IT was, Sir, both with trouble and surprize, that I received from my Lady, your re­solutions of going to spend some years in London; and that, not only through the compas­sion I have, for the affliction you will thereby bring to so affectionate and tender a Mo­ther; but also a real pity, to see you expose qualities of so much innocence and vertue, to the revenous and devouring Vices of the Town. I know by a long experience in that place [Page 2] that the life of a young Gentle­man led there, is for the grea­ter part vicious, sottish, and prophane, and not only de­generated below the precepts of ancient gallantry and gene­rosity; but beneath that pru­dence, so briety, and discretion, which ought to be found in all who pretend to man-hood England, that first took its Vices from the bordering Nations, has now out-done them; and by its over-apeing humour, exceeded the pattern of its crimes; Whilst France former­ly esteemed the most fanta­stick Country of the Universe, has of late rescued it self from [Page 3] some of its follies, and be­queath'd to us those Vices of which it is now grown asham'd; and we are be­come the more trifling and effeminate Nation of the two, and the place you go to visit, is the intoxicated and giddy head of all these Vanities. The education you have hitherto had amongst your friends, has been agreeable to the ancient Precepts of nobleness, gene­rosity, and vertue, but when you come to the Town, you must be told that these things are set formalities, and out of Mode, and not suitable to that careless and undesigning [Page 4] way of living now in use; careless and undesigning with a witness! Which owes its Epi­thites to the neglect of all ver­tue, and the blind impetuosi­ty of humour: their way of living is now removed out of the Road hedg'd in by the pru­dence and justice of our An­cestors; and acknowledges no course inglorious and irre­gular: the admired wit to which they pretend, and in which they so much triumph, is of so hot a mettle, that it has leap'd the Fence of Ages, and takes its wild carrear over all the Inclosures of the Uni­verse; and it is now on so [Page 5] fierce a speed, that where it will stop, even Astrology can­cannot assure us. Our Ance­stors deserv'd the fame of a better management, who considered equally, their own satisfaction, and the good of the world, and in that pra­ctised a moderation, which freed humane affairs from those inconveniencies and sur­feits they suffer from their Children. To be serious and to be wise, was a reputation great enough to them, and they coveted not the triumphs reap'd from the heights of frenzy and madness: the Town was then a place of bet­ter [Page 6] education, and its conver­sation was manly, accomplisht and innocent; and a Gallant then visiting the Country, came furnisht with something more excellent than a bundle of Sonnets, bringing with him, from the fountain of the re­finedst conversation, a richer sence than was sung at the cor­ner of every street: yet this is the advantage they commu­nicate to us now, affording us only the knowledge of those trifling things, which we esteem our felicity to be with­out; whilst yet they are plea­sed to value themselves highly on such a sufficiency, and to [Page 7] despise us for being defective in those accomplishments; and yet these Gentlemen thirst after the fame of Heroes, & ex­traordinary men. The real ad­vantages then which you pro­pose to your self, Sir, are no­thing important in that sort of life, whilst the inconveniencies will be very considerable: it is necessary you should think on what you abandon in quit­ting the Country, which yet are advantagious things, if you will put your self to the trou­ble of reflecting on them.

You have just reason to be­lieve, and you have the vogue of the world, to concur with [Page 8] you in such an opinion; that all the accomplishments of Woman-kind, are to be found in your excellent Mother; her great wit, her prudence, her port and manner of living, rendring her self, & her house most considerable. And though there is usually that awe im­printed on us by the severities of education, as makes us de­sire to spend our youth far from our Parents, out of a love of childish liberty and frol­licks; yet my Ladies carriage to you, has still been attended with that sweetness, and pru­dence, as perfectly to over­come an unpleasant obsequi­ousness [Page 9] in you: it is true her discretion would not permit her to indulge you in any vici­ous liberties, like those fond and imprudent Mothers, who think they cannot shew their love enough to an only Son, unless they comply with all their extravagancies; and con­sider them alwaies as Children that must have their wills, so loosing betimes that authori­ty, and respect, which the ill-educated Boy has never af­ter grace enough to acknow­ledge: and then, like some sort of Lovers, they please themselves in their own kind­ness; and in supporting the [Page 10] neglects of their children, with a patience truly a reproach to their dignity and duty: my Lady has lov'd your accom­plishments in Vertue, and ex­cellent qualities too well, to permit you an extravagant li­berty; but yet she did these things, with a sweetness and an air, that demonstrated at the same time the pleasures of her conduct. She consi­dered that you were her only Son, but yet she did not from such a reflection, become pre­sently of the opinion, that she could not appear fond enough of you, nor with too much freedom let you know [Page 11] the pleasure she took in you; but with greater wisdom and generosity, she thought it her duty, to endeavour to make appear in you, the vertue and the hopes of many Sons; well knowing, that a wild Liberty (usually the effect of a declared fondness) would have been the reproach of your family and of her con­duct: and that it would have been worse to have you live with so much infamy, (what ever the Age may discourse to the contrary) than to bury you with the universal com­passion and grief, paid to the death of a hopeful Gentleman. [Page 12] Moreover she considered, tha [...] a Mother is a stranger assumed into a Family; and tha [...] she is on that score to discharge the trust she stands obliged in to that Race; she is not to gratifie her particular fond­ness, but to govern her self by the glory and the interest of a name: so that any just severity in a Mother, is no [...] to be looked upon as her peculiar resentments, but he respect to that Duty she stand obliged to perform. I remind you of all this, Sir, because you are now arrived to an Age of consideration, and to in­vite you to reflect on the grand [Page 13] obligations you have to my Lady, for her manner of edu­cating you; in which you will see a little ingratitude, in being opposite to her desires of keeping you with her; let the Humourists of this Age talk what they please, of the height of Spirit, and the gal­lantry of despising the Regi­ment of a Mother; they must show us a greater advantage they make of that liberty, than lying perpetually in Play-houses, Taverns, and Whore-houses, before we can agree to their extravagant sen­timents: neither is it my La­dies fondness of keeping you [Page 14] with her, so much as her fear of having you debaucht, which now perplexes her; she would willingly spare you for any glorious or advanta­gious adventures; if it were for the service of your Prince, or the defence of your Coun­try, she would blush to with­hold you from pursuing such noble enterprizes, and she had rather loose you to the world, than to your Vertue, and the true glory of your Ancestors: but she fears the Vices of the Town, more than the Arms of an Enemy; and the slavery of those Humours, worse than the Fetters of a Con­querour. [Page 15] She would rejoyce to see you stick fresh Laurels in the Garlands of your An­cestors, and she would freely abandon you to those fields where you might gather them; but what Bayes you are like to purchase in Town, or what perfections you are like to learn there, which may be truly enobling to a Gentleman, cannot possibly be made appear to her. But, Sir, if you believe that all this stands on a childish pun­ctilio of gratitude, and a fond­ness of your Parent, that would make you ridiculous to the Heroes of this Age; [Page 16] you will find other things ca­pable of detaining you in the Country.

It is agreed by all, that, though conversation is a great felicity, and solace to Hu­mane nature, yet that a life partly of that, and partly of leisure and retiredness, is most suitable to the affairs and in­terests of men. I speak not this (though I very well might) upon the account of what we owe to Religion; and we have found many of the greatest Monarchs, and the Administrators of Regal affairs, when they came to die, to complain of the hur­ry [Page 17] and the bustle of those oc­currences, that kept them from considering any thing of a life, to which all the inte­rests of this appear but a sha­dow, and nothing, I say, I shall not so much present you with this, as those real ad­vantages that occur to the ac­complishment of men, by a due leisure & serenity: I know that Philosophy, is so far out of credit in this Age, that if I should present you with any thing out of that old professi­on, you would so far com­ply with the present Humour, as to despise me for a Pedant: but I hope that a just reason, [Page 18] is not at the same time obli­ged to suffer by the Janty non­sence of the Town.

As our thoughts are the first images of our actions, so after they have lived in that condition, and been perfect­ed by them, the fading beings, fall back again to the root from whence they grew; where like our separated minds, they live in pleasure, or in pain; the delight, or torment of reflections, being the Manes of past actions. And without doubt, many of the greatest performances of the world, were as much di­rected to the pleasures of re­membrance, [Page 19] as they were to the pleasures of action. We find in the Empire of Rome, how many prodigious diffi­culties, dangers, and toils were overcome by their Captains, only for the Fame and Glory of Triumph; it cannot be imagined, that the lustres of a day, could become a suffici­ent motive to such painful actions; but there must be a great deal ascribed to the contentment of considering it before it arrived, and the prospect of those pleasant re­flections, that might be made when it was past; which were without doubt, as considera­ble, [Page 20] as were found in the ac­clamations of Rome, and the chariot of Triumphs: and the retirements of many fa­mous men, from the noise of those affairs, in which they had lived, might be in some, for the pleasures of reflecting on what was past: and though the degrees of such felicities, are injoyed only by those, who have had the same pro­portion of generous enter­prizes, yet the young, and unexperienced, are not who­ly destitute of such a pleasure; the reviews of their own ver­tuous actions, may give them content; since all things of [Page 21] this nature, are measured by the Capacity, and the extent of the knowledge; and he is happy in a little, that has not the Idaeas of greater to con­verse with. Besides, there is the great delight, of seeing former Ages in the glasses of History: a prospect that also instructs at the same time that it pleases: there we may be­hold the beginning, flourish­ing and fading of Kingdoms; the rise, and fall of illustrious Personages; the transactions, occurrences, and intrigues of all Nations and affairs, ap­pearing in the Oratory, and Remarques of some men, [Page 22] with a greater pleasure than the prospect of such things could possible have given us. Action is but rude and imper­fect in respect of the beauty, and life it receives from the ac­counts and imbellishments of History; and we may easily see more of a past Age, in the memoires are transmitted of it, than we can of the pre­sent by having an interest in some of its actions: he that stands on high, takes a more perfect account of an agree­able show, than he that makes one of the Train: nay, I will venture to say further, that though there wants the [Page 23] action, and the life, yet there is in this, the pleasures of the best conversation; which is divertisement, and instructi­on: what can more please us, than to understand, how some men, from an obscure begin­ning, have reach'd all the heights of glory and renown: and how others again, born with the greatest pretences, have through variety of for­tunes, descended down to the lowest conditions of men: to read the divers adventures of courage, beauty, and wit, and through how many scenes of various actions, they have conducted their Pretenders. [Page 24] To observe how many obsta­cles have been overcome by a persevering ambition; and yet at the same time, how the shock of a slight accident, has overthrown the industry of many years. To perceive the success of an intrigue, walking with a Masque in in­quisitive Courts; which yet the dexterity and art of the Conductor, conveys unknown through all the Examiners. He that observes diligently, will find a great delight, in perceiving how some vast Empire, has at first, (like budding flowers) sprung out of the Earth; when being [Page 25] continually blessed with the Sun-shine of success, and watered with fresh and vigo­rous Counsels, it has spread it self in so vast a Dominion, as to shade all the neighbou­ring Kingdoms; when at the same time, some petty Cabal, (like little worms at the root) bring a languishment and fa­ding over all its glories. Nei­ther do these studies instruct at a less rate than they delight; they enable us to give a ju­dicious opinion of present transactions; they fill the mind with the most excellent and generous Idaeas; and they become moreover the true [Page 26] admonishers of the frailty of all. Those, Sir, who cele­brate perpetual action, and reproach study, with drowsi­ness and idle sloath, ought themselves to be exercised in very advantagious business, since he that does nothing to the purpose, either of his own vertue, or the advan­tages of mankind, is guilty of a greater idleness than the imperial fly-catcher could be reproached with. It is study that is the best Princi­ple of conversation; with­out which, it cannot be fur­nished with a just capacity to please; 'tis strange to ob­serve, [Page 27] how these great men of action, talk with a confi­dence equal to their Igno­rance; who understand no­thing but what is uttered in the company they keep; where their faithful memo­ries, preserve all new and gentile words, but their dark Souls penetrate nothing into the worth of the harangue; which makes them perpetual­ly hunt for company, because they know not what to do when they are alone; except it be to practise a new Dance, or a modish Bow; all the business this Person has with former Ages, is to damn their [Page 28] old fashions, whilst he extra­vagantly celebrates the easi­ness of the new garniture: he that pretends to understand any thing beyond it, (in the opinion of most of them) is an affected Pedant, and of a rough and unpolisht conversation. I write not this, Sir, as if I lov'd a noise of learning, and laboured discourses; but it is necessary a Gentleman should understand something above the Breeches.

If we pass from this point, Sir, to the divertisements of the Country; you will find them innocent and manly, and much for the preservati­on [Page 29] of your health, and the vigour of your mind; when you delight in the fierceness of a Horse, and pursue the Deer, you are busied in a no­bler course, than if you were hunting a little Wench. You have besides variety of other sports, along the beautiful foot-cloaths of Nature: and when you are wearied with them, you will spend more sweetly the moments of re­pose; though you went to bed, without the triumphs of having worsted the Watch in your return from a Tavern, or of having at the head of a couple of Foot-boys, brave­ly [Page 28] [...] [Page 29] [...] [Page 30] attacqu'd a Troop of Glass­windows, that stood imbat­teled as you past to your lodg­ings; or of having beat up the Quarters of some Bawd, who commanded a Squadron of Wenches. You will sleep well enough without the me­mory of such exploits, and never miss their Idaeas to form you glorious dreams: instead of them, you may have the satisfaction not to have lost a good quantity of Guinies to a common Rook; nor to have plaid away a Lordship in an hour. In short, Sir, here you have the best air, the most manly divertisements, the [Page 31] most innocent (and yet not foolish) company, which much contribute to your health, and the festivitie of your Sences.

There is one thing too, of which it will be necessary to mind you, and that is what you owe to Posterity, and the continuance of your Family; as you are an only Son, my Lady presses you to Marry; she has proposed to you a Lady, illustrious for her for­tune, beauty, and youth; and in whose conversation, (be­sides the advantagious effects) you may meet with more agreeable divertisements, than [Page 32] in the caresses of those whom you make love to with money: had not custom made it gallantry in a Gen­tleman, it would have appea­red ridiculous, to spend a considerable part of a good Estate, upon her who perhaps Jilts you in a month or two; and bestows those favours on another for inclination, which she forces her self to allow to you for her interest: this is found in considerable Mistresses of the Town, though the vanity and self flattery of some men is so great, as to make them believe there is that power in their [Page 33] worth and caresses as to conquer the soveraignty of fancy; and is it not then, Sir, more agreeable to a manly temper, (if there were no vertue in the action) to possess in an innocent Consort, that sincerity, which is never to be found in a Mistress? Those who undervalue those con­tentments, should at the same time show their neglect of them in the whole Sex of Woman kind; but to hear the most effeminate and lascivious Age of the world, mock at the vertuous felicitys of Love, is a thing worthy of scorn and contempt. Moreover, [Page 34] your resolutions are to marry, to continue your Family, and is it not better to do it now, whilst you are uncorrupted, than to present to your Lady (of a sweet and blooming youth) a body harassed with vitious Loves, and perhaps, infected with innumerable distempers: this will not only be an odious ingratitude to her, but a grand miscarriage to Posterity; who may through some Generations, feel the smart of your Vices.

In fine, Sir, the just care of your Estate, ought to have some place in your resoluti­ons. A young Gentleman, [Page 35] whose prudent Father has left him a round summ of ready money, thinks he is obliged, by that sort of tenure belongs to such an Estate, to throw most of it away extravagant­ly; as if Nature had establish'd that necessary variety, that the Parent who lays up, must have a Son to spend it: me­thinks it is so pleasant a sight, to see a young Gentleman re­turn home to his Country, after some years spent in the Town, with one third of his Estate cut off, or impounded by the Scrivener; and all the purchase he has made, with so fair a portion of Fortune, is [Page 36] but a couple of Songs, or'a French Dance; a confiden [...] affectation to Swear without fear or wit, or to despise those who cannot name so many considerable Whores in the Town as himself. We have Sir, often been run down with these blustring Hectors, who think, that the modish non­sense which they bring from London, should be more valued than the civility and agree­ableness of rural conversation. But we shall find enough of this sort of Gallantry, in examining the pleasures and entertainments of the Town.

Well then, Sir, if you neg­lect [Page 37] these considerations, we will see what there is in that Town so much to be doted on; when you come first thither, you will find your self in a little distress; because though you may possibly understand as much of true sence, and good breeding as most of them, yet you will be at a loss, because the fa­shion there consists not in any thing that is real, but in odd terms, and fantastick Ideas; in a round of words, and strange punctilio's of action: certain it is, that all things we do, are shaped by those Ideas and Images that have the as­cendant [Page 38] of our minds; and all our good as well as ill actions are agreeable to such Ideas; so that you must dili­gently compare those with which you are now furnished, with them that govern the Gallants of the Town. You have hitherto believed, that your liberality and munifi­cence, your sincerity to your Friend, the civility and sweet­ness of the address, with your moderation and justice, were most excellent qualities in a Gentleman; you have ac­cordingly lived to them, and have in their practice obtained an universal love and esteem; [Page 39] but with your pardon, Sir, you must believe other things to be more excellent, or at least strangely regulate these, or pass for nothing consider­able with those Magnifico's If when you come into com­pany, you are not able to give a piercing judgement of some admirable passage in the Prologue of the last Play; if you cannot discourse on the intrigues of famous Wenches, & deliver your own amorous atchievements in the bluntest lascivious terms; [...]f you cannot mock at Vertue and prudence with a mene of scorn and contempt, you [Page 40] will not be able to keep com­pany with those Heroes. It is true, there are some Jun­toes of Gallants, that will admit you of their society; if you can but Discourse tol­lerable of good Wine, of dressing and the Mode of your habiliments; if you can de­liver a pretty good judgement of a new Tune, or a French Dance; if you will be a com­panion with them at a Play, and at the other divertisements of their lives, which are Wo­men and Wine; if you are able to do those things, you are accomplisht enough for them, and they require not [Page 41] of a Novitiate so great a capa­city, and such mighty under­takings as the grander socie­ties; for they penetrate into nothing more desperate than the outside; nor covet a high­erfame, than of (as they call it) honest and good na­tured Gentlemen. But you must not live so peaceably in the society of the other, they are men that are ruled by the Idaeas of great and gene­rous actions: it is true, Elo­quence is part of their busi­ness, but yet it is inferiour to their Love of Arms. It is con­fessed that they are men of wit enough, and it is not [Page 42] to be denied but that there is great generosity in them; for they pretend to value persons for their worth, and hate a fop, though he spreads himself in a great ma­ny Titles, or stands mounted on half a score Mannors; they are courteous and obli­ging to their inferiours, de­siring no ceremonies to be paid to their acquirements, and grandeur, shewing as little to those who expect it; they are alwaies in humour, and in short, if they were not so fatally corrupted, they are perfectly practised in all the arts of the most ob­liging [Page 43] conversations. Thus far they have drawn Vertue right, and hitherto they have merited the glory of extraor­dinary men; but yet, though they have given society so de­licate a shape, they have yet put to it a Face truly ugly and horrid: nay there are found among these men, the most fatal Ruiners of so many ex­cellent qualities which the world laments the loss of; neither have they been satis­fied with their own liberties, but a strange ambition trans­ports them, to give Laws to the Universe, and to over­turn the old Regiment socie­ty: [Page 44] I find celebrated in a late Printed Discourse, the suffi­ciency of an excellent Poet, to instruct Mankind in the most important points they ought to believe, whilst at the same time, the Author mocks at the dullness of a heavy and Phlegmatick Gown-man, as being unca­pable of such a task; but though people may make such things the subject of their Discourse, yet I did not ima­gine any necessity of telling it to the world; because to make good such pretences, they must excell the endea­vours of many Ages, and [Page 45] practise an industry that agrees not with their plea­sures. I must confess I was a little surprized at this pas­sage, not only as it shewed a strange neglect of all others but the Poets; but also, as it was an atttempt of great va­nity to lessen the respect is paid to distinguished Professi­ons. We will allow them to be adored by their own Socie­ty, but they cannot so easily overcome the sentiments of mankind: it is yet a pretty self-flattery that we find amongst some men, who be­lieve that the affairs of the Universe are so trifling and so [Page 46] much at leisure, as to stop themselves to take a concern­ment in their affectations: He replied handsomly and smart­ly, on the great but affected Orator of Rome, who demand­ed of him, (meeting him in his return home) what was the vogue of Rome concerning him, and his management of affairs; to whom he answered, where hast thou been all this while, O Tully? Intimating by that feigned ignorance, that Rome was a place so continu­ally crouded with glorious occurrences, that the worth and the sufficiency of one man, was but like an undi­stinguished [Page 47] drop, in that bright Abiss of noble actions; so whilst the world finds the benefit of its present regiment, it is not at leisure to listen to what is offered it to the con­trary, though with the greatest Eloquence, and art. But, Sir, I know not how to dismiss this Subject with these short Remarques; and I must en­tertain you a little longer upon it. The Age has already allowed them the Title of excellent, and they might have spared it in their own writings: had any but one of themselves, practised that odd sort of civility, of shewing [Page 48] their Readers the way to the appartments of their worth and merit, they had imme­diatly been conveyed to the Stage, and there severely lasht in Comedy. But all things are handsome in those we admire; besides it is found, that such a sort of assurance, has a peculiar pleasing address, whilst Modesty sits behind all the caresses of this Age. They would raise Poesie, (especially Dramaticque) to that perfection, as to be ca­pable of Governing all the generous, noble, and accom­plisht thoughts of mankind: what they may do for the [Page 49] time to come, I am not able to say; but what they have already performed, comes short of the justice of such pretences. How much their art, reckoning them Drama­ticques, (for under that cha­racter they love to be esteem­ed) has been rather an incon­venience, than an advantage to the world, any of their heavy Corrivals may make it appear. And since they are become the Idolaters of the Heathen Vertue, we may see how un­capable they are of the con­duct of Nations, only pro­fessing Vertue. Let them tell us, if they please, what Ages [Page 50] of Roman bravery were in­spired from the Stage; or at what memorable times, their glorious Eagles took their flights by the rules of a Dra­ma: such easie representations were then, (as Farces are now in France) for the Rout and Plebeans, whose ignorance made them uncapable of spending more advantagiously their vacations from the wars. But the noble Youth were continually perfecting in fields, or in the other affairs of the Common-wealth, the characters of manly glory; in which they acquired and exercised a Vertue, too boi­strous [Page 51] and robust for the Poe­tick Pen to manage; and if any of them built magnificent Theatres, it was only to be­get an admiration of their greatness amongst those, who were uncapable of under­standing the advantages and dignity of their Vertue. And we remember moreover, that a great Captain was forced to shut up the Theatres of his Confederates, to oblige them to defend their Patrimonies, which yet they did like men who had learn'd War from the Stage: and such things by the witnesses of all records, had never an Universal love [Page 52] and esteem, but in effeminate and trifling Ages. But to look nearer into their pretences; the great thing in which they tri­umph, is an Heroick Play; which yet is imperfect in that Vertue of which they boast: they have made the three grand characters of a Hero, to be Love, Honour, and Friendship; but to what fan­tastick heights they have raised these is apparent in their Po­ems. They have made Love to be the hot passion of an hour; tried by Chymaerical and odd experiments; unpra­cticable to the World, and rather an Idaea fit to misguide [Page 53] the leisure and the sentiments of Youth, than capable of giving any just assistance to the occasions of Life: he that pretends to instruct, is not to celebrate the things that hap­pen, but the things that ought to be. Their Honour con­sists in an obstinacy to com­bate necessity and time; in maintaining the feiry ground of Fame; to vanquish Rea­son and generosity in the con­tempt of life; gathering the spreading glory of a Hero into a single punctilio. This is their Honour, as much Chy­maerical as their Love. Nei­ther is their Friendship less [Page 54] idle, whilst it consists in re­signing an adored Mistress in becoming the confident o [...] amours; or a Knight Erran [...] pursuing the capricio of an other; a scruing up the cou­rage of a friend to those fan­tastick heights, where we can dare to perish with him. I cannot imagine what the world has to do with such Idaeas, only proper for that Elizium, so much the Idol of their Poetry. Moreover, there is to be observed the confusi­on and defects in their Pre­cepts: Poetick Love (ac­cording to the rules of their own Art) can happen to no [Page 55] Hero but once in his life, and for all the rest of his years he remains untaught; the Poet interposes critically whilst he has an Amour in his head, but he abandons him unworthily, when he should perfect the characters of highest glory: he teaches him to strut and bluster, and to speak half a dozen Verses when he dies, but he guides him not at all in the Labyrinths of difficult affairs. He tells him what is true Honour, on the fanta­stick point he stands; but he cunningly omits to guide his mind on the bright traverses of a publick good: he is busie [Page 56] about youth, whilst the Re­gions of Manhood and of Age are left without a path, or any track of Vertue and Re­nown: when the Gallant is weary of living like a Beast, when he has finished the Love and the Atheism of his youth, the Poet has left a dark space before him, without the light of any precept or instruction. But all their Heroes must die when they are young, or live ingloriously when they have finished their youthful In­trigues. Besides, were their Heroick Vertue perfect, it could concern but a few per­sons in a Nation, whilst all [Page 57] the lesser Scholars must re­main untaught: what is left for them but the idle intrigues of Farce and Comedy; filled with impertinences, and the most loathsome Vices; and if they pretend to instruct by this, it must be by the rules of contrary: Certainly never any that undertook so impor­tant a conduct, discharged it with less generosity and fide­lity. And in fine, if we may judge of the cause by the effect, we shall find that man­ner of censure very disadvan­tagious to their art; where are the Heroes they have fa­shioned by their Precepts? [Page 58] What proofs do we receive of that Vertue with which they have inspired them? I wish we had no reason to complain of the contrary, and that the Grossness of their Drama­ticque Vices were not a bur­then heavy to the world; instead of teaching them to burn like Heroes, they have made them love like beasts; and all the industry of the Stage, has helpt them to no­thing more refin'd in that pas­sion, than what is common to the Goat, and the Bull. Ye mighty Directors of our Vertue! do ye not blush to see the dullness of your Scho­lars? [Page 59] and lament to find so much perversness, in times when there flourish such able [...]oets? You throw away [...]our glorious Precepts, whilst [...]ou talk of Heroickness, to [...]n impertinent and groveling Generation. Or is it, Sir, con­ [...]ary to their inclinations that [...]hey write Heroick Poems; whilst a Poetick fury carries them to celebrate those Idaeas. which they repent of, and [...]ecant in a loose Comedy: [...]nd without doubt they as well understand the capacity of the Age, as their own [...]umour in such actions: if [...]hey did not, they would [Page 60] never talk so unprofitably to them as they do; for wha [...] benefit are they like to receiv [...] from such trifling instructi­ons, as correct writing with out the preposition at the en [...] of a Verse, or the niceties o [...] Grammar, as if a Hero were to speak with that exactness as if he stood in fear of a Firu­la. Moreover, what is it o [...] moment to the instruction o [...] this Age, whether Achilles drew his whinyard at Agamemnon▪ or whether Rinaldo endange­red with his, the home-spu [...] Breeches of Godfry of Boloigne; what does this signifie to the practical Vertue of Gentle­men? [Page 61] Those who take upon them to form the Genius of an Age, are to consider what is useful, and like to occur, and they ought to decline Idaeas, that fly too high for practice and experience; such [...]airy perfections, like Ro­mances, may fill the head with chymaeras; but they can [...]ill be the Directors of action, which is the beauty and the life of Precepts. Besides, all prudent managers of pub­licque sentiments, are to con­sider, that in such Draughts they must exhibit to after times, what they will admire and imitate, or what they [Page 62] will explode and scorn; for he is too short sighted, who only accommodates his Pre­cepts, to the easie and the vi­cious humour of an Age, and forms not that, which must in­dure the shock of an impartial and severe Posterity: and I believe some of our Poets imagine that the inconvenien­cies of their present instructi­ons, will be so sensibly pre­judicial to the next Age, as to make them abhor the fatal intrigues of this; who will besides, have reason to mock at those slieght draughts of Vertue, and those airy thin perfections, which will be [Page 63] exceeded by the least reality: if they say that this is not required from a Poet whose part is to please; we answer; That it is from a Philosopher, and from those who pretend to direct whole Generations. And since they have raised their ambition to the universal Monarchy of wit, it becomes them to invent a Regiment, suitable to that character; and not expect with a few Poems to command all the Regions of Learning. Or is it not so much their desire to rule, as to destroy? Is it their ambition, (like his that burnt the Temple of Diana) to be [Page 64] known the Authors of the ruine of those excellent princi­ples which so many Ages have honoured and revered; and to proscribe all Vertue, Sobriety, & antient honour; as if a man were to build his reputation on the quicksands of vitious & inglorious practices; esteem­ing it a weakness worthy of reproach, to be moderatly wicked, or to boggle at an impiety, whose degrees are hardly to be matcht in Hell [...] Some there are who by such prodigious accomplishments, having gotten great and ad­mired names, become the Patrons, and Darlings of the [Page 65] Youth, who willingly sacri­fice their early Vertue, their Interests, and the repose of their Family, to their mighty reputations; and think it enough to make them wear the Title of wits for ever, if they but be admitted to drink, and swear, with their glorious Masters. But I now grow weary, Sir, of taking a farther account of such actions, which yet they have not more fail'd in, than in the principles of the best prudence. And those who debauch and effeminate Nations, may be pleasing, but they can never be wise and generous Directors: they ar­gue [Page 66] strangly who affirm, that it is necessary for some times to be laid to sleep, free from the thoughts of Vertue and glory, thereby to bury faction and sedition; since nothing can be more the security and renown of just and excellent Princes, than the manliness and gallantry of their Sub­jects. Moreover, it is a dou­ble indiscretion, to soften and charm our Youth with luxu­ries and pleasures, so near the best grounded Ambition of Europe; degenerating the antient Vertue of the English, whilst others are brightning and illustrating of theirs: [Page 67] thus to misguide so considera­ble a part of the Universe, only for the Fame of having the conduct, is what an excel­lent Poet has no reason to glo­ry in; whom we must allow to excell in his way, though with no justice to claim to his Art, the directing of Ages. Neither can I imagine, what should transport them to as­sume so painful a Dominion over all the Provinces of Learning; 'tis not agreeable to the delicacy of their living, to be troubled with the affairs of so vast an Empire: they had better leave it to that Ad­ministration under which it [Page 68] then appropriate it as the task of that vivacity and fan­cy, which like the Gallicque briskness is quickly tired. But I have kept you too long, Sir, in this consideration; I will lead you to the conversation which is sometimes found amongst those persons, whose pretences are so haughty: and who live in great neglect of their own Idaeas; contra­dicting in their lives, what they magnifie and extoll in their Poetry: I will not say it of that Person whom we just now mentioned; but we can too truly affirm it of many of that Art.

[Page 69]The first great subject of their entertainments is A­theism; which is not now owned with a blush, but on the contrary, esteemed a piece of gallantry, and an effect of that extraordinary wit in which we pretend to excell our Ancestors: the great prin­ciple of these sentiments, is matter of strange opinion about the Creation of the World; some following Ari­stotle, others Epicurus. Those who imagine that the world did never begin, have took the belief from the imperious Stagerite, rather out of an unknowing admiration of his [Page 70] name, than any just reason that has accompanied the asserti­on: for to what reason can it pretend; or how is it likely, that the World was Eternal, when the memory of all things are but of Yesterday! (for to Eternity, the small portion of time Recorded, merits no larger a name) how has it come to pass, that so many thousands of Ages should leave no Records be­hind them, nor no Monuments of all they did, nor all they had design'd to do: the most antient accounts that are pro­duced, except by the Jews, are the Thaeban War: and the [Page 71] great Funerals of Troy, (acti­ons of times easily compu­ted:) and which if they are not fabulous, they appear at least ridiculous in the Records of the Poets. But how is it likely, that Eternity should be the Parent of nothing more antient, nor more consider­able in that vast flux of Ages, many great Empires must have rose, flourisht, and de­clined; many useful and ex­cellent Arts must have been invented, and practised; and many just, as well as bloody Laws, must have been esta­blisht and executed. Some man or other, in so many [Page 72] births, must have been so considerable for his Vertue, and his grand Actions, as to leave at least his name, and some dark stories of his deeds, from one Age to another. Some Tyrant for barbarous and inhumane cruelties, must have been so odious and so much detested, as to have left a hateful memory and name to after times: but the good, and the bad, have been equally forgotten; and nei­ther ambition, greatness, va­lour, riches, nor beauty, had then the advantages they have since acquired, of perpetu­ating the memory of their [Page 73] owners: this great silence of all things, but what stand so [...]ear the present Ages, is a most convincing proof of the Worlds Creation, and of its Creation not very long ago. The other opinion, though it is most imbraced by this Generation, yet it is so ridi­ [...]ulous, that a man of reason should be ashamed to owne it. which affirms, that several Troops and Parties of Atoms, (raised first by an unknown Commission) after they had rang'd the field of an infinite space, did at last under the conduct of chance alone, (for they allow no greater a cause [Page 74] to have commanded in the morning of the Universe.) rendezvous in a most glorious and beautiful World; that so many pieces of such admira­ble workmanship, so many businesses, and so many of­fices, of the beginning, main­tenance, and preservation of all the kinds of life, had no other cause but an undesign­ing impetuous chance: yet this opinion, as ridiculous as it is, is become the principle of their grandest debauch­ments; on which they Dis­course with so much liberty, and bluntness, as is the asto­nishment of serious persons. [Page 75] But they equally hate that modesty in Learning, which they do in Love; and they strive to have their Souls equally debaucht as their Bo­dies; hazarding the one in all opinions, as the other with all exploits. A Vertuous person how ever ought to be careful of the innocence of his mind; lest there may, nay there will, come a time, when he must want those tranquilli­ties: which is moreover, no sleight admonition for our wits, especially since some of them (like Caligula) are Atheists only in fair weather.

Their next great entertain­ment [Page 76] is Marriage, which they treat most ingloriously, af­firming it to be the clogg of generous minds; and the grea­test impediment to the ambi­tion of Heroes: they believe mankind has suffered in no­thing more, than in the re­straints and captivities of Wedlock; and that no free­dome ought to be more dear to his nature, than wild and rambling Lusts. They think the World took ill advice, when it abridged it self of so sweet a pleasure, by yielding to an Institution, that so much dulls and baffles the Spirits; and though they are them­selves [Page 77] the issue of these Beds, yet they cannot believe but their constitution had been much more sprightly and ge­nerous, if they had been born by a Mistress; and that their inclinations had been more elevated and high to great un­dertakings: they believe that without doubt, the Crescents of the Ottomans, had before now been filled up with blood, and slaughters, if there had been such a generation born into these parts of the World; and that their arms had suc­ceeded as fortunatly as those of the Macedon. What ever was the belief of their Fathers, [Page 78] they resolve to give the World the proofs of a better judge­ment, and a braver Soul; which makes them scoff at Wedlock, priding themselves in their own freedome; and with a scornful pity, despising the Captives of that state: they esteem no man ridiculous in the Town, but the votary of Matrimony; and he that happens to be so of their own Fraternity, if he does not sigh under that yoke, if he does not curse the folly of his nature, that betrayed him to so grand a slavery, they discard him as unfit for their conversations: and indeed they have found [Page 79] persons ridiculous enough to do as they would have them; to whom they represent, that the slighting of the pleasures of Marriage, is a greatness of Soul, that scorns to be impo­sed on; but that the pursuing variety of amours, is the pe­culiar gusto of a great wit: for that is a principle from which they must not recede, that all their extravagancies, are not only the pleasing of their Humours, but insepara­ble proofs of extraordinary capacities: they must believe that it was an effect of their Fineness and Dexterity, to bring wenching into so great [Page 80] an esteem, and that nothing less than their Industry and Arts, could have laid Matri­mony under so much re­proach, as the present Age does find it, this is their busi­ness, in their converses, the Play House, and all their en­tertainments; where if they have occasion to represent to the Gallants a Comical fop, they make him one who is wheadled into Matrimony. Vain and triffling Politicians! whom the World has so much reason to thank for the advan­tages you procure it, what shall it do with your senti­ments? except unravel the [Page 81] richest imbroideries of anti­ent generosity and prudence; and make all its affairs as ridi­culous as your practices; do you desire it should be so half­wited, as for your allurements to betray the charge of so ma­ny Ages? But yet, Sir, the progress they have already made is very deplorable; the contempt of Wedlock in the Town grows very common; and we have reason to accuse the great managers of that Humour: they would do well to satisfie us, either what nobleness, what gratitude, or wisdom they can ascribe to their practices; they are very [Page 82] rude and disobliging to a con­siderable part of the Universe; and offer mankind a great af­front. They are strangely respectful to their Fathers, who liv'd in an Age better qualified; and who convey'd them hither in the circles of that despised Wedlock: had they not stood on the founda­tions of blood, and fortune, but been forc'd to have rose by their industry and merit, the World had possibly look'd upon them with contempt, in a low Sphear. And then how do they discharge the chara­cter of wise managers? With­out doubt, Marriage is the [Page 83] foundation to times occurren­ces, and the principle of ex­cellent affairs; and if this foun­tain should be fatally corrupt, it would injure considerably, all the advantages that flow from it: for if any Generati­on should come into the World promiscuously, all things would be unsorted and mixt, and the claims of eno­bled Vertue, Blood, and pos­sessions must be made unsuc­cefsfully; all things must be­gin again, or yield to such a disorder and confusion, as would soon involve the most flourishing Nations in ruine and distractions: thus what [Page 84] the prudence and the industry of many Ages, had formed into a peaceful, and a happy Regiment, thereby rendering the succession of Familie [...] tranquil and secure, would be broken and disordered, and the Parent can leave to hi [...] children only the adventure of an uncertain condition and that Family that wa [...] Rich, Potent, and esteem'd mixing its blood inconsiderat­ly, loses insensibly those ad­vantages; and he that would raise Monuments of excellen [...] things, must not only begin anew, but leave them unfi­nished when he dies; for i [...] [Page 85] he has club'd to the uncertain issue of a Harlot, yet they can pretend no right in the grandeurs of their disputed Fathers; and no glory, re­putation, and vertue would be perfect, whilst it has only the assistances of one Age, and those discouraged by the consideration of their decay: thus in the Ottoman Empire, whilst the greatest Minister has conveyed nothing to his children, through all their successions, there remain no Monuments of antient vertue, greatness, or power, whilst the children are not permitted [...]o inherit any of the acquists [Page 86] of their Fathers: and he that is took up to the highest places of Honour, and command, considers not that he is to bear himself suitable to the Fame, and Vertue of his Ancestors; nor that he is to leave the same dignities and reputation to his children, but he lives unjustly, carelesly, and voluptuously, and is only intent on his pre­sent satisfaction: and the same it would be in various injoy­ments, and the neglects of Marriage; from which ap­pears the imprudence of those who pretend to instruct this Age: and we have reason to believe, that either some ex­traordinary [Page 87] event must inter­pose to vindicate such excel­lent affairs, or else they are still to decline, till they min­gle ruines with the Universe: those, Sir, who think these Remarks trifling, consider not the strange progress of Vices; for though it is chiefly amongst persons somewhat above the vulgar, that Marri­age is ingloriously treated, yet those distempers will descend from the noble parts, as fast as the capacities of instruments can convey them down: as we see it has been already in prodigious Swearing, and other crimes. And were not [Page 88] wisdom and nobleness stran­gers to this Age; those who pretend to the fairest endow­ments of the mind, would never practise the greatest fol­lies of it: I cannot imagine what they would do with that wild liberty they endeavour to introduce; 'tis a strong sort of leveling they wish to see in the World; and there needs a great eloquence to make ap­pear the benefits it would re­ceive from it: hitherto we have dreaded it as a Torrent that would quite overflow the fairest inclosures of humane nature; and we cannot per­ceive their own ability to [Page 89] stem that Tempest: but they care only for the present; and think not themselves at all oblig'd to look after the in­terests of the world. All that can be said to these men, is, that if their fore-fathers had been of their Temper, they might now have been Bar­bers, or Grooms, or left to the Parish, who pretend to fairer Titles.

The next great subject of their Discourses, is the disho­nours of Women; those whom they have not overcome with their addresses, they will be sure to conquer with their tongues; and hardly leave [Page 88] [...] [Page 89] [...] [Page 90] an honest Woman in the Town: they are so charita­ble to think, there never was any such, but those who liv'd solitarily, and were never at­tacqu'd by a powerful Court­ship; and they particularly attribute want of these succes­ses to the undexterous Assaul­ter; but they know not how to believe, that where any so redoubted as themselves, laid siege to a Woman, that she was ever able to withstand the force of their caresses: This is a thing that makes up a great part of their devertise­ment, to recount their parti­cular victories; which per­haps [Page 91] to oblige posterity, they are so kind as to record them in some lascivious Songs: and indeed to give them what they call their due; they obtain too many conquests of this na­ture; as it is not to be expected otherwise, from an assiduity and an industry great as theirs. But yet, with their favour, it favours but little of good breeding, or good nature, (for higher considerations are non­sence to them) to reap the effects of anothers easiness or kindness, and then to spread it in every company; whilst none but those persons who are strangly vitious, can de­light [Page 92] in that society, where nothing but the dishonours and scandals of Women are constantly repeated; which besides the subject, is done in a language so innocent, mo­dest, and ingenious, that it is strange such great wits, should delight in so barren concepti­ons: they pretend to admire the soaring, and refinedness of the fancy, but I know never a Plowman, but might deli­ver himself with as much va­riety of imagination, as they do upon these subjects: and were it not for that strange pleasure, they find in exceed­ing the prescriptions of vertue, [Page 93] and modesty, and in scorning the limits are set to the extra­vagancies of men, they would blush themselves at such a sort of ingenuity: I do believe, that never in any Age, was there such a violent and uni­versal thirst after the Fame of being wits, and yet no Age has possible discharg'd it self, with less real applause in those pretences; wit, though it be properly the vivacity, and the agreeableness of the fancy, yet there ought to be­long something more to that high quality, than a little flash and quibble, which yet is all that this Age has bid for [Page 94] that mighty Fame: and it is not to be question'd, but that the next generation, will be at a loss to find out that wit of which their Fathers so much boasted: we affect the beautiful trimming of fo­raign words; the youth, and pleasantness of the fancy, but the subject is contemptible on which this dress is bestowed; which with time wearing sul­lyed and out of Mode, no­thing will appear so ridiculous as that unvalued subject; of which we may say, as the Poet did once of the Woman; that it is the least part of it self. Besides, when they are [Page 95] witty, they are alwaies be­holding to Monsieur; in which they equally discredit themselves, and their Nation: to place wit in a Mode of words, is little commendati­on to the fancy of him that wears it; a sufficient quanti­ty of these words are used every day by a blockhead, whilst yet they penetrate into the nature of nothing, but like Arrows shot into the Air, fall idly back upon the Earth: and then their Nation is little beholding to them, whilst they undervalue its antient, and unaffected language: I cannot but think, that our [Page 96] Ancestors understood them­selves as well as we do, and spoke as much to the content and pleasure of those they en­tertain'd; who yet larded not their Discourses with ends of French; they were careful of the true glory of English men, to justifie the Dominion of their Language, equal to the Dominion of their Seas: me­thinks our Nation blushes, and appears out of counte­nance to see it self neglected; whilst the leight Gallia receivs all the Courtships of its un­grateful youth, and it has reason enough for a just indig­nation; whilst it is done with [Page 97] the perverting of a better Ge­nius; and a rendering that fantastick which was before serious and manly. As every thing which is natural is the most handsom, so it is free from the follies of affectation; and as much as we have studi­ed to Ape the French, we have yet only reach'd that perfecti­on as to be ridiculous: be­sides, they look upon us as a Nation to whom they give the Laws of Mode; and presently ravish with tran­sports from them, the small­est trifles they are pleased to countenance: this is a great pride to them, [Page 98] whilst they see themselves to preside over our Geni­us, and to guide it into all the fashions which their rambling fancies take. The Spaniard (though affected enough in this way) yet in this understands his reputati­on; whilst having disputed with them for the universal Monarchy, scorns to truckle under the Laws of their Mode; and sullenly keeps to a fashion of some hundreds of years, rather than to appear inclined to the lightness of his neighbours. But it were bet­ter to let them command our dresses, than our Language; [Page 99] because these are to be altered by time, whilst the other should be left pure and unble­misht to posterity; from whom we betray the glory of our Fathers. This ought to be the principle concernment of the wits; because as they guide the inclinations of the youth, so they are capable of delivering themselves sweetly and pleasantly, in the native beauties of our Language; and can render their concepti­ons lovely, without the paint and imbellishments of France: 'tis they must rescue our cap­tived Language from the fet­ters of that Tongue: which [Page 100] would be more generous in them, and procure them a greater Fame, than to make their boast (as I know some of them do) that he cannot write well in our Language, who understands not the French. It is no wonder to hear a Fop, pride himself in store of French words; be­cause his memory is all the fountain of his sence; but it is not so with the Poets, who pretend to the most elevated and most refined notions. I speak not this, Sir, out of a disrespect to that Language; highly necessary to all that frequent Courts; and that [Page 101] have to do in the important affairs of the world: but yet, where that and our own Lan­guage dwell together in the same capacity, like the cur­rents of the Savas, and Danu­bius, they should never mix in all their conversations.

But, Sir, I have kept you long enough in these conside­rations. You may now just­ly expect something to divert you. Let us then compare some of the ordinary Town Adventures, and Exploits with the sentiments before menti­oned; and indeed, it is their actions that will be most ca­pable of transporting you to [Page 102] a glorious emulation; for though the sweetness and the beauty of Discourse, is a thing very enamouring, yet action is the darling of youth, and of a sprightly disposition: Rome found its old men busi­ness for their Eloquence, in rescuing distressed Clients, and in appeasing the disorders of the people; but the youth were continually busied in the Wars, and generous at­chievements; and indeed all Nations, have esteemed wit, of a second venter to Arms: now, Sir, if you have this ambition about you, you shall not fail of meeting in the [Page 103] Town with strange satisfacti­ons. There are men, who begin not the day till noon; the morning affording the sweetest sleeps, and the pillow being the best place to take Counsel on, for the adven­tures of the evening: that of the Play-house is the first Stage, where they can support the repetition of an old Play, if they can but make Love to a new Beauty: they come not hither to learn wit, for they preside over the Language of the Stage: but they come like true Knights Errant, in search of adventures; and their Humours are so much allied [Page 104] to the Romance, that they can do nothing without the Distressed Lady; where if any thing heightens their ap­petite, and pleases their fan­cy, by the little sleights of a Masque, or some pretty stra­tagem, they become eager of the Quarry, and apply them­selves to all the arts of that Game: but their principal business in this House, is to meet their Friends, and to joyn themselves in a Squa­dron for some gallant exploit: which perhaps is first at a House of pleasure, and then the French House; where ha­ving repeated their former [Page 105] gallantries, and heightened their courage, with eloquence and Wine, they are fit to ga­ther fresh Bays for the Gar­land of their triumphs; and to add a new lustre to their former actions. In these brave Humours, has many a Watchman been forc'd to measure his length upon the ground; the poor Constable been put beside the gravity of his Interogatories;—Many a timerous Female has been forc'd to fill the air with shrieks, and complainings: whilst during this close en­gagement, the thundering Cannon of their Oaths, have [Page 106] with horrour fill'd the neigh­bourhood: and when they have obtain'd such victories as these, lest they should not find an Historian capable of Recording to the life, their noble performances, they are committed to the Pages of a Sonnet: whilst our Gallants, like the Roman, conquer and write at the same rate; and indeed to such a courage, such an eloquence is necessary; lest the life and vigour of their actions should languish in the dullness of ordinary Stiles. It is, Sir, to such dreadful things as these you must be bred, if you covet such com­pany; [Page 107] they casheir all that are faint hearted, or unfit for the Wars, or that have not a body capable to indure the Discipline, and toils of their Camp: to be a great wit, is but an imperfect qualification, for they associate with none for speculative pleasures: and esteem him ignoble, who dares not act at the rate he can di­ctate: which has been found in the fortune of some mo­dern wits, who have been neglected, because unfit for exploits: so that if you would joyne your self to the conver­sation of these Gallants, you must well examine your suf­ficiency [Page 108] and courage for the highest atchievement. There is moreover, another task be­longs to him that accompanies with them; and will pass for a wit in the Town, that is, you must write a Play: which is a kind of fantastical necessity imposed by fashion on a Gen­tleman, who is obliged to ha­zard his abilities, on such niceties of Fame, & Humour: the case is not the same with him as with a mercenary Po­et, who ventures for his gain, & not like a Hero, whom the desire of glory alures to write: the first can support a miscar­riage, not only through ne­cessity, [Page 109] but also by the advan­tages of getting money: but the other, according to the chymaerical rules of their ho­nour, ought to dispatch him­self with his own unfortunate Pen, which has so ill served the interests of his glory, and blush to survive so shameful an overthrow: he that per­forms any thing of this nature, ventures at the first rank of wits; and to gain the highest steps, where this Age has mounted its ambition: but he that is unsuccessful in the attempt, falls down with the greater precipitancy amongst ordinary men; and not only [Page 110] loses his hopes, but his former standing, in the division of wits. Which has been found in some of the endeavours of our times; where those that have past for the greatest wits, venturing on the Stage have discharged themselves so ill in their pretences, that the world will by no means allow them what they formerly pos­sessed; & are moreover grown suspicious, that amongst those they name for the grea­test wits, there is that same barrenness and dullness, with which they reproach inferior men; he that has got the re­putation of a wit, ought to [Page 111] maintain it by suspicion, and not expose too much of that quality to pitiful censures; since he that writes, puts him­self on the ordinary trial of his Country; but he that ut­ters only in Juncto's and Ca­bals, stands alone to the trial of his Equals. Who are not to judge by the general Laws of wit, but by the principles of their own honour, that is their allow'd Humour. So that both your wit and your Person, Sir, must run equal hazards in your joyning with these men. There are some it is true, not only of a more peaceable temper, but also [Page 112] less ambitious of wit: but there is nothing amongst them, that will be high enough for the emulation of a Coun­try Gentleman: their business is, to make long addresses to a Mistress, or to sit till mid­night at a Tavern: where they talk judiciously of some new piece of wit that goes about the Town; or the for­tune of the Poets: to value themselves by their ability to dress well; and their quick intelligence of a new Mode: they will entertain you with long winded and ridiculous stories of their amorous suc­cesses; they will find fault [Page 113] with the sitting of your Peri­wig, or the way you have in manageing your Cloaths: and though to follow the fa­shion of conversation, they will speak with Encomiums on the wits, yet they damn all sence and understanding, where the man is not adored, but in that case they are forc'd to truckle under the Laws of Fame. And now, Sir, if you should pass from this Gentleman who pretends to do nothing; and seek for a friendship amongst men of affairs; you would yet miss of what you sought; there being nothing amongst them [Page 114] agreeable to an indifferent person. If you go to the Inns of Court; where you will hear the distresses of Clients; with the murmurs of those who continually solicite a ca­pricious, or a sullen Justice: amongst men who are busied with these concernments, the Idaea of conversation is com­monly very Pedantick, and unpollisht; and in Truth, not worthy of a Gentleman; where men study not so much, things noble and generous, but the arts of paliating wrong, of defeating and deferring right. With what pleasure could you seek the friendship of a [Page 115] mighty Clark, who having a head crouded with Records & Statutes, sits drowsily brood­ing over unjust causes, with the wretched satisfaction of tiring out, by pedantick stratagems, the Votaries of justice; endea­vouring to draw Clouds on Sun-beams, and to hang those mists on truth, that it shall wander in the clearest evi­dences: forcing his consci­ence, tamely to truckle under the love of money, and of Fame. Certainly this man can have nothing in him agreeable to the principle of Nobleness, found in a Gentle­man: neither if you should [Page 116] stand off from his endear­ments, would his indifferent conversation afford you any contentment; whilst he might entertain you with a long sto­ry of his industry in causes; with honourable Encomiums of the wise speeches of his Judges; a blind admiration of those who have wit enough to get a great deal of money; with the factions of the Bar; and the rise of famous Plea­ders; and such unprofitable Harangues which signifie no­thing to an indifferent Person, who is not interested in that manner of Life. If, Sir, you address your self to the [Page 117] younger men of those Socie­ties, you will find many of them to have only just so much of the gallant humour as serves to make them singular, if not ridiculous; whilst they are the idle Imitators of those things they cannot come up to: if you have a mind to di­vert your self, you may be­hold in them, just matter for such an entertainment; whilst you shall see them manage the affected strut, and their half-moded garniture: hear them speak in the phrases of a Play, (that modish sort of canting) and becoming the Insurers of their own glorious [Page 118] adventures: they damn all things but the extream niceties of humour; and even scorn the Learning of their own Society, whilst they extoll the magnanimities of a Bravo: they pride themselves in their amours to a Sempstress; and in swearing like those who keep company with the wits: nay you must take their oaths for their wit; for they be­lieve their profuseness that way, a sufficient proof of their being furnished with that quality: but with all this noise they know little of that address, of which they are the fond Idolaters. This [Page 119] is to be understood, only of the vain, the imperfect, and the half-witted part of them. For these societies are, other­wise, the Nurseries of men of great abilities, and Vertues.

I believe I have said enough, Sir, to divert you from seek­ing a friendship amongst those men. In these distresses, I presume you will not apply your self to the Merchant, whose business is Profit, and Interest; without any design upon the Improvement of arms, letters, or conversation.

I cannot imagine, Sir, that you will seek lower for a soci­ety. But yet I have omitted [Page 120] one sort of men, where you will be confident of being relieved, and they are the new Philosophers: here in­deed it were the highest in­justice to say you should be deceived; whilst they have given out themselves to have done so much for the advance­ment of Knowledge; and seem to have obtain'd a victo­ry over it, with the same ce­lerity as Caesar did, who only saw and overcame. It is un­der their conduct that learn­ing has made such famous acquists, whilst they have led it victorious through the glo­rious Regions of the Sky; [Page 121] through the shady Empire of the Main; carrying its Arms so far on the Continent, as to strike its Ensigns to the Center of the Earth; giving it so absolute and so entire a victo­ry, that it may now, like the ambitious Youth, lament the scarcity of Worlds. This, Sir, is the summ of their pre­tences, and what they pro­claim; but you will be a little surprized, when you shall find them so long groveling in mechanicks: and pinioning with those meaner arts, the mind, which so many Ages had used to happy flights: causing such a noise about the [Page 122] infirm foundation laid by our Ancestors, as to make the magnificent structure hazard­ous of being abandon'd by those eminent wits that have lodged in it. With these Gentlemen I am assured you will not desire to spend your time; and with any of the former we desire you should not. You must in these di­stresses turn Gallant, and joyn your self to the company of Women; to spend whole af­ternoons in kissing their hands, in admiring their dresses, and pretending to receive mortal wounds from their beauty: but yet, over and above that [Page 123] this were an idle life, you would be discarded if you used it; for we are not now adaies for Lectures of Platonicks; since many of our Women are grown as hardy as the men, and love a tast of the thing you wot of, to relish their Conversations: they deride the formality of hear­ing long Discourses of their beauty, of the atchievements of their Sex, or any of their adventures that are not arch and couragious: so that, Sir, you will be more ridiculous in these attempts, than unsuc­cessful in the other. If you should last of all, abandon [Page 124] particular societies, and chop in with all in common: the Park, the Play-house, the Eating-house, and the Coffee­house: you will hear an unin­telligible buzzing, and a noise of what you understand not: some snatches of occur­rences, whose beauty you are not able to perceive without the knowledge of the whole: if passing by the benches of the Pit, you should hear a young Gallant swear, that he had appointed the assignation at eight of the clock; you could not tell whether it was an intrigue with a Countess, or with a Citizens wife: if [Page 125] you should take a walk, and discover a course betwixt a Hero and a Lady in a Mask; except you were acquainted with her voice, and her fashi­on, you could give your self no account of the hunted beauty: these things, Sir, would perplex that curiosity they could not satisfie: and besides, nothing at all instruct you in the glorious adventures of the Town: and then for that great Mart of lies and nonsence the Coffee-house: if you could furnish your self with so much patience, as to sit here half an hour; you might hear one Gentleman [Page 126] say to another; I am surpriz­ed, Sir, at the News you told me last night; I did not be­lieve that Nation was capable of so much fineness and dexte­rity, now if you were not there at the precise time of ut­tering this intelligence, on the foregoing evening, you could not understand of whom it was spoken: except you civilly ask the question, which is an affront to, and below the gravity of that place: and be­sides unless you know your self to be of a remorseless, and bloody disposition; you will be extreamly moved by com­passion, at those Tragick Hi­stories [Page 127] you will there find ut­tred: the Sacking of Towns, [...]e cutting in pieces of gal­ [...]nt Troops; the approach­ [...]g Catastrophies of Nations; [...]e misfortunes of eminent [...]tatesmen; the fantastick [...]risis, under which puissant Monarchies groan, &c. Will [...]here be so continually thun­ [...]er'd in your ears, that you will often be obliged to a con­ [...]ernment for those Persons, who really stand in need of [...]o such compassion. Besides, there will be this inconveni­ence in general remarks; that you must expect to be jeer'd with a witness, if you pre­sume [Page 128] to peep into the myst [...] ries of a Humour, of whic [...] you are not the Crafts-maste [...] the Professours of every Intrigue, taking a great prid [...] to despise a pretending Novit [...] ate: and I have known a littl [...] Hector, more to glory in th [...] sleights he is capable of usin [...] in picking up a Wench, an [...] in the variety of his knowledge, than a great Captai [...] ever did, in the stratagems an [...] policies of War: the desir [...] of glory and singularity i [...] now as violent as ever, though its satisfaction is placed in such trifling and idle acquirements neither should you meet with [Page 129] so much contempt, if you [...]me to learn the most glori­ [...]us Mysteries of War, or rule [...]om its greatest Masters; as [...]ou shall if you apply your [...]lf to a Gallant to know the [...]odes of the Town: who [...]ears himself more upon such [...] sufficiency than the others [...]ould upon theirs: so that it [...]ill by no means be agreeable [...] the height of your spirit, to [...]retend but in part to the Hu­ [...]ours of a Hero; because [...]ou will be strangely ruffled if [...]ou are found ignorant in the [...]cest points. I can think for [...]he present, of nothing else [...]hat is important in the occur­rences [Page 128] [...] [Page 129] [...] [Page 130] of the Town. A [...] now, Sir, what is it that yo [...] see in this manner of life capable of pleasing you? or tha [...] should cause you to prefer i [...] before the innocence, manl [...] ness, and pleasures of you [...] Country one. Do you livingloriously, because you g [...] to Bed at ten a clock, and ca [...] not up the Sun to usher you t [...] your Lodgings? Is it mor [...] pleasant to lie in little Rooms more incommodious than th [...] Lodge of your Porter, tha [...] to be well attended, and to command in the Palace o [...] your Ancestors? Is there [...] necessity that you should [Page 131] esteem that day as lost, in which you have not signalized your valour on the Apple­women, the Constable, or the frail Glass-windows? Giving by such actions a lustre to the night in which you do them, [...]hat should make it capable of [...]rivalling the brightness of the morning. I see no necessity, Sir, of humouring such an ambition: Or are you not edu­cated like a Gentleman, except you have half a score times been under the hands of the Surgeon, for the Consumpti­on 'tis surely a very fantastical Genius that governs this Age, to place the glory of a Hero [Page 132] in such odd sort of sufferings [...] are you obliged by the rules o [...] the new Honour, to swear fo [...] prodigiously, as if you were made Master of the Artillery to the Divel, or else you can­not be reckon'd a man of good utterance and sence; We can here, Sir, esteem you well enough without such loud streams of Rhetorick; and sufficiently value your gene­rosity, though you oblige not your lavish soul to spend all its vertue in a moment. You may, Sir, (according to our opini­on) try your strength better in the manly exercises of the Country, than in the De­baucheries [Page 133] of the Town! and find less repugnance in making Love to a Lady, whose Ver­tue equals her Beauty, than in lavishly presenting of Wen­ches, who will spend your bounty as freely on a Groom, or a Foot-boy: your mind will certainly be more tranquil, and more capable of generous thoughts, that has the Idaeas of justice and innocence to ca­ress it, than when it is heated with the exploits of the Town; those minds who have alwaies before them the Images of such low and com­mon things, can never gene­rate actions truly noble or [Page 134] worthy of Heroes; since it is impossible for the soul to pro­duce any thing above its Idaeas And in short, Sir, what satis­faction do you imagine my Lady will take in the know­ledge of these things: will she not have just reason for her grief and displeasures, when she sees how ill you improve the care of her education, and what a disagreeing structure you raise on such a foundation; she will see with infinite grief the disappointment of her hopes, whilst she must leave behind her only the name, without any of the Vertues that were illustrious in your [Page 135] Family: as she will reflect with trouble on those happy Mothers, who all along had a charge in your Race; and who died with the contentment of a prosperous conduct; when at the same time though her prudence and her diligence have equalled theirs, yet her charge has alone miscarried: she has been a fruitful Mother, and set you in the cluster of Heroes, but she must see you growing dim and sullied in the circle of so bright a Race; and she will believe that the glory of your house is set, since a name adds nothing to a Family, without vertuous [Page 136] endowments. And in fine, Sir, we that have hitherto been ho­noured with your friendship, shall not know after what manner to receive you, when you return from the Town: we know you will sufficiently despise not only our capacities but our courage; whilst we can neither talk, nor act at your admirable rate: nor I believe will you ever be able to inspire us with your gallantry of mind: we can very peaceably go to Bed by a Candle, and not desire to swim to our re­pose through Blood or Wine: we are guilty of that good breeding as to think it rude to [Page 137] lie long after the Sun; neither have we those prodigious ad­ventures to dream of, as could [...]ndear the Pillow to us be­yond the hour of twelve. Well, Sir, we must take our leave of you when you go, and never expect to see that accomplisht innocent young Gentleman again in our Country; but one that will become the terrour of the Piggs, and the Pullen; and that will level such an Ar­tillery of Oaths against us, as must oblige us to stand off with our caresses. Thus, Sir, like Justice, you must be a stranger in your Country: or return again to the bosom of [Page 138] your Heroes; where after you have cut off another fair branch of your Estate, you will have added enough to the tri­umphs of wit, & humour: and though with less glory, yet more discretion, return like a Consul privatly home: where you will have time to reflect, like an unfortunate aspirer, on all the precipitancies of a wild ambition; and on the fanta­stick Paths are trod to the glo­ry of this Age: yet you will then find that all your exercise of Eloquence, and Arms, to which you had been bred in the Town, will not bestow up­on you a sufficiency to serve [Page 139] your Country, with reputati­on and success; or to preside over the fortune of bickering Nations: but though your Age will not feel the weight of your Laurels; yet it may the smart of your debauchments; and the extravagancies of an hour, may accompany your sence to the remotest moments of your life: and that reason to which time will restore its just Dominion, will not only with indignation see the miscarriage of its affairs, under the conduct of a wild Humour; but also, like a just Prince, behold with pity the ruine of its interests, and the fatal wasts of its inhe­ritance, [Page 140] under the regiment of that Tyrant; when it must live a solitary and a drooping Monarch, lamenting the capti­vity of its noblest Princes, car­ried away in the incursions of youthful lusts; and grieve to have arrived too late to rescue the fairest subjects of its po­wer; when the pleasures of what it possesses, will not be able to divert the trouble of losing what it ought to have enjoyed. After all, Sir, you will add to those numerous in­stances, that show to the world the alone power of experience: whilst all the remonstrances of others; and the admoniti­ons [Page 141] of our best friends can ne­ver prevail so effectually upon us as our own trial of things: and that he which will be truly wise, must be so at his own cost, and not expect it at the expences of others. Yet from that Experience, you will not receive instruction with that friendliness and sweetness, with which now your Relations make you their Remonstrances: that Lords it, and imposes, sitting upon our minds like sullen Counsellors in declining States: present­ing us not with the Picture; but the Original of unplea­sant things. Experience is [Page 142] the last Instructer of mankind; having in it that Authority and Eloquence, of which ex­amples and precepts are de­stitute: whether or no, 'tis reserved as a punishment of untractable dispositions, to know with a blush and regret, what they would not receive with an even and a tranquil temper: or whether it is the surest way to conquer an in­glorious affection to Vices: certain it is, it has triumphed in very great instances of its power; and reclaimed those that were impenitrable to sweeter arts: and there has not past an Age, in which [Page 143] it has not done something ex­traordinary and eminent. But yet it was the desire of your Relations, that you might have escaped its Discipline, and that not only because it would show more generosity to be otherwise admonished; but also, because that is known to be sometimes very severe; and to have that fa­tality in its precedure as to ruine the subject it instructs: allowing but some few mo­ments of being wise. We heartily wish that you may be spared from those severities; and since you will be left to the Documents of experience, [Page 144] that it may deal favourably with you, and kindly shew you in a little, what the grea­ter amounts to, is the passio­nate wish of all that know you: and particularly of,