“The first thing you are to observe is, that at Court there are always the wisest and the weakest, the richest and the poorest, and the extremes of all other sorts. There the virtuous are concealed, and the wicked not taken notice of; and there live a sort of people like myself, who are not known to have any estates, real or personal, nor does it appear whence they came, or how they live. Among ourselves we are distinguished by several names, some are called ‘gentlemen-mumpers,’ others ‘sharpers,’ others ‘pinchguts,’ others ‘barebones,’ and others ‘commoners’; but in general we live by our wits. For the most part, we cheat our guts of their due, for it is a very dangerous and troublesome thing to live upon others. We are scarecrows at all good tables, the terror of cook-shops, and always unbidden and unwelcome guests, living like chameleons by the air, and so contented. When we happen to dine upon a leek, we strut and look as big as if stuffed with capon. Whosoever comes to visit us, never fails to find mutton and fowl bones, and parings of fruit about the house, and the doors strewed with feathers and young coney skins; all which we pick up over night, about the streets, to credit us the next day. As soon as the friend comes in, we fall into a passion, and cry, ‘It is a strange thing that I can never make this maid sweep the room in time. Good sir, excuse me, for I have had some friends at dinner, and these servants never mind their business,’ etc. Such as do not know us believe it, and think we have had an entertainment. Next, as for dining at other men’s houses, whensoever we have spoke but three words with a man, we take care to know where he lives, thither we are sure to make just at eating-time, when we know he is at table; we tell him his conversation has so charmed us, that we are not able to keep away, for he is the most taking person in the world. If he asks whether we have dined, and they have not yet begun, we answer in the negative. If they invite us, we never stay to be asked twice, because those ceremonies have often made us go with hungry bellies. If they have begun to eat, we say we have dined, and then, though the master of the house carves up his fowl, or any joint of meat never so dexterously, that we may have the opportunity of chopping up a mouthful or two, we cry, ‘By your leave, sir, pray let me have the honour of being your carver, for I remember (naming some duke or earl that is dead, God rest his soul), used to take more delight in seeing me carve than in eating.’ This said, we lay hold of the knife, cut out curious bits, and say, ‘How deliciously it smells! It would be an affront to the cook not to taste it; what a delicate hand she has at seasoning!’ With this we fall on, and down goes half the meat in the dish for a taste. If there be bacon, we call it our delight; if mutton, the only thing we love; if but a turnip, an excellent morsel; and so everything that comes in our way is ever the thing that we most admire. If all this fails, we are sure of the alms of some monastery, which we do not receive in public among the beggars, but privately, endeavouring to persuade the friars that we rather take it out of devotion than for want.

“It is pleasant enough to see one of us in a gaming-house, how diligently he attends, snuffs the candles, reaches the pots, fetches cards, applauds all the winner says, and all this for a poor real or two he gives him. We carry in our mind the whole inventory of our wardrobe or ragshop, in order to dress us; and as in some places they observe set times for prayer, so do we for mending and botching. It is wonderful to see what variety of rubbish we lay up, and produce upon occasion. We look upon the sun as our mortal enemy, because he discovers our darns, stitches, and patches; and yet are forced to be beholden to him, standing up with our legs wide open in the morning where he shines in, to discover by the shadows on the ground what shreds or rags hang between our legs, and then with a pair of scissors we trim the breeches. Now that part betwixt the thighs being so apt to wear, it is very odd to observe what gaps we make behind to fill up the forepart, so that very often the posteriors are hacked away till they remain quite naked. Only the cloak is privy to this secret, and therefore we are very cautious of windy days, and of going upstairs that are light, or mounting a-horseback. We make it our business to study postures against the light; and if it prove a very bright day, we walk with our legs as close as may be, and sit as if our knees were clung together, for fear lest we open them the gashes may appear. There is nothing about us but what has been another thing before, and may have a particular history writ of it; as for instance, you see this waistcoat. Sir, it was once a pair of wide-kneed breeches, grandchild to a short cape, and great-grandchild to a long mourner’s cloak, which was its first parent, and now it waits to be converted into footing for stockings, and forty other things. Our socks were once handkerchiefs, descended from towels, which had been shirts, and those the issue of sheets; after all this, they are made into paper, on which we write, and at last burn to make blacking for our shoes, where I have seen it perform wonders, recovering many a pair that was condemned as only fit for the dunghill. At night we never fail to get at the greatest distance we can from the light, for fear of discovering our threadbare cloaks and woolless coats, for there is no more nap on them than is upon a stone; and though it pleases God to give us hair on our faces, we have none on our clothes; and therefore, to save the expense of a barber, we always contrive to stay till two of us want trimming together, and then we scrape one another, following the advice of the gospel, ‘Be helpful to one another, like loving brethren.’ Besides, we always take care not to intrude into the houses of others, for everyone keeps his own and timely notice is given to avoid contention, being very jealous in the point of eating. It is an indispensable duty among us to ride about all the great noted streets once a quarter, though it be on an ass-colt, and once a year to go in a coach, when we are sure to sit as close to the door as possible, thrusting out our heads, bowing to all that pass by to be seen, and talking to our friends and acquaintance, though they do not see or mind us. If any unmannerly creature happens to bite us before ladies, we have ways to scratch in public, without being taken notice of; for if it happened to be on the thigh, we tell a story of a soldier we saw had a shot through there, clapping our fingers on the place that itches, and clawing instead of pointing. If it is in the church, and they sting on our breasts, we beat them by way of devotion, though it be at a christening; for the back, we lean against a pillar or wall, and rub it there, as if we only stood up to observe something. To deal ingenuously, as to the matter of lying, not one word of truth ever comes out of our mouths. In all companies we run over a bead-roll of dukes and counts, making some of them our friends, and others our relations, always observing that those great men must be either dead or very remote. The best of all is that we never fall in love, unless it be to earn our bread; for by our constitutions, coy ladies, though never so beautiful, are absolutely forbidden; so that we ever court a tripe-man for our meat, the landlady for our lodging, the starcher for our band and other necessaries; and though such slender diet makes us unfit to satisfy them all, yet we keep them in good humour. Will anybody that sees the boots on my legs believe they are upon the bare skin, without any stockings? Or will anyone that sees my curious starched band imagine I have no shirt? Let me tell you, sir, a gentleman may make a shift without those things, but there is no living for him without a set starched band. This is an outward ornament, altogether necessary to grace a man; and besides, when he has turned it and wound it every way, the starch in it will make him a mess as good as watergruel. In short, reverend sir, a gentleman of our stamp must go through all sorts of wants and hardships, and that is the way to live at Court. Sometimes he flourishes and rolls in plenty, and at another time he falls into an hospital; but still he lives; and he who knows how to manage is a king, though he has never so little.”

I was so well pleased with the gentleman’s strange ways of living, and so much diverted with his relation, that I went on afoot as far as Rozas, where we lay that night. The squire supped with me, for he had not one doit, and I thought myself beholden to him for his instructions, because they led me into abundance of secrets, and put me into the way of sharping. I acquainted him with my designs before we went to bed, which he returned with a thousand embraces, telling me he had always been in hopes since he met me that his words would work some good effect on a person of my capacity. He offered me his service towards introducing me at Madrid into the society of the tricking brotherhood, and a lodging among them. I accepted of his kindness, without letting him know what was my treasure in ducats, which was only an hundred reals, which, with the kindness I had done, and was still continuing, purchased his friendship. I bought him three points from our landlord; he tied up his hose, we rested that night, got up early in the morning, and away we went to Madrid.