tell what he had heard. Polus taking a shorter Way, had got Home before him. Faunus up and tells Polus all that past, and added something of his own to it, to make the Matter more wonderful.

Tho. Could Polus keep his Countenance in the mean Time?

Ans. He keep his Countenance! He has his Countenance in his Hand, you would have said that a serious Affair was transacted. In the End Faunus, upon the pressing Importunity of Polus, undertakes the Business of Exorcism, and slept not one Wink all that Night, in contriving by what Means he might go about the Matter with Safety, for he was wretchedly afraid. In the first Place he got together the most powerful Exorcisms that he could get, and added some new ones to them, as the Bowels of the Virgin Mary, and the Bones of St. Winifred. After that, he makes Choice of a Place in the plain Field, near the Bramble Bushes, from whence the Voice came. He draws a very large Circle with a great many Crosses in it, and a Variety of Characters. And all this was perform'd in a set Form of Words; there was also there a great Vessel full of holy Water, and about his Neck he had a holy Stole (as they call'd it) upon which hung the Beginning of the Gospel of John. He had in his Pocket a little Piece of Wax, which the Bishop of Rome used to consecrate once a Year, which is commonly call'd Agnus Dei. With these Arms in Times past, they were wont to defend themselves against evil Spirits, before the Cowl of St. Francis was found to be so formidable. All these Things were provided, lest if it should be an evil Spirit it should fall foul upon the Exorcist: nor did he for all this, dare to trust himself in the Circle alone, but he determined to take some other Priest along with him. Upon this Polus being afraid, that if he took some sharper Fellow than himself along with him, the whole Plot might come to be discover'd, he got a Parish-Priest there-about, whom he acquainted before-hand with the whole Design; and indeed it was necessary for the carrying on the Adventure, and he was a Man fit for such a Purpose. The Day following, all Things being prepared and in good Order, about ten a-Clock Faunus and the Parish-Priest enter the Circle. Polus had got thither before them, and made a miserable Howling out of the Hedge; Faunus begins his Exorcism, and Polus steals away in the Dark to the next Village, and brings from thence another Person, for the Play could not be acted without a great many of them.