No More Learning

_ A Woman must needs be a Philosopher, who can be able to do this.

_Eu. _ By this Deportment we invite our Husbands to return the Civility.

_Xa. _ But there are some Brutes in the World, whom you cannot amend, by
the utmost good Carriage.

_Eu. _ In Truth, I don't think it: But put the Case there are: First,
consider this; a Husband must be born with, let him be as bad as he
will. It is better therefore to bear with him as he is, or made a little
better by our courteous Temper, than by our Outrageousness to make him
grow every Day worse and worse. What if I should give Instances of
Husbands, who by the like civil Treatment have altered their Spouses
much for the better? How much more does it become us to use our Husbands
after this Manner?

_Xa. _ You will give an Instance then of a Man, that is as unlike my
Husband, as black is from white.

_Eu. _ I have the Honour to be acquainted with a Gentleman of a noble
Family; Learned, and of singular Address and Dexterity; he married a
young Lady, a Virgin of seventeen Years of Age, that had been educated
all along in the Country in her Father's House, as Men of Quality love
to reside in the Country, for the Sake of Hunting and Fowling: He had a
Mind to have a raw unexperienc'd Maid, that he might the more easily
form her Manners to his own Humour. He began to instruct her in
Literature and Musick, and to use her by Degrees to repeat the Heads of
Sermons, which she heard, and to accomplish her with other Things, which
would afterwards be of Use to her. Now these Things being wholly new to
the Girl, which had been brought up at Home, to do nothing but gossip
and play, she soon grew weary of this Life, she absolutely refus'd to
submit to what her Husband requir'd of her; and when her Husband press'd
her about it, she would cry continually, sometimes she would throw
herself flat on the Ground, and beat her Head against the Ground, as
tho' she wish'd for Death. Her Husband finding there was no End of this,
conceal'd his Resentment, gave his Wife an Invitation to go along with
him into the Country to his Father-in-Law's House, for the Sake of a
little Diversion. His Wife very readily obey'd him in this Matter. When
they came there, the Husband left his Wife with her Mother and Sisters,
and went a Hunting with his Father-in-Law; there having taken him aside
privately, he tells his Father-in-law, that whereas he was in good Hopes
to have had an agreeable Companion of his Daughter, he now had one that
was always a crying, and fretting herself; nor could she be cured by any
Admonitions, and intreats him to lend a helping Hand to cure his
Daughter's Disorder. His Father-in-Law made him answer, that he had once
put his Daughter into his Hand, and if she did not obey him, he might
use his Authority, and cudgel her into a due Submission. The Son-in-Law
replies, I know my own Power, but I had much rather she should be
reform'd by your Art or Authority, than to come to these Extremities.
The Father-in-Law promis'd him to take some Care about the Matter: So a
Day or two after, he takes a proper Time and Place, when he was alone
with his Daughter, and looking austerely upon her, begins in telling her
how homely she was, and how disagreeable as to her Disposition, and how
often he had been in Fear that he should never be able to get her a
Husband: But after much Pains, says he, I found you such a one, that the
best Lady of the Land would have been glad of; and yet, you not being
sensible what I have done for you, nor considering that you have such a
Husband, who if he were not the best natur'd Man in the World, would
scarce do you the Honour to take you for one of his Maid Servants, you
are disobedient to him: To make short of my Story, the Father grew so
hot in his Discourse, that he seem'd to be scarce able to keep his Hands
off her; for he was so wonderful cunning a Man, that he would act any
Part, as well as any Comedian. The young Lady, partly for Fear, and
partly convinc'd by the Truth of what was told her, fell down at her
Father's Feet, beseeching him to forget past Faults, and for the Time to
come, she would be mindful of her Duty. Her Father freely forgave her,
and also promised, that he would be to her a very indulgent Father,
provided she perform'd what she promis'd.

_Xa. _ Well, what happened after that?

_Eu. _ The young Lady going away, after her Fathers Discourse was ended,
went directly into her Chamber, and finding her Husband alone, she fell
down on her Knees, and said, Husband, till this very Moment, I neither
knew you nor myself; but from this Time forward, you shall find me
another Sort of Person; only, I intreat you to forget what is past. The
Husband receiv'd this Speech with a Kiss, and promised to do every Thing
she could desire, if she did but continue in that Resolution.

_Xa. _ What! Did she continue in it?

_Eu. _ Even to her dying Day; nor was any Thing so mean, but she readily
and chearfully went about it, if her Husband would have it so. So great
a Love grew, and was confirm'd between them. Some Years after, the young
Lady would often congratulate herself, that she had happen'd to marry
such a Husband, which had it not happen'd, said she, I had been the most
wretched Woman alive.

_Xa. _ Such Husbands are as scarce now a Days as white Crows.

_Eu. _ Now if it will not be tedious to you, I'll tell you a Story, that
lately happen'd in this City, of a Husband that was reclaimed by the
good Management of his Wife.

_Xa. _ I have nothing to do at present, and your Conversation is very
diverting.

_Eu. _ There is a certain Gentleman of no mean Descent; he, like the rest
of his Quality, used often to go a Hunting: Being in the Country, he
happen'd to see a young Damsel, the Daughter of a poor old Woman, and
began to fall desperately in love with her. He was a Man pretty well in
Years; and for the Sake of this young Maid, he often lay out a Nights,
and his Pretence for it was Hunting. His Wife, a Woman of an admirable
Temper, suspecting something more than ordinary, went in search to find
out her Husband's Intrigues, and having discover'd them, by I can't tell
what Method, she goes to the Country Cottage, and learnt all the
Particulars where he lay, what he drank, and what Manner of
Entertainment he had at Table. There was no Furniture in the House,
nothing but naked Walls. The Gentlewoman goes Home, and quickly after
goes back again, carrying with her a handsome Bed and Furniture, some
Plate and Money, bidding them to treat him with more Respect, if at any
Time he came there again. A few Days after, her Husband steals an
Opportunity to go thither, and sees the Furniture increas'd, and finds
his Entertainment more delicate than it us'd to be; he enquir'd from
whence this unaccustomed Finery came: They said, that a certain honest
Gentlewoman of his Acquaintance, brought these Things; and gave them in
Charge, that he should be treated with more Respect for the future. He
presently suspected that this was done by his Wife. When he came Home,
he ask'd her if she had been there. She did not deny it. Then he ask'd
her for what Reason she had sent thither that household Furniture? My
Dear, says she, you are us'd to a handsomer Way of Living: I found that
you far'd hardly there, I thought it my Duty, since you took a Fancy to
the Place, that your Reception should be more agreeable.

_Xa. _ A Wife good even to an Excess. I should sooner have sent him a
Bundle of Nettles and Thorns, than furnish'd him with a fine Bed.

_Eu. _ But hear the Conclusion of my Story; the Gentleman was so touch'd,
seeing so much good Nature and Temper in his Wife, that he never after
that violated her Bed, but solaced himself with her at Home. I know you
know _Gilbert_ the _Dutchman_.

_Xa. _ I know him.

_Eu. _ He, you know, in the prime of his Age, marry'd a Gentlewoman well
stricken in Years, and in a declining Age.

_Xa. _ It may be he marry'd the Portion, and not the Woman.

_Eu. _ So it was. He having an Aversion to his Wife, was over Head and
Ears in Love with a young Woman, with whom he us'd ever and anon to
divert himself abroad. He very seldom either din'd or supp'd at home.
What would you have done, if this had been your Case, _Xantippe_?

_Xa. _ Why I would have torn his beloved Strumpet's Headcloths off, and I
would have wash'd him well with a Chamber-Pot, when he was going to her,
that he might have gone thus perfum'd to his Entertainment.

_Eu. _ But how much more prudently did this Gentlewoman behave herself.
She invited his Mistress home to her House, and treated her with all the
Civility imaginable. So she kept her Husband without any magical Charms.
And if at any Time he supp'd abroad with her, she sent them thither some
Nicety or other, desiring them to be merry together.

_Xa. _ As for me, I would sooner chuse to lose my Life than to be Bawd to
my own Husband.

_Eu. _ But in the mean Time, pray consider the Matter soberly and coolly.
Was not this much better, than if she had by her ill Temper totally
alienated her Husband's Affections from her, and spent her whole Life in
quarrelling and brawling.

_Xa. _ I believe, that of two Evils it was the least, but I could never
have submitted to it.

_Eu. _ I will add one more, and then I'll have done with Examples. A
next Door Neighbour of ours is a very honest, good Man, but a little too
subject to Passion. One Day he beat his Wife, a Woman of commendable
Prudence. She immediately withdrew into a private Room, and there gave
Vent to her Grief by Tears and Sighs. Soon after upon some Occasion her
Husband came into the Room, and found his Wife all in Tears. What's the
Matter, says he, that you're crying and sobbing like a Child? To which
she prudently reply'd, Why, says she, is it not much better to lament my
Misfortune here, than if I should make a Bawling in the Street, as other
Women do? The Man's Mind was so overcome and mollified by this Answer,
so like a Wife, that giving her his Hand, he made a solemn Promise to
his Wife, he would never lay his Hand upon her after, as long as he
liv'd. Nor did he ever do it.

_Xa. _ I have obtain'd as much from my Husband, but by a different
Conduct.

_Eu. _ But in the mean Time there are perpetual Wars between you.

_Xa. _ What then would you have me to do?

_Eu. _ If your Husband offers you any Affront, you must take no Notice of
it, but endeavour to gain his good Will by all good Offices, courteous
Carriage, and Meekness of Spirit, and by these Methods, you will in
Time, either wholly reclaim him, or at least you will live with him much
more easy than now you do.

_Xa. _ Ay, but he's too ill-natur'd to be wrought upon by all the kind
Offices in the World.

_Eu. _ Hold, don't say so, there is no Beast that is so savage but he may
be tam'd by good Management; therefore don't despair of it as to a Man.
Do but make the Experiment for a few Months, and if you do not find that
this Advice has been of Benefit to you, blame me. And there are also
some Faults that you must wink at; but above all Things, it is my
Opinion, you ought to avoid ever to begin any Quarrel either in the
Bed-Chamber, or in Bed, and to take a special Care that every Thing
there be chearful and pleasant. For if that Place which is consecrated
for the wiping out old Miscarriages and the cementing of Love, comes to
be unhallowed by Contention and Sourness of Temper, all Remedy for the
Reconcilement is taken away. For there are some Women of so morose
Tempers that they will be querulous, and scold even while the Rites of
Love are performing, and will by the Uneasiness of their Tempers render
that Fruition itself disagreeable which is wont to discharge the Minds
of Men from any Heart-burning, that they may have had; and by this Means
they spoil that Cordial, by which Misunderstandings in Matrimony might
be cured.

_Xa. _ That has been often my Case.

_Eu. _ And tho' it ought always to be the Care of a Wife, not to make her
Husband uneasy in any Thing; yet that ought to be especially her Care to
study, in conjugal Embraces to render herself by all ways possible,
agreeable and delightful to her Husband.

_Xa. _ To a Man, indeed! But I have to do with an untractable Beast.

_Eu. _ Come, come, leave off Railing. For the most part Husbands are made
bad, by our bad Conduct. But to return to our Argument, those that are
conversant in the antient Fables of the Poets, tell you that _Venus_,
(whom they make a Goddess, that presides over Matrimony) had a Girdle or
_Cestus_ which was made for her by _Vulcan's_ Art, in which were
interwoven all bewitching Ingredients of an amorous Medicament, and that
she put this on whenever she went to bed to her Husband.

_Xa. _ I hear a Fable.

_Eu. _ It is true: But hear the Moral of it.

_Xa. _ Tell it me.

_Eu. _ That teaches that a Wife ought to use all the Care imaginable to
be so engaging to her Husband in conjugal Embraces, that matrimonial
Affection may be retain'd and renew'd, and if there has been any
Distaste or Aversion, it may be expell'd the Mind.

_Xa. _ But where can a Body get this Girdle?

_Eu. _ There is no Need of Witchcrafts and Spells to procure one. There
is no Enchantment so effectual as Virtue, join'd with a Sweetness of
Disposition.

_Xa. _ I can't be able to bring myself to humour such a Husband as I have
got.

_Eu. _ But this is for your Interest, that he would leave off to be such
a bad Husband. If you could by _Circe_'s Art transform your Husband into
a Swine or a Bear, would you do it?

_Xa. _ I can't tell, whether I should or no.

_Eu. _ Which had you rather have, a Swine to your Husband, or a Man?

_Xa. _ In Truth, I had rather have a Man.

_Eu. _ Well, come on. What if you could by _Circe_'s Arts make him a
sober Man of a Drunkard, a frugal Man of a Spendthrift, a diligent Man
of an idle Fellow, would you not do it?

_Xa. _ To be sure, I would do it. But how shall I attain the Art?

_Eu. _ You have the Art in yourself, if you would but make Use of it.
Whether you will or no he must be your Husband, and the better Man you
make him, the more you consult your own Advantage. You only keep your
Eyes fix'd upon his Faults, and those aggravate your Aversion to him;
and only hold him by this Handle, which is such a one that he cannot be
held by; but rather take Notice of what good Qualities he has, and hold
him by this Handle, which is a Handle he may be held by: Before you
married him, you had Time of considering what his Defects were. A
Husband is not to be chosen by the Eyes only, but by the Ears too. Now
'tis your Time to cure him, and not to find Fault with him.

_Xa. _ What Woman ever made Choice of a Husband by her Ears?

_Eu. _ She chuses a Husband by her Eyes, which looks at nothing else but
his Person and bare Outside: She chuses him by her Ears, who carefully
observes what Reputation he has in the World.

_Xa. _ This is good Advice, but it is too late.

_Eu. _ But it is not too late to endeavour to amend your Husband. It will
contribute something to the Matter, if you could have any Children by
him.

_Xa. _ I have had one.

_Eu. _ When?

_Xa. _ A long Time ago.

_Eu. _ How many Months?

_Xa. _ Why, about Seven.

_Eu. _ What do I hear! You put me in Mind of the Joke of the three Months
Lying in.

_Xa. _ By no Means.

_Eu. _ It must be so, if you reckon from the Day of Marriage.

_Xa. _ But I had some private Discourse with him before Marriage.

_Eu. _ Are Children got by Talking?

_Xa. _ He having by Chance got me into a Room by myself, began to play
with me, tickling me about the Arm-pits and Sides, to make me laugh, and
I not being able to bear being tickled any longer, threw myself flat
upon the Bed, and he lying upon me, kiss'd me, and I don't know what he
did to me besides; but this is certain, within a few Days after, my
Belly began to swell.

_Eu. _ Get you gone now, and slight a Husband, who if he can get Children
jesting, what will he do if he sets about it in earnest?

_Xa. _ I suspect that I am now with Child by him again.

_Eu. _ O brave! to a good Soil, here's a good Ploughman to till it.

_Xa. _ As to this Affair, he's better than I wish he was.

_Eu.
_ Very few Wives have this Complaint to make: But, I suppose, the
Marriage Contract was made between you, before this happened.

_Xa. _ It was made.

_Eu. _ Then the Sin was so much the less. Is your Child a Boy?

_Xa. _ It is.

_Eu. _ That will reconcile you both, if you will but qualify yourself a
little for it. What Sort of Character do your Husband's Companions give
him? And what Company does he keep when he is abroad?

_Xa. _ They give him the Character of an exceeding good-humour'd,
courteous, generous Man, and a true Friend to his Friend.

_Eu. _ These Things give me great Hopes, that he will become such as we
would have him be.

_Xa. _ But I am the only Person he is not so to.

_Eu. _ Do you but be to him what I have told you, and if he does not
begin to be so to you, instead of _Eulalia_ (a good Speaker), call me
_Pseudolalia_ (a prating Liar); and besides, consider this, that he's
but a young Man yet, I believe not above twenty-four Years of Age, and
does not yet know what it is to be the Master of a Family. You must
never think of a Divorce now.

_Xa. _ But I have thought on it a great many Times.

_Eu. _ But if ever that Thought comes into your Mind again, first of all
consider with yourself, what an insignificant Figure a Woman makes when
she is parted from her Husband. It is the greatest Glory of a Matron, to
be obedient to her Husband. This Nature dictates, and it is the Will of
God, that the Woman should wholly depend upon her Husband: Only think,
as it really is, he is your Husband, you cannot have another. Then call
to Mind that the little Boy belongs to you both. What would you do with
him? Would you take him away with you? Then will you defraud your
Husband of his own. Will you leave him to him? Then you will deprive
yourself of that, than which nothing is more dear. Last of all, tell me,
is there any Body that wishes you ill?

_Xa. _ I have a Step-Mother, and a Mother-in-Law, as like her as may be.

_Eu. _ And they wish you ill, do they?

_Xa. _ They wish me in my Grave.

_Eu. _ Then think of them likewise. What can you be able to do, that
would be more grateful to them, than if they should see you divorc'd
from your Husband; a Widow, nay, to live, a Widow bewitcht, worse than a
Widow? For Widows may marry again.

_Xa. _ I approve of your Advice; but can't bear the Thoughts of being
always a Slave.

_Eu. _ Recount what Pains you took before you could teach that Parrot to
prattle.

_Xa. _ A great Deal indeed.

_Eu. _ And yet you think much to bestow a little Pains to mould your
Husband, with whom you may live a pleasant Life all your Days. What a
Deal of Pains do Men take to render a Horse tractable to them: And shall
we think much to take a little Pains to render our Husbands more
agreeable?

_Xa. _ What must I do?

_Eu. _ I have told you already, take Care that all Things be neat, and in
Order at Home, that there be nothing discomposing, to make him go out of
Doors; behave yourself easy and free to him, always remembring that
Respect which is due from a Wife to a Husband. Let all Melancholy and
ill-tim'd Gaiety be banished out of Doors; be not morose nor
frolicksome. Let your Table be handsomely provided. You know your
Husband's Palate, dress that which he likes best. Behave yourself
courteously and affably to those of his Acquaintance he respects. Invite
them frequently to Dinner; let all Things be pleasant and chearful at
Table. Lastly, if at any Time he happens to come Home a little merry
with Wine, and shall fall to playing on his Fiddle, do you sing, to him,
so you will gradually inure your Husband to keep at Home, and also
lessen his Expences: For he will thus reason with himself; was not I mad
with a Witness, who live abroad with a nasty Harlot, to the apparent
Prejudice of my Estate and Reputation, when I have at Home a Wife much
more entertaining and affectionate to me, with whom I may be entertained
more handsomely and more plentifully?

_Xa. _ Do you think I shall succeed, if I try?

_Eu. _ Look to me for that. I engage that you will: In the mean Time I'll
talk to your Husband, and put him in Mind of his Duty.

_Xa. _ I approve of your Design; but take Care that he mayn't discover
any Thing of what has past between us two, for he would throw the House
out of the Windows.

_Eu. _ Don't fear, I'll order my Discourse so by Turnings and Windings,
that he shall tell me himself, what Quarrels have happened between you.
When I have brought this about, I'll treat him after my Way, as
engagingly as can be, and I hope, shall render him to you better
temper'd: I'll likewise take Occasion to tell a Lie or two in your
Favour, how lovingly and respectfully you spoke of him.

_Xa. _ Heaven prosper both our Undertakings.

_Eu. _ It will, I doubt not, if you are not wanting to yourself.




_The SOLDIER and CARTHUSIAN. _


The ARGUMENT.

_This Colloquy sets out to the Life, the Madness of young
Men that run into the Wars, and the Life of a pious
Carthusian, which without the love of Study, can't but be
melancholy and unpleasant. The Manners of Soldiers, the
Manners and Diet of Carthusians. Advice in chusing a Way
of getting a Livelihood. The Conveniency of a single
Life, to be at Leisure for Reading and Meditation. Wicked
Soldiers oftentimes butcher Men for a pitiful Reward. The
daily Danger of a Soldier's Life. _


_The_ SOLDIER _and_ CARTHUSIAN.

_Sol. _ Good Morrow, my Brother.

_Cart. _ Good Morrow to you, dear Cousin.

_Sol. _ I scarce knew you.

_Cart. _ Am I grown so old in two Years Time?

_Sol. _ No; but your bald Crown, and your new Dress, make you look to me
like another Sort of Creature.

_Cart. _ It may be you would not know your own Wife, if she should meet
you in a new Gown.

_Sol. _ No; not if she was in such a one as yours.

_Cart. _ But I know you very well, who are not altered as to your Dress;
but your Face, and the whole Habit of your Body: Why, how many Colours
are you painted with? No Bird had ever such a Variety of Feathers. How
all is cut and slash'd! Nothing according to Nature or Fashion! your cut
Hair, your half-shav'd Beard, and that Wood upon your upper Lip,
entangled and standing out straggling like the Whiskers of a Cat. Nor is
it one single Scar that has disfigured your Face, that you may very well
be taken for one of the _Samian literati_, [q. d. burnt in the Cheek]
concerning whom there is a joking Proverb.

_Sol. _ Thus it becomes a Man to come back from the Wars. But, pray, tell
me, was there so great a Scarcity of good Physicians in this Quarter of
the World?

_Cart. _ Why do you ask?

_Sol. _ Because you did not get the Distemper of your Brain cur'd, before
you plung'd yourself into this Slavery.

_Cart. _ Why, do you think I was mad then?

_Sol. _ Yes, I do. What Occasion was there for you to be buried here,
before your Time, when you had enough in the World to have lived
handsomely upon?

_Cart. _ What, don't you think I live in the World now?

_Sol. _ No, by _Jove_.

_Cart. _ Tell me why.

_Sol. _ Because you can't go where you list. You are confin'd in this
Place as in a Coop. Besides, your bald Pate, and your prodigious strange
Dress, your Lonesomeness, your eating Fish perpetually, so that I admire
you are not turn'd into a Fish.

_Cart. _ If Men were turn'd into what they eat, you had long ago been
turn'd into a Hog, for you us'd to be a mighty Lover of Pork.

_Sol. _ I don't doubt but you have repented of what you have done, long
enough before now, for I find very few that don't repent of it.

_Cart. _ This usually happens to those who plunge themselves headlong
into this Kind of Life, as if they threw themselves into a Well; but I
have enter'd into it warily and considerately, having first made Trial
of myself, and having duly examined the whole Ratio of this Way of
Living, being twenty-eight Years of Age, at which Time, every one may be
suppos'd to know himself. And as for the Place, you are confined in a
small Compass as well as I, if you compare it to the Extent of the
whole World. Nor does it signify any Thing how large the Place is, as
long as it wants nothing of the Conveniences of Life. There are many
that seldom stir out of the City in which they were born, which if they
were prohibited from going out, would be very uneasy, and would be
wonderfully desirous to do it. This is a common Humour, that I am not
troubled with. I fancy this Place to be the whole World to me, and this
Map represents the whole Globe of the Earth, which I can travel over in
Thought with more Delight and Security than he that sails to the
new-found Islands.

_Sol. _ What you say as to this, comes pretty near the Truth.

_Cart. _ You can't blame me for shaving my Head, who voluntarily have
your own Hair clipp'd, for Conveniency Sake. Shaving, to me, if it does
nothing else, certainly keeps my Head more clean, and perhaps more
healthful too. How many Noblemen at _Venice_ shave their Heads all over?
What has my Garment in it that is monstrous? Does it not cover my Body?
Our Garments are for two Uses, to defend us from the Inclemency of the
Weather, and to cover our Nakedness. Does not this Garment answer both
these Ends? But perhaps the Colour offends you. What Colour is more
becoming Christians than that which was given to all in Baptism? It has
been said also, _Take a white Garment_; so that this Garment puts me in
Mind of what I promised in Baptism, that is, the perpetual Study of
Innocency. And besides, if you call that Solitude which is only a
retiring from the Crowd, we have for this the Example, not only of our
own, but of the ancient Prophets, the _Ethnick_ Philosophers, and all
that had any Regard to the keeping a good Conscience. Nay, Poets,
Astrologers, and Persons devoted to such-like Arts, whensoever they take
in Hand any Thing that's great and beyond the Sphere of the common
People, commonly betake themselves to a Retreat. But why should you call
this Kind of Life Solitude? The Conversation of one single Friend drives
away the Tædium of Solitude. I have here more than sixteen Companions,
fit for all Manner of Conversation. And besides, I have Friends who
come to visit me oftner than I would have them, or is convenient Do I
then, in your Opinion, live melancholy?

_Sol. _ But you cannot always have these to talk with.

_Cart. _ Nor is it always expedient: For Conversation is the pleasanter,
for being something interrupted.

_Sol. _ You don't think amiss; for even to me myself, Flesh relishes much
better after Lent.

_Cart. _ And more than that, when I seem to be most alone, I don't want
Companions, which are by far more delightful and entertaining than those
common Jesters.

_Sol. _ Where are they?

_Cart. _ Look you, here are the four Evangelists. In this Book he that so
pleasantly commun'd with the two Disciples in the Way going to _Emaus_,
and who by his heavenly Discourse caus'd them not to be sensible of the
Fatigue of their Journey, but made their Hearts burn within them with a
divine Ardour of hearing his sweet Words, holds Conversation with me. In
this I converse with _Paul_, with _Isaiah_, and the rest of the
Prophets. Here the most sweet _Chrysostom_ converses with me, and
_Basil_, and _Austin_, and _Jerome_, and _Cyprian_, and the rest of the
Doctors that are both learned and eloquent. Do you know any such
pleasant Companions abroad in the World, that you can have Conversation
with? Do you think I can be weary of Retirement, in such Society as
this? And I am never without it.

_Sol. _ But they would speak to me to no Purpose, who do not understand
them.

_Cart. _ Now for our Diet, what signifies it with what Food this Body of
ours is fed which is satisfied with very little, if we live according to
Nature? Which of us two is in the best Plight? You who live upon
Partridges, Pheasants and Capons; or I who live upon Fish?

_Sol. _ If you had a Wife as I have, you would not be so lusty.

_Cart. _ And for that Reason, any Food serves us, let it be never so
little.

_Sol. _ But in the mean Time, you live the Life of a _Jew_.

_Cart. _ Forbear Reflections: If we cannot come up to Christianity, at
least we follow after it.

_Sol. _ You put too much Confidence in Habits, Meats, Forms of Prayer,
and outward Ceremonies, and neglect the Study of Gospel Religion.

_Cart. _ It is none of my Business to judge what others do: As to myself,
I place no Confidence in these Things, I attribute nothing to them; but
I put my Confidence in Purity of Mind, and in _Christ_ himself.

_Sol. _ Why do you observe these Things then?

_Cart. _ That I may be at Peace with my Brethren, and give no Body
Offence.