Transcriber’s Note: The spelling in this text is appropriate for the period in which it was written and published. The text has been checked for errors and a list of changes that have been made appears [at the end]. Where there was any doubt, the original wording was kept.

G Thorton Scul.

THE
Comical PILGRIM;
OR,
TRAVELS
OF A
Cynick Philosopher,

Thro’ the most Wicked Parts of the World,

Namely,

WITH

His Merry Observations on the English Stage, Gaming-Houses, Poets, Beaux, Women, Courtiers, Politicians, and Plotters. Welsh Clergy, Gentry, and Customs. Scotch Manners, Religion, and Lawyers. Irish Ceremonies in their Marriages, Christenings, and Burials. And Dutch Government, Polity, and Trade.

BEING
A General Satyr on the Vices and Follies of the Age.

The Second Edition.

LONDON, Printed for S. Briscoe, at the Bell Savage, Ludgate-Hill, and the Sun against John’s Coffee-House Swithin’s-Alley, Cornhill, 1722

THE
PREFACE.

As Prefaces now are become common to every Production of the Press, I am resolv’d to be in the Fashion likewise, to let my Reader understand that I am not an Ascetick, or one of those devout Pilgrims, who will travel on Foot to see the holy Sepulchre, the Chapel of Loretto, or some strange Relique; but a comical merry Traveller that would take a Perigrination, on Horseback or by Water, beyond the Devil’s Arse i’th’ Peak, to see the Religion, Customs, and Manners of foreign People, as well as knowing those of my own Country; contrary to the Sentiments of Claudian, who mentions it as a Happiness, for Birth, Life, and Burial, to be all in one Parish.

Some Pilgrims may brag of their having seen a Vial full of the Virgin Mary’s Milk; another Vial full of Mary Magdalen’s repenting Tears; the Pummel of the Sword with which the Ear of Malchus, the high Priest’s Servant, was cut off; the Bill of the Cock which crow’d after Saint Peter had deny’d his Master, set in Silver; an Ell Flemish of the Cord with which Judas hang’d himself; a Linnen Apron worn by our Saviour’s hæmorrhoidal Patient; a Piece of the seemless Garment, for which the Jewish Soldiers cast Lots; one of Saint John the Baptist’s Eye-Teeth, set in Gold; Saint Paul’s Cloak, which he left at Troas, never the worse for wearing; and talk also of their often meeting with the wandering Jew in their Travels; these, I say, were Curiosities I valu’d not seeing; but in all Places wherever I came, I made general Observations on the Folly and Vices of the Inhabitants, thereby to correct my own Manners, which, indeed, is a very fine Thing, in either Man or Beast.

In Order hereto, I have travell’d in three Parts of the World; namely, Europe, Africa, and America; and tho’ Wickedness reigns in all Parts of the World, yet must I needs say, that it is not so predominate in any Place as in England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and Holland; where it is as hard to find Religion, Honesty and Virtue walk Hand in Hand, as it was for Diogenes to find an honest Woman in Athens. This Dearth of good Manners oblig’d me, with the abovesaid Philosopher to turn Cynick; and if by these Lucubrations, I can so far put Folly and Vice, out of Countenance, as to reclaim a wicked Age, it is all the Author desires for the Fatigue of taking a Pilgrimage, by Land and Sea, of above Eleven Thousand Miles, which is more than half the Circumference of the whole Earth.

THE
Comical Pilgrim,
OR,
Travels thro’ England.

As London is the Metropolis, or capital City in the World, for Pride, Luxury, and all other Vices; I was very curious of making some Observations on them. In Order hereto, I frequented several Taverns, where was nothing but Drunkenness, and young Rakes vomiting about the Room, and in their Bacchanalian Frolicks (which made them think, with Copernicus, the Earth turn’d round) breaking Pipes and Glasses, to inflame a great Reckoning to a larger Sum. I also haunted Jelly-Houses, where was no other Diversion, than seeing proud conceited Coxcombs eating Jellies, with a gilded Pap-Spoon, for Provocation to venerial Sports; which by lighting on a Fire-Ship, might bring them to the Charge and Misery of Pills, Bolusses, Electuaries, and Diet-Drinks; so that these gallanting Stallions, need no other Injunction of Penance, from the most rigid Confessor: And at every common Gaming-House about Town, the Gamesters are as lavishing of their Oaths and Curses, as they are at the Groom Porter’s. One is cursing the Dice, another biting his Thumbs, and another scratching where it doth not itch, whilst others are flourishing their Swords in the midst of twenty G⸺d⸺s, to have their lost Money again.

Think I to myself, the frequenting of these Places, will return to no better Account towards a Reformation of bad Manners, than if a Man should go to a Bawdy-House, to keep out of ill Company. So having heard that a deal of good Manners and Morality, might be learnt, in seeing Plays acted on the English Stage; I then flung away many a Half Crown at the Theatres in Bridges-Street, and Lincoln’s Inn Fields, but by the immoral, profane, and impious Expressions us’d in the dramatick Writings, whether tragical or comical, I could reckon the Play-Houses, no other than Schools of Iniquity, the Sinks of all Wickedness, and Markets for the Devil. ’Tis out of doubt, that even the Theatres of Greece and Rome, under Heathenism, were less obnoxious and offensive, yet nevertheless they stood condemn’d by the primitive Fathers, and general Councils.

The detestable lewd Expressions in the English Plays, can do no less than debauch the Minds, and corrupt the Manners of the Audience; but it must needs strike every good Christian with Horror, to hear on the Stage Almighty God blasphem’d, his Providence question’d and deny’d, his Name prophan’d, his Attributes ascrib’d to sinful Creatures, and even to heathen Gods, his holy Word burlesqu’d, and treated as a Fable, his Grace made a Jest of, his Ministers despis’d, Conscience laugh’d at, Religion ridicul’d, the Catholick Faith and Doctrine expos’d, the sincere Practice of Religion, represented as the Effect of Vapours and Melancholly, Virtue discountenanc’d, Vice encourag’d, Evil treated as Good, and Good as Evil; and all this highly aggravated, by being done in cool Blood, upon Choice and Deliberation.

The Infidelity and Loosness of the present Age, is very much owing to the Play-Houses, where the Infection of most abominable Wickedness, spreads among the Spectators, from the Lady in the Front or Side-Box, to the tawdry Chambermaid in upper Gallery. Men and Women who frequent the Theatre, are, instead of learning Virtue, surrounded with inordinate Temptations, which incite them to unlawful Desires and Actions, which soon end in the utter Ruin, both of Body and Soul. Where Lewdness is represented, in all the Dresses that can vitiate the Imagination, and fasten upon the Memory; and where Pride and Falshood, Malice and Revenge, Injustice and Immodesty, Contempt of Marriage, and false Notions of Honour are recommended, no Good can be learn’d, either by old or young; and this not among Mahometans and Infidels, not at Rome and Venice, not in France and Spain, but in a Protestant Country, and upon the English Stage, without any Fear that the Judgments of God will fall upon them. The Players exposing (as they pretend they do) Formality, Humour, and Pedantry, is not an equivalent for their insulting sacred Things, and their promoting to so high a Degree, the Prophaneness and Debauchery of the Nation.

Those who frequent the Play-House, say (to palliate the sin) a great deal of Morality is to be learnt from Plays; but I cannot perceive what good Morals can be obtained from such Expressions as these. “Sure, if Woman had been ready created, the Devil, instead of being kickt down to Hell, had been married. Leonora’s Charms turn Vice to Virtue, Treason into Truth; Nature, who has made her the supreme Object of our Desires, must needs have design’d her the Regulater of our Morals. She’s mad with the Whimsies of Virtue, and the Devil. Damn’d Lies, by Jupiter and Juno, and the rest of the Heathen Gods and Goddesses; for I remember I paid two Guineas for swearing Christian Oaths last Night.” As may be seen in several of the comick Writers. However, the Admirers of the Stage must have some Excuse for their Folly, and thus the Devil too, to support Vice, hangs out the Colours of Virtue. Again, we cannot see what Morality can be learnt in, there Expressions in the following Tragedies of Œdipus and Theodosius.

Tho’ round my Bed the Furies plant their Charms,

I’ll break ’em, with Jocasta in my Arms:

Claspt in the Folds of Love, I’ll wait my Doom,

And act my Joys, tho’ Thunder shakes the Room. Act 2.

Nor shall I need a Violence to wound,

The Storm is here that drives me on the Ground,

Sure Means to make the Soul and Body part,

A burning Fever, and a broken Heart. Act 5. Scene 2.

In which Lines abovesaid may be seen the Lover pursuing his Amours in Defiance of Heaven; and Varanes dying a natural Death, or else he had been so wicked, as to have laid violent hands on himself. Neither are the Greek and Latin Dramatists without their prophane Flights, and wicked Rants: Nay, hear how Augustin, that great Father of the Church, in these Words, Non omnino per hanc turpitudinem verba ista commodius discuntur, sed per hæc verba turpitudo ista confidentius perpetratur. Confes. lib. 1. cap. 16. condemns the following Lines of Terence’s Eunuch, Act 3. Scene 5.

Suspectans tabulam quandam pictam, ubi inerat pictura hæc, Jovem

Quo pacto Danaæ misisse aiunt quondam in gremium imbrem aureum

Egomet quoque id spectare cœpi, &c.

In short, no good Manners can be acquir’d on the English Stage, by seeing an Actor going a Tiptoe, in Derision of mincing Dames; sometimes speaking full-mouth’d, to mock the Country Clowns; and sometimes upon the Tip of the Tongue, to scoff the Citizen? that thus, by the Imitation of all ridiculous Gestures, or Speeches, in all Kinds of Vocations, they may provoke Laughter. When Stages were first set up in Rome, it was accounted infamous to frequent them; and in England, Players, both Men and Women, are reckon’d so scandalous, that tho’ they stile themselves his Majesty’s Servants, yet the Statute Law terms them Vagabonds: “Indeed they are so infamously wicked, that one who never saw them in this Life, may nevertheless at the Resurrection, know their Bodies and Souls are Fellows; insomuch that as the Play-House in Drury-Lane has been burnt once already, it would be a Mercy rather than a Judgment, if God vouchsafed to smite them once again.”

The Audience in the Upper-Gallery is generally compos’d of Lawyers Clerks, Valets de Chambre, Exchange-Girls, Chamber-Maids, and Skip-kennels, who at the last Act are let in gratis, in Favour to their Masters being Benefactors to the Devil’s Servants. The Middle-Gallery is taken up by the midling Sort of People, as Citizens, their Wives, and Daughters, and other Jilts, who make it their Business to let out their Commodities in Fee-tail, to the first Cully she picks up, after Play is over, for a small Treat, and twelve Pence dry. The Boxes are fill’d with Lords and Ladies, who give Money to see their Follies expos’d by Fellows as wicked as themselves. And the Pit, which lively represents the Pit of Hell, is cramm’d with those insignificant Animals called Beaux, whose Character nothing but Wonder and Shame can compose; for a modern Beaux (you must know) is a pretty neat, phantastical Outside of a Man; a well digested Bundle of costly Vanities; and you may call him a Volume of methodical Errata’s bound in a gilt Cover. He’s a curiously wrought Cabinet full of Shells and other Trumpery, which were much better quite empty, than so emptily full. He’s a Man’s Skin full of Prophaness, a Paradise full of Weeds; a Heaven cramm’d full of Devils, or Satan’s Bed-Chamber, hung with Arras of God’s own making. He can be thought no better than a Promethean Man; at best but a Lump of animated Dirt kneaded into Humane Shape; and if he has any such Thing as a Soul, it seems to be patch’d up with more Vices than are Patches in a poor Spaniard’s Cloak. His general Employment is to scorn all Business, but the Study of the Modes and Vices of the Times; and you may look upon him as upon the painted Sign of a man hung up in the Air, only to be toss’d to and fro with every Wind of Temptation and Vanity. As for his Apparel, he endeavours to that all should appear new about him, except his Vices and Religion; he’s too much in Love with these to change them; besides, the latter of them he cannot change, because he never had any. When you look upon his Cloaths, you will be apt to say, he wears his Heaven upon his Back; and truly (’tis much to be fear’d) you see as much of it there, as He ever shall. He is trick’d up in such Gauderies, as if he was resolv’d to make his Body a Lure for the Devil; and with this Bravery would make a Bait should tempt the Tempter to fall in Love with him. By this Variety of Fashions he goes nigh to cheat his Creditors; who for this Reason, dare never swear him to be the same Man they formerly had to deal withal. His Draper may very well be afraid to lose him in a Labyrinth of his own Cloth, which fits, or hangs (shall I say?) for the most part so loosely about him, as if it were ever ready to fly away, for Fear of a Bailiff.

His Language and Discourse are altogether suitable to his Garb and Habit, all affected and apish, but indeed, far more vile, sinful, and abominable. When he talks, why then his Time-observing Hand and Foot do so point, accent, and adorn all his phantastick Flourishes, that his Words are often as much lost in his Actions, as his Sense in his Words: Withal using foolish Expressions, as stab my Vitals, run me through the Diaphragma, pasitively (not positively) it is so and so; speaking as effeminately, and Molly-like, as the Ischnotes, who say, as you may see in Lilly’s Grammar, Nync for Nunc, Tync for Tunc. By Degrees he steps from Idleness and Emptiness, Foolery and Drollery, to Scurrility and Obloquy; so that if his black Breath could blow out, or eclipse those Lights that shine brightest, we should not have one Star left in Virtue’s Heaven; and those Lights which were once sent into the World, to guide him timely and truly out of it into a better, he first endeavours to extinguish, that so he may, without Check or Shame, wander thro’ all the Works of Darkness into Hell. Alas! he sees no such Loveliness in the Things above, as may oblige him to the submissive Courtship of saying his Prayers below; and yet is so confident to enjoy Heaven at last; as if he thought God would be beholden to him for accepting his Blessings; or (as some foolish Lovers take Occasion to double their Addresses from the Unkindness of a coy Mistress) God would the more earnestly importune him to be sav’d, the more disdainfully he looks upon Salvation. If ever he appears at Church, it is but to meditate upon the Ladies, as they sit in their Sunday’s Beauties; and then he returns from the House of God, as most who go thither with no better Intentions, nay ten Times more an Athiest than he went.

The Theatre in the Hay-Market is his sole Delight, where half a Guinea is given for an Italian Song, sung in a new Opera by some foreign Eunuch, or Jilt, with such Quivering, that the Words are lost and confounded with more affected Noise than Harmony. Or else he passes his Time away (as above hinted) at the Play-Houses in Drury-Lane, or Lincoln’s-Inn Fields, to ogle an impudent Actress, or some female Dancer, who crane’s her Neck with such various Motions, that one would think she was going to break it without the Assistance of a Hangman. Or if he is not at these Places of Pollution and Wickedness, the Tavern he then makes his Exchange; where he endeavours to drink himself so far into a Beast, as if it was his Design to become thereby incapable of Damnation, except he be forc’d to sleep out the last Night’s Intemperance; and thinks himself a Champion, when he can kick two down Stairs at once, the Drawer and his Bottle; and sound the Alarm to the Skirmish, in a loud Peal of new-fashion’d Curses. After all is done there, he walks the Streets as light in his Head, as his Purse; and much oftner salutes the Pavement than the Passengers. The Beau hates no Name so much as that of a Christian, he is afraid it would make him melancholy: He travels over the wide World of Sin, till he hath as little Money as Religion, and no more Credit than Money; whereby he is usually at last constrain’d either to lie hid, and so become his own Prisoner, or to pawn his Body to the Marshal of the King’s Bench Prison in Southwark, or the Warden of the Fleet, for his Chamber; or else, to become a Citizen of the World, and so at last is every where at Home, because he is indeed at Home no where. In fine, I never saw an affected Beau have any Bravery; which makes me think they are related to a certain Attorney, who once resenting my sending an affronting Letter to his Sweetheart, had not the Courage to draw his Tilter, when I ex tempore spoke to him the following Lines:

Know, Sir, that I was really bred and born

To lash the Vices of the Age; and sworn

To lampoon Beaux, and Jilts; and to condemn

What Pulpits, nor the Stage dare not contemn:

So Anger, Frank, can no Redress afford,

For to defend my Pen, see here’s my Sword.

Now think I with myself, if this be the Way of London, Drinking, Gaming, and Whoring; I’ll e’en retire into the Country, where I thought was more Simplicity and Honesty among the Rusticks than the Citizens; but I found myself mistaken, for going to Deptford, I perceiv’d as much Drunkenness among the Tarpaulins, as among the Admirers of Geneva, at the Frenchman’s Bob-Shop, or dirty-Face Dick in the Strand; but however, the Tarpaulin’s Froes of this Place, as well as at Wapping, are pretty virtuous, thro’ their Husband’s making them go without Smocks, to prevent their Neighbours from taking up their Wives Linnen. From hence, I went to Greenwich-Park, where I found as many Assignations made betwixt Whore and Cully, as in St. James’s, or Hyde-Park. Here was as much Lying by the Fops in Praise of their Mistresses, as is among Lawyers; as much Flattering, as there is at Court; and as much Dissembling, as in a Presbyterian or Anabaptist Meeting-House; a Folly, which I must own, I have been formerly guilty of myself, when I sent to a young Gentlewoman this amorous Petition, for Flattery is the only Bait to decoy the coyest Virgin in England.

Harmonious Numbers now my Muse does find,

To sing the choicest of your precious Kind.

Thy Wit, as well as Beauty, lovely Dame,

Who first my Breast, and more than Wealth, or Fame,

Exerts my Soul, and is my constant Aim.

The genuine Blushes that your Cheeks adorn,

Were ravish’d from the Rose, or crimson Morn;

The Persian Insects labr’ing, wrought with Care

The slender silken Threads that form your Hair;

The clear, quick Lustre of your piercing Eyes,

Was shot from Di’monds, or the spangled Skies;

Vermilion Coral left its ozie Bed,

To flush your balmy Lips with glowing Red;

To frame your Teeth, choice Pearls did crowding come,

Each from its secret Cell in Ocean’s Womb:

Arabian Sweets did all their Stores transfer,

And fed from Home, to breath in you, bright Star.

Eden once flourish’d like your blooming Face,

Your Shape, your Mein, and unaffected Grace,

From Heav’n the first of Females once possess’d,

Created as a Pattern to the rest:

From Spring your Gaiety, from calmest Brooks

Was wafted the Sereneness of your Looks;

Sweet Philomel, as she departing, sung,

Bequeath’d the Musick of your silver Tongue;

The Down of Swans, and Lillies, or the gay

And fragrant Bloom that crowns the youthful May,

To frame your Skin, did gracefully unite

Their yielding Softness, and unblemish’d White:

The vast Cerulean Sky, Earth, Sea, and Air,

Did then combin’d, and various Stores prepare

(At Heaven’s commanding Call) to frame you fair.

They fram’d you of their rarest Treasures joyn’d,

And in the Mould an Angel’s Soul unshrin’d

Therefore, fair Virgin, whose most dazling Charms

Can Saints and Anchorites bring to your Arms,

Let us this Day, for it’s a Law divine,

Offer our mutual Hearts on Cupid’s Shrine;

Revel, whilst living, in the Joys of Love,

Like thund’ring Jove, and other Gods above;

For if we slight bright Venus while we’ve Breath,

There’ll be no Thoughts of loving after Death.

But being soon tir’d of Greenwich, I proceeded on my Pilgrimage to Gravesend, where, (and at Stroud, Rochester, and Chatham) the Vintners, Innkeepers, and Victuallers, are more extortioning than any Pawn-Broker, who has the Honesty to take no more than Cent. per Cent. for what Money they lend. Hereupon, bidding adieu to the County of Kent, I rambled through the County of Surry; but it being Assize-Time when I arriv’d at Kingston upon Thames, I found I was leap’d out of the Fryingpan into the Fire, for Provisions and Lodging were then as dear as a Suit of Law in Chancery; so that I rid forthwith into the County of Sussex, where I saw nothing but a Parcel of Bumpkins and Milk-Wenches returning all home, as drunk as David’s sow, from a Country-Wake. Thence, I went into Hampshire, where Rusticks are as fat as their Hogs and as liquorish as those who buy their Honey. In this County is Southampton, where the Sword of Sir Bevis is held in as much Veneration by the Towns People, as a Piece of Paper worn by ’Prentice-Boys, and Servant-Wenches on Valentine’s Day. Hence, I went to Portsmouth, betwixt which Place and Hell, the Soldiers garrison’d here say, there is but only a Sheet of brown Paper; however, it is honour’d by giving the Title of a Dutchess to Squintabella, alias Madamoiselle Louise de Querouaille. At this Sea-port, crossing the Water, I reached at the Distance of three Leagues, the Isle of Wight, and proceeded to Carisbrook Castle, which inwardly, (as well as outwardly) is much out of Repair, especially the Room in which King Charles I. was confin’d a Prisoner, a little before the horrid Murder perpetrated on him, the then prevailing Party, who under a Stratocracy or Army-Power, brought him to the Block, and then conspir’d to overthrow the well settled Constitution of this Kingdom with Anarchy, and Confusion which unparalleled Piece of Villany incited me to write ex tempore on the Wall of that fatal Place, the following Lines.

What dismal Horror, and as dismal Gloom,

Invades the hallow’d Silence of this Room!

Where Majesty in Mourning sat, to wait

The wreched News of his more wretched Fate;

Curst Spawn of Schism! to give the fatal Shock,

Which sent a King a Martyr from the Block.

The barbarous Act, which smote his Royal Head,

Our Calendars shall ever die with Red;

To paint the Overthrow of th’ Church and State,

In the rebellious Times of Forty Eight.

My Muse, with the shrill Eccho of these Walls,

For Vengeance on the bloody Nation calls;

And weeps, till fruitful Albion is freed

From the Fanaticks pestilential Breed;

An Offspring sprung from that most odious Race,

Whose Hanging would the Tripple-Tree disgrace.

The Royal Captive here remained in Tears,

Till Bradshaw doom’d a Period to his Years;

But now the injur’d Saint in Peace does dwell,

While those that judg’d him, burning are in Hell.

Getting cross the Water again, from this dismal Isle, I no sooner set Foot upon Terra firma, but I made the best of my Way for Berkshire; where I took a Survey of Windsor Castle, and then thought myself as well Qualify’d as any Knight of the Garter, to take a Pilgrimage whither I pleas’d: So with a full Body, and an empty Stomach, (for you must know, we Pilgrims live not very daintily) I went into Wiltshire, where I as much admired the Cathedral of Salisbury, (as an Antiquary, doth an old Tomb; who will go forty Miles, and more to see it) because it contain’d as many Windows about it, as a German Countess did once Children in her Womb, which were just three hundred sixty five, the precise Number of Days in the Year, unless it happens to be Bissextile or Leap-Year, which has one Day more. Hence, I went with a light Heart, and a thin Pair of Breeches into Dorsetshire; where being nothing remarkable to take Notice of, it came into my Noddle to make the following Acrostick on Nothing.

N othing was the first Matter made the World;

O n Man e’er since nothing but Plagues are hurl’d.

T he Tye of Wedlock’s nothing but a Snare:

H onour’s like nothing but the empty Air.

I rishmen are nothing but Fools void of Sense

N othing is Sin but publick Insolence.

G old! Gold! and nothing else quits the Offence.

Next, I went a pilgramaging into Devonshire, which might be properly call’d Devilshire, for seeing how the Inhabitants would eat White-Pots red hot in a Manner, a Stranger would be apt to conclude, they came from whence they have nothing else for their Food but Brimstone and Fire. Hereupon, I galloped strait into Cornwal, a County very plentiful of Wood-Cocks, not only flying in the Air, but you should also see them smoaking or tipling in every Chimney-Corner, in Winter. Thence, I rambled into Somersetshire, where, at the Bath, I saw so much Whoredom committed, that I thought the Men, or Women neither had Occasion to wash themselves in hot Water, when their Bodies were all on Fire before; unless it was to make an Experiment of that Aphorism in Physick, which says, one Heat drives out another. Not liking this Place, I took a Pilgrimage (I can’t say Tour, or Progress, because Pilgrims are not Noblemen) into Gloucestershire, where I saw the Sins of the People were as red as the Scarlet they die; so I soon shook the Dust off my Shoes, as a Testimony against their Wickedness, and went to Oxon.

No sooner was I enter’d into Oxfordshire, but I was in as longing a Condition, as the big-bellied Woman was for a bite of a Butcher’s Arm, to see the most famous University of Oxford; thinking that in that Academy and Nursery of Learning, I should see Piety, and Virtue, climb up to the very Apex of Glory; but too soon were my Hopes frustrated, for instead of Religion and good Manners, I beheld nothing but Irreligion and Prophaneness; for the Scholars were so far from being religious, that they were asham’d of nothing so much as that any should have the Charity to think them so. They seem’d to cry out upon Eve, for a lazy and dull Sinner; whilst in every Oath they loudly swore, that Soul not worth damning, that could not sin without a Temptation. By their horrible and hideous Oaths they shew’d, as if indeed they had this desperate Design upon Almighty God, to render his sacred Name odious to the World, by taking it often in their profane Mouths. Their chief Delight was to dwell upon the sore Place of an obscene Poem; at the same Time never commending the Poet, but for his Infirmities. Those Sparks call’d Gentlemen Commoners, were so fantastical and prodigal, that they walk’d as if they went in a Frame; next as if both Head and every Member of them turn’d upon Hinges. Every Step they took, presented me with a perfect Puppet-Play; and Rome itself could not in an Age have shew’d more Anticks, than one of these Blades was able to imitate in half an Hour. Here those who have Money enough allow’d them by their Friends, learn first of all to make Choice of their boon Companions, how to rail at the Statutes, and break all good Orders; how to wear a gaudy Suit, and a torn Gown; to curse their Tutors by the Name of Baal’s Priests, and to sell more Books in half an Hour, than they had bought them in a Year; to forget the second Year what, perhaps for want of Acquaintance with the Vices of the Place, they were forc’d for a Pass-Time to learn in the first, and then they think they have Learning enough for them and their Heirs for ever.

Thought I to my self, if this is Oxford, the Devil take the Collegians and Citizens too, for there was never Barrel the better Herring betwixt either of ’em; one was full as bad as the other, so I e’en made the best of my Way into Buckinghamshire, where, at Eaton College, finding the Scholars to have more Guts than Brains, and less Learning and good Manners than either of the two, Utrum horum mavis accipe, as you may see in Syntaxis. I rambl’d through Oxfordshire, again into Worcestershire, where I observ’d nothing material, but poor Skeletons of Men and Women, knitting Mittins and Stockings; and Children, both Boys and Girls, smoaking Tobacco, in Pipes as black as their Faces, and about an Inch in Length, for a Breakfast. Hence I went into Herefordshire, where I thought myself under the same Punishment, as Tantalus was when in Hell, for the Hedge-Rows all along the Roads, being full of Apple-Trees, the Apples would bob at my Mouth, but I could not catch ’em, which I think was tantalizing me with a Vengeance.

I had not been long in this County, before I steer’d my Course for Warwickshire, where in the City of Coventry, I was shew’d the wooden Picture of a Cobler, which (as the People told me) was made to perpetuate the Memory of one of Crispin’s Occupation, whose Mouth watering to peep thro’ his Garret Window, to see the Lady Godiva’s Ay-forsooth, as she rid naked on Horseback through the City, to release the Inhabitants from heavy Taxes laid upon them by her Husband Leofric, he was struck blind for his Sauciness of presuming to look at lac’d Mutton. But above all, this County glories much in that it gave Birth to Guy Earl of Warwick, who killing a fierce dun Cow upon Dunmoor-Heath, by Dunchurch, both which Places (I suppose) take their Names from this heroick Bravery; and for this Piece of Service and other Exploits, as killing a wild Boar; his Memory is also still perpetuated, as well as the abovesaid Cobler’s, in many Victuallers Signs, to this Day.

Next, going into Northamptonshire, and Night beginning to creep upon me, I began to be mighty Melancholly, as being all alone; but as good Luck would have it, I overtook a Cordwainer, who (as he told me) was newly recover’d from a sad Mischance; for walking carelesly one Day, he happen’d to have a Fall, and to squat his Breech upon a Hedge-Hog, which he carry’d away as cleverly (it clinging to his Buttocks) as if he had sate upon a Ball of his Wax. Whether there is a Sympathy between a Shoemaker’s Tail, and the Skin of an Urchin, or whether the Bristles of the Creature enter’d the Pores of his Backside, I list not to decide that Controversy now; but however, the Mortal complain’d, that it was an uneasy Cushion, and that that Spinny of Awls, had made a Cullender of his Backside. But being not much concern’d at the Cerebrosity of his scievy Bum, the Eyelet-Holes whereof being not very deep, we went together, till we came to a Church, standing like an Ace, and moping by itself, at some Distance from a little Village; which, whether it ran from the Parish, or the Parish from it, I was not then inform’d; though I have most Reason to suspect the latter, in Regard as to outward Appearance the weak Constitution of the Fabrick seem’d not much to be addicted to run. It seem’d to be very crazy, and had a Muffler of Ivy, which I presume was instead of Crutches; for whereas that feeble Vegetable is usually upheld by the Walls it clings to, I believe it was a Buttress here to support the Walls. But having sadden’d our Aspect with the melancholly Looks of this desolate Temple, we took our leave of it, and shot directly into the Village; at our first Salutation whereof we chanc’d to pop into a dapper Ale-House, mightily stuft with a huge Hostess, whose Moisture distilling through the Pores of her Body, and being somewhat turn’d through excessive Heat, struck our olfactive Nerves with so great a Sowerness, that we had quite been overcome with this Vessel of Vinegar, had she not too much jogg’d herself by an unhappy Fall, and spilt a great Quantity of her unctuous Liquor. The Shoemaker conjectur’d she had lost about five or six Pounds Avoirdupois, from her Rear, and presently concluded she was in great Danger of hanging all a-one-Side, unless some charitable Person should help her with Thrust of assisting Nose. We had scarce prim’d our Pipes, but in comes a Law-Jobber, accompanied with a Bum-Brusher, or School-Master of the Place, who, after some Time, took Occasion to try their Skill and Breeding at Fistycuffs, but (Thanks to the Stars) without any Danger to their Professions; for they did not so much Aim at the Head, as level their Fury at each others Heels, where their Knowledge was not suppos’d to lie, tho’ some there held that they had as much Learning at one End, as they had at t’other.

At this blind Alehouse, I and Crispin’s Disciple lay one Night, whence, we sojourn’d together into Bedfordshire, till we came to Dunstable, a Town builded by King Henry I. to bridle the Outrageousness of one Dun, a notable Thief, from whom it takes its Name. Here, Mr. Snob having a Mistress, and being almost within the Atmosphere of her Presence, began to wind her, and had a great Tendency to the Place were she was; so that I might as soon expect a Stone to fall beyond the Centre, as that this Gentle-Craftsman should budge further; wherefore, nothing was expected now, but an immediate Divorce from each others Company; but before we parted, he oblig’d me with the Prospect both of her Person and Fortune. As for the first, as soon as I saw it, I had greater Reason to congratulate my Eye-sight than before; for she was blest with the most ravishing Aspect, and a snug Face, most prodigiously grac’d with a dainty fine Nose, fasten’d in the Middle; which was not like some Snouts that look more upon one Cheek, than they do upon the other, but shew’d equal Prospect to both, not at all disobliging the Right, by fleering too much on the Left. And then for her Eyes, they are excellent at twiring, and would (I warrant you) be sure to keep the Nose safe, for one look’d one Way, and the other, another. The Woman had a Mouth too, which was somewhat bigger than that of a Blunderbuss, tho’ not twice as big as the capacious Bore of a Winchester Quart-pot. This Mouth, she put but to one Use, and that’s the same we put ours to, that is, to eat three or four Meals in a Day; for it seems, whereas other Women often use theirs in Prating and Twatling, we perceiv’d, that this sav’d her Mouth, and spake through the Nose. As I have given you the Picture of her Person, so now I’ll present you with a Landskip of her Fortune. As for her Lands, that is, Pasture-Ground, and Meadow, we could not discern, but that (like a Spot upon the Globe) they took but little Room upon the Surface of the Earth; and (like the Possessions of Alcibiades) were but a little Speck to the World. A little Muck would dung her Fallow; one high Table T⸺ (to speak in the Oxford Dialect) would much enrich it, and an Ear of Corn would go near to sow it: ’Tis like, she had Grass enough for a Couple of Rabbits. Having surveyed the Paramour, and the Portion of this snivelling Cobler, after a Treble go-down out of a Tin-Pot, a right Line Scrape with Left-Leg, and uncouth Doffing off a bad Bonnet, I return’d his Coblership Thanks for his Society, and solemnly took Leave of my Fellow-Traveller.

After this Departure, I was forc’d to beguile away the Time in the shady Solitude of silent Thoughts, which, before, I spent in the brisker Entertainments of Discourse and Dialogue. At length I came into Cambridgeshire, some Parts whereof seem’d to be a little Arabia of Sand, enough (as I thought) to supply all the Hour-Glasses in the County; nay, perhaps, and that of Time too, till the last Minute. Arriving at the University of Cambridge, I lay at Jesus College, in the Garden of which Place, I discover’d among some Ruins, the Snout, and some other Limbs of a murder’d Dial; yet it was not so defac’d, but that I could discover in its Physiognomy, some martyr’d Figures, that were yet legible, and there were some Reliques of Lines, that were not quite obliterated by Time, who, I presume, being vext that it should observe his Motions, had out of Envy and Malice, thus far set his Grinders in it, to deface it. Here, the Students, at Oxford, would be as drunk as any Woman, outswear a Life-guard-Man, or Horse-Grenadier; and eat, drink, and lie with any Body. But when I saw whole Shoals of great hulking Fellows, in such ragged Gowns, that our London Bunters would scorn to pick ’em up, flocking about the Kitchen-door, some with Basons, some with Porringers, some with Pipkins, some with Pans, some with Chamber-Pots, and some with their very Caps, to beg College Broth; I thought the Scene a very lively Resemblance of poor Lazarus, begging for the Crumbs which fell from the Table of Dives.

Hence, I went into Huntingdonshire, which is a very proper County for unsuccessful Lovers to live in; for upon the Loss of their Sweethearts, they will here find an Abundance of Willow-Trees, so that they may either wear the Willow green, or hang themselves, which they please; but the latter is reckon’d the best Remedy for slighted Love. Passing through Godmanchester, I rambled to Watford in Hartfordshire, near which Town, formerly stood Langley-Abbey, the Birth Place of Nicholas Breakspear, who in the Year 1154, being advanc’d to the Papal Dignity, assum’d the Name of Adrian IV. and tho’ he had been a poor Servant, was so proud, as to excommunicate an Emperor of Germany, a Sicilian King, and the Senators of Rome; for these Popes are sawcy Fellows, when they come to wear triple Crowns, as Kings of Heaven, Earth, and Hell; which last Place, they have enjoy’d by Hereditary Right and Succession, many Ages before the Reign of Pope Joan.

Going next into Essex, which is as subject to Agues, as the Hundreds of Drury is to the Pox, and the whole County much noted for its excellent Calves, but the biggest of that Sort of Cattle are the Inhabitants. I pass’d through Colchester, and crossing the County, got into Staffordshire, where being inform’d at the City of Lichfield, that the Thief-taker-General of England first receiv’d his damn’d stinking Breath in that County; I did not care for staying long there, for Fear, the Change of this Air should make me as vile, and double corrupted a ⸺ as himself. In case it should be this Fellow’s good Fortune to dance at Tyburn, betwixt Heaven and Earth, as being unworthy of either, the Ordinary of Newgate may give this Account of him in his dying Speech; how that his Parentage was very obscure and mean; his Livelihood at first was obtaining Charity from Milk-Maids, and other Country Lasses, by squeezing pretty Ditties out of the Womb of a Bladder, with a Piece of Packthread; and if he should prove so harden’d at the Gallows, as to make no larger Confession of himself, set him down (like Paul Lorrain) obstinate. In fine, he had such a bad Character among his own Country-Men, that some said, it was great Pity he had not been hang’d as soon as he was breech’d; whilst others reply’d, that he ought never to die, but be toss’d from D⸺l to D⸺l, till there was no Hell left to toss him in any longer.

I soon made the best of my Way into Shropshire, where, at a little Town, or rather Village, call’d Woor, happen’d a sad Misfortune; for a certain Glass-Case, by Reason of the Rudeness of two lusty Pusses, but whether affrighted at their Catterwauling, or it being not able to bear them in the Acts of Love, I cannot tell which, but certain it was, it let go its Hold, and after a dismal Manner, came blundering down, attended with the Ruin of several Jiggumbobs, and Jimcracks, as the Ivory Gums of a toothless Comb, a little bottle-breech’d Glass replenish’d with Love Powder; a Brace of blind Needles, that lost their Eyes in the Fall; a double Scut of a Hare ty’d up with a single Packthread; the latter End of an old Broomstick; the Butt End of an old Sugar-Loaf; the true Lovers Knot made in Wire, a square bit of Tin, the Margin of a broad Hat, one Finger-Stall, two Taggs, a Fescue made of Brass Wire, a crack’d Glass with a Club-Foot, the Skin of an Onion stuft with Arsenick, and one Whisker of a bearded Arrow. But as one Misfortune seldom comes alone, so this was attended with another, for a young Salopian Lass who was the Proprietor of these Things, took the Accident of them so much to Heart, that she very decently hang’d herself, to the no small Comfort, to be sure, of her Parents, who had six or seven Children, besides this unhappy Daughter, whom nobody could blame for this Piece of Rashness; for is it not a sad Thing to lose so commodious a Place, to lay pretty Things in, and all by the Misdemeanour of two unmannerly Cats? For where could this poor Creature afterwards have laid her Gally-Pots, Gums, and Pomatum? Had these Mousehunters only eas’d Nature there, and then jingerly departed, they had been very excusable, but first to come slily into a Ladies Chamber, and then to squabble and fall out there, and in the Midst of their Quarrel to pursue one another to the Top of a Shelf, and there to renew the Battle again, and to box one another ’till they fell themselves, and demolish’d that very Thing which supported them in their bickering, as the Fool in the Fable saw’d off the Bough he sat on, Oh! this is a very sad Thing indeed, and would make any other young Woman, who had no more Sense then she, hang herself likewise.

But bidding Adieu to the proud Salopians, I went into Cheshire, where the Towns ending much upon the Wich, as Nantwich, Middlewich, Northwich; I thought they affected the Dutch Way of putting one Name to the End of their Towns, as Rotterdam, Schiedam, Amsterdam, and so forth.

In the City of Chester, I happened to lie at a Physician’s House, whose Pretences to Learning were very great, but by our Conversation, I found him to have more Stomach than Brains, and therefore was more like to have more Consolation in the Kitchin, than in a Study; for there, perhaps he might find a Jobb of Work for his Grinders; whereas he knew not what to do with his Books, unless he should act the Moth, and eat them. I perceiv’d his Parts to lie more towards the Powderingtub, than his Pharmacopeia; for whilst he was busy in the former, he might keep himself alive, but when he read in the latter, he would kill his Patients. We had some roast Beef for Supper; and I commonly found him within an Inch of the Dripping-pan, with an Acre of Bread in his Hand, which he call’d a Sop, and with it, when my Back was turn’d, he usually spung’d up the Dripping, whereby he cheated Sir-Loyn, and robb’d his Knighthood of its due Moisture. Hence, I went into the County of Northumberland, where I found Newcastle, almost entirely surrounded with Coal Pits, whence seeing Myriads of Men, as black as Old Nick, ascending out of the subterranean Shops, upon the Surface of the Earth, I imagin’d them to have been so many Cyclops who had been helping Vulcan to forge Thunderbolts for Jupiter. Not liking the Conversation of these English Negroes, I stept over the River Tine into the County of Durham, where, in the City bearing the same Name, I lay one Night; and next Morning taking my Leave of my Landlady, about half a Mile from the Town, I saw a Church-Yard, where was a whole Herd of Swine a routing, as if they had been turn’d in on Purpose to root up Christians, as they are in the Fields in Italy, to dig up Turfles. A little Wall lay sculking about this Territory of the dead, which I suppose, was plac’d there as a Bulwark to their Ashes; but it prov’d but a feeble Fence against the Intrusion of the Lambs, who made frequent Capreols into this silent Dormitory: The Mound was rais’d a little, capt with Turf, and environ’d with the Hollowness of a good handsome Ditch; but yet, neither Cap, nor Ditch could keep these Animals from leap-frogging over them, from grazing in a Charnel-House, and from turning a Cœmitery of Shades, and Ghosts into a feeding Pasture of hungry Beasts.

At last, I got into Yorkshire, where, beyond Northallerton, meeting with a Herdsman, I was almost frighted out of my Wits, for this Fellow was a strange Creature, wonderfully Goth’d, and be-Vandall’d, even to Barbarity itself. He was really a Clown in grain, an uncultivated Boor, a Beast of the Herd in Humane Shape. I propos’d a Query or two about the Genius of the County; he told me the Soil was cold, and big with Clay, and would doubtless yield a good Harvest of Tobacco-Pipes; and as for the Inhabitants, he said, they were a Pap-Pudding Sort of People, much addicted to that vile Sort of Creature. As he said, I saw a whole Table at a Christening, spread with a Yard of Pudding, and a Balk of Beef, a Ridge at one End and a Furrow at the other; which did so wonderfully work upon the Chaps of the Gossips, and make their Mouths water, that the Godfathers and Godmothers fell furiously to Snouting for some few Morsels; mean while the two ear’d Pitcher, that stood upon the Bench, was Mr. Prynn’d in Scuffle, that is, lost a Lug in the Fray; and as I was afterwards inform’d, the Distaff lost a Lock or two of its flaxen Perriwig. The Women of this Country are very coming, and are as great Breeders, as any of our English Quakers; and as for the Men, they are naturally born Thieves, being as dextrous Rogues at Horse-Stealing as a Serjeant at the Poultry, or Woodstreet-Compter in selling Minutes dearer than a Watchmaker. But among rational Wonders in a Village, where I say, the most remarkable Wonder was an eminent Cot-Quean, a meer Woman in the Habit of a Man, a Kind of Mol Cut-Purse Creature, an Epicene Animal of a twisted Gender, who had a Petticoat Soul in a trunk-breech’d Body, and scandaliz’d Virility, by Skill in Housewifery. He spun (the Neighbours said) like a Spider, and made his Wheel giddy by a swift Vertigo. He was a learned Craftsman in the making of Diet, a notable Food-Framer, who buffeted Cream, till he frighted it into a Consistence, and then knocking it into Butter, squeez’d it afterwards with Dexterity of Fist. He was also endow’d with the Gift of tossing Pancakes, and had a wonderful Knack at tempering the Materials of a Bag-Pudding, insomuch, that he surpass’d all the Dairy-Maids in the Milk-Pan Accomplishments; and was also excellently well qualify’d for a Meal-Tub Office. Here I tasted of the Hospitality of this fœmasculine Wight, who spread a Jointstool with several Sorts of Viands, which though not very delicate, yet the Variety might attone and make amends for their Meanness. Here was the Epidermis of a Hog, the outward Skin, call’d the Sword of Bacon, which was infected with the Jaundies, for it look’d very yellow; next, was the Hull of a Pescod, plunder’d of its Pease, and corn’d with Salt; some broken Fragments of Sheeps Trotters, St. Laurenc’d on a Gridiron; the minc’d Spurs of a bootless Cock, a skin’d Quadrant of soft Cheese, well sawc’d with the Butt-ends of forked Scallions; and the mouldy Reversion of an antiquated Loaf, dipt in the Verdure Watercresses Pottage, which afforded me the Refreshment of a pretty Collation: After which I went to Bed, and slept very sound till next Morning. When, getting that Day, into Newark upon Trent, Nottinghamshire, I was no sooner arriv’d into the Navel of the Town, but I saw such an Assembly of Provision as represented a Market, which was unhappily disturb’d by an unfortunate Accident; for a certain Bull of an uncertain Man, having mistaken his Box, and taken Pepper in the Nose instead of Snuff, and being enrag’d and heated by Virtue of the Spice, took a frisk about the Cross, and empty’d by his Ramble all Stalls and Panniers; so that this brisk Customer made a scrambling kind of Dinner for the whole County; for the Mob, alias the civiliz’d Rabble, was riding upon one anothers Backs for Viands and Booty, and was tumbling among the Ruins of Bakers, Butchers, and Costermongers.

Hence I made a Pilgrimage to Grantham in Lincolnshire, where a little out of Town I over took a Fellow, who began to strike up with his Pipe, and thinking he had but one, he presently perceiv’d it to be multiply’d into an Organ, and wonder’d (with the Bumpkin that pull’d at the Bellows) that he had so much Harmony in him. For you must know hereabouts dwelt a Thing call’d an Eccho, who as soon as she heard Sol, fa, whip! she improv’d the Melody into Noise and Consort; presently increasing those single Notes into the whole Gamut; and most neatly play’d the Wag with the Tail of his Voice, being a very pretty Songster, that sings well by the Ear. But leaving the Piper by himself to solace with the tatling Reverberation of Voice, I proceeded on my Journey into Rutlandshire, the least County in England, where at Oakham, the Shire-Town, is a Custom, that when a Nobleman comes on Horseback within its Precincts, the Inhabitants make him pay the Homage of a Shoe from his Horse, or take Money for it. And so exorbitant is this Custom grown now, that if a Lady, be she as tall as long Meg of Westminster, or as short as the little Woman, that was carried formerly about the Country in a Box, as fat as the Royal Sovereign the largest first Rate Fire-Ship that sails Drury-Lane, and the narrow Seas contiguous to it, or as lank as Pharaoh’s lean Kine, they would swear she was a Flander’s Mare, and presently take toll from her Foot. This Sharpness hath made most of the Rutlandshire People, much addicted to the Vice of Theft; every Thing sticks to their pitchy Fingers; and they have such an attractive Virtue, that wherever they come, all Things trot after the Magnetism of their Persons. A Fellow squating upon a Criket in a Room I was in, and rising up from his Seat, the Stool on a Sudden (as if tackt to his Backside) immediately march’d after him, to the great Amazement of the Woman of the House, who did not suspect, that his Bum had Hands, or that her Stool so nimbly could have us’d its Legs. Another espying a Cylinder of Bag-Pudding pretty Thick in the Waste, lolling upon the Table, whilst the Hostess turn’d her Back, in the very twinkling of her Head, pocuss’d it into Fob, and so shrouded its Dimensions into a second Bag. Moreover observing a joulter headed Fellow, looking very wishfully at my Head, fearing he had some Design upon what few Brains I had, to furnish his own empty Noddle; I presently paid my Reckoning, and made the best of my Way for London; where I was no sooner arriv’d, but perceiving most People murmuring at the great Indulgence then extended to the Dissenters, I composed (at the earnest Request of some Friends) the following Lines on Toleration.

Religion! Now a meer fantastick Name,

The Heathens Glory, but the Christians Shame;

A Cloak for Hyprocites, the Tool of State,

And, to decoy dull Fools, the Levites Bait;

Thy Lustre was not tarnish’d in the Time

When Vice was ill, and Virtue was no Crime?

When holy Folks from Sin for Refuge fled,

And no Dissention in Opinions bred.

In the first Infancy of humane Race,

The World was overshadowed with Grace;

The very Light of Nature Goodness taught,

And humble Vot’ries to the Altar brought;

Where Hecatombs, no longer doom’d to live,

Sincere Devotion did to Heaven give.

Again, the Jews were not so very blind,

But they in Rites and Types cou’d Blessings find;

Mosaic Customs, and Levitic Rules,

Was all the Doctrine of the Rabbins Schools:

In mystic Rites, and ceremonial Laws,

With God and Angels they cou’d plead their Cause.

But now the Temple-Veil is drawn aside,

Which did the Truth in Hieroglyphicks hide,

The great Messiah, by a wond’rous Birth,

From Heaven came, to preach to Men on Earth;

Whose sacred Sermons shew’d the certain Way,

How all the World Jehovah must obey:

And by his seamless Garment we may see,

One only Faith does please the Deity.

So Toleration’s but a Wile, to draw

Dissenters from the Gospel and the Law;

But none by such Indulgence will be shamm’d,

But Fools, that will in spite of Fate be d⸺’d.

THE
Comical Pilgrim,
OR,
Travels thro’ WALES.

Having had a Suit of Law in Chancery, which was lost thro’ my Lawyers Mismanagement, at the Charge of twenty five Pounds out of Pocket, I could not forbear making the following Observations on the Unhappiness of those People who go to Law.

Some are so zealous to ruin one another, that Westminster-Hall is every Term made the Place of Destruction. They fasten upon, worry and tear one another; and he that gets the better, generally pays so dear for his Victory that he had better have sat down by the Loss. Not that I would, with the Socinians, stretch that Command of our Saviour to his Disciples, to let the Coat go after the Cloak, and make it a Sin against the Gospel, for Christians to go to Law, any farther, than that they should not contend for Trifles. Christianity lays no Body open to be abus’d, and impos’d upon, where a regular Remedy may be had. It forbids doing as we would not be done by, and obliges us to bearing and forbearing, rather than to be litigious; but takes away no Body’s Property, nor gives so much Countenance to Injustice, as to disarm the oppress’d from recovering their Right. Had going to Law been a Crime in itself, it had never been permitted to the Jews. They were allow’d it, and had Courts by divine Appointment erected for the Determination, of what belong’d to every Man. And it is too much for a few singular Dissenters upon a Text, to take upon themselves the putting a Bar to Christian Liberty, which in all Ages has been admitted. Nor can we see here that these Precepts of the Sermon upon the Mount, be confin’d as some would have them, to the first Ages only: That what was legal in those Days, it is not the same now. It seems to be from too much Inclination to the World, such Expositions have been set up, that make a Difference in Times and Seasons, as if the Precepts of the Gospel were not always of the same Obligation; and we could excuse ourselves in the Contempt of them, because we are not the Persons they were immediately deliver’d to.

Tho’ the litigious Humour of some Men richly deserve a chargeable Remedy, there is yet a Commiseration due sometimes to their Antagonist. A Man may, whether he will or not, be engag’d in these bloody Conflicts at the Suit of his Neighbour’s Pride or Malice. And since the most peaceable Temper may be oblig’d to complain of Oppression, or answer the Charge of Picque and Revenge; ’tis Pity but Justice were to be obtain’d at a cheaper Rate, and a slight Wound may be cur’d without Amputation, which nothing but a Gangrene can justify. We could wish the Law were less chargeable; that seeking Right were not as bad as suffering Wrong: That the Avenues to Justice were not to be set with Robbers, that a Man must lose one Purse to recover another, and be stript into the Bargain. Justice (we are told) should be blind, and so we think she is, when she can’t see the exorbitant Fees of her Attendants. When to be let in and let out, costs so much Oppression, nothing could have been severer. When the Man that’s summon’d to answer in a litigious Suit, must go thro’ so many Toils, and be so often spung’d in his Passage, he might as well have pass’d for Guilty, as pleaded Innocence: Like the Christians in Turkey, who pay double Taxes for their Religion, and hire infidel Moderation to connive at their Patriarch’s Jurisdiction. Why these Imposts were laid upon the Road to Justice, we never could understand. How that can be made out, we are much at a Loss. Which of the liberal Arts or Sciences thrives upon the Fees of Door-Keepers? Is copying and Abbreviation so essential a Point to Learning, a Nation could not have maintain’d a Character without it? Are so many Lines a Sheet, and so many Words in a Line, so Mathematical a Substraction of ones Money, that the Credit of the Nation must rise in Proportion to the Losses of the poor Meagre, wasted Culprit? We are told too ’tis upon a politick Account, to prevent Contention: That the more difficult is the Way to Justice, the more People are inclin’d to be quiet. If the Courts were open to every Grievance, there would be Complaints without End. A Hog could not go thro’ a Stone Yard, but the Law must be rais’d against the Trespasser. A Man could not be an Hour without a Subpœna or Attachment, if there was Room for every Body’s Impertinence. ’Twould prevent Contention as effectually, if the Person in Fault were punish’d; if paying sufficient Cost to the Adversary or Fine, were inflicted by the Court upon a litigious Plaintiff, or roguish Defendant.

As the Cause stands, the Law is a Weapon for the Proud, and revengeful. These may be in the Right, at least have their Revenge, if their Purse be the longest. So chargeable have been the Methods of bringing Oppressors to Account, so expensive the Armour to defend the Innocent, that one may think the first Loss had been the best, and the other wish he had let the Coat go to him that had taken away the Cloak. There’s a Revolution indeed of Estates, and where the Law has broke one Family, it has rais’d another. If the Desolation the Law has made, were recorded, and the Ensigns of the Orphans and Widows were hung up, whose forlorn Relations have been press’d into the Service, there would be no Room for those brought from the Danube and Ramellies. ’Tis true, much may be said in Favour of a mistaken Client, in Excuse of Ignorance, Passion, and the like: But where a Man engages in a Cause palpably litigious and unjust, he becomes a Party to the Injustice, and deserves at least equal Punishment with him he appears for. Thou sawest a Thief, and consentedst unto him, is chargeable upon the Pleader, as a Person concern’d. Should these Maintainers of Learning be mercenary, and like Sergeants at the Compter, gape at every Retainer? Should they have an Indulgence to cross-bite an Evidence, to abuse the Adversary, and rip up the Misfortunes of his Family, and belch a few Witticisms instead of Arguments? How shall the World maintain Reverence to their Opinion? How shall we take them for the Guides of Conscience, set aside the receiv’d Interpretation of the Law, and believe them when they say, The Case is alter’d? I shall say no more upon this Point, but only use these Words of our Saviour, Woe unto you also, ye Lawyers: For ye lade Men with Burdens grievous to be born, and ye yourselves touch not the Burdens with one of your Fingers. Wo unto you Lawyers: For ye have taken away the Key of Knowledge: Ye enter’d not in yourselves, and they that were entring in, ye hindred.

Being quite surfeited with seeing the Legerdemain, or hocus pocus Tricks of Madam Astræa, alias Justice, the Day after Trinity-Term being, drest with Aurora, nay before she had put on her Indian Gown, I set out with the Sun in order to take a Pilgrimage into Wales, who bearing me Company but little while, withdrew into an Appartment behind a Cloud, at whose Absence, the Heavens frowning and contracting their Brows, did presently fall a crying, and wept such plentiful Showers of Tears that they moistned my Skin with the Deluge of their Grief. At the End of 8 or 9 Days, I reach’d Wales, which is the most monstrous Limb in the whole Body of Geography; for ’tis generally reported to be without a Middle, or if it hath a Navel, it is yet a Terra incognita; for I never could find that ever any Man dwelt there, the Natives confessing themselves only Borderers. Surely the Reason why they do so much affect the Circumference of their Country, and abominate the Centre, is, because they are asham’d of the Dominion; and indeed, ’tis a Sign they have but a little Kindness for their Nation, who (like unnatural Sons) run from their Mother their Country, and when out of her Embraces, never return again. A Welshman, when once abroad, hath no more Tendency Home, than a Stone an Inclination to fall upward: He will trot o’er the Globe, and rather endure the Affliction of any Exile, than the cruel Punishment of being banish’d Home; if he is once on this Side Dee, neither Hunger, nor Husks, nor any Kind of Hardship shall drive him on the other.

No sooner had I set my Feet upon Welsh Turf, but in a little Time I found the Country was tuckt in on all Sides with the Sea, except on the East, on which Part it was ditch’d in from England by that notable Delver, King Offa, King of the Mercians: Over this Dike, if any Welshman chance to skip with his Sword by his Side, by King Harold’s Law, he was to lose a Branch of his Body, i. e. his right Arm was lopt off by the King’s Officers. Some think it had its Name from its Godfather Idwallo, Son to Cadwallader, who with a small Crew of Britons, at the Arrival of the Saxons, hid themselves in this Corner. Others suppose them to be the Spawn of the Gauls, from whom they seem to be but a few Aps remov’d; ap Galloys, ap Gauls, ap Wallois, ap Wales.

As for the Inhabitants, they are a pretty Sort of Creatures, which when I saw, I was so far from stroaking them with the Palms of Love, that I was almost ready to buffet them with the Fist of Indignation. They are a rude People, and want much Instruction. Not one Welshman is sharp, unless his Mother happens to pour Vinegar into his Ear, when young. When I consider the Soil from whence they sprang, and the Desarts, and Mountains wherein they wander, I cannot but think, that greater Pains should be taken in cultivating and manuring, in disciplining, and taming them, in Regard ’tis harder for a Bearward to teach Civility to the Beasts of Africk, than those who come from a more mannerly Country. I have been inform’d that they were dug from a Quarry, and that they dwell in a stony Land; so that if we compare this Kingdom to a Man, as some do Italy to a Man’s Leg, they inhabit the very Testicles of the Nation. And I pray what are those but the vilest of Creatures that breed as well in the Privities of the greater British World, as those that are hatcht in the Pudenda of the lesser? But whether Welshmen are the Aborigines of their Country, as Crab-Lice are the Autocthones of theirs, and proceed only (like them) from the Excrements of their Soil, I shall not here dispute. They are of a boorish Behaviour, of a savage Physiognomy; the Shabbiness of their Bodies, and the Baoticalness of their Souls, and that, which cannot any otherwise be exprest, the Welchness of both, will fright a Man as fast from them, as the Odness of their Persons invites one to behold them. Some of them are such rude and indigested Lumps, so far from being Men, that they can scarce be advanc’d into living Creatures; nay they are such unmanageable Materials, that they can scarce be hewn into the Shape of Blocks; much Labour and Art is requir’d therefore to make them Statues.

The whole Nation (like a German Family) is of one Quality; for as every Lord’s Son is a Lord in Germany, so every one is crown’d with the Title of Gentleman here; so that hur Country is a good Pasture for an Herald to bite in. In their Travels they care not much that their Horses should drink with a Toast, as appears by the which a Shinkin discover’d, whom his quaffing Beast had pitch-pol’d into a River. Udsplutter-a-nails quoth he in great Fury, what cannot hur drink without a Toast? He took it much in dudgeon, that the Jade should be so bold as to make a Sop of his Master.

The Materials of his Apparel are usually a well shagg’d Freeze, so that we cannot call it sleepy, being fleec’d with a Nap like any Sheep-Skin: It affords excellent Harbour to the Vermin of his Body, which whether it be stockt with Store of Joicements of them, he commonly signifies by the Symbol of a Shrug. The Perfection of a Welshman’s Equipage, the Cream (as it were) of his Accoutrements, and that which compleats ever his most festival Attire, is (as the Story goes) an old Sword of hur nown breeding, which hur hath brought up from a Tagger: And this he can brandish with much Valour against the tremenduous on-set of dragooning Bees; a kind of Enemy which the Taffy is much afraid of, in Regard he is always arm’d with a Pike in’s Reer, which once upon a Time fastening in his Forehead, broach’d such a Pore in his Physiognomy, that he could never endure those hum-buzzing Gentlemen (as he calls them) in yellow Doublets.

The Country is mountainous, and yields pretty Handsome clambering for Goats, and hath Variety of Precipice to break ones Neck; which a Man may sooner do than fill his Belly, the Soil being barren, and an excellent Place to breed a Famine in. It is reported of Campania, that it was the most noble Region in the World, the Air pleasant, the Soil fertil, the Theatre of Bacchus and Ceres, where they were at fisty-cuffs for the Preheminence: But I perceiv’d no such Scuffle in Wales; for those Deities are so far from fighting there, that I could not discern they were so much as ever there; there being scarce Water and Oatmeal to give a Man Being. I could not expect Egypt and the Canaries Buts and Granaries to give me a well Being: There is no Canaan to be found in a Desart. As for the Diet of a Briton, a good Mess of Flummery, and a Pair of Eggs, he rejoyces at, as a Feast, especially if he may close his Stomach with toasted Cheese, for a Morsel of which he hath a great Kindness. You may see him pictur’d sometimes with that Crevice in his Head call’d a Mouth, charg’d at both Corners with a Cresent of Cheese, and himself a Cock-Horse on a red Herring, and his Hat adorn’d with a Plume of Leeks: Good edible Equipage! Which when hunger pinches, he makes bold to nibble; he first eats his Cheese and his Leeks together, and for second Course he devours his Horse. But he never much cared for a Sop, since once upon a Time it drank up all his Drink, and would not club to pay his Shot.

The Cambro-Britons are great Admirers of heroick Actions, and much Honour the Memory of famous Atchievements; insomuch, that rather than a dead-doing Man shall perish in Oblivion, they will eternize his Memory by the Monument of a Straw, or some such inconsiderable Trifle; as appears by the famous Example of that Saint of their Country, Bishop David, who being a pert Fighter, and having soundly basted and swadled their Foes, is at this Day consecrated to Posterity by the Trophy of a Leek; and smells as rank of Renown from that vegetable Preservative that embalms his Fame, as they do of a Scallion that carry it about for his Glory. Their Hats are set with this anniversary Badge, and Emblem of Honour and Triumph, on the first of March, which Day hath been christen’d by his Name, and being dubb’d an Holyday, hath worn yearly a black Livery in the Almanack.

Nevertheless, the Welchmen being cursedly thick-scull’d, they are so far from being Plotters, that they swear they will never fight for any King upon Earth, but the Prince of Wales; because there can be no true Royal Blood running in the Veins of any great Man, but what borrows his Title from their Country, let him be born where he will: And considering what wicked plotting Times we now live in, no Body can blame them for their Cautiousness of being hang’d; for tho’ it is a Death natural to them, yet they say, sleeping in a whole Skin is best. Not that they value hanging, but only they abhor the Death, unless the Office is perform’d a by a Welch Hangman, instead of an English one.

They are much inclin’d to Choler, for hur Welch Plood is soon mov’d, and then hur stamp and stare, and scrat hur Pole, and vent hur Fury in Ud-splutter-a-nails, and will fight for hur Life in Battle at fisty-cuffs. They are polite in nothing but Faction and Sedition, for there are high and low Church Parties among them too, which occasions much Contention and Quarrels.

The Musick a Welchman plays upon, is a Tool stiled an Harp, with which, when Sustenance fails him, he strikes up for a Morsel, and so lives by Sounds, and (Camelion like) hath Alimony from Air. He serenades Victuals in every Village, as the pide Piper did Rats at Hamel, and he allures Luncheons after him, as much as the other did Vermin: Here a Nob of Bacon wags after him, for one Strain; and there a Crust follows him, as the Reward of another; one hits him in the Mouth with the Payment of Pottage, another pops him in the Pocket with the Gratuity of a Carrot; all which Variety of Fragments is the most ample Income, and wonderful Revenue of his Skill in Musick. His usual Admirers are Country Milk-Maids, whom Vibration of String doth move and stir into Jigg and Measure; and whom Breeze of Instrument (like those in Tail) do chase and tickle into Dance and Caper.

I could not perceive that the Welch were guilty of much Learning, which made a Man skill’d in Orthography admir’d as a Sophy; and a Writer of his Name, to be term’d a Rabbi. As for the Loves of the Britons, the Intrigues of their Amours are not a little remarkable, they being very pretty Animals when disguis’d with that Passion: They are Tinder to such Flames, being quickly set on fire, even by the least Spark, which when it hath catch’d the Match of their Souls (for they have Brimstone in them as well as in their Bodies) they are presently kindled into Transport and Extasy; and these model them into the Shapes of a thousand Anticks, and make them shew more Tricks than old Preston’s Bears. Sometimes they are shaking the Globules of their Noddles, and sometimes dancing some Geometry with the Figures of their Feet; now they smite with Clapper of Fist their troubled Breasts, and anon sound out some Knels of dismal Groans; being variously affected as the Weather is in their Clorinda’s Faces; if Aspect be clear, then is Taffy serene; if brow be cloudy, then is Morgan Showry. Whilst I was in this Country, I heard of a Welchman that went a wooing with a Gun upon his Shoulder, being resolv’d (it seems) if Love be a Warfare, not to enter unarm’d into the Camp of Venus; still as his coy Daphne shifted from his Presence, he march’d musketeering about the Room, and most fiercely pursu’d her, till at last in the brisk Encounter of a close Embrace, this warlike Instrument took an Occasion somewhat unmannerly to go off, and blunderbuss’d the Mistress on her Breech on one Side of the House, and poor Taffy on his Nose on the other; so that being much dismay’d at this unhappy Accident, one scrabled one Way, and the other another, to the utter spilling of a Mess of Love, and total Separation of a Pair of Lovers for ever.

They are pretty devout in their Worship, tho’ the Exercise of Religion is somewhat scarce, and have a pretty glowing Zeal, tho’ their Churches are few, and at a great Distance. ’Tis almost incredible how far they are fain to trudge for a little Homily; which when they have expected, have been mump’d with a Sermon ten Times worse. For on such raw-bone Livings, there cannot be expected very plump Parts. The ordinary Revenue of a spiritual Preferment may possibly be about five Marks per Annum; a Bay of Watling for a Dwelling, endow’d with no more Glebe than just what it stands upon, only perhaps it may be how-stall’d with as much Ground as may hold a Sty for the Pig, and a Roost for the Pullen. These divine Cottages are usually situated some Leagues from the Temple, so that the Holy Man with Crab-Tree Truncheon sets out with the Sun, and stretches his Legs with a good handsome Walk, before he arrives at the Pulpit to stretch his Lungs, and wears out much of his Soles before he can reach his Stall to mend their Souls, Their Houses of Prayer are generally thatcht Tabernacles, which are wainscoted towards the East with little Desks, like Pounds, where Levite imprison’d for about half an Hour, fodders the poor Taffies with some melancholy Tear-fetching Story about a grim Fellow call’d Death, who ambles Folks on his Back into another World; a Thing which he heard from the oracular Gums of his edentulous old Granum, as she sate on the Settle in the Chimney-Corner. Some of the most reverend Rectors are dignify’d with a Stipend of six Pounds a Year, besides the Perquisities of a Drum and Fiddle; which well manag’d on a Holiday, make up a very pretty Thing. Others have an Augmentation of a Bull or a Bear, which being solemnly baited about twice in a Quarter, do pick pretty comfortable Tyth from the Spectators Pockets, and makes the poor Parson’s Purse to smile and mantle.

As far as I could perceive, the Welch People love Holiday Fingers, and care not much for encumbring them with that Inconvenience call’d Work. They can (Shepherd like) loll upon a Crook pretty handsomely in the Field, and can discharge a Superintendency over the Goats. They are most accomplish’d Drovers, to which laudable Function they are so naturally prone, that they are apt to drive sometimes more than their own. They are much addicted to the Sin of Nastiness, wallowing in Filthiness like so many Swine; so that the whole Nation seems but a general Sty. The meaner Sort of Women are generally such draggle Tails, that the Cattle in their Bosoms are quag-mir’d in the Filth of their well-gleb’d Attire; so that the frisking Fleas are so far from Levalto’s, that I was verily persuaded they can scarce pull out Proboscis, and their Feet from the Bogs. The Tenements they live in are suitable to the Guests that possess them; for as these seem to be Dirt moulded into Men, so those are the same Matter kneaded into Houses; they are usually very humble Cottages, and low in Stature, so that a Man may ride upon the Ridge, and yet have his Legs hang in the Diet. I was not so vain as to expect very splendid Furniture in such contemptible Huts; but I soon perceiv’d what Utensils were most necessary, a Dish-Clout and a Besom, and such cleansing Implements are very proper to correct the Filthiness of their Mansions. I found no Apartments in these their Habitations, every Edifice being a Noah’s Ark, where a promiscuous Family, a miscellaneous Heap of all Kind of Creatures did converse together in one Room; the Pigs and the Pullen, and other Brutes either truckling under, or lying at the Bed’s-Feet of the little more refin’d, yet their Brother Animals.

But that which I admir’d most of all amongst them, was the Virginity of their Language, not deflowerd by the Mixture of any other Dialect. The Purity of the Latin was debauch’d by the Vandals, and hunn’d into Corruption by that barbarous People; but the Sincerity of the British Tongue remains inviolable. ’Tis a Tongue (it seems) not made for every Mouth, as appears by an English Gentleman one Day in my Company, who having got a Welsh Polysyllable into his Throat, was almost choak’d with Consonants, had I not, by clapping him on the Back, made him disgorge a Guttural or two, and so sav’d him. Whether the Welsh Tongue be a Splinter of that universal one that was shatter’d at Babel, I have some Reason to doubt, in Regard ’tis unlike the Dialects that were crumbled there. However, ’tis now cashir’d out of Gentlemen’s Houses, there being scarcely to be heard even one single Welsh Tone in many Families; for their Children are instructed in the Anglican Idiom, and their Schools are pædagogu’d with Professors of the same; so that (if the Stars prove lucky) there may be some glimmering Hopes that the British Tongue may be quite extinct, and may be English’d out of Wales, as Latin was barbarously Goth’d out of Italy.

But in fine, being quite out of Conceit with the short Commons I met with in this Mountainous Country, which was much inferiour to the delicious Dainties of Water-Gruel, Bread and Butter, and Small Beer, allow’d to the poor Lunaticks of Bedlam, after they come to pig in Straw, and have their Heads shav’d as an Introduction to Phlebotomy, three or four Times a Week, I e’en bade adieu to the miserable Taffies, and made the best of my Way to England again, to recover that Flesh in a plentiful Nation, which I had lost in a Land of meer Poverty and Famine.

THE
Comical Pilgrim’s Pilgrimage
INTO
SCOTLAND.

Being returned out of Wales into England again, I was no sooner got into London, but thro’ an avaricious Temper, I soon began to haunt most of the Gaming-Houses in Town, which Day and Night were as well cram’d as the Groom-Porter’s Table. In these Schools of inevitable Ruin and Destruction, I lost a great deal of Money, and when too late to recover it, I began seriously to reflect with myself, that let a Man be ever such a good Gamester at Cards or Dice, yet so many Sharpers were always flocking about him, that they would drain his Pockets in spite of all the greatest Favours of Fortune; or else how could these Gaming-Houses clear sometimes 100 Pounds, but never less than 50 or 60 Pounds a Night, besides paying Salaries to the several Officers depending solely on them? For there Commissioners are maintain’d by whom the Weeks Accompt is Audited, viz. Directors, who Superintend the Room. Operators, or Dealers at Faro. Croupees, to watch the Cards, and gather the Money for the Bank. Puffs, who have Money given them to play, in order to decoy others. Clerks, who are Checks upon the Puffs, to see that they sink none of that Money. Squibs, who are Puffs of a lower Rank, having half their Salery; Flashes, who sit by to Swear how often they have stript the Bank; Dunners, or Waiters; Attornies, or Sollicitors; Captains, who are to Fight any Men that are Peevish, or out of Humour at the loss of their Money; Porters, who at most of the Gaming-Houses are Soldiers; Ushers, who take care that the Porters at the Door suffer none to come in but those they know; and Runners, to get Intelligence of all the Meetings of the Justices of the Peace, and when the Constables go upon the Search: Besides giving half a Guinea to any Link-Boy, Coach-man, Chairman, Drawer, or other Person, who gives Notice of the Constables being upon the Search.

Now to break myself from this bewitched Gaming, I bid adieu to Hazard, Backgammon, Tick-tack, l’Ombre, Picquet, Cribbidge, and Basset, and was resolved to take a Pilgrimage into Scotland, where I found the Inhabitants addicted to no sort of Game but One and Thirty, at which they are as dextrous as a Milk-Maid at Dancing on May-Day, with one Foot upon the Ground, and t’other never off; for from Fergus their first King down to Charles the First, whom they Sold for a Sacrifice to Stratocracy or Army Power, they had Murder’d no less than Thirty One of their Sovereigns, which is just the Game at Regicide: Hereupon to call them Traytors is a Favour, for they will hatch Treason as soon as they do Chickens at Grand-Cairo, by the Adoption of an Oven; but now the Scots are bound to their good Behaviour, by a Union, they ought to be as Circumspect in their Loyalty, as the Ambassador that Beds a Queen, with the nice Caution of a Sword between them.

It is said that Scota the Daughter of Pharaoh King of Egypt, who was Drown’d in the Red-Sea, gave Name to Scotland, when she went thither, and betwixt which People and the valiant English, a Quarrel continued longer than ever did any between any other two Nations in the World, for they have most obstinately contended (like Rome and Carthage) for Empire above 2000 Years; which is the most tenacious Suit that ever depended between any two People in the Court of Mars. Since the Norman Invasion, there have been 30 pitcht Battles betwixt us and them; of which the English have obtain’d of the Scots at least four for one, and those of greatest Consequence. The South Part of Great-Britain being Champian, hath been sometimes in its Borders harrass’d, and laid wast by the Scots, never possess’d, but their Country, defended by inaccessible Hills, and by two invincible Enemies, Hunger and Cold, hath been wholly reduc’d by the English, who have Slain four Scotch Kings, and took two Prisoners; whereas they have never Slain nor took Prisoner one English King, to whom the Kings of Scotland were Homagers for a long Time.

Those Scots, who dwell by the Sea, dung their Land with the Weeds which it casts on the Shore; and all Women throughout the Country in Writing use their Maiden Names after Marriage. About the High and Solitary Hills of Genap I saw good Store of Magpyes and Goats; but few Hogs, to whose Flesh they bear as utter an Aversion as the Jews; and among all their Flocks of Sheep, where you’ll see one White, there’s ten Black, so that you may soon know a Scotchman from a black Sheep. The farther I Travell’d, I observ’d Geese were not over plentiful; Parsnips very scarce; Venison not to be had for want of Deer; Boys Knitted, and Men, Women, and Children went bare-legg’d.

As for their Coyn, the most remarkable of their Coyning is a Baubee, which is the value of our Half-penny, bearing the royal Effigy on one side, and on the Reverse the Thistle and Crown, with this Motto, Nemo me impune lacessit. In the Kirk-Yard at Girvan are several Carv’d Grave-stones; and at the Kirk-Door in this Town are fasten’d Jogs or Brad-Irons to Chains three or four Feet long; which are put round Persons Necks, who Swear, get Drunk, or break the Sabbath. Thus by countenancing Religion in allowing their Pastors to have an Authority over Misdemeanors, it is that the tumultuary Scottish Institution has gain’d Ground, and insinuated itself into popular Credit and Esteem: For on every Sunday, when the Office of the Day is over, they have a Kirk-Sessions, wherein the Minister, with a Number of his Congregation Elected to that end, is Authoriz’d to meet and take Cognizance, and to punish all Offenders the foregoing Week. So some such Authority, and a few more insulting Priviledges, seem to be some of those Desiderata’s aim’d at by our pretended Reformers of Manners in England, to make up their Temporal Advantages, under a specious show of designing to restore the more Primitive and Christian Discipline. But I hope this Age will never experience what it is to come under the Pharisaical Constitution of such pious Cheats. Nevertheless, since Knowledge without Virtue has abus’d the World with too much Impiety, I applaud that one Thing of the reforming Societies in England, in putting poor Children out to Trades; for of what Use is Learning (any farther than Reading and Writing) to ordinary Vocations? Whatsoever exceeds, is Useless, and makes them Pragmatical: Moreover, as it is not their Happiness to obtain Advantages of a more liberal or academical Education, it will much more commend the Goodness of their small Breeding, that they have learnt to speak Truth rather than Latin, which the Masters of our Parish Schools understand not; and that they are more knowing and exact in the Rules of Justice (a transcendent Quality unknown to some of their Benefactors) than the Distinction of Languages.

In my Journey not far from the Town of Ayre, many Sales are to be taken on the Sea-Coasts; but on the Land not many Pidgeons, nor great Store of wild Ducks: However, the Country is well stockt with other sort of Foul, as foul Plates, foul Dishes, foul Trenchers, foul Knives, foul Forks, foul Napkins, and by Heavens foul ever thing else, even to their very Women, who you’ll see standing on a Saturday by a lolling Wash-block, which is a Wooden kind of Anvil, where the She-Vulcans are hammering out with Battledore, or else with their Feet in a washing Tub, the Filth of Linnen, whose unctious Distillations are the Nile that water’d the little Egypt of their adjacent Gardens. Staring very earnestly with all the Eyes that I had, as if looking thro’ a Perspective Glass, I perceiv’d every Scotchman’s Face usually bubbled into Bubbles and Pustulees, besides the natural Hout-goust of Body that breath’d from Oatmeal, which made him send forth an Artificial Smell, which you might wind as far as the extream Unction of 20 Romish Funerals, only the Scent is not so Sweet; besides the bonny Scot smells as rankly of the single Stink of Brimstone, as a Goldfinder, alias, Tom-Turd-Man of a Medley; for a scurvey Disease, commonly call’d the Scrubbado, otherwise the Itch, makes frequently an Inroad into his Person, and invades his Body; so that he is forced to choak his Enemy by Stink of Sulphur. ’Tis a Creeping Distemper, whose Progress is checkt by Mortification, so that when he leaves off his Shirt, that is, when it leaves him, and can hang on no longer, it is excellent Furniture for a Tinder-Box, as virtually containing in it both Match and Tinder.

The common People wear Plads and Bonnets, which is a great Fashion in this Country, where the Postman goes a Foot; and poor Folks eat the Stalks of raw Kale. The Elders of the Kirks on Saturday night duly haunt the Ale-houses, which they call Changes, to turn out People to prepare themselves for the Sabbath; and Women here ride astride, without any Danger. The Kirks or Places of Worship have all one Bell, rung by an Iron Chain; but put at either End of the House of Prayer, without any Distinction of East or West, so that Travellers must not look upon their diminutive Steeples for the Guide of a true Course to the Compass.

At the University of Glascow, which like their other poor Universities has but one College, I saw no other Learning but the insipid Collegians wearing red hanging-sleev’d Gowns; and the Cathedral here was built by one Mr. Mongou, I can’t call him Saint, because he was the Son of a Whore begot by a Danish Prince on a Scotch King’s Daughter. Because our main or chief Gallows in England, call’d Tyburn, hath three Beams, and which is famous for stocking the Romish Calendar for roguish Saints, the Scotch to exceed us will have four Beams on their hanging Places, made in the manner of a Turn-Stile; having on each Beam an Iron Hook, on which the Malefactor is to be expos’d in a pendent Posture betwixt Heaven and Earth, as being unworthy of either. The Men for the most part wear Stockings made of Plad-Stuff; and their Quarters are Candlemas-Day, May-Day, Lammas-Day, and All-hallow Tide, which are as welcome to their Landlords as our Quarter-Days are among us.

Bad Cooks are every where in this Nation, because they have seldom any Victuals to dress; and the Childrens Cradles here made of old Wainscot without Heads to them. The Scots have several old Ways to distinguish themselves from Christians, for their Chimes always ring before the Clock strikes; instead of Candles they burn in most Places the Shavings of Fir dipt in Tallow; their Spoons are generally made of Horn quite circular or round, about 3 Inches Diameter, with the Length of the Handle suitable to its Circumference, which Largeness (I suppose) they take from the old Proverb, He must have a long Spoon that eats with the Devil; and those People that can but fill their Bellies with thin Bannock, Sourings, or Bruis, which last sort of Food is only raw Oatmeal put into Water when it’s warm, and thought by them a great deal better than to dine with Duke Humphrey. Hemp and Flax for Linnen are the Staple Commodities of this Nation; but the Scots bear a mortal Hatred to the former, because by the Production thereof, a great many of ’em come to an untimely End.

When I came into the City of Edinburgh, which is the Capital of the Kingdom, I thought I was got into West-Smithfield, for such a Place for Nastiness was not to be found upon Earth, for as the latter was but fill’d with Beasts Dung, the other was more nasty than a common Jakes or Inns-of-Court House of Office, for having a Dung-Tub at the Head of every Pair of Stairs in their Houses, which are 14 or 15 low Stories high, they are emptied a-nights on Peoples Heads without any respect of Persons, so that till 8 or 9 o’ th’ Clock in the Morning, the whole City, which may be a Mile in Length, is scented with the excellent Perfume of Scotch Civit Cats; and all the Woman here look as ugly as the Four of Clubs, which some call Wibling’s Witch, from one James Wibling, who in the Reign of King James the First grew rich by private Gaming, and was commonly observ’d to have this Card in his Hand, so that he never lost a Game but when he mist it.

All the Scots are generally as great Enemies to Gentility and nice Dressing, as Diogenes the morose Cynic was to Plato, because of his courtly Compliance with the World; and to be honest would be as great a Mortification to them as Lent to a poor Player. They’ll sit as lovingly about Oaten Cakes and Butter, as a Parcel of Tarpaulins round a Platter of Burgue; and they love Hunger and Ease, as well as a Lawyer does Term-Time. Tho’ they hate the solemn Festival of Christmas, and other Holy-days, yet they pay some Veneration to St. Andrew; and will be as Drunk on the 30th of November, as any Shoemaker once a Year to the Remembrance of Crispin. They hold Fairs in many Places, at which is much Mobbing, Whoring and Drunkenness as at our Shirking-Fair by Tyburn: And Mrs. Cicilia, they say, is no Saint, but a common Strumpet bred up at a Three-penny Hop in London. I never saw the Sign of the Brats-Tumbler any where, which makes me believe every Scotch Woman brings her Urchins into the World, without the Assistance of Madam Grope, to save Charges; on a Sunday Morning the Scots will run 4 or 5 Miles to a Conventicle; and in the Afternoon to the Mountains to louse themselves.

It is suppos’d by some, that Scotland is the Land of Nod, to which Cain was exil’d a Vagabond for the Murther of his Brother Abel; and truly in my Opinion the Supposition may be Very probable, for Cain’s being an Inhabitant there, the Ground hath been curst ever since, for it is a most barren Place to this very Day. Had grazing Nebuchadnezzar been here, he would have found but bad Pasture; and Judas as much plagu’d for a Tree to hang himself on. Bag-Pipes they esteem before Organs; there’s as much Hypocrisy in their Pantile-Houses as Irreligion in a Jews Synagogue; and the Dog-Days are not so warm here as in more Southerly Climates, but their Bitches Nights every where are too hot with a Vengeance. Here is every Day an Autumn among the Women; for, for a Noggin of Brandy they will fall as thick on their Backs as the Leaves in St. James’s Park do in September; and Law and Equity are as great Strangers to the Scots, as Honesty to the Justice of Peace that’s lately run from Clare-Court to the Mint, and who (when in Commission) was fitter to sit on a Butcher’s Block, as his Father did before him, than in a Magistrate’s Chair.

The Castle at Edinburgh is reckon’d as impregnable as a Scotchman’s sear’d Conscience; and their Capital contains but one Broad Street, by which is an University containing one College of Scholars poor both in Purse and Head. Here are no Carts, but sliding Cars; and the highest Number I ever saw on their Hackney Coaches exceeded not 29. The Scots reckon their Children spurious if they have not the Itch; and there’s as much Whoring every Day, as at Bartholomew or Southwark Fair. They Bury the Dead at Noon, to save the Charge of Torches; and as here are no Linkmen, only Boys and Girls light Passengers with Candles in Paper Lanthorns all about Town for a Baubee. Most of the People are generally of the Religion with them who marry without a Ring, Christen without the Cross, and Die without Baptism. Their Pastors, who are of the true Stamp of Geneva, endeavour by long extemporary Prayers and tedious Graces, to save the poor Souls of those Mountaineers; but yet their Hypocrisie Damns more than ever Sampson Slew, and with the same Weapon too, the Jaw Bone of an Ass. The Presbyterian Government is uppermost here; which Religion being a good quiet Subject, I could not forbear setting forth the Piety of a Scotch Presbyterian, in the following Lines.

Christians, behold a most pernicious sight,

Which worse than Hell wou’d dying Martyrs fright!

Such Monsters Africk never did produce;

Nor Lucifer, when all his Imps broke loose,

To win, by force of Arms, celestial Sway,

But, unsuccessful, lost the fatal Day:

And if its Name by any shou’d be ask’d,

It is a Presbyterian unmask’d.

His Eyes at Vice look sad, and full of Woe,

Yet Heart and Tongue together never go;

His Words in Conventicles virtuous be,

But nauseous, when at Home, to Modesty.

To seem Dovout, he hates all common Whores,

But those which Ply in Private much Adores.

He trembles when a first Rate Oath he hears;

But Perjury his Int’rest seldom fears.

In solemn Leagues and Covenants he takes

Delight; but greater in the Vows he breaks:

And as informing is his darling Trade,

He is a godly Man in Masquerade.

In fine, he’s Born, he Lives, and Dies in Sin;

A Saint without, and Devil all within:

Nay, as his Sanctity’s a pious Fraud,

Which none but Knaves and Villains can applaud,

He is all Hypocrite, and what is worse!

The Scorn of Men, and God’s eternal Curse.

A Scotchman’s Tongue runs high Fullams, there is a Cheat in his Idiom; for the Sense ebbs from the bold Expression, like the Citizen’s Gallon in London, which the Drawer interprets but half a Pint. As they never speak as they think, their false Tongues may be compar’d to the Cards at Primiviste, in which Game 6 is 18, and 7 is 21. The poorer sort have a piece of Linnen peeping out at their Collars for show of a Shirt; but with long wearing it is so black and ragged, that it is going to the Paper-Mill as fast as it can. When the Beasts enter’d into the Ark by Pairs, I wonder how Noah coupl’d the Scots, for they are strange Creatures both by Sea and Land; and an Ass is scarce to be had in this Nation either for Love or Money, because they put ’em all into Commissions of the Peace. They retain one barbarous Custom still, and that is, if any two be displeas’d they expect no Law, but bang it out, one and his kindred against the other and his; being so implacable in their hatred, that on each side they use a Scale of Destruction, by striving to ruin the Father, beggar the Son, and strangle the Hopes of all Posterity: And this Fighting they call their Feider, a Word so barbarous, that was it to be express’d in Latin, it must be by Circumlocution.

Their ill Manners make them look more salvage than the Monsters put by Astrologers to the Humane Limbs in Anatomy; wherefore it is strange that Physicians do not apply a Scotchman to the Soles of the Feet in a desperate Fever, for he would draw far beyond Pidgeons; and it is thought some of our English Quacks, Empericks or Mountebanks will slice one to try the Experiment. The Scots were ever as great Friends to the King of France, as Don Quixot was to Sancho Pancho, who fought at all Adventures to purchase the other the Government of an Island which was none of his; and they think themselves as brave Fellows as the Spanish Knight Errant, when he fought a Windmill, to the great Danger of breaking the Necks of him and his Horse Rosinante, when it flung ’em both into a Pond. Their Godliness is of the same Parentage with good Laws, both extracted out of bad Manners; and their Teachers live upon the Sins of their Congregations, which verifies the Axiom, Iisdem nutritur ex quibus componitur. They dread to be civiliz’d; and they have a great Antipathy against Church Windows which are painted, when a Looking Glass would shew them more Superstition: In fine, a Scotchman is such a Hater of Images, that he hath defac’d God’s in his own Countenance.

THE
Comical Pilgrim’s Pilgrimage
INTO
IRELAND.

Having seen too much Villany in Scotland to pay the least Adoration to the Country, I return’d to London again, and after a short Stay there went for Highlake in Cheshire, where going on Board the Seaforth Gally, Sail was presently hoisted, and in a few Hours bidding Adieu to the Sight of Old England and Wales, we came to Anchor in the Bay of Dublin very early on a Whitsun-Monday in the Morning. Here I went ashore at Dunlary, and being got safe in that Part of Terræ firmæ, which, I think, is situated in podice Mundi, I went Five Miles farther to DUBLIN, the Metropolis of Ireland, standing on the Liffie River, as well as the Sea. This Country is seperated from England by a very dangerous Sea, in which meeting with a most dreadful Hurricane, as soon as the tempestuous Weather was over, my Muse incited me to delineate the Seamens Devotion in bad Weather, in the following Meditation.

When Nature shews the Seaman various Forms

Of Death, in Tempests, Hurricanes, and Storms,

The Ship in Danger, Master, or the Mate,

Cries, Reef the Sails before it is too late;

We cannot bear ’em in this Stress of Weather,

Up nimbly, Boys, G⸺ d⸺ you, all together.

A Sailor from the Fore-Mast-Top bauls out,

By G⸺ there’ll be no Calm to Day, I doubt;

Then answers one, who’s on the Main-Yard Arm,

Z⸺ds, Lads, as yet we have receiv’d no Harm.

But next another cries, G⸺ d⸺ my Soul,

How cursedly the rotten Bitch do’s rowl!

Whilst here do’s split a Mast, there rent a Sail,

Another swears, by Heav’n the Ship do’s fail:

Some cry, G⸺ rot us, we shall all be drown’d,

The very Storm do’s rage the Compass round;

For steer which Way we will, the Wind do’s blow

Contrary to the Course we strive to go.

But hark! below Deck next a Man do’s speak,

And briskly swears, the Vessel springs a-leak;

Then how the Seamen helter-skelter jump,

To save the Ship and Cargo by the Pump;

Which useless grown, the Master says, I think

The Vessel founders, we begin to sink.

D⸺n ye, hoist out the Long-Boat, Wind defies

Our Art, the Gunhil under Water lies;

Come, leave the Whip-Staff; Lads, make hast, G⸺’s B⸺

Your Luffs nor Ports can do us now no Good.

Mean while the Chaplain, who shou’d for ’em pray,

Instead of praying, swears as fast as they:

And just on drowning, in one hideous Yell,

They curse their Fate, and swim with speed to Hell.

But being got upon firm Land again, as I said before, I was very glad of visiting the Irish Natives, tho’ they are not yet wholly brought to a civil Course of Life, thro’ the Fathers inflicting an heavy Curse on all their Posterity, if ever they should sow Corn, build Houses, or learn the English Tongue: And the Reason of this inveterate Antipathy is, because heretofore there being but one Freeholder in a whole County, which was the Lord himself, the rest held in Villanage; and being subject to the Lord’s immeasurable Taxations, they had no Encouragement to build, sow, or plant. Ireland is divided into 4 Provinces; namely, Munster; Leinster, where Stonehenge once stood, but by Magick Art Merlin remov’d those ponderous Stones out of this Territory into Wiltshire; Connaught, where are some Vines, but rather serving for Shade than Profit, for in these Parts the Sun entring into Virgo, causeth cold Gales to blow, and in Autumn the Afternoon’s Heat is so faint and short, that it cannot ripen the Clusters; and Ulster, whose antient Custom in making their King was by taking a white Cow, which his Irish Majesty must kill, and seeth the same in Water whole, then must he bath himself therein stark naked; and sitting in the Caldron wherein it is sod, accompanied with the People round about him, he and they eat the Flesh, and drink the Broth (much Good may’t do ’em) without Cup, Dish or Spoon. No sooner was I arriv’d at Dublin, but being in Company with some Collegians of Trinity-College there, which is all the Colleges their University contains, they to shew their extraordinary Parts to me a Stranger in a poetick Way, made Verses ex tempore, and I to Oblige them writ off of Hand the following Lines.

When pious Israel, by Jehovah blest,

Had been four hundred Years and more opprest,

By haughty Pharaoh’s arbitrary Sway,

Which Doom’d the Hebrew Vassals to Obey,

It pleas’d the Pow’r of an Almighty Hand

To Scourge a stubborn King, and sinful Land,

With ten afflictions, grievous to a Realm,

Where Pride and Superstition sat at Helm.

Yet Wrath Divine was not so much Display’d,

To make a wise Creator be Obey’d,

But that indulging Heaven kept in store,

For Ireland, a dozen Plagues and more.

Nits make their Youths, before they’re Old, look Grey,