The gentile sinner, or, Englands brave gentleman characterized in a letter to a friend both as he is and as he should be.

SECT. I. (Book 1)

The Gallant. (Book 1)

TO give you My sense of the Gentle∣man in a word, He is, I know not what. I no sooner cast my eye upon him, but (alas) I see too little to love, e∣nough to Pitty, more to abhorre, and in all too much to be express'd. 'Tis usuall with us to call man a little world, and truely the Gentleman may well be compared to that which is more ancient, the Old Chaos, when the numerous parts of this larger world, lay confusedly therein, intermix∣ed and jumbled together, without Forme or Order; Before the Omnipotent Wise∣dome of the Great God had created any such thing here below as Method or Beu∣ty: Such an undigested Masse and heape of Every thing, have we here met withall, and nothing perfect: Onely herein the Similitude fails, for supposing such an un∣formed heap, yet had there been nothing therein but what were to be confessed the

worke of God's hands and therefore very good; But here (alas) is almost nothing left that God created, but every thing so altogether evill, that hardly so much of that we call goodnesse appeares, as a bare possibility of becoming so.

§. 1. His Names.

If there be such a Sin in the abuse of words as some do think there is; and if it be true, that a great part of this abuse lies in giving names unto things contrary to their Natures, never was there a greater error of this kind committed then here, for never Honest name was more abused, then this of Gentleman; Indeed it is to be fear'd, that having been so long mis∣applied, it will at last find the like hard mea∣sure, with those other once more Honest Names of Tyrant and Sophister; and from a Title of Honour degenerate into a terme of the greatest disgrace and Infamy. It is indeed allready made to be of no better a signification then this, to Denote a Person of a Licentious and an unbridled life; for though it be as 'tis used, a word of a very

uncertaine and equivocall sound, and given at Randome to Persons of farre different, nay Contrary both Humours, descents, and merits, yet if we looke upon him that in this sad age comes first in play, and carries both the Feather and the Bell, as the first Horse in the Team, away from all the rest; a Gentleman must be thought only such a man, as may without Controle doe what he lists, and sinne with applause: One that esteems it base and ungentile, to Feare a God, to own a Law, or Practice a Religion; One who has studied to bring Sin so much into Fashion, and with so much unhappy Successe, that he is now accounted a Clown that is not proud to be thought a Sinner; and he as ridiculous as an Antique, who will not, without all Scruple, proclaime himselfe an Atheist.

Some of the wisest in the present world, have of a long time, (ashamed, I suppose, to be known by the same name with such a Monster) thought it more fit to call him Sparke or Raunter; and indeed the former Name carries so much of the Fire of Hell in the ••ignification, the other so much of the noyse of Hell in the sound, as may almost

suite with the Gentleman's Actions. But the proudest vice is ashamed to weare it's own face long; Nor dare I believe the Devill to be much in love with his own Name; I am sure neither is willing to be thought such as in truth they are; but wickednesse has worne vertue's mask quite thread-bare; and Sathan hath so often ap∣peared like an Angell of Light, that 'tis now evident, he is not enamour'd of his own Forme. And thus had the Gentleman too, rather deserve then weare the Devill's Livery; though he be willing enough to be the man, yet he abhorres the Name. Thus he thinks vertue and vice, like his Ho∣nour and Reputation, no more, but the crea∣tures of Popular breath; and that his eter∣nall Happinesse (as his Temporall estate) is entailed upon the bare Name alone; and by a little alteration of that, he may (when he pleases) translate his Title from Hell to Heaven: So fondly Sollicitous he is (that I may use his own Language) to Trapan his own Soule, and by the Lamentable Im∣posture of a Borrow'd Name cheat her out of a most Glorious Inheritance.

Hence he endeavours a little more to

Civilize the Title, and calls himselfe in a more pleasing language Gallant. In this he is apt to Phancy charme enough to bring even Heaven it selfe in love with him; and make it as the trees did Orpheus, to fol∣low him whithersoever he goeth; and cer∣tainly so it must, and with some speed too, or he shall never see it, seeing he is alway running, as fast as he can, the quite Contra∣ry way. But, alas, this is all he is like to gain by the pittifull exchange; that whereas the ungratefull sound of the former names, did so startle the Divell, that he was ready to quit his habitation, either as jealous of a Rivall in the very words, or else afraid of a Discovery, hearing his own names be∣come so Common; he is now bribed to stay by the Flattery of this later, and securely Lodges in the Gallant's brest, without the lest feare of Disturbance.

But seeing the Gallant is so great a lo∣ver of New Names, I hope he will not be troubled, If I make bold to adde one more, and call him with no lesse reason, but in more words, The Divel's Ghost. For whi∣lest Sathan is put to a large expence of Time and Pains to Haunt and Seduce others,

Here he meets with one not halfe so coy, but such an one as by his unseasonable kindnesse, seems to be a trouble rather, to the very Fiend, by haunting the Divell. And doubtlesse, if he goe but on halfe so fast a while longer, as he has done of late yeares, He will tire and Puzzle the whole numerous H••ste of Hell to Invent a varie∣ty of objects answerable to that of his Hu∣mours.

To speake him out a little more plainly; our English Gentleman, as now a daies we commonly meet him, is such a strange kind of thing, that no one name will fit him. Such an Heterogeneous Soule he is, that no lesse then a Combination of all the vices in the World must be summon'd in to make up a Partiall Description of him: Of an Essentiall Definition I dare hardly think him Capable, lest thereby granting him a Compleat Essence, I should be forced, at lest in a Metaphysicall Notion, to call him Good. Good-man is a title he hath ever much scor∣ned, and it is that which (If yet his pride will afford him any) he very truly thinks the fittest Compellation for the poore ho∣nest Labourer. The same he will some∣times

vouchsafe to bestow upon those few Tenants his Prodigallity has spared him. Such a Complicacy of Evils goes to his Constitution, that ere we shall be able to fit him with a name, wee must borrow it from Sathan himselfe and call him Legion. As sinne and vanity make up his very Es∣sence; so can nothing but wonder and shame Compose his Character.

§. 2. His Nature in Generall.

You have heard his name, and now take a farther Generall description of him thus. The Gallant is a Pretty, neat, Phantasticall Out-side of a man, and if you dare alway believe your eye, 'tis not unlikely you may (now and then) be so much deceived, as to think him Something. But a true man you can never Imagine him, he hath too long agoe shaked hands with his Reason, and now counts it the greatest degree of Base∣nesse in the world, to live what Nature made him, or to seeme beholding for any thing unto ought but his own Hu∣mour.

He is a well-digested bundle of most

Costly vanities, and he is evermore tum∣bling up and down the streets to gather more of that same Chargeable Dirt: as if he should have enough to excuse his sinne, when he can at once say, it is both glorious and Costly. You may call him a Volume of Methodicall Errataes bound up in a gilt Cover, and his onely commendation is this, that his disorders seem to be orderly; and his Errors not Casuall but Studied, and he can tell how to sinne most Ingeniously. He is a Curiously wrought Cabinet full of Shels and other Trumpery, which were much better quite Empty, then so emptily full. He is a piece of ordinary clay stuck round with Bristol Diamonds, Pritty sparkling things, which for a time might perhaps make a gay show in a foole's Cap, or on a Dunghill, But in a Lapidary's shop amongst true stones, have onely so much lustre left as will prove themselves to be but Counterfeit. Such a Silly Gloworme may looke like a lit∣tle Starre in the Darke, but it's Splendor is alwaies sure to be benighted with the Ri∣sing Sunne. 'Tis no small advantage for this fine Sir to live in this Night of the world, where that very darknesse of Igno∣rance

which obscures the great vertues of so many good men, is the onely thing that makes his wild-fires so visible as to be ta∣ken notice of. He is the Rich Scabbard of a Leaden Spirit, and that very dulnesse of mettall, makes him endure so long in the world, whilest the keener zeale of nobler Soules, soone makes their way for them through the Scabbard into Heaven. I doe heartily wish he would give us no reason to call him, the painted Sepulchre of a Soule Dead and Rotten in Trespasses and sins: If this Comparison will ever fit any man that is no Hypocrite, certainly 'tis the Swagga∣ring Gentleman.

He is a man's skin full of prophanenesses, a Paradise full of weeds, an Heaven full of Devills, or Sathan's Bedchamber too richly hung with Arras of God's Own ma∣king: such an Excellency would he faine hold in the basest Iniquity. He can be thought no better then a Promethean Man, at best but a lump of animated dirt knee∣ded into Humane Shape, and if he have any such thing as a Soule (which he shall hard∣ly be able to perswade any man to believe that sees how little care he takes to save it)

it seems to be patch'd up of vice and Bra∣very.

If you would come acquainted with his pedigree, let Sin be your Herald, and it will be sufficient to tell you, he was the Sonne of an Offender. His very name's enough to blast the Nobility of all that went be∣fore him, and to breath a perpetuall dis∣grace upon the sleeping ashes of his worthy Progenitors. There may be some question made, whether he needs feare going to Hell or no at his death; because he has been so well acquainted with it in his life-time; whither if he have not leave every day to take his full Carier, he think, his Soul be∣reav'd of her Christian Liberty; as if he had no other way left him of Imitating the blessed Savi••ur of mankind, but by often descending into Hell. O what a piece of Gallantry is it now a dayes for a man to give his Soul to the Divell in a Frolick! It is the part of a Gentlemen to out-brave Damnation, and not to be daunted with the thoughts of a future Iudgment: A retreat into Sobriety would betray such an Effe∣minacy of spirit, as might argue him in love with a Religion; and make the world

believe he were such a Coward as might be Frighted into Piety. Every petty sinner can outface an Earthly, hee'l doe his best to out-vapour an Heavenly Tribunall; and make it appeare unto all, that a Gentleman has a Spirit, dares goe to Hell, before he will be said to feare it. Indeed he alone seems to have the art of turning Nature upside-down, and will onely be a perfect man at the Pap, when he is wean'd he gives both his humanity and Innocence to his Nurse for her wages, I am sure he is rarely, if ever, after that time, seen to have either about him. In short, The Gentleman is nothing that he should be: His whole life is a flat Contradiction to his duety; His constant study is to teach his Body how to put affronts upon his soul, and to give him the lie who dares tell him there are any hopes it may be saved; He laughs at him that tells him there is any other Heaven then that of his own creating, any other happinesse besides his pleasures, or an Hell diverse from that which Christianity has objected to the Coward's Phancy. He has the Courage to be any thing but what he should be, an Honest man or a Good Christian.

§. 3. His Calling or Imploiment.

The Gallant's Generall Calling and Em∣ploiment is, to scorne all businesse, but the Study of the Modes and Vices of the times: and herein he spares not to rack his brains, and rob his soule as much of her Naturall as her Spirituall rest, to supply the wanton world with variety of Inventions. He takes an especiall care that nothing may ever ap∣peare old about him, but the Old Man of Sin, and him he every day exposes to Pub∣lick view in a severall Dresse, that (if it be possible) he may perswade the world to believe that all there is New too. Indeed so miserably happy is he in Inventions of this sinfull Nature, that any man, who had not a Spirituall eye, to discerne the same Proud and Luxurious Divell in all his Acti∣ons, would almost think he had a new Na∣ture as well as a New Suit for every day throughout the Yeare.

Thus he that thinks it so much below him, to be reckon••d amongst the Labou∣rers in God's House or Vineyard; and dis∣daines to receive his Penny, with those he

should call his brethren, either as a Re∣ward, or a Gratuity; but seems rather to expect it as a Debt, or Portion due by Inhae∣ritance: Yet is he Content to sit all day long in Sathan's Shop, one of his Slavish Prentices or Iourny-men, who feeds him with course and Empty Husks here, and will reward him with an Hellfull of tor∣ments for his labour hereafter.

He is all but a Proud and Glistering Masse of Swaggering Idlenesse: and he makes it his chiefe Study to Demonstrate to the world, how many severall wayes Idlenesse has found out to be busy. He takes this for granted (as well he may) that he is not Idle but Dead that does just Nothing. It is his task ever to be doing, Nothing to a Good but much to a bad or no Purpose. Though he may often seem to sit still, and not to move so much as a little finger, yet even then is his soule close at worke, plotting and Contriving how he may for the time to come be most Pausibly Idle. He acts so little for the Publick Good, as if he were afraid he should be thought a Member of Mankind; or as if the onely businesse God intended him,

were but to take care, that he continue breathing. He lives indeed as if he meant to prove, that God Almighty had made him to no other End but this, to show the world that he could make something where∣of he had no need when made; as if whilest he created other men for use and Service, he intended him onely, as Artists doe some of their neat••st but Slightest pieces of work to stand upon the stall, or hang out for a signe at the Shop-windowes, to show pas∣sengers with what the Shop is furnish'd within. Or if you will, you may looke upon him as upon the painted signe of a Man hung up in the Ayre, onely to be toss'd to and fro, with every wind of Temptation and Vanity. Such a vain shadow or Picture is he, that were there no more but himselfe I should take the boldnesse to Affirme there were no such Creature as a Man in the world.

To me he seems of no more worth then a Piece of Out-cast Iron, lying uselesse upon the face of the Earth, 'till his soule be even eaten away with Rust and Sleath. God made him a Man, but to prove himselfe his own God by a Second Creation, he endea∣vours

to make himselfe a Bruit, nay a sense∣lesse Carkasse that only Cumbers the Earth, & is fit for nothing but to dung the ground it lies upon, and Stink in the Nostrils of the most High. If ever he Sweat, it is in pursuit of a feather, at his play and sport, in running away from his Worke, and in the chase after his Ease: And yet even in that he can never rest, this indeed being the Naturall fruit of Idlenesse, that it makes the Sluggard weary, not onely of what∣soever he doth, but even of Idlenesse it selfe.

§. 4. His Education and Breeding.

So soone as his age is capable of Instru∣ction and Discipline he is sent to School, or rather by reason of too great an Indul∣gence in his fond Parents, the School is brought home to him; where if the foolish Mother do not more awe the School-master, then he his Schollar, the Rod and an empty purse together do for a while preserve him himselfe: But it shall not be long, ere he find roome enough abroad in the world, wherein he may lose himselfe again. Yet

truely it is a great rarity in this age, to see the earliest Morning of Youth, unclouded by the fumes and vapours of lust. It be∣ing too usuall a thing with the debauch'd father, to make his child, as we use to say, over early his Father's own Sonne.

Most Gentlemen seem to make it a spe∣ciall piece of their fatherly care to stave off their Children as long as they can from Virtue and Religion; lest therein resem∣bling better men then their Fathers, some might take occasion to think them Spurious. To infuse so early into the Young Child the graver Notions of God and Goodnesse, were to make him Old before his time, and these would look no better then so ma∣ny wrinkles and furrowes in the fresh cheeks of an infant: alas, what were this but an unspiriting of the Child and laying an unsea∣sonable Damp upon the comely sprightful∣nesse of youth? 'Tis fit he should be mann'd up by bold and daring exercises, and as men use their Hounds, be blooded now▪ when he is young. Divinity & Morality are supposed to much to mollifie and emasculate the brave soule of a Young Gentleman, and make it of too soft and facile a temper for Noble and

Generous actions. To instruct him how hereafter he should manfully resist his Ene∣mies, he shall first be taught to fight a∣gainst God and Goodnesse. It is indeed most lamentable to consider how very few of those we call Gentlemen endeavour to make their Children either Honest men or Good Christians: as if it were their onely busi∣nesse to beget them, and when they are come into the world, to teach them by their own example, how they may most unprofi∣tably spend the short leavings of their own Luxury. Thus at their death leave they them doubly Miserable in bequeathing them, first, little to live upon, and secondly, ma∣ny waies to spend it. Indeed the greatest Charity and providence in such Prodigall Parents, were either not to beget Children at all, or to beget them meer beggars, that so they might not give them, with their estates, so many unhappy opportunities of becomeing altogether as bad as themselves.

But the Hopefull Youth must be a Gentle∣man, and in all hast he must be sent to see the Vniversity or Innes of Court; and that before he well knowes what it is to goe to School. Whither he comes, not to get

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Learning or Religion, but for breeding, that is, to enable himselfe hereafter to talke of the Customes and Fashions of the Place. Here he gets him a Tutor, and keeps him (as he doth all things else) for Fashion's sake. Such an one who may serve at least, as poore Boyes doe in some Princes Courts, to sustain the blame of the Young Gentle∣man's Miscarriages, and whom the father may chide and beat when the Son is found in a fault: Indeed this care is taken for the good Tutor, that if his Schollar chance to returne home (as too seldome he does) with either Schollarship or Piety, he shall then have the Credit or Discredit (call it which you will) of making the Schollar, or spoiling the Gentleman; seeing his parents had taken order he should bring neither of the two along with him. Here perhaps he is permitted to continue a yeare or two, if he have no mother upon whom he must bestow at least three parts of that time in visits, else his Father knows not well where he may with more Credit loose so much good time, or is it may be afraid it will be a greater trouble to keep him at Home. In this time he will, in all probability have

learn'd how to make choise of his boon Companions, how to raile at the Statutes and break all good Orders; How to weare a Gaudy Suite and a Torne Gowne; To curse his Tutor by the name of Baal's Priest, and to sell more books in halfe an Houre then he had bought him in a yeare; To forget the second yeare what perhaps for want of acquaintance with the Vices of the place he was forced for a Passe-time to learne in the first; and then he thinks he has learning enough for him and his heirs for ever.

And now that he may be able to main∣tain his title to so wretched an estate, it is time he should be hasten'd away to some Inne of Court, there to study the Law as he did the Liberall Arts and Sciences in the Colledg. Here his pretence is to study and follow the Law, but it's his Resolution never to know or obey it; If in any measure he do apply himselfe to it, it is to this one end, that he may know how to plead for him∣selfe when he breaks it: or to attain at last to so much more Law then Honesty, as to Cozen him that has more Honesty then Law. Here indeed he learnes to be (in

his Notion of the Man) somewhat more a Gentleman then before, having now the Mock-happinesse of a Licentious life, and a Manumission from the Tyranny (as he termes it) of a School-master and Tutor. This he reckons the happy year of his En∣franchisement, and in Commemoration whereof his whole life-time is to be one continued day of rejoycing. From this time forward he resolves to be a Gentleman in∣deed, and now begins to cleare himselfe from all Suspicion of Goodnesse, which Con∣straint and Feare, made some believe there was a Possibility of before.

§. 5. His Habit and Garbe.

As his Condition of life seems now to be New, so does he endeavour that all should appeare New about him except his vices and his Religion; He is too much in love with those, to change them, and the latter he cannot change, because he never had any. Pride and Wantonnesse have a very rare and ready invention: here's a New Garbe, New Cloathes, and a New body too, O could he but once get him a New Soule or no Soule

he might be thought happy. When you look upon his Apparell, you will be apt to say, he wears his Heaven upon his back; and truely ('tis too much to be fear'd) there you see as much of it, as he ever shall. He is so trick'd up in Gauderies, as if he had resolved to make his Body a Lure for the Divell, and with this Bravery would make a bate, should tempt the Tempter to fall in love with him. He looks as if he had pre∣vented our first Mother in sinning, and wanting patience to stay for the fruit, had pluck'd the very blossomes, and now wore them about him for Ornaments. His Suite seems to be made of Lace or Ribbon, trimm'd with Cloath. By his variety of Fashions he goes nigh to cheat his Creditors, who for this reason dare never sweare him to be the same man they formerly had to deale withall. His Mercer may very well be afraid to loose him in a Labyrinth of his own cloath, which yet sits, or hangs (shall I say) for the most part so loosely about him, as if it were ever ready to fly away for feare of the Serjeant. Alas, how often is he proud of a Feather in his hat, which a silly Bird was but a while agoe weary of

carrying in her tayle? Doe but take him in that condition wherein you may com∣monly be sure to find him, he will make a compleat walking Tavern. His head and Feather will serve both for signe and Bush.

If you observe but a little his strange Garbe and Behaviour, either that wherein he walks the streets, or that other more set and affected one reserved for his forme of Complement; You would conclude he were going to show Tricks; I am sure he wants nothing but a stage erected for the purpose. He takes as much care and pains to new-mold his Body at the Dancing-School; as if the onely shame he fear'd were the re∣taining of that Forme which God and Na∣ture gave him. Sometimes he walks as if he went in a Frame, again as if both head and every member of him turned upon Hinges. Every step he takes presents you with a perfect Puppit-play. And Rome it selfe could not in an Age have shown you more Antiques then one of our Gentlemen is able to imitate in Halfe an houre: whose whole life is indeed no other then one stu∣died imitation of all the vanities Imagina∣ble; and by his daily practice, a man would

guesse there could be no such ready way invented of becoming a Gentleman, as to degenerate first into that Beast, which now, if ever, is most like a man, an Ape. Such an Honourable creature has he made himselfe, who accounts it below him to be number'd among the ordinary sort of men.

§. 6. His Language and Discourse.

His Language and Discourse are altoge∣ther suitable to his Habit and Garbe; All affected and Apish, but indeed for the most part much more vile, sinfull and Abomina∣ble. When it is most Innocent, then is it Idle and Light, and then most quaint and Rhetoricall, when Drolling or prophane. Although he make it his whole businesse whensoever he dares be Bookish (which in∣deed he dreads as much as any thing but to be Good) to furnish himselfe with an Elegant and Courtlike expression; yet will all but amount to this at most, that some∣times he may be able to talke well, and show us how much he is a better Speaker then a man: That he shall be able to carve out his Language into some of the

most Modish and Dissembling Complements, and to Interlard an affected discourse, with many an Impertinent Parenthesis. And then amidst all this his Time-observing hand and foot do so point, accent and A∣dorne all with Curious and Phantastick flourishes, that his words are often as much lost in his Actions, as his sense in his words.

A piece of noisy Bombast denominates him one of the great Wits, where the Sub∣stance of his discourse (if it have any) is dress'd up in so rude and Antique a forme; that staring (as it were) the hearer in his face, it goes nigh to scare him out of his Wits.

If Don Quixot or some Romance more in Fashion, can but furnish him with a few New-Coyn'd words, and an Idle tale or two to make up his talke at the next Or∣dinary▪ In his own fond Conceit and by the votes of his simple Companions, he is car∣ried up to Heaven; a wanton piece of Drol∣lery will send him beyond it.

To be truly Ingenious is not the way to Humour his Frollick Companions, and there∣fore he is put to study out something else which must serve for a while instead of

wit, and 'tis strange, he can think of no∣thing will doe this so well as flat fo••lery; for most perfectly such is that Dr••lling veine wherein he is so frequently industri∣ous to show himselfe a witty foole; What a learned age is this we live in, when he is the best Companion for a Gentleman, who can best act the Rustick, and most facile∣ly Imitate the rudenesse and Flatnesse of his language? and when he alone must be esteem'd the Wit, who can neatliest play the fool to Humour Mad-men? To be sober or serious in the Gentleman's Dictio∣nary, signifies just as much as to be Dull and Bl••ckish. A Phancy which dares not roave about, beyond the limits of Sobri••ty and Discretion, nor proclaime her selfe to be most affectedly prophane, or as industri∣ously vaine and Idle, is a Bird that has no note sweet enough for his Cage. Tis a wonderfull thing to see, how the Apish Ingenuity of this Age, has cut the very throat of all sober Invention, and Genuine wit. A Mimicall tone, a Phantastick action, a Couchant sense, and a Phrase Rampant, quarter the Coat of our Modern Gentile Wit. Such are the Spungy Eares

of most Companions, that they will suck in nothing but froth: And the Gentleman looks upon him as a poore solitary foole, who will not thus make himselfe on Asse for Com∣pany.

But (alas) all these are but he Innocent recre∣ations of his Tongue, wherein it sports it selfe in it's Infancy, e're it attaine to that nimble∣nesse and volubility of expression which be∣comes a Gentleman. Hee is not alwayes de∣lighted in these soft walkes; but as he grows more a man, hee chooses him rougher paths, and more manly exercises. By degrees hee steps up from Idlenesse, and Emptinesse, foolery & Drollery, to Scurrility & ••bloquy; when at every step he tramples some Good Man's Ho∣nour in the Dust; at each word he spits in the face of his Betters, and labours to bespatter with the Dirt of Infamy and Disgrace, every name and reputation, that stands above his owne: And you may be sure he will ever throw the blackest dirt upon the fairest face, where it may certainly do the greatest mis∣chiefe, and be most conspicuous. Like an ex∣perienced Archer, he never misses the white; but (as good luck is) such is the Impenitra∣bility of Innocence, when darted at by the

poyson'd arrowes of Envy, he never holes it. If this black breath of his could blow out, or eclipse those lights that shine brightest, wee should not have one starre left in vertue's Heaven: And those lights which were sent into the world to guide him timely and truly out of it into a better, he first endeavours to extinguish, that so he may without check or shame wander through all the workes of dark∣nesse into Hell. What so often in his mouth, as that which he never names but with the deepest accent of scorne and disdain, a Paltry Parson? And he does not stick of∣ten to tel him to his face, that when he comes to have as much wit as zeall, he will begin to tell him another tale then that of Heaven; that he may doe well to keep him to his tub, and tell a precise story once or twice a week, to his Ignorant Auditors in his Countrey-Church, and forbear to read lectures of Godlinesse to persons whom he should be afraid to looke upon but at a Di∣stance. That he brought more learning from school with him, then all the Canonicall Cas∣socks and Girdles in the Nation, with all their tough Logicall Notions and knotty Metaphysicks shall be ever able to Contain.

With a thousand more such like raveings of a wild and Atheisticall brain. I shall willing∣ly forbeare to personate him any farther in them, lest he might think me able (as I hope I shall never bee) to reach the Frantick strain of his loose and prophaine Railleryes.

Neither are his Discourses less Beastly then Devillish, less Filthy then Malicious. So foul, obseane, and nauseous for the most part are his words, that some one or other as little acquainted with a God as himsefe, will be apt to conclude, that nature spoyl'd him in the making, and set his Mouth at the wrong end of his Body. Certainly there must be a Corrupted and putrified Soul within, whence there dayly steames out so much o∣dious and stinking breath. Indeed so strange∣ly is the Gentleman's Palate distemper'd by this same loathsome Disease, that he can now rellish just nothing but the very Ex∣crements of Discourse. He is not onely ta∣ken with the wanten language and Lascivi∣ous Dialect of Love, wherein to accomplish himselfe, he makes it too much his buesyness to collect what he can out of all the loose past••ralls, Beastly Poems, and Baudy pieces of Drollery, which by their number seem to

turne our Booksellers shops into so many Iakes: But he takes a great deal of pleasure to lick with his tongue, the Nauseous Bot∣ches, and Putrified sores, and the Infectious Leprosies of wit. O how does he delight to dwell upon the sore place of an obscene Poem▪ and he neuer Commends the Poet for any thing but his Infirmityes. He is no Company for the Gallant of late, who will not once at least before the close of every Period Commit Lip-Adultery. As there is not any more filthy vice of the tongue then this; so neither do I ever find the Gentle∣man more in Love with any other; Except it be that one which I am now to name.

And that is it, which indeed I tremble to mention, though he esteems it the greatest Grace and Ornament of his Discourse. I mean, Swearing. For as the Gentleman seems Continually to measure out his time by sins insteed of Minutes; so his louder Oaths, were they not so very frequent, might well be Compared to the Great Clocke, which gives us notice how his houres passe. This is that pleasing part of his language, wherein he so ordinarily bids defiance to his God, and so powerfully Courts the Devill; with whom

by this means he has as frequent Converse as if he were his Familiar. And he has so great a variety of these Hellish Complements, that the Maister of that Language Sathan himselfe, may in a little time stand in need of an Interpreter to understand him.

This is a sin to which there are so few co∣lourable Inducements or prov••cations, that herein, or not at all, the Gallant shows his Proficiency under that Good Master he serves, and proves how straight he can goe to Hell and how fast, without a guide or baite. Here indeed he seems to cry out up∣on Eve for a Lazy and dull sinner, whilst in Every Oath he loudly swears, that soul not to be worth a damning, which cannot sin without a temptation. Tis here he expresses his great Charity to the Devill, for as if he were afraid the tempter should have to great a load of other men's sins at the last and great day of acounts, he freely exempts him from putting his helping hand to some of his sins, and openly professes he is able to goe farre enough out of the way to Heaven without a seducer.

How many Horrible and hideous Oathes

does he daily invent, onely to swell up his cheekes, and make his words sound high and bigge in the Eares of those that tremble not to heare him? with what boldnesse and pride does he abuse God's most Holy and tremen∣dous Name, by making it a cloake and varnish to set off his most false, loose, and prophane speeches. As if indeed he had this desperate designe upon Almighty God, to render his sacred Name Odious to the world, by taking it so often into his prophane lips.

Unto this we may here adde that other as Common extravagancy of his tongue, which is the abusing and making a Mock of God's Word, as well as his Name. His Rhetoricke seemes all Low and Flat so long as his Me∣taphors lye on this side Prophanenesse; but when he has once got a trick to heave up his cheekes, and set his face against the Heavens, and to embosse his discourse with a Rumbling Oath, then hee begins to think himselfe an Oratour with a witnesse.

§. 7. His Religion and Conversation.

I am afraid it is now too late to tell you what is the Gentleman's Religion, seeing hee

has so very little either of Honesty or Huma∣nity. The sad truth is, he is so farre from be∣ing indeed Religious, that he is ashamed of nothing so much as that any man should have the charity to think him so, Against this Ignominious brand of a Godly man, he takes the readiest Course he can to vindicate himselfe, that is, openly to deride all those that owne it; Laughing aloud at all such as have more religion then himselfe. The chief Ceremony of his Religion next to that of Blas∣pheming his God, is lustily to Curse the De∣vill: and to declaime both against Heaven and H••ll in a breath. It is below a Gentle∣man to be a Beggar, though at the Gates of Heaven and the Throne of Grace, and he does as much scorne to say his prayers, as to beg his bread. Nothing but Necessity can per∣swade him to do either. Devotion and Humility are names wholly inconsistent with Nobility and Gallantry; These become not that Brave Heroick Spirit, which had rather chuse to starve even his soul to all eternity, then to receive salvation it selfe at the expence of a petition. Tis for such faint hearted crea∣tures as have not the Courage to undergoe with Al••••ri••y the torments of Hell-fire, to

stoop so low, as to beg an Heaven on their knees, Alas he sees no such lovelynes in the things above, as may oblige him to so submis∣sive a Courtship: And yet he is so Confident to Enjoy them all at last, as if he thought God would be beholding to him for accepting his blessings, or as some foolish lovers take occasion to double their addresses from the un∣kindness of a Coy Mistres, God would the more Earnestly importune him to be saved, the more disdainfully he lookes upon sal∣vation.

If ever the Gentleman appeares at Church, it is but to give you a testimony of his cou∣rage, whereby he shows how he dare some∣times venture upon what he most feares. But then he behaves himselfe so proudly there, as if he would Command the Great God of Hea∣ven and Earth to keep his distance, and he may be sure, so he will, for he will draw nigh unto none but such as will first draw nigh unto him. But some times his appearance in the Holy Assembly argues more Cowardice then Courage, and shews that he fears the Constable more then God; and to be religious more then to appear so. Here if he stay long, he is no lesse pain'd in hearing the Ser∣mon,

then if both his Eares were fast nailed to the Pillory. To prevent tediousness and to give himselfe as much Ease as may be; he picks up here and there something from the Preacher to make merry with, at the next meeting; Or else he meditates upon the La∣dies as they set in their Sunday's-Beuties; and then he returnes from the Church, as most doe, who come thither with no better inten∣tions, ten-times more an Atheist then he came.

But as fast as the Gentleman's Atheisme has taught him to jeer and laugh at all those who are so soft-hearted, as to profess a Religion, so well has their Religion taught them to pitty and pray for him that has none.

If the Gallant have no estate (as many who think themselves Gentlemen have none) he makes his vices his trade, and so traffickes first for a liveing, and then for damnation. The Tavern for the most part is his Exchange, where haveing prepared the way for one wickedness by another, some drunken cheat is usually the Enriching Bargain; and this, when discover'd, must pass by the name of an Ingenious frolick. Here he lyes drinking out the Day, except he be forced to sleep out

the last night's Intemperance. This is the stage of his Wit and wantonnesse: where he thinkes himselfe a Champion, when he can kick two down staires at once, the Drawer & his Bottle, and sound the Alarme to the Skirmish in a Loud peal of New-fashion'd Curses. Afterall's done there, he walkes the streets as light in his head as his Purse, and much oftner sa∣lutes the Pavement then the Passengers.

He Drinks as stoutly, as if he meant to car∣ry liquor enough with him in his Belly to quench the flames of Hell; or rather as if he meant to drink himselfe so farre into a Beast, as he might thereby become uncapable of Damnation. When he has Drunk his fill, he studies how to make the next young heir he meets with, pay the reckoning. If he chance to meet with some poore Inno∣cent Lady, whom a sweet word or two may make his miserable prey, he makes a shift to scrue a ring or two off her finger, and this will both pay the shot, and his Common she for his next night's lodging.

In a word, this Ranting Gentleman is a Golden or at least a Gilded sinner, a Royall stave, a Prodigall sparke; one who hates no name so much as that of Christian; because

he is afraid it would make him Melancholy. He travails over the wide world of sin, 'till he have as little money as Religion, and no more Credit then money. So that he is usu∣ally at last constrain'd either to lie hid, and so become his own Prisoner, or to pawn his Body to his Gaoler for his chamber, or else to become a Citizen of the World, and so at last is every where at home, because he is indeed at home no where.

§. 8. An Apologie for this part of the Character.

Perhaps you may here expect my apolo∣gie for making so bold with the Gallant as in the foregoing lines I have done, which I am so farre from acknowledging my selfe obliged to doe; that I shall hardly obtaine mine own pardon for being no bolder. 'Tis out of no other respect then a tender Compassion to his Person, and a most perfect hatred of his waies, that I here take leave of him. In good earnest (Sir) I have not the patience to follow him any farther, no not in those paths where∣in he walkes with so much Pride and Com∣placency. If he think I have used him too

unkindly, I shall onely answer, that it is not halfe so ill as he uses himselfe: who by be∣ing so much his own enemy, has found out a very easy way for his b••st friends to be so too, and yet solve the Contradiction by an ob∣vious distinction betwixt his Spirituall and his Carnall selfe.

I thank God, I have learn'd to hate a vice in my best friend, and the more I hate it the better I love my friend, whom I shall ever wish so well, as that he may continue for ever Vertuous, that so I may for ever have his friendship. And I have as well learn'd to love the soule of my most vicious Enemy, and the rather because I know my Saviour did as much for me.

I dare not think a Sinner needs my pray∣ers one, jot the lesse, but much more my Pitty, because he pretends to be a Gentleman. I am sure he would say as much himselfe, if he could but seriously consider what distin∣ction of blood or Degrees there is to be ex∣pected in Hell, or what respect will there be shew'n to the Son of a Prince more then to a Beggar. Which was best rewarded, the Noble Dives, or the poore and so long despi∣sed Lazarus? A Captive is still to be look'd

upon as a Captive, though it be his lot to lie bound in Fetters of Gold, and to have a stately Palace for his Prison; Nor shall I think that Malefactor's torments much the lesse who has the honour at his execution to have his Fatall Pile made up of all the rich∣est Spices of Arabia. How great an happi∣nesse found he in his death, whose sentence it was to be smother'd to death in a Bed of Ro∣ses? That Prisoner may be in a merry, but in no very good Condition, who, when he should be singing Psalms unto his God, and so with the Captive Apostles set his soule at liber∣ty; when he should on the wings of Devotion send her out with Noah's Dove, to fetch in the Olivebranch of Peace and liberty from Heaven; when he should do all this, can yet in a rough Note, and some wild disjoynted Catch, Crown his cups, and Invoke the Curs'd Inhabitants of Hell in an Health to the Divell: whatever others better bred and of a more Gentile Edu∣cation may think of him, I shall never be able to Commend such a man's Courage and Alacrity: But this I shall (I hope) be able to doe, with all the due affections of a Cha∣ritable Christian, bewaile his madnesse, La∣ment

his Folly, and earnestly pray that God would at length in great mercy, restore him to his lost selfe and senses. Thus would I hold my selfe bound to pray for a Mad∣man, and truly no otherwise for our English Gallant: For were it my purpose to show how Easily a man might be, rather then how hard it is for him, not to be Satyricall upon so foule a Subject; or did I not more desire with ••yle to heale then with salt and Vineger to vex his wounds, I could without the least wresting fully apply unto the P••rson we speak of, all the Symptomes and degrees, of the most extreem Madnesse or Brutish Folly Ima∣ginable. But I leave him here, and for those others which are behind I shall study more Brevity if not lesse Bitternesse.