Most Agents lose their time in learning the nature of those that bear sway at _Rome_, who are indeed unknown to all. They study in what manner to treat with such Persons. They strive to gain the affection of those Governours, who are without any, unless we will say, That they have given up all their affection to heap up Money. They labour to ingratiate with those Nephews who possess all the Grace of the _Pope_: And in a word, Night and day they contrive to know and be known to the Nephews at _Rome_, in order to their better success there. But what? in the fairest of these Intrigues, after so many watchings and toils, after having understood those whom they understood not before, in the greatest heat of their Negotiations, in the beginning of their joy for having found out the right way of managing Affairs, and whilst they are beginning to lay open their Interests to Persons by this time arriv’d to some capacity, behold the death of the _Pope_ falling out on a sudden, drives from the _Vatican_ and from the Government those Nephews who are now understood and experienc’d, to introduce others ignorant, unexperienc’d, and so void of all Political Knowledge, as never to have seen the Court but on the outside, Consultations but in Sport, nor Publick Ministers save in their Coaches. In this manner poor Embassadors are forced to turn over a new leaf, and like young Scholars put to a new School, they must learn over again what they had learn’d before, to their no small dissatisfaction, as well as injury to their Affairs. These so sudden shiftings of the Scene, puts the Ministers all in disorder; and the only satisfaction they find, is to laugh at the new Princes of the Church, who have so suddenly leap’d from the Dunghil to the Throne. Cardinal _Onofrio_ Brother to _Urban_ the Eighth, who was taken from a Cloister of _Capucines_, and introduc’d into the Affairs of the Court, could never accustom himself to live in any other manner, but in that slovenly way of the _Capucines_; so that when he was to receive any Embassadors, he committed the most ridiculous pieces of clownishness imaginable. One day speaking about some War of the _Turk_ in _Germany_, with the Imperial Embassador, who desir’d him to prevail with the _Pope_ to succour Christendom, which was endanger’d in that Country; the good Cardinal fetching a great sigh, began to say, _Ah_, _my Lord Embassador_, _those Coleworts_, _those Coleworts in the Capucines Garden_, _make me always remember my former condition_; and so continuing a Discourse of a quarter of an hour, concerning the goodness of Coleworts, the excellence of Turneps, and the manner how the _Capucines_ boil them in good fat broth; seeming to lick his fingers almost at every syllable, and to swallow a Turnep at every word. Another time going to visit the _Spanish_ Embassador, and forgetting himself to be a Cardinal, and not a Capucine, he ask’d on a sudden, _Of what Covent is your Reverend Fathership a Son_?