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

SECT. IV. (Book 4)

§. 1. How few of the true Gentlemen are now to be found in England.

I Need not tell you (Sir) who have paid so dear for the sad changes; that it is our hard hap to live in a reforming Age, wherein most things grow every day new, but very few things better. And I do hear∣tily wish it were as seriously Consider'd by themselves, as it it well known to most, rejoy∣ced at by some, and sadly lamented by others, what a decrease and waning there has been in the Gentry of England within a few of the last yeares; and that not only in the num∣ber of their Persons, and largenesse of their Estates; but even in the Excellencies of their Soules, and the greatnesse of their Vertues. As if it had been a small thing for them to live so long the Despised vassels of their Hy∣pocriticall Adversaries, the good Masters that have so long ruled us; except they

had been permitted, by the severest kind of Cruelty to take vengeance of their own vertues, and render themselves ten times more the wretched Captives, and despica∣ble slaves, of their own Tyrannicall Lusts, and Atheisticall Humours then before. In∣deed an Atheist and a Gentleman in the opi∣nion of many, have for a long time been ei∣ther Synonymous or at▪ least Convertible termes: I dare not, I confesse, have such hard thoughts of all, though I could heartily wish, they would rather take some pains by their lives and Conversations to prove this to be an absurd, then stretch their lungs to cry out upon it, and swear it to be a rash and uncharitable Censure.

Indeed, if on the oneside, in a feigned show of Religion to exclaim against Drunkennesse and Swearing, and other such like lowd and Open Prophanenesses, will suffice to Deno∣minate the Saint: Or if on the other side to Cry out upon Hipocricy and Injustice, Rebellion and Sacriledg, Lying and Perjury, may be thought sufficient to constitute a true Son of the Church of England: then have we all enough to say for our selves, and to prove that most of our Gentlemen

are indeed Christians. But, alas, it is too ma∣nifest, that on the one hand, all this Canting and superficiall sanctity; all these strained sighs and Greanes, and turn'd-up Eyes, are no better then Sathan's Sunday's Garbe, or the painted Maskes and vizards, which A∣varice, Ambition and Interest love to be seen in abroad. These are the Enriching Crafts, whereby our Demetriuses get their wealth. Many who have passed for Saints along time (experience has shown it us) have been just such as he, who had rather make Silver shrines for Diana, so they may be sure to be well paid for their work, then build Temples for the Worship of a Crucified Iesus in hopes of an Heaven, and meet with his Crosse for their pains. And on the other hand all those raveings which we dayly hear against Oppres∣sion, Hipocricy and Tyranny, I am afraid, they are not so often the seasonable overflow∣ings of a Devout Spirit, a sincere soul, and a Loyall heart; as the wild outrages of a boy∣ling Passion, of a Confined, vice, and a restrai∣ned lust, which makes the sufferer like a Mad man to gnaw upon his chains and fetters: or else they are the violent motions of a re∣vengfull Soul, which frets it selfe at the pro∣sperity

of the wicked, and had rather see it's enemies miserable, then it selfe sober and good. This is in truth that which many have thought enough to give either party the title of religious: but how they make good their claim to this title in their Actions, it is but too visible.

Certainly if the Gentleman's life and or∣dinary Conversation may be thought (as it ought to be) the best index to point us out to his opinion; we shall have much a doe to meet in most of those that own that name, with a Good Opinion either of God or Religi∣on. Most of them (I am sure the younger sort) do grudg either of these the least place in their discourse, and therefore, it is to be fear'd as little in their thoughts. They would as soon, nay much sooner make choise of a Tinker or a Fidler, then of a Religious man for their Companion. Alas, such an one would spoyl all their Mirth, and make their very lives, by plunging them into a Malancholy Mood, meer torments to them. Any thing that's grave and serious they perfectly loath and utterly reject, as that which cannot at present suit with their more sprightly and flourishing yeares: Age

and scarcity of their Iuvenile blood, will hereafter (they think) make this a businesse of Course, and so they had rather have it then make it now a matter of choise: what need they be Religious now, who shall (as they think) whether they will or no, be so before they die?

If we should but a while take notice how many Riots, the Gentlemen of our times day∣ly commit, all those wanton Frolicks and Revellings they are not onely guilty of, but Glory in; especially when they are at the Ta∣verne or some other Good house of expence and Merriment, we should be readier to lose our selves in Admiration of their Madnesse, then to find out any thing of reall Honour and Nobility in them. To behold them there Contending for the Victory over a pot, and ta∣king the measure of their Gallantry by the strength of their Brains, or Capacity of their Bellies: to hear them there drawing up with so much complacency an Inventory and Catalogue of all their sinfull extrava∣gances, and in a double proportion inter∣mixing their prophanenesses with their wine: whilest they drink wine with a song and prove themselves mighty to drink strong drink: To

hear them roaring themselves out of breath, never taking leave of their wine, but of their senses too: nor forbearing their Oaths 'till they be able to speak no more; would you believe these men could ever be so sober, as to mention the names of Christian or Gen∣tleman?

And yet 'tis most certain as well as sad, that you can never be more sure to meet with our Gentry in any place, then at these Academies of sin, and Nurseries of unclean∣nesse, there exercising their abilities, and making themselves expert in all those arts whereby they may most gratifie Sathan, and as it were, in so many open Bravadoes, challenge the Almighly into the field, and dare him to doe the worst he can.

But (alas) we need not seek so great an advantage over them, as to take them there, where they have so often lost themselves, and it heartily grieves me, as certainly it must do every Charitable Christian, to see them so desperately madded with the fear of being accounted Holy; and so ravenously greedy of eternall destruction, as thus to swal∣low it down by whole Bowles, and make their Companions Merry at the working out of

their own Damnation. Doubtlesse Sathan hath but two much Power over these men when they are most Sober, they need not give him the advantage of finding them so often drunk. Except in a Gallantry they desire to show the world how boldly they dare desie Heaven, and how much they Scorne to owe their ruine to any but them∣selves.

At such good places as these, is it, that our Gentlemen make all their Bargains, entertain all their friends, treat all their Ladies: here they Consult about the weightiest affaires of the Commonwealth; Seal and Confirme all their agreements in the very hight of their Intemperance; as if they were afraid they should know or remember hereafter what then they did; or as if they were Confident then to be in a Capacity of do∣ing all things best, when they were lest of all themselves: There can be no meeting, at least, no parting without a Cup; as if there could be no surer pledg of friendship, or tie of a Civill Correspondence and Familiarity, then by being thus Drunk together, or at left, next dore to it.

And now all this Madnesse, must be

thought no worse then the Demonstration of that Civillity and Courtesy which they owe one another; a necessary kindnesse or an handsome treatment: And who so refuses either to goe along with them, or to doe as they do when he is there, he is no better then an uncivill fellow, and no Companion for Gentlemen: what a disgrace is it held for a man to leave a drop in the bottome of his Cup? What an affront is it to the Com∣pany, not to pledge every man his wholeone? And not to admit every Health, it is no lesse then the greatest disrespect and Injury can be offer'd to the person in remembrance; whosoever refuseth it, especially if it be a Lady or a Minion is remembred, shall be sure to hear of it with an Oath now, and perhaps a Challenge anon.

More Ceremony is used, and more Reve∣rence by halfe, to set off their drunken Revels, then to grace the Worship and service of their God: All must be bare, and all upon their knees, and a Catch instead of an Hymne: this is their morning and their Evening De∣votion; but whether this be the true ser∣vice of their God, or the businesse of Gentle∣men, I dare appeal to those Consciences of

their's, which they now endeavour so to si∣lence and Drown both by their Drinking and their Roaring.

Nay, it seems very evident, that even these Gentlemen themselves make this Sottish passe∣time the most infallible marke of true Gal∣lantry: and account him a person of worth, and without all exceptions fit for their Company, whosoever can but take off his Cups handsomely, and is versed in all the Methods and Maximes of this Hellish Art. Indeed they have made it a kind of Science, and have given it so many rules and lawes of late, that he that will now be expert in it, had need to serve out an Apprenticeship to learne all the Circumstances and termes, though he be never so perfect in the Sub∣stance before. Any person how Contemp∣tible soever shall not be thought unworthy of their Company, if he be but the Master of this Art. Even he whom they would almost scorne to own for a man when Sober and in his right wits, when he is Drunk or Mad, though but a Tinker or a Cobler, he is a Companion for Gentlemen. I do not grudg the poor fellowes the Honour of such Society, nor indeed can I think it any: But

I am more the Gentleman's friend, and more tender of his reputation then he himselfe: ••I do therefore make it my prayer, as it is doubtlesse much the griefe and trouble of all good men to see them otherwise at present, that they may at last become more charita∣ble to themselves, then thus to debauch and unman their own soules, and fall as much below the Nature of men, as the Quality of Gentlemen.

§. 2. An Enquiry into the more Civill sort of our English Gentlemen.

But let us look upon our Gentlemen in a more sober Posture; though, I am afraid they will take it as an Injury done them, to consider them thus abstractedly from the highest degree of Debauchery: take away their Pot and their Pipe, and you rob the most of them, of the most delightsome method they know, of spending their time, which is such a trouble to them. This is it, which is their burthen, and their disease, that as the Stag with the Arrow in his side, they run, and shift, and throw themselves about from place to place, and are alwaies mad to be

rid on't; 'till the sad moment appear where∣in they are call'd out of the world, and then their time and life, both equally desired, va∣nish together. This wasting of their time, they esteem a thing so innocent in it selfe, that they seem to apprehend a Goodnesse in it, great enough to make them a pretence for all their other vices, and sinfull employ∣ments, shrouding them all under the ge∣nerally approved names of Necessary Passe∣times and diversions. Cards, or Dice, Bow∣ling or Hunting, or Fidling, or any thing that has but a Motion in it to delude the tediousnesse of their Houres; shall be wel∣come to them, and thought to be things not onely Harmelesse and Honest, but as in∣vented to this good end of passing away the time, things desireable by most, and very Commendable in a Gentleman. In these they merrily spend, both their Nights and their Daies, their livelihoods and the greatest part of their lives; whilest the poor neglected Soul all this while, cannot be allowed so much as halfe an hour's time in the Morning, by her Devotions, and viewing her face in the Glasse of God's word, to dresse her selfe for Heaven.

Into how many Gentlemen's Families shall you come, where they do not ordinari∣ly by sleeping out all the Morning, make it night till noone? They rise from their Beds just so Early as their Dinners may prevent their Devotions: When they are thus removed from Bed to Board, they feed there their Lusts better then their Bo∣dies, and yet their Bodies more then their Soules. The table is the Altar where they Sacrifice their Healths to their Appetites; and Temperance to Luxury. They chuse their meat, by it's Cost and rarity, not use and wholsomnesse; and it is too true a Pro∣verb, that what's farre fetch'd and dear bought, is meat for Gentlemen. After they have thus satiated for a while their lusts, and gratified the Delicacy of their Pallates, they must sit out an houre's Impertinent and Idle tattle to digest their excesse: when they have done this, they are ready for another Nap, and that prepares them for another meal, except the Taverne or their Game pre∣vent it.

If they chance to hear of some Pamphlet, Libell or Pasquill, wherein some honest name is a sufferer, or where Chastity is put to

doe penance in an obscene sheet; any piece of Drollery, or wanton Ballad upon a Mistresse, a New Romance or a Play, presently the Newes of it is dispatch'd from one to ano∣ther, these shall be read and ponder'd over and over, and be their Discourse and Passe∣time at every meeting▪ For mine own part it hath very rarely been my Fortune to meet with a Club of Gentlemen, but as of∣ten as I have, I have been frighted out of it again, or have had good Cause to repent me afterwards; that I was not so, by that wild kind of behaviour, and loosenesse of talk I heard or saw amongst them. The best of their talk at any meeting, is but to aske and impart the Newes then stirring, or to give their judgments of the Ladies and the Fashi∣ons of the times; to find fault with their own Taylors, or to commend another's; to Droll out the time, or vie Wits by abusing each other, but every man most of all him∣selfe. If any man in the Company can (and there be not many that can do so much) by some slight probleme, make a shift to pose his fellowes; he thinks he has done wonders, and has sufficiently vindi∣cated his credit from the imputation of Ig∣norance

or Idlenesse for ever.

Alas (Sir) what is it that even the Prime of our Gentlemen pride themselves in? even they whom we are prone to esteem highly; and stile Civill and Ingeniaus persons•• what but a little vain and Glittering Apparell? and hee's the Compleatest Gentlem••n for the most part, who wears the best suit, and shines most in a tinsell bravery. Who is thought the man of the highest inward ac∣complishments, but he that can talk volubly of the Customes▪ and vices of the Court, or that which is most like it now there is none? He that can tell you how much he is cour∣ted by the Ladies, and how much he is in favour with our Great Folks. He that can expresse himsele modishly in a Complement, that can speak much, and dance well; and hand his Lady with the greatest grace along the streets; these are the brave Gentlemen that are every where cry'd up as they go for Gallant and well accomplish'd persons. Or if you would goe higher yet, then he must be the man, that has laden his Memory with a few broaken Ends and Chippings of Hi∣story; or can tell you strange stories of the fashions and Customes of other Nations,

and tell you where he has been, and what rarities he has seen; and at once perhaps both discommend and practice their vices. Or if he be yet a more through Schollar, and generally acquainted both with books and men, so farre as to applaud and Censure and talk Skeptically: If he be an exquisite Mathematician, or Musician, or the like; We think we have reason enough to sup∣pose him company for the best; and cer∣tainly he were so, would he but labour to be one of them, when he is amongst them. But, alas, what's become of his God and his Religion all•• this while? If you can find a little of either in his Discourse, 'tis much, though there be just nothing of them in his life: All those other accomplishments were truly commendable, were they thus accom∣panied, but not being so (alas) they are stark naught.

Let us passe on to those who are thought by many the most Sober and serious persons of all others, and even amongst these (I fear) we shall find too many, on whom we can onely bestow this poor Commendation, that they are more Grav••ly wicked, more Cautiously sinfull, and more Soberly Atheisti∣call.

Such are the men, who (as I have told you before) flatter themselves up in a kind of Negative Iustice; and thereby with those whose persons and estates, they have not actively violated or diminished, are esteem'd persons of much worth and Ho∣nour; and yet these are no better then the tamer sort of Sathans servants, whom by a long usage he has made somewhat lesse wanton, and brought up to his hand; and has taught them to Cozen and Dissemble almost as well as himselfe. I need not tell any affectionate Son of the Distressed Church of England, how good friends and servants, these Good, Honest, Civill, Sober and prudent men have all along been to his poor Mo∣ther: How many of them have quietly stood by, and look'd on, if with no delight, yet (I am sure) with a great deal of unwor∣thy patience, and base C••nnivance, whilest she has been mercilesly torne in pieces, by the cruel teeth of those raveneus beasts, which pretend••d to watch and defend her: and yet not so much as an Arrow shot out of any other Quiver then their mouths in a Chimney-Corner, against any of them. Whilest the Younger Gentlemen want true

Prudence, and the old have too much of that they miscall so, they all prove very bad Souldiers, for such as pretend to fight under Christ's Banner, and on the behalfe of his Church; which truly now if ever may be call'd truly Militant, and that too for want of Good Souldiers. If our English Gentle∣men be made to stay for, and expect their Honours till they shall be knighted in the field for that Good service which they have done the Church of which they would be thought Members; It will I fear be a sad and unwelcome sword must Dub them.

It is too plainly apparent, that very few of them have so much reall Honour, as may make them sensible how they lose it. For if they had, could you Imagine it Possible, that so many Horrid Murthers and rapines, so many incredible Treasons and Blasphemies, such as their Posterity will not find faith e∣nough to believe, should be thus openly acted and frequently vented even in their faces; and not a man so much as move his hand to revenge what's past, or prevent what's to come? Nay how often have the greatest part of them, by a base Compliance with those men who have allwaies struck at the

very root of that Religion, which they so so∣lemnly (some of them more then once) swore to defend, given themselves not onely the lie, but t••e perjury? Alas, their Ho∣••ours are so jaded by drawing after them the Dung-Carts of their estates, that they now brook any rider whatsoever. Had but one ••enth part of all those vast summes of Money, and those many excellent parts, which these s••pposed Good-husbands, have prodigally la∣vih'd out in the Taverne or at their Game, be••n put to that good use it might have been, The Church might have received her own with usury; England might yet have had the face of England, and they deserved the Name of Gentlemen.

§. 3. An Appeal to the Gentleman's own Conscience.

For Confirmation of all this that hath been said, I shall dare to make my appeal to the Gentleman's Conscience, though I dare not think it to be one of the Best, or most impartiall in this case. I heartily wish he could in earnest and in truth tell me, that whosoever saith England has now but few

true Gentlemen, is guilty of a Scandall. I confesse I could almost willingly be guilty of the Sin, upon condition his Innocence would once prove me a liar.

If he can think it possible to be a tru•• Gentleman without any sense of true honour or Religion; or if he dares call him Religious and think him desirous of Heaven, wh•• (though his whole life be little enough 〈◊〉〈◊〉 prepare for it, yet) grudges to spend o••e Minute of his time to gain it: If he ha••e the Charity to account him pious, w••o suffers his Soul to Starve for want of Spri∣tuall food, and yet can feast and pamper up his lusts every houre: if he can have a true sense of Honour, who can Phancy himselfe Happy in Sathan's service, and is oftener up∣on his knees to him then to his God; who makes his Soul the very drudg of his Body, and his carnall appetite the Mistresse of h••s life; and every one of his members the sl••••e of some lust or other: If that man can ra∣tionally be thought, to set a just estimate upon an Honest Reputation, who had ra∣ther lie dabling in the Dirt, and Wallowing in the Mirc of Sin, then walk in the pleasa••t paths of Holinesse; the high-way to Heaven:

If it be a mark of Religion, to drein out a vast estate, by a vain ambition placed in Fine Cl••aths, delicious meats, rich wines, wasting Games, and other such like expensive sins, as are now the mode; and all this while, not one mite cast into God's exhausted trea∣sury, not a Rag designed to cover the poor man's nakedn••sse: If to behold God's own peculiar servants and Ambassadors lie star∣ving in the streets for want of some few morsells or Crumbs of that bread which they grudg not by whole loaves to throw to their Dogs: If to see God's House all on fire, occasion'd by the outrages of their own fla∣ming passions; and God's children frying in the midst of the flame, and yet not so much as move a foot to fetch a little water to quench the one or stretch out an arme to save the other: if any man can judg these things to be the tokens of Religion or Ho∣nour: If to sit still all the day Idle, and laugh at those who are working in the Vine∣yard; if to come into a Church with a long train of gaudy attendants, and to shine a while there in a little garish pomp; if to sit in the highest pue, and to make this the chiefe part of their Devotion (without so

much as the Pharisee's Lord I thank thee) that they are better then other men; if to justle a poor neighbour out of their presence, with a stand off, for I am more Honourable then thou; if to scoffe at all those who make any show of Piety, or to deride all those who think it necessary to have more then a show, be the infallible characters whereby we may know a Gentleman, then indeed I must of necessity confesse we have yet more then enow such Gentlemen in this poor England.

I had rather mourn in secret, and in sad∣nesse of Spirit, si••h out the rest unto my God, then proceed at present any further in so unpleasant a the••e. O that the spilt blood of Christ's poor languishing spouse, cry not too loud in Heaven at the last day, not onely against those bloody souls, who have most barbarously thrust their spears into her side, and with inhumane hands torne out her very Bowels; but even against all those too who could have a Calme upon their Spi∣rits, whilest the tempest continued in the Church, and could hold it prudence to sit still, and not come forth to the help of God's spouse and his anointed one against the Migh∣ty; and therefore onely because they ap∣peared

Mighty. My prayers are, that an Early, and an Active repentance, may sea∣sonably prevent their threatned ruine; and a timely understanding of their own names, may make them before it be too late, truly sensible of their duties, and in earnest endea∣vour to regain that Honour, which they have been too remisse hitherto in preserving spotlesse. This is my great Charity to the Gentleman's soule; and the highest respect I can conceive any man owes to his person, is to wish that part of him best, which he seems to reguard least. I would to God he could once, though late have so great a Cha∣rity and respect for himselfe, that so he might not one day be found, with weeping, and wailing, and Gnashing of teeth, crying out upon himselfe with no lesse reason, then de∣spair and Horrour, even as that once-glorious Church, to the untimely ruine whereof his sins have in so large a measure Contributed, cries out upon him now with sorrow and amazement. Had he not shown himselfe all along so stupidly senselesse of, and Brui∣tishly unconcern'd, in the afflictions of Ioseph; I might have had the Charity, to think him capable of Councell and advice, and to wish

him one better able then my selfe to serve him herein. However give me leave to mention one or two of those Considerations, before I conclude this letter, which (doubt∣lesse) if he have not quite forgot himselfe, must needs sink deep into his thoughts, and provoke him, if any thing can do it now he is at such a distance, to returne to him∣selfe.

§. 4. Motives to the Gentleman to be indeed Religious, and first of Common Civility.

To perswade the Gentleman to be good, a man would think were no hard taske, seeing he takes it so ill out, that any man should suspect him to be otherwise: and yet not∣withstanding, it may well be thought a very difficult and bold undertaking, when it shall be consider'd how much he is in love with his present selfe; for as selfe-love is blind whensoever it should look upon it's own faults; so is it altogether as deaf when it should hearken to instruction. Yet because the Difficulty lies not so much in making him understand what he should be, as in ma∣king

him see how much he is at present what he ought not to be; for that he ought to be good and Religious I know he will readily grant, but that he is not so allready we shall have much adoe to persuade him to believe: Seeing one halfe of our work is already done to our hand in his own Conscience, we may have the greater encouragement to pro∣ceed in the other yet behind: I am Confi∣dent, that by reading what goes before, he cannot chuse but behold himselfe in his own shape, at least in one so like it, that the very sight must of necessity bege•• in him an hatred of the old object and a love to the New: and therefore at present I shall con∣fidently suppose, that I have no more to doe but this, to let him see in some measure how rationall a thing it is for him to be, what he himselfe so well knowes, he should bee.

I intend not here to trouble you or him with any large Encomium of Vertue or Reli∣gion, which would swell up this Discourse much above the just proportion of a Letter, neither is it my purpose to call in all those Auxiliaries I might from severall Common-places be supplied withall, to compleat my

conquest over the Gentleman's Affections; I shall only mention one or two of those mo∣tives which I hope may be, I am sure in ano∣ther would infallnbly be prevalent and Effe∣ctuall.

The first and slightest which I shall here most humbly offer to his serious Considera∣tion, is an argument which he too often makes use of to a worse purpose, and there∣by suffers his sensuall to gain the victory over his Spirituall selfe. And this is taken from that Topick of Common Civility, which naturally obliges him to make suitable re∣turnes to those many reall kindnesses and re∣spects which the best of his friends have ever had for him. I shall beseech him to re∣member, how whensoever he is by the swing of his own dominering lusts, no lesse then by the attractive vices of his acquaintance drawn to a Taverne, or carried on to any other excesse or riot, it is to this one pretence be confidently betakes himselfe for Sanctua∣ry; that he was meerly drawn in by the Civility of others, and that he was not able to resist the Importunity of his friends; that Common Courtesy did strongly oblige him, not to show himselfe reguardlesse of his ac∣quaintance,

by forsaking their Company who had expressed themselves so desirous, and had taken so much pains to enjoy his. I wish he would but call to mind what weight this argument hath when pressed upon him by his lewdest companions, and assisted by his own forward Inclinations to that which is evill; and how infinitely more force then it ought to have, when made use of by such as really desire his happinesse, and applied to that which in it selfe is so deservedly Com∣mendable?

Would the Gentleman but open his ears, how many reall friends might he hear, and those such whose Courteous Invitations he cannot either with Civility or Gratitude refuse, every where with no small importu∣nity wooing him into Heaven, and to walk along with them in those paths which will lead him thereunto. I might here tell him how heartily God himselfe calls and Invites him, and daily sends abroad his Messengers early and late to beg and intreat him to ac∣cept of his Invitation; how he has prepared his Oxen and his Fatlings, and made ready his Supper, how he bids him to a Feast of Fat things, and to drink wine and milk without

Money and without price: How he stands with his armes of mercy spread wide open, to receive, embrace, and kisse his returning Prodigalls, with a new Robe and a Ring, nay with a Crown and a Kingdome to welcome them. Can it now be judged Civility to refuse and slight the Invitation of so Bounti∣full and Indulgent a father? I might tell him how the Angels in Heaven even long for his Company, and will be overjoy'd to see him, and to hear him exercising that voice so long abused in warbling out his lascivious. Love-songs, or roaring it in his wild Catches, by bearing a part in their Holy Quire, in per∣petuall Halelujahs to the King of Heaven: And can he think it Civility to make void the Hopes, and prevent the joyes of such Hea∣venly Company. I might further mind him how the poor Church of England his mother, longs to receive him again with joy into her Bosome, and to kisse him with the kisses of her Love, and to uncover to him her breasts of Consolation; whence he needs not draw the Wind of False Doctrine, nor fear to tast the blood of Tyrany and Oppression, but may suck in that sincere milk which is his souls only true nourishment: She whose tender care

and wholsome instructions, like an unwise child he hath so long despised, longs yet once again to rejoyce in his Love, and would be proud of so Glorious a Son, which might not onely cherish and defend, but grace aud Credit his mother: And can he call it lesse then an Incivility, to envy Her this Honour, which wisheth him that happinesse? can he chuse rather to augment her Sorrowes, and provoke her teares, and bite her breasts, and suck out her blood, then cherish her and be nourish'd by her? All the Good men in the World, all the most Honourable of God's servants, his speciall Ambassadours, doe with all the power of their Rhetorick, and move∣ingnesse of Passion, cry aloud, calling upon him, and beseeching him to come home, and live happily in his Father's house; these who have had the high charity for him, to take the care and charge of him, and night and day to watch for his soule, and must be ac∣countable for it at the Great and Dreadfull Audite: Upon Him they look with a more vigilant and tender eye, as upon the very Best and fairest of the flock, whose straying would be not onely the losse of one, and him the fattest and chiefe of all the rest, but such

an one, as by his influence upon the others, may probably occasion the loosing of many more: These perswade and intreat him, and that for Christ's sake, for his who loved him so well, that he did not grudg to purchase him with the best treasure in Heaven, his own most precious blood: And now, how can the Gentleman who pretends so highly to all manner of Civility, think it lesse then an unworthinesse in him, to set so light by all this Care, and this kindnesse? He that would be thought all Courtesy, all Civility, O let him not now onely be unkind and dis∣courteous, to his God, and God's Church, God's Angels, and God's Ministers, unto God's Son and his Saviour. He that expressed so re∣markable a kindnesse to a false friend, who is most certainly the greatest and most Dan∣gerous of all enemies, to him who was only set by the Devill in a friend's habit to Decoy him out of the way, and watch his opportuni∣ty to murther his soul; let him not now for shame be so unnaturall to himselfe, and un∣kind to them, as to slight those reall and sin∣cere friends, who make it the greatest part of their study to save him from eternall tor∣ments: He that would not be bought out

of his Civility, though but to a sin, and sin∣ner, by the high price of an Heaven and eter∣nity; shall he now any longer be bribed to offer so many affronts to his God, with an Hell, and it's Endlesse torments? Certainly, if any Importunity could ever prevail, as alas too often it hath, even to the melting of his Soul into Sin and Vanity; what must it now doe? never so great, never back'd with so many obligations to Civillity as here; for where ever did there appear so much and so earnest wooing, and Intreating, and begging, and watching, and dying?

Again, In civility to the Nation wherein he lives, and which he should labour both to Serve and Credit; he is her Hopes, and he should be her Honour: She calls him her choise Treasure, her strongest Pillar, her potent Protector; and shall he not think it base to evacuate her hopes, and detect her too chari∣table Errour, by neglecting to deserve and maintain his name? Shall it be to his Ho∣nour when he shall hear it said by others, that the Pretious stones and Iewels of Eng∣land are all but vile and unprofitable pebbles; that all her purest Gold is full of Drosse; her best Pillars quite rotten; and her Guardians

her principall underminers and destroyers? that with the least wind that blowes, her pil∣lars shake, and the building tumbles?

The Gentleman is that great and faire White, at which all men aime and direct the Best of their Respects; and on whom they think the greatest of their Honours not mis∣placed: And is this his Civility to all his Lovers and Admirers; to leave them em∣bracing a shadow for a substance, and to pay home their affection and respects to him, with Neglect, and Disgrace, and too often with mi∣sery and Ruine to themselves? Is this his care, to provide that no man shall ever be deceived in him, but he that thinks well of him? If this be the Gentleman's Civility, then what, I pray Sir, is his Vnkindnesse?

§. 5. A second Motive grounded upon Shame and Disgrace.

The next thing which I shall propose to his Consideration, is that which usually has too powerfull an operation upon him; I mean Shame and Disgrace. The pretence of securing his Name and Reputation from these blurres, being another of those Fig∣leaves,

wherewith he would fain hide his most foul and deformed Vices: He had ra∣ther throw himselfe headlong into the gros∣sest sin Imaginable, then by chuseing what is best, but out of fashi••n with the Multitude, expose himselfe to the laughter of fools and Sinners. O what torment, what afflicti∣on is it to him, to be feer'd and Mock'd, and Hooted at by a Company of Mad-men, for behaving himselfe with more sobriety and wisdome then they?

Here I shall most earnestly beseech the Gentleman to Consider, how miserably he befools himselfe, and how inconsiderately he runs himselfe upon those rocks he endea∣vours so carefully to avoid; whilest nothing can lay him more open to shame, then that which was the first parent of it, his sinne: which makes him a meer Laughing-stock to all but those that pitty him. Let him re∣member how he daily provokes that God, who is the onely Fountaine of all true Ho∣nour here, as well as Happinesse hereafter, to Laugh at him and have him in Derisi••n Will it be no shame for him to be found, at last, one of those wretched and Contemptible Crea∣tures, which shall have the door shut upon

them, and be forced to stand knocking at the Gates of Heaven, with sighs and tears, and like so many miserable starving beggars in bitternesse of spirit, craving admission, and yet for all their selfe-conceited Greatnesse, be vouchsafed no more respectfull an an∣swer, then a—Depart ye cursed, and—Be gone I know you not. What shame and Dis∣grace can the Gentleman fear to suffer like this, when he who pranced it up and down with no lesse security then Pride and vanity, and laugh'd to see others take so much pains to goe to Heaven, shall even then, when he thinks himselfe so sure of all, meet with a Scornfull repulse?

But if the Gentleman will venture this Disgrace, because he phancies it to be yet at so great a distance; yet I must tell him he is much mistaken to think he shall speed much better here below. Is it no shame, to be justly accounted by all, who understand themselves, a poor, silly, ignorant fool, such an one as can please himselfe with a toy, a rattle; and can think himselfe the onely wise man in the world, when alas all they who are wise indeed, look upon him and Pitty him, as the most silly, despicable wretch under Hea∣ven?

It is thus men commonly make tri∣all of the Fool's Genius, they propose at once to his choise, a piece of painted Glasse and a Diamond, a Feather and a suit of Cloaths; that so by preferring the gayer••toy, before the pretious or the serviceable substance, he may betray his Ignorance and Simplicity. Alas, Sir, what can we judg the Debauched Gentle∣man to be better or Wiser, then such a silly Deluded Idiot, or (as we call him) a meer Naturall, that sports himselfe with his own shadow and places his Happinesse in Dancing about in his party-colour'd Coat, his Cap and his Feather? Did the Gentleman but know his friends, or durst he be so much his own, as to entertain fewer Flatterers, who Cover his eyes and stop his Eares, so that he neither sees nor hears of himselfe, what otherwise he might; how soon would he grow ashamed of his own face! Did he but know how even all they, whose tongues are bridlea either by his power or Prodigality in his presence, talke of him when they are out of it, at their severall meetings, doubtlesse this would bring him out of love with his own Gayety, and Prettinesse. The Stoick talkes of him with Contempt and Derision; the Charitable

Christian with as much Pitty and Compassi∣on; and what a shame is it for the Gentle∣man who alwaies thinks himselfe both the Best and Happiest man in the world, ei∣ther to deserve the one, or need the o∣ther?

If he yet reguard nothing of all this, but Contents himselfe with this Phancy that he can do as much for them, and that he can think others as very fools as they think him; and pitty them as much: Alas, how is he to be pitty'd for these thoughts! whi∣lest like a man in an high Fever, he makes a Felicity of his Distemper, and in the Light∣nesse of his head, Phancies he is amongst An∣gels, and in as Glorious a Condition as they. Let him consider how great a shame even this is, to say, he can laugh at, or he can pitty he knowes not what: Others know (alas too well) what in him they pitty▪ They have, most of them, some time or other, tasted of his sweets to their sorrow, but found them at last bitter to their present joy and Comfort; Let him then first tast of their's, and then let him chuse, whom he will make the Ob∣ject of his Pitty. I am Confident he would in the first place be thus Charitable to him∣selfe.

But this is not all the reason the Gentle∣man hath to be ashamed of his present course of life. Is it not a disgrace for a man there∣in to be cheated wherein he hath ever thought himselfe to be the wisest of all men; and to have such tricks put upon him, by what he most Confides in, as will cast a damp upon all his Iollity at once? There's no man but will confesse it an high degree of indiscretion in himselfe without a very strong temptation indeed, to place his great Confidence, and best Affections upon a meer cheat: and yet that Gentile Sinner we speak of (if ever any) is highly guilty of this Folly. He may as∣sure himselfe, if he repent not in due time, Sathan will put the same cheat upon him, whereby he so sadly beguiled his wise Bro∣ther in the Gospel; whom in that very night, when he Lullaby'd his soul into a ground∣lesse security, by presenting to her eye the abundance of his riches; he suddenly snat∣ches away into the place of Torments, and makes this addition to the rest of his Sorrowes, that he derides his former security, and laughs at his present misery. But this is too Com∣mon and Copious a Theme to dwell any lon∣ger upon; I durst not altogether omit to

mention it, because I have not yet met with any thing more frequently prevalent with the Gentleman, to perswade him to sin, then this fear of shame and Disgrace; and if it have been so powerfull to hurry him on to his ruine, I hope, rightly apprehended, it may have some efficacy in drawing him to his Felicity.

§. 6. A third Motive drawn from Aequity.

I shall but propose two Considerations more, and these are such, as much concern the Gentleman to entertain, viz: of Aequity and Honour.

And first, in all aequity and justice the Gen∣tleman ought to proportion his Gratitude, to the Bounty which enrich'd him; and to live a Gentleman is as little as can, with any reason, be thought a just requitall of his Goodnesse who made him more Honourable then others. For it was not he himselfe by whom he was made better then another man, neither hath he any thing which he hath not received. It cannot therefore be Gratitude in him like a Spongy substance, to suck in all

which is proffer'd it, but to return nothing again without a Squeezing: Or like a black and heavy clod of earth, to receive the most Courteous and enlivening rayes of Heaven, and yet requite the Bounty neither by a present cheerfull reflection, nor a future seasonable fructification: neither yet to lie like a rotten Dunghill, which repaies all the sweet Influence it participates of, in a stenchy fume, or a generation of Vermine. He should rather labour to resemble the true Christall, whose property it is either to transmit or reflect those rayes it receives, with great ad∣vantage of light to the darker objects about it; and of a more visible splendor and Glory to the light it selfe. A true Diamond will not cease to sparkle in the darkest night, and the true Gentleman too, will take care, that his light so shine before men, that they may be∣hold his works rather then his person (as the Sun gives us a clearer prospect of the other parts of the world, then of it's own Body) and teach them much more to Glorify his God in Heaven, then to pay him a Reverence upon Earth. The Gold was not made so excellent a Mettall, that it might lie hid and rust in the Bowels of the Earth, but by a recep∣tion

of the Prince's Image, administer to the Necessities of Commerce amongst the seve∣rall members of the world. It would be a poor thing to Imagine God should make the best of Creatures for the worst of uses; or the Noblest of Men to be Sathans Instru∣ments now, his Companions and his prey anon. The Gentleman I know will easily grant himselfe to be a Vessell created for Honour; but 'tis strange he should goe about to prove himselfe so, by continuing alwaies Empty, or refusing to hold any thing, but the worst of poysons: by standing (as some of those do which cost most pains in the making, most mony in procuring, most time in scouring) idle and uselesse, onely to adorne and grace the Cup-board, and shine there, 'till they become Dusty again. As all Flesh is Grasse, so is the Gentleman the Flower of the Grasse; but let it not appear in this, that the grasse is more usefull, though the flower more beutifull; neither let the leafe smell sweeter then the Rose. Though all Mankind be but Dust and Earth, yet certainly we may in reason think the Gentleman a part of the Richest soyle, and from which the Husband-man or Gardener may justly ex∣pect

both the fairest flowers and fullest Crop, as from that ground which in it selfe is fat∣test, and in the Cultivating and Manuring whereof, has been spent both the most money and the most sweat. Farre be it from the Gentleman to be call'd (as we do some∣times our most fertile fields) onely the Prou∣dest ground, such as swaggers it out with Poppy and Cockle, and flatters the eye with many fine Blew and Yellow Flowers, but such as are neither for use themselves, nor will suffer the good Corne to thrive and grow 'till it may be so. The Gentleman, I am sure, would be troubled to be thus re∣quited for his Care and pains by his field, and shall not God be justly angry for the like bad usage from the Gentleman? Cer∣tainly he cannot in equity expect the lar∣gest wage, who doth the least work, or think he can▪ merit the most Honourable reward, by standing all the day Idl••; nay for hin∣dering and Deterring others who were go∣ing to labour in the Vineyard. Shall the Steward be the greatest loyterer, and most Careless•• servant in the whole Family? And is it fit the Heire should be the meerest Pro∣digall? I am Confident the Gentleman

would think it an injury to be thought so▪ and is it not then as great an injustice to be so? I should not have breath enough to enumerate halfe those many Honours and Dignities, those severall Priviledges, and Advantages, Endowments and Possessions which the Gentleman is blest with above his poorer Brethren, and can we think all these, not encouragements to be better, but rewards and Bribes to and for being Idler then o∣thers?

The Gentleman is apt to boast himselfe much of his Noble Ancestors and Vertuous Progenitors, and is it not therefore equity, that all men should expect from that tree the best fruit, which hath the Noblest root? Men do not of Thistles expect grapes, nor of Brambles Figs; but even of the wild Olive tree when but grafted into the true Olive tree, God expects the Naturall fruit. That Noble person who Adopts a Clown his heir, will expect he should henceforward become a Gentleman, and how much more is this to be expected from him who is born the true Son and heir? The Gentleman will pull his Cock's head off, if he degenerate from his kind; and why should his God use him better?

The Gentleman, again, is apt to talk very much of his good Breeding, and Ingenuous Education; and certainly it is the greatest happinesse which can so early betide him, that usually he hath Parents which are as tender of his Honour as of his life, and very often more▪ carefull of his soul, then of their own: who howsoever they live themselves, yet will be sure to reprove the least vice in the Child, and it is a very ordinary forme of bles∣sing him, to pray he may be a better man then his Father. Now the Gentleman will expect this from his Horse or Spaniel, to be∣have himselfe hereafter, as he has been taught when he was young. Alas, how ma∣ny brave and Generous dispositions are flat∣ted and lost, how many Ingenious spirits are dull'd and besotted, how many keen wits are blunted and lose their Edg, by being put to Delve in the Earth, being altogether Cow'd and Enslaved, by the Tyranny of Poverty and an Adverse Fortune; whilst they could not be allowed that timely and Noble Nur∣ture and Cultivation, whereby they might have been weeded and improved to a very high degree of Excellency and fruitfulnesse? How much good and tractable earth has been

lost meerly for want of a Skilfull Potter, or spoiled upon the wheel of one unskilfull? Whilest the Gentleman has all the aid and assistance that Prudent Parents or a rich-purse can afford him; and shall he, whom God has thus blessed with that which may procure him as well what's Best as what's Necessary, grow more Barren under all this care and Good-husbandry, which is bestow'd upon him? Shall he like a stubborne and unwieldly branch, so soon as ever he is from under the wise hand which would have pruin'd and straighted him, start back into his Naturall rudenesse, and Deformity again? Shall he be like the Viall or Watch, one where∣of will onely continue it's even and Certain motion, so long as the owner forgets not to wind him up; and the other gives us its sweet sound no longer then the Musician's hand provokes and beats it; but so soon as the hand rests, the Motion and the Musick ceases, and in a short time, the strings crack, and the Pegs fall, and the Noble Instrument growes mouldy and worm-eaten? Is it not most unnaturall, that he who has all these great advantages in his youth, which others do often in vain, and he himselfe too often

when it is too late, wish to enjoy, should not doe something whereby he might shew all that care and cost, not quite thrown away and mispent? And yet much more, that he should only so behave himselfe, as one that knowes how readily to forget, whatever had cost him so much time, and pains, and Money in acquiring; and one that can now make that a part of his glory, which indeed is no small argument of shame, that he once had a little learning, and Might have been a Christian, had he not had wit enough to befool himselfe, and so become a Gentleman. It troubles me to say that very many of our English Gentlemen do thus Commence (as it were) and take Degrees in Ignorance and Vanity, I wish it troubled him as much to doe so.

Again, it were but just, our Gentlemen should think upon their large portions and fair Inheritances, and so take the Measure of their Duties, by their liberall allowances. To have an estate makes not man Happy, but to use an estate wisely may bring a man very farre on his way towards it. O let it never be said of the Gentleman, what is recorded to the perpetuall dishonour of the Young

Man (he knowes [I hope] where) that he departed from Christ because he was very rich. It is certainly a mistake in any man, to think, a man's soul may no way feed and grow fat, upon his wealth: or to say a man may not become a Better man, by having greater possessions. Wisedome's seven Pillars are most readily erected, and firmly grounded upon a Basis of Gold: And Vertue cannot there have the best fair, and thrive most, though she may have a kind welcome, where Poverty keeps the house. Though the trea∣sures of Wisdome and knowledg lie not in the Chist, yet are they for the most part so lock'd up, that he who would at any time come readily at them, must not sail to carry the Key in his Pocket. Though Vertue and Pi∣ety may live Quietly and Contentedly under a thatch'd roof, and may meet with such entertainment as may preserve life; yet, alas, they are but there as in Prison, and shall hardly obtain the Liberty to walk much a∣broad except there be something in the purse to purchase their freedome: Without this they may have what fetter'd Captives may enjoy, their hearts and tongues, but very sel∣dome their hands or feet at liberty. What

rare perfections might be attain'd to, and what wonders wrought, had but either the Rich Gentleman the poor man's soul, or the Poor man the Rich Gentleman's purse? What a shame is it, that he whom God hath bles∣sed with enough to buy the Precious Pearl, should rather chuse to lay it out upon an Hobby-Horse; that he should suffer either Himselfe to be a Fool, or Vertue a Beggar, when it is in his power to prevent both? If his wealth know not what to doe with his Vertue, let him give Vertue the key, and she knowes how to make use of his wealth. What an ungratefull fool is he, who with what is given him will neither fulfill the Donor's will, nor make use of the gift to his own advantage? How might the Church become truly Glorious, and her rayment li∣terally of wrought Gold, how might the Poore man grow Rich, and the Rich man Good and Happy, did the Gentleman study to make that improvement, which he ought to make of this one talent, and not either with the Raunting Prodigall waste his inhe∣ritance by riotous living; or with the other Ill-husband and foolish servant, wrap it up in the Napkin of a lazy, or hide it in the

Earth of a Worldly mind?

There is a third obligation whereby the Gentleman in equity is bound to outgoe his Inferiours, no lesse in Goodnesse then in Wealth and Pomp. I mean an Immunity from the Drudgeries of the World: Nature and Fortune both seem to consent in gran∣ting him a Dispensation from those Brick∣kilnes, to which by the Pharaoh-like Cruel∣ty of a Necessitous Condition, many a bet∣ter Israelite is sentenced. He tugs not at the Oares, nor delves in the Dirt, nor washes his face, and Bathes his body in his own sweat; nor lives, as other men are often constrain'd to doe, almost by a wearisomenesse of living: But seems to plead an Exemption from that part of Adam's Curse, whereby he was con∣demned in the sweat, of his Browes to eat his bread. Whilest many others by their con∣tinuall labour, seem from meal to meal to kneed their own dough; and other men's too; and, like the poor Israelites, when driven out of Aegypt, to run up and down with their kneeding-troughs upon their Shoulders. They carry both their Lives and livelihoods to and fro in their hands; and by a toilesome improvement of the Gentleman's vast estate,

pick up for themselves a very scant subsist∣ence. He eats the fat, and drinks the sweet, and has one part of him alwaies provided for to his hand; and ought not this to lay a strong obligation upon him, to take more pains about the other? Ought not this to bind him to the ready service of his God, who has made the whole world in a manner to serve him? Certainly he never had a gene∣rall Dispensation granted him from all labour, but onely from the more slavish and drudg∣ing part of it; that the lesse he has to care for besides, the more time he should have to care for his soul and Heaven. It was Adam's growing wanton in Eden, where the Earth freely brought forth all things of it selfe, and where his taske of labouring was but his Recreation not his toyl, which sent him first abroad to sweat in the World, and to wage a Constant warre with Bryars and Thistles. And if the Gentleman will not take some pains to dresse the Garden of his Soul, when all the world seems to be so much his own round about him, that one part of it is his Steward, the other his Estate, he can expect no lesse then to be driven out at last with a flaming sword to seek a

Miserable killing livelihood in another.

Could the Gentleman be truly sensible of his extraordinary priviledges he enjoyes, more then the rest of his labouring brethren doe, in this one particular, doubtlesse we should see him more thankfull, and lesse Idle; for though leisure be a very great blessing yet is lazin••sse a meer Canker, which will in a short time, if not seasonably cured, eat out both Purse and Soul. Let him not thus turne the Opportunities of doing good, into encouragements to sinne, nor the Means of Happinesse, into the Instruments of Mi∣sery.

O what an inestimable advantage is this, for any man that would either learn much or do well, to have alwaies a Soul so tran∣quil and Serene, that all's Smooth and calme within him? What would many a brave Ingenious spirit, which could never yet ob∣tain one smile from fortune, but lies alwaies under the black cloud of Poverty, and tossed upon the tumultuous waves, of much bucsi∣nesse and more sufferings, what would it not give to be blest with such a Sun-shine, and to have so long a vacation from the world and it's sorrowes? None of those distracti∣ois

which come from the affairs of the vorld without him, which with so much e∣••••rnesse and irresistable Importunity, ••dl and pull, and haile away many a good soul from his Study and devotion, need to be so much as hearkn'd to by the Gentleman; vho if he would but understand, the easy distinction, betwixt being carefull and being ••iesy, betwixt Idlenesse and leisure, we should find him betaking himselfe to ano∣ther and more cheerfull course of life, having much time to use, but none to lose.

And suppose you should ask the Gentle∣man this question, and wish him to answer it according to Conscience-Whether, if he had a servant whom he had designed for some more honourable and extraordinary em∣poyment; and to this end, had exempted hin from all Common businesse and works proper to an Inferiour calling; and not on∣ly so, but furnish'd him also, with whatever he could suppose instrumentall to his work; and for his better incouragement had given him a considerable summe of Mony before-hand; if after all this, this servant should neglect this businesse, and throw away all t••e time allotted him, in matters of small

concernment, or in meer Idlen••sse, goe and spend his allowance, and waste his Master' mony in Bad Company, and in pampering up his own humours and lusts; let him tell you in good earnest, whether he would not think himselfe slighted and abused, and for •• reward, turne that servant out of dores o•• into Prison? And why then should th•• Gentleman flatter himselfe up with fair•• hopes; his charge I am sure is as great, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 care much lesse, and therefore his case can 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no better.

I may here very seasonably adde, as ano∣ther branch of this Motive, the Gentleman's fair opportunity, not only of doing good to himselfe, but others also: and such an Oppor∣tunity it is, as is indeed a Necessity of doing either much good, or much hurt by his Ex∣ample. For the Gentleman stands upon t••e top of an Hil, and being advanced to that considerable an height, is thereby made 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Conspicuous to the eye of the world, that his actions have an influence upon the Inh••∣bitants of the vales round about him. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 His Tenents must for fear Flatter him, and many others will for his favour humour him, an•• there be yet more, who have an Ambition 〈◊〉〈◊〉

be like him. Every sin in him is like an E∣clipse in the Sun, whereby not onely his own lustre and brightnesse is obscured and hid, but his rayes are withheld from the world below, and a Malignant Influence scatter'd abroad upon Inferior Bodies. It is a very hard matter for a Gentleman to be bad alone; I dare say, his heart will bear witnesse, that he owes not a few of his own sins to the powerfull Example of his superiours; and that he has very often resisted the more so∣ber and vertuous inclinations of his own soul, and the more rationall dictates of his own judgment, onely out of an Ambitious hu∣mour to make himselfe Company for great ones; and because he was ashamed to be found lesse then a Gentleman in any thing, though in Sin it selfe. Let him therefore consider how much it will Concerne him, who is the true Loadstone of the Nation, whose Motion the poor Iron soules of the multitude with trembling expect; and per∣ceiving follow, to turne himselfe alwaies to the right Pole. I wish the Gentlemen of our Island would remember this, that by their vices they prove not onely Bad in them∣selves, but unjust to their Neighbours: that

so they may see how much in equity they are obliged to amend their lives.

§. 7. A fourth Motive from Honour and Reputation.

The other mark to which I would gladly perswade the Gentleman to turne his eye, is that which he pretends to aime at most; his Honour or Reputation; things (If you'l believe him) whereof he is more tender then his life; but let us see how he will endea∣vour to make this good, for I cannot be∣lieve he values much, what he takes to pains to preserve.

The main Character of an Honourable per∣son, is a great care in him, never to doe any thing below his Name, or which may re∣flect upon his Progenitors or his Family with shame and disparagement. He therefore can admit no emploiment which is base or low, but as his Honour was at first raised, so he studies to maintain it at that height, by some noble and Gallant atchievement. But how truly tender is he of his Honour, who thus (as we have said before) is willing to degrade himselfe into a Beast, and to trample

upon his Dignity and humanity at once? He that can bend his proud neck to the most galling Yoak which Sathan can put upon him; and patiently kneeles him down to re∣ceive so many loads of Dirt upon his back? who scornes not to drudg for the Worst and Basest of Masters, and that in his meanest and most Beggarly service, when he sends him out (with the Young Prodigall) into the field of Carnall pleasures, there to feed a few swi∣nish lusts: and all this too, upon hopes of the slenderest reward here, a few deceitfull Husks, and in dayly fear and expectation of the most dreadfull punishment hereafter, that of Endlesse torments.

The Gentleman that values his honour, will be sure not to mix with any Company, but such, from whom he may reap both Credit and profit; such as will be no lets to him in his vertuous progresse, nor blemish to his desired Reputation. But alas how little do those Gentlemen reguard either of these, who indeed care for no Companions but such as have made themselves altogether the Creatures of their vices, and the neerest Pan∣dors of their Lusts.

The truly Honourable Gentleman, is al∣waies

most faithfull and punctuall in the performance of his promises, and showeth himselfe to be as Good as his word, esteeming no disgrace like that of deserving the Lie. Every promise he makes, he pawns his Ho∣nour and Reputation, to secure the perfor∣mance; and looks upon no disrespect as com∣parable with that, of not being thought a person fit to be trusted. But how little care do our Gentlemen take to maintain this sup∣port of their Credit; who swear so frequent∣ly to, they know not, or heed not what, that they cannot possibly so much as remember, much lesse discharge one third part of their Oaths. These upon every slight or no oc∣casion they send out in such Volleyes, and with so much Inconsideration and temerity, that they cannot have time to Consider whether one halfe of what they swear be true or false. Nay there is one solemne Vow, and that the most sacred one that ever they made, and to a person with whom it most Concernes them to be punctuall and deal faithfully, I mean that at their Baptis∣me; which, alas, they so well performe, as that they hardly ever call to mind, or can believe there was any such thing done by

them: Was it not this that then they pro∣mised, to Forsake the Divell and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the World, with all the Covetous desires of the same, and all the Carnall desires of the flesh, so that they would neither follow nor be lead by them? In which, the engagement of their Honour would not serve the turne, but they brought their sure∣ties and Bondmen, who promised (as much as in them lay) to see all made good; I trem∣ble to think how this vow has been fulfil'd by all those persons who would be thought so sensible of Honour, that their bare word might at any time serve for their Bond. What they vow'd to forsake, they with all earnestnesse follow; and that whereby they would not be led, they sweat to Outgoe. Hugging and embracing those temptations they promised to abandon, and making the Vaine Pomp and Glory of the World the onely Gods they dare love and adore. If the Gen∣tleman be thus carelesse in maintaining his Credit, thus false in his promises to God and his Soul, I hope he will not think it strange, if others be so scrupulous and weak-faith'd, as not to believe him to be a Gentleman upon his own bare word.

Further yet, he that desires to be truly Honourable, and esteem'd soe; Will so pro∣vide for his Honour, that the world may have no just cause to throw the miscarria∣ges and sins of his Country upon his shoul∣ders, or that all the Miseries thereof should be found the Daughters of his Vices. But whether or no we have any reason to blame the English Gentleman for the Calamities of his Nation, I appeal to himselfe, let his Conscience determine it. To whom shall we impute the Blindnesse, the Ignorance, the Giddinesse of the People, but to him that pre∣tends to be the eye and the head? We know it is the Lightnesse of the head, which often makes the heels stand uppermost; And when we see a Drunkard reel and staggar, we all know it is the Giddinesse of his head which causes his uneven motion. It were happy for us, if all those who would be thought the Heads of this Headlesse Nation, would daily consider their office; and how much of the Crazinesse and Distemper of this Infa∣tuated people, is to be imputed to the unset∣lednesse of their own Brains, and want of a due Government of themselves. O that the World might no longer have just cause to

say (as now many are apt to doe) that the sad disease of this poor Kingdome, wherein it has well nigh Cough'd out it's very heart, proceed from a cold it has taken in the Noblest members of its Body: and that in∣deed is Atheisme.

If therefore our Gentlemen ever intend to deserve that honour, they so egerly de∣sire, let them learn to be and Act like them∣selves, so shall they assure themselves of true Honour both before God and amongst men. Let them pluck up their Courage, and make it appeare to the World, that they have yet something of a Noble and Gene∣rous Spirit within their breasts; that they dare yet own a God, in despight of Atheisme and Blasphemy, and stand up for his Church in opposition to Tyranny and Sacriledg: that they have Spirits above the reach of Swords, and Souls not to be out-braved by the terrours of the Grave; nor blown out of their bodies with the proud and threatning breath of those that can but seem mighty. Let it once be seen that they have espoused a Religion which has a Majesty enough to Daunt a Nebuchadnezar with the hottest furnace in his Mouth: and an Holy zeal,

which (as the Brighter Sun beams doe upon the fainter light of a Candle) can prey upon, and Consume to nothing, the most scorching flames of Persecution. When they have learn'd to take the roaring Lion by the Iawes, and pull out his teeth; when they can (with the stout Champion of Israel) defend the endanger'd Church against that great Go∣liah of Atheisme, which now or never ap∣peares with the Weaver's Beam in his hand; when they have once got the Courage, to slight and pitty all the Cursing Shimeahs and railing Rabshakahs of the land; to scorne the Barkings of reproach; and not to be a∣fraid of the teeth of Poverty; when they dare goe with Abraham to sacrifice their lesse lovely Isaacks at the Mountain of the Lord: In a word, when they dare be good without fear of Shame or Want, and Reli∣giously Loyall without dreading either Beg∣gary or Death: Then shall they have Ho∣nours without stain or Blemish; and Names venerable in the Mouthes of all men: then shall they set their feet upon the Necks of the Mighty, and Tyrants shall bow down un∣der them, and they shall be set up on high with the Rulers of the People: then shall

they have the acclamations of the Saints, and the Bended knees of the poor at the throne of Grace, for their long life and Happinesse; Then shall they be fear'd by their enemies, and loved by their friends; They shall have the Motherly Blessing of the Church, the joyfull welcome and plaudite of Angels, and the Bountifull reward and Euge of their God and Father; a Glorious Robe, an immar∣cessible Crown, a perpetuall kingdome: for in∣deed this Honour have all his Saints.

I am really ashamed, and heartily sorry, that either the Gentleman's unnaturall Behaviour, that strange Meander of all vices, or the sad and deplorable condition of this poore Church and Nation, to which in all Reason, Honour, and Conscience, he ought to show a more filial respect and Affection, have pro∣voked me to this unusuall length of a Let∣ter: But the Copiousnesse of the Theme, which you first proposed to my thoughts, will I know be my sufficient excuse; though the unpleasantnesse of it, together with those ma∣ny other businesses which are never wanting to You, but now incumbent upon me, might afford you an opportunity of being more profitably imploy'd and me more suitably to

my present calling, then in reading or writing of what here I send you. I shall therefore in a very few lines more, give you a Brevi∣ate of what I have allready said, or have more to say concerning the Mix'd theme of this letter.

§. 8. The Conclusion and summe of all.

I shall allwaies with all readinesse Con∣fesse that I dare not have a low esteem of any of those Worthy Persons, whom the All∣wise God by advancing them to the Top of the Pinacle, seems to Commend both to me and others, as the most fit objects of our Ad∣miration and Reverence: Onely I hope the Gentleman will give me leave to make it a part of my Prayers (and too sad experience dayly showes us what great reason we have so to pray) that they who stand both so high and so Ticklishly may ever take heed lest they fall. Sathan had the Confidence upon as high a place (though at that height he met with the most exemplary Humility that the world ever heard of) to venture a temp∣tation upon the Lord of Life: where certain∣ly his hopes of prevailing must rationally be

thought to have been as low, as his attempt was high: It is therefore too much to be fear'd he hath very often his wish'd for successe in overturning the Bravest Sinner. The Subtile Serpent, though he despair of Heaven, is alwaies crawling upwards, and can as easily twist and wrap himselfe about the Gilded spire of Honour and Nobility, as once he did about the fairest tree in Eden; and questionlesse not seldome with as much un∣happy successe, as malicious Subtilty. Here, I am sure, he hath the same or surer holds to fasten upon, and Climb up by, which there he had; Even the wild protuberan∣ces of Pride and Ambition. The first assault he made, was upon an unspotted Innocence but match'd with an over facile and flexi∣ble Humanity; and meeting there with the Hoped Issue of his temptation, he takes the Boldnesse to venture on an Infinite Wise∣dome in the Bosome of Omnipotence: and though there he was foyl'd, yet being the more madded with the Shamefull repulse, 'tis likely he will fall the more desperately, and so with the greater violence, upon that Pru∣dence, which is at best much abated by the base mixture and too excessive alloy of a

Beloved Folly. I wish it might be the Gen∣tleman's good Fortune or Courage to ward the stroak, and come of unhurt.

When I hear this inferior world wherein we are to breath out our Minority, com∣pared (and not unfitly) to an Inne or Diver∣sory; whereinto Man, whose life is a journey or Pilgrimage, onely turns in to take a night's lodging, that so he may fit and dresse himselfe against the Morning for a Better Countrey; I am ready to take the Bold∣nesse to prosecute the Metaphor a little far∣ther, and I would fain say, that those Glitte∣ring, spangled soules, are most Noble and Ho∣nourable, which Wise Nature treats with the greatest respect and Ceremonie; those, for whom, as her Chiefe Guests she hath reserved her most stately, and fairest roomes: that these, if any, are to be thought the Gentlemen of the world, to whom Nature as well as Fortune seems to pay a reverence.

These are the Men who enter into the world with that Ceremonious state and Pomp, that would almost perswade us they were sent hither on an Ambassy from Heaven. They are indulged an Honour seemingly too great for Mortallity. They are admit∣ted

into the world by the most beautifull gate of a Renowned Parentage, they are ush∣er'd along with all that Pompe and Magni∣ficence, which use to attend our highest hopes and most teeming Expectations; and are most significant of our greatest joyes: Their births are congratulated, and they welco∣med hither, with a long and Methodically order'd train of solemne and Honourable both Civill and Religious Ceremonies. They are honourably placed in the most richly fur∣nished, and neatly contrived Lodgings, of Comely and wel-featured Bodies; in ador∣ning whereof the Divine Art of Better Na∣ture, hath best shown it selfe; these are Gloriously set forth by all those most lively Images of Majesty and Honour, which Cor∣rupted Nature can be thought capable of receiving: All these are more sweetned, by a lovely prospect into the world abroad, where an Indulgent fortune, to give the bet∣ter rellish to the gifts of Nature, presents her selfe in all variety of Dresses, of Riches, Pleasures, Preferments; ever creating such store of New-delights as may soonest win upon the sense, and best recreate the soule.

And now, Sir, would any man seeing

all this, think it possible, that after Nature, and Fortune, and the Great God of Both, by so long a Succession of no lesse truly De∣lectable then indeed inestimable blessings, have been so industriously Solicitous for the Gentleman's welfare; and with so much Charitable Importunity, have Constantly Courted his soul, to be in love with that fair hand which made it; to invite it to an early sense of it's own worth and excellency, and to set a due estimate upon it selfe; to possesse it with the true Apprehensions of that, which is certainly the highest Honour that can be∣fall a mortall here or Crown him hereafter, I mean his neer Relation to Heaven, and the God of Heaven his Maker: Would any man believe it possible after all this, that the Gentleman should be either so uncharitable to himselfe, or so ungratefull to his Creator: either so much a Churle or a Fool, or Both: as neither to yield to those Importunities of a Wooing Heaven: nor Embrace the Courte∣ous Invitations of an endlesse Felicitie? Would you believe, that when he is intrusted by the King of Glories, upon so honourable an Expedition as that of winning a Crown; he should be tyred and foot-sore at the very

first step; and sit down to rest him upon the first cold stone in his way, there flattering his Childish Humour, in the Empty fruition of some Garish but fading vanity? Could any man with a rationall soule in him, Hope to find an Happinesse in such toyes adequate to the Immense desires of an Heaven-borne substance? Alas, who is ignorant, that these pretty Glories, and little felicities, which so please us here, cannot in any reason be thought more (seldome so much) then the smaller tokens of a Father's Love, or an Ear∣nest penny to a future Inheritance; some∣thing for the Child to keep his purse with whilest he is here at school: Nay, they are so often lesse then this, that they amount not to so much, as those lesse tokens, which we use to call the Mother's Blessing; but are rather like the deceitfull Gifts of a Step∣dame, such as a brasse shilling, or a Gilded Nutmeg, the slight kindnesse not of a Fond but a dissembling Fortune: whereby the unwary Child is very often bribed and Flat∣ter'd out of his due Portion and Inheri∣tance.

Doubtlesse, if the Gentleman find himselfe to be so much Fortune's Darling, or (as he

would rather have us think) the Favourite of Heaven: as to be afforded a more tender and delicate Education then his poorer bre∣thren: I dare hardly believe all this an Indulgence to sin, but an encouragement unto Holinesse, and to go on with Cheerfulnesse to see what that Good Father has in store for him in Heaven, who is so liberall to him here upon Earth. The Comfortable warmth of his Prosperous Condition, is indulged him, thereby to preserve his soule, more tender, and pliable, zealously forward to receive both more Generous and more pious impressions: not to scorch or dry it up into a rebellious obstinacy: neither to give him the opportu∣nity of melting it away in the soft embraces of more wanton and lascivious delights: or to Dissolve his happinesse into the Aëry and shadowy vanity of a Carnall pleasure. The Golden Foundation being laid, God expects, he should not so abuse it, as to erect there∣upon any meaner structure then an Heaven. The right use of what he allready enjoyes, ought to dispose his soule into a Capacity of receiving more and better, even of those spi∣rituall blessings which will set him up above the reach either of an adverse Fortune, or a Malicious Divell.

If the Gentleman would be perswaded to cast a Religious eye upon the Excellent Sym∣metry and lovely features of his own Body, wherewith it is no strange thing to find him beautified above other men; certainly he would presently consider with himselfe, that this fine Outside was not the onely or best piece of worke intended, but there should be a suitable Inside too, such as may make the man a fit temple of the Holy Ghost to re∣side in: that this stately and well-wrought Body should be but the externall Em∣bleme of a more Beutifull and Majestick soule.

If it be his Good luck to find his way to Paradise straw'd all over••with Roses: whilst other poor soules are forced to run Bare footed through Bryars and thistles, stints and Pibbles; whereby their feet are often so gall'd, that their pace proves slow, and so prick'd and scratch'd that you may trace them, as they their Saviour, into Heaven by their blood; he ought wisely to consider, that this entertainment should not retard him in his journey, neither make him Phan∣cy that he is already in the Garden; and therefore may sit down, or rolle his soule

upon these sweets to a satisfaction; alas, the more he thus tumbles upon them, the sooner will these tender Blossomes fade and wither: They are onely scatter'd in his paths, that by their fragrancy his decaying Spirits may be restored and cherish'd, that he faint not ere he reach that garden where growes the Tree of life, and never-perishing Flowers of sweetest pleasures, even at God's right-hand for evermore.

If the Gentleman may boast of his honou∣rable descent, from a vertuous and if so, a deservedly renowned family; how much will it concerne him in Honour and Duty, to provide that his Children by his vertues, may be enabled to brag of as much as he? It will certainly be a greater disgrace to him, when his Son shall be constrain'd to say, he had a Worthy Grandfather, then it can now be his Glory, that he himselfe can tell the world he had a Deserving father. Can he Imagine it halfe so Creditable, to swaggar it out with the Old Name and Title of his rotting Ancestors; as to mani∣fest their yet surviving Virtues in himselfe their Genuine off-spring? What a pittifull Credit must it needs be for him, to show a

stranger a firme and substantiall foundation, laid by his Ancestors many years agoe, to∣wards an intended Heroick and sumptuous building, if all this while he have neglected by his own virtues to adde a superstructure, proportionable to such a Ground-work?

I am Confident the Gentleman needs not a remembrancer to mind him of his Name; nor any other Herald to perswade him he has a right unto it, then his own Ambition and Conceit: But how unlikely he is by the means he uses to make the world be∣lieve him, he seems not so well to Consi∣der. Is it a matter of such Credit, to show us, how well he can put on his Fathers old Cloaths, or play his Ape in his Silver Ierkin? Is this the main Badg of his Gentilitie, that he has never a Coat but what was given him by the Herald; or that he lives as Beggars doe, upon the Charity and Almes of the Parish? Let him say, what other title it is he can pretend to, who by his own personall merits cannot purchase his name? What does he lesse then Pick up his Crumbs under the Old-man's table: Nobility without Virtue has just so much life, as it can Borrow; and onely breaths by the common and Ig∣noble

breath of the People. What does the unworthy Gentleman, but goe from dore to dore for an Almes of Honour? One throws him in a Sir, another a Master, a third a Good-your-Worship; and with these few scraps he makes a shift to preserve alive his meagre and raw-boned Reputation.

A name that thus feeds onely upon the fragments of charity, is not like to grow truly great in hast: And a Reputation so long worn allready without mending, is too vile and cheap for a true Gentleman to appear abroad withall. The Cloak must needs be very thread-bare, that is so old, and has bin so ill used; It were more Noble to weare a New one of his own buying, then that of his Great-grandfather which at best he can by his scantling virtues onely fill full of patches. His Father's Honour can be his but at Se∣cond-hand: and to be proud of an Heredi∣tary title onely, is but to raunt it in a Dead∣man's suit, and like him, whom he too often Imitates, after his father's death, to fright the world by appearing in his likenesse; for when we come more narrowly to examine the Reallity of what we think we see in him, we find nothing but a cheat and Delusion of

the sense; we catch at a bare Apparition for a substance; or at best grasp a senselesse clod of cold clay insteed of a Man. What is it to be thus Sollicitous after an Old Coat of Armes, but to wish the Herald were a Broaker, And that he might buy old scutche∣ons, as he may old Cloaks, because his Me∣rits will not amount to the price of New ones. Whilest he thus opens his Presse, and showes it to be well-lined with the rich ap∣parell of those who lived before him, he does no more then what often his father's Page or Lacquey is able to doe: Nay I shall be bold to say it, whatever the Gentleman may therefore think of himselfe or me, that he who showes his Father's Bearing, without some Honourable Addition, due at lest, if not given, to his own vertues, has but little more reason to boast of his Gentility, then his Father's Fool or Fidler, whom I have often observed to bear his Master's Coat upon his Livory. O that the Gentleman would in good earnest Consider, how much all Wise∣men laugh at him, even in his Finest Cloaths; and how much more all Good men doe pitty him, when they see him with all his Borrow'd Bravery delight to tumble in the Mire!

He that will be a Gentleman indeed, must look no lesse carefully before him, on what yet remains for him to doe, to maintain his Honour, then behind him, on what has been allready done by his Ancestors to purchase it. Honour has a very delicate palate, and loves to feed upon fresh Diet; and very much Nauseates the Moulded Offals of An∣tiquity. No broken Dishes come to her ta∣ble, neither can she subsist by Chewing the Cud after the largest feasting upon the Grandfather's deserts. The sharp teeth of Time will at length enter deep into the Marble Monument under which the Fathers Ashes are laid to rest, or at least the Injurious Dust will fill up and hide the fair Characters thereupon in which perhaps alone the Ho∣nour of the Son stands legible: It can be no long-lived Honour, where the Patent is onely a Dead-man's Epitaph. It will there∣fore highly concerne the Gentleman in due time at least to lay a New gilt upon the Old letter, that so he may transmit an Honou∣rable Memory of his name to late Posterity, ra∣ther under his own hand, then his father's Zeal.

The Stateliest Pile, yields and stoops by

little and little to the importunities of Age: And 'tis rare to see a building left by the father so firme and weather-proof, but it will require some repairing before the Death of the Son. A Good-husband will therefore make hast even to prevent his fears, and not expect an Invitation from a visible ruine; knowing that it is a Necessity not deserving the name of Providence to under-prop the declining wall; Neither will a Prudent per∣son cover a dangerous breach in the wall of his house with a superficiall plaister or paint, thereby to Cozen the World into a false Opinion of his Counterfet thrift and Provi∣dence, 'till a sudden fall of the whole house discover at once his folly and his Policy; In vain shall the Gentleman by the bare sha∣dow of a vertue endeavour to make the world believe he wants not the substance: He must by the reall and undissembled excel∣lencies of a Generous soul, sincerely devoted to the service of Religion and Vertue, both adde many Sollid Pillars to support the Old, and lay a firme Basis for a New structure.

A Fathers good name deserves a reverent memory in after ages, but will never be in∣jured or grow lesse renowned, by being

out-shone in the Son's virtues: It is rather proud thus to grow young again. There can be no perpetuall entailment of Honour upon all succeeding posterity; The best Gen∣tleman holds his Nobility but by Lease from Heaven, which is to be renew'd once at least in every life; when a good round summe of Heroick Actions are expected as his Fine. God hath his Stewards alwaies ready to re∣ceive the Gentleman's rent, the Church and State, and he that payes not at his day, to ei∣ther of these, forfeits all.

It is no slight sin to suppose God so vainly Prodigall of his Iewels, as to think them well disposed of when placed in Swines snouts, where they onely serve to root up the Earth, and delve in the Dirt. Common, Rustick, and Plebeian spirits fitted by the hardnesse of their Nature, to Dig and plow the ground, these are the Out-labourers of God's great Houshold, who by the greatnesse of their Necessary Drudgery, take off much of the Burden from the more refined sort of Mankind: The Gentleman God has chosen to be as it were the steward of his Family, and Guardian to his Church; and therefore in all Prudence and Gratitude he ought to

endeavour a due discharge of so great a trust. No Loyterer, much lesse, a Spend-thrift, can be a member of his Family, we know the certain wages of such unfaithfull ser∣vants. He then that thinks himselfe ex∣empted from all that hardship which many others by a leaden soul and an Iron Body, be∣sides the course usage of an unkind Fortune, are Naturally or Casually sentenced to, takes a very preposterous course, when he arro∣gates to himselfe a licence to do ill or to doe nothing: If the Gentleman would be valued above others, it is but reason if we require him to make it appear, that he is of better Mettall then others which is to be judged of, not by the Colour, but service.

I would not see the Gentleman's Soul sit∣ting in his beautifull Body, like a Breathless Idoll of Gold in a Temple of Silver, there to be worship'd by all, but doe good to none: It is not fit it should be thought onely such a fine gay thing, as is sometimes by the choi∣sest of Naturall endowments and Artificiall accomplishments, embellish'd into something more then ordinary, or burnish'd over into such a slight superficiall gloss, as may make it, as well as his Body, admired and gazed upon

by a few Ignorant worldlings; Neither should it be his businesse to get his Body alwaies New-molded to the varying hu∣mours of the Court, and trick'd up in all the late invented Gauderies, Gorgeous Accoutre∣ments, and Gingling trappings, wherewith the Levity of Art has made bold to overload and abuse the Modesty of Honest Nature: He that has no Nobler a Soul or Body then these, may still be no more then a meer Carcasse, such as, if it expresse any motion, seems rather to be actuated by the multitude of crawling vermine within it, sprung from it's own Corruption, then by a true Rationall soul inspired by God Allmighty. All the Salt of Wit and Ingenuity which such a person usually so much brags of, will not be enough to preserve so putrid a Lump from stinking above ground.

In a word, Sir, the true Gentleman will labour so to qualify his soul, that he may be disposed to doe a service to his God, in some proportion answerable to those se∣verall tokens of favour and Honour, whereby he has so blest and grace'd him in the eye of the world: Seeing God has been pleas'd to advance him some degrees above the

Multitude, he takes care to raise his soul too to that spirituall hight and pitch of true Piety and Holinesse, that when thus advanced in outward Dignity, he may not seem a Dwarfe on Horse-back.

And because the Common Gifts of the most Bountifull Nature will not put a man into a Capacity of performing his part to the full in such an employment, much lesse will Idlenesse and Negligence: It should be every Gentlemans care in his Youth to give and resigne himselfe wholy up with all his pleasures and Interests, to the Care of his Soul; that so by the Prudent Industry of a Learned and Godly Instructor, seconded with his own Indefatigable pains and patience, he may have his Golden parts made truly bright, and be, as it were, midwised afresh unto such a perfection, that he may not, by the low and beggarly condition of a rude and Ignorant Soul, be a Discredit to his Lord, or a Scan∣dall to that calling he professeth. God Delights in H••nourable, though not in pr••nd attendants; and although he is many times pleased to fill up his house, and make up the number of his Family, with those who have not been very much befriended either

by nature in a Noble birth, or by Fortune in a Plenteous and prosperous life; yet doth he long to see his Religion graced and Credited, with a long train of such as the King hath delighted to Honour.

And (blessed be God!) the Care of our Ancestors has been such, that we want not Nurseries both of Learning and Piety in this Nation; such as may afford a breeding to our Young Gentry not unsuitable to their Qua∣lity and intended emploiment. It is my hearty prayer, that these may never be unstocked with such hopefull and Generous Plants, as may there grow and thrive, 'till they arrive at that Maturity both of Grace and good Literature, as well as of Years, that they may in due time become, not onely strong but also Curiously polished Pillars for the sup∣port of those two Glorious Fabricks of Church and State. That, as by the speciall Indulgence of God they were Honourably borne; so by his speciall Grace too, they may indeed live, both truly profitable to his Saints here, and as truly Glorious with them here∣after.

Thus (Sir) have I done my best to o∣bey your Commands; and, as largly and fully,

as a little time, lesse leisure, and yet fewer abilities would give me leave; I have given you my present thoughts and wishes concer∣ning our English Gentleman. I have sent you (I fear) a very little Kernell in a large Shell; but now you have it, you may chuse whether you will take the pains to Crack it, or throw it into the Fire. Whatever it be that here you receive, as your Commands gave it birth, and my Confidence of your Goodnesse, has taught it to speak and goe a∣broad; so does it now submissively expect your sentence, whether of life or death. Doe what you will with all the rest, so you doe but vouchsafe to read thus much in it, that I am—Sir,

Your most humble and Obedient Servant.

The END.