_Bert._ Perhaps he'll give it you again, and they oftentimes do so.
_Will._ Does no Body find fault with the Reckoning?
_Bert._ No Body that is wise. For they will say, what Sort of a Fellow are you? You pay no more than the rest.
_Will._ This is a frank Sort of Men, you are speaking of.
_Bert._ If any one is weary with his Journey, and desires to go to Bed as soon as he has supp'd, he is bid to stay till the rest go too.
_Will._ This seems to me to be _Plato_'s City.
_Bert._ Then every one is shew'd to his Chamber, and truly 'tis nothing else but a Chamber, there is only a Bed there, and nothing else that you can either make Use of or steal.
_Will._ Are Things very clean there?
_Bert._ As clean as they were at the Table. Sheets wash'd perhaps six Months ago.
_Will._ What becomes of your Horses all this While?
_Bert._ They are treated after the Manner that the Men are.
_Will._ But is there the same Treatment every where.
_Bert._ It is a little more civil in some Places, and worse in others, than I have told you; but in general it is thus.
_Will._ What if I should now tell you how they treat their Guests in that Part of _Italy_ call'd _Lombardy_, and in _Spain_, and in _England_, and in _Wales_, for the _English_ have the Manners both of the _French_ and the _Germans_, being a Mixture of those two Nations.
The _Welsh_ boast themselves to be the original _English_.
_Bert._ Pray relate it. I never had the Opportunity of travelling in them.
_Will._ I have not Leisure now, and the Master of the Ship bid me be on board by three a Clock, unless I would lose my Passage. Another Time we shall have an Opportunity of prating our Bellies full.
_The YOUNG MAN and HARLOT._ The ARGUMENT.
_This is certainly a divine Colloquy, that makes even a Bawdy-House a chaste Place! God can't be deceiv'd, his Eyes penetrate into the most secret Places. That young Persons ought in an especial Manner to take Care of their Chastity. A young Woman, who made herself common to get a Livelihood, is recovered from that Course of Life, as wretched as it is scandalous._ LUCRETIA, SOPHRONIUS.
_Lu._ O brave! My pretty _Sophronius_, have I gotten you again? It is an Age methinks since I saw you. I did not know you at first Sight.
_So._ Why so, my _Lucretia_?
_Lu._ Because you had no Beard when you went away, but you're come back with something of a Beard. What's the Matter, my little Heart, you look duller than you use to do?
_So._ I want to have a little Talk with you in private.
_Lu._ Ah, ah, are we not by ourselves already, my Cocky?
_So._ Let us go out of the Way somewhere, into a more private Place.
_Lu._ Come on then, we'll go into my inner Bed-Chamber, if you have a Mind to do any Thing.
_So._ I don't think this Place is private enough yet.
_Lu._ How comes it about you're so bashful all on a sudden? Well, come, I have a Closet where I lay up my Cloaths, a Place so dark, that we can scarce see one another there.
_So._ See if there be no Chink.
_Lu._ There is not so much as a Chink.
_So._ Is there no Body near to hear us?
_Lu._ Not so much as a Fly, my Dear; Why do you lose Time?
_So._ Can we escape the Eye of God here?
_Lu._ No, he sees all Things clearly.
_So._ And of the Angels?
_Lu._ No, we cannot escape their Sight.
_So._ How comes it about then, that Men are not asham'd to do that in the Sight of God, and before the Face of the holy Angels, that they would be ashamed to do before Men?
_Lu._ What Sort of an Alteration is this? Did you come hither to preach a Sermon? Prithee put on a _Franciscan_'s Hood, and get up into a Pulpit, and then we'll hear you hold forth, my little bearded Rogue.
_So._ I should not think much to do that, if I could but reclaim you from this Kind of Life, that is the most shameful and miserable Life in the World.
_Lu._ Why so, good Man? I am born, and I must be kept; every one must live by his Calling. This is my Business; this is all I have to live on.
_So._ I wish with all my Heart, my _Lucretia_, that setting aside for a While that Infatuation of Mind, you would seriously weigh the Matter.
_Lu._ Keep your Preachment till another Time; now let us enjoy one another, my _Sophronius_.
_So._ You do what you do for the Sake of Gain.
_Lu._ You are much about the Matter.
_So._ Thou shalt lose nothing by it, do but hearken to me, and I'll pay you four Times over.
_Lu._ Well, say what you have a Mind to say.
_So._ Answer me this Question in the first Place: Are there any Persons that owe you any ill Will?
_Lu._ Not one.
_So._ Is there any Body that you have a Spleen against?
_Lu._ According as they deserve.
_So._ And if you could do any Thing that would gratify them, would you do it?
_Lu._ I would poison 'em sooner.
_So._ But then do but consider with yourself; is there any Thing that you can do that gratifies them more than to let them see you live this shameful and wretched Life? And what is there thou canst do that would be more afflicting to them that wish thee well?
_Lu._ It is my Destiny.
_So._ Now that which uses to be the greatest Hardship to such as are transported, or banish'd into the most remote Parts of the World, this you undergo voluntarily.
_Lu._ What is that?
_So._ Hast thou not of thy own Accord renounc'd all thy Affections to Father, Mother, Brother, Sisters, Aunts, (by Father's and Mother's Side) and all thy Relations? For thou makest them all asham'd to own thee, and thyself asham'd to come into their Sight.
_Lu._ Nay, I have made a very happy Exchange of Affections; for instead of a few, now I have a great many, of which you are one, and whom I have always esteem'd as a Brother.
_So._ Leave off Jesting, and consider the Matter seriously, as it really is. Believe me, my _Lucretia_, she who has so many Friends, has never a one, for they that follow thee do it not as a Friend, but as a House of Office rather. Do but consider, poor Thing, into what a Condition thou hast brought thyself. _Christ_ lov'd thee so dearly as to redeem thee with his own Blood, and would have thee be a Partaker with him in an heavenly Inheritance, and thou makest thyself a common Sewer, into which all the base, nasty, pocky Fellows resort, and empty their Filthiness.
And if that leprous Infection they call the _French_ Pox han't yet seiz'd thee, thou wilt not escape it long. And if once thou gettest it, how miserable wilt thou be, though all things should go favourably on thy Side? I mean thy Substance and Reputation. Thou wouldest be nothing but a living Carcase. Thou thoughtest much to obey thy Mother, and now thou art a mere Slave to a filthy Bawd. You could not endure to hear your Parents Instructions; and here you are often beaten by drunken Fellows and mad Whoremasters. It was irksome to thee to do any Work at Home, to get a Living; but here, how many Quarrels art thou forc'd to endure, and how late a Nights art thou oblig'd to sit up?
_Lu._ How came you to be a Preacher?
_So._ And do but seriously consider, this Flower of thy Beauty that now brings thee so many Gallants, will soon fade: And then, poor Creature, what wilt thou do? Thou wilt be piss'd upon by every Body. It may be, thou thinkest, instead of a Mistress, I'll then be a Bawd. All Whores can't attain to that, and if thou shouldst, what Employment is more impious, and more like the Devil himself?
_Lu._ Why, indeed, my _Sophronius_, almost all you say is very true. But how came you to be so religious all of a sudden? Thou usedst to be the greatest Rake in the World, one of 'em. No Body used to come hither more frequently, nor at more unseasonable Hours than you did. I hear you have been at _Rome_.
_So._ I have so.
_Lu._ Well, but other People use to come from thence worse than they went: How comes it about, it is otherwise with you?
_So._ I'll tell you, because I did not go to _Rome_ with the same Intent, and after the same Manner that others do. Others commonly go to _Rome_, on purpose to come Home worse, and there they meet with a great many Opportunities of becoming so. I went along with an honest Man, by whose Advice, I took along with me a Book instead of a Bottle: The New Testament with _Erasmus_'s Paraphrase.
_Lu._ _Erasmus_'s? They say that he's Half a Heretick.
_So._ Has his Name reached to this Place too?
_Lu._ There's no Name more noted among us.
_So._ Did you ever see him?
_Lu._ No, I never saw him; but I should be glad to see him; I have heard so many bad Reports of him.
_So._ It may be you have heard 'em, from them that are bad themselves.
_Lu._ Nay, from Men of the Gown.
_So._ Who are they?
_Lu._ It is not convenient to name Names.
_So._ Why so?
_Lu._ Because if you should blab it out, and it should come to their Ears, I should lose a great many good Cullies.
_So._ Don't be afraid, I won't speak a Word of it.
_Lu._ I will whisper then.
_So._ You foolish Girl, what Need is there to whisper, when there is no Body but ourselves? What, lest God should hear? Ah, good God! I perceive you're a religious Whore, that relievest Mendicants.
_Lu._ I get more by them Beggars than by you rich Men.
_So._ They rob honest Women, to lavish it away upon naughty Strumpets.
_Lu._ But go on, as to your Book.
_So._ So I will, and that's best. In that Book, Paul, that can't lie, told me, that _neither Whores nor Whore-mongers shall obtain the Kingdom of Heaven_. When I read this, I began thus to think with myself: It is but a small Matter that I look for from my Father's Inheritance, and yet I can renounce all the Whores in the World, rather than be disinherited by my Father; how much more then ought I to take Care, lest my heavenly Father should disinherit me? And human Laws do afford some Relief in the Case of a Father's disinheriting or discarding a Son: But here is no Provision at all made, in case of God's disinheriting; and upon that, I immediately ty'd myself up from all Conversation with lewd Women.
_Lu._ It will be well if you can hold it.
_So._ It is a good Step towards Continence, to desire to be so. And last of all, there is one Remedy left, and that is a Wife. When I was at _Rome_, I empty'd the whole Jakes of my Sins into the Bosom of a Confessor. And he exhorted me very earnestly to Purity, both of Mind and Body, and to the reading of the holy Scripture, to frequent Prayer, and Sobriety of Life, and enjoin'd me no other Penance, but that I should upon my bended Knees before the high Altar say this Psalm, _Have Mercy upon me, O God_: And that if I had any Money, I should give one Penny to some poor Body. And I wondring that for so many whoring Tricks he enjoin'd me so small a Penance, he answer'd me very pleasantly, My Son, says he, if you truly repent and change your Life, I don't lay much Stress upon the Penance; but if thou shalt go on in it, the very Lust itself will at last punish thee very severely, although the Priest impose none upon thee. Look upon me, I am blear-ey'd, troubled with the Palsy, and go stooping: Time was I was such a one as you say you have been heretofore. And thus I repented.
_Lu._ Then as far as I perceive, I have lost my _Sophronius_.
_So._ Nay, you have rather gain'd him, for he was lost before, and was neither his own Friend nor thine: Now he loves thee in Reality, and longs for the Salvation of thy Soul.
_Lu._ What would you have me to do then, my _Sophronius_?
_So._ To leave off that Course of Life out of Hand: Thou art but a Girl yet, and that Stain that you have contracted may be wip'd off in Time.
Either marry, and I'll give you something toward a Portion, or go into some Cloyster, that takes in crakt Maids, or go into some strange Place and get into some honest Family, I'll lend you my Assistance to any of these.
_Lu._ My _Sophronius_, I love thee dearly, look out for one for me, I'll follow thy Advice.
_So._ But in the mean Time get away from hence.
_Lu._ Whoo! what so suddenly!
_So._ Why not to Day rather than to Morrow, if Delays are dangerous?
_Lu._ Whither shall I go?
_So._ Get all your Things together, give 'em to me in the Evening, my Servant shall carry 'em privately to a faithful Matron: And I'll come a little after and take you out as if it were to take a little Walk; you shall live with her some Time upon my Cost till I can provide for you, and that shall be very quickly.
_Lu._ Well, my _Sophronius_, I commit myself wholly to thy Management.
_So._ In Time to come you'll be glad you have done so.
The ARGUMENT.
_The Poetical Feast teaches the Studious how to banquet.
That Thriftiness with Jocoseness, Chearfulness without Obscenity, and learned Stories, ought to season their Feasts. Iambics are bloody. Poets are Men of no great Judgment. The three chief Properties of a good Maid Servant. Fidelity, Deformity, and a high Spirit. A Place out of the Prologue of_ Terence's Eunuchus _is out of_ Seneca. Aliud agere, nihil agere, male agere. _A Place out of the Elenchi of_ Aristotle _is explain'd. A Theme poetically varied, and in a different Metre.
Sentences are taken from Flowers and Trees in the Garden.
Also some Verses are compos'd in_ Greek.
HILARY, LEONARD, CRATO, GUESTS, MARGARET, CARINUS, EUBULUS, SBRULIUS, PARTHENIUS, MUS, _Hilary_'s Servant.
Hi. _Levis apparatus, animus est lautissimus._ Le. _Cænam sinistro es auspicatus omine._ Hi. _Imo absit omen triste. Sed cur hoc putas?_ Le. _Cruenti Iambi haud congruent convivio._ Hi. _I have but slender Fare, but a very liberal Mind._ Le. _You have begun the Banquet with a bad Omen._ Hi. _Away with bad Presages. But why do you think so?_ Le. _Bloody Iambics are not fit for a Feast._ _Cr._ O brave! I am sure the Muses are amongst us, Verses flow so from us, when we don't think of 'em.
_Si rotatiles trochaeos mavelis, en, accipe: Vilis apparatus heic est, animus est lautissimus._ If you had rather have whirling Trochees, lo, here they are for you: Here is but mean Provision, but I have a liberal Mind.
Although Iambics in old Time were made for Contentions and Quarrels, they were afterwards made to serve any Subject whatsoever. O Melons!
Here you have Melons that grew in my own Garden. These are creeping Lettuces of a very milky Juice, like their Name. What Man in his Wits would not prefer these Delicacies before Brawn, Lampreys, and Moor-Hens?
_Cr._ If a Man may be allow'd to speak Truth at a Poetic Banquet, those you call Lettuces are Beets.
_Hi._ God forbid.
_Cr._ It is as I tell you. See the Shape of 'em, and besides where is the milky Juice? Where are their soft Prickles?
_Hi._ Truly you make me doubt. Soho, call the Wench. _Margaret_, you Hag, what did you mean to give us Beets instead of Lettuces?
_Ma._ I did it on Purpose.
_Hi._ What do you say, you Witch?
_Ma._ I had a Mind to try among so many Poets if any could know a Lettuce from a Beet. For I know you don't tell me truly who 'twas that discover'd 'em to be Beets.
_Guests._ _Crato_.
_Ma._ I thought it was no Poet who did it.
_Hi._ If ever you serve me so again, I'll call you _Blitea_ instead of _Margarita_.
_Gu._ Ha, ha, ha.
_Ma._ Your calling me will neither make me fatter nor leaner. He calls me by twenty Names in a Day's Time: When he has a Mind to wheedle me, then I'm call'd _Galatea, Euterpe, Calliope, Callirhoe, Melissa, Venus, Minerva_, and what not? When he's out of Humour at any Thing, then whatsoever comes into his Head in his mad Mood.
_Hi._ Get you gone with your Beets, _Blitea_.
_Ma._ I wonder what you call'd me for.
_Hi._ That you may go whence you came.
_Ma._ 'Tis an old Saying and a true, 'tis an easier Matter to raise the Devil, than 'tis to lay him.
_Gu._ Ha, ha, ha: Very well said. As the Matter is, _Hilary_, you stand in Need of some magic Verse to lay her with.
_Hi._ I have got one ready.
[Greek: Pheugete, kantharides lukos agrios umme diôkei.]
Be gone ye Beetles, for the cruel Wolf pursues you.
_Ma._ What says _Æsop?_ _Cr._ Have a Care, _Hilary_, she'll hit you a Slap on the Face: This is your laying her with your _Greek_ Verse. A notable Conjurer indeed!
_Hi._ _Crato_, What do you think of this Jade? I could have laid ten great Devils with such a Verse as this.
_Ma._ I don't care a Straw for your _Greek_ Verses.
_Hi._ Well then, I must make use of a magical Spell, or, if that won't do, _Mercury's_ Mace.
_Cr._ My _Margaret_, you know we Poets are a Sort of Enthusiasts, I won't say Mad-Men; prithee let me intreat you to let alone this Contention 'till another Time, and treat us with good Humour at this Supper for my Sake.
_Ma._ What does he trouble me with his Verses for? Often when I am to go to Market he has never a Penny of Money to give me, and yet he's a humming of Verses.
_Cr._ Poets are such Sort of Men. But however, prithee do as I say.
_Ma._ Indeed I will do it for your Sake, because I know you are an honest Gentleman, that never beat your Brain about such Fooleries. I wonder how you came to fall into such Company.
_Cr._ How come you to think so?
_Ma._ Because you have a full Nose, sparkling Eyes, and a plump Body.
Now do but see how he leers and sneers at me.
_Cr._ But prithee, Sweet-Heart, keep your Temper for my Sake.
_Ma._ Well, I will go, and 'tis for your Sake and no Body's else.
_Hi._ Is she gone?
_Ma._ Not so far but she can hear you.
_Mus._ She is in the Kitchen, now, muttering something to herself I can't tell what.
_Cr._ I'll assure you your Maid is not dumb.
_Hi._ They say a good Maid Servant ought especially to have three Qualifications; to be honest, ugly, and high-spirited, which the Vulgar call evil. An honest Servant won't waste, an ugly one Sweet-Hearts won't woo, and one that is high-spirited will defend her Master's Right; for sometimes there is Occasion for Hands as well as a Tongue. This Maid of mine has two of these Qualifications, she's as ugly as she's surly; as to her Honesty I can't tell what to say to that.
_Cr._ We have heard her Tongue, we were afraid of her Hands upon your Account.
_Hi._ Take some of these Pompions: We have done with the Lettuces. For I know if I should bid her bring any Lettuces, she would bring Thistles.
Here are Melons too, if any Body likes them better. Here are new Figs too just gather'd, as you may see by the Milk in the Stalks. It is customary to drink Water after Figs, lest they clog the Stomach. Here is very cool clear Spring Water that runs out of this Fountain, that is good to mix with Wine.
_Cr._ But I can't tell whether I had best to mix Water with my Wine, or Wine with Water; this Wine seems to me so likely to have been drawn out of the Muses Fountain.
_Hi._ Such Wine as this is good for Poets to sharpen their Wits. You dull Fellows love heavy Liquors.
_Cr._ I wish I was that happy _Crassus_.
_Hi._ I had rather be _Codrus_ or _Ennius_. And seeing I happen to have the Company of so many learned Guests at my Table, I won't let 'em go away without learning something of 'em. There is a Place in the Prologue of _Eunuchus_ that puzzles many. For most Copies have it thus: _Sic existimet, sciat, Responsum, non dictum esse, quid laesit prior, Qui bene vertendo, et ects describendo male, &c.
Let him so esteem or know, that it is an Answer, not a common Saying; because he first did the Injury, who by well translating and ill describing them, &c._ In these Words I want a witty Sense, and such as is worthy of _Terence_.
For he did not therefore do the Wrong first, because he translated the _Greek_ Comedies badly, but because he had found Fault with _Terence's._ Eu. According to the old Proverb, _He that sings worst let him begin first._ When I was at _London_ in _Thomas Linacre's_ House, who is a Man tho' well skill'd in all Manner of Philosophy, yet he is very ready in all Criticisms in Grammar, he shew'd me a Book of great Antiquity which had it thus: _Sic existimet, stiat, Responsum, non dictum esse, quale sit prius Qui bene vertendo, et eas describendo male, Ex Graecis bonis Latinas fecit non bonas: Idem Menandri Phasma nunc nuper dedit._ The Sentence is so to be ordered, that _quale sit_ may shew that an Example of that which is spoken before is to be subjoin'd. He threatened that he would again find Fault with something in his Comedies who had found Fault with him, and he here denies that it ought to seem a Reproach but an Answer. He that provokes begins the Quarrel; he that being provok'd, replies, only makes his Defence or Answer. He promises to give an Example thereof, _quale sit_, being the same with [Greek: oion] in _Greek_, and _quod genus, veluti_, or _videlicet_, or _puta_ in Latin. Then afterwards he brings a reproof, wherein the Adverb _prius_ hath Relation to another Adverb, as it were a contrary one, which follows, _viz. nuper_ even as the Pronoun _qui_ answers to the Word _idem_. For he altogether explodes the old Comedies of _Lavinius_, because they were now lost out of the Memory of Men. In those which he had lately published, he sets down the certain Places. I think that this is the proper Reading, and the true Sense of the Comedian: If the chief and ordinary Poets dissent not from it.
_Gu._ We are all entirely of your Opinion.
_Eu._ But I again desire to be inform'd by you of one small and very easy Thing, how this Verse is to be scann'd.
_Ex Græcis bonis Latinas fecit non bonas._ Scan it upon your Fingers.
_Hi._ I think that according to the Custom of the Antients _s_ is to be cut off, so that there be an _Anapaestus_ in the second Place.
_Eu._ I should agree to it, but that the Ablative Case ends in _is_, and is long by Nature. Therefore though the Consonant should be taken away, yet nevertheless a long Vowel remains.
_Hi._ You say right.
_Cr._ If any unlearned Person or Stranger should come in, he would certainly think we were bringing up again among ourselves the Countrymens Play of holding up our Fingers (_dimicatione digitorum_, _i.e._ the Play of Love).
_Le._ As far as I see, we scan it upon our Fingers to no Purpose. Do you help us out if you can.
_Eu._ To see how small a Matter sometimes puzzles Men, though they be good Scholars! The Preposition _ex_ belongs to the End of the foregoing Verse.
_Qui bene vertendo, et eas describendo male, ex Graecis bonis Latinas fecit non bonas._ Thus there is no Scruple.
_Le._ It is so, by the Muses. Since we have begun to scan upon our Fingers, I desire that somebody would put this Verse out of _Andria_ into its Feet.
Sine invidia laudem invenias, et amicos pares.
For I have often tri'd and could do no good on't.
_Le. Sine in_ is an Iambic, _vidia_ an Anapæstus, _Laudem in_ is a Spondee, _venias_ an Anapæstus, _et ami_ another Anapæstus.
_Ca._ You have five Feet already, and there are three Syllables yet behind, the first of which is long; so that thou canst neither make it _Le._ Indeed you say true. We are aground; who shall help us off?
_Eu._ No Body can do it better than he that brought us into it. Well, _Carinus_, if thou canst say any Thing to the Matter, don't conceal it from your poor sincere Friends.
_Ca._ If my Memory does not fail me, I think I have read something of this Nature in _Priscian_, who says, that among the Latin Comedians _v_ Consonant is cut off as well as the Vowel, as oftentimes in this Word _enimvero;_ so that the part _enime_ makes an Anapæstus.
_Le._ Then scan it for us.
_Ca._ I'll do it. _Sine inidi_ is a proseleusmatic Foot, unless you had rather have it cut off _i_ by Syneresis, as when _Virgil_ puts _aureo_ at the End of an heroick Verse for _auro._ But if you please let there be a Tribrach in the first Place, _a lau_ is a Spondee, _d'inveni_ a Dactyl, _as et a_ a Dactyl, _micos_ a Spondee, _pares_ an Iambic.
_Sb. Carinus_ hath indeed got us out of these Briars. But in the same Scene there is a Place, which I can't tell whether any Body has taken Notice of or not.
_Hi._ Prithee, let us have it.
_Sb._ There _Simo_ speaks after this Manner.
Sine ut eveniat, quod volo, In Pamphilo ut nihil sit morae, restat Chremes.
_Suppose it happen, as I desire, that there be no delay in_ Pamphilus; Chremes _remains._ What is it that troubles you in these Words?
_Sb. Sine_ being a Term of Threatning, there is nothing follows in this Place that makes for a Threatning. Therefore it is my Opinion that the Poet wrote it, _Sin eveniat, quod volo;_ that _Sin_ may answer to the _Si_ that went before.
_Si propter amorem uxorem nolit ducere._ For the old Man propounds two Parts differing from one another: _Si, &c.
If_ Pamphilus _for the Love of_ Glycerie _refuseth to marry, I shall have some Cause to chide him; but if he shall not refuse, then it remains that I must intreat_ Chremes. Moreover the Interruption of _Sosia_, and _Simo_'s Anger against _Davus_ made too long a Transposition of the Words.
_Hi._ _Mouse_, reach me that Book.
_Cr._ Do you commit your Book to a Mouse?
_Hi._ More safely than my Wine. Let me never stir, if _Sbrulius_ has not spoken the Truth.
_Ca._ Give me the Book, I'll shew you another doubtful Place. This Verse is not found in the Prologue of _Eunuchus_: _Habeo alia multa, quæ nunc condonabuntur._ _I have many other Things, which shall now be delivered._ Although the _Latin_ Comedians especially take great Liberty to themselves in this Kind of Verse, yet I don't remember that they any where conclude a Trimetre with a Spondee, unless it be read _Condonabitur_ impersonally, or _Condonabimus_, changing the Number of the Person.
_Ma._ Oh, this is like Poets Manners indeed! As soon as ever they are set down to Dinner they are at Play, holding up their Fingers, and poring upon their Books. It were better to reserve your Plays and your Scholarship for the second Course.
_Cr. Margaret_ gives us no bad Counsel, we'll humour her; when we have fill'd our Bellies, we'll go to our Play again; now we'll play with our Fingers in the Dish.
_Hi._ Take Notice of Poetick Luxury. You have three Sorts of Eggs, boil'd, roasted, and fry'd; they are all very new, laid within these two Days.
_Par._ I can't abide to eat Butter; if they are fry'd with Oil, I shall like 'em very well.
_Hi._ Boy, go ask _Margaret_ what they are fry'd in.
_Mo._ She says they are fry'd in neither.
_Hi._ What! neither in Butter nor Oil. In what then?
_Mo._ She says they are fry'd in Lye.
_Cr._ She has given you an Answer like your Question. What a great Difficulty 'tis to distinguish Butter from Oil.
_Ca._ Especially for those that can so easily know a Lettuce from a Beet.
_Hi._ Well, you have had the Ovation, the Triumph will follow in Time.
Soho, Boy, look about you, do you perceive nothing to be wanting?
_Mo._ Yes, a great many Things.
_Hi._ These Eggs lack Sauce to allay their Heat.
_Mo._ What Sauce would you have?
_Hi._ Bid her send us some Juice of the Tendrels of a Vine pounded.
_Mo._ I'll tell her, Sir.
_Hi._ What, do you come back empty-handed?
_Mo._ She says, Juice is not used to be squeez'd out of Vine Tendrels.
_Le._ A fine Maid Servant, indeed!
_Sb._ Well, we'll season our Eggs with pleasant Stories. I found a Place in the Epodes of _Horace_, not corrupted as to the Writing, but wrong interpreted, and not only by _Mancinellus_, and other later Writers; but by _Porphyry_ himself. The Place is in the Poem, where he sings a Recantation to the Witch _Canidia_.
_tuusque venter pactumeius, et tuo cruore rubros obstetrix pannos lavit, utcunque fortis exilis puerpera._ For they all take _exilis_ to be a Noun in this Place, when it is a Verb. I'll write down _Porphyry_'s Words, if we can believe 'em to be his: She is _exilis_, says he, under that Form, as though she were become deform'd by Travel; by Slenderness of Body, he means a natural Leanness. A shameful Mistake, if so great a Man did not perceive that the Law of the Metre did contradict this Sense. Nor does the fourth Place admit of a Spondee: but the Poet makes a Jest of it; that she did indeed bear a Child, though she was not long weak, nor kept her Bed long after her Delivery; but presently jumpt out of Bed, as some lusty lying-in Women used to do.
_Hi._ We thank you _Sbrulius_, for giving us such fine Sauce to our Eggs.
_Le._ There is another Thing in the first Book of _Odes_ that is not much unlike this. The _Ode_ begins thus: _Tu ne quæ sieris._ Now the common Reading is thus, _Neu Babylonios Tentaris numeros, ut melius quicquid erit pati_. The antient Interpreters pass this Place over, as if there were no Difficulty in it. Only _Mancinettus_ thinking the Sentence imperfect, bids us add _possis_.
_Sb._ Have you any Thing more that is certain about this Matter?
_Le._ I don't know whether I have or no; but in my Opinion, _Horace_ seems here to have made Use of the _Greek_ Idiom; and this he does more than any other of the Poets. For it is a very common Thing with the _Greeks_, to join an infinitive Mood with the Word [Greek: hôs] and [Greek: hôste]. And so _Horace_ uses _ut pati_, for _ut patiaris_: Although what _Mancinellus_ guesses, is not altogether absurd.
_Hi._ I like what you say very well. Run, _Mouse_, and bring what is to come, if there be any Thing.
_Cr._ What new dainty Dish is this?
_Hi._ This is a Cucumber sliced; this is the Broth of the Pulp of a Gourd boil'd, it is good to make the Belly loose.
_Sb._ Truly a medical feast.
_Hi._ Take it in good Part. There's a Fowl to come out of our Hen-Coop.
_Sb._ We will change thy Name, and call thee _Apicius_, instead of _Hilary_.
_Hi._ Well, laugh now as much as you will, it may be you'll highly commend this Supper to Morrow.
_Sb._ Why so?
_Hi._ When you find that your Dinner has been well season'd.
_Sb._ What, with a good Stomach?
_Hi._ Yes, indeed.
_Cr._ _Hilary_, do you know what Task I would have you take upon you?
_Hi._ I shall know when you have told me.
_Cr._ The Choir sings some Hymns, that are indeed learned ones; but are corrupted in many Places by unlearned Persons. I desire that you would mend 'em; and to give you an Example, we sing thus: _Hostis Herodes impie, Christum venire quid times?_ _Thou wicked Enemy_ Herod, _why dost thou dread the Coming of Christ?_ The mis-placing of one Word spoils the Verse two Ways. For the Word _hostis_, making a Trochee, has no Place in an _Iambick Verse_, and _Hero_ being a _Spondee_ won't stand in the second Place. Nor is there any doubt but the Verse at first was thus written, For the Epithete _impie_ better agrees with _Hostis_ than with _Herod_.
Besides _Herodes_ being a _Greek_ Word [Greek: ê or ae] is turned into [Greek: e] in the vocative; as [Greek: Sôkrataes, ô Sokrates]; and so [Greek: Agamemnôn _. So again we sing the Hymn, _Jesu corona virginum, Quem mater ilia concepit, Quæ sola virgo parturit.
O Jesus the Crown of Virgins, Whom she the Mother conceiv'd, Which was the only Person of a Virgin that brought forth._ There is no Doubt but the Word should be pronounc'd _concipit._ For the Change of the Tense sets off a Word. And it is ridiculous for us to find Fault with _concipit_ when _parlurit_ follows.
_Hi._ Truly I have been puzzled at a great many such Things; nor will it be amiss, if hereafter we bestow a little Time upon this Matter. For methinks _Ambrose_ has not a little Grace in this Kind of Verse, for he does commonly end a Verse of four Feet with a Word of three Syllables, and commonly places a _cæsura_ in the End of a Word. It is so common with him that it cannot seem to have been by Chance. If you would have an Example, _Deus Creator_. Here is a _Penthemimeris_, it follows, _omnium; Polique rector_, then follows, _vestiens; diem decoro_, and then _lumine; noctem soporis_, then follows _gratia_.
_Hi._ But here's a good fat Hen that has laid me Eggs, and hatch'd me Chickens for ten Years together.
_Cr._ It is Pity that she should have been kill'd.
_Ca._ If it were fit to intermingle any Thing of graver Studies, I have something to propose.
_Hi._ Yes, if it be not too crabbed.
_Ca._ That it is not. I lately began to read _Seneca's_ Epistles, and stumbled, as they say, at the very Threshold. The Place is in the first Epistle; _And if_, says he, _thou wilt but observe it, great Part of our Life passes away while we are doing what is ill; the greatest Part, while we are doing nothing, and the whole of it while we are doing that which is to no Purpose_. In this Sentence, he seems to affect I can't tell what Sort of Witticism, which I do not well understand.
_Le._ I'll guess, if you will.
_Ca._ Do so.
_Le._ No Man offends continually. But, nevertheless, a great Part of one's Life is lost in Excess, Lust, Ambition, and other Vices; but a much greater Part is lost in doing of nothing. Moreover they are said to do nothing, not who live in Idleness, but they who are busied about frivolous Things which conduce nothing at all to our Happiness: And thence comes the Proverb, _It is better to be idle, than to be doing, but to no Purpose_. But the whole Life is spent in doing another Thing.
He is said, _aliud agere_, who does not mind what he is about. So that the whole of Life is lost: Because when we are vitiously employ'd we are doing what we should not do; when we are employ'd about frivolous Matters we do that we should not do; and when we study Philosophy, in that we do it negligently and carelesly, we do something to no Purpose.
If this Interpretation don't please you, let this Sentence of _Seneca_ be set down among those Things of this Author that _Aulus Gellius_ condemns in this Writer as frivolously witty.
_Hi._ Indeed I like it very well. But in the mean Time, let us fall manfully upon the Hen. I would not have you mistaken, I have no more Provision for you. It agrees with what went before. _That is the basest Loss that comes by Negligence_, and he shews it by this Sentence consisting of three Parts. But methinks I see a Fault a little after: _We foresee not Death, a great Part of it is past already._ It is my Opinion it ought to be read; _We foresee Death._ For we foresee those Things which are a great Way off from us, when Death for the most Part is gone by us.
_Le._ If Philosophers do sometimes give themselves Leave to go aside into the Meadows of the Muses, perhaps it will not be amiss for us, if we, to gratify our Fancy, take a Turn into their Territories.
_Hi._ Why not?
_Le._ As I was lately reading over again _Aristotle_'s Book that he entitles [Greek: Peri tôn elenchôn], the Argument of which is for the most Part common both to Rhetoricians and Philosophers, I happen'd to fall upon some egregious Mistakes of the Interpreters. And there is no Doubt but that they that are unskill'd in the _Greek_ have often miss'd it in many Places. For _Aristotle_ proposes a Sort of such Kind of Ambiguity as arises from a Word of a contrary Signification. [Greek: ho ti manthanousin oi epistamenoi ta gar apostomatizomena manthanousin oi grammatikoi to gar manthanein omônymon, to te xunienai chrômenon tê