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Title: The Comical Pilgrim; or, Travels of a Cynick Philosopher...
       Thro' the most Wicked Parts of the World, Namely, England,
       Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and Holland

Author: Anonymous

Release Date: December 31, 2017 [EBook #56276]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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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.

Italicised text is indicated _like this_, text that is upright within
italic passages or spaced for emphasis ~like this~.




[Illustration: _G Thorton Scul._]




                                   THE
                           Comical _PILGRIM_;
                                   OR,
                                 TRAVELS
                                  OF A
                           Cynick PHILOSOPHER,

                     Thro’ the most Wicked Parts of
                               the WORLD,

                                 Namely,

                         ENGLAND,   }{  IRELAND,
                           WALES,   }{  and
                         SCOTLAND,  }{  HOLLAND.

                                  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




[Illustration]




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._




[Illustration]




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~._

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




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.




[Illustration]




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.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




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,
    And rampant Lice upon their Bodies Prey;
    Their Summer Visiters are Swarms of Fleas,
    Which Sting the Females that they can’t have Ease.
    Poverty Nips ’em, Ign’rance is their Guide,
    And Sloth in Triumph thro’ their Cabbins ride.
    Misery for lazy Lives they Celebrate;
    And Loyalty (which proves their Ruin) hate.
    Their chiefest Talent much in Nonsense lies;
    And honest Principles they all Dispise.
    Devotion is a Stranger to their Thoughts,
    And small Temptations make their Women Morts.
    But that which adds to their intailed Curse,
    Is store of Children, but an empty Purse.
    Thus, if these are not Plagues enough, may Pox,
    And all the Ails which cram’d ~Pandora~’s Box,
    Always severely Torture them; and be
    The Portion of their wild Posterity._

This Satyr being Truth and Matter of Fact, how well it pleas’d the
_Irish_ Collegians may be easily guess’d, however taking leave of my
learned Company, I went out to look about me in the City, where I star’d
and gap’d around, like our Country Hicks upon the Signs in _London_, the
Monument, or Tombs in _Westminster-Abby_. _Ringsend_ Coaches, so call’d
from a Place of that Name about a Mile or two out of the _Dublinian_
Suburbs, I saw were more numerous than Hackney or Gentlemen’s Coaches;
and which being a sort of Carts made with a Seat before, wherein People
may be jolted 3 or 4 Miles for 2 Pence, your topping City Cuckolds and
their Wives very often ride out of Town in ’em, to make a Demolition of
Cakes and Ale. Being mounted next upon _Lousie-Hill_, and asking whence
the Place deriv’d its Name, some knowing People inform’d me, that an old
Woman once dwelling there, to whom honest St. _Patrick_, a Swineherd, and
tutelary Patron of that Kingdom promis’d to clear that Nation of Lice,
she fell a weeping, and humbly besought the good old Man not to destroy
them, because the Inhabitants had no other Diversion on _Sundays_, than
to sit at home and louse themselves; whereupon her Request being granted,
the _Irish_ enjoy the Company of their native Cattle to this Day, in
Memory of which peculiar Favour this Street ever since bears the Name of
_Lousie-Hill_. At last I rambled into _Smock-Alley_, where the _Irish_
Theatre is situated; Curiosity led me soon into it, when _Dryden_’s
Opera, call’d King _Arthur_, was to be acted, which is a Play I lik’d
well enough, excepting these two Lines in Act I. Scene I.

    _On yon proud Towers, before the Day be done,
    My glittering Banners shall be wav’d against the setting Sun._

For tho’ the _Greek_ and _Latin_ Poets, in their Compositions, made their
_Hexameter_ or _Heroick_ Verse, compos’d of _Dactyls_ and _Spondees_,
yet always observing to have each Line to end with an _Adonick_ likewise,
it runs smoother than what our Language will with 15 or more Syllables,
for we cannot exceed 10 Feet, or 12 at the most, without offending a
delicate Ear.

Farther, let me observe, that the _Irish_ Stage is now as much cumber’d
as the _English_ Stage, with Inventions not used in former Ages; I mean
with _Opera_’s and _Farce_; the first stupifying the Audience in such
a quivering Manner in their Songs, that the Words and Sense too are
both lost in the Tune: And the other is a Representation of Things not
natural, and is but one, or 3 Acts at most; contrary to the Rule of
dramatick Poetry, which, _Horace_ says in his Book _de Arte Poetica_,
must have no more or less than 5 Acts. As for _Comedy_, it is as much,
nay more corrupted in _Ireland_, than in _England_, _France_ or _Italy_,
in too much admitting the _Mimick_ in the _Drama_: And let me tell you
(tho’ a Pilgrim) that since I am enter’d upon this Discourse, I must
take Notice, that tho’ _Comedy_ is an Imitation of inferior People in
Ridicule, yet ought not the Ridicule to be extravagant, but gracefully
and slightly touch’d, as by _Terence_ in his Pieces. Again, altho
_Comedy_ represents low Persons, yet are they not the meanest, since it
brings eminent Citizens and Magistrates on the Stage; nay, _Plautus_ in
his _Amphytrio_ introduces Gods and Kings, but nevertheless it is a true
_Comedy_, because he hath turn’d the Subject of _Tragedy_ into Ridicule;
and it looks beautiful enough, if the Actors have a Regard to their
Pronunciation and Gesture, according to _Quintilian_’s Rule, in the 11th
Chapter of his First Book which is this: _Debet etiam docere comœdus
quomodo narrandum_, &c. That is, a _Comedian_ ought to teach how we
should speak, with what Authority we should persuade, with what Emotion
Anger should be rais’d, and with what Change of Voice we may excite
Pity: I can’t blame those who spend some Time with the Masters of the
palestrick Art; that is, those who form the Gestures and Motions, teach
how to hold the Arms, and the Hands, that we seem not to be rustick, or
ignorant, to have no unseemly Carriage, no unbecoming Posture of the
Feet, and that the Head and Eyes don’t differ from the other Motions of
the Body. But these Rules are no where strictly observ’d by Players:
Moreover, as the Design of _Comedy_ is to rectify the Manners of Men and
Women, nothing ought to be represented which may vitiate the Audience,
for the People being generally the same, they obstinately retain the most
licentious and obscene Things; especially when they are impiously joyn’d
to Religion. Indeed _Ben Johnson_ is often guilty of this Fault in his
_Volpone_, especially where he brings in Sir _Politick Would be_ talking
thus prophanely to _Peregrine_.

    _And then, for your Religion, profess none;
    But wonder at the Diversity of all._ Act 4. Sc. 1.

Also _Ben Johnson_ in his _Alchymist_ so much dishonours his Maker, as to
suffer the most tremendous Name of God to be made so vile and cheap, as
to be us’d often as an expletive Particle to prevent a Chasme, or make up
a Gap in a Sentence, that it may run more smoothly; as appears by some of
his Persons thus speaking.

    _God’s Will then, Queen of Fairies
    On with your Tire; and, Doctor, with your Robes.
    Let’s dispatch him for God’s sake._ Act 3. Sc. 3.

    _Fore God,
    She is a delicate Dab chick! I must have her._ Act 4. Scen. 2.

As for _Tragedies_, those are the most perfect ones in which there are
_Peripeties_, that is, Revolutions, Changes of Fortune, and Remembrances,
as in the _Oedipus_ of _Sophocles_, the first _Tragedy_ of all Antiquity,
where in the 3d Scene of the 4th Act, the _Peripetie_, or Change of
one Fortune into another, is contrary to what was expected, in the Man
that comes from _Corinth_ to acquaint _Oedipus_ of the Death of King
_Polybius_. I shall not take Notice of the Duration of the Representation
of a _Play_, which ought not to exceed the Space of a natural Day;
but observe, that the Sect of the _Peripateticks_ believing neither
_Providence_ nor _fatal Necessity_, but imputes all Accidents to Chance,
the antient tragick _Poets_ chose rather to follow the Opinion of the
_Stoicks_, who acknowledge a _Providence_ and fatal Necessity; as very
well perceiving, that that was the only Means to preserve the _Theatre_,
those wonderful Surprizes, which are produc’d by Accidents that seem
fortuitous, and yet nevertheless have Causes assign’d to them, which are
certain. Again, it is to be noted, that the _Prologue_ should be plac’d
before the Play; but _Plautus_ hath took the Liberty of the _Greeks_, in
placing the Prologue in the Play, as particularly in the first Act of his
_Miles gloriosus_, and after the first Act in _Cistellaria_; however,
as I hint above, this Custom ought not to be follow’d by any prudent and
regular Poet; and therefore _Terence_ hath took Care not to be guilty of
so great a Fault. The _Catastrophe_ of a Play must be happy or fatal;
but _Euripides_ has made his Pieces to have a miserable one, wherefore
he appears to be the most tragical of all the _Poets_. Now the Use of
Machines, which makes the Gods and Goddesses appear upon the Stage, is
founded on the generally received Opinion of the _Ethnichs_, who suppose
the Gods can see all things, and take Care of Men; for if there were
none but _Epicureans_ in the World, the Machines would be ridiculous,
or not suffer’d, because they would directly thwart their Opinion, in
affirming the Gods lead a quiet Life, free from all Sorts of Care, and
if _Nature_ sometimes doth those Things which seem miraculous, the Gods
take no Notice of it, and don’t interrupt their Pleasure. By the Way
also I must note, that the Imitation of Lightning and Thunder may be
put into the Number of the Machines, and also that furious Storm, which
makes the unravelling of the second _Oedipus_ in _Sophocles_; for altho’
_Jupiter_ doth not appear, yet ’tis he who sends that Tempest, during
which _Oedipus_ is buried: And from hence I infer, that Machines may be
employ’d, not only out of, but also in the Action of Tragedy, provided
there be an absolute Necessity for them.

But many of our modern _Dramatists_ have not exactly observ’d the
aforesaid Discourse, or kept themselves strictly to the Unity of
Action, Time, and Place. For _Shakespear_ in his Tragedy of _Othello_,
the _Moor_ of _Venice_, makes the Duration of what he represents to
be above 3 Weeks or a Month; I think the Representation of his Play
begins in _Italy_, whence his black General went to _Cyprus_, an Island
on the Coast of _Syria_, and to which he could not well arrive under a
Fortnight, according as the Storm he met with held longer or shorter. The
Absurdities and Blunders of this illiterate _Poetaster_ being so many,
that whatever he writ was not worth acting in _Bartholomew_ Fair, I shall
only take Notice of the little Knowledge he had in _Astronomy_, when in
Act 1. Scen. 2. he says,

    _For do but stand upon the foaming Shore,
    The chiding Billows seem to pelt the Clouds,
    The Wind shake Surge, with high and monst’rous Main,
    Seems to cast Water on the burning Bear,
    And quench the Guards of the ever-fired Pole._

In these Lines I reckon he hath given a false _Epithet_ to the _Bear_,
which ought to have been _lesser_ instead of _burning_, by talking of
the _Guards_ presently after, which are the two foremost Stars in _Ursa
minor_, whereof that which is in the Shoulder of this Constellation, hath
Longitude 128 Degrees, 23 Minutes, and North Latitude 72 Degrees, 40
Minutes, insomuch that being nearest of all the Northern Constellations
to the North Pole, I wonder how there can be any extraordinary Heat
within the frigid Zone. Also in the same Play he supposes the Soul to
be the Production of some mortal Substance, according to these Words of
_Emilia_, Act 5. Scen. 1.

    _If he say so, may his pernicious Soul
    Rot half a Grain a-day._

But _Shakespear_ being no Scholar, I suppose he had so little Skill
in _Rhetorick_, that by a _Synecdoche_ he did not put a _Whole_ for a
Part, as _Virgil_ do’s _Anima_ for _Homo_, in describing the Funeral of
_Polydorus_, in _Æneid. lib. 3_. The Faults of this same _Poetaster_ are
not a few also in his _Tragedy_, call’d _Hamlet_, Prince of _Denmark_; in
which he is mighty drolling, particularly where he tells an old Woman’s
Story of the Cocks crowing always at _Christmas_, in Act 1. Scen. 1.

    _It faded at the Crowing of the Cock.
    Some say, that ever ’gainst that Season comes,
    Wherein our Saviour’s Birth is Celebrated,
    This Bird of dawning singeth all Night long,
    And then, they say, no Spirit dares stir abroad,
    The Nights are wholsome; then no Plannets strike,
    No Fairy takes, no Witch hath Power to Charm,
    So hallow’d and so gracious is that Time._

Truly Mr. _Lee_ was in my Opinion, the most exact of all our modern
_Dramatists_ in his Plays; but yet he is not without his Irregularities
and Foibles, especially in religious Matters, of which we shall only
take notice of this in his _Tragedy_ call _Theodosius_, or the Force of
Love, where, in Act 3. Scen. 1. he represents the Emperor _Theodosius_
a hopeful Convert, when at the sight of _Athenais_ he makes one of the
Articles of the Christian Faith a _Simile_ for his Cod-piece Passion in
these Words,

    _What hinders now but in spite of Rules
    I burst thro’ all the Bands of Death that hold me,
    And fly with such a haste to that Appearance,
    As bury’d Saints shall make at the last Summons._

In Mr. _Lee_’s Tragedy call’d the Rival Queens, or the Death of
_Alexander_ the Great, in Act 1. Scen. I. he makes _Polyperchon_ give a
Description of Hell after the _Christian_ Manner; for tho’ it was the
_Theology_ of the _Grecians_ to believe a future State, yet it does not
occur to my Memory that I ever read they allotted any Punishment to the
Wicked by Fire, as he intimates in these Lines.

    _Tho’ the Earth yawn so wide,
    That all the Labours of the Deep were seen,
    And ~Alexander~ stood on the other Side,
    I’d leap the burning Ditch to give him Death,
    Or sink my self for ever._

And in Act 4. Scen. I. he introduces _Cassander_ speaking so prophanely,
that it must rather vitiate the Audience than make them virtuous.

    _’Tis nobler far to be a King of Hell,
    To Head infernal Legions, Chiefs below,
    To let ’em loose for Earth, to call ’em in,
    And take Account of what dark Deeds are done,
    Than be a Subject God in Heav’n unblest,
    And without Mischief have eternal Rest._

As for Mr. _Shadwell_, he hath mixt his Tragedy call’d the _Libertine_
with so much Comedy, that the Play is rather tragi-comical than tragical;
tho’ there is Blood enough spilt in it which might, with good Husbandry,
serve very well for two or three Tragedies: But to make Don _John_ the
Libertine talk of a Soul in Act I. when an Atheist believes no such Thing
existing in a Man, it is very absurd, as you may see in the following
Lines, which plainly describe the Person’s Character.

    _Let’s on, and live the nobler Life of Sense;
    To all the Powers of Love and mighty Lust,
    In spite of formal Fops I will be just.
    What Ways soe’er conduce to my Delight,
    My Sense instructs me, I must think ’em right.
    On, on my Soul, and make no Stop in Pleasure,
    They’re dull insipid Fools, who live by Measure._

Was I to criticise on all the Errors occurring in the _Greek_, _Latin_
and _English_ Dramatists, I should swell my Criticisms to a Bulk
exceeding these swelling Expressions of _Seneca_, in the first Act of his
_Hercules Oetæus_, whom he makes to speak in these bragging, bouncing,
and ranting Strains.

    _Vel si times ne terra concipiat feras,
    Properet malum quodcunque dum terra Herculem
    Habet, videtque.
    Da, da tuendos Jupiter saltem deos:
    Illa licebit fulmina parte auferas,
    Ego quam tuebor: sive glacialem polum,
    Seu me tueri fervidam partem jubes,
    Hac esse superos parte securos puta._

By these Lines we plainly see how miserable _Jupiter_ must be, who cannot
be safe from wild Beasts without an _Hercules_; and then again how little
and weak the _Poet_ makes the Gods, in representing them to stand in Need
of Human Help: But the tragick _Poets_ do very often err in this Manner,
by extolling Things above Nature. Moreover, altho’ some Morality may be
learnt by the Judicious either from tragick or comick Writers, yet there
are none of the dramatick Poets but what have too much Immorality and
Prophaness in their Writings; and hence it follows that either _Tragedy_
or _Comedy_, as being a Representation of Things, must be of a more
pernicious Consequence than an _Epick_ Poem, which is only a Recitation.
A dramatick _Poet_ must make the Person which he brings on the Stage to
speak exactly to the Character which he or she represents: Thus whether
the Person that represents another, is to act the Part of a Tyrant,
Adulterer, Villain, Drunkard, or any other wicked profligate Wretch, as
the Humour of such Persons must be represented always the same, without
any Variety, the Representation of such notorious Crimes may be of an
ill Consequence to green Heads; and especially in being Spectators
of such Plays, which treat of those Subjects whose Stories are taken
from, or belonging to Hell. Farthermore there is as much Buffoonry and
Drollery acted on the _Irish_ Stage as on the _English_ Stage, as having
_Harlequins_ shewing _Merry-Andrew_’s Tricks; _Scaramouches_ jumping into
Barrels; Dame _Ragonda_ skipping about with 9 Brats at her Heels; or a
brainless Fellow, who has more Grimace than Sense, riding upon an Ass,
which (I’m sure) is false Heraldry to put Metal upon Metal.

But being as soon tir’d of _Dublin_, as a _Drury-Lane_ Strumpet is
of Beetle and Punny in _Bridewell_, I left that lewd Town to visit
the Country; accordingly I went to _Manooth_, a Town in the County of
_Kildare_, where I saw nothing memorable, but an old Castle much ruinated
by the famous Usurper _Oliver Cromwell_, of inglorious Memory. Hence I
went to _Kilcock_, a Mile beyond which is a Stone-Mill, said to be built
by the Devil; and truly by its strange Contrivance, I’m apt to believe
it may be the Workmanship of some infernal Artist. Four Miles forward is
_Clenard_, on the Skirts of which Town is a Bridge over the River _Boyn_;
memorable for the entire Defeat King _William_ gave his Royal Competitor
for the Diadem of three Kingdoms. Hence I went to _Mullingar_; and from
thence to _Balimore_, otherwise call’d _Balimore-Lough-Sunderland_,
or _Sivedelie_, in the County of _West-Meath_; but how improper the
Derivation is in one Respect, as well as incredulous in another, I leave
to your judicious Sense to determine; for _Bali_ signifies a Town in the
_Bogtrotters Jargon_, and _More_, great; which _Epithet_ is not at all
suitable to this Place, when there are scarce 40 Houses in it. But then
again to name it _Sunderland_, or _Sivedelie_, which signifies a Beetle
to beat wet Linnen, the Accident I am going to recite, methinks could
not impose upon the Faith of any but a _Papist_, who makes Traditions an
essential Part of his _Credo_; for as I was inform’d by some dwelling
here, there goes a Story of a Maid, living in former Ages, when a Grove
grew where this Lough now is, on the North Side of the Town, with a small
Brook running thro’ it; and one Day washing in this solitary Place,
and accidentally dropping her Beetle into the Water, the Trees in the
Grove instantly vanished, and the Ground became a large Lough: Thus
by giving too much Credulity to a Lie, this Town begot a Name as long
as a _Spanish_ Nobleman’s. In the Church-Yard here I took Notice of a
Grave-stone, on which was this insignificant Inscription: _Pray for the
Soul of Major ~John Duneel~, who departed the 6th of ~November~, 1694;
as also for his Wife ~Elizabeth Jones~; and his Sons ~Henry~, ~William~
and ~Richard~, who caused this Tomb to be made, ~Anno Domini~ 1696._
And under it carv’d _J. H. S._ the Initial Letters of, _Iesus Hominum
Salvator_. Not far from this is another Grave stone over a Miller, with
all the chief Tools of his thieving Occupation carv’d thereon: And this
Mode I saw was pretty customary among Tradesmen in many Church-Yards in
this Kingdom.

Next I went to _Athlone_, a Town not only situated in the two
Provinces of _Leinster_ and _Connought_, but also in the two Counties
of _West-Meath_ and _Roscommon_. The _Shannon_, the largest River in
_Ireland_, running from North to South, divides it into two Parts;
over which is a Stone Bridge, containing seven Arches, built by old
Queen _Bess_; and on it is cut out a Man and Dog with this Inscription.
_~Robarts Damport~ Was Overseer of this Workys._ Indeed, the Matter is
not so material as to be worthy of communicating it to the Publick, but
only to let my Readers see their antient way of Spelling, which is not
much different from the modern _Orthography_ now in use among ’em; and to
delineate the Arrogancy of this petty Officer, who, because _Alexander_
the Great respected his Horse _Bucephalus_, attempted to immortalize his
_Irish_ Cur too. Hence I went to _Balidagon_, a little Village six Miles
from _Athlone_; but whence this Place takes its Name I cant imagine,
unless a Remnant of the cursed _Philistines_ made their Escape from the
Slaughtering _Israelites_, by Swimming over the Sea; and settling in
this bye Country, they dedicated these Receptacles of Poverty to their
Monstrous God, _Dagon_. Proceeding onwards on my Pilgrimage, I went
to _Balinasloe_; the People of which small Town are so Zealous, that
rather than want a House of Devotion, they assemble in a little Cabbin,
where a Bank is raised for the Bog-trotting Congregation to sit on; and
such an awkward Pulpit, Desk, and Communion-Table is bestow’d on the
poor _Levite_, that it would puzzle Ingenuity to fathom the Depth of
humane Fancy for their true Description: However, taking some Pity and
Compassion on these godly Wretches, before I left ’em I compil’d for them
the following Stanza’s, call’d

                   The _Irish_ LITANY.

    _From a Country full of Rebellion and Treason;
    From a People not Honest, and void of all Reason;
    From running of Goods, which is ne’er out of Season;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From dry’d up Potatoes, without any Butter;
    From unwholesome Water, which gives the wild Squtter;
    From Priests, who in ~Latin~ to Blockheads do mutter;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Women whose Features wou’d frighten the Devil;
    From Children whose Skin’s like an Orange of ~Sevil~;
    And are bred from the Womb to all manner of Evil;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From thick Bonny-clabber, a Med’cine for Witches;
    From ~Usquebaugh~, loved by all drunken Bitches;
    From Vermin, which makes ’em scratch where it Itches;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From getting of Children, but nothing to keep ’em;
    From Corn-Fields, where idle Lubbers won’t reap ’em;
    From Fleas, where People by Bushels may weep ’em;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From wretchedly living in our poor Condition;
    From Beggars, whose Pride for great Places petition;
    Or else from the Dunghil wou’d bear a Commission.
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Mayors, full as foolish as guzling Churchwardens,
    From ~Dublin~, full of Whores as the ~Spring-Gardens~;
    From a ~Papist~, whose Heart against ~Protestants~ hardens;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From running o’er Bogs, in all sorts of Weather,
    From wearing flat Brogues, made of nasty hard Leather,
    From wearing slight Trowsers, which scarce hang together;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From going bare-foot, both Summer and Winter;
    From wearing a Smock till it’s whiter than Tinder;
    From ~Poets~, whose Parts will never reach ~Pindar~;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Knights of the Post against Innocents swearing,
    From Doxies, whose Mouths for raw Flesh are staring;
    And from their Presumption of Mens Breeches wearing;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Lice, Itch, and Scabs, the Plague of our Nation;
    From Pimps, who claim rich Men for a Relation;
    And from our blind Way of gaining Salvation;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Cook-Maids as nasty as any Gold finder;
    From Pastors as blind as a Beetle and blinder;
    From Strumpets, whom Money make never the kinder,
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From trading with ~France~, to get ourselves Riches;
    From often cooling our Courage in Ditches;
    T’asswage the rebellious Flesh in the Breeches;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Blind leading blind Folks, and Criples the Criple;
    From going to Church without any Steeple;
    From Ropes without Bells, to ring in the People;
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

    _From Rapparees medling with Travellers Purses;
    From Servants as base as damn’d Parish Nurses;
    From Teaguelanders full of Damnation and Curses.
                                ~Libera nos, Domine.~_

Bidding adieu to _Balinosloe_, I went to _Aghrim_, where the Number of
Houses exceed not a Pair-Royal of Aces; however, the Place will be ever
memorable in History, for the decisive Battle fought here, which reduced
a whole Kingdom to the Obedience of the _Protestant_ King _William_.
And all over the Plain here lie scatter’d Heaps of Mens Sculls to this
Day; insomuch that it does not only represent _Golgotha_, but had also
the Father of that _Grecian_ Hero dwelt here, who wept for more Worlds
to add to his Conquests, he might have sav’d his Page the Labour of
shewing him at Meals the ghastful Emblem of Mortality. Hence I proceeded
to _Loghrea_, where is kept the chiefest Market in all the Province of
_Connaught_; and from thence going to _Killilel_, I saw a small wooden
Cross set tottering upon a Heap of Stones in the Road; about which some
Priest, and his bigotted Tribe, had been mumbling a _Pater Noster_, and
_Ave Maria_ to the Blessed Lady. At _Balihavely_ I took Notice of an old
Castle metamorphosed into a Cow-House; and next I went to _Athenrea_,
an ancient, but much ruinated Town, built by old King _John_ of merry
Memory. Then I came to _Galway_, a large Seaport Town, situated on the
River _Caarle_; when I first enter’d this Place, I really took it to be a
general Goal for the whole Kingdom; for the Houses (which are some one,
some two, and some three Stories high) are all strongly built of Stone,
and most of the Windows thick barricadoed with thick Iron Bars, insomuch
that there are not the like Buildings to be seen through the Country for
Strength. In the Midst of this Town stands a Church, dedicated to honest
St. _Nicholas_, whose Steeple hath a pretty good Set of Bells, and its
Chimes are somewhat Musical, but not well approv’d by the _Fanaticks_,
because they are set to the Tune of a _Psalm_. Moreover, in this Church
are two Pulpits, one for the Doctor to preach in, and one for the
Archbishop of _Tuam_, in case his Preferment makes him not above it.

The Women of this Country are generally so homely, that had the Mother of
all Living been as ugly, when she took her ill-condition’d Being from one
of Father _Adam_’s Ribs, her frightful Phisiognomy had forc’d the Godhead
to act the sixth Day over again. Seeing the female Sex so ordinary, to
comfort them under this Misfortune, I composed the following Lines,
call’d the Picture of an _Irish_ Woman.

      _Of all the Creatures I have ever found,
    An ~Irish~ Woman is a strange Compound!
    Unseemly Gestures wanton Sports betray,
    Yet talk of Love, she knows not what to say.
    Her chiefest Breeding lies in milking Cows,
    Her Face is only fit to fright the Crows;
    Her Breasts are large, her Belly somewhat hard,
    And Modesty’s a Thing she’ll ne’er regard:
    But yet to give the ~Teagueland~ Beast her Due,
    Her Skin is really a ~Mulatto~’s Hue;
    Ugly’s her Hand, yet Legs so little be,
    That litler Mill-Posts you shall seldom see.
    Her roving Eyes lascivious Looks betray,
    And as the Night obscures a glorious Day,
    So Ragged Mantles, or a Cloak do’s hide
    Those Imperfections which we should deride.
    Splavin’s her Foot, irregular her Nose,
    Which always is uncleanly as her Cloaths;
    Her Buttocks swell, like lustful Bull his Cod,
    And Knees are never bended to her God:
    For, when at Leisure, her Devotion’s most
    Bestow’d on Priest, and consecrated Host.
    Her Speech discovers a perfidious Heart,
    The which on very easie Terms she’ll part;
    And as for that strange Cup which Water keeps
    With downward Mouth, awake, or when she sleeps,
    Let her be honest Woman, Maid, or Whore,
    Like Death and Hell ’tis gaping still for more._

But yet for all this Dearth of handsome Women, this Country in another
Respect is far happier than _England_, as being less infected with
_Lawyers_, that common Bane of all Mankind. The wild _Irish_, in
all Courts of Judicature, are sworn upon a Scull; herein being more
scrupulous of forswearing themselves, than by taking a false Oath on the
_New-Testament_; as supposing the Ghost to whom that Scull once pertain’d
would haunt them, in case they prov’d perjur’d. Assizes are held twice a
Year for criminal Matters, and Cases of _Nisi prius_; and tho’ _Astræa_
left no Print of her Footsteps in this Nation when she fled to Heaven,
yet so partial is blindfold Justice here betwixt Man and Beast, that
the Stone Pounds for offending Cattle seem stronger built than Goals
for Malefactors. Murderers are hang’d and quarter’d; and _Rapparees_
share the same Fate: Which last in former Times was the _Militia_ of
the Country, but the mean Souls of the _Irish_ detesting now what is
honourable and Praiseworthy, to follow Theft, this martial Denomination
suffers the same hard Fate with those honest Names of _Tyrant_ and
_Sophister_, which from Titles of Honour are degenerated into Terms
of the greatest Disgrace and Infamy; for a _Rapparee_ now signifies
no more than a Robber on the Highway. As for the great Commerce the
People drives, that was plainly perceiv’d by meeting neither Waggon nor
Pack-Horse 100 Miles an End. The wild Native _Irish_ observe more Days
of Fasting and Abstinence than the Rubrick of their Church enjoyns them;
because extream Poverty excludes them from the Use of Flesh and Fowl from
one Year’s End to another. Their Lodging is in small Cabbins, without
Chimneys, put up in the Highways; and in these the Man, his Wife and
Children, Cocks, Hens, Chickens, Hogs, Pigs, Cows, Calves and Geese lie
all together. If _Teague_ is so topping as to rent a small Potatoe-Garden
for 5 Shillings _per Annum_, he thinks himself as well to pass as that
_Italian_ Duke, who’s married Yearly to the _Adriatic_ Sea; however, his
Tenement shall be no better furnish’d than the rest of his Neighbours;
which is commonly set off with a Truss of Straw to lie on, a Grid-Iron,
and Pot to boil _Potatoes_. These wild People wear neither Shoes nor
Stockings, which makes me strongly to suspect that they are born without
any, as Monsieur _Ragou_’s Bastard was without a Shirt; and as often
as I behold their tatter’d Apparel, which scarce covers what Modesty
ought to conceal, I imagine them to proceed from the Loyns of _Ham_, who
discovering his Father’s Nakedness, the Curse of him and his Posterity
lay in never being well cloath’d again.

Here are no Stage-Coaches; and instead of Carts they use only little
Cars, with small Wheels without Spokes, so that they cannot carry above 3
or 400 Weight of Tallow, which is one of the chiefest Commodities of this
Country. Sliding Carts are also very common, imitating much our Halliers
in _Bristol_. Instead of Soap they use _Cackmacrel_, that is, the
Excrements of Dogs whether thick or thin, which poor Women gather up in
the Streets with as great Pains as they do Rags in _London_. In _England_
Women ride upon the left Side of a Horse, but here they ride upon the
wrong Side; and very often astride. Most Things edible or potable are
very cheap; but why is that? Because Money is scarce, which makes an
_English_ Shillings go for 13 Pence, and a Guinea 1 Pound 3 Shillings,
which is considerable above their intrinsick Value. The Inhabitants of
this Kingdom greatly admire a Dish of Potatoes, to which they have such
an Appetite, that I believe they long for ’em after they are dead; for
in most Potatoe-Gardens many Souls, grinning strangely at this delicious
Food, which is both Bread and Meat to an _Irishman_; but whether they get
thither by Accident, or some sympathetical Vertue, whose strange Effect
proceeding from as strange a Cause, the Relicks of their mortal Carcasses
will insensibly creep (like the Sun’s Shadow on a Dial) to what they most
affected in this Lite, is a Subject on which I shall not insist. For
above 40 Miles together I could not see a Stack of Hay; and Beasts are
very small here, excepting the Woman, who being great Breeders, stand
hard and fast by that primary Command, _Increase and multiply_; but I
suppose their Obedience to this Precept is more by natural Instinct,
than acquir’d by any Knowledge of the Scriptures, to which they are as
meer Strangers as the remotest Heathens. So boggy is most part of the
Country, that if it is not _Lucifer_’s Backside, one may very reasonably
impute it to be the grand Magazine of Nature’s Impurity. Popery is very
predominant; for altho’ severe Acts are made against Jesuits, Monks, and
Fryers, yet secular Priests, who own no Ecclesiastical Jurisdiction of
the See of _Rome_, are tolerated to say Mass. Besides, several private
Nunneries, the _Papists_ have public Chapels here; one about a Furlong or
two without the West-Gate of _Galway_, dedicated to the Virgin _Mary_;
and another a little without Abby-Gate, dedicated to St. _Francis_.
Superstition has a great Ascendant over their Faith; for about half a
Mile without _William_’s Gate are two Wells, dedicated to the blessed
Lady and St. _Tavison_, round which every _Sunday_ Morning they walk
bare-foot an Hour together, mumbling over their Beads, and then crossing
themselves with the Water, which they hold to be good against several
Infirmities, they return home as little sanctified as they went. The
Pulpit-Prayers us’d by the _Protestant_ Clergy in _Ireland_, are scarce
as long as the Lord’s Prayer and Doxology; for they are all as idle as
our _English_ Parsons, who don’t preach, but read Sermons, excepting here
and there one that scorns to teach his Congregation out of a Book.

From _Galway_ I went to _Carmorris_, on the left Hand whereof are several
Houses paying Tribute to the Ruins of Fire and Sword. Next I went to
_Balihove_, in the County of _Mayo_; and truly of all the _Irish_
Counties commend me to this for good Fellowship; for here they will kill
one another to raise a Rundlet of _Aqua-vitæ_. As passing through this
Country, I overtook a little Car loaded with this Liquor, which they
prefer above their beloved _Usquebaugh_, drawing before a Corpse; and as
soon as the senseless Clod was interr’d in an obscure Place among Bogs
and Hills, they fell heartily to their strong Sippings, which they drew
out into square wooden Cups, and thence took it out agen with Egg-shels,
which serv’d instead of Tasters. For my part being a Stranger, they
invited me to participate of their Liquor; accordingly I tarried with
them, to see their Manners; ’till the Spirits flew so much into their
Heads, that one Brother in a Quarrel kill’d another. Hereupon some were
for carrying him to Justice, and others again for hiding the bloody
Fact; thus whilst a long Controversie held concerning what to do in this
tragical Matter, an old Man among ’em starts up, and addresses himself as
follows.

    “Loving Friends and Acquaintance, in taking our last Farewel of
    a Neighbour here departed, the Funeral Meeting has unhappily
    occasion’d the Loss of another. Now if we should deliver up
    this Criminal to the Government, the Severity of their Justice
    will deprive us of a third Friend; which Punishment will not
    retrieve the Life of his unfortunate Brother. Wherefore, to
    prevent the Survivor’s untimely End, we’ll presently send to
    see what Goods and Chattles the Deceased owns; and raising
    therewith another Rundlet of _Aqua-vitæ_, we’ll privately bury
    our lately departed Brother, and drink his _Requiem_, without
    taking any farther Notice of this Disaster to our heretical
    Foes”.

These were his Words as near as I can remember, and his Advice being
applauded by all the Auditors, another Rundlet of _Aqua Vitæ_ is fetc’d;
but by that time it was near out, a fresh Quarrel arose, wherein a second
Person was murder’d; which being likewise smother’d and a fresh Rundlet
of _Aqua Vitæ_ procur’d, I took my leave of these kind Heats, for fear
they should at last raise a drunken Collation out of me. So I made the
best of my way for _Foxford_, a very large Town, with a Church in it,
lying among very high Hills. Hence I went to _Lorras_, an excellent
Harbour for Ships, situated in a Bay, twining among exceeding high
Mountains. Thence I went to _Sligo_, which hath a strong Citadel, by a
Bridge containing Eight Stone Arches. Hence I went to _Grange_; from
thence to _Balishannon_, a Seaport Town; hence I went to _Donnegal_,
a Town situated on a Hill, and was burnt by the Duke of _Berwick_, in
the late _Irish_ Wars. Hence I went over _Barnsmoor_, a Mount Ten Miles
in Length, in the Province of _Ulster_; but about a Mile before I came
to the End of it, _Colcrockeda_ [or the Hangman’s] Wood begins; where
a great many _Tories_ or _Rapparees_ have been hang’d, when they made
their solitary Receptacles in this desolate and dangerous Place for
robbing. Hence I went to _Rapho_, a Bishoprick, with a very little Church
in it. And next I went to _London-Derry_, the People whereof have such
good Stomachs as to eat Cats, Rats, Dogs and Horse-flesh in time of a
Siege. The most remarkable Thing I saw hereabout was the Gallows, which
stands about half a Mile out of Town, and is of a Triangular Form, like
our Triple-Tree at _Hyde-Park_ Corner; but as yet has not honour’d the
_Roman_ See with so many Saints and Martyrs as that in _England_.

From _London-Derry_ I went to _Colrain_, a Seaport Town divided by the
_Byrne_ Water into Two Parts, so that it stands in the Counties of
_Derry_ and _Antrim_, which last Shire is much haunted with Fairies, who
are so mischievous as to fling Darts at People as they Travel in the
Night. I saw one of ’em, which is a flat solid Stone, about Two Inches
long, and in Shape like a Vamp or upper Leather of a Woman’s pecked Toe
Shoe; one side white, t’other inclining to the same Colour, but speckled
with red Spots; and is reckon’d very medicinal, if us’d according
to Prescription, for the sore Teats of Cows. The _Irish_ People, I
perceiv’d all the Way I Travell’d, are haughty of Heart, implacable in
Enmity; light of Belief, and patient _per_ Force in Hunger and Cold.
_Damage-fesant_ is seldom committed, because here are few or no Hedges;
nor can Forrest Laws be in much Use, when I saw not one from one End
of the Kingdom to the other. Brogues are more worn than Shoes by both
Sexes; their Mouths supply the Use of Bellows; a Pail of Water serves ’em
for a Looking-Glass; and Cleanliness is as much unknown to them, as the
Discoveries of _Christopher Columbus_ to the Antients. The richer Sort
of Women wear blue Cloth Cloaks, in all Weathers, as a Type or Symbol of
their Desire of wearing the Breeches too; but their Husbands to mar their
Intentions, generally wear Trowsers made of Frize, which is the staple
Commodity of the Country. The midling Rank of Women wear Riding-Hoods;
and the Poor ones clad themselves with course Mantles, thrown over their
Kerchiefs, which are as black as their Bodies, and their Bodies as black
as their Souls, but yet their Souls are blacker than either; if it was
but for their Malice, contrary to the _11th_ Commandment, commanding,
_That ye love one another_.

Tho’ the Women differ in their Habits, yet both Gentle and Simple count
Decency in Dressing meer Idolatry; and that their Stockings may hang
flatteringly about their Heels, they have utterly forsworn the Use of
Garters. Those who are married are generally dull and sottish, so that
when their Husbands come home, they look like so many Passion-Pictures,
presenting ever Sadness and Melancholly; which makes the poor Cuckolds
like _Spaniards_, who will leave their Saviour at any Time for a
Maidenhead, look as dull. Yea, an _Irishman_ loves a Whore as well as a
_Frenchman_; and tho’ the Superstition of former Times accounted a Woman
of such Pollution, that the Council of _Eliberis_ would not suffer a
Man to touch her three Days before his receiving the Sacrament, yet in
Defiance of all Councils, they will forsake Sacraments, and all things
else holy, rather than go without a Bit of old Hat: And this Practice of
abstaining from Women at certain Times, was (I suppose) in Use among the
antient Heathens, according to this Caution of _Tibullus_.

    ⸺ ⸺ _discedat ab aris,
    Cui tulit hesterna gaudiis nocte Venus._ L. 2. Eleg. 1.

    ⸺ _From the Altars let him keep,
    That in his Lady’s Arms last Night did sleep._

By this Question in the last Chapter of _Proverbs_, as I take it, _Who
can find a virtuous Woman?_ One would be apt to surmise that _Solomon_
had travell’d into this Country; and to see the People eat Clover Grass,
a Man might swear ’em all a-kin to grazing _Nebuchadnezzar_. The Genius
of the _Irish_ is not a-whit admirable, for one Age here grows not
wiser than another, like other Nations; which gives great Suspicion of
a _Metempsischosis_, or _Pythagoras_’s Transmigration of the Soul to
be true: Seeing, by the Conversation I had among the Bogtrotters, that
the younger Folks only inherit the small Sense of their Progenitors;
whose profound Knowledge was heretofore so great, as to tye Ploughs to
their Horses Tails. Their Bogs are many, whence they have all their
Fuel, for they burn nothing but Turf; Spiders are very plentiful, but
not venomous; and the common Texture spun out of their Intrails, makes
a Sort of Hangings, which the _Irish_ for Cheapness prefer much before
good Tapestry. In some Parts they make their Bread with the Bark of
Holly, from which tearing off the green Superfluities, they work it up
round like a Football, and bake it in the Embers. Their Butter being
mixt with Salt and Garlick, and put into the Skin which follows the Calf
from the Cow, they bury in a Turf-Pit for 8 or 9 Months together, which
does not only make it of a strong Taste, but likewise dies it with all
the Colours in the Rainbow: And Briskins, or the Roots of wild Tansie,
they love as well. Tho’ the Streets in every Town are very dirty, yet
their Scavengers Carts are no bigger than Wheelbarrows; and the Use of
Clogs or Pattins is an Abomination with most Women. The most epidemical
Distemper among Strangers is the bloody Flux; for which, Eggs fry’d
in Brandy is a good _Catholicon_. Few or no Patients happen among
the lying-in Women; for (like the _Hebrews_, as their pious Midwives
pretended) they are brought to Bed without any Help; wash and do all
without Nurses; and in less than half a Week do not only go abroad, but
also give Earnest for being with Child again. Their newborn Infants
are as hardy, and will endure Cold as well as any _Laplander_; or the
strongest Bear subject to the Czar of _Muscovy_. The _Irish_ Soil
mimicks Nature like the vivifying Mud of _Nile_; for I have seen the
Hairs which fall from Horses Tails into Puddles of Water on the Road,
transubstantiated (if I may be so bold as to use that Word, without any
Offence to his Unholiness the Pope) into Worms; wherefore it is no Wonder
that Priests, by the Art of _Legerdemain_, can convert good Bread and
Wine into real Flesh and Blood.

_Jack-Daws_ here are not black, but white and grey, like _Royston_
Crows; and _Sea-Gulls_ are all white, except their Wings, which are tipt
at the End with a dark yellow; but the largest Birds in this Kingdom
are _Whores-Birds_ and _Jay!-Birds_. Here is a sort of Vermin breeding
near Bogs call’d _Man-creepers_; in Shape and Bigness like a _Lizard_,
having 4 Legs, the two foremost of which bear the Resemblance of a Human
Hand. This Creature’s Property is to creep into a Man’s Belly, if he
finds him sleeping with his Mouth open, where he extreamly tortures him,
’till fetch’d out of his internal Habitation; which Operation is thus
perform’d. The Patient being kept fasting, his Chyrurgeon baits a Hook
with a Piece of Meat, and puts it down his Throat, at which the hungry
Insect snapping, he pulls him out with a sudden Jerk, and kills it.
Milk will not keep (do what they can) from turning sour in six Hours at
any time of the Year; but why this Region can’t preserve this Sweetness
longer, is somewhat paradoxical to me; unless the invisible _Effluvia_’s,
which secretly dissipate themselves from the unwholsome Fogs, arising
out of the Bogs, by the attractive Power of the Sun’s Beams, assume the
Prerogative of forcing the Putrefaction, so common to the liquid Product
of the Cow’s Teat. An _Ignis fatuus_ the silly People deem to be a Soul
broke out of _Purgatory_; and on the Vigil of St. _John_ the _Baptist_’s
Nativity they make Bonfires, and run along the Streets and Fields with
Wisps of Straw blazing on long Poles to purify the Air, which they think
infectious, by believing all the Devils, Spirits, Ghosts, and Hobgoblins
fly abroad this Night to hurt Mankind. Farthermore, it is their dull
_Theology_ to affirm, the Souls of all People leave their Bodies on the
Eve of this Feast, and take a Ramble to that very Place where, by Land or
Sea, a final Seperation shall divorce them for evermore in this World.
As soon as Death brings his last Summons to any one, the wild _Irish_
(both Men, Women and Children) go before the Corpse, and from his or her
House to the Church-yard set up a most hideous Holoo loo loo, which may
be heard two or three Miles round the Country. Now when a Virgin (if
here’s any such Thing after she’s in the Teens) dies, a Garland, made
of all sorts of Flowers and sweet Herbs, is carried by a young Woman on
her Head, before the Coffin, from which hang down two black Ribbons,
signifying our mortal State; and two white, as an Emblem of Purity and
Innocence; the Ends thereof are held by 4 young Maids, which are not
so plenty here as _Thornbacks_, before whom a Basket full of Herbs and
Flowers is supported by 2 other Maids, who strew them along the Streets
to the Place of Burial: Then after the Deceased follow all her Relations,
and Acquaintance. But the Priest being asham’d to walk without his
_Pontificalibus_, he’s as invisible, ’till you come to the Grave, as if
he had the Ring of _Gyges_ on his Finger.

Peas, Beans, and Artichoaks are very scarce; but what is worse,
their Beef will not take Salt, without all the Fat melting away. The
Inhabitants in general thinking Adultery and Fornication more laudable,
than drawing the Picture of Posterity in the lawful State of Matrimony,
the _Morbus gallicus_ is as fashionable all over the Country, as in any
Court in _Europe_; nevertheless, it is no Miracle to see them look fair
to the last, since they drink nothing but what Nature’s Liberality is
pleas’d to bestow on ’em at Springs. Children that are troubled with
Kibes are always in a sad Condition, because their poor Parents being
great Strangers to any sort of salted Meat, they have no Brine to Cure
them. When they use Phlebotomy they frequently bleed ill Blood, because
it always runs in their Veins; and an _Apoplexy_ seldom kills them,
because they are not much pamper’d with high Feeding. A _Dropsie_ does
not much hurt an _Irishman_, by reason he naturally swells with his
Rhodomontado’s, and bragging Lies: But a deep _Consumption_ always
affects most their Pockets. Tho’ all their Actions are evil, yet are they
not much afflicted with the _King’s-Evil_; nor are they much troubled
with the _Gout_, because their Poverty does not qualifie them for it.
I can’t tell what an _Imposthume_ may do, but a Lie will never choak
them; nor do they seem to have the _Palsie_, but when a bad Conscience
makes ’em quake and tremble like an Aspin Leaf: But indeed the People
are all most grievously infected with the _Scurvy_ and _Spleen_ too.
As for their Houses, the Rooms up one pair of Stairs, or higher, are
cover’d with Earth 4 or 5 Inches thick; and the Tenent of the Joyces are
not put into Mortises, but laid cross-wise into Notches over the Summet.
An _Irishman_ and Fool are Correlatives; or at least synonimous Terms:
And catch him without a Blunder, which makes him love Bulls, ’tis to be
fear’d the World is near its Dissolution. They speak largely of their
Antiquity, boasting as if they were a People before the Creation; but,
in my Opinion, _Ireland_ could not well be _in esse_ so early, because
e’er a powerful _Fiat_ produc’d all Things out of nothing, all Things
lay in their original _Chaos_, so I can’t imagine of what the _Irish_
could exist, unless they derive their Descent from those _Atoms_, which
by a casual Concourse (as the _Epicureans_ hold) jumping together, gave
Being to the World. Neither could it be a Country at the first Dawn of
Light, by reason when Omnipotency had finisht his stupendious Works,
he said, _they were good_; and the sacred Approbation was glorified by
_all the Sons of the Morning, who shouted together for Joy_. Truly, I
should rather impute the Original of this Country to some Judgment, which
stirring up the Ocean, to overwhelm some remoter Part of the Globe, whose
aggravating Sins too much incensed divine Justice, it left its antient
Current, to make room for a Place as wicked: for you may read in divers
Authors of a Resurrection of Isles, peeping up in many Parts, where none
were ever seen before.

Their Language they do not only reckon older, but also more copious
than the _Hebrew_; however, the Copiousness of their Linguo is easily
guess’d at, by not having a Word in their Speech to express Breeches;
and many other appellative Words. Like the odious _French_ they put the
_Substantive_ before the _Adjective_, and to embellish their Discourse,
too often mixt with _Tautology_, they frequently use the Figure _Hysteron
& Proteron_, that is, putting the Cart before the Horse. Their _Alphabet_
contains but these 17 Letters, _A_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _E_, _F_, _G_, _I_,
_L_, _M_, _N_, _O_, _P_, _R_, _S_, _T_, _U_; but this literal Paucity
(like the _Saxon_ Abecedary) is supply’d with some Abbreviations or
Contractions. The Pronunciation of their Tongue being somewhat guttural,
it is hard for the Vulgar to speak it; harder to speak it significantly;
and hardest to write true. In the late King _James_’s Reign an _Irish_
Teaguish Priest mightily extolling this Bogland Jargon, he as mightily
interceeded with his papistick Majesty to erect publick Schools in
_Oxford_ and _Cambridge_, for professing this Tongue; but an _Irish_
Courtier, who had no great Veneration for this conceited Pedlar in holy
Trinkets, requesting the King to command him to translate, _Black Ox eat
raw Egg_, the Priest presently perform’d his Talk thus, _Daue dooue ecye
ewe ouce_; at which inarticulate Sounds (for if you was to hear them
rightly pronounc’d, they sound just like a Dog’s barking) his Majesty
bursted out a laughing, and calling to his Dog _Towser_, said, _Here’s my
Dog can speak your Language already_; whereupon the spiritual Jugler drew
in his Horns, and sneak’d off like a small Cur that had lost his Tail.
In their Discourse it is common for them to use two Negatives, which I’m
sure make an Affirmative; unless, after the manner of the _Greeks_, they
use them to make the Negation stronger. It has been a great Dispute among
_Grammarians_, whether an _Irishman_ is a Noun _Substantive_, or a Noun
_Adjective_; but it is carried in the latter, by reason he cannot stand
by himself in Battle; for before the _Irish_ go abroad, you shall not
find greater Cowards under the Copes of Heaven.

Why the Men and Women here should be so unmercifully big in the Legs,
above any other People, I impute to their mean Food, making no solid
_Chyle_; so what slender Diet they eat, descending into their lower
Parts, it there settles in a dropsical sort of a Humour. For all this
Climate is reckon’d wholesome, it is rare to see any of the Natives past
the climacterical Year; and their Perfidiousness is commonly attended
with more Curses, in one respect or another, than are read in the
_Commination_ by our Clergy on _Ash Wednesday_. Such as have Pewter take
great Delight to have it furbelow’d with Dust; and to wear clean Linnen
they reckon as great a Crime as Loyalty. The People (like _Janus_) have
not two Faces; but that they are double-hearted is confirm’d by the
Votes of all moral Men: For thinking a sly deceiving their best Friends
meritorious, is a general Rule they hold without any Exception. Here few
Women die Martyrs for Love; but if they crave the Affections of a Man,
wholly averse to their Inclination, their Endeavour to raise Enjoyment
of him is by Art; and to this end they often use Philtres. Likewise, the
Spark that’s resolv’d to sacrifice his Youth and Vigour on a Damsel,
whose Coyness will not accept of his Love-Oblations; he threads a Needle
with the Hair of her Head, and then running it thro’ the most fleshy Part
of a dead Man, as the Brawn of the Arms, Thigh, or Calf of the Leg, the
Charm has that Virtue in it, as to make her run mad for him whom she so
lately slighted. Providence is very admirable in all its Dispensations,
of strangely bringing surprising Accidents to pass; but more especially
in _Ireland_, is her Gubernation of Chances wonderful, in preserving a
People from starving, whose short Commons, in most Places, make a lively
Representation of Famine. Their Skill in painting comes not near the
rude Draughts of the boorish _Dutch_; whose Fancy is more grotesque than
natural: And their Churches discover neither any Workmanship after the
old _Gothick_ Fashion; nor shew the _Dorick_, _Corinthian_, or other
Orders of modern Architecture. Also the Spaciousness of them may be soon
guess’d at by their Cathedrals, the largest of which scarce exceeds
_Oliver_’s Tabernacle, or _Calamy_’s _Presbyterian_ Meeting-House in
_Long Ditch_ at _Westminster_.

This Country abounds with Foxes, and some wild Deer; Curlues and
Cuckolds; and many Rooms in most Houses having no Chimnies, one would
take every Town to be a Vent of Mount _Ætna_, when the Smoak (which is
enough to stifle _Charon_) makes the Walls as black as Hell: And because
_Sarah_ was buried in the Field of _Macpelah_, some of the _Irish_ have
the Ambition to be buried in open Places. The People are so alike for
Rags and Jags, that I believe _Plautus_ took his _Amphitryo_ from them.

From _Colrain_ I went to _Antrim_, thence to _Belfast_, and thence to
_Donaghadea_, where you may dine at 12 at Noon, and by Water get to _Port
Patrick_ in _Scotland_, by 3 in the Afternoon. It being natural for the
_Irishmen_ to be as Jealous as _Spaniards_, from whom they pretend to be
descended, they will not let their Wives wear Smocks, to prevent their
Neighbours from taking up their Linnen; and if a Man has a great Estate
here, he cannot with the _Psalmist_ say, _My Liues are fallen to me in
pleasant Places_. The Hazel Wood in _Ireland_ is obnoxious to Snakes,
which expire in the Circles made with them; nor will a Toad, or any other
venomous Creature, live in this Clime: But the Reason why the Soil is so
blest, is because the People are curst.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




THE

Comical _Pilgrim_’s Pilgrimage

INTO

HOLLAND.


Returning from _Ireland_ to _England_ again, and being still of a
roving Mind, I was dispos’d to go to _Holland_, I think it was on the
longest Day in the Year, call’d _Barnaby_ bright, when going down to
_Margate_ in the Isle of _Thanet_, where _Austin_ the Monk landed to
convert _Kentish_ Infidels, I went on board the _Swiftsure_, a third
Rate Man of War, on which Admiral _Shovel_ had hoisted his Flag, in his
convoying King _William_ then over to _Holland_. A fair Wind favouring
us, we soon arriv’d upon the Coast of _Holland_, which I perceiv’d was
so low, that the People had the Advantage of other Nations, for if they
die in Perdition, they have a shorter Cut to Hell than the rest of their
Neighbours.

I landed at the _Briel_ in the Isle of _Voorne_, where is good
Accommodation enough for Travellers, but only they pay dear for it.
Hence I cross’d over the _Maes_ River to the Isle of _Roosenburg_, for 5
Stivers; and for 3 more I cross’d over for _Vlaerding_, and by that Time
I got thither, I found the Ground so light all the way, that a strong
Earthquake would shake the whole 17 Provinces of the _Netherlands_ into a
_Chaos_. Most of their Dwellings in this Town, as well as other Places,
stand like Privies in moated Houses, hanging still over the Water; and
had St. _Stephen_ been condemn’d to suffer here, he might have been
alive this Day; for unless it be their paved Cities, Gold is a little
more plentiful than Stones; except it be living ones, and then for
their Heaviness you may take in almost all the Nation. It is a singular
Place to fat Monkies in, for there are Spiders as fat as Shrimps; and a
starting Horse endangers you two Deaths at once, breaking your Neck and
drowning. _Holland_ hanging most in the Water, it seems but a Bridge of
swimming Earth; and if _Ætna_ be the Mouth or fore Gate of Hell, surely
here is found the Postern, where the full Earth doth vent her crude black
Gore, which the Inhabitants do scrape away for Fuel, as Men with Spoons
do Excrements from Civit Cats. They dress their Meat _in Aqua cælesti_,
for it springs not as ours from the Earth, but comes to them as _Manna_
to the _Israelites_ falling from Heaven. This they keep under Ground
’till it stinks, and then they pump it out again for Use; So when you
wash your Face with one Hand, you had need hold your Nose with the other;
for tho’ it be not a Cordial, yet is it certainly a strong Water; and an
_English_ Bailiff prefers it far beyond _Mint_ Water. Their Ditches they
distinguish into Nooks, as my Lord Mayor’s Cook does his Custards; and
every _Dutchman_ being his own Herald, Escutcheons are as plentiful among
the Boors as Gentry is scarce.

From _Vlaerding_ I went to _Schiedam_, a small Town abounding in
Fishery; and where Abundance of Busses, Cord, and Network is made. Here
entring a House, the first Thing (as in other Houses) I encounter’d was
a Looking-Glass and next other Utensils of a Family, marshalled about
the Room like so many Watch-men. Were the Knacks of all their Houses
set together, they would far exceed the Trumpery of _Deard_’s Toyshop
in _Fleet-street_, or the Court of Requests; and if you want to speak
_Dutch_, you may learn a great deal from their Signs, for what they are
they always write under them. Coaches and Carts are as rare as Comets;
and all their Merchandize they draw through the Streets on Sledges, as
we do our Traytors on Hurdles to _Tyburn_. Their Rooms being but as so
many Sand-Boxes, you must either go out to spit, or blush when you see
the Mop brought. As their Beds require a Ladder or Stairs to get into
’em, you are in Danger of breaking your Neck if you tumble out; and
as they keep their Houses cleaner than their Bodies, so do they take
Care to have their Bodies cleaner than their Souls. They are not so
nice-conscioned, but that they can turn out Religion to let in Policy;
and a _Dutch_ Woman, being the Head of the Husband, she takes the Horn to
her own Charge, which she often multiplies, and bestows the Increase on
her Man. The People are generally boorish, therefore their Country is
the God they Worship, War is their Heaven, Peace is their Hell, and the
_Spaniard_, the Devil they hate.

From _Schiedam_ I went to _Rotterdam_, the second great Emporium of this
trading People, situated on the Side and Banks of the _Maes_, and fitted
for all Conveniency of Transport and Importation. Here, as in other
Places, I found I might sooner convert a _Jew_, than make a _Dutchman_
yield to Arguments that cross him, because his Spirits are generated from
_English_ Beer; and his Body is built of pickled Herring, which makes him
testy. If you see him fat, he hath been rooting in a Cabbage Ground, and
that bladder’d him; he is as churlish as his Breeder _Neptune_; and the
Love of Gain is as natural to him, as Water to a Goose, or Carrion to
any Kite. Truth and Honesty is as scarce here as Hedges; they are seldom
deceiv’d, because they trust no Body; and Complement is an Idleness
they were never train’d in. They shall abuse a Stranger for nothing;
and after a few base Terms scotch one another to a Carbanado. All that
help them not, they hold popish; and take it for an Argument of much
Honesty, to rail bitterly against the King of _Spain_. Every thing is so
made to swim among them, that it is a Question if _Elijah_’s Ax were now
floating there, whether it would be taken for a Miracle. The Shipping
is the _Babel_ which they boast on for the Glory of their Nation; and
they are in a manner all _Aquatiles_, and therefore the _Spaniards_ call
them Water-Dogs. A _Turkish_ Man of War is as dreadful to them as a
Falcon to a Mallard, from whom their best Remedy is to steal away; and
Sailors among ’em, are as common as Beggars with us, besides the _Dutch_
Tarpaulins will drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be lousie alike.
Slime, humid Air, Water, and wet Diet, have so bagg’d their Cheeks,
that some would take their Paunches to be gotten above their Chins; and
bring under a democratical Government, tell them of a King in Jest, and
they will cut your Throat in Earnest; for they hate the Name of Majesty
more than a _Jew_ doth Images, a Woman pure Virtue, or a Nonconformist
a Surplice; and it is reported that there is but a Sheet of Paper
betwixt _Rotterdam_ and Hell, which is a nearer Way to old Nick than by
_Rochester_.

From _Rotterdam_ I went to _Delf_, where I observ’d that every _Mynheer_
shall walk the Streets as Usurers go to Bawdy-Houses, all alone and
melancholly; and their Apparel is civil enough, but very uncomely, as
having usually more Stuff than Shape. _Holland_ is the Fair of all Sects,
where all the Pedlars of Heresies have Leave to vent their Toys, their
Ribbands, and fanatick Rattles. They will admit of all Religions but the
true one; and whosoever disturbs the civil Government shall be liable to
Punishment, but the Decrees of Heaven and Sanctions of Deity, any one
may break uncheck’d, by professing what false Religion he pleases. The
Men are cladded tolerably well, unless he inclines to the Sea-Fashion;
and then are his Breeches yawning at the Knees, as if they were about
to swallow up his Legs. The _Dutch_ Women have much more Forehead than
Face; and they are starch’d so blue, that if they once grow old, you
would verily believe you saw _Winter_ walking up to the Neck in Indigo;
They are far from going naked, for of a whole Woman you can see but
half a Face; her Hand shews her to be a sore Labourer; and if you look
lower, she’s like a Monkey chain’d about the Middle, and had rather want
it in Diet, than not have Silver Hooks to hang her Keys in. Their Smocks
are ever whiter than their Skin; and their Gowns are fit to hide great
Bellies; but they make them shew so unhandsome, that _Englishmen_ don’t
care for getting them. Where the Women lies in, the Ringle or Knocker of
the Door does Pennance, for it is lapped round about with Linnen, either
to show you that loud Knocking may wake the Child, or else that for a
Month her Ring is not to be run at. For their Diet they eat much and
spend little; and when they send out a Fleet to the _East-Indies_, it
shall live 3 Months on the Offals, which we fear would surfeit our Swine;
yet they feed on’t, and are still the same _Dutchmen_. In their Houses,
Roots and Stockfish are staple Commodities; and if they make a Feast,
and add Flesh, they have an Art to keep it hot more Days, than a dirty,
dingy, greasie Cook a Pig’s Head in _Pye-Corner_.

The _Dutch_ Women are delivered, together with their Children, of a
_Sooterkin_, not unlike to a Rat, which some imagine to be the Offspring
of the Stoves they have betwixt their Legs in Winter. Their Fairs are
more frequented on _Sundays_ in the Afternoon, than their Churches in
the Forenoon; and they are furnish’d with such a wonderful Plenty of
Corn by their Neighbours; that they have not only enough for their own
Use, but also to export sufficiently to other Countries, by selling them
at an extravagant Price a Pig of their own Sow. There is no Nation in
the World whose Seas yield the like constant and general Benefit as our
Seas do; wherefore the Sloth of the _English_ may very well be blam’d,
for suffering the _Dutch_ under their Noses, to rob them of that Wealth,
which would be theirs at the small Rate of an easie Industry. But tho’
all the Commodities they have either domestick or foreign, their fishing
in our Seas brings them in the greatest Profit, yet have they another
Commodity which is very profitable to them, and that is War; for whereas
other Nations are undone by it, they have the Secret to thrive, and grow
exceeding rich by it. The Innholders paying as much for the Excise of
Victuals and Drink, as they did at first for the Thing, it makes the
_Entrata_ or Revenue of those High and Mighty States (who, when they
implor’d Queen _Elizabeth_’s Aid, writ themselves the poor, distressed
States of _Holland_) very considerable. This free State entertaining
all Renegadoes, it is the common Sink of Villany; each Faction calls
itself a Church; and every new-fangled, giddy-headed, enthusiastical
Botcher, Cobler, or Tinker, is able enough to sow Sedition: But the
general Religion here is _Calvanism_, the Profession whereof, tho’ fatal
to Monarchical Government, agrees well enough with the Parity of free
States, where the People have so much Voice and Authority.

_Holland_, with the 16 other Provinces is call’d the _Low-Countries_,
and the _Netherlands_, from their low Situation. Here live almost as
many, if not more, _Jews_, _Anabaptists_, _Socinians_, and _Papists_,
as _Calvanists_; so that a Traveller who comes hither, need not want
a Religion to choose which shall best please him. Whilst I was in
_Rotterdam_, being one Night in Company with some of the _Dutch_ Boors,
who were extolling _Erasmus_, who was born in that Town, for the greatest
Scholar the World ever bred, my Blood broil’d at their Insolence,
as knowing _England_, and other Nations have produc’d Men of better
Learning, but they being too many for me to resent it, I had no other
Way to vent my Resentment, but by writing the following Lines, which I
privately stuck upon his Effigies cast in Brass, and erected not far from
the House where he was born.

      _Thou great ~Colossus!~ if you stood astride,
    Betwixt thy Legs the ~Dutchmen~ post might ride
    To tell, ~Erasmus~ is the only Boor,
    Whom they for Learning brag of and adore.
    Great were thy nat’ral and acquired Parts,
    Which made you ign’rant in the Lib’ral Arts;
    And tho’ thou wert half Fool, and half a Knave,
    Half ~Protestant~, and yet to ~Rome~ a Slave,
    Thy Doctrine serv’d this People very well,
    Who here are damn’d, before they’re damn’d in Hell.
    So farewel solid, monumental Brass,
    Erected to commemorate an Ass._

But the high and mighty States being affronted at this Lampoon put upon
their chief Priest, a Proclamation was issued forth, promising the
Reward of 500 Guilders for apprehending the Author of it; whereupon I
fled to _Delph_ in the twinckling of a Bed-Staff. This is a pretty round
compacted Town, about 2 Miles in Circumference, fortified with a strong
Wall and Ditch, but after an old Fashion; and is the great Magazine and
Armory of the Commonwealth, which is democratical, as I said before, for
Monarchy they abhor as much as a _Scotchman_ does _Episcopacy_, or a true
bred _Irishman_ paying Allegiance to a _Protestant_ Prince.

From _Delph_ I went to the _Hague_, the Metropolis of _Holland_, not
for Trade, but for the States assembling at this Place, which is round
compacted, and neatly built: It is neither Town nor City, but call’d a
Village, as being unwall’d, and is reckon’d the biggest in the World.
Within half a League of this Place lies interr’d in an Abby _Margaret_
Countess of _Henenberg_, Sister to _William_, King of the _Romans_, and
on her Tomb still remains an Epitaph, which mentions, that she brought
forth as many Children at one Birth, as are Days in the Year. The Country
has few Trees in it, because the Ground is so waterish and soft, that it
is not able to bear the Weight of one; and for the same Reason a less
Quantity of Fruit and Grain grows in it.

Their chiefest Fuel is Turf, of which they burn so much, that it may be
very well thought the _Dutch_ will burn up their own Land before the Day
of Judgment They are so cumbred about the Affairs and Business of this
World, that their Ignorance in Religion is unaccountable. The Theological
Terms of Regeneration, Consubstantiality, Predestination, Justification,
Sanctification, or hypostatical Union, are full as mysterious to them,
as the intricate Hierogliphics of the antient _Egyptians_ were to the
Vulgar. ’Tis true, they nevertheless keep the _Sabbath-Day_ very strict,
for all the while that divine Service in their blind way holas, they do
no manner of Work but wash in the open Streets, keep Shops almost open,
angle, sing, play on the Musick, dance, drink, and whore; for as six
Days are tiresome to be at hard Labour, their high Mightinesses allow
the People one Day in seven to go to the Devil with Pleasure. In five,
the _Dutch_ are good for nothing but to be serv’d as a Sultan or Grand
Seignior once advis’d a French King, which advice was to send an Army of
Pioneers to dig up their Country, and throw all the Inhabitants at once
into the Sea.

FINIS.

[Illustration]




Transcriber’s Note


The following changes have been made to the text to correct suspected
printing errors.

Page 24, “Breath it that County” changed to “Breath in that County”

Page 27, “depending sosely on them” changed to “depending solely on them”

Page 41, “mountanious” changed to “mountainous”

Page 54, “so that he is force” changed to “so that he is forced”

Page 62, “delienate” changed to “delineate”

Page 69, “Queen of Faries” changed to “Queen of Fairies”

Page 69, “deliicate” changed to “delicate”

Page 69, “that was the the only Means” changed to “that was the only
Means”

Page 78, “awkard” changed to “awkward”

Page 80, “metamporphosed” changed to “metamorphosed”

Page 81, “totttring” changed to “tottering”

Page 81, “mumbling a a” changed to “mumbling a”

Page 81, “when I first I enter’d” changed to “when I first enter’d”

Page 87, “a a fresh Quarrel arose” changed to “a fresh Quarrel arose”

Page 89, “The midling Rank of Womgn” changed to “The midling Rank of
Women”

Page 89, “uttetly” changed to “utterly”

Page 91, “_Whores-Birds_ and and _Jay!-Birds_” changed to “_Whores-Birds_
and _Jay!-Birds_”

Page 94, “who shooted together” changed to “who shouted together”

Page 97, “Martyrs fo Lover” changed to “Martyrs for Love”

Page 99, “a shorser Cut” changed to “a shorter Cut”

Minor errors (punctuation, turned letter u/n, missing or superfluous
spaces) have been corrected without further note.





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