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This Colloquy presents us with the Sayings and Jokes of intimate Acquaintance, and the Repartees and Behaviour of familiar Friends one with another. 1. Of walking abroad, and calling Companions. 2. Of seldom visiting, of asking concerning a Wife, Daughter, Sons. 3. Concerning Leisure, the tingling of the Ear, the Description of a homely Maid. Invitation to a Wedding. 4. Of Studying too hard, &c.


Peter, Soho, soho, Boy! does no Body come to the Door?

Mi. I think this Fellow will beat the Door down. Sure he must needs be some intimate Acquaintance or other. O old Friend Peter, what hast brought?

Pe. Myself.

Mi. In Truth then you have brought that which is not much worth.

Pe. But I'm sure I cost my Father a great deal.

Mi. I believe so, more than you can be sold for again.

Pe. But is Jodocus at Home?

Mi. I can't tell, but I'll go see.

Pe. Go in first, and ask him if he pleases to be at Home now.

Mi. Go yourself, and be your own Errand Boy.

Pe. Soho! Jodocus, are you at Home?

Jo. No, I am not.

Pe. Oh! You impudent Fellow I don't I hear you speak?

Jo. Nay, you are more impudent, for I took your Maid's Word for it lately, that you were not at Home, and you won't believe me myself.

Pe. You're in the Right on't, you've serv'd me in my own Kind.

Jo. As I sleep not for every Body, so I am not at Home to every Body, but for Time to come shall always be at Home to you.

Pe. Methinks you live the Life of a Snail.

Jo. Why so?

Pe. Because you keep always at Home and never stir abroad, just like a lame Cobler always in his Stall. You sit at Home till your Breech grows to your Seat.

Jo. At Home I have something to do, but I have no Business abroad, and if I had, the Weather we have had for several Days past, would have kept me from going abroad.

Pe. But now it is fair, and would tempt a Body to walk out; see how charming pleasant it is.

Jo. If you have a Mind to walk I won't be against it.

Pe. In Truth, I think we ought to take the Opportunity of this fine Weather.

Jo. But we ought to get a merry Companion or two, to go along with us.

Pe. So we will; but tell me who you'd have then.

Jo. What if we should get Hugh?

Pe. There is no great Difference between Hugo and Nugo.

Jo. Come on then, I like it mighty well.

Pe. What if we should call Alardus?

Jo. He's no dumb Man I'll assure you, what he wants in Hearing he'll make up in Talking.

Pe. If you will, we'll get Nævius along with us too.

Jo. If we have but him, we shall never want merry Stories. I like the Company mainly, the next Thing is to pitch upon a pleasant Place.

Pe. I'll show you a Place where you shall neither want the Shade of a Grove, nor the pleasant Verdure of Meadows, nor the purling Streams of Fountains, you'll say it is a Place worthy of the Muses themselves.

Jo. You promise nobly.

Pe. You are too intent upon your Books; you sit too close to your Books; you make yourself lean with immoderate Study.

Jo. I had rather grow lean with Study than with Love.

Pe. We don't live to study, but we therefore study that we may live pleasantly.

Jo. Indeed I could live and dye in my Study.

Pe. I approve well enough of studying hard, but not to study myself to Death.

Pe. Has this Walk pleas'd you?

Jo. It has been a charming pleasant one.

* * * * *


Gi. Where is our Leonard a going?

Le. I was coming to you.

Gi. That you do but seldom.

Le. Why so?

Gi. Because you han't been to see me this twelve Months.

Le. I had rather err on that Hand to be wanted, than to be tiresome.

Gi. I am never tired with the Company of a good Friend: Nay, the oftner you come the more welcome you are.

Le. But by the Way, how goes Matters at your House.

Gi. Why truly not many Things as I would have them.

Le. I don't wonder at that, but is your Wife brought to Bed yet?

Gi. Ay, a great While ago, and had two at a Birth too.

Le. How, two at once!

Gi. 'Tis as I tell you, and more than that she's with Child again.

Le. That's the Way to increase your Family.

Gi. Ay, but I wish Fortune would increase my Money as much as my Wife does my Family.

Le. Have you disposed of your Daughter yet?

Gi. No, not yet.

Le. I would have you consider if it be not hazardous to keep such a great Maid as she at Home, you should look out for a Husband for her.

Gi. There's no Need of that, for she has Sweet-hearts enough already.

Le. But why then don't you single out one for her, him that you like the best of them?

Gi. They are all so good that I can't tell which to chuse: But my Daughter won't hear of marrying.

Le. How say you! If I am not mistaken, she has been marriageable for some Time. She has been fit for a Husband a great While, ripe for Wedlock, ready for a Husband this great While.

Gi. Why not, she is above seventeen, she's above two and twenty, she's in her nineteenth Year, she's above eighteen Years old.

Le. But why is she averse to Marriage?

Gi. She says she has a Mind to be married to Christ.

Le. In Truth he has a great many Brides. But is she married to an evil Genius that lives chastly with a Husband?

Gi. I don't think so.

Le. How came that Whimsey into her Head?

Gi. I can't tell, but there's no persuading her out of it by all that can be said to her.

Le. You should take Care that there be no Tricksters that inveagle or draw her away.

Gi. I know these Kidnappers well enough, and I drive this Kind of Cattel as far from my House as I can.

Le. But what do you intend to do then? Do you intend to let her have her Humour?

Gi. No, I'll prevent it if possible; I'll try every Method to alter her Mind; but if she persists in it, I'll not force her against her Will, lest I should be found to fight against God, or rather to fight against the Monks.

Le. Indeed you speak very religiously; but take Care to try her Constancy throughly, lest she should afterwards repent it, when it is too late.

Gi. I'll do my utmost Endeavours.

Le. What Employment do your Sons follow?

Gi. The eldest has been married this good While, and will be a Father in a little Time; I have sent the youngest away to Paris, for he did nothing but play while he was here.

Le. Why did you send him thither?

Gi. That he might come back a greater Fool than he went.

Le. Don't talk so.

Gi. The middlemost has lately enter'd into holy Orders.

Le. I wish 'em all well.

* * * * *


Mo. How is it? What are you doing Dromo?

Dr. I'm sitting still.

Mo. I see that; but how do Matters go with you?

Dr. As they use to do with unfortunate Persons.

Mo. God forbid that that should be your Case. But what are you doing?

Dr. I am idling, as you see; doing just nothing at all.

Mo. It is better to be idle than doing of nothing; it may be I interrupt you, being employ'd in some Matters of Consequence?

Dr. No, really, entirely at Leisure; I just began to be tir'd of being alone, and was wishing for a merry Companion.

Mo. It may be I hinder, interrupt, disturb you, being about some Business?

Dr. No, you divert me, being tired with being idle.

Mo. Pray pardon me if I have interrupted you unseasonably.

Dr. Nay, you came very seasonably; you are come in the Nick of Time; I was just now wishing for you; I am extreme glad of your Company.

Mo. It may be you are about some serious Business, that I would by no means interrupt or hinder?

Dr. Nay, rather it is according to the old Proverb, Talk of the Devil and he'll appear; for we were just now speaking of you.

Mo. In short, I believe you were, for my Ear tingled mightily as I came along.

Dr. Which Ear was it?

Mo. My left, from which I guess there was no Good said of me.

Dr. Nay, I'll assure you there was nothing but Good said.

Mo. Then the old Proverb is not true. But what good News have you?

Dr. They say you are become a Huntsman.

Mo. Nay, more than that, I have gotten the Game now in my Nets that I have been hunting after.

Dr. What Game is it?

Mo. A pretty Girl, that I am to marry in a Day or two; and I intreat you to honour me with your good Company at my Wedding.

Dr. Pray, who is your Bride?

Mo. Alice, the Daughter of Chremes.

Dr. You are a rare Fellow to chuse a Beauty for one! Can you fancy that Black-a-top, Snub-nos'd, Sparrow-mouth'd, Paunch-belly'd Creature.

Mo. Prithee hold thy Tongue, I marry her to please myself, and not you. Pray, is it not enough that I like her? The less she pleases you, the more she'll please me.

* * * * *


Sy. I wish you much Happiness.

Ge. And I wish you double what you wish me.

Sy. What are you doing?

Ge. I am talking.

Sy. What! By yourself?

Ge. As you see.

Sy. It may be you are talking to yourself, and then you ought to see to it that you talk to an honest Man.

Ge. Nay, I am conversing with a very facetious Companion.

Sy. With whom?

Ge. With Apuleius.

Sy. That I think you are always doing, but the Muses love Intermission; you study continually.

Ge. I am never tired with Study.

Sy. It may be so, but yet you ought to set Bounds; though Study ought not to be omitted, yet it ought sometimes to be intermitted; Studies are not to be quite thrown aside, yet they ought for a While to be laid aside; there is nothing pleasant that wants Variety; the seldomer Pleasures are made use of the pleasanter they are. You do nothing else but study. You are always studying. You are continually at your Books. You read incessantly. You study Night and Day. You never are but a studying. You are continually at your Study. You are always intent upon your Books. You know no End of, nor set no Bound to Study. You give yourself no Rest from your Studies. You allow yourself no Intermission in, nor ever give over studying.

Ge. Very well! This is like you. You banter me as you use to do. You make a Game of me. You joke upon me. You satyrize me. You treat me with a Sneer. I see how you jeer me well enough. You only jest with me. I am your Laughing-stock. I am laugh'd at by you. You make yourself merry with me. You make a meer Game and Sport of me. Why don't you put me on Asses Ears too? My Books, that are all over dusty and mouldy, shew how hard a Studier I am.

Sy. Let me die if I don't speak my Mind. Let me perish if I don't speak as I think. Let me not live if I dissemble. I speak what I think. I speak the Truth. I speak seriously. I speak from my Heart. I speak nothing but what I think.

* * * * *

Why don't you come to see me?

Ge. What's the Matter you ha'n't come to see me all this While? What's the Matter you visit me so seldom? What has happen'd to you that you never have come at me for so long Time? Why are you so seldom a Visitor? What is the Meaning that you never come near one for so long Time? What has hinder'd you that you have come to see me no oftner? What has prevented you that you have never let me have the Opportunity of seeing you for this long Time?

* * * * *

I could not by Reason of Business.

Sy. I had not Leisure. I would have come, but I could not for my Business. Business would not permit me hitherto to come to see you. These Floods of Business that I have been plung'd in would not permit me to pay my Respects to you. I have been so busy I could not come. I have been harass'd with so many vexatious Matters that I could not get an Opportunity. I have been so taken up with a troublesome Business that I could never have so much Command of myself. You must impute it to my Business, and not to me. It was not for Want of Will, but Opportunity. I could not get Time till now. I have had no Time till now. I never have had any Leisure till this Time. I have been so ill I could not come. I could not come, the Weather has been so bad.

Ge. Indeed I accept of your Excuse, but upon this Condition, that you don't make use of it often. If Sickness has been the Occasion of your Absence, your Excuse is juster than I wish it had been; I'll excuse you upon this Condition, that you make Amends for your Omission by Kindness, if you make up your past Neglect by your future frequent Visits.

Sy. You don't esteem these common Formalities. Our Friendship is more firm than to need to be supported by such vulgar Ceremonies. He visits often enough that loves constantly.

Ge. A Mischief take those Incumbrances that have depriv'd us of your Company. I can't tell what to wish for bad enough to those Affairs that have envy'd us the Company of so good a Friend. A Mischief take that Fever that hath tormented us so long with the Want of you. I wish that Fever may perish, so thou thyself wert but safe.

* * * * *

Of Commanding and Promising.


Ja. I pray you take a special Care of this Matter. I earnestly intreat you to take Care of this Affair. If you have any Respect for me, pray manage this Affair diligently. Pray be very careful in this Affair. Pray take a great Deal of Care about this Business for my Sake. If you are indeed the Man I always took you to be, let me see in this Concern what Esteem you have for me.

Sa. Say no more, I'll dispatch this Affair for you, and that very shortly too. I can't indeed warrant you what the Event shall be, but this I promise you, that neither Fidelity nor Industry shall be wanting in me. I will take more Care of it than if it were mine own Affair; tho' indeed that which is my Friend's I account as my own. I will so manage the Affair, that whatever is wanting, Care and Diligence shall not be wanting. Take you no Care about the Matter, I'll do it for you. Do you be easy, I'll take the Management of it upon myself. I am glad to have an Opportunity put into my Hand of shewing you my Respect. I do not promise you in Words, but I will in Reality perform whatsoever is to be expected from a real Friend, and one that heartily wishes you well. I won't bring you into a Fool's Paradise. I'll do that which shall give you Occasion to say you trusted the Affair to a Friend.

* * * * *


Sa. The Matter succeeded better than I could have expected. Fortune has favour'd both our Wishes. If Fortune had been your Wife she could not have been more observant to you. Your Affair went on bravely with Wind and Tide. Fortune has out-done our very Wishes. You must needs be a Favourite of Fortune, to whom all Things fall out just as you would have them. I have obtain'd more than I could presume to wish for. This Journey has been perform'd from Beginning to End with all the fortunate Circumstances imaginable. The whole Affair has fallen out according to our Wish. This Chance fell out happily for us. I think we have been lucky to Admiration, that what has been so imprudently enterpriz'd, has so happily succeeded.

* * * * *

A giving one Thanks.

Ja. Indeed I thank you, and shall thank you heartily as long as I live for that good Service you have done me. I can scarce give you the Thanks you deserve, and shall never be able to make you Amends. I see how much I am oblig'd to you for your Kindness to me. Indeed I don't wonder at it, for it is no new Thing, and in that I am the more oblig'd to you. My Sapidus I do, and it is my Duty to love you heartily for your Kindness to me. In as much as in this Affair you have not acted the Part of a Courtier, I do, and always shall thank you. I respect you, and thank you, that you made my Affair your Care. You have oblig'd me very much by that Kindness of yours. It is a great Obligation upon me that you have manag'd my Concern with Fidelity. Of all your Kindnesses, which are indeed a great many, you have shew'd me none has oblig'd me more than this. I cannot possibly make you a Return according to your Merit Too much Ceremony between you and I is unnecessary, but that which is in my Power I'll do. I'll be thankful as long as I live. I confess myself highly oblig'd to you for your good Service. For this Kindness I owe you more than I am able to pay. By this good Office you have attach'd me to you so firmly, that I can never be able to disengage myself. You have laid me under so many and great Obligations, that I shall never be able to get out of your Debt. No Slave was ever so engag'd in Duty to his Master as you have engag'd me by this Office. You have by this good Turn brought me more into your Debt than ever I shall be able to pay. I am oblig'd to you upon many Accounts, but upon none more than upon this. Thanks are due for common Kindness, but this is beyond the Power of Thanks to retaliate.

* * * * *

The Answer.

Sa. Forbear these Compliments, the Friendship between you and I is greater than that we should thank one another for any Service done. I have not bestow'd this Kindness upon you, but only made a Return of it to you. I think the Amends is sufficiently made, if my most sedulous Endeavours are acceptable to you. There is no Reason you should thank me for repaying this small Kindness, for those uncommon Kindnesses I have so often receiv'd from you. Indeed I merit no Praise, but should have been the most ungrateful Man in the World if I had been wanting to my Friend. Whatsoever I have, and whatsoever I can do, you may call as much your own as any Thing that you have the best Title to. I look upon it as a Favour that you take my Service kindly. You pay so great an Acknowledgment to me for so small a Kindness, as tho' I did not owe you much greater. He serves himself that serves his Friend. He that serves a Friend does not give away his Service, but puts it out to Interest. If you approve of my Service, pray make frequent Use of it; then I shall think my Service is acceptable, if as often as you have Occasion for it you would not request but command it.

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