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

SECT. III. (Book 3)

The True Gentleman. (Book 3)

§. 1. An Apologeticall Introduction.

BEing now (Sir) to give you the True Gentleman's character, you might ve∣ry justly expect to meet with some∣thing truely like the Subject, High and No∣ble. He is indeed too sacred a thing to be touch'd by so Common a Pen; every slip whereof can be deem'd no lesse then a Prophanati••n of his worth, who is the live∣liest Image which God has left us of him∣selfe upon any of his Creatures. However, seeing where there is so venerable an Ex∣cellency, as all Encomium's may be thought Folly and Praesumption, so can silence be judged no lesse then a Sacriledg: seeing we use to offer unto Heaven, not so much what we owe as what we may: I think it

much better becomes me to say that little I can, then just nothing; and to tell you, if not what the Gentleman is, yet at least so much of his greatnesse, as falls to my share to understand. I had much rather be censured for committing such a pious errour, then be Condemned for the wilfull omission of so ne∣cessary a duty. I dare not suspect the Gen∣tleman's Goodnesse to be of a lesse extent then My Ignorance; and therefore I doubt not but he can pardon as often as I through weaknesse shall offend. Where I▪ erre, let him think it was the brightnesse of my subject which dazled my eyes, and occasion'd me to stumble. Where my expressions fall low and flat, I do beg of him, that he would im∣pute it to that Reverence which I beare un∣to his virtues, which Commands my Pen to to keep it's Distance.

I hope you will not blame me for this A∣pology, for I would gladly keep off as long as I can, when I cannot draugh nigh without a necessity of Erring. Even in this short Praeamble you may be pleased to read some∣thing of the Gentleman's Character; to wit, such a Greatnesse as Commands a Distance and reverence, and such a Candor as can

pardon a failing; and (which is indeed the summe of all I have to say) such a Man as is truly a Gentleman. Which name speaks all that bears a Contrariety to the thing we lately spoke of, whose very name is such a Compleat Summary of all Vices, that there is but one thing lest to Denominate the true Gentleman; I mean, as absolute a Combi∣nation of all virtues. All which I can con∣ferre to his Character will amount to no more then an Imperfect paraphrase upon his Name; and as much as I understand of this, take as followes.

§. 2. His Generall Character.

The True Gentleman is one, that is as much more, as the false one is lesse, then what to most he seems to be. One who is all∣waies so farre from being an hypocrite, that he had rather appeare in the eyes of others just nothing, then not be every thing which is indeed truly vertuous and n••ble. He is a man whom that most Wise King, he best resembles, has fitted with a Character—A man of an Excellent Spirit. This is he whose brave and noble Soule sores so high above the

Ordinary reach of Mankind, that he seems to be a distinct species of himselfe. He scornes so much the vices of the world, that he will hardly stoop to a vertue which is not Heroick; or if he doe, it is by his good im∣provement of it, to make it so. He is one to whom all honour seems cheap, which is not the reward of virtue, and he had much rather want a name then not deserve it.

This Gentleman is indeed a Person truly Great, because truly Good; His Honour is of too excellent a Nature to be supposed the Creature of any thing besides his own ver∣tues; and those vertues too Eminent to be esteemed lesse then the most refined actions of so great a soule. He is no lesse the Glory of Mankind then man the Glory of the whole sublunary Creation. One that would every way deservedly be accounted more then what is humane, were not one part of him Mortall; However it is his first care and en∣deavour to make this mortall part of him such, as may make it apparent to the world, how Great an Excellency may be the Com∣panion of so much frailty.

'Till he may be so happy as to enjoy the Heaven he hopes for, he does what he can to

be an Heaven to himselfe; and by his ex∣traordinary pains, so beutifies his soule with all Coelestiall accomplishments, that he needs only die to be in Heaven; and seems to want nothing of those Glorious Spirits which dwell there, but onely to be without a Body and as high as they.

He looks upon himselfe whilest in this world as no more then a Probationer in the School of Honour; and makes it his businesse so to behave himselfe at present, that he may be sure of an admission into that true Ho∣nour (when the Day comes) which will be as certaine and Durable, as true and Great: Well knowing that the onely way to be Lord of Many things, is to be faithfull in these few wherewith he is now intru∣sted.

His Soul is so truely great and Capacious, that nothing but an Heaven and aeternity can fill it: So nobly high are all his thoughts, that he is ever aiming at a Crown: So active and mounting his Holy Ambition, that it dis∣dains to pearch longer then a Breathing space, upon the most exalted spire of all Sublunary Glories. He is so throughly sen∣sible of the Coelestiall Nature of his Soule,

that (did he not think it one great part of his Happinesse, to suffer any kind of Misery in Submission to his God) he could not think his life lesse then one Continued torment; and so long a detention here upon the Earth, a meer restraint and Confinement from all Comfort and blisse.

As for the Blessings of this world, he looks upon them, as the Child should doe upon his farthings or his Counters, small things in∣dulged him for the recreation not the busi∣nesse of his soule. Yet (such a Good House∣wife is Vertue) he reaps no small advantage to himselfe, from these subordinate enjoy∣ments; which by their frequent Cousennages perswade him the more to be in love with what's both more precious and more usefull. Knowing that his Mansion is prepared in Heaven, he can esteem the world no better then the handsome frontispice to that most Glorious building; where he beholds a great many Fine flattering objects, and pretty Curiosities both of Art and Nature; but all's no more then an Earnest and kind In∣vitation to him to Enter in and possesse those unspeakably excellent Mansions, which these things so dimly shadowed out unto

his eye; these well dressed Dainties which he enjoyes here, he dares but tast at most, to prepare him an Appetite; he intends to feast himselfe in Heaven.

To give you the summe of what I think of him in the Generall; He is every way so much more then a man, that he is no lesse in all things then himselfe. One whose rarest Excellencies are such, as would make us be∣lieve his breeding had bin amongst the Angels in another world, rather then amongst Gen∣tlemen here in this: and that he were onely lent us a while, an universall patterne for Mankind to Imitate; And to let us see how much of Heaven (if we will receive it) may dwell upon Earth. He is so refined from all Mixture of our Courser Elements, as if he were absolutely Spiritualized be∣fore his time; If ever he were proud of any thing, it was of being the Conqueror of that, and all other Vices. He scornes and is ashamed of nothing but Sin. He lives in the world as one that intends to shame the world out of love with it selfe: and he is there∣fore Singular in all his Actions, not because he affects to be so, but because he cannot meet with Company like himselfe to make

him otherwise. In a word, he is such, that (could we want him) it were pitty but that he were in Heaven; and yet I pitty not much his Continuance here, because he is already so much an Heaven to himselfe.

§. 3. His Chiefe Honour and Dignity.

His first Honour in this world, is to be borne the most noble of God's creatures here below; His next is to live one of his most Obedient and laborious servants, like those above: His greatest to Die his beloved Son, that so he may reign with him for ever. It was the Honour of his Infancy onely, to have Noble Parents; It is the Honour of his riper yeares, that he can Imitate their Vertues, and it will be the Crown of his Old-Age to be as good a father as his own. Blood and Birth then stood him instead, when his tender years had not yet render'd him Capable of vertue and Worth. When he comes to Age, He En∣ters upon his Honour, not as upon his estate, by the will or title of his Ancestors, but by the claime of his merits; looking upon it not as his lot or Inheritance, but as his choise and purchase. He has an Especiall care

that his Honour and his Person may both live and Grow up, but never die together. He accounts it much below a person of his Quality, to owe all that Respect which is gi∣ven him when he is a man, to his full Coffers; or all the Reverence which is paid him when an Old-man, to his Gray-haires: But he so provides for his Honour, that whatever Re∣spect is offered him, may be esteemed a Debt and not a Present; and that his future Good∣nesse may not be thought the Product of the Old, but rather an Obligation to New respects: Such he Civilly accepts when paid him, but seldome challenges when de∣lay'd or withheld; so farre I mean, as they Concerne his person, not his Office. For though it be one Honour to deserve, yet is it another Contentedly to want them. He needs never goe abroad to seek himselfe, and there∣fore he hearkens with more safety to his own Conscience, then the people's Acclamati∣ons; and he had much rather know him∣selfe Honourable, then be told that he is soe.

His highest Ambition is to be a Favourite in the Court of Heaven; and to this end his Policy is to become not a Great but a New

Man: and to dresse up himselfe in all those Spirituall Ornaments, which may make his Soule truly amiable in the eyes of the Great King. He considers how that he owes him∣selfe unto God, as he is his Creature; and he endeavours to discharge that Old debt, by a most earnest and importunate suite for New favours; ever praying that God would make him fit to serve him, by making him first a New-Creature. He Could never yet think the Old-Man fit to make a Courtier of Heaven; and therefore he uses to walke in his white-Robe, and his Wedding-Garment, that so he may be admitted into the King's Praesence. He furnisheth himselfe betimes with such Apparell as this, and he fits and settles it to his soule before-hand, knowing that the longer it is worne, the more Splendid it Growes, and the more it is used, the longer it will last; the onely way to wear it out, is, not to wear it at all: but having once atti∣red himselfe in this Habit, now Every day is with him an Holy-day, and he is hencefor∣ward every where at Court.

But that which he esteems his great Ho∣nour indeed, is this, that he can with Confidence, and truly, call God his father, His Saviour

his friend and his brother, the Church his Mo∣ther, and the Angels his fellow servants. Such Parents, such kinred, and such Company he may safely boast of; but this he does no other way, then by his Obedience and Grati∣tude. He behaves himselfe as a King's son ought to doe, that is, he does nothing misbe∣coming his birth and Dignity.

§. 4. His Out-side and Apparell.

If we may spare so much time from the Contemplation of those richer Excellencies of his inner man, as to take notice of his Out∣side, we may there behold the Ingenious Embleme of his better selfe: so much Good care he takes that there be nothing found about him, but what may speak him indeed a Gentleman; and present you (so farre as the Matter will bear it) with the faire picture of a Noble Mind. He would gladly so po∣lish and adorne his body, as becomes the lodg∣ing of so great a Soul. He looks upon it as a thing onely so farre deserving his care and paines, as it is a necessary Instrument of her Operations: and yet he rather could wish himselfe (might it so be) freed from the

Cumbersome Company of his Flesh, because it proves often so great a Clog and hinde∣rance to the more Active and vigorous in∣clinations of his better part. So long as he is Confined to his Tabernacle of clay, he makes the best that can be made of a Necessary E∣vill: so feeding his body that it may have strength enough to serve his Soule; and so cloathing it, that the other part may be kept from freezing, and fit for more sprightly actings. Indeed he never makes much of his Earthly part, but in subserviency to his Spirituall; that so he may the better, as he is Commanded, Glorify God both with body and Soul, which are his.

Hence is it, that you may alwaies observe in his Habit, such a Gravity as beseems a Christian; and yet such a Decency as becomes a Gentleman. He chuses rather to have his distinction from other Men founded in his vertues then in his Cloaths. Herein he showes that he looks more after what's ser∣viceable and usefull, then what's pleasing and Fashionable. So much Curiosity he has, as not to be Slovenly; and so little, as it can∣not show that he is vaine or wanton. He had rather have his Apparell Rich then

Gaudy, and yet rather warme then Rich. It is neatnesse not bravery, a Decent not a Gor∣geous attire, which, next unto what's usefull, he aimes at.

In every suite he buyes he hath as great a regard to the poore man's necessities as to his own humour, and makes choise of that Cloath or Stuffe which may please God here∣after upon the Beggar's back, more then what he knowes may now flatter the wan∣ton eye of the World upon his own. He has much better thoughts of Vertue, then to hope his fine Cloaths may gaine him a respect where that could not; nay on the other side, he knowes that Goodnesse is enough of it selfe; to advance the Ragge above the Robe, and a Leatherne Cap above the Golden Diademe.

He Pitties the unskilfull wantonnesse of the world, which allwaies (as Children and Fools use to doe) sets an higher value upon the Varnish and the gilded Frame, then on the lively features and excellent Art in the rich Piece they adorne: and he calls it a blind∣nesse, at least, a weak sight, which cannot be∣hold a vertue, but (as we do a dull picture) through the Glistering Glasse of Vanity. He

esteems his penny in the Poor man's purse a much greater Ornament, then a faire Plume in his own Hat. Neither knowes he how he may with a Good Conscience weare that, which might be made many a poore man's livelihood (as too many now love to doe) in a Band and a paire of Cuffes. He is more pleas'd to see his own Cloaths cover another's Nakednesse, then displaying his lusts: and thinks it more honourable to weare the Cha∣rity then the Bravery.

If his Place or Office challenge an Habit above his desires, by what he is forced to doe, he showes what he would chuse to doe; and most lively expresses his singular humili∣ty, in his necessitated Gallantry: showing how he can Condescend even to any thing, so it be Innocent; though by a Conformity con∣trary to his naturall Inclinations. And even herein he takes care to Provide himselfe such Apparell, that his cast suite (as we call it) may not be quite cast away: and to this end he chuses rather to swaggar it in Gold then Tinsell, in Cloath then Stuffe: that so it may be sullied before it be torne, and unfit for him to weare, before it be worne out; and then most becoming the Poverty and mean

Condition of another, when it shall be be∣low the State and Dignity of his Place and Person.

It is most certaine (and the Gentleman knowes it as well) that the Temper and Di∣sposition of the Soule, is no way better Dis∣cernable, then through the Habit and Garbe of the Body: He that longs after New fa∣shions, will not be backwards in embracing New Religions: both proceeding from one and the same dangerous Principle, an uncon∣stancy of mind, and a Desire of Novelty. The True Gentleman knowes it by experience, that where there is no levity in the thoughts, there appears no alteration in the Body; where no inconstancy and Pride of Soule, there's no change or flaunting in the cloaths. And therefore that the world may know that he has a fixed and resolved soule; he has one Constant Garbe and Attire; and he will never yield that to be out of Fashion, which is both Serviceable and Frugall. Alas, the poore Body (he knowes) Desires nothing but what may preserve it alive and in health; It is the lascivious Soule which calls for all those other Superfluities; and the Gentleman accounts it below him to gratifie his lusts,

and to be at so vast an expence to cloath his Humour. He could never, since he was a child, play with a Feather, or think him∣selfe happy in the Glistering of a Lace or Ribband. He leaves these toyes to those silly Creatures who are resolved to Continue for ever in their Childhood or Infancy, and dare be so foolish as to think a bread band and a slaunting Cuffe, as necessary as Hea∣ven. He can think himselfe a man without such a vanity; and know himselfe a Gentle∣man without any such Mark or bravery: al∣waies wearing such Cloaths, as his Body may in Old-age have good reason to blesse the moderation of his soule; and the Needy may have no lesse cause to pray for the health of of his body.

§. 5. His Discourse and Language.

When you heare him speak, you will think that he intends no lesse, then to give you a tast of his Soul at every word: Nor indeed is it possible you should in any thing plainlier Discover the Noblenesse of his Spi∣rit, then in his sweet breath, so Divinely moul∣ded into most excellent discourse. Every

word he speaks, speaks him; and gives you a saire Character at once both of his Abili∣ties and his Breeding.

If you respect the Quality of his Dis∣course, it is Grave and Noble, Serious and Weighty; and yet alwaies rather what is fit to be spoken, then what he is able to speak. His Words are most Proper and Genuine, but not affected; His Phrase high and lofty, but not Bombastick; His Sentenses close and full, but not obscure or Confused. His Dis∣course is neither Flashy nor Flat, neither Boyish nor Effaeminate, neither rude nor Pe∣dantick: It is alwaies Sober, yet Ingenious; Virile, strong and Masculine, yet sweet and Winning: He loves a Smooth expression, but not a Soft one: a Smart or Witty say∣ing, but without a Clinch or Iingle. His words are those which his Matter will best beare, not such as his Phaney would readily est suggest. No poor halfe starved Iests, no drie Insipid Quibbles can get any room in his Rhetorick: hardly a word in all, but what hath it's Emphasis, nor any sentence without it's full weight.

If you would eye the Quantity of his Speech, it is not Long but Full; not Much

but Great: He speaks not alwaies, but when he speaks he saies All. He as often showes how well he can be silent, as how well he can speak; and others alwaies love more to hear him talke, then he himselfe. He makes no lesse use of his Eare in all Com∣panies, then of his Tongue; and by his seri∣ous harkening to the more impertinent dis∣courses of his Companions, plainly proves he has no lesse Patience then Rhetorick. He makes it evident, that he has his tongue (that unruly Beast in most men's Mouthes) as much at his Command, as his Wit, and that he is able to make both rest, as well as both move at his pleasure.

His sayings are never long or taedious, but they alwaies reach Home; and he will very seldome take any thing lesse then a Neces∣sity, for an Opportunity of speaking. But then usually he delivers all with that faci∣lity and perspicuity, as if his words were not the elect and voluntary, but the ready and Naturall emanations of his Soul. No Pas∣sion shall at any time more Disturbe the Or∣der of his words, then it can Cloud the Sere∣nity of his forehead. He cannot make him∣selfe merry, much lesse proud, with his own

Inventions; nor does he ever catch at the applause, but aimes at the Edification of his Auditers.

If you will look upon the Matter and Substance of his Discourse; you shall see, 'tis alwaies what he finds, not what he makes: Not what he supposes may afford the fairest field for his Phancy and Invention to roave in; but the Best-Garden of such choise fruits as the Stomacks (Not the Palates onely) of his Company shall be best able to beare: Or such as may prove most Medicinall, when seasonably applied to the severall Di∣seases of those that heare him: These he alwaies studies rather to heal then Discover, and yet rather to Discover then Flatter. Hence he often distributes amongst them the Bitter as well as the Sweet: and rather that which may nourish, then what may please.

And yet here it is, if ever, that he acts the part of the Tempter: for he makes even the Sourest Apple (which he knowes to be wholsome) so pleasant to the Eye, that he for∣ces such as need it, by a Pious Fraud, into a reall love of what naturally they most hate. Indeed the onely way which for the most

part in such Company is left him to pre∣vent the losse of his own time, is to make o∣thers with whom he Converses gainers by his Society: and he does his utmost endea∣vour, that every one that heares him, may by what they heare, either gaine a vertue, or lose a Vice.

This is it, which makes him very care∣full to avoid, whatsoever might rationally be supposed able to vitiate either his own Discourse or the M••nds of his Auditors. And very good reason he has to be more cautious in this respect then other men, see∣ing the most Odious vice from his Language would gaine so great a Lovelinesse as would probably make it one of the strongest temp∣tations. But his Rhetorick has too sweet a face to be made the Mother or Midwife to any thing that has the Monstrous shape of Sinne: he should fouly▪ Adulterate so great a Purity, who should goe about to match it with any thing lesse then Piety and Virtue.

Obloquy and Scurrility are too deformed and wryfaced to gain any place in his Affe∣ctions; He that is able, when he will, to create to himselfe a Reputation not inferiour

to the highest, scornes as much, as he needs little to Rob any other man of his. His fingers are too clean to be fouled by throwing dirt in other mens faces. He is as much afraid to discover a Blemish in another man's eye, as he is to suffer a greater in his own; and will rather charitably condescend to lick out the Mote with his tongue, then deridingly to talke of it. He holds it too much below a man to imploy his Nayles in vexing an Old Sore, and scratching 'till he make a New one. He leaves it to Dogs and Ravens to prey upon Carrion. Alas, it is a very hun∣gry wit, which is fain to feed upon such Nau∣seous Diet. Other Men's Infirmities, especially if Naturall or accidentall, are much more the objects of his Charity and Pitty, then of his Merriment and Derision. He judges it a Cruelty proper to weaknesse alone to Mur∣ther the Sick; no true Ingenuity can be so Barbarous as to sport it selfe in the Misfor∣tunes of the Miserable. He esteems that (as well he may) a meer Dwarfish wit which cannot tell how to show it selfe to the world but by trampling (and so advancing it selfe) upon the Reputation of others. It is a Bar∣ren Phancy, or at least has alwaies a very

Hard Labour, which can be mother to no∣thing but to what Misfortune must be the Midwife. The True Gentleman has both more wit, more Honesty, and more Charity, then to permit his tongue to be so foolishly, so unworthily, so Tyrannically busied.

Nor doth he lesse abhorre to come neere that filthy Puddle of obscaenity; 'tis a Sow and no Minerva that can be for such nasty food. He never carried the Goat's tongue in the Gentleman's head, but wishes that all who do so would for ever use it as Goates doe, that is, continue allwaies Mute. All his discourses are as Chast as faire, and the sweet Loves in recitall whereof he so much pleaseth himselfe and all those Good men which heare him, are no other then those betwixt God and his own Soul.

He is too just to himselfe and his own unusurped Majesty, to suffer his talke to flag into an idle much lesse a wanton strain of Drollery: that's too Plebeian and Vulgar for a Gentleman, and this no lesse too foul and Beastly even for a Man: and he must be more then both these in every expression, a Christian. He cannot but with as much wonder and astonishment as pitty and Compas∣sion,

hear those puny Souls, which can in∣vent no other Method of Gracing their Discourse, and make it takeing, but by a Complacent rehearsall of their own and other men's uncleannesses; nor can find matter for an Houre's talke, without being behol∣ding for it to a Mistresse or an whore; Or at best by dressing, up some Empty piece of Folly in fine words. Thus can they never be merry, but as Children use to be, with a Baby or a Rattle.

His Soul presently boyles up in a pious A∣gony within him, whensoever he heares a vaine Oath or any thing that sounds like prophanenesse: He never mentions the dread∣full name of Almighty God, but with that due Reverence both of Soul and Body which suits with it's greatnesse. He is too much the friend of God, and is every way too neerly related unto him, to heare him Dis∣honoured with patience; or to suffer his Name to be made so vile and cheap, as to be used (as too Commonly it is) onely as an Expletive particle to prevent a Chasme, or make up a Gap in the sentence, or to make all run more smoothly.

He has the like Holy respect for God's Word

as his Name. He is too much in love with Scripture to see her prostituted to every li∣centious Phancy, and by an impudent wre∣sting made the subject of every Atheisticall wit. The Gentleman looks with a more reverent eye upon this sacred Fountaine: not as set open to be troubled and made Muddy by the Wanton Goates, but to water and wash the tender Lambes. He useth it further as a wholesome Bath for his White Soule, which will preserve her both clean and whole.

I should Injure the Gentleman, to dwell any longer upon his Negative vertues. One∣ly, this is an Indulgence given to our Igno∣rance, that we are allow'd to speak in the Negative of all Great perfections, and say what they are not, when we cannot, as we should, expresse what indeed they are. If you will heare what I have to say more of his Discourse in short, then know, that all his words are not onely the pretty pleasing, yet Empty bublings of a restlesse Phancy, a rageing lust, or a wanton and Frollick Hu∣mour; But all of them the Grave, weighty, and well proportion'd Breathings of his great and Holy Soul.

§. 6. His Behaviour and Civility.

His whole Behaviour and Carriage is Mas∣culine and Noble; such as becomes his He∣roick spirit; and yet alwaies accompany'd with a wonderfull Humility and Courtesy. His Body is only made straight, and the more it selfe, not (as most men's are) New-moulded by Art: He has just so much of the Dancing-School as will teach him how to laugh at those that have too much. He has made more use of the Vaulter and Fencer, then the Dancer; for his desire was more to be a Man, then a Puppit, and to be a servant to his Country rather then his Lady.

If in things of this Nature he sometimes studies another's satisfaction more then his own, he will show how much he can be more then a man, not how much lesse, and how Active he can be, not how Apish. He so behaves himselfe, that by what he does, you may rather Conclude he can do more if he will, then that he hath done all he can do. In these, as in all things else of the like In∣differency, he manifests his greatest power there where most men have the least, in refu∣sing

to doe, what he is sure would gain him the empty Applause of the Multitude: Though, so farre as he can judge the sport or Recreation Innocent and lawfull, he had rather manifest a slighting and a disreguard, then an hatred towards them.

His Complements are not (as in others) the wild extravagances of a Luxuriant Lan∣guage, but the naturall breathings of a sincere kindnesse and Respect; His Civility is al∣waies one, with his Duety, his Frindship, or his Charity. A Court-dresse cannot bring him in love with a Lie; nor can he look upon a Fashionable Hypocrisy with a more favourable eye, then upon a Glorious cheat; He judges of all Dissimulation, as in it selfe it is, for though in Complement the Practice of it may seem Princely, yet in its own Na∣ture he knowes 'tis Devillish, and in the Issue will prove Damnable. He Scornes to be Sathan's Schollar, though for so profitable a lesson: for it was He indeed was the first Master of this Ceremony; when he Comple∣mented our first Parents out of their Inno∣cence and Paradice at once; tickling their Ambition with this High straine—Ye shall be like Gods.

It is his care, that all the Obedience and Honour his Inferiours are obliged to render unto him, may seem no more then an Imi∣tation of that he payes unto his Superiors: And that the Courtesy and Civility of his equals may be thought nothing else but the reflection of his towards them. But if ano∣thers kindnesse chance to get the start in showing it selfe, he makes it appeare that his Backwardnesse proceeded not from any want of Good-will but Opportunity; and he endea∣vours to requite the earlinesse of his friend's Courtesy, by the measure of his own.

His Inferiors may behold in him how well Humility may consist with Greatnesse, and how great an Affability, Authority will ad∣mit of: By his Practice our licentious world might easily be convinced, that Freedome and subjection may dwell together like friends.

All his words, and all his Actions are so many Calls to vertue and Goodnesse, and by what he himselfe is, he shewes others what they ought to be. If Heaven were such a thing as stood in need of an assistant Temp∣tation (which a man would almost believe when he sees how little men love it for it

selfe) certainly it would make choise of the Gentleman as the loveliest baite to draw o∣thers thither, were not the Generality of Mankind grown so stupid in their sins, as to fall in love with Hell; were they not infatu∣ated even to a Confidence in those vanities, which are worse then nothing, and besotted into a sensuality below what's Bruitish; who would not make hast to Heaven, were there no greater Happinesse then the fruition of such a Companion as is the true Gentle∣man?

And truly thither with all speed he must resolve to go that intends to enjoy him long; for he makes too much hast to that place of happinesse, to stay long by the way. Such Good men indeed are soon taken away, and this is so little laid to heart by us, that we have great reason for our own sakes to fear, that they are taken away from the Iudgments yet to come upon this sinfull and Rebellious Nation. The world growes so thin of such as he, that we may too truly now say he is but one of a thousand; and then 'tis no lesse then a thousand to one that very shortly whosoever would find him, must go to Hea∣ven to seek him. And indeed it were an

high injury to perswade him to a longer stay here, except we would assure him of our Company thither at last.

§. 7. His Inside.

It is now time to take a short view of his Inside, and it must indeed be a very short and Imperfect one; for you cannot but imagine what would be the unfortunate event, if such weak eyes as mine are, should gaze too long and intently upon the Glorious body of the Sun. I shall onely therefore be so officious to such (if any such there be) as need my help, as to set open the windowes for them, the Sun (I am sure) will shine in of it selfe. And truly his rayes dart in soe thick and fast upon us, we shall hardly know which to take notice of first: An understanding here we meet withall, so clear and unclouded; a Will so regular and uncorrupted, Affections so well refined, so orderly, and uninterested. that 'tis wholy evident, that as Nature found Materials, and Education built the House and set all in Order; so do Religion and Morallity Governe within, and betwixt them keep all clean and handsome.

His vertues seem to be so much the Ne∣cessary and Naturall Emanation of his most Active and boundlesse soul, that he is in dan∣ger by beeing altogether Good to lose the praise and honour due to so eminent a Good∣nesse: If he could Leave off to be vertuous, the world might then seem to have some excuse for being vicious. But his Goodnesse is too absolute, to grow out of love with it selfe, and too knowing to lie obnoxious unto such a cheat, as to part with her own face in ex∣change for the fairest of Vices. I wish the world would forbeare to love Vice, till he be∣gin to forsake vertue; and that all our Gen∣try would endeavour to be like him, till he become like them, or esteem any thing truly Noble, which he cannot prove to be really Good.

As for his Intellectuall Excellencies, so farre as he owes them purely and Immedi∣atly to God and Nature, I think it not fit so much as to touch any further upon them; lest I should not beare up even in that great variety, wherein they are distributed among the many Individuals; God having pro∣portion'd them out unto the severals in so different a measure, as nothing but his own

Infinite wisedome can give a particular rea∣son of it. Onely this I may safely say, that whatsoever his talent is, the Gentleman Digs not in the Earth to hide it; but so traffiques with it, till Art and Industry have Brought in an Encrease some way propor∣tionable to the Stock of Nature: at lest to that degree which may intitle him to the Euge of his Lord; and the Glorious welcome of a Good and faithfull Servant. He makes use of God's Bounty, not as a Warrant for his sloath or an Indulgence to his Idlenesse; but as a Spurre and motive to a gratefull Care and Industry: Not as a treasure to be prodigally spent, but a stock to be thriftily hus∣banded and Improved: He accounts it a thing most unworthy in a Gentleman, to be an Il husband, especially where the treasure is God's, and he but his Steward; yet such a steward, as has the use, as it were, of his Lord's purse for his Incourage∣ment.

His acquired Intellectuall accomplish∣ments, are too numerous and various to be here characterized, something must be said of them hereafter in his study, though but very little; for I chuse rather to insist upon

what Denominates him Good and Noble, then Great and knowing: for though the latter be usefull and excellent, yet the former are more praise worthy and Necessary.

§. 8. His Command over himselfe.

His Will and Affections he makes the In∣struments and servants, not the Guides and Mistresses of his Soul. He subjugates His Will unto Reason, and this to Religion; and and by this means it comes to passe that he never misses of having his own free Choice in all things. He both Doth and Hath what he will, because he never wills but what is according to reason, nor thinks any thing Reasonable but what's honest and Lawfull: thus by making God's will his own, he is never Crost in his desires.

Thus he exercises the first and main act of his Authority at home; and that he may be more expert in Governing others, he first practises upon himselfe; and learns to com∣mand his Inferiour Soul. He will not sub∣mit in the least to the Tyranny of a Passion, nor hearkens he further to the most temp∣ting Suggestions of his Sensitive part, then

he sees that subject to the grave and sober dictates of its lawfull Emperesse Right Rea∣son. His Affections when prepared and fitted by an unprejudiced Iudgment for his service, he delaies not to put into exercise, but im∣ployes them as so many wings, whereon his soul may be Carried up above the reach of Vulgar men. It would be too great an Indulgence in him, to suffer his Passions to be their own carvers, and chusers of their own objects: for these beeing the Naturall Daugh∣ters of his untamed sensitive Appetite, have too much of their mother in them, to be discreet in their choise; like wanton and im∣prudent Girles, they would pitch upon the fairest rather then the best, and more labour to flatter the Sense, then obey the Reason: As their Lord and Soveraine, therefore he ap∣points, and Reason Cuts them out their work, and assignes every one it's proper taske; and by this means at length they become the Beauty, ornament and strength, which other∣wise had naturally been, the Blemishes, Disorders, and Infirmities of the Man.

He desires in all things to be above the world, that's his Ambition; and therefore he sets his Affections on things above, and points

them out the way to Heaven, that's his prudence. The soule without them would be lame and unable to goe; and they with∣out it's eye of Reason, are blind and know not which way to goe: but (as the Cripple upon the blind man's back) let but the judgment direct them in the right path, and then they will carry the soul to Heaven. The Gen∣tleman is too much a Man to be without all Passion, but he is not so much a Beast as to be governed by it.

In this Moderation and Empire over him∣selfe, where he gives Law to his Affections, and limits the extravagances of Appetite, and the insatiable cravings of sensuallity; the just rule he goes by is not Opinion but know∣ledg; not that leaden one, which is so easily bent and made Crooked, or melted and dissol∣ved by the heat of Passion, or the arts of So∣phistry, into error and Skepticisme; but that other Golden one, which lies as close and firme, as 'tis made straight and even. When he would imprint the true lovelinesse of any Object upon his affections, he takes it into a true light, and has a care to remove from before his eye all those Cunningly wrought Glasses, or other instruments of Sathan and

Lust, set so frequently to prejudice and de∣ceive the sight; whatsoever might cause him to mistake a false object for a true, or to see a true one amisse: so endeavours he to be as free from error as from vice: esteeming it as a sin to act against his know∣ledg, so a shame at least to be deceived in his Opinion.

He judges of things, as he does of men, not by what they promise, but by what they prove; and so he trusts, and Loves, and feares them, not for what in appearance they seem to be, but for what in the use and triall of them he finds that in truth they are. He accounts not an Oxe therefore more ter∣rible then a Lion, because he is greater: nor a Pebble more desirable then a Pearl because 'tis heavier: But he first collects the Ex∣cellency of every thing from it's usefulnesse, and tendency unto that end he aimes at in the pursuit after or use of it, and then he pro∣portions his affections according to that de∣gree of Excellency, he has thus rationally con∣cluded to be in it. After this manner does he in the first place Lord it over his Pas∣sion, 'till in a long obedience she have served out her apprenticeship to his Reason: then is

she deservedly enfranchised into a vertue, and so becomes at length her Lord's Mistresse; and 'tis she will get him a reward for his ser∣vice in Heaven.

§. 9. His Magnanimity and Humility.

There is a Brave Heroick Vertue, which is as a second soul unto the true Gentleman, and Enspirits every part of him, with an admi∣rable Gallantry; I mean, Christian Mag∣nanimity and Greatnesse of Soul. This pre∣sently heaves him up to that size that the wide world seems too strait and narrow to contain him, or afford room enough for him to expresse the activity of his Spirit. This is it which teaches him to laugh at small things, and disdain to goe lesse then his Name. Being carried up on high, upon the wings of this Vertue, he casts down his eye upon those little Happinesses, which seem enough to satisfie the Narrow Souls of other men, with no little Contempt and Scorne: but on those poor starvelings themselves, whose Earthly Appetites can make such trash their Diet, with as much Pitty and Compa∣ssion. It is this Vertue which so ennobles

all his actions that they beare a just propor∣tion to the largenesse of his thoughts; and permits him to engage in nothing which is not truly Honourable. And it is this same Vertue which makes his own Bosome his Treasury, and that so rich and selfe sufficient, that all the externall felicities this world has or can cast in to the Bargain, are look'd upon by him with as slender a reguard, as the Widowes Mite would have been by the great Lord of the Temple, without a large Augmentation from her Piety and Devotion. It is this Virtue which makes him a Calme in his own brest when the whole world be∣sides rages like a troubled Sea round about him. Let the storme and tempest threaten never so loudly a splitting and a wrack to other unballanced souls; he knowes not how to fear, whilest his Courage is his An∣chor, and Innocence his safe Harbour. This is it which makes him conclude their Labour very ill spent, who for the cherishing of a Childdish humour, use to sweat, and Con∣sume their strength and Spirits in pursuit of a Feth••r; or strain their backs to take up every straw that Glisters in their way. It ought to be a much Nobler Game then such

a silly fly, that this Eagle vouchsafes to Stoop to.

But as this brave Virtue thus teacheth the Gentleman, to he enough to himselfe, and rest Content and Satisfied with what he hath at home; so does it likewise teach him to be too much for himselfe and Commands him not to vindicate all of himselfe wholy to his own use and service. It were pitty so great a Goodnesse should be thus Confined within one subject, as not to be able to Distribute something of it selfe to every one of it's neighbours. Nay this Christian Magnani∣mity doth so stretch out his Soul, that even that too seems to be Communicated unto o∣thers besides himselfe: It is a kind of vio∣lence and restraint to her to be pinned up within the narrow Province of one Indivi∣duall Body, and therefore she studies how she may enlarge if nother Empire yet her Charity; and make a number by being the Objects of her bounty, the witnesses of her Greatnesse. Indeed so Diffusive and sprea∣ding is Vertue, when she growes in so rich a soyle, that of a little she soon becomes great, and of One a Multitude. This grain of Mustardseed growes up so fast, and so

great, that many may reap the benefit of it's grouth, by partaking of it's branches. And such a Cloud, as at first might appear but of an hand breadth, will suddenly make a Nation happy in that refreshing dew, which by it's plenty, will argue a strange increase after so small an appearance. Indeed the Gentleman acts as if he intended, that his soul should in a short time animate the Vni∣verse, and make it more then ever the poor Philosopher could dream of, One great Gen∣tleman; and the severall Individuals therein but the numerous members of his own body. Though the indocile and untractable spirits of the Common sort of men be such as force him against his will to be singular; yet to show us how unwilling he is to remain so, his vertues are too charitable to be long alone: and hence are all his Breathings such, as might well be thought intended by him to inspire his Company with something like himselfe; and all his Actions so many ear∣nest Essayes towards the assimilating of their Natures unto his own. He is Master of so inexhaustible and Miraculous a treasury of Goodnesse, that he may very well afford every man a little and yet keep all unto himselfe.

He knowes not how to be good; and not to doe good, and therefore one halfe of his study is to give himselfe away. Neither his brest nor his purse are ever shut to such as need him, and (God knowes) more need him, then will make use of him.

The Gentleman may well be Compared unto a Great Book, which alwaies lies wide open to the world; that whosoever wants advice or Counsell, may freely Consult him at pleasure: there they may read, what him∣selfe, as opportunity served him, has taken great pains to Coppy out faire in all his Acti∣ons, whatever is both safe, great, and Good; thus in one and at once they may behold both the rules of a Good life, Praecept and Exam∣ple.

Nor doth this virtue more manifest it selfe in a liberall distribution and Instruction, then in as free and Impartiall a Correction and reproofe, whensoever it is requisite, chu∣sing much rather to crosse the humour of his friend, then flatter his vice; and to lose his friendship here, then his Company (if it may be possible for him to have it) in Heaven a∣nother day. He is not afraid to call every Man by his own name, or adde the Epithete

which is due unto it; that so every one that comes into his presence, may be afraid to bring a bad name along with him. He can envy no man because he cannot see any one better then himselfe; neither yet can he despise any man, because he really desires every one might be as good as himselfe.

So that, what's most of all Commendable, this most excellent vertue is accompanied with a most exemplary humility; and there is nothing can more deservedly exalt him in the thoughts of all men, then this, that he is such a Diminutive in his own. Nor does this proceed from an Ignorance of his own excellencies, but rather hence, that he knowes whence he had them: Neither does he there∣fore praeferre every man in Honour before himselfe, because he knowes not what other men are, but because he knowes not what they may be. He is really so high that he may with ease reach Heaven, but he makes himselfe so low that he may go in at the strait gate. When he looks upon his own vertues (which he had rather show then see, and have then show) he will not think them great, because he intends to make them yet much Greater; neither can he tell how to

applaud himselfe when he sees them great, because he knowes well how little he either made or deserved them. It is this vertue that makes him much more desire the friendship of a vertuous Beggar, then the favour of a vicious and licentious Prince; because this he must assuredly lose, seeing he knowes not how in a Compliance to his humour to be∣come wicked; but that shall never end, but last as long as his Heaven. He chuses his Companions not by the outward habit of their Body, but that internall of the Soul; and sets an higher value on them for their Me∣rits then their Births. He is so little proud of what he is, that he is indeed very humble for what he is not. He will never be per∣suaded (as most of those we call Gallants doe) to pride himselfe in his Vanity, Beast of his folly, and Glory in his Prophanenesse.

§. 10. His Charity and Temperance.

The Gentleman's Charity, is no other then his Soul draw'n out to his finger's ends. Every piece of money he hath, beares as well the Impression and Image of this Vertue, as that of his Prince; and this is it which makes

him value the Coyne more, and the Silver l••sse. He is indeed that true Briaraeus, which has as many hands, as he meets with receivers: and for this cause he is look'd upon as a Monster in these later dayes, and very rarely to be met with.

The course he takes to ayre his Bags, and keep them from moulding, is to distribute freely to all that are in need. If he take some pains to become richer then others, it is onely to put a cheat upon that which men miscall Fortune, and to manifest he hath a power as great as her's; that is, to make himselfe poor again at his pleasure; and to show that Charity can entertain as rich servants as she. Though God hath indulged him the priviledge and inheritance of an El∣der brother in the world, yet he wisely Con∣siders that the youngest of all may in equity challenge a Child's portion. He esteemes it a very high Honour, that God has vouchsa∣fed to make him one of the Stewards in His great Family: and he is nothing ambitious of his Epithete to his Name, or reward of his pains who is recorded in the Gospell for his Injustice.

When by giving to the poor, he lends to

the Lord, the Honour of being the Lord's Creditor is all the Interest he expects; and doubtlesse this Happinesse is not every man's, to have God his Debtor. He accounts it much the safer way, to trust his Charity then his Luxury with the Bag; the former will bring in an even reckoning in Heaven; the latter perhaps a jolly one in the Taverne, but a very sad one in Hell. He delights not to see any thing starve but his Lusts, he lets these crave without an Answer, and die without Compassion. I would to God, there were many in the world such as he, we should then see fewer Beggars, and more Gentlemen. Men's backs and Bellies would not then so frequently rob and undoe their souls: Now adayes, the Gentleman's cloaths wind about his Body, and his Body about his Soul, with no greater kindnesse, then the twining Ivy about the Oake; the Apparell sucks away the nourishment which is due to the Body, and this that other which we owe to the Soule.

Where he is not able to make his Estate adaequate to his deserts; he takes a better Course, and Levels his desires to his fortune: though he seldome have all that he deserves,

yet he alwaies has whatsoever he Covets. He never wants much of that which is need∣full, because he enjoyes all that he is in love with. He makes his life and health not his Estate or ambition the standard, his Reason and not his Humour the judge of his Ne∣cessities.

Such is his Temperance and Sobriety in the use of those Creatures, of which by God's blessing, he is made owner; that he sacrifices very much to his God in the reliefe of the In∣digent, nothing to sin, in satisfying the im∣portunate cravings of his Carnall lusts. A∣bove all, he is ashamed, when Fortune hath used him very hardly and spoil'd him of many opportunities of exerciseing his Boun∣ty and his Charitie, to permit his lusts to use him yet worse, and leave him nothing at all. He scornes first to swaggar and swill away his estate, and then Curse his fortune for useing him so roughly; first to make himselfe a Beggar, and then cry out upon his poor Condition; or to Complain he is as poor as Iob, when every day he fares as De∣liciously as Dives. When he has the least, he showes that he is able to live with lesse; and when he is brought into a low Condi∣tion,

he tries how he could bear up in a low∣er; and proves by his cheerfulnesse in that some would call want and Misery, that Happinesse does not Consist in superfluities. He is Content with any thing, and by this means enjoyes all things; and is so Chari∣table of a little, that it is evident in that little he wants not much.

He chuses rather to be well in the Mor∣ning, then drunk over night; and at any time had rather be free from the Sin, then please his Companions with the Frollick. His Mo∣ney is too little to love, but too much to throw away: and he had much rather give it then lose it; preferring his charity before his Game; and the poor man's life, before his own Wantonnesse and Riot: Though he had never so much, he could never have more then enough, because he sees so many that want what he has, and pitties all he sees in want. He looks upon his estate as that which was given him for use and not for wast; and upon so much of it as he loses at play, as that whereby he has rob'd himselfe of a ver∣tue, and another of a Comfortable livelihood, and he cannot sport himselfe with such losses.

§. 11. His Valour and Prudence.

Having spoken allready of the Gentle∣man's Magnanimity, I shall need to adde very little of his Valour; which he exerci∣ses more in Obeying his God, then Opposing his Brethren. His highest piece of Forti∣tude is that whereby he Conquers himselfe and his sin; and in this he is alway practi∣sing. He knowes that by thus becoming his own Captive, he shall not want the usage of a Gentleman; and thus being made his own Lord too, he is sure to be free from all the world besides. He looks upon it as the basest degree of Cowardice, to yield unto those feeble Passions, which, did not both Reason and Religion step into their Succour, would certainly become the prey of every light and Empty toy. His Christian Forti∣tude is such, that he fears not to Encounter the Great Goliah of Hell, or an whole Army of such Philistins as have set themselves in array against his Happinesse, all at once: not though they be such, as by their Cunning have allready got within him: He never gives over Resisting the Divell till he have

put him to flight. He hath that greatest Courage which is so rarely found in others, who would be call'd Gentlemen, he dares be Religious in spite of the World. He sets himselfe, without betraying the least timi∣dity, against that great Bugbeare, which so scares most men not onely out of their wits but out of all good actions, Shame, or Deri∣sion. These are they which, as the Elephants in King Pyrrhus his Army terrified the Ro∣mans with their prodigious Bulk, do so affright the greatest part of our Gentry, that they never leave flying till they tumble into the Bottomlesse Pit together. The True Gentleman, like the stout Minucius, has by experience proved these Monsters to be of more Bulke then Mettall, and to want no∣thing but an Adversary, to bring them into Subjection.

The true Gentleman has so much true va∣lour, as not to fear the brand of a Coward, where his Courage would be his sin, and his Conquest his ruine. He is ever the fugitive in such a chase, and dare boast of nothing but being routed. 'Tis then alone he feares not Death, when he is sure there is no Hell will follow it. His life is more dear to him, then

that he should be Content to part with it for any thing lesse then Heaven. He has an Honour, and that's his Religion, a Mistresse too to vindicate and defend from all inju∣ries and affronts, and that's his own Soul: For the sakes of these two he is engaged in many a Duell, with those Heresies and those Sins, which would stain and Corrupt the one, or steal away and deflower the other.

He thinks that Honour too dear which must be bought with a Murther; and a Name which is never to be worne, but by his Monument, none of the cheapest, when purchased with his life. He has much Ho∣nester thoughts of his Mistresse, then to think her such a Proserpine, that either he or his Rivall must be sent to Hell, before ei∣ther can enjoy her.

There is indeed a Beauty, for which the Gentleman thinks it no losse to die; but such an one as is often black, though alwaies lovely: I mean, his own Mother and his Saviour's spouse; the Church of God: and there is an Honour which he holds cheap e∣nough when bought with the high price both of Life and Livelihood, though (if he might have his choise) he had rather pre∣serve

both to maintain it, then lose either to purchase it, Loyalty to his Prince, and Fide∣lity to his Country: For these he does not fear to Embrace a Stake, to make the Scaf∣fold his Bed, and a Block his Pillow; seeing he is assured, that whosoever thus lies down to rest at night, shall without faile rise again to Glory in the Morning. He holds it much more desireable to live a Beggar, then to die a Traytor: And that his Ho∣nour and Conscience should expose him to Tyranny and Violence, then his Treachery or Hipocrisy buy out his temporall security. He thinks it no great matter to trust that God with his Person and his Family, who hath trusted him with his spouse and his Chil∣dren.

Hence is the Gentleman's Prudence, the Legitimate Daughter of Loyalty and Consci∣ence, not the Bastard of Covetousnesse and Cowardice; 'tis mixt of Discretion and Wise∣dome, not Craft and Knavery. He was ne∣ver yet so blindly zealous, as to worship a Golden Calfe for a God, that so he might keep his Chest from being broken open: Nor was he ever so absolute a Statesman, as to call Rebellion Reformation, for fear of Pover∣ty

or an Halter. His naturall affection to wife and children is such that he would en∣joy them for ever in happinesse; and there∣fore his ••are is so to part with them now, that he may meet them again in Heaven, not in Hell, hereafter: His whole Policy is to avoid an aeternall, though by incurring a temporall, misery. Such a Politician onely he thinks fit for Heaven, that hath prudently managed his Lord's affaires upon Earth; he cannot call him either a prudent or a faithfull Am∣bassador, who prosecutes his own designe with more earnestnesse then his Master's; or acts more vigorously for the advance∣ment of his own particular Interest, then the Publick Good, or his Prince's Honour.

It is his Prudence to secure what's best, by the losse of what's Indifferent, whensoever he is necessitated to part with one of the two; and he chuses rather freely to part with that which he is only sure once to lose, and by that l••sse become eternally happy; then to throw away that which in spight of violence he might for ever have kept, and can never part with, without his utter ruine: If tares must spring up amongst the good Corne in that field. wherein God has intended him a

labourer, he had rather show by his active∣nesse that they were not sowne whilest he slept; then by a covetous lazinesse give the Enemy an opportunity of Compassing his designes; or occasion the disheartening of his brethren, by withdrawing his shoulder, and leaving them alone to beare the burthen in the heat of the Day. He can think it a greater prudence with the Disciples of his Lord, to leave his Father and his Net, to fol∣low a Saviour through Persecution into Hea∣ven; then with the Carking Fool, to lie mo∣delling out a Barne which may contain his wealth, and in the mean time suffer his Soul to be stolne out of his Body by the sedulous craft of the seducer.

§. 12. His Behaviour in both Fortunes.

If Fortune smile upon him, and be indeed such as he dare call her Good, he makes it his businesse to be altogether as good as she; and will be sure as well to deserve as to wear her Livery. His care is that her good usage of him may be rather deem'd the just re∣ward of his own Moderation and Good-Hus∣bandry; then the unmerited Bounty of so

blind a Mistresse. He makes his Prosperity a motive to his Piety, not (as others) the opportunity of displaying his Vanity. He proves by his example, that he most happily enjoyes the World, that Glories lest in the en∣joyment of it. He looks upon his present flourishing Condition, rather as that which is not without ingratitude to be refused, then with egernesse to be desired; and upon what he now possesses, as that which he knowes not how soone he may lose; and therefore he makes himselfe now so carelesse an owner, that (if the wind chance to turne) ••e may prove a cheerfull and Contented loser. He dares not Phancy himselfe one jot the neerer Heaven, for being thus mounted on the Deceitfull wings of Fortune, lest when the contrary wind of adversity dismounts him, and his unexpected fall awakes him from his pleasant dreame, he should find himselfe to be really as low, as he was be∣fore but seemingly high. If Fortune be con∣tent to lodge with him as his ghest, she is wel∣come; But he cannot be so dotingly ena∣mour'd of her, as to entertain her, either as his wife, or his Harlot; lest either an un∣timely divorce should break his heart, or she

should bring a Bastard for a Son, and so at length shame and disgrace him. He can nei∣ther so farre flatter her as to call her God∣desse, which he knowes of her selfe to be no more but a name; nor so farre Honour her as to aske her blessing, because he knowes that whatsoever Goodnesse men are apt to as∣cribe unto her, is but one of the meanest blessings of a Greater then she. Laugh she never so heartily, her pleasantnesse shall never overjoy him, seeing (for ought he knowes) she either does or may ere long laugh at him; and if she Frown, he can frown as fast as she, and that for her kindnesse. He never relies upon her, because he knowes she is naturally so unconstant: nor can he see any reason why he should be proud of beeing her favourite, because he may every where behold many of the most undeser∣ving altogether as much in her Favour as himselfe.

To speak the whole, the true Gentleman hath so slight an esteem of Fortune, that he cannot vouchsafe her the Honour of a Bee∣ing, but leaves that to those poor Heathens who were indeed as blind as they supposed her to be. Whatsoever blessings he enjoyes

he received them, as indeed they are, as the bounties of an indulgent father, with thanks and love; and he useth them to that end, for which he supposes so Good and Prudent a father would bestow them on a Beloved Son; so that he may make them as much Instru∣ments of his own Good, as they are testimo∣nies of his father's affection. He looks up∣on his Prosperity, not so much as a reward for doing well, as an encouragement to do more, and an opportunity of doing better: Much lesse can he think his flourishing con∣dition, as many seem to doe, a piece of Hea∣ven's flattering Courtship, where no more is intended, then the affording him an op∣portunity of pampering up his lusts, and ma∣king himselfe a Glorious sinner. Seeing he has already received so bountifull a reward for doing so little, he accounts it a shame for the future not to make himselfe a fit ob∣ject for a greater, by doing both more and better. Such an Ingenuous Spirit hath the Gentleman, that he thinks every reward for what's past, an obligation to future good ser∣vices; and he had rather wait with patience for all his arreares together, then ever be thought to have received the last payment here.

If it be his lot to groan out his daies un∣der the heavy pressures of affliction: he is not like the Inconsiderate Drunkard, who in the morning after his double Intempe∣rance in drinking and sleeping, complaineth that his head akes, and begins to Curse his Pillow, and his Bed-maker, for his want of ease; forgetting to turne that sinne out of dores which occasion'd all this the day be∣fore: Nor like a Wretched and Impenitent Malefactor, who when he is hurried away to a just Execution, does nothing but cry out upon the hard-heart of his Iudg, and the Rigour of the Lawes; Cursing the Exe∣cutioner, but forgetting to repent him of the Murther or the Robbery which brought his Body into the hands of this executioner, and will, unrepented of, deliver his Soul into the farre lesse mercifull of another hereafter: But like a Naturall and hopefull child▪ he seriously Considers his own Errors, which provoked his father thus to Chastise him; and so by stroking the hand, and kissing the Rod, and humbly begging pardon for his offence, he sets his father's affections, which before he had turn'd aside, not lost, into their own proper Channel again.

He looks upon his Afflictions with one eye, as Corrections, and so blames himselfe for the Occasion, but blesseth God for the Charity; with the other, as Tryals, and so makes it his care that he come not all Drosse out of the Furnace. The same Fire which Consumes others, doth but refine his soul, and separating from it, the more grosse and Terrene Mixtures, makes it the fitter for Heaven. He grudges not to undergoe the Winnowing, so he may be sure to loose the Chaffe, and be made all wheat, such as his Lord may think fit to receive into his Garner. He is ashamed to think that God should lose his paines, and the more he thrashes, find onely more straw but lesse Corne: rather, like good grain from the Mill, he comes forth from the grinding, more in measure, purer in Colour, and readier for use and service. Though a Bryar or a Thorne, may scratch or prick his heel a little, in his way to Heaven, and draw a little uselesse blood; though he may sometimes be so intangled in the Brambles, that he may be forced to part with something of his fleece, and perhaps so much of the skin too, as may make it smart a while; Yet has he

too high a soul, to fall so much within the reach of these Creeping brambles, as to re∣ceive from them the least Scratch in his face. He alwaies carries an head as erect as his hopes are high; and takes great care that neither his Religion, his Honesty, nor his Ho∣nour be made to suffer by it.

He dares not make either a Base Compli∣ance with the vices of his persecutors, the re∣fuge of his Cowardice; or the wings of the Potent, by bribing their Ambition with Flat∣tery and Dissimulation, his Sanctuary of pro∣tection. He will not attempt the light••ning of his sufferings by a voluntary casting any part of his estate into the devouring Trea∣sury of the Churche's Enemy; nor hope to appease the wrath of a displeased God, by bringing an oblation to the Avarice of his oppressors; neither doth he essay to drown his sorrowes in the Bottome of his Cup: But he flies, and takes Sanctuary at the Hornes of the Altar: and by a Magnanimity which becomes a Gentleman, showes that true Ho∣nour, is a Iewel indeed, such as will not break with the Hammer: His Religion, like the Flint, never so much discovers those Holy fires of zeale and devotion, which were

not before so apparent, as when it most ex∣periences the violence of the hardest steel: And his Innocence is so perfectly Malliable, that the more you beat it, the broader it growes. In short, the Gentleman carries himselfe ••o evenly betwixt these Contrary windes, that he is neither shaken by the one, nor puff'd up with the other: He is such in prosperity, that he does not fear Adversity; and such in adversity, that he needs not to wish for Prosperity; such indeed in both, that it shall never repent him, that he hath tasted either.

§. 13. His respect and affection for his Country.

The true Gentleman is no lesse Service∣able to his Countrey, then Honourable in him∣selfe. He cannot Phancy himselfe so great, as to forget that he is but a creature, and so made for something; and 'till he can per∣swade himselfe to be a God (who is his own End and Happinesse) he cannot think that he was made onely to serve himselfe. He that made him, made him a Brother to many, and he owes a duty of love unto them all.

He is not like a lump of Gold in the Bowels of the Earth, which is neither for sight nor service; but like that which having once received the stamp of the Prince, is ever af∣ter Current, and usefull to many. Neither resembles he the Glow-worme or a Rotten stick in the Dark, which hath no more light then will show it selfe to be something; though no body by that light alone knowes what; but illuminates nothing else about it: no, he rather emulates the Sun in the Fir∣mament, from which this Inferiour World receives all it's life and vigour. Thus the Gentleman is continually scattering the rayes and Influence of his vertues round a∣bout him, quite through all that lies within the Wide Sphere of his Motion. As amongst the Elements, the most Noble and Pure, is alwaies the most active too; and most pro∣fitable, as well as most High and Distant: And as the highest of Bodies, to wit, the Cae∣lestiall cannot naturally rest, but indeed by their Continuall and swift motion, do never faile to labour for the Benefit of the whole world besides: So is this Little Heaven and Glory of Mankind, never without some commendable businesse and Employment, and

such as shall assuredly at last tend unto the great good and advantage, of as many as lie within the Compasse of his Influence.

The Gentleman (without doubt) is made for some other end, then to stand, like a fair and goodly Tulip, in a painted Pot, in some window or other Corner of the Cham∣ber, onely to grace the roome, without ei∣ther smell or other apparent virtue; He is rather like the sweet and lovely Rose, which perfumes the Aire all about it, and is besides, no lesse Medicinall, then fragrant. If ever the Gentleman seem to be Idle, he does no more but seem so. He onely sets himselfe down a while, as he would doe a Bottle of precious Water, which has been troubled by much motion, that so it may by a settling of it's heavier parts become clear again: Thus does he order his Soul, that after she hath been violently shaken to and fro, and much troubled with the affaires of the world; he may by this rest, give leave to the more ter∣rene parts therein to draw towards the bot∣tome, that so the Grosser descending, his best and clearest thoughts may again be uppermost and at Liberty. He carries not his fine Bo∣dy up and down the streets, as men use to

doe their Dancing-horses in a Fair, onely to be seen, and make sport for the Spectators: No, though never so gloriously trick'd up, and accoutned, yet does he freely stoop, to take some part of that weighty burthen of the Commonwealth upon his back; and ne∣ver walkes with more ease, nor showes more reall state, then when thus Loaden.

He cannot call him a man that is without all calling, knowing that every servant (and every man ought to be God's servant) how proud soever must have his worke▪ Seeing God hath so blest him with abundance, that he needs not worke for his own bread, he will in gratitude to his God, Worke for his Coun∣trie's peace and safety. He scornes to have it thought, that He is the onely Cumbersome thing in the Nation, the onely Wen in the Body Politick, which growes great onely by sucking away that nourishment, which should feed and strengthen the serviceable members; and is good for nothing at length, but to Improve the Chirurgions skill, and the patience of the Diseased. Those parts and members of the man which are uppermost in the Body, and most Honourable, are alwaies most busied too for the Good of the whole:

In the Head are placed the Eye and the Eare, and the Organs of sense; there too is the Vnderstanding, Phancy and Iudgment, to see, to heare, discerne, contrive, plot and di∣rect: and as he knowes it is his Honour to be made a part of the Head of his Countrey; so doth he own it his duety, not to refuse the exercise of that Office which belongs unto him. Hence he thinks it an unworthinesse in him, not only, to do ill, but to doe no Good; and these two he can very hardly distinguish, as some would fain doe, seeing undoubtedly that which doth no good, is good for nothing, and this is to be starke naught.

—He holds it to be (as indeed it is) a crying shame, whilest the Taylor, and the Cobler are justly reckon'd among the Necessary members of a Commonwealth, that the Gen∣tleman, who takes it as an affront not to be thought much better then such Mechanicks, should not be so much as usefull to the place where he lives: or at most, but as the trimming is to a good suit, or the haire to the head, which may be Cut off and thrown away, and no great hurt done to either. This indeed is the Gentleman's priviledg,

not to be a servant to any one particular Member, but to the whole body; and that whilest others in their Inferiour Condition, are onely made capable of serving a few, his fortune is such as will allow him to be truly serviceable unto all. Herein consists his Honour, that he is not put to work as a drudg or journy-man; but is a Freeman in∣deed, and Master of his trade; and whilest others toyle hard, and receive a scant pit∣tance when their worke's done; He is able to worke gratis, and so oblige a great part of the world by his service. Indeed this must needs be the greatest obligation can be laid upon the Gentleman, to labour har∣der and doe better then other men, because he is beforehand not onely furnished with good tooles, by an Ingennous education, to worke withall; but hath (as was said) re∣ceived so great a part of his reward already, and yet is assured of an infinitely greater yet behind. How is he ashamed to deceive him by his Idlenesse, who of his great good∣nesse hath so farre already trusted to his ho∣nesty?

As he refuseth no Employment, which may render him according to the measure

of his Abilities serviceable to his Countrey; so is he no way ambitious of that which he knowes to be above his strength and reach. As his great love to his Country perswades him not to refuse the higher, so doth his hu∣mility Command him to accept the lower: he accounts no burthen heavy which he is able to beare; nor any light which is either beyond, or not worth his bearing. He makes not his Ease an excuse, nor the Difficulty an apology for his refusall. He dischargeth his trust with that fidelity, which will be sure to gain him, though perhaps the hatred of the Bad, yet the applause and love of the Good, and the unanimous thanks of his Coun∣trey.

§. 14. His Studies and Recreations.

That he may in good time be fitted for the Calling he intends, he begins to think upon it early in the Morning of his age; and accustomes himselfe to the yoak whilest he is young, that so he may bear it with∣out galling his neck when he growes old. He makes it now his businesse to gather the thyme, which he intends shall prove Hony

hereafter; and to lay up in the Spring what may stand him in stead when his winter is come. That he may indeed be young in Old-age, he learnes to be Old in his youth; and he sucks so much out of every science now, as Experience and years may by degrees hereafter improve into that Prudence which becomes a Gentleman.

Having in his greener yeares onely so much discretion, as to find the want of what he should have, he is willingly directed by the prudence of another, 'till he can get e∣nough for himselfe. He is not Impatient of Subjection now to that wise and grave Instructor, from whose both dictates and example he hopes to gain so much as may make him the Instructor of others hereafter: And he learnes so betimes to obey, that the world may never have reason to say he be∣gan to Command too soon. It is his choice to live under a severe discipline, rather then to be left to himselfe as his own Master; lest perhaps failing in his first Command, whereby he should have Govern'd him∣selfe, he might despaire of better successe in his second of Commanding others.

His first care therefore now is to be wholy

guided by him to whose prudence he is in∣trusted; lest by rejecting him, he might seem to disparage the judgment of his pa∣rents, who made that choise for him. Where the Commands laid upon him seem to him irrationall, so long as he knowes them not sinfull, he had rather distrust his own judg∣ment, then neglect his director's counsell: and he never thinks himselfe (as very many doe) a better man then his guide, 'till he be sure he knowes the way to that he aimes at, better then he. He never showes himselfe more to be his own man, and at his own disposall, then by this unconstrained act of resigning himselfe up unto another.

When he is come to that maturity of Age and Discretion, as to be able to benefit himselfe by his Company, he will be sure to make choise of such Companions as may serve him instead of Books; and of such Books as he intends shall often serve him for Companions: He is not ashamed to be now the worst man in that Company, where∣in he may learne from his betters, how to be the best in another: this is much more honourable, then to be the best man there, where he can never learne to be better, but

often worse then he was before.

The Studies whereunto he cheerfully ap∣plies himselfe, are such as will more make the man, then please the Boy. He takes de∣light in nothing which will send him back again towards his Infancy, but Innocence. As for Poëtry and such like pleasing studies, he does not wholy neglect them, but uses them as good sauces to make others more substantiall and nourishing rellish the better. He loves not to spend his time in cracking Empty Nuts without a Kernell; nor to break his tender teeth by gnawing upon Sa∣ples bones. Neither Nice Criticismes nor tough Notions, can recompense him for the vast expence of that precious time, he should be at in making himselfe the Master of either. When he is entred into the faire garden of the Muses it is not his onely busi∣nesse to pick up here and there a few leaves to hide the Nakednesse of his discourse; or to adorne it with Blossomes and flourishes out of some Poetick figment, or Romantick story; but he gathers, eats and digests, that which is fruit indeed, and such as is truly wholsome and nourishing: Nor doth he, as the Em∣perour's Army, lie loytering, and picking

up Cockle-shels upon the shores of good lit∣terature, but he boldly launches out into the main Ocean, and there Contemplates the wonders of the deep. It is not his de∣signe to be call'd a Witty Gentleman, and such an one as can talk high, and breath flashes, and thunder out big words, and store himselfe with so many jests, and so much Bombast, as may tickle some, and stupifie others; he studies more to make himselfe a man then a Companion; and more how to live and do well, then talke finely. True Histories, and Sound Politicks, and grave Morall discourses, are the fruitfull Gardens where his Muses doe ordinarily recreate themselves: that so by his Pleasures as well as Pains, both the Commonwealth may in due time be happy in him, and he in himselfe. As for those lighter and more ayery studies, such as too frequently by their lovely paint and dissembled beauty, steal away the amorous and unfixed youth of most Gentlemen, he makes the same use of them which he does of his Galleries or his Arbours; whither, now and then he comes to take a turne or two for Recreation's sake, and as he passes along sometimes casts a carelesse eye, upon

those many pretty blossomes or pictures which he finds there. These may for a moment or two command his eye, but never ••is affection. Of such toyes he had rather 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hereafter that he has seen them, then that he knowes them. He would be igno∣rant of nothing, but he would onely be ac∣quainted with the b••st. He has a more Masculine stomack, then to f••ed upon that which is all sauce, but if there be a little in the Dish, to make him rellish his meat the better, he is not displeased with it, though so long as his meat of it selfe is good, he doth not greatly desire it.

Divinity can never lie out of the true Gentleman's way, because he is alwaies go∣ing towards Heaven: For notwithstan∣ding she seems so pale-faced, and of so soure a Countenance to those that love her not, because they do not know her; yet is there so much heavenly beauty, and so many noble features discernable in her face, by the Gentleman's undistemper'd eye, that he soon begins in earnest to love her, and he can never go on farre in any other path what∣soever, but he must often cast a longing eye back upon her. Still bearing in mind the

happy place whither he is travaling with so good a will, he calls in at other Arts and Sciences as at so many Innes, to take a short repast by the way: or he stands looking up∣on them a while as upon so many way markes set up at the severall turnings and Crosse paths, that from them he may re∣ceive directions which way to turne: But the knowledg of his God, that's the way he constantly walkes in, and that which will certainly bring him at last to that home, where he shall meet with a Welcome, which will abundantly recompence the tediousnesse of his journy; and an entertainment suitable to the Quality of a Gentleman.

His way being long, it is not amisse that he allowes himselfe sometimes a recreation and diversion. But then his recreation shall be alwaies such as he dares not make his businesse, and yet such as he dares safely make his play: It hath alwaies so much of Inno∣cence as to be blamelesse, and so much Bre∣vity as to be no Hinderance. It has so much Youthfulnesse, as not to be a Businesse, and yet so much Businesse as not to be Boyish. It shall bring with it so much reall pleasure as may make it a refreshment, and yet so

little lovelinesse, as may spoile the temptati∣on. He may step over the hedg into the pleasant Meadow, and pluck a sweet flower or two to smell to as he goes along, but he dares not lie him down, or rowle himselfe upon the tender grasse, lest he should be tempted to too long a stay, and thereby be benighted in his journey.

He thinks it no prudence to fall in love with any sport, which like a Cunning thiefe, smiles him in the face, whilest it cuts his purse, steals away his time, and cheats him of a good Conscience. If Agar once begin thus to insinuate her selfe into those affections, which are only due to her Mistresse; out of dores she shall goe: He intends not to sell his Charity at so cheap a rate, as the false pleasure of his game; Nor has he so little either thrift or Religion, as to make so foolish an Exchange, and part either with his Soul or his Time for the transitory de∣light of a dangerous temptation. His usuall Recreation therefore is, to make a play of his Study. He makes one study, like a shooing∣horne, to draw on another, and makes the variety the recreation. Thus he takes the surest course that may be, for making his

Study so much his Delight, he saves himselfe the labour of studying for a Passe-time.

§. 15. His Good-husbandry at Home.

When the Gentleman comes to have the manageing of his own Estate, he takes pains to instruct the world, how farre a man may be Frugall with Honour; and a Good-hus∣band without a suspicion of being worldly or Covetous; and again how freely a man may spend his Estate, and yet be no prodigall. He hath so circumspect and watchfull an eye upon all his affaires, that you may see he had much rather give away his estate, then be cheated of it. He would be cozen'd of no∣thing, for fear of loseing the opportunity of bestowing much. As he would not allow the unfaithfulnesse of a servant, to prevent the Bounty of the Master; so neither would he have the Master's negligence to occasion the servants dishonesty.

His Table is moderate, that so his Charity and Hospitallity may exceed: as he studies to be good himselfe, so endeavours he to make every member of the Family as good as he; and he will have his servants to be

his Disciples, no lesse then his Children. Neither ever does he so wholy vindicate their service to himselfe, but he allowes them time enough to pay what they owe both to God, and their own soules.

If his condition of life be single, he so be∣haves himselfe therein, that no man shall thence be able to conclude, either that he wants a Wife, or his house a Mistresse; So much chastity has the one, and so much good order is there in the other. But if he think it fit to change his Condition, he endeavours to chuse a second selfe, that may suite with the former; that so they may be (as neer as he can effect it) one Spirit, as well as one flesh. Whom, not long agoe, he cour∣ted rather as a Vertue then a Mistresse, he now uses as a wife and not as a servant; not (as 'tis usuall of late) calling her Mistresse and Lady before she be his wife, whom he intends to make his drudge all her life time after. Nor does he (as too many) marry onely for Money; knowing that such are in danger of Committing Adultery after Mar∣riage, seeing they never Marry'd the Woman, but her Portion. With him Vertue and Love, not Money and parentage, make the Match:

and the question he askes, is not—What has she? but—What is she. He makes Prudence and Religion the guides of his Love; and so he becomes as good an Husband and Father, as before he was a man.

§. 16. His Religion.

I have told you (Sir) already that the Gentleman is not ashamed to be call'd a Re∣ligious man; although that Epithete be thought no better then a terme of debase∣ment, by the degenerate Gentry of our age. He ownes a God, and he Worships him, and makes that Honour which he observes others to render unto God, the ground of his re∣spect to them. He looks upon no man as a Gentleman, but him alone, who derives his pedigree higher then from Adam, even from Heaven: and he accounts all those who can brook any Dishonour or Contempt of their God that one Common father of us all, as a Bastard and no Son. It would be no Honour for him to seeke an acquaintance here upon Earth, and therefore by his fre∣quent Devotions he often goes to seek out a better in Heaven; where he may be sure

to meet with such, as shall be worth his kee∣ping. He dares call every man a Fool to his face who with David's Fool, suffers ei∣ther his tongue or his heart to say There is no God.

If you aske him, what Religion he is of, his answer is ready, of his mother's; that is, he is a true Son of the Church: And yet is he onely so farre her Son, as he sees her wil∣ling to continue his Saviour's Spouse. Nei∣ther is he content to be still an Infant in Religion, and to be taught onely (as mo∣thers use to teach their young children) to say his prayers and his Creed by rote, but he prayes and believes and practises all truely by heart: Notwithstanding, he never forgets his Mother, nor neglects to Honour her with his Life and Substance. He is alwaies more ready to take her Directions for the Forme and Method of all his duties, then to be Dis∣ciplined by all those Chatting Dry-nurses which are so busy about him, such as indeed have talk enough, but (alas) no Milke; whose whole businesse is indeed to make him undutifull to his own mother, and to set light by all her Councells and Commands: perswading him to believe that a true Child

of God, not subject to a Mother in any thing; And they never show their venemous teeth more plainly, then when they goe about to make him forget what this Mother of all Christians by a strict Command from her Dearest Lord has ever been most carefull to teach all her children, to say—OUR FATHER.

He goes not to Church to save his Credit or his Purse, to see his friend or speak with his Tenent, but to meet his Heavenly Father, and Commune with his God, and to take Di∣rections from him how to behave himselfe the following week or Day. When he is there, he makes his heart accompany his tongue, and his Eare keep time with the Preacher. Every Morning and Evening, like a Dutifull sonne, he in private Con∣fesseth his faults, and begs his Father's pardon and blessing; and for the better ordering of his following duties, reads over with Care and Humility some part of those Directions, which he had long since Commanded his servants to set down in writing for his use.

He chuseth his Religion, not by it's Com∣monnesse but it's truth: and often weighs each

branch of it in the Balance of the Sanctuary, that he may be sure it is full weight. He takes it not up by votes, nor (as it is most evident too many do) thrusts his hand at all peradventure into an Hat-full of Lots, being content with whatever he hits on first; for should he goe the first way to work, he knowes, he should be sure to have, not whats Best and Soundest, but the Easiest, and most Gainfull; if the later, it is an hundred to one that he shall draw a blank, and be made an Atheist for his labour. Here he dares not by any means follow or embrace what's most in Fashion, for that ('tis clear) is Hipo∣cricy the cunning Sister of Atheisme, or Atheisme shamed or frighted into conformity; but he professes that which is most Ancient, for that (he may be sure) will at last be found most true.

His Religion is not such a Young, Light and Wanton Girle, as pleases the vain Phan∣cy of every giddy Interested professor; but such a Grave Matron whose naturall Beauty, and Constancy, the Gray-hairs of Prudence and Sobriety, have ever judged to be truly Venerable, and most deserving of the Chri∣stian's embraces. This is that worthy Lady,

which he dayly Courts, to make her the Mi∣stresse and Protectresse of his Soul, and she it is alone that can give him a breeding fit for Heaven.

He showes how freely he can goe on in the, wayes of Godlinesse without a Spurre; and how base a thing it is and unbecoming his Quality to be driven into Heaven by force. By his hast and cheerfulnesse in his race, he evidences his sense of the Worth of what he aimes at; And by his egernesse in the pursuit of another world, endeavours to confute the folly of those, who would lin∣ger out an eternity (were it possible) a∣mongst the Onyons and Fleshpots of this Ae∣gypt. As he was borne a man, so he had his Inheritance upon Earth; but as he is New-borne a Christian, he leaves this trash to the Prodigall younger Brother, expecting a Possession durable in the Heavens.

He feares as little the names of Precise and zealous, wherewith the Divell in the Mouths of his Disciples, thinks to fright him out of all Holinesse; as they understand them, who thus too frequently abuse them. That Boysterous breath which the prophane world sends forth to deride and Crosse him in his

intended voyage, he, like a skilfull Pilote so orders by the right Composing of his Sayles, that he makes that his greatest advantage and furtherance, which was intended for his ruine. He can go to Heaven with any wind and with any Name, where he is so sure to meet with a title of Honour, a name written in the book of life, even the Honour of all his Saints. He cannot Phancy that to be any debasement of his spirit, which car∣ries him out upon so High and Noble at∣chievements; but thinks it an Happinesse to goe into Canaan, though it be through a Red sea, and a rude Wildernesse; whilest o∣thers (alas) feed so greedily upon the Quailes, that they never say grace, but in a murmuring, that they have not more and better cheer; He feeds more upon his hopes, then his enjoyments, and blesses his God for both.

And now this Religion, which he has thus wisely espoused, and entirely loves, he dares not prostitute to Interest or Humour: But as any man accounts the enjoyment of one thing which he principally loves, enough to recompence him for all that he has been constrain'd to part with in his pursuit after

it: so the Religious Gentleman can freely part with both Humour and Interest, with all he enjoyes, and all he hopes for here, for his Religion's sake, being sure to find them all again hereafter, in the fruition of Her, whom he so sincerely loves. Like a Prudent lover, he removes all occasions of Iealousy from his beloved; His Religion shall never have cause to fear, that either his Pleasure or his Honour, or his Profit, shall gaine so much upon his affections, as to become her Rivall.

§. 17. The Conclusion of this Cha∣racter.

Thus (Sir) Whilest I goe about to give you the Character of a true Gentleman, I am falne into that of a Christian; and in∣deed no wonder, for there is such a necessa∣ry Connexion betwixt these two, that they seeme to be no more then the Different Names of the same man. If you desire to have his picture in a lesse Compasse here it is.

The true Gentleman, is one that is God's servant, the World's Master, and his own Man.

His Vertue is his Businesse, his Study his recre∣ation, Contentednesse his rest, and Happinesse his reward. God is his Father, the Church is his Mother, the Saints his Brethren, all that need him his Friends, and Heaven his In∣heritance. Religion is his Mistresse, Loyalty and Iustice her Ladies of Honour; Devotion is his Chaplain, Chastity his Chamberlain, So∣briety his Buttler, Temperance his Cook, Hos∣pitallity his Houskeeper, Providence his Stew∣ard, Charity his Treasurer: Piety is Mi∣stresse of the House, and Discretion the Por∣ter, to let in and out as is most fit. Thus is his whole Family made up of Vertues, and he the true Master of his Family. He is necessitated to take the world in his way to Heaven, but he walkes through it as fast as he can; and all his businesse by the way, is to make himselfe and others happy. Take him all in two words, he is a Man and a Christian.

And here (Sir) 'tis time that I beg both the Gentleman's pardon and Your's, for thus abusing his name; and presuming to give you his Character, whose excellencies are not to be Comprehended, much lesse ex∣pressed, by any one lesse then himselfe. I

have an Apology at hand, for giving you this rude and Imperfect draught of his Picture: that I give it you at all, it is my obedience to your Command; that you receive it so Mishapen and ill proportion'd, besides the little experience and lesse skill of the Painter, he has this to say for himselfe; he could hardly tell where, being absent from such as you Sir, to find a true Gentleman to draw it by: But either he was Constrained to take it from the Dead, and then no wonder if his work fall short both of Complexion and life; or by that faint Idea he had in his own mind, and therefore he hopes he is excusable though he sometimes mistake in the Feature. If you meet in any place with too deep a shadow, where there should be more light, he desires, that beside the weaknesse of his eye, you would consider the Darknesse of the Time, and the uncertain light he saw by. For we live so much in the Evening of the world, when the thick and foggy mists of Ignorance darken the ayre; and that fading light we have is so variously refracted by our Glittering Vices; and so often reflected by the Disfigured glasses of Phancy and Hu∣mour; that there is nothing troubles him so

much, as that he is unhappily furnished with so many excuses to plead for his Errour. But if any will not be satisfied with this, he yet layes claime to a further Priviledg of a Painter, that is, to be a little more talkative, and to say something more in vindication of what he has done; and thereby demon∣strate, that the excellent Originall he would have Coppy'd, is either not at all, or very rarely to be met with, at this day, in Eng∣land.