txn^v,i^im 'alifomi gional .^i^ THIS EDITION IPIU(0ISIL1^8 €IL1UB IS PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETOR, BY JOHN JOHNSON AND SOLD BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER ROW; J. MAJOR, SKINNER STREET; JOHN AND ARTHUR ARCH, CORNHILL; AND ROBERT TRIPHOOK, OLD BOND STREET; LONDON, M D C C C X V II. L_1J D p - THE IMPRESSION OF THIS EDITION IS AS FOLLOWS: LAllGE PAPER (IMPERIAL) TWO HUNDRED. SMALL PAPER (ROV'AL) FIVE HUNDRED. CHINESE PAPER (WHITE) EIGHTEEN. CHINESE PAPER (YELLOW) SEVEN. SATIN (MOUNTED ON IMPERIAL) SEVEN. VARIOUS COLOURS (PRINTED ON ONE SIDE) ONE. BLUE, ONE. YELLOW, ONE. L D i i — 1 '"^, Q^ 'M/^^ Rh- If II TO TMl IE1AIDI&!!. ! I I I XCELLENT as are the morals and general tendency of the fol- lowing pages, no apology seems necessary for offering them to the Public in their present em- bellished form. The Works of PuCKLE are few in miniber, but they have all been originally published with the desire of being useful; and it has been judged by those who have perused his "Club" with attention, that its revival at the present moment would he received ivith general ap- probation; and as its own merits are sufficient to plead in its behalf, little Editorial aid has been sup- plied to secure its circulation. The style, manner, and orthography, with a few unimportant exceptions, have been studiously jjreserved in this Edition; which is noiv offered to the Public with the same motive as that which dictated the Original. It first appeared in 1711, and the Author seems to have sent it into the world without any other am- bition, than the hope of benefiting those for whose use it was designed. I The present Edition is indebted to the able ; r\ Gl u Co tIDf liratrrr* I pencil of Mr. Thurston for the BesUjvs uitk ■ which it is illvstrutcd ; and it is presumed that the \ man of taste, as well us the artist, uill admit that each j tells the story of its peculiar siil>ject uith appropriate 1 expression. And icerc it necessary to dicell on the I vieiits of the Author, it uovld of itself be no mean I praise, that in the hands of a masterly Designer it ' shonld have become the vehicle of so fine a series of humourous and characteristic prints. With respect ■ to the exec^ition of the Cuts by the several Engravers, it mai/ be ullouablc here to remark, that the labour 1 ^f producing a good engraving on wood is more con- I siderable, and requires more of art, than has gene- rally been supposed; and it is but justice to those icho have been employed in this part of the Work, to i inform the Reader, that every line of the drawing is marked out upon the block by the Designer, exactly us it appears upon the paper ; from this delineation it is the province of the Engraver to cjtt out a per- fect and icell-icrought resemblance; to effect which, great ability is rerjuisite, as the least deviation is irre- mediable, es])ecial/y when what is technically termed ■ cross-liatcbing occurs, as is fully exemplified in the decoration of this volume. To give a slight idea of I the dijjicidty of such operation, it is only necessai'y to obsrn-e, that evo'y minute inteistice of white is . c^it out icith the graver from between eveiy viark of the Designer's pencil. In consequence of this indis- pensable nicety, the Proprietor, sparing no expense to present the Work as faultless us possible, has thrown aside four beautiful Designs, which were rendered S » { b mi a c J CKj I ! D d Co tte Healrcr, •useless by such deviation; and the same designs have been retraced on neiv blocks. With respect to the Typography little need be said, as the discrimination of the Reader will atjirst view acknowledge the great neatness, perspicuity and attention, with ivhich the Printer has ful/illed his department, more particularly in that difficult ap- plication of it, which consists in giving due preci- sion, true tone, and full effect to the impressions. Upon the whole, therefore, it is hoped that this undertaking has been so accomplished as to present « combination of talents in the respective arts em- ployed, ichich eqtials, if not excels, any specimen of a similar description that has hitherto issiied from the Press. It was intended to attach to this Edition a Sketch of the Author's Life, and in apology for its omission, the Reader is informed, that, every pro- bable source of information having been searched, no Memoir or Account can be obtained that may be depended upon. It tcould seem, that the humility of PuCKLE himself has deprived the world of a more extensive knowledge of his personal biography; still sufficient traits of his mind are discernable in his writings, to icarrunt the conclusion that he was inffuenced solely by a desire of doing good, and of preserving the character of a good citizen, and an honest man ; an opinion ichich is icarranted by the sentiments of the present TTor/f, and is still more fully confirmed by two other productions of his, entitled, "England's El Co tt)e l^ratirr. third and subsequent Editions: CO, LITTLE BOOK, AND SHEW THE FOOL HIS FACE, THE KNAVE HIS PICTURE, AND THE SOT HIS CASE; TELL TO EACH YOITH WHAT IS, AND WHAT'S NOT FIT, AND TEACH TO SUCH AS WANT, SOBKIETV AND WIT. London, XuiemJter, 1S17. Interest," and " En2;land's way to Wealth and Ho- 1 nour," eopies of which are in the coUeetiou of the ' British Museum. The Poi-trait prefixed has been most accurately \ copied by T. Bragg, a pupil of the present cele- '■ brated Mr. Sharp, from an original engraving by j Vertue, after a painting by J. B. Closterman, j and its genuineness is authenticated by the Earl ■ OF Orford, in his " Catalog^ue of Engravers,*' in '. which he partictdarizes the Original. \ t j This Advoiisement cannot be better concluded, • \ t than in Puckle's own icords, as appended to the '■ D i D ! u JQ ai«H of ^tt60(ri6er0. i HIS M.UESTVS LIBRARY. THE MOST NOBLE THE MARQUIS OF BUCKINGHAM, K. G. THE RIGHT HON. EARL FITZWILLIAM. THE RIGHT HON. EARL SPENCER. K. G. THE RIGHT HON. L<'RD ARUNDEL. THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES Bv\THURST. THE RIGHT HON. THOM.\S GRE.VVILLE. HONOURABLE GEORGE NASSAU. SIR MARK MASTERMAN SYKES, BART. SIR CHARLES DOWNIE K. C. SIR SAMUEL EGERTON BRYDGES, B.VRT. SIR JAMES EDWARD SMITH. Abbott, Mr. George Absalom, Mr. Ackerniann, Mr. Rudolph Adderley, Thomas, Esq. Addison, Sir. Preston Adolphus, John, Esq. Allen, James, Esq. Picton-vastle Anderson, Mr. William Andrews, Mr. WilUani, Xeucastle Arch, John and Arthur Armstrong, Mr. W. Muiichcstcr Arrowsraith.Mr. J. Bkhmond, 1 A Ashby, Mr. Robert Asperne, Mr. James Aspinall, Jlr.Joseph, Penfonville Austin, Mr. General Post-njiice Austin, Jlr. Eailey, Mitchiim Ayrlon, Mr. T. Kippuii, } orksli. Baker, James, Esq. Baldwin & Co. Balmanno, R. Esq. Tlampstead Bancks, Mrs. Maiiv/w.iter Barker, Mr. Joseph, Manchester Barnett, Mr. John Barnett, Mr. Robert, Manchester Barron, IMiss, Hackney-road Batley, J. Lodge, Esq. Maxham Batman, Mr. Thos. Manchester Beadnell, Mr. John Beadnell, Mr. George Becket, Mr. John, Islington Bell, Mr. John, Newcastle Bell, Mr. Richard Bensley, Mr. Benjamin Bevan, Silvanus, Esq. Bewick, Mr. T. Xeucastle Ti/ne Bindley, James, Esq. Einmer, J. Esq. Bird, Edw. Esq. R.A. Bristol Bird, Mr. Thunias Blorafield, — Esq. lUirySt. Ed. Eohu, .Mr. John ]!c)htc, Mr. Boldero, Mr. Bolland, William, Esq. Boosey, .Mr. 1 liumas, Jun. Booth, Mr. Booty, Kev. Mr. JJuniplon-cnurt Bough, William, Esq. EUisniere Boy del I & C... Bradley, Mr. J. Kewrtisfle Tyne Bragg, j\lr. Thomas, Engraver Braustou, Mr. Engnir. Hollouay Brice, Mr. William, Canterbury Britton, John, Esq. E..S. A. Broadlcy, John, Esq. Hull Broadley, Henry, Esq. Brocket, J. T. Esq. Newcastle Broom, , Esq. Eros, Thomas, Esq. Brown, Benjamin, Esq. Clafham Brown, Mrs. Burls, C'lias. Es(). M'althamstow Burls, Charles, E-q. tor Friend Burncll, Sir. E. Manchester Bnsb, Mr. lEi a F D Etst of ^ubsfstirrs. Butler, Mr. Thomas, M'itham Butler, Mr. Thomas, for Friend Butterworth, Mr. Joseph Byrn, James, Esq. Capper, IJev. James, Wilniiii^f'tn C apptr. Rev. J.iim-s, for Friend Capper, Mr. J. H. Bristol t aslun, Mr. Henry CatherNvood, Mr. J. J. Chalmers, Alexander, Esq. Child, John Bonus, Esq. Chipcliase, Mr. Hubert Chipchase, Mr. Henry Chipcliase, Mr. James Clarke, Joseph, Mi'\. Manchester Claikv.in, Mr. B. Clajton, Mr. Clements, Jacob, Esq. Clowes, l!ev. J. Manchester Cockbdin, J. H. Manchester Cockbiiin, Rev. Dr. Lessun-grote Cockburn, — , Esq. Dulnich-coU. Cole, Benjamin, Esq, Cole, Mr. Colnaghi, Mr. Cook, Mr. W. Manchester Coi belt, Mr. Corbetl, Mr. James Corrj, J. Esq. Liirgan-st. Dublin Cos entry, .Mr. Geoige Cow per, Mr. Crawhall, Mr. T. Xeiicastle Tyne Creighton, Mr. J. Cresy, E. Esq. Uartford, Kent Criiehley, >ir. Croose, Mr. Crosse, J.hn, Esq. F.S.A. Crowder, W . Esq. .Siuithatiiptcn Crowther, Dr. Anares'toroiigli Cuitt, Mr. tieorge, Chester Cummins;?, Mr. JJiiblin Cuner, Miss F. M. Daniel, Mr. R. Davis, Mr. John, Osiiestry Davison, Mr. Dibdin, Rev. T. F. Kemiiirton Dickson, >ii. Henry Donee. F. 1 sq. Douglass, Mr. Jnn. Downes, John, Esq. Tottenham Dunning, W. A. Esq. Maidstone tUl, Edward, Esq. Hoxton Elli:, Richard, Esq. Evans, Mr. Bnoksel/i r Evans, Miss, Coientrii Evans, John, Y.i(\.SoutU Lambeth Evans, Villiam, Esq. Evans, Mr. David Everingham, Mr. Eyres, Mr. Farran, William, Esq. Dubllti Farran, John, Esq. Farran, Mrs. M. Eroinpton Fortescue, Mr. Freeling, Francis, Esq. Freeman & Sons, yoruich Freeman, Mr. Jolin Gaitii iici , 1 hos. Esij. A {ntish4oirn Gardiner, Joseph, Juu. Esq. ditto Gatty, 31r. KoK-it. Jnn. Gerard, Rev. Chai les, BrvHi}iton Gibbon, Mr. T. Kichmmid , ^ orks. Gibbon, Mr. Samuel, Kettering Gibbon, Mr. \\illiani, ditto Gibson, Mr. William (■illingham, Mr. J. Ciill, Mr. George, Manchester CJirand, Mr. John, Paris CJrapel, Mr. Literj.vul Gray, Mr. Joseph Greenhill, Thos. Esq. Boues-farm Cueenland, Mr. CJregsou, Matt. F^sq. Liverpool Goddard, >. M. Esq Hrlijliead Goddard, William, Esq. Dublin Goodin, J. Esq. Goodman, Mr. March, Isle of Llif Goi-e, John, Esq. If est-Ham Gough, Mrs. Enfield Gould, Mr. Quebec Gould, Mr. Charles Gould, Mr. John Jlorlon Gould, Mr. \Silliam Ellis Grifiilhs, J. Esq. PentonvUle Gwynne, Dr. Hacknen Hall & Co. Edinb,iruu!,h Hall, Mr. Henry, Hntt Hanson, Ben). Esq. }i ulthamstow Harding, Mr. G. P. Hrtiman, Edwaid, Esq. Hanis, Mr. Harrison, T. F.sq. Chester Hariison, Mr. Thomas Harrison, Mr. Ihos. for Friend Haivey, J. Esq. Tliorj^-L/jcrlei)-hou. Dev. Holyoak, .Mr. J. Beil-ditch, Birm. Ilomertoii Keadin^ Society Home, ]\Ir. Dover Houlbrook, I'. Esq. How, Ephraim, Esq, Hill, Frederick, Esq. York Hill, T. Esq. Hinkesman, Mr. Hoare, H. Esq. Mitcham-grnve Hoaie, H. V. Esq. Mitchuin-grove Huglies, Mr. \V. Engraver Hyde, Mr. J. Manclnster Ibbetson, Mr. .1. .1. Ma.sliam Ibbetson,I\lr. I.e. UkUmonil, Yk.i. Hinlis, .1. li, I'.sq. Ireland, .Mr. .lacob, Keiulal Jackson, .Mr. James, J. T. Esq. James, — , .lun. Esq. Jennings, ^Ir. Jennings, Mr. W. liriilporl Jermyn, H. Esq. Halemoitli Johnson, Mr. William Johnson, Mr. John Jollonds, Air. Jones, ■"aninel, Esq. Lambeth Jones, Mr. Robert Jones, Rev. J. Hereford Jones, Mr. Stephen Judd, Capt.ii.i, Holijhead Kennedy, Lonfjt'ocd, Esq. Bengal Kennedy, R. Esq. Bermuda.^ Kendall, T. A. Esq. BrUtoii hey, Thomas, Esq. Kin?, F. B. Esq. S. Xenbigton King, Thomas, Esq. Kirnan, Owen, Esq. Demerara Eaing, David, Esq. Eambe, .Air. Lapwoith, Mr. Stephen, Coventry Larrance, Mr. George Lawrence, Mr. . Lawrence, Mr. Jun. Leathl'.y, William, Esq. Liltle, Mr. William Longman, Hnrst & Co. Lonsdale, , Esq. Lowell, .Air. Lnnell, W. Esq. Dublin Lynott, Miss Magralh, Mr. William ~ Major, Joseph, I'sq. Major, Jlr. John Marlcy, Mr. Gabriel Jlarshall, Mr. W. ll'oreesfer Marshall, Mr. T. Kutlliigliuiii Martin, Mr. Pcekhum Mason, Mr. Masterman, John, Esq. Malhie, William, Esq. Maugham, Air. Thomas Maurice, Air. D. S. Mawdsley, Rev. Air. Chester Mc'Niven, C. Esq. Mc'Pherson, (ieorge, Esq. Meigh, C. Esq. Uanleij ,Stafordsh, Melllgan, D. D. Esq! Mercier, Air. Dublin Meredith, William, j:s |. Merrick, Mr. Simeon Midgley, James, Esq. Boehdale Mileliam, Air. Minton, Air. I. IJristvl Mogdridge, Air. T. Mole, T. Esq. Birmingham Moore, lo.seph .lames, Esq. Jloore, Air. George Moore, Mr. Stejilien, Vlrcrstoil Morphew, Air. William Kares, The Rev. Archdeacon Nateis, N. Esq. SandijJ'urd-house ■Neal, Air. locale, AI,-. .1. I'. f^egas, Air. Nesbit, Mr. C. Swalluell, Xrot/i. Nichols, J. Bowyer, Esq. F.S..\. Mcholson, Air. — 1 d n & a I vnr j ILifit of §)Ub6crt!iers. D , Kobic, Mr. r.dward, Boston "KoitU John, L'sq. Nunii, Wr. Cliarlcs Ogdcii, A. Esq. Manchesfer Oliver, Mr. Robert, Xewcastle Oliver, A.J. Esq. Palmer, David, Esq. Clapliam I'eters, Mr. W. yeitcastle Percival, Richard, Esq. Pepjs, \V. H. Esq. Perry, J. Esq. Poole & Harding, Chester Porter, Miss Jane Potts, Mr. Janus, Xeiicastle Powell, Mr. Walter Prest, W. Esq. ; Prestel, Mr. I'rankfort on Muyite \ Preston, Mr. T. IHtnichester ; Prowett, Mr. t^eptinius ^ Prycc, Rev. Dr. CambrUge P>ne,Mr. W . H. Reay, Mr. Joliii, Neiica.stle Rees, Mr. Bristol - Rhodes, W. B. Esq. Richards, Mr. J. ('untirhiiry Richards, Miss, U. Vuntirbitry Rigsje, Mr. John hippou Thomas, Esq. Bisdon, John, Esq. Jun. Robinson, Eduard, Esq. Robinson, Mr. G. Aeucastle , Robinson, Mr. John, Liverpool Robinson, Mr. T. Jun. Robinson & Co. JAierpool Robertson, Mr. Glasgow Rogers, V. L. Esq. Rogerson, W. Esq. Boston Rose, James, Esq. Ryan, Mr. Daniel Saltc, W. G. Esq. Saltc, Miss Sandcford, ]S'. Esq. Manchester Sanders, Thomas, Esq. ' Sandl'ord, Mr. Plyniviitk Satterfield, Mr. J. l\lunchestcr ; Sava!;c, Mr. William Scripps, Mr. William Sedgwick, ^Ir. Serle, Mr. lliomas Setchcll and Son j Severn, John, Esq. I Sharp, A. Esq. Berkenshau , Yks. I Sharp, Mr. W. G. Sharp, Mr. W. Engraver Sharp, Mr. S. Manchester Shaw, Samuel, Esq. Sherwood, & Co. Shipley, Mr F. Boston Shuttleworlh, Itev. Mr. Mitcham Silver, Mr. Mcplion Simpson, Mr. William Simonds, Mr. w. Canterbury Siiiger,S.\\ .Es(\.\ortii-entt, Fiil/i. Skinner, Captain, Holyhead Skrimshire, F., M.D. Peterbro'. Small, Mr T. \en castle Smith, Mr. J. Frederick Smith, Mr. J. I\. Soramerville, Mr. John Southee, Mr. J. Cuntirbury Southgate, J. W. Esq. Cambericell Standley, Mr. T. Stockport Steinmetz, W. Esq. Hoincrton Stevenson, W. Esq, \oruich Stevenson, W. Esq. for Friend Storer, Mr. Stoier, Mr. Fxlward Stratton, Mr. Richard Siitt.tby, Mr. William Snndeiland, E. Esq. Vlverston SntcliUe, Benjamin, Esq. Sutton, II. Esq. Tarbiitt.W illiani Brarkstone, Esq. Taylor, W. Esq. St. Helens, Dtir. Taylor, George Watson, Esq. Taylor, R. Esq. Shot-park, L Iters, Templeman, I'cter, Esq. Thistle waite, J. Esq. Manchester Ihomas, Kev. J. Osleton,fji rej'ord Thomas, Mr. Thomas, Mrs. Southampton. Thompson, Mr. J. Engraver Thompson, Mr. C. Engrav. Paris Thompson, Mr. W. \ciicastlc 'J'hompsoii , Mr. J . Xeitcastle Tyne Thurston, Mr. John, Pcntonvtlle Timbury, Mr. William Todd, Mr. York Tongc, Jlr. Gervaise Townsend, Mr. James Townley, Mr. John, Boston Triphook, Mr. Robert Turner, W. Esq. Dublin Vauglian, J. Esq. Penmacn, N.W, Verhaeghe, V. I'de Geason, G'Aewf Upham, Mr, Exeter L D D ~' — . . . .,., , . , L. ^ L '•^ J Htst of Siutfinitcrg. 1 t- Upsher, Joseph, Esq. St. Ives \ Uttersoii, E. V. Esq. : Wade, Hobert, Esq. ; Ualker, 1. V^i\.nan's-en(l, NiTrth. I Walker, Mrs. ; Walnisley, Mr. William s War Windiis, B. G. Esq. i i Wolstonholme, Mr. York « s Wood, G. D. Esq. Manchester j Wood, Mr. W. Kmniiigton J Woods, Mr. J Wo.dley, John, Esq. ;• Wild, .Esq. > 1 i W , K. Esq. 5 Yonng, Mr. Jhomas, \eticastle X ■\'oiin!;nian, Mr. 1'. If'it/itim , X Zanetii, Mr. Manchester > Haw, Mr. John i ; Matthew, — , Esq. Pnihliiistnn ; ' 1 i Piper, Willinin, Esq. Cumberuell \ ^ Vlatt, J. Esij. ;i ■ L_ D □ U I X ; I D d 5] Li JC D Cfje CIuIj: IN A DIALOGUE Between dFatftcr and ^on. In Vino Veritas. L O N D O N: Printed for the Author, S(anie0 |ducklc 1711. I ri ' n r I — I 1 1 u □ TO MICAJAH PERRY, Esq. AND Cfjf grateful |*lrmory OF THOMAS LANE, Esq. AND TO Mr. RICHARD PERRY, OF LONDON; MERCHANTS: THE FOLLOWING DIALOGUE, AS A PEPPER-CORN ACKNOWLEDGMENT, IS HUMBLY DEDICATED, BY THEIR MOST OBLKiLD, AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, JAiMES I'UCKLE. d b p ) mil In amicumsuum JACOB UM PUCKLE, suhseqiientium Dialogorum Authorem: Distichon. Quanta seges rerum! parvd patet orhis in urbe; etpatet in libro, BIBLIOTUECA, tuo. H. DENSE. a D n □ Z] □ PREFACE. I i Diana's temple, at ephesus, being burnt that night alexander was born, one said, 'it was no wonder; for she was then a gossipping at pella:' which tully commends as a witty conceit, and plitarch condemns as a witless jest. who then can expect hints of this nature should, like the manna, please every palate? if they help to set youth a thinking, d I i b i P u J To HIS Friend, JAMES PUCKLE, Author of the following Dialogue: Distich. In a small City as the World's display'd; So in thy Book's large store, a Library's eonvey'd! D a CHARACTERS, Page ANTIQUARY 3 BUFFOON -' 6 CRITIC '" 8 DETRACTOR 10 ENVIOSO '- 13 FLATTKRRR " 15 GAMESTKR l? HYPOCRITE 21 IMPERTINENT — 23 KNAVE 25 LAWYER 27 MOROSO ' 29 NEWSMONGER OPINIATOR — PROJECTOR -" QUACK RAKE '" SWEARER TRA\ELLER -- USURER — WISEMAN " XANTIPPE ' Pag©- ' 32 ' 34 ' 37 ' 39 ' 41 ' 43 ' 45 ^ 48 ' 61 . 53 YOU^H 57 , ZANY, THE ViNTNIiR ' 60 THESE CHARACTERS BEING MKKELY IXTEiNUED LET NONE PRETEND TO A KE^ , NOR SEEK FOR ANOTHER'S PICTURE, LEST HE FIND HIS OWN ; FOR, qbl VAPIT ILLE FACn. r' D El a ._jC D C 1 I □ J ClD . D m^m e^^M; A DIALOGUE BETWEEN IFAl'IHIIEIE AMB SOM, "a HAT made you out so late last night? ^Olt* Mr. * * * invited me to his Club, at the Noah's Ark ; where, in a low room that stunk like a drunkard's morning- breath, several sat round the fire complaining of gouts, dropsies, consumptions, pleurisies, palsies, rheuma- tisms, catarrhs, &c. till more company coming in, cried, "To the table, to the table;" where one be- gan his right-hand man's good-health, over the left thumb, which having gone round, the next was be- gun, and so they drank on till each had pledged every man's health in the room. ^Atf^CV* Many cups, many diseases: too much oil choaks the lamp Drinking healths, according to St. Austin,* was invented by Pagans a DeTem. Ser. 231. ! J — I p r OI] Cffi« itUUH. and Inlidels; who, in their sacrifices, consecrated them to tlie lionour, name, and memory of Beel- zebub Supposing health-drinkiug only a Mell- wishinj^; custom havinc^ made not pledging a kind of afiVont and wrong to both toaster and toasted, and fear of offending, carrying Avith it the force, though not the form, of a constiaiiit. Health- drinking infringes King Ahasuerus's Royal Law,*" tends to excess, and is not expedient. . . . But what followed? For Avine, inunoderately taken, makes men think themselves Avonderous wise. ^Ott» Most of them became like Solomon's fool,*^ full of words. fatter. What was it they said ? *>0n» Even what came uppermost; for, as wine laid reason asleep, each gave the reins to his vanity and folly. For instance b i'lsllier i. 8. " Eccl. X. 12. D d One, afTecting to be thought a mighty Antiquary, declared hiiiisell" an idolater of ages past; and told us, that all learning and civility Mere derived down to us from the Eastern parts of the world; there it was that mankind arose, and there they first dis- covered the waj s of li\ ing with safety, convenience, and delight That the original of astronomy, geometry, government, and many sorts of manu- factures which we now enjoy, were justly attributed to the Assyrians, the Chaldeans, and Egyptians That the inquisitive, amongst tlie Grecians, travelled into the East to ripen their own imperlcct concep- tions; and at their return taught them at home, with the mixture of fables and ornaments of fancy. That Orpheus, Linus, Musa-us, and Homer, first softened men's natural rudeness, and, by the charms of their numbers, allured them to be instructed by the severer doctrines of Solon, Thales, and P) tha- d d n ^ — 1 □ ci^is miuB* goras That in Greece, the city of Athens was the general school and seat of education That Socrates began to draw into some order the con- fused and obscure imaginations of those that went before him, and to adapt all parts of philosophy to the immediate service of the affairs of men, and the uses of life. . . . That witli the Grecian empire, their arts also were transported to Rome, where the doc- trines received from the Greeks were eloquently translated into the Latin tongue. . . . That he pitied the ignorance of modern -writers, and scorned to read any book less than an hundred years old That he was a great admirer of ancient coins and manuscripts; Mhich, if effaced, or obliterated by time, in his opinion, Mere still the more valuable. By the rest of his discourse, he seemed to esteem every thing, as Dutchmen do cheese, the better for being mouldy. ^Htf^tV* Affectation of any kind is lighting up a candle to our defects, and sIipms want of judg- ment or sincerity, . . . Allowing tliat the Eg3ptians excelled in sublime thoughts, the Chaldeans in sciences, the Greeks in eloquence, and the Romans in polite style, &c. yet the ancients may have justice done them, without worshipping them, or despising the moderns. . . . Antiquity is venerable, and affords us many heroic examples. We willingly subscribe to the sense of the ancients in all probabilities, but not contrary to matters of fact; for antiquity can no more privilege an error, than novelty prejudice a truth When Plato, Aristotle, and other m ise D -I □ n d J Grecians travelled into the East, they collected and brought home many useful arts and secrets; yet were so far from blindly assenting to all that was taught them by the priests of Isis and Osiris, as to ridicule their worshipping dogs, cats, onions, and crocodiles Why then, without detracting from what was good in former times, or blindly resigning up our opinions to the words only of the ancients, should we not be allowed to distinguish and choose what to follow? Aiitiquitas saeculi, juveutus inundi. Too servile a submission to the books and opinions of the ancients, has spoiled many an ingenious man, and plagued the world with abundance of pedants and coxcombs. But, go on with your story. □ b □ j r_^ c;i@i3 (im.wui. *0n. A Buffoon, skilled in making wr}^ mouths, mimical gestures, and antic postures, A\as e^er mis- construing and perverting others' words to a pre- posterous or filtliy meaning; or showing his parts in flat insipid quibbles and clinches, jingling of words or s\ llables in scraps of verses, or senseless rhymes, and in all the dregs and refuse of wit. ... His talk M as obscene, his bantering too coarse, too rude, too bitter, or too pedantic ; out of season, or out of mea- sure. . . . His jests were malicious, saucy, and ill- natured, full of slander and gall, striking even at magistrates, parents, friends, and cases that desened pity. . . . After speaking, he always laughed first, and generally alone; and A\hilst he drolled and scoffed at the false steps of others, Mearied the company m ith his own At length he met with his match, \\hich mortified him extremely; for D \2_\ q^- IZO □ sjt^is er%e)3. "d Buffoon, forsooth, could no more endure to be out-fooled, than Nero to be out-fiddled. ^♦Itl^f r. Some use their wits as Bravoes -wear steelettoes, not for defence, but mischief; or, like Solomon's madman,'' cast fire-brands, an'OMs, and death, and say, "Am not 1 in sport?" . . . Few men know when and how to throw out a pleasant word with such regard to modesty and respect, as not to transgress the bounds of wit, good nature, or good breeding. . . , Drolls and Bufl'oons, whilst they think to make sport for others, commonly become laugh- ing-stocks themselves, to all, but those who pity tliem. . . . Scomms and derision unbridle fear, and make the peasant brave the prince. . . . Augustus seeing one like himself, asked him, in scoff", if his mother was never at Rome: the lad answered, No: but my father was Utter nothing that may leave any ingrateful impressions, or give the least umbrage of a spiteful intent. . . . He whose jests make others afraid of his wit, had need be afraid of their memory, ... It is more grievous for a man to be ridiculed, than beaten: contempt pierces to the quick, and revenge stops at nolliing; it hardens men into a brutal despising of death, so they may but see their enemies fall in company. Hut, go on ^ I'roT. \x>i. lU. Ml ^On. A Critic, vise enough, in his own conceit, to correct the Magnificat; pretending to an exqui- site niceness, censured Cicero for being too verbose, and Virgil for using rustic language His large stock of ill-nature, and the malicious pleasure he took in fault-finding, made him never look on any thing, but with a design of passing sentence upon it Plato, he told us, was neither fertile nor copious; Aristotle, neither solid nor substantial; and Theo- phrastus, neither smooth nor agreeable Tliat Voiture was dull, Corneille a stranger to the pas- sions, Racine starched and afiected, Mohere jejune, and Boileau little better than a plagiary. . . . That Shakespear wanted manners, Ben Jonson Mas a pedant, Congreve a laborious writer, and Garth but an indifferent imitator of Boileau. . . . That Dryden's Absalom and Achitophel was a poem wanted vigour of thought, purity of language, and aptness and □ & D P propriety of expression; nor were many of the eli- sions to be allowed, or accents and pauses duly ob- sened, . . . An instance being required; Critticoiie hung his ears, and fell a cursing his memory. ^Sit^tV* By a Critic, was originally under- stood a good judge; but now, A^ith us, it signifies no more than an unmerciful fault-finder: tAvo steps above a fool, and a great many below a wise man. . . . The laws of civility oblige us to commend what, in reason, we cannot blame. Men should allow others' excellencies, to preserve a modest opinion of their own It is the distemper of would-be-thought wits, "with an envious curiosity to examine, censure, and vilify others' works, as if they imagined it gave them an air of distinction and authority to regard them M ith an air of contempt. . . . Disparaging a\ hat is generally applauded, makes men looked upon as singular fops, or wretched judges. . , . The famous Boccalini, in his advertisements Irom Parnassus, tells us, a Critic, presenting Apollo with a very severe censure upon an excellent poem, was asked for the good things in that work: but the ax retch answering, he minded only its errors; Apollo or- dered a sack of unwinnoAAcd vlieat to be brought, and Critic to pick out and take all the chafl" i'or his pains. . . . ^A'hcn men will talk of others; why not, like Suetonius, of the twelve Caesars, tell virtues as well as vices? were our eyes only for spots and blemishes? But, go on i i U d r n a c QoD H CP!I2 CO'llSUB, *iOn» A splenetic Detractor excellent at mis- representing, mis-understanding', and mis-interpret- ing his neiglibour's thoughts, words, and actions; dealt nuich in malicious insinuations, and in sinister and covert reflections, uttering his cahnunies and slanders in such ambiguous words, and half sen- tences, as left worse to be guessed at than he durst express, and made it his business to raise false re- ports; or by repeating others' lies, to adopt them his own. Usually began his stories with a, 'Tis whispered; or an, I have heard, 8fc. and never se- conded a commendation, but merely to smooth the way to some malicious remarks upon the party's defects; concluding still with an. Ok, but! or an, I conld icish one thinij amended; wliich one thing, he took care, should blur all his former commenda- tions. . . . When, by tlie party's presence, his tongue happened to be bound to its good behaviour, his D b n [_„. J D3I] D Q:p!iB mimis. a mien, eyes, tone of voice, malicious smiles, myste- rious silence, or equivocal and i]l-n)caning expres- sions, discovered the rancour of his envenomed mind. . . . Wheie he knew nothing of a person, he would seem to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he would; and, after racking his invention to the utmost, cry. But he is my friend, and therefore I must hold my "peace He had ever an invidious eye upon the clergy and men eminent for virtue, watching their halting; and if any the least obliquity could be spied, used them Morse than the vilest malefactors At length Wiseman asked the difference between smiting with the sword, and a killing tongue; whereat De- tractor being dumb-founded, threw down his club, and left the room. ^SiXX^tV* Think it no part of your business curiously to search into other men's lives, but nar- row ly inspect jour own errors : it is nmch better to mend one fault in yourself, than to lind an hundred in your neighbour It is a maxim in heraldry, that all animals born in arms, or ensigns, are to be interpreted according to their most innocent and noble qualities; as if a lion be the charge of an escutcheon, valour and watchfulness is thereby re- presented, not cruelty and rapine; and if a serpent, not ^ enom and malice, but wisdom and subtiltj. . . . Christianity teaches us the same rule in blazoning our neighbours characters, and Solomon tells us,*^ " He that uttereth a slander is a fool.". . . Yet, alas! <■ I'rov. X. 13. L. □ 12 ri^l3 (HiUiS. n some can no more live a day without calumny and detraction, than Mithridates coukl \vithout poison: but, like the looking'-glasses in tlie temple of Smirna, represent the fairest and best featured face exceed- ing ugly and defomied; without considering, that, who sells his neighbour's credit at a low rate, makes the market for others to buy his omti at the same price. " There is a last in man no chaitn can tame, Of loudly publishing his neii^hbGur's shame; On eagle's Avings immortal scandals flv, While virtuous actions are but bom, and die." One begins a ■whisper, another makes it a report, a third enlarges it to a dangerous calumny, a fourth adds somewhat of his own, which is augmented, and divulged by a thousand. . . . The mischief is, mankind being apter to believe evil than good; even doubtful accusations leaA e a stain behind them, and often prove indelible injuries to the party accused. Belie\e nothing against another, but upon good au- thority; neither report what may hurt another, un- less it be a greater hurt to conceal it. Go on d \j D *iOn» A pale, lean, ghastly carcase, quickened with envy, that would have willingly lost one eye, so his fellow might lose both, had a tongue so like Detractor's, his mouth was ever full of obloquy. His neighbour's welfare, or his own woe, caused the like sourness in his looks His mind had the vapours; a sweet report of any would throw him into convulsions and agonies. . . . Commend a good divine, he would cry, hypocrisy; a philologer, pcfZon- fry; a, ipoet, rhyming ; & schoohuan, dtill wrangling; a sharp conceit, roguishness ; an honest man, plausi- bility; or indeed conmiend any, but himself, and he was still furnished with a pish before-hand. . . . The news of his kinsman's being preferred at court, tor- mented him extremely; the more it was talked of, the more malevolent he grew: say M'hat you would, either the place was not fit for the man, or the man for the place Mean while that gentleman en- □ n n □ Ci^l3 esides false dice, there are several soils of false boxes. . . . That, supposing both box and dice fair, Gamesters have the top,P peep,'' eclipse,' thumbing, ^ &c. . . . That, by long practice, sharpers can from conveniencies in pockets, caps, sleeves, rolls of stockings, &c. change cards and dice, with S Of tliosc are divers sorts, some all sixes, all cinqs, ail quaters, all travs, all deuces, or all aces: otiiers that have only two sixes, two cinqs, and two quaters ; and others that are to run low, have only two trays, two deuces, and two aces. '' Dice that ha\e all the six faces, vet will run cither aces, doiucs, or tra_\s, or else quaters, cinqs, or sixes, as they arc high or low-|iuiscd. ' Dice fiatti r than they are long, to throw trays and quaters. ^ Dice longer than they are Hat, of which sharpers ha\ e several sorts, whereby they avoid throwing any two numbers they please j the ends rarely or never coming up. ' Dice made out of square, so as to run high or low at plea- sure. '" Dice with their edges polished olf, so as to make them run high. " Ditto, so as to make them run low. " Dice linked together, so as to rattle in the box, yet close enough to hide the chain ; tliey will only run seven or eleven, or eight or twelve. P Securing one die with the fore-linger at the top of the box. 1 Shaking the dice so Ibrward in the box, that bv an apparent face they know when to clap down, so as to throw the reverse. ■" Securing witU ihc littlc-fingcr a die on the outside of the box. » Diito, with the thumb, wlien the person placed «ilh sits ou (he I i;;lil hand. -^ D p J OE] . D c^is mtma. a deceptio visus, as nimbly as Juggler's balls from cup to cup. . . . How strangely infatuated are men, who, simply committing their games to mere cTiance, throw away their estates, and entail want upon their issue, ... It is pity such madmen are not restrained from ruining their poor innocent wives, children, re- lations, creditors, dependants, 0n. An Opiniator, so far like Xarcissus, he doteil more on his own shadow than another's sub- stance; who knew just enough to excite his pride, but not so much as to cure his ignorance; boasted sucli wonderful insight in the mysteries of Art and Nature, as if he alone had the monopoly of know- ledge, and that it came into the world and w ould expire with him He talked much of his pedi- gree and aims, extolling his ancestors to the skies, telling their acts with more glory than they did them; and seemed to fancy himself so iumioveably fixed upon the pinnacle of Honour, that even Base- ness itself could not degrade him Every thing he did, and word he spoke, shewed how intoxicated he was with self-conceit, though he had not sense enough to distinguish irony and satirical praise from sincere and unaffected commendation. . . . Tlie com- D B p CK3 L D pany lauglied in their sleeves, but tlioiight it not worth while to cure his extravagance. ^^atfiev* Some talk high, breathe flashes, and thunder out big « ords of their pedigree, &c. Others take as much pains to persuade the world that they have knowledge, as bullies do that they have courage, and generally with the same success, for they seldom deceive any but themselves. . . . Tliere is never a day wherein a man may not be made miserable : yet there is no day in which he is not proud, insolent, and conceited. . . . Bishop Sanderson observes, "Wealth, honour, strength, beauty, birth, friends, alliance, authority, power, wit, learning, eloquence, reputa- tion, any trifle can leaven our thoughts, partial as they are towards ourselves, and swell us, and heave us up above our brethren; and because we think we do over-top thein, we think we may o\ er-look them too, and despise them as vulgar and contemptible.". . . St. Paul saith,5 "Who maketh thee to differ from another? And what hast thou, that thou didst not receive? Now if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory as if thou hadst not recei\ed it?" ... It is not birth, M'it, riches, or great employments, but the right use of them in the discharge of his duty to God, him- self, and neighbour, makes the m orthy man. ... To the descendants of noble families, where the spirits have been rarified by virtue and industry, and the blood holds its tincture, as it usually does, through successive generations, our best devoirs are due: y 1 Cor. iv. 7. d □ □ 3f; D r?i?i3 miuu. But what is nobility itself, if not accompanied with real goodness? The honour paid such as usurp their ancestors' arms, without inheriting their virtues, be- longs to them no more than the reverence the good man did to Isis belonged to the ass that carried her image. Go on ' — I I J I l^J p r^i D €m^ (tumB. ^Olt. An old man that, upon entering the room, seemed to want bread, was no sooner filled with wine, but boasted the being a Projector from his cradle; and told us, that he had by him scores of rare projects in posse, esse, and Juturo. . . . That he could extract volatile spirits from lees of wine, grounds of beer, or dust of tea; one drop whereof would turn a quart of water into the best wine, beer, or tea, for colour, taste, smell and wholesomeness, upon earth. . . . That he could separate the smells of all the different viands usually dressed in a cook's shop, and thereout ex- tract salts of beef, veal, mutton, pork, &c. one grain whereof would strengthen and nourish a man more than a pound of any of those sorts of meats. . . That, to save watermen the labour of rowing against tide, he had contrived to make the Thames continually ebb one side, and flow on the other. . . . That he was an adept, could fix mercury, and transmute lead into d- □ i_- D "n J lIm; n Ci^li (tUU^. La; gold. . . . All wliich pi-ojects he intended to divide into shares, and put in practice, as soon as only one hundred thousand pounds vvere subscribed and ad- vanced him. ... At this rate he made ropes of sand, biiilt castles in the air, and talked as if capable of benefiting mankind more than the invention of spec- tacles, though never yet obliged the world Avith any- thing so useful as a mouse-trap. ^iltl^Cr. Many Projectors seem, like those astrologers that can direct others to find hidden treasure, whilst themselves are out at heels, and want repairs at elbows It is owned, that the benefit accruing to Spain b}- Columbus's discovery of the West Indies: to the Italians, by procuring the eggs from China and Persia, and raising silk- worms in Italy: to England, from Sir Walter Ra- leigh's contrivance of raising tobacco and sugar in our plantations, will not allow us rashly to condemn all projects. . . Vet, had vou Argus's eyes, Briareus's hands, and Pluto's heknet, still great adventures are like leaps in hunting, they bring a man sooner into the chace, but may chance to cost him a fall Remember Icarus, by flying too high, melted his waxen wings and fell into the sea. Advise, delibe- rate, weigh, examine, consider what is practicable, and what is not, and compute the proportion bet^ een the means and the end; lest, too eagerly pursuing things out of \our reach, you consume your life in hopeless and fruitless undertakings. . . "N^'ho ploughs the clouds, can only reap the wind. Go on ^On. A Quack, with a supercilious brow, ebony cane, and band in querpo, whose learning consisted much in superscriptions of apothecaries gallipots, and in names of diseases learned from m eekly Bills of Mortality, styled himself Student in Astrology and Physic; talked much of panaceas, nostrums, and catholicons; and told us, that he had read over C r's and S n's Translations, and lately discovered chalk to be an alkali, vinegar an acid, and wine an hypnotic. . . . That of all odours, he liked the smell of u best; and was so far like Vespatian, he held no gain unsavoury. . . . Tliat he understood some Greek: "For instance," quoth he, " ephydrosis is sweating; ■phlehotomia, opening a vein; and eii- terenchyta, a clyster-pipe. . . . That amputation was a most admirable cure for warts and corns. . . . That he was skilled in physiognomy, metoposcopy, and chiromancy : and extremely well versed in all Je we I L-i p C|^I2 it^mi3. scny quay's, and occult qualities. . . . That, by erect- ing astrological schemes, he could resolve all ques- tions in physic: ' Ami make liis Patient's stars confess, Like tools, and eliililren, what he please.' Nay, that by sigils, charms, and talismans, he could cure distempers, even at nine miles distance." .... For a further account of his abilities, he referred us to the public advertisements, where we might find his most noble smelling bottle for the head, his crystal cosmetic for the face, his royal chymical wash-ball for hands; his essentia vitce, a rich cordial for the ladies; and his purging sugar-plums for children. ^atf^CV* Brown, in his Amusements, tells us indeed of transfusing the blood of an ass into an As- trological Quack. . . Such block-heads, with their for- midable bombast, are the oracles of those that want sense, and plague of them that have it. . . . Labour to prevent diseases by temperance, sobriety, and ex- ercise; but, if sickness comes, never go to Empyrics for physic. ... To take their prescriptions is next to wilful murder; th(! most sovereign remedy they can afford a patient, is their absence. But, proceed - - P □ p 3a CffiiE enmB, d ^01t» A Rake, that never opened his moutli but to affront Christianity, civil society, decency, or good manners; after punishing our ears with the filthy history of his debauchery and excess, still laughing whilst he repeated his sins, as if extremely tickled at the remembrance of them, began to inveigh against marriage; and told us, that pride and fear made maids presene some measures; but, as for married women, he never found any cruel enough to deny him in good earnest. . . . That none ever praised matrimony, but, as men do good mustard, with tears in their eyes. . . . For that, " The bane of all pleasuie, and luggage of life, Was the best could be said of a verj- good wife." That the most honey-sweet enjoyment sours with standing; and time always made wedlock tiresome, if not loathsome: all which he uttered with such con- fidence, as shewed him vain enough to think himself n □ p LiO -P ci^is ar^uB. heard with pleasure. ... At length, Wiseman ask- ing Rake if his mother was ever married, set all the company a laughing. ;^HV^tY» Companions of harlots sow on the sand, mingle vital blood with corruption, and reap diseases, hatred, shame, poverty, and death. . . . In- temperance and sensuality debase men's minds ; clog, and make their spirits gross and unactive; sink us dowu uito sense, and unfit us for the most noble and intellectual considerations Every vain person hath some weak side or other, whereby he exposeth the ridiculousness of his humour : but, that a wretch shonld pride himself in his execrable iniquity, in bearing up against the laws of God and man, and affect a reputation by it, in proportion to the mea- sure of his extravagance, is wonderful. . . IVor is it less amazing, to see how ready the malice of the world is to help the brutality of those that throw out slovenly reports upon fair ladies. . . . Beware of debauchees, and smutty and immodest discourse, songs, books, pictures, intemperance in meat and drink, and what else may add fuel to your lust: a dishonest love put all Greece in arms, and its flames reduced to ashes the fairest city in Asia. . . A well- bred man never gives himself the liberty to speak ill of women; much less to rail against marriage, which was God's first ordinance, confirmed by Christ's first miracle, and is honourable, holy, pure and chaste; but, " Whoremongers and adulterers God will judge."* Go on ' Heb. xiii. 14. D r p . □ €mu eu.uis. 1 - ^ -- ^ . ^ ___ 1 }' 1 " 'w. "A^I 1 [ 1 ^W'' l'\1 iHilmP^^ i '' '^^i^i^^^^ ^^K 1^ (t- ^ M ^K*-M ^3^Br ^^ ^^^^ a«^^ ^ ^01t» One that had such a habit of swearing, truth and lies were uttered by him with an equal aflirmation ; no sooner entered the Club, but rapped out a full-mouthed oath. Whereupon, quoth Wise- man, "Other sins seem to afford pleasure or profit; but, according to the divine Herbert, 'Were I an Epicure, 1 could 'bate swearing." Swearer. D me, Sir, it is only a cus- tom: I mean no harm by it. Wiseman. " Weak is tli' excuse that is on custom built, 'llie use of sinning lessens not the guiit." The Third Commandment is, "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain;" for Swearer. No canting, I beseech you, Sir: I sM'ear only as the readiest way to be believed. Wiseman. Sophocles said, " Oaths do not credit men, but men their oaths." . . . One of God's J i i □ ! 44 ' J □ cjtjjs cuetii. judgments against Swearers is, that the number of their oaths discredit even tlie truth they would per- suade. . . . Over-earnest asseverations give men sus- picion, that the speaker is conscious of his own falsities. Swearer. P — take me if I can tell when I swear, and when I do not. Wiseman. It is a bad symptom when excre- ments are voided w itliout the Patient's knowledge. Swearer. Rot s\-mptoms, how can I help it? Wiseman. Fast and pray. Swearer. Ha, ha, ha, I do neither. Wiseman. I am sorry for it; there is little hope of a soul that lies speechless. So, throwing down his club, Wiseman conveyed a paper into Youth's hand, and withdrew. ;f^SLtf^tV» He that profanely swears, or prates dishonourabl} of sacred things, demonstrates himself to be an ill-bred clown. Such language grates the ears of good men, and forces them to quit the place, as the Israelites did the tents of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram. Proceed d b rTTi B UjJJ ci^is amm^. ^Ott, One, that, after travelling seven years, was returned well versed in the amorous smirk, the ala- mode grin, the antic bow, and the newest fashion ogle, cringe, shrug, &c. and could cough and spit in set form, and not like the vulgar; began to blazon cities, as if he had been their herald: telling us, Constantinople was the storehouse of Greece, Paris the metropolis of France, Venice the eye of Italy, Florence the seat of beauty, and Rome the lady- city, whose impress was Orbis in urbe; nevertheless, he preferred Heidelbergh far before them all, for in it was a great tun, which contained eight hundred hogsheads of wine, . . . Tlien he told us, Germans drink French sing Spaniards sigh Italians sleep That a furemo in Rome, an adesso in Italy, a mag- That the away grief. D I D CL J Qn; L r n ^mis Chap. 13. i I d "1 — 1 b ! p n C^lS (^^UB* the market, cried, " How uiucli is here 1 Jo not want?" . . . Coveting wliat we need not, takes from us the true use and fruition of what we ah-eady have. Nil niinluni cuplto. Desire no greater riches than such as you may get justly, use soberl^^ distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly. . . He is rich enough that needs neither flatter nor borrow, and truly rich that is satisfied : want lies in desire. But, give the character of the WiSEMAN you mentioned i : 'Z] L_. D a ^On* His countenance was full of mildness and courtesy, his eyes more smiling than his mouth; his discourse gi-ave and sober, words smooth and proper, distinctly uttered, with due respect to time, place and person. . . . His religion was legible in the innocency of his life, the exactness of his morals, integrity and truth of his words, and the justice and honesty of his conversation. . , . He abstained from offending, as if none ever pardoned ; yet pardoned, as if he daily offended. . . . His passions he made servants to his reason and rehgion; and if they rebelled, first con- cealed, and then suppressed their mutiny. . . . He generally spoke little, saw others' tempers without discovering his own; yet, when occasion served, shewed his silence proceeded neither from affecta- tion nor weakness: for by running back to ages past, and recovering events out of memory, and then preventing time in flying forward to future d p n n things, and comparing one with the other, he would give a verdict, well near prophetical; yet was so free from vanity he could bear interruption patiently. . . Such was his prudence, and so exact his judgment, as to discern betwixt pride and greatness, reUgion and superstition, quickness and rashness, government and tyranny, liberty and licentiousness, subjection and sen'itude, covetousness and frugality, &c. and give to every cause its proper actions and effects. . . He drank wine, as sick men take physic, merely for health. . . Reason was his rule, conscience his coun- sellor, and his actions were ever contrary to those he found fault with. . . Age rendered him neither morose nor imperious. His knowledge influenced and tempered his mind with all the humanity, good- ness, calmness, strength and sincerity of a sound and unaffected philosopher: and made his conversation so affable, pleasant and instructive; young and old both deUghted and profited in his company. " Tliougb deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not dull : Strong, without rage; without o'erflowing, full."'''' The scholar and the gentleman were so perfectly united, no critic could find the least distinction. . . . The approach of death terrified him not : he seemed to fear recoiling back to childishness, more than to dust. jFa^tl^f l\ Solomon says, •' He that walks with Wisemen shall be wise; but a companion of fools shall be destroyed."" Proceed '•'' Denham. cc Prov. xiii. 20. --4 D ^011* On a sudden the door flew open, and in bolted Xantippe, Newsmonger's wife: the knit- ting of her brow, like a bur about the moon, pre- saged a storm, and, upon sight of her husband, she thus began: "It is well, it is well, incorrigible wretch, is this the amends for last night's work! My fortune, alas! is spent and gone; you are over head and ears in debt, and have me and three poor innocent babes to maintain : yet, if any fool will sit and hear you talk news or nonsense, you will treat him all day, though forced to go a tick for the reckoning, and I and your children feed, as usually, upon brewers' grains. When drunk, you set up for a politician ; yet are very talkative, and possessed with such a spirit of contradiction, as frequently engages you in bitter expensive quarrels and law- suits: witness three plaisters upon your head, and D n a 54 d €1^12 ClL»ti. my poor wedding-ring and best petticoat in pawTi for forty shillings, borrow ed last year to pay your Attorney's bill. At inidniglit you reel home as peevish as a sick monkey; and, uhen in bed, only hawk, spit, spawl, hick-up, belch, spew, or worse, 'till asleep; and then the neighbours are disturbed with your snoring. In the morning you are troubled with as many qualms as a breeding woman, 'till a gill of brandy in a quart of purl has fetched the water, as you call it, off your stomach. Then, to avoid duns, you sneak to some distant tavern, where a pint of white, for a whet, sets you in for all day: thus you are always idle, or ill employed. Consider, wretch, consider, he that has children, his loaf is not all his own ; and he that spends more than his own, is a thief. But, why do I waste my breath in vain? I might as well attempt with sober words to draw the frog from his ditch, as confine a sot within the limits of his duty." Newsmonger. Gentlemen, my Wife's tongue, like a sick man's pulse, always moves, but ever out of order. Xantippe. "Wine has put your head out of order. Newsmonger. " Wine whets the wit, improves its native force ; And adds a pleasant flavour to discourse." "Right," quoth Xantippe, clapping her fists, " you have set your wits so often upon that whet- stone, all its steel is worn out. Come, come home, you drunken sot, come home." PJ - D n D n cajc casuB. L, d Newsmonger. Nay, fie, be not angry, child; it will make you look old. Xantippe. I find wine, as well as age, will make a man a child. Come home, you drunken sot, come home. Newsmonger. An echo will sooner let a man have the last word than a scold; but when, with the clock, my wife has given the last stroke, you hear she keeps a jarring, muttering to herself for a good while after, with a " Come home, you drunken sot, come home : come home," &c. Xantippe. Your wife is too good for you, unless you were better. Newsmonger. Too good! I think it is too good: Look in the glass, Madam, and you will see a scolding Zipporah, a jeering Michal, a stingy Pe- ninnah, a sullen Vashti, a provoking Miriam, and a revengeful Herodias, all in one. Xantippe. I am sure, who looks in your face, will see an ill father, an ill master, an ill hus- band, and an arrant drunkard, all in one. Newsmonger. Now, Gentlemen, the spirit begins to move her again, Then falling a laugh- ing, it set him a coughing and disgorging in abund- ance. . . . Drawers being called, cleansed the room, and helped Xantippe to lead Newsmonger home. ^f^iltf^tV* The Brachmans'*'^ begin their care of mankind, even before the birth, employing much thought and diligence about the diet and entertain- ^^ Indian pliilosoiiliers. □ □ ra CI§J CI^IS miMB. p ment of their breeding women, so far as to furnish them with pleasant imaginations, to compose their minds and their sleep with the best temper, during the time they carry their burthen. . . What a shame is it, any that call themselves Christians should, by their excess, half kill their children before they are born, and entail hereditary infirmities and diseases upon their posterity. . . . The husband that expects his wife faithful, obedient, quiet, thrifty, and to de- light in her duty; should be mild, chaste, sober, in- dustrious and provident. . . . The father that hopes for honour, reverence and gratitude, must provide his son food, instruction and correction. . . The mas- ter that desires his servants faithful, diligent and silent; must be neither too severe, too familiar, nor let them be privy to his secrets But common drunkards neglect duty to wife, children and ser- vants, and by idleness, carelessness, luxury, and vain expense, impiously expose and betray their family to want and beggary. . . . Xantippe's story is a dismal instance ; but pleasures, like Judas, whilst they kiss, they betiay : after drinking, will come a reckoning. Belshazzar's feast ended in terror. But, still you tell me nothing of the Youth that was flattered. d I^Ott* The mushroom Squire sat at the upper end of the table, accoutred with a large muff, long pe- ruke, dangling cane, sword, snuff-box, diamond-ring, picktooth-case, silk handkerchief, &c. all of the newest fashion: and, after Wiseman, his uncle, was gone, fell a telling what each of them cost, and that, thank his stars, he had a plentiful estate, and a heart to enjoy it. . . He frequently laughed, even at serious matters, to show his white teeth; threw back his wig to discover the fine ring in his ear, and looked what's a clock to show his gold watch. . . . He had seen but the outside of the world and men, and conceived of them according to their apparent glitter. . . He delighted much in broad and obscene wit, and hissed at any thing too deep for him. . . . He was always wanting v hat he had not, and grew sick on it when he had it, the levity of youth pushing d p r 7^~i 1 :i2_J him on from one vain desire to another, in a regular vicissitude and succession of craving and satiety. . . He was rash and inconsiderate, neither consulting the reason or nature of things, but w holly abandoned himself to the transports of passion and appetite. . . He loved and hated with the same inflammation ; and when the heat was over, was cool enough to friends and enemies. ^SLtf^tV* Some fops measure their deserts by the bulk of their estates; others pretend to good breeding, for being well dressed and equipaged, and assert a claim to brains, for their accuracy in modes and fashions, though at the same time their manners are corrupted, and minds infected Finery and expences above a man's rank, provoke envy, satire, and slander, and is the ready road to poverty and want. . . . From a boy to a man, is the most hazard- ous step in the whole course of life. . . . Youth, being guided by sense, nature and passion, is indiscreet, hot, outrageous, head}, violent, vain, inconstant and unsettled: for the sense being easily tired with the enjoyment of its objects, and the soul made for some- thing better, not finding satisfaction in things sensi- ble, conceives a fastidiousness of the present, and desire to change : so that, considering how ungovern- able the passions and sallies of youth are, when licensed and indulged, what swarms of caprices and fancies invest tliis season of life, which would wither in the embryo, unless enlivened with wealth, which hatches and fledges the chimeras; it is a real hard- ship for a young man to be trusted with himself and D □ n D his estate, before those years that give maturity to his reason and judgment " The prosperity of fools shall destroy them."*^" .... When young Phaetons rule the day, destruction comes before night. But, go on « « I'lov. i. 32. d d 1 -| i „ 1 ! c (JO 1 1 u : 1 ^m^ (cnt^^, j 1 .^ifi^^fi^^^^^giNj^ii^^j^^iia^^^aMlfe ! 1 1 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H^^^^^-^n^K^KJiHff j 1 fi'On. About twelve, Flatterer taking up all ' the money left on the table, whispered Youth to i slip out and discharge the reckoning, which he did. i Soon after, in came Zany, the Alntner, with an, j "All is paid:" and, "You are welcome, Gentlemen; | ■will you please to accept of my bottle T . . . "By no j means,"' quoth Flatterer, "unless jou will score it; for it is the Squire's birth-day, and he shall pay all to-night. . . Therefore, come Zany, first a bum- j per, bis health, and then a song." . . . Zany drinks and sings: " If any so wise is, Tliat wine he despises, Let him drink small beer, and be sober ; Whilst we drink claret, sing Like birds in the Spring, He shall droop like the trees in October. 1 3 1 L But be snre over night. If this dog do you bite. You take it henceforth for a warning ; Soon as out of your bed, To settle your head, Take a hair of his tail in the morning." Then Squire entertained us Avith the history of liis dog's and horses, giving us each of their pedi- gree, with all the exactness of a Welsh herald. . . . After which Zany mimicked a gifted brother, which brought the clergy upon the table. . . . And one mis- liked our Doctor's last Sunday's text, another his method, a third his style, a fourth his voice, a fifth his memory; there he was too elaborate, here too loose; that point he might have enlarged, contracted this ; he might have been plainer here, shewed more learning there: that observation was obvious, that exposition forced, that proof impertinent, that illus- tration common, that exhortation needless, that re- proof unseasonable; such an argument he rather escaped than defeated; there he whipped himself with the knot he just before tied, &c. ^iltf)tX\ What pity it is, that good men's exhortations, in moving strains of pious eloquence, should be so trodden down by such way-side hearers." But, to Festus, St, Paul's preaching seemed mad- ness. ^^. . . The Prophet Jeremiah himself had those that watched for his halting. '"'' . . . The Church is the pool, where the Angel uses to come and move the waters; and where they that diligently attend, may f Luke vlii. 5. ee Acts xxvi. 24. ''*' Jer. x. ^ p=- j b D meet with an opportunity of being healed. . . . ^^lien you enter God's house, consider his more immediate presence in places set apart for his sendee, and pray against spiritual blindness, prejudice in opinion, wan- dering and profane thoughts, and being a captious hearer, lest you grieve the holy spirit, and give the de^dl an opportunity of turning the best antidote into the strongest poison. What followed? Jl^Ott* Impertinent made as bold with some passages in the Bible, as others had done with the Doctor. ^Htf^tV* The Holy Scriptures are able to make you wise unto salvation, through faith in Jesus Christ." . . . Read God's Book with humility, and a desire to know and learn, without questioning its truth; the things therein that cannot be compre- hended by blind reason, are subjects to exercise our faith, . . . We lose much of the benefit, might other- wise be gathered from reading the Bible, by our vain curiosity, and pretending to nice disquisitions of difficult points. But, what next? ^Otl* Rake fell a ridiculing all religion, and said, it looked liker a trade or contrivance of state, than a divine inspiration. ^tttl^Ct** It is by degrees that men arrive at the horrid impiety of deriding religion: first, they are corrupted by bad counsel and company, which the Psahnist elegantly expresses, by walking in the counsel of the ungodly. ^^ .... Next, they habituate *' 2 Tim. iii. 15. ^^ Psal. i. 1. d B themselves to their vicious practices, which is, stand- ing in the way of sinners And then, at last, they take up and settle in a contempt of all religion, which is, sitting in the seat of the scornful. . . . The supposition, that religion is a contrivance of state, grants the opinion of a God to conduce very much to the support of government and order in the world, and consequently to be so very beneficial to mankind, that it is their interest to punish all those who would seduce men to Atheism, as the great disturbers of the world and pests of human society. But, if religion be only an arcanum imperii, a secret of government to propagate the belief of a God among the people; how is it that histories of all ages show that princes have not been more secure from troubles of conscience, and the fears of re- ligion, and the terrors of another world, than other men; what else made Caligula creep under the bed when it thundered? What made Tiberius, that great master of the crafts of government, complain so much of the grievous stings and lashes he felt in his conscience? What made Cardinal Wolsey, that great minister of state in our own nation, to pour forth his soul in these sad words, "Had I been as diligent to please my God, as I have been to please my king, he would not have forsaken me in my grey hairs!" What reason for such actions and speeches, if these great men had known that religion was but a cheat? But if they knew nothing of this secret, it is reasonable to conclude that the notion of a God did not come from the court; that it was not the d invention of politicians, and a juggle of state to cozen the people into obedience. But, \vhat next? ^On» Quack declared liimself of Aristotle's ; opinion, that not only the matter, but also the frame j of the Morld is eternal, and that, as to the main, it was always, as it is, of itself, and that tliere has been \ from all eternity a succession of men and other crea- tures, without any first cause of their being. jFSLf^CV* Universal tradition and the most ancient history agree, that, contrary to Aristotle's doctrine, the world did beg^n, and should have an end. Aristotle himself acknoAvledges, that there was anciently such a tradition concerning the be- ginning of the world; for, he says expressly," that all the philosophers that were before him did hold that the world was made : and it is observable, that wherever learning and civil arts have come, this tradition concerning the beginning of the world hath been most vigorous, and asserted with the gi-eatest cleaiTiess and confidence. . . . The several parts of V hich the world consists being, so far as by those parts of it which we know, we can possibly judge of the rest, in their nature corruptible; it is more than probable that, in an infinite duration, this frame of things would long since have been dissolved; especially, if, as the Atheist affirms, there be no superior Being, no wise and intelligent principle to repair and regulate it, and to prevent those innu- merable disorders and calamitous accidents, which " DeCculo, 1. i.e. 10. '^ E ~~1 □ C|I?I2 (EVLUiS. must in so long a space, in all probability, have happened to it. . . Is it not very natural to conceive, that every thing which is imperfect, as the world and all the creatures in it must be acknowledged in many respects to be, had some cause which pro- duced it, such as it is, and determined the bounds and limits of its perfection ? But, what next? ^Oll* MoROSo dissented from Quack, and asserted that Epicurus was in the riglit, and the matter of m hich the world is constituted to be eter- nal, and of itself, and then an infinite empty space for the infinite little parts of this matter, which he called atoms, to move and play in; and that these being always in motion, did, after infinite trials and encounters, without any counsel or design, and with- out the disposal and contrivance of any wise and intelligent Being, at last, by a lucky casualty, en- tangle and settle themselves in tliis beautiful and regular form of the Morld, which we now see; and that the earth being at first in its full vigour and fruitfulness, did then bring forth men and all other sorts of living creatures, as it does jjlants now. J^iltf^tX* As to Epicurus' atoms, how c^n mere matter, which is void of sense and miderstand- ing, produce any thing that has sense, understand- ing and liberty?. . , Can any thing be more un- reasonable, than obstinately to impute an eflect to chance, vhich carries in the very face of it all the arguments and characters of a wise design and con- trivance ? . . . Will chance fit means to ends, and that El L_J u p CsD D CiE?13 (!rUi413. in ten thousand instances, and not fail in any one? How often might a man, after he had jumbled a set of letters in a bag, fling them out upon the ground before they woiild fall into an exact poem; yea, or so much as make a good discourse in prose? And may not a little book be as easily made by chance, as this great volume of the world?. . . Is any thing more ridictilous, and against all reason, than to ascribe the production of men to the first fruitful- ness of the earth, without so much as one instance and experiment in any age, or history, to coun- tenance so monstrous a supposition? The thing is at first siglit so gross and palpable, that no discourse about it can make it more apparent. . . ^Ve see this vast frame of the world, and an innumerable multi- tude of creatures in it, all ^^hich we, ^ho believe a God, attribute to hun, as the author of them. For a Being supposed of infinite goodness, and wisdom, and power, is a very likely cause of those things ; what more likely to make this vast world, to stretch forth the heavens, and la}' the foundation of the earth, and to fonu these and all things in them of nothing, than infinite power? What more likely to communicate being, and so many degrees of happi- ness, to so many several sorts of creatures, than in- finite goodness? "^Vhat more likely to contrive this acbnirable liame of the universe and all the creatures in it, each of them so beautiful in their kind, and all of them so fitted to each other and to the whole, than infinite council and wisdom? .... The account then \\hich the Scripture gives of the existence of D u n a ^muB at^m^. the Morld, is the most credible and agreeable to the reason of mankind. . . . From the general consent of mankind that there is a God, it seems very evident that God himseli' has wrought llie apprehension and image of himself on the mind of man, and so m oven it into the very frame of his being; that, like Phi- dias' picture in Minena's shield, it can never totally be defaced, without the ruin of human nature. . . . Should it be objected, that the universal consent of mankind in the apprehension of a God, is no more an argument that he really is, than the general agreement of so many nations for so many ages in the worshipping of many gods, is an argument that there are many. ... It is answered, that the gene- rality of the philosophers and wjsemen of all nations and ages did dissent from the nmltitude in these things : they believed but one supreme Dcitj^ which, with respect to the various benefits men received from him, had several titles bestowed upon him; and although they did servilely comply with the people in worshipping God by sensible images and representations, yet it appears by their w ritings, that they despised this way of worship as superstitious, and unsuitable to the nature of God; so that Poly- theism and Idolatry are far from being able to pre- tend to universal consent from their having had the vote of the multitude in most nations for several ages together, because the opinion of the vulgar separated from tlie consent and approbation of the wise, signifies no more than a great many c\phers □ a would do without figures. . . Read Archbishop Til- lotson's Sermons against Atheism. But, at present, tell me what followed ? ^Oll* Some began to belie Lords' acquaintance, others Ladies' favours, most boasting of their excess in wine and A^omen, which ushered in a filthy mess of ribaldry; one telling us, that Jfiltl^fr* Hold, hold, I will hear none of it; smutt\^ and inmiodest discourse is an intolerable nideness, ever to be avoided, both in sound and signification. "All dial's obscene doth ahvavs give offence, And want of decency, is want of sense." What followed? *>0n» By this time, according to the difierent dispositions of each body, the wine produced various effects on their minds: some became sleepy as dor- mice, others as full of tricks as apes; some bold as lions, others fearful as hares; some haughty as harts, others fawning as cur-dogs; some cunning as foxes, others silly as asses; some wanton as goats, others filthy as swine. ^Htf^CV* No wonder young Cyrus refused to drink ^\^ne, and told Astiages he thought it to be poison, for he saw it metamorphose men into beasts and carcasses. Go on *Ott» Zany, who always drank bumpers, fell a hollowing: How -now, how-no w, yo~e, yoel, here, come yoel, hey, come away, hey, eux, heux boys, vaux, vaux little rogues, vaux, vaux, maintain -it Jowler, hold-it Sweetlips, that, that, that, that, that. d u p ci^is araei3. L 1 I who— e, hallo— e, &c. . . . This dog-language delight- ! ing the Squire, he clapped his fist to his mouth, and I sounded the mort of a fox, with, a tone, tavon, i tavon, tavon: tone tavon, tavon, &c. . . . Then call- ! ing for fidlers, swore he Avould be as merry all night as London boys at a bonfire. . . Whereupon MoROSO fell a singing: " Musicians arc lialf-wittcd, mei-ry and mad, And so are all those that admire tlieni ; Tlicv'rc fools ir thev phiv, unless they're well paid, And others are blockheads that hire them." Which Squire taking as an afli'ont, words arose, and MoROSO gi^ing the lie. Squire threw a bottle at his head, which compliment being returned with a candlestick, and some taking one's part, and some the other's, in an instant the lights were out, and such a fray ensued, as made me think of the Turkish proverb : "There is a devil in every grape." Mr. * « * immediately hauled me into the next room, saying, " Who perishes in needless danger is the devil's martyr." . . . Tlie dark, instead of ending the fight, encreased their fury, and set every man's hand against his fellows: glasses, bottles, candle- sticks, chairs, stools and jordans were converted into weapons, and none escaped unhurt except Flat- terer, who being terribly frighted crept under the table, and screamed out, Murder, Murder. . . Where- upon the Drawers calling, Watch, Watch, the con- stable and his myrmidons entering with lights, put n I I D n ^1 ^^n ffiwc «rttKii. D an end to the fray. . . . Surgeons being sent for, and wounds dressed, Mr. Constable proposed a recon- cilement; but finding parties too hot, sent them to cool in the Compter. ^atf)f r» It is terrible to see men come from drinking, as from a battle, wounded and bound up. But, Bacchus ad anna vocat, the furies -were ever said to bear a part in Bacchus' orgies. . . . The quick motion of the spirituous particles in the nerves, ren- ders objects vertiginous and false; and men in drink less apprehensive of bodily hurt and danger; and salt meats and strong drinks turn nourishment into choler, and make men fierce as tigers. . . E\ ery cup too much is a step towards opening Pandora's box, and letting out all distempers of body and mind. . . No lust, no sin, but finds the dnnikard disarmed and senseless, and enters with the first assault. . . If our head be tipsy, our eyes will be wanton, our mouth an open sepulchre, our hands ready to stab, our feet swift to shed blood: in short, all our members at the devU's senice, to become weapons of unrighte- ousness, to conunit all manner of sin with greedi- ness The Drunkard ^nll rail at God's anointed with Nabal, commit adultery with Ilolofernes, in- cest with Lot, murder his friend with Alexander, his only son with Cambyses, his dear father and mother with Philopater, and blaspheme with Belshazzar: in a word, drunkenness may be called a breach of ever}- one of the Commandments, because it disi- posetli men to break them all. . . But w hilst drunken- j ness and surfeits are at the table, judgment is oft at n rjn □ the thresliolcl The drunkard, like that lunatic (Matt. xvii. 15,) falls oft' times into the fire, and oft' into the water, he is oft' overtaken in the very act of sin, without having time left for repentance. . . AVhen Amnon's heart was merry with wine, he was slain at his brother Absalom's feast."™. ... As Elah, King of Israel, was drinking himself drunk at Tirzah, Zimri, his servant, conspired against him, and slew him."" ^OH, How much may a man drink without being a drunkard ? ^Htf^tV* Anacharsis saith, "The vine beareth three grapes, the first of pleasure, the second of drunkenness, the third of misery and misch-ef." . . . Some call the first draught a cup of necessity, the second of alacrity, the third of wantonness, the fourtli (and all beyond) madness It is certain, the ends of drinking are digestion, cheerfulness, refreshing our spirits, and preserving our health. . . . When these are answered, appetite ceases, and we find a saturity, which he that exceeds may be called a drunkard. ... He also is a drunkard, who drinks too much for his purse and calling, health, and quiet of body and mind. S'Ott* Suppose a man happens into company, would you have him singular? — Pointed at for a precisian, 0t1» Admit I happen into great company, is it not better to take a cup too much, than give of- fence ? ^tltfjCr* Can he that fears offending, wliilst sober, be sure not to offend when the company is grow n captious, and himself drunk and insolent. . . Lot, v\hen overcome with wine, lost all regard to decency and honour; and, in his drink, even Noah behaved himself unseemly. ^Olt. Suppose I drink to prevent quarreling? jFiltl^f r» ^^'e must not do evil that good may come on it. . . . How many, by one single act of in- temperance, ha^ e forfeited their lives and estates, ruined their posterity, and, without the infinite mercy of God, damned their souls to eternity. . . . "Whereas, by sobriety, men shut up their davs like a lamp, only by a pure consumption of the radical moisture, « ithout grief or pain. 5'Olt* Suppose a man frequents taverns to seek business ? ^Htf^CV, Like Akhymists in quest of the philosopher's stone, he will ^aste money and life to no advantage. ... It is diligent attendance and careful dispatch, not haunting taverns, begets busi- ness and credit. ^On* But some drink to fuddle their chapman, that they may drive the better bargain. "» Exod. xxiii. 2. d ZI n 73 D ^Atf^tt* By such felonious intent they add injustice to intemperance. ll^On* Suppose I drink to pass away time? J^SLtf^tV* Man's time makes the richest part of the pubUc treasure : every hour mispent is a kind of robbing our country. . . . Time and talents are to be accounted for; " The unprofitable servant was ordered to be cast into utter darkness." pp ^On* Peradventure a man drinks for pleasure? ^SLtf^tV* Gnats that sport in the light, gene- rally perish in the candle. . . The Italians say, " Malcdetto ii solazzo, Che fa rijuoino pazzo." A curse of tlie pleasure tliat makes a man a fool. Pleasure that impairs our abilities, that brings detri- ment and sorrow afterwards, was laughed at by Epi- curus himself. . . . Now too much wine stupifies the brain, dulls the memory, benumbs the senses, infa- tuates the understanding, blinds the judgment, per- verts the will, corrupts all the affections; and, by put- ting the power and facidties of the soul into con- fusion, unfits men for all civil and religious duties. . . Too much wine quenches the natural heat, drowns the vital spuuts, spoils the tone of the stomach, de- bilitates the nerves, burns up the viscera, hastens old age, and, what is worse, propagates diseases to pos- terity; children remaining living monuments of their parents' excess and folly. . . . Pleasures are not truly tastable but in the sober tracts of temperance ; it is PP Matthew xxv. 30. d d q I I l!1I! I . _| p thirst, labour and watching, that voluptuates drink- ing, rest and sleep. ^Olt* Suppose custom and practice hath made drunkenness habitual, and brought upon man a kind of insatiable thirst? ^iltflfr. One custom is to be expelled by another; abate of the excess, retreat by degrees, within the bounds of temperance, till appetite be reconciled to reason; but leave not the Almighty Counsellor out of the cabinet : for drunkenness and swearing are like those devils (spoken of, Matth. vii. 21.) " That go not out but by prayer and fasting." But, what became of the paper Wiseman left Youth ? ^Otl. Flatterer snatching it, cried, "What, more grave lessons still? D his dry doctrines, such stuff is only fit for school boys:" and threw it tome. ^atf)f r. Read it, DEAR KINSMAN, Refuse not to be informed; good counsel breaks no man's head. . . Horace laughs at those who are ashamed to learn, and not ashamed to be ignorant. Plato says, "There is no greater poverty, than for a man to want wisdom to govern himself." . . . And, Solomon brands those for fools that despise instruc- tion. '>'' . . What avails the faculty of reason Avithout the exercise of it ' . , ^^liere an obstinate, / will, is the preface, / would I had not, is generally the 1 1 Pror. i. 7. I ! h D 76 □ conclusion. . . There is not any thing more generally desired than liberty, and scarce any thing more uni- versally abused. . . Let not felicity eat up circum- spection; who remits his care, will perish by his neg- lect. . . Youth ought to be employed in qualifiying for the service of the commonwealth, not wasted in idleness and pleasure. . . . Idleness has an absolute sway over our sentiments and our interests; sloth suppresses our most vigorous pursuits, controuls our most peremptory resolutions, and brings us to want and beggary. . . . By idleness Carthage was over- come, and Rome ruined. . . Look not upon wordly pleasures at their approach, but at their farewell; and you will find them mean, servile, transitory, tire- some, sickly, and scarce out-live the tasting; yet con- demn their over-eager pursuers to infinite cares, trou- bles and inconveniences Mistrust your own opinion; fear the issue of advice consonant to your desires. . . Flatterers, like Acteon's hounds, will de- stroy their master. Mel in ore, verba lactis ; Fel in corde, fi-aus in ractis. Consider who you arc, what you do, whence you came, where must go, and beware of, had I wist. . . A globe cannot fill a triangle : the emptiness and nullity that there naturally is in the enjoyments of this world, shew they were never designed to fill up the large capacities of the heart of man. . . Who neglects the service of the Almighty, dies v\dthout doing that for which he was made to live. ... Our d n n f~ rw^ D rm^ (turns. minds receive the ideas and images of most things, ori- ginally from our senses. Set v aiters at those cinque- ports, to seize upon all contraband goods. Guard those avenues against all appearance of evil. . . Use much attention and consideration ; w eigh things them- selves, follow the dictates of reason, though appetite lean another ■« ay. . . . "\^ hen a vain object raiseth an ill suggestion, suggestion draws on delight; de- hght, consent; consent, endeavour; endeavour, prac- tice; practice, custom; custom, excuse; excuse, de- fence; defence, obstinacy; obstinacy, boasting of sin; boasting, a reprobate sense. . Innocency is the great- est felicity, a good conscience is a continual feast. This is the music which makes a merry heart: this makes prisoners sing, when the jailor trembles. . . . Christianity is the only excellent and compendious art of happy living, piety towards God, justice and charity towards men, and temperance and chastity in reference to ourselves, are tasks that are rewards and precepts, that are a divine sort of akbymy; to sublime at once our natures and our pleasures. . . . Cicero says, "Men are not born for themselves, but for their country, parents, kindred and friends."' . . Rise when the cock calls ; let not the sun be up be- fore you; mans life at most is but a span; why should you live but half yom- days ? . . Count your very minutes, let no time slip you : time is life, which wise men lengthen by a right use of it, from one moment to another, . , , In the morning, think what you base to do; at night, ask yourself what you ha^e done. . . . Yespatian used every night to call himself I i ! Lj 1 P 1 1 LIU 1 \ □ — — ' H to account for tlie actions of the past day, and, wlien he had not done some public good, he said. Diem \ perdidi, I have lost a day. . . . All the time we spend in any thing but our duty is lost. . . . Use study for delight, ornament and ability ; and labour, if not for food, for physic. . . God hates the slothful "witness, the foolish virgins, and the unprofitable ser- vant. . . . Pamper not your body, youth wants a bridle, not a spur. . . . Death usually serves us as the troculus does the crocodile: it goes in at the mouth, and kills. . . . Fulness breeds forgetfu Iness of God and his works, Isaiah v. 12. Of men and their miseries, Amos vi. 6. . . Use no divertisements contrary to law, health, or a good conscience. . . . Let your recreations be decent, becoming your per- son, place and calling; seasonable, obstructing nei- ther duty nor business ; neither too costly nor scandal- ous, used as a liberal exercise, not as a sordid trade. Your estate requires servants, yet keep not too great a train; many by their footmen have been unhorsed. Parsimony is a great partrimony; but proftiseness leads to an unpitied poverty, worse than death . . . "The poor is hated of his neighbour."" " Want is the scorn of everj' wealthy fool. And wit in rags is turn'd to ridicule." Yet, "Take heed and beware of covetousness."'* Let not parsimony withhold from works of mercy. Proportion your charity to others' necessities, and I your own ability: and, where the object is doubtful, '■'■ Prov xiv. 20. " Luke xii. 15. D □ L^^ p I r J I 78 1 rather relieve a drone, than let a bee perish. . . It is one of the characters of a Christian to dispense Hbe- raljy, and enjoy abstinently, the goods he knows he may lose, and must leave. . . The many things a man cannot well do for himself, speak his need of a faith- ful friend, whom the wise son of Sirach says, is the medicine of life." . . The mind never unbends itself so agreeably, as in the conversation of a well-chosen friend; to whom Me may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, Sec. with this advantage, that such discovery improves happiness and abates misery, by doubling our joy and dividing our grief. Yet, IN CHOOSING A FRIEND, Consider the inconsistency of mankind, even with themselves; every breath of wind forms us into a \arious shape; that, "Mankind one day, serene and free appear. The next they're cloudy, sullen and severe ; New passionts, new opinions still exi-ite, And what they like at noon, they lea\ e at night." That there are persons, who in some certain periods of their lives are extremeh^ agreeable, and in others as odious and detestable; which has made some ad- vise living v\ith friends, as if they were one day to be our enemies ; and with enemies, as if they were one day to be our friends. . . That men and actions, like objects of sight, have their points of perspec- tive, some must be seen at a distance ; to judge of " Ecclus. vi. ID. L di D □ q I I [IK] I J D others requires a close view. . . That friendship be- ing a leveller, it is rare for those who differ much in fortune to be long united in friendship; where interest can tie and untie the knot. . . That friend- ship arising from agreeableness of inclinations," 'or commerce in Avorldly pleasures, is as changeable as our palates, and transitory as those pleasures which flatten in the very tasting. . . Avoid choosing an angry man for your friend, as you would dishonour blows and clamour; and a drunkard, as you would the discovery of your secrets. Quicquid est in corde sobrii, Est in lingu^ ebrii. Antisthenes wondered at those that, in buying an earthen dish, were careful that it had no crack; yet so careless in choice of friends, as to take them flawed with vice. . . Examine mens' conduct, w eigh their words and actions, study their genius and ca- pacity. It is no small error to be deceived in the choice of friends, for by them it will be judged what you are; let them, therefore, be wise and virtuous. When you have found a friend, be faithful, discreet, and sincere, and, so far as consists with honour and good conscience, cultivate his friendship with care, confidence, and complaisance, lest it expire; yet love him so as to hate his faults, and never, by too great a familiarity, betray yourself to his contempt. Bishop Hall says, " I will use my friend as Moses did his rod : while it was a rod, he held it familiarly in his hand; when onre a serpent, he run away rzl . . [dr -- ■ -~iD n J CEO L_ from it." . . Bo as solicitous to avoid making enemies as to gain friends : opportunities of doing mischief are no less frequent than those of doing good. . . Socrates being asked who was the wisest man, an- swered, " He that offends least." IF YOU BLAME, Let it be secretly, lest you force a man upon an unjust defence, to avoid a just shame ; or be thought to hate the person more than his faults. . . Season- ably ; when the offender is neither dnink with wine nor passion ; it is profaning reason to urge it to a drunken man. . . . Affectionately; sweetened with pleasing compellations and self-including terms : free from all arrogancy. . . Who blows out the candle >vith too much strength of breath, does but make a stink, and blows it light again. . . . Contend not with superiors, the thread will break where it is weakest : make a virtue of necessity, and suffer with a re- spectful humility what you cannot hinder: to sit down and cry will not lessen our burden or our way. . . Shun, or break off, all disputes with in- feriors, lest they lose their respect, . . A^Tiere com- petition is a scandal, avoiding contest is conquest; and contempt the only honourable revenge. . . Keep your thoughts close, and your countenance loose: politicians are never more at a loss, than when they have to do with those who speak coolly and calmly, and are so much masters of their affections, that they do not appear in their countenances, words or actions. . . . JLook upon secrets entrusted you as pledges you cannot, in honour, part with, except d n D 81 n c^is cmei3. where the interest of your country is concerned. . . Men of parts have many lights to discover our very thoughts: by praising they can fill us with joy, which is commonly talkative: and the pleasure of talking is a sort of drunkenness, that often makes us discover secrets. . . Sometimes a sudden reproach discovers a secret, which discretion had long con- cealed. . . Wine and passion are racks oft used to extort words from us Samson's Delilah told the Philistines his riddle."" Any thing that disturbs our reason lets loose the tongue; which, when at liberty, seldom keeps within the bounds of prudence. . Ac- cording to Sallust, silence is safer than speech, where our enemies are the auditors; yet from absurd silence some men gather no less than from speech. Socrates thought it as difficult to keep a secret, as a coal of fire in one's mouth : but, did not vanity or interest continually solicit the discovery of all im- portant secrets, the levity of youth and weakness of age may induce us to believe there are critical minutes wherein most want discretion. But who cannot keep his own secret, ought not to complain if another tells it. . In dealing with cunning persons, consider their end ; say little to them, and what they least look for. . Be always upon your guard against the reputation of him that speaks; the air of the face, the manner of speaking, the quality, the time, the place, all impose. . . In negociations of dilliculty, look not to sow and reap at the same time : prepare business, ripen it by degrees, and use secrecy as an ■ " Judges xvi. d n p 82 J L^ d C18I2 «ra»t©. anodyne to lay opposition asleep. . Observe men's tempers, comply with their humours, suffer them to talk their pleasure freely; patience, and a wise condescension, many times effect what haste and rashness would ruin. . Never peremptorily break off business in a fit of anger; however you shew bitter- ness, do not act any thing that is irrevocable. . He that does a thing rashly, must be taken in equity of construction, to do it willingly, for he was free to deliberate. . . Human actions are so uncertain and subject to perils, as that seemeth the best course which hath most passages out of it, . . When over- nuich pressed to do any thing on a sudden, be careful; fraud and deceit are always in haste. . . Make a pause between your ear and belief; but seem not to doubt what is told you; yet use cunning as an antidote, not as a poison. . . Honesty, courage, wit, like rough diamonds, have their intrinsic value, though doubt- ful and obscure till polished and refined by com- plaisance, good humour, invention and address; which qualifications, so indispensably necessary to what we call a polite, well bred, agreeable, taking gentleman, are attainable only by company and con- versation, and chiefly by that of ladies: by obsen'- ing the care and pains tliey take to please, only to out-shine each other. . . But take special care what company you keep; waters are impregnated with the good or bad qualities of the minerals through which they pass. . . . There is a strange malignity in bad company, their effluvia will infect and poison even the best dispositions. . Peter denied his Master D a f -^ I p |___ I rjii] j I p d among the Jews, whom he confessed among the Apostles. . . Alexander learned his drunkenness from Leonidas, and Nero his cruelty from his barber. . . Augustus Caesar, by observing, at a public show, the grave senators talked with Livia, and loose youngsters and riotous persons with Julia, discerned liis daughters' inclinations. IN COMPANY, Have due regard to sexes, ages, characters, profes- sions, times and places; let nothing escape you that may offend any of the senses: hold yourself in re- straint, without putting restraint upon others; and, if any make a step to oblige you, make two to ac- knowledge it. . . There is a certain freedom in con- versation, which is only proper amongst equals in age and quality; which, if we use before our betters, we seem to contemn them; if before our inferiors, they will go near to contemn us. . . To be humble to our superiors, is duty; to our equals, courtesy; to our inferiors nobleness; to all, safety, if not expressed by unworthy actions. . . The reciprocal respect due from man to man, ought always to appear in com- pany, and curb all the irregularities of our fancies and humours. . . Be neither superstitious, nor too precise in matters of ceremony; neither vesture nor gesture, so long as they serve only for order and decency, should cause a variance. It is pity that Paul and Barnabas should part; that they who have tlie same head should not have the same heart; that children should fall out in their way home. . . Shun the foolish vanity of passing for accomplished, and □ J iCL _i CSC! _ D avoid appearing so liy any ways that are too much studied, . . To laugh first, much, loud, at serious matters, or what you say yourself, is the way to be derided by others. . . Be circumspect and courteous, bear the faults of some, the impoliteness of others, and pardon every body sooner than yourself. . . We have many faults of our own, by which the patience of others will have its turn of being exercised. . . Be readier to hear, than to speak; your eyes and ears inform you, not your tongue. . . Silence, when it ap- pears free from affectation, sullenness and ignorance, is a sort of ornament to speech; and, like authoi'ity, procures respect. . . Before you speak, consider what construction or allusion your words will bear: whether you are like to do or suffer hurt by what you have a mind to say: and before you ask a question, think of the ansM'er. . . It is said, the State of Venice, when consulting any business, consider what may fall out forty years after. . . Interrupt no body, even in tell- ing a story you heard before: why should you rob one, that seeks to divert you, of the pleasure of believing he had told you something you did not know, or hinder the reasonable divertisement of any of his friends? . . . Montaigne justly complains, that instead of taking notice of others, we make it our business to have the company take notice of us. . . Talk not much of yourself, for though it be done so as not to argue pride, yet it may ignorance of wor- thier subjects. . . . Self-praise is apt to disquiet and nauseate our auditors, stir up envy and contempt, and occasion a severer scrutiny into our personal L L.J p J -J ca)B oriL^B. lapses and natural imperfections. . . . And, to dis- parage one's self in company, is such an excessive humility, as is often suspected of secret vanity. . . . Take heed of speaking when you are angry; pas- sion is a sort of fever in the mind, that always leaves us weaker than it finds us. Ira furor brevis est. Passion obscures the brightness of the soul, and clearness of the discerning faculty: it tinctures the mind with false colours, fills it with prejudice, and undue apprehension of things. . He that is passionate and furious, deprives himself of his reason, spoils his understanding, and helps to make himself a fool. Cardinal Mazarine used to say, " Two to one in all things against the angry man." . . In telling a story, never use tautologies, nor make any impertinent digressions; much less entertain company so long with your grievances, till you become one yourself. "All tliat's superfluous, carefully avoid, The mind once satisfied, is quicklj cloj'd." The voice and the lute have their charms, yet in time they will tire our ears. . Never speak in superlatives, lest you wound truth or prudence. . . Immoderate ' praise, or dispraise, may occasion some in company out of a dissatisfaction, or a humour of contradic- tion, no less frequent than odious in society, to as- j sume the contrary cudgel, and thereby engage you i in an ungrateful dispute, or a ridiculous or destruc- tive quarrel. Let your relations be modest and un- IHj □ p 8n : D rmu (t^uis. concerned, and your discourse such as your com- pany deserve, and your judgment can maintain: and never tell improbable truths, such as talking before countrymen of flying-fishes. . In all debates, speak last, to be master of others' strength before you show your own; and then mould your arguments into queries, rather than dogmatical assertions: seem as if you Mere putting people in mind of what they had forgot ; not as teaching them what they knew not: many are willing to be helped, that hate to be excelled. . . To give your opinion before re- quired, looks like upbraiding others' ignorance, or over-valuing your own parts. . After you have given your own opinion, confirm it with the best argu- ments you can; but, argue not so passionately, as to lose either charity or truth : neither take it ill if others are not of your mind, much less give abusive language to bring them over to your sentiments: disorderly w ords and actions drive men of honour out of company, and leave us only the converse of libertines. . To wave giving our opinion to the dis- advantage of others, is the way to save ourselves from quarrels ; but, to speak ill of any behind their backs, is insulting the company; justice obliging them not to suffer any to be condemned, before called to make their defence. . Speak modestly to those that emulate you, by way of prevention ; to others, by way of good manners. . Never let your resentment hinder you from doing justice to those of whom you complain; nor your vanity cause you to do it with too much aflectation. . Upbraid no man d q d i C3&13 (CUmB. \iith his weakness; neither report it to disparage him, or advance thyself. It is a wretched thing to estabhsh ourselves upon the ruin of others, and a very scandalous way to fame. . . If 3'ou have any eminent qualities that outshine others, make them amends for it by a greater modesty. . Tliongh you have reason to make complaints, let them not be bitter, lest you foreclose all reconcilement: levity and moderation are the best means to bring back an erring friend, and unreasonable people, to their duty. . When you have erred, persevere not in it; think it no shame to submit to truth, but rather re- joice that you have found it. . Be the first to con- demn yourself, it is the way to extricate yourself j out of intrigues with honour. . Neither speak what | you do not think, nor all you do. Truth is some- j times sour and hard of digestion; and a lie covers j a man with shame, and loads him Avith disgrace. . I "When reproached, suppress the mutinies of your j spirits, and keep your tongue in subjection: words, j like bellows, often blow a spark into a flame; where- | as, the fire that wants vent, will suppress itself. If 1 what is said be true, correct yourself; if false, let not the anguish you express give it the credentials of truth. . If you chance at any time to be touched to the quick, turn wittily into a jest whatever Avas rudely said in earnest. . Who revengeth himself by not seeming offended, retorts upon his enemy the grief and smart intended by the affront, with the additional sting of the disappointment. . When you have said a good thing, never repeat it; Mhcther r-Zj [z: d p nsn1 J n 1 the company heard or lost it, let it pass off as it came on, carelessly and easily, without laying any stress upon it: why should you set up for a wit, to find laughter for others? In speaking of the dead, fold up your discourse so handsomely as their virtues may be shewn outwards, and their vices wrapped up in silence. . Be not forward to spread reports, lest your credit be called in question; or you chance to kindle up a fire you cannot easily quench. A report once vented, like a stone cast into a pond, begets ! circle after circle, till it meets with the bank that bounds it. . Beware of inquisitive persons; a won- derful curiosity to know all, is generally accompanied with as great an itch to tell it again. . Be not over- hasty to credit the first tale; neither be carried away with light informations, through favour, faction, envy, greediness, ambition, &c. Innocency itself is often loaden with false accusations; hear, ex- amine, scan, sift matters narrowly until you find out truth. . . Officious tale-bearers are a pest to govern- ment, conversation, societies, relations and families. What mischief is it the craft and subtilty of a double tongue cannot work upon a credulous fool? Plautus says,"Tale-bearers ought to be hung up by the tongue, tale-hearers by the ears." . . Afford others the same indulgence you would wish to receive. . "My Lord," says A. " I never liked B. for one thing:" — "Nor I you," repHed his Lordship, " for twenty things : prithee never reflect upon any man for a single fault; we ourselves have been guilty of hundreds." . What a great deal of time and ease that man gains, who B q^ [Ism C3i?i2 ^?L2]H5. J 1 .J is not troubled with the spirit of curiosity, who lets I his neighbour's thoughts and behaviour alone ; con- [ fines his inspections to himself, and takes care of the [ point of honesty and conscience. . By all just means, ! prevent quarrels. . . It is the knack of men of wit to ! find out evasions; with a touch of gallantry they ex- tricate themselves out of the greatest labyrinth. A graceful smile will make them avoid the most dan- gerous quarrel. . Distinguish between idleness, igno- rance, want of attention and malice; words do some- times slip from the tongue, m hich the heart did nei- ther hatch nor harbour. . . There are moments in life, wherein fate delights to mock our wit, baffle our cau- tion, and ridicule our conduct. . . Disputes common- ly begin in mistakes, are carried on with heat and fury, end in reproach and uncharitable names, and too frequently in blood. . . He that consitlers the sub- ject n)atter of all our controversies, will find them commonly mean, low, and not worth the thoughts of a generous mind. . . . The most toleiable re^ enge is, for those wrongs which there is no law to remedy: but then, let the revenge be only such, as there is no law to punish. . . Let it not trouble you, that asses kick, and dogs bark : arc you affronted? If the man is not below your anger, let it be below you to be angry. . . Solomon saith, " It is the glory of a man to pass by a transgression.""" The repose wise men gain by forgiving, is a sufiicient recompense for the pains they take in the conquest; whilst impatient fools are always moralizing the i'able of Prometheus, '^j; Piov. \ix. 11. -i □ L-, n I ' —J '^^ L cuiE miLUB. and playing the vulture upon their own entrails. . . If you are to ask a favour, think v\ell before you make your application, on the motives you use to persuade, and propose them distinctly, and in few words; after dinner is generally a fit season; men when hungry are apt to be angry; but when replete, the renewal of the spirits makes them more cheerful, benign, and ready to give audience and grant favours. Be neither hasty nor lavish in promising, the per- formance may be troublesome. . . LiberaUty should have banks as well as a stream: jet, let the kind- ness you cannot grant be supplied by fair and ciAil expressions. . . It is said in commendation of Titiis, Neminem tristem dimisif, " He sent none away sad." . . A denial, accompanied with sweetness and civility, pleases more a man of understanding, than a courtesy granted coldly and rudely. . . . Observe the standard of all justice, "All things whatsoever that ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.'"''^ . . Be grave, but not formal; brave, but not rash; humble, not servile; patient, not insensible; constant, not obstinate; cheerful, not light; rather sweet, than familiar; familiar, tlian in- timate; and intimate with very few, and upon very good grounds. . . We should be very sparing of our intimacies, if we considered how often it happens, that the more perfectly men are understood, the less they are esteemed. . . Take heed of drunkenness, it is like a wound in the sword-hand: a man is dis- abled in that which should defend him; he drops ly Matt. Ml. 12. D D n _J roTj liis guard, and his heart hes open to the next pass. Delight not in making men drmik, to show them reeling : it is a mad kind of mirth that madmen make, and a mirth that oft ends in heaviness. . . He acts the devil's part that tempts to intemperance, prevent it what you can. . . Because you find any thing difficult to practise, do not presently conclude you cannot master it. . . Improbability and impossi- biht\' are two frightful words to weaker minds; but, by diligent and wise men, they are generally found to be only the excuses of idleness and ignorance. For the most part they lie not in the things them- selves, but in men's false opinions concerning them. Socrates owned to Zopyrus, the physiognomer, that his constitution was as restive a.s his neighbours, and yet he reclaimed it by the help of philosophy. . Think often on what you have done, that you may not for- get what you have to do. . . I wish you an affable behaviour, a clear innocence, a comprehensive know- ledge; a well-weighed experience; and ahvays to remember, that it is more than the greatest prince can do, at once to preserve respect, and neglect his business. . . God direct you in all things. Farewell. ^Hf^CV* Solomon saith, "It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools."** QUI MONET AM AT, AYE ET CAVE. 2* Eccles. vii. b. B & p I r'92~^ ^^^- I ! 93 L^_ in WITH THE NAMES OF THE ENGRAVERS, THE WHOLE DESIGXED AND DRAIVX BY MR. TIIVRSTON. I ' i^insT Letters to Advertisement and Dialogue, and first T. P. (Tail Piece.) R. Bransto.v. ANTIQUARY . . . attempting to decj-plier tlie insrription on an old nisty coin or medal. J. Thomi'son. T. P. W.Hughes. BUFFOON endeavouring, by his anticks and grimaces, to " out-fool " the company. H. White. T. P. Ditto. CRITIC with his face turned away to dn:iote his desire of coRcealnient ; but tlie Artist has reflected it in i the glass, to shew the mind that actuates liirii. | R. Branston. T. p. R. Bhanston, Jnn. ; DETRACTOR . . . instilling suspicion into the mind of a credulous j old man, by ill-natured surmises respecting the 1 two persons walking in the adjoining gai-den. J. Thompson. T. P. H. White. I ENVIOSO brooding over the malevolence of his heart in a } retired cave, and turning with envious hate from the mirthful sports of a group of happy rustics, i R. Branston. T. P. J. Thompson. FLATTERER . . paying court to a great man. J. Thompson. T. P. W. Hugh Kb. GAMESTER .... having ruined his man, gathers up his spoils with a cold-hearted indiflerence. W. Hughes. T. P. R. BuANSTON, Jun. HYPOCRITE. . . having thrown oil" the mask of loyalty in his cups, is aiming a side blow at Church and Slate, by his ""IM E r«.-^ 1 1 3 Description of t^e (ffuta. attacks upon a Pi-ime Minister. J. Thompson. T. P. H. White. IMPERTINENT detains a merchant from Lis appointment with officioas and frivolous pretences. J. Thompson. T. P. H. White. KNAVE . The doors shut upon rejected Stock Jobbers. W.Hughes. T. P. J.Thompson. LAWYER . . . . a limb of the Law bribing a witness. R. Branston. T. p. W. Hughes. MOROSO . a repulsive churl, whom even his domestics fear to approach. J. Thompson. T. p. R. Branston, Jun. NEWSMONGER, so completely absorbed in his own political im- pressions and sagacious remarks, that he does not perceive he has read his auditor asleep. J.Thompson. T. P. W.Hughes. OPINIATOR . . . one proud of his ancestrv', and having tired all his friends with his pedigree, &c. is reduced to the necessity of making an auditor of his lackey. J.Thompson. T. P. R. Branston, Jun. PROJECTOR . . . contemplating a castle in the air. W. Hughes. QUACK so deeply deliberating upon a Patient's case, that he does not notice the nurse who has brought a monkey for advice. C. Nesbit. T. P. R. Br.ANSTON. RAKE endear curing to drown the reflection of his over- nights debauch, and new string his shaken nerves by fresh stimulants. R[iss Byfield. SWEARER . . driving a good old man out of the room by his shocking oaths, and checked by tlie simple re- proof of his affrighted grandchild, who puts her hand upon his lips. J. Thompson. T. P. G. Thurston, Jun. first attempt. 1 TRAVELLER . . a travelled fop ridiculing to his foreign lackey the homely welcome of his aflectionate Parents. H.White. T. P. J.Thompson. D __ — . , ZI J p n Besftiption of tfje Cuts. USURER , WISEMAN XANTIPPE YOUTH ZANY TAIL PIECE. THE CLUB . . poring over his annuity deeds and mortgages, his iron chests and bags filled with the prey of his avarice. J. Thompson. T. P. H. White. . an anxious father instructing the minds, and re- gulating the hearts of his children. J. Thompson. . a scolding wife, bringing home a drunken hus- band from his Club. J.Thompson. T. P. W. Harvey, a pupil of T. Bewick. . an idle dissipated young man of fashion, killing time by playing with his cat. J. Thompson. T. P. R. Branston, Jun. a sot, closeing the scene in his cellar. C. Nesbit. . page 95. R. Branston. in full assembly : design on the Title Page ex- plained by the text, page 69. J. Thompson. d D Hr i 4 Q^ L |P I ! LONDON: 1WI> HINTED BY J. JOHNSON, ST. JAMES'S STREET, CLERKENWEI.L. MDCCCXVII. -— ' r — a w UNIVTRSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY ' Los Angeles M This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 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