No More Learning

_ There you might have seen a wretched Face of Things; the
Mariners, they were singing their _Salve Regina_, imploring the Virgin
Mother, calling her the Star of the Sea, the Queen of Heaven, the Lady
of the World, the Haven of Health, and many other flattering Titles,
which the sacred Scriptures never attributed to her.

_Ant. _ What has she to do with the Sea, who, as I believe, never went a
Voyage in her Life?

_Adol. _ In ancient Times, _Venus_ took Care of Mariners, because she was
believ'd to be born of the Sea and because she left off to take Care of
them, the Virgin Mother was put in her Place, that was a Mother, but not
a Virgin.

_Ant. _ You joke.

_Adol. _ Some were lying along upon the Boards, worshipping the Sea,
pouring all they had into it, and flattering it, as if it had been some
incensed Prince.

_Ant. _ What did they say?

_Adol. _ O most merciful Sea! O most generous Sea! O most rich Sea! O
most beautiful Sea, be pacified, save us; and a Deal of such Stuff they
sung to the deaf Ocean.

_Ant. _ Ridiculous Superstition! What did the rest do?

_Adol. _ Some did nothing but spew, and some made Vows. There was an
_Englishman_ there, that promis'd golden Mountains to our Lady of
_Walsingham_, so he did but get ashore alive. Others promis'd a great
many Things to the Wood of the Cross, which was in such a Place; others
again, to that which was in such a Place; and the same was done by the
Virgin _Mary_, which reigns in a great many Places, and they think the
Vow is of no Effect, unless the Place be mentioned.

_Ant. _ Ridiculous! As if the Saints did not dwell in Heaven.

_Adol. _ Some made Promises to become _Carthusians_. There was one who
promised he would go a _Pilgrimage_ to St. _James_ at _Compostella_,
bare Foot and bare Head, cloth'd in a Coat of Mail, and begging his
Bread all the Way.

_Ant. _ Did no Body make any Mention of St. _Christopher_?

_Adol. _ Yes, I heard one, and I could not forbear laughing, who bawling
out aloud, lest St. _Christopher_ should not hear him, promised him, who
is at the Top of a Church at _Paris_, rather a Mountain than a Statue, a
wax Taper as big as he was himself: When he had bawl'd out this over and
over as loud as he could, an Acquaintance of his jogg'd him on the
Elbow, and caution'd him: Have a Care what you promise, for if you
should sell all you have in the World, you will not be able to pay for
it. He answer'd him softly, lest St. _Christopher_ should hear him, you
Fool, says he, do you think I mean as I speak, if I once got safe to
Shore, I would not give him so much as a tallow Candle.

_Ant. _ O Blockhead! I fancy he was a _Hollander_.

_Adol. _ No, he was a _Zealander_.

_Ant. _ I wonder no Body thought of St. _Paul_, who has been at Sea, and
having suffered Shipwreck, leapt on Shore. For he being not unacquainted
with the Distress, knows how to pity those that are in it.

_Adol. _ He was not so much as named.

_Ant. _ Were they at their Prayers all the While?

_Adol. _ Ay, as if it had been for a Wager. One sung his _Hail Queen_;
another, _I believe in God_. There were some who had certain particular
Prayers not unlike magical Charms against Dangers.

_Ant. _ How Affliction makes Men religious! In Prosperity we neither
think of God nor Saint. But what did you do all this While? Did you not
make Vows to some Saints?

_Adol. _ No, none at all.

_Ant. _ Why so?

_Adol. _ I make no Bargains with Saints. For what is this but a Bargain
in Form? I'll give you, if you do so and so; or I will do so and so, if
you do so and so: I'll give you a wax Taper, if I swim out alive; I'll
go to _Rome_, if you save me.

_Ant. _ But did you call upon none of the Saints for Help?

_Adol. _ No, not so much as that neither.

_Ant. _ Why so?

_Adol. _ Because Heaven is a large Place, and if I should recommend my
Safety to any Saint, as suppose, to St. _Peter_, who perhaps, would hear
soonest, because he stands at the Door; before he can come to God
Almighty, or before he could tell him my Condition, I may be lost.

_Ant. _ What did you do then?

_Adol. _ I e'en went the next Way to God the Father, saying, _Our Father
which art in Heaven_. There's none of the Saints hears sooner than he
does, or more readily gives what is ask'd for.

_Ant. _ But in the mean Time did not your Conscience check you? Was you
not afraid to call him Father, whom you had offended with so many
Wickednesses?

_Adol. _ To speak ingenuously, my Conscience did a little terrify me at
first, but I presently took Heart again, thus reasoning with myself;
There is no Father so angry with his Son, but if he sees him in Danger
of being drowned in a River or Pond, he will take him, tho' it be by the
Hair of the Head, and throw him out upon a Bank. There was no Body among
them all behaved herself more composed than a Woman, who had a Child
sucking at her Breast.

_Ant. _ What did she do?

_Adol. _ She only neither bawl'd, nor wept, nor made Vows, but hugging
her little Boy, pray'd softly. In the mean Time the Ship dashing ever
and anon against the Ground, the Pilot being afraid she would be beat
all to Pieces, under-girded her with Cables from Head to Stern.

_Ant. _ That was a sad Shift!

_Adol. _ Upon this, up starts an old Priest about threescore Years of
Age, his Name was _Adam_. He strips himself to his Shirt, throws away
his Boots and Shoes, and bids us all in like Manner to prepare ourselves
for swimming. Then standing in the middle of the Ship, he preach'd a
Sermon to us, upon the five Truths of the Benefit of Confession, and
exhorted every Man to prepare himself, for either Life or Death. There
was a _Dominican_ there too, and they confess'd those that had a Mind to
it.

_Ant. _ What did you do?

_Adol. _ I seeing that every thing was in a Hurry, confess'd privately to
God, condemning before him my Iniquity, and imploring his Mercy.

_Ant. _ And whither should you have gone, do you think, if you had
perished?

_Adol. _ I left that to God, who is my Judge; I would not be my own
Judge. But I was not without comfortable Hopes neither. While these
Things were transacting, the Steersman comes to us again all in Tears;
Prepare your selves every one of you, says he, for the Ship will be of
no Service to us for a quarter of an Hour. For now she leak'd in several
Places. Presently after this he brings us Word that he saw a Steeple a
good Way off, and exhorts us to implore the Aid of that Saint, whoever
it was, who had the protection of that Temple. They all fall down and
pray to the unknown Saint.

_Ant. _ Perhaps he would have heard ye, if ye had call'd upon him by his
Name.

_Adol. _ But that we did not know. In the mean Time the Pilate steers the
Ship, torn and leaking every where, and ready to fall in Pieces, if she
had not been undergirt with Cables, as much as he could toward that
Place.

_Ant. _ A miserable Condition.

_Adol. _ We were now come so near the Shoar, that the Inhabitants of the
Place could see us in Distress, and ran down in Throngs to the utmost
Edge of the Shoar, and holding up Gowns and Hats upon Spears, invited us
to make towards them, and stretching out their Arms towards Heaven,
signified to us that they pitied our Misfortune.

_Ant. _ I long to know what happened.

_Adol. _ The Ship was now every where full of Water, that we were no
safer in the Ship than if we had been in the Sea.

_Ant. _ Now was your Time to betake yourself to divine Help.

_Adol. _ Ay, to a wretched one. The Sailors emptied the Ship's Boat of
Water, and let it down into the Sea. Every Body was for getting into it,
the Mariners cry'd out amain, they'll sink the Boat, it will not hold so
many; that every one should take what he could get, and swim for it.
There was no Time now for long Deliberation. One gets an Oar, another a
Pole, another a Gutter, another a Bucket, another a Plank, and every one
relying upon their Security, they commit themselves to the Billows.

_Ant. _ But what became of the Woman that was the only Person that made
no Bawling?

_Adol. _ She got to Shoar the first of them all.

_Ant. _ How could she do that?

_Adol. _ We set her upon a broad Plank, and ty'd her on so fast that she
could not easily fall off, and we gave her a Board in her Hand to make
Use of instead of an Oar, and wishing her good Success, we set her
afloat, thrusting her off from the Ship with Poles, that she might be
clear of it, whence was the greatest Danger. And she held her Child in
her left Hand, and row'd with her right Hand.

_Ant. _ O _Virago_!

_Adol. _ Now when there was nothing else left, one pull'd up a wooden
Image of the Virgin _Mary_, rotten, and rat-eaten, and embracing it in
his Arms, try'd to swim upon it.

_Ant. _ Did the Boat get safe to Land?

_Adol. _ None perish'd sooner than they that were in that, and there were
above thirty that had got into it.

_Ant. _ By what bad Accident was that brought about?

_Adol. _ It was overset by the rolling of the Ship, before they could get
clear of it.

_Ant. _ A sad Accident: But how then?

_Adol. _ While I was taking Care for others, I had like to have been lost
myself.

_Ant. _ How so?

_Adol. _ Because there was nothing left that was fit for swimming.

_Ant. _ There Corks would have been of good Use.

_Adol. _ In that Condition I would rather have had a sorry Cork than a
gold Candlestick. I look'd round about me, at Length I bethought myself
of the Stump of the Mast, and because I could not get it out alone, I
took a Partner; upon this we both plac'd ourselves, and committed
ourselves to the Sea. I held the right End, and my Companion the left
End. While we lay tumbling and tossing, the old preaching Sea-Priest
threw himself upon our Shoulders. He was a huge Fellow. We cry out,
who's that third Person? He'll drown us all. But he very calmly bids us
be easy, for there was Room enough, God will be with us.

_Ant. _ How came he to be so late?

_Adol. _ He was to have been in the Boat with the _Dominican_. For they
all paid him this Deference. But tho' they had confess'd themselves in
the Ship, yet having forgotten I know not what Circumstances, they
confess'd over again at the Ship-Side, and each lays his Hand upon the
other, and while this was doing the Boat was over-turn'd. This I had
from _Adam_ himself.

_Ant. _ What became of the _Dominican_?

_Adol. _ As the same Man told me, having implor'd the Help of his Saints,
and stript himself, he threw himself naked into the Sea.

_Ant. _ What Saints did he call upon?

_Adol. _ St. _Dominick_, St. _Thomas_, St. _Vincent_, and one of the
_Peters_, but I can't tell which: But his chief Reliance was upon
_Catherinea Senensis_.

_Ant. _ Did he not remember _Christ_?

_Adol. _ Not, as the old Priest told me.

_Ant. _ He would have swam better if he had thrown off his sanctified
Coul: But if that had been laid aside, how should _Catherine_ of _Siena_
have known him? But go on and tell me about yourself.

_Adol.
_ While we were yet tumbling and tossing near the Ship, which
roll'd hither and thither at the Mercy of the Waves, the Thigh of him
that held the left End of the Stump of the Mast was broken by a great
Spike, and so that made him let go his Hold. The old Priest wishing him
everlasting Rest, took his Place, encouraging me to maintain my Post on
the right Hand resolutely, and to strike out my Feet stoutly. In the
mean Time we drank in abundance of salt Water. For _Neptune_ had
provided us not only a salt Bath, but a salt Potion too, altho' the old
Priest prescribed a Remedy for it.

_Ant. _ What was that?

_Adol. _ Why, as often as a Billow met us, he turn'd his Head and shut
his Mouth.

_Ant. _ You tell me of a brave old Fellow.

_Adol. _ When we had been some Time swimming at this Rate, and had made
some Way, the old Priest being a very tall Man, cries out, Be of good
Heart, I feel Ground; but I durst not hope for such a Blessing. No, no,
says I, we are too far from Shoar to hope to feel Ground. Nay, says he,
I feel the Ground with my Feet. Said I, perhaps it is some of the Chests
that have been roll'd thither by the Sea. Nay, says he, I am sure I feel
Ground by the Scratching of my Toes. Having floated thus a little
longer, and he had felt the Bottom again, Do you do what you please,
says he, I'll leave you the whole Mast, and wade for it. And so he took
his Opportunity, at the Ebbing of the Billows, he made what Haste he
could on his Feet, and when the Billows came again, he took Hold of his
Knees with his Hands, and bore up against the Billows, hiding himself
under them as Sea Gulls and Ducks do, and at the Ebbing of the Wave, he
would start up and run for it. I seeing that this succeeded so well to
him, followed his Example. There stood upon the Shoar Men, who had long
Pikes handed from one to another, which kept them firm against the Force
of the Waves, strong bodied Men, and accustom'd to the Waves, and he
that was last of them held out a Pike to the Person swimming towards
him. All that came to Shoar, and laying hold of that, were drawn safely
to dry Land. Some were sav'd this Way.

_Ant. _ How many?

_Adol. _ Seven. But two of these fainted away being brought to the Fire.

_Ant. _ How many were in the Ship?

_Adol. _ Fifty-eight.

_Ant. _ O cruel Sea. At least it might have been content with the Tithes,
which are enough for Priests. Did it restore so few out of so great a
Number?

_Adol. _ There we had Experience of the wonderful Humanity of the Nation,
that supply'd us with all Necessaries with exceeding Chearfulness; as
Lodging, Fire, Victuals, Cloaths, and Money to bear our Charges when we
went away.

_Ant. _ What Country was it?

_Adol. Holland. _

_Ant. _ There's no Nation more human, altho' they are encompass'd with
such fierce Nations. I fancy you won't be for going to Sea again.

_Adol. _ No, unless God shall please to deprive me of my Reason.

_Ant. _ I would rather hear such Stories than feel them.




_DIVERSORIA. _


The ARGUMENT.

_This Colloquy shews the various Customs of Nations and
their Civility in treating Strangers. An Inn at_ Leyden
_where are nothing but Women. The Manners of the_ French
_Inns, who are us'd to tell Stories, and break Jests.
The_ Germans, _far more uncivil in treating Travellers,
being rude, and wholly inhospitable: The Guests look
after their own Horses: The Method of receiving them into
the Stove: They provide no Supper, till they know how
many Guests they shall have: All that come that Night,
sit down to Supper together: All pay alike, tho' one
drinks twice as much Wine as another does. _


BERTULPH and WILLIAM.

_Bert. _ I wonder what is the Fancy of a great many, for staying two or
three Days at _Lyons_? When I have once set out on a Journey, I an't at
Rest till I come to my Journey's End.

_Will. _ Nay, I wonder as much, that any Body can get away from thence.

_Bert. _ But why so?

_Will. _ Because that's a Place the Companions of _Ulysses_ could not
have got away from. There are _Sirens_. No Body is better entertain'd at
his own House, than he is there at an Inn.

_Bert. _ What is done there?

_Will. _ There's a Woman always waiting at Table, which makes the
Entertainment pleasant with Railleries, and pleasant Jests. And the
Women are very handsome there. First the Mistress of the House came and
bad us Welcome, and to accept kindly what Fare we should have; after
her, comes her Daughter, a very fine Woman, of so handsome a Carriage,
and so pleasant in Discourse, that she would make even _Cato_ himself
merry, were he there: And they don't talk to you as if you were perfect
Strangers, but as those they have been a long Time acquainted with, and
familiar Friends.

_Bert. _ O, I know the _French_ Way of Civility very well.

_Will. _ And because they can't be always with you, by Reason of the
other Affairs of the House, and the welcoming of other Guests, there
comes a Lass, that supplies the Place of the Daughter, till she is at
Leisure to return again. This Lass is so well instructed in the Knack of
Repartees, that she has a Word ready for every Body, and no Conceit
comes amiss to her. The Mother, you must know, was somewhat in Years.

_Bert. _ But what was your Table furnish'd with? For Stories fill no
Bellies.

_Will. _ Truly, so splendid, that I was amaz'd that they could afford to
entertain their Guests so, for so small a Price. And then after Dinner,
they entertain a Man with such facetious Discourse, that one cannot be
tired; that I seemed to be at my own House, and not in a strange Place.

_Bert. _ And how went Matters in your Chambers?

_Will. _ Why, there was every where some pretty Lass or other, giggling
and playing wanton Tricks? They ask'd us if we had any foul Linnen to
wash; which they wash and bring to us again: In a word, we saw nothing
there but young Lasses and Women, except in the Stable, and they would
every now and then run in there too. When you go away, they embrace ye,
and part with you with as much Affection, as if you were their own
Brothers, or near Kinsfolks.

_Bert. _ This Mode perhaps may become the _French_, but methinks the Way
of the _Germans_ pleases me better, which is more manly.

_Will. _ I never have seen _Germany_; therefore, pray don't think much to
tell how they entertain a Traveller.

_Bert. _ I can't tell whether the Method of entertaining be the same
every where; but I'll tell you what I saw there. No Body bids a Guest
welcome, lest he should seem to court his Guests to come to him, for
that they look upon to be sordid and mean, and not becoming the German
Gravity. When you have called a good While at the Gate, at Length one
puts his Head out of the Stove Window (for they commonly live in Stoves
till Midsummer) like a Tortoise from under his Shell: Him you must ask
if you can have any Lodging there; if he does not say no, you may take
it for granted, that there is Room for you. When you ask where the
Stable is, he points to it; there you may curry your Horse as you please
yourself, for there is no Servant will put a Hand to it. If it be a
noted Inn, there is a Servant shews you the Stable, and a Place for your
Horse, but incommodious enough; for they keep the best Places for those
that shall come afterwards; especially for Noblemen. If you find Fault
with any Thing, they tell you presently, if you don't like, look for
another Inn. In their Cities, they allow Hay, but very unwillingly and
sparingly, and that is almost as dear as Oats. When you have taken Care
of your Horse, you come whole into the Stove, Boots, Baggage, Dirt and
all, for that is a common Room for all Comers.

_Will. _ In _France_, they appoint you a separate Chamber, where you may
change your Cloaths, clean and warm your self, or take Rest if you have
a Mind to it.

_Bert. _ There's nothing of that here. In the Stove, you pull off your
Boots, put on your Shoes, and if you will, change your Shirt, hang up
your wet Cloths near the Stove Iron, and get near it to dry yourself.
There's Water provided for you to wash your Hands, if you will; but as
for the Cleanness of it, it is for the most Part such that you will want
another Water to wash that off.

_Will. _ I commend this Sort of People, that have nothing of Effeminacy
in them.

_Bert. _ If you come in at four a-Clock in the Afternoon, you must not go
to Supper till nine, and sometimes not till ten.

_Will. _ Why so?

_Bert. _ They never make any Thing ready till they see all their Company
together, that one Trouble may serve for all.

_Will. _ They are for taking the shortest Way.

_Bert. _ You are right; so that oftentimes, there come all together into
the same Stove, eighty or ninety Foot-Men, Horse-Men, Merchants,
Marriners, Waggoners, Husband-Men, Children, Women, sick and sound.

_Will. _ This is having all Things in common.

_Bert. _ There one combs his Head, another wipes off his Sweat, another
cleans his Spatterdashes or Boots, another belches Garlick; and in
short, there is as great a Confusion of Tongues and Persons, as there
was at the Building the Tower of _Babel_. And if they see any Body of
another Country, who by his Habit looks like a Man of Quality, they all
stare at him so wistfully, as if he was a Sort of strange Animal brought
out of _Africa_. And when they are set at Table, and he behind them,
they will be still looking back at him, and be staring him in the Face,
till they have forgot their Suppers.

_Will. _ At _Rome_, _Paris_ or _Venice_, there's no Body thinks any Thing
strange.

_Bert. _ In the mean Time, 'tis a Crime for you to call for any Thing.
When it is grown pretty late, and they don't expect any more Guests, out
comes an old grey-bearded Servant, with his Hair cut short, and a
crabbed Look, and a slovenly Dress.

_Will. _ Such Fellows ought to be Cup-Bearers to the Cardinals at _Rome_.

_Bert. _ He having cast his Eyes about, counts to himself, how many there
are in the Stove; the more he sees there, the more Fire he makes in the
Stove although it be at a Time when the very Heat of the Sun would be
troublesome; and this with them, is accounted a principal Part of good
Entertainment, to make them all sweat till they drop again. If any one
who is not used to the Steam, shall presume to open the Window never so
little, that he be not stifled, presently they cry out to shut it again:
If you answer you are not able to bear it, you'll presently hear, get
you another Inn then.

_Will. _ But in my Opinion, nothing is more dangerous, than for so many
to draw in the same Vapour; especially when their Bodies are opened with
the Heat; and to eat in the same Place, and to stay there so many Hours,
not to mention the belching of Garlick, the Farting, the stinking
Breaths, for many have secret Distempers, and every Distemper has its
Contagion; and without doubt, many have the _Spanish_, or as it is
call'd, the _French_ Pox, although it is common to all Nations. And it
is my Opinion, there is as much Danger from such Persons, as there is
from those that have the Leprosy. Tell me now, what is this short of a
Pestilence?

_Bert. _ They are Persons of a strong Constitution, and laugh at, and
disregard those Niceties.

_Will. _ But in the mean Time, they are bold at the Perils of other Men.

_Bert. _ What would you do in this Case? 'Tis what they have been used
to, and it is a Part of a constant Mind, not to depart from a Custom.

_Will. _ And yet, within these five and twenty Years, nothing was more in
Vogue in _Brabant_, than hot Baths, but now they are every where grown
out of Use; but the new Scabbado has taught us to lay them down.

_Bert. _ Well, but hear the rest: By and by, in comes our bearded
_Ganymede_ again, and lays on the Table as many Napkins as there are
Guests: But, good God! not Damask ones, but such as you'd take to have
been made out of old Sails. There are at least eight Guests allotted to
every Table. Now those that know the Way of the Country, take their
Places, every one as he pleases, for there's no Difference between Poor
or Rich, between the Master and Servant.

_Will. _ This was that ancient Equality which now the Tyrant Custom has
driven quite out of the World. I suppose Christ liv'd after this Manner
with his Disciples.

_Bert. _ After they are all plac'd, out comes the sour-look'd _Ganymede_
again, and counts his Company over again; by and by he comes in again,
and brings every Man a Wooden Dish, and a Spoon of the same Silver, and
then a Glass; and then a little after he brings Bread, which the Guests
may chip every one for themselves at Leisure, while the Porridge is
boiling. For sometimes they sit thus for near an Hour.

_Will. _ Do none of the Guests call for Meat in the mean Time?

_Bert. _ None who knows the Way of the Country. At last the Wine is set
upon the Table: Good God! how far from being tasteless? So thin and
sharp, that Sophisters ought to drink no other. And if any of the Guests
should privately offer a Piece of Money to get a little better Wine some
where else; at first they'll say nothing to you, but give you a Look, as
if they were going to murder you; and if you press it farther, they
answer you, there have been so many Counts and Marquisses that have
lodg'd here, and none of them ever found fault with this Wine: If you
don't like it, get you another Inn. They account only the Noblemen of
their own Nation to be Men, and where-ever you come, they are shewing
you their Arms. By this time, comes a Morsel to pacify a barking
Stomach: And by and by follow the Dishes in great Pomp; commonly the
first has Sippits of Bread in Flesh Broth, or if it be a Fish Day, in a
Soup of Pulse. After that comes in another Soup, and then a Service of
Butcher's Meat, that has been twice boil'd, or salt Meats warm'd again,
and then Pulse again, and by and by something of more solid Food, until
their Stomachs being pretty well staid, they bring roast Meat or stewed
Fish, which is not to be at all contemn'd; but this they are sparing of,
and take it away again quickly. This is the Manner they order the
Entertainment, as Comedians do, who intermingle Dances among their
Scenes, so do they their Chops and Soups by Turns: But they take Care
that the last Act shall be the best.

_Will. _ This is the Part of a good Poet.

_Bert. _ And it would be a heinous Offence, if in the mean Time any Body
should say, Take away this Dish, there's no Body eats. You must sit your
Time appointed, which I think they measure by the Hour-Glass. At length,
out comes that bearded Fellow, or the Landlord himself, in a Habit but
little differing from his Servants, and asks how cheer you? And by and
by some better Wine is brought. And they like those best that drink
most, tho' he that drinks most pays no more than he that drinks least.

_Will. _ A strange Temper of the Nation!

_Bert. _ There are some of them that drink twice as much Wine as they pay
for their Ordinary. But before I leave this Entertainment, it is
wonderful what a Noise and Chattering there is, when once they come to
be warm with Wine. In short, it deafens a Man. They oftentimes bring in
a Mixture of Mimicks, which these People very much delight in, tho' they
are a detestable Sort of Men. There's such a singing, prating, bawling,
jumping, and knocking, that you would think the Stove were falling upon
your Head, and one Man can't hear another speak. And this they think is
a pleasant Way of living, and there you must sit in Spight of your Heart
till near Midnight.

_Will. _ Make an End of your Meal now, for I myself am tir'd with such a
tedious one.

_Bert. _ Well, I will. At length the Cheese is taken away, which scarcely
pleases them, except it be rotten and full of Maggots. Then the old
bearded Fellow comes again with a Trencher, and a many Circles and
semi-Circles drawn upon it with Chalk, this he lays down upon the Table,
with a grim Countenance, and without speaking. You would say he was some
_Charon_. They that understand the Meaning of this lay down their Money
one after another till the Trencher is fill'd. Having taken Notice of
those who lay down, he reckons it up himself, and if all is paid, he
gives you a Nod.

_Will. _ But what if there should be any Thing over and above?