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The Explanation of the First Book of these Rambles, and the Design of the whole. Some foolish Objections Answer'd.
THough the World has been pretty just to the First Volume of Evander's Ram∣bles, the Sale thereof not coming be∣neath his Expectations, or its own Deserts, all such as have a true taste of Wit and Humour justly hugging and admiring it;
yet some Objections there are and have been made against it, either by the Envy or Folly of some Persons in the World, the most of 'em, 'tis true, below our notice; which therefore we shall answer as great Persons use to do, by say∣ing ne're a word, nor so much as vouchsafing 'em mention in these Immortal Writings.
One only thing there is, which more for the sake of peace and Quietness, for Decency, Profit, and such prudential Considerations, lest it should obstruct the rolling forward of the other Two and twenty Globes yet behind in the Frontispiece, and spoil the Sale of this, and what comes after, thereby cheating the World of a most inesti∣mable Treasure now just ready to pop into their Libraries: I say, for such like Causes as these, rather than any Necessity in the nature of the thing, Evander, Kainophilus and the Author lay∣ing their Heads together, have resolved to give a sound and formal Answer, that all the little snarful Criticks may for ever after hold their peace, or have their Dogs Teeth broke out by the dint of ponderous Argument.
The main Objection then against this First Book last past, as well as the whole Design, is thus proposed by some wise ones; namely, That they don't know what to make on't? They can neither find beginning nor ending, head nor tail, nor can't for their Lives tell what the Author wou'd be at, what he drives at or in∣tends in part or whole. What use, what profit, what account it turns to, what 'tis good for; how it answers the Name; how to reconcile Book and Title, and make 'em kin to one ano∣ther.
A Pocket-Library; a Trap-stick 'tis; why 'tis'n't so much as a Catalogue, and my Pocket is already sufficiently furnish't (quoth one Spark) with a Manuscript-Library of my own or Mistres∣ses, or Letters from Kainophil, eternally to supply some certain Uses which only this new Library is like to be employed in. However Paper is'n't yet so dear, a Man must give Eighteen pence for a Weeks wiping.—(Out you filthy Fellow, you offend the nice Evander, and deserve to remain as long imprison'd in the nasty place you prate of, as the Iew who wou'd not come out on his own Sabbath: But we shall have them anon, and my Author has a Pen will firk ye, if he setteth about it.)
A Voyage round the World this (quoth ano∣ther) Umph! but what Page shall we find it in? The Author has quite forgot it, shatter'd the business out of his thin Skull, and as the Panegyrist before him, bin graciously pleas'd to ramble to somewhat else. Here's indeed a parcel of odd nonsensical Tales of Graffham and Dun∣grove, and a Country Bumkin coming to Lon∣don, and flying in the Air, and I know not what; but what's all this all this while to a Voyage about the World? Why this is ten times worse than a Battel in Stylo recitativo.— The Man writes Short-hand (quoth another witty Rogue) and abbreviates Books into Pages, them into Sentences, and them into Words, and be∣tween his Doggrel-Philosophy, Prose and Poetry has shovel'd up such a Hodg-potch of stuff here, as wou'd make a Hermit tear his Beard to hear it.
Very well—when ye are out of breath, 'tis hop'd a Man may get room to speak for himself.
The first grave Complaint against this useful, profitable, ingenious, admirable Book (with modesty be it spoken) is, That People don't know what to make on't.— And what if they don't, Evander supposes 'twould puzzle a good Logician to Analogyze all the famous Hi∣story of the renowned Knight of the Mancha, especially now P—s has made nonscence on't by shifting the Scene, (one Page in Spain, and the next in England.) Perhaps I had never any mind you should know that I mean, nor what to make on't—there lies all the Jest some∣times; and why might not I intend my Book after the Tune of, I lent my Mony to my Friend? Or, Riddle me, Riddle me? If Evander had obli∣ged the World with the Second Edition of the Horn-book, a Primmer in Folio, or a new Protestant Tutor in Twenty four Volumes, then 't had been enough to let the World have known what to make on't. Who knows not that those things are most admired, which are least understood? Unless the Infallible Church her self be foully out, Ignorance is the Mother of Devotion; nay it may be as much policy for me to have my Book unintelligible, as for them to have their Prayers, and all the rest of their Religion.—(Not that I'm a Papist for all that,—No,—I abominate both Flogging and Fasting as against the Light of Nature, and as bad as Transubstan∣tiation,—one of 'em as great an enemy to my Back, as 'tother to my Belly;—but for Illu∣stration or so now and then, 'tis lawful to pick a Flower, if one can find it, from e're a Dunghil in Christendom.)
This, supposing they could not understand it, as another great Person said in a like case some years past, I am't bound to find Sence both for my Book and my Readers. 'Twould be e∣nough if I my self understood it, whether others do so or no. And that I do, I am my self the properest Judge.
But that the World mayn't think me morose or envious, and to evidence the goodness of my Nature by its being so communicative, I'll e'ne for once make others as happy as my self.—Kainophilus will tweak the World's great Nose, open its Basin-Eyes, lug its stubborn Ears, and lead it into the most intimate meaning of all those precious things laid up in the sacred Ar∣chieves of those his admirable Works, past, pre∣sent, and to come.
He undertakes so clearly to demonstrate the pleasure, profit, and excellent advantage of the Premisses, as to perswade any thing but an Vsurer to purchase 'em, and lay 'em under the Pillow every night, as Alexander did Homer.
He'll prove as much, beyond contradiction, That 'tis a true actual Voyage round the World, ev'ry Word and Paragraph therein as Authen∣tick as the renowned Mandevil, and as Moral as the famous History of Reynard the Fox; or the last Edition of the same Book disguised under the Title of the Hind and Panther. And that in all these Heads, the Design is carried on con∣stantly, the Method not confused, though somewhat Cryptical, and requiring a little stu∣dy to crack the Shell, and get out the Ker∣nel.
The Frontispiece, the Explanation, the Title-page and Introduction make all this appear with∣out
any trouble of telling it. The intent of the whole, as therein appears, being to give a Iournal of Life, and a Description of the wide World, and some Memoirs relating to the Actions of one parti∣cular Person from his Cradle to his Grave, into which all the rest is most subtilly woven. But who that Person is, let none be so hasty to affirm. Those who dare be so presumptuous, we shall meet with 'em in the next Chapter, and perhaps more severely in other places, if they don't mend their Manners, and mind their own Busi∣ness.
Now this single Life, whose soever 'tis, is Hieroglyphically delineated in the Twenty four Globes of the Frontispiece, none but his own actual Rambles having the honour to be insculpt thereon; wherein you see he is carried through all the Scenes of Life, from his coming bare-b—'d into the World, to his going in like manner out on't, (which you may see most pleasantly de∣scrib'd in the Twenty fourth and last Globe.)
Through all which and every part of it, you'l find Directions for management of your self in any state of Life, School-boy, Prentice, Traveller, Soldier (not too much tho' of that) Lover, Tradesman, and what not; with many pleasant and useful Digressions with or without Occasion, some of which will cure the Melan∣choly, if not as deep as any in Bedlam.
That ever any Man in his Senses (but all are not Evanders) should question the Usefulness of this Design, and the past or following Volumes! That in the first place 'twas highly useful to Me, which none need doubt I think the principal Verb, I can assure 'em by my own Experience, t'has turn'd a penny these hard times; and the
Thing, Design and Method being all new and diverting, has taken so well, I have no reason to be sorry of having obliged the World, since that has done as much by me agen; an Evi∣dence of which, as well as of my Gratitude for it, is this Second Volume.
Nor let any be so unjust to think the Use∣fulness of this Work is confined to the Author alone (though Charity begins at home) his de∣sign being more generous and communicative, and tending to the profit of others as well as himself, upon more accounts than two or three.
The first is, because 'tis so pleasant, so di∣verting, so tickling, and all that to those who do but understand the whim on't. To see a Man describ'd and not describ'd, playing Bo∣peep with the World, and hiding himself be∣hind his Fingers; like Merry Andrew, clapping his Conjuring-Cap on, and then crying, Who sees me now?— thrusting his Head into a Bush, and like a cunning sort of a Bird that comes from the Moon (whither he is to take a Voyage in one of these odd Books) and then defying all the World (as Pembrook did) to know him by his t'other end. I say, to see this ingenious Author as close under the name of Kainophilus, as Achates and Aeneas in the Cloak of Venus, seeing every Body, and hearing what Folks say and censure of him, and none seeing or hear∣ing him. What in the World can be a more pleasant Spectacle, or better deserving the Motto over the door where this monstrous sight is to be seen,—Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici?
But alas, Evander's Person, though diverting enough, is far from being all the pleasant Hu∣mours of this Book. Here are not only wise Ones, but Fools of all sorts and sizes,—Cit. Fools and Bumkin Fools, Prodigal Fools and Flint-fisted Fools, Old, Young, and Middle-aged, Quarto's, Folio's, and Decimo-Sexto's, enough to furnish all the Shops from Temple-Bar to the Poultrey-Coun∣ter; and if all this choice won't please ye, your Stomachs must be too qu••asie ever to eat Por∣ridge with Evander.
How many Comical Remarks, and Merry Fancies are stuck all over the Book, like an Orange with Cloves, a Lover with Flowers, or a Mad-man with Straws or Feathers,—not to add a Traveller with Rambling Tales and Romances? What think ye else of Evander's Character written by himself, at the beginning of the Book, an inimitable Piece, and a Design hardly ever before attempted, and that with as much Justice to himself, as Diversion to the Reader? What say ye, Mr. Critick, to all the Poetry which shines through every part of it as thick as the Stars in the milky way, or the Vertues and Graces of the incomparable Iris? Of the admirable and surprizing Novelty of both Mat∣ter and Method; representing a Book made, as it were, out of nothing, and yet containing every thing; the sweetness of the Groves, the plea∣santness of the Country, the purling of Streams, and harmony of the Birds, and whistling of the Winds, and singing of the Cuckoes, and Medi∣tations of Evander. Then o' t'other side, the Grandeur of the City described in a method wholly new (of which more anon) and all the Rarities therein described; the
Stateliness of its Palaces, the Magnificence of its Churches, and the Honesty of its Booksellers, which singular Subject richly merits a Volume as big as all Tostatus together: But alas! is here for want of room, wedg'd up into one or two single Chapters, though neither the last Book, nor this, nor their own, nor all the Shops nor Walls in London or the World (that's a bold word) are either strong enough, or large enough or weighty enough to contain it.
But all this while, how will I make profit of what's only pleasant? Why as easily as I make this Book, and that before it. If Pleasure be the chief Good, as some Philosophers perhaps de∣fensively and innocently enough, if rightly taken, have asserted, then whatever is pleasant, must undoubtedly contain all other goods under them, and among them the profitable ones.
But not to mount the Argument above the vulgar Readers heads, and perhaps my own too, 'tis plain enough that what's so pleasant as this, must needs be profitable too another way to the Body, by chearing the Spirits, sweetning the Blood, dispelling black melan∣choly Fumes, and making it as brisk as a Pren∣tice just out of his Time, a Crack't Tradesman newly Set-up again, a jolly young Bridegroom on the Wedding-night, or a fair Bride the next morning.
Then to the Mind, what more innocently diverting, keeping from a hundred worse Em∣ployments, at once delighting and profiting, and mingling utile dulci so exactly, that there sha'nt be a scruple over or under on either side, though weighed in Apollo's own Ballance.
Thus ye see how profitable the Book had been, though t'had been only pleasant.— But per∣haps the grum sort of Readers will find fault with't for that very cause; they must have some∣what sowerer and stiffer to humour their Iack∣boot-Iudgments;— something that will bear read∣ing a hundred times over without ever grow∣ing thread-bare;—that may exalt the Judg∣ment, improve the Mind, and all that.—This they only call profit, and without this its beneath their supercilious Worships leisure so much as to cast a glance upon't.—Well, all this they shall have to please the grave Sirs, whom by the leave of their Beards we must quarrel with for not acting like themselves, condemning what they have never read, or not sufficiently reflected on. For which rea∣son Kainophilus must be again forced to do vio∣lence on his modesty, and point to the particu∣lar choice Jewels enshrined in this rich Cabi∣net; by which may be easily guess'd how gravely and sagely he could have discours'd from one end to t'other, wou'd the World have born it, as easily as all Hercules is mea∣sur'd by his Foot, or the former Fruitfulness of the Holy Land by some precious snips here and there to be found at this day.
I won't pretend to enumerate here all the sound pieces of good Philosophy, Sence and Rea∣son, as strong as Love or Mustard, which are scatter'd here and there all throughout the fore∣mention'd Work; though some such places I'll direct you to for my own Credit, as well as your Edification.
What an abstruse piece of Philosophy have ye there in cap. 1. pag. 27, 28, 29. of the Trans∣mutation
of Matter, and the different almost infinite Forms it passes through (which some of bigger Names have made so much work with) and with what strength of Argument and plea∣santness of Invention is it there prov'd at least probable, that Vander is made of a roaring Lion, or mighty Elephant?
Turn over to chap. 2. and see but what a sound and useful Discourse of Life presents it self to your Observation. Nay, so well incli∣ned is Kainophilus, that he lugs in this grave Meditation nolens volens, and talks of Life though he came dead-born into the World.
Chap. 3. pag. 42. How dutifully and hand∣somly does he speak of his dear Vertuous Mo∣ther, in those just Praises he gives that Paragon of Perfection, both proposing a Pattern for the rest of Women to imitate in her, and Children in him, whose Respect and tender natural Affe∣ction both to her and his Father will never be forgoten till Vertue and Gratitude perish from the Earth.
The next Chapter is as famous for his Love to his Country, for which he'd do any think but fight, as that before to his Mother. Clinking in the close with a Prophetical touch of the Reduction of Ireland.
I begin now to fear I have a small touch of the Conjurer, though I have so often dis∣claimed it in the former Book. For those Verses being writ before His Majesty Landed in Ireland, contain in a few lines as exact an Account of all the Expedition, as if t'had been taken out of the Gazet after 'twas over. Let the Reader be Witness else—
So far Kainophilus has prov'd an errand Prophet, and does not much doubt but a few Globes hence will bring the Completion of the two follow∣ing Lines:
See Talbot! See! thy Countrymen advance Their Conqu'ring Standards on the shores of France.I can't imagin what the World wou'd have, if all this don't take; nor know any reason why Evander's Prophecies should not sell as well as Grebner's Emblems, or Catastrophe Mundi.
Chap. 5. pag. 60. has an equally pleasant and profitable Discourse of School-Masters, with some well deserv'd Strictures on that severity and cruelty practis'd by some of 'em, and just acknowledgment to those of more temper and goodness.
Towards the end of which Chapter Evander confesses his Wit has a little run away with him; so ungovernable a thing is towring Fancy, when not hand-cufft by powerful Reason, flying out against Learning, beloved Learning, at so Satyrical a rate as almost makes his heart bleed to read it, when he thinks he has been so unkind to that which has been so kind to him.—But after he has thus broken its Head, he gives so clever and kind a Plaister, that any one wou'd be glad to be so wittily abused, to
have so good amends made him.—See pag. 107.
In the Sixth Chapter there's such clear Ar∣guments for Childrens Duty to their Parents, so deeply laid, and strongly urged, that they are able to Convert a Tartarian, and make him as dutiful a Bantling as any thing but Evan∣der.
The Seventh describes the glorious Town of London twice as big as Graffham, with all the Hu∣mours and Remarkables the Bumkin stares his Eyes and Teeth out upon; and some of the most common Tricks put upon those poor Tra∣vellers; which makes the Book useful for all Meridians, and may indifferently serve either for Taunton-Dean or London.
Where after an ingenious and remarkable Story or two about Androcles and Blood, the next we present you with is a noble Paradox so much agitated concerning Self-Murther; the rise of which is very suprizing; for who but an Evander wou'd have entertaind such a sage discourse with himself at the top of the Mo∣nument, whether he should throw himself down in the out-side and break his neck, or civilly walk down Stairs as he came; which last he wisely chuses for a great many Reasons, though one of the weightiest unluckily forgotten,—Lest the Iury finding him Felo-de-se, his Estate shou'd be lost, and not descend to his Posterity; or in plain terms, not to be longer Enigmatical, lest these Rambles, which as ye have often heard, he esteems the very Sons and Heirs of his Brains and Body, should perish with him, or only creep out like a helpless Abortive into the cold uncha∣ritable World.
Then how grave, just, ingenious and tender is his Sacrifice to the Manes of the Immortal Mr. Cowley in Westminster-Abbey, cap. 8. pag. 143. and how Citizen, nay Alderman-like his Di∣scourse upon Creditors and Debtors, the Interest of Trade, Sanctuary, Prisons, &c. in the same Chapter, pag. 146, 147, 148. and onwards 155, and 156. as thorough a Confutation of Transub∣stantiation as it deserves, and Wild-house, Priests, Laureat and all thrown flat upon their backs.
Now I appeal to you, O grave Iudges, the Authors, Printers, Booksellers and Readers of this Famous City: To thee, O H—st, the very Ge∣nius of Smithfield, and grand Encourager and Pa∣tron of all the godly Books and Ballads in all the Fairs of Kent and Christendom: To the most famous Conscience-splitter in Cornhil, the famous Squire at the Harrow, or the indefatigable Author at the Black Raven: To you, O Shir∣ley, Philips, Wesley, the Vexers of Mankind, and Translators of all Languages: And to thy great Ghost, O incomparable Bunyan, whether from the Premisses it does not appear as bright as a Brass Pan, and as clear as a Chrystal Drop at the end of Evander's Nose in the middle of Win∣ter, that this Book is as full of Profit, as an Egg of Meat, as my Pen with Ink (I just dipt it over head and ears) as my Skull with Brains, or a Bookseller with Honesty.
Another silly Objection started out of Envy's lean Jaws, is against that part of the Title wherein this Book is called, A Voyage round the World. Ay, and so 'tis and 'twill be, and a whisker of a Voyage too before 'tis done.—But 'tis only a pitiful Ramble from Post to Pillar, from Graffam to Tonsa and back agen, and to
London and out agen, and so to the place whence we came.—
Agen, Impertinent! Will ye never be answerd? Was there ever a Journey in the World which did not begin at one place or another? The famous Predecessor and Prototype of Kainophilus, the scarce greater Coryate (quem honoris causâ nomino) i. e. whose Breeches and Shoes are to this day honourably hung up in his own Pa∣rish-Church.—He himself begins his Ram∣bles some where, namely, just where I do, at his own Birth-place, Odcomb, in the County of Somerset, whence that sounding Title of Odcom∣bian Tom, though I think Graffambian Iohn comes not an Ace behind it. And what do me I but precisely follow so good and laudable Authority and Example, taking my rise at Graffam, in order to this Hop-stride-and-Iump round the World.
This Description of all the World I begin early, and intend to prosecute farther than ever any did before me.
I Begin my Rambles at nothing, which I soon make something of, and by that time I have done, poor Vander will be nothing agen.
And yet that nothing, something too; for I'm no Atheist, but yet such a something as is between something and nothing.
What if I observe some minute passages in the prosecution of my Rambles, the more exact still and perfect will the Iournal be; and why mayn't I make as great a splutter with my Dialogue with Owls and Cuckoes, as grave Authors do of Apollonius's Confabulation with the Sparrows and Oxen, since I dare ven∣ture
one of these Books to a Brass-Farthing one is as true as another?
Then for the gravity of some passages, I wou'd make the same Excuse Osborn does, and Cabbage his very words ('tis n't the first time perhaps, nor wou'd either he or you be ever the wiser) in a case of like nature, but not having the Book by me at present, you must be content with the Quintessence on't.
Some People (quoth he) may very gravely blame me for inserting some such slight Circumstances as these in my History (I think that he then men∣tion'd was the colour of Queen Ann's Hair) Ay, but let 'em consider,— He goes on—so far—till he's out of sight; and were Kainophilus to be made a Viscount, he can't remember what's next. But will tell you what's more to the purpose, as he was saying before, this Work is a fair and lawful Description of A Ramble round the World. 'Tis true, here's yet but a small part on't describ'd, nor I'll assure ye have ye any more yet than a small part of this Ramble; and yet that small one great e∣nough too, if consider'd in it self, though but little in regard of the whole World, nay all the Universe; which, as appears from the Frontis∣piece and Verses before the First Book, he threatens to ramble all round every nook and crook on't before he has done with't.
Once more, Mr. Kainophilus! How comes this to be a Voyage round the World, when we never yet met ye so much as in a Sculler crossing the Water. You have bin indeed, as ye told us before, sailing, and rowing and tugging by Land, when ye ••ot a Horse-back, where ye make tempestuous work on't, and your Vessel Reels t••rribly.—
But all this is nothing to Sea-service, and we never heard of a Voyage by Land since we were Christen'd, till ye were pleas'd to bring the word into the World.
How,—Evander not understand true English, who has been an Author these three and twenty years, and cou'd almost read his Criss cross-row in his Mother's Belly! Who has so many English Dictionaries in his Study, and another in his Head bigger than all together (and yet there's still room to spare both for Brains and Projects) Does not he?—nay—now you ruffle his smooth Soul, alter his fair Body, and discompose him all over.—If ye go on at this rate, with ma∣king Objections, a Man does not know how to answer (for their number, I mean not their weight) ye shall e'ne write your self, and let the World laugh at ye, for Evander will be your Fool no longer.—But not to over∣rule this Plea, we'll for once joyn issue, and giv't a fair Answer.
This Voyage round the World was made in the Ship of Fancy, which every one knows, like the Cossaks Boats, sails as well by Land as Water.— And now I hope you are satisfied.
One Objection more I ingeniously raise my self, not to put others to the trouble. I have pretty frequently mention'd the Famous Bunyan in the past, and may perhaps in this present and future Rambles; but can assure the World, not∣withstanding a flurt of Fancy now and then, in∣tended it with all the Reverence he deserves. But if o't'other side, any malicious Person should be displeased with me for quoting such a Tinker of an Author, let 'em know I have a topping Example for the same, which to
vindicate both my self and him, shall be here inserted, and therewith I intend to close this Chapter. [See New Observator, Vol. 2. Numb. 27.]
MR. John Bunyan, Author of the Pilgrims Progress, and many other excellent Book•• that have found great acceptance, hath left behin•• him ten Manuscripts prepared by himself for th•• Press before his Death: His Widow is desired to Print them (with some other of his Works which have been already printed, but are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 present not to be had) which will make together a Book of Ten Shillings in Sheets, in Folio. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Persons who desire so great and good a Wor•• should be performed with speed, are desired to send 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Five Shillings for their first Payment to the Under∣taker, who is impowred to give Receipts for the same.
A word of Reproof to all such as pretend they know the Author of these Rambles.
SO great a Glory do I esteem it to be the Author of these Works, that I cannot with∣out great injury to my self and Justice, endure that any shou'd own 'em who have nothing to do with 'em, like the Fellow at Rome, who pre∣tended to Virgil's Verses. But I need take no other way to confute these Plagiaries than Virgil himself did, requiring the Tally to his Vos non vobis.— Let any Man write on at the rate this is already written, and I'll grant he is the Author of this Book, that before, and all the rest to the end of the Chapter.— No, there is such a sort of a whim in the style, something so like my self, so Incomprehensible (not be∣cause 'tis Non-sense) that whoever throws but half an Eye on that and me together, will swear 'twas spit out of the moth of Kainophilus.— This by the bye.
But 'tis not the main business of this Chapter to assert what few will be so impudent to deny, and what I could give Demonstration of by let∣ting 'em see me write these very words which they read here, and subscribing under it,—Yours, Yours, Yours,—in ten thousand Obligations of Love and Service, Kainophilus Vander.
The main work in hand is, what the Contents explains in Short-hand. To rebuke those, at least over-bold Persons, who pretend to know who this Kainophilus is, and that better than I my self do, which seems a very hard case in my simple Judgment.
Comes ye one grave and good Man to me,—I beg your Pardon,—'twas but a slip to a Friend of mine, and thus accosts him—
Are n't you asham'd Mr.—thus to expose your self and your Friends to all the World?—Why have you no sense of Honour in ye, to write such a confounded silly Book as this of your self—ay—of your self,— there's the Jest on't, I protest I've hardly patience to think on't,—to make your self the perfect Maygame of the Town?— Why at this rate you'll be shortly pointed and laughed at as you pass the streets, and the very little Boys will cry,—There goes the Black-Swan, or White-Raven.
Will they so, quo' I (quo' he I mean still) I protest I'm heartily glad on't, and think it extream good News. Why have the little Gen∣tlemen so great an esteem for me?—Well, they honour me very much, and if a Pocket full of Sugar-plumbs as long as the Monument will gratifie 'em, they shan't want it. Does the World take notice of me, point at me, smile for Complaisance and Joy when I pass by,—'tis the very thing I'd be at, and I'm a made Man,—I shall get Money by't, besides Fame, Re∣nown and Honour in abundance into the bargain.
Was Demosthenes so proud, when one poor Tankard-woman cry'd, There goes Demosthenes? And shan't I be infinitely more proud, and with better reason, when not one, but the
whole Society of Tankard-bearers, Men, Women and Sucking-Children (which I find by the fore∣said Story are a Corporation very ancient) nay not only they, but all the Posse of Broom-men, Porters, Link-boys, Kennel-rakers, C••rd-match-sellers and Book-sellers, the very Mouth, Feet and Hands of London, shall never see me stir out of Shop, but they'll lift up their wond••ing Month, and Eyes, and Hands, and cry out in Extasies, There goes the Immortal Evander! For so they will call me, so they will be apt, grave Sir, to think me, alas only out of their goodness; whereas I'm no more he, I protest Sir, than I am Kainophilus; nor are they able to prove a word of what they say, any more than that I am the Man in the Moon.— People, Sir, you know will say their pleasure, and many things may by chance be extremely likely, which yet for all that are as far from true, as Chalk's from Cheese. I have been, I must confess, mi∣staken more than once for that worthy Author, whom some have flatter'd me that I a little re∣semble: But alas, strong fancy often makes Like∣ness where it never finds any; and I believe, on my honesty, I'm no more really like him, than Gar∣net's Beard in the Barley-Straw is like a Man.
Nay now, cries he, ye make me ten times madder at ye than before. Why are not all these passages here that could belong to none but you; and that I know as well as you, and scarce any beside us,—perswade me I can't feel my own Nose.
Whether you can or no, Sir, is no business of mine, Sir, any more, Sir, than this of yours! That ever appearances should thus deceive a Man of Sence and Years as you are, and make him so
positive too,—ay—that's the vexation on't, else the humour would pass well enough. Sir, you have often been upon a City-Iury, re∣member a Man is never hang'd for Circumstances.—What are all these Suspicions, and a hundred more, without positive Evidence?—Ay—there's the clinch of the Cause, the very top point and pinch of the Argument.—Grant I am so like Evander (though that's an argument I can't be he, because no like is the same) that I shou'd have all the marks of him about me, a very fair, proper, well made Person, in the Flower of my Age, Discreet and Prudent, Magnificent and Generous, and Valiant to a Miracle, well drest: And—(hold, if I go a little farther, I shall let every body know me indeed) I say, supposing I had all these shrew'd Ear∣marks about me, it might I confess be enough to have me stopt by a Hue-and-cry if met by 'em, and they order'd to apprehend him. But yet no Judge in England, not a George Lord Iefferys, whose Life you may have at Mr. Dunton's in the Poultrey, would be such a cruel bloody Dog to hang me by the Neck till I were dead, without any other Proofs than this seeming Similitude.
Just thus did these two judicious Persons di∣scourse on that weighty Subject, which the graver of the two pressed on with further and heavier Arguments. Whose Objections to that pur∣pose, with several other on the same Head, I Kainophilus, the very and real Author of these Rambles, now take upon me to Answer for my own Honour, and the Satisfaction of the World, and prove notwithstanding all the fruitless Alle∣gations to the contrary, and some seeming ap∣pearances, that neither Iohn-a-nokes, nor Iack-a-styles,
nor Will-wi-the-wisp, nor any other Per∣son yet named or suspected, are the real Authors of this Book, or the real Evander, but that I, and I only am he; and who I am, is yet, and ever shall be a Secret as long as I please, since the World neither does, nor for all its fleering perhaps ever shall or can know me.
Whoop (comes in an old Hawker-woman) what—don't I know Vander?—I that have serv'd him with Gazets and Pamphlets almost these ten years—I'll take my swear upon an Observator this is he,—the very errand he, or else may I be Spay'd by the next Sow-gelder. Why let's see—he has the very leer of him,—walk him—there's his perfect shuffle,—look—he winks too,—and is twirling a Pen between his Fin∣gers. Never tell me,—I know him as well as my own Mercury, or Dick Baldwin's Printing-house. If 'twas Evander writ this Book, I'm sure I know him, for there's ne're another of the name in the World, he's a Phoenix, and this certainly must be he.
Go cry your Votes, ye old Bawd,—sure this is a fine World,—and they'll perswade me anon they know me better than I do my self.—You know one Evander,—so did I too,—but he must needs be the same in the Book, because there's but one of the Name forsooth;—and are you sure of that Goody Strong-Lungs! See what 'tis to want reading, at least to be ac∣quainted with none but the Moderns. What has been, may be; and if there have been more Evanders than one, why mayn't there be so still? and if two, as well for ought I see two hundred, (though two will do my business as well as half a thousand.) Now all the World that ever
read Virgil so much as in the incomparable Ogylby's splendid Version, knows there was a very grave old Gentleman of his acquaintance called Evander, who had a Beard down to his Girdle-stead before ever I was begotten; from the resemblance to his whole humour, not his Person, the unwon∣ted Gravity of my Temper, and Wisdom of my Actions, even in my younger years, together with my delight in a sedentary Life, and dwelling a long time up in a Garret (as this fine old Man did at his Country Farm a top of a Hill) some were pleas'd many years since to give me the Title of Evander: But alas no more the same Evander this silly Woman talks of, than a Man is the same with a little Boy.—I knew that same Evander as well as she for her days earnings;—alas—I'm a staid Man, now turn'd of .... score, and he was a little nimble Fellow, always Rambling and capering about like Quick-silver in a hot Pudding-Pye.—But here are the same Looks,—a meer Chance, and Gate and Shuffle, because I'm a Man of business, and go for the most part in haste, as he did when he was Courting his Mistresses.
(An old Iade,—she made me sweat, I'm glad I'm got clear on her.—) But next for Kainophilus, the same wise Argument with that before.
There was once a silly Fellow who pretended a Design a little like this we are about, to Ramble round the World; he began I think with Kent, and so intended to run through all Christendom, and the rest of the World; but the pitiful abortive Project, which could never pretend to that heighth of Thought, and profundity of Inven∣tion with ours, for that cause never liv'd above two or three days, and then was justly condemn'd
to the stinking darkness of some ignoble Bog-house. 'Tis not deny'd but that hence we may have taken the Name, the only thing worth liv∣ing in it, and have Examples enough for our practice. Did not the ingenious Ariosto borrow several of his Names, particularly his beautiful Angelica, from some dull forgotten Rhimer that went before him? Nay, did not Virgil rake in Ennius his Dung, like a Gold-finder as he was, for that very reason, that he might deserve the Name? And why mayn't we as lawfully pull this single Name out of its nasty Oblivion, powder it, and dry it, and sweeten it, and wash it, and make use of it for our own proper Cognomen, or other∣wise, as we see occasion.
Besides, I question whether he understood Greek, or could construe 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, or 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; which till he does, all the World must grant he and the learned Kainophilus here so of∣ten named, are two quite different Persons, and no more the same than I and the Queen of Sheba.
You may rave and fret all this while, and cry all this is Banter, which I confess is the readiest way of answering it; but I appeal to all sober Judges, whether it been't almost as bad as Kid∣napping a Man away, to go about to perswade him he is what he is not; to make Trincalo a Duke; or as a good modest Gentleman was some time since served by the Barbarian Africans, beat him into Nobility, and make him stand in bodily fear of being at last thrasht into the Royal Fa∣mily.
To avoid which unsufferable Inconveniencies, and others of the like pernicious nature, I take all these pains with those who don't know what
to make of me, to shew both what I am, and what I am not.
The third and last Name from which this peeping, peering, Eves-dropping World pretends to know me, is I confess the least Heroical of all the three, namely Iohn, which they most sub∣tilly deduce from that line in the Explanation,—Hold up phy Head John!
Ay, and so I can for all I have heard yet, or am like to hear. 'Tis true, the Author of those Ver∣ses has been a little bold now and then, speaking something too diminitively, not to add fami∣liarly, of the Subject and Person he handles.—This fault I could wish he had here especially avoided: Had he used but the mighty Hebrew word Iehochanam, instead of that pitiful sneaking Iohn-English, I should e'ne have glory'd in the Name, and defy'd the World to say its worst upon't of that or me.
See but how they reason: The Author's Name was IOHN; They know one whose Name is Iohn;—nay that they are sure of, they'll prove it by the Register, by his Bills and Bonds, and own Hand-writing scrawl'd at the bottom of at least (in a modest computation) One million and five hundred thousand Epistles and familiar Letters.—Well, pray go on, and don't waste him thus, why therefore he must be the Author. In answer,—we don't deny there's a certain Person in the World known by the Name of Iohn, nay two or theee hundred; but if the Argument be good enough, all the rest must be the Authors on't, as well as Iohn-a-nokes or Iohn-a-styles.
But this Iohn is a Bookseller.—Come prove that if ye can.—I do it from the foresaid Verses,—Who e're heard of a King or a Bookseller drowned?
Worshipful reasoning.—Well, how all this World is over-run with Fallacies!—How few can discourse clearly and handsomly?—And how few are Evanders?
Granting he must be one of these two, does it follow he's the other, or both together? He's to ••huse which he'll be, a King or a Bookseller, and assures ye he has Wit enough to chuse the best? To be short, Does not every body know there have been King Iohns, as well as Bookseller Iohns (Iohn King of Naples, King of Ierusalem, King of England, besides a hundred and fifty little Iohnny-Kings not worth taking notice of.) This the World knows, but I know something more, and could name 'em a King Iohn of my own ac∣quaintance; nay, and perhaps a Bookseller too, as well as the Party suspected; and then where's all their arguing?
But this Iohn Bookseller went to New-England;—Ay, there's the home-stroke;—now they think they have me as fast as the sage Gentlemen Aldermen had their worshipful Brother the Cuckoe, when the Hedge was finished to keep in the noble Bird for their own use; or the poor Bumkin when he pricks in a Leather.—But trust Vander for wrigling out agen in spite of all their craftiness. Grant the Frontispiece has New-England, Boston, the Wigwams, and all that; nay, and a Bookseller too for once, ay, and a Iohn Bookseller, yet all this won't nor shan't do to prove the Author of these Works is known to the World. For if there were more Iohns and more Booksellers that went to New-England, then the case is clear, that from all has been said they can never prove who 'tis, since it may be one as well as t'other. But the Premisses I assert upon my Honour, and
am sure that my honest Fellow-Traveller Iohn (how d'ye like it Sir?) will never deny it.—Therefore the Conclusion stands as firm as a Rock of Adamant, that ye don't know me, nor shan't know me, or (as I have it in my Memorial-Book word for word) it is not at all prov'd that the Author of this Work should be the Person whom the World believes it to be.
Once more whispering.—Speak all at once, for I'll hear no more.—Why, quo' Mr. Cri∣tick, though these Evidences taken singly by themselves, mayn't be able to conclude against the Person accused, yet all together they may; for we often see, as in the Fable, one Stick Broken, when twenty such together, though of equal force, separately would require a Hercules to snap 'em asunder.
Come—never talk,—is't not impossible that all these Characters should meet in one Man, agreeing to the Author of these Works, and yet that Person not be the Author. The Names Kainophilus, Evander, Iohn. The Occupation a Booksellr. Lastly, the Vbi, or wheresomness (as well as the Quis or Quid,—the Whoiety or the Whatchicallity) namely New-England.—Look upon the Evidence now 'tis summ'd up together, and if he ben't the Man, he's no Man at all, but as perfect a Sprite as Posture-Clark in the t'other Book.
Thus is a modest Man opprest with noise, and endeavours used to press him to Death with Weights, when Strength can't do't. All I say, is, Circumstances are but Circum∣stances
still, though you pile 'em as high as the Monument. I deny it, do you prove it, which you han't done, yet by all you have said. Till when, you must give me leave to subscribe my self what I was before, and am still like to be,
Your humble Servant, Johannes in Nubibus, alias, Clowdy John.
Containing something full as useful as the two formet.
SOhoe the House! Knock at his Breast or Back-door, and ask if Evander be at home; for the eternal Rambler seems to have forgot his main business, that famous Life of his, which in the last Book he had so happily brought through the first Stage, that of Childhood, which he ended with the beginning of his Prenticeship.
I'll assure ye 'tis a great mistake,—he's so far from having forgot what he's about, that he thinks on't so much, he can mind nothing else; nay scarce that neither, for he's in so brown a Study,
or such deep far-fetcht Reflexion concerning the great Task he's now to go thorough, his Seven Years Service; mingled with a little spark per∣haps of displeasure at the World for forcing him here to spend two Chapters in his own Vindication, that like a poor lean tired Jade in a dark Road, stuck fast in Mire and Clay, he hardly knows how to wag an Inch forward or backward.
Yet after a little pause he takes heart-a-grace, and gives you his own Description in those most fresh springing Years of his tender Juvenility.
Do but step in there, Sir, in the Frontispiece, Globe 5. standing, or rather growing in the in∣side of his Counter, like a Creeper against the side of an House,—with all the mortal Tokens of a Prentice appearing in his very Phisnomy.—Behold but the vastness of his Ears (if like their Picture) not only large enough, as Oldham's Country Parson's, to make Night-caps for himself, and roll up over his Head every night to keep him from the injury of the Weather; but like an excellent Instrument serving at once for several uses:—spatious enough for Towels wherein the Cook-Maid (beshrew all her Kitchin-stuff for't) would too often for his repose wipe her greasie Golls, and cleanse her colly'd Fingers,—nay had they been Leather, and of the same length they are here describ'd, ten to one but the Jade would have made use of 'em instead of Straps to whet her Knives upon. But alas all this is meerly as pleases the Painter (or Graver, 'tis no great difference) for Evander's Ears, as well as all his other parts, were very propor∣tionable, and as the Verses before the Book,
—Thus in Man the parts agree, &c.
However leaving his Ears at present, which are at his Countreys Service as well as all the rest of his Body, I, he, and we, Kind, Courteous, and Gentle Reader! are now to settle in our Geers, mind our Business, learn our Trade, and do what an honest Prentice knows to be his Duty. What I have with a great deal of tugging formerly prov'd, is just now to be rendred past all doubt, namely the excellent profit and use, as well as Rarity, Novelty and Diversion of this Book.
For here am I Kainophilus resolved to leave all Apprentices, both present and future, such a Copy, as I doubt few of 'em will write after, none I am certain ever excel.
Evander himself is that Copy, and if they'll but take care to imitate him, and follow such a high Example as he has set 'em, they'll all in time stand as fair for Aldermen as he himself does. Nor is what he writes confined to his own single Experience, and more narrow Sphere, he having with the greatest pains and accuracy, as his Custom is, cropt and cull'd the very choicest Flowers to be found in other Writings, giving them the same liberty in his own, if they think fit to make use on't.
The first and choicest care of young Evander, as to this World, was how to please his Master, whom he was now marry'd to, for better for worse, for seven long years together, a great part of his life, and upon which all the rest depended. And so acceptable was this care, so tender a regard had he to this his industrious, though unworthy Servant, that he shall ever retain grate∣ful resentments of the same till he's all Dust and Worms-meat, And how deeply his Character is imprinted in my heart, shall be seen by this
Impression wrought off from it, shewing what he was, is, and none else ever shall be.
My Master was a grave good Man,—a sub∣stantial honest Citizen of London. Devout and Religious, without making a Trade on't, or as some of his Neighbours in a too literal sence, making a Gain of Godliness. Nor thought this enough, without being Just and Honest to∣wards his Neighbour. Willing to do any Man a good turn if he might without injury to himself; and as Charitable as Iust, whatever his own Opinions were of smaller Matters, thinking well of all whom he knew not to de∣serve the contrary, though they differ'd from him; and well of none for being of his Party, unless they had other Merits to recommend 'em. He was never over-fond of publick Honours and Employments, neither unwilling to under∣go 'em, if plac'd on him by the suffrages of Fellow-Citizens, or Laws of the Land, think∣ing nothing too mean or heavy for him to stoop to, or stand up under. He was so far from glorying in betraying his Country, and build∣ing his own Fortues on its ruin, that he thought nothing but his Soul either of more value, or more meriting his utmost care and concern. Accordingly he ever gave his Hand, and as freely his Heart for such Persons as his Repre∣sentatives in Parliament, who were properly such really like him, and therefore fit to be so; Gentlemen of honest Integrity, Prudence and Courage, vers'd in the Interests both of City and Nation. His Religion was not confined to the Church any more than the Shop; His behaviour in his Family being grave and exemplary, his
Devotion constant, his Care over his Houshold tender and impartial. To his Servants he seem'd indeed a Father rather than a Master, but like a wise Father avoided the two dange∣rous extreams of Severity and Fondness, that Scylla and Charybdis, one of which, by their endeavouring to avoid the other, either sucks in or dashes in pieces the most of Mankind. He indeed, if ever any Master, kept this golden mean, steering exactly betwixt the Rock of one side, and Gulph on t'other. A sweeter Severity, or better temper'd Gravity I never saw; he, like a true wise Man, ordering his carriage towards his Servants as occasion re∣quired. If sweet temper'd and ingenious (like Evander) he us'd the softest and gentlest methods with 'em; if rough and haggard, or abusing his goodness, he as well knew how to be severe, and use that Authority he was in∣vested with, though not over-strain it, and so render 'em desperate.
In a word, he knew that he was their Master, not Patroon; that they were his Servants, not his Slaves; neither were they his Masters. Accordingly, though he would hardly strain his Authority so far as to command things unreasonable, having much rather the equity of whatever he required should of themselves at the first notice of his pleasure, oblige them to a ready compliance, yet in any thing not irre∣ligious, he would hold the Reins steddy, not induring to have his Will disputed, but obey'd, commanding nothing unhandsom for them to do.
He knew the Infirmities of Youth, and made al∣lowances for 'em, if not vitious or scandalous;
and by his dexterity and facility in managing 'em accordingly, would work what he pleas'd upon `em, and not rarely sav'd 'em from ruine, whenas had he us'd rougher methods, they had only flown out into desperate courses, and broke the hearts of their careful Parents.
There's a Master!—the very Standard of Cheapside, and High Water-mark of the City of London. What's said of England in another sence, would in a sence something like it, be soon true of him. 'T has been said, were there a Bridge over the narrow Seas, all the Women in Europe would run over hither;—so had they but Li∣berty, all the Servants in England would run to him, and he'd have more Turn-overs than e're a Trader in Christendom.
But I can't part with my dear Master so abruptly,—I have a great deal more of his due Laud and Praise yet behind,—and should any pretend they have somewhere else met with some of these Notions which now follow in his Praise, let 'em know, that as long as 'tis all true of him, 'tis no matter where I had it;—and in good truth all Masterly Perfections seem to be so concentred in him, that no Man alive can speak a good thing of a Master, but mine must deserve it. The Painter when he drew a Venus, took an Eye from one Beauty, and a Lip from another, a Leg from this, and a Hand from that;—so alas am I forced to do in this case, or else I should never be able to let the World see my most excel∣lent Master, the very best of Men, as Iris of Wo∣men; or in a word, a perfect—He-Iris—whose very Footsteps I could kiss, with I think as much
gust as her dear Lips, those silken Cherries I should have call'd 'em:
Soft Cherries, which ev'n Angels wou'd intice, Fruit only for the Bird of Paradice.—That's no Raven, cryes one;—And who ever said 'twas, Mr. Owl?—What have you to do thus to interrupt me in my Story? Rather hearken and learn what my Master was, and you ought to be, if ever you come to fill so honourable a Station.
He was, ay that he was, (perhaps I could say he is still) The Heart in the midst of his Houshold, Primum vivens & ultimum moriens, (though I took my leave of Grammar, you see I kept a little Latin, though not long enough for a Neck-Verse, but the English on't is)—First up, and last a bed, if not in his Person, yet in his Providence. In his carriage he aims both at his own and his Servants good, and makes it his principal endeavour to advance both. He very wisely and narrowly over-sees their Work, knowing that the Master's Eye makes the Horse fat; and as one wittily said, The Dust that falls from the Master's Shoes, is the best Comp••st to manure any Ground. The Lyon out of state wont run if any looks upon him.—Quite contrary, many Servants won't run unless they are look'd upon,—and spur'd too, sometimes, though not hag∣ridden, or quite jaded off their Legs by their Tantivy-Masters. Such was not mine, and yet sufficiently careful and exact to take his Servants Reckonings, without which they'd reckon but little of him; and if he takes no account of them, they'll make no account of him, (there was Wit for ye
forty year agon, and is still at Sturbridge-Fair, and at that end of the Countrey) not caring what they spend, who are never brought to an Audit.
He provided them Victuals wholsom, suffi∣cient and seasonable; nor so allay'd his Servants Bread, as to make that Servants Meat which was not Mans-Meat.—[O, I shall never forget what a brave house the good Man kept, and how many a sturdy Surloyn of Beef I have made groan under the vengeance of my hunger while I lived in his Territories.] And though the Proverb says,—When Belly is full, Bones be at rest; yet after Meat came Mustard, or at least what was the proper condiment, and cause of Digestion, a chearful sprightly Temper, pleasant Entertain∣ments, and lawful Recreations, Stool-ball, Foot∣ball, (by a sad token,—I had my Nose broke at one, and my Head at t'other) Barley-break, Hot••cockles, Questons and Commands, or any thing else, nothing could come amiss to Evander in those days, though no•• ••••agon grows old. He remembred the good Saxon Law of old King Ina.—If a Villain works on a Sunday by his Lord's Command, Let him be free: Never observing that Working on Sundays made People better Artists, whatever Playing then may do. He never wou'd threaten his Servant, but rather immediately correct him, that is, not abso∣lutely threaten, but conditionally only, with promise of Pardon upon amendment:—which was never wanting in me where there was real occasion, being at least very sorry when I had offended so kind a Master. He knew that a sour, harsh, unplacable humour was as unsup∣portable as unpleasant and unprofitable to both
sides of the Relation, tormeting instead of re∣forming, and only tending to make Servants keep their Faults, and leave their Masters.—Wherefore in case of Threatning, and on any necessity of just Punishment, he seldom or never pass'd his word, but made present pay∣ment, lest the Creditor should run away from the Debtor.
In correcting a Servant, he never us'd to be a Slave to his own Passions, common Justice, Reason, Pity and Humanity, as well as the Chamberlain, hindring him from making new Indentures on the Flesh of his Apprentice, though he might happen in some light instances to break the old. And indeed how many good Servants are that way eternally ruin'd, and for ever unfitted to serve their Countrey after they get out of their time, or their Master before, as certainly Evan∣der himself had been, had his Master gone to work with him as some wicked Wretches in this City have done with their Prentices, ripping up their Guts, beating out their Brains, or whipping 'em to Death, and so undoing 'em for ever. For this reason my good Master wou'd never strike me in the heighth of his Passion, lest my Brains should fly about my Ears, and the stroke re∣bound upon himself. But when he did find any Servant unlike me, and altogether incorrigible, so that he found it impossible to wash the Blacka∣more white, and whom he could never induce by Confession or Amendment to scowr out the Spots of his Soul, he'd e'ne fairly wash his hands of him, and turn him a grazing among his Fellow-Cattle.
Tender he was to a miracle of his poor Servant in Sickness, or any other such ill accident, making
his House his Hospital. This by a good token Kainophilus remembers, who had been under∣ground ten years agon, had he been otherwise. So like was his temper to that great Man Judge Hales, who would not let his sick Dogs, or old Horses be hang'd or knock't on the head, but gave 'em clean Straw, and good Lodging; and for what they had done when well and lusty, kept 'em like Gentlemen all their lives, as Prince Henry did the sick and old English Mastiff who had made a Lyon run away.—Not that my Master, being neither a Prince nor a Lord Chief Iustice, I mean in his Estate or Birth, for he was both in his Soul and Family, did use to keep his Pren∣tices like Gally-Slaves, chain'd to the Oar for Life; only I would be understood he had both a Fatherly care of us, in our short state of Matri∣mony, both in Sickness and in Health, and all our Lives after a distinguishing Aspect on those whom he had brought into the World, manifesting all the Care, though none of the Severity of a Master towards 'em as long as e're they liv'd.—And how much good, sage and kind Advice has he given Kainophilus since he came abroad into the World; which had he but made use of, wou'd have made him, if possible, greater and hap∣pier than he is already!
—Keep your Shop, and your Shop will keep you. —Even Reckonings make long Friends. —A Penny sav'd is a Penny got.And a whole sack full of Proverbs as long as Sancho's, to the same purpose, which I still re∣member, and are as it were the Beams and Rafters of my Discretion and Reputation to this day.
Nor after he had turn'd us out into the wide World, did he leave us there to bawl and cry,
and kick our hearts out without any more re∣gard what became of us, as those ill or mise∣rable Women who expose their Children in the Street or High-way, and then run away from 'em. No,—he'd always listen and hearken what became of us. No man ever went farther to∣wards making an Apprentice than he did, as if his care was not over at seven years end, but was to last all life long. So great, so good a Cha∣racter wou'd he be sure to give of us, where any thing of moment depended, that for my part I blush abominably I no better deserve it, and if I reflect on what he has said of me, and what my modesty tells me I really am, I profess I don't know my self, but sometimes fear he is talking of some other. My Man Evander (quo' he) well, if I had a Daughter of Gold I should not think her too good for him;—so faithful, so honest, so vertuous, (nay I must say for my self, as Nan Behn does, I am very innocent, un∣less it be as to—The Faults of gentle Love—) so careful, and obliging, and industrious, and ingenious,—well—I expect to see him Master of the Company at least, if not a Gold Chain about his Neck before he dies.—Besides truly he's well to pass,—his Father left him ...... and he has since made a better Penny on't.—He has the intimate acquaintance of several excellent Pens, and therefore can never want Copies, and trust him for managing and improving 'em. He has the Printers at his beck already, and orders those Irregular Things as well as they their own heaps of Letters.—He'll make a Book vanish into the World, as quick as Spirits out on't, and bring it abroad as easily as Leeson draws a Tooth, or as nimbly as a Flash of Lightning.
Besides, under the Rose, he's a pretty Author himself, has done several curious things that I cou'd name, and which I'll assure you have taken very well, and by that trick he saves Copy-money, and gets himself immortal Fame and Honour.
Nay—I profess I can bear no longer. Dear Master hold your hand a little, or I shall die of no other Death than a Surfeit of Praises. The best things corrupted, are the worst and most dangerous,—even a Man's own breath kills him, if he holds it in but too long.— Thus my modesty will choak me, if I don't get vent for't; and when I'm out of hear∣ing, praise me as long and as much as you please, but I'm resolv'd I'll be even wi' you.—I'll tell all your faults at once, and the only one I know, is in this matter,—If ever the World can say you speak what's not true, 'tis when ye launch out in the Praises of Evander.
However I shall n'ere forget this unexampled Kindness till I forget my self, and more, my Iris; and so great and real a value and honour have I, and ever will have for my Master, that even my Fellow-Prentices are no less dear than Brethren, and his very Dog and Cat I esteem as much as if they weré my own little Cousins.
As concerning the Small Pox. A Lesson for Prentices, and other things very much to the purpose.
SO much for the Master—Let his Servant be good or bad—now for the Servant, what∣ever be his Master.
If he has a good one, like mine, I'm sure he can ne're be too careful to please him; and the way to do it, is to get fast hold of me, and fol∣low me step by step (unless I should happen to run clear away, or get into the Kennel) and then he'll scarce fail to attain perfection.
For as Philosophers have advised to have always the Picture of some Great Person either before the Eyes, or instamp'd firmly on the Memory, that we may never do any thing one wou'd not be willing they shou'd see, or unworthy such noble Examples; so I can't imagine any better way to instruct or reform the ill habits too generally, a∣las, contracted among the Apprentices of London, than by setting so exact a Pattern before 'em—that when any difficult case happens, they may only for their Satisfaction run thither, consult the Oracle, and cry thus or thus did Evander.
And what he did, I am just going to tell ye. But many things fall out between the Cup and the Lip—so both you must be abridg'd from
the Pleasure of hearing, and I of telling it, till this ill Job is over—For just as I had stript to my Doublet, and was preparing to thrash Instru∣ctions into your Ears, and make you edifie abun∣dantly, comes that ugly, nasty, envious Disease, the SMALL POX, that inveterate Enemy of good Faces, and maul'd poor Evander at such an unmerciful rate, that you wou'dn't know one snip of him agen, so unlike did he soon grow to what he was before. Hardly one twelve Months had been worn away in those Golden Chains of his Apprenticeship, but he concluded Death was come to set him free, for which he conn'd its lean Jaws no more thanks than the Old Man did, who call'd it to ease him of his Bundle of Sticks.
No sooner I began to make Remarks and Ob∣servations, and to know how good a Master I had, but I thought I had lost him agen.
Instead of those sage and grave Notions that used to fill my Head, 'twas cramm'd top full of Whimseys and Whirligigs, by the vehement agita∣tion of my distemper'd Fancy, as ever a Carkase∣shell with Instruments of Death and Murder. I was nothing but all Flame and Fire, and the red-hot Thoughts glared about my Brains at such a rate, and if visible, wou'd, I fancy, have made just such a dreadful Appearance as the Window of a Glass-house discovers in a dark Night—viz. a parcel of stragling fiery Globes marching about and hizzing, appearing and vanishing high and low, transverse, and every where—which at length in a few days blew up my Head like a Bottle, and I had a Fire as uninterrupted, and I think as hot as thnt we talk of, rolling all over me, boiling my very Bowels into Tripes, and fry∣ing
my poor Heart in its own Water, till I fan∣cy it looked like the broyl'd Soul of a Goose, or a piece of Cheese tosted over the Candle. When poor Evander drunk, as my Nurse knows that was not often, 'twas like the slaking of Iron in Wa∣ter, or rather the Taylor's spitting upon his Goose, where the little drops of moisture only stink and sputter, and fly off agen; and I can hardly per∣swade my self but if any Virtuoso had out of curi∣osity listen'd at my Back-Door, they might have easily heard the small Beer and Posset-drink hizz within me, as it came down into my Bowels.
What a multitude of Visions, Raptures and Re∣velations did I then see and enjoy! and cou'd I but have manag'd my Pen then as well as now, I might have clapt down Matter enough for a Book four and twenty times as long as all these Rambles— But they're lost to the World, and there's an end on't; tho' neither Rice Evans, who fore∣saw the blessed holy Christian Court of K. Ch. the II. nor Mrs. Iames, who prophesies as fine things from his Brother's, cou'd ever have pretended to higher flights than the young Evander.
I foresaw Things that never was, are, or will be— The Restauration of K. Iames, and the Re∣ligion of his Friends, and the Courage of the Irish— with twenty thousand things more too tedious and strange to i••stance in.
—But O my Face! my Face—Had my Brains been only ••••rn'd topsy-turvy, or my Wits lost by this Disease—had my Eyes only been weaken'd, obliging me on some occasions to wink ever af∣ter—why all this might have been born by a Man that had read Seneca (as a Fellow said in Cheap∣side, when another took him a kick in the Br—) but to lose a good Face— ay—and such a Face as
I lost—'tis intolerable— and I cou'd have found in my heart not to have liv'd afterward— O that I had but Cowleys Verses on Madam Philips by me! I remember he laments her hard Fate, and the cruel ravage that scurvy lustful Disease made in her beau••eous Frame, that I can hardly for∣bear thinking 'twas writ for Evander; and were I little less a man, shou'd think he had mistaken the Names, and writ Orinda instead of me.——Cowley—well-minded— we have had no Poetry all this whole live-long Book: sure the World will think we are turn'd Quakers, to wear all this Linnen (as what else is Paper) without any Lace upon't. Let's tune up then with all speed, and ••ncouple the biting Iambicks against this foul Dis∣ease, the Small (I mean) Pox, which has so transmogriphy'd Evander from Evander.
PAndora's Box Let loose the* 1.1 Pox To mawl us, And with foul scratches, Poor ugly wretches, Bescrawl us: An Envious Jade, Thus to invade Fair Bodies, And make 'em look Like Crow, or Rook (Which odd is.)* 1.2 Kainophilus All o re does blush To see it, His Soul 'twou'd grate, Did not hard Fate Decree it.But Wishes nought avail— and seeing 'tis no bet∣ter, 'tis well 'tis no worse—I might have turn∣ed Fool as many others, (and then what wou'd have become of these Rambles?) But to be graver,
Is not that Man or Woman very near Dotage, who either admire their own Fine Faces, or a••e tormented at the loss of 'em? Were the men all Evanders, the Women all Iris's, time m••ll come when they'd look as ugly as Mother Shipton, or a half-skinn'd Chapfaln Scull in a Charnel-house. 'Tis but a few days perhaps, at least years sooner, that this alteration must be made if Sickness had not done it before, and saved Death the la∣bour.
Supposing Beauty something real, 'tis b••t skin-deep, and may be all scratch'd away in a mo∣ment. If Proportion an •• Harmony 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a ••art of
Beauty, better have all the parts of the Face a∣gree and be like one another than otherwise. If 'tis a Beauty to have some part of the Face black, why not yet more to have it patch'd all over? Truth is, that Beauty is Fancy, at least the most part on't; and as a person may well be angry, and full as justly, that they have lost a Lap-full of Guineas they dreamt of, and imagin'd they were telling over, or hugging the dear Bags that held 'em, as to have lost that which is little more real than the other.
How common is't, that what pleases one, dis∣pleases another. The most celebrated Beauties suit not all, tho' as celebrated Iudges, and Pres∣byter Iohn thinks himself as happy with his black arm-ful of Joy, as the greatest Prince of the white World in the Embraces of the most snowy Ladies.
Is it so? Why then Evander value not Beauty no more than that does thee. If it does not like its old Habitation, let it find a better, and e'en stroll off about its business like a Gypsy Quean as 'tis: (O that thou wer't but as well rid of others as now of thy own) while thou marchest about thine, being well recover'd by the exquisite, and never-sufficiently acknowledg`d kindness of the best of Masters, and after tallowing thy Face, and licking thy Lips, scrubbing thy Thighs, and claw∣ing thy Ha••nches, as is usual in those Cases, art return'd behind the Counter agen as brisk as old Aeson when he had cast his Skin, and grew as fresh as a Chrysom Child, tho' past fourscore and seventeen last Midsummer.
On a double account I now came into a new World, being little acquainted with the old one
before, and what small acquaintance I had, in so fair a way of leaving it.
When I once came abroad agen, and was em∣ploy'd in the Town about my Masters business more frequently than formerly, being now Head-prentice, and deliver'd from that worst part of my doom, nothing in the World being a greater Curse to a man of (my) Spirit, than to be a Servant of Servants, I fell into acquaintance about Town, saw the Humours on't, and found enough to make me hate some things, and be cautious of others. This added to what I formerly knew, and wou'd ha' told you before, had not Sickness chopt in between; I have here left for the benefit of the World, and of you in particular, my dear Well-beloveds, the hopeful London Pren∣tices from Temple-bar to Aldgate, as you'll find in the following Chapters.
Of Atheists, and other Fools or Knaves of that nature.
NO sooner one Munday Morning, had my Ma∣ster sent me out with a Note into Duck∣lane, but who shou'd I meet with at the turning down Shoemakers-Row, but a young Spark of my Acquaintance, formerly my School-fe••low, some years before me advanced to London, and placed by his careful Father, Apprentice to one Mr.—A— at the Sign of the—not far from the
sound of Bow-Bell. He appear'd extreamly brisk and gay, profess'd himself heartily glad he had lit so luckily on his old Acquaintance, and in∣vited me to a Glass of Wine at the Queens-Arms and Fountain; which being then in haste, and my Master expecting me back agen, having business himself abroad, I durst not accept, but promised soon to steal an Opportunity to enjoy his good Company.—
We went chatting along together for two or three streets, talking of old Stories and Acquain∣tance, several of whom he named to me, and where they lived,—withal adding, they and much other excellent Company were to meet at such a Tavern (as well as I can remember at such a distance, 'twas the Nag's-Head in Cheap-side,) that very Evening, whither if I could pos∣sibly steal time from my business, he'd engage I should be very welcom, pressing me very ear∣nestly, this being the first time he had the hap∣piness to meet me in Town, not to refuse his In∣vitation.
Being not unwilling I must confess to see the humours of the Town, as well as my old Acquain∣tance, and not willing to disoblige this Per∣son with whom I had formerly contracted a great intimacy, I promis'd him, if I could possibly get leave of my Master, I'd not fail meeting him at the time and place appointed. I perceiv'd in∣deed he smiled something scornfully when I men∣tion'd asking leave, and from that time began a little to suspect him, tho' his way lying diffe∣rent from miue, we then immediately parted.
In the Evening, according to our assignation, I told my Master I had met some of my Acquain∣tance whom I h••d not seen for several years, and
••equested his leave to give them a visit for an ••our or two, it being in the long Winter nights, ••nd Shops shut early.
This he did not refuse, but withal oblig'd ••e to have a care of ill Company, the ruin of ••hree quarters of the World, and to be sure not to ••••ay out late, which he'd by no means endure.
—Modestly thanking him for his good Ad∣••ice, and promising to regard that, and keep within the compass as to time, away I went to ••he place I told ye of.
But Heavens,— what a Hell did I see and hearas ••oon as I enter'd.—'Twas not now more than Se∣••en a Clock, and yet one good half of the Compa∣••y whither my Acquaintance, whom I ask'd for ••at the Bar, conducted me, were as Drunk as Brandy or Claret could make 'em; and the other half employing that little sense they had ••in Volleys of Curses and Oaths.—Stepping back ••gen over the Threshold, as one who treads on a Snake,—Is this (said I to him who was intro∣ducing me) the good Company you promis'd to bring me to—? Why they seem fit Company for none but themselves or Devils.— As I was going forwards and backwards at once, he stopt me in both motions, and half by force, half by perswasion, got me in among 'em, laughing aloud at my ignorance and squeamishness, and telling me I should shortly be one of them, and as mery and wicked as the best.
Iust such a tender-hearted Fool was I (cryes he who brought me thither) when I first came to Town, nay continued in the same fine precise humour till I was almost pointed at as I pass'd the streets, till honest Iack here took pains with me, ••nd with the help of some of this good Company,
soon made me as brave a Fellow as the be•••• of 'em.
What, I warrant you (says another) this poo•• fresh-water Soldier is afraid of enquiring into the Till, and cheating his Master, and durst not swear or whore though you'd make him an Alder. man.— But we must bear with him, and re∣member what we once were our selves.—I could hold no longer to hear 'em talk at tha•• lewd rate, my blood boyl'd, my heart trembled, and I hardly had the courage or patience to an∣swer 'em, doubting whether I was fallen among a crew of Devils or mortal Creatures.— You were once Men (said I) but now I question of what Species I ought to name ye; for there are oth•••• Beasts go upright as well as you, which yet is more than I see most of the Company here can do.
They'd let me go on no further, but instead of being angry, as I expected, fell all into a loud and most profuse laughter, reiterating the same i•• several volleys, and not permitting me to insert a word between. Till at last, when they were weary, he who introduced me lookt wistly in my Face, and askt me very seriously,—But Evander, are you really of this mind? Is not the taste of Mothers-milk yet off your tongue, and d'ye think it such a hainous thing to be Drunk, as you pretend you believe it? What a deal of sour Religion and Vertue you yet pretend to carry about you, as if there were any real Evil in being merry with a Friend, giving Nature a Fillip, as you see we do here, and en∣joying our selves as well as our Masters do theirs. What hurt did that charming Bottle there ever do, that you should so severely hold forth against
it? And why mayn't we forget our Troubles, and make the tedious seven Years roll as glibly on as possible, since as the Poet,
The Wheel of Life no less will stay In a smooth than rugged way.And why shou'd n't we drink as well as all Na∣ture? the Sea, the Air, the Sun, the Earth, the Birds and very Beasts themselves, to whom your grave side of the World so often compare us.—And a Beast I'd be with all my heart, were I to chuse what sort; for what a heavenly Creature is an Elephant, that can suck in a whole Tun at a Gulp?
He would have gone on I believe at the same rate, if I had not interrupted him, and in the next place wish'd himself a Whale, that he might drink whole Seas, and spout 'em out agen. I con∣fess, said I, I expected not any thing that look'd like Reason from ye, and 'tis meerly your good∣ness, since 'tis more than a Beast is bound to give for his Actions, and such it seems you think or wish your self to be. You ask whether there's any evil in being merry with a Friend? I readily answer, No, but there is in being mad with 'em. Look but what wonderful mirth there is among ye: Is not he very merry there that lies with his Heels upwards against the Frame of the Table, or that other pair so well matcht, excellent Com∣pany (for themselves and the Hogs) who in their drunken kindness kiss'd and slabber'd one another so long till they did the last indeed.—See else where they wallow half drown'd in the nasty ir∣ruptions of their own Stomachs?— Or that Spark
in the other corner, a very pleasant Companion, who has been quarrelling and fighting all round, till the Liquor (and some of his Fellow-Drunkards together) has knockt him down a-cross one of his Brethren in the same condition?—And for those that still make shift to keep upon their Legs (or Stools) are they not extreamly merry and divertive, who sit nodding one against another like the stinking Snuff of a Candle, when 'tis just going out in the over-heated Socket?
But alas, you design only to heighten Nature, to exalt and cheer it, not quite sink and drown it at the rate that these have done: And how often pray have they seen you in the same fine Circumstances that you do them? When you are once got beyond the Barrieres of Temperance and Modesty, you can no more stop your self, than after you are faln from the top of a Tower, you can stay betwixt that and the ground. 'Ti•• lawful to be chearful, no body denies it, and some∣times necessary too, but can't a Man be so with∣out beating the Watch, and allarming all the Tene∣ment? Or is there no difference (as an ingenious Man asks you, between going up to your Chamber, and riding upon the ridge of your house? All nature teaches us Sobriety, not Intemperance; nothing in the World has too much moisture but it suffers for't, and quickly rots if it ben't dry'd agen. The very Rivers and Sea, the greatest Topers in the Vniverse, drink no more than suffices 'em; nay, and that not so much for their own sakes as others, the Rivers only suck in moisture for the Sea, and the Sea agen for the Rivers, unless we'll say this is not like Liquors in the Stomach, something preternatural, but like that in the Veins, in a regular circulation to preserve the whole. An Elephant drinks a great
deal, and need enough there is of a large swallow which has so large a Body, but what only slakes his thirst, would burst a Horse to pieces, or any smaller Animal, none drinking beyond their proportion, there being no Beasts in the World that will be drunk, as Naturalists report, but a Swine and a Man, who are then fit company for one another, and worthy no place but a Hog∣stye. On which account you well enough give your Bottle the Epithet of Charming; for its Operation is just the same with what the En∣chantress Circe's Boles produc'd, charming Men into Hogs.
Your calling your Bottle Charming, puts me in mind of a pretty Criticism I have some where or other met with. 'Tis that the old Iewish Con∣jurers used to make use of a Bottle (call'd in their language Ob) either to keep the Devil in, or which is much the same, to receive or give Oracles out on't, which were mutter'd in a deep hollow Voice. Nor has the Devil yet left that way of enchanting the World.
There's a strange odd passage in that well at∣tested Relation of the Demon of Mascon: One of the Spectators of his Pranks seeing a Bottle dance about the room, and hearing a Voice come from thence, gat hold of it, when immediately the ••oise was transferr'd to another part of the room, and the Devil fell a laughing very mer∣rily, and speaking to the Person who took up the Bottle, askt him if he thought him such a Fool to stay there, since if he had but clapt his Finger in, and stopt the mouth on't, he'd have held him imprison'd there, and he could by no means have got out agen. Whether the old ••yar kept to his trade, and told a Lye here
or no, is not much material; but this is cer∣tain, there's something like it true in the case we are talking of. While this charming Bottle o•• yours is close stopt, the Devil can do no feats with't; but if once 'tis open'd, he dances about the room to some purpose.
The young Divine (cries one of the Company) he talks as peremptorily of the Devil here, a•• if he were one of his familiar Acquaintance. First prove there's a God, before you tell us all these Tales of the Devil; for we believe one no more than t'other. Don't come to us with your antiquated Tales of Vertue and Vice, and Heave•• and Hell, and Good and Evil, we have bin past believing any such old Wives Tales for many a fair year; Our Pleasure is our Religion, our Body all of of us, this Life our Heaven, and when that's done, there's an end of us.
That would be rare News to you, I confess, if you could prove it (replied Evander) as easily as I can what you have now blasphemously, but according to your own practice, politickly enough deny'd; for I'm sure he's a greater Con∣tradiction to himself than any pretended ones he e're found out in Religion, who believes those things you have now talk'd of, and yet live as you do.
Tell me, ye Atheists, who sounded the firs•• march and retreat to the Tide, Hither shalt thou come, and no further? When the Winds are not only wild in a Storm, but even stark mad in an Hurricano, who is it that restores them again to their wits, and brings them a-sleep in a Calm? Who made the mighty Whales, who swim in a Sea of Water, and have a Sea of Oyl swimming in them? Who first taught the Water to imi∣tate
the Creatures on Land, so that the Sea is the Stable of Horse- Fishes, the Stall of Kine- Fishes, the Stye of Hog- Fishes, and the Kennel of Dog- Fishes, and in all things the Sea the Ape of the Land—? Was not God the first Ship-wright, and are not all Vessels on the Water descended from the Loyns or Ribs rather of Noah's Ark, or else who durst be so bold with a few crooked Boards nayl'd together, a Stick standing upright, and a Rag tied to it, to ad∣venture into the boundless Ocean? Whence came the Salt in the Sea, and who first boyl'd it which made so much Brine? What Load-stone first touched the Load-stone, or how first fell it in love with the North, rather affecting that cold Climate, than the pleasant East, or fruitful South or West? How comes that Stone to know more than Men, and find the way to the Land in a Mist? In most of these Men take Sanctuary at Occulta Qualitas, and complain that the Room is dark, when their Eyes are blind, for indeed they are God's Wonders.
That there is a Supream First Being, is as plain as that there's any Being at all; for where∣ever there's order, there must be one First, as surely as there must be an uppermost Round in the Ladder if there's an undermost. I need no fairer Evidence to convince you of this, than your selves and all the World.—Some certain qualms which sometimes won't let you believe what you fain wou'd, and that excellent order and harmony without you in all other parts of the Creation which you endeavour to destroy in your selves, and which openly and loudly confess something infinitely wise and perfect as their Father and Author.
But if you deny the Fountain, 'tis no won∣der that you won't grant the Streams, Vertue and Goodness, concluding just at that wise rate in this case, as ye do in others. Because you know none of these, nor ever experienc'd 'em, therefore there's no such thing; as because they never converse with honest Women, they be∣lieve there are none in the World; and because they never saw a Spirit, there's no such thing in being. 'Tis well you keep your Opinions from the knowledge of the People, and disguise 'em as cunningly as you are able, for the very Mo•• wou'd be ready to bring you to the Pump, if they knew the only reason that kept you from turning Pick-pockets was not from the wickedness of the thing, but lest the Law shou'd catch hold of you, that's in plain English, not for fear of Conscience, but the Hangman; whence 'tis more than suspicious, could you have a cleanly con∣veyance, you'd be as ready to dive into your Neighbor's Pocket, as into your own. And you do well to think there's nothing after this Life, at the same time you think there's no Good or Evil. For were there Evil, you know you have been sufficiently guilty on't, and ac∣cordingly deserve punishment; and if these are all your Ioys, as I understand they are some of the chiefest of 'em, Drunkenness and Rottenness, rivalling each other in your Affections and Courtship.
Thus might I have e'ne gone on to Dooms∣day without their minding a word I said, for by this time the Fumes of the Liquor, which it seems they had been tunning in all that day, con∣quer'd that little Reason they had left, and threw 'em all into a bruitish sleep; where I e'ne lest 'em to snore and stink together, while I full glad
of my happy Gaol-delivery, Bow-bell now ring∣ing, got quietly home to my Masters, having had enough of their Company and Discourse, which made my Hair stand an end when I thought on't; and being sufficiently warn'd from ever coming amongst 'em afterwards.
Those who think these Discourses perhaps too grave, and sett, to have happened in common Conversation, as before that I have described my Master above the life, may yet remember that the divine Plato as well as the vertuous Kai∣nophilus, makes a very Angel of his old Master Socrates, and talks ten times more gravely and formally in his Phaeda and other Dialogues, than I have done in this.
The Intent whereof may be discover'd with half an Eye, namely, to show the Danger Youth is in, when it first arrives here, of lewd Com∣pany, and atheistical, immoral Acquaintaince, which the honest Apprentice, who intends to come to any thing, must take a special care to avoid, as I did ever after, as he wou'd the Plague, Fire, or any other desperate Mischief—Their inten∣tion being to strike at all, and cut up Religion by the Roots; and that once done, neither moral Honesty, nor civil Felicity use to stay long after—nor needs there any more to warn any thinking Person against 'em, than of one side exposing their Practices, and of t'other answering their thin Pretence to argument; both which I have here endeavour'd to perform.
Being a Cage full of Cheats, Theives, Pick-pockets, Whores and Rogues.
'TIS generous to strike at the highest first, con∣quer once but the Grand Vices, and be tru∣ly honest, and all the puny Sinners will fly before you—Tho this must be more than in pretence, or else Hypocrisie only makes an Addition to the Sum which was high enough before. Too many there are who want that chief Vertue of a Servant, F••delity, who yet pretend as highly to hate the beforemention'd Crew as Evander's self cou'd do. To avoid whose dangerous paths, E∣vander first took care to consider there was one al∣ways saw him, tho his Master did not; and then most religiously abstain'd from the least Touch or Fingering of what was not at his own dispose; a little inconsiderable business generally making way for a greater, and the robbing of the Till, pre∣paring for the Portmanteau, as the Shop does for the Road. Believe it, you who are not yet past Advice, 'tis much easier to abstain from a little than a great deal; and if you once covet the forbidden Wedge, twenty to one but you are one way or other found out and lost for ever; for the Devil hath a kind of Method and Colour of Modesty in his Temptations.
At the first he tempts us to small Sins, to re∣mit something of our wonted Vigour, to indulge a little unto our corrupt desires, to unbend our Thoughts, and to slacken our pace in prosecution of good Courses, that by cooling our selves, we may be able to hold out the better. But when he hath drawn us thus far, he hath gotten the Advantage of us, and having a Door open, lets in his more ugly and horrid Temptations.
Sin hath its several Ages and Growths, first it is but conceiv'd and shap'd in the Womb of Concu∣piscence, then it is nourished and given suck by the Embraces and Delights of the Will as of a Nurse; then,
Lastly, It grows into a strong Man, and doth of it self run up and down our Little World, invade all the Faculties of Soul and Body, which are at last made the Instruments of Satan to act and fulfill it.
Satan at the first leads us downward towards Hell as it were by Steps and Stairs, which tho they go lower and lower, yet we seem still to have firm footing, and be able to go back at pleasure: But at last we find as the way is more and more slippery, so the Enemy ready at hand to push us down into a Dungeon of unrecove∣rable Misery, did not God's Mercy pluck us as a Brand out of the fire. Thus, young Men, you see There is no Faith in Sin.
Peter first sleeps only, that seemed the Exigence of his Nature; then he followed afar off, that happily was pretended to be only the drowsiness of his sleeping; then he sits down at the Fire, and that was but the coldness of the Air; but then comes denying, swearing, cursing, and had not Christ in time looked back upon him, the next
step and regress, would have reacht unto the Jaws of Hell. The Devil tempts Iudas first to betray his Master, and then to hang himself.
Reader, if thou art under any Temptation to drive a Trade in Sin, tho never so small, and hast made some Ventures already, and perhaps hast received some return of Profit or Pleasure, yet timely remember, what a horrible Wrack and Devastation it will bring upon thee at last! Sin will one time or other find thee out; delude not thy self with these vain Thoughts and Argu∣mentations, I will only go so far in Sin, to such a Stage in Wickedness, and no farther. By these Stairs the unhappy* 1.3 Foulks came up to that dreadful height, that (as he himself expresses it) it amaz'd his Thoughts to look down the fear∣ful Precipice he stood upon. But suppose (which was never known) you should itch but once to try how pleasing Sin will be, yet at Adam 's price you buy this painted Apple, and thereby lose that Paradice of Innocence, and sweet Serenity of Mind, which before you enjoyed.
Then resist the first beginnings, venture not upon a known Sin, tho never so little, or neglect a known Duty, tho never so much against the In∣terest of flesh and blood. Crush the Cockatrice; every Step thou makest in Sin, brings thee in greater danger: Repentance may be deny'd, or come too late; and it is ill venturing Eternity up∣on our last breath; he that fights the Battels of the Hellish Commander, he'll soon find him courageous enough to lead him into a more bloody Field.
When the forementioned Foulks first entered upon an irregular amour, if any body would have suggested to him where it would have ended, he would certainly have answered with the Assyrian, Am I a Dog that I should do this? yet he was the Dog that did it.
Sin in its minority is easily opposed, at first to resist it requires not so much labour, but there is no withstanding when it has attain'd to maturity.
The heights of Wickedness appear so mon∣strous at a distance to one that is but newly entring upon it, that he flatters himself he shall never come thither; but after long continu∣ance in it, and suppressing many Convictions, vio∣lating many Vows and Resolutions, after many Evasions to shift off the Imputation, Apologies to excuse or lessen it, Lyes and Protestations to de∣ny it, he becomes strangely alter'd, he is not what he was, but is insensibly brought more and more into the Snare of the Devil, who leads him captive at his pleasure, and one sin draws on ano∣ther, and each of a more deformed Production than another, like the Serpents of Africa, who by their promiscuous Copulations, have engen∣dred such strange and ugly Monsters as Nature never intended.
He that boldly ventures to break one Com∣mandment, will in a little time as boldly venture to make a breach on all.
Whosoever allows and licen••es himself in the Practice of any one Sin, tho he think it never so small, that man involves himself in a fatal kind of necessity to admit of a Train to attend and sup∣port it: Try not thy self, but trust my words.
For we had no farther off than next door a sad and remarkable Instance of this nature, which I believe I shall never forget while my Name is Vander. 'Twas at the Cane-shop he liv'd, at the Sign of the—over against the famous—Tavern. His Father an honest Country Minister, who strain'd hard to put his Son to so comfortable a Trade, being his eldest, and the hope of his Family, and expected to have been a Comfort to all the rest, tho he unhappily prov'd quite contrary; begin∣ning first with small puny Thefts now and then from his unsuspecting Master, but carrying him∣self all the while like an Angel, as he verily thought him. From selling now and then, or embezelling his Masters Goods to his own use, he came to mount higher, and by the Advice of wick∣ed Company, and Instigation of the Devil, grew at last acquainted with his Till, and getting a false Key made by the Impression of the other taken in Wax, prov'd such a Cash-keeper for him, as he neither suspected, nor desir'd.
One great Incentive to his thus purloyning from his Master, were some ill Women, with whom he was acquainted; and who living at t'other end o'th' Town, tho' as common as the Road thither, pretended to be Persons of Quality, and must be treated, forsooth, and caress'd ac∣accordingly. This Trade held so long, till by his continual finding Moneys in the Till mistold, his Master at length suspected him, and to try him one day, left there a parcel of Money, every piece of which he had both told and markt, to prevent any mistake in the discovery; and the Bait laid, bids his Man be careful of the Shop, and went out as about business; nor did he dis∣obey his Commands, not only looking narrowly
to the Shop, but to the Till it self, taking out four or five pieces of the Money left on purpose for him, resolving to have t'other pull at it the next Morning, tho' he fear'd to take a greater Summ at one time, lest it shou'd be miss'd and sus∣pected.
In short, home comes the Master late in the Evening, to bed they all went, and when he was asleep, his Breeches on Examination confess'd the fault, and discover'd all the Thievery by the markt Pieces which he had taken. Nothing was said that Night, but the next Morning his Ma∣ster having also discover'd his lewd Company; and ill Haunts, fairly took him to taks, prov'd against him the Thievery and other Villany, and not willing to expose his Father, for whom he had a just respect, writ an Account of all to him, desiring him to fetch his Son home, or take some other care of him, else he must be oblig'd to make him serve the rest of his time in Bride∣well.
This sudden Thunder-clap threw the young Spark into such a Consternation, that like the man who hang'd himself in the Prison, lest he shou'd be found guilty of Felony; or the old Woman who cut her Hogs Throat to save his life; away he run for fear of being turn'd away—and hyes him to t'other end of Town among his great Acquain∣tance, who finding the sheep fleec'd, kept'on the Mask no longer, but own'd themselves down∣right Iilts, Thieves, and Pick-pockets, as alas! a Whore's but a starving Trade of it self, unless they have some other such way to eak out an honest Live∣lihood. And indeed their Hands are generally as nimble as their Tongues, angling for Watches, Let∣ters, or whatever their good Fate presents 'em.
Tis strange! that even these forlorn Wretches should not be able to subsist without a sort of Order and Government among 'em. They are in∣deed as perfect a Corporation, as any Company in England, and use as much Method in the send∣ing out Parties; this scowring one Street, and the other another; none interloping on the Province, or Walk, as they call it, that does not belong to 'em. So that the Thief-catchers, either the Marshal's Man or others, whose bu∣siness 'tis, has 'em at what Command he plea∣ses, sends for the Heads of 'em, and for a Summ of Money recovers your Watch, Sword, or Guinea as oft as you please to lose'em.
To this degree of Wickedness was this unhappy undone young Man now risen, and had, as was thought, but one step now between that and the Gallows; but by good Fortune for him, he came to a more honourable end, and Justice over∣took him without the help of the Hangman; for it chancing that two Gentlemen quarrell'd in Fleet-street, and drew upon one another, he com∣ing by officiously pretended to part the Fray, and running between the fierce Combatants, seiz'd one of 'em in his Arms while another of his Companions prepared to pick his Pocket: But the other Gentleman whether out of rage that he cou'd not come at his Adversary, so resolving to reach him thro the other, or by a mistake, made a fatal pass and ran poor Pick-pocket thro the Back, that he fell down dead with an Oath in his Mouth, and never spoke word after.
The Chapter of the Booksellers.
STAND! not a Foot further at the hazard of your Ears—and well if you come off so, Evander! make your self ridiculous as long as you please, but let us alone you were best—〈◊〉〈◊〉—
Or, What Sir—What mean you, Sir—What wou'd you be at, Sir—don't you know as well as I, and every body else that has seen or ••heard of me, that Evander ne're saw fear but in the face of an Enemy?
Or, Sir, steps in a desperate Hyper-Gorgonick Mortal, who lives not above one Semidi∣••meter of the Earth from Westminster-Hall— Or—I'le cut your Throat, I'le shoot ye in the Head, I'le pash out your Brains with the heel of my Shoe (hold there) I'le rip out your great and small Guts, and make Tripes and Fiddle-strings of 'em; and after I have done all this, Beat ye till you'r as black as a Raven.
Umph! truly that's very hard to a man that endeavours to get an honest Livelihood in the way of his Trade, and hurts no body—What is't this young Man has done—certainly he has been truanting a little, or has been formerly
Petticoatized—
that he's so desperately afraid of the Lash. Had
he been one of the naughty Youths of the Town, that sit all the Day between the Comb and the Glass, that dress, as it were, in Print, only to have the Ladies say, Look what a delicate Shape and Foot that Gentleman has! had he not been a careful, industrious, studious, sober, honest Man, who makes it his business to keep his Shop, oblige his Customers; nay, rather than be idle or gad abroad, turning his Books, and dusting his Shelves; then there might have been some reason for his Apprehension. But alas! all the World knows him a great Trader both in London and the Country; a grave, staid, face∣tious Person, never out of temper or humour, discreet to a Miracle, uncapable of being af∣fronted, or scandaliz'd, so fair is his Name, and so sweet his Disposition. And this Character he had had, if he cou'd have staid for't, without all this trouble; but has by this strange and un∣wonted fit of passion (ten to one but he had been in Company before, and no man alive is always the same) so discomposed my Thoughts as well as his own, that all the design'd Method is over∣turn'd; and instead of a formal orderly Visit in∣tended to the principal Booksellers, the Glory of Trade, and of London, must now be forc'd to take 'em higgledy-piggledy, and so lose a great many of 'em that Fame and Immortality designd 'em; for which irreparable Loss they may blame this young Man's intempestive rashness, not our unjust Partiality.
'Twas the intention of Kainophilus, as he has before recommended to the raw, unexperienc'd Apprentice, the necessary Accomplishments of Re∣ligion, Temperance, and Fidelity, by showing the Mischiefs and Dangers of the contrary Vices,
so to have proceeded on the next Virtue, as ne∣cessary very near to the happiness of a young Man as any of the other—namely Industry. And as he had recommended the past Virtues by show∣ing the ill face of their contraries, he wou'd hav•• endeavour'd to have demonstrated this by its own Light, and that with no disadvantage in the Ex∣ample of Evander.
The Scene I had laid to reduce this into action, was the City of London, the Dress and Form in which I appear'd thereon, most convenient for Expedition, accouter'd like the Boys that run with the Gazet my Hat under my Arm, my Note in my Hand, and I almost breathless, tripping it through the Streets like a Roe-buck, and calling in at all the Booksellers, and giving you a little touch of their vertuous Qualities, for the Pro∣verb is sufficient Evidence, tho' there's Knavery in all Trades else, we have none in ours, tho' there may perhaps be a little Foolery now and then, of which some may think these Books an Instance; but some wiser than some, and those think other∣wise.
However, whether they do or no, I must mind my business, and what it is, squint back to the Frontispiece, and there you'll find it,
Globe the V.
Where he vamps about Town for Caesar and Strada, The Horn-book, Morocco, Iohn Bunyan, Granada.I ask your Pardon once more, dear Reader, I feel I have Rambled away from the Booksellers, and faln among the Books agen, but they're so near kin, you'll easily pardon it—and I make
no question the Booksellers wou'd entirely for∣give me, shou'd I forget 'em altogether.
However, I take 'em all to witness against this Dogrel-writer in ordinary, who insinuates in his roguy Rhymes, as if I was employ'd in nothing but Godly Books, Plays, and Horn-Books; whereas I appeal to all you that know me, whether I han't very often been at your Shops both for Quarto's and Folio's, and sometimes lugg'd home some reve∣rend Commentator that was like to break my Back before I got thither.
Not but that, as I told you before, I profess as deep a Respect and Veneration for the worthy Mr. Bunyan, as the very Man that prints him.—and the truth is, that devout Author has always had the good Fortune to fall into the hands of as religious Booksellers.
The lewd World, 'tis true, will scoff and jeer, but who can help it, if we are safe in our own Integrity, and can so easily despise 'em? Thus were my dear Friend and Name-sake Iohn yet li∣ving, shou'd I hear any ugly Stories or Rhymes of him—as one very scandalous one I with de∣testation remember,
In Cases of Conscience so far he has gon Resolving of others, he has quite lost his own—Abominable—but I say in such a Case thus wou'd I endeavour to comfort him, were there any need on't—Truly dear Brother— The World has thought Evander is a Man endow'd with some Sense, yea, and that above his Neighbours, but if I am a proper Judge in this Case—I pro∣test on the word of a Rambler, I had many fine things more to hold forth on this Subject, but I
know not how it comes to pass, on the sudden they are all lost agen, like Friends in a Crowd; I am just in the same Condition with that fore∣cited Great Person, when he cou'd n't tell what was next in his Sermon; my Head, is as it were, in a Pudding-bag, and I han't a word more to say tho 'twere to get it out agen.
What a noise here has been about one poor Au∣thor—what shall we then do when we meet with 'em in the next Chapter all together? Sure all Bedlam wou'd scarce hold 'em.
And now I am about Godly Books, commend me to Dunton's Blessed Martyrs, which I remem∣ber, among other things, I had once upon my Note.
I shall never forget that Remarkable Person, tho I were to live as long as his Raven— I had the Honour that time to see, and discour••e with him; and I confess the World is in the right, that he's something like that Evander which makes such a splutter in't—but I'am still of the same mind I was before—they can never prove I am he—
So much, however, I'll acknowledge, That there is a great Intimacy and Acquaintance be∣tween us offer'd, I must own, first on his part, tho mine the Advantage and Honour; the Rea∣son I can't guess, unless that by his Skill in Phy∣siognomy he knew I shou'd live to be a famed Author, and therefore was willing to oblige me, that he might afterwards have some good Copies from me.
However, I must give him such a Character as he deserves, and indeed as a near and dear Friend of his gave me under his own Hand∣writing.
He is a Man so and so, thus and thus, neither full so high as the monumental Irish-man, nor quite as humble as that Modicum of Mortality that walks about with him (whom they who know no better, think his next Neighbour.)
I am to give him no Character that shall make him blush,—nor believe I can—(so punctual is he in all his Dealings) however to avoid it, will say not one Word more besides what I find in my Notes of that day's Transactions—He's fa∣mous for one thing—That he's generous to a Miracle, has a swinging Soul of his own, and wou'd part with all he has to serve a Friend— and that's enough for one Bookseller.
Tempora mutantur—that's no News, but that Things shou'd change at such an odd rate, wou'd be very wonderful, did not we see a thousand Examples on't every day—and one of the strangest I know, is in the Sign, and other Ap∣purtenances of this said Shop.
That ever a beautiful Angel (with a delicate gilt Turkey-leather Bible into the bargain) should in a few years be thus chang'd, translated, and transmogriphy'd into a thing as black as a Bug∣bear, an ill-boding, ill-sounding, ill-looking Raven.
I have often wonder'd why the Party aforesaid, shou'd chuse this Sign above all the rest, and can imagine none but this following, which lies somewhat out of the way of common Reading and Observation: The Banner of the Danes, or rather their Standard Royal, had a Raven curious∣ly wrought in't (as the Romans an Eagle.) The reason, probably, by the jetty Blackness thereof, as a sort of a Foil to set off the natural whiteness of their own Skins; the Danes being generally, as all men know, very fair-hair'd, Fair-com∣plexion'd
Men? And who knows but this Au∣thor, having some where or other met with this Story, hung up the Raven for his Sign upon the same reason.
But to come from the Sign to the Shop,— What difference?—There was formerly a very Spark liv'd in't,—the young, the wild, the witty, the gay, and all that, who was forc'd to march off for the famous Sham-Riot at Guild-Hall, being actually concern'd in looking down from a Balcony, and bewitching the poor Loyal Party at such a rate, that hundreds of 'em cou'd n't speak a word for a week after.—See but what a Rambling Fate some Men have;—then he turn'd a Man of War, so did not his peaceable Successor, nor the as peaceful Evander, both of which I am confident had rather have their Bo∣dies quietly eaten by Worms, than torn to pieces in Foreign Nations by howling Wolves, or ra∣pacious Vultures.
Well, now my hands in, I'll on a little further, and would fain call a little o' t'other side o' the way, at one, whose Conscience is streighter than his Sign, but he's so up to the Ears among great Persons and Business (perhaps engaging for a 3d. Vo∣lume) that I'll not venture on him, only your humble Servant Mr.—(a curious Shop this, well built, lightsom, high, well furnisht,—well if ever he quits it, I'll step in after him,—as—has been done by others a hundred times over.
I'd Ramble on as far as Cornhil, were't not for fear of being gored by one of Four Creeds; but Oldham's dead, and so there's the less danger.
Among other April- Errands, the wise Author of the Poem sent me a Play-catching, instancing in the Empress of Morocco, and the Conquest of Granada. A most abominable work,—that ever he should offer to desile my Fingers with meddling with a Play.—'Tis a Monkey-trick, let me tell him, to make use of poor Puss's Paw to scratch out the Chessnuts which he himself eats. He never heard I warn't ye of the Devil that carry'd away a whole shoulder of a Play-house on his Back, as easily as a Fox trusses a Goose. The sage Evander in vain rebuk'd him, and ask'd the meaning on't.—All I could get out of him was his Judgment of Plays in general, which word for word I'll insert as follows.
Moral Representations in themselves can never be unlawful, may be very useful. To see Vice repre∣sented like it self, deform'd and odious, though high and prosperous, and at last thrown down and trampled by those who envy'd and admir'd it. To see Vertue, in its own Face, all charming and lovely, brave tho' unfortunate, prest all round, and wading through all, and at last enthron'd, prosperous and triumphant,—What can more tend to the advancement of one, and depression of the other, with those especially who are led by Sence more than Reason, though this admits both?
The many of the present Plays, 'tis acknow∣ledg'd generally, take the quite contrary course; especially the Comedies, the best of which that I have seen, take more care to express the Humours of the Countrey, Vices and all, than to amend 'em; and these they dress in the loveliest colours of Wit and Fancy, for not only Priests, but as far as I see,
Laureats of all Religions are the same.
And thus for One that's mended by Plays, such as they are now, Ten thousand may be injur'd or ruin'd. For the truth of which I ap∣peal to any ingenious Debauchee, if any such be to be found. Nor are yet the Plays so much per∣hads chargeable herewith (though bad enough) as the Company which come there. 'Tis as common a receptacle for W—and R—as Bridewel it self (though that the more proper of the two.) There are perhaps almost as many Jilts as Women, so much more dangerous than Pick-pockets, as they search deeper, and pilfer what's more precious than that they aim at, Repu∣tation and Vertue.
Yet all this is clearly accidental to Plays; these inconveniences may be remov'd, and only Vertue and Vice shown as they ought to be; or if Hu∣mour, such as are diverting, and yet innocent; and it argues want of depth, if not plain dulness, not to be able to fill up a Comedy without the help of a Bawd or a Whore.
On the whole, my Judgment is (if any body valu'd it) that in this case as well as many others, the contending Parties share the Truth betwixt 'em. One side, and that I believe the honester, knowing the notorious Debauchery and Lewdness of those Sinks of Sin, out of a little over-boyling Zeal, over-shoot the Mark, and call all Plays and Dramatick Poetry the Devil's Books, as much as Cards themselves are (in which they may be much in the right,) for the evil, but separable Appendages thereof con∣demning the thing in it self, though not only innocent, but useful and profitable in its own nature.
The other defend Plays in general, and so far are in the right, but strain the point too far on one side, as the first on the other; de∣fending the modern Plays from the Notion of Plays in general, and thus easily overlooking, if not taking in, all those cursed, little less than Incentives to Lewdness and Villany, which from the Company, the Subject represented, and the softness of the Musick, are suckt in by the Eye and Ears of the Spectators.—So much for his Judgment, for further he saith not, nor wou'd I for all the World add mine, for a rea∣son that I'll keep to my self.—
But though he has done with Plays, I han't, but must step into George-yard, and ask at a Gentleman's Shop, call'd Infortunatus, for a Play he lately printed, which 'tis thought will make him an Alderman (by that time all the Impression is sold off.) Some of the Flowers on't I remem∣ber to this day, which ye shall have immediately, if ye won't trouble me with a hard word call'd Antichronismes, and tel me I clap present, past and future together, talking of what hapned ten years agone and but last week in the same breath, which agrees not with the dignity and ac∣curacy of an Historian.
I cou'd blow away this Objection with only in one word owning my self a Prophet, some hints of which you have heard already, for I'm sure you have read Homer, and what he talks of Calchas, or one old Conjuring Rogue or ano∣ther of 'em,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, &c.
—A cunning Man, who knew whatever was, is, or ne're shall be. Just so might—
But not to insist on that Argument, know ye, that what Evander writes, is rather Poetry, than naked insipid History, and that you know con∣founds time as it pleases, and makes nothing of a hundred years difference if a good Thought depends upon't.
But now for the Flowers.— How nobly does Patrick, with his Irish sence, keep up the Cha∣racter of a King and Queen?— How sweet, ma∣jestick and delicate a turn is that, when he makes the Queen throw aside her Gown, and discover a pair of Velvet Breeches on, pag. 5. with a sharp Innuendo, that she wore the Breeches.—And then how Heroically does he make the King com∣plain of this sore grief, pag. 6.—
Was ever King Infortunate like me, Who marry'd one below his Pedi—gree, That now insults and hectors—as you see.
But he soon makes all up in the Characters of his Heroes; for after the poor King of Poland was rais'd from the dead to tell his Tale, he loo's the young Heroe at him, as if he were the erranter Sprite o' the two. At first indeed he makes him very civil, and drinks to the Sprite with as much complaisance as Don-Iohn himself in the Temple; but the mischief is, he makes all his Heroes (like himself I suppose) very quar∣relsom in their Drink, for without any affront in the world he falls a hussing him, draws his Whiniard, and tells him not in Prose, but down-right Heroick—
But then for Tropes and Figures;
Then how easie and free the little Folks talk;
Then o' t'other side, the sweet Cadency, and all that—
Did we come here to Hector, Scold and Dance, Or talk of things of greater Impor—tance?But the Reader is by this time as weary as Evander; for this Spark of an Author, 'tis e'ne pity to dash •• well-meaning modest Creature at first setting out, and therefore I'll say no more but that if his Motto be true at the beginning of his Book (which by the way he Cabbidg'd from the Play-house) Vivitur ingenio, &c. and he has really nothing but his Wit to live upon, it must needs be worse Dyet than Rack∣staves, and the poor Wretch must needs be very Skeleton already, and can never live a Quarter-of-an-year to an end.
Farewel Tom.— Spare my Shoulder, as ever thou expectest the Serjeants shou'd yours, and I'll e'ne steal round by Lombard-street.
Here once liv'd a Bookseller, that had he still been of our Trade, I question whether the Pro∣verb wou'd have kept us safe, unless that old scape—There's no general Rule without an Excep∣tion, might have sav'd us.—such a Pirate, such
a Cormorant,—Copies, Books, Men, Shops, all was one; he held no Propriety, right or wrong, good or bad, till at last he began to be known, and our Trade not enduring so ill a Man among 'em to disgrace 'em, spew'd him out, and off he march't I neither know nor care not whither.
And now ye talk of Cormorants, what kind of a Fish is a
Conger?—Why 'tis an over-grown Eel, that devours all the Food from the weaker Grigs, and when he wants other Food, swallows them too into the bargain. A poor Fly can't stir upon the water, but—pop, he's at him; nor so much as a Tripe-wife cleanse her rich Comodities, but he'll gobble up as greedily as a Duck, whatever fall's from 'em.
Now there are of these Congers divers and sundry Countries and Nations: Some of 'em as far ou••-shine (and out-bid) the rest, as a Rose the rest of the Flowers in the Garden. These are of a North-Country race, much about the Tweed mouth, and 'tis thought sometimes ramble even to the Firth of Dunbritton, or the Isles of Mull and the Orcades. Look but how lofty and stately they bear themselves,—you'd think 'em all Leviathans, and there's no coming near 'em unless you'd slip into their Gills. Venus orta Mari is a good old Observation: For some of these same Fish are very waggish prolifick— but there's room enough in the wide Sea to turn out as much Spawn as Nature has given 'em.
But Scotland being a barren Country, others are rather for the Shannon or Boine; or not yet content, ramble further, all the four Seas, nay all the World over, and observe the Rises and Falls of the Dutch, German, Italian, and all the
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great Rivers in the World.—They'll swim with or against Tide, live in any Stream, Pool, Lake, Pond or River, and so slippery withal, that no Hook can catch 'em, no Hand detain 'em, no Spear strike 'em, no Wear hold e'm. Nor will they ever be quiet, and leave plaguing all the little fry in this (watry) World, till they tumble down through some Vortex or other into the grand Abyss.
There's Sauce enough for one Fish, or else 'tis very hard,—
I cou'd return again to Booksellers, and give ye Epithets and Characters suitable for 'em all, and take in the Auctioneers too into the bargain.
I could begin with Mr. M—, who com∣menced and continued Auctions upon the Autho∣rity of Herodatus, who commends that way of Sale for the disposal of the most exquisite and finest Beauties to their Amoroso's; and further informs the World, that the summ so raised was laid out for the Portions of those to whom Nature had been less kind, that he'll never be for∣got while his Name is N—, or he a Man of re∣markable Elocution, Wit, Sence and Modesty, Cha∣racters so eminently his, that he'd be known by them among a thousand.
'T would be tedious and unconscionable to go thorough all Cheapside, Paul's Church-yard, Little-Britain and Duck-lane, to describe every Man, Woman and Sucking-Child, Stationer, Book∣seller, Binder, Stitcher and Hawker. This is ge∣neral may suffice for an impartial Character of that honourable and honest Employment, as fas as my own Observations give me,—
That they are generally Men that make a Con∣science, Just and Kind to one another, endeavour∣ing with all their power to promote each the In∣terest
and Copies of his Neighbour;—and above all, Civil and Generous to their particular Au∣thors; of which more in the next Chapter.
If there's any Person who takes it amiss that he's not so honour'd as to find his Name mention'd in this Chapter, he need do no more than speak his mind freely of this Book, and then he shall certainly see himself inserted in the next Ramble. For these present Characters (both of the Book∣sellers and Authors have been both read and ap∣proved by a Club of 'em) and are as much appli∣cable to one as† 1.4 another. But if any by winceing shall prove himself guilty, I resolve to run King∣doms or Reams of Paper out of breath in the Satyrizing such a Fop, that did not know when he was well, and upon
The Word of a Bookseller,(and that you'll say is a proud Expression) will meet with him in every Ramble to the end of the Twenty four Globes. For (as Oldham says)
I wear my Pen as others do their Sword, To each affronting Sot I meet, the word Is Satisfaction, straight to Thrusts I go, And pointed Satyr runs him through & through.
Of Love, and all That.
TOwards the end of the last Chapter I hung out a red Flag of Defyance, and told the Corporation of Authors, they were best make ready, for I intended to fire a whole Broadside a∣mong 'em, and they were to expect a sharp Engagement. But 'tis not the first time things have been in this posture, and yet no harm done—accordingly having great Examples be∣fore me, I'm resolv'd at present to retreat from the Enemies—but yet with a resolution to swinge 'em off the next time I get among 'em.
In the mean time must dispatch a little ne∣cessary business in my own memorable Life, and therein recommend to others (as I have all along done) what I my self found both practicable and easie.
I don't intend to run thro all Oeconomics to find the whole Duty of a Servant— my main Work is to describe some of the main Pillars and Raf∣ters on which he must lay both his present Hap∣piness, and future Fortunes; most of which have been already discours'd of, tho one or two more remains, which ought not to be forgot∣ten.
And the first of 'em is Veracity—
Dare to be true— has Sense as well as Wit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Poetry in't: I am confident 'tis Cowardice is the ••arent of most vices; men dare not be singular or ••irtuous, that is in effect, are afraid both of themselves and others, lest they shou'd be fa∣••igued and laught at—But as this holds in most ••ther Cases, so particularly in this, in reference ••o a Master—I have done some fault or other, which I dare not own, and the next Re••uge is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lye to get rid on't; where to be sure the Re∣••••dy is worse than the Disease. And this the Truth is, some ill-natur'd Masters almost force their Servants into, by being so implacable and ••nmerciful, so furious, and more like distracted 〈◊〉〈◊〉 than that grave sober thing—a Citizen, that their Servants think it better to run into the Devils Paws than theirs.
My Advice in this case is—if you light into the Hands of such a Master as Evander's, after ••••y Fault, deal ingeniously with him, and frank∣••y acknowledge it with modest assurances of your ••tmost care to prevent the like for the future; this won't fail to work upon any thing that has ••ut a spark of Goodness or Generosity in their Composition.
But if they are of the Rank above-mention'd, there's yet no wild Beast so fierce, but there's some way or other to deal with 'em. Do in this Case as if you met a mad Bull in the Fields, clap your self behind a Tree, and by that time he turns his long, heavy Carkase, you are either out of danger, or got further off from him—The meaning is, slip out of the way, and avoid the first Onset, which is always the most furious—Or still there's another slipping aside, even tho' in his presence. No doubt it may be lawful in
some cases to deceive, tho 'tis not to ••ye. Stra••tagems in War, are Instances of one witho•••• the other, and that too without any mental Re••servation. 'Tis meer Cowardice to excuse you•• self by a Lye, and meer dulness not to be abl•• to do it without one. Those who are so thick headed, they can't find the mean, have this com••fort, that Nature has generally made 'em bette•• able to bear a Kick or two, than others; and however they are provided within, bin bounti••ful to 'em without, and kindly endu'd them with such natural Helmets, as 'tis no easie mat••ter for 'em to have their Heads broken—which if it does now and then happen, they may as pa∣tiently endure (and not with much more Sense) as a Pile those ponderous knocks that beat him into the Earth; or those Stones which the P••∣viers thump into the Streets to mend the High∣ways.
So much for you, now for my self agen, and yet still for you. O my kind Fellow-prentices, that either as a Buoy, or Land-mark, by avoiding me, or sailing by me, you may safely guide your selves thro this seven years Voyage in the good Ship, the Apprentice of London.
Hitherto I hope I have led you right, by my self keeping the right path; now I'll do it by going in the wrong— which may as easily be done as a true Conclusion drawn from Premises as false as Transubstantiation.
And the first, the last, the great, the main Rock that poor Evander split himself against, and hardly swam ashore with his Life, was Love, Fa∣tal Love, poysonous Love, bewitching Love, cheating, jilting, treacherous Love—Diaboli•••••• Love—if there's a Devil in the World, that's it—
sweet, charming, cordial, faithful, divine, ce∣lestial Love—ay, if there be an Angel upon Earth (I mean an Angel in Petticoats) certainly my Love was that very Angel.
An Angel, a Goddess,—a Sun, a Moon, an—all the Seven Stars together— nay, she was the milky way, she had hundreds of thousands of little Vir∣tues and Graces, and Beauties and Charms, that none cou'd distinctly see, unless he lookt thro the Telescope of Love, tho all the World perceiv'd 'em in a Lump lightning and glaring quite cross the Horizon whenever she appear'd abroad un∣clouded—Pray Mr. Critick don't be trouble som— I know you'll tell me Love is blind; and how shou'd he see what other People can't, when he does not so much as see what they can—I'll answer this by an easy Experiment: Don't Chil∣dren see a hundred fine, gawdy things in the dark, which they cou'd never discover, unless they were without Light: And do but try a trick I'll tell ye, and then you'll trouble me no more with such frivolous Objections, wink as hard as you can, and let me take you a good swinging close tweak by the Nose, and if I don't make you see as many Stars in nothing at all, as we Lo∣vers do in our Mistresses, why then I'll throw a∣way my Pen, and never write Ramble more.
—Just at the same rate does that arch Wag Cupid lead us poor silly Captives as we are, lead us by the patient Nose, from Post to Pillar, and from Pillar to Post agen, hither and thither, and no body knows where; after no body knows who, and when the Show is over, we our selves can't tell for what. Thus did he once lead me like a loving Ass as I was for my pains, seven long Miles to see the happy place, (an old Stump
of a Tree, where my Mistress had sate seven years before, and afterwards got upon my Shoulders, like the black Cat, when Men are going to hang themselves, weigh'd me down whether I wou'd or no, and made me most ingloriously kiss the very place which had been beautify'd with the closer Appropinquation to her amiable Posterioristica; like those whom the Lancashire Witches made kiss the Mare's back-side who drew 'em to the Gal∣lows.
I know the grave Philosophers with long Beards, won't fail to bestow a Sardonick Smile upon me for these, as they'll call 'em, youthful Extrava∣gancies, and perhaps too, they may justly enough blame me; but yet I can as justly appeal from their Sentence, as not capable Judges: They ne∣ver knew what 'twas to love, or if they might possibly in days of yore have been enamour'd on the beautiful Perfections, and perfect Beauties of one of Queen Bess's Maids of Honour, 'twas yet so long since, they may easily have forgot∣ten it.
I must therefore tell 'em what Love is, before they can be competent Deciders in this business, or know whether I am more blameable or praise-worthy in admitting it a Guest into my tender Heart. Love is a natural Distemper, a kind of small Pox most have either had it, or is to expect it, and the sooner the better; surely I was never well cur'd on't in my Prenticeship, or I had never faln in∣to a Relapse when I was out of my Time; but want of Knowledge misguided me then, and so I fell into a Quagmire. But in my last Amour (as you'll find in my Rambles a wiving, which are to make a distinct Volume, containing New Observa∣tions concerning Love and Women, with my own
experimental Reflections,) I was so discreet as not to advance a step without a Demonstration.
Love is all Mystery and Maze— says one that had reason to know; but what's that to the pur∣pose? 'Tis no better nor worse than one of Ari∣stotle's occult Qualities, a Cover-slut for Igno∣rance, and only confessing in other words, that I can't tell what 'tis.
However, I'm confident I know what 'tis not, tho perhaps I can't so well tell what 'tis. Love is not Desire any more than the Hangman is the Lord Chief-Iustice: What Desire is there (in that Sense wherein 'tis here taken) when distance and absence part the Lover from his Object—Nay, to venture nearer, how easie and common is it e∣ven in the presence of what is most passionately and dearly loved, to abstract really as well as mentally, from any thing of that Nature. Even the Spark himself may be appeal'd to, whether he always desires his Mistress, and yet he'll swear heartily that he always loves her. Desire is the Flame of Love, and there is to be sure Fire with∣out Flame, tho hardly Flame without Fire; a little of one, and a little o' t'other does very well.
After all, for the Platonick-tale is either a Whim, or a Cover, or Friendship, or nothing at all. It's true enough, nor can it modestly be deny'd, that the same sort of Love I have for a man, I may have for a Woman; but then for the most part the Sex will steal in, and quickly make a dif∣ference.
That Wag Boccaline has a pleasant Story enough (among a great many others) in his Advertise∣ments from Parnassus to this purpose—The Virtuosi there having faln into the Acquaintance
of some famous She-wits and Poetesses, and thought themselves for a long time extreamly happy in a Platonick Conversation with 'em—But 'twas not long before Apollo discover'd some such cer∣tain Familiarities and Intimacies betwixt his Vir∣tuosi and the Ladies, that being afraid Parnassus wou'd be over-stockt if they continu'd there much longer, he immediately expell'd all those dangerous Creatures, and ordain'd by a perpe∣tual Edict they shou'd never be admitted af∣ter.
I cou'd give a nearer and truer Instance to the same purpose—'Twas not many years since, that there liv'd in Loudon a Sect of persons pre∣tending to perfection—and perpetual Virginity— all their Love being Angelick, without the least mixture of Matter, tho betwixt different Sexes every one having their particular Friend.
Thus things continu'd for some Months, they admiring their own Purity and Sanctity above all Mankind—when behold—unluckily several of the Virgins began to burnish and thrive amain, and at the usual time, to the amazement of all the Society, this their pure Friendsh, sent seve∣ral living Babes into the World—After which they were forc'd to drop their Principles, and be content with matrimonial Purity instead of that virginal one to which they at first pretend∣ed.
Love is the Greensickness in men—it makes 'em stark mad for Toys and Trifles, as Women are for Playster and Oatmeal.
Now you know what Love is, I'll tell you what 'twas I lov'd—
She was—indeed—a Non-parel—a She-Phoe∣nix, a half-Iris, a Match for Evander.
Admir'd Mrs. Rachel!— thou Paragon of Beauty and Virtue—Roses, Stars, ••allys, Pinks, Rubies, Pearls and Violets—nay, more (to make use of Similies at that time nearer to the purpose, and more upon my Heart)—Rost-beef, Mine'd-pies, Gammon of Bacon, Bottl'd-ale, Foot∣ball, and Cricket-play. For thy dear sake I cou'd neither eat Rost-beef, mawl Minc'd-pies, guzzle Plumb-porridge, take the Ball a Hand-kick as high as Bow-steeple Balcony, nor play at Cricket any more than a Trap-stick—I lookt like a Mome, a meer Ninny, as I may say in Modesty, and dared not so much as squint in the ••lasses as I went by the Cabinet-makers in Cheapside, lest I shou'd discover a pair of Ears starting out of my Head two or three handfuls beyond the Standard—and then out of indignation fall a breaking the Glasses, and have ten pounds to pay for my Afternoons Ramble.
The truth is, most of her Rubies and Pearls, were those of her Teeth and Lips; and she wore more sparkling Diamonds in her Eyes, than either on her Fingers, or in her Cabinet.
Her Estate, I must confess, was somewhat like a Mole-hill on the Globe of the Earth, like Great Brittain in the Map, when the Grand-Signior clapt his Thumb upon't, or all that Grecian's vast Estate, and spacious Demeans, which fill'd not so much as one single Line in the Description of the Globe.
In a word; had she much, or had she little, I admir'd her, I ador'd her, I rav'd, stamp'd, storm'd, fretted, fumed, foamed, and wanted nothing but a Chain, a Grate, and a Truss of Straw, to have made me as mad as any in Bed∣lam.
Ah! thought I with my self, wou'd this dear Creature but love me, I shou'd be as good a man as my Master—a happier person than King Cae∣sar, and as magnificent as Heliogabalus— no—I shou'd never cease loving her, or love her less— 'tis impossible, had I her, I shou'd not be content tho I went a begging with a wooden Dish and Leg, and not feast, tho I eat nothing but Sparibles and Pebble-stones— Then wou'd I fall a rhyming (for that's the infallible Token of a true Stanch Fall∣back-fall-edge-Lover.) I robb'd all Sternhold and Hopkins of their Flowers, and made Posies like any Firz-bushes (not for their roughness, but sweetness and largeness) some of which here follow.
O Rachel dear—attend and hear The words that I do say, My plaints eke heed—so mayst thou speed For ever and for ay. My Heart is broke—by Love's fell stroke, My head also likewise, I will maintain—that I am slain By thy dead-doing Eyes. Then put thy fist—if that thou list Out of thy poke so kind, And when I'm dead—pull off my Head, Or I will look thee blind.Now you steer and snicker, Mr. Reader, because to show the Sweepingness of my Genius, I conde∣scend to this humble sort of Poetry— I'll have you to know this was one of my first Essays, but like one truly inspir'd, as if I had undoubtedly wash'd my Lips in the Caballine Fount, I immediately mounted to the very top of Parnassus, grew a
meer Adept in a twinkling, and was most inti∣mately acquainted with all the Sylphs and Gnomes (call'd by the Ancients, Nymphs and Demi-gods, and Muses, who taught me the true galloping Pindarick, in which, as if Pindars Soul had crept into Evander (not Horace) he thus fell a court∣ing his Mistress, tho in their way forgetting what he's about, rambles to a Tale of a Cock and a Bull, and scarce says one word of her.
In imitation of Horace—Book 2. Ode 20.
NON usitatâ, nec temui ferar Penna—]No Sternholds or Hopkinsian strain My buskin'd Muse Henceforth will use, We such low thoughts disdain.[Biformis per liquidum aethera Vates—]A Bookseller and Poet too, Nor Earth nor Heaven such wonders saw before, Nor, shall do more, (Tho strange 'tis true.)[Neque in terris morabor Longius, invidiaque major Vrbes relinquam]What shall I longer stay below? Vngrateful London! what wilt thou prepare? What offers to detain me there? (If that e'nt fair, hang fair!) E're I from thee and Envy go.
There's Flame,—there's Salt,—Air and Spirits, and all the four Elements together.— Show me such another Translation, Application, Improvement, and all that, and I'll sell you my Skull to make a Close-stool of, and use it as the King of the Lombards did, for a Cawdle-Cup, after you have done with'••.
And then for Prose-Love— I believe I went as far as any Man,—stabbing, dying, groaning, hanging I made nothing of 'twas my daily Em∣ployment and Recreation, and I cou'd at last eat Knives or Rats bane as fast as a Jugler. I grew careless toward any thing else; I could neither see, hear, taste, smell, nor understand any thing in the world but what related to my charming Rachelia (as I call'd her) with a little more Heroick turn than plain Rachel. And shou'd an Evangelist, with an Angel at his Elbow, have told me that Goddess of my Soul had so much as one speck of Deformity, one single Mole, either in Body or Mind, I shou'd have said—By your leave, Mr. Evangelist,— I must suspend my Faith.—Thus much wou'd I have said to his Face out of civility, but be∣hind his back no more have valu'd his Testi∣mony than the Alcoran.— No—my purest pure had such a Soul, it shin'd through her Body, and such a Body, you might see her Soul through't. Which some may think much at one, but how∣ever there's a differe••t conception in't, and it makes one line more to fill out the Book.
You may perhaps think this History of my Love looks a little Rambling.—I'm glad on't, for it humours my design rarely, Love is besides of it self a very Rambling Passion.—Evander is sure he found it so for more Reasons than one,
but especially because it made him Ramble so abominably from his Master's Shop and Business, and right or wrong make her Lodgings in the road to the place whither I was going, as com∣monly as cou'd be taking Al••gate in the way to Temple-Bar; and on••e I remember, the Spring-Garden at Fox-Hall was my nearest road out of Cheapside into Paul's Church-yard.
Neither is the Charms of Wapping Wapping Frolick any more to be forgotten than Prince Rupert, Squire Geeree, Madam T—lis, or the Green-Dragon.
Ah the folly of green years!To be short, thus I continued Loving upon the stretch without fear or wit, so long till I had forgot my self and every thing else, till I found my Mind as much disfigured with that feaverish disease, as my Face with the Small-pox,—and to lose—such a Face, and such a Mind—
Il'l say no more, but it makes me still Light-headed to think on't, since here only, from this unlucky period, may I date all the unhap∣pinesses of my future Life,—as most Young Men may theirs; for to speak truth, I doubt it turn'd my Brains, and they hardly have ever bin right since.
However I had sence enough at last left to discover* 2.1 others were favour'd more than me. But then was I ten times madder than ever Love had made me.—Raging I tare my Hair (pity!) and cry'd,—and almost dy'd,—and wanted nothing but—
—A Dale with Cypress surrounded—Either to have kill'd my Rival or hang'd my self.
This hanging brings to my mind a pretty Story, which though not much to the purpose, I'll tell the World, because but few of 'em have ever heard it; and after that let me alone to tack it to the present Story.
A cunning Spark there was towards the end of our unhappy Civil Wars, during Cromwel's Usurpation, who had by practice arriv'd to an admirable dexterity in throtling Men, and hang∣ing 'em whether they wou'd or no, without the Formality of a Sheriff, a Psalm and a Ladder. He having admittance into Oliver's Embassador's Lodgings in Holland, pretends to present him a Petition, and while he was eagerly talking, out comes the Noose, ana whip—over Mr. Em∣bassador's Head, and had certainly dismist him before his time, had not one of the Retinue ran in to his assistance, while in the tumult made about it, the Hangman as well as Embassador, slipt his Neck out of Collar, and got away in the Crowd.
—A neat way 'twas,—well—at that rate dared I have fought with e're a Rival in Chri∣stendom: For whatever happens, there's no Blood in this case, and till that comes, Evan∣der's as Valiant a Lyon. Besides, Antipathy and Honesty wou'd have secur'd me from letting the Rope ever touch my Shoulders; and I had no more fear'd they cou'd have done me any hurt by making a Hempen Pass at me, than hang up a wet Eel by the Tail with a four penny Halter.
However, loose I am from the Gallow-Tree of Love, but know no more how I got clear, than a Dog does when the Halter breaks and he runs away,—though methinks I look back upon't much at the same unpleasant rate, that the poor Cur leers over his Shoulder at the unlucky Branch which he has just escaped.
And as the dying Wretches use to fay in those Circumstances (as you may see in Dunton's new Book)—I hope good People you'll all take warning by my sad Example, who alas as little thought once of coming to this place, as any of you here present to behold and bewail my unfortunate end. But just at the end of the Speech comes a gra∣cious Reprieve, and instead of plain hanging, I am only to be transported— with Ioy I mean (that's a fancy) at my unexpected deliverance. But if e're I ••all in Love agen, unless by the grave way of Matrimony, or so, (for what's past was only Platonick) let me be turn'd over in good earnest, or what's worse—let me Love on till my Ears grow as long as Midas's. In the mean while, to carry on the Metaphor, as some Robbers when pardon'd have discovered all the methods of the Road, and done their Coun∣trey excellent Service, even so will I clear my Gizzard immediately, and declare all I know, that the incautelous Apprentice may avoid the danger I had been so near split upon.
Fly Love as a Viper, and you'll easily out∣run him.—You are invulnerable behind, (as Achilles in his Heel) but if you look but over your Shoulder, you'r a dead Man. He's a double Basilisk, and whoever sees first, kills the Spectator as dead as a Log.
When you perceive him bending his Bow at you (that's the Lasses pretty pinking Eyes) be sure you never stand him, and think to look him out of Countenance, for 'tis an impudent young Rogue as ever liv'd by March-pane and Sugar-plumbs. Remember here Cowardice is the truest Valour, and Evander is an Alexander. Wink when you fight with Love, if you ever hope to conquer.—Ha!—now he levels all his Ordnance at ye,—whole Broadsides,— upper and lower Teer,—you sink to the deep if you lye there any longer. The Port-holes are all up,—the Tombkins out, Prim'd, Match ready,—the little Fire-Ship of a Woman opens her Lips, and discovers two Rows of Teeth enough to charm an Angel,—so smooth, so white, so even, and so pretty. There's no remedy, unless you get out of Gun-shot (a Ducal Coyl of Cables will hardly do) but she has ye between Wind and Water, ••akes ye fore and aft, and down you go to the deep.
If you wou'dn't be in Love, never be idle, nor worse employed than if you were. Do n't read Romances or Amorous Tales, at least till your Mind is form'd, and you have seen some∣thing of the World: Otherwise you'll be im∣mediately for Christning your self with one barbarous heathen Name or other, unless you light upon the Seven Champions, and then—whip—you are St. George and the Kitchin-Maid perhaps, or next tawdry Semstress, the beautiful Sabra, only Daughter to the Black King of Morocco.
Keep sober, have a care of Claret, use Phle∣botomy, and I warn't you'll fly t'other thing in the Almanack. To summ up all, do n't play the Fool, and you ne're need fear falling in Love,
Probatum est, Kainophilus Vander.
Of the Authors.
GVardeuz vous Gentlemen! Look all to your hits, for here's a silly sarcastical Fellow whispers me in the Ear, and tells me, if I'll take his Advice, we shall be very witty upon ye, if ye know how. There let him e'ne scold by himself if he please, for I'll have nothing to do with't, nor am n't such a Fool to run my Pen, as the Smith did his red-hot Gad, among a whole Nest of Hornets, lest I shou'd both ••ire my own Hatches, and bring all about my Ears into the bargain.
However, since he's so importunate, I'll step in, and ask the Advice of my old Friends P— and—G—that perfect Pylades and Orestes to one another; f••r G—loves P— as well as C—rs, and P— loves G— as well as K. Iames, and I'll willingly be at the charge to have 'em both erect a Scheme for that very purpose, and tell me whether the Enterprize will be dan∣gerous or no—
—So 'tis done,— What's all this Conjuring? —Saturn, Mars, Trigon, Dragon's-Head—,-Tail,—ay, for this I am much the wiser, I hope they'll be pleas'd to construe it, for I see 'tis all Heathen-Greek to Evander. I see 'tis done to
my hand, and in Verse too, as excellent as their own monthly Doggrel.
For Reasons not so proper to be shown, But to the Stars, and our own selves best known: 'Tis our infallible Prognostication, Thy greatest danger will be—Fustigation.Now must I be forc'd to go to another Conjurer to know the meaning of that last ugly hard word, which I do n't like the Looks of—Fustigation— methinks the very word smells of Crab-Tree, and I dare lay a broken Pate there's something of a Cudgel in't. Let me consider therefore very gravely how my Ribs stand affected that way.—There was I remem∣ber a Name-sake of mine in New-England, who on the Report of the French's Resolution to attack those Parts, not knowing how fighting wou'd agree with him, gave a Fellow Half a Crown to thrash him with discretion, and rise by de∣grees both in weight and number of the blows as he found he lik'd it. I am n't willing to re∣peat this Tryal, for perhaps that wou'd be a double drubbing, when perhaps one wou'd do. Hang all these Prognosticating Wizzards, they know no more than I do. Was not one of 'em a shrew'd cunning Fellow, to Prophesie of the then Prince's landing in England, when he heard it talk'd of in Holland by every Her∣ring-woman? And then was't not a very shrew'd and lucky hit, and deep discovery, that when∣ever he landed, the Priests wou'd run away?— And there's the Marrow of a whole Twelvemonths Conjuration.
But then for t'other of 'em, that blessed Saint, who deserves to have his Name inserted in the room of the Gunpowder-Treason, which he left out in his Almanack. He must certainly have a great many Familiars at his back, who liv'd once so nigh Hell, when a Taylor working up in a Garret, and almost the same advantage to view the Stars, with the Ea••tern Nations, who were the first Astronomers, from the tops of their Houses.
Riddle me, riddle me, Mr. G. & eris mihi magnus Apollo,— and I'll make a Pope of thee,—Whether will the Prince of Wales be a Boy or a Girl? Is this same here a likely Fellow to kill a King? Will I. D. of M. be routed? Who shall have the best on't at Salis∣bury? When comes King Arthur home agen? —Alas! alas! the Idols are chap-fall'n, and the Oracles dumb,—not a word to save a Kingdom.
But is Maddam C—rs silent too? Nay then either the World or She won't last much longer. That Pythonissa to the Catholick Oracle, who receiv'd her Inspirations the same way the Priestesses did of old. She heaves—poor Wretch, the fits just on her,—how strong she is!—she swells strangely, and at last out comes the bloody Bladder, and there's an end on't.
Modest Creature,— the very naming her in publick, will make her go near to blush her self to death. Young, pretty, innocence,—how it looks!—She appears in Court in such Con∣fusion
as a poor Wench at Fisteen that come•• to swear a Rape upon a Man.
An Author too? Was not a Midwife, and al•• the appurtenances of that honourable Calling, enough for one B—d to live upon? Must she Midwife Pamphlets as well as Bastards into the World?—Ay, aud that of her own Hand∣writing, and Conceiving (without help of Man) as sure as ever the young Royal Babe was his who own'd him.
Will you murther a poor Old Woman? a Compassionable Creature,— have a little pity, Vander,— if not—there's one stands behind, that efack will tickle you off as bad as you have her.
—Who—my old Friend Nobbs!—poor tame thing, his Sting is gone, and he han't bin able to Fiddle any Tune worth hearing this many a fair day.
'Tis true, he makes a shift, like an old Mu∣sician thrown out of the Play-house, to stroll up and down to Ale-houses and Booths, and Wakes and Fairs, and Whitson-Ales, or the like, to pick up a few Pence now and then, tho' scarce enough to pay for Rozin.
I shou'd make him too proud, I'm certain, if I should tell him his Writings were very much like Evander's, and just such a Rambling Air may be found in one as in t other. Nay per∣haps I took the hint from him of this very way, which has since been so acceptable to the World.
He play'd the Fool, made People laugh, writ ••on to the end of the Chapter, without think∣ing one minute, and got Money by't, and just so does Evander.
Heark ye, Sir Kainophil! comes a little piece 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Crape buzzing in my Ears.—Consider what you say and do,—there's respect due to the ••••fortunate, especially those who have been Great, and are still Men of Sence and Ing••nuity. That Person you speak of so scurrilously, has perhaps done as much Honour to the English Language, as most others you can name. There's something so pleasant and bewitching in the worst of his Writings, that they Charm even where they Wound; and his Fallacies are so neat, they'd almost tempt one to shut one's Eyes and believe they'r all sound Reason. There's something very Masterly in all he writes, and what you'll hardly meet in any other. And besides you know what he has done of undoubted value; he only has had the rare happiness of bet∣tering some of the best Authors in a Translation, and his Seneca and Offices will live as long as the World.
All this I knew before, but what's this to Honesty? there's the Jewel.—Wit is no more commendable in a Knave, than Courage in a High∣way-man.— A Man that betrays his Religion and Countrey in pretending to defend it, and writes round to all the Points of the Compass,— that's not only for breaking down the Walls, and dismounting the Cannon when the Enemy
is at the Gate, but for opening that too to let•• 'em in; and can't plead ignorance, as other Me•• perhaps might in the same Circumstances. One that's ungrateful for Benefits and Bread▪ and snaps at the hand that gives it, that's noto∣riously immoral, and by his Conversations mani∣fests no more respect to the Laws of God than Men; but thinks a Gentleman may dispense with one, as well as a King with the other. Such a Man, let him be what he will for Wit or Sence, can never yet be esteemed basely enough, or render'd more contemptible than he deserves.
(As for young Nobbs, I have nothing to say to him at present, but only wish he may take care not to follow the Example of his Predecessor.)
'Tis pity Towzer's old Worrier, Harry Care, is n't now alive; but instead of him, we cou'd ••end him a poor Name-sake of his with a Dis∣course of Vncleanness, were not Threescore and ten a better Antidote against it than all the Books i' the World.
Wou'd one ever think it possible that a Person of the Sagacity and Experience of some Persons, shou'd go to such a Person as S— the Conjurer to know whether he were best run away, when he was like to be hang'd if he stay'd any longer?
O S—thou Shame of all Authors, Astrologers, Physitians and Rhimers, as much as Kainophilus of Booksellers! The Shame, because the Glory; for thou out-shinest and dazzlest 'em all in every one of those noblest Professions, as much as Tho. Stern∣hold
wou'd thee in Poetry, were he yet alive. So true was the Character the Western Hangman* 2.2 gave thee,—Whatever thou may'st be for a Conjurer, thou art certainly the Devil of a Poet.— And if there's any thing in the Stories of Inchantation, thy Verses have as much vertue in 'em as any Abracadabra in the World; for it must be a very stubborn malady indeed, that wou'd not out to hear thy Poetry. 'Tis true, there's a small mistake in some of 'em, unless taken with a Grain,—thy Medicines as thy Bills tell the World—
Will cure any curable DiseasesIf by Medicines are meant Verses, the Bill is certainly in the right; for if so long since as Virgil's time, 'twas notorious that—
Cantando rumpitur anguis,Now Art and Poetry are so much improv'd, 'twould split a very Dragon to hear thee charm over him.
However, what's more to the purpose, thou dost certainly charm abundance of little white and yellow Angels into thy own Pocket, and all the while look in the Faces of the chous'd Wretches, whence they are conjur'd as innocently and sincerely as if every Lye thou tell'st 'em were Gospel: and all the Infallible Q••ack-Medicines thou sell'st 'em, were nothing under Bezoar-stone, or Aurum Potabilt.
Among all the wise Droves attending for Re∣sponses at this Oracle, who ever thought to have found my Friend Democritus, &c? What Female-Devil is't he'd be acquainted with? A Wag I warn't him,—there's Nose, there's Eyes, there's Complexion.— Well—if all this fails, I'll ne're trust Physiognomy agen. An Author too as sure as Infallibility.— See but how he bites his Nails, and scratches his Head, and twirls his Fingers, all mortal symptoms of the plague of Writing.
O the vertue of Broom-Ale, certainly there's no other Helicon.— But an Author and an honest Fellow, love his Friend, hum a merry Song, pay every one his own, not run in debt, not ask for his Money till the Copy is finished, have no cares, sing and dance away a thoughtless Life,—why these are all Miracles, and there's not such another President (unless in Kainophilus perhaps) throughout the whole Corporation.
Well—if I do get a sound dry basting, I am fated into't as much as ever the Author of that word himself was; for I no more intended to fall a-board my good Friends the Authors, than to mawl my own Face, as you may see at the be∣ginning of this Chapter, but ha'been drill'd along from G—y to C—rs, and so on, till now I was as good plunge quite through, for I'm fair∣ly got Half-Seas over without knowing where I was.
And the next I intend to Ramble to, is a cer∣tain famour Doctor and no Doctor, who has been
an inveterate Press-mauler for above this twenty year. He has printed at least a hundred Bound Books, and some two hundred Sermons,— but the cheapest pretty pat things all of 'em,—pence a piece as long as they'll run, which, if you'll step into Smithfield or Moor-Fields, you may hear some Bal∣lad-Singer or other tuneing to the sad and doleful Ditty that he sung just before.
I was reading one of 'em with a great deal of application and care, when all o'th' sudden I was frighted out of my sober Thoughts with a whole volley of Oaths, fired like a Blunderbuss up the Gar∣ret-Stairs where this Author and I were confabu∣lating,—and at length the thing appeared that made all the noise. I at first cou'd not imagin what 'twas,—it look'd like a Wood-Coal half out, red in the middle, and covered with white Ashes o' both sides on't. Away the thing roll'd to t'other side of the room, then between tumbled and sat down upon a decrepid Joynt-stool (some of the best Furniture Authors Houses use to be pro∣vided with) and after having breath'd a little while longer, which I cou'd compare to no∣thing but the twinkling of a Coal just before it goes out, fell a Swearing agen so loud, I be∣gan to fear he'd untile the House, or blow us all out at the Window.
I have heard of a famous piece, called, A Sa∣tyr against—; but how much soever that was cry'd up, dare averr this Person was him∣self a greater and sharper Satyr against De∣bauchery, than ever that was against—
He began after disimboguing some mouthfuls more of Oaths, to speak a few words without 'em, and now and then something witty enough wou'd drop from him, but so lewd, so fulsomly, nauseously wicked, such a nuisance to Mankind as well as Christianity, that I wonder our Au∣thors don't expell him from among 'em.
'Twas about Change-time I remember when we saw him, and he never comes out of his Hole till Noon; so that I find he had improv'd his time well, and in a modest computation was got most intirely Drunk in about an hour.—But never did poor Wretch pay more dearly for his Debauchery than he does. No sooner gets he home, and falls down dead-drunk as Brandy can make him, (as he never is, not to wrong him, above once a day) but old Kate, his Shee-Familiar of a Wife, takes him to task, and with a powerful Wand that she has a'top of the Bed, does so, so lace him, till she's so weary of the Exercise she can hardly stand any more than he, and then lugs him to Bed, as the Butchers carry Hogs by the hind Leg. But the next day, when the poor penitent Creature wakes,—O Kate! O what's the matter wi' me!—my Bowels, my Ribs!—O Kate— my old Bones are all turn'd to Jelley in my Body!—for pity,—one Gill of Brandy!—one Noggin—! one Com∣fort! or—O, a little warm Ale to put me in a Sweat, and if ever I recover this bout, I'll be the best Husband in the World! I'll Translate like a Pack-horse, and Compose like a Dragon,— and bring home a whole Peck full of Money every Saturday night.
But then to hear her answer in a Note above all those in the Greek Musicians.
O thou old sinful Fornicator— see what you bring your self to—here you ha' bin among your drunken Companions—quarrel and fight, and are soundly basted among 'em, then make a bad shift to reel home; and I must have the mending on ye agen, must I— no—lie and rot where you are, for I am ne're a doit the better for ye.
Nay, now Kate— you'r obdurate—will nothing molli••ie—••Tis too long to tell you all the Dia∣logue, so we'll leave that, and take up one of Lucians.
Why, F—d! I lookt for a Book, and here is nothing but a Preface, or at least the Porch hinders one from seeing the House—But why of all Loves is this devout Christian so wondrous angry with the Fathers for pil••ering poor Lucian to fill up some gaps in their Sermons? Is there no medium but the reverend old Gentleman must needs be guilty of flat Felony (I hope tho' not beyond benefit of Clergy,) is there no remedy? And why may n't good Wits j••mp, the Fathers and Lucian, as well as you and Dablancour?
And now we talk of Fathers, commend me to Daniel in the Den— there he is fast enough, but how he'll get out agen, is all the que••tion. He's no more likely to stir then his—Angels lockt in direful Chains— well—'tis e'en a very Tra∣gical business, and there's an end on't—or at
least both sides wish there was, and with equal reason.
I protest there's more lewdness among us Au∣thors, than I cou'd ever have imagin'd. I slept in (among my other Rambles) and call'd to see a certain little Poetical Friend and Acquaintaince, but I found he had taken up my Employment, and Rambled himself to Bartholomew-Fair with Mrs. Isabella— Let 'em alone unless they were better, and make Room for some of a fairer Cha∣racter—and room must be made, for here comes Brother K— mounted upon some Apocalyptical Beast or other, with Babylon before him, and Zion behind him, and a hundred thousand Bulls, and Bears, and furious Beasts of Prey, roaring, and ramping, and bellowing at him so hideously, that unless some kind Angel drop from the Clouds and hacks and hews very plentifully a∣mong 'em, he must certainly be torn as small as a Love-Letter, and then chaw'd and devour'd—and worse than all, perhaps turn'd out agen a little less sweet than he went in.
Then will he make such lamentable Dittys, that 'twou'd be almost worth the while to try the Experiment upon him to hear 'em. Yea, he wou'd be wounded as much as his own Zion, and take some of the Doggrel out of her Mouth, to make his sad and doleful Complaint.
To the best of Vander's Memory, he has dress'd one of the aforesaid Ladies great Persecutors in Crape, with a little Band and a Rose in his Hat—sure this is he—that brings up the Rear of the Authors.
But who is't has been persecuting him of late—What else is the meaning of that Patch over half his Face, and his Hand over the rest on't? I dare venture the price of the next Copy, he has no Money in his Pocket, and that he's now railing in's Heart at all the World— But there's no Love lost between 'em; and because he's my Friend, I'll tell him what they say of him to be even with him.
He's a silly, empty, conceited, morose, maggo••y Fellow (cry they, for I'de not say so for a World, what—disoblige an Author! no, catch me at that—but thus still they say, and I can bring wit∣ness on't if there was any occasion) of no Prin∣ciples, and as little Honour or Honesty.
A small poetical Insect, like Bays in every thing but writing well—an odd mixture of Lead and Mercury— as heavy and dull as an old U∣surer, and yet as unfixt and whimsical as Evan∣der. Still changing, displeased, unquiet, uneasy, a perfect Contradiction to himself and all the World?
Culprit— By whom will ye be try'd?
Chear up Mr. Author, Evander's your Council, and all's well enough.
Not by his Country, unless he lik'd 'em better—By my self, and the other part of the Answer. Perhaps all this Indictment is true, but I believe 'tis not; and my reason is, because he wou'd then thrive better; for such as you talk of, I can only see respected and valued. If to be no Bigott of one side, or to defile ones own Nest, or contra∣dict
ones Judgment o' t'other, be having no Prin∣ciples; I acknowledge he has no more than those that make the Objection. If he is angry with the World, and scorns it into the bargain, he now both treats and esteems it as it deserves, too hard a Task for those whom it flatters, or perhaps for himself, shou'd it ever change its Humour, and grin upon him.
In the mean time, who is not restless that's un∣easie— bid a sick man lie still, or preach Patience to one that is pincht and prickt with Needles, and you may chance to make him laught at ye in the midst of his Torment.
In spite of his present Quarrel with the World, he loves the brave, and never envies Vertue when he sees it fortunate, but rather feels such a pleasure, as nothing else here gives him. If he's angry when a Knave grows great, while an honest Fel∣low starves by him; wiser folks than he have play'd the fool in the same manner, and fretted at what can't be avoided.
But we must not have a Sermon as long as one and thirtiethly Beloved— take Vander's Counsel, Let the World alone, and that will do the same by you— But while you pester 'em thus with your troublesom Objections and Answers, waste so many Reams of Paper when 'tis so dear, and might be better employ'd at the Bake-house, or House of Office, and print as many weak, ridi∣culous things as Kainophilus himself; they must e'en, in their own defence, rail at ye; and if you have any Friends left, you'll as certainly lose
them as you have the other—Thus impartial I love to be— Stay Vander—quoth he for himself, I defie all the World to make me have one Friend less than I have already—while you and I hold together a Fig for Fortune—Those who complain I write silly Things, are very much in the right, but one of these two they must grant, either that I can do better, or cannot; if the last, why do they blame me? if the first, let the World thank it self for finding me no better Employ∣ment— which till it does, I'll pester it, I'll rail at it, I'll have no mercy upon that, or my self; in the mean time let it e'en pity me, or scorn me as it thinks fit, for I shall be just as much the bet∣ter for one, as the worse for t'other—and so—have amongst 'em agen.
To the Poets.
TO you who liv'd by Drink, not Eating, Your Brother Rhymer sendeth greeting,Abdicated.
A Fumbler past fifty, Vngodly, unthrifty, Who lost Wit and Pension together. So greedy, so needy, So wild, and so giddy. He'd turn Turk shou'd the Mufti come hither.Laureat.
A Rhymer so fam'd, Need ne're be asham'd Of his Faiths or his Works imperfection. The Players all fear He'll turn Priest the next year, And leave 'em to another Election.
—A poor Lunatick—
Leave Bro••m, or thou'art mad, And drink Helebore, Natt: Nor disgrace the Poetick Profession! If thou'rt madder than they, They'll all run away, And leave thee whole Bedlam's possession.Prince Prettyman.
And is it not pity That an Author so pretty, With a second Translation should cheat us! Perswade's if you can, That this* 3.1Goose is a Swan, Or Horace a-kin to Lucretius.Lock and Key.
Is the Narrative done. Or how goes it on, Speak E••kanah! out of thy Garret. Such a Picture and Tale Like his Play cou'd n't fail, When he hop'd the brave Irish wou'd carry't.Sol fa.
Thou canst play, thou canst sing To a Mayor, or a King, Tho thy luck on the Stage is so scurvy. Such a Beau, such a Face, Such a Voice to disgrace Such a mine, 'tis the De'el Mr. D—
The humble Address, &c.
Of Criticks the best Why dost thou contest To make such a Whelp of an Author? While thou lashest the School, Thy own Works are more dull Than any man living e're saw there.Jack Gentleman
Since Jordan is dead, Why's his Successor fled, When the P••geants so dearly did need him? Death of late made a Feast Both of HEROE and PRIEST, And he went o're the Sea to succeed 'em.
The rest will keep cold. Now wou'd I fain see the Faces of all those Gentlemen who find their own here—but I can't guess at 'em without Book —D— swells, S— swears, L— raves, T— smiles, E— struts, and so on—I hope they'll fall upon the Author. Lampoon him to some purpose, and then my Book's made— it runs like Lightning; and I do'nt fear two Impressions, no more than it (in days of yore) 'twas got into the Observator.
Don't be so brisk, cries another wise, grum Fellow that sees me pluming and cocking— Those Gentlemen have all more Wit—they'll no more mind you, than the Gallant in t'other Book, did Clark, but let you, your Author, and your Dog∣grel sink in that Obscurity and Ob••ivion they de∣serve.
To let the Reader see I han't forgot my self all this while, any more than a Spaniel loses his
way when he runs over Hedge and Ditch; I'l•• now return to my main business, the Life of young Kainophilus— who by this time had run thr•••• his seven years pleasant Slavery, and was now ready to shake off those golden Chains, for such were his made by so good a Master; of which he'll take his leave with one notable Occurren•••• more, which ought not to be forgotten—The•• day before his Time was out, he received the•• 199th Letter from his Father, which he sent du∣ring his Prenticeship, and that very day another, which made up the precise Summ of 200; all which he yet preserves thro all his Travels, Rambles, Uppings and Downings, and Forthgo∣ings and Incomings of his Life, and will no more part with 'em than with his Freedom when he has it, but resolves to have 'em bury'd under his Head (as the old Woman her Bag of Nuts) when he creeps into the dark hole in the 24th. Globe of the Frontispiece.
However, the Thoughts of that did n't spoil his Mirth, but abroad he ranged like a young Swallow in the Spring, with so much sprightliness and joy, that he cou'd hardly feel himself, or the Air he breath'd in.—H•• (or I, 'tis much the same) had the good fortune to be courted and esteem'd by all that knew him; and was a Lad of singular Expectations, and extraordinary Hope. Honours met him where-ever he walkt, and his ways were strow'd with Complements and How••d'y's.
The greatest Sphere in which he acted at his first stepping over the Threshold into the World, was that of an Addresser— He had the honour
to be one of the brisk London Prentices (a matter of some 30000 in all) who presented the famous Petition to Sir P. W. nay, so great was his Reputa∣tion, he was chosen the Treasurer to that honou∣rable Society (tho the Secretary's place might have done as well) and he it was who had the happiness of their Company at a magnificent Feast made at his Freedom— And happy too happy had it been for Evander had Fortune still thus smil'd upon him, and he been happy still—Yes, and he was so for some fair years after—but how happy then, and how unhappy after∣wards, how he fell in Love with Iris, and dis∣patch'd the grand Affair of Matrimony, how he turn'd Author and then Rambler—he'll tell you immediately—but first must step to the Printers to get this Book workt off, and you shall have the Third
—Before a pot of good Ale you can swallow, and further saith not—Yours ever Evander.
[Small sub∣intelligitur.]
[So's that—but the Rhyme requir'd it.]
Mr. Robert Foulks late Minister of Stanton-Lacy.
I say they are as much design'd for this Man as that Man, and that Man as this Man, and disprove it if you can.
Dr—ke and—il for that.
Iefferys.
Vid. Frontis. of Creeches Horace.