No More Learning

_ Can't you give us some Representation of it?

Br. No, how should I, that did not see it? He who did see it, says, that
he was not able to express the very Dream of it. He said, he would die a
thousand Deaths to see it over again, if it were but for one Moment.

_Po. _ How then?

_Br. _ Out of this Overture of the Heavens, there was let down a great
Pillar of Fire that was transparent, and of a very pleasant Form: By
this the two holy Souls were carried into Heaven, in one anothers
Embraces; a Choir of Angels all the While accompanying them, with so
charming a Melody, that the Franciscan says, he is never able to think
of the Delight of it without weeping. And after this there follow'd a
wonderful fragrant Smell. When he waked out of his Dream, if you will
call it a Dream, he was just like a mad Man. He would not believe he was
in his Cell; he called for his Bridge and his Meadow; he could not speak
or think of any Thing else but them. The Seniors of the Convent, when
they found the Story to be no Fable, for it is certain that _Reuclin_
dy'd at the very Instant that the holy Man had this Vision, they
unanimously gave Thanks to God, that abundantly rewards good Men for
their good Deeds.

_Po. _ What have we to do, but to set down this holy Man's Name in the
Calendar of Saints?

_Br. _ I should have done that if the Franciscan had seen nothing at all
of this, and in Gold Letters too, I'll assure you, next to St. _Jerome_
himself.

_Po. _ And let me die if I don't put him down in my Book so too.

_Br. _ And besides that, I'll set him in Gold in my little Chapel, among
the choicest of my Saints.

_Po. _ And if I had a Fortune to my Mind, I'd have him in Diamonds.

_Br. _ He shall stand in my Library, the very next to St. _Jerome_.

_Po. _ And I'll have him in mine too.

_Br. _ If they were grateful, every one who loves Learning and Languages,
especially, the holy Tongues, would do so too.

_Po. _ Truly it is no more than he deserves. But han't you some Scruple
upon your Mind, in as much as he is not yet canoniz'd by the Authority
of the Bishop of _Rome_?

_Br. _ Why, pray, who canoniz'd (for that's the Word) St. _Jerome_? Who
canoniz'd St. _Paul_, or the Virgin _Mary_? Pray tell me whose Memory is
most sacred among all good Men? Those that by their eminent Piety, and
the Monuments of their Learning and good Life, have entitled themselves
to the Veneration of all Men; or _Catherine_ of _Sien_, that was sainted
by _Pius_ the Second, in favour of the Order and the City?

_Po. _ You say true: That's the right Worship, that by the Will of
Heaven, is paid to the Merits of the Dead, whose Benefits are always
sensibly felt.

_Br. _ And can you then deplore the Death of this Man? If long Life be a
Blessing, he enjoyed it. He has left behind him immortal Monuments of
his Vertue, and by his good Works, consecrated his Name to Immortality.
He is now in Heaven, out of the Reach of Misfortunes, conversing with
St. _Jerome_ himself.

_Po. _ But he suffer'd a great Deal tho' in his Life.

_Br. _ But yet St. _Jerome_ suffered more. It is a Blessing to be
persecuted by wicked Men for being good.

_Po. _ I confess so, and St. _Jerome_ suffer'd many unworthy Things from
the worst of Men, for the best of Deeds.

_Br. _ That which Satan did formerly by the Scribes and Pharisees against
the Lord Jesus, he continues still to do by Pharisaical Men, against
good Men, who have deserved well from the World by their Studies. He now
reaps the blessed Harvest of the Seed he has been sowing. In the mean
Time, it will be our Duty, to preserve his Memory sacred; to honour his
Name, and to address him often in some such Manner as follows. _O holy
Soul, be thou propitious to Languages, and to those that cultivate them:
Favour the holy Tongues, and destroy evil Tongues that are infected with
the Poison of Hell. _

_Po. _ I'll do't myself, and earnestly persuade all my Friends to do it.
I make no Question but there will be those that will desire to have some
little Form of Prayer, according to Custom, to celebrate the Memory of
this most holy Hero.

_Br. _ Do you mean that which they call a Collect?

_Po. _ Yes.

_Br. _ I have one ready, that I provided before his Death.

_Po. _ I pray let's hear it.

_Br. O God, that art the Lover of Mankind, that hast by thy chosen
Servant_ John Reuclin, _renew'd to Mankind the Gift of Tongues, by which
thy holy Spirit from above, did formerly furnish thy Apostles for their
Preaching the Gospel; grant that all thy People may every where, in all
Languages, preach the Glory of thy Son Jesus Christ, to the confounding
of the Tongues of false Apostles; who being in a Confederacy to uphold
the impious Tower of_ Babel, _endeavour to obscure thy Glory, and to
advance their own, when to thee alone, together with thy only Son Jesus
Christ our Lord, and the holy Spirit, is due all Glory to eternal Ages. _
Amen.

_Po. _ A most elegant and holy Prayer. As I live, it shall be mine daily.
And I account this a happy Opportunity, that has brought me to the
Knowledge of so joyful a Story.

_Br. _ Mayst thou long enjoy that Comfort, and so farewell.

_Po. _ Fare you well too.

_Br. _ I will fare well, but not be a Cook.




_A LOVER and MAIDEN. _


The ARGUMENT.

_This Colloquy presents you with a very chaste Wooing,
mingling many philosophical Notions with pleasant Jokes.
Of not being hasty in marrying; of chusing, not only for
the Sake of the outward Person, but the inward Endowments
of the Mind; of the Firmness of Wedlock; of not
contracting Matrimony without the Consent of Parents; of
living chastly in Matrimony; of bringing up Children
piously; that the Soul is not where it animates, but
where it loves. The Description of a deformed Man. That
Wedlock is to be preferr'd before a single Life, and is
not, as it is vulgarly called, a Halter. That we must not
consult our Affections so much as Reason. _


PAMPHILUS _and_ MARY.

_PA. _ Good Morrow, Madam, cruel, hard Heart, inflexible.

_Ma. _ Good Morrow to you too, Mr. _Pamphilus_, as often, and as much,
and by what Names you please: But you seem to have forgotten my Name,
'tis _Mary_.

_Pa. _ It should rather have been _Martia_.

_Ma. _ Why so, pray, what is _Mars_ to me?

_Pa. _ Because just as _Mars_ makes a Sport of killing Men, so do you;
saving that you do it the more cruelly of the two, because you kill one
that loves you.

_Ma. _ Say you so! pray where's the great Slaughter of Men that I have
made? Where's the Blood of the Slain?

_Pa. _ You may see one dead Corpse before your Face, if you look upon
me.

_Ma. _ What strange Story is this? Does a dead Man talk and walk? I wish
I may never meet with more frightful Ghosts than you are.

_Pa. _ Ay, indeed, you make a Jest of it; but for all that, you kill poor
me, and more cruelly too, than if you stuck a Dagger in my Breast. For
now I, poor Wretch as I am, die a lingering Death.

_Ma. _ Prithee tell me, how many Women with Child have miscarried at the
Sight of thee?

_Pa. _ My Paleness shews I have no more Blood in my Body than a Ghost.

_Ma. _ Indeed you are as pale as a Violet; You are as pale as a ripe
Cherry, or purple Grape.

_Pa. _ You coquet it with my Misery.

_Ma. _ If you can't believe me, look in the Glass.

_Pa. _ I would never desire a better Glass, nor do I believe there is a
better in the World than I am a looking in already.

_Ma. _ What Looking-Glass do you mean?

_Pa. _ Your Eyes.

_Ma. _ You Banterer! that's like you. But how do you prove yourself to be
dead? Do dead Folks eat?

_Pa. _ Yes, they do; but Things that have no Relish, as I do.

_Ma. _ What do they feed upon?

_Pa. _ Mallows, Leeks, and Lupines.

_Ma. _ But you feed upon Capons and Partridges.

_Pa. _ If I do, I relish them no more than Beets without Pepper or
Vinegar.

_Ma. _ Poor Creature! but yet you're in pretty good Case, for all that.
And do dead Folks talk too?

_Pa. _ Just as I do, with a weak Voice.

_Ma. _ But when I heard you rallying your Rival a little While ago, your
Voice was not very low then. But, prithee, do Ghosts walk, wear Cloaths,
and sleep?

_Pa. _ Yes, and enjoy one another too, after their Manner.

_Ma. _ Thou art a merry Fellow.

_Pa. _ But what will you say, if I prove it by undeniable Arguments, that
I am dead, and that you have kill'd me too.

_Ma. _ God forbid, _Pamphilus_; but let's hear your Arguments, however.

_Pa. _ In the first Place, I think you will grant me this, that Death is
only a Separation of Soul and Body.

_Ma. _ I grant it.

_Pa. _ But you must grant it so as not to eat your Words.

_Ma. _ No, I will not.

_Pa. _ You will not deny, I suppose, that the Person that takes away
another's Life, is a Murtherer.

_Ma. _ I grant that too.

_Pa. _ I suppose you will grant that which has been allow'd by the
greatest Men of many Ages, that the Soul of a Man is not really where it
animates, but where it loves.

_Ma. _ Make that a little plainer, I can't well understand it then.

_Pa. _ You might as well bid me make an Adamant sensible of it.

_Ma. _ I am a Maid, not a Stone.

_Pa. _ Tis true, but harder than an Adamant Stone.

_Ma. _ Go on with your Inferences.

_Pa. _ Those that are in a Trance, do neither hear, nor see, nor smell,
nor feel, if you kill them outright.

_Ma. _ Indeed I have heard so.

_Pa. _ What do you think is the Reason?

_Ma. _ Do you, Philosopher, tell that.

_Pa.
_ Because their Mind is in Heaven, where it enjoys what it dearly
loves; and therefore is absent from the Body.

_Ma. _ Well, what then?

_Pa. _ What then, hard-hearted Creature? Then it follows, that I am dead,
and you have killed me.

_Ma. _ Where is your Soul then?

_Pa. _ Where it loves.

_Ma. _ Who took this Soul of yours away? What do you Sigh for? Tell me
freely: There's no Hurt in it.

_Pa. _ A cruel Maid, that I could not be angry with if she kill'd me
outright.

_Ma. _ You're very good-humour'd; but why don't you take her Soul from
her too, and pay her in her own Coin, according to the old Proverb.

_Pa. _ I should be the happiest Man in the World, if I could make that
Exchange, that her Heart would pass as wholly into my Breast, as mine
has into hers.

_Ma. _ But may I play the Sophister with you now?

_Pa. _ The Sophistress.

_Ma. _ Can one and the same Body be both alive and dead?

_Pa. _ Not at the same Time.

_Ma. _ Is the Body dead, when the Soul is out of it?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ Nor does it animate it, but when it is in it?

_Pa. _ No, it does not.

_Ma. _ How comes it to pass then, that when it is there where it loves,
it yet animates the Body it is gone out of? And if it animates when it
loves any where, how is that called a dead Body which it animates?

_Pa. _ Indeed, you argue very cunningly, but you shan't catch me there.
That Soul, which after some Sort governs the Body of the Lover, is but
improperly call'd a Soul, when it is but some small Remains of the Soul;
just as the Smell of a Rose remains in the Hand, when the Rose is gone.

_Ma. _ I see it is a hard Matter to catch a Fox in a Trap. But answer me
this Question, does not the Person that kills, act?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ And does not he suffer who is kill'd?

_Pa. _ Yes.

_Ma. _ And how comes it about then, that when he that loves, acts, and
she that is lov'd, suffers, she that is lov'd should be said to kill,
when he that loves, rather kills himself?

_Pa. _ Nay, on the Contrary, 'tis he that loves that suffers, and she is
lov'd, that acts.

_Ma. _ You will never prove that by all your Grammar.

_Pa. _ Well, I'll prove it by Logic then.

_Ma. _ But do so much as answer me this one Question, do you love
voluntarily, or against your Will?

_Pa. _ Voluntarily.

_Ma. _ Then since a Person is at Liberty, whether he will love or no; he
that does love, is guilty of _Felo de se_, and accuses a Maid
wrongfully.

_Pa. _ A Maid does not kill in being lov'd, but in not loving again. He
is guilty of killing, that can save and don't save.

_Ma. _ What if a young Man should fall into an unlawful Love, as suppose
with another Man's Wife, or a Vestal Virgin? Must she love him again, to
save the Lover?

_Pa. _ But the young Man, meaning myself, loves one whom he ought to
love, and by Right and good Reason, and yet am murthered. If Murther be
a light Matter, I could indict you for Witchcraft too.

_Ma. _ God forbid, do you make a _Circe_ of me?

_Pa. _ You are more barbarous than _Circe_ herself, I had rather be a Hog
or a Bear, than as I now am, half dead.

_Ma. _ By what Sort of Enchantments do I kill Men?

_Pa. _ By the Witchcraft of your Eyes.

_Ma. _ Would you have me take my noxious Eyes off of you then.

_Pa. _ No, by no Means, rather look more upon me.

_Ma. _ If my Eyes are so infectious, how comes it about they don't throw
others I look upon into a Consumption too? I therefore rather believe
the Infection is in your own Eyes than mine.

_Pa. _ Is it not enough for you to kill poor _Pamphilus_, but you must
insult him too.

_Ma. _ O pretty dead Creature! but when must I come to your Funeral?

_Pa. _ Sooner than you think for, if you don't relieve me.

_Ma. _ Can I perform such a wonderful Cure?

_Pa. _ You can raise a dead Man to Life again with the greatest Ease
imaginable.

_Ma. _ Ay, if I had the Grand-Elixir.

_Pa. _ You have no Need of any Medicine, do but love me again. And what's
easier than that? Nay, what's more just? You can no other Way in the
World get clear of the Crime of Murther.

_Ma. _ In what Court must I be try'd? In the Court of Chancery?

_Pa. _ No, in the Court of _Venus_.

_Ma. _ They say, she is a very merciful Goddess.

_Pa. _ Nay, the most severe in the World.

_Ma. _ Has she any Thunderbolts?

_Pa. _ No.

_Ma. _ Has she got a Trident?

_Pa. _ No.

_Ma. _ Has she got a Spear?

_Pa. _ No; but she is the Goddess of the Sea.

_Ma. _ But I don't go to Sea.

_Pa. _ But she has a Son.

_Ma. _ Youth is not very formidable.

_Pa. _ But he is very revengeful and resolute.

_Ma. _ What will he do to me?

_Pa. _ What will he do? That which I can't wish to be done to one I wish
so well to. God forbid I should.

_Ma. _ Tell me what it is, for I an't afraid to hear it.

_Pa. _ Well, I'll tell you then; if you slight me that love you, and am
no Way unworthy of your Love; I shall be much mistaken if he don't by
his Mother's Order shoot you with a venomous Dart, and make you fall
deeply in Love with some sorry Fellow or other, that would not love you
again.

_Ma. _ That's a most horrid Punishment indeed. I had rather die a
thousand Deaths than to be so bitterly in Love with an ugly Man, and one
that won't love me neither.

_Pa. _ But we had a notable Example of this not long since upon a certain
Maid.

_Ma. _ Where did she live?

_Pa. _ At _Orleans_.

_Ma. _ How many Years ago was it?

_Pa. _ How many Years! not ten Months.

_Ma. _ What was her Name? What do you stick at?

_Pa. _ Nothing at all. I know her as well as I know you.

_Ma. _ Why don't you tell me her Name then?

_Pa. _ Because I am afraid it is ominous. I wish she had been of some
other Name. She was your own Namesake.

_Ma. _ Who was her Father?

_Pa. _ Her Father is alive at this Time, and is a topping Lawyer, and a
rich Man.

_Ma. _ Tell me his Name.

_Pa. Mauritius. _

_Ma. _ His Sirname.

_Pa. Aglaius. _

_Ma. _ Is her Mother alive?

_Pa. _ No, she died lately.

_Ma. _ What did she die of, say you?

_Pa. _ Why of Grief, and it had like to have cost her Father his Life
too, for all he was a Man of a strong Constitution.

_Ma. _ Mayn't a Body know her Mother's Name.

_Pa. _ Yes, _Sophrona_, every Body knows her Name. What do you mean by
that Question? Do you think I invent a Lye?

_Ma. _ Why should I think so of you? Our Sex is most to be suspected for
that.