for Example, some are cross'd out, the Money being paid, and others have not been paid; these I mingle one with another at the latter End of the Book, nothing being cross'd out. When the Sum is cast up, we contend about it, and I for the most Part get the better, tho' it be by forswearing myself. Then besides, I have this Trick, I make up my Account with a Person when he is just going a Journey, and not prepared for the Settling it. For as for me, I am always ready. If any Thing be left with me, I conceal it, and restore it not again. It is a long Time before he can come to the Knowledge of it, to whom it is sent; and, after all, if I can't deny the receiving of a Thing, I say it is lost, or else affirm I have sent that which I have not sent, and charge it upon the Carrier. And lastly, if I can no Way avoid restoring it, I restore but Part of it.
_Phil._ A very fine Art.
_Pseud._ Sometimes I receive Money twice over, if I can: First at Home, afterwards there where I have gone, and I am every where. Sometimes Length of Time puts Things out of Remembrance: The Accounts are perplexed, one dies, or goes a long Journey: And if nothing else will hit, in the mean Time I make Use of other People's Money. I bring some over to my Interest, by a Shew of Generosity, that they may help me out in lying; but it is always at other People's Cost; of my own, I would not give my own Mother a Doit. And tho' the Gain in each Particular may be but small; but being many put together, makes a good round Sum; for as I said, I concern myself in a great many Affairs; and besides all, that I may not be catch'd, as there are many Tricks, this is one of the chief. I intercept all the Letters I can, open them, and read them. If any Thing in them makes against me, I destroy them, or keep them a long Time before I deliver them: And besides all this, I sow Discord between those that live at a great Distance one from another.
_Phil._ What do you get by that?
_Pseud._ There is a double Advantage in it. First of all, if that is not performed that I have promised in another Person's Name, or in whose Name I have received any Present, I lay it to this or that Man's Door, that it was not performed, and so these Forgeries I make turn to a considerable Account.
_Phil._ But what if he denies it?
_Pseud._ He's a great Way off, as suppose at _Basil_; and I promise to give it in _England._ And so it is brought about, that both being incensed, neither will believe the one the other, if I accuse them of any Thing. Now you have a Specimen of my Art.
_Phil._ But this Art is what we Dullards call Theft; who call a Fig a Fig, and a Spade a Spade.
_Pseud._ O Ignoramus in the Law! Can you bring an Action of Theft for Trover or Conversion, or for one that having borrow'd a Thing forswears it, that puts a Trick upon one, by some such Artifice?
_Phil._ He ought to be sued for Theft.
_Pseud._ Do but then see the Prudence of Artists. From these Methods there is more Gain, or at least as much, and less Danger.
_Phil._ A Mischief take you, with your cheating Tricks and Lies, for I han't a Mind to learn 'em. Good by to ye.
_Pseud._ You may go on, and be plagu'd with your ragged Truth. In the mean Time, I'll live merrily upon my thieving, lying Tricks, with Slight of Hand.
_The SHIPWRECK._ The ARGUMENT.
Naufragium _exposes the Dangers of those that go to Sea; the various and foolish Superstition of Mariners. An elegant Description of a Storm. They indeed run a Risque that throw their valuable Commodities into the Sea.
Mariners impiously invoke the Virgin_ Mary, _St._ Christopher, _and the Sea itself. Saints are not to be pray'd to, but God alone._ ANTONY _and_ ADOLPH.
_Ant._ You tell dreadful Stories: Is this going to Sea? God forbid that ever any such Thing should come into my Mind.
_Adol._ That which I have related, is but a Diversion, in Comparison to what you'll hear presently.
_Ant._ I have heard Calamities enough already, my Flesh trembles to hear you relate them, as if I were in Danger myself.
_Adol._ But Dangers that are past, are pleasant to be thought on. One thing happen'd that Night, that almost put the Pilot out of all Hopes of Safety.
_Ant._ Pray what was that?
_Adol._ The Night was something lightish, and one of the Sailors was got into the Skuttle (so I think they call it) at the Main-Top-Mast, looking out if he could see any Land; a certain Ball of Fire began to stand by him, which is the worst Sign in the World to Sailors, if it be single; but a very good one, if double. The Antients believed these to be _Ant._ What have they to do with Sailors, one of which was a Horseman, and the other a Prize-Fighter?
_Adol._ It was the Pleasure of Poets, so to feign. The Steersman who sat at the Helm, calls to him, Mate, says he, (for so Sailors call one another) don't you see what a Companion you have by your Side? I do see, says he, and I pray that he may be a lucky one. By and by this fiery Ball glides down the Ropes, and rolls itself over and over close to the Pilot.
_Ant._ And was not he frighted out of his Wits?
_Adol._ Sailors are us'd to terrible Sights. It stopp'd a little there, then roll'd itself all round the Sides of the Ship; after that, slipping through the Hatches, it vanished away. About Noon the Storm began to increase. Did you ever see the _Alps_?
_Ant._ I have seen them.
_Adol._ Those Mountains are Mole Hills, if they be compar'd to the Waves of the Sea. As oft as we were toss'd up, one might have touch'd the Moon with his Finger; and as oft as we were let fall down into the Sea, we seem'd to be going directly down to Hell, the Earth gaping to receive us.
_Ant._ O mad Folks, that trust themselves to the Sea!
_Adol._ The Mariners striving in Vain with the Storm, at length the Pilot, all pale as Death comes to us.
_Ant._ That Paleness presages some great Evil.
_Adol._ My Friends, says he, I am no longer Master of my Ship, the Wind has got the better of me; all that we have now to do is to place our Hope in God, and every one to prepare himself for Death.
_Ant._ This was cold Comfort.
_Adol._ But in the first Place, says he, we must lighten the Ship; Necessity requires it, tho' 'tis a hard Portion. It is better to endeavour to save our Lives with the Loss of our Goods, than to perish with them. The Truth persuaded, and a great many Casks of rich Merchandize were thrown over-Board. _Ant._ This was casting away, according to the Letter.
_Adol._ There was in the Company, a certain _Italian_, that had been upon an Embassy to the King of _Scotland_. He had a whole Cabinet full of Plate, Rings, Cloth, and rich wearing Apparel.
_Ant._ And he, I warrant ye, was unwilling to come to a Composition with the Sea.
_Adol._ No, he would not; he had a Mind either to sink or swim with his beloved Riches.
_Ant._ What said the Pilot to this?
_Adol._ If you and your Trinkets were to drown by yourselves, says he, here's no Body would hinder you; but it is not fit that we should run the Risque of our Lives, for the Sake of your Cabinet: If you won't consent, we'll throw you and your Cabinet into the Sea together.
_Ant._ Spoken like a Tarpawlin.
_Adol._ So the Italian submitted, and threw his Goods over-Board, with many a bitter Curse to the Gods both above and below, that he had committed his Life to so barbarous an Element.
_Ant._ I know the Italian Humour.
_Adol._ The Winds were nothing the less boisterous for our Presents, but by and by burst our Cordage, and threw down our Sails.
_Ant._ Lamentable!
_Adol._ Then the Pilot comes to us again.
_Ant._ What, with another Preachment?
_Adol._ He gives us a Salute; my Friends, says he, the Time exhorts us that every one of us should recommend himself to God, and prepare for Death. Being ask'd by some that were not ignorant in Sea Affairs, how long he thought the Ship might be kept above Water, he said, he could promise nothing, but that it could not be done above three Hours.
_Ant._ This was yet a harder Chapter than the former.
_Adol._ When he had said this, he orders to cut the Shrouds and the Mast down by the Board, and to throw them, Sails and all, into the Sea.
_Ant._ Why was this done?
_Adol._ Because, the Sail either being gone or torn, it would only be a Burden, but not of Use; all our Hope was in the Helm.
_Ant._ What did the Passengers do in the mean Time?
_Adol._ There you might have seen a wretched Face of Things; the Mariners, they were singing their _Salve Regina_, imploring the Virgin Mother, calling her the Star of the Sea, the Queen of Heaven, the Lady of the World, the Haven of Health, and many other flattering Titles, which the sacred Scriptures never attributed to her.
_Ant._ What has she to do with the Sea, who, as I believe, never went a Voyage in her Life?
_Adol._ In ancient Times, _Venus_ took Care of Mariners, because she was believ'd to be born of the Sea and because she left off to take Care of them, the Virgin Mother was put in her Place, that was a Mother, but not a Virgin.
_Ant._ You joke.
_Adol._ Some were lying along upon the Boards, worshipping the Sea, pouring all they had into it, and flattering it, as if it had been some incensed Prince.
_Ant._ What did they say?
_Adol._ O most merciful Sea! O most generous Sea! O most rich Sea! O most beautiful Sea, be pacified, save us; and a Deal of such Stuff they sung to the deaf Ocean.
_Ant._ Ridiculous Superstition! What did the rest do?
_Adol._ Some did nothing but spew, and some made Vows. There was an _Englishman_ there, that promis'd golden Mountains to our Lady of _Walsingham_, so he did but get ashore alive. Others promis'd a great many Things to the Wood of the Cross, which was in such a Place; others again, to that which was in such a Place; and the same was done by the Virgin _Mary_, which reigns in a great many Places, and they think the Vow is of no Effect, unless the Place be mentioned.
_Ant._ Ridiculous! As if the Saints did not dwell in Heaven.
_Adol._ Some made Promises to become _Carthusians_. There was one who promised he would go a _Pilgrimage_ to St. _James_ at _Compostella_, bare Foot and bare Head, cloth'd in a Coat of Mail, and begging his Bread all the Way.
_Ant._ Did no Body make any Mention of St. _Christopher_?
_Adol._ Yes, I heard one, and I could not forbear laughing, who bawling out aloud, lest St. _Christopher_ should not hear him, promised him, who is at the Top of a Church at _Paris_, rather a Mountain than a Statue, a wax Taper as big as he was himself: When he had bawl'd out this over and over as loud as he could, an Acquaintance of his jogg'd him on the Elbow, and caution'd him: Have a Care what you promise, for if you should sell all you have in the World, you will not be able to pay for it. He answer'd him softly, lest St. _Christopher_ should hear him, you Fool, says he, do you think I mean as I speak, if I once got safe to Shore, I would not give him so much as a tallow Candle.
_Adol._ No, he was a _Zealander_.
_Ant._ I wonder no Body thought of St. _Paul_, who has been at Sea, and having suffered Shipwreck, leapt on Shore. For he being not unacquainted with the Distress, knows how to pity those that are in it.
_Adol._ He was not so much as named.
_Ant._ Were they at their Prayers all the While?
_Adol._ Ay, as if it had been for a Wager. One sung his _Hail Queen_; another, _I believe in God_. There were some who had certain particular Prayers not unlike magical Charms against Dangers.
_Ant._ How Affliction makes Men religious! In Prosperity we neither think of God nor Saint. But what did you do all this While? Did you not make Vows to some Saints?
_Adol._ No, none at all.
_Ant._ Why so?
_Adol._ I make no Bargains with Saints. For what is this but a Bargain in Form? I'll give you, if you do so and so; or I will do so and so, if you do so and so: I'll give you a wax Taper, if I swim out alive; I'll go to _Rome_, if you save me.
_Ant._ But did you call upon none of the Saints for Help?
_Adol._ No, not so much as that neither.
_Ant._ Why so?
_Adol._ Because Heaven is a large Place, and if I should recommend my Safety to any Saint, as suppose, to St. _Peter_, who perhaps, would hear soonest, because he stands at the Door; before he can come to God Almighty, or before he could tell him my Condition, I may be lost.
_Ant._ What did you do then?
_Adol._ I e'en went the next Way to God the Father, saying, _Our Father which art in Heaven_. There's none of the Saints hears sooner than he does, or more readily gives what is ask'd for.
_Ant._ But in the mean Time did not your Conscience check you? Was you not afraid to call him Father, whom you had offended with so many Wickednesses?
_Adol._ To speak ingenuously, my Conscience did a little terrify me at first, but I presently took Heart again, thus reasoning with myself; There is no Father so angry with his Son, but if he sees him in Danger of being drowned in a River or Pond, he will take him, tho' it be by the Hair of the Head, and throw him out upon a Bank. There was no Body among them all behaved herself more composed than a Woman, who had a Child sucking at her Breast.
_Ant._ What did she do?
_Adol._ She only neither bawl'd, nor wept, nor made Vows, but hugging her little Boy, pray'd softly. In the mean Time the Ship dashing ever and anon against the Ground, the Pilot being afraid she would be beat all to Pieces, under-girded her with Cables from Head to Stern.
_Ant._ That was a sad Shift!
_Adol._ Upon this, up starts an old Priest about threescore Years of Age, his Name was _Adam_. He strips himself to his Shirt, throws away his Boots and Shoes, and bids us all in like Manner to prepare ourselves for swimming. Then standing in the middle of the Ship, he preach'd a Sermon to us, upon the five Truths of the Benefit of Confession, and exhorted every Man to prepare himself, for either Life or Death. There was a _Dominican_ there too, and they confess'd those that had a Mind to it.
_Ant._ What did you do?
_Adol._ I seeing that every thing was in a Hurry, confess'd privately to God, condemning before him my Iniquity, and imploring his Mercy.
_Ant._ And whither should you have gone, do you think, if you had perished?
_Adol._ I left that to God, who is my Judge; I would not be my own Judge. But I was not without comfortable Hopes neither. While these Things were transacting, the Steersman comes to us again all in Tears; Prepare your selves every one of you, says he, for the Ship will be of no Service to us for a quarter of an Hour. For now she leak'd in several Places. Presently after this he brings us Word that he saw a Steeple a good Way off, and exhorts us to implore the Aid of that Saint, whoever it was, who had the protection of that Temple. They all fall down and pray to the unknown Saint.
_Ant._ Perhaps he would have heard ye, if ye had call'd upon him by his Name.
_Adol._ But that we did not know. In the mean Time the Pilate steers the Ship, torn and leaking every where, and ready to fall in Pieces, if she had not been undergirt with Cables, as much as he could toward that Place.
_Ant._ A miserable Condition.
_Adol._ We were now come so near the Shoar, that the Inhabitants of the Place could see us in Distress, and ran down in Throngs to the utmost Edge of the Shoar, and holding up Gowns and Hats upon Spears, invited us to make towards them, and stretching out their Arms towards Heaven, signified to us that they pitied our Misfortune.
_Ant._ I long to know what happened.
_Adol._ The Ship was now every where full of Water, that we were no safer in the Ship than if we had been in the Sea.
_Ant._ Now was your Time to betake yourself to divine Help.
_Adol._ Ay, to a wretched one. The Sailors emptied the Ship's Boat of Water, and let it down into the Sea. Every Body was for getting into it, the Mariners cry'd out amain, they'll sink the Boat, it will not hold so many; that every one should take what he could get, and swim for it.
There was no Time now for long Deliberation. One gets an Oar, another a Pole, another a Gutter, another a Bucket, another a Plank, and every one relying upon their Security, they commit themselves to the Billows.
_Ant._ But what became of the Woman that was the only Person that made no Bawling?
_Adol._ She got to Shoar the first of them all.
_Ant._ How could she do that?
_Adol._ We set her upon a broad Plank, and ty'd her on so fast that she could not easily fall off, and we gave her a Board in her Hand to make Use of instead of an Oar, and wishing her good Success, we set her afloat, thrusting her off from the Ship with Poles, that she might be clear of it, whence was the greatest Danger. And she held her Child in her left Hand, and row'd with her right Hand.
_Ant._ O _Virago_!
_Adol._ Now when there was nothing else left, one pull'd up a wooden Image of the Virgin _Mary_, rotten, and rat-eaten, and embracing it in his Arms, try'd to swim upon it.
_Ant._ Did the Boat get safe to Land?
_Adol._ None perish'd sooner than they that were in that, and there were above thirty that had got into it.
_Ant._ By what bad Accident was that brought about?
_Adol._ It was overset by the rolling of the Ship, before they could get clear of it.
_Ant._ A sad Accident: But how then?
_Adol._ While I was taking Care for others, I had like to have been lost myself.
_Ant._ How so?
_Adol._ Because there was nothing left that was fit for swimming.
_Ant._ There Corks would have been of good Use.
_Adol._ In that Condition I would rather have had a sorry Cork than a gold Candlestick. I look'd round about me, at Length I bethought myself of the Stump of the Mast, and because I could not get it out alone, I took a Partner; upon this we both plac'd ourselves, and committed ourselves to the Sea. I held the right End, and my Companion the left End. While we lay tumbling and tossing, the old preaching Sea-Priest threw himself upon our Shoulders. He was a huge Fellow. We cry out, who's that third Person? He'll drown us all. But he very calmly bids us be easy, for there was Room enough, God will be with us.
_Ant._ How came he to be so late?
_Adol._ He was to have been in the Boat with the _Dominican_. For they all paid him this Deference. But tho' they had confess'd themselves in the Ship, yet having forgotten I know not what Circumstances, they confess'd over again at the Ship-Side, and each lays his Hand upon the other, and while this was doing the Boat was over-turn'd. This I had from _Adam_ himself.
_Ant._ What became of the _Dominican_?
_Adol._ As the same Man told me, having implor'd the Help of his Saints, and stript himself, he threw himself naked into the Sea.
_Ant._ What Saints did he call upon?
_Adol._ St. _Dominick_, St. _Thomas_, St. _Vincent_, and one of the _Peters_, but I can't tell which: But his chief Reliance was upon _Ant._ Did he not remember _Christ_?
_Adol._ Not, as the old Priest told me.
_Ant._ He would have swam better if he had thrown off his sanctified Coul: But if that had been laid aside, how should _Catherine_ of _Siena_ have known him? But go on and tell me about yourself.
_Adol._ While we were yet tumbling and tossing near the Ship, which roll'd hither and thither at the Mercy of the Waves, the Thigh of him that held the left End of the Stump of the Mast was broken by a great Spike, and so that made him let go his Hold. The old Priest wishing him everlasting Rest, took his Place, encouraging me to maintain my Post on the right Hand resolutely, and to strike out my Feet stoutly. In the mean Time we drank in abundance of salt Water. For _Neptune_ had provided us not only a salt Bath, but a salt Potion too, altho' the old Priest prescribed a Remedy for it.
_Ant._ What was that?
_Adol._ Why, as often as a Billow met us, he turn'd his Head and shut his Mouth.
_Ant._ You tell me of a brave old Fellow.
_Adol._ When we had been some Time swimming at this Rate, and had made some Way, the old Priest being a very tall Man, cries out, Be of good Heart, I feel Ground; but I durst not hope for such a Blessing. No, no, says I, we are too far from Shoar to hope to feel Ground. Nay, says he, I feel the Ground with my Feet. Said I, perhaps it is some of the Chests that have been roll'd thither by the Sea. Nay, says he, I am sure I feel Ground by the Scratching of my Toes. Having floated thus a little longer, and he had felt the Bottom again, Do you do what you please, says he, I'll leave you the whole Mast, and wade for it. And so he took his Opportunity, at the Ebbing of the Billows, he made what Haste he could on his Feet, and when the Billows came again, he took Hold of his Knees with his Hands, and bore up against the Billows, hiding himself under them as Sea Gulls and Ducks do, and at the Ebbing of the Wave, he would start up and run for it. I seeing that this succeeded so well to him, followed his Example. There stood upon the Shoar Men, who had long Pikes handed from one to another, which kept them firm against the Force of the Waves, strong bodied Men, and accustom'd to the Waves, and he that was last of them held out a Pike to the Person swimming towards him. All that came to Shoar, and laying hold of that, were drawn safely to dry Land. Some were sav'd this Way.
_Ant._ How many?
_Adol._ Seven. But two of these fainted away being brought to the Fire.
_Ant._ How many were in the Ship?
_Ant._ O cruel Sea. At least it might have been content with the Tithes, which are enough for Priests. Did it restore so few out of so great a Number?
_Adol._ There we had Experience of the wonderful Humanity of the Nation, that supply'd us with all Necessaries with exceeding Chearfulness; as Lodging, Fire, Victuals, Cloaths, and Money to bear our Charges when we went away.
_Ant._ What Country was it?
_Adol. Holland._ _Ant._ There's no Nation more human, altho' they are encompass'd with such fierce Nations. I fancy you won't be for going to Sea again.
_Adol._ No, unless God shall please to deprive me of my Reason.
_Ant._ I would rather hear such Stories than feel them.
_DIVERSORIA._ The ARGUMENT.
_This Colloquy shews the various Customs of Nations and their Civility in treating Strangers. An Inn at_ Leyden _where are nothing but Women. The Manners of the_ French _Inns, who are us'd to tell Stories, and break Jests.
The_ Germans, _far more uncivil in treating Travellers, being rude, and wholly inhospitable: The Guests look after their own Horses: The Method of receiving them into the Stove: They provide no Supper, till they know how many Guests they shall have: All that come that Night, sit down to Supper together: All pay alike, tho' one drinks twice as much Wine as another does._ BERTULPH and WILLIAM.
_Bert._ I wonder what is the Fancy of a great many, for staying two or three Days at _Lyons_? When I have once set out on a Journey, I an't at Rest till I come to my Journey's End.
_Will._ Nay, I wonder as much, that any Body can get away from thence.
_Bert._ But why so?
_Will._ Because that's a Place the Companions of _Ulysses_ could not have got away from. There are _Sirens_. No Body is better entertain'd at his own House, than he is there at an Inn.
_Bert._ What is done there?
_Will._ There's a Woman always waiting at Table, which makes the Entertainment pleasant with Railleries, and pleasant Jests. And the Women are very handsome there. First the Mistress of the House came and bad us Welcome, and to accept kindly what Fare we should have; after her, comes her Daughter, a very fine Woman, of so handsome a Carriage, and so pleasant in Discourse, that she would make even _Cato_ himself merry, were he there: And they don't talk to you as if you were perfect Strangers, but as those they have been a long Time acquainted with, and familiar Friends.
_Bert._ O, I know the _French_ Way of Civility very well.
_Will._ And because they can't be always with you, by Reason of the other Affairs of the House, and the welcoming of other Guests, there comes a Lass, that supplies the Place of the Daughter, till she is at Leisure to return again. This Lass is so well instructed in the Knack of Repartees, that she has a Word ready for every Body, and no Conceit comes amiss to her. The Mother, you must know, was somewhat in Years.
_Bert._ But what was your Table furnish'd with? For Stories fill no Bellies.
_Will._ Truly, so splendid, that I was amaz'd that they could afford to entertain their Guests so, for so small a Price. And then after Dinner, they entertain a Man with such facetious Discourse, that one cannot be tired; that I seemed to be at my own House, and not in a strange Place.
_Bert._ And how went Matters in your Chambers?
_Will._ Why, there was every where some pretty Lass or other, giggling and playing wanton Tricks? They ask'd us if we had any foul Linnen to wash; which they wash and bring to us again: In a word, we saw nothing there but young Lasses and Women, except in the Stable, and they would every now and then run in there too. When you go away, they embrace ye, and part with you with as much Affection, as if you were their own Brothers, or near Kinsfolks.
_Bert._ This Mode perhaps may become the _French_, but methinks the Way of the _Germans_ pleases me better, which is more manly.
_Will._ I never have seen _Germany_; therefore, pray don't think much to tell how they entertain a Traveller.
_Bert._ I can't tell whether the Method of entertaining be the same every where; but I'll tell you what I saw there. No Body bids a Guest welcome, lest he should seem to court his Guests to come to him, for that they look upon to be sordid and mean, and not becoming the German Gravity. When you have called a good While at the Gate, at Length one puts his Head out of the Stove Window (for they commonly live in Stoves till Midsummer) like a Tortoise from under his Shell: Him you must ask if you can have any Lodging there; if he does not say no, you may take it for granted, that there is Room for you. When you ask where the Stable is, he points to it; there you may curry your Horse as you please yourself, for there is no Servant will put a Hand to it. If it be a noted Inn, there is a Servant shews you the Stable, and a Place for your Horse, but incommodious enough; for they keep the best Places for those that shall come afterwards; especially for Noblemen. If you find Fault with any Thing, they tell you presently, if you don't like, look for another Inn. In their Cities, they allow Hay, but very unwillingly and sparingly, and that is almost as dear as Oats. When you have taken Care of your Horse, you come whole into the Stove, Boots, Baggage, Dirt and all, for that is a common Room for all Comers.
_Will._ In _France_, they appoint you a separate Chamber, where you may change your Cloaths, clean and warm your self, or take Rest if you have a Mind to it.
_Bert._ There's nothing of that here. In the Stove, you pull off your Boots, put on your Shoes, and if you will, change your Shirt, hang up your wet Cloths near the Stove Iron, and get near it to dry yourself.
There's Water provided for you to wash your Hands, if you will; but as for the Cleanness of it, it is for the most Part such that you will want another Water to wash that off.
_Will._ I commend this Sort of People, that have nothing of Effeminacy in them.
_Bert._ If you come in at four a-Clock in the Afternoon, you must not go to Supper till nine, and sometimes not till ten.
_Will._ Why so?
_Bert._ They never make any Thing ready till they see all their Company together, that one Trouble may serve for all.
_Will._ They are for taking the shortest Way.
_Bert._ You are right; so that oftentimes, there come all together into the same Stove, eighty or ninety Foot-Men, Horse-Men, Merchants, Marriners, Waggoners, Husband-Men, Children, Women, sick and sound.
_Will._ This is having all Things in common.
_Bert._ There one combs his Head, another wipes off his Sweat, another cleans his Spatterdashes or Boots, another belches Garlick; and in short, there is as great a Confusion of Tongues and Persons, as there was at the Building the Tower of _Babel_. And if they see any Body of another Country, who by his Habit looks like a Man of Quality, they all stare at him so wistfully, as if he was a Sort of strange Animal brought out of _Africa_. And when they are set at Table, and he behind them, they will be still looking back at him, and be staring him in the Face, till they have forgot their Suppers.
_Will._ At _Rome_, _Paris_ or _Venice_, there's no Body thinks any Thing strange.
_Bert._ In the mean Time, 'tis a Crime for you to call for any Thing.
When it is grown pretty late, and they don't expect any more Guests, out comes an old grey-bearded Servant, with his Hair cut short, and a crabbed Look, and a slovenly Dress.
_Will._ Such Fellows ought to be Cup-Bearers to the Cardinals at _Rome_.
_Bert._ He having cast his Eyes about, counts to himself, how many there are in the Stove; the more he sees there, the more Fire he makes in the Stove although it be at a Time when the very Heat of the Sun would be troublesome; and this with them, is accounted a principal Part of good Entertainment, to make them all sweat till they drop again. If any one who is not used to the Steam, shall presume to open the Window never so little, that he be not stifled, presently they cry out to shut it again: If you answer you are not able to bear it, you'll presently hear, get you another Inn then.
_Will._ But in my Opinion, nothing is more dangerous, than for so many to draw in the same Vapour; especially when their Bodies are opened with the Heat; and to eat in the same Place, and to stay there so many Hours, not to mention the belching of Garlick, the Farting, the stinking Breaths, for many have secret Distempers, and every Distemper has its Contagion; and without doubt, many have the _Spanish_, or as it is call'd, the _French_ Pox, although it is common to all Nations. And it is my Opinion, there is as much Danger from such Persons, as there is from those that have the Leprosy. Tell me now, what is this short of a Pestilence?
_Bert._ They are Persons of a strong Constitution, and laugh at, and disregard those Niceties.
_Will._ But in the mean Time, they are bold at the Perils of other Men.
_Bert._ What would you do in this Case? 'Tis what they have been used to, and it is a Part of a constant Mind, not to depart from a Custom.
_Will._ And yet, within these five and twenty Years, nothing was more in Vogue in _Brabant_, than hot Baths, but now they are every where grown out of Use; but the new Scabbado has taught us to lay them down.
_Bert._ Well, but hear the rest: By and by, in comes our bearded _Ganymede_ again, and lays on the Table as many Napkins as there are Guests: But, good God! not Damask ones, but such as you'd take to have been made out of old Sails. There are at least eight Guests allotted to every Table. Now those that know the Way of the Country, take their Places, every one as he pleases, for there's no Difference between Poor or Rich, between the Master and Servant.
_Will._ This was that ancient Equality which now the Tyrant Custom has driven quite out of the World. I suppose Christ liv'd after this Manner with his Disciples.
_Bert._ After they are all plac'd, out comes the sour-look'd _Ganymede_ again, and counts his Company over again; by and by he comes in again, and brings every Man a Wooden Dish, and a Spoon of the same Silver, and then a Glass; and then a little after he brings Bread, which the Guests may chip every one for themselves at Leisure, while the Porridge is boiling. For sometimes they sit thus for near an Hour.
_Will._ Do none of the Guests call for Meat in the mean Time?
_Bert._ None who knows the Way of the Country. At last the Wine is set upon the Table: Good God! how far from being tasteless? So thin and sharp, that Sophisters ought to drink no other. And if any of the Guests should privately offer a Piece of Money to get a little better Wine some where else; at first they'll say nothing to you, but give you a Look, as if they were going to murder you; and if you press it farther, they answer you, there have been so many Counts and Marquisses that have lodg'd here, and none of them ever found fault with this Wine: If you don't like it, get you another Inn. They account only the Noblemen of their own Nation to be Men, and where-ever you come, they are shewing you their Arms. By this time, comes a Morsel to pacify a barking Stomach: And by and by follow the Dishes in great Pomp; commonly the first has Sippits of Bread in Flesh Broth, or if it be a Fish Day, in a Soup of Pulse. After that comes in another Soup, and then a Service of Butcher's Meat, that has been twice boil'd, or salt Meats warm'd again, and then Pulse again, and by and by something of more solid Food, until their Stomachs being pretty well staid, they bring roast Meat or stewed Fish, which is not to be at all contemn'd; but this they are sparing of, and take it away again quickly. This is the Manner they order the Entertainment, as Comedians do, who intermingle Dances among their Scenes, so do they their Chops and Soups by Turns: But they take Care that the last Act shall be the best.
_Will._ This is the Part of a good Poet.
_Bert._ And it would be a heinous Offence, if in the mean Time any Body should say, Take away this Dish, there's no Body eats. You must sit your Time appointed, which I think they measure by the Hour-Glass. At length, out comes that bearded Fellow, or the Landlord himself, in a Habit but little differing from his Servants, and asks how cheer you? And by and by some better Wine is brought. And they like those best that drink most, tho' he that drinks most pays no more than he that drinks least.
_Will._ A strange Temper of the Nation!
_Bert._ There are some of them that drink twice as much Wine as they pay for their Ordinary. But before I leave this Entertainment, it is wonderful what a Noise and Chattering there is, when once they come to be warm with Wine. In short, it deafens a Man. They oftentimes bring in a Mixture of Mimicks, which these People very much delight in, tho' they are a detestable Sort of Men. There's such a singing, prating, bawling, jumping, and knocking, that you would think the Stove were falling upon your Head, and one Man can't hear another speak. And this they think is a pleasant Way of living, and there you must sit in Spight of your Heart till near Midnight.
_Will._ Make an End of your Meal now, for I myself am tir'd with such a tedious one.
_Bert._ Well, I will. At length the Cheese is taken away, which scarcely pleases them, except it be rotten and full of Maggots. Then the old bearded Fellow comes again with a Trencher, and a many Circles and semi-Circles drawn upon it with Chalk, this he lays down upon the Table, with a grim Countenance, and without speaking. You would say he was some _Charon_. They that understand the Meaning of this lay down their Money one after another till the Trencher is fill'd. Having taken Notice of those who lay down, he reckons it up himself, and if all is paid, he gives you a Nod.
_Will._ But what if there should be any Thing over and above?