TO conclude. Whether the Pro pofals I have offered towards a Refor mation, be fuch as are most prudent and convenient, may probably be a Queftion; but it is none at all, whe ther fome Reformation be abfolutely neceffary; because the Nature of things is fuch, that if Abuses be not remedied, they will certainly increafe, nor ever ftop till they end in the Subverfion of a Commonwealth. As there must always of Neceffity be fome Corruptions, fo in a well instituted State, the executive Power will be always contending against them, by reducing Things (as Machiavel speaks) to their firft Principles, never letting Abuses grow inveterate, or multiply fo far that it will be hard to find Remedies, and perhaps impoffible to apply them. As he that would keep his House in Repair, must attend every little Breach or Flaw, and fupply it immediately, elfe Time alone will bring all to ruin; how much more the common Accidents of Storms and Rain? He must live in perpetual Danger of his House falling about his Ears; and will find it cheaper to throw it quite down, and build it again from the Ground perhaps upon a new Foundation, or at least in a new Form, which may neither be fo safe nor so convenient as the old. ; FINIS The Style and Manner of the Honble ROBERT BOYLE'S Meditations. T Written August, 1704. HIS fingle Stick, which you now behold ingloriously lying in that neglected Corner, I once knew in a flourishing State in a Foreft; 1 Foreft; it was full of Sap, full of Leaves, and full of Boughs: but now, in vain does the bufy Art of Man pretend to vye with Nature, by tying that wither'd Bundle of Twigs to its faplefs Trunk; 'tis now at beft but the Reverse of what it was, a Tree turned upfide down, the Branches on the Earth, and the Root in the Air; 'tis now handled by every dirty Wench, condemned to do her Drudgery, and, by a capricious kind of Fate, deftin'd to make other Things Clean, and be Nafty it felf: At length, worn to the Stumps in the Service of the Maids, 'tis either thrown out of Doors, or condemned to the laft Ufe of kindling a Fire. When I beheld this, I figh'd, and faid within my felf,, Surely mor tal Man is a Boom-tick; Nature fent him into the World ftrong and lufty in a thriving Condition, wearing his own Hair on his Head, the proper Branches of this Reafoning Vegetable, till the Axe of Intemperance has lopp'd off his green Boughs, and left him a wither'd Trunk: He then flies to Art, and puts on a Periwig, valuing himself upon an unnatural Bundle Bundle of Hairs, all covered with Powder that never grew on his Head; but now fhould this our Broom-flick pretend to enter the Scene, proud of thofe Birchen Spoils it never bore, and all covered with Duft, though the Sweepings of the finest Lady's Chamber, we should be apt to ridicule and despise its Vanity. Partial Judges that we are of our own Excellencies, and other Mens Defaults! BUT a Broom-flick, perhaps you will fay, is an Emblem of a Tree ftanding on its Head; and pray what is Man, but a topfy-turvy Creature, his Animal Faculties perpetually mounted on his Rational, his Head where his Heels fhould be, groveling on the Earth! And yet, with all his Faults, he fets up to be an univerfal Reformer and Corrector of Abuses, a Remover of Grievances, rakes into every Sluts Corner of Nature, bringing hidden Corruptions to the Light, and raises a mighty Duft where there was none before, fharing deeply all the while, in the very fame Pollutions he pretends to sweep away: His laft Days |