The Compleat mendicant, or, Unhappy beggar being the life of an unfortunate gentleman ... a comprehensive account of several of the most remarkable adventures that befel him in three and twenty years pilgrimage : also a narrative of his entrance at Oxford ... likewise divers familiar letters, both Latin and English sermons, poems, essays ...

THE Compleat Mendicant, OR THE Unhappy Beggar.

CHAP. I.

Wherein by way of Introduction the Mendicant complains of the Calami∣ties of humane Life, and makes some short and general Reflections upon Charity.

BEside the Original Depravation and frailties of Nature, there are so many other Accidents and Mis∣fortunes incorporated and twisted into the very Beings and Const••tutions of Men, that indeed, the Custom Euripides

proposes to the World seems to me the most just and reasonable, i. e. to lament those that are born, upon the account of the many Evils among which they enter at their Birth, but when they die, and rest from their Labours, to celebrate their Funerals with rejoicing and Praises; this the whole Nation of the Thracians, which justly challenge the praise of Wis∣dom, were wont to do, without being instructed by Teachers, but purely from their own Observation of the state and circumstances of Humane Life,

I need not borrow Instances (I think) to aggravate the Calamities that are inci∣dent to the Life of Man, the Case will appear evident enough from a short view into the present condition of the World; for considering how many there are that struggle through their Lives in perpetual toil and drudgery; how many that are oppressed with Slavery, harrass'd with Cru∣elty, pin'd with Want and Poverty, over∣whelm'd with Shame and Infamy, and worn out and consum'd with constant Sor∣row, Anxiety and Vexation, it must ne∣cessarily be allowed, that the greater part and generality of Mankind are but one bare remove at best from flat and substan∣tial Misery.

'Tis true indeed to most of these mi∣serable ones, the Divine Providence in∣dulges frequent Intervals of Ease and Satisfaction: Sweetens the bitter Cup now and then with some grateful Intermixtures, to make the nauseous Draught of Life go down a little the more easily; yet I dare say, whenever they compare their few Goods with their many Evils, their Fears, Crosses, and Disappointments, with their Successes, Hopes, and Enjoyments, they'll find the former much out-ballance the latter in a great many Particulars.

Well, but my own woful Experiences shall not urge me into complaints, or a long Introduction. I must own indeed, that the Divine Wisdom foresaw that an equality of Conditions would naturally breed confusion and disorder in the World, and therefore without doubt it was that it design'd some for Honour and Riches, and others for Contempt and Poverty; but yet in this great Division, did not so inseparably dis-unite them, but that they should still have a mutual dependance, and consistence one upon another; every rich Man being God's Steward, and particu∣larly intrusted to provide for the indigent parts of his Family, such as are the poor and needy; and his omissions in that Point,

is not only a breach of his duty and trust, but withal, an Indication of his un∣thankfulness, falshood, and ingratitude.

God, who is the common Father, as well as Friend to Mankind, cannot be supposed to be so partial to provide for the Pomps and Luxuries of some, and then leave the rest to languish under the want of necessaries convenient for the support of Life; and yet methinks if we look into the visible Portions of the Poor and Rich (according to the present pra∣ctice of the World) we can perceive very little to the contrary.

I must confess the thoughts of this has been my sad Companion through my whole Pilgrimage, and truly 'tis a Sub∣ject fit for the wonder and Sorrow of any considering Man, that one part of the World should be revelling and glutton∣izing, whilst another is languishing thro' Want and Indigence, and the gripings, and pressures of downright Hunger, and Ne∣cessity.

Iudeed I have been amazed to see with what indifferency and satisfaction some of our wealthy Cormorants have beheld their own humane Nature pining and starving in the Person of their poor Brother, tho' at the same time perhaps they have been

burthen'd with an Excess of another kind, and might be relieved against both by a more equal distribution.

However, for my own part, I must ac∣knowledg it would be ungrateful in me to make reflections; I have lived already more than twenty Years upon the com∣mon Stock, I mean by the help of my Begging Talent, I have made a doleful Passage through the World; the manner and Circumstances I intend to relate at large in the following Sheets.

CHAP. II.

In which he gives an Account of his Birth and Parentage, the death of his Father and Mother, with the severi∣ties and hardships he met with in his Childhood, the kindness of his Aunt, the manner of his being sent to School, and from thence to Ox∣ford, &c.

I was born in the year 87. my Father was a Gentleman of a considerable Fortune and Figure in his Country, ha∣ving been twice honoured by King Charles the First with the Character of Envoy Extraordinary to two Foreign Courts, and as I have been often told, behav'd him∣self not only with a great deal of Pru∣dence and Sincerity in his Negotiations abroad, but likewise acquitted himself like a true English Gentleman, in the Sta∣tion of a Justice of the Peace, and De∣puty-Lieutenant of his County.

He was a Member in the long Parlia∣ment, and when he saw the Affairs in the House of Commons inclining apace towards Rebellion, &c. with several other Loyal Gentlemen, he entered his Protest against their Proceedings, and retir'd into the Country, where he continued till the unhappy Tumults broke out, and then as ••n early Instance of his Fidelity to his Loyal Master, rais'd a Troop of Horse at ••is own Charge.

Not long after, the King was pleased to give him a Regiment of Foot, and ap∣point him Governour of a Town in the West of England, which he defended to the last Extremity; but being, through the want of Provisions, or rather by the Treachery of some of the Officers in the Garrison, which the Parliament had Brib'd to betray him, forc'd to surrender the Place upon Discretion, he was imme∣diately made a Prisoner of War, and soon after tryed by a Court Martial, and sen∣tenced to be shot to Death; however, by the friendship of his Keeper, with the help of a Womans Habit, he made his E∣scape the Night before his Execution, and got beyond Sea, where he continued till King Charles the Second made his Attempt at Worcester, and there amongst a great

many other brave Men, he had the Mis∣fortune to be wounded by a Musket-Sho•• in the Shoulder, of which he died within two or three days after, but first got the following Letter conveyed to my Mother▪ the Particulars of which for secret causes I have set down at large.

Coll. — Letter to his Lady, &c.

My Dear,

BY the Assistance of the Honest Bearer, I have got an Opportunity to give you a short account of our Misfortunes: our whole Army is intirely routed and dispersed, and what's become of the King I cannot learn; I pray God deliver him out of the hands of the Rebels; as to my own part, I have receiv∣ed a scurvy Wound by a Musket-Shot in my Left Shoulder, which the Surgeon tells me is Mortal; whether it be or not, is no great matter, for it seems they have discovered who I am, and if I should recover of my Wounds, are resolved to take me off after∣wards. Well, My Dear, I have a good Cause, and a Gracious God, and so am no o∣therwise affected for the Loss of my Life,

than as it relates to you, and my poor Children. I would advise you if I could, which way to manage your self in this perplexed State, but alas! my Circumstances are all so entangled, that I know not where to begin; beside the anguish of my Wound at present is so ve∣ry great, that I am hardly able to support my self under it. I know, my Dear, your Loyalty will disswade you against Immode∣rate Grief, and then your Vertue and Con∣duct in our long Separation has superseded even the necessity of advising you, with regard to your Family. As for poor Peregrine (for that's the name I intend to pass under here) if your Circumstances will permit, and his own Genius inclines him to it, I would have him bred a Schollar, he may live to see the World mended, and be an Instrument to re∣pair the Ruins of his Family. Commend me earnestly to all my Friends, and let my Children know their Father sends them his Blessing. I am, my Dear till we meet again either in this or the next World, affectio∣nately thine. Adieu.

About two days after came a Messen∣ger from the Governour of Worcester to my Mother with the heavy News of my Father's Death, and withal, that he had obtained a Grant for her to bury him

where she pleased. My Mother receiv'd the Message (as I have been told) with a Resolution and Courage beyond the common behaviour of her Sex, and in∣stead of breaking out into passionate Ex∣clamations, and Reflections, which she knew would be of no use at that time of day.

Immediately dispatches away a Ser∣vant, with a Neighbour or two, and a Hearse, who brought him home, and the Night following he was buried privately in a Vault amongst his Ancestors.

The Death of my Father was but (in some respects) a Preludium to the rest of my Misfortunes, for in less than a Month, by an Order of State, all we had was seized upon, and my Mother, with four Children, forced out of her House to seek Shelter and Relief where she could find it; the Creditors to mend the matter, put in their Claims too, so that in a short time all was Sold and tore to pieces.

Neither did my Misfortunes stop here, for my Mother being deprived of her Country Habitation, thought London might be the fittest place to fix upon some me∣thod for a Livelihood; but there we had not been, to the best of my Remembrance, above six Weeks, before my Sister Sickens

of the Small-Pox, and dies my youngest Brother dies about ten days after of the same Distemper, and my Mother the very Week following, and truly if it had not been for the extraordinary Care, and Cha∣rity of an Excellent Woman, in whose House we Lodged, my Brother and I had both Perished with the rest.

Here I begun to have a small Sence of our Condition, and accordingly got a Friend to instruct me how I might best recommend it to an Aunt I had in the Country, who no sooner heard of it, but indeed pittied us, and sent for us home to her House, and to speak the Truth, used us both with a Tenderness and Compassi∣on, not very common in such cases.

This good Aunt sent us to School, and though my Master was none of the best, yet with his Assistance, and my own In∣dustry, in two Years time I became so far a Proficient in the Latine Tongue, that with the help of a Dictionary, I could Construe some Verses in Ovid's Metamor∣phosis, and Translate a Dialogue in Erasmus, and turn an easie Sentence into Latin, and make a lame Verse, &c.

My Master himself had never been at any University, but was a young Gentle∣man that had spent his Fortune in the

King's Service, and so was forc'd to shelter himself under the Character of a Paedagogue, to be secure from the Suspi∣tion of the State, and to get a poor Live∣lihood; but yet I must needs do him this Justice, that he acquitted himself to me so much like a Friend as well as a Master, and bestowed so much of his time and pains upon me, that I have rea∣son to believe▪ that the best Tutor in the Kingdom could not have improv'd me more in so short a time.

I was now in my sixteenth year, and my Aunt considering that her Age and her Infirmities together might conse∣quently call her off before she had any ways fixt me in a Capacity to shift for my self, resolves with all the Expedition that could be, to send me to Oxford, and get me admitted into one of the Colledges as a Servitor.

This was was not long under debate, but an opportunity offer'd it self, that indeed was of considerable Advantage to me. Sir Alexander — an eminent Ca∣valier, notwithstanding the present Di∣sturbances and Corruptions of the Uni∣versity, resolves to send his Son to Christ-Church for a Year or two, and withal, at the request of my Aunt, condescended

that I should attend upon him as his Servitor, and that he would pay my Tutor, and allow me a Competency to supply me with Commons, &c. ac∣cording to the custom of the Colledge.

This Proposal squar'd exactly with my Aunts Design in every particular; for though she was a Gentlewoman of as good a Family as most in England, and had formerly been the Mistress of a ve∣ry plentiful Fortune, yet the Wars, and the Sequestrators together, had reduc'd her to a poor Annuity of Fifty Pound per Annum, which, with all her Prudence and Conduct, was but just enough for the support of her Family; however, upon Sir Alexander's motion, she strain'd a Point, and equipt me out very decently and gentilely for the University, and withal did me the favour to accompany me thither, to see me conveniently fix'd in the Colledge.

I had not been there long, but I per∣ceiv'd, to my great dissatisfaction and con∣cern, my want of Shool Education, and would often reflect upon what I had heard Dr. Hammond tell my Mother (who did her now and then the Honour to come and condole with her in the ab∣sence of my Father) i. e. That if she in∣tended

me for the University, she ought to take particular Care to provide me with a Master that was qualified to in∣struct me in the grounds and principles of Learning, before she should suffer me to be admitted; that (says he) will make his future Studies easie, and delight∣ful, and will be sure to stick fast to him to the End of his Life; I found my self sadly at a Loss in that Particular, and was so much affected to see my Fellow-Pu∣pils run through their several Exercises with a great deal of Freedom and plea∣santness, whilst I was forc'd to labour and tug for every thing I did; that I was once resolv'd to quit my Pretensions, and return to my Aunt, and request her to put me to some other Business that I was better qualified to go on with.

But my Tutor, that had a singular kindness for me, soon perceiv'd how ca∣ses stood, and accordingly one Evening, after he had finisht his Readings, &c. he dismisses the rest, and orders me to stay behind in his Chamber; Young Man (says he) I find you have had a very ill Schoolmaster, and I am satisfied both by your Looks and Actions you are sensible of your own Insufficiency, but come, don't despair, you have Youth and Parts,

and those in Conjunction with your In∣dustry, and good Instruction, will soon make up your other defects.

The first thing, I think, he enjoyn'd me, was the Translation of one of the hardest Colloquies in Erasmus, the next a Satyr out of Iuvenal, and then some Odes from Horace, and withal confin'd me to a large part in the Greek Grammar every Morning; but then, what was the greatest advantage of all, he was pleas∣ed to allow me a Study in his own Chamber, and would not fail twice a day at least to spend half an hour in gi∣ving me particular directions and ad∣vice, by which means, in less than a year, I found my self so well Improv'd, that I was able to go through with my business with as much ease and satisfaction as the best of Companions.

But this happy Condition did not last long before Fortune begins a∣gain to play the Jilt with me; my Aunt dies, and what was worse, her Sickness was so sudden and violent, that she had no time to make her Will, and so all she had fell in course to a Fanati∣cal Sister, that always mortally hated our Family, upon the Account of their Loyalty, and me for their Sakes. My

Master removes from the University to the Inns of Court, and what was as great disappointment to me as either, my worthy Tutor leaves the University, in order to Travel with a young Nobleman into Italy.

Here I am all unravell'd again left friendless and desolate, and to aggravate my Misfortunes too, lay under the Cha∣racter and suspicion of being disaffected to the Common-Wealth of England (as they call'd it) and what to do in this hard conjuncture I could not determine; sometimes I resolv'd to go into my own Country, to try if I had any Friends left there, at other times I propose to follow my Master to London, and see how the Waters would move in that part of the World; anon I conclude to represent my Condition to the Colledge, and throw my self upon the Charity of the House; but after all, from a few second thoughts I found there was little good to be expect∣ed from either of these. So that in short I thought there was no remedy left, but I must e'en venture to commit my self to the Mercy of my cruel Step-mother, For∣tune.

This Resolution (tho' twas the worst) carried the Cause against all the rest; and

now my next business was to equip my self with materials fit for a Pede∣grination; my Books and other Equi∣page must be Sold in Course, and in∣deed I was not long in making my Mar∣kets. I think, as near as I can remem∣ber, all I could get for the whole, was not above fifty Shillings, the better part of which I laid out in some Travelling Necessaries, and spent together in taking leave of my Acquaintance.

CAAP. III.

Wherein he gives an Account of his leaving the Vniversity, and recites a short Copy of Verses he writ at his Departure, with his Adventures with a Mountebank, &c.

HAving disposed of my Moveables, and furnisht my self with some few Necessaries, which I thought were most convenient for a Pilgrimage. i. e. An Ink-horn, a Pen-knife, a Quire of Paper, Wafers, and a Satchel to carry my little Equipage, and Itinerant Library, which was only a Shirt, two or three Bands, and Handkerchiefs, and a pair of Stockings, an old Horace, and a Virgil, a Terence, and an Erasmus, a Greek Testament, a Greek and Latin Grammar, and a Common-Prayer Book, &c. About Seven a Clock, the tenth of March, in the Year Fifty six, with a heavy Heart, and abundance of Tears and Complaints I left Oxford, steer∣ing my Course directly over Magdalen's Bridge, in order (as I then thought) to make the best of my Way to Cambridge.

I had hardly reach'd Headington-Hill, but I was seiz'd with a deep and profound Melancholy; the Thoughts of my for∣mer Misfortunes, with my present hard Circumstances, fall upon me at once; and truly the Reflection of what I had already underwent, and the certain Prospect of future Trouble and Misery, together with the peircing Aggravations I was under for the Loss of my University Life, and the opportunity of improving my self in my Studies, the Two only things that hard Fortune had left me, which I thought worth either my owning or regard, put me into such an Agony and Disorder, that I was forc'd to betake me to the shelter of an Hedge, and rest a little before I could re∣collect my self.

Having, though with some difficulty, at length overcome this melancholy Transport, I made up to the Top of the Hill, from whence I took my last View of beloved Oxford, and upon the Stone where the Scholars usually perform the Ceremony of Seasoning their Fresh Men, I sate down again, aad writ the following Verses

Farewel dear Oxford; but since we must part, Here take the sad remainder of my heart,

'Tis all thy wretched Son has now to give, A broken heart's his Sole Perogative. Hard fate before had me of Friends depriv'd, And yet me thoughts in you they all reviv'd, You were my Friend, my Mother, nay, my Wife, Whom once, I hop'd, I'd wedded for my life: Oh, pity me, for could I let you know, With what a strange unwillingness I go, You'd think 'twas hard that fate shou'd Iilt me so. I know not what I am, since our devorce, All my whole frame is Iumbl'd out of course, The World's a Wilderness, Men are the Beasts of Prey, And seem to me more Rude, and Wilder far than they.

I had went on with my Melancholly Rythms a little further, I believe, if I had not discover'd a Traveller pass by me, that from his Garb and Aspect I judg'd, might be in some respects under my own Predicament. In short, I took up my satchel and made all the speed I cou'd in order to recover him, and (tho' I found he was much a better Footman than I was) after a hard stretch at the Brow of Shot-over Hill, I came up with him.

After we had exchang'd the common Complements of well overtaken and well come Sir, the next thing in course was, whither are you bound, and upon what expedition? I told him the very truth, that I was an unfortunate Schollar that had met with abundance of Disappoint∣ments and Cross Accidents, and for want of longer subsistance, was forc'd to leave the University to try if I could find out some way that might Entitle me to a poor Livelyhood, and that I intended to wander the Countrey till I could be so happy to fix my self in such a condition, and moreover, that I had some Notion of making Cambridge in my way.

His Answer was much of the same Na∣ture with mine, and indeed, as he repre∣sented his Circumstances, at first sight they look'd very near a-kin, he told me he was a Doctor of Physick, that by a Com∣plication of malitious and adverse for∣tune, had been unluckily bandied about the World from his Childhood; and, what was worst of all, he had had the ill fate lately to loose his Horse, and was now upon a hard march to London, to try if he could raise Money among his Friends and Relations, to equip him with ano∣ther.

His Candid Relation, I confess, affect∣ed me extreamly, and indeed in a great measure took off the Edge, and abated the Severity of my Reflections upon my own Condition. I began to think that Providence had thrown me into the Com∣pany of this unhapyy Stranger, purpose∣ly to let me know that there were other Persons in the World as unfor∣tunate as my self; and truly to see with what chearfulness and fortitude he seem'd to bear up under his pretended Distress, I thought did severely Check and reprimand my present querulity and despondence.

I quoted the old Verse to him; So∣lamen miseris Socios habuisse doloris. And he replied to me again out of Mr. Chaucer.

'Tis vain to Sigh, and make great Moan, For there is help, or there is none.

And thus in a mutual Condolement of each others Misfortunes, we trudg'd on till we came to Wheatly, a little Coun∣try Town about four Miles from Ox∣ford.

Here my new Companion would needs stop and drink, and withal told me that at a Bridge about half a Mile off, the Road divided, and if I held my Reso∣lution for Cambridge, we must conse∣quently separate; but come, (says he) since we are so luckily met, and our Circum∣stances and Tempers square so naturally, 'tis pity methinks we should part so soon, and therefore wee'll e'en cast lots whether you shall take my way, or I yours.

This was no sooner proposed but a∣greed upon, and the Lot determin'd him to go my way, which he very wil∣lingly comply'd with, but first (says he) I think it will not be much amiss to let the Town know what Profession I am of, perhaps I may raise three or four Shillings to defray the Travelling Charge.

This I must confess did a little sur∣prise me; I could by no means ima∣gine how a Doctor of Physick could propose the raising three or four Shil∣lings in a strange Place in an hour or two, which was the longest Stay we could pretend to; but for my better Satisfa-he soon pulls off his Budget, and expo∣ses a mixture of Pills, Powders, and Plaisters, with a bundle of Printed Papers,

some of which he immediately delivers to a Runner to be conveniently scatter'd and disper'd about the Town.

Here I soon perceiv'd that my Doctor of Physick was nothing else in plain Eng∣lish but a downright Mountebank, and began now to be as uneasie, and disturb'd with his Company, as I was before pleased and rejoic'd in it: However, I thought my self in point of Honour and Promise oblig'd to abide our first Resolution, and so resolv'd to Travel with him a Day or two, till I could find out a handsome Pretence to shake him off.

In less than an Hour his Bills had wrought so effectually that the Room where we sate was crowded with Men, Women, and Children, and truly not∣withstanding the heavy and pressing Thoughts and Apprehensions that hung upon me, I could not forbear smiling now and then to hear with what pro∣found Nonsence and Impertinence this worthy Doctor entertain'd the Specta∣tors.

Sometimes he would cajole 'em with the strange, and almost Blasphemous Relation of the most miraculous Cures and Operations he had perform'd, and

the better to incline them to Credit his Report, he shews them several ar∣tificial Cancers, Wenns, Stones, &c. At other times he imposes upon 'em the wonders of his Travels, and the foreign names of abun∣dance of Emperours, Kings, and Poten∣tates that he pretended had honoured him with their Letters, and Recommen∣dations; in short, by his hard words, his Legerdemain Tricks, and impudent Pre∣tences together, he impos'd himself so far upon the Credulity of the foolish Peo∣ple, that there was few went off with∣out buying some of his Paultry Medicines.

CAAP. IV.

In which he gives a further ac∣count of his Travels with the Mountebank, who discovers to him the secrets of their Art; they strag∣gle into Bedfordshire together, where he Robbs him at an Alehouse, and then leaves him in Pawn for the Reckoning, &c.

ABout Twelve a Clock the Doctor makes up his Budget, having dis∣posed of as many of his Pills, &c. (as he told me) he had receiv'd twelve Shil∣lings and four-pence for, and so we dis∣charged the Reckoning, and set forward for Tame, which was the Place we had before agreed upon to Lodge at that Night.

Upon our March I ask'd him several Questions, but more especially concern∣ing his knowledge in Physick, and Chi∣rurgery, and how, and where he ac∣quir'd it. I found indeed that these kind

of Interrogations were something un∣grateful at first; however after a little pausing, and hesitation, he gave me the following short and Comprehensive Ac∣count.

Young Gentleman, says he, I find you very Inquisitive to know the secrets of my Qualifications, those are Secrets we do not often, and indeed we ought not to discover to any body; but be∣cause you shall see how willing I am to oblige and divert you, I'll tell you as much of the matter as is convenient, or perhaps you may expect.

In short then, I am one of those that the World calls Mountebanks, and truly but a young Practitioner neither, ha∣ving not been set up for my self above three Months at most; as for your Uni∣versity Learning I don't pretend to it, nor, to tell you the Truth, much regard it; Our Business, and our Profit too, depends chiefly upon our vending our Pills, Balsams, Powders, &c. and for that we have a common form; as to our Chirurgery, and Manual Operations, we have very few but the meaner sort of People to deal with, and those we venture upon right or wrong; if we

happen to Cure 'em, we get Money and Reputation, and dont spare to magnifie our Success, if we kill 'em, we have ways enough to bring our Selves off, and so there is no danger in it at worst.

Here I could not forbear interrupting him. Sir, says I, are the Lives of your Fellow-Christians so inconsiderable to you, that you dare venture to trifle 'em a∣way upon every slight occasion; if I mi∣stake not, this is a sort of deliberate way of committing Murther, and that so in∣hances and heightens the Sin, that ren∣ders it not only without Measure, but almost without Pardon.

What strain of wonder and amaze∣ment can bear proportion with the des∣perate Wickedness of Men, that can thus knowingly, and consideringly rush themselves upon such an unaccount∣able undertaking, and of what a Crim∣son Colour must that Soul appear before the great Tribunal, that is thus dyed with a continual repetition of Innocent Blood.

My Companion was a little startled to hear me reflect so hard upon his Pro∣fession, and made several frivolous pre∣tences to acquit himself of the Charge, and indeed, I had some difficulty before

I could perswade him to go on with his Relation; however, after he had walkt himself a little off the Remembrance of what I had said, he proceeds.

Sir, I find you are very angry with our Chirurgical Proceedings; for my own part, I have never had any occasion to make use of them; but if I had, notwithstanding the Severity of your Allegations, I believe I should be ready enough to venture; and truly I can see no Reason (with Submission to your Religious Punctilio's) why every Man should not make the most of his Pra∣ctice.

I would willingly have reprimanded him here too, if I had not been appre∣hensive that it would consequently have deterr'd him from finishing his Account, and so I only askt him, that since he had never been concern'd in any Manual Operations, how he came by those Can∣cers, Wens, &c. which he expos'd at Wheatly.

Here he was a little at a stand a∣gain: In fine, (says he) You have a strong Inclination to know the depth of our Art, for once I'll gratifie your Cu∣riosity, and tell you the whole. As to this Wen, and Cancered Breast which you saw,

I must own they are only Counterfeits, which I borrow'd of one of our Fraternity; but notwithstanding, they serve the purpo∣ses for which they are intended, i. e. To amuse, and impose upon the People, as well as if they were real.

These are of considerable use and advan∣tage to us in several Respects, but especially upon the Stage, where we not only expose 'em to the publick View, but sometimes fix them to the Bodies of indigent Persons, which we hire upon such occasions, and then cut them off again with as much Formality, Dexterity, and Caution, as if they were Na∣tural.

We draw Teeth after the same Method, and indeed, the generality of the great Cures and Performances which we make such Boasts and Acclamations of, are meer Cheats and Delusions, and for our Medicines, we have them by a sort of Tradition one from another, and in the main, do all use the very same.

The gross of our Pills is nothing else but Horse-Aloes, which we sometimes inter∣mix with the Courser sort of Rosin of Jal∣lop, and make up in Liquorice-Powder; our Balsams are generally made of Hogs-Lard, and Bees Wax, tinctur'd with some sorts of Oyls to give 'em a different Colour; our Plaisters are the same, with the addi∣tion

of Burgamy Pitch, or Rosin, to make them draw and stick; our Powder for the Worms is commonly Powder of Past, and that for the Teeth, Powder of Tobacco-Pipes, and these we make up proportionably into small Parcels, and wrap one of each into a Bill of Directions, and sell for Twelve-pence or Sixpence, according as we find our Mar∣kets will best bear.

This Relation seem'd so Ingenious and Candid, that I began to have a little better Opinion of my Fellow-Traveller; I begun to believe that he was some un∣fortunate Gentleman that was forc'd to take up with this scandalous Pro∣fession for want of a Maintenance; however, I was resolv'd to sound him to the bottom, and therefore desired him to let me know from whence he deri∣ved his Knowledge of these occult My∣steries.

Indeed he would with all his Heart have evaded an Answer to this, but truly I press'd him so very hard, that at last he told me, he had been several Years a Servant to one of the first Englishmen that Travell'd the Country under the Character of a Mountebank; and that he had been assistant to him both in his

Chamber, and upon the Stage (as I learnt afterwards he had been his Merry-Andrew) that he had spoke his Pacquets (as he Phrased it) and helpt him to make up his Compositions, and so from the general, and particular Observations he had made, he thought he had gain'd Ex∣perience enough to qualify him to set up for himself; and moreover, he told me he was so well satisfied in his own Perfections, and in the advantages that were consequent to the Employ, that if he were but once able to raise Money to keep some Attendance, and build a Stage or two, he did not question but in a short time he should be able to keep his Coach and Four as well as the best of `em.

By this time we were come within half a Mile of Thame, and now the next moti∣on was where to Lodge; being both stran∣gers, we were resolv'd to strike into the first Substantial Inn we came at, as near as I remember, 'twas the Five Bells, where in∣deed we had very Comfortable Accom∣modations in all Respects.

The next day being Market-day, the Doctor was resolv'd to go out with his Pacquets, and accordingly had a Stool fixt in a convenient place where he could best mount to make his Harangue to

the People, but this, notwithstanding 'twas a publick day, did not prove so successful as Wheatly, it seems the place (as he call'd it) was too young; his mean∣ing was, there had been one of the same Profession too lately there, and so there was no good to be done.

We went from hence to Alesbury, where we staid the Night following, and the next day came to Leighton Buzard, in Bedfordshire, the Doctor still exposing his Pacquets at every Town we stopt at, but with very little success; this Scurvy Brother that had rang'd the Country be∣fore him, had spoil'd all.

Well, there was no good to be done at Leighton, neither, and so my Camerade concludes to lay aside his pretensions for the present, and make the best of his way to London, and accordingly told me he would go and send his Satchel with the Carrier, which of a sudden was grown too heavy for him, and then come and drink a parting Cup, and take a Solemn Farewel of me.

Having travelled together for three or four days with the greatest Freedom and Familiarity, I could not suspect that he could have any Design to betray me at last, but finding him stay longer than or∣dinary, I began to be a little Jealous that

after all the Doctor had dropt me. To make short of the matter, I got out of Bed where he left me, and from a very small Enquiry, found that he had both pickt my Pocket, and rifled my Satchel, and what was worse, left me in Pawn for the Reckoning too.

This I thought was a Miisfortune, at least equal to any of my former. I was wrackt at once with a Thousand dismal terrors, and apprehensions, and that which tormented me most of all, was, how to dis-entangle my self from the Scurvy Ale-house; sometimes I think upon one Expedient, and some∣times upon another, at last I conclude, Honesty was the best Policy, and the safest way to bring me off, and there∣fore resolve to declare my Condition to my Landlady, and commit my self in∣tirely to her Charity.

CHAP. V.

Wherein he gives a short Account of his Rencounter with his Land∣lady, writes a begging Copy of Verses, and a Letter to a Gentle∣man in the Town, who gives him Money to pay his Reckoning, and recommends him afterwards to a School, &c.

PUrsuant to my former Resolution, after I had put on my Cloaths, with a great deal of trembling and consternation, I call'd for my Landlady, and began to give her a doleful Relation of my Condition: she heard me with some kind of Patience and Pitty at first; but when I came to that part of it which related to the Rec∣koning, she grew in a Instant so outra∣gious and violent, that I cannot fancy any thing in Nature so cruel and bru∣tish. The best word I could get from her was Rogue, Thief, Cheat, and Vil∣lain,

and no punishment less than hang∣ing, or Bridewel, was bad enough for me. I offer'd her all the Equipage and Books my worthy Companion had left me, but all would not do, the Books she said were of no use to her, beside, they were Latine, and might be Popery for what she knew, and so she would not entertain 'em.

Nothing would serve but I should be lockt up in my Room till her Husband came home to get a Warrant to carry me before a Justice of Peace; and indeed there was no Remedy but I must endure this hard Sentence; however, I had the opportunity of conversing with the Maid in the Interim, that, as good Fortune would have it, was washing in the Yard, directly under the Window, who told me very Compassionately upon the Recital of my Condition, that there was a wor∣thy Gentleman in Town, that in all pro∣bability would take Pity of me, and that if I would write a Letter she'd find a method to get it convey'd to him.

This honest Motion I lik'd extreamly, and truly as Cases stood, I thought 'twas the best Expedient my unhappy Circum∣stances would admit of. I must confess

indeed that I had a very sharp Conflict with my self before I could so far vanquish my Modesty to settle my Resolutions in that Point, and then too I was as much confounded and disturb'd to think what Method and Terms were most suitable to recommend me, with the greatest In∣nocence and Advantage; but this was not long under debate, but the Muse steps in, and offers her Assistance, and in∣deed I accepted of it, under the notion that the Relation of my Circumstances in a short Copy of Verses might be some∣thing out of the Road of Common Beg∣ging, and so to work I went, and wrote what follows.

From an unhappy Wand'rer in Distress; Accept, and pardon Sir, this bold Address; Believe him, 'tis a rigid Turn of Fate, Has brought the wretched Pilgrim to your Gate, Oh pity him, for 'tis the only time He e're was known to beg Relief in Rhyme.

But Peace base Iilt, to urge me on for∣bear; Wouldst thou betray me now, in my despair? Canst thou than this no better way contrive To keep thy poor distressed Friend alive?

No, let him die, for that's a less offence, Than to incline him thus to Insolence.

Besides, already to my Cost I know, That humane Life is so expos'd to Woe, That it can ne'r requite the Pain I'm at, To forster up the Sickly, peevish brat; I see, that after all that I can do, Still Grief and Pain, and Secret Ills pur∣sue. But yet methinks before my Iourney's end, 'Tis strange if my hard Fate should not unbend; Life's but a Lottery, and one good Cast, Makes some amends for all the bad ones past: In spight of Fate there must be some Re∣serve, Then sure 'tis hard in th' interim I should starve.

Haste then my Muse to yonder happy place, And humbly there plead thy poor Master's Case. Shew him where he in deep Confusion stands, Hanging his Head, and lifting up his Hands; Blaming the Cause that brought both him and thee, Thus to transgress the Rules of Modesty.

Then for these Rhymes I charge you there be Iust; Own 'twas your fault, for you provok't me First; And after this — If you perceive no pardon nor relief, Bring the sad news, and to conclude our grief, You to your hill, I'll to some cave retire, First mourn my rigid State, then Hermit like expire.

Upon the back side of the verses I writ this Letter which I thought would be necessary to give a further account of my Condition, &c.

SIR,

THis Poeta de tristibus, is a Poor unfor∣tunate young Man, that a Conjunction of Cross and Malicious accidents have cast upon your Coast, where for want of sub∣sistance (like a Person after a Shipwrack) he's forc'd to seek relief from the Inhabitants of the place.

How he fell into this foolish vein of Rhyming he can give no Account, unless it be that his present extremity (like one that was wakn'd by the out-cry of fire) forc'd him to do something for Relief, and the

Muse that was always ready enough to be meddling upon other occasions, would needs perswade me now, that this was a little for∣reign to the ordinary methods of downright Mumping.

As for the profound dullness and flatness of my Verse, there's enough to be said if the thing requir'd it. Poetry and Poverty, tho' they are too commonly convertible terms, yet indeed, they are very Improper Companions. A Poet in distress is seldom known to write good Verses: Ovid himself, that was the greatest Wit of the Age he liv'd in, looseth most of his Natural Temper and Ge∣nius in his Banishment; there's a strange difference between his nec Jovis ira nec Ignis, the Flights and Raptures of his Metamorphosis, and his Hei mihi quod Domino, in his de tristibus. And Tully too complains passionately of the disturbance of his mind, and charges the roughness of his Stile upon the depression of Spirits he writ under.

But Sir, all this is very little to the pur∣pose, I wish it were as easie to excuse the In∣solence of this trouble, as it is to plead for a Person that writes bad Verses under my Circumstances; in this particular I have no∣thing at all to say, but am forc'd to acknow∣ledge my own guilt, and throw my self in∣tirely

upon your mercy. 'Tis true, 'tis a violent necessity that has urg'd me upon this ungrateful expedient, and that I hope, in Con∣junction with your own Charity and Compas∣sion, will interpose a little for this unfortu∣nate stranger, that with all the distance and submission that can be, Subscribes him∣self,

your Obedient Servant, Peregrine.

After I had finisht my Letter and the Verses, upon the second reading I thought them so flat and dull, that I had much a do to forbear tearing 'em in Pieces; however upon the Importunity of the Maid, I Seal'd 'em up, and Sub∣scrib'd 'em, and then deliver'd 'em to her, who according to her promise got 'em instantly Convey'd to the Gentleman.

But certainly, never Mortal was in a deeper perplexity for the success of an ad∣venture than I was, but whilst I was sadly Ruminating upon the consequence of what I had done, up comes my Land∣lady, and with some sort of Jealousy and Concern, told me there was Squire— Footman below wanted to speak with me, and if I pleas'd, I might go down and talk with him, who told me if I was

the Person that sent the Letter to his Ma∣ster, he was order'd to desire me to come to the House as soon as I could.

The Boy having deliver'd his message and receiv'd my Answer that I would wait upon him, Immediatly returns; and now the next thing to be done was to Compound with my Landlady; who by no means would permit me out of her Doors, without a sufficient Pledge for her reckoning. I offer'd her again all I had, but just the very Cloaths of my back, for security.

But all would not do, my Books were but trifles to her, unless I had something of Real value to deposit; let who would send for me, she'd keep me till she had her reckoning, which after all this Noise and Combustion was but Poor four and nine pence.

To make short of the matter, I was forc'd to go to my Chamber and strip off my shirt, and leave her that, with e∣very thing else that I had, before she'd suffer me to move; but just as I was march∣ing out a doors, in comes my Landlord, and supposing I was going quite away, would needs force me back to take his Fla∣gon at parting.

We were no sooner come in, but his Wife, with a great many Falshoods and Aggravations, gave him the account of our whole Transactions; but truly the man was so far from joining with her Bar∣barity, that when she came to speak of the shirt, I had enough to do to prevent him from falling fowl upon her, however he forc't her immediately to bring me all my things again, and told me he would freely take my word for what was owing, and withal earnestly requested me not to make any Reflections upon his Wife's uncivility and cruelty to me.

Having put my shift on again, and committed my satchel to the Custody of the maid, I went directly to the Gentle∣mans House, who sent for me into his Parlour, where he was playing a Game at Gleek with his Lady and her Mother. He ask'd me several Questions, and in∣deed I gave him a general Account of my Misfortunes, which I observ'd did very sensibly affect `em all, but more especially the Old Lady.

They presently order'd a Servant to shew me into the Pantry, and give me some Victuals, and sent me a bottle of Wine. Whilst I was eating, the good Old Gentlewoman came to me, and with

a Tenderness and Respect beyond what I could imagine, told me, with Tears in her Eyes, She Knew my Father Personally, and all his Family; and was heartily sorry these unhappy Times had reduc'd her to such a low Ebb, that she could not do for me as she would. After all the Expressions of a most Compassionate good Woman, and a great many Sweet and Innocent Apolo∣gies for the meanness of the present, she gave me half a Iacobus, and then left me to finish my Dinner.

As soon as I had Din'd, I was con∣ducted back to the Parlour, where the Gentleman was Writing me a Letter of Recommendation to a Clergy-man in Nor∣thampton-shire, that he had accidentally heard enquiring for a Person to assist him in his School; the purport of the Letter was, that I was a Young Gentleman of a good Family, that the common calamity had reduc'd to extremity, and if he found me qualify'd for his purpose, he`d en∣gage for my Integrity, &c.

With the Letter, he gave me Ten Shil∣lings, and his Lady a Crown, together with a great deal of Friendly, and, I may say, Fatherly Advice, and Admonitions, and what was more, gave me his Word that if ever it should please God to restore

the King, he would take particular Care to have him inform'd of the hardships and sufferings of my self and Family.

I could not tell what return to make for these Favours, and truly had much a∣do to contain my self from openly be∣traying the Weaknesses and Frailties of my Nature; indeed, I did make a shift to bear up till I had taken my Leave, which I am still jealous of, was not so solemn and decent as it ought to have been upon such an extraordinary Occa∣sion.

Being thus refresht and reliev'd, I went back to my Alehouse, and discharg'd my Reckoning, which so softned my Land∣lady, that nothing now was good enough for me. I soon perceiv'd my Landlord was an honest Cavalier, and after a lit∣tle further talk and Enquiry, I found with∣al he had been a Serjeant in the Regiment my Father was Collonel of. When I told him that, I never saw any Person in such a violent Transport, I could hardly force him from returning me my Money, whether I would or not, and beating his Wife for but seeming to refuse it. The poor Man was so strangely affected, that he hardly knew what he said or did, but at

length coming to himself, he entertain'd me through the whole Evening, with se∣veral remarkable passages of the Wars, and particulars of my Father's Life, which I had never before heard of.

CHAP. VI.

He Travels towards Northampton, Encounters an Itinerant Parson upon the Road, who instructs him in several of the Secrets and Mysteries of Begging, and then wheedles him to join with him, &c.

EArly next Morning I got up, and ha∣ving made the Maid some small ac∣knowledgments for her Civility, and dis∣charged the House, I set forward towards Northampton; my Landlord walk'd with me as far as Brickill, where he treated me with the best the Town would af∣ford, and gave me a Token to drink with one of his Acquaintance, that had formerly been a Quarter-Master to my Father, and now kept an Inn upon the Road.

'Twas about twelve or one before my Landlord and I parted, so that that Night I went no further then Newport-Pannel. I lay at the George, which was

the only House in the Town, where the King's Party frequented, and by vertue of a private Token I had to the Master, I was Conducted into a Room, where a Society of Loyal Gentlemen constantly met two or three times a Week to read the News, and make their Observations and Reflections upon the present Posture of the World.

I must confess there was one thing e∣ven in this most delectable Company, that render'd it a little ungrateful, I mean their common Custom of hard drinking. This was indeed too much the general Practice of those unhappy times, which I find since very sharply and pathetically reflected upon by one of the greatest Masters that ever adorn`d our English Nation, i. e. the Author of the Whole duty of Man, in his Preface to his Gentleman's Calling.

'Tis (says he) sure a far less deplorable Spectacle to see a Gentleman spoil'd of his Fortune by his Conscience than his Luxu∣ry, and to behold him under the Stroke of the Headsman, than under those more infamous Executioners, his Lust and In∣temperance; yet I fear if the Martyrolo∣gy even of those suffering times were duly scann'd, Venus and Bacchus would be found to have had many more Martyrs than God and Loyalty.

My Constitution utterly unqualify'd me for a hard Drinker, and so I was forc't to plead Indisposition and Inabili∣ty, which in consideration of my being a stranger and upon a Journey was al∣lowed of; I stay'd with 'em till about ten before I went to my Chamber, whi∣ther I was attended by the Landlord, who ask'd me several questions in order (I suppose, as he was directed by the Com∣pany) to discover who I was, but that I thought was useless here, and so I only made him an Answer in the general.

Between four and five next Morning I set out, with a resolution to reach Nor∣thampton that Night; and I believe, had been there in good time if I had not been Interrupted by an unlucky accident, which carried me another way, and was the cause of no small trouble and dis∣content to me afterwards.

When I had travelled about eight Miles onwards of my Journey, I over∣took a Person upon the Road in the ha∣bit of a Clergy-man, and truly, both from his Garb, Behaviour and Dialect, had no grounds to suspect to the contrary. I accosted him with all the distance and regard that I thought was due to his Cha∣racter; and indeed, his deportment

and Reply was decent and gentile enough, he was bound for Northampton as well as me, he told me, and provided I would not over-walk him, would gladly em∣brace the benefit of my Company.

We walk'd together about two Miles before we stopt, and then we call'd at the Persons House, to whom I had the Token from my honest Landlord at Leighton; he treated us with a great deal of Civility and Respect, and no∣thing would serve his turn but we must stay all Night; whether he took any thing for our Entertainment, I cannot remember, but to the best of my know∣ledge he did not, and would very wil∣lingly have detain'd us for two or three Days longer, and withal, offer'd to lend us Horses to Northampton.

By this time my Associate had suffici∣ently Instructed himself in my Inclinati∣ons, and accordingly the more to Ingra∣tiate himself with me, pretends he was one of that unhappy Number, that the Government had malitiously and unjustly depriv'd of his Preferment, for not tak∣ing the Covenant; and, what was worse, that a Conjunction of hard Circumstances had driven him from his Friends and

Country, to seek Bread and Liberty among strangers.

Here I began to close with him, and gave him a short Account of my Case, which he receiv'd with so much Hypocri∣tical Compassion and Formality, that in∣deed I thought him one of the most De∣vout and Pious Persons that I had ever Conversed with, in the whole Course of my Life; He told me, he was of Hart Hall in Oxford, and gave me such a sin∣gular Account of the Manner and Con∣stitution of the University, and the Names and Characters of so many Emi∣nent Persons, that there was not the least ground to suspect him. I must con∣fess, the remembrance of my former Companion often came into my mind, but then, when I came to compare their different Characters and Demeanors, I could not forbear blaming my self for my suspicion.

In a few hours we had Contracted a very strict and solemn Friendship, and (as I thought) began to deal our minds one to another, with all the Candor and Frankness of true and sincere Friends; he told me several odd, but Delightful and Pleasant Accidents, that he had been forc'd to Encounter, since he had been reduc'd

to the hard State of an Itinerant; I gave him in return an Account of some of mine, but particularly my late Ad∣venture with the Mountebank: To∣gether with the manner of my Deli∣verance; Moreover, I recited the Verses and Letter to him which I writ at Leigh∣ton, and gave him a full and particular Relation with what extraordinary Candor they receiv'd 'em, and how kindly the good Gentleman and his Family treated and reliev'd me in all respects.

He told me, upon the hearing of the Letter and Verses, Notwithstanding my Misfortunes, I was one of the happiest Men living, and if I would but Actuate that Talent that God had entrusted me with, I need not doubt a subsistance in any part of the Kingdom; that very Co∣py of Verses and Letter, says he, if you knew how to apply them rightly, were a sufficient Vade Mecum, to carry you all over England; but (says he) I find you are but a youngster in the secrets of Tra∣velling, and therefore upon our march to Morrow, I'll give you some General In∣structions, by the help of which, you'll be able to understand your business a lit∣tle better.

To be an exact Master in this kind of Art of Living, I must tell you, requires a great deal, both of Judgment, Discreti∣on and Experience, and when once you're arriv'd to a tolerable perfection a Person of your Sence and Learning, may make his Passage through the World with a∣bundance of delight and satisfaction.

`Twas too late now to descend into particulars, and so we went to our re∣spective Appartments for that Night, with a mutual resolution to be up Early in the Morning in order to Prosecute our Journey, as we accordingly did about se∣ven the next Day.

When we came at a convenient di∣stance from the Town, I put him in mind of his promise, i. e. to instruct me in the Secrets and Mysteries of a Travelling Mendicant, which he readily comply`d with, and withal told me, to prevent be∣ing mis-understood, it would be necessary to give me a general Idea and Notion of the business.

As to the Science and Occupation of begging, (for that in strictness of sense is the properest Name I can call it by) `tis in the main, a kind of ars vivendi, a sort of Trade and Profession as well as any of the rest, so that if it be not always nicely

conformable to the Rules of Vertue, Ju∣stice and Truth, there`s as much if not more to be said for it, than for any other Science or Calling.

But Sir, says I, Is it impossible for a Man to be Vertuous and a Mendicant? We have it from the Mouth of a great Man, that a Man may be Poor or Sick by Mis-fortune, but none can be Vitious or Unjust, but they must be the cause of it themselves; and truly, I cannot see what tollerable reason can be ascrib'd, Why, an Ingenuous and Faithful Account of our Circumstances, should not be as moving and acceptable as one that is Forg'd and Surreptitious.

I grant indeed (says he) that the true State of your Condition, provided you had none but Loyal Persons to make your addresses to, were sufficient, But then how would you do, if you should fall into a Country, where there are none of these sort to be found, which you know is not impossible considering the Age we live in? Beside, if you take up the Trade (as I said) qua∣tenus ars vivendi, Why then, I think in point of Prudence, you are oblig'd to make the most of it; and if there be a lit∣tle Prevarication upon occasion, I can't perceive where the great sin or harm of

it lies; you know a violent necessity can plead to any thing, even to the breach of the general Rules of Civility and Modesty. But Sir, this is all Forreign to our Case, and if you throw stumbling blocks in my way, you can never expect I should dis∣charge my promise.

To go on therefore, if you intend to be a Proficient in the Science of begging; your first business will be, to consult the Nature and Temper of the Person you are to make your application to, and by what expedient you may best recommend your self to him: our method for this is, commonly to go to some adjacent Ale∣house, where for the expence of Six Pence, we may be equipt with the several Cha∣racters and Inclinations of all the Gentry and Clergy within four or five Miles round.

When you have hit of the Person, the next thing is, to consult whether it be most proper to attend him your self, or send him the nature of your Case in a let∣ter; if you do the first, you must be sure to fix upon such a time, when you are Morally certain he is not engag'd in busi∣ness or Company; if you do the latter, the great difficulty is, to get your Letter handsomly convey'd to him; my way (and

I think 'tis the best) is to carry it my self and walk about the Hall, &c. Till I have got my Answer.

He had went on with his Discourse, if we had not been Interrupted by a third Person, of whom, my Companion enquiring the way to Northampton, we were inform'd that we were come more than Two Miles out of the Road; and that our way lay directly back again; which I believe from the Sequel of the Matter, was rather a Design than a Mi∣stake: He ask'd me, If my Occasions at Northampton were so urgent, and parti∣cular, that I could not avoid going thi∣ther? If they are, says he, I'll accompany you with all my Heart; for my own part, I am not oblig'd to any one place, and shall be willing to dispence with a greater in∣conveniency than this, for the sake of such good Conversation.

I told him my Business was only to carry a Letter of Recommendation to a Loyal Clergy-man in order to request him to accept me as an Assistant in his School, from whence I propos'd some sort of Settlement, till I could be able to guess how it would please God to dispose of the World.

If your Resolutions are fix'd to under∣take the drudgery of an Usher (says he) far be it from me to oppose it; however, I may tell you as a Friend, 'tis but wedding your self to a Life of Slavery, Vexation, and Confinement; and indeed, were I in your Circumstances, had I your Parts and Youth, and were I Master of so many Qualifications as you are, it should be the last Business in the King∣dom I would take up with.

But Sir, (says I, being alas! but too easie to be perswaded in that particular) if I should relinquish my Pretensions, what must be done for a Subsistence; I have neither Estate, Money, nor Friends, and to be left destitute in such a barbarous Age as this, is a reasonable inducement for me to put my Hand to any thing for an honest Livelyhood, that I am in the least capable of undertaking.

I will (says he) in no respect inter∣pose in your Affairs; as for a Subsistence, my Condition in every point is the same with yours, and has been so for divers Years, and yet thanks to my Stars I have never wanted Food and Rayment, and what's more, have enjoy'd a Freedom

and Priviledge which you must not ex∣pect under the Capacity of an Usher.

Beside I have had the opportunity of see∣ing several Countries, and making my Ob∣servations upon the Men and things, which I must tell you is no inconsiderable ad∣vantage to a Man of Parts and Learning. But Sir, supposing all this, I cannot be so vain to believe, that my Parts and Learn∣ing (as you are pleased to intimate) can any ways entitle me to such extraordina∣ry Priviledges; neither can I understand, provided I were qualified in all respects as you represent me, how I could be secure of Food and Raiment, and withal enjoy the grateful opportunity of seeing the Country, which I must own seems to me an Advantage as great as any thing else you can morally propose.

All that I tell you, saith he, is from my own Experience; I have already past thro' several happy years in an Itinerant State, and though I had very few of the Per∣fections you are Master of, to assist me, have made a very comfortable Progress; but 'tis nonsence to multiply Words, and therefore the short of the Case is this, if you think fit to joyn your self with me,

you may depend upon a true Friend, and faithful Companion, and then for our Subsistence, I could easily demonstrate to you, that there is not the least Shadow, or Pretence to apprehend the wants or defects of it.

CHAP. VII.

They straggle together into Leicester∣shire, try several Adventures in their Passage, the Mendicant writes a Latin Letter to a Lady, and is plentifully rewarded; they are both seized, and carried before a Magi∣strate; the Itinerant is discover'd to be an Impostor, and the Mendi∣cant Honourably Acquitted.

WIthout very many second Conside∣rations, I resolv'd upon this new Expedition, i. e. to take a turn about the Country, in Company with this Inge∣nious and (as I thought) honest Itinerant; about three in the Afternoon we reacht Oundle, where we stay'd all Night; my Camerade I found was very well known all over the Place, having, as the Woman of the House inform'd me, Preach'd there about half a year before, to the great Sa∣tisfaction and applause of the whole Town.

To give him his due, he was a Man, as far as can be presum'd, without Learn∣ing, a Master of the English Tongue, and truly I was mightily satisfied to see with what Respect and Kindness every body treated him; we were here Merry and Jocular; but (says he) young Gentleman, you must take this for a general Rule, never to spend of the main Stock, but up∣on case of Necessity.

Come, (says he) I have thought of an Adventure, which I am confident will de∣fray the Charge of the Night. About half a Mile out of Town lives an excel∣lent Lady, you shall write out your Ver∣ses, and the Letter you repeated yesterday, and I'll get em convey'd to her, which I am very certain will be a Piece, or at least half a Piece in our way.

I had much ado to reconcile my self to this ungratefull Expedient; how∣ever, after a great many intreaties from him, and Reflections upon my self, and withal considering that the thing was not malum in se, I did comply with his Request, and transcrib'd them just in the very words and form as I first writ 'em at Leighton.

I'm sure he had not sent 'em away a∣bove an Hour, but comes a Maid Servant

with a Letter directed to Mr. Peregine— The Contents were these.

Sir,

BY your Ingenious Copy of Verses, and Letter, I find you must needs be what you pretend to, an Honest Gentleman in Di∣stress; Indeed I am truly sorry my present Indisposition will not allow me to see you; you may depend upon it, it is not want of Respect which your extraordinary Wit and Parts may command from any body. I have sent a Small Token by the bearer, which I hope you'll do me the favour to accept of,

from your humble Servant, W — O

The small Token, as the good Lady was pleased to call it, was Thirty Shillings, four or five of which I think we spent that Night, and put the Remainder into a Common Bag; nothing could be more innocently pleasant and merry than my Companion was through the whole E∣vening, and truly I was so well satisfied in my new Adventure, that for the pre∣sent

I had utterly forgot all my former Misfortunes.

We stay'd here all Sunday, and upon Monday Morning set forward again, re∣solving to make the best of our way to Bos∣worth in Leicestershire, where he told me before he went into the South, he left his Horse, and several other Travelling Necessaries. In our way he would be very often discoursing, and commending such a kind of Life, and giving such plea∣sant Accounts of several diverting Pas∣sages he had met with in his Travels, that indeed I was very much affected and rejoic'd in his Conversation.

When we had walkt about five Mile, we came to a little Ale-house, and there inquiring as his manner was, what Gen∣tlemen there was near, the Man of the House told him, there was one of the wor∣thiest Men in the whole Country that liv'd within half a Mile; here he would have had me try'd my Verses again, but that I positively refus'd; however he would not be denied, but I should write him a Letter, which I did in the follow∣ing Words, and put his Name to it.

Sir,

YOu have this from one of the most unhappy Men living, from a poor Clergy-Man, which a harsh and severe Law hath first forc'd out of the Church for refu∣sing the Covenant, and then a Compli∣cation of hard Circumstances from his Friends, and Country, to seek Bread and Liberty among Strangers. Sir, The Cha∣racter you bear, both of a good and great Man, encourages me to believe that you will in some measure commiserate the wretched con∣dition of a most distressed Stranger. Pi∣ty and forgive him I beseech you Sir, and accept his Thanks and Prayers, Who shall ever esteem it an Honour and a Happiness to be thought worthy to be admitted into the number of those that are bound to bless you for your Charity and Beneficence.

This Letter he carry'd himself, and the Gentleman, as he told me, gave him a Crown; to the best of my Remem∣brance we spent two or three Days at this little Ale-house, my Camerade going out every Morning, to fetch in Contribu∣tion (as he called it.) When we had done

there, we set forward again, and the Night following came to a small Market-Town about eight Mile further.

Here my Companion discovers a new Adventure, i. e. A Lady that was an ex∣cellent Mistress of the Latine Tongue, and very Charitable and Compassionate to all sorts of Strangers, and Travellers, and nothing would serve his turn but I must attack her in a Latine Epi∣stle, which tho' I thought was a very odd Expedient; yet my former Success, and his Intreaties together, so far prevail'd with me, that I was resolved to try the Event, and so sat down, and with some sort of dis-satisfaction and uneasiness, scribled this hasty Letter.

Dignissima Dom.

SI quis sit Infaelix hujus Epistolae Porti∣tor quaeras, Peregrinus sum; si sortem quae huc me adduxit, aversae fortunae Ictus et malitia est. In puerilibus annis bonis li∣teris Educatus, & tandem ad Oxonium missus, ubi per tres faelices annos incubui, at interim amicis perditis & defunctis a Collegio (hei mihi) haud invitus discessi. Ap∣propinquans igitur hanc tuaem Ignotam Pa∣triam,

humiliter imploro benignitatem, ut aliquid ad sustinendum fragile meum Cor∣pus accipiam. Miserere Iuvenis Magnae spei, Iampridem nunc perituri, sic Divina Clemen∣tia tui misereatur in hoc Mundo & in fu∣turo.

Peregrinus.

In Answer to this, next Morning I re∣ceiv'd a gentile Note with ten Shillings, with several neat and pretty Apologies for the smallness of the Present. By the help of these kind of Letters, Letters of Re∣quest, Petitions, and other Mendicant Conveniencies my Companion was well furnish'd with, we wander'd the Country for about a Month before we reacht Bos∣worth, which was the Place my Associ∣ate had pitcht upon to continue at for three or four days, in order to Equip us with Necessaries fit for a Summer's Expedi∣tion.

'Twas about eight a Clock, I believe, before we came to our Quarters; and truly I think we had not been there a∣bove half an Hour, but in comes a Con∣stable with a strong Party of Assistance, and seized us both; it seems they had discover'd my Itinerant Friend to be a a rank Impostor, and, what was worse,

that by an ungrateful piece of Knave∣ry, had cheated an honest Gentleman in Warwickshire out of the Horse he had left here till his Return from his Southern Peregrination.

To make short of the Story, we were both immediately carried before Sir B. D. a worthy Justice of the Peace, that liv'd in the Neighbourhood; my Came∣rade was called first to his Examination, and tho he made his Defence with the greatest assurance and readiness, yet the Charge against him was so heavy and plain, and confirm'd by so many corroborating Circumstances, that there was no possibi∣lity either to stifle, or evade it.

They prov'd several very black things upon him, but especially that his Orders, Testimonials, &c. were all forg'd, and Counterfeited, and that he had left his Wife at Falmouth, and had straggled the Country with another Woman, which he either was, or at least pretended to be Married to; upon the whole, although the Justice was a Gentleman of an extra∣ordinary Temper and Compassion, and would very willingly have Saved him, the Crimes against him were so exalted∣ly hainous, and Scandalous, and so evi∣dently and clearly proved beside, that he

was constrained to order his Clerk to make his Mittimus for Leicester Goal.

My turn came next, and truly he was not more ready to plead for, and ex∣cuse his Villany, than I was at a loss to defend my Innocence. The good Gen∣tleman perceiving me in such a strange Agony and Disorder, kindly told me, I need not be so mightily terrified, I was not charg'd with any of his Crimes, but only with being in his Company, which so far incourag'd me, that in a sort of perplext manner, I gave a general account of our meeting, and of all our Travels and Transactions, with which the Justice, and all the Company were so well satisfied, that with a great deal of Pity and Advice, I was instantly discharged.

CHAP. VIII.

The Mendicant returns into Nor∣thampton shire, delivers his Let∣ter he had from the Gentleman at Leighton to the Clergy-man, by whom he's re••eiv'd as an Vsher, he is ordain'd a Deacon; the Clergy-Man's Sister falls in Love with him, to avoid which he forsakes his Place, and returns to his former Professi∣on of a Mendicant.

BEing divided from my Companion by this unlucky Accident, I was in a deep Quandary whether I should carry on my new Profession upon my own bot∣tom, or return into Northampton-shire, and deliver my Letter, which by great ac∣cident I had preserv'd; my former Success, and Encouragement, together with my rambling Itch and Inclination to see the Countrey, had certainly carried the Cause, if the Fate of my late Associate had not

happily interpos'd, the Prospect of which was still so dismal and frightful to me, that at length, tho not without some Re∣luctancy, I conclude upon the latter; but just as I was packing, up comes a Messen∣ger from the Justice of Peace, with ad∣vice, That I must instantly come and speak with him.

This put me under fresh Apprehensi∣ons; and notwithstanding I was sensible I had done nothing that could any ways ex∣pose me to the Law, yet for all that I was sufficiently terrify`d to think what should be the consequence of this Second Inter∣view; however, I found there was no Remedy, but I must put it to the ven∣ture, and so that I might be out of my pain, as soon as possible, I went up to the house.

When I came there, I found the Gentle∣man and his Lady walking in his Court, who immediately beckened me to come to him. Young Man, says he, I was very sor∣ry to find you in such bad Company, but I hope it will be a caution to you for the future, how you embark your self with Strangers: Says the good Lady, You have had a very happy deliverance, for 'tis a thousand to one, if you had continu'd your Rambles with him, but he'd have drawn you into some In∣conveniency

that probably might have been the cause of your Destruction.

They order'd me to follow 'em into their Garden, and commanded me to sit down with 'em in a Summer-house, and to give 'em a particular Narrative of my Travels and Circumstances; which I did in as comprehensive a manner as I could; and withall, repeated to 'em my Verses, Letters, &c. with all the rest of my Trans∣actions since my first departure from Ox∣ford.

They were both extreamly pleas'd and affected with my Relation, and the Gentle∣man gave me ten Shillings to help to bear my Charges into Northamptonshire, and ordered One of his Servants to go Two or Three Miles with me; to set me in the rea∣dy Road; and moreover, enjoyn'd me to send him a Letter, with an account of my Success, &c. as I did about a month after.

The fourth day at night I came to the End of my Journey, and deliver'd my Letter, according to direction; and in∣deed, was receiv'd with a Civility and Respect beyond what I could reasonably imagine; they told me my good Friends at Leighton had sent two other Letters in my behalf, and were under very great

Apprehensions and Trouble to find out what was become of me all this while.

I pretended something (I can't tell what) which pass'd well enough for an excuse; and so the next thing was (after some short Examination) upon what Terms I would consent to live with him? which I referr'd to himself, and he very candidly offer'd me Twenty Pounds per Annum, Meat, Drink, Washing, and Lodging, and the conveniency of his Books and Study, as often as I had occa∣sion.

With this I thankfully comply'd; and the next Morning he conducted me into his School, where was about Thirty Gentlemens Sons; the greatest part of which were boarded in his own Family.

And now I began to think my self as happy as I could wish; having, beside the opportunity of a fixt and setled Life, the advantage of a pretty good Library, and the Conversation of a Learned Inge∣nious Man, that upon all occasions would be ready to give me his Advice and In∣structions: We liv'd together like two Brothers; our Tempers, Inclinations, and Principles squaring so exactly, that in the space of Twenty Months, I don't remem∣ber the least jangle or discontent.

About half a Year afterwards there came the Worthy Bishop of—to a Nobleman's that liv`d in the Nighbour∣hood, and nothing would serve my Friend, but I should Embrace the Opportunity, and be Ordain`d a Deacon. This Moti∣on at first I was unwilling to conde∣scend to, suspecting (as I had good Rea∣son) my own Insufficiency, and Want of Age and Leaaning.

We had several Debates before he could prevail with me to lay my hand to the Plow; but having convinc`d me from the Canon, which, as he quoted to me, did only oblige me, reddere rationem fidei in Latina Lingua; and having clear'd up all my other Doubts and Suspicions, by the help of the Character he had given of me, and a Title and Testimonial he had procur'd, upon St. Thomas day following, which happened to fall that Year upon a Sunday, I was Ordain`d.

My Lord Examin`d me himself, and withal, told me, I came to him so well re∣commended, that he should ask me but few Questions. The most material, to the best of my remembrance, were concern∣ing the Three distinct Offices of our Saviour, with some other short matters relating to the Constitution of the Church of

England, and Kingly Government.

Some time after my Ordination, my Worthy Patron would needs Engage me to Preach in the Parish-Church; which, after several Intreaties, I was forc`d to comply with. It would look like Vani∣ty in me to tell you with what general Applause I acquitted my self; I had the Thanks and Caresses of every body for my Sermon; but from none with so much endearing Sweetness and Friendship as from the Sister of my Friend.

And here my Cruel Step-mother, For∣tune, begins again to try her Experiments upon me: From this very Instant this poor young Gentlewoman espouses a par∣ticular Tenderness and Esteem for me; which she so long unhappily forsters and cherishes in her breast, that at length by degrees it swell`d into a violent and passi∣onate Love.

I should wrong her Memory, and the Judgment of all that knew her, if I should not give her the Character she both enjoy'd and Merited; i. e. of a Vertuous, Sober and Discreet, and withal, a Beautiful Woman, barring her last mistake in be∣stowing her Affection upon such an un∣happy Wretch as my self.

She made a thousand pretty and inno∣cent discoveries of her Passion; and truly I saw it well enough, though I thought it Prudence not to let her know it; eve∣ry body in the house (especially her Bro∣ther) perceiv'd it as well as my self; and indeed it grew so violent and rapid at last, that she had enough to do to contain her self within the ordinary bounds and mea∣sures of her Sex.

I knew not what to do in this difficult conjuncture, and indeed was much more concern'd for the unhappy Gentlewoman than for my self. Marriage I was re∣solv'd against, being sufficiently convinc'd that neither my Circumstances, nor my Temper would in any respect agree with such a state of Life.

Upon one hand lay a large heap of Ob∣ligations and Favours I had receiv'd from her Brother; on the other a compendious chain of her own endearing Kindnesses and Civilities; and which way to steer a safe course between these two dangerous Rocks, I could not determine; First, I thought if I should stay here till her Bro∣ther or some Friend should move the thing, and then reject it, they could esteem it no less than the height of Base∣ness and Ingratitude, and resent it as an

affront, not to be pardon'd: And, Se∣condly, I thought if I went off privately, without taking my leave, 'twould bring such an Odium upon me, that I should never be able to wipe it out, the remain∣der of my Life.

Well, I found there was no Remedy, but I must instantly resolve upon one of these Expedients; and truly as cases stood, I thought the latter was the most proper; and accordingly having furnisht my old Satchel (which I had still lying by me, as a Reli•••• of my former Adventures) with all sorts of traveling Necessaries. Upon the next Holiday in the Morning, to avoid Suspicion, I set forward upon a new Peregrination; and at a Village a∣bout Four Miles off, I writ this Note, which I got convey'd to 'em by a Mes∣senger, &c.

SIR,

MY sudden departure I know must ne∣cessarily surprise you; 'tis an impetu∣ous gust of hard fortune that will have it so; the rest I leave to your own Conceptions. Let this commend me earnestly to your wor∣thy Family, to whom I wish all the happiness and blessing of both Worlds. Accept my Thanks and Prayers for your friendly Chari∣ty

and Compassion to an unhappy Stranger; whom, by a long Chain of faithful Kindnesses, you have inseparably bound to acknowledge himself for ever.

Your most Obliged Usher. PEREGRINE.

Here the Muse would needs offer me her help in my Melancholy; and as I walk'd along, dictated to me this short Ode.

Oh Life! thou'rt nothing but a sound, A weak built Isthmus, that a while does rise Between two vast Eternities; And then sinks down, and canst no more be found. Alas! alas! in vain, With all our Care and Pain We seek the tott'ring Fabrick to main∣tain. Our utmost Acts are Nonsence all; 'Tis Nonsence all that we can do; Through Paths unknown vast trains of ills pursue: And Man, the Wretch must undergo 'em all.

'Twas a sad Truth spoke by the wisest King, That better is the day of Death, Than that black day that gives us Breath. Since nought below can any Comfort bring. 'Tis hard, methinks 'tis hard That Man alone should be debarr'd, Even from that ease the Toyls of Brutes reward. But still 'tis Nonsence to complain, 'Tis better sit and bite the Chain. We must drudge through the Vale, and tamely go Through the strange dismal Weilds and Labirinths of Woe.

CHAP. IX.

The Mendicant wanders into Buck∣inghamshire, is entertained by a Worthy old Gentleman for his Cu∣rate; he preaches a singular Sermon upon Humility, the chief heads of which he sets down at large.

WHen I had dispatch'd away the Messenger with the Note, and satisfy'd him to his content for the trou∣ble he would be at, I thought it was best, for fear they should endeavour to recover me, to take a by-way cross the Country. I don't know how far I wander'd the first day, neither did I think it proper to ask Questions; however, I found my self at night upon the edge of Buckinghamshire; where, at a poor Alehouse in a small Country Village, I took up my Sta∣tion.

Whilst I was sadly reflecting upon the Family I had left, and entertaining my

self with the dismal Accounts of my own repeated Misfortunes, in comes a Gentle∣man to enquire for Lodging, that came, as he pretended, directly from London; amongst other things I ask'd him the News. News says he Sir! why, good News for all honest Gentlemen, and es∣pecially for those of your Coat; General Monk is upon a full march with his Army from Scotland, and the People begin to talk publickly of the Restoration of the King.

This News pleas'd and diverted me, notwithstanding the piercing Agonies I was under.

The Gentleman's Conversation in ge∣neral was exceeding pleasant and jocular; we eat and drank together, and indeed were forc'd to lie together too, the House affording no more than one Bed, and that but a scurvy one neither; however, there was no Remedy, but we must take up with that, or the Hay Mow; which, as it hapned afterwards, had been the better choice of the two; to make short of the matter, my Bedfellow prov'd a noto¦rious Highwayman; and the very day before had committed several Robberies in the Road between Dunstable and Wooborn; and what was worse, about four a Clock

in the Morning came a Constable with a hue and Cry, and seized us both in our Beds.

My Companion indeed would willing∣ly have clear'd me by alledging I was an absolute Stranger to him, but Mr. Con∣stable would not Credit him, and so the next Morning we were both carried be∣fore a Magistrate, he was committed to Alesbury Goal, and I was remanded back to the Alehouse, under a strong Guard, with Orders to be secur'd for three or four days, till the Persons that were Rob∣bed had view'd me, to try if any of them could give any Evidence against me; but nothing appearing, and my Innocence growing every day more manifest, I was at last set at liberty.

Being now deliver'd from this strange Dilemma, which, notwithstanding, had exhausted all my Stock; Moneyless, Friendless, and Disconsolate I wander from one place to another, till it began to draw towards Sun-set, and what to do for a little Food, and a Lodging, I could not imagine; Lying in the Field was a dismal Apprehension, and to venture in∣to an Inn, without Money to pay my Reckoning, was as bad; but while I was thus ruminating upon my doleful Con∣dition,

I observ`d a Shepherd following his Flock not far from me, to whom I made up, in order to enquire where I was, and what Gentleman liv'd near.

The good Old Man perceiving by my Looks and Gesture, I was a Person in di∣stress, told me I was in the Vale of Ales∣bury, and that there were several Gentle∣men in the Neighbourhood, but they were all Oliverians, and Common-wealths Men, and good for little the only Gen∣tleman (says he) that I know in this part of the Country, is Mr. H. of Abbots Aston, a little Town about a Mile off, and he too has been so often plunder'd and harrass'd since the War, and has a great Family be∣side, that I'm afraid things are not so well with him as they have been; however; I dare say, (a Stranger, and a Gentleman as you seem to be) if you think fit to call upon him, won't want Lodging, and En∣tertainment for a Night, &c.

I thanked the honest Shepherd for his kind Instruction, and withal, resolv'd to take his Advice, and indeed found every thing beyond his Representation. The worthy old Gentleman, upon the very first Recital of my Condition, with a decent Gentleman-like Freedom invited me in, and truly I was entertain'd by him∣self,

and his Family, with so much Friend∣ly Civility, that I had hardly met with the like in the whole course of my Tra∣vels.

The next Morning, when I came to take my Leave, he gave me Half-a-Crown, and a Letter to a Neighbouring Clergy∣man, whom, he told me, if he was not very lately supplied, wanted an honest young Man for a Curate, and in all outward appearance, I seemd to be a Person fit for his turn.

One of his Sons did me the Favour to accompany me to the Gentleman's House, who, after a short Examination of my Orders, and other Credentials, was pleas∣ed to accept of me. We came to no fixt Agreement, further than that I was to have ten Shillings a Sunday, and stay with him till something happened that might be more to my Advantage.

The next Sunday I was obliged to Preach at one of his Churches▪ and as 'tis common in the case of a Stranger, I had a very large and considerable Audi∣tory; the Substance of my discourse was upon Humility, which my Patron, that was present himself, was so well pleased, and affected with, that he engaged me to write it out, and give him the Copy,

the Substance of which you have in the following Abstract.

Matth. 11.29.And learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in Heart.

THe Life of the blessed Jesus, as it was altogether a Compendious President of the most Holy and Divine Behaviour, so in nothing more eminent and Exemplary than for his Humility and Complaisance; he saw doubtless what a stubborn insolent World he should leave behind, and therefore both by his Doctrines, and inimitable Example of his Life, endeavours to leave this God-like Principle deeply Stamp'd, and imprest upon the Minds of Men.

Indeed there's no body that contemplates that miraculous Life with that profound Veneration and Regard, which the nature of the thing deserves, but will soon find it answering the present Character, and withal, that it is the most Innocent and Endearing Original for us, that pretend to be his Disciples, to Copy, and be dire∣cted

by. Learn of me, for I am meek, and lowly in Heart.

Beside this Introduction, after I had made a short Exposition of the Sence, and Coherence of the Text, I divided my Discourse into these three general Considerations.

• 1st. I undertook to give a brief Repre∣sentation of the Nature and Effects of Humility, both with respect to God and our selves.
• 2dly. To give a Character of Pride, and the dangerous and mischievous Con∣sequences of it.
• 3dly. I propos'd the Life and behavi∣our of our Blessed Saviour, as the most convincing Argument to perswade us to Charity and Humility.

First, For the Nature of Humility, I represented it to consist chiefly in the Reflections upon our selves, in conside∣ring our own meanness, and demerit, and putting a modest and Religious Value upon our Persons and Deserts, and being constantly more ready to give others the Honour, and Esteem, than to be affect∣ed

with the Praises, and Commendation of our selves.

Secondly, I briefly demonstrated Humi∣lity to be a Noble and Generous Prin∣ciple, and though it was directly oppo∣site to all Pride, and haughtiness of Dis∣position, yet was in no respect inconsi∣stent with the Beauties and Ornaments of our Religion, i. e. Christian Courage and Fortitude.

Indeed I cannot in any respect con∣ceive, that to be the Nature of true Hu∣mility, which consists in a baseness, and lowness of Spirit, but rather an Indi∣cation of Cowardice, and Abjectness, by which Men are hurried into the violent transports of Joy or Sorrow, by the hap∣py or adverse Success of every little tri∣fling Accident, or Concern.

None had so humble a Spirit as our Blessed Lord himself, and yet none a great∣er Mind, and a more absolute Resolu∣tion; and truly 'tis the grossest Mistake, to conclude a Man of a bold and Hero∣ick Temper, because he's Proud and Inso∣lent, or of a poor and degenerate Spirit, because he's humble and Complaisant. This is a common Mistake, 'tis true, but still 'tis a Mistake, and can proceed from

nothing else but from our not understan∣ding a right the true Nature and Effects of Humility.

For had we the right Notion of Hu∣mility, we should soon perceive the Ine∣stimable happiness of the humble Man; we should observe him open and free, Serene and Calm, and not to be affected or discompos'd with such mean and low things as the proud Man is, he's al∣ways retired into the sweetness of him∣self, wears a Soul above the reach of Flattery, or Contempt, and hath a more absolute Dominion and Sway over his Passions and Infirmities, than to suffer himself to be grated or disturb'd by any of 'em.

Then for the Effects of Humility, I endeavour'd to prove that the first great Effect of it was, that it puts us in Mind of the common Corruptions, and frailty of our Nature, and consequently urges us to reflect upon that vast distance and dis∣proportion, that is between Almighty God and our Selves, the Consideration of which only can qualifie us to worship him with that Reverence and Prostration of Soul, as becomes the Greatness and Majesty of Heaven▪

A second effect of Humility that I mentioned, was, that it gives us a quick and strong Sence of the Mercies of God, and discovers to us the several degrees of his Bounty, and Compassion.

An humble Man takes notice of every Blessing and Advantage, and then reflects upon God as their Immediate, and direct Author, and the grand Fountain and Ori∣ginal from whence they all Flow.

Such a Man believes every Mercy too large for his desert, and with the Holy Psalmist, upon all occasions, is ready to say, What am I? and what is my House, O Lord, that thou hast brought hitherto? Still giving every Blessing its just and pro∣per Estimate, by comparing it with his own demerit, and contemplating his own base Original.

Thirdly, I observ'd, that Humility teaches, nay, enables Men to undergo the several Troubles and Calamities, that they are liable to be encounter'd with in their passage through Humane Life.

The humble Person considers, and is satisfied that God is bound by no obliga∣tions to alter and discompose the whole Scheme of his Providence for his Sake, neither doth he expect that every thing

in this troublesome and uncertain Vale should fall out just according to his own design; such a Man rather thinks the Miscarriages of his Affairs to be the Pro∣duct of his own Negligence, or Impru∣dence, and upon no account will be se∣duc'd to charge God foolishly; besides, he looks upon his Afflictions to be To∣kens of Reconcilement between himself and his Maker, and rather blesses and praises, than murmurs and complains a∣gainst the Hand that Chastiseth him.

Fourthly, I argued that Humility com∣posed the Soul and Mind to a pious and universal Resignation, to be satisfied, and acquiesce, whether it be at the upper or lower end of the World, and diretced us to the shadow of the Divine Wings in all our Calamities, and what's more, propo∣ses to us too, a Serenity and Composed∣ness, not to be shaken or disturb'd by a∣ny of the changes, or charges of this Mortal Life.

It must be low and humble Thoughts doubtless, that can guide the Minds of Men in making this happy Election, for so long as they look upon themselves with false Opticks, they can never arrive to this God-like disposition, nor never will

till they have unbent their Minds, dis-ro∣bed them of all their Arrogance, and torn of that ugly Vizor their Pride hath put upon them.

Thus far I urg'd the Nature, and ef∣fects of Humility, with regard to our more solemn behaviour to Almighty God; the next thing I proposed was, how requisite it was, with respect to our common Dealings and Conversations in the World.

First, I offer'd it as a grand means to restrain us from attempting things above our reach or station, than which nothing can render a Man more absurd, and ridicu∣lous, and this I enforc'd with the Pathe∣tick Instance the Holy Psalmist gives of his Humility. Lord my Heart is not haughty, nor my Eyes lofty, neither do I ex∣ercise my self in great matters, nor in things that are too high for me.

There's nothing renders a Man more the Scorn and Laughter of the World, than to see him pretending to the Knowledge and Performance of things that are above his Sphere, which Humility kindly pre∣vents, by composing his Mind to his Con∣dition, and by giving him an honest and

just Sence of his own abilities and perfecti∣ons.

Secondly, I briefly shewed that Humili∣ty guides us in our receiving Praise and Applause; it stamps upon our Minds that moderation and gentleness in the bearing of it, that at once intitles us to the Cha∣racter both of good and wise Men; and instead of being mounted, and lifted up above our selves by it, Humility directs us to look back, and consider who, and what we are.

Humility teacheth us a decent and sweet Behaviour to all Ranks and Degrees.

First, It guides the meaner sort how to pay a due regard to their Superiours, and withal directs the Superiour too how he ought to behave himself to his Fellow-Christian; briefly, it keeps Men from the vain desire of Singularity, it re∣strains 'em from crowding themselves upon the publick, rebates their furious thoughts of Precedency, makes them mo∣dest and cautious how they censure the Actions and Dealings of others, nay, what's beyond all this, humility does naturally endow us with a quiet Consci∣ence, and a contented Mind, the two best

Blessings that humane Nature is capable of. This was the substance of my Discourse upon the first General Propo∣sion, i. e. the Nature, and Effects of Hu∣mility, both with respect to God and our Selves.

The second thing I propos'd was to give a short Character of Pride, and the mischievous Consequences of it.

And first, I endeavour'd to represent Pride as a most Impious, and audacious Vice, a Vice that was branded in divers places of Scripture, as most detestable to God, and most loathsom and obnoxious to Men, and was particularly signaliz'd to be so by the several Punishments it hath been rewarded with.

'Twas Pride that turn'd Lucifer out of Heaven, and Nebuchadnezzar out of his Throne, nay, out of all humane So∣ciety to boot, and indeed, it seems to have still a great deal of the same Effect, nothing rendring a Man so inconsi∣derable, hateful, and contemnable, for it sets him (in his own Imagination at least) above both his Betters and his Equals, and consequently renders him Intollera∣ble to his Inferiours, and so to compleat the

Parallel, seldom leaves him till it has tur∣ned him a Grazing, reduc'd him to some kind of Extremity, and by that means to know himself.

This Vice is so well known to be an Enemy, and to have a malicious Influence upon the common Conversation of the World, that we find the Wiser part of it very cautious and vigilant how they admit a proud Person into their Soci∣ety, there being, beside the constant noise and impertinence, a perpetual hazard of wrangling, and quarrels, if not of Mur∣ther and Tumults depending upon it.

Beside this, in the second place I repre∣sented Pride as the Grand Abbettor of most of our Civil, and Ecclesiastical Feuds, and Divisions; it is indeed a most pro∣lifie Vice, there being few Sins, to which in some respects it is not either a Parent, or a Nurse, but more especially to our Re¦ligious Debates and Contentions.

If we trace the Heresies and Schisms from Simon Magus, his days, down to our own, we shall find Pride still a prin∣cipal Actor in every Scene, though per∣haps in a different Shape and Dress.

There hath been nothing, though ne∣ver so Sacred, but upon this account hath been prostituted, and mis-used; when Dio∣trephes

seeks Preheminence, the Dictates of an Apostle must be rejected, nay even the Divinity of our Saviour, God blessed for e∣ver, must be trampled upon when Arius wants a Footstool to climb up to his af∣fected Greatness.

In a word, if we could examine the Oc∣currences of all Ages, we shall find that the Pride of some, animated and support∣ed by the Malice and Revenge of others, hath been the black Original, of all the Wars and Blood that has been shed for these many Years.

I urg'd several other things, as a fur∣ther Representation of the mischievous Consequence of Pride, but those for bre∣vity sake I shall omit here.

The last thing I proposed was the Life and behaviour of our Blessed Saviour as the most convincing Argument to per∣swade us to Charity and Humility.

First, I represented his whole Life as one continued Scene of Innocence, Hu∣mility, and Holy Actions; I shew'd from his own words how solemnly he protested against, and disdain'd the Ho∣nour and Applause of the World.

I seek not my own Glory, saith he, I receive not my Honour from Men, my

Doctrine is not mine, but his that sent me; My Father dwelleth in me, and he doth the Works.

He did not do any of his miraculous Actions with any kind of Pomp or Noise, but with an humble Calmness, and Com∣placency, agreeable to the Prophecy; no Acclamations could alter, or subvert the composure of his Mind; the greatest of his Triumphs we ever read of, was that of his riding to Ierusalem, and then too instead of praising and magni∣fying himself, he only bid them tell the Daughter of Zion, That her King came to her Meek, and sitting upon an Ass, and a Colt the Foal of an Ass, as is Recorded by the Evangelist Mat. 21.5.

He was no less eminent in bearing Af∣fronts, Revilings, and Persecutions. In the great Article of all, his Crucifixion, he was so far from shewing any manner of Passion or Bitterness, even against those that had falsly betrayed and con∣demned him, that instead of Aggrava∣ting their Guilt, he Compassionately in∣treats his Father to forgive `em, repre∣senting it rather as a Sin of their haste and Ignorance, than Revenge▪

In these, and many other Instances I propos'd the Example of our Saviour's

Life and Doctrine, as the most convincing Arguments to Charity and Humility, and then to conclude, I urg'd that the most natural way to express a true Veneration and Esteem for any Person, was to come as near as possible to his Likeness and Similitude.

Our utmost Love, without this, looks like Dissimulation and Pretence; 'tis doubtless therefore the highest Concern of any one that pretends to be his Disci∣ple, and to have a Value, and Regard for him, to transcribe his Godlike Copy, to imitate him as far as we can in the seve∣ral Vertues of his Life, and to observe all his Holy and Divine Precepts, of which this is one of the foremost; Learn of me, for I am meek, and lowly in Heart.

CHAP. X.

Vpon the Restoration of King Charles he leaves his Curacy, and goes to London, makes several insuccess∣ful Attempts to get Preferment, and afterwards in a deep discontent, and Melancholly, leaves the Town, with a Resolution to return into the Country, in quest of New Adven∣tures.

UPon the delivery of the Copy of my Sermon, the worthy Gentle∣man made me a very handsom Present, and withal, was pleased (much beyond my Desert) to commend the happiness of my Expressions; the manliness of my Stile, and the contexture of my Discourse, and moreover directed me in my Me∣thods of Study, and gave me a Cata∣logue of the Books that were most proper to be read to improve my Judgment, and ground me in the true Principles of the Doctrine of the Church of England.

In this happy State I pass'd off Divers comfortable Months till the Kings Resto∣ration, and then I thought, considering my Father had first spent his Estate, and afterwards Sacrific`d his Life in the Ser∣vice of the Crown, upon the Representati∣on of my condition, I could not fail of getting some sort of Preferment.

When I came to London, I found Mul∣titudes in my own Circumstances, abun∣dance of worthy Gentlemen that had wasted their whole Fortunes in the Kings cause, and were now watching about Court for some kind of business, that might Entitle them to a subsistance in their declining Years.

For my own part, I try'd all the me∣thods that the Nature of my Case would bear, but all to no purpose; the King was advis'd it seems, to Encourage and Caress his Enemies, and to depend upon the ge∣nerosity of his Friends, which, as some about him told him, was a high Argu∣ment of Policy and Wisdom; whether it was or not, I think may be easily di∣scern'd from the future success of things; but that's Forreign to my purpose.

I stay'd in Town, expecting the mov∣ing of the Waters, seven or eight months at least, and in the interim had contract∣ed

an Acquaintance with several Gentle∣men that came thither upon the same Er∣rand; with one especially, who, above all the rest, I perceiv'd to be a person of extraordinary Parts and Disposition; with him I often met, and condol'd the Mis∣fortune of Loyal Men, and could hardly refrain, (among our selves) from mak∣ing some Reflections upon our hard U∣sage.

This Gentleman (as he told me) had spent Eight Hundred Pound per Annum, in the Wars; and what was worse, had a Wife and several Children in the Coun∣try, that must unavoidably fall into pub∣lick Extremity, if the King did not do something for him. It would grieve and surprize a man, to hear him give a Relation of his Sufferings; and indeed it was a very Melancholly and Astonishing Prospect, to see so many brave Men in a Neglected Starving Condition, whilst those that had been the Grand Instru∣ments of the Rebellion, nay, in some measure, that had been actually engag'd in the Murder of the King, advanc'd to considerable Places of Trust and Profit.

In short, I continued in this wretch∣ed State of Dependance, till I had eat

up all my Books, and worn out my Cloaths; and after all, perceiving there was no good to be done at this ungrateful, mercenary Court, I pack'd up the poor Remains of my Equipage, and resolv'd once more to commit my self to the blind guidance of my hard Step-mother Fortune; and in the morning, just before my departure, in a deep and profound Melancholy, I writ the following Eight Verses, and left 'em seal'd up for my Friend.

Fly from this Scurvy Town, all Courts despise, And ne'r torment thy Soul with thoughts to rise. Ne'r thenk thy Merits can Preferment get: First be a Knave, and then thou may'st be great. Vertue has no Prerogative at Court, It only serves 'em there for scorn or sport. The Fools and Villains rise, the Loyal fall, And the same rigid fate seems to attend us all.

CHAP. XI.

The Mendicant leaves London, wan∣ders into Dorsetshire, takes upon him the Habit of a Shepherd, and gives an Account of several other Adventures that befel him.

HAving waited six tedious Months in a fruitless Dependance upon an Ungrateful Court, I saw at last 'twas in vain to expect Pre∣ferment among 'em; Interest and Flatte∣ry, I perceiv'd, carry'd all before 'em, and so I resolve to steer back into the Country, to endeavour to find out some poor Employment that might entitle me to Bread and Liberty.

I set forward from London the 20th of March, and the first Night wander'd as far as Vxbridge, about fifteen Miles from London, without any considerable Adven∣ture. I spent the Evening in a melancho∣ly

contemplation upon the variety of Ac∣cidents and Calamities incident to human Life; and truly, upon the whole, was ready enough to conclude that Death was much preferable to it, unless it was upon the grand Account, as it is a State of Tri∣al and Probation, for Immortality and Happiness.

And indeed I cannot conceive (except∣ing the assurance of the Immortality of our Souls) what it is that can support Men, and encourage 'em with so much Patience aud chearfulness, to undergo the several Turns and Revolutions of uncon∣stant Fortune, to submit so tamely to be bandyed, like Tennis-Balls, to and fro, upon the Racquets of every cross and malicious Accident, from Pain to Plea∣sure, from Fullness to Want, from Ho∣nour to Infamy, and so back again, till the Game is play'd out, and then to re∣turn into Eternal Silence and Insensibi∣lity.

With such kind of Reflections I spent the Night, and the next Morning early I set forward again, bending my course still Westward, resolving not to make any Attempts for a Settlement, till I had re∣mov'd my self a considerable distance from London.

The sixth day, at night, upon enqui∣ry, I found my self in Dorsetshire; and, what was worse, was unhappily strag∣gled so far upon the Hills, that 'twas im∣possible for me to recover a Town to lodg at, before 'twas dark; and so I was for∣ced to betake my self to the shelter of one of the little Hats the Shepherds had thrown up in the fields, to defend 'em from the Rain and Heat.

This unlucky Accident mightily ter∣rified and discontented me; however, I found there was no Remedy, but I must endure it; therefore laying my Satchel under my head, for my Pillow, and put∣ting my self in the best posture I could contrive, to defend me from the cold, I laid me down upon one of the Seats, which was only Stones and Earth, cov∣ered with a Turf, and endeavour'd to compose my self to rest.

I know not how it came to pass, whe∣ther it was my Weariness or Discontent or both together, but betwixt 'em they threw me into a deep sleep, which lasted till break of day the next morning, and truly I was extreamly rejoyc't I had past off a doleful night with so much ease and safety.

The Lark was upon the Wing, singing her welcome to the morning, before I turn'd out of the Earthen Habitation; and what was more, and indeed what I have often thought upon with the highest and most profound Thankfulness and Ad∣miration, notwithstanding the Night was very cold, and the Wind blew exactly into the mouth of the Cabin, I did not find my self in the least afflicted or disor∣der'd afterwards.

In my passage over the Downs, I met several Shepherds trudging chearfully to their Folds; and indeed their Looks and Gestures methought bespoke so much ho∣nest Satisfaction, and true Content, that I could not forbear wishing my self in the same Condition. The more I reflected upon their harmless and inoffensive man∣ner of Living, the more still it seem'd to please and delight me, till at last I grew so much affected, that I resolve to use my utmost Endeavours to qualifie my self to undertake the Occupation of a Shep∣herd.

To fit my self for this odd Adventure, I perceiv'd there was Three Things to be done in course: First, To provide me with a suitable Habit. Secondly, To in∣struct my self in the methods of order∣ing

the Sheep, and setting the Folds. And Thirdly, To find out some sober, pru∣dent person for a Master, that had the Re∣putation of a Man of Honesty and Sence, and a good Governour of his Family.

As to the first, I went directly to Dor∣chester, and bought a coarse Frock, and other Accoutrements, as near as I could remember, answerable to those I observ'd the day before with the Shepherds; but then I was at a great Loss to contrive how to dispose of my Satchel, aud the Cloaths I pull'd off; which, after a great many thoughts and resolutions, I was forc'd, af∣ter all, to commit to the protection of an hollow Tree.

Next to this, my business was to find out a means to get some general Instructi∣ous how to remove the Fold, and manage the Sheep; and truly, here I found there was no Remedy, but I must e'en apply my self to some honest Shepherd.

I took several turns upon the Downs, before I could meet with a Swain, whose Face and Deportment spoke him fit for my purpose. At last, having pitch'd up∣on One, whose Answers, &c. shew'd him to have a little more Generosity and Un∣derstanding than is common among such

sort of Illiterate People, I gave him a short Account of my condition, to this effect, Viz. That I was a poor Vnfortu∣nate Young Man, out of all manner of Busi∣ness; that my Stock began to waste apace; that I had a Particular Desire to fall into the Employ of a Shepherd, and should be glad, for a Beginning, to accept of a Place, tho never so inconsiderable, that would but defend me from Publick Extremity.

The good man at the very first sight seem'd mightily affected with my hard Circumstances, and withal told me, 'twas almost impossible for a Lusty Young Man to want an Employment at that time of the Year; and, moreover, ask∣ed me, if I understood the business of a Shepherd? Says he, There are several other things necessary to make a man a compleat Shepherd, beside following the Sheep, and shifting the Fold, which I don't question your Judgment in. But then the great Inconveniency of all, is, your being an absolute stranger; so that unless you can give a very good Account of your self, you'll find it a difficult mat∣ter to prevail with any body to take you into their house.

I could not very well tell what to say to the honest Shepherd's Objection; at last I told him, I was sensible my being a stranger would consequently be very prejudicial to me; But then I told him too, That I did not question, if I could be once so happy to get a Place, but by my Diligence and Integrity, in a little time to recommend my self beyond exce∣ption.

As for my own part, says the Shep∣herd, I am fully satisfied; you have the Looks and Behaviour of an Honest Man; and you may depend upon't, I'll do my best to get you some business; and there∣fore if you'll come to morrow, and tend my Sheep, I'll go to some of the Neigh∣bouring Towns, and try what can be done.

I told him the only business I was de∣sirous of at present, was a Shepherd's Place, and if he could assist me in that particular, I should endeavour, by some means or other, to make him amends. His Answer was very pertinent, and un∣expected, That without any dependance of amends, &c. he had always a pity for poor men in distress, especially for those that seem'd to be honest, as I did. If you deceive me, says he, 'tis your

fault, you have a good Look; but if there be a Woolf within, who can help it? However, I'll expect you to mor∣row; and in the mean time, I shall be sure to have you in my remembrance.

CHAP. XII.

The Mendicant is Entertain'd by a Shepherd, as his Servant: He gives a Diverting Relation of the Circumstances of his Admission, and the manner of his Instructi∣ons, &c.

ACcording to our Appointment, I was with the Shepherd early next morning, who I found busy in changing his Fold, and disposing every thing in order, that I might have nothing to do, but Just to follow the Sheep, and keep `em from intermixing with other Flocks. He left me his Dog, his Scrip and his Crook, with Orders to lead 'em to a particular place, upon an adjacent Plain, where (as he express'd it) he us'd to drive 'em to Lare about Noon. The Friendly Shepherd had no sooner left me, but several of the Swains that belong'd to the Downs, came about me, being ve∣ry

inquisitive to know who I was, and from whence I came, as 'tis their common custom, when a Stranger comes among 'em.

They ask'd me several questions, which indeed I was sufficiently puzl'd to get over; however, with a great deal of difficulty, I did blunder through most of 'em, be∣ing still very cautious how I directed my Answers, apprehending, that if I should mistake their Dialect, or use any Terms that did not square with their Rustick way of expressing themselves, I should perhaps offer 'em some occasion of Suspi∣cion, which might consequently ruin my future design.

In short, we had soon done with our Questions and Ceremonies, and in a little time began to grow as familiar, and well acquainted as possible. My business was to learn as many of their Calls and Whi∣stles to their Sheep, and as much of their Language as the time and opportunity would permit; and truly, in three or four hours (as I found afterwards) I had gather'd up several of their most usual Expressions.

About Four the Old Shepherd returns, and found me by the Flock leaning upon his Crook, a posture which I had obser∣ved

very common among 'em. Well, honest Friend (says he) I see you are very diligent, and truly I han't been altogether idle neither. I'll tell you what I have done, and if you approve of it, and think good of my Proposals, why then the bu∣siness is over.

He told me he had undertaken for Twenty Shillings a month to tend Squire F—'s Sheep till Michaelmas, and that he would give me Two Shillings per Week, Meat and Lodging, and I should look af∣ter one of the Flocks, till I could find out a place that would be more advantageous to me.

I was much affected with the Generous Offer of the honest Old Man, and told him, I should never trouble my self to seek after any other place, but did Joy∣fully accept of his Proposals, and should do my best to discharge my business, and be always ready to signify how much I was oblig'd to him for his Just and Fair Offer.

Without more to do, it was agreed that I should go home with him, and stay there till Monday, when he was to take the Squire's Flock into his custody.

I need not tell you how exactly all these Circumstances fell out to my Wish. In

these three or four days Interval, I had opportunity to Equip my self with In∣structions requisite to carry on my design; which would have been almost impossible for me without. About Seven we put the Sheep into the Fold; and so, with as much satisfaction as the Nature of my Case would bear, I trudg'd Joyfully home with my honest Master.

When we came home, the good wo∣man was at first a little surpriz'd, to see her Husband bring in a Stranger; but that was soon over, by his telling her the Substance of our Agreement. Upon which she bid me wellcome; and the next thing in course was the Supper; which, I think was put upon the Table in less than half an hour after we came into the House; 'twas a good cleanly Dish of Bacon and Carrots; which I eat of with as good a gust, and as much con∣tent as if I had been at the greatest Enter∣tainment.

VVhile we were at Supper, in comes the Son, and a Boy that drove the Plow, that it seems had been in the Field a sow∣ing Barley, a little later than ordinary: At the Table his Father gave him an Ac∣count of our Proceedings. The young man seem'd at first to make some Objecti∣ons

against 'em, but his Father soon over∣rul'd; and so every thing was adjusted be∣yond Expectation.

After Supper, the young man takes down a Book, as 'twas customary, and read divers pages in it: I have forgot the Title of it now; but I remember it was one that was writ by a Presbyterian Preacher, for the use of Country Fami∣lies; and contain'd Little in it beside En∣thusiasm and Nonsence.

This was the most ungrateful Scene in the whole Adventure: However, I did not think it proper for me, as Cases stood, to make any Remarks; and yet, when I observ'd how zealously the Fel∣low read, and how intent his Father and Mother were to him, I had much a-do to contain my self.

The next thing was, whether I could read or no? Yes, I told 'em, I could. The Old Man would not be satisfied till he had heard me; and so I took a Bible that lay upon a Shelf, at the End of the Ta∣ble, and read Two Chapters in the La∣mentations of Ieremiah, but withal, was forc'd to change my Voice, and alter my Pronunciation, that I might come a little near to their Country Tone.

I'll warrant you, says the Old Man, you can write and cast Accompt too: I told him I could do a little of both. Sa∣muel, says he to his Son, Peregrine will assist you: when I first cast my Eye upon him on the Downs, I durst have swore, by his Behaviour, he was well bred: Come, Wife, says he, I think we should not make a Bargain with dry Lips; give us a Jug of the best Beer.

I can't recollect every particular Oc∣currence that past, but this I remember, that we had two or three large Jugs of very strong well-brew'd Ale, that both the Mother and her Son spoke very plea∣santly and freely to me, and told me, tho I was a Stranger, they lik'd me so well, that they would be helpful to me in any thing that lay in their power.

About Nine we went to bed; but I should have told you, in the first place, That the Old Man Liv'd in his own E∣state, which was about Twenty Pounds per Annum: And that the Sheep he loo∣ked after, were all his own; and that he approv'd a Shepherd's Life beyond a∣ny other; and therefore made it his choice to tend his Flock himself, being indeed a little lame; and so not so well

qualified to undertake any Laborious Bu∣siness.

As to my bed, I must confess, there were several things, with respect to that, that I had much ado to undergo, but par∣ticularly, the ungrateful Smells of my Bed-fellows Body and Feet. The young man, the Son, with whom I lay, tho he was as Cleanly a Fellow as most in the Country, yet his hard Labour occasion'd him to sweat, and consequently to smell rank and nauseous; however, in a weeks time all things grew customary, and I slept as naturally as if I had been bred up among 'em.

In the morning, between Four and Five, the Old Man constantly rises, and calls up the Family; puts some Victu∣als in his S••rip, and some Drink in his Bottle, and so to his Fold. I went along with him, observing all his Motions very narrowly, that I might get what Instru∣ctions I could against Monday; and tru∣ly, barring their Sheering and Taging, and some such kind of business, I found my self as well qualified as the best Shep∣herd of 'em all.

Upon Munday the Old Man committed his own Flock to my charge, being be∣tixt two and three Hundred; and truly I

was extreamly vigilant to govern 'em di∣rectly according to his Method and Pre∣scription.

In a little time I grew acquainted with several of the Shepherds, and indeed had soon made my self an Exact Master of the whole Profession. The business grew very easy and delightful to me too, and the manner of Life was so inoffensive in it self, that I began to think it one of the most quiet and comfortable States that e∣ver I was in.

The next thing now (being so through∣ly fixt) was to recover my books, and to dispose of 'em, so that there might be no discovery. I found I had abundance of time upon my hands, which I could hardly pass away without their help; and therefore I resolv'd, by some means or other, to fetch 'em out of the Custody of the hollow Tree, to some place nearer to me.

In order to which I thought it most proper to tell my Dame, that I had some Linnen▪ and other Necessaries, that lay upon the Road till I call'd for 'em, and that (with my Master's Permission) I would go in a day or two, and fetch 'em: but then I wanted a box to lock 'em up in, which she procur'd for me, and so the

next day I fetch'd home my Satchel, and convey'd my books privately into the box.

Every thing being thus dispos'd of, and settled, my next business was to think up∣on a Method how I might pass away the spare hours I had upon the Downs, with the most advantage. I foresaw if I suf∣fer'd the Shepherds to come to a close Fa∣miliarity, their Conversation would soon grow burthensom; and therefore thought it proper to carry my self with a little more Sowrness than usual, that I might by no means give 'em encouragement.

I found that the toylsome part of a Shepherd's business, did not commonly take up above two hours of the day, and that all the rest I had nothing to do but to walk about after the Sheep, the only inconvenience that I perceiv'd in a Shep∣herd's Life: However, to fence against this as well as I could, I apply'd my self to my Books, and my Meditations, till at length I had drawn all my Affairs into such a regular posture, that I must needs say, I was never in a more perfect and compleat state of quiet and satisfaction in the whole course of my Life.

The Old Shepherd was a very sober discreet man, and an excellent Gover∣nour of his Family; and indeed both his Wife and his Son, extreamly good na∣tur'd and inoffensive: The only Objecti∣on I had against 'em, was, that the mis∣chievous times had spic'd'em with Phana∣ticism and Commonwealth Principles; but those too in a little time I convinc'd 'em of, and withal perswaded 'em against the Presbyterian's book the Son us'd to read in before bed-time, and introduc'd, in the room of it, the King's Meditati∣ons in his Confinement: At last, I had wrought upon 'em so far by gentle Ar∣guments and Admonitions (which, with submission, I presume will appear the most regular and successful way to reform an Error of any sort) that they admitted of the Common Prayer-book, and particu∣larly they gave me leave to read the Li∣tany, as I did constantly every night du∣ring my stay among `em.

CHAP. XIII.

The Mendicant entertains himself with some short Reflections upon his present Condition, and writes a Letter of Advice to his Brother in London.

NOtwithstanding I had fixt my self in my Shepherds State, with as much ease and advantage as `twas possible for me to imagine, yet still I could not re∣sign my self so effectually, but now and then some melancholy Reflections would break in upon me. Indeed I did my ut∣most to fence against `em, but for all that I could not so intirely vanquish the Defects of human Nature; but I must often be sadly ruminating upon my for∣mer and present condition.

The utter Ruine and Destruction of my Family was a very heavy and piercing Consideration: and what was worse, I could not apprehend the least Prospect of

a Possibility to retrieve it; and then a∣gain, the hard Circumstances, and se∣vere Usage I had been encounter`d with, since my cruel Step-mother Fortune first drove me into the wide World to shift for my self, were very sharp and grievous Aggravations; to find my self destitute of all manner of Friends and Relations, slighted and rejected by those that had promised me, and indeed, were in point of Honour, Justice and Gratitude, ob∣lig`d to assist me; to find my self sunk to the Lowest Ebb of Life, the mean condition of a Shepherd; and what was the most tormenting consideration of all, in a great measure depriv`d of the advan∣tages of Books, Study and Conversation; were such embittering, cruel Reflections, that I was very often, I must own, una∣ble to bear up under `em.

As to my Shepherd`s State, `twas tru∣ly the best that could be, of that kind; and indeed the melancholy Opportunities suited so well with my Inclinations, and the fixt aversion I had taken against the World, together, that they had almost per∣swaded me to resolve to make my way thro` the Briers and Thorns of human life in the same capacity.

But to go on with my Account: After I had fixt my self in all respects, according to my former Relation, I thought now it was high time to write to London, to deli∣ver my Friends from those doubts and ap∣prehensions which I knew my private de∣parture must necessarily occasion. We had every day Carriers travelling over the Downs for London: So that I had conve∣niency enough by that means to send my Letters with as much privacy as I pleas`d. The first I sent was to my Brother, that by the assistance of some Friends, was plac`d with an Attorney of Staples-Inn in Hol∣born; and was in effect as follows.

The Mendicant's Letter of Advice to his Brother.

My Dear Alexander,

I know my hasty and private departure from London, must necessarily oc∣casion the Apprehension of some, and

the Surprise of most of my Acquaint∣ance. As for thy own part, I am very sensible thou hast been particularly af∣fected; but by this thou wilt see I am among the Living however; and I tell thee that, in a far better capacity of ease and satisfaction, than that scurvy Town thou art doom'd to inhabit, can pretend to: Where I am, or what I'm about, is no great matter to thee, only this thou mayst depend upon, I am doing nothing that's unjust: I'm in pursuit of a quiet Life, where I may breath with free∣dom, and get a little Food and Rayment, which is all I want or wish, without be∣ing expos'd to the Perplexities and Hur∣ries, the Scramblings, Cheats and Un∣dermining of a base, mercenary World; and this thou may`st tell my Friends, if I have any that think me worth their En∣quiry: and now I`m writing, I con∣jure thee not to take it ill, if from the truest Dictates of Brotherly Friendship, I send thee a few hasty Admonitions; I'm confident, if they do thee no good, they can do thee no harm; and so at worst thou must look upon 'em as a well intend∣ed Impertinence.

First then, I caution thee as a Brother and a Friend, not to disquiet and torment

thy self about the success o`things; do but thy duty, and let God dispose of thy Affairs as he thinks fit; if thou disturbs thy self never so much, thou canst never remedy their course; but, like a wild Beast in a Net, the more thou strugglest and flouncest, the more still thou entang∣lest thy self, and at last, perhaps wilt hamper thy self so effectually, that thou art never to be extricated afterwards.

Thou art of a good Family, `tis true; but then don`t let the Notion of that make thee haughty, or ill-natur'd; `tis thy Vertue and Modesty that will give the Richest Tincture to thy Blood, and will stamp a Character upon thy Name, large as thy Wish, and lasting as the World.

Let the Honour of our Family be a Memento to thee against all Vicious Acti∣ons, and be constantly in thy View, to deter thee from any thing that's either base or mercenary, or can give the least stain to the Reputation of our Worthy Ancestors.

I have already read thee several Le∣ctures upon the Vices and Follies of the Town, which I hope thou hast not yet forgot; and I must tell thee again, that `twill require thy utmost caution and de∣fence

to guard thy self against 'em.

There thou wilt be expos'd to all de∣grees of Villany and Vice, to Cheats and Prostitutes, to Knaves, Bullies and Sharpers, in almost all conditions and ca∣pacities. Thou wilt find (my Dear A∣lexander) in that Lewd Town, whither thy unhappy circumstances have drawn thee, little else but Herds of Wild Beasts and Monsters; so that if thou should'st ever be so unlucky to neglect thy grand Defence, I mean thy Vertue, they will be sure to attack thee upon the first dis∣covery, in thy unguarded part; and then 'tis the greatest odds but they wound thee mortally.

As to the Law, the business that thou art confin'd to march through thy Life in, 'tis in it self a very honest and repu∣table Profession; but then 'tis so strange∣ly corrupted, by cunning Wiles and Tricks, by Covetousness, Bribery, Ex∣tortion, and sinister Ends, that there's but little of its Native Design to be disco∣vered.

I know thou will't Pardon thy Br∣ther, if he should by chance say any thing to thee, that did not so exactly suite thy temper and Inclination, and under that Notion I will Venture to caution

thee of one thing, which indeed I cannot mention without Dissatisfaction; don't let the furious desire of getting money distort thee from thy proper frame, or urge thee upon any unjust or Irregular Practice; and take this along with thee too, that one penny well got, will do thee more good in the end than a Million otherways.

I must commend indeed thy generous resolution to attempt the recovery of the Ancient seat of our Family, but yet I would not have it purchas'd at the dear Price of fraud or avarice; I have ob∣serv'd thee with the deepest discontent in my Judgment, too fierce and eager in the persuit of Advantage; but don't let the dangerous distemper grow too far upon thee, least at length it get the Master∣ship, and so make thee a Wretch in both Worlds.

As to thy Religion, I'm sure thou 'rt well Principl'd, I have heard thee give a very Handsome account of the Articles of Faith, and Doctrines of thy Church, and let those be thy guides to conduct thee through all the Labyrinths and turns of thy Life.

For Loyalty, `twas a Principle our Fa∣ther Liv'd and dy'd in, it cost him both his Estate and his Life, t'was the cause of the Destruction of his Family, and has driven thee and I Naked and defenceless into an ungratfuell World, but what then? He did no more then his Duty and what the Laws of God and Nature re∣quir'd; he fell a Martyr to a Glorious Cause, and left a lasting Character of his fidelity to his Prince behind him, which I hope both you and I shall do our best to pre∣serve to our selves, and then awfully deli∣ver the sacred depositum to be Religiously handed down to his Posterity.

For thy conversation I have often cau∣tion'd thee to have a special regar'd to that; our Companions are a sort of Look∣ing-Glasses to us, by which we Dress our selves and shape our Actions and behavi∣our; so that if the Mirror be false the Garb and equipage will consequently be wrong put on: and then be they never so Rich and costly we make but an aukward tawdry Figure.

Beware of contracting a sudden Fami∣liarity with Strangers, or plunging your self at a Venture into mixt Societies. A few Acquaintance and a few books, Provid∣ed they are both true, are enough; and

if they are not they are too many, you'll find the forming a proper conversation to be one of the highest Indications of a prudent Person, and if you mistake in that you'll find too t'will be a difficult matter, for you, to manage your self in London.

Your Education and Diversion will re∣quire a great deal of your Circumspecti∣on; the one should be neither formal nor pedantick, nor the other lewd or Extrava∣gant; but they should be both Genteel and usefull, and adapted intirely to the comfort and quiet, or the advantage of human Life.

Well, Alexander, I will not trouble thee any more now, but reserve the rest of my admonitions till another opportunity; as for my own part, I am accidentually fall'n into a bye Corner of the World, where, if some spiteful Accident does not remove me, I intend to fix my non Vltra. Greatness I despise and abhor, next the Falshoods and flatteries of the Court; the Town I abominate too, and truly am heartily sorry thy hard fate has confin'd thee to it. Bread and Liberty I have, and the plentifull opportunity of wholesome Air, and Innocent Com∣pany. I want nothing but a little Library

and one Learned Friend upon whom I could depend for advice and assistance: and were these ensur'd to me for Life, I'd freely quit all future pretentions. Let all my Friends know I send 'em my Pray∣ers, and Love; take a double Portion of 'em to thy self, and believe me to be in all Capacities,

thy affectionate Friend and Brother. Peregrine.

CHAP. XIV.

The Mendicant Writes a Letter to his Friend in London; wherein he makes Passionate reflections vpon the Town and Court, and gives a further account of a Shep∣herds Life.

Dear Capt.

My sudden departure from London, I perceive has been the Subject of no small reflection amongst my Friends; but why they should be so much Surpriz'd and concern'd at it, I can't Imagine. Indeed I'm as much at a stand, what it can be that can influence them to under∣go, so long, the Din's and Impertinencies, the Dangers and Disappointments, and the contagious stinks and Smoaks of a fulsome beastly Town. I know the pre∣tence is preferment from Court, but why they should be so blinded to exspect any thing from thence, I profess is a

greater Mistery to me, than either of the former.

A Person with half an Eye may easily see which way the game is like to go, Knavery and Hypocrisy are the two only thriveing qualifications at Court, and poor passive Loyaltie is doom'd to rags and contempt, or to subsist upon its own Primitive excellence.

Alas! my Friend, Vertue has utterly lost her Perogative, and unless she will condescend so low to sneak and cringe to the Knave, and the Fool, she may Perish at Court; and who but a Coward or a Natural can stand by with Patience, and see her starving to Death?

I potest I stay'd shivering upon the Brink of the Waters as long as I was able, and there I might have stay'd till Doom's Day before any Body would have push'd me in, unless a deceitful look, or a false promise would have done it.

But thanks to providence, I am re∣mov'd out of the Verge of your ungrate∣ful Court, and the Noise and filth of your Town. Where I am, or in what Post, is nothing to the purpose, I Live and enjoy bread and Retirement, and what I Value equal to 'em both, I am remov'd not

only out of the reach, but even from the pain of exspecting any manner of great∣ness or preferment.

'Tis true I ought to have taken my leave of you and some other Friends, but In∣deed my Distemper was grown so Hect∣ick, I could not stay to do it. Sir, you're the only Man that know the true State of my condition, and therefore I think I must depend upon you to get me ex∣cused.

Since my absence, I have composed a few short Essays, upon the Calamities of Human Life, which I intend to trouble you with, as soon as I have time to Write 'em out; in the mean time by Vertue of our Old true Friendship, let me advise you to remove your self from Court, with the first opportunity: it's a Dangerous Place; and if you Venture to stay long there, it's ten to one but you'll have cause to repent it when `tis too late; in my next, you may exspect a more Parti∣cular account,

from your true Friend and Fellow sufferer. Peregrine

May 25. 1662.

To return to my Former Narrative▪ I kept my Shepherds post about five Months, in which time I had so effectu∣ally learnt the whole Mystery, that, as the General report of me went, I was one of the best shepherds upon the Down; My honest Master was extreamly oblig∣ing and courteous to me, and so indeed was his Wife and his Son; nay, the whole Village, by Vertue of the Old Mans Character, behav'd themselves to me, with a respect and distance, as I thought, much beyond what they did to other Shepherds.

But still my unlucky Fate pursues me; my Industry among the Shepherds, in teaching of 'em to read, and Reprimand∣ing 'em as often as I found 'em in any manner of Vice, or Irregularity, had not only gain'd me a sort of respect among themselves, but likewlse urg'd 'em, much beyond my desert, to spread my Character all about the Neighbour∣hood.

Squire F— it seems had heard of me among the rest, and nothing would serve his turn, but I must needs come to him. The Innocent Old Man my Master was apprehensive; at first it was only to hire

me for his Shepherd, and so made abun∣dance of excuses and objections against it, but all to no purpose. Within a day comes the Bayliff with Positive orders that he and his Man Peregrine must come next Sunday, to the Hall, to Dinner.

In the Interim I discover'd, by one of the Shepherds, that the common Cen∣sures and Conjectures concerning me run very high; some were of Opinion that I was a Jesuit in Masquerade, and come down into the Country for a Spy; others that I was some discontented Person, or a Person that some Crosses or disappoint∣ments had driven out of my own Country, and that I had taken upon me the business of a Shepherd, the better to keep my self conceal'd. The Squire and his Family were of Opinion that I was a Gentle∣man, in disguise, and had taken up a Shepherd's habit, purely to Gratifie a Curiosity, or a humour, which was strongly confirm'd to them by the report the Shepherds made, that I was often ob∣serv'd to desire to be by my self, where I might Write, read, and Meditate with the lesser Disturbance; which I suppose was the cause that made 'em so earnest to see me, that they might attempt to learn who I was, and upon what account

I came into Dorset-shire. All this the Old Shepherd at last knew well enough, and yet never once Mention'd it to me, nor suffer'd his son or his Wife to take the least Notice.

In short, I found this was no abiding place for me; if I Stay'd here I foresaw it would be Impossible for me to escape, being discover'd, which I was resolv'd to prevent at all Hazards: But then the next consideration was how I should bring it about, and at the same time acquit my self Handsomely and fairly, to the honest Shepherd and his Family. In order to which I could think of no better ex∣pedient, than to pretend some accidental business at Dorchester, which would re∣quire me to be there for a Day at least. The Old Man readily comply'd with my request in this Particular, and withal offer'd me one of his Horses, to carry me thither; which I rejected; However he told me his Son should tend my Sheep in my absence.

Having thus far settl'd the manner of my Departure▪ the next thing was how to convey away my Satchell, Books &c. Which was no other way to be effected, but by waiting an opportunity when all the Family was gone abroad; and then

taking `em out, and putting them in a secret place at a convenient distance from the House. This hapned to my Wish, and upon Fryday Morning I set out, and when I had recover`d my Satchell, instead of Dorchester I directed my course for Shafts∣bury.

I need not tell you what a Contest I had in my mind upon the resignation of my Shepherds Profession. The Friendly Entertainment I had receiv`d from the good Old Man and his Family, pierc`d me to the Soul, insomuch that I was some∣times almost resolv`d, to return and Ven∣ture a discovery; and I believe I had done it too, if it had not been upon the ac∣count of some Relations I had in the County, to whom Notwithstanding their unkindness (indeed I might say unjustice) I was loth to give occasion of scandal or reflection.

CHAP. XV.

The Mendicant having left the Shep∣herd goes to Shaftsbury, from whence he Writes several Letters, one to his Master, the Shepherd, another to Squire F—and a third to Capt—to whom he sends some short Essays upon the Calamities of Human Life, which he Writ upon the Downs &c.

About twelve a Clock I reach'd Shafts∣bury, which as I was Inform'd was Nine Miles from my former Habitation. To prevent discoveries I had disrob'd my self of my Shepherds habit, and put on that I came from London in, but 'twas so rumpl'd and disorder'd by being Cram'd up so long together in my Satchel, that I look'd so very ruff and Particular, that I was both affraid and asham'd to go into the Town with it; however I got into a little Ale House, as far out of

all observation as I could, and after I had refresh'd my self, Pursuant to my reso∣lution upon my walk, I Writ the fol∣lowing Letters.

The Mendicants Letter to his Ma∣ster.

Good Master.

THis comes to Inform you I have quit∣ted your Service, but not out of any dislike to you or your Family. I must own you have us'd me with the highest Frendship and Civility, the remembrance of which I shall preserve with the greatest Solemnity through every Capacity. I need not tell you the cause that forc'd me to leave you private∣ly; you're sensible of that already, but why your Neighbours should grow so very Inquisitive to know what I am, which is a secret that at present I don't think convenient to discover, that I can't con∣ceive; but for their better Satisfaction

you may tell 'em, I am no Iesuite in Masquerade, nor a Person that has run his Country for Debt; but an Unfortunate young Man, that a great many unhappy accidents, & several cross turns of Fortune have driven into this part of the King∣dom. I may Live to see you again; but if I never should, I hope you won't forget the Instructions, your poor Servant Pere∣gine left you; I mean, those in Particular relating to your Religion and the Govern∣ment of your Family. As to the Rubrick of the Church of England, I have so well Instructed my Bedfellow in it, that I hope t'will be needless now to put him in mind of our Method, i. e. To read the Psalms and Chapters for the day, every Night, with the Litany, and some other proper Collects which I have mark'd, in your common Prayer-Book: you will excuse me I presume that I did not formally take my leave of you, and attribute the reason of it to some secret cause; pray all possible thanks and service to my good Dame and her Son, and in return for all your kindness and Civility, accept the Prayers and acknowledgments of

Your faithful Servant, Peregrine.

Shaftsbury Aug. 27. 62.

The Letter to Squire F—

SIR

IT seems the Character of an unfortu∣nate Shepherd has spred it self as far as your Family; poor Peregrine is become the common talk of the Country; some Censure him, others Judg and con∣dem him, and every Body mistakes him, so that to be out of the general clamour, he's constrain'd to withdraw himself from the service of a most honest worthy Ma∣ster. Who and what he is, is the Grand Query. Some will have him a Jesuite; some a Cheat, others an humorist, when in short he's nothing else but the neglect∣ed off-spring of deceas'd Cavalier, whom a conjunction of cross Circumstances, have bandyed hither in the quest of bread, &c. I know, Sir, my private depar∣ture will inflame the reports, and per∣haps may occasion some reflections upon my Master; That indeed I would pre∣vent at any Hazard, and rather than he

shall suffer the least Injury, Notwithstand∣ing my solemn resolutions to the contrary, will discover my self to your Worship.

Sir, I beseech you to Pardon this Inso∣lent trouble from an unfortunate Stranger that with the utmost distance and Sub∣mission,

Subscribes

Shaftsbury Aug. 27. 62.

Peregrine

The Letter to Capt. M—with a short Essay upon the Calamities of Human Life.

Dear Capt.

I Promis'd you some short Essays upon the Calamities of Human Life, which I have here enclos'd. I know upon the first sight you will be apt to conclude that I have stretcht the point a little too far; Experience is our best Mistress in such Cases, and I dare be bold, if the Genera∣lity of Men consider their Birth simply as an entrance into Humane Life, and their Death as an exit out of it, they'll

find in the main, without the enforce∣ment of Philosophy, that the assertion of the Wise King is a great truth, that the Day of our Death is upon many accounts much preferable to the Day of our Birth.

I have some other Melancholy obser∣vations which I intend to trouble you with, but those I'll reserve till my next. Accept of these lame and defective as they are, and allow their unworthy Au∣thor some low place amongst the Cata∣logue of your Friends, who shall ever esteem it his happiness to be thought fit to be,

Your Affectionate, Peregrine.

Shaftsbury August 27. 62.

ESSAY I.

Vpon the General Calamities of Hu∣man Life.

IN all Accounts of Wise Men, we find every thing esteem'd more or less, ac∣cording as it most Imports to their Inter∣est or Happiness; and so far Humane Life, considering it simply, Quatenus Humane Life, only, is either good or ill in propor∣tion to the advances it makes towards a State of Wretchedness or Felicity. To take a proper Estimate therefore of Hu∣mane Life, it will be necessary to exam∣ine whether there be not in the general, more Loss than Gain, more Pain then Pleasure, and more Evil than Good, at∣tending upon it; which I suppose will be easy to Demonstrate, according to the common Rules of proving any thing of that kind. Look but into the Original of Nature, and you'll find her very Being and Constitution Engrafted with so ma∣ny Solid and Substantial Ills, and has so

many Seeds of Mortality scattered all over her, that at the very first sight, if you don't look with false Opticks, you must needs perceive her condition to be far too wretched to be reliev'd, by the most Powerful Advantages of this Life.

I know this will seem a very odd Par∣adox to those, that perhaps have neither sence nor Grace to reflect in earnest upon the Circumstances of Human Life, but for all that, they'll find it at last a sad truth, and be forc'd to conclude with Va∣lerius Maximus, that the Thracians were a very Wise People, in establishing a Cust∣om to celebrate the Birth of Men with Mourning, and their Death with Joy; which they did without any manner of Instructions or advice, but as it were from the very Motions and dictates of Nature, or from the common obser∣vations of the troubles and Calamities of it.

The Original depravation of Nature is an Invincible Argument against the felicity of Humane Life; from thence spring up such an Infinit multitude of pains, sorrows, Disappointments, deseases &c. That from wofull experiences make it too plain that Life with all the additi∣ons

that this World can offer, is at the very best but a Wretched disconso∣late comfortless thing: for let us consider how many there are that are opprest with Slavery, or pine'd with want, worn out with sickness, and consum'd with Vexati∣on, wrack'd and alarmed with fears and dismal apprehensions, and stung with the Guilt and remorses of Conscience, I make no doubt but we shall find the Latter much out-ballance the former; that the Evils of Humane Life, do in the main Surmount the Goods, and then 'tis a plain case that if we take it in the sence, I am now discoursing of it in, that Death is much perferable to it.

Alas! what have we here that can en∣gage us to be fond of Life with any reasonable pretence; our pleasure, our profit, our health and our Liberty, are all Dependent and precarious; we are at best but Tenants at Will to 'em, and by any rough turn of fate, or at least upon the first disobliging of our Landlord, may be forc'd out of third Possession in a Moment.

Happyness and contentment we all pretend to search after, we toyle and tug for 'em, and pursue 'em through abundance of Dangerous Wilds and

Labyrinths, but after all, but few, I'm affraid, none of us overtake 'em in ear∣nest.

'Tis true, 'tis in our own power to make our selves happy, but then our Natures are so Stubborn and restive, so deprav'd, aukward and defective, that they never cease Jilting us into some sort of Vice or Vanity: Man's born to Trouble, to Pain, Danger, Diseases and Folly too; all, or some of which constantly twist themselves about his Life, like the Trea∣cherous Ivy round the Oak, till they have suck'd up, and exhausted all his Felicity, and then, after a great many Pangs and struggles, forc't him to wither away and die.

He comes into the World screching and strugling, and goes out of it again Groaning, and Gnashing his Teeth; his Youth is nothing else but a mixture of Danger and folly, and his Age a Compo∣sition of pains, diseases, troubles, sorrows, disappointments, and altogether; and his Manhood too stands between 'em like a Parenthesis of Woe, and can by no means be Instated in any tolerable condi∣tion of Indolence or ease.

He's born to sin and Vanitie, and in∣deed expos'd to so many Hazards be∣tween

his Cradle and his Crutches, that his preservation amidst 'em, to a reasonable Man, seems almost as miraculous as his Creation. Homer calls him a Leaf, and Pindar the Dream of a shadow; and another that spoke with a better Spirit then 'em both, say's his Life is but a va∣pour; he's a Creature so unfixt and pe∣rishing, that in all the Memoirs of God's Creation, we hardly find any thing more exaltedly wretched and deplo∣rable; Alas Vain Men, we know not what we are, or upon what account it is we put such a value upon our selves; a few days more will put an end to all our foolish dependancies; the Grave and the Winding-sheet will do it effectually, and 'tis those and nothing else can secure us from the Calamities of Human Life, and defend us from the Cares and Troubles, the sorrows and perplexities of the World.

To have done: the general experience we have of the Calamities of Humane Life, sufficiently supercede the even nece∣ssity of future enlargements, 'tis at best but a dismal Vale full of briers and thorns; and there`s none of us must expect to make our passage through it without being torn and scratch't and Tormented by 'em.

This, or something like it, is most cer∣tainly the Condition of Humane Life; but let it be so, 'tis still Insolent in us to Mur∣mure, and without doubt our best way will be to take up the Poets resolution.

Praetulerim— delirus iners{que} videri, Dum mea delectant mala me, vel deni{que} fallant. Quam sapere & ringi. Horat. lib. 2.

ESSAY II.

He demonstrates Death simply, con∣sider'd as an exit out of the World, to be much preferrable to Life, both upon the account of the Evils from which it delivers us, and the Goods into which it Instates us.

Life considered under the simple No∣tion of self Activity, is so far a good or ill, as 'tis actuated by a Greater or Lesser sence of Pain and Pleasure, so that those Persons only that are sensible of more Pleasure then Pain, Life, consider'd barely in it self, can be any ways desi∣rable, and then I'm affraid too when we come to make the Parallel, we shall find that the Latter in General does so much out Ballance the former, that an exit out of the World, both upon the Account of the Evil from which it delivers us, and the good, into which it Instates us, is in most, if not in every thing, preferable to a continuance in it.

'Tis true indeed Humane Life may now and then enjoy some feeble short liv'd pleasures, but what then, they are so short and so uncertain beside; Nay, and what's worse, are so apt to cloy us to boot; that in all their narrow Circle the greatest part is little else but a mere priva∣tion of pain and Misery.

Most of the pleasures of Humane Life, are but as it were some small reprieves from Grief and trouble, a sort of Inter∣missions from pain and Miserie, of which, if we had never Liv'd we had never been sensible.

And besides all this too, our Insensi∣bility of Misery, is but partial and Im∣perfect, there allways clings some un∣lucky Circumstance to our chiefest plea∣sure, that gives our sweetest Gust a bitter farewell.

But Death cures us at once, when we go down to make our Beds in the Dust, there we sleep on and rest our selves, not only, out of the reach of a vain turbu∣lent Noisy World, but even out of the distance of the frailty and depravation of our own Humane Nature.

Seeing therefore that Death renders us intirely Insensible of pain and Misery, and that Life in its best and most Improv'd

state, is constantly expos'd to so many Dangerous Ills, it naturaly follows, that Death considered in it self, without any respect to the consequence, is really pre∣ferable to Life.

What it is that engages Men to be so much in Love with a little Paultry Flesh and Blood, I cannot guess, I am loath to think 'tis Cowardice or Inconsider∣ation; and yet when I come to take the matter into peices, and put it together again, I must own I can hardly believe to the Contrary, they must either want a right state of their Condition, have a wrong notion of Life, in General, or else be afraid to quit the World, and die, for besides those, I cannot Imagine what it is that Inclines 'em to doat so passion∣ately upon their own Infelicity.

And Pray, after all, what mighty ad∣vantages are there that they can morally propose to themselves in Living? Is it that they may have a little time longer to Pamper their lusts, entertain their Voluptuousness, and appease the raging Importunities of an unbounded appetite, if that be all, there's nothing but a Mouthfull of Earth will do their business, that Indeed will quench the flame of their Impatience, and mitigage the pain

of their desires together; and then I appeal to any Man of sence, if it be not far better to be depriv'd of their pain of a furious Expectation, then to be gratify'd with a troublesome Enjoy∣ment that commonly grows flat and loathsome as soon as 'tis in our possessi∣on.

Or perhaps they'd Live longer that they may get greater Estates, and so re∣move themselves further out of the reach of wretched Indigence, and be more secure from uneasyness and fatigue. But alas Poor man! if that's thy meaning, thou must e'en seek repose in the Grave, or no where. This World's so full of Noise and Nonscence: the Vanity is so Incor∣porated with the Vexation of Spirit, and thy own Nature is so Giddy and loose, so frail and so Imperfect beside; That 'tis the Vainest thing, a kind of folly exalted into madness to expect any tolerable Satisfaction in this Life.

When you go to the Grave indeed, you'll want your Friends to advise and comfort you, and your Companions and Acquaintance, to laugh and rejoyce with you, and you must be lay'd up in an Eter∣nal state of separation.

But what then, as you have no Friends to assist you, nor no Companions to divert you, so you'll want none, and then what mighty Injury will it be to be depriv'd of that you have no use for; beside you'll be deliver'd from the Danger of false Friends, from sly Acquaintance and Injurious Companions, which I must tell you, by the way, is no Inconsiderable Advantage; you'll be out of the reach of Treachery, Peevishness and Insolence, be deliver'd from Impertinence, vexation and discord, and all the rest of the Inconvenien∣cies that perpetually await Human Society.

What if you do cease to laugh and to be merry, you'll cease to weep and to be sad too, and truely I am apt to think that upon a fair Survey, that the sorrows of our Lives do so much out Number our Joys, that by exchanging the one for the other, we should be very great Gainers by the Bargain.

But then when you come to die you must undergo many a fierce Pang, many a bitter Agony; you must go out of the World thro extremity of Torture, Raving, & Foaming, Groaning, and Gnashing your Teeth; this is often true indeed, and the Consi∣deration is dismal enough; but, what, is there no Torments in Life as well as in

Death? is there no Wracks of mind, no Tortures, nor Stings of conscience, no ungrateful Jealousies, or dreadful ap∣prehensions? Is there no Pains nor A∣ches, no Gout, nor Stone, nor Strangu∣ry, appendant to our Mortality? Yes, yes; they're all the sad Appendages of our Humanity, and from Woful Experi∣ence, might convince us, if we had not lost our Sense of Feeling, that Life, drest up with all the Advantages that Humane Nature is capable of, is, at the very best, a most painful and dolorous thing.

What if we did enjoy a competent share of the Trifles of this World, or ra∣ther suppose, that all the Elements of Outward Happiness were amas'd toge∣ther, and thrown upon us at once, what good would they do us, if we could not form from 'em a satisfaction of Mind; and that's almost impossible too, consider∣ing how many embittering Circumstan∣ces are entwisted and grafted into our ve∣ry Being and Constitution.

Dic homo, vas Cinerum, quid confert flos facierum? Copiae quid rerum, Mors ultima meta die∣rum.

I must own, it has been often the Sub∣ject both of my Wonder and Sorrow, that the Fear of Death, for I can ima∣gine it to be nothing else, should so weaken and defeat the Courage, nay, the Understanding of Men, that they should be afraid to suffer the Grand Remedy of all their Calamities; the Cause of it must be this or nothing, they have liv'd Im∣moral Vicious Lives, and so are frighted at the consequence.

There is indeed one thing in Humane Life, and but one, that renders it a little comfortable, I mean Vertue, without which 'tis all a perfect Wilderness, a meer Weild of Misery, only a flat Parenthesis of Time, encompass'd on both sides with Dangers, Sorrow, Vanity and Vex∣ation.

The Vertuous Man alone can be said to live; the Vicious does but suck in and breathe out a little Air, as the rest of the Insensible Animals do; but he that lives vertuously, lives a Life worth being born for: and yet even a vertuous Life too is made more eligible and advantageous by Death, upon the account it makes our

Happiness more compleat, our Enjoy∣ments more extensive, and our possessions of 'em more fixt and permanent.

In the highest Enjoyments of Humane Life there is still more of Phantastry than of Real Good; our Expectations common∣ly over-run our Reason, and swell our Notions of things beyoud what they will Naturally bear: such wretched Cheats and Delusions are most of our Tempora∣ry Goods, that they will hardly endure the Test of a Fruition; so that from the repeated Tryals of the Truth of this, methinks we should at least grow a wea∣ry of this tiresome Scene of Vanity and Misery.

Upon the whole, Life seems to me to be a strange Composition of Good and Ill, some grateful Intermixtures there are in∣deed that make it a little the more pallat∣able: but yet for all that, if we consider it only under the Notion of self-activity, or rather as an Entrance into, or an Exit out of the World, Death, I'm sure, must be judg'd preferable to it upon many ac∣counts.

While we continue here, we are in a continual flow and reflow of things; to day Great, and Rich, and at ease; to mor∣row poor, and in contempt, and pain; now advanc'd to the top, anon crusht under∣neath the Wheel, and so secure of nothing but misery.

Mors ipsa beatior inde est•• Quod per crutia mina Lethi Via panditur ardua Iustis, Et ad astra doloribus Itur.

FINIS.