6. *Again, if you should see a man that had a large _pond_ of _water_, yet living in _continual thirst_, not suffering himself to drink _half a draught_, for fear of lessening his pond; if you should see him wasting his time and strength, in _fetching more_ water to his pond, always _thirsty_, yet always carrying a _bucket_ of water in his hand, watching early and late to catch the _drops_ of rain, gaping after every cloud, and running greedily into every _mire_ and mud, in hopes of water, and always studying how to make every _ditch_ empty itself into his _pond_. If you should see him grow _grey_ and _old_ in these anxious labours, and at last end a _careful_, _thirsty_ life, by falling into his own _pond_: would you not say, that such a one was not only the author of his own disquiets, but was foolish enough to be reckoned amongst _ideots_ and _madmen_? But yet foolish and absurd as this character is, it does not represent half the follies and absurd disquiets of the _covetous man_. I could now easily proceed to shew the same effects of all our other passions, and make it plainly appear, that all our miseries, vexations, and complaints, are entirely of our own making, and that in the same absurd manner, as in these instances of the _covetous_ and _ambitious_ man. *Look where you will, you will see all _worldly vexations_, but like the vexation of him that was always in _mire_ and _mud_ in search of water to drink, when he had more at home than was sufficient for an _hundred horses_. 7. *_Cælia_ is always telling you how _provoked_ she is, what _intolerable shocking_ things happen to her, what _monstrous_ usage she suffers, and what _vexations_ she meets with every where. She tells you that her patience is quite worn out, and there is no bearing the behaviour of people. Every _assembly_ that she is at, sends her home provoked; something or other has been said or done, that no reasonable, well bred person ought to bear. _Poor people_ that want her charity, are sent away with hasty answers; not because she has not a heart to part with any money, but because she is _too full_ of some trouble of her own, to attend to the complaints of others. _Cælia_ has no business upon her hands, but to receive the income of a plentiful fortune: but yet by the doleful turn of her mind, you would be apt to think that she had neither _food_ nor _lodging_. If you see her look more pale than ordinary, if her lips tremble when she speaks to you, it is because she is just come from a _visit_, where _Lupus_ took no notice at all of her, but talked all the time to _Lucinda_, who has not half her fortune. When cross accidents have so disordered her spirits, that she is forced to send for the _doctor_ to make her able to eat; she tells him, in great anger at providence, that she never was well since she was born, and that she envies every beggar that she sees in health. This is the unquiet life of _Cælia_, who has nothing to torment her but her own _spirit_.