No More Learning

_ You're right.

_Eu. _ I am very well acquainted with the whole Gang. A sweet Fellowship
to renounce Father and Mother, Friends, and a worthy Family for! For the
Patriarch himself, what with Age, Wine, and a certain natural
Drowsiness, has been mop'd this many a Day, he can't now relish any
Thing but Wine; and he has two Companions, _John_ and _Jodocus_, that
match him to a Hair. And as for _John_, indeed I can't say he is an ill
Man, for he has nothing at all of a Man about him but his Beard, not a
Grain of Learning in him, and not much more common Prudence. And
_Jodocus_ he's so arrant a Sot, that if he were not ty'd up to the Habit
of his Order, he would walk the Streets in a Fool's Cap with Ears and
Bells at it.

_Ca. _ Truly they seem to me to be very good Men.

_Eu. _ But, my _Kitty_, I know 'em better than you do. They will do good
Offices perhaps between you and your Parents, that they may gain a
Proselyte.

_Ca. Jodocus_ is very civil to me.

_Eu. _ A great Favour indeed. But suppose 'em good and learned Men to
Day, you'll find 'em the contrary perhaps to Morrow; and let them be
what they will then, you must bear with them.

_Ca. _ I am troubled to see so many Entertainments at my Father's House,
and marry'd Folks are so given to talk smutty; I'm put to't sometimes
when Men come to kiss me, and you know one can't well deny a Kiss.

_Eu. _ He that would avoid every Thing that offends him, must go out of
the World; we must accustom our Ears to hear every Thing, but let
nothing enter the Mind but what is good. I suppose your Parents allow
you a Chamber to yourself.

_Ca. _ Yes, they do.

_Eu. _ Then you may retire thither, if you find the Company grow
troublesome; and while they are drinking and joking, you may entertain
yourself with Christ your Spouse, praying, singing, and giving Thanks:
Your Father's House will not defile you, and you will make it the more
pure.

_Ca. _ But it is a great Deal safer to be in Virgins Company.

_Eu. _ I do not disapprove of a chaste Society: Yet I would not have you
delude yourself with false Imaginations. When once you come to be
throughly acquainted there, and see Things nearer Hand, perhaps Things
won't look with so good a Face as they did once. They are not all
Virgins that wear Vails; believe me.

_Ca. _ Good Words, I beseech you.

_Eu. _ Those are good Words that are true Words. I never read of but one
Virgin that was a Mother, _i. e. _ the Virgin _Mary_, unless the Eulogy we
appropriate to the Virgin be transferr'd to a great many to be call'd
Virgins after Childbearing.

_Ca. _ I abhor the Thoughts on't.

_Eu. _ Nay, and more than that, those Maids, I'll assure you, do more
than becomes Maids to do.

_Ca. _ Ay! why so, pray?

_Eu. _ Because there are more among 'em that imitate _Sappho_ in Manners,
than are like her in Wit.

_Ca. _ I don't very well understand you.

_Eu. _ My dear _Kitty_, I therefore speak in Cypher that you may not
understand me.

_Ca. _ But my Mind runs strangely upon this Course of Life, and I have a
strong Opinion that this Disposition comes from God, because it hath
continu'd with me so many Years, and grows every Day stronger and
stronger.

_Eu. _ Your good Parents being so violently set against it, makes me
suspect it. If what you attempt were good, God would have inclined your
Parents to favour the Motion. But you have contracted this Affection
from the gay Things you saw when you were a Child; the Tittle-tattles of
the Nuns, and the Hankering you have after your old Companions, the
external Pomp and specious Ceremonies, and the Importunities of the
senseless Monks which hunt you to make a Proselyte of you, that they may
tipple more largely. They know your Father to be liberal and bountiful,
and they'll either give him an Invitation to them, because they know
he'll bring Wine enough with him to serve for ten lusty Soaks, or else
they'll come to him. Therefore let me advise you to do nothing without
your Parents Consent, whom God has appointed your Guardians. God would
have inspired their Minds too, if the Thing you were attempting were a
religious Matter.

_Ca. _ In this Matter it is Piety to contemn Father and Mother.

_Eu. _ It is, I grant, sometimes a Piece of Piety to contemn Father or
Mother for the Sake of Christ; but for all that, he would not act
piously, that being a Christian, and had a Pagan to his Father, who had
nothing but his Son's Charity to support him, should forsake him, and
leave him to starve. If you had not to this Day profess'd Christ by
Baptism, and your Parents should forbid you to be baptis'd, you would
indeed then do piously to prefer Christ before your impious Parents; or
if your Parents should offer to force you to do some impious, scandalous
Thing, their Authority in that Case were to be contemned. But what is
this to the Case of a Nunnery? You have Christ at home. You have the
Dictates of Nature, the Approbation of Heaven, the Exhortation of St.
_Paul_, and the Obligation of human Laws, for your Obedience to Parents;
and will you now withdraw yourself from under the Authority of good and
natural Parents, to give yourself up a Slave to a fictitious Father,
rather than to your real Father, and a strange Mother instead of your
true Mother, and to severe Masters and Mistresses rather than Parents?
For you are so under your Parents Direction, that they would have you be
at Liberty wholly. And therefore Sons and Daughters are call'd
[_liberi_] Children, because they are free from the Condition of
Servants. You are now of a free Woman about to make yourself voluntarily
a Slave. The Clemency of the Christian Religion has in a great Measure
cast out of the World the old Bondage, saving only some obscure
Foot-Steps in some few Places. But there is now a Days found out under
pretence of Religion a new Sort of Servitude, as they now live indeed in
many Monasteries. You must do nothing there but by a Rule, and then all
that you lose they get. If you offer to step but one Step out of the
Door, you're lugg'd back again just like a Criminal that had poison'd
her Father. And to make the Slavery yet the more evident, they change
the Habit your Parents gave you, and after the Manner of those Slaves in
old Time, bought and sold in the Market, they change the very Name that
was given you in Baptism, and _Peter_ or _John_ are call'd _Francis_, or
_Dominic_, or _Thomas_. _Peter_ first gives his Name up to Christ, and
being to be enter'd into _Dominic's_ Order, he's called _Thomas_. If a
military Servant casts off the Garment his Master gave him, is he not
look'd upon to have renounc'd his Master? And do we applaud him that
takes upon him a Habit that Christ the Master of us all never gave him?
He is punish'd more severely for the changing it again, than if he had a
hundred Times thrown away the Livery of his Lord and Emperor, which is
the Innocency of his Mind.

_Ca. _ But they say, it is a meritorious Work to enter into this
voluntary Confinement.

_Eu. _ That is a pharisaical Doctrine. St. _Paul_ teacheth us otherwise,
_and will not have him that is called free, make himself a Servant, but
rather endeavour that he may be more free:_ And this makes the Servitude
the worse, that you must serve many Masters, and those most commonly
Fools too, and Debauchees; and besides that, they are uncertain, being
every now and then new. But answer me this one Thing, I beseech you, do
any Laws discharge you from your Duty to your Parents?

_Ca. _ No.

_Eu. _ Can you buy or sell an Estate against your Parents Consent?

_Ca. _ No, I can't.

_Eu. _ What Right have you then to give away yourself to I know not whom,
against your Parents Consent? Are you not their Child, the dearest and
most appropriate Part of their Possession?

_Ca. _ In the Business of Religion, the Laws of Nature give Place.

_Eu. _ The great Point of our Religion lies in our Baptism: But the
Matter in Question here is, only the changing of a Habit, or of such a
Course of Life, which in itself is neither Good nor Evil. And now
consider but this one Thing, how many valuable Privileges you lose,
together with your Liberty. Now, if you have a Mind to read, pray, or
sing, you may go into your own Chamber, as much and as often as you
please. When you have enough of Retirement, you may go to Church, hear
Anthems, Prayers and Sermons; and if you see any Matron or Virgin
remarkable for Piety, in whose Company you may get good; if you see any
Man that is endow'd with singular Probity, from whom you may learn what
will make for your bettering, you may have their Conversation; and you
may chuse that Preacher that preaches Christ most purely. When once you
come into a Cloyster, all these Things, that are the greatest
Assistances in the Promotion of true Piety, you lose at once.

_Ca. _ But in the mean Time I shall not be a Nun.

_Eu. _ What signifies the Name? Consider the Thing itself. They make
their boast of Obedience, and won't you be praise-worthy, in being
obedient to your Parents, your Bishop and your Pastor, whom God has
commanded you to obey? Do you profess Poverty? And may not you too, when
all is in your Parents Hands? Although the Virgins of former Times were
in an especial Manner commended by holy Men, for their Liberality
towards the Poor; but they could never have given any Thing, if they had
possessed nothing. Nor will your Charity be ever the less for living
with your Parents. And what is there more in a Convent than these? A
Vail, a Linnen-Shift turned into a Stole, and certain Ceremonies, which
of themselves signify nothing to the Advancement of Piety, and make no
Body more acceptable in the Eyes of Christ, who only regards the Purity
of the Mind.

_Ca. _ This is News to me.

_Eu. _ But it is true News. When you, not being discharg'd from the
Government of your Parents, can't dispose of, or sell so much as a Rag,
or an Inch of Ground, what Right can you pretend to for disposing of
yourself into the Service of a Stranger?

_Ca. _ They say, that the Authority of a Parent does not hinder a Child
from entering into a religious Life.

_Eu. _ Did you not make Profession of Religion in your Baptism?

_Ca. _ Yes.

_Eu. _ And are not they religious Persons that conform to the Precepts of
Christ?

_Ca. _ They are so.

_Eu. _ What new Religion is that then, which makes that void, that the
Law of Nature had establish'd? What the old Law hath taught, and the
Gospel approv'd, and the Apostles confirm'd? That is an Ordinance that
never came from Heaven, but was hatch'd by a Company of Monks in their
Cells. And after this Manner, some of them undertake to justify a
Marriage between a Boy and a Girl, though without the Privity, and
against the Consent of their Parents; if the Contract be (as they phrase
it) in Words of the present Tense. And yet that Position is neither
according to the Dictate of Nature, the Law of _Moses_, or the Doctrine
of _Christ_ or his Apostles.

_Ca. _ Do you think then, that I may not espouse myself to Christ without
my Parents Consent?

_Eu. _ I say, you have espous'd him already, and so we have all. Where is
the Woman that marries the same Man twice? The Question is here only
about Places, Garments and Ceremonies. I don't think Duty to Parents is
to be abandon'd for the Sake of these Things; and you ought to look to
it, that instead of espousing Christ, you don't espouse some Body else.

_Ca. _ But I am told, that in this Case it is a Piece of the highest
Sanctity, even to contemn ones Parents.

_Eu. _ Pray, require these Doctors to shew you a Text for it, out of the
holy Scriptures, that teach this Doctrine; but if they can't do this,
bid them drink off a good large Bumper of _Burgundian_ Wine: That they
can do bravely. It is indeed a Piece of Piety to fly from wicked Parents
to Christ: But to fly from pious Parents to a Monkery, that is (as it
too often proves) to fly from ought to stark naught. What Pity is that I
pray? Although in old Time, he that was converted from Paganism to
Christianity, paid yet as great a Reverence to his idolatrous Parents,
as it was possible to do without prejudice to Religion itself.

_Ca. _ Are you then against the main Institution of a monastick Life?

_Eu. _ No, by no Means: But as I will not persuade any Body against it,
that is already engag'd in this Sort of Life, to endeavour to get out of
it, so I would most undoubtedly caution all young Women; especially
those of generous Tempers, not to precipitate themselves unadvisedly
into that State from whence there is no getting out afterwards: And the
rather, because their Chastity is more in Danger in a Cloyster than out
of it; and beside that, you may do whatsoever is done there as well at
Home.

_Ca. _ You have indeed urg'd many, and very considerable Arguments; yet
this Affection of mine can't be removed.

_Eu. _ If I can't dissuade you from it, as I wish heartily I could,
however, remember this one Thing, that _Eubulus_ told you before Hand.
In the mean Time, out of the Love I bear you, I wish your Inclinations
may succeed better than my Counsel.




_The PENITENT VIRGIN. _


The ARGUMENT.

_A Virgin repenting before she had profess'd herself,
goes Home again to her Parents. The crafty Tricks of the
Monks are detected, who terrify and frighten
unexperienced Minds into their Cloysters, by feign'd
Apparitions and Visions_.


EUBULUS, CATHERINE.

_Eu. _ I could always wish to have such a Porter.

_Ca. _ And I to have such Visitors.

_Eu. _ But fare you well, _Kitty_.

_Ca. _ What's the Matter, do you take Leave before you salute?

_Eu. _ I did not come hither to see you cry: What's the Matter, that as
soon as ever you see me, the Tears stand in your Eyes?

_Ca. _ Why in such Haste? Stay a little; pray stay. I'll put on my better
Looks, and we'll be merry together.

_Eu. _ What Sort of Cattle have we got here?

_Ca. _ 'Tis the Patriarch of the College: Don't go away, they have had
their Dose of Fuddle: Stay but a little While, and as soon as he is
gone, we will discourse as we use to do.

_Eu. _ Well, I'll be so good natur'd as to hearken to you, though you
would not to me. Now we are alone, you must tell me the whole Story, I
would fain have it from your Mouth.

_Ca. _ Now I have found by Experience, of all my Friends, which I took to
be very wise Men too, that no Body gave more wise and grave Advice than
you, that are the youngest of 'em all.

_Eu. _ Tell me, how did you get your Parents Consent at last?

_Ca. _ First, by the restless Sollicitations of the Monks and Nuns, and
then by my own Importunities and Tears, my Mother was at length brought
over; but my Father stood out stiffly still: But at last being ply'd by
several Engines, he was prevail'd upon to yield; but yet, rather like
one that was forced, than that consented. The Matter was concluded in
their Cups, and they preach'd Damnation to him, if he refus'd to let
Christ have his Spouse.

_Eu. _ O the Villany of Fools! But what then?

_Ca. _ I was kept close at Home for three Days; but in the mean Time
there were always with me some Women of the College that they call
_Convertites_, mightily encouraging me to persist in my holy Resolution,
and watching me narrowly, lest any of my Friends or Kindred should come
at me, and make me alter my Mind.
In the mean While, my Habit was making
ready, and the Provision for the Feast.

_Eu. _ How did you find yourself? Did not your Mind misgive you yet?

_Ca. _ No, not at all; and yet I was so horridly frighted, that I had
rather die ten Times over, than suffer the same again.

_Eu. _ What was that, pray?

_Ca. _ It is not to be uttered.

_Eu. _ Come, tell me freely, you know I'm your Friend.

_Ca. _ Will you keep Counsel?

_Eu. _ I should do that without promising, and I hope you know me better
than to doubt of it.

_Ca. _ I had a most dreadful Apparition.

_Eu. _ Perhaps it was your evil Genius that push'd you on to this.

_Ca. _ I am fully persuaded it was an evil Spirit.

_Eu. _ Tell me what Shape it was in. Was it such as we use to paint with
a crooked Beak, long Horns, Harpies Claws, and swinging Tail?

_Ca. _ You make a Game of it, but I had rather sink into the Earth, than
see such another.

_Eu. _ And were your Women Sollicitresses with you then?

_Ca. _ No, nor I would not so much as open my Lips of it to them, though
they sifted me most particularly about it, when they found me almost
dead with the Surprise.

_Eu. _ Shall I tell you what it was?

_Ca. _ Do if you can.

_Eu. _ Those Women had certainly bewitch'd you, or conjur'd your Brain
out of your Head rather. But did you persist in your Resolution still,
for all this?

_Ca. _ Yes, for they told me, that many were thus troubled upon their
first consecrating themselves to Christ; but if they got the better of
the Devil that Bout, he'd let them alone for ever after.

_Eu. _ Well, what Pomp were you carried out with?

_Ca. _ They put on all my Finery, let down my Hair, and dress'd me just
as if it had been for my Wedding.

_Eu. _ To a fat Monk, perhaps; Hem! a Mischief take this Cough.

_Ca. _ I was carried from my Father's House to the College by broad
Day-Light, and a World of People staring at me.

_Eu. _ O these Scaramouches, how they know to wheedle the poor People!
How many Days did you continue in that holy College of Virgins,
forsooth?

_Ca. _ Till Part of the twelfth Day.

_Eu. _ But what was it that changed your Mind, that had been so
resolutely bent upon it?

_Ca. _ I must not tell you what it was, but it was something very
considerable. When I had been there six Days, I sent for my Mother; I
begged of her, and besought her, as she lov'd my Life, to get me out of
the College again. She would not hear on't, but bad me hold to my
Resolution. Upon that I sent for my Father, but he chid me too, telling
me, that I had made him master his Affections, and that now he'd make me
master mine, and not disgrace him, by starting from my Purpose. At last,
when I saw that I could do no good with them this Way, I told my Father
and Mother both, that to please them, I would submit to die, and that
would certainly be my Fate, if they did not take me out, and that very
quickly too; and upon this, they took me Home.

_Eu. _ It was very well that you recanted before you had profess'd
yourself for good and all: But still, I don't hear what it was changed
your Mind so suddenly.

_Ca. _ I never told any Mortal yet, nor shall.

_Eu. _ What if I should guess?

_Ca. _ I'm sure you can't guess it; and if you do, I won't tell you.

_Eu. _ Well, for all that, I guess what it was. But in the mean Time, you
have been at a great Charge.

_Ca. _ Above 400 Crowns.

_Eu. _ O these guttling Nuptials! Well, but I am glad though the Money is
gone, that you're safe: For the Time to come, hearken to good Counsel
when it is given you.

_Ca. _ So I will. _The burnt Child dreads the Fire. _




_The UNEASY WIFE. _


The ARGUMENT.

_This Colloquy, entitled_, The uneasy Wife: _Or_, Uxor
[Greek: Mempsigamos], _treats of many Things that relate
to the mutual Nourishment of conjugal Affection.
Concerning the concealing a Husband's Faults; of not
interrupting conjugal Benevolence; of making up
Differences; of mending a Husband's Manners; of a Woman's
Condescension to her Husband. What is the Beauty of a
Woman; she disgraces herself, that disgraces her Husband;
that the Wife ought to submit to the Husband; that the
Husband ought not to be out of Humour when the Wife is;
and on the Contrary; that they ought to study mutual
Concord, since there is no Room for Advice; that they
ought to conceal one another's Faults, and not expose one
another; that it is in the Power of the Wife to mend her
Husband; that she ought to carry herself engagingly,
learn his Humour, what provokes him or appeases him; that
all Things be in Order at Home; that he have what he
likes best to eat; that if the Husband be vext, the Wife
don't laugh; if he be angry, that she should speak
pleasantly to him, or hold her Tongue; that what she
blames him for, should be betwixt themselves; the Method
of admonishing; that she ought to make her Complaint to
no Body but her Husband's Parents; or to some peculiar
Friends that have an Influence upon him. The Example of a
prudent Man, excellently managing a young morose Wife, by
making his Complaint to her Father. Another of a prudent
Wife, that by her good Carriage reformed a Husband that
frequented leud Company, Another of a Man that had beaten
his Wife in his angry Fit; that Husbands are to be
overcome, brought into Temper by Mildness, Sweetness, and
Kindness; that there should be no Contention in the
Chamber or in the Bed; but that Care should be taken,
that nothing but Pleasantness and Engagingness be there.
The Girdle of_ Venus _is Agreeableness of Manners.
Children make a mutual Amity. That a Woman separated from
her Husband, is nothing: Let her always be mindful of the
Respect that is due to a Husband. _


EULALIA, XANTIPPE.

_EU. _ Most welcome _Xantippe_, a good Morning to you.

_Xa. _ I wish you the same, my dear _Eulalia_. Methinks you look prettier
than you use to do.

_Eu. _ What, do you begin to banter me already?

_Xa. _ No, upon my Word, for you seem so to me.

_Eu. _ Perhaps then my new Cloaths may set me off to Advantage.

_Xa. _ You guess right, it is one of the prettiest Suits I ever beheld in
all my Life. It is _English_ Cloth, I suppose.

_Eu. _ It is indeed of _English_ Wool, but it is a _Venetian_ Dye.

_Xa. _ It is as soft as Silk, and 'tis a charming Purple. Who gave you
this fine Present?

_Eu. _ My Husband. From whom should a virtuous Wife receive Presents but
from him?

_Xa. _ Well, you are a happy Woman, that you are, to have such a good
Husband. For my Part, I wish I had been married to a Mushroom when I was
married to my _Nick_.

_Eu. _ Why so, pray? What! is it come to an open Rupture between you
already?

_Xa. _ There is no Possibility of agreeing with such a one as I have got.
You see what a ragged Condition I am in; so he lets me go like a Dowdy!
May I never stir, if I an't asham'd to go out of Doors any whither, when
I see how fine other Women are, whose Husbands are nothing nigh so rich
as mine is.

_Eu. _ The Ornament of a Matron does not consist in fine Cloaths or other
Deckings of the Body, as the Apostle _Peter_ teaches, for I heard that
lately in a Sermon; but in chaste and modest Behaviour, and the
Ornaments of the Mind. Whores are trick'd up to take the Eyes of many
but we are well enough drest, if we do but please our own Husbands.

_Xa. _ But mean while this worthy Tool of mine, that is so sparing toward
his Wife, lavishly squanders away the Portion I brought along with me,
which by the Way was not a mean one.

_Eu. _ In what?

_Xa. _ Why, as the Maggot bites, sometimes at the Tavern, sometimes upon
his Whores, sometimes a gaming.

_Eu. _ O fie, you should never say so of your Husband.

_Xa. _ But I'm sure 'tis too true; and then when he comes Home, after I
have been waiting for him till I don't know what Time at Night, as drunk
as _David's_ Sow, he does nothing but lye snoring all Night long by my
Side, and sometimes bespues the Bed too, to say nothing more.

_Eu. _ Hold your Tongue: You disgrace yourself in disgracing your
Husband.

_Xa. _ Let me dye, if I had not rather lye with a Swine than such a
Husband as I have got.

_Eu. _ Don't you scold at him then?

_Xa. _ Yes, indeed, I use him as he deserves. He finds I have got a
Tongue in my Head.

_Eu. _ Well, and what does he say to you again?

_Xa. _ At first he used to hector at me lustily, thinking to fright me
with his big Words.

_Eu. _ Well, and did your Words never come to downright Blows?

_Xa. _ Once, and but once, and then the Quarrel rose to that Height on
both Sides, that we were within an Ace of going to Fisty-Cuffs.

_Eu. _ How, Woman! say you so?

_Xa. _ He held up his Stick at me, swearing and cursing like a
Foot-Soldier, and threatening me dreadfully.

_Eu. _ Were not you afraid then?

_Xa. _ Nay, I snatch'd up a three legg'd Stool, and if he had but touch'd
me with his Finger, he should have known he had to do with a Woman of
Spirit.

_Eu. _ Ah! my _Xantippe_, that was not becoming.

_Xa. _ What becoming? If he does not use me like a Wife, I won't use him
like a Husband.

_Eu. _ But St. _Paul_ teaches, that Wives ought to be subject to their
own Husbands with all Reverence. And St. _Peter_ proposes the Example of
_Sarah_ to us, who call'd her Husband _Abraham_ Lord.

_Xa. _ I have heard those Things, but the same _Paul_ likewise teaches
that _Men should love their Wives as Christ lov'd his Spouse the
Church_. Let him remember his Duty and I'll remember mine.

_Eu. _ But nevertheless when Things are come to that Pass that one must
submit to the other, it is but reasonable that the Wife submit to her
Husband.

_Xa. _ Yes indeed, if he deserves the Name of a Husband who uses me like
a Kitchen Wench.

_Eu. _ But tell me, _Xantippe_, did he leave off threatening after this?

_Xa. _ He did leave off, and it was his Wisdom so to do, or else he would
have been thresh'd.

_Eu. _ But did not you leave off Scolding at him?

_Xa. _ No, nor never will.

_Eu. _ But what does he do in the mean Time?

_Xa. _ What! Why sometimes he pretends himself to be fast asleep, and
sometimes does nothing in the World but laugh at me; sometimes he
catches up his Fiddle that has but three Strings, scraping upon it with
all his Might, and drowns the Noise of my Bawling.

_Eu. _ And does not that vex you to the Heart?

_Xa. _ Ay, so that it is impossible to be express'd, so that sometimes I
can scarce keep my Hands off of him.

_Eu. _ Well, my _Xantippe_, give me Leave to talk a little freely with
you.