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+Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Character Writings of the 17th Century
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 13, 2004 [EBook #10699]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARACTER WRITINGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS
+
+OF THE
+
+SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
+
+EDITED BY
+
+HENRY MORLEY, LL.D.
+
+EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE
+UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
+
+1891
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+CHARACTER WRITING BEFORE THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+THEOPHRASTUS.
+  Stupidity
+
+THOMAS HARMAN'S "Caveat for Cursitors"
+  A Ruffler
+
+BEN JONSON'S "Every Man out of his Humour" and "Cynthia's Revels"
+  A Traveller
+  The True Critic.
+  The Character of the Persons in "Every Man out of his Humour"
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+Sir THOMAS OVERBURY
+  A Good Woman
+  A Very Woman
+  Her Next Part
+  A Dissembler
+  A Courtier
+  A Golden Ass
+  A Flatterer
+  An Ignorant Glory-Hunter
+  A Timist
+  An Amorist
+  An Affected Traveller
+  A Wise Man
+  A Noble Spirit
+  An Old Man
+  A Country Gentleman
+  A Fine Gentleman
+  An Elder Brother
+  A Braggadocio Welshman
+  A Pedant
+  A Serving-Man
+  An Host
+  An Ostler
+  The True Character of a Dunce
+  A Good Wife
+  A Melancholy Man
+  A Sailor
+  A Soldier
+  A Tailor
+  A Puritan
+  A Mere Common Lawyer
+  A Mere Scholar
+  A Tinker
+  An Apparitor
+  An Almanac-Maker
+  A Hypocrite
+  A Chambermaid
+  A Precisian
+  An Inns of Court Man
+  A Mere Fellow of a House
+  A Worthy Commander in the Wars
+  A Vainglorious Coward in Command
+  A Pirate
+  An Ordinary Fence
+  A Puny Clerk
+  A Footman
+  A Noble and Retired Housekeeper
+  An Intruder into Favour
+  A Fair and Happy Milkmaid
+  An Arrant Horse-Courser
+  A Roaring Boy
+  A Drunken Dutchman resident in England
+  A Phantastique: An Improvident Young Gallant
+  A Button-Maker of Amsterdam
+  A Distaster of the Time
+  A Mere Fellow of a House
+  A Mere Pettifogger
+  An Ingrosser of Corn
+  A Devilish Usurer
+  A Waterman
+  A Reverend Judge
+  A Virtuous Widow
+  An Ordinary Widow
+  A Quack-Salver
+  A Canting Rogue
+  A French Cook
+  A Sexton
+  A Jesuit
+  An Excellent Actor
+  A Franklin
+  A Rhymer
+  A Covetous Man
+  The Proud Man
+  A Prison
+  A Prisoner
+  A Creditor
+  A Sergeant
+  His Yeoman
+  A Common Cruel Jailer
+  What a Character is
+  The Character of a Happy Life
+  An Essay on Valour
+
+JOSEPH HALL
+
+ HIS SATIRES--
+  A Domestic Chaplain
+  The Witless Gallant
+
+ HIS CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES
+
+ I.  _Virtues_--
+  Character of the Wise Man
+  Of an Honest Man
+  Of the Faithful Man
+  Of the Humble Man
+  Of a Valiant Man
+  Of a Patient Man
+  Of the True Friend
+  Of the Truly Noble
+  Of the Good Magistrate
+  Of the Penitent
+  The Happy Man
+
+ II. _Vices_--
+  Character of the Hypocrite
+  Of the Busybody
+  Of the Superstitious
+  Of the Profane
+  Of the Malcontent
+  Of the Inconstant
+  Of the Flatterer
+  Of the Slothful
+  Of the Covetous
+  Of the Vainglorious
+  Of the Presumptuous
+  Of the Distrustful
+  Of the Ambitious
+  Of the Unthrift
+  Of the Envious
+
+JOHN STEPHENS
+
+JOHN EARLE
+
+ MICROCOSMOGRAPHY----
+
+  A Child
+  A Young Raw Preacher
+  A Grave Divine
+  A Mere Dull Physician
+  An Alderman
+  A Discontented Man
+  An Antiquary
+  A Younger Brother
+  A Mere Formal Man
+  A Church-Papist
+  A Self-Conceited Man
+  A Too Idly Reserved Man
+  A Tavern
+  A Shark
+  A Carrier
+  A Young Man
+  An Old College Butler
+  An Upstart Country Knight
+  An Idle Gallant
+  A Constable
+  A Downright Scholar
+  A Plain Country Fellow
+  A Player
+  A Detractor
+  A Young Gentleman of the University
+  A Weak Man
+  A Tobacco-Seller
+  A Pot Poet
+  A Plausible Man
+  A Bowl-Alley
+  The World's Wise Man
+  A Surgeon
+  A Contemplative Man
+  A She Precise Hypocrite
+  A Sceptic in Religion
+  An Attorney
+  A Partial Man
+  A Trumpeter
+  A Vulgar-Spirited Man
+  A Plodding Student
+  Paul's Walk
+  A Cook
+  A Bold Forward Man
+  A Baker
+  A Pretender to Learning
+  A Herald
+  The Common Singing-Men in Cathedral Churches
+  A Shopkeeper
+  A Blunt Man
+  A Handsome Hostess
+  A Critic
+  A Sergeant or Catchpole
+  A University Dun
+  A Staid Man
+  A Modest Man
+  A Mere Empty Wit
+  A Drunkard
+  A Prison
+  A Serving-Man
+  An Insolent Man
+  Acquaintance
+  A Mere Complimental Man
+  A Poor Fiddler
+  A Meddling Man
+  A Good Old Man
+  A Flatterer
+  A High-Spirited Man
+  A Mere Gull Citizen
+  A Lascivious Man
+  A Rash Man
+  An Affected Man
+  A Profane Man
+  A Coward
+  A Sordid Rich Man
+  A Mere Great Man
+  A Poor Man
+  An Ordinary Honest Man
+  A Suspicious or Jealous Man
+
+
+NICHOLAS BRETON
+
+ CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS, MORAL AND DIVINE
+  Wisdom
+  Learning
+  Knowledge
+  Practice
+  Patience
+  Love
+  Peace
+  War
+  Valour
+  Resolution
+  Honour
+  Truth
+  Time
+  Death
+  Faith
+  Fear
+
+ THE GOOD AND THE BAD.
+  A Worthy King
+  An Unworthy King
+  A Worthy Queen
+  A Worthy Prince
+  An Unworthy Prince
+  A Worthy Privy Councillor
+  An Unworthy Councillor
+  A Nobleman
+  An Unnoble Man
+  A Worthy Bishop
+  An Unworthy Bishop
+  A Worthy Judge
+  An Unworthy Judge
+  A Worthy Knight
+  An Unworthy Knight
+  A Worthy Gentleman
+  An Unworthy Gentleman
+  A Worthy Lawyer
+  An Unworthy Lawyer
+  A Worthy Soldier
+  An Untrained Soldier
+  A Worthy Physician
+  An Unworthy Physician
+  A Worthy Merchant
+  An Unworthy Merchant
+  A Good Man
+  An Atheist or Most Bad Man
+  A Wise Man
+  A Fool
+  An Honest Man.
+  A Knave
+  An Usurer
+  A Beggar
+  A Virgin
+  A Wanton Woman
+  A Quiet Woman
+  An Unquiet Woman
+  A Good Wife
+  An Effeminate Fool
+  A Parasite
+  A Drunkard
+  A Coward
+  An Honest Poor Man
+  A Just Man
+  A Repentant Sinner
+  A Reprobate
+  An Old Man
+  A Young Man
+  A Holy Man
+
+GEOFFREY MINSHULL
+
+ ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND PRISONERS
+  A Character of a Prisoner
+
+HENRY PARROTT [?]
+  A Scold
+  A Good Wife
+
+MICROLOGIA, by R. M.
+  A Player
+
+WHIMZIES, OR A NEW CAST OF CHARACTERS
+  A Corranto-Coiner
+
+JOHN MILTON
+  On the University Carrier
+
+WYE SALTONSTALL
+
+ PICTURÆ LOQUENTES, OR PICTURES DRAWN FORTH IN CHARACTERS
+  The Term
+
+DONALD LUPTON
+
+ LONDON AND COUNTRY CARBONADOED AND QUARTERED INTO SEVERAL CHARACTERS
+  The Horse
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1642 AND 1646, BY SIR FRANCIS WORTLEY, T.
+ FORD, AND OTHERS
+  T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets
+
+JOHN CLEVELAND
+  The Character of a Country Committee-Man, with the Earmark of a
+     Sequestrator
+  The Character of a Diurnal-Maker
+  The Character of a London Diurnal
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1647 AND 1665
+
+RICHARD FLECKNOE
+
+ FIFTY-FIVE ENIGMATICAL CHARACTERS
+  The Valiant Man
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1673 AND 1689
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER
+
+ CHARACTERS--
+  Degenerate Noble, or One that is Proud of his Birth
+  A Huffing Courtier
+  A Court Beggar
+  A Bumpkin or Country
+  Squire
+  An Antiquary
+  A Proud Man
+  A Small Poet
+  A Philosopher
+  A Melancholy Man
+  A Curious Man
+  A Herald
+  A Virtuoso
+  An Intelligencer
+  A Quibbler
+  A Time-Server
+  A Prater
+  A Disputant
+  A Projector
+  A Complimenter
+  A Cheat
+  A Tedious Man
+  A Pretender
+  A Newsmonger
+  A Modern Critic
+  A Busy Man
+  A Pedant
+  A Hunter
+  An Affected Man
+  A Medicine-Taker
+  The Miser
+  A Swearer
+  The Luxurious
+  An Ungrateful Man
+  A Squire of Dames
+  An Hypocrite
+  An Opinionater
+  A Choleric Man
+  A Superstitious Man
+  A Droll
+  The Obstinate Man
+  A Zealot
+  The Overdoer
+  The Rash Man
+  The Affected or Formal
+  A Flatterer
+  A Prodigal
+  The Inconstant
+  A Glutton
+  A Ribald
+  A Modern Politician
+  A Modern Statesman
+  A Duke of Bucks
+  A Fantastic
+  An Haranguer
+  A Ranter
+  An Amorist
+  An Astrologer
+  A Lawyer
+  An Epigrammatist
+  A Fanatic
+  A Proselyte
+  A Clown
+  A Wooer
+  An Impudent Man
+  An Imitator
+  A Sot
+  A Juggler
+  A Romance-Writer
+  A Libeller
+  A Factious Member
+  A Play-Writer
+  A Mountebank
+  A Wittol
+  A Litigious Man
+  A Humourist
+  A Leader of a Faction
+  A Debauched Man
+  The Seditious Man
+  The Rude Man
+  A Rabble
+  A Knight of the Post
+  An Undeserving Favourite
+  A Malicious Man
+  A Knave
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITING AFTER THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+Character of the Happy Warrior
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS
+
+OF THE
+
+SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+
+_Character writing, as a distinct form of Literature, had its origin
+more than two thousand years ago in the [Greek: aethichoi
+Chadaaedes]---Ethic Characters--of Tyrtamus of Lesbos, a disciple of
+Plato, who gave him for his eloquence the name of Divine
+Speaker--Theophrastus. Aristotle left him his library and all his MSS.,
+and named him his successor in the schools of the Lyceum. Nicomachus,
+the son of Aristotle, was among his pupils. He followed in the steps of
+Aristotle. Diogenes Laertius ascribed to Theophrastus two hundred and
+twenty books. He founded, by a History of Plants, the science of Botany;
+and he is now best known by the little contribution to Moral Philosophy,
+in which he gave twenty-eight short chapters to concise description of
+twenty-eight differing qualities in men. The description in each chapter
+was not of a man, but of a quality. The method of Theophrastus, as
+Casaubon said, was between the philosophical and the poetical. He
+described a quality, but he described it by personification, and his aim
+was the amending of men's manners. The twenty-eight chapters that have
+come down to us are probably no more than a fragment of a larger work.
+They describe vices, and not all of them. Another part, now lost, may
+have described the virtues. In a short proem the writer speaks of
+himself as ninety-nine years old. Probably those two nines were only a
+poetical suggestion of long experience from which these pictures of the
+constituents of human life and action had been drawn. He had wondered,
+he said, before he thought of writing such a book, at the diversities of
+manners among Greeks all born under one sky and trained alike. For many
+years he had considered and compared the ways of men; he had lived to be
+ninety-nine. Our children may be the better for a knowledge of our ways
+of daily life, that they may grow into the best. Observe and see whether
+I describe them rightly. I will begin, he says, with Dissimulation. I
+will first define the vice, and then describe the quality and manners of
+the man who dissembles. After that I will endeavour to describe also the
+other qualities of mind, each in its kind. Then follow the Characters of
+these twenty-eight qualities: Dissimulation, Adulation, Garrulity,
+Rusticity, Blandishment, Senselessness, Loquacity, Newsmongering,
+Impudence, Sordid Parsimony, Impurity, Ill-timed Approach, Inept
+Sedulity, Stupidity, Contumacy, Superstition, Querulousness, Distrust,
+Dirtiness, Tediousness, Sordid or Frivolous Desire for Praise,
+Illiberality, Ostentation, Pride, Timidity, Oligarchy, or the vehement
+desire for honour, without greed for money, Insolence, and Evil
+Speaking. One of these Characters may serve as an example of their
+method, and show their place in the ancestry of Characters as they were
+written in England in the Seventeenth Century._
+
+
+
+STUPIDITY.
+
+You may define Stupidity as a slowness of mind in word or deed. But the
+Stupid Man is one who, sitting at his counters, and having made all his
+calculations and worked out his sum, asks one who sits by him how much
+it comes to. When any one has a suit against him, and he has come to the
+day when the cause must be decided, he forgets it and walks out into his
+field. Often also when he sits to see a play, the rest go out and he is
+left, fallen asleep in the theatre. The same man, having eaten too much,
+will go out in the night to relieve himself, and fall over the
+neighbour's dog, who bites him. The same man, having hidden away what he
+has received, is always searching for it, and never finds it. And when
+it is announced to him that one of his intimate friends is dead, and he
+is asked to the funeral, then, with a face set to sadness and tears, he
+says, "Good luck to it!" When he receives money owing to him he calls in
+witnesses, and in midwinter he scolds his man for not having gathered
+cucumbers. To train his boys for wrestling he makes them race till they
+are tired. Cooking his own lentils in the field, he throws salt twice
+into the pot and makes them uneatable. When it rains he says, "How sweet
+I find this water of the stars." And when some one asks, "How many have
+passed the gates of death?" [proverbial phrase for a great number]
+answers, "As many, I hope, as will be enough for you and me."
+
+_The first and the best sequence of "Characters" in English Literature
+is the series of sketches of the Pilgrims in the Prologue to Chaucer's
+"Canterbury Tales" The Characters are so varied as to unite in
+representing the whole character of English life in Chaucer's day; and
+they are, written upon one plan, each with suggestion of the outward
+body and its dress as well as of the mind within. But Chaucer owed
+nothing to Theophrastus. In his Character Writing he drew all from
+nature with his own good wit. La Bruyère in France translated the
+characters of Theophrastus, and his own writing of Characters in the
+seventeenth century followed a fashion that had its origin in admiration
+of the wit of those Greek Ethical Characters. La Bruyère was born in
+1639 and died in 1696. Our Joseph Hall, whose "Characters of Vices and
+Virtues" were written in 1608, and translated into French twenty years
+before La Bruyère was born, said, in his Preface to them, "I have done
+as I could, following that ancient Master of Morality who thought this
+the fittest task for the ninety-ninth year of his age, and the
+profitablest Monument that he could leave for a farewell to his
+Grecians."
+
+There was some aim at short and witty sketches of character in
+descriptions of the ingenuity of horse-coursers and coney-catchers who
+used quick wit for beguiling the unwary in those bright days of
+Elizabeth, when the very tailors and cooks worked fantasies in silk and
+velvet, sugar and paste. Thomas Harman, whose grandfather had been Clerk
+of the Crown under Henry VII., and who himself inherited estates in
+Kent, became greatly interested in the vagrant beggars who came to his
+door. He made a study of them, came to London to publish his book, and
+lodged at Whitefriars, within the Cloister, for convenience of nearness
+to them, and more thorough knowledge of their ways. He first published
+his book in 1567 as A Caveat or Warning for Common Cursitors, vulgarly
+called Vagabonds--"A Caveat or Warening for common cursetors, Vulgarely
+called Vagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman, Esquiere, for the utilite
+and proffyt of his naturall Cuntrey" and he dedicated it to Elizabeth,
+Countess of Shrewsbury. It contained twenty-four character sketches,
+gave the names of the chief tramps then living in England, and a
+vocabulary of their cant words. This is Harman's first character_:--
+
+
+
+A RUFFLER.
+
+The Ruffler, because he is first in degree of this odious order, and is
+so called in a statute made for the punishment of Vagabonds in the
+twenty-seventh year of King Henry VIII, late of most famous memory, he
+shall be first placed as the worthiest of this unruly rabblement. And he
+is so called when he goeth first abroad. Either he hath served in the
+wars, or else he hath been a serving-man, and weary of well-doing,
+shaking off all pain, doth choose him this idle life; and wretchedly
+wanders about the most shires of this realm, and with stout audacity
+demandeth, where he thinketh he may be bold, and circumspect enough
+where he seeth cause, to ask charity ruefully and lamentably, that it
+would make a flinty heart to relent and pity his miserable estate, how
+he hath been maimed and bruised in the wars. Peradventure one will show
+you some outward wound which he got at some drunken fray, either halting
+of some privy wound festered with a filthy fiery flankard [brand]. For
+be well assured that the hardiest soldiers be either slain or maimed,
+either and [or if] they escape all hazards and return home again, if
+they be without relief of their friends they will surely desperately rob
+and steal, and either shortly be hanged or miserably die in prison. For
+they be so much ashamed and disdain to beg or ask charity, that rather
+they will as desperately fight for to live and maintain themselves, as
+manfully and valiantly they ventured themselves in the Prince's quarrel.
+Now these Rufflers, the outcasts of serving-men, when begging or craving
+fails them, they pick and pilfer from other inferior beggars that they
+meet by the way, as rogues, palliards, morts, and doxes. Yea, if they
+meet with a woman alone riding to the market, either old man or boy,
+that he kneweth well will not resist, such they fetch and spoil. These
+Rufflers, after a year or two at the farthest, become upright men [lusty
+vagrants who beg and take only money, who rob hen roosts, filch from
+stalls or pockets, and have dens of their own for drinking and receipt
+of stolen goods], unless they be prevented by twined hemp.
+
+I had of late years an old man to my tenant who customably a great time
+went twice in the week to London, either with fruit or with peascods,
+when time served therefor. And as he was coming homeward, on Blackheath,
+at the end thereof next to Shooter's Hill, he overtook two Rufflers, the
+one mannerly waiting on the other, as one had been the master and the
+other his man or servant, carrying his master's cloak. This old man was
+very glad that he might have their company over the hill, because that
+day he had made a good market. For he had seven shillings in his purse
+and an old angel, which this poor man had thought had not been in his
+purse; for he willed his wife overnight to take out the same angel and
+lay it up until his coming home again, and he verily thought his wife
+had so done, which indeed forgot to do it. Thus, after salutations had,
+this Master Ruffler entered into communication with this simple old man,
+who, riding softly beside them, communed of many matters. Thus feeding
+this old man with pleasant talk until they were on the top of the hill,
+where these Rufflers might well behold the coast about them clear,
+quickly steps unto this poor man and taketh hold of his horse bridle and
+leadeth him into the wood, and demandeth of him what and how much money
+he had in his purse. "Now, by my troth," quoth this old man, "you are a
+merry gentleman! I know you mean not to take anything from me, but
+rather to give me some, if I should ask it of you."
+
+By and by [immediately] this servant thief casteth the cloak that he
+carried on his arm about this poor man's face that he should not mark or
+view them, with sharp words to deliver quickly that he had, and to
+confess truly what was in his purse. This poor man then all abashed
+yielded, and confessed that he had seven shillings in his purse; and the
+truth is, he knew of no more. This old angel was fallen out of a little
+purse into the bottom of a great purse. Now this seven shillings in
+white money they quickly found, thinking indeed that there had been no
+more; yet farther groping and searching, found this old angel. And with
+great admiration this gentleman thief began to bless him, saying--
+
+"Good Lord, what a world is this! How may," quoth he, "a man believe or
+trust in the same? See you not," quoth he, "this old knave told me that
+he had but seven shillings, and here is more by an angel! What an old
+knave and a false knave have we here!" quoth this Ruffler. "Our Lord
+have mercy on us, will this world never be better?" and therewith went
+their way and left the old man in the wood, doing him no more harm.
+
+But sorrowfully sighing this old man, returning home, declared his
+misadventure with all the words and circumstances above showed. Whereat
+for the time was great laughing, and this poor man, for his losses,
+among his loving neighbours well considered in the end.
+
+_Such character-painting simply came of the keen interest in life that
+was at the same time developing an energetic drama. But at the end of
+Elizabeth's reign a writing of brief witty characters appears to have
+come into fashion as one of the many forms of ingenuity that pleased
+society, and might be distantly related to the Euphuism of the day.
+
+Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," first acted in 1600, two or three years
+before the end of Elizabeth's reign, has little character sketches set
+into the text. Here are two of them_:--
+
+
+
+A TRAVELLER.
+
+One so made out of the mixture of shreds and forms that himself is truly
+deformed. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his
+mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are
+printed, his face is another volume of essays, and his beard is an
+Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen
+waiting-women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the
+ordinary gives him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which,
+indeed, is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all
+the talk; ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter;
+once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to
+arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well, out at a window.
+He will lie cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most clocks; for
+which he is right properly accommodated to the whetstone, his page. The
+other gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him;
+sweats to imitate him in everything to a hair, except a beard, which is
+not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies,
+maccaroni, bovoli, fagioli, and caviare, because he loves them; speaks
+as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes and fashion: is in all as
+if he were moulded of him. Marry, before they met, he had other very
+pretty sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as
+frequenting a dancing-school, and grievously torturing strangers with
+inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh
+acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much together
+as he goes in the street. He treads nicely, like the fellow that walks
+upon ropes, especially the first Sunday of his silk stockings; and when
+he is most neat and new, you shall strip him with commendations.
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CRITIC.
+
+A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one in whom the humours
+and elements are peaceably met, without emulation of precedency. He is
+neither too fantastically melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly
+sanguine, nor too rashly choleric; but in all so composed and ordered,
+as it is clear Nature went about some full work, she did more than make
+a man when she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon,
+but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be
+that which men call judicious, than to be thought so; and is so truly
+learned, that he affects not to show it. He will think and speak his
+thought both freely; but as distant from depraving another man's merit,
+as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such that he dares as
+little to offer any injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most
+ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and seasoned wit, a straight
+judgment and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him
+less. He counts it his pleasure to despise pleasures, and is more
+delighted with good deeds than goods. It is a competency to him that he
+can be virtuous. He doth neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason
+to do either; and that commends all things to him.
+
+_The play that preceded "Cynthia's Revels" was "Every Man Out of his
+Humour." It was first printed in 1600, and Ben Jonson amused himself by
+adding to its list of Dramatis Personae this piece of Character
+Writing_:--
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS.
+
+_Asper_. He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in
+reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no
+servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a
+parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.
+
+_Macilente_. A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled;
+who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit
+capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment
+is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any
+opposite happiness in another.
+
+_Puntarvolo_. A vainglorious knight, over-Englishing his travels, and
+wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment;
+a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his
+apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own
+praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage
+of his own family. He deals upon returns, and strange performances,
+resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own particular
+fashion, phrase, and gesture.
+
+_Carlo Buffone_. A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more
+swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into
+deformity. A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out
+a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him! he
+came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that
+hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up
+more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His
+religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in
+his respect whom he studies most to reproach.
+
+_Fastidious Brisk_. A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears
+clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his glass how to salute;
+speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears
+tersely, and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or
+great man's familiarity; a good property to perfume the boot of a coach.
+He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own.
+Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant,
+only with the jingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.
+
+_Deliro_. A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the
+common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own
+wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply
+holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hoodwinked humour, lives
+more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her
+displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice
+twopence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her
+with villainous out-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though
+not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike.
+
+_Fallace_. Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as
+perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier,
+as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest.
+
+_Saviolina_. A court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit,
+admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.
+
+_Sordido_. A wretched hobnailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of
+almanacks; and felicity, foul weather. One that never prayed but for a
+lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.
+
+_Fungoso_. The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has revelled in
+his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like a spy. He makes it the
+whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched
+father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; at which he earnestly aims,
+but so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit.
+
+_Sogliardo_. An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of
+the name of a gentleman, that he will have it though he buys it. He
+comes up every term to learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is
+in his kingdom when he can get himself into company where he may be well
+laughed at.
+
+_Shift_. A threadbare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet lives
+upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's,
+and his warehouse Picthatch. Takes up single testons upon oath, till
+doomsday. Falls under executions of three shillings, and enters into
+five-groat bonds. He waylays the reports of services, and cons them
+without book, damning himself he came new from them, when all the while
+he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay pawned in his chamber
+for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memory, that he
+will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life
+before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never
+did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff,
+squiring a cockatrice, and making privy searches for imparters.
+
+_Clove_ and _Orange_. An inseparable case of coxcombs, city born; the
+Gemini, or twins of foppery; that, like a pair of wooden foils, are fit
+for nothing but to be practised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend
+money, and repent when they have done. Their glory is to invite players,
+and make suppers. And in company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of
+insufficiency, will enforce their ignorance most desperately, to set
+upon the understanding of anything. Orange is the most humorous of the
+two, whose small portion of juice being squeezed out, Clove serves to
+stick him with commendations.
+
+_Cordatus_. The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope
+and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding judgment; and has
+the place of a moderator.
+
+_Mitis_. Is a person of no action, and therefore we have reason to
+afford him no character.
+
+_Of this kind are the
+
+                        CHARACTERS
+
+                            BY
+
+                    SIR THOMAS OVERBURY,
+
+which were not published until_ 1614, _the year after their writer's
+death, at the age of thirty-two; but they may have been written earlier
+than the "Characters of Virtues and Vices"--ethical characters--written
+by Joseph Hall, which were first published in_ 1609.
+
+_Sir Thomas Overbury died poisoned in the Tower on the_ 15_th of
+September_ 1613. _On the_ 5_th of January_ 1606, _by desire of James the
+First, the young Earl of Essex, aged fourteen, had been married to the
+Lady Frances Howard, aged thirteen, the younger daughter of the Earl of
+Suffolk. Ben Jonson's "Masque of Hymen" was produced at Court in
+celebration of that union. The young Robert Devereux, third Earl of
+Essex, had good qualities too solid for the taste of a frivolous girl;
+and when, after travel abroad, the husband of eighteen claimed the wife
+of seventeen, he found her happy in flirtation with the King's
+favourite, Sir Robert Carr. Though compelled to live with her husband,
+she repelled all his advances, and after three years of this repugnance
+tried for a divorce. The King's Scotch favourite, Carr, had been made,
+in March 1611, an English peer, as Viscount Rochester, when the age of
+the young Countess of Essex was nineteen. He was the man highest in King
+James's favour. If the divorce sought by the Countess early in 1613 were
+obtained for her, it was understood that Carr would marry her, and that
+support of the divorce would be a way to future benefit through his good
+offices. Thus she obtained the support of her father and uncle, the
+Earls of Suffolk and Northampton. The King's influence went with the
+wishes of the favourite. The trial, in 1613, ending in a decree of
+nullity of marriage, was a four months' scandal in the land. Among the
+familiar friends of Robert Carr, Lord Rochester, was Sir Thomas
+Overbury, born in Warwickshire in 1581, and knighted by King James in
+1608. He strongly opposed the policy of a divorce obtained on false
+pretences followed by his patron's marriage to the divorced wife. The
+grounds of his opposition may have been part private, part political.
+His opposition was determined, and if he offered himself as witness
+before the Commission, he probably knew enough about the lady's secret
+practisings to give such evidence as would frustrate her designs. It was
+thought desirable, therefore, to get Overbury out of the way. The King
+offered him a post abroad. He was unwilling to accept it, and at last
+was driven to an explicit refusal. The King was angry, and caused his
+Council to commit Sir Thomas Overbury to the Tower for contempt of His
+Majesty's commands. He was to be seen by no one, and to have no servant
+with him. Sir William Wood, the Lieutenant of the Tower, was superseded,
+and Sir Gervase Helwys was put in his place with secret understandings,
+of which the design may only have been to prevent Sir Thomas Overbury
+from saying anything that could come to the ears of the world until the
+divorce was granted. But Lady Essex wished Sir Thomas Overbury to be
+more effectually silenced. She had tried and failed to get him
+assassinated. Now she resolved to get him poisoned. She obtained the
+employment of a creature of her own, named Weston, as his immediate
+keeper. Weston falsely professed to Lady Essex that he had administered
+the poison she had given him, and that the result had been not death but
+loss of health. There is much uncertainty about the evidence of detail
+and of the privity of others in the designs of Lady Essex, who seems at
+last to have completed her work by the agency of an apothecary's
+assistant. He gave the fatal dose in an injection, by which Overbury was
+killed ten days before the Commission gave judgment in favour of the
+divorce. At Christmas the favourite married the divorced wife, having
+been created Earl of Somerset, that as his wife she might be Countess
+still. In the following year, 1614, Sir Thomas Overbury's "Characters"
+were published, together with his Character in verse of A Wife, who was
+described as "A Wife, now a Widow." This had been published a little
+earlier in the same year separately, without any added "Characters."
+When the Characters appeared they were described as "Many Witty
+Characters and conceited Newes written by himselfe and other learned
+Gentlemen his Friends." The twenty-one Characters in that edition were,
+therefore, not all from one hand. Their popularity is indicated by the
+fact that in the next year, 1615, they reached a sixth edition. Three
+more editions were published in 1616. This was because interest in the
+book had been heightened by the Great Oyer of Poisoning, the trial in
+May 1616 of the Earl and Countess of Somerset for Overbury's murder, of
+which both were found guilty, though the Countess took all guilt upon
+herself. Then followed a tenth edition in 1618, an eleventh in 1622, a
+twelfth in 1627, a thirteenth in 1628, a fourteenth in 1630, a fifteenth
+in 1632, a sixteenth in 1638; and then a pause, the seventeenth being in
+1664, two years before the fire of London. By this time the original set
+of twenty-one Characters had been considerably increased, "with
+additions of New Characters and many other Witty Conceits never before
+Printed;" so that Overbury's Characters, which had from the first
+included a few pieces written by his friends, became a name for the most
+popular miscellany of pieces of Character Writing current in the
+Seventeenth Century, and shows how wit was exercised in this way by
+half-a-dozen or more of the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease. These
+are the pieces thus at last made current as_
+
+
+
+
+SIR THOMAS OVERBURY'S CHARACTERS;
+
+OR,
+
+WITTY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE PROPERTIES OF SUNDRY PERSONS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A GOOD WOMAN.
+
+A Good Woman is a comfort, like a man. She lacks of him nothing but
+heat. Thence is her sweetness of disposition, which meets his stoutness
+more pleasingly; so wool meets iron easier than iron, and turns
+resisting into embracing. Her greatest learning is religion, and her
+thoughts are on her own sex, or on men, without casting the difference.
+Dishonesty never comes nearer than her ears, and then wonder stops it
+out, and saves virtue the labour. She leaves the neat youth telling his
+luscious tales, and puts back the serving-man's putting forward with a
+frown: yet her kindness is free enough to be seen, for it hath no guilt
+about it; and her mirth is clear, that you may look through it into
+virtue, but not beyond. She hath not behaviour at a certain, but makes
+it to her occasion. She hath so much knowledge as to love it; and if she
+have it not at home, she will fetch it, for this sometimes in a pleasant
+discontent she dares chide her sex, though she use it never the worse.
+She is much within, and frames outward things to her mind, not her mind
+to them. She wears good clothes, but never better; for she finds no
+degree beyond decency. She hath a content of her own, and so seeks not
+an husband, but finds him. She is indeed most, but not much of
+description, for she is direct and one, and hath not the variety of ill.
+Now she is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth nothing more
+than love him, for she takes him to that purpose. So his good becomes
+the business of her actions, and she doth herself kindness upon him.
+After his, her chiefest virtue is a good husband. For she is he.
+
+
+
+A VERY WOMAN.
+
+A Very Woman is a dough-baked man, or a She meant well towards man, but
+fell two bows short, strength and understanding. Her virtue is the
+hedge, modesty, that keeps a man from climbing over into her faults. She
+simpers as if she had no teeth but lips; and she divides her eyes, and
+keeps half for herself, and gives the other to her neat youth. Being set
+down, she casts her face into a platform, which dureth the meal, and is
+taken away with the voider. Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to
+thirst, and it is a part of their mystery not to profess hunger; but
+nature takes her in private and stretcheth her upon meat. She is
+marriageable and fourteen at once, and after she doth not live but
+tarry. She reads over her face every morning, and sometimes blots out
+pale and writes red. She thinks she is fair, though many times her
+opinion goes alone, and she loves her glass and the knight of the sun
+for lying. She is hid away all but her face, and that's hanged about
+with toys and devices, like the sign of a tavern, to draw strangers. If
+she show more she prevents desire, and by too free giving leaves no
+gift. She may escape from the serving-man, but not from the chambermaid.
+Her philosophy is a seeming neglect of those that be too good for her.
+She's a younger brother for her portion, but not for her portion for
+wit--that comes from her in treble, which is still too big for it; yet
+her vanity seldom matcheth her with one of her own degree, for then she
+will beget another creature a beggar, and commonly, if she marry better
+she marries worse. She gets much by the simplicity of her suitor, and
+for a jest laughs at him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for
+herself, and after takes him for his patience, and the land adjoining,
+ye may see it, in a serving-man's fresh napery, and his leg steps into
+an unknown stocking. I need not speak of his garters, the tassel shows
+itself. If she love, she loves not the man, but the best of him. She is
+Salomon's cruel creature, and a man's walking consumption; every caudle
+she gives him is a purge. Her chief commendation is, she brings a man to
+repentance.
+
+
+
+HER NEXT PART.
+
+Her lightness gets her to swim at top of the table, where her wry little
+finger bewrays carving; her neighbours at the latter end know they are
+welcome, and for that purpose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to
+and among, and so becomes a woman of good entertainment, for all the
+folly in the country comes in clean linen to visit her; she breaks to
+them her grief in sugar cakes, and receives from their mouths in
+exchange many stories that conclude to no purpose. Her eldest son is
+like her howsoever, and that dispraiseth him best; her utmost drift is
+to turn him fool, which commonly she obtains at the years of discretion.
+She takes a journey sometimes to her niece's house, but never thinks
+beyond London. Her devotion is good clothes--they carry her to church,
+express their stuff and fashion, and are silent if she be more devout;
+she lifts up a certain number of eyes instead of prayers, and takes the
+sermon, and measures out a nap by it, just as long. She sends religion
+afore to sixty, where she never overtakes it, or drives it before her
+again. Her most necessary instruments are a waiting gentlewoman and a
+chambermaid; she wears her gentlewoman still, but most often leaves the
+other in her chamber window. She hath a little kennel in her lap, and
+she smells the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of her providence is the
+fatness of a capon, and her greatest envy is the next gentlewoman's
+better gown. Her most commendable skill is to make her husband's fustian
+bear her velvet. This she doth many times over, and then is delivered to
+old age and a chair, where everybody leaves her.
+
+
+
+A DISSEMBLER
+
+Is an essence needing a double definition, for he is not that he
+appears. Unto the eye he is pleasing, unto the ear he is harsh, but unto
+the understanding intricate and full of windings; he is the _prima
+materia_, and his intents give him form; he dyeth his means and his
+meaning into two colours; he baits craft with humility, and his
+countenance is the picture of the present disposition. He wins not by
+battery but undermining, and his rack is smoothing. He allures, is not
+allured by his affections, for they are the breakers of his observation.
+He knows passion only by sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes
+his time an accountant to his memory, and of the humours of men weaves a
+net for occasion; the inquisitor must look through his judgment, for to
+the eye only he is not visible.
+
+
+
+A COURTIER,
+
+To all men's thinking, is a man, and to most men the finest; all things
+else are defined by the understanding, but this by the senses; but his
+surest mark is, that he is to be found only about princes. He smells,
+and putteth away much of his judgment about the situation of his
+clothes. He knows no man that is not generally known. His wit, like the
+marigold, openeth with the sun, and therefore he riseth not before ten
+of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words than meaning, and
+more in his pronunciation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he
+hath but one receipt of making love. He follows nothing but inconstancy,
+admires nothing but beauty, honours nothing but fortune: Loves nothing.
+The sustenance of his discourse is news, and his censure, like a shot,
+depends upon the charging. He is not, if he be out of court, but
+fish-like breathes destruction if out of his element. Neither his motion
+or aspect are regular, but he moves by the upper spheres, and is the
+reflection of higher substances.
+
+If you find him not here, you shall in Paul's, with a pick-tooth in his
+hat, cape-cloak, and a long stocking.
+
+
+
+A GOLDEN ASS
+
+Is a young thing, whose father went to the devil; he is followed like a
+salt bitch, and limbed by him that gets up first; his disposition is
+cut, and knaves rend him like tenter-hooks; he is as blind as his
+mother, and swallows flatterers for friends. He is high in his own
+imagination, but that imagination is as a stone that is raised by
+violence, descends naturally. When he goes, he looks who looks; if he
+find not good store of vailers, he comes home stiff and sere, until he
+be new oiled and watered by his husbandmen. Wheresoever he eats he hath
+an officer to warn men not to talk out of his element, and his own is
+exceeding sensible, because it is sensual; but he cannot exchange a
+piece of reason, though he can a piece of gold. He is not plucked, for
+his feathers are his beauty, and more than his beauty, they are his
+discretion, his countenance, his all. He is now at an end, for he hath
+had the wolf of vainglory, which he fed until himself became the food.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is the shadow of a fool. He is a good woodman, for he singleth out none
+but the wealthy. His carriage is ever of the colour of his patient; and
+for his sake he will halt or wear a wry neck. He dispraiseth nothing but
+poverty and small drink, and praiseth his Grace of making water. He
+selleth himself with reckoning his great friends, and teacheth the
+present how to win his praises by reciting the other gifts; he is ready
+for all employments, but especially before dinner, for his courage and
+his stomach go together. He will play any upon his countenance, and
+where he cannot be admitted for a counsellor he will serve as a fool. He
+frequents the Court of Wards and Ordinaries, and fits these guests of
+_Togae viriles_ with wives or worse. He entereth young men into
+aquaintance with debt-books. In a word, he is the impression of the last
+term, and will be so until the coming of a new term or termer.
+
+
+
+AN IGNORANT GLORY-HUNTER
+
+Is an _insectum_ animal, for he is the maggot of opinion; his behaviour
+is another thing from himself, and is glued and but set on. He
+entertains men with repetitions, and returns them their own words. He is
+ignorant of nothing, no not of those things where ignorance is the
+lesser shame. He gets the names of good wits, and utters them for his
+companions. He confesseth vices that he is guiltless of, if they be in
+fashion; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, or out of fashion.
+There is not a public assembly without him, and he will take any pains
+for an acquaintance there. In any show he will be one, though he be but
+a whiffler or a torch-bearer, and bears down strangers with the story of
+his actions. He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his
+wardrobe, diet, and all customs, with intituling their beginnings from
+princes, great soldiers, and strange nations. He dare speak more than he
+understands, and adventures his words without the relief of any seconds.
+He relates battles and skirmishes as from an eyewitness, when his eyes
+thievishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to make sure of
+admiration, he will not let himself understand himself, but hopes fame
+and opinion will be the readers of his riddles.
+
+
+
+A TIMIST
+
+Is a noun adjective of the present tense. He hath no more of a
+conscience than fear, and his religion is not his but the prince's. He
+reverenceth a courtier's servant's servant; is first his own slave, and
+then whosesoever looketh big. When he gives he curseth, and when he
+sells he worships. He reads the statutes in his chamber, and wears the
+Bible in the streets; he never praiseth any, but before themselves or
+friends; and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. His New
+Year's gifts are ready at Allhallowmas, and the suit he meant to
+meditate before them. He pleaseth the children of great men, and
+promiseth to adopt them, and his courtesy extends itself even to the
+stable. He strains to talk wisely, and his modesty would serve a bride.
+He is gravity from the head to the foot, but not from the head to the
+heart. You may find what place he affecteth, for he creeps as near it as
+may be, and as passionately courts it; if at any time his hopes be
+affected, he swelleth with them, and they burst out too good for the
+vessel. In a word, he danceth to the tune of Fortune, and studies for
+nothing but to keep time.
+
+
+
+AN AMORIST
+
+Is a man blasted or planet-stricken, and is the dog that leads blind
+Cupid; when he is at the best his fashion exceeds the worth of his
+weight. He is never without verses and musk confects, and sighs to the
+hazard of his buttons. His eyes are all white, either to wear the livery
+of his mistress' complexion or to keep Cupid from hitting the black. He
+fights with passion, and loseth much of his blood by his weapon; dreams,
+thence his paleness. His arms are carelessly used, as if their best use
+was nothing but embracements. He is untrussed, unbuttoned, and
+ungartered, not out of carelessness, but care; his farthest end being
+but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatness, but he
+goeth not alone; for then he makes some other quality moralise his
+affection, and his trimness is the grace of that grace. Her favour lifts
+him up as the sun moisture; when she disfavours, unable to hold that
+happiness, it falls down in tears. His fingers are his orators, and he
+expresseth much of himself upon some instrument. He answers not, or not
+to the purpose, and no marvel, for he is not at home. He scotcheth time
+with dancing with his mistress, taking up of her glove, and wearing her
+feather; he is confined to her colour, and dares not pass out of the
+circuit of her memory. His imagination is a fool, and it goeth in a pied
+coat of red and white. Shortly, he is translated out of a man into
+folly; his imagination is the glass of lust, and himself the traitor to
+his own discretion.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED TRAVELLER
+
+Is a speaking fashion; he hath taken pains to be ridiculous, and hath
+seen more than he hath perceived. His attire speaks French or Italian,
+and his gait cries, Behold me. He censures all things by countenances
+and shrugs, and speaks his own language with shame and lisping; he will
+choke rather than confess beer good drink, and his pick-tooth is a main
+part of his behaviour. He chooseth rather to be counted a spy than not a
+politician, and maintains his reputation by naming great men familiarly.
+He chooseth rather to tell lies than not wonders, and talks with men
+singly; his discourse sounds big, but means nothing; and his boy is
+bound to admire him howsoever. He comes still from great personages, but
+goes with mean. He takes occasion to show jewels given him in regard of
+his virtue, that were bought in St. Martin's; and not long after having
+with a mountebank's method pronounced them worth thousands, impawneth
+them for a few shillings. Upon festival days he goes to court, and
+salutes without resaluting; at night in an ordinary he canvasseth the
+business in hand, and seems as conversant with all intents and plots as
+if he begot them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to tell
+them the ends of all matters of consequence, and then to borrow money of
+them; he offers courtesies to show them, rather than himself, humble. He
+disdains all things above his reach, and preferreth all countries before
+his own. He imputeth his want and poverty to the ignorance of the time,
+not his own unworthiness; and concludes his discourse with half a
+period, or a word, and leaves the rest to imagination. In a word, his
+religion is fashion, and both body and soul are governed by fame; he
+loves most voices above truth.
+
+
+
+A WISE MAN
+
+Is the truth of the true definition of man, that is, a reasonable
+creature. His disposition alters; he alters not. He hides himself with
+the attire of the vulgar; and in indifferent things is content to be
+governed by them. He looks according to nature; so goes his behaviour.
+His mind enjoys a continual smoothness; so cometh it that his
+consideration is always at home. He endures the faults of all men
+silently, except his friends, and to them he is the mirror of their
+actions; by this means, his peace cometh not from fortune, but himself.
+He is cunning in men, not to surprise, but keep his own, and beats off
+their ill-affected humours no otherwise than if they were flies. He
+chooseth not friends by the Subsidy-book, and is not luxurious after
+acquaintance. He maintains the strength of his body, not by delicates
+but temperance; and his mind, by giving it pre-eminence over his body.
+He understands things, not by their form, but qualities; and his
+comparisons intend not to excuse but to provoke him higher. He is not
+subject to casualties, for fortune hath nothing to do with the mind,
+except those drowned in the body; but he hath divided his soul from the
+case of his soul, whose weakness he assists no otherwise than
+commiseratively--not that it is his, but that it is. He is thus, and
+will be thus; and lives subject neither to time nor his frailties, the
+servant of virtue, and by virtue the friend of the highest.
+
+
+
+A NOBLE SPIRIT
+
+Hath surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all occurrents
+into experience, between which experience and his reason there is
+marriage; the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seeth
+the end before he shoot. Men are the instruments of his art, and there
+is no man without his use. Occasion incites him, none enticeth him; and
+he moves by affection, not for affection. He loves glory, scorns shame,
+and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one
+consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his
+meditation hath travelled over them, and his eye, mounted upon his
+understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He covers not his body
+with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his body, but teacheth
+it, since it is not able to defend its own imbecility, to show or
+suffer. He licenseth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason
+to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny.
+Truth is the goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like
+her. He knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing
+like another, and then another. To these he carries his desires, and not
+his desires him, and sticks not fast by the way (for that contentment is
+repentance), but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of
+all things, to have but one centre or period, without all distraction,
+he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and natural element. He
+doth not contemn Fortune, but not confess her. He is no gamester of the
+world (which only complain and praise her), but being only sensible of
+the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement of
+scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their
+steps in a regular motion. When he is more particular, he is the wise
+man's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the
+vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him; and he feels age
+more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus
+feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends that desire to
+file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.
+
+
+
+AN OLD MAN
+
+Is a thing that hath been a man in his days. Old men are to be known
+blindfolded, for their talk is as terrible as their resemblance. They
+praise their own times as vehemently as if they would sell them. They
+become wrinkled with frowning and facing youth; they admire their old
+customs, even to the eating of red herring and going wetshod. They cast
+the thumb under the girdle, gravity; and because they can hardly smell
+at all their posies are under their girdles. They count it an ornament
+of speech to close the period with a cough; and it is venerable (they
+say) to spend time in wiping their drivelled beards. Their discourse is
+unanswerable, by reason of their obstinacy; their speech is much, though
+little to the purpose. Truths and lies pass with an unequal affirmation;
+for their memories several are won into one receptacle, and so they come
+out with one sense. They teach their servants their duties with as much
+scorn and tyranny as some people teach their dogs to fetch. Their envy
+is one of their diseases. They put off and on their clothes with that
+certainty, as if they knew their heads would not direct them, and
+therefore custom should. They take a pride in halting and going stiffly,
+and therefore their staves are carved and tipped; they trust their
+attire with much of their gravity; and they dare not go without a gown
+in summer. Their hats are brushed, to draw men's eyes off from their
+faces; but of all, their pomanders are worn to most purpose, for their
+putrified breath ought not to want either a smell to defend or a dog
+to excuse.
+
+
+
+A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
+
+Is a thing, out of whose corruption the generation of a Justice of Peace
+is produced. He speaks statutes and husbandry well enough to make his
+neighbours think him a wise man; he is well skilled in arithmetic or
+rates, and hath eloquence enough to save twopence. His conversation
+amongst his tenants is desperate, but amongst his equals full of doubt.
+His travel is seldom farther than the next market town, and his
+inquisition is about the price of corn. When he travelleth he will go
+ten miles out of the way to a cousin's house of his to save charges; he
+rewards the servant by taking him by the hand when he departs. Nothing
+under a subpoena can draw him to London; and when he is there he sticks
+fast upon every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and becomes the
+prey of every cutpurse. When he comes home, those wonders serve him for
+his holiday talk. If he go to court it is in yellow stockings; and if it
+be in winter, in a slight taffety cloak, and pumps and pantofles. He is
+chained that woos the usher for his coming into the presence, where he
+becomes troublesome with the ill-managing of his rapier, and the wearing
+of his girdle of one fashion, and the hangers of another. By this time
+he hath learned to kiss his hand, and make a leg both together, and the
+names of lords and councillors. He hath thus much toward entertainment
+and courtesy, but of the last he makes more use, for, by the recital of
+my lord, he conjures his poor countrymen. But this is not his element;
+he must home again, being like a dor, that ends his flight in
+a dunghill.
+
+
+
+A FINE GENTLEMAN
+
+Is the cinnamon tree, whose bark is more worth than his body. He hath
+read the book of good manners, and by this time each of his limbs may
+read it. He alloweth of no judge but the eye: painting, bolstering, and
+bombasting are his orators. By these also he proves his industry, for he
+hath purchased legs, hair, beauty, and straightness, more than nature
+left him. He unlocks maidenheads with his language, and speaks Euphues,
+not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse makes not his behaviour;
+but he buys it at court, as countrymen their clothes in Birchin Lane. He
+is somewhat like the salamander, and lives in the flame of love, which
+pains he expresseth comically. And nothing grieves him so much as the
+want of a poet to make an issue in his love. Yet he sighs sweetly and
+speaks lamentably, for his breath is perfumed and his words are wind. He
+is best in season at Christmas, for the boar's head and reveller come
+together. His hopes are laden in his quality; and, lest fiddlers should
+take him unprovided, he wears pumps in his pocket; and, lest he should
+take fiddlers unprovided, he whistles his own galliard. He is a calendar
+of ten years, and marriage rusts him. Afterwards he maintains himself an
+implement of household, by carving and ushering. For all this, he is
+judicial only in tailors and barbers; but his opinion is ever ready, and
+ever idle. If you will know more of his acts, the broker's shop is the
+witness of his valour, where lies wounded, dead rent, and out of
+fashion, many a spruce suit, overthrown by his fantasticness.
+
+
+
+AN ELDER BROTHER
+
+Is a creature born to the best advantage of things without him; that
+hath the start at the beginning, but loiters it away before the ending.
+He looks like his land, as heavily and dirtily, as stubbornly. He dares
+do anything but fight, and fears nothing but his father's life, and
+minority. The first thing he makes known is his estate, and the
+loadstone that draws him is the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a
+particular, and his strongest argument is all about the jointure. His
+observation is all about the fashion, and he commends partlets for a
+rare device. He speaks no language, but smells of dogs or hawks, and his
+ambition flies justice-height. He loves to be commended; and he will go
+into the kitchen but he'll have it. He loves glory, but is so lazy as he
+is content with flattery. He speaks most of the precedency of age, and
+protests fortune the greatest virtue. He summoneth the old servants, and
+tells what strange acts he will do when he reigns. He verily believes
+housekeepers the best commonwealths-men, and therefore studies baking,
+brewing, greasing, and such, as the limbs of goodness. He judgeth it no
+small sign of wisdom to talk much; his tongue therefore goes continually
+his errand, but never speeds. If his understanding were not honester
+than his will, no man should keep good conceit by him, for he thinks it
+no theft to sell all he can to opinion. His pedigree and his father's
+seal-ring are the stilts of his crazed disposition. He had rather keep
+company with the dregs of men than not to be the best man. His
+insinuation is the inviting of men to his house; and he thinks it a
+great modesty to comprehend his cheer under a piece of mutton and a
+rabbit. If he by this time be not known, he will go home again, for he
+can no more abide to have himself concealed than his land. Yet he is (as
+you see) good for nothing, except to make a stallion to maintain
+the race.
+
+
+
+A BRAGGADOCIO WELSHMAN
+
+Is the oyster that the pearl is in, for a man may be picked out of him.
+He hath the abilities of the mind in _potentia_, and _actu_ nothing but
+boldness. His clothes are in fashion before his body, and he accounts
+boldness the chiefest virtue. Above all men he loves an herald, and
+speaks pedigrees naturally. He accounts none well descended that call
+him not cousin, and prefers Owen Glendower before any of the Nine
+Worthies. The first note of his familiarity is the confession of his
+valour, and so he prevents quarrels. He voucheth Welsh a pure and
+unconquered language, and courts ladies with the story of their
+chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his own conceit, and upon St.
+David's Day without comparison.
+
+
+
+A PEDANT.
+
+He treads in a rule, and one hand scans verses, and the other holds his
+sceptre. He dares not think a thought that the nominative case governs
+not the verb; and he never had meaning in his life, for he travelled
+only for words. His ambition is criticism, and his example Tully. He
+values phrases, and elects them by the sound, and the eight parts of
+speech are his servants. To be brief, he is a Heteroclite, for he wants
+the plural number, having only the single quality of words.
+
+
+
+A SERVING-MAN
+
+Is a creature, which, though he be not drunk, yet is not his own man. He
+tells without asking who owns him, by the superscription of his livery.
+His life is for ease and leisure, much about gentleman-like. His wealth
+enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were
+sure of it, for he hath little, and wants nothing; he values himself
+higher or lower as his master is. He hates or loves the men as his
+master doth the master. He is commonly proud of his master's horses or
+his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the
+clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his. He seldom breaks
+his own clothes. He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged; nor
+commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose, and seldom
+abstains till he comes to a thirst. His discretion is to be careful for
+his master's credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table,
+and to carve well; his neatness consists much in his hair and outward
+linen; his courting language, visible coarse jests; and against his
+matter fail, he is always ready furnished with a song. His inheritance
+is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his master's daughter, by
+reason of opportunity, or for want of a better, he always cuckolds
+himself, and never marries but his own widow. His master being appeased,
+he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his
+heir-males for ever.
+
+
+
+AN HOST
+
+Is the kernel of a sign; or the sign is the shell, and mine host is the
+snail. He consists of double beer and fellowship, and his vices are the
+bawds of his thirst. He entertains humbly, and gives his guests power,
+as well of himself as house. He answers all men's expectations to his
+power, save in the reckoning; and hath gotten the trick of greatness, to
+lay all mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the common seed of his
+dove-house; and to be a good guest is a warrant for her liberty. He
+traffics for guests by men-friends' friends' friends, and is sensible
+only of his purse. In a word, he is none of his own; for he neither
+eats, drinks, or thinks, but at other men's charges and appointments.
+
+
+
+AN OSTLER
+
+Is a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his horse, reasonably himself. He
+consists of travellers, though he be none himself. His highest ambition
+is to be host, and the invention of his sign is his greatest wit, for
+the expressing whereof he sends away the painters for want of
+understanding. He hath certain charms for a horse mouth, that he should
+not eat his hay; and behind your back he will cozen your horse to his
+face. His curry-comb is one of his best parts, for he expresseth much by
+the jingling; and his mane-comb is a spinner's card turned out of
+service. He puffs and blows over your horse, to the hazard of a double
+jug, and leaves much of the dressing to the proverb of _muli mutuo
+scabient_, one horse rubs another. He comes to him that calls loudest,
+not first; he takes a broken head patiently, but the knave he feels it
+not; utmost honesty is good fellowship, and he speaks northern, what
+countryman soever. He hath a pension of ale from the next smith and
+saddler for intelligence; he loves to see you ride, and hold your
+stirrup in expectation.
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CHARACTER OF A DUNCE.
+
+He hath a soul drowned in a lump of flesh, or is a piece of earth that
+Prometheus put not half his proportion of fire into. A thing that hath
+neither edge of desire nor feeling of affection in it; the most
+dangerous creature for confirming an atheist, who would swear his soul
+were nothing but the bare temperature of his body. He sleeps as he goes,
+and his thoughts seldom reach an inch further than his eyes. The most
+part of the faculties of his soul lie fallow, or are like the restive
+jades that no spur can drive forward towards the pursuit of any worthy
+designs. One of the most unprofitable of God's creatures, being as he is
+a thing put clean beside the right use; made fit for the cart and the
+flail, and by mischance entangled amongst books and papers. A man cannot
+tell possibly what he is now good for, save to move up and down and fill
+room, or to serve as _animatum instrumentum_, for others to work withal
+in base employments, or to be foil for better wits, or to serve (as they
+say monsters do) to set out the variety of nature, and ornament of the
+universe. He is mere nothing of himself, neither eats, nor drinks, nor
+goes, nor spits, but by imitation, for all which he hath set forms and
+fashions, which he never varies, but sticks to with the like plodding
+constancy that a mill-horse follows his trace. But the Muses and the
+Graces are his hard mistresses; though he daily invocate them, though he
+sacrifice hecatombs, they still look asquint. You shall note him
+(besides his dull eye, and lowering head, and a certain clammy benumbed
+pace) by a fair displayed beard, a night-cap, and a gown, whose very
+wrinkles proclaim him the true genius of familiarity. But of all others,
+his discourse and compositions best speak him, both of them are much of
+one stuff and fashion. He speaks just what his books or last company
+said unto him, without varying one whit, and very seldom understands
+himself. You may know by his discourse where he was last; for what he
+heard or read yesterday, he now dischargeth his memory or note-book
+of--not his understanding, for it never came there. What he hath he
+flings abroad at all adventures, without accommodating it to time,
+place, or persons, or occasions. He commonly loseth himself in his tale,
+and flutters up and down windless without recovery, and whatsoever next
+presents itself, his heavy conceit seizeth upon, and goeth along with,
+however heterogeneal to his matter in hand. His jests are either old
+fled proverbs, or lean-starved hackney apophthegms, or poor verbal
+quips, outworn by serving-men, tapsters, and milkmaids, even laid aside
+by balladers. He assents to all men that bring any shadow of reason, and
+you may make him when he speaks most dogmatically even with one breath,
+to aver poor contradictions. His compositions differ only _terminorum
+positione_ from dreams; nothing but rude heaps of immaterial,
+incoherent, drossy, rubbishy stuff, promiscuously thrust up together;
+enough to infuse dulness and barrenness in conceit into him that is so
+prodigal of his ears as to give the hearing; enough to make a man's
+memory ache with suffering such dirty stuff cast into it. As unwelcome
+to any true conceit, as sluttish morsels or wallowish potions to a nice
+stomach, which whiles he empties himself, it sticks in his teeth, nor
+can he be delivered without sweat, and sighs, and hems, and coughs
+enough to shake his grandam's teeth out of her head. He spits, and
+scratches, and spawls, and turns like sick men from one elbow to
+another, and deserves as much pity during his torture as men in fits of
+tertian fevers, or self-lashing penitentiaries. In a word, rip him quite
+asunder, and examine every shred of him, you shall find of him to be
+just nothing but the subject of nothing; the object of contempt; yet
+such as he is you must take him, for there is no hope he should ever
+become better.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE
+
+Is a man's best movable, a scion incorporate with the stock, bringing
+sweet fruit; one that to her husband is more than a friend, less than
+trouble; an equal with him in the yoke. Calamities and troubles she
+shares alike, nothing pleaseth her that doth not him. She is relative in
+all, and he without her but half himself. She is his absent hands, eyes,
+ears, and mouth; his present and absent all. She frames her nature unto
+his howsoever; the hyacinth follows not the sun more willingly.
+Stubbornness and obstinacy are herbs that grow not in her garden. She
+leaves tattling to the gossips of the town, and is more seen than heard.
+Her household is her charge; her care to that makes her seldom
+non-resident. Her pride is but to be cleanly, and her thrift not to be
+prodigal. By her discretion she hath children not wantons; a husband
+without her is a misery to man's apparel: none but she hath an aged
+husband, to whom she is both a staff and a chair. To conclude, she is
+both wise and religious, which makes her all this.
+
+
+
+A MELANCHOLY MAN
+
+Is a strayer from the drove: one that Nature made a sociable, because
+she made him man, and a crazed disposition hath altered. Unpleasing to
+all, as all to him; straggling thoughts are his content, they make him
+dream waking, there's his pleasure. His imagination is never idle, it
+keeps his mind in a continual motion, as the poise the clock: he winds
+up his thoughts often, and as often unwinds them; Penelope's web thrives
+faster. He'll seldom be found without the shade of some grove, in whose
+bottom a river dwells. He carries a cloud in his face, never fair
+weather; his outside is framed to his inside, in that he keeps a
+decorum, both unseemly. Speak to him; he hears with his eyes, ears
+follow his mind, and that's not at leisure. He thinks business, but
+never does any; he is all contemplation, no action. He hews and fashions
+his thoughts, as if he meant them to some purpose, but they prove
+unprofitable, as a piece of wrought timber to no use. His spirits and
+the sun are enemies: the sun bright and warm, his humour black and cold;
+variety of foolish apparitions people his head, they suffer him not to
+breathe according to the necessities of nature, which makes him sup up a
+draught of as much air at once as would serve at thrice. He denies
+nature her due in sleep, and nothing pleaseth him long, but that which
+pleaseth his own fantasies; they are the consuming evils, and evil
+consumptions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man only in show;
+but comes short of the better part, a whole reasonable soul, which is
+man's chief pre-eminence and sole mark from creatures sensible.
+
+
+
+A SAILOR
+
+Is a pitched piece of reason caulked and tackled, and only studied to
+dispute with tempests. He is part of his own provision, for he lives
+ever pickled. A fore-wind is the substance of his creed, and fresh water
+the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is ever
+climbing; out of which as naturally he fears, for he is ever flying.
+Time and he are everywhere ever contending who shall arrive first; he is
+well-winded, for he tires the day, and outruns darkness. His life is
+like a hawk's, the best part mewed; and if he live till three coats, is
+a master. He sees God's wonders in the deep, but so as rather they
+appear his playfellows than stirrers of his zeal. Nothing but hunger and
+hard rocks can convert him, and then but his upper deck neither; for his
+hold neither fears nor hopes, his sleeps are but reprievals of his
+dangers, and when he wakes 'tis but next stage to dying. His wisdom is
+the coldest part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies
+lowest, which makes his valour every tide overflow it. In a storm it is
+disputable whether the noise be more his or the elements, and which will
+first leave scolding; on which side of the ship he may be saved best,
+whether his faith be starboard faith or larboard, or the helm at that
+time not all his hope of heaven. His keel is the emblem of his
+conscience, till it be split he never repents, then no farther than the
+land allows him, and his language is a new confusion, and all his
+thoughts new nations. His body and his ship are both one burden, nor is
+it known who stows most wine or rolls most; only the ship is guided, he
+has no stern. A barnacle and he are bred together, both of one nature,
+and it is feared one reason. Upon any but a wooden horse he cannot ride,
+and if the wind blow against him he dare not. He swerves up to his seat
+as to a sail-yard, and cannot sit unless he bear a flagstaff. If ever he
+be broken to the saddle, it is but a voyage still, for he mistakes the
+bridle for a bowline, and is ever turning his horse-tail. He can pray,
+but it is by rote, not faith, and when he would he dares not, for his
+brackish belief hath made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand plucks him
+before he be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping.
+
+
+
+A SOLDIER
+
+Is the husbandman of valour; his sword is his plough, which honour and
+_aqua vita_, two fiery-metalled jades, are ever drawing. A younger
+brother best becomes arms, an elder the thanks for them. Every heat
+makes him a harvest, and discontents abroad are his sowers. He is
+actively his prince's, but passively his anger's servant. He is often a
+desirer of learning, which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour.
+He is a lover at all points, and a true defender of the faith of women.
+More wealth than makes him seem a handsome foe, lightly he covets not,
+less is below him. He never truly wants but in much having, for then his
+ease and lechery afflict him. The word peace, though in prayer, makes
+him start, and God he best considers by His power. Hunger and cold rank
+in the same file with him, and hold him to a man; his honour else, and
+the desire of doing things beyond him, would blow him greater than the
+sons of Anak. His religion is, commonly, as his cause is, doubtful, and
+that the best devotion keeps best quarter. He seldom sees grey hairs,
+some none at all, for where the sword fails, there the flesh gives fire.
+In charity he goes beyond the clergy, for he loves his greatest enemy
+best, much drinking. He seems a full student, for he is a great desirer
+of controversies; he argues sharply, and carries his conclusion in his
+scabbard. In the first refining of mankind this was the gold, his
+actions are his amel. His alloy (for else you cannot work him perfectly)
+continual duties, heavy and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as
+cold diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line him with these,
+and link him to his squadrons, and he appears a most rich chain
+for princes.
+
+
+
+A TAILOR
+
+Is a creature made up of threads that were pared off from Adam, when he
+was rough cast; the end of his being differeth from that of others, and
+is not to serve God, but to cover sin. Other men's pride is the best
+patron, and their negligence a main passage to his profit. He is a thing
+of more than ordinary judgment: for by virtue of that he buyeth land,
+buildeth houses, and raiseth the set roof of his cross-legged fortune.
+His actions are strong encounters, and for their notoriousness always
+upon record. It is neither Amadis de Gaul, nor the Knight of the Sun,
+that is able to resist them. A ten-groat fee setteth them on foot, and a
+brace of officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth the Spanish
+pike to the hazard of many poor Egyptian vermin; and in show of his
+valour, scorneth a greater gauntlet than will cover the top of his
+middle finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the long bill; and this
+he will manage to the great prejudice of a customer's estate. His
+spirit, notwithstanding, is not so much as to make you think him man;
+like a true mongrel, he neither bites nor barks but when your back is
+towards him. His heart is a lump of congealed snow: Prometheus was
+asleep while it was making. He differeth altogether from God; for with
+him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and, without
+hope of recovery, shall be cast down into hell. He is partly an
+alchemist; for he extracteth his own apparel out of other men's clothes;
+and when occasion serveth, making a broker's shop his alembic, can turn
+your silks into gold, and having furnished his necessities, after a
+month or two, if he be urged unto it, reduce them again to their proper
+subsistence. He is in part likewise an arithmetician, cunning enough for
+multiplication and addition, but cannot abide subtraction: _summa
+totalis_ is the language of his Canaan, and _usque ad ultimum
+quadrantem_ the period of all his charity. For any skill in geometry I
+dare not commend him, for he could never yet find out the dimensions of
+his own conscience; notwithstanding he hath many bottoms, it seemeth
+this is always bottomless. And so with a _libera nos a malo_ I leave
+you, promising to amend whatsoever is amiss at his next setting.
+
+
+
+A PURITAN
+
+Is a diseased piece of apocalypse: bind him to the Bible, and he
+corrupts the whole text. 'Ignorance and fat feed are his founders; his
+nurses, railing, rabies, and round breeches. His life is but a borrowed
+blast of wind: for between two religions, as between two doors, he is
+ever whistling. Truly, whose child he is is yet unknown; for, willingly,
+his faith allows no father: only thus far his pedigree is found, Bragger
+and he flourished about a time first. His fiery zeal keeps him
+continually costive, which withers him into his own translation; and
+till he eat a schoolman he is hide-bound. He ever prays against
+non-residents, but is himself the greatest discontinuer, for he never
+keeps near his text. Anything that the law allows, but marriage and
+March beer, he murmurs at; what it disallows and holds dangerous, makes
+him a discipline. Where the gate stands open, he is ever seeking a
+stile; and where his learning ought to climb, he creeps through. Give
+him advice, you run into traditions; and urge a modest course, he cries
+out counsel. His greatest care is to contemn obedience; his last care to
+serve God handsomely and cleanly. He is now become so cross a kind of
+teaching, that should the Church enjoin clean shirts, he were lousy.
+More sense than single prayers is not his; nor more in those than still
+the same petitions: from which he either fears a learned faith, or
+doubts God understands not at first hearing. Show him a ring, he runs
+back like a bear; and hates square dealing as allied to caps. A pair of
+organs blow him out of the parish, and are the only glyster-pipes to
+cool him. Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, for his
+arguing is but the efficacy of his eating: good bits he holds breed good
+positions, and the Pope he best concludes against in plum-broth. He is
+often drunk, but not as we are, temporally; nor can his sleep then cure
+him, for the fumes of his ambition make his very soul reel, and that
+small beer that should allay him (silence) keeps him more surfeited, and
+makes his heat break out in private houses. Women and lawyers are his
+best disciples; the one, next fruit, longs for forbidden doctrine, the
+other to maintain forbidden titles, both which he sows amongst them.
+Honest he dare not be, for that loves order; yet, if he can be brought
+to ceremony and made but master of it, he is converted.
+
+
+
+A MERE COMMON LAWYER
+
+Is the best shadow to make a discreet one show the fairer. He is a
+_materia prima_ informed by reports, actuated by statutes, and hath his
+motion by the favourable intelligence of the Court. His law is always
+furnished with a commission to arraign his conscience; but, upon
+judgment given, he usually sets it at large. He thinks no language worth
+knowing but his Barragouin: only for that point he hath been a long time
+at wars with Priscian for a northern province. He imagines that by sure
+excellency his profession only is learning, and that it is a profanation
+of the Temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberal arts be
+there admitted to offer strange incense to her. For, indeed, he is all
+for money. Seven or eight years squires him out, some of his nation less
+standing; and ever since the night of his call, he forgot much what he
+was at dinner. The next morning his man (in _actu_ or _potentia_) enjoys
+his pickadels. His laundress is then shrewdly troubled in fitting him a
+ruff, his perpetual badge. His love-letters of the last year of his
+gentlemanship are stuffed with discontinuances, remitters, and uncore
+priests; but, now being enabled to speak in proper person, he talks of a
+French hood instead of a jointure, wags his law, and joins issue. Then
+he begins to stick his letters in his ground chamber-window, that so the
+superscription may make his squireship transparent. His heraldry gives
+him place before the minister, because the Law was before the Gospel.
+Next term he walks his hoopsleeve gown to the hall; there it proclaims
+him. He feeds fat in the reading, and till it chance to his turn,
+dislikes no house order so much as that the month is so contracted to a
+fortnight. Amongst his country neighbours he arrogates as much honour
+for being reader of an Inn of Chancery, as if it had been of his own
+house; for they, poor souls, take law and conscience, Court and
+Chancery, for all one. He learned to frame his case from putting riddles
+and imitating Merlin's prophecies, and to set all the Cross Row together
+by the ears; yet his whole law is not able to decide Lucan's one old
+controversy betwixt Tau and Sigma. He accounts no man of his cap and
+coat idle, but who trots not the circuit. He affects no life or quality
+for itself, but for gain; and that, at least, to the stating him in a
+Justice of Peace-ship, which is the first quickening soul superadded to
+the elementary and inanimate form of his new tide. His terms are his
+wife's vacations; yet she then may usurp divers Court-days, and has her
+returns in _mensem_ for writs of entry--often shorter. His vacations are
+her termers; but in assize time (the circuit being long) he may have a
+trial at home against him by _nisi prius_. No way to heaven, he thinks,
+so wise as through Westminster Hall; and his clerks commonly through it
+visit both heaven and hell. Yet then he oft forgets his journey's end,
+although he look on the Star-Chamber. Neither is he wholly destitute of
+the arts. Grammar he has enough to make termination of those words which
+his authority hath endenizoned rhetoric-some; but so little that it is
+thought a concealment. Logic, enough to wrangle. Arithmetic, enough for
+the ordinals of his year-books and number-rolls; but he goes not to
+multiplication, there is a statute against it. So much geometry, that he
+can advise in a _perambulatione fadenda_, or a _rationalibus divisis_.
+In astronomy and astrology he is so far seen, that by the Dominical
+letter he knows the holy-days, and finds by calculation that Michaelmas
+term will be long and dirty. Marry, he knows so much in music that he
+affects only the most and cunningest discords; rarely a perfect concord,
+especially song, except _in fine_. His skill in perspective endeavours
+much to deceive the eye of the law, and gives many false colours. He is
+specially practised in necromancy (such a kind as is out of the Statute
+of Primo), by raising many dead questions. What sufficiency he hath in
+criticism, the foul copies of his special pleas will tell you. Many of
+the same coat, which are much to be honoured, partake of divers of his
+indifferent qualities; but so that discretion, virtue, and sometimes
+other good learning, concurring and distinguishing ornaments to them,
+make them as foils to set their work on.
+
+
+
+A MERE SCHOLAR.
+
+A mere scholar is an intelligible ass, or a silly fellow in black that
+speaks sentences more familiarly than sense. The antiquity of his
+University is his creed, and the excellency of his college (though but
+for a match at football) an article of his faith. He speaks Latin better
+than his mother-tongue, and is a stranger in no part of the world but
+his own country. He does usually tell great stories of himself to small
+purpose, for they are commonly ridiculous, be they true or false. His
+ambition is that he either is or shall be a graduate; but if ever he get
+a fellowship, he has then no fellow. In spite of all logic he dares
+swear and maintain it, that a cuckold and a town's-man are _termini
+convertibles_, though his mother's husband be an alderman. He was never
+begotten (as it seems) without much wrangling, for his whole life is
+spent in _pro et contra_. His tongue goes always before his wit, like
+gentleman-usher, but somewhat faster. That he be a complete gallant in
+all points, _cap-à-pie_, witness his horsemanship and the wearing of his
+weapons. He is commonly long-winded, able to speak more with ease than
+any man can endure to hear with patience. University jests are his
+universal discourse, and his news the demeanour of the proctors. His
+phrase, the apparel of his mind, is made of divers shreds, like a
+cushion, and when it goes plainest it hath a rash outside and fustian
+linings. The current of his speech is closed with an _ergo_; and,
+whatever be the question, the truth is on his side. It is a wrong to his
+reputation to be ignorant of anything; and yet he knows not that he
+knows nothing. He gives directions for husbandry, from Virgil's
+"Georgics;" for cattle, from his "Bucolics;" for warlike stratagems,
+from his "Æneids" or Caesar's "Commentaries." He orders all things and
+thrives in none; skilful in all trades and thrives in none. He is led
+more by his ears than his understanding, taking the sound of words for
+their true sense, and does therefore confidently believe that Erra Pater
+was the father of heretics, Radulphus Agricola a substantial farmer, and
+will not stick to aver that Systemo's Logic doth excel Keckerman's. His
+ill-luck is not so much in being a fool, as in being put to such pains
+to express it to the world, for what in others is natural, in him (with
+much ado) is artificial. His poverty is his happiness, for it makes some
+men believe that he is none of fortune's favourites. That learning which
+he hath was in non age put in backward like a glyster, and it's now like
+ware mislaid in a pedlar's pack; a has it, but knows not where it is. In
+a word, his is the index of a man and the title-page of a scholar, or a
+puritan in morality--much in profession, nothing in practice.
+
+
+
+A TINKER
+
+Is a movable, for he hath no abiding-place; by his motion he gathers
+heat, thence his choleric nature. He seems to be very devout, for his
+life is a continual pilgrimage, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot,
+thereon making necessity a virtue. His house is as ancient as Tubal
+Cain's, and so is a renegade by antiquity: yet he proves himself a
+gallant, for he carries all his wealth upon his back; or a philosopher,
+for he bears all his substance about him. From his art was music first
+invented, and therefore he is always furnished with a song, to which his
+hammer keeping tune, proves that he was the first founder for the
+kettledrum. Note, that where the best ale is, there stands his music
+most upon crochets. The companion of his travels is some foul sun-burnt
+quean, that, since the terrible statute, recanted gipseyism and is
+turned pedlaress. So marches he all over England with his bag and
+baggage. His conversation is unreprovable, for he is ever mending. He
+observes truly the statutes, and therefore he can rather steal than beg,
+in which he is unremovably constant in spite of whip or imprisonment;
+and so a strong enemy to idleness, that in mending one hole he had
+rather make three than want work, and when he hath done, he throws the
+wallet of his faults behind him. He embraceth naturally ancient custom,
+conversing in open fields and lowly cottages. If he visit cities or
+towns, 'tis but to deal upon the imperfections of our weaker vessels.
+His tongue is very voluble, which with canting proves him a linguist. He
+is entertained in every place, but enters no further than the door, to
+avoid suspicion. Some will take him to be a coward, but believe it, he
+is a lad of metal; his valour is commonly three or four yards long,
+fastened to a pike in the end for flying off. He is provident, for he
+will fight but with one at once, and then also he had rather submit than
+be counted obstinate. To conclude, if he escape Tyburn and Banbury, he
+dies a beggar.
+
+
+
+AN APPARITOR
+
+Is a chick of the egg abuse, hatched by the warmth of authority; he is a
+bird of rapine, and begins to prey and feather together. He croaks like
+a raven against the death of rich men, and so gets a legacy
+unbequeathed. His happiness is in the multitude of children, for their
+increase is his wealth, and to that end he himself yearly adds one. He
+is a cunning hunter, uncoupling his intelligencing hounds under hedges,
+in thickets and cornfields, who follow the chase to city suburbs, where
+often his game is at covert; his quiver hangs by his side stuffed with
+silver arrows, which he shoots against church-gates and private men's
+doors, to the hazard of their purses and credit. There went but a pair
+of shears between him and the pursuivant of hell, for they both delight
+in sin, grow richer by it, and are by justice appointed to punish it;
+only the devil is more cunning, for he picks a living out of others'
+gains. His living lieth in his eye, which (like spirits) he sends
+through chinks and keyholes to survey the places of darkness; for which
+purpose he studieth the optics, but can discover no colour but black,
+for the pure white of chastity dazzleth his eyes. He is a Catholic, for
+he is everywhere; and with a politic, for he transforms himself into all
+shapes. He travels on foot to avoid idleness, and loves the Church
+entirely, because it is the place of his edification. He accounts not
+all sins mortal, for fornication with him is a venial sin, and to take
+bribes a matter of charity; he is collector for burnings and losses at
+sea, and in casting account readily subtracts the lesser from the
+greater sum. Thus lives he in a golden age, till death by a process
+summons him to appear.
+
+
+
+AN ALMANAC-MAKER
+
+Is the worst part of an astronomer; a certain compact of figures,
+characters, and ciphers, out of which he scores the fortune of a year,
+not so profitably as doubtfully. He is tenant by custom to the planets,
+of whom he holds the twelve houses by lease parol; to them he pays
+yearly rent, his study and time, yet lets them out again with all his
+heart for 40s. per annum. His life is merely contemplative; for his
+practice, 'tis worth nothing, at least not worthy of credit, and if by
+chance he purchase any, he loseth it again at the year's end, for time
+brings truth to light. Ptolemy and Tycho Brahe are his patrons, whose
+volumes he understands not but admires, and the rather because they are
+strangers, and so easier to be credited than controlled. His life is
+upright, for he is always looking upward, yet dares believe nothing
+above _primum mobile_, for 'tis out of the reach of his Jacob's staff.
+His charity extends no further than to mountebanks and sow-gelders, to
+whom he bequeaths the seasons of the year to kill or torture by. The
+verses of his book have a worse pace than ever had Rochester hackney;
+for his prose, 'tis dappled with ink-horn terms, and may serve for an
+almanac; but for his judging at the uncertainty of weather, any old
+shepherd shall make a dunce of him. He would be thought the devil's
+intelligencer for stolen goods, if ever he steal out of that quality. As
+a fly turns to a maggot, so the corruption of the cunning man is the
+generation of an empiric; his works fly forth in small volumes, yet not
+all, for many ride post to chandlers and tobacco shops in folio. To be
+brief, he falls three degrees short of his promises, yet is he the key
+to unlock terms and law days, a dumb mercury to point out highways, and
+a bailiff of all marts and fairs in England. The rest of him you shall
+know next year, for what he will be then he himself knows not.
+
+
+
+A HYPOCRITE
+
+Is a gilded pill, composed of two virtuous ingredients, natural
+dishonesty and artificial dissimulation. Simple fruit, plant, or drug he
+is none, but a deformed mixture bred betwixt evil nature and false art
+by a monstrous generation, and may well be put into the reckoning of
+those creatures that God never made. In Church or commonwealth (for in
+both these this mongrel weed will shoot) it is hard to say whether he be
+physic or a disease, for he is both in divers respects.
+
+As he is gilt with an outside of seeming purity, or as he offereth
+himself to you to be taken down in a cup or taste of golden zeal and
+simplicity, you may call him physic. Nay, and never let potion give
+patient good stool if, being truly tasted and relished, he be not as
+loathsome to the stomach of any honest man.
+
+He is also physic in being as commodious for use as he is odious in
+taste, if the body of the company into which he is taken can make true
+use of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so
+informer-like-dangerous, in taking advantage of anything done or said,
+yea, even to the ruin of his makers, if he may have benefit, that such a
+creature in a society makes men as careful of their speeches and actions
+as the sight of a known cut-purse in a throng makes them watchful over
+their purses and pockets. He is also in this respect profitable physic,
+that his conversation being once truly tasted and discovered, the
+hateful foulness of it will make those that are not fully like him to
+purge all such diseases as are rank in him out of their own lives, as
+the sight of some citizens on horseback make a judicious man amend his
+own faults in horsemanship. If one of these uses can be made of him, let
+him not long offend the stomach of your company; your best way is to
+spue him out. That he is a disease in the body where he liveth were as
+strange a thing to doubt as whether there be knavery in horse-coursers.
+For if among sheep, the rot; amongst dogs, the mange; amongst horses,
+the glanders; amongst men and women, the Northern itch and the French
+ache, be diseases, an hypocrite cannot but be the like in all States and
+societies that breed him. If he be a clergy hypocrite, then all manner
+of vice is for the most part so proper to him as he will grudge any man
+the practice of it but himself; like that grave burgess, who being
+desired to lend his clothes to represent a part in a comedy, answered:
+No, by his leave, he would have nobody play the fool in his clothes but
+himself. Hence are his so austere reprehensions of drinking healths,
+lascivious talk, usury, and unconscionable dealing; whenas himself,
+hating the profane mixture of malt and water, will, by his good will,
+let nothing come within him but the purity of the grape, when he can get
+it of another's cost. But this must not be done neither without a
+preface of seeming soothness, turning up the eyes, moving the head,
+laying hand on the breast, and protesting that he would not do it but to
+strengthen his body, being even consumed with dissembled zeal, and
+tedious and thankless babbling to God and his auditors. And for the
+other vices, do but venture the making yourself private with him or
+trusting of him, and if you come off without a savour of the air which
+his soul is infected with you have great fortune. The fardel of all this
+ware that is in him you shall commonly see carried upon the back of
+these two beasts that live within him, Ignorance and Imperiousness, and
+they may well serve to carry other vices, for of themselves they are
+insupportable. His Ignorance acquits him of all science, human or
+divine, and of all language but his mother's; holding nothing pure,
+holy, or sincere but the senseless recollections of his own crazed
+brain, the zealous fumes of his inflamed spirit, and the endless labours
+of his eternal tongue, the motions whereof, when matter and words fail
+(as they often do), must be patched up to accomplish his four hours in a
+day at the least with long and fervent hums. Anything else, either for
+language or matter, he cannot abide, but thus censureth: Latin, the
+language of the beast; Greek, the tongue wherein the heathen poets wrote
+their fictions; Hebrew, the speech of the Jews that crucified Christ;
+controversies do not edify; logic and philosophy are the subtilties of
+Satan to deceive the simple; human stories profane, and not savouring of
+the Spirit; in a word, all decent and sensible form of speech and
+persuasion (though in his own tongue) vain ostentation. And all this is
+the burden of his Ignorance, saving that sometimes idleness will put in
+also to bear a part of the baggage. His other beast, Imperiousness, is
+yet more proudly laden; it carrieth a burden that no cords of authority,
+spiritual nor temporal, should bind if it might have the full swing. No
+Pilate, no prince should command him, nay, he will command them, and at
+his pleasure censure them if they will not suffer their ears to be
+fettered with the long chains of his tedious collations, their purses to
+be emptied with the inundations of his unsatiable humour, and their
+judgments to be blinded with the muffler of his zealous ignorance; for
+this doth he familiarly insult over his maintainer that breeds him, his
+patron that feeds him, and in time over all them that will suffer him to
+set a foot within their doors or put a finger in their purses. All this
+and much more is in him; that abhorring degrees and universities as
+reliques of superstition, hath leapt from a shop-board or a cloak-bag to
+a desk or pulpit; and that, like a sea-god in a pageant, hath the rotten
+laths of his culpable life and palpable ignorance covered over with the
+painted-cloth of a pure gown and a night-cap, and with a false trumpet
+of feigned zeal draweth after him some poor nymphs and madmen that
+delight more to resort to dark caves and secret places than to open and
+public assemblies. The lay-hypocrite is to the other a champion,
+disciple, and subject, and will not acknowledge the tithe of the
+subjection to any mitre, no, not to any sceptre, that he will do to the
+hook and crook of his zeal-blind shepherd. No Jesuits demand more blind
+and absolute obedience from their vassals, no magistrates of the canting
+society more slavish subjection from the members of that travelling
+State, than the clerk hypocrites expect from these lay pulpits. Nay,
+they must not only be obeyed, fed, and defended, but admired too; and
+that their lay-followers do sincerely, as a shirtless fellow with a
+cudgel under his arm doth a face-wringing ballad-singer, a water-bearer
+on the floor of a playhouse, a wide-mouthed poet that speaks nothing but
+blathers and bombast. Otherwise, for life and profession, nature and
+art, inward and outward, they agree in all; like canters and gypsies,
+they are all zeal no knowledge, all purity no humanity, all simplicity
+no honesty, and if you never trust them they will never deceive you.
+
+
+
+A CHAMBERMAID.
+
+She is her mistress's she secretary, and keeps the box of her teeth, her
+hair, and her painting very private. Her industry is upstairs and
+downstairs, like a drawer; and by her dry hand you may know she is a
+sore starcher. If she lie at her master's bed's feet, she is quit of the
+green sickness for ever, for she hath terrible dreams when she's awake,
+as if she were troubled with the nightmare. She hath a good liking to
+dwell in the country, but she holds London the goodliest forest in
+England to shelter a great belly. She reads Greene's works over and
+over, but is so carried away with the "Mirror of Knighthood," she is
+many times resolved to run out of her self and become a lady-errant. The
+pedant of the house, though he promise her marriage, cannot grow further
+inward with her; she hath paid for her credulity often, and now grows
+weary. She likes the form of our marriage very well, in that a woman is
+not tied to answer to any articles concerning questions of virginity.
+Her mind, her body, and clothes are parcels loosely tacked together, and
+for want of good utterance she perpetually laughs out her meaning. Her
+mistress and she help to make away time to the idlest purpose that can
+be, either for love or money. In brief, these chambermaids are like
+lotteries: you may draw twenty ere one worth anything.
+
+
+
+A PRECISIAN.
+
+To speak no otherwise of this varnished rottenness than in truth and
+verity he is, I must define him to be a demure creature, full of oral
+sanctity and mental impiety; a fair object to the eye, but stark naught
+for the understanding, or else a violent thing much given to
+contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposition with the Papist,
+though it be sometimes accompanied with an absurdity, like the islanders
+near adjoining unto China, who salute by putting off their shoes,
+because the men of China do it by their hats. If at any time he fast, it
+is upon Sunday, and he is sure to feast upon Friday. He can better
+afford you ten lies than one oath, and dare commit any sin gilded with a
+pretence of sanctity. He will not stick to commit fornication or
+adultery so it be done in the fear of God and for the propagation of the
+godly, and can find in his heart to lie with any whore save the whore of
+Babylon. To steal he holds it lawful, so it be from the wicked and
+Egyptians. He had rather see Antichrist than a picture in the church
+window, and chooseth sooner to be half hanged than see a leg at the name
+of Jesus or one stand at the Creed. He conceives his prayer in the
+kitchen rather than in the church, and is of so good discourse that he
+dares challenge the Almighty to talk with him extempore. He thinks every
+organist is in the state of damnation, and had rather hear one of Robert
+Wisdom's psalms than the best hymn a cherubim can sing. He will not
+break wind without an apology or asking forgiveness, nor kiss a
+gentlewoman for fear of lusting after her. He hath nicknamed all the
+prophets and apostles with his sons, and begets nothing but virtues for
+daughters. Finally, he is so sure of his salvation, that he will not
+change places in heaven with the Virgin Mary, without boot.
+
+
+
+AN INNS OF COURT MAN.
+
+He is distinguished from a scholar by a pair of silk stockings and a
+beaver hat, which makes him condemn a scholar as much as a scholar doth
+a schoolmaster. By that he hath heard one mooting and seen two plays, he
+thinks as basely of the university as a young sophister doth of the
+grammar-school. He talks of the university with that state as if he were
+her chancellor; finds fault with alterations and the fall of discipline
+with an "It was not so when I was a student," although that was within
+this half year. He will talk ends of Latin, though it be false, with as
+great confidence as ever Cicero could pronounce an oration, though his
+best authors for it be taverns and ordinaries. He is as far behind a
+courtier in his fashion as a scholar is behind him, and the best grace
+in his behaviour is to forget his acquaintance.
+
+He laughs at every man whose band fits not well, or that hath not a fair
+shoe-tie, and he is ashamed to be seen in any man's company that wears
+not his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his outside, and
+his chiefest prayer is, that his revenues may hold out for taffety
+cloaks in the summer and velvet in the winter. To his acquaintance he
+offers two quarts of wine for one he gives. You shall never see him
+melancholy but when he wants a new suit or fears a sergeant, at which
+times he only betakes himself to Ploydon. By that he hath read
+Littleton, he can call Solon, Lycurgus, and Justinian fools, and dares
+compare his law to a lord chief-justice's.
+
+
+
+A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE.
+
+He is one whose hopes commonly exceed his fortunes and whose mind soars
+above his purse. If he hath read Tacitus Guicciardine or Gallo-Belgicus,
+he condemns the late Lord-Treasurer for all the state policy he had, and
+laughs to think what a fool he could make of Solomon if he were now
+alive. He never wears new clothes but against a commencement or a good
+time, and is commonly a degree behind the fashion. He hath sworn to see
+London once a year, though all his business be to see a play, walk a
+turn in Paul's, and observe the fashion. He thinks it a discredit to be
+out of debt, which he never likely clears without resignation money. He
+will not leave his part he hath in the privilege over young gentlemen in
+going bare to him, for the empire of Germany. He prays as heartily for a
+sealing as a cormorant doth for a dear year, yet commonly he spends that
+revenue before he receives it.
+
+At meals he sits in as great state over his penny commons as ever
+Vitellius did at his greatest banquet, and takes great delight in
+comparing his fare to my Lord Mayor's.
+
+If he be a leader of a faction, he thinks himself greater than ever
+Caesar was or the Turk at this day is. And he had rather lose an
+inheritance than an office when he stands for it.
+
+If he be to travel, he is longer furnishing himself for a five miles'
+journey than a ship is rigging for a seven years' voyage. He is never
+more troubled than when he has to maintain talk with a gentlewoman,
+wherein he commits more absurdities than a clown in eating of an egg.
+
+He thinks himself as fine when he is in a clean band and a new pair of
+shoes, as any courtier doth when he is first in a new fashion.
+
+Lastly, he is one that respects no man in the university, and is
+respected by no man out of it.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY COMMANDER IN THE WARS
+
+Is one that accounts learning the nourishment of military virtue, and
+lays that as his first foundation. He never bloodies his sword but in
+heat of battle, and had rather save one of his own soldiers than kill
+ten of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vainglorious, and suspected
+bounty to be full of good words; his rewarding, therefore, of the
+deserver arrives so timely, that his liberality can never be said to be
+gouty-handed. He holds it next his creed that no coward can be an honest
+man, and dare die in it. He doth not think, his body yields a more
+spreading shadow after a victory than before; and when he looks upon his
+enemy's dead body 'tis a kind of noble heaviness--no insultation. He is
+so honourably merciful to women in surprisal, that only that makes him
+an excellent courtier. He knows the hazard of battles, not the pomp of
+ceremonies, are soldiers' best theatres, and strives to gain reputation,
+not by the multitude but by the greatness of his actions. He is the
+first in giving the charge and the last in retiring his foot. Equal toil
+he endures with the common soldier; from his examples they all take
+fire, as one torch lights many. He understands in war there is no mean
+to err twice, the first and last fault being sufficient to ruin an army:
+faults, therefore, he pardons none; they that are precedents of disorder
+or mutiny repair it by being examples of his justice. Besiege him never
+so strictly, so long as the air is not cut from him, his heart faints
+not. He hath learned as well to make use of a victory as to get it, and
+pursuing his enemies like a whirlwind, carries all before him; being
+assured if ever a man will benefit himself upon his foe, then is the
+time when they have lost force, wisdom, courage, and reputation. The
+goodness of his cause is the special motive to his valour; never is he
+known to slight the weakest enemy that comes armed against him in the
+band of justice. Hasty and overmuch heat he accounts the step-dame to
+all great actions that will not suffer them to drive; if he cannot
+overcome his enemy by force, he does it by time. If ever he shake hands
+with war, he can die more calmly than most courtiers, for his continual
+dangers have been, as it were, so many meditations of death. He thinks
+not out of his own calling when he accounts life a continual warfare,
+and his prayers then best become him when armed _cap-à-fie_. He utters
+them like the great Hebrew general, on horseback. He casts a smiling
+contempt upon calumny; it meets him as if glass should encounter
+adamant. He thinks war is never to be given o'er, but on one of these
+three conditions: an assured peace, absolute victory, or an honest
+death. Lastly, when peace folds him up, his silver head should lean near
+the golden sceptre and die in his prince's bosom.
+
+
+
+A VAINGLORIOUS COWARD IN COMMAND
+
+Is one that hath bought his place, or come to it by some nobleman's
+letter. He loves alive dead pays, yet wishes they may rather happen in
+his company by the scurvy than by a battle. View him at a muster, and he
+goes with such a nose as if his body were the wheelbarrow that carried
+his judgment rumbling to drill his soldiers. No man can worse design
+between pride and noble courtesy. He that salutes him not, so far as a
+pistol carries level, gives him the disgust or affront, choose you
+whether. He trains by the book, and reckons so many postures of the pike
+and musket as if he were counting at noddy. When he comes at first upon
+a camisado, he looks, like the four winds in painting, as if he would
+blow away the enemy; but at the very first onset suffers fear and
+trembling to dress themselves in his face apparently. He scorns any man
+should take place before him, yet at the entering of a breach he hath
+been so humble-minded as to let his lieutenant lead his troops for him.
+He is so sure armed for taking hurt that he seldom does any; and while
+he is putting on his arms, he is thinking what sum he can make to
+satisfy his ransom. He will rail openly against all the great commanders
+of the adverse party, yet in his own conscience allows them for better
+men. Such is the nature of his fear that, contrary to all other filthy
+qualities, it makes him think better of another man than himself. The
+first part of him that is set a running is his eye-sight; when that is
+once struck with terror all the costive physic in the world cannot stay
+him. If ever he do anything beyond his own heart 'tis for a knighthood,
+and he is the first kneels for it without bidding.
+
+
+
+A PIRATE,
+
+Truly defined, is a bold traitor, for he fortifies a castle against the
+king. Give him sea-room in never so small a vessel, and like a witch in
+a sieve, you would think he were going to make merry with the devil. Of
+all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not leave off his
+thieving, though he be in a narrow prison, and look every day, by
+tempest or fight, for execution. He is one plague the devil hath added
+to make the sea more terrible than a storm, and his heart is so hardened
+in that rugged element that he cannot repent, though he view his grave
+before him continually open. He hath so little of his own that the house
+he sleeps in is stolen: all the necessities of life he filches but one;
+he cannot steal a sound sleep for his troubled conscience. He is very
+gentle to those under him, yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the
+world, for he gives licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty in his own
+example. What he gets is small use to him, only lives by it somewhat the
+longer to do a little more service to his belly, for he throws away his
+treasure upon the shore in riot, as if he cast it into the sea. He is a
+cruel hawk that flies at all but his own kind; and as a whale never
+comes ashore but when she is wounded, so he very seldom but for his
+necessities. He is the merchant's book that serves only to reckon up his
+losses, a perpetual plague to noble traffic, the hurricane of the sea,
+and the earthquake of the exchange. Yet for all this give him but his
+pardon and forgive him restitution, he may live to know the inside of a
+church, and die on this side Wapping.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY FENCER
+
+Is a fellow that, beside shaving of cudgels, hath a good insight into
+the world, for he hath long been beaten to it. Flesh and blood he is
+like other men, but surely nature meant him stockfish. His and a
+dancing-school are inseparable adjuncts, and are bound, though both
+stink of sweat most abominable, neither shall complain of annoyance.
+Three large bavins set up his trade, with a bench, which, in the
+vacation of the afternoon, he used for his day-bed. When he comes on the
+stage at his prize he makes a leg seven several ways, and scrambles for
+money, as if he had been born at the Bath in Somersetshire. At his
+challenge he shows his metal, for, contrary to all rules of physic, he
+dares bleed, though it be in the dog-days. He teaches devilish play in
+his school, but when he fights himself he doth it in the fear of a good
+Christian; he compounds quarrels among his scholars, and when he hath
+brought the business to a good upshot he makes the reckoning. His wounds
+are seldom above skin deep; for an inward bruise lamb-stones and
+sweetbreads are his only spermaceti, which he eats at night next his
+heart fasting. Strange schoolmasters they are that every day set a man
+as far backward as he went forward, and throwing him into a strange
+posture, teach him to thresh satisfaction out of injury. One sign of a
+good nature is that he is still open-breasted to his friends; for his
+foil and his doublet wear not out above two buttons, and resolute he is,
+for he so much scorns to take blows that he never wears cuffs; and he
+lives better contented with a little than other men, for if he have two
+eyes in his head he thinks nature hath overdone him. The Lord Mayor's
+triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time to flourish. Lastly,
+these fencers are such things that care not if all the world were
+ignorant of more letters than only to read their patent.
+
+
+
+A PUNY CLERK.
+
+He is taken from grammar-school half coddled, and can hardly shake off
+his dreams of breeching in a twelvemonth. He is a farmer's son, and his
+father's utmost ambition is to make him an attorney. He doth itch
+towards a poet, and greases his breeches extremely with feeding without
+a napkin. He studies false dice to cheat costermongers. He eats
+gingerbread at a playhouse, and is so saucy that he ventures fairly for
+a broken pate at the banqueting-house, and hath it. He would never come
+to have any wit but for a long vacation, for that makes him bethink him
+how he shall shift another day. He prays hotly against fasting, and so
+he may sup well on Friday nights, he cares not though his master be a
+puritan. He practices to make the words in his declaration spread as a
+sewer doth the dishes of a niggard's table; a clerk of a swooping dash
+is as commendable as a Flanders horse of a large tail. Though you be
+never so much delayed you must not call his master knave, that makes him
+go beyond himself, and write a challenge in court hand, for it may be
+his own another day These are some certain of his liberal faculties; but
+in the term time his clog is a buckram bag. Lastly, which is great pity,
+he never comes to his full growth, with bearing on his shoulder the
+sinful burden of his master at several courts in Westminster.
+
+
+
+A FOOTMAN.
+
+Let him be never so well made, yet his legs are not matches, for he is
+still setting the best foot forward. He will never be a staid man, for
+he has had a running head of his own ever since his childhood. His
+mother, which out of question was a light-heeled wench, knew it, yet let
+him run his race thinking age would reclaim him from his wild courses.
+He is very long-winded, and without doubt but that he hates naturally to
+serve on horseback, he had proved an excellent trumpet. He has one
+happiness above all the rest of the serving-men, for when he most
+overreaches his master he is best thought of. He lives more by his own
+heat than the warmth of clothes, and the waiting-woman hath the greatest
+fancy to him when he is in his close trouses. Guards he wears none,
+which makes him live more upright than any cross-gartered
+gentleman-usher. 'Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life,
+because a man must take it as he's running, only this, horses are
+usually let blood on St. Steven's Day. On St. Patrick's he takes rest,
+and is drenched for all the year after.
+
+
+
+A NOBLE AND RETIRED HOUSEKEEPER
+
+Is one whose bounty is limited by reason, not ostentation; and to make
+it last he deals it discreetly, as we sow the furrow, not by the sack,
+but by the handful. His word and his meaning never shake hands and part,
+but always go together. He can survey good and love it, and loves to do
+it himself for its own sake, not for thanks. He knows there is no such
+misery as to outlive good name, nor no such folly as to put it in
+practice. His mind is so secure that thunder rocks him asleep, which
+breaks other men's slumbers; nobility lightens in his eyes, and in his
+face and gesture is painted the god of hospitality. His great houses
+bear in their front more durance than state, unless this add the greater
+state to them, that they promise to outlast much of our new fantastical
+buildings. His heart never grows old, no more than his memory, whether
+at his book or on horseback. He passeth his time in such noble exercise,
+a man cannot say any time is lost by him; nor hath he only years to
+approve he hath lived till he be old, but virtues. His thoughts have a
+high aim, though their dwelling be in the vale of an humble heart,
+whence, as by an engine (that raises water to fall that it may rise the
+higher), he is heightened in his humility. The adamant serves not for
+all seas, but this doth; for he hath, as it were, put a gird about the
+whole world and found all her quicksands. He hath this hand over
+fortune, that her injuries, how violent or sudden soever, they do not
+daunt him; for whether his time call him to live or die, he can do both
+nobly; if to fall, his descent is breast to breast with virtue; and even
+then, like the sun near his set, he shows unto the world his clearest
+countenance.
+
+
+
+AN INTRUDER INTO FAVOUR
+
+Is one that builds his reputation on others' infamy, for slander is most
+commonly his morning prayer. His passions are guided by pride and
+followed by injustice. An inflexible anger against some poor tutor he
+falsely calls a courageous constancy, and thinks the best part of
+gravity to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is the most slavishly
+submissive, though envious to those that are in better place than
+himself; and knows the art of words so well that (for shrouding
+dishonesty under a fair pretext) he seems to preserve mud in crystal.
+Like a man of a kind nature, he is the first good to himself, in the
+next file to his French tailor, that gives him all his perfection; for
+indeed, like an estridge, or bird of paradise, his feathers are more
+worth than his body. If ever he do good deed (which is very seldom) his
+own mouth is the chronicle of it, lest it should die forgotten. His
+whole body goes all upon screws, and his face is the vice that moves
+them. If his patron be given to music, he opens his chops and sings, or
+with a wry neck falls to tuning his instrument; if that fail, he takes
+the height of his lord with a hawking pole. He follows the man's
+fortune, not the man, seeking thereby to increase his own. He pretends
+he is most undeservedly envied, and cries out, remembering the game,
+chess, that a pawn before a king is most played on. Debts he owns none
+but shrewd turns, and those he pays ere he be sued. He is a flattering
+glass to conceal age and wrinkles. He is mountain's monkey that,
+climbing a tree and skipping from bough to bough, gives you back his
+face; but come once to the top, he holds his nose up into the wind and
+shows you his tail. Yet all this gay glitter shows on him as if the sun
+shone in a puddle, for he is a small wine that will not last; and when
+he is falling, he goes of himself faster than misery can drive him.
+
+
+
+A FAIR AND HAPPY MILKMAID
+
+Is a country wench, that is so far from making herself beautiful by art,
+that one look of hers is able to put all face physic out of countenance.
+She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore
+minds it not. All her excellences stand in her so silently, as if they
+had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel
+(which is herself) is far better than outsides of tissue; for though she
+be not arrayed in the spoil of the silk-worm, she is decked in
+innocency, a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long a-bed,
+spoil both her complexion and conditions; Nature hath taught her too
+immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises therefore with
+chanticleer, her dame's cock, and at night makes lamb her curfew. In
+milking a cow and straining the teats through her fingers, it seems that
+so sweet a milk-press makes the milk the whiter or sweeter; for never
+came almond glove or aromatic ointment off her palm to taint it. The
+golden ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if
+they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled
+them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June,
+like a new made haycock. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her
+heart soft with pity; and when winter's evenings fall early (sitting at
+her merry wheel) she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of fortune. She
+doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not
+suffer her to do ill, because her mind is to do well. She bestows her
+year's wages at next fair; and, in choosing her garments, counts no
+bravery in the world like decency. The garden and beehive are all her
+physic and chirurgery, and she lives the longer for it. She dares go
+alone and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill because
+she means none; yet, to say truth, she is never alone, for she is still
+accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short
+ones; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are not palled with
+ensuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste that she dare
+tell them: only a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she
+conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is that she
+may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her
+winding-sheet.
+
+
+
+AN ARRANT HORSE-COURSER
+
+Hath the trick to blow up horse-flesh, as the butcher doth veal, which
+shall wash out again in twice riding betwixt Waltham and London. The
+trade of spur-making had decayed long since, but for this ungodly
+tireman. He is cursed all over the four ancient highways of England;
+none but the blind men that sell switches in the road are beholding to
+him. His stable is filled with so many diseases, one would think most
+part about Smithfield was an hospital for horses, or a slaughter-house
+of the common hunt. Let him furnish you with a hackney, it is as much as
+if the King's warrant overtook you within ten miles to stay your
+journey. And though a man cannot say he cozens you directly, yet any
+hostler within ten miles, should he be brought upon his book-oath, will
+affirm he hath laid a bait for you. Resolve when you first stretch
+yourself in the stirrups, you are put as it were upon some usurer that
+will never bear with you past his day. He were good to make one that had
+the colic alight often, and, if example will cause him, make urine; let
+him only for that say, Grammercy horse. For his sale of horses, he hath
+false covers for all manner of diseases, only comes short of one thing
+(which he despairs not utterly to bring to perfection), to make a horse
+go on a wooden leg and two crutches. For powdering his ears with
+quicksilver, and giving him suppositories of live eels, he is expert.
+All the while you are cheapening, he fears you will not bite; but he
+laughs in his sleeve when he hath cozened you in earnest. Frenchmen are
+his best chapmen; he keeps amblers for them on purpose, and knows he can
+deceive them very easily. He is so constant to his trade that, while he
+is awake, he tries any man he talks with, and when he is asleep he
+dreams very fearfully of the paving of Smithfield, for he knows it would
+founder his occupation.
+
+
+
+A ROARING BOY.
+
+His life is a mere counterfeit patent, which, nevertheless, makes many a
+country justice tremble. Don Quixote's water-mills are still Scotch
+bagpipes to him. He sends challenges by word of mouth, for he protests
+(as he is a gentleman and a brother of the sword) he can neither write
+nor read. He hath run through divers parcels of land, and great houses,
+beside both the counters. If any private quarrel happen among our great
+courtiers, he proclaims the business--that's the word, the business--as
+if the united force of the Romish Catholics were making up for Germany.
+He cheats young gulls that are newly come to town; and when the keeper
+of the ordinary blames him for it he answers him in his own profession,
+that a woodcock must be plucked ere he be dressed. He is a supervisor to
+brothels, and in them is a more unlawful reformer of vice than prentices
+on Shrove-Tuesday. He loves his friend as a counsellor at law loves the
+velvet breeches he was first made barrister in, he will be sure to wear
+him threadbare ere he forsake him. He sleeps with a tobacco-pipe in his
+mouth; and his first prayer in the morning is he may remember whom he
+fell out with over night. Soldier he is none, for he cannot distinguish
+between onion-seed and gunpowder; if he have worn it in his hollow tooth
+for the toothache and so come to the knowledge of it, that is all. The
+tenure by which he holds his means is an estate at will, and that's
+borrowing. Landlords have but four quarter-days, but he three hundred
+and odd. He keeps very good company, yet is a man of no reckoning; and
+when he goes not drunk to bed he is very sick next morning. He commonly
+dies like Anacreon, with a grape in his throat; or Hercules, with fire
+in his marrow. And I have heard of some that have escaped hanging begged
+for anatomies, only to deter man from taking tobacco.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKEN DUTCHMAN RESIDENT IN ENGLAND
+
+Is but a quarter-master with his wife. He stinks of butter as if he were
+anointed all over for the itch. Let him come over never so lean, and
+plant him but one month near the brew-houses in St Catherine's, and he
+will be puffed up to your hand like a bloat herring. Of all places of
+pleasure he loves a common garden, and with the swine of the parish had
+need be ringed for rooting. Next to these he affects lotteries
+naturally, and bequeaths the best prize in his will aforehand; when his
+hopes fall he's blank. They swarm in great tenements like flies; six
+households will live in a garret. He was wont, only to make us fools, to
+buy the fox skin for threepence, and sell the tail for a shilling. Now
+his new trade of brewing strong waters makes a number of madmen. He
+loves a Welshman extremely for his diet and orthography; that is, for
+plurality of consonants, and cheese. Like a horse, he is only guided by
+the mouth; when he's drunk you may thrust your hand into him like an
+eel's-skin, and strip him, his inside outwards. He hoards up fair gold,
+and pretends 'tis to seethe in his wife's broth for consumption; and
+loves the memory of King Henry the Eighth, most especially for his old
+sovereigns. He says we are unwise to lament the decay of timber in
+England; for all manner of buildings or fortification whatsoever, he
+desires no other thing in the world than barrels and hop-poles. To
+conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at is small beer and the
+Spanish Inquisition.
+
+
+
+A PHANTASTIQUE: AN IMPROVIDENT YOUNG GALLANT,
+
+There is a confederacy between him and his clothes, to be made a puppy:
+view him well and you will say his gentry sits as ill upon him as if he
+had bought it with his penny. He hath more places to send money to than
+the devil hath to send his spirits; and to furnish each mistress would
+make him run besides his wits, if he had any to lose. He accounts
+bashfulness the wickedest thing in the world, and therefore studies
+impudence. If all men were of his mind all honesty would be out of
+fashion. He withers his clothes on a stage, as a saleman is forced to do
+his suits in Birchin Lane; and when the play is done, if you mark his
+rising, 'tis with a kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, to
+know if his suit may pass for current. He studies by the discretion of
+his barber, to frizzle like a baboon; three such would keep three the
+nimblest barbers in the town from ever having leisure to wear
+net-garters, for when they have to do with him, they have many irons in
+the fire. He is travelled, but to little purpose; only went over for a
+squirt and came back again, yet never the more mended in his conditions,
+because he carried himself along with him. A scholar he pretends
+himself, and says he hath sweat for it, but the truth is he knows
+Cornelius far better than Tacitus. His ordinary sports are cock-fights,
+but the most frequent, horse-races, from whence he comes home
+dry-foundered. Thus when his purse hath cast her calf he goes down into
+the country, where he is brought to milk and white cheese like
+the Switzers.
+
+
+
+A BUTTON-MAKER OF AMSTERDAM
+
+Is one that is fled over for his conscience, and left his wife and
+children upon the parish. For his knowledge he is merely a Horn-book
+without a Christ-cross before it; and his zeal consists much in hanging
+his Bible in a Dutch button. He cozens men in the purity of his clothes;
+and 'twas his only joy when he was on this side, to be in prison. He
+cries out, 'tis impossible for any man to be damned that lives in his
+religion, and his equivocation is true--as long as a man lives in it, he
+cannot; but if he die in it, there's the question. Of all feasts in the
+year he accounts St. George's feast the profanest, because of St.
+George's cross, yet sometimes he doth sacrifice to his own belly,
+provided that he put off the wake of his own nativity or wedding till
+Good Friday. If there be a great feast in the town, though most of the
+wicked (as he calls them) be there, he will be sure to be a guest, and
+to out-eat six of the fattest burghers. He thinks, though he may not
+pray with a Jew, he may eat with a Jew. He winks when he prays, and
+thinks he knows the way so now to heaven, that he can find it blindfold.
+Latin he accounts the language of the beast with seven heads; and when
+he speaks of his own country, cries, he is fled out of Babel. Lastly,
+his devotion is obstinacy; the only solace of his heart, contradiction;
+and his main end, hypocrisy.
+
+
+
+A DISTASTER OF THE TIME
+
+Is a winter grasshopper all the year long that looks back upon harvest
+with a lean pair of cheeks, never sets forward to meet it; his malice
+sucks up the greatest part of his own venom, and therewith impoisoneth
+himself: and this sickness rises rather of self-opinion or over-great
+expedition; so in the conceit of his own over-worthiness, like a
+coistrel he strives to fill himself with wind, and flies against it. Any
+man's advancement is the most capital offence that can be to his malice,
+yet this envy, like Phalaris' bull, makes that a torment first for
+himself he prepared for others. He is a day-bed for the devil to slumber
+on. His blood is of a yellowish colour, like those that have been bitten
+by vipers, and his gall flows as thick in him as oil in a poisoned
+stomach. He infects all society, as thunder sours wine: war or peace,
+dearth or plenty, makes him equally discontented. And where he finds no
+cause to tax the State, he descends to rail against the rate of
+salt-butter. His wishes are whirlwinds, which breathed forth return into
+himself, and make him a most giddy and tottering vessel. When he is
+awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walk in his sleep, for his
+visitation is directed to none, his business is nothing. He is often
+dumb-mad, and goes fettered in his own entrails. Religion is commonly
+his pretence of discontent, though he can be of all religions, therefore
+truly of none. Thus by naturalising himself some would think him a very
+dangerous fellow to the State; but he is not greatly to be feared, for
+this dejection of his is only like a rogue that goes on his knees and
+elbows in the mire to further his cogging.
+
+
+
+A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE
+
+Examines all men's carriage but his own, and is so kind-natured to
+himself, he finds fault with all men's but his own. He wears his apparel
+much after the fashion; his means will not suffer him to come too nigh.
+They afford him mock-velvet or satinisco, but not without the college's
+next lease's acquaintance. His inside is of the self-same fashion, not
+rich; but as it reflects from the glass of self-liking, there Croesus is
+Irus to him. He is a pedant in show, though his title be tutor, and his
+pupils in a broader phrase are schoolboys. On these he spends the false
+gallop of his tongue, and with senseless discourse tows them alone, not
+out of ignorance. He shows them the rind, conceals the sap; by this
+means he keeps them the longer, himself the better. He hath learnt to
+cough and spit and blow his nose at every period, to recover his memory,
+and studies chiefly to set his eyes and beard to a new form of learning.
+His religion lies in wait for the inclination of his patron, neither
+ebbs nor flows, but just standing water, between Protestant and Puritan.
+His dreams are of plurality of benefices and non-residency, and when he
+rises acts a long grace to his looking-glass. Against he comes to be
+some great man's chaplain he hath a habit of boldness, though a very
+coward. He speaks swords, fights ergos. His peace on foot is a measure,
+on horseback a gallop, for his legs are his own, though horse and spurs
+are borrowed. He hath less use than possession of books. He is not so
+proud but he will call the meanest author by his name; nor so unskilled
+in the heraldry of a study but he knows each man's place. So ends that
+fellowship and begins another.
+
+
+
+A MERE PETTIFOGGER
+
+Is one of Samson's foxes; he sets men together by the ears, more
+shamefully than pillories, and in a long vacation his sport is to go a
+fishing with the penal statutes. He cannot err before judgment, and then
+you see it, only writs of error are the tariers that keep his client
+undoing somewhat the longer. He is a vestryman in his parish, and easily
+sets his neighbour at variance with the vicar, when his wicked counsel
+on both sides is like weapons put into men's hands by a fencer, whereby
+they get blows, he money. His honesty and learning bring him to
+Under-Shrieveship, which, having thrice run through, he does not fear
+the Lieutenant of the Shire; nay more, he fears not God. Cowardice holds
+him a good commonwealth's-man; his pen is the plough and parchment the
+soil whence he reaps both coin and curses. He is an earthquake that
+willingly will let no ground lie in quiet. Broken titles makes him
+whole; to have half in the country break their bonds were the only
+liberty of conscience. He would wish, though he be a Brownist, no
+neighbour of his should pay his tithes duly, if such suits held
+continual plea at Westminster. He cannot away with the reverend service
+in our Church, because it ends with the peace of God. He loves blows
+extremely, and hath his chirurgeon's bill of rates, from head to foot,
+incense the fury; he would not give away his yearly beatings for a good
+piece of money. He makes his will in form of a law-case, full of
+quiddits, that his friends after his death (if for nothing else, yet)
+for the vexation of the law, may have cause to remember him. And if he
+thought the ghost of men did walk again (as they report in the time of
+Popery), sure he would hide some single money in Westminster Hall that
+his spirit might haunt there. Only with this I will pitch him over the
+bar and leave him: that his fingers itch after a bribe ever since his
+first practising of court-hand.
+
+
+
+AN INGROSSER OF CORN.
+
+There is no vermin in the land like him: he slanders both heaven and
+earth with pretended dearths when there is no cause of scarcity. He
+hoarding in a dear year, is like Erysicthon's bowels in Ovid: _Quodque
+urbibus esset, quodque satis poterat populo, non sufficit uni_. He prays
+daily for more inclosures, and knows no reason in his religion why we
+should call our forefathers' days the time of ignorance, but only
+because they sold wheat for twelve pence a bushel. He wishes that
+Dantzig were at the Moluccas, and had rather be certain of some foreign
+invasion than of the setting up of the steelyard. When his barns and
+garners are full, if it be a time of dearth, he will buy half a bushel
+in the market to serve his household, and winnows his corn in the night,
+lest, as the chaff thrown upon the water showed plenty in Egypt, so his
+carried by the wind should proclaim his abundance. No painting pleases
+him so well as Pharaoh's dream of the seven lean kine that ate up the
+fat ones, that he has in his parlour, which he will describe to you like
+a motion, and his comment ends with a smothered prayer for a like
+scarcity. He cannot away with tobacco, for he is persuaded (and not much
+amiss), that 'tis a sparer of bread-corn, which he could find in his
+heart to transport without license; but, weighing the penalty, he grows
+mealy-mouthed, and dares not. Sweet smells he cannot abide; wishes that
+the pure air were generally corrupted; nay, that the spring had lost her
+fragrancy for ever, or we our superfluous sense of smelling (as he terms
+it), that his corn might not be found musty. The poor he accounts the
+Justices' intelligencers, and cannot abide them. He complains of our
+negligence of discovering new parts of the world, only to rid them from
+our climate. His son, by a certain kind of instinct, he binds prentice
+to a tailor, who, all the term of his indenture, hath a dear year in his
+belly, and ravens bread exceedingly. When he comes to be a freeman, if
+it be a dearth, he marries him to a baker's daughter.
+
+
+
+A DEVILISH USURER
+
+Is sowed as cummin or hempseed, with curses, and he thinks he thrives
+the better. He is far better read in the penal statutes than in the
+Bible, and his evil angel persuades him he shall sooner be saved by
+them. He can be no man's friend, for all men he hath most interest in he
+undoes. And a double dealer he is certainly, for by his good will he
+ever takes the forfeit. He puts his money to the unnatural act of
+generation, and his scrivener is the supervisor bawd to it. Good deeds
+he loves none, but sealed and delivered; nor doth he wish anything to
+thrive in the country but beehives, for they make him wax rich. He hates
+all but law-Latin, yet thinks he might be drawn to love a scholar, could
+he reduce the year to a shorter compass, that his use money might come
+in the faster. He seems to be the son of a jailor, for all his estate is
+in most heavy and cruel bonds. He doth not give, but sell, days of
+payment, and those at the rate of a man's undoing. He doth only fear the
+Day of Judgment should fall sooner than the payment of some great sum of
+money due to him. He removes his lodging when a subsidy comes; and if he
+be found out, and pay it, he grumbles treason: but 'tis in such a
+deformed silence as witches raise their spirits in. Gravity he pretends
+in all things but in his private vice, for he will not in a hundred
+pound take one light sixpence. And it seems he was at Tilbury Camp, for
+you must not tell him of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience, for
+(like the Jakes-farmer that swooned with going into Bucklersbury) he
+falls into a cold sweat if he but look into the Chancery; thinks, in his
+religion, we are in the right for everything, if that were abolished. He
+hides his money as if he thought to find it again at the last day, and
+then begin's old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription, and
+whether they or his body are more rotten is a question. Yet, should he
+live to be hanged in them, this good they would do him: the very hangman
+would pity his case. The table he keeps is able to starve twenty tall
+men. His servants have not their living, but their dying from him, and
+that's of hunger. A spare diet he commends in all men but himself. He
+comes to cathedrals only for love of the singing-boys, because they look
+hungry. He likes our religion best because 'tis best cheap, yet would
+fain allow of purgatory, cause 'twas of his trade, and brought in so
+much money. His heart goes with the same snaphance his purse doth: 'tis
+seldom open to any man. Friendship he accounts but a word without any
+signification; nay, he loves all the world so little, that an it were
+possible he would make himself his own executor. For certain, he is made
+administrator to his own good name while he is in perfect memory, for
+that dies long before him; but he is so far from being at the charge of
+a funeral for it, that he lets it stink above-ground. In conclusion, for
+neighbourhood you were better dwell by a contentious lawyer. And for his
+death, 'tis either surfeit, the pox, or despair; for seldom such as he
+die of God's making, as honest men should do.
+
+
+
+A WATERMAN
+
+Is one that hath learnt to speak well of himself, for always he names
+himself "the first man." If he had betaken himself to some richer trade,
+he could not have choosed but done well; for in this, though a mean one,
+he is still plying it, and putting himself forward. He is evermore
+telling strange news, most commonly lies. If he be a sculler, ask him if
+he be married: he'll equivocate, and swear he's a single man. Little
+trust is to be given to him, for he thinks that day he does best when he
+fetches most men over. His daily labour teaches him the art of
+dissembling, for, like a fellow that rides to the pillory, he goes not
+that way he looks. He keeps such a bawling at Westminster, that, if the
+lawyers were not acquainted with it, an order would be taken with him.
+When he is upon the water he is fair company; when he comes ashore he
+mutinies, and, contrary to all other trades, is most surly to gentlemen
+when they tender payment. The playhouses only keep him sober, and, as it
+doth many other gallants, make him an afternoon's man. London Bridge is
+the most terrible eyesore to him that can be. And, to conclude, nothing
+but a great press makes him fly from the river, nor anything but a great
+frost can teach him any good manners.
+
+
+
+A REVEREND JUDGE
+
+Is one that desires to have his greatness only measured by his goodness.
+His care is to appear such to the people as he would have them be, and
+to be himself such as he appears; for virtue cannot seem one thing and
+be another. He knows that the hill of greatness yields a most delightful
+prospect; but, withal, that it is most subject to lightning and thunder,
+and that the people, as in ancient tragedies, sit and censure the
+actions of those in authority. He squares his own, therefore, that they
+may far be above their pity. He wishes fewer laws, so they were better
+observed; and for those are mulctuary, he understands their institution
+not to be like briers or springs, to catch everything they lay hold of,
+but, like sea-marks on our dangerous Goodwin, to avoid the shipwreck of
+innocent passengers. He hates to wrong any man: neither hope nor despair
+of preferment can draw him to such an exigent. He thinks himself most
+honourably seated when he gives mercy the upper hand. He rather strives
+to purchase good name than land; and of all rich stuffs forbidden by the
+statute, loathes to have his followers wear their clothes cut out of
+bribes and extortions. If his Prince call him to higher place, there he
+delivers his mind plainly and freely, knowing for truth there is no
+place wherein dissembling ought to have less credit than in a prince's
+council. Thus honour keeps peace with him to the grave, and doth not (as
+with many) there forsake him, and go back with the heralds; but fairly
+sits over him, and broods out of his memory many right excellent
+commonwealth's-men.
+
+
+
+A VIRTUOUS WIDOW
+
+Is the palm-tree, that thrives not after the supplanting of her husband.
+For her children's sake she first marries; for she married that she
+might have children; and for their sakes she marries no more. She is
+like the purest gold, only employed for princes' medals: she never
+receives but one man's impression. The largest jointure moves her not,
+titles of honour cannot sway her. To change her name were (she thinks)
+to commit a sin should make her ashamed of her husband's calling. She
+thinks she hath travelled all the world in one man; the rest of her
+time, therefore, she directs to heaven. Her main superstition is, she
+thinks her husband's ghost would walk, should she not perform his will.
+She would do it were there no Prerogative Court. She gives much to pious
+uses, without any hope to merit by them; and as one diamond fashions
+another, so is she wrought into works of charity, with the dust or ashes
+of her husband. She lives to see herself full of time; being so
+necessary for earth, God calls her not to heaven till she be very aged,
+and even then, though her natural strength fail her, she stands like an
+ancient pyramid, which, the less it grows to man's eye, the nearer it
+reaches to heaven. This latter chastity of hers is more grave and
+reverend than that ere she was married, for in it is neither hope, nor
+longing, nor fear, nor jealousy. She ought to be a mirror for our
+youngest dames to dress themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles.
+No calamity can now come near her, for in suffering the loss of her
+husband she accounts all the rest trifles. She hath laid his dead body
+in the worthiest monument that can be: she hath buried it in her one
+heart. To conclude, she is a relic, that, without any superstition in
+the world, though she will not be kissed, yet may be reverenced.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY WIDOW
+
+Is like the herald's hearse-cloth; she serves to many funerals, with a
+very little altering the colour. The end of her husband begins in tears,
+and the end of her tears begins in a husband. She uses to cunning women
+to know how many husbands she shall have, and never marries without the
+consent of six midwives. Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her
+suitors, and by them she gains; for one serves to draw on another, and
+with one at last she shoots out another, as boys do pellets in eldern
+guns. She commends to them a single life, as horse-coursers do their
+jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of the biggest of the
+Guard, but knighthood makes her draw in in a weaker bow. Her servants or
+kinsfolk are the trumpeters that summon any to his combat. By them she
+gains much credit, but loseth it again in the old proverb, _Fama est
+mendax_. If she live to be thrice married, she seldom fails to cozen her
+second husband's creditors. A churchman she dare not venture upon, for
+she hath heard widows complain of dilapidations; nor a soldier, though
+he have candle-rents in the city, for his estate may be subject to fire;
+very seldom a lawyer, without he shows his exceeding great practice, and
+can make her case the better; but a knight with the old rent may do
+much, for a great coming in is all in all with a widow, ever provided
+that most part of her plate and jewels (before the wedding) be concealed
+with her scrivener. Thus, like a too-ripe apple, she falls off herself;
+but he that hath her is lord but of a filthy purchase, for the title is
+cracked. Lastly, while she is a widow, observe her, she is no morning
+woman; the evening, a good fire and sack may make her listen to a
+husband, and if ever she be made sure, 'tis upon a full stomach
+to bedward.
+
+
+
+A QUACK-SALVER
+
+Is a mountebank of a larger bill than a tailor: if he can but come by
+names enough of diseases to stuff it with, 'tis all the skill he studies
+for. He took his first beginning from a cunning woman, and stole this
+black art from her, while he made her sea-coal fire. All the diseases
+ever sin brought upon man doth he pretend to be a curer of, when the
+truth is, his main cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes him,
+what with railing against such as leave their cures for fear of
+infection, and in friendly breaking cake-bread with the fishwives at
+funerals. He utters a most abominable deal of carduus water, and the
+conduits cry out, All the learned doctors may cast their caps at him. He
+parts stakes witn some apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he
+lies; and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the apothecary
+dares not (for the richest horn in his shop) displease him. All the
+midwives in the town are his intelligencers; but nurses and young
+merchants' wives that would fain conceive with child, these are his
+idolaters. He is a more unjust bone-setter than a dice-maker. He hath
+put out more eyes than the small-pox; more deaf than the cataracts of
+Nilus; lamed more than the gout; shrunk more sinews than one that makes
+bowstrings, and killed more idly than tobacco. A magistrate that had
+any-way so noble a spirit as but to love a good horse well, would not
+suffer him to be a farrier. His discourse is vomit, and his ignorance
+the strongest purgation in the world. To one that would be speedily
+cured, he hath more delays and doubles than a hare or a lawsuit. He
+seeks to set us at variance with nature, and rather than he shall want
+diseases, he'll beget them. His especial practice (as I said before) is
+upon women; labours to make their minds sick, ere their bodies feel it,
+and then there's work for the dog-leech. He pretends the cure of madmen;
+and sure he gets most by them, for no man in his perfect wit would
+meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a juggler with urinals, so
+dangerously unskilful, that if ever the city will have recourse to him
+for diseases that need purgation, let them employ him in scouring
+Moorditch.
+
+
+
+A CANTING ROGUE.
+
+'Tis not unlikely but he was begot by some intelligencer under a hedge,
+for his mind is wholly given to travel. He is not troubled with making
+of jointures; he can divorce himself without the fee of a proctor, nor
+fears he the cruelty of overseers of his will. He leaves his children
+all the world to cant in, and all the people to their fathers. His
+language is a constant tongue; the northern speech differs from the
+south, Welsh from the Cornish; but canting is general, nor ever could be
+altered by conquest of the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out
+of his limit though he starve, nor break his oath, if he swear by his
+Solomon, though you hang him; and he pays his custom as truly to his
+grand rogue as tribute is paid to the great Turk. The March sun breeds
+agues in others, but he adores it like the Indians, for then begins his
+progress after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot endure him, for he is of
+the infantry, and serves best on foot. He offends not the statute
+against the excess of apparel, for he will go naked, and counts it a
+voluntary penance. Forty of them lie together in a barn, yet are never
+sued upon the Statute of Inmates. If he were learned no man could make a
+better description of England, for he hath travelled it over and over.
+Lastly, he brags that his great houses are repaired to his hands when
+churches go to ruin, and those are prisons.
+
+
+
+A FRENCH COOK.
+
+He learnt his trade in a town of garrison near famished, where he
+practised to make a little go far. Some derive it from more antiquity,
+and say, Adam, when he picked salads, was of his occupation. He doth not
+feed the belly, but the palate; and though his command lie in the
+kitchen, which is but an inferior place, yet shall you find him a very
+saucy companion. Ever since the wars in Naples, he hath so minced the
+ancient and bountiful allowance as if his nation should keep a perpetual
+diet. The serving-men call him the last relic of popery, that makes men
+fast against their conscience. He can be truly said to be no man's
+fellow but his master's, for the rest of the servants are starved by
+him. He is the prime cause why noblemen build their houses so great, for
+the smallness of their kitchen makes the house the bigger; and the lord
+calls him his alchemist, that can extract gold out of herbs, mushrooms,
+or anything. That which he dresses we may rather call a drinking than a
+meal, yet he is so full of variety that he brags, and truly, that he
+gives you but a taste of what he can do. He dares not for his life come
+among the butchers, for sure they would quarter and bake him after the
+English fashion, he's such an enemy to beef and mutton. To conclude, he
+were only fit to make, a funeral feast, where men should eat their
+victuals in mourning.
+
+
+
+A SEXTON
+
+Is an ill-wilier to human nature. Of all proverbs he cannot endure to
+hear that which says, We ought to live by the quick, not by the dead. He
+could willingly all his lifetime be confined to the churchyard; at
+least, within five foot on't, for at every church stile commonly there's
+an alehouse, where, let him be found never so idle-pated, he is still a
+grave drunkard. He breaks his fast heartiest while he is making a grave,
+and says the opening of the ground makes him hungry. Though one would
+take him to be a sloven, yet he loves clean linen extremely, and for
+that reason takes an order that fine Holland sheets be not made
+worms'-meat. Like a nation called the Cusani, he weeps when any are born
+and laughs when they die; the reason, he gets by burials not
+christenings. He will hold an argument in a tavern over sack till the
+dial and himself be both at a stand; he never observes any time but
+sermon-time, and there he sleeps by the hour-glass. The ropemaker pays
+him a pension, and he pays tribute to the physician; for the physician
+makes work for the sexton, as the ropemaker for the hangman. Lastly, he
+wishes the dog-days would last all year long; and a great plague is his
+year of jubilee.
+
+
+
+A JESUIT
+
+Is a larger spoon for a traitor to feed with the devil than any other
+order; unclasp him, and he's a grey wolf with a golden star in the
+forehead; so superstitiously he follows the pope that he forsakes Christ
+in not giving Caesar his due. His vows seem heavenly, but in meddling
+with state business he seems to mix heaven and earth together. His best
+elements are confession and penance: by the first he finds out men's
+inclinations, and by the latter heaps wealth to his seminary. He sprang
+from Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish soldier; and though he were found out
+long since the invention of the cannon, 'tis thought he hath not done
+less mischief. He is a half-key to open princes' cabinets and pry in
+their councils; and where the pope's excommunication thunders, he holds
+it no more sin the decrowning of kings than our Puritans do the
+suppression of bishops. His order is full of irregularity and
+disobedience, ambitious above all measure; for of late days, in Portugal
+and the Indies, he rejected the name of Jesuit, and would be called
+disciple. In Rome and other countries that give him freedom, he wears a
+mask upon his heart; in England he shifts it, and puts it upon his face.
+No place in our climate holds him so securely as a lady's chamber; the
+modesty of the pursuivant hath only forborne the bed, and so missed him.
+There is no disease in Christendom that may so properly be called the
+King's evil. To conclude, would you know him beyond sea? In his seminary
+he's a fox, but in the inquisition a lion rampant.
+
+
+
+AN EXCELLENT ACTOR.
+
+Whatsoever is commendable to the grave orator is most exquisitely
+perfect in him, for by a full and significant action of body he charms
+our attention. Sit in a full theatre and you will think you see so many
+lines drawn from the circumference of so many ears, while the actor is
+the centre. He doth not strive to make nature monstrous; she is often
+seen in the same scene with him, but neither on stilts nor crutches; and
+for his voice, 'tis not lower than the prompter, nor louder than the
+foil or target. By his action he fortifies moral precepts with examples,
+for what we see him personate we think truly done before us: a man of a
+deep thought might apprehend the ghost of our ancient heroes walked
+again, and take him at several times for many of them. He is much
+affected to painting, and 'tis a question whether that make him an
+excellent player, or his playing an exquisite painter. He adds grace to
+the poet's labours, for what in the poet is but ditty, in him is both
+ditty and music. He entertains us in the best leisure of our life--that
+is, between meals; the most unfit time for study or bodily exercise. The
+flight of hawks and chase of wild beasts, either of them are delights
+noble; but some think this sport of men the worthier, despite all
+calumny. All men have been of his occupation; and indeed, what he doth
+feignedly, that do others essentially. This day one plays a monarch, the
+next a private person; here one acts a tyrant, on the morrow an exile; a
+parasite this man tonight, tomorrow a precisian; and so of divers
+others. I observe, of all men living, a worthy actor in one kind is the
+strongest motive of affection that can be; for, when he dies, we cannot
+be persuaded any man can do his parts like him. But, to conclude, I
+value a worthy actor by the corruption of some few of the quality as I
+would do gold in the ore--I should not mind the dross, but the purity of
+the metal.
+
+
+
+A FRANKLIN.
+
+His outside is an ancient yeoman of England, though his inside may give
+arms with the best gentleman and never see the herald. There is no truer
+servant in the house than himself. Though he be master, he says not to
+his servants, "Go to field," but "Let us go;" and with his own eye doth
+both fatten his flock and set forward all manner of husbandry. He is
+taught by nature to be contented with a little; his own fold yields him
+both food and raiment; he is pleased with any nourishment God sends,
+whilst curious gluttony ransacks, as it were, Noah's ark for food only
+to feed the riot of one meal. He is never known to go to law;
+understanding, to be law-bound among men is to be hide-bound among his
+beasts; they thrive not under it, and that such men sleep as unquietly
+as if their pillows were stuffed with lawyers' penknives. When he builds
+no poor tenant's cottage hinders his prospect: they are indeed his
+almshouses, though there be painted on them no such superscription. He
+never sits up late but when he hunts the badger, the vowed foe of his
+lambs; nor uses he any cruelty but when he hunts the hare; nor subtilty
+but when he setteth snares for the snipe or pitfalls for the blackbird;
+nor oppression but when, in the month of July, he goes to the next river
+and shears his sheep. He allows of honest pastime, and thinks not the
+bones of the dead anything bruised or the worse for it though the
+country lasses dance in the churchyard after evensong. Rock Monday and
+the wake in summer, Shrovings, the wakeful catches on Christmas Eve, the
+hockey or seed-cake, these he yearly keeps, yet holds them no relics of
+popery. He is not so inquisitive after news derived from the privy
+closet, when the finding an eyry of hawks in his own ground, or the
+foaling of a colt come of a good strain, are tidings more pleasant, more
+profitable. He is lord paramount within himself, though he hold by never
+so mean a tenure, and dies the more contentedly, though he leave his
+heir young, in regard he leaves him not liable to a covetous garden.
+Lastly, to end him, he cares not when his end comes; he needs not fear
+his audit, for his quietus is in heaven.
+
+
+
+A RHYMER
+
+Is a fellow whose face is hatched all over with impudence, and should he
+be hanged or pilloried, 'tis armed for it. He is a juggler with words,
+yet practises the art of most uncleanly conveyance. He doth boggle very
+often, and because himself winks at it, thinks 'tis not perceived. The
+main thing that ever he did was the tune he sang to. There is nothing in
+the earth so pitiful--no, not an ape-carrier; he is not worth thinking
+of, and, therefore, I must leave him as nature left him--a dunghill not
+well laid together.
+
+
+
+A COVETOUS MAN.
+
+This man would love, honour, and adore God if there were an _I_ more in
+his name. He hath coffined up his soul in his chests before his body: he
+could wish he were in Midas his taking for hunger, on condition he had
+his chemical quality. At the grant of a new subsidy he would gladly hang
+himself, were it not for the charge of buying a rope, and begins to take
+money upon use when he hears of a privy seal. His morning prayer is to
+overlook his bags, whose every parcel begets his adoration. Then to his
+studies, which are how to cozen this tenant, beggar that widow, or to
+undo some orphan. Then his bonds are viewed, the well-known days of
+payment conned by heart; and if he ever pray, it is some one may break
+his day that the beloved forfeiture may be obtained. His use is doubled,
+and no one sixpence begot or born but presently, by an untimely thrift,
+it is getting more. His chimney must not be acquainted with fire for
+fear of mischance; but if extremity of cold pinch him, he gets him heat
+with looking on, and sometime removing his aged wood-pile, which he
+means to leave to many descents, till it hath outlived all the woods of
+that country. He never spends candle but at Christmas (when he has them
+for New Year's gifts), in hope that his servants will break glasses for
+want of light, which they double pay for in their wages. His actions are
+guilty of more crimes than any other men's, thoughts; and he conceives
+no sin which he dare not act save only lust, from which he abstains for
+fear he should be charged with keeping bastards. Once a year he feasts,
+the relics of which meal shall serve him the next quarter. In his talk
+he rails against eating of breakfasts, drinking betwixt meals, and
+swears he is impoverished with paying of tithes. He had rather have the
+frame of the fall than the price of corn. If he chance to travel he
+curses his fortune that his place binds him to ride, and his faithful
+cloak-bag is sure to take care for his provision. His nights are as
+troublesome as his days; every rat awakes him out of his unquiet sleeps.
+If he have a daughter to marry, he wishes he were in Hungary, or might
+follow the custom of that country, that all her portion might be a
+wedding-gown. If he fall sick, he had rather die a thousand deaths than
+pay for any physic; and if he might have his choice, he would not go to
+heaven but on condition he may put money to use there. In fine, he lives
+a drudge, dies a wretch that leaves a heap of pelf, which so many
+careful hands had scraped together, to haste after him to hell, and by
+the way it lodges in a lawyer's purse.
+
+
+
+THE PROUD MAN
+
+Is one in whom pride is a quality that condemns every one besides his
+master, who, when he wears new clothes, thinks himself wronged if they
+be not observed, imitated, and his discretion in the choice of his
+fashion and stuff applauded. When he vouchsafes to bless the air with
+his presence, he goes as near the wall as his satin suit will give him
+leave, and every passenger he views under the eyebrows, to observe
+whether he vails his bonnet low enough, which he returns with an
+imperious nod. He never salutes first, but his farewell is perpetual. In
+his attire he is effeminate; every hair knows his own station, which if
+it chance to lose it is checked in again with his pocket-comb. He had
+rather have the whole commonwealth out of order than the least member of
+his muchato, and chooses rather to lose his patrimony than to have his
+band ruffled. At a feast, if he be not placed in the highest seat, he
+eats nothing howsoever; he drinks to no man, talks with no man for fear
+of familiarity. He professeth to keep his stomach for the pheasant or
+the quail, and when they come he can eat little; he hath been so cloyed
+with them that year, although they be the first he saw. In his discourse
+he talks of none but privy councillors, and is as prone to belie their
+acquaintance as he is a lady's favours. If he have but twelve pence in
+his purse, he will give it for the best room in a playhouse. He goes to
+sermons only to show his gay clothes, and if on other inferior days he
+chance to meet his friend, he is sorry he sees him not in his best suit.
+
+
+
+A PRISON.
+
+It should be Christ's Hospital, for most of your wealthy citizens are
+good benefactors to it; and yet it can hardly be so, because so few in
+it are kept upon alms. Charity's house and this are built many miles
+asunder. One thing notwithstanding is here praiseworthy, for men in this
+persecution cannot choose but prove good Christians, in that they are a
+kind of martyrs, and suffer for the truth. And yet it is so cursed a
+piece of land that the son is ashamed to be his father's heir in it. It
+is an infected pest-house all the year long; the plague-sores of the law
+are the diseases here hotly reigning. The surgeons are atomies and
+pettifoggers, who kill more than they cure. Lord have mercy upon us, may
+well stand over these doors, for debt is a most dangerous and catching
+city pestilence. Some take this place for the walks in Moorfields (by
+reason the madmen are so near), but the crosses here and there are not
+alike. No, it is not half so sweet an air. For it is the dunghill of the
+law, upon which are thrown the ruins of gentry, and the nasty heaps of
+voluntary decayed bankrupts, by which means it comes to be a perfect
+medal of the iron age, since nothing but jingling of keys, rattling of
+shackles, bolts, and grates are here to be heard. It is the horse of
+Troy, in whose womb are shut up all the mad Greeks that were men of
+action. The _nullum vacuum_ (unless in prisoners' bellies) is here truly
+to be proved. One excellent effect is wrought by the place itself, for
+the arrantest coward breathing, being posted hither, comes in three days
+to an admirable stomach. Does any man desire to learn music; every man
+here sings "Lachrymse" at first sight, and is hardly out. He runs
+division upon every note, and yet (to their commendations be it spoken)
+none of them for all that division do trouble the Church. They are no
+Anabaptists; if you ask under what horizon this climate lies, the
+Bermudas and it are both under one and the same height. And whereas some
+suppose that this island like that is haunted with devils, it is not so.
+For those devils so talked of and feared are none else but hoggish
+jailors. Hither you need not sail, for it is a ship of itself; the
+master's side is the upper deck. They in the common jail lie under
+hatches, and help to ballast it. Intricate cases are the tacklings,
+executions the anchors, capiases the cables, chancery bills the huge
+sails, a long term the mast, law the helm, a judge the pilot, a counsel
+the purser, an attorney the boatswain, his Setting clerk the swabber,
+bonds the waves, outlawries gust, the verdict of juries rough wind,
+extents the knocks that split all in pieces. Or if it be not a ship, yet
+this and a ship differ not much in the building; the one is moving
+misery, the other a standing. The first is seated on a spring, the
+second on piles. Either this place is an emblem of a bawdy house, or a
+bawdy house of it; for nothing is to be seen in any room but scurvy beds
+and bare walls. But (not so much to dishonour it) it is an university of
+poor scholars, in which three arts are chiefly studied: to pray, to
+curse, and to write letters.
+
+
+
+A PRISONER
+
+Is one that hath been a monied man, and is still a very close fellow;
+whosoever is of his acquaintance, let them make much of him, for they
+shall find him as fast a friend as any in England: he is a sure man, and
+you know where to find him. The corruption of a bankrupt is commonly the
+generation of this creature. He dwells on the back side of the world, or
+in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement which he is sure none
+will go about to take over his head. To a man that walks abroad, he is
+one of the antipodes, that goes on the top of the world, and this under
+it. At his first coming in, he is a piece of new coin, all sharking old
+prisoners lie sucking at his purse. An old man and he are much alike,
+neither of them both go far. They are still angry and peevish, and they
+sleep little. He was born at the fall of Babel, the confusion of
+languages is only in his mouth. All the vacations he speaks as good
+English as any man in England, but in term times he breaks out of that
+hopping one-legged pace into a racking trot of issues, bills,
+replications, rejoinders, demures, querelles, subpoenas, &c., able to
+fright a simple country fellow, and make him believe he conjures.
+Whatsoever his complexion was before, it turns in this place to choler
+or deep melancholy, so that he needs every hour to take physic to loose
+his body; for that, like his estate, is very foul and corrupt, and
+extremely hard bound. The taking of an execution off his stomach give
+him five or six stools, and leaves his body very soluble. The
+withdrawing of an action is a vomit. He is no sound man, and yet an
+utter barrister, nay, a sergeant of the case, will feed heartily upon
+him; he is very good picking meat for a lawyer. The barber-surgeons may,
+if they will, beg him for an anatomy after he hath suffered an
+execution. An excellent lecture may be made upon his body; for he is a
+kind of dead carcase--creditors, lawyers, and jailors devour it:
+creditors peck out his eyes with his own tears; lawyers flay off his own
+skin, and lap him in parchment; and jailors are the Promethean vultures
+that gnaw his very heart. He is a bond-slave to the law, and, albeit he
+were a shopkeeper in London, yet he cannot with safe conscience write
+himself a freeman. His religion is of five or six colours: this day he
+prays that God would turn the hearts of his creditors, and to-morrow he
+curseth the time that ever he saw them. His apparel is daubed commonly
+with statute lace, the suit itself of durance, and the hose full of long
+pains. He hath many other lasting suits which he himself is never able
+to wear out, for they wear out him. The zodiac of his life is like that
+of the sun, marry not half so glorious. It begins in Aries and ends in
+Pisces. Both head and feet are, all the year long, in troublesome and
+laborious motions, and Westminster Hall is his sphere. He lives between
+the two tropics Cancer and Capricorn, and by that means is in double
+danger of crabbed creditors for his purse, and horns for his head, if
+his wife's heels be light. If he be a gentleman, he alters his arms so
+soon as he comes in. Few here carry fields or argent, but whatsoever
+they bear before, here they give only sables. Whiles he lies by it, he
+is travelling over the Alps, and the hearts of his creditors are the
+snows that lie unmelted in the middle of summer. He is an almanac out of
+date; none of his days speak of fair weather. Of all the files of men,
+he marcheth in the last, and comes limping, for he is shot, and is no
+man of this world. He hath lost his way, and being benighted, strayed
+into a wood full of wolves, and nothing so hard as to get away without
+being devoured. He that walks from six to six in Paul's goes still but a
+quoit's cast before this man.
+
+
+
+A CREDITOR
+
+Is a fellow that torments men for their good conditions. He is one of
+Deucalion's sons, begotten of a stone. The marble images in the Temple
+Church that lie cross-legged do much resemble him, saving that this is a
+little more cross. He wears a forfeited bond under that part of his
+girdle where his thumb sticks, with as much pride as a Welshman does a
+leek on St. David's Day, and quarrels more and longer about it. He is a
+catchpole's morning's draught, for the news that such a gallant has come
+yesternight to town, draws out of him both muscadel and money too. He
+says the Lord's Prayer backwards, or, to speak better of him, he hath a
+Paternoster by himself, and that particle, Forgive us our debts, as we
+forgive others, &c., he either quite leaves out, or else leaps over it.
+It is a dangerous rub in the alley of his conscience. He is the
+bloodhound of the law, and hunts counter, very swiftly and with great
+judgment. He hath a quick scent to smell out his game, and a good deep
+mouth to pursue it, yet never opens till he bites, and bites not till he
+kills, or at least draws blood, and then he pincheth most doggedly. He
+is a lawyer's mule, and the only beast upon which he ambles so often to
+Westminster. And a lawyer is his God Almighty, in him only he trusts. To
+him he flies in all his troubles; from him he seeks succour. To him he
+prays, that he may by his means overcome his enemies. Him does he
+worship both in the temple and abroad, and hopes by him and good angels
+to prosper in all his actions. A scrivener is his farrier, and helps to
+recover all his diseased and maimed obligations. Every term he sets up a
+tenters in Westminster Hall, upon which he racks and stretches gentlemen
+like English broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wool, till the threads
+crack, and that causeth them with the least wet to shrink, and presently
+to wear bars. Marry, he handles a citizen (at least if himself be one)
+like a piece of Spanish cloth, gives him only a twitch, and strains him
+not too hard, knowing how apt he is to break of himself, and then he can
+cut nothing out of him but threads. To the one he comes like Tamburlain,
+with his black and bloody flag; but to the other his white one hangs
+out, and, upon the parley, rather than fail, he takes ten groats in the
+pound for his ransom, and so lets him march away with bag and baggage.
+From the beginning of Hilary to the end of Michaelmas his purse is full
+of quicksilver, and that sets him running from sunrise to sunset up
+Fleet Street, and so to the Chancery, from thence to Westminster, then
+back to one court, after that to another. Then to an attorney, then to a
+councillor, and in every of these places he melts some of his fat (his
+money). In the vacation he goes to grass, and gets up his flesh again,
+which he baits as you heard. If he were to be hanged unless he could be
+saved by his book, he cannot for his heart call for a psalm of mercy. He
+is a law-trap baited with parchment and wax. The fearful mice he catches
+are debtors, with whom scratching attorneys, like cats, play a good
+while, and then mouse them. The bally is an insatiable creditor, but
+man worse.
+
+
+
+A SERGEANT
+
+Was once taken, when he bare office in his parish, for an honest man.
+The spawn of a decayed shopkeeper begets this fry; out of that dunghill
+is this serpent's egg hatched. It is a devil made sometime out of one of
+the twelve companies, and does but study the part and rehearse it on
+earth, to be perfect when he comes to act it in hell; that is his stage.
+The hangman and he are twins; only the hangman is the elder brother, and
+he dying without issue, as commonly he does, for none but a ropemaker's
+widow will marry him, this then inherits. His habit is a long gown, made
+at first to cover his knavery, but that growing too monstrous, he now
+goes in buff; his conscience and that being both cut out of one hide,
+and are of one toughness. The Counter-gate is his kennel, the whole city
+his Paris gardens; the misery of a poor man, but especially a bad liver,
+is the offals on which he feeds. The devil calls him his white son; he
+is so like him that he is the worse for it, and he takes after his
+father, for the one torments bodies as fast as the other tortures souls.
+Money is the crust he leaps at; cry, "a duck! a duck!" and he plunges
+not so eagerly as at this. The dog's chaps water to fetch nothing else;
+he hath his name for the same quality. For sergeant is _quasi See
+argent_, look you, rogue, here is money. He goes muffled like a thief,
+and carries still the marks of one; for he steals upon man cowardly,
+plucks him by the throat, makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they
+differ, the thief is more valiant and more honest. His walks in term
+times are up Fleet Street, at the end of the term up Holborn, and so to
+Tyburn; the gallows are his purlieus, in which the hangman and he are
+quarter rangers--the one turns off, and the other cuts down. All the
+vacation he lies imbogued behind the lattice of some blind drunken,
+bawdy ale-house, and if he spy his prey, out he leaps like a freebooter,
+and rifles, or like a ban-dog worries. No officer to the city keeps his
+oath so uprightly; he never is forsworn, for he swears to be true varlet
+to the city, and he continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so
+comfortable to the stomach in all kind of meats, turns in his hand to
+mortal poison. This raven pecks not out men's eyes as others do; all his
+spite is at their shoulders, and you were better to have the nightmare
+ride you than this incubus. When any of the furies of hell die, this
+Cacodeemon hath the reversion of his place. The city is (by the custom)
+to feed him with good meat, as they send dead horses to their hounds,
+only to keep them both in good heart, for not only those curs at the
+doghouse, but these within the walls, are to serve in their paces in
+their several huntings. He is a citizen's birdlime, and where he
+holds he hangs.
+
+
+
+HIS YEOMAN
+
+Is the hanger that a sergeant wears by his side; it is a false die of
+the same ball but not the same cut, for it runs somewhat higher and does
+more mischief. It is a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a
+bungler, and knows not how to cut up a man without tearing, but by a
+pattern. One term fleshes him, or a Fleet Street breakfast. The devil is
+but his father-in-law, and yet for the love he bears him will leave him
+as much as if he were his own child. And for that cause (instead of
+prayers) he does every morning at the Counter-gate ask him blessing, and
+thrives the better in his actions all the day after. This is the hook
+that hangs under water to choke the fish, and his sergeant is the quill
+above water, which pops down so soon as ever the bait is swallowed. It
+is indeed an otter, and the more terrible destroyer of the two. This
+counter-rat hath a tail as long as his fellows, but his teeth are more
+sharp and he more hungry, because he does but snap, and hath not his
+full half-share of the booty. The eye of this wolf is as quick in his
+head as a cutpurse's in a throng, and as nimble is he at his business as
+an hangman at an execution. His office is as the dogs do worry the sheep
+first, or drive him to the shambles; the butcher that cuts his throat
+steps out afterwards, and that's his sergeant. His living lies within
+the city, but his conscience lies bed-rid in one of the holes of a
+counter. This eel is bred too out of the mud of a bankrupt, and dies
+commonly with his guts ripped up, or else a sudden stab sends him of his
+last errand. He will very greedily take a cut with a sword, and suck
+more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. His beginning is
+detestable, his courses desperate, and his end damnable.
+
+
+
+A COMMON CRUEL JAILOR
+
+Is a creature mistaken in the making, for he should be a tiger; but the
+shape being thought too terrible, it is covered, and he wears the vizor
+of a man, yet retains the qualities of his former fierceness,
+currishness, and ravening. Of that red earth of which man was fashioned
+this piece was the basest, of the rubbish which was left and thrown by
+came this jailor; his descent is then more ancient, but more ignoble,
+for he comes of the race of those angels that fell with Lucifer from
+heaven, whither he never (or very hardly) returns. Of all his bunches of
+keys not one hath wards to open that door, for this jailor's soul stands
+not upon those two pillars that support heaven (justice and mercy), it
+rather sits upon those two footstools of hell, wrong and cruelty. He is
+a judge's slave, and a prisoner's his. In this they differ; he is a
+voluntary one, the other compelled. He is the hangman of the law with a
+lame hand, and if the law gave him all his limbs perfect he would strike
+those on whom he is glad to fawn. In fighting against a debtor he is a
+creditor's second, but observes not the laws of the _duello_; his play
+is foul, and on all base advantages. His conscience and his shackles
+hang up together, and are made very near of the same metal, saving that
+the one is harder than the other and hath one property above iron, for
+that never melts. He distils money out of the poor men's tears, and
+grows fat by their curses. No man coming to the practical part of hell
+can discharge it better, because here he does nothing but study the
+theory of it. His house is the picture of hell in little, and the
+original of the letters patent of his office stands exemplified there. A
+chamber of lousy beds is better worth to him than the best acre of
+corn-land in England. Two things are hard to him (nay, almost
+impossible), viz., to save all his prisoners that none ever escape, and
+to be saved himself. His ears are stopped to the cries of others, and
+God's to his; and good reason, for lay the life of a man in one scale
+and his fees on the other, he will lose the first to find the second. He
+must look for no mercy if he desires justice to be done to him, for he
+shows none; and I think he cares the less, because he knows heaven hath
+no need of such tenants--the doors there want no porters, for they stand
+ever open. If it were possible for all creatures in the world to sleep
+every night, he only and a tyrant cannot. That blessing is taken from
+them, and this curse comes in the stead, to be ever in fear and ever
+hated: what estate can be worse?
+
+
+
+WHAT A CHARACTER IS.
+
+If I must speak the schoolmaster's language, I will confess that
+character comes of this infinitive mood, [Greek: charassen], which
+signifies to engrave, or make a deep impression. And for that cause a
+letter (as A, B) is called a character: those elements which we learn
+first, leaving a strong seal in our memories.
+
+Character is also taken for an Egyptian hieroglyphic, for an impress or
+short emblem; in little comprehending much.
+
+To square out a character by our English level, it is a picture (real or
+personal) quaintly drawn in various colours, all of them heightened by
+one shadowing.
+
+It is a quick and soft touch of many strings, all shutting up in one
+musical close; it is wit's descant on any plain song.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
+
+BY SIR H. W.[1]
+
+   How happy is he born or taught
+   That serveth not another's will;
+   Whose armour is his honest thought,
+   And silly truth his highest skill!
+
+   Whose passions not his masters are,
+   Whose soul is still prepared for death;
+   Untied unto the world with care
+   Of princely love or vulgar breath.
+
+   Who hath his life from rumours freed,
+   Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+   Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+   Nor ruin make accusers great.
+
+   Who envieth none whom chance doth raise
+   Or vice, who never understood
+   How deepest wounds are given with praise;
+   Not rules of State, but rules of good.
+
+   Who God doth late and early pray
+   More of His grace than gifts to lend;
+   Who entertains the harmless day
+   With a well-chosen book or friend.
+
+   This man is free from servile bands,
+   Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
+   Lord of himself, though not of lands,
+   And having nothing he hath all.
+
+
+
+AN ESSAY OF VALOUR.
+
+I am of opinion that nothing is so potent either to procure or merit
+love as valour, and I am glad I am so, for thereby I shall do myself
+much ease, because valour never needs much wit to maintain it. To speak
+of it in itself, it is a quality which he that hath shall have least
+need of; so the best league between princes is a mutual fear of each
+other. It teacheth a man to value his reputation as his life, and
+chiefly to hold the lie insufferable, though being alone he finds no
+hurt it doth him. It leaves itself to other's censures; for he that
+brags of his own, dissuades others from believing it. It feareth a sword
+no more than an ague. It always makes good the owner; for though he be
+generally held a fool, he shall seldom hear so much by word of mouth,
+and that enlargeth him more than any spectacles, for it makes a little
+fellow to be called a tall man. It yields the wall to none but a woman,
+whose weakness is her prerogative; or a man seconded with a woman, as an
+usher which always goes before his betters. It makes a man become the
+witness of his own words, to stand to whatever he hath said, and
+thinketh it a reproach to commit his reviling unto the law. It
+furnisheth youth with action, and age with discourse, and both by
+futures; for a man must never boast himself in the present tense. And to
+come nearer home, nothing draws a woman like to it, for valour towards
+men is an emblem of an ability towards women, a good quality signifies a
+better. Nothing is more behoveful for that sex, for from it they receive
+protection, and we free from the danger of it; nothing makes a shorter
+cut to obtaining, for a man of arms is always void of ceremony, which is
+the wall that stands betwixt Pyramus and Thisbe, that is, man and woman,
+for there is no pride in women but that which rebounds from our own
+baseness, as cowards grow valiant upon those that are more cowards, so
+that only by our pale asking we teach them to deny. And by our
+shamefacedness we put them in mind to be modest, whereas indeed, it is
+cunning rhetoric to persuade the hearers that they are that already
+which we would have them to be. This kind of bashfulness is far from men
+of valour, and especially from soldiers, for such are ever men without
+doubt forward and confident, losing no time lest they should lose
+opportunity, which is the best factor for a lover. And because they know
+women are given to dissemble, they will never believe them when they
+deny. Whilom before this age of wit and wearing black broke in upon us,
+there was no way known to win a lady but by tilting, tourneying, and
+riding through forests, in which time these slender striplings with
+little legs were held but of strength enough to marry their widows. And
+even in our days there can be given no reason of the inundation of
+serving-men upon their mistresses, but only that usually they carry
+their mistresses' weapons and his valour. To be counted handsome, just,
+learned, or well-favoured, all this carries no danger with it, but it is
+to be admitted to the title of valiant acts, at least the venturing of
+his mortality, and all women take delight to hold him safe in their arms
+who hath escaped thither through many dangers. To speak at once, man
+hath a privilege in valour; in clothes and good faces we but imitate
+women, and many of that sex will not think much, as far as an answer
+goes, to dissemble wit too. So then these neat youths, these women in
+men's apparel, are too near a woman to be beloved of her, they be both
+of a trade; but he of grim aspect, and such a one a glass dares take,
+and she will desire him for newness and variety. A scar in a man's face
+is the same that a mole in a woman's, is a jewel set in white to make it
+seem more white, for a scar in a man is a mark of honour and no blemish,
+for 'tis a scar and a blemish in a soldier to be without one. Now, as
+for all things else which are to procure love, as a good face, wit
+clothes, or a good body, each of them, I confess, may work somewhat for
+want of a better, that is, if valour be not their rival. A good face
+avails nothing if it be in a coward that is bashful, the utmost of it is
+to be kissed, which rather increaseth than quencheth appetite. He that
+sends her gifts sends her word also that he is a man of small gifts
+otherwise, for wooing by signs and tokens employs the author dumb; and
+if Ovid, who writ the law of love, were alive (as he is extant), he
+would allow it as good a diversity that gifts should be sent as
+gratuities, not as bribes. Wit getteth rather promise than love. Wit is
+not to be seen, and no woman takes advice of any in her loving but of
+her own eyes and her waiting-woman's; nay, which is worse, wit is not to
+be felt, and so no good bedfellow. Wit applied to a woman makes her
+dissolve her simpering and discover her teeth with laughter, and this is
+surely a purge of love, for the beginning of love is a kind of foolish
+melancholy. As for the man that makes his tailor his means, and hopes to
+inveigle his love with such a coloured suit, surely the same deeply
+hazards the loss of her favour upon every change of his clothes. So
+likewise for the other that courts her silently with a good body, let me
+certify him, that his clothes depend upon the comeliness of his body,
+and so both upon opinion. She that hath been seduced by apparel let me
+give her to wit, that men always put off their clothes before they go to
+bed. And let her that hath been enamoured of her servant's body
+understand, that if she saw him in a skin of cloth, that is, in a suit
+made of the pattern of his body, she would see slender cause to love him
+ever after. There is no clothes sit so well in a woman's eye as a suit
+of steel, though not of the fashion, and no man so soon surpriseth a
+woman's affections as he that is the subject of all whispering, and hath
+always twenty stories of his own deeds depending upon him. Mistake me
+not; I understand not by valour one that never fights but when he is
+backed with drink or anger, or hissed on with beholders, nor one that is
+desperate, nor one that takes away a serving-man's weapons when
+perchance it cost him his quarter's wages, nor yet one that wears a
+privy coat of defence and therein is confident, for then such as made
+bucklers would be counted the Catilines of the commonwealth. I intend
+one of an even resolution grounded upon reason, which is always even,
+having his power restrained by the law of not doing wrong. But now I
+remember I am for valour, and therefore must be a man of few words.
+
+
+
+
+JOSEPH HALL'S
+
+
+CHARACTERS OF VICES AND VIRTUES
+
+_were published four years earlier than Overbury's, but Overbury's were
+posthumous, and in actual time of writing there can have been no very
+material difference. Hall's age was thirty-four when he first published
+his Characters. He was born on the 1st July 1574, at Ashby de la Zouch,
+in Leicestershire. His father was governor of this town under the Earl
+of Huntingdon, when he was President of the North. His mother, Winifred,
+was a devout Puritan, and he was from infancy intended for the Church.
+In 1589, at the age of fifteen, Joseph Hall was sent to Emmanuel
+College, Cambridge, where he was maintained at the cost of an uncle. He
+passed all his degrees with applause, obtained a Fellowship of his
+college in 1595, and proceeded to M.A. in 1596, and having already
+obtained credit at Cambridge as an English poet, he published in 1597
+"Virgidemiarum, Sixe Bookes, First Three Books of Toothlesse Satyrs,
+Poetical, Academical, Moral, followed in the next year by Three last
+Bookes of Byting Satyres." Of these Satires he said in their Prologue--_
+
+   "I first adventure, with foolhardy might,
+   To tread the steps of perilous despite.
+   I first adventure, follow me who list,
+   And be the second English satirist."
+
+_He could only have meant by this to claim that he was the first in
+England to write Satires in the manner of the Latins. He would not
+bend, he said, to Lady or to Patron--_
+
+   "Rather had I, albe in careless rhymes,
+   Check the misordered world and lawless times."
+
+_Some of these Satires were, of course, of the nature of Characters, and
+I quote two or three in passing._
+
+
+
+A DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN.
+
+   A gentle squire would gladly entertain
+   Into his house some trencher-chaplain;
+   Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
+   And that would stand to good conditions.
+   First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed,
+   Whilst his young master lieth o'er his head.
+   Secondly, that he do, on no default,
+   Ever presume to sit above the salt.
+   Third, that he never change his trencher twice.
+   Fourth, that he use all common courtesies;
+   Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait.
+   Last, that he never his young master beat
+   But he must ask his mother to define
+   How many jerks she would his breech should line.
+   All these observed, he could contented be,
+   To give five marks and winter livery.
+
+
+
+THE WITLESS GALLANT.
+
+   Seest thou how gaily my young master goes,
+   Vaunting himself upon his rising toes;
+   And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side;
+   And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide?
+   'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day?
+   In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray.
+   Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer,
+   Keeps he for every straggling cavalier.
+   An open house, haunted with great resort;
+   Long service mixed with musical disport.
+   Many fair younker with a feathered crest,
+   Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest,
+   To fare so freely with so little cost,
+   Than stake his twelve-pence to a meaner host.
+   Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say
+   He touched no meat of all this live-long day.
+   For sure methought, yet that was but a guess,
+   His eyes seem sunk for very hollowness,
+   But could he have (as I did it mistake)
+   So little in his purse, so much upon his back?
+   So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt,
+   That his gaunt gut not too much stuffing felt.
+   Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip?
+   Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip.
+   Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,
+   All trappéd in the new-found bravery.
+   The nuns of new-won Cales his bonnet lent,
+   In lieu of their so kind a conquerment.
+   What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain,
+   His grandam could have lent with lesser pain?
+   Tho' he perhaps ne'er passed the English shore,
+   Yet fain would counted be a conqueror.
+   His hair, French-like, stares on his frightened head,
+   One lock amazon-like dishevelléd,
+   As if he meant to wear a native cord,
+   If chance his fates should him that bane afford.
+   All British bare upon the bristled skin,
+   Close notchéd is his beard both lip and chin;
+   His linen collar labyrinthian set,
+   Whose thousand double turnings never met:
+   His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings,
+   As if he meant to fly with linen wings.
+   But when I look, and cast mine eyes below,
+   What monster meets mine eyes in human show?
+   So slender waist with such an abbot's loin,
+   Did never sober nature sure conjoin.
+   Lik'st a strawn scare-crow in the new-sown field,
+   Reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield.
+   Or if that semblance suit not every dale,
+   Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel
+   Despiséd nature suit them once aright,
+   Their body to their coat, both now misdight.
+   Their body to their clothes might shapen be,
+   That nil their clothés shape to their body.
+   Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back,
+   Whilst, the empty guts loud rumbling for long lack,
+   The belly envieth the back's bright glee,
+   And murmurs at such inequality.
+   The back appears unto the partial eyne,
+   The plaintive belly pleads they bribed been;
+   And he, for want of better advocate,
+   Doth to the ear his injury relate.
+   The back, insulting o'er the belly's need,
+   Says, thou thyself, I others' eyes must feed.
+   The maw, the guts, all inward parts complain
+   The back's great pride, and their own secret pain.
+   Ye witless gallants, I beshrew your hearts,
+   That sets such discord 'twixt agreeing parts,
+   Which never can be set at onement more,
+   Until the maw's wide mouth be stopped with store.
+
+_Joseph Hall obtained in 1601 the living of Halsted in Suffolk, and
+married in 1603. In an autobiographical sketch of "Some Specialities in
+the Life of Joseph Hall," he thus tells us himself the manner of his
+marrying_:--
+
+"Being now, therefore, settled in that sweet and civil country of
+Suffolk, near to St. Edmundsbury, my first work was to build up my
+house, which was extremely ruinous; which done, the uncouth solitariness
+of my life, and the extreme incommodity of that single housekeeping,
+drew my thoughts, after two years, to condescend to the necessity of a
+married estate, which God no less strangely provided for me; for,
+walking from the church on Monday in the Whitsun-week, with a grave and
+reverend minister, Mr. Grandidge, I saw a comely and modest gentlewoman
+standing at the door of that house where we were invited to a wedding
+dinner, and inquiring of that worthy friend whether he knew her. Yes
+(quoth he), I know her well, and have bespoken her for your wife. When I
+farther demanded an account of that answer, he told me she was the
+daughter of a gentleman whom he much respected, Mr. George Winniff, of
+Bretenham; that out of an opinion had of the fitness of that match for
+me, he had already treated with her father about it, whom he found very
+apt to entertain it, advising me not to neglect the opportunity, and not
+concealing the just praises of modesty, piety, good disposition, and
+other virtues that were lodged in that seemly presence. I listened to
+the motion as sent from God, and at last, upon due prosecution, happily
+prevailed, enjoying the comfortable society of that meet help for the
+space of forty-nine years."
+
+_In 1605 Joseph Hall published at Frankfort in Latin a witty satire on
+the weak side of the world, which had been written several years
+earlier, entitled "Mundus Alter et Idem." Of this book I have given a
+description in the volume of "Ideal Commonwealths," which forms one of
+the series of the "Universal Library." Hall had obtained reputation as a
+divine, by publishing two centuries of religious "Meditations," which
+united wit with piety. Prince Henry, having sought an opportunity of
+hearing him preach, made Hall his chaplain, and the Earl of Norwich gave
+him the living of Waltham in Essex. At the same time, 1608, a
+translation of Hall's Latin Satire, printed twice abroad, was published
+in London as "The Discovery of a New World;" he himself published also
+two volumes of Epistles, and this book of "Characters." There was a long
+career before him as a leader among churchmen fallen upon troubled days.
+He became Bishop of Exeter and was translated to Norwich. He was
+committed to the Tower, released, and ejected from his see, and after
+ten years of retirement, living upon narrow means at the village of
+Higham near Norwich, he died in the Commonwealth time at the age of
+eighty-two, on the 8th of September 1656. He took a conspicuous part in
+the controversy of 1641 about the bishops, but twenty years before that
+date a collection of his earlier works had formed a substantial folio of
+more than eleven hundred pages. His "Characters of Virtues and Vices,"
+written in early manhood, follow next in our collection._
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES.
+
+_IN TWO BOOKS._
+
+BY JOSEPH HALL.
+
+
+
+
+A PREMONITION or THE TITLE AND USE OF CHARACTERS.
+
+
+Reader,--The divines of the old heathens were their moral philosophers.
+These received the acts of an inbred law, in the Sinai of nature, and
+delivered them with many expositions to the multitude. These were the
+overseers of manners, correctors of vices, directors of lives, doctors
+of virtue, which yet taught their people the body of their natural
+divinity, not after one manner: while some spent themselves in deep
+discourses of human felicity and the way to it in common, others thought
+it best to apply the general precepts of goodness or decency to
+particular conditions and persons. A third sort in a mean course betwixt
+the two other, and compounded of them both, bestowed their time in
+drawing out the true lineaments of every virtue and vice, so lively,
+that who saw the medals might know the face; which art they
+significantly termed Charactery. Their papers were so many tables, their
+writings so many speaking pictures, or living images, whereby the ruder
+multitude might even by their sense learn to know virtue and discern
+what to detest. I am deceived if any course could be more likely to
+prevail, for herein the gross conceit is led on with pleasure, and
+informed while it feels nothing but delight; and if pictures have been
+accounted the books of idiots, behold here the benefit of an image
+without the offence. It is no shame for us to learn wit of heathens,
+neither is it material in whose school we take out a good lesson. Yea,
+it is more shame not to follow their good than not to lead them better.
+As one, therefore, that in worthy examples hold imitation better than
+invention, I have trod in their paths, but with an higher and wider
+step, and out of their tablets have drawn these larger portraitures of
+both sorts. More might be said, I deny not, of every virtue, of every
+vice; I desired not to say all but enough. If thou do but read or like
+these I have spent good hours ill; but if thou shalt hence abjure those
+vices, which before thou thoughtest not ill-favoured, or fall in love
+with any of these goodly faces of virtue, or shalt hence find where thou
+hast any little touch of these evils, to clear thyself, or where any
+defect in these graces to supply it, neither of us shall need to repent
+of our labour.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST BOOK.
+
+
+_CHARACTERISMS OF VIRTUES._
+
+
+
+THE PROEM.
+
+Virtue is not loved enough, because she is not seen; and vice loseth
+much detestation, because her ugliness is secret. Certainly, my lords,
+there are so many beauties, and so many graces in the face of goodness,
+that no eye can possibly see it without affection, without ravishment;
+and the visage of evil is so monstrous through loathsome deformities,
+that if her lovers were not ignorant they would be mad with disdain and
+astonishment. What need we more than to discover these two to the world?
+This work shall save the labour of exhorting and dissuasion. I have here
+done it as I could, following that ancient master of morality, who
+thought this the fittest task for the ninety and ninth year of his age,
+and the profitablest monument that he could leave for a farewell visit
+to his Grecians. Lo here then virtue and vice stripped naked to the open
+view, and despoiled, one of her rags the other of her ornaments, and
+nothing left them but bare presence to plead for affection: see now
+whether shall find more suitors. And if still the vain minds of lewd men
+shall dote upon their old mistress, it will appear to be, not because
+she is not foul, but for that they are blind and bewitched. And first
+behold the goodly features of wisdom, an amiable virtue, and worthy to
+lead this stage; which as she extends herself to all the following
+graces, so amongst the rest is for her largeness most conspicuous.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE WISE MAN.
+
+There is nothing that he desires not to know, but most and first
+himself, and not so much his own strength as his weaknesses; neither is
+his knowledge reduced to discourse, but practice. He is a skilful
+logician, not by nature so much as use; his working mind doth nothing
+all his time but make syllogisms and draw out conclusions; everything
+that he sees and hears serves for one of the premisses; with these he
+cares first to inform himself, then to direct others. Both his eyes are
+never at once from home, but one keeps house while the other roves
+abroad for intelligence. In material and weighty points he abides not
+his mind suspended in uncertainties, but hates doubting where he may,
+where he should be resolute: and first he makes sure work for his soul,
+accounting it no safety to be unsettled in the foreknowledge of his
+small estate. The best is first regarded; and vain is that regard which
+endeth not in security. Every care hath his just order; neither is there
+any one either neglected or misplaced. He is seldom ever seen with
+credulity; for, knowing the falseness of the world, he hath learned to
+trust himself always, others so far as he may not be damaged by their
+disappointment. He seeks his quietness in secrecy, and is wont both to
+hide himself in retiredness, and his tongue in himself. He loves to be
+guessed at, not known; and to see the world unseen; and when he is
+forced into the light, shows by his actions that his obscurity was
+neither from affectation nor weakness. His purposes are neither so
+variable as may argue inconstancy, nor obstinately unchangeable, but
+framed according to his after-wits, or the strength of new occasions. He
+is both an apt scholar and an excellent master; for both everything he
+sees informs him, and his mind, enriched with plentiful observation, can
+give the best precepts. His free discourse runs back to the ages past,
+and recovers events out of memory, and then preventeth time in flying
+forward to future things; and comparing one with the other, can give a
+verdict well near prophetical, wherein his conjectures are better than
+another's judgments. His passions are so many good servants, which stand
+in a diligent attendance ready to be commanded by reason, by religion;
+and if at any time forgetting their duty, they be miscarried to rebel,
+he can first conceal their mutiny, then suppress it. In all his just and
+worthy designs he is never at a loss, but hath so projected all his
+courses that a second begins where the first failed, and fetcheth
+strength from that which succeeded not. There be wrongs which he will
+not see, neither doth he always look that way which he meaneth, nor take
+notice of his secret smarts, when they come from great ones. In good
+turns he loves not to owe more than he must; in evil, to owe and not
+pay. Just censures he deserves not, for he lives without the compass of
+an adversary; unjust he contemneth, and had rather suffer false infamy
+to die alone than lay hands upon it in an open violence. He confineth
+himself in the circle of his own affairs, and lists not to thrust his
+finger into a needless fire. He stands like a centre unmoved, while the
+circumference of his estate is drawn above, beneath, about him. Finally,
+his wit hath cost him much, and he can both keep, and value, and employ
+it. He is his own lawyer, the treasury of knowledge, the oracle of
+counsel; blind in no man's cause, best sighted in his own.
+
+
+
+OF AN HONEST MAN.
+
+He looks not to what he might do, but what he should. Justice is his
+first guide, the second law of his actions is expedience. He had rather
+complain than offend, and hates sin more for the indignity of it than
+the danger. His simple uprightness works in him that confidence which
+ofttimes wrongs him, and gives advantage to the subtle, when he rather
+pities their faithlessness than repents of his credulity. He hath but
+one heart, and that lies open to sight; and were it not for discretion,
+he never thinks aught whereof he would avoid a witness. His word is his
+parchment, and his yea his oath, which he will not violate for fear or
+for loss. The mishaps of following events may cause him to blame his
+providence, can never cause him to eat his promise: neither saith he,
+This I saw not; but, This I said. When he is made his friend's executor,
+he defrays debts, pays legacies, and scorneth to gain by orphans, or to
+ransack graves, and therefore will be true to a dead friend, because he
+sees him not. All his dealings are square and above the board; he
+bewrays the fault of what he sells, and restores the overseen gain of a
+false reckoning. He esteems a bribe venomous, though it come gilded over
+with the colour of gratuity. His cheeks are never stained with the
+blushes of recantation, neither doth his tongue falter to make good a
+lie with the secret glosses of double or reserved senses, and when his
+name is traduced his innocency bears him out with courage: then, lo, he
+goes on the plain way of truth, and will either triumph in his integrity
+or suffer with it. His conscience overrules his providence; so as in all
+things good or ill, he respects the nature of the actions, not the
+sequel. If he see what he must do, let God see what shall follow. He
+never loadeth himself with burdens above his strength, beyond his will;
+and once bound, what he can he will do, neither doth he will but what he
+can do. His ear is the sanctuary of his absent friend's name, of his
+present friend's secret; neither of them can miscarry in his trust. He
+remembers the wrongs of his youth, and repays them with that usury which
+he himself would not take. He would rather want than borrow, and beg
+than not to pay: his fair conditions are without dissembling, and he
+loves actions above words. Finally, he hates falsehood worse than death:
+he is a faithful client of truth, no man's enemy, and it is a question
+whether more another man's friend or his own; and if there were no
+heaven, yet he would be virtuous.
+
+
+
+OF THE FAITHFUL MAN.
+
+His eyes have no other objects but absent and invisible, which they see
+so clearly as that to them sense is blind. That which is present they
+see not; if I may not rather say, that what is past or future is present
+to them. Herein he exceeds all others, that to him nothing is
+impossible, nothing difficult, whether to bear or undertake. He walks
+every day with his Maker, and talks with Him familiarly, and lives ever
+in heaven, and sees all earthly things beneath him. When he goes in to
+converse with God, he wears not his own clothes, but takes them still
+out of the rich wardrobe of his Redeemer, and then dares boldly press in
+and challenge a blessing. The celestial spirits do not scorn his
+company; yea, his service. He deals in these worldly affairs as a
+stranger, and hath his heart ever at home. Without a written warrant he
+dare do nothing, and with it anything. His war is perpetual, without
+truce, without intermission, and his victory certain; he meets with the
+infernal powers, and tramples them under feet. The shield that he ever
+bears before him can neither be missed nor pierced; if his hand be
+wounded, yet his heart is safe. He is often tripped, seldom foiled, and,
+if sometimes foiled, never vanquished. He hath white hands, and a clean
+soul fit to lodge God in, all the rooms whereof are set apart for His
+holiness. Iniquity hath oft called at the door and craved entertainment,
+but with a repulse; or, if sin of force will be his tenant, his Lord he
+cannot. His faults are few, and those he hath God will not see. He is
+allied so high, that he dare call God father, his Saviour brother,
+heaven his patrimony, and thinks it no presumption to trust to the
+attendance of angels. His understanding is enlightened with the beams of
+divine truth. God hath acquainted him with His will; and what he knows
+he dare confess: there is not more love in his heart than liberty in his
+tongue. If torments stand betwixt him and Christ, if death, he contemns
+them; and if his own parents lie in his way to God, his holy
+carelessness makes them his footsteps. His experiments have drawn forth
+rules of confidence, which he dares oppose against all the fears of
+distrust; wherein he thinks it safe to charge God with what he hath
+done, with what he hath promised. Examples are his proofs, and instances
+his demonstrations. What hath God given which he cannot give? What have
+others suffered which he may not be enabled to endure? Is he threatened
+banishment? there he sees the dear Evangelist in Patmos. Cutting in
+pieces? he sees Esai under the saw. Drowning? he sees Jonah diving into
+the living gulf? Burning? he sees the three children in the hot walk of
+the furnace. Devouring? he sees Daniel in the sealed den amidst his
+terrible companions. Stoning? he sees the first martyr under his heap of
+many gravestones. Heading? lo, there the Baptist's neck bleeding in
+Herodias' platter. He emulates their pain, their strength, their glory.
+He wearies not himself with cares; for he knows he lives not of his own
+cost, not idly omitting means, but not using them with diffidence. In
+the midst of ill rumours and amazements his countenance changeth not;
+for he knows both whom he hath trusted, and whither death can lead him.
+He is not so sure he shall die as that he shall be restored, and
+outfaceth his death with resurrection. Finally, he is rich in works,
+busy in obedience, cheerful and unmoved in expectation, better with
+evils, in common opinion miserable, but in true judgment more than
+a man.
+
+
+
+OF THE HUMBLE MAN.
+
+He is a friendly enemy to himself; for, though he be not out of his own
+favour, no man sets so low a value of his worth as himself--not out of
+ignorance or carelessness, but of a voluntary and meek dejectedness. He
+admires everything in another, while the same or better in himself he
+thinks not unworthily contemned. His eyes are full of his own wants, and
+others' perfections. He loves rather to give than take honour; not in a
+fashion of complimental courtesy, but in simplicity of his judgment.
+Neither doth he fret at those on whom he forceth precedence, as one that
+hoped their modesty would have refused; but holds his mind unfeignedly
+below his place, and is ready to go lower (if need be) without
+discontent. When he hath his due, he magnifieth courtesy, and disclaims
+his deserts. He can be more ashamed of honour than grieved with
+contempt; because he thinks that causeless, this deserved. His face, his
+carriage, his habit, savour of lowliness without affectation, and yet he
+is much under that he seemeth. His words are few and soft, never either
+peremptory or censorious; because he thinks both each man more wise, and
+none more faulty than himself. And, when he approacheth to the throne of
+God, he is so taken up with the Divine greatness that, in his own eyes,
+he is either vile or nothing. Places of public charge are fain to sue to
+him, and hail him out of his chosen obscurity; which he holds ofif, not
+cunningly, to cause importunity, but sincerely, in the conscience of his
+defects. He frequenteth not the stages of common resorts, and then alone
+thinks himself in his natural element when he is shrouded within his own
+walls. He is ever jealous over himself, and still suspecteth that which
+others applaud. There is no better object of beneficence; for what he
+receives he ascribes merely to the bounty of the giver, nothing to
+merit. He emulates no man in anything but goodness, and that with more
+desire than hope to overtake. No man is so contented with his little,
+and so patient under miseries; because he knows the greatest evils are
+below his sins, and the least favours above his deservings. He walks
+ever in awe, and dare not but subject every word and action to an high
+and just censure. He is a lowly valley, sweetly planted and well
+watered; the proud man's earth, whereon he trampleth; but secretly full
+of wealthy mines, more worth than he that walks over them; a rich stone
+set in lead; and, lastly, a true temple of God built with a low roof.
+
+
+
+OF A VALIANT MAN.
+
+He undertakes without rashness, and performs without fear; he seeks not
+for dangers, but, when they find him, he bears them over with courage,
+with success. He hath ofttimes looked death in the face, and passed by
+it with a smile; and when he sees he must yield, doth at once welcome
+and contemn it. He forecasts the worst of all events, and encounters
+them before they come in a secret and mental war. And if the suddenness
+of an unexpected evil have surprised his thoughts, and infected his
+cheeks with paleness, he hath no sooner digested it in his conceit than
+he gathers up himself, and insults over mischief. He is the master of
+himself, and subdues his passions to reason, and by this inward victory
+works his own peace. He is afraid of nothing but the displeasure of the
+Highest, and runs away from nothing but sin: he looks not on his hands,
+but his cause; not how strong he is, but how innocent: and, where
+goodness is his warrant, he may be over-mastered; he cannot be foiled.
+The sword is to him the last of all trials, which he draws forth still
+as defendant, not as challenger, with a willing kind of unwillingness:
+no man can better manage it, with more safety, with more favour; he had
+rather have his blood seen than his back, and disdains life upon base
+conditions. No man is more mild to a relenting or vanquished adversary,
+or more hates to set his foot on a carcase. He had rather smother an
+injury than revenge himself of the impotent, and I know not whether he
+more detests cowardliness or cruelty. He talks little, and brags less;
+and loves rather the silent language of the hand, to be seen than heard.
+He lies ever close within himself, armed with wise resolution, and will
+not be discovered but by death or danger. He is neither prodigal of
+blood to misspend it idly, nor niggardly to grudge it, when either God
+calls for it, or his country; neither is he more liberal of his own life
+than of others. His power is limited by his will, and he holds it the
+noblest revenge, that he might hurt and doth not. He commands without
+tyranny and imperiousness, obeys without servility, and changes not his
+mind with his estate. The height of his spirits overlooks all
+casualties, and his boldness proceeds neither from ignorance nor
+senselessness; but first he values evils, and then despises them. He is
+so balanced with wisdom that he floats steadily in the midst of all
+tempests. Deliberate in his purposes, firm in resolution, bold in
+enterprising, unwearied in achieving, and howsoever happy in success;
+and if ever he be overcome, his heart yields last.
+
+
+
+OF A PATIENT MAN.
+
+The patient man is made of a metal, not so hard as flexible: his
+shoulders are large, fit for a load of injuries; which he bears not out
+of baseness and cowardliness, because he dare not revenge, but out of
+Christian fortitude, because he may not: he has so conquered himself
+that wrongs cannot conquer him; and herein alone finds that victory
+consists in yielding. He is above nature, while he seems below himself.
+The vilest creature knows how to turn again; but to command himself not
+to resist being urged is more than heroical. His constructions are ever
+full of charity and favour; either this wrong was not done, or not with
+intent of wrong; or if that, upon mis-information; or if none of these,
+rashness (though a fault) shall serve for an excuse. Himself craves the
+offender's pardon before his confession; and a slight answer contents
+where the offended desires to forgive. He is God's best witness; and
+when he stands before the bar for truth his tongue is calmly free, his
+forehead firm, and he with erect and settled countenance hears his just
+sentence, and rejoices in it. The jailors that attend him are to him his
+pages of honour; his dungeon, the lower part of the vault of heaven; his
+rack or wheel, the stairs of his ascent to glory: he challenges his
+executioners, and encounters the fiercest pains with strength of
+resolution; and while he suffers the beholders pity him, the tormentors
+complain of weariness, and both of them wonder. No anguish can master
+him, whether by violence or by lingering. He accounts expectation no
+punishment, and can abide to have his hopes adjourned till a new day.
+Good laws serve for his protection, not for his revenge; and his own
+power, to avoid indignities, not to return them. His hopes are so strong
+that they can insult over the greatest discouragements; and his
+apprehensions so deep that, when he hath once fastened, he sooner
+leaveth his life than his hold. Neither time nor perverseness can make
+him cast off his charitable endeavours and despair of prevailing; but in
+spite of all crosses and all denials, he redoubleth his beneficial
+offers of love. He trieth the sea after many shipwrecks, and beats still
+at that door which he never saw opened. Contrariety of events doth but
+exercise, not dismay him; and when crosses afflict him, he sees a divine
+hand invisibly striking with these sensible scourges, against which he
+dares not rebel nor murmur. Hence all things befall him alike; and he
+goes with the same mind to the shambles and to the fold. His recreations
+are calm and gentle, and not more full of relaxation than void of fury.
+This man only can turn necessity into virtue, and put evil to good use.
+He is the surest friend, the latest and easiest enemy, the greatest
+conqueror, and so much more happy than others, by how much he could
+abide to be more miserable.
+
+
+
+OF THE TRUE FRIEND.
+
+His affections are both united and divided; united to him he loveth,
+divided betwixt another and himself; and his one heart is so parted,
+that whilst he has some his friend hath all. His choice is led by
+virtue, or by the best of virtues, religion; not by gain, not by
+pleasure; yet not without respect of equal condition, of disposition not
+unlike; which, once made, admits of no change, except he whom he loveth
+be changed quite from himself; nor that suddenly, but after long
+expectation. Extremity doth but fasten him, whilst he, like a
+well-wrought vault, lies the stronger, by how much more weight he bears.
+When necessity calls him to it, he can be a servant to his equal, with
+the same will wherewith he can command his inferior; and though he rise
+to honour, forgets not his familiarity, nor suffers inequality of estate
+to work strangeness of countenance; on the other side, he lifts up his
+friend to advancement with a willing hand, without envy, without
+dissimulation. When his mate is dead, he accounts himself but half
+alive; then his love, not dissolved by death, derives itself to those
+orphans which never knew the price of their father; they become the
+heirs of his affection, and the burden of his cares. He embraces a free
+community of all things, save those which either honesty reserves
+proper, or nature; and hates to enjoy that which would do his friend
+more good. His charity serves to cloak noted infirmities, not by
+untruth, not by flattery, but by discreet secrecy; neither is he more
+favourable in concealment, than round in his private reprehensions; and
+when another's simple fidelity shows itself in his reproof, he loves his
+monitor so much the more, by how much more he smarteth. His bosom is his
+friend's closet, where he may safely lay up his complaints, his doubts,
+his cares; and look how he leaves, so he finds them; save for some
+addition of seasonable counsel for redress. If some unhappy suggestion
+shall either disjoint his affection or break it, it soon knits again,
+and grows the stronger by that stress. He is so sensible of another's
+injuries, that when his friend is stricken he cries out and equally
+smarteth untouched, as one affected not with sympathy, but with a real
+feeling of pain: and in what mischief may be prevented, he interposeth
+his aid, and offers to redeem his friend with himself. No hour can be
+unseasonable, no business difficult, nor pain grievous in condition of
+his ease: and what either he doth or suffers, he neither cares nor
+desires to have known, lest he should seem to look for thanks. If he can
+therefore steal the performance of a good office unseen, the conscience
+of his faithfulness herein is so much sweeter as it is more secret. In
+favours done, his memory is frail; in benefits received, eternal: he
+scorneth either to regard recompense or not to offer it. He is the
+comfort of miseries, the guide of difficulties, the joy of life, the
+treasure of earth, and no other than a good angel clothed in flesh.
+
+
+
+OF THE TRULY NOBLE.
+
+He stands not upon what he borrowed of his ancestors, but thinks he must
+work out his own honour: and if he cannot reach the virtue of them that
+gave him outward glory by inheritance, he is more abashed of his
+impotency than transported with a great name. Greatness doth not make
+him scornful and imperious, but rather like the fixed stars; the higher
+he is, the less he desires to seem. Neither cares he so much for pomp
+and frothy ostentation as for the solid truth of nobleness. Courtesy and
+sweet affability can be no more severed from him than life from his
+soul; not out of a base and servile popularity, and desire of ambitious
+insinuation, but of a native gentleness of disposition, and true value
+of himself. His hand is open and bounteous, yet not so as that he should
+rather respect his glory than his estate; wherein his wisdom can
+distinguish betwixt parasites and friends, betwixt changing of favours
+and expending them. He scorneth to make his height a privilege of
+looseness, but accounts his titles vain if he be inferior to others in
+goodness: and thinks he should be more strict the more eminent he is,
+because he is more observed, and now his offences are become more
+exemplar. There is no virtue that he holds unfit for ornament, for use;
+nor any vice which he condemns not as sordid, and a fit companion of
+baseness; and whereof he doth not more hate the blemish, than affect the
+pleasure. He so studies as one that knows ignorance can neither purchase
+honour nor wield it; and that knowledge must both guide and grace, him.
+His exercises are from his childhood ingenious, manly, decent, and such
+as tend still to wit, valour, activity: and if (as seldom) he descend to
+disports of chance, his games shall never make him either pale with fear
+or hot with desire of gain. He doth not so use his followers, as if he
+thought they were made for nothing but his servitude, whose felicity
+were only to be commanded and please: wearing them to the back, and then
+either finding or framing excuses to discard them empty; but upon all
+opportunities lets them feel the sweetness of their own serviceableness
+and his bounty. Silence in officious service is the best oratory to
+plead for his respect: all diligence is but lent to him, none lost. His
+wealth stands in receiving, his honour in giving. He cares not either
+how many hold of his goodness, or to how few he is beholden: and if he
+have cast away favours, he hates either to upbraid them to his enemy, or
+to challenge restitution. None can be more pitiful to the distressed, or
+more prone to succour; and then most where is least means to solicit,
+least possibility of requital. He is equally addressed to war and peace;
+and knows not more how to command others, than how to be his country's
+servant in both. He is more careful to give true honour to his Maker
+than to receive civil honour from men. He knows that this service is
+free and noble, and ever loaded with sincere glory; and how vain it is
+to hunt after applause from the world till he be sure of Him that
+mouldeth all hearts, and poureth contempt on princes; and shortly, so
+demeans himself as one that accounts the body of nobility to consist in
+blood, the soul in the eminence of virtue.
+
+
+
+OF THE GOOD MAGISTRATE.
+
+He is the faithful deputy of his Maker, whose obedience is the rule
+whereby he ruleth. His breast is the ocean, whereinto all the cares of
+private men empty themselves; which, as he receives without complaint
+and overflowing, so he sends them forth again by a wise conveyance in
+the streams of justice. His doors, his ears, are ever open to suitors;
+and not who comes first speeds well, but whose cause is best. His
+nights, his meals, are short and interrupted; all which he bears well,
+because he knows himself made for a public servant of peace and justice.
+He sits quietly at the stern, and commands one to the topsail, another
+to the main, a third to the plummet, a fourth to the anchor, as he sees
+the needs of their course and weather requires; and doth no less by his
+tongue than all the mariners with their hands. On the bench he is
+another from himself at home; now all private respects of blood,
+alliance, amity are forgotten; and if his own son come under trial he
+knows him not. Pity, which in all others is wont to be the best praise
+of humanity and the fruit of Christian love, is by him thrown over the
+bar for corruption. As for Favour, the false advocate of the gracious,
+he allows him not to appear in the court; there only causes are heard
+speak, not persons. Eloquence is then only not dis-couraged when she
+serves for a client of truth. Mere narrations are allowed in this
+oratory, not proems, not excursions, not glosses. Truth must strip
+herself and come in naked to his bar, without false bodies or colours,
+without disguises. A bribe in his closet, or a letter on the bench, or
+the whispering and winks of a great neighbour, are answered with an
+angry and courageous repulse. Displeasure, Revenge, Recompense stand on
+both sides the bench, but he scorns to turn his eye towards them,
+looking only right forward at Equity, which stands full before him. His
+sentence is ever deliberate and guided with ripe wisdom, yet his hand is
+slower than his tongue; but when he is urged by occasion either to doom
+or execution, he shows how much he hateth merciful injustice. Neither
+can his resolution or act be reversed with partial importunity. His
+forehead is rugged and severe, able to discountenance villainy, yet his
+words are more awful than his brow, and his hand than his words. I know
+not whether he be more feared or loved, both affections are so sweetly
+contempered in all hearts. The good fear him lovingly, the middle sort
+love him fearfully, and only the wicked man fears him slavishly without
+love. He hates to pay private wrongs with the advantage of his office;
+and if ever he be partial, it is to his enemy. He is not more sage in
+his gown than valorous in arms, and increaseth in the rigour of
+discipline as the times in danger. His sword hath neither rusted for
+want of use, nor surfeiteth of blood; but after many threats is
+unsheathed, as the dreadful instrument of divine revenge. He is the
+guard of good laws, the refuge of innocence, the comet of the guilty,
+the paymaster of good deserts, the champion of justice, the patron of
+peace, the tutor of the Church, the father of his country, and as it
+were another God upon earth.
+
+
+
+OF THE PENITENT.
+
+He has a wounded heart and a sad face, yet not so much for fear as for
+unkindness. The wrong of his sin troubles him more than the danger. None
+but he is the better for his sorrow; neither is any passion more hurtful
+to others than this is gainful to him: the more he seeks to hide his
+grief, the less it will be hid; every man may read it not only in his
+eyes, but in his bones. Whilst he is in charity with all others, he is
+so fallen out with himself that none but God can reconcile him. He hath
+sued himself in all courts, accuseth, arraigneth, sentenceth, punisheth
+himself impartially, and sooner may find mercy at any hand than at his
+own. He only hath pulled off the fair visor of sin; so as that which
+appears not but masked unto others, is seen of him barefaced, and
+bewrays that fearful ugliness, which none can conceive but he that hath
+viewed it. He hath looked into the depth of the bottomless pit, and hath
+seen his own offence tormented in others, and the same brands shaken at
+him. He hath seen the change of faces in that cool one, as a tempter, as
+a tormentor; and hath heard the noise of a conscience, and is so
+frightened with all these, that he can never have rest till he have run
+out of himself to God, in whose face at first he find rigour, but
+afterwards sweetness in his bosom; he bleeds first from the hand that
+heals him. The law of God hath made work for mercy, which he hath no
+sooner apprehended than he forgets his wounds, and looks carelessly upon
+all these terrors of guiltiness. When he casts his eye back upon
+himself, he wonders where he was and how he came there; and grants that
+if there were not some witchcraft in sin, he could not have been so
+sottishly graceless. And now, in the issue, Satan finds (not without
+indignation and repentance) that he hath done him a good turn in
+tempting him: for he had never been so good if he had not sinned; he had
+never fought with such courage, if he had not seen his blood and been
+ashamed of his folly. Now he is seen and felt in the front of the
+spiritual battle; and can teach others how to fight, and encourage them
+in fighting. His heart was never more taken up with the pleasure of sin,
+than now with care of avoiding it: the very sight of that cup, wherein
+such a fulsome portion was brought him, turns his stomach: the first
+offers of sin make him tremble more now than he did before at the
+judgments of his sin; neither dares he so much as look towards Sodom.
+All the powers and craft of hell cannot fetch him in for a customer to
+evil; his infirmity may yield once, his resolution never. There is none
+of his senses or parts, which he hath not within covenants for their
+good behaviour, which they cannot ever break with impunity. The wrongs
+of his sin he repays to men with recompense, as hating it should be said
+he owes anything to his offence; to God (what in him lies) with sighs,
+tears, vows, and endeavours of amendment. No heart is more waxen to the
+impressions of forgiveness, neither are his hands more open to receive
+than to give pardon. All the injuries which are offered to him are
+swallowed up in his wrongs to his Maker and Redeemer; neither can he
+call for the arrearages of his farthings, when he looks upon the
+millions forgiven him: he feels not what he suffers from men, when he
+thinks of what he hath done and should have suffered. He is a thankful
+herald of the mercies of his God; which if all the world hear not from
+his mouth it is no fault of his. Neither did he so burn with the evil
+fires or concupiscence as now with the holy flames of zeal to that glory
+which he hath blemished; and his eyes are as full of moisture as his
+heart of heat. The gates of heaven are not so knocked at by any suitor,
+whether for frequency or importunity. You shall find his cheeks
+furrowed, his knees hard, his lips sealed up, save when he must accuse
+himself or glorify God, his eyes humbly dejected, and sometimes you
+shall take him breaking of a sigh in the midst, as one that would steal
+an humiliation unknown, and would be offended with any part that should
+not keep his counsel. When he finds his soul oppressed with the heavy
+guilt of a sin, he gives it vent through his mouth into the ear of his
+spiritual physician, from whom he receives cordials answerable to his
+complaint. He is a severe exactor of discipline: first upon himself, on
+whom he imposes more than one Lent; then upon others, as one that vowed
+to be revenged on sin wheresoever he finds it; and though but one hath
+offended him, yet his detestation is universal. He is his own taskmaster
+for devotion; and if Christianity have any work more difficult or
+perilous than other, that he enjoins himself, and resolves contentment
+even in miscarriage. It is no marvel if the acquaintance of his wilder
+times know him not, for he is quite another from himself; and if his
+mind could have had any intermission of dwelling within his breast, it
+could not have known this was the lodging. Nothing but an outside is the
+same it was, and that altered more with regeneration than with age. None
+but he can relish the promises of the gospel, which he finds so sweet
+that he complains not, his thirst after them is unsatiable; and now that
+he hath found his Saviour, he hugs Him so fast and holds Him so dear
+that he feels not when his life is fetched away from him for his
+martyrdom. The latter part of his life is so led as if he desired to
+unlive his youth, and his last testament is full of restitutions and
+legacies of piety. In sum, he hath so lived and died as that Satan hath
+no such match, sin hath no such enemy, God hath no such servant as he.
+
+
+
+HE IS A HAPPY MAN
+
+That hath learned to read himself more than all books, and hath so taken
+out this lesson that he can never forget it; that knows the world, and
+cares not for it; that, after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to
+know what he may trust to, and stands now equally armed for all events;
+that hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross his will without a
+mutiny, and so please it that he makes it not a wanton; that in earthly
+things wishes no more than nature, in spiritual is ever graciously
+ambitious; that for his condition stands on his own feet, not needing to
+lean upon the great, and can so frame his thoughts to his estate that
+when he hath least he cannot want, because he is as free from desire as
+superfluity; that hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of
+prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure; upon whom all smaller
+crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and for the greater calamities,
+he can take them as tributes of life and tokens of love; and if his ship
+be tossed, yet he is sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his,
+he could be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, no whit
+higher in his carriage, because he knows contentment lies not in the
+things he hath, but in the mind that values them. The powers of his
+resolution can either multiply or subtract at pleasure. He can make his
+cottage a manor or a palace when he lists, and his home-close a large
+dominion, his stained cloth arras, his earth plate, and can see state in
+the attendance of one servant, as one that hath learned a man's
+greatness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may even contest
+with the proud, that he thinks his own the best. Or if he must be
+outwardly great, he can but turn the other end of the glass, and make
+his stately manor a low and straight cottage, and in all his costly
+furniture he can see not richness but use; he can see dross in the best
+metal and earth through the best clothes, and in all his troupe he can
+see himself his own servant. He lives quietly at home out of the noise
+of the world, and loves to enjoy himself always, and sometimes his
+friend, and hath as full scope to his thought as to his eyes. He walks
+ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, resolved to fear
+nothing but God, to hope for nothing but what which he must have. He
+hath a wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body, which that better
+part affects as a present servant and a future companion, so cherishing
+his flesh as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath no enemies;
+not for that all love him, but because he knows to make a gain of
+malice. He is not so engaged to any earthly thing that they two cannot
+part on even terms; there is neither laughter in their meeting, nor in
+their shaking of hands tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of
+Spirits and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in
+an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light or
+with none at all. His conscience and his hand are friends, and (what
+devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever
+uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burden of a willing sin,
+not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples. He would not, if he
+could, run away from himself or from God; not caring from whom he lies
+hid, so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are
+passengers to him, not guests; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their
+harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from
+his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one
+that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as
+he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His
+strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do
+good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough for
+himself and others, which are ever stretched forth for beneficence, not
+for need. He walks cheerfully in the way that God hath chalked, and
+never wishes it more wide or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby
+he is foiled strengthen him; he comes forth crowned and triumphing out
+of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath make him
+beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God, in whom he
+is; and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for His own sake.
+His eyes stick so fast in heaven that no earthly object can remove them;
+yea, his whole self is there before his time, and sees with Stephen, and
+hears with Paul, and enjoys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have,
+and takes possession beforehand of his room amongst the saints; and
+these heavenly contentments have so taken him up that now he looks down
+displeasedly upon the earth as the region of his sorrow and banishment,
+yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evils. He holds
+it no great matter to live, and his greatest business to die; and is so
+well acquainted with his last guest that he fears no unkindness from
+him: neither makes he any other of dying than of walking home when he is
+abroad, or of going to bed when he is weary of the day. He is well
+provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory hereafter;
+and therefore hath a light heart and a cheerful face. All his
+fellow-creatures rejoice to serve him; his betters, the angels, love to
+observe him; God Himself takes pleasure to converse with him, and hath
+sainted him before his death, and in his death crowned him.
+
+
+
+
+THE SECOND BOOK.
+
+
+CHARACTERISMS OF VICES.
+
+
+
+THE PROEM.
+
+I have showed you many fair virtues: I speak not for them; if their
+sight cannot command affection let them lose it. They shall please yet
+better after you have troubled your eyes a little with the view of
+deformities; and by how much more they please, so much more odious and
+like themselves shall these deformities appear. This light contraries
+give to each other in the midst of their enmity, that one makes the
+other seem more good or ill. Perhaps in some of these (which thing I do
+at once fear and hate) my style shall seem to some less grave, more
+satirical: if you find me, not without cause, jealous, let it please you
+to impute it to the nature of those vices which will not be otherwise
+handled. The fashions of some evils are, besides the odiousness,
+ridiculous, which to repeat is to seem bitterly merry. I abhor to make
+sport with wickedness, and forbid any laughter here but of disdain.
+Hypocrisy shall lead this ring worthily, I think, because both she
+cometh nearest to virtue and is the worst of vices.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE HYPOCRITE.
+
+An hypocrite is the worst kind of player, by so much as he acts the
+better part, which hath always two faces, ofttimes two hearts; that can
+compose his forehead to sadness and gravity, while he bids his heart be
+wanton and careless within, and in the meantime laughs within himself to
+think how smoothly he hath cozened the beholder. In whose silent face
+are written the characters of religion, which his tongue and gestures
+pronounce but his hands recant. That hath a clean face and garment with
+a foul soul, whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers belie his
+mouth. Walking early up into the city, he turns into the great church,
+and salutes one of the pillars on one knee, worshipping that God which
+at home he cares not for, while his eye is fixed on some window, on some
+passenger, and his heart knows not whither his lips go. He rises, and
+looking about with admiration, complains on our frozen charity, commends
+the ancient. At church he will ever sit where he may be seen best, and
+in the midst of the sermon pulls out his tables in haste, as if he
+feared to lose that note; when he writes either his forgotten errand or
+nothing. Then he turns his Bible with a noise to seek an omitted
+quotation, and folds the leaf as if he had found it, and asks aloud the
+name of the preacher, and repeats it, whom he publicly salutes, thanks,
+praises, invites, entertains with tedious good counsel, with good
+discourse, if it had come from an honester mouth. He can command tears
+when he speaks of his youth, indeed because it is past, not because it
+was sinful; himself is now better, but the times are worse. All other
+sins he reckons up with detestation, while he loves and hides his
+darling in his bosom. All his speech returns to himself, and every
+occurrence draws in a story to his own praise. When he should give, he
+looks about him and says, "Who sees me?" No alms, no prayers, fall from
+him without a witness, belike lest God should deny that He hath received
+them; and when he hath done (lest the world should not know it) his own
+mouth is his trumpet to proclaim it. With the superfluity of his usury
+he builds an hospital, and harbours them whom his extortion hath
+spoiled; so while he makes many beggars he keeps some. He turneth all
+gnats into camels, and cares not to undo the world for a circumstance.
+Flesh on a Friday is more abomination to him than his neighbour's bed:
+he more abhors not to uncover at the name of Jesus than to swear by the
+name of God. When a rhymer reads his poem to him he begs a copy, and
+persuades the press there is nothing that he dislikes in presence that
+in absence he censures not. He comes to the sick-bed of his stepmother,
+and weeps when he secretly fears her recovery. He greets his friend in
+the street with so clear a countenance, so fast a closure, that the
+other thinks he reads his heart in his face, and shakes hands with an
+indefinite invitation of "When will you come?" and when his back is
+turned, joys that he is so well rid of a guest; yet if that guest visit
+him unfeared, he counterfeits a smiling welcome, and excuses his cheer,
+when closely he frowns on his wife for too much. He shows well, and says
+well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In brief, he is the
+stranger's saint, the neighbour's disease, the blot of goodness, a
+rotten stick in a dark night, a poppy in a corn-field, an ill-tempered
+candle with a great snuff that in going out smells ill; and an angel
+abroad, a devil at home, and worse when an angel than when a devil.
+
+
+
+OF THE BUSYBODY.
+
+His estate is too narrow for his mind, and therefore he is fain to make
+himself room in others' affairs, yet ever in pretence of love. No news
+can stir but by his door, neither can he know that which he must not
+tell. What every man ventures in Guiana voyage, and what they gained, he
+knows to a hair. Whether Holland will have peace he knows, and on what
+conditions, and with what success, is familiar to him ere it be
+concluded. No post can pass him without a question, and rather than he
+will lose the news, he rides back with him to apprise him of tidings;
+and then to the next man he meets he supplies the wants of his hasty
+intelligence and makes up a perfect tale, wherewith he so haunteth the
+patient auditor, that after many excuses he is fain to endure rather the
+censure of his manners in running away than the tediousness of an
+impertinent discourse. His speech is oft broken off with a succession of
+long parentheses, which he ever vows to fill up ere the conclusion, and
+perhaps would effect it if the other's ear were as umveariable as his
+tongue. If he see but two men talk and read a letter in the street, he
+runs to them and asks if he may not be partner of that secret relation;
+and if they deny it, he offers to tell, since he may not hear, wonders,
+and then falls upon the report of the Scottish mine, or of the great
+fish taken up at Lynne, or of the freezing of the Thames, and after many
+thanks and admissions is hardly entreated silence. He undertakes as much
+as he performs little; this man will thrust himself forward to be the
+guide of the way he knows not, and calls at his neighbour's window and
+asks why his servants are not at work. The market hath no commodity
+which he prizeth not, and which the next table shall not hear recited.
+His tongue, like the tail of Samson's foxes, carries firebrands, and is
+enough to set the whole field of the world on a flame. Himself begins
+table-talk of his neighbour at another's board, to whom he bears the
+first news, and adjures him to conceal the reporter, whose choleric
+answer he returns to his first host enlarged with a second edition; so
+as it uses to be done in the sight of unwilling mastiffs, he claps each
+on the side apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. There can no
+act pass without his comment, which is ever far-fetched, rash,
+suspicious, dilatory. His ears are long and his eyes quick, but most of
+all to imperfections, which as he easily sees, so he increases with
+intermeddling. He harbours another man's servant, and amidst his
+entertainment asks what fare is usual at home, what hours are kept, what
+talk passeth their meals, what his master's disposition is, what his
+government, what his guests? and when he hath by curious inquiries
+extracted all the juice and spirit of hoped intelligence, turns him off
+whence he came, and works on anew. He hates constancy as an earthen
+dulness, unfit for men of spirit, and loves to change his work and his
+place: neither yet can he be so soon weary of any place as every place
+is weary of him, for as he sets himself on work, so others pay him with
+hatred; and look how many masters he hath, so many enemies: neither is
+it possible that any should not hate him but who know him not. So then
+he labours without thanks, talks without credit, lives without love,
+dies without tears, without pity, save that some say it was pity he died
+no sooner.
+
+
+
+OF THE SUPERSTITIOUS.
+
+Superstition is godless religion, devout impiety. The superstitious is
+fond in observation, servile in fear; he worships God but as he lists;
+he gives God what He asks not more than He asks, and all but what he
+should give; and makes more sins than the Ten Commandments. This man
+dares not stir forth till his breast be crossed and his face sprinkled:
+if but an hare cross him the way, he returns; or if his journey began
+unawares on the dismal day, or if he stumble at the threshold. If he see
+a snake unkilled, he fears a mischief; if the salt fall towards him, he
+looks pale and red, and is not quiet till one of the waiters have poured
+wine on his lap; and when he sneezeth, thinks them not his friends that
+uncover not. In the morning he listens whether the crow crieth even or
+odd, and by that token presages of the weather. If he hear but a raven
+croak from the next roof he makes his will, or if a bittern fly over his
+head by night; but if his troubled fancy shall second his thoughts with
+the dream of a fair garden, or green rushes, or the salutation of a dead
+friend, he takes leave of the world and says he cannot live. He will
+never set to sea but on a Sunday, neither ever goes without an _Erra
+Pater_ in his pocket. Saint Paul's Day and Saint Swithin's with the
+Twelve are his oracles, which he dares believe against the almanack.
+When he lies sick on his deathbed no sin troubles him so much as that he
+did once eat flesh on a Friday; no repentance can expiate that, the rest
+need none. There is no dream of his without an interpretation, without a
+prediction; and if the event answer not his exposition, he expounds it
+according to the event. Every dark grove and pictured wall strikes him
+with an awful but carnal devotion. Old wives and stars are his
+counsellors, his night-spell is his guard, and charms his physicians. He
+wears Paracelsian characters for the toothache, and a little hallowed
+wax is his antidote for all evils. This man is strangely credulous, and
+calls impossible things miraculous. If he hear that some sacred block
+speaks, moves, weeps, smiles, his bare feet carry him thither with an
+offering; and if a danger miss him in the way, his saint hath the
+thanks. Some ways he will not go, and some he dares not; either there
+are bugs, or he feigneth them; every lantern is a ghost, and every noise
+is of chains. He knows not why, but his custom is to go a little about,
+and to leave the cross still on the right hand. One event is enough to
+make a rule; out of these he concludes fashions proper to himself; and
+nothing can turn him out of his own course. If he have done his task he
+is safe, it matters not with what affection. Finally, if God would let
+him be the carver of his own obedience, He could not have a better
+subject; as he is, He cannot have a worse.
+
+
+
+OF THE PROFANE.
+
+The superstitious hath too many gods; the profane man hath none at all,
+unless perhaps himself be his own deity, and the world his heaven. To
+matter of religion his heart is a piece of dead flesh, without feeling
+of love, of fear, of care, or of pain from the deaf strokes of a
+revenging conscience. Custom of sin hath wrought this senselessness,
+which now hath so long entertained that it pleads prescription and knows
+not to be altered. This is no sudden evil; we are born sinful, but have
+made ourselves profane; through many degrees we climb to this height of
+impiety. At first he sinned and cared not, now he sinneth and knoweth
+not. Appetite is his lord, and reason his servant, and religion his
+drudge. Sense is the rule of his belief; and if piety may be an
+advantage, he can at once counterfeit and deride it. When aught
+succeedeth to him he sacrifices to his net, and thanks either his
+fortune or his wit; and will rather make a false God than acknowledge
+the truth; if contrary, he cried out of destiny, and blames him to whom
+he will not be beholden. His conscience would fain speak with him, but
+he will not hear it; sets the day, but he disappoints it; and when it
+cries loud for audience, he drowns the noise with good fellowship. He
+never names God but in his oaths; never thinks of Him but in extremity;
+and then he knows not how to think of Him, because he begins but then.
+He quarrels for the hard conditions of his pleasure for his future
+damnation, and from himself lays all the fault upon his Maker; and from
+His decree fetcheth excuses of his wickedness. The inevitable necessity
+of God's counsel makes him desperately careless; so with good food he
+poisons himself. Goodness is his minstrel; neither is any mirth so
+cordial to him, as his sport with God's fools. Every virtue hath his
+slander, and his jest to laugh it out of fashion; every vice his colour.
+His usualest theme is the boast of his young sins, which he can still
+joy in, though he cannot commit; and (if it may be) his speech makes him
+worse than he is. He cannot think of death with patience, without
+terror, which he therefore fears worse than hell, because this he is
+sure of, the other he but doubts of. He comes to church as to the
+theatre, saving that not so willingly, for company, for custom, for
+recreation, perhaps for sleep, or to feed his eyes or his ears; as for
+his soul, he cares no more than if he had none. He loves none but
+himself, and that not enough to seek his true good; neither cares he on
+whom he treads that he may rise. His life is full of license, and his
+practice of outrage. He is hated of God as much as he hateth goodness;
+and differs little from a devil, but that he hath a body.
+
+
+
+OF THE MALCONTENT.
+
+He is neither well full nor fasting; and though he abound with
+complaints, yet nothing dislikes him but the present; for what he
+condemned while it was, once past he magnifies, and strives to recall it
+out of the jaws of time. What he hath he seeth not, his eyes are so
+taken up with what he wants; and what he sees he cares not for, because
+he cares so much for that which is not. When his friend carves him the
+best morsel, he murmurs that it is an happy feast wherein each one may
+cut for himself. When a present is sent him he asks, Is this all? and,
+What, no better? and so accepts it, as if he would have his friend know
+how much he is bound to him for vouchsafing to receive it. It is hard to
+entertain him with a proportionable gift. If nothing, he cries out of
+unthankfulness; if little, that he is basely regarded; if much, he
+exclaims of flattery, and expectation of a large requital. Every
+blessing hath somewhat to disparage and distaste it; children bring
+cares, single life is wild and solitary, eminency is envious,
+retiredness obscure, fasting painful, satiety unwieldy, religion nicely
+severe, liberty is lawless, wealth burdensome, mediocrity contemptible.
+Everything faulteth, either in too much or too little. This man is ever
+headstrong and self-willed, neither is he always tied to esteem or
+pronounce according to reason; some things he must dislike he knows not
+wherefore, but he likes them not; and otherwhere, rather than not
+censure, he will accuse a man of virtue. Everything he meddleth with he
+either findeth imperfect or maketh so; neither is there anything that
+soundeth so harsh in his ear as the commendation of another; whereto yet
+perhaps he fashionably and coldly assenteth, but with such an
+after-clause of exception as doth more than mar his former allowance;
+and if he list not to give a verbal disgrace, yet he shakes his head and
+smiles, as if his silence should say, I could and will not. And when
+himself is praised without excess, he complains that such imperfect
+kindness hath not done him right. If but an unseasonable shower cross
+his recreation, he is ready to fall out with heaven, and thinks he is
+wronged if God will not take his times when to rain, when to shine. He
+is a slave to envy, and loseth flesh with fretting--not so much at his
+own infelicity as at others' good; neither hath he leisure to joy in his
+own blessings whilst another prospereth. Fain would he see some
+mutinies, but dares not raise them; and suffers his lawless tongue to
+walk through the dangerous paths of conceited alterations; but so, as in
+good manners he had rather thrust every man before him when it comes to
+acting. Nothing but fear keeps him from conspiracies, and no man is more
+cruel when he is not manacled with danger. He speaks nothing but satires
+and libels, and lodgeth no guests in his heart but rebels. The
+inconstant and he agree well in their felicity, which both place in
+change; but herein they differ--the inconstant man affects that which
+will be, the malcontent commonly that which was. Finally, he is a
+querulous cur, whom no horse can pass by without barking at; yea, in the
+deep silence of night the very moonshine openeth his clamorous mouth. He
+is the wheel of a well-couched firework, that flies out on all sides,
+not without scorching itself. Every ear is long ago weary of him, and he
+is now almost weary of himself. Give him but a little respite, and he
+will die alone, of no other death than other's welfare.
+
+
+
+OF THE INCONSTANT.
+
+The inconstant man treads upon a moving earth and keeps no pace. His
+proceedings are ever heady and peremptory, for he hath not the patience
+to consult with reason, but determines merely upon fancy. No man is so
+hot in the pursuit of what he liketh, no man sooner wearies. He is fiery
+in his passions, which yet are not more violent than momentary; it is a
+wonder if his love or hatred last so many days as a wonder. His heart is
+the inn of all good motions, wherein, if they lodge for a night, it is
+well; by morning they are gone, and take no leave; and if they come that
+way again they are entertained as guests, not as friends. At first, like
+another Ecebolius, he loved simple truth; thence, diverting his eyes, he
+fell in love with idolatry. Those heathenish shrines had never any more
+doting and besotted client; and now of late he is leapt from Rome to
+Munster, and is grown to giddy Anabaptism. What he will be next as yet
+he knoweth not; but ere he hath wintered his opinion it will be
+manifest. He is good to make an enemy of, ill for a friend; because, as
+there is no trust in his affection, so no rancour in his displeasure.
+The multitude of his changed purposes brings with it forgetfulness, and
+not of others more than of himself. He says, swears, renounces, because
+what he promised he meant not long enough to make an impression. Herein
+alone he is good for a commonwealth, that he sets many on work with
+building, ruining, altering, and makes more business than time itself;
+neither is he a greater enemy to thrift than to idleness. Propriety is
+to him enough cause of dislike; each thing pleases him better that is
+not his own. Even in the best things long continuance is a just quarrel;
+manna itself grows tedious with age, and novelty is the highest style of
+commendation to the meanest offers; neither doth he in books and
+fashions ask, How good? but, How new? Variety carries him away with
+delight, and no uniform pleasure can be without an irksome fulness. He
+is so transformable into all opinions, manners, qualities, that he seems
+rather made immediately of the first matter than of well-tempered
+elements; and therefore is in possibility anything or everything,
+nothing in present substance. Finally, he is servile in imitation, waxy
+to persuasions, witty to wrong himself, a guest in his own house, an ape
+of others, and, in a word, anything rather than himself.
+
+
+
+OF THE FLATTERER.
+
+Flattery is nothing but false friendship, fawning hypocrisy, dishonest
+civility, base merchandise of words, a plausible discord of the heart
+and lips. The flatterer is blear-eyed to ill, and cannot see vices; and
+his tongue walks ever in one track of unjust praises, and can no more
+tell how to discommend than to speak true. His speeches are full of
+wondering interjections, and all his titles are superlative, and both of
+them seldom ever but in presence. His base mind is well matched with a
+mercenary tongue, which is a willing slave to another man's ear; neither
+regardeth he how true, but how pleasing. His art is nothing but
+delightful cozenage, whose rules are smoothing and guarded with perjury;
+whose scope is to make men fools in teaching them to overvalue
+themselves, and to tickle his friends to death. This man is a porter of
+all good tales, and mends them in the carriage; one of Fame's best
+friends and his own, that helps to furnish her with those rumours that
+may advantage himself. Conscience hath no greater adversary, for when
+she is about to play her just part of accusation, he stops her mouth
+with good terms, and well-near strangleth her with shifts. Like that
+subtle fish, he turns himself into the colour of every stone for a
+booty. In himself he is nothing but what pleaseth his great one, whose
+virtues he cannot more extol than imitate his imperfections, that he may
+think his worst graceful. Let him say it is hot, he wipes his forehead
+and unbraceth himself; if cold, he shivers and calls for a warmer
+garment. When he walks with his friend he swears to him that no man else
+is looked at, no man talked of, and that whomsoever he vouchsafes to
+look on and nod to is graced enough; that he knows not his own worth,
+lest he should be too happy; and when he tells what others say in his
+praise, he interrupts himself modestly and dares not speak the rest; so
+his concealment is more insinuating than his speech. He hangs upon the
+lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but oracles,
+and finds occasion to cite some approved sentence under the name he
+honoureth; and when aught is nobly spoken, both his hands are little
+enough to bless him. Sometimes even in absence he extolleth his patron,
+where he may presume of safe conveyance to his ears; and in presence so
+whispereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be
+unheard where he meant it. He hath salves for every sore, to hide them,
+not to heal them; complexion for every face; sin hath not any more
+artificial broker or more impudent bawd. There is no vice that hath not
+from him his colour, his allurement; and his best service is either to
+further guiltiness or smother it. If he grant evil things inexpedient or
+crimes errors, he hath yielded much; either thy estate gives privilege
+of liberty or thy youth; or if neither, what if it be ill? yet it is
+pleasant. Honesty to him is nice singularity, repentance superstitious
+melancholy, gravity dulness, and all virtue an innocent conceit of the
+base-minded. In short, he is the moth of liberal men's coats, the earwig
+of the mighty, the bane of courts, a friend and a slave to the trencher,
+and good for nothing but to be a factor for the devil.
+
+
+
+OF THE SLOTHFUL.
+
+He is a religious man, and wears the time in his cloister, and, as the
+cloak of his doing nothing, pleads contemplation; yet is he no whit the
+leaner for his thoughts, no whit learneder. He takes no less care how to
+spend time than others how to gain by the expense; and when business
+importunes him, is more troubled to forethink what he must do, than
+another to effect it. Summer is out of his favour for nothing but long
+days that make no haste to their even. He loves still to have the sun
+witness of his rising, and lies long, more for lothness to dress him
+than will to sleep; and after some streaking and yawning, calls for
+dinner unwashed, which having digested with a sleep in his chair, he
+walks forth to the bench in the market-place, and looks for companions.
+Whomsoever he meets he stays with idle questions, and lingering
+discourse; how the days are lengthened, how kindly the weather is, how
+false the clock, how forward the spring, and ends ever with, What shall
+we do? It pleases him no less to hinder others than not to work himself.
+When all the people are gone from church, he is left sleeping in his
+seat alone. He enters bonds, and forfeits them by forgetting the day;
+and asks his neighbour when his own field was fallowed, whether the next
+piece of ground belong not to himself. His care is either none or too
+late. When winter is come, after some sharp visitations, he looks on his
+pile of wood, and asks how much was cropped the last spring. Necessity
+drives him to every action, and what he cannot avoid he will yet defer.
+Every change troubles him, although to the better, and his dulness
+counterfeits a kind of contentment. When he is warned on a jury, he had
+rather pay the mulct than appear. All but that which Nature will not
+permit he doth by a deputy, and counts it troublesome to do nothing, but
+to do anything yet more. He is witty in nothing but framing excuses to
+sit still, which if the occasion yield not he coineth with ease. There
+is no work that is not either dangerous or thankless, and whereof he
+foresees not the inconvenience and gainlessness before he enters; which
+if it be verified in event, his next idleness hath found a reason to
+patronize it. He had rather freeze than fetch wood, and chooses rather
+to steal than work; to beg than take pains to steal, and in many things
+to want than beg. He is so loth to leave his neighbour's fire, that he
+is fain to walk home in the dark; and if he be not looked to, wears out
+the night in the chimney-corner, or if not that, lies down in his
+clothes, to save two labours. He eats and prays himself asleep, and
+dreams of no other torment but work. This man is a standing pool, and
+cannot choose but gather corruption. He is descried amongst a thousand
+neighbours by a dry and nasty hand, that still savours of the sheet, a
+beard uncut, unkempt, an eye and ear yellow with their excretions, a
+coat shaken on, ragged, unbrushed, by linen and face striving whether
+shall excel in uncleanness. For body, he hath a swollen leg, a dusky and
+swinish eye, a blown cheek, a drawling tongue, an heavy foot, and is
+nothing but a colder earth moulded with standing water. To conclude, is
+a man in nothing but in speech and shape.
+
+
+
+OF THE COVETOUS.
+
+He is a servant to himself, yea, to his servant; and doth base homage to
+that which should be the worst drudge. A lifeless piece of earth is his
+master, yea his god, which he shrines in his coffer, and to which he
+sacrifices his heart. Every face of his coin is a new image, which he
+adores with the highest veneration; yet takes upon him to be protector
+of that he worshippeth, which he fears to keep and abhors to lose, not
+daring to trust either any other god or his own. Like a true chemist, he
+turns everything into silver, both what he should eat, and what he
+should wear; and that he keeps to look on, not to use. When he returns
+from his field, he asks, not without much rage, what became of the loose
+crust in his cupboard, and who hath rioted among his leeks. He never
+eats good meal but on his neighbour's trencher, and there he makes
+amends to his complaining stomach for his former and future fasts. He
+bids his neighbours to dinner, and when they have done, sends in a
+trencher for the shot. Once in a year, perhaps, he gives himself leave
+to feast, and for the time thinks no man more lavish; wherein he lists
+not to fetch his dishes from far, nor will be beholden to the shambles;
+his own provision shall furnish his board with an insensible cost, and
+when his guests are parted, talks how much every man devoured, and how
+many cups were emptied, and feeds his family with the mouldy remnants a
+month after. If his servant break but an earthen dish for want of light,
+he abates it out of his quarter's wages. He chips his bread, and sends
+it back to exchange for staler. He lets money, and sells time for a
+price, and will not be importuned either to prevent or defer his day;
+and in the meantime looks for secret gratuities, besides the main
+interest, which he sells and returns into the stock. He breeds of money
+to the third generation, neither hath it sooner any being, than he sets
+it to beget more. In all things he affects secrecy and propriety; he
+grudgeth his neighbour the water of his well, and next to stealing he
+hates borrowing. In his short and unquiet sleeps he dreams of thieves,
+and runs to the door and names more men than he hath. The least sheaf he
+ever culls out for tithe, and to rob God holds it the best pastime, the
+clearest gain. This man cries out above others of the prodigality of our
+times, and tells of the thrift of our forefathers: how that great prince
+thought himself royally attired, when he bestowed thirteen shillings and
+fourpence on half a suit. How one wedding gown served our grandmothers
+till they exchanged it for a winding-sheet; and praises plainness, not
+for less sin, but for less cost. For himself, he is still known by his
+forefather's coat, which he means with his blessing to bequeath to the
+many descents of his heirs. He neither would be poor, nor be accounted
+rich. No man complains so much of want, to avoid a subsidy; no man is so
+importunate in begging, so cruel in exaction; and when he most complains
+of want, he fears that which he complains to have. No way is indirect to
+wealth, whether of fraud or violence. Gain is his godliness, which if
+conscience go about to prejudice, and grow troublesome by exclaiming
+against, he is condemned for a common barretor. Like another Ahab, he is
+sick of the next field, and thinks he is ill-seated, while he dwells by
+neighbours. Shortly, his neighbours do not much more hate him, than he
+himself. He cares not (for no great advantage) to lose his friend, pine
+his body, damn his soul; and would despatch himself when corn falls, but
+that he is loth to cast away money on a cord.
+
+
+
+OF THE VAINGLORIOUS.
+
+All his humour rises up into the froth of ostentation, which if it once
+settle falls down into a narrow room. If the excess be in the
+understanding part, all his wit is in print; the press hath left his
+head empty, yea, not only what he had, but what he could borrow without
+leave. If his glory be in his devotion, he gives not an alms but on
+record; and if he have once done well, God hears of it often, for upon
+every unkindness he is ready to upbraid Him with merits. Over and above
+his own discharge, he hath some satisfactions to spare for the common
+treasure. He can fulfil the law with ease, and earn God with
+superfluity. If he hath bestowed but a little sum in the glazing,
+paving, parieting of God's house, you shall find it in the church
+window. Or if a more gallant humour possess him, he wears all his land
+on his back, and walking high, looks over his left shoulder, to see if
+the point of his rapier follow him with a grace. He is proud of another
+man's horse, and well mounted, thinks every man wrongs him that looks
+not at him. A bare head in the street doth him more good than a meal's
+meat. He swears big at an ordinary, and talks of the court with a sharp
+accent; neither vouchsafes to name any not honourable, nor those without
+some term of familiarity, and likes well to see the hearer look upon him
+amazedly, as if he said, How happy is this man that is so great with
+great ones! Under pretence of seeking for a scroll of news, he draws out
+an handful of letters endorsed with his own style to the height, and
+half reading every title, passes over the latter part with a murmur, not
+without signifying what lord sent this, what great lady the other, and
+for what suits; the last paper (as it happens) is his news from his
+honourable friend in the French court. In the midst of dinner, his
+lackey comes sweating in with a sealed note from his creditor, who now
+threatens a speedy arrest, and whispers the ill news in his master's
+ear, when he aloud names a counsellor of state, and professes to know
+the employment. The same messenger he calls with an imperious nod, and
+after expostulation, where he hath left his fellows, in his ear, sends
+him for some new spur-leathers or stockings by this time footed; and
+when he is gone half the room, recalls him, and sayeth aloud, It is no
+matter, let the greater bag alone till I come. And yet again calling him
+closer, whispers (so that all the table may hear), that if his crimson
+suit be ready against the day, the rest need no haste. He picks his
+teeth when his stomach is empty, and calls for pheasants at a common
+inn. You shall find him prizing the richest jewels and fairest horses,
+when his purse yields not money enough for earnest. He thrusts himself
+into the press before some great ladies, and loves to be seen near the
+head of a great train. His talk is how many mourners he furnished with
+gowns at his father's funeral, how many messes, how rich his coat is,
+and how ancient, how great his alliance; what challenges he hath made
+and answered; what exploits he did at Calais or Newport; and when he
+hath commended others' buildings, furnitures, suits, compares them with
+his own. When he hath undertaken to be the broker for some rich diamond,
+he wears it, and pulling off his glove to stroke up his hair, thinks no
+eye should have any other object. Entertaining his friend, he chides his
+cook for no better cheer, and names the dishes he meant and wants. To
+conclude, he is ever on the stage, and acts still a glorious part
+abroad, when no man carries a baser heart, no man is more sordid and
+careless at home. He is a Spanish soldier on an Italian theatre, a
+bladder full of wind, a skinful of words, a fool's wonder and a wise
+man's fool.
+
+
+
+OF THE PRESUMPTUOUS.
+
+Presumption is nothing but hope out of his wits, an high house upon weak
+pillars. The presumptuous man loves to attempt great things, only
+because they are hard and rare. His actions are bold and venturous, and
+more full of hazard than use. He hoisteth sail in a tempest, and sayeth
+never any of his ancestors were drowned. He goes into an infected house,
+and says the plague dares not seize on noble blood. He runs on high
+battlements, gallops down steep hills, rides over narrow bridges, walks
+on weak ice, and never thinks, What if I fall? but, What if I run over
+and fall not? He is a confident alchemist, and braggeth that the womb of
+his furnace hath conceived a burden that will do all the world good;
+which yet he desires secretly borne, for fear of his own bondage. In the
+meantime his glass breaks, yet he upon better luting lays wagers of the
+success, and promiseth wedges beforehand to his friend. He saith, I will
+sin, and be sorry, and escape; either God will not see, or not be angry,
+or not punish it, or remit the measure. If I do well, He is just to
+reward; if ill, He is merciful to forgive. Thus his praises wrong God no
+less than his offence, and hurt himself no less than they wrong God. Any
+pattern is enough to encourage him. Show him the way where any foot hath
+trod, he dare follow, although he see no steps returning; what if a
+thousand have attempted, and miscarried, if but one hath prevailed it
+sufficeth. He suggests to himself false hopes of never too late, as if
+he could command either time or repentance, and dare defer the
+expectation of mercy, till betwixt the bridge and the water. Give him
+but where to set his foot, and he will remove the earth. He foreknows
+the mutations of states, the events of war, the temper of the seasons;
+either his old prophecy tells it him, or his stars. Yea, he is no
+stranger to the records of God's secret counsel, but he turns them over,
+and copies them out at pleasure. I know not whether in all his
+enterprises he show less fear or wisdom; no man promises himself more,
+no man more believes himself. I will go and sell, and return and
+purchase, and spend and leave my sons such estates: all which, if it
+succeed, he thanks himself; if not, he blames not himself. His purposes
+are measured, not by his ability, but his will; and his actions by his
+purposes. Lastly, he is ever credulous in assent, rash in undertaking,
+peremptory in resolving, witless in proceeding, and in his ending
+miserable, which is never other than either the laughter of the wise or
+the pity of fools.
+
+
+
+OF THE DISTRUSTFUL.
+
+The distrustful man hath his heart in his eyes or in his hand; nothing
+is sure to him but what he sees, what he handles. He is either very
+simple or very false, and therefore believes not others, because he
+knows how little himself is worthy of belief. In spiritual things,
+either God must leave a pawn with him or seek some other creditor. All
+absent things and unusual have no other but a conditional entertainment;
+they are strange, if true. If he see two neighbours whisper in his
+presence, he bids them speak out, and charges them to say no more than
+they can justify. When he hath committed a message to his servant, he
+sends a second after him to listen how it is delivered. He is his own
+secretary, and of his own counsel for what he hath, for what he
+purposeth. And when he tells over his bags, looks through the keyhole to
+see if he have any hidden witness, and asks aloud, Who is there? when no
+man hears him. He borrows money when he needs not, for fear lest others
+should borrow of him. He is ever timorous and cowardly, and asks every
+man's errand at the door ere he opens. After his first sleep he starts
+up and asks if the furthest gate were barred, and out of a fearful sweat
+calls up his servant and bolts the door after him, and then studies
+whether it were better to lie still and believe, or rise and see.
+Neither is his heart fuller of fears than his head of strange projects
+and far-fetched constructions. What means the state, think you, in such
+an action, and whither tends this course? Learn of me (if you know not)
+the ways of deep policies are secret, and full of unknown windings; that
+is their act, this will be their issue: so casting beyond the moon, he
+makes wise and just proceedings suspected. In all his predictions and
+imaginations he ever lights upon the worst; not what is most likely will
+fall out, but what is most ill. There is nothing that he takes not with
+the left hand; no text which his gloss corrupts not. Words, oaths,
+parchments, seals, are but broken reeds; these shall never deceive him,
+he loves no payments but real. If but one in an age have miscarried by a
+rare casualty, he misdoubts the same event. If but a tile fallen from an
+high roof have brained a passenger, or the breaking of a coach-wheel
+have endangered the burden, he swears he will keep home, or take him to
+his horse. He dares not come to church for fear of the crowd, nor spare
+the Sabbath's labour for fear of the want, nor come near the Parliament
+house, because it should have been blown up. What might have been
+affects him as much as what will be. Argue, vow, protest, swear, he
+hears thee, and believes himself. He is a sceptic, and dare hardly give
+credit to his senses, which he hath often arraigned of false
+intelligence. He so lives, as if he thought all the world were thieves,
+and were not sure whether himself were one. He is uncharitable in his
+censures, unquiet in his fears, bad enough always, but in his own
+opinion much worse than he is.
+
+
+
+OF THE AMBITIOUS.
+
+Ambition is a proud covetousness, a dry thirst of honour, the longing
+disease of reason, an aspiring and gallant madness. The ambitious climbs
+up high and perilous stairs, and never cares how to come down; the
+desire of rising hath swallowed up his fear of a fall. Having once
+cleaved like a burr to some great man's coat, he resolves not to be
+shaken off with any small indignities, and, finding his hold thoroughly
+fast, casts how to insinuate yet nearer. And therefore he is busy and
+servile in his endeavours to please, and all his officious respects turn
+home to himself. He can be at once a slave to command, an intelligencer
+to inform, a parasite to soothe and flatter, a champion to defend, an
+executioner to revenge anything for an advantage of favour. He hath
+projected a plot to rise, and woe be to the friend that stands in his
+way. He still haunteth the court, and his unquiet spirit haunteth him,
+which, having fetched him from the secure peace of his country rest,
+sets him new and impossible tasks, and, after many disappointments,
+encourages him to try the same sea in spite of his shipwrecks, and
+promise better success. A small hope gives him heart against great
+difficulties, and draws on new expense, new servility, persuading him
+like foolish boys to shoot away a second shaft, that he may find the
+first. He yieldeth, and now secure of the issue, applauds himself in
+that honour, which he still affecteth, still misseth; and, for the last
+of all trials, will rather bribe for a troublesome preferment than
+return void of a title. But now, when he finds himself desperately
+crossed, and at once spoiled both of advancement and hope, both of
+fruition and possibility, all his desire is turned into rage, his thirst
+is now only of revenge, his tongue sounds of nothing but detraction and
+slander. Now the place he fought for is base, his rival unworthy, his
+adversary injurious, officers corrupt, court infectious; and how well is
+he that may be his own man, his own master, that may live safely in a
+mean distance, at pleasure, free from starving, free from burning? But
+if his designs speed well, ere he be warm in that feat, his mind is
+possessed of an higher. What he hath is but a degree to what he would
+have. Now he scorneth what he formerly aspired to. His success doth not
+give him so much contentment as provocation; neither can he be at rest
+so long as he hath one, either to overlook, or to match, or to emulate
+him. When his country friend comes to visit him, he carries him up to
+the awful presence, and now in his sight, crowding nearer to the chair
+of state, desires to be looked on, desires to be spoken to by the
+greatest, and studies how to offer an occasion, lest he should seem
+unknown, unregarded; and if any gesture of the least grace fall happily
+upon him, he looks back upon his friend, lest he should carelessly let
+it pass, without a note; and what he wanteth in sense he supplies in
+history. His disposition is never but shamefully unthankful, for unless
+he have all he hath nothing. It must be a large draught, whereof he will
+not say that those few drops do not slake but inflame him. So still he
+thinks himself the worse for small favours. His wit so contrives the
+likely plots of his promotion, as if he would steal it away without
+God's knowledge, besides His will. Neither doth he ever look up, and
+consult in his forecasts with the supreme Moderator of all things, as
+one that thinks honour is ruled by fortune, and that heaven meddleth not
+with the disposing of these earthly lots; and therefore it is just with
+that wise God to defeat his fairest hopes, and to bring him to a loss in
+the hottest of his chase, and to cause honour to fly away so much the
+faster, by how much it is more eagerly pursued. Finally, he is an
+importunate suitor, a corrupt client, a violent undertaker, a smooth
+factor, but untrusty, a restless master of his own, a bladder puffed up
+with the wind of hope and self-love. He is in the common body as a mole
+in the earth, ever unquietly casting; and, in one word, is nothing but a
+confused heap of envy, pride, covetousness.
+
+
+
+OF THE UNTHRIFT.
+
+He ranges beyond his pale, and lives without compass. His expense is
+measured, not by ability, but will. His pleasures are immoderate, and
+not honest. A wanton eye, a liquorish tongue, a gamesome hand, have
+impoverished him. The vulgar sort call him bountiful, and applaud him
+when he spends; and recompense him with wishes when he gives, with pity
+when he wants. Neither can it be denied that he raught true liberality,
+but overwent it. No man could have lived more laudably, if, when he was
+at the best, he had stayed there. While he is present, none of the
+wealthier guests may pay aught to the shot without much vehemence,
+without danger of unkindness. Use hath made it unpleasant to him not to
+spend. He is in all things more ambitious of the title of good
+fellowship than of wisdom. When he looks into the wealthy chest of his
+father, his conceit suggests that it cannot be emptied; and while he
+takes out some deal every day, he perceives not any diminution; and when
+the heap is sensibly abated, yet still flatters himself with enough. One
+hand cozens the other, and the belly deceives both. He doth not so much
+bestow benefits as scatter them. True merit doth not carry them, but
+smoothness of adulation. His senses are too much his guides and his
+purveyors, and appetite is his steward. He is an impotent servant to his
+lusts, and knows not to govern either his mind or his purse.
+Improvidence is ever the companion of unthriftiness. This man cannot
+look beyond the present, and neither thinks nor cares what shall be,
+much less suspects what may be; and while he lavishes out his substance
+in superfluities, thinks he only knows what the world is worth, and that
+others overprize it. He feels poverty before he sees it, never complains
+till he be pinched with wants; never spares till the bottom, when it is
+too late either to spend or recover. He is every man's friend save his
+own, and then wrongs himself most when he courteth himself with most
+kindness. He vies time with the slothful, and it is a hard match whether
+chases away good hours to worse purpose, the one by doing nothing, or
+the other by idle pastime. He hath so dilated himself with the beams of
+prosperity that he lies open to all dangers, and cannot gather up
+himself, on just warning, to avoid a mischief. He were good for an
+almoner, ill for a steward. Finally, he is the living tomb of his
+forefathers, of his posterity; and when he hath swallowed both, is more
+empty than before he devoured them.
+
+
+
+OF THE ENVIOUS.
+
+He feeds on others' evils, and hath no disease but his neighbour's
+welfare. Whatsoever God do for him, he cannot be happy with company; and
+if he were put to choose whether he would rather have equals in a common
+felicity, or superiors in misery, he would demur upon the election. His
+eye casts out too much, and never returns home, but to make comparisons
+with another's good. He is an ill prizer of foreign commodity; worse of
+his own, for that he rates too high, this under value. You shall have
+him ever inquiring into the estates of his equals and betters, wherein
+he is not more desirous to hear all than loth to hear anything over
+good; and if just report relate aught better than he would, he redoubles
+the question, as being hard to believe what he likes not, and hopes yet,
+if that be averred again to his grief, that there is somewhat concealed
+in the relation, which, if it were known, would argue the commended
+party miserable, and blemish him with secret shame. He is ready to
+quarrel with God, because the next field is fairer grown, and angrily
+calculates his cost, and time, and tillage. Whom he dares not openly
+backbite, nor wound with a direct censure, he strikes smoothly with an
+over cold praise; and when he sees that he must either maliciously
+impugn the just praise of another (which were unsafe), or approve it by
+assent, he yieldeth; but shows withal that his means were such, both by
+nature and education, that he could not, without much neglect, be less
+commendable. So his happiness shall be made the colour of detraction.
+When an wholesome law is propounded, he crosseth it either by open or
+close opposition, not for any incommodity or inexpedience, but because
+it proceeded from any mouth besides his own. And it must be a cause
+rarely plausible that will not admit some probable contradiction. When
+his equal should rise to honour, he strives against it unseen, and
+rather with much cost suborneth great adversaries; and when he sees his
+resistance vain, he can give an hollow gratulation in presence, but in
+secret disparages that advancement. Either the man is unfit for the
+place, or the place for the man; or if fit, yet less gainful, or more
+common than opinion; whereto he adds that himself might have had the
+same dignity upon better terms, and refused it. He is witty in devising
+suggestions to bring his rival out of love into suspicion. If he be
+courteous, he is seditiously popular; if bountiful, he binds over his
+clients to a faction; if successful in war, he is dangerous in peace; if
+wealthy, he lays up for a day; if powerful, nothing wants but
+opportunity of rebellion. His submission is ambitious hypocrisy; his
+religion, politic insinuation; no action is safe from a jealous
+construction. When he receives a good report of him whom he emulates, he
+saith, "Fame is partial, and is wont to blanche mischiefs;" and pleaseth
+himself with hope to find it worse; and if ill-will have dispersed any
+more spiteful narration, he lays hold on that, against all witnesses,
+and broacheth that rumour for truest because worst; and when he sees him
+perfectly miserable, he can at once pity him, and rejoice. What himself
+cannot do, others shall not; he hath gained well if he have hindered the
+success of what he would have done, and could not. He conceals his best
+skill, not so as it may not be known that he knows it, but so as it may
+not be learned, because he would have the world miss him. He attained to
+a foreign medicine by the secret legacy of a dying empiric, whereof he
+will leave no heir lest the praise shall be divided. Finally, he is an
+enemy to God's favours, if they fall beside himself; the best nurse of
+ill-fame, a man of the worst diet, for he consumes himself, and delights
+in pining; a thorn-hedge covered with nettles, a peevish interpreter of
+good things, and no other than a lean and pale carcase quickened with
+a fiend.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOHN STEPHENS,
+
+_The younger, a lawyer of Lincoln's Inn, published in 1615 "Satyrical
+Essayes, Characters, and others, or accurate and quick Descriptions
+fitted to the life of their Subjects." He had published two years before
+a play called "Cinthia's Revenge, or Maenander's Extasie," which
+Langbaine described as one of the longest he had ever read, and the most
+tedious. Somebody seems to have attacked him and his Characters. A
+second edition, in 1631, was entitled "New Essays and Characters, with a
+new Satyre in defence of the Common Law, and Lawyers: mixt with Reproofe
+against their enemy Ignoramus."_
+
+JOHN EARLE
+
+_Is the next of our Character writers. His "Microcosmography, or a Piece
+of the World discovered, in Essays and Characters" was first printed in
+1628. John Earle was born in the city of York, at the beginning of the
+seventeenth century, probably in the year 1601. His father, who was
+Registrar of the Archbishop's Court, sent him to Oxford in 1619, and he
+was said to be eighteen years old when he matriculated, that year, as a
+commoner at Christchurch. He graduated as Master of Arts in 1624. He was
+a Fellow of Merton, and wrote in his younger days several occasional
+poems that won credit before he published anonymously, still as an
+Oxford man, when he was about twenty-seven years old, his famous
+Characters. But he remembered York when adding to their title that they
+were "newly composed for the northern part of this Kingdom." This first
+edition contained fifty-four characters, which precede the others in the
+following collection. In the next year, 1629, the book reached a fifth
+edition, printed for Robert Allot, in which the number of the characters
+was increased to seventy-six. Two more characters--a Herald, and a
+Suspicious or Jealous Man--were added in the sixth edition, which was
+printed for Allot in 1633. The seventh edition was printed for Andrew
+Coolie in 1638, the eighth in 1650. Other editions followed in 1669,
+1676, 1732, and at Salisbury in 1786. In 1811 the little book was edited
+carefully by Dr. Philip Bliss, and it was edited again by Professor
+Edward Arber in 1868, in his valuable series of English Reprints.
+
+John Earle, after the production of his "Microcosmography," wrote in
+April 1630 a short poem upon the death of William, third Earl of
+Pembroke, son of Sidney's sister. The third Earl's younger brother
+Philip succeeded as fourth Earl, and was Chancellor of the University of
+Oxford. He was then, or thereafter became, Earle's patron, and made him
+his chaplain. About the same time, in 1631, Earle acted as proctor of
+the University. In 1639 the Earl of Pembroke presented John Earle to the
+living of Bishopston in Wiltshire, as successor to Chillingworth.
+Pembroke being Lord Chamberlain was entitled also to a residence at
+Court for his chaplain, and thus Earle was brought under the immediate
+notice of Charles I., who appointed him to be his own chaplain, and made
+him tutor to Prince Charles in 1641, when Dr. Brian Duppa, the preceding
+tutor, had been made Bishop of Salisbury. In 1642 Earle proceeded to the
+degree of D.D. In 1643 he was elected Chancellor of the Cathedral at
+Salisbury, but he was presently deprived by the Parliament of that
+office, and of his living at Bishopston. He then lived in retirement
+abroad, made a translation into Latin of Hooker's "Ecclesiastical
+Polity" which his servants negligently used, after his death, as waste
+paper, and of the "Eikon Basilike" which was published in 1649. After
+the Restoration, Dr. Earle was made Dean of Westminster; then, in 1662,
+Bishop of Worcester. He was translated to Salisbury in 1663, died in
+November 1665, and was buried near the altar in Merton College Church.
+
+Earle was a man so gentle and liberal, that while Clarendon described
+him as "among the few excellent men who never had and never could have
+an enemy," Baxter wrote in the margin of a kindly letter from him, "O,
+that they were all such!" and Calamy described him as "a man that could
+do good against evil, forgive much out of a charitable heart." The
+Parliament, even just before depriving him as a malignant, had put him
+to the trouble of declining its nomination as one of the Westminster
+Assembly of Divines. As a Bishop in the early days of Charles the Second
+he did all he could to oppose the persecuting spirit of the first
+Conventicle Act and of the Five Mile Act.
+
+Dr. Philip Bliss, who died in 1857, after a life marked by many services
+to English Literature, chose Bishop Earle's "Characters" for one of his
+earlier studies, published in 1811, when his own age was twenty-four.
+His book[2] included an account of Bishop Earle himself, a list of his
+writings, publication for the first time of some of his early verses,
+his correspondence with Baxter, and a Chronological List of Books of
+Characters from 1567 to 1700, which was the first contribution to a
+study of this feature in our Seventeenth Century Literature. Bliss took
+his text of Earle from the edition of 1732, collated with the first
+impression in 1628. As the Characters which now follow are given with
+Bliss's text and notes, I add what the editor himself says of his
+method. The variations of the 1732 text from the first impressions in
+1628 are thus distinguished: "Those words or passages which have been
+added since the first edition are contained between brackets_ [and
+printed in the common type]; _those which have received some alteration
+are printed in italic; and the passages, as they stand in the first
+edition, are always given in a note."_
+
+
+
+MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;
+
+OR,
+
+A PIECE OF THE WORLD CHARACTERIZED.
+
+
+
+A CHILD
+
+Is a man in a small letter, yet the best copy of Adam before he tasted
+of Eve or the apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the world
+can only write this character. He is nature's fresh picture newly drawn
+in oil, which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His soul is yet
+a white paper[3] unscribbled with observations of the world, wherewith,
+at length, it becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because
+he knows no evil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with
+misery. He arrives not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils
+to come, by foreseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, when the
+smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater. Nature and his parents
+alike dandle him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a draught of
+wormwood. He plays yet, like a young prentice the first day, and is not
+come to his task of melancholy. [4][All the language he speaks yet is
+tears, and they serve him well enough to express his necessity.] His
+hardest labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use so deceitful an
+organ; and he is best company with it when he can but prattle. We laugh
+at his foolish sports, but his game is our earnest; and his drums,
+rattles, and hobby-horses, but the emblems and mocking of man's
+business. His father hath writ him as his own little story, wherein he
+reads those days of his life that he cannot remember, and sighs to see
+what innocence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows, he is a stair
+lower from God; and, like his first father, much worse in his
+breeches.[5] He is the Christian's example, and the old man's relapse;
+the one imitates his pureness, and the other falls into his simplicity.
+Could he put off his body with his little coat, he had got eternity
+without a burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG RAW PREACHER
+
+Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped out of his nest to be
+chirping on a hedge, and will be straggling abroad at what peril soever.
+His backwardness in the university hath set him thus forward; for had he
+not truanted there, he had not been so hasty a divine. His small
+standing, and time, hath made him a proficient only in boldness, out of
+which, and his table-book, he is furnished for a preacher. His
+collections of study are the notes of sermons, which, taken up at St.
+Mary's,[6] he utters in the country: and if he write brachigraphy,[7]
+his stock is so much the better. His writing is more than his reading,
+for he reads only what he gets without book. Thus accomplished he comes
+down to his friends, and his first salutation is grace and peace out of
+the pulpit. His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers his college
+more at large,[8] The pace of his sermon is a full career, and he runs
+wildly over hill and dale, till the clock stop him. The labour of it is
+chiefly in his lungs; and the only thing he has made _in_[9] it himself,
+is the faces. He takes on against the pope without mercy, and has a jest
+still in lavender for Bellarmine: yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in
+his way, though with a mind, I must needs say, very orthodox. His action
+is all passion, and his speech interjections. He has an excellent
+faculty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a very good grace. [His
+stile is compounded of twenty several men's, only his body imitates some
+one extraordinary.] He will not draw his handkercher out of his place,
+nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that he never
+looks upon book; and indeed he was never used to it. He preaches but
+once a year, though twice on Sunday; for the stuff is still the same,
+only the dressing a little altered: he has more tricks with a sermon,
+than a tailor with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and at last
+quite disguise it with a new preface. If he have waded farther in his
+profession, and would show reading of his own, his authors are postils,
+and his school-divinity a catechism. His fashion and demure habit gets
+him in with some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on Friday nights.
+You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and serge facing; and his
+ruff, next his hair the shortest thing about him. The companion of his
+walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange points,
+which they both understand alike. His friends and much painfulness may
+prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a chambermaid;
+with whom we leave him now in the bonds of wedlock:--next Sunday you
+shall have him again.
+
+
+
+A GRAVE DIVINE
+
+Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make
+his shoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch
+forth of his port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning,
+and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end
+of his studies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts
+his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with human reading,
+or to smooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
+both religions, and anchored in the best, and is a protestant out of
+judgment, not faction; not because his country, but his reason is on
+this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit
+not his itch, but fear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric,
+and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with
+inforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his
+meditations at one butt; and beats upon his text, not the cushion;
+making his hearers, not the pulpit, groan. In citing of popish errors,
+he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels them with barren invectives;
+and labours more to shew the truth of his cause than the spleen. His
+sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his devotion
+goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week,
+because he would not be idle; nor talks three hours together, because he
+would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches at fit times, and his
+conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony, he is
+not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow
+his judgment to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a surplice.
+He esteems the Church hierarchy as the Church's glory, and however we
+jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In
+simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes in the bargain, and is
+loath to come by promotion so dear: yet his worth at length advances
+him, and the price of his own merit buys him a living. He is no base
+grater of his tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer
+is the only man he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels.
+He is a main pillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his
+life our religion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
+in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example.[10]
+
+
+
+A MERE DULL PHYSICIAN.
+
+His practice is some business at bedsides, and his speculation an
+urinal: he is distinguished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap and
+doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is
+doctor howsoever. He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as university
+men to their statutes, though they never saw them; and his discourse is
+all aphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont,[11] or the
+Regiment of Health.[12] The best cure he has done is upon his own purse,
+which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His
+learning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and
+the superscriptions of gallipots in his apothecary's shop, which are
+ranked in his shelves and the doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only
+languaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many times when he knows not. If
+he have been but a bystander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered
+with it though he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that
+his practice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes
+best the smell of urine, and holds Vespasian's[13] rule, that no gain is
+unsavory. If you send this once to him you must resolve to be sick
+howsoever, for he will never leave examining your water, till he has
+shaked it into disease:[l4] then follows a writ to his drugger in a
+strange tongue, which he understands, though he cannot construe. If he
+see you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot
+heal your sickness, he will be sure to help it. He translates his
+apothecary's shop into your chamber, and the very windows and benches
+must take physic. He tells you your malady in Greek, though it be but a
+cold, or head-ache; which by good endeavour and diligence he may bring
+to some moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is, that he leaves a man
+gasping, and his pretence is, death and he have a quarrel and must not
+meet; but his fear is, lest the carcase should bleed.[15] Anatomies, and
+other spectacles of mortality, have hardened him, and he is no more
+struck with a funeral than a grave-maker. Noblemen use him for a
+director of their stomach, and the ladies for wantonness,[16] especially
+if he be a proper man. If he be single, he is in league with his
+she-apothecary; and because it is the physician, the husband is patient.
+If he have leisure to be idle (that is to study), he has a smatch at
+alchemy, and is sick of the philosopher's stone; a disease uncurable,
+but by an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His two main opposites are a
+mountebank and a good woman, and he never shews his learning so much as
+in an invective against them and their boxes. In conclusion, he is a
+sucking consumption, and a very brother to the worms, for they are both
+ingendered out of man's corruption.
+
+
+
+AN ALDERMAN.
+
+He is venerable in his gown, more in his beard, wherewith he sets not
+forth so much his own, as the face of a city. You must look on him as
+one of the town gates, and consider him not as a body, but a
+corporation. His eminency above others hath made him a man of worship,
+for he had never been preferred, but that he was worth thousands. He
+over-sees the commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argument of his
+policy, that he has thriven by his craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in
+his ward; yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be like the
+balances in his warehouse. A ponderous man he is, and substantial, for
+his weight is commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment nothing
+rises so much as his belly. His head is of no great depth, yet well
+furnished; and when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may bring
+forth a city apophthegm, or some such sage matter. He is one that will
+not hastily run into error, for he treads with great deliberation, and
+his judgment consists much as his pace. His discourse is commonly the
+annals of his mayoralty, and what good government there was in the days
+of his gold chain, though the door posts were the only things that
+suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely religious, especially on
+solemn days; for he comes often to church to make a shew, [and is a part
+of the quire hangings.] He is the highest star of his profession, and an
+example to his trade, what in time they may come to. He makes very much
+of his authority, but more of his satin doublet, which, though of good
+years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh every Sunday: but his
+scarlet gown is a monument, and lasts from generation to generation.
+
+
+
+A DISCONTENTED MAN
+
+Is one that is fallen out with the world, and will be revenged on
+himself. Fortune has denied him in something, and he now takes pet, and
+will be miserable in spite. The root of his disease is a self-humouring
+pride, and an accustomed tenderness not to be crossed in his fancy; and
+the occasion commonly of one of these three, a hard father, a peevish
+wench, or his ambition thwarted. He considered not the nature of the
+world till he felt it, and all blows fall on him heavier, because they
+light not first on his expectation. He has now foregone all but his
+pride, and is yet vain-glorious in the ostentation of his melancholy.
+His composure of himself is a studied carelessness, with his arms
+across, and a neglected hanging of his head and cloak; and he is as
+great an enemy to a hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels at the time and
+up-starts, and sighs at the neglect of men of parts, that is, such as
+himself. His life is a perpetual satire, and he is still girding the
+age's vanity, when this very anger shews he too much esteems it. He is
+much displeased to see men merry, and wonders what they can find to
+laugh at. He never draws his own lips higher than a smile, and frowns
+wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into that deadly melancholy
+to be a bitter hater of men, and is the most apt companion for any
+mischief. He is the spark that kindles the commonwealth, and the bellows
+himself to blow it: and if he turn any thing, it is commonly one of
+these, either friar, traitor, or mad-man.
+
+
+
+AN ANTIQUARY.
+
+He is a man strangely thrifty of time past, and an enemy indeed to his
+maw, whence he fetches out many things when they are now all rotten and
+stinking. He is one that hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured of
+old age and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese), the
+better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because
+we say it is most antient; and yet a broken statue would almost make him
+an idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and
+reads only those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. He
+will go you forty miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey; an
+there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the way, he'll be
+considering it so long, till he forget his journey. His estate consists
+much in shekels, and Roman coins; and he hath more pictures of Cæsar,
+than James or Elizabeth. Beggars cozen him with musty things which they
+have raked from dung-hills, and he preserves their rags for precious
+relics. He loves no library, but where there are more spiders' volumes
+than authors', and looks with great admiration on the antique work of
+cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this latter age, but
+a manuscript he pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all
+moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between every syllable. He
+would give all the books in his study (which are rarities all), for one
+of the old Roman binding, or six-lines of Tully in his own hand. His
+chamber is hung commonly with strange beasts' skins, and is a kind of
+charnel-house of bones extraordinary; and his discourse upon them, if
+you will hear him, shall last longer. His very attire is that which is
+the eldest out of fashion, [[17] _and you may pick a criticism out of
+his breeches_.] He never looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and
+then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His grave does not fright
+him, for he has been used to sepulchres, and he likes death the better,
+because it gathers him to his fathers.
+
+
+
+A YOUNGER BROTHER.
+
+His elder brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like
+Jacob at his heels. His father has done with him as Pharaoh to the
+children of Israel, that would have them make brick and give them no
+straw, so he tasks him to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to
+maintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder's
+knighthood must sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His birth and
+bringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth;
+but he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, of his
+brother. He is something better than the serving-men; yet they more
+saucy with him than he bold with the master, who beholds him with a
+countenance of stern awe, and checks him oftener than his liveries. His
+brother's old suits and he are much alike in request, and cast off now
+and then one to the other. Nature hath furnished him with a little more
+wit upon compassion, for it is like to be his best revenue. If his
+annuity stretch so far, he is sent to the university, and with great
+heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as a profession he is
+condemned to by his ill fortune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
+the king's high-way; where at length their vizard is plucked off, and
+they strike fair for Tyburn: but their brother's pride, not love, gets
+them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries,[18] where rags and
+lice are no scandal, where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, and
+dies without a shirt. The only thing that may better his fortunes is an
+art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and then some
+rich widow that is hungry after his blood. He is commonly discontented
+and desperate, and the form of his exclamation is, _that churl my
+brother_. He loves not his country for this unnatural custom, and would
+have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent[19] only, which
+he holds in admiration.
+
+
+
+A MERE FORMAL MAN
+
+Is somewhat more than the shape of a man, for he has his length,
+breadth, and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked
+through him, and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is
+merely example, and his action is not guided by his understanding, but
+he sees other men do thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we
+cannot call him a wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a
+knave; nor a protestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain
+is the carriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame;
+which he performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other
+meditations. His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he
+swears, in the phrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair
+inviter, and can excuse his good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has
+some faculty in the mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of his
+morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He apprehends a jest by seeing men
+smile, and laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his turn. His
+businesses with his friends are to visit them, and whilst the business
+is no more, he can perform this well enough. His discourse is the news
+that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other matters his discretion
+is, that he will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His life is
+like one that runs to the church-walk,[20] to take a turn or two, and so
+passes. He hath staid in the world to fill a number; and when he is
+gone, there wants one, and there's an end.
+
+A CHURCH-PAPIST
+
+Is one that parts his religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, and
+comes to church not to serve God but the king. The face of the law makes
+him wear the mask of the gospel, which he uses not as a means to save
+his soul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to lose by it;
+and though he be something scared with the bulls of Rome, yet they are
+far off, and he is struck with more terror at the apparitor. Once a
+month he presents himself at the church, to keep off the church-warden,
+and brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels with the
+congregation, but prays by himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming
+thither. If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his hat over his
+eyes, and frowns out the hour; and when he comes home, thinks to make
+amends for this fault by abusing the preacher. His main policy is to
+shift off the communion, for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel,
+and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter; and indeed he lies not,
+for he has a quarrel to the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr and
+good traveller, for his conscience is so large he could never wander out
+of it; and in Constantinople would be circumcised with a reservation.
+His wife is more zealous and therefore more costly, and he bates her in
+tires what she stands him in religion. But we leave him hatching plots
+against the state, and expecting Spinola.[21]
+
+A SELF-CONCEITED MAN
+
+Is one that knows himself so well, that he does not know himself. Two
+excellent well-dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it that first
+commended him to madness. He is now become his own book, which he pores
+on continually, yet like a truant reader skips over the harsh places,
+and surveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own
+good parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy,
+like an old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He
+imagines every place where he comes his theatre, and not a look stirring
+but his spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that
+is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a march,
+and like his opinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his
+own person, or on others with reflection to himself. If he have done any
+thing that has passed with applause, he is always re-acting it alone,
+and conceits the extasy his hearers were in at every period. His
+discourse is all positions and definitive decrees, with _thus it must
+be_ and _thus it is_, and he will not humble his authority to prove it.
+His tenet is always singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can, from
+which you must not hope to wrest him. He has an excellent humour for an
+heretic, and in these days made the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus
+before Aristotle, and Paracelsus before Galen,[22] [_and whosoever with
+most paradox is commended._] He much pities the world that has no more
+insight in his parts, when he is too well discovered even to this very
+thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him, for he can tell him nothing but
+what he knows before: and yet he loves him too, because he is like
+himself. Men are merciful to him, and let him alone, for if he be once
+driven from his humour, he is like two inward friends fallen out: his
+own bitter enemy and discontent presently makes a murder. In sum, he is
+a bladder blown up with wind, which the least flaw crushes to nothing.
+
+A TOO IDLY RESERVED MAN
+
+Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a strange piece of politician,
+that manages the state of himself. His actions are his privy-council,
+wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and
+prescription, and dare not show his teeth without Machiavel. He
+converses with his neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an
+inquisitive man as much as the inquisition. He suspects all questions
+for examinations, and thinks you would pick something out of him, and
+avoids you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, which locks up
+every toy or trifle, or some bragging mountebank that makes every
+stinking thing a secret. He delivers you common matters with great
+conjuration of silence, and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament.
+You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoever he
+reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for fear of bad
+comments, and _he knows not how his words may be misapplied_. Ask his
+opinion, and he tells you his doubt; and he never hears any thing more
+astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cards at
+primivist,[23] where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify what
+they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if
+he swore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be
+craftier than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction
+to hinder their plots and designs, where they mean freely. He has been
+long a riddle himself, but at last finds OEdipuses; for his over-acted
+dissimulation discovers him, and men do with him as they would with
+Hebrew letters, spell him backwards and read him.
+
+
+
+A TAVERN
+
+Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs above an ale-house,
+where men are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's
+nose[24] be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is
+supplied by the ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers
+that have been washed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next
+morning; not furnished with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary
+implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more
+news than hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here
+by some spungy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men come
+here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this musick above is
+answered with the clinking below. The drawers are the civilest people in
+it, men of good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can
+boast more justly of their high calling. 'Tis the best theatre of
+natures, where they are truly acted, not played, and the business as in
+the rest of the world up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar
+to the great chamber. A melancholy man would find here matter to work
+upon, to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often broken; men come
+hither to quarrel, and come hither to be made friends: and if Plutarch
+will lend me his simile, it is even Telephus's sword that makes wounds
+and cures them. It is the common consumption of the afternoon, and the
+murderer or maker-away of a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that
+scorches _the_[25] face, and tobacco the gun-powder that blows it up.
+Much harm would be done, if the charitable vintner had not water ready
+for these flames. A house of sin you may call it, but not a house of
+darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is like those countries
+far in the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as at mid-day. After
+a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing shower, where the
+spouts are flushing above, and the conduits running below, while the
+Jordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. To give you the total
+reckoning of it; it is the busy man's recreation, the idle man's
+business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the
+inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness, and the
+citizen's courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of
+canary[26] their book, whence we leave them.
+
+
+
+A SHARK
+
+Is one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. He
+is some needy cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung off, yet
+still clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon any thing
+that is next at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks he has happily
+lost shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his brain to more
+use than he, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new
+stratagem. He has an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there
+passed but _how do you_ betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice
+for an embrace, and that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack out
+of joy to see you, and in requital of his courtesy you can do no less
+than pay for it. He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a school-boy
+with his points, when he is going to be whipped, 'till the master, weary
+with long stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is paid, he says, It
+must not be so, yet is straight pacified, and cries, What remedy? His
+borrowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling or two, as he can
+well dispend; which they lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but
+that he will come no more. He holds a strange tyranny over men, for he
+is their debtor, and they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of any
+employment, though it be but to carry commendations, which he will be
+sure to deliver at eleven of the clock[27]. They in courtesy bid him
+stay, and he in manners cannot deny them. If he find but a good look to
+assure his welcome, he becomes their half-boarder, and haunts the
+threshold so long 'till he forces good nature to the necessity of a
+quarrel. Publick invitations he will not wrong with his absence, and is
+the best witness of the sheriff's hospitality[28]. Men shun him at
+length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossed in his way
+if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the age as his
+clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.
+
+
+
+A CARRIER
+
+Is his own hackney-man; for he lets himself out to travel as well as his
+horses. He is the ordinary embassador between friend and friend, the
+father and the son, and brings rich presents to the one, but never
+returns any back again. He is no unlettered man, though in show simple;
+for questionless, he has much in his budget, which he can utter too in
+fit time and place. He is [like] the vault in[29] Gloster church, that
+conveys whispers at a distance, for he takes the sound out of your mouth
+at York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young
+student's joy and expectation, and the most accepted guest, to whom they
+lend a willing hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting
+is commonly, _Your friends are well; [and to prove it[30]]_ in a piece
+of gold delivers their blessing. You would think him a churlish blunt
+fellow, but they find in him many tokens of humanity. He is a great
+afflicter of the high-ways, and beats them out of measure; which injury
+is sometimes revenged by the purse-taker, and then the voyage
+miscarries. No man domineers more in his inn, nor calls his host
+unreverently with more presumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of
+the strength of his horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his
+ease, for he is drunk commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the
+prodigal child, still packing away and still returning again. But
+let him pass.
+
+A YOUNG MAN.
+
+He is now out of nature's protection, though not yet able to guide
+himself; but left loose to the world and fortune, from which the
+weakness of his childhood preserved him; and now his strength exposes
+him. He is, indeed, just of age to be miserable, yet in his own conceit
+first begins to be happy; and he is happier in this imagination, and his
+misery not felt is less. He sees yet but the outside of the world and
+men, and conceives them, according to their appearing, glister, and out
+of this ignorance believes them. He pursues all vanities for happiness,
+and[31] [_enjoys them best in this fancy._] His reason serves, not to
+curb but understand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with
+a more eager earnestness. Himself is his own temptation, and needs not
+Satan, and the world will come hereafter. He leaves repentance for grey
+hairs, and performs it in being covetous. He is mingled with the vices
+of the age as the fashion and custom, with which he longs to be
+acquainted, and sins to better his understanding. He conceives his youth
+as the season of his lust, and the hour wherein he ought to be bad; and
+because he would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes religion as
+a sad thing, and is six years elder for a thought of heaven. He scorns
+and fears, and yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it with
+wrinkles. He loves and hates with the same inflammation, and when the
+heat is over is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friendship is
+seldom so steadfast, but that lust, drink, or anger may overturn it. He
+offers you his blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take yours
+to-morrow. He does seldom any thing which he wishes not to do again, and
+is only wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his knowledge, and
+a great deal of folly it is makes him a wise man. He is free from many
+vices, by being not grown to the performance, and is only more virtuous
+out of weakness. Every action is his danger, and every man his ambush.
+He is a ship without pilot or tackling, and only good fortune may steer
+him. If he scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and may live to be
+a man.
+
+AN OLD COLLEGE BUTLER
+
+Is none of the worst students in the house, for he keeps the set hours
+at his book more duly than any. His authority is great over men's good
+names, which he charges many times with shrewd aspersions, which they
+hardly wipe off without payment. [His box and counters prove him to be a
+man of reckoning, yet] he is stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and
+delivers not a farthing without writing. He doubles the pains of
+Gallobelgicus[32], for his books go out once a quarter, and they are
+much in the same nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are out of
+request as soon. His comings in are like a taylor's, from the shreds of
+bread, [the] chippings and remnants of a broken crust; excepting his
+vails from the barrel, which poor folks buy for their hogs but drink
+themselves. He divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety than
+Keckerman[33], and sub-divides the _à prima ortum_ so nicely, that a
+stomach of great capacity can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober
+man, considering his manifold temptations of drink and strangers; and if
+he be overseen, 'tis within his own liberties, and no man ought to take
+exception. He is never so well pleased with his place as when a
+gentleman is beholden to him for showing him the buttery, whom he greets
+with a cup of single beer and sliced manchet[34], and tells him it is
+the fashion of the college. He domineers over freshmen when they first
+come to the hatch, and puzzles them with strange language of cues and
+cees, and some broken Latin which he has learned at his bin. His
+faculties extraordinary are the warming of a pair of cards, and telling
+out a dozen of counters for post and pair, and no man is more methodical
+in these businesses. Thus he spends his age till the tap of it is run
+out, and then a fresh one is set abroach.
+
+AN UPSTART COUNTRY KNIGHT
+
+[_Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the stuff of his clothes, not
+the stuff of himself_,[35]] for he bare the king's sword before he had
+arms to wield it; yet being once laid o'er the shoulder with a
+knighthood, he finds the herald his friend. His father was a man of good
+stock, though but a tanner or usurer; he purchased the land, and his son
+the title. He has doffed off the name of a [_country fellow_,[36]] but
+the look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish of churn-milk.
+He is guarded with more gold lace than all the gentlemen of the country,
+yet his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping
+is seen much in the distinct families of dogs, and serving-men attendant
+on their kennels, and the deepness of their throats is the depth of his
+discourse. A hawk he esteems the true burden of nobility,[37] and is
+exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the sport, and have his fist
+gloved with his jesses.[38] A justice of peace he is to domineer in his
+parish, and do his neighbour wrong with more right.[39] He will be drunk
+with his hunters for company, and stain, his gentility with droppings of
+ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the shire by instinct, and dreads
+the assize-week as much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod of his
+own earth, or his land is the dunghill and he the cock that crows over
+it: and commonly his race is quickly run, and his children's children,
+though they scape hanging, return to the place from whence they came.
+
+AN IDLE GALLANT
+
+Is one that was born and shaped for his cloaths; and, if Adam had not
+fallen, had lived to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the first sin,
+and fig-leaves that were an occasion of [his] bravery. His first care is
+his dress, the next his body, and in the uniting of these two lies his
+soul and its faculties. He observes London trulier then the terms, and
+his business is the street, the stage, the court, and those places where
+a proper man is best shown. If he be qualified in gaming extraordinary,
+he is so much the more genteel and compleat, and he learns the best
+oaths for the purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, and he
+is as curious in their newness as the fashion. His other talk is ladies
+and such pretty things, or some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a
+great part in his discourse, so does his body, the upper parts whereof
+are as starched as his linen, and perchance use the same laundress. He
+has learned to ruffle his face from his boot, and takes great delight in
+his walk to hear his spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat
+slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the time, for he is still
+drawing his watch out of his pocket, and spends part of his hours in
+numbering them. He is one never serious but with his tailor, when he is
+in conspiracy for the next device. He is furnished with his jests, as
+some wanderer with sermons, some three for all congregations, one
+especially against the scholar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he
+knows by no other definition but a silly fellow in black. He is a kind
+of walking mercer's shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and another
+to-morrow; an ornament to the room he comes in as the fair bed and
+hangings be; and is merely ratable accordingly, fifty or an hundred
+pounds as his suit is. His main ambition is to get a knighthood, and
+then an old lady, which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and a
+coach so much longer: Otherwise, himself and his clothes grow stale
+together, and he is buried commonly ere he dies, in the gaol or
+the country.
+
+
+
+A CONSTABLE
+
+Is a viceroy in the street, and no man stands more upon't that he is the
+king's officer. His jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he
+has commission for the heels only, and sets the rest of the body at
+liberty. He is a scarecrow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his
+morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard for not standing in the
+king's name. Beggars fear him more than the justice, and as much as the
+whip-stock, whom he delivers over to his subordinate magistrates, the
+bridewell-man and the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tumults of
+double jugs, and ventures his head by his place, which is broke many
+times to keep whole the peace. He is never so much in his majesty as in
+his night-watch, where he sits in his chair of state, a shop-stall, and
+environed with a guard of halberts, examines all passengers. He is a
+very careful man in his office, but if he stay up after midnight you
+shall take him napping.
+
+
+
+A DOWN-RIGHT SCHOLAR
+
+Is one that has much learning in the ore, unwrought and untried, which
+time and experience fashions and refines. He is good metal in the
+inside, though rough and unsecured without, and therefore hated of the
+courtier, that is quite contrary. The time has got a vein of making him
+ridiculous, and men laugh at him by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity
+but is put upon his profession, and done like a scholar. But his fault
+is only this, that his mind is [somewhat] too much taken up with his
+mind, and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage besides. He has not
+put on the quaint garb of the age, which is now a man's [_Imprimis and
+all the Item_.[40]] He has not humbled his meditations to the industry
+of compliment, nor afflicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body is
+not set upon nice pins, to be turning and flexible for every motion, but
+his scrape is homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his hand and cry,
+madam, nor talk idle enough to bear her company. His smacking of a
+gentlewoman is somewhat too savoury, and he mistakes her nose for her
+lips. A very woodcock would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the
+logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty of sliding over a tale,
+but his words come squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laughter
+commonly before the jest. He names this word college too often, and his
+discourse beats too much on the university. The perplexity of
+mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is sharp set at an argument
+when he should cut his meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all games
+but one and thirty[41], and at tables he reaches not beyond doublets.
+His fingers are not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but his fist
+clunched with the habit of disputing. He ascends a horse somewhat
+sinisterly, though not on the left side, and they both go jogging in
+grief together. He is exceedingly censured by the inns-of-court men, for
+that heinous vice, being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a dog in his
+own dialect, and understands Greek better than the language of a
+falconer. He has been used to a dark room, and dark clothes, and his
+eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The hermitage of his study has made him
+somewhat uncouth in the world, and men make him worse by staring on him.
+Thus is he [silly and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for some
+quarter of a year out of the university. But practise him a little in
+men, and brush him over with good company, and he shall out-balance
+those glisterers, as far as a solid substance does a feather, or gold,
+gold-lace.
+
+
+
+A PLAIN COUNTRY FELLOW
+
+Is one that manures his ground well, but lets himself lie fallow and
+untilled. He has reason enough to do his business, and not enough to be
+idle or melancholy. He seems to have the punishment of Nebuchadnezzar,
+for his conversation is among beasts, and his talons none of the
+shortest, only he eats not grass, because he loves not salads. His hand
+guides the plough, and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and
+land-mark is the very mound of his meditations. He expostulates with his
+oxen very understandingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than English.
+His mind is not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat cow come
+in his way, he stands dumb and astonished, and though his haste be never
+so great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation. His habitation is
+some poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn by the loop-holes
+that let out smoke, which the rain had long since washed through, but
+for the double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which has hung there from
+his grandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for posterity. His
+dinner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour;
+he is a terrible fastener on a piece of beef, and you may hope to stave
+the guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his copyhold, which he
+takes from his landlord, and refers it wholly to his discretion: Yet if
+he give him leave he is a good Christian to his power, (that is,) comes
+to church in his best clothes, and sits there with his neighbours, where
+he is capable only of two prayers, for rain, and fair weather. He
+apprehends God's blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, and
+never praises him but on _good ground_. Sunday he esteems a day to make
+merry in, and thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening-prayer,
+where he walks very solemnly after service with his hands coupled behind
+him, and censures the dancing of his parish. [His compliment with his
+neighbour is a good thump on the back, and his salutation commonly some
+blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices, but pride and
+ill-husbandry, from which he will gravely dissuade the youth, and has
+some thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his discourse. He is a niggard
+all the week, except only market-day, where, if his corn sell well, he
+thinks he may be drunk with a good conscience. His feet never stink so
+unbecomingly as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster-hall, and
+even cleaves the ground with hard scraping in beseeching his worship to
+take his money. He is sensible of no calamity but the burning a stack of
+corn or the overflowing of a meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the
+greatest plague that ever was, not because it drowned the world, but
+spoiled the grass. For death he is never troubled, and if he get in but
+his harvest before, let it come when it will, he cares not.
+
+
+
+A PLAYER.
+
+He knows the right use of the world, wherein he comes to play a part and
+so away. His life is not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be
+more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. His
+profession has in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more disliked,
+and yet none more applauded; and he has the misfortune of some scholar,
+too much wit makes him a fool. He is like our painting gentlewomen,
+seldom in his own face, seldomer in his clothes; and he pleases, the
+better he counterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for
+gold lace. He does not only personate on the stage, but sometimes in the
+street, for he is masked still in the habit of a gentleman. His parts
+find him oaths and good words, which he keeps for his use and discourse,
+and makes shew with them of a fashionable companion. He is tragical on
+the stage, but rampant in the tiring-house,[42] and swears oaths there
+which he never conned. The waiting women spectators are over-ears in
+love with him, and ladies send for him to act in their chambers. Your
+inns-of-court men were undone but for him, he is their chief guest and
+employment, and the sole business that makes them afternoon's-men. The
+poet only is his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's friend
+drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday he fears as much as the banns, and
+Lent[43] is more damage to him than the butcher. He was never so much
+discredited as in one act, and that was of parliament, which gives
+hostlers privilege before him, for which he abhors it more than a
+corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one well-furnished actor has
+enough in him for five common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body,
+[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge any Cato, for it has
+been his practice to die bravely.
+
+A DETRACTOR
+
+Is one of a more cunning and active envy, wherewith he gnaws not
+foolishly himself, but throws it abroad and would have it blister
+others. He is commonly some weak parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is
+strangely ambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but
+bringing them down with his tongue to his own poorness. He is indeed
+like the red dragon that pursued the woman, for when he cannot
+over-reach another, he opens his mouth and throws a flood after to drown
+him. You cannot anger him worse than to do well, and he hates you more
+bitterly for this, than if you had cheated him of his patrimony with
+your own discredit. He is always slighting the general opinion, and
+wondering why such and such men should be applauded. Commend a good
+divine, he cries postilling; a philologer, pedantry; a poet, rhiming; a
+school-man, dull wrangling; a sharp conceit, boyishness; an honest man,
+plausibility. He comes to publick things not to learn, but to catch, and
+if there be but one solecism, that is all he carries away. He looks on
+all things with a prepared sourness, and is still furnished with a pish
+beforehand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all things
+whatsoever. If fear of the company make him second a commendation, it is
+like a law-writ, always with a clause of exception, or to smooth his way
+to some greater scandal. He will grant you something, and bate more; and
+this bating shall in conclusion take away all he granted. His speech
+concludes still with an Oh! but,--and I could wish one thing amended;
+and this one thing shall be enough to deface all his former
+commendations. He will be very inward with a man to fish some bad out of
+him, and make his slanders hereafter more authentic, when it is said a
+friend reported it. He will inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good
+name into his clutches; he will be your pandar to have you on the hip
+for a whore-master, and make you drunk to shew you reeling. He passes
+the more plausibly because all men have a smatch of his humour, and it
+is thought freeness which is malice. If he can say nothing of a man, he
+will seem to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he
+would; and when he has racked his invention to the utmost, he ends;--but
+I wish him well, and therefore must hold my peace. He is always
+listening and enquiring after men, and suffers not a cloak to pass by
+him unexamined. In brief, he is one that has lost all good himself, and
+is loth to find it in another.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF THE UNIVERSITY
+
+Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and to say hereafter, he has
+been at the university. His father sent him thither because he heard
+there were the best fencing and dancing-schools; from these he has his
+education, from his tutor the over-sight. The first element of his
+knowledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated in a tavern by the
+way, which hereafter he will learn of himself. The two marks of his
+seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his proficiency at
+tennis, where when he can once play a set, he is a freshman no more. His
+study has commonly handsome shelves, his books neat silk strings, which
+he shews to his father's man, and is loth to untie[44] or take down for
+fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for recreation he retires thither,
+and looks over the pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is commonly
+some short history, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his tutor gives
+him money to spend next day. His main loytering is at the library, where
+he studies arms and books of honour, and turns a gentleman critic in
+pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to be mistaken for a scholar,
+and hates a black suit though it be made of sattin. His companion is
+ordinarily some stale fellow, that has been notorious for an ingle to
+gold hatbands,[45] whom he admires at first, afterwards scorns. If he
+have spirit or wit he may light of better company, and may learn some
+flashes of wit, which may do him knight's service in the country
+hereafter. But he is now gone to the inns-of-court, where he studies to
+forget what he learned before, his acquaintance and the fashion.
+
+
+
+A WEAK MAN
+
+Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature huddled up in haste, and
+left his best part unfinished. The rest of him is grown to be a man,
+only his brain stays behind. He is one that has not improved his first
+rudiments, nor attained any proficiency by his stay in the world: but we
+may speak of him yet as when he was in the bud, a good harmless nature,
+a well meaning mind[46] [_and no more_] It is his misery that he now
+wants a tutor, and is too old to have one. He is two steps above a fool,
+and a great many more below a wise man: yet the fool is oft given him,
+and by those whom he esteems most. Some tokens of him are,--he loves men
+better upon relation than experience, for he is exceedingly enamoured of
+strangers, and none quicklier aweary of his friend. He charges you at
+first meeting with all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows
+more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes much his abusers for
+friends, and his friends for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in
+nothing so much as in good counsel. One that is flexible with any thing
+but reason, and then only perverse. [A servant to every tale and
+flatterer, and whom the last man still works over.] A great affecter of
+wits and such prettinesses; and his company is costly to him, for he
+seldom has it but invited. His friendship commonly is begun in a supper,
+and lost in lending money. The tavern is a dangerous place to him, for
+to drink and be drunk is with him all one, and his brain is sooner
+quenched than his thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with company, but
+suffers alone, and the bastard commonly laid to his charge. One that
+will be patiently abused, and take exception a month after when he
+understands it, and then be abused again into a reconcilement; and you
+cannot endear him more than by cozening him, and it is a temptation to
+those that would not. One discoverable in all silliness to all men but
+himself, and you may take any man's knowledge of him better than his
+own. He will promise the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny one
+break with all. One that has no power over himself, over his business,
+over his friends, but a prey and pity to all; and if his fortunes once
+sink, men quickly cry, Alas!--and forget him.
+
+
+
+A TOBACCO-SELLER
+
+Is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of but do not;
+for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with
+greater seriousness, or challenges your judgment more in the
+approbation. His shop is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue
+with their noses, and their communication is smoke.[47] It is the place
+only where Spain is commended and preferred before England itself. He
+should be well experienced in the world, for he has daily trial of men's
+nostrils, and none is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing
+commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and that to
+his wife, which is the flame that follows this smoke.
+
+
+
+A POT-POET
+
+Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good drink may have some relish.
+His inspirations are more real than others, for they do but feign a God,
+but he has his by him. His verse runs like the tap, and his invention as
+the barrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spigot. In thin drink he
+aspires not above a ballad, but a cup of sack inflames him, and sets his
+muse and nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and stamps him now
+and then a sixpence or two in reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His
+works would scarce sell for three half-pence, though they are given oft
+for three shillings, but for the pretty title that allures the country
+gentleman; for which the printer maintains him in ale a fortnight. His
+verses are like his clothes miserable centoes[48] and patches, yet their
+pace is not altogether so hobbling as an almanack's. The death of a
+great man or the _burning_[49] of a house furnish him with an argument,
+and the nine Muses are out strait in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries
+fire! fire! [His other poems are but briefs in rhyme, and like the poor
+Greeks collections to redeem from captivity.] He is a man now much
+employed in commendations of our navy, and a bitter inveigher against
+the Spaniard. His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are
+chanted from market to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst
+the poor country wench melts like her butter to hear them: and these are
+the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a strange monster out of
+Germany;[50] or, sitting in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments. He
+drops away at last in some obscure painted cloth, to which himself made
+the verses,[51] and his life, like a can too full, spills upon the
+bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, which my hostess loses.
+
+
+
+A PLAUSIBLE MAN
+
+Is one that would fain run an even path in the world, and jut against no
+man. His endeavour is not to offend, and his aim the general opinion.
+His conversation is a kind of continued compliment, and his life a
+practice of manners. The relation he bears to others, a kind of
+fashionable respect, not friendship but friendliness, which is equal to
+all and general, and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. He loves
+not deeper mutualities, because he would not take sides, nor hazard
+himself on displeasures, which he principally avoids. At your first
+acquaintance with him he is exceedingly kind and friendly, and at your
+twentieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an excellent command
+over his patience and tongue, especially the last, which he accommodates
+always to the times and persons, and speaks seldom what is sincere, but
+what is civil. He is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths,
+and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He considers who are friends
+to the company, and speaks well where he is sure to hear of it again.]
+He can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausive attention, and
+conceal his laughter at nonsense. Silly men much honour and esteem him,
+because by his fair reasoning with them as with men of understanding, he
+puts them into an erroneous opinion of themselves, and makes them
+forwarder hereafter to their own discovery. He is one _rather well_[52]
+thought on than beloved, and that love he has is more of whole companies
+together than any one in particular. Men gratify him notwithstanding
+with a good report, and whatever vices he has besides, yet having no
+enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.
+
+
+
+A BOWL-ALLEY
+
+Is the place where there are three things thrown away beside bowls, to
+wit, time, money, and curses, and the last ten for one. The best sport
+in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it that looks on and bets not. It
+is the school of wrangling, and worse than the schools, for men will
+cavil here for a hair's breadth, and make a stir where a straw would end
+the controversy. No antick screws men's bodies into such strange
+flexures, and you would think them here senseless, to speak sense to
+their bowl, and put their trust in entreaties for a good cast. The
+betters are the factious noise of the alley, or the gamesters bedesmen
+that pray for them. They are somewhat like those that are cheated by
+great men, for they lose their money and must say nothing. It is the
+best discovery of humours, especially in the losers, where you have fine
+variety of impatience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, and
+others more ridiculously comfort themselves with philosophy. To give you
+the moral of it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's ambition:
+where most are short, or over, or wide or wrong-biassed, and some few
+justle in to the mistress Fortune. And it is here as in the court, where
+the nearest are most spited, and all blows aimed at the toucher.
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S WISE MAN
+
+Is an able and sufficient wicked man: It is a proof of his sufficiency
+that he is not called wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined in
+himself and his own ends, and his instruments herein any thing that will
+do it. His friends are a part of his engines, and as they serve to his
+works, used or laid by: Indeed he knows not this thing of friend, but if
+he give you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. Never more
+active in his businesses, than when they are mixed with some harm to
+others; and it is his best play in this game to strike off and lie in
+the place. Successful commonly in these undertakings, because he passes
+smoothly those rubs which others stumble at, as conscience and the like;
+and gratulates himself much in this advantage. Oaths and falsehood he
+counts the nearest way, and loves not by any means to go about. He has
+many fine quips at this folly of plain dealing, but his "tush!" is
+greatest at religion; yet he uses this too, and virtue and good words,
+but is less dangerously a devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to
+an unpractisedness in the world, and conscience a thing merely for
+children. He scorns all that are so silly to _trust_[53] him, and only
+not scorns his enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he fears him as a
+man well armed and provided, but sets boldly on good natures, as the
+most vanquishable. One that seriously admires those worst princes, as
+Sforza, Borgia, and Richard the Third; and calls matters of deep villany
+things of difficulty. To whom murders are but resolute acts, and treason
+a business of great consequence. One whom two or three countries make up
+to this completeness, and he has travelled for the purpose. His deepest
+endearment is a communication of mischief, and then only you have him
+fast. His conclusion is commonly one of these two, either a great man,
+or hanged.
+
+
+
+A SURGEON
+
+Is one that has some business about this building or little house of
+man, whereof nature is as it were the tiler, and he the plaisterer. It
+is ofter out of reparations than an old parsonage, and then he is set on
+work to patch it again. He deals most with broken commodities, as a
+broken head or a mangled face, and his gains are very ill got, for he
+lives by the hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a physician as a
+sore does from a disease, or the sick from those that are not whole, the
+one distempers you within, the other blisters you without. He complains
+of the decay of valour in these days, and sighs for that slashing age of
+sword and buckler; and thinks the law against duels was made merely to
+wound his vocation. He had been long since undone if the charity of the
+stews had not relieved him, from whom he has his tribute as duly as the
+pope; or a wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart pot hit right.
+The rareness of his custom makes him pitiless when it comes, and he
+holds a patient longer than our [spiritual] courts a cause. He tells you
+what danger you had been in if he had staid but a minute longer, and
+though it be but a pricked finger, he makes of it much matter. He is a
+reasonable cleanly man, considering the scabs he has to deal with, and
+your finest ladies are now and then beholden to him for their best
+dressings. He curses old gentlewomen and their charity that makes his
+trade their alms; but his envy is never stirred so much as when
+gentlemen go over to fight upon Calais sands,[54] whom he wishes drowned
+ere they come there, rather than the French shall get his custom.
+
+
+
+A CONTEMPLATIVE MAN
+
+Is a scholar in this great university the world; and the same his book
+and study. He cloisters not his meditations in the narrow darkness of a
+room, but sends them abroad with his eyes, and his brain travels with
+his feet. He looks upon man from a high tower, and sees him trulier at
+this distance in his infirmities and poorness. He scorns to mix himself
+in men's actions, as he would to act upon a stage; but sits aloft on the
+scaffold a censuring spectator. [He will not lose his time by being
+busy, or make so poor a use of the world as to hug and embrace it.]
+Nature admits him as a partaker of her sports, and asks his approbation,
+as it were, of her own works and variety. He comes not in company,
+because he would not be solitary; but finds discourse enough with
+himself, and his own thoughts are his excellent play-fellows. He looks
+not upon a thing as a yawning stranger at novelties, but his search is
+more mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven out of earth. He knits
+his observations together, and makes a ladder of them all to climb to
+God. He is free from vice, because he has no occasion to employ it, and
+is above those ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all that can
+here be taught him, and comes now to heaven to see more.
+
+
+
+A SHE PRECISE HYPOCRITE
+
+Is one in whom good women suffer, and have their truth misinterpreted by
+her folly. She is one, she knows not what herself if you ask her, but
+she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the fashion of religion, and
+is enamoured of the new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close
+stomacher and ruff of Geneva print, [55] and her purity consists much in
+her linen. She has heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very
+sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Babylon for a very naughty
+woman. She has left her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries in
+her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at the church is much in the
+turning up of her eye; and turning down the leaf in her book, when she
+hears named chapter and verse. When she comes home, she commends the
+sermon for the Scripture, and two hours. She loves preaching better than
+praying, and of preachers, lecturers; and thinks the week day's exercise
+far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her oftest gossipings are
+sabbath-day's journeys, where (though an enemy to superstition), she
+will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced minister, when there is a
+better sermon in her own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's
+salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows her own place in heaven as
+perfectly as the pew she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith she
+has no room for charity, and understands no good works but what are
+wrought on the sampler. She accounts nothing vices but superstition and
+an oath, and thinks adultery a less sin than to swear _by my truly._ She
+rails at other women by the names of Jezebel and Delilah; and calls her
+own daughters Rebecca and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She suffers
+them not to learn on the virginals, [56] because of their affinity with
+organs, but is reconciled to the bells for the chimes' sake, since they
+were reformed to the tune of a psalm. She overflows so with the Bible,
+that she spills it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her maids
+without Scripture. It is a question whether she is more troubled with
+the Devil, or the Devil with her: she is always challenging and daring
+him, and her weapon [57] [is The Practice of Piety.] Nothing angers her
+so much as that women cannot preach, and in this point only thinks the
+Brownist erroneous; but what she cannot at the church she does at the
+table, where she prattles more than any against sense and Antichrist,
+'till a capon's wing silence her. She expounds the priests of Baal,
+reading ministers, and thinks the salvation of that parish as desperate
+as the Turk's. She is a main derider to her capacity of those that are
+not her preachers, and censures all sermons but bad ones. If her husband
+be a tradesman, she helps him to customers, howsoever to good cheer, and
+they are a most faithful couple at these meetings, for they never fail.
+Her conscience is like others' lust, never satisfied, and you might
+better answer Scotus than her scruples. She is one that thinks she
+performs all her duties to God in hearing, and shows the fruits of it in
+talking. She is more fiery against the maypole than her husband, and
+thinks she might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the fiddler. She
+is an everlasting argument, but I am weary of her.
+
+
+
+A SCEPTIC IN RELIGION
+
+Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not
+one but stirs him and none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity than
+he is taken to be; for it is out of his belief of everything, that he
+fully believes nothing. Each religion scares him from its contrary: none
+persuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he is
+something of an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is partly a
+Christian; and a perfect heretic, but that there are so many to distract
+him. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least
+reason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most a
+confused and wild Christian, not specialized by any form, but capable of
+all. He uses the land's religion, because it is next him, yet he sees
+not why he may not take the other, but he chuses this, not as better,
+but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and scruples
+better than resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His
+learning is too much for his brain, and his judgment too little for his
+learning, and his over-opinion of both, spoils all. Pity it was his
+mischance of being a scholar; for it does only distract and irregulate
+him, and the world by him. He hammers much in general upon our opinion's
+uncertainty, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what
+is true. He is troubled at this naturalness of religion to countries,
+that protestantism should be born so in England and popery abroad, and
+that fortune and the stars should so much share in it. He likes not this
+connection with the commonweal and divinity, and fears it may be an
+arch-practice of state. In our differences with Rome he is strangely
+unfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-book's
+meditations transport him. He could like the gray hairs of popery, did
+not some dotages there stagger him: he would come to us sooner, but our
+new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles, but doubts an
+imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty
+and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth
+to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends
+true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is
+sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience
+interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by
+both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a
+good writer, and at Bellarmine [58] recalls as far back again; and the
+fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus [59] and
+Vorstius [60] afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than
+himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water,
+and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him; yet
+he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions
+out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in
+error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double
+when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant
+of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a father's _dixit,_
+and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
+doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a
+greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.
+
+
+
+AN ATTORNEY.
+
+His antient beginning was a blue coat, since a livery, and his hatching
+under a lawyer; whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now nested for
+himself, and with his hoarded pence purchased an office. Two desks and a
+quire of paper set him up, where he now sits in state for all comers. We
+can call him no great author, yet he writes very much and with the
+infamy of the court is maintained in his libels[61]. He has some smatch
+of a scholar, and yet uses Latin very hardly; and lest it should accuse
+him, cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak out. He is,
+contrary to great men, maintained by his followers, that is, his poor
+country clients, that worship him more than their landlord, and be they
+never such churls, he looks for their courtesy. He first racks them
+soundly himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer for execution. His
+looks are very solicitous, importing much haste and dispatch: he is
+never without his hands full of business, that is--of paper. His skin
+becomes at last as dry as his parchment, and his face as intricate as
+the most winding cause. He talks statutes as fiercely as if he had
+mooted[62] seven years in the inns of court, when all his skill is stuck
+in his girdle, or in his office-window. Strife and wrangling have made
+him rich, and he is thankful to his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he
+live in a country village, he makes all his neighbours good subjects;
+for there shall be nothing done but what there is law for. His business
+gives him not leave to think of his conscience, and when the time, or
+term, of his life is going out, for doomsday he is secure; for he hopes
+he has a trick to reverse judgment.
+
+
+
+A PARTIAL MAN
+
+Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the one speaks ill falsely,
+and the other well, and both slander the truth. He is one that is still
+weighing men in the scale of comparisons, and puts his affections, in
+the one balance, and that sways. His friend always shall do best, and
+you shall rarely hear good of his enemy. He considers first the man and
+then the thing, and restrains all merit to what they deserve of him.
+Commendations he esteems not the debt of worth, but the requital of
+kindness; and if you ask his reason, shows his interest, and tells you
+how much he is beholden to that man. He is one that ties his judgment to
+the wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily both alike. He prefers
+England before other countries because he was born there, and Oxford
+before other universities, because he was brought up there, and the best
+scholar there is one of his own college, and the best scholar there is
+one of his friends. He is a great favourer of great persons, and his
+argument is still that which should be antecedent; as,--he is in high
+place, therefore virtuous;--he is preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask
+his opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and he is indifferent
+in nothing but conscience. Men esteem him for this a zealous
+affectionate, but they mistake him many times, for he does it but to be
+esteemed so. Of all men he is worst to write an history, for he will
+praise a Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect of his all
+posterity shall be cozened.
+
+
+
+A TRUMPETER
+
+Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he eats nothing but what comes
+through this way. His profession is not so worthy as to occasion
+insolence, and yet no man so much puffed up. His face is as brazen as
+his trumpet, and (which is worse) as a fiddler's, from whom he differeth
+only in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea of drink and much
+wind make a storm perpetually in his cheeks, and his look is like his
+noise, blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of war, but
+now of peace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are
+sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant of glittering folks,
+whether in the court or stage, where he is always the prologue's
+prologue.[63] He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, shrillest when
+he is empty; when his belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves
+life more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a
+counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when he is blown up.
+
+
+
+A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN
+
+Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry,
+and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publickly
+affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never
+owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though he
+knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, "thus men say;" and
+"thus most do;" and "thus the world goes;" and thinks this enough to
+poise the other. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks
+all a great man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and
+repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of
+fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly
+all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the pope
+and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest cassock the best scholar; and
+the best clothes the finest man. That is taken only with broad and
+obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries, Chaucer
+for his money above all our English poets, because the voice has gone
+so, and he has read none. That is much ravished with such a nobleman's
+courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his
+hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the king's hand, and cries, "God
+bless his majesty!" loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of
+favour, and the first that says "away with the traitors!"--yet struck
+with much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill
+the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in
+it, and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears. That measures the
+happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm
+of state, but ill trading. Within this compass too, come those that are
+too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those
+things; that call to thrive, to do well; and preferment only the grace
+of God. That aim all studies at this mark, and show you poor scholars as
+an example to take heed by. That think the prison and want a judgment
+for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jail-bird. That know no
+other content but wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures; that think
+all else but idle speculation, and the philosophers madmen. In short,
+men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shows, appearances,
+the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of
+singularity, and scorns something.
+
+
+
+A PLODDING STUDENT
+
+Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, that would change the
+dull lead of his brain into finer metal, with success many times as
+unprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own oil
+and candles. He has a strange forced appetite to learning, and to
+achieve it brings nothing but patience and a body. His study is not
+great but continual, and consists much in the sitting up till after
+midnight in a rug-gown and a nightcap, to the vanquishing perhaps of
+some six lines; yet what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so long
+to understand it, till he gets it without book. He may with much
+industry make a breach into logic, and arrive at some ability in an
+argument; but for politer studies he dare not skirmish with them, and
+for poetry accounts it impregnable. His invention is no more than the
+finding out of his papers, and his few gleanings there; and his
+disposition of them is as just as the book-binder's, a setting or gluing
+of them together. He is a great discomforter of young students, by
+telling them what travel it has cost him, and how often his brain turned
+at philosophy, and makes others fear studying as a cause of duncery. He
+is a man much given to apophthegms, which serve him for wit, and seldom
+breaks any jest but which belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in
+Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, that will go a whole
+week together, but never out of a foot pace; and he that sets forth on
+the Saturday shall overtake him.
+
+
+
+PAUL'S WALK[64]
+
+Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great
+Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here
+discern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap of
+stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple
+not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of
+bees, a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet: it is
+a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all
+discourse, and no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a-foot.
+It is the synod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most
+serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is
+the antic of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you
+need go no farther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom
+you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of
+all famous lies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined
+and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few
+pockets. The best sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves'
+sanctuary, which rob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst
+every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the
+day, after plays and tavern; and men have still some oaths left to swear
+here. The visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal
+inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains[65] out of
+service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turn
+merchants here and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their
+dinner, and travel for a stomach: but thriftier men make it their
+ordinary, and board here very cheap[66]. Of all such places it is least
+haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he could not.
+
+
+
+A COOK.
+
+The kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in it, where his meat and he
+fry together. His revenues are showered down from the fat of the land,
+and he interlards his own grease among, to help the drippings. Choleric
+he is not by nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd temptation
+that the chopping-knife is so near. His weapons ofter offensive are a
+mess of hot broth and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in
+his way. In the kitchen he will domineer and rule the roast in spite of
+his master, and curses in the very dialect of his calling. His labour is
+mere blustering and fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a
+storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in all this tumult, he does
+not love combustion, but will be the first man that shall go and quench
+it. He is never a good Christian till a hissing pot of ale has slacked
+him, like water cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame and
+dispossessed. His cunning is not small in architecture, for he builds
+strange fabrics in paste, towers and castles, which are offered to the
+assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' palace in one banquet
+demolished. He is a pitiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles poor
+fowls with unheard-of tortures; and it is thought the martyrs'
+persecutions were devised from hence: sure we are, St. Lawrence's
+gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best faculty is at the dresser,
+where he seems to have great skill in the tactics, ranging his dishes in
+order military, and placing with great discretion in the fore-front
+meats more strong and hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the rear;
+as quaking tarts and quivering custards, and such milk-sop dishes, which
+scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now the second course is
+gone up and he down in the cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four
+o'clock[67] in the afternoon, and then returns again to his regiment.
+
+A BOLD FORWARD MAN
+
+Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden more to his elbow than
+his legs, for he does not go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in
+the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts
+on. He can do some things, but dare do much more, and is like a
+desperate soldier, who will assault any thing where he is sure not to
+enter. He is not so well opinioned of himself, as industrious to make
+others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial as blushing. He is still
+citing for himself, that a candle should not be hid under a bushel; and
+for his part he will be sure not to hide his, though his candle be but a
+snuff or rush-candle. Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard in
+displaying, and is like some needy flaunting goldsmith, nothing in the
+inner room, but all on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has commonly
+stepped into the pulpit before a degree, yet into that too before he
+deserved it. He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency, and his next
+sermon is at Paul's cross,[68] [and that printed.] He loves publick
+things alive; and for any solemn entertainment he will find a mouth,
+find a speech who will. He is greedy of great acquaintance and many, and
+thinks it no small advancement to rise to be known. [He is one that has
+all the great names at court at his fingers' ends, and their lodgings;
+and with a saucy, "my lord," will salute the best of them.] His talk at
+the table is like Benjamin's mess, five times to his part, and no
+argument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of all disgraces he endures not
+to be nonplussed, and had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which few
+descry, than to nothing, which all. His boldness is beholden to other
+men's modesty, which rescues him many times from a baffle; yet his face
+is good armour, and he is dashed out of anything sooner than
+countenance. Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare man; and
+wiser men, though they know him, [yet] take him [in] for their pleasure,
+or as they would do a sculler for being next at hand. Thus preferment at
+last stumbles on him, because he is still in the way. His companions
+that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him come ready for
+scarlet, whilst themselves lie musty in their old clothes and colleges.
+
+
+
+A BAKER.
+
+No man verifies the proverb more, that it is an alms-deed to punish him;
+for his penalty is a dole,[69] and does the beggars as much good as
+their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of charity, and thinks his
+bread cast away when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice
+neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates the clerk of the market
+as his executioner; yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his basket
+only is sent to prison.[70] Marry, a pillory is his deadly enemy, and he
+never hears well after.
+
+
+
+A PRETENDER TO LEARNING
+
+Is one that would make all others more fools than himself, for though he
+knew nothing, he would not have the world know so much. He conceits
+nothing in learning but the opinion, which he seeks to purchase without
+it, though he might with less labour cure his ignorance than hide it. He
+is indeed a kind of scholar-mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is
+tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, and at the first
+encounter none passes better. He is oftener in his study than at his
+book, and you cannot pleasure him better than to deprehend him: yet he
+hears you not till the third knock, and then comes out very angry as
+interrupted. You find him in his _slippers_[71] and a pen in his ear, in
+which formality he was asleep. His table is spread wide with some
+classick folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid
+open in the same page this half year. His candle is always a longer
+sitter up than himself, and the _boast_[72] of his window at midnight.
+He walks much alone in the posture of meditation, and has a book still
+before his face in the fields. His pocket is seldom without a Greek
+testament or Hebrew Bible, which he opens only in the church, and that
+when some stander-by looks over. He has sentences for company, some
+scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all occasions. If
+he reads any thing in the morning, it comes up all at dinner; and as
+long as that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great plagiary of
+tavern wit, and comes to sermons only that he may talk of Austin. His
+parcels are the mere scrapings from company, yet he complains at parting
+what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seem a judgment,
+and listens with a sour attention to what he understands not. He talks
+much of Scaliger, and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers some
+unheard of Dutch name before them all. He has verses to bring in upon
+these and these hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in his
+opportunity. He is critical in a language he cannot construe, and speaks
+seldom under Arminius in divinity. His business and retirement and
+caller away is his study, and he protests no delight to it comparable.
+He is a great nomenclator of authors, which he has read in general in
+the catalogue, and in particular in the title, and goes seldom so far as
+the dedication. He never talks of anything but learning, and learns all
+from talking. Three encounters with the same men pump him, and then he
+only puts in or gravely says nothing. He has taken pains to be an ass,
+though not to be a scholar, and is at length discovered and laughed at.
+
+A HERALD
+
+Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of nobility, and to the making
+of him went not a generation but a genealogy. His trade is honour, and
+he sells it and gives arms himself, though he be no gentleman. His
+bribes are like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the prices of
+blood. He seems very rich in discourse, for he tells you of whole fields
+of gold and silver, or, and argent, worth much in French but in English
+nothing. He is a great diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and hot
+a by-channel or bastard escapes him; yea he does with them like some
+shameless quean, fathers more children on them than ever they begot. His
+traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware, scutchions, and pennons, and little
+daggers and lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen; but his
+pennyworths are rampant, for you may buy three whole brawns cheaper than
+three boar's heads of him painted. He was sometimes the terrible coat of
+Mars, but is now for more merciful battles in the tilt-yard, where
+whosoever is victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in England but
+in Wales nature, where they are born with heraldry in their mouths, and
+each name is a pedigree.
+
+
+
+THE COMMON SINGING-MEN IN CATHEDRAL CHURCHES
+
+Are a bad society, and yet a company of good fellows, that roar deep in
+the quire, deeper in the tavern. They are the eight parts of speech
+which go to the syntaxis of service, and are distinguished by their
+noises much like bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. Their
+pastime or recreation is prayers, their exercise drinking, yet herein so
+religiously addicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunk.
+Their humanity is a leg to the residencer, their learning a chapter, for
+they learn it commonly before they read it; yet the old Hebrew names are
+little beholden to them, for they miscall them worse than one another.
+Though they never expound the scripture, they handle it much, and
+pollute the gospel with two things, their conversation and their thumbs.
+Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at prayers as at their pots, for
+they swallow them down in an instant. Their gowns are laced commonly
+with streamings of ale, superfluities of a cup or throat above measure.
+Their skill in melody makes them the better companions abroad, and their
+anthems abler to sing catches. Long lived for the most part they are
+not, especially the bass, they overflow their bank so oft to drown the
+organs. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they die constantly in God's
+service; and to take their death with more patience, they have wine and
+cakes at their funeral, and now they keep[73] the church a great deal
+better and help to fill it with their bones as before with their noise.
+
+A SHOPKEEPER.
+
+His shop is his well stuft book, and himself the title-page of it, or
+index. He utters much to all men, though he sells but to a few, and
+intreats for his own necessities, by asking others what they lack. No
+man speaks more and no more, for his words are like his wares, twenty of
+one sort, and he goes over them alike to all comers. He is an arrogant
+commender of his own things; for whatsoever he shows you is the best in
+the town, though the worst in his shop. His conscience was a thing that
+would have laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put it off, and
+makes great use of honesty to profess upon. He tells you lies by rote,
+and not minding, as the phrase to sell in and the language he spent most
+of his years to learn. He never speaks so truly as when he says he would
+use you as his brother; for he would abuse his brother, and in his shop
+thinks it lawful. His religion is much in the nature of his customer's,
+and indeed the pander to it: and by a mis-interpreted sense of scripture
+makes a gain of his godliness. He is your slave while you pay him ready
+money, but if he once befriend you, your tyrant, and you had better
+deserve his hate than his trust.
+
+
+
+A BLUNT MAN
+
+Is one whose wit is better pointed than his behaviour, and that coarse
+and unpolished, not out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a great
+enemy to the fine gentleman, and these things of compliment, and hates
+ceremony in conversation, as the Puritan in religion. He distinguishes
+not betwixt fair and double dealing, and suspects all smoothness for the
+dress of knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salutation as an
+assault, and beseeches you in choler to forbear your courtesy. He loves
+not any thing in discourse that comes before the purpose, and is always
+suspicious of a preface. Himself falls rudely still on his matter
+without any circumstance, except he use an old proverb for an
+introduction. He swears old out-of date innocent oaths, as, by the mass!
+by our lady! and such like, and though there be lords present, he cries,
+my masters! He is exceedingly in love with his humour, which makes him
+always profess and proclaim it, and you must take what he says
+patiently, because he is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still,
+and other men's tyrant; for he must speak his mind, and that is his
+worst, and craves your pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you.
+His jests best become him, because they come from him rudely and
+unaffected; and he has the luck commonly to have them famous. He is one
+that will do more than he will speak, and yet speak more than he will
+hear; for though he love to touch others, he is touchy himself, and
+seldom to his own abuses replies but with his fists. He is as
+squeazy[74] of his commendations, as his courtesy, and his good word is
+like an eulogy in a satire. He is generally better favoured than he
+favours, as being commonly well expounded in his bitterness, and no man
+speaks treason more securely. He chides great men with most boldness,
+and is counted for it an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in behalf
+of the commonwealth, and is in prison oft for it with credit. He is
+generally honest, but more generally thought so, and his downrightness
+credits him, as a man not well bended and crookened to the times. In
+conclusion, he is not easily bad in whom this quality is nature, but the
+counterfeit is most dangerous, since he is disguised in a humour that
+professes not to disguise.
+
+
+
+A HANDSOME HOSTESS
+
+Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above the fair sign, or fair
+lodgings. She is the loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and
+roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and are not easily got off.
+Her lips are your welcome, and your entertainment her company, which is
+put into the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcel in it. No
+citizen's wife is demurer than she at the first greeting, nor draws in
+her mouth with a chaster simper; but you may be more familiar without
+distaste, and she does not startle at anything. She is the confusion of
+a pottle of sack more than would have been spent elsewhere, and her
+little jugs are accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She may be an
+honest woman, but is not believed so in her parish, and no man is a
+greater infidel in it than her husband.
+
+A CRITIC
+
+Is one that has spelled over a great many books, and his observation is
+the orthography. He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the wounds
+of dust and ignorance. He converses much in fragments and _desunt
+multa's_, and if he piece it up with two lines he is more proud of that
+book than the author. He runs over all sciences to peruse their
+syntaxis, and thinks all learning com-prised in writing Latin. He tastes
+styles as some discreeter palates do wine; and tells you which is
+genuine, which sophisticate and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany
+of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, and entombed by Varro,
+and the modernest man he follows is Plautus. He writes _omneis_ at
+length, and _quidquid_, and his gerund is most inconformable. He is a
+troublesome vexer of the dead, which after so long sparing must rise up
+to the judgment of his castigations. He is one that makes all books sell
+dearer, whilst he swells them into folios with his comments.
+
+
+
+A SERGEANT, OR CATCH-POLE
+
+Is one of God's judgments; and which our roarers do only conceive
+terrible. He is the properest shape wherein they fancy Satan; for he is
+at most but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. He is the creditors' hawk,
+wherewith they seize upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his
+talons. He is the period of young gentlemen, or their full stop, for
+when he meets with them they can go no farther. His ambush is a
+shop-stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly at your back. He
+respites you in no place but a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer
+than a clockmaker. The common way to run from him is through him, which
+is often attempted and atchieved, [[75]_and no man is more beaten out of
+charity._] He is one makes the street more dangerous than the highways,
+and men go better provided in their walks than their journey. He is the
+first handsel of the young rapiers of the templers; and they are as
+proud of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a Turk. He is a moveable
+prison, and his hands two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an
+occasioner of disloyal thoughts in the commonwealth, for he makes men
+hate the king's name worse than the devil's.
+
+
+
+A UNIVERSITY DUN
+
+Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, for his own money has hired
+him. He is an inferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards,
+contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, too weak to be put in
+suit, and he arrests your modesty. He is now very expensive of his time,
+for he will wait upon your stairs a whole afternoon, and dance
+attendance with more patience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore
+beleaguerer of chambers, and assaults them sometimes with furious
+knocks; yet finds strong resistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a
+great complainer of scholars loitering, for he is sure never to find
+them within, and yet he is the chief cause many times that makes them
+study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men that shun him for his
+kindness, but indeed it is his own fault, for he is too great an
+upbraider. No man puts them more to their brain than he; and by shifting
+him off they learn to shift in the world. Some chuse their rooms on
+purpose to avoid his surprisals, and think the best commodity in them
+his prospect. He is like a rejected acquaintance, hunts those that care
+not for his company, and he knows it well enough, and yet will not keep
+away. The sole place to supple him is the buttery, where he takes
+grievous use upon your name,[76] and he is one much wrought with good
+beer and rhetoric. He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and no
+gallant walks the streets to less purpose.
+
+
+
+A STAID MAN
+
+Is a man: one that has taken order with himself, and sets a rule to
+those lawlessnesses within him: whose life is distinct and in method,
+and his actions, as it were, cast up before: not loosed into the world's
+vanities, but gathered up and contracted in his station: not scattered
+into many pieces of business, but that one course he takes, goes through
+with. A man firm and standing in his purposes, not heaved off with each
+wind and passion: that squares his expense to his coffers, and makes the
+total first, and then the items. One that thinks what he does, and does
+what he says, and foresees what he may do before he purposes. One whose
+"if I can" is more than another's assurance; and his doubtful tale
+before some men's protestations:--that is confident of nothing in
+futurity, yet his conjectures oft true prophecies:--that makes a pause
+still betwixt his ear and belief, and is not too hasty to say after
+others. One whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the time, and
+then strikes, and says much when he talks little:--that can see the
+truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree even in that they fall
+out upon:--that speaks no rebellion in a bravery, or talks big from the
+spirit of sack. A man cool and temperate in his passions, not easily
+betrayed by his choler:--that vies not oath with oath, nor heat with
+heat, but replies calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him
+too:--that can come fairly off from captains' companies, and neither
+drink nor quarrel. One whom no ill hunting sends home discontented, and
+makes him swear at his dogs and family. One not hasty to pursue the new
+fashion, nor yet affectedly true to his old round breeches; but gravely
+handsome, and to his place, which suits him better than his tailor:
+active in the world without disquiet, and careful without misery; yet
+neither engulfed in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but has his
+hour for both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but his mirth is a
+cheerful look: of a composed and settled countenance, not set, nor much
+alterable with sadness of joy. He affects nothing so wholly, that he
+must be a miserable man when he loses it; but fore-thinks what will come
+hereafter, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. One that loves his
+credit, not this word reputation; yet can save both without a duel.
+Whose entertainments to greater men are respectful, not complimentary;
+and to his friends plain, not rude. A good husband, father, master; that
+is, without doting, pampering, familiarity. A man well poised in all
+humours, in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he has not spoiled the
+work. A man of more wisdom than wittiness, and brain than fancy; and
+abler to any thing than to make verses.
+
+A MODEST MAN
+
+Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that shews better to all men
+than himself, and so much the better to all men, as less to himself;[77]
+for no quality sets a man off like this, and commends him more against
+his will: and he can put up any injury sooner than this (as he calls it)
+your irony. You shall hear him confute his commenders, and giving
+reasons how much they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they do not
+believe him. Nothing threatens him so much as great expectation, which
+he thinks more prejudicial than your under-opinion, because it is easier
+to make that false, than this true. He is one that sneaks from a good
+action, as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify it; and is more
+blushingly reprehended in this, than others in sin: that counts all
+publick declarings of himself, but so many penances before the people;
+and the more you applaud him the more you abash him, and he recovers not
+his face a month after. One that is easy to like any thing of another
+man's, and thinks all he knows not of him better than that he knows. He
+excuses that to you, which another would impute; and if you pardon him,
+is satisfied. One that stands in no opinion because it is his own, but
+suspects it rather, because it is his own, and is confuted and thanks
+you. He sees nothing more willingly than his errors, and it is his error
+sometimes to be too soon persuaded. He is content to be auditor where he
+only can speak, and content to go away and think himself instructed. No
+man is so weak that he is ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to
+confess it; and he finds many times even in the dust, what others
+overlook and lose. Every man's presence is a kind of bridle to him, to
+stop the roving of his tongue and passions: and even impudent men look
+for this reverence from him, and distaste that in him which they suffer
+in themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured and shews more
+scurvily than another. An unclean jest shall shame him more than a
+bastard another man, and he that got it shall censure him among the
+rest. He is coward to nothing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever
+dare lie on him hath power over him; and if you take him by his look, he
+is guilty. The main ambition of his life is not to be discredited; and
+for other things, his desires are more limited than his fortunes, which
+he thinks preferment though never so mean, and that he is to do
+something to deserve this. He is too tender to venture on great places,
+and would not hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was the
+violence of his friends constrained him, how hardly soever he obtain it
+he was harder persuaded to seek it.
+
+
+
+A MERE EMPTY WIT
+
+Is like one that spends on the stock without any revenues coming in, and
+will shortly be no wit at all; for learning is the fuel to the fire of
+wit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out itself. A good conceit or
+two bates of such a man, and makes a sensible weakening in him; and his
+brain recovers it not a year after. The rest of him are bubbles and
+flashes, darted out on a sudden, which, if you take them while they are
+warm, may be laughed at; if they are cool, are nothing. He speaks best
+on the present apprehension, for meditation stupefies him, and the more
+he is in travail, the less he brings forth. His things come off then, as
+in a nauseateing stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, strains and
+convulsions, and some astonishing bombast, which men only, till they
+understand, are scared with. A verse or some such work he may sometimes
+get up to, but seldom above the stature of an epigram, and that with
+some relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary companion of his
+pocket, and he reads him as he were inspired. Such men are commonly the
+trifling things of the world, good to make merry the company, and whom
+only men have to do withal when they have nothing to do, and none are
+less their friends than who are most their company. Here they vent
+themselves over a cup somewhat more lastingly; all their words go for
+jests, and all their jests for nothing. They are nimble in the fancy of
+some ridiculous thing, and reasonable good in the expression. Nothing
+stops a jest when it's coming, neither friends, nor danger, but it must
+out howsoever, though their blood come out after, and then they
+emphatically rail, and are emphatically beaten, and commonly are men
+reasonable familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose life is but to
+laugh and be laughed at; and only wits in jest and fools in earnest.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKARD
+
+Is one that will be a man to-morrow morning, but is now what you will
+make him, for he is in the power of the next man, and if a friend the
+better. One that hath let go himself from the hold and stay of reason,
+and lies open to the mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds him
+disarmed and fenceless, and with the least assault enters. If any
+mischief escape him, it was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for
+it as he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw his father the first of
+this sin, an uncovered man, and though his garment be on, uncovered; the
+secretest parts of his soul lying in the nakedest manner visible: all
+his passions come out now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller
+humours which discretion clothes. His body becomes at last like a miry
+way, where the spirits are beclogged and cannot pass: all his members
+are out of office, and his heels do but trip up one another. He is a
+blind man with eyes, and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has of
+this vessel himself, is to hold thus much; for his drinking is but a
+scooping in of so many quarts, which are filled out into his body, and
+that filled out again into the room, which is commonly as drunk as he.
+Tobacco serves to air him after a washing, and is his only breath and
+breathing while. He is the greatest enemy to himself, and the next to
+his friend, and then most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness
+is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down first: and men come from
+him as a battle, wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a man off more from
+his credit, and business, and makes him more recklessly careless what
+becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a serious thought, or if he
+do, it is such melancholy that it sends him to be drunk again.
+
+
+
+A PRISON
+
+Is the grave of the living,[78] where they are shut up from the world
+and their friends; and the worms that gnaw upon them their own thoughts
+and the jailor. A house of meagre looks and ill smells, for lice, drink,
+and tobacco are the compound. Plato's court was expressed from this
+fancy; and the persons are much about the same parity that is there. You
+may ask, as Menippus in Lucian, which is Nireus, which Thersites, which
+the beggar, which the knight;--for they are all suited in the same form
+of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out at elbows is in fashion here,
+and a great indecorum not to be thread-bare. Every man shews here like
+so many wrecks upon the sea, here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the
+relicks of so many manors, a doublet without buttons; and 'tis a
+spectacle of more pity than executions are. The company one with the
+other is but a vying of complaints, and the causes they have to rail on
+fortune and fool themselves, and there is a great deal of good
+fellowship in this. They are commonly, next their creditors, most bitter
+against the lawyers, as men that have had a great stroke in assisting
+them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hardheartedness, yet they feign
+it sometimes to slip melancholy, and keep off themselves from
+themselves, and the torment of thinking what they have been. Men huddle
+up their life here as a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old
+suit, the faster the better; and he that deceives the time best, best
+spends it. It is the place where new comers are most welcomed, and, next
+them, ill news, as that which extends their fellowship in misery, and
+leaves few to insult:--and they breath their discontents more securely
+here, and have their tongues at more liberty than abroad. Men see here
+much sin and much calamity; and where the last does not mortify, the
+other hardens; as those that are worse here, are desperately worse, and
+those from whom the horror of sin is taken off and the punishment
+familiar: and commonly a hard thought passes on all that come from this
+school; which though it teach much wisdom, it is too late, and with
+danger: and it is better be a fool than come here to learn it.
+
+
+
+A SERVING MAN
+
+Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as well as his clothes, and
+somewhat in the same nature, for he is cast behind his master as
+fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he is but _in querpo_[79]
+without him. His properness[80] qualifies him, and of that a good leg;
+for his head he has little use but to keep it bare. A good dull wit best
+suits with him to comprehend commonsense and a trencher; for any greater
+store of brain it makes him but tumultuous, and seldom thrives with him.
+He follows his master's steps, as well in conditions as the street: if
+he wench or drink, he comes him in an under kind, and thinks it a part
+of his duty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his master's; of his
+faction,--of his cut,--of his pleasures:--he is handsome for his credit,
+and drunk for his credit, and if he have power in the cellar, commands
+the parish. He is one that keeps the best company, and is none of it;
+for he knows all the gentlemen his master knows, and picks from thence
+some hawking and horse-race terms,[81] which he swaggers with in the
+ale-house, where he is only called master. His mirth is evil jests with
+the wenches, and, behind the door, evil earnest. The best work he does
+is his marrying, for it makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it
+his master's direction, it is commonly the best service he does him.
+
+
+
+AN INSOLENT MAN
+
+Is a fellow newly great and newly proud; one that hath put himself into
+another face upon his preferment, for his own was not bred to it; one
+whom fortune hath shot up to some office or authority, and he shoots up
+his neck to his fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. His
+very countenance and gesture bespeak how much he is, and if you
+understand him not, he tells you, and concludes every period with his
+place, which you must and shall know. He is one that looks on all men as
+if he were angry, but especially on those of his acquaintance, whom he
+beats off with a surlier distance, as men apt to mistake him, because
+they have known him: and for this cause he knows not you 'till you have
+told him your name, which he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with
+much ado seems to recover. If you have any thing to use him in, you are
+his vassal for that time, and must give him the patience of any injury,
+which he does only to shew what he may do. He snaps you up bitterly,
+because he will be offended, and tells you, you are saucy and
+troublesome, and sometimes takes your money in this language. His very
+courtesies are intolerable, they are done with such an arrogance and
+imputation; and he is the only man you may hate after a good turn, and
+not be ungrateful; and men reckon it among their calamities to be
+beholden unto him. No vice draws with it a more general hostility, and
+makes men readier to search into his faults, and of them, his beginning;
+and no tale so unlikely but is willingly heard of him and believed. And
+commonly such men are of no merit at all, but make out in pride what
+they want in worth, and fence themselves with a stately kind of
+behaviour from that contempt which would pursue them. They are men whose
+preferment does us a great deal of wrong, and when they are down, we may
+laugh at them without breach of good-nature.
+
+
+
+ACQUAINTANCE
+
+Is the first draught of a friend, whom we must lay down oft thus, as the
+foul copy, before we can write him perfect and true: for from hence, as
+from a probation, men take a degree in our respect, till at last they
+wholly possess us: for acquaintance is the hoard, and friendship the
+pair chosen out of it; by which at last we begin to impropriate and
+inclose to ourselves what before lay in common with others. And commonly
+where it grows not up to this, it falls as low as may be; and no poorer
+relation than old acquaintance, of whom we only ask how they do for
+fashion's sake, and care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is but
+somewhat a more boldness of society, a sharing of talk, news, drink,
+mirth together; but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing nearer
+our heart, and to be delivered with it. Nothing easier than to create
+acquaintance, the mere being in company once does it; whereas
+friendship, like children, is engendered by a more inward mixture and
+coupling together; when we are acquainted not with their virtues only,
+but their faults, their passions, their fears, their shame.--and are
+bold on both sides to make their discovery. And as it is in the love of
+the body, which is then at the height and full when it has power and
+admittance into the hidden and worst parts of it; so it is in friendship
+with the mind, when those _verenda_ of the soul, and those things which
+we dare not shew the world, are bare and detected one to another.
+
+Some men are familiar with all, and those commonly friends to none; for
+friendship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and taker up of our
+affections to some few, and suffers them not loosely to be scattered on
+all men. The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place and country,
+which are shifted as the place, and missed but while the fancy of that
+continues. These are only then gladdest of other, when they meet in some
+foreign region, where the encompassing of strangers unites them closer,
+till at last they get new, and throw off one another. Men of parts and
+eminency, as their acquaintance is more sought for, so they are
+generally more staunch of it, not out of pride only, but fear to let too
+many in too near them: for it is with men as with pictures, the best
+show better afar off and at distance, and the closer you come to them
+the coarser they are. The best judgment of a man is taken from his
+acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both partial; whereas these
+see him truest because calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for
+him. And men that grow strange after acquaintance seldom piece together
+again, as those that have tasted meat and dislike it, out of a mutual
+experience disrelishing one another.
+
+A MERE COMPLIMENTAL MAN
+
+Is one to be held off still at the same distance you are now; for you
+shall have him but thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose him.
+Methinks Virgil well expresses him in those well-behaved ghosts that
+Æneas met with, that were friends to talk with, and men to look on, but
+if he grasped them, but air.[82] He is one that lies kindly to you, and
+for good fashion's sake, and 'tis discourtesy in you to believe him. His
+words are so many fine phrases set together, which serve equally for all
+men, and are equally to no purpose. Each fresh encounter with a man puts
+him to the same part again, and he goes over to you what he said to him
+was last with him: he kisses your hands as he kissed his before, and is
+your servant to be commanded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. His
+proffers are universal and general, with exceptions against all
+particulars. He will do any thing for you, but if you urge him to this,
+he cannot, or to that, he is engaged; but he will do any thing. Promises
+he accounts but a kind of mannerly words, and in the expectation of your
+manners not to exact them: if you do, he wonders at your ill breeding,
+that cannot distinguish betwixt what is spoken and what is meant. No man
+gives better satisfaction at the first, and comes off more with the
+elegy of a kind gentleman, till you know him better, and then you know
+him for nothing. And commonly those most rail at him, that have before
+most commended him. The best is, he cozens you in a fair manner, and
+abuses you with great respect.
+
+
+
+A POOR FIDDLER
+
+Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in worse case than his fiddle.
+One that rubs two sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and rubs
+a poor living out of it; partly from this, and partly from your charity,
+which is more in the hearing than giving him, for he sells nothing
+dearer than to be gone. He is just so many strings above a beggar,
+though he have but two; and yet he begs too, only not in the downright
+'for God's sake,' but with a shrugging 'God bless you,' and his face is
+more pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the greatest pain he takes,
+except a broken head sometimes, and the labouring John Dory.[83]
+Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and 'tis some mirth to see
+him. A good feast shall draw him five miles by the nose, and you shall
+track him again by the scent. His other pilgrimages are fairs and good
+houses, where his devotion is great to the Christmas; and no man loves
+good times better. He is in league with the tapsters for the worshipful
+of the inn, whom he torments next morning with his art, and has their
+names more perfect than their men. A new song is better to him than a
+new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls merry; and hates
+naturally the puritan, as an enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and
+Whitsun-ale are the two main places he domineers in, where he goes for a
+musician, and overlooks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk, and in
+the stocks.
+
+
+
+A MEDDLING MAN
+
+Is one that has nothing to do with his business, and yet no man busier
+than he, and his business is most in his face. He is one thrusts himself
+violently into all employments, unsent for, unfeed, and many times
+unthanked; and his part in it is only an eager bustling, that rather
+keeps ado than does any thing. He will take you aside, and question you
+of your affair, and listen with both ears, and look earnestly, and then
+it is nothing so much yours as his. He snatches what you are doing out
+of your hands, and cries "give it me," and does it worse, and lays an
+engagement upon you too, and you must thank him for this pains. He lays
+you down an hundred wild plots, all impossible things, which you must be
+ruled by perforce, and he delivers them with a serious and counselling
+forehead; and there is a great deal more wisdom in this forehead than
+his head. He will woo for you, solicit for you, and woo you to suffer
+him; and scarce any thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, or
+at least himself is not seen: if he have no task in it else, he will
+rail yet on some side, and is often beaten when he need not. Such men
+never thoroughly weigh any business, but are forward only to shew their
+zeal, when many times this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they
+have done what they can, that is, as much hurt. Wise men still deprecate
+these men's kindnesses, and are beholden to them rather to let them
+alone; as being one trouble more in all business, and which a man shall
+be hardest rid of.
+
+
+
+A GOOD OLD MAN
+
+Is the best antiquity, and which we may with least vanity admire. One
+whom time hath been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, ripened
+when others are shaken down. He hath taken out as many lessons of the
+world as days, and learnt the best thing in it; the vanity of it. He
+looks over his former life as a danger well past, and would not hazard
+himself to begin again. His lust was long broken before his body, yet he
+is glad this temptation is broke too, and that he is fortified from it
+by this weakness. The next door of death sads him not, but he expects it
+calmly as his turn in nature; and fears more his recoiling back to
+childishness than dust. All men look on him as a common father, and on
+old age, for his sake, as a reverent thing. His very presence and face
+puts vice out of countenance, and makes it an indecorum in a vicious
+man. He practises his experience on youth without the harshness of
+reproof, and in his counsel is good company. He has some old stories
+still of his own seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them better
+in the telling; yet is not troublesome neither with the same tale again,
+but remembers with them how oft he has told them. His old sayings and
+morals seem proper to his beard; and the poetry of Cato does well out of
+his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the author. He is not apt to
+put the boy on a younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can distinguish
+gravity from a sour look; and the less testy he is, the more regarded.
+You must pardon him if he like his own times better than these, because
+those things are follies to him now that were wisdom then; yet he makes
+us of that opinion too when we see him, and conjecture those times by so
+good a relic. He is a man capable of a dearness with the youngest men,
+yet he not youthfuller for them, but they older for him; and no man
+credits more his acquaintance. He goes away at last too soon whensoever,
+with all men's sorrow but his own; and his memory is fresh, when it is
+twice as old.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures flatter many times, so he
+oft shews fairer than the true substance: his look, conversation,
+company, and all the outwardness of friendship more pleasing by odds,
+for a true friend dare take the liberty to be sometimes offensive,
+whereas he is a great deal more cowardly, and will not let the least
+hold go, for fear of losing you. Your mere sour look affrights him, and
+makes him doubt his cashiering. And this is one sure mark of him, that
+he is never first angry, but ready though upon his own wrong to make
+satisfaction. Therefore he is never yoked with a poor man, or any that
+stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes may tempt his pains to
+deceive him. Him he learns first, and learns well, and grows perfecter
+in his humours than himself, and by this door enters upon his soul, of
+which he is able at last to take the very print and mark, and fashion
+his own by it, like a false key to open all your secrets. All his
+affections jump[84] even with yours; he is before-hand with your
+thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you. He will commend to you
+first what he knows you like, and has always some absurd story or other
+of your enemy, and then wonders how your two opinions should jump in
+that man. He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of deep judgment,
+and has a secret of purpose to disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say,
+is persuaded. He listens to your words with great attention, and
+sometimes will object that you may confute him, and then protests he
+never heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts him with an
+overflowing laughter, and he remembers it for you to all companies, and
+laughs again in the telling. He is one never chides you but for your
+virtues, as, _you are too good, too honest, too religious_, when his
+chiding may seem but the earnester commendation, and yet would fain
+chide you out of them too; for your vice is the thing he has use of, and
+wherein you may best use him; and he is never more active than in the
+worst diligences. Thus, at last, he possesses you from yourself, and
+then expects but his hire to betray you: and it is a happiness not to
+discover him; for as long as you are happy, you shall not.
+
+
+
+A HIGH-SPIRITED MAN
+
+Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not: you may forgive him his
+looks for his worth's sake, for they are only too proud to be base. One
+whom no rate can buy off from the least piece of his freedom, and make
+him digest an unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch to a great man
+to possess him, nor fall low to the earth to rebound never so high
+again. He stands taller on his own bottom, than others on the advantage
+ground of fortune, as having solidly that honour of which title is but
+the pomp. He does homage to no man for his great style's sake, but is
+strictly just in the exaction of respect again, and will not bate you a
+compliment. He is more sensible of a neglect than an undoing, and scorns
+no man so much as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired, and quickly
+laid down with satisfaction, but remits any injury sooner than words:
+only to himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never forgives a
+disgrace, but is still stabbing himself with the thought of it, and no
+disease that he dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish than be
+beholden for his life, and strives more to quit with his friend than his
+enemy. Fortune may kill him but not deject him, nor make him fall into
+an humbler key than before, but he is now loftier than ever in his own
+defence; you shall hear him talk still after thousands, and he becomes
+it better than those that have it. One that is above the world and its
+drudgery, and cannot pull down his thoughts to the pelting businesses of
+life. He would sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade, or anything
+that might disparage the height of man in him, and yet thinks no death
+comparably base to hanging neither. One that will do nothing upon
+command, though he would do it otherwise; and if ever he do evil, it is
+when he is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal his worth puts a
+lustre in all preferment; but if otherwise he be too much crossed, turns
+desperately melancholy, and scorns mankind.
+
+
+
+A MERE GULL CITIZEN
+
+Is one much about the same model and pitch of brain that the clown is,
+only of somewhat a more polite and finical ignorance, and as sillily
+scorns him as he is sillily admired by him. The quality of the city hath
+afforded him some better dress of clothes and language, which he uses to
+the best advantage, and is so much the more ridiculous. His chief
+education is the visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine ladies
+resort, he is infected with so much more eloquence, and if he catch one
+word extraordinary, wears it forever. You shall hear him mince a
+compliment sometimes that was never made for him; and no man pays dearer
+for good words,--for he is oft paid with them. He is suited rather fine
+than in the fashion, and has still something to distinguish him from a
+gentleman, though his doublet cost more; especially on Sundays,
+bridegroom-like, where he carries the state of a very solemn man, and
+keeps his pew as his shop; and it is a great part of his devotion to
+feast the minister. But his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the
+greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if you be an honest
+gentleman, that is trust him to cozen you enough. His friendships are a
+kind of gossiping friendships, and those commonly within the circle of
+his trade, wherein he is careful principally to avoid two things, that
+is poor men and suretyships. He is a man will spend his sixpence with a
+great deal of imputation,[85] and no man makes more of a pint of wine
+than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of foolish love to scholars, and
+to Cambridge especially for Sturbridge[86] fair's sake; and of these all
+are truants to him that are not preachers, and of these the loudest the
+best; and he is much ravished with the noise of a rolling tongue. He
+loves to hear discourses out of his element, and the less he understands
+the better pleased, which he expresses in a smile and some fond
+protestation. One that does nothing without his chuck,[87] that is his
+wife, with whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the wantoner she
+is, the more power she has over him; and she never stoops so low after
+him, but is the only woman goes better of a widow than a maid. In the
+education of his child no man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a
+harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging still the weakness of the
+boy, and pays a fine extraordinary for his mercy. The first whipping
+rids him to the university, and from thence rids him again for fear of
+starving, and the best he makes of him is some gull in plush. He is one
+loves to hear the famous acts of citizens, whereof the gilding of the
+cross[88] he counts the glory of this age, and the four[89] prentices of
+London above all the nine[90] worthies. He intitles himself to all the
+merits of his company, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions, in
+which he is joint benefactor, though four hundred years ago, and
+upbraids them far more than those that gave them: yet with all this
+folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and in that a sufficienter man
+than he that is wiser.
+
+
+
+A LASCIVIOUS MAN
+
+Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but all are but his lust, to
+which only he is faithful, and none besides, and spends his best blood
+and spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to his body, and those
+that assist him in this nature the nearest to it. No man abuses more the
+name of love, or those whom he applies this name to; for his love is
+like his stomach to feed on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit
+and loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him; and it kindles on any
+sooner than who deserve best of him. There is a great deal of malignity
+in this vice, for it loves still to spoil the best things, and a virgin
+sometimes rather than beauty, because the undoing here is greater, and
+consequently his glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, or is so
+extremely tickled with the remembrance of it; and he is more violence to
+a modest ear than to her he defloured. An unclean jest enters deep into
+him, and whatsoever you speak he will draw to lust, and his wit is never
+so good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue, for that commits
+always what he must act seldomer; and that commits with all what he acts
+with few; for he is his own worst reporter, and men believe as bad of
+him, and yet do not believe him. Nothing harder to his persuasion than a
+chaste man; and makes a scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a
+maid. And from this mistrust it is that such men fear marriage, or at
+least marry such as are of bodies to be trusted, to whom only they sell
+that lust which they buy of others, and make their wife a revenue to
+their mistress. They are men not easily reformed, because they are so
+little ill-persuaded of their illness, and have such pleas from man and
+nature. Besides it is a jeering and flouting vice, and apt to put jests
+on the reprover. Their disease only converts them, and that only when it
+kills them.
+
+
+
+A RASH MAN
+
+Is a man too quick for himself; one whose actions put a leg still before
+his judgement, and out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the signal
+that sets him forward, and his reason comes still in the rear. One that
+has brain enough, but not patience to digest a business, and stay the
+leisure of a second thought. All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth
+and freezing of action, and it shall burn him rather than take cold. He
+is always resolved at first thinking, and the ground he goes upon is,
+_hap what may_. Thus he enters not, but throws himself violently upon
+all things, and for the most part is as violently upon all off again;
+and as an obstinate _"I will"_ was the preface to his undertaking, so
+his conclusion is commonly _"I would I had not;"_ for such men seldom do
+anything that they are not forced to take in pieces again, and are so
+much farther off from doing it, as they have done already. His friends
+are with him as his physician, sought to only in his sickness and
+extremity, and to help him out of that mire he has plunged himself into;
+for in the suddenness of his passions he would hear nothing, and now his
+ill success has allayed him he hears too late. He is a man still swayed
+with the first reports, and no man more in the power of a pick-thank
+than he. He is one will fight first, and then expostulate, condemn
+first, and then examine. He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling,
+and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and then curses the occasion
+drew this mischief upon him, and cries God mercy for it, and curses
+again. His repentance is merely a rage against himself, and he does
+something in itself to be repented again. He is a man whom fortune must
+go against much to make him happy, for had he been suffered his own way,
+he had been undone.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED MAN
+
+Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things. One that would go a strain
+beyond himself, and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all things with
+great solemnity of circumstance; and whereas with more negligence he
+might pass better, makes himself with a great deal of endeavour
+ridiculous. The fancy of some odd quaintnesses have put him clean beside
+his nature; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost what he was. He is
+one must be point-blank in every trifle, as if his credit and opinion
+hung upon it; the very space of his arms in an embrace studied before
+and premeditated, and the figure of his countenance of a fortnight's
+contriving; he will not curse you without-book and extempore, but in
+some choice way, and perhaps as some great man curses. Every action of
+his cries,--"_Do ye mark me?_" and men do mark him how absurd he is: for
+affectation is the most betraying humour, and nothing that puzzles a man
+less to find out than this. All the actions of his life are like so many
+things bodged in without any natural cadence or connection at all. You
+shall track him all through like a school-boy's theme, one piece from
+one author and this from another, and join all in this general, that
+they are none of his own. You shall observe his mouth not made for that
+tone, nor his face for that simper; and it is his luck that his finest
+things most misbecome him. If he affect the gentleman as the humour most
+commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio of a fine man, but he is
+strict in to a hair, even to their very negligences, which he cons as
+rules. He will not carry a knife with him to wound reputation, and pay
+double a reckoning, rather than ignobly question it: and he is full of
+this--ignobly--and nobly--and genteely; and this mere fear to trespass
+against the genteel way puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs
+through many things besides, but is an ill-favoured ostentation in all,
+and thrives not:--and the best use of such men is, they are good parts
+in a play.
+
+
+
+A PROFANE MAN
+
+Is one that denies God as far as the law gives him leave; that is, only
+does not say so in downright terms, for so far he may go. A man that
+does the greatest sins calmly, and as the ordinary actions of life, and
+as calmly discourses of it again. He will tell you his business is to
+break such a commandment, and the breaking of the commandment shall
+tempt him to it. His words are but so many vomitings cast up to the
+loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of his company[91] loath it
+not. He will take upon him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of
+his company, and makes good sport at his conquest over the puritan fool.
+The Scripture supplies him for jests, and he reads it on purpose to be
+thus merry: he will prove you his sin out of the Bible, and then ask if
+you will not take that authority. He never sees the church but of
+purpose to sleep in it, or when some silly man preaches, with whom he
+means to make sport, and is most jocund in the church. One that
+nick-names clergymen with all the terms of reproach, as "_rat,
+black-coat_" and the like; which he will be sure to keep up, and never
+calls them by other: that sings psalms when he is drunk, and cries "_God
+mercy_" in mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems to dare God in
+all his actions, but indeed would out-dare the opinion of Him, which
+would else turn him desperate; for atheism is the refuge of such
+sinners, whose repentance would be only to hang themselves.
+
+
+
+A COWARD
+
+Is the man that is commonly most fierce against the coward, and
+labouring to take off this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of
+valour is a good protection to those that dare not use it. No man is
+valianter than he is in civil company, and where he thinks no danger may
+come on it, and is the readiest man to fall upon a drawer and those that
+must not strike again: wonderful exceptious and cholerick where he sees
+men are loth to give him occasion, and you cannot pacify him better than
+by quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow, the more temperate man is
+he; he protests he always honoured you, and the more you rail upon him,
+the more he honours you, and you threaten him at last into a very honest
+quiet man. The sight of a sword wounds him more sensibly than the
+stroke, for before that come he is dead already. Every man is his master
+that dare beat him, and every man dares that knows him. And he that dare
+do this is the only man can do much with him; for his friend he cares
+not for, as a man that carries no such terror as his enemy, which for
+this cause only is more potent with him of the two: and men fall out
+with him of purpose to get courtesies from him, and be bribed again to a
+reconcilement. A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for the
+apprehension of each danger loosens him, and makes him bewray both the
+room and it. He is a Christian merely for fear of hell-fire; and if any
+religion could fright him more, would be of that.
+
+
+
+A SORDID RICH MAN
+
+Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth we may say as of other
+men's unthriftiness, that it has brought him to this: when he had
+nothing he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a man whom men hate
+in his own behalf for using himself thus, and yet, being upon himself,
+it is but justice, for he deserves it. Every accession of a fresh heap
+bates him so much of his allowance, and brings him a degree nearer
+starving. His body had been long since desperate, but for the reparation
+of other men's tables, where he hoards meats in his belly for a month,
+to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes were never young in our
+memory; you might make long epochas from them, and put them into the
+almanack with the dear year[92] and the great frost,[93] and he is known
+by them longer than his face. He is one never gave alms in his life, and
+yet is as charitable to his neighbour as himself. He will redeem a penny
+with his reputation, and lose all his friends to boot; and his reason
+is, he will not be undone. He never pays anything but with strictness of
+law, for fear of which only he steals not. He loves to pay short a
+shilling or two in a great sum, and is glad to gain that when he can no
+more. He never sees friend but in a journey to save the charges of an
+inn, and then only is not sick; and his friends never see him but to
+abuse him. He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantic thrift, and one of
+the strangest things that wealth can work.
+
+
+
+A MERE GREAT MAN
+
+Is so much heraldry without honour, himself less real than his title.
+His virtue is, that he was his father's son, and all the expectation of
+him to beget another. A man that lives merely to preserve another's
+memory, and let us know who died so many years ago. One of just as much
+use as his images, only he differs in this, that he can speak himself,
+and save the fellow of Westminster[94] a labour: and he remembers
+nothing better than what was out of his life. His grandfathers and their
+acts are his discourse, and he tells them with more glory than they did
+them; and it is well they did enough, or else he had wanted matter. His
+other studies are his sports and those vices that are fit for great men.
+Every vanity of his has his officer, and is a serious employment for his
+servants. He talks loud, and uncleanly, and scurvily as a part of state,
+and they hear him with reverence. All good qualities are below him, and
+especially learning, except some parcels of the chronicle and the
+writing of his name, which he learns to write not to be read. He is
+merely of his servants' faction, and their instrument for their friends
+and enemies, and is always least thanked for his own courtesies. They
+that fool him most do most with him, and he little thinks how many laugh
+at him bare-head. No man is kept in ignorance more of himself and men,
+for he hears naught but flattery; and what is fit to be spoken, truth,
+with so much preface that it loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb
+be made ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity.
+
+
+
+A POOR MAN
+
+Is the most impotent man, though neither blind nor lame, as wanting the
+more necessary limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. A man
+unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts of the world, which blow all in
+upon him, like an unroofed house; and the bitterest thing he suffers is
+his neighbours. All men put on to him a kind of churlisher fashion, and
+even more plausible natures are churlish to him, as who are nothing
+advantaged by his opinion. Men fall out with him before-hand to prevent
+friendship, and his friends too to prevent engagements, or if they own
+him 'tis in private and a by-room, and on condition not to know them
+before company. All vice put together is not half so scandalous, nor
+sets off our acquaintance farther; and even those that are not friends
+for ends do not love any dearness with such men. The least courtesies
+are upbraided to him, and himself thanked for none, but his best
+services suspected as handsome sharking and tricks to get money. And we
+shall observe it in knaves themselves, that your beggarliest knaves are
+the greatest, or thought so at least, for those that have wit to thrive
+by it have art not to seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard enough to
+mask his vices, nor ornament enough to set forth his virtues, but both
+are naked and unhandsome; and though no man is necessitated to more ill,
+yet no man's ill is less excused, but it is thought a kind of impudence
+in him to be vicious, and a presumption above his fortune. His good
+parts lie dead upon his hands, for want of matter to employ them, and at
+the best are not commended but pitied, as virtues ill placed, and we may
+say of him, "Tis an honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that call
+him so will trust a knave before him. He is a man that has the truest
+speculation of the world, because all men shew to him in their plainest
+and worst, as a man they have no plot on, by appearing good to; whereas
+rich men are entertained with a more holiday behaviour, and see only the
+best we can dissemble. He is the only he that tries the true strength of
+wisdom, what it can do of itself without the help of fortune; that with
+a great deal of virtue conquers extremities; and with a great deal more;
+his own impatience, and obtains of himself not to hate men.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY HONEST MAN
+
+Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, for if he were not this, he
+were nothing: and yet he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious
+fellow, that complies well with the debauchments of the time, and is fit
+for it. One that has no good part in him to offend his company, or make
+him to be suspected a proud fellow; but is sociably a dunce, and
+sociably a drinker. That does it fair and above-board without legermain,
+and neither sharks for a cup or a reckoning: that is kind over his beer,
+and protests he loves you, and begins to you again, and loves you again.
+One that quarrels with no man, but for not pledging him, but takes all
+absurdities and commits as many, and is no tell-tale next morning,
+though he remember it. One that will fight for his friend if he hear him
+abused, and his friend commonly is he that is most likely, and he lifts
+up many a jug in his defence. He rails against none but censurers,
+against whom he thinks he rails lawfully, and censurers are all those
+that are better than himself. These good properties qualify him for
+honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale-house commendation, who,
+if he had any other good quality, would be named by that. But now for
+refuge he is an honest man, and hereafter a sot: only those that commend
+him think him not so, and those that commend him are honest fellows.
+
+
+
+A SUSPICIOUS OR JEALOUS MAN
+
+Is one that watches himself a mischief, and keeps a lear eye still, for
+fear it should escape him. A man that sees a great deal more in every
+thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks he sees nothing: his own eye
+stands in his light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some weaknesses,
+which he might conceal if he were careless:--now his over-diligence to
+hide them makes men pry the more. Howsoever he imagines you have found
+him, and it shall go hard but you must abuse him whether you will or no.
+Not a word can be spoke but nips him somewhere; not a jest thrown out
+but he will make it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out of
+company, with some twenty quarrels to every man, stung and galled, and
+no man knows less the occasion than they that have given it. To laugh
+before him is a dangerous matter, for it cannot be at any thing but at
+him, and to whisper in his company plain conspiracy. He bids you speak
+out, and he will answer you, when you thought not of him. He
+expostulates with you in passion, why you should abuse him, and explains
+to your ignorance wherein, and gives you very good reason at last to
+laugh at him hereafter. He is one still accusing others when they are
+not guilty, and defending himself when he is not accused: and no man is
+undone more with apologies, wherein he is so elaborately excessive, that
+none will believe him; and he is never thought worse of, than when he
+has given satisfaction. Such men can never have friends, because they
+cannot trust so far; and this humour hath this infection with it, it
+makes all men to them suspicious. In conclusion, they are men always in
+offence and vexation with themselves and their neighbours, wronging
+others in thinking they would wrong them, and themselves most of all in
+thinking they deserve it.
+
+
+
+NICHOLAS BRETON
+
+_Published in 1615 "Characters upon Essays, Moral and Divine" and in
+1616 a set of Characters called "The Good and the Bad." He was of a good
+Essex family, second son of William Breton of Redcross Street, in the
+parish of St. Giles without Cripplegate. His father was well-to-do, and
+died in January 1559 (new style) when Nicholas was a boy. His mother
+took for second husband George Gascoigne the poet. Only a chance note in
+a diary informs us that Nicholas Breton was once of Oriel College,
+Oxford. In 1577, when his stepfather Gascoigne died, Breton was living
+in London, and he then published the first of his many books. He married
+Ann Sutton in the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, on the 14th of
+January 1593 (new style), had a son Henry, born in 1603, a son Edward in
+1606, and a daughter Matilda in 1607, who died in her nineteenth year.
+He was from 1577 onward an active writer both of prose and verse, and a
+poet of real mark in the days of Elizabeth and James the First, though
+it was left to Dr. A. B. Grosart to be, in 1875-79, the first editor of
+his collected works in an edition limited to a hundred copies. The date
+of Breton's last publication, "Fantastics," is 1626, but of the time of
+his death there is no record, Nicholas Breton's "Characters upon
+Essaies" published in 1615, were entitled in full "Characters upon
+Essaies Morall and Divine, written for those good spirits that will take
+them 'in good part, and make use of them to good purpose." In
+recognition of the kinship between Bacon's Essays and Character
+writings, they were dedicated_
+
+    To the Honourable, and my much worthy honoured,
+truly learned, and Judicious Knight, SIR FRANCIS BACON,
+        his Maties. Attorney General,
+    _Increase of honour, health, and eternal happiness_.
+
+Worthy knight, I have read of many essays and a kind of charactering of
+them, by such, as when I looked unto the form or nature of their writing
+I have been of the conceit that they were but imitators of your breaking
+the ice to their inventions, which, how short they fall of your worth, I
+had rather think than speak, though truth need not blush at her blame.
+Now, for myself, unworthy to touch near the rock of those diamonds, or
+to speak in their praise, who so far exceed the power of my capacity,
+vouchsafe me leave yet, I beseech you, among those apes that would
+counterfeit the actions of men, to play the like part with learning, and
+as a monkey that would make a face like a man and cannot, so to write
+like a scholar and am not; and thus not daring to adventure the print
+under your patronage, without your favourable allowance in the devoted
+service of my bounden duty, I leave these poor travails of my spirit to
+the perusing of your pleasing leisure, with the further fruits of my
+humble affection, to the happy employment of your honourable
+pleasure.--At your service in all humbleness,
+
+NICH. BRETON.
+
+_Breton prefixed also this address_--
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+Read what you list, and understand what you can. Characters are not
+every man's construction, though they be writ in our mother tongue; and
+what I have written, being of no other nature, if they fit not your
+humour they may please a better. I make no comparison, because I know
+you not, but if you will vouchsafe to look into them, it may be you may
+find something in them; their natures are diverse, as you may see, if
+your eyes be open, and if you can make use of them to good purpose, your
+wits may prove the better. In brief, fearing the fool will be put upon
+me for being too busy with matters too far above my understanding, I
+will leave my imperfection to pardon or correction, and my labour to
+their liking that will not think ill of a well-meaning, and so
+rest,--Your well-willing friend,
+
+N.B.
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS,
+
+
+MORAL AND DIVINE.
+
+BY NICHOLAS BRETON.
+
+
+WISDOM.
+
+Wisdom is a working grace in the souls of the elect, by whom the spirit
+is made capable of those secrets that neither nature nor reason is able
+to comprehend; who, by a powerful virtue she hath from the Divine
+Essence, worketh in all things according to the will of the Almighty,
+and, being before beginning, shall exceed time in an eternal proceeding.
+She is a light in the intellectual part, by which reason is led to
+direct the senses in their due course, and nature is preserved from
+subjecting herself to imperfection. In the Creation she was of counsel
+with the Trinity in the pleasing of the Deity; in the Redemption the
+inventor of mercy for the preservation of the elect; and in the
+Glorification the treasurer of life for the reward of the faithful, who,
+having committed to her care the carriage of the whole motion, finding
+the disposition of earth in all the children of her womb, by such a
+measure as she finds fitting their quality, she gives them either the
+grace of nature or the glory of reason. While being the mother of the
+graces, she gives them that holy instruction that, in the knowledge of
+the highest love, through the paths of virtue, makes a passage to
+heaven. Learning hath from her that knowledge without the which all
+knowledge is mere ignorance, while only in the grace of truth is seen
+the glory of understanding. Knowledge hath from her that learning
+whereby she is taught the direction of her love in the way of life.
+Understanding hath from her that knowledge that keeps conceit always in
+the spirit's comfort; and judgment from understanding, that rule of
+justice that by the even weight of impartiality shows the hand of Heaven
+in the heart of humanity. In the heavens she keeps the angels in their
+orders, teacheth them the natures of their offices, and employs them in
+the service of their Creator. In the firmament she walks among the
+stars, sets and keeps them in their places, courses, and operations, at
+her pleasure. She eclipseth the light, and in a moment leaves not a
+cloud in the sky. In her thunders and lightnings she shows the terror of
+the Highest wrath, and in her temperate calms, the patience of His
+mercy. In her frosty winters she shows the weakness of nature, and in
+her sunny springs the recovery of her health. In the lovers of this
+world lives no part of her pureness, but with her beloved she makes a
+heaven upon earth. In the king she shows grace, in his council her care,
+and in his state her strength. In the soldier she shows virtue the
+truest valour; in the lawyer, truth the honour of his plea; in the
+merchant, conscience the wealth of his soul; and in the churchman,
+charity the true fruit of his devotion. She lives in the world but not
+the world's love, for the world's unworthiness is not capable of her
+worth. She receiveth Mammon as a gift from his Maker, and makes him
+serve her use to His glory. She gives honour, grace in bounty, and
+manageth wit by the care of discretion. She shows the necessity of
+difference, and wherein is the happiness of unity. She puts her labour
+to providence, her hope to patience, her life to her love, and her love
+to her Lord; with whom, as chief secretary of His secrets, she writes
+His will to the world, and as high steward of His courts she keeps
+account of all His tenants. In sum, so great is her grace in the heavens
+as gives her glory above the earth, and so infinite are her excellencies
+in all the course of her action; and so glorious are the notes of her
+incomprehensible nature, that I will thus only conclude, far short of
+her commendation:--She is God's love, and His angels' light, His
+servants' grace, and His beloved's glory.
+
+
+
+LEARNING.
+
+Learning is the life of reason and the light of nature, where time,
+order, and measure square out the true course of knowledge; where
+discretion in the temper of passion brings experience to the best fruit
+of affection; while both the Theory and Practice labour in the life of
+judgment, till the perfection of art show the honour of understanding.
+She is the key of knowledge that unlocketh the cabinet of conceit,
+wherein are laid up the labours of virtue for the use of the scholars of
+wisdom; where every gracious spirit may find matter enough worthy of the
+record of the best memory. She is the nurse of nature, with that milk of
+reason that would make a child of grace never lie from the dug. She is
+the schoolmistress of wit and the gentle governor of will, when the
+delight of understanding gives the comfort of study. She is unpleasing
+to none that knows her, and unprofitable to none that loves her. She
+fears not to wet her feet, to wade through the waters of comfort, but
+comes not near the seas of iniquity, where folly drowns affection in the
+delight of vanity. She opens her treasures to the travellers in virtue,
+but keeps them close from the eyes of idleness. She makes the king
+gracious and his council judicious, his clergy devout and his kingdom
+prosperous. She gives honour to virtue, grace to honour, reward to
+labour, and love to truth. She is the messenger of wisdom to the minds
+of the virtuous, and the way to honour in the spirits of the gracious.
+She is the storehouse of understanding, where the affection of grace
+cannot want instruction of goodness, while, in the rules of her
+directions, reason is never out of square. She is the exercise of wit in
+the application of knowledge, and the preserver of the understanding in
+the practice of memory. In brief, she makes age honourable and youth
+admirable, the virtuous wise and the wise gracious. Her libraries are
+infinite, her lessons without number, her instruction without
+comparison, and her scholars without equality. In brief, finding it a
+labyrinth to go through the grounds of her praise, let this suffice,
+that in all ages she hath been and ever will be the darling of wisdom,
+the delight of wit, the study of virtue, and the stay of knowledge.
+
+
+
+KNOWLEDGE.
+
+Knowledge is a collection of understanding gathered in the grounds of
+learning by the instruction of wisdom. She is the exercise of memory in
+the actions of the mind, and the employer of the senses in the will of
+the spirit: she is the notary of time and the trier of truth, and the
+labour of the spirit in the love of virtue: she is the pleasure of wit
+and the paradise of reason, where conceit gathereth the sweet of
+understanding. She is the king's counsellor and the council's grace,
+youth's guard and age's glory. It is free from doubts and fears no
+danger, while the care of Providence cuts off the cause of repentance.
+She is the enemy of idleness and the maintainer of labour in the care of
+credit and pleasure of profit: she needs no advice in the resolution of
+action, while experience in observation finds perfection infallible. It
+clears errors and cannot be deceived, corrects impurity and will not be
+corrupted. She hath a wide ear and a close mouth, a pure eye and a
+perfect heart. It is begotten by grace, bred by virtue, brought up by
+learning, and maintained by love. She converseth with the best
+capacities and communicates with the soundest judgments, dwells with the
+divinest natures and loves the most patient dispositions. Her hope is a
+kind of assurance, her faith a continual expectation, her love an
+apprehension of joy, and her life the light of eternity. Her labours are
+infinite, her ways are unsearchable, her graces incomparable, and her
+excellencies inexplicable; and therefore, being so little acquainted
+with her worth as makes me blush at my unworthiness to speak in the
+least of her praise, I will only leave her advancement to virtue, her
+honour to wisdom, her grace to truth, and to eternity her glory.
+
+
+
+PRACTICE.
+
+Practice is the motion of the spirit, where the senses are all set to
+work in their natures, where, in the fittest employment of time, reason
+maketh the best use of understanding. She is the continuance of
+knowledge in the ease of memory, and the honour of resolution in the
+effect of judgment. She plants the spring and reaps the harvest, makes
+labour sweet and patience comfortable. She hath a foot on the earth but
+an eye at heaven, where the prayer of faith finds the felicity of the
+soul. In the fruit of charity she shows the nature of devotion, and in
+the mercy of justice the glory of government. She gives time honour in
+the fruit of action, and reason grace in the application of knowledge.
+She takes the height of the sun, walks about the world, sounds the depth
+of the sea, and makes her passage through the waters. She is ready for
+all occasions, attendeth all persons, works with all instruments, and
+finisheth all actions. She takes invention for her teacher, makes time
+her servant, method her direction, and place her habitation. She hath a
+wakeful eye and a working brain, which fits the members of the body to
+the service of the spirit. She is the physician's agent and the
+apothecary's benefactor, the chirurgeon's wealth and the patient's
+patience. She brings time to labour and care to contentment, learning to
+knowledge and virtue to honour: in idleness she hath no pleasure, nor
+acquaintance with ignorance, but in industry is her delight and in
+understanding her grace. She hath a passage through all the
+predicaments, she hath a hand in all the arts, a property in all
+professions, and a quality in all conditions. In brief, so many are the
+varieties of the manners of her proceedings as makes me fearful to
+follow her too far in observation, lest being never able to come near
+the height of her commendation, I be enforced as I am to leave her
+wholly to admiration.
+
+
+
+PATIENCE.
+
+Patience is a kind of heavenly tenure, whereby the soul is held in
+possession, and a sweet temper in the spirit, which restraineth nature
+from exceeding reason in passion. Her hand keeps time in his right
+course, and her eye passeth into the depth of understanding. She
+attendeth wisdom in all her works, and proportioneth time to the
+necessity of matter. She is the poison of sorrow in the hope of comfort,
+and the paradise of conceit in the joy of peace. Her tongue speaks
+seldom but to purpose, and her foot goeth slowly but surely. She is the
+imitator of the Incomprehensible in His passage to perfection, and a
+servant of His will in the map of His workmanship: in confusion she hath
+no operation, while she only aireth her conceit with the consideration
+of experience. She travels far and is never weary, and gives over no
+work but to better a beginning. She makes the king merciful and the
+subject loyal, honour gracious and wisdom glorious. She pacifieth wrath
+and puts off revenge, and in the humility of charity shows the nature of
+grace. She is beloved of the highest and embraced of the wisest,
+honoured with the worthiest and graced with the best. She makes
+imprisonment liberty when the mind goeth through the world, and in
+sickness finds health where death is the way to life. She is an enemy to
+passion, and knows no purgatory; thinks fortune a fiction, and builds
+only upon providence. She is the sick man's salve and the whole man's
+preserver, the wise man's staff and the good man's guide. In sum, not to
+wade too far in her worthiness, lest I be drowned in the depth of
+wonder, I will thus end in her endless honour:--She is the grace of
+Christ and the virtue of Christianity, the praise of goodness and the
+preserver of the world.
+
+
+
+LOVE.
+
+Love is the life of Nature and the joy of reason in the spirit of grace;
+where virtue drawing affection, the concord of sense makes an union
+inseparable in the divine apprehension of the joy of election. It is a
+ravishment of the soul in the delight of the spirit, which, being
+carried above itself into inexplicable comfort, feels that heavenly
+sickness that is better than the world's health, when the wisest of men
+in the swounding delight of his sacred inspiration could thus utter the
+sweetness of his passion, "My soul is sick of love." It is a healthful
+sickness in the soul, a pleasing passion in the heart, a contentive
+labour in the mind, and a peaceful trouble of the senses. It alters
+natures in contrarieties, when difficulty is made easy; pain made a
+pleasure; poverty, riches; and imprisonment, liberty; for the content of
+conceit, which regards not to be an abject, in being subject but to an
+object. It rejoiceth in truth, and knows no inconstancy: it is free from
+jealousy, and feareth no fortune: it breaks the rule of arithmetic by
+confounding of number, where the conjunction of thoughts makes one mind
+in two bodies, where neither figure nor cipher can make division of
+union. It sympathises with life, and participates with light, when the
+eye of the mind sees the joy of the heart. It is a predominant power
+which endures no equality, and yet communicates with reason in the rules
+of concord: it breeds safety in a king and peace in a kingdom, nation's
+unity, and Nature's gladness. It sings in labour, in the joy of hope;
+and makes a paradise in reward of desert. It pleads but mercy in the
+justice of the Almighty, and but mutual amity in the nature of humanity.
+In sum, having no eagle's eye to look upon the sun, and fearing to look
+too high, for fear of a chip in mine eye, I will in these few words
+speak in praise of this peerless virtue:--Love is the grace of Nature
+and the glory of reason, the blessing of God and the comfort of
+the world.
+
+
+
+PEACE.
+
+Peace is a calm in conceit, where the senses take pleasure in the rest
+of the spirit. It is Nature's holiday after reason's labour, and
+wisdom's music in the concords of the mind. It is a blessing of grace, a
+bounty of mercy, a proof of love, and a preserver of life. It holds no
+arguments, knows no quarrels, is an enemy to sedition, and a continuance
+of amity. It is the root of plenty, the tree of pleasure, the fruit of
+love, and the sweetness of life. It is like the still night, where all
+things are at rest, and the quiet sleep, where dreams are not
+troublesome; or the resolved point, in the perfection of knowledge,
+where no cares nor doubts make controversies in opinion. It needs no
+watch where is no fear of enemy, nor solicitor of causes where
+agreements are concluded. It is the intent of law and the fruit of
+justice, the end of war and the beginning of wealth. It is a grace in a
+court, and a glory in a kingdom, a blessing in a family, and a happiness
+in a commonwealth. It fills the rich man's coffers, and feeds the poor
+man's labour. It is the wise man's study, and the good man's joy: who
+love it are gracious, who make it are blessed, who keep it are happy,
+and who break it are miserable. It hath no dwelling with idolatry, nor
+friendship with falsehood; for her life is in truth, and in her all is
+Amen. But lest in the justice of peace I may rather be reproved for my
+ignorance of her work than thought worthy to speak in her praise, with
+this only conclusion in the commendation of peace I will draw to an end
+and hold my peace:--It was a message of joy at the birth of Christ, a
+song of joy at the embracement of Christ, an assurance of joy at the
+death of Christ, and shall be the fulness of joy at the coming
+of Christ.
+
+
+
+WAR.
+
+War is a scourge of the wrath of God, which by famine, fire, or sword
+humbleth the spirits of the repentant, trieth the patience of the
+faithful, and hardeneth the hearts of the ungodly. It is the misery of
+time and the terror of Nature, the dispeopling of the earth and the ruin
+of her beauty. Her life is action, her food blood, her honour valour,
+and her joy conquest. She is valour's exercise and honour's adventure,
+reason's trouble and peace's enemy: she is the stout man's love and the
+weak man's fear, the poor man's toil and the rich man's plague: she is
+the armourer's benefactor and the chirurgeon's agent, the coward's ague
+and the desperate's overthrow. She is the wish of envy, the plague of
+them that wish her, the shipwreck of life, and the agent for death. The
+best of her is, that she is the seasoner of the body and the manager of
+the mind for the enduring of labour in the resolution of action. She
+thunders in the air, rips up the earth, cuts through the seas, and
+consumes with the fire: she is indeed the invention of malice, the work
+of mischief, the music of hell, and the dance of the devil. She makes
+the end of youth untimely and of age wretched, the city's sack and the
+country's beggary: she is the captain's pride and the captive's sorrow,
+the throat of blood and the grave of flesh. She is the woe of the world,
+the punishment of sin, the passage of danger, and the messenger of
+destruction. She is the wise man's warning and the fool's payment, the
+godly man's grief and the wicked man's game. In sum, so many are her
+wounds, so mortal her cures, so dangerous her course, and so devilish
+her devices, that I will wade no further in her rivers of blood, but
+only thus conclude in her description:--She is God's curse and man's
+misery, hell's practice and earth's hell.
+
+
+
+VALOUR.
+
+Valour is a 'virtue in the spirit which keeps the flesh in subjection,
+resolves without fear, and travails without fainting: she vows no
+villainy nor breaks her fidelity: she is patient in captivity and
+pitiful in conquest. Her gain is honour and desert her mean, fortune her
+scorn and folly her hate; wisdom is her guide and conquest her grace,
+clemency her praise and humility her glory: she is youth's ornament and
+age's honour, nature's blessing and virtue's love. Her life is
+resolution and her love victory, her triumph truth, and her fame virtue.
+Her arms are from antiquity and her coat full of honour, where the title
+of grace hath her heraldry from heaven. She makes a walk of war and a
+sport of danger, an ease of labour and a jest of death: she makes famine
+but abstinence, want but a patience, sickness but a purge, and death a
+puff. She is the maintainer of war, the general of an army, the terror
+of an enemy, and the glory of a camp. She is the nobleness of the mind
+and the strength of the body, the life of hope and the death of fear.
+With a handful of men she overthrows a multitude, and with a sudden
+amazement she discomfits a camp. She is the revenge of wrong and the
+defence of right, religion's champion and virtue's choice. In brief, let
+this suffice in her commendation:--She strengthened David and conquered
+Goliath, she overthrows her enemies and conquers herself.
+
+
+
+RESOLUTION.
+
+Resolution is the honour of valour, in the quarrel of virtue, for the
+defence of right and redress of wrong. She beats the march, pitcheth the
+battle, plants the ordnance, and maintains the fight. Her ear is stopped
+for dissuasions, her eye aims only at honour, her hand takes the sword
+of valour, and her heart thinks of nothing but victory. She gives the
+charge, makes the stand, assaults the fort, and enters the breach. She
+breaks the pikes, faceth the shot, damps the soldier, and defeats the
+army. She loseth no time, slips no occasion, dreads no danger, and cares
+for no force. She is valour's life and virtue's love, justice's honour
+and mercy's glory. She beats down castles, fires ships, wades through
+the sea, and walks through the world. She makes wisdom her guide and
+will her servant, reason her companion and honour her mistress. She is a
+blessing in Nature and a beauty in reason, a grace in invention and a
+glory in action. She studies no plots when her platform is set down, and
+defers no time when her hour is prefixed. She stands upon no helps when
+she knows her own force, and in the execution of her will she is a rock
+irremovable. She is the king's will without contradiction, and the
+judge's doom without exception, the scholar's profession without
+alteration, and the soldier's honour without comparison. In sum, so many
+are the grounds of her grace and the just causes of her commendation,
+that, leaving her worth to the description of better wits, I will in
+these few words conclude my conceit of her:--She is the stoutness of the
+heart and the strength of the mind, a gift of God and the glory of
+the world.
+
+
+
+HONOUR.
+
+Honour is a title or grace given by the spirit of virtue to the desert
+of valour in the defence of truth; it is wronged in baseness and abused
+in unworthiness, and endangered in wantonness and lost in wickedness. It
+nourisheth art and crowneth wit, graceth learning and glorifieth wisdom;
+in the heraldry of heaven it hath the richest coat, being in nature
+allied unto all the houses of grace, which in the heaven of heavens
+attend the King of kings. Her escutcheon is a heart, in which in the
+shield of faith she bears on the anchor of hope the helmet of salvation:
+she quarters with wisdom in the resolution of valour, and in the line of
+charity she is the house of justice. Her supporters are time and
+patience, her mantle truth, and her crest Christ treading upon the globe
+of the world, her impress _Corona mea Christus_. In brief, finding her
+state so high that I am not able to climb unto the praise of her
+perfection, I will leave her royalty to the register of most princely
+spirits, and in my humble heart thus only deliver my opinion of
+her:--She is virtue's due and grace's gift, valour's wealth and
+reason's joy.
+
+
+
+TRUTH.
+
+Truth is the glory of time and the daughter of eternity, a title of the
+highest grace, and a note of a divine nature. She is the life of
+religion, the light of love, the grace of wit, and the crown of wisdom:
+she is the beauty of valour, the brightness of honour, the blessing of
+reason, and the joy of faith. Her truth is pure gold, her time is right
+precious, her word is most gracious, and her will is most glorious. Her
+essence is in God and her dwelling with His servants, her will in His
+wisdom and her work to His glory. She is honoured in love and graced in
+constancy, in patience admired and in charity beloved. She is the
+angel's worship, the virgin's fame, the saint's bliss, and the martyr's
+crown: she is the king's greatness and his counsel's goodness, his
+subject's peace and his kingdom's praise: she is the life of learning
+and the light of law, the honour of trade and the grace of labour. She
+hath a pure eye, a plain hand, a piercing wit, and a perfect heart. She
+is wisdom's walk in the way of holiness, and takes up her rest but in
+the resolution of goodness. Her tongue never trips, her heart never
+faints, her hand never fails, and her faith never fears. Her church is
+without schism, her city without fraud, her court without vanity, and
+her kingdom without villainy. In sum, so infinite is her excellence in
+the construction of all sense, that I will thus only conclude in the
+wonder of her worth:--She is the nature of perfection in the perfection
+of Nature, where God in Christ shows the glory of Christianity.
+
+
+
+TIME.
+
+Time is a continual motion, which from the highest Mover hath his
+operation in all the subjects of Nature, according to their quality or
+disposition. He is in proportion like a circle, wherein he walketh with
+an even passage to the point of his prefixed place. He attendeth none,
+and yet is a servant to all; he is best employed by wisdom, and most
+abused by folly. He carrieth both the sword and the sceptre, for the use
+both of justice and mercy. He is present in all inventions, and cannot
+be spared from action. He is the treasury of graces in the memory of the
+wise, and brings them forth to the world upon necessity of their use. He
+openeth the windows of heaven to give light unto the earth, and spreads
+the cloak of the night to cover the rest of labour. He closeth the eye
+of Nature and waketh the spirit of reason; he travelleth through the
+mind, and is visible but to the eye of understanding. He is swifter than
+the wind, and yet is still as a stone; precious in his right use, but
+perilous in the contrary. He is soon found of the careful soul, and
+quickly missed in the want of his comfort: he is soon lost in the lack
+of employment, and not to be recovered without a world of endeavour. He
+is the true man's peace and the thief's perdition, the good man's
+blessing and the wicked man's curse. He is known to be, but his being
+unknown, but only in his being in a being above knowledge. He is a
+riddle not to be read but in the circumstance of description, his name
+better known than his nature, and he that maketh best use of him hath
+the best understanding of him. He is like the study of the philosopher's
+stone, where a man may see wonders and yet short of his expectation. He
+is at the invention of war, arms the soldier, maintains the quarrel, and
+makes the peace. He is the courtier's playfellow and the soldier's
+schoolmaster, the lawyer's gain and the merchant's hope. His life is
+motion and his love action, his honour patience and his glory
+perfection. He masketh modesty and blusheth virginity, honoureth
+humility and graceth charity. In sum, finding it a world to walk through
+the wonder of his worth, I will thus briefly deliver what I find truly
+of him:--He is the agent of the living and the register of the dead, the
+direction of God and a great work-master in the world.
+
+
+
+DEATH.
+
+Death is an ordinance of God for the subjecting of the world, which is
+limited to his time for the correction of pride: in his substance he is
+nothing, being but only ii deprivation, and in his true description a
+name without a nature. He is seen but in a picture, heard but in a tale,
+feared but in a passion, and felt but in a pinch. He is a terror but to
+the wicked, and a scarecrow but to the foolish; but to the wise a way of
+comfort, and to the godly the gate to life. He is the ease of pain and
+the end of sorrow, the liberty of the imprisoned and the joy of the
+faithful; it is both the wound of sin and the wages of sin, the sinner's
+fear and the sinner's doom. He is the sexton's agent and the hangman's
+revenue, the rich man's dirge and the mourner's merry-day. He is a
+course of time but uncertain till he come, and welcome but to such as
+are weary of their lives. It is a message from the physician when the
+patient is past cure, and if the writ be well made, it is a
+_supersedeas_ for all diseases. It is the heaven's stroke and the
+earth's steward, the follower of sickness and the forerunner to hell In
+sum, having no pleasure to ponder too much of the power of it, I will
+thus conclude my opinion of it:--It is a sting of sin and the terror of
+the wicked, the crown of the godly, the stair of vengeance, and a
+stratagem of the devil.
+
+
+
+FAITH.
+
+Faith is the hand of the soul which layeth hold of the promises of
+Christ in the mercy of the Almighty. She hath a bright eye and a holy
+ear, a clear heart and sure foot: she is the strength of hope, the trust
+of truth, the honour of amity, and the joy of love. She is rare among
+the sons of men and hardly found among the daughters of women; but among
+the sons of God she is a conveyance of their inheritance, and among the
+daughters of grace she is the assurance of their portions. Her dwelling
+is in the Church of God, her conversation with the saints of God, her
+delight with the beloved of God, and her life is in the love of God. She
+knows no falsehood, distrusts no truth, breaks no promise, and coins no
+excuse; but as bright as the sun, as swift as the wind, as sure as the
+rock, and as pure as the gold, she looks toward heaven but lives in the
+world, in the souls of the elect to the glory of election. She was
+wounded in Paradise by a dart of the devil, and healed of her hurt by
+the death of Christ Jesus. She is the poor man's credit and the rich
+man's praise, the wise man's care and the good man's cognisance. In sum,
+finding her worth in words hardly to be expressed, I will in these few
+words only deliver my opinion of her:--She is God's blessing and man's
+bliss, reason's comfort and virtue's glory.
+
+
+
+FEAR.
+
+Fear is a fruit of sin, which drove the first father of our flesh from
+the presence of God, and hath bred an imperfection in a number of the
+worse part of his posterity. It is the disgrace of nature, the foil of
+reason, the maim of wit, and the slur of understanding. It is the palsy
+of the spirit where the soul wanteth faith, and the badge of a coward
+that cannot abide the sight of a sword. It is weakness in nature and a
+wound in patience, the death of hope and the entrance into despair. It
+is children's awe and fools' amazement, a worm in conscience and a curse
+to wickedness. In brief, it makes the coward stagger, the liar stammer,
+the thief stumble, and the traitor start. It is a blot in arms, a blur
+in honour, the shame of a soldier, and the defeat of an army.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Breton's next little prose book, published in the following year,
+1616--year of the death of Shakespeare--was a set of Characters, "The
+Good and the Bad," without suggestion that they were built upon the
+lines of Bacon's Essays. Bacon's Essays first appeared as a set of ten
+in 1597, became a set of forty in the revised edition of 1612, and of
+fifty-eight in the edition of 1625, published a year before their
+author's death. In their sententious brevity Bacon's Essays have, of
+course, a style more nearly allied to the English Character Writing of
+the Seventeenth Century than to the Sixteenth Century Essays of
+Montaigne, which were altogether different in style, matter, and aim.
+This, for example, was Bacon's first Essay in the 1597 edition:--_
+
+
+
+OF STUDIES.
+
+Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, for abilities; their chief
+use for pastimes is in privateness and retiring, for ornaments in
+discourse, and for ability in judgment; for expert men can execute, but
+learned men are more fit to judge and censure. To spend too much time in
+them is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affectation; to make
+judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar; they perfect
+nature, and are themselves perfected by experience; crafty men contemn
+them, wise men use them, simple men admire them; for they teach not
+their own use, but that there is a wisdom without them and above them
+won by observation. Read not to contradict nor to believe, but to weigh
+and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and
+some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some are to be read only in
+parts, others to be read but curiously, and some few to be read wholly
+with diligence and attention. Reading maketh a full man, conference a
+ready, and writing an exact man; therefore, if a man write little, he
+had need of a great memory; if he confer little, he had need of a
+present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to
+seem to know that he doth not know. Histories make men wise; poets
+witty; the mathematics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral grave;
+logic and rhetoric able to contend.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOOD AND THE BAD;
+
+OR,
+
+DESCRIPTIONS OF THE WORTHIES AND
+
+UNWORTHIES OF THIS AGE.
+
+BY NICHOLAS BRETON.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY KING.
+
+A worthy king is a figure of God, in the nature of government. He is the
+chief of men and the Church's champion, Nature's honour and earth's
+majesty: is the director of law and the strength of the same, the sword
+of justice and the sceptre of mercy, the glass of grace and the eye of
+honour, the terror of treason and the life of loyalty. His command is
+general and his power absolute, his frown a death and his favour a life:
+his charge is his subjects, his care their safety, his pleasure their
+peace, and his joy their love. He is not to be paralleled, because he is
+without equality, and the prerogative of his crown must not be
+contradicted. He is the Lord's anointed, and therefore must not be
+touched, and the head of a public body, and therefore must be preserved.
+He is a scourge of sin and a blessing of grace, God's vicegerent over
+His people, and under Him supreme governor. His safety must be his
+council's care, his health his subjects' prayer, his pleasure his peers'
+comfort, and his content his kingdom's gladness. His presence must be
+reverenced, his person attended, his court adorned, and his state
+maintained. His bosom must not be searched, his will not disobeyed, his
+wants not unsupplied, nor his place unregarded. In sum, he is more than
+a man, though not a god, and next under God to be honoured above man.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY KING.
+
+An unworthy king is the usurper of power, where tyranny in authority
+loseth the glory of majesty, while the fear of terror frighteneth love
+from obedience; for when the lion plays with the wolf, the lamb dies
+with the ewe. He is a messenger of wrath to be the scourge of sin, or
+the trial of patience in the hearts of the religious. He is a warrant of
+woe in the execution of his fury, and in his best temper a doubt of
+grace. He is a dispeopler of his kingdom and a prey to his enemies, an
+undelightful friend and a tormentor of himself. He knows no God, but
+makes an idol of Nature, and useth reason but to the ruin of sense. His
+care is but his will, his pleasure but his ease, his exercise but sin,
+and his delight but inhuman. His heaven is his pleasure, and his gold is
+his god. His presence is terrible, his countenance horrible, his words
+uncomfortable, and his actions intolerable. In sum, he is the foil of a
+crown, the disgrace of a court, the trouble of a council, and the plague
+of a kingdom.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY QUEEN.
+
+A worthy queen is the figure of a king who, under God in His grace, hath
+a great power over His people. She is the chief of women, the beauty of
+her court, and the grace of her sex in the royalty of her spirit. She is
+like the moon, that giveth light among the stars, and, but unto the sun,
+gives none place in her brightness. She is the pure diamond upon the
+king's finger, and the orient pearl unprizeable in his eye, the joy of
+the court in the comfort of the king, and the wealth of the kingdom in
+the fruit of her love. She is reason's honour in nature's grace, and
+wisdom's love in virtue's beauty. In sum, she is the handmaid of God,
+and the king's second self, and in his grace, the beauty of a kingdom.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PRINCE.
+
+A worthy prince is the hope of a kingdom, the richest jewel in a king's
+crown, and the fairest flower in the queen's garden. He is the joy of
+nature in the hope of honour, and the love of wisdom in the life of
+worthiness. In the secret carriage of his heart's intention, till his
+designs come to action, he is a dumb show to the world's imagination. In
+his wisdom he startles the spirits of expectation in his valour, he
+subjects the hearts of ambition in his virtue, he wins the love of the
+noblest, and in his bounty binds the service of the most sufficient. He
+is the crystal glass, where nature may see her comfort, and the book of
+reason, where virtue may read her honour. He is the morning star that
+hath light from the sun, and the blessed fruit of the tree of earth's
+paradise. He is the study of the wise in the state of honour, and is the
+subject of learning, the history of admiration. In sum, he is the note
+of wisdom, the aim of honour, and in the honour of virtue the hope of
+a kingdom.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY PRINCE.
+
+An unworthy prince is the fear of a kingdom. When will and power carry
+pride in impatience, in the close carriage of ambitious intention, he is
+like a fearful dream to a troubled spirit. In his passionate humours he
+frighteneth the hearts of the prudent, in the delight of vanities he
+loseth the love of the wise, and in the misery of avarice is served only
+with the needy. He is like a little mist before the rising of the sun,
+which, the more it grows, the less good it doth. He is the king's grief
+and the queen's sorrow, the court's trouble and the kingdom's curse. In
+sum, he is the seed of unhappiness, the fruit of ungodliness, the taste
+of bitterness, and the digestion of heaviness.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PRIVY COUNCILLOR.
+
+A worthy privy councillor is the pillar of a realm, in whose wisdom and
+care, under God and the king, stands the safety of a kingdom. He is the
+watch-tower to give warning of the enemy, and a hand of provision for
+the preservation of the state. He is an oracle in the king's ear, and a
+sword in the king's hand; an even weight in the balance of justice, and
+a light of grace in the love of truth. He is an eye of care in the
+course of law, a heart of love in his service to his sovereign, a mind
+of honour in the order of his service, and a brain of invention for the
+good of the commonwealth. His place is powerful while his service is
+faithful, and his honour due in the desert of his employment. In sum, he
+is as a fixed planet among the stars of the firmament, which through the
+clouds in the air shows the nature of his light.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY COUNCILLOR.
+
+An unworthy councillor is the hurt of a king and the danger of a state,
+when the weakness of judgment may commit an error, or the lack of care
+may give way to unhappiness. He is a wicked charm in the king's ear, a
+sword of terror in the advice of tyranny. His power is perilous in the
+partiality of will, and his heart full of hollowness in the protestation
+of love. Hypocrisy is the cover of his counterfeit religion, and
+traitorous invention is the agent of his ambition. He is the cloud of
+darkness that threateneth foul weather; and if it grow to a storm, it is
+fearful where it falls. He is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and
+worthy of death in disloyalty to his sovereign. In sum, he is an unfit
+person for the place of a councillor and an unworthy subject to look a
+king in the face.
+
+
+
+A NOBLEMAN.
+
+A nobleman is a mark of honour, where the eye of wisdom in the
+observation of desert sees the fruit of grace. He is the orient pearl
+that reason polisheth for the beauty of nature, and the diamond spark
+where divine grace gives virtue honour. He is the notebook of moral
+discipline, where the conceit of care may find the true courtier. He is
+the nurse of hospitality, the relief of necessity, the love of charity,
+and the life of bounty. He is learning's grace and valour's fame,
+wisdom's fruit and kindness' love. He is the true falcon that feeds on
+no carrion, the true horse that will be no hackney, the true dolphin
+that fears not the whale, and the true man of God that fears not the
+devil. In sum, he is the darling of nature in reason's philosophy, the
+loadstar of light in love's astronomy, the ravishing sweet in the music
+of honour, and the golden number in grace's arithmetic.
+
+
+
+AN UNNOBLE MAN.
+
+An unnoble man is the grief of reason, when the title of honour is put
+upon the subject of disgrace; when either the imperfection of wit or the
+folly of will shows an unfitness in nature for the virtue of
+advancement. He is the eye of baseness and spirit of grossness, and in
+the demean of rudeness the scorn of nobleness. He is a suspicion of a
+right generation in the nature of his disposition, and a miserable
+plague to a feminine patience. Wisdom knows him not, learning bred him
+not, virtue loves him not, and honour fits him not. Prodigality or
+avarice are the notes of his inclination, and folly or mischief are the
+fruits of his invention. In sum, he is the shame of his name, the
+disgrace of his place, the blot of his title, and the ruin of his house.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY BISHOP.
+
+A worthy bishop is an ambassador from God unto man, in the midst of war
+to make a treaty of peace; who with a general pardon upon confession of
+sin, upon the fruit of repentance gives assurance of comfort. He brings
+tidings from heaven of happiness to the world, where the patience of
+mercy calls nature to grace. He is the silver trumpet in the music of
+love, where faith hath a life that never fails the beloved. He is the
+director of life in the laws of God, and the chirurgeon of the soul in
+lancing the sores of sin; the terror of the reprobate in pronouncing
+their damnation, and the joy of the faithful in the assurance of their
+salvation. In sum, he is in the nature of grace, worthy of honour; and
+in the message of life, worthy of love; a continual agent betwixt God
+and man, in the preaching of His Word and prayer for His people.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY BISHOP.
+
+An unworthy bishop is the disgrace of learning, when the want of reading
+or the abuse of understanding, in the speech of error may beget
+idolatry. He is God's enemy, in the hurt of His people, and his own woe
+in abuse of the Word of God. He is the shadow of a candle that gives no
+light, or, if it be any, it is but to lead into darkness. The sheep are
+unhappy that live in his fold, when they shall either starve or feed on
+ill ground. He breeds a war in the wits of his audience when his life is
+contrary to the nature of his instruction. He lives in a room where he
+troubles a world, and in the shadow of a saint is little better than a
+devil. He makes religion a cloak of sin, and with counterfeit humility
+covereth incomparable pride. He robs the rich to relieve the poor, and
+makes fools of the wise with the imagination of his worth. He is all for
+the Church but nothing for God, and for the ease of nature loseth the
+joy of reason. In sum, he is the picture of hypocrisy, the spirit of
+heresy, a wound in the Church, and a woe in the world.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY JUDGE.
+
+A judge is a doom, whose breath is mortal upon the breach of law, where
+criminal offences must be cut off from a commonwealth. He is a sword of
+justice in the hand of a king, and an eye of wisdom in the walk of a
+kingdom. His study is a square for the keeping of proportion betwixt
+command and obedience, that the king may keep his crown on his head, and
+the subject his head on his shoulders. He is feared but of the foolish,
+and cursed but of the wicked; but of the wise honoured, and of the
+gracious beloved. He is a surveyor of rights and revenger of wrongs, and
+in the judgment of truth the honour of justice. In sum, his word is law,
+his power grace, his labour peace, and his desert honour.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY JUDGE.
+
+An unworthy judge is the grief of justice in the error of judgment, when
+through ignorance or will the death of innocency lies upon the breath of
+opinion. He is the disgrace of law in the desert of knowledge, and the
+plague of power in the misery of oppression. He is more moral than
+divine in the nature of policy, and more judicious than just in the
+carriage of his conceit. His charity is cold when partiality is
+resolved; when the doom of life lies on the verdict of a jury, with a
+stern look he frighteth an offender and gives little comfort to a poor
+man's cause. The golden weight overweighs his grace, when angels play
+the devils in the hearts of his people. In sum, where Christ is preached
+he hath no place in His Church; and in this kingdom out of doubt God
+will not suffer any such devil to bear sway.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY KNIGHT.
+
+A worthy knight is a spirit of proof in the advancement of virtue, by
+the desert of honour, in the eye of majesty. In the field he gives
+courage to his soldiers, in the court grace to his followers, in the
+city reputation to his person, and in the country honour to his house.
+His sword and his horse make his way to his house, and his armour of
+best proof is an undaunted spirit. The music of his delight is the
+trumpet and the drum, and the paradise of his eye is an army defeated;
+the relief of the oppressed makes his conquest honourable, and the
+pardon of the submissive makes him famous in mercy. He is in nature mild
+and in spirit stout, in reason judicious, and in all honourable. In sum,
+he is a yeoman's commander and a gentleman's superior, a nobleman's
+companion and a prince's worthy favourite.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY KNIGHT.
+
+An unworthy knight is the defect of nature in the title of honour, when
+to maintain valour his spurs have no rowels nor his sword a point. His
+apparel is of proof, that may wear like his armour, or like an old
+ensign that hath his honour in rags. It may be he is the tailor's
+trouble in fitting an ill shape, or a mercer's wonder in wearing of
+silk. In the court he stands for a cipher, and among ladies like an owl
+among birds. He is worshipped only for his wealth, and if he be of the
+first head, he shall be valued by his wit, when, if his pride go beyond
+his purse, his title will be a trouble to him. In sum, he is the child
+of folly and the man of Gotham, the blind man of pride and the fool of
+imagination. But in the court of honour are no such apes, and I hope
+that this kingdom will breed no such asses.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY GENTLEMAN.
+
+A worthy gentleman is a branch of the tree of honour, whose fruits are
+the actions of virtue, as pleasing to the eye of judgment as tasteful to
+the spirit of understanding. Whatsoever he doeth it is not forced,
+except it be evil, which either through ignorance unwillingly, or
+through compulsion unwillingly, he falls upon. He is in nature kind, in
+demeanour courteous, in allegiance loyal, and in religion zealous; in
+service faithful, and in reward bountiful. He is made of no baggage
+stuff, nor for the wearing of base people; but it is woven by the spirit
+of wisdom to adorn the court of honour. His apparel is more comely than
+costly, and his diet more wholesome than excessive; his exercise more
+healthful than painful, and his study more for knowledge than pride; his
+love not wanton nor common, his gifts not niggardly nor prodigal, and
+his carriage neither apish nor sullen. In sum, he is an approver of his
+pedigree by the nobleness of his passage, and in the course of his life
+an example to his posterity.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY GENTLEMAN.
+
+An unworthy gentleman is the scoff of wit and the scorn of honour, where
+more wealth than wit is worshipped of simplicity; who spends more in
+idleness than would maintain thrift, or hides more in misery than might
+purchase honour; whose delights are vanities and whose pleasures
+fopperies, whose studies fables and whose exercise worse than follies.
+His conversation is base, and his conference ridiculous; his affections
+ungracious, and his actions ignominious; his apparel out of fashion, and
+his diet out of order; his carriage out of square, and his company out
+of request. In sum, he is like a mongrel dog with a velvet collar, a
+cart-horse with a golden saddle, a buzzard kite with a falcon's bells,
+or a baboon with a pied jerkin.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY LAWYER.
+
+A worthy lawyer is the student of knowledge how to bring controversies
+into a conclusion of peace, and out of ignorance to gain understanding.
+He divides time into uses, and cases into constructions. He lays open
+obscurities, and is praised for the speech of truth; and in the court of
+conscience pleads much _in forma pauperis_, for small fees. He is a mean
+for the preservation of titles and the holding of possessions, and a
+great instrument of peace in the judgment of impartiality. He is the
+client's hope in his case's pleading, and his heart's comfort in a happy
+issue. He is the finder out of tricks in the craft of ill conscience,
+and the joy of the distressed in the relief of justice. In sum, he is a
+maker of peace among spirits of contention, and a continuer of quiet in
+the execution of the law.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY LAWYER.
+
+An unlearned and unworthily called a lawyer, is the figure of a
+foot-post, who carries letters but knows not what is in them, only can
+read the superscriptions to direct them to their right owners. So
+trudgeth this simple clerk, that can scarce read a case when it is
+written, with his handful of papers from one court to another, and from
+one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good payment for his
+pains he will be so saucy as to call himself a solicitor. But what a
+taking are poor clients in when this too much trusted cunning companion,
+better read in Piers Plowman than in Plowden, and in the play of
+"Richard the Third" than in the pleas of Edward the Fourth, persuades
+them all is sure when he is sure of all! and in what a misery are the
+poor men when upon a _Nihil dicit_, because indeed this poor fellow
+_Nihil potest dicere_, they are in danger of an execution before they
+know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish all such more wicked than
+witty unlearned in the law and abusers of the same, to look a little
+better into their consciences, and to leave their crafty courses, lest
+when the law indeed lays them open, instead of carrying papers in their
+hands, they wear not papers on their heads; and instead of giving ear to
+their client's causes or rather eyes into their purses, they have never
+an ear left to hear withal, nor good eye to see withal, or at least
+honest face to look out withal; but as the grasshoppers of Egypt, be
+counted the caterpillars of England, and not the fox that stole the
+goose, but the great fox that stole the farm from the gander.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY SOLDIER.
+
+A worthy soldier is the child of valour, who was born for the service of
+necessity, and to bear the ensign of honour in the actions of worth. He
+is the dyer of the earth with blood, and the ruin of the erections of
+pride. He is the watch of wit, the advantage of time, and the
+executioner of wrath upon the wilful offender. He disputes questions
+with the point of a sword, and prefers death to indignities. He is a
+lion to ambition, and a lamb to submission; he hath hope fast by the
+hand, and treads upon the head of fear. He is the king's champion, and
+the kingdom's guard; peace's preserver, and rebellion's terror. He makes
+the horse trample at the sound of a trumpet, and leads on to a battle as
+if he were going to a breakfast. He knows not the nature of cowardice,
+for his rest is set up upon resolution; his strongest fortification is
+his mind, which beats off the assaults of idle humours, and his life is
+the passage of danger, where an undaunted spirit stoops to no fortune.
+With his arms he wins his arms, and by his desert in the field his
+honour in the court. In sum, in the truest manhood he is the true man,
+and in the creation of honour a most worthy creature.
+
+
+
+AN UNTRAINED SOLDIER.
+
+An untrained soldier is like a young hound, that when he first falls to
+hunt, he knows not how to lay his nose to the earth; who, having his
+name but in a book, and marched twice about a market-place, when he
+comes to a piece of service knows not how to bestow himself. He marches
+as if he were at plough, carries his pike like a pike-staff, and his
+sword before him for fear of losing from his side. If he be a shot, he
+will be rather ready to say a grace over his piece, and so to discharge
+his hands of it, than to learn how to discharge it with a grace. He puts
+on his armour over his ears, like a waistcoat, and wears his morion like
+a nightcap. When he is quartered in the field, he looks for his bed, and
+when he sees his provant, he is ready to cry for his victuals; and ere
+he know well where he is, wish heartily he were at home again, with his
+head hanging down as if his heart were in his hose. He will sleep till a
+drum or a deadly bullet awake him; and so carry himself in all companies
+that, till martial discipline have seasoned his understanding, he is
+like a cipher among figures, an owl among birds, a wise man among fools,
+and a shadow among men.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PHYSICIAN.
+
+A worthy physician is the enemy of sickness, in purging nature from
+corruption. His action is most in feeling of pulses, and his discourses
+chiefly of the natures of diseases. He is a great searcher out of
+simples, and accordingly makes his composition. He persuades abstinence
+and patience for the benefit of health, while purging and bleeding are
+the chief courses of his counsel. The apothecary and the chirurgeon are
+his two chief attendants, with whom conferring upon time, he grows
+temperate in his cures. Surfeits and wantonness are great agents for his
+employment, when by the secret of his skill out of others' weakness he
+gathers his own strength. In sum, he is a necessary member for an
+unnecessary malady, to find a disease and to cure the diseased.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY PHYSICIAN.
+
+An unlearned and so unworthy physician is a kind of horse-leech, whose
+cure is most in drawing of blood, and a desperate purge, either to cure
+or kill, as it hits. His discourse is most of the cures that he hath
+done, and them afar of; and not a receipt under a hundred pounds, though
+it be not worth three halfpence. Upon the market-day he is much haunted
+with urinals, where if he find anything (though he know nothing), yet he
+will say somewhat, which if it hit to some purpose, with a few fustian
+words he will seem a piece of strange stuff. He is never without old
+merry tales and stale jests to make old folks laugh, and comfits or
+plums in his pocket to please little children; yea, and he will be
+talking of complexions, though he know nothing of their dispositions;
+and if his medicine do a feat, he is a made man among fools; but being
+wholly unlearned, and ofttimes unhonest, let me thus briefly describe
+him:--He is a plain kind of mountebank and a true quack-salver, a danger
+for the sick to deal withal, and a dizzard in the world to talk withal.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY MERCHANT.
+
+A worthy merchant is the heir of adventure, whose hopes hang much upon
+wind. Upon a wooden horse he rides through the world, and in a merry
+gale he makes a path through the seas. He is a discoverer of countries,
+and a finder out of commodities, resolute in his attempts, and royal in
+his expenses. He is the life of traffic and the maintainer of trade, the
+sailor's master and the soldier's friend. He is the exercise of the
+exchange, the honour of credit, the observation of time, and the
+understanding of thrift. His study is number, his care his accounts, his
+comfort his conscience, and his wealth his good name. He fears not
+Scylla, and sails close by Charybdis, and having beaten out a storm,
+rides at rest in a harbour. By his sea-gain he makes his land purchase,
+and by the knowledge of trade finds the key of treasure. Out of his
+travels he makes his discourses, and from his eye observations brings
+the models of architectures. He plants the earth with foreign fruits,
+and knows at home what is good abroad. He is neat in apparel, modest in
+demeanour, dainty in diet, and civil in his carriage. In sum, he is the
+pillar of a city, the enricher of a country, the furnisher of a court,
+and the worthy servant of a king.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY MERCHANT.
+
+An unworthy merchant is a kind of pedlar, who (with the help of a
+broker) gets more by his wit than by his honesty. He doth sometime use
+to give out money to gamesters, be paid in post, upon a hand at dice.
+Sometime he gains more by baubles than better stuffs, and rather than
+fail will adventure a false oath for a fraudulent gain. He deals with no
+wholesale, but all his honesty is at one word; as for wares and weights,
+he knows how to hold the balance, and for his conscience he is not
+ignorant what to do with it. His travel is most by land, for he fears to
+be too busy with the water, and whatever his ware may be, he will be
+sure of his money. The most of his wealth is in a pack of trifles, and
+for his honesty I dare not pass my word for him. If he be rich, it is
+ten to one of his pride; and if he be poor, he breaks without his fast.
+In sum, he is the disgrace of a merchant, the dishonour of a city, the
+discredit of his parish, and the dislike of all.
+
+
+
+A GOOD MAN.
+
+A good man is an image of God, lord over all His creatures, and created
+only for His service. He is made capable of reason to know the
+properties of nature, and by the inspiration of grace to know things
+supernatural. He hath a face always to look upward, and a soul that
+gives life to all the senses. He lives in the world as a stranger, while
+heaven is the home of his spirit. His life is but the labour of sense,
+and his death the way to his rest. His study is the Word of truth, and
+his delight is in the law of love. His provision is but to serve
+necessity, and his care the exercise of charity. He is more conversant
+with the divine prophets than the world's profits, and makes the joy of
+his soul in the tidings of his salvation. He is wise in the best wit,
+and wealthy in the richest treasure. His hope is but the comfort of
+mercy, and his fear but the hurt of sin. Pride is the hate of his soul,
+and patience the worker of his peace. His guide is the wisdom of grace,
+and his travel but to the Heavenly Jerusalem. In sum, he is the elect of
+God, the blessing of grace, the seed of love, and the fruit of life.
+
+
+
+AN ATHEIST OR MOST BAD MAN.
+
+An atheist is a figure of desperation, who dare do anything even to his
+soul's damnation. He is in nature a dog, in wit an ass, in passion a
+bedlam, and in action a devil. He makes sin a jest, grace a humour,
+truth a fable, and peace a cowardice. His horse is his pride, his sword
+is his castle, his apparel his riches, and his punk his paradise. He
+makes robbery his purchase, lechery his solace, mirth his exercise, and
+drunkenness his glory. He is the danger of society, the love of vanity,
+the hate of charity, and the shame of humanity. He is God's enemy, his
+parents' grief, his country's plague, and his own confusion. He spoils
+that is necessary and spends that is needless. He spits at the gracious
+and spurns the godly. The tavern is his palace and his belly is his god;
+a whore is his mistress and the devil is his master. Oaths are his
+graces, wounds his badges, shifts are his practices, and beggary his
+payments. He knows not God, nor thinks of heaven, but walks through the
+world as a devil towards hell. Virtue knows him not, honesty finds him
+not, wisdom loves him not, and honour regards him not. He is but the
+cutler's friend and the chirurgeon's agent, the thief's companion and
+the hangman's benefactor. He was begotten untimely and born unhappily,
+lives ungraciously and dies unchristianly. He is of no religion nor good
+fashion; hardly good complexion, and most vile in condition. In sum, he
+is a monster among men, a Jew among Christians, a fool among wise men,
+and a devil among saints.
+
+
+
+A WISE MAN.
+
+A wise man is a clock that never strikes but at his home, or rather like
+a dial that, being set right with the sun, keeps his true course in his
+compass. So the heart of a wise man, set in the course of virtue by the
+spirit of grace, runs the course of life in the compass of eternal
+comfort. He measureth time and tempereth nature, employeth reason and
+commandeth sense. He hath a deaf ear to the charmer, a close mouth to
+the slanderer, an open hand to charity, and an humble mind to piety.
+Observation and experience are his reason's labours, and patience with
+conscience are the lines of his love's measure; contemplation and
+meditation are his spirit's exercise, and God and His Word are the joy
+of his soul. He knows not the pride of prosperity nor the misery of
+adversity, but takes the one as the day, the other as the night. He
+knows no fortune, but builds all upon providence, and through the hope
+of faith hath a fair aim at heaven. His words are weighed with judgment,
+and his actions are the examples of honour. He is fit for the seat of
+authority, and deserves the reverence of subjection. He is precious in
+the counsel of a king, and mighty in the sway of a kingdom. In sum, he
+is God's servant and the world's master, a stranger upon earth, and a
+citizen in heaven.
+
+
+
+A FOOL.
+
+A fool is the abortive of wit, where nature had more power than reason
+in bringing forth the fruit of imperfection. His actions are most in
+extremes, and the scope of his brain is but ignorance. Only nature hath
+taught him to feed, and use to labour without knowledge. He is a kind of
+a shadow of a better substance, or like the vision of a dream that
+yields nothing awake. He is commonly known by one or two special names,
+derived from their qualities, as from wilful Will-fool, and Hodge from
+hodge-podge; all meats are alike, all are one to a fool. His exercises
+are commonly divided into four parts, eating and drinking, sleeping and
+laughing; four things are his chief loves, a bauble and a bell, a
+coxcomb and a pied-coat. He was begotten in unhappiness, born to no
+goodness, lives but in beastliness, and dies but in forgetfulness. In
+sum, he is the shame of nature, the trouble of wit, the charge of
+charity, and the loss of liberality.
+
+
+
+AN HONEST MAN.
+
+An honest man is like a plain coat, which, without welt or guard,
+keepeth the body from wind and weather, and being well made, fits him
+best that wears it; and where the stuff is more regarded than the
+fashion, there is not much ado in the putting of it on. So the mind of
+an honest man, without trick or compliments, keeps the credit of a good
+conscience from the scandal of the world and the worm of iniquity,
+which, being wrought by the workman of heaven, fits him best that wears
+it to his service; and where virtue is more esteemed than vanity, it is
+put on and worn with that ease that shows the excellency of the workman.
+His study is virtue, his word truth, his life the passage of patience,
+and his death the rest of his spirit. His travail is a pilgrimage, his
+way is plainness, his pleasure peace, and his delight is love. His care
+is his conscience, his wealth is his credit, his charge is his chanty,
+and his content is his kingdom. In sum, he is a diamond among jewels, a
+phrenix among birds, an unicorn among beasts, and a saint among men.
+
+
+
+A KNAVE.
+
+A knave is the scum of wit and the scorn of reason, the hate of wisdom
+and the dishonour of humanity. He is the danger of society and the hurt
+of amity, the infection of youth and the corruption of age. He is a
+traitor to affiance and abuse to employment, and a rule of villainy in a
+plot of mischief. He hath a cat's eye and a bear's paw, a siren's tongue
+and a serpent's sting. His words are lies, his oaths perjuries, his
+studies subtilties, and his practices villainies; his wealth is his wit,
+his honour is his wealth, his glory is his gain, and his god is his
+gold. He is no man's friend and his own enemy; cursed on earth and
+banished from heaven. He was begotten ungraciously, born untimely, lives
+dishonestly, and dies shamefully. His heart is a puddle of poison, his
+tongue a sting of iniquity, his brain a distiller of deceit, and his
+conscience a compass of hell. In sum, he is a dog in disposition, a fox
+in wit, a wolf in his prey, and a devil in his pride.
+
+
+
+AN USURER.
+
+An usurer is a figure of misery, who hath made himself a slave to his
+money. His eye is closed from pity, and his hand from charity; his ear
+from compassion, and his heart from piety. While he lives he is the hate
+of a Christian, and when he dies he goes with horror to hell. His study
+is sparing, and his care is getting; his fear is wanting, and his death
+is losing. His diet is either fasting or poor fare, his clothing the
+hangman's wardrobe, his house the receptacle of thievery, and his music
+the clinking of his money. He is a kind of cancer that with the teeth of
+interest eats the hearts of the poor, and a venomous fly that sucks out
+the blood of any flesh that he lights on. In sum, he is a servant of
+dross, a slave to misery, an agent for hell, and a devil in the world.
+
+
+
+A BEGGAR.
+
+A beggar is the child of idleness, whose life is a resolution of ease.
+His travail is most in the highways, and his rendezvous is commonly in
+an ale-house. His study is to counterfeit impotency, and his practice to
+cozen simplicity of charity. The juice of the malt is the liquor of his
+life, and at bed and at board a louse is his companion. He fears no such
+enemy as a constable, and being acquainted with the stocks, must visit
+them as he goes by them. He is a drone that feeds upon the labours of
+the bee, and unhappily begotten that is born for no goodness. His staff
+and his scrip are his walking furniture, and what he lacks in meat he
+will have out in drink. He is a kind of caterpillar that spoils much
+good fruit, and an unprofitable creature to live in a commonwealth. He
+is seldom handsome and often noisome, always troublesome and never
+welcome. He prays for all and preys upon all; begins with blessing but
+ends often with cursing. If he have a licence he shows it with a grace,
+but if he have none he is submissive to the ground. Sometime he is a
+thief, but always a rogue, and in the nature of his profession the shame
+of humanity. In sum, he is commonly begot in a bush, born in a barn,
+lives in a highway, and dies in a ditch.
+
+
+
+A VIRGIN.
+
+A virgin is the beauty of nature, where the spirit gracious makes the
+creature glorious. She is the love of virtue, the honour of reason, the
+grace of youth, and the comfort of age. Her study is holiness, her
+exercise goodness, her grace humility, and her love is charity. Her
+countenance is modesty, her speech is truth, her wealth grace, and her
+fame constancy. Her virtue continence, her labour patience, her diet
+abstinence, and her care conscience. Her conversation heavenly, her
+meditations angel-like, her prayers devout, and her hopes divine: her
+parents' joy, her kindred's honour, her country's fame, and her own
+felicity. She is the blessed of the highest, the praise of the
+worthiest, the love of the noblest, and the nearest to the best. She is
+of creatures the rarest, of women the chiefest, of nature the purest,
+and of wisdom the choicest. Her life is a pilgrimage, her death but a
+passage, her description a wonder, and her name an honour. In sum, she
+is the daughter of glory, the mother of grace, the sister of love, and
+the beloved of life.
+
+
+
+A WANTON WOMAN.
+
+A wanton woman is the figure of imperfection; in nature an ape, in
+quality a wagtail, in countenance a witch, and in condition a kind of
+devil. Her beck is a net, her word a charm, her look an illusion, and
+her company a confusion. Her life is the play of idleness, her diet the
+excess of dainties, her love the change of vanities, and her exercise
+the invention of follies. Her pleasures are fancies, her studies
+fashions, her delight colours, and her wealth her clothes. Her care is
+to deceive, her comfort her company, her house is vanity, and her bed is
+ruin. Her discourses are fables, her vows dissimulations, her conceits
+subtleties, and her contents varieties. She would she knows not what,
+and spends she cares not what, she spoils she sees not what, and doth
+she thinks not what. She is youth's plague and age's purgatory, time's
+abuse and reason's trouble. In sum, she is a spice of madness, a spark
+of mischief, a touch of poison, and a fear of destruction.
+
+
+
+A QUIET WOMAN.
+
+A quiet woman is like a still wind, which neither chills the body nor
+blows dust in the face. Her patience is a virtue that wins the heart of
+love, and her wisdom makes her will well worthy regard. She fears God
+and flieth sin, showeth kindness and loveth peace. Her tongue is tied to
+discretion, and her heart is the harbour of goodness. She is a comfort
+of calamity and in prosperity a companion, a physician in sickness and a
+musician in help. Her ways are the walk toward heaven, and her guide is
+the grace of the Almighty. She is her husband's down-bed, where his
+heart lies at rest, and her children's glass in the notes of her grace;
+her servants' honour in the keeping of her house, and her neighbours'
+example in the notes of a good nature. She scorns fortune and loves
+virtue, and out of thrift gathereth charity. She is a turtle in her
+love, a lamb in her meekness, a saint in her heart, and an angel in her
+soul. In sum, she is a jewel unprizeable and a joy unspeakable, a
+comfort in nature incomparable, and a wife in the world unmatchable.
+
+
+
+AN UNQUIET WOMAN.
+
+An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose demeanour is not to be
+described but in extremities. Her voice is the screeching of an owl, her
+eye the poison of a cockatrice, her hand the claw of a crocodile, and
+her heart a cabinet of horror. She is the grief of nature, the wound of
+wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of time. Her pride is
+unsupportable, her anger unquenchable, her will unsatiable, and her
+malice unmatchable. She fears no colours, she cares for no counsel, she
+spares no persons, nor respects any time. Her command is _must_, her
+reason _will_, her resolution _shall_, and her satisfaction _so_. She
+looks at no law and thinks of no lord, admits no command and keeps no
+good order. She is a cross but not of Christ, and a word but not of
+grace; a creature but not of wisdom, and a servant but not of God. In
+sum, she is the seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of
+bitterness, and the digestion of death.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE.
+
+A good wife is a world of wealth, where just cause of content makes a
+kingdom in conceit. She is the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence,
+the hand of labour, and the heart of love; a companion of kindness, a
+mistress of passion, an exercise of patience, and an example of
+experience. She is the kitchen physician, the chamber comfort, the
+hall's care, and the parlour's grace. She is the dairy's neatness, the
+brew-house's wholesomeness, the garner's provision and the garden's
+plantation. Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind
+virtuous, and her soul gracious. She is her husband's jewel, her
+children's joy, her neighbour's love, and her servant's honour. She is
+poverty's prayer and charity's praise, religion's love and devotion's
+zeal. She is a care of necessity and a course of thrift, a book of
+housewifery and a mirror of modesty. In sum, she is God's blessing and
+man's happiness, earth's honour and heaven's creature.
+
+
+
+AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.
+
+An effeminate fool is the figure of a baby. He loves nothing but gay, to
+look in a glass, to keep among wenches, and to play with trifles; to
+feed on sweetmeats and to be danced in laps, to be embraced in arms, and
+to be kissed on the cheek; to talk idly, to look demurely, to go nicely,
+and to laugh continually; to be his mistress' servant, and her maid's
+master, his father's love and his mother's none-child; to play on a
+fiddle and sing a love-song; to wear sweet gloves and look on fine
+things; to make purposes and write verses, devise riddles and tell lies;
+to follow plays and study dances, to hear news and buy trifles; to sigh
+for love and weep for kindness, and mourn for company and be sick for
+fashion; to ride in a coach and gallop a hackney, to watch all night and
+sleep out the morning; to lie on a bed and take tobacco, and to send his
+page of an idle message to his mistress; to go upon gigs, to have his
+ruffs set in print, to pick his teeth, and play with a puppet. In sum,
+he is a man-child and a woman's man, a gaze of folly, and
+wisdom's grief.
+
+
+
+A PARASITE.
+
+A parasite is the image of iniquity, who for the gain of dross is
+devoted to all villainy. He is a kind of thief in committing of
+burglary, when he breaks into houses with his tongue and picks pockets
+with his flattery. His face is brazen that he cannot blush, and his
+hands are limed to catch hold what he can light on. His tongue is a bell
+(but not of the church, except it be the devil's) to call his parish to
+his service. He is sometimes a pander to carry messages of ill meetings,
+and perhaps hath some eloquence to persuade sweetness in sin. He is like
+a dog at a door while the devils dance in the chamber, or like a spider
+in the house-top that lives on the poison below. He is the hate of
+honesty and the abuse of beauty, the spoil of youth and the misery of
+age. In sum, he is a danger in a court, a cheater in a city, a jester in
+the country, and a jackanapes in all.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKARD.
+
+A drunkard is a known adjective, for he cannot stand alone by himself;
+yet in his greatest weakness a great trier of strength, whether health
+or sickness will have the upper hand in a surfeit. He is a spectacle of
+deformity and a shame of humanity, a view of sin and a grief of nature.
+He is the annoyance of modesty and the trouble of civility, the spoil of
+wealth and the spite of reason. He is only the brewer's agent and the
+alehouse benefactor, the beggar's companion and the constable's trouble.
+He is his wife's woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbours' scoff, and
+his own shame. In sum, he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a
+picture of a beast, and a monster of a man.
+
+
+
+A COWARD.
+
+A coward is the child of fear. He was begotten in cold blood, when
+Nature had much ado to make up a creature like a man. His life is a kind
+of sickness, which breeds a kind of palsy in the joints, and his death
+the terror of his conscience, with the extreme weakness of his faith. He
+loves peace as his life, for he fears a sword in his soul. If he cut his
+finger he looketh presently for the sign, and if his head ache he is
+ready to make his will. A report of a cannon strikes him flat on his
+face, and a clap of thunder makes him a strange metamorphosis. Rather
+than he will fight he will be beaten, and if his legs will help him he
+will put his arms to no trouble. He makes love commonly with his purse,
+and brags most of his maidenhead. He will not marry but into a quiet
+family, and not too fair a wife, to avoid quarrels. If his wife frown
+upon him he sighs, and if she give him an unkind word he weeps. He loves
+not the horns of a bull nor the paws of a bear, and if a dog bark he
+will not come near the house. If he be rich he is afraid of thieves, and
+if he be poor he will be slave to a beggar. In sum, he is the shame of
+manhood, the disgrace of nature, the scorn of reason, and the hate
+of honour.
+
+
+
+AN HONEST POOR MAN.
+
+An honest poor man is the proof of misery, where patience is put to the
+trial of her strength to endure grief without passion, in starving with
+concealed necessity, or standing in the adventures of charity. If he be
+married, want rings in his ears and woe watereth his eyes. If single, he
+droppeth with the shame of beggary, or dies with the passion of penury.
+Of the rich he is shunned like infection, and of the poor learns but a
+heart-breaking profession. His bed is the earth and the heaven is his
+canopy, the sun is his summer's comfort and the moon is his winter
+candle. His sighs are the notes of his music, and his song is like the
+swan before her death. His study, his patience; and his exercise,
+prayer: his diet the herbs of the earth, and his drink the water of the
+river. His travel is the walk of the woful and his horse Bayard of ten
+toes: his apparel but the clothing of nakedness, and his wealth but the
+hope of heaven. He is a stranger in the world, for no man craves his
+acquaintance; and his funeral is without ceremony, when there is no
+mourning for the miss of him: yet may he be in the state of election and
+in the life of love, and more rich in grace than the greatest of the
+world. In sum, he is the grief of Nature, the sorrow of reason, the pity
+of wisdom, and the charge of charity.
+
+
+
+A JUST MAN.
+
+A just man is the child of truth, begotten by virtue and kindness; when
+Nature in the temper of the spirit made even the balance of
+indifference. His eye is clear from blindness and his hand from bribery,
+his will from wilfulness and his heart from wickedness; his word and
+deed are all one; his life shows the nature of his love, his care is the
+charge of his conscience, and his comfort the assurance of his
+salvation. In the seat of justice he is the grace of the law, and in the
+judgment of right the honour of reason. He fears not the power of
+authority to equal justice with mercy, and joys but in the judgment of
+grace, to see the execution of justice. His judgment is worthy of
+honour, and his wisdom is gracious in truth. His honour is famous in
+virtue, and his virtue is precious in example. In sum, he is a spirit of
+understanding, a brain of knowledge, a heart of wisdom, and a soul of
+blessedness.
+
+
+
+A REPENTANT SINNER.
+
+A repentant sinner is the child of grace, who, being born for service of
+God, makes no reckoning of the mastership of the world, yet doth he
+glorify God in the beholding of His creatures, and in giving praise to
+His holy name in the admiration of His workmanship. He is much of the
+nature of an angel who, being sent into the world but to do the will of
+his Master, is ever longing to be at home with his fellows. He desires
+nothing but that is necessary, and delighteth in nothing that is
+transitory; but contemplates more than he can conceive, and meditates
+only upon the word of the Almighty. His senses are the tirers of his
+spirit, while in the course of nature his soul can find no rest. He
+shakes off the rags of sin, and is clothed with the robe of virtue. He
+puts off Adam, and puts on Christ. His heart is the anvil of truth,
+where the brain of his wisdom beats the thoughts of his mind till they
+be fit for the service of his Maker. His labour is the travail of love,
+by the rule of grace to find the highway to heaven. His fear is greater
+than his love of the world, and his love is greater than his fear of
+God. In sum, he is in the election of love, in the books of life, an
+angel incarnate and a blessed creature.
+
+
+
+A REPROBATE.
+
+A reprobate is the child of sin who, being born for the service of the
+devil, cares not what villainy he does in the world. His wit is always
+in a maze, for his courses are ever out of order; and while his will
+stands for his wisdom, the best that falls out of him is a fool. He
+betrays the trust of the simple, and sucks out the blood of the
+innocent. His breath is the fume of blasphemy, and his tongue the
+firebrand of hell His desires are the destruction of the virtuous, and
+his delights are the traps to damnation. He bathes in the blood of
+murder, and sups up the broth of iniquity. He frighteth the eyes of the
+godly, and disturbeth the hearts of the religious. He marreth the wits
+of the wise, and is hateful to the souls of the gracious. In sum, he is
+an inhuman creature, a fearful companion, a man-monster, and a devil
+incarnate.
+
+
+
+AN OLD MAN.
+
+An old man is the declaration of time in the defect of Nature, and the
+imperfection of sense in the use of reason. He is in the observation of
+Time, a calendar of experience; but in the power of action, he is a
+blank among lots. He is the subject of weakness, the agent of sickness,
+the displeasure of life, and the forerunner of death. He is twice a
+child and half a man, a living picture, and a dying creature. He is a
+blown bladder that is only stuffed with wind, and a withered tree that
+hath lost the sap of the root, or an old lute with strings all broken,
+or a ruined castle that is ready to fall. He is the eyesore of youth and
+the jest of love, and in the fulness of infirmity the mirror of misery.
+Yet in the honour of wisdom he may be gracious in gravity, and in the
+government of justice deserve the honour of reverence. Yea, his word may
+be notes for the use of reason, and his actions examples for the
+imitation of discretion. In sum, in whatsoever estate he is but as the
+snuff of a candle, that pink it ever so long it will out at last.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG MAN.
+
+A young man is the spring of time, when nature in her pride shows her
+beauty to the world. He is the delight of the eye and the study of the
+mind, the labour of instruction and the pupil of reason. His wit is in
+making or marring, his wealth in gaining or losing, his honour in
+advancing or declining, and his life in abridging or increasing. He is a
+bloom that either is blasted in the bud or grows to a good fruit, or a
+bird that dies in the nest or lives to make use of her wings. He is a
+colt that must have a bridle ere he be well managed, and a falcon that
+must be well maned or he will never be reclaimed. He is the darling of
+nature and the charge of reason, the exercise of patience and the hope
+of charity. His exercise is either study or action, and his study either
+knowledge or pleasure. His disposition gives a great note of his
+generation, and yet his breeding may either better or worse him, though
+to wish a blackamoor white be the loss of labour, and what is bred in
+the bone will never out of the flesh. In sum, till experience have
+seasoned his understanding, he is rather a child than a man, a prey of
+flattery or a praise of providence, in the way of grace to prove a
+saint, or in the way of sin to grow a devil.
+
+
+
+A HOLY MAN.
+
+A holy man is the chiefest creature in the workmanship of the world. He
+is the highest in the election of love, and the nearest to the image of
+the human nature of his Maker. He is served of all the creatures in the
+earth, and created but for the service of his Creator. He is capable of
+the course of nature, and by the rule of observation finds the art of
+reason. His senses are but servants to his spirit, which is guided by a
+power above himself. His time is only known to the eye of the Almighty,
+and what he is in his most greatness is as nothing but in His mercy. He
+makes law by the direction of life, and lives but in the mercy of love.
+He treads upon the face of the earth till in the same substance he be
+trod upon, though his soul that gave life to his senses live in heaven
+till the resurrection of his flesh. He hath an eye to look upward
+towards grace, while labour is only the punishment of sin. His faith is
+the hand of his soul, which layeth hold on the promise of mercy. His
+patience is the tenure of the possession of his soul, his charity the
+rule of his life, and his hope the anchor of his salvation. His study is
+the state of obedience, and his exercise the continuance of prayer; his
+life but a passage to a better, and his death the rest of his labours.
+His heart is a watch to his eye, his wit a door to his mouth, his soul a
+guard to his spirit, and his limbs are but labourers for his body. In
+sum, he is ravished with divine love, hateful to the nature of sin,
+troubled with the vanities of the world, and longing for his joy but
+in heaven.
+
+
+
+GEOFFREY MINSHULL.
+
+_After "The Good and the Bad" published in 1616, came, in 1618, "Essays
+and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners, by G. M. of Grayes Inn, Gent."
+G.M. signed his name in full--Geffray Minshul--after the Dedication to
+his uncle, Mr. Matthew Mainwaring of Nantwich, Cheshire, and he dates
+from the King's Bench Prison. Philip Bliss found record in a History of
+Nantwich of a monument there in St. Mary's Church, erected by Geoffrey
+Minshull of Stoke, Esq., to the memory of his ancestors. He quotes also
+from Geoffrey Minshull's Characters the folloiuing passage from the
+Dedication, and the Character of a Prisoner._
+
+FROM THE DEDICATION OF "ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND
+PRISONERS."
+
+"Since my coming into this prison, what with the strangeness of the
+place and strictness of my liberty, I am so transported that I could not
+follow that study wherein I took great delight and chief pleasure, and
+to spend my time idly would but add more discontentments to my troubled
+breast, and being in this chaos of discontentments, fantasies must
+arise, which will bring forth the fruits of an idle brain, for _e malis
+minimum_. It is far better to give some account of time, though to
+little purpose, than none at all. To which end I gathered a handful of
+essays, and few characters of such things as by my own experience I
+could say _Probatum est:_ not that thereby I should either please the
+reader, or show exquisiteness of invention, or curious style; seeing
+what I write of is but the child of sorrow, bred by discontentments and
+nourished up with misfortunes, to whose help melancholy Saturn gave his
+judgment, the night-bird her invention, and the ominous raven brought a
+quill taken from his own wing, dipped in the ink of misery, as chief
+aiders in this architect of sorrow."
+
+
+
+A CHARACTER OF A PRISONER.
+
+A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingering under the rough hands of a
+cruel physician: his creditor having cast his water knows his disease,
+and hath power to cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is
+like Tantalus, who hath freedom running by his door, yet cannot enjoy
+the least benefit thereof. His greatest grief is that his credit was so
+good and now no better. His land is drawn within the compass of a
+sheep's skin, and his own hand the fornication that bars him of
+entrance: he is fortune's tossing-ball, an object that would make mirth
+melancholy: to his friends an abject, and a subject of nine days' wonder
+in every barber's shop, and a mouthful of pity (that he had no better
+fortune) to midwives and talkative gossips; and all the content that
+this transitory life can give him seems but to flout him, in respect the
+restraint of liberty bars the true use. To his familiars he is like a
+plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for fear of infection; he is a
+monument ruined by those which raised him, he spends the day with a _hei
+mihi! væ miserum!_ and the night with a _nullis est medicabilis herbis._
+
+
+
+HENRY PARROT [?].
+
+_In 1626--year of the death of Francis Bacon--appeared "Cures for the
+Itch; Characters, Epigrams, Epitaphs by H. P." with the motto "Scalpat
+qui Tangitur." H. P. was read by Philip Bliss into Henry Parrot, who
+published a collection of epigrams in 1613, as "Laquei Ridiculosi, or
+Springes for Woodcocks." The Characters in this little volume are of a
+Ballad Maker, a Tapster, a Drunkard, a Rectified Young Man, a Young
+Novice's New Younger Wife, a Common Fiddler, a Broker, a Jovial Good
+Fellow, a Humourist, a Malapert Young Upstart, a Scold, a Good Wife, and
+a Self-Conceited Parcel-Witted Old Dotard._
+
+
+
+A SCOLD
+
+Is a much more heard of, than least desired to be seen or known,
+she-kind of serpent; the venomed sting of whose poisonous tongue, worse
+than the biting of a scorpion, proves more infectious far than can be
+cured. She's of all other creatures most untameablest, and covets more
+the last word in scolding than doth a combater the last stroke for
+victory. She loudest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, with
+exclamation, flat defiance to any one says black's her eye. She dares
+appear before any justice, nor is least daunted with the sight of
+constable, nor at worst threatenings of a cucking-stool. There's nothing
+mads or moves her more to outrage than but the very naming of a wisp, or
+if you sing or whistle when she is scolding. If any in the interim
+chance to come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the
+face; or do but offer to hold her hands, she'll presently begin to cry
+out murder. There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sack, which taking
+in full measure of digestion, she presently forgets all wrongs that's
+done her, and thereupon falls straight a-weeping. Do but entreat her
+with fair words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her
+imperfections, and lays the guilt upon her maid. Her manner is to talk
+much in her sleep, what wrongs she hath endured of that rogue her
+husband, whose hap may be in time to die a martyr; and so I leave them.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE
+
+Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom in conceit, and
+makes a perfect adjunct in society; she's such a comfort as exceeds
+content, and proves so precious as cannot be paralleled, yea more
+inestimable than may be valued. She's any good man's better second self,
+the very mirror of true constant modesty, the careful housewife of
+frugality, and dearest object of man's heart's felicity. She commands
+with mildness, rules with discretion, lives in repute, and ordereth all
+things that are good or necessary. She's her husband's solace, her
+house's ornament, her children's succour, and her servant's comfort.
+She's (to be brief) the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand
+of labour, and the heart of love. Her voice is music, her countenance
+meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious. She's a blessing
+given from God to man, a sweet companion in his affliction, and
+joint-copartner upon all occasions. She's (to conclude) earth's chiefest
+paragon, and will be, when she dies, heaven's dearest creature.
+
+
+             *         *         *         *         *
+
+_In_ 1629_ appeared sixteen pieces in fifty-six pages entitled
+"Micrologia, Characters or Essayes, of Persons, Trades, and Places,
+offered to the City and Country, by R. M." There was an "R. M." who
+wrote from the coast of Guiana in November 1817 "Newes of Sir W.
+Raleigh. With the true Description of Guiana: as also relation of the
+excellent Government, and much hope of the prosperity of the Voyage.
+Sent from a gentleman of his Fleet (R. M.) to a most especiall Friend of
+his in London. From the River of Caliana on the Coast of Guiana,
+Novemb._ 17, 1617," _published in 1618. The Characters of Persons and
+Trades in "Micrologia" are: a Fantastic Tailor, a Player, a Shoemaker, a
+Ropemaker, a Smith, a Tobacconist, a Cunning Woman, a Cobbler, a
+Tooth-drawer, a Tinker, a Fiddler, a Cunning Horse-Courser; and of
+Places, Bethlem, Ludgate, Bridewell, Newgate.
+
+This is R. M.'s character of a Player--_
+
+
+
+PLAYER
+
+Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, who by his
+representation and appearance makes things long past seem present. He is
+much like the counters in arithmetic, and may stand one while for a
+king, another while a beggar, many times as a mute or cipher. Sometimes
+he represents that which in his life he scarce practises--to be an
+honest man. To the point, he oft personates a rover, and therein conies
+nearest to himself. If his action prefigure passion, he raves, rages,
+and protests much by his painted heavens, and seems in the height of
+this fit ready to pull Jove out of the garret where perchance he lies
+leaning on his elbows, or is employed to make squibs and crackers to
+grace the play. His audience are oftentimes judicious, but his chief
+admirers are commonly young wanton chambermaids, who are so taken with
+his posture and gay clothes, they never come to be their own women
+after. He exasperates men's enormities in public view, and tells them
+their faults on the stage, not as being sorry for them, but rather
+wishes still he might find more occasions to work on. He is the general
+corrupter of spirits yet untainted, inducing them by gradation to much
+lascivious depravity. He is a perspicuity of vanity in variety, and
+suggests youth to perpetrate such vices as otherwise they had haply
+ne'er heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocrite, seeming
+what he is not, and is indeed what he seems not. And if he lose one of
+his fellow strolls, in the summer he turns king of the gipsies; if not,
+some great man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his
+peregrination, and a means to procure him the town-hall, where he may
+long exercise his qualities with clown-claps of great admiration, in a
+tone suitable to the large ears of his illiterate auditory. He is one
+seldom takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, together
+with a consumption or some worse disease taken up in his full career,
+have only chalked out his catastrophe but to a colon; and he scarcely
+survives to his natural period of days.
+
+
+           *         *          *          *          *
+
+_In_ 1631 _"Whimzies, or, A new Cast of Characters" inscribed to Sir
+Alexander Radcliffe by one who signed his dedication Clitus
+Alexandrinus, gave twenty-four Characters, of which this of the maker of
+a Courant or news sheet is one:--_
+
+
+
+A CORRANTO-COINER
+
+Is a state newsmonger; and his own genius is his intelligencer. His mint
+goes weekly, and he coins money by it. Howsoever, the more intelligent
+merchants do jeer him, the vulgar do admire him, holding his novels
+oracular; and these are usually sent for tokens or intermissive
+courtesies betwixt city and country. He holds most constantly one form
+or method of discourse. He retains some military words of art, which he
+shoots at random; no matter where they hit they cannot wound any. He
+ever leaves some passages doubtful, as if they were some more intimate
+secrecies of state, closing his sentence abruptly with--_hereafter you
+shall hear more._ Which words, I conceive, he only useth as baits, to
+make the appetite of the reader more eager in his next week's pursuit
+fora more satisfying labour. Some general-erring relations he picks up,
+as crumbs or fragments, from a frequented ordinary; of which shreds he
+shapes a coat to fit any credulous fool that will wear it. You shall
+never observe him make any reply in places of public concourse; he
+ingenuously acknowledges himself to be more bounden to the happiness of
+a retentive memory, than either ability of tongue or pregnancy of
+conceit. He carries his table-book still about with him, but dares not
+pull it out publicly. Yet no sooner is the table drawn than he turns
+notary, by which means he recovers the charge of his ordinary. Paul's is
+his walk in winter, Moorfields in summer, where the whole discipline,
+designs, projects, and exploits of the States, Netherlands, Poland,
+Switzer, Crimchan and all, are within the compass of one quadrangle walk
+most judiciously and punctually discovered. But long he must not walk,
+lest he make his news-press stand. Thanks to his good invention, he can
+collect much out of a very little; no matter though more experienced
+judgments disprove him, he is anonymous, and that will secure him. To
+make his reports more credible or (which he and his stationer only aims
+at) more vendible, in the relation of every occurrence he renders you
+the day of the month; and to approve himself a scholar, he annexeth
+these Latin parcels, or parcel-gilt sentences, _veteri stylo, novo
+stylo_. Palisados, parapets, counter-scarps, forts, fortresses,
+rampiers, bulwarks, are his usual dialect. He writes as if he would do
+some mischief, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. He will
+sometimes start in his sleep, as one affrighted with visions, which I
+can impute to no other cause but to the terrible skirmishes which he
+discoursed of in the daytime. He has now tied himself apprentice to the
+trade of minting, and must weekly perform his task, or (beside the loss
+which accrues to himself) he disappoints a number of no small fools,
+whose discourse, discipline, and discretion is drilled from his
+state-service. These you shall know by their Monday's mornings question,
+a little before exchange time: Stationer, have you any news? Which they
+no sooner purchase than peruse; and, early by next morning (lest their
+country friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a prize),
+they freely vent the substance of it, with some illustrations, if their
+understanding can furnish them that way. He would make you believe that
+he were known to some foreign intelligence, but I hold him the wisest
+man that hath the least faith to believe him. For his relations he
+stands resolute, whether they become approved or evinced for untruths;
+which if they be, he has contracted with his face never to blush for the
+matter. He holds especial concurrence with two philosophical sects,
+though he be ignorant of the tenets of either: in the collection of his
+observations he is peripatetical, for he walks circularly; in the
+digestion of his relations he is stoical, and sits regularly. He has an
+alphabetical table of all the chief commanders, generals, leaders,
+provincial towns, rivers, ports, creeks, with other fitting materials to
+furnish his imaginary building. Whisperings, mutterings, and bare
+suppositions are sufficient grounds for the authority of his relations.
+It is strange to see with what greediness this airy chameleon, being all
+lungs and wind, will swallow a receipt of news, as if it were physical;
+yea, with what frontless insinuation he will screw himself into the
+acquaintance of some knowing intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his
+hollow sound, do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his
+voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, they would vie in
+number with the Iliads of many fore-running ages. You shall many times
+find in his gazettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions:
+here a city taken by force long before it be besieged; there a country
+laid waste before ever the enemy entered. He many times tortures his
+readers with impertinencies, yet are these the tolerablest passages
+throughout all his discourse. He is the very landscape of our age. He is
+all air; his ear always open to all reports, which, how incredible
+soever, must pass for current and find vent, purposely to get him
+current money and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his
+chimeras live not long; a week is the longest in the city, and after
+their arrival, little longer in the country, which past they melt like
+butter, or match a pipe, and so burn. But indeed, most commonly it is
+the height of their ambition to aspire to the employment of stopping
+mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, powder, staves-aker, &c., which
+done, they expire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Long Lane will give
+him his character. He honours nothing with a more endeared observance,
+nor hugs ought with more intimacy, than antiquity, which he expresseth
+even in his clothes. I have known some love fish best that smelled of
+the pannier; and the like humour reigns in him, for he loves that
+apparel best that has a taste of the broker. Some have held him for a
+scholar, but trust me such are in a palpable error, for he never yet
+understood so much Latin as to construe _Gallo-Belgicus_. For his
+library (his own continuations excepted), it consists of very few or no
+books. He holds himself highly engaged to his invention if it can
+purchase him victuals; for authors, he never converseth with them,
+unless they walk in Paul's. For his discourse it is ordinary, yet he
+will make you a terrible repetition of desperate commanders, unheard-of
+exploits, intermixing withal his own personal service. But this is not
+in all companies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him in
+this principle--that as nothing works more on the simple than things
+strange and incredibly rare, so nothing discovers his weakness more
+among the knowing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on
+reports above conceit. Amongst these, therefore, he is as mute as a
+fish. But now imagine his lamp (if he be worth one) to be nearly burnt
+out, his inventing genius wearied and footsore with ranging over so many
+unknown regions, and himself wasted with the fruitless expense of much
+paper, resigning his place of weekly collections to another, whom, in
+hope of some little share, he has to his stationer recommended, while he
+lives either poorly respected or dies miserably suspended. The rest I
+end with his own close:--Next week you shall hear more.
+
+_The other characters in "Whimzies" were an Almanac-maker, a
+Ballad-monger, a Decoy, an Exchange-man, a Forester, a Gamester, an
+Hospital-man, a Jailer, a Keeper, a Launderer, a Metal-man, a Neater, an
+Ostler, a Postmaster, a Quest-man, a Ruffian, a Sailor, a Traveller, an
+Under-Sheriff, a Wine-Soaker, a Xantippean, a Jealous Neighbour, a
+Zealous Brother. The collection was enlarged by addition under separate
+title-page of "A Cater-Character, thrown out of a box by an Experienced
+Gamester"-which gave Characters of an Apparitor, a Painter, a Pedlar,
+and a Piper. The author added also some lines "upon the Birthday of his
+sonne Iohn," beginning--
+
+   "God blesse thee, Iohn,
+     And make thee such an one
+   That I may joy
+     In calling thee my son.
+
+   Thou art my ninth,
+     And by it I divine
+   That thou shalt live
+     To love the Muses Nine."_
+
+
+
+JOHN MILTON,
+
+_when he was at college, ventured down among the Character-writers in
+his two pieces on the University Carrier. Thomas Hobson had been for
+sixty years carrier between Cambridge and the Bull Inn, Bishopsgate
+Street, London. He was a very well-known Cambridge character. Steele, in
+No. 509 of the "Spectator" ascribed to him the origin of the proverbial
+phrase, Hobson's Choice. "Being a man of great ability and invention,
+and one that saw where there might good profit arise, though the duller
+men overlooked it, this ingenious man was the first in this island who
+let out hackney-horses.'" [That is a mistake, but never mind.] "He lived
+in Cambridge; and, observing that the scholars rid hard, his manner was
+to keep a large stable of horses, with boots, bridles, and whips, to
+furnish the gentlemen at once, without going from college to college to
+borrow. I say, Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always
+ready and fit for travelling; but, when a man came for a horse, he was
+led into the stable, where there was great choice; but he obliged him to
+take the horse which stood next the stable door; so that every customer
+was alike well served according to his chance, and every horse ridden
+with the same justice--from whence it became a proverb, when what ought
+to be your election was forced upon you, to say 'Hobson's Choice!'"
+
+In the spring of 1630 the Plague in Cambridge caused colleges to be
+closed, and among other precautions against spread of infection, Hobson
+the Carrier was forbidden to go to and fro between Cambridge and London.
+At the end of the year, after six or seven, months of forced inaction,
+Hobson sickened; and he died on the first of January, at the age of
+eighty-six, leaving his family amply provided for, and money for the
+maintenance of the town conduit. At the Bull Inn in London there used to
+be a portrait of him with a money-bag under his arm.
+
+Character-writing being in fashion many a character of the University
+Carrier was written, no doubt, by Cambridge men after Hobson's death at
+the beginning of the year_ 1631 _(new style). And these were Milton's.
+Their unlikeness to other work of his lies in their likeness to a form
+of literature which was but fashion of the day, and having travelled out
+of sight of its old starting-point and forgotten where its true goal
+lay, had gone astray, and often by idolatry of wit sinned
+against wisdom._
+
+
+
+ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,
+
+_Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London
+by reason of the Plague._
+
+   Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt,
+   And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt;
+   Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one
+   He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
+   'Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known,
+   Death was half glad when he had got him down;
+   For he had any time this ten years full
+   Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and _The Bull_,
+   And surely Death could never have prevailed
+   Had not his weekly course of carriage failed:
+   But lately, finding him so long at home,
+   And thinking now his journey's end was come,
+   And that he had ta'en up his latest inn,
+   In the kind office of a chamberlin
+   Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,
+   Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.
+   If any ask for him, it shall be said,
+   "Hobson has supped, and's newly gone to bed."
+
+
+
+ANOTHER ON THE SAME.
+
+   Here lieth one that did most truly prove
+   That he could never die while he could move;
+   So hung his destiny, never to rot
+   While he might still jog on and keep his trot;
+   Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
+   Until his revolution was at stay.
+   Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
+   'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time;
+   And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
+   His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
+   Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
+   And too much breathing put him out of breath;
+   Nor were it contradiction to affirm
+   Too long vacation hastened on his term.
+   Merely to drive the time away he sickened,
+   Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.
+   "Nay," quoth he, on his swooning-bed outstretched,
+   "If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched,
+   But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
+   For one carrier put down to make six bearers."
+   Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
+   He died for heaviness that his cart went light.
+   His leisure told him that his time was come,
+   And lack of load made his life burdensome,
+   That even to his last breath (there be that say't)
+   As he were pressed to death, he cried. "More weight!"
+   But, had his doings lasted as they were,
+   He had been an immortal carrier.
+   Obedient to the moon he spent his date
+   In course reciprocal, and had his fate
+   Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas;
+   Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase.
+   His letters are delivered all and gone,
+   Only remains the superscription.
+
+_How very sure we should all be that Milton did not write these pieces,
+if he had not given them a place among his published works! Returning to
+the crowd of Character-writers we find in 1631, the year of Milton's
+writing upon Hobson,_
+
+
+
+WYE SALTONSTALL,
+
+_author of "Pictures Loquentes, or Pictures drawn forth in Characters.
+With a Poeme of a Maid" The poem of a Maid was, of course, suggested by
+the fact that Sir Thomas Overbury's Characters had joined to them the
+poem of a Wife. There was a second edition in 1635. Saltonstall's
+Characters were the World, an Old Man, a Woman, a Widow, a True Lover, a
+Country Bride, a Ploughman, a Melancholy Man, a Young Heir, a Scholar in
+the University, a Lawyers Clerk, a Townsman in Oxford, an Usurer, a
+Wandering Rogue, a Waterman, a Shepherd, a Jealous Man, a Chamberlain, a
+Maid, a Bailey, a Country Fair, a Country Ale-house, a Horse Race, a
+Farmer's Daughter, a Keeper, a Gentleman's House in the Country; to
+which he added in the second edition, a Fine Dame, a Country Dame, a
+Gardener, a Captain, a Poor Village, a Merry Man, a Scrivener, the Term,
+a Mower, a Happy Man, an Arrant Knave, and an Old Waiting Gentlewoman.
+This is one of his Characters as quoted by Philip Bliss in the Appendix
+to his edition of Earle_--
+
+
+
+THE TERM
+
+Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all comers, while her sister
+Equity strives to mitigate the rigour of her positive sentence. It is
+called the term, because it does end and terminate business, or else
+because it is the _Terminus ad quem_, that is, the end of the
+countryman's journey, who comes up to the term, and with his hobnail
+shoes grinds the faces of the poor stones, and so returns again. It is
+the soul of the year, and makes it quick, which before was dead.
+Innkeepers gape for it as earnestly as shell-fish do for salt water
+after a low ebb. It sends forth new books into the world, and
+replenishes Paul's Walk with fresh company, where _Quid novi_? is their
+first salutation, and the weekly news their chief discourse. The taverns
+are painted against the term, and many a cause is argued there and tried
+at that bar, where you are adjudged to pay the costs and charges, and so
+dismissed with "welcome, gentlemen." Now the city puts her best side
+outward, and a new play at the Blackfriars is attended on with coaches.
+It keeps watermen from sinking, and helps them with many a fare voyage
+to Westminster. Tour choice beauties come up to it only to see and be
+seen, and to learn the newest fashion, and for some other recreations.
+Now many that have been long sick and crazy begins to stir and walk
+abroad, especially if some young prodigals come to town, who bring more
+money than wit. Lastly, the term is the joy of the city, a dear friend
+to countrymen, and is never more welcome than after a long vacation.
+
+_We have also, in 1632, "London and Country Carbonadoed and Quartered
+into Several Characters" by Donald Lupton; in 1633, the "Character of a
+Gentleman" appended to Brathwaif's "English Gentleman;" in 1634, "A
+strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into a Wilderness, Deciphered
+in Characters" of which this is a specimen_:--
+
+
+
+THE HORSE
+
+Is a creature made, as it were, in wax. When Nature first framed him,
+she took a secret complacence in her work. He is even her masterpiece in
+irrational things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him forth.
+For example, his slick bay coat he took from the chestnut; his neck from
+the rainbow, which perhaps make him rain so well. His mane belike he
+took from Pegasus, making him a hobby to make this a complete jennet,
+which mane he wears so curled, much after the women's fashions
+now-a-days;--this I am sure of, howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it
+sets forth our jennet well. His legs he borrowed of the hart, with his
+swiftness, which makes him a true courser indeed. The stars in his
+forehead he fetched from heaven, which will not be much missed, there
+being so many. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat buttock, and
+thick tail are properly his own, for he knew not where to get him
+better. If you tell him of the horns he wants to make him most complete,
+he scorns the motion, and sets them at his heel. He is well shod,
+especially in the upper leather, for as for his soles, they are much at
+reparation, and often fain to be removed. Nature seems to have spent an
+apprenticeship of years to make you such a one, for it is full seven
+years ere he comes to this perfection, and be fit for the saddle: for
+then (as we), it seems to come to the years of discretion, when he will
+show a kind of rational judgment with him, and if you set an expert
+rider on his back, you shall see how sensible they will talk together,
+as master and scholar. When he shall be no sooner mounted and planted in
+the seat, with the reins in one hand, a switch in the other, and
+speaking with his spurs in the horse's flanks, a language he well
+understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance the canaries half an
+hour together in compass of a bushel, and yet still, as he thinks, get
+some ground, shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely pride.
+This will our Bucephalus do in the lists: but when he comes abroad into
+the fields, he will play the country gentleman as truly, as before the
+knight in tournament. If the game be up once, and the hounds in chase,
+you shall see how he will prick up his ears straight, and tickle at the
+sport as much as his rider shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be
+many of them, they will even drown the rural harmony of the dogs. When
+he travels, of all inns he loves best the sign of the silver bell,
+because likely there he fares best, especially if he come the first and
+get the prize. He carries his ears upright, nor seldom ever lets them
+fall till they be cropped off, and after that, as in despite, will never
+wear them more. His tail is so essential to him, that if he lose it once
+he is no longer a horse, but ever styled a curtali. To conclude, he is a
+blade of Vulcan's forging, made for Mars of the best metal, and the post
+of Fame to carry her tidings through the world, who, if he knew his own
+strength, would shrewdly put for the monarchy of our wilderness.
+
+
+     *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Then there-were separate Characters, as "of a Projector" (1642); "of an
+Oxford Incendiary" (1645); and in 1664, "A New Anatomic, or Character of
+a Christian or Roundhead, expressing his Description, Excellenrie,
+Happiness, and Innocencie. Wherein may appear how far this blind World
+is mistaken in their unjust Censures of him." Several Characters were
+included in Lord North's "Forest of Varieties" published in 1645.
+Fourteen Characters, some of individual persons, were in the "Characters
+and Elegies, by Sir Francis Wortley, Knight and Baronet" published in
+1646. The author was son of Sir Richard Wortley of Wortley in Yorkshire.
+He was a good royalist, was taken prisoner in the civil wars, and wrote
+his Characters in the Tower. They were these:--The Character of his Roy
+all Majestie; the Character of the Queene's Majestie; the Hopeful
+Prince; a true Character of the illustrious James, Duke of York; the
+Character of a Noble General; a true English Protestant; an Antinomian,
+or Anabaptistical Independent; a Jesuit; the true Character of a
+Northern Lady, as she is Wife, Mother, and Sister; the Politique Neuter;
+the Citie Paragon; a Sharking Committee-man; Britannicus his Pedigree
+--afatall Prediction of his end; and last, the Phoenix of the Court.
+
+In 1646, T. F., who is named by interlineation on his title-page among
+the King's Pamphlets, T. Ford, servant to Mr. Sam. Man, produced the
+"Times Anatomized, in several Characters." These were: A Good King,
+Rebellion, an Honest Subject, an Hypocritical Convert of the Times, a
+Soldier of Fortune, a Discontented Person, an Ambitious Man, the Vulgar,
+Error, Truth, a Self-seeker, Pamphlets, an Envious Man, True Valour,
+Time, a Neuter, a Turn-Coat, a Moderate Man, a Corrupt Committee-man, a
+Sectary, War, Peace, a Drunkard, a Novice, Preacher, a Scandalous
+Preacher, a Grave Divine, a Self-Conceited Man, Religion, Death. This is
+T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets--_
+
+
+
+PAMPHLETS
+
+Are the weekly almanacs, showing what weather is in the state, which,
+like the doves of Aleppo, carry news to every part of the kingdom. They
+are the silent traitors that affront majesty, and abuse all authority,
+under the colour of an imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of late so
+blistered the ears of all men, that they cannot endure the solid truth.
+The echoes, whereby what is done in part of the kingdom, is heard all
+over. They are like the mushrooms, sprung up in a night, and dead in a
+day; and such is the greediness of men's natures (in these Athenian
+days) of new, that they will rather feign than want it.
+
+_So the tide ran on. In_ 1647 _there was "The Character of an Agitator,"
+and also John Cleveland's Character of a London Diurnal._
+
+
+
+JOHN CLEVELAND,
+
+_The Cavalier poet, born at Loitghborough in Leicestershire in_ 1613,
+_son of an usher in a free school there, was sent to Milton's College,
+Christ's, at Cambridge in_ 1627, _when he was fifteen years old. Milton
+had gone to Christ's two years before, but at the age of seventeen.
+Cleveland left Christ's College in_ 1631, _when he took his B.A. degree,
+and went to St. John's, of which he was elected a Fellow in March_ 1634.
+_He proceeded M.A. in_ 1634, _and studied afterwards both law and
+physics, living for nine years at Cambridge. John Cleveland was ejected
+from his position as Fellow and Tutor by the Parliamentary visitors in
+February_ 1645 _(new style), and was sent to Newark as judge advocate
+under Sir Richard Willis, the Governor. After the surrender at Newark,
+Cleveland depended upon friendship of cavaliers who gave him hospitality
+for his witty companionship, and the good scholarship that made him
+valuable as a tutor to their sons, Cleveland, who lives among our poets,
+wrote in the first days of his trouble these three prose Characters:--_
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A COUNTRY COMMITTEE-MAN, WITH THE EAR-MARK. OF A
+SEQUESTRATOR.
+
+A committee-man by his name should be one that is possessed, there is
+number enough in it to make an epithet for legion. He is _persona in
+concreto_ (to borrow the solecism of a modern statesman). You may
+translate it by the Red Bull phrase, and speak as properly, Enter seven
+devils _solus_. It is a well-trussed title that contains both the number
+and the beast; for a committee-man is a noun of multitude, he must be
+spelled with figures, like Antichrist wrapped in a pair-royal of sixes.
+Thus the name is as monstrous as the man, a complex notion of the same
+lineage with accumulative treason. For his office it is the Heptarchy,
+or England's fritters; it is the broken meat of a crumbling prince, only
+the royalty is greater; for it is here, as in the miracle of loaves, the
+voider exceeds the bill of fare. The Pope and he ring the changes; here
+is the plurality of crowns to one head, join them together and there is
+a harmony in discord. The triple-headed turnkey of heaven with the
+triple-headed porter of hell. A committee-man is the relics of regal
+government, but, like holy relics, he outbulks the substance whereof he
+is a remnant. There is a score of kings in a committee, as in the relics
+of the cross there is the number of twenty. This is the giant with the
+hundred hands that wields the sceptre; the tyrannical bead-roll by which
+the kingdom prays backward, and at every curse drops a committee-man.
+Let Charles be waived whose condescending clemency aggravates the
+defection, and make Nero the question, better a Nero than a committee.
+There is less execution by a single bullet than by case-shot.
+
+Now a committee-man is a parti-coloured officer. He must be drawn like
+Janus with cross and pile in his countenance, as he relates to the
+soldiers or faces about to his fleecing the country. Look upon him
+martially, and he is a justice of war, one that hath bound his Dalton up
+in buff, and will needs be of the Quorum to the best commanders. He is
+one of Mars his lay-elders; he shares in the government, though a
+Nonconformist to his bleeding rubric. He is the like sectary in arms, as
+the Platonic is in love, keeps a fluttering in discourse, but proves a
+haggard in the action. He is not of the soldiers and yet of his flock.
+It is an emblem of the golden age (and such indeed he makes it to him)
+when so tame a pigeon may converse with vultures. Methinks a committee
+hanging about a governor, and bandileers dangling about a furred
+alderman, have an anagram resemblance. There is no syntax between a cap
+of maintenance and a helmet. Who ever knew an enemy routed by a grand
+jury and a _Billa vera?_ It is a left-handed garrison where their
+authority perches; but the more preposterous the more in fashion, the
+right hand fights while the left rules the reins. The truth is, the
+soldier and the gentleman are like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, one
+fights at all adventures to purchase the other the government of the
+island. A committee-man properly should be the governor's mattress to
+fit his truckle, and to new string him with sinews of war; for his chief
+use is to raise assessments in the neighbouring wapentake.
+
+The country people being like an Irish cow that will not give down her
+milk unless she see her calf before her, hence it is he is the
+garrison's dry nurse; he chews their contribution before he feeds them,
+so the poor soldiers live like Trochilus by picking the teeth of this
+sacred crocodile.
+
+So much for his warlike or ammunition face, which is so preter-natural
+that it is rather a vizard than a face; Mars in him hath but a blinking
+aspect, his face of arms is like his coat, _partie per pale_, soldier
+and gentleman much of a scantling.
+
+Now enter his taxing and deglubing face, a squeezing look like that of
+Vespasianus, as if he were bleeding over a close stool.
+
+Take him thus and he is in the inquisition of the purse an authentic
+gypsy, that nips your bong with a canting ordinance; not a murdered
+fortune in all the country but bleeds at the touch of this malefactor.
+He is the spleen of the body politic that swells itself to the
+consumption of the whole. At first, indeed, he ferreted for the
+parliament, but since he hath got off his cope he set up for himself. He
+lives upon the sins of the people, and that is a good standing dish too.
+He verifies the axiom, _lisdem nutritur ex quibus componitur_; his diet
+is suitable to his constitution. I have wondered often why the plundered
+countrymen should repair to him for succour, certainly it is under the
+same notion, as one whose pockets are picked goes to Moll Cutpurse, as
+the predominant in that faculty.
+
+He outdives a Dutchman, gets a noble of him that was never worth
+sixpence; for the poorest do not escape, but Dutch-like he will be
+draining even in the driest ground. He aliens a delinquent's estate with
+as little remorse as his other holiness gives away an heretic's kingdom,
+and for the truth of the delinquency, both chapmen have as little share
+of infallibility. Lye is the grand salad of arbitrary government,
+executor to the star-chamber and the high commission; for those courts
+are not extinct, they survive in him like dollars changed into single
+money. To speak the truth, he is the universal tribunal; for since these
+times all causes fall to his cognisance, as in a great infection all
+diseases turn oft to the plague. It concerns our masters the parliament
+to look about them; if he proceedeth at this rate the jack may come to
+swallow the pike, as the interest often eats out the principal. As his
+commands are great, so he looks for a reverence accordingly. He is
+punctual in exacting your hat, and to say right his due, but by the same
+title as the upper garment is the vails of the executioner. There was a
+time when such cattle would hardly have been taken upon suspicion for
+men in office, unless the old proverb were renewed, that the beggars
+make a free company, and those their wardens. You may see what it is to
+hang together. Look upon them severally, and you cannot but fumble for
+some threads of charity. But oh, they are termagants in conjunction!
+like fiddlers who are rogues when they go single, and joined in consort,
+gentlemen musicianers. I care not much if I untwist my committee-man,
+and so give him the receipt of this grand Catholicon.
+
+Take a state martyr, one that for his good behaviour hath paid the
+excise of his ears, so suffered captivity by the land-piracy of
+ship-money; next a primitive freeholder, one that hates the king because
+he is a gentleman transgressing the Magna Charta of delving Adam. Add to
+these a mortified bankrupt that helps out his false weights with some
+scruples of conscience, and with his peremptory scales can doom his
+prince with a _mene tekel_. These with a new blue-stockinged justice,
+lately made of a good basket-hilted yeoman, with a short-handed clerk
+tacked to the rear of him to carry the knapsack of his understanding,
+together with two or three equivocal sirs whose religion, like their
+gentility, is the extract of their acres; being therefore spiritual
+because they are earthly; not forgetting the man of the law, whose
+corruption gives the Hogan to the sincere Juncto. These are the simples
+of this precious compound; a kind of Dutch hotch-potch, the Hogan Mogan
+committee-man.
+
+The Committee-man hath a sideman, or rather a setter, hight a
+Sequestrator, of whom you may say, as of the great Sultan's horse, where
+he treads the grass grows no more. He is the State's cormorant, one that
+fishes for the public but feeds himself; the misery is he fishes without
+the cormorant's property, a rope to strengthen the gullet and to make
+him disgorge. A sequestrator! He is the devil's nut-hook, the sign with
+him is always in the clutches. There are more monsters retain to him
+than to all the limbs in anatomy. It is strange physicians do not apply
+him to the soles of the feet in a desperate fever, he draws far beyond
+pigeons. I hope some mountebank will slice him and make the experiment.
+He is a tooth-drawer once removed; here is the difference, one applauds
+the grinder the other the grist. Never till now could I verify the
+poet's description, that the ravenous harpy had a human visage. Death
+himself cannot quit scores with him; like the demoniac in the gospel, he
+lives among tombs, nor is all the holy water shed by widows and orphans
+a sufficient exorcism to dispossess him. Thus the cat sucks your breath
+and the fiend your blood; nor can the brotherhood of witchfinders, so
+sagely instituted with all their terror, wean the familiars.
+
+But once more to single out my embossed committee-man; his fate (for I
+know you would fain see an end of him) is either a whipping audit, when
+he is wrung in the withers by a committee of examinations, and so the
+sponge weeps out the moisture which he had soaked before; or else he
+meets his passing peal in the clamorous mutiny of a gut-foundered
+garrison, for the hedge-sparrow will be feeding the cuckoo till he
+mistake his commons and bites off her head. Whatever it is, it is within
+his desert, for what is observed of some creatures that at the same time
+they trade in productions three stories high, suckling the first, big
+with the second, and clicketing for the third: a committee-man is the
+counterpoint, his mischief is superfoetation, a certain scale of
+destruction, for he ruins the father, beggars the son, and strangles the
+hope of all posterity.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A DIURNAL-MAKER.
+
+A diurnal-maker is the sub-almoner of history, Queen Mab's register, one
+whom, by the same figure that a north country pedlar is a merchantman,
+you may style an author. It is like overreach of language, when every
+thin tinder-cloaked quack must be called a doctor; when a clumsy cobbler
+usurps the attribute of our English peers, and is vamped a translator.
+List him a writer and you smother Geoffrey in swabber-slops; the very
+name of dabbler oversets him; he is swallowed up in the phrase, like Sir
+S.L. [Samuel Luke] in a great saddle, nothing to be seen but the giddy
+feather in his crown. They call him a Mercury, but he becomes the
+epithet like the little negro mounted upon an elephant, just such
+another blot rampant. He has not stuffings sufficient for the reproach
+of a scribbler, but it hangs about him like an old wife's skin when the
+flesh hath forsaken her, lank and loose. He defames a good title as well
+as most of our modern noblemen; those wens of greatness, the body
+politic's most peccant humours blistered into lords. He hath so
+raw-boned a being that however you render him he rubs it out and makes
+rags of the expression. The silly countryman who, seeing an ape in a
+scarlet coat, blessed his young worship, and gave his landlord joy of
+the hopes of his house, did not slander his complement with worse
+application than he that names this shred an historian. To call him an
+historian is to knight a mandrake; 'tis to view him through a
+perspective, and by that gross hyperbole to give the reputation of an
+engineer to a maker of mousetraps. Such an historian would hardly pass
+muster with a Scotch stationer in a sieveful of ballads and godly books.
+He would not serve for the breast-plate of a begging Grecian. The most
+cramped compendium that the age hath seen since all learning hath been
+almost torn into ends, outstrips him by the head. I have heard of
+puppets that could prattle in a play, but never saw of their writings
+before. There goes a report of the Holland women that together with
+their children they are delivered of a Sooterkin, not unlike to a rat,
+which some imagine to be the offspring of the stoves. I know not what
+_Ignis fatuus_ adulterates the press, but it seems much after that
+fashion, else how could this vermin think to be a twin to a legitimate
+writer; when those weekly fragments shall pass for history, let the poor
+man's box be entitled the exchequer, and the alms-basket a magazine. Not
+a worm that gnaws on the dull scalp of voluminous Holinshed, but at
+every meal devoured more chronicle than his tribe amounts to. A marginal
+note of W. P. would serve for a winding-sheet for that man's works, like
+thick-skinned fruits are all rind, fit for nothing but the author's
+fate, to be pared in a pillory.
+
+The cook who served up the dwarf in a pie (to continue the frolic) might
+have lapped up such an historian as this in the bill of fare. He is the
+first tincture and rudiment of a writer, dipped as yet in the
+preparative blue, like an almanac well-willer. He is the cadet of a
+pamphleteer, the pedee of a romancer; he is the embryo of a history
+slinked before maturity. How should he record the issues of time who is
+himself an abortive? I will not say but that he may pass for an
+historian in Garbier's academy; he is much of the size of those
+knotgrass professors. What a pitiful seminary was there projected; yet
+suitable enough to the present universities, those dry nurses which the
+providence of the age has so fully reformed that they are turned
+reformadoes. But that's no matter, the meaner the better. It is a maxim
+observable in these days, that the only way to win the game is to play
+petty Johns. Of this number is the esquire of the quill, for he hath the
+grudging of history and some yawnings accordingly. Writing is a disease
+in him and holds like a quotidian, so 'tis his infirmity that makes him
+an author, as Mahomet was beholding to the falling sickness to vouch him
+a prophet. That nice artificer who filed a chain so thin and light that
+a flea could trail it (as if he had worked shorthand, and taught his
+tools to cypher), did but contrive an emblem for this skipjack and his
+slight productions.
+
+Methinks the Turk should licence diurnals because he prohibits learning
+and books. A library of diurnals is a wardrobe of frippery; 'tis a just
+idea of a Limbo of the infants. I saw one once that could write with his
+toes, by the same token I could have wished he had worn his copies for
+socks; 'tis he without doubt from whom the diurnals derive their
+pedigree, and they have a birthright accordingly, being shuffled out at
+the bed's feet of history. To what infinite numbers an historian would
+multiply should he crumble into elves of this profession? To supply this
+smallness they are fain to join forces, so they are not singly but as
+the custom is in a croaking committee. They tug at the pen like slaves
+at the oar, a whole bank together; they write in the posture that the
+Swedes gave fire in, over one another's heads. It is said there is more
+of them go to a suit of clothes than to a _Britannicus;_ in this
+polygamy the clothes breed and cannot determine whose issue is
+lawfully begotten.
+
+And here I think it were not amiss to take a particular how he is
+accoutred, and so do by him as he in his Siquis for the wall-eyed mare,
+or the crop flea-bitten, give you the marks of the beast. I begin with
+his head, which is ever in clouts, as if the nightcap should make
+affidavit that the brain was pregnant. To what purpose doth the _Pia
+Mater_ lie in so dully in her white formalities; sure she hath had hard
+labour, for the brows have squeezed for it, as you may perceive by his
+buttered bon-grace that film of a demicastor; 'tis so thin and unctuous
+that the sunbeams mistake it for a vapour, and are like to cap him; so
+it is right heliotrope, it creaks in the shine and flaps in the shade;
+whatever it be I wish it were able to call in his ears. There's no
+proportion between that head and appurtenances; those of all lungs are
+no more fit for that small noddle of the circumcision than brass bosses
+for a Geneva Bible. In what a puzzling neutrality is the poor soul that
+moves betwixt two such ponderous biases? His collar is edged with a
+piece of peeping linen, by which he means a band; 'tis the forlorn of
+his shirt crawling out of his neck; indeed it were time that his shirt
+were jogging, for it has served an apprenticeship, and (as apprentices
+use) it hath learned its trade too, to which effect 'tis marching to the
+papermill, and the next week sets up for itself in the shape of a
+pamphlet. His gloves are the shavings of his hands, for he casts his
+skin like a cancelled parchment. The itch represents the broken seals.
+His boots are the legacies of two black jacks, and till he pawned the
+silver that the jacks were tipped with it was a pretty mode of
+boot-hose-tops. For the rest of his habit he is a perfect seaman, a kind
+of tarpaulin, he being hanged about with his coarse composition, those
+pole-davie papers.
+
+But I must draw to an end, for every character is an anatomy lecture,
+and it fares with me in this of the diurnal-maker, as with him that
+reads on a begged malefactor, my subject smells before I have gone
+through with him; for a parting blow then. The word historian imports a
+sage and solemn author, one that curls his brow with a sullen gravity,
+like a bull-necked Presbyter since the army hath got him off his
+jurisdiction, who, Presbyter like, sweeps his breast with a reverend
+beard, full of native moss-troopers; not such a squirting scribe as this
+that's troubled with the rickets, and makes pennyworths of history. The
+college-treasury that never had in bank above a Harry-groat, shut up
+there in a melancholy solitude, like one that is kept to keep
+possession, had as good evidence to show for his title as he for an
+historian; so, if he will needs be an historian, he is not cited in the
+sterling acceptation, but after the rate of bluecaps' reckoning, an
+historian Scot. Now a Scotchman's tongue runs high fullams. There is a
+cheat in his idiom, for the sense ebbs from the bold expression, like
+the citizen's gallon, which the drawer interprets but half a pint. In
+sum, a diurnal-maker is the anti-mark of an historian, he differs from
+him as a drill from a man, or (if you had rather have it in the saints'
+gibberish) as a hinter doth from a holder-forth.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A LONDON DIURNAL.
+
+A diurnal is a puny chronicle, scarce pin-feathered with the wings of
+time. It is a history in sippets: the English Iliads in a nutshell: the
+apocryphal Parliament's book of Maccabees in single sheets. It would
+tire a Welshman to reckon up how many aps 'tis removed from an annal;
+for it is of that extract, only of the younger house, like a shrimp to a
+lobster. The original sinner in this kind was Dutch, Gallo-Belgicus the
+protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans-en-kelders. The Countess
+of Zealand was brought to bed of an almanac, as many children as days in
+the year. It may be the legislative lady is of that lineage, so she
+spawns the diurnals, and they at Westminster take them in adoption by
+the names of _Scoticus_, _Civicus_, _Britannicus_. In the frontispiece
+of the old Beldam diurnal, like the contents of the chapter, sitteth the
+House of Commons judging the twelve tribes of Israel. You may call them
+the kingdom's anatomy before the weekly calendar; for such is a diurnal,
+the day of the month with what weather in the commonwealth. It is taken
+for the pulse of the body politic, and the empiric divines of the
+assembly, those spiritual dragooners, thumb it accordingly. Indeed it is
+a pretty synopsis, and those grave rabbis (though in the point of
+Divinity) trade in no larger authors. The country-carrier, when he buys
+it for the vicar, miscalls it the urinal; yet properly enough, for it
+casts the water of the state ever since it staled blood. It differs from
+an Aulicus, as the devil and his exorcist, or as a black witch doth from
+a white one, whose office is to unravel her enchantments.
+
+It begins usually with an Ordinance, which is a law still born, dropped
+before quickened by the royal assent. 'Tis one of the parliament's
+bye-blows, acts only being legitimate, and hath no more sire than a
+Spanish jennet that is begotten by the wind.
+
+Thus their militia, like its patron Mars, is the issue only of the
+mother, without the concourse of royal Jupiter: yet law it is, if they
+vote it, in defiance to their fundamentals; like the old sexton, who
+swore his clock went true, whatever the sun said to the contrary.
+
+The next ingredient of a diurnal is plots, horrible plots, which with
+wonderful sagacity it hunts dry-Coot, while they are yet in their
+causes, before _materia prima_ can put on her smock. How many such fits
+of the mother have troubled the kingdom; and for all Sir W.E. [William
+Earle] looks like a man-midwife, not yet delivered of so much as a
+cushion? But actors must have properties; and since the stages were
+voted down the only playhouse is at Westminster.
+
+Suitable to their plots are their informers, skippers, and tailors,
+spaniels both for the land and water. Good conscionable intelligence!
+For however Pym's bill may inflame the reckoning, the honest vermin have
+not so much for lying as the public faith.
+
+Thus a zealous botcher in Moorfields, while he was contriving some
+quirpocut of Church-Government, by the help of his outlying ears and the
+Otacousticon of the spirit, discovered such a plot, that Selden intends
+to combat antiquity, and maintain it was a tailor's goose that preserved
+the capital.
+
+I wonder my Lord of Canterbury is not once more all to be traitored, for
+dealing with the lions to settle the Commission of Array in the Tower.
+It would do well to cramp the articles dormant, besides the opportunity
+of reforming these beasts of the prerogative, and changing their
+profaner names of Harry and Charles into Nehemiah and Eleazar.
+
+Suppose a corn-cutter being to give little Isaac a cast of his office
+should fall to paring his brows (mistaking the one end for the other,
+because he branches at both), this would be a plot, and the next diurnal
+would furnish you with this scale of votes:--
+
+_Resolved_ upon the question, That this act of the corn-cutter was an
+absolute invasion of the city's charter in the representative
+forehead of Isaac.
+
+_Resolved_, That the evil counsellors about the corn-cutter are popishly
+affected and enemies to the State.
+
+_Resolved_, That there be a public thanksgiving for the great
+deliverance of Isaac's brow-antlers; and a solemn covenant drawn up to
+defy the corn-cutter and all his works.
+
+Thus the Quixotes of this age fight with the windmills of their own
+heads, quell monsters of their own creation, make plots, and then
+discover them; as who fitter to unkennel the fox than the terrier that
+is part of him?
+
+In the third place march their adventures; the Roundheads' legends, the
+rebels' romance; stories of a larger size than the ears of their sect,
+able to strangle the belief of a Solifidian.
+
+I'll present them in their order. And first as a whiffler before the
+show enter Stamford, one that trod the stage with the first, traversed
+the ground, made a leg and exit. The country people took him for one
+that by order of the Houses was to dance a morrice through the west of
+England. Well, he's a nimble gentleman; set him upon Banks his horse in
+a saddle rampant, and it is a great question which part of the Centaur
+shows better tricks.
+
+There was a vote passing to translate him with all his equipage into
+monumental gingerbread; but it was crossed by the female committee
+alleging that the valour of his image would bite their children by
+the tongues.
+
+This cubit and half of commander, by the help of a diurnal, routed his
+enemies fifty miles off. It's strange you'll say, and yet 'tis generally
+believed he would as soon do it at that distance as nearer hand. Sure it
+was his sword for which the weapon-salve was invented; that so wounding
+and healing (like loving correlates) might both work at the same
+removes. But the squib is run to the end of the rope: room for the
+prodigy of valour. Madam Atropos in breeches, Waller's knight-errantry;
+and because every mountebank must have his zany, throw him in Hazelrig
+to set off his story. These two, like Bel and the Dragon, are always
+worshipped in the same chapter; they hunt in couples, what one doth at
+the head, the other scores up at the heels.
+
+Thus they kill a man over and over, as Hopkins and Sternhold murder the
+psalms with another of the same; one chimes all in, and then the other
+strikes up as the saints-bell.
+
+I wonder for how many lives my Lord Hopton took the lease of his body.
+
+First Stamford slew him, then Waller outkilled that half a bar; and yet
+it is thought the sullen corpse would scarce bleed were both these
+manslayers never so near it.
+
+The same goes of a Dutch headsman, that he would do his office with so
+much ease and dexterity, that the head after execution should stand upon
+the shoulders. Pray God Sir William be not probationer for the place;
+for as if he had the like knack too, most of those whom the diurnal hath
+slain for him, to us poor mortals seem untouched.
+
+Thus these artificers of death can kill the man without wounding the
+body, like lightning, that melts the sword and never singes
+the scabbard.
+
+This is the William whose lady is the conqueror; this is the city's
+champion and the diurnal's delight; he that cuckolds the general in his
+commission; for he stalks with Essex, and shoots under his belly,
+because his Excellency himself is not charged there: yet in all this
+triumph there is a whip and bell; translate but the scene to Roundway
+Down, there Hazelrig's lobsters turned crabs and crawled backwards,
+there poor Sir William ran to his lady for an use of consolation.
+
+But the diurnal is weary of the arm of flesh, and now begins an hosanna
+to Cromwell; one that hath beat up his drums clean through the Old
+Testament; you may learn the genealogy of our Saviour by the names in
+his regiment; the muster-master uses no other list but the first chapter
+of Matthew.
+
+With what face can they object to the king the bringing in of
+foreigners, when themselves entertain such an army of Hebrews? This
+Cromwell is never so valorous as when he is making speeches for the
+association, which nevertheless he doth somewhat ominously with his neck
+awry, holding up his ear as if he expected Mahomet's pigeon to come and
+prompt him. He should be a bird of prey too by his bloody beak; his nose
+is able to try a young eagle, whether she be lawfully begotten. But all
+is not gold that glitters. What we wonder at in the rest of them is
+natural to him to kill without bloodshed, for the most of his trophies
+are in a church window, when a looking-glass would show him more
+superstition. He is so perfect a hater of images that he hath defaced
+God's in his own countenance. If he deals with men, 'tis when he takes
+them napping in an old monument; then down goes dust and ashes, and the
+stoutest cavalier is no better. O brave Oliver! Time's voider, subsizer
+to the worms, in whom death, who formerly devoured our ancestors, now
+chews the cud. He said grace once as if he would have fallen aboard with
+the Marquis of Newcastle; nay, and the diurnal gave you his bill of
+fare; but it proved a running banquet, as appears by the story. Believe
+him as he whistles to his Cambridge team of committee-men, and he doth
+wonders. But holy men, like the holy language, must be read backwards.
+They rifle colleges to promote learning, and pull down churches for
+edification. But sacrilege is entailed upon him. There must be a
+Cromwell for cathedrals as well as abbeys; a secure sin, whose offence
+carries its pardon in its mouth; for how shall he be hanged for
+church-robbery, that gives himself the benefit of the clergy?
+
+But for all Cromwell's nose wears the dominical letter, compared to
+Manchester he is but like the vigils to an holy-day. This, this is the
+man of God, so sanctified a thunderbolt, that Burroughs (in a
+proportionable blasphemy to his Lord of Hosts) would style him the
+archangel giving battle to the devil.
+
+Indeed, as the angels each of them makes a several species, so every one
+of his soldiers makes a distinct church. Had these beasts been to enter
+into the ark it would have puzzled Noah to have sorted them into pairs.
+If ever there were a rope of sand it was so many sects twisted into an
+association.
+
+They agree in nothing but that they are all Adamites in understanding.
+It is a sign of a coward to wink and fight, yet all their valour
+proceeds from their ignorance.
+
+But I wonder whence their general's purity proceeds; it is not by
+traduction; if he was begotten a saint it was by equivocal generation,
+for the devil in the father is turned monk in the son, so his godliness
+is of the same parentage with good laws, both extracted out of bad
+manners, and would he alter the Scripture as he hath attempted the
+creed, he might vary the text and say to corruption, Thou art my Father.
+
+This is he that put out one of the kingdom's eyes by clouding our mother
+university; and (if this Scotch mist farther prevail) he will extinguish
+the other. He hath the like quarrel to both, because both are strung
+with the same optic nerve, knowing loyalty.
+
+Barbarous rebel! who will be revenged upon all learning, because his
+treason is beyond the mercy of the book.
+
+The diurnal as yet hath not talked much of his victories, but there is
+the more behind, for the knight must always beat the giant,
+that's resolved.
+
+If anything fall out amiss which cannot be smothered, the diurnal hath a
+help at maw. It is but putting to sea and taking a Danish fleet, or
+brewing it with some success out of Ireland, and then it goes
+down merrily.
+
+There are more puppets that move by the wire of a diurnal, as Brereton
+and Cell, two of Mars his petty-toes, such snivelling cowards that it is
+a favour to call them so. Was Brereton to fight with his teeth (as in
+all other things he resembles the beast) he would have odds of any man
+at the weapon. Oh, he's a terrible slaughterman at a Thanksgiving
+dinner. Had he been cannibal to have eaten those that he vanquished, his
+gut would have made him valiant.
+
+The greatest wonder is at Fairfax, how he comes to be a babe of grace,
+certainly it is not in his personal, but (as the State-sophies
+distinguish) in his politic capacity; degenerate _ab extra_ by the zeal
+of the house he sat in, as chickens are hatched at Grand Cairo by the
+adoption of an oven.
+
+There is the woodmonger too, a feeble crutch to a declining cause, a new
+branch of the old oak of reformation.
+
+And now I speak of reformation, _vous avez_, Fox the tinker, the
+liveliest emblem of it that may be; for what did this parliament ever go
+about to reform, but, tinkerwise, in mending one hole they made three?
+
+But I have not ink enough to cure all the tetters and ring-worms of the
+State.
+
+I will close up all thus. The victories of the rebels are like the
+magical combat of Apuleius, who thinking he had slain three of his
+enemies, found them at last but a triumvirate of bladders. Such, and so
+empty are the triumphs of a diurnal, but so many impostumated fancies,
+so many bladders of their own blowing.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The "Surfeit to A.B.C." in 1656, was a look of Characters. "Naps upon
+Parnassus'" in 1658 contained Characters of a Temporizer and an
+Antiquary. In the same year appeared "Satyrical Characters and Handsome
+Descriptions, in Letters." In 1659 there was a third edition of a satire
+on the English, published as "A Character of England, as it was lately
+presented in a Letter to a Nobleman of France" replied to in that year
+by "A Character of France." These suggested the production in 1659 of "A
+Perfect Description of the People and Country of Scotland" and, also in
+1659, "A Brief Character of the Low Countries under the States, being
+Three Weeks' Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the Inhabitants."
+This was written by Owen Feltham, and added to several editions of his
+"Resolves." In 1660 appeared "The Character of Italy" and "The Character
+of Spain;" in 1661, "Essays and Characters by L. G.;" in 1662-63, "The
+Assembly-Man" a Character that had been written by Sir John Birkenhead
+in 1647. Then came, in 1665, Richard Flecknoe, to whom Dryden ascribed
+sovereignty as one who
+
+   "In prose and verse was owned without dispute,
+   Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute."
+
+As he was equally ready in all forms of writing that his neighbours
+followed he, of course, wrote Characters. They were "Fifty-five
+Enigmatical Characters, all very exactly drawn to the Life, from several
+Persons, Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and full of Delight. By R. F.,
+Esq." The Duke of Newcastle admired, and wrote, in lines prefixed to
+the book--_
+
+   "Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit
+   And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it.
+   Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear
+   Whole libraries were in each character.
+   Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet
+   Lights in the starry skies are thicker set,
+   Nor quills upon the armed porcupine,
+   Than wit and fancy in this work of thine."
+
+_This is one of Flecknoe's Characters:--_
+
+
+
+THE VALIANT MAN.
+
+He is only a man; your coward and rash being but tame and savage beasts.
+His courage is still the same, and drink cannot make him more valiant,
+nor danger less. His valour is enough to leaven whole armies; he is an
+army himself, worth an army of other men. His sword is not always out
+like children's daggers, but he is always last in beginning quarrels,
+though first in ending them. He holds honour, though delicate as
+crystal, yet not so slight and brittle to be broke and cracked with
+every touch; therefore, though most wary of it, is not querulous nor
+punctilious. He is never troubled with passion, as knowing no degree
+beyond clear courage; and is always valiant, but never furious. He is
+the more gentle in the chamber, more fierce he's in the field, holding
+boast (the coward's valour), and cruelty (the beast's), unworthy a
+valiant man. He is only coward in this, that he dares not do an
+unhandsome action. In fine, he can only be overcome by discourtesy, and
+has but one defect--he cannot talk much--to recompense which he does
+the more.
+
+_In 1673 there was published "The Character of a Coffee House, with the
+symptoms of a Town Wit;" and in the same year, "Essays of Love and
+Marriage ... with some Characters and other Passages of Wit;" in 1675,
+"The Character of a Fanatick. By a Person of Quality;" a set of eleven
+Characters appeared in 1675; "A Whip for a Jockey, or a Character of an
+Horse-Courser," in 1677; "Four for a Penny, or Poor Robin's Character of
+an unconscionable Pawnbroker and Ear-mark of an oppressing Tally-man,
+with a friendly description of a Bum-bailey, and his merciless setting
+cur or Follower," appeared in 1678; and in the same year the Duke of
+Buckingham's "Character of an Ugly Woman." In 1681 appeared the
+"Character of a Disbanded Courtier," and in 1684 Oldham's "Character of
+a certain ugly old P----." In 1686 followed "Twelve ingenious
+Characters, or pleasant Descriptions of the Properties of sundry Persons
+and Things." Sir William Coventry's "Character of a Trimmer," published
+in 1689, had been written before 1659, when it had been answered by a
+"Character of a Tory," not printed at the time, but included (1721) in
+the works of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. In 1689
+appeared "Characters addressed to Ladies of Age," and also "The
+Ceremony-Monger his Character, in Six Chapters, by E. Hickeringill,
+Rector of All Saints, Colchester." Ohe! Enough, enough!_
+
+
+
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER,
+
+_Author of "Hudibras," who died in 1680, also exercised his wit in
+Character writing. When Butler's "Remains" were published in two volumes
+in 1759 by R. Thyer, Keeper of the Public Library of Manchester, 460
+pages of the second volume, (all the volume except forty or fifty pages
+of "Thoughts on Various Subjects,") was occupied by a collection of 120
+Characters that he had written. I close this volume of "Character
+Writings of the Seventeenth Century" with as many of Samuel Butler's
+Characters as the book has room for,--none are wittier--space being left
+for one Character by a poet of our own century, Wordsworth's "Character
+of the Happy Warrior" to bring us to a happy close._
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+BY SAMUEL BUTLER.
+
+
+
+A DEGENERATE NOBLE; OR, ONE THAT IS PROUD OF HIS BIRTH,
+
+Is like a turnip, there is nothing good of him but that which is
+underground; or rhubarb, a contemptible shrub that springs from a noble
+root. He has no more title to the worth and virtue of his ancestors than
+the worms that were engendered in their dead bodies, and yet he believes
+he has enough to exempt himself and his posterity from all things of
+that nature for ever. This makes him glory in the antiquity of his
+family, as if his nobility were the better the further off it is, in
+time as well as desert, from that of his predecessors. He believes the
+honour that was left him as well as the estate is sufficient to support
+his quality without troubling himself to purchase any more of his own;
+and he meddles us little with the management of the one as the other,
+but trusts both to the government of his servants, by whom he is equally
+cheated in both. He supposes the empty title of honour sufficient to
+serve his turn, though he has spent the substance and reality of it,
+like the fellow that sold his ass but would not part with the shadow of
+it; or Apicius, that sold his house, and kept only the balcony to see
+and be seen in. And because he is privileged from being arrested for his
+debts, supposes he has the same freedom from all obligations he owes
+humanity and his country, because he is not punishable for his ignorance
+and want of honour, no more than poverty or unskilfulness is in other
+professions, which the law supposes to be punishment enough to itself.
+He is like a fanatic, that contents himself with the mere title of a
+saint, and makes that his privilege to act all manner of wickedness; or
+the ruins of a noble structure, of which there is nothing left but the
+foundation, and that obscured and buried under the rubbish of the
+superstructure. The living honour of his ancestors is long ago departed,
+dead and gone, and his is but the ghost and shadow of it, that haunts
+the house with horror and disquiet where once it lived. His nobility is
+truly descended from the glory of his forefathers, and may be rightly
+said to fall to him, for it will never rise again to the height it was
+in them by his means, and he succeeds them as candles do the office of
+the sun. The confidence of nobility has rendered him ignoble, as the
+opinion of wealth makes some men poor, and as those that are born to
+estates neglect industry and have no business but to spend, so he being
+born to honour believes he is no further concerned than to consume and
+waste it. He is but a copy, and so ill done that there is no line of the
+original in him but the sin only. He is like a word that by ill-custom
+and mistake has utterly lost the sense of that from which it was
+derived, and now signifies quite contrary; for the glory of noble
+ancestors will not permit the good or bad of their posterity to be
+obscure. He values himself only upon his title, which being only verbal
+gives him a wrong account of his natural capacity, for the same words
+signify more or less, according as they are applied to things, as
+ordinary and extraordinary do at court; and sometimes the greater sound
+has the less sense, as in accounts, though four be more than three, yet
+a third in proportion is more than a fourth.
+
+
+
+A HUFFING COURTIER
+
+Is a cipher, that has no value himself but from the place he stands in.
+All his happiness consists in the opinion he believes others have of it.
+This is his faith, but as it is heretical and erroneous, though he
+suffer much tribulation for it, he continues obstinate, and not to be
+convinced. He flutters up and down like a butterfly in a garden, and
+while he is pruning of his peruke takes occasion to contemplate his legs
+and the symmetry of his breeches. He is part of the furniture of the
+rooms, and serves for a walking picture, a moving piece of arras. His
+business is only to be seen, and he performs it with admirable industry,
+placing himself always in the best light, looking wonderfully politic,
+and cautious whom he mixes withal. His occupation is to show his
+clothes, and if they could but walk themselves they would save him the
+labour and do his work as well as himself. His immunity from varlets is
+his freehold, and he were a lost man without it. His clothes are but his
+tailor's livery, which he gives him, for 'tis ten to one he never pays
+for them. He is very careful to discover the lining of his coat, that
+you may not suspect any want of integrity or flaw in him from the skin
+outwards. His tailor is his creator, and makes him of nothing; and
+though he lives by faith in him, he is perpetually committing iniquities
+against him. His soul dwells in the outside of him, like that of a
+hollow tree, and if you do but peel the bark off him he deceases
+immediately. His carriage of himself is the wearing of his clothes, and,
+like the cinnamon tree, his bark is better than his body. His looking
+big is rather a tumour than greatness. He is an idol that has just so
+much value as other men give him that believe in him, but none of his
+own. He makes his ignorance pass for reserve, and, like a hunting-nag,
+leaps over what he cannot get through. He has just so much of politics
+as hostlers in the university have Latin. He is as humble as a Jesuit to
+his superior, but repays himself again in insolence over those that are
+below him, and with a generous scorn despises those that can neither do
+him good nor hurt. He adores those that may do him good, though he knows
+they never will, and despises those that would not hurt him if they
+could. The court is his church, and he believes as that believes, and
+cries up and down everything as he finds it pass there. It is a great
+comfort to him to think that some who do not know him may perhaps take
+him for a lord, and while that thought lasts he looks bigger than usual
+and forgets his acquaintance, and that's the reason why he will
+sometimes know you and sometimes not. Nothing but want of money or
+credit puts him in mind that he is mortal, but then he trusts Providence
+that somebody will trust him, and in expectation of that hopes for a
+better life, and that his debts will never rise up in judgment against
+him. To get in debt is to labour in his vocation, but to pay is to
+forfeit his protection, for what's that worth to one that owes nothing?
+His employment being only to wear his clothes, the whole account of his
+life and actions is recorded in shopkeepers' books, that are his
+faithful historiographers to their own posterity; and he believes he
+loses so much reputation as he pays off his debts, and that no man wears
+his clothes in fashion that pays for them, for nothing is further from
+the mode. He believes that he that runs in debt is beforehand with those
+that trust him, and only those that pay are behind. His brains are
+turned giddy, like one that walks on the top of a house, and that's the
+reason it is so troublesome to him to look downwards. He is a kind of
+spectrum, and his clothes are the shape he takes to appear and walk in,
+and when he puts them off he vanishes. He runs as busily out of one room
+into another as a great practiser does in Westminster Hall from one
+court to another. When he accosts a lady he puts both ends of his
+microcosm in motion, by making legs at one end and combing his peruke at
+the other. His garniture is the sauce to his clothes, and he walks in
+his portcannons like one that stalks in long grass. Every motion of him
+cries "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, quoth the preacher." He rides
+himself like a well-managed horse, reins in his neck, and walks
+_terra-terra_. He carries his elbows backward, as if he were pinioned
+like a trussed-up fowl, and moves as stiff as if he was upon the spit.
+His legs are stuck in his great voluminous breeches like the whistles in
+a bagpipe, those abundant breeches in which his nether parts are not
+clothed but packed up. His hat has been long in a consumption of the
+fashion, and is now almost worn to nothing; if it do not recover quickly
+it will grow too little for a head of garlic. He wears garniture on the
+toes of his shoes to justify his pretensions to the gout, or such other
+malady that for the time being is most in fashion or request. When he
+salutes a friend he pulls off his hat, as women do their vizard-masks.
+His ribbons are of the true complexion of his mind, a kind of painted
+cloud or gaudy rainbow, that has no colour of itself but what it borrows
+from reflection. He is as tender of his clothes as a coward is of his
+flesh, and as loth to have them disordered. His bravery is all his
+happiness, and, like Atlas, he carries his heaven on his back. He is
+like the golden fleece, a fine outside on a sheep's back. He is a
+monster or an Indian creature, that is good for nothing in the world but
+to be seen. He puts himself up into a sedan, like a fiddle in a case,
+and is taken out again for the ladies to play upon, who, when they have
+done with him, let down his treble-string till they are in the humour
+again. His cook and _valet de chambre_ conspire to dress dinner and him
+so punctually together that the one may not be ready before the other.
+As peacocks and ostriches have the gaudiest and finest feathers, yet
+cannot fly, so all his bravery is to flutter only. The beggars call him
+"my lord," and he takes them at their words and pays them for it. If you
+praise him, he is so true and faithful to the mode that he never fails
+to make you a present of himself, and will not be refused, though you
+know not what to do with him when you have him.
+
+
+
+A COURT BEGGAR
+
+Waits at Court, as a dog does under a table, to catch what falls, or
+force it from his fellows if he can. When a man is in a fair way to be
+hanged that is richly worth it, or has hanged himself, he puts in to be
+his heir and succeed him, and pretends as much merit as another, as no
+doubt he has great reason to do if all things were rightly considered.
+He thinks it vain to deserve well of his Prince as long as he can do his
+business more easily by begging, for the same idle laziness possesses
+him that does the rest of his fraternity, that had rather take an alms
+than work for their livings, and therefore he accounts merit a more
+uncertain and tedious way of rising, and sometimes dangerous. He values
+himself and his place not upon the honour or allowances of it, but the
+convenient opportunity of begging, as King Clause's courtiers do when
+they have obtained of the superior powers a good station where three
+ways meet to exercise the function in. The more ignorant, foolish, and
+undeserving he is, provided he be but impudent enough, which all such
+seldom fail to be, the better he thrives in his calling, as others in
+the same way gain more by their sores and broken limbs than those that
+are sound and in health. He always undervalues what he gains, because he
+comes easily by it; and, how rich soever he proves, is resolved never to
+be satisfied, as being, like a Friar Minor, bound by his order to be
+always a beggar. He is, like King Agrippa, almost a Christian; for
+though he never begs anything of God, yet he does very much of his
+vicegerent the King, that is next Him. He spends lavishly what he gets,
+because it costs him so little pains to get more, but pays nothing; for
+if he should, his privilege would be of no use at all to him, and he
+does not care to part with anything of his right. He finds it his best
+way to be always craving, because he lights many times upon things that
+are disposed of or not beggable; but if one hit, it pays for twenty that
+miscarry; even as those virtuosos of his profession at large ask as well
+of those that give them nothing as those few that, out of charity, give
+them something. When he has passed almost all offices, as other beggars
+do from constable to constable, and after meets with a stop, it does but
+encourage him to be more industrious in watching the next opportunity,
+to repair the charge he has been at to no purpose. He has his
+emissaries, that are always hunting out for discoveries, and when they
+bring him in anything that he judges too heavy far his own interest to
+carry, he takes in others to join with him (like blind men and cripples
+that beg in consort), and if they prosper they share, and give the
+jackal some small snip for his pains in questing; that is, if he has any
+further use of him; otherwise he leaves him, like virtue, to reward
+himself; and because he deserves well, which he does by no means approve
+of, gives him, that which he believes to be the fittest recompense of
+all merit, just nothing. He believes that the King's restoration being
+upon his birthday, he is bound to observe it all the days of his life,
+and grant, as some other kings have done upon the same occasion,
+whatever is demanded of him, though it were the one-half of his kingdom.
+
+
+
+A BUMPKIN OR COUNTRY SQUIRE
+
+Is a clown of rank and degree. He is the growth of his own land, a kind
+of Autocthonus, like the Athenians that sprang out of their own ground,
+or barnacles that grow upon trees in Scotland. His homely education has
+rendered him a native only of his own soil and a foreigner to all other
+places, from which he differs in language, manner of living, and
+behaviour, which are as rugged as the coat of a colt that has been bred
+upon a common. The custom of being the best man in his own territories
+has made him the worst everywhere else. He assumes the upper end of the
+table at an ale-house as his birthright, receives the homage of his
+company, which are always subordinate, and dispenses ale and
+communication like a self-conforming teacher in a conventicle. The chief
+points he treats on are the memoirs of his dogs and horses, which he
+repeats as often as a holder-forth that has but two sermons, to which if
+he adds the history of his hawks and fishing he is very painful and
+laborious. He does his endeavour to appear a droll, but his wit being,
+like his estate, within the compass of a hedge, is so profound and
+obscure to a stranger that it requires a commentary, and is not to be
+understood without a perfect knowledge of all circumstances of persons
+and the particular idiom of the place. He has no ambition to appear a
+person of civil prudence or understanding more than in putting off a
+lame, infirm jade for sound wind and limb, to which purpose he brings
+his squirehood and groom to vouch, and, rather than fail, will outswear
+an affidavit-man. The top of his entertainment is horrible strong beer,
+which he pours into his guests (as the Dutch did water into our
+merchants when they tortured them at Amboyna) till they confess they can
+drink no more, and then he triumphs over them as subdued and vanquished,
+no less by the strength of his brain than his drink. When he salutes a
+man he lays violent hands upon him, and grips and shakes him like a fit
+of an ague; and when he accosts a lady he stamps with his foot, like a
+French fencer, and makes a lunge at her, in which he always misses his
+aim, too high or too low, and hits her on the nose or chin. He is never
+without some rough-handed flatterer, that rubs him, like a horse, with a
+curry-comb till he kicks and grunts with the pleasure of it. He has old
+family stories and jests, that fell to him with the estate, and have
+been left from heir to heir time out of mind. With these he entertains
+all comers over and over, and has added some of his own times, which he
+intends to transmit over to posterity. He has but one way of making all
+men welcome that come to his house, and that is by making himself and
+them drunk; while his servants take the same course with theirs, which
+he approves of as good and faithful service, and the rather because, if
+he has occasion to tell a strange, improbable story, they may be in a
+readiness to vouch with the more impudence, and make it a case of
+conscience to lie as well as drink for his credit. All the heroical
+glory he aspires to is but to be reputed a most potent and victorious
+stealer of deer and beater-up of parks, to which purpose he has compiled
+commentaries of his own great actions that treat of his dreadful
+adventures in the night, of giving battle in the dark, discomfiting of
+keepers, horsing the deer on his own back, and making off with equal
+resolution and success.
+
+
+
+AN ANTIQUARY
+
+Is one that has his being in this age, but his life and conversation is
+in the days of old. He despises the present age as an innovation and
+slights the future, but has a great value for that which is past and
+gone, like the madman that fell in love with Cleopatra. He is an old
+frippery-philosopher, that has so strange a natural affection to
+worm-eaten speculation that it is apparent he has a worm in his skull.
+He honours his forefathers and foremothers, but condemns his parents as
+too modern and no better than upstarts. He neglects himself because he
+was born in his own time and so far off antiquity, which he so much
+admires, and repines, like a younger brother, because he came so late
+into the world. He spends the one-half of his time in collecting old
+insignificant trifles, and the other in showing them, which he takes
+singular delight in, because the oftener he does it the farther they are
+from being new to him. All his curiosities take place of one another
+according to their seniority, and he values them not by their abilities,
+but their standing. He has a great veneration for words that are
+stricken in years, and are grown so aged that they have outlived their
+employments. These he uses with a respect agreeable to their antiquity
+and the good services they have done. He throws away his time in
+inquiring after that which is past and gone so many ages since, like one
+that shoots away an arrow to find out another that was lost before. He
+fetches things out of dust and ruins, like the fable of the chemical
+plant raised out of its own ashes. He values one old invention, that is
+lost and never to be recovered, before all the new ones in the world,
+though never so useful. The whole business of his life is the same with
+his that shows the tombs at Westminster, only the one does it for his
+pleasure, and the other for money. As every man has but one father, but
+two grandfathers and a world of ancestors, so he has a proportional
+value for things that are ancient, and the farther off the greater.
+
+He is a great time-server, but it is of time out of mind to which he
+conforms exactly, but is wholly retired from the present. His days were
+spent and gone long before he came into the world, and since his only
+business is to collect what he can out of the ruins of them. He has so
+strong a natural affection to anything that is old, that he may truly
+say to dust and worms, "You are my father;" and to rottenness, "Thou art
+my mother." He has no providence nor foresight, for all his
+contemplations look backward upon the days of old; and his brains are
+turned with them, as if he walked backwards. He had rather interpret one
+obscure word in any old senseless discourse than be author of the most
+ingenious new one, and, with Scaliger, would sell the Empire of Germany
+(if it were in his power) for an old song. He devours an old manuscript
+with greater relish than worms and moths do, and, though there be
+nothing in it, values it above anything printed, which he accounts but a
+novelty. When he happens to cure a small botch in an old author, he is
+as proud of it as if he had got the philosopher's stone and could cure
+all the diseases of mankind. He values things wrongfully upon their
+antiquity, forgetting that the most modern are really the most ancient
+of all things in the world, like those that reckon their pounds before
+their shillings and pence of which they are made up. He esteems no
+customs but such as have outlived themselves and are long since out of
+use, as the Catholics allow of no saints but such as are dead, and the
+fanatics, in opposition, of none but the living.
+
+
+
+A PROUD MAN
+
+Is a fool in fermentation, that swells and boils over like a
+porridge-pot. He sets out his feathers like an owl, to swell and seem
+bigger than he is. He is troubled with a tumour and inflammation of
+self-conceit, that renders every part of him stiff and uneasy. He has
+given himself sympathetic love-powder, that works upon him to dotage and
+has transformed him into his own mistress. He is his own gallant, and
+makes most passionate addresses to his own dear perfections. He commits
+idolatry to himself, and worships his own image; though there is no soul
+living of his Church but himself, yet he believes as the Church
+believes, and maintains his faith with the obstinacy of a fanatic. He is
+his own favourite, and advances himself not only above his merit, but
+all mankind; is both Damon and Pythias to his own dear self, and values
+his crony above his soul. He gives place to no man but himself, and that
+with very great distance to all others, whom he esteems not worthy to
+approach him. He believes whatsoever he has receives a value in being
+his, as a horse in a nobleman's stable will bear a greater price than in
+a common market. He is so proud that he is as hard to be acquainted with
+himself as with others, for he is very apt to forget who he is, and
+knows himself only superficially; therefore he treats himself civilly as
+a stranger with ceremony and compliment, but admits of no privacy. He
+strives to look bigger than himself as well as others, and is no better
+than his own parasite and flatterer. A little flood will make a shallow
+torrent swell above its banks, and rage and foam and yield a roaring
+noise, while a deep, silent stream glides quietly on. So a
+vain-glorious, insolent, proud man swells with a little frail
+prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows his bounds, and when he
+sinks, leaves mud and dirt behind him. His carriage is as glorious and
+haughty as if he were advanced upon men's shoulders or tumbled over
+their heads like knipperdolling. He fancies himself a Colosse, and so he
+is, for his head holds no proportion to his body, and his foundation is
+lesser than his upper storeys. We can naturally take no view of
+ourselves unless we look downwards, to teach us how humble admirers we
+ought to be of our own values. The slighter and less solid his materials
+are the more room they take up and make him swell the bigger, as
+feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more close
+and solid parts.
+
+
+
+A SMALL POET
+
+Is one that would fain make himself that which Nature never meant him,
+like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. He sets up
+haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. He
+believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit, and
+whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold
+with as his own. This he puts together so untowardly, that you may
+perceive his own wit has the rickets by the swelling disproportion of
+the joints. Imitation is the whole sum of him, and his vein is but an
+itch that he has catched of others, and his flame like that of charcoals
+that were burnt before. But as he wants judgment to understand what is
+best, he naturally takes the worst, as being most agreeable to his own
+talent. You may know his wit not to be natural, 'tis so unquiet and
+troublesome in him; for as those that have money but seldom are always
+shaking their pockets when they have it, so does he when he thinks he
+has got something that will make him appear. He is a perpetual talker,
+and you may know by the freedom of his discourse that he came lightly by
+it, as thieves spend freely what they get. He measures other men's wit
+by their modesty, and his own by his confidence. He makes nothing of
+writing plays, because he has not wit enough to understand the
+difficulty. This makes him venture to talk and scribble, as chouses do
+to play with cunning gamesters until they are cheated and laughed at. He
+is always talking of wit, as those that have bad voices are always
+singing out of tune, and those that cannot play delight to fumble on
+instruments. He grows the unwiser by other men's harms, for the worse
+others write, he finds the more encouragement to do so too. His
+greediness of praise is so eager that he swallows anything that comes in
+the likeness of it, how notorious and palpable soever, and is as
+shot-free against anything that may lessen his good opinion of himself.
+This renders him incurable, like diseases that grow insensible.
+
+If you dislike him, it is at your own peril; he is sure to put in a
+caveat beforehand against your understanding, and, like a malefactor in
+wit, is always furnished with exceptions against his judges. This puts
+him upon perpetual apologies, excuses, and defences, but still by way of
+defiance, in a kind of whiffling strain, without regard of any man that
+stands in the way of his pageant. Where he thinks he may do it safely,
+he will confidently own other men's writings; and where he fears the
+truth may be discovered, he will, by feeble denials and feigned
+insinuations, give men occasion to suppose it.
+
+If he understands Latin or Greek he ranks himself among the learned,
+despises the ignorant, talks criticisms out of Scaliger, and repeats
+Martial's bawdy epigrams, and sets up his rest wholly upon pedantry. But
+if he be not so well qualified, he cries down all learning as pedantic,
+disclaims study, and professes to write with as great facility as if his
+Muse was sliding down Parnassus. Whatsoever he hears well said he seizes
+upon by poetical license, and one way makes it his own; that is, by
+ill-repeating of it. This he believes to be no more theft than it is to
+take that which others throw away. By this means his writings are, like
+a tailor's cushion of mosaic work, made up of several scraps sewed
+together. He calls a slovenly, nasty description great Nature, and dull
+flatness strange easiness. He writes down all that comes in his head,
+and makes no choice, because he has nothing to do it with that is
+judgment. He is always repealing the old laws of comedy, and, like the
+Long Parliament, making ordinances in their stead, although they are
+perpetually thrown out of coffee-houses and come to nothing. He is like
+an Italian thief, that never robs but he murders, to prevent discovery;
+so sure is he to cry down the man from whom he purloins, that his petty
+larceny of wit may pass unsuspected. He is but a copier at best, and
+will never arrive to practise by the life; for bar him the imitation of
+something he has read, and he has no image in his thoughts. Observation
+and fancy, the matter and form of just wit, are above his philosophy. He
+appears so over-concerned in all men's wits as if they were but
+disparagements of his own, and cries down all they do as if they were
+encroachments upon him. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them,
+as justices do false weights and pots that want measure. When he meets
+with anything that is very good he changes it into small money, like
+three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He disclaims
+study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which
+appears to be very true by his often missing of his mark. His wit is
+much troubled with obstructions, and he has fits as painful as those of
+the spleen. He fancies himself a dainty, spruce shepherd, with a flock
+and a fine silken shepherdess, that follow his pipe as rats did the
+conjurers in Germany.
+
+As for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense.
+Such matches are unlawful, and not fit to be made by a Christian poet,
+and therefore all his care is to choose out such as will serve, like a
+wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse that wants a foot or two; and if
+they will but rhyme now and then into the bargain, or run upon a letter,
+it is a work of supererogation.
+
+For similitudes, he likes the hardest and most obscure best; for as
+ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem fairer than
+they are, so when an illustration is more obscure than the sense that
+went before it, it must of necessity make it appear clearer than it did,
+for contraries are best set off with contraries.
+
+He has found out a way to save the expense of much wit and sense; for he
+will make less than some have prodigally laid out upon five or six words
+serve forty or fifty lines. This is a thrifty invention, and very easy,
+and, if it were commonly known, would much increase the trade of wit and
+maintain a multitude of small poets in constant employment. He has found
+out a new sort of poetical Georgics, a trick of sowing wit like
+clover-grass on barren subjects which would yield nothing before. This
+is very useful for the times, wherein, some men say, there is no room
+left for new invention. He will take three grains of wit like the
+elixir, and projecting it upon the iron age, turn it immediately into
+gold. All the business of mankind has presently vanished; the whole
+world has kept holiday; there have been no men but heroes and poets, no
+women but nymphs and shepherdesses; trees have borne fritters, and
+rivers flowed plum-porridge.
+
+We read that Virgil used to make fifty or sixty verses in a morning, and
+afterwards reduce them to ten. This was an unthrifty vanity, and argues
+him as well ignorant in the husbandry of his own poetry as Seneca says
+he was in that of a farm; for, in plain English, it was no better than
+bringing a noble to nine-pence. And as such courses brought the prodigal
+son to eat with hogs, so they did him to feed with horses, which were
+not much better company, and may teach us to avoid doing the like. For
+certainly it is more noble to take four or five grains of sense, and,
+like a gold-beater, hammer them into so many leaves as will fill a whole
+book, than to write nothing but epitomes, which many wise men believe
+will be the bane and calamity of learning. When he writes he commonly
+steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the end of them,
+as butchers do calves by the tail. For when he has made one line, which
+is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word that will but
+rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon
+an anvil, into what form he pleases.
+
+There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole
+dictionary is scarce able to contain them, for there is hardly a pond, a
+sheep-walk, or a gravel-pit in all Greece but the ancient name of it is
+become a term of art in poetry. By this means small poets have such a
+stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryads, hamadryads, Aonides,
+fauni, nymphae, sylvani, &c., that signify nothing at all, and such a
+world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all
+the new inventions and thorough reformations that can happen between
+this and Plato's great year.
+
+When he writes he never proposes any scope or purpose to himself, but
+gives his genius all freedom; for as he that rides abroad for his
+pleasure can hardly be out of his way, so he that writes for his
+pleasure can seldom be beside his subject. It is an ungrateful thing to
+a noble wit to be confined to anything. To what purpose did the ancients
+feign Pegasus to have wings if he must be confined to the road and
+stages like a pack-horse, or be forced to be obedient to hedges and
+ditches? Therefore he has no respect to decorum and propriety of
+circumstance, for the regard of persons, times, and places is a
+restraint too servile to be imposed upon poetical license, like him that
+made Plato confess Juvenal to be a philosopher, or Persius, that calls
+the Athenians Quirites.
+
+For metaphors, he uses to choose the hardest and most far-set that he
+can light upon. These are the jewels of eloquence, and therefore the
+harder they are the more precious they must be.
+
+He'll take a scant piece of coarse sense and stretch it on the
+tenterhooks of half-a-score rhymes, until it crack that you may see
+through it and it rattle like a drumhead. When you see his verses hanged
+up in tobacco-shops, you may say, in defiance of the proverb, "that the
+weakest does not always go to the wall;" for 'tis well known the lines
+are strong enough, and in that sense may justly take the wall of any
+that have been written in our language. He seldom makes a conscience of
+his rhymes, but will often take the liberty to make "preach" rhyme with
+"cheat," "vote" with "rogue," and "committee-man" with "hang."
+
+He'll make one word of as many joints as the tin-pudding that a juggler
+pulls out of his throat and chops in again. What think you of
+_glud-fum-flam-hasta-minantes?_ Some of the old Latin poets bragged that
+their verses were tougher than brass and harder than marble; what would
+they have done if they had seen these? Verily they would have had more
+reason to wish themselves an hundred throats than they then had to
+pronounce them.
+
+There are some that drive a trade in writing in praise of other writers
+(like rooks, that bet on gamesters' hands), not at all to celebrate the
+learned author's merits, as they would show but their own wits, of which
+he is but the subject. The lechery of this vanity has spawned more
+writers than the civil law. For those whose modesty must not endure to
+hear their own praises spoken may yet publish of themselves the most
+notorious vapours imaginable. For if the privilege of love be
+allowed--_Dicere quiz puduit, scribere jussit amor_--why should it not
+be so in self-love too? For if it be wisdom to conceal our
+imperfections, what is it to discover our virtues? It is not likely that
+Nature gave men great parts upon such terms as the fairies used to give
+money, to pinch and leave them if they speak of it. They say--Praise is
+but the shadow of virtue, and sure that virtue is very foolish that is
+afraid of its own shadow.
+
+When he writes anagrams he uses to lay the outsides of his verses even
+(like a bricklayer) by a line of rhyme and acrostic, and fill the middle
+with rubbish. In this he imitates Ben Jonson, but in nothing else.
+
+There was one that lined a hatcase with a paper of Benlowes' poetry;
+Prynne bought it by chance and put a new demi-castor into it. The first
+time he wore it he felt only a singing in his head, which within two
+days turned to a vertigo. He was let blood in the ear by one of the
+State physicians, and recovered; but before he went abroad he wrote a
+poem of rocks and seas, in a style so proper and natural that it was
+hard to determine which was ruggeder.
+
+There is no feat of activity nor gambol of wit that ever was performed
+by man, from him that vaults on Pegasus to him that tumbles through the
+hoop of an anagram, but Benlowes has got the mastery in it, whether it
+be high-rope wit or low-rope wit. He has all sorts of echoes, rebuses,
+chronograms, &c., besides carwitchets, clenches, and quibbles. As for
+altars and pyramids in poetry, he has outdone all men that way; for he
+has made a gridiron and a frying-pan in verse, that, beside the likeness
+in shape, the very tone and sound of the words did perfectly represent
+the noise that is made by those utensils, such as the old poet called
+_sartago loquendi_. When he was a captain he made all the furniture of
+his horse, from the bit to the crupper, in beaten poetry, every verse
+being fitted to the proportion of the thing, with a moral allusion of
+the sense to the thing; as the bridle of moderation, the saddle of
+content, and the crupper of constancy; so that the same thing was both
+epigram and emblem, even as a mule is both horse and ass.
+
+Some critics are of opinion that poets ought to apply themselves to the
+imitation of Nature, and make a conscience of digressing from her; but
+he is none of these. The ancient magicians could charm down the moon and
+force rivers back to their springs by the power of poetry only, and the
+moderns will undertake to turn the inside of the earth outward (like a
+juggler's pocket) and shake the chaos out of it, make Nature show tricks
+like an ape, and the stars run on errands; but still it is by dint of
+poetry. And if poets can do such noble feats, they were unwise to
+descend to mean and vulgar. For where the rarest and most common things
+are of a price (as they are all one to poets), it argues disease in
+judgment not to choose the most curious. Hence some infer that the
+account they give of things deserves no regard, because they never
+receive anything as they find it into their compositions, unless it
+agree both with the measure of their own fancies and the measure of
+their lines, which can very seldom happen. And therefore, when they give
+a character of any thing or person, it does commonly bear no more
+proportion to the subject than the fishes and ships in a map do to the
+scale. But let such know that poets as well as kings ought rather to
+consider what is fit for them to give than others to receive; that they
+are fain to have regard to the exchange of language, and write high or
+low according as that runs. For in this age, when the smallest poet
+seldom goes below more the most, it were a shame for a greater and more
+noble poet not to outthrow that cut a bar.
+
+There was a tobacco-man that wrapped Spanish tobacco in a paper of
+verses which Benlowes had written against the Pope, which, by a natural
+antipathy that his wit has to anything that's Catholic, spoiled the
+tobacco, for it presently turned mundungus. This author will take an
+English word, and, like the Frenchman that swallowed water and spit it
+out wine, with a little heaving and straining would turn it immediately
+into Latin, as _plunderat ilie domos, mille hocopokiana_, and a
+thousand such.
+
+There was a young practitioner in poetry that found there was no good to
+be done without a mistress; for he that writes of love before he hath
+tried it doth but travel by the map, and he that makes love without a
+dame does like a gamester that plays for nothing. He thought it
+convenient, therefore, first to furnish himself with a name for his
+mistress beforehand, that he might not be to seek when his merit or good
+fortune should bestow her upon him; for every poet is his mistress's
+godfather, and gives her a new name, like a nun that takes orders. He
+was very curious to fit himself with a handsome word of a tunable sound,
+but could light upon none that some poet or other had not made use of
+before. He was therefore forced to fall to coining, and was several
+months before he could light on one that pleased him perfectly. But
+after he had overcome that difficulty he found a greater remaining, to
+get a lady to own him. He accosted some of all sorts, and gave them to
+understand, both in prose and verse, how incomparably happy it was in
+his power to make his mistress, but could never convert any of them. At
+length he was fain to make his laundress supply that place as a proxy
+until his good fortune or somebody of better quality would be more kind
+to him, which after a while he neither hoped nor cared for; for how mean
+soever her condition was before, when he had once pretended to her she
+was sure to be a nymph and a goddess. For what greater honour can a
+woman be capable of than to be translated into precious stones and
+stars? No herald in the world can go higher. Besides, he found no man
+can use that freedom of hyperbole in the character of a person commonly
+known (as great ladies are) which we can in describing one so obscure
+and unknown that nobody can disprove him. For he that writes but one
+sonnet upon any of the public persons shall be sure to have his reader
+at every third word cry out, "What an ass is this to call Spanish paper
+and ceruse lilies and roses, or claps influences; to say the Graces are
+her waiting-women, when they are known to be no better than her bawds;
+that day breaks from her eyes when she looks asquint; or that her breath
+perfumes the Arabian winds when she puffs tobacco!"
+
+It is no mean art to improve a language, and find out words that are not
+only removed from common use, but rich in consonants, the nerves and
+sinews of speech; to raise a soft and feeble language like ours to the
+pitch of High-Dutch, as he did that writ--
+
+  "Arts rattling foreskins shrilling bagpipes quell."
+
+This is not only the most elegant but most politic way of writing that a
+poet can use, for I know no defence like it to preserve a poem from the
+torture of those that lisp and stammer. He that wants teeth may as well
+venture upon a piece of tough horny brawn as such a line, for he will
+look like an ass eating thistles.
+
+He never begins a work without an invocation of his Muse; for it is not
+fit that she should appear in public to show her skill before she is
+entreated, as gentlewomen do not use to sing until they are applied to
+and often desired.
+
+I shall not need to say anything of the excellence of poetry, since it
+has been already performed by many excellent persons, among whom some
+have lately undertaken to prove that the civil government cannot
+possibly subsist without it, which, for my part, I believe to be true in
+a poetical sense, and more probable to be received of it than those
+strange feats of building walls and making trees dance which antiquity
+ascribes to verse. And though philosophers are of a contrary opinion and
+will not allow poets fit to live in a commonwealth, their partiality is
+plainer than their reasons, for they have no other way to pretend to
+this prerogative themselves, as they do, but by removing poets whom they
+know to have a fairer title; and this they do so unjustly that Plato,
+who first banished poets his republic, forgot that that very
+commonwealth was poetical. I shall say nothing to them, but only desire
+the world to consider how happily it is like to be governed by those
+that are at so perpetual a civil war among themselves, that if we should
+submit ourselves to their own resolution of this question, and be
+content to allow them only fit to rule if they could but conclude it so
+themselves, they would never agree upon it. Meanwhile there is no less
+certainty and agreement in poetry than the mathematics, for they all
+submit to the same rules without dispute or controversy. But whosoever
+shall please to look into the records of antiquity shall find their
+title so unquestioned that the greatest princes in the whole world have
+been glad to derive their pedigrees, and their power too, from poets.
+Alexander the Great had no wiser a way to secure that Empire to himself
+by right which he had gotten by force than by declaring himself the son
+of Jupiter; and who was Jupiter but the son of a poet? So Caesar and all
+Rome was transported with joy when a poet made Jupiter his colleague in
+the Empire; and when Jupiter governed, what did the poets that
+governed Jupiter?
+
+
+
+A PHILOSOPHER
+
+Seats himself as spectator and critic on the great theatre of the world,
+and gives sentence on the plots, language, and action of whatsoever he
+sees represented, according to his own fancy. He will pretend to know
+what is done behind the scene, but so seldom is in the right that he
+discovers nothing more than his own mistakes. When his profession was in
+credit in the world, and money was to be gotten by it, it divided itself
+into multitudes of sects, that maintained themselves and their opinions
+by fierce and hot contests with one another; but since the trade decayed
+and would not turn to account, they all fell of themselves, and now the
+world is so unconcerned in their controversies, that three Reformado
+sects joined in one, like Epicuro-Gassendo-Charltoniana, will not serve
+to maintain one pedant. He makes his hypotheses himself, as a tailor
+does a doublet without measure; no matter whether they fit Nature, he
+can make Nature fit them, and, whether they are too straight or wide,
+pinch or stuff out the body accordingly. He judges of the works of
+Nature just as the rabble do of State affairs; they see things done, and
+every man according to his capacity guesses at the reasons of them, but
+knowing nothing of the arcana or secret movements of either, they seldom
+or never are in the right. Howsoever, they please themselves and some
+others with their fancies, and the farther they are off truth, the more
+confident they are they are near it, as those that are out of their way
+believe the farther they have gone they are the nearer their journey's
+end, when they are farthest of all from it. He is confident of
+immaterial substances, and his reasons are very pertinent; that is,
+substantial as he thinks, and immaterial as others do. Heretofore his
+beard was the badge of his profession, and the length of that in all his
+polemics was ever accounted the length of his weapon; but when the trade
+fell, that fell too. In Lucius's time they were commonly called
+beard-wearers, for all the strength of their wits lay in their beards,
+as Samson's did in his locks; but since the world began to see the
+vanity of that hare-brained cheat, they left it off to save
+their credit.
+
+
+
+A MELANCHOLY MAN
+
+Is one that keeps the worst company in the world; that is, his own; and
+though he be always falling out and quarrelling with himself, yet he has
+not power to endure any other conversation. His head is haunted, like a
+house, with evil spirits and apparitions, that terrify and fright him
+out of himself, till he stands empty and forsaken. His sleeps and his
+wakings are so much the same that he knows not how to distinguish them,
+and many times when he dreams he believes he is broad awake and sees
+visions. The fumes and vapours that rise from his spleen and
+hypochondrias have so smutched and sullied his brain (like a room that
+smokes) that his understanding is blear-eyed and has no right perception
+of anything. His soul lives in his body, like a mole in the earth that
+labours in the dark, and casts up doubts and scruples of his own
+imaginations, to make that rugged and uneasy that was plain and open
+before. His brain is so cracked that he fancies himself to be glass, and
+is afraid that everything he comes near should break him in pieces.
+Whatsoever makes an impression in his imagination works itself in like a
+screw, and the more he turns and winds it the deeper it sticks, till it
+is never to be got out again. The temper of his brain, being earthy,
+cold, and dry, is apt to breed worms, that sink so deep into it no
+medicine in art or nature is able to reach them. He leads his life as
+one leads a dog in a slip that will not follow, but is dragged along
+until he is almost hanged, as he has it often under consideration to
+treat himself in convenient time and place, if he can but catch himself
+alone. After a long and mortal feud between his inward and his outward
+man, they at length agree to meet without seconds and decide the
+quarrel, in which the one drops and the other slinks out of the way and
+makes his escape into some foreign world, from whence it is never after
+heard of. He converses with nothing so much as his own imagination,
+which, being apt to misrepresent things to him, makes him believe that
+it is something else than it is, and that he holds intelligence with
+spirits that reveal whatsoever he fancies to him, as the ancient rude
+people that first heard their own voices repeated by echoes in the woods
+concluded it must proceed from some invisible inhabitants of those
+solitary places, which they after believed to be gods, and called them
+sylvans, fauns, and dryads. He makes the infirmity of his temper pass
+for revelations, as Mahomet did by his falling sickness, and inspires
+himself with the wind of his own hypochondrias. He laments, like
+Heraclitus, the maudlin philosopher, at other men's mirth, and takes
+pleasure in nothing but his own unsober sadness. His mind is full of
+thoughts, but they are all empty, like a nest of boxes. He sleeps
+little, but dreams much, and soundest when he is waking. He sees visions
+farther off than a second-sighted man in Scotland, and dreams upon a
+hard point with admirable judgment. He is just so much worse than a
+madman as he is below him in degree of frenzy, for among madmen the most
+mad govern all the rest, and receive a natural obedience from their
+inferiors.
+
+
+
+A TRAVELLER
+
+Is a native of all countries and an alien at home. He flies from the
+place where he was hatched, like a wild goose, and prefers all others
+before it. He has no quarrel to it but because he was born in it, and,
+like a bastard, he is ashamed of his mother, because she is of him. He
+is a merchant that makes voyages into foreign nations to drive a trade
+in wisdom and politics, and it is not for his credit to have it thought
+he has made an ill return, which must be if he should allow of any of
+the growth of his own country. This makes him quack and blow up himself
+with admiration of foreign parts and a generous contempt of home, that
+all men may admire at least the means he has had of improvement and
+deplore their own defects. His observations are like a sieve, that lets
+the finer flour pass and retains only the bran of things, for his whole
+return of wisdom proves to be but affectation, a perishable commodity,
+which he will never be able to put off. He believes all men's wits are
+at a stand that stay at home, and only those advanced that travel, as if
+change of pasture did make great politicians as well as fat calves. He
+pities the little knowledge of truth which those have that have not seen
+the world abroad, forgetting that at the same time he tells us how
+little credit is to be given to his own relations and those of others
+that speak and write of their travels. He has worn his own language to
+rags, and patched it up with scraps and ends of foreign. This serves him
+for wit; for when he meets with any of his foreign acquaintances, all
+they smatter passes for wit, and they applaud one another accordingly.
+He believes this raggedness of his discourse a great demonstration of
+the improvement of his knowledge, as Inns-of-Court men intimate their
+proficiency in the law by the tatters of their gowns. All the wit he
+brought home with him is like foreign coin, of a baser alloy than our
+own, and so will not pass here without great loss. All noble creatures
+that are famous in any one country degenerate by being transplanted, and
+those of mean value only improve. If it hold with men, he falls among
+the number of the latter, and his improvements are little to his credit.
+All he can say for himself is, his mind was sick of a consumption, and
+change of air has cured him; for all his other improvements have only
+been to eat in ... and talk with those he did not understand, to hold
+intelligence with all _Gazettes_, and from the sight of statesmen in the
+street unriddle the intrigues of all their Councils, to make a wondrous
+progress into knowledge by riding with a messenger, and advance in
+politics by mounting of a mule, run through all sorts of learning in a
+waggon, and sound all depths of arts in a felucca, ride post into the
+secrets of all states, and grow acquainted with their close designs in
+inns and hostelries; for certainly there is great virtue in highways and
+hedges to make an able man, and a good prospect cannot but let him see
+far into things.
+
+
+
+A CURIOUS MAN
+
+Values things not by their use or worth, but scarcity. He is very tender
+and scrupulous of his humour, as fanatics are of their consciences, and
+both for the most part in trifles. He cares not how unuseful anything
+be, so it be but unuseful and rare. He collects all the curiosities he
+can light upon in art or nature, not to inform his own judgment, but to
+catch the admiration of others, which he believes he has a right to
+because the rarities are his own. That which other men neglect he
+believes they oversee, and stores up trifles as rare discoveries, at
+least of his own wit and sagacity. He admires subtleties above all
+things, because the more subtle they are the nearer they are to nothing,
+and values no art but that which is spun so thin that it is of no use at
+all. He had rather have an iron chain hung about the neck of a flea than
+an alderman's of gold, and Homer's Iliads in a nutshell than Alexander's
+cabinet. He had rather have the twelve apostles on a cherry-stone than
+those on St. Peter's portico, and would willingly sell Christ again for
+that numerical piece of coin that Judas took for Him. His perpetual
+dotage upon curiosities at length renders him one of them, and he shows
+himself as none of the meanest of his rarities. He so much affects
+singularity that, rather than follow the fashion that is used by the
+rest of the world, he will wear dissenting clothes with odd fantastic
+devices to distinguish himself from others, like marks set upon cattle.
+He cares not what pains he throws away upon the meanest trifle so it be
+but strange, while some pity and others laugh at his ill-employed
+industry. He is one of those that valued Epictetus's lamp above the
+excellent book he wrote by it. If he be a book-man, he spends all his
+time and study upon things that are never to be known. The philosopher's
+stone and universal medicine cannot possibly miss him, though he is sure
+to do them. He is wonderfully taken with abstruse knowledge, and had
+rather handle truth with a pair of tongs wrapped up in mysteries and
+hieroglyphics than touch it with his hands or see it plainly
+demonstrated to his senses.
+
+
+
+A HERALD
+
+Calls himself a king because he has power and authority to hang, draw,
+and quarter arms. For assuming a jurisdiction over the distributive
+justice of titles of honour, as far as words extend, he gives himself as
+great a latitude that way as other magistrates use to do where they have
+authority and would enlarge it as far as they can. 'Tis true he can make
+no lords nor knights of himself, but as many squires and gentlemen as he
+pleases, and adopt them into what family they have a mind. His dominions
+abound with all sorts of cattle, fish, and fowl, and all manner of
+manufactures, besides whole fields of gold and silver, which he
+magnificently bestows upon his followers or sells as cheap as lands in
+Jamaica. The language they use is barbarous, as being but a dialect of
+pedlar's French or the Egyptian, though of a loftier sound, and in the
+propriety affecting brevity, as the other does verbosity. His business
+is like that of all the schools, to make plain things hard with
+perplexed methods and insignificant terms, and then appear learned in
+making them plain again. He professes arms not for use, but ornament
+only, and yet makes the basest things in the world, as dogs' turds and
+women's spindles, weapons of good and worshipful bearings. He is wiser
+than the fellow that sold his ass, but kept the shadow for his own use;
+for he sells only the shadow (that is, the picture) and keeps the ass
+himself. He makes pedigrees as apothecaries do medicines when they put
+in one ingredient for another that they have not by them; by this means
+he often makes incestuous matches, and causes the son to many the
+mother. His chief province is at funerals, where he commands in chief,
+marshals the _tristitiae irritamenta_, and, like a gentleman-sower to
+the worms, serves up the feast with all punctual formality. He will join
+as many shields together as would make a Roman _testudo_ or Macedonian
+phalanx, to fortify the nobility of a new-made lord that will pay for
+the impressing of them and allow him coat and conduct money. He is a
+kind of a necromancer, and can raise the dead out of their graves to
+make them marry and beget those they never heard of in their lifetime.
+His coat is, like the King of Spain's dominions, all skirts, and hangs
+as loose about him; and his neck is the waist, like the picture of
+Nobody with his breeches fastened to his collar. He will sell the head
+or a single joint of a beast or fowl as dear as the whole body, like a
+pig's head in Bartholomew Fair, and after put off the rest to his
+customers at the same rate. His arms, being utterly out of use in war
+since guns came up, have been translated to dishes and cups, as the
+ancients used their precious stones, according to the poet, _Gemmas ad
+pocula transfert a gladiis, &c._; and since are like to decay every day
+more and more, for since he gave citizens coats-of-arms, gentlemen have
+made bold to take their letters of mark by way of reprisal. The hangman
+has a receipt to mar all his work in a moment, for by nailing the wrong
+end of a scutcheon upwards upon a gibbet all the honour and gentility
+extinguishes of itself, like a candle that's held with the flame
+downwards. Other arms are made for the spilling of blood, but his only
+purify and cleanse it like scurvy-grass; for a small dose taken by his
+prescription will refine that which is as base and gross as bull's blood
+(which the Athenians used to poison withal) to any degree of purity.
+
+
+
+A VIRTUOSO
+
+Is a well-willer to the mathematics; he pursues knowledge rather out of
+humour than ingenuity, and endeavours rather to seem than to be. He has
+nothing of nature but an inclination, which he strives to improve with
+industry; but as no art can make a fountain run higher than its own
+head, so nothing can raise him above the elevation of his own pole. He
+seldom converses but with men of his own tendency, and wheresoever he
+comes treats with all men as such; for as country gentlemen use to talk
+of their dogs to those that hate hunting because they love it
+themselves, so will he of his arts and sciences to those that neither
+know nor care to know anything of them. His industry were admirable if
+it did not attempt the greatest difficulties with the feeblest means;
+for he commonly slights anything that is plain and easy, how useful and
+ingenious soever, and bends all his forces against the hardest and most
+improbable, though to no purpose if attained to; for neither knowing how
+to measure his own abilities nor the weight of what he attempts, he
+spends his little strength in vain and grows only weaker by it; and as
+men use to blind horses that draw in a mill, his ignorance of himself
+and his undertakings makes him believe he has advanced when he is no
+nearer to his end than when he set out first. The bravery of
+difficulties does so dazzle his eyes that he prosecutes them with as
+little success as the tailor did his amours to Queen Elizabeth. He
+differs from a pedant as things do from words, for he uses the same
+affectation in his operations and experiments as the other does in
+language. He is a haberdasher of small arts and sciences, and deals in
+as many several operations as a baby artificer does in engines. He will
+serve well enough for an index to tell what is handled in the world, but
+no further. He is wonderfully delighted with rarities, and they continue
+still so to him though he has shown them a thousand times, for every new
+admirer that gapes upon them sets him a-gaping too. Next these he loves
+strange natural histories; and as those that read romances, though they
+know them to be fictions, are as much affected as if they were true, so
+is he, and will make hard shift to tempt himself to believe them first
+to be possible, and then he's sure to believe them to be true,
+forgetting that belief upon belief is false heraldry. He keeps a
+catalogue of the names of all famous men in any profession, whom he
+often takes occasion to mention as his very good friends and old
+acquaintances. Nothing is more pedantic than to seem too much concerned
+about wit or knowledge, to talk much of it, and appear too critical in
+it. All he can possibly arrive to is but like the monkeys dancing on the
+rope, to make men wonder how 'tis possible for art to put nature so much
+out of her play.
+
+His learning is like those letters on a coach, where, many being writ
+together, no one appears plain. When the King happens to be at the
+university and degrees run like wine in conduits at public triumphs, he
+is sure to have his share; and though he be as free to choose his
+learning as his faculty, yet, like St. Austin's soul, _Creando
+infunditur, infundendo creatur_. Nero was the first emperor of his
+calling, though it be not much for his credit. He is like an elephant
+that, though he cannot swim, yet of all creatures most delights to walk
+along a river's side; and as, in law, things that appear not and things
+that are not are all one, so he had rather not be than not appear. The
+top of his ambition is to have his picture graved in brass and published
+upon walls, if he has no work of his own to face with it. His want of
+judgment inclines him naturally to the most extravagant undertakings,
+like that of making old dogs young, telling how many persons there are
+in a room by knocking at a door, stopping up of words in bottles, &c. He
+is like his books, that contain much knowledge, but know nothing
+themselves. He is but an index of things and words, that can direct
+where they are to be spoken with, but no farther. He appears a great man
+among the ignorant, and, like a figure in arithmetic, is so much the
+more as it stands before ciphers that are nothing of themselves. He
+calls himself an antisocordist, a name unknown to former ages, but
+spawned by the pedantry of the present. He delights most in attempting
+things beyond his reach, and the greater distance he shoots at, the
+farther he is sure to be off his mark. He shows his parts as drawers do
+a room at a tavern, to entertain them at the expense of their time and
+patience. He inverts the moral of that fable of him that caressed his
+dog for fawning and leaping up upon him and beat his ass for doing the
+same thing, for it is all one to him whether he be applauded by an ass
+or a wiser creature, so he be but applauded.
+
+
+
+AN INTELLIGENCER
+
+Would give a penny for any statesman's thought at any time. He travels
+abroad to guess what princes are designing by seeing them at church or
+dinner, and will undertake to unriddle a government at first sight, and
+tell what plots she goes with, male or female; and discover, like a
+mountebank, only by seeing the public face of affairs, what private
+marks there are in the most secret parts of the body politic. He is so
+ready at reasons of State, that he has them, like a lesson, by rote; but
+as charlatans make diseases fit their medicines, and not their medicines
+diseases, so he makes all public affairs conform to his own established
+reason of State, and not his reason, though the case alter ever so much,
+comply with them. He thinks to obtain a great insight into State affairs
+by observing only the outside pretences and appearances of things, which
+are seldom or never true, and may be resolved several ways, all equally
+probable; and therefore his penetrations into these matters are like the
+penetrations of cold into natural bodies, without any sense of itself or
+the thing it works upon. For all his discoveries in the end amount only
+to entries and equipages, addresses, audiences, and visits, with other
+such politic speculations as the rabble in the streets is wont to
+entertain itself withal. Nevertheless he is very cautious not to omit
+his cipher, though he writes nothing but what every one does or may
+safely know, for otherwise it would appear to be no secret. He
+endeavours to reduce all his politics into maxims, as being most easily
+portable for a travelling head, though, as they are for the most part of
+slight matters, they are but like spirits drawn out of water, insipid
+and good for nothing. His letters are a kind of bills of exchange, in
+which he draws news and politics upon all his correspondents, who place
+it to account, and draw it back again upon him; and though it be false,
+neither cheats the other, for it passes between both for good and
+sufficient pay. If he drives an inland trade, he is factor to certain
+remote country virtuosos, who, finding themselves unsatisfied with the
+brevity of the _Gazette_, desire to have exceedings of news besides
+their ordinary commons. To furnish those, he frequents clubs and
+coffee-houses, the markets of news, where he engrosses all he can light
+upon; and if that do not prove sufficient, he is forced to add a lie or
+two of his own making, which does him double service; for it does not
+only supply his occasions for the present, but furnishes him with matter
+to fill up gaps in the next letter with retracting what he wrote before,
+and in the meantime has served for as good news as the best; and when
+the novelty is over it is no matter what becomes of it, for he is better
+paid for it than if it were true.
+
+
+
+A QUIBBLER
+
+Is a juggler of words, that shows tricks with them, to make them appear
+what they were not meant for and serve two senses at once, like one that
+plays on two Jew's trumps. He is a fencer of language, that falsifies
+his blow and hits where he did not aim. He has a foolish sleight of wit
+that catches at words only and lets the sense go, like the young thief
+in the farce that took a purse, but gave the owner his money back again.
+He is so well versed in all cases of quibble, that he knows when there
+will be a blot upon a word as soon as it is out. He packs his quibbles
+like a stock of cards; let him but shuffle, and cut where you will, he
+will be sure to have it. He dances on a rope of sand, does the
+somersault, strappado, and half-strappado with words, plays at all
+manner of games with clinches, carwickets, and quibbles, and talks
+under-leg. His wit is left-handed, and therefore what others mean for
+right he apprehends quite contrary. All his conceptions are produced by
+equivocal generation, which makes them justly esteemed but maggots. He
+rings the changes upon words, and is so expert that he can tell at first
+sight how many variations any number of words will bear. He talks with a
+trillo, and gives his words a double relish. He had rather have them
+bear two senses in vain and impertinently than one to the purpose, and
+never speaks without a leer-sense. He talks nothing but equivocation and
+mental reservation, and mightily affects to give a word a double stroke,
+like a tennis-ball against two walls at one blow, to defeat the
+expectation of his antagonist. He commonly slurs every fourth or fifth
+word, and seldom fails to throw doublets. There are two sorts of
+quibbling, the one with words and the other with sense, like the
+rhetorician's _figurae dictionis et figurae sententiae_--the first is
+already cried down, and the other as yet prevails, and is the only
+elegance of our modern poets, which easy judges call easiness; but
+having nothing in it but easiness, and being never used by any lasting
+wit, will in wiser times fall to nothing of itself.
+
+
+
+A TIME-SERVER
+
+Wears his religion, reason, and understanding always in the mode, and
+endeavours as far as he can to be one of the first in the fashion, let
+it change as oft as it can. He makes it his business, like a politic
+epicure, to entertain his opinion, faith, and judgment with nothing but
+what he finds to be most in season, and is as careful to make his
+understanding ready according to the present humour of affairs as the
+gentleman was that used every morning to put on his clothes by the
+weather-glass. He has the same reverend esteem of the modern age as an
+antiquary has for venerable antiquity, and, like a glass, receives
+readily any present object, but takes no notice of that which is past or
+to come. He is always ready to become anything as the times shall please
+to dispose of him, but is really nothing of himself; for he that sails
+before every wind can be bound for no port. He accounts it blasphemy to
+speak against anything in present vogue, how vain or ridiculous soever,
+and arch-heresy to approve of anything, though ever so good and wise,
+that is laid by; and therefore casts his judgment and understanding upon
+occasion, as bucks do their horns, when the season arrives to breed new
+against the next, to be cast again. He is very zealous to show himself,
+upon all occasions, a true member of the Church for the time being, that
+has not the least scruple in his conscience against the doctrine or
+discipline of it, as it stands at present, or shall do hereafter,
+unsight unseen; for he is resolved to be always for the truth, which he
+believes is never so plainly demonstrated as in that character that says
+it is great and prevails, and in that sense only fit to be adhered to by
+a prudent man, who will never be kinder to Truth than she is to him; for
+suffering is a very evil effect, and not like to proceed from a good
+cause. He is a man of a right public spirit, for he resigns himself
+wholly to the will and pleasure of the times, and, like a zealous
+implicit patriot, believes as the State believes, though he neither
+knows nor cares to know what that is.
+
+
+
+A PRATER
+
+Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near
+him as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the
+braying of a mortar, the more impertinent the more voluble and loud, as
+a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar than
+when it stamps downright and hits upon the business. A dog that opens
+upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon
+a right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct that fills as fast as it
+empties, or a trade-wind that blows one way for half-a-year together,
+and another as long, as if it drew in its breath for six months, and
+blew it out again for six more. He has no mercy on any man's ears or
+patience that he can get within his sphere of activity, but tortures
+him, as they correct boys in Scotland, by stretching their lugs without
+remorse. He is like an earwig; when he gets within a man's ear he is not
+easily to be got out again. He will stretch a story as unmercifully as
+he does the ears of those he tells it to, and draw it out in length like
+a breast of mutton at the Hercules pillars, or a piece of cloth set on
+the tenters, till it is quite spoiled and good for nothing. If he be an
+orator that speaks _distincté et ornaté_, though not _apté_, he delivers
+his circumstances with the same mature deliberation that one that drinks
+with a gusto swallows his wine, as if he were loth to part with it
+sooner than he must of necessity; or a gamester that pulls the cards
+that are dealt him one by one, to enjoy the pleasure more distinctly of
+seeing what game he has in his hand. He takes so much pleasure to hear
+himself speak, that he does not perceive with what uneasiness other men
+endure him, though they express it ever so plainly; for he is so
+diverted with his own entertainment of himself, that he is not at
+leisure to take notice of any else. He is a siren to himself, and has no
+way to escape shipwreck but by having his mouth stopped instead of his
+ears. He plays with his tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is
+transported with the delight he gives himself of his own making. He
+understands no happiness like that of having an opportunity to show his
+abilities in public, and will venture to break his neck to show the
+activity of his eloquence; for the tongue is not only the worst part of
+a bad servant, but of an ill master that does not know how to govern it;
+for then it is like Guzman's wife, very headstrong and not sure of foot.
+
+
+
+A DISPUTANT
+
+Is a holder of arguments, and wagers too, when he cannot make them good.
+He takes naturally to controversy, like fishes in India that are said to
+have worms in their heads and swim always against the stream. The
+greatest mastery of his art consists in turning and winding the state of
+the question, by which means he can easily defeat whatsoever has been
+said by his adversary, though excellently to the purpose, like a bowler
+that knocks away the jack when he sees another man's bowl lie nearer to
+it than his own. Another of his faculties is with a multitude of words
+to render what he says so difficult to be recollected that his adversary
+may not easily know what he means, and consequently not understand what
+to answer, to which he secretly reserves an advantage to reply by
+interpreting what he said before otherwise than he at first intended it,
+according as he finds it serve his purpose to evade whatsoever shall be
+objected. Next to this, to pretend not to understand, or misinterpret
+what his antagonist says, though plain enough, only to divert him from
+the purpose, and to take occasion from his exposition of what he said to
+start new cavils on the bye and run quite away from the question; but
+when he finds himself pressed home and beaten from all his guards, to
+amuse the foe with some senseless distinction, like a falsified blow
+that never hits where 'tis aimed, but while it is minded makes way for
+some other trick that may pass. But that which renders him invincible is
+abundance of confidence and words, which are his offensive and defensive
+arms; for a brazen face is a natural helmet or beaver, and he that has
+store of words needs not surrender for want of ammunition. No matter for
+reason and sense, that go for no more in disputations than the justice
+of a cause does in war, which is understood but by few and commonly
+regarded by none. For the custom of disputants is not so much to destroy
+one another's reason as to cavil at the manner of expressing it, right
+or wrong; for they believe _Dolus an virtus_, &c., ought to be allowed
+in controversy as war, and he that gets the victory on any terms
+whatsoever deserves it and gets it honourably. He and his opponent are
+like two false lute-strings that will never stand in tune to one
+another, or like two tennis-players whose greatest skill consists in
+avoiding one another's strokes.
+
+
+
+A PROJECTOR
+
+Is by interpretation a man of forecast. He is an artist of plots,
+designs, and expedients to find out money, as others hide it, where
+nobody would look for it. He is a great rectifier of the abuses of all
+trades and mysteries, yet has but one remedy for all diseases; that is,
+by getting a patent to share with them, by virtue of which they become
+authorised, and consequently cease to be cheats. He is a great promoter
+of the public good, and makes it his care and study to contrive
+expedients that the nation may not be ill served with false rags,
+arbitrary puppet-plays, and insufficient monsters, of all which he
+endeavours to get the superintendency. He will undertake to render
+treasonable pedlars, that carry intelligence between rebels and
+fanatics, true subjects and well-affected to the Government for
+half-a-crown a quarter, which he takes for giving them license to do so
+securely and uncontrolled. He gets as much by those projects that
+miscarry as by those that hold (as lawyers are paid as well for undoing
+as preserving of men); for when he has drawn in adventurers to purchase
+shares of the profit, the sooner it is stopped the better it proves for
+him; for, his own business being done, he is the sooner rid of theirs.
+He is very expert at gauging the understandings of those he deals with,
+and has his engines always ready with mere air to blow all their money
+out of their pockets into his own, as vintners do wine out of one vessel
+into another. He is very amorous of his country, and prefers the public
+good before his own advantage, until he has joined them both together in
+some monopoly, and then he thinks he has done his part, and may be
+allowed to look after his own affairs in the second place. The chiefest
+and most useful part of his talent consists in quacking and lying, which
+he calls answering of objections and convincing the ignorant. Without
+this he can do nothing; for as it is the common practice of most
+knaveries, so it is the surest and best fitted to the vulgar capacities
+of the world; and though it render him more ridiculous to some few, it
+always prevails upon the greater part.
+
+
+
+A COMPLEMENTER
+
+Is one that endeavours to make himself appear a very fine man in
+persuading another that he is so, and by offering those civilities which
+he does not intend to part with, believes he adds to his own reputation
+and obliges another for nothing. He is very free in making presents of
+his services, because he is certain he cannot possibly receive in return
+less than they are worth. He differs very much from all other critics in
+punctilios of honour; for he esteems himself very uncivilly dealt with
+if his vows and protestations pass for anything but mere lies and
+vanities. When he gives his word, he believes it is no longer his, and
+therefore holds it very unreasonable to give it and keep it too. He
+divides his services among so many that there comes but little or
+nothing to any one man's share, and therefore they are very willing to
+let him take it back again. He makes over himself in truth to every man,
+but still it is to his own uses to secure his title against all other
+claims and cheat his creditors. He is very generous of his promises, but
+still it is without lawful consideration, and so they go for nothing. He
+extols a man to his face, like those that write in praise of an author
+to show his own wit, not his whom they undertake to commend. He has
+certain set forms and routines of speech, which he can say over while he
+thinks on anything else, as a Catholic does his prayers, and therefore
+never means what he says. His words flow easily from him, but so shallow
+that they will bear no weight at all. All his offers of endearment are
+but like terms of course, that carry their own answers along with them,
+and therefore pass for nothing between those that understand them, and
+deceive those only that believe in them. He professes most kindness
+commonly to those he least cares for, like an host that bids a man
+welcome when he is going away. He had rather be every man's menial
+servant than any one man's friend; for servants gain by their masters,
+and men often lose by their friends.
+
+
+
+A CHEAT
+
+Is a freeman of all trades, and all trades of his. Fraud and treachery
+are his calling, though his profession be the strictest integrity and
+truth. He spins nets, like a spider, out of his own entrails, to entrap
+the simple and unwary that light in his way, whom he devours and feeds
+upon. All the greater sort of cheats, being allowed by authority, have
+lost their names (as judges, when they are called to the Bench, are no
+more styled lawyers) and left the title to the meaner only and the
+unallowed. The common ignorance of mankind is his province, which he
+orders to the best advantage. He is but a tame highwayman, that does the
+same things by stratagem and design which the other does by force, makes
+men deliver their understandings first, and after their purses. Oaths
+and lies are his tools that he works with, and he gets his living by the
+drudgery of his conscience. He endeavours to cheat the devil by
+mortgaging his soul so many times over and over to him, forgetting that
+he has damnations, as priests have absolutions of all prices. He is a
+kind of a just judgment, sent into this world to punish the confidence
+and curiosity of ignorance, that out of a natural inclination to error
+will tempt its own punishment and help to abuse itself. He can put on as
+many shapes as the devil that set him on work, is one that fishes in
+muddy understandings, and will tickle a trout in his own element till he
+has him in his clutches, and after in his dish or the market. He runs
+down none but those which he is certain are _fera natura_, mere natural
+animals, that belong to him that can catch them. He can do no feats
+without the co-operating assistance of the chouse, whose credulity
+commonly meets the impostor half-way, otherwise nothing is done; for all
+the craft is not in the catching (as the proverb says), but the better
+half at least in being catched. He is one that, like a bond without
+fraud, covin, and further delay, is void and of none effect, otherwise
+does stand and remain in full power, force, and virtue. He trusts the
+credulous with what hopes they please at a very easy rate, upon their
+own security, until he has drawn them far enough in, and then makes them
+pay for all at once. The first thing he gets from him is a good opinion,
+and afterwards anything he pleases; for after he has drawn from his
+guards he deals with him like a surgeon, and ties his arm before he lets
+him blood.
+
+
+
+A TEDIOUS MAN
+
+Talks to no end, as well as to no purpose; for he would never come at it
+willingly. His discourse is like the road-miles in the north, the
+filthier and dirtier the longer; and he delights to dwell the longer
+upon them to make good the old proverb that says they are good for the
+dweller, but ill for the traveller. He sets a tale upon the rack, and
+stretches until it becomes lame and out of joint. Hippocrates says art
+is long; but he is so for want of art. He has a vein of dulness, that
+runs through all he says or does; for nothing can be tedious that is not
+dull and insipid. Digressions and repetitions, like bag and baggage,
+retard his march and put him to perpetual halts. He makes his approaches
+to a business by oblique lines, as if he meant to besiege it, and
+fetches a wide compass about to keep others from discovering what his
+design is. He is like one that travels in a dirty deep road, that moves
+slowly; and, when he is at a stop, goes back again, and loses more time
+in picking of his way than in going it. How troublesome and uneasy
+soever he is to others, he pleases himself so well that he does not at
+all perceive it; for though home be homely, it is more delightful than
+finer things abroad; and he that is used to a thing and knows no better
+believes that other men, to whom it appears otherwise, have the same
+sense of it that he has; as melancholy persons that fancy themselves to
+be glass believe that all others think them so too; and therefore that
+which is tedious to others is not so to him, otherwise he would avoid
+it; for it does not so often proceed from a natural defect as
+affectation and desire to give others that pleasure which they find
+themselves, though it always falls out quite contrary. He that converses
+with him is like one that travels with a companion that rides a lame
+jade; he must either endure to go his pace or stay for him; for though
+he understands long before what he would be at better than he does
+himself, he must have patience and stay for him, until, with much ado to
+little purpose, he at length comes to him; for he believes himself
+injured if he should bate a jot of his own diversion.
+
+
+
+A PRETENDER
+
+Is easily acquainted with all knowledges, but never intimate with any;
+he remembers he has seen them somewhere before, but cannot possibly call
+to mind where. He will call an art by its name, and claim acquaintance
+with it at first sight. He knew it perfectly, as the Platonics say, in
+the other world, but has had the unhappiness to discontinue his
+acquaintance ever since his occasions called him into this. He claps on
+all the sail he can possibly make, though his vessel be empty and apt to
+overset. He is of a true philosophical temper, contented with a little,
+desires no more knowledge than will satisfy nature, and cares not what
+his wants are so he can but keep them from the eyes of the world. His
+parts are unlimited; for as no man knows his abilities, so he does his
+endeavour that as few should his defects. He wears himself in opposition
+to the mode, for his lining is much coarser than his outside; and as
+others line their serge with silk, he lines his silk with serge. All his
+care is employed to appear not to be; for things that are not and things
+that appear not are not only the same in law, but in all other affairs
+of the world. It should seem that the most impudent face is the best;
+for he that does the shamefulest thing most unconcerned is said to set a
+good face upon it; for the truth is, the face is but the outside of the
+mind, but all the craft is to know how 'tis lined. Howsoever, he fancies
+himself as able as any man, but not being in a capacity to try the
+experiment, the hint-keeper of Gresham College is the only competent
+judge to decide the controversy. He may, for anything he knows, have as
+good a title to his pretences as another man; for judgment being not
+past in the case (which shall never be by his means), his title still
+stands fair. All he can possibly attain to is but to be another thing
+than nature meant him, though a much worse. He makes that good that
+Pliny says of children, _Qui celerius fari cepere, tardius ingredi
+incipiunt_. The apter he is to smatter, the slower he is in making any
+advance in his pretences. He trusts words before he is thoroughly
+acquainted with them, and they commonly show him a trick before he is
+aware; and he shows at the same time his ignorance to the learned and
+his learning to the ignorant.
+
+
+
+A NEWSMONGER
+
+Is a retailer of rumour that takes up upon trust and sells as cheap as
+he buys. He deals in a perishable commodity that will not keep; for if
+it be not fresh it lies upon his hands and will yield nothing. True or
+false is all one to him; for novelty being the grace of both, a truth
+grows stale as soon as a lie; and as a slight suit will last as well as
+a better while the fashion holds, a lie serves as well as truth till new
+ones come up. He is little concerned whether it be good or bad, for that
+does not make it more or less news; and, if there be any difference, he
+loves the bad best, because it is said to come soonest; for he would
+willingly bear his share in any public calamity to have the pleasure of
+hearing and telling it. He is deeply read in diurnals, and can give as
+good an account of Rowland Pepin, if need be, as another man. He tells
+news, as men do money, with his fingers; for he assures them it comes
+from very good hands. The whole business of his life is, like that of a
+spaniel, to fetch and carry news, and when he does it well he is clapped
+on the back and fed for it; for he does not take to it altogether, like
+a gentleman, for his pleasure, but when he lights on a considerable
+parcel of news, he knows where to put it off for a dinner, and quarter
+himself upon it until he has eaten it out; and by this means he drives a
+trade, by retrieving the first news to truck it for the first meat in
+season, and, like the old Roman luxury, ransacks all seas and lands to
+please his palate; for he imports his narratives from all parts within
+the geography of a diurnal, and eats as well upon the Russ and Polander
+as the English and Dutch. By this means his belly is provided for, and
+nothing lies upon his hands but his back, which takes other courses to
+maintain itself by weft and stray silver spoons, straggling hoods and
+scarfs, pimping, and sets at _L'Ombre_.
+
+
+
+A MODERN CRITIC
+
+Is a corrector of the press gratis; and as he does it for nothing, so it
+is to no purpose. He fancies himself clerk of Stationers' Hall, and
+nothing must pass current that is not entered by him. He is very severe
+in his supposed office, and cries, "Woe to ye scribes!" right or wrong.
+He supposes all writers to be malefactors without clergy that claim the
+privilege of their books, and will not allow it where the law of the
+land and common justice does. He censures in gross, and condemns all
+without examining particulars. If they will not confess and accuse
+themselves, he will rack them until they do. He is a committee-man in
+the commonwealth of letters, and as great a tyrant, so is not bound to
+proceed but by his own rules, which he will not endure to be disputed.
+He has been an apocryphal scribbler himself; but his writings wanting
+authority, he grew discontent and turned apostate, and thence becomes so
+severe to those of his own profession. He never commends anything but in
+opposition to something else that he would undervalue, and commonly
+sides with the weakest, which is generous anywhere but in judging. He is
+worse than an _index expurgatorius_; for he blots out all, and when he
+cannot find a fault, makes one. He demurs to all writers, and when he is
+overruled, will run into contempt. He is always bringing writs of error,
+like a pettifogger, and reversing of judgments, though the case be never
+so plain. He is a mountebank that is always quacking of the infirm and
+diseased parts of books, to show his skill, but has nothing at all to do
+with the sound. He is a very ungentle reader, for he reads sentence on
+all authors that have the unhappiness to come before him; and therefore
+pedants, that stand in fear of him, always appeal from him beforehand,
+by the name of Momus and Zoilus, complain sorely of his extra-judicial
+proceedings, and protest against him as corrupt, and his judgment void
+and of none effect, and put themselves in the protection of some
+powerful patron, who, like a knight-errant, is to encounter with the
+magician and free them from his enchantments.
+
+
+
+A BUSY MAN
+
+Is one that seems to labour in every man's calling but his own, and,
+like Robin Goodfellow, does any man's drudgery that will let him. He is
+like an ape, that loves to do whatsoever he sees others do, and is
+always as busy as a child at play. He is a great undertaker, and
+commonly as great an underperformer. His face is like a lawyer's buckram
+rag, that has always business in it, and as he trots about his head
+travels as fast as his feet. He covets his neighbour's business, and his
+own is to meddle, not do. He is very lavish of his advice, and gives it
+freely, because it is worth nothing, and he knows not what to do with it
+himself. He is a common-barreter for his pleasure, that takes no money,
+but pettifogs gratis. He is very inquisitive after every man's
+occasions, and charges himself with them like a public notary. He is a
+great overseer of State affairs, and can judge as well of them before he
+understands the reasons as afterwards. He is excellent at preventing
+inconveniences and finding out remedies when 'tis too late; for, like
+prophecies, they are never heard of till it is to no purpose. He is a
+great reformer, always contriving of expedients, and will press them
+with as much earnestness as if himself and every man he meets had power
+to impose them on the nation. He is always giving aim to State affairs,
+and believes by screwing of his body he can make them shoot which way he
+pleases. He inquires into every man's history, and makes his own
+commentaries upon it as he pleases to fancy it. He wonderfully affects
+to seem full of employments, and borrows men's business only to put on
+and appear in, and then returns it back again, only a little worse. He
+frequents all public places, and, like a pillar in the old Exchange, is
+hung with all men's business, both public and private, and his own is
+only to expose them. He dreads nothing so much as to be thought at
+leisure, though he is never otherwise; for though he be always doing, he
+never does anything.
+
+
+
+A PEDANT
+
+Is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode and fashion of the
+school where he should have been taught. He wears his little learning,
+unmade-up, puts it on before it was half finished, without pressing or
+smoothing. He studies and uses words with the greatest respect possible,
+merely for their own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of
+interest, as they are useful and serviceable to things, and among those
+he is kindest to strangers (like a civil gentleman) that are far from
+their own country and most unknown. He collects old sayings and ends of
+verses, as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to produce them upon
+all occasions. He has sentences ready lying by him for all purposes,
+though to no one, and talks of authors as familiarly as his
+fellow-collegiates. He will challenge acquaintance with those he never
+saw before, and pretend to intimate knowledge of those he has only heard
+of. He is well stored with terms of art, but does not know how to use
+them, like a country-fellow that carries his gloves in his hands, not
+his hands in his gloves. He handles arts and sciences like those that
+can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether it be in
+tune or not. He converses by the book, and does not talk, but quote. If
+he can but screw in something that an ancient writer said, he believes
+it to be much better than if he had something of himself to the purpose.
+His brain is not able to concoct what it takes in, and therefore brings
+things up as they were swallowed, that is, crude and undigested, in
+whole sentences, not assimilated sense, which he rather affects; for his
+want of judgment, like want of health, renders his appetite
+preposterous. He pumps for affected and far-set expressions, and they
+always prove as far from the purpose. He admires canting above sense. He
+is worse than one that is utterly ignorant, as a cock that sees a little
+fights worse than one that is stark blind. He speaks in a different
+dialect from other men, and much affects forced expressions, forgetting
+that hard words, as well as evil ones, corrupt good manners. He can do
+nothing, like a conjurer, out of the circle of his arts, nor in it
+without canting and ... If he professes physic, he gives his patients
+sound, hard words for their money, as cheap as he can afford; for they
+cost him money, and study too, before he came by them, and he has reason
+to make as much of them as he can.
+
+
+
+A HUNTER
+
+Is an auxiliary hound that assists one nation of beasts to subdue and
+overrun another. He makes mortal war with the fox for committing acts of
+hostility against his poultry. He is very solicitous to have his dogs
+well descended of worshipful families, and understands their pedigree as
+learnedly as if he were a herald, and is as careful to match them
+according to their rank and qualities as High-Germans are of their own
+progenies. He is both cook and physician to his hounds, understands the
+constitutions of their bodies, and what to administer in any infirmity
+or disease, acute or chronic, that can befall them. Nor is he less
+skilful in physiognomy, and from the aspects of their faces, shape of
+their snouts, falling of their ears and lips, and make of their barrels
+will give a shrewd guess at their inclinations, parts, and abilities,
+and what parents they are lineally descended from; and by the tones of
+their voices and statures of their persons easily discover what country
+they are natives of. He believes no music in the world is comparable to
+a chorus of their voices, and that when they are well matched they will
+hunt their parts as true at first scent as the best singers of catches
+that ever opened in a tavern; that they understand the scale as well as
+the best scholar that ever learned to compose by the mathematics; and
+that when he winds his horn to them 'tis the very same thing with a
+cornet in a quire; that they will run down the hare with a fugue, and a
+double do-sol-re-dog hunt a thorough-base to them all the while; that
+when they are at a loss they do but rest, and then they know by turns
+who are to continue a dialogue between two or three of them, of which he
+is commonly one himself. He takes very great pains in his way, but calls
+it game and sport because it is to no purpose; and he is willing to make
+as much of it as he can, and not be thought to bestow so much labour and
+pains about nothing. Let the hare take which way she will, she seldom
+fails to lead him at long-running to the alehouse, where he meets with
+an after-game of delight in making up a narrative how every dog behaved
+himself, which is never done without long dispute, every man inclining
+to favour his friend as far as he can; and if there be anything
+remarkable to his thinking in it, he preserves it to please himself and,
+as he believes, all people else with, during his natural life, and after
+leaves it to his heirs male entailed upon the family, with his
+bugle-horn and seal-ring.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED MAN
+
+Carries himself like his dish (as the proverb says), very uprightly,
+without spilling one drop of his humour. He is an orator and
+rhetorician, that delights in flowers and ornaments of his own devising
+to please himself and others that laugh at him. He is of a leaden, dull
+temper, that stands stiff, as it is bent, to all crooked lines, but
+never to the right. When he thinks to appear most graceful, he adorns
+himself most ill-favouredly, like an Indian that wears jewels in his
+lips and nostrils. His words and gestures are all as stiff as buckram,
+and he talks as if his lips were turned up as well as his beard. All his
+motions are regular, as if he went by clockwork, and he goes very true
+to the nick as he is set. He has certain favourite words and
+expressions, which he makes very much of, as he has reason to do, for
+they serve him upon all occasions and are never out of the way when he
+has use of them, as they have leisure enough to do, for nobody else has
+any occasion for them but himself. All his affectations are forced and
+stolen from others; and though they become some particular persons where
+they grow naturally, as a flower does on its stalk, he thinks they will
+do so by him when they are pulled and dead. He puts words and language
+out of its ordinary pace and breaks it to his own fancy, which makes it
+go so uneasy in a shuffle, which it has not been used to. He delivers
+himself in a forced way, like one that sings with a feigned voice beyond
+his natural compass. He loves the sound of words better than the sense,
+and will rather venture to incur nonsense than leave out a word that he
+has a kindness for. If he be a statesman, the slighter and meaner his
+employments are the bigger he looks, as an ounce of tin swells and looks
+bigger than an ounce of gold; and his affectations of gravity are the
+most desperate of all, as the aphorism says--Madness of study and
+consideration are harder to be cured than those of lighter and more
+fantastic humour.
+
+
+
+A MEDICINE-TAKER
+
+Has a sickly mind and believes the infirmity is in his body, like one
+that draws the wrong tooth and fancies his pain in the wrong place. The
+less he understands the reason of physic the stronger faith he has in
+it, as it commonly fares in all other affairs of the world. His disease
+is only in his judgment, which makes him believe a doctor can fetch it
+out of his stomach or his belly, and fright those worms out of his guts
+that are bred in his brain. He believes a doctor is a kind of conjurer
+that can do strange things, and he is as willing to have him think so;
+for by that means he does not only get his money, but finds himself in
+some possibility by complying with that fancy to do him good for it,
+which he could never expect to do any other way; for, like those that
+have been cured by drinking their own water, his own imagination is a
+better medicine than any the doctor knows how to prescribe, even as the
+weapon-salve cures a wound by being applied to that which made it. He is
+no sooner well but any story or lie of a new famous doctor or strange
+cure puts him into a relapse, and he falls sick of a medicine instead of
+a disease, and catches physic like him that fell into a looseness at the
+sight of a purge. He never knows when he is well or sick, but is always
+tampering with his health till he has spoiled it, like a foolish
+musician that breaks his strings with striving to put them in tune; for
+Nature, which is physic, understands better how to do her own work than
+those that take it from her at second hand. Hippocrates says, _Ars
+longa, vita brevis_, and it is the truest of all his aphorisms--
+
+   "For he that's given much to the long art
+   Does not prolong his life, but cut it short."
+
+
+
+THE MISER
+
+Is like the sea, that is said to be richer than the land, but is not
+able to make any use of it at all, and only keeps it from those that
+know how to enjoy it if they had it. The devil understood his business
+very well when he made choice of Judas's avarice to betray Christ, for
+no other vice would have undertaken it; and it is to be feared that his
+Vicars now on earth, by the tenderness they have to the bag, do not use
+Him much better than His steward did then. He gathers wealth to no
+purpose but to satisfy his avarice, that has no end, and afflicts
+himself to possess that which he is, of all men, the most incapable of
+ever obtaining. His treasure is in his hands in the same condition as if
+it were buried uncier ground and watched by an evil spirit. His desires
+are like the bottomless pit which he is destined to, for the one is as
+soon filled as the other. He shuts up his money in close custody, and
+that which has power to open all locks is not able to set itself at
+liberty. If he ever lets it out it is upon good bail and mainprize, to
+render itself prisoner again whensoever it shall be summoned. He loves
+wealth as an eunuch does women, whom he has no possibility of enjoying,
+or one that is bewitched with an impotency or taken with the falling
+sickness. His greedy appetite to riches is but a kind of dog-hunger,
+that never digests what it devours, but still the greedier and more
+eager it crams itself becomes more meagre. He finds that ink and
+parchment preserves money better than an iron chest and parsimony, like
+the memories of men that lie dead and buried when they are committed to
+brass and marble, but revive and flourish when they are trusted to
+authentic writings and increase by being used. If he had lived among the
+Jews in the wilderness he would have been one of their chief reformers,
+and have worshipped anything that is cast in gold, though a sillier
+creature than a calf. St. John in the Revelations describes the New
+Jerusalem to be built all of gold and silver and precious stones, for
+the saints commonly take so much delight in those creatures that nothing
+else could prevail with them ever to come thither; and as those times
+are called the Golden Age in which there was no gold at all in use, so
+men are reputed godly and rich that make no use at all of their religion
+or wealth. All that he has gotten together with perpetual pains and
+industry is not wealth, but a collection, which he intends to keep by
+him more for his own diversion than any other use, and he that made
+ducks and drakes with his money enjoyed it every way as much. He makes
+no conscience of anything but parting with his money, which is no better
+than a separation of soul and body to him, and he believes it to be as
+bad as self-murder if he should do it wilfully; for the price of the
+weapon with which a man is killed is always esteemed a very considerable
+circumstance, and next to not having the fear of God before his eyes. He
+loves the bowels of the earth broiled on the coals above any other
+cookery in the world. He is a slave condemned to the mines. He laughs at
+the golden mean as ridiculous, and believes there is no such thing in
+the world; for how can there be a mean of that of which no man ever had
+enough? He loves the world so well that he would willingly lose himself
+to save anything by it. His riches are like a dunghill, that renders the
+ground unprofitable that it lies upon, and is good for nothing until it
+be spread and scattered abroad.
+
+
+
+A SWEARER
+
+Is one that sells the devil the best pennyworth that he meets with
+anywhere, and, like the Indians that part with gold for glass beads, he
+damns his soul for the slightest trifles imaginable. He betroths himself
+oftener to the devil in one day than Mecaenas did in a week to his wife,
+that he was married a thousand times to. His discourse is inlaid with
+oaths as the gallows is with nails, to fortify it against the assaults
+of those whose friends have made it their deathbed. He takes a
+preposterous course to be believed and persuade you to credit what he
+says, by saying that which at the best he does not mean; for all the
+excuse he has for his voluntary damning of himself is, that he means
+nothing by it. He is as much mistaken in what he does intend really, for
+that which he takes for the ornament of his language renders it the most
+odious and abominable. His custom of swearing takes away the sense of
+his saying. His oaths are but a dissolute formality of speech and the
+worst kind of affectation. He is a Knight-Baronet of the Post, or
+gentleman blasphemer, that swears for his pleasure only; a lay-affidavit
+man, _in voto_ only and not in orders. He learned to swear, as magpies
+do to speak, by hearing others. He talks nothing but bell, book, and
+candle, and delivers himself over to Satan oftener than a Presbyterian
+classis would do. He plays with the devil for sport only, and stakes his
+soul to nothing. He overcharges his oaths till they break and hurt
+himself only. He discharges them as fast as a gun that will shoot nine
+times with one loading. He is the devil's votary, and fails not to
+commend himself into his tuition upon all occasions. He outswears an
+exorcist, and outlies the legend. His oaths are of a wider bore and
+louder report than those of an ordinary perjurer, but yet they do not
+half the execution. Sometimes he resolves to leave it, but not too
+suddenly, lest it should prove unwholesome and injurious to his health,
+but by degrees as he took it up. Swearing should appear to be the
+greatest of sins, for though the Scripture says, "God sees no sin in His
+children," it does not say He hears none.
+
+
+
+THE LUXURIOUS
+
+Places all enjoyment in spending, as a covetous man does in getting, and
+both are treated at a witch's feast, where nothing feeds but only the
+imagination, and like two madmen, that believe themselves to be the same
+prince, laugh at one another. He values his pleasures as they do honour,
+by the difficulty and dearness of the purchase, not the worth of the
+thing; and the more he pays the better he believes he ought to be
+pleased, as women are fondest of those children which they have groaned
+most for. His tongue is like a great practiser's in law, for as the one
+will not stir, so the other will not taste without a great fee. He never
+reckons what a thing costs by what it is worth, but what it is worth by
+what it costs. All his senses are like corrupt judges, that will
+understand nothing until they are thoroughly informed and satisfied with
+a convincing bribe. He relishes no meat but by the rate, and a high
+price is like sauce to it, that gives it a high taste and renders it
+savoury to his palate. He believes there is nothing dear, nor ought to
+be so, that does not cost much, and that the dearest bought is always
+the cheapest. He tastes all wines by the smallness of the bottles and
+the greatness of the price, and when he is over-reckoned takes it as an
+extraordinary value set upon him, as Dutchmen always reckon by the
+dignity of the person, not the charge of the entertainment he receives,
+put his quality and titles into the bill of fare, and make him pay for
+feeding upon his own honour and right-worship, which he brought along
+with him. He debauches his gluttony with an unnatural appetite to things
+never intended for food, like preposterous venery or the unnatural
+mixtures of beasts of several kinds. He is as curious of his pleasures
+as an antiquary of his rarities, and cares for none but such as are very
+choice and difficult to be gotten, disdains anything that is common,
+unless it be his women, which he esteems a common good, and therefore
+the more communicative the better. All his vices are, like children that
+have been nicely bred, a great charge to him, and it costs him dear to
+maintain them like themselves, according to their birth and breeding;
+but he, like a tender parent, had rather suffer want himself than they
+should, for he considers a man's vices are his own flesh and blood, and
+though they are but by-blows, he is bound to provide for them, out of
+natural affection, as well as if they were lawfully begotten.
+
+
+
+AN UNGRATEFUL MAN
+
+Is like dust in the highway, that flies in the face of those that raise
+it. He that is ungrateful is all things that are amiss. He is like the
+devil, that seeks the destruction of those most of all that do him the
+best service, or an unhealthful sinner that receives pleasure and
+returns nothing but diseases. He receives obligations from all that he
+can, but they presently become void and of none effect, for good offices
+fare with him like death, from which there is no return. His ill-nature
+is like an ill stomach, that turns its nourishment into bad humours. He
+should be a man of very great civilities, for he receives all that he
+can, but never parts with any. He is like a barren soil; plant what you
+will on him, it will never grow, nor anything but thorns and thistles,
+that came in with the curse. His mother died in child-bed of him, for he
+is descended of the generation of vipers in which the dam always eats
+off the sire's head, and the young ones their way through her belly. He
+is like a horse in a pasture, that eats up the grass and dungs it in
+requital. He puts the benefits he receives from others and his own
+faults together in that end of the sack which he carries behind his
+back. His ill-nature, like a contagious disease, infects others that are
+of themselves good, who, observing his ingratitude, become less inclined
+to do good than otherwise they would be; and as the sweetest wine, if
+ill-preserved, becomes the sourest vinegar, so the greatest endearments
+with him turn to the bitterest injuries. He has an admirable art of
+forgetfulness, and no sooner receives a kindness but he owns it by
+prescription and claims from time out of mind. All his acknowledgments
+appear before his ends are served, but never after, and, like Occasion,
+grow very thick before but bare behind. He is like a river, that runs
+away from the spring that feeds it and undermines the banks that support
+it; or like vice and sin, that destroy those that are most addicted to
+it; or the hangman, that breaks the necks of those whom he gets his
+living by, and whips those that find him employment, and brands his
+masters that set him on work. He pleads the Act of Oblivion for all the
+good deeds that are done him, and pardons himself for the evil returns
+he makes. He never looks backward (like a right statesman), and things
+that are past are all one with him as if they had never been; and as
+witches, they say, hurt those only from whom they can get something and
+have a hank upon, he no sooner receives a benefit but he converts it to
+the injury of that person who conferred it on him. It fares with persons
+as with families, that think better of themselves the farther they are
+off their first raisers.
+
+
+
+A SQUIRE OF DAMES
+
+Deals with his mistress as the devil does with a witch, is content to be
+her servant for a time, that she may be his slave for ever. He is
+esquire to a knight-errant, donzel to the damsels, and gentleman usher
+daily waiter on the ladies, that rubs out his time in making legs and
+love to them. He is a gamester who throws at all ladies that are set
+him, but is always out, and never wins but when he throws at the
+candlestick, that is, for nothing; a general lover, that addresses unto
+all but never gains any, as universals produce nothing. He never appears
+so gallant a man as when he is in the head of a body of ladies and leads
+them up with admirable skill and conduct. He is a eunuch-bashaw, that
+has charge of the women and governs all their public affairs, because he
+is not able to do them any considerable private services. One of his
+prime qualifications is to convey their persons in and out of coaches,
+as tenderly as a cook sets his custards in an oven and draws them out
+again, without the least discomposure or offence to their inward or
+outward woman; that is, their persons and dresses. The greatest care he
+uses in his conversation with ladies is to order his peruke
+methodically, and keep off his hat with equal respect both to it and
+their ladyships, that neither may have cause to take any just offence,
+but continue him in their good graces. When he squires a lady he takes
+her by the handle of her person, the elbow, and steers it with all
+possible caution, lest his own foot should, upon a tack, for want of due
+circumspection, unhappily fall foul on the long train she carries at her
+stern. This makes him walk upon his toes and tread as lightly as if he
+were leading her a dance. He never tries any experiment solitary with
+her, but always in consort, and then he acts the woman's part and she
+the man's, talks loud and laughs, while he sits demurely silent, and
+simpers or bows, and cries, "Anon, Madam, excellently good!" &c. &c. He
+is a kind of hermaphrodite, for his body is of one sex and his mind of
+another, which makes him take no delight in the conversation or actions
+of men, because they do so by his, but apply himself to women, to whom
+the sympathy and likeness of his own temper and wit naturally inclines
+him, where he finds an agreeable reception for want of a better; for
+they, like our Indian planters, value their wealth by the number of
+their slaves. All his business in the morning is to dress himself, and
+in the afternoon to show his workmanship to the ladies, who after
+serious consideration approve or disallow of his judgment and abilities
+accordingly, and he as freely delivers his opinion of theirs. The glass
+is the only author he studies, by which his actions and gestures are all
+put on like his clothes, and by that he practices how to deliver what he
+has prepared to say to the dames, after he has laid a train to bring
+it in.
+
+
+
+AN HYPOCRITE
+
+Is a saint that goes by clockwork, a machine made by the devil's
+geometry, which he winds and nicks to go as he pleases. He is the
+devil's finger-watch, that never goes true, but too fast or too slow as
+he sets him. His religion goes with wires, and he serves the devil for
+an idol to seduce the simple to worship and believe in him. He puts down
+the true saint with his copper-lace devotion, as ladies that use art
+paint fairer than the life. He is a great bustler in reformation, which
+is always most proper to his talent, especially if it be tumultuous; for
+pockets are nowhere so easily and safely picked as in jostling crowds.
+And as change and alterations are most agreeable to those who are tied
+to nothing, he appears more zealous and violent for the cause than such
+as are retarded by conscience or consideration. His religion is a
+mummery, and his Gospel-walkings nothing but dancing a masquerade. He
+never wears his own person, but assumes a shape, as his master, the
+devil, does when he appears. He wears counterfeit hands (as the Italian
+pickpocket did), which are fastened to his breast as if he held them up
+to heaven, while his natural fingers are in his neighbour's pocket. The
+whole scope of all his actions appears to be directed, like an archer's
+arrow, at heaven, while the clout he aims at sticks in the earth. The
+devil baits his hook with him when he fishes in troubled waters. He
+turns up his eyes to heaven like birds that have no upper lid. He is a
+weathercock upon the steeple of the church, that turns with every wind
+that blows from any point of the compass. He sets his words and actions
+like a printer's letters, and he that will understand him must read him
+backwards. He is much more to be suspected than one that is no
+professor, as a stone of any colour is easier counterfeited than a
+diamond that is of none. The inside of him tends quite cross to the
+outside, like a spring that runs upward within the earth and down
+without. He is an operator for the soul, and corrects other men's sins
+with greater of his own, as the Jews were punished for their idolatry by
+greater idolaters than themselves. He is a spiritual highwayman that
+robs on the road to heaven. His professions and his actions agree like a
+sweet voice and a stinking breath.
+
+
+
+AN OPINIONATER
+
+Is his own confidant, that maintains more opinions than he is able to
+support. They are all bastards commonly and unlawfully begotten, but
+being his own, he had rather, out of natural affection, take any pains,
+or beg, than they should want a subsistence. The eagerness and violence
+he uses to defend them argues they are weak, for if they were true they
+would not need it. How false soever they are to him, he is true to them;
+and as all extraordinary affections of love or friendship are usually
+upon the meanest accounts, he is resolved never to forsake them, how
+ridiculous soever they render themselves and him to the world. He is a
+kind of a knight-errant that is bound by his order to defend the weak
+and distressed, and deliver enchanted paradoxes, that are bewitched and
+held by magicians and conjurers in invisible castles. He affects to have
+his opinions as unlike other men's as he can, no matter whether better
+or worse, like those that wear fantastic clothes of their own devising.
+No force of argument can prevail upon him; for, like a madman, the
+strength of two men in their wits is not able to hold him down. His
+obstinacy grows out of his ignorance, for probability has so many ways
+that whosoever understands them will not be confident of any one. He
+holds his opinions as men do their lands, and though his tenure be
+litigious, he will spend all he has to maintain it. He does not so much
+as know what opinion means, which, always supposing uncertainty, is not
+capable of confidence. The more implicit his obstinacy is, the more
+stubborn it renders him; for implicit faith is always more pertinacious
+than that which can give an account of itself; and as cowards that are
+well backed will appear boldest, he that believes as the Church believes
+is more violent, though he knows not what it is, than he that can give a
+reason for his faith. And as men in the dark endeavour to tread firmer
+than when they are in the light, the darkness of his understanding makes
+him careful to stand fast wheresoever he happens, though it be out
+of his way.
+
+
+
+A CHOLERIC MAN
+
+Is one that stands for madman, and has as many voices as another. If he
+miss he has very hard dealing; for if he can but come to a fair polling
+of his fits against his intervals, he is sure to carry it. No doubt it
+would be a singular advantage to him; for, as his present condition
+stands, he has more full moons in a week than a lunatic has in a year.
+His passion is like tinder, soon set on fire and as soon out again. The
+smallest occasion imaginable puts him in his fit, and then he has no
+respect of persons, strikes up the heels of stools and chairs, tears
+cards limbmeal without regard of age, sex, or quality, and breaks the
+bones of dice, and makes them a dreadful example to deter others from
+daring to take part against him. He is guilty but of misprision of
+madness, and if the worst come to the worst, can but forfeit estate and
+suffer perpetual liberty to say what he pleases. 'Tis true he is but a
+candidate of Bedlam, and is not yet admitted fellow, but has the license
+of the College to practise, and in time will not fail to come in
+according to his seniority. He has his grace for madman, and has done
+his exercises, and nothing but his good manners can put him by his
+degree. He is, like a foul chimney, easily set on fire, and then he
+vapours and flashes as if he would burn the house, but is presently put
+out with a greater huff, and the mere noise of a pistol reduces him to a
+quiet and peaceable temper. His temper is, like that of a meteor, an
+imperfect mixture, that sparkles and flashes until it has spent itself.
+All his parts are irascible, and his gall is too big for his liver. His
+spleen makes others laugh at him, and as soon as his anger is over with
+others he begins to be angry with himself and sorry. He is sick of a
+preposterous ague, and has his hot fit always before his cold. The more
+violent his passion is the sooner it is out, like a running knot, that
+strains hardest, but is easiest loosed. He is never very passionate but
+for trifles, and is always most temperate where he has least cause, like
+a nettle that stings worst when it is touched with soft and gentle
+fingers, but when it is bruised with rugged, hardened hands returns no
+harm at all.
+
+
+
+A SUPERSTITIOUS MAN
+
+Is more zealous in his false, mistaken piety than others are in the
+truth; for he that is in an error has farther to go than one that is in
+the right way, and therefore is concerned to bestir himself and make the
+more speed. The practice of his religion is, like the Schoolmen's
+speculations, full of niceties and tricks, that take up his whole time
+and do him more hurt than good. His devotions are labours, not
+exercises, and he breaks the Sabbath in taking too much pains to keep
+it. He makes a conscience of so many trifles and niceties, that he has
+not leisure to consider things that are serious and of real weight. His
+religion is too full of fears and jealousies to be true and faithful,
+and too solicitous and unquiet to continue in the right, if it were so.
+And as those that are bunglers and unskilful in any art take more pains
+to do nothing, because they are in a wrong way, than those that are
+ready and expert to do the excellentest things, so the errors and
+mistakes of his religion engage him in perpetual troubles and anxieties,
+without any possibility of improvement until he unlearn all and begin
+again upon a new account. He talks much of the justice and merits of his
+cause, and yet gets so many advocates that it is plain he does not
+believe himself; but having pleaded not guilty, he is concerned to
+defend himself as well as he can, while those that confess and put
+themselves upon the mercy of the Court have no more to do. His religion
+is too full of curiosities to be sound and useful, and is fitter for a
+hypocrite than a saint; for curiosities are only for show and of no use
+at all. His conscience resides more in his stomach than his heart, and
+howsoever he keeps the commandments, he never fails to keep a very pious
+diet, and will rather starve than eat erroneously or taste anything that
+is not perfectly orthodox and apostolical; and if living and eating are
+inseparable, he is in the right, and lives because he eats according to
+the truly ancient primitive Catholic faith in the purest times.
+
+
+
+A DROLL
+
+Plays his part of wit readily at first sight, and sometimes better than
+with practice. He is excellent at voluntary and prelude, but has no
+skill in composition. He will run divisions upon any ground very
+dexterously, but now and then mistakes a flat for a sharp. He has a
+great deal of wit, but it is not at his own disposing, nor can he
+command it when he pleases unless it be in the humour. His fancy is
+counterchanged between jest and earnest, and the earnest lies always in
+the jest, and the jest in the earnest. He treats of all matters and
+persons by way of exercitation, without respect of things, time, place,
+or occasion, and assumes the liberty of a free-born Englishman, as if he
+were called to the long robe with long ears. He imposes a hard task upon
+himself as well as those he converses with, and more than either can
+bear without a convenient stock of confidence. His whole life is nothing
+but a merrymaking, and his business the same with a fiddler's, to play
+to all companies where he comes, and take what they please to give him
+either of applause or dislike; for he can do little without some
+applauders, who by showing him ground make him outdo his own expectation
+many times, and theirs too; for they that laugh on his side and cry him
+up give credit to his confidence, and sometimes contribute more than
+half the wit by making it better than he meant. He is impregnable to all
+assaults but that of a greater impudence, which, being stick-free, puts
+him, like a rough fencer, out of his play, and after passes upon him at
+pleasure, for when he is once routed he never rallies again. He takes a
+view of a man as a skilful commander does of a town he would besiege, to
+discover the weakest places where he may make his approaches with the
+least danger and most advantages, and when he finds himself mistaken,
+draws off his forces with admirable caution and consideration; for his
+business being only wit, he thinks there is very little of that shown in
+exposing himself to any inconvenience.
+
+
+
+THE OBSTINATE MAN
+
+Does not hold opinions, but they hold him; for when he is once possessed
+with an error, 'tis, like the devil, not to be cast out but with great
+difficulty. Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never
+loses, though it do but help to sink him the sooner. His ignorance is
+abrupt and inaccessible, impregnable both by art and nature, and will
+hold out to the last though it has nothing but rubbish to defend. It is
+as dark as pitch, and sticks as fast to anything it lays hold on. His
+skull is so thick that it is proof against any reason, and never cracks
+but on the wrong side, just opposite to that against which the
+impression is made, which surgeons say does happen very frequently. The
+slighter and more inconsistent his opinions are the faster he holds
+them, otherwise they would fall asunder of themselves; for opinions that
+are false ought to be held with more strictness and assurance than those
+that are true, otherwise they will be apt to betray their owners before
+they are aware. If he takes to religion, he has faith enough to save a
+hundred wiser men than himself, if it were right; but it is too much to
+be good; and though he deny supererogation and utterly disclaim any
+overplus of merits, yet he allows superabundant belief, and if the
+violence of faith will carry the kingdom of heaven, he stands fair for
+it. He delights most of all to differ in things indifferent; no matter
+how frivolous they are, they are weighty enough in proportion to his
+weak judgment, and he will rather suffer self-martyrdom than part with
+the least scruple of his freehold, for it is impossible to dye his dark
+ignorance into a lighter colour. He is resolved to understand no man's
+reason but his own, because he finds no man can understand his but
+himself. His wits are like a sack which, the French proverb says, is
+tied faster before it is full than when it is; and his opinions are like
+plants that grow upon rocks, that stick fast though they have no
+rooting. His understanding is hardened like Pharaoh's heart, and is
+proof against all sorts of judgments whatsoever.
+
+
+
+A ZEALOT
+
+Is a hot-headed brother that has his understanding blocked up on both
+sides, like a fore-horse's eyes, that he sees only straight-forwards and
+never looks about him, which makes him run on according as he is driven
+with his own caprice. He starts and stops (as a horse does) at a post
+only because he does not know what it is, and thinks to run away from
+the spur while he carries it with him. He is very violent, as all things
+that tend downward naturally are; for it is impossible to improve or
+raise him above his own level. He runs swiftly before any wind, like a
+ship that has neither freight nor ballast, and is as apt to overset.
+When his zeal takes fire it cracks and flies about like a squib until
+the idle stuff is spent, and then it goes out of itself. He is always
+troubled with small scruples, which his conscience catches like the
+itch, and the rubbing of these is both his pleasure and his pain. But
+for things of greater moment he is unconcerned, as cattle in the
+summer-time are more pestered with flies that vex their sores than
+creatures more considerable, and dust and motes are apter to stick in
+blear-eyes than things of greater weight. His charity begins and ends at
+home, for it never goes farther nor stirs abroad. David was eaten up
+with the zeal of God's house; but his zeal, quite contrary, eats up
+God's house; and as the words seem to intimate that David fed and
+maintained the priests, so he makes the priests feed and maintain him;
+and hence his zeal is never so vehement as when it concurs with his
+interest; for, as he styles himself a professor, it fares with him, as
+with men of other professions, to live by his calling and get as much as
+he can by it. He is very severe to other men's sins that his own may
+pass unsuspected, as those that were engaged in the conspiracy against
+Nero were most cruel to their own confederates; or as one says--
+
+  "Compounds for sins he is inclined to
+  By damning those he has no mind to."
+
+
+
+THE OVERDOER
+
+Always throws beyond the jack and is gone a mile. He is no more able to
+contain himself than a bowl is when he is commanded to rub with the
+greatest power and vehemence imaginable, and nothing lights in his way.
+He is a conjurer that cannot keep within the compass of his circle,
+though he were sure the devil would fetch him away for the least
+transgression. He always overstocks his ground and starves instead of
+feeding, destroys whatsoever he has an extraordinary care for, and, like
+an ape, hugs the whelp he loves most to death. All his designs are
+greater than the life, and he laughs to think how Nature has mistaken
+her match, and given him so much odds that he can easily outrun her. He
+allows of no merit but that which is superabundant. All his actions are
+superfoetations, that either become monsters or twins; that is, too
+much, or the same again; for he is but a supernumerary and does nothing
+but for want of a better. He is a civil Catholic, that holds nothing
+more steadfastly than supererogation in all that he undertakes, for he
+undertakes nothing but what he overdoes. He is insatiable in all his
+actions and, like a covetous person, never knows when he has done
+enough until he has spoiled all by doing too much. He is his own
+antagonist, and is never satisfied until he has outdone himself as well
+as that which he proposed, for he loves to be better than his word
+(though it always falls out worse) and deceive the world the wrong way.
+He believes the mean to be but a mean thing, and therefore always runs
+into extremities as the more excellent, great, and transcendent. He
+delights to exceed in all his attempts, for he finds that a goose that
+has three legs is more remarkable than a hundred that have but two
+apiece, and has a greater number of followers; and that all monsters are
+more visited and applied to than other creatures that Nature has made
+perfect in their kind. He believes he can never bestow too much pains
+upon anything; for his industry is his own and costs him nothing; and if
+it miscarry he loses nothing, for he has as much as it was worth. He is
+like a foolish musician that sets his instrument so high that he breaks
+his strings for want of understanding the right pitch of it, or an
+archer that breaks his with overbending; and all he does is forced, like
+one that sings above the reach of his voice.
+
+
+
+THE RASH MAN
+
+Has a fever in his brain, and therefore is rightly said to be
+hot-headed. His reason and his actions run downhill, borne headlong by
+his unstaid will. He has not patience to consider, and perhaps it would
+not be the better for him if he had; for he is so possessed with the
+first apprehension of anything, that whatsoever comes after loses the
+race and is prejudged. All his actions, like sins, lead him perpetually
+to repentance, and from thence to the place from whence they came, to
+make more work for repentance; for though he be corrected never so
+often, he is never amended, nor will his haste give him time to call to
+mind where it made him stumble before; for he is always upon full speed,
+and the quickness of his motions takes away and dazzles the eyes of his
+understanding. All his designs are like diseases, with which he is taken
+suddenly before he is aware, and whatsoever he does is extempore,
+without premeditation; for he believes a sudden life to be the best of
+all, as some do a sudden death. He pursues things as men do an enemy
+upon a retreat, until he is drawn into an ambush for want of heed and
+circumspection. He falls upon things as they lie in his way, as if he
+stumbled at them, or his foot slipped and cast him upon them; for he is
+commonly foiled and comes off with bruises. He engages in business as
+men do in duels, the sooner the better, that, if any evil come of it,
+they may not be found to have slept upon it, or consulted with an
+effeminate pillow in point of honour and courage. He strikes when he is
+hot himself, not when the iron is so which he designs to work upon. His
+tongue has no retentive faculty, but is always running like a fool's
+drivel. He cannot keep it within compass, but it will be always upon the
+ramble and playing of tricks upon a frolic, fancying of passes upon
+religion, State, and the persons of those that are in present authority,
+no matter how, to whom, or where; for his discretion is always out of
+the way when he has occasion to make use of it.
+
+
+
+THE AFFECTED OR FORMAL
+
+Is a piece of clockwork, that moves only as it is wound up and set, and
+not like a voluntary agent. He is a mathematical body, nothing but
+_punctum, linea, et superficies_, and perfectly abstract from matter. He
+walks as stiffly and uprightly as a dog that is taught to go on his
+hinder legs, and carries his hands as the other does his fore-feet. He is
+very ceremonious and full of respect to himself, for no man uses those
+formalities that does not expect the same from others. All his actions
+and words are set down in so exact a method that an indifferent
+accountant may cast him up to a halfpenny-farthing. He does everything
+by rule, as if it were in a course of Lessius's diet, and did not eat,
+but take a dose of meat and drink; and not walk, but proceed; not go,
+but march. He draws up himself with admirable conduct in a very regular
+and well-ordered body. All his business and affairs are junctures and
+transactions, and when he speaks with a man he gives him audience. He
+does not carry but marshal himself, and no one member of his body
+politic takes place of another without due right of precedence. He does
+all things by rules of proportion, and never gives himself the freedom
+to manage his gloves or his watch in an irregular and arbitrary way, but
+is always ready to render an account of his demeanour to the most strict
+and severe disquisition. He sets his face as if it were cast in plaster,
+and never admits of any commotion in his countenance, nor so much as the
+innovation of a smile without serious and mature deliberation, but
+preserves his looks in a judicial way, according as they have always
+been established.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is a dog that fawns when he bites. He hangs bells in a man's ears, as a
+carman does by his horse while he lays a heavy load upon his back. His
+insinuations are like strong wine, that pleases a man's palate till it
+has got within him, and then deprives him of his reason and overthrows
+him. His business is to render a man a stranger to himself, and get
+between him and home, and then he carries him whither he pleases. He is
+a spirit that inveighs away a man from himself, undertakes great matters
+for him, and after sells him for a slave. He makes division not only
+between a man and his friends, but between a man and himself, raises a
+faction within him, and after takes part with the strongest side and
+ruins both. He steals him away from himself (as the fairies are said to
+do children in the cradle), and after changes him for a fool. He
+whistles to him, as a carter does to his horse while he whips out his
+eyes and makes him draw what he pleases. He finds out his humour and
+feeds it, till it will come to hand, and then he leads him whither he
+pleases. He tickles him, as they do trouts, until he lays hold on him,
+and then devours and feeds upon him. He tickles his ears with a straw,
+and while he is pleased with scratching it, picks his pocket, as the
+cutpurse served Bartl. Cokes. He embraces him and hugs him in his arms,
+and lifts him above ground, as wrestlers do, to throw him down again and
+fall upon him. He possesses him with his own praises like an evil
+spirit, that makes him swell and appear stronger than he was, talk what
+he does not understand, and do things that he knows nothing of when he
+comes to himself. He gives good words as doctors are said to give physic
+when they are paid for it, and lawyers advice when they are fee'd
+beforehand. He is a poisoned perfume that infects the brain and murders
+those it pleases. He undermines a man, and blows him up with his own
+praises to throw him down. He commends a man out of design, that he may
+be presented with him and have him for his pains, according to the mode.
+
+
+
+A PRODIGAL
+
+Is a pocket with a hole in the bottom. His purse has got a dysentery and
+lost its retentive faculty. He delights, like a fat overgrown man, to
+see himself fall away and grow less. He does not spend his money, but
+void it, and, like those that have the stone, is in pain till he is rid
+of it. He is very loose and incontinent of his coin, and lets it fly,
+like Jupiter, in a shower. He is very hospitable, and keeps open pockets
+for all comers. All his silver turns to mercury, and runs through him as
+if he had taken it for the _miserere_ or fluxed himself. The history of
+his life begins with keeping of whores, and ends with keeping of hogs;
+and as he fed high at first, so he does at last, for acorns are very
+high food. He swallows land and houses like an earthquake, eats a whole
+dining-room at a meal, and devours his kitchen at a breakfast. He wears
+the furniture of his house on his back, and a whole feather-bed in his
+hat, drinks down his plate, and eats his dishes up. He is not clothed,
+but hung. He'll fancy dancers cattle, and present his lady with messuage
+and tenement. He sets his horses at inn and inn, and throws himself out
+of his coach at come the caster. He should be a good husband, for he has
+made more of his estate in one year than his ancestors did in twenty. He
+dusts his estate as they do a stand of ale in the north. His money in
+his pocket (like hunted venison) will not keep; if it be not spent
+presently it grows stale, and is thrown away. He possesses his estate as
+the devil did the herd of swine, and is running it into the sea as fast
+as he can. He has shot it with a zampatan, and it will presently fall
+all to dust. He has brought his acres into a consumption, and they are
+strangely fallen away; nothing but skin and bones left of a whole manor.
+He will shortly have all his estate in his hands; for, like bias, he may
+carry it about him. He lays up nothing but debts and diseases, and at
+length himself in a prison. When he has spent all upon his pleasures,
+and has nothing left for sustenance, he espouses a hostess dowager, and
+resolves to lick himself whole again out of ale, and make it pay him
+back all the charges it has put him to.
+
+
+
+THE INCONSTANT
+
+Has a vagabond soul without any settled place of abode, like the
+wandering Jew. His head is unfixed, out of order, and utterly
+unserviceable upon any occasion. He is very apt to be taken with
+anything, but nothing can hold him, for he presently breaks loose and
+gives it the slip. His head is troubled with a palsy, which renders it
+perpetually wavering and incapable of rest. His head is like an
+hour-glass; that part that is uppermost always runs out until it is
+turned, and then runs out again. His opinions are too violent to last,
+for, like other things of the same kind in Nature, they quickly spend
+themselves and fall to nothing. All his opinions are like wefts and
+strays that are apt to straggle from their owners and belong to the lord
+of the manor where they are taken up. His soul has no retentive faculty,
+but suffers everything to run from him as fast as he receives it. His
+whole life is like a preposterous ague in which he has his hot fit
+always before his cold one, and is never in a constant temper. His
+principles and resolves are but a kind of movables, which he will not
+endure to be fastened to any freehold, but left loose to be conveyed
+away at pleasure as occasion shall please to dispose of him. His soul
+dwells, like a Tartar, in a hoord, without any settled habitation, but
+is always removing and dislodging from place to place. He changes his
+head oftener than a deer, and when his imaginations are stiff and at
+their full growth, he casts them off to breed new ones, only to cast off
+again the next season. All his purposes are built on air, the
+chamelion's diet, and have the same operation to make him change colour
+with every object he comes near. He pulls off his judgment as commonly
+as his hat to every one he meets with. His word and his deed are all
+one, for when he has given his word he has done, and never goes farther.
+His judgment, being unsound, has the same operation upon him that a
+disease has upon a sick man, that makes him find some ease in turning
+from side to side, and still the last is the most uneasy.
+
+
+
+A GLUTTON
+
+Eats his children, as the poets say Saturn did, and carries his felicity
+and all his concernments in his paunch. If he had lived when all the
+members of the body rebelled against the stomach there had been no
+possibility of accommodation. His entrails are like the sarcophagus,
+that devours dead bodies in a small space, or the Indian zampatan, that
+consumes flesh in a moment. He is a great dish made on purpose to carry
+meat. He eats out his own head, and his horses' too; he knows no grace
+but grace before meat, nor mortification but in fasting. If the body be
+the tabernacle of the soul, he lives in a sutler's hut. He celebrates
+mass, or rather mess, to the idol in his belly, and, like a papist, eats
+his adoration. A third course is the third heaven to him, and he is
+ravished into it. A feast is a good conscience to him, and he is
+troubled in mind when he misses of it. His teeth are very industrious in
+their calling, and his chops like a Bridewell perpetually hatcheling. He
+depraves his appetite with _haut-gousts_, as old fornicators do their
+lechery into fulsomeness and stinks. He licks himself into the shape of
+a bear, as those beasts are said to do their whelps. He new forms
+himself in his own belly, and becomes another thing than God and Nature
+meant him. His belly takes place of the rest of his members, and walks
+before in state. He eats out that which eats all things else--time--and
+is very curious to have all things in season at his meals but his hours,
+which are commonly at midnight, and so late that he prays too late for
+his daily bread, unless he mean his natural daily bread. He is admirably
+learned in the doctrines of meats and sauces, and deserves the chair in
+_juris-prudentia_; that is, in the skill of pottages. At length he eats
+his life out of house and home and becomes a treat for worms, sells his
+clothes to feed his gluttony, and eats himself naked, as the first of
+his family, Adam, did.
+
+
+
+A RIBALD
+
+Is the devil's hypocrite, that endeavours to make himself appear worse
+than he is. His evil words and bad manners strive which shall most
+corrupt one another, and it is hard to say which has the advantage. He
+vents his lechery at the mouth, as some fishes are said to engender. He
+is an unclean beast that chews the cud, for after he has satisfied his
+lust he brings it up again into his mouth to a second enjoyment, and
+plays an after-game of lechery with his tongue much worse than that
+which the _Cunnilingi_ used among the old Romans. He strips Nature stark
+naked, and clothes her in the most fantastic and ridiculous fashion a
+wild imagination can invent. He is worse and more nasty than a dog, for
+in his broad descriptions of others' obscene actions he does but lick up
+the vomit of another man's surfeits. He tells tales out of a
+vaulting-school. A lewd, bawdy tale does more hurt and gives a worse
+example than the thing of which it was told, for the act extends but to
+few, and if it be concealed goes no farther; but the report of it is
+unlimited, and may be conveyed to all people and all times to come. He
+exposes that with his tongue which Nature gave women modesty, and brute
+beasts tails, to cover. He mistakes ribaldry for wit, though nothing is
+more unlike; and believes himself to be the finer man the filthier he
+talks, as if he were above civility as fanatics are above ordinances,
+and held nothing more shameful than to be ashamed of anything. He talks
+nothing but Aretine's pictures, as plain as the Scotch dialect, which is
+esteemed to be the most copious and elegant of the kind. He improves and
+husbands his sins to the best advantage, and makes one vice find
+employment for another; for what he acts loosely in private he talks as
+loosely of in public, and finds as much pleasure in the one as the
+other. He endeavours to purchase himself a reputation by pretending to
+that which the best men abominate and the worst value not, like one that
+clips and washes false coin and ventures his neck for that which will
+yield him nothing.
+
+
+
+A MODERN POLITICIAN
+
+Makes new discoveries in politics, but they are, like those that
+Columbus made of the New World, very rich, but barbarous. He endeavours
+to restore mankind to the original condition it fell from, by forgetting
+to discern between good and evil, and reduces all prudence back again to
+its first author, the serpent, that taught Adam wisdom; for he was
+really his tutor, and not Samboscor, as the Rabbins write. He finds the
+world has been mistaken in all ages, and that religion and morality are
+but vulgar errors that pass among the ignorant, and are but mere words
+to the wise. He despises all learning as a pedantic little thing, and
+believes books to be the business of children and not of men. He wonders
+how the distinction of virtue and vice came into the world's head, and
+believes them to be more ridiculous than any foppery of the schools. He
+holds it his duty to betray any man that shall take him for so much a
+fool as one fit to be trusted. He steadfastly believes that all men are
+born in the state of war, and that the civil life is but a cessation,
+and no peace nor accommodation; and though all open acts of hostility
+are forborne by consent, the enmity continues, and all advantages by
+treachery or breach of faith are very lawful; that there is no
+difference between virtue and fraud among friends as well as enemies,
+nor anything unjust that a man can do without damage to his own safety
+or interest; that oaths are but springes to catch woodcocks withal, and
+bind none but those that are too weak and feeble to break them when they
+become ever so small an impediment to their advantages; that conscience
+is the effect of ignorance, and the same with that foolish fear which
+some men apprehend when they are in the dark and alone; that honour is
+but the word which a prince gives a man to pass his guards withal and
+save him from being stopped by law and justice, the sentinels of
+governments, when he has not wit nor credit enough to pass of himself;
+that to show respect to worth in any person is to appear a stranger to
+it, and not so familiarly acquainted with it as those are who use no
+ceremony, because it is no new thing to them, as it would appear if they
+should take notice of it; that the easiest way to purchase a reputation
+of wisdom and knowledge is to slight and undervalue it, as the readiest
+way to buy cheap is to bring down the price; for the world will be apt
+to believe a man well provided with any necessary or useful commodity
+which he sets a small value upon; that to oblige a friend is but a kind
+of casting him in prison, after the old Roman way or modern Chinese,
+that chains the keeper and prisoner together; for he that binds another
+man to himself binds himself as much to him and lays a restraint upon
+both. For as men commonly never forgive those that forgive them, and
+always hate those that purchase their estates (though they pay dear and
+more than any man else would give), so they never willingly endure those
+that have laid any engagement upon them, or at what rate soever
+purchased the least part of their freedom; and as partners for the most
+part cheat or suspect one another, so no man deals fairly with another
+that goes the least share in his freedom.
+
+To propose any measure to wealth or power is to be ignorant of the
+nature of both, for as no man can ever have too much of either, so it is
+impossible to determine what is enough; and he that limits his desires
+by proposing to himself the enjoyment of any other pleasure but that of
+gaining more shows he has but a dull inclination that will not hold out
+to his journey's end. And therefore he believes that a courtier deserves
+to be begged himself that is ever satisfied with begging; for fruition
+without desire is but a dull entertainment, and that pleasure only real
+and substantial that provokes and improves the appetite and increases in
+the enjoyment; and all the greatest masters in the several arts of
+thriving concur unanimously that the plain downright pleasure of gaining
+is greater and deserves to be preferred far before all the various
+delights of spending which the curiosity, wit, or luxury of mankind in
+all ages could ever find out.
+
+He believes there is no way of thriving so easy and certain as to grow
+rich by defrauding the public; for public thieveries are more safe and
+less prosecuted than private, like robberies committed between sun and
+sun, which the county pays and no one is greatly concerned in; and as
+the monster of many heads has less wit in them all than any one
+reasonable person, so the monster of many purses is easier cheated than
+any one indifferent, crafty fool. For all the difficulty lies in being
+trusted, and when he has obtained that, the business does itself; and if
+he should happen to be questioned and called to an account, a pardon is
+as cheap as a paymaster's fee, not above fourteenpence in the pound.
+
+He thinks that when a man comes to wealth or preferment, and is to put
+on a new person, his first business is to put off all his old
+friendships and acquaintances, as things below him and no way consistent
+with his present condition, especially such as may have occasion to make
+use of him or have reason to expect any civil returns from him; for
+requiting of obligations received in a man's necessity is the same thing
+with paying of debts contracted in his minority when he was under age,
+for which he is not accountable by the laws of the land. These he is to
+forget as fast as he can, and by little neglects remove them to that
+distance that they may at length by his example learn to forget him, for
+men who travel together in company when their occasions lie several ways
+ought to take leave and part. It is a hard matter for a man that comes
+to preferment not to forget himself, and therefore he may very well be
+allowed to take the freedom to forget others; for advancement, like the
+conversion of a sinner, gives a man new values of things and persons, so
+different from those he had before that that which was wont to be most
+dear to him does commonly after become the most disagreeable; and as it
+is accounted noble to forget and pass over little injuries, so it is to
+forget little friendships, that are no better than injuries when they
+become disparagements, and can only be importune and troublesome instead
+of being useful, as they were before. All Acts of Oblivion have, of late
+times, been found to extend rather to loyal and faithful services done
+than rebellion and treasons committed. For benefits are like flowers,
+sweet only and fresh when they are newly gathered, but stink when they
+grow stale and wither; and he only is ungrateful who makes returns of
+obligations, for he does it merely to free himself from owing so much as
+thanks. Fair words are all the civility and humanity that one man owes
+to another, for they are obliging enough of themselves, and need not the
+assistance of deeds to make them good; for he that does not believe them
+has already received too much, and he that does ought to expect no more.
+And therefore promises ought to oblige those only to whom they are made,
+not those who make them; for he that expects a man should bind himself
+is worse than a thief, who does that service for him after he has robbed
+him on the highway. Promises are but words, and words air, which no man
+can claim a propriety in, but is equally free to all and incapable of
+being confined; and if it were not, yet he who pays debts which he can
+possibly avoid does but part with his money for nothing, and pays more
+for the mere reputation of honesty and conscience than it is worth.
+
+He prefers the way of applying to the vices and humours of great persons
+before all other methods of getting into favour; for he that can be
+admitted into these offices of privacy and trust seldom fails to arrive
+at greater, and with greater ease and certainty than those who take the
+dull way of plain fidelity and merit. For vices, like beasts, are fond
+of none but those that feed them, and where they once prevail all other
+considerations go for nothing. They are his own flesh and blood, born
+and bred out of him, and he has a stronger natural affection for them
+than all other relations whatsoever; and he that has an interest in
+these has a greater power over him than all other obligations in the
+world; for though they are but his imperfections and infirmities, he is
+the more tender of them, as a lame member or diseased limb is more
+carefully cherished than all the rest that are sound and in perfect
+vigour. All offices of this kind are the greatest endearments, being
+real flatteries enforced by deeds and actions, and therefore far more
+prevalent than those that are performed but by words and fawning, though
+very great advantages are daily obtained that way; and therefore he
+esteems flattery as the next most sure and successful way of improving
+his interests. For flattery is but a kind of civil idolatry, that makes
+images to itself of virtue, worth, and honour in some person that is
+utterly void of all, and then falls down and worships them; and the more
+dull and absurd these applications are, the better they are always
+received; for men delight more to be presented with those things they
+want than such as they have no need nor use of. And though they condemn
+the realities of those honours and renowns that are falsely imputed to
+them, they are wonderfully affected with their false pretences; for
+dreams work more upon men's passions than any waking thoughts of the
+same kind, and many, out of an ignorant superstition, give more credit
+to them than the most rational of all their vigilant conjectures, how
+false soever they prove in the event. No wonder, then, if those who
+apply to men's fancies and humours have a stronger influence upon them
+than those that seek to prevail upon their reason and understandings,
+especially in things so delightful to them as their own praises, no
+matter how false and apparently incredible; for great persons may wear
+counterfeit jewels of any carat with more confidence and security from
+being discovered than those of meaner quality, in whose hands the
+greatness of their value (if they were true) is more apt to render them
+suspected. A flatterer is like Mahomet's pigeon, that picks his food out
+of his master's ear, who is willing to have it believed that he whispers
+oracles into it, and accordingly sets a high esteem upon the service he
+does him, though the impostor only designs his own utilities; for men
+are for the most part better pleased with other men's opinions, though
+false, of their happiness than their own experiences, and find more
+pleasure in the dullest flattery of others than all the vast
+imaginations they can have of themselves, as no man is apt to be tickled
+with his own fingers; because the applauses of others are more agreeable
+to those high conceits they have of themselves, which they are glad to
+find confirmed, and are the only music that sets them a-dancing, like
+those that are bitten with a tarantula.
+
+He accounts it an argument of great discretion, and as great temper, to
+take no notice of affronts and indignities put upon him by great
+persons; for he that is insensible of injuries of this nature can
+receive none, and if he lose no confidence by them, can lose nothing
+else; for it is greater to be above injuries than either to do or
+revenge them, and he that will be deterred by those discouragements from
+prosecuting his designs will never obtain what he proposes to himself.
+When a man is once known to be able to endure insolences easier than
+others can impose them, they will raise the siege and leave him as
+impregnable; and therefore he resolves never to omit the least
+opportunity of pressing his affairs, for fear of being baffled and
+affronted; for if he can at any rate render himself master of his
+purposes, he would not wish an easier nor a cheaper way, as he knows how
+to repay himself and make others receive those insolences of him for
+good and current payment which he was glad to take before, and he
+esteems it no mean glory to show his temper of such a compass as is able
+to reach from the highest arrogance to the meanest and most dejected
+submissions. A man that has endured all sorts of affronts may be
+allowed, like an apprentice that has served out his time, to set up for
+himself and put them off upon others; and if the most common and
+approved way of growing rich is to gain by the ruin and loss of those
+who are in necessity, why should not a man be allowed as well to make
+himself appear great by debasing those that are below him? For insolence
+is no inconsiderable way of improving greatness and authority in the
+opinion of the world. If all men are born equally fit to govern, as some
+late philosophers affirm, he only has the advantage of all others who
+has the best opinion of his own abilities, how mean soever they really
+are; and, therefore, he steadfastly believes that pride is the only
+great, wise, and happy virtue that a man is capable of, and the most
+compendious and easy way to felicity; for he that is able to persuade
+himself impregnably that he is some great and excellent person, how far
+short soever he falls of it, finds more delight in that dream than if he
+were really so; and the less he is of what he fancies himself to be the
+better he is pleased, as men covet those things that are forbidden and
+denied them more greedily than those that are in their power to obtain;
+and he that can enjoy all the best rewards of worth and merit without
+the pains and trouble that attend it has a better bargain than he who
+pays as much for it as it is worth. This he performs by an obstinate,
+implicit believing as well as he can of himself, and as meanly of all
+other men, for he holds it a kind of self-preservation to maintain a
+good estimation of himself; and as no man is bound to love his neighbour
+better than himself, so he ought not to think better of him than he does
+of himself, and he that will not afford himself a very high esteem will
+never spare another man any at all. He who has made so absolute a
+conquest over himself (which philosophers say is the greatest of all
+victories) as to be received for a prince within himself, is greater and
+more arbitrary within his own dominions than he that depends upon the
+uncertain loves or fears of other men without him; and since the opinion
+of the world is vain and for the most part false, he believes it is not
+to be attempted but by ways as false and vain as itself, and therefore
+to appear and seem is much better and wiser than really to be whatsoever
+is well esteemed in the general value of the world Next pride, he
+believes ambition to be the only generous and heroical virtue in the
+world that mankind is capable of; for, as Nature gave man an erect
+figure to raise him above the grovelling condition of his
+fellow-creatures the beasts, so he that endeavours to improve that and
+raise himself higher seems best to comply with the design and intention
+of Nature. Though the stature of man is confined to a certain height,
+yet his mind is unlimited, and capable of growing up to heaven; and as
+those who endeavour to arrive at that perfection are adored and
+reverenced by all, so he that endeavours to advance himself as high as
+possibly he can in this world comes nearest to the condition of those
+holy and divine aspirers. All the purest parts of Nature always tend
+upwards, and the more dull and heavy downwards; so in the little world
+the noblest faculties of man, his reason and understanding, that give
+him a prerogative above all other earthly creatures, mount upwards; and
+therefore he who takes that course, and still aspires in all his
+undertakings and designs, does but conform to that which Nature
+dictates. Are not the reason and the will, the two commanding faculties
+of the soul, still striving which shall be uppermost? Men honour none
+but those that are above them, contest with equals, and disdain
+inferiors. The first thing that God gave man was dominion over the rest
+of his inferior creatures; but he that can extend that over man improves
+his talent to the best advantage. How are angels distinguished but by
+dominions, powers, thrones, and principalities? Then he who still
+aspires to purchase those comes nearest to the nature of those heavenly
+ministers, and in all probability is most like to go to heaven, no
+matter what destruction he makes in his way, if he does but attain his
+end; for nothing is a crime that is too great to be punished; and when
+it is once arrived at that perfection, the most horrid actions in the
+world become the most admired and renowned. Birds that build highest are
+most safe; and he that can advance himself above the envy or reach of
+his inferiors is secure against the malice and assaults of fortune. All
+religions have ever been persecuted in their primitive ages, when they
+were weak and impotent, but when they propagated and grew great, have
+been received with reverence and adoration by those who otherwise had
+proved their cruellest enemies; and those that afterwards opposed them
+have suffered as severely as those that first professed them. So thieves
+that rob in small parties and break houses, when they are taken, are
+hanged; but when they multiply and grow up into armies and are able to
+take towns, the same things are called heroic actions, and acknowledged
+for such by all the world. Courts of justice, for the most part, commit
+greater crimes than they punish, and do those that sue in them more
+injuries than they can possibly receive from one another; and yet they
+are venerable, and must not be told so, because they have authority and
+power to justify what they do, and the law (that is, whatsoever they
+please to call so) ready to give judgment for them. Who knows when a
+physician cures or kills? And yet he is equally rewarded for both, and
+the profession esteemed never the less worshipful; and therefore he
+accounts it a ridiculous vanity in any man to consider whether he does
+right or wrong in anything he attempts, since the success is only able
+to determine and satisfy the opinion of the world which is the one and
+which the other. As for those characters and marks of distinction which
+religion, law, and morality fix upon both, they are only significant and
+valid when their authority is able to command obedience and submission;
+but when the greatness, numbers, or interest of those who are concerned
+outgrows that, they change their natures, and that which was injury
+before becomes justice, and justice injury. It is with crimes as with
+inventions in the mechanics, that will frequently hold true to all
+purposes of the design while they are tried in little, but when the
+experiment is made in great prove false in all particulars to what is
+promised in the model: so iniquities and vices may be punished and
+corrected, like children, while they are little and impotent, but when
+they are great and sturdy they become incorrigible and proof against all
+the power of justice and authority.
+
+Among all his virtues there is none which he sets so high an esteem upon
+as impudence, which he finds more useful and necessary than a vizard is
+to a highwayman; for he that has but a competent stock of this natural
+endowment has an interest in any man he pleases, and is able to manage
+it with greater advantages than those who have all the real pretences
+imaginable, but want that dexterous way of soliciting by which, if the
+worst fall out, he is sure to lose nothing if he does not win. He that
+is impudent is shot-free, and if he be ever so much overpowered can
+receive no hurt, for his forehead is impenetrable, and of so excellent a
+temper that nothing is able to touch it, but turns edge and is blunted.
+His face holds no correspondence with his mind, and therefore whatsoever
+inward sense or conviction he feels, there is no outward appearance of
+it in his looks to give evidence against him; and in any difficulty that
+can befall him, impudence is the most infallible expedient to fetch him
+off, that is always ready, like his angel guardian, to relieve and
+rescue him in his greatest extremities; and no outward impression, nor
+inward neither, though his own conscience take part against him, is able
+to beat him from his guards. Though innocence and a good conscience be
+said to be a brazen wall, a brazen confidence is more impregnable and
+longer able to hold out; for it is a greater affliction to an innocent
+man to be suspected than it is to one that is guilty and impudent to be
+openly convicted of an apparent crime. And in all the affairs of
+mankind, a brisk confidence, though utterly void of sense, is able to go
+through matters of difficulty with greater ease than all the strength of
+reason less boldly enforced, as the Turks are said by a small, slight
+handling of their bows to make an arrow without a head pierce deeper
+into hard bodies than guns of greater force are able to do a bullet of
+steel; and though it be but a cheat and imposture, that has neither
+truth nor reason to support it, yet it thrives better in the world than
+things of greater solidity, as thorns and thistles flourish on barren
+grounds where nobler plants would starve. And he that can improve his
+barren parts by this excellent and most compendious method deserves much
+better, in his judgment, than those who endeavour to do the same thing
+by the more studious and difficult way of downright industry and
+drudging. For impudence does not only supply all defects, but gives them
+a greater grace than if they had needed no art, as all other ornaments
+are commonly nothing else but the remedies or disguises of
+imperfections; and therefore he thinks him very weak that is unprovided
+of this excellent and most useful quality, without which the best
+natural or acquired parts are of no more use than the Guanches' darts,
+which, the virtuosos say, are headed with butter hardened in the sun. It
+serves him to innumerable purposes to press on and understand no
+repulse, how smart or harsh soever, for he that can fail nearest the
+wind has much the advantage of all others; and such is the weakness or
+vanity of some men, that they will grant that to obstinate importunity
+which they would never have done upon all the most just reasons and
+considerations imaginable, as those that watch witches will make them
+confess that which they would never have done upon any other account.
+
+He believes a man's words and his meaning should never agree together;
+for he that says what he thinks lays himself open to be expounded by the
+most ignorant, and he who does not make his words rather serve to
+conceal than discover the sense of his heart deserves to have it pulled
+out, like a traitor's, and shown publicly to the rabble; for as a king,
+they say, cannot reign without dissembling, so private men, without
+that, cannot govern themselves with any prudence or discretion
+imaginable. This is the only politic magic that has power to make a man
+walk invisible, give him access into all men's privacies, and keep all
+others out of his, which is as great an odds as it is to discover what
+cards those he plays with have in their hands, and permit them to know
+nothing of his; and, therefore, he never speaks his own sense, but that
+which he finds comes nearest to the meaning of those he converses with,
+as birds are drawn into nets by pipes that counterfeit their own voices.
+By this means he possesses men, like the devil, by getting within them
+before they are aware, turns them out of themselves, and either betrays
+or renders them ridiculous, as he finds it most agreeable either to his
+humour or his occasions.
+
+As for religion, he believes a wise man ought to possess it only that he
+may not be observed to have freed himself from the obligations of it,
+and so teach others by his example to take the same freedom. For he who
+is at liberty has a great advantage over all those whom he has to deal
+with, as all hypocrites find by perpetual experience that one of the
+best uses that can be made of it is to take measure of men's
+understandings and abilities by it, according as they are more or less
+serious in it. For he thinks that no man ought to be much concerned in
+it but hypocrites and such as make it their calling and profession, who,
+though they do not live by their faith, like the righteous, do that
+which is nearest to it, get their living by it; and that those only take
+the surest course who make their best advantages of it in this world and
+trust to Providence for the next, to which purpose he believes it is
+most properly to be relied upon by all men.
+
+He admires good nature as only good to those who have it not, and laughs
+at friendship as a ridiculous foppery, which all wise men easily
+outgrow; for the more a man loves another the less he loves himself. All
+regards and civil applications should, like true devotion, look upwards
+and address to those that are above us, and from whom we may in
+probability expect either good or evil; but to apply to those that are
+our equals, or such as cannot benefit or hurt us, is a far more
+irrational idolatry than worshipping of images or beasts. All the good
+that can proceed from friendship is but this, that it puts men in a way
+to betray one another. The best parents, who are commonly the worst men,
+have naturally a tender kindness for their children only because they
+believe they are a part of themselves, which shows that self-love is the
+original of all others, and the foundation of that great law of Nature,
+self-preservation; for no man ever destroyed himself wilfully that had
+not first left off to love himself. Therefore a man's self is the proper
+object of his love, which is never so well employed as when it is kept
+within its own confines, and not suffered to straggle. Every man is just
+so much a slave as he is concerned in the will, inclinations, or
+fortunes of another, or has anything of himself out of his own power to
+dispose of; and therefore he is resolved never to trust any man with
+that kindness which he takes up of himself, unless he has such security
+as is most certain to yield him double interest; for he that does
+otherwise is but a Jew and a Turk to himself, which is much worse than
+to be so to all the world beside. Friends are only friends to those who
+have no need of them, and when they have, become no longer friends; like
+the leaves of trees, that clothe the woods in the heat of summer, when
+they have no need of warmth, but leave them naked when cold weather
+comes; and since there are so few that prove otherwise, it is not wisdom
+to rely on any.
+
+He is of opinion that no men are so fit to be employed and trusted as
+fools or knaves; for the first understand no right, the others regard
+none; and whensoever there falls out an occasion that may prove of great
+importance if the infamy and danger of the dishonesty be not too
+apparent, they are the only persons that are fit for the undertaking.
+They are both equally greedy of employment; the one out of an itch to be
+thought able, and the other honest enough, to be trusted, as by use and
+practice they sometimes prove. For the general business of the world
+lies, for the most part, in routines and forms, of which there are none
+so exact observers as those who understand nothing else to divert them,
+as carters use to blind their fore-horses on both sides that they may
+see only forward, and so keep the road the better, and men that aim at a
+mark use to shut one eye that they may see the surer with the other. If
+fools are not notorious, they have far more persons to deal with of
+their own elevation (who understand one another better) than they have
+of those that are above them, which renders them fitter for many
+businesses than wiser men, and they believe themselves to be so for all.
+For no man ever thought himself a fool that was one, so confident does
+their ignorance naturally render them, and confidence is no contemptible
+qualification in the management of human affairs; and as blind men have
+secret artifices and tricks to supply that defect and find out their
+ways, which those who have their eyes and are but hoodwinked are utterly
+unable to do, so fools have always little crafts and frauds in all their
+transactions which wiser men would never have thought upon, and by those
+they frequently arrive at very great wealth, and as great success in all
+their undertakings. For all fools are but feeble and impotent knaves,
+that have as strong and vehement inclinations to all sorts of dishonesty
+as the most notorious of those engineers, but want abilities to put them
+in practice; and as they are always found to be the most obstinate and
+intractable people to be prevailed upon by reason or conscience, so they
+are as easy to submit to their superiors--that is, knaves--by whom they
+are always observed to be governed, as all corporations are wont to
+choose their magistrates out of their own members. As for knaves, they
+are commonly true enough to their own interests, and while they gain by
+their employments, will be careful not to disserve those who can turn
+them out when they please, what tricks soever they put upon others; and
+therefore such men prove more useful to them in their designs of gain
+and profit than those whose consciences and reason will not permit them
+to take that latitude.
+
+And since buffoonery is, and has always been, so delightful to great
+persons, he holds him very improvident that is to seek in a quality so
+inducing that he cannot at least serve for want of a better, especially
+since it is so easy that the greatest part of the difficulty lies in
+confidence; and he that can but stand fair and give aim to those that
+are gamesters does not always lose his labour, but many times becomes
+well esteemed for his generous and bold demeanour, and a lucky repartee
+hit upon by chance may be the making of a man. This is the only modern
+way of running at tilt, with which great persons are so delighted to see
+men encounter one another and break jests, as they did lances
+heretofore; and he that has the best beaver to his helmet has the
+greatest advantage; and as the former passed upon the account of valour,
+so does the latter on the score of wit, though neither, perhaps, have
+any great reason for their pretences, especially the latter, that
+depends much upon confidence, which is commonly a great support to wit,
+and therefore believed to be its betters, that ought to take place of
+it, as all men are greater than their dependents; so pleasant it is to
+see men lessen one another and strive who shall show himself the most
+ill-natured and ill-mannered. As in cuffing all blows are aimed at the
+face, so it fares in these rencounters, where he that wears the toughest
+leather on his visage comes off with victory though he has ever so much
+the disadvantage upon all other accounts. For a buffoon is like a mad
+dog that has a worm in his tongue, which makes him bite at all that
+light in his way; and as he can do nothing alone, but must have somebody
+to set him that he may throw at, he that performs that office with the
+greatest freedom and is contented to be laughed at to give his patron
+pleasure cannot but be understood to have done very good service, and
+consequently deserves to be well rewarded, as a mountebank's pudding,
+that is content to be cut and slashed and burnt and poisoned, without
+which his master can show no tricks, deserves to have a considerable
+share in his gains.
+
+As for the meanness of these ways, which some may think too base to be
+employed to so excellent an end, that imports nothing; for what dislike
+soever the world conceives against any man's undertakings, if they do
+but succeed and prosper, it will easily recant its error and applaud
+what it condemned before; and therefore all wise men have ever justly
+esteemed it a great virtue to disdain the false values it commonly sets
+upon all things and which itself is so apt to retract. For as those who
+go uphill use to stoop and bow their bodies forward, and sometimes creep
+upon their hands, and those that descend to go upright, so the lower a
+man stoops and submits in these endearing offices, the more sure and
+certain he is to rise; and the more upright he carries himself in other
+matters, the more like, in probability, to be ruined. And this he
+believes to be a wiser course for any man to take than to trouble
+himself with the knowledge of arts or arms; for the one does but bring a
+man an unnecessary trouble, and the other as unnecessary danger; and the
+shortest and more easy way to attain to both is to despise all other men
+and believe as steadfastly in himself as he can--a better and more
+certain course than that of merit.
+
+What he gains wickedly he spends as vainly, for he holds it the greatest
+happiness that a man is capable of to deny himself nothing that his
+desires can propose to him, but rather to improve his enjoyments by
+glorying in his vices; for, glory being one end of almost all the
+business of this world, he who omits that in the enjoyment of himself
+and his pleasures loses the greatest part of his delight; and therefore
+the felicity which he supposes other men apprehend that he receives in
+the relish of his luxuries is more delightful to him than the
+fruition itself.
+
+
+
+A MODERN STATESMAN
+
+Owns his election from free grace in opposition to merits or any
+foresight of good works; for he is chosen not for his abilities or
+fitness for his employment, but, like a _tales_ in a jury, for happening
+to be near in court. If there were any other consideration in it (which
+is a hard question to the wise), it was only because he was held able
+enough to be a counsellor-extraordinary for the indifference and
+negligence of his understanding, and consequent probability of doing no
+hurt, if no good; for why should not such prove the safest physicians to
+the body politic as well as they do to the natural? Or else some near
+friend or friend's friend helped him to the place, that engaged for his
+honesty and good behaviour in it. Howsoever, he is able to sit still and
+look wise according to his best skill and cunning, and, though he
+understand no reason, serve for one that does, and be most steadfastly
+of that opinion that is most like to prevail. If he be a great person,
+he is chosen, as aldermen are in the city, for being rich enough, and
+fines to be taken in as those do to be left out; and money being the
+measure of all things, it is sufficient to justify all his other talents
+and render them, like itself, good and current. As for wisdom and
+judgment, with those other out-of-fashioned qualifications which have
+been so highly esteemed heretofore, they have not been found to be so
+useful in this age, since it has invented scantlings for politics that
+will move with the strength of a child and yet carry matters of very
+great weight; and that raillery and fooling is proved by frequent
+experiments to be the more easy and certain way; for, as the Germans
+heretofore were observed to be wisest when they were drunk and knew not
+how to dissemble, so are our modern statesmen when they are mad and use
+no reserved cunning in their consultations; and as the Church of Rome
+and that of the Turks esteem ignorant persons the most devout, there
+seems no reason why this age, that seems to incline to the opinions of
+them both, should not as well believe them to be the most prudent and
+judicious; for heavenly wisdom does, by the confession of men, far
+exceed all the subtlety and prudence of this world. The heathen priests
+of old never delivered oracles but when they were drunk and mad or
+distracted, and who knows why our modern oracles may not as well use the
+same method in all their proceedings? Howsoever, he is as ably qualified
+to govern as that sort of opinion that is said to govern all the world,
+and is perpetually false and foolish; and if his opinions are always so,
+they have the fairer title to their pretensions. He is sworn to advise
+no further than his skill and cunning will enable him, and the less he
+has of either the sooner he despatches his business, and despatch is no
+mean virtue in a statesman.
+
+
+
+A DUKE OF BUCKS
+
+Is one that has studied the whole body of vice. His parts are
+disproportionate to the whole, and, like a monster, he has more of some
+and less of others than he should have. He has pulled down all that
+fabric that Nature raised in him, and built himself up again after a
+model of his own. He has dammed up all those lights that Nature made
+into the noblest prospects of the world, and opened other little blind
+loopholes backward by turning day into night and night into day. His
+appetite to his pleasures is diseased and crazy, like the pica in a
+woman that longs to eat that which was never made for food, or a girl in
+the green sickness that eats chalk and mortar. Perpetual surfeits of
+pleasure have filled his mind with bad and vicious humours (as well as
+his body with a nursery of diseases), which makes him affect new and
+extravagant ways as being sick and tired with the old. Continual wine,
+women, and music put false values upon things which by custom become
+habitual, and debauch his understanding so that he retains no right
+notion nor sense of things; and as the same dose of the same physic has
+no operation on those that are much used to it, so his pleasures require
+a larger proportion of excess and variety to render him sensible of
+them. He rises, eats, and goes to bed by the Julian account, long after
+all others that go by the new style, and keeps the same hours with owls
+and the antipodes. He is a great observer of the Tartars' customs, and
+never eats till the great Cham, having dined, makes proclamation that
+all the world may go to dinner. He does not dwell in his house, but
+haunts it like an evil spirit that walks all night to disturb the
+family, and never appears by day. He lives perpetually benighted, runs
+out of his life, and loses his time, as men do their ways, in the dark;
+and as blind men are led by their dogs, so is he governed by some mean
+servant or other that relates to his pleasures. He is as inconstant as
+the moon which he lives under; and although he does nothing but advise
+with his pillow all day, he is as great a stranger to himself as he is
+to the rest of the world. His mind entertains all things very freely
+that come and go, but, like guests and strangers, they are not welcome
+if they stay long. This lays him open to all cheats, quacks, and
+impostors, who apply to every particular humour while it lasts, and
+afterwards vanish. Thus, with St. Paul, though in a different sense, he
+dies daily, and only lives in the night. He deforms Nature while he
+intends to adorn her, like Indians that hang jewels in their lips and
+noses. His ears are perpetually drilled with a fiddlestick. He endures
+pleasures with less patience than other men do their pains.
+
+
+
+A FANTASTIC
+
+Is one that wears his feather on the inside of his head. His brain is
+like quicksilver, apt to receive any impression but retain none. His
+mind is made of changeable stuff, that alters colour with every motion
+towards the light. He is a cormorant that has but one gut, devours
+everything greedily, but it runs through him immediately. He does not
+know so much as what he would be, and yet would be everything he knows.
+He is like a paper-lantern, that turns with the smoke of a candle. He
+wears his clothes as the ancient laws of the land have provided,
+according to his quality, that he may be known what he is by them; and
+it is as easy to decipher him by his habit as a pudding. He is rigged
+with ribbon, and his garniture is his tackle; all the rest of him is
+hull. He is sure to be the earliest in the fashion, and lays out for it
+like the first peas and cherries. He is as proud of leading a fashion as
+others are of a faction, and glories as much to be in the head of a mode
+as a soldier does to be in the head of an army. He is admirably skilful
+in the mathematics of clothes, and can tell, at the first view, whether
+they have the right symmetry. He alters his gait with the times, and has
+not a motion of his body that (like a dottrel) he does not borrow from
+somebody else. He exercises his limbs like a pike and musket, and all
+his postures are practised. Take him altogether, and he is nothing but a
+translation, word for word, out of French, an image cast in
+plaster-of-Paris, and a puppet sent over for others to dress themselves
+by. He speaks French as pedants do Latin, to show his breeding, and most
+naturally where he is least understood. All his non-naturals, on which
+his health and diseases depend, are _stile nuovo_, French is his holiday
+language, that he wears for his pleasure and ornament, and uses English
+only for his business and necessary occasions. He is like a Scotchman;
+though he is born a subject of his own nation, he carries a French
+faction within him.
+
+He is never quiet, but sits as the wind is said to do when it is most in
+motion. His head is as full of maggots as a pastoral poet's flock. He
+was begotten, like one of Pliny's Portuguese horses, by the wind. The
+truth is, he ought not to have been reared; for, being calved in the
+increase of the moon, his head is troubled with a ----
+
+_N.B._--The last word not legible.
+
+
+
+AN HARANGUER
+
+Is one that is so delighted with the sweet sound of his own tongue, that
+William Prynne will sooner lend an ear than he to anything else. His
+measure of talk is till his wind is spent, and then he is not silenced,
+but becalmed. His ears have catched the itch of his tongue, and though
+he scratch them, like a beast with his hoof, he finds a pleasure in it.
+A silenced minister has more mercy on the Government in a secure
+conventicle than he has on the company that he is in. He shakes a man by
+the ear, as a dog does a pig, and never loses his hold till he has tired
+himself as well as his patient. He does not talk to a man, but attacks
+him, and whomsoever he can get into his hands he lays violent language
+on. If he can he will run a man up against a wall and hold him at a bay
+by the buttons, which he handles as bad as he does his person or the
+business he treats upon. When he finds him begin to sink he holds him by
+the clothes, and feels him as a butcher does a calf before he kills him.
+He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing
+ones. He will hold any argument rather than his tongue, and maintain
+both sides at his own charge; for he will tell you what you will say,
+though perhaps he does not intend to give you leave. He lugs men by the
+ears, as they correct children in Scotland, and will make them tingle
+while he talks with them, as some say they will do when a man is talked
+of in his absence. When he talks to a man he comes up close to him, and,
+like an old soldier, lets fly in his face, or claps the bore of his
+pistol to his ear and whispers aloud, that he may be sure not to miss
+his mark. His tongue is always in motion, though very seldom to the
+purpose, like a barber's scissors, which are always snipping, as well
+when they do not cut as when they do. His tongue is like a
+bagpipe-drone, that has no stop, but makes a continual ugly noise, as
+long as he can squeeze any wind out of himself. He never leaves a man
+until he has run him down, and then he winds a death over him. A
+sow-gelder's horn is not so terrible to dogs and cats as he is to all
+that know him. His way of argument is to talk all and hear no
+contradiction. First he gives his antagonist the length of his wind, and
+then, let him make his approaches if he can, he is sure to be beforehand
+with him. Of all dissolute diseases the running of the tongue is the
+worst, and the hardest to be cured. If he happen at any time to be at a
+stand, and any man else begins to speak, he presently drowns him with
+his noise, as a water-dog makes a duck dive; for when you think he has
+done he falls on and lets fly again, like a gun that will discharge nine
+times with one loading. He is a rattlesnake, that with his noise gives
+men warning to avoid him, otherwise he will make them wish they had. He
+is, like a bell, good for nothing but to make a noise. He is like common
+fame, that speaks most and knows least, Lord Brooks, or a wild goose
+always cackling when he is upon the wing. His tongue is like any kind of
+carriage, the less weight it bears the faster and easier it goes. He is
+so full of words that they run over and are thrown away to no purpose,
+and so empty of things or sense that his dryness has made his leaks so
+wide whatsoever is put in him runs out immediately. He is so long in
+delivering himself that those that hear him desire to be delivered too
+or despatched out of their pain. He makes his discourse the longer with
+often repeating to be short, and talking much of in fine, never means to
+come near it.
+
+
+
+A RANTER
+
+Is a fanatic Hector that has found out, by a very strange way of new
+light, how to transform all the devils into angels of light; for he
+believes all religion consists in looseness, and that sin and vice is
+the whole duty of man. He puts off the old man, but puts it on again
+upon the new one, and makes his pagan vices serve to preserve his
+Christian virtues from wearing out, for if he should use his piety and
+devotion always it would hold out but a little while. He is loth that
+iniquity and vice should be thrown away as long as there may be good use
+for it; for if that which is wickedly gotten may be disposed to pious
+uses, why should not wickedness itself as well? He believes himself
+shot-free against all the attempts of the devil, the world, and the
+flesh, and therefore is not afraid to attack them in their own quarters
+and encounter them at their own weapons. For as strong bodies may freely
+venture to do and suffer that, without any hurt to themselves, which
+would destroy those that are feeble, so a saint that is strong in grace
+may boldly engage himself in those great sins and iniquities that would
+easily damn a weak brother, and yet come off never the worse. He
+believes deeds of darkness to be only those sins that are committed in
+private, not those that are acted openly and owned. He is but a
+hypocrite turned the wrong side outward; for, as the one wears his vices
+within and the other without, so when they are counterchanged the ranter
+becomes a hypocrite, and the hypocrite an able ranter. His church is the
+devil's chapel, for it agrees exactly both in doctrine and discipline
+with the best reformed bawdy-houses. He is a monster produced by the
+madness of this latter age; but if it had been his fate to have been
+whelped in old Rome he had passed for a prodigy, and been received among
+raining of stones and the speaking of bulls, and would have put a stop
+to all public affairs until he had been expiated. Nero clothed
+Christians in the skins of wild beasts, but he wraps wild beasts in the
+skins of Christians.
+
+
+
+AN AMORIST
+
+Is an artificer or maker of love, a sworn servant to all ladies, like an
+officer in a corporation. Though no one in particular will own any title
+to him, yet he never fails upon all occasions to offer his services, and
+they as seldom to turn it back again untouched. He commits nothing with
+them but himself to their good graces; and they recommend him back again
+to his own, where he finds so kind a reception that he wonders how he
+does fail of it everywhere else. His passion is as easily set on fire as
+a fart, and as soon out again. He is charged and primed with love-powder
+like a gun, and the least sparkle of an eye gives fire to him and off he
+goes, but seldom or never hits the mark. He has commonplaces, and
+precedents of repartees, and letters for all occasions, and falls as
+readily into his method of making love as a parson does into his form of
+matrimony. He converses, as angels are said to do, by intuition, and
+expresses himself by sighs most significantly. He follows his visits as
+men do their business, and is very industrious in waiting on the ladies
+where his affairs lie; among which those of greatest concernment are
+questions and commands, purposes, and other such received forms of wit
+and conversation, in which he is so deeply studied that in all questions
+and doubts that arise he is appealed to, and very learnedly declares
+which was the most true and primitive way of proceeding in the purest
+times. For these virtues he never fails of his summons to all balls,
+where he manages the country-dances with singular judgment, and is
+frequently an assistant at _l'ombre_; and these are all the uses they
+make of his parts, beside the sport they give themselves in laughing at
+him, which he takes for singular favours and interprets to his own
+advantage, though it never goes further; for, all his employments being
+public, he is never admitted to any private services, and they despise
+him as not woman's meat; for he applies to too many to be trusted by any
+one, as bastards by having many fathers have none at all. He goes often
+mounted in a coach as a convoy to guard the ladies, to take the dust in
+Hyde Park, where by his prudent management of the glass windows he
+secures them from beggars, and returns fraught with China-oranges and
+ballads. Thus he is but a gentleman-usher-general, and his business is
+to carry one lady's services to another, and bring back the other's
+in exchange.
+
+
+
+AN ASTROLOGER
+
+Is one that expounds upon the planets and teaches to construe the
+accidents by the due joining of stars in construction. He talks with
+them by dumb signs, and can tell what they mean by their twinkling and
+squinting upon one another as well as they themselves. He is a spy upon
+the stars, and can tell what they are doing by the company they keep and
+the houses they frequent. They have no power to do anything alone until
+so many meet as will make a quorum. He is clerk of the committee to
+them, and draws up all their orders that concern either public or
+private affairs. He keeps all their accounts for them, and sums them up,
+not by debtor, but creditor alone--a more compendious way. They do ill
+to make them have so much authority over the earth, which perhaps has as
+much as any one of them but the sun, and as much right to sit and vote
+in their councils as any other. But because there are but seven Electors
+of the German Empire, they will allow of no more to dispose of all
+other, and most foolishly and unnaturally dispossess their own parent of
+its inheritance rather than acknowledge a defect in their own rules.
+These rules are all they have to show for their title, and yet not one
+of them can tell whether those they had them from came honestly by them.
+Virgil's description of fame, that reaches from earth to the stars, _tam
+ficti pravique tenax_, to carry lies and knavery, will serve astrologers
+without any sensible variation. He is a fortune-seller, a retailer of
+destiny, and petty chapman to the planets. He casts nativities as
+gamesters do false dice, and by slurring and palming sextile, quartile,
+and trine, like _six, quatre, trois_, can throw what chance he pleases.
+He sets a figure as cheats do a main at hazard, and gulls throw away
+their money at it. He fetches the grounds of his art so far off, as well
+from reason as the stars, that, like a traveller, he is allowed to lie
+by authority; and as beggars that have no money themselves believe all
+others have, and beg of those that have as little as themselves, so the
+ignorant rabble believe in him though he has no more reason for what he
+professes than they.
+
+
+
+A LAWYER
+
+Is a retailer of justice that uses false lights, false weights, and
+false measures. He measures right and wrong by his retaining fee, and,
+like a French duellist, engages on that side that first bespeaks him,
+though it be against his own brother; not because it is right, but
+merely upon a punctilio of profit, which is better than honour to him,
+because riches will buy nobility, and nobility nothing, as having no
+intrinsic value. He sells his opinion, and engages to maintain the title
+against all that claim under him, but no further. He puts it off upon
+his word, which he believes himself not bound to make good, because when
+he has parted with his right to it, it is no longer his. He keeps no
+justice for his own use, as being a commodity of his own growth, which
+he never buys, but only sells to others; and as no man goes worse shod
+than the shoemaker, so no man is more out of justice than he that gets
+his living by it. He draws bills as children do lots at a lottery, and
+is paid as much for blanks as prizes. He undoes a man with the same
+privilege as a doctor kills him, and is paid as well for it as if he
+preserved him, in which he is very impartial, but in nothing else. He
+believes it no fault in himself to err in judgment, because that part of
+the law belongs to the judge and not to him. His best opinions and his
+worst are all of a price, like good wine and bad in a tavern, in which
+he does not deal so fairly as those who, if they know what you are
+willing to bestow, can tell how to fit you accordingly. When his law
+lies upon his hands he will afford a good pennyworth, and rather
+pettifog and turn common barreter than be out of employment. His opinion
+is one thing while it is his own and another when it is paid for; for,
+the property being altered, the case alters also. When his counsel is
+not for his client's turn he will never take it back again, though it be
+never the worse, nor allow him anything for it, yet will sell the same
+over and over again to as many as come to him for it. His pride
+increases with his practice, and the fuller of business he is, like a
+sack, the bigger he looks. He crowds to the Bar like a pig through a
+hedge, and his gown is fortified with flankers about the shoulders to
+guard his ears from being galled with elbows. He draws his bills more
+extravagant and unconscionable than a tailor; for if you cut off
+two-thirds in the beginning, middle, or end, that which is left will be
+more reasonable and nearer to sense than the whole, and yet he is paid
+for all; for when he draws up a business, like a captain that makes
+false musters, he produces as many loose and idle words as he can
+possibly come by until he has received for them, and then turns them off
+and retains only those that are to the purpose. This he calls drawing of
+breviates. All that appears of his studies is, in short, time converted
+into waste-paper, tailor's measures, and heads for children's drums. He
+appears very violent against the other side, and rails to please his
+client as they do children, "Give me a blow and I'll strike him, ah,
+naughty!" &c. This makes him seem very zealous for the good of his
+client, and though the cause go against him he loses no credit by it,
+especially if he fall foul on the counsel of the other side, which goes
+for no more among them than it does with those virtuous persons that
+quarrel and fight in the streets to pick the pockets of those that look
+on. He hangs men's estates and fortunes on the slightest curiosities and
+feeblest niceties imaginable, and undoes them like the story of breaking
+a horse's back with a feather or sinking a ship with a single drop of
+water, as if right and wrong were only notional and had no relation at
+all to practice (which always requires more solid foundations), or
+reason and truth did wholly consist in the right spelling of letters,
+whenas the subtler things are the nearer they are to nothing, so the
+subtler words and notions are the nearer they are to nonsense. He
+overruns Latin and French with greater barbarism than the Goths did
+Italy and France, and makes as mad a confusion of language by mixing
+both with English. Nor does he use English much better, for he clogs it
+so with words that the sense becomes as thick as puddle, and is utterly
+lost to those that have not the trick of skipping over where it is
+impertinent. He has but one termination for all Latin words, and that's
+a dash. He is very just to the first syllables of words, but always
+bobtails the last, in which the sense most of all consists, like a cheat
+that does a man all right at the first that he may put a trick upon him
+in the end. He is an apprentice to the law without a master, is his own
+pupil, and has no tutor but himself, that is a fool. He will screw and
+wrest law as unmercifully as a tumbler does his body to lick up money
+with his tongue. He is a Swiss that professes mercenary arms, will fight
+for him that gives him best pay, and, like an Italian bravo, will fall
+foul on any man's reputation that he receives a retaining fee against.
+If he could but maintain his opinions as well as they do him, he were a
+very just and righteous man; but when he has made his most of it, he
+leaves it, like his client, to shift for itself. He fetches money out of
+his throat like a juggler; and as the rabble in the country value
+gentlemen by their housekeeping and their eating, so is he supposed to
+have so much law as he has kept commons, and the abler to deal with
+clients by how much the more he has devoured of Inns-of-Court mutton;
+and it matters not whether he keep his study so he has but kept commons.
+He never ends a suit, but prunes it that it may grow the faster and
+yield a greater increase of strife. The wisdom of the law is to admit of
+all the petty, mean, real injustices in the world, to avoid imaginary
+possible great ones that may perhaps fall out. His client finds the
+Scripture fulfilled in him, that it is better to part with a coat too
+than go to law for a cloak; for, as the best laws are made of the worst
+manners, even so are the best lawyers of the worst men. He hums about
+Westminster Hall, and returns home with his pockets like a bee with his
+thighs laden; and that which Horace says of an ant, _Ore trahit
+quodcunque potest, atque addit acervo_, is true of him, for he gathers
+all his heap with the labour of his mouth rather than his brain and
+hands. He values himself, as a carman does his horse, by the money he
+gets, and looks down upon all that gain less as scoundrels. The law is
+like that double-formed, ill-begotten monster that was kept in an
+intricate labyrinth and fed with men's flesh, for it devours all that
+come within the mazes of it and have not a clue to find the way out
+again. He has as little kindness for the Statute Law as Catholics have
+for the Scripture, but adores the Common Law as they do tradition, and
+both for the very same reason; for the Statute Law being certain,
+written and designed to reform and prevent corruptions and abuses in the
+affairs of the world (as the Scriptures are in matters of religion), he
+finds it many times a great obstruction to the advantage and profit of
+his practice; whereas the Common Law, being unwritten, or written in an
+unknown language which very few understand but himself, is the more
+pliable and easy to serve all his purposes, being utterly exposed to
+what interpretation and construction his interest and occasions shall at
+any time incline him to give it; and differs only from arbitrary power
+in this, that the one gives no account of itself at all, and the other
+such a one as is perhaps worse than none, that is implicit and not to be
+understood, or subject to what constructions he pleases to put
+upon it:--
+
+   Great critics in a _noverint universi_
+   Know all men by these presents how to curse ye;
+   Pedants of said and foresaid, and both Frenches,
+   Pedlars, and pokie, may those rev'rend benches
+   Y' aspire to be the stocks, and may ye be
+   No more call'd to the Bar, but pillory;
+   Thither in triumph may ye backward ride
+   To have your ears most justly crucified,
+   And cut so close until there be not leather
+   Enough to stick a pen in left of either;
+   Then will your consciences, your ears, and wit
+   Be like indentures tripartite cut fit.
+   May your horns multiply and grow as great
+   As that which does blow grace before your meat;
+   May varlets be your barbers now, and do
+   The same to you they have been done unto;
+   That's law and gospel too; may it prove true,
+   Then they shall do pump-justice upon you;
+   And when y' are shaved and powder'd you shall fall,
+   Thrown o'er the Bar, as they did o'er the wall,
+   Never to rise again, unless it be
+   To hold your hands up for your roguery;
+   And when you do so may they be no less
+   Sear'd by the hangman than your consciences.
+   May your gowns swarm until you can determine
+   The strife no more between yourselves and vermin
+   Than you have done between your clients' purses;
+   Now kneel and take the last and worst of curses--
+     May you be honest when it is too late;
+     That is, undone the only way you hate.
+
+
+
+AN EPIGRAMMATIST
+
+Is a poet of small wares, whose Muse is short-winded and quickly out of
+breath. She flies like a goose, that is no sooner upon the wing but down
+again. He was originally one of those authors that used to write upon
+white walls, from whence his works, being collected and put together,
+pass in the world like single money among those that deal in small
+matters. His wit is like fire in a flint, that is nothing while it is
+in, and nothing again as soon as it is out. He treats of all things and
+persons that come in his way, but like one that draws in little, much
+less than the life:--
+
+   His bus'ness is t' inveigh and flatter,
+   Like parcel parasite and satyr.
+
+He is a kind of vagabond writer, that is never out of his way, for
+nothing is beside the purpose with him that proposes none at all. His
+works are like a running banquet, that have much variety but little of a
+sort, for he deals in nothing but scraps and parcels, like a tailor's
+broker. He does not write, but set his mark upon things, and gives no
+account in words at length, but only in figures. All his wit reaches but
+to four lines or six at the most; and if he ever venture farther it
+tires immediately, like a post-horse, that will go no farther than his
+wonted stages. Nothing agrees so naturally with his fancy as bawdry,
+which he dispenses in small pittances to continue his reader still in an
+appetite for more.
+
+
+
+A FANATIC.
+
+St. Paul was thought by Festus to be mad with too much learning, but the
+fanatics of our times are mad with too little. He chooses himself one of
+the elect, and packs a committee of his own party to judge the twelve
+tribes of Israel. The apostles in the primitive Church worked miracles
+to confirm and propagate their doctrine, but he thinks to confirm his by
+working at his trade. He assumes a privilege to impress what text of
+Scripture he pleases for his own use, and leaves those that make against
+him for the use of the wicked. His religion, that tends only to faction
+and sedition, is neither fit for peace nor war, but times of a condition
+between both, like the sails of a ship that will not endure a storm and
+are of no use at all in a calm. He believes it has enough of the
+primitive Christian if it be but persecuted as that was, no matter for
+the piety or doctrine of it, as if there were nothing required to prove
+the truth of a religion but the punishment of the professors of it, like
+the old mathematicians that were never believed to be profoundly knowing
+in their profession until they had run through all punishments and just
+escaped the fork. He is all for suffering for religion, but nothing for
+acting; for he accounts good works no better than encroachments upon the
+merits of free believing, and a good life the most troublesome and
+unthrifty way to heaven. He canonises himself a saint in his own
+lifetime, as the more sure and certain way, and less troublesome to
+others. He outgrows ordinances, as an apprentice that has served out his
+time does his indentures, and being a freeman, supposes himself at
+liberty to set up what religion he pleases. He calls his own supposed
+abilities gifts, and disposes of himself like a foundation designed to
+pious uses, although, like others of the same kind, they are always
+diverted to other purposes. He owes all his gifts to his ignorance, as
+beggars do the alms they receive to their poverty. They are such as the
+fairies are said to drop in men's shoes, and when they are discovered to
+give them over and confer no more; for when his gifts are discovered
+they vanish and come to nothing. He is but a puppet saint that moves he
+knows not how, and his ignorance is the dull, leaden weight that puts
+all his parts in motion. His outward man is a saint and his inward man a
+reprobate, for he carries his vices in his heart and his religion in
+his face.
+
+
+
+A PROSELYTE.
+
+A priest stole him out of the cradle, like the fairies, and left a fool
+and changeling in his place. He new dyes his religion, and commonly into
+a sadder and darker colour than it was before. He gives his opinion the
+somersault and turns the wrong side of it outwards. He does not mend his
+manners, but botch them with patches of another stuff and colour. Change
+of religion, being for the most part used by those who understand not
+why one religion is better than another, is like changing of money two
+sixpences for a shilling; both are of equal value, but the change is for
+convenience or humour. There is nothing more difficult than a change of
+religion for the better, for as all alterations in judgment are derived
+from a precedent confessed error, that error is more probably like to
+produce another than anything of so different a nature as truth. He
+imposes upon himself in believing the infirmity of his nature to be the
+strength of his judgment, and thinks he changes his religion when he
+changes himself, and turns as naturally from one thing to another as a
+maggot does to a fly. He is a kind of freebooty and plunder, or one head
+of cattle driven by the priests of one religion out of the quarters of
+another, and they value him above two of their own; for, beside the
+glory of the exploit, they have a better title to him (as he that is
+conquered is more in the power of him that subdued him than he that was
+born his subject), and they expect a freer submission from one that
+takes quarter than from those that were under command before. His
+weakness or ignorance, or both, are commonly the chief causes of his
+conversion; for if he be a man of a profession that has no hopes to
+thrive upon the account of mere merit, he has no way so easy and certain
+as to betake himself to some forbidden church, where, for the common
+cause's sake, he finds so much brotherly love and kindness, that they
+will rather employ him than one of another persuasion though more
+skilful, and he gains by turning and winding his religion as tradesmen
+do by their stocks. The priest has commonly the very same design upon
+him, for he that is not able to go to the charges of his conversion may
+live free enough from being attacked by any side. He was troubled with a
+vertigo in his conscience, and nothing but change of religion, like
+change of air, could cure him. He is like a sick man that can neither
+lie still in his bed nor turn himself but as he is helped by others. He
+is like a revolter in an army; and as men of honour and commanders
+seldom prove such, but common soldiers, men of mean condition,
+frequently to mend their fortunes, so in religion clergymen who are
+commanders seldom prevail upon one another, and when they do, the
+proselyte is usually one who had no reputation among his own party
+before, and after a little trial finds as little among those to whom
+he revolts.
+
+
+
+A CLOWN
+
+Is a centaur, a mixture of man and beast, like a monster engendered by
+unnatural copulation, a crab engrafted on an apple. He was neither made
+by art nor nature, but in spite of both, by evil custom.. His perpetual
+conversation with beasts has rendered him one of them, and he is among
+men but a naturalised brute. He appears by his language, genius, and
+behaviour to be an alien to mankind, a foreigner to humanity, and of so
+opposite a genius that 'tis easier to make a Spaniard a Frenchman than
+to reduce him to civility. He disdains every man that he does not fear,
+and only respects him that has done him hurt or can do it. He is like
+Nebuchadnezzar after he had been a month at grass, but will never return
+to be a man again as he did, if he might, for he despises all manner of
+lives but his own, unless it be his horse's, to whom he is but _valet de
+chambre_. He never shows himself humane or kind in anything but when he
+pimps to his cow or makes a match for his mare; in all things else he is
+surly and rugged, and does not love to be pleased himself, which makes
+him hate those that do him any good. He is a stoic to all passions but
+fear, envy, and malice, and hates to do any good though it cost him
+nothing. He abhors a gentleman because he is most unlike himself, and
+repines as much at his manner of living as if he maintained him. He
+murmurs at him as the saints do at the wicked, as if he kept his right
+from him, for he makes his clownery a sect and damns all that are not of
+his Church. He manures the earth like a dunghill, but lets himself lie
+fallow, for no improvement will do good upon him. Cain was the first of
+his family, and he does his endeavour not to degenerate from the
+original churlishness of his ancestor. He that was fetched from the
+plough to be made dictator had not half his pride and insolence, nor
+Caligula's horse that was made consul. All the worst names that are
+given to men are borrowed from him, as villain, deboise, peasant, &c. He
+wears his clothes like a hide, and shifts them no oftener than a beast
+does his hair. He is a beast that Gesner never thought of.
+
+
+
+A WOOER
+
+Stands candidate for cuckold, and if he miss of it, it is none of his
+fault, for his merit is sufficiently known. He is commonly no lover, but
+able to pass for a most desperate one where he finds it is like to prove
+of considerable advantage to him, and therefore has passions lying by
+him of all sizes proportionable to all women's fortunes, and can be
+indifferent, melancholy, or stark-mad according as their estates give
+him occasion; and when he finds it is to no purpose, can presently come
+to himself again and try another. He prosecutes his suit against his
+mistress as clients do a suit in law, and does nothing without the
+advice of his learned counsel, omits no advantage for want of
+soliciting, and, when he gets her consent, overthrows her. He endeavours
+to match his estate, rather than himself, to the best advantage, and if
+his mistress's fortune and his do but come to an agreement, their
+persons are easily satisfied, the match is soon made up, and a cross
+marriage between all four is presently concluded. He is not much
+concerned in his lady's virtues, for if the opinion of the Stoics be
+true, that the virtuous are always rich, there is no doubt but she that
+is rich must be virtuous. He never goes without a list in his pocket of
+all the widows and virgins about the town, with particulars of their
+jointures, portions, and inheritances, that if one miss he may not be
+without a reserve; for he esteems Cupid very improvident if he has not
+more than two strings to his bow. When he wants a better introduction he
+begins his addresses to the chambermaid, like one that sues the tenant
+to eject the landlord, and according as he thrives there makes his
+approaches to the mistress. He can tell readily what the difference is
+between jointure with tuition of infant, land, and money of any value,
+and what the odds is to a penny between them all, either to take or
+leave. He does not so much go a-wooing as put in his claim, as if all
+men of fortune had a fair title to all women of the same quality, and
+therefore are said to demand them in marriage. But if he be a wooer of
+fortune, that designs to raise himself by it, he makes wooing his
+vocation, deals with all matchmakers, that are his setters, is very
+painful in his calling, and if his business succeed, steals her away and
+commits matrimony with a felonious intent. He has a great desire to
+beget money on the body of a woman, and as for other issue is very
+indifferent, and cares not how old she be so she be not past
+money-bearing.
+
+
+
+AN IMPUDENT MAN
+
+Is one whose want of money and want of wit have engaged him beyond his
+abilities. The little knowledge he has of himself, being suitable to the
+little he has in his profession, has made him believe himself fit for
+it. This double ignorance has made him set a value upon himself, as he
+that wants a great deal appears in a better condition than he that wants
+a little. This renders him confident and fit for any undertaking, and
+sometimes (such is the concurrent ignorance of the world) he prospers in
+it, but oftener miscarries and becomes ridiculous; yet this advantage he
+has, that as nothing can make him see his error, so nothing can
+discourage him that way, for he is fortified with his ignorance, as
+barren and rocky places are by their situation, and he will rather
+believe that all men want judgment than himself. For, as no man is
+pleased that has an ill opinion of himself, Nature, that finds out
+remedies herself, and his own ease, render him insensible of his
+defects. From hence he grows impudent; for, as men judge by comparison,
+he knows as little what it is to be defective as what it is to be
+excellent. Nothing renders men modest but a just knowledge how to
+compare themselves with others; and where that is wanting impudence
+supplies the place of it, for there is no vacuum in the minds of men,
+and commonly, like other things in Nature, they swell more with
+rarefaction than condensation. The more men know of the world, the worse
+opinion they have of it; and the more they understand of truth, they are
+better acquainted with the difficulties of it, and consequently are the
+less confident in their assertions, especially in matters of
+probability, which commonly is squint-eyed and looks nine ways at once.
+It is the office of a just judge to hear both parties, and he that
+considers but the one side of things can never make a just judgment,
+though he may by chance a true one. Impudence is the bastard of
+ignorance, not only unlawfully but incestuously begotten by a man upon
+his own understanding, and laid by himself at his own door, a monster of
+unnatural production; for shame is as much the propriety of human
+nature, though overseen by the philosophers, and perhaps more than
+reason, laughing, or looking asquint, by which they distinguish man from
+beasts; and the less men have of it the nearer they approach to the
+nature of brutes. Modesty is but a noble jealousy of honour, and
+impudence the prostitution of it; for he whose face is proof against
+infamy must be as little sensible of glory. His forehead, like a
+voluntary cuckold's, is by his horns made proof against a blush. Nature
+made man barefaced, and civil custom has preserved him so; but he that's
+impudent does wear a vizard more ugly and deformed than highway thieves
+disguise themselves with. Shame is the tender moral conscience of good
+men. When there is a crack in the skull, Nature herself, with a tough
+horny callous repairs the breach; so a flawed intellect is with a brawny
+callous face supplied. The face is the dial of the mind; and where they
+do not go together, 'tis a sign that one or both are out of order. He
+that is impudent is like a merchant that trades upon his credit without
+a stock, and if his debts were known would break immediately. The inside
+of his head is like the outside, and his peruke as naturally of his own
+growth as his wit. He passes in the world like a piece of counterfeit
+coin, looks well enough until he is rubbed and worn with use, and then
+his copper complexion begins to appear, and nobody will take him but by
+owl-light.
+
+
+
+AN IMITATOR
+
+Is a counterfeit stone, and the larger and fairer he appears the more
+apt he is to be discovered; whilst small ones, that pretend to no great
+value, pass unsuspected. He is made like a man in arras-hangings, after
+some great master's design, though far short of the original. He is like
+a spectrum or walking spirit, that assumes the shape of some particular
+person and appears in the likeness of something that he is not because
+he has no shape of his own to put on. He has a kind of monkey and baboon
+wit, that takes after some man's way whom he endeavours to imitate, but
+does it worse than those things that are naturally his own; for he does
+not learn, but take his pattern out, as a girl does her sampler. His
+whole life is nothing but a kind of education, and he is always learning
+to be something that he is not nor ever will be. For Nature is free, and
+will not be forced out of her way, nor compelled to do anything against
+her own will and inclination. He is but a retainer to wit and a follower
+of his master, whose badge he wears everywhere, and therefore his way is
+called servile imitation. His fancy is like the innocent lady's, who, by
+looking on the picture of a Moor that hung in her chamber, conceived a
+child of the same complexion; for all his conceptions are produced by
+the pictures of other men's imaginations, and by their features betray
+whose bastards they are. His Muse is not inspired, but infected with
+another man's fancy; and he catches his wit, like the itch, of somebody
+else that had it before, and when he writes he does but scratch himself.
+His head is, like his hat, fashioned upon a block and wrought in a shape
+of another man's invention. He melts down his wit and casts it in a
+mould; and as metals melted and cast are not so firm and solid as those
+that are wrought with the hammer, so those compositions that are founded
+and run in other men's moulds are always more brittle and loose than
+those that are forged in a man's own brain. He binds himself apprentice
+to a trade which he has no stock to set up with, if he should serve out
+his time and live to be made free. He runs a-whoring after another man's
+inventions, for he has none of his own to tempt him to an incontinent
+thought, and begets a kind of mongrel breed that never comes to good.
+
+
+
+A SOT
+
+Has found out a way to renew not only his youth, but his childhood, by
+being stewed, like old Aeson, in liquor; much better than the virtuoso's
+way of making old dogs young again, for he is a child again at second
+hand, never the worse for the wearing, but as purely fresh, simple, and
+weak as he was at first. He has stupefied his senses by living in a
+moist climate, according to the poet, _Boeotum in crasso jurares aëre
+natum_. He measures his time by glasses of wine, as the ancients did by
+water-glasses; and as Hermes Trismegistus is said to have kept the first
+account of hours by the pissing of a beast dedicated to Serapis, he
+revives that custom in his own practice, and observes it punctually in
+passing his time. He is like a statue placed in a moist air; all the
+lineaments of humanity are mouldered away, and there is nothing left of
+him but a rude lump of the shape of a man, and no one part entire. He
+has drowned himself in a butt of wine, as the Duke of Clarence was
+served by his brother. He has washed down his soul and pissed it out,
+and lives now only by the spirit of wine or brandy, or by an extract
+drawn off his stomach. He has swallowed his humanity and drunk himself
+into a beast, as if he had pledged Madam Circe and done her right. He is
+drowned in a glass like a fly, beyond the cure of crumbs of bread or the
+sunbeams. He is like a springtide; when he is drunk to his
+high-water-mark he swells and looks big, runs against the stream, and
+overflows everything that stands in his way; but when the drink within
+him is at an ebb, he shrinks within his banks and falls so low and
+shallow that cattle may pass over him. He governs all his actions by the
+drink within him, as a Quaker does by the light within him; has a
+different humour for every nick his drink rises to, like the degrees of
+the weather-glass; and proceeds from ribaldry and bawdry to politics,
+religion, and quarrelling, until it is at the top, and then it is the
+dog-days with him; from whence he falls down again until his liquor is
+at the bottom, and then he lies quiet and is frozen up.
+
+
+
+A JUGGLER
+
+Is an artificial magician, that with his fingers casts a mist before the
+eyes of the rabble and makes his balls walk invisible which way he
+pleases. He does his feats behind a table, like a Presbyterian in a
+conventicle, but with much more dexterity and cleanliness, and therefore
+all sorts of people are better pleased with him. Most professions and
+mysteries derive the practice of all their faculties from him, but use
+them with less ingenuity and candour; for the more he deceives those he
+has to do with the better he deals with them; while those that imitate
+him in a lawful calling are far more dishonest, for the more they impose
+the more they abuse. All his cheats are primitive, and therefore more
+innocent and of greater purity than those that are by tradition from
+hand to hand derived to them; for he conveys money out of one man's
+pocket into another's with much more sincerity and ingenuity than those
+that do it in a legal way, and for a less considerable, though more
+conscientious, reward. He will fetch money out of his own throat with a
+great deal more of delight and satisfaction to those that pay him for it
+than any haranguer whatsoever, and make it chuck in his throat better
+than a lawyer that has talked himself hoarse, and swallowed so many fees
+that he is almost choked. He will spit fire and blow smoke out of his
+mouth with less harm and inconvenience to the Government than a
+seditious holder-forth, and yet all these disown and scorn him, even as
+men that are grown great and rich despise the meanness of their
+originals. He calls upon "Presto begone," and the Babylonian's tooth, to
+amuse and divert the rabble from looking too narrowly into his tricks;
+while a zealous hypocrite, that calls heaven and earth to witness his,
+turns up the eye and shakes the head at his idolatry and profanation. He
+goes the circuit to all country fairs, where he meets with good
+strolling practice, and comes up to Bartholomew Fair as his Michaelmas
+term; after which he removes to some great thoroughfare, where he hangs
+out himself in effigy, like a Dutch malefactor, that all those that pass
+by may for their money have a trial of his skill. He endeavours to plant
+himself as near as he can to some puppet-play, monster, or mountebank,
+as the most convenient situation; and when trading grows scant they join
+all their forces together and make up one grand show, and admit the
+cutpurse and balladsinger to trade under them, as orange-women do at a
+playhouse.
+
+
+
+A ROMANCE-WRITER
+
+Pulls down old histories to build them up finer again, after a new model
+of his own designing. He takes away all the lights of truth in history
+to make it the fitter tutoress of life; for Truth herself has little or
+nothing to do in the affairs of the world, although all matters of the
+greatest weight and moment are pretended and done in her name, like a
+weak princess that has only the title, and falsehood all the power. He
+observes one very fit decorum in dating his histories in the days of old
+and putting all his own inventions upon ancient times; for when the
+world was younger, it might perhaps love and fight, and do generous
+things at the rate he describes them; but since it is grown old, all
+these heroic feats are laid by and utterly given over, nor ever like to
+come in fashion again; and therefore all his images of those virtues
+signify no more than the statues upon dead men's tombs, that will never
+make them live again. He is like one of Homer's gods, that sets men
+together by the ears and fetches them off again how he pleases; brings
+armies into the field like Janello's leaden soldiers; leads up both
+sides himself, and gives the victory to which he pleases, according as
+he finds it fit the design of his story; makes love and lovers too,
+brings them acquainted, and appoints meetings when and where he pleases,
+and at the same time betrays them in the height of all their felicity to
+miserable captivity, or some other horrid calamity; for which he makes
+them rail at the gods and curse their own innocent stars when he only
+has done them all the injury; makes men villains, compels them to act
+all barbarous inhumanities by his own directions, and after inflicts the
+cruellest punishments upon them for it. He makes all his knights fight
+in fortifications, and storm one another's armour before they can come
+to encounter body for body, and always matches them so equally one with
+another that it is a whole page before they can guess which is likely to
+have the better; and he that has it is so mangled that it had been
+better for them both to have parted fair at first; but when they
+encounter with those that are no knights, though ever so well armed and
+mounted, ten to one goes for nothing. As for the ladies, they are every
+one the most beautiful in the whole world, and that's the reason why no
+one of them, nor all together with all their charms, have power to tempt
+away any knight from another. He differs from a just historian as a
+joiner does from a carpenter; the one does things plainly and
+substantially for use, and the other carves and polishes merely for show
+and ornament.
+
+
+
+A LIBELLER
+
+Is a certain classic author that handles his subject-matter very
+ruggedly, and endeavours with his own evil words to corrupt another
+man's good manners. All his works treat but of two things, his own
+malice and another man's faults, both which he describes in very proper
+and pertinent language. He is not much concerned whether what he writes
+be true or false; that's nothing to his purpose, which aims only at
+filthy and bitter, and therefore his language is, like pictures of the
+devil, the fouler the better. He robs a man of his good name, not for
+any good it will do him (for he dares not own it), but merely, as a
+jackdaw steals money, for his pleasure. His malice has the same success
+with other men's charity, to be rewarded in private; for all he gets is
+but his own private satisfaction and the testimony of an evil
+conscience; for which, if it be discovered, he suffers the worst kind of
+martyrdom and is paid with condign punishment, so that at the best he
+has but his labour for his pains. He deals with a man as the Spanish
+Inquisition does with heretics, clothes him in a coat painted with
+hellish shapes of fiends, and so shows him to the rabble to render him
+the more odious. He exposes his wit like a bastard, for the next comer
+to take up and put out to nurse, which it seldom fails of, so ready is
+every man to contribute to the infamy of another. He is like the devil,
+that sows tares in the dark, and while a man sleeps plants weeds among
+his corn. When he ventures to fall foul on the Government or any great
+persons, if he has not a special care to keep himself, like a conjurer,
+safe in his circle, he raises a spirit that falls foul on himself and
+carries him to limbo, where his neck is clapped up in the hole, out of
+which it is never released until he has paid his ears down on the nail
+for fees. He is in a worse condition than a schoolboy, for when he is
+discovered he is whipped for his exercise, whether it be well or ill
+done; so that he takes a wrong course to show his wit, when his best way
+to do so is to conceal it; otherwise he shows his folly instead of his
+wit, and pays dear for the mistake.
+
+
+
+A FACTIOUS MEMBER
+
+Is sent out laden with the wisdom and politics of the place he serves
+for, and has his own freight and custom free. He is trusted like a
+factor to trade for a society, but endeavours to turn all the public to
+his own private advantages. He has no instructions but his pleasure, and
+therefore strives to have his privileges as large. He is very wise in
+his politic capacity as having a full share in the House and an implicit
+right to every man's reason, though he has none of his own, which makes
+him appear so simple out of it. He believes all reason of State consists
+in faction, as all wisdom in haranguing, of which he is so fond that he
+had rather the nation should perish than continue ignorant of his great
+abilities that way; though he that observes his gestures, words, and
+delivery will find them so perfectly agreeable to the rules of the House
+that he cannot but conclude he learnt his oratory the very same way that
+jackdaws and parrots practise by; for he coughs and spits and blows his
+nose with that discreet and prudent caution that you would think he had
+buried his talent in a handkerchief, and were now pulling it out to
+dispose of it to a better advantage. He stands and presumes so much upon
+the privileges of the House, as if every member were a tribune of the
+people and had as absolute power as they had in Rome, according to the
+lately established fundamental custom and practice of their quartered
+predecessors of unhappy memory. He endeavours to show his wisdom in
+nothing more than in appearing very much unsatisfied with the present
+manage of State affairs, although he knows nothing of the reasons. So
+much the better, for the thing is the more difficult, and argues his
+judgment and insight the greater; for any man can judge that understands
+the reasons of what he does, but very few know how to judge mechanically
+without understanding why or wherefore. It is sufficient to assure him
+that the public money has been diverted from the proper uses it was
+raised for because he has had no share of it himself, and the government
+ill managed because he has no hand in it, which, truly, is a very great
+grievance to the people, that understand, by himself and his party, that
+are their representatives, and ought to understand for them how able he
+is for it. He fathers all his own passions and concerns, like bastards,
+on the people, because, being entrusted by them without articles or
+conditions, they are bound to acknowledge whatsoever he does as their
+own act and deed.
+
+
+
+A PLAY-WRITER
+
+Of our times is like a fanatic, that has no wit in ordinary easy things,
+and yet attempts the hardest task of brains in the whole world, only
+because, whether his play or work please or displease, he is certain to
+come off better than he deserves, and find some of his own latitude to
+applaud him, which he could never expect any other way, and is as sure
+to lose no reputation, because he has none to venture:--
+
+  Like gaming rooks, that never stick
+   To play for hundreds upon tick,
+   'Cause, if they chance to lose at play,
+   They've not one halfpenny to pay;
+   And, if they win a hundred pound,
+   Gain, if for sixpence they compound.
+
+Nothing encourages him more in his undertaking than his ignorance, for
+he has not wit enough to understand so much as the difficulty of what he
+attempts; therefore he runs on boldly like a foolhardy wit, and Fortune,
+that favours fools and the bold, sometimes takes notice of him for his
+double capacity, and receives him into her good graces. He has one
+motive more, and that is the concurrent ignorant judgment of the present
+age, in which his sottish fopperies pass with applause, like Oliver
+Cromwell's oratory among fanatics of his own canting inclination. He
+finds it easier to write in rhyme than prose, for the world being
+over-charged with romances, he finds his plots, passions, and repartees
+ready made to his hand, and if he can but turn them into rhyme the
+thievery is disguised, and they pass for his own wit and invention
+without question, like a stolen cloak made into a coat or dyed into
+another colour. Besides this, he makes no conscience of stealing
+anything that lights in his way, and borrows the advice of so many to
+correct, enlarge, and amend what he has ill-favouredly patched together,
+that it becomes like a thing drawn by counsel, and none of his own
+performance, or the son of a whore that has no one certain father. He
+has very great reason to prefer verse before prose in his compositions;
+for rhyme is like lace, that serves excellently well to hide the piecing
+and coarseness of a bad stuff, contributes mightily to the bulk, and
+makes the less serve by the many impertinences it commonly requires to
+make way for it, for very few are endowed with abilities to bring it in
+on its own account. This he finds to be good husbandry and a kind of
+necessary thrift, for they that have but a little ought to make as much
+of it as they can. His prologue, which is commonly none of his own, is
+always better than his play, like a piece of cloth that's fine in the
+beginning and coarse afterwards; though it has but one topic, and that's
+the same that is used by malefactors, when they are to be tried, to
+except against as many of the jury as they can.
+
+
+
+A MOUNTEBANK
+
+Is an epidemic physician, a doctor-errant, that keeps himself up by
+being, like a top, in motion, for if he should settle he would fall to
+nothing immediately. He is a pedlar of medicines, a petty chapman of
+cures, and tinker empirical to the body of man. He strolls about to
+markets and fairs, where he mounts on the top of his shop, that is his
+bank, and publishes his medicines as universal as himself; for
+everything is for all diseases, as himself is of all places--that is to
+say, of none. His business is to show tricks and impudence. As for the
+cure of diseases, it concerns those that have them, not him, further
+than to get their money. His pudding is his setter that lodges the
+rabble for him, and then slips him, who opens with a deep mouth, and has
+an ill day if he does not run down some. He baits his patient's body
+with his medicines, as a rat-catcher does a room, and either poisons the
+disease or him. As soon as he has got all the money and spent all the
+credit the rabble could spare him, he then removes to fresh quarters
+where he is less known and better trusted. If but one in twenty of his
+medicines hit by chance, when nature works the cure, it saves the credit
+of all the rest, that either do no good or hurt; for whosoever recovers
+in his hands, he does the work under God; but if he die, God does it
+under him: his time was come, and there's an end. A velvet jerkin is his
+prime qualification, by which he is distinguished from his pudding, as
+he is with his cap from him. This is the usher of his school, that draws
+the rabble together, and then he draws their teeth. He administers
+physic with a farce, and gives his patients a preparative of dancing on
+the rope, to stir the humours and prepare them for evacuation. His fool
+serves for his foil, and sets him off as well as his bragging and lying.
+The first thing he vents is his own praise, and then his medicines
+wrapped up in several papers and lies. He mounts his bank as a vaulter
+does his wooden horse, and then shows tricks for his patients, as apes
+do for the King of Spain. He casts the nativity of urinals, and tries
+diseases, like a witch, by water. He bails the place with a jig, draws
+the rabble together, and then throws his hook among them. He pretends to
+universal medicines; that is, such as, when all men are sick together,
+will cure them all, but till then no one in particular.
+
+
+
+A WITTOL
+
+Is a person of great complaisance, and very civil to all that have
+occasion to make use of his wife. He married a wife as a common proxy
+for the service of all those that are willing to come in for their
+shares; he engrossed her first by wholesale, and since puts her off by
+retail; he professes a form of matrimony, but utterly denies the power
+thereof. They that tell tales are very unjust, for, having not put in
+their claims before marriage, they are bound for ever after to hold
+their tongues. The reason why citizens are commonly wittols is, because
+men that drive a trade and are dealers in the world seldom provide
+anything for their own uses which they will not very willingly put off
+again for considerable profit. He believes it to be but a vulgar error
+and no such disparagement as the world commonly imagines to be a
+cuckold; for man, being the epitomy and representation of all creatures,
+cannot be said to be perfect while he wants that badge and character
+which so many several species wear both for their defence and ornament.
+He takes the only wise and sure course that his wife should do him no
+injury; for, having his own free consent, it is not in her power that
+way to do him any wrong at all. His wife is, like Eve in Paradise,
+married to all mankind, and yet is unsatisfied that there are no more
+worlds, as Alexander the Great was. She is a person of public capacity,
+and rather than not serve her country would suffer an army to march over
+her, as Sir Rice ap Thomas did. Her husband and she give and take equal
+liberty, which preserves a perfect peace and good understanding between
+both, while those that are concerned in one another's love and honour
+are never quiet, but always caterwauling. He differs from a jealous man
+as a valiant man does from a coward, that trembles at a danger which the
+other scorns and despises. He is of a true philosophical temper, and
+suffers what he knows not how to avoid with a more than stoical
+resolution. He is one of those the poet speaks of:--
+
+   "Qui ferre incommoda vitæ,
+   Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra."
+
+He is as much pleased to see many men approve his choice of his wife and
+has as great a kindness for them, as opiniasters have for all those whom
+they find to agree with themselves in judgment and approve the abilities
+of their understandings.
+
+
+
+A LITIGIOUS MAN
+
+Goes to law as men do to bad houses, to spend his money and satisfy his
+concupiscence of wrangling. He is a constant customer to the old
+reverend gentlewoman Law, and believes her to be very honest, though she
+picks his pockets and puts a thousand tricks and gulleries upon him. He
+has a strange kindness for an action of the case, but a most passionate
+loyalty for the King's writ. A well-drawn bill and answer will draw him
+all the world over, and a breviate as far as the Line. He enters the
+lists at Westminster like an old tiller, runs his course in law, and
+breaks an oath or two instead of a lance; and if he can but unhorse the
+defendant and get the sentence of the judges on his side, he marches off
+in triumph. He prefers a cry of lawyers at the Bar before any pack of
+the best-mouthed dogs in all the North. He has commonly once a term a
+trial of skill with some other professor of the noble science of
+contention at the several weapons of bill and answer, forgery, perjury,
+subornation, champarty, affidavit, common barretry, maintenance, &c.,
+and though he come off with the worst, he does not greatlv care so he
+can but have another bout for it. He fights with bags of money as they
+did heretofore with sand-bags, and he that has the heaviest has the
+advantage and knocks down the other, right or wrong and he suffers the
+penalties of the law for having no more money to show in the case. He is
+a client by his order and votary of the long robe, and though he were
+sure the devil invented it to hide his cloven feet, he has the greater
+reverence for it; for, as evil manners produce good laws, the worse the
+inventor was the better the thing may be. He keeps as many Knights of
+the Post to swear for him, as the King does poor knights at Windsor to
+pray for him. When he is defendant and like to be worsted in a suit, he
+puts in a cross bill and becomes plaintiff; for the plainant is eldest
+hand, and has not only that advantage, but is understood to be the
+better friend to the Court, and is considered for it accordingly.
+
+
+
+A HUMOURIST
+
+Is a peculiar fantastic that has a wonderful natural affection to some
+particular kind of folly, to which he applies himself and in time
+becomes eminent. 'Tis commonly some outlying whimsy of Bedlam, that,
+being tame and unhurtful, is suffered to go at liberty. The more serious
+he is the more ridiculous he becomes, and at the same time pleases
+himself in earnest and others in jest. He knows no mean, for that is
+inconsistent with all humour, which is never found but in some extreme
+or other. Whatsoever he takes to he is very full of, and believes every
+man else to be so too, as if his own taste were the same in every man's
+palate. If he be a virtuoso, he applies himself with so much earnestness
+to what he undertakes that he puts his reason out of joint and strains
+his judgment; and there is hardly anything in the world so slight or
+serious that some one or other has not squandered away his brains and
+time and fortune upon to no other purpose but to be ridiculous. He is
+exempted from a dark room and a doctor, because there is no danger in
+his frenzy; otherwise he has as good a title to fresh straw as another.
+Humour is but a crookedness of the mind, a disproportioned swelling of
+the brain, that draws the nourishment from the other parts to stuff an
+ugly and deformed crup-shoulder. If it have the luck to meet with many
+of its own temper, instead of being ridiculous it becomes a church, and
+from jest grows to earnest.
+
+
+
+A LEADER OF A FACTION
+
+Sets the psalm, and all his party sing after him. He is like a figure in
+arithmetic; the more ciphers he stands before the more his value amounts
+to. He is a great haranguer, talks himself into authority, and, like a
+parrot, climbs with his beak. He appears brave in the head of his party,
+but braver in his own; for vainglory leads him, as he does them, and
+both, many times out of the King's highway, over hedges and ditches, to
+find out by-ways and shorter cuts, which generally prove the farthest
+about, but never the nearest home again. He is so passionate a lover of
+the Liberty of the People that his fondness turns to jealousy. He
+interprets every trifle in the worst sense, to the prejudice of her
+honesty, and is so full of caprices and scruples that, if he had his
+will, he would have her shut up and never suffered to go abroad again,
+if not made away, for her incontinence. All his politics are speculative
+and for the most part impracticable, full of curious niceties, that tend
+only to prevent future imaginary inconveniences with greater real and
+present. He is very superstitious of having the formalities and
+punctilios of law held sacred, that, while they are performing, those
+that would destroy the very being of it may have time to do their
+business or escape. He bends all his forces against those that are above
+him, and, like a free-born English mastiff, plays always at the head. He
+gathers his party as fanatics do a church, and admits all his admirers
+how weak and slight soever; for he believes it is argument of wisdom
+enough in them to admire, or, as he has it, to understand him. When he
+has led his faction into any inconvenience they all run into his mouth,
+as young snakes do into the old ones, and he defends them with his
+oratory as well as he is able; for all his confidence depends upon his
+tongue more than his brain or heart, and if that fail the others
+surrender immediately; for though David says it is a two-edged sword, a
+wooden dagger is a better weapon to fight with. His judgment is like a
+nice balance that will turn with the twentieth part of a grain, but a
+little using renders it false, and it is not so good for use as one that
+will not stir without a greater weight.
+
+
+
+A DEBAUCHED MAN
+
+Saves the devil a labour and leads himself into temptation, being loth
+to lose his good favour in giving him any trouble where he can do the
+business himself without his assistance, which he very prudently
+reserves for matters of greater concernment. He governs himself in an
+arbitrary way, and is absolute, without being confined to anything but
+his own will and pleasure, which he makes his law. His life is all
+recreation, and his diversions nothing but turning from one vice, that
+he is weary of, to entertain himself with another that is fresh. He
+lives above the state of his body as well as his fortune, and runs out
+of his health and money as if he had made a match and betted on the
+race, or bid the devil take the hindmost. He is an amphibious animal,
+that lives in two elements, wet and dry, and never comes out of the
+first but, like a sea-calf, to sleep on the shore. His language is very
+suitable to his conversation, and he talks as loosely as he lives.
+Ribaldry and profanation are his doctrine and use, and what he professes
+publicly he practises very carefully in his life and conversation; not
+like those clergymen that, to save the souls of other men, condemn
+themselves out of their own mouths. His whole life is nothing but a
+perpetual lordship of misrule and a constant ramble day and night as
+long as it lasts, which is not according to the course of nature, but
+its own course; for he cuts off the latter end of it, like a pruned
+vine, that it may bear the more wine although it be the shorter. As for
+that which is left, he is as lavish of it as he is of everything else;
+for he sleeps all day and sits up all night, that he may not see how it
+passes, until, like one that travels in a litter and sleeps, he is at
+his journey's end before he is aware; for he is spirited away by his
+vices and clapped under hatches, where he never knows whither he is
+going until he is at the end of his voyage.
+
+
+
+THE SEDITIOUS MAN
+
+Is a civil mutineer, and as all mutinies for the most part are for pay,
+if it were not for that he would never trouble himself with it. His
+business is to kindle and blow up discontents against the Government,
+that, when they are inflamed, he may have the fairer opportunity to rob
+and plunder, while those that are concerned are employed in quenching
+it. He endeavours to raise tumults and, if he can, civil war--a remedy
+which no man that means well to his country can endure to think on
+though the disease were never so desperate. He is a State mountebank,
+whose business is to persuade the people that they are not well in
+health, that he may get their money to make them worse. If he be a
+preacher, he has the advantage of all others of his tribe, for he has a
+way to vent sedition by wholesale; and as the foulest purposes have most
+need of the fairest pretences, so when sedition is masked under the veil
+of piety, religion, conscience, and holy duty, it propagates wonderfully
+among the rabble, and he vents more in an hour from the pulpit than
+others by news and politics can do in a week. Next him, writers and
+libellers are most pernicious, for though the contagion they disperse
+spreads slower and with less force than preaching, yet it lasts longer,
+and in time extends to more, and with less danger to the author, who is
+not easily discovered if he use any care to conceal himself. And
+therefore, as we see stinging-flies vex and provoke cattle most
+immediately before storms, so multitudes of those kinds of vermin do
+always appear to stir up the people before the beginning of all
+troublesome times, and nobody knows who they are or from whence they
+came, but only that they were printed the present year that they may not
+lose the advantage of being known to be new. Some do it only out of
+humour and envy, or desire to see those that are above them pulled down
+and others raised in their places, as if they held it a kind of freedom
+to change their governors, though they continue in the same condition
+themselves still, only they are a little better pleased with it in
+observing the dangers greatness is exposed to. He delights in nothing so
+much as civil commotions, and, like a porpoise, always plays before a
+storm. Paper and tinder are both made of the same material, rags, but he
+converts them both into the same again and makes his paper tinder.
+
+
+
+THE RUDE MAN
+
+Is an Ostro-Goth or Northern Hun, that, wheresoever he comes, invades
+and all the world does overrun, without distinction of age, sex, or
+quality. He has no regard to anything but his own humour, and that, he
+expects, should pass everywhere without asking leave or being asked
+wherefore, as if he had a safe-conduct for his rudeness. He rolls up
+himself like a hedgehog in his prickles, and is as intractable to all
+that come near him. He is an ill-designed piece, built after the rustic
+order, and all his parts look too big for their height. He is so
+ill-contrived that that which should be the top in all regular
+structures--_i.e._, confidence--is his foundation. He has neither
+doctrine nor discipline in him, like a fanatic Church, but is guided by
+the very same spirit that dipped the herd of swine in the sea. He was
+not bred, but reared; not brought up to hand, but suffered to run wild
+and take after his kind, as other people of the pasture do. He takes
+that freedom in all places, as if he were not at liberty, but had broken
+loose and expected to be tied up again. He does not eat, but feed, and
+when he drinks goes to water. The old Romans beat the barbarous part of
+the world into civility, but if he had lived in those times he had been
+invincible to all attempts of that nature, and harder to be subdued and
+governed than a province. He eats his bread, according to the curse,
+with the sweat of his brow, and takes as much pains at a meal as if he
+earned it; puffs and blows like a horse that eats provender, and crams
+his throat like a screwed gun with a bullet bigger than the bore. His
+tongue runs perpetually over everything that comes in its way, without
+regard of what, where, or to whom, and nothing but a greater rudeness
+than his own can stand before it; and he uses it to as slovenly purposes
+as a dog does that licks his sores and the dirt off his feet. He is the
+best instance of the truth of Pythagoras's doctrine, for his soul passed
+through all sorts of brute beasts before it came to him, and still
+retains something of the nature of every one.
+
+
+
+A RABBLE
+
+Is a congregation or assembly of the States-general sent from their
+several and respective shops, stalls, and garrets. They are full of
+controversy, and every one of a several judgment concerning the business
+under present consideration, whether it be mountebank, show, hanging, or
+ballad-singer. They meet, like Democritus's atoms, _in vacuo_, and by a
+fortuitous jostling together produce the greatest and most savage beast
+in the whole world; for though the members of it may have something of
+human nature while they are asunder, when they are put together they
+have none at all, as a multitude of several sounds make one great noise
+unlike all the rest, in which no one particular is distinguished. They
+are a great dunghill where all sorts of dirty and nasty humours meet,
+stink, and ferment, for all the parts are in a perpetual tumult. 'Tis no
+wonder they make strange Churches, for they take naturally to any
+imposture, and have a great antipathy to truth and order as being
+contrary to their original confusion. They are a herd of swine possessed
+with a dry devil that run after hanging instead of drowning. Once a
+month they go on pilgrimage to the gallows, to visit the sepulchres of
+their ancestors, as the Turks do once a week. When they come there they
+sing psalms, quarrel, and return full of satisfaction and narrative.
+When they break loose they are like a public ruin, in which the highest
+parts lie undermost, and make the noblest fabrics heaps of rubbish. They
+are like the sea, that's stirred into a tumult with every blast of wind
+that blows upon it, till it become a watery Apennine, and heap mountain
+billows upon one another, as once the giants did in the war with heaven.
+A crowd is their proper element, in which they make their way with their
+shoulders as pigs creep through hedges. Nothing in the world delights
+them so much as the ruin of great persons or any calamity in which they
+have no share, though they get nothing by it. They love nothing but
+themselves in the likeness of one another, and, like sheep, run all that
+way the first goes, especially if it be against their governors, whom
+they have a natural disaffection to.
+
+
+
+A KNIGHT OF THE POST
+
+Is a retailer of oaths, a deposition-monger, an evidence-maker, that
+lives by the labour of his conscience. He takes money to kiss the
+Gospel, as Judas did Christ when he betrayed Him. As a good conscience
+is a continual feast, so an ill one is with him his daily food. He plies
+at a court of justice, as porters do at a market, and his business is to
+bear witness, as they do burdens for any man that will pay them for it.
+He will swear his ears through an inch-board, and wears them merely by
+favour of the Court; for, being _amicus curiae_, they are willing to let
+him keep the pillory out of possession, though he has forfeited his
+right never so often; for when he is once outed of his ears he is past
+his labour, and can do the commonwealth of practisers no more service.
+He is false weight in the balance of justice, and, as a lawyer's tongue
+is the tongue of the balance that inclines either way according as the
+weight of the bribe inclines it, so does his. He lays one hand on the
+Book, and the other is in the plaintiff's or defendant's pocket. He
+feeds upon his conscience, as a monkey eats his tail. He kisses the Book
+to show he renounces and takes his leave of it. Many a parting kiss has
+he given the Gospel. He pollutes it with his lips oftener than a
+hypocrite. He is a sworn officer of every court and a great practiser,
+is admitted within the Bar, and makes good what the rest of the counsel
+say. The attorney and solicitor fee and instruct him in the case, and he
+ventures as far for his client as any man to be laid by the ears. He
+speaks more to the point than any other, yet gives false ground to his
+brethren of the jury, that they seldom come near the jack. His oaths are
+so brittle that not one in twenty of them will hold the taking, but fly
+as soon as they are out. He is worse than an ill conscience, for that
+bears true witness, but his is always false; and though his own
+conscience be said to be a thousand witnesses, he will outswear and
+outface them all. He believes it no sin to bear false witness for his
+neighbour that pays him for it, because it is not forbidden, but only to
+bear false witness against his neighbour.
+
+
+
+AN UNDESERVING FAVOURITE
+
+Is a piece of base metal with the King's stamp upon it, a fog raised by
+the sun to obscure his own brightness. He came to preferment by unworthy
+offices, like one that rises with his bum forwards, which the rabble
+hold to be fortunate. He got up to preferment on the wrong side, and
+sits as untoward in it. He is raised rather above himself than others,
+or as base metals are by the test of lead, while gold and silver
+continue still unmoved. He is raised and swells, like a pimple, to be an
+eyesore and deform the place he holds. He is borne like a cloud on the
+air of the Prince's favour, and keeps his light from the rest of his
+people. He rises, like the light end of a balance, for want of weight,
+or as dust and feathers do, for being light. He gets into the Prince's
+favour by wounding it. He is a true person of honour, for he does but
+act it at the best; a lord made only to justify all the lords of
+May-poles, morrice-dances, and misrule; a thing that does not live, but
+lie in state before he's dead, such as the heralds dight at funerals.
+His Prince gives him honour out of his own stock, and estate out of his
+revenue, and lessens himself in both:--
+
+   "He is like fern, that vile unuseful weed,
+   That springs equivocally, without seed."
+
+He was not made for honour, nor it for him, which makes it sit so
+unfavouredly upon him. The fore-part of himself and the hinder-part of
+his coach publish his distinction; as French lords, that have _haute
+justice_--that is, may hang and draw--distinguish their qualities by the
+pillars of their gallows. He got his honour easily, by chance, without
+the hard, laborious way of merit, which makes him so prodigally lavish
+of it. He brings down the price of honour, as the value of anything
+falls in mean hands. He looks upon all men in the state of knighthood
+and plain gentility as most deplorable, and wonders how he could endure
+himself when he was but of that rank. The greatest part of his honour
+consists in his well-sounding title, which he therefore makes choice of,
+though he has none to the place, but only a patent to go by the name of
+it. This appears at the end of his coach in the shape of a coronet,
+which his footmen set their bums against, to the great disparagement of
+the wooden representative. The people take him for a general grievance,
+a kind of public pressure or innovation, and would willingly give a
+subsidy to be redressed of him. He is a strict observer of men's
+addresses to him, and takes a mathematical account whether they stoop
+and bow in just proportion to the weight of his greatness and allow full
+measure to their legs and cringes accordingly. He never uses courtship
+but in his own defence, that others may use the same to him, and, like a
+true Christian, does as he would be done unto. He is intimate with no
+man but his pimp and his surgeon, with whom he keeps no state, but
+communicates all the states of his body. He is raised, like the market
+or a tax, to the grievance and curse of the people. He that knew the
+inventory of him would wonder what slight ingredients go to the making
+up of a great person; howsoever, he is turned up trump, and so commands
+better cards than himself while the game lasts. He has much of honour
+according to the original sense of it, which among the ancients, Gellius
+says, signified injury. His prosperity was greater than his brain could
+bear, and he is drunk with it; and if he should take a nap as long as
+Epimenides or the Seven Sleepers he would never be sober again. He took
+his degree and went forth lord by mandamus, without performing exercises
+of merit. His honour's but an immunity from worth, and his nobility a
+dispensation for doing things ignoble. He expects that men's hats should
+fly off before him like a storm, and not presume to stand in the way of
+his prospect, which is always over their heads. All the advantage he has
+is but to go before or sit before, in which his nether parts take place
+of his upper, that continue still, in comparison, but commoners. He is
+like an open summer-house, that has no furniture but bare seats. All he
+has to show for his honour is his patent, which will not be in season
+until the third or fourth generation, if it lasts so long. His very
+creation supposes him nothing before, and as tailors rose by the fall of
+Adam, and came in, like thorns and thistles, with the curse, so did he
+by the frailty of his master. His very face is his gentleman-usher, that
+walks before him in state, and cries "Give way!" He is as stiff as if he
+had been dipped in petrifying water and turned into his own statue. He
+is always taking the name of his honour in vain, and will rather damn it
+like a knighthood of the post than want occasion to pawn it for every
+idle trifle, perhaps for more than it is worth, or any man will give to
+redeem it; and in this he deals uprightly, though perhaps in
+nothing else.
+
+
+
+A MALICIOUS MAN
+
+Has a strange natural inclination to all ill intents and purposes. He
+bears nothing so resolutely as ill-will, which he takes naturally to, as
+some do to gaming, and will rather hate for nothing than sit out. He
+believes the devil is not so bad as he should be, and therefore
+endeavours to make him worse by drawing him into his own party offensive
+and defensive; and if he would but be ruled by him, does not doubt but
+to make him understand his business much better than he does. He lays
+nothing to heart but malice, which is so far from doing him hurt that it
+is the only cordial that preserves him. Let him use a man never so
+civilly to his face, he is sure to hate him behind his back. He has no
+memory for any good that is done him; but evil, whether it be done him
+or not, never leaves him, as things of the same kind always keep
+together. Love and hatred, though contrary passions, meet in him as a
+third and unite, for he loves nothing but to hate, and hates nothing but
+to love. All the truths in the world are not able to produce so much
+hatred as he is able to supply. He is a common enemy to the world, for
+being born to the hatred of it, Nature, that provides for everything she
+brings forth, has furnished him with a competence suitable to his
+occasions, for all men together cannot hate him so much as he does them
+one by one. He loses no occasion of offence, but very thriftily lays it
+up and endeavours to improve it to the best advantage. He makes issues
+in his skin to vent his ill-humours, and is sensible of no pleasure so
+much as the itching of his sores. He hates death for nothing so much as
+because he fears it will take him away before he has paid all the
+ill-will he owes, and deprive him of all those precious feuds he has
+been scraping together all his lifetime. He is troubled to think what a
+disparagement it will be to him to die before those that will be glad to
+hear he is gone, and desires very charitably they might come to an
+agreement like good friends and go hand-in-hand out of the world
+together. He loves his neighbour as well as he does himself, and is
+willing to endure any misery so they may but take part with him, and
+undergo any mischief rather than they should want it. He is ready to
+spend his blood and lay down his life for theirs that would not do half
+so much for him, and rather than fail would give the devil suck, and his
+soul into the bargain, if he would but make him his plenipotentiary to
+determine all differences between himself and others. He contracts
+enmities, as others do friendships, out of likenesses, sympathies, and
+instincts; and when he lights upon one of his own temper, as contraries
+produce the same effects, they perform all the offices of friendship,
+have the same thoughts, affections, and desires of one another's
+destruction, and please themselves as heartily, and perhaps as securely,
+in hating one another as others do in loving. He seeks out enemies to
+avoid falling out with himself, for his temper is like that of a
+flourishing kingdom; if it have not a foreign enemy it will fall into a
+civil war and turn its arms upon itself, and so does but hate in his own
+defence. His malice is all sorts of gain to him, for as men take
+pleasure in pursuing, entrapping, and destroying all sorts of beasts and
+fowl, and call it sport, so would he do men, and if he had equal power
+would never be at a loss, nor give over his game without his prey; and
+in this he does nothing but justice, for as men take delight to destroy
+beasts, he, being a beast, does but do as he is done by in endeavouring
+to destroy men. The philosopher said, "Man to man is a god and a wolf;"
+but he, being incapable of the first, does his endeavour to make as much
+of the last as he can, and shows himself as excellent in his kind as it
+is in his power to do.
+
+
+
+A KNAVE
+
+Is like a tooth-drawer, that maintains his own teeth in constant eating
+by pulling out those of other men. He is an ill moral philosopher, of
+villainous principles, and as bad practice. His tenets are to hold what
+he can get, right or wrong. His tongue and his heart are always at
+variance, and fall out like rogues in the street, to pick somebody's
+pocket. They never agree but, like Herod and Pilate, to do mischief. His
+conscience never stands in his light when the devil holds a candle to
+him, for he has stretched it so thin that it is transparent. He is an
+engineer of treachery, fraud, and perfidiousness, and knows how to
+manage matters of great weight with very little force by the advantage
+of his trepanning screws. He is very skilful in all the mechanics of
+cheat, the mathematical magic of imposture, and will outdo the
+expectation of the most credulous to their own admiration and undoing.
+He is an excellent founder, and will melt down a leaden fool and cast
+him into what form he pleases. He is like a pike in a pond, that lives
+by rapine, and will sometimes venture on one of his own kind, and devour
+a knave as big as himself. He will swallow a fool a great deal bigger
+than himself, and, if he can but get his head within his jaws, will
+carry the rest of him hanging out at his mouth, until by degrees he has
+digested him all. He has a hundred tricks to slip his neck out of the
+pillory without leaving his ears behind. As for the gallows, he never
+ventures to show his tricks upon the high-rope for fear of breaking his
+neck. He seldom commits any villainy but in a legal way, and makes the
+law bear him out in that for which it hangs others. He always robs under
+the wizard of law, and picks pockets with tricks in equity. By his means
+the law makes more knaves than it hangs, and, like the Inns-of-Court,
+protects offenders against itself. He gets within the law and disarms
+it. His hardest labour is to wriggle himself into trust, which if he can
+but compass his business is done, for fraud and treachery follow as
+easily as a thread does a needle. He grows rich by the ruin of his
+neighbours, like grass in the streets in a great sickness. He shelters
+himself under the covert of the law, like a thief in a hemp-plot, and
+makes that secure him which was intended for his destruction.
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+
+_Wrote "The Character of the Happy Warrior" in 1806. It was suggested by
+the death of Nelson at Trafalgar on the 21st of October 1805. Wordsworth
+did not connect the poem with the name of Nelson because there was a
+stain upon his public life, in his relations with Lady Hamilton, that
+clouded the ideal. The poet said that in writing he thought much of his
+true-hearted sailor-brother who, as Captain of an Indiaman, had been
+drowned in the wreck of his ship off the Bill of Portland on the 5th of
+February 1805, his body not being found until the 20th of March_.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.
+
+   Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
+   That every man in arms should wish to he?
+   --It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
+   Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
+   Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
+   Whose high endeavours are an inward light
+   That makes the path before him always bright:
+   Who, with a natural instinct to discern
+   What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
+   Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
+   But makes his moral being his prime care;
+   Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
+   And Fear, and Bloodshed--miserable train!--
+   Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
+   In face of these doth exercise a power
+   Which is our human nature's highest dower;
+   Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
+   Of their bad influence, and their good receives:
+   By objects, which might force the soul to abate
+   Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
+   Is placable--because occasions rise
+   So often that demand such sacrifice;
+   More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
+   As tempted more; more able to endure
+   As more exposed to suffering and distress;
+   Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
+   --'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
+   Upon that law as on the best of friends;
+   Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
+   To evil for a guard against worse ill,
+   And what in quality or act is best
+   Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
+   He labours good on good to fix, and owes
+   To virtue every triumph that he knows:
+   --Who, if he rise to station of command,
+   Rises by open means; and there will stand
+   On honourable terms, or else retire,
+   And in himself possess his own desire;
+   Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
+   Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
+   And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
+   For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
+   Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
+   Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
+   Whose flowers shed round him in the common strife,
+   Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
+   A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
+   But who, if he be called upon to face
+   Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
+   Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
+   Is happy as a Lover; and attired
+   With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
+   And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
+   In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
+   Or if an unexpected call succeed,
+   Come when it will, is equal to the need:
+   --He who, though thus endued as with a sense
+   And faculty for storm and turbulence,
+   Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
+   To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
+   Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,
+   Are at his heart; and such fidelity
+   It is his darling passion to approve;
+   More brave for this, that he hath much to love:--
+   'Tis finally, the man who, lifted high,
+   Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
+   Or left unthought of in obscurity,--
+   Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
+   Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not--
+   Plays, in the many games of life, that one
+   Where what he most doth value must be won:
+   Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
+   Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
+   Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
+   Looks forward, persevering to the last,
+   From well to better, daily self-surpassed:
+   Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
+   For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
+   Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
+   And leave a dead unprofitable name--
+   Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
+   And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
+   His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:
+   This is the happy Warrior; this is He
+   That every Man in arms should wish to be.
+
+
+[Footnote 1:
+Henry Wootton.]
+
+[Footnote 2:
+"Microcosmography; or, a Piece of the World discovered; in Essays and
+Characters. By John Earle, D.D. of Christchurch and Merton College,
+Oxford and Bishop of Salisbury. A new edition, to which are add Notes
+and Appendix by Philip Bliss, Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford."]
+
+
+[Footnote 3:
+So Washbourne, in his _Divine Poems_, 12mo, 1654:--
+
+   "--ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin,
+   _The mind white paper_ is, and will admit
+   of any lesson you will write in it."--P. 26.
+
+Shakspeare, of a child, says--
+
+   "--the hand of time
+   Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume."--_K. John, II_ I.]
+
+[Footnote 4:
+This, and every other passage throughout the volume, [included between
+brackets,] does not appear in the first edition of 1628.]
+
+
+[Footnote 5:
+Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva Bible, "make himself
+breeches," till he knew sin: the meaning of the passage in the text is
+merely that, as a child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the
+knowledge and commission of vice and immorality.]
+
+
+[Footnote 6:
+St. Mary's church was originally built by king Alfred, and annexed to
+the University of Oxford, for the use of the scholars, when St. Giles's
+and St. Peter's (which were till then appropriated to them,) had been
+ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally rebuilt during the
+reign of Henry VII., who gave forty oaks towards the materials; and is,
+in this day, the place of worship in which the public sermons are
+preached before the members of the university.]
+
+
+[Footnote 7:
+_Brachigraphy_, or short-hand-writing, appears to have been much studied
+in our author's time, and was probably esteemed a fashionable
+accomplishment. It was first introduced into this country by Peter
+Bales, who, in 1590, published The _Writing Schoolmaster_, a treatise
+consisting of three parts, the first "of Brachygraphie, that is, to
+write as fast as a man speaketh treatably, writing but one letter for a
+word;" the second, of Orthography; and the third of Calligraphy.
+Imprinted at London, by T. Orwin, &c., 1590, 4to. A second edition,
+"with sundry new additions," appeared in 1597, 12mo, Imprinted at
+London, by George Shawe, &c. Holinshed gives the following description
+of one of Bales' performances:--"The tenth of August (1575.) a rare
+peece of worke, and almost incredible, was brought to passe by an
+Englishman borne in the citie of London, named Peter Bales, who by his
+industrie and practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the
+compasse of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed, the ten
+commandements, a praier to God, a praier for the queene, his posie, his
+name, the daie of the moneth, the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of
+the queene. And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at Hampton
+court, he presented the same to the queen's maiestie, in the head of a
+ring of gold, couered with a christall; and presented therewith an
+excellent spectacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof:
+wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein with great
+admiration, and commended the same to the lords of the councell, and the
+ambassadors, and did weare the same manie times vpon hir
+finger."--_Holinshed's Chronicle_, page 1262, b. edit, folio,
+Lond. 1587.]
+
+
+[Footnote 8:
+It is customary in all sermons delivered before the University, to use
+an introductory prayer for the founder of, and principal benefactors to,
+the preacher's individual college, as well as for the officers and
+members of the university in general. This, however, would appear very
+ridiculous when "_he comes down to his friends_" or, in other words,
+preaches before a country congregation.]
+
+
+[Footnote 9:
+_of_, first edit. 1628.]
+
+[Footnote 10:
+I cannot forbear to close this admirable character with the beautiful
+description of a _"poure Persons," riche of holy thought and werk_,
+given by the father of English poetry:--
+
+   Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
+   And in adversité ful patient:
+   And swiche he was yprevéd often sithes.
+   Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,
+   But rather wolde he yeven out of doute,
+   Unto his pouré parishens aboute,
+   Of his offring, and eke of his substance.
+   He coude in litel thing have suffisance.
+   Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder,
+   But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder,
+   In sikenesse and in mischief to visite
+   The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,
+   Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf.
+     *     *     *     *
+   And though he holy were, and vertuous,
+   He was to sinful men not dispitous,
+   Ne of his speché dangerous ne digne,
+   But in his teching discrete and benigne.
+   To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse,
+   By good ensample, was his besinesse.
+     *     *     *     *
+   He waited after no pompe ne reverence,
+   Ne makéd him no spicéd conscience,
+   But Cristés lore, and his apostles twelve,
+   He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.
+     _Chaucer, Prol. to Cant. Tales_, v. 485.
+
+We may surely conclude with a line from the same poem,
+     "A better preest I trowe that nowher non is."]
+
+[Footnote 11:
+_The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Piemovnt, containyng
+excellente remedies against diuers diseases, &c._, appear to have been a
+very favourite study either with the physicians, or their patients,
+about this period.
+
+They were originally written in Italian, and were translated into
+English by William Warde, of which editions were printed at London, in
+1558, 1562, 1595, and 1615. In 1603, a _fourth_ edition of a Latin
+version appeared at Basil; and from Ward's dedication to "the lorde
+Russell, erle of Bedford," it seems that the French and Dutch were not
+without so great a treasure in their own languages. A specimen of the
+importance of this publication may be given in the title of the first
+secret. "The maner and secrete to conserue a man's youth, and to holde
+back olde age, to maintaine a man always in helth and strength, as in
+the fayrest floure of his yeres."]
+
+[Footnote 12:
+_The Regiment of Helthe_, by Thomas Paynell, is another
+volume of the same description, and was printed by Thomas Berthelette, in
+1541. 410.]
+
+[Footnote 13:
+_Vespasian_, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed a tax upon urine, and when
+his son Titus remonstrated with him on the meanness of the act,
+"Pecuniam," says Suetonius, "ex prima pensione admovit ad nares,
+suscitans _num odore offenderetur?_ et illo negante, atqui, inquit, e
+lotio est."]
+
+
+[Footnote 14:
+"Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with vrinals, where, if he finde
+any thing, (though he knowe nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which
+if it hit to some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme a
+piece of strange stuffe." Character of an unworthy physician. "_The Good
+and the Badde_" by Nicholas Breton. 4to. 1618.]
+
+
+[Footnote 15:
+That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of the murderer, was, in
+our author's time, a commonly received opinion. Holinshed affirms that
+the corpse of Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment; and
+Sir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of the report, that he
+has endeavoured to explain the reason. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens,
+in a note to _Shakspeare_, that the opinion seems to be derived from the
+ancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we descend; as they
+practised this method of trial in all dubious cases.]
+
+
+[Footnote 16:
+
+   "Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please
+   The female sex, and how their corp'ral griefes to ease."
+
+Goddard's "_Mastif Whelp._" _Satires_. 4to. Without date. Sat.
+17.]
+
+[Footnote 17:
+In the first edition it stands thus:--"_and his hat is as antient as the
+tower of Babel._"]
+
+
+[Footnote 18:
+The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample room for ridicule at all
+times. In "_A brief Character of the Low-countries under the States,
+being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the
+Inhabitants_," written by Owen Feltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 12mo, we
+find them epitomized as a general sea-land--the great bog of Europe--an
+universal quagmire--in short, a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in
+which denomination the author appears to include all the natives) he
+describes as being able to "drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be
+_lowsie_ alike." P. 40.]
+
+
+[Footnote 19:
+_Gavelkind_, or the practice of dividing lands equally among all the
+male children of the deceased, was (according to Spelman) adopted by the
+Saxons, from Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description of
+that nation. _Gloss. Archaiol._, folio, Lond. 1664. Harrison, in _The
+Description of England_, prefixed to Holinshed's _Chronicle_ (vol. i.
+page 180), says, "Gauell kind is all the male children equallie to
+inherit, and is continued to this daie in _Kent_, where it is onelie to
+my knowledge reteined, and no where else in England." And Lambarde, in
+his _Customes of Kent_ (_Perambulation_, 410, 1596, page 538), thus
+notices it:--"The custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth
+itselfe throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by auncient
+tenure vnto the same, such places onely excepted, where it is altered by
+acte of parleament."]
+
+
+[Footnote 20:
+_Minster-walk_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 21:
+_Ambrose Spinola_ was one of the most celebrated and excellent
+commanders that Spain ever possessed: he was born, in 1569, of a noble
+family, and distinguished himself through life in being opposed to
+Prince Maurice of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he
+was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died in 1630, owing to
+a disadvantage sustained by his troops at the siege of Cassel, which was
+to be entirely attributed to the imprudent orders he received from
+Spain, and which that government compelled him to obey. This disaster
+broke his heart; and he died with the exclamation of "_they have robbed
+me of my honour_;" an idea he was unable to survive. It is probable
+that, at the time this character was composed, many of the disaffected
+in England were in expectation of an attack to be made on this country
+by the Spaniards, under the command of Spinola.]
+
+
+[Footnote 22:
+_and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian._ First
+edit.]
+
+[Footnote 23:
+_Primivist_ and primero were, in all probability, the same game,
+although Minshew, in his Dictionary, calls them "_two_ games at cardes."
+The latter he explains, "primum et primum visum, that is, first and
+first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of cardes, first
+winnes the game." The coincidence between Mr. Strutt's description of
+the former and the passage in the text, shows that there could be little
+or no difference between the value of the cards in these games, or in
+the manner of playing them. "Each player had four cards dealt to him,
+one by one, the _seven_ was the highest card, in point of number, that
+he could avail himself of, _which counted for twenty-one_, the _six
+counted for sixteen_, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same,"
+&c. (_Sports and Pastimes_, 247.) The honourable Daines Harrington
+conceived that Primero was introduced by Philip the Second, or some of
+his suite, whilst in England. Shakspeare proves that it was played in
+the royal circle.
+
+
+-----"I left him (Henry VIII.) at _Primero_
+With the duke of Suffolk."--_Henry VIII._
+
+So Decker: "Talke of none but lords and such ladies with whom you have
+plaid at _Primero_."--_Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609. 37.
+
+Among the Marquis of Worcester's celebrated "_Century of Inventions,_"
+12mo, 1663, is one "so contrived without suspicion, that playing at
+Primero at cards, one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning
+of all sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded."--No. 87.]
+
+
+[Footnote 24:
+"Enquire out those tauernes which are best customd, whose maisters are
+oftenest drunk, for that confirmes their taste, and that they choose
+wholesome wines."--Decker's _Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609.]
+
+
+[Footnote 25:
+_his_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 26:
+The editor of the edition in 1732, has altered _canary_ to "_sherry_,"
+for what reason I am at a loss to discover, and have consequently
+restored the reading of the first edition. Venner gives the following
+description of this favourite liquor. "Canarie-wine, which beareth the
+name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of some termed a
+sacke, with this adjunct, sweete; but yet very improperly, for it
+differeth not only from sacke in sweetness and pleasantness of taste,
+but also in colour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as
+sack, nor so thin in substance; wherefore it is more nutritive than
+sack, and less penetrative."--_Via recta ad Vitam longam_, 4to, 1622. In
+Howell's time, Canary wine was much adulterated. "I think," says he, in
+one of his Letters, "there is more Canary brought into England than to
+all the world besides; I think also, there is a hundred times more drunk
+under the name of Canary wine, than there is brought in; for Sherries
+and Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most taverns. When Sacks
+and Canaries," he continues, "were brought in first amongst us, they
+were used to be drunk in aqua vitae measures, and 'twas held fit only
+for those to drink who were used to carry their _legs in their hands,
+their eyes upon their noses_, and an _almanack in their bones;_ but now
+they go down every one's throat, both young and old, like
+milk."--Howell, _Letter to the lord Cliff_, dated Oct. 7, 1634.]
+
+
+[Footnote 27:
+We learn from Harrison's _Description of England_, prefixed to
+Holinshed, that _eleven o'clock_ was the usual time for dinner during
+the reign of Elizabeth. "With vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students,
+doo ordinarilie go to dinner at _eleuen before noone_, and to supper at
+fiue, or between fiue and six at afternoone" (vol. i. page 171, edit.
+1587). The alteration in manners at this time is rather singularly
+evinced, from a passage immediately following the above quotation, where
+we find that _merchants_ and _husbandmen_ dined and supped at a _later
+hour than the nobility_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 28:
+Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff at particular
+seasons of the year. So in _The Widow_, a comedy, 4to, 1652.
+
+   "And as at a _sheriff's table_, O blest custome!
+   A poor indebted gentleman may dine,
+   Feed well, and without fear, and depart so."]
+
+
+[Footnote 29:
+The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral church of Gloucester,
+was founded by Richard Stanley, abbot, in 1457, and finished by William
+Farley, a monk of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the
+following description of the vault here alluded to. "The _whispering
+place_ is very remarkable; it is a long alley, from one side of the
+choir to the other, built circular, that it might not darken the great
+east window of the choir. When a person whispers at one end of the
+alley, his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though the
+passage be open in the middle, having large spaces for doors and windows
+on the east side. It may be imputed to the close cement of the wall,
+which makes it as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long
+piece of timber does convey the least stroak to the other end. Others
+assign it to the repercussion of the voice from accidental
+angles."--_Atkyns' Ancient and Present State of Glostershire_, Lond.
+1712, folio, page 128. See also _Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire_,
+page 351.]
+
+
+[Footnote 30:
+_Then in apiece of gold, &c._, 1st edit._]
+
+[Footnote 31:
+_Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 32:
+_Gallo-Belgicus_ was erroneously supposed, by the ingenious Mr. Reed, to
+be the "first newspaper, published in England;" we are, however, assured
+by the author of the _Life of Ruddiman_, that it has no title to so
+honourable a distinction. _Gallo-Belgicus_ appears to have been rather
+an _Annual Register_, or _History of its own Times_, than a newspaper.
+It was written in Latin, and entituled, "MERCURSS GALLO-BELGICI: _sive,
+rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum: Hispania quoque, Italia, Anglia,
+Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno 1588, ad Martium anni 1594,
+gestarum_, NUNCIJ." The first volume was printed in 8vo, at Cologne,
+1598; from which year, to about 1605, it was published annually; and
+from thence to the time of its conclusion, which is uncertain, it
+appeared in _half-yearly_ volumes. Chalmers' _Life of Ruddiman_, 1794.
+The great request in which newspapers were held at the publication of
+the present work may be gathered from Burton, who, in his _Anatomy of
+Melancholy_, complains that "if any read now-a-days, it is a play-book,
+or a pamphlet of newes."]
+
+
+[Footnote 33:
+Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in Prussia, 1571, and
+educated under Fabricius. Being eminently distinguished for his
+abilities and application, he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of
+Dantzick, to take upon him the management of their academy; an honour he
+then declined, but accepted, on a second application, in 1601. Here he
+proposed to instruct his pupils in the complete science of philosophy in
+the short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drew up a great
+number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics,
+metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &c. &c., till, as it is said,
+literally worn out with scholastic drudgery, he died at the early age
+of 38.]
+
+
+[Footnote 34:
+"Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie brought to the
+table, whereof the first and most excellent is the _mainchet_, which we
+commonlie call white bread."--Harrison, _Description of England_
+prefixed to Holinshed, chap. 6.]
+
+
+
+[Footnote 35:
+_His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bare_, &c., first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 36:
+_Clown_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 37:
+The art of hawking has been so frequently and so fully explained, that
+it would be superfluous, if not arrogant, to trace its progress, or
+delineate its history, in this place. In the earliest periods it appears
+to have been exclusively practised by the nobility; and, indeed, the
+great expense at which the amusement was supported, seems to have been a
+sufficient reason for deterring persons of more moderate income, and of
+inferior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the _Sports and
+Pastimes_ of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are given of the
+importance attached to the office of falconer, and of the immense value
+of, and high estimation the birds themselves were held in from the
+commencement of the Norman government, down to the reign of James I., in
+which Sir Thomas Monson gave £1000 for a cast of hawks, which consisted
+of only _two_.
+
+The great increase of wealth, and the consequent equalization of
+property in this country, about the reign of Elizabeth, induced many of
+inferior birth to practise the amusements of their superiors, which they
+did without regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas Elyot, in
+his _Governour_ (1580), complains that the falcons of his day consumed
+so much poultry, that, in a few years, he feared there would be a great
+scarcity of it. "I speake not this," says he, "in disprayse of the
+faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cockneyes." A reproof,
+there can be no doubt, applicable to the character in the text.]
+
+[Footnote 38:
+A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of leather which are
+fastened to the hawk's legs, by which she is held on the fist, or joined
+to the leash. They were sometimes made of silk, as appears from _The
+Boke of hawkynge, huntynge, and fysshynge, with all the propertyes and
+medecynes that are necessarye to be kepte_: "Hawkes haue aboute theyr
+legges _gesses_ made of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld
+be no lenger but that the knottes of them shulde appere in the myddes of
+the lefte hande," &c. _Juliana Barnes_, edit. 410, "_Imprynted at London
+in Pouls chyrchyarde by me Hery Tab_." Sig. C. ii.]
+
+[Footnote 39:
+_This authority of his is that club which keeps them under as his dogs
+hereafter_, first edit.]
+
+
+[Footnote 40:
+_Now become a man's total_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 41:
+Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to find any mention in
+Mr. Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_, nor is it alluded to in any of the
+old plays or tracts I have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of
+_tables_ may be read in the interesting and valuable publication
+just noticed.]
+
+
+[Footnote 42:
+The room where the performers dress, previous to coming on the stage.]
+
+[Footnote 43:
+This passage affords a proof of what has been doubted, namely, that the
+theatres were not permitted to be open during Lent, in the reign of
+James I. The restriction was waived in the next reign, as we find from
+the puritanical Prynne:--"There are none so much addicted to
+stage-playes, but when they goe unto places where they cannot have them,
+or when, as they are suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of
+pestilence, and in _Lent, till now of late_) can well subsist without
+them," &c. _Histrio Mastix_, 4to, Lond. 1633, page 384,]
+
+
+[Footnote 44:
+It may not be known to those who are not accustomed to meet with old
+books in their original bindings, or of seeing public libraries of
+antiquity, that the volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the
+_leaves_, not the _back_, in front; and that the two sides of the
+binding were joined together with _neat silk_ or other strings, and, in
+some instances, where the books were of greater value and curiosity than
+common, even fastened with gold or silver chains.]
+
+
+[Footnote 45:
+A hanger-on to noblemen, who are distinguished at the university by gold
+tassels to their caps; or in the language of the present day, a
+_tuft-hunter_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 46:
+_If he could order his intentions_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 47:
+Minshew calls a tobacconist _fumi-vendulus_, a _smoak-seller_.]
+
+[Footnote 48:
+_Cento_, a composition formed by joining scraps from other
+authors.--_Johnson_. Camden, in his _Remains_, uses it in the same
+sense. "It is quilted, as it were, out of shreds of divers poets, such
+as scholars call a _cento_."]
+
+[Footnote 49:
+_Firing_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 50:
+In the hope of discovering some account of the _strange monster_ alluded
+to, I have looked through one of the largest and most curious
+collections of tracts, relating to the marvellous, perhaps in existence.
+That bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the author of the
+_Anatomy of Melancholy_. Hitherto my researches have been unattended
+with success, as I have found only two tracts of this description
+relating to Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither giving any
+account of a monster.
+
+
+1. _A most true Relation of a very dreadfull Earthquake, with the
+lamentable Effectes thereof, which began upon the 8 of December 1612,
+and yet continueth most fearefull in Munster in Germanie. Reade and
+Tremble. Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike Notarie
+in London, and printed at Rotterdame, in Holland, at the Signe of the
+White Gray-hound_. (Date cut off. Twenty-six pages, 4to, with
+a woodcut.)
+
+2: _Miraculous Newes from the Cittie of Holt, in the Lordship of
+Munster, in Germany, the twentieth of September last past, 1616, where
+there were plainly beheld three dead bodyes rise out of their Graves
+admonishing the people of Judgements to come. Faithfully translated (&c.
+&c.) London, Printed for John Barnes, dwelling in Hosie Lane neere
+Smithfield, 1616_. (4to, twenty pages, woodcut.)]
+
+[Footnote 51:
+It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral sentences, or scraps
+of verse, on old tapestry hangings, which were called _painted cloths_.
+Several allusions to this practice may be found in the works of our
+early English dramatists. See Reed's _Shakspeare_, viii. 103.]
+
+
+[Footnote 52:
+_Beller_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 53:
+_Hale_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 54:
+Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to decide their quarrels
+on, as being out of the jurisdiction of the law. This custom is noticed
+in an Epigram written about the period in which this book
+first appeared.
+
+   "When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight,
+   He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight:
+   Till more aduizde, will not defile [his] hands,
+   Vnlesse you meete him vpon _Callice sands."
+
+The Mastive or Young Whelpe of the olde Dog. Epigrams and Satyrs._ 4to,
+Lond. (Printed, as Warton supposes, about 1600.)
+
+A passage in _The Beau's Duel: or a Soldier for the Ladies_, a comedy,
+by Mrs. Centlivre, 4to, 1707, proves that it existed so late as at that
+day. "Your only way is to send him word you'll meet him on _Calais
+sands;_ duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates," &c. See also
+other instances in Dodsley's _Old Plays,_ edit. 1780, vii. 218;
+xii. 412.]
+
+[Footnote 55:
+Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the smallness and precision
+of their ruffs, which were termed _in print_ from the exactness of the
+folds. So in Mynshul's _Essays,_ 4to, 1618. "I vndertooke a warre when I
+aduentured to speake in _print,_ (not in _print as Puritan's ruffes_ are
+set.)" The term of _Geneva print_ probably arose from the minuteness of
+the type used at Geneva. In the _Merry Devil of Edmonton_, a comedy,
+4to, 1608, is an expression which goes some way to prove the
+correctness of this supposition:--"I see by thy eyes thou hast bin
+reading _little Geneva print;"_--and, that _small ruffs_ were worn by
+the puritanical set, an instance appears in Mayne's _City Match,_ a
+comedy, 4to, 1658.
+
+   "O miracle!
+   Out of your _little ruffe,_ Dorcas, and in the fashion!
+   Dost thou hope to be saved?"
+
+From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a _ruff of Geneva
+print_ means a _small, closely-folded ruff,_ which was the distinction
+of a nonconformist.]
+
+
+[Footnote 56:
+A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a spinnet, and shaped like
+a pianoforte: the mode of playing on this instrument was therefore
+similar to that of the organ.]
+
+
+[Footnote 57:
+_Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as being the sage
+sentences of some of her own sectaries._ First edit.]
+
+
+
+[Footnote 58:
+Robert Bellarmine, an Italian jesuit, was born at Monte Pulciano, a town
+in Tuscany, in the year 1542, and in 1560 entered himself among the
+jesuits. In 1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in 1602 was
+presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua: this, however, he resigned
+in 1605, when Pope Paul V. desired to have him near himself. He was
+employed in the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leaving
+the Vatican, he retired to a house belonging to his order, and died
+September 17, in the same year.
+
+Bellarmine was one of the best controversial writers of his time; few
+authors have done greater honour to their profession or opinions, and
+certain it is that none have ever more ably defended the cause of the
+Romish Church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater
+advantage. As a proof of Bellarmine's abilities, there was scarcely a
+divine of any eminence among the Protestants who did not attack him:
+Bayle aptly says, "they made his name resound every where, ut littus
+Styla, Styla, omne sonaret."]
+
+[Footnote 59:
+Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of the sect which goes
+under his name, that a few words will be sufficient. He was born in
+1539, at Sienna, and imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his
+uncle, who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, the
+abilities of his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all his papers. After
+living several years in the world, principally at the court of Francis
+de Medicis, Socinus, in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate
+the principles of his uncle, to which, it is said, he made great
+additions and alterations of his own. In the support of his opinions, he
+suffered considerable hardships, and received the greatest insults and
+persecutions; to avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in
+Poland, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five.]
+
+
+[Footnote 60:
+Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was peculiarly detested by the
+Calvinists, and who had even the honour to be attacked by King James the
+First, of England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through the
+interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leyden, where he had
+attained the divinity-chair, and several other preferments, he retired
+to Toningen, where he died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety
+and resignation.]
+
+
+[Footnote 61:
+_His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former aforesaid;
+and yet it seems he is much troubled in it, for he is always humbly
+complaining--your poor orator_. First edit.]
+
+
+[Footnote 62:
+"To _moote_, a term vsed in the innes of the court; it is the handling
+of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their disputations," &c. So _Minshew_,
+who supposes it to be derived from the French, _mot, verbum, quasi verba
+facere, aut sermonem de aliqua re habere_. _Mootmen_ are those who,
+having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to practise, and
+appear to answer to our term of barristers.]
+
+
+[Footnote 63:
+The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets. "Present
+not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill the quaking
+prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is ready to
+giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon point to enter."--Decker's
+_Gul's Hornbook_, 1609, p. 30. "Doe you not know that I am the Prologue?
+Do you not see this long blacke veluet cloke vpon my backe? _Haue you
+not sounded thrice?_"--Heywood's _Foure Prentises of London_,
+4to, 1615.]
+
+
+[Footnote 64:
+St. Paul's Cathedral was, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, a
+sort of exchange and public parade, where business was transacted
+between merchants, and where the fashionables of the day exhibited
+themselves. The reader will find several allusions to this custom in the
+_variorum_ edition of Shakspeare, _K. Henry IV._, part 2. Osborne, in
+his _Traditional Memoires on the Reigns of Elisabeth and James_, 12mo,
+1658, says, "It was the fashion of those times (James I.) and did so
+continue till these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry, lords,
+courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in
+_St. Paul's _church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle till twelve,
+and after dinner from three to six; during which time some discoursed of
+business, others of news." Weever complains of the practice, and says,
+"it could be wished that walking in the middle isle of _Paul's_ might be
+forborne in the time of diuine service." _Ancient Funeral Monuments_,
+1631, page 373.]
+
+
+[Footnote 65:
+In the _Dramatis Personal_ to Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_,
+Bobadil is styled a _Paul's man_; and Falstaff tells us that he bought
+Bardolph in _Pauls_. _King Henry IV_., part 2.]
+
+
+[Footnote 66:
+                 ----"You'd not doe
+   Like your penurious father, who was wont
+   _To walk his dinner out in Paules._"
+
+          --Mayne's _City Match_, 1658.]
+
+[Footnote 67:
+The time of supper was about five o'clock.]
+
+[Footnote 68:
+Paul's cross stood in the churchyard of that cathedral, on the north
+side, towards the east end. It was used for the preaching of sermons to
+the populace; and Holinshed mentions two instances of public penance
+being performed here; in 1534 by some of the adherents of Elizabeth
+Barton, well known as _the holy maid of Kent_, and in 1536 by Sir Thomas
+Newman, a priest, who "_bare a faggot at Paules crosse for singing masse
+with good ale_."]
+
+
+[Footnote 69:
+_Dole_ originally signified the portion of alms that was given away at
+the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note to _Shakspeare_. Sir John Hawkins
+affirms that the benefaction distributed at Lambeth Palace gate, is to
+this day called the _dole_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 70:
+That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered to be of light weight,
+are distributed to the needy prisoners.]
+
+[Footnote 71:
+_Study_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 72:
+The first edition reads _post_, and, I think, preferably.]
+
+[Footnote 73:
+_Keep for attend_.]
+
+[Footnote 74:
+_Squeazy_, niggardly.]
+
+[Footnote 75:
+_And the clubs out of charity knock him down,_ first
+edit.]
+
+[Footnote 76:
+That is, _runs you up a long score_.]
+
+[Footnote 77:
+This, as well as many other passages in this work, has been appropriated
+by John Dunton, the celebrated bookseller, as his own. See his character
+of Mr. Samuel Hool, in _Dunton's Life and Errors_, 8vo, 1705, p. 337.]
+
+
+[Footnote 78:
+"A prison is a grave to bury men alive, and a place wherein a man for
+halfe a yeares experience may learne more law than he can at Westminster
+for an hundred pound."--Mynshul's _Essays and Characters of a
+Prison_, 4to, 1618.]
+
+[Footnote 79:
+_In querpo_ is a corruption from the Spanish word _cuerpo_. "_En cuerpo,
+a man without a cloak_."--Pineda's Dictionary, 1740. The present
+signification evidently is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, or
+attendant, is but half dressed:--he possesses only in part the
+appearance of a man of fashion. "_To walk in cuerpo, is to go without a
+cloak."--Glossographia Anglicana Nova_, 8vo, 1719.]
+
+
+[Footnote 80:
+_Proper_ was frequently used by old writers for comely, or handsome.
+Shakspeare has several instances of it:
+
+   "I do mistake my person all this while:
+   Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
+   Myself to be a marvellous _proper_ man."
+
+--_K. Richard III_. Act I. Sc. 2, &c.]
+
+[Footnote 81:
+"Why you know an'a man have not skill in the _hawking and hunting_
+languages now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him."--_Master Stephen.
+Every Man in his Humour_.]
+
+[Footnote 82:
+   "Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum:
+   Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago,
+   Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno."
+             --_Virgil_, Æn. vi. _v_. 700.]
+
+[Footnote 83:
+Probably the name of some difficult tune.]
+
+[Footnote 84:
+Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of Soliman and Perseda
+uses it in the same sense:
+
+   "Wert thou my friend, thy mind would _jump_ with mine."
+
+So in _Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divele_:--"Not two
+of them _jump_ in one tale," p. 29.]
+
+[Footnote 85:
+_Imputation_ here must be used for _consequence_; of which I am,
+however, unable to produce any other instance.]
+
+[Footnote 86:
+_Sturtridge fair_ was the great mart for business, and resort for
+pleasure, in Bishop Earle's day. It is alluded to in Randolph's
+_Conceited Pedlar_, 410, 1630:--
+
+   "I am a pedlar, and I sell my ware
+   This braue Saint Bartholmew or _Sturtridge faire_."
+
+Edward Ward, the author of _The London Spy_, gives a whimsical
+account of a journey to Sturbridge, in the second volume of his works.]
+
+[Footnote 87:
+This silly term of endearment appears to be derived from _chick_ or
+_my chicken_, Shakspeare uses it in _Macbeth_, Act iii.
+Scene 2:--
+
+   "Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest _chuck_."]
+
+[Footnote 88:
+The great cross in West Cheap was originally erected in 1290, by Edward
+I., in commemoration of the death of Queen Ellinor, whose body rested at
+that place, on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, to Westminster,
+for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and again in 1484. In 1584 the
+images and ornaments were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599 the top
+of the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted within the lead, and
+fears being entertained as to its safety. By order of Queen Elizabeth, and
+her privy council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, "a cross of
+timber was framed, set up, covered with lead, _and gilded_," &c.
+Stow's _Survey of London_, by Strype, book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio.
+Lond. 1720.]
+
+[Footnote 89:
+This must allude to the play written by Heywood with the following title:
+_The Foure Prentises of London.  With the Conquest of Jerusalem. As it
+hath bene diuerse times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queenes Maiesties
+Servants_. 410, Lond. 1615. In this drama, the four prentises are
+Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons to the _old Earle of
+Bullen_, who, having lost his territories, by assisting William the
+Conqueror in his descent upon England, is compelled to live like a private
+citizen in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a goldsmith, a
+haberdasher, and a grocer. The _four prentises_, however, prefer the
+life of a soldier to that of a tradesman, and, quitting the service of
+their masters, follow Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they
+perform the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally accomplish the
+_conquest of Jerusalem_. The whole play abounds in bombast and
+impossibilities, and, as a composition, is unworthy of notice or
+remembrance.]
+
+[Footnote 90:
+_The History of the Nine Worthies of the World; three whereof were
+Gentiles; I. Hector, son of Priamus, king of Troy. 2. Alexander the
+Great, king of Macedon, and conqueror of the world. 3. Julius Caesar,
+first emperor of Rome. There Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and leader
+of Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 6. Judas Maccabeus, a
+'valiant Jewish commander against the tyranny of Antiochus. Three
+Christians. 7. Arthur, king of Britain, who courageously defended his
+country against the Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France and
+emperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bullen, king of Jerusalem. Being an
+account of their glorious lives, worthy actions, renowned victories, and
+deaths._ 12mo. No date.]
+
+
+[Footnote 91:
+Those of the same habits with himself; his associates.]
+
+[Footnote 92:
+The _dear year_ here, I believe, alluded to, was in 1574, and is thus
+described by that faithful and valuable historian Holinshed:--"This
+yeare, about Lammas, wheat was sold at London for three shillings the
+bushell: but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue
+shillings, six shillings, and, before Christmas, to a noble, and seuen
+shillings; which so continued long after. Beefe was sold for twentie
+pence, and two and twentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and
+white meats at an excessiue price; all kind of salt fish verie deare, as
+fine herrings two pence, &c.; yet great plentie of fresh fish, and oft
+times the same verie cheape. Pease at foure shillings the bushell;
+ote-meale at foure shillings eight pence; baie salt at three shillings
+the bushell, &c. All this dearth notwithstanding (thanks be given to
+God), there was no want of anie thing to them that wanted not monie."
+--Holinshed, _Chronicle_, vol. in., p. 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587.]
+
+
+[Footnote 93:
+On the 21st of December 1564 began a frost, referred to by Fleming in
+his Index to _Holinshed_, as the "_frost called the great frost_," which
+lasted till the 3rd of January 1565. It was so severe that the Thames
+was frozen over, and the passage on it, from London Bridge to
+Westminster, as easy as and more frequented than that on dry land.]
+
+
+[Footnote 94:
+The person who exhibits Westminster Abbey.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
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+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Character Writings of the Seventeenth Century, Edited by Henry Morley LL.D.
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css">
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+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Character Writings of the 17th Century
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 13, 2004 [EBook #10699]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARACTER WRITINGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p>CHARACTER WRITINGS</p>
+
+<p>OF THE</p>
+
+<p>SEVENTEENTH CENTURY</p>
+
+<p>EDITED BY</p>
+
+<p>HENRY MORLEY, LL.D.</p>
+
+<p>EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE
+UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON</p>
+
+<p>1891</p>
+<br>
+
+<p>CONTENTS.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>CHARACTER WRITING BEFORE THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</p>
+
+<p>THEOPHRASTUS.</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Stupidity<br>
+
+<p>THOMAS HARMAN'S &quot;Caveat for Cursitors&quot;</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Ruffler<br>
+
+<p>BEN JONSON'S &quot;Every Man out of his Humour&quot; and &quot;Cynthia's Revels&quot;</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Traveller<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The True Critic.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Character of the Persons in &quot;Every Man out of his Humour&quot;<br>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>CHARACTER WRITINGS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</p>
+
+<p>Sir THOMAS OVERBURY</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Woman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Very Woman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Her Next Part<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Dissembler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Courtier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Golden Ass<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Flatterer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ignorant Glory-Hunter<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Timist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Amorist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Affected Traveller<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Wise Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Noble Spirit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Old Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Country Gentleman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Fine Gentleman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Elder Brother<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Braggadocio Welshman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pedant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Serving-Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Host<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ostler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The True Character of a Dunce<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Wife<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Melancholy Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sailor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Soldier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Tailor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Puritan<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Common Lawyer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Scholar<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Tinker<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Apparitor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Almanac-Maker<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Hypocrite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Chambermaid<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Precisian<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Inns of Court Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Fellow of a House<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Commander in the Wars<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Vainglorious Coward in Command<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pirate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ordinary Fence<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Puny Clerk<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Footman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Noble and Retired Housekeeper<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Intruder into Favour<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Fair and Happy Milkmaid<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Arrant Horse-Courser<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Roaring Boy<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Drunken Dutchman resident in England<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Phantastique: An Improvident Young Gallant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Button-Maker of Amsterdam<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Distaster of the Time<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Fellow of a House<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Pettifogger<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ingrosser of Corn<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Devilish Usurer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Waterman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Reverend Judge<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Virtuous Widow<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ordinary Widow<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Quack-Salver<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Canting Rogue<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A French Cook<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sexton<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Jesuit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Excellent Actor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Franklin<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Rhymer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Covetous Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Proud Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Prison<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Prisoner<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Creditor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sergeant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;His Yeoman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Common Cruel Jailer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;What a Character is<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Character of a Happy Life<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Essay on Valour<br>
+
+<p>JOSEPH HALL</p>
+
+&nbsp;HIS SATIRES--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Domestic Chaplain<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Witless Gallant<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;HIS CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES<br>
+
+&nbsp;I.&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Virtues</i>--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Character of the Wise Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of an Honest Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Faithful Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Humble Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of a Valiant Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of a Patient Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the True Friend<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Truly Noble<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Good Magistrate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Penitent<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Happy Man<br>
+
+&nbsp;II. <i>Vices</i>--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Character of the Hypocrite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Busybody<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Superstitious<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Profane<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Malcontent<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Inconstant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Flatterer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Slothful<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Covetous<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Vainglorious<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Presumptuous<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Distrustful<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Ambitious<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Unthrift<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Of the Envious<br>
+
+<p>JOHN STEPHENS</p>
+
+<p>JOHN EARLE</p>
+
+&nbsp;MICROCOSMOGRAPHY----<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Child<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Young Raw Preacher<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Grave Divine<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Dull Physician<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Alderman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Discontented Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Antiquary<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Younger Brother<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Formal Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Church-Papist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Self-Conceited Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Too Idly Reserved Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Tavern<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Shark<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Carrier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Young Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Old College Butler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Upstart Country Knight<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Idle Gallant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Constable<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Downright Scholar<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Plain Country Fellow<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Player<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Detractor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Young Gentleman of the University<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Weak Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Tobacco-Seller<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pot Poet<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Plausible Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Bowl-Alley<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The World's Wise Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Surgeon<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Contemplative Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A She Precise Hypocrite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sceptic in Religion<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Attorney<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Partial Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Trumpeter<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Vulgar-Spirited Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Plodding Student<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Paul's Walk<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Cook<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Bold Forward Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Baker<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pretender to Learning<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Herald<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Common Singing-Men in Cathedral Churches<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Shopkeeper<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Blunt Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Handsome Hostess<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Critic<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sergeant or Catchpole<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A University Dun<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Staid Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Modest Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Empty Wit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Drunkard<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Prison<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Serving-Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Insolent Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Acquaintance<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Complimental Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Poor Fiddler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Meddling Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Old Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Flatterer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A High-Spirited Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Gull Citizen<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Lascivious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Rash Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Affected Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Profane Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Coward<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sordid Rich Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mere Great Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Poor Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ordinary Honest Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Suspicious or Jealous Man<br>
+<br>
+
+<p>NICHOLAS BRETON</p>
+
+&nbsp;CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS, MORAL AND DIVINE<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Wisdom<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Learning<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Knowledge<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Practice<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Patience<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Love<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Peace<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;War<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Valour<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Resolution<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Honour<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Truth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Time<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Death<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Faith<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Fear<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;THE GOOD AND THE BAD.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy King<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy King<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Queen<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Prince<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Prince<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Privy Councillor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Councillor<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Nobleman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unnoble Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Bishop<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Bishop<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Judge<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Judge<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Knight<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Knight<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Gentleman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Gentleman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Lawyer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Lawyer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Soldier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Untrained Soldier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Physician<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Physician<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Worthy Merchant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unworthy Merchant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Atheist or Most Bad Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Wise Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Fool<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Honest Man.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Knave<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Usurer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Beggar<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Virgin<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Wanton Woman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Quiet Woman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Unquiet Woman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Wife<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Effeminate Fool<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Parasite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Drunkard<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Coward<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Honest Poor Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Just Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Repentant Sinner<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Reprobate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Old Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Young Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Holy Man<br>
+
+<p>GEOFFREY MINSHULL</p>
+
+&nbsp;ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND PRISONERS<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Character of a Prisoner<br>
+
+<p>HENRY PARROTT [?]</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Scold<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Good Wife<br>
+
+<p>MICROLOGIA, by R. M.</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Player<br>
+
+<p>WHIMZIES, OR A NEW CAST OF CHARACTERS</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Corranto-Coiner<br>
+
+<p>JOHN MILTON</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;On the University Carrier<br>
+
+<p>WYE SALTONSTALL</p>
+
+&nbsp;PICTUR&AElig; LOQUENTES, OR PICTURES DRAWN FORTH IN CHARACTERS<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Term<br>
+
+<p>DONALD LUPTON</p>
+
+&nbsp;LONDON AND COUNTRY CARBONADOED AND QUARTERED INTO SEVERAL CHARACTERS<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Horse<br>
+
+<p>CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1642 AND 1646, BY SIR FRANCIS WORTLEY, T.
+&nbsp;FORD, AND OTHERS</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets<br>
+
+<p>JOHN CLEVELAND</p>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Character of a Country Committee-Man, with the Earmark of a Sequestrator<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Character of a Diurnal-Maker<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Character of a London Diurnal<br>
+
+<p>CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1647 AND 1665</p>
+
+<p>RICHARD FLECKNOE</p>
+
+&nbsp;FIFTY-FIVE ENIGMATICAL CHARACTERS<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Valiant Man<br>
+
+<p>CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1673 AND 1689</p>
+
+<p>SAMUEL BUTLER</p>
+
+&nbsp;CHARACTERS--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Degenerate Noble, or One that is Proud of his Birth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Huffing Courtier<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Court Beggar<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Bumpkin or Country<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;Squire<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Antiquary<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Proud Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Small Poet<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Philosopher<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Melancholy Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Curious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Herald<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Virtuoso<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Intelligencer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Quibbler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Time-Server<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Prater<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Disputant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Projector<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Complimenter<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Cheat<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Tedious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pretender<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Newsmonger<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Modern Critic<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Busy Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Pedant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Hunter<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Affected Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Medicine-Taker<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Miser<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Swearer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Luxurious<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Ungrateful Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Squire of Dames<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Hypocrite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Opinionater<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Choleric Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Superstitious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Droll<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Obstinate Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Zealot<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Overdoer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Rash Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Affected or Formal<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Flatterer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Prodigal<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Inconstant<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Glutton<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Ribald<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Modern Politician<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Modern Statesman<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Duke of Bucks<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Fantastic<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Haranguer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Ranter<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Amorist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Astrologer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Lawyer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Epigrammatist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Fanatic<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Proselyte<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Clown<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Wooer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Impudent Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Imitator<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Sot<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Juggler<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Romance-Writer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Libeller<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Factious Member<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Play-Writer<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Mountebank<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Wittol<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Litigious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Humourist<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Leader of a Faction<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Debauched Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Seditious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;The Rude Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Rabble<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Knight of the Post<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;An Undeserving Favourite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Malicious Man<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;A Knave<br>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p>CHARACTER WRITING AFTER THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</p>
+
+<p>WILLIAM WORDSWORTH</p>
+<p>Character of the Happy Warrior</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTER WRITINGS</h2>
+
+<h2>OF THE</h2>
+
+<h2>SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p><i>Character writing, as a distinct form of Literature, had its origin
+more than two thousand years ago in the [Greek: aethichoi
+Chadaaedes]---Ethic Characters--of Tyrtamus of Lesbos, a disciple of
+Plato, who gave him for his eloquence the name of Divine
+Speaker--Theophrastus. Aristotle left him his library and all his MSS.,
+and named him his successor in the schools of the Lyceum. Nicomachus,
+the son of Aristotle, was among his pupils. He followed in the steps of
+Aristotle. Diogenes Laertius ascribed to Theophrastus two hundred and
+twenty books. He founded, by a History of Plants, the science of Botany;
+and he is now best known by the little contribution to Moral Philosophy,
+in which he gave twenty-eight short chapters to concise description of
+twenty-eight differing qualities in men. The description in each chapter
+was not of a man, but of a quality. The method of Theophrastus, as
+Casaubon said, was between the philosophical and the poetical. He
+described a quality, but he described it by personification, and his aim
+was the amending of men's manners. The twenty-eight chapters that have
+come down to us are probably no more than a fragment of a larger work.
+They describe vices, and not all of them. Another part, now lost, may
+have described the virtues. In a short proem the writer speaks of
+himself as ninety-nine years old. Probably those two nines were only a
+poetical suggestion of long experience from which these pictures of the
+constituents of human life and action had been drawn. He had wondered,
+he said, before he thought of writing such a book, at the diversities of
+manners among Greeks all born under one sky and trained alike. For many
+years he had considered and compared the ways of men; he had lived to be
+ninety-nine. Our children may be the better for a knowledge of our ways
+of daily life, that they may grow into the best. Observe and see whether
+I describe them rightly. I will begin, he says, with Dissimulation. I
+will first define the vice, and then describe the quality and manners of
+the man who dissembles. After that I will endeavour to describe also the
+other qualities of mind, each in its kind. Then follow the Characters of
+these twenty-eight qualities: Dissimulation, Adulation, Garrulity,
+Rusticity, Blandishment, Senselessness, Loquacity, Newsmongering,
+Impudence, Sordid Parsimony, Impurity, Ill-timed Approach, Inept
+Sedulity, Stupidity, Contumacy, Superstition, Querulousness, Distrust,
+Dirtiness, Tediousness, Sordid or Frivolous Desire for Praise,
+Illiberality, Ostentation, Pride, Timidity, Oligarchy, or the vehement
+desire for honour, without greed for money, Insolence, and Evil
+Speaking. One of these Characters may serve as an example of their
+method, and show their place in the ancestry of Characters as they were
+written in England in the Seventeenth Century.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>STUPIDITY.</h2>
+
+<p>You may define Stupidity as a slowness of mind in word or deed. But the
+Stupid Man is one who, sitting at his counters, and having made all his
+calculations and worked out his sum, asks one who sits by him how much
+it comes to. When any one has a suit against him, and he has come to the
+day when the cause must be decided, he forgets it and walks out into his
+field. Often also when he sits to see a play, the rest go out and he is
+left, fallen asleep in the theatre. The same man, having eaten too much,
+will go out in the night to relieve himself, and fall over the
+neighbour's dog, who bites him. The same man, having hidden away what he
+has received, is always searching for it, and never finds it. And when
+it is announced to him that one of his intimate friends is dead, and he
+is asked to the funeral, then, with a face set to sadness and tears, he
+says, &quot;Good luck to it!&quot; When he receives money owing to him he calls in
+witnesses, and in midwinter he scolds his man for not having gathered
+cucumbers. To train his boys for wrestling he makes them race till they
+are tired. Cooking his own lentils in the field, he throws salt twice
+into the pot and makes them uneatable. When it rains he says, &quot;How sweet
+I find this water of the stars.&quot; And when some one asks, &quot;How many have
+passed the gates of death?&quot; [proverbial phrase for a great number]
+answers, &quot;As many, I hope, as will be enough for you and me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p><i>The first and the best sequence of &quot;Characters&quot; in English Literature
+is the series of sketches of the Pilgrims in the Prologue to Chaucer's
+&quot;Canterbury Tales&quot; The Characters are so varied as to unite in
+representing the whole character of English life in Chaucer's day; and
+they are, written upon one plan, each with suggestion of the outward
+body and its dress as well as of the mind within. But Chaucer owed
+nothing to Theophrastus. In his Character Writing he drew all from
+nature with his own good wit. La Bruy&egrave;re in France translated the
+characters of Theophrastus, and his own writing of Characters in the
+seventeenth century followed a fashion that had its origin in admiration
+of the wit of those Greek Ethical Characters. La Bruy&egrave;re was born in
+1639 and died in 1696. Our Joseph Hall, whose &quot;Characters of Vices and
+Virtues&quot; were written in 1608, and translated into French twenty years
+before La Bruy&egrave;re was born, said, in his Preface to them, &quot;I have done
+as I could, following that ancient Master of Morality who thought this
+the fittest task for the ninety-ninth year of his age, and the
+profitablest Monument that he could leave for a farewell to his
+Grecians.&quot;</i></p>
+
+<p><i>There was some aim at short and witty sketches of character in
+descriptions of the ingenuity of horse-coursers and coney-catchers who
+used quick wit for beguiling the unwary in those bright days of
+Elizabeth, when the very tailors and cooks worked fantasies in silk and
+velvet, sugar and paste. Thomas Harman, whose grandfather had been Clerk
+of the Crown under Henry VII., and who himself inherited estates in
+Kent, became greatly interested in the vagrant beggars who came to his
+door. He made a study of them, came to London to publish his book, and
+lodged at Whitefriars, within the Cloister, for convenience of nearness
+to them, and more thorough knowledge of their ways. He first published
+his book in 1567 as A Caveat or Warning for Common Cursitors, vulgarly
+called Vagabonds--&quot;A Caveat or Warening for common cursetors, Vulgarely
+called Vagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman, Esquiere, for the utilite
+and proffyt of his naturall Cuntrey&quot; and he dedicated it to Elizabeth,
+Countess of Shrewsbury. It contained twenty-four character sketches,
+gave the names of the chief tramps then living in England, and a
+vocabulary of their cant words. This is Harman's first character</i>:--</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RUFFLER.</h2>
+
+<p>The Ruffler, because he is first in degree of this odious order, and is
+so called in a statute made for the punishment of Vagabonds in the
+twenty-seventh year of King Henry VIII, late of most famous memory, he
+shall be first placed as the worthiest of this unruly rabblement. And he
+is so called when he goeth first abroad. Either he hath served in the
+wars, or else he hath been a serving-man, and weary of well-doing,
+shaking off all pain, doth choose him this idle life; and wretchedly
+wanders about the most shires of this realm, and with stout audacity
+demandeth, where he thinketh he may be bold, and circumspect enough
+where he seeth cause, to ask charity ruefully and lamentably, that it
+would make a flinty heart to relent and pity his miserable estate, how
+he hath been maimed and bruised in the wars. Peradventure one will show
+you some outward wound which he got at some drunken fray, either halting
+of some privy wound festered with a filthy fiery flankard [brand]. For
+be well assured that the hardiest soldiers be either slain or maimed,
+either and [or if] they escape all hazards and return home again, if
+they be without relief of their friends they will surely desperately rob
+and steal, and either shortly be hanged or miserably die in prison. For
+they be so much ashamed and disdain to beg or ask charity, that rather
+they will as desperately fight for to live and maintain themselves, as
+manfully and valiantly they ventured themselves in the Prince's quarrel.
+Now these Rufflers, the outcasts of serving-men, when begging or craving
+fails them, they pick and pilfer from other inferior beggars that they
+meet by the way, as rogues, palliards, morts, and doxes. Yea, if they
+meet with a woman alone riding to the market, either old man or boy,
+that he kneweth well will not resist, such they fetch and spoil. These
+Rufflers, after a year or two at the farthest, become upright men [lusty
+vagrants who beg and take only money, who rob hen roosts, filch from
+stalls or pockets, and have dens of their own for drinking and receipt
+of stolen goods], unless they be prevented by twined hemp.</p>
+
+<p>I had of late years an old man to my tenant who customably a great time
+went twice in the week to London, either with fruit or with peascods,
+when time served therefor. And as he was coming homeward, on Blackheath,
+at the end thereof next to Shooter's Hill, he overtook two Rufflers, the
+one mannerly waiting on the other, as one had been the master and the
+other his man or servant, carrying his master's cloak. This old man was
+very glad that he might have their company over the hill, because that
+day he had made a good market. For he had seven shillings in his purse
+and an old angel, which this poor man had thought had not been in his
+purse; for he willed his wife overnight to take out the same angel and
+lay it up until his coming home again, and he verily thought his wife
+had so done, which indeed forgot to do it. Thus, after salutations had,
+this Master Ruffler entered into communication with this simple old man,
+who, riding softly beside them, communed of many matters. Thus feeding
+this old man with pleasant talk until they were on the top of the hill,
+where these Rufflers might well behold the coast about them clear,
+quickly steps unto this poor man and taketh hold of his horse bridle and
+leadeth him into the wood, and demandeth of him what and how much money
+he had in his purse. &quot;Now, by my troth,&quot; quoth this old man, &quot;you are a
+merry gentleman! I know you mean not to take anything from me, but
+rather to give me some, if I should ask it of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>By and by [immediately] this servant thief casteth the cloak that he
+carried on his arm about this poor man's face that he should not mark or
+view them, with sharp words to deliver quickly that he had, and to
+confess truly what was in his purse. This poor man then all abashed
+yielded, and confessed that he had seven shillings in his purse; and the
+truth is, he knew of no more. This old angel was fallen out of a little
+purse into the bottom of a great purse. Now this seven shillings in
+white money they quickly found, thinking indeed that there had been no
+more; yet farther groping and searching, found this old angel. And with
+great admiration this gentleman thief began to bless him, saying--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Good Lord, what a world is this! How may,&quot; quoth he, &quot;a man believe or
+trust in the same? See you not,&quot; quoth he, &quot;this old knave told me that
+he had but seven shillings, and here is more by an angel! What an old
+knave and a false knave have we here!&quot; quoth this Ruffler. &quot;Our Lord
+have mercy on us, will this world never be better?&quot; and therewith went
+their way and left the old man in the wood, doing him no more harm.</p>
+
+<p>But sorrowfully sighing this old man, returning home, declared his
+misadventure with all the words and circumstances above showed. Whereat
+for the time was great laughing, and this poor man, for his losses,
+among his loving neighbours well considered in the end.</p>
+
+<p><i>Such character-painting simply came of the keen interest in life that
+was at the same time developing an energetic drama. But at the end of
+Elizabeth's reign a writing of brief witty characters appears to have
+come into fashion as one of the many forms of ingenuity that pleased
+society, and might be distantly related to the Euphuism of the day.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Ben Jonson's &quot;Cynthia's Revels,&quot; first acted in 1600, two or three years
+before the end of Elizabeth's reign, has little character sketches set
+into the text. Here are two of them</i>:--</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TRAVELLER.</h2>
+
+<p>One so made out of the mixture of shreds and forms that himself is truly
+deformed. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his
+mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are
+printed, his face is another volume of essays, and his beard is an
+Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen
+waiting-women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the
+ordinary gives him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which,
+indeed, is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all
+the talk; ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter;
+once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to
+arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well, out at a window.
+He will lie cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most clocks; for
+which he is right properly accommodated to the whetstone, his page. The
+other gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him;
+sweats to imitate him in everything to a hair, except a beard, which is
+not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies,
+maccaroni, bovoli, fagioli, and caviare, because he loves them; speaks
+as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes and fashion: is in all as
+if he were moulded of him. Marry, before they met, he had other very
+pretty sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as
+frequenting a dancing-school, and grievously torturing strangers with
+inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh
+acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much together
+as he goes in the street. He treads nicely, like the fellow that walks
+upon ropes, especially the first Sunday of his silk stockings; and when
+he is most neat and new, you shall strip him with commendations.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE TRUE CRITIC.</h2>
+
+<p>A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one in whom the humours
+and elements are peaceably met, without emulation of precedency. He is
+neither too fantastically melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly
+sanguine, nor too rashly choleric; but in all so composed and ordered,
+as it is clear Nature went about some full work, she did more than make
+a man when she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon,
+but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be
+that which men call judicious, than to be thought so; and is so truly
+learned, that he affects not to show it. He will think and speak his
+thought both freely; but as distant from depraving another man's merit,
+as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such that he dares as
+little to offer any injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most
+ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and seasoned wit, a straight
+judgment and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him
+less. He counts it his pleasure to despise pleasures, and is more
+delighted with good deeds than goods. It is a competency to him that he
+can be virtuous. He doth neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason
+to do either; and that commends all things to him.</p>
+
+<p><i>The play that preceded &quot;Cynthia's Revels&quot; was &quot;Every Man Out of his
+Humour.&quot; It was first printed in 1600, and Ben Jonson amused himself by
+adding to its list of Dramatis Personae this piece of Character
+Writing</i>:--</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS.</h2>
+
+<p><i>Asper</i>. He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in
+reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no
+servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a
+parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.</p>
+
+<p><i>Macilente</i>. A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled;
+who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit
+capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment
+is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any
+opposite happiness in another.</p>
+
+<p><i>Puntarvolo</i>. A vainglorious knight, over-Englishing his travels, and
+wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment;
+a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his
+apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own
+praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage
+of his own family. He deals upon returns, and strange performances,
+resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own particular
+fashion, phrase, and gesture.</p>
+
+<p><i>Carlo Buffone</i>. A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more
+swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into
+deformity. A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out
+a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him! he
+came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that
+hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up
+more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His
+religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in
+his respect whom he studies most to reproach.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fastidious Brisk</i>. A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears
+clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his glass how to salute;
+speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears
+tersely, and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or
+great man's familiarity; a good property to perfume the boot of a coach.
+He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own.
+Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant,
+only with the jingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.</p>
+
+<p><i>Deliro</i>. A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the
+common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own
+wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply
+holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hoodwinked humour, lives
+more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her
+displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice
+twopence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her
+with villainous out-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though
+not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fallace</i>. Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as
+perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier,
+as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest.</p>
+
+<p><i>Saviolina</i>. A court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit,
+admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sordido</i>. A wretched hobnailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of
+almanacks; and felicity, foul weather. One that never prayed but for a
+lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.</p>
+
+<p><i>Fungoso</i>. The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has revelled in
+his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like a spy. He makes it the
+whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched
+father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; at which he earnestly aims,
+but so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sogliardo</i>. An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of
+the name of a gentleman, that he will have it though he buys it. He
+comes up every term to learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is
+in his kingdom when he can get himself into company where he may be well
+laughed at.</p>
+
+<p><i>Shift</i>. A threadbare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet lives
+upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's,
+and his warehouse Picthatch. Takes up single testons upon oath, till
+doomsday. Falls under executions of three shillings, and enters into
+five-groat bonds. He waylays the reports of services, and cons them
+without book, damning himself he came new from them, when all the while
+he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay pawned in his chamber
+for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memory, that he
+will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life
+before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never
+did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff,
+squiring a cockatrice, and making privy searches for imparters.</p>
+
+<p><i>Clove</i> and <i>Orange</i>. An inseparable case of coxcombs, city born; the
+Gemini, or twins of foppery; that, like a pair of wooden foils, are fit
+for nothing but to be practised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend
+money, and repent when they have done. Their glory is to invite players,
+and make suppers. And in company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of
+insufficiency, will enforce their ignorance most desperately, to set
+upon the understanding of anything. Orange is the most humorous of the
+two, whose small portion of juice being squeezed out, Clove serves to
+stick him with commendations.</p>
+
+<p><i>Cordatus</i>. The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope
+and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding judgment; and has
+the place of a moderator.</p>
+
+<p><i>Mitis</i>. Is a person of no action, and therefore we have reason to
+afford him no character.</p>
+
+<p><i>Of this kind are the<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; CHARACTERS<br><br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; BY<br><br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; SIR THOMAS OVERBURY,<br>
+<br>
+which were not published until</i> 1614, <i>the year after their writer's
+death, at the age of thirty-two; but they may have been written earlier
+than the &quot;Characters of Virtues and Vices&quot;--ethical characters--written
+by Joseph Hall, which were first published in</i> 1609.</p>
+
+<p><i>Sir Thomas Overbury died poisoned in the Tower on the</i> 15<i>th of
+September</i> 1613. <i>On the</i> 5<i>th of January</i> 1606, <i>by desire of James the
+First, the young Earl of Essex, aged fourteen, had been married to the
+Lady Frances Howard, aged thirteen, the younger daughter of the Earl of
+Suffolk. Ben Jonson's &quot;Masque of Hymen&quot; was produced at Court in
+celebration of that union. The young Robert Devereux, third Earl of
+Essex, had good qualities too solid for the taste of a frivolous girl;
+and when, after travel abroad, the husband of eighteen claimed the wife
+of seventeen, he found her happy in flirtation with the King's
+favourite, Sir Robert Carr. Though compelled to live with her husband,
+she repelled all his advances, and after three years of this repugnance
+tried for a divorce. The King's Scotch favourite, Carr, had been made,
+in March 1611, an English peer, as Viscount Rochester, when the age of
+the young Countess of Essex was nineteen. He was the man highest in King
+James's favour. If the divorce sought by the Countess early in 1613 were
+obtained for her, it was understood that Carr would marry her, and that
+support of the divorce would be a way to future benefit through his good
+offices. Thus she obtained the support of her father and uncle, the
+Earls of Suffolk and Northampton. The King's influence went with the
+wishes of the favourite. The trial, in 1613, ending in a decree of
+nullity of marriage, was a four months' scandal in the land. Among the
+familiar friends of Robert Carr, Lord Rochester, was Sir Thomas
+Overbury, born in Warwickshire in 1581, and knighted by King James in
+1608. He strongly opposed the policy of a divorce obtained on false
+pretences followed by his patron's marriage to the divorced wife. The
+grounds of his opposition may have been part private, part political.
+His opposition was determined, and if he offered himself as witness
+before the Commission, he probably knew enough about the lady's secret
+practisings to give such evidence as would frustrate her designs. It was
+thought desirable, therefore, to get Overbury out of the way. The King
+offered him a post abroad. He was unwilling to accept it, and at last
+was driven to an explicit refusal. The King was angry, and caused his
+Council to commit Sir Thomas Overbury to the Tower for contempt of His
+Majesty's commands. He was to be seen by no one, and to have no servant
+with him. Sir William Wood, the Lieutenant of the Tower, was superseded,
+and Sir Gervase Helwys was put in his place with secret understandings,
+of which the design may only have been to prevent Sir Thomas Overbury
+from saying anything that could come to the ears of the world until the
+divorce was granted. But Lady Essex wished Sir Thomas Overbury to be
+more effectually silenced. She had tried and failed to get him
+assassinated. Now she resolved to get him poisoned. She obtained the
+employment of a creature of her own, named Weston, as his immediate
+keeper. Weston falsely professed to Lady Essex that he had administered
+the poison she had given him, and that the result had been not death but
+loss of health. There is much uncertainty about the evidence of detail
+and of the privity of others in the designs of Lady Essex, who seems at
+last to have completed her work by the agency of an apothecary's
+assistant. He gave the fatal dose in an injection, by which Overbury was
+killed ten days before the Commission gave judgment in favour of the
+divorce. At Christmas the favourite married the divorced wife, having
+been created Earl of Somerset, that as his wife she might be Countess
+still. In the following year, 1614, Sir Thomas Overbury's &quot;Characters&quot;
+were published, together with his Character in verse of A Wife, who was
+described as &quot;A Wife, now a Widow.&quot; This had been published a little
+earlier in the same year separately, without any added &quot;Characters.&quot;
+When the Characters appeared they were described as &quot;Many Witty
+Characters and conceited Newes written by himselfe and other learned
+Gentlemen his Friends.&quot; The twenty-one Characters in that edition were,
+therefore, not all from one hand. Their popularity is indicated by the
+fact that in the next year, 1615, they reached a sixth edition. Three
+more editions were published in 1616. This was because interest in the
+book had been heightened by the Great Oyer of Poisoning, the trial in
+May 1616 of the Earl and Countess of Somerset for Overbury's murder, of
+which both were found guilty, though the Countess took all guilt upon
+herself. Then followed a tenth edition in 1618, an eleventh in 1622, a
+twelfth in 1627, a thirteenth in 1628, a fourteenth in 1630, a fifteenth
+in 1632, a sixteenth in 1638; and then a pause, the seventeenth being in
+1664, two years before the fire of London. By this time the original set
+of twenty-one Characters had been considerably increased, &quot;with
+additions of New Characters and many other Witty Conceits never before
+Printed;&quot; so that Overbury's Characters, which had from the first
+included a few pieces written by his friends, became a name for the most
+popular miscellany of pieces of Character Writing current in the
+Seventeenth Century, and shows how wit was exercised in this way by
+half-a-dozen or more of the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease. These
+are the pieces thus at last made current as</i></p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>SIR THOMAS OVERBURY'S CHARACTERS;</h2>
+
+<h2>OR,</h2>
+
+<h2>WITTY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE PROPERTIES OF SUNDRY PERSONS.</h2>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<h2>A GOOD WOMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A Good Woman is a comfort, like a man. She lacks of him nothing but
+heat. Thence is her sweetness of disposition, which meets his stoutness
+more pleasingly; so wool meets iron easier than iron, and turns
+resisting into embracing. Her greatest learning is religion, and her
+thoughts are on her own sex, or on men, without casting the difference.
+Dishonesty never comes nearer than her ears, and then wonder stops it
+out, and saves virtue the labour. She leaves the neat youth telling his
+luscious tales, and puts back the serving-man's putting forward with a
+frown: yet her kindness is free enough to be seen, for it hath no guilt
+about it; and her mirth is clear, that you may look through it into
+virtue, but not beyond. She hath not behaviour at a certain, but makes
+it to her occasion. She hath so much knowledge as to love it; and if she
+have it not at home, she will fetch it, for this sometimes in a pleasant
+discontent she dares chide her sex, though she use it never the worse.
+She is much within, and frames outward things to her mind, not her mind
+to them. She wears good clothes, but never better; for she finds no
+degree beyond decency. She hath a content of her own, and so seeks not
+an husband, but finds him. She is indeed most, but not much of
+description, for she is direct and one, and hath not the variety of ill.
+Now she is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth nothing more
+than love him, for she takes him to that purpose. So his good becomes
+the business of her actions, and she doth herself kindness upon him.
+After his, her chiefest virtue is a good husband. For she is he.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VERY WOMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A Very Woman is a dough-baked man, or a She meant well towards man, but
+fell two bows short, strength and understanding. Her virtue is the
+hedge, modesty, that keeps a man from climbing over into her faults. She
+simpers as if she had no teeth but lips; and she divides her eyes, and
+keeps half for herself, and gives the other to her neat youth. Being set
+down, she casts her face into a platform, which dureth the meal, and is
+taken away with the voider. Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to
+thirst, and it is a part of their mystery not to profess hunger; but
+nature takes her in private and stretcheth her upon meat. She is
+marriageable and fourteen at once, and after she doth not live but
+tarry. She reads over her face every morning, and sometimes blots out
+pale and writes red. She thinks she is fair, though many times her
+opinion goes alone, and she loves her glass and the knight of the sun
+for lying. She is hid away all but her face, and that's hanged about
+with toys and devices, like the sign of a tavern, to draw strangers. If
+she show more she prevents desire, and by too free giving leaves no
+gift. She may escape from the serving-man, but not from the chambermaid.
+Her philosophy is a seeming neglect of those that be too good for her.
+She's a younger brother for her portion, but not for her portion for
+wit--that comes from her in treble, which is still too big for it; yet
+her vanity seldom matcheth her with one of her own degree, for then she
+will beget another creature a beggar, and commonly, if she marry better
+she marries worse. She gets much by the simplicity of her suitor, and
+for a jest laughs at him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for
+herself, and after takes him for his patience, and the land adjoining,
+ye may see it, in a serving-man's fresh napery, and his leg steps into
+an unknown stocking. I need not speak of his garters, the tassel shows
+itself. If she love, she loves not the man, but the best of him. She is
+Salomon's cruel creature, and a man's walking consumption; every caudle
+she gives him is a purge. Her chief commendation is, she brings a man to
+repentance.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>HER NEXT PART.</h2>
+
+<p>Her lightness gets her to swim at top of the table, where her wry little
+finger bewrays carving; her neighbours at the latter end know they are
+welcome, and for that purpose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to
+and among, and so becomes a woman of good entertainment, for all the
+folly in the country comes in clean linen to visit her; she breaks to
+them her grief in sugar cakes, and receives from their mouths in
+exchange many stories that conclude to no purpose. Her eldest son is
+like her howsoever, and that dispraiseth him best; her utmost drift is
+to turn him fool, which commonly she obtains at the years of discretion.
+She takes a journey sometimes to her niece's house, but never thinks
+beyond London. Her devotion is good clothes--they carry her to church,
+express their stuff and fashion, and are silent if she be more devout;
+she lifts up a certain number of eyes instead of prayers, and takes the
+sermon, and measures out a nap by it, just as long. She sends religion
+afore to sixty, where she never overtakes it, or drives it before her
+again. Her most necessary instruments are a waiting gentlewoman and a
+chambermaid; she wears her gentlewoman still, but most often leaves the
+other in her chamber window. She hath a little kennel in her lap, and
+she smells the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of her providence is the
+fatness of a capon, and her greatest envy is the next gentlewoman's
+better gown. Her most commendable skill is to make her husband's fustian
+bear her velvet. This she doth many times over, and then is delivered to
+old age and a chair, where everybody leaves her.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DISSEMBLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is an essence needing a double definition, for he is not that he
+appears. Unto the eye he is pleasing, unto the ear he is harsh, but unto
+the understanding intricate and full of windings; he is the <i>prima
+materia</i>, and his intents give him form; he dyeth his means and his
+meaning into two colours; he baits craft with humility, and his
+countenance is the picture of the present disposition. He wins not by
+battery but undermining, and his rack is smoothing. He allures, is not
+allured by his affections, for they are the breakers of his observation.
+He knows passion only by sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes
+his time an accountant to his memory, and of the humours of men weaves a
+net for occasion; the inquisitor must look through his judgment, for to
+the eye only he is not visible.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COURTIER,</h2>
+
+<p>To all men's thinking, is a man, and to most men the finest; all things
+else are defined by the understanding, but this by the senses; but his
+surest mark is, that he is to be found only about princes. He smells,
+and putteth away much of his judgment about the situation of his
+clothes. He knows no man that is not generally known. His wit, like the
+marigold, openeth with the sun, and therefore he riseth not before ten
+of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words than meaning, and
+more in his pronunciation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he
+hath but one receipt of making love. He follows nothing but inconstancy,
+admires nothing but beauty, honours nothing but fortune: Loves nothing.
+The sustenance of his discourse is news, and his censure, like a shot,
+depends upon the charging. He is not, if he be out of court, but
+fish-like breathes destruction if out of his element. Neither his motion
+or aspect are regular, but he moves by the upper spheres, and is the
+reflection of higher substances.</p>
+
+<p>If you find him not here, you shall in Paul's, with a pick-tooth in his
+hat, cape-cloak, and a long stocking.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOLDEN ASS</h2>
+
+<p>Is a young thing, whose father went to the devil; he is followed like a
+salt bitch, and limbed by him that gets up first; his disposition is
+cut, and knaves rend him like tenter-hooks; he is as blind as his
+mother, and swallows flatterers for friends. He is high in his own
+imagination, but that imagination is as a stone that is raised by
+violence, descends naturally. When he goes, he looks who looks; if he
+find not good store of vailers, he comes home stiff and sere, until he
+be new oiled and watered by his husbandmen. Wheresoever he eats he hath
+an officer to warn men not to talk out of his element, and his own is
+exceeding sensible, because it is sensual; but he cannot exchange a
+piece of reason, though he can a piece of gold. He is not plucked, for
+his feathers are his beauty, and more than his beauty, they are his
+discretion, his countenance, his all. He is now at an end, for he hath
+had the wolf of vainglory, which he fed until himself became the food.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FLATTERER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the shadow of a fool. He is a good woodman, for he singleth out none
+but the wealthy. His carriage is ever of the colour of his patient; and
+for his sake he will halt or wear a wry neck. He dispraiseth nothing but
+poverty and small drink, and praiseth his Grace of making water. He
+selleth himself with reckoning his great friends, and teacheth the
+present how to win his praises by reciting the other gifts; he is ready
+for all employments, but especially before dinner, for his courage and
+his stomach go together. He will play any upon his countenance, and
+where he cannot be admitted for a counsellor he will serve as a fool. He
+frequents the Court of Wards and Ordinaries, and fits these guests of
+<i>Togae viriles</i> with wives or worse. He entereth young men into
+aquaintance with debt-books. In a word, he is the impression of the last
+term, and will be so until the coming of a new term or termer.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN IGNORANT GLORY-HUNTER</h2>
+
+<p>Is an <i>insectum</i> animal, for he is the maggot of opinion; his behaviour
+is another thing from himself, and is glued and but set on. He
+entertains men with repetitions, and returns them their own words. He is
+ignorant of nothing, no not of those things where ignorance is the
+lesser shame. He gets the names of good wits, and utters them for his
+companions. He confesseth vices that he is guiltless of, if they be in
+fashion; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, or out of fashion.
+There is not a public assembly without him, and he will take any pains
+for an acquaintance there. In any show he will be one, though he be but
+a whiffler or a torch-bearer, and bears down strangers with the story of
+his actions. He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his
+wardrobe, diet, and all customs, with intituling their beginnings from
+princes, great soldiers, and strange nations. He dare speak more than he
+understands, and adventures his words without the relief of any seconds.
+He relates battles and skirmishes as from an eyewitness, when his eyes
+thievishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to make sure of
+admiration, he will not let himself understand himself, but hopes fame
+and opinion will be the readers of his riddles.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TIMIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is a noun adjective of the present tense. He hath no more of a
+conscience than fear, and his religion is not his but the prince's. He
+reverenceth a courtier's servant's servant; is first his own slave, and
+then whosesoever looketh big. When he gives he curseth, and when he
+sells he worships. He reads the statutes in his chamber, and wears the
+Bible in the streets; he never praiseth any, but before themselves or
+friends; and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. His New
+Year's gifts are ready at Allhallowmas, and the suit he meant to
+meditate before them. He pleaseth the children of great men, and
+promiseth to adopt them, and his courtesy extends itself even to the
+stable. He strains to talk wisely, and his modesty would serve a bride.
+He is gravity from the head to the foot, but not from the head to the
+heart. You may find what place he affecteth, for he creeps as near it as
+may be, and as passionately courts it; if at any time his hopes be
+affected, he swelleth with them, and they burst out too good for the
+vessel. In a word, he danceth to the tune of Fortune, and studies for
+nothing but to keep time.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN AMORIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man blasted or planet-stricken, and is the dog that leads blind
+Cupid; when he is at the best his fashion exceeds the worth of his
+weight. He is never without verses and musk confects, and sighs to the
+hazard of his buttons. His eyes are all white, either to wear the livery
+of his mistress' complexion or to keep Cupid from hitting the black. He
+fights with passion, and loseth much of his blood by his weapon; dreams,
+thence his paleness. His arms are carelessly used, as if their best use
+was nothing but embracements. He is untrussed, unbuttoned, and
+ungartered, not out of carelessness, but care; his farthest end being
+but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatness, but he
+goeth not alone; for then he makes some other quality moralise his
+affection, and his trimness is the grace of that grace. Her favour lifts
+him up as the sun moisture; when she disfavours, unable to hold that
+happiness, it falls down in tears. His fingers are his orators, and he
+expresseth much of himself upon some instrument. He answers not, or not
+to the purpose, and no marvel, for he is not at home. He scotcheth time
+with dancing with his mistress, taking up of her glove, and wearing her
+feather; he is confined to her colour, and dares not pass out of the
+circuit of her memory. His imagination is a fool, and it goeth in a pied
+coat of red and white. Shortly, he is translated out of a man into
+folly; his imagination is the glass of lust, and himself the traitor to
+his own discretion.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN AFFECTED TRAVELLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a speaking fashion; he hath taken pains to be ridiculous, and hath
+seen more than he hath perceived. His attire speaks French or Italian,
+and his gait cries, Behold me. He censures all things by countenances
+and shrugs, and speaks his own language with shame and lisping; he will
+choke rather than confess beer good drink, and his pick-tooth is a main
+part of his behaviour. He chooseth rather to be counted a spy than not a
+politician, and maintains his reputation by naming great men familiarly.
+He chooseth rather to tell lies than not wonders, and talks with men
+singly; his discourse sounds big, but means nothing; and his boy is
+bound to admire him howsoever. He comes still from great personages, but
+goes with mean. He takes occasion to show jewels given him in regard of
+his virtue, that were bought in St. Martin's; and not long after having
+with a mountebank's method pronounced them worth thousands, impawneth
+them for a few shillings. Upon festival days he goes to court, and
+salutes without resaluting; at night in an ordinary he canvasseth the
+business in hand, and seems as conversant with all intents and plots as
+if he begot them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to tell
+them the ends of all matters of consequence, and then to borrow money of
+them; he offers courtesies to show them, rather than himself, humble. He
+disdains all things above his reach, and preferreth all countries before
+his own. He imputeth his want and poverty to the ignorance of the time,
+not his own unworthiness; and concludes his discourse with half a
+period, or a word, and leaves the rest to imagination. In a word, his
+religion is fashion, and both body and soul are governed by fame; he
+loves most voices above truth.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WISE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the truth of the true definition of man, that is, a reasonable
+creature. His disposition alters; he alters not. He hides himself with
+the attire of the vulgar; and in indifferent things is content to be
+governed by them. He looks according to nature; so goes his behaviour.
+His mind enjoys a continual smoothness; so cometh it that his
+consideration is always at home. He endures the faults of all men
+silently, except his friends, and to them he is the mirror of their
+actions; by this means, his peace cometh not from fortune, but himself.
+He is cunning in men, not to surprise, but keep his own, and beats off
+their ill-affected humours no otherwise than if they were flies. He
+chooseth not friends by the Subsidy-book, and is not luxurious after
+acquaintance. He maintains the strength of his body, not by delicates
+but temperance; and his mind, by giving it pre-eminence over his body.
+He understands things, not by their form, but qualities; and his
+comparisons intend not to excuse but to provoke him higher. He is not
+subject to casualties, for fortune hath nothing to do with the mind,
+except those drowned in the body; but he hath divided his soul from the
+case of his soul, whose weakness he assists no otherwise than
+commiseratively--not that it is his, but that it is. He is thus, and
+will be thus; and lives subject neither to time nor his frailties, the
+servant of virtue, and by virtue the friend of the highest.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A NOBLE SPIRIT</h2>
+
+<p>Hath surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all occurrents
+into experience, between which experience and his reason there is
+marriage; the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seeth
+the end before he shoot. Men are the instruments of his art, and there
+is no man without his use. Occasion incites him, none enticeth him; and
+he moves by affection, not for affection. He loves glory, scorns shame,
+and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one
+consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his
+meditation hath travelled over them, and his eye, mounted upon his
+understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He covers not his body
+with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his body, but teacheth
+it, since it is not able to defend its own imbecility, to show or
+suffer. He licenseth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason
+to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny.
+Truth is the goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like
+her. He knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing
+like another, and then another. To these he carries his desires, and not
+his desires him, and sticks not fast by the way (for that contentment is
+repentance), but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of
+all things, to have but one centre or period, without all distraction,
+he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and natural element. He
+doth not contemn Fortune, but not confess her. He is no gamester of the
+world (which only complain and praise her), but being only sensible of
+the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement of
+scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their
+steps in a regular motion. When he is more particular, he is the wise
+man's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the
+vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him; and he feels age
+more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus
+feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends that desire to
+file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN OLD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a thing that hath been a man in his days. Old men are to be known
+blindfolded, for their talk is as terrible as their resemblance. They
+praise their own times as vehemently as if they would sell them. They
+become wrinkled with frowning and facing youth; they admire their old
+customs, even to the eating of red herring and going wetshod. They cast
+the thumb under the girdle, gravity; and because they can hardly smell
+at all their posies are under their girdles. They count it an ornament
+of speech to close the period with a cough; and it is venerable (they
+say) to spend time in wiping their drivelled beards. Their discourse is
+unanswerable, by reason of their obstinacy; their speech is much, though
+little to the purpose. Truths and lies pass with an unequal affirmation;
+for their memories several are won into one receptacle, and so they come
+out with one sense. They teach their servants their duties with as much
+scorn and tyranny as some people teach their dogs to fetch. Their envy
+is one of their diseases. They put off and on their clothes with that
+certainty, as if they knew their heads would not direct them, and
+therefore custom should. They take a pride in halting and going stiffly,
+and therefore their staves are carved and tipped; they trust their
+attire with much of their gravity; and they dare not go without a gown
+in summer. Their hats are brushed, to draw men's eyes off from their
+faces; but of all, their pomanders are worn to most purpose, for their
+putrified breath ought not to want either a smell to defend or a dog
+to excuse.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a thing, out of whose corruption the generation of a Justice of Peace
+is produced. He speaks statutes and husbandry well enough to make his
+neighbours think him a wise man; he is well skilled in arithmetic or
+rates, and hath eloquence enough to save twopence. His conversation
+amongst his tenants is desperate, but amongst his equals full of doubt.
+His travel is seldom farther than the next market town, and his
+inquisition is about the price of corn. When he travelleth he will go
+ten miles out of the way to a cousin's house of his to save charges; he
+rewards the servant by taking him by the hand when he departs. Nothing
+under a subpoena can draw him to London; and when he is there he sticks
+fast upon every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and becomes the
+prey of every cutpurse. When he comes home, those wonders serve him for
+his holiday talk. If he go to court it is in yellow stockings; and if it
+be in winter, in a slight taffety cloak, and pumps and pantofles. He is
+chained that woos the usher for his coming into the presence, where he
+becomes troublesome with the ill-managing of his rapier, and the wearing
+of his girdle of one fashion, and the hangers of another. By this time
+he hath learned to kiss his hand, and make a leg both together, and the
+names of lords and councillors. He hath thus much toward entertainment
+and courtesy, but of the last he makes more use, for, by the recital of
+my lord, he conjures his poor countrymen. But this is not his element;
+he must home again, being like a dor, that ends his flight in
+a dunghill.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FINE GENTLEMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the cinnamon tree, whose bark is more worth than his body. He hath
+read the book of good manners, and by this time each of his limbs may
+read it. He alloweth of no judge but the eye: painting, bolstering, and
+bombasting are his orators. By these also he proves his industry, for he
+hath purchased legs, hair, beauty, and straightness, more than nature
+left him. He unlocks maidenheads with his language, and speaks Euphues,
+not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse makes not his behaviour;
+but he buys it at court, as countrymen their clothes in Birchin Lane. He
+is somewhat like the salamander, and lives in the flame of love, which
+pains he expresseth comically. And nothing grieves him so much as the
+want of a poet to make an issue in his love. Yet he sighs sweetly and
+speaks lamentably, for his breath is perfumed and his words are wind. He
+is best in season at Christmas, for the boar's head and reveller come
+together. His hopes are laden in his quality; and, lest fiddlers should
+take him unprovided, he wears pumps in his pocket; and, lest he should
+take fiddlers unprovided, he whistles his own galliard. He is a calendar
+of ten years, and marriage rusts him. Afterwards he maintains himself an
+implement of household, by carving and ushering. For all this, he is
+judicial only in tailors and barbers; but his opinion is ever ready, and
+ever idle. If you will know more of his acts, the broker's shop is the
+witness of his valour, where lies wounded, dead rent, and out of
+fashion, many a spruce suit, overthrown by his fantasticness.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ELDER BROTHER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a creature born to the best advantage of things without him; that
+hath the start at the beginning, but loiters it away before the ending.
+He looks like his land, as heavily and dirtily, as stubbornly. He dares
+do anything but fight, and fears nothing but his father's life, and
+minority. The first thing he makes known is his estate, and the
+loadstone that draws him is the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a
+particular, and his strongest argument is all about the jointure. His
+observation is all about the fashion, and he commends partlets for a
+rare device. He speaks no language, but smells of dogs or hawks, and his
+ambition flies justice-height. He loves to be commended; and he will go
+into the kitchen but he'll have it. He loves glory, but is so lazy as he
+is content with flattery. He speaks most of the precedency of age, and
+protests fortune the greatest virtue. He summoneth the old servants, and
+tells what strange acts he will do when he reigns. He verily believes
+housekeepers the best commonwealths-men, and therefore studies baking,
+brewing, greasing, and such, as the limbs of goodness. He judgeth it no
+small sign of wisdom to talk much; his tongue therefore goes continually
+his errand, but never speeds. If his understanding were not honester
+than his will, no man should keep good conceit by him, for he thinks it
+no theft to sell all he can to opinion. His pedigree and his father's
+seal-ring are the stilts of his crazed disposition. He had rather keep
+company with the dregs of men than not to be the best man. His
+insinuation is the inviting of men to his house; and he thinks it a
+great modesty to comprehend his cheer under a piece of mutton and a
+rabbit. If he by this time be not known, he will go home again, for he
+can no more abide to have himself concealed than his land. Yet he is (as
+you see) good for nothing, except to make a stallion to maintain
+the race.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BRAGGADOCIO WELSHMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the oyster that the pearl is in, for a man may be picked out of him.
+He hath the abilities of the mind in <i>potentia</i>, and <i>actu</i> nothing but
+boldness. His clothes are in fashion before his body, and he accounts
+boldness the chiefest virtue. Above all men he loves an herald, and
+speaks pedigrees naturally. He accounts none well descended that call
+him not cousin, and prefers Owen Glendower before any of the Nine
+Worthies. The first note of his familiarity is the confession of his
+valour, and so he prevents quarrels. He voucheth Welsh a pure and
+unconquered language, and courts ladies with the story of their
+chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his own conceit, and upon St.
+David's Day without comparison.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PEDANT.</h2>
+
+<p>He treads in a rule, and one hand scans verses, and the other holds his
+sceptre. He dares not think a thought that the nominative case governs
+not the verb; and he never had meaning in his life, for he travelled
+only for words. His ambition is criticism, and his example Tully. He
+values phrases, and elects them by the sound, and the eight parts of
+speech are his servants. To be brief, he is a Heteroclite, for he wants
+the plural number, having only the single quality of words.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SERVING-MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a creature, which, though he be not drunk, yet is not his own man. He
+tells without asking who owns him, by the superscription of his livery.
+His life is for ease and leisure, much about gentleman-like. His wealth
+enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were
+sure of it, for he hath little, and wants nothing; he values himself
+higher or lower as his master is. He hates or loves the men as his
+master doth the master. He is commonly proud of his master's horses or
+his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the
+clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his. He seldom breaks
+his own clothes. He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged; nor
+commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose, and seldom
+abstains till he comes to a thirst. His discretion is to be careful for
+his master's credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table,
+and to carve well; his neatness consists much in his hair and outward
+linen; his courting language, visible coarse jests; and against his
+matter fail, he is always ready furnished with a song. His inheritance
+is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his master's daughter, by
+reason of opportunity, or for want of a better, he always cuckolds
+himself, and never marries but his own widow. His master being appeased,
+he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his
+heir-males for ever.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN HOST</h2>
+
+<p>Is the kernel of a sign; or the sign is the shell, and mine host is the
+snail. He consists of double beer and fellowship, and his vices are the
+bawds of his thirst. He entertains humbly, and gives his guests power,
+as well of himself as house. He answers all men's expectations to his
+power, save in the reckoning; and hath gotten the trick of greatness, to
+lay all mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the common seed of his
+dove-house; and to be a good guest is a warrant for her liberty. He
+traffics for guests by men-friends' friends' friends, and is sensible
+only of his purse. In a word, he is none of his own; for he neither
+eats, drinks, or thinks, but at other men's charges and appointments.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN OSTLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his horse, reasonably himself. He
+consists of travellers, though he be none himself. His highest ambition
+is to be host, and the invention of his sign is his greatest wit, for
+the expressing whereof he sends away the painters for want of
+understanding. He hath certain charms for a horse mouth, that he should
+not eat his hay; and behind your back he will cozen your horse to his
+face. His curry-comb is one of his best parts, for he expresseth much by
+the jingling; and his mane-comb is a spinner's card turned out of
+service. He puffs and blows over your horse, to the hazard of a double
+jug, and leaves much of the dressing to the proverb of <i>muli mutuo
+scabient</i>, one horse rubs another. He comes to him that calls loudest,
+not first; he takes a broken head patiently, but the knave he feels it
+not; utmost honesty is good fellowship, and he speaks northern, what
+countryman soever. He hath a pension of ale from the next smith and
+saddler for intelligence; he loves to see you ride, and hold your
+stirrup in expectation.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE TRUE CHARACTER OF A DUNCE.</h2>
+
+<p>He hath a soul drowned in a lump of flesh, or is a piece of earth that
+Prometheus put not half his proportion of fire into. A thing that hath
+neither edge of desire nor feeling of affection in it; the most
+dangerous creature for confirming an atheist, who would swear his soul
+were nothing but the bare temperature of his body. He sleeps as he goes,
+and his thoughts seldom reach an inch further than his eyes. The most
+part of the faculties of his soul lie fallow, or are like the restive
+jades that no spur can drive forward towards the pursuit of any worthy
+designs. One of the most unprofitable of God's creatures, being as he is
+a thing put clean beside the right use; made fit for the cart and the
+flail, and by mischance entangled amongst books and papers. A man cannot
+tell possibly what he is now good for, save to move up and down and fill
+room, or to serve as <i>animatum instrumentum</i>, for others to work withal
+in base employments, or to be foil for better wits, or to serve (as they
+say monsters do) to set out the variety of nature, and ornament of the
+universe. He is mere nothing of himself, neither eats, nor drinks, nor
+goes, nor spits, but by imitation, for all which he hath set forms and
+fashions, which he never varies, but sticks to with the like plodding
+constancy that a mill-horse follows his trace. But the Muses and the
+Graces are his hard mistresses; though he daily invocate them, though he
+sacrifice hecatombs, they still look asquint. You shall note him
+(besides his dull eye, and lowering head, and a certain clammy benumbed
+pace) by a fair displayed beard, a night-cap, and a gown, whose very
+wrinkles proclaim him the true genius of familiarity. But of all others,
+his discourse and compositions best speak him, both of them are much of
+one stuff and fashion. He speaks just what his books or last company
+said unto him, without varying one whit, and very seldom understands
+himself. You may know by his discourse where he was last; for what he
+heard or read yesterday, he now dischargeth his memory or note-book
+of--not his understanding, for it never came there. What he hath he
+flings abroad at all adventures, without accommodating it to time,
+place, or persons, or occasions. He commonly loseth himself in his tale,
+and flutters up and down windless without recovery, and whatsoever next
+presents itself, his heavy conceit seizeth upon, and goeth along with,
+however heterogeneal to his matter in hand. His jests are either old
+fled proverbs, or lean-starved hackney apophthegms, or poor verbal
+quips, outworn by serving-men, tapsters, and milkmaids, even laid aside
+by balladers. He assents to all men that bring any shadow of reason, and
+you may make him when he speaks most dogmatically even with one breath,
+to aver poor contradictions. His compositions differ only <i>terminorum
+positione</i> from dreams; nothing but rude heaps of immaterial,
+incoherent, drossy, rubbishy stuff, promiscuously thrust up together;
+enough to infuse dulness and barrenness in conceit into him that is so
+prodigal of his ears as to give the hearing; enough to make a man's
+memory ache with suffering such dirty stuff cast into it. As unwelcome
+to any true conceit, as sluttish morsels or wallowish potions to a nice
+stomach, which whiles he empties himself, it sticks in his teeth, nor
+can he be delivered without sweat, and sighs, and hems, and coughs
+enough to shake his grandam's teeth out of her head. He spits, and
+scratches, and spawls, and turns like sick men from one elbow to
+another, and deserves as much pity during his torture as men in fits of
+tertian fevers, or self-lashing penitentiaries. In a word, rip him quite
+asunder, and examine every shred of him, you shall find of him to be
+just nothing but the subject of nothing; the object of contempt; yet
+such as he is you must take him, for there is no hope he should ever
+become better.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOOD WIFE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man's best movable, a scion incorporate with the stock, bringing
+sweet fruit; one that to her husband is more than a friend, less than
+trouble; an equal with him in the yoke. Calamities and troubles she
+shares alike, nothing pleaseth her that doth not him. She is relative in
+all, and he without her but half himself. She is his absent hands, eyes,
+ears, and mouth; his present and absent all. She frames her nature unto
+his howsoever; the hyacinth follows not the sun more willingly.
+Stubbornness and obstinacy are herbs that grow not in her garden. She
+leaves tattling to the gossips of the town, and is more seen than heard.
+Her household is her charge; her care to that makes her seldom
+non-resident. Her pride is but to be cleanly, and her thrift not to be
+prodigal. By her discretion she hath children not wantons; a husband
+without her is a misery to man's apparel: none but she hath an aged
+husband, to whom she is both a staff and a chair. To conclude, she is
+both wise and religious, which makes her all this.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MELANCHOLY MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a strayer from the drove: one that Nature made a sociable, because
+she made him man, and a crazed disposition hath altered. Unpleasing to
+all, as all to him; straggling thoughts are his content, they make him
+dream waking, there's his pleasure. His imagination is never idle, it
+keeps his mind in a continual motion, as the poise the clock: he winds
+up his thoughts often, and as often unwinds them; Penelope's web thrives
+faster. He'll seldom be found without the shade of some grove, in whose
+bottom a river dwells. He carries a cloud in his face, never fair
+weather; his outside is framed to his inside, in that he keeps a
+decorum, both unseemly. Speak to him; he hears with his eyes, ears
+follow his mind, and that's not at leisure. He thinks business, but
+never does any; he is all contemplation, no action. He hews and fashions
+his thoughts, as if he meant them to some purpose, but they prove
+unprofitable, as a piece of wrought timber to no use. His spirits and
+the sun are enemies: the sun bright and warm, his humour black and cold;
+variety of foolish apparitions people his head, they suffer him not to
+breathe according to the necessities of nature, which makes him sup up a
+draught of as much air at once as would serve at thrice. He denies
+nature her due in sleep, and nothing pleaseth him long, but that which
+pleaseth his own fantasies; they are the consuming evils, and evil
+consumptions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man only in show;
+but comes short of the better part, a whole reasonable soul, which is
+man's chief pre-eminence and sole mark from creatures sensible.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SAILOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a pitched piece of reason caulked and tackled, and only studied to
+dispute with tempests. He is part of his own provision, for he lives
+ever pickled. A fore-wind is the substance of his creed, and fresh water
+the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is ever
+climbing; out of which as naturally he fears, for he is ever flying.
+Time and he are everywhere ever contending who shall arrive first; he is
+well-winded, for he tires the day, and outruns darkness. His life is
+like a hawk's, the best part mewed; and if he live till three coats, is
+a master. He sees God's wonders in the deep, but so as rather they
+appear his playfellows than stirrers of his zeal. Nothing but hunger and
+hard rocks can convert him, and then but his upper deck neither; for his
+hold neither fears nor hopes, his sleeps are but reprievals of his
+dangers, and when he wakes 'tis but next stage to dying. His wisdom is
+the coldest part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies
+lowest, which makes his valour every tide overflow it. In a storm it is
+disputable whether the noise be more his or the elements, and which will
+first leave scolding; on which side of the ship he may be saved best,
+whether his faith be starboard faith or larboard, or the helm at that
+time not all his hope of heaven. His keel is the emblem of his
+conscience, till it be split he never repents, then no farther than the
+land allows him, and his language is a new confusion, and all his
+thoughts new nations. His body and his ship are both one burden, nor is
+it known who stows most wine or rolls most; only the ship is guided, he
+has no stern. A barnacle and he are bred together, both of one nature,
+and it is feared one reason. Upon any but a wooden horse he cannot ride,
+and if the wind blow against him he dare not. He swerves up to his seat
+as to a sail-yard, and cannot sit unless he bear a flagstaff. If ever he
+be broken to the saddle, it is but a voyage still, for he mistakes the
+bridle for a bowline, and is ever turning his horse-tail. He can pray,
+but it is by rote, not faith, and when he would he dares not, for his
+brackish belief hath made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand plucks him
+before he be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SOLDIER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the husbandman of valour; his sword is his plough, which honour and
+<i>aqua vita</i>, two fiery-metalled jades, are ever drawing. A younger
+brother best becomes arms, an elder the thanks for them. Every heat
+makes him a harvest, and discontents abroad are his sowers. He is
+actively his prince's, but passively his anger's servant. He is often a
+desirer of learning, which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour.
+He is a lover at all points, and a true defender of the faith of women.
+More wealth than makes him seem a handsome foe, lightly he covets not,
+less is below him. He never truly wants but in much having, for then his
+ease and lechery afflict him. The word peace, though in prayer, makes
+him start, and God he best considers by His power. Hunger and cold rank
+in the same file with him, and hold him to a man; his honour else, and
+the desire of doing things beyond him, would blow him greater than the
+sons of Anak. His religion is, commonly, as his cause is, doubtful, and
+that the best devotion keeps best quarter. He seldom sees grey hairs,
+some none at all, for where the sword fails, there the flesh gives fire.
+In charity he goes beyond the clergy, for he loves his greatest enemy
+best, much drinking. He seems a full student, for he is a great desirer
+of controversies; he argues sharply, and carries his conclusion in his
+scabbard. In the first refining of mankind this was the gold, his
+actions are his amel. His alloy (for else you cannot work him perfectly)
+continual duties, heavy and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as
+cold diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line him with these,
+and link him to his squadrons, and he appears a most rich chain
+for princes.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TAILOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a creature made up of threads that were pared off from Adam, when he
+was rough cast; the end of his being differeth from that of others, and
+is not to serve God, but to cover sin. Other men's pride is the best
+patron, and their negligence a main passage to his profit. He is a thing
+of more than ordinary judgment: for by virtue of that he buyeth land,
+buildeth houses, and raiseth the set roof of his cross-legged fortune.
+His actions are strong encounters, and for their notoriousness always
+upon record. It is neither Amadis de Gaul, nor the Knight of the Sun,
+that is able to resist them. A ten-groat fee setteth them on foot, and a
+brace of officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth the Spanish
+pike to the hazard of many poor Egyptian vermin; and in show of his
+valour, scorneth a greater gauntlet than will cover the top of his
+middle finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the long bill; and this
+he will manage to the great prejudice of a customer's estate. His
+spirit, notwithstanding, is not so much as to make you think him man;
+like a true mongrel, he neither bites nor barks but when your back is
+towards him. His heart is a lump of congealed snow: Prometheus was
+asleep while it was making. He differeth altogether from God; for with
+him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and, without
+hope of recovery, shall be cast down into hell. He is partly an
+alchemist; for he extracteth his own apparel out of other men's clothes;
+and when occasion serveth, making a broker's shop his alembic, can turn
+your silks into gold, and having furnished his necessities, after a
+month or two, if he be urged unto it, reduce them again to their proper
+subsistence. He is in part likewise an arithmetician, cunning enough for
+multiplication and addition, but cannot abide subtraction: <i>summa
+totalis</i> is the language of his Canaan, and <i>usque ad ultimum
+quadrantem</i> the period of all his charity. For any skill in geometry I
+dare not commend him, for he could never yet find out the dimensions of
+his own conscience; notwithstanding he hath many bottoms, it seemeth
+this is always bottomless. And so with a <i>libera nos a malo</i> I leave
+you, promising to amend whatsoever is amiss at his next setting.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PURITAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a diseased piece of apocalypse: bind him to the Bible, and he
+corrupts the whole text. 'Ignorance and fat feed are his founders; his
+nurses, railing, rabies, and round breeches. His life is but a borrowed
+blast of wind: for between two religions, as between two doors, he is
+ever whistling. Truly, whose child he is is yet unknown; for, willingly,
+his faith allows no father: only thus far his pedigree is found, Bragger
+and he flourished about a time first. His fiery zeal keeps him
+continually costive, which withers him into his own translation; and
+till he eat a schoolman he is hide-bound. He ever prays against
+non-residents, but is himself the greatest discontinuer, for he never
+keeps near his text. Anything that the law allows, but marriage and
+March beer, he murmurs at; what it disallows and holds dangerous, makes
+him a discipline. Where the gate stands open, he is ever seeking a
+stile; and where his learning ought to climb, he creeps through. Give
+him advice, you run into traditions; and urge a modest course, he cries
+out counsel. His greatest care is to contemn obedience; his last care to
+serve God handsomely and cleanly. He is now become so cross a kind of
+teaching, that should the Church enjoin clean shirts, he were lousy.
+More sense than single prayers is not his; nor more in those than still
+the same petitions: from which he either fears a learned faith, or
+doubts God understands not at first hearing. Show him a ring, he runs
+back like a bear; and hates square dealing as allied to caps. A pair of
+organs blow him out of the parish, and are the only glyster-pipes to
+cool him. Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, for his
+arguing is but the efficacy of his eating: good bits he holds breed good
+positions, and the Pope he best concludes against in plum-broth. He is
+often drunk, but not as we are, temporally; nor can his sleep then cure
+him, for the fumes of his ambition make his very soul reel, and that
+small beer that should allay him (silence) keeps him more surfeited, and
+makes his heat break out in private houses. Women and lawyers are his
+best disciples; the one, next fruit, longs for forbidden doctrine, the
+other to maintain forbidden titles, both which he sows amongst them.
+Honest he dare not be, for that loves order; yet, if he can be brought
+to ceremony and made but master of it, he is converted.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE COMMON LAWYER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the best shadow to make a discreet one show the fairer. He is a
+<i>materia prima</i> informed by reports, actuated by statutes, and hath his
+motion by the favourable intelligence of the Court. His law is always
+furnished with a commission to arraign his conscience; but, upon
+judgment given, he usually sets it at large. He thinks no language worth
+knowing but his Barragouin: only for that point he hath been a long time
+at wars with Priscian for a northern province. He imagines that by sure
+excellency his profession only is learning, and that it is a profanation
+of the Temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberal arts be
+there admitted to offer strange incense to her. For, indeed, he is all
+for money. Seven or eight years squires him out, some of his nation less
+standing; and ever since the night of his call, he forgot much what he
+was at dinner. The next morning his man (in <i>actu</i> or <i>potentia</i>) enjoys
+his pickadels. His laundress is then shrewdly troubled in fitting him a
+ruff, his perpetual badge. His love-letters of the last year of his
+gentlemanship are stuffed with discontinuances, remitters, and uncore
+priests; but, now being enabled to speak in proper person, he talks of a
+French hood instead of a jointure, wags his law, and joins issue. Then
+he begins to stick his letters in his ground chamber-window, that so the
+superscription may make his squireship transparent. His heraldry gives
+him place before the minister, because the Law was before the Gospel.
+Next term he walks his hoopsleeve gown to the hall; there it proclaims
+him. He feeds fat in the reading, and till it chance to his turn,
+dislikes no house order so much as that the month is so contracted to a
+fortnight. Amongst his country neighbours he arrogates as much honour
+for being reader of an Inn of Chancery, as if it had been of his own
+house; for they, poor souls, take law and conscience, Court and
+Chancery, for all one. He learned to frame his case from putting riddles
+and imitating Merlin's prophecies, and to set all the Cross Row together
+by the ears; yet his whole law is not able to decide Lucan's one old
+controversy betwixt Tau and Sigma. He accounts no man of his cap and
+coat idle, but who trots not the circuit. He affects no life or quality
+for itself, but for gain; and that, at least, to the stating him in a
+Justice of Peace-ship, which is the first quickening soul superadded to
+the elementary and inanimate form of his new tide. His terms are his
+wife's vacations; yet she then may usurp divers Court-days, and has her
+returns in <i>mensem</i> for writs of entry--often shorter. His vacations are
+her termers; but in assize time (the circuit being long) he may have a
+trial at home against him by <i>nisi prius</i>. No way to heaven, he thinks,
+so wise as through Westminster Hall; and his clerks commonly through it
+visit both heaven and hell. Yet then he oft forgets his journey's end,
+although he look on the Star-Chamber. Neither is he wholly destitute of
+the arts. Grammar he has enough to make termination of those words which
+his authority hath endenizoned rhetoric-some; but so little that it is
+thought a concealment. Logic, enough to wrangle. Arithmetic, enough for
+the ordinals of his year-books and number-rolls; but he goes not to
+multiplication, there is a statute against it. So much geometry, that he
+can advise in a <i>perambulatione fadenda</i>, or a <i>rationalibus divisis</i>.
+In astronomy and astrology he is so far seen, that by the Dominical
+letter he knows the holy-days, and finds by calculation that Michaelmas
+term will be long and dirty. Marry, he knows so much in music that he
+affects only the most and cunningest discords; rarely a perfect concord,
+especially song, except <i>in fine</i>. His skill in perspective endeavours
+much to deceive the eye of the law, and gives many false colours. He is
+specially practised in necromancy (such a kind as is out of the Statute
+of Primo), by raising many dead questions. What sufficiency he hath in
+criticism, the foul copies of his special pleas will tell you. Many of
+the same coat, which are much to be honoured, partake of divers of his
+indifferent qualities; but so that discretion, virtue, and sometimes
+other good learning, concurring and distinguishing ornaments to them,
+make them as foils to set their work on.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE SCHOLAR.</h2>
+
+<p>A mere scholar is an intelligible ass, or a silly fellow in black that
+speaks sentences more familiarly than sense. The antiquity of his
+University is his creed, and the excellency of his college (though but
+for a match at football) an article of his faith. He speaks Latin better
+than his mother-tongue, and is a stranger in no part of the world but
+his own country. He does usually tell great stories of himself to small
+purpose, for they are commonly ridiculous, be they true or false. His
+ambition is that he either is or shall be a graduate; but if ever he get
+a fellowship, he has then no fellow. In spite of all logic he dares
+swear and maintain it, that a cuckold and a town's-man are <i>termini
+convertibles</i>, though his mother's husband be an alderman. He was never
+begotten (as it seems) without much wrangling, for his whole life is
+spent in <i>pro et contra</i>. His tongue goes always before his wit, like
+gentleman-usher, but somewhat faster. That he be a complete gallant in
+all points, <i>cap-&agrave;-pie</i>, witness his horsemanship and the wearing of his
+weapons. He is commonly long-winded, able to speak more with ease than
+any man can endure to hear with patience. University jests are his
+universal discourse, and his news the demeanour of the proctors. His
+phrase, the apparel of his mind, is made of divers shreds, like a
+cushion, and when it goes plainest it hath a rash outside and fustian
+linings. The current of his speech is closed with an <i>ergo</i>; and,
+whatever be the question, the truth is on his side. It is a wrong to his
+reputation to be ignorant of anything; and yet he knows not that he
+knows nothing. He gives directions for husbandry, from Virgil's
+&quot;Georgics;&quot; for cattle, from his &quot;Bucolics;&quot; for warlike stratagems,
+from his &quot;&AElig;neids&quot; or Caesar's &quot;Commentaries.&quot; He orders all things and
+thrives in none; skilful in all trades and thrives in none. He is led
+more by his ears than his understanding, taking the sound of words for
+their true sense, and does therefore confidently believe that Erra Pater
+was the father of heretics, Radulphus Agricola a substantial farmer, and
+will not stick to aver that Systemo's Logic doth excel Keckerman's. His
+ill-luck is not so much in being a fool, as in being put to such pains
+to express it to the world, for what in others is natural, in him (with
+much ado) is artificial. His poverty is his happiness, for it makes some
+men believe that he is none of fortune's favourites. That learning which
+he hath was in non age put in backward like a glyster, and it's now like
+ware mislaid in a pedlar's pack; a has it, but knows not where it is. In
+a word, his is the index of a man and the title-page of a scholar, or a
+puritan in morality--much in profession, nothing in practice.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TINKER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a movable, for he hath no abiding-place; by his motion he gathers
+heat, thence his choleric nature. He seems to be very devout, for his
+life is a continual pilgrimage, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot,
+thereon making necessity a virtue. His house is as ancient as Tubal
+Cain's, and so is a renegade by antiquity: yet he proves himself a
+gallant, for he carries all his wealth upon his back; or a philosopher,
+for he bears all his substance about him. From his art was music first
+invented, and therefore he is always furnished with a song, to which his
+hammer keeping tune, proves that he was the first founder for the
+kettledrum. Note, that where the best ale is, there stands his music
+most upon crochets. The companion of his travels is some foul sun-burnt
+quean, that, since the terrible statute, recanted gipseyism and is
+turned pedlaress. So marches he all over England with his bag and
+baggage. His conversation is unreprovable, for he is ever mending. He
+observes truly the statutes, and therefore he can rather steal than beg,
+in which he is unremovably constant in spite of whip or imprisonment;
+and so a strong enemy to idleness, that in mending one hole he had
+rather make three than want work, and when he hath done, he throws the
+wallet of his faults behind him. He embraceth naturally ancient custom,
+conversing in open fields and lowly cottages. If he visit cities or
+towns, 'tis but to deal upon the imperfections of our weaker vessels.
+His tongue is very voluble, which with canting proves him a linguist. He
+is entertained in every place, but enters no further than the door, to
+avoid suspicion. Some will take him to be a coward, but believe it, he
+is a lad of metal; his valour is commonly three or four yards long,
+fastened to a pike in the end for flying off. He is provident, for he
+will fight but with one at once, and then also he had rather submit than
+be counted obstinate. To conclude, if he escape Tyburn and Banbury, he
+dies a beggar.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN APPARITOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a chick of the egg abuse, hatched by the warmth of authority; he is a
+bird of rapine, and begins to prey and feather together. He croaks like
+a raven against the death of rich men, and so gets a legacy
+unbequeathed. His happiness is in the multitude of children, for their
+increase is his wealth, and to that end he himself yearly adds one. He
+is a cunning hunter, uncoupling his intelligencing hounds under hedges,
+in thickets and cornfields, who follow the chase to city suburbs, where
+often his game is at covert; his quiver hangs by his side stuffed with
+silver arrows, which he shoots against church-gates and private men's
+doors, to the hazard of their purses and credit. There went but a pair
+of shears between him and the pursuivant of hell, for they both delight
+in sin, grow richer by it, and are by justice appointed to punish it;
+only the devil is more cunning, for he picks a living out of others'
+gains. His living lieth in his eye, which (like spirits) he sends
+through chinks and keyholes to survey the places of darkness; for which
+purpose he studieth the optics, but can discover no colour but black,
+for the pure white of chastity dazzleth his eyes. He is a Catholic, for
+he is everywhere; and with a politic, for he transforms himself into all
+shapes. He travels on foot to avoid idleness, and loves the Church
+entirely, because it is the place of his edification. He accounts not
+all sins mortal, for fornication with him is a venial sin, and to take
+bribes a matter of charity; he is collector for burnings and losses at
+sea, and in casting account readily subtracts the lesser from the
+greater sum. Thus lives he in a golden age, till death by a process
+summons him to appear.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ALMANAC-MAKER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the worst part of an astronomer; a certain compact of figures,
+characters, and ciphers, out of which he scores the fortune of a year,
+not so profitably as doubtfully. He is tenant by custom to the planets,
+of whom he holds the twelve houses by lease parol; to them he pays
+yearly rent, his study and time, yet lets them out again with all his
+heart for 40s. per annum. His life is merely contemplative; for his
+practice, 'tis worth nothing, at least not worthy of credit, and if by
+chance he purchase any, he loseth it again at the year's end, for time
+brings truth to light. Ptolemy and Tycho Brahe are his patrons, whose
+volumes he understands not but admires, and the rather because they are
+strangers, and so easier to be credited than controlled. His life is
+upright, for he is always looking upward, yet dares believe nothing
+above <i>primum mobile</i>, for 'tis out of the reach of his Jacob's staff.
+His charity extends no further than to mountebanks and sow-gelders, to
+whom he bequeaths the seasons of the year to kill or torture by. The
+verses of his book have a worse pace than ever had Rochester hackney;
+for his prose, 'tis dappled with ink-horn terms, and may serve for an
+almanac; but for his judging at the uncertainty of weather, any old
+shepherd shall make a dunce of him. He would be thought the devil's
+intelligencer for stolen goods, if ever he steal out of that quality. As
+a fly turns to a maggot, so the corruption of the cunning man is the
+generation of an empiric; his works fly forth in small volumes, yet not
+all, for many ride post to chandlers and tobacco shops in folio. To be
+brief, he falls three degrees short of his promises, yet is he the key
+to unlock terms and law days, a dumb mercury to point out highways, and
+a bailiff of all marts and fairs in England. The rest of him you shall
+know next year, for what he will be then he himself knows not.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HYPOCRITE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a gilded pill, composed of two virtuous ingredients, natural
+dishonesty and artificial dissimulation. Simple fruit, plant, or drug he
+is none, but a deformed mixture bred betwixt evil nature and false art
+by a monstrous generation, and may well be put into the reckoning of
+those creatures that God never made. In Church or commonwealth (for in
+both these this mongrel weed will shoot) it is hard to say whether he be
+physic or a disease, for he is both in divers respects.</p>
+
+<p>As he is gilt with an outside of seeming purity, or as he offereth
+himself to you to be taken down in a cup or taste of golden zeal and
+simplicity, you may call him physic. Nay, and never let potion give
+patient good stool if, being truly tasted and relished, he be not as
+loathsome to the stomach of any honest man.</p>
+
+<p>He is also physic in being as commodious for use as he is odious in
+taste, if the body of the company into which he is taken can make true
+use of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so
+informer-like-dangerous, in taking advantage of anything done or said,
+yea, even to the ruin of his makers, if he may have benefit, that such a
+creature in a society makes men as careful of their speeches and actions
+as the sight of a known cut-purse in a throng makes them watchful over
+their purses and pockets. He is also in this respect profitable physic,
+that his conversation being once truly tasted and discovered, the
+hateful foulness of it will make those that are not fully like him to
+purge all such diseases as are rank in him out of their own lives, as
+the sight of some citizens on horseback make a judicious man amend his
+own faults in horsemanship. If one of these uses can be made of him, let
+him not long offend the stomach of your company; your best way is to
+spue him out. That he is a disease in the body where he liveth were as
+strange a thing to doubt as whether there be knavery in horse-coursers.
+For if among sheep, the rot; amongst dogs, the mange; amongst horses,
+the glanders; amongst men and women, the Northern itch and the French
+ache, be diseases, an hypocrite cannot but be the like in all States and
+societies that breed him. If he be a clergy hypocrite, then all manner
+of vice is for the most part so proper to him as he will grudge any man
+the practice of it but himself; like that grave burgess, who being
+desired to lend his clothes to represent a part in a comedy, answered:
+No, by his leave, he would have nobody play the fool in his clothes but
+himself. Hence are his so austere reprehensions of drinking healths,
+lascivious talk, usury, and unconscionable dealing; whenas himself,
+hating the profane mixture of malt and water, will, by his good will,
+let nothing come within him but the purity of the grape, when he can get
+it of another's cost. But this must not be done neither without a
+preface of seeming soothness, turning up the eyes, moving the head,
+laying hand on the breast, and protesting that he would not do it but to
+strengthen his body, being even consumed with dissembled zeal, and
+tedious and thankless babbling to God and his auditors. And for the
+other vices, do but venture the making yourself private with him or
+trusting of him, and if you come off without a savour of the air which
+his soul is infected with you have great fortune. The fardel of all this
+ware that is in him you shall commonly see carried upon the back of
+these two beasts that live within him, Ignorance and Imperiousness, and
+they may well serve to carry other vices, for of themselves they are
+insupportable. His Ignorance acquits him of all science, human or
+divine, and of all language but his mother's; holding nothing pure,
+holy, or sincere but the senseless recollections of his own crazed
+brain, the zealous fumes of his inflamed spirit, and the endless labours
+of his eternal tongue, the motions whereof, when matter and words fail
+(as they often do), must be patched up to accomplish his four hours in a
+day at the least with long and fervent hums. Anything else, either for
+language or matter, he cannot abide, but thus censureth: Latin, the
+language of the beast; Greek, the tongue wherein the heathen poets wrote
+their fictions; Hebrew, the speech of the Jews that crucified Christ;
+controversies do not edify; logic and philosophy are the subtilties of
+Satan to deceive the simple; human stories profane, and not savouring of
+the Spirit; in a word, all decent and sensible form of speech and
+persuasion (though in his own tongue) vain ostentation. And all this is
+the burden of his Ignorance, saving that sometimes idleness will put in
+also to bear a part of the baggage. His other beast, Imperiousness, is
+yet more proudly laden; it carrieth a burden that no cords of authority,
+spiritual nor temporal, should bind if it might have the full swing. No
+Pilate, no prince should command him, nay, he will command them, and at
+his pleasure censure them if they will not suffer their ears to be
+fettered with the long chains of his tedious collations, their purses to
+be emptied with the inundations of his unsatiable humour, and their
+judgments to be blinded with the muffler of his zealous ignorance; for
+this doth he familiarly insult over his maintainer that breeds him, his
+patron that feeds him, and in time over all them that will suffer him to
+set a foot within their doors or put a finger in their purses. All this
+and much more is in him; that abhorring degrees and universities as
+reliques of superstition, hath leapt from a shop-board or a cloak-bag to
+a desk or pulpit; and that, like a sea-god in a pageant, hath the rotten
+laths of his culpable life and palpable ignorance covered over with the
+painted-cloth of a pure gown and a night-cap, and with a false trumpet
+of feigned zeal draweth after him some poor nymphs and madmen that
+delight more to resort to dark caves and secret places than to open and
+public assemblies. The lay-hypocrite is to the other a champion,
+disciple, and subject, and will not acknowledge the tithe of the
+subjection to any mitre, no, not to any sceptre, that he will do to the
+hook and crook of his zeal-blind shepherd. No Jesuits demand more blind
+and absolute obedience from their vassals, no magistrates of the canting
+society more slavish subjection from the members of that travelling
+State, than the clerk hypocrites expect from these lay pulpits. Nay,
+they must not only be obeyed, fed, and defended, but admired too; and
+that their lay-followers do sincerely, as a shirtless fellow with a
+cudgel under his arm doth a face-wringing ballad-singer, a water-bearer
+on the floor of a playhouse, a wide-mouthed poet that speaks nothing but
+blathers and bombast. Otherwise, for life and profession, nature and
+art, inward and outward, they agree in all; like canters and gypsies,
+they are all zeal no knowledge, all purity no humanity, all simplicity
+no honesty, and if you never trust them they will never deceive you.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CHAMBERMAID.</h2>
+
+<p>She is her mistress's she secretary, and keeps the box of her teeth, her
+hair, and her painting very private. Her industry is upstairs and
+downstairs, like a drawer; and by her dry hand you may know she is a
+sore starcher. If she lie at her master's bed's feet, she is quit of the
+green sickness for ever, for she hath terrible dreams when she's awake,
+as if she were troubled with the nightmare. She hath a good liking to
+dwell in the country, but she holds London the goodliest forest in
+England to shelter a great belly. She reads Greene's works over and
+over, but is so carried away with the &quot;Mirror of Knighthood,&quot; she is
+many times resolved to run out of her self and become a lady-errant. The
+pedant of the house, though he promise her marriage, cannot grow further
+inward with her; she hath paid for her credulity often, and now grows
+weary. She likes the form of our marriage very well, in that a woman is
+not tied to answer to any articles concerning questions of virginity.
+Her mind, her body, and clothes are parcels loosely tacked together, and
+for want of good utterance she perpetually laughs out her meaning. Her
+mistress and she help to make away time to the idlest purpose that can
+be, either for love or money. In brief, these chambermaids are like
+lotteries: you may draw twenty ere one worth anything.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRECISIAN.</h2>
+
+<p>To speak no otherwise of this varnished rottenness than in truth and
+verity he is, I must define him to be a demure creature, full of oral
+sanctity and mental impiety; a fair object to the eye, but stark naught
+for the understanding, or else a violent thing much given to
+contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposition with the Papist,
+though it be sometimes accompanied with an absurdity, like the islanders
+near adjoining unto China, who salute by putting off their shoes,
+because the men of China do it by their hats. If at any time he fast, it
+is upon Sunday, and he is sure to feast upon Friday. He can better
+afford you ten lies than one oath, and dare commit any sin gilded with a
+pretence of sanctity. He will not stick to commit fornication or
+adultery so it be done in the fear of God and for the propagation of the
+godly, and can find in his heart to lie with any whore save the whore of
+Babylon. To steal he holds it lawful, so it be from the wicked and
+Egyptians. He had rather see Antichrist than a picture in the church
+window, and chooseth sooner to be half hanged than see a leg at the name
+of Jesus or one stand at the Creed. He conceives his prayer in the
+kitchen rather than in the church, and is of so good discourse that he
+dares challenge the Almighty to talk with him extempore. He thinks every
+organist is in the state of damnation, and had rather hear one of Robert
+Wisdom's psalms than the best hymn a cherubim can sing. He will not
+break wind without an apology or asking forgiveness, nor kiss a
+gentlewoman for fear of lusting after her. He hath nicknamed all the
+prophets and apostles with his sons, and begets nothing but virtues for
+daughters. Finally, he is so sure of his salvation, that he will not
+change places in heaven with the Virgin Mary, without boot.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN INNS OF COURT MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He is distinguished from a scholar by a pair of silk stockings and a
+beaver hat, which makes him condemn a scholar as much as a scholar doth
+a schoolmaster. By that he hath heard one mooting and seen two plays, he
+thinks as basely of the university as a young sophister doth of the
+grammar-school. He talks of the university with that state as if he were
+her chancellor; finds fault with alterations and the fall of discipline
+with an &quot;It was not so when I was a student,&quot; although that was within
+this half year. He will talk ends of Latin, though it be false, with as
+great confidence as ever Cicero could pronounce an oration, though his
+best authors for it be taverns and ordinaries. He is as far behind a
+courtier in his fashion as a scholar is behind him, and the best grace
+in his behaviour is to forget his acquaintance.</p>
+
+<p>He laughs at every man whose band fits not well, or that hath not a fair
+shoe-tie, and he is ashamed to be seen in any man's company that wears
+not his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his outside, and
+his chiefest prayer is, that his revenues may hold out for taffety
+cloaks in the summer and velvet in the winter. To his acquaintance he
+offers two quarts of wine for one he gives. You shall never see him
+melancholy but when he wants a new suit or fears a sergeant, at which
+times he only betakes himself to Ploydon. By that he hath read
+Littleton, he can call Solon, Lycurgus, and Justinian fools, and dares
+compare his law to a lord chief-justice's.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE.</h2>
+
+<p>He is one whose hopes commonly exceed his fortunes and whose mind soars
+above his purse. If he hath read Tacitus Guicciardine or Gallo-Belgicus,
+he condemns the late Lord-Treasurer for all the state policy he had, and
+laughs to think what a fool he could make of Solomon if he were now
+alive. He never wears new clothes but against a commencement or a good
+time, and is commonly a degree behind the fashion. He hath sworn to see
+London once a year, though all his business be to see a play, walk a
+turn in Paul's, and observe the fashion. He thinks it a discredit to be
+out of debt, which he never likely clears without resignation money. He
+will not leave his part he hath in the privilege over young gentlemen in
+going bare to him, for the empire of Germany. He prays as heartily for a
+sealing as a cormorant doth for a dear year, yet commonly he spends that
+revenue before he receives it.</p>
+
+<p>At meals he sits in as great state over his penny commons as ever
+Vitellius did at his greatest banquet, and takes great delight in
+comparing his fare to my Lord Mayor's.</p>
+
+<p>If he be a leader of a faction, he thinks himself greater than ever
+Caesar was or the Turk at this day is. And he had rather lose an
+inheritance than an office when he stands for it.</p>
+
+<p>If he be to travel, he is longer furnishing himself for a five miles'
+journey than a ship is rigging for a seven years' voyage. He is never
+more troubled than when he has to maintain talk with a gentlewoman,
+wherein he commits more absurdities than a clown in eating of an egg.</p>
+
+<p>He thinks himself as fine when he is in a clean band and a new pair of
+shoes, as any courtier doth when he is first in a new fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Lastly, he is one that respects no man in the university, and is
+respected by no man out of it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY COMMANDER IN THE WARS</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that accounts learning the nourishment of military virtue, and
+lays that as his first foundation. He never bloodies his sword but in
+heat of battle, and had rather save one of his own soldiers than kill
+ten of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vainglorious, and suspected
+bounty to be full of good words; his rewarding, therefore, of the
+deserver arrives so timely, that his liberality can never be said to be
+gouty-handed. He holds it next his creed that no coward can be an honest
+man, and dare die in it. He doth not think, his body yields a more
+spreading shadow after a victory than before; and when he looks upon his
+enemy's dead body 'tis a kind of noble heaviness--no insultation. He is
+so honourably merciful to women in surprisal, that only that makes him
+an excellent courtier. He knows the hazard of battles, not the pomp of
+ceremonies, are soldiers' best theatres, and strives to gain reputation,
+not by the multitude but by the greatness of his actions. He is the
+first in giving the charge and the last in retiring his foot. Equal toil
+he endures with the common soldier; from his examples they all take
+fire, as one torch lights many. He understands in war there is no mean
+to err twice, the first and last fault being sufficient to ruin an army:
+faults, therefore, he pardons none; they that are precedents of disorder
+or mutiny repair it by being examples of his justice. Besiege him never
+so strictly, so long as the air is not cut from him, his heart faints
+not. He hath learned as well to make use of a victory as to get it, and
+pursuing his enemies like a whirlwind, carries all before him; being
+assured if ever a man will benefit himself upon his foe, then is the
+time when they have lost force, wisdom, courage, and reputation. The
+goodness of his cause is the special motive to his valour; never is he
+known to slight the weakest enemy that comes armed against him in the
+band of justice. Hasty and overmuch heat he accounts the step-dame to
+all great actions that will not suffer them to drive; if he cannot
+overcome his enemy by force, he does it by time. If ever he shake hands
+with war, he can die more calmly than most courtiers, for his continual
+dangers have been, as it were, so many meditations of death. He thinks
+not out of his own calling when he accounts life a continual warfare,
+and his prayers then best become him when armed <i>cap-&agrave;-fie</i>. He utters
+them like the great Hebrew general, on horseback. He casts a smiling
+contempt upon calumny; it meets him as if glass should encounter
+adamant. He thinks war is never to be given o'er, but on one of these
+three conditions: an assured peace, absolute victory, or an honest
+death. Lastly, when peace folds him up, his silver head should lean near
+the golden sceptre and die in his prince's bosom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VAINGLORIOUS COWARD IN COMMAND</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that hath bought his place, or come to it by some nobleman's
+letter. He loves alive dead pays, yet wishes they may rather happen in
+his company by the scurvy than by a battle. View him at a muster, and he
+goes with such a nose as if his body were the wheelbarrow that carried
+his judgment rumbling to drill his soldiers. No man can worse design
+between pride and noble courtesy. He that salutes him not, so far as a
+pistol carries level, gives him the disgust or affront, choose you
+whether. He trains by the book, and reckons so many postures of the pike
+and musket as if he were counting at noddy. When he comes at first upon
+a camisado, he looks, like the four winds in painting, as if he would
+blow away the enemy; but at the very first onset suffers fear and
+trembling to dress themselves in his face apparently. He scorns any man
+should take place before him, yet at the entering of a breach he hath
+been so humble-minded as to let his lieutenant lead his troops for him.
+He is so sure armed for taking hurt that he seldom does any; and while
+he is putting on his arms, he is thinking what sum he can make to
+satisfy his ransom. He will rail openly against all the great commanders
+of the adverse party, yet in his own conscience allows them for better
+men. Such is the nature of his fear that, contrary to all other filthy
+qualities, it makes him think better of another man than himself. The
+first part of him that is set a running is his eye-sight; when that is
+once struck with terror all the costive physic in the world cannot stay
+him. If ever he do anything beyond his own heart 'tis for a knighthood,
+and he is the first kneels for it without bidding.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PIRATE,</h2>
+
+<p>Truly defined, is a bold traitor, for he fortifies a castle against the
+king. Give him sea-room in never so small a vessel, and like a witch in
+a sieve, you would think he were going to make merry with the devil. Of
+all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not leave off his
+thieving, though he be in a narrow prison, and look every day, by
+tempest or fight, for execution. He is one plague the devil hath added
+to make the sea more terrible than a storm, and his heart is so hardened
+in that rugged element that he cannot repent, though he view his grave
+before him continually open. He hath so little of his own that the house
+he sleeps in is stolen: all the necessities of life he filches but one;
+he cannot steal a sound sleep for his troubled conscience. He is very
+gentle to those under him, yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the
+world, for he gives licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty in his own
+example. What he gets is small use to him, only lives by it somewhat the
+longer to do a little more service to his belly, for he throws away his
+treasure upon the shore in riot, as if he cast it into the sea. He is a
+cruel hawk that flies at all but his own kind; and as a whale never
+comes ashore but when she is wounded, so he very seldom but for his
+necessities. He is the merchant's book that serves only to reckon up his
+losses, a perpetual plague to noble traffic, the hurricane of the sea,
+and the earthquake of the exchange. Yet for all this give him but his
+pardon and forgive him restitution, he may live to know the inside of a
+church, and die on this side Wapping.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ORDINARY FENCER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fellow that, beside shaving of cudgels, hath a good insight into
+the world, for he hath long been beaten to it. Flesh and blood he is
+like other men, but surely nature meant him stockfish. His and a
+dancing-school are inseparable adjuncts, and are bound, though both
+stink of sweat most abominable, neither shall complain of annoyance.
+Three large bavins set up his trade, with a bench, which, in the
+vacation of the afternoon, he used for his day-bed. When he comes on the
+stage at his prize he makes a leg seven several ways, and scrambles for
+money, as if he had been born at the Bath in Somersetshire. At his
+challenge he shows his metal, for, contrary to all rules of physic, he
+dares bleed, though it be in the dog-days. He teaches devilish play in
+his school, but when he fights himself he doth it in the fear of a good
+Christian; he compounds quarrels among his scholars, and when he hath
+brought the business to a good upshot he makes the reckoning. His wounds
+are seldom above skin deep; for an inward bruise lamb-stones and
+sweetbreads are his only spermaceti, which he eats at night next his
+heart fasting. Strange schoolmasters they are that every day set a man
+as far backward as he went forward, and throwing him into a strange
+posture, teach him to thresh satisfaction out of injury. One sign of a
+good nature is that he is still open-breasted to his friends; for his
+foil and his doublet wear not out above two buttons, and resolute he is,
+for he so much scorns to take blows that he never wears cuffs; and he
+lives better contented with a little than other men, for if he have two
+eyes in his head he thinks nature hath overdone him. The Lord Mayor's
+triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time to flourish. Lastly,
+these fencers are such things that care not if all the world were
+ignorant of more letters than only to read their patent.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PUNY CLERK.</h2>
+
+<p>He is taken from grammar-school half coddled, and can hardly shake off
+his dreams of breeching in a twelvemonth. He is a farmer's son, and his
+father's utmost ambition is to make him an attorney. He doth itch
+towards a poet, and greases his breeches extremely with feeding without
+a napkin. He studies false dice to cheat costermongers. He eats
+gingerbread at a playhouse, and is so saucy that he ventures fairly for
+a broken pate at the banqueting-house, and hath it. He would never come
+to have any wit but for a long vacation, for that makes him bethink him
+how he shall shift another day. He prays hotly against fasting, and so
+he may sup well on Friday nights, he cares not though his master be a
+puritan. He practices to make the words in his declaration spread as a
+sewer doth the dishes of a niggard's table; a clerk of a swooping dash
+is as commendable as a Flanders horse of a large tail. Though you be
+never so much delayed you must not call his master knave, that makes him
+go beyond himself, and write a challenge in court hand, for it may be
+his own another day These are some certain of his liberal faculties; but
+in the term time his clog is a buckram bag. Lastly, which is great pity,
+he never comes to his full growth, with bearing on his shoulder the
+sinful burden of his master at several courts in Westminster.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FOOTMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>Let him be never so well made, yet his legs are not matches, for he is
+still setting the best foot forward. He will never be a staid man, for
+he has had a running head of his own ever since his childhood. His
+mother, which out of question was a light-heeled wench, knew it, yet let
+him run his race thinking age would reclaim him from his wild courses.
+He is very long-winded, and without doubt but that he hates naturally to
+serve on horseback, he had proved an excellent trumpet. He has one
+happiness above all the rest of the serving-men, for when he most
+overreaches his master he is best thought of. He lives more by his own
+heat than the warmth of clothes, and the waiting-woman hath the greatest
+fancy to him when he is in his close trouses. Guards he wears none,
+which makes him live more upright than any cross-gartered
+gentleman-usher. 'Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life,
+because a man must take it as he's running, only this, horses are
+usually let blood on St. Steven's Day. On St. Patrick's he takes rest,
+and is drenched for all the year after.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A NOBLE AND RETIRED HOUSEKEEPER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one whose bounty is limited by reason, not ostentation; and to make
+it last he deals it discreetly, as we sow the furrow, not by the sack,
+but by the handful. His word and his meaning never shake hands and part,
+but always go together. He can survey good and love it, and loves to do
+it himself for its own sake, not for thanks. He knows there is no such
+misery as to outlive good name, nor no such folly as to put it in
+practice. His mind is so secure that thunder rocks him asleep, which
+breaks other men's slumbers; nobility lightens in his eyes, and in his
+face and gesture is painted the god of hospitality. His great houses
+bear in their front more durance than state, unless this add the greater
+state to them, that they promise to outlast much of our new fantastical
+buildings. His heart never grows old, no more than his memory, whether
+at his book or on horseback. He passeth his time in such noble exercise,
+a man cannot say any time is lost by him; nor hath he only years to
+approve he hath lived till he be old, but virtues. His thoughts have a
+high aim, though their dwelling be in the vale of an humble heart,
+whence, as by an engine (that raises water to fall that it may rise the
+higher), he is heightened in his humility. The adamant serves not for
+all seas, but this doth; for he hath, as it were, put a gird about the
+whole world and found all her quicksands. He hath this hand over
+fortune, that her injuries, how violent or sudden soever, they do not
+daunt him; for whether his time call him to live or die, he can do both
+nobly; if to fall, his descent is breast to breast with virtue; and even
+then, like the sun near his set, he shows unto the world his clearest
+countenance.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN INTRUDER INTO FAVOUR</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that builds his reputation on others' infamy, for slander is most
+commonly his morning prayer. His passions are guided by pride and
+followed by injustice. An inflexible anger against some poor tutor he
+falsely calls a courageous constancy, and thinks the best part of
+gravity to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is the most slavishly
+submissive, though envious to those that are in better place than
+himself; and knows the art of words so well that (for shrouding
+dishonesty under a fair pretext) he seems to preserve mud in crystal.
+Like a man of a kind nature, he is the first good to himself, in the
+next file to his French tailor, that gives him all his perfection; for
+indeed, like an estridge, or bird of paradise, his feathers are more
+worth than his body. If ever he do good deed (which is very seldom) his
+own mouth is the chronicle of it, lest it should die forgotten. His
+whole body goes all upon screws, and his face is the vice that moves
+them. If his patron be given to music, he opens his chops and sings, or
+with a wry neck falls to tuning his instrument; if that fail, he takes
+the height of his lord with a hawking pole. He follows the man's
+fortune, not the man, seeking thereby to increase his own. He pretends
+he is most undeservedly envied, and cries out, remembering the game,
+chess, that a pawn before a king is most played on. Debts he owns none
+but shrewd turns, and those he pays ere he be sued. He is a flattering
+glass to conceal age and wrinkles. He is mountain's monkey that,
+climbing a tree and skipping from bough to bough, gives you back his
+face; but come once to the top, he holds his nose up into the wind and
+shows you his tail. Yet all this gay glitter shows on him as if the sun
+shone in a puddle, for he is a small wine that will not last; and when
+he is falling, he goes of himself faster than misery can drive him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FAIR AND HAPPY MILKMAID</h2>
+
+<p>Is a country wench, that is so far from making herself beautiful by art,
+that one look of hers is able to put all face physic out of countenance.
+She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore
+minds it not. All her excellences stand in her so silently, as if they
+had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel
+(which is herself) is far better than outsides of tissue; for though she
+be not arrayed in the spoil of the silk-worm, she is decked in
+innocency, a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long a-bed,
+spoil both her complexion and conditions; Nature hath taught her too
+immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises therefore with
+chanticleer, her dame's cock, and at night makes lamb her curfew. In
+milking a cow and straining the teats through her fingers, it seems that
+so sweet a milk-press makes the milk the whiter or sweeter; for never
+came almond glove or aromatic ointment off her palm to taint it. The
+golden ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if
+they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled
+them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June,
+like a new made haycock. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her
+heart soft with pity; and when winter's evenings fall early (sitting at
+her merry wheel) she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of fortune. She
+doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not
+suffer her to do ill, because her mind is to do well. She bestows her
+year's wages at next fair; and, in choosing her garments, counts no
+bravery in the world like decency. The garden and beehive are all her
+physic and chirurgery, and she lives the longer for it. She dares go
+alone and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill because
+she means none; yet, to say truth, she is never alone, for she is still
+accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short
+ones; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are not palled with
+ensuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste that she dare
+tell them: only a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she
+conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is that she
+may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her
+winding-sheet.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ARRANT HORSE-COURSER</h2>
+
+<p>Hath the trick to blow up horse-flesh, as the butcher doth veal, which
+shall wash out again in twice riding betwixt Waltham and London. The
+trade of spur-making had decayed long since, but for this ungodly
+tireman. He is cursed all over the four ancient highways of England;
+none but the blind men that sell switches in the road are beholding to
+him. His stable is filled with so many diseases, one would think most
+part about Smithfield was an hospital for horses, or a slaughter-house
+of the common hunt. Let him furnish you with a hackney, it is as much as
+if the King's warrant overtook you within ten miles to stay your
+journey. And though a man cannot say he cozens you directly, yet any
+hostler within ten miles, should he be brought upon his book-oath, will
+affirm he hath laid a bait for you. Resolve when you first stretch
+yourself in the stirrups, you are put as it were upon some usurer that
+will never bear with you past his day. He were good to make one that had
+the colic alight often, and, if example will cause him, make urine; let
+him only for that say, Grammercy horse. For his sale of horses, he hath
+false covers for all manner of diseases, only comes short of one thing
+(which he despairs not utterly to bring to perfection), to make a horse
+go on a wooden leg and two crutches. For powdering his ears with
+quicksilver, and giving him suppositories of live eels, he is expert.
+All the while you are cheapening, he fears you will not bite; but he
+laughs in his sleeve when he hath cozened you in earnest. Frenchmen are
+his best chapmen; he keeps amblers for them on purpose, and knows he can
+deceive them very easily. He is so constant to his trade that, while he
+is awake, he tries any man he talks with, and when he is asleep he
+dreams very fearfully of the paving of Smithfield, for he knows it would
+founder his occupation.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A ROARING BOY.</h2>
+
+<p>His life is a mere counterfeit patent, which, nevertheless, makes many a
+country justice tremble. Don Quixote's water-mills are still Scotch
+bagpipes to him. He sends challenges by word of mouth, for he protests
+(as he is a gentleman and a brother of the sword) he can neither write
+nor read. He hath run through divers parcels of land, and great houses,
+beside both the counters. If any private quarrel happen among our great
+courtiers, he proclaims the business--that's the word, the business--as
+if the united force of the Romish Catholics were making up for Germany.
+He cheats young gulls that are newly come to town; and when the keeper
+of the ordinary blames him for it he answers him in his own profession,
+that a woodcock must be plucked ere he be dressed. He is a supervisor to
+brothels, and in them is a more unlawful reformer of vice than prentices
+on Shrove-Tuesday. He loves his friend as a counsellor at law loves the
+velvet breeches he was first made barrister in, he will be sure to wear
+him threadbare ere he forsake him. He sleeps with a tobacco-pipe in his
+mouth; and his first prayer in the morning is he may remember whom he
+fell out with over night. Soldier he is none, for he cannot distinguish
+between onion-seed and gunpowder; if he have worn it in his hollow tooth
+for the toothache and so come to the knowledge of it, that is all. The
+tenure by which he holds his means is an estate at will, and that's
+borrowing. Landlords have but four quarter-days, but he three hundred
+and odd. He keeps very good company, yet is a man of no reckoning; and
+when he goes not drunk to bed he is very sick next morning. He commonly
+dies like Anacreon, with a grape in his throat; or Hercules, with fire
+in his marrow. And I have heard of some that have escaped hanging begged
+for anatomies, only to deter man from taking tobacco.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DRUNKEN DUTCHMAN RESIDENT IN ENGLAND</h2>
+
+<p>Is but a quarter-master with his wife. He stinks of butter as if he were
+anointed all over for the itch. Let him come over never so lean, and
+plant him but one month near the brew-houses in St Catherine's, and he
+will be puffed up to your hand like a bloat herring. Of all places of
+pleasure he loves a common garden, and with the swine of the parish had
+need be ringed for rooting. Next to these he affects lotteries
+naturally, and bequeaths the best prize in his will aforehand; when his
+hopes fall he's blank. They swarm in great tenements like flies; six
+households will live in a garret. He was wont, only to make us fools, to
+buy the fox skin for threepence, and sell the tail for a shilling. Now
+his new trade of brewing strong waters makes a number of madmen. He
+loves a Welshman extremely for his diet and orthography; that is, for
+plurality of consonants, and cheese. Like a horse, he is only guided by
+the mouth; when he's drunk you may thrust your hand into him like an
+eel's-skin, and strip him, his inside outwards. He hoards up fair gold,
+and pretends 'tis to seethe in his wife's broth for consumption; and
+loves the memory of King Henry the Eighth, most especially for his old
+sovereigns. He says we are unwise to lament the decay of timber in
+England; for all manner of buildings or fortification whatsoever, he
+desires no other thing in the world than barrels and hop-poles. To
+conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at is small beer and the
+Spanish Inquisition.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PHANTASTIQUE: AN IMPROVIDENT YOUNG GALLANT,</h2>
+
+<p>There is a confederacy between him and his clothes, to be made a puppy:
+view him well and you will say his gentry sits as ill upon him as if he
+had bought it with his penny. He hath more places to send money to than
+the devil hath to send his spirits; and to furnish each mistress would
+make him run besides his wits, if he had any to lose. He accounts
+bashfulness the wickedest thing in the world, and therefore studies
+impudence. If all men were of his mind all honesty would be out of
+fashion. He withers his clothes on a stage, as a saleman is forced to do
+his suits in Birchin Lane; and when the play is done, if you mark his
+rising, 'tis with a kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, to
+know if his suit may pass for current. He studies by the discretion of
+his barber, to frizzle like a baboon; three such would keep three the
+nimblest barbers in the town from ever having leisure to wear
+net-garters, for when they have to do with him, they have many irons in
+the fire. He is travelled, but to little purpose; only went over for a
+squirt and came back again, yet never the more mended in his conditions,
+because he carried himself along with him. A scholar he pretends
+himself, and says he hath sweat for it, but the truth is he knows
+Cornelius far better than Tacitus. His ordinary sports are cock-fights,
+but the most frequent, horse-races, from whence he comes home
+dry-foundered. Thus when his purse hath cast her calf he goes down into
+the country, where he is brought to milk and white cheese like
+the Switzers.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BUTTON-MAKER OF AMSTERDAM</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that is fled over for his conscience, and left his wife and
+children upon the parish. For his knowledge he is merely a Horn-book
+without a Christ-cross before it; and his zeal consists much in hanging
+his Bible in a Dutch button. He cozens men in the purity of his clothes;
+and 'twas his only joy when he was on this side, to be in prison. He
+cries out, 'tis impossible for any man to be damned that lives in his
+religion, and his equivocation is true--as long as a man lives in it, he
+cannot; but if he die in it, there's the question. Of all feasts in the
+year he accounts St. George's feast the profanest, because of St.
+George's cross, yet sometimes he doth sacrifice to his own belly,
+provided that he put off the wake of his own nativity or wedding till
+Good Friday. If there be a great feast in the town, though most of the
+wicked (as he calls them) be there, he will be sure to be a guest, and
+to out-eat six of the fattest burghers. He thinks, though he may not
+pray with a Jew, he may eat with a Jew. He winks when he prays, and
+thinks he knows the way so now to heaven, that he can find it blindfold.
+Latin he accounts the language of the beast with seven heads; and when
+he speaks of his own country, cries, he is fled out of Babel. Lastly,
+his devotion is obstinacy; the only solace of his heart, contradiction;
+and his main end, hypocrisy.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DISTASTER OF THE TIME</h2>
+
+<p>Is a winter grasshopper all the year long that looks back upon harvest
+with a lean pair of cheeks, never sets forward to meet it; his malice
+sucks up the greatest part of his own venom, and therewith impoisoneth
+himself: and this sickness rises rather of self-opinion or over-great
+expedition; so in the conceit of his own over-worthiness, like a
+coistrel he strives to fill himself with wind, and flies against it. Any
+man's advancement is the most capital offence that can be to his malice,
+yet this envy, like Phalaris' bull, makes that a torment first for
+himself he prepared for others. He is a day-bed for the devil to slumber
+on. His blood is of a yellowish colour, like those that have been bitten
+by vipers, and his gall flows as thick in him as oil in a poisoned
+stomach. He infects all society, as thunder sours wine: war or peace,
+dearth or plenty, makes him equally discontented. And where he finds no
+cause to tax the State, he descends to rail against the rate of
+salt-butter. His wishes are whirlwinds, which breathed forth return into
+himself, and make him a most giddy and tottering vessel. When he is
+awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walk in his sleep, for his
+visitation is directed to none, his business is nothing. He is often
+dumb-mad, and goes fettered in his own entrails. Religion is commonly
+his pretence of discontent, though he can be of all religions, therefore
+truly of none. Thus by naturalising himself some would think him a very
+dangerous fellow to the State; but he is not greatly to be feared, for
+this dejection of his is only like a rogue that goes on his knees and
+elbows in the mire to further his cogging.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE</h2>
+
+<p>Examines all men's carriage but his own, and is so kind-natured to
+himself, he finds fault with all men's but his own. He wears his apparel
+much after the fashion; his means will not suffer him to come too nigh.
+They afford him mock-velvet or satinisco, but not without the college's
+next lease's acquaintance. His inside is of the self-same fashion, not
+rich; but as it reflects from the glass of self-liking, there Croesus is
+Irus to him. He is a pedant in show, though his title be tutor, and his
+pupils in a broader phrase are schoolboys. On these he spends the false
+gallop of his tongue, and with senseless discourse tows them alone, not
+out of ignorance. He shows them the rind, conceals the sap; by this
+means he keeps them the longer, himself the better. He hath learnt to
+cough and spit and blow his nose at every period, to recover his memory,
+and studies chiefly to set his eyes and beard to a new form of learning.
+His religion lies in wait for the inclination of his patron, neither
+ebbs nor flows, but just standing water, between Protestant and Puritan.
+His dreams are of plurality of benefices and non-residency, and when he
+rises acts a long grace to his looking-glass. Against he comes to be
+some great man's chaplain he hath a habit of boldness, though a very
+coward. He speaks swords, fights ergos. His peace on foot is a measure,
+on horseback a gallop, for his legs are his own, though horse and spurs
+are borrowed. He hath less use than possession of books. He is not so
+proud but he will call the meanest author by his name; nor so unskilled
+in the heraldry of a study but he knows each man's place. So ends that
+fellowship and begins another.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE PETTIFOGGER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one of Samson's foxes; he sets men together by the ears, more
+shamefully than pillories, and in a long vacation his sport is to go a
+fishing with the penal statutes. He cannot err before judgment, and then
+you see it, only writs of error are the tariers that keep his client
+undoing somewhat the longer. He is a vestryman in his parish, and easily
+sets his neighbour at variance with the vicar, when his wicked counsel
+on both sides is like weapons put into men's hands by a fencer, whereby
+they get blows, he money. His honesty and learning bring him to
+Under-Shrieveship, which, having thrice run through, he does not fear
+the Lieutenant of the Shire; nay more, he fears not God. Cowardice holds
+him a good commonwealth's-man; his pen is the plough and parchment the
+soil whence he reaps both coin and curses. He is an earthquake that
+willingly will let no ground lie in quiet. Broken titles makes him
+whole; to have half in the country break their bonds were the only
+liberty of conscience. He would wish, though he be a Brownist, no
+neighbour of his should pay his tithes duly, if such suits held
+continual plea at Westminster. He cannot away with the reverend service
+in our Church, because it ends with the peace of God. He loves blows
+extremely, and hath his chirurgeon's bill of rates, from head to foot,
+incense the fury; he would not give away his yearly beatings for a good
+piece of money. He makes his will in form of a law-case, full of
+quiddits, that his friends after his death (if for nothing else, yet)
+for the vexation of the law, may have cause to remember him. And if he
+thought the ghost of men did walk again (as they report in the time of
+Popery), sure he would hide some single money in Westminster Hall that
+his spirit might haunt there. Only with this I will pitch him over the
+bar and leave him: that his fingers itch after a bribe ever since his
+first practising of court-hand.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN INGROSSER OF CORN.</h2>
+
+<p>There is no vermin in the land like him: he slanders both heaven and
+earth with pretended dearths when there is no cause of scarcity. He
+hoarding in a dear year, is like Erysicthon's bowels in Ovid: <i>Quodque
+urbibus esset, quodque satis poterat populo, non sufficit uni</i>. He prays
+daily for more inclosures, and knows no reason in his religion why we
+should call our forefathers' days the time of ignorance, but only
+because they sold wheat for twelve pence a bushel. He wishes that
+Dantzig were at the Moluccas, and had rather be certain of some foreign
+invasion than of the setting up of the steelyard. When his barns and
+garners are full, if it be a time of dearth, he will buy half a bushel
+in the market to serve his household, and winnows his corn in the night,
+lest, as the chaff thrown upon the water showed plenty in Egypt, so his
+carried by the wind should proclaim his abundance. No painting pleases
+him so well as Pharaoh's dream of the seven lean kine that ate up the
+fat ones, that he has in his parlour, which he will describe to you like
+a motion, and his comment ends with a smothered prayer for a like
+scarcity. He cannot away with tobacco, for he is persuaded (and not much
+amiss), that 'tis a sparer of bread-corn, which he could find in his
+heart to transport without license; but, weighing the penalty, he grows
+mealy-mouthed, and dares not. Sweet smells he cannot abide; wishes that
+the pure air were generally corrupted; nay, that the spring had lost her
+fragrancy for ever, or we our superfluous sense of smelling (as he terms
+it), that his corn might not be found musty. The poor he accounts the
+Justices' intelligencers, and cannot abide them. He complains of our
+negligence of discovering new parts of the world, only to rid them from
+our climate. His son, by a certain kind of instinct, he binds prentice
+to a tailor, who, all the term of his indenture, hath a dear year in his
+belly, and ravens bread exceedingly. When he comes to be a freeman, if
+it be a dearth, he marries him to a baker's daughter.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DEVILISH USURER</h2>
+
+<p>Is sowed as cummin or hempseed, with curses, and he thinks he thrives
+the better. He is far better read in the penal statutes than in the
+Bible, and his evil angel persuades him he shall sooner be saved by
+them. He can be no man's friend, for all men he hath most interest in he
+undoes. And a double dealer he is certainly, for by his good will he
+ever takes the forfeit. He puts his money to the unnatural act of
+generation, and his scrivener is the supervisor bawd to it. Good deeds
+he loves none, but sealed and delivered; nor doth he wish anything to
+thrive in the country but beehives, for they make him wax rich. He hates
+all but law-Latin, yet thinks he might be drawn to love a scholar, could
+he reduce the year to a shorter compass, that his use money might come
+in the faster. He seems to be the son of a jailor, for all his estate is
+in most heavy and cruel bonds. He doth not give, but sell, days of
+payment, and those at the rate of a man's undoing. He doth only fear the
+Day of Judgment should fall sooner than the payment of some great sum of
+money due to him. He removes his lodging when a subsidy comes; and if he
+be found out, and pay it, he grumbles treason: but 'tis in such a
+deformed silence as witches raise their spirits in. Gravity he pretends
+in all things but in his private vice, for he will not in a hundred
+pound take one light sixpence. And it seems he was at Tilbury Camp, for
+you must not tell him of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience, for
+(like the Jakes-farmer that swooned with going into Bucklersbury) he
+falls into a cold sweat if he but look into the Chancery; thinks, in his
+religion, we are in the right for everything, if that were abolished. He
+hides his money as if he thought to find it again at the last day, and
+then begin's old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription, and
+whether they or his body are more rotten is a question. Yet, should he
+live to be hanged in them, this good they would do him: the very hangman
+would pity his case. The table he keeps is able to starve twenty tall
+men. His servants have not their living, but their dying from him, and
+that's of hunger. A spare diet he commends in all men but himself. He
+comes to cathedrals only for love of the singing-boys, because they look
+hungry. He likes our religion best because 'tis best cheap, yet would
+fain allow of purgatory, cause 'twas of his trade, and brought in so
+much money. His heart goes with the same snaphance his purse doth: 'tis
+seldom open to any man. Friendship he accounts but a word without any
+signification; nay, he loves all the world so little, that an it were
+possible he would make himself his own executor. For certain, he is made
+administrator to his own good name while he is in perfect memory, for
+that dies long before him; but he is so far from being at the charge of
+a funeral for it, that he lets it stink above-ground. In conclusion, for
+neighbourhood you were better dwell by a contentious lawyer. And for his
+death, 'tis either surfeit, the pox, or despair; for seldom such as he
+die of God's making, as honest men should do.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WATERMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that hath learnt to speak well of himself, for always he names
+himself &quot;the first man.&quot; If he had betaken himself to some richer trade,
+he could not have choosed but done well; for in this, though a mean one,
+he is still plying it, and putting himself forward. He is evermore
+telling strange news, most commonly lies. If he be a sculler, ask him if
+he be married: he'll equivocate, and swear he's a single man. Little
+trust is to be given to him, for he thinks that day he does best when he
+fetches most men over. His daily labour teaches him the art of
+dissembling, for, like a fellow that rides to the pillory, he goes not
+that way he looks. He keeps such a bawling at Westminster, that, if the
+lawyers were not acquainted with it, an order would be taken with him.
+When he is upon the water he is fair company; when he comes ashore he
+mutinies, and, contrary to all other trades, is most surly to gentlemen
+when they tender payment. The playhouses only keep him sober, and, as it
+doth many other gallants, make him an afternoon's man. London Bridge is
+the most terrible eyesore to him that can be. And, to conclude, nothing
+but a great press makes him fly from the river, nor anything but a great
+frost can teach him any good manners.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A REVEREND JUDGE</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that desires to have his greatness only measured by his goodness.
+His care is to appear such to the people as he would have them be, and
+to be himself such as he appears; for virtue cannot seem one thing and
+be another. He knows that the hill of greatness yields a most delightful
+prospect; but, withal, that it is most subject to lightning and thunder,
+and that the people, as in ancient tragedies, sit and censure the
+actions of those in authority. He squares his own, therefore, that they
+may far be above their pity. He wishes fewer laws, so they were better
+observed; and for those are mulctuary, he understands their institution
+not to be like briers or springs, to catch everything they lay hold of,
+but, like sea-marks on our dangerous Goodwin, to avoid the shipwreck of
+innocent passengers. He hates to wrong any man: neither hope nor despair
+of preferment can draw him to such an exigent. He thinks himself most
+honourably seated when he gives mercy the upper hand. He rather strives
+to purchase good name than land; and of all rich stuffs forbidden by the
+statute, loathes to have his followers wear their clothes cut out of
+bribes and extortions. If his Prince call him to higher place, there he
+delivers his mind plainly and freely, knowing for truth there is no
+place wherein dissembling ought to have less credit than in a prince's
+council. Thus honour keeps peace with him to the grave, and doth not (as
+with many) there forsake him, and go back with the heralds; but fairly
+sits over him, and broods out of his memory many right excellent
+commonwealth's-men.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VIRTUOUS WIDOW</h2>
+
+<p>Is the palm-tree, that thrives not after the supplanting of her husband.
+For her children's sake she first marries; for she married that she
+might have children; and for their sakes she marries no more. She is
+like the purest gold, only employed for princes' medals: she never
+receives but one man's impression. The largest jointure moves her not,
+titles of honour cannot sway her. To change her name were (she thinks)
+to commit a sin should make her ashamed of her husband's calling. She
+thinks she hath travelled all the world in one man; the rest of her
+time, therefore, she directs to heaven. Her main superstition is, she
+thinks her husband's ghost would walk, should she not perform his will.
+She would do it were there no Prerogative Court. She gives much to pious
+uses, without any hope to merit by them; and as one diamond fashions
+another, so is she wrought into works of charity, with the dust or ashes
+of her husband. She lives to see herself full of time; being so
+necessary for earth, God calls her not to heaven till she be very aged,
+and even then, though her natural strength fail her, she stands like an
+ancient pyramid, which, the less it grows to man's eye, the nearer it
+reaches to heaven. This latter chastity of hers is more grave and
+reverend than that ere she was married, for in it is neither hope, nor
+longing, nor fear, nor jealousy. She ought to be a mirror for our
+youngest dames to dress themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles.
+No calamity can now come near her, for in suffering the loss of her
+husband she accounts all the rest trifles. She hath laid his dead body
+in the worthiest monument that can be: she hath buried it in her one
+heart. To conclude, she is a relic, that, without any superstition in
+the world, though she will not be kissed, yet may be reverenced.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ORDINARY WIDOW</h2>
+
+<p>Is like the herald's hearse-cloth; she serves to many funerals, with a
+very little altering the colour. The end of her husband begins in tears,
+and the end of her tears begins in a husband. She uses to cunning women
+to know how many husbands she shall have, and never marries without the
+consent of six midwives. Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her
+suitors, and by them she gains; for one serves to draw on another, and
+with one at last she shoots out another, as boys do pellets in eldern
+guns. She commends to them a single life, as horse-coursers do their
+jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of the biggest of the
+Guard, but knighthood makes her draw in in a weaker bow. Her servants or
+kinsfolk are the trumpeters that summon any to his combat. By them she
+gains much credit, but loseth it again in the old proverb, <i>Fama est
+mendax</i>. If she live to be thrice married, she seldom fails to cozen her
+second husband's creditors. A churchman she dare not venture upon, for
+she hath heard widows complain of dilapidations; nor a soldier, though
+he have candle-rents in the city, for his estate may be subject to fire;
+very seldom a lawyer, without he shows his exceeding great practice, and
+can make her case the better; but a knight with the old rent may do
+much, for a great coming in is all in all with a widow, ever provided
+that most part of her plate and jewels (before the wedding) be concealed
+with her scrivener. Thus, like a too-ripe apple, she falls off herself;
+but he that hath her is lord but of a filthy purchase, for the title is
+cracked. Lastly, while she is a widow, observe her, she is no morning
+woman; the evening, a good fire and sack may make her listen to a
+husband, and if ever she be made sure, 'tis upon a full stomach
+to bedward.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A QUACK-SALVER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a mountebank of a larger bill than a tailor: if he can but come by
+names enough of diseases to stuff it with, 'tis all the skill he studies
+for. He took his first beginning from a cunning woman, and stole this
+black art from her, while he made her sea-coal fire. All the diseases
+ever sin brought upon man doth he pretend to be a curer of, when the
+truth is, his main cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes him,
+what with railing against such as leave their cures for fear of
+infection, and in friendly breaking cake-bread with the fishwives at
+funerals. He utters a most abominable deal of carduus water, and the
+conduits cry out, All the learned doctors may cast their caps at him. He
+parts stakes witn some apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he
+lies; and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the apothecary
+dares not (for the richest horn in his shop) displease him. All the
+midwives in the town are his intelligencers; but nurses and young
+merchants' wives that would fain conceive with child, these are his
+idolaters. He is a more unjust bone-setter than a dice-maker. He hath
+put out more eyes than the small-pox; more deaf than the cataracts of
+Nilus; lamed more than the gout; shrunk more sinews than one that makes
+bowstrings, and killed more idly than tobacco. A magistrate that had
+any-way so noble a spirit as but to love a good horse well, would not
+suffer him to be a farrier. His discourse is vomit, and his ignorance
+the strongest purgation in the world. To one that would be speedily
+cured, he hath more delays and doubles than a hare or a lawsuit. He
+seeks to set us at variance with nature, and rather than he shall want
+diseases, he'll beget them. His especial practice (as I said before) is
+upon women; labours to make their minds sick, ere their bodies feel it,
+and then there's work for the dog-leech. He pretends the cure of madmen;
+and sure he gets most by them, for no man in his perfect wit would
+meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a juggler with urinals, so
+dangerously unskilful, that if ever the city will have recourse to him
+for diseases that need purgation, let them employ him in scouring
+Moorditch.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CANTING ROGUE.</h2>
+
+<p>'Tis not unlikely but he was begot by some intelligencer under a hedge,
+for his mind is wholly given to travel. He is not troubled with making
+of jointures; he can divorce himself without the fee of a proctor, nor
+fears he the cruelty of overseers of his will. He leaves his children
+all the world to cant in, and all the people to their fathers. His
+language is a constant tongue; the northern speech differs from the
+south, Welsh from the Cornish; but canting is general, nor ever could be
+altered by conquest of the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out
+of his limit though he starve, nor break his oath, if he swear by his
+Solomon, though you hang him; and he pays his custom as truly to his
+grand rogue as tribute is paid to the great Turk. The March sun breeds
+agues in others, but he adores it like the Indians, for then begins his
+progress after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot endure him, for he is of
+the infantry, and serves best on foot. He offends not the statute
+against the excess of apparel, for he will go naked, and counts it a
+voluntary penance. Forty of them lie together in a barn, yet are never
+sued upon the Statute of Inmates. If he were learned no man could make a
+better description of England, for he hath travelled it over and over.
+Lastly, he brags that his great houses are repaired to his hands when
+churches go to ruin, and those are prisons.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FRENCH COOK.</h2>
+
+<p>He learnt his trade in a town of garrison near famished, where he
+practised to make a little go far. Some derive it from more antiquity,
+and say, Adam, when he picked salads, was of his occupation. He doth not
+feed the belly, but the palate; and though his command lie in the
+kitchen, which is but an inferior place, yet shall you find him a very
+saucy companion. Ever since the wars in Naples, he hath so minced the
+ancient and bountiful allowance as if his nation should keep a perpetual
+diet. The serving-men call him the last relic of popery, that makes men
+fast against their conscience. He can be truly said to be no man's
+fellow but his master's, for the rest of the servants are starved by
+him. He is the prime cause why noblemen build their houses so great, for
+the smallness of their kitchen makes the house the bigger; and the lord
+calls him his alchemist, that can extract gold out of herbs, mushrooms,
+or anything. That which he dresses we may rather call a drinking than a
+meal, yet he is so full of variety that he brags, and truly, that he
+gives you but a taste of what he can do. He dares not for his life come
+among the butchers, for sure they would quarter and bake him after the
+English fashion, he's such an enemy to beef and mutton. To conclude, he
+were only fit to make, a funeral feast, where men should eat their
+victuals in mourning.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SEXTON</h2>
+
+<p>Is an ill-wilier to human nature. Of all proverbs he cannot endure to
+hear that which says, We ought to live by the quick, not by the dead. He
+could willingly all his lifetime be confined to the churchyard; at
+least, within five foot on't, for at every church stile commonly there's
+an alehouse, where, let him be found never so idle-pated, he is still a
+grave drunkard. He breaks his fast heartiest while he is making a grave,
+and says the opening of the ground makes him hungry. Though one would
+take him to be a sloven, yet he loves clean linen extremely, and for
+that reason takes an order that fine Holland sheets be not made
+worms'-meat. Like a nation called the Cusani, he weeps when any are born
+and laughs when they die; the reason, he gets by burials not
+christenings. He will hold an argument in a tavern over sack till the
+dial and himself be both at a stand; he never observes any time but
+sermon-time, and there he sleeps by the hour-glass. The ropemaker pays
+him a pension, and he pays tribute to the physician; for the physician
+makes work for the sexton, as the ropemaker for the hangman. Lastly, he
+wishes the dog-days would last all year long; and a great plague is his
+year of jubilee.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A JESUIT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a larger spoon for a traitor to feed with the devil than any other
+order; unclasp him, and he's a grey wolf with a golden star in the
+forehead; so superstitiously he follows the pope that he forsakes Christ
+in not giving Caesar his due. His vows seem heavenly, but in meddling
+with state business he seems to mix heaven and earth together. His best
+elements are confession and penance: by the first he finds out men's
+inclinations, and by the latter heaps wealth to his seminary. He sprang
+from Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish soldier; and though he were found out
+long since the invention of the cannon, 'tis thought he hath not done
+less mischief. He is a half-key to open princes' cabinets and pry in
+their councils; and where the pope's excommunication thunders, he holds
+it no more sin the decrowning of kings than our Puritans do the
+suppression of bishops. His order is full of irregularity and
+disobedience, ambitious above all measure; for of late days, in Portugal
+and the Indies, he rejected the name of Jesuit, and would be called
+disciple. In Rome and other countries that give him freedom, he wears a
+mask upon his heart; in England he shifts it, and puts it upon his face.
+No place in our climate holds him so securely as a lady's chamber; the
+modesty of the pursuivant hath only forborne the bed, and so missed him.
+There is no disease in Christendom that may so properly be called the
+King's evil. To conclude, would you know him beyond sea? In his seminary
+he's a fox, but in the inquisition a lion rampant.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN EXCELLENT ACTOR.</h2>
+
+<p>Whatsoever is commendable to the grave orator is most exquisitely
+perfect in him, for by a full and significant action of body he charms
+our attention. Sit in a full theatre and you will think you see so many
+lines drawn from the circumference of so many ears, while the actor is
+the centre. He doth not strive to make nature monstrous; she is often
+seen in the same scene with him, but neither on stilts nor crutches; and
+for his voice, 'tis not lower than the prompter, nor louder than the
+foil or target. By his action he fortifies moral precepts with examples,
+for what we see him personate we think truly done before us: a man of a
+deep thought might apprehend the ghost of our ancient heroes walked
+again, and take him at several times for many of them. He is much
+affected to painting, and 'tis a question whether that make him an
+excellent player, or his playing an exquisite painter. He adds grace to
+the poet's labours, for what in the poet is but ditty, in him is both
+ditty and music. He entertains us in the best leisure of our life--that
+is, between meals; the most unfit time for study or bodily exercise. The
+flight of hawks and chase of wild beasts, either of them are delights
+noble; but some think this sport of men the worthier, despite all
+calumny. All men have been of his occupation; and indeed, what he doth
+feignedly, that do others essentially. This day one plays a monarch, the
+next a private person; here one acts a tyrant, on the morrow an exile; a
+parasite this man tonight, tomorrow a precisian; and so of divers
+others. I observe, of all men living, a worthy actor in one kind is the
+strongest motive of affection that can be; for, when he dies, we cannot
+be persuaded any man can do his parts like him. But, to conclude, I
+value a worthy actor by the corruption of some few of the quality as I
+would do gold in the ore--I should not mind the dross, but the purity of
+the metal.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FRANKLIN.</h2>
+
+<p>His outside is an ancient yeoman of England, though his inside may give
+arms with the best gentleman and never see the herald. There is no truer
+servant in the house than himself. Though he be master, he says not to
+his servants, &quot;Go to field,&quot; but &quot;Let us go;&quot; and with his own eye doth
+both fatten his flock and set forward all manner of husbandry. He is
+taught by nature to be contented with a little; his own fold yields him
+both food and raiment; he is pleased with any nourishment God sends,
+whilst curious gluttony ransacks, as it were, Noah's ark for food only
+to feed the riot of one meal. He is never known to go to law;
+understanding, to be law-bound among men is to be hide-bound among his
+beasts; they thrive not under it, and that such men sleep as unquietly
+as if their pillows were stuffed with lawyers' penknives. When he builds
+no poor tenant's cottage hinders his prospect: they are indeed his
+almshouses, though there be painted on them no such superscription. He
+never sits up late but when he hunts the badger, the vowed foe of his
+lambs; nor uses he any cruelty but when he hunts the hare; nor subtilty
+but when he setteth snares for the snipe or pitfalls for the blackbird;
+nor oppression but when, in the month of July, he goes to the next river
+and shears his sheep. He allows of honest pastime, and thinks not the
+bones of the dead anything bruised or the worse for it though the
+country lasses dance in the churchyard after evensong. Rock Monday and
+the wake in summer, Shrovings, the wakeful catches on Christmas Eve, the
+hockey or seed-cake, these he yearly keeps, yet holds them no relics of
+popery. He is not so inquisitive after news derived from the privy
+closet, when the finding an eyry of hawks in his own ground, or the
+foaling of a colt come of a good strain, are tidings more pleasant, more
+profitable. He is lord paramount within himself, though he hold by never
+so mean a tenure, and dies the more contentedly, though he leave his
+heir young, in regard he leaves him not liable to a covetous garden.
+Lastly, to end him, he cares not when his end comes; he needs not fear
+his audit, for his quietus is in heaven.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RHYMER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fellow whose face is hatched all over with impudence, and should he
+be hanged or pilloried, 'tis armed for it. He is a juggler with words,
+yet practises the art of most uncleanly conveyance. He doth boggle very
+often, and because himself winks at it, thinks 'tis not perceived. The
+main thing that ever he did was the tune he sang to. There is nothing in
+the earth so pitiful--no, not an ape-carrier; he is not worth thinking
+of, and, therefore, I must leave him as nature left him--a dunghill not
+well laid together.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COVETOUS MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>This man would love, honour, and adore God if there were an <i>I</i> more in
+his name. He hath coffined up his soul in his chests before his body: he
+could wish he were in Midas his taking for hunger, on condition he had
+his chemical quality. At the grant of a new subsidy he would gladly hang
+himself, were it not for the charge of buying a rope, and begins to take
+money upon use when he hears of a privy seal. His morning prayer is to
+overlook his bags, whose every parcel begets his adoration. Then to his
+studies, which are how to cozen this tenant, beggar that widow, or to
+undo some orphan. Then his bonds are viewed, the well-known days of
+payment conned by heart; and if he ever pray, it is some one may break
+his day that the beloved forfeiture may be obtained. His use is doubled,
+and no one sixpence begot or born but presently, by an untimely thrift,
+it is getting more. His chimney must not be acquainted with fire for
+fear of mischance; but if extremity of cold pinch him, he gets him heat
+with looking on, and sometime removing his aged wood-pile, which he
+means to leave to many descents, till it hath outlived all the woods of
+that country. He never spends candle but at Christmas (when he has them
+for New Year's gifts), in hope that his servants will break glasses for
+want of light, which they double pay for in their wages. His actions are
+guilty of more crimes than any other men's, thoughts; and he conceives
+no sin which he dare not act save only lust, from which he abstains for
+fear he should be charged with keeping bastards. Once a year he feasts,
+the relics of which meal shall serve him the next quarter. In his talk
+he rails against eating of breakfasts, drinking betwixt meals, and
+swears he is impoverished with paying of tithes. He had rather have the
+frame of the fall than the price of corn. If he chance to travel he
+curses his fortune that his place binds him to ride, and his faithful
+cloak-bag is sure to take care for his provision. His nights are as
+troublesome as his days; every rat awakes him out of his unquiet sleeps.
+If he have a daughter to marry, he wishes he were in Hungary, or might
+follow the custom of that country, that all her portion might be a
+wedding-gown. If he fall sick, he had rather die a thousand deaths than
+pay for any physic; and if he might have his choice, he would not go to
+heaven but on condition he may put money to use there. In fine, he lives
+a drudge, dies a wretch that leaves a heap of pelf, which so many
+careful hands had scraped together, to haste after him to hell, and by
+the way it lodges in a lawyer's purse.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE PROUD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one in whom pride is a quality that condemns every one besides his
+master, who, when he wears new clothes, thinks himself wronged if they
+be not observed, imitated, and his discretion in the choice of his
+fashion and stuff applauded. When he vouchsafes to bless the air with
+his presence, he goes as near the wall as his satin suit will give him
+leave, and every passenger he views under the eyebrows, to observe
+whether he vails his bonnet low enough, which he returns with an
+imperious nod. He never salutes first, but his farewell is perpetual. In
+his attire he is effeminate; every hair knows his own station, which if
+it chance to lose it is checked in again with his pocket-comb. He had
+rather have the whole commonwealth out of order than the least member of
+his muchato, and chooses rather to lose his patrimony than to have his
+band ruffled. At a feast, if he be not placed in the highest seat, he
+eats nothing howsoever; he drinks to no man, talks with no man for fear
+of familiarity. He professeth to keep his stomach for the pheasant or
+the quail, and when they come he can eat little; he hath been so cloyed
+with them that year, although they be the first he saw. In his discourse
+he talks of none but privy councillors, and is as prone to belie their
+acquaintance as he is a lady's favours. If he have but twelve pence in
+his purse, he will give it for the best room in a playhouse. He goes to
+sermons only to show his gay clothes, and if on other inferior days he
+chance to meet his friend, he is sorry he sees him not in his best suit.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRISON.</h2>
+
+<p>It should be Christ's Hospital, for most of your wealthy citizens are
+good benefactors to it; and yet it can hardly be so, because so few in
+it are kept upon alms. Charity's house and this are built many miles
+asunder. One thing notwithstanding is here praiseworthy, for men in this
+persecution cannot choose but prove good Christians, in that they are a
+kind of martyrs, and suffer for the truth. And yet it is so cursed a
+piece of land that the son is ashamed to be his father's heir in it. It
+is an infected pest-house all the year long; the plague-sores of the law
+are the diseases here hotly reigning. The surgeons are atomies and
+pettifoggers, who kill more than they cure. Lord have mercy upon us, may
+well stand over these doors, for debt is a most dangerous and catching
+city pestilence. Some take this place for the walks in Moorfields (by
+reason the madmen are so near), but the crosses here and there are not
+alike. No, it is not half so sweet an air. For it is the dunghill of the
+law, upon which are thrown the ruins of gentry, and the nasty heaps of
+voluntary decayed bankrupts, by which means it comes to be a perfect
+medal of the iron age, since nothing but jingling of keys, rattling of
+shackles, bolts, and grates are here to be heard. It is the horse of
+Troy, in whose womb are shut up all the mad Greeks that were men of
+action. The <i>nullum vacuum</i> (unless in prisoners' bellies) is here truly
+to be proved. One excellent effect is wrought by the place itself, for
+the arrantest coward breathing, being posted hither, comes in three days
+to an admirable stomach. Does any man desire to learn music; every man
+here sings &quot;Lachrymse&quot; at first sight, and is hardly out. He runs
+division upon every note, and yet (to their commendations be it spoken)
+none of them for all that division do trouble the Church. They are no
+Anabaptists; if you ask under what horizon this climate lies, the
+Bermudas and it are both under one and the same height. And whereas some
+suppose that this island like that is haunted with devils, it is not so.
+For those devils so talked of and feared are none else but hoggish
+jailors. Hither you need not sail, for it is a ship of itself; the
+master's side is the upper deck. They in the common jail lie under
+hatches, and help to ballast it. Intricate cases are the tacklings,
+executions the anchors, capiases the cables, chancery bills the huge
+sails, a long term the mast, law the helm, a judge the pilot, a counsel
+the purser, an attorney the boatswain, his Setting clerk the swabber,
+bonds the waves, outlawries gust, the verdict of juries rough wind,
+extents the knocks that split all in pieces. Or if it be not a ship, yet
+this and a ship differ not much in the building; the one is moving
+misery, the other a standing. The first is seated on a spring, the
+second on piles. Either this place is an emblem of a bawdy house, or a
+bawdy house of it; for nothing is to be seen in any room but scurvy beds
+and bare walls. But (not so much to dishonour it) it is an university of
+poor scholars, in which three arts are chiefly studied: to pray, to
+curse, and to write letters.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRISONER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that hath been a monied man, and is still a very close fellow;
+whosoever is of his acquaintance, let them make much of him, for they
+shall find him as fast a friend as any in England: he is a sure man, and
+you know where to find him. The corruption of a bankrupt is commonly the
+generation of this creature. He dwells on the back side of the world, or
+in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement which he is sure none
+will go about to take over his head. To a man that walks abroad, he is
+one of the antipodes, that goes on the top of the world, and this under
+it. At his first coming in, he is a piece of new coin, all sharking old
+prisoners lie sucking at his purse. An old man and he are much alike,
+neither of them both go far. They are still angry and peevish, and they
+sleep little. He was born at the fall of Babel, the confusion of
+languages is only in his mouth. All the vacations he speaks as good
+English as any man in England, but in term times he breaks out of that
+hopping one-legged pace into a racking trot of issues, bills,
+replications, rejoinders, demures, querelles, subpoenas, &amp;c., able to
+fright a simple country fellow, and make him believe he conjures.
+Whatsoever his complexion was before, it turns in this place to choler
+or deep melancholy, so that he needs every hour to take physic to loose
+his body; for that, like his estate, is very foul and corrupt, and
+extremely hard bound. The taking of an execution off his stomach give
+him five or six stools, and leaves his body very soluble. The
+withdrawing of an action is a vomit. He is no sound man, and yet an
+utter barrister, nay, a sergeant of the case, will feed heartily upon
+him; he is very good picking meat for a lawyer. The barber-surgeons may,
+if they will, beg him for an anatomy after he hath suffered an
+execution. An excellent lecture may be made upon his body; for he is a
+kind of dead carcase--creditors, lawyers, and jailors devour it:
+creditors peck out his eyes with his own tears; lawyers flay off his own
+skin, and lap him in parchment; and jailors are the Promethean vultures
+that gnaw his very heart. He is a bond-slave to the law, and, albeit he
+were a shopkeeper in London, yet he cannot with safe conscience write
+himself a freeman. His religion is of five or six colours: this day he
+prays that God would turn the hearts of his creditors, and to-morrow he
+curseth the time that ever he saw them. His apparel is daubed commonly
+with statute lace, the suit itself of durance, and the hose full of long
+pains. He hath many other lasting suits which he himself is never able
+to wear out, for they wear out him. The zodiac of his life is like that
+of the sun, marry not half so glorious. It begins in Aries and ends in
+Pisces. Both head and feet are, all the year long, in troublesome and
+laborious motions, and Westminster Hall is his sphere. He lives between
+the two tropics Cancer and Capricorn, and by that means is in double
+danger of crabbed creditors for his purse, and horns for his head, if
+his wife's heels be light. If he be a gentleman, he alters his arms so
+soon as he comes in. Few here carry fields or argent, but whatsoever
+they bear before, here they give only sables. Whiles he lies by it, he
+is travelling over the Alps, and the hearts of his creditors are the
+snows that lie unmelted in the middle of summer. He is an almanac out of
+date; none of his days speak of fair weather. Of all the files of men,
+he marcheth in the last, and comes limping, for he is shot, and is no
+man of this world. He hath lost his way, and being benighted, strayed
+into a wood full of wolves, and nothing so hard as to get away without
+being devoured. He that walks from six to six in Paul's goes still but a
+quoit's cast before this man.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CREDITOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fellow that torments men for their good conditions. He is one of
+Deucalion's sons, begotten of a stone. The marble images in the Temple
+Church that lie cross-legged do much resemble him, saving that this is a
+little more cross. He wears a forfeited bond under that part of his
+girdle where his thumb sticks, with as much pride as a Welshman does a
+leek on St. David's Day, and quarrels more and longer about it. He is a
+catchpole's morning's draught, for the news that such a gallant has come
+yesternight to town, draws out of him both muscadel and money too. He
+says the Lord's Prayer backwards, or, to speak better of him, he hath a
+Paternoster by himself, and that particle, Forgive us our debts, as we
+forgive others, &amp;c., he either quite leaves out, or else leaps over it.
+It is a dangerous rub in the alley of his conscience. He is the
+bloodhound of the law, and hunts counter, very swiftly and with great
+judgment. He hath a quick scent to smell out his game, and a good deep
+mouth to pursue it, yet never opens till he bites, and bites not till he
+kills, or at least draws blood, and then he pincheth most doggedly. He
+is a lawyer's mule, and the only beast upon which he ambles so often to
+Westminster. And a lawyer is his God Almighty, in him only he trusts. To
+him he flies in all his troubles; from him he seeks succour. To him he
+prays, that he may by his means overcome his enemies. Him does he
+worship both in the temple and abroad, and hopes by him and good angels
+to prosper in all his actions. A scrivener is his farrier, and helps to
+recover all his diseased and maimed obligations. Every term he sets up a
+tenters in Westminster Hall, upon which he racks and stretches gentlemen
+like English broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wool, till the threads
+crack, and that causeth them with the least wet to shrink, and presently
+to wear bars. Marry, he handles a citizen (at least if himself be one)
+like a piece of Spanish cloth, gives him only a twitch, and strains him
+not too hard, knowing how apt he is to break of himself, and then he can
+cut nothing out of him but threads. To the one he comes like Tamburlain,
+with his black and bloody flag; but to the other his white one hangs
+out, and, upon the parley, rather than fail, he takes ten groats in the
+pound for his ransom, and so lets him march away with bag and baggage.
+From the beginning of Hilary to the end of Michaelmas his purse is full
+of quicksilver, and that sets him running from sunrise to sunset up
+Fleet Street, and so to the Chancery, from thence to Westminster, then
+back to one court, after that to another. Then to an attorney, then to a
+councillor, and in every of these places he melts some of his fat (his
+money). In the vacation he goes to grass, and gets up his flesh again,
+which he baits as you heard. If he were to be hanged unless he could be
+saved by his book, he cannot for his heart call for a psalm of mercy. He
+is a law-trap baited with parchment and wax. The fearful mice he catches
+are debtors, with whom scratching attorneys, like cats, play a good
+while, and then mouse them. The bally is an insatiable creditor, but
+man worse.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SERGEANT</h2>
+
+<p>Was once taken, when he bare office in his parish, for an honest man.
+The spawn of a decayed shopkeeper begets this fry; out of that dunghill
+is this serpent's egg hatched. It is a devil made sometime out of one of
+the twelve companies, and does but study the part and rehearse it on
+earth, to be perfect when he comes to act it in hell; that is his stage.
+The hangman and he are twins; only the hangman is the elder brother, and
+he dying without issue, as commonly he does, for none but a ropemaker's
+widow will marry him, this then inherits. His habit is a long gown, made
+at first to cover his knavery, but that growing too monstrous, he now
+goes in buff; his conscience and that being both cut out of one hide,
+and are of one toughness. The Counter-gate is his kennel, the whole city
+his Paris gardens; the misery of a poor man, but especially a bad liver,
+is the offals on which he feeds. The devil calls him his white son; he
+is so like him that he is the worse for it, and he takes after his
+father, for the one torments bodies as fast as the other tortures souls.
+Money is the crust he leaps at; cry, &quot;a duck! a duck!&quot; and he plunges
+not so eagerly as at this. The dog's chaps water to fetch nothing else;
+he hath his name for the same quality. For sergeant is <i>quasi See
+argent</i>, look you, rogue, here is money. He goes muffled like a thief,
+and carries still the marks of one; for he steals upon man cowardly,
+plucks him by the throat, makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they
+differ, the thief is more valiant and more honest. His walks in term
+times are up Fleet Street, at the end of the term up Holborn, and so to
+Tyburn; the gallows are his purlieus, in which the hangman and he are
+quarter rangers--the one turns off, and the other cuts down. All the
+vacation he lies imbogued behind the lattice of some blind drunken,
+bawdy ale-house, and if he spy his prey, out he leaps like a freebooter,
+and rifles, or like a ban-dog worries. No officer to the city keeps his
+oath so uprightly; he never is forsworn, for he swears to be true varlet
+to the city, and he continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so
+comfortable to the stomach in all kind of meats, turns in his hand to
+mortal poison. This raven pecks not out men's eyes as others do; all his
+spite is at their shoulders, and you were better to have the nightmare
+ride you than this incubus. When any of the furies of hell die, this
+Cacodeemon hath the reversion of his place. The city is (by the custom)
+to feed him with good meat, as they send dead horses to their hounds,
+only to keep them both in good heart, for not only those curs at the
+doghouse, but these within the walls, are to serve in their paces in
+their several huntings. He is a citizen's birdlime, and where he
+holds he hangs.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>HIS YEOMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the hanger that a sergeant wears by his side; it is a false die of
+the same ball but not the same cut, for it runs somewhat higher and does
+more mischief. It is a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a
+bungler, and knows not how to cut up a man without tearing, but by a
+pattern. One term fleshes him, or a Fleet Street breakfast. The devil is
+but his father-in-law, and yet for the love he bears him will leave him
+as much as if he were his own child. And for that cause (instead of
+prayers) he does every morning at the Counter-gate ask him blessing, and
+thrives the better in his actions all the day after. This is the hook
+that hangs under water to choke the fish, and his sergeant is the quill
+above water, which pops down so soon as ever the bait is swallowed. It
+is indeed an otter, and the more terrible destroyer of the two. This
+counter-rat hath a tail as long as his fellows, but his teeth are more
+sharp and he more hungry, because he does but snap, and hath not his
+full half-share of the booty. The eye of this wolf is as quick in his
+head as a cutpurse's in a throng, and as nimble is he at his business as
+an hangman at an execution. His office is as the dogs do worry the sheep
+first, or drive him to the shambles; the butcher that cuts his throat
+steps out afterwards, and that's his sergeant. His living lies within
+the city, but his conscience lies bed-rid in one of the holes of a
+counter. This eel is bred too out of the mud of a bankrupt, and dies
+commonly with his guts ripped up, or else a sudden stab sends him of his
+last errand. He will very greedily take a cut with a sword, and suck
+more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. His beginning is
+detestable, his courses desperate, and his end damnable.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COMMON CRUEL JAILOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a creature mistaken in the making, for he should be a tiger; but the
+shape being thought too terrible, it is covered, and he wears the vizor
+of a man, yet retains the qualities of his former fierceness,
+currishness, and ravening. Of that red earth of which man was fashioned
+this piece was the basest, of the rubbish which was left and thrown by
+came this jailor; his descent is then more ancient, but more ignoble,
+for he comes of the race of those angels that fell with Lucifer from
+heaven, whither he never (or very hardly) returns. Of all his bunches of
+keys not one hath wards to open that door, for this jailor's soul stands
+not upon those two pillars that support heaven (justice and mercy), it
+rather sits upon those two footstools of hell, wrong and cruelty. He is
+a judge's slave, and a prisoner's his. In this they differ; he is a
+voluntary one, the other compelled. He is the hangman of the law with a
+lame hand, and if the law gave him all his limbs perfect he would strike
+those on whom he is glad to fawn. In fighting against a debtor he is a
+creditor's second, but observes not the laws of the <i>duello</i>; his play
+is foul, and on all base advantages. His conscience and his shackles
+hang up together, and are made very near of the same metal, saving that
+the one is harder than the other and hath one property above iron, for
+that never melts. He distils money out of the poor men's tears, and
+grows fat by their curses. No man coming to the practical part of hell
+can discharge it better, because here he does nothing but study the
+theory of it. His house is the picture of hell in little, and the
+original of the letters patent of his office stands exemplified there. A
+chamber of lousy beds is better worth to him than the best acre of
+corn-land in England. Two things are hard to him (nay, almost
+impossible), viz., to save all his prisoners that none ever escape, and
+to be saved himself. His ears are stopped to the cries of others, and
+God's to his; and good reason, for lay the life of a man in one scale
+and his fees on the other, he will lose the first to find the second. He
+must look for no mercy if he desires justice to be done to him, for he
+shows none; and I think he cares the less, because he knows heaven hath
+no need of such tenants--the doors there want no porters, for they stand
+ever open. If it were possible for all creatures in the world to sleep
+every night, he only and a tyrant cannot. That blessing is taken from
+them, and this curse comes in the stead, to be ever in fear and ever
+hated: what estate can be worse?</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>WHAT A CHARACTER IS.</h2>
+
+<p>If I must speak the schoolmaster's language, I will confess that
+character comes of this infinitive mood, [Greek: charassen], which
+signifies to engrave, or make a deep impression. And for that cause a
+letter (as A, B) is called a character: those elements which we learn
+first, leaving a strong seal in our memories.</p>
+
+<p>Character is also taken for an Egyptian hieroglyphic, for an impress or
+short emblem; in little comprehending much.</p>
+
+<p>To square out a character by our English level, it is a picture (real or
+personal) quaintly drawn in various colours, all of them heightened by
+one shadowing.</p>
+
+<p>It is a quick and soft touch of many strings, all shutting up in one
+musical close; it is wit's descant on any plain song.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.</h2>
+
+<h2>BY SIR H. W.<a name="FNanchor1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1"><sup>[1]</sup></a></h2>
+
+
+<blockquote>How happy is he born or taught<br>
+That serveth not another's will;<br>
+Whose armour is his honest thought,<br>
+And silly truth his highest skill!
+<br>
+Whose passions not his masters are,<br>
+Whose soul is still prepared for death;<br>
+Untied unto the world with care<br>
+Of princely love or vulgar breath.<br>
+<br>
+Who hath his life from rumours freed,<br>
+Whose conscience is his strong retreat;<br>
+Whose state can neither flatterers feed,<br>
+Nor ruin make accusers great.<br>
+<br>
+Who envieth none whom chance doth raise<br>
+Or vice, who never understood<br>
+How deepest wounds are given with praise;<br>
+Not rules of State, but rules of good.<br>
+<br>
+Who God doth late and early pray<br>
+More of His grace than gifts to lend;<br>
+Who entertains the harmless day<br>
+With a well-chosen book or friend.<br>
+<br>
+This man is free from servile bands,<br>
+Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;<br>
+Lord of himself, though not of lands,<br>
+And having nothing he hath all.<br></blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>AN ESSAY OF VALOUR.</h2>
+
+<p>I am of opinion that nothing is so potent either to procure or merit
+love as valour, and I am glad I am so, for thereby I shall do myself
+much ease, because valour never needs much wit to maintain it. To speak
+of it in itself, it is a quality which he that hath shall have least
+need of; so the best league between princes is a mutual fear of each
+other. It teacheth a man to value his reputation as his life, and
+chiefly to hold the lie insufferable, though being alone he finds no
+hurt it doth him. It leaves itself to other's censures; for he that
+brags of his own, dissuades others from believing it. It feareth a sword
+no more than an ague. It always makes good the owner; for though he be
+generally held a fool, he shall seldom hear so much by word of mouth,
+and that enlargeth him more than any spectacles, for it makes a little
+fellow to be called a tall man. It yields the wall to none but a woman,
+whose weakness is her prerogative; or a man seconded with a woman, as an
+usher which always goes before his betters. It makes a man become the
+witness of his own words, to stand to whatever he hath said, and
+thinketh it a reproach to commit his reviling unto the law. It
+furnisheth youth with action, and age with discourse, and both by
+futures; for a man must never boast himself in the present tense. And to
+come nearer home, nothing draws a woman like to it, for valour towards
+men is an emblem of an ability towards women, a good quality signifies a
+better. Nothing is more behoveful for that sex, for from it they receive
+protection, and we free from the danger of it; nothing makes a shorter
+cut to obtaining, for a man of arms is always void of ceremony, which is
+the wall that stands betwixt Pyramus and Thisbe, that is, man and woman,
+for there is no pride in women but that which rebounds from our own
+baseness, as cowards grow valiant upon those that are more cowards, so
+that only by our pale asking we teach them to deny. And by our
+shamefacedness we put them in mind to be modest, whereas indeed, it is
+cunning rhetoric to persuade the hearers that they are that already
+which we would have them to be. This kind of bashfulness is far from men
+of valour, and especially from soldiers, for such are ever men without
+doubt forward and confident, losing no time lest they should lose
+opportunity, which is the best factor for a lover. And because they know
+women are given to dissemble, they will never believe them when they
+deny. Whilom before this age of wit and wearing black broke in upon us,
+there was no way known to win a lady but by tilting, tourneying, and
+riding through forests, in which time these slender striplings with
+little legs were held but of strength enough to marry their widows. And
+even in our days there can be given no reason of the inundation of
+serving-men upon their mistresses, but only that usually they carry
+their mistresses' weapons and his valour. To be counted handsome, just,
+learned, or well-favoured, all this carries no danger with it, but it is
+to be admitted to the title of valiant acts, at least the venturing of
+his mortality, and all women take delight to hold him safe in their arms
+who hath escaped thither through many dangers. To speak at once, man
+hath a privilege in valour; in clothes and good faces we but imitate
+women, and many of that sex will not think much, as far as an answer
+goes, to dissemble wit too. So then these neat youths, these women in
+men's apparel, are too near a woman to be beloved of her, they be both
+of a trade; but he of grim aspect, and such a one a glass dares take,
+and she will desire him for newness and variety. A scar in a man's face
+is the same that a mole in a woman's, is a jewel set in white to make it
+seem more white, for a scar in a man is a mark of honour and no blemish,
+for 'tis a scar and a blemish in a soldier to be without one. Now, as
+for all things else which are to procure love, as a good face, wit
+clothes, or a good body, each of them, I confess, may work somewhat for
+want of a better, that is, if valour be not their rival. A good face
+avails nothing if it be in a coward that is bashful, the utmost of it is
+to be kissed, which rather increaseth than quencheth appetite. He that
+sends her gifts sends her word also that he is a man of small gifts
+otherwise, for wooing by signs and tokens employs the author dumb; and
+if Ovid, who writ the law of love, were alive (as he is extant), he
+would allow it as good a diversity that gifts should be sent as
+gratuities, not as bribes. Wit getteth rather promise than love. Wit is
+not to be seen, and no woman takes advice of any in her loving but of
+her own eyes and her waiting-woman's; nay, which is worse, wit is not to
+be felt, and so no good bedfellow. Wit applied to a woman makes her
+dissolve her simpering and discover her teeth with laughter, and this is
+surely a purge of love, for the beginning of love is a kind of foolish
+melancholy. As for the man that makes his tailor his means, and hopes to
+inveigle his love with such a coloured suit, surely the same deeply
+hazards the loss of her favour upon every change of his clothes. So
+likewise for the other that courts her silently with a good body, let me
+certify him, that his clothes depend upon the comeliness of his body,
+and so both upon opinion. She that hath been seduced by apparel let me
+give her to wit, that men always put off their clothes before they go to
+bed. And let her that hath been enamoured of her servant's body
+understand, that if she saw him in a skin of cloth, that is, in a suit
+made of the pattern of his body, she would see slender cause to love him
+ever after. There is no clothes sit so well in a woman's eye as a suit
+of steel, though not of the fashion, and no man so soon surpriseth a
+woman's affections as he that is the subject of all whispering, and hath
+always twenty stories of his own deeds depending upon him. Mistake me
+not; I understand not by valour one that never fights but when he is
+backed with drink or anger, or hissed on with beholders, nor one that is
+desperate, nor one that takes away a serving-man's weapons when
+perchance it cost him his quarter's wages, nor yet one that wears a
+privy coat of defence and therein is confident, for then such as made
+bucklers would be counted the Catilines of the commonwealth. I intend
+one of an even resolution grounded upon reason, which is always even,
+having his power restrained by the law of not doing wrong. But now I
+remember I am for valour, and therefore must be a man of few words.</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>JOSEPH HALL'S</h2>
+<br>
+
+<H2>CHARACTERS OF VICES AND VIRTUES</H2>
+
+<p><i>were published four years earlier than Overbury's, but Overbury's were
+posthumous, and in actual time of writing there can have been no very
+material difference. Hall's age was thirty-four when he first published
+his Characters. He was born on the 1st July 1574, at Ashby de la Zouch,
+in Leicestershire. His father was governor of this town under the Earl
+of Huntingdon, when he was President of the North. His mother, Winifred,
+was a devout Puritan, and he was from infancy intended for the Church.
+In 1589, at the age of fifteen, Joseph Hall was sent to Emmanuel
+College, Cambridge, where he was maintained at the cost of an uncle. He
+passed all his degrees with applause, obtained a Fellowship of his
+college in 1595, and proceeded to M.A. in 1596, and having already
+obtained credit at Cambridge as an English poet, he published in 1597
+&quot;Virgidemiarum, Sixe Bookes, First Three Books of Toothlesse Satyrs,
+Poetical, Academical, Moral, followed in the next year by Three last
+Bookes of Byting Satyres.&quot; Of these Satires he said in their Prologue--</i></p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;I first adventure, with foolhardy might,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To tread the steps of perilous despite.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I first adventure, follow me who list,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And be the second English satirist.&quot;<br>
+
+<p><i>He could only have meant by this to claim that he was the first in
+England to write Satires in the manner of the Latins. He would not
+bend, he said, to Lady or to Patron--</i></p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Rather had I, albe in careless rhymes,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Check the misordered world and lawless times.&quot;<br>
+
+<p><i>Some of these Satires were, of course, of the nature of Characters, and
+I quote two or three in passing.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN.</h2>
+
+<blockquote>&quot;A gentle squire would gladly entertain<br>
+Into his house some trencher-chaplain;<br>
+Some willing man that might instruct his sons,<br>
+And that would stand to good conditions.<br>
+First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed,<br>
+Whilst his young master lieth o'er his head.<br>
+Secondly, that he do, on no default,<br>
+Ever presume to sit above the salt.<br>
+Third, that he never change his trencher twice.<br>
+Fourth, that he use all common courtesies;<br>
+Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait.<br>
+Last, that he never his young master beat<br>
+But he must ask his mother to define<br>
+How many jerks she would his breech should line.<br>
+All these observed, he could contented be,<br>
+To give five marks and winter livery.&quot;</blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE WITLESS GALLANT.</h2>
+
+<blockquote>Seest thou how gaily my young master goes,<br>
+Vaunting himself upon his rising toes;<br>
+And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side;<br>
+And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide?<br>
+'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day?<br>
+In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray.<br>
+Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer,<br>
+Keeps he for every straggling cavalier.<br>
+An open house, haunted with great resort;<br>
+Long service mixed with musical disport.<br>
+Many fair younker with a feathered crest,<br>
+Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest,<br>
+To fare so freely with so little cost,<br>
+Than stake his twelve-pence to a meaner host.<br>
+Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say<br>
+He touched no meat of all this live-long day.<br>
+For sure methought, yet that was but a guess,<br>
+His eyes seem sunk for very hollowness,<br>
+But could he have (as I did it mistake)<br>
+So little in his purse, so much upon his back?<br>
+So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt,<br>
+That his gaunt gut not too much stuffing felt.<br>
+Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip?<br>
+Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip.<br>
+Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,<br>
+All trapp&eacute;d in the new-found bravery.<br>
+The nuns of new-won Cales his bonnet lent,<br>
+In lieu of their so kind a conquerment.<br>
+What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain,<br>
+His grandam could have lent with lesser pain?<br>
+Tho' he perhaps ne'er passed the English shore,<br>
+Yet fain would counted be a conqueror.<br>
+His hair, French-like, stares on his frightened head,<br>
+One lock amazon-like dishevell&eacute;d,<br>
+As if he meant to wear a native cord,<br>
+If chance his fates should him that bane afford.<br>
+All British bare upon the bristled skin,<br>
+Close notch&eacute;d is his beard both lip and chin;<br>
+His linen collar labyrinthian set,<br>
+Whose thousand double turnings never met:<br>
+His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings,<br>
+As if he meant to fly with linen wings.<br>
+But when I look, and cast mine eyes below,<br>
+What monster meets mine eyes in human show?<br>
+So slender waist with such an abbot's loin,<br>
+Did never sober nature sure conjoin.<br>
+Lik'st a strawn scare-crow in the new-sown field,<br>
+Reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield.<br>
+Or if that semblance suit not every dale,<br>
+Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel<br>
+Despis&eacute;d nature suit them once aright,<br>
+Their body to their coat, both now misdight.<br>
+Their body to their clothes might shapen be,<br>
+That nil their cloth&eacute;s shape to their body.<br>
+Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back,<br>
+Whilst, the empty guts loud rumbling for long lack,<br>
+The belly envieth the back's bright glee,<br>
+And murmurs at such inequality.<br>
+The back appears unto the partial eyne,<br>
+The plaintive belly pleads they bribed been;<br>
+And he, for want of better advocate,<br>
+Doth to the ear his injury relate.<br>
+The back, insulting o'er the belly's need,<br>
+Says, thou thyself, I others' eyes must feed.<br>
+The maw, the guts, all inward parts complain<br>
+The back's great pride, and their own secret pain.<br>
+Ye witless gallants, I beshrew your hearts,<br>
+That sets such discord 'twixt agreeing parts,<br>
+Which never can be set at onement more,<br>
+Until the maw's wide mouth be stopped with store.<br></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>Joseph Hall obtained in 1601 the living of Halsted in Suffolk, and
+married in 1603. In an autobiographical sketch of &quot;Some Specialities in
+the Life of Joseph Hall,&quot; he thus tells us himself the manner of his
+marrying</i>:--</p>
+
+<p>&quot;Being now, therefore, settled in that sweet and civil country of
+Suffolk, near to St. Edmundsbury, my first work was to build up my
+house, which was extremely ruinous; which done, the uncouth solitariness
+of my life, and the extreme incommodity of that single housekeeping,
+drew my thoughts, after two years, to condescend to the necessity of a
+married estate, which God no less strangely provided for me; for,
+walking from the church on Monday in the Whitsun-week, with a grave and
+reverend minister, Mr. Grandidge, I saw a comely and modest gentlewoman
+standing at the door of that house where we were invited to a wedding
+dinner, and inquiring of that worthy friend whether he knew her. Yes
+(quoth he), I know her well, and have bespoken her for your wife. When I
+farther demanded an account of that answer, he told me she was the
+daughter of a gentleman whom he much respected, Mr. George Winniff, of
+Bretenham; that out of an opinion had of the fitness of that match for
+me, he had already treated with her father about it, whom he found very
+apt to entertain it, advising me not to neglect the opportunity, and not
+concealing the just praises of modesty, piety, good disposition, and
+other virtues that were lodged in that seemly presence. I listened to
+the motion as sent from God, and at last, upon due prosecution, happily
+prevailed, enjoying the comfortable society of that meet help for the
+space of forty-nine years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p><i>In 1605 Joseph Hall published at Frankfort in Latin a witty satire on
+the weak side of the world, which had been written several years
+earlier, entitled &quot;Mundus Alter et Idem.&quot; Of this book I have given a
+description in the volume of &quot;Ideal Commonwealths,&quot; which forms one of
+the series of the &quot;Universal Library.&quot; Hall had obtained reputation as a
+divine, by publishing two centuries of religious &quot;Meditations,&quot; which
+united wit with piety. Prince Henry, having sought an opportunity of
+hearing him preach, made Hall his chaplain, and the Earl of Norwich gave
+him the living of Waltham in Essex. At the same time, 1608, a
+translation of Hall's Latin Satire, printed twice abroad, was published
+in London as &quot;The Discovery of a New World;&quot; he himself published also
+two volumes of Epistles, and this book of &quot;Characters.&quot; There was a long
+career before him as a leader among churchmen fallen upon troubled days.
+He became Bishop of Exeter and was translated to Norwich. He was
+committed to the Tower, released, and ejected from his see, and after
+ten years of retirement, living upon narrow means at the village of
+Higham near Norwich, he died in the Commonwealth time at the age of
+eighty-two, on the 8th of September 1656. He took a conspicuous part in
+the controversy of 1641 about the bishops, but twenty years before that
+date a collection of his earlier works had formed a substantial folio of
+more than eleven hundred pages. His &quot;Characters of Virtues and Vices,&quot;
+written in early manhood, follow next in our collection.</i></p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES.</h2>
+
+<h2><i>IN TWO BOOKS.</i></h2>
+
+<h2>BY JOSEPH HALL.</h2>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>A PREMONITION or THE TITLE AND USE OF CHARACTERS.</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p>Reader,--The divines of the old heathens were their moral philosophers.
+These received the acts of an inbred law, in the Sinai of nature, and
+delivered them with many expositions to the multitude. These were the
+overseers of manners, correctors of vices, directors of lives, doctors
+of virtue, which yet taught their people the body of their natural
+divinity, not after one manner: while some spent themselves in deep
+discourses of human felicity and the way to it in common, others thought
+it best to apply the general precepts of goodness or decency to
+particular conditions and persons. A third sort in a mean course betwixt
+the two other, and compounded of them both, bestowed their time in
+drawing out the true lineaments of every virtue and vice, so lively,
+that who saw the medals might know the face; which art they
+significantly termed Charactery. Their papers were so many tables, their
+writings so many speaking pictures, or living images, whereby the ruder
+multitude might even by their sense learn to know virtue and discern
+what to detest. I am deceived if any course could be more likely to
+prevail, for herein the gross conceit is led on with pleasure, and
+informed while it feels nothing but delight; and if pictures have been
+accounted the books of idiots, behold here the benefit of an image
+without the offence. It is no shame for us to learn wit of heathens,
+neither is it material in whose school we take out a good lesson. Yea,
+it is more shame not to follow their good than not to lead them better.
+As one, therefore, that in worthy examples hold imitation better than
+invention, I have trod in their paths, but with an higher and wider
+step, and out of their tablets have drawn these larger portraitures of
+both sorts. More might be said, I deny not, of every virtue, of every
+vice; I desired not to say all but enough. If thou do but read or like
+these I have spent good hours ill; but if thou shalt hence abjure those
+vices, which before thou thoughtest not ill-favoured, or fall in love
+with any of these goodly faces of virtue, or shalt hence find where thou
+hast any little touch of these evils, to clear thyself, or where any
+defect in these graces to supply it, neither of us shall need to repent
+of our labour.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>THE FIRST BOOK.</h2>
+<br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2><i>CHARACTERISMS OF VIRTUES.</i></h2>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>THE PROEM.</h2>
+
+<p>Virtue is not loved enough, because she is not seen; and vice loseth
+much detestation, because her ugliness is secret. Certainly, my lords,
+there are so many beauties, and so many graces in the face of goodness,
+that no eye can possibly see it without affection, without ravishment;
+and the visage of evil is so monstrous through loathsome deformities,
+that if her lovers were not ignorant they would be mad with disdain and
+astonishment. What need we more than to discover these two to the world?
+This work shall save the labour of exhorting and dissuasion. I have here
+done it as I could, following that ancient master of morality, who
+thought this the fittest task for the ninety and ninth year of his age,
+and the profitablest monument that he could leave for a farewell visit
+to his Grecians. Lo here then virtue and vice stripped naked to the open
+view, and despoiled, one of her rags the other of her ornaments, and
+nothing left them but bare presence to plead for affection: see now
+whether shall find more suitors. And if still the vain minds of lewd men
+shall dote upon their old mistress, it will appear to be, not because
+she is not foul, but for that they are blind and bewitched. And first
+behold the goodly features of wisdom, an amiable virtue, and worthy to
+lead this stage; which as she extends herself to all the following
+graces, so amongst the rest is for her largeness most conspicuous.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTER OF THE WISE MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>There is nothing that he desires not to know, but most and first
+himself, and not so much his own strength as his weaknesses; neither is
+his knowledge reduced to discourse, but practice. He is a skilful
+logician, not by nature so much as use; his working mind doth nothing
+all his time but make syllogisms and draw out conclusions; everything
+that he sees and hears serves for one of the premisses; with these he
+cares first to inform himself, then to direct others. Both his eyes are
+never at once from home, but one keeps house while the other roves
+abroad for intelligence. In material and weighty points he abides not
+his mind suspended in uncertainties, but hates doubting where he may,
+where he should be resolute: and first he makes sure work for his soul,
+accounting it no safety to be unsettled in the foreknowledge of his
+small estate. The best is first regarded; and vain is that regard which
+endeth not in security. Every care hath his just order; neither is there
+any one either neglected or misplaced. He is seldom ever seen with
+credulity; for, knowing the falseness of the world, he hath learned to
+trust himself always, others so far as he may not be damaged by their
+disappointment. He seeks his quietness in secrecy, and is wont both to
+hide himself in retiredness, and his tongue in himself. He loves to be
+guessed at, not known; and to see the world unseen; and when he is
+forced into the light, shows by his actions that his obscurity was
+neither from affectation nor weakness. His purposes are neither so
+variable as may argue inconstancy, nor obstinately unchangeable, but
+framed according to his after-wits, or the strength of new occasions. He
+is both an apt scholar and an excellent master; for both everything he
+sees informs him, and his mind, enriched with plentiful observation, can
+give the best precepts. His free discourse runs back to the ages past,
+and recovers events out of memory, and then preventeth time in flying
+forward to future things; and comparing one with the other, can give a
+verdict well near prophetical, wherein his conjectures are better than
+another's judgments. His passions are so many good servants, which stand
+in a diligent attendance ready to be commanded by reason, by religion;
+and if at any time forgetting their duty, they be miscarried to rebel,
+he can first conceal their mutiny, then suppress it. In all his just and
+worthy designs he is never at a loss, but hath so projected all his
+courses that a second begins where the first failed, and fetcheth
+strength from that which succeeded not. There be wrongs which he will
+not see, neither doth he always look that way which he meaneth, nor take
+notice of his secret smarts, when they come from great ones. In good
+turns he loves not to owe more than he must; in evil, to owe and not
+pay. Just censures he deserves not, for he lives without the compass of
+an adversary; unjust he contemneth, and had rather suffer false infamy
+to die alone than lay hands upon it in an open violence. He confineth
+himself in the circle of his own affairs, and lists not to thrust his
+finger into a needless fire. He stands like a centre unmoved, while the
+circumference of his estate is drawn above, beneath, about him. Finally,
+his wit hath cost him much, and he can both keep, and value, and employ
+it. He is his own lawyer, the treasury of knowledge, the oracle of
+counsel; blind in no man's cause, best sighted in his own.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF AN HONEST MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He looks not to what he might do, but what he should. Justice is his
+first guide, the second law of his actions is expedience. He had rather
+complain than offend, and hates sin more for the indignity of it than
+the danger. His simple uprightness works in him that confidence which
+ofttimes wrongs him, and gives advantage to the subtle, when he rather
+pities their faithlessness than repents of his credulity. He hath but
+one heart, and that lies open to sight; and were it not for discretion,
+he never thinks aught whereof he would avoid a witness. His word is his
+parchment, and his yea his oath, which he will not violate for fear or
+for loss. The mishaps of following events may cause him to blame his
+providence, can never cause him to eat his promise: neither saith he,
+This I saw not; but, This I said. When he is made his friend's executor,
+he defrays debts, pays legacies, and scorneth to gain by orphans, or to
+ransack graves, and therefore will be true to a dead friend, because he
+sees him not. All his dealings are square and above the board; he
+bewrays the fault of what he sells, and restores the overseen gain of a
+false reckoning. He esteems a bribe venomous, though it come gilded over
+with the colour of gratuity. His cheeks are never stained with the
+blushes of recantation, neither doth his tongue falter to make good a
+lie with the secret glosses of double or reserved senses, and when his
+name is traduced his innocency bears him out with courage: then, lo, he
+goes on the plain way of truth, and will either triumph in his integrity
+or suffer with it. His conscience overrules his providence; so as in all
+things good or ill, he respects the nature of the actions, not the
+sequel. If he see what he must do, let God see what shall follow. He
+never loadeth himself with burdens above his strength, beyond his will;
+and once bound, what he can he will do, neither doth he will but what he
+can do. His ear is the sanctuary of his absent friend's name, of his
+present friend's secret; neither of them can miscarry in his trust. He
+remembers the wrongs of his youth, and repays them with that usury which
+he himself would not take. He would rather want than borrow, and beg
+than not to pay: his fair conditions are without dissembling, and he
+loves actions above words. Finally, he hates falsehood worse than death:
+he is a faithful client of truth, no man's enemy, and it is a question
+whether more another man's friend or his own; and if there were no
+heaven, yet he would be virtuous.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE FAITHFUL MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>His eyes have no other objects but absent and invisible, which they see
+so clearly as that to them sense is blind. That which is present they
+see not; if I may not rather say, that what is past or future is present
+to them. Herein he exceeds all others, that to him nothing is
+impossible, nothing difficult, whether to bear or undertake. He walks
+every day with his Maker, and talks with Him familiarly, and lives ever
+in heaven, and sees all earthly things beneath him. When he goes in to
+converse with God, he wears not his own clothes, but takes them still
+out of the rich wardrobe of his Redeemer, and then dares boldly press in
+and challenge a blessing. The celestial spirits do not scorn his
+company; yea, his service. He deals in these worldly affairs as a
+stranger, and hath his heart ever at home. Without a written warrant he
+dare do nothing, and with it anything. His war is perpetual, without
+truce, without intermission, and his victory certain; he meets with the
+infernal powers, and tramples them under feet. The shield that he ever
+bears before him can neither be missed nor pierced; if his hand be
+wounded, yet his heart is safe. He is often tripped, seldom foiled, and,
+if sometimes foiled, never vanquished. He hath white hands, and a clean
+soul fit to lodge God in, all the rooms whereof are set apart for His
+holiness. Iniquity hath oft called at the door and craved entertainment,
+but with a repulse; or, if sin of force will be his tenant, his Lord he
+cannot. His faults are few, and those he hath God will not see. He is
+allied so high, that he dare call God father, his Saviour brother,
+heaven his patrimony, and thinks it no presumption to trust to the
+attendance of angels. His understanding is enlightened with the beams of
+divine truth. God hath acquainted him with His will; and what he knows
+he dare confess: there is not more love in his heart than liberty in his
+tongue. If torments stand betwixt him and Christ, if death, he contemns
+them; and if his own parents lie in his way to God, his holy
+carelessness makes them his footsteps. His experiments have drawn forth
+rules of confidence, which he dares oppose against all the fears of
+distrust; wherein he thinks it safe to charge God with what he hath
+done, with what he hath promised. Examples are his proofs, and instances
+his demonstrations. What hath God given which he cannot give? What have
+others suffered which he may not be enabled to endure? Is he threatened
+banishment? there he sees the dear Evangelist in Patmos. Cutting in
+pieces? he sees Esai under the saw. Drowning? he sees Jonah diving into
+the living gulf? Burning? he sees the three children in the hot walk of
+the furnace. Devouring? he sees Daniel in the sealed den amidst his
+terrible companions. Stoning? he sees the first martyr under his heap of
+many gravestones. Heading? lo, there the Baptist's neck bleeding in
+Herodias' platter. He emulates their pain, their strength, their glory.
+He wearies not himself with cares; for he knows he lives not of his own
+cost, not idly omitting means, but not using them with diffidence. In
+the midst of ill rumours and amazements his countenance changeth not;
+for he knows both whom he hath trusted, and whither death can lead him.
+He is not so sure he shall die as that he shall be restored, and
+outfaceth his death with resurrection. Finally, he is rich in works,
+busy in obedience, cheerful and unmoved in expectation, better with
+evils, in common opinion miserable, but in true judgment more than
+a man.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE HUMBLE MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He is a friendly enemy to himself; for, though he be not out of his own
+favour, no man sets so low a value of his worth as himself--not out of
+ignorance or carelessness, but of a voluntary and meek dejectedness. He
+admires everything in another, while the same or better in himself he
+thinks not unworthily contemned. His eyes are full of his own wants, and
+others' perfections. He loves rather to give than take honour; not in a
+fashion of complimental courtesy, but in simplicity of his judgment.
+Neither doth he fret at those on whom he forceth precedence, as one that
+hoped their modesty would have refused; but holds his mind unfeignedly
+below his place, and is ready to go lower (if need be) without
+discontent. When he hath his due, he magnifieth courtesy, and disclaims
+his deserts. He can be more ashamed of honour than grieved with
+contempt; because he thinks that causeless, this deserved. His face, his
+carriage, his habit, savour of lowliness without affectation, and yet he
+is much under that he seemeth. His words are few and soft, never either
+peremptory or censorious; because he thinks both each man more wise, and
+none more faulty than himself. And, when he approacheth to the throne of
+God, he is so taken up with the Divine greatness that, in his own eyes,
+he is either vile or nothing. Places of public charge are fain to sue to
+him, and hail him out of his chosen obscurity; which he holds ofif, not
+cunningly, to cause importunity, but sincerely, in the conscience of his
+defects. He frequenteth not the stages of common resorts, and then alone
+thinks himself in his natural element when he is shrouded within his own
+walls. He is ever jealous over himself, and still suspecteth that which
+others applaud. There is no better object of beneficence; for what he
+receives he ascribes merely to the bounty of the giver, nothing to
+merit. He emulates no man in anything but goodness, and that with more
+desire than hope to overtake. No man is so contented with his little,
+and so patient under miseries; because he knows the greatest evils are
+below his sins, and the least favours above his deservings. He walks
+ever in awe, and dare not but subject every word and action to an high
+and just censure. He is a lowly valley, sweetly planted and well
+watered; the proud man's earth, whereon he trampleth; but secretly full
+of wealthy mines, more worth than he that walks over them; a rich stone
+set in lead; and, lastly, a true temple of God built with a low roof.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF A VALIANT MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He undertakes without rashness, and performs without fear; he seeks not
+for dangers, but, when they find him, he bears them over with courage,
+with success. He hath ofttimes looked death in the face, and passed by
+it with a smile; and when he sees he must yield, doth at once welcome
+and contemn it. He forecasts the worst of all events, and encounters
+them before they come in a secret and mental war. And if the suddenness
+of an unexpected evil have surprised his thoughts, and infected his
+cheeks with paleness, he hath no sooner digested it in his conceit than
+he gathers up himself, and insults over mischief. He is the master of
+himself, and subdues his passions to reason, and by this inward victory
+works his own peace. He is afraid of nothing but the displeasure of the
+Highest, and runs away from nothing but sin: he looks not on his hands,
+but his cause; not how strong he is, but how innocent: and, where
+goodness is his warrant, he may be over-mastered; he cannot be foiled.
+The sword is to him the last of all trials, which he draws forth still
+as defendant, not as challenger, with a willing kind of unwillingness:
+no man can better manage it, with more safety, with more favour; he had
+rather have his blood seen than his back, and disdains life upon base
+conditions. No man is more mild to a relenting or vanquished adversary,
+or more hates to set his foot on a carcase. He had rather smother an
+injury than revenge himself of the impotent, and I know not whether he
+more detests cowardliness or cruelty. He talks little, and brags less;
+and loves rather the silent language of the hand, to be seen than heard.
+He lies ever close within himself, armed with wise resolution, and will
+not be discovered but by death or danger. He is neither prodigal of
+blood to misspend it idly, nor niggardly to grudge it, when either God
+calls for it, or his country; neither is he more liberal of his own life
+than of others. His power is limited by his will, and he holds it the
+noblest revenge, that he might hurt and doth not. He commands without
+tyranny and imperiousness, obeys without servility, and changes not his
+mind with his estate. The height of his spirits overlooks all
+casualties, and his boldness proceeds neither from ignorance nor
+senselessness; but first he values evils, and then despises them. He is
+so balanced with wisdom that he floats steadily in the midst of all
+tempests. Deliberate in his purposes, firm in resolution, bold in
+enterprising, unwearied in achieving, and howsoever happy in success;
+and if ever he be overcome, his heart yields last.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF A PATIENT MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>The patient man is made of a metal, not so hard as flexible: his
+shoulders are large, fit for a load of injuries; which he bears not out
+of baseness and cowardliness, because he dare not revenge, but out of
+Christian fortitude, because he may not: he has so conquered himself
+that wrongs cannot conquer him; and herein alone finds that victory
+consists in yielding. He is above nature, while he seems below himself.
+The vilest creature knows how to turn again; but to command himself not
+to resist being urged is more than heroical. His constructions are ever
+full of charity and favour; either this wrong was not done, or not with
+intent of wrong; or if that, upon mis-information; or if none of these,
+rashness (though a fault) shall serve for an excuse. Himself craves the
+offender's pardon before his confession; and a slight answer contents
+where the offended desires to forgive. He is God's best witness; and
+when he stands before the bar for truth his tongue is calmly free, his
+forehead firm, and he with erect and settled countenance hears his just
+sentence, and rejoices in it. The jailors that attend him are to him his
+pages of honour; his dungeon, the lower part of the vault of heaven; his
+rack or wheel, the stairs of his ascent to glory: he challenges his
+executioners, and encounters the fiercest pains with strength of
+resolution; and while he suffers the beholders pity him, the tormentors
+complain of weariness, and both of them wonder. No anguish can master
+him, whether by violence or by lingering. He accounts expectation no
+punishment, and can abide to have his hopes adjourned till a new day.
+Good laws serve for his protection, not for his revenge; and his own
+power, to avoid indignities, not to return them. His hopes are so strong
+that they can insult over the greatest discouragements; and his
+apprehensions so deep that, when he hath once fastened, he sooner
+leaveth his life than his hold. Neither time nor perverseness can make
+him cast off his charitable endeavours and despair of prevailing; but in
+spite of all crosses and all denials, he redoubleth his beneficial
+offers of love. He trieth the sea after many shipwrecks, and beats still
+at that door which he never saw opened. Contrariety of events doth but
+exercise, not dismay him; and when crosses afflict him, he sees a divine
+hand invisibly striking with these sensible scourges, against which he
+dares not rebel nor murmur. Hence all things befall him alike; and he
+goes with the same mind to the shambles and to the fold. His recreations
+are calm and gentle, and not more full of relaxation than void of fury.
+This man only can turn necessity into virtue, and put evil to good use.
+He is the surest friend, the latest and easiest enemy, the greatest
+conqueror, and so much more happy than others, by how much he could
+abide to be more miserable.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE TRUE FRIEND.</h2>
+
+<p>His affections are both united and divided; united to him he loveth,
+divided betwixt another and himself; and his one heart is so parted,
+that whilst he has some his friend hath all. His choice is led by
+virtue, or by the best of virtues, religion; not by gain, not by
+pleasure; yet not without respect of equal condition, of disposition not
+unlike; which, once made, admits of no change, except he whom he loveth
+be changed quite from himself; nor that suddenly, but after long
+expectation. Extremity doth but fasten him, whilst he, like a
+well-wrought vault, lies the stronger, by how much more weight he bears.
+When necessity calls him to it, he can be a servant to his equal, with
+the same will wherewith he can command his inferior; and though he rise
+to honour, forgets not his familiarity, nor suffers inequality of estate
+to work strangeness of countenance; on the other side, he lifts up his
+friend to advancement with a willing hand, without envy, without
+dissimulation. When his mate is dead, he accounts himself but half
+alive; then his love, not dissolved by death, derives itself to those
+orphans which never knew the price of their father; they become the
+heirs of his affection, and the burden of his cares. He embraces a free
+community of all things, save those which either honesty reserves
+proper, or nature; and hates to enjoy that which would do his friend
+more good. His charity serves to cloak noted infirmities, not by
+untruth, not by flattery, but by discreet secrecy; neither is he more
+favourable in concealment, than round in his private reprehensions; and
+when another's simple fidelity shows itself in his reproof, he loves his
+monitor so much the more, by how much more he smarteth. His bosom is his
+friend's closet, where he may safely lay up his complaints, his doubts,
+his cares; and look how he leaves, so he finds them; save for some
+addition of seasonable counsel for redress. If some unhappy suggestion
+shall either disjoint his affection or break it, it soon knits again,
+and grows the stronger by that stress. He is so sensible of another's
+injuries, that when his friend is stricken he cries out and equally
+smarteth untouched, as one affected not with sympathy, but with a real
+feeling of pain: and in what mischief may be prevented, he interposeth
+his aid, and offers to redeem his friend with himself. No hour can be
+unseasonable, no business difficult, nor pain grievous in condition of
+his ease: and what either he doth or suffers, he neither cares nor
+desires to have known, lest he should seem to look for thanks. If he can
+therefore steal the performance of a good office unseen, the conscience
+of his faithfulness herein is so much sweeter as it is more secret. In
+favours done, his memory is frail; in benefits received, eternal: he
+scorneth either to regard recompense or not to offer it. He is the
+comfort of miseries, the guide of difficulties, the joy of life, the
+treasure of earth, and no other than a good angel clothed in flesh.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE TRULY NOBLE.</h2>
+
+<p>He stands not upon what he borrowed of his ancestors, but thinks he must
+work out his own honour: and if he cannot reach the virtue of them that
+gave him outward glory by inheritance, he is more abashed of his
+impotency than transported with a great name. Greatness doth not make
+him scornful and imperious, but rather like the fixed stars; the higher
+he is, the less he desires to seem. Neither cares he so much for pomp
+and frothy ostentation as for the solid truth of nobleness. Courtesy and
+sweet affability can be no more severed from him than life from his
+soul; not out of a base and servile popularity, and desire of ambitious
+insinuation, but of a native gentleness of disposition, and true value
+of himself. His hand is open and bounteous, yet not so as that he should
+rather respect his glory than his estate; wherein his wisdom can
+distinguish betwixt parasites and friends, betwixt changing of favours
+and expending them. He scorneth to make his height a privilege of
+looseness, but accounts his titles vain if he be inferior to others in
+goodness: and thinks he should be more strict the more eminent he is,
+because he is more observed, and now his offences are become more
+exemplar. There is no virtue that he holds unfit for ornament, for use;
+nor any vice which he condemns not as sordid, and a fit companion of
+baseness; and whereof he doth not more hate the blemish, than affect the
+pleasure. He so studies as one that knows ignorance can neither purchase
+honour nor wield it; and that knowledge must both guide and grace, him.
+His exercises are from his childhood ingenious, manly, decent, and such
+as tend still to wit, valour, activity: and if (as seldom) he descend to
+disports of chance, his games shall never make him either pale with fear
+or hot with desire of gain. He doth not so use his followers, as if he
+thought they were made for nothing but his servitude, whose felicity
+were only to be commanded and please: wearing them to the back, and then
+either finding or framing excuses to discard them empty; but upon all
+opportunities lets them feel the sweetness of their own serviceableness
+and his bounty. Silence in officious service is the best oratory to
+plead for his respect: all diligence is but lent to him, none lost. His
+wealth stands in receiving, his honour in giving. He cares not either
+how many hold of his goodness, or to how few he is beholden: and if he
+have cast away favours, he hates either to upbraid them to his enemy, or
+to challenge restitution. None can be more pitiful to the distressed, or
+more prone to succour; and then most where is least means to solicit,
+least possibility of requital. He is equally addressed to war and peace;
+and knows not more how to command others, than how to be his country's
+servant in both. He is more careful to give true honour to his Maker
+than to receive civil honour from men. He knows that this service is
+free and noble, and ever loaded with sincere glory; and how vain it is
+to hunt after applause from the world till he be sure of Him that
+mouldeth all hearts, and poureth contempt on princes; and shortly, so
+demeans himself as one that accounts the body of nobility to consist in
+blood, the soul in the eminence of virtue.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE GOOD MAGISTRATE.</h2>
+
+<p>He is the faithful deputy of his Maker, whose obedience is the rule
+whereby he ruleth. His breast is the ocean, whereinto all the cares of
+private men empty themselves; which, as he receives without complaint
+and overflowing, so he sends them forth again by a wise conveyance in
+the streams of justice. His doors, his ears, are ever open to suitors;
+and not who comes first speeds well, but whose cause is best. His
+nights, his meals, are short and interrupted; all which he bears well,
+because he knows himself made for a public servant of peace and justice.
+He sits quietly at the stern, and commands one to the topsail, another
+to the main, a third to the plummet, a fourth to the anchor, as he sees
+the needs of their course and weather requires; and doth no less by his
+tongue than all the mariners with their hands. On the bench he is
+another from himself at home; now all private respects of blood,
+alliance, amity are forgotten; and if his own son come under trial he
+knows him not. Pity, which in all others is wont to be the best praise
+of humanity and the fruit of Christian love, is by him thrown over the
+bar for corruption. As for Favour, the false advocate of the gracious,
+he allows him not to appear in the court; there only causes are heard
+speak, not persons. Eloquence is then only not dis-couraged when she
+serves for a client of truth. Mere narrations are allowed in this
+oratory, not proems, not excursions, not glosses. Truth must strip
+herself and come in naked to his bar, without false bodies or colours,
+without disguises. A bribe in his closet, or a letter on the bench, or
+the whispering and winks of a great neighbour, are answered with an
+angry and courageous repulse. Displeasure, Revenge, Recompense stand on
+both sides the bench, but he scorns to turn his eye towards them,
+looking only right forward at Equity, which stands full before him. His
+sentence is ever deliberate and guided with ripe wisdom, yet his hand is
+slower than his tongue; but when he is urged by occasion either to doom
+or execution, he shows how much he hateth merciful injustice. Neither
+can his resolution or act be reversed with partial importunity. His
+forehead is rugged and severe, able to discountenance villainy, yet his
+words are more awful than his brow, and his hand than his words. I know
+not whether he be more feared or loved, both affections are so sweetly
+contempered in all hearts. The good fear him lovingly, the middle sort
+love him fearfully, and only the wicked man fears him slavishly without
+love. He hates to pay private wrongs with the advantage of his office;
+and if ever he be partial, it is to his enemy. He is not more sage in
+his gown than valorous in arms, and increaseth in the rigour of
+discipline as the times in danger. His sword hath neither rusted for
+want of use, nor surfeiteth of blood; but after many threats is
+unsheathed, as the dreadful instrument of divine revenge. He is the
+guard of good laws, the refuge of innocence, the comet of the guilty,
+the paymaster of good deserts, the champion of justice, the patron of
+peace, the tutor of the Church, the father of his country, and as it
+were another God upon earth.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE PENITENT.</h2>
+
+<p>He has a wounded heart and a sad face, yet not so much for fear as for
+unkindness. The wrong of his sin troubles him more than the danger. None
+but he is the better for his sorrow; neither is any passion more hurtful
+to others than this is gainful to him: the more he seeks to hide his
+grief, the less it will be hid; every man may read it not only in his
+eyes, but in his bones. Whilst he is in charity with all others, he is
+so fallen out with himself that none but God can reconcile him. He hath
+sued himself in all courts, accuseth, arraigneth, sentenceth, punisheth
+himself impartially, and sooner may find mercy at any hand than at his
+own. He only hath pulled off the fair visor of sin; so as that which
+appears not but masked unto others, is seen of him barefaced, and
+bewrays that fearful ugliness, which none can conceive but he that hath
+viewed it. He hath looked into the depth of the bottomless pit, and hath
+seen his own offence tormented in others, and the same brands shaken at
+him. He hath seen the change of faces in that cool one, as a tempter, as
+a tormentor; and hath heard the noise of a conscience, and is so
+frightened with all these, that he can never have rest till he have run
+out of himself to God, in whose face at first he find rigour, but
+afterwards sweetness in his bosom; he bleeds first from the hand that
+heals him. The law of God hath made work for mercy, which he hath no
+sooner apprehended than he forgets his wounds, and looks carelessly upon
+all these terrors of guiltiness. When he casts his eye back upon
+himself, he wonders where he was and how he came there; and grants that
+if there were not some witchcraft in sin, he could not have been so
+sottishly graceless. And now, in the issue, Satan finds (not without
+indignation and repentance) that he hath done him a good turn in
+tempting him: for he had never been so good if he had not sinned; he had
+never fought with such courage, if he had not seen his blood and been
+ashamed of his folly. Now he is seen and felt in the front of the
+spiritual battle; and can teach others how to fight, and encourage them
+in fighting. His heart was never more taken up with the pleasure of sin,
+than now with care of avoiding it: the very sight of that cup, wherein
+such a fulsome portion was brought him, turns his stomach: the first
+offers of sin make him tremble more now than he did before at the
+judgments of his sin; neither dares he so much as look towards Sodom.
+All the powers and craft of hell cannot fetch him in for a customer to
+evil; his infirmity may yield once, his resolution never. There is none
+of his senses or parts, which he hath not within covenants for their
+good behaviour, which they cannot ever break with impunity. The wrongs
+of his sin he repays to men with recompense, as hating it should be said
+he owes anything to his offence; to God (what in him lies) with sighs,
+tears, vows, and endeavours of amendment. No heart is more waxen to the
+impressions of forgiveness, neither are his hands more open to receive
+than to give pardon. All the injuries which are offered to him are
+swallowed up in his wrongs to his Maker and Redeemer; neither can he
+call for the arrearages of his farthings, when he looks upon the
+millions forgiven him: he feels not what he suffers from men, when he
+thinks of what he hath done and should have suffered. He is a thankful
+herald of the mercies of his God; which if all the world hear not from
+his mouth it is no fault of his. Neither did he so burn with the evil
+fires or concupiscence as now with the holy flames of zeal to that glory
+which he hath blemished; and his eyes are as full of moisture as his
+heart of heat. The gates of heaven are not so knocked at by any suitor,
+whether for frequency or importunity. You shall find his cheeks
+furrowed, his knees hard, his lips sealed up, save when he must accuse
+himself or glorify God, his eyes humbly dejected, and sometimes you
+shall take him breaking of a sigh in the midst, as one that would steal
+an humiliation unknown, and would be offended with any part that should
+not keep his counsel. When he finds his soul oppressed with the heavy
+guilt of a sin, he gives it vent through his mouth into the ear of his
+spiritual physician, from whom he receives cordials answerable to his
+complaint. He is a severe exactor of discipline: first upon himself, on
+whom he imposes more than one Lent; then upon others, as one that vowed
+to be revenged on sin wheresoever he finds it; and though but one hath
+offended him, yet his detestation is universal. He is his own taskmaster
+for devotion; and if Christianity have any work more difficult or
+perilous than other, that he enjoins himself, and resolves contentment
+even in miscarriage. It is no marvel if the acquaintance of his wilder
+times know him not, for he is quite another from himself; and if his
+mind could have had any intermission of dwelling within his breast, it
+could not have known this was the lodging. Nothing but an outside is the
+same it was, and that altered more with regeneration than with age. None
+but he can relish the promises of the gospel, which he finds so sweet
+that he complains not, his thirst after them is unsatiable; and now that
+he hath found his Saviour, he hugs Him so fast and holds Him so dear
+that he feels not when his life is fetched away from him for his
+martyrdom. The latter part of his life is so led as if he desired to
+unlive his youth, and his last testament is full of restitutions and
+legacies of piety. In sum, he hath so lived and died as that Satan hath
+no such match, sin hath no such enemy, God hath no such servant as he.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>HE IS A HAPPY MAN</h2>
+
+<p>That hath learned to read himself more than all books, and hath so taken
+out this lesson that he can never forget it; that knows the world, and
+cares not for it; that, after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to
+know what he may trust to, and stands now equally armed for all events;
+that hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross his will without a
+mutiny, and so please it that he makes it not a wanton; that in earthly
+things wishes no more than nature, in spiritual is ever graciously
+ambitious; that for his condition stands on his own feet, not needing to
+lean upon the great, and can so frame his thoughts to his estate that
+when he hath least he cannot want, because he is as free from desire as
+superfluity; that hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of
+prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure; upon whom all smaller
+crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and for the greater calamities,
+he can take them as tributes of life and tokens of love; and if his ship
+be tossed, yet he is sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his,
+he could be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, no whit
+higher in his carriage, because he knows contentment lies not in the
+things he hath, but in the mind that values them. The powers of his
+resolution can either multiply or subtract at pleasure. He can make his
+cottage a manor or a palace when he lists, and his home-close a large
+dominion, his stained cloth arras, his earth plate, and can see state in
+the attendance of one servant, as one that hath learned a man's
+greatness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may even contest
+with the proud, that he thinks his own the best. Or if he must be
+outwardly great, he can but turn the other end of the glass, and make
+his stately manor a low and straight cottage, and in all his costly
+furniture he can see not richness but use; he can see dross in the best
+metal and earth through the best clothes, and in all his troupe he can
+see himself his own servant. He lives quietly at home out of the noise
+of the world, and loves to enjoy himself always, and sometimes his
+friend, and hath as full scope to his thought as to his eyes. He walks
+ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, resolved to fear
+nothing but God, to hope for nothing but what which he must have. He
+hath a wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body, which that better
+part affects as a present servant and a future companion, so cherishing
+his flesh as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath no enemies;
+not for that all love him, but because he knows to make a gain of
+malice. He is not so engaged to any earthly thing that they two cannot
+part on even terms; there is neither laughter in their meeting, nor in
+their shaking of hands tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of
+Spirits and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in
+an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light or
+with none at all. His conscience and his hand are friends, and (what
+devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever
+uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burden of a willing sin,
+not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples. He would not, if he
+could, run away from himself or from God; not caring from whom he lies
+hid, so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are
+passengers to him, not guests; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their
+harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from
+his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one
+that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as
+he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His
+strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do
+good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough for
+himself and others, which are ever stretched forth for beneficence, not
+for need. He walks cheerfully in the way that God hath chalked, and
+never wishes it more wide or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby
+he is foiled strengthen him; he comes forth crowned and triumphing out
+of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath make him
+beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God, in whom he
+is; and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for His own sake.
+His eyes stick so fast in heaven that no earthly object can remove them;
+yea, his whole self is there before his time, and sees with Stephen, and
+hears with Paul, and enjoys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have,
+and takes possession beforehand of his room amongst the saints; and
+these heavenly contentments have so taken him up that now he looks down
+displeasedly upon the earth as the region of his sorrow and banishment,
+yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evils. He holds
+it no great matter to live, and his greatest business to die; and is so
+well acquainted with his last guest that he fears no unkindness from
+him: neither makes he any other of dying than of walking home when he is
+abroad, or of going to bed when he is weary of the day. He is well
+provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory hereafter;
+and therefore hath a light heart and a cheerful face. All his
+fellow-creatures rejoice to serve him; his betters, the angels, love to
+observe him; God Himself takes pleasure to converse with him, and hath
+sainted him before his death, and in his death crowned him.</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>THE SECOND BOOK.</h2>
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+
+<h2><i>CHARACTERISMS OF VICES.</i></h2>
+
+
+<br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>THE PROEM.</h2>
+
+<p>I have showed you many fair virtues: I speak not for them; if their
+sight cannot command affection let them lose it. They shall please yet
+better after you have troubled your eyes a little with the view of
+deformities; and by how much more they please, so much more odious and
+like themselves shall these deformities appear. This light contraries
+give to each other in the midst of their enmity, that one makes the
+other seem more good or ill. Perhaps in some of these (which thing I do
+at once fear and hate) my style shall seem to some less grave, more
+satirical: if you find me, not without cause, jealous, let it please you
+to impute it to the nature of those vices which will not be otherwise
+handled. The fashions of some evils are, besides the odiousness,
+ridiculous, which to repeat is to seem bitterly merry. I abhor to make
+sport with wickedness, and forbid any laughter here but of disdain.
+Hypocrisy shall lead this ring worthily, I think, because both she
+cometh nearest to virtue and is the worst of vices.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTER OF THE HYPOCRITE.</h2>
+
+<p>An hypocrite is the worst kind of player, by so much as he acts the
+better part, which hath always two faces, ofttimes two hearts; that can
+compose his forehead to sadness and gravity, while he bids his heart be
+wanton and careless within, and in the meantime laughs within himself to
+think how smoothly he hath cozened the beholder. In whose silent face
+are written the characters of religion, which his tongue and gestures
+pronounce but his hands recant. That hath a clean face and garment with
+a foul soul, whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers belie his
+mouth. Walking early up into the city, he turns into the great church,
+and salutes one of the pillars on one knee, worshipping that God which
+at home he cares not for, while his eye is fixed on some window, on some
+passenger, and his heart knows not whither his lips go. He rises, and
+looking about with admiration, complains on our frozen charity, commends
+the ancient. At church he will ever sit where he may be seen best, and
+in the midst of the sermon pulls out his tables in haste, as if he
+feared to lose that note; when he writes either his forgotten errand or
+nothing. Then he turns his Bible with a noise to seek an omitted
+quotation, and folds the leaf as if he had found it, and asks aloud the
+name of the preacher, and repeats it, whom he publicly salutes, thanks,
+praises, invites, entertains with tedious good counsel, with good
+discourse, if it had come from an honester mouth. He can command tears
+when he speaks of his youth, indeed because it is past, not because it
+was sinful; himself is now better, but the times are worse. All other
+sins he reckons up with detestation, while he loves and hides his
+darling in his bosom. All his speech returns to himself, and every
+occurrence draws in a story to his own praise. When he should give, he
+looks about him and says, &quot;Who sees me?&quot; No alms, no prayers, fall from
+him without a witness, belike lest God should deny that He hath received
+them; and when he hath done (lest the world should not know it) his own
+mouth is his trumpet to proclaim it. With the superfluity of his usury
+he builds an hospital, and harbours them whom his extortion hath
+spoiled; so while he makes many beggars he keeps some. He turneth all
+gnats into camels, and cares not to undo the world for a circumstance.
+Flesh on a Friday is more abomination to him than his neighbour's bed:
+he more abhors not to uncover at the name of Jesus than to swear by the
+name of God. When a rhymer reads his poem to him he begs a copy, and
+persuades the press there is nothing that he dislikes in presence that
+in absence he censures not. He comes to the sick-bed of his stepmother,
+and weeps when he secretly fears her recovery. He greets his friend in
+the street with so clear a countenance, so fast a closure, that the
+other thinks he reads his heart in his face, and shakes hands with an
+indefinite invitation of &quot;When will you come?&quot; and when his back is
+turned, joys that he is so well rid of a guest; yet if that guest visit
+him unfeared, he counterfeits a smiling welcome, and excuses his cheer,
+when closely he frowns on his wife for too much. He shows well, and says
+well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In brief, he is the
+stranger's saint, the neighbour's disease, the blot of goodness, a
+rotten stick in a dark night, a poppy in a corn-field, an ill-tempered
+candle with a great snuff that in going out smells ill; and an angel
+abroad, a devil at home, and worse when an angel than when a devil.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE BUSYBODY.</h2>
+
+<p>His estate is too narrow for his mind, and therefore he is fain to make
+himself room in others' affairs, yet ever in pretence of love. No news
+can stir but by his door, neither can he know that which he must not
+tell. What every man ventures in Guiana voyage, and what they gained, he
+knows to a hair. Whether Holland will have peace he knows, and on what
+conditions, and with what success, is familiar to him ere it be
+concluded. No post can pass him without a question, and rather than he
+will lose the news, he rides back with him to apprise him of tidings;
+and then to the next man he meets he supplies the wants of his hasty
+intelligence and makes up a perfect tale, wherewith he so haunteth the
+patient auditor, that after many excuses he is fain to endure rather the
+censure of his manners in running away than the tediousness of an
+impertinent discourse. His speech is oft broken off with a succession of
+long parentheses, which he ever vows to fill up ere the conclusion, and
+perhaps would effect it if the other's ear were as umveariable as his
+tongue. If he see but two men talk and read a letter in the street, he
+runs to them and asks if he may not be partner of that secret relation;
+and if they deny it, he offers to tell, since he may not hear, wonders,
+and then falls upon the report of the Scottish mine, or of the great
+fish taken up at Lynne, or of the freezing of the Thames, and after many
+thanks and admissions is hardly entreated silence. He undertakes as much
+as he performs little; this man will thrust himself forward to be the
+guide of the way he knows not, and calls at his neighbour's window and
+asks why his servants are not at work. The market hath no commodity
+which he prizeth not, and which the next table shall not hear recited.
+His tongue, like the tail of Samson's foxes, carries firebrands, and is
+enough to set the whole field of the world on a flame. Himself begins
+table-talk of his neighbour at another's board, to whom he bears the
+first news, and adjures him to conceal the reporter, whose choleric
+answer he returns to his first host enlarged with a second edition; so
+as it uses to be done in the sight of unwilling mastiffs, he claps each
+on the side apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. There can no
+act pass without his comment, which is ever far-fetched, rash,
+suspicious, dilatory. His ears are long and his eyes quick, but most of
+all to imperfections, which as he easily sees, so he increases with
+intermeddling. He harbours another man's servant, and amidst his
+entertainment asks what fare is usual at home, what hours are kept, what
+talk passeth their meals, what his master's disposition is, what his
+government, what his guests? and when he hath by curious inquiries
+extracted all the juice and spirit of hoped intelligence, turns him off
+whence he came, and works on anew. He hates constancy as an earthen
+dulness, unfit for men of spirit, and loves to change his work and his
+place: neither yet can he be so soon weary of any place as every place
+is weary of him, for as he sets himself on work, so others pay him with
+hatred; and look how many masters he hath, so many enemies: neither is
+it possible that any should not hate him but who know him not. So then
+he labours without thanks, talks without credit, lives without love,
+dies without tears, without pity, save that some say it was pity he died
+no sooner.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE SUPERSTITIOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>Superstition is godless religion, devout impiety. The superstitious is
+fond in observation, servile in fear; he worships God but as he lists;
+he gives God what He asks not more than He asks, and all but what he
+should give; and makes more sins than the Ten Commandments. This man
+dares not stir forth till his breast be crossed and his face sprinkled:
+if but an hare cross him the way, he returns; or if his journey began
+unawares on the dismal day, or if he stumble at the threshold. If he see
+a snake unkilled, he fears a mischief; if the salt fall towards him, he
+looks pale and red, and is not quiet till one of the waiters have poured
+wine on his lap; and when he sneezeth, thinks them not his friends that
+uncover not. In the morning he listens whether the crow crieth even or
+odd, and by that token presages of the weather. If he hear but a raven
+croak from the next roof he makes his will, or if a bittern fly over his
+head by night; but if his troubled fancy shall second his thoughts with
+the dream of a fair garden, or green rushes, or the salutation of a dead
+friend, he takes leave of the world and says he cannot live. He will
+never set to sea but on a Sunday, neither ever goes without an <i>Erra
+Pater</i> in his pocket. Saint Paul's Day and Saint Swithin's with the
+Twelve are his oracles, which he dares believe against the almanack.
+When he lies sick on his deathbed no sin troubles him so much as that he
+did once eat flesh on a Friday; no repentance can expiate that, the rest
+need none. There is no dream of his without an interpretation, without a
+prediction; and if the event answer not his exposition, he expounds it
+according to the event. Every dark grove and pictured wall strikes him
+with an awful but carnal devotion. Old wives and stars are his
+counsellors, his night-spell is his guard, and charms his physicians. He
+wears Paracelsian characters for the toothache, and a little hallowed
+wax is his antidote for all evils. This man is strangely credulous, and
+calls impossible things miraculous. If he hear that some sacred block
+speaks, moves, weeps, smiles, his bare feet carry him thither with an
+offering; and if a danger miss him in the way, his saint hath the
+thanks. Some ways he will not go, and some he dares not; either there
+are bugs, or he feigneth them; every lantern is a ghost, and every noise
+is of chains. He knows not why, but his custom is to go a little about,
+and to leave the cross still on the right hand. One event is enough to
+make a rule; out of these he concludes fashions proper to himself; and
+nothing can turn him out of his own course. If he have done his task he
+is safe, it matters not with what affection. Finally, if God would let
+him be the carver of his own obedience, He could not have a better
+subject; as he is, He cannot have a worse.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE PROFANE.</h2>
+
+<p>The superstitious hath too many gods; the profane man hath none at all,
+unless perhaps himself be his own deity, and the world his heaven. To
+matter of religion his heart is a piece of dead flesh, without feeling
+of love, of fear, of care, or of pain from the deaf strokes of a
+revenging conscience. Custom of sin hath wrought this senselessness,
+which now hath so long entertained that it pleads prescription and knows
+not to be altered. This is no sudden evil; we are born sinful, but have
+made ourselves profane; through many degrees we climb to this height of
+impiety. At first he sinned and cared not, now he sinneth and knoweth
+not. Appetite is his lord, and reason his servant, and religion his
+drudge. Sense is the rule of his belief; and if piety may be an
+advantage, he can at once counterfeit and deride it. When aught
+succeedeth to him he sacrifices to his net, and thanks either his
+fortune or his wit; and will rather make a false God than acknowledge
+the truth; if contrary, he cried out of destiny, and blames him to whom
+he will not be beholden. His conscience would fain speak with him, but
+he will not hear it; sets the day, but he disappoints it; and when it
+cries loud for audience, he drowns the noise with good fellowship. He
+never names God but in his oaths; never thinks of Him but in extremity;
+and then he knows not how to think of Him, because he begins but then.
+He quarrels for the hard conditions of his pleasure for his future
+damnation, and from himself lays all the fault upon his Maker; and from
+His decree fetcheth excuses of his wickedness. The inevitable necessity
+of God's counsel makes him desperately careless; so with good food he
+poisons himself. Goodness is his minstrel; neither is any mirth so
+cordial to him, as his sport with God's fools. Every virtue hath his
+slander, and his jest to laugh it out of fashion; every vice his colour.
+His usualest theme is the boast of his young sins, which he can still
+joy in, though he cannot commit; and (if it may be) his speech makes him
+worse than he is. He cannot think of death with patience, without
+terror, which he therefore fears worse than hell, because this he is
+sure of, the other he but doubts of. He comes to church as to the
+theatre, saving that not so willingly, for company, for custom, for
+recreation, perhaps for sleep, or to feed his eyes or his ears; as for
+his soul, he cares no more than if he had none. He loves none but
+himself, and that not enough to seek his true good; neither cares he on
+whom he treads that he may rise. His life is full of license, and his
+practice of outrage. He is hated of God as much as he hateth goodness;
+and differs little from a devil, but that he hath a body.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE MALCONTENT.</h2>
+
+<p>He is neither well full nor fasting; and though he abound with
+complaints, yet nothing dislikes him but the present; for what he
+condemned while it was, once past he magnifies, and strives to recall it
+out of the jaws of time. What he hath he seeth not, his eyes are so
+taken up with what he wants; and what he sees he cares not for, because
+he cares so much for that which is not. When his friend carves him the
+best morsel, he murmurs that it is an happy feast wherein each one may
+cut for himself. When a present is sent him he asks, Is this all? and,
+What, no better? and so accepts it, as if he would have his friend know
+how much he is bound to him for vouchsafing to receive it. It is hard to
+entertain him with a proportionable gift. If nothing, he cries out of
+unthankfulness; if little, that he is basely regarded; if much, he
+exclaims of flattery, and expectation of a large requital. Every
+blessing hath somewhat to disparage and distaste it; children bring
+cares, single life is wild and solitary, eminency is envious,
+retiredness obscure, fasting painful, satiety unwieldy, religion nicely
+severe, liberty is lawless, wealth burdensome, mediocrity contemptible.
+Everything faulteth, either in too much or too little. This man is ever
+headstrong and self-willed, neither is he always tied to esteem or
+pronounce according to reason; some things he must dislike he knows not
+wherefore, but he likes them not; and otherwhere, rather than not
+censure, he will accuse a man of virtue. Everything he meddleth with he
+either findeth imperfect or maketh so; neither is there anything that
+soundeth so harsh in his ear as the commendation of another; whereto yet
+perhaps he fashionably and coldly assenteth, but with such an
+after-clause of exception as doth more than mar his former allowance;
+and if he list not to give a verbal disgrace, yet he shakes his head and
+smiles, as if his silence should say, I could and will not. And when
+himself is praised without excess, he complains that such imperfect
+kindness hath not done him right. If but an unseasonable shower cross
+his recreation, he is ready to fall out with heaven, and thinks he is
+wronged if God will not take his times when to rain, when to shine. He
+is a slave to envy, and loseth flesh with fretting--not so much at his
+own infelicity as at others' good; neither hath he leisure to joy in his
+own blessings whilst another prospereth. Fain would he see some
+mutinies, but dares not raise them; and suffers his lawless tongue to
+walk through the dangerous paths of conceited alterations; but so, as in
+good manners he had rather thrust every man before him when it comes to
+acting. Nothing but fear keeps him from conspiracies, and no man is more
+cruel when he is not manacled with danger. He speaks nothing but satires
+and libels, and lodgeth no guests in his heart but rebels. The
+inconstant and he agree well in their felicity, which both place in
+change; but herein they differ--the inconstant man affects that which
+will be, the malcontent commonly that which was. Finally, he is a
+querulous cur, whom no horse can pass by without barking at; yea, in the
+deep silence of night the very moonshine openeth his clamorous mouth. He
+is the wheel of a well-couched firework, that flies out on all sides,
+not without scorching itself. Every ear is long ago weary of him, and he
+is now almost weary of himself. Give him but a little respite, and he
+will die alone, of no other death than other's welfare.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE INCONSTANT.</h2>
+
+<p>The inconstant man treads upon a moving earth and keeps no pace. His
+proceedings are ever heady and peremptory, for he hath not the patience
+to consult with reason, but determines merely upon fancy. No man is so
+hot in the pursuit of what he liketh, no man sooner wearies. He is fiery
+in his passions, which yet are not more violent than momentary; it is a
+wonder if his love or hatred last so many days as a wonder. His heart is
+the inn of all good motions, wherein, if they lodge for a night, it is
+well; by morning they are gone, and take no leave; and if they come that
+way again they are entertained as guests, not as friends. At first, like
+another Ecebolius, he loved simple truth; thence, diverting his eyes, he
+fell in love with idolatry. Those heathenish shrines had never any more
+doting and besotted client; and now of late he is leapt from Rome to
+Munster, and is grown to giddy Anabaptism. What he will be next as yet
+he knoweth not; but ere he hath wintered his opinion it will be
+manifest. He is good to make an enemy of, ill for a friend; because, as
+there is no trust in his affection, so no rancour in his displeasure.
+The multitude of his changed purposes brings with it forgetfulness, and
+not of others more than of himself. He says, swears, renounces, because
+what he promised he meant not long enough to make an impression. Herein
+alone he is good for a commonwealth, that he sets many on work with
+building, ruining, altering, and makes more business than time itself;
+neither is he a greater enemy to thrift than to idleness. Propriety is
+to him enough cause of dislike; each thing pleases him better that is
+not his own. Even in the best things long continuance is a just quarrel;
+manna itself grows tedious with age, and novelty is the highest style of
+commendation to the meanest offers; neither doth he in books and
+fashions ask, How good? but, How new? Variety carries him away with
+delight, and no uniform pleasure can be without an irksome fulness. He
+is so transformable into all opinions, manners, qualities, that he seems
+rather made immediately of the first matter than of well-tempered
+elements; and therefore is in possibility anything or everything,
+nothing in present substance. Finally, he is servile in imitation, waxy
+to persuasions, witty to wrong himself, a guest in his own house, an ape
+of others, and, in a word, anything rather than himself.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE FLATTERER.</h2>
+
+<p>Flattery is nothing but false friendship, fawning hypocrisy, dishonest
+civility, base merchandise of words, a plausible discord of the heart
+and lips. The flatterer is blear-eyed to ill, and cannot see vices; and
+his tongue walks ever in one track of unjust praises, and can no more
+tell how to discommend than to speak true. His speeches are full of
+wondering interjections, and all his titles are superlative, and both of
+them seldom ever but in presence. His base mind is well matched with a
+mercenary tongue, which is a willing slave to another man's ear; neither
+regardeth he how true, but how pleasing. His art is nothing but
+delightful cozenage, whose rules are smoothing and guarded with perjury;
+whose scope is to make men fools in teaching them to overvalue
+themselves, and to tickle his friends to death. This man is a porter of
+all good tales, and mends them in the carriage; one of Fame's best
+friends and his own, that helps to furnish her with those rumours that
+may advantage himself. Conscience hath no greater adversary, for when
+she is about to play her just part of accusation, he stops her mouth
+with good terms, and well-near strangleth her with shifts. Like that
+subtle fish, he turns himself into the colour of every stone for a
+booty. In himself he is nothing but what pleaseth his great one, whose
+virtues he cannot more extol than imitate his imperfections, that he may
+think his worst graceful. Let him say it is hot, he wipes his forehead
+and unbraceth himself; if cold, he shivers and calls for a warmer
+garment. When he walks with his friend he swears to him that no man else
+is looked at, no man talked of, and that whomsoever he vouchsafes to
+look on and nod to is graced enough; that he knows not his own worth,
+lest he should be too happy; and when he tells what others say in his
+praise, he interrupts himself modestly and dares not speak the rest; so
+his concealment is more insinuating than his speech. He hangs upon the
+lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but oracles,
+and finds occasion to cite some approved sentence under the name he
+honoureth; and when aught is nobly spoken, both his hands are little
+enough to bless him. Sometimes even in absence he extolleth his patron,
+where he may presume of safe conveyance to his ears; and in presence so
+whispereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be
+unheard where he meant it. He hath salves for every sore, to hide them,
+not to heal them; complexion for every face; sin hath not any more
+artificial broker or more impudent bawd. There is no vice that hath not
+from him his colour, his allurement; and his best service is either to
+further guiltiness or smother it. If he grant evil things inexpedient or
+crimes errors, he hath yielded much; either thy estate gives privilege
+of liberty or thy youth; or if neither, what if it be ill? yet it is
+pleasant. Honesty to him is nice singularity, repentance superstitious
+melancholy, gravity dulness, and all virtue an innocent conceit of the
+base-minded. In short, he is the moth of liberal men's coats, the earwig
+of the mighty, the bane of courts, a friend and a slave to the trencher,
+and good for nothing but to be a factor for the devil.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE SLOTHFUL.</h2>
+
+<p>He is a religious man, and wears the time in his cloister, and, as the
+cloak of his doing nothing, pleads contemplation; yet is he no whit the
+leaner for his thoughts, no whit learneder. He takes no less care how to
+spend time than others how to gain by the expense; and when business
+importunes him, is more troubled to forethink what he must do, than
+another to effect it. Summer is out of his favour for nothing but long
+days that make no haste to their even. He loves still to have the sun
+witness of his rising, and lies long, more for lothness to dress him
+than will to sleep; and after some streaking and yawning, calls for
+dinner unwashed, which having digested with a sleep in his chair, he
+walks forth to the bench in the market-place, and looks for companions.
+Whomsoever he meets he stays with idle questions, and lingering
+discourse; how the days are lengthened, how kindly the weather is, how
+false the clock, how forward the spring, and ends ever with, What shall
+we do? It pleases him no less to hinder others than not to work himself.
+When all the people are gone from church, he is left sleeping in his
+seat alone. He enters bonds, and forfeits them by forgetting the day;
+and asks his neighbour when his own field was fallowed, whether the next
+piece of ground belong not to himself. His care is either none or too
+late. When winter is come, after some sharp visitations, he looks on his
+pile of wood, and asks how much was cropped the last spring. Necessity
+drives him to every action, and what he cannot avoid he will yet defer.
+Every change troubles him, although to the better, and his dulness
+counterfeits a kind of contentment. When he is warned on a jury, he had
+rather pay the mulct than appear. All but that which Nature will not
+permit he doth by a deputy, and counts it troublesome to do nothing, but
+to do anything yet more. He is witty in nothing but framing excuses to
+sit still, which if the occasion yield not he coineth with ease. There
+is no work that is not either dangerous or thankless, and whereof he
+foresees not the inconvenience and gainlessness before he enters; which
+if it be verified in event, his next idleness hath found a reason to
+patronize it. He had rather freeze than fetch wood, and chooses rather
+to steal than work; to beg than take pains to steal, and in many things
+to want than beg. He is so loth to leave his neighbour's fire, that he
+is fain to walk home in the dark; and if he be not looked to, wears out
+the night in the chimney-corner, or if not that, lies down in his
+clothes, to save two labours. He eats and prays himself asleep, and
+dreams of no other torment but work. This man is a standing pool, and
+cannot choose but gather corruption. He is descried amongst a thousand
+neighbours by a dry and nasty hand, that still savours of the sheet, a
+beard uncut, unkempt, an eye and ear yellow with their excretions, a
+coat shaken on, ragged, unbrushed, by linen and face striving whether
+shall excel in uncleanness. For body, he hath a swollen leg, a dusky and
+swinish eye, a blown cheek, a drawling tongue, an heavy foot, and is
+nothing but a colder earth moulded with standing water. To conclude, is
+a man in nothing but in speech and shape.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE COVETOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>He is a servant to himself, yea, to his servant; and doth base homage to
+that which should be the worst drudge. A lifeless piece of earth is his
+master, yea his god, which he shrines in his coffer, and to which he
+sacrifices his heart. Every face of his coin is a new image, which he
+adores with the highest veneration; yet takes upon him to be protector
+of that he worshippeth, which he fears to keep and abhors to lose, not
+daring to trust either any other god or his own. Like a true chemist, he
+turns everything into silver, both what he should eat, and what he
+should wear; and that he keeps to look on, not to use. When he returns
+from his field, he asks, not without much rage, what became of the loose
+crust in his cupboard, and who hath rioted among his leeks. He never
+eats good meal but on his neighbour's trencher, and there he makes
+amends to his complaining stomach for his former and future fasts. He
+bids his neighbours to dinner, and when they have done, sends in a
+trencher for the shot. Once in a year, perhaps, he gives himself leave
+to feast, and for the time thinks no man more lavish; wherein he lists
+not to fetch his dishes from far, nor will be beholden to the shambles;
+his own provision shall furnish his board with an insensible cost, and
+when his guests are parted, talks how much every man devoured, and how
+many cups were emptied, and feeds his family with the mouldy remnants a
+month after. If his servant break but an earthen dish for want of light,
+he abates it out of his quarter's wages. He chips his bread, and sends
+it back to exchange for staler. He lets money, and sells time for a
+price, and will not be importuned either to prevent or defer his day;
+and in the meantime looks for secret gratuities, besides the main
+interest, which he sells and returns into the stock. He breeds of money
+to the third generation, neither hath it sooner any being, than he sets
+it to beget more. In all things he affects secrecy and propriety; he
+grudgeth his neighbour the water of his well, and next to stealing he
+hates borrowing. In his short and unquiet sleeps he dreams of thieves,
+and runs to the door and names more men than he hath. The least sheaf he
+ever culls out for tithe, and to rob God holds it the best pastime, the
+clearest gain. This man cries out above others of the prodigality of our
+times, and tells of the thrift of our forefathers: how that great prince
+thought himself royally attired, when he bestowed thirteen shillings and
+fourpence on half a suit. How one wedding gown served our grandmothers
+till they exchanged it for a winding-sheet; and praises plainness, not
+for less sin, but for less cost. For himself, he is still known by his
+forefather's coat, which he means with his blessing to bequeath to the
+many descents of his heirs. He neither would be poor, nor be accounted
+rich. No man complains so much of want, to avoid a subsidy; no man is so
+importunate in begging, so cruel in exaction; and when he most complains
+of want, he fears that which he complains to have. No way is indirect to
+wealth, whether of fraud or violence. Gain is his godliness, which if
+conscience go about to prejudice, and grow troublesome by exclaiming
+against, he is condemned for a common barretor. Like another Ahab, he is
+sick of the next field, and thinks he is ill-seated, while he dwells by
+neighbours. Shortly, his neighbours do not much more hate him, than he
+himself. He cares not (for no great advantage) to lose his friend, pine
+his body, damn his soul; and would despatch himself when corn falls, but
+that he is loth to cast away money on a cord.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE VAINGLORIOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>All his humour rises up into the froth of ostentation, which if it once
+settle falls down into a narrow room. If the excess be in the
+understanding part, all his wit is in print; the press hath left his
+head empty, yea, not only what he had, but what he could borrow without
+leave. If his glory be in his devotion, he gives not an alms but on
+record; and if he have once done well, God hears of it often, for upon
+every unkindness he is ready to upbraid Him with merits. Over and above
+his own discharge, he hath some satisfactions to spare for the common
+treasure. He can fulfil the law with ease, and earn God with
+superfluity. If he hath bestowed but a little sum in the glazing,
+paving, parieting of God's house, you shall find it in the church
+window. Or if a more gallant humour possess him, he wears all his land
+on his back, and walking high, looks over his left shoulder, to see if
+the point of his rapier follow him with a grace. He is proud of another
+man's horse, and well mounted, thinks every man wrongs him that looks
+not at him. A bare head in the street doth him more good than a meal's
+meat. He swears big at an ordinary, and talks of the court with a sharp
+accent; neither vouchsafes to name any not honourable, nor those without
+some term of familiarity, and likes well to see the hearer look upon him
+amazedly, as if he said, How happy is this man that is so great with
+great ones! Under pretence of seeking for a scroll of news, he draws out
+an handful of letters endorsed with his own style to the height, and
+half reading every title, passes over the latter part with a murmur, not
+without signifying what lord sent this, what great lady the other, and
+for what suits; the last paper (as it happens) is his news from his
+honourable friend in the French court. In the midst of dinner, his
+lackey comes sweating in with a sealed note from his creditor, who now
+threatens a speedy arrest, and whispers the ill news in his master's
+ear, when he aloud names a counsellor of state, and professes to know
+the employment. The same messenger he calls with an imperious nod, and
+after expostulation, where he hath left his fellows, in his ear, sends
+him for some new spur-leathers or stockings by this time footed; and
+when he is gone half the room, recalls him, and sayeth aloud, It is no
+matter, let the greater bag alone till I come. And yet again calling him
+closer, whispers (so that all the table may hear), that if his crimson
+suit be ready against the day, the rest need no haste. He picks his
+teeth when his stomach is empty, and calls for pheasants at a common
+inn. You shall find him prizing the richest jewels and fairest horses,
+when his purse yields not money enough for earnest. He thrusts himself
+into the press before some great ladies, and loves to be seen near the
+head of a great train. His talk is how many mourners he furnished with
+gowns at his father's funeral, how many messes, how rich his coat is,
+and how ancient, how great his alliance; what challenges he hath made
+and answered; what exploits he did at Calais or Newport; and when he
+hath commended others' buildings, furnitures, suits, compares them with
+his own. When he hath undertaken to be the broker for some rich diamond,
+he wears it, and pulling off his glove to stroke up his hair, thinks no
+eye should have any other object. Entertaining his friend, he chides his
+cook for no better cheer, and names the dishes he meant and wants. To
+conclude, he is ever on the stage, and acts still a glorious part
+abroad, when no man carries a baser heart, no man is more sordid and
+careless at home. He is a Spanish soldier on an Italian theatre, a
+bladder full of wind, a skinful of words, a fool's wonder and a wise
+man's fool.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE PRESUMPTUOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>Presumption is nothing but hope out of his wits, an high house upon weak
+pillars. The presumptuous man loves to attempt great things, only
+because they are hard and rare. His actions are bold and venturous, and
+more full of hazard than use. He hoisteth sail in a tempest, and sayeth
+never any of his ancestors were drowned. He goes into an infected house,
+and says the plague dares not seize on noble blood. He runs on high
+battlements, gallops down steep hills, rides over narrow bridges, walks
+on weak ice, and never thinks, What if I fall? but, What if I run over
+and fall not? He is a confident alchemist, and braggeth that the womb of
+his furnace hath conceived a burden that will do all the world good;
+which yet he desires secretly borne, for fear of his own bondage. In the
+meantime his glass breaks, yet he upon better luting lays wagers of the
+success, and promiseth wedges beforehand to his friend. He saith, I will
+sin, and be sorry, and escape; either God will not see, or not be angry,
+or not punish it, or remit the measure. If I do well, He is just to
+reward; if ill, He is merciful to forgive. Thus his praises wrong God no
+less than his offence, and hurt himself no less than they wrong God. Any
+pattern is enough to encourage him. Show him the way where any foot hath
+trod, he dare follow, although he see no steps returning; what if a
+thousand have attempted, and miscarried, if but one hath prevailed it
+sufficeth. He suggests to himself false hopes of never too late, as if
+he could command either time or repentance, and dare defer the
+expectation of mercy, till betwixt the bridge and the water. Give him
+but where to set his foot, and he will remove the earth. He foreknows
+the mutations of states, the events of war, the temper of the seasons;
+either his old prophecy tells it him, or his stars. Yea, he is no
+stranger to the records of God's secret counsel, but he turns them over,
+and copies them out at pleasure. I know not whether in all his
+enterprises he show less fear or wisdom; no man promises himself more,
+no man more believes himself. I will go and sell, and return and
+purchase, and spend and leave my sons such estates: all which, if it
+succeed, he thanks himself; if not, he blames not himself. His purposes
+are measured, not by his ability, but his will; and his actions by his
+purposes. Lastly, he is ever credulous in assent, rash in undertaking,
+peremptory in resolving, witless in proceeding, and in his ending
+miserable, which is never other than either the laughter of the wise or
+the pity of fools.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE DISTRUSTFUL.</h2>
+
+<p>The distrustful man hath his heart in his eyes or in his hand; nothing
+is sure to him but what he sees, what he handles. He is either very
+simple or very false, and therefore believes not others, because he
+knows how little himself is worthy of belief. In spiritual things,
+either God must leave a pawn with him or seek some other creditor. All
+absent things and unusual have no other but a conditional entertainment;
+they are strange, if true. If he see two neighbours whisper in his
+presence, he bids them speak out, and charges them to say no more than
+they can justify. When he hath committed a message to his servant, he
+sends a second after him to listen how it is delivered. He is his own
+secretary, and of his own counsel for what he hath, for what he
+purposeth. And when he tells over his bags, looks through the keyhole to
+see if he have any hidden witness, and asks aloud, Who is there? when no
+man hears him. He borrows money when he needs not, for fear lest others
+should borrow of him. He is ever timorous and cowardly, and asks every
+man's errand at the door ere he opens. After his first sleep he starts
+up and asks if the furthest gate were barred, and out of a fearful sweat
+calls up his servant and bolts the door after him, and then studies
+whether it were better to lie still and believe, or rise and see.
+Neither is his heart fuller of fears than his head of strange projects
+and far-fetched constructions. What means the state, think you, in such
+an action, and whither tends this course? Learn of me (if you know not)
+the ways of deep policies are secret, and full of unknown windings; that
+is their act, this will be their issue: so casting beyond the moon, he
+makes wise and just proceedings suspected. In all his predictions and
+imaginations he ever lights upon the worst; not what is most likely will
+fall out, but what is most ill. There is nothing that he takes not with
+the left hand; no text which his gloss corrupts not. Words, oaths,
+parchments, seals, are but broken reeds; these shall never deceive him,
+he loves no payments but real. If but one in an age have miscarried by a
+rare casualty, he misdoubts the same event. If but a tile fallen from an
+high roof have brained a passenger, or the breaking of a coach-wheel
+have endangered the burden, he swears he will keep home, or take him to
+his horse. He dares not come to church for fear of the crowd, nor spare
+the Sabbath's labour for fear of the want, nor come near the Parliament
+house, because it should have been blown up. What might have been
+affects him as much as what will be. Argue, vow, protest, swear, he
+hears thee, and believes himself. He is a sceptic, and dare hardly give
+credit to his senses, which he hath often arraigned of false
+intelligence. He so lives, as if he thought all the world were thieves,
+and were not sure whether himself were one. He is uncharitable in his
+censures, unquiet in his fears, bad enough always, but in his own
+opinion much worse than he is.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE AMBITIOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>Ambition is a proud covetousness, a dry thirst of honour, the longing
+disease of reason, an aspiring and gallant madness. The ambitious climbs
+up high and perilous stairs, and never cares how to come down; the
+desire of rising hath swallowed up his fear of a fall. Having once
+cleaved like a burr to some great man's coat, he resolves not to be
+shaken off with any small indignities, and, finding his hold thoroughly
+fast, casts how to insinuate yet nearer. And therefore he is busy and
+servile in his endeavours to please, and all his officious respects turn
+home to himself. He can be at once a slave to command, an intelligencer
+to inform, a parasite to soothe and flatter, a champion to defend, an
+executioner to revenge anything for an advantage of favour. He hath
+projected a plot to rise, and woe be to the friend that stands in his
+way. He still haunteth the court, and his unquiet spirit haunteth him,
+which, having fetched him from the secure peace of his country rest,
+sets him new and impossible tasks, and, after many disappointments,
+encourages him to try the same sea in spite of his shipwrecks, and
+promise better success. A small hope gives him heart against great
+difficulties, and draws on new expense, new servility, persuading him
+like foolish boys to shoot away a second shaft, that he may find the
+first. He yieldeth, and now secure of the issue, applauds himself in
+that honour, which he still affecteth, still misseth; and, for the last
+of all trials, will rather bribe for a troublesome preferment than
+return void of a title. But now, when he finds himself desperately
+crossed, and at once spoiled both of advancement and hope, both of
+fruition and possibility, all his desire is turned into rage, his thirst
+is now only of revenge, his tongue sounds of nothing but detraction and
+slander. Now the place he fought for is base, his rival unworthy, his
+adversary injurious, officers corrupt, court infectious; and how well is
+he that may be his own man, his own master, that may live safely in a
+mean distance, at pleasure, free from starving, free from burning? But
+if his designs speed well, ere he be warm in that feat, his mind is
+possessed of an higher. What he hath is but a degree to what he would
+have. Now he scorneth what he formerly aspired to. His success doth not
+give him so much contentment as provocation; neither can he be at rest
+so long as he hath one, either to overlook, or to match, or to emulate
+him. When his country friend comes to visit him, he carries him up to
+the awful presence, and now in his sight, crowding nearer to the chair
+of state, desires to be looked on, desires to be spoken to by the
+greatest, and studies how to offer an occasion, lest he should seem
+unknown, unregarded; and if any gesture of the least grace fall happily
+upon him, he looks back upon his friend, lest he should carelessly let
+it pass, without a note; and what he wanteth in sense he supplies in
+history. His disposition is never but shamefully unthankful, for unless
+he have all he hath nothing. It must be a large draught, whereof he will
+not say that those few drops do not slake but inflame him. So still he
+thinks himself the worse for small favours. His wit so contrives the
+likely plots of his promotion, as if he would steal it away without
+God's knowledge, besides His will. Neither doth he ever look up, and
+consult in his forecasts with the supreme Moderator of all things, as
+one that thinks honour is ruled by fortune, and that heaven meddleth not
+with the disposing of these earthly lots; and therefore it is just with
+that wise God to defeat his fairest hopes, and to bring him to a loss in
+the hottest of his chase, and to cause honour to fly away so much the
+faster, by how much it is more eagerly pursued. Finally, he is an
+importunate suitor, a corrupt client, a violent undertaker, a smooth
+factor, but untrusty, a restless master of his own, a bladder puffed up
+with the wind of hope and self-love. He is in the common body as a mole
+in the earth, ever unquietly casting; and, in one word, is nothing but a
+confused heap of envy, pride, covetousness.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE UNTHRIFT.</h2>
+
+<p>He ranges beyond his pale, and lives without compass. His expense is
+measured, not by ability, but will. His pleasures are immoderate, and
+not honest. A wanton eye, a liquorish tongue, a gamesome hand, have
+impoverished him. The vulgar sort call him bountiful, and applaud him
+when he spends; and recompense him with wishes when he gives, with pity
+when he wants. Neither can it be denied that he raught true liberality,
+but overwent it. No man could have lived more laudably, if, when he was
+at the best, he had stayed there. While he is present, none of the
+wealthier guests may pay aught to the shot without much vehemence,
+without danger of unkindness. Use hath made it unpleasant to him not to
+spend. He is in all things more ambitious of the title of good
+fellowship than of wisdom. When he looks into the wealthy chest of his
+father, his conceit suggests that it cannot be emptied; and while he
+takes out some deal every day, he perceives not any diminution; and when
+the heap is sensibly abated, yet still flatters himself with enough. One
+hand cozens the other, and the belly deceives both. He doth not so much
+bestow benefits as scatter them. True merit doth not carry them, but
+smoothness of adulation. His senses are too much his guides and his
+purveyors, and appetite is his steward. He is an impotent servant to his
+lusts, and knows not to govern either his mind or his purse.
+Improvidence is ever the companion of unthriftiness. This man cannot
+look beyond the present, and neither thinks nor cares what shall be,
+much less suspects what may be; and while he lavishes out his substance
+in superfluities, thinks he only knows what the world is worth, and that
+others overprize it. He feels poverty before he sees it, never complains
+till he be pinched with wants; never spares till the bottom, when it is
+too late either to spend or recover. He is every man's friend save his
+own, and then wrongs himself most when he courteth himself with most
+kindness. He vies time with the slothful, and it is a hard match whether
+chases away good hours to worse purpose, the one by doing nothing, or
+the other by idle pastime. He hath so dilated himself with the beams of
+prosperity that he lies open to all dangers, and cannot gather up
+himself, on just warning, to avoid a mischief. He were good for an
+almoner, ill for a steward. Finally, he is the living tomb of his
+forefathers, of his posterity; and when he hath swallowed both, is more
+empty than before he devoured them.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF THE ENVIOUS.</h2>
+
+<p>He feeds on others' evils, and hath no disease but his neighbour's
+welfare. Whatsoever God do for him, he cannot be happy with company; and
+if he were put to choose whether he would rather have equals in a common
+felicity, or superiors in misery, he would demur upon the election. His
+eye casts out too much, and never returns home, but to make comparisons
+with another's good. He is an ill prizer of foreign commodity; worse of
+his own, for that he rates too high, this under value. You shall have
+him ever inquiring into the estates of his equals and betters, wherein
+he is not more desirous to hear all than loth to hear anything over
+good; and if just report relate aught better than he would, he redoubles
+the question, as being hard to believe what he likes not, and hopes yet,
+if that be averred again to his grief, that there is somewhat concealed
+in the relation, which, if it were known, would argue the commended
+party miserable, and blemish him with secret shame. He is ready to
+quarrel with God, because the next field is fairer grown, and angrily
+calculates his cost, and time, and tillage. Whom he dares not openly
+backbite, nor wound with a direct censure, he strikes smoothly with an
+over cold praise; and when he sees that he must either maliciously
+impugn the just praise of another (which were unsafe), or approve it by
+assent, he yieldeth; but shows withal that his means were such, both by
+nature and education, that he could not, without much neglect, be less
+commendable. So his happiness shall be made the colour of detraction.
+When an wholesome law is propounded, he crosseth it either by open or
+close opposition, not for any incommodity or inexpedience, but because
+it proceeded from any mouth besides his own. And it must be a cause
+rarely plausible that will not admit some probable contradiction. When
+his equal should rise to honour, he strives against it unseen, and
+rather with much cost suborneth great adversaries; and when he sees his
+resistance vain, he can give an hollow gratulation in presence, but in
+secret disparages that advancement. Either the man is unfit for the
+place, or the place for the man; or if fit, yet less gainful, or more
+common than opinion; whereto he adds that himself might have had the
+same dignity upon better terms, and refused it. He is witty in devising
+suggestions to bring his rival out of love into suspicion. If he be
+courteous, he is seditiously popular; if bountiful, he binds over his
+clients to a faction; if successful in war, he is dangerous in peace; if
+wealthy, he lays up for a day; if powerful, nothing wants but
+opportunity of rebellion. His submission is ambitious hypocrisy; his
+religion, politic insinuation; no action is safe from a jealous
+construction. When he receives a good report of him whom he emulates, he
+saith, &quot;Fame is partial, and is wont to blanche mischiefs;&quot; and pleaseth
+himself with hope to find it worse; and if ill-will have dispersed any
+more spiteful narration, he lays hold on that, against all witnesses,
+and broacheth that rumour for truest because worst; and when he sees him
+perfectly miserable, he can at once pity him, and rejoice. What himself
+cannot do, others shall not; he hath gained well if he have hindered the
+success of what he would have done, and could not. He conceals his best
+skill, not so as it may not be known that he knows it, but so as it may
+not be learned, because he would have the world miss him. He attained to
+a foreign medicine by the secret legacy of a dying empiric, whereof he
+will leave no heir lest the praise shall be divided. Finally, he is an
+enemy to God's favours, if they fall beside himself; the best nurse of
+ill-fame, a man of the worst diet, for he consumes himself, and delights
+in pining; a thorn-hedge covered with nettles, a peevish interpreter of
+good things, and no other than a lean and pale carcase quickened with
+a fiend.</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<H2>JOHN STEPHENS,</H2>
+
+<p><i>The younger, a lawyer of Lincoln's Inn, published in 1615 &quot;Satyrical
+Essayes, Characters, and others, or accurate and quick Descriptions
+fitted to the life of their Subjects.&quot; He had published two years before
+a play called &quot;Cinthia's Revenge, or Maenander's Extasie,&quot; which
+Langbaine described as one of the longest he had ever read, and the most
+tedious. Somebody seems to have attacked him and his Characters. A
+second edition, in 1631, was entitled &quot;New Essays and Characters, with a
+new Satyre in defence of the Common Law, and Lawyers: mixt with Reproofe
+against their enemy Ignoramus.&quot;</i></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+<h2>JOHN EARLE</h2>
+
+<p><i>Is the next of our Character writers. His &quot;Microcosmography, or a Piece
+of the World discovered, in Essays and Characters&quot; was first printed in
+1628. John Earle was born in the city of York, at the beginning of the
+seventeenth century, probably in the year 1601. His father, who was
+Registrar of the Archbishop's Court, sent him to Oxford in 1619, and he
+was said to be eighteen years old when he matriculated, that year, as a
+commoner at Christchurch. He graduated as Master of Arts in 1624. He was
+a Fellow of Merton, and wrote in his younger days several occasional
+poems that won credit before he published anonymously, still as an
+Oxford man, when he was about twenty-seven years old, his famous
+Characters. But he remembered York when adding to their title that they
+were &quot;newly composed for the northern part of this Kingdom.&quot; This first
+edition contained fifty-four characters, which precede the others in the
+following collection. In the next year, 1629, the book reached a fifth
+edition, printed for Robert Allot, in which the number of the characters
+was increased to seventy-six. Two more characters--a Herald, and a
+Suspicious or Jealous Man--were added in the sixth edition, which was
+printed for Allot in 1633. The seventh edition was printed for Andrew
+Coolie in 1638, the eighth in 1650. Other editions followed in 1669,
+1676, 1732, and at Salisbury in 1786. In 1811 the little book was edited
+carefully by Dr. Philip Bliss, and it was edited again by Professor
+Edward Arber in 1868, in his valuable series of English Reprints.
+<br>
+John Earle, after the production of his &quot;Microcosmography,&quot; wrote in
+April 1630 a short poem upon the death of William, third Earl of
+Pembroke, son of Sidney's sister. The third Earl's younger brother
+Philip succeeded as fourth Earl, and was Chancellor of the University of
+Oxford. He was then, or thereafter became, Earle's patron, and made him
+his chaplain. About the same time, in 1631, Earle acted as proctor of
+the University. In 1639 the Earl of Pembroke presented John Earle to the
+living of Bishopston in Wiltshire, as successor to Chillingworth.
+Pembroke being Lord Chamberlain was entitled also to a residence at
+Court for his chaplain, and thus Earle was brought under the immediate
+notice of Charles I., who appointed him to be his own chaplain, and made
+him tutor to Prince Charles in 1641, when Dr. Brian Duppa, the preceding
+tutor, had been made Bishop of Salisbury. In 1642 Earle proceeded to the
+degree of D.D. In 1643 he was elected Chancellor of the Cathedral at
+Salisbury, but he was presently deprived by the Parliament of that
+office, and of his living at Bishopston. He then lived in retirement
+abroad, made a translation into Latin of Hooker's &quot;Ecclesiastical
+Polity&quot; which his servants negligently used, after his death, as waste
+paper, and of the &quot;Eikon Basilike&quot; which was published in 1649. After
+the Restoration, Dr. Earle was made Dean of Westminster; then, in 1662,
+Bishop of Worcester. He was translated to Salisbury in 1663, died in
+November 1665, and was buried near the altar in Merton College Church.
+<br>
+Earle was a man so gentle and liberal, that while Clarendon described
+him as &quot;among the few excellent men who never had and never could have
+an enemy,&quot; Baxter wrote in the margin of a kindly letter from him, &quot;O,
+that they were all such!&quot; and Calamy described him as &quot;a man that could
+do good against evil, forgive much out of a charitable heart.&quot; The
+Parliament, even just before depriving him as a malignant, had put him
+to the trouble of declining its nomination as one of the Westminster
+Assembly of Divines. As a Bishop in the early days of Charles the Second
+he did all he could to oppose the persecuting spirit of the first
+Conventicle Act and of the Five Mile Act.
+<br>
+Dr. Philip Bliss, who died in 1857, after a life marked by many services
+to English Literature, chose Bishop Earle's &quot;Characters&quot; for one of his
+earlier studies, published in 1811, when his own age was twenty-four.
+His book<a name="FNanchor2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> included an account of Bishop Earle himself, a list of his
+writings, publication for the first time of some of his early verses,
+his correspondence with Baxter, and a Chronological List of Books of
+Characters from 1567 to 1700, which was the first contribution to a
+study of this feature in our Seventeenth Century Literature. Bliss took
+his text of Earle from the edition of 1732, collated with the first
+impression in 1628. As the Characters which now follow are given with
+Bliss's text and notes, I add what the editor himself says of his
+method. The variations of the 1732 text from the first impressions in
+1628 are thus distinguished: &quot;Those words or passages which have been
+added since the first edition are contained between brackets</i> [and
+printed in the common type]; <i>those which have received some alteration
+are printed in italic; and the passages, as they stand in the first
+edition, are always given in a note.&quot;</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;</h2>
+
+<h3>OR,</h3>
+
+<h2>A PIECE OF THE WORLD CHARACTERIZED.</h2>
+
+
+<br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>A CHILD</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man in a small letter, yet the best copy of Adam before he tasted
+of Eve or the apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the world
+can only write this character. He is nature's fresh picture newly drawn
+in oil, which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His soul is yet
+a white paper<a name="FNanchor3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> unscribbled with observations of the world, wherewith,
+at length, it becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because
+he knows no evil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with
+misery. He arrives not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils
+to come, by foreseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, when the
+smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater. Nature and his parents
+alike dandle him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a draught of
+wormwood. He plays yet, like a young prentice the first day, and is not
+come to his task of melancholy. <a name="FNanchor4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4"><sup>[4]</sup></a>[All the language he speaks yet is
+tears, and they serve him well enough to express his necessity.] His
+hardest labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use so deceitful an
+organ; and he is best company with it when he can but prattle. We laugh
+at his foolish sports, but his game is our earnest; and his drums,
+rattles, and hobby-horses, but the emblems and mocking of man's
+business. His father hath writ him as his own little story, wherein he
+reads those days of his life that he cannot remember, and sighs to see
+what innocence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows, he is a stair
+lower from God; and, like his first father, much worse in his
+breeches.<a name="FNanchor5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> He is the Christian's example, and the old man's relapse;
+the one imitates his pureness, and the other falls into his simplicity.
+Could he put off his body with his little coat, he had got eternity
+without a burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A YOUNG RAW PREACHER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped out of his nest to be
+chirping on a hedge, and will be straggling abroad at what peril soever.
+His backwardness in the university hath set him thus forward; for had he
+not truanted there, he had not been so hasty a divine. His small
+standing, and time, hath made him a proficient only in boldness, out of
+which, and his table-book, he is furnished for a preacher. His
+collections of study are the notes of sermons, which, taken up at St.
+Mary's,<a name="FNanchor6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> he utters in the country: and if he write brachigraphy,<a name="FNanchor7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7"><sup>[7]</sup></a>
+his stock is so much the better. His writing is more than his reading,
+for he reads only what he gets without book. Thus accomplished he comes
+down to his friends, and his first salutation is grace and peace out of
+the pulpit. His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers his college
+more at large,<a name="FNanchor8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> The pace of his sermon is a full career, and he runs
+wildly over hill and dale, till the clock stop him. The labour of it is
+chiefly in his lungs; and the only thing he has made <i>in</i><a name="FNanchor9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> it himself,
+is the faces. He takes on against the pope without mercy, and has a jest
+still in lavender for Bellarmine: yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in
+his way, though with a mind, I must needs say, very orthodox. His action
+is all passion, and his speech interjections. He has an excellent
+faculty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a very good grace. [His
+stile is compounded of twenty several men's, only his body imitates some
+one extraordinary.] He will not draw his handkercher out of his place,
+nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that he never
+looks upon book; and indeed he was never used to it. He preaches but
+once a year, though twice on Sunday; for the stuff is still the same,
+only the dressing a little altered: he has more tricks with a sermon,
+than a tailor with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and at last
+quite disguise it with a new preface. If he have waded farther in his
+profession, and would show reading of his own, his authors are postils,
+and his school-divinity a catechism. His fashion and demure habit gets
+him in with some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on Friday nights.
+You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and serge facing; and his
+ruff, next his hair the shortest thing about him. The companion of his
+walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange points,
+which they both understand alike. His friends and much painfulness may
+prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a chambermaid;
+with whom we leave him now in the bonds of wedlock:--next Sunday you
+shall have him again.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GRAVE DIVINE</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make
+his shoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch
+forth of his port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning,
+and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end
+of his studies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts
+his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with human reading,
+or to smooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
+both religions, and anchored in the best, and is a protestant out of
+judgment, not faction; not because his country, but his reason is on
+this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit
+not his itch, but fear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric,
+and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with
+inforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his
+meditations at one butt; and beats upon his text, not the cushion;
+making his hearers, not the pulpit, groan. In citing of popish errors,
+he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels them with barren invectives;
+and labours more to shew the truth of his cause than the spleen. His
+sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his devotion
+goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week,
+because he would not be idle; nor talks three hours together, because he
+would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches at fit times, and his
+conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony, he is
+not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow
+his judgment to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a surplice.
+He esteems the Church hierarchy as the Church's glory, and however we
+jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In
+simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes in the bargain, and is
+loath to come by promotion so dear: yet his worth at length advances
+him, and the price of his own merit buys him a living. He is no base
+grater of his tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer
+is the only man he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels.
+He is a main pillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his
+life our religion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
+in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example.<a name="FNanchor10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10"><sup>[10]</sup></a></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE DULL PHYSICIAN.</h2>
+
+<p>His practice is some business at bedsides, and his speculation an
+urinal: he is distinguished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap and
+doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is
+doctor howsoever. He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as university
+men to their statutes, though they never saw them; and his discourse is
+all aphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont,<a name="FNanchor11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> or the
+Regiment of Health.<a name="FNanchor12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> The best cure he has done is upon his own purse,
+which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His
+learning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and
+the superscriptions of gallipots in his apothecary's shop, which are
+ranked in his shelves and the doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only
+languaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many times when he knows not. If
+he have been but a bystander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered
+with it though he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that
+his practice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes
+best the smell of urine, and holds Vespasian's<a name="FNanchor13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> rule, that no gain is
+unsavory. If you send this once to him you must resolve to be sick
+howsoever, for he will never leave examining your water, till he has
+shaked it into disease:<a name="FNanchor14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> then follows a writ to his drugger in a
+strange tongue, which he understands, though he cannot construe. If he
+see you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot
+heal your sickness, he will be sure to help it. He translates his
+apothecary's shop into your chamber, and the very windows and benches
+must take physic. He tells you your malady in Greek, though it be but a
+cold, or head-ache; which by good endeavour and diligence he may bring
+to some moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is, that he leaves a man
+gasping, and his pretence is, death and he have a quarrel and must not
+meet; but his fear is, lest the carcase should bleed.<a name="FNanchor15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> Anatomies, and
+other spectacles of mortality, have hardened him, and he is no more
+struck with a funeral than a grave-maker. Noblemen use him for a
+director of their stomach, and the ladies for wantonness,<a name="FNanchor16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16"><sup>[16]</sup></a> especially
+if he be a proper man. If he be single, he is in league with his
+she-apothecary; and because it is the physician, the husband is patient.
+If he have leisure to be idle (that is to study), he has a smatch at
+alchemy, and is sick of the philosopher's stone; a disease uncurable,
+but by an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His two main opposites are a
+mountebank and a good woman, and he never shews his learning so much as
+in an invective against them and their boxes. In conclusion, he is a
+sucking consumption, and a very brother to the worms, for they are both
+ingendered out of man's corruption.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ALDERMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He is venerable in his gown, more in his beard, wherewith he sets not
+forth so much his own, as the face of a city. You must look on him as
+one of the town gates, and consider him not as a body, but a
+corporation. His eminency above others hath made him a man of worship,
+for he had never been preferred, but that he was worth thousands. He
+over-sees the commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argument of his
+policy, that he has thriven by his craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in
+his ward; yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be like the
+balances in his warehouse. A ponderous man he is, and substantial, for
+his weight is commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment nothing
+rises so much as his belly. His head is of no great depth, yet well
+furnished; and when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may bring
+forth a city apophthegm, or some such sage matter. He is one that will
+not hastily run into error, for he treads with great deliberation, and
+his judgment consists much as his pace. His discourse is commonly the
+annals of his mayoralty, and what good government there was in the days
+of his gold chain, though the door posts were the only things that
+suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely religious, especially on
+solemn days; for he comes often to church to make a shew, [and is a part
+of the quire hangings.] He is the highest star of his profession, and an
+example to his trade, what in time they may come to. He makes very much
+of his authority, but more of his satin doublet, which, though of good
+years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh every Sunday: but his
+scarlet gown is a monument, and lasts from generation to generation.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DISCONTENTED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that is fallen out with the world, and will be revenged on
+himself. Fortune has denied him in something, and he now takes pet, and
+will be miserable in spite. The root of his disease is a self-humouring
+pride, and an accustomed tenderness not to be crossed in his fancy; and
+the occasion commonly of one of these three, a hard father, a peevish
+wench, or his ambition thwarted. He considered not the nature of the
+world till he felt it, and all blows fall on him heavier, because they
+light not first on his expectation. He has now foregone all but his
+pride, and is yet vain-glorious in the ostentation of his melancholy.
+His composure of himself is a studied carelessness, with his arms
+across, and a neglected hanging of his head and cloak; and he is as
+great an enemy to a hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels at the time and
+up-starts, and sighs at the neglect of men of parts, that is, such as
+himself. His life is a perpetual satire, and he is still girding the
+age's vanity, when this very anger shews he too much esteems it. He is
+much displeased to see men merry, and wonders what they can find to
+laugh at. He never draws his own lips higher than a smile, and frowns
+wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into that deadly melancholy
+to be a bitter hater of men, and is the most apt companion for any
+mischief. He is the spark that kindles the commonwealth, and the bellows
+himself to blow it: and if he turn any thing, it is commonly one of
+these, either friar, traitor, or mad-man.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ANTIQUARY.</h2>
+
+<p>He is a man strangely thrifty of time past, and an enemy indeed to his
+maw, whence he fetches out many things when they are now all rotten and
+stinking. He is one that hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured of
+old age and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese), the
+better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because
+we say it is most antient; and yet a broken statue would almost make him
+an idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and
+reads only those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. He
+will go you forty miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey; an
+there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the way, he'll be
+considering it so long, till he forget his journey. His estate consists
+much in shekels, and Roman coins; and he hath more pictures of C&aelig;sar,
+than James or Elizabeth. Beggars cozen him with musty things which they
+have raked from dung-hills, and he preserves their rags for precious
+relics. He loves no library, but where there are more spiders' volumes
+than authors', and looks with great admiration on the antique work of
+cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this latter age, but
+a manuscript he pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all
+moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between every syllable. He
+would give all the books in his study (which are rarities all), for one
+of the old Roman binding, or six-lines of Tully in his own hand. His
+chamber is hung commonly with strange beasts' skins, and is a kind of
+charnel-house of bones extraordinary; and his discourse upon them, if
+you will hear him, shall last longer. His very attire is that which is
+the eldest out of fashion, [<a name="FNanchor17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17"><sup>[17]</sup></a> <i>and you may pick a criticism out of
+his breeches</i>.] He never looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and
+then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His grave does not fright
+him, for he has been used to sepulchres, and he likes death the better,
+because it gathers him to his fathers.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A YOUNGER BROTHER.</h2>
+
+<p>His elder brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like
+Jacob at his heels. His father has done with him as Pharaoh to the
+children of Israel, that would have them make brick and give them no
+straw, so he tasks him to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to
+maintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder's
+knighthood must sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His birth and
+bringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth;
+but he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, of his
+brother. He is something better than the serving-men; yet they more
+saucy with him than he bold with the master, who beholds him with a
+countenance of stern awe, and checks him oftener than his liveries. His
+brother's old suits and he are much alike in request, and cast off now
+and then one to the other. Nature hath furnished him with a little more
+wit upon compassion, for it is like to be his best revenue. If his
+annuity stretch so far, he is sent to the university, and with great
+heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as a profession he is
+condemned to by his ill fortune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
+the king's high-way; where at length their vizard is plucked off, and
+they strike fair for Tyburn: but their brother's pride, not love, gets
+them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries,<a name="FNanchor18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18"><sup>[18]</sup></a> where rags and
+lice are no scandal, where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, and
+dies without a shirt. The only thing that may better his fortunes is an
+art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and then some
+rich widow that is hungry after his blood. He is commonly discontented
+and desperate, and the form of his exclamation is, <i>that churl my
+brother</i>. He loves not his country for this unnatural custom, and would
+have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent<a name="FNanchor19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19"><sup>[19]</sup></a> only, which
+he holds in admiration.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE FORMAL MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is somewhat more than the shape of a man, for he has his length,
+breadth, and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked
+through him, and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is
+merely example, and his action is not guided by his understanding, but
+he sees other men do thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we
+cannot call him a wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a
+knave; nor a protestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain
+is the carriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame;
+which he performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other
+meditations. His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he
+swears, in the phrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair
+inviter, and can excuse his good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has
+some faculty in the mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of his
+morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He apprehends a jest by seeing men
+smile, and laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his turn. His
+businesses with his friends are to visit them, and whilst the business
+is no more, he can perform this well enough. His discourse is the news
+that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other matters his discretion
+is, that he will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His life is
+like one that runs to the church-walk,<a name="FNanchor20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20"><sup>[20]</sup></a> to take a turn or two, and so
+passes. He hath staid in the world to fill a number; and when he is
+gone, there wants one, and there's an end.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CHURCH-PAPIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that parts his religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, and
+comes to church not to serve God but the king. The face of the law makes
+him wear the mask of the gospel, which he uses not as a means to save
+his soul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to lose by it;
+and though he be something scared with the bulls of Rome, yet they are
+far off, and he is struck with more terror at the apparitor. Once a
+month he presents himself at the church, to keep off the church-warden,
+and brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels with the
+congregation, but prays by himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming
+thither. If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his hat over his
+eyes, and frowns out the hour; and when he comes home, thinks to make
+amends for this fault by abusing the preacher. His main policy is to
+shift off the communion, for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel,
+and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter; and indeed he lies not,
+for he has a quarrel to the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr and
+good traveller, for his conscience is so large he could never wander out
+of it; and in Constantinople would be circumcised with a reservation.
+His wife is more zealous and therefore more costly, and he bates her in
+tires what she stands him in religion. But we leave him hatching plots
+against the state, and expecting Spinola.<a name="FNanchor21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21"><sup>[21]</sup></a></p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SELF-CONCEITED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that knows himself so well, that he does not know himself. Two
+excellent well-dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it that first
+commended him to madness. He is now become his own book, which he pores
+on continually, yet like a truant reader skips over the harsh places,
+and surveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own
+good parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy,
+like an old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He
+imagines every place where he comes his theatre, and not a look stirring
+but his spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that
+is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a march,
+and like his opinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his
+own person, or on others with reflection to himself. If he have done any
+thing that has passed with applause, he is always re-acting it alone,
+and conceits the extasy his hearers were in at every period. His
+discourse is all positions and definitive decrees, with <i>thus it must
+be</i> and <i>thus it is</i>, and he will not humble his authority to prove it.
+His tenet is always singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can, from
+which you must not hope to wrest him. He has an excellent humour for an
+heretic, and in these days made the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus
+before Aristotle, and Paracelsus before Galen,<a name="FNanchor22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22"><sup>[22]</sup></a> [<i>and whosoever with
+most paradox is commended.</i>] He much pities the world that has no more
+insight in his parts, when he is too well discovered even to this very
+thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him, for he can tell him nothing but
+what he knows before: and yet he loves him too, because he is like
+himself. Men are merciful to him, and let him alone, for if he be once
+driven from his humour, he is like two inward friends fallen out: his
+own bitter enemy and discontent presently makes a murder. In sum, he is
+a bladder blown up with wind, which the least flaw crushes to nothing.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TOO IDLY RESERVED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a strange piece of politician,
+that manages the state of himself. His actions are his privy-council,
+wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and
+prescription, and dare not show his teeth without Machiavel. He
+converses with his neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an
+inquisitive man as much as the inquisition. He suspects all questions
+for examinations, and thinks you would pick something out of him, and
+avoids you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, which locks up
+every toy or trifle, or some bragging mountebank that makes every
+stinking thing a secret. He delivers you common matters with great
+conjuration of silence, and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament.
+You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoever he
+reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for fear of bad
+comments, and <i>he knows not how his words may be misapplied</i>. Ask his
+opinion, and he tells you his doubt; and he never hears any thing more
+astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cards at
+primivist,<a name="FNanchor23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23"><sup>[23]</sup></a> where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify what
+they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if
+he swore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be
+craftier than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction
+to hinder their plots and designs, where they mean freely. He has been
+long a riddle himself, but at last finds OEdipuses; for his over-acted
+dissimulation discovers him, and men do with him as they would with
+Hebrew letters, spell him backwards and read him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TAVERN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs above an ale-house,
+where men are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's
+nose<a name="FNanchor24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24"><sup>[24]</sup></a> be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is
+supplied by the ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers
+that have been washed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next
+morning; not furnished with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary
+implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more
+news than hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here
+by some spungy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men come
+here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this musick above is
+answered with the clinking below. The drawers are the civilest people in
+it, men of good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can
+boast more justly of their high calling. 'Tis the best theatre of
+natures, where they are truly acted, not played, and the business as in
+the rest of the world up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar
+to the great chamber. A melancholy man would find here matter to work
+upon, to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often broken; men come
+hither to quarrel, and come hither to be made friends: and if Plutarch
+will lend me his simile, it is even Telephus's sword that makes wounds
+and cures them. It is the common consumption of the afternoon, and the
+murderer or maker-away of a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that
+scorches <i>the</i><a name="FNanchor25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25"><sup>[25]</sup></a> face, and tobacco the gun-powder that blows it up.
+Much harm would be done, if the charitable vintner had not water ready
+for these flames. A house of sin you may call it, but not a house of
+darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is like those countries
+far in the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as at mid-day. After
+a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing shower, where the
+spouts are flushing above, and the conduits running below, while the
+Jordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. To give you the total
+reckoning of it; it is the busy man's recreation, the idle man's
+business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the
+inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness, and the
+citizen's courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of
+canary<a name="FNanchor26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26"><sup>[26]</sup></a> their book, whence we leave them.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SHARK</h2>
+
+<p>Is one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. He
+is some needy cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung off, yet
+still clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon any thing
+that is next at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks he has happily
+lost shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his brain to more
+use than he, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new
+stratagem. He has an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there
+passed but <i>how do you</i> betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice
+for an embrace, and that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack out
+of joy to see you, and in requital of his courtesy you can do no less
+than pay for it. He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a school-boy
+with his points, when he is going to be whipped, 'till the master, weary
+with long stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is paid, he says, It
+must not be so, yet is straight pacified, and cries, What remedy? His
+borrowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling or two, as he can
+well dispend; which they lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but
+that he will come no more. He holds a strange tyranny over men, for he
+is their debtor, and they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of any
+employment, though it be but to carry commendations, which he will be
+sure to deliver at eleven of the clock<a name="FNanchor27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27"><sup>[27]</sup></a>. They in courtesy bid him
+stay, and he in manners cannot deny them. If he find but a good look to
+assure his welcome, he becomes their half-boarder, and haunts the
+threshold so long 'till he forces good nature to the necessity of a
+quarrel. Publick invitations he will not wrong with his absence, and is
+the best witness of the sheriff's hospitality<a name="FNanchor28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28"><sup>[28]</sup></a>. Men shun him at
+length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossed in his way
+if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the age as his
+clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CARRIER</h2>
+
+<p>Is his own hackney-man; for he lets himself out to travel as well as his
+horses. He is the ordinary embassador between friend and friend, the
+father and the son, and brings rich presents to the one, but never
+returns any back again. He is no unlettered man, though in show simple;
+for questionless, he has much in his budget, which he can utter too in
+fit time and place. He is [like] the vault in<a name="FNanchor29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29"><sup>[29]</sup></a> Gloster church, that
+conveys whispers at a distance, for he takes the sound out of your mouth
+at York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young
+student's joy and expectation, and the most accepted guest, to whom they
+lend a willing hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting
+is commonly, <i>Your friends are well; [and to prove it<a name="FNanchor30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30"><sup>[30]</sup></a>]</i> in a piece
+of gold delivers their blessing. You would think him a churlish blunt
+fellow, but they find in him many tokens of humanity. He is a great
+afflicter of the high-ways, and beats them out of measure; which injury
+is sometimes revenged by the purse-taker, and then the voyage
+miscarries. No man domineers more in his inn, nor calls his host
+unreverently with more presumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of
+the strength of his horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his
+ease, for he is drunk commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the
+prodigal child, still packing away and still returning again. But
+let him pass.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A YOUNG MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He is now out of nature's protection, though not yet able to guide
+himself; but left loose to the world and fortune, from which the
+weakness of his childhood preserved him; and now his strength exposes
+him. He is, indeed, just of age to be miserable, yet in his own conceit
+first begins to be happy; and he is happier in this imagination, and his
+misery not felt is less. He sees yet but the outside of the world and
+men, and conceives them, according to their appearing, glister, and out
+of this ignorance believes them. He pursues all vanities for happiness,
+and<a name="FNanchor31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31"><sup>[31]</sup></a> [<i>enjoys them best in this fancy.</i>] His reason serves, not to
+curb but understand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with
+a more eager earnestness. Himself is his own temptation, and needs not
+Satan, and the world will come hereafter. He leaves repentance for grey
+hairs, and performs it in being covetous. He is mingled with the vices
+of the age as the fashion and custom, with which he longs to be
+acquainted, and sins to better his understanding. He conceives his youth
+as the season of his lust, and the hour wherein he ought to be bad; and
+because he would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes religion as
+a sad thing, and is six years elder for a thought of heaven. He scorns
+and fears, and yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it with
+wrinkles. He loves and hates with the same inflammation, and when the
+heat is over is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friendship is
+seldom so steadfast, but that lust, drink, or anger may overturn it. He
+offers you his blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take yours
+to-morrow. He does seldom any thing which he wishes not to do again, and
+is only wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his knowledge, and
+a great deal of folly it is makes him a wise man. He is free from many
+vices, by being not grown to the performance, and is only more virtuous
+out of weakness. Every action is his danger, and every man his ambush.
+He is a ship without pilot or tackling, and only good fortune may steer
+him. If he scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and may live to be
+a man.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN OLD COLLEGE BUTLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is none of the worst students in the house, for he keeps the set hours
+at his book more duly than any. His authority is great over men's good
+names, which he charges many times with shrewd aspersions, which they
+hardly wipe off without payment. [His box and counters prove him to be a
+man of reckoning, yet] he is stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and
+delivers not a farthing without writing. He doubles the pains of
+Gallobelgicus<a name="FNanchor32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32"><sup>[32]</sup></a>, for his books go out once a quarter, and they are
+much in the same nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are out of
+request as soon. His comings in are like a taylor's, from the shreds of
+bread, [the] chippings and remnants of a broken crust; excepting his
+vails from the barrel, which poor folks buy for their hogs but drink
+themselves. He divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety than
+Keckerman<a name="FNanchor33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33"><sup>[33]</sup></a>, and sub-divides the <i>&agrave; prima ortum</i> so nicely, that a
+stomach of great capacity can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober
+man, considering his manifold temptations of drink and strangers; and if
+he be overseen, 'tis within his own liberties, and no man ought to take
+exception. He is never so well pleased with his place as when a
+gentleman is beholden to him for showing him the buttery, whom he greets
+with a cup of single beer and sliced manchet<a name="FNanchor34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34"><sup>[34]</sup></a>, and tells him it is
+the fashion of the college. He domineers over freshmen when they first
+come to the hatch, and puzzles them with strange language of cues and
+cees, and some broken Latin which he has learned at his bin. His
+faculties extraordinary are the warming of a pair of cards, and telling
+out a dozen of counters for post and pair, and no man is more methodical
+in these businesses. Thus he spends his age till the tap of it is run
+out, and then a fresh one is set abroach.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UPSTART COUNTRY KNIGHT</h2>
+
+<p>[<i>Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the stuff of his clothes, not
+the stuff of himself</i>,<a name="FNanchor35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35"><sup>[35]</sup></a>] for he bare the king's sword before he had
+arms to wield it; yet being once laid o'er the shoulder with a
+knighthood, he finds the herald his friend. His father was a man of good
+stock, though but a tanner or usurer; he purchased the land, and his son
+the title. He has doffed off the name of a [<i>country fellow</i>,<a name="FNanchor36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36"><sup>[36]</sup></a>] but
+the look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish of churn-milk.
+He is guarded with more gold lace than all the gentlemen of the country,
+yet his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping
+is seen much in the distinct families of dogs, and serving-men attendant
+on their kennels, and the deepness of their throats is the depth of his
+discourse. A hawk he esteems the true burden of nobility,<a name="FNanchor37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37"><sup>[37]</sup></a> and is
+exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the sport, and have his fist
+gloved with his jesses.<a name="FNanchor38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38"><sup>[38]</sup></a> A justice of peace he is to domineer in his
+parish, and do his neighbour wrong with more right.<a name="FNanchor39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39"><sup>[39]</sup></a> He will be drunk
+with his hunters for company, and stain, his gentility with droppings of
+ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the shire by instinct, and dreads
+the assize-week as much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod of his
+own earth, or his land is the dunghill and he the cock that crows over
+it: and commonly his race is quickly run, and his children's children,
+though they scape hanging, return to the place from whence they came.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN IDLE GALLANT</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that was born and shaped for his cloaths; and, if Adam had not
+fallen, had lived to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the first sin,
+and fig-leaves that were an occasion of [his] bravery. His first care is
+his dress, the next his body, and in the uniting of these two lies his
+soul and its faculties. He observes London trulier then the terms, and
+his business is the street, the stage, the court, and those places where
+a proper man is best shown. If he be qualified in gaming extraordinary,
+he is so much the more genteel and compleat, and he learns the best
+oaths for the purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, and he
+is as curious in their newness as the fashion. His other talk is ladies
+and such pretty things, or some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a
+great part in his discourse, so does his body, the upper parts whereof
+are as starched as his linen, and perchance use the same laundress. He
+has learned to ruffle his face from his boot, and takes great delight in
+his walk to hear his spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat
+slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the time, for he is still
+drawing his watch out of his pocket, and spends part of his hours in
+numbering them. He is one never serious but with his tailor, when he is
+in conspiracy for the next device. He is furnished with his jests, as
+some wanderer with sermons, some three for all congregations, one
+especially against the scholar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he
+knows by no other definition but a silly fellow in black. He is a kind
+of walking mercer's shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and another
+to-morrow; an ornament to the room he comes in as the fair bed and
+hangings be; and is merely ratable accordingly, fifty or an hundred
+pounds as his suit is. His main ambition is to get a knighthood, and
+then an old lady, which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and a
+coach so much longer: Otherwise, himself and his clothes grow stale
+together, and he is buried commonly ere he dies, in the gaol or
+the country.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CONSTABLE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a viceroy in the street, and no man stands more upon't that he is the
+king's officer. His jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he
+has commission for the heels only, and sets the rest of the body at
+liberty. He is a scarecrow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his
+morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard for not standing in the
+king's name. Beggars fear him more than the justice, and as much as the
+whip-stock, whom he delivers over to his subordinate magistrates, the
+bridewell-man and the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tumults of
+double jugs, and ventures his head by his place, which is broke many
+times to keep whole the peace. He is never so much in his majesty as in
+his night-watch, where he sits in his chair of state, a shop-stall, and
+environed with a guard of halberts, examines all passengers. He is a
+very careful man in his office, but if he stay up after midnight you
+shall take him napping.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DOWN-RIGHT SCHOLAR</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has much learning in the ore, unwrought and untried, which
+time and experience fashions and refines. He is good metal in the
+inside, though rough and unsecured without, and therefore hated of the
+courtier, that is quite contrary. The time has got a vein of making him
+ridiculous, and men laugh at him by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity
+but is put upon his profession, and done like a scholar. But his fault
+is only this, that his mind is [somewhat] too much taken up with his
+mind, and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage besides. He has not
+put on the quaint garb of the age, which is now a man's [<i>Imprimis and
+all the Item</i>.<a name="FNanchor40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40"><sup>[40]</sup></a>] He has not humbled his meditations to the industry
+of compliment, nor afflicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body is
+not set upon nice pins, to be turning and flexible for every motion, but
+his scrape is homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his hand and cry,
+madam, nor talk idle enough to bear her company. His smacking of a
+gentlewoman is somewhat too savoury, and he mistakes her nose for her
+lips. A very woodcock would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the
+logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty of sliding over a tale,
+but his words come squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laughter
+commonly before the jest. He names this word college too often, and his
+discourse beats too much on the university. The perplexity of
+mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is sharp set at an argument
+when he should cut his meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all games
+but one and thirty<a name="FNanchor41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41"><sup>[41]</sup></a>, and at tables he reaches not beyond doublets.
+His fingers are not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but his fist
+clunched with the habit of disputing. He ascends a horse somewhat
+sinisterly, though not on the left side, and they both go jogging in
+grief together. He is exceedingly censured by the inns-of-court men, for
+that heinous vice, being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a dog in his
+own dialect, and understands Greek better than the language of a
+falconer. He has been used to a dark room, and dark clothes, and his
+eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The hermitage of his study has made him
+somewhat uncouth in the world, and men make him worse by staring on him.
+Thus is he [silly and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for some
+quarter of a year out of the university. But practise him a little in
+men, and brush him over with good company, and he shall out-balance
+those glisterers, as far as a solid substance does a feather, or gold,
+gold-lace.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PLAIN COUNTRY FELLOW</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that manures his ground well, but lets himself lie fallow and
+untilled. He has reason enough to do his business, and not enough to be
+idle or melancholy. He seems to have the punishment of Nebuchadnezzar,
+for his conversation is among beasts, and his talons none of the
+shortest, only he eats not grass, because he loves not salads. His hand
+guides the plough, and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and
+land-mark is the very mound of his meditations. He expostulates with his
+oxen very understandingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than English.
+His mind is not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat cow come
+in his way, he stands dumb and astonished, and though his haste be never
+so great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation. His habitation is
+some poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn by the loop-holes
+that let out smoke, which the rain had long since washed through, but
+for the double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which has hung there from
+his grandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for posterity. His
+dinner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour;
+he is a terrible fastener on a piece of beef, and you may hope to stave
+the guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his copyhold, which he
+takes from his landlord, and refers it wholly to his discretion: Yet if
+he give him leave he is a good Christian to his power, (that is,) comes
+to church in his best clothes, and sits there with his neighbours, where
+he is capable only of two prayers, for rain, and fair weather. He
+apprehends God's blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, and
+never praises him but on <i>good ground</i>. Sunday he esteems a day to make
+merry in, and thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening-prayer,
+where he walks very solemnly after service with his hands coupled behind
+him, and censures the dancing of his parish. [His compliment with his
+neighbour is a good thump on the back, and his salutation commonly some
+blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices, but pride and
+ill-husbandry, from which he will gravely dissuade the youth, and has
+some thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his discourse. He is a niggard
+all the week, except only market-day, where, if his corn sell well, he
+thinks he may be drunk with a good conscience. His feet never stink so
+unbecomingly as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster-hall, and
+even cleaves the ground with hard scraping in beseeching his worship to
+take his money. He is sensible of no calamity but the burning a stack of
+corn or the overflowing of a meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the
+greatest plague that ever was, not because it drowned the world, but
+spoiled the grass. For death he is never troubled, and if he get in but
+his harvest before, let it come when it will, he cares not.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PLAYER.</h2>
+
+<p>He knows the right use of the world, wherein he comes to play a part and
+so away. His life is not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be
+more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. His
+profession has in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more disliked,
+and yet none more applauded; and he has the misfortune of some scholar,
+too much wit makes him a fool. He is like our painting gentlewomen,
+seldom in his own face, seldomer in his clothes; and he pleases, the
+better he counterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for
+gold lace. He does not only personate on the stage, but sometimes in the
+street, for he is masked still in the habit of a gentleman. His parts
+find him oaths and good words, which he keeps for his use and discourse,
+and makes shew with them of a fashionable companion. He is tragical on
+the stage, but rampant in the tiring-house,<a name="FNanchor42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42"><sup>[42]</sup></a> and swears oaths there
+which he never conned. The waiting women spectators are over-ears in
+love with him, and ladies send for him to act in their chambers. Your
+inns-of-court men were undone but for him, he is their chief guest and
+employment, and the sole business that makes them afternoon's-men. The
+poet only is his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's friend
+drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday he fears as much as the banns, and
+Lent<a name="FNanchor43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43"><sup>[43]</sup></a> is more damage to him than the butcher. He was never so much
+discredited as in one act, and that was of parliament, which gives
+hostlers privilege before him, for which he abhors it more than a
+corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one well-furnished actor has
+enough in him for five common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body,
+[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge any Cato, for it has
+been his practice to die bravely.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DETRACTOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is one of a more cunning and active envy, wherewith he gnaws not
+foolishly himself, but throws it abroad and would have it blister
+others. He is commonly some weak parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is
+strangely ambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but
+bringing them down with his tongue to his own poorness. He is indeed
+like the red dragon that pursued the woman, for when he cannot
+over-reach another, he opens his mouth and throws a flood after to drown
+him. You cannot anger him worse than to do well, and he hates you more
+bitterly for this, than if you had cheated him of his patrimony with
+your own discredit. He is always slighting the general opinion, and
+wondering why such and such men should be applauded. Commend a good
+divine, he cries postilling; a philologer, pedantry; a poet, rhiming; a
+school-man, dull wrangling; a sharp conceit, boyishness; an honest man,
+plausibility. He comes to publick things not to learn, but to catch, and
+if there be but one solecism, that is all he carries away. He looks on
+all things with a prepared sourness, and is still furnished with a pish
+beforehand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all things
+whatsoever. If fear of the company make him second a commendation, it is
+like a law-writ, always with a clause of exception, or to smooth his way
+to some greater scandal. He will grant you something, and bate more; and
+this bating shall in conclusion take away all he granted. His speech
+concludes still with an Oh! but,--and I could wish one thing amended;
+and this one thing shall be enough to deface all his former
+commendations. He will be very inward with a man to fish some bad out of
+him, and make his slanders hereafter more authentic, when it is said a
+friend reported it. He will inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good
+name into his clutches; he will be your pandar to have you on the hip
+for a whore-master, and make you drunk to shew you reeling. He passes
+the more plausibly because all men have a smatch of his humour, and it
+is thought freeness which is malice. If he can say nothing of a man, he
+will seem to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he
+would; and when he has racked his invention to the utmost, he ends;--but
+I wish him well, and therefore must hold my peace. He is always
+listening and enquiring after men, and suffers not a cloak to pass by
+him unexamined. In brief, he is one that has lost all good himself, and
+is loth to find it in another.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF THE UNIVERSITY</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and to say hereafter, he has
+been at the university. His father sent him thither because he heard
+there were the best fencing and dancing-schools; from these he has his
+education, from his tutor the over-sight. The first element of his
+knowledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated in a tavern by the
+way, which hereafter he will learn of himself. The two marks of his
+seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his proficiency at
+tennis, where when he can once play a set, he is a freshman no more. His
+study has commonly handsome shelves, his books neat silk strings, which
+he shews to his father's man, and is loth to untie<a name="FNanchor44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44"><sup>[44]</sup></a> or take down for
+fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for recreation he retires thither,
+and looks over the pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is commonly
+some short history, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his tutor gives
+him money to spend next day. His main loytering is at the library, where
+he studies arms and books of honour, and turns a gentleman critic in
+pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to be mistaken for a scholar,
+and hates a black suit though it be made of sattin. His companion is
+ordinarily some stale fellow, that has been notorious for an ingle to
+gold hatbands,<a name="FNanchor45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45"><sup>[45]</sup></a> whom he admires at first, afterwards scorns. If he
+have spirit or wit he may light of better company, and may learn some
+flashes of wit, which may do him knight's service in the country
+hereafter. But he is now gone to the inns-of-court, where he studies to
+forget what he learned before, his acquaintance and the fashion.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WEAK MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature huddled up in haste, and
+left his best part unfinished. The rest of him is grown to be a man,
+only his brain stays behind. He is one that has not improved his first
+rudiments, nor attained any proficiency by his stay in the world: but we
+may speak of him yet as when he was in the bud, a good harmless nature,
+a well meaning mind<a name="FNanchor46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46"><sup>[46]</sup></a> [<i>and no more</i>] It is his misery that he now
+wants a tutor, and is too old to have one. He is two steps above a fool,
+and a great many more below a wise man: yet the fool is oft given him,
+and by those whom he esteems most. Some tokens of him are,--he loves men
+better upon relation than experience, for he is exceedingly enamoured of
+strangers, and none quicklier aweary of his friend. He charges you at
+first meeting with all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows
+more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes much his abusers for
+friends, and his friends for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in
+nothing so much as in good counsel. One that is flexible with any thing
+but reason, and then only perverse. [A servant to every tale and
+flatterer, and whom the last man still works over.] A great affecter of
+wits and such prettinesses; and his company is costly to him, for he
+seldom has it but invited. His friendship commonly is begun in a supper,
+and lost in lending money. The tavern is a dangerous place to him, for
+to drink and be drunk is with him all one, and his brain is sooner
+quenched than his thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with company, but
+suffers alone, and the bastard commonly laid to his charge. One that
+will be patiently abused, and take exception a month after when he
+understands it, and then be abused again into a reconcilement; and you
+cannot endear him more than by cozening him, and it is a temptation to
+those that would not. One discoverable in all silliness to all men but
+himself, and you may take any man's knowledge of him better than his
+own. He will promise the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny one
+break with all. One that has no power over himself, over his business,
+over his friends, but a prey and pity to all; and if his fortunes once
+sink, men quickly cry, Alas!--and forget him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TOBACCO-SELLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of but do not;
+for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with
+greater seriousness, or challenges your judgment more in the
+approbation. His shop is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue
+with their noses, and their communication is smoke.<a name="FNanchor47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47"><sup>[47]</sup></a> It is the place
+only where Spain is commended and preferred before England itself. He
+should be well experienced in the world, for he has daily trial of men's
+nostrils, and none is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing
+commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and that to
+his wife, which is the flame that follows this smoke.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A POT-POET</h2>
+
+<p>Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good drink may have some relish.
+His inspirations are more real than others, for they do but feign a God,
+but he has his by him. His verse runs like the tap, and his invention as
+the barrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spigot. In thin drink he
+aspires not above a ballad, but a cup of sack inflames him, and sets his
+muse and nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and stamps him now
+and then a sixpence or two in reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His
+works would scarce sell for three half-pence, though they are given oft
+for three shillings, but for the pretty title that allures the country
+gentleman; for which the printer maintains him in ale a fortnight. His
+verses are like his clothes miserable centoes<a name="FNanchor48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48"><sup>[48]</sup></a> and patches, yet their
+pace is not altogether so hobbling as an almanack's. The death of a
+great man or the <i>burning</i><a name="FNanchor49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49"><sup>[49]</sup></a> of a house furnish him with an argument,
+and the nine Muses are out strait in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries
+fire! fire! [His other poems are but briefs in rhyme, and like the poor
+Greeks collections to redeem from captivity.] He is a man now much
+employed in commendations of our navy, and a bitter inveigher against
+the Spaniard. His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are
+chanted from market to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst
+the poor country wench melts like her butter to hear them: and these are
+the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a strange monster out of
+Germany;<a name="FNanchor50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50"><sup>[50]</sup></a> or, sitting in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments. He
+drops away at last in some obscure painted cloth, to which himself made
+the verses,<a name="FNanchor51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51"><sup>[51]</sup></a> and his life, like a can too full, spills upon the
+bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, which my hostess loses.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PLAUSIBLE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that would fain run an even path in the world, and jut against no
+man. His endeavour is not to offend, and his aim the general opinion.
+His conversation is a kind of continued compliment, and his life a
+practice of manners. The relation he bears to others, a kind of
+fashionable respect, not friendship but friendliness, which is equal to
+all and general, and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. He loves
+not deeper mutualities, because he would not take sides, nor hazard
+himself on displeasures, which he principally avoids. At your first
+acquaintance with him he is exceedingly kind and friendly, and at your
+twentieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an excellent command
+over his patience and tongue, especially the last, which he accommodates
+always to the times and persons, and speaks seldom what is sincere, but
+what is civil. He is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths,
+and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He considers who are friends
+to the company, and speaks well where he is sure to hear of it again.]
+He can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausive attention, and
+conceal his laughter at nonsense. Silly men much honour and esteem him,
+because by his fair reasoning with them as with men of understanding, he
+puts them into an erroneous opinion of themselves, and makes them
+forwarder hereafter to their own discovery. He is one <i>rather well</i><a name="FNanchor52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52"><sup>[52]</sup></a>
+thought on than beloved, and that love he has is more of whole companies
+together than any one in particular. Men gratify him notwithstanding
+with a good report, and whatever vices he has besides, yet having no
+enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BOWL-ALLEY</h2>
+
+<p>Is the place where there are three things thrown away beside bowls, to
+wit, time, money, and curses, and the last ten for one. The best sport
+in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it that looks on and bets not. It
+is the school of wrangling, and worse than the schools, for men will
+cavil here for a hair's breadth, and make a stir where a straw would end
+the controversy. No antick screws men's bodies into such strange
+flexures, and you would think them here senseless, to speak sense to
+their bowl, and put their trust in entreaties for a good cast. The
+betters are the factious noise of the alley, or the gamesters bedesmen
+that pray for them. They are somewhat like those that are cheated by
+great men, for they lose their money and must say nothing. It is the
+best discovery of humours, especially in the losers, where you have fine
+variety of impatience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, and
+others more ridiculously comfort themselves with philosophy. To give you
+the moral of it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's ambition:
+where most are short, or over, or wide or wrong-biassed, and some few
+justle in to the mistress Fortune. And it is here as in the court, where
+the nearest are most spited, and all blows aimed at the toucher.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE WORLD'S WISE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is an able and sufficient wicked man: It is a proof of his sufficiency
+that he is not called wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined in
+himself and his own ends, and his instruments herein any thing that will
+do it. His friends are a part of his engines, and as they serve to his
+works, used or laid by: Indeed he knows not this thing of friend, but if
+he give you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. Never more
+active in his businesses, than when they are mixed with some harm to
+others; and it is his best play in this game to strike off and lie in
+the place. Successful commonly in these undertakings, because he passes
+smoothly those rubs which others stumble at, as conscience and the like;
+and gratulates himself much in this advantage. Oaths and falsehood he
+counts the nearest way, and loves not by any means to go about. He has
+many fine quips at this folly of plain dealing, but his &quot;tush!&quot; is
+greatest at religion; yet he uses this too, and virtue and good words,
+but is less dangerously a devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to
+an unpractisedness in the world, and conscience a thing merely for
+children. He scorns all that are so silly to <i>trust</i><a name="FNanchor53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53"><sup>[53]</sup></a> him, and only
+not scorns his enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he fears him as a
+man well armed and provided, but sets boldly on good natures, as the
+most vanquishable. One that seriously admires those worst princes, as
+Sforza, Borgia, and Richard the Third; and calls matters of deep villany
+things of difficulty. To whom murders are but resolute acts, and treason
+a business of great consequence. One whom two or three countries make up
+to this completeness, and he has travelled for the purpose. His deepest
+endearment is a communication of mischief, and then only you have him
+fast. His conclusion is commonly one of these two, either a great man,
+or hanged.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SURGEON</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has some business about this building or little house of
+man, whereof nature is as it were the tiler, and he the plaisterer. It
+is ofter out of reparations than an old parsonage, and then he is set on
+work to patch it again. He deals most with broken commodities, as a
+broken head or a mangled face, and his gains are very ill got, for he
+lives by the hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a physician as a
+sore does from a disease, or the sick from those that are not whole, the
+one distempers you within, the other blisters you without. He complains
+of the decay of valour in these days, and sighs for that slashing age of
+sword and buckler; and thinks the law against duels was made merely to
+wound his vocation. He had been long since undone if the charity of the
+stews had not relieved him, from whom he has his tribute as duly as the
+pope; or a wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart pot hit right.
+The rareness of his custom makes him pitiless when it comes, and he
+holds a patient longer than our [spiritual] courts a cause. He tells you
+what danger you had been in if he had staid but a minute longer, and
+though it be but a pricked finger, he makes of it much matter. He is a
+reasonable cleanly man, considering the scabs he has to deal with, and
+your finest ladies are now and then beholden to him for their best
+dressings. He curses old gentlewomen and their charity that makes his
+trade their alms; but his envy is never stirred so much as when
+gentlemen go over to fight upon Calais sands,<a name="FNanchor54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54"><sup>[54]</sup></a> whom he wishes drowned
+ere they come there, rather than the French shall get his custom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CONTEMPLATIVE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a scholar in this great university the world; and the same his book
+and study. He cloisters not his meditations in the narrow darkness of a
+room, but sends them abroad with his eyes, and his brain travels with
+his feet. He looks upon man from a high tower, and sees him trulier at
+this distance in his infirmities and poorness. He scorns to mix himself
+in men's actions, as he would to act upon a stage; but sits aloft on the
+scaffold a censuring spectator. [He will not lose his time by being
+busy, or make so poor a use of the world as to hug and embrace it.]
+Nature admits him as a partaker of her sports, and asks his approbation,
+as it were, of her own works and variety. He comes not in company,
+because he would not be solitary; but finds discourse enough with
+himself, and his own thoughts are his excellent play-fellows. He looks
+not upon a thing as a yawning stranger at novelties, but his search is
+more mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven out of earth. He knits
+his observations together, and makes a ladder of them all to climb to
+God. He is free from vice, because he has no occasion to employ it, and
+is above those ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all that can
+here be taught him, and comes now to heaven to see more.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SHE PRECISE HYPOCRITE</h2>
+
+<p>Is one in whom good women suffer, and have their truth misinterpreted by
+her folly. She is one, she knows not what herself if you ask her, but
+she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the fashion of religion, and
+is enamoured of the new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close
+stomacher and ruff of Geneva print, <a name="FNanchor55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55"><sup>[55]</sup></a> and her purity consists much in
+her linen. She has heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very
+sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Babylon for a very naughty
+woman. She has left her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries in
+her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at the church is much in the
+turning up of her eye; and turning down the leaf in her book, when she
+hears named chapter and verse. When she comes home, she commends the
+sermon for the Scripture, and two hours. She loves preaching better than
+praying, and of preachers, lecturers; and thinks the week day's exercise
+far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her oftest gossipings are
+sabbath-day's journeys, where (though an enemy to superstition), she
+will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced minister, when there is a
+better sermon in her own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's
+salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows her own place in heaven as
+perfectly as the pew she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith she
+has no room for charity, and understands no good works but what are
+wrought on the sampler. She accounts nothing vices but superstition and
+an oath, and thinks adultery a less sin than to swear <i>by my truly.</i> She
+rails at other women by the names of Jezebel and Delilah; and calls her
+own daughters Rebecca and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She suffers
+them not to learn on the virginals, <a name="FNanchor56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56"><sup>[56]</sup></a> because of their affinity with
+organs, but is reconciled to the bells for the chimes' sake, since they
+were reformed to the tune of a psalm. She overflows so with the Bible,
+that she spills it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her maids
+without Scripture. It is a question whether she is more troubled with
+the Devil, or the Devil with her: she is always challenging and daring
+him, and her weapon <a name="FNanchor57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57"><sup>[57]</sup></a> [is The Practice of Piety.] Nothing angers her
+so much as that women cannot preach, and in this point only thinks the
+Brownist erroneous; but what she cannot at the church she does at the
+table, where she prattles more than any against sense and Antichrist,
+'till a capon's wing silence her. She expounds the priests of Baal,
+reading ministers, and thinks the salvation of that parish as desperate
+as the Turk's. She is a main derider to her capacity of those that are
+not her preachers, and censures all sermons but bad ones. If her husband
+be a tradesman, she helps him to customers, howsoever to good cheer, and
+they are a most faithful couple at these meetings, for they never fail.
+Her conscience is like others' lust, never satisfied, and you might
+better answer Scotus than her scruples. She is one that thinks she
+performs all her duties to God in hearing, and shows the fruits of it in
+talking. She is more fiery against the maypole than her husband, and
+thinks she might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the fiddler. She
+is an everlasting argument, but I am weary of her.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SCEPTIC IN RELIGION</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not
+one but stirs him and none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity than
+he is taken to be; for it is out of his belief of everything, that he
+fully believes nothing. Each religion scares him from its contrary: none
+persuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he is
+something of an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is partly a
+Christian; and a perfect heretic, but that there are so many to distract
+him. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least
+reason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most a
+confused and wild Christian, not specialized by any form, but capable of
+all. He uses the land's religion, because it is next him, yet he sees
+not why he may not take the other, but he chuses this, not as better,
+but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and scruples
+better than resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His
+learning is too much for his brain, and his judgment too little for his
+learning, and his over-opinion of both, spoils all. Pity it was his
+mischance of being a scholar; for it does only distract and irregulate
+him, and the world by him. He hammers much in general upon our opinion's
+uncertainty, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what
+is true. He is troubled at this naturalness of religion to countries,
+that protestantism should be born so in England and popery abroad, and
+that fortune and the stars should so much share in it. He likes not this
+connection with the commonweal and divinity, and fears it may be an
+arch-practice of state. In our differences with Rome he is strangely
+unfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-book's
+meditations transport him. He could like the gray hairs of popery, did
+not some dotages there stagger him: he would come to us sooner, but our
+new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles, but doubts an
+imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty
+and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth
+to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends
+true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is
+sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience
+interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by
+both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a
+good writer, and at Bellarmine <a name="FNanchor58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58"><sup>[58]</sup></a> recalls as far back again; and the
+fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus <a name="FNanchor59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59"><sup>[59]</sup></a> and
+Vorstius <a name="FNanchor60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60"><sup>[60]</sup></a> afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than
+himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water,
+and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him; yet
+he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions
+out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in
+error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double
+when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant
+of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a father's <i>dixit,</i>
+and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
+doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a
+greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ATTORNEY.</h2>
+
+<p>His antient beginning was a blue coat, since a livery, and his hatching
+under a lawyer; whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now nested for
+himself, and with his hoarded pence purchased an office. Two desks and a
+quire of paper set him up, where he now sits in state for all comers. We
+can call him no great author, yet he writes very much and with the
+infamy of the court is maintained in his libels<a name="FNanchor61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61"><sup>[61]</sup></a>. He has some smatch
+of a scholar, and yet uses Latin very hardly; and lest it should accuse
+him, cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak out. He is,
+contrary to great men, maintained by his followers, that is, his poor
+country clients, that worship him more than their landlord, and be they
+never such churls, he looks for their courtesy. He first racks them
+soundly himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer for execution. His
+looks are very solicitous, importing much haste and dispatch: he is
+never without his hands full of business, that is--of paper. His skin
+becomes at last as dry as his parchment, and his face as intricate as
+the most winding cause. He talks statutes as fiercely as if he had
+mooted<a name="FNanchor62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62"><sup>[62]</sup></a> seven years in the inns of court, when all his skill is stuck
+in his girdle, or in his office-window. Strife and wrangling have made
+him rich, and he is thankful to his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he
+live in a country village, he makes all his neighbours good subjects;
+for there shall be nothing done but what there is law for. His business
+gives him not leave to think of his conscience, and when the time, or
+term, of his life is going out, for doomsday he is secure; for he hopes
+he has a trick to reverse judgment.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PARTIAL MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the one speaks ill falsely,
+and the other well, and both slander the truth. He is one that is still
+weighing men in the scale of comparisons, and puts his affections, in
+the one balance, and that sways. His friend always shall do best, and
+you shall rarely hear good of his enemy. He considers first the man and
+then the thing, and restrains all merit to what they deserve of him.
+Commendations he esteems not the debt of worth, but the requital of
+kindness; and if you ask his reason, shows his interest, and tells you
+how much he is beholden to that man. He is one that ties his judgment to
+the wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily both alike. He prefers
+England before other countries because he was born there, and Oxford
+before other universities, because he was brought up there, and the best
+scholar there is one of his own college, and the best scholar there is
+one of his friends. He is a great favourer of great persons, and his
+argument is still that which should be antecedent; as,--he is in high
+place, therefore virtuous;--he is preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask
+his opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and he is indifferent
+in nothing but conscience. Men esteem him for this a zealous
+affectionate, but they mistake him many times, for he does it but to be
+esteemed so. Of all men he is worst to write an history, for he will
+praise a Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect of his all
+posterity shall be cozened.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TRUMPETER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he eats nothing but what comes
+through this way. His profession is not so worthy as to occasion
+insolence, and yet no man so much puffed up. His face is as brazen as
+his trumpet, and (which is worse) as a fiddler's, from whom he differeth
+only in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea of drink and much
+wind make a storm perpetually in his cheeks, and his look is like his
+noise, blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of war, but
+now of peace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are
+sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant of glittering folks,
+whether in the court or stage, where he is always the prologue's
+prologue.<a name="FNanchor63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63"><sup>[63]</sup></a> He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, shrillest when
+he is empty; when his belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves
+life more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a
+counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when he is blown up.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry,
+and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publickly
+affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never
+owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though he
+knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, &quot;thus men say;&quot; and
+&quot;thus most do;&quot; and &quot;thus the world goes;&quot; and thinks this enough to
+poise the other. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks
+all a great man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and
+repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of
+fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly
+all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the pope
+and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest cassock the best scholar; and
+the best clothes the finest man. That is taken only with broad and
+obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries, Chaucer
+for his money above all our English poets, because the voice has gone
+so, and he has read none. That is much ravished with such a nobleman's
+courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his
+hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the king's hand, and cries, &quot;God
+bless his majesty!&quot; loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of
+favour, and the first that says &quot;away with the traitors!&quot;--yet struck
+with much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill
+the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in
+it, and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears. That measures the
+happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm
+of state, but ill trading. Within this compass too, come those that are
+too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those
+things; that call to thrive, to do well; and preferment only the grace
+of God. That aim all studies at this mark, and show you poor scholars as
+an example to take heed by. That think the prison and want a judgment
+for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jail-bird. That know no
+other content but wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures; that think
+all else but idle speculation, and the philosophers madmen. In short,
+men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shows, appearances,
+the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of
+singularity, and scorns something.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PLODDING STUDENT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, that would change the
+dull lead of his brain into finer metal, with success many times as
+unprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own oil
+and candles. He has a strange forced appetite to learning, and to
+achieve it brings nothing but patience and a body. His study is not
+great but continual, and consists much in the sitting up till after
+midnight in a rug-gown and a nightcap, to the vanquishing perhaps of
+some six lines; yet what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so long
+to understand it, till he gets it without book. He may with much
+industry make a breach into logic, and arrive at some ability in an
+argument; but for politer studies he dare not skirmish with them, and
+for poetry accounts it impregnable. His invention is no more than the
+finding out of his papers, and his few gleanings there; and his
+disposition of them is as just as the book-binder's, a setting or gluing
+of them together. He is a great discomforter of young students, by
+telling them what travel it has cost him, and how often his brain turned
+at philosophy, and makes others fear studying as a cause of duncery. He
+is a man much given to apophthegms, which serve him for wit, and seldom
+breaks any jest but which belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in
+Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, that will go a whole
+week together, but never out of a foot pace; and he that sets forth on
+the Saturday shall overtake him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>PAUL'S WALK<a name="FNanchor64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64"><sup>[64]</sup></a></h2>
+
+<p>Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great
+Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here
+discern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap of
+stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple
+not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of
+bees, a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet: it is
+a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all
+discourse, and no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a-foot.
+It is the synod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most
+serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is
+the antic of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you
+need go no farther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom
+you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of
+all famous lies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined
+and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few
+pockets. The best sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves'
+sanctuary, which rob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst
+every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the
+day, after plays and tavern; and men have still some oaths left to swear
+here. The visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal
+inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains<a name="FNanchor65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65"><sup>[65]</sup></a> out of
+service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turn
+merchants here and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their
+dinner, and travel for a stomach: but thriftier men make it their
+ordinary, and board here very cheap<a name="FNanchor66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66"><sup>[66]</sup></a>. Of all such places it is least
+haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he could not.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COOK.</h2>
+
+<p>The kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in it, where his meat and he
+fry together. His revenues are showered down from the fat of the land,
+and he interlards his own grease among, to help the drippings. Choleric
+he is not by nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd temptation
+that the chopping-knife is so near. His weapons ofter offensive are a
+mess of hot broth and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in
+his way. In the kitchen he will domineer and rule the roast in spite of
+his master, and curses in the very dialect of his calling. His labour is
+mere blustering and fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a
+storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in all this tumult, he does
+not love combustion, but will be the first man that shall go and quench
+it. He is never a good Christian till a hissing pot of ale has slacked
+him, like water cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame and
+dispossessed. His cunning is not small in architecture, for he builds
+strange fabrics in paste, towers and castles, which are offered to the
+assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' palace in one banquet
+demolished. He is a pitiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles poor
+fowls with unheard-of tortures; and it is thought the martyrs'
+persecutions were devised from hence: sure we are, St. Lawrence's
+gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best faculty is at the dresser,
+where he seems to have great skill in the tactics, ranging his dishes in
+order military, and placing with great discretion in the fore-front
+meats more strong and hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the rear;
+as quaking tarts and quivering custards, and such milk-sop dishes, which
+scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now the second course is
+gone up and he down in the cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four
+o'clock<a name="FNanchor67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67"><sup>[67]</sup></a> in the afternoon, and then returns again to his regiment.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BOLD FORWARD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden more to his elbow than
+his legs, for he does not go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in
+the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts
+on. He can do some things, but dare do much more, and is like a
+desperate soldier, who will assault any thing where he is sure not to
+enter. He is not so well opinioned of himself, as industrious to make
+others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial as blushing. He is still
+citing for himself, that a candle should not be hid under a bushel; and
+for his part he will be sure not to hide his, though his candle be but a
+snuff or rush-candle. Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard in
+displaying, and is like some needy flaunting goldsmith, nothing in the
+inner room, but all on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has commonly
+stepped into the pulpit before a degree, yet into that too before he
+deserved it. He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency, and his next
+sermon is at Paul's cross,<a name="FNanchor68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68"><sup>[68]</sup></a> [and that printed.] He loves publick
+things alive; and for any solemn entertainment he will find a mouth,
+find a speech who will. He is greedy of great acquaintance and many, and
+thinks it no small advancement to rise to be known. [He is one that has
+all the great names at court at his fingers' ends, and their lodgings;
+and with a saucy, &quot;my lord,&quot; will salute the best of them.] His talk at
+the table is like Benjamin's mess, five times to his part, and no
+argument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of all disgraces he endures not
+to be nonplussed, and had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which few
+descry, than to nothing, which all. His boldness is beholden to other
+men's modesty, which rescues him many times from a baffle; yet his face
+is good armour, and he is dashed out of anything sooner than
+countenance. Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare man; and
+wiser men, though they know him, [yet] take him [in] for their pleasure,
+or as they would do a sculler for being next at hand. Thus preferment at
+last stumbles on him, because he is still in the way. His companions
+that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him come ready for
+scarlet, whilst themselves lie musty in their old clothes and colleges.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BAKER.</h2>
+
+<p>No man verifies the proverb more, that it is an alms-deed to punish him;
+for his penalty is a dole,<a name="FNanchor69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69"><sup>[69]</sup></a> and does the beggars as much good as
+their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of charity, and thinks his
+bread cast away when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice
+neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates the clerk of the market
+as his executioner; yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his basket
+only is sent to prison.<a name="FNanchor70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70"><sup>[70]</sup></a> Marry, a pillory is his deadly enemy, and he
+never hears well after.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRETENDER TO LEARNING</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that would make all others more fools than himself, for though he
+knew nothing, he would not have the world know so much. He conceits
+nothing in learning but the opinion, which he seeks to purchase without
+it, though he might with less labour cure his ignorance than hide it. He
+is indeed a kind of scholar-mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is
+tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, and at the first
+encounter none passes better. He is oftener in his study than at his
+book, and you cannot pleasure him better than to deprehend him: yet he
+hears you not till the third knock, and then comes out very angry as
+interrupted. You find him in his <i>slippers</i><a name="FNanchor71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71"><sup>[71]</sup></a> and a pen in his ear, in
+which formality he was asleep. His table is spread wide with some
+classick folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid
+open in the same page this half year. His candle is always a longer
+sitter up than himself, and the <i>boast</i><a name="FNanchor72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72"><sup>[72]</sup></a> of his window at midnight.
+He walks much alone in the posture of meditation, and has a book still
+before his face in the fields. His pocket is seldom without a Greek
+testament or Hebrew Bible, which he opens only in the church, and that
+when some stander-by looks over. He has sentences for company, some
+scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all occasions. If
+he reads any thing in the morning, it comes up all at dinner; and as
+long as that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great plagiary of
+tavern wit, and comes to sermons only that he may talk of Austin. His
+parcels are the mere scrapings from company, yet he complains at parting
+what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seem a judgment,
+and listens with a sour attention to what he understands not. He talks
+much of Scaliger, and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers some
+unheard of Dutch name before them all. He has verses to bring in upon
+these and these hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in his
+opportunity. He is critical in a language he cannot construe, and speaks
+seldom under Arminius in divinity. His business and retirement and
+caller away is his study, and he protests no delight to it comparable.
+He is a great nomenclator of authors, which he has read in general in
+the catalogue, and in particular in the title, and goes seldom so far as
+the dedication. He never talks of anything but learning, and learns all
+from talking. Three encounters with the same men pump him, and then he
+only puts in or gravely says nothing. He has taken pains to be an ass,
+though not to be a scholar, and is at length discovered and laughed at.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HERALD</h2>
+
+<p>Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of nobility, and to the making
+of him went not a generation but a genealogy. His trade is honour, and
+he sells it and gives arms himself, though he be no gentleman. His
+bribes are like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the prices of
+blood. He seems very rich in discourse, for he tells you of whole fields
+of gold and silver, or, and argent, worth much in French but in English
+nothing. He is a great diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and hot
+a by-channel or bastard escapes him; yea he does with them like some
+shameless quean, fathers more children on them than ever they begot. His
+traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware, scutchions, and pennons, and little
+daggers and lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen; but his
+pennyworths are rampant, for you may buy three whole brawns cheaper than
+three boar's heads of him painted. He was sometimes the terrible coat of
+Mars, but is now for more merciful battles in the tilt-yard, where
+whosoever is victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in England but
+in Wales nature, where they are born with heraldry in their mouths, and
+each name is a pedigree.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE COMMON SINGING-MEN IN CATHEDRAL CHURCHES</h2>
+
+<p>Are a bad society, and yet a company of good fellows, that roar deep in
+the quire, deeper in the tavern. They are the eight parts of speech
+which go to the syntaxis of service, and are distinguished by their
+noises much like bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. Their
+pastime or recreation is prayers, their exercise drinking, yet herein so
+religiously addicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunk.
+Their humanity is a leg to the residencer, their learning a chapter, for
+they learn it commonly before they read it; yet the old Hebrew names are
+little beholden to them, for they miscall them worse than one another.
+Though they never expound the scripture, they handle it much, and
+pollute the gospel with two things, their conversation and their thumbs.
+Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at prayers as at their pots, for
+they swallow them down in an instant. Their gowns are laced commonly
+with streamings of ale, superfluities of a cup or throat above measure.
+Their skill in melody makes them the better companions abroad, and their
+anthems abler to sing catches. Long lived for the most part they are
+not, especially the bass, they overflow their bank so oft to drown the
+organs. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they die constantly in God's
+service; and to take their death with more patience, they have wine and
+cakes at their funeral, and now they keep<a name="FNanchor73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73"><sup>[73]</sup></a> the church a great deal
+better and help to fill it with their bones as before with their noise.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SHOPKEEPER.</h2>
+
+<p>His shop is his well stuft book, and himself the title-page of it, or
+index. He utters much to all men, though he sells but to a few, and
+intreats for his own necessities, by asking others what they lack. No
+man speaks more and no more, for his words are like his wares, twenty of
+one sort, and he goes over them alike to all comers. He is an arrogant
+commender of his own things; for whatsoever he shows you is the best in
+the town, though the worst in his shop. His conscience was a thing that
+would have laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put it off, and
+makes great use of honesty to profess upon. He tells you lies by rote,
+and not minding, as the phrase to sell in and the language he spent most
+of his years to learn. He never speaks so truly as when he says he would
+use you as his brother; for he would abuse his brother, and in his shop
+thinks it lawful. His religion is much in the nature of his customer's,
+and indeed the pander to it: and by a mis-interpreted sense of scripture
+makes a gain of his godliness. He is your slave while you pay him ready
+money, but if he once befriend you, your tyrant, and you had better
+deserve his hate than his trust.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BLUNT MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one whose wit is better pointed than his behaviour, and that coarse
+and unpolished, not out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a great
+enemy to the fine gentleman, and these things of compliment, and hates
+ceremony in conversation, as the Puritan in religion. He distinguishes
+not betwixt fair and double dealing, and suspects all smoothness for the
+dress of knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salutation as an
+assault, and beseeches you in choler to forbear your courtesy. He loves
+not any thing in discourse that comes before the purpose, and is always
+suspicious of a preface. Himself falls rudely still on his matter
+without any circumstance, except he use an old proverb for an
+introduction. He swears old out-of date innocent oaths, as, by the mass!
+by our lady! and such like, and though there be lords present, he cries,
+my masters! He is exceedingly in love with his humour, which makes him
+always profess and proclaim it, and you must take what he says
+patiently, because he is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still,
+and other men's tyrant; for he must speak his mind, and that is his
+worst, and craves your pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you.
+His jests best become him, because they come from him rudely and
+unaffected; and he has the luck commonly to have them famous. He is one
+that will do more than he will speak, and yet speak more than he will
+hear; for though he love to touch others, he is touchy himself, and
+seldom to his own abuses replies but with his fists. He is as
+squeazy<a name="FNanchor74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74"><sup>[74]</sup></a> of his commendations, as his courtesy, and his good word is
+like an eulogy in a satire. He is generally better favoured than he
+favours, as being commonly well expounded in his bitterness, and no man
+speaks treason more securely. He chides great men with most boldness,
+and is counted for it an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in behalf
+of the commonwealth, and is in prison oft for it with credit. He is
+generally honest, but more generally thought so, and his downrightness
+credits him, as a man not well bended and crookened to the times. In
+conclusion, he is not easily bad in whom this quality is nature, but the
+counterfeit is most dangerous, since he is disguised in a humour that
+professes not to disguise.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HANDSOME HOSTESS</h2>
+
+<p>Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above the fair sign, or fair
+lodgings. She is the loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and
+roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and are not easily got off.
+Her lips are your welcome, and your entertainment her company, which is
+put into the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcel in it. No
+citizen's wife is demurer than she at the first greeting, nor draws in
+her mouth with a chaster simper; but you may be more familiar without
+distaste, and she does not startle at anything. She is the confusion of
+a pottle of sack more than would have been spent elsewhere, and her
+little jugs are accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She may be an
+honest woman, but is not believed so in her parish, and no man is a
+greater infidel in it than her husband.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CRITIC</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has spelled over a great many books, and his observation is
+the orthography. He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the wounds
+of dust and ignorance. He converses much in fragments and <i>desunt
+multa's</i>, and if he piece it up with two lines he is more proud of that
+book than the author. He runs over all sciences to peruse their
+syntaxis, and thinks all learning com-prised in writing Latin. He tastes
+styles as some discreeter palates do wine; and tells you which is
+genuine, which sophisticate and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany
+of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, and entombed by Varro,
+and the modernest man he follows is Plautus. He writes <i>omneis</i> at
+length, and <i>quidquid</i>, and his gerund is most inconformable. He is a
+troublesome vexer of the dead, which after so long sparing must rise up
+to the judgment of his castigations. He is one that makes all books sell
+dearer, whilst he swells them into folios with his comments.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SERGEANT, OR CATCH-POLE</h2>
+
+<p>Is one of God's judgments; and which our roarers do only conceive
+terrible. He is the properest shape wherein they fancy Satan; for he is
+at most but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. He is the creditors' hawk,
+wherewith they seize upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his
+talons. He is the period of young gentlemen, or their full stop, for
+when he meets with them they can go no farther. His ambush is a
+shop-stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly at your back. He
+respites you in no place but a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer
+than a clockmaker. The common way to run from him is through him, which
+is often attempted and atchieved, [<a name="FNanchor75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75"><sup>[75]</sup></a><i>and no man is more beaten out of
+charity.</i>] He is one makes the street more dangerous than the highways,
+and men go better provided in their walks than their journey. He is the
+first handsel of the young rapiers of the templers; and they are as
+proud of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a Turk. He is a moveable
+prison, and his hands two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an
+occasioner of disloyal thoughts in the commonwealth, for he makes men
+hate the king's name worse than the devil's.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A UNIVERSITY DUN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, for his own money has hired
+him. He is an inferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards,
+contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, too weak to be put in
+suit, and he arrests your modesty. He is now very expensive of his time,
+for he will wait upon your stairs a whole afternoon, and dance
+attendance with more patience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore
+beleaguerer of chambers, and assaults them sometimes with furious
+knocks; yet finds strong resistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a
+great complainer of scholars loitering, for he is sure never to find
+them within, and yet he is the chief cause many times that makes them
+study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men that shun him for his
+kindness, but indeed it is his own fault, for he is too great an
+upbraider. No man puts them more to their brain than he; and by shifting
+him off they learn to shift in the world. Some chuse their rooms on
+purpose to avoid his surprisals, and think the best commodity in them
+his prospect. He is like a rejected acquaintance, hunts those that care
+not for his company, and he knows it well enough, and yet will not keep
+away. The sole place to supple him is the buttery, where he takes
+grievous use upon your name,<a name="FNanchor76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76"><sup>[76]</sup></a> and he is one much wrought with good
+beer and rhetoric. He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and no
+gallant walks the streets to less purpose.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A STAID MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man: one that has taken order with himself, and sets a rule to
+those lawlessnesses within him: whose life is distinct and in method,
+and his actions, as it were, cast up before: not loosed into the world's
+vanities, but gathered up and contracted in his station: not scattered
+into many pieces of business, but that one course he takes, goes through
+with. A man firm and standing in his purposes, not heaved off with each
+wind and passion: that squares his expense to his coffers, and makes the
+total first, and then the items. One that thinks what he does, and does
+what he says, and foresees what he may do before he purposes. One whose
+&quot;if I can&quot; is more than another's assurance; and his doubtful tale
+before some men's protestations:--that is confident of nothing in
+futurity, yet his conjectures oft true prophecies:--that makes a pause
+still betwixt his ear and belief, and is not too hasty to say after
+others. One whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the time, and
+then strikes, and says much when he talks little:--that can see the
+truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree even in that they fall
+out upon:--that speaks no rebellion in a bravery, or talks big from the
+spirit of sack. A man cool and temperate in his passions, not easily
+betrayed by his choler:--that vies not oath with oath, nor heat with
+heat, but replies calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him
+too:--that can come fairly off from captains' companies, and neither
+drink nor quarrel. One whom no ill hunting sends home discontented, and
+makes him swear at his dogs and family. One not hasty to pursue the new
+fashion, nor yet affectedly true to his old round breeches; but gravely
+handsome, and to his place, which suits him better than his tailor:
+active in the world without disquiet, and careful without misery; yet
+neither engulfed in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but has his
+hour for both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but his mirth is a
+cheerful look: of a composed and settled countenance, not set, nor much
+alterable with sadness of joy. He affects nothing so wholly, that he
+must be a miserable man when he loses it; but fore-thinks what will come
+hereafter, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. One that loves his
+credit, not this word reputation; yet can save both without a duel.
+Whose entertainments to greater men are respectful, not complimentary;
+and to his friends plain, not rude. A good husband, father, master; that
+is, without doting, pampering, familiarity. A man well poised in all
+humours, in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he has not spoiled the
+work. A man of more wisdom than wittiness, and brain than fancy; and
+abler to any thing than to make verses.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MODEST MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that shews better to all men
+than himself, and so much the better to all men, as less to himself;<a name="FNanchor77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77"><sup>[77]</sup></a>
+for no quality sets a man off like this, and commends him more against
+his will: and he can put up any injury sooner than this (as he calls it)
+your irony. You shall hear him confute his commenders, and giving
+reasons how much they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they do not
+believe him. Nothing threatens him so much as great expectation, which
+he thinks more prejudicial than your under-opinion, because it is easier
+to make that false, than this true. He is one that sneaks from a good
+action, as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify it; and is more
+blushingly reprehended in this, than others in sin: that counts all
+publick declarings of himself, but so many penances before the people;
+and the more you applaud him the more you abash him, and he recovers not
+his face a month after. One that is easy to like any thing of another
+man's, and thinks all he knows not of him better than that he knows. He
+excuses that to you, which another would impute; and if you pardon him,
+is satisfied. One that stands in no opinion because it is his own, but
+suspects it rather, because it is his own, and is confuted and thanks
+you. He sees nothing more willingly than his errors, and it is his error
+sometimes to be too soon persuaded. He is content to be auditor where he
+only can speak, and content to go away and think himself instructed. No
+man is so weak that he is ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to
+confess it; and he finds many times even in the dust, what others
+overlook and lose. Every man's presence is a kind of bridle to him, to
+stop the roving of his tongue and passions: and even impudent men look
+for this reverence from him, and distaste that in him which they suffer
+in themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured and shews more
+scurvily than another. An unclean jest shall shame him more than a
+bastard another man, and he that got it shall censure him among the
+rest. He is coward to nothing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever
+dare lie on him hath power over him; and if you take him by his look, he
+is guilty. The main ambition of his life is not to be discredited; and
+for other things, his desires are more limited than his fortunes, which
+he thinks preferment though never so mean, and that he is to do
+something to deserve this. He is too tender to venture on great places,
+and would not hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was the
+violence of his friends constrained him, how hardly soever he obtain it
+he was harder persuaded to seek it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE EMPTY WIT</h2>
+
+<p>Is like one that spends on the stock without any revenues coming in, and
+will shortly be no wit at all; for learning is the fuel to the fire of
+wit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out itself. A good conceit or
+two bates of such a man, and makes a sensible weakening in him; and his
+brain recovers it not a year after. The rest of him are bubbles and
+flashes, darted out on a sudden, which, if you take them while they are
+warm, may be laughed at; if they are cool, are nothing. He speaks best
+on the present apprehension, for meditation stupefies him, and the more
+he is in travail, the less he brings forth. His things come off then, as
+in a nauseateing stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, strains and
+convulsions, and some astonishing bombast, which men only, till they
+understand, are scared with. A verse or some such work he may sometimes
+get up to, but seldom above the stature of an epigram, and that with
+some relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary companion of his
+pocket, and he reads him as he were inspired. Such men are commonly the
+trifling things of the world, good to make merry the company, and whom
+only men have to do withal when they have nothing to do, and none are
+less their friends than who are most their company. Here they vent
+themselves over a cup somewhat more lastingly; all their words go for
+jests, and all their jests for nothing. They are nimble in the fancy of
+some ridiculous thing, and reasonable good in the expression. Nothing
+stops a jest when it's coming, neither friends, nor danger, but it must
+out howsoever, though their blood come out after, and then they
+emphatically rail, and are emphatically beaten, and commonly are men
+reasonable familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose life is but to
+laugh and be laughed at; and only wits in jest and fools in earnest.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DRUNKARD</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that will be a man to-morrow morning, but is now what you will
+make him, for he is in the power of the next man, and if a friend the
+better. One that hath let go himself from the hold and stay of reason,
+and lies open to the mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds him
+disarmed and fenceless, and with the least assault enters. If any
+mischief escape him, it was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for
+it as he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw his father the first of
+this sin, an uncovered man, and though his garment be on, uncovered; the
+secretest parts of his soul lying in the nakedest manner visible: all
+his passions come out now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller
+humours which discretion clothes. His body becomes at last like a miry
+way, where the spirits are beclogged and cannot pass: all his members
+are out of office, and his heels do but trip up one another. He is a
+blind man with eyes, and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has of
+this vessel himself, is to hold thus much; for his drinking is but a
+scooping in of so many quarts, which are filled out into his body, and
+that filled out again into the room, which is commonly as drunk as he.
+Tobacco serves to air him after a washing, and is his only breath and
+breathing while. He is the greatest enemy to himself, and the next to
+his friend, and then most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness
+is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down first: and men come from
+him as a battle, wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a man off more from
+his credit, and business, and makes him more recklessly careless what
+becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a serious thought, or if he
+do, it is such melancholy that it sends him to be drunk again.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRISON</h2>
+
+<p>Is the grave of the living,<a name="FNanchor78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78"><sup>[78]</sup></a> where they are shut up from the world
+and their friends; and the worms that gnaw upon them their own thoughts
+and the jailor. A house of meagre looks and ill smells, for lice, drink,
+and tobacco are the compound. Plato's court was expressed from this
+fancy; and the persons are much about the same parity that is there. You
+may ask, as Menippus in Lucian, which is Nireus, which Thersites, which
+the beggar, which the knight;--for they are all suited in the same form
+of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out at elbows is in fashion here,
+and a great indecorum not to be thread-bare. Every man shews here like
+so many wrecks upon the sea, here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the
+relicks of so many manors, a doublet without buttons; and 'tis a
+spectacle of more pity than executions are. The company one with the
+other is but a vying of complaints, and the causes they have to rail on
+fortune and fool themselves, and there is a great deal of good
+fellowship in this. They are commonly, next their creditors, most bitter
+against the lawyers, as men that have had a great stroke in assisting
+them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hardheartedness, yet they feign
+it sometimes to slip melancholy, and keep off themselves from
+themselves, and the torment of thinking what they have been. Men huddle
+up their life here as a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old
+suit, the faster the better; and he that deceives the time best, best
+spends it. It is the place where new comers are most welcomed, and, next
+them, ill news, as that which extends their fellowship in misery, and
+leaves few to insult:--and they breath their discontents more securely
+here, and have their tongues at more liberty than abroad. Men see here
+much sin and much calamity; and where the last does not mortify, the
+other hardens; as those that are worse here, are desperately worse, and
+those from whom the horror of sin is taken off and the punishment
+familiar: and commonly a hard thought passes on all that come from this
+school; which though it teach much wisdom, it is too late, and with
+danger: and it is better be a fool than come here to learn it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SERVING MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as well as his clothes, and
+somewhat in the same nature, for he is cast behind his master as
+fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he is but <i>in querpo</i><a name="FNanchor79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79"><sup>[79]</sup></a>
+without him. His properness<a name="FNanchor80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80"><sup>[80]</sup></a> qualifies him, and of that a good leg;
+for his head he has little use but to keep it bare. A good dull wit best
+suits with him to comprehend commonsense and a trencher; for any greater
+store of brain it makes him but tumultuous, and seldom thrives with him.
+He follows his master's steps, as well in conditions as the street: if
+he wench or drink, he comes him in an under kind, and thinks it a part
+of his duty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his master's; of his
+faction,--of his cut,--of his pleasures:--he is handsome for his credit,
+and drunk for his credit, and if he have power in the cellar, commands
+the parish. He is one that keeps the best company, and is none of it;
+for he knows all the gentlemen his master knows, and picks from thence
+some hawking and horse-race terms,<a name="FNanchor81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81"><sup>[81]</sup></a> which he swaggers with in the
+ale-house, where he is only called master. His mirth is evil jests with
+the wenches, and, behind the door, evil earnest. The best work he does
+is his marrying, for it makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it
+his master's direction, it is commonly the best service he does him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN INSOLENT MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fellow newly great and newly proud; one that hath put himself into
+another face upon his preferment, for his own was not bred to it; one
+whom fortune hath shot up to some office or authority, and he shoots up
+his neck to his fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. His
+very countenance and gesture bespeak how much he is, and if you
+understand him not, he tells you, and concludes every period with his
+place, which you must and shall know. He is one that looks on all men as
+if he were angry, but especially on those of his acquaintance, whom he
+beats off with a surlier distance, as men apt to mistake him, because
+they have known him: and for this cause he knows not you 'till you have
+told him your name, which he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with
+much ado seems to recover. If you have any thing to use him in, you are
+his vassal for that time, and must give him the patience of any injury,
+which he does only to shew what he may do. He snaps you up bitterly,
+because he will be offended, and tells you, you are saucy and
+troublesome, and sometimes takes your money in this language. His very
+courtesies are intolerable, they are done with such an arrogance and
+imputation; and he is the only man you may hate after a good turn, and
+not be ungrateful; and men reckon it among their calamities to be
+beholden unto him. No vice draws with it a more general hostility, and
+makes men readier to search into his faults, and of them, his beginning;
+and no tale so unlikely but is willingly heard of him and believed. And
+commonly such men are of no merit at all, but make out in pride what
+they want in worth, and fence themselves with a stately kind of
+behaviour from that contempt which would pursue them. They are men whose
+preferment does us a great deal of wrong, and when they are down, we may
+laugh at them without breach of good-nature.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>ACQUAINTANCE</h2>
+
+<p>Is the first draught of a friend, whom we must lay down oft thus, as the
+foul copy, before we can write him perfect and true: for from hence, as
+from a probation, men take a degree in our respect, till at last they
+wholly possess us: for acquaintance is the hoard, and friendship the
+pair chosen out of it; by which at last we begin to impropriate and
+inclose to ourselves what before lay in common with others. And commonly
+where it grows not up to this, it falls as low as may be; and no poorer
+relation than old acquaintance, of whom we only ask how they do for
+fashion's sake, and care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is but
+somewhat a more boldness of society, a sharing of talk, news, drink,
+mirth together; but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing nearer
+our heart, and to be delivered with it. Nothing easier than to create
+acquaintance, the mere being in company once does it; whereas
+friendship, like children, is engendered by a more inward mixture and
+coupling together; when we are acquainted not with their virtues only,
+but their faults, their passions, their fears, their shame.--and are
+bold on both sides to make their discovery. And as it is in the love of
+the body, which is then at the height and full when it has power and
+admittance into the hidden and worst parts of it; so it is in friendship
+with the mind, when those <i>verenda</i> of the soul, and those things which
+we dare not shew the world, are bare and detected one to another.</p>
+
+<p>Some men are familiar with all, and those commonly friends to none; for
+friendship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and taker up of our
+affections to some few, and suffers them not loosely to be scattered on
+all men. The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place and country,
+which are shifted as the place, and missed but while the fancy of that
+continues. These are only then gladdest of other, when they meet in some
+foreign region, where the encompassing of strangers unites them closer,
+till at last they get new, and throw off one another. Men of parts and
+eminency, as their acquaintance is more sought for, so they are
+generally more staunch of it, not out of pride only, but fear to let too
+many in too near them: for it is with men as with pictures, the best
+show better afar off and at distance, and the closer you come to them
+the coarser they are. The best judgment of a man is taken from his
+acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both partial; whereas these
+see him truest because calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for
+him. And men that grow strange after acquaintance seldom piece together
+again, as those that have tasted meat and dislike it, out of a mutual
+experience disrelishing one another.</p>
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE COMPLIMENTAL MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one to be held off still at the same distance you are now; for you
+shall have him but thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose him.
+Methinks Virgil well expresses him in those well-behaved ghosts that
+&AElig;neas met with, that were friends to talk with, and men to look on, but
+if he grasped them, but air.<a name="FNanchor82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82"><sup>[82]</sup></a> He is one that lies kindly to you, and
+for good fashion's sake, and 'tis discourtesy in you to believe him. His
+words are so many fine phrases set together, which serve equally for all
+men, and are equally to no purpose. Each fresh encounter with a man puts
+him to the same part again, and he goes over to you what he said to him
+was last with him: he kisses your hands as he kissed his before, and is
+your servant to be commanded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. His
+proffers are universal and general, with exceptions against all
+particulars. He will do any thing for you, but if you urge him to this,
+he cannot, or to that, he is engaged; but he will do any thing. Promises
+he accounts but a kind of mannerly words, and in the expectation of your
+manners not to exact them: if you do, he wonders at your ill breeding,
+that cannot distinguish betwixt what is spoken and what is meant. No man
+gives better satisfaction at the first, and comes off more with the
+elegy of a kind gentleman, till you know him better, and then you know
+him for nothing. And commonly those most rail at him, that have before
+most commended him. The best is, he cozens you in a fair manner, and
+abuses you with great respect.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A POOR FIDDLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in worse case than his fiddle.
+One that rubs two sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and rubs
+a poor living out of it; partly from this, and partly from your charity,
+which is more in the hearing than giving him, for he sells nothing
+dearer than to be gone. He is just so many strings above a beggar,
+though he have but two; and yet he begs too, only not in the downright
+'for God's sake,' but with a shrugging 'God bless you,' and his face is
+more pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the greatest pain he takes,
+except a broken head sometimes, and the labouring John Dory.<a name="FNanchor83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83"><sup>[83]</sup></a>
+Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and 'tis some mirth to see
+him. A good feast shall draw him five miles by the nose, and you shall
+track him again by the scent. His other pilgrimages are fairs and good
+houses, where his devotion is great to the Christmas; and no man loves
+good times better. He is in league with the tapsters for the worshipful
+of the inn, whom he torments next morning with his art, and has their
+names more perfect than their men. A new song is better to him than a
+new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls merry; and hates
+naturally the puritan, as an enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and
+Whitsun-ale are the two main places he domineers in, where he goes for a
+musician, and overlooks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk, and in
+the stocks.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MEDDLING MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has nothing to do with his business, and yet no man busier
+than he, and his business is most in his face. He is one thrusts himself
+violently into all employments, unsent for, unfeed, and many times
+unthanked; and his part in it is only an eager bustling, that rather
+keeps ado than does any thing. He will take you aside, and question you
+of your affair, and listen with both ears, and look earnestly, and then
+it is nothing so much yours as his. He snatches what you are doing out
+of your hands, and cries &quot;give it me,&quot; and does it worse, and lays an
+engagement upon you too, and you must thank him for this pains. He lays
+you down an hundred wild plots, all impossible things, which you must be
+ruled by perforce, and he delivers them with a serious and counselling
+forehead; and there is a great deal more wisdom in this forehead than
+his head. He will woo for you, solicit for you, and woo you to suffer
+him; and scarce any thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, or
+at least himself is not seen: if he have no task in it else, he will
+rail yet on some side, and is often beaten when he need not. Such men
+never thoroughly weigh any business, but are forward only to shew their
+zeal, when many times this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they
+have done what they can, that is, as much hurt. Wise men still deprecate
+these men's kindnesses, and are beholden to them rather to let them
+alone; as being one trouble more in all business, and which a man shall
+be hardest rid of.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOOD OLD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the best antiquity, and which we may with least vanity admire. One
+whom time hath been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, ripened
+when others are shaken down. He hath taken out as many lessons of the
+world as days, and learnt the best thing in it; the vanity of it. He
+looks over his former life as a danger well past, and would not hazard
+himself to begin again. His lust was long broken before his body, yet he
+is glad this temptation is broke too, and that he is fortified from it
+by this weakness. The next door of death sads him not, but he expects it
+calmly as his turn in nature; and fears more his recoiling back to
+childishness than dust. All men look on him as a common father, and on
+old age, for his sake, as a reverent thing. His very presence and face
+puts vice out of countenance, and makes it an indecorum in a vicious
+man. He practises his experience on youth without the harshness of
+reproof, and in his counsel is good company. He has some old stories
+still of his own seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them better
+in the telling; yet is not troublesome neither with the same tale again,
+but remembers with them how oft he has told them. His old sayings and
+morals seem proper to his beard; and the poetry of Cato does well out of
+his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the author. He is not apt to
+put the boy on a younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can distinguish
+gravity from a sour look; and the less testy he is, the more regarded.
+You must pardon him if he like his own times better than these, because
+those things are follies to him now that were wisdom then; yet he makes
+us of that opinion too when we see him, and conjecture those times by so
+good a relic. He is a man capable of a dearness with the youngest men,
+yet he not youthfuller for them, but they older for him; and no man
+credits more his acquaintance. He goes away at last too soon whensoever,
+with all men's sorrow but his own; and his memory is fresh, when it is
+twice as old.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FLATTERER</h2>
+
+<p>Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures flatter many times, so he
+oft shews fairer than the true substance: his look, conversation,
+company, and all the outwardness of friendship more pleasing by odds,
+for a true friend dare take the liberty to be sometimes offensive,
+whereas he is a great deal more cowardly, and will not let the least
+hold go, for fear of losing you. Your mere sour look affrights him, and
+makes him doubt his cashiering. And this is one sure mark of him, that
+he is never first angry, but ready though upon his own wrong to make
+satisfaction. Therefore he is never yoked with a poor man, or any that
+stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes may tempt his pains to
+deceive him. Him he learns first, and learns well, and grows perfecter
+in his humours than himself, and by this door enters upon his soul, of
+which he is able at last to take the very print and mark, and fashion
+his own by it, like a false key to open all your secrets. All his
+affections jump<a name="FNanchor84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84"><sup>[84]</sup></a> even with yours; he is before-hand with your
+thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you. He will commend to you
+first what he knows you like, and has always some absurd story or other
+of your enemy, and then wonders how your two opinions should jump in
+that man. He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of deep judgment,
+and has a secret of purpose to disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say,
+is persuaded. He listens to your words with great attention, and
+sometimes will object that you may confute him, and then protests he
+never heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts him with an
+overflowing laughter, and he remembers it for you to all companies, and
+laughs again in the telling. He is one never chides you but for your
+virtues, as, <i>you are too good, too honest, too religious</i>, when his
+chiding may seem but the earnester commendation, and yet would fain
+chide you out of them too; for your vice is the thing he has use of, and
+wherein you may best use him; and he is never more active than in the
+worst diligences. Thus, at last, he possesses you from yourself, and
+then expects but his hire to betray you: and it is a happiness not to
+discover him; for as long as you are happy, you shall not.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HIGH-SPIRITED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not: you may forgive him his
+looks for his worth's sake, for they are only too proud to be base. One
+whom no rate can buy off from the least piece of his freedom, and make
+him digest an unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch to a great man
+to possess him, nor fall low to the earth to rebound never so high
+again. He stands taller on his own bottom, than others on the advantage
+ground of fortune, as having solidly that honour of which title is but
+the pomp. He does homage to no man for his great style's sake, but is
+strictly just in the exaction of respect again, and will not bate you a
+compliment. He is more sensible of a neglect than an undoing, and scorns
+no man so much as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired, and quickly
+laid down with satisfaction, but remits any injury sooner than words:
+only to himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never forgives a
+disgrace, but is still stabbing himself with the thought of it, and no
+disease that he dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish than be
+beholden for his life, and strives more to quit with his friend than his
+enemy. Fortune may kill him but not deject him, nor make him fall into
+an humbler key than before, but he is now loftier than ever in his own
+defence; you shall hear him talk still after thousands, and he becomes
+it better than those that have it. One that is above the world and its
+drudgery, and cannot pull down his thoughts to the pelting businesses of
+life. He would sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade, or anything
+that might disparage the height of man in him, and yet thinks no death
+comparably base to hanging neither. One that will do nothing upon
+command, though he would do it otherwise; and if ever he do evil, it is
+when he is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal his worth puts a
+lustre in all preferment; but if otherwise he be too much crossed, turns
+desperately melancholy, and scorns mankind.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE GULL CITIZEN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one much about the same model and pitch of brain that the clown is,
+only of somewhat a more polite and finical ignorance, and as sillily
+scorns him as he is sillily admired by him. The quality of the city hath
+afforded him some better dress of clothes and language, which he uses to
+the best advantage, and is so much the more ridiculous. His chief
+education is the visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine ladies
+resort, he is infected with so much more eloquence, and if he catch one
+word extraordinary, wears it forever. You shall hear him mince a
+compliment sometimes that was never made for him; and no man pays dearer
+for good words,--for he is oft paid with them. He is suited rather fine
+than in the fashion, and has still something to distinguish him from a
+gentleman, though his doublet cost more; especially on Sundays,
+bridegroom-like, where he carries the state of a very solemn man, and
+keeps his pew as his shop; and it is a great part of his devotion to
+feast the minister. But his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the
+greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if you be an honest
+gentleman, that is trust him to cozen you enough. His friendships are a
+kind of gossiping friendships, and those commonly within the circle of
+his trade, wherein he is careful principally to avoid two things, that
+is poor men and suretyships. He is a man will spend his sixpence with a
+great deal of imputation,<a name="FNanchor85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85"><sup>[85]</sup></a> and no man makes more of a pint of wine
+than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of foolish love to scholars, and
+to Cambridge especially for Sturbridge<a name="FNanchor86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86"><sup>[86]</sup></a> fair's sake; and of these all
+are truants to him that are not preachers, and of these the loudest the
+best; and he is much ravished with the noise of a rolling tongue. He
+loves to hear discourses out of his element, and the less he understands
+the better pleased, which he expresses in a smile and some fond
+protestation. One that does nothing without his chuck,<a name="FNanchor87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87"><sup>[87]</sup></a> that is his
+wife, with whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the wantoner she
+is, the more power she has over him; and she never stoops so low after
+him, but is the only woman goes better of a widow than a maid. In the
+education of his child no man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a
+harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging still the weakness of the
+boy, and pays a fine extraordinary for his mercy. The first whipping
+rids him to the university, and from thence rids him again for fear of
+starving, and the best he makes of him is some gull in plush. He is one
+loves to hear the famous acts of citizens, whereof the gilding of the
+cross<a name="FNanchor88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88"><sup>[88]</sup></a> he counts the glory of this age, and the four<a name="FNanchor89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89"><sup>[89]</sup></a> prentices of
+London above all the nine<a name="FNanchor90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90"><sup>[90]</sup></a> worthies. He intitles himself to all the
+merits of his company, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions, in
+which he is joint benefactor, though four hundred years ago, and
+upbraids them far more than those that gave them: yet with all this
+folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and in that a sufficienter man
+than he that is wiser.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A LASCIVIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but all are but his lust, to
+which only he is faithful, and none besides, and spends his best blood
+and spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to his body, and those
+that assist him in this nature the nearest to it. No man abuses more the
+name of love, or those whom he applies this name to; for his love is
+like his stomach to feed on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit
+and loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him; and it kindles on any
+sooner than who deserve best of him. There is a great deal of malignity
+in this vice, for it loves still to spoil the best things, and a virgin
+sometimes rather than beauty, because the undoing here is greater, and
+consequently his glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, or is so
+extremely tickled with the remembrance of it; and he is more violence to
+a modest ear than to her he defloured. An unclean jest enters deep into
+him, and whatsoever you speak he will draw to lust, and his wit is never
+so good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue, for that commits
+always what he must act seldomer; and that commits with all what he acts
+with few; for he is his own worst reporter, and men believe as bad of
+him, and yet do not believe him. Nothing harder to his persuasion than a
+chaste man; and makes a scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a
+maid. And from this mistrust it is that such men fear marriage, or at
+least marry such as are of bodies to be trusted, to whom only they sell
+that lust which they buy of others, and make their wife a revenue to
+their mistress. They are men not easily reformed, because they are so
+little ill-persuaded of their illness, and have such pleas from man and
+nature. Besides it is a jeering and flouting vice, and apt to put jests
+on the reprover. Their disease only converts them, and that only when it
+kills them.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RASH MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a man too quick for himself; one whose actions put a leg still before
+his judgement, and out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the signal
+that sets him forward, and his reason comes still in the rear. One that
+has brain enough, but not patience to digest a business, and stay the
+leisure of a second thought. All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth
+and freezing of action, and it shall burn him rather than take cold. He
+is always resolved at first thinking, and the ground he goes upon is,
+<i>hap what may</i>. Thus he enters not, but throws himself violently upon
+all things, and for the most part is as violently upon all off again;
+and as an obstinate <i>&quot;I will&quot;</i> was the preface to his undertaking, so
+his conclusion is commonly <i>&quot;I would I had not;&quot;</i> for such men seldom do
+anything that they are not forced to take in pieces again, and are so
+much farther off from doing it, as they have done already. His friends
+are with him as his physician, sought to only in his sickness and
+extremity, and to help him out of that mire he has plunged himself into;
+for in the suddenness of his passions he would hear nothing, and now his
+ill success has allayed him he hears too late. He is a man still swayed
+with the first reports, and no man more in the power of a pick-thank
+than he. He is one will fight first, and then expostulate, condemn
+first, and then examine. He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling,
+and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and then curses the occasion
+drew this mischief upon him, and cries God mercy for it, and curses
+again. His repentance is merely a rage against himself, and he does
+something in itself to be repented again. He is a man whom fortune must
+go against much to make him happy, for had he been suffered his own way,
+he had been undone.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN AFFECTED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things. One that would go a strain
+beyond himself, and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all things with
+great solemnity of circumstance; and whereas with more negligence he
+might pass better, makes himself with a great deal of endeavour
+ridiculous. The fancy of some odd quaintnesses have put him clean beside
+his nature; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost what he was. He is
+one must be point-blank in every trifle, as if his credit and opinion
+hung upon it; the very space of his arms in an embrace studied before
+and premeditated, and the figure of his countenance of a fortnight's
+contriving; he will not curse you without-book and extempore, but in
+some choice way, and perhaps as some great man curses. Every action of
+his cries,--&quot;<i>Do ye mark me?</i>&quot; and men do mark him how absurd he is: for
+affectation is the most betraying humour, and nothing that puzzles a man
+less to find out than this. All the actions of his life are like so many
+things bodged in without any natural cadence or connection at all. You
+shall track him all through like a school-boy's theme, one piece from
+one author and this from another, and join all in this general, that
+they are none of his own. You shall observe his mouth not made for that
+tone, nor his face for that simper; and it is his luck that his finest
+things most misbecome him. If he affect the gentleman as the humour most
+commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio of a fine man, but he is
+strict in to a hair, even to their very negligences, which he cons as
+rules. He will not carry a knife with him to wound reputation, and pay
+double a reckoning, rather than ignobly question it: and he is full of
+this--ignobly--and nobly--and genteely; and this mere fear to trespass
+against the genteel way puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs
+through many things besides, but is an ill-favoured ostentation in all,
+and thrives not:--and the best use of such men is, they are good parts
+in a play.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PROFANE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that denies God as far as the law gives him leave; that is, only
+does not say so in downright terms, for so far he may go. A man that
+does the greatest sins calmly, and as the ordinary actions of life, and
+as calmly discourses of it again. He will tell you his business is to
+break such a commandment, and the breaking of the commandment shall
+tempt him to it. His words are but so many vomitings cast up to the
+loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of his company<a name="FNanchor91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91"><sup>[91]</sup></a> loath it
+not. He will take upon him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of
+his company, and makes good sport at his conquest over the puritan fool.
+The Scripture supplies him for jests, and he reads it on purpose to be
+thus merry: he will prove you his sin out of the Bible, and then ask if
+you will not take that authority. He never sees the church but of
+purpose to sleep in it, or when some silly man preaches, with whom he
+means to make sport, and is most jocund in the church. One that
+nick-names clergymen with all the terms of reproach, as &quot;<i>rat,
+black-coat</i>&quot; and the like; which he will be sure to keep up, and never
+calls them by other: that sings psalms when he is drunk, and cries &quot;<i>God
+mercy</i>&quot; in mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems to dare God in
+all his actions, but indeed would out-dare the opinion of Him, which
+would else turn him desperate; for atheism is the refuge of such
+sinners, whose repentance would be only to hang themselves.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COWARD</h2>
+
+<p>Is the man that is commonly most fierce against the coward, and
+labouring to take off this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of
+valour is a good protection to those that dare not use it. No man is
+valianter than he is in civil company, and where he thinks no danger may
+come on it, and is the readiest man to fall upon a drawer and those that
+must not strike again: wonderful exceptious and cholerick where he sees
+men are loth to give him occasion, and you cannot pacify him better than
+by quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow, the more temperate man is
+he; he protests he always honoured you, and the more you rail upon him,
+the more he honours you, and you threaten him at last into a very honest
+quiet man. The sight of a sword wounds him more sensibly than the
+stroke, for before that come he is dead already. Every man is his master
+that dare beat him, and every man dares that knows him. And he that dare
+do this is the only man can do much with him; for his friend he cares
+not for, as a man that carries no such terror as his enemy, which for
+this cause only is more potent with him of the two: and men fall out
+with him of purpose to get courtesies from him, and be bribed again to a
+reconcilement. A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for the
+apprehension of each danger loosens him, and makes him bewray both the
+room and it. He is a Christian merely for fear of hell-fire; and if any
+religion could fright him more, would be of that.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SORDID RICH MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth we may say as of other
+men's unthriftiness, that it has brought him to this: when he had
+nothing he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a man whom men hate
+in his own behalf for using himself thus, and yet, being upon himself,
+it is but justice, for he deserves it. Every accession of a fresh heap
+bates him so much of his allowance, and brings him a degree nearer
+starving. His body had been long since desperate, but for the reparation
+of other men's tables, where he hoards meats in his belly for a month,
+to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes were never young in our
+memory; you might make long epochas from them, and put them into the
+almanack with the dear year<a name="FNanchor92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92"><sup>[92]</sup></a> and the great frost,<a name="FNanchor93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93"><sup>[93]</sup></a> and he is known
+by them longer than his face. He is one never gave alms in his life, and
+yet is as charitable to his neighbour as himself. He will redeem a penny
+with his reputation, and lose all his friends to boot; and his reason
+is, he will not be undone. He never pays anything but with strictness of
+law, for fear of which only he steals not. He loves to pay short a
+shilling or two in a great sum, and is glad to gain that when he can no
+more. He never sees friend but in a journey to save the charges of an
+inn, and then only is not sick; and his friends never see him but to
+abuse him. He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantic thrift, and one of
+the strangest things that wealth can work.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MERE GREAT MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is so much heraldry without honour, himself less real than his title.
+His virtue is, that he was his father's son, and all the expectation of
+him to beget another. A man that lives merely to preserve another's
+memory, and let us know who died so many years ago. One of just as much
+use as his images, only he differs in this, that he can speak himself,
+and save the fellow of Westminster<a name="FNanchor94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94"><sup>[94]</sup></a> a labour: and he remembers
+nothing better than what was out of his life. His grandfathers and their
+acts are his discourse, and he tells them with more glory than they did
+them; and it is well they did enough, or else he had wanted matter. His
+other studies are his sports and those vices that are fit for great men.
+Every vanity of his has his officer, and is a serious employment for his
+servants. He talks loud, and uncleanly, and scurvily as a part of state,
+and they hear him with reverence. All good qualities are below him, and
+especially learning, except some parcels of the chronicle and the
+writing of his name, which he learns to write not to be read. He is
+merely of his servants' faction, and their instrument for their friends
+and enemies, and is always least thanked for his own courtesies. They
+that fool him most do most with him, and he little thinks how many laugh
+at him bare-head. No man is kept in ignorance more of himself and men,
+for he hears naught but flattery; and what is fit to be spoken, truth,
+with so much preface that it loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb
+be made ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A POOR MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is the most impotent man, though neither blind nor lame, as wanting the
+more necessary limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. A man
+unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts of the world, which blow all in
+upon him, like an unroofed house; and the bitterest thing he suffers is
+his neighbours. All men put on to him a kind of churlisher fashion, and
+even more plausible natures are churlish to him, as who are nothing
+advantaged by his opinion. Men fall out with him before-hand to prevent
+friendship, and his friends too to prevent engagements, or if they own
+him 'tis in private and a by-room, and on condition not to know them
+before company. All vice put together is not half so scandalous, nor
+sets off our acquaintance farther; and even those that are not friends
+for ends do not love any dearness with such men. The least courtesies
+are upbraided to him, and himself thanked for none, but his best
+services suspected as handsome sharking and tricks to get money. And we
+shall observe it in knaves themselves, that your beggarliest knaves are
+the greatest, or thought so at least, for those that have wit to thrive
+by it have art not to seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard enough to
+mask his vices, nor ornament enough to set forth his virtues, but both
+are naked and unhandsome; and though no man is necessitated to more ill,
+yet no man's ill is less excused, but it is thought a kind of impudence
+in him to be vicious, and a presumption above his fortune. His good
+parts lie dead upon his hands, for want of matter to employ them, and at
+the best are not commended but pitied, as virtues ill placed, and we may
+say of him, &quot;Tis an honest man, but tis pity;&quot; and yet those that call
+him so will trust a knave before him. He is a man that has the truest
+speculation of the world, because all men shew to him in their plainest
+and worst, as a man they have no plot on, by appearing good to; whereas
+rich men are entertained with a more holiday behaviour, and see only the
+best we can dissemble. He is the only he that tries the true strength of
+wisdom, what it can do of itself without the help of fortune; that with
+a great deal of virtue conquers extremities; and with a great deal more;
+his own impatience, and obtains of himself not to hate men.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ORDINARY HONEST MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, for if he were not this, he
+were nothing: and yet he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious
+fellow, that complies well with the debauchments of the time, and is fit
+for it. One that has no good part in him to offend his company, or make
+him to be suspected a proud fellow; but is sociably a dunce, and
+sociably a drinker. That does it fair and above-board without legermain,
+and neither sharks for a cup or a reckoning: that is kind over his beer,
+and protests he loves you, and begins to you again, and loves you again.
+One that quarrels with no man, but for not pledging him, but takes all
+absurdities and commits as many, and is no tell-tale next morning,
+though he remember it. One that will fight for his friend if he hear him
+abused, and his friend commonly is he that is most likely, and he lifts
+up many a jug in his defence. He rails against none but censurers,
+against whom he thinks he rails lawfully, and censurers are all those
+that are better than himself. These good properties qualify him for
+honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale-house commendation, who,
+if he had any other good quality, would be named by that. But now for
+refuge he is an honest man, and hereafter a sot: only those that commend
+him think him not so, and those that commend him are honest fellows.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SUSPICIOUS OR JEALOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that watches himself a mischief, and keeps a lear eye still, for
+fear it should escape him. A man that sees a great deal more in every
+thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks he sees nothing: his own eye
+stands in his light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some weaknesses,
+which he might conceal if he were careless:--now his over-diligence to
+hide them makes men pry the more. Howsoever he imagines you have found
+him, and it shall go hard but you must abuse him whether you will or no.
+Not a word can be spoke but nips him somewhere; not a jest thrown out
+but he will make it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out of
+company, with some twenty quarrels to every man, stung and galled, and
+no man knows less the occasion than they that have given it. To laugh
+before him is a dangerous matter, for it cannot be at any thing but at
+him, and to whisper in his company plain conspiracy. He bids you speak
+out, and he will answer you, when you thought not of him. He
+expostulates with you in passion, why you should abuse him, and explains
+to your ignorance wherein, and gives you very good reason at last to
+laugh at him hereafter. He is one still accusing others when they are
+not guilty, and defending himself when he is not accused: and no man is
+undone more with apologies, wherein he is so elaborately excessive, that
+none will believe him; and he is never thought worse of, than when he
+has given satisfaction. Such men can never have friends, because they
+cannot trust so far; and this humour hath this infection with it, it
+makes all men to them suspicious. In conclusion, they are men always in
+offence and vexation with themselves and their neighbours, wronging
+others in thinking they would wrong them, and themselves most of all in
+thinking they deserve it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>NICHOLAS BRETON</h2>
+
+<p><i>Published in 1615 &quot;Characters upon Essays, Moral and Divine&quot; and in
+1616 a set of Characters called &quot;The Good and the Bad.&quot; He was of a good
+Essex family, second son of William Breton of Redcross Street, in the
+parish of St. Giles without Cripplegate. His father was well-to-do, and
+died in January 1559 (new style) when Nicholas was a boy. His mother
+took for second husband George Gascoigne the poet. Only a chance note in
+a diary informs us that Nicholas Breton was once of Oriel College,
+Oxford. In 1577, when his stepfather Gascoigne died, Breton was living
+in London, and he then published the first of his many books. He married
+Ann Sutton in the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, on the 14th of
+January 1593 (new style), had a son Henry, born in 1603, a son Edward in
+1606, and a daughter Matilda in 1607, who died in her nineteenth year.
+He was from 1577 onward an active writer both of prose and verse, and a
+poet of real mark in the days of Elizabeth and James the First, though
+it was left to Dr. A. B. Grosart to be, in 1875-79, the first editor of
+his collected works in an edition limited to a hundred copies. The date
+of Breton's last publication, &quot;Fantastics,&quot; is 1626, but of the time of
+his death there is no record, Nicholas Breton's &quot;Characters upon
+Essaies&quot; published in 1615, were entitled in full &quot;Characters upon
+Essaies Morall and Divine, written for those good spirits that will take
+them 'in good part, and make use of them to good purpose.&quot; In
+recognition of the kinship between Bacon's Essays and Character
+writings, they were dedicated</i></p>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; To the Honourable, and my much worthy honoured,<br>
+truly learned, and Judicious Knight, SIR FRANCIS BACON,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; his Maties. Attorney General,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Increase of honour, health, and eternal happiness</i>.<br>
+
+<p>Worthy knight, I have read of many essays and a kind of charactering of
+them, by such, as when I looked unto the form or nature of their writing
+I have been of the conceit that they were but imitators of your breaking
+the ice to their inventions, which, how short they fall of your worth, I
+had rather think than speak, though truth need not blush at her blame.
+Now, for myself, unworthy to touch near the rock of those diamonds, or
+to speak in their praise, who so far exceed the power of my capacity,
+vouchsafe me leave yet, I beseech you, among those apes that would
+counterfeit the actions of men, to play the like part with learning, and
+as a monkey that would make a face like a man and cannot, so to write
+like a scholar and am not; and thus not daring to adventure the print
+under your patronage, without your favourable allowance in the devoted
+service of my bounden duty, I leave these poor travails of my spirit to
+the perusing of your pleasing leisure, with the further fruits of my
+humble affection, to the happy employment of your honourable
+pleasure.--At your service in all humbleness,</p>
+
+<h3>NICH. BRETON.</h3>
+
+<p><i>Breton prefixed also this address</i>--</p>
+
+<h2>TO THE READER.</h2>
+
+<p>Read what you list, and understand what you can. Characters are not
+every man's construction, though they be writ in our mother tongue; and
+what I have written, being of no other nature, if they fit not your
+humour they may please a better. I make no comparison, because I know
+you not, but if you will vouchsafe to look into them, it may be you may
+find something in them; their natures are diverse, as you may see, if
+your eyes be open, and if you can make use of them to good purpose, your
+wits may prove the better. In brief, fearing the fool will be put upon
+me for being too busy with matters too far above my understanding, I
+will leave my imperfection to pardon or correction, and my labour to
+their liking that will not think ill of a well-meaning, and so
+rest,--Your well-willing friend,</p>
+
+<p>N.B.</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS,</h2>
+
+
+<h2><i>MORAL AND DIVINE.</i></h2>
+
+<h2>By NICHOLAS BRETON.</h2>
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<h2>WISDOM.</h2>
+
+<p>Wisdom is a working grace in the souls of the elect, by whom the spirit
+is made capable of those secrets that neither nature nor reason is able
+to comprehend; who, by a powerful virtue she hath from the Divine
+Essence, worketh in all things according to the will of the Almighty,
+and, being before beginning, shall exceed time in an eternal proceeding.
+She is a light in the intellectual part, by which reason is led to
+direct the senses in their due course, and nature is preserved from
+subjecting herself to imperfection. In the Creation she was of counsel
+with the Trinity in the pleasing of the Deity; in the Redemption the
+inventor of mercy for the preservation of the elect; and in the
+Glorification the treasurer of life for the reward of the faithful, who,
+having committed to her care the carriage of the whole motion, finding
+the disposition of earth in all the children of her womb, by such a
+measure as she finds fitting their quality, she gives them either the
+grace of nature or the glory of reason. While being the mother of the
+graces, she gives them that holy instruction that, in the knowledge of
+the highest love, through the paths of virtue, makes a passage to
+heaven. Learning hath from her that knowledge without the which all
+knowledge is mere ignorance, while only in the grace of truth is seen
+the glory of understanding. Knowledge hath from her that learning
+whereby she is taught the direction of her love in the way of life.
+Understanding hath from her that knowledge that keeps conceit always in
+the spirit's comfort; and judgment from understanding, that rule of
+justice that by the even weight of impartiality shows the hand of Heaven
+in the heart of humanity. In the heavens she keeps the angels in their
+orders, teacheth them the natures of their offices, and employs them in
+the service of their Creator. In the firmament she walks among the
+stars, sets and keeps them in their places, courses, and operations, at
+her pleasure. She eclipseth the light, and in a moment leaves not a
+cloud in the sky. In her thunders and lightnings she shows the terror of
+the Highest wrath, and in her temperate calms, the patience of His
+mercy. In her frosty winters she shows the weakness of nature, and in
+her sunny springs the recovery of her health. In the lovers of this
+world lives no part of her pureness, but with her beloved she makes a
+heaven upon earth. In the king she shows grace, in his council her care,
+and in his state her strength. In the soldier she shows virtue the
+truest valour; in the lawyer, truth the honour of his plea; in the
+merchant, conscience the wealth of his soul; and in the churchman,
+charity the true fruit of his devotion. She lives in the world but not
+the world's love, for the world's unworthiness is not capable of her
+worth. She receiveth Mammon as a gift from his Maker, and makes him
+serve her use to His glory. She gives honour, grace in bounty, and
+manageth wit by the care of discretion. She shows the necessity of
+difference, and wherein is the happiness of unity. She puts her labour
+to providence, her hope to patience, her life to her love, and her love
+to her Lord; with whom, as chief secretary of His secrets, she writes
+His will to the world, and as high steward of His courts she keeps
+account of all His tenants. In sum, so great is her grace in the heavens
+as gives her glory above the earth, and so infinite are her excellencies
+in all the course of her action; and so glorious are the notes of her
+incomprehensible nature, that I will thus only conclude, far short of
+her commendation:--She is God's love, and His angels' light, His
+servants' grace, and His beloved's glory.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>LEARNING.</h2>
+
+<p>Learning is the life of reason and the light of nature, where time,
+order, and measure square out the true course of knowledge; where
+discretion in the temper of passion brings experience to the best fruit
+of affection; while both the Theory and Practice labour in the life of
+judgment, till the perfection of art show the honour of understanding.
+She is the key of knowledge that unlocketh the cabinet of conceit,
+wherein are laid up the labours of virtue for the use of the scholars of
+wisdom; where every gracious spirit may find matter enough worthy of the
+record of the best memory. She is the nurse of nature, with that milk of
+reason that would make a child of grace never lie from the dug. She is
+the schoolmistress of wit and the gentle governor of will, when the
+delight of understanding gives the comfort of study. She is unpleasing
+to none that knows her, and unprofitable to none that loves her. She
+fears not to wet her feet, to wade through the waters of comfort, but
+comes not near the seas of iniquity, where folly drowns affection in the
+delight of vanity. She opens her treasures to the travellers in virtue,
+but keeps them close from the eyes of idleness. She makes the king
+gracious and his council judicious, his clergy devout and his kingdom
+prosperous. She gives honour to virtue, grace to honour, reward to
+labour, and love to truth. She is the messenger of wisdom to the minds
+of the virtuous, and the way to honour in the spirits of the gracious.
+She is the storehouse of understanding, where the affection of grace
+cannot want instruction of goodness, while, in the rules of her
+directions, reason is never out of square. She is the exercise of wit in
+the application of knowledge, and the preserver of the understanding in
+the practice of memory. In brief, she makes age honourable and youth
+admirable, the virtuous wise and the wise gracious. Her libraries are
+infinite, her lessons without number, her instruction without
+comparison, and her scholars without equality. In brief, finding it a
+labyrinth to go through the grounds of her praise, let this suffice,
+that in all ages she hath been and ever will be the darling of wisdom,
+the delight of wit, the study of virtue, and the stay of knowledge.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>KNOWLEDGE.</h2>
+
+<p>Knowledge is a collection of understanding gathered in the grounds of
+learning by the instruction of wisdom. She is the exercise of memory in
+the actions of the mind, and the employer of the senses in the will of
+the spirit: she is the notary of time and the trier of truth, and the
+labour of the spirit in the love of virtue: she is the pleasure of wit
+and the paradise of reason, where conceit gathereth the sweet of
+understanding. She is the king's counsellor and the council's grace,
+youth's guard and age's glory. It is free from doubts and fears no
+danger, while the care of Providence cuts off the cause of repentance.
+She is the enemy of idleness and the maintainer of labour in the care of
+credit and pleasure of profit: she needs no advice in the resolution of
+action, while experience in observation finds perfection infallible. It
+clears errors and cannot be deceived, corrects impurity and will not be
+corrupted. She hath a wide ear and a close mouth, a pure eye and a
+perfect heart. It is begotten by grace, bred by virtue, brought up by
+learning, and maintained by love. She converseth with the best
+capacities and communicates with the soundest judgments, dwells with the
+divinest natures and loves the most patient dispositions. Her hope is a
+kind of assurance, her faith a continual expectation, her love an
+apprehension of joy, and her life the light of eternity. Her labours are
+infinite, her ways are unsearchable, her graces incomparable, and her
+excellencies inexplicable; and therefore, being so little acquainted
+with her worth as makes me blush at my unworthiness to speak in the
+least of her praise, I will only leave her advancement to virtue, her
+honour to wisdom, her grace to truth, and to eternity her glory.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>PRACTICE.</h2>
+
+<p>Practice is the motion of the spirit, where the senses are all set to
+work in their natures, where, in the fittest employment of time, reason
+maketh the best use of understanding. She is the continuance of
+knowledge in the ease of memory, and the honour of resolution in the
+effect of judgment. She plants the spring and reaps the harvest, makes
+labour sweet and patience comfortable. She hath a foot on the earth but
+an eye at heaven, where the prayer of faith finds the felicity of the
+soul. In the fruit of charity she shows the nature of devotion, and in
+the mercy of justice the glory of government. She gives time honour in
+the fruit of action, and reason grace in the application of knowledge.
+She takes the height of the sun, walks about the world, sounds the depth
+of the sea, and makes her passage through the waters. She is ready for
+all occasions, attendeth all persons, works with all instruments, and
+finisheth all actions. She takes invention for her teacher, makes time
+her servant, method her direction, and place her habitation. She hath a
+wakeful eye and a working brain, which fits the members of the body to
+the service of the spirit. She is the physician's agent and the
+apothecary's benefactor, the chirurgeon's wealth and the patient's
+patience. She brings time to labour and care to contentment, learning to
+knowledge and virtue to honour: in idleness she hath no pleasure, nor
+acquaintance with ignorance, but in industry is her delight and in
+understanding her grace. She hath a passage through all the
+predicaments, she hath a hand in all the arts, a property in all
+professions, and a quality in all conditions. In brief, so many are the
+varieties of the manners of her proceedings as makes me fearful to
+follow her too far in observation, lest being never able to come near
+the height of her commendation, I be enforced as I am to leave her
+wholly to admiration.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><<br>
+<h2>PATIENCE.</h2>
+
+<p>Patience is a kind of heavenly tenure, whereby the soul is held in
+possession, and a sweet temper in the spirit, which restraineth nature
+from exceeding reason in passion. Her hand keeps time in his right
+course, and her eye passeth into the depth of understanding. She
+attendeth wisdom in all her works, and proportioneth time to the
+necessity of matter. She is the poison of sorrow in the hope of comfort,
+and the paradise of conceit in the joy of peace. Her tongue speaks
+seldom but to purpose, and her foot goeth slowly but surely. She is the
+imitator of the Incomprehensible in His passage to perfection, and a
+servant of His will in the map of His workmanship: in confusion she hath
+no operation, while she only aireth her conceit with the consideration
+of experience. She travels far and is never weary, and gives over no
+work but to better a beginning. She makes the king merciful and the
+subject loyal, honour gracious and wisdom glorious. She pacifieth wrath
+and puts off revenge, and in the humility of charity shows the nature of
+grace. She is beloved of the highest and embraced of the wisest,
+honoured with the worthiest and graced with the best. She makes
+imprisonment liberty when the mind goeth through the world, and in
+sickness finds health where death is the way to life. She is an enemy to
+passion, and knows no purgatory; thinks fortune a fiction, and builds
+only upon providence. She is the sick man's salve and the whole man's
+preserver, the wise man's staff and the good man's guide. In sum, not to
+wade too far in her worthiness, lest I be drowned in the depth of
+wonder, I will thus end in her endless honour:--She is the grace of
+Christ and the virtue of Christianity, the praise of goodness and the
+preserver of the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><<br>
+<h2>LOVE.</h2>
+
+<p>Love is the life of Nature and the joy of reason in the spirit of grace;
+where virtue drawing affection, the concord of sense makes an union
+inseparable in the divine apprehension of the joy of election. It is a
+ravishment of the soul in the delight of the spirit, which, being
+carried above itself into inexplicable comfort, feels that heavenly
+sickness that is better than the world's health, when the wisest of men
+in the swounding delight of his sacred inspiration could thus utter the
+sweetness of his passion, &quot;My soul is sick of love.&quot; It is a healthful
+sickness in the soul, a pleasing passion in the heart, a contentive
+labour in the mind, and a peaceful trouble of the senses. It alters
+natures in contrarieties, when difficulty is made easy; pain made a
+pleasure; poverty, riches; and imprisonment, liberty; for the content of
+conceit, which regards not to be an abject, in being subject but to an
+object. It rejoiceth in truth, and knows no inconstancy: it is free from
+jealousy, and feareth no fortune: it breaks the rule of arithmetic by
+confounding of number, where the conjunction of thoughts makes one mind
+in two bodies, where neither figure nor cipher can make division of
+union. It sympathises with life, and participates with light, when the
+eye of the mind sees the joy of the heart. It is a predominant power
+which endures no equality, and yet communicates with reason in the rules
+of concord: it breeds safety in a king and peace in a kingdom, nation's
+unity, and Nature's gladness. It sings in labour, in the joy of hope;
+and makes a paradise in reward of desert. It pleads but mercy in the
+justice of the Almighty, and but mutual amity in the nature of humanity.
+In sum, having no eagle's eye to look upon the sun, and fearing to look
+too high, for fear of a chip in mine eye, I will in these few words
+speak in praise of this peerless virtue:--Love is the grace of Nature
+and the glory of reason, the blessing of God and the comfort of
+the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>PEACE.</h2>
+
+<p>Peace is a calm in conceit, where the senses take pleasure in the rest
+of the spirit. It is Nature's holiday after reason's labour, and
+wisdom's music in the concords of the mind. It is a blessing of grace, a
+bounty of mercy, a proof of love, and a preserver of life. It holds no
+arguments, knows no quarrels, is an enemy to sedition, and a continuance
+of amity. It is the root of plenty, the tree of pleasure, the fruit of
+love, and the sweetness of life. It is like the still night, where all
+things are at rest, and the quiet sleep, where dreams are not
+troublesome; or the resolved point, in the perfection of knowledge,
+where no cares nor doubts make controversies in opinion. It needs no
+watch where is no fear of enemy, nor solicitor of causes where
+agreements are concluded. It is the intent of law and the fruit of
+justice, the end of war and the beginning of wealth. It is a grace in a
+court, and a glory in a kingdom, a blessing in a family, and a happiness
+in a commonwealth. It fills the rich man's coffers, and feeds the poor
+man's labour. It is the wise man's study, and the good man's joy: who
+love it are gracious, who make it are blessed, who keep it are happy,
+and who break it are miserable. It hath no dwelling with idolatry, nor
+friendship with falsehood; for her life is in truth, and in her all is
+Amen. But lest in the justice of peace I may rather be reproved for my
+ignorance of her work than thought worthy to speak in her praise, with
+this only conclusion in the commendation of peace I will draw to an end
+and hold my peace:--It was a message of joy at the birth of Christ, a
+song of joy at the embracement of Christ, an assurance of joy at the
+death of Christ, and shall be the fulness of joy at the coming
+of Christ.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>WAR.</h2>
+
+<p>War is a scourge of the wrath of God, which by famine, fire, or sword
+humbleth the spirits of the repentant, trieth the patience of the
+faithful, and hardeneth the hearts of the ungodly. It is the misery of
+time and the terror of Nature, the dispeopling of the earth and the ruin
+of her beauty. Her life is action, her food blood, her honour valour,
+and her joy conquest. She is valour's exercise and honour's adventure,
+reason's trouble and peace's enemy: she is the stout man's love and the
+weak man's fear, the poor man's toil and the rich man's plague: she is
+the armourer's benefactor and the chirurgeon's agent, the coward's ague
+and the desperate's overthrow. She is the wish of envy, the plague of
+them that wish her, the shipwreck of life, and the agent for death. The
+best of her is, that she is the seasoner of the body and the manager of
+the mind for the enduring of labour in the resolution of action. She
+thunders in the air, rips up the earth, cuts through the seas, and
+consumes with the fire: she is indeed the invention of malice, the work
+of mischief, the music of hell, and the dance of the devil. She makes
+the end of youth untimely and of age wretched, the city's sack and the
+country's beggary: she is the captain's pride and the captive's sorrow,
+the throat of blood and the grave of flesh. She is the woe of the world,
+the punishment of sin, the passage of danger, and the messenger of
+destruction. She is the wise man's warning and the fool's payment, the
+godly man's grief and the wicked man's game. In sum, so many are her
+wounds, so mortal her cures, so dangerous her course, and so devilish
+her devices, that I will wade no further in her rivers of blood, but
+only thus conclude in her description:--She is God's curse and man's
+misery, hell's practice and earth's hell.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><<br>
+<h2>VALOUR.</h2>
+
+<p>Valour is a 'virtue in the spirit which keeps the flesh in subjection,
+resolves without fear, and travails without fainting: she vows no
+villainy nor breaks her fidelity: she is patient in captivity and
+pitiful in conquest. Her gain is honour and desert her mean, fortune her
+scorn and folly her hate; wisdom is her guide and conquest her grace,
+clemency her praise and humility her glory: she is youth's ornament and
+age's honour, nature's blessing and virtue's love. Her life is
+resolution and her love victory, her triumph truth, and her fame virtue.
+Her arms are from antiquity and her coat full of honour, where the title
+of grace hath her heraldry from heaven. She makes a walk of war and a
+sport of danger, an ease of labour and a jest of death: she makes famine
+but abstinence, want but a patience, sickness but a purge, and death a
+puff. She is the maintainer of war, the general of an army, the terror
+of an enemy, and the glory of a camp. She is the nobleness of the mind
+and the strength of the body, the life of hope and the death of fear.
+With a handful of men she overthrows a multitude, and with a sudden
+amazement she discomfits a camp. She is the revenge of wrong and the
+defence of right, religion's champion and virtue's choice. In brief, let
+this suffice in her commendation:--She strengthened David and conquered
+Goliath, she overthrows her enemies and conquers herself.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>RESOLUTION.</h2>
+
+<p>Resolution is the honour of valour, in the quarrel of virtue, for the
+defence of right and redress of wrong. She beats the march, pitcheth the
+battle, plants the ordnance, and maintains the fight. Her ear is stopped
+for dissuasions, her eye aims only at honour, her hand takes the sword
+of valour, and her heart thinks of nothing but victory. She gives the
+charge, makes the stand, assaults the fort, and enters the breach. She
+breaks the pikes, faceth the shot, damps the soldier, and defeats the
+army. She loseth no time, slips no occasion, dreads no danger, and cares
+for no force. She is valour's life and virtue's love, justice's honour
+and mercy's glory. She beats down castles, fires ships, wades through
+the sea, and walks through the world. She makes wisdom her guide and
+will her servant, reason her companion and honour her mistress. She is a
+blessing in Nature and a beauty in reason, a grace in invention and a
+glory in action. She studies no plots when her platform is set down, and
+defers no time when her hour is prefixed. She stands upon no helps when
+she knows her own force, and in the execution of her will she is a rock
+irremovable. She is the king's will without contradiction, and the
+judge's doom without exception, the scholar's profession without
+alteration, and the soldier's honour without comparison. In sum, so many
+are the grounds of her grace and the just causes of her commendation,
+that, leaving her worth to the description of better wits, I will in
+these few words conclude my conceit of her:--She is the stoutness of the
+heart and the strength of the mind, a gift of God and the glory of
+the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>HONOUR.</h2>
+
+<p>Honour is a title or grace given by the spirit of virtue to the desert
+of valour in the defence of truth; it is wronged in baseness and abused
+in unworthiness, and endangered in wantonness and lost in wickedness. It
+nourisheth art and crowneth wit, graceth learning and glorifieth wisdom;
+in the heraldry of heaven it hath the richest coat, being in nature
+allied unto all the houses of grace, which in the heaven of heavens
+attend the King of kings. Her escutcheon is a heart, in which in the
+shield of faith she bears on the anchor of hope the helmet of salvation:
+she quarters with wisdom in the resolution of valour, and in the line of
+charity she is the house of justice. Her supporters are time and
+patience, her mantle truth, and her crest Christ treading upon the globe
+of the world, her impress <i>Corona mea Christus</i>. In brief, finding her
+state so high that I am not able to climb unto the praise of her
+perfection, I will leave her royalty to the register of most princely
+spirits, and in my humble heart thus only deliver my opinion of
+her:--She is virtue's due and grace's gift, valour's wealth and
+reason's joy.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>TRUTH.</h2>
+
+<p>Truth is the glory of time and the daughter of eternity, a title of the
+highest grace, and a note of a divine nature. She is the life of
+religion, the light of love, the grace of wit, and the crown of wisdom:
+she is the beauty of valour, the brightness of honour, the blessing of
+reason, and the joy of faith. Her truth is pure gold, her time is right
+precious, her word is most gracious, and her will is most glorious. Her
+essence is in God and her dwelling with His servants, her will in His
+wisdom and her work to His glory. She is honoured in love and graced in
+constancy, in patience admired and in charity beloved. She is the
+angel's worship, the virgin's fame, the saint's bliss, and the martyr's
+crown: she is the king's greatness and his counsel's goodness, his
+subject's peace and his kingdom's praise: she is the life of learning
+and the light of law, the honour of trade and the grace of labour. She
+hath a pure eye, a plain hand, a piercing wit, and a perfect heart. She
+is wisdom's walk in the way of holiness, and takes up her rest but in
+the resolution of goodness. Her tongue never trips, her heart never
+faints, her hand never fails, and her faith never fears. Her church is
+without schism, her city without fraud, her court without vanity, and
+her kingdom without villainy. In sum, so infinite is her excellence in
+the construction of all sense, that I will thus only conclude in the
+wonder of her worth:--She is the nature of perfection in the perfection
+of Nature, where God in Christ shows the glory of Christianity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>TIME.</h2>
+
+<p>Time is a continual motion, which from the highest Mover hath his
+operation in all the subjects of Nature, according to their quality or
+disposition. He is in proportion like a circle, wherein he walketh with
+an even passage to the point of his prefixed place. He attendeth none,
+and yet is a servant to all; he is best employed by wisdom, and most
+abused by folly. He carrieth both the sword and the sceptre, for the use
+both of justice and mercy. He is present in all inventions, and cannot
+be spared from action. He is the treasury of graces in the memory of the
+wise, and brings them forth to the world upon necessity of their use. He
+openeth the windows of heaven to give light unto the earth, and spreads
+the cloak of the night to cover the rest of labour. He closeth the eye
+of Nature and waketh the spirit of reason; he travelleth through the
+mind, and is visible but to the eye of understanding. He is swifter than
+the wind, and yet is still as a stone; precious in his right use, but
+perilous in the contrary. He is soon found of the careful soul, and
+quickly missed in the want of his comfort: he is soon lost in the lack
+of employment, and not to be recovered without a world of endeavour. He
+is the true man's peace and the thief's perdition, the good man's
+blessing and the wicked man's curse. He is known to be, but his being
+unknown, but only in his being in a being above knowledge. He is a
+riddle not to be read but in the circumstance of description, his name
+better known than his nature, and he that maketh best use of him hath
+the best understanding of him. He is like the study of the philosopher's
+stone, where a man may see wonders and yet short of his expectation. He
+is at the invention of war, arms the soldier, maintains the quarrel, and
+makes the peace. He is the courtier's playfellow and the soldier's
+schoolmaster, the lawyer's gain and the merchant's hope. His life is
+motion and his love action, his honour patience and his glory
+perfection. He masketh modesty and blusheth virginity, honoureth
+humility and graceth charity. In sum, finding it a world to walk through
+the wonder of his worth, I will thus briefly deliver what I find truly
+of him:--He is the agent of the living and the register of the dead, the
+direction of God and a great work-master in the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>DEATH.</h2>
+
+<p>Death is an ordinance of God for the subjecting of the world, which is
+limited to his time for the correction of pride: in his substance he is
+nothing, being but only ii deprivation, and in his true description a
+name without a nature. He is seen but in a picture, heard but in a tale,
+feared but in a passion, and felt but in a pinch. He is a terror but to
+the wicked, and a scarecrow but to the foolish; but to the wise a way of
+comfort, and to the godly the gate to life. He is the ease of pain and
+the end of sorrow, the liberty of the imprisoned and the joy of the
+faithful; it is both the wound of sin and the wages of sin, the sinner's
+fear and the sinner's doom. He is the sexton's agent and the hangman's
+revenue, the rich man's dirge and the mourner's merry-day. He is a
+course of time but uncertain till he come, and welcome but to such as
+are weary of their lives. It is a message from the physician when the
+patient is past cure, and if the writ be well made, it is a
+<i>supersedeas</i> for all diseases. It is the heaven's stroke and the
+earth's steward, the follower of sickness and the forerunner to hell In
+sum, having no pleasure to ponder too much of the power of it, I will
+thus conclude my opinion of it:--It is a sting of sin and the terror of
+the wicked, the crown of the godly, the stair of vengeance, and a
+stratagem of the devil.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>FAITH.</h2>
+
+<p>Faith is the hand of the soul which layeth hold of the promises of
+Christ in the mercy of the Almighty. She hath a bright eye and a holy
+ear, a clear heart and sure foot: she is the strength of hope, the trust
+of truth, the honour of amity, and the joy of love. She is rare among
+the sons of men and hardly found among the daughters of women; but among
+the sons of God she is a conveyance of their inheritance, and among the
+daughters of grace she is the assurance of their portions. Her dwelling
+is in the Church of God, her conversation with the saints of God, her
+delight with the beloved of God, and her life is in the love of God. She
+knows no falsehood, distrusts no truth, breaks no promise, and coins no
+excuse; but as bright as the sun, as swift as the wind, as sure as the
+rock, and as pure as the gold, she looks toward heaven but lives in the
+world, in the souls of the elect to the glory of election. She was
+wounded in Paradise by a dart of the devil, and healed of her hurt by
+the death of Christ Jesus. She is the poor man's credit and the rich
+man's praise, the wise man's care and the good man's cognisance. In sum,
+finding her worth in words hardly to be expressed, I will in these few
+words only deliver my opinion of her:--She is God's blessing and man's
+bliss, reason's comfort and virtue's glory.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>FEAR.</h2>
+
+<p>Fear is a fruit of sin, which drove the first father of our flesh from
+the presence of God, and hath bred an imperfection in a number of the
+worse part of his posterity. It is the disgrace of nature, the foil of
+reason, the maim of wit, and the slur of understanding. It is the palsy
+of the spirit where the soul wanteth faith, and the badge of a coward
+that cannot abide the sight of a sword. It is weakness in nature and a
+wound in patience, the death of hope and the entrance into despair. It
+is children's awe and fools' amazement, a worm in conscience and a curse
+to wickedness. In brief, it makes the coward stagger, the liar stammer,
+the thief stumble, and the traitor start. It is a blot in arms, a blur
+in honour, the shame of a soldier, and the defeat of an army.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p><i>Breton's next little prose book, published in the following year,
+1616--year of the death of Shakespeare--was a set of Characters, &quot;The
+Good and the Bad,&quot; without suggestion that they were built upon the
+lines of Bacon's Essays. Bacon's Essays first appeared as a set of ten
+in 1597, became a set of forty in the revised edition of 1612, and of
+fifty-eight in the edition of 1625, published a year before their
+author's death. In their sententious brevity Bacon's Essays have, of
+course, a style more nearly allied to the English Character Writing of
+the Seventeenth Century than to the Sixteenth Century Essays of
+Montaigne, which were altogether different in style, matter, and aim.
+This, for example, was Bacon's first Essay in the 1597 edition:--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>OF STUDIES.</h2>
+
+<p>Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, for abilities; their chief
+use for pastimes is in privateness and retiring, for ornaments in
+discourse, and for ability in judgment; for expert men can execute, but
+learned men are more fit to judge and censure. To spend too much time in
+them is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affectation; to make
+judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar; they perfect
+nature, and are themselves perfected by experience; crafty men contemn
+them, wise men use them, simple men admire them; for they teach not
+their own use, but that there is a wisdom without them and above them
+won by observation. Read not to contradict nor to believe, but to weigh
+and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and
+some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some are to be read only in
+parts, others to be read but curiously, and some few to be read wholly
+with diligence and attention. Reading maketh a full man, conference a
+ready, and writing an exact man; therefore, if a man write little, he
+had need of a great memory; if he confer little, he had need of a
+present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to
+seem to know that he doth not know. Histories make men wise; poets
+witty; the mathematics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral grave;
+logic and rhetoric able to contend.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>THE GOOD AND THE BAD;</h2>
+
+<h3>OR,</h3>
+
+<h2>DESCRIPTIONS OF THE WORTHIES AND</h2>
+
+<h2>UNWORTHIES OF THIS AGE.</h2>
+
+<h2>By NICHOLAS BRETON.</h2>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY KING.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy king is a figure of God, in the nature of government. He is the
+chief of men and the Church's champion, Nature's honour and earth's
+majesty: is the director of law and the strength of the same, the sword
+of justice and the sceptre of mercy, the glass of grace and the eye of
+honour, the terror of treason and the life of loyalty. His command is
+general and his power absolute, his frown a death and his favour a life:
+his charge is his subjects, his care their safety, his pleasure their
+peace, and his joy their love. He is not to be paralleled, because he is
+without equality, and the prerogative of his crown must not be
+contradicted. He is the Lord's anointed, and therefore must not be
+touched, and the head of a public body, and therefore must be preserved.
+He is a scourge of sin and a blessing of grace, God's vicegerent over
+His people, and under Him supreme governor. His safety must be his
+council's care, his health his subjects' prayer, his pleasure his peers'
+comfort, and his content his kingdom's gladness. His presence must be
+reverenced, his person attended, his court adorned, and his state
+maintained. His bosom must not be searched, his will not disobeyed, his
+wants not unsupplied, nor his place unregarded. In sum, he is more than
+a man, though not a god, and next under God to be honoured above man.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY KING.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy king is the usurper of power, where tyranny in authority
+loseth the glory of majesty, while the fear of terror frighteneth love
+from obedience; for when the lion plays with the wolf, the lamb dies
+with the ewe. He is a messenger of wrath to be the scourge of sin, or
+the trial of patience in the hearts of the religious. He is a warrant of
+woe in the execution of his fury, and in his best temper a doubt of
+grace. He is a dispeopler of his kingdom and a prey to his enemies, an
+undelightful friend and a tormentor of himself. He knows no God, but
+makes an idol of Nature, and useth reason but to the ruin of sense. His
+care is but his will, his pleasure but his ease, his exercise but sin,
+and his delight but inhuman. His heaven is his pleasure, and his gold is
+his god. His presence is terrible, his countenance horrible, his words
+uncomfortable, and his actions intolerable. In sum, he is the foil of a
+crown, the disgrace of a court, the trouble of a council, and the plague
+of a kingdom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY QUEEN.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy queen is the figure of a king who, under God in His grace, hath
+a great power over His people. She is the chief of women, the beauty of
+her court, and the grace of her sex in the royalty of her spirit. She is
+like the moon, that giveth light among the stars, and, but unto the sun,
+gives none place in her brightness. She is the pure diamond upon the
+king's finger, and the orient pearl unprizeable in his eye, the joy of
+the court in the comfort of the king, and the wealth of the kingdom in
+the fruit of her love. She is reason's honour in nature's grace, and
+wisdom's love in virtue's beauty. In sum, she is the handmaid of God,
+and the king's second self, and in his grace, the beauty of a kingdom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY PRINCE.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy prince is the hope of a kingdom, the richest jewel in a king's
+crown, and the fairest flower in the queen's garden. He is the joy of
+nature in the hope of honour, and the love of wisdom in the life of
+worthiness. In the secret carriage of his heart's intention, till his
+designs come to action, he is a dumb show to the world's imagination. In
+his wisdom he startles the spirits of expectation in his valour, he
+subjects the hearts of ambition in his virtue, he wins the love of the
+noblest, and in his bounty binds the service of the most sufficient. He
+is the crystal glass, where nature may see her comfort, and the book of
+reason, where virtue may read her honour. He is the morning star that
+hath light from the sun, and the blessed fruit of the tree of earth's
+paradise. He is the study of the wise in the state of honour, and is the
+subject of learning, the history of admiration. In sum, he is the note
+of wisdom, the aim of honour, and in the honour of virtue the hope of
+a kingdom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY PRINCE.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy prince is the fear of a kingdom. When will and power carry
+pride in impatience, in the close carriage of ambitious intention, he is
+like a fearful dream to a troubled spirit. In his passionate humours he
+frighteneth the hearts of the prudent, in the delight of vanities he
+loseth the love of the wise, and in the misery of avarice is served only
+with the needy. He is like a little mist before the rising of the sun,
+which, the more it grows, the less good it doth. He is the king's grief
+and the queen's sorrow, the court's trouble and the kingdom's curse. In
+sum, he is the seed of unhappiness, the fruit of ungodliness, the taste
+of bitterness, and the digestion of heaviness.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY PRIVY COUNCILLOR.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy privy councillor is the pillar of a realm, in whose wisdom and
+care, under God and the king, stands the safety of a kingdom. He is the
+watch-tower to give warning of the enemy, and a hand of provision for
+the preservation of the state. He is an oracle in the king's ear, and a
+sword in the king's hand; an even weight in the balance of justice, and
+a light of grace in the love of truth. He is an eye of care in the
+course of law, a heart of love in his service to his sovereign, a mind
+of honour in the order of his service, and a brain of invention for the
+good of the commonwealth. His place is powerful while his service is
+faithful, and his honour due in the desert of his employment. In sum, he
+is as a fixed planet among the stars of the firmament, which through the
+clouds in the air shows the nature of his light.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY COUNCILLOR.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy councillor is the hurt of a king and the danger of a state,
+when the weakness of judgment may commit an error, or the lack of care
+may give way to unhappiness. He is a wicked charm in the king's ear, a
+sword of terror in the advice of tyranny. His power is perilous in the
+partiality of will, and his heart full of hollowness in the protestation
+of love. Hypocrisy is the cover of his counterfeit religion, and
+traitorous invention is the agent of his ambition. He is the cloud of
+darkness that threateneth foul weather; and if it grow to a storm, it is
+fearful where it falls. He is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and
+worthy of death in disloyalty to his sovereign. In sum, he is an unfit
+person for the place of a councillor and an unworthy subject to look a
+king in the face.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A NOBLEMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A nobleman is a mark of honour, where the eye of wisdom in the
+observation of desert sees the fruit of grace. He is the orient pearl
+that reason polisheth for the beauty of nature, and the diamond spark
+where divine grace gives virtue honour. He is the notebook of moral
+discipline, where the conceit of care may find the true courtier. He is
+the nurse of hospitality, the relief of necessity, the love of charity,
+and the life of bounty. He is learning's grace and valour's fame,
+wisdom's fruit and kindness' love. He is the true falcon that feeds on
+no carrion, the true horse that will be no hackney, the true dolphin
+that fears not the whale, and the true man of God that fears not the
+devil. In sum, he is the darling of nature in reason's philosophy, the
+loadstar of light in love's astronomy, the ravishing sweet in the music
+of honour, and the golden number in grace's arithmetic.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNNOBLE MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An unnoble man is the grief of reason, when the title of honour is put
+upon the subject of disgrace; when either the imperfection of wit or the
+folly of will shows an unfitness in nature for the virtue of
+advancement. He is the eye of baseness and spirit of grossness, and in
+the demean of rudeness the scorn of nobleness. He is a suspicion of a
+right generation in the nature of his disposition, and a miserable
+plague to a feminine patience. Wisdom knows him not, learning bred him
+not, virtue loves him not, and honour fits him not. Prodigality or
+avarice are the notes of his inclination, and folly or mischief are the
+fruits of his invention. In sum, he is the shame of his name, the
+disgrace of his place, the blot of his title, and the ruin of his house.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY BISHOP.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy bishop is an ambassador from God unto man, in the midst of war
+to make a treaty of peace; who with a general pardon upon confession of
+sin, upon the fruit of repentance gives assurance of comfort. He brings
+tidings from heaven of happiness to the world, where the patience of
+mercy calls nature to grace. He is the silver trumpet in the music of
+love, where faith hath a life that never fails the beloved. He is the
+director of life in the laws of God, and the chirurgeon of the soul in
+lancing the sores of sin; the terror of the reprobate in pronouncing
+their damnation, and the joy of the faithful in the assurance of their
+salvation. In sum, he is in the nature of grace, worthy of honour; and
+in the message of life, worthy of love; a continual agent betwixt God
+and man, in the preaching of His Word and prayer for His people.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY BISHOP.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy bishop is the disgrace of learning, when the want of reading
+or the abuse of understanding, in the speech of error may beget
+idolatry. He is God's enemy, in the hurt of His people, and his own woe
+in abuse of the Word of God. He is the shadow of a candle that gives no
+light, or, if it be any, it is but to lead into darkness. The sheep are
+unhappy that live in his fold, when they shall either starve or feed on
+ill ground. He breeds a war in the wits of his audience when his life is
+contrary to the nature of his instruction. He lives in a room where he
+troubles a world, and in the shadow of a saint is little better than a
+devil. He makes religion a cloak of sin, and with counterfeit humility
+covereth incomparable pride. He robs the rich to relieve the poor, and
+makes fools of the wise with the imagination of his worth. He is all for
+the Church but nothing for God, and for the ease of nature loseth the
+joy of reason. In sum, he is the picture of hypocrisy, the spirit of
+heresy, a wound in the Church, and a woe in the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY JUDGE.</h2>
+
+<p>A judge is a doom, whose breath is mortal upon the breach of law, where
+criminal offences must be cut off from a commonwealth. He is a sword of
+justice in the hand of a king, and an eye of wisdom in the walk of a
+kingdom. His study is a square for the keeping of proportion betwixt
+command and obedience, that the king may keep his crown on his head, and
+the subject his head on his shoulders. He is feared but of the foolish,
+and cursed but of the wicked; but of the wise honoured, and of the
+gracious beloved. He is a surveyor of rights and revenger of wrongs, and
+in the judgment of truth the honour of justice. In sum, his word is law,
+his power grace, his labour peace, and his desert honour.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY JUDGE.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy judge is the grief of justice in the error of judgment, when
+through ignorance or will the death of innocency lies upon the breath of
+opinion. He is the disgrace of law in the desert of knowledge, and the
+plague of power in the misery of oppression. He is more moral than
+divine in the nature of policy, and more judicious than just in the
+carriage of his conceit. His charity is cold when partiality is
+resolved; when the doom of life lies on the verdict of a jury, with a
+stern look he frighteth an offender and gives little comfort to a poor
+man's cause. The golden weight overweighs his grace, when angels play
+the devils in the hearts of his people. In sum, where Christ is preached
+he hath no place in His Church; and in this kingdom out of doubt God
+will not suffer any such devil to bear sway.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY KNIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy knight is a spirit of proof in the advancement of virtue, by
+the desert of honour, in the eye of majesty. In the field he gives
+courage to his soldiers, in the court grace to his followers, in the
+city reputation to his person, and in the country honour to his house.
+His sword and his horse make his way to his house, and his armour of
+best proof is an undaunted spirit. The music of his delight is the
+trumpet and the drum, and the paradise of his eye is an army defeated;
+the relief of the oppressed makes his conquest honourable, and the
+pardon of the submissive makes him famous in mercy. He is in nature mild
+and in spirit stout, in reason judicious, and in all honourable. In sum,
+he is a yeoman's commander and a gentleman's superior, a nobleman's
+companion and a prince's worthy favourite.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY KNIGHT.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy knight is the defect of nature in the title of honour, when
+to maintain valour his spurs have no rowels nor his sword a point. His
+apparel is of proof, that may wear like his armour, or like an old
+ensign that hath his honour in rags. It may be he is the tailor's
+trouble in fitting an ill shape, or a mercer's wonder in wearing of
+silk. In the court he stands for a cipher, and among ladies like an owl
+among birds. He is worshipped only for his wealth, and if he be of the
+first head, he shall be valued by his wit, when, if his pride go beyond
+his purse, his title will be a trouble to him. In sum, he is the child
+of folly and the man of Gotham, the blind man of pride and the fool of
+imagination. But in the court of honour are no such apes, and I hope
+that this kingdom will breed no such asses.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY GENTLEMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy gentleman is a branch of the tree of honour, whose fruits are
+the actions of virtue, as pleasing to the eye of judgment as tasteful to
+the spirit of understanding. Whatsoever he doeth it is not forced,
+except it be evil, which either through ignorance unwillingly, or
+through compulsion unwillingly, he falls upon. He is in nature kind, in
+demeanour courteous, in allegiance loyal, and in religion zealous; in
+service faithful, and in reward bountiful. He is made of no baggage
+stuff, nor for the wearing of base people; but it is woven by the spirit
+of wisdom to adorn the court of honour. His apparel is more comely than
+costly, and his diet more wholesome than excessive; his exercise more
+healthful than painful, and his study more for knowledge than pride; his
+love not wanton nor common, his gifts not niggardly nor prodigal, and
+his carriage neither apish nor sullen. In sum, he is an approver of his
+pedigree by the nobleness of his passage, and in the course of his life
+an example to his posterity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY GENTLEMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy gentleman is the scoff of wit and the scorn of honour, where
+more wealth than wit is worshipped of simplicity; who spends more in
+idleness than would maintain thrift, or hides more in misery than might
+purchase honour; whose delights are vanities and whose pleasures
+fopperies, whose studies fables and whose exercise worse than follies.
+His conversation is base, and his conference ridiculous; his affections
+ungracious, and his actions ignominious; his apparel out of fashion, and
+his diet out of order; his carriage out of square, and his company out
+of request. In sum, he is like a mongrel dog with a velvet collar, a
+cart-horse with a golden saddle, a buzzard kite with a falcon's bells,
+or a baboon with a pied jerkin.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY LAWYER.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy lawyer is the student of knowledge how to bring controversies
+into a conclusion of peace, and out of ignorance to gain understanding.
+He divides time into uses, and cases into constructions. He lays open
+obscurities, and is praised for the speech of truth; and in the court of
+conscience pleads much <i>in forma pauperis</i>, for small fees. He is a mean
+for the preservation of titles and the holding of possessions, and a
+great instrument of peace in the judgment of impartiality. He is the
+client's hope in his case's pleading, and his heart's comfort in a happy
+issue. He is the finder out of tricks in the craft of ill conscience,
+and the joy of the distressed in the relief of justice. In sum, he is a
+maker of peace among spirits of contention, and a continuer of quiet in
+the execution of the law.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY LAWYER.</h2>
+
+<p>An unlearned and unworthily called a lawyer, is the figure of a
+foot-post, who carries letters but knows not what is in them, only can
+read the superscriptions to direct them to their right owners. So
+trudgeth this simple clerk, that can scarce read a case when it is
+written, with his handful of papers from one court to another, and from
+one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good payment for his
+pains he will be so saucy as to call himself a solicitor. But what a
+taking are poor clients in when this too much trusted cunning companion,
+better read in Piers Plowman than in Plowden, and in the play of
+&quot;Richard the Third&quot; than in the pleas of Edward the Fourth, persuades
+them all is sure when he is sure of all! and in what a misery are the
+poor men when upon a <i>Nihil dicit</i>, because indeed this poor fellow
+<i>Nihil potest dicere</i>, they are in danger of an execution before they
+know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish all such more wicked than
+witty unlearned in the law and abusers of the same, to look a little
+better into their consciences, and to leave their crafty courses, lest
+when the law indeed lays them open, instead of carrying papers in their
+hands, they wear not papers on their heads; and instead of giving ear to
+their client's causes or rather eyes into their purses, they have never
+an ear left to hear withal, nor good eye to see withal, or at least
+honest face to look out withal; but as the grasshoppers of Egypt, be
+counted the caterpillars of England, and not the fox that stole the
+goose, but the great fox that stole the farm from the gander.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY SOLDIER.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy soldier is the child of valour, who was born for the service of
+necessity, and to bear the ensign of honour in the actions of worth. He
+is the dyer of the earth with blood, and the ruin of the erections of
+pride. He is the watch of wit, the advantage of time, and the
+executioner of wrath upon the wilful offender. He disputes questions
+with the point of a sword, and prefers death to indignities. He is a
+lion to ambition, and a lamb to submission; he hath hope fast by the
+hand, and treads upon the head of fear. He is the king's champion, and
+the kingdom's guard; peace's preserver, and rebellion's terror. He makes
+the horse trample at the sound of a trumpet, and leads on to a battle as
+if he were going to a breakfast. He knows not the nature of cowardice,
+for his rest is set up upon resolution; his strongest fortification is
+his mind, which beats off the assaults of idle humours, and his life is
+the passage of danger, where an undaunted spirit stoops to no fortune.
+With his arms he wins his arms, and by his desert in the field his
+honour in the court. In sum, in the truest manhood he is the true man,
+and in the creation of honour a most worthy creature.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNTRAINED SOLDIER.</h2>
+
+<p>An untrained soldier is like a young hound, that when he first falls to
+hunt, he knows not how to lay his nose to the earth; who, having his
+name but in a book, and marched twice about a market-place, when he
+comes to a piece of service knows not how to bestow himself. He marches
+as if he were at plough, carries his pike like a pike-staff, and his
+sword before him for fear of losing from his side. If he be a shot, he
+will be rather ready to say a grace over his piece, and so to discharge
+his hands of it, than to learn how to discharge it with a grace. He puts
+on his armour over his ears, like a waistcoat, and wears his morion like
+a nightcap. When he is quartered in the field, he looks for his bed, and
+when he sees his provant, he is ready to cry for his victuals; and ere
+he know well where he is, wish heartily he were at home again, with his
+head hanging down as if his heart were in his hose. He will sleep till a
+drum or a deadly bullet awake him; and so carry himself in all companies
+that, till martial discipline have seasoned his understanding, he is
+like a cipher among figures, an owl among birds, a wise man among fools,
+and a shadow among men.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY PHYSICIAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy physician is the enemy of sickness, in purging nature from
+corruption. His action is most in feeling of pulses, and his discourses
+chiefly of the natures of diseases. He is a great searcher out of
+simples, and accordingly makes his composition. He persuades abstinence
+and patience for the benefit of health, while purging and bleeding are
+the chief courses of his counsel. The apothecary and the chirurgeon are
+his two chief attendants, with whom conferring upon time, he grows
+temperate in his cures. Surfeits and wantonness are great agents for his
+employment, when by the secret of his skill out of others' weakness he
+gathers his own strength. In sum, he is a necessary member for an
+unnecessary malady, to find a disease and to cure the diseased.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY PHYSICIAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An unlearned and so unworthy physician is a kind of horse-leech, whose
+cure is most in drawing of blood, and a desperate purge, either to cure
+or kill, as it hits. His discourse is most of the cures that he hath
+done, and them afar of; and not a receipt under a hundred pounds, though
+it be not worth three halfpence. Upon the market-day he is much haunted
+with urinals, where if he find anything (though he know nothing), yet he
+will say somewhat, which if it hit to some purpose, with a few fustian
+words he will seem a piece of strange stuff. He is never without old
+merry tales and stale jests to make old folks laugh, and comfits or
+plums in his pocket to please little children; yea, and he will be
+talking of complexions, though he know nothing of their dispositions;
+and if his medicine do a feat, he is a made man among fools; but being
+wholly unlearned, and ofttimes unhonest, let me thus briefly describe
+him:--He is a plain kind of mountebank and a true quack-salver, a danger
+for the sick to deal withal, and a dizzard in the world to talk withal.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WORTHY MERCHANT.</h2>
+
+<p>A worthy merchant is the heir of adventure, whose hopes hang much upon
+wind. Upon a wooden horse he rides through the world, and in a merry
+gale he makes a path through the seas. He is a discoverer of countries,
+and a finder out of commodities, resolute in his attempts, and royal in
+his expenses. He is the life of traffic and the maintainer of trade, the
+sailor's master and the soldier's friend. He is the exercise of the
+exchange, the honour of credit, the observation of time, and the
+understanding of thrift. His study is number, his care his accounts, his
+comfort his conscience, and his wealth his good name. He fears not
+Scylla, and sails close by Charybdis, and having beaten out a storm,
+rides at rest in a harbour. By his sea-gain he makes his land purchase,
+and by the knowledge of trade finds the key of treasure. Out of his
+travels he makes his discourses, and from his eye observations brings
+the models of architectures. He plants the earth with foreign fruits,
+and knows at home what is good abroad. He is neat in apparel, modest in
+demeanour, dainty in diet, and civil in his carriage. In sum, he is the
+pillar of a city, the enricher of a country, the furnisher of a court,
+and the worthy servant of a king.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNWORTHY MERCHANT.</h2>
+
+<p>An unworthy merchant is a kind of pedlar, who (with the help of a
+broker) gets more by his wit than by his honesty. He doth sometime use
+to give out money to gamesters, be paid in post, upon a hand at dice.
+Sometime he gains more by baubles than better stuffs, and rather than
+fail will adventure a false oath for a fraudulent gain. He deals with no
+wholesale, but all his honesty is at one word; as for wares and weights,
+he knows how to hold the balance, and for his conscience he is not
+ignorant what to do with it. His travel is most by land, for he fears to
+be too busy with the water, and whatever his ware may be, he will be
+sure of his money. The most of his wealth is in a pack of trifles, and
+for his honesty I dare not pass my word for him. If he be rich, it is
+ten to one of his pride; and if he be poor, he breaks without his fast.
+In sum, he is the disgrace of a merchant, the dishonour of a city, the
+discredit of his parish, and the dislike of all.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOOD MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A good man is an image of God, lord over all His creatures, and created
+only for His service. He is made capable of reason to know the
+properties of nature, and by the inspiration of grace to know things
+supernatural. He hath a face always to look upward, and a soul that
+gives life to all the senses. He lives in the world as a stranger, while
+heaven is the home of his spirit. His life is but the labour of sense,
+and his death the way to his rest. His study is the Word of truth, and
+his delight is in the law of love. His provision is but to serve
+necessity, and his care the exercise of charity. He is more conversant
+with the divine prophets than the world's profits, and makes the joy of
+his soul in the tidings of his salvation. He is wise in the best wit,
+and wealthy in the richest treasure. His hope is but the comfort of
+mercy, and his fear but the hurt of sin. Pride is the hate of his soul,
+and patience the worker of his peace. His guide is the wisdom of grace,
+and his travel but to the Heavenly Jerusalem. In sum, he is the elect of
+God, the blessing of grace, the seed of love, and the fruit of life.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ATHEIST OR MOST BAD MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An atheist is a figure of desperation, who dare do anything even to his
+soul's damnation. He is in nature a dog, in wit an ass, in passion a
+bedlam, and in action a devil. He makes sin a jest, grace a humour,
+truth a fable, and peace a cowardice. His horse is his pride, his sword
+is his castle, his apparel his riches, and his punk his paradise. He
+makes robbery his purchase, lechery his solace, mirth his exercise, and
+drunkenness his glory. He is the danger of society, the love of vanity,
+the hate of charity, and the shame of humanity. He is God's enemy, his
+parents' grief, his country's plague, and his own confusion. He spoils
+that is necessary and spends that is needless. He spits at the gracious
+and spurns the godly. The tavern is his palace and his belly is his god;
+a whore is his mistress and the devil is his master. Oaths are his
+graces, wounds his badges, shifts are his practices, and beggary his
+payments. He knows not God, nor thinks of heaven, but walks through the
+world as a devil towards hell. Virtue knows him not, honesty finds him
+not, wisdom loves him not, and honour regards him not. He is but the
+cutler's friend and the chirurgeon's agent, the thief's companion and
+the hangman's benefactor. He was begotten untimely and born unhappily,
+lives ungraciously and dies unchristianly. He is of no religion nor good
+fashion; hardly good complexion, and most vile in condition. In sum, he
+is a monster among men, a Jew among Christians, a fool among wise men,
+and a devil among saints.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WISE MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A wise man is a clock that never strikes but at his home, or rather like
+a dial that, being set right with the sun, keeps his true course in his
+compass. So the heart of a wise man, set in the course of virtue by the
+spirit of grace, runs the course of life in the compass of eternal
+comfort. He measureth time and tempereth nature, employeth reason and
+commandeth sense. He hath a deaf ear to the charmer, a close mouth to
+the slanderer, an open hand to charity, and an humble mind to piety.
+Observation and experience are his reason's labours, and patience with
+conscience are the lines of his love's measure; contemplation and
+meditation are his spirit's exercise, and God and His Word are the joy
+of his soul. He knows not the pride of prosperity nor the misery of
+adversity, but takes the one as the day, the other as the night. He
+knows no fortune, but builds all upon providence, and through the hope
+of faith hath a fair aim at heaven. His words are weighed with judgment,
+and his actions are the examples of honour. He is fit for the seat of
+authority, and deserves the reverence of subjection. He is precious in
+the counsel of a king, and mighty in the sway of a kingdom. In sum, he
+is God's servant and the world's master, a stranger upon earth, and a
+citizen in heaven.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FOOL.</h2>
+
+<p>A fool is the abortive of wit, where nature had more power than reason
+in bringing forth the fruit of imperfection. His actions are most in
+extremes, and the scope of his brain is but ignorance. Only nature hath
+taught him to feed, and use to labour without knowledge. He is a kind of
+a shadow of a better substance, or like the vision of a dream that
+yields nothing awake. He is commonly known by one or two special names,
+derived from their qualities, as from wilful Will-fool, and Hodge from
+hodge-podge; all meats are alike, all are one to a fool. His exercises
+are commonly divided into four parts, eating and drinking, sleeping and
+laughing; four things are his chief loves, a bauble and a bell, a
+coxcomb and a pied-coat. He was begotten in unhappiness, born to no
+goodness, lives but in beastliness, and dies but in forgetfulness. In
+sum, he is the shame of nature, the trouble of wit, the charge of
+charity, and the loss of liberality.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN HONEST MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An honest man is like a plain coat, which, without welt or guard,
+keepeth the body from wind and weather, and being well made, fits him
+best that wears it; and where the stuff is more regarded than the
+fashion, there is not much ado in the putting of it on. So the mind of
+an honest man, without trick or compliments, keeps the credit of a good
+conscience from the scandal of the world and the worm of iniquity,
+which, being wrought by the workman of heaven, fits him best that wears
+it to his service; and where virtue is more esteemed than vanity, it is
+put on and worn with that ease that shows the excellency of the workman.
+His study is virtue, his word truth, his life the passage of patience,
+and his death the rest of his spirit. His travail is a pilgrimage, his
+way is plainness, his pleasure peace, and his delight is love. His care
+is his conscience, his wealth is his credit, his charge is his chanty,
+and his content is his kingdom. In sum, he is a diamond among jewels, a
+phrenix among birds, an unicorn among beasts, and a saint among men.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A KNAVE.</h2>
+
+<p>A knave is the scum of wit and the scorn of reason, the hate of wisdom
+and the dishonour of humanity. He is the danger of society and the hurt
+of amity, the infection of youth and the corruption of age. He is a
+traitor to affiance and abuse to employment, and a rule of villainy in a
+plot of mischief. He hath a cat's eye and a bear's paw, a siren's tongue
+and a serpent's sting. His words are lies, his oaths perjuries, his
+studies subtilties, and his practices villainies; his wealth is his wit,
+his honour is his wealth, his glory is his gain, and his god is his
+gold. He is no man's friend and his own enemy; cursed on earth and
+banished from heaven. He was begotten ungraciously, born untimely, lives
+dishonestly, and dies shamefully. His heart is a puddle of poison, his
+tongue a sting of iniquity, his brain a distiller of deceit, and his
+conscience a compass of hell. In sum, he is a dog in disposition, a fox
+in wit, a wolf in his prey, and a devil in his pride.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN USURER.</h2>
+
+<p>An usurer is a figure of misery, who hath made himself a slave to his
+money. His eye is closed from pity, and his hand from charity; his ear
+from compassion, and his heart from piety. While he lives he is the hate
+of a Christian, and when he dies he goes with horror to hell. His study
+is sparing, and his care is getting; his fear is wanting, and his death
+is losing. His diet is either fasting or poor fare, his clothing the
+hangman's wardrobe, his house the receptacle of thievery, and his music
+the clinking of his money. He is a kind of cancer that with the teeth of
+interest eats the hearts of the poor, and a venomous fly that sucks out
+the blood of any flesh that he lights on. In sum, he is a servant of
+dross, a slave to misery, an agent for hell, and a devil in the world.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BEGGAR.</h2>
+
+<p>A beggar is the child of idleness, whose life is a resolution of ease.
+His travail is most in the highways, and his rendezvous is commonly in
+an ale-house. His study is to counterfeit impotency, and his practice to
+cozen simplicity of charity. The juice of the malt is the liquor of his
+life, and at bed and at board a louse is his companion. He fears no such
+enemy as a constable, and being acquainted with the stocks, must visit
+them as he goes by them. He is a drone that feeds upon the labours of
+the bee, and unhappily begotten that is born for no goodness. His staff
+and his scrip are his walking furniture, and what he lacks in meat he
+will have out in drink. He is a kind of caterpillar that spoils much
+good fruit, and an unprofitable creature to live in a commonwealth. He
+is seldom handsome and often noisome, always troublesome and never
+welcome. He prays for all and preys upon all; begins with blessing but
+ends often with cursing. If he have a licence he shows it with a grace,
+but if he have none he is submissive to the ground. Sometime he is a
+thief, but always a rogue, and in the nature of his profession the shame
+of humanity. In sum, he is commonly begot in a bush, born in a barn,
+lives in a highway, and dies in a ditch.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VIRGIN.</h2>
+
+<p>A virgin is the beauty of nature, where the spirit gracious makes the
+creature glorious. She is the love of virtue, the honour of reason, the
+grace of youth, and the comfort of age. Her study is holiness, her
+exercise goodness, her grace humility, and her love is charity. Her
+countenance is modesty, her speech is truth, her wealth grace, and her
+fame constancy. Her virtue continence, her labour patience, her diet
+abstinence, and her care conscience. Her conversation heavenly, her
+meditations angel-like, her prayers devout, and her hopes divine: her
+parents' joy, her kindred's honour, her country's fame, and her own
+felicity. She is the blessed of the highest, the praise of the
+worthiest, the love of the noblest, and the nearest to the best. She is
+of creatures the rarest, of women the chiefest, of nature the purest,
+and of wisdom the choicest. Her life is a pilgrimage, her death but a
+passage, her description a wonder, and her name an honour. In sum, she
+is the daughter of glory, the mother of grace, the sister of love, and
+the beloved of life.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WANTON WOMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A wanton woman is the figure of imperfection; in nature an ape, in
+quality a wagtail, in countenance a witch, and in condition a kind of
+devil. Her beck is a net, her word a charm, her look an illusion, and
+her company a confusion. Her life is the play of idleness, her diet the
+excess of dainties, her love the change of vanities, and her exercise
+the invention of follies. Her pleasures are fancies, her studies
+fashions, her delight colours, and her wealth her clothes. Her care is
+to deceive, her comfort her company, her house is vanity, and her bed is
+ruin. Her discourses are fables, her vows dissimulations, her conceits
+subtleties, and her contents varieties. She would she knows not what,
+and spends she cares not what, she spoils she sees not what, and doth
+she thinks not what. She is youth's plague and age's purgatory, time's
+abuse and reason's trouble. In sum, she is a spice of madness, a spark
+of mischief, a touch of poison, and a fear of destruction.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A QUIET WOMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A quiet woman is like a still wind, which neither chills the body nor
+blows dust in the face. Her patience is a virtue that wins the heart of
+love, and her wisdom makes her will well worthy regard. She fears God
+and flieth sin, showeth kindness and loveth peace. Her tongue is tied to
+discretion, and her heart is the harbour of goodness. She is a comfort
+of calamity and in prosperity a companion, a physician in sickness and a
+musician in help. Her ways are the walk toward heaven, and her guide is
+the grace of the Almighty. She is her husband's down-bed, where his
+heart lies at rest, and her children's glass in the notes of her grace;
+her servants' honour in the keeping of her house, and her neighbours'
+example in the notes of a good nature. She scorns fortune and loves
+virtue, and out of thrift gathereth charity. She is a turtle in her
+love, a lamb in her meekness, a saint in her heart, and an angel in her
+soul. In sum, she is a jewel unprizeable and a joy unspeakable, a
+comfort in nature incomparable, and a wife in the world unmatchable.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNQUIET WOMAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose demeanour is not to be
+described but in extremities. Her voice is the screeching of an owl, her
+eye the poison of a cockatrice, her hand the claw of a crocodile, and
+her heart a cabinet of horror. She is the grief of nature, the wound of
+wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of time. Her pride is
+unsupportable, her anger unquenchable, her will unsatiable, and her
+malice unmatchable. She fears no colours, she cares for no counsel, she
+spares no persons, nor respects any time. Her command is <i>must</i>, her
+reason <i>will</i>, her resolution <i>shall</i>, and her satisfaction <i>so</i>. She
+looks at no law and thinks of no lord, admits no command and keeps no
+good order. She is a cross but not of Christ, and a word but not of
+grace; a creature but not of wisdom, and a servant but not of God. In
+sum, she is the seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of
+bitterness, and the digestion of death.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOOD WIFE.</h2>
+
+<p>A good wife is a world of wealth, where just cause of content makes a
+kingdom in conceit. She is the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence,
+the hand of labour, and the heart of love; a companion of kindness, a
+mistress of passion, an exercise of patience, and an example of
+experience. She is the kitchen physician, the chamber comfort, the
+hall's care, and the parlour's grace. She is the dairy's neatness, the
+brew-house's wholesomeness, the garner's provision and the garden's
+plantation. Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind
+virtuous, and her soul gracious. She is her husband's jewel, her
+children's joy, her neighbour's love, and her servant's honour. She is
+poverty's prayer and charity's praise, religion's love and devotion's
+zeal. She is a care of necessity and a course of thrift, a book of
+housewifery and a mirror of modesty. In sum, she is God's blessing and
+man's happiness, earth's honour and heaven's creature.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.</h2>
+
+<p>An effeminate fool is the figure of a baby. He loves nothing but gay, to
+look in a glass, to keep among wenches, and to play with trifles; to
+feed on sweetmeats and to be danced in laps, to be embraced in arms, and
+to be kissed on the cheek; to talk idly, to look demurely, to go nicely,
+and to laugh continually; to be his mistress' servant, and her maid's
+master, his father's love and his mother's none-child; to play on a
+fiddle and sing a love-song; to wear sweet gloves and look on fine
+things; to make purposes and write verses, devise riddles and tell lies;
+to follow plays and study dances, to hear news and buy trifles; to sigh
+for love and weep for kindness, and mourn for company and be sick for
+fashion; to ride in a coach and gallop a hackney, to watch all night and
+sleep out the morning; to lie on a bed and take tobacco, and to send his
+page of an idle message to his mistress; to go upon gigs, to have his
+ruffs set in print, to pick his teeth, and play with a puppet. In sum,
+he is a man-child and a woman's man, a gaze of folly, and
+wisdom's grief.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PARASITE.</h2>
+
+<p>A parasite is the image of iniquity, who for the gain of dross is
+devoted to all villainy. He is a kind of thief in committing of
+burglary, when he breaks into houses with his tongue and picks pockets
+with his flattery. His face is brazen that he cannot blush, and his
+hands are limed to catch hold what he can light on. His tongue is a bell
+(but not of the church, except it be the devil's) to call his parish to
+his service. He is sometimes a pander to carry messages of ill meetings,
+and perhaps hath some eloquence to persuade sweetness in sin. He is like
+a dog at a door while the devils dance in the chamber, or like a spider
+in the house-top that lives on the poison below. He is the hate of
+honesty and the abuse of beauty, the spoil of youth and the misery of
+age. In sum, he is a danger in a court, a cheater in a city, a jester in
+the country, and a jackanapes in all.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DRUNKARD.</h2>
+
+<p>A drunkard is a known adjective, for he cannot stand alone by himself;
+yet in his greatest weakness a great trier of strength, whether health
+or sickness will have the upper hand in a surfeit. He is a spectacle of
+deformity and a shame of humanity, a view of sin and a grief of nature.
+He is the annoyance of modesty and the trouble of civility, the spoil of
+wealth and the spite of reason. He is only the brewer's agent and the
+alehouse benefactor, the beggar's companion and the constable's trouble.
+He is his wife's woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbours' scoff, and
+his own shame. In sum, he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a
+picture of a beast, and a monster of a man.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COWARD.</h2>
+
+<p>A coward is the child of fear. He was begotten in cold blood, when
+Nature had much ado to make up a creature like a man. His life is a kind
+of sickness, which breeds a kind of palsy in the joints, and his death
+the terror of his conscience, with the extreme weakness of his faith. He
+loves peace as his life, for he fears a sword in his soul. If he cut his
+finger he looketh presently for the sign, and if his head ache he is
+ready to make his will. A report of a cannon strikes him flat on his
+face, and a clap of thunder makes him a strange metamorphosis. Rather
+than he will fight he will be beaten, and if his legs will help him he
+will put his arms to no trouble. He makes love commonly with his purse,
+and brags most of his maidenhead. He will not marry but into a quiet
+family, and not too fair a wife, to avoid quarrels. If his wife frown
+upon him he sighs, and if she give him an unkind word he weeps. He loves
+not the horns of a bull nor the paws of a bear, and if a dog bark he
+will not come near the house. If he be rich he is afraid of thieves, and
+if he be poor he will be slave to a beggar. In sum, he is the shame of
+manhood, the disgrace of nature, the scorn of reason, and the hate
+of honour.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN HONEST POOR MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An honest poor man is the proof of misery, where patience is put to the
+trial of her strength to endure grief without passion, in starving with
+concealed necessity, or standing in the adventures of charity. If he be
+married, want rings in his ears and woe watereth his eyes. If single, he
+droppeth with the shame of beggary, or dies with the passion of penury.
+Of the rich he is shunned like infection, and of the poor learns but a
+heart-breaking profession. His bed is the earth and the heaven is his
+canopy, the sun is his summer's comfort and the moon is his winter
+candle. His sighs are the notes of his music, and his song is like the
+swan before her death. His study, his patience; and his exercise,
+prayer: his diet the herbs of the earth, and his drink the water of the
+river. His travel is the walk of the woful and his horse Bayard of ten
+toes: his apparel but the clothing of nakedness, and his wealth but the
+hope of heaven. He is a stranger in the world, for no man craves his
+acquaintance; and his funeral is without ceremony, when there is no
+mourning for the miss of him: yet may he be in the state of election and
+in the life of love, and more rich in grace than the greatest of the
+world. In sum, he is the grief of Nature, the sorrow of reason, the pity
+of wisdom, and the charge of charity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A JUST MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A just man is the child of truth, begotten by virtue and kindness; when
+Nature in the temper of the spirit made even the balance of
+indifference. His eye is clear from blindness and his hand from bribery,
+his will from wilfulness and his heart from wickedness; his word and
+deed are all one; his life shows the nature of his love, his care is the
+charge of his conscience, and his comfort the assurance of his
+salvation. In the seat of justice he is the grace of the law, and in the
+judgment of right the honour of reason. He fears not the power of
+authority to equal justice with mercy, and joys but in the judgment of
+grace, to see the execution of justice. His judgment is worthy of
+honour, and his wisdom is gracious in truth. His honour is famous in
+virtue, and his virtue is precious in example. In sum, he is a spirit of
+understanding, a brain of knowledge, a heart of wisdom, and a soul of
+blessedness.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A REPENTANT SINNER.</h2>
+
+<p>A repentant sinner is the child of grace, who, being born for service of
+God, makes no reckoning of the mastership of the world, yet doth he
+glorify God in the beholding of His creatures, and in giving praise to
+His holy name in the admiration of His workmanship. He is much of the
+nature of an angel who, being sent into the world but to do the will of
+his Master, is ever longing to be at home with his fellows. He desires
+nothing but that is necessary, and delighteth in nothing that is
+transitory; but contemplates more than he can conceive, and meditates
+only upon the word of the Almighty. His senses are the tirers of his
+spirit, while in the course of nature his soul can find no rest. He
+shakes off the rags of sin, and is clothed with the robe of virtue. He
+puts off Adam, and puts on Christ. His heart is the anvil of truth,
+where the brain of his wisdom beats the thoughts of his mind till they
+be fit for the service of his Maker. His labour is the travail of love,
+by the rule of grace to find the highway to heaven. His fear is greater
+than his love of the world, and his love is greater than his fear of
+God. In sum, he is in the election of love, in the books of life, an
+angel incarnate and a blessed creature.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A REPROBATE.</h2>
+
+<p>A reprobate is the child of sin who, being born for the service of the
+devil, cares not what villainy he does in the world. His wit is always
+in a maze, for his courses are ever out of order; and while his will
+stands for his wisdom, the best that falls out of him is a fool. He
+betrays the trust of the simple, and sucks out the blood of the
+innocent. His breath is the fume of blasphemy, and his tongue the
+firebrand of hell His desires are the destruction of the virtuous, and
+his delights are the traps to damnation. He bathes in the blood of
+murder, and sups up the broth of iniquity. He frighteth the eyes of the
+godly, and disturbeth the hearts of the religious. He marreth the wits
+of the wise, and is hateful to the souls of the gracious. In sum, he is
+an inhuman creature, a fearful companion, a man-monster, and a devil
+incarnate.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN OLD MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>An old man is the declaration of time in the defect of Nature, and the
+imperfection of sense in the use of reason. He is in the observation of
+Time, a calendar of experience; but in the power of action, he is a
+blank among lots. He is the subject of weakness, the agent of sickness,
+the displeasure of life, and the forerunner of death. He is twice a
+child and half a man, a living picture, and a dying creature. He is a
+blown bladder that is only stuffed with wind, and a withered tree that
+hath lost the sap of the root, or an old lute with strings all broken,
+or a ruined castle that is ready to fall. He is the eyesore of youth and
+the jest of love, and in the fulness of infirmity the mirror of misery.
+Yet in the honour of wisdom he may be gracious in gravity, and in the
+government of justice deserve the honour of reverence. Yea, his word may
+be notes for the use of reason, and his actions examples for the
+imitation of discretion. In sum, in whatsoever estate he is but as the
+snuff of a candle, that pink it ever so long it will out at last.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A YOUNG MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A young man is the spring of time, when nature in her pride shows her
+beauty to the world. He is the delight of the eye and the study of the
+mind, the labour of instruction and the pupil of reason. His wit is in
+making or marring, his wealth in gaining or losing, his honour in
+advancing or declining, and his life in abridging or increasing. He is a
+bloom that either is blasted in the bud or grows to a good fruit, or a
+bird that dies in the nest or lives to make use of her wings. He is a
+colt that must have a bridle ere he be well managed, and a falcon that
+must be well maned or he will never be reclaimed. He is the darling of
+nature and the charge of reason, the exercise of patience and the hope
+of charity. His exercise is either study or action, and his study either
+knowledge or pleasure. His disposition gives a great note of his
+generation, and yet his breeding may either better or worse him, though
+to wish a blackamoor white be the loss of labour, and what is bred in
+the bone will never out of the flesh. In sum, till experience have
+seasoned his understanding, he is rather a child than a man, a prey of
+flattery or a praise of providence, in the way of grace to prove a
+saint, or in the way of sin to grow a devil.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HOLY MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>A holy man is the chiefest creature in the workmanship of the world. He
+is the highest in the election of love, and the nearest to the image of
+the human nature of his Maker. He is served of all the creatures in the
+earth, and created but for the service of his Creator. He is capable of
+the course of nature, and by the rule of observation finds the art of
+reason. His senses are but servants to his spirit, which is guided by a
+power above himself. His time is only known to the eye of the Almighty,
+and what he is in his most greatness is as nothing but in His mercy. He
+makes law by the direction of life, and lives but in the mercy of love.
+He treads upon the face of the earth till in the same substance he be
+trod upon, though his soul that gave life to his senses live in heaven
+till the resurrection of his flesh. He hath an eye to look upward
+towards grace, while labour is only the punishment of sin. His faith is
+the hand of his soul, which layeth hold on the promise of mercy. His
+patience is the tenure of the possession of his soul, his charity the
+rule of his life, and his hope the anchor of his salvation. His study is
+the state of obedience, and his exercise the continuance of prayer; his
+life but a passage to a better, and his death the rest of his labours.
+His heart is a watch to his eye, his wit a door to his mouth, his soul a
+guard to his spirit, and his limbs are but labourers for his body. In
+sum, he is ravished with divine love, hateful to the nature of sin,
+troubled with the vanities of the world, and longing for his joy but
+in heaven.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>GEOFFREY MINSHULL.</h2>
+
+<p><i>After &quot;The Good and the Bad&quot; published in 1616, came, in 1618, &quot;Essays
+and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners, by G. M. of Grayes Inn, Gent.&quot;
+G.M. signed his name in full--Geffray Minshul--after the Dedication to
+his uncle, Mr. Matthew Mainwaring of Nantwich, Cheshire, and he dates
+from the King's Bench Prison. Philip Bliss found record in a History of
+Nantwich of a monument there in St. Mary's Church, erected by Geoffrey
+Minshull of Stoke, Esq., to the memory of his ancestors. He quotes also
+from Geoffrey Minshull's Characters the folloiuing passage from the
+Dedication, and the Character of a Prisoner.</i></p>
+
+<h2>FROM THE DEDICATION OF &quot;ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND
+PRISONERS.&quot;</h2>
+
+<p>&quot;Since my coming into this prison, what with the strangeness of the
+place and strictness of my liberty, I am so transported that I could not
+follow that study wherein I took great delight and chief pleasure, and
+to spend my time idly would but add more discontentments to my troubled
+breast, and being in this chaos of discontentments, fantasies must
+arise, which will bring forth the fruits of an idle brain, for <i>e malis
+minimum</i>. It is far better to give some account of time, though to
+little purpose, than none at all. To which end I gathered a handful of
+essays, and few characters of such things as by my own experience I
+could say <i>Probatum est:</i> not that thereby I should either please the
+reader, or show exquisiteness of invention, or curious style; seeing
+what I write of is but the child of sorrow, bred by discontentments and
+nourished up with misfortunes, to whose help melancholy Saturn gave his
+judgment, the night-bird her invention, and the ominous raven brought a
+quill taken from his own wing, dipped in the ink of misery, as chief
+aiders in this architect of sorrow.&quot;</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CHARACTER OF A PRISONER.</h2>
+
+<p>A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingering under the rough hands of a
+cruel physician: his creditor having cast his water knows his disease,
+and hath power to cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is
+like Tantalus, who hath freedom running by his door, yet cannot enjoy
+the least benefit thereof. His greatest grief is that his credit was so
+good and now no better. His land is drawn within the compass of a
+sheep's skin, and his own hand the fornication that bars him of
+entrance: he is fortune's tossing-ball, an object that would make mirth
+melancholy: to his friends an abject, and a subject of nine days' wonder
+in every barber's shop, and a mouthful of pity (that he had no better
+fortune) to midwives and talkative gossips; and all the content that
+this transitory life can give him seems but to flout him, in respect the
+restraint of liberty bars the true use. To his familiars he is like a
+plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for fear of infection; he is a
+monument ruined by those which raised him, he spends the day with a <i>hei
+mihi! v&aelig; miserum!</i> and the night with a <i>nullis est medicabilis herbis.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>HENRY PARROT [?].</h2>
+
+<p><i>In 1626--year of the death of Francis Bacon--appeared &quot;Cures for the
+Itch; Characters, Epigrams, Epitaphs by H. P.&quot; with the motto &quot;Scalpat
+qui Tangitur.&quot; H. P. was read by Philip Bliss into Henry Parrot, who
+published a collection of epigrams in 1613, as &quot;Laquei Ridiculosi, or
+Springes for Woodcocks.&quot; The Characters in this little volume are of a
+Ballad Maker, a Tapster, a Drunkard, a Rectified Young Man, a Young
+Novice's New Younger Wife, a Common Fiddler, a Broker, a Jovial Good
+Fellow, a Humourist, a Malapert Young Upstart, a Scold, a Good Wife, and
+a Self-Conceited Parcel-Witted Old Dotard.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SCOLD</h2>
+
+<p>Is a much more heard of, than least desired to be seen or known,
+she-kind of serpent; the venomed sting of whose poisonous tongue, worse
+than the biting of a scorpion, proves more infectious far than can be
+cured. She's of all other creatures most untameablest, and covets more
+the last word in scolding than doth a combater the last stroke for
+victory. She loudest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, with
+exclamation, flat defiance to any one says black's her eye. She dares
+appear before any justice, nor is least daunted with the sight of
+constable, nor at worst threatenings of a cucking-stool. There's nothing
+mads or moves her more to outrage than but the very naming of a wisp, or
+if you sing or whistle when she is scolding. If any in the interim
+chance to come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the
+face; or do but offer to hold her hands, she'll presently begin to cry
+out murder. There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sack, which taking
+in full measure of digestion, she presently forgets all wrongs that's
+done her, and thereupon falls straight a-weeping. Do but entreat her
+with fair words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her
+imperfections, and lays the guilt upon her maid. Her manner is to talk
+much in her sleep, what wrongs she hath endured of that rogue her
+husband, whose hap may be in time to die a martyr; and so I leave them.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GOOD WIFE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom in conceit, and
+makes a perfect adjunct in society; she's such a comfort as exceeds
+content, and proves so precious as cannot be paralleled, yea more
+inestimable than may be valued. She's any good man's better second self,
+the very mirror of true constant modesty, the careful housewife of
+frugality, and dearest object of man's heart's felicity. She commands
+with mildness, rules with discretion, lives in repute, and ordereth all
+things that are good or necessary. She's her husband's solace, her
+house's ornament, her children's succour, and her servant's comfort.
+She's (to be brief) the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand
+of labour, and the heart of love. Her voice is music, her countenance
+meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious. She's a blessing
+given from God to man, a sweet companion in his affliction, and
+joint-copartner upon all occasions. She's (to conclude) earth's chiefest
+paragon, and will be, when she dies, heaven's dearest creature.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+<p><i>In</i> 1629<i> appeared sixteen pieces in fifty-six pages entitled
+&quot;Micrologia, Characters or Essayes, of Persons, Trades, and Places,
+offered to the City and Country, by R. M.&quot; There was an &quot;R. M.&quot; who
+wrote from the coast of Guiana in November 1817 &quot;Newes of Sir W.
+Raleigh. With the true Description of Guiana: as also relation of the
+excellent Government, and much hope of the prosperity of the Voyage.
+Sent from a gentleman of his Fleet (R. M.) to a most especiall Friend of
+his in London. From the River of Caliana on the Coast of Guiana,
+Novemb.</i> 17, 1617,&quot; <i>published in 1618. The Characters of Persons and
+Trades in &quot;Micrologia&quot; are: a Fantastic Tailor, a Player, a Shoemaker, a
+Ropemaker, a Smith, a Tobacconist, a Cunning Woman, a Cobbler, a
+Tooth-drawer, a Tinker, a Fiddler, a Cunning Horse-Courser; and of
+Places, Bethlem, Ludgate, Bridewell, Newgate.
+<br>
+This is R. M.'s character of a Player--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>PLAYER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, who by his
+representation and appearance makes things long past seem present. He is
+much like the counters in arithmetic, and may stand one while for a
+king, another while a beggar, many times as a mute or cipher. Sometimes
+he represents that which in his life he scarce practises--to be an
+honest man. To the point, he oft personates a rover, and therein conies
+nearest to himself. If his action prefigure passion, he raves, rages,
+and protests much by his painted heavens, and seems in the height of
+this fit ready to pull Jove out of the garret where perchance he lies
+leaning on his elbows, or is employed to make squibs and crackers to
+grace the play. His audience are oftentimes judicious, but his chief
+admirers are commonly young wanton chambermaids, who are so taken with
+his posture and gay clothes, they never come to be their own women
+after. He exasperates men's enormities in public view, and tells them
+their faults on the stage, not as being sorry for them, but rather
+wishes still he might find more occasions to work on. He is the general
+corrupter of spirits yet untainted, inducing them by gradation to much
+lascivious depravity. He is a perspicuity of vanity in variety, and
+suggests youth to perpetrate such vices as otherwise they had haply
+ne'er heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocrite, seeming
+what he is not, and is indeed what he seems not. And if he lose one of
+his fellow strolls, in the summer he turns king of the gipsies; if not,
+some great man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his
+peregrination, and a means to procure him the town-hall, where he may
+long exercise his qualities with clown-claps of great admiration, in a
+tone suitable to the large ears of his illiterate auditory. He is one
+seldom takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, together
+with a consumption or some worse disease taken up in his full career,
+have only chalked out his catastrophe but to a colon; and he scarcely
+survives to his natural period of days.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 25%;"><br><br>
+<p><i>In</i> 1631 <i>&quot;Whimzies, or, A new Cast of Characters&quot; inscribed to Sir
+Alexander Radcliffe by one who signed his dedication Clitus
+Alexandrinus, gave twenty-four Characters, of which this of the maker of
+a Courant or news sheet is one:--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CORRANTO-COINER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a state newsmonger; and his own genius is his intelligencer. His mint
+goes weekly, and he coins money by it. Howsoever, the more intelligent
+merchants do jeer him, the vulgar do admire him, holding his novels
+oracular; and these are usually sent for tokens or intermissive
+courtesies betwixt city and country. He holds most constantly one form
+or method of discourse. He retains some military words of art, which he
+shoots at random; no matter where they hit, they cannot wound any. He
+ever leaves some passages doubtful, as if they were some more intimate
+secrecies of state, closing his sentence abruptly with--<i>hereafter you
+shall hear more.</i> Which words, I conceive, he only useth as baits, to
+make the appetite of the reader more eager in his next week's pursuit
+fora more satisfying labour. Some general-erring relations he picks up,
+as crumbs or fragments, from a frequented ordinary; of which shreds he
+shapes a coat to fit any credulous fool that will wear it. You shall
+never observe him make any reply in places of public concourse; he
+ingenuously acknowledges himself to be more bounden to the happiness of
+a retentive memory, than either ability of tongue or pregnancy of
+conceit. He carries his table-book still about with him, but dares not
+pull it out publicly. Yet no sooner is the table drawn than he turns
+notary, by which means he recovers the charge of his ordinary. Paul's is
+his walk in winter, Moorfields in summer, where the whole discipline,
+designs, projects, and exploits of the States, Netherlands, Poland,
+Switzer, Crimchan and all, are within the compass of one quadrangle walk
+most judiciously and punctually discovered. But long he must not walk,
+lest he make his news-press stand. Thanks to his good invention, he can
+collect much out of a very little; no matter though more experienced
+judgments disprove him, he is anonymous, and that will secure him. To
+make his reports more credible or (which he and his stationer only aims
+at) more vendible, in the relation of every occurrence he renders you
+the day of the month; and to approve himself a scholar, he annexeth
+these Latin parcels, or parcel-gilt sentences, <i>veteri stylo, novo
+stylo</i>. Palisados, parapets, counter-scarps, forts, fortresses,
+rampiers, bulwarks, are his usual dialect. He writes as if he would do
+some mischief, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. He will
+sometimes start in his sleep, as one affrighted with visions, which I
+can impute to no other cause but to the terrible skirmishes which he
+discoursed of in the daytime. He has now tied himself apprentice to the
+trade of minting, and must weekly perform his task, or (beside the loss
+which accrues to himself) he disappoints a number of no small fools,
+whose discourse, discipline, and discretion is drilled from his
+state-service. These you shall know by their Monday's mornings question,
+a little before exchange time: Stationer, have you any news? Which they
+no sooner purchase than peruse; and, early by next morning (lest their
+country friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a prize),
+they freely vent the substance of it, with some illustrations, if their
+understanding can furnish them that way. He would make you believe that
+he were known to some foreign intelligence, but I hold him the wisest
+man that hath the least faith to believe him. For his relations he
+stands resolute, whether they become approved or evinced for untruths;
+which if they be, he has contracted with his face never to blush for the
+matter. He holds especial concurrence with two philosophical sects,
+though he be ignorant of the tenets of either: in the collection of his
+observations he is peripatetical, for he walks circularly; in the
+digestion of his relations he is stoical, and sits regularly. He has an
+alphabetical table of all the chief commanders, generals, leaders,
+provincial towns, rivers, ports, creeks, with other fitting materials to
+furnish his imaginary building. Whisperings, mutterings, and bare
+suppositions are sufficient grounds for the authority of his relations.
+It is strange to see with what greediness this airy chameleon, being all
+lungs and wind, will swallow a receipt of news, as if it were physical;
+yea, with what frontless insinuation he will screw himself into the
+acquaintance of some knowing intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his
+hollow sound, do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his
+voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, they would vie in
+number with the Iliads of many fore-running ages. You shall many times
+find in his gazettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions:
+here a city taken by force long before it be besieged; there a country
+laid waste before ever the enemy entered. He many times tortures his
+readers with impertinencies, yet are these the tolerablest passages
+throughout all his discourse. He is the very landscape of our age. He is
+all air; his ear always open to all reports, which, how incredible
+soever, must pass for current and find vent, purposely to get him
+current money and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his
+chimeras live not long; a week is the longest in the city, and after
+their arrival, little longer in the country, which past they melt like
+butter, or match a pipe, and so burn. But indeed, most commonly it is
+the height of their ambition to aspire to the employment of stopping
+mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, powder, staves-aker, &amp;c., which
+done, they expire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Long Lane will give
+him his character. He honours nothing with a more endeared observance,
+nor hugs ought with more intimacy, than antiquity, which he expresseth
+even in his clothes. I have known some love fish best that smelled of
+the pannier; and the like humour reigns in him, for he loves that
+apparel best that has a taste of the broker. Some have held him for a
+scholar, but trust me such are in a palpable error, for he never yet
+understood so much Latin as to construe <i>Gallo-Belgicus</i>. For his
+library (his own continuations excepted), it consists of very few or no
+books. He holds himself highly engaged to his invention if it can
+purchase him victuals; for authors, he never converseth with them,
+unless they walk in Paul's. For his discourse it is ordinary, yet he
+will make you a terrible repetition of desperate commanders, unheard-of
+exploits, intermixing withal his own personal service. But this is not
+in all companies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him in
+this principle--that as nothing works more on the simple than things
+strange and incredibly rare, so nothing discovers his weakness more
+among the knowing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on
+reports above conceit. Amongst these, therefore, he is as mute as a
+fish. But now imagine his lamp (if he be worth one) to be nearly burnt
+out, his inventing genius wearied and footsore with ranging over so many
+unknown regions, and himself wasted with the fruitless expense of much
+paper, resigning his place of weekly collections to another, whom, in
+hope of some little share, he has to his stationer recommended, while he
+lives either poorly respected or dies miserably suspended. The rest I
+end with his own close:--Next week you shall hear more.</p>
+
+<p><i>The other characters in &quot;Whimzies&quot; were an Almanac-maker, a
+Ballad-monger, a Decoy, an Exchange-man, a Forester, a Gamester, an
+Hospital-man, a Jailer, a Keeper, a Launderer, a Metal-man, a Neater, an
+Ostler, a Postmaster, a Quest-man, a Ruffian, a Sailor, a Traveller, an
+Under-Sheriff, a Wine-Soaker, a Xantippean, a Jealous Neighbour, a
+Zealous Brother. The collection was enlarged by addition under separate
+title-page of &quot;A Cater-Character, thrown out of a box by an Experienced
+Gamester&quot;-which gave Characters of an Apparitor, a Painter, a Pedlar,
+and a Piper. The author added also some lines &quot;upon the Birthday of his
+sonne Iohn,&quot; beginning--</i></p>
+
+<blockquote><i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;God blesse thee, Iohn,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And make thee such an one<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That I may joy<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In calling thee my son.<br>
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thou art my ninth,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And by it I divine<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That thou shalt live<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To love the Muses Nine.&quot;</i><br></blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>JOHN MILTON,</h2>
+
+<p><i>when he was at college, ventured down among the Character-writers in
+his two pieces on the University Carrier. Thomas Hobson had been for
+sixty years carrier between Cambridge and the Bull Inn, Bishopsgate
+Street, London. He was a very well-known Cambridge character. Steele, in
+No. 509 of the &quot;Spectator&quot; ascribed to him the origin of the proverbial
+phrase, Hobson's Choice. &quot;Being a man of great ability and invention,
+and one that saw where there might good profit arise, though the duller
+men overlooked it, this ingenious man was the first in this island who
+let out hackney-horses.'&quot; [That is a mistake, but never mind.] &quot;He lived
+in Cambridge; and, observing that the scholars rid hard, his manner was
+to keep a large stable of horses, with boots, bridles, and whips, to
+furnish the gentlemen at once, without going from college to college to
+borrow. I say, Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always
+ready and fit for travelling; but, when a man came for a horse, he was
+led into the stable, where there was great choice; but he obliged him to
+take the horse which stood next the stable door; so that every customer
+was alike well served according to his chance, and every horse ridden
+with the same justice--from whence it became a proverb, when what ought
+to be your election was forced upon you, to say 'Hobson's Choice!'&quot;
+<br>
+In the spring of 1630 the Plague in Cambridge caused colleges to be
+closed, and among other precautions against spread of infection, Hobson
+the Carrier was forbidden to go to and fro between Cambridge and London.
+At the end of the year, after six or seven, months of forced inaction,
+Hobson sickened; and he died on the first of January, at the age of
+eighty-six, leaving his family amply provided for, and money for the
+maintenance of the town conduit. At the Bull Inn in London there used to
+be a portrait of him with a money-bag under his arm.
+<br>
+Character-writing being in fashion many a character of the University
+Carrier was written, no doubt, by Cambridge men after Hobson's death at
+the beginning of the year</i> 1631 <i>(new style). And these were Milton's.
+Their unlikeness to other work of his lies in their likeness to a form
+of literature which was but fashion of the day, and having travelled out
+of sight of its old starting-point and forgotten where its true goal
+lay, had gone astray, and often by idolatry of wit sinned
+against wisdom.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,</h2>
+
+<p><i>Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London
+by reason of the Plague.</i></p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Death was half glad when he had got him down;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For he had any time this ten years full<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and <i>The Bull</i>,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And surely Death could never have prevailed<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Had not his weekly course of carriage failed:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But lately, finding him so long at home,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And thinking now his journey's end was come,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And that he had ta'en up his latest inn,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In the kind office of a chamberlin<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If any ask for him, it shall be said,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Hobson has supped, and's newly gone to bed.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+<h2>ANOTHER ON THE SAME.</h2>
+
+
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Here lieth one that did most truly prove<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That he could never die while he could move;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So hung his destiny, never to rot<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;While he might still jog on and keep his trot;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Made of sphere-metal, never to decay<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Until his revolution was at stay.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His principles being ceased, he ended straight.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And too much breathing put him out of breath;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor were it contradiction to affirm<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Too long vacation hastened on his term.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Merely to drive the time away he sickened,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Nay,&quot; quoth he, on his swooning-bed outstretched,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For one carrier put down to make six bearers.&quot;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He died for heaviness that his cart went light.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His leisure told him that his time was come,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And lack of load made his life burdensome,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That even to his last breath (there be that say't)<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As he were pressed to death, he cried. &quot;More weight!&quot;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But, had his doings lasted as they were,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He had been an immortal carrier.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Obedient to the moon he spent his date<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In course reciprocal, and had his fate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His letters are delivered all and gone,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Only remains the superscription.<br></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>How very sure we should all be that Milton did not write these pieces,
+if he had not given them a place among his published works! Returning to
+the crowd of Character-writers we find in 1631, the year of Milton's
+writing upon Hobson,</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>WYE SALTONSTALL,</h2>
+
+<p><i>author of &quot;Pictures Loquentes, or Pictures drawn forth in Characters.
+With a Poeme of a Maid&quot; The poem of a Maid was, of course, suggested by
+the fact that Sir Thomas Overbury's Characters had joined to them the
+poem of a Wife. There was a second edition in 1635. Saltonstall's
+Characters were the World, an Old Man, a Woman, a Widow, a True Lover, a
+Country Bride, a Ploughman, a Melancholy Man, a Young Heir, a Scholar in
+the University, a Lawyers Clerk, a Townsman in Oxford, an Usurer, a
+Wandering Rogue, a Waterman, a Shepherd, a Jealous Man, a Chamberlain, a
+Maid, a Bailey, a Country Fair, a Country Ale-house, a Horse Race, a
+Farmer's Daughter, a Keeper, a Gentleman's House in the Country; to
+which he added in the second edition, a Fine Dame, a Country Dame, a
+Gardener, a Captain, a Poor Village, a Merry Man, a Scrivener, the Term,
+a Mower, a Happy Man, an Arrant Knave, and an Old Waiting Gentlewoman.
+This is one of his Characters as quoted by Philip Bliss in the Appendix
+to his edition of Earle</i>--</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE TERM</h2>
+
+<p>Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all comers, while her sister
+Equity strives to mitigate the rigour of her positive sentence. It is
+called the term, because it does end and terminate business, or else
+because it is the <i>Terminus ad quem</i>, that is, the end of the
+countryman's journey, who comes up to the term, and with his hobnail
+shoes grinds the faces of the poor stones, and so returns again. It is
+the soul of the year, and makes it quick, which before was dead.
+Innkeepers gape for it as earnestly as shell-fish do for salt water
+after a low ebb. It sends forth new books into the world, and
+replenishes Paul's Walk with fresh company, where <i>Quid novi</i>? is their
+first salutation, and the weekly news their chief discourse. The taverns
+are painted against the term, and many a cause is argued there and tried
+at that bar, where you are adjudged to pay the costs and charges, and so
+dismissed with &quot;welcome, gentlemen.&quot; Now the city puts her best side
+outward, and a new play at the Blackfriars is attended on with coaches.
+It keeps watermen from sinking, and helps them with many a fare voyage
+to Westminster. Tour choice beauties come up to it only to see and be
+seen, and to learn the newest fashion, and for some other recreations.
+Now many that have been long sick and crazy begins to stir and walk
+abroad, especially if some young prodigals come to town, who bring more
+money than wit. Lastly, the term is the joy of the city, a dear friend
+to countrymen, and is never more welcome than after a long vacation.</p>
+
+<p><i>We have also, in 1632, &quot;London and Country Carbonadoed and Quartered
+into Several Characters&quot; by Donald Lupton; in 1633, the &quot;Character of a
+Gentleman&quot; appended to Brathwaif's &quot;English Gentleman;&quot; in 1634, &quot;A
+strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into a Wilderness, Deciphered
+in Characters&quot; of which this is a specimen</i>:--</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE HORSE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a creature made, as it were, in wax. When Nature first framed him,
+she took a secret complacence in her work. He is even her masterpiece in
+irrational things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him forth.
+For example, his slick bay coat he took from the chestnut; his neck from
+the rainbow, which perhaps make him rain so well. His mane belike he
+took from Pegasus, making him a hobby to make this a complete jennet,
+which mane he wears so curled, much after the women's fashions
+now-a-days;--this I am sure of, howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it
+sets forth our jennet well. His legs he borrowed of the hart, with his
+swiftness, which makes him a true courser indeed. The stars in his
+forehead he fetched from heaven, which will not be much missed, there
+being so many. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat buttock, and
+thick tail are properly his own, for he knew not where to get him
+better. If you tell him of the horns he wants to make him most complete,
+he scorns the motion, and sets them at his heel. He is well shod,
+especially in the upper leather, for as for his soles, they are much at
+reparation, and often fain to be removed. Nature seems to have spent an
+apprenticeship of years to make you such a one, for it is full seven
+years ere he comes to this perfection, and be fit for the saddle: for
+then (as we), it seems to come to the years of discretion, when he will
+show a kind of rational judgment with him, and if you set an expert
+rider on his back, you shall see how sensible they will talk together,
+as master and scholar. When he shall be no sooner mounted and planted in
+the seat, with the reins in one hand, a switch in the other, and
+speaking with his spurs in the horse's flanks, a language he well
+understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance the canaries half an
+hour together in compass of a bushel, and yet still, as he thinks, get
+some ground, shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely pride.
+This will our Bucephalus do in the lists: but when he comes abroad into
+the fields, he will play the country gentleman as truly, as before the
+knight in tournament. If the game be up once, and the hounds in chase,
+you shall see how he will prick up his ears straight, and tickle at the
+sport as much as his rider shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be
+many of them, they will even drown the rural harmony of the dogs. When
+he travels, of all inns he loves best the sign of the silver bell,
+because likely there he fares best, especially if he come the first and
+get the prize. He carries his ears upright, nor seldom ever lets them
+fall till they be cropped off, and after that, as in despite, will never
+wear them more. His tail is so essential to him, that if he lose it once
+he is no longer a horse, but ever styled a curtali. To conclude, he is a
+blade of Vulcan's forging, made for Mars of the best metal, and the post
+of Fame to carry her tidings through the world, who, if he knew his own
+strength, would shrewdly put for the monarchy of our wilderness.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+<p><i>Then there-were separate Characters, as &quot;of a Projector&quot; (1642); &quot;of an
+Oxford Incendiary&quot; (1645); and in 1664, &quot;A New Anatomic, or Character of
+a Christian or Roundhead, expressing his Description, Excellenrie,
+Happiness, and Innocencie. Wherein may appear how far this blind World
+is mistaken in their unjust Censures of him.&quot; Several Characters were
+included in Lord North's &quot;Forest of Varieties&quot; published in 1645.
+Fourteen Characters, some of individual persons, were in the &quot;Characters
+and Elegies, by Sir Francis Wortley, Knight and Baronet&quot; published in
+1646. The author was son of Sir Richard Wortley of Wortley in Yorkshire.
+He was a good royalist, was taken prisoner in the civil wars, and wrote
+his Characters in the Tower. They were these:--The Character of his Roy
+all Majestie; the Character of the Queene's Majestie; the Hopeful
+Prince; a true Character of the illustrious James, Duke of York; the
+Character of a Noble General; a true English Protestant; an Antinomian,
+or Anabaptistical Independent; a Jesuit; the true Character of a
+Northern Lady, as she is Wife, Mother, and Sister; the Politique Neuter;
+the Citie Paragon; a Sharking Committee-man; Britannicus his Pedigree
+--afatall Prediction of his end; and last, the Phoenix of the Court.
+<br>
+In 1646, T. F., who is named by interlineation on his title-page among
+the King's Pamphlets, T. Ford, servant to Mr. Sam. Man, produced the
+&quot;Times Anatomized, in several Characters.&quot; These were: A Good King,
+Rebellion, an Honest Subject, an Hypocritical Convert of the Times, a
+Soldier of Fortune, a Discontented Person, an Ambitious Man, the Vulgar,
+Error, Truth, a Self-seeker, Pamphlets, an Envious Man, True Valour,
+Time, a Neuter, a Turn-Coat, a Moderate Man, a Corrupt Committee-man, a
+Sectary, War, Peace, a Drunkard, a Novice, Preacher, a Scandalous
+Preacher, a Grave Divine, a Self-Conceited Man, Religion, Death. This is
+T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>PAMPHLETS</h2>
+
+<p>Are the weekly almanacs, showing what weather is in the state, which,
+like the doves of Aleppo, carry news to every part of the kingdom. They
+are the silent traitors that affront majesty, and abuse all authority,
+under the colour of an imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of late so
+blistered the ears of all men, that they cannot endure the solid truth.
+The echoes, whereby what is done in part of the kingdom, is heard all
+over. They are like the mushrooms, sprung up in a night, and dead in a
+day; and such is the greediness of men's natures (in these Athenian
+days) of new, that they will rather feign than want it.</p>
+
+<p><i>So the tide ran on. In</i> 1647 <i>there was &quot;The Character of an Agitator,&quot;
+and also John Cleveland's Character of a London Diurnal.</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>JOHN CLEVELAND,</h2>
+
+<p><i>The Cavalier poet, born at Loitghborough in Leicestershire in</i> 1613,
+<i>son of an usher in a free school there, was sent to Milton's College,
+Christ's, at Cambridge in</i> 1627, <i>when he was fifteen years old. Milton
+had gone to Christ's two years before, but at the age of seventeen.
+Cleveland left Christ's College in</i> 1631, <i>when he took his B.A. degree,
+and went to St. John's, of which he was elected a Fellow in March</i> 1634.
+<i>He proceeded M.A. in</i> 1634, <i>and studied afterwards both law and
+physics, living for nine years at Cambridge. John Cleveland was ejected
+from his position as Fellow and Tutor by the Parliamentary visitors in
+February</i> 1645 <i>(new style), and was sent to Newark as judge advocate
+under Sir Richard Willis, the Governor. After the surrender at Newark,
+Cleveland depended upon friendship of cavaliers who gave him hospitality
+for his witty companionship, and the good scholarship that made him
+valuable as a tutor to their sons, Cleveland, who lives among our poets,
+wrote in the first days of his trouble these three prose Characters:--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE CHARACTER OF A COUNTRY COMMITTEE-MAN, WITH THE EAR-MARK OF A
+SEQUESTRATOR.</h2>
+
+<p>A committee-man by his name should be one that is possessed, there is
+number enough in it to make an epithet for legion. He is <i>persona in
+concreto</i> (to borrow the solecism of a modern statesman). You may
+translate it by the Red Bull phrase, and speak as properly, Enter seven
+devils <i>solus</i>. It is a well-trussed title that contains both the number
+and the beast; for a committee-man is a noun of multitude, he must be
+spelled with figures, like Antichrist wrapped in a pair-royal of sixes.
+Thus the name is as monstrous as the man, a complex notion of the same
+lineage with accumulative treason. For his office it is the Heptarchy,
+or England's fritters; it is the broken meat of a crumbling prince, only
+the royalty is greater; for it is here, as in the miracle of loaves, the
+voider exceeds the bill of fare. The Pope and he ring the changes; here
+is the plurality of crowns to one head, join them together and there is
+a harmony in discord. The triple-headed turnkey of heaven with the
+triple-headed porter of hell. A committee-man is the relics of regal
+government, but, like holy relics, he outbulks the substance whereof he
+is a remnant. There is a score of kings in a committee, as in the relics
+of the cross there is the number of twenty. This is the giant with the
+hundred hands that wields the sceptre; the tyrannical bead-roll by which
+the kingdom prays backward, and at every curse drops a committee-man.
+Let Charles be waived whose condescending clemency aggravates the
+defection, and make Nero the question, better a Nero than a committee.
+There is less execution by a single bullet than by case-shot.</p>
+
+<p>Now a committee-man is a parti-coloured officer. He must be drawn like
+Janus with cross and pile in his countenance, as he relates to the
+soldiers or faces about to his fleecing the country. Look upon him
+martially, and he is a justice of war, one that hath bound his Dalton up
+in buff, and will needs be of the Quorum to the best commanders. He is
+one of Mars his lay-elders; he shares in the government, though a
+Nonconformist to his bleeding rubric. He is the like sectary in arms, as
+the Platonic is in love, keeps a fluttering in discourse, but proves a
+haggard in the action. He is not of the soldiers and yet of his flock.
+It is an emblem of the golden age (and such indeed he makes it to him)
+when so tame a pigeon may converse with vultures. Methinks a committee
+hanging about a governor, and bandileers dangling about a furred
+alderman, have an anagram resemblance. There is no syntax between a cap
+of maintenance and a helmet. Who ever knew an enemy routed by a grand
+jury and a <i>Billa vera?</i> It is a left-handed garrison where their
+authority perches; but the more preposterous the more in fashion, the
+right hand fights while the left rules the reins. The truth is, the
+soldier and the gentleman are like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, one
+fights at all adventures to purchase the other the government of the
+island. A committee-man properly should be the governor's mattress to
+fit his truckle, and to new string him with sinews of war; for his chief
+use is to raise assessments in the neighbouring wapentake.</p>
+
+<p>The country people being like an Irish cow that will not give down her
+milk unless she see her calf before her, hence it is he is the
+garrison's dry nurse; he chews their contribution before he feeds them,
+so the poor soldiers live like Trochilus by picking the teeth of this
+sacred crocodile.</p>
+
+<p>So much for his warlike or ammunition face, which is so preter-natural
+that it is rather a vizard than a face; Mars in him hath but a blinking
+aspect, his face of arms is like his coat, <i>partie per pale</i>, soldier
+and gentleman much of a scantling.</p>
+
+<p>Now enter his taxing and deglubing face, a squeezing look like that of
+Vespasianus, as if he were bleeding over a close stool.</p>
+
+<p>Take him thus and he is in the inquisition of the purse an authentic
+gypsy, that nips your bong with a canting ordinance; not a murdered
+fortune in all the country but bleeds at the touch of this malefactor.
+He is the spleen of the body politic that swells itself to the
+consumption of the whole. At first, indeed, he ferreted for the
+parliament, but since he hath got off his cope he set up for himself. He
+lives upon the sins of the people, and that is a good standing dish too.
+He verifies the axiom, <i>lisdem nutritur ex quibus componitur</i>; his diet
+is suitable to his constitution. I have wondered often why the plundered
+countrymen should repair to him for succour, certainly it is under the
+same notion, as one whose pockets are picked goes to Moll Cutpurse, as
+the predominant in that faculty.</p>
+
+<p>He outdives a Dutchman, gets a noble of him that was never worth
+sixpence; for the poorest do not escape, but Dutch-like he will be
+draining even in the driest ground. He aliens a delinquent's estate with
+as little remorse as his other holiness gives away an heretic's kingdom,
+and for the truth of the delinquency, both chapmen have as little share
+of infallibility. Lye is the grand salad of arbitrary government,
+executor to the star-chamber and the high commission; for those courts
+are not extinct, they survive in him like dollars changed into single
+money. To speak the truth, he is the universal tribunal; for since these
+times all causes fall to his cognisance, as in a great infection all
+diseases turn oft to the plague. It concerns our masters the parliament
+to look about them; if he proceedeth at this rate the jack may come to
+swallow the pike, as the interest often eats out the principal. As his
+commands are great, so he looks for a reverence accordingly. He is
+punctual in exacting your hat, and to say right his due, but by the same
+title as the upper garment is the vails of the executioner. There was a
+time when such cattle would hardly have been taken upon suspicion for
+men in office, unless the old proverb were renewed, that the beggars
+make a free company, and those their wardens. You may see what it is to
+hang together. Look upon them severally, and you cannot but fumble for
+some threads of charity. But oh, they are termagants in conjunction!
+like fiddlers who are rogues when they go single, and joined in consort,
+gentlemen musicianers. I care not much if I untwist my committee-man,
+and so give him the receipt of this grand Catholicon.</p>
+
+<p>Take a state martyr, one that for his good behaviour hath paid the
+excise of his ears, so suffered captivity by the land-piracy of
+ship-money; next a primitive freeholder, one that hates the king because
+he is a gentleman transgressing the Magna Charta of delving Adam. Add to
+these a mortified bankrupt that helps out his false weights with some
+scruples of conscience, and with his peremptory scales can doom his
+prince with a <i>mene tekel</i>. These with a new blue-stockinged justice,
+lately made of a good basket-hilted yeoman, with a short-handed clerk
+tacked to the rear of him to carry the knapsack of his understanding,
+together with two or three equivocal sirs whose religion, like their
+gentility, is the extract of their acres; being therefore spiritual
+because they are earthly; not forgetting the man of the law, whose
+corruption gives the Hogan to the sincere Juncto. These are the simples
+of this precious compound; a kind of Dutch hotch-potch, the Hogan Mogan
+committee-man.</p>
+
+<p>The Committee-man hath a sideman, or rather a setter, hight a
+Sequestrator, of whom you may say, as of the great Sultan's horse, where
+he treads the grass grows no more. He is the State's cormorant, one that
+fishes for the public but feeds himself; the misery is he fishes without
+the cormorant's property, a rope to strengthen the gullet and to make
+him disgorge. A sequestrator! He is the devil's nut-hook, the sign with
+him is always in the clutches. There are more monsters retain to him
+than to all the limbs in anatomy. It is strange physicians do not apply
+him to the soles of the feet in a desperate fever, he draws far beyond
+pigeons. I hope some mountebank will slice him and make the experiment.
+He is a tooth-drawer once removed; here is the difference, one applauds
+the grinder the other the grist. Never till now could I verify the
+poet's description, that the ravenous harpy had a human visage. Death
+himself cannot quit scores with him; like the demoniac in the gospel, he
+lives among tombs, nor is all the holy water shed by widows and orphans
+a sufficient exorcism to dispossess him. Thus the cat sucks your breath
+and the fiend your blood; nor can the brotherhood of witchfinders, so
+sagely instituted with all their terror, wean the familiars.</p>
+
+<p>But once more to single out my embossed committee-man; his fate (for I
+know you would fain see an end of him) is either a whipping audit, when
+he is wrung in the withers by a committee of examinations, and so the
+sponge weeps out the moisture which he had soaked before; or else he
+meets his passing peal in the clamorous mutiny of a gut-foundered
+garrison, for the hedge-sparrow will be feeding the cuckoo till he
+mistake his commons and bites off her head. Whatever it is, it is within
+his desert, for what is observed of some creatures that at the same time
+they trade in productions three stories high, suckling the first, big
+with the second, and clicketing for the third: a committee-man is the
+counterpoint, his mischief is superfoetation, a certain scale of
+destruction, for he ruins the father, beggars the son, and strangles the
+hope of all posterity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE CHARACTER OF A DIURNAL-MAKER.</h2>
+
+<p>A diurnal-maker is the sub-almoner of history, Queen Mab's register, one
+whom, by the same figure that a north country pedlar is a merchantman,
+you may style an author. It is like overreach of language, when every
+thin tinder-cloaked quack must be called a doctor; when a clumsy cobbler
+usurps the attribute of our English peers, and is vamped a translator.
+List him a writer and you smother Geoffrey in swabber-slops; the very
+name of dabbler oversets him; he is swallowed up in the phrase, like Sir
+S.L. [Samuel Luke] in a great saddle, nothing to be seen but the giddy
+feather in his crown. They call him a Mercury, but he becomes the
+epithet like the little negro mounted upon an elephant, just such
+another blot rampant. He has not stuffings sufficient for the reproach
+of a scribbler, but it hangs about him like an old wife's skin when the
+flesh hath forsaken her, lank and loose. He defames a good title as well
+as most of our modern noblemen; those wens of greatness, the body
+politic's most peccant humours blistered into lords. He hath so
+raw-boned a being that however you render him he rubs it out and makes
+rags of the expression. The silly countryman who, seeing an ape in a
+scarlet coat, blessed his young worship, and gave his landlord joy of
+the hopes of his house, did not slander his complement with worse
+application than he that names this shred an historian. To call him an
+historian is to knight a mandrake; 'tis to view him through a
+perspective, and by that gross hyperbole to give the reputation of an
+engineer to a maker of mousetraps. Such an historian would hardly pass
+muster with a Scotch stationer in a sieveful of ballads and godly books.
+He would not serve for the breast-plate of a begging Grecian. The most
+cramped compendium that the age hath seen since all learning hath been
+almost torn into ends, outstrips him by the head. I have heard of
+puppets that could prattle in a play, but never saw of their writings
+before. There goes a report of the Holland women that together with
+their children they are delivered of a Sooterkin, not unlike to a rat,
+which some imagine to be the offspring of the stoves. I know not what
+<i>Ignis fatuus</i> adulterates the press, but it seems much after that
+fashion, else how could this vermin think to be a twin to a legitimate
+writer; when those weekly fragments shall pass for history, let the poor
+man's box be entitled the exchequer, and the alms-basket a magazine. Not
+a worm that gnaws on the dull scalp of voluminous Holinshed, but at
+every meal devoured more chronicle than his tribe amounts to. A marginal
+note of W. P. would serve for a winding-sheet for that man's works, like
+thick-skinned fruits are all rind, fit for nothing but the author's
+fate, to be pared in a pillory.</p>
+
+<p>The cook who served up the dwarf in a pie (to continue the frolic) might
+have lapped up such an historian as this in the bill of fare. He is the
+first tincture and rudiment of a writer, dipped as yet in the
+preparative blue, like an almanac well-willer. He is the cadet of a
+pamphleteer, the pedee of a romancer; he is the embryo of a history
+slinked before maturity. How should he record the issues of time who is
+himself an abortive? I will not say but that he may pass for an
+historian in Garbier's academy; he is much of the size of those
+knotgrass professors. What a pitiful seminary was there projected; yet
+suitable enough to the present universities, those dry nurses which the
+providence of the age has so fully reformed that they are turned
+reformadoes. But that's no matter, the meaner the better. It is a maxim
+observable in these days, that the only way to win the game is to play
+petty Johns. Of this number is the esquire of the quill, for he hath the
+grudging of history and some yawnings accordingly. Writing is a disease
+in him and holds like a quotidian, so 'tis his infirmity that makes him
+an author, as Mahomet was beholding to the falling sickness to vouch him
+a prophet. That nice artificer who filed a chain so thin and light that
+a flea could trail it (as if he had worked shorthand, and taught his
+tools to cypher), did but contrive an emblem for this skipjack and his
+slight productions.</p>
+
+<p>Methinks the Turk should licence diurnals because he prohibits learning
+and books. A library of diurnals is a wardrobe of frippery; 'tis a just
+idea of a Limbo of the infants. I saw one once that could write with his
+toes, by the same token I could have wished he had worn his copies for
+socks; 'tis he without doubt from whom the diurnals derive their
+pedigree, and they have a birthright accordingly, being shuffled out at
+the bed's feet of history. To what infinite numbers an historian would
+multiply should he crumble into elves of this profession? To supply this
+smallness they are fain to join forces, so they are not singly but as
+the custom is in a croaking committee. They tug at the pen like slaves
+at the oar, a whole bank together; they write in the posture that the
+Swedes gave fire in, over one another's heads. It is said there is more
+of them go to a suit of clothes than to a <i>Britannicus;</i> in this
+polygamy the clothes breed and cannot determine whose issue is
+lawfully begotten.</p>
+
+<p>And here I think it were not amiss to take a particular how he is
+accoutred, and so do by him as he in his Siquis for the wall-eyed mare,
+or the crop flea-bitten, give you the marks of the beast. I begin with
+his head, which is ever in clouts, as if the nightcap should make
+affidavit that the brain was pregnant. To what purpose doth the <i>Pia
+Mater</i> lie in so dully in her white formalities; sure she hath had hard
+labour, for the brows have squeezed for it, as you may perceive by his
+buttered bon-grace that film of a demicastor; 'tis so thin and unctuous
+that the sunbeams mistake it for a vapour, and are like to cap him; so
+it is right heliotrope, it creaks in the shine and flaps in the shade;
+whatever it be I wish it were able to call in his ears. There's no
+proportion between that head and appurtenances; those of all lungs are
+no more fit for that small noddle of the circumcision than brass bosses
+for a Geneva Bible. In what a puzzling neutrality is the poor soul that
+moves betwixt two such ponderous biases? His collar is edged with a
+piece of peeping linen, by which he means a band; 'tis the forlorn of
+his shirt crawling out of his neck; indeed it were time that his shirt
+were jogging, for it has served an apprenticeship, and (as apprentices
+use) it hath learned its trade too, to which effect 'tis marching to the
+papermill, and the next week sets up for itself in the shape of a
+pamphlet. His gloves are the shavings of his hands, for he casts his
+skin like a cancelled parchment. The itch represents the broken seals.
+His boots are the legacies of two black jacks, and till he pawned the
+silver that the jacks were tipped with it was a pretty mode of
+boot-hose-tops. For the rest of his habit he is a perfect seaman, a kind
+of tarpaulin, he being hanged about with his coarse composition, those
+pole-davie papers.</p>
+
+<p>But I must draw to an end, for every character is an anatomy lecture,
+and it fares with me in this of the diurnal-maker, as with him that
+reads on a begged malefactor, my subject smells before I have gone
+through with him; for a parting blow then. The word historian imports a
+sage and solemn author, one that curls his brow with a sullen gravity,
+like a bull-necked Presbyter since the army hath got him off his
+jurisdiction, who, Presbyter like, sweeps his breast with a reverend
+beard, full of native moss-troopers; not such a squirting scribe as this
+that's troubled with the rickets, and makes pennyworths of history. The
+college-treasury that never had in bank above a Harry-groat, shut up
+there in a melancholy solitude, like one that is kept to keep
+possession, had as good evidence to show for his title as he for an
+historian; so, if he will needs be an historian, he is not cited in the
+sterling acceptation, but after the rate of bluecaps' reckoning, an
+historian Scot. Now a Scotchman's tongue runs high fullams. There is a
+cheat in his idiom, for the sense ebbs from the bold expression, like
+the citizen's gallon, which the drawer interprets but half a pint. In
+sum, a diurnal-maker is the anti-mark of an historian, he differs from
+him as a drill from a man, or (if you had rather have it in the saints'
+gibberish) as a hinter doth from a holder-forth.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE CHARACTER OF A LONDON DIURNAL.</h2>
+
+<p>A diurnal is a puny chronicle, scarce pin-feathered with the wings of
+time. It is a history in sippets: the English Iliads in a nutshell: the
+apocryphal Parliament's book of Maccabees in single sheets. It would
+tire a Welshman to reckon up how many aps 'tis removed from an annal;
+for it is of that extract, only of the younger house, like a shrimp to a
+lobster. The original sinner in this kind was Dutch, Gallo-Belgicus the
+protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans-en-kelders. The Countess
+of Zealand was brought to bed of an almanac, as many children as days in
+the year. It may be the legislative lady is of that lineage, so she
+spawns the diurnals, and they at Westminster take them in adoption by
+the names of <i>Scoticus</i>, <i>Civicus</i>, <i>Britannicus</i>. In the frontispiece
+of the old Beldam diurnal, like the contents of the chapter, sitteth the
+House of Commons judging the twelve tribes of Israel. You may call them
+the kingdom's anatomy before the weekly calendar; for such is a diurnal,
+the day of the month with what weather in the commonwealth. It is taken
+for the pulse of the body politic, and the empiric divines of the
+assembly, those spiritual dragooners, thumb it accordingly. Indeed it is
+a pretty synopsis, and those grave rabbis (though in the point of
+Divinity) trade in no larger authors. The country-carrier, when he buys
+it for the vicar, miscalls it the urinal; yet properly enough, for it
+casts the water of the state ever since it staled blood. It differs from
+an Aulicus, as the devil and his exorcist, or as a black witch doth from
+a white one, whose office is to unravel her enchantments.</p>
+
+<p>It begins usually with an Ordinance, which is a law still born, dropped
+before quickened by the royal assent. 'Tis one of the parliament's
+bye-blows, acts only being legitimate, and hath no more sire than a
+Spanish jennet that is begotten by the wind.</p>
+
+<p>Thus their militia, like its patron Mars, is the issue only of the
+mother, without the concourse of royal Jupiter: yet law it is, if they
+vote it, in defiance to their fundamentals; like the old sexton, who
+swore his clock went true, whatever the sun said to the contrary.</p>
+
+<p>The next ingredient of a diurnal is plots, horrible plots, which with
+wonderful sagacity it hunts dry-Coot, while they are yet in their
+causes, before <i>materia prima</i> can put on her smock. How many such fits
+of the mother have troubled the kingdom; and for all Sir W.E. [William
+Earle] looks like a man-midwife, not yet delivered of so much as a
+cushion? But actors must have properties; and since the stages were
+voted down the only playhouse is at Westminster.</p>
+
+<p>Suitable to their plots are their informers, skippers, and tailors,
+spaniels both for the land and water. Good conscionable intelligence!
+For however Pym's bill may inflame the reckoning, the honest vermin have
+not so much for lying as the public faith.</p>
+
+<p>Thus a zealous botcher in Moorfields, while he was contriving some
+quirpocut of Church-Government, by the help of his outlying ears and the
+Otacousticon of the spirit, discovered such a plot, that Selden intends
+to combat antiquity, and maintain it was a tailor's goose that preserved
+the capital.</p>
+
+<p>I wonder my Lord of Canterbury is not once more all to be traitored, for
+dealing with the lions to settle the Commission of Array in the Tower.
+It would do well to cramp the articles dormant, besides the opportunity
+of reforming these beasts of the prerogative, and changing their
+profaner names of Harry and Charles into Nehemiah and Eleazar.</p>
+
+<p>Suppose a corn-cutter being to give little Isaac a cast of his office
+should fall to paring his brows (mistaking the one end for the other,
+because he branches at both), this would be a plot, and the next diurnal
+would furnish you with this scale of votes:--</p>
+
+<p><i>Resolved</i> upon the question, That this act of the corn-cutter was an
+absolute invasion of the city's charter in the representative
+forehead of Isaac.</p>
+
+<p><i>Resolved</i>, That the evil counsellors about the corn-cutter are popishly
+affected and enemies to the State.</p>
+
+<p><i>Resolved</i>, That there be a public thanksgiving for the great
+deliverance of Isaac's brow-antlers; and a solemn covenant drawn up to
+defy the corn-cutter and all his works.</p>
+
+<p>Thus the Quixotes of this age fight with the windmills of their own
+heads, quell monsters of their own creation, make plots, and then
+discover them; as who fitter to unkennel the fox than the terrier that
+is part of him?</p>
+
+<p>In the third place march their adventures; the Roundheads' legends, the
+rebels' romance; stories of a larger size than the ears of their sect,
+able to strangle the belief of a Solifidian.</p>
+
+<p>I'll present them in their order. And first as a whiffler before the
+show enter Stamford, one that trod the stage with the first, traversed
+the ground, made a leg and exit. The country people took him for one
+that by order of the Houses was to dance a morrice through the west of
+England. Well, he's a nimble gentleman; set him upon Banks his horse in
+a saddle rampant, and it is a great question which part of the Centaur
+shows better tricks.</p>
+
+<p>There was a vote passing to translate him with all his equipage into
+monumental gingerbread; but it was crossed by the female committee
+alleging that the valour of his image would bite their children by
+the tongues.</p>
+
+<p>This cubit and half of commander, by the help of a diurnal, routed his
+enemies fifty miles off. It's strange you'll say, and yet 'tis generally
+believed he would as soon do it at that distance as nearer hand. Sure it
+was his sword for which the weapon-salve was invented; that so wounding
+and healing (like loving correlates) might both work at the same
+removes. But the squib is run to the end of the rope: room for the
+prodigy of valour. Madam Atropos in breeches, Waller's knight-errantry;
+and because every mountebank must have his zany, throw him in Hazelrig
+to set off his story. These two, like Bel and the Dragon, are always
+worshipped in the same chapter; they hunt in couples, what one doth at
+the head, the other scores up at the heels.</p>
+
+<p>Thus they kill a man over and over, as Hopkins and Sternhold murder the
+psalms with another of the same; one chimes all in, and then the other
+strikes up as the saints-bell.</p>
+
+<p>I wonder for how many lives my Lord Hopton took the lease of his body.</p>
+
+<p>First Stamford slew him, then Waller outkilled that half a bar; and yet
+it is thought the sullen corpse would scarce bleed were both these
+manslayers never so near it.</p>
+
+<p>The same goes of a Dutch headsman, that he would do his office with so
+much ease and dexterity, that the head after execution should stand upon
+the shoulders. Pray God Sir William be not probationer for the place;
+for as if he had the like knack too, most of those whom the diurnal hath
+slain for him, to us poor mortals seem untouched.</p>
+
+<p>Thus these artificers of death can kill the man without wounding the
+body, like lightning, that melts the sword and never singes
+the scabbard.</p>
+
+<p>This is the William whose lady is the conqueror; this is the city's
+champion and the diurnal's delight; he that cuckolds the general in his
+commission; for he stalks with Essex, and shoots under his belly,
+because his Excellency himself is not charged there: yet in all this
+triumph there is a whip and bell; translate but the scene to Roundway
+Down, there Hazelrig's lobsters turned crabs and crawled backwards,
+there poor Sir William ran to his lady for an use of consolation.</p>
+
+<p>But the diurnal is weary of the arm of flesh, and now begins an hosanna
+to Cromwell; one that hath beat up his drums clean through the Old
+Testament; you may learn the genealogy of our Saviour by the names in
+his regiment; the muster-master uses no other list but the first chapter
+of Matthew.</p>
+
+<p>With what face can they object to the king the bringing in of
+foreigners, when themselves entertain such an army of Hebrews? This
+Cromwell is never so valorous as when he is making speeches for the
+association, which nevertheless he doth somewhat ominously with his neck
+awry, holding up his ear as if he expected Mahomet's pigeon to come and
+prompt him. He should be a bird of prey too by his bloody beak; his nose
+is able to try a young eagle, whether she be lawfully begotten. But all
+is not gold that glitters. What we wonder at in the rest of them is
+natural to him to kill without bloodshed, for the most of his trophies
+are in a church window, when a looking-glass would show him more
+superstition. He is so perfect a hater of images that he hath defaced
+God's in his own countenance. If he deals with men, 'tis when he takes
+them napping in an old monument; then down goes dust and ashes, and the
+stoutest cavalier is no better. O brave Oliver! Time's voider, subsizer
+to the worms, in whom death, who formerly devoured our ancestors, now
+chews the cud. He said grace once as if he would have fallen aboard with
+the Marquis of Newcastle; nay, and the diurnal gave you his bill of
+fare; but it proved a running banquet, as appears by the story. Believe
+him as he whistles to his Cambridge team of committee-men, and he doth
+wonders. But holy men, like the holy language, must be read backwards.
+They rifle colleges to promote learning, and pull down churches for
+edification. But sacrilege is entailed upon him. There must be a
+Cromwell for cathedrals as well as abbeys; a secure sin, whose offence
+carries its pardon in its mouth; for how shall he be hanged for
+church-robbery, that gives himself the benefit of the clergy?</p>
+
+<p>But for all Cromwell's nose wears the dominical letter, compared to
+Manchester he is but like the vigils to an holy-day. This, this is the
+man of God, so sanctified a thunderbolt, that Burroughs (in a
+proportionable blasphemy to his Lord of Hosts) would style him the
+archangel giving battle to the devil.</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, as the angels each of them makes a several species, so every one
+of his soldiers makes a distinct church. Had these beasts been to enter
+into the ark it would have puzzled Noah to have sorted them into pairs.
+If ever there were a rope of sand it was so many sects twisted into an
+association.</p>
+
+<p>They agree in nothing but that they are all Adamites in understanding.
+It is a sign of a coward to wink and fight, yet all their valour
+proceeds from their ignorance.</p>
+
+<p>But I wonder whence their general's purity proceeds; it is not by
+traduction; if he was begotten a saint it was by equivocal generation,
+for the devil in the father is turned monk in the son, so his godliness
+is of the same parentage with good laws, both extracted out of bad
+manners, and would he alter the Scripture as he hath attempted the
+creed, he might vary the text and say to corruption, Thou art my Father.</p>
+
+<p>This is he that put out one of the kingdom's eyes by clouding our mother
+university; and (if this Scotch mist farther prevail) he will extinguish
+the other. He hath the like quarrel to both, because both are strung
+with the same optic nerve, knowing loyalty.</p>
+
+<p>Barbarous rebel! who will be revenged upon all learning, because his
+treason is beyond the mercy of the book.</p>
+
+<p>The diurnal as yet hath not talked much of his victories, but there is
+the more behind, for the knight must always beat the giant,
+that's resolved.</p>
+
+<p>If anything fall out amiss which cannot be smothered, the diurnal hath a
+help at maw. It is but putting to sea and taking a Danish fleet, or
+brewing it with some success out of Ireland, and then it goes
+down merrily.</p>
+
+<p>There are more puppets that move by the wire of a diurnal, as Brereton
+and Cell, two of Mars his petty-toes, such snivelling cowards that it is
+a favour to call them so. Was Brereton to fight with his teeth (as in
+all other things he resembles the beast) he would have odds of any man
+at the weapon. Oh, he's a terrible slaughterman at a Thanksgiving
+dinner. Had he been cannibal to have eaten those that he vanquished, his
+gut would have made him valiant.</p>
+
+<p>The greatest wonder is at Fairfax, how he comes to be a babe of grace,
+certainly it is not in his personal, but (as the State-sophies
+distinguish) in his politic capacity; degenerate <i>ab extra</i> by the zeal
+of the house he sat in, as chickens are hatched at Grand Cairo by the
+adoption of an oven.</p>
+
+<p>There is the woodmonger too, a feeble crutch to a declining cause, a new
+branch of the old oak of reformation.</p>
+
+<p>And now I speak of reformation, <i>vous avez</i>, Fox the tinker, the
+liveliest emblem of it that may be; for what did this parliament ever go
+about to reform, but, tinkerwise, in mending one hole they made three?</p>
+
+<p>But I have not ink enough to cure all the tetters and ring-worms of the
+State.</p>
+
+<p>I will close up all thus. The victories of the rebels are like the
+magical combat of Apuleius, who thinking he had slain three of his
+enemies, found them at last but a triumvirate of bladders. Such, and so
+empty are the triumphs of a diurnal, but so many impostumated fancies,
+so many bladders of their own blowing.</p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 25%;">
+
+<p><i>The &quot;Surfeit to A.B.C.&quot; in 1656, was a look of Characters. &quot;Naps upon
+Parnassus'&quot; in 1658 contained Characters of a Temporizer and an
+Antiquary. In the same year appeared &quot;Satyrical Characters and Handsome
+Descriptions, in Letters.&quot; In 1659 there was a third edition of a satire
+on the English, published as &quot;A Character of England, as it was lately
+presented in a Letter to a Nobleman of France&quot; replied to in that year
+by &quot;A Character of France.&quot; These suggested the production in 1659 of &quot;A
+Perfect Description of the People and Country of Scotland&quot; and, also in
+1659, &quot;A Brief Character of the Low Countries under the States, being
+Three Weeks' Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the Inhabitants.&quot;
+This was written by Owen Feltham, and added to several editions of his
+&quot;Resolves.&quot; In 1660 appeared &quot;The Character of Italy&quot; and &quot;The Character
+of Spain;&quot; in 1661, &quot;Essays and Characters by L. G.;&quot; in 1662-63, &quot;The
+Assembly-Man&quot; a Character that had been written by Sir John Birkenhead
+in 1647. Then came, in 1665, Richard Flecknoe, to whom Dryden ascribed
+sovereignty as one who</i>
+<br>
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>&quot;In prose and verse was owned without dispute,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute.&quot;</i><br></blockquote>
+<br>
+<p><i>As he was equally ready in all forms of writing that his neighbours
+followed he, of course, wrote Characters. They were &quot;Fifty-five
+Enigmatical Characters, all very exactly drawn to the Life, from several
+Persons, Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and full of Delight. By R. F.,
+Esq.&quot; The Duke of Newcastle admired, and wrote, in lines prefixed to
+the book--</i></p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whole libraries were in each character.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Lights in the starry skies are thicker set,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor quills upon the armed porcupine,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Than wit and fancy in this work of thine.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+<p><i>This is one of Flecknoe's Characters:--</i></p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE VALIANT MAN.</h2>
+
+<p>He is only a man; your coward and rash being but tame and savage beasts.
+His courage is still the same, and drink cannot make him more valiant,
+nor danger less. His valour is enough to leaven whole armies; he is an
+army himself, worth an army of other men. His sword is not always out
+like children's daggers, but he is always last in beginning quarrels,
+though first in ending them. He holds honour, though delicate as
+crystal, yet not so slight and brittle to be broke and cracked with
+every touch; therefore, though most wary of it, is not querulous nor
+punctilious. He is never troubled with passion, as knowing no degree
+beyond clear courage; and is always valiant, but never furious. He is
+the more gentle in the chamber, more fierce he's in the field, holding
+boast (the coward's valour), and cruelty (the beast's), unworthy a
+valiant man. He is only coward in this, that he dares not do an
+unhandsome action. In fine, he can only be overcome by discourtesy, and
+has but one defect--he cannot talk much--to recompense which he does
+the more.</p>
+
+<p><i>In 1673 there was published &quot;The Character of a Coffee House, with the
+symptoms of a Town Wit;&quot; and in the same year, &quot;Essays of Love and
+Marriage ... with some Characters and other Passages of Wit;&quot; in 1675,
+&quot;The Character of a Fanatick. By a Person of Quality;&quot; a set of eleven
+Characters appeared in 1675; &quot;A Whip for a Jockey, or a Character of an
+Horse-Courser,&quot; in 1677; &quot;Four for a Penny, or Poor Robin's Character of
+an unconscionable Pawnbroker and Ear-mark of an oppressing Tally-man,
+with a friendly description of a Bum-bailey, and his merciless setting
+cur or Follower,&quot; appeared in 1678; and in the same year the Duke of
+Buckingham's &quot;Character of an Ugly Woman.&quot; In 1681 appeared the
+&quot;Character of a Disbanded Courtier,&quot; and in 1684 Oldham's &quot;Character of
+a certain ugly old P----.&quot; In 1686 followed &quot;Twelve ingenious
+Characters, or pleasant Descriptions of the Properties of sundry Persons
+and Things.&quot; Sir William Coventry's &quot;Character of a Trimmer,&quot; published
+in 1689, had been written before 1659, when it had been answered by a
+&quot;Character of a Tory,&quot; not printed at the time, but included (1721) in
+the works of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. In 1689
+appeared &quot;Characters addressed to Ladies of Age,&quot; and also &quot;The
+Ceremony-Monger his Character, in Six Chapters, by E. Hickeringill,
+Rector of All Saints, Colchester.&quot; Ohe! Enough, enough!</i></p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>SAMUEL BUTLER,</h2>
+
+<p><i>Author of &quot;Hudibras,&quot; who died in 1680, also exercised his wit in
+Character writing. When Butler's &quot;Remains&quot; were published in two volumes
+in 1759 by R. Thyer, Keeper of the Public Library of Manchester, 460
+pages of the second volume, (all the volume except forty or fifty pages
+of &quot;Thoughts on Various Subjects,&quot;) was occupied by a collection of 120
+Characters that he had written. I close this volume of &quot;Character
+Writings of the Seventeenth Century&quot; with as many of Samuel Butler's
+Characters as the book has room for,--none are wittier--space being left
+for one Character by a poet of our own century, Wordsworth's &quot;Character
+of the Happy Warrior&quot; to bring us to a happy close.</i></p>
+
+
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>CHARACTERS.</h2><br>
+
+<h2>BY SAMUEL BUTLER.</h2>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>A DEGENERATE NOBLE; OR, ONE THAT IS PROUD OF HIS BIRTH,</h2>
+
+<p>Is like a turnip, there is nothing good of him but that which is
+underground; or rhubarb, a contemptible shrub that springs from a noble
+root. He has no more title to the worth and virtue of his ancestors than
+the worms that were engendered in their dead bodies, and yet he believes
+he has enough to exempt himself and his posterity from all things of
+that nature for ever. This makes him glory in the antiquity of his
+family, as if his nobility were the better the further off it is, in
+time as well as desert, from that of his predecessors. He believes the
+honour that was left him as well as the estate is sufficient to support
+his quality without troubling himself to purchase any more of his own;
+and he meddles us little with the management of the one as the other,
+but trusts both to the government of his servants, by whom he is equally
+cheated in both. He supposes the empty title of honour sufficient to
+serve his turn, though he has spent the substance and reality of it,
+like the fellow that sold his ass but would not part with the shadow of
+it; or Apicius, that sold his house, and kept only the balcony to see
+and be seen in. And because he is privileged from being arrested for his
+debts, supposes he has the same freedom from all obligations he owes
+humanity and his country, because he is not punishable for his ignorance
+and want of honour, no more than poverty or unskilfulness is in other
+professions, which the law supposes to be punishment enough to itself.
+He is like a fanatic, that contents himself with the mere title of a
+saint, and makes that his privilege to act all manner of wickedness; or
+the ruins of a noble structure, of which there is nothing left but the
+foundation, and that obscured and buried under the rubbish of the
+superstructure. The living honour of his ancestors is long ago departed,
+dead and gone, and his is but the ghost and shadow of it, that haunts
+the house with horror and disquiet where once it lived. His nobility is
+truly descended from the glory of his forefathers, and may be rightly
+said to fall to him, for it will never rise again to the height it was
+in them by his means, and he succeeds them as candles do the office of
+the sun. The confidence of nobility has rendered him ignoble, as the
+opinion of wealth makes some men poor, and as those that are born to
+estates neglect industry and have no business but to spend, so he being
+born to honour believes he is no further concerned than to consume and
+waste it. He is but a copy, and so ill done that there is no line of the
+original in him but the sin only. He is like a word that by ill-custom
+and mistake has utterly lost the sense of that from which it was
+derived, and now signifies quite contrary; for the glory of noble
+ancestors will not permit the good or bad of their posterity to be
+obscure. He values himself only upon his title, which being only verbal
+gives him a wrong account of his natural capacity, for the same words
+signify more or less, according as they are applied to things, as
+ordinary and extraordinary do at court; and sometimes the greater sound
+has the less sense, as in accounts, though four be more than three, yet
+a third in proportion is more than a fourth.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HUFFING COURTIER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a cipher, that has no value himself but from the place he stands in.
+All his happiness consists in the opinion he believes others have of it.
+This is his faith, but as it is heretical and erroneous, though he
+suffer much tribulation for it, he continues obstinate, and not to be
+convinced. He flutters up and down like a butterfly in a garden, and
+while he is pruning of his peruke takes occasion to contemplate his legs
+and the symmetry of his breeches. He is part of the furniture of the
+rooms, and serves for a walking picture, a moving piece of arras. His
+business is only to be seen, and he performs it with admirable industry,
+placing himself always in the best light, looking wonderfully politic,
+and cautious whom he mixes withal. His occupation is to show his
+clothes, and if they could but walk themselves they would save him the
+labour and do his work as well as himself. His immunity from varlets is
+his freehold, and he were a lost man without it. His clothes are but his
+tailor's livery, which he gives him, for 'tis ten to one he never pays
+for them. He is very careful to discover the lining of his coat, that
+you may not suspect any want of integrity or flaw in him from the skin
+outwards. His tailor is his creator, and makes him of nothing; and
+though he lives by faith in him, he is perpetually committing iniquities
+against him. His soul dwells in the outside of him, like that of a
+hollow tree, and if you do but peel the bark off him he deceases
+immediately. His carriage of himself is the wearing of his clothes, and,
+like the cinnamon tree, his bark is better than his body. His looking
+big is rather a tumour than greatness. He is an idol that has just so
+much value as other men give him that believe in him, but none of his
+own. He makes his ignorance pass for reserve, and, like a hunting-nag,
+leaps over what he cannot get through. He has just so much of politics
+as hostlers in the university have Latin. He is as humble as a Jesuit to
+his superior, but repays himself again in insolence over those that are
+below him, and with a generous scorn despises those that can neither do
+him good nor hurt. He adores those that may do him good, though he knows
+they never will, and despises those that would not hurt him if they
+could. The court is his church, and he believes as that believes, and
+cries up and down everything as he finds it pass there. It is a great
+comfort to him to think that some who do not know him may perhaps take
+him for a lord, and while that thought lasts he looks bigger than usual
+and forgets his acquaintance, and that's the reason why he will
+sometimes know you and sometimes not. Nothing but want of money or
+credit puts him in mind that he is mortal, but then he trusts Providence
+that somebody will trust him, and in expectation of that hopes for a
+better life, and that his debts will never rise up in judgment against
+him. To get in debt is to labour in his vocation, but to pay is to
+forfeit his protection, for what's that worth to one that owes nothing?
+His employment being only to wear his clothes, the whole account of his
+life and actions is recorded in shopkeepers' books, that are his
+faithful historiographers to their own posterity; and he believes he
+loses so much reputation as he pays off his debts, and that no man wears
+his clothes in fashion that pays for them, for nothing is further from
+the mode. He believes that he that runs in debt is beforehand with those
+that trust him, and only those that pay are behind. His brains are
+turned giddy, like one that walks on the top of a house, and that's the
+reason it is so troublesome to him to look downwards. He is a kind of
+spectrum, and his clothes are the shape he takes to appear and walk in,
+and when he puts them off he vanishes. He runs as busily out of one room
+into another as a great practiser does in Westminster Hall from one
+court to another. When he accosts a lady he puts both ends of his
+microcosm in motion, by making legs at one end and combing his peruke at
+the other. His garniture is the sauce to his clothes, and he walks in
+his portcannons like one that stalks in long grass. Every motion of him
+cries &quot;Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, quoth the preacher.&quot; He rides
+himself like a well-managed horse, reins in his neck, and walks
+<i>terra-terra</i>. He carries his elbows backward, as if he were pinioned
+like a trussed-up fowl, and moves as stiff as if he was upon the spit.
+His legs are stuck in his great voluminous breeches like the whistles in
+a bagpipe, those abundant breeches in which his nether parts are not
+clothed but packed up. His hat has been long in a consumption of the
+fashion, and is now almost worn to nothing; if it do not recover quickly
+it will grow too little for a head of garlic. He wears garniture on the
+toes of his shoes to justify his pretensions to the gout, or such other
+malady that for the time being is most in fashion or request. When he
+salutes a friend he pulls off his hat, as women do their vizard-masks.
+His ribbons are of the true complexion of his mind, a kind of painted
+cloud or gaudy rainbow, that has no colour of itself but what it borrows
+from reflection. He is as tender of his clothes as a coward is of his
+flesh, and as loth to have them disordered. His bravery is all his
+happiness, and, like Atlas, he carries his heaven on his back. He is
+like the golden fleece, a fine outside on a sheep's back. He is a
+monster or an Indian creature, that is good for nothing in the world but
+to be seen. He puts himself up into a sedan, like a fiddle in a case,
+and is taken out again for the ladies to play upon, who, when they have
+done with him, let down his treble-string till they are in the humour
+again. His cook and <i>valet de chambre</i> conspire to dress dinner and him
+so punctually together that the one may not be ready before the other.
+As peacocks and ostriches have the gaudiest and finest feathers, yet
+cannot fly, so all his bravery is to flutter only. The beggars call him
+&quot;my lord,&quot; and he takes them at their words and pays them for it. If you
+praise him, he is so true and faithful to the mode that he never fails
+to make you a present of himself, and will not be refused, though you
+know not what to do with him when you have him.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COURT BEGGAR</h2>
+
+<p>Waits at Court, as a dog does under a table, to catch what falls, or
+force it from his fellows if he can. When a man is in a fair way to be
+hanged that is richly worth it, or has hanged himself, he puts in to be
+his heir and succeed him, and pretends as much merit as another, as no
+doubt he has great reason to do if all things were rightly considered.
+He thinks it vain to deserve well of his Prince as long as he can do his
+business more easily by begging, for the same idle laziness possesses
+him that does the rest of his fraternity, that had rather take an alms
+than work for their livings, and therefore he accounts merit a more
+uncertain and tedious way of rising, and sometimes dangerous. He values
+himself and his place not upon the honour or allowances of it, but the
+convenient opportunity of begging, as King Clause's courtiers do when
+they have obtained of the superior powers a good station where three
+ways meet to exercise the function in. The more ignorant, foolish, and
+undeserving he is, provided he be but impudent enough, which all such
+seldom fail to be, the better he thrives in his calling, as others in
+the same way gain more by their sores and broken limbs than those that
+are sound and in health. He always undervalues what he gains, because he
+comes easily by it; and, how rich soever he proves, is resolved never to
+be satisfied, as being, like a Friar Minor, bound by his order to be
+always a beggar. He is, like King Agrippa, almost a Christian; for
+though he never begs anything of God, yet he does very much of his
+vicegerent the King, that is next Him. He spends lavishly what he gets,
+because it costs him so little pains to get more, but pays nothing; for
+if he should, his privilege would be of no use at all to him, and he
+does not care to part with anything of his right. He finds it his best
+way to be always craving, because he lights many times upon things that
+are disposed of or not beggable; but if one hit, it pays for twenty that
+miscarry; even as those virtuosos of his profession at large ask as well
+of those that give them nothing as those few that, out of charity, give
+them something. When he has passed almost all offices, as other beggars
+do from constable to constable, and after meets with a stop, it does but
+encourage him to be more industrious in watching the next opportunity,
+to repair the charge he has been at to no purpose. He has his
+emissaries, that are always hunting out for discoveries, and when they
+bring him in anything that he judges too heavy far his own interest to
+carry, he takes in others to join with him (like blind men and cripples
+that beg in consort), and if they prosper they share, and give the
+jackal some small snip for his pains in questing; that is, if he has any
+further use of him; otherwise he leaves him, like virtue, to reward
+himself; and because he deserves well, which he does by no means approve
+of, gives him, that which he believes to be the fittest recompense of
+all merit, just nothing. He believes that the King's restoration being
+upon his birthday, he is bound to observe it all the days of his life,
+and grant, as some other kings have done upon the same occasion,
+whatever is demanded of him, though it were the one-half of his kingdom.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BUMPKIN OR COUNTRY SQUIRE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a clown of rank and degree. He is the growth of his own land, a kind
+of Autocthonus, like the Athenians that sprang out of their own ground,
+or barnacles that grow upon trees in Scotland. His homely education has
+rendered him a native only of his own soil and a foreigner to all other
+places, from which he differs in language, manner of living, and
+behaviour, which are as rugged as the coat of a colt that has been bred
+upon a common. The custom of being the best man in his own territories
+has made him the worst everywhere else. He assumes the upper end of the
+table at an ale-house as his birthright, receives the homage of his
+company, which are always subordinate, and dispenses ale and
+communication like a self-conforming teacher in a conventicle. The chief
+points he treats on are the memoirs of his dogs and horses, which he
+repeats as often as a holder-forth that has but two sermons, to which if
+he adds the history of his hawks and fishing he is very painful and
+laborious. He does his endeavour to appear a droll, but his wit being,
+like his estate, within the compass of a hedge, is so profound and
+obscure to a stranger that it requires a commentary, and is not to be
+understood without a perfect knowledge of all circumstances of persons
+and the particular idiom of the place. He has no ambition to appear a
+person of civil prudence or understanding more than in putting off a
+lame, infirm jade for sound wind and limb, to which purpose he brings
+his squirehood and groom to vouch, and, rather than fail, will outswear
+an affidavit-man. The top of his entertainment is horrible strong beer,
+which he pours into his guests (as the Dutch did water into our
+merchants when they tortured them at Amboyna) till they confess they can
+drink no more, and then he triumphs over them as subdued and vanquished,
+no less by the strength of his brain than his drink. When he salutes a
+man he lays violent hands upon him, and grips and shakes him like a fit
+of an ague; and when he accosts a lady he stamps with his foot, like a
+French fencer, and makes a lunge at her, in which he always misses his
+aim, too high or too low, and hits her on the nose or chin. He is never
+without some rough-handed flatterer, that rubs him, like a horse, with a
+curry-comb till he kicks and grunts with the pleasure of it. He has old
+family stories and jests, that fell to him with the estate, and have
+been left from heir to heir time out of mind. With these he entertains
+all comers over and over, and has added some of his own times, which he
+intends to transmit over to posterity. He has but one way of making all
+men welcome that come to his house, and that is by making himself and
+them drunk; while his servants take the same course with theirs, which
+he approves of as good and faithful service, and the rather because, if
+he has occasion to tell a strange, improbable story, they may be in a
+readiness to vouch with the more impudence, and make it a case of
+conscience to lie as well as drink for his credit. All the heroical
+glory he aspires to is but to be reputed a most potent and victorious
+stealer of deer and beater-up of parks, to which purpose he has compiled
+commentaries of his own great actions that treat of his dreadful
+adventures in the night, of giving battle in the dark, discomfiting of
+keepers, horsing the deer on his own back, and making off with equal
+resolution and success.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ANTIQUARY</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has his being in this age, but his life and conversation is
+in the days of old. He despises the present age as an innovation and
+slights the future, but has a great value for that which is past and
+gone, like the madman that fell in love with Cleopatra. He is an old
+frippery-philosopher, that has so strange a natural affection to
+worm-eaten speculation that it is apparent he has a worm in his skull.
+He honours his forefathers and foremothers, but condemns his parents as
+too modern and no better than upstarts. He neglects himself because he
+was born in his own time and so far off antiquity, which he so much
+admires, and repines, like a younger brother, because he came so late
+into the world. He spends the one-half of his time in collecting old
+insignificant trifles, and the other in showing them, which he takes
+singular delight in, because the oftener he does it the farther they are
+from being new to him. All his curiosities take place of one another
+according to their seniority, and he values them not by their abilities,
+but their standing. He has a great veneration for words that are
+stricken in years, and are grown so aged that they have outlived their
+employments. These he uses with a respect agreeable to their antiquity
+and the good services they have done. He throws away his time in
+inquiring after that which is past and gone so many ages since, like one
+that shoots away an arrow to find out another that was lost before. He
+fetches things out of dust and ruins, like the fable of the chemical
+plant raised out of its own ashes. He values one old invention, that is
+lost and never to be recovered, before all the new ones in the world,
+though never so useful. The whole business of his life is the same with
+his that shows the tombs at Westminster, only the one does it for his
+pleasure, and the other for money. As every man has but one father, but
+two grandfathers and a world of ancestors, so he has a proportional
+value for things that are ancient, and the farther off the greater.</p>
+
+<p>He is a great time-server, but it is of time out of mind to which he
+conforms exactly, but is wholly retired from the present. His days were
+spent and gone long before he came into the world, and since his only
+business is to collect what he can out of the ruins of them. He has so
+strong a natural affection to anything that is old, that he may truly
+say to dust and worms, &quot;You are my father;&quot; and to rottenness, &quot;Thou art
+my mother.&quot; He has no providence nor foresight, for all his
+contemplations look backward upon the days of old; and his brains are
+turned with them, as if he walked backwards. He had rather interpret one
+obscure word in any old senseless discourse than be author of the most
+ingenious new one, and, with Scaliger, would sell the Empire of Germany
+(if it were in his power) for an old song. He devours an old manuscript
+with greater relish than worms and moths do, and, though there be
+nothing in it, values it above anything printed, which he accounts but a
+novelty. When he happens to cure a small botch in an old author, he is
+as proud of it as if he had got the philosopher's stone and could cure
+all the diseases of mankind. He values things wrongfully upon their
+antiquity, forgetting that the most modern are really the most ancient
+of all things in the world, like those that reckon their pounds before
+their shillings and pence of which they are made up. He esteems no
+customs but such as have outlived themselves and are long since out of
+use, as the Catholics allow of no saints but such as are dead, and the
+fanatics, in opposition, of none but the living.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PROUD MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fool in fermentation, that swells and boils over like a
+porridge-pot. He sets out his feathers like an owl, to swell and seem
+bigger than he is. He is troubled with a tumour and inflammation of
+self-conceit, that renders every part of him stiff and uneasy. He has
+given himself sympathetic love-powder, that works upon him to dotage and
+has transformed him into his own mistress. He is his own gallant, and
+makes most passionate addresses to his own dear perfections. He commits
+idolatry to himself, and worships his own image; though there is no soul
+living of his Church but himself, yet he believes as the Church
+believes, and maintains his faith with the obstinacy of a fanatic. He is
+his own favourite, and advances himself not only above his merit, but
+all mankind; is both Damon and Pythias to his own dear self, and values
+his crony above his soul. He gives place to no man but himself, and that
+with very great distance to all others, whom he esteems not worthy to
+approach him. He believes whatsoever he has receives a value in being
+his, as a horse in a nobleman's stable will bear a greater price than in
+a common market. He is so proud that he is as hard to be acquainted with
+himself as with others, for he is very apt to forget who he is, and
+knows himself only superficially; therefore he treats himself civilly as
+a stranger with ceremony and compliment, but admits of no privacy. He
+strives to look bigger than himself as well as others, and is no better
+than his own parasite and flatterer. A little flood will make a shallow
+torrent swell above its banks, and rage and foam and yield a roaring
+noise, while a deep, silent stream glides quietly on. So a
+vain-glorious, insolent, proud man swells with a little frail
+prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows his bounds, and when he
+sinks, leaves mud and dirt behind him. His carriage is as glorious and
+haughty as if he were advanced upon men's shoulders or tumbled over
+their heads like knipperdolling. He fancies himself a Colosse, and so he
+is, for his head holds no proportion to his body, and his foundation is
+lesser than his upper storeys. We can naturally take no view of
+ourselves unless we look downwards, to teach us how humble admirers we
+ought to be of our own values. The slighter and less solid his materials
+are the more room they take up and make him swell the bigger, as
+feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more close
+and solid parts.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SMALL POET</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that would fain make himself that which Nature never meant him,
+like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. He sets up
+haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. He
+believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit, and
+whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold
+with as his own. This he puts together so untowardly, that you may
+perceive his own wit has the rickets by the swelling disproportion of
+the joints. Imitation is the whole sum of him, and his vein is but an
+itch that he has catched of others, and his flame like that of charcoals
+that were burnt before. But as he wants judgment to understand what is
+best, he naturally takes the worst, as being most agreeable to his own
+talent. You may know his wit not to be natural, 'tis so unquiet and
+troublesome in him; for as those that have money but seldom are always
+shaking their pockets when they have it, so does he when he thinks he
+has got something that will make him appear. He is a perpetual talker,
+and you may know by the freedom of his discourse that he came lightly by
+it, as thieves spend freely what they get. He measures other men's wit
+by their modesty, and his own by his confidence. He makes nothing of
+writing plays, because he has not wit enough to understand the
+difficulty. This makes him venture to talk and scribble, as chouses do
+to play with cunning gamesters until they are cheated and laughed at. He
+is always talking of wit, as those that have bad voices are always
+singing out of tune, and those that cannot play delight to fumble on
+instruments. He grows the unwiser by other men's harms, for the worse
+others write, he finds the more encouragement to do so too. His
+greediness of praise is so eager that he swallows anything that comes in
+the likeness of it, how notorious and palpable soever, and is as
+shot-free against anything that may lessen his good opinion of himself.
+This renders him incurable, like diseases that grow insensible.</p>
+
+<p>If you dislike him, it is at your own peril; he is sure to put in a
+caveat beforehand against your understanding, and, like a malefactor in
+wit, is always furnished with exceptions against his judges. This puts
+him upon perpetual apologies, excuses, and defences, but still by way of
+defiance, in a kind of whiffling strain, without regard of any man that
+stands in the way of his pageant. Where he thinks he may do it safely,
+he will confidently own other men's writings; and where he fears the
+truth may be discovered, he will, by feeble denials and feigned
+insinuations, give men occasion to suppose it.</p>
+
+<p>If he understands Latin or Greek he ranks himself among the learned,
+despises the ignorant, talks criticisms out of Scaliger, and repeats
+Martial's bawdy epigrams, and sets up his rest wholly upon pedantry. But
+if he be not so well qualified, he cries down all learning as pedantic,
+disclaims study, and professes to write with as great facility as if his
+Muse was sliding down Parnassus. Whatsoever he hears well said he seizes
+upon by poetical license, and one way makes it his own; that is, by
+ill-repeating of it. This he believes to be no more theft than it is to
+take that which others throw away. By this means his writings are, like
+a tailor's cushion of mosaic work, made up of several scraps sewed
+together. He calls a slovenly, nasty description great Nature, and dull
+flatness strange easiness. He writes down all that comes in his head,
+and makes no choice, because he has nothing to do it with that is
+judgment. He is always repealing the old laws of comedy, and, like the
+Long Parliament, making ordinances in their stead, although they are
+perpetually thrown out of coffee-houses and come to nothing. He is like
+an Italian thief, that never robs but he murders, to prevent discovery;
+so sure is he to cry down the man from whom he purloins, that his petty
+larceny of wit may pass unsuspected. He is but a copier at best, and
+will never arrive to practise by the life; for bar him the imitation of
+something he has read, and he has no image in his thoughts. Observation
+and fancy, the matter and form of just wit, are above his philosophy. He
+appears so over-concerned in all men's wits as if they were but
+disparagements of his own, and cries down all they do as if they were
+encroachments upon him. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them,
+as justices do false weights and pots that want measure. When he meets
+with anything that is very good he changes it into small money, like
+three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He disclaims
+study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which
+appears to be very true by his often missing of his mark. His wit is
+much troubled with obstructions, and he has fits as painful as those of
+the spleen. He fancies himself a dainty, spruce shepherd, with a flock
+and a fine silken shepherdess, that follow his pipe as rats did the
+conjurers in Germany.</p>
+
+<p>As for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense.
+Such matches are unlawful, and not fit to be made by a Christian poet,
+and therefore all his care is to choose out such as will serve, like a
+wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse that wants a foot or two; and if
+they will but rhyme now and then into the bargain, or run upon a letter,
+it is a work of supererogation.</p>
+
+<p>For similitudes, he likes the hardest and most obscure best; for as
+ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem fairer than
+they are, so when an illustration is more obscure than the sense that
+went before it, it must of necessity make it appear clearer than it did,
+for contraries are best set off with contraries.</p>
+
+<p>He has found out a way to save the expense of much wit and sense; for he
+will make less than some have prodigally laid out upon five or six words
+serve forty or fifty lines. This is a thrifty invention, and very easy,
+and, if it were commonly known, would much increase the trade of wit and
+maintain a multitude of small poets in constant employment. He has found
+out a new sort of poetical Georgics, a trick of sowing wit like
+clover-grass on barren subjects which would yield nothing before. This
+is very useful for the times, wherein, some men say, there is no room
+left for new invention. He will take three grains of wit like the
+elixir, and projecting it upon the iron age, turn it immediately into
+gold. All the business of mankind has presently vanished; the whole
+world has kept holiday; there have been no men but heroes and poets, no
+women but nymphs and shepherdesses; trees have borne fritters, and
+rivers flowed plum-porridge.</p>
+
+<p>We read that Virgil used to make fifty or sixty verses in a morning, and
+afterwards reduce them to ten. This was an unthrifty vanity, and argues
+him as well ignorant in the husbandry of his own poetry as Seneca says
+he was in that of a farm; for, in plain English, it was no better than
+bringing a noble to nine-pence. And as such courses brought the prodigal
+son to eat with hogs, so they did him to feed with horses, which were
+not much better company, and may teach us to avoid doing the like. For
+certainly it is more noble to take four or five grains of sense, and,
+like a gold-beater, hammer them into so many leaves as will fill a whole
+book, than to write nothing but epitomes, which many wise men believe
+will be the bane and calamity of learning. When he writes he commonly
+steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the end of them,
+as butchers do calves by the tail. For when he has made one line, which
+is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word that will but
+rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon
+an anvil, into what form he pleases.</p>
+
+<p>There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole
+dictionary is scarce able to contain them, for there is hardly a pond, a
+sheep-walk, or a gravel-pit in all Greece but the ancient name of it is
+become a term of art in poetry. By this means small poets have such a
+stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryads, hamadryads, Aonides,
+fauni, nymphae, sylvani, &amp;c., that signify nothing at all, and such a
+world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all
+the new inventions and thorough reformations that can happen between
+this and Plato's great year.</p>
+
+<p>When he writes he never proposes any scope or purpose to himself, but
+gives his genius all freedom; for as he that rides abroad for his
+pleasure can hardly be out of his way, so he that writes for his
+pleasure can seldom be beside his subject. It is an ungrateful thing to
+a noble wit to be confined to anything. To what purpose did the ancients
+feign Pegasus to have wings if he must be confined to the road and
+stages like a pack-horse, or be forced to be obedient to hedges and
+ditches? Therefore he has no respect to decorum and propriety of
+circumstance, for the regard of persons, times, and places is a
+restraint too servile to be imposed upon poetical license, like him that
+made Plato confess Juvenal to be a philosopher, or Persius, that calls
+the Athenians Quirites.</p>
+
+<p>For metaphors, he uses to choose the hardest and most far-set that he
+can light upon. These are the jewels of eloquence, and therefore the
+harder they are the more precious they must be.</p>
+
+<p>He'll take a scant piece of coarse sense and stretch it on the
+tenterhooks of half-a-score rhymes, until it crack that you may see
+through it and it rattle like a drumhead. When you see his verses hanged
+up in tobacco-shops, you may say, in defiance of the proverb, &quot;that the
+weakest does not always go to the wall;&quot; for 'tis well known the lines
+are strong enough, and in that sense may justly take the wall of any
+that have been written in our language. He seldom makes a conscience of
+his rhymes, but will often take the liberty to make &quot;preach&quot; rhyme with
+&quot;cheat,&quot; &quot;vote&quot; with &quot;rogue,&quot; and &quot;committee-man&quot; with &quot;hang.&quot;</p>
+
+<p>He'll make one word of as many joints as the tin-pudding that a juggler
+pulls out of his throat and chops in again. What think you of
+<i>glud-fum-flam-hasta-minantes?</i> Some of the old Latin poets bragged that
+their verses were tougher than brass and harder than marble; what would
+they have done if they had seen these? Verily they would have had more
+reason to wish themselves an hundred throats than they then had to
+pronounce them.</p>
+
+<p>There are some that drive a trade in writing in praise of other writers
+(like rooks, that bet on gamesters' hands), not at all to celebrate the
+learned author's merits, as they would show but their own wits, of which
+he is but the subject. The lechery of this vanity has spawned more
+writers than the civil law. For those whose modesty must not endure to
+hear their own praises spoken may yet publish of themselves the most
+notorious vapours imaginable. For if the privilege of love be
+allowed--<i>Dicere quiz puduit, scribere jussit amor</i>--why should it not
+be so in self-love too? For if it be wisdom to conceal our
+imperfections, what is it to discover our virtues? It is not likely that
+Nature gave men great parts upon such terms as the fairies used to give
+money, to pinch and leave them if they speak of it. They say--Praise is
+but the shadow of virtue, and sure that virtue is very foolish that is
+afraid of its own shadow.</p>
+
+<p>When he writes anagrams he uses to lay the outsides of his verses even
+(like a bricklayer) by a line of rhyme and acrostic, and fill the middle
+with rubbish. In this he imitates Ben Jonson, but in nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>There was one that lined a hatcase with a paper of Benlowes' poetry;
+Prynne bought it by chance and put a new demi-castor into it. The first
+time he wore it he felt only a singing in his head, which within two
+days turned to a vertigo. He was let blood in the ear by one of the
+State physicians, and recovered; but before he went abroad he wrote a
+poem of rocks and seas, in a style so proper and natural that it was
+hard to determine which was ruggeder.</p>
+
+<p>There is no feat of activity nor gambol of wit that ever was performed
+by man, from him that vaults on Pegasus to him that tumbles through the
+hoop of an anagram, but Benlowes has got the mastery in it, whether it
+be high-rope wit or low-rope wit. He has all sorts of echoes, rebuses,
+chronograms, &amp;c., besides carwitchets, clenches, and quibbles. As for
+altars and pyramids in poetry, he has outdone all men that way; for he
+has made a gridiron and a frying-pan in verse, that, beside the likeness
+in shape, the very tone and sound of the words did perfectly represent
+the noise that is made by those utensils, such as the old poet called
+<i>sartago loquendi</i>. When he was a captain he made all the furniture of
+his horse, from the bit to the crupper, in beaten poetry, every verse
+being fitted to the proportion of the thing, with a moral allusion of
+the sense to the thing; as the bridle of moderation, the saddle of
+content, and the crupper of constancy; so that the same thing was both
+epigram and emblem, even as a mule is both horse and ass.</p>
+
+<p>Some critics are of opinion that poets ought to apply themselves to the
+imitation of Nature, and make a conscience of digressing from her; but
+he is none of these. The ancient magicians could charm down the moon and
+force rivers back to their springs by the power of poetry only, and the
+moderns will undertake to turn the inside of the earth outward (like a
+juggler's pocket) and shake the chaos out of it, make Nature show tricks
+like an ape, and the stars run on errands; but still it is by dint of
+poetry. And if poets can do such noble feats, they were unwise to
+descend to mean and vulgar. For where the rarest and most common things
+are of a price (as they are all one to poets), it argues disease in
+judgment not to choose the most curious. Hence some infer that the
+account they give of things deserves no regard, because they never
+receive anything as they find it into their compositions, unless it
+agree both with the measure of their own fancies and the measure of
+their lines, which can very seldom happen. And therefore, when they give
+a character of any thing or person, it does commonly bear no more
+proportion to the subject than the fishes and ships in a map do to the
+scale. But let such know that poets as well as kings ought rather to
+consider what is fit for them to give than others to receive; that they
+are fain to have regard to the exchange of language, and write high or
+low according as that runs. For in this age, when the smallest poet
+seldom goes below more the most, it were a shame for a greater and more
+noble poet not to outthrow that cut a bar.</p>
+
+<p>There was a tobacco-man that wrapped Spanish tobacco in a paper of
+verses which Benlowes had written against the Pope, which, by a natural
+antipathy that his wit has to anything that's Catholic, spoiled the
+tobacco, for it presently turned mundungus. This author will take an
+English word, and, like the Frenchman that swallowed water and spit it
+out wine, with a little heaving and straining would turn it immediately
+into Latin, as <i>plunderat ilie domos, mille hocopokiana</i>, and a
+thousand such.</p>
+
+<p>There was a young practitioner in poetry that found there was no good to
+be done without a mistress; for he that writes of love before he hath
+tried it doth but travel by the map, and he that makes love without a
+dame does like a gamester that plays for nothing. He thought it
+convenient, therefore, first to furnish himself with a name for his
+mistress beforehand, that he might not be to seek when his merit or good
+fortune should bestow her upon him; for every poet is his mistress's
+godfather, and gives her a new name, like a nun that takes orders. He
+was very curious to fit himself with a handsome word of a tunable sound,
+but could light upon none that some poet or other had not made use of
+before. He was therefore forced to fall to coining, and was several
+months before he could light on one that pleased him perfectly. But
+after he had overcome that difficulty he found a greater remaining, to
+get a lady to own him. He accosted some of all sorts, and gave them to
+understand, both in prose and verse, how incomparably happy it was in
+his power to make his mistress, but could never convert any of them. At
+length he was fain to make his laundress supply that place as a proxy
+until his good fortune or somebody of better quality would be more kind
+to him, which after a while he neither hoped nor cared for; for how mean
+soever her condition was before, when he had once pretended to her she
+was sure to be a nymph and a goddess. For what greater honour can a
+woman be capable of than to be translated into precious stones and
+stars? No herald in the world can go higher. Besides, he found no man
+can use that freedom of hyperbole in the character of a person commonly
+known (as great ladies are) which we can in describing one so obscure
+and unknown that nobody can disprove him. For he that writes but one
+sonnet upon any of the public persons shall be sure to have his reader
+at every third word cry out, &quot;What an ass is this to call Spanish paper
+and ceruse lilies and roses, or claps influences; to say the Graces are
+her waiting-women, when they are known to be no better than her bawds;
+that day breaks from her eyes when she looks asquint; or that her breath
+perfumes the Arabian winds when she puffs tobacco!&quot;</p>
+
+<p>It is no mean art to improve a language, and find out words that are not
+only removed from common use, but rich in consonants, the nerves and
+sinews of speech; to raise a soft and feeble language like ours to the
+pitch of High-Dutch, as he did that writ--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Arts rattling foreskins shrilling bagpipes quell.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+<p>This is not only the most elegant but most politic way of writing that a
+poet can use, for I know no defence like it to preserve a poem from the
+torture of those that lisp and stammer. He that wants teeth may as well
+venture upon a piece of tough horny brawn as such a line, for he will
+look like an ass eating thistles.</p>
+
+<p>He never begins a work without an invocation of his Muse; for it is not
+fit that she should appear in public to show her skill before she is
+entreated, as gentlewomen do not use to sing until they are applied to
+and often desired.</p>
+
+<p>I shall not need to say anything of the excellence of poetry, since it
+has been already performed by many excellent persons, among whom some
+have lately undertaken to prove that the civil government cannot
+possibly subsist without it, which, for my part, I believe to be true in
+a poetical sense, and more probable to be received of it than those
+strange feats of building walls and making trees dance which antiquity
+ascribes to verse. And though philosophers are of a contrary opinion and
+will not allow poets fit to live in a commonwealth, their partiality is
+plainer than their reasons, for they have no other way to pretend to
+this prerogative themselves, as they do, but by removing poets whom they
+know to have a fairer title; and this they do so unjustly that Plato,
+who first banished poets his republic, forgot that that very
+commonwealth was poetical. I shall say nothing to them, but only desire
+the world to consider how happily it is like to be governed by those
+that are at so perpetual a civil war among themselves, that if we should
+submit ourselves to their own resolution of this question, and be
+content to allow them only fit to rule if they could but conclude it so
+themselves, they would never agree upon it. Meanwhile there is no less
+certainty and agreement in poetry than the mathematics, for they all
+submit to the same rules without dispute or controversy. But whosoever
+shall please to look into the records of antiquity shall find their
+title so unquestioned that the greatest princes in the whole world have
+been glad to derive their pedigrees, and their power too, from poets.
+Alexander the Great had no wiser a way to secure that Empire to himself
+by right which he had gotten by force than by declaring himself the son
+of Jupiter; and who was Jupiter but the son of a poet? So Caesar and all
+Rome was transported with joy when a poet made Jupiter his colleague in
+the Empire; and when Jupiter governed, what did the poets that
+governed Jupiter?</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PHILOSOPHER</h2>
+
+<p>Seats himself as spectator and critic on the great theatre of the world,
+and gives sentence on the plots, language, and action of whatsoever he
+sees represented, according to his own fancy. He will pretend to know
+what is done behind the scene, but so seldom is in the right that he
+discovers nothing more than his own mistakes. When his profession was in
+credit in the world, and money was to be gotten by it, it divided itself
+into multitudes of sects, that maintained themselves and their opinions
+by fierce and hot contests with one another; but since the trade decayed
+and would not turn to account, they all fell of themselves, and now the
+world is so unconcerned in their controversies, that three Reformado
+sects joined in one, like Epicuro-Gassendo-Charltoniana, will not serve
+to maintain one pedant. He makes his hypotheses himself, as a tailor
+does a doublet without measure; no matter whether they fit Nature, he
+can make Nature fit them, and, whether they are too straight or wide,
+pinch or stuff out the body accordingly. He judges of the works of
+Nature just as the rabble do of State affairs; they see things done, and
+every man according to his capacity guesses at the reasons of them, but
+knowing nothing of the arcana or secret movements of either, they seldom
+or never are in the right. Howsoever, they please themselves and some
+others with their fancies, and the farther they are off truth, the more
+confident they are they are near it, as those that are out of their way
+believe the farther they have gone they are the nearer their journey's
+end, when they are farthest of all from it. He is confident of
+immaterial substances, and his reasons are very pertinent; that is,
+substantial as he thinks, and immaterial as others do. Heretofore his
+beard was the badge of his profession, and the length of that in all his
+polemics was ever accounted the length of his weapon; but when the trade
+fell, that fell too. In Lucius's time they were commonly called
+beard-wearers, for all the strength of their wits lay in their beards,
+as Samson's did in his locks; but since the world began to see the
+vanity of that hare-brained cheat, they left it off to save
+their credit.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MELANCHOLY MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that keeps the worst company in the world; that is, his own; and
+though he be always falling out and quarrelling with himself, yet he has
+not power to endure any other conversation. His head is haunted, like a
+house, with evil spirits and apparitions, that terrify and fright him
+out of himself, till he stands empty and forsaken. His sleeps and his
+wakings are so much the same that he knows not how to distinguish them,
+and many times when he dreams he believes he is broad awake and sees
+visions. The fumes and vapours that rise from his spleen and
+hypochondrias have so smutched and sullied his brain (like a room that
+smokes) that his understanding is blear-eyed and has no right perception
+of anything. His soul lives in his body, like a mole in the earth that
+labours in the dark, and casts up doubts and scruples of his own
+imaginations, to make that rugged and uneasy that was plain and open
+before. His brain is so cracked that he fancies himself to be glass, and
+is afraid that everything he comes near should break him in pieces.
+Whatsoever makes an impression in his imagination works itself in like a
+screw, and the more he turns and winds it the deeper it sticks, till it
+is never to be got out again. The temper of his brain, being earthy,
+cold, and dry, is apt to breed worms, that sink so deep into it no
+medicine in art or nature is able to reach them. He leads his life as
+one leads a dog in a slip that will not follow, but is dragged along
+until he is almost hanged, as he has it often under consideration to
+treat himself in convenient time and place, if he can but catch himself
+alone. After a long and mortal feud between his inward and his outward
+man, they at length agree to meet without seconds and decide the
+quarrel, in which the one drops and the other slinks out of the way and
+makes his escape into some foreign world, from whence it is never after
+heard of. He converses with nothing so much as his own imagination,
+which, being apt to misrepresent things to him, makes him believe that
+it is something else than it is, and that he holds intelligence with
+spirits that reveal whatsoever he fancies to him, as the ancient rude
+people that first heard their own voices repeated by echoes in the woods
+concluded it must proceed from some invisible inhabitants of those
+solitary places, which they after believed to be gods, and called them
+sylvans, fauns, and dryads. He makes the infirmity of his temper pass
+for revelations, as Mahomet did by his falling sickness, and inspires
+himself with the wind of his own hypochondrias. He laments, like
+Heraclitus, the maudlin philosopher, at other men's mirth, and takes
+pleasure in nothing but his own unsober sadness. His mind is full of
+thoughts, but they are all empty, like a nest of boxes. He sleeps
+little, but dreams much, and soundest when he is waking. He sees visions
+farther off than a second-sighted man in Scotland, and dreams upon a
+hard point with admirable judgment. He is just so much worse than a
+madman as he is below him in degree of frenzy, for among madmen the most
+mad govern all the rest, and receive a natural obedience from their
+inferiors.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TRAVELLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a native of all countries and an alien at home. He flies from the
+place where he was hatched, like a wild goose, and prefers all others
+before it. He has no quarrel to it but because he was born in it, and,
+like a bastard, he is ashamed of his mother, because she is of him. He
+is a merchant that makes voyages into foreign nations to drive a trade
+in wisdom and politics, and it is not for his credit to have it thought
+he has made an ill return, which must be if he should allow of any of
+the growth of his own country. This makes him quack and blow up himself
+with admiration of foreign parts and a generous contempt of home, that
+all men may admire at least the means he has had of improvement and
+deplore their own defects. His observations are like a sieve, that lets
+the finer flour pass and retains only the bran of things, for his whole
+return of wisdom proves to be but affectation, a perishable commodity,
+which he will never be able to put off. He believes all men's wits are
+at a stand that stay at home, and only those advanced that travel, as if
+change of pasture did make great politicians as well as fat calves. He
+pities the little knowledge of truth which those have that have not seen
+the world abroad, forgetting that at the same time he tells us how
+little credit is to be given to his own relations and those of others
+that speak and write of their travels. He has worn his own language to
+rags, and patched it up with scraps and ends of foreign. This serves him
+for wit; for when he meets with any of his foreign acquaintances, all
+they smatter passes for wit, and they applaud one another accordingly.
+He believes this raggedness of his discourse a great demonstration of
+the improvement of his knowledge, as Inns-of-Court men intimate their
+proficiency in the law by the tatters of their gowns. All the wit he
+brought home with him is like foreign coin, of a baser alloy than our
+own, and so will not pass here without great loss. All noble creatures
+that are famous in any one country degenerate by being transplanted, and
+those of mean value only improve. If it hold with men, he falls among
+the number of the latter, and his improvements are little to his credit.
+All he can say for himself is, his mind was sick of a consumption, and
+change of air has cured him; for all his other improvements have only
+been to eat in ... and talk with those he did not understand, to hold
+intelligence with all <i>Gazettes</i>, and from the sight of statesmen in the
+street unriddle the intrigues of all their Councils, to make a wondrous
+progress into knowledge by riding with a messenger, and advance in
+politics by mounting of a mule, run through all sorts of learning in a
+waggon, and sound all depths of arts in a felucca, ride post into the
+secrets of all states, and grow acquainted with their close designs in
+inns and hostelries; for certainly there is great virtue in highways and
+hedges to make an able man, and a good prospect cannot but let him see
+far into things.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CURIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Values things not by their use or worth, but scarcity. He is very tender
+and scrupulous of his humour, as fanatics are of their consciences, and
+both for the most part in trifles. He cares not how unuseful anything
+be, so it be but unuseful and rare. He collects all the curiosities he
+can light upon in art or nature, not to inform his own judgment, but to
+catch the admiration of others, which he believes he has a right to
+because the rarities are his own. That which other men neglect he
+believes they oversee, and stores up trifles as rare discoveries, at
+least of his own wit and sagacity. He admires subtleties above all
+things, because the more subtle they are the nearer they are to nothing,
+and values no art but that which is spun so thin that it is of no use at
+all. He had rather have an iron chain hung about the neck of a flea than
+an alderman's of gold, and Homer's Iliads in a nutshell than Alexander's
+cabinet. He had rather have the twelve apostles on a cherry-stone than
+those on St. Peter's portico, and would willingly sell Christ again for
+that numerical piece of coin that Judas took for Him. His perpetual
+dotage upon curiosities at length renders him one of them, and he shows
+himself as none of the meanest of his rarities. He so much affects
+singularity that, rather than follow the fashion that is used by the
+rest of the world, he will wear dissenting clothes with odd fantastic
+devices to distinguish himself from others, like marks set upon cattle.
+He cares not what pains he throws away upon the meanest trifle so it be
+but strange, while some pity and others laugh at his ill-employed
+industry. He is one of those that valued Epictetus's lamp above the
+excellent book he wrote by it. If he be a book-man, he spends all his
+time and study upon things that are never to be known. The philosopher's
+stone and universal medicine cannot possibly miss him, though he is sure
+to do them. He is wonderfully taken with abstruse knowledge, and had
+rather handle truth with a pair of tongs wrapped up in mysteries and
+hieroglyphics than touch it with his hands or see it plainly
+demonstrated to his senses.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HERALD</h2>
+
+<p>Calls himself a king because he has power and authority to hang, draw,
+and quarter arms. For assuming a jurisdiction over the distributive
+justice of titles of honour, as far as words extend, he gives himself as
+great a latitude that way as other magistrates use to do where they have
+authority and would enlarge it as far as they can. 'Tis true he can make
+no lords nor knights of himself, but as many squires and gentlemen as he
+pleases, and adopt them into what family they have a mind. His dominions
+abound with all sorts of cattle, fish, and fowl, and all manner of
+manufactures, besides whole fields of gold and silver, which he
+magnificently bestows upon his followers or sells as cheap as lands in
+Jamaica. The language they use is barbarous, as being but a dialect of
+pedlar's French or the Egyptian, though of a loftier sound, and in the
+propriety affecting brevity, as the other does verbosity. His business
+is like that of all the schools, to make plain things hard with
+perplexed methods and insignificant terms, and then appear learned in
+making them plain again. He professes arms not for use, but ornament
+only, and yet makes the basest things in the world, as dogs' turds and
+women's spindles, weapons of good and worshipful bearings. He is wiser
+than the fellow that sold his ass, but kept the shadow for his own use;
+for he sells only the shadow (that is, the picture) and keeps the ass
+himself. He makes pedigrees as apothecaries do medicines when they put
+in one ingredient for another that they have not by them; by this means
+he often makes incestuous matches, and causes the son to many the
+mother. His chief province is at funerals, where he commands in chief,
+marshals the <i>tristitiae irritamenta</i>, and, like a gentleman-sower to
+the worms, serves up the feast with all punctual formality. He will join
+as many shields together as would make a Roman <i>testudo</i> or Macedonian
+phalanx, to fortify the nobility of a new-made lord that will pay for
+the impressing of them and allow him coat and conduct money. He is a
+kind of a necromancer, and can raise the dead out of their graves to
+make them marry and beget those they never heard of in their lifetime.
+His coat is, like the King of Spain's dominions, all skirts, and hangs
+as loose about him; and his neck is the waist, like the picture of
+Nobody with his breeches fastened to his collar. He will sell the head
+or a single joint of a beast or fowl as dear as the whole body, like a
+pig's head in Bartholomew Fair, and after put off the rest to his
+customers at the same rate. His arms, being utterly out of use in war
+since guns came up, have been translated to dishes and cups, as the
+ancients used their precious stones, according to the poet, <i>Gemmas ad
+pocula transfert a gladiis, &amp;c.</i>; and since are like to decay every day
+more and more, for since he gave citizens coats-of-arms, gentlemen have
+made bold to take their letters of mark by way of reprisal. The hangman
+has a receipt to mar all his work in a moment, for by nailing the wrong
+end of a scutcheon upwards upon a gibbet all the honour and gentility
+extinguishes of itself, like a candle that's held with the flame
+downwards. Other arms are made for the spilling of blood, but his only
+purify and cleanse it like scurvy-grass; for a small dose taken by his
+prescription will refine that which is as base and gross as bull's blood
+(which the Athenians used to poison withal) to any degree of purity.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A VIRTUOSO</h2>
+
+<p>Is a well-willer to the mathematics; he pursues knowledge rather out of
+humour than ingenuity, and endeavours rather to seem than to be. He has
+nothing of nature but an inclination, which he strives to improve with
+industry; but as no art can make a fountain run higher than its own
+head, so nothing can raise him above the elevation of his own pole. He
+seldom converses but with men of his own tendency, and wheresoever he
+comes treats with all men as such; for as country gentlemen use to talk
+of their dogs to those that hate hunting because they love it
+themselves, so will he of his arts and sciences to those that neither
+know nor care to know anything of them. His industry were admirable if
+it did not attempt the greatest difficulties with the feeblest means;
+for he commonly slights anything that is plain and easy, how useful and
+ingenious soever, and bends all his forces against the hardest and most
+improbable, though to no purpose if attained to; for neither knowing how
+to measure his own abilities nor the weight of what he attempts, he
+spends his little strength in vain and grows only weaker by it; and as
+men use to blind horses that draw in a mill, his ignorance of himself
+and his undertakings makes him believe he has advanced when he is no
+nearer to his end than when he set out first. The bravery of
+difficulties does so dazzle his eyes that he prosecutes them with as
+little success as the tailor did his amours to Queen Elizabeth. He
+differs from a pedant as things do from words, for he uses the same
+affectation in his operations and experiments as the other does in
+language. He is a haberdasher of small arts and sciences, and deals in
+as many several operations as a baby artificer does in engines. He will
+serve well enough for an index to tell what is handled in the world, but
+no further. He is wonderfully delighted with rarities, and they continue
+still so to him though he has shown them a thousand times, for every new
+admirer that gapes upon them sets him a-gaping too. Next these he loves
+strange natural histories; and as those that read romances, though they
+know them to be fictions, are as much affected as if they were true, so
+is he, and will make hard shift to tempt himself to believe them first
+to be possible, and then he's sure to believe them to be true,
+forgetting that belief upon belief is false heraldry. He keeps a
+catalogue of the names of all famous men in any profession, whom he
+often takes occasion to mention as his very good friends and old
+acquaintances. Nothing is more pedantic than to seem too much concerned
+about wit or knowledge, to talk much of it, and appear too critical in
+it. All he can possibly arrive to is but like the monkeys dancing on the
+rope, to make men wonder how 'tis possible for art to put nature so much
+out of her play.</p>
+
+<p>His learning is like those letters on a coach, where, many being writ
+together, no one appears plain. When the King happens to be at the
+university and degrees run like wine in conduits at public triumphs, he
+is sure to have his share; and though he be as free to choose his
+learning as his faculty, yet, like St. Austin's soul, <i>Creando
+infunditur, infundendo creatur</i>. Nero was the first emperor of his
+calling, though it be not much for his credit. He is like an elephant
+that, though he cannot swim, yet of all creatures most delights to walk
+along a river's side; and as, in law, things that appear not and things
+that are not are all one, so he had rather not be than not appear. The
+top of his ambition is to have his picture graved in brass and published
+upon walls, if he has no work of his own to face with it. His want of
+judgment inclines him naturally to the most extravagant undertakings,
+like that of making old dogs young, telling how many persons there are
+in a room by knocking at a door, stopping up of words in bottles, &amp;c. He
+is like his books, that contain much knowledge, but know nothing
+themselves. He is but an index of things and words, that can direct
+where they are to be spoken with, but no farther. He appears a great man
+among the ignorant, and, like a figure in arithmetic, is so much the
+more as it stands before ciphers that are nothing of themselves. He
+calls himself an antisocordist, a name unknown to former ages, but
+spawned by the pedantry of the present. He delights most in attempting
+things beyond his reach, and the greater distance he shoots at, the
+farther he is sure to be off his mark. He shows his parts as drawers do
+a room at a tavern, to entertain them at the expense of their time and
+patience. He inverts the moral of that fable of him that caressed his
+dog for fawning and leaping up upon him and beat his ass for doing the
+same thing, for it is all one to him whether he be applauded by an ass
+or a wiser creature, so he be but applauded.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN INTELLIGENCER</h2>
+
+<p>Would give a penny for any statesman's thought at any time. He travels
+abroad to guess what princes are designing by seeing them at church or
+dinner, and will undertake to unriddle a government at first sight, and
+tell what plots she goes with, male or female; and discover, like a
+mountebank, only by seeing the public face of affairs, what private
+marks there are in the most secret parts of the body politic. He is so
+ready at reasons of State, that he has them, like a lesson, by rote; but
+as charlatans make diseases fit their medicines, and not their medicines
+diseases, so he makes all public affairs conform to his own established
+reason of State, and not his reason, though the case alter ever so much,
+comply with them. He thinks to obtain a great insight into State affairs
+by observing only the outside pretences and appearances of things, which
+are seldom or never true, and may be resolved several ways, all equally
+probable; and therefore his penetrations into these matters are like the
+penetrations of cold into natural bodies, without any sense of itself or
+the thing it works upon. For all his discoveries in the end amount only
+to entries and equipages, addresses, audiences, and visits, with other
+such politic speculations as the rabble in the streets is wont to
+entertain itself withal. Nevertheless he is very cautious not to omit
+his cipher, though he writes nothing but what every one does or may
+safely know, for otherwise it would appear to be no secret. He
+endeavours to reduce all his politics into maxims, as being most easily
+portable for a travelling head, though, as they are for the most part of
+slight matters, they are but like spirits drawn out of water, insipid
+and good for nothing. His letters are a kind of bills of exchange, in
+which he draws news and politics upon all his correspondents, who place
+it to account, and draw it back again upon him; and though it be false,
+neither cheats the other, for it passes between both for good and
+sufficient pay. If he drives an inland trade, he is factor to certain
+remote country virtuosos, who, finding themselves unsatisfied with the
+brevity of the <i>Gazette</i>, desire to have exceedings of news besides
+their ordinary commons. To furnish those, he frequents clubs and
+coffee-houses, the markets of news, where he engrosses all he can light
+upon; and if that do not prove sufficient, he is forced to add a lie or
+two of his own making, which does him double service; for it does not
+only supply his occasions for the present, but furnishes him with matter
+to fill up gaps in the next letter with retracting what he wrote before,
+and in the meantime has served for as good news as the best; and when
+the novelty is over it is no matter what becomes of it, for he is better
+paid for it than if it were true.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A QUIBBLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a juggler of words, that shows tricks with them, to make them appear
+what they were not meant for and serve two senses at once, like one that
+plays on two Jew's trumps. He is a fencer of language, that falsifies
+his blow and hits where he did not aim. He has a foolish sleight of wit
+that catches at words only and lets the sense go, like the young thief
+in the farce that took a purse, but gave the owner his money back again.
+He is so well versed in all cases of quibble, that he knows when there
+will be a blot upon a word as soon as it is out. He packs his quibbles
+like a stock of cards; let him but shuffle, and cut where you will, he
+will be sure to have it. He dances on a rope of sand, does the
+somersault, strappado, and half-strappado with words, plays at all
+manner of games with clinches, carwickets, and quibbles, and talks
+under-leg. His wit is left-handed, and therefore what others mean for
+right he apprehends quite contrary. All his conceptions are produced by
+equivocal generation, which makes them justly esteemed but maggots. He
+rings the changes upon words, and is so expert that he can tell at first
+sight how many variations any number of words will bear. He talks with a
+trillo, and gives his words a double relish. He had rather have them
+bear two senses in vain and impertinently than one to the purpose, and
+never speaks without a leer-sense. He talks nothing but equivocation and
+mental reservation, and mightily affects to give a word a double stroke,
+like a tennis-ball against two walls at one blow, to defeat the
+expectation of his antagonist. He commonly slurs every fourth or fifth
+word, and seldom fails to throw doublets. There are two sorts of
+quibbling, the one with words and the other with sense, like the
+rhetorician's <i>figurae dictionis et figurae sententiae</i>--the first is
+already cried down, and the other as yet prevails, and is the only
+elegance of our modern poets, which easy judges call easiness; but
+having nothing in it but easiness, and being never used by any lasting
+wit, will in wiser times fall to nothing of itself.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TIME-SERVER</h2>
+
+<p>Wears his religion, reason, and understanding always in the mode, and
+endeavours as far as he can to be one of the first in the fashion, let
+it change as oft as it can. He makes it his business, like a politic
+epicure, to entertain his opinion, faith, and judgment with nothing but
+what he finds to be most in season, and is as careful to make his
+understanding ready according to the present humour of affairs as the
+gentleman was that used every morning to put on his clothes by the
+weather-glass. He has the same reverend esteem of the modern age as an
+antiquary has for venerable antiquity, and, like a glass, receives
+readily any present object, but takes no notice of that which is past or
+to come. He is always ready to become anything as the times shall please
+to dispose of him, but is really nothing of himself; for he that sails
+before every wind can be bound for no port. He accounts it blasphemy to
+speak against anything in present vogue, how vain or ridiculous soever,
+and arch-heresy to approve of anything, though ever so good and wise,
+that is laid by; and therefore casts his judgment and understanding upon
+occasion, as bucks do their horns, when the season arrives to breed new
+against the next, to be cast again. He is very zealous to show himself,
+upon all occasions, a true member of the Church for the time being, that
+has not the least scruple in his conscience against the doctrine or
+discipline of it, as it stands at present, or shall do hereafter,
+unsight unseen; for he is resolved to be always for the truth, which he
+believes is never so plainly demonstrated as in that character that says
+it is great and prevails, and in that sense only fit to be adhered to by
+a prudent man, who will never be kinder to Truth than she is to him; for
+suffering is a very evil effect, and not like to proceed from a good
+cause. He is a man of a right public spirit, for he resigns himself
+wholly to the will and pleasure of the times, and, like a zealous
+implicit patriot, believes as the State believes, though he neither
+knows nor cares to know what that is.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRATER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near
+him as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the
+braying of a mortar, the more impertinent the more voluble and loud, as
+a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar than
+when it stamps downright and hits upon the business. A dog that opens
+upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon
+a right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct that fills as fast as it
+empties, or a trade-wind that blows one way for half-a-year together,
+and another as long, as if it drew in its breath for six months, and
+blew it out again for six more. He has no mercy on any man's ears or
+patience that he can get within his sphere of activity, but tortures
+him, as they correct boys in Scotland, by stretching their lugs without
+remorse. He is like an earwig; when he gets within a man's ear he is not
+easily to be got out again. He will stretch a story as unmercifully as
+he does the ears of those he tells it to, and draw it out in length like
+a breast of mutton at the Hercules pillars, or a piece of cloth set on
+the tenters, till it is quite spoiled and good for nothing. If he be an
+orator that speaks <i>distinct&eacute; et ornat&eacute;</i>, though not <i>apt&eacute;</i>, he delivers
+his circumstances with the same mature deliberation that one that drinks
+with a gusto swallows his wine, as if he were loth to part with it
+sooner than he must of necessity; or a gamester that pulls the cards
+that are dealt him one by one, to enjoy the pleasure more distinctly of
+seeing what game he has in his hand. He takes so much pleasure to hear
+himself speak, that he does not perceive with what uneasiness other men
+endure him, though they express it ever so plainly; for he is so
+diverted with his own entertainment of himself, that he is not at
+leisure to take notice of any else. He is a siren to himself, and has no
+way to escape shipwreck but by having his mouth stopped instead of his
+ears. He plays with his tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is
+transported with the delight he gives himself of his own making. He
+understands no happiness like that of having an opportunity to show his
+abilities in public, and will venture to break his neck to show the
+activity of his eloquence; for the tongue is not only the worst part of
+a bad servant, but of an ill master that does not know how to govern it;
+for then it is like Guzman's wife, very headstrong and not sure of foot.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DISPUTANT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a holder of arguments, and wagers too, when he cannot make them good.
+He takes naturally to controversy, like fishes in India that are said to
+have worms in their heads and swim always against the stream. The
+greatest mastery of his art consists in turning and winding the state of
+the question, by which means he can easily defeat whatsoever has been
+said by his adversary, though excellently to the purpose, like a bowler
+that knocks away the jack when he sees another man's bowl lie nearer to
+it than his own. Another of his faculties is with a multitude of words
+to render what he says so difficult to be recollected that his adversary
+may not easily know what he means, and consequently not understand what
+to answer, to which he secretly reserves an advantage to reply by
+interpreting what he said before otherwise than he at first intended it,
+according as he finds it serve his purpose to evade whatsoever shall be
+objected. Next to this, to pretend not to understand, or misinterpret
+what his antagonist says, though plain enough, only to divert him from
+the purpose, and to take occasion from his exposition of what he said to
+start new cavils on the bye and run quite away from the question; but
+when he finds himself pressed home and beaten from all his guards, to
+amuse the foe with some senseless distinction, like a falsified blow
+that never hits where 'tis aimed, but while it is minded makes way for
+some other trick that may pass. But that which renders him invincible is
+abundance of confidence and words, which are his offensive and defensive
+arms; for a brazen face is a natural helmet or beaver, and he that has
+store of words needs not surrender for want of ammunition. No matter for
+reason and sense, that go for no more in disputations than the justice
+of a cause does in war, which is understood but by few and commonly
+regarded by none. For the custom of disputants is not so much to destroy
+one another's reason as to cavil at the manner of expressing it, right
+or wrong; for they believe <i>Dolus an virtus</i>, &amp;c., ought to be allowed
+in controversy as war, and he that gets the victory on any terms
+whatsoever deserves it and gets it honourably. He and his opponent are
+like two false lute-strings that will never stand in tune to one
+another, or like two tennis-players whose greatest skill consists in
+avoiding one another's strokes.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PROJECTOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is by interpretation a man of forecast. He is an artist of plots,
+designs, and expedients to find out money, as others hide it, where
+nobody would look for it. He is a great rectifier of the abuses of all
+trades and mysteries, yet has but one remedy for all diseases; that is,
+by getting a patent to share with them, by virtue of which they become
+authorised, and consequently cease to be cheats. He is a great promoter
+of the public good, and makes it his care and study to contrive
+expedients that the nation may not be ill served with false rags,
+arbitrary puppet-plays, and insufficient monsters, of all which he
+endeavours to get the superintendency. He will undertake to render
+treasonable pedlars, that carry intelligence between rebels and
+fanatics, true subjects and well-affected to the Government for
+half-a-crown a quarter, which he takes for giving them license to do so
+securely and uncontrolled. He gets as much by those projects that
+miscarry as by those that hold (as lawyers are paid as well for undoing
+as preserving of men); for when he has drawn in adventurers to purchase
+shares of the profit, the sooner it is stopped the better it proves for
+him; for, his own business being done, he is the sooner rid of theirs.
+He is very expert at gauging the understandings of those he deals with,
+and has his engines always ready with mere air to blow all their money
+out of their pockets into his own, as vintners do wine out of one vessel
+into another. He is very amorous of his country, and prefers the public
+good before his own advantage, until he has joined them both together in
+some monopoly, and then he thinks he has done his part, and may be
+allowed to look after his own affairs in the second place. The chiefest
+and most useful part of his talent consists in quacking and lying, which
+he calls answering of objections and convincing the ignorant. Without
+this he can do nothing; for as it is the common practice of most
+knaveries, so it is the surest and best fitted to the vulgar capacities
+of the world; and though it render him more ridiculous to some few, it
+always prevails upon the greater part.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A COMPLEMENTER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that endeavours to make himself appear a very fine man in
+persuading another that he is so, and by offering those civilities which
+he does not intend to part with, believes he adds to his own reputation
+and obliges another for nothing. He is very free in making presents of
+his services, because he is certain he cannot possibly receive in return
+less than they are worth. He differs very much from all other critics in
+punctilios of honour; for he esteems himself very uncivilly dealt with
+if his vows and protestations pass for anything but mere lies and
+vanities. When he gives his word, he believes it is no longer his, and
+therefore holds it very unreasonable to give it and keep it too. He
+divides his services among so many that there comes but little or
+nothing to any one man's share, and therefore they are very willing to
+let him take it back again. He makes over himself in truth to every man,
+but still it is to his own uses to secure his title against all other
+claims and cheat his creditors. He is very generous of his promises, but
+still it is without lawful consideration, and so they go for nothing. He
+extols a man to his face, like those that write in praise of an author
+to show his own wit, not his whom they undertake to commend. He has
+certain set forms and routines of speech, which he can say over while he
+thinks on anything else, as a Catholic does his prayers, and therefore
+never means what he says. His words flow easily from him, but so shallow
+that they will bear no weight at all. All his offers of endearment are
+but like terms of course, that carry their own answers along with them,
+and therefore pass for nothing between those that understand them, and
+deceive those only that believe in them. He professes most kindness
+commonly to those he least cares for, like an host that bids a man
+welcome when he is going away. He had rather be every man's menial
+servant than any one man's friend; for servants gain by their masters,
+and men often lose by their friends.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CHEAT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a freeman of all trades, and all trades of his. Fraud and treachery
+are his calling, though his profession be the strictest integrity and
+truth. He spins nets, like a spider, out of his own entrails, to entrap
+the simple and unwary that light in his way, whom he devours and feeds
+upon. All the greater sort of cheats, being allowed by authority, have
+lost their names (as judges, when they are called to the Bench, are no
+more styled lawyers) and left the title to the meaner only and the
+unallowed. The common ignorance of mankind is his province, which he
+orders to the best advantage. He is but a tame highwayman, that does the
+same things by stratagem and design which the other does by force, makes
+men deliver their understandings first, and after their purses. Oaths
+and lies are his tools that he works with, and he gets his living by the
+drudgery of his conscience. He endeavours to cheat the devil by
+mortgaging his soul so many times over and over to him, forgetting that
+he has damnations, as priests have absolutions of all prices. He is a
+kind of a just judgment, sent into this world to punish the confidence
+and curiosity of ignorance, that out of a natural inclination to error
+will tempt its own punishment and help to abuse itself. He can put on as
+many shapes as the devil that set him on work, is one that fishes in
+muddy understandings, and will tickle a trout in his own element till he
+has him in his clutches, and after in his dish or the market. He runs
+down none but those which he is certain are <i>fera natura</i>, mere natural
+animals, that belong to him that can catch them. He can do no feats
+without the co-operating assistance of the chouse, whose credulity
+commonly meets the impostor half-way, otherwise nothing is done; for all
+the craft is not in the catching (as the proverb says), but the better
+half at least in being catched. He is one that, like a bond without
+fraud, covin, and further delay, is void and of none effect, otherwise
+does stand and remain in full power, force, and virtue. He trusts the
+credulous with what hopes they please at a very easy rate, upon their
+own security, until he has drawn them far enough in, and then makes them
+pay for all at once. The first thing he gets from him is a good opinion,
+and afterwards anything he pleases; for after he has drawn from his
+guards he deals with him like a surgeon, and ties his arm before he lets
+him blood.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A TEDIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Talks to no end, as well as to no purpose; for he would never come at it
+willingly. His discourse is like the road-miles in the north, the
+filthier and dirtier the longer; and he delights to dwell the longer
+upon them to make good the old proverb that says they are good for the
+dweller, but ill for the traveller. He sets a tale upon the rack, and
+stretches until it becomes lame and out of joint. Hippocrates says art
+is long; but he is so for want of art. He has a vein of dulness, that
+runs through all he says or does; for nothing can be tedious that is not
+dull and insipid. Digressions and repetitions, like bag and baggage,
+retard his march and put him to perpetual halts. He makes his approaches
+to a business by oblique lines, as if he meant to besiege it, and
+fetches a wide compass about to keep others from discovering what his
+design is. He is like one that travels in a dirty deep road, that moves
+slowly; and, when he is at a stop, goes back again, and loses more time
+in picking of his way than in going it. How troublesome and uneasy
+soever he is to others, he pleases himself so well that he does not at
+all perceive it; for though home be homely, it is more delightful than
+finer things abroad; and he that is used to a thing and knows no better
+believes that other men, to whom it appears otherwise, have the same
+sense of it that he has; as melancholy persons that fancy themselves to
+be glass believe that all others think them so too; and therefore that
+which is tedious to others is not so to him, otherwise he would avoid
+it; for it does not so often proceed from a natural defect as
+affectation and desire to give others that pleasure which they find
+themselves, though it always falls out quite contrary. He that converses
+with him is like one that travels with a companion that rides a lame
+jade; he must either endure to go his pace or stay for him; for though
+he understands long before what he would be at better than he does
+himself, he must have patience and stay for him, until, with much ado to
+little purpose, he at length comes to him; for he believes himself
+injured if he should bate a jot of his own diversion.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRETENDER</h2>
+
+<p>Is easily acquainted with all knowledges, but never intimate with any;
+he remembers he has seen them somewhere before, but cannot possibly call
+to mind where. He will call an art by its name, and claim acquaintance
+with it at first sight. He knew it perfectly, as the Platonics say, in
+the other world, but has had the unhappiness to discontinue his
+acquaintance ever since his occasions called him into this. He claps on
+all the sail he can possibly make, though his vessel be empty and apt to
+overset. He is of a true philosophical temper, contented with a little,
+desires no more knowledge than will satisfy nature, and cares not what
+his wants are so he can but keep them from the eyes of the world. His
+parts are unlimited; for as no man knows his abilities, so he does his
+endeavour that as few should his defects. He wears himself in opposition
+to the mode, for his lining is much coarser than his outside; and as
+others line their serge with silk, he lines his silk with serge. All his
+care is employed to appear not to be; for things that are not and things
+that appear not are not only the same in law, but in all other affairs
+of the world. It should seem that the most impudent face is the best;
+for he that does the shamefulest thing most unconcerned is said to set a
+good face upon it; for the truth is, the face is but the outside of the
+mind, but all the craft is to know how 'tis lined. Howsoever, he fancies
+himself as able as any man, but not being in a capacity to try the
+experiment, the hint-keeper of Gresham College is the only competent
+judge to decide the controversy. He may, for anything he knows, have as
+good a title to his pretences as another man; for judgment being not
+past in the case (which shall never be by his means), his title still
+stands fair. All he can possibly attain to is but to be another thing
+than nature meant him, though a much worse. He makes that good that
+Pliny says of children, <i>Qui celerius fari cepere, tardius ingredi
+incipiunt</i>. The apter he is to smatter, the slower he is in making any
+advance in his pretences. He trusts words before he is thoroughly
+acquainted with them, and they commonly show him a trick before he is
+aware; and he shows at the same time his ignorance to the learned and
+his learning to the ignorant.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A NEWSMONGER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a retailer of rumour that takes up upon trust and sells as cheap as
+he buys. He deals in a perishable commodity that will not keep; for if
+it be not fresh it lies upon his hands and will yield nothing. True or
+false is all one to him; for novelty being the grace of both, a truth
+grows stale as soon as a lie; and as a slight suit will last as well as
+a better while the fashion holds, a lie serves as well as truth till new
+ones come up. He is little concerned whether it be good or bad, for that
+does not make it more or less news; and, if there be any difference, he
+loves the bad best, because it is said to come soonest; for he would
+willingly bear his share in any public calamity to have the pleasure of
+hearing and telling it. He is deeply read in diurnals, and can give as
+good an account of Rowland Pepin, if need be, as another man. He tells
+news, as men do money, with his fingers; for he assures them it comes
+from very good hands. The whole business of his life is, like that of a
+spaniel, to fetch and carry news, and when he does it well he is clapped
+on the back and fed for it; for he does not take to it altogether, like
+a gentleman, for his pleasure, but when he lights on a considerable
+parcel of news, he knows where to put it off for a dinner, and quarter
+himself upon it until he has eaten it out; and by this means he drives a
+trade, by retrieving the first news to truck it for the first meat in
+season, and, like the old Roman luxury, ransacks all seas and lands to
+please his palate; for he imports his narratives from all parts within
+the geography of a diurnal, and eats as well upon the Russ and Polander
+as the English and Dutch. By this means his belly is provided for, and
+nothing lies upon his hands but his back, which takes other courses to
+maintain itself by weft and stray silver spoons, straggling hoods and
+scarfs, pimping, and sets at <i>L'Ombre</i>.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MODERN CRITIC</h2>
+
+<p>Is a corrector of the press gratis; and as he does it for nothing, so it
+is to no purpose. He fancies himself clerk of Stationers' Hall, and
+nothing must pass current that is not entered by him. He is very severe
+in his supposed office, and cries, &quot;Woe to ye scribes!&quot; right or wrong.
+He supposes all writers to be malefactors without clergy that claim the
+privilege of their books, and will not allow it where the law of the
+land and common justice does. He censures in gross, and condemns all
+without examining particulars. If they will not confess and accuse
+themselves, he will rack them until they do. He is a committee-man in
+the commonwealth of letters, and as great a tyrant, so is not bound to
+proceed but by his own rules, which he will not endure to be disputed.
+He has been an apocryphal scribbler himself; but his writings wanting
+authority, he grew discontent and turned apostate, and thence becomes so
+severe to those of his own profession. He never commends anything but in
+opposition to something else that he would undervalue, and commonly
+sides with the weakest, which is generous anywhere but in judging. He is
+worse than an <i>index expurgatorius</i>; for he blots out all, and when he
+cannot find a fault, makes one. He demurs to all writers, and when he is
+overruled, will run into contempt. He is always bringing writs of error,
+like a pettifogger, and reversing of judgments, though the case be never
+so plain. He is a mountebank that is always quacking of the infirm and
+diseased parts of books, to show his skill, but has nothing at all to do
+with the sound. He is a very ungentle reader, for he reads sentence on
+all authors that have the unhappiness to come before him; and therefore
+pedants, that stand in fear of him, always appeal from him beforehand,
+by the name of Momus and Zoilus, complain sorely of his extra-judicial
+proceedings, and protest against him as corrupt, and his judgment void
+and of none effect, and put themselves in the protection of some
+powerful patron, who, like a knight-errant, is to encounter with the
+magician and free them from his enchantments.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A BUSY MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that seems to labour in every man's calling but his own, and,
+like Robin Goodfellow, does any man's drudgery that will let him. He is
+like an ape, that loves to do whatsoever he sees others do, and is
+always as busy as a child at play. He is a great undertaker, and
+commonly as great an underperformer. His face is like a lawyer's buckram
+rag, that has always business in it, and as he trots about his head
+travels as fast as his feet. He covets his neighbour's business, and his
+own is to meddle, not do. He is very lavish of his advice, and gives it
+freely, because it is worth nothing, and he knows not what to do with it
+himself. He is a common-barreter for his pleasure, that takes no money,
+but pettifogs gratis. He is very inquisitive after every man's
+occasions, and charges himself with them like a public notary. He is a
+great overseer of State affairs, and can judge as well of them before he
+understands the reasons as afterwards. He is excellent at preventing
+inconveniences and finding out remedies when 'tis too late; for, like
+prophecies, they are never heard of till it is to no purpose. He is a
+great reformer, always contriving of expedients, and will press them
+with as much earnestness as if himself and every man he meets had power
+to impose them on the nation. He is always giving aim to State affairs,
+and believes by screwing of his body he can make them shoot which way he
+pleases. He inquires into every man's history, and makes his own
+commentaries upon it as he pleases to fancy it. He wonderfully affects
+to seem full of employments, and borrows men's business only to put on
+and appear in, and then returns it back again, only a little worse. He
+frequents all public places, and, like a pillar in the old Exchange, is
+hung with all men's business, both public and private, and his own is
+only to expose them. He dreads nothing so much as to be thought at
+leisure, though he is never otherwise; for though he be always doing, he
+never does anything.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PEDANT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode and fashion of the
+school where he should have been taught. He wears his little learning,
+unmade-up, puts it on before it was half finished, without pressing or
+smoothing. He studies and uses words with the greatest respect possible,
+merely for their own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of
+interest, as they are useful and serviceable to things, and among those
+he is kindest to strangers (like a civil gentleman) that are far from
+their own country and most unknown. He collects old sayings and ends of
+verses, as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to produce them upon
+all occasions. He has sentences ready lying by him for all purposes,
+though to no one, and talks of authors as familiarly as his
+fellow-collegiates. He will challenge acquaintance with those he never
+saw before, and pretend to intimate knowledge of those he has only heard
+of. He is well stored with terms of art, but does not know how to use
+them, like a country-fellow that carries his gloves in his hands, not
+his hands in his gloves. He handles arts and sciences like those that
+can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether it be in
+tune or not. He converses by the book, and does not talk, but quote. If
+he can but screw in something that an ancient writer said, he believes
+it to be much better than if he had something of himself to the purpose.
+His brain is not able to concoct what it takes in, and therefore brings
+things up as they were swallowed, that is, crude and undigested, in
+whole sentences, not assimilated sense, which he rather affects; for his
+want of judgment, like want of health, renders his appetite
+preposterous. He pumps for affected and far-set expressions, and they
+always prove as far from the purpose. He admires canting above sense. He
+is worse than one that is utterly ignorant, as a cock that sees a little
+fights worse than one that is stark blind. He speaks in a different
+dialect from other men, and much affects forced expressions, forgetting
+that hard words, as well as evil ones, corrupt good manners. He can do
+nothing, like a conjurer, out of the circle of his arts, nor in it
+without canting and ... If he professes physic, he gives his patients
+sound, hard words for their money, as cheap as he can afford; for they
+cost him money, and study too, before he came by them, and he has reason
+to make as much of them as he can.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HUNTER</h2>
+
+<p>Is an auxiliary hound that assists one nation of beasts to subdue and
+overrun another. He makes mortal war with the fox for committing acts of
+hostility against his poultry. He is very solicitous to have his dogs
+well descended of worshipful families, and understands their pedigree as
+learnedly as if he were a herald, and is as careful to match them
+according to their rank and qualities as High-Germans are of their own
+progenies. He is both cook and physician to his hounds, understands the
+constitutions of their bodies, and what to administer in any infirmity
+or disease, acute or chronic, that can befall them. Nor is he less
+skilful in physiognomy, and from the aspects of their faces, shape of
+their snouts, falling of their ears and lips, and make of their barrels
+will give a shrewd guess at their inclinations, parts, and abilities,
+and what parents they are lineally descended from; and by the tones of
+their voices and statures of their persons easily discover what country
+they are natives of. He believes no music in the world is comparable to
+a chorus of their voices, and that when they are well matched they will
+hunt their parts as true at first scent as the best singers of catches
+that ever opened in a tavern; that they understand the scale as well as
+the best scholar that ever learned to compose by the mathematics; and
+that when he winds his horn to them 'tis the very same thing with a
+cornet in a quire; that they will run down the hare with a fugue, and a
+double do-sol-re-dog hunt a thorough-base to them all the while; that
+when they are at a loss they do but rest, and then they know by turns
+who are to continue a dialogue between two or three of them, of which he
+is commonly one himself. He takes very great pains in his way, but calls
+it game and sport because it is to no purpose; and he is willing to make
+as much of it as he can, and not be thought to bestow so much labour and
+pains about nothing. Let the hare take which way she will, she seldom
+fails to lead him at long-running to the alehouse, where he meets with
+an after-game of delight in making up a narrative how every dog behaved
+himself, which is never done without long dispute, every man inclining
+to favour his friend as far as he can; and if there be anything
+remarkable to his thinking in it, he preserves it to please himself and,
+as he believes, all people else with, during his natural life, and after
+leaves it to his heirs male entailed upon the family, with his
+bugle-horn and seal-ring.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN AFFECTED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Carries himself like his dish (as the proverb says), very uprightly,
+without spilling one drop of his humour. He is an orator and
+rhetorician, that delights in flowers and ornaments of his own devising
+to please himself and others that laugh at him. He is of a leaden, dull
+temper, that stands stiff, as it is bent, to all crooked lines, but
+never to the right. When he thinks to appear most graceful, he adorns
+himself most ill-favouredly, like an Indian that wears jewels in his
+lips and nostrils. His words and gestures are all as stiff as buckram,
+and he talks as if his lips were turned up as well as his beard. All his
+motions are regular, as if he went by clockwork, and he goes very true
+to the nick as he is set. He has certain favourite words and
+expressions, which he makes very much of, as he has reason to do, for
+they serve him upon all occasions and are never out of the way when he
+has use of them, as they have leisure enough to do, for nobody else has
+any occasion for them but himself. All his affectations are forced and
+stolen from others; and though they become some particular persons where
+they grow naturally, as a flower does on its stalk, he thinks they will
+do so by him when they are pulled and dead. He puts words and language
+out of its ordinary pace and breaks it to his own fancy, which makes it
+go so uneasy in a shuffle, which it has not been used to. He delivers
+himself in a forced way, like one that sings with a feigned voice beyond
+his natural compass. He loves the sound of words better than the sense,
+and will rather venture to incur nonsense than leave out a word that he
+has a kindness for. If he be a statesman, the slighter and meaner his
+employments are the bigger he looks, as an ounce of tin swells and looks
+bigger than an ounce of gold; and his affectations of gravity are the
+most desperate of all, as the aphorism says--Madness of study and
+consideration are harder to be cured than those of lighter and more
+fantastic humour.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MEDICINE-TAKER</h2>
+
+<p>Has a sickly mind and believes the infirmity is in his body, like one
+that draws the wrong tooth and fancies his pain in the wrong place. The
+less he understands the reason of physic the stronger faith he has in
+it, as it commonly fares in all other affairs of the world. His disease
+is only in his judgment, which makes him believe a doctor can fetch it
+out of his stomach or his belly, and fright those worms out of his guts
+that are bred in his brain. He believes a doctor is a kind of conjurer
+that can do strange things, and he is as willing to have him think so;
+for by that means he does not only get his money, but finds himself in
+some possibility by complying with that fancy to do him good for it,
+which he could never expect to do any other way; for, like those that
+have been cured by drinking their own water, his own imagination is a
+better medicine than any the doctor knows how to prescribe, even as the
+weapon-salve cures a wound by being applied to that which made it. He is
+no sooner well but any story or lie of a new famous doctor or strange
+cure puts him into a relapse, and he falls sick of a medicine instead of
+a disease, and catches physic like him that fell into a looseness at the
+sight of a purge. He never knows when he is well or sick, but is always
+tampering with his health till he has spoiled it, like a foolish
+musician that breaks his strings with striving to put them in tune; for
+Nature, which is physic, understands better how to do her own work than
+those that take it from her at second hand. Hippocrates says, <i>Ars
+longa, vita brevis</i>, and it is the truest of all his aphorisms--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;For he that's given much to the long art<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Does not prolong his life, but cut it short.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE MISER</h2>
+
+<p>Is like the sea, that is said to be richer than the land, but is not
+able to make any use of it at all, and only keeps it from those that
+know how to enjoy it if they had it. The devil understood his business
+very well when he made choice of Judas's avarice to betray Christ, for
+no other vice would have undertaken it; and it is to be feared that his
+Vicars now on earth, by the tenderness they have to the bag, do not use
+Him much better than His steward did then. He gathers wealth to no
+purpose but to satisfy his avarice, that has no end, and afflicts
+himself to possess that which he is, of all men, the most incapable of
+ever obtaining. His treasure is in his hands in the same condition as if
+it were buried uncier ground and watched by an evil spirit. His desires
+are like the bottomless pit which he is destined to, for the one is as
+soon filled as the other. He shuts up his money in close custody, and
+that which has power to open all locks is not able to set itself at
+liberty. If he ever lets it out it is upon good bail and mainprize, to
+render itself prisoner again whensoever it shall be summoned. He loves
+wealth as an eunuch does women, whom he has no possibility of enjoying,
+or one that is bewitched with an impotency or taken with the falling
+sickness. His greedy appetite to riches is but a kind of dog-hunger,
+that never digests what it devours, but still the greedier and more
+eager it crams itself becomes more meagre. He finds that ink and
+parchment preserves money better than an iron chest and parsimony, like
+the memories of men that lie dead and buried when they are committed to
+brass and marble, but revive and flourish when they are trusted to
+authentic writings and increase by being used. If he had lived among the
+Jews in the wilderness he would have been one of their chief reformers,
+and have worshipped anything that is cast in gold, though a sillier
+creature than a calf. St. John in the Revelations describes the New
+Jerusalem to be built all of gold and silver and precious stones, for
+the saints commonly take so much delight in those creatures that nothing
+else could prevail with them ever to come thither; and as those times
+are called the Golden Age in which there was no gold at all in use, so
+men are reputed godly and rich that make no use at all of their religion
+or wealth. All that he has gotten together with perpetual pains and
+industry is not wealth, but a collection, which he intends to keep by
+him more for his own diversion than any other use, and he that made
+ducks and drakes with his money enjoyed it every way as much. He makes
+no conscience of anything but parting with his money, which is no better
+than a separation of soul and body to him, and he believes it to be as
+bad as self-murder if he should do it wilfully; for the price of the
+weapon with which a man is killed is always esteemed a very considerable
+circumstance, and next to not having the fear of God before his eyes. He
+loves the bowels of the earth broiled on the coals above any other
+cookery in the world. He is a slave condemned to the mines. He laughs at
+the golden mean as ridiculous, and believes there is no such thing in
+the world; for how can there be a mean of that of which no man ever had
+enough? He loves the world so well that he would willingly lose himself
+to save anything by it. His riches are like a dunghill, that renders the
+ground unprofitable that it lies upon, and is good for nothing until it
+be spread and scattered abroad.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SWEARER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that sells the devil the best pennyworth that he meets with
+anywhere, and, like the Indians that part with gold for glass beads, he
+damns his soul for the slightest trifles imaginable. He betroths himself
+oftener to the devil in one day than Mecaenas did in a week to his wife,
+that he was married a thousand times to. His discourse is inlaid with
+oaths as the gallows is with nails, to fortify it against the assaults
+of those whose friends have made it their deathbed. He takes a
+preposterous course to be believed and persuade you to credit what he
+says, by saying that which at the best he does not mean; for all the
+excuse he has for his voluntary damning of himself is, that he means
+nothing by it. He is as much mistaken in what he does intend really, for
+that which he takes for the ornament of his language renders it the most
+odious and abominable. His custom of swearing takes away the sense of
+his saying. His oaths are but a dissolute formality of speech and the
+worst kind of affectation. He is a Knight-Baronet of the Post, or
+gentleman blasphemer, that swears for his pleasure only; a lay-affidavit
+man, <i>in voto</i> only and not in orders. He learned to swear, as magpies
+do to speak, by hearing others. He talks nothing but bell, book, and
+candle, and delivers himself over to Satan oftener than a Presbyterian
+classis would do. He plays with the devil for sport only, and stakes his
+soul to nothing. He overcharges his oaths till they break and hurt
+himself only. He discharges them as fast as a gun that will shoot nine
+times with one loading. He is the devil's votary, and fails not to
+commend himself into his tuition upon all occasions. He outswears an
+exorcist, and outlies the legend. His oaths are of a wider bore and
+louder report than those of an ordinary perjurer, but yet they do not
+half the execution. Sometimes he resolves to leave it, but not too
+suddenly, lest it should prove unwholesome and injurious to his health,
+but by degrees as he took it up. Swearing should appear to be the
+greatest of sins, for though the Scripture says, &quot;God sees no sin in His
+children,&quot; it does not say He hears none.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE LUXURIOUS</h2>
+
+<p>Places all enjoyment in spending, as a covetous man does in getting, and
+both are treated at a witch's feast, where nothing feeds but only the
+imagination, and like two madmen, that believe themselves to be the same
+prince, laugh at one another. He values his pleasures as they do honour,
+by the difficulty and dearness of the purchase, not the worth of the
+thing; and the more he pays the better he believes he ought to be
+pleased, as women are fondest of those children which they have groaned
+most for. His tongue is like a great practiser's in law, for as the one
+will not stir, so the other will not taste without a great fee. He never
+reckons what a thing costs by what it is worth, but what it is worth by
+what it costs. All his senses are like corrupt judges, that will
+understand nothing until they are thoroughly informed and satisfied with
+a convincing bribe. He relishes no meat but by the rate, and a high
+price is like sauce to it, that gives it a high taste and renders it
+savoury to his palate. He believes there is nothing dear, nor ought to
+be so, that does not cost much, and that the dearest bought is always
+the cheapest. He tastes all wines by the smallness of the bottles and
+the greatness of the price, and when he is over-reckoned takes it as an
+extraordinary value set upon him, as Dutchmen always reckon by the
+dignity of the person, not the charge of the entertainment he receives,
+put his quality and titles into the bill of fare, and make him pay for
+feeding upon his own honour and right-worship, which he brought along
+with him. He debauches his gluttony with an unnatural appetite to things
+never intended for food, like preposterous venery or the unnatural
+mixtures of beasts of several kinds. He is as curious of his pleasures
+as an antiquary of his rarities, and cares for none but such as are very
+choice and difficult to be gotten, disdains anything that is common,
+unless it be his women, which he esteems a common good, and therefore
+the more communicative the better. All his vices are, like children that
+have been nicely bred, a great charge to him, and it costs him dear to
+maintain them like themselves, according to their birth and breeding;
+but he, like a tender parent, had rather suffer want himself than they
+should, for he considers a man's vices are his own flesh and blood, and
+though they are but by-blows, he is bound to provide for them, out of
+natural affection, as well as if they were lawfully begotten.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNGRATEFUL MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is like dust in the highway, that flies in the face of those that raise
+it. He that is ungrateful is all things that are amiss. He is like the
+devil, that seeks the destruction of those most of all that do him the
+best service, or an unhealthful sinner that receives pleasure and
+returns nothing but diseases. He receives obligations from all that he
+can, but they presently become void and of none effect, for good offices
+fare with him like death, from which there is no return. His ill-nature
+is like an ill stomach, that turns its nourishment into bad humours. He
+should be a man of very great civilities, for he receives all that he
+can, but never parts with any. He is like a barren soil; plant what you
+will on him, it will never grow, nor anything but thorns and thistles,
+that came in with the curse. His mother died in child-bed of him, for he
+is descended of the generation of vipers in which the dam always eats
+off the sire's head, and the young ones their way through her belly. He
+is like a horse in a pasture, that eats up the grass and dungs it in
+requital. He puts the benefits he receives from others and his own
+faults together in that end of the sack which he carries behind his
+back. His ill-nature, like a contagious disease, infects others that are
+of themselves good, who, observing his ingratitude, become less inclined
+to do good than otherwise they would be; and as the sweetest wine, if
+ill-preserved, becomes the sourest vinegar, so the greatest endearments
+with him turn to the bitterest injuries. He has an admirable art of
+forgetfulness, and no sooner receives a kindness but he owns it by
+prescription and claims from time out of mind. All his acknowledgments
+appear before his ends are served, but never after, and, like Occasion,
+grow very thick before but bare behind. He is like a river, that runs
+away from the spring that feeds it and undermines the banks that support
+it; or like vice and sin, that destroy those that are most addicted to
+it; or the hangman, that breaks the necks of those whom he gets his
+living by, and whips those that find him employment, and brands his
+masters that set him on work. He pleads the Act of Oblivion for all the
+good deeds that are done him, and pardons himself for the evil returns
+he makes. He never looks backward (like a right statesman), and things
+that are past are all one with him as if they had never been; and as
+witches, they say, hurt those only from whom they can get something and
+have a hank upon, he no sooner receives a benefit but he converts it to
+the injury of that person who conferred it on him. It fares with persons
+as with families, that think better of themselves the farther they are
+off their first raisers.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SQUIRE OF DAMES</h2>
+
+<p>Deals with his mistress as the devil does with a witch, is content to be
+her servant for a time, that she may be his slave for ever. He is
+esquire to a knight-errant, donzel to the damsels, and gentleman usher
+daily waiter on the ladies, that rubs out his time in making legs and
+love to them. He is a gamester who throws at all ladies that are set
+him, but is always out, and never wins but when he throws at the
+candlestick, that is, for nothing; a general lover, that addresses unto
+all but never gains any, as universals produce nothing. He never appears
+so gallant a man as when he is in the head of a body of ladies and leads
+them up with admirable skill and conduct. He is a eunuch-bashaw, that
+has charge of the women and governs all their public affairs, because he
+is not able to do them any considerable private services. One of his
+prime qualifications is to convey their persons in and out of coaches,
+as tenderly as a cook sets his custards in an oven and draws them out
+again, without the least discomposure or offence to their inward or
+outward woman; that is, their persons and dresses. The greatest care he
+uses in his conversation with ladies is to order his peruke
+methodically, and keep off his hat with equal respect both to it and
+their ladyships, that neither may have cause to take any just offence,
+but continue him in their good graces. When he squires a lady he takes
+her by the handle of her person, the elbow, and steers it with all
+possible caution, lest his own foot should, upon a tack, for want of due
+circumspection, unhappily fall foul on the long train she carries at her
+stern. This makes him walk upon his toes and tread as lightly as if he
+were leading her a dance. He never tries any experiment solitary with
+her, but always in consort, and then he acts the woman's part and she
+the man's, talks loud and laughs, while he sits demurely silent, and
+simpers or bows, and cries, &quot;Anon, Madam, excellently good!&quot; &amp;c. &amp;c. He
+is a kind of hermaphrodite, for his body is of one sex and his mind of
+another, which makes him take no delight in the conversation or actions
+of men, because they do so by his, but apply himself to women, to whom
+the sympathy and likeness of his own temper and wit naturally inclines
+him, where he finds an agreeable reception for want of a better; for
+they, like our Indian planters, value their wealth by the number of
+their slaves. All his business in the morning is to dress himself, and
+in the afternoon to show his workmanship to the ladies, who after
+serious consideration approve or disallow of his judgment and abilities
+accordingly, and he as freely delivers his opinion of theirs. The glass
+is the only author he studies, by which his actions and gestures are all
+put on like his clothes, and by that he practices how to deliver what he
+has prepared to say to the dames, after he has laid a train to bring
+it in.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN HYPOCRITE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a saint that goes by clockwork, a machine made by the devil's
+geometry, which he winds and nicks to go as he pleases. He is the
+devil's finger-watch, that never goes true, but too fast or too slow as
+he sets him. His religion goes with wires, and he serves the devil for
+an idol to seduce the simple to worship and believe in him. He puts down
+the true saint with his copper-lace devotion, as ladies that use art
+paint fairer than the life. He is a great bustler in reformation, which
+is always most proper to his talent, especially if it be tumultuous; for
+pockets are nowhere so easily and safely picked as in jostling crowds.
+And as change and alterations are most agreeable to those who are tied
+to nothing, he appears more zealous and violent for the cause than such
+as are retarded by conscience or consideration. His religion is a
+mummery, and his Gospel-walkings nothing but dancing a masquerade. He
+never wears his own person, but assumes a shape, as his master, the
+devil, does when he appears. He wears counterfeit hands (as the Italian
+pickpocket did), which are fastened to his breast as if he held them up
+to heaven, while his natural fingers are in his neighbour's pocket. The
+whole scope of all his actions appears to be directed, like an archer's
+arrow, at heaven, while the clout he aims at sticks in the earth. The
+devil baits his hook with him when he fishes in troubled waters. He
+turns up his eyes to heaven like birds that have no upper lid. He is a
+weathercock upon the steeple of the church, that turns with every wind
+that blows from any point of the compass. He sets his words and actions
+like a printer's letters, and he that will understand him must read him
+backwards. He is much more to be suspected than one that is no
+professor, as a stone of any colour is easier counterfeited than a
+diamond that is of none. The inside of him tends quite cross to the
+outside, like a spring that runs upward within the earth and down
+without. He is an operator for the soul, and corrects other men's sins
+with greater of his own, as the Jews were punished for their idolatry by
+greater idolaters than themselves. He is a spiritual highwayman that
+robs on the road to heaven. His professions and his actions agree like a
+sweet voice and a stinking breath.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN OPINIONATER</h2>
+
+<p>Is his own confidant, that maintains more opinions than he is able to
+support. They are all bastards commonly and unlawfully begotten, but
+being his own, he had rather, out of natural affection, take any pains,
+or beg, than they should want a subsistence. The eagerness and violence
+he uses to defend them argues they are weak, for if they were true they
+would not need it. How false soever they are to him, he is true to them;
+and as all extraordinary affections of love or friendship are usually
+upon the meanest accounts, he is resolved never to forsake them, how
+ridiculous soever they render themselves and him to the world. He is a
+kind of a knight-errant that is bound by his order to defend the weak
+and distressed, and deliver enchanted paradoxes, that are bewitched and
+held by magicians and conjurers in invisible castles. He affects to have
+his opinions as unlike other men's as he can, no matter whether better
+or worse, like those that wear fantastic clothes of their own devising.
+No force of argument can prevail upon him; for, like a madman, the
+strength of two men in their wits is not able to hold him down. His
+obstinacy grows out of his ignorance, for probability has so many ways
+that whosoever understands them will not be confident of any one. He
+holds his opinions as men do their lands, and though his tenure be
+litigious, he will spend all he has to maintain it. He does not so much
+as know what opinion means, which, always supposing uncertainty, is not
+capable of confidence. The more implicit his obstinacy is, the more
+stubborn it renders him; for implicit faith is always more pertinacious
+than that which can give an account of itself; and as cowards that are
+well backed will appear boldest, he that believes as the Church believes
+is more violent, though he knows not what it is, than he that can give a
+reason for his faith. And as men in the dark endeavour to tread firmer
+than when they are in the light, the darkness of his understanding makes
+him careful to stand fast wheresoever he happens, though it be out
+of his way.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CHOLERIC MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that stands for madman, and has as many voices as another. If he
+miss he has very hard dealing; for if he can but come to a fair polling
+of his fits against his intervals, he is sure to carry it. No doubt it
+would be a singular advantage to him; for, as his present condition
+stands, he has more full moons in a week than a lunatic has in a year.
+His passion is like tinder, soon set on fire and as soon out again. The
+smallest occasion imaginable puts him in his fit, and then he has no
+respect of persons, strikes up the heels of stools and chairs, tears
+cards limbmeal without regard of age, sex, or quality, and breaks the
+bones of dice, and makes them a dreadful example to deter others from
+daring to take part against him. He is guilty but of misprision of
+madness, and if the worst come to the worst, can but forfeit estate and
+suffer perpetual liberty to say what he pleases. 'Tis true he is but a
+candidate of Bedlam, and is not yet admitted fellow, but has the license
+of the College to practise, and in time will not fail to come in
+according to his seniority. He has his grace for madman, and has done
+his exercises, and nothing but his good manners can put him by his
+degree. He is, like a foul chimney, easily set on fire, and then he
+vapours and flashes as if he would burn the house, but is presently put
+out with a greater huff, and the mere noise of a pistol reduces him to a
+quiet and peaceable temper. His temper is, like that of a meteor, an
+imperfect mixture, that sparkles and flashes until it has spent itself.
+All his parts are irascible, and his gall is too big for his liver. His
+spleen makes others laugh at him, and as soon as his anger is over with
+others he begins to be angry with himself and sorry. He is sick of a
+preposterous ague, and has his hot fit always before his cold. The more
+violent his passion is the sooner it is out, like a running knot, that
+strains hardest, but is easiest loosed. He is never very passionate but
+for trifles, and is always most temperate where he has least cause, like
+a nettle that stings worst when it is touched with soft and gentle
+fingers, but when it is bruised with rugged, hardened hands returns no
+harm at all.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SUPERSTITIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is more zealous in his false, mistaken piety than others are in the
+truth; for he that is in an error has farther to go than one that is in
+the right way, and therefore is concerned to bestir himself and make the
+more speed. The practice of his religion is, like the Schoolmen's
+speculations, full of niceties and tricks, that take up his whole time
+and do him more hurt than good. His devotions are labours, not
+exercises, and he breaks the Sabbath in taking too much pains to keep
+it. He makes a conscience of so many trifles and niceties, that he has
+not leisure to consider things that are serious and of real weight. His
+religion is too full of fears and jealousies to be true and faithful,
+and too solicitous and unquiet to continue in the right, if it were so.
+And as those that are bunglers and unskilful in any art take more pains
+to do nothing, because they are in a wrong way, than those that are
+ready and expert to do the excellentest things, so the errors and
+mistakes of his religion engage him in perpetual troubles and anxieties,
+without any possibility of improvement until he unlearn all and begin
+again upon a new account. He talks much of the justice and merits of his
+cause, and yet gets so many advocates that it is plain he does not
+believe himself; but having pleaded not guilty, he is concerned to
+defend himself as well as he can, while those that confess and put
+themselves upon the mercy of the Court have no more to do. His religion
+is too full of curiosities to be sound and useful, and is fitter for a
+hypocrite than a saint; for curiosities are only for show and of no use
+at all. His conscience resides more in his stomach than his heart, and
+howsoever he keeps the commandments, he never fails to keep a very pious
+diet, and will rather starve than eat erroneously or taste anything that
+is not perfectly orthodox and apostolical; and if living and eating are
+inseparable, he is in the right, and lives because he eats according to
+the truly ancient primitive Catholic faith in the purest times.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DROLL</h2>
+
+<p>Plays his part of wit readily at first sight, and sometimes better than
+with practice. He is excellent at voluntary and prelude, but has no
+skill in composition. He will run divisions upon any ground very
+dexterously, but now and then mistakes a flat for a sharp. He has a
+great deal of wit, but it is not at his own disposing, nor can he
+command it when he pleases unless it be in the humour. His fancy is
+counterchanged between jest and earnest, and the earnest lies always in
+the jest, and the jest in the earnest. He treats of all matters and
+persons by way of exercitation, without respect of things, time, place,
+or occasion, and assumes the liberty of a free-born Englishman, as if he
+were called to the long robe with long ears. He imposes a hard task upon
+himself as well as those he converses with, and more than either can
+bear without a convenient stock of confidence. His whole life is nothing
+but a merrymaking, and his business the same with a fiddler's, to play
+to all companies where he comes, and take what they please to give him
+either of applause or dislike; for he can do little without some
+applauders, who by showing him ground make him outdo his own expectation
+many times, and theirs too; for they that laugh on his side and cry him
+up give credit to his confidence, and sometimes contribute more than
+half the wit by making it better than he meant. He is impregnable to all
+assaults but that of a greater impudence, which, being stick-free, puts
+him, like a rough fencer, out of his play, and after passes upon him at
+pleasure, for when he is once routed he never rallies again. He takes a
+view of a man as a skilful commander does of a town he would besiege, to
+discover the weakest places where he may make his approaches with the
+least danger and most advantages, and when he finds himself mistaken,
+draws off his forces with admirable caution and consideration; for his
+business being only wit, he thinks there is very little of that shown in
+exposing himself to any inconvenience.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE OBSTINATE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Does not hold opinions, but they hold him; for when he is once possessed
+with an error, 'tis, like the devil, not to be cast out but with great
+difficulty. Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never
+loses, though it do but help to sink him the sooner. His ignorance is
+abrupt and inaccessible, impregnable both by art and nature, and will
+hold out to the last though it has nothing but rubbish to defend. It is
+as dark as pitch, and sticks as fast to anything it lays hold on. His
+skull is so thick that it is proof against any reason, and never cracks
+but on the wrong side, just opposite to that against which the
+impression is made, which surgeons say does happen very frequently. The
+slighter and more inconsistent his opinions are the faster he holds
+them, otherwise they would fall asunder of themselves; for opinions that
+are false ought to be held with more strictness and assurance than those
+that are true, otherwise they will be apt to betray their owners before
+they are aware. If he takes to religion, he has faith enough to save a
+hundred wiser men than himself, if it were right; but it is too much to
+be good; and though he deny supererogation and utterly disclaim any
+overplus of merits, yet he allows superabundant belief, and if the
+violence of faith will carry the kingdom of heaven, he stands fair for
+it. He delights most of all to differ in things indifferent; no matter
+how frivolous they are, they are weighty enough in proportion to his
+weak judgment, and he will rather suffer self-martyrdom than part with
+the least scruple of his freehold, for it is impossible to dye his dark
+ignorance into a lighter colour. He is resolved to understand no man's
+reason but his own, because he finds no man can understand his but
+himself. His wits are like a sack which, the French proverb says, is
+tied faster before it is full than when it is; and his opinions are like
+plants that grow upon rocks, that stick fast though they have no
+rooting. His understanding is hardened like Pharaoh's heart, and is
+proof against all sorts of judgments whatsoever.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A ZEALOT</h2>
+
+<p>Is a hot-headed brother that has his understanding blocked up on both
+sides, like a fore-horse's eyes, that he sees only straight-forwards and
+never looks about him, which makes him run on according as he is driven
+with his own caprice. He starts and stops (as a horse does) at a post
+only because he does not know what it is, and thinks to run away from
+the spur while he carries it with him. He is very violent, as all things
+that tend downward naturally are; for it is impossible to improve or
+raise him above his own level. He runs swiftly before any wind, like a
+ship that has neither freight nor ballast, and is as apt to overset.
+When his zeal takes fire it cracks and flies about like a squib until
+the idle stuff is spent, and then it goes out of itself. He is always
+troubled with small scruples, which his conscience catches like the
+itch, and the rubbing of these is both his pleasure and his pain. But
+for things of greater moment he is unconcerned, as cattle in the
+summer-time are more pestered with flies that vex their sores than
+creatures more considerable, and dust and motes are apter to stick in
+blear-eyes than things of greater weight. His charity begins and ends at
+home, for it never goes farther nor stirs abroad. David was eaten up
+with the zeal of God's house; but his zeal, quite contrary, eats up
+God's house; and as the words seem to intimate that David fed and
+maintained the priests, so he makes the priests feed and maintain him;
+and hence his zeal is never so vehement as when it concurs with his
+interest; for, as he styles himself a professor, it fares with him, as
+with men of other professions, to live by his calling and get as much as
+he can by it. He is very severe to other men's sins that his own may
+pass unsuspected, as those that were engaged in the conspiracy against
+Nero were most cruel to their own confederates; or as one says--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Compounds for sins he is inclined to<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;By damning those he has no mind to.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE OVERDOER</h2>
+
+<p>Always throws beyond the jack and is gone a mile. He is no more able to
+contain himself than a bowl is when he is commanded to rub with the
+greatest power and vehemence imaginable, and nothing lights in his way.
+He is a conjurer that cannot keep within the compass of his circle,
+though he were sure the devil would fetch him away for the least
+transgression. He always overstocks his ground and starves instead of
+feeding, destroys whatsoever he has an extraordinary care for, and, like
+an ape, hugs the whelp he loves most to death. All his designs are
+greater than the life, and he laughs to think how Nature has mistaken
+her match, and given him so much odds that he can easily outrun her. He
+allows of no merit but that which is superabundant. All his actions are
+superfoetations, that either become monsters or twins; that is, too
+much, or the same again; for he is but a supernumerary and does nothing
+but for want of a better. He is a civil Catholic, that holds nothing
+more steadfastly than supererogation in all that he undertakes, for he
+undertakes nothing but what he overdoes. He is insatiable in all his
+actions, and, like a covetous person, never knows when he has done
+enough until he has spoiled all by doing too much. He is his own
+antagonist, and is never satisfied until he has outdone himself as well
+as that which he proposed, for he loves to be better than his word
+(though it always falls out worse) and deceive the world the wrong way.
+He believes the mean to be but a mean thing, and therefore always runs
+into extremities as the more excellent, great, and transcendent. He
+delights to exceed in all his attempts, for he finds that a goose that
+has three legs is more remarkable than a hundred that have but two
+apiece, and has a greater number of followers; and that all monsters are
+more visited and applied to than other creatures that Nature has made
+perfect in their kind. He believes he can never bestow too much pains
+upon anything; for his industry is his own and costs him nothing; and if
+it miscarry he loses nothing, for he has as much as it was worth. He is
+like a foolish musician that sets his instrument so high that he breaks
+his strings for want of understanding the right pitch of it, or an
+archer that breaks his with overbending; and all he does is forced, like
+one that sings above the reach of his voice.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br><br>
+<h2>THE RASH MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Has a fever in his brain, and therefore is rightly said to be
+hot-headed. His reason and his actions run downhill, borne headlong by
+his unstaid will. He has not patience to consider, and perhaps it would
+not be the better for him if he had; for he is so possessed with the
+first apprehension of anything, that whatsoever comes after loses the
+race and is prejudged. All his actions, like sins, lead him perpetually
+to repentance, and from thence to the place from whence they came, to
+make more work for repentance; for though he be corrected never so
+often, he is never amended, nor will his haste give him time to call to
+mind where it made him stumble before; for he is always upon full speed,
+and the quickness of his motions takes away and dazzles the eyes of his
+understanding. All his designs are like diseases, with which he is taken
+suddenly before he is aware, and whatsoever he does is extempore,
+without premeditation; for he believes a sudden life to be the best of
+all, as some do a sudden death. He pursues things as men do an enemy
+upon a retreat, until he is drawn into an ambush for want of heed and
+circumspection. He falls upon things as they lie in his way, as if he
+stumbled at them, or his foot slipped and cast him upon them; for he is
+commonly foiled and comes off with bruises. He engages in business as
+men do in duels, the sooner the better, that, if any evil come of it,
+they may not be found to have slept upon it, or consulted with an
+effeminate pillow in point of honour and courage. He strikes when he is
+hot himself, not when the iron is so which he designs to work upon. His
+tongue has no retentive faculty, but is always running like a fool's
+drivel. He cannot keep it within compass, but it will be always upon the
+ramble and playing of tricks upon a frolic, fancying of passes upon
+religion, State, and the persons of those that are in present authority,
+no matter how, to whom, or where; for his discretion is always out of
+the way when he has occasion to make use of it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE AFFECTED OR FORMAL</h2>
+
+<p>Is a piece of clockwork, that moves only as it is wound up and set, and
+not like a voluntary agent. He is a mathematical body, nothing but
+<i>punctum, linea, et superficies</i>, and perfectly abstract from matter. He
+walks as stiffly and uprightly as a dog that is taught to go on his
+hinder legs, and carries his hands as the other does his fore-feet. He is
+very ceremonious and full of respect to himself, for no man uses those
+formalities that does not expect the same from others. All his actions
+and words are set down in so exact a method that an indifferent
+accountant may cast him up to a halfpenny-farthing. He does everything
+by rule, as if it were in a course of Lessius's diet, and did not eat,
+but take a dose of meat and drink; and not walk, but proceed; not go,
+but march. He draws up himself with admirable conduct in a very regular
+and well-ordered body. All his business and affairs are junctures and
+transactions, and when he speaks with a man he gives him audience. He
+does not carry but marshal himself, and no one member of his body
+politic takes place of another without due right of precedence. He does
+all things by rules of proportion, and never gives himself the freedom
+to manage his gloves or his watch in an irregular and arbitrary way, but
+is always ready to render an account of his demeanour to the most strict
+and severe disquisition. He sets his face as if it were cast in plaster,
+and never admits of any commotion in his countenance, nor so much as the
+innovation of a smile without serious and mature deliberation, but
+preserves his looks in a judicial way, according as they have always
+been established.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FLATTERER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a dog that fawns when he bites. He hangs bells in a man's ears, as a
+carman does by his horse while he lays a heavy load upon his back. His
+insinuations are like strong wine, that pleases a man's palate till it
+has got within him, and then deprives him of his reason and overthrows
+him. His business is to render a man a stranger to himself, and get
+between him and home, and then he carries him whither he pleases. He is
+a spirit that inveighs away a man from himself, undertakes great matters
+for him, and after sells him for a slave. He makes division not only
+between a man and his friends, but between a man and himself, raises a
+faction within him, and after takes part with the strongest side and
+ruins both. He steals him away from himself (as the fairies are said to
+do children in the cradle), and after changes him for a fool. He
+whistles to him, as a carter does to his horse while he whips out his
+eyes and makes him draw what he pleases. He finds out his humour and
+feeds it, till it will come to hand, and then he leads him whither he
+pleases. He tickles him, as they do trouts, until he lays hold on him,
+and then devours and feeds upon him. He tickles his ears with a straw,
+and while he is pleased with scratching it, picks his pocket, as the
+cutpurse served Bartl. Cokes. He embraces him and hugs him in his arms,
+and lifts him above ground, as wrestlers do, to throw him down again and
+fall upon him. He possesses him with his own praises like an evil
+spirit, that makes him swell and appear stronger than he was, talk what
+he does not understand, and do things that he knows nothing of when he
+comes to himself. He gives good words as doctors are said to give physic
+when they are paid for it, and lawyers advice when they are fee'd
+beforehand. He is a poisoned perfume that infects the brain and murders
+those it pleases. He undermines a man, and blows him up with his own
+praises to throw him down. He commends a man out of design, that he may
+be presented with him and have him for his pains, according to the mode.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PRODIGAL</h2>
+
+<p>Is a pocket with a hole in the bottom. His purse has got a dysentery and
+lost its retentive faculty. He delights, like a fat overgrown man, to
+see himself fall away and grow less. He does not spend his money, but
+void it, and, like those that have the stone, is in pain till he is rid
+of it. He is very loose and incontinent of his coin, and lets it fly,
+like Jupiter, in a shower. He is very hospitable, and keeps open pockets
+for all comers. All his silver turns to mercury, and runs through him as
+if he had taken it for the <i>miserere</i> or fluxed himself. The history of
+his life begins with keeping of whores, and ends with keeping of hogs;
+and as he fed high at first, so he does at last, for acorns are very
+high food. He swallows land and houses like an earthquake, eats a whole
+dining-room at a meal, and devours his kitchen at a breakfast. He wears
+the furniture of his house on his back, and a whole feather-bed in his
+hat, drinks down his plate, and eats his dishes up. He is not clothed,
+but hung. He'll fancy dancers cattle, and present his lady with messuage
+and tenement. He sets his horses at inn and inn, and throws himself out
+of his coach at come the caster. He should be a good husband, for he has
+made more of his estate in one year than his ancestors did in twenty. He
+dusts his estate as they do a stand of ale in the north. His money in
+his pocket (like hunted venison) will not keep; if it be not spent
+presently it grows stale, and is thrown away. He possesses his estate as
+the devil did the herd of swine, and is running it into the sea as fast
+as he can. He has shot it with a zampatan, and it will presently fall
+all to dust. He has brought his acres into a consumption, and they are
+strangely fallen away; nothing but skin and bones left of a whole manor.
+He will shortly have all his estate in his hands; for, like bias, he may
+carry it about him. He lays up nothing but debts and diseases, and at
+length himself in a prison. When he has spent all upon his pleasures,
+and has nothing left for sustenance, he espouses a hostess dowager, and
+resolves to lick himself whole again out of ale, and make it pay him
+back all the charges it has put him to.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE INCONSTANT</h2>
+
+<p>Has a vagabond soul without any settled place of abode, like the
+wandering Jew. His head is unfixed, out of order, and utterly
+unserviceable upon any occasion. He is very apt to be taken with
+anything, but nothing can hold him, for he presently breaks loose and
+gives it the slip. His head is troubled with a palsy, which renders it
+perpetually wavering and incapable of rest. His head is like an
+hour-glass; that part that is uppermost always runs out until it is
+turned, and then runs out again. His opinions are too violent to last,
+for, like other things of the same kind in Nature, they quickly spend
+themselves and fall to nothing. All his opinions are like wefts and
+strays that are apt to straggle from their owners and belong to the lord
+of the manor where they are taken up. His soul has no retentive faculty,
+but suffers everything to run from him as fast as he receives it. His
+whole life is like a preposterous ague in which he has his hot fit
+always before his cold one, and is never in a constant temper. His
+principles and resolves are but a kind of movables, which he will not
+endure to be fastened to any freehold, but left loose to be conveyed
+away at pleasure as occasion shall please to dispose of him. His soul
+dwells, like a Tartar, in a hoord, without any settled habitation, but
+is always removing and dislodging from place to place. He changes his
+head oftener than a deer, and when his imaginations are stiff and at
+their full growth, he casts them off to breed new ones, only to cast off
+again the next season. All his purposes are built on air, the
+chamelion's diet, and have the same operation to make him change colour
+with every object he comes near. He pulls off his judgment as commonly
+as his hat to every one he meets with. His word and his deed are all
+one, for when he has given his word he has done, and never goes farther.
+His judgment, being unsound, has the same operation upon him that a
+disease has upon a sick man, that makes him find some ease in turning
+from side to side, and still the last is the most uneasy.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A GLUTTON</h2>
+
+<p>Eats his children, as the poets say Saturn did, and carries his felicity
+and all his concernments in his paunch. If he had lived when all the
+members of the body rebelled against the stomach there had been no
+possibility of accommodation. His entrails are like the sarcophagus,
+that devours dead bodies in a small space, or the Indian zampatan, that
+consumes flesh in a moment. He is a great dish made on purpose to carry
+meat. He eats out his own head, and his horses' too; he knows no grace
+but grace before meat, nor mortification but in fasting. If the body be
+the tabernacle of the soul, he lives in a sutler's hut. He celebrates
+mass, or rather mess, to the idol in his belly, and, like a papist, eats
+his adoration. A third course is the third heaven to him, and he is
+ravished into it. A feast is a good conscience to him, and he is
+troubled in mind when he misses of it. His teeth are very industrious in
+their calling, and his chops like a Bridewell perpetually hatcheling. He
+depraves his appetite with <i>haut-gousts</i>, as old fornicators do their
+lechery into fulsomeness and stinks. He licks himself into the shape of
+a bear, as those beasts are said to do their whelps. He new forms
+himself in his own belly, and becomes another thing than God and Nature
+meant him. His belly takes place of the rest of his members, and walks
+before in state. He eats out that which eats all things else--time--and
+is very curious to have all things in season at his meals but his hours,
+which are commonly at midnight, and so late that he prays too late for
+his daily bread, unless he mean his natural daily bread. He is admirably
+learned in the doctrines of meats and sauces, and deserves the chair in
+<i>juris-prudentia</i>; that is, in the skill of pottages. At length he eats
+his life out of house and home and becomes a treat for worms, sells his
+clothes to feed his gluttony, and eats himself naked, as the first of
+his family, Adam, did.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RIBALD</h2>
+
+<p>Is the devil's hypocrite, that endeavours to make himself appear worse
+than he is. His evil words and bad manners strive which shall most
+corrupt one another, and it is hard to say which has the advantage. He
+vents his lechery at the mouth, as some fishes are said to engender. He
+is an unclean beast that chews the cud, for after he has satisfied his
+lust he brings it up again into his mouth to a second enjoyment, and
+plays an after-game of lechery with his tongue much worse than that
+which the <i>Cunnilingi</i> used among the old Romans. He strips Nature stark
+naked, and clothes her in the most fantastic and ridiculous fashion a
+wild imagination can invent. He is worse and more nasty than a dog, for
+in his broad descriptions of others' obscene actions he does but lick up
+the vomit of another man's surfeits. He tells tales out of a
+vaulting-school. A lewd, bawdy tale does more hurt and gives a worse
+example than the thing of which it was told, for the act extends but to
+few, and if it be concealed goes no farther; but the report of it is
+unlimited, and may be conveyed to all people and all times to come. He
+exposes that with his tongue which Nature gave women modesty, and brute
+beasts tails, to cover. He mistakes ribaldry for wit, though nothing is
+more unlike; and believes himself to be the finer man the filthier he
+talks, as if he were above civility as fanatics are above ordinances,
+and held nothing more shameful than to be ashamed of anything. He talks
+nothing but Aretine's pictures, as plain as the Scotch dialect, which is
+esteemed to be the most copious and elegant of the kind. He improves and
+husbands his sins to the best advantage, and makes one vice find
+employment for another; for what he acts loosely in private he talks as
+loosely of in public, and finds as much pleasure in the one as the
+other. He endeavours to purchase himself a reputation by pretending to
+that which the best men abominate and the worst value not, like one that
+clips and washes false coin and ventures his neck for that which will
+yield him nothing.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MODERN POLITICIAN</h2>
+
+<p>Makes new discoveries in politics, but they are, like those that
+Columbus made of the New World, very rich, but barbarous. He endeavours
+to restore mankind to the original condition it fell from, by forgetting
+to discern between good and evil, and reduces all prudence back again to
+its first author, the serpent, that taught Adam wisdom; for he was
+really his tutor, and not Samboscor, as the Rabbins write. He finds the
+world has been mistaken in all ages, and that religion and morality are
+but vulgar errors that pass among the ignorant, and are but mere words
+to the wise. He despises all learning as a pedantic little thing, and
+believes books to be the business of children and not of men. He wonders
+how the distinction of virtue and vice came into the world's head, and
+believes them to be more ridiculous than any foppery of the schools. He
+holds it his duty to betray any man that shall take him for so much a
+fool as one fit to be trusted. He steadfastly believes that all men are
+born in the state of war, and that the civil life is but a cessation,
+and no peace nor accommodation; and though all open acts of hostility
+are forborne by consent, the enmity continues, and all advantages by
+treachery or breach of faith are very lawful; that there is no
+difference between virtue and fraud among friends as well as enemies,
+nor anything unjust that a man can do without damage to his own safety
+or interest; that oaths are but springes to catch woodcocks withal, and
+bind none but those that are too weak and feeble to break them when they
+become ever so small an impediment to their advantages; that conscience
+is the effect of ignorance, and the same with that foolish fear which
+some men apprehend when they are in the dark and alone; that honour is
+but the word which a prince gives a man to pass his guards withal and
+save him from being stopped by law and justice, the sentinels of
+governments, when he has not wit nor credit enough to pass of himself;
+that to show respect to worth in any person is to appear a stranger to
+it, and not so familiarly acquainted with it as those are who use no
+ceremony, because it is no new thing to them, as it would appear if they
+should take notice of it; that the easiest way to purchase a reputation
+of wisdom and knowledge is to slight and undervalue it, as the readiest
+way to buy cheap is to bring down the price; for the world will be apt
+to believe a man well provided with any necessary or useful commodity
+which he sets a small value upon; that to oblige a friend is but a kind
+of casting him in prison, after the old Roman way or modern Chinese,
+that chains the keeper and prisoner together; for he that binds another
+man to himself binds himself as much to him and lays a restraint upon
+both. For as men commonly never forgive those that forgive them, and
+always hate those that purchase their estates (though they pay dear and
+more than any man else would give), so they never willingly endure those
+that have laid any engagement upon them, or at what rate soever
+purchased the least part of their freedom; and as partners for the most
+part cheat or suspect one another, so no man deals fairly with another
+that goes the least share in his freedom.</p>
+
+<p>To propose any measure to wealth or power is to be ignorant of the
+nature of both, for as no man can ever have too much of either, so it is
+impossible to determine what is enough; and he that limits his desires
+by proposing to himself the enjoyment of any other pleasure but that of
+gaining more shows he has but a dull inclination that will not hold out
+to his journey's end. And therefore he believes that a courtier deserves
+to be begged himself that is ever satisfied with begging; for fruition
+without desire is but a dull entertainment, and that pleasure only real
+and substantial that provokes and improves the appetite and increases in
+the enjoyment; and all the greatest masters in the several arts of
+thriving concur unanimously that the plain downright pleasure of gaining
+is greater and deserves to be preferred far before all the various
+delights of spending which the curiosity, wit, or luxury of mankind in
+all ages could ever find out.</p>
+
+<p>He believes there is no way of thriving so easy and certain as to grow
+rich by defrauding the public; for public thieveries are more safe and
+less prosecuted than private, like robberies committed between sun and
+sun, which the county pays and no one is greatly concerned in; and as
+the monster of many heads has less wit in them all than any one
+reasonable person, so the monster of many purses is easier cheated than
+any one indifferent, crafty fool. For all the difficulty lies in being
+trusted, and when he has obtained that, the business does itself; and if
+he should happen to be questioned and called to an account, a pardon is
+as cheap as a paymaster's fee, not above fourteenpence in the pound.</p>
+
+<p>He thinks that when a man comes to wealth or preferment, and is to put
+on a new person, his first business is to put off all his old
+friendships and acquaintances, as things below him and no way consistent
+with his present condition, especially such as may have occasion to make
+use of him or have reason to expect any civil returns from him; for
+requiting of obligations received in a man's necessity is the same thing
+with paying of debts contracted in his minority when he was under age,
+for which he is not accountable by the laws of the land. These he is to
+forget as fast as he can, and by little neglects remove them to that
+distance that they may at length by his example learn to forget him, for
+men who travel together in company when their occasions lie several ways
+ought to take leave and part. It is a hard matter for a man that comes
+to preferment not to forget himself, and therefore he may very well be
+allowed to take the freedom to forget others; for advancement, like the
+conversion of a sinner, gives a man new values of things and persons, so
+different from those he had before that that which was wont to be most
+dear to him does commonly after become the most disagreeable; and as it
+is accounted noble to forget and pass over little injuries, so it is to
+forget little friendships, that are no better than injuries when they
+become disparagements, and can only be importune and troublesome instead
+of being useful, as they were before. All Acts of Oblivion have, of late
+times, been found to extend rather to loyal and faithful services done
+than rebellion and treasons committed. For benefits are like flowers,
+sweet only and fresh when they are newly gathered, but stink when they
+grow stale and wither; and he only is ungrateful who makes returns of
+obligations, for he does it merely to free himself from owing so much as
+thanks. Fair words are all the civility and humanity that one man owes
+to another, for they are obliging enough of themselves, and need not the
+assistance of deeds to make them good; for he that does not believe them
+has already received too much, and he that does ought to expect no more.
+And therefore promises ought to oblige those only to whom they are made,
+not those who make them; for he that expects a man should bind himself
+is worse than a thief, who does that service for him after he has robbed
+him on the highway. Promises are but words, and words air, which no man
+can claim a propriety in, but is equally free to all and incapable of
+being confined; and if it were not, yet he who pays debts which he can
+possibly avoid does but part with his money for nothing, and pays more
+for the mere reputation of honesty and conscience than it is worth.</p>
+
+<p>He prefers the way of applying to the vices and humours of great persons
+before all other methods of getting into favour; for he that can be
+admitted into these offices of privacy and trust seldom fails to arrive
+at greater, and with greater ease and certainty than those who take the
+dull way of plain fidelity and merit. For vices, like beasts, are fond
+of none but those that feed them, and where they once prevail all other
+considerations go for nothing. They are his own flesh and blood, born
+and bred out of him, and he has a stronger natural affection for them
+than all other relations whatsoever; and he that has an interest in
+these has a greater power over him than all other obligations in the
+world; for though they are but his imperfections and infirmities, he is
+the more tender of them, as a lame member or diseased limb is more
+carefully cherished than all the rest that are sound and in perfect
+vigour. All offices of this kind are the greatest endearments, being
+real flatteries enforced by deeds and actions, and therefore far more
+prevalent than those that are performed but by words and fawning, though
+very great advantages are daily obtained that way; and therefore he
+esteems flattery as the next most sure and successful way of improving
+his interests. For flattery is but a kind of civil idolatry, that makes
+images to itself of virtue, worth, and honour in some person that is
+utterly void of all, and then falls down and worships them; and the more
+dull and absurd these applications are, the better they are always
+received; for men delight more to be presented with those things they
+want than such as they have no need nor use of. And though they condemn
+the realities of those honours and renowns that are falsely imputed to
+them, they are wonderfully affected with their false pretences; for
+dreams work more upon men's passions than any waking thoughts of the
+same kind, and many, out of an ignorant superstition, give more credit
+to them than the most rational of all their vigilant conjectures, how
+false soever they prove in the event. No wonder, then, if those who
+apply to men's fancies and humours have a stronger influence upon them
+than those that seek to prevail upon their reason and understandings,
+especially in things so delightful to them as their own praises, no
+matter how false and apparently incredible; for great persons may wear
+counterfeit jewels of any carat with more confidence and security from
+being discovered than those of meaner quality, in whose hands the
+greatness of their value (if they were true) is more apt to render them
+suspected. A flatterer is like Mahomet's pigeon, that picks his food out
+of his master's ear, who is willing to have it believed that he whispers
+oracles into it, and accordingly sets a high esteem upon the service he
+does him, though the impostor only designs his own utilities; for men
+are for the most part better pleased with other men's opinions, though
+false, of their happiness than their own experiences, and find more
+pleasure in the dullest flattery of others than all the vast
+imaginations they can have of themselves, as no man is apt to be tickled
+with his own fingers; because the applauses of others are more agreeable
+to those high conceits they have of themselves, which they are glad to
+find confirmed, and are the only music that sets them a-dancing, like
+those that are bitten with a tarantula.</p>
+
+<p>He accounts it an argument of great discretion, and as great temper, to
+take no notice of affronts and indignities put upon him by great
+persons; for he that is insensible of injuries of this nature can
+receive none, and if he lose no confidence by them, can lose nothing
+else; for it is greater to be above injuries than either to do or
+revenge them, and he that will be deterred by those discouragements from
+prosecuting his designs will never obtain what he proposes to himself.
+When a man is once known to be able to endure insolences easier than
+others can impose them, they will raise the siege and leave him as
+impregnable; and therefore he resolves never to omit the least
+opportunity of pressing his affairs, for fear of being baffled and
+affronted; for if he can at any rate render himself master of his
+purposes, he would not wish an easier nor a cheaper way, as he knows how
+to repay himself and make others receive those insolences of him for
+good and current payment which he was glad to take before, and he
+esteems it no mean glory to show his temper of such a compass as is able
+to reach from the highest arrogance to the meanest and most dejected
+submissions. A man that has endured all sorts of affronts may be
+allowed, like an apprentice that has served out his time, to set up for
+himself and put them off upon others; and if the most common and
+approved way of growing rich is to gain by the ruin and loss of those
+who are in necessity, why should not a man be allowed as well to make
+himself appear great by debasing those that are below him? For insolence
+is no inconsiderable way of improving greatness and authority in the
+opinion of the world. If all men are born equally fit to govern, as some
+late philosophers affirm, he only has the advantage of all others who
+has the best opinion of his own abilities, how mean soever they really
+are; and, therefore, he steadfastly believes that pride is the only
+great, wise, and happy virtue that a man is capable of, and the most
+compendious and easy way to felicity; for he that is able to persuade
+himself impregnably that he is some great and excellent person, how far
+short soever he falls of it, finds more delight in that dream than if he
+were really so; and the less he is of what he fancies himself to be the
+better he is pleased, as men covet those things that are forbidden and
+denied them more greedily than those that are in their power to obtain;
+and he that can enjoy all the best rewards of worth and merit without
+the pains and trouble that attend it has a better bargain than he who
+pays as much for it as it is worth. This he performs by an obstinate,
+implicit believing as well as he can of himself, and as meanly of all
+other men, for he holds it a kind of self-preservation to maintain a
+good estimation of himself; and as no man is bound to love his neighbour
+better than himself, so he ought not to think better of him than he does
+of himself, and he that will not afford himself a very high esteem will
+never spare another man any at all. He who has made so absolute a
+conquest over himself (which philosophers say is the greatest of all
+victories) as to be received for a prince within himself, is greater and
+more arbitrary within his own dominions than he that depends upon the
+uncertain loves or fears of other men without him; and since the opinion
+of the world is vain and for the most part false, he believes it is not
+to be attempted but by ways as false and vain as itself, and therefore
+to appear and seem is much better and wiser than really to be whatsoever
+is well esteemed in the general value of the world Next pride, he
+believes ambition to be the only generous and heroical virtue in the
+world that mankind is capable of; for, as Nature gave man an erect
+figure to raise him above the grovelling condition of his
+fellow-creatures the beasts, so he that endeavours to improve that and
+raise himself higher seems best to comply with the design and intention
+of Nature. Though the stature of man is confined to a certain height,
+yet his mind is unlimited, and capable of growing up to heaven; and as
+those who endeavour to arrive at that perfection are adored and
+reverenced by all, so he that endeavours to advance himself as high as
+possibly he can in this world comes nearest to the condition of those
+holy and divine aspirers. All the purest parts of Nature always tend
+upwards, and the more dull and heavy downwards; so in the little world
+the noblest faculties of man, his reason and understanding, that give
+him a prerogative above all other earthly creatures, mount upwards; and
+therefore he who takes that course, and still aspires in all his
+undertakings and designs, does but conform to that which Nature
+dictates. Are not the reason and the will, the two commanding faculties
+of the soul, still striving which shall be uppermost? Men honour none
+but those that are above them, contest with equals, and disdain
+inferiors. The first thing that God gave man was dominion over the rest
+of his inferior creatures; but he that can extend that over man improves
+his talent to the best advantage. How are angels distinguished but by
+dominions, powers, thrones, and principalities? Then he who still
+aspires to purchase those comes nearest to the nature of those heavenly
+ministers, and in all probability is most like to go to heaven, no
+matter what destruction he makes in his way, if he does but attain his
+end; for nothing is a crime that is too great to be punished; and when
+it is once arrived at that perfection, the most horrid actions in the
+world become the most admired and renowned. Birds that build highest are
+most safe; and he that can advance himself above the envy or reach of
+his inferiors is secure against the malice and assaults of fortune. All
+religions have ever been persecuted in their primitive ages, when they
+were weak and impotent, but when they propagated and grew great, have
+been received with reverence and adoration by those who otherwise had
+proved their cruellest enemies; and those that afterwards opposed them
+have suffered as severely as those that first professed them. So thieves
+that rob in small parties and break houses, when they are taken, are
+hanged; but when they multiply and grow up into armies and are able to
+take towns, the same things are called heroic actions, and acknowledged
+for such by all the world. Courts of justice, for the most part, commit
+greater crimes than they punish, and do those that sue in them more
+injuries than they can possibly receive from one another; and yet they
+are venerable, and must not be told so, because they have authority and
+power to justify what they do, and the law (that is, whatsoever they
+please to call so) ready to give judgment for them. Who knows when a
+physician cures or kills? And yet he is equally rewarded for both, and
+the profession esteemed never the less worshipful; and therefore he
+accounts it a ridiculous vanity in any man to consider whether he does
+right or wrong in anything he attempts, since the success is only able
+to determine and satisfy the opinion of the world which is the one and
+which the other. As for those characters and marks of distinction which
+religion, law, and morality fix upon both, they are only significant and
+valid when their authority is able to command obedience and submission;
+but when the greatness, numbers, or interest of those who are concerned
+outgrows that, they change their natures, and that which was injury
+before becomes justice, and justice injury. It is with crimes as with
+inventions in the mechanics, that will frequently hold true to all
+purposes of the design while they are tried in little, but when the
+experiment is made in great prove false in all particulars to what is
+promised in the model: so iniquities and vices may be punished and
+corrected, like children, while they are little and impotent, but when
+they are great and sturdy they become incorrigible and proof against all
+the power of justice and authority.</p>
+
+<p>Among all his virtues there is none which he sets so high an esteem upon
+as impudence, which he finds more useful and necessary than a vizard is
+to a highwayman; for he that has but a competent stock of this natural
+endowment has an interest in any man he pleases, and is able to manage
+it with greater advantages than those who have all the real pretences
+imaginable, but want that dexterous way of soliciting by which, if the
+worst fall out, he is sure to lose nothing if he does not win. He that
+is impudent is shot-free, and if he be ever so much overpowered can
+receive no hurt, for his forehead is impenetrable, and of so excellent a
+temper that nothing is able to touch it, but turns edge and is blunted.
+His face holds no correspondence with his mind, and therefore whatsoever
+inward sense or conviction he feels, there is no outward appearance of
+it in his looks to give evidence against him; and in any difficulty that
+can befall him, impudence is the most infallible expedient to fetch him
+off, that is always ready, like his angel guardian, to relieve and
+rescue him in his greatest extremities; and no outward impression, nor
+inward neither, though his own conscience take part against him, is able
+to beat him from his guards. Though innocence and a good conscience be
+said to be a brazen wall, a brazen confidence is more impregnable and
+longer able to hold out; for it is a greater affliction to an innocent
+man to be suspected than it is to one that is guilty and impudent to be
+openly convicted of an apparent crime. And in all the affairs of
+mankind, a brisk confidence, though utterly void of sense, is able to go
+through matters of difficulty with greater ease than all the strength of
+reason less boldly enforced, as the Turks are said by a small, slight
+handling of their bows to make an arrow without a head pierce deeper
+into hard bodies than guns of greater force are able to do a bullet of
+steel; and though it be but a cheat and imposture, that has neither
+truth nor reason to support it, yet it thrives better in the world than
+things of greater solidity, as thorns and thistles flourish on barren
+grounds where nobler plants would starve. And he that can improve his
+barren parts by this excellent and most compendious method deserves much
+better, in his judgment, than those who endeavour to do the same thing
+by the more studious and difficult way of downright industry and
+drudging. For impudence does not only supply all defects, but gives them
+a greater grace than if they had needed no art, as all other ornaments
+are commonly nothing else but the remedies or disguises of
+imperfections; and therefore he thinks him very weak that is unprovided
+of this excellent and most useful quality, without which the best
+natural or acquired parts are of no more use than the Guanches' darts,
+which, the virtuosos say, are headed with butter hardened in the sun. It
+serves him to innumerable purposes to press on and understand no
+repulse, how smart or harsh soever, for he that can fail nearest the
+wind has much the advantage of all others; and such is the weakness or
+vanity of some men, that they will grant that to obstinate importunity
+which they would never have done upon all the most just reasons and
+considerations imaginable, as those that watch witches will make them
+confess that which they would never have done upon any other account.</p>
+
+<p>He believes a man's words and his meaning should never agree together;
+for he that says what he thinks lays himself open to be expounded by the
+most ignorant, and he who does not make his words rather serve to
+conceal than discover the sense of his heart deserves to have it pulled
+out, like a traitor's, and shown publicly to the rabble; for as a king,
+they say, cannot reign without dissembling, so private men, without
+that, cannot govern themselves with any prudence or discretion
+imaginable. This is the only politic magic that has power to make a man
+walk invisible, give him access into all men's privacies, and keep all
+others out of his, which is as great an odds as it is to discover what
+cards those he plays with have in their hands, and permit them to know
+nothing of his; and, therefore, he never speaks his own sense, but that
+which he finds comes nearest to the meaning of those he converses with,
+as birds are drawn into nets by pipes that counterfeit their own voices.
+By this means he possesses men, like the devil, by getting within them
+before they are aware, turns them out of themselves, and either betrays
+or renders them ridiculous, as he finds it most agreeable either to his
+humour or his occasions.</p>
+
+<p>As for religion, he believes a wise man ought to possess it only that he
+may not be observed to have freed himself from the obligations of it,
+and so teach others by his example to take the same freedom. For he who
+is at liberty has a great advantage over all those whom he has to deal
+with, as all hypocrites find by perpetual experience that one of the
+best uses that can be made of it is to take measure of men's
+understandings and abilities by it, according as they are more or less
+serious in it. For he thinks that no man ought to be much concerned in
+it but hypocrites and such as make it their calling and profession, who,
+though they do not live by their faith, like the righteous, do that
+which is nearest to it, get their living by it; and that those only take
+the surest course who make their best advantages of it in this world and
+trust to Providence for the next, to which purpose he believes it is
+most properly to be relied upon by all men.</p>
+
+<p>He admires good nature as only good to those who have it not, and laughs
+at friendship as a ridiculous foppery, which all wise men easily
+outgrow; for the more a man loves another the less he loves himself. All
+regards and civil applications should, like true devotion, look upwards
+and address to those that are above us, and from whom we may in
+probability expect either good or evil; but to apply to those that are
+our equals, or such as cannot benefit or hurt us, is a far more
+irrational idolatry than worshipping of images or beasts. All the good
+that can proceed from friendship is but this, that it puts men in a way
+to betray one another. The best parents, who are commonly the worst men,
+have naturally a tender kindness for their children only because they
+believe they are a part of themselves, which shows that self-love is the
+original of all others, and the foundation of that great law of Nature,
+self-preservation; for no man ever destroyed himself wilfully that had
+not first left off to love himself. Therefore a man's self is the proper
+object of his love, which is never so well employed as when it is kept
+within its own confines, and not suffered to straggle. Every man is just
+so much a slave as he is concerned in the will, inclinations, or
+fortunes of another, or has anything of himself out of his own power to
+dispose of; and therefore he is resolved never to trust any man with
+that kindness which he takes up of himself, unless he has such security
+as is most certain to yield him double interest; for he that does
+otherwise is but a Jew and a Turk to himself, which is much worse than
+to be so to all the world beside. Friends are only friends to those who
+have no need of them, and when they have, become no longer friends; like
+the leaves of trees, that clothe the woods in the heat of summer, when
+they have no need of warmth, but leave them naked when cold weather
+comes; and since there are so few that prove otherwise, it is not wisdom
+to rely on any.</p>
+
+<p>He is of opinion that no men are so fit to be employed and trusted as
+fools or knaves; for the first understand no right, the others regard
+none; and whensoever there falls out an occasion that may prove of great
+importance if the infamy and danger of the dishonesty be not too
+apparent, they are the only persons that are fit for the undertaking.
+They are both equally greedy of employment; the one out of an itch to be
+thought able, and the other honest enough, to be trusted, as by use and
+practice they sometimes prove. For the general business of the world
+lies, for the most part, in routines and forms, of which there are none
+so exact observers as those who understand nothing else to divert them,
+as carters use to blind their fore-horses on both sides that they may
+see only forward, and so keep the road the better, and men that aim at a
+mark use to shut one eye that they may see the surer with the other. If
+fools are not notorious, they have far more persons to deal with of
+their own elevation (who understand one another better) than they have
+of those that are above them, which renders them fitter for many
+businesses than wiser men, and they believe themselves to be so for all.
+For no man ever thought himself a fool that was one, so confident does
+their ignorance naturally render them, and confidence is no contemptible
+qualification in the management of human affairs; and as blind men have
+secret artifices and tricks to supply that defect and find out their
+ways, which those who have their eyes and are but hoodwinked are utterly
+unable to do, so fools have always little crafts and frauds in all their
+transactions which wiser men would never have thought upon, and by those
+they frequently arrive at very great wealth, and as great success in all
+their undertakings. For all fools are but feeble and impotent knaves,
+that have as strong and vehement inclinations to all sorts of dishonesty
+as the most notorious of those engineers, but want abilities to put them
+in practice; and as they are always found to be the most obstinate and
+intractable people to be prevailed upon by reason or conscience, so they
+are as easy to submit to their superiors--that is, knaves--by whom they
+are always observed to be governed, as all corporations are wont to
+choose their magistrates out of their own members. As for knaves, they
+are commonly true enough to their own interests, and while they gain by
+their employments, will be careful not to disserve those who can turn
+them out when they please, what tricks soever they put upon others; and
+therefore such men prove more useful to them in their designs of gain
+and profit than those whose consciences and reason will not permit them
+to take that latitude.</p>
+
+<p>And since buffoonery is, and has always been, so delightful to great
+persons, he holds him very improvident that is to seek in a quality so
+inducing that he cannot at least serve for want of a better, especially
+since it is so easy that the greatest part of the difficulty lies in
+confidence; and he that can but stand fair and give aim to those that
+are gamesters does not always lose his labour, but many times becomes
+well esteemed for his generous and bold demeanour, and a lucky repartee
+hit upon by chance may be the making of a man. This is the only modern
+way of running at tilt, with which great persons are so delighted to see
+men encounter one another and break jests, as they did lances
+heretofore; and he that has the best beaver to his helmet has the
+greatest advantage; and as the former passed upon the account of valour,
+so does the latter on the score of wit, though neither, perhaps, have
+any great reason for their pretences, especially the latter, that
+depends much upon confidence, which is commonly a great support to wit,
+and therefore believed to be its betters, that ought to take place of
+it, as all men are greater than their dependents; so pleasant it is to
+see men lessen one another and strive who shall show himself the most
+ill-natured and ill-mannered. As in cuffing all blows are aimed at the
+face, so it fares in these rencounters, where he that wears the toughest
+leather on his visage comes off with victory though he has ever so much
+the disadvantage upon all other accounts. For a buffoon is like a mad
+dog that has a worm in his tongue, which makes him bite at all that
+light in his way; and as he can do nothing alone, but must have somebody
+to set him that he may throw at, he that performs that office with the
+greatest freedom and is contented to be laughed at to give his patron
+pleasure cannot but be understood to have done very good service, and
+consequently deserves to be well rewarded, as a mountebank's pudding,
+that is content to be cut and slashed and burnt and poisoned, without
+which his master can show no tricks, deserves to have a considerable
+share in his gains.</p>
+
+<p>As for the meanness of these ways, which some may think too base to be
+employed to so excellent an end, that imports nothing; for what dislike
+soever the world conceives against any man's undertakings, if they do
+but succeed and prosper, it will easily recant its error and applaud
+what it condemned before; and therefore all wise men have ever justly
+esteemed it a great virtue to disdain the false values it commonly sets
+upon all things and which itself is so apt to retract. For as those who
+go uphill use to stoop and bow their bodies forward, and sometimes creep
+upon their hands, and those that descend to go upright, so the lower a
+man stoops and submits in these endearing offices, the more sure and
+certain he is to rise; and the more upright he carries himself in other
+matters, the more like, in probability, to be ruined. And this he
+believes to be a wiser course for any man to take than to trouble
+himself with the knowledge of arts or arms; for the one does but bring a
+man an unnecessary trouble, and the other as unnecessary danger; and the
+shortest and more easy way to attain to both is to despise all other men
+and believe as steadfastly in himself as he can--a better and more
+certain course than that of merit.</p>
+
+<p>What he gains wickedly he spends as vainly, for he holds it the greatest
+happiness that a man is capable of to deny himself nothing that his
+desires can propose to him, but rather to improve his enjoyments by
+glorying in his vices; for, glory being one end of almost all the
+business of this world, he who omits that in the enjoyment of himself
+and his pleasures loses the greatest part of his delight; and therefore
+the felicity which he supposes other men apprehend that he receives in
+the relish of his luxuries is more delightful to him than the
+fruition itself.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MODERN STATESMAN</h2>
+
+<p>Owns his election from free grace in opposition to merits or any
+foresight of good works; for he is chosen not for his abilities or
+fitness for his employment, but, like a <i>tales</i> in a jury, for happening
+to be near in court. If there were any other consideration in it (which
+is a hard question to the wise), it was only because he was held able
+enough to be a counsellor-extraordinary for the indifference and
+negligence of his understanding, and consequent probability of doing no
+hurt, if no good; for why should not such prove the safest physicians to
+the body politic as well as they do to the natural? Or else some near
+friend or friend's friend helped him to the place, that engaged for his
+honesty and good behaviour in it. Howsoever, he is able to sit still and
+look wise according to his best skill and cunning, and, though he
+understand no reason, serve for one that does, and be most steadfastly
+of that opinion that is most like to prevail. If he be a great person,
+he is chosen, as aldermen are in the city, for being rich enough, and
+fines to be taken in as those do to be left out; and money being the
+measure of all things, it is sufficient to justify all his other talents
+and render them, like itself, good and current. As for wisdom and
+judgment, with those other out-of-fashioned qualifications which have
+been so highly esteemed heretofore, they have not been found to be so
+useful in this age, since it has invented scantlings for politics that
+will move with the strength of a child and yet carry matters of very
+great weight; and that raillery and fooling is proved by frequent
+experiments to be the more easy and certain way; for, as the Germans
+heretofore were observed to be wisest when they were drunk and knew not
+how to dissemble, so are our modern statesmen when they are mad and use
+no reserved cunning in their consultations; and as the Church of Rome
+and that of the Turks esteem ignorant persons the most devout, there
+seems no reason why this age, that seems to incline to the opinions of
+them both, should not as well believe them to be the most prudent and
+judicious; for heavenly wisdom does, by the confession of men, far
+exceed all the subtlety and prudence of this world. The heathen priests
+of old never delivered oracles but when they were drunk and mad or
+distracted, and who knows why our modern oracles may not as well use the
+same method in all their proceedings? Howsoever, he is as ably qualified
+to govern as that sort of opinion that is said to govern all the world,
+and is perpetually false and foolish; and if his opinions are always so,
+they have the fairer title to their pretensions. He is sworn to advise
+no further than his skill and cunning will enable him, and the less he
+has of either the sooner he despatches his business, and despatch is no
+mean virtue in a statesman.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DUKE OF BUCKS</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that has studied the whole body of vice. His parts are
+disproportionate to the whole, and, like a monster, he has more of some
+and less of others than he should have. He has pulled down all that
+fabric that Nature raised in him, and built himself up again after a
+model of his own. He has dammed up all those lights that Nature made
+into the noblest prospects of the world, and opened other little blind
+loopholes backward by turning day into night and night into day. His
+appetite to his pleasures is diseased and crazy, like the pica in a
+woman that longs to eat that which was never made for food, or a girl in
+the green sickness that eats chalk and mortar. Perpetual surfeits of
+pleasure have filled his mind with bad and vicious humours (as well as
+his body with a nursery of diseases), which makes him affect new and
+extravagant ways as being sick and tired with the old. Continual wine,
+women, and music put false values upon things which by custom become
+habitual, and debauch his understanding so that he retains no right
+notion nor sense of things; and as the same dose of the same physic has
+no operation on those that are much used to it, so his pleasures require
+a larger proportion of excess and variety to render him sensible of
+them. He rises, eats, and goes to bed by the Julian account, long after
+all others that go by the new style, and keeps the same hours with owls
+and the antipodes. He is a great observer of the Tartars' customs, and
+never eats till the great Cham, having dined, makes proclamation that
+all the world may go to dinner. He does not dwell in his house, but
+haunts it like an evil spirit that walks all night to disturb the
+family, and never appears by day. He lives perpetually benighted, runs
+out of his life, and loses his time, as men do their ways, in the dark;
+and as blind men are led by their dogs, so is he governed by some mean
+servant or other that relates to his pleasures. He is as inconstant as
+the moon which he lives under; and although he does nothing but advise
+with his pillow all day, he is as great a stranger to himself as he is
+to the rest of the world. His mind entertains all things very freely
+that come and go, but, like guests and strangers, they are not welcome
+if they stay long. This lays him open to all cheats, quacks, and
+impostors, who apply to every particular humour while it lasts, and
+afterwards vanish. Thus, with St. Paul, though in a different sense, he
+dies daily, and only lives in the night. He deforms Nature while he
+intends to adorn her, like Indians that hang jewels in their lips and
+noses. His ears are perpetually drilled with a fiddlestick. He endures
+pleasures with less patience than other men do their pains.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FANTASTIC</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that wears his feather on the inside of his head. His brain is
+like quicksilver, apt to receive any impression but retain none. His
+mind is made of changeable stuff, that alters colour with every motion
+towards the light. He is a cormorant that has but one gut, devours
+everything greedily, but it runs through him immediately. He does not
+know so much as what he would be, and yet would be everything he knows.
+He is like a paper-lantern, that turns with the smoke of a candle. He
+wears his clothes as the ancient laws of the land have provided,
+according to his quality, that he may be known what he is by them; and
+it is as easy to decipher him by his habit as a pudding. He is rigged
+with ribbon, and his garniture is his tackle; all the rest of him is
+hull. He is sure to be the earliest in the fashion, and lays out for it
+like the first peas and cherries. He is as proud of leading a fashion as
+others are of a faction, and glories as much to be in the head of a mode
+as a soldier does to be in the head of an army. He is admirably skilful
+in the mathematics of clothes, and can tell, at the first view, whether
+they have the right symmetry. He alters his gait with the times, and has
+not a motion of his body that (like a dottrel) he does not borrow from
+somebody else. He exercises his limbs like a pike and musket, and all
+his postures are practised. Take him altogether, and he is nothing but a
+translation, word for word, out of French, an image cast in
+plaster-of-Paris, and a puppet sent over for others to dress themselves
+by. He speaks French as pedants do Latin, to show his breeding, and most
+naturally where he is least understood. All his non-naturals, on which
+his health and diseases depend, are <i>stile nuovo</i>, French is his holiday
+language, that he wears for his pleasure and ornament, and uses English
+only for his business and necessary occasions. He is like a Scotchman;
+though he is born a subject of his own nation, he carries a French
+faction within him.</p>
+
+<p>He is never quiet, but sits as the wind is said to do when it is most in
+motion. His head is as full of maggots as a pastoral poet's flock. He
+was begotten, like one of Pliny's Portuguese horses, by the wind. The
+truth is, he ought not to have been reared; for, being calved in the
+increase of the moon, his head is troubled with a ----</p>
+
+<p><i>N.B.</i>--The last word not legible.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN HARANGUER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that is so delighted with the sweet sound of his own tongue, that
+William Prynne will sooner lend an ear than he to anything else. His
+measure of talk is till his wind is spent, and then he is not silenced,
+but becalmed. His ears have catched the itch of his tongue, and though
+he scratch them, like a beast with his hoof, he finds a pleasure in it.
+A silenced minister has more mercy on the Government in a secure
+conventicle than he has on the company that he is in. He shakes a man by
+the ear, as a dog does a pig, and never loses his hold till he has tired
+himself as well as his patient. He does not talk to a man, but attacks
+him, and whomsoever he can get into his hands he lays violent language
+on. If he can he will run a man up against a wall and hold him at a bay
+by the buttons, which he handles as bad as he does his person or the
+business he treats upon. When he finds him begin to sink he holds him by
+the clothes, and feels him as a butcher does a calf before he kills him.
+He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing
+ones. He will hold any argument rather than his tongue, and maintain
+both sides at his own charge; for he will tell you what you will say,
+though perhaps he does not intend to give you leave. He lugs men by the
+ears, as they correct children in Scotland, and will make them tingle
+while he talks with them, as some say they will do when a man is talked
+of in his absence. When he talks to a man he comes up close to him, and,
+like an old soldier, lets fly in his face, or claps the bore of his
+pistol to his ear and whispers aloud, that he may be sure not to miss
+his mark. His tongue is always in motion, though very seldom to the
+purpose, like a barber's scissors, which are always snipping, as well
+when they do not cut as when they do. His tongue is like a
+bagpipe-drone, that has no stop, but makes a continual ugly noise, as
+long as he can squeeze any wind out of himself. He never leaves a man
+until he has run him down, and then he winds a death over him. A
+sow-gelder's horn is not so terrible to dogs and cats as he is to all
+that know him. His way of argument is to talk all and hear no
+contradiction. First he gives his antagonist the length of his wind, and
+then, let him make his approaches if he can, he is sure to be beforehand
+with him. Of all dissolute diseases the running of the tongue is the
+worst, and the hardest to be cured. If he happen at any time to be at a
+stand, and any man else begins to speak, he presently drowns him with
+his noise, as a water-dog makes a duck dive; for when you think he has
+done he falls on and lets fly again, like a gun that will discharge nine
+times with one loading. He is a rattlesnake, that with his noise gives
+men warning to avoid him, otherwise he will make them wish they had. He
+is, like a bell, good for nothing but to make a noise. He is like common
+fame, that speaks most and knows least, Lord Brooks, or a wild goose
+always cackling when he is upon the wing. His tongue is like any kind of
+carriage, the less weight it bears the faster and easier it goes. He is
+so full of words that they run over and are thrown away to no purpose,
+and so empty of things or sense that his dryness has made his leaks so
+wide whatsoever is put in him runs out immediately. He is so long in
+delivering himself that those that hear him desire to be delivered too
+or despatched out of their pain. He makes his discourse the longer with
+often repeating to be short, and talking much of in fine, never means to
+come near it.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RANTER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a fanatic Hector that has found out, by a very strange way of new
+light, how to transform all the devils into angels of light; for he
+believes all religion consists in looseness, and that sin and vice is
+the whole duty of man. He puts off the old man, but puts it on again
+upon the new one, and makes his pagan vices serve to preserve his
+Christian virtues from wearing out, for if he should use his piety and
+devotion always it would hold out but a little while. He is loth that
+iniquity and vice should be thrown away as long as there may be good use
+for it; for if that which is wickedly gotten may be disposed to pious
+uses, why should not wickedness itself as well? He believes himself
+shot-free against all the attempts of the devil, the world, and the
+flesh, and therefore is not afraid to attack them in their own quarters
+and encounter them at their own weapons. For as strong bodies may freely
+venture to do and suffer that, without any hurt to themselves, which
+would destroy those that are feeble, so a saint that is strong in grace
+may boldly engage himself in those great sins and iniquities that would
+easily damn a weak brother, and yet come off never the worse. He
+believes deeds of darkness to be only those sins that are committed in
+private, not those that are acted openly and owned. He is but a
+hypocrite turned the wrong side outward; for, as the one wears his vices
+within and the other without, so when they are counterchanged the ranter
+becomes a hypocrite, and the hypocrite an able ranter. His church is the
+devil's chapel, for it agrees exactly both in doctrine and discipline
+with the best reformed bawdy-houses. He is a monster produced by the
+madness of this latter age; but if it had been his fate to have been
+whelped in old Rome he had passed for a prodigy, and been received among
+raining of stones and the speaking of bulls, and would have put a stop
+to all public affairs until he had been expiated. Nero clothed
+Christians in the skins of wild beasts, but he wraps wild beasts in the
+skins of Christians.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN AMORIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is an artificer or maker of love, a sworn servant to all ladies, like an
+officer in a corporation. Though no one in particular will own any title
+to him, yet he never fails upon all occasions to offer his services, and
+they as seldom to turn it back again untouched. He commits nothing with
+them but himself to their good graces; and they recommend him back again
+to his own, where he finds so kind a reception that he wonders how he
+does fail of it everywhere else. His passion is as easily set on fire as
+a fart, and as soon out again. He is charged and primed with love-powder
+like a gun, and the least sparkle of an eye gives fire to him and off he
+goes, but seldom or never hits the mark. He has commonplaces, and
+precedents of repartees, and letters for all occasions, and falls as
+readily into his method of making love as a parson does into his form of
+matrimony. He converses, as angels are said to do, by intuition, and
+expresses himself by sighs most significantly. He follows his visits as
+men do their business, and is very industrious in waiting on the ladies
+where his affairs lie; among which those of greatest concernment are
+questions and commands, purposes, and other such received forms of wit
+and conversation, in which he is so deeply studied that in all questions
+and doubts that arise he is appealed to, and very learnedly declares
+which was the most true and primitive way of proceeding in the purest
+times. For these virtues he never fails of his summons to all balls,
+where he manages the country-dances with singular judgment, and is
+frequently an assistant at <i>l'ombre</i>; and these are all the uses they
+make of his parts, beside the sport they give themselves in laughing at
+him, which he takes for singular favours and interprets to his own
+advantage, though it never goes further; for, all his employments being
+public, he is never admitted to any private services, and they despise
+him as not woman's meat; for he applies to too many to be trusted by any
+one, as bastards by having many fathers have none at all. He goes often
+mounted in a coach as a convoy to guard the ladies, to take the dust in
+Hyde Park, where by his prudent management of the glass windows he
+secures them from beggars, and returns fraught with China-oranges and
+ballads. Thus he is but a gentleman-usher-general, and his business is
+to carry one lady's services to another, and bring back the other's
+in exchange.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN ASTROLOGER</h2>
+
+<p>Is one that expounds upon the planets and teaches to construe the
+accidents by the due joining of stars in construction. He talks with
+them by dumb signs, and can tell what they mean by their twinkling and
+squinting upon one another as well as they themselves. He is a spy upon
+the stars, and can tell what they are doing by the company they keep and
+the houses they frequent. They have no power to do anything alone until
+so many meet as will make a quorum. He is clerk of the committee to
+them, and draws up all their orders that concern either public or
+private affairs. He keeps all their accounts for them, and sums them up,
+not by debtor, but creditor alone--a more compendious way. They do ill
+to make them have so much authority over the earth, which perhaps has as
+much as any one of them but the sun, and as much right to sit and vote
+in their councils as any other. But because there are but seven Electors
+of the German Empire, they will allow of no more to dispose of all
+other, and most foolishly and unnaturally dispossess their own parent of
+its inheritance rather than acknowledge a defect in their own rules.
+These rules are all they have to show for their title, and yet not one
+of them can tell whether those they had them from came honestly by them.
+Virgil's description of fame, that reaches from earth to the stars, <i>tam
+ficti pravique tenax</i>, to carry lies and knavery, will serve astrologers
+without any sensible variation. He is a fortune-seller, a retailer of
+destiny, and petty chapman to the planets. He casts nativities as
+gamesters do false dice, and by slurring and palming sextile, quartile,
+and trine, like <i>six, quatre, trois</i>, can throw what chance he pleases.
+He sets a figure as cheats do a main at hazard, and gulls throw away
+their money at it. He fetches the grounds of his art so far off, as well
+from reason as the stars, that, like a traveller, he is allowed to lie
+by authority; and as beggars that have no money themselves believe all
+others have, and beg of those that have as little as themselves, so the
+ignorant rabble believe in him though he has no more reason for what he
+professes than they.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A LAWYER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a retailer of justice that uses false lights, false weights, and
+false measures. He measures right and wrong by his retaining fee, and,
+like a French duellist, engages on that side that first bespeaks him,
+though it be against his own brother; not because it is right, but
+merely upon a punctilio of profit, which is better than honour to him,
+because riches will buy nobility, and nobility nothing, as having no
+intrinsic value. He sells his opinion, and engages to maintain the title
+against all that claim under him, but no further. He puts it off upon
+his word, which he believes himself not bound to make good, because when
+he has parted with his right to it, it is no longer his. He keeps no
+justice for his own use, as being a commodity of his own growth, which
+he never buys, but only sells to others; and as no man goes worse shod
+than the shoemaker, so no man is more out of justice than he that gets
+his living by it. He draws bills as children do lots at a lottery, and
+is paid as much for blanks as prizes. He undoes a man with the same
+privilege as a doctor kills him, and is paid as well for it as if he
+preserved him, in which he is very impartial, but in nothing else. He
+believes it no fault in himself to err in judgment, because that part of
+the law belongs to the judge and not to him. His best opinions and his
+worst are all of a price, like good wine and bad in a tavern, in which
+he does not deal so fairly as those who, if they know what you are
+willing to bestow, can tell how to fit you accordingly. When his law
+lies upon his hands he will afford a good pennyworth, and rather
+pettifog and turn common barreter than be out of employment. His opinion
+is one thing while it is his own and another when it is paid for; for,
+the property being altered, the case alters also. When his counsel is
+not for his client's turn he will never take it back again, though it be
+never the worse, nor allow him anything for it, yet will sell the same
+over and over again to as many as come to him for it. His pride
+increases with his practice, and the fuller of business he is, like a
+sack, the bigger he looks. He crowds to the Bar like a pig through a
+hedge, and his gown is fortified with flankers about the shoulders to
+guard his ears from being galled with elbows. He draws his bills more
+extravagant and unconscionable than a tailor; for if you cut off
+two-thirds in the beginning, middle, or end, that which is left will be
+more reasonable and nearer to sense than the whole, and yet he is paid
+for all; for when he draws up a business, like a captain that makes
+false musters, he produces as many loose and idle words as he can
+possibly come by until he has received for them, and then turns them off
+and retains only those that are to the purpose. This he calls drawing of
+breviates. All that appears of his studies is, in short, time converted
+into waste-paper, tailor's measures, and heads for children's drums. He
+appears very violent against the other side, and rails to please his
+client as they do children, &quot;Give me a blow and I'll strike him, ah,
+naughty!&quot; &amp;c. This makes him seem very zealous for the good of his
+client, and though the cause go against him he loses no credit by it,
+especially if he fall foul on the counsel of the other side, which goes
+for no more among them than it does with those virtuous persons that
+quarrel and fight in the streets to pick the pockets of those that look
+on. He hangs men's estates and fortunes on the slightest curiosities and
+feeblest niceties imaginable, and undoes them like the story of breaking
+a horse's back with a feather or sinking a ship with a single drop of
+water, as if right and wrong were only notional and had no relation at
+all to practice (which always requires more solid foundations), or
+reason and truth did wholly consist in the right spelling of letters,
+whenas the subtler things are the nearer they are to nothing, so the
+subtler words and notions are the nearer they are to nonsense. He
+overruns Latin and French with greater barbarism than the Goths did
+Italy and France, and makes as mad a confusion of language by mixing
+both with English. Nor does he use English much better, for he clogs it
+so with words that the sense becomes as thick as puddle, and is utterly
+lost to those that have not the trick of skipping over where it is
+impertinent. He has but one termination for all Latin words, and that's
+a dash. He is very just to the first syllables of words, but always
+bobtails the last, in which the sense most of all consists, like a cheat
+that does a man all right at the first that he may put a trick upon him
+in the end. He is an apprentice to the law without a master, is his own
+pupil, and has no tutor but himself, that is a fool. He will screw and
+wrest law as unmercifully as a tumbler does his body to lick up money
+with his tongue. He is a Swiss that professes mercenary arms, will fight
+for him that gives him best pay, and, like an Italian bravo, will fall
+foul on any man's reputation that he receives a retaining fee against.
+If he could but maintain his opinions as well as they do him, he were a
+very just and righteous man; but when he has made his most of it, he
+leaves it, like his client, to shift for itself. He fetches money out of
+his throat like a juggler; and as the rabble in the country value
+gentlemen by their housekeeping and their eating, so is he supposed to
+have so much law as he has kept commons, and the abler to deal with
+clients by how much the more he has devoured of Inns-of-Court mutton;
+and it matters not whether he keep his study so he has but kept commons.
+He never ends a suit, but prunes it that it may grow the faster and
+yield a greater increase of strife. The wisdom of the law is to admit of
+all the petty, mean, real injustices in the world, to avoid imaginary
+possible great ones that may perhaps fall out. His client finds the
+Scripture fulfilled in him, that it is better to part with a coat too
+than go to law for a cloak; for, as the best laws are made of the worst
+manners, even so are the best lawyers of the worst men. He hums about
+Westminster Hall, and returns home with his pockets like a bee with his
+thighs laden; and that which Horace says of an ant, <i>Ore trahit
+quodcunque potest, atque addit acervo</i>, is true of him, for he gathers
+all his heap with the labour of his mouth rather than his brain and
+hands. He values himself, as a carman does his horse, by the money he
+gets, and looks down upon all that gain less as scoundrels. The law is
+like that double-formed, ill-begotten monster that was kept in an
+intricate labyrinth and fed with men's flesh, for it devours all that
+come within the mazes of it and have not a clue to find the way out
+again. He has as little kindness for the Statute Law as Catholics have
+for the Scripture, but adores the Common Law as they do tradition, and
+both for the very same reason; for the Statute Law being certain,
+written and designed to reform and prevent corruptions and abuses in the
+affairs of the world (as the Scriptures are in matters of religion), he
+finds it many times a great obstruction to the advantage and profit of
+his practice; whereas the Common Law, being unwritten, or written in an
+unknown language which very few understand but himself, is the more
+pliable and easy to serve all his purposes, being utterly exposed to
+what interpretation and construction his interest and occasions shall at
+any time incline him to give it; and differs only from arbitrary power
+in this, that the one gives no account of itself at all, and the other
+such a one as is perhaps worse than none, that is implicit and not to be
+understood, or subject to what constructions he pleases to put
+upon it:--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Great critics in a <i>noverint universi</i><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Know all men by these presents how to curse ye;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Pedants of said and foresaid, and both Frenches,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Pedlars, and pokie, may those rev'rend benches<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Y' aspire to be the stocks, and may ye be<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;No more call'd to the Bar, but pillory;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thither in triumph may ye backward ride<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To have your ears most justly crucified,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And cut so close until there be not leather<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Enough to stick a pen in left of either;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then will your consciences, your ears, and wit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Be like indentures tripartite cut fit.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May your horns multiply and grow as great<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As that which does blow grace before your meat;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May varlets be your barbers now, and do<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The same to you they have been done unto;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That's law and gospel too; may it prove true,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then they shall do pump-justice upon you;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And when y' are shaved and powder'd you shall fall,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thrown o'er the Bar, as they did o'er the wall,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Never to rise again, unless it be<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To hold your hands up for your roguery;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And when you do so may they be no less<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sear'd by the hangman than your consciences.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May your gowns swarm until you can determine<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The strife no more between yourselves and vermin<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Than you have done between your clients' purses;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now kneel and take the last and worst of curses--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;May you be honest when it is too late;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That is, undone the only way you hate.<br></blockquote>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN EPIGRAMMATIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is a poet of small wares, whose Muse is short-winded and quickly out of
+breath. She flies like a goose, that is no sooner upon the wing but down
+again. He was originally one of those authors that used to write upon
+white walls, from whence his works, being collected and put together,
+pass in the world like single money among those that deal in small
+matters. His wit is like fire in a flint, that is nothing while it is
+in, and nothing again as soon as it is out. He treats of all things and
+persons that come in his way, but like one that draws in little, much
+less than the life:--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His bus'ness is t' inveigh and flatter,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Like parcel parasite and satyr.<br></blockquote>
+
+<p>He is a kind of vagabond writer, that is never out of his way, for
+nothing is beside the purpose with him that proposes none at all. His
+works are like a running banquet, that have much variety but little of a
+sort, for he deals in nothing but scraps and parcels, like a tailor's
+broker. He does not write, but set his mark upon things, and gives no
+account in words at length, but only in figures. All his wit reaches but
+to four lines or six at the most; and if he ever venture farther it
+tires immediately, like a post-horse, that will go no farther than his
+wonted stages. Nothing agrees so naturally with his fancy as bawdry,
+which he dispenses in small pittances to continue his reader still in an
+appetite for more.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FANATIC.</h2>
+
+<p>St. Paul was thought by Festus to be mad with too much learning, but the
+fanatics of our times are mad with too little. He chooses himself one of
+the elect, and packs a committee of his own party to judge the twelve
+tribes of Israel. The apostles in the primitive Church worked miracles
+to confirm and propagate their doctrine, but he thinks to confirm his by
+working at his trade. He assumes a privilege to impress what text of
+Scripture he pleases for his own use, and leaves those that make against
+him for the use of the wicked. His religion, that tends only to faction
+and sedition, is neither fit for peace nor war, but times of a condition
+between both, like the sails of a ship that will not endure a storm and
+are of no use at all in a calm. He believes it has enough of the
+primitive Christian if it be but persecuted as that was, no matter for
+the piety or doctrine of it, as if there were nothing required to prove
+the truth of a religion but the punishment of the professors of it, like
+the old mathematicians that were never believed to be profoundly knowing
+in their profession until they had run through all punishments and just
+escaped the fork. He is all for suffering for religion, but nothing for
+acting; for he accounts good works no better than encroachments upon the
+merits of free believing, and a good life the most troublesome and
+unthrifty way to heaven. He canonises himself a saint in his own
+lifetime, as the more sure and certain way, and less troublesome to
+others. He outgrows ordinances, as an apprentice that has served out his
+time does his indentures, and being a freeman, supposes himself at
+liberty to set up what religion he pleases. He calls his own supposed
+abilities gifts, and disposes of himself like a foundation designed to
+pious uses, although, like others of the same kind, they are always
+diverted to other purposes. He owes all his gifts to his ignorance, as
+beggars do the alms they receive to their poverty. They are such as the
+fairies are said to drop in men's shoes, and when they are discovered to
+give them over and confer no more; for when his gifts are discovered
+they vanish and come to nothing. He is but a puppet saint that moves he
+knows not how, and his ignorance is the dull, leaden weight that puts
+all his parts in motion. His outward man is a saint and his inward man a
+reprobate, for he carries his vices in his heart and his religion in
+his face.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PROSELYTE.</h2>
+
+<p>A priest stole him out of the cradle, like the fairies, and left a fool
+and changeling in his place. He new dyes his religion, and commonly into
+a sadder and darker colour than it was before. He gives his opinion the
+somersault and turns the wrong side of it outwards. He does not mend his
+manners, but botch them with patches of another stuff and colour. Change
+of religion, being for the most part used by those who understand not
+why one religion is better than another, is like changing of money two
+sixpences for a shilling; both are of equal value, but the change is for
+convenience or humour. There is nothing more difficult than a change of
+religion for the better, for as all alterations in judgment are derived
+from a precedent confessed error, that error is more probably like to
+produce another than anything of so different a nature as truth. He
+imposes upon himself in believing the infirmity of his nature to be the
+strength of his judgment, and thinks he changes his religion when he
+changes himself, and turns as naturally from one thing to another as a
+maggot does to a fly. He is a kind of freebooty and plunder, or one head
+of cattle driven by the priests of one religion out of the quarters of
+another, and they value him above two of their own; for, beside the
+glory of the exploit, they have a better title to him (as he that is
+conquered is more in the power of him that subdued him than he that was
+born his subject), and they expect a freer submission from one that
+takes quarter than from those that were under command before. His
+weakness or ignorance, or both, are commonly the chief causes of his
+conversion; for if he be a man of a profession that has no hopes to
+thrive upon the account of mere merit, he has no way so easy and certain
+as to betake himself to some forbidden church, where, for the common
+cause's sake, he finds so much brotherly love and kindness, that they
+will rather employ him than one of another persuasion though more
+skilful, and he gains by turning and winding his religion as tradesmen
+do by their stocks. The priest has commonly the very same design upon
+him, for he that is not able to go to the charges of his conversion may
+live free enough from being attacked by any side. He was troubled with a
+vertigo in his conscience, and nothing but change of religion, like
+change of air, could cure him. He is like a sick man that can neither
+lie still in his bed nor turn himself but as he is helped by others. He
+is like a revolter in an army; and as men of honour and commanders
+seldom prove such, but common soldiers, men of mean condition,
+frequently to mend their fortunes, so in religion clergymen who are
+commanders seldom prevail upon one another, and when they do, the
+proselyte is usually one who had no reputation among his own party
+before, and after a little trial finds as little among those to whom
+he revolts.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A CLOWN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a centaur, a mixture of man and beast, like a monster engendered by
+unnatural copulation, a crab engrafted on an apple. He was neither made
+by art nor nature, but in spite of both, by evil custom.. His perpetual
+conversation with beasts has rendered him one of them, and he is among
+men but a naturalised brute. He appears by his language, genius, and
+behaviour to be an alien to mankind, a foreigner to humanity, and of so
+opposite a genius that 'tis easier to make a Spaniard a Frenchman than
+to reduce him to civility. He disdains every man that he does not fear,
+and only respects him that has done him hurt or can do it. He is like
+Nebuchadnezzar after he had been a month at grass, but will never return
+to be a man again as he did, if he might, for he despises all manner of
+lives but his own, unless it be his horse's, to whom he is but <i>valet de
+chambre</i>. He never shows himself humane or kind in anything but when he
+pimps to his cow or makes a match for his mare; in all things else he is
+surly and rugged, and does not love to be pleased himself, which makes
+him hate those that do him any good. He is a stoic to all passions but
+fear, envy, and malice, and hates to do any good though it cost him
+nothing. He abhors a gentleman because he is most unlike himself, and
+repines as much at his manner of living as if he maintained him. He
+murmurs at him as the saints do at the wicked, as if he kept his right
+from him, for he makes his clownery a sect and damns all that are not of
+his Church. He manures the earth like a dunghill, but lets himself lie
+fallow, for no improvement will do good upon him. Cain was the first of
+his family, and he does his endeavour not to degenerate from the
+original churlishness of his ancestor. He that was fetched from the
+plough to be made dictator had not half his pride and insolence, nor
+Caligula's horse that was made consul. All the worst names that are
+given to men are borrowed from him, as villain, deboise, peasant, &amp;c. He
+wears his clothes like a hide, and shifts them no oftener than a beast
+does his hair. He is a beast that Gesner never thought of.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WOOER</h2>
+
+<p>Stands candidate for cuckold, and if he miss of it, it is none of his
+fault, for his merit is sufficiently known. He is commonly no lover, but
+able to pass for a most desperate one where he finds it is like to prove
+of considerable advantage to him, and therefore has passions lying by
+him of all sizes proportionable to all women's fortunes, and can be
+indifferent, melancholy, or stark-mad according as their estates give
+him occasion; and when he finds it is to no purpose, can presently come
+to himself again and try another. He prosecutes his suit against his
+mistress as clients do a suit in law, and does nothing without the
+advice of his learned counsel, omits no advantage for want of
+soliciting, and, when he gets her consent, overthrows her. He endeavours
+to match his estate, rather than himself, to the best advantage, and if
+his mistress's fortune and his do but come to an agreement, their
+persons are easily satisfied, the match is soon made up, and a cross
+marriage between all four is presently concluded. He is not much
+concerned in his lady's virtues, for if the opinion of the Stoics be
+true, that the virtuous are always rich, there is no doubt but she that
+is rich must be virtuous. He never goes without a list in his pocket of
+all the widows and virgins about the town, with particulars of their
+jointures, portions, and inheritances, that if one miss he may not be
+without a reserve; for he esteems Cupid very improvident if he has not
+more than two strings to his bow. When he wants a better introduction he
+begins his addresses to the chambermaid, like one that sues the tenant
+to eject the landlord, and according as he thrives there makes his
+approaches to the mistress. He can tell readily what the difference is
+between jointure with tuition of infant, land, and money of any value,
+and what the odds is to a penny between them all, either to take or
+leave. He does not so much go a-wooing as put in his claim, as if all
+men of fortune had a fair title to all women of the same quality, and
+therefore are said to demand them in marriage. But if he be a wooer of
+fortune, that designs to raise himself by it, he makes wooing his
+vocation, deals with all matchmakers, that are his setters, is very
+painful in his calling, and if his business succeed, steals her away and
+commits matrimony with a felonious intent. He has a great desire to
+beget money on the body of a woman, and as for other issue is very
+indifferent, and cares not how old she be so she be not past
+money-bearing.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN IMPUDENT MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is one whose want of money and want of wit have engaged him beyond his
+abilities. The little knowledge he has of himself, being suitable to the
+little he has in his profession, has made him believe himself fit for
+it. This double ignorance has made him set a value upon himself, as he
+that wants a great deal appears in a better condition than he that wants
+a little. This renders him confident and fit for any undertaking, and
+sometimes (such is the concurrent ignorance of the world) he prospers in
+it, but oftener miscarries and becomes ridiculous; yet this advantage he
+has, that as nothing can make him see his error, so nothing can
+discourage him that way, for he is fortified with his ignorance, as
+barren and rocky places are by their situation, and he will rather
+believe that all men want judgment than himself. For, as no man is
+pleased that has an ill opinion of himself, Nature, that finds out
+remedies herself, and his own ease, render him insensible of his
+defects. From hence he grows impudent; for, as men judge by comparison,
+he knows as little what it is to be defective as what it is to be
+excellent. Nothing renders men modest but a just knowledge how to
+compare themselves with others; and where that is wanting impudence
+supplies the place of it, for there is no vacuum in the minds of men,
+and commonly, like other things in Nature, they swell more with
+rarefaction than condensation. The more men know of the world, the worse
+opinion they have of it; and the more they understand of truth, they are
+better acquainted with the difficulties of it, and consequently are the
+less confident in their assertions, especially in matters of
+probability, which commonly is squint-eyed and looks nine ways at once.
+It is the office of a just judge to hear both parties, and he that
+considers but the one side of things can never make a just judgment,
+though he may by chance a true one. Impudence is the bastard of
+ignorance, not only unlawfully but incestuously begotten by a man upon
+his own understanding, and laid by himself at his own door, a monster of
+unnatural production; for shame is as much the propriety of human
+nature, though overseen by the philosophers, and perhaps more than
+reason, laughing, or looking asquint, by which they distinguish man from
+beasts; and the less men have of it the nearer they approach to the
+nature of brutes. Modesty is but a noble jealousy of honour, and
+impudence the prostitution of it; for he whose face is proof against
+infamy must be as little sensible of glory. His forehead, like a
+voluntary cuckold's, is by his horns made proof against a blush. Nature
+made man barefaced, and civil custom has preserved him so; but he that's
+impudent does wear a vizard more ugly and deformed than highway thieves
+disguise themselves with. Shame is the tender moral conscience of good
+men. When there is a crack in the skull, Nature herself, with a tough
+horny callous repairs the breach; so a flawed intellect is with a brawny
+callous face supplied. The face is the dial of the mind; and where they
+do not go together, 'tis a sign that one or both are out of order. He
+that is impudent is like a merchant that trades upon his credit without
+a stock, and if his debts were known would break immediately. The inside
+of his head is like the outside, and his peruke as naturally of his own
+growth as his wit. He passes in the world like a piece of counterfeit
+coin, looks well enough until he is rubbed and worn with use, and then
+his copper complexion begins to appear, and nobody will take him but by
+owl-light.</p>
+
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN IMITATOR</h2>
+
+<p>Is a counterfeit stone, and the larger and fairer he appears the more
+apt he is to be discovered; whilst small ones, that pretend to no great
+value, pass unsuspected. He is made like a man in arras-hangings, after
+some great master's design, though far short of the original. He is like
+a spectrum or walking spirit, that assumes the shape of some particular
+person and appears in the likeness of something that he is not because
+he has no shape of his own to put on. He has a kind of monkey and baboon
+wit, that takes after some man's way whom he endeavours to imitate, but
+does it worse than those things that are naturally his own; for he does
+not learn, but take his pattern out, as a girl does her sampler. His
+whole life is nothing but a kind of education, and he is always learning
+to be something that he is not nor ever will be. For Nature is free, and
+will not be forced out of her way, nor compelled to do anything against
+her own will and inclination. He is but a retainer to wit and a follower
+of his master, whose badge he wears everywhere, and therefore his way is
+called servile imitation. His fancy is like the innocent lady's, who, by
+looking on the picture of a Moor that hung in her chamber, conceived a
+child of the same complexion; for all his conceptions are produced by
+the pictures of other men's imaginations, and by their features betray
+whose bastards they are. His Muse is not inspired, but infected with
+another man's fancy; and he catches his wit, like the itch, of somebody
+else that had it before, and when he writes he does but scratch himself.
+His head is, like his hat, fashioned upon a block and wrought in a shape
+of another man's invention. He melts down his wit and casts it in a
+mould; and as metals melted and cast are not so firm and solid as those
+that are wrought with the hammer, so those compositions that are founded
+and run in other men's moulds are always more brittle and loose than
+those that are forged in a man's own brain. He binds himself apprentice
+to a trade which he has no stock to set up with, if he should serve out
+his time and live to be made free. He runs a-whoring after another man's
+inventions, for he has none of his own to tempt him to an incontinent
+thought, and begets a kind of mongrel breed that never comes to good.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A SOT</h2>
+
+<p>Has found out a way to renew not only his youth, but his childhood, by
+being stewed, like old Aeson, in liquor; much better than the virtuoso's
+way of making old dogs young again, for he is a child again at second
+hand, never the worse for the wearing, but as purely fresh, simple, and
+weak as he was at first. He has stupefied his senses by living in a
+moist climate, according to the poet, <i>Boeotum in crasso jurares a&euml;re
+natum</i>. He measures his time by glasses of wine, as the ancients did by
+water-glasses; and as Hermes Trismegistus is said to have kept the first
+account of hours by the pissing of a beast dedicated to Serapis, he
+revives that custom in his own practice, and observes it punctually in
+passing his time. He is like a statue placed in a moist air; all the
+lineaments of humanity are mouldered away, and there is nothing left of
+him but a rude lump of the shape of a man, and no one part entire. He
+has drowned himself in a butt of wine, as the Duke of Clarence was
+served by his brother. He has washed down his soul and pissed it out,
+and lives now only by the spirit of wine or brandy, or by an extract
+drawn off his stomach. He has swallowed his humanity and drunk himself
+into a beast, as if he had pledged Madam Circe and done her right. He is
+drowned in a glass like a fly, beyond the cure of crumbs of bread or the
+sunbeams. He is like a springtide; when he is drunk to his
+high-water-mark he swells and looks big, runs against the stream, and
+overflows everything that stands in his way; but when the drink within
+him is at an ebb, he shrinks within his banks and falls so low and
+shallow that cattle may pass over him. He governs all his actions by the
+drink within him, as a Quaker does by the light within him; has a
+different humour for every nick his drink rises to, like the degrees of
+the weather-glass; and proceeds from ribaldry and bawdry to politics,
+religion, and quarrelling, until it is at the top, and then it is the
+dog-days with him; from whence he falls down again until his liquor is
+at the bottom, and then he lies quiet and is frozen up.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A JUGGLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is an artificial magician, that with his fingers casts a mist before the
+eyes of the rabble and makes his balls walk invisible which way he
+pleases. He does his feats behind a table, like a Presbyterian in a
+conventicle, but with much more dexterity and cleanliness, and therefore
+all sorts of people are better pleased with him. Most professions and
+mysteries derive the practice of all their faculties from him, but use
+them with less ingenuity and candour; for the more he deceives those he
+has to do with the better he deals with them; while those that imitate
+him in a lawful calling are far more dishonest, for the more they impose
+the more they abuse. All his cheats are primitive, and therefore more
+innocent and of greater purity than those that are by tradition from
+hand to hand derived to them; for he conveys money out of one man's
+pocket into another's with much more sincerity and ingenuity than those
+that do it in a legal way, and for a less considerable, though more
+conscientious, reward. He will fetch money out of his own throat with a
+great deal more of delight and satisfaction to those that pay him for it
+than any haranguer whatsoever, and make it chuck in his throat better
+than a lawyer that has talked himself hoarse, and swallowed so many fees
+that he is almost choked. He will spit fire and blow smoke out of his
+mouth with less harm and inconvenience to the Government than a
+seditious holder-forth, and yet all these disown and scorn him, even as
+men that are grown great and rich despise the meanness of their
+originals. He calls upon &quot;Presto begone,&quot; and the Babylonian's tooth, to
+amuse and divert the rabble from looking too narrowly into his tricks;
+while a zealous hypocrite, that calls heaven and earth to witness his,
+turns up the eye and shakes the head at his idolatry and profanation. He
+goes the circuit to all country fairs, where he meets with good
+strolling practice, and comes up to Bartholomew Fair as his Michaelmas
+term; after which he removes to some great thoroughfare, where he hangs
+out himself in effigy, like a Dutch malefactor, that all those that pass
+by may for their money have a trial of his skill. He endeavours to plant
+himself as near as he can to some puppet-play, monster, or mountebank,
+as the most convenient situation; and when trading grows scant they join
+all their forces together and make up one grand show, and admit the
+cutpurse and balladsinger to trade under them, as orange-women do at a
+playhouse.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A ROMANCE-WRITER</h2>
+
+<p>Pulls down old histories to build them up finer again, after a new model
+of his own designing. He takes away all the lights of truth in history
+to make it the fitter tutoress of life; for Truth herself has little or
+nothing to do in the affairs of the world, although all matters of the
+greatest weight and moment are pretended and done in her name, like a
+weak princess that has only the title, and falsehood all the power. He
+observes one very fit decorum in dating his histories in the days of old
+and putting all his own inventions upon ancient times; for when the
+world was younger, it might perhaps love and fight, and do generous
+things at the rate he describes them; but since it is grown old, all
+these heroic feats are laid by and utterly given over, nor ever like to
+come in fashion again; and therefore all his images of those virtues
+signify no more than the statues upon dead men's tombs, that will never
+make them live again. He is like one of Homer's gods, that sets men
+together by the ears and fetches them off again how he pleases; brings
+armies into the field like Janello's leaden soldiers; leads up both
+sides himself, and gives the victory to which he pleases, according as
+he finds it fit the design of his story; makes love and lovers too,
+brings them acquainted, and appoints meetings when and where he pleases,
+and at the same time betrays them in the height of all their felicity to
+miserable captivity, or some other horrid calamity; for which he makes
+them rail at the gods and curse their own innocent stars when he only
+has done them all the injury; makes men villains, compels them to act
+all barbarous inhumanities by his own directions, and after inflicts the
+cruellest punishments upon them for it. He makes all his knights fight
+in fortifications, and storm one another's armour before they can come
+to encounter body for body, and always matches them so equally one with
+another that it is a whole page before they can guess which is likely to
+have the better; and he that has it is so mangled that it had been
+better for them both to have parted fair at first; but when they
+encounter with those that are no knights, though ever so well armed and
+mounted, ten to one goes for nothing. As for the ladies, they are every
+one the most beautiful in the whole world, and that's the reason why no
+one of them, nor all together with all their charms, have power to tempt
+away any knight from another. He differs from a just historian as a
+joiner does from a carpenter; the one does things plainly and
+substantially for use, and the other carves and polishes merely for show
+and ornament.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A LIBELLER</h2>
+
+<p>Is a certain classic author that handles his subject-matter very
+ruggedly, and endeavours with his own evil words to corrupt another
+man's good manners. All his works treat but of two things, his own
+malice and another man's faults, both which he describes in very proper
+and pertinent language. He is not much concerned whether what he writes
+be true or false; that's nothing to his purpose, which aims only at
+filthy and bitter, and therefore his language is, like pictures of the
+devil, the fouler the better. He robs a man of his good name, not for
+any good it will do him (for he dares not own it), but merely, as a
+jackdaw steals money, for his pleasure. His malice has the same success
+with other men's charity, to be rewarded in private; for all he gets is
+but his own private satisfaction and the testimony of an evil
+conscience; for which, if it be discovered, he suffers the worst kind of
+martyrdom and is paid with condign punishment, so that at the best he
+has but his labour for his pains. He deals with a man as the Spanish
+Inquisition does with heretics, clothes him in a coat painted with
+hellish shapes of fiends, and so shows him to the rabble to render him
+the more odious. He exposes his wit like a bastard, for the next comer
+to take up and put out to nurse, which it seldom fails of, so ready is
+every man to contribute to the infamy of another. He is like the devil,
+that sows tares in the dark, and while a man sleeps plants weeds among
+his corn. When he ventures to fall foul on the Government or any great
+persons, if he has not a special care to keep himself, like a conjurer,
+safe in his circle, he raises a spirit that falls foul on himself and
+carries him to limbo, where his neck is clapped up in the hole, out of
+which it is never released until he has paid his ears down on the nail
+for fees. He is in a worse condition than a schoolboy, for when he is
+discovered he is whipped for his exercise, whether it be well or ill
+done; so that he takes a wrong course to show his wit, when his best way
+to do so is to conceal it; otherwise he shows his folly instead of his
+wit, and pays dear for the mistake.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A FACTIOUS MEMBER</h2>
+
+<p>Is sent out laden with the wisdom and politics of the place he serves
+for, and has his own freight and custom free. He is trusted like a
+factor to trade for a society, but endeavours to turn all the public to
+his own private advantages. He has no instructions but his pleasure, and
+therefore strives to have his privileges as large. He is very wise in
+his politic capacity as having a full share in the House and an implicit
+right to every man's reason, though he has none of his own, which makes
+him appear so simple out of it. He believes all reason of State consists
+in faction, as all wisdom in haranguing, of which he is so fond that he
+had rather the nation should perish than continue ignorant of his great
+abilities that way; though he that observes his gestures, words, and
+delivery will find them so perfectly agreeable to the rules of the House
+that he cannot but conclude he learnt his oratory the very same way that
+jackdaws and parrots practise by; for he coughs and spits and blows his
+nose with that discreet and prudent caution that you would think he had
+buried his talent in a handkerchief, and were now pulling it out to
+dispose of it to a better advantage. He stands and presumes so much upon
+the privileges of the House, as if every member were a tribune of the
+people and had as absolute power as they had in Rome, according to the
+lately established fundamental custom and practice of their quartered
+predecessors of unhappy memory. He endeavours to show his wisdom in
+nothing more than in appearing very much unsatisfied with the present
+manage of State affairs, although he knows nothing of the reasons. So
+much the better, for the thing is the more difficult, and argues his
+judgment and insight the greater; for any man can judge that understands
+the reasons of what he does, but very few know how to judge mechanically
+without understanding why or wherefore. It is sufficient to assure him
+that the public money has been diverted from the proper uses it was
+raised for because he has had no share of it himself, and the government
+ill managed because he has no hand in it, which, truly, is a very great
+grievance to the people, that understand, by himself and his party, that
+are their representatives, and ought to understand for them how able he
+is for it. He fathers all his own passions and concerns, like bastards,
+on the people, because, being entrusted by them without articles or
+conditions, they are bound to acknowledge whatsoever he does as their
+own act and deed.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A PLAY-WRITER</h2>
+
+<p>Of our times is like a fanatic, that has no wit in ordinary easy things,
+and yet attempts the hardest task of brains in the whole world, only
+because, whether his play or work please or displease, he is certain to
+come off better than he deserves, and find some of his own latitude to
+applaud him, which he could never expect any other way, and is as sure
+to lose no reputation, because he has none to venture:--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;Like gaming rooks, that never stick<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To play for hundreds upon tick,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Cause, if they chance to lose at play,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They've not one halfpenny to pay;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, if they win a hundred pound,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gain, if for sixpence they compound.<br></blockquote>
+
+<p>Nothing encourages him more in his undertaking than his ignorance, for
+he has not wit enough to understand so much as the difficulty of what he
+attempts; therefore he runs on boldly like a foolhardy wit, and Fortune,
+that favours fools and the bold, sometimes takes notice of him for his
+double capacity, and receives him into her good graces. He has one
+motive more, and that is the concurrent ignorant judgment of the present
+age, in which his sottish fopperies pass with applause, like Oliver
+Cromwell's oratory among fanatics of his own canting inclination. He
+finds it easier to write in rhyme than prose, for the world being
+over-charged with romances, he finds his plots, passions, and repartees
+ready made to his hand, and if he can but turn them into rhyme the
+thievery is disguised, and they pass for his own wit and invention
+without question, like a stolen cloak made into a coat or dyed into
+another colour. Besides this, he makes no conscience of stealing
+anything that lights in his way, and borrows the advice of so many to
+correct, enlarge, and amend what he has ill-favouredly patched together,
+that it becomes like a thing drawn by counsel, and none of his own
+performance, or the son of a whore that has no one certain father. He
+has very great reason to prefer verse before prose in his compositions;
+for rhyme is like lace, that serves excellently well to hide the piecing
+and coarseness of a bad stuff, contributes mightily to the bulk, and
+makes the less serve by the many impertinences it commonly requires to
+make way for it, for very few are endowed with abilities to bring it in
+on its own account. This he finds to be good husbandry and a kind of
+necessary thrift, for they that have but a little ought to make as much
+of it as they can. His prologue, which is commonly none of his own, is
+always better than his play, like a piece of cloth that's fine in the
+beginning and coarse afterwards; though it has but one topic, and that's
+the same that is used by malefactors, when they are to be tried, to
+except against as many of the jury as they can.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MOUNTEBANK</h2>
+
+<p>Is an epidemic physician, a doctor-errant, that keeps himself up by
+being, like a top, in motion, for if he should settle he would fall to
+nothing immediately. He is a pedlar of medicines, a petty chapman of
+cures, and tinker empirical to the body of man. He strolls about to
+markets and fairs, where he mounts on the top of his shop, that is his
+bank, and publishes his medicines as universal as himself; for
+everything is for all diseases, as himself is of all places--that is to
+say, of none. His business is to show tricks and impudence. As for the
+cure of diseases, it concerns those that have them, not him, further
+than to get their money. His pudding is his setter that lodges the
+rabble for him, and then slips him, who opens with a deep mouth, and has
+an ill day if he does not run down some. He baits his patient's body
+with his medicines, as a rat-catcher does a room, and either poisons the
+disease or him. As soon as he has got all the money and spent all the
+credit the rabble could spare him, he then removes to fresh quarters
+where he is less known and better trusted. If but one in twenty of his
+medicines hit by chance, when nature works the cure, it saves the credit
+of all the rest, that either do no good or hurt; for whosoever recovers
+in his hands, he does the work under God; but if he die, God does it
+under him: his time was come, and there's an end. A velvet jerkin is his
+prime qualification, by which he is distinguished from his pudding, as
+he is with his cap from him. This is the usher of his school, that draws
+the rabble together, and then he draws their teeth. He administers
+physic with a farce, and gives his patients a preparative of dancing on
+the rope, to stir the humours and prepare them for evacuation. His fool
+serves for his foil, and sets him off as well as his bragging and lying.
+The first thing he vents is his own praise, and then his medicines
+wrapped up in several papers and lies. He mounts his bank as a vaulter
+does his wooden horse, and then shows tricks for his patients, as apes
+do for the King of Spain. He casts the nativity of urinals, and tries
+diseases, like a witch, by water. He bails the place with a jig, draws
+the rabble together, and then throws his hook among them. He pretends to
+universal medicines; that is, such as, when all men are sick together,
+will cure them all, but till then no one in particular.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A WITTOL</h2>
+
+<p>Is a person of great complaisance, and very civil to all that have
+occasion to make use of his wife. He married a wife as a common proxy
+for the service of all those that are willing to come in for their
+shares; he engrossed her first by wholesale, and since puts her off by
+retail; he professes a form of matrimony, but utterly denies the power
+thereof. They that tell tales are very unjust, for, having not put in
+their claims before marriage, they are bound for ever after to hold
+their tongues. The reason why citizens are commonly wittols is, because
+men that drive a trade and are dealers in the world seldom provide
+anything for their own uses which they will not very willingly put off
+again for considerable profit. He believes it to be but a vulgar error
+and no such disparagement as the world commonly imagines to be a
+cuckold; for man, being the epitomy and representation of all creatures,
+cannot be said to be perfect while he wants that badge and character
+which so many several species wear both for their defence and ornament.
+He takes the only wise and sure course that his wife should do him no
+injury; for, having his own free consent, it is not in her power that
+way to do him any wrong at all. His wife is, like Eve in Paradise,
+married to all mankind, and yet is unsatisfied that there are no more
+worlds, as Alexander the Great was. She is a person of public capacity,
+and rather than not serve her country would suffer an army to march over
+her, as Sir Rice ap Thomas did. Her husband and she give and take equal
+liberty, which preserves a perfect peace and good understanding between
+both, while those that are concerned in one another's love and honour
+are never quiet, but always caterwauling. He differs from a jealous man
+as a valiant man does from a coward, that trembles at a danger which the
+other scorns and despises. He is of a true philosophical temper, and
+suffers what he knows not how to avoid with a more than stoical
+resolution. He is one of those the poet speaks of:--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Qui ferre incommoda vit&aelig;,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+<p>He is as much pleased to see many men approve his choice of his wife and
+has as great a kindness for them, as opiniasters have for all those whom
+they find to agree with themselves in judgment and approve the abilities
+of their understandings.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A LITIGIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Goes to law as men do to bad houses, to spend his money and satisfy his
+concupiscence of wrangling. He is a constant customer to the old
+reverend gentlewoman Law, and believes her to be very honest, though she
+picks his pockets and puts a thousand tricks and gulleries upon him. He
+has a strange kindness for an action of the case, but a most passionate
+loyalty for the King's writ. A well-drawn bill and answer will draw him
+all the world over, and a breviate as far as the Line. He enters the
+lists at Westminster like an old tiller, runs his course in law, and
+breaks an oath or two instead of a lance; and if he can but unhorse the
+defendant and get the sentence of the judges on his side, he marches off
+in triumph. He prefers a cry of lawyers at the Bar before any pack of
+the best-mouthed dogs in all the North. He has commonly once a term a
+trial of skill with some other professor of the noble science of
+contention at the several weapons of bill and answer, forgery, perjury,
+subornation, champarty, affidavit, common barretry, maintenance, &amp;c.,
+and though he come off with the worst, he does not greatlv care so he
+can but have another bout for it. He fights with bags of money as they
+did heretofore with sand-bags, and he that has the heaviest has the
+advantage and knocks down the other, right or wrong and he suffers the
+penalties of the law for having no more money to show in the case. He is
+a client by his order and votary of the long robe, and though he were
+sure the devil invented it to hide his cloven feet, he has the greater
+reverence for it; for, as evil manners produce good laws, the worse the
+inventor was the better the thing may be. He keeps as many Knights of
+the Post to swear for him, as the King does poor knights at Windsor to
+pray for him. When he is defendant and like to be worsted in a suit, he
+puts in a cross bill and becomes plaintiff; for the plainant is eldest
+hand, and has not only that advantage, but is understood to be the
+better friend to the Court, and is considered for it accordingly.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A HUMOURIST</h2>
+
+<p>Is a peculiar fantastic that has a wonderful natural affection to some
+particular kind of folly, to which he applies himself and in time
+becomes eminent. 'Tis commonly some outlying whimsy of Bedlam, that,
+being tame and unhurtful, is suffered to go at liberty. The more serious
+he is the more ridiculous he becomes, and at the same time pleases
+himself in earnest and others in jest. He knows no mean, for that is
+inconsistent with all humour, which is never found but in some extreme
+or other. Whatsoever he takes to he is very full of, and believes every
+man else to be so too, as if his own taste were the same in every man's
+palate. If he be a virtuoso, he applies himself with so much earnestness
+to what he undertakes that he puts his reason out of joint and strains
+his judgment; and there is hardly anything in the world so slight or
+serious that some one or other has not squandered away his brains and
+time and fortune upon to no other purpose but to be ridiculous. He is
+exempted from a dark room and a doctor, because there is no danger in
+his frenzy; otherwise he has as good a title to fresh straw as another.
+Humour is but a crookedness of the mind, a disproportioned swelling of
+the brain, that draws the nourishment from the other parts to stuff an
+ugly and deformed crup-shoulder. If it have the luck to meet with many
+of its own temper, instead of being ridiculous it becomes a church, and
+from jest grows to earnest.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A LEADER OF A FACTION</h2>
+
+<p>Sets the psalm, and all his party sing after him. He is like a figure in
+arithmetic; the more ciphers he stands before the more his value amounts
+to. He is a great haranguer, talks himself into authority, and, like a
+parrot, climbs with his beak. He appears brave in the head of his party,
+but braver in his own; for vainglory leads him, as he does them, and
+both, many times out of the King's highway, over hedges and ditches, to
+find out by-ways and shorter cuts, which generally prove the farthest
+about, but never the nearest home again. He is so passionate a lover of
+the Liberty of the People that his fondness turns to jealousy. He
+interprets every trifle in the worst sense, to the prejudice of her
+honesty, and is so full of caprices and scruples that, if he had his
+will, he would have her shut up and never suffered to go abroad again,
+if not made away, for her incontinence. All his politics are speculative
+and for the most part impracticable, full of curious niceties, that tend
+only to prevent future imaginary inconveniences with greater real and
+present. He is very superstitious of having the formalities and
+punctilios of law held sacred, that, while they are performing, those
+that would destroy the very being of it may have time to do their
+business or escape. He bends all his forces against those that are above
+him, and, like a free-born English mastiff, plays always at the head. He
+gathers his party as fanatics do a church, and admits all his admirers
+how weak and slight soever; for he believes it is argument of wisdom
+enough in them to admire, or, as he has it, to understand him. When he
+has led his faction into any inconvenience they all run into his mouth,
+as young snakes do into the old ones, and he defends them with his
+oratory as well as he is able; for all his confidence depends upon his
+tongue more than his brain or heart, and if that fail the others
+surrender immediately; for though David says it is a two-edged sword, a
+wooden dagger is a better weapon to fight with. His judgment is like a
+nice balance that will turn with the twentieth part of a grain, but a
+little using renders it false, and it is not so good for use as one that
+will not stir without a greater weight.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A DEBAUCHED MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Saves the devil a labour and leads himself into temptation, being loth
+to lose his good favour in giving him any trouble where he can do the
+business himself without his assistance, which he very prudently
+reserves for matters of greater concernment. He governs himself in an
+arbitrary way, and is absolute, without being confined to anything but
+his own will and pleasure, which he makes his law. His life is all
+recreation, and his diversions nothing but turning from one vice, that
+he is weary of, to entertain himself with another that is fresh. He
+lives above the state of his body as well as his fortune, and runs out
+of his health and money as if he had made a match and betted on the
+race, or bid the devil take the hindmost. He is an amphibious animal,
+that lives in two elements, wet and dry, and never comes out of the
+first but, like a sea-calf, to sleep on the shore. His language is very
+suitable to his conversation, and he talks as loosely as he lives.
+Ribaldry and profanation are his doctrine and use, and what he professes
+publicly he practises very carefully in his life and conversation; not
+like those clergymen that, to save the souls of other men, condemn
+themselves out of their own mouths. His whole life is nothing but a
+perpetual lordship of misrule and a constant ramble day and night as
+long as it lasts, which is not according to the course of nature, but
+its own course; for he cuts off the latter end of it, like a pruned
+vine, that it may bear the more wine although it be the shorter. As for
+that which is left, he is as lavish of it as he is of everything else;
+for he sleeps all day and sits up all night, that he may not see how it
+passes, until, like one that travels in a litter and sleeps, he is at
+his journey's end before he is aware; for he is spirited away by his
+vices and clapped under hatches, where he never knows whither he is
+going until he is at the end of his voyage.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE SEDITIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is a civil mutineer, and as all mutinies for the most part are for pay,
+if it were not for that he would never trouble himself with it. His
+business is to kindle and blow up discontents against the Government,
+that, when they are inflamed, he may have the fairer opportunity to rob
+and plunder, while those that are concerned are employed in quenching
+it. He endeavours to raise tumults and, if he can, civil war--a remedy
+which no man that means well to his country can endure to think on
+though the disease were never so desperate. He is a State mountebank,
+whose business is to persuade the people that they are not well in
+health, that he may get their money to make them worse. If he be a
+preacher, he has the advantage of all others of his tribe, for he has a
+way to vent sedition by wholesale; and as the foulest purposes have most
+need of the fairest pretences, so when sedition is masked under the veil
+of piety, religion, conscience, and holy duty, it propagates wonderfully
+among the rabble, and he vents more in an hour from the pulpit than
+others by news and politics can do in a week. Next him, writers and
+libellers are most pernicious, for though the contagion they disperse
+spreads slower and with less force than preaching, yet it lasts longer,
+and in time extends to more, and with less danger to the author, who is
+not easily discovered if he use any care to conceal himself. And
+therefore, as we see stinging-flies vex and provoke cattle most
+immediately before storms, so multitudes of those kinds of vermin do
+always appear to stir up the people before the beginning of all
+troublesome times, and nobody knows who they are or from whence they
+came, but only that they were printed the present year that they may not
+lose the advantage of being known to be new. Some do it only out of
+humour and envy, or desire to see those that are above them pulled down
+and others raised in their places, as if they held it a kind of freedom
+to change their governors, though they continue in the same condition
+themselves still, only they are a little better pleased with it in
+observing the dangers greatness is exposed to. He delights in nothing so
+much as civil commotions, and, like a porpoise, always plays before a
+storm. Paper and tinder are both made of the same material, rags, but he
+converts them both into the same again and makes his paper tinder.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>THE RUDE MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Is an Ostro-Goth or Northern Hun, that, wheresoever he comes, invades
+and all the world does overrun, without distinction of age, sex, or
+quality. He has no regard to anything but his own humour, and that, he
+expects, should pass everywhere without asking leave or being asked
+wherefore, as if he had a safe-conduct for his rudeness. He rolls up
+himself like a hedgehog in his prickles, and is as intractable to all
+that come near him. He is an ill-designed piece, built after the rustic
+order, and all his parts look too big for their height. He is so
+ill-contrived that that which should be the top in all regular
+structures--<i>i.e.</i>, confidence--is his foundation. He has neither
+doctrine nor discipline in him, like a fanatic Church, but is guided by
+the very same spirit that dipped the herd of swine in the sea. He was
+not bred, but reared; not brought up to hand, but suffered to run wild
+and take after his kind, as other people of the pasture do. He takes
+that freedom in all places, as if he were not at liberty, but had broken
+loose and expected to be tied up again. He does not eat, but feed, and
+when he drinks goes to water. The old Romans beat the barbarous part of
+the world into civility, but if he had lived in those times he had been
+invincible to all attempts of that nature, and harder to be subdued and
+governed than a province. He eats his bread, according to the curse,
+with the sweat of his brow, and takes as much pains at a meal as if he
+earned it; puffs and blows like a horse that eats provender, and crams
+his throat like a screwed gun with a bullet bigger than the bore. His
+tongue runs perpetually over everything that comes in its way, without
+regard of what, where, or to whom, and nothing but a greater rudeness
+than his own can stand before it; and he uses it to as slovenly purposes
+as a dog does that licks his sores and the dirt off his feet. He is the
+best instance of the truth of Pythagoras's doctrine, for his soul passed
+through all sorts of brute beasts before it came to him, and still
+retains something of the nature of every one.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A RABBLE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a congregation or assembly of the States-general sent from their
+several and respective shops, stalls, and garrets. They are full of
+controversy, and every one of a several judgment concerning the business
+under present consideration, whether it be mountebank, show, hanging, or
+ballad-singer. They meet, like Democritus's atoms, <i>in vacuo</i>, and by a
+fortuitous jostling together produce the greatest and most savage beast
+in the whole world; for though the members of it may have something of
+human nature while they are asunder, when they are put together they
+have none at all, as a multitude of several sounds make one great noise
+unlike all the rest, in which no one particular is distinguished. They
+are a great dunghill where all sorts of dirty and nasty humours meet,
+stink, and ferment, for all the parts are in a perpetual tumult. 'Tis no
+wonder they make strange Churches, for they take naturally to any
+imposture, and have a great antipathy to truth and order as being
+contrary to their original confusion. They are a herd of swine possessed
+with a dry devil that run after hanging instead of drowning. Once a
+month they go on pilgrimage to the gallows, to visit the sepulchres of
+their ancestors, as the Turks do once a week. When they come there they
+sing psalms, quarrel, and return full of satisfaction and narrative.
+When they break loose they are like a public ruin, in which the highest
+parts lie undermost, and make the noblest fabrics heaps of rubbish. They
+are like the sea, that's stirred into a tumult with every blast of wind
+that blows upon it, till it become a watery Apennine, and heap mountain
+billows upon one another, as once the giants did in the war with heaven.
+A crowd is their proper element, in which they make their way with their
+shoulders as pigs creep through hedges. Nothing in the world delights
+them so much as the ruin of great persons or any calamity in which they
+have no share, though they get nothing by it. They love nothing but
+themselves in the likeness of one another, and, like sheep, run all that
+way the first goes, especially if it be against their governors, whom
+they have a natural disaffection to.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A KNIGHT OF THE POST</h2>
+
+<p>Is a retailer of oaths, a deposition-monger, an evidence-maker, that
+lives by the labour of his conscience. He takes money to kiss the
+Gospel, as Judas did Christ when he betrayed Him. As a good conscience
+is a continual feast, so an ill one is with him his daily food. He plies
+at a court of justice, as porters do at a market, and his business is to
+bear witness, as they do burdens for any man that will pay them for it.
+He will swear his ears through an inch-board, and wears them merely by
+favour of the Court; for, being <i>amicus curiae</i>, they are willing to let
+him keep the pillory out of possession, though he has forfeited his
+right never so often; for when he is once outed of his ears he is past
+his labour, and can do the commonwealth of practisers no more service.
+He is false weight in the balance of justice, and, as a lawyer's tongue
+is the tongue of the balance that inclines either way according as the
+weight of the bribe inclines it, so does his. He lays one hand on the
+Book, and the other is in the plaintiff's or defendant's pocket. He
+feeds upon his conscience, as a monkey eats his tail. He kisses the Book
+to show he renounces and takes his leave of it. Many a parting kiss has
+he given the Gospel. He pollutes it with his lips oftener than a
+hypocrite. He is a sworn officer of every court and a great practiser,
+is admitted within the Bar, and makes good what the rest of the counsel
+say. The attorney and solicitor fee and instruct him in the case, and he
+ventures as far for his client as any man to be laid by the ears. He
+speaks more to the point than any other, yet gives false ground to his
+brethren of the jury, that they seldom come near the jack. His oaths are
+so brittle that not one in twenty of them will hold the taking, but fly
+as soon as they are out. He is worse than an ill conscience, for that
+bears true witness, but his is always false; and though his own
+conscience be said to be a thousand witnesses, he will outswear and
+outface them all. He believes it no sin to bear false witness for his
+neighbour that pays him for it, because it is not forbidden, but only to
+bear false witness against his neighbour.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>AN UNDESERVING FAVOURITE</h2>
+
+<p>Is a piece of base metal with the King's stamp upon it, a fog raised by
+the sun to obscure his own brightness. He came to preferment by unworthy
+offices, like one that rises with his bum forwards, which the rabble
+hold to be fortunate. He got up to preferment on the wrong side, and
+sits as untoward in it. He is raised rather above himself than others,
+or as base metals are by the test of lead, while gold and silver
+continue still unmoved. He is raised and swells, like a pimple, to be an
+eyesore and deform the place he holds. He is borne like a cloud on the
+air of the Prince's favour, and keeps his light from the rest of his
+people. He rises, like the light end of a balance, for want of weight,
+or as dust and feathers do, for being light. He gets into the Prince's
+favour by wounding it. He is a true person of honour, for he does but
+act it at the best; a lord made only to justify all the lords of
+May-poles, morrice-dances, and misrule; a thing that does not live, but
+lie in state before he's dead, such as the heralds dight at funerals.
+His Prince gives him honour out of his own stock, and estate out of his
+revenue, and lessens himself in both:--</p>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;He is like fern, that vile unuseful weed,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That springs equivocally, without seed.&quot;<br></blockquote>
+
+<p>He was not made for honour, nor it for him, which makes it sit so
+unfavouredly upon him. The fore-part of himself and the hinder-part of
+his coach publish his distinction; as French lords, that have <i>haute
+justice</i>--that is, may hang and draw--distinguish their qualities by the
+pillars of their gallows. He got his honour easily, by chance, without
+the hard, laborious way of merit, which makes him so prodigally lavish
+of it. He brings down the price of honour, as the value of anything
+falls in mean hands. He looks upon all men in the state of knighthood
+and plain gentility as most deplorable, and wonders how he could endure
+himself when he was but of that rank. The greatest part of his honour
+consists in his well-sounding title, which he therefore makes choice of,
+though he has none to the place, but only a patent to go by the name of
+it. This appears at the end of his coach in the shape of a coronet,
+which his footmen set their bums against, to the great disparagement of
+the wooden representative. The people take him for a general grievance,
+a kind of public pressure or innovation, and would willingly give a
+subsidy to be redressed of him. He is a strict observer of men's
+addresses to him, and takes a mathematical account whether they stoop
+and bow in just proportion to the weight of his greatness and allow full
+measure to their legs and cringes accordingly. He never uses courtship
+but in his own defence, that others may use the same to him, and, like a
+true Christian, does as he would be done unto. He is intimate with no
+man but his pimp and his surgeon, with whom he keeps no state, but
+communicates all the states of his body. He is raised, like the market
+or a tax, to the grievance and curse of the people. He that knew the
+inventory of him would wonder what slight ingredients go to the making
+up of a great person; howsoever, he is turned up trump, and so commands
+better cards than himself while the game lasts. He has much of honour
+according to the original sense of it, which among the ancients, Gellius
+says, signified injury. His prosperity was greater than his brain could
+bear, and he is drunk with it; and if he should take a nap as long as
+Epimenides or the Seven Sleepers he would never be sober again. He took
+his degree and went forth lord by mandamus, without performing exercises
+of merit. His honour's but an immunity from worth, and his nobility a
+dispensation for doing things ignoble. He expects that men's hats should
+fly off before him like a storm, and not presume to stand in the way of
+his prospect, which is always over their heads. All the advantage he has
+is but to go before or sit before, in which his nether parts take place
+of his upper, that continue still, in comparison, but commoners. He is
+like an open summer-house, that has no furniture but bare seats. All he
+has to show for his honour is his patent, which will not be in season
+until the third or fourth generation, if it lasts so long. His very
+creation supposes him nothing before, and as tailors rose by the fall of
+Adam, and came in, like thorns and thistles, with the curse, so did he
+by the frailty of his master. His very face is his gentleman-usher, that
+walks before him in state, and cries &quot;Give way!&quot; He is as stiff as if he
+had been dipped in petrifying water and turned into his own statue. He
+is always taking the name of his honour in vain, and will rather damn it
+like a knighthood of the post than want occasion to pawn it for every
+idle trifle, perhaps for more than it is worth, or any man will give to
+redeem it; and in this he deals uprightly, though perhaps in
+nothing else.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A MALICIOUS MAN</h2>
+
+<p>Has a strange natural inclination to all ill intents and purposes. He
+bears nothing so resolutely as ill-will, which he takes naturally to, as
+some do to gaming, and will rather hate for nothing than sit out. He
+believes the devil is not so bad as he should be, and therefore
+endeavours to make him worse by drawing him into his own party offensive
+and defensive; and if he would but be ruled by him, does not doubt but
+to make him understand his business much better than he does. He lays
+nothing to heart but malice, which is so far from doing him hurt that it
+is the only cordial that preserves him. Let him use a man never so
+civilly to his face, he is sure to hate him behind his back. He has no
+memory for any good that is done him; but evil, whether it be done him
+or not, never leaves him, as things of the same kind always keep
+together. Love and hatred, though contrary passions, meet in him as a
+third and unite, for he loves nothing but to hate, and hates nothing but
+to love. All the truths in the world are not able to produce so much
+hatred as he is able to supply. He is a common enemy to the world, for
+being born to the hatred of it, Nature, that provides for everything she
+brings forth, has furnished him with a competence suitable to his
+occasions, for all men together cannot hate him so much as he does them
+one by one. He loses no occasion of offence, but very thriftily lays it
+up and endeavours to improve it to the best advantage. He makes issues
+in his skin to vent his ill-humours, and is sensible of no pleasure so
+much as the itching of his sores. He hates death for nothing so much as
+because he fears it will take him away before he has paid all the
+ill-will he owes, and deprive him of all those precious feuds he has
+been scraping together all his lifetime. He is troubled to think what a
+disparagement it will be to him to die before those that will be glad to
+hear he is gone, and desires very charitably they might come to an
+agreement like good friends and go hand-in-hand out of the world
+together. He loves his neighbour as well as he does himself, and is
+willing to endure any misery so they may but take part with him, and
+undergo any mischief rather than they should want it. He is ready to
+spend his blood and lay down his life for theirs that would not do half
+so much for him, and rather than fail would give the devil suck, and his
+soul into the bargain, if he would but make him his plenipotentiary to
+determine all differences between himself and others. He contracts
+enmities, as others do friendships, out of likenesses, sympathies, and
+instincts; and when he lights upon one of his own temper, as contraries
+produce the same effects, they perform all the offices of friendship,
+have the same thoughts, affections, and desires of one another's
+destruction, and please themselves as heartily, and perhaps as securely,
+in hating one another as others do in loving. He seeks out enemies to
+avoid falling out with himself, for his temper is like that of a
+flourishing kingdom; if it have not a foreign enemy it will fall into a
+civil war and turn its arms upon itself, and so does but hate in his own
+defence. His malice is all sorts of gain to him, for as men take
+pleasure in pursuing, entrapping, and destroying all sorts of beasts and
+fowl, and call it sport, so would he do men, and if he had equal power
+would never be at a loss, nor give over his game without his prey; and
+in this he does nothing but justice, for as men take delight to destroy
+beasts, he, being a beast, does but do as he is done by in endeavouring
+to destroy men. The philosopher said, &quot;Man to man is a god and a wolf;&quot;
+but he, being incapable of the first, does his endeavour to make as much
+of the last as he can, and shows himself as excellent in his kind as it
+is in his power to do.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><br>
+<h2>A KNAVE</h2>
+
+<p>Is like a tooth-drawer, that maintains his own teeth in constant eating
+by pulling out those of other men. He is an ill moral philosopher, of
+villainous principles, and as bad practice. His tenets are to hold what
+he can get, right or wrong. His tongue and his heart are always at
+variance, and fall out like rogues in the street, to pick somebody's
+pocket. They never agree but, like Herod and Pilate, to do mischief. His
+conscience never stands in his light when the devil holds a candle to
+him, for he has stretched it so thin that it is transparent. He is an
+engineer of treachery, fraud, and perfidiousness, and knows how to
+manage matters of great weight with very little force by the advantage
+of his trepanning screws. He is very skilful in all the mechanics of
+cheat, the mathematical magic of imposture, and will outdo the
+expectation of the most credulous to their own admiration and undoing.
+He is an excellent founder, and will melt down a leaden fool and cast
+him into what form he pleases. He is like a pike in a pond, that lives
+by rapine, and will sometimes venture on one of his own kind, and devour
+a knave as big as himself. He will swallow a fool a great deal bigger
+than himself, and, if he can but get his head within his jaws, will
+carry the rest of him hanging out at his mouth, until by degrees he has
+digested him all. He has a hundred tricks to slip his neck out of the
+pillory without leaving his ears behind. As for the gallows, he never
+ventures to show his tricks upon the high-rope for fear of breaking his
+neck. He seldom commits any villainy but in a legal way, and makes the
+law bear him out in that for which it hangs others. He always robs under
+the wizard of law, and picks pockets with tricks in equity. By his means
+the law makes more knaves than it hangs, and, like the Inns-of-Court,
+protects offenders against itself. He gets within the law and disarms
+it. His hardest labour is to wriggle himself into trust, which if he can
+but compass his business is done, for fraud and treachery follow as
+easily as a thread does a needle. He grows rich by the ruin of his
+neighbours, like grass in the streets in a great sickness. He shelters
+himself under the covert of the law, like a thief in a hemp-plot, and
+makes that secure him which was intended for his destruction.</p>
+
+
+<br><br><hr style="width: 35%;"><br><br>
+<h2>APPENDIX.</h2>
+
+<h2>WILLIAM WORDSWORTH</h2>
+
+<p><i>Wrote &quot;The Character of the Happy Warrior&quot; in 1806. It was suggested by
+the death of Nelson at Trafalgar on the 21st of October 1805. Wordsworth
+did not connect the poem with the name of Nelson because there was a
+stain upon his public life, in his relations with Lady Hamilton, that
+clouded the ideal. The poet said that in writing he thought much of his
+true-hearted sailor-brother who, as Captain of an Indiaman, had been
+drowned in the wreck of his ship off the Bill of Portland on the 5th of
+February 1805, his body not being found until the 20th of March</i>.</p>
+
+<h2>CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.</h2>
+
+<blockquote>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That every man in arms should wish to he?<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--It is the generous spirit, who, when brought<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose high endeavours are an inward light<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That makes the path before him always bright:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, with a natural instinct to discern<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But makes his moral being his prime care;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And Fear, and Bloodshed--miserable train!--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Turns his necessity to glorious gain;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In face of these doth exercise a power<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Which is our human nature's highest dower;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of their bad influence, and their good receives:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By objects, which might force the soul to abate<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is placable--because occasions rise<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;So often that demand such sacrifice;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As tempted more; more able to endure<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As more exposed to suffering and distress;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon that law as on the best of friends;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whence, in a state where men are tempted still<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To evil for a guard against worse ill,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And what in quality or act is best<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He labours good on good to fix, and owes<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To virtue every triumph that he knows:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--Who, if he rise to station of command,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rises by open means; and there will stand<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;On honourable terms, or else retire,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And in himself possess his own desire;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who comprehends his trust, and to the same<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Like showers of manna, if they come at all:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whose flowers shed round him in the common strife,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or mild concerns of ordinary life,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A constant influence, a peculiar grace;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But who, if he be called upon to face<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Great issues, good or bad for human kind,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is happy as a Lover; and attired<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or if an unexpected call succeed,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Come when it will, is equal to the need:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--He who, though thus endued as with a sense<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And faculty for storm and turbulence,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Are at his heart; and such fidelity<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It is his darling passion to approve;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;More brave for this, that he hath much to love:--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'Tis finally, the man who, lifted high,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or left unthought of in obscurity,--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, with a toward or untoward lot,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Plays, in the many games of life, that one<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Where what he most doth value must be won:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nor thought of tender happiness betray;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, not content that former worth stand fast,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Looks forward, persevering to the last,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From well to better, daily self-surpassed:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And leave a dead unprofitable name--<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This is the happy Warrior; this is He<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That every Man in arms should wish to be.<br></blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor1">[1]</a><blockquote>
+Henry Wootton.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor2">[2]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;Microcosmography; or, a Piece of the World discovered; in Essays and
+Characters. By John Earle, D.D. of Christchurch and Merton College,
+Oxford and Bishop of Salisbury. A new edition, to which are add Notes
+and Appendix by Philip Bliss, Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford.&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor3">[3]</a><blockquote>
+So Washbourne, in his <i>Divine Poems</i>, 12mo, 1654:--
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;--ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>The mind white paper</i> is, and will admit<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;of any lesson you will write in it.&quot;--P. 26.<br>
+<br><br>
+Shakspeare, of a child, says--
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;--the hand of time<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume.&quot;--<i>K. John, II</i> I.</blockquote><br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor4">[4]</a><blockquote>
+This, and every other passage throughout the volume, [included between
+brackets,] does not appear in the first edition of 1628.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor5">[5]</a><blockquote>
+Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva Bible, &quot;make himself
+breeches,&quot; till he knew sin: the meaning of the passage in the text is
+merely that, as a child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the
+knowledge and commission of vice and immorality.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor6">[6]</a><blockquote>
+St. Mary's church was originally built by king Alfred, and annexed to
+the University of Oxford, for the use of the scholars, when St. Giles's
+and St. Peter's (which were till then appropriated to them,) had been
+ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally rebuilt during the
+reign of Henry VII., who gave forty oaks towards the materials; and is,
+in this day, the place of worship in which the public sermons are
+preached before the members of the university.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor7">[7]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Brachigraphy</i>, or short-hand-writing, appears to have been much studied
+in our author's time, and was probably esteemed a fashionable
+accomplishment. It was first introduced into this country by Peter
+Bales, who, in 1590, published The <i>Writing Schoolmaster</i>, a treatise
+consisting of three parts, the first &quot;of Brachygraphie, that is, to
+write as fast as a man speaketh treatably, writing but one letter for a
+word;&quot; the second, of Orthography; and the third of Calligraphy.
+Imprinted at London, by T. Orwin, &amp;c., 1590, 4to. A second edition,
+&quot;with sundry new additions,&quot; appeared in 1597, 12mo, Imprinted at
+London, by George Shawe, &amp;c. Holinshed gives the following description
+of one of Bales' performances:--&quot;The tenth of August (1575.) a rare
+peece of worke, and almost incredible, was brought to passe by an
+Englishman borne in the citie of London, named Peter Bales, who by his
+industrie and practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the
+compasse of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed, the ten
+commandements, a praier to God, a praier for the queene, his posie, his
+name, the daie of the moneth, the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of
+the queene. And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at Hampton
+court, he presented the same to the queen's maiestie, in the head of a
+ring of gold, couered with a christall; and presented therewith an
+excellent spectacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof:
+wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein with great
+admiration, and commended the same to the lords of the councell, and the
+ambassadors, and did weare the same manie times vpon hir
+finger.&quot;--<i>Holinshed's Chronicle</i>, page 1262, b. edit, folio,
+Lond. 1587.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor8">[8]</a><blockquote>
+It is customary in all sermons delivered before the University, to use
+an introductory prayer for the founder of, and principal benefactors to,
+the preacher's individual college, as well as for the officers and
+members of the university in general. This, however, would appear very
+ridiculous when &quot;<i>he comes down to his friends</i>&quot; or, in other words,
+preaches before a country congregation.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor9">[9]</a><blockquote>
+<i>of</i>, first edit. 1628.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor10">[10]</a><blockquote>
+I cannot forbear to close this admirable character with the beautiful
+description of a <i>&quot;poure Persons,&quot; riche of holy thought and werk</i>,
+given by the father of English poetry:--
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And in adversit&eacute; ful patient:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And swiche he was yprev&eacute;d often sithes.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But rather wolde he yeven out of doute,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Unto his pour&eacute; parishens aboute,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of his offring, and eke of his substance.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He coude in litel thing have suffisance.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In sikenesse and in mischief to visite<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And though he holy were, and vertuous,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He was to sinful men not dispitous,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ne of his spech&eacute; dangerous ne digne,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But in his teching discrete and benigne.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;By good ensample, was his besinesse.<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; *<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He waited after no pompe ne reverence,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ne mak&eacute;d him no spic&eacute;d conscience,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But Crist&eacute;s lore, and his apostles twelve,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.&quot;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>Chaucer, Prol. to Cant. Tales</i>, v. 485.<br>
+<br><br>
+We may surely conclude with a line from the same poem,
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;A better preest I trowe that nowher non is.&quot;</blockquote><br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor11">[11]</a><blockquote>
+<i>The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Piemovnt, containyng
+excellente remedies against diuers diseases, &amp;c.</i>, appear to have been a
+very favourite study either with the physicians, or their patients,
+about this period.
+<br><br>
+They were originally written in Italian, and were translated into
+English by William Warde, of which editions were printed at London, in
+1558, 1562, 1595, and 1615. In 1603, a <i>fourth</i> edition of a Latin
+version appeared at Basil; and from Ward's dedication to &quot;the lorde
+Russell, erle of Bedford,&quot; it seems that the French and Dutch were not
+without so great a treasure in their own languages. A specimen of the
+importance of this publication may be given in the title of the first
+secret. &quot;The maner and secrete to conserue a man's youth, and to holde
+back olde age, to maintaine a man always in helth and strength, as in
+the fayrest floure of his yeres.&quot;</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor12">[12]</a><blockquote>
+<i>The Regiment of Helthe</i>, by Thomas Paynell, is another volume of the
+same description, and was printed by Thomas Berthelette, in 1541. 410.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor13">[13]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Vespasian</i>, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed a tax upon urine, and when
+his son Titus remonstrated with him on the meanness of the act,
+&quot;Pecuniam,&quot; says Suetonius, &quot;ex prima pensione admovit ad nares,
+suscitans <i>num odore offenderetur?</i> et illo negante, atqui, inquit, e
+lotio est.&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor14">[14]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with vrinals, where, if he finde
+any thing, (though he knowe nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which
+if it hit to some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme a
+piece of strange stuffe.&quot; Character of an unworthy physician. &quot;<i>The Good
+and the Badde</i>&quot; by Nicholas Breton. 4to. 1618.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor15">[15]</a><blockquote>
+That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of the murderer, was, in
+our author's time, a commonly received opinion. Holinshed affirms that
+the corpse of Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment; and
+Sir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of the report, that he
+has endeavoured to explain the reason. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens,
+in a note to <i>Shakspeare</i>, that the opinion seems to be derived from the
+ancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we descend; as they
+practised this method of trial in all dubious cases.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor16">[16]</a><blockquote>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The female sex, and how their corp'ral griefes to ease.&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+Goddard's &quot;<i>Mastif Whelp.</i>&quot; <i>Satires</i>. 4to. Without date. Sat.
+17.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor17">[17]</a><blockquote>
+In the first edition it stands thus:--&quot;<i>and his hat is as antient as the
+tower of Babel.</i>&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor18">[18]</a><blockquote>
+The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample room for ridicule at all
+times. In &quot;<i>A brief Character of the Low-countries under the States,
+being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the
+Inhabitants</i>,&quot; written by Owen Feltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 12mo, we
+find them epitomized as a general sea-land--the great bog of Europe--an
+universal quagmire--in short, a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in
+which denomination the author appears to include all the natives) he
+describes as being able to &quot;drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be
+<i>lowsie</i> alike.&quot; P. 40.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor19">[19]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Gavelkind</i>, or the practice of dividing lands equally among all the
+male children of the deceased, was (according to Spelman) adopted by the
+Saxons, from Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description of
+that nation. <i>Gloss. Archaiol.</i>, folio, Lond. 1664. Harrison, in <i>The
+Description of England</i>, prefixed to Holinshed's <i>Chronicle</i> (vol. i.
+page 180), says, &quot;Gauell kind is all the male children equallie to
+inherit, and is continued to this daie in <i>Kent</i>, where it is onelie to
+my knowledge reteined, and no where else in England.&quot; And Lambarde, in
+his <i>Customes of Kent</i> (<i>Perambulation</i>, 410, 1596, page 538), thus
+notices it:--&quot;The custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth
+itselfe throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by auncient
+tenure vnto the same, such places onely excepted, where it is altered by
+acte of parleament.&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor20">[20]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Minster-walk</i>, 1st edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor21">[21]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Ambrose Spinola</i> was one of the most celebrated and excellent
+commanders that Spain ever possessed: he was born, in 1569, of a noble
+family, and distinguished himself through life in being opposed to
+Prince Maurice of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he
+was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died in 1630, owing to
+a disadvantage sustained by his troops at the siege of Cassel, which was
+to be entirely attributed to the imprudent orders he received from
+Spain, and which that government compelled him to obey. This disaster
+broke his heart; and he died with the exclamation of &quot;<i>they have robbed
+me of my honour</i>;&quot; an idea he was unable to survive. It is probable
+that, at the time this character was composed, many of the disaffected
+in England were in expectation of an attack to be made on this country
+by the Spaniards, under the command of Spinola.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor22">[22]</a><blockquote>
+<i>and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian.</i>
+First edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor23">[23]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Primivist</i> and primero were, in all probability, the same game,
+although Minshew, in his Dictionary, calls them &quot;<i>two</i> games at
+cardes.&quot; The latter he explains, &quot;primum et primum visum, that is, first
+and first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of cardes, first
+winnes the game.&quot; The coincidence between Mr. Strutt's description of the
+former and the passage in the text, shows that there could be little or no
+difference between the value of the cards in these games, or in the manner
+of playing them. &quot;Each player had four cards dealt to him, one by one, the
+<i>seven</i> was the highest card, in point of number, that he could avail
+himself of, <i>which counted for twenty-one</i>, the <i>six counted for
+sixteen</i>, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same,&quot; &amp;c.
+(<i>Sports and Pastimes</i>, 247.) The honourable Daines Harrington
+conceived that Primero was introduced by Philip the Second, or some of his
+suite, whilst in England. Shakspeare proves that it was played in the
+royal circle.
+<br><br>
+-----&quot;I left him (Henry VIII.) at <i>Primero</i>
+With the duke of Suffolk.&quot;--<i>Henry VIII.</i>
+<br><br>
+So Decker: &quot;Talke of none but lords and such ladies with whom you have
+plaid at <i>Primero</i>.&quot;--<i>Gul's Horne-booke</i>, 1609. 37.
+<br><br>
+Among the Marquis of Worcester's celebrated &quot;<i>Century of Inventions,</i>&quot;
+12mo, 1663, is one &quot;so contrived without suspicion, that playing at
+Primero at cards, one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning
+of all sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded.&quot;--No. 87.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor24">[24]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;Enquire out those tauernes which are best customd, whose maisters are
+oftenest drunk, for that confirmes their taste, and that they choose
+wholesome wines.&quot;--Decker's <i>Gul's Horne-booke</i>, 1609.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor25">[25]</a><blockquote>
+<i>his</i>, 1st edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor26">[26]</a><blockquote>
+The editor of the edition in 1732, has altered <i>canary</i> to
+&quot;<i>sherry</i>,&quot; for what reason I am at a loss to discover, and have
+consequently restored the reading of the first edition. Venner gives the
+following description of this favourite liquor. &quot;Canarie-wine, which
+beareth the name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of some
+termed a sacke, with this adjunct, sweete; but yet very improperly, for it
+differeth not only from sacke in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but
+also in colour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as sack,
+nor so thin in substance; wherefore it is more nutritive than sack, and
+less penetrative.&quot;--<i>Via recta ad Vitam longam</i>, 4to, 1622. In
+Howell's time, Canary wine was much adulterated. &quot;I think,&quot; says he, in
+one of his Letters, &quot;there is more Canary brought into England than to all
+the world besides; I think also, there is a hundred times more drunk under
+the name of Canary wine, than there is brought in; for Sherries and
+Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most taverns. When Sacks and
+Canaries,&quot; he continues, &quot;were brought in first amongst us, they were used
+to be drunk in aqua vitae measures, and 'twas held fit only for those to
+drink who were used to carry their <i>legs in their hands, their eyes upon
+their noses</i>, and an <i>almanack in their bones;</i> but now they go
+down every one's throat, both young and old, like milk.&quot;--Howell,
+<i>Letter to the lord Cliff</i>, dated Oct. 7, 1634.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor27">[27]</a><blockquote>
+We learn from Harrison's <i>Description of England</i>, prefixed to
+Holinshed, that <i>eleven o'clock</i> was the usual time for dinner during
+the reign of Elizabeth. &quot;With vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students,
+doo ordinarilie go to dinner at <i>eleuen before noone</i>, and to supper at
+fiue, or between fiue and six at afternoone&quot; (vol. i. page 171, edit.
+1587). The alteration in manners at this time is rather singularly
+evinced, from a passage immediately following the above quotation, where
+we find that <i>merchants</i> and <i>husbandmen</i> dined and supped at a <i>later
+hour than the nobility</i>.</blockquote>
+
+
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor28">[28]</a><blockquote>
+Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff at particular
+seasons of the year. So in <i>The Widow</i>, a comedy, 4to, 1652.
+<br><br>
+&quot;And as at a <i>sheriff's table</i>, O blest custome!
+A poor indebted gentleman may dine,
+Feed well, and without fear, and depart so.&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor29">[29]</a><blockquote>
+The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral church of Gloucester,
+was founded by Richard Stanley, abbot, in 1457, and finished by William
+Farley, a monk of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the
+following description of the vault here alluded to. &quot;The <i>whispering
+place</i> is very remarkable; it is a long alley, from one side of the
+choir to the other, built circular, that it might not darken the great
+east window of the choir. When a person whispers at one end of the
+alley, his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though the
+passage be open in the middle, having large spaces for doors and windows
+on the east side. It may be imputed to the close cement of the wall,
+which makes it as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long
+piece of timber does convey the least stroak to the other end. Others
+assign it to the repercussion of the voice from accidental
+angles.&quot;--<i>Atkyns' Ancient and Present State of Glostershire</i>, Lond.
+1712, folio, page 128. See also <i>Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire</i>,
+page 351.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor30">[30]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Then in apiece of gold, &amp;c.</i>, 1st edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor31">[31]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them</i>, 1st edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor32">[32]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Gallo-Belgicus</i> was erroneously supposed, by the ingenious Mr. Reed, to
+be the &quot;first newspaper, published in England;&quot; we are, however, assured
+by the author of the <i>Life of Ruddiman</i>, that it has no title to so
+honourable a distinction. <i>Gallo-Belgicus</i> appears to have been rather
+an <i>Annual Register</i>, or <i>History of its own Times</i>, than a newspaper.
+It was written in Latin, and entituled, &quot;MERCURSS GALLO-BELGICI: <i>sive,
+rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum: Hispania quoque, Italia, Anglia,
+Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno 1588, ad Martium anni 1594,
+gestarum</i>, NUNCIJ.&quot; The first volume was printed in 8vo, at Cologne,
+1598; from which year, to about 1605, it was published annually; and
+from thence to the time of its conclusion, which is uncertain, it
+appeared in <i>half-yearly</i> volumes. Chalmers' <i>Life of Ruddiman</i>, 1794.
+The great request in which newspapers were held at the publication of
+the present work may be gathered from Burton, who, in his <i>Anatomy of
+Melancholy</i>, complains that &quot;if any read now-a-days, it is a play-book,
+or a pamphlet of newes.&quot;</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor33">[33]</a><blockquote>
+Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in Prussia, 1571, and
+educated under Fabricius. Being eminently distinguished for his
+abilities and application, he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of
+Dantzick, to take upon him the management of their academy; an honour he
+then declined, but accepted, on a second application, in 1601. Here he
+proposed to instruct his pupils in the complete science of philosophy in
+the short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drew up a great
+number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics,
+metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &amp;c. &amp;c., till, as it is said,
+literally worn out with scholastic drudgery, he died at the early age
+of 38.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor34">[34]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie brought to the
+table, whereof the first and most excellent is the <i>mainchet</i>, which we
+commonlie call white bread.&quot;--Harrison, <i>Description of England</i>
+prefixed to Holinshed, chap. 6.</blockquote>
+
+
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor35">[35]</a><blockquote>
+<i>His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bare</i>, &amp;c., first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor36">[36]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Clown</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor37">[37]</a><blockquote>
+The art of hawking has been so frequently and so fully explained, that
+it would be superfluous, if not arrogant, to trace its progress, or
+delineate its history, in this place. In the earliest periods it appears
+to have been exclusively practised by the nobility; and, indeed, the
+great expense at which the amusement was supported, seems to have been a
+sufficient reason for deterring persons of more moderate income, and of
+inferior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the <i>Sports and
+Pastimes</i> of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are given of the
+importance attached to the office of falconer, and of the immense value
+of, and high estimation the birds themselves were held in from the
+commencement of the Norman government, down to the reign of James I., in
+which Sir Thomas Monson gave &pound;1000 for a cast of hawks, which consisted
+of only <i>two</i>.
+<br><br>
+
+The great increase of wealth, and the consequent equalization of
+property in this country, about the reign of Elizabeth, induced many of
+inferior birth to practise the amusements of their superiors, which they
+did without regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas Elyot, in
+his <i>Governour</i> (1580), complains that the falcons of his day consumed
+so much poultry, that, in a few years, he feared there would be a great
+scarcity of it. &quot;I speake not this,&quot; says he, &quot;in disprayse of the
+faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cockneyes.&quot; A reproof,
+there can be no doubt, applicable to the character in the text.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor38">[38]</a><blockquote>
+A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of leather which are
+fastened to the hawk's legs, by which she is held on the fist, or joined
+to the leash. They were sometimes made of silk, as appears from <i>The
+Boke of hawkynge, huntynge, and fysshynge, with all the propertyes and
+medecynes that are necessarye to be kepte</i>: &quot;Hawkes haue aboute theyr
+legges <i>gesses</i> made of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld
+be no lenger but that the knottes of them shulde appere in the myddes of
+the lefte hande,&quot; &amp;c. <i>Juliana Barnes</i>, edit. 410, &quot;<i>Imprynted at London
+in Pouls chyrchyarde by me Hery Tab</i>.&quot; Sig. C. ii.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor39">[39]</a><blockquote>
+<i>This authority of his is that club which keeps them under as his
+dogs hereafter</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor40">[40]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Now become a man's total</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor41">[41]</a><blockquote>
+Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to find any mention in
+Mr. Strutt's <i>Sports and Pastimes</i>, nor is it alluded to in any of the
+old plays or tracts I have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of
+<i>tables</i> may be read in the interesting and valuable publication
+just noticed.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor42">[42]</a><blockquote>
+The room where the performers dress, previous to coming on the stage.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor43">[43]</a><blockquote>
+This passage affords a proof of what has been doubted, namely, that the
+theatres were not permitted to be open during Lent, in the reign of
+James I. The restriction was waived in the next reign, as we find from
+the puritanical Prynne:--&quot;There are none so much addicted to
+stage-playes, but when they goe unto places where they cannot have them,
+or when, as they are suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of
+pestilence, and in <i>Lent, till now of late</i>) can well subsist without
+them,&quot; &amp;c. <i>Histrio Mastix</i>, 4to, Lond. 1633, page 384.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor44">[44]</a><blockquote>
+It may not be known to those who are not accustomed to meet with old
+books in their original bindings, or of seeing public libraries of
+antiquity, that the volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the
+<i>leaves</i>, not the <i>back</i>, in front; and that the two sides of the
+binding were joined together with <i>neat silk</i> or other strings, and, in
+some instances, where the books were of greater value and curiosity than
+common, even fastened with gold or silver chains.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor45">[45]</a><blockquote>
+A hanger-on to noblemen, who are distinguished at the university by gold
+tassels to their caps; or in the language of the present day, a
+<i>tuft-hunter</i>.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor46">[46]</a><blockquote>
+<i>If he could order his intentions</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor47">[47]</a><blockquote>
+Minshew calls a tobacconist <i>fumi-vendulus</i>, a <i>smoak-seller</i>.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor48">[48]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Cento</i>, a composition formed by joining scraps from other
+authors.--<i>Johnson</i>. Camden, in his <i>Remains</i>, uses it in the same
+sense. &quot;It is quilted, as it were, out of shreds of divers poets, such
+as scholars call a <i>cento</i>.&quot;</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor49">[49]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Firing</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor50">[50]</a><blockquote>
+In the hope of discovering some account of the <i>strange monster</i> alluded
+to, I have looked through one of the largest and most curious
+collections of tracts, relating to the marvellous, perhaps in existence.
+That bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the author of the
+<i>Anatomy of Melancholy</i>. Hitherto my researches have been unattended
+with success, as I have found only two tracts of this description
+relating to Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither giving any
+account of a monster.
+<br><br>
+1. <i>A most true Relation of a very dreadfull Earthquake, with the
+lamentable Effectes thereof, which began upon the 8 of December 1612,
+and yet continueth most fearefull in Munster in Germanie. Reade and
+Tremble. Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike Notarie
+in London, and printed at Rotterdame, in Holland, at the Signe of the
+White Gray-hound</i>. (Date cut off. Twenty-six pages, 4to, with
+a woodcut.)
+<br><br>
+2: <i>Miraculous Newes from the Cittie of Holt, in the Lordship of
+Munster, in Germany, the twentieth of September last past, 1616, where
+there were plainly beheld three dead bodyes rise out of their Graves
+admonishing the people of Judgements to come. Faithfully translated (&amp;c.
+&amp;c.) London, Printed for John Barnes, dwelling in Hosie Lane neere
+Smithfield, 1616</i>. (4to, twenty pages, woodcut.)</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor51">[51]</a><blockquote>
+It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral sentences, or scraps
+of verse, on old tapestry hangings, which were called <i>painted cloths</i>.
+Several allusions to this practice may be found in the works of our
+early English dramatists. See Reed's <i>Shakspeare</i>, viii. 103.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor52">[52]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Beller</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor53">[53]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Hale</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor54">[54]</a><blockquote>
+Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to decide their quarrels
+on, as being out of the jurisdiction of the law. This custom is noticed
+in an Epigram written about the period in which this book
+first appeared.
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Till more aduizde, will not defile [his] hands,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Vnlesse you meete him vpon <i>Callice sands.&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+The Mastive or Young Whelpe of the olde Dog. Epigrams and Satyrs.</i> 4to,
+Lond. (Printed, as Warton supposes, about 1600.)
+<br><br>
+A passage in <i>The Beau's Duel: or a Soldier for the Ladies</i>, a comedy,
+by Mrs. Centlivre, 4to, 1707, proves that it existed so late as at that
+day. &quot;Your only way is to send him word you'll meet him on <i>Calais
+sands;</i> duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates,&quot; &amp;c. See also
+other instances in Dodsley's <i>Old Plays,</i> edit. 1780, vii. 218;
+xii. 412.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor55">[55]</a><blockquote>
+Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the smallness and precision
+of their ruffs, which were termed <i>in print</i> from the exactness of the
+folds. So in Mynshul's <i>Essays,</i> 4to, 1618. &quot;I vndertooke a warre when I
+aduentured to speake in <i>print,</i> (not in <i>print as Puritan's ruffes</i> are
+set.)&quot; The term of <i>Geneva print</i> probably arose from the minuteness of
+the type used at Geneva. In the <i>Merry Devil of Edmonton</i>, a comedy,
+4to, 1608, is an expression which goes some way to prove the
+correctness of this supposition:--&quot;I see by thy eyes thou hast bin
+reading <i>little Geneva print;&quot;</i>--and, that <i>small ruffs</i> were worn by
+the puritanical set, an instance appears in Mayne's <i>City Match,</i> a
+comedy, 4to, 1658.
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;O miracle!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Out of your <i>little ruffe,</i> Dorcas, and in the fashion!<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dost thou hope to be saved?&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a <i>ruff of Geneva
+print</i> means a <i>small, closely-folded ruff,</i> which was the distinction
+of a nonconformist.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor56">[56]</a><blockquote>
+A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a spinnet, and shaped like
+a pianoforte: the mode of playing on this instrument was therefore
+similar to that of the organ.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor57">[57]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as being the sage
+sentences of some of her own sectaries.</i> First edit.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor58">[58]</a><blockquote>
+Robert Bellarmine, an Italian jesuit, was born at Monte Pulciano, a town
+in Tuscany, in the year 1542, and in 1560 entered himself among the
+jesuits. In 1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in 1602 was
+presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua: this, however, he resigned in
+1605, when Pope Paul V. desired to have him near himself. He was employed
+in the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leaving the Vatican,
+he retired to a house belonging to his order, and died September 17, in
+the same year.
+<br><br>
+Bellarmine was one of the best controversial writers of his time; few
+authors have done greater honour to their profession or opinions, and
+certain it is that none have ever more ably defended the cause of the
+Romish Church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater advantage.
+As a proof of Bellarmine's abilities, there was scarcely a divine of any
+eminence among the Protestants who did not attack him: Bayle aptly says,
+&quot;they made his name resound every where, ut littus Styla, Styla, omne
+sonaret.&quot;</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor59">[59]</a><blockquote>
+Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of the sect which goes
+under his name, that a few words will be sufficient. He was born in 1539,
+at Sienna, and imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his uncle, who
+always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, the abilities of his
+nephew, to whom he bequeathed all his papers. After living several years
+in the world, principally at the court of Francis de Medicis, Socinus, in
+1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate the principles of his
+uncle, to which, it is said, he made great additions and alterations of
+his own. In the support of his opinions, he suffered considerable
+hardships, and received the greatest insults and persecutions; to avoid
+which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in Poland, where he died in
+1504, at the age of sixty-five.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor60">[60]</a><blockquote>
+Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was peculiarly detested by the
+Calvinists, and who had even the honour to be attacked by King James the
+First, of England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through the
+interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leyden, where he had attained
+the divinity-chair, and several other preferments, he retired to Toningen,
+where he died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety and
+resignation.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor61">[61]</a><blockquote>
+<i>His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former aforesaid;
+and yet it seems he is much troubled in it, for he is always humbly
+complaining--your poor orator</i>. First edit.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor62">[62]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;To <i>moote</i>, a term vsed in the innes of the court; it is the handling
+of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their disputations,&quot; &amp;c. So <i>Minshew</i>,
+who supposes it to be derived from the French, <i>mot, verbum, quasi verba
+facere, aut sermonem de aliqua re habere</i>. <i>Mootmen</i> are those who,
+having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to practise, and
+appear to answer to our term of barristers.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor63">[63]</a><blockquote>
+The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets. &quot;Present
+not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill the quaking
+prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is ready to
+giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon point to enter.&quot;--Decker's
+<i>Gul's Hornbook</i>, 1609, p. 30. &quot;Doe you not know that I am the Prologue?
+Do you not see this long blacke veluet cloke vpon my backe? <i>Haue you
+not sounded thrice?</i>&quot;--Heywood's <i>Foure Prentises of London</i>,
+4to, 1615.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor64">[64]</a><blockquote>
+St. Paul's Cathedral was, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, a sort
+of exchange and public parade, where business was transacted between
+merchants, and where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves. The
+reader will find several allusions to this custom in the <i>variorum</i>
+edition of Shakspeare, <i>K. Henry IV.</i>, part 2. Osborne, in his
+<i>Traditional Memoires on the Reigns of Elisabeth and James</i>, 12mo,
+1658, says, &quot;It was the fashion of those times (James I.) and did so
+continue till these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry, lords,
+courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in
+<i>St. Paul's </i>church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle till
+twelve, and after dinner from three to six; during which time some
+discoursed of business, others of news.&quot; Weever complains of the practice,
+and says, &quot;it could be wished that walking in the middle isle of
+<i>Paul's</i> might be forborne in the time of diuine service.&quot; <i>Ancient
+Funeral Monuments</i>, 1631, page 373.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor65">[65]</a><blockquote>
+In the <i>Dramatis Personal</i> to Ben Jonson's <i>Every Man in his
+Humour</i>, Bobadil is styled a <i>Paul's man</i>; and Falstaff tells us
+that he bought Bardolph in <i>Pauls</i>. <i>King Henry IV</i>., part 2.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor66">[66]</a><blockquote>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;----&quot;You'd not doe<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Like your penurious father, who was wont<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>To walk his dinner out in Paules.</i>&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--Mayne's <i>City Match</i>, 1658.</blockquote><br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor67">[67]</a><blockquote>
+The time of supper was about five o'clock.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor68">[68]</a><blockquote>
+Paul's cross stood in the churchyard of that cathedral, on the north side,
+towards the east end. It was used for the preaching of sermons to the
+populace; and Holinshed mentions two instances of public penance being
+performed here; in 1534 by some of the adherents of Elizabeth Barton, well
+known as <i>the holy maid of Kent</i>, and in 1536 by Sir Thomas Newman, a
+priest, who &quot;<i>bare a faggot at Paules crosse for singing masse with good
+ale</i>.&quot;</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor69">[69]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Dole</i> originally signified the portion of alms that was given away
+at the door of a nobleman.  Steevens, note to <i>Shakspeare</i>. Sir John
+Hawkins affirms that the benefaction distributed at Lambeth Palace gate,
+is to this day called the <i>dole</i>.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor70">[70]</a><blockquote>
+That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered to be of light weight,
+are distributed to the needy prisoners.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor71">[71]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Study</i>, first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor72">[72]</a><blockquote>
+The first edition reads <i>post</i>, and, I think, preferably.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor73">[73]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Keep for attend</i>.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor74">[74]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Squeazy</i>, niggardly.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor75">[75]</a><blockquote>
+<i>And the clubs out of charity knock him down,</i> first edit.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor76">[76]</a><blockquote>
+That is, <i>runs you up a long score</i>.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor77">[77]</a><blockquote>
+This, as well as many other passages in this work, has been appropriated
+by John Dunton, the celebrated bookseller, as his own. See his character
+of Mr. Samuel Hool, in <i>Dunton's Life and Errors</i>, 8vo, 1705, p.
+337.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor78">[78]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;A prison is a grave to bury men alive, and a place wherein a man for
+halfe a yeares experience may learne more law than he can at Westminster
+for an hundred pound.&quot;--Mynshul's <i>Essays and Characters of a
+Prison</i>, 4to, 1618.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor79">[79]</a><blockquote>
+<i>In querpo</i> is a corruption from the Spanish word <i>cuerpo</i>. &quot;<i>En cuerpo,
+a man without a cloak</i>.&quot;--Pineda's Dictionary, 1740. The present
+signification evidently is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, or
+attendant, is but half dressed:--he possesses only in part the
+appearance of a man of fashion. &quot;<i>To walk in cuerpo, is to go without a
+cloak.&quot;--Glossographia Anglicana Nova</i>, 8vo, 1719.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor80">[80]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Proper</i> was frequently used by old writers for comely, or handsome.
+Shakspeare has several instances of it:
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;I do mistake my person all this while:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Myself to be a marvellous <i>proper</i> man.&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+--<i>K. Richard III</i>. Act I. Sc. 2, &amp;c.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor81">[81]</a><blockquote>
+&quot;Why you know an'a man have not skill in the <i>hawking and hunting</i>
+languages now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him.&quot;--<i>Master Stephen.
+Every Man in his Humour</i>.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor82">[82]</a><blockquote>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno.&quot;<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;--<i>Virgil</i>, &AElig;n. vi. <i>v</i>. 700.</blockquote><br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor83">[83]</a><blockquote>
+Probably the name of some difficult tune.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor84">[84]</a><blockquote>
+Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of Soliman and Perseda uses
+it in the same sense:
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Wert thou my friend, thy mind would <i>jump</i> with mine.&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+So in <i>Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divele</i>:--&quot;Not two
+of them <i>jump</i> in one tale,&quot; p. 29.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor85">[85]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Imputation</i> here must be used for <i>consequence</i>; of which I am,
+however, unable to produce any other instance.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor86">[86]</a><blockquote>
+<i>Sturtridge fair</i> was the great mart for business, and resort for
+pleasure, in Bishop Earle's day. It is alluded to in Randolph's
+<i>Conceited Pedlar</i>, 410, 1630:--
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;I am a pedlar, and I sell my ware<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This braue Saint Bartholmew or <i>Sturtridge faire</i>.&quot;<br>
+<br><br>
+Edward Ward, the author of <i>The London Spy</i>, gives a whimsical
+account of a journey to Sturbridge, in the second volume of his works.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor87">[87]</a><blockquote>
+This silly term of endearment appears to be derived from <i>chick</i> or
+<i>my chicken</i>, Shakspeare uses it in <i>Macbeth</i>, Act iii.
+Scene 2:--
+<br><br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&quot;Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest <i>chuck</i>.&quot;</blockquote><br>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor88">[88]</a><blockquote>
+The great cross in West Cheap was originally erected in 1290, by Edward
+I., in commemoration of the death of Queen Ellinor, whose body rested at
+that place, on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, to Westminster,
+for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and again in 1484. In 1584 the
+images and ornaments were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599 the top
+of the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted within the lead, and
+fears being entertained as to its safety. By order of Queen Elizabeth, and
+her privy council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, &quot;a cross of
+timber was framed, set up, covered with lead, <i>and gilded</i>,&quot; &amp;c.
+Stow's <i>Survey of London</i>, by Strype, book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio.
+Lond. 1720.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor89">[89]</a><blockquote>
+This must allude to the play written by Heywood with the following title:
+<i>The Foure Prentises of London.  With the Conquest of Jerusalem. As it
+hath bene diuerse times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queenes Maiesties
+Servants</i>. 410, Lond. 1615. In this drama, the four prentises are
+Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons to the <i>old Earle of
+Bullen</i>, who, having lost his territories, by assisting William the
+Conqueror in his descent upon England, is compelled to live like a private
+citizen in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a goldsmith, a
+haberdasher, and a grocer. The <i>four prentises</i>, however, prefer the
+life of a soldier to that of a tradesman, and, quitting the service of
+their masters, follow Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they
+perform the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally accomplish the
+<i>conquest of Jerusalem</i>. The whole play abounds in bombast and
+impossibilities, and, as a composition, is unworthy of notice or
+remembrance.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor90">[90]</a><blockquote>
+<i>The History of the Nine Worthies of the World; three whereof were
+Gentiles; I. Hector, son of Priamus, king of Troy. 2. Alexander the Great,
+king of Macedon, and conqueror of the world.  3. Julius Caesar, first
+emperor of Rome. There Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and leader of
+Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 6. Judas Maccabeus, a
+'valiant Jewish commander against the tyranny of Antiochus. Three
+Christians. 7. Arthur, king of Britain, who courageously defended his
+country against the Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France and
+emperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bullen, king of Jerusalem. Being an
+account of their glorious lives, worthy actions, renowned victories, and
+deaths.</i> 12mo. No date.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor91">[91]</a><blockquote>
+Those of the same habits with himself; his associates.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor92">[92]</a><blockquote>
+The <i>dear year</i> here, I believe, alluded to, was in 1574, and is thus
+described by that faithful and valuable historian Holinshed:--&quot;This yeare,
+about Lammas, wheat was sold at London for three shillings the bushell:
+but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue shillings, six
+shillings, and, before Christmas, to a noble, and seuen shillings; which
+so continued long after. Beefe was sold for twentie pence, and two and
+twentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and white meats at an
+excessiue price; all kind of salt fish verie deare, as fine herrings two
+pence, &amp;c.; yet great plentie of fresh fish, and oft times the same verie
+cheape. Pease at foure shillings the bushell; ote-meale at foure shillings
+eight pence; baie salt at three shillings the bushell, &amp;c. All this dearth
+notwithstanding (thanks be given to God), there was no want of anie thing
+to them that wanted not monie.&quot;--Holinshed, <i>Chronicle</i>, vol. in.,
+p. 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor93">[93]</a><blockquote>
+On the 21st of December 1564 began a frost, referred to by Fleming in his
+Index to <i>Holinshed</i>, as the &quot;<i>frost called the great frost</i>,&quot;
+which lasted till the 3rd of January 1565. It was so severe that the
+Thames was frozen over, and the passage on it, from London Bridge to
+Westminster, as easy as and more frequented than that on dry land.</blockquote>
+
+<p><a name="Footnote_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor94">[94]</a><blockquote>
+The person who exhibits Westminster Abbey.</blockquote>
+<br>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Character Writings of the 17th Century
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: January 13, 2004 [EBook #10699]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARACTER WRITINGS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS
+
+OF THE
+
+SEVENTEENTH CENTURY
+
+EDITED BY
+
+HENRY MORLEY, LL.D.
+
+EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE
+UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
+
+1891
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+CHARACTER WRITING BEFORE THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+THEOPHRASTUS.
+  Stupidity
+
+THOMAS HARMAN'S "Caveat for Cursitors"
+  A Ruffler
+
+BEN JONSON'S "Every Man out of his Humour" and "Cynthia's Revels"
+  A Traveller
+  The True Critic.
+  The Character of the Persons in "Every Man out of his Humour"
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+Sir THOMAS OVERBURY
+  A Good Woman
+  A Very Woman
+  Her Next Part
+  A Dissembler
+  A Courtier
+  A Golden Ass
+  A Flatterer
+  An Ignorant Glory-Hunter
+  A Timist
+  An Amorist
+  An Affected Traveller
+  A Wise Man
+  A Noble Spirit
+  An Old Man
+  A Country Gentleman
+  A Fine Gentleman
+  An Elder Brother
+  A Braggadocio Welshman
+  A Pedant
+  A Serving-Man
+  An Host
+  An Ostler
+  The True Character of a Dunce
+  A Good Wife
+  A Melancholy Man
+  A Sailor
+  A Soldier
+  A Tailor
+  A Puritan
+  A Mere Common Lawyer
+  A Mere Scholar
+  A Tinker
+  An Apparitor
+  An Almanac-Maker
+  A Hypocrite
+  A Chambermaid
+  A Precisian
+  An Inns of Court Man
+  A Mere Fellow of a House
+  A Worthy Commander in the Wars
+  A Vainglorious Coward in Command
+  A Pirate
+  An Ordinary Fence
+  A Puny Clerk
+  A Footman
+  A Noble and Retired Housekeeper
+  An Intruder into Favour
+  A Fair and Happy Milkmaid
+  An Arrant Horse-Courser
+  A Roaring Boy
+  A Drunken Dutchman resident in England
+  A Phantastique: An Improvident Young Gallant
+  A Button-Maker of Amsterdam
+  A Distaster of the Time
+  A Mere Fellow of a House
+  A Mere Pettifogger
+  An Ingrosser of Corn
+  A Devilish Usurer
+  A Waterman
+  A Reverend Judge
+  A Virtuous Widow
+  An Ordinary Widow
+  A Quack-Salver
+  A Canting Rogue
+  A French Cook
+  A Sexton
+  A Jesuit
+  An Excellent Actor
+  A Franklin
+  A Rhymer
+  A Covetous Man
+  The Proud Man
+  A Prison
+  A Prisoner
+  A Creditor
+  A Sergeant
+  His Yeoman
+  A Common Cruel Jailer
+  What a Character is
+  The Character of a Happy Life
+  An Essay on Valour
+
+JOSEPH HALL
+
+ HIS SATIRES--
+  A Domestic Chaplain
+  The Witless Gallant
+
+ HIS CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES
+
+ I.  _Virtues_--
+  Character of the Wise Man
+  Of an Honest Man
+  Of the Faithful Man
+  Of the Humble Man
+  Of a Valiant Man
+  Of a Patient Man
+  Of the True Friend
+  Of the Truly Noble
+  Of the Good Magistrate
+  Of the Penitent
+  The Happy Man
+
+ II. _Vices_--
+  Character of the Hypocrite
+  Of the Busybody
+  Of the Superstitious
+  Of the Profane
+  Of the Malcontent
+  Of the Inconstant
+  Of the Flatterer
+  Of the Slothful
+  Of the Covetous
+  Of the Vainglorious
+  Of the Presumptuous
+  Of the Distrustful
+  Of the Ambitious
+  Of the Unthrift
+  Of the Envious
+
+JOHN STEPHENS
+
+JOHN EARLE
+
+ MICROCOSMOGRAPHY----
+
+  A Child
+  A Young Raw Preacher
+  A Grave Divine
+  A Mere Dull Physician
+  An Alderman
+  A Discontented Man
+  An Antiquary
+  A Younger Brother
+  A Mere Formal Man
+  A Church-Papist
+  A Self-Conceited Man
+  A Too Idly Reserved Man
+  A Tavern
+  A Shark
+  A Carrier
+  A Young Man
+  An Old College Butler
+  An Upstart Country Knight
+  An Idle Gallant
+  A Constable
+  A Downright Scholar
+  A Plain Country Fellow
+  A Player
+  A Detractor
+  A Young Gentleman of the University
+  A Weak Man
+  A Tobacco-Seller
+  A Pot Poet
+  A Plausible Man
+  A Bowl-Alley
+  The World's Wise Man
+  A Surgeon
+  A Contemplative Man
+  A She Precise Hypocrite
+  A Sceptic in Religion
+  An Attorney
+  A Partial Man
+  A Trumpeter
+  A Vulgar-Spirited Man
+  A Plodding Student
+  Paul's Walk
+  A Cook
+  A Bold Forward Man
+  A Baker
+  A Pretender to Learning
+  A Herald
+  The Common Singing-Men in Cathedral Churches
+  A Shopkeeper
+  A Blunt Man
+  A Handsome Hostess
+  A Critic
+  A Sergeant or Catchpole
+  A University Dun
+  A Staid Man
+  A Modest Man
+  A Mere Empty Wit
+  A Drunkard
+  A Prison
+  A Serving-Man
+  An Insolent Man
+  Acquaintance
+  A Mere Complimental Man
+  A Poor Fiddler
+  A Meddling Man
+  A Good Old Man
+  A Flatterer
+  A High-Spirited Man
+  A Mere Gull Citizen
+  A Lascivious Man
+  A Rash Man
+  An Affected Man
+  A Profane Man
+  A Coward
+  A Sordid Rich Man
+  A Mere Great Man
+  A Poor Man
+  An Ordinary Honest Man
+  A Suspicious or Jealous Man
+
+
+NICHOLAS BRETON
+
+ CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS, MORAL AND DIVINE
+  Wisdom
+  Learning
+  Knowledge
+  Practice
+  Patience
+  Love
+  Peace
+  War
+  Valour
+  Resolution
+  Honour
+  Truth
+  Time
+  Death
+  Faith
+  Fear
+
+ THE GOOD AND THE BAD.
+  A Worthy King
+  An Unworthy King
+  A Worthy Queen
+  A Worthy Prince
+  An Unworthy Prince
+  A Worthy Privy Councillor
+  An Unworthy Councillor
+  A Nobleman
+  An Unnoble Man
+  A Worthy Bishop
+  An Unworthy Bishop
+  A Worthy Judge
+  An Unworthy Judge
+  A Worthy Knight
+  An Unworthy Knight
+  A Worthy Gentleman
+  An Unworthy Gentleman
+  A Worthy Lawyer
+  An Unworthy Lawyer
+  A Worthy Soldier
+  An Untrained Soldier
+  A Worthy Physician
+  An Unworthy Physician
+  A Worthy Merchant
+  An Unworthy Merchant
+  A Good Man
+  An Atheist or Most Bad Man
+  A Wise Man
+  A Fool
+  An Honest Man.
+  A Knave
+  An Usurer
+  A Beggar
+  A Virgin
+  A Wanton Woman
+  A Quiet Woman
+  An Unquiet Woman
+  A Good Wife
+  An Effeminate Fool
+  A Parasite
+  A Drunkard
+  A Coward
+  An Honest Poor Man
+  A Just Man
+  A Repentant Sinner
+  A Reprobate
+  An Old Man
+  A Young Man
+  A Holy Man
+
+GEOFFREY MINSHULL
+
+ ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND PRISONERS
+  A Character of a Prisoner
+
+HENRY PARROTT [?]
+  A Scold
+  A Good Wife
+
+MICROLOGIA, by R. M.
+  A Player
+
+WHIMZIES, OR A NEW CAST OF CHARACTERS
+  A Corranto-Coiner
+
+JOHN MILTON
+  On the University Carrier
+
+WYE SALTONSTALL
+
+ PICTURAE LOQUENTES, OR PICTURES DRAWN FORTH IN CHARACTERS
+  The Term
+
+DONALD LUPTON
+
+ LONDON AND COUNTRY CARBONADOED AND QUARTERED INTO SEVERAL CHARACTERS
+  The Horse
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1642 AND 1646, BY SIR FRANCIS WORTLEY, T.
+ FORD, AND OTHERS
+  T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets
+
+JOHN CLEVELAND
+  The Character of a Country Committee-Man, with the Earmark of a
+     Sequestrator
+  The Character of a Diurnal-Maker
+  The Character of a London Diurnal
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1647 AND 1665
+
+RICHARD FLECKNOE
+
+ FIFTY-FIVE ENIGMATICAL CHARACTERS
+  The Valiant Man
+
+CHARACTERS PUBLISHED BETWEEN 1673 AND 1689
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER
+
+ CHARACTERS--
+  Degenerate Noble, or One that is Proud of his Birth
+  A Huffing Courtier
+  A Court Beggar
+  A Bumpkin or Country
+  Squire
+  An Antiquary
+  A Proud Man
+  A Small Poet
+  A Philosopher
+  A Melancholy Man
+  A Curious Man
+  A Herald
+  A Virtuoso
+  An Intelligencer
+  A Quibbler
+  A Time-Server
+  A Prater
+  A Disputant
+  A Projector
+  A Complimenter
+  A Cheat
+  A Tedious Man
+  A Pretender
+  A Newsmonger
+  A Modern Critic
+  A Busy Man
+  A Pedant
+  A Hunter
+  An Affected Man
+  A Medicine-Taker
+  The Miser
+  A Swearer
+  The Luxurious
+  An Ungrateful Man
+  A Squire of Dames
+  An Hypocrite
+  An Opinionater
+  A Choleric Man
+  A Superstitious Man
+  A Droll
+  The Obstinate Man
+  A Zealot
+  The Overdoer
+  The Rash Man
+  The Affected or Formal
+  A Flatterer
+  A Prodigal
+  The Inconstant
+  A Glutton
+  A Ribald
+  A Modern Politician
+  A Modern Statesman
+  A Duke of Bucks
+  A Fantastic
+  An Haranguer
+  A Ranter
+  An Amorist
+  An Astrologer
+  A Lawyer
+  An Epigrammatist
+  A Fanatic
+  A Proselyte
+  A Clown
+  A Wooer
+  An Impudent Man
+  An Imitator
+  A Sot
+  A Juggler
+  A Romance-Writer
+  A Libeller
+  A Factious Member
+  A Play-Writer
+  A Mountebank
+  A Wittol
+  A Litigious Man
+  A Humourist
+  A Leader of a Faction
+  A Debauched Man
+  The Seditious Man
+  The Rude Man
+  A Rabble
+  A Knight of the Post
+  An Undeserving Favourite
+  A Malicious Man
+  A Knave
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITING AFTER THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+Character of the Happy Warrior
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTER WRITINGS
+
+OF THE
+
+SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
+
+
+_Character writing, as a distinct form of Literature, had its origin
+more than two thousand years ago in the [Greek: aethichoi
+Chadaaedes]---Ethic Characters--of Tyrtamus of Lesbos, a disciple of
+Plato, who gave him for his eloquence the name of Divine
+Speaker--Theophrastus. Aristotle left him his library and all his MSS.,
+and named him his successor in the schools of the Lyceum. Nicomachus,
+the son of Aristotle, was among his pupils. He followed in the steps of
+Aristotle. Diogenes Laertius ascribed to Theophrastus two hundred and
+twenty books. He founded, by a History of Plants, the science of Botany;
+and he is now best known by the little contribution to Moral Philosophy,
+in which he gave twenty-eight short chapters to concise description of
+twenty-eight differing qualities in men. The description in each chapter
+was not of a man, but of a quality. The method of Theophrastus, as
+Casaubon said, was between the philosophical and the poetical. He
+described a quality, but he described it by personification, and his aim
+was the amending of men's manners. The twenty-eight chapters that have
+come down to us are probably no more than a fragment of a larger work.
+They describe vices, and not all of them. Another part, now lost, may
+have described the virtues. In a short proem the writer speaks of
+himself as ninety-nine years old. Probably those two nines were only a
+poetical suggestion of long experience from which these pictures of the
+constituents of human life and action had been drawn. He had wondered,
+he said, before he thought of writing such a book, at the diversities of
+manners among Greeks all born under one sky and trained alike. For many
+years he had considered and compared the ways of men; he had lived to be
+ninety-nine. Our children may be the better for a knowledge of our ways
+of daily life, that they may grow into the best. Observe and see whether
+I describe them rightly. I will begin, he says, with Dissimulation. I
+will first define the vice, and then describe the quality and manners of
+the man who dissembles. After that I will endeavour to describe also the
+other qualities of mind, each in its kind. Then follow the Characters of
+these twenty-eight qualities: Dissimulation, Adulation, Garrulity,
+Rusticity, Blandishment, Senselessness, Loquacity, Newsmongering,
+Impudence, Sordid Parsimony, Impurity, Ill-timed Approach, Inept
+Sedulity, Stupidity, Contumacy, Superstition, Querulousness, Distrust,
+Dirtiness, Tediousness, Sordid or Frivolous Desire for Praise,
+Illiberality, Ostentation, Pride, Timidity, Oligarchy, or the vehement
+desire for honour, without greed for money, Insolence, and Evil
+Speaking. One of these Characters may serve as an example of their
+method, and show their place in the ancestry of Characters as they were
+written in England in the Seventeenth Century._
+
+
+
+STUPIDITY.
+
+You may define Stupidity as a slowness of mind in word or deed. But the
+Stupid Man is one who, sitting at his counters, and having made all his
+calculations and worked out his sum, asks one who sits by him how much
+it comes to. When any one has a suit against him, and he has come to the
+day when the cause must be decided, he forgets it and walks out into his
+field. Often also when he sits to see a play, the rest go out and he is
+left, fallen asleep in the theatre. The same man, having eaten too much,
+will go out in the night to relieve himself, and fall over the
+neighbour's dog, who bites him. The same man, having hidden away what he
+has received, is always searching for it, and never finds it. And when
+it is announced to him that one of his intimate friends is dead, and he
+is asked to the funeral, then, with a face set to sadness and tears, he
+says, "Good luck to it!" When he receives money owing to him he calls in
+witnesses, and in midwinter he scolds his man for not having gathered
+cucumbers. To train his boys for wrestling he makes them race till they
+are tired. Cooking his own lentils in the field, he throws salt twice
+into the pot and makes them uneatable. When it rains he says, "How sweet
+I find this water of the stars." And when some one asks, "How many have
+passed the gates of death?" [proverbial phrase for a great number]
+answers, "As many, I hope, as will be enough for you and me."
+
+_The first and the best sequence of "Characters" in English Literature
+is the series of sketches of the Pilgrims in the Prologue to Chaucer's
+"Canterbury Tales" The Characters are so varied as to unite in
+representing the whole character of English life in Chaucer's day; and
+they are, written upon one plan, each with suggestion of the outward
+body and its dress as well as of the mind within. But Chaucer owed
+nothing to Theophrastus. In his Character Writing he drew all from
+nature with his own good wit. La Bruyere in France translated the
+characters of Theophrastus, and his own writing of Characters in the
+seventeenth century followed a fashion that had its origin in admiration
+of the wit of those Greek Ethical Characters. La Bruyere was born in
+1639 and died in 1696. Our Joseph Hall, whose "Characters of Vices and
+Virtues" were written in 1608, and translated into French twenty years
+before La Bruyere was born, said, in his Preface to them, "I have done
+as I could, following that ancient Master of Morality who thought this
+the fittest task for the ninety-ninth year of his age, and the
+profitablest Monument that he could leave for a farewell to his
+Grecians."
+
+There was some aim at short and witty sketches of character in
+descriptions of the ingenuity of horse-coursers and coney-catchers who
+used quick wit for beguiling the unwary in those bright days of
+Elizabeth, when the very tailors and cooks worked fantasies in silk and
+velvet, sugar and paste. Thomas Harman, whose grandfather had been Clerk
+of the Crown under Henry VII., and who himself inherited estates in
+Kent, became greatly interested in the vagrant beggars who came to his
+door. He made a study of them, came to London to publish his book, and
+lodged at Whitefriars, within the Cloister, for convenience of nearness
+to them, and more thorough knowledge of their ways. He first published
+his book in 1567 as A Caveat or Warning for Common Cursitors, vulgarly
+called Vagabonds--"A Caveat or Warening for common cursetors, Vulgarely
+called Vagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman, Esquiere, for the utilite
+and proffyt of his naturall Cuntrey" and he dedicated it to Elizabeth,
+Countess of Shrewsbury. It contained twenty-four character sketches,
+gave the names of the chief tramps then living in England, and a
+vocabulary of their cant words. This is Harman's first character_:--
+
+
+
+A RUFFLER.
+
+The Ruffler, because he is first in degree of this odious order, and is
+so called in a statute made for the punishment of Vagabonds in the
+twenty-seventh year of King Henry VIII, late of most famous memory, he
+shall be first placed as the worthiest of this unruly rabblement. And he
+is so called when he goeth first abroad. Either he hath served in the
+wars, or else he hath been a serving-man, and weary of well-doing,
+shaking off all pain, doth choose him this idle life; and wretchedly
+wanders about the most shires of this realm, and with stout audacity
+demandeth, where he thinketh he may be bold, and circumspect enough
+where he seeth cause, to ask charity ruefully and lamentably, that it
+would make a flinty heart to relent and pity his miserable estate, how
+he hath been maimed and bruised in the wars. Peradventure one will show
+you some outward wound which he got at some drunken fray, either halting
+of some privy wound festered with a filthy fiery flankard [brand]. For
+be well assured that the hardiest soldiers be either slain or maimed,
+either and [or if] they escape all hazards and return home again, if
+they be without relief of their friends they will surely desperately rob
+and steal, and either shortly be hanged or miserably die in prison. For
+they be so much ashamed and disdain to beg or ask charity, that rather
+they will as desperately fight for to live and maintain themselves, as
+manfully and valiantly they ventured themselves in the Prince's quarrel.
+Now these Rufflers, the outcasts of serving-men, when begging or craving
+fails them, they pick and pilfer from other inferior beggars that they
+meet by the way, as rogues, palliards, morts, and doxes. Yea, if they
+meet with a woman alone riding to the market, either old man or boy,
+that he kneweth well will not resist, such they fetch and spoil. These
+Rufflers, after a year or two at the farthest, become upright men [lusty
+vagrants who beg and take only money, who rob hen roosts, filch from
+stalls or pockets, and have dens of their own for drinking and receipt
+of stolen goods], unless they be prevented by twined hemp.
+
+I had of late years an old man to my tenant who customably a great time
+went twice in the week to London, either with fruit or with peascods,
+when time served therefor. And as he was coming homeward, on Blackheath,
+at the end thereof next to Shooter's Hill, he overtook two Rufflers, the
+one mannerly waiting on the other, as one had been the master and the
+other his man or servant, carrying his master's cloak. This old man was
+very glad that he might have their company over the hill, because that
+day he had made a good market. For he had seven shillings in his purse
+and an old angel, which this poor man had thought had not been in his
+purse; for he willed his wife overnight to take out the same angel and
+lay it up until his coming home again, and he verily thought his wife
+had so done, which indeed forgot to do it. Thus, after salutations had,
+this Master Ruffler entered into communication with this simple old man,
+who, riding softly beside them, communed of many matters. Thus feeding
+this old man with pleasant talk until they were on the top of the hill,
+where these Rufflers might well behold the coast about them clear,
+quickly steps unto this poor man and taketh hold of his horse bridle and
+leadeth him into the wood, and demandeth of him what and how much money
+he had in his purse. "Now, by my troth," quoth this old man, "you are a
+merry gentleman! I know you mean not to take anything from me, but
+rather to give me some, if I should ask it of you."
+
+By and by [immediately] this servant thief casteth the cloak that he
+carried on his arm about this poor man's face that he should not mark or
+view them, with sharp words to deliver quickly that he had, and to
+confess truly what was in his purse. This poor man then all abashed
+yielded, and confessed that he had seven shillings in his purse; and the
+truth is, he knew of no more. This old angel was fallen out of a little
+purse into the bottom of a great purse. Now this seven shillings in
+white money they quickly found, thinking indeed that there had been no
+more; yet farther groping and searching, found this old angel. And with
+great admiration this gentleman thief began to bless him, saying--
+
+"Good Lord, what a world is this! How may," quoth he, "a man believe or
+trust in the same? See you not," quoth he, "this old knave told me that
+he had but seven shillings, and here is more by an angel! What an old
+knave and a false knave have we here!" quoth this Ruffler. "Our Lord
+have mercy on us, will this world never be better?" and therewith went
+their way and left the old man in the wood, doing him no more harm.
+
+But sorrowfully sighing this old man, returning home, declared his
+misadventure with all the words and circumstances above showed. Whereat
+for the time was great laughing, and this poor man, for his losses,
+among his loving neighbours well considered in the end.
+
+_Such character-painting simply came of the keen interest in life that
+was at the same time developing an energetic drama. But at the end of
+Elizabeth's reign a writing of brief witty characters appears to have
+come into fashion as one of the many forms of ingenuity that pleased
+society, and might be distantly related to the Euphuism of the day.
+
+Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," first acted in 1600, two or three years
+before the end of Elizabeth's reign, has little character sketches set
+into the text. Here are two of them_:--
+
+
+
+A TRAVELLER.
+
+One so made out of the mixture of shreds and forms that himself is truly
+deformed. He walks most commonly with a clove or pick-tooth in his
+mouth, he is the very mint of compliment, all his behaviours are
+printed, his face is another volume of essays, and his beard is an
+Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skimmed, and more affected than a dozen
+waiting-women. He is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the
+ordinary gives him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which,
+indeed, is a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all
+the talk; ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter;
+once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to
+arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well, out at a window.
+He will lie cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most clocks; for
+which he is right properly accommodated to the whetstone, his page. The
+other gallant is his zany, and doth most of these tricks after him;
+sweats to imitate him in everything to a hair, except a beard, which is
+not yet extant. He doth learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies,
+maccaroni, bovoli, fagioli, and caviare, because he loves them; speaks
+as he speaks, looks, walks, goes so in clothes and fashion: is in all as
+if he were moulded of him. Marry, before they met, he had other very
+pretty sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as
+frequenting a dancing-school, and grievously torturing strangers with
+inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh
+acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much together
+as he goes in the street. He treads nicely, like the fellow that walks
+upon ropes, especially the first Sunday of his silk stockings; and when
+he is most neat and new, you shall strip him with commendations.
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CRITIC.
+
+A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one in whom the humours
+and elements are peaceably met, without emulation of precedency. He is
+neither too fantastically melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly
+sanguine, nor too rashly choleric; but in all so composed and ordered,
+as it is clear Nature went about some full work, she did more than make
+a man when she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon,
+but not unpleasing; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather to be
+that which men call judicious, than to be thought so; and is so truly
+learned, that he affects not to show it. He will think and speak his
+thought both freely; but as distant from depraving another man's merit,
+as proclaiming his own. For his valour, 'tis such that he dares as
+little to offer any injury as receive one. In sum, he hath a most
+ingenuous and sweet spirit, a sharp and seasoned wit, a straight
+judgment and a strong mind. Fortune could never break him, nor make him
+less. He counts it his pleasure to despise pleasures, and is more
+delighted with good deeds than goods. It is a competency to him that he
+can be virtuous. He doth neither covet nor fear; he hath too much reason
+to do either; and that commends all things to him.
+
+_The play that preceded "Cynthia's Revels" was "Every Man Out of his
+Humour." It was first printed in 1600, and Ben Jonson amused himself by
+adding to its list of Dramatis Personae this piece of Character
+Writing_:--
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS.
+
+_Asper_. He is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and constant in
+reproof, without fear controlling the world's abuses. One whom no
+servile hope of gain, or frosty apprehension of danger, can make to be a
+parasite, either to time, place, or opinion.
+
+_Macilente_. A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and travelled;
+who, wanting that place in the world's account which he thinks his merit
+capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment
+is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any
+opposite happiness in another.
+
+_Puntarvolo_. A vainglorious knight, over-Englishing his travels, and
+wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment;
+a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his
+apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own
+praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage
+of his own family. He deals upon returns, and strange performances,
+resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own particular
+fashion, phrase, and gesture.
+
+_Carlo Buffone_. A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more
+swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into
+deformity. A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out
+a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him! he
+came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that
+hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up
+more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His
+religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in
+his respect whom he studies most to reproach.
+
+_Fastidious Brisk_. A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears
+clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his glass how to salute;
+speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears
+tersely, and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or
+great man's familiarity; a good property to perfume the boot of a coach.
+He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own.
+Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant,
+only with the jingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.
+
+_Deliro_. A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the
+common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own
+wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply
+holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hoodwinked humour, lives
+more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her
+displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice
+twopence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her
+with villainous out-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though
+not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike.
+
+_Fallace_. Deliro's wife, and idol; a proud mincing peat, and as
+perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly upon the courtier,
+as her husband doth on her, and only wants the face to be dishonest.
+
+_Saviolina_. A court-lady, whose weightiest praise is a light wit,
+admired by herself, and one more, her servant Brisk.
+
+_Sordido_. A wretched hobnailed chuff, whose recreation is reading of
+almanacks; and felicity, foul weather. One that never prayed but for a
+lean dearth, and ever wept in a fat harvest.
+
+_Fungoso_. The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has revelled in
+his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like a spy. He makes it the
+whole bent of his endeavours to wring sufficient means from his wretched
+father, to put him in the courtiers' cut; at which he earnestly aims,
+but so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit.
+
+_Sogliardo_. An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet so enamoured of
+the name of a gentleman, that he will have it though he buys it. He
+comes up every term to learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is
+in his kingdom when he can get himself into company where he may be well
+laughed at.
+
+_Shift_. A threadbare shark; one that never was a soldier, yet lives
+upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and odling, his bank Paul's,
+and his warehouse Picthatch. Takes up single testons upon oath, till
+doomsday. Falls under executions of three shillings, and enters into
+five-groat bonds. He waylays the reports of services, and cons them
+without book, damning himself he came new from them, when all the while
+he was taking the diet in the bawdy-house, or lay pawned in his chamber
+for rent and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memory, that he
+will salute one for an old acquaintance that he never saw in his life
+before. He usurps upon cheats, quarrels, and robberies, which he never
+did, only to get him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff,
+squiring a cockatrice, and making privy searches for imparters.
+
+_Clove_ and _Orange_. An inseparable case of coxcombs, city born; the
+Gemini, or twins of foppery; that, like a pair of wooden foils, are fit
+for nothing but to be practised upon. Being well flattered they'll lend
+money, and repent when they have done. Their glory is to invite players,
+and make suppers. And in company of better rank, to avoid the suspect of
+insufficiency, will enforce their ignorance most desperately, to set
+upon the understanding of anything. Orange is the most humorous of the
+two, whose small portion of juice being squeezed out, Clove serves to
+stick him with commendations.
+
+_Cordatus_. The author's friend; a man inly acquainted with the scope
+and drift of his plot; of a discreet and understanding judgment; and has
+the place of a moderator.
+
+_Mitis_. Is a person of no action, and therefore we have reason to
+afford him no character.
+
+_Of this kind are the
+
+                        CHARACTERS
+
+                            BY
+
+                    SIR THOMAS OVERBURY,
+
+which were not published until_ 1614, _the year after their writer's
+death, at the age of thirty-two; but they may have been written earlier
+than the "Characters of Virtues and Vices"--ethical characters--written
+by Joseph Hall, which were first published in_ 1609.
+
+_Sir Thomas Overbury died poisoned in the Tower on the_ 15_th of
+September_ 1613. _On the_ 5_th of January_ 1606, _by desire of James the
+First, the young Earl of Essex, aged fourteen, had been married to the
+Lady Frances Howard, aged thirteen, the younger daughter of the Earl of
+Suffolk. Ben Jonson's "Masque of Hymen" was produced at Court in
+celebration of that union. The young Robert Devereux, third Earl of
+Essex, had good qualities too solid for the taste of a frivolous girl;
+and when, after travel abroad, the husband of eighteen claimed the wife
+of seventeen, he found her happy in flirtation with the King's
+favourite, Sir Robert Carr. Though compelled to live with her husband,
+she repelled all his advances, and after three years of this repugnance
+tried for a divorce. The King's Scotch favourite, Carr, had been made,
+in March 1611, an English peer, as Viscount Rochester, when the age of
+the young Countess of Essex was nineteen. He was the man highest in King
+James's favour. If the divorce sought by the Countess early in 1613 were
+obtained for her, it was understood that Carr would marry her, and that
+support of the divorce would be a way to future benefit through his good
+offices. Thus she obtained the support of her father and uncle, the
+Earls of Suffolk and Northampton. The King's influence went with the
+wishes of the favourite. The trial, in 1613, ending in a decree of
+nullity of marriage, was a four months' scandal in the land. Among the
+familiar friends of Robert Carr, Lord Rochester, was Sir Thomas
+Overbury, born in Warwickshire in 1581, and knighted by King James in
+1608. He strongly opposed the policy of a divorce obtained on false
+pretences followed by his patron's marriage to the divorced wife. The
+grounds of his opposition may have been part private, part political.
+His opposition was determined, and if he offered himself as witness
+before the Commission, he probably knew enough about the lady's secret
+practisings to give such evidence as would frustrate her designs. It was
+thought desirable, therefore, to get Overbury out of the way. The King
+offered him a post abroad. He was unwilling to accept it, and at last
+was driven to an explicit refusal. The King was angry, and caused his
+Council to commit Sir Thomas Overbury to the Tower for contempt of His
+Majesty's commands. He was to be seen by no one, and to have no servant
+with him. Sir William Wood, the Lieutenant of the Tower, was superseded,
+and Sir Gervase Helwys was put in his place with secret understandings,
+of which the design may only have been to prevent Sir Thomas Overbury
+from saying anything that could come to the ears of the world until the
+divorce was granted. But Lady Essex wished Sir Thomas Overbury to be
+more effectually silenced. She had tried and failed to get him
+assassinated. Now she resolved to get him poisoned. She obtained the
+employment of a creature of her own, named Weston, as his immediate
+keeper. Weston falsely professed to Lady Essex that he had administered
+the poison she had given him, and that the result had been not death but
+loss of health. There is much uncertainty about the evidence of detail
+and of the privity of others in the designs of Lady Essex, who seems at
+last to have completed her work by the agency of an apothecary's
+assistant. He gave the fatal dose in an injection, by which Overbury was
+killed ten days before the Commission gave judgment in favour of the
+divorce. At Christmas the favourite married the divorced wife, having
+been created Earl of Somerset, that as his wife she might be Countess
+still. In the following year, 1614, Sir Thomas Overbury's "Characters"
+were published, together with his Character in verse of A Wife, who was
+described as "A Wife, now a Widow." This had been published a little
+earlier in the same year separately, without any added "Characters."
+When the Characters appeared they were described as "Many Witty
+Characters and conceited Newes written by himselfe and other learned
+Gentlemen his Friends." The twenty-one Characters in that edition were,
+therefore, not all from one hand. Their popularity is indicated by the
+fact that in the next year, 1615, they reached a sixth edition. Three
+more editions were published in 1616. This was because interest in the
+book had been heightened by the Great Oyer of Poisoning, the trial in
+May 1616 of the Earl and Countess of Somerset for Overbury's murder, of
+which both were found guilty, though the Countess took all guilt upon
+herself. Then followed a tenth edition in 1618, an eleventh in 1622, a
+twelfth in 1627, a thirteenth in 1628, a fourteenth in 1630, a fifteenth
+in 1632, a sixteenth in 1638; and then a pause, the seventeenth being in
+1664, two years before the fire of London. By this time the original set
+of twenty-one Characters had been considerably increased, "with
+additions of New Characters and many other Witty Conceits never before
+Printed;" so that Overbury's Characters, which had from the first
+included a few pieces written by his friends, became a name for the most
+popular miscellany of pieces of Character Writing current in the
+Seventeenth Century, and shows how wit was exercised in this way by
+half-a-dozen or more of the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease. These
+are the pieces thus at last made current as_
+
+
+
+
+SIR THOMAS OVERBURY'S CHARACTERS;
+
+OR,
+
+WITTY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE PROPERTIES OF SUNDRY PERSONS.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A GOOD WOMAN.
+
+A Good Woman is a comfort, like a man. She lacks of him nothing but
+heat. Thence is her sweetness of disposition, which meets his stoutness
+more pleasingly; so wool meets iron easier than iron, and turns
+resisting into embracing. Her greatest learning is religion, and her
+thoughts are on her own sex, or on men, without casting the difference.
+Dishonesty never comes nearer than her ears, and then wonder stops it
+out, and saves virtue the labour. She leaves the neat youth telling his
+luscious tales, and puts back the serving-man's putting forward with a
+frown: yet her kindness is free enough to be seen, for it hath no guilt
+about it; and her mirth is clear, that you may look through it into
+virtue, but not beyond. She hath not behaviour at a certain, but makes
+it to her occasion. She hath so much knowledge as to love it; and if she
+have it not at home, she will fetch it, for this sometimes in a pleasant
+discontent she dares chide her sex, though she use it never the worse.
+She is much within, and frames outward things to her mind, not her mind
+to them. She wears good clothes, but never better; for she finds no
+degree beyond decency. She hath a content of her own, and so seeks not
+an husband, but finds him. She is indeed most, but not much of
+description, for she is direct and one, and hath not the variety of ill.
+Now she is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth nothing more
+than love him, for she takes him to that purpose. So his good becomes
+the business of her actions, and she doth herself kindness upon him.
+After his, her chiefest virtue is a good husband. For she is he.
+
+
+
+A VERY WOMAN.
+
+A Very Woman is a dough-baked man, or a She meant well towards man, but
+fell two bows short, strength and understanding. Her virtue is the
+hedge, modesty, that keeps a man from climbing over into her faults. She
+simpers as if she had no teeth but lips; and she divides her eyes, and
+keeps half for herself, and gives the other to her neat youth. Being set
+down, she casts her face into a platform, which dureth the meal, and is
+taken away with the voider. Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to
+thirst, and it is a part of their mystery not to profess hunger; but
+nature takes her in private and stretcheth her upon meat. She is
+marriageable and fourteen at once, and after she doth not live but
+tarry. She reads over her face every morning, and sometimes blots out
+pale and writes red. She thinks she is fair, though many times her
+opinion goes alone, and she loves her glass and the knight of the sun
+for lying. She is hid away all but her face, and that's hanged about
+with toys and devices, like the sign of a tavern, to draw strangers. If
+she show more she prevents desire, and by too free giving leaves no
+gift. She may escape from the serving-man, but not from the chambermaid.
+Her philosophy is a seeming neglect of those that be too good for her.
+She's a younger brother for her portion, but not for her portion for
+wit--that comes from her in treble, which is still too big for it; yet
+her vanity seldom matcheth her with one of her own degree, for then she
+will beget another creature a beggar, and commonly, if she marry better
+she marries worse. She gets much by the simplicity of her suitor, and
+for a jest laughs at him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for
+herself, and after takes him for his patience, and the land adjoining,
+ye may see it, in a serving-man's fresh napery, and his leg steps into
+an unknown stocking. I need not speak of his garters, the tassel shows
+itself. If she love, she loves not the man, but the best of him. She is
+Salomon's cruel creature, and a man's walking consumption; every caudle
+she gives him is a purge. Her chief commendation is, she brings a man to
+repentance.
+
+
+
+HER NEXT PART.
+
+Her lightness gets her to swim at top of the table, where her wry little
+finger bewrays carving; her neighbours at the latter end know they are
+welcome, and for that purpose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to
+and among, and so becomes a woman of good entertainment, for all the
+folly in the country comes in clean linen to visit her; she breaks to
+them her grief in sugar cakes, and receives from their mouths in
+exchange many stories that conclude to no purpose. Her eldest son is
+like her howsoever, and that dispraiseth him best; her utmost drift is
+to turn him fool, which commonly she obtains at the years of discretion.
+She takes a journey sometimes to her niece's house, but never thinks
+beyond London. Her devotion is good clothes--they carry her to church,
+express their stuff and fashion, and are silent if she be more devout;
+she lifts up a certain number of eyes instead of prayers, and takes the
+sermon, and measures out a nap by it, just as long. She sends religion
+afore to sixty, where she never overtakes it, or drives it before her
+again. Her most necessary instruments are a waiting gentlewoman and a
+chambermaid; she wears her gentlewoman still, but most often leaves the
+other in her chamber window. She hath a little kennel in her lap, and
+she smells the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of her providence is the
+fatness of a capon, and her greatest envy is the next gentlewoman's
+better gown. Her most commendable skill is to make her husband's fustian
+bear her velvet. This she doth many times over, and then is delivered to
+old age and a chair, where everybody leaves her.
+
+
+
+A DISSEMBLER
+
+Is an essence needing a double definition, for he is not that he
+appears. Unto the eye he is pleasing, unto the ear he is harsh, but unto
+the understanding intricate and full of windings; he is the _prima
+materia_, and his intents give him form; he dyeth his means and his
+meaning into two colours; he baits craft with humility, and his
+countenance is the picture of the present disposition. He wins not by
+battery but undermining, and his rack is smoothing. He allures, is not
+allured by his affections, for they are the breakers of his observation.
+He knows passion only by sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes
+his time an accountant to his memory, and of the humours of men weaves a
+net for occasion; the inquisitor must look through his judgment, for to
+the eye only he is not visible.
+
+
+
+A COURTIER,
+
+To all men's thinking, is a man, and to most men the finest; all things
+else are defined by the understanding, but this by the senses; but his
+surest mark is, that he is to be found only about princes. He smells,
+and putteth away much of his judgment about the situation of his
+clothes. He knows no man that is not generally known. His wit, like the
+marigold, openeth with the sun, and therefore he riseth not before ten
+of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words than meaning, and
+more in his pronunciation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he
+hath but one receipt of making love. He follows nothing but inconstancy,
+admires nothing but beauty, honours nothing but fortune: Loves nothing.
+The sustenance of his discourse is news, and his censure, like a shot,
+depends upon the charging. He is not, if he be out of court, but
+fish-like breathes destruction if out of his element. Neither his motion
+or aspect are regular, but he moves by the upper spheres, and is the
+reflection of higher substances.
+
+If you find him not here, you shall in Paul's, with a pick-tooth in his
+hat, cape-cloak, and a long stocking.
+
+
+
+A GOLDEN ASS
+
+Is a young thing, whose father went to the devil; he is followed like a
+salt bitch, and limbed by him that gets up first; his disposition is
+cut, and knaves rend him like tenter-hooks; he is as blind as his
+mother, and swallows flatterers for friends. He is high in his own
+imagination, but that imagination is as a stone that is raised by
+violence, descends naturally. When he goes, he looks who looks; if he
+find not good store of vailers, he comes home stiff and sere, until he
+be new oiled and watered by his husbandmen. Wheresoever he eats he hath
+an officer to warn men not to talk out of his element, and his own is
+exceeding sensible, because it is sensual; but he cannot exchange a
+piece of reason, though he can a piece of gold. He is not plucked, for
+his feathers are his beauty, and more than his beauty, they are his
+discretion, his countenance, his all. He is now at an end, for he hath
+had the wolf of vainglory, which he fed until himself became the food.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is the shadow of a fool. He is a good woodman, for he singleth out none
+but the wealthy. His carriage is ever of the colour of his patient; and
+for his sake he will halt or wear a wry neck. He dispraiseth nothing but
+poverty and small drink, and praiseth his Grace of making water. He
+selleth himself with reckoning his great friends, and teacheth the
+present how to win his praises by reciting the other gifts; he is ready
+for all employments, but especially before dinner, for his courage and
+his stomach go together. He will play any upon his countenance, and
+where he cannot be admitted for a counsellor he will serve as a fool. He
+frequents the Court of Wards and Ordinaries, and fits these guests of
+_Togae viriles_ with wives or worse. He entereth young men into
+aquaintance with debt-books. In a word, he is the impression of the last
+term, and will be so until the coming of a new term or termer.
+
+
+
+AN IGNORANT GLORY-HUNTER
+
+Is an _insectum_ animal, for he is the maggot of opinion; his behaviour
+is another thing from himself, and is glued and but set on. He
+entertains men with repetitions, and returns them their own words. He is
+ignorant of nothing, no not of those things where ignorance is the
+lesser shame. He gets the names of good wits, and utters them for his
+companions. He confesseth vices that he is guiltless of, if they be in
+fashion; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, or out of fashion.
+There is not a public assembly without him, and he will take any pains
+for an acquaintance there. In any show he will be one, though he be but
+a whiffler or a torch-bearer, and bears down strangers with the story of
+his actions. He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his
+wardrobe, diet, and all customs, with intituling their beginnings from
+princes, great soldiers, and strange nations. He dare speak more than he
+understands, and adventures his words without the relief of any seconds.
+He relates battles and skirmishes as from an eyewitness, when his eyes
+thievishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to make sure of
+admiration, he will not let himself understand himself, but hopes fame
+and opinion will be the readers of his riddles.
+
+
+
+A TIMIST
+
+Is a noun adjective of the present tense. He hath no more of a
+conscience than fear, and his religion is not his but the prince's. He
+reverenceth a courtier's servant's servant; is first his own slave, and
+then whosesoever looketh big. When he gives he curseth, and when he
+sells he worships. He reads the statutes in his chamber, and wears the
+Bible in the streets; he never praiseth any, but before themselves or
+friends; and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. His New
+Year's gifts are ready at Allhallowmas, and the suit he meant to
+meditate before them. He pleaseth the children of great men, and
+promiseth to adopt them, and his courtesy extends itself even to the
+stable. He strains to talk wisely, and his modesty would serve a bride.
+He is gravity from the head to the foot, but not from the head to the
+heart. You may find what place he affecteth, for he creeps as near it as
+may be, and as passionately courts it; if at any time his hopes be
+affected, he swelleth with them, and they burst out too good for the
+vessel. In a word, he danceth to the tune of Fortune, and studies for
+nothing but to keep time.
+
+
+
+AN AMORIST
+
+Is a man blasted or planet-stricken, and is the dog that leads blind
+Cupid; when he is at the best his fashion exceeds the worth of his
+weight. He is never without verses and musk confects, and sighs to the
+hazard of his buttons. His eyes are all white, either to wear the livery
+of his mistress' complexion or to keep Cupid from hitting the black. He
+fights with passion, and loseth much of his blood by his weapon; dreams,
+thence his paleness. His arms are carelessly used, as if their best use
+was nothing but embracements. He is untrussed, unbuttoned, and
+ungartered, not out of carelessness, but care; his farthest end being
+but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatness, but he
+goeth not alone; for then he makes some other quality moralise his
+affection, and his trimness is the grace of that grace. Her favour lifts
+him up as the sun moisture; when she disfavours, unable to hold that
+happiness, it falls down in tears. His fingers are his orators, and he
+expresseth much of himself upon some instrument. He answers not, or not
+to the purpose, and no marvel, for he is not at home. He scotcheth time
+with dancing with his mistress, taking up of her glove, and wearing her
+feather; he is confined to her colour, and dares not pass out of the
+circuit of her memory. His imagination is a fool, and it goeth in a pied
+coat of red and white. Shortly, he is translated out of a man into
+folly; his imagination is the glass of lust, and himself the traitor to
+his own discretion.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED TRAVELLER
+
+Is a speaking fashion; he hath taken pains to be ridiculous, and hath
+seen more than he hath perceived. His attire speaks French or Italian,
+and his gait cries, Behold me. He censures all things by countenances
+and shrugs, and speaks his own language with shame and lisping; he will
+choke rather than confess beer good drink, and his pick-tooth is a main
+part of his behaviour. He chooseth rather to be counted a spy than not a
+politician, and maintains his reputation by naming great men familiarly.
+He chooseth rather to tell lies than not wonders, and talks with men
+singly; his discourse sounds big, but means nothing; and his boy is
+bound to admire him howsoever. He comes still from great personages, but
+goes with mean. He takes occasion to show jewels given him in regard of
+his virtue, that were bought in St. Martin's; and not long after having
+with a mountebank's method pronounced them worth thousands, impawneth
+them for a few shillings. Upon festival days he goes to court, and
+salutes without resaluting; at night in an ordinary he canvasseth the
+business in hand, and seems as conversant with all intents and plots as
+if he begot them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to tell
+them the ends of all matters of consequence, and then to borrow money of
+them; he offers courtesies to show them, rather than himself, humble. He
+disdains all things above his reach, and preferreth all countries before
+his own. He imputeth his want and poverty to the ignorance of the time,
+not his own unworthiness; and concludes his discourse with half a
+period, or a word, and leaves the rest to imagination. In a word, his
+religion is fashion, and both body and soul are governed by fame; he
+loves most voices above truth.
+
+
+
+A WISE MAN
+
+Is the truth of the true definition of man, that is, a reasonable
+creature. His disposition alters; he alters not. He hides himself with
+the attire of the vulgar; and in indifferent things is content to be
+governed by them. He looks according to nature; so goes his behaviour.
+His mind enjoys a continual smoothness; so cometh it that his
+consideration is always at home. He endures the faults of all men
+silently, except his friends, and to them he is the mirror of their
+actions; by this means, his peace cometh not from fortune, but himself.
+He is cunning in men, not to surprise, but keep his own, and beats off
+their ill-affected humours no otherwise than if they were flies. He
+chooseth not friends by the Subsidy-book, and is not luxurious after
+acquaintance. He maintains the strength of his body, not by delicates
+but temperance; and his mind, by giving it pre-eminence over his body.
+He understands things, not by their form, but qualities; and his
+comparisons intend not to excuse but to provoke him higher. He is not
+subject to casualties, for fortune hath nothing to do with the mind,
+except those drowned in the body; but he hath divided his soul from the
+case of his soul, whose weakness he assists no otherwise than
+commiseratively--not that it is his, but that it is. He is thus, and
+will be thus; and lives subject neither to time nor his frailties, the
+servant of virtue, and by virtue the friend of the highest.
+
+
+
+A NOBLE SPIRIT
+
+Hath surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all occurrents
+into experience, between which experience and his reason there is
+marriage; the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seeth
+the end before he shoot. Men are the instruments of his art, and there
+is no man without his use. Occasion incites him, none enticeth him; and
+he moves by affection, not for affection. He loves glory, scorns shame,
+and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one
+consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his
+meditation hath travelled over them, and his eye, mounted upon his
+understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He covers not his body
+with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his body, but teacheth
+it, since it is not able to defend its own imbecility, to show or
+suffer. He licenseth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason
+to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny.
+Truth is the goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like
+her. He knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing
+like another, and then another. To these he carries his desires, and not
+his desires him, and sticks not fast by the way (for that contentment is
+repentance), but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of
+all things, to have but one centre or period, without all distraction,
+he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and natural element. He
+doth not contemn Fortune, but not confess her. He is no gamester of the
+world (which only complain and praise her), but being only sensible of
+the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement of
+scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their
+steps in a regular motion. When he is more particular, he is the wise
+man's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the
+vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him; and he feels age
+more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus
+feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends that desire to
+file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.
+
+
+
+AN OLD MAN
+
+Is a thing that hath been a man in his days. Old men are to be known
+blindfolded, for their talk is as terrible as their resemblance. They
+praise their own times as vehemently as if they would sell them. They
+become wrinkled with frowning and facing youth; they admire their old
+customs, even to the eating of red herring and going wetshod. They cast
+the thumb under the girdle, gravity; and because they can hardly smell
+at all their posies are under their girdles. They count it an ornament
+of speech to close the period with a cough; and it is venerable (they
+say) to spend time in wiping their drivelled beards. Their discourse is
+unanswerable, by reason of their obstinacy; their speech is much, though
+little to the purpose. Truths and lies pass with an unequal affirmation;
+for their memories several are won into one receptacle, and so they come
+out with one sense. They teach their servants their duties with as much
+scorn and tyranny as some people teach their dogs to fetch. Their envy
+is one of their diseases. They put off and on their clothes with that
+certainty, as if they knew their heads would not direct them, and
+therefore custom should. They take a pride in halting and going stiffly,
+and therefore their staves are carved and tipped; they trust their
+attire with much of their gravity; and they dare not go without a gown
+in summer. Their hats are brushed, to draw men's eyes off from their
+faces; but of all, their pomanders are worn to most purpose, for their
+putrified breath ought not to want either a smell to defend or a dog
+to excuse.
+
+
+
+A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
+
+Is a thing, out of whose corruption the generation of a Justice of Peace
+is produced. He speaks statutes and husbandry well enough to make his
+neighbours think him a wise man; he is well skilled in arithmetic or
+rates, and hath eloquence enough to save twopence. His conversation
+amongst his tenants is desperate, but amongst his equals full of doubt.
+His travel is seldom farther than the next market town, and his
+inquisition is about the price of corn. When he travelleth he will go
+ten miles out of the way to a cousin's house of his to save charges; he
+rewards the servant by taking him by the hand when he departs. Nothing
+under a subpoena can draw him to London; and when he is there he sticks
+fast upon every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and becomes the
+prey of every cutpurse. When he comes home, those wonders serve him for
+his holiday talk. If he go to court it is in yellow stockings; and if it
+be in winter, in a slight taffety cloak, and pumps and pantofles. He is
+chained that woos the usher for his coming into the presence, where he
+becomes troublesome with the ill-managing of his rapier, and the wearing
+of his girdle of one fashion, and the hangers of another. By this time
+he hath learned to kiss his hand, and make a leg both together, and the
+names of lords and councillors. He hath thus much toward entertainment
+and courtesy, but of the last he makes more use, for, by the recital of
+my lord, he conjures his poor countrymen. But this is not his element;
+he must home again, being like a dor, that ends his flight in
+a dunghill.
+
+
+
+A FINE GENTLEMAN
+
+Is the cinnamon tree, whose bark is more worth than his body. He hath
+read the book of good manners, and by this time each of his limbs may
+read it. He alloweth of no judge but the eye: painting, bolstering, and
+bombasting are his orators. By these also he proves his industry, for he
+hath purchased legs, hair, beauty, and straightness, more than nature
+left him. He unlocks maidenheads with his language, and speaks Euphues,
+not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse makes not his behaviour;
+but he buys it at court, as countrymen their clothes in Birchin Lane. He
+is somewhat like the salamander, and lives in the flame of love, which
+pains he expresseth comically. And nothing grieves him so much as the
+want of a poet to make an issue in his love. Yet he sighs sweetly and
+speaks lamentably, for his breath is perfumed and his words are wind. He
+is best in season at Christmas, for the boar's head and reveller come
+together. His hopes are laden in his quality; and, lest fiddlers should
+take him unprovided, he wears pumps in his pocket; and, lest he should
+take fiddlers unprovided, he whistles his own galliard. He is a calendar
+of ten years, and marriage rusts him. Afterwards he maintains himself an
+implement of household, by carving and ushering. For all this, he is
+judicial only in tailors and barbers; but his opinion is ever ready, and
+ever idle. If you will know more of his acts, the broker's shop is the
+witness of his valour, where lies wounded, dead rent, and out of
+fashion, many a spruce suit, overthrown by his fantasticness.
+
+
+
+AN ELDER BROTHER
+
+Is a creature born to the best advantage of things without him; that
+hath the start at the beginning, but loiters it away before the ending.
+He looks like his land, as heavily and dirtily, as stubbornly. He dares
+do anything but fight, and fears nothing but his father's life, and
+minority. The first thing he makes known is his estate, and the
+loadstone that draws him is the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a
+particular, and his strongest argument is all about the jointure. His
+observation is all about the fashion, and he commends partlets for a
+rare device. He speaks no language, but smells of dogs or hawks, and his
+ambition flies justice-height. He loves to be commended; and he will go
+into the kitchen but he'll have it. He loves glory, but is so lazy as he
+is content with flattery. He speaks most of the precedency of age, and
+protests fortune the greatest virtue. He summoneth the old servants, and
+tells what strange acts he will do when he reigns. He verily believes
+housekeepers the best commonwealths-men, and therefore studies baking,
+brewing, greasing, and such, as the limbs of goodness. He judgeth it no
+small sign of wisdom to talk much; his tongue therefore goes continually
+his errand, but never speeds. If his understanding were not honester
+than his will, no man should keep good conceit by him, for he thinks it
+no theft to sell all he can to opinion. His pedigree and his father's
+seal-ring are the stilts of his crazed disposition. He had rather keep
+company with the dregs of men than not to be the best man. His
+insinuation is the inviting of men to his house; and he thinks it a
+great modesty to comprehend his cheer under a piece of mutton and a
+rabbit. If he by this time be not known, he will go home again, for he
+can no more abide to have himself concealed than his land. Yet he is (as
+you see) good for nothing, except to make a stallion to maintain
+the race.
+
+
+
+A BRAGGADOCIO WELSHMAN
+
+Is the oyster that the pearl is in, for a man may be picked out of him.
+He hath the abilities of the mind in _potentia_, and _actu_ nothing but
+boldness. His clothes are in fashion before his body, and he accounts
+boldness the chiefest virtue. Above all men he loves an herald, and
+speaks pedigrees naturally. He accounts none well descended that call
+him not cousin, and prefers Owen Glendower before any of the Nine
+Worthies. The first note of his familiarity is the confession of his
+valour, and so he prevents quarrels. He voucheth Welsh a pure and
+unconquered language, and courts ladies with the story of their
+chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his own conceit, and upon St.
+David's Day without comparison.
+
+
+
+A PEDANT.
+
+He treads in a rule, and one hand scans verses, and the other holds his
+sceptre. He dares not think a thought that the nominative case governs
+not the verb; and he never had meaning in his life, for he travelled
+only for words. His ambition is criticism, and his example Tully. He
+values phrases, and elects them by the sound, and the eight parts of
+speech are his servants. To be brief, he is a Heteroclite, for he wants
+the plural number, having only the single quality of words.
+
+
+
+A SERVING-MAN
+
+Is a creature, which, though he be not drunk, yet is not his own man. He
+tells without asking who owns him, by the superscription of his livery.
+His life is for ease and leisure, much about gentleman-like. His wealth
+enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were
+sure of it, for he hath little, and wants nothing; he values himself
+higher or lower as his master is. He hates or loves the men as his
+master doth the master. He is commonly proud of his master's horses or
+his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the
+clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his. He seldom breaks
+his own clothes. He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged; nor
+commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose, and seldom
+abstains till he comes to a thirst. His discretion is to be careful for
+his master's credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table,
+and to carve well; his neatness consists much in his hair and outward
+linen; his courting language, visible coarse jests; and against his
+matter fail, he is always ready furnished with a song. His inheritance
+is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his master's daughter, by
+reason of opportunity, or for want of a better, he always cuckolds
+himself, and never marries but his own widow. His master being appeased,
+he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his
+heir-males for ever.
+
+
+
+AN HOST
+
+Is the kernel of a sign; or the sign is the shell, and mine host is the
+snail. He consists of double beer and fellowship, and his vices are the
+bawds of his thirst. He entertains humbly, and gives his guests power,
+as well of himself as house. He answers all men's expectations to his
+power, save in the reckoning; and hath gotten the trick of greatness, to
+lay all mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the common seed of his
+dove-house; and to be a good guest is a warrant for her liberty. He
+traffics for guests by men-friends' friends' friends, and is sensible
+only of his purse. In a word, he is none of his own; for he neither
+eats, drinks, or thinks, but at other men's charges and appointments.
+
+
+
+AN OSTLER
+
+Is a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his horse, reasonably himself. He
+consists of travellers, though he be none himself. His highest ambition
+is to be host, and the invention of his sign is his greatest wit, for
+the expressing whereof he sends away the painters for want of
+understanding. He hath certain charms for a horse mouth, that he should
+not eat his hay; and behind your back he will cozen your horse to his
+face. His curry-comb is one of his best parts, for he expresseth much by
+the jingling; and his mane-comb is a spinner's card turned out of
+service. He puffs and blows over your horse, to the hazard of a double
+jug, and leaves much of the dressing to the proverb of _muli mutuo
+scabient_, one horse rubs another. He comes to him that calls loudest,
+not first; he takes a broken head patiently, but the knave he feels it
+not; utmost honesty is good fellowship, and he speaks northern, what
+countryman soever. He hath a pension of ale from the next smith and
+saddler for intelligence; he loves to see you ride, and hold your
+stirrup in expectation.
+
+
+
+THE TRUE CHARACTER OF A DUNCE.
+
+He hath a soul drowned in a lump of flesh, or is a piece of earth that
+Prometheus put not half his proportion of fire into. A thing that hath
+neither edge of desire nor feeling of affection in it; the most
+dangerous creature for confirming an atheist, who would swear his soul
+were nothing but the bare temperature of his body. He sleeps as he goes,
+and his thoughts seldom reach an inch further than his eyes. The most
+part of the faculties of his soul lie fallow, or are like the restive
+jades that no spur can drive forward towards the pursuit of any worthy
+designs. One of the most unprofitable of God's creatures, being as he is
+a thing put clean beside the right use; made fit for the cart and the
+flail, and by mischance entangled amongst books and papers. A man cannot
+tell possibly what he is now good for, save to move up and down and fill
+room, or to serve as _animatum instrumentum_, for others to work withal
+in base employments, or to be foil for better wits, or to serve (as they
+say monsters do) to set out the variety of nature, and ornament of the
+universe. He is mere nothing of himself, neither eats, nor drinks, nor
+goes, nor spits, but by imitation, for all which he hath set forms and
+fashions, which he never varies, but sticks to with the like plodding
+constancy that a mill-horse follows his trace. But the Muses and the
+Graces are his hard mistresses; though he daily invocate them, though he
+sacrifice hecatombs, they still look asquint. You shall note him
+(besides his dull eye, and lowering head, and a certain clammy benumbed
+pace) by a fair displayed beard, a night-cap, and a gown, whose very
+wrinkles proclaim him the true genius of familiarity. But of all others,
+his discourse and compositions best speak him, both of them are much of
+one stuff and fashion. He speaks just what his books or last company
+said unto him, without varying one whit, and very seldom understands
+himself. You may know by his discourse where he was last; for what he
+heard or read yesterday, he now dischargeth his memory or note-book
+of--not his understanding, for it never came there. What he hath he
+flings abroad at all adventures, without accommodating it to time,
+place, or persons, or occasions. He commonly loseth himself in his tale,
+and flutters up and down windless without recovery, and whatsoever next
+presents itself, his heavy conceit seizeth upon, and goeth along with,
+however heterogeneal to his matter in hand. His jests are either old
+fled proverbs, or lean-starved hackney apophthegms, or poor verbal
+quips, outworn by serving-men, tapsters, and milkmaids, even laid aside
+by balladers. He assents to all men that bring any shadow of reason, and
+you may make him when he speaks most dogmatically even with one breath,
+to aver poor contradictions. His compositions differ only _terminorum
+positione_ from dreams; nothing but rude heaps of immaterial,
+incoherent, drossy, rubbishy stuff, promiscuously thrust up together;
+enough to infuse dulness and barrenness in conceit into him that is so
+prodigal of his ears as to give the hearing; enough to make a man's
+memory ache with suffering such dirty stuff cast into it. As unwelcome
+to any true conceit, as sluttish morsels or wallowish potions to a nice
+stomach, which whiles he empties himself, it sticks in his teeth, nor
+can he be delivered without sweat, and sighs, and hems, and coughs
+enough to shake his grandam's teeth out of her head. He spits, and
+scratches, and spawls, and turns like sick men from one elbow to
+another, and deserves as much pity during his torture as men in fits of
+tertian fevers, or self-lashing penitentiaries. In a word, rip him quite
+asunder, and examine every shred of him, you shall find of him to be
+just nothing but the subject of nothing; the object of contempt; yet
+such as he is you must take him, for there is no hope he should ever
+become better.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE
+
+Is a man's best movable, a scion incorporate with the stock, bringing
+sweet fruit; one that to her husband is more than a friend, less than
+trouble; an equal with him in the yoke. Calamities and troubles she
+shares alike, nothing pleaseth her that doth not him. She is relative in
+all, and he without her but half himself. She is his absent hands, eyes,
+ears, and mouth; his present and absent all. She frames her nature unto
+his howsoever; the hyacinth follows not the sun more willingly.
+Stubbornness and obstinacy are herbs that grow not in her garden. She
+leaves tattling to the gossips of the town, and is more seen than heard.
+Her household is her charge; her care to that makes her seldom
+non-resident. Her pride is but to be cleanly, and her thrift not to be
+prodigal. By her discretion she hath children not wantons; a husband
+without her is a misery to man's apparel: none but she hath an aged
+husband, to whom she is both a staff and a chair. To conclude, she is
+both wise and religious, which makes her all this.
+
+
+
+A MELANCHOLY MAN
+
+Is a strayer from the drove: one that Nature made a sociable, because
+she made him man, and a crazed disposition hath altered. Unpleasing to
+all, as all to him; straggling thoughts are his content, they make him
+dream waking, there's his pleasure. His imagination is never idle, it
+keeps his mind in a continual motion, as the poise the clock: he winds
+up his thoughts often, and as often unwinds them; Penelope's web thrives
+faster. He'll seldom be found without the shade of some grove, in whose
+bottom a river dwells. He carries a cloud in his face, never fair
+weather; his outside is framed to his inside, in that he keeps a
+decorum, both unseemly. Speak to him; he hears with his eyes, ears
+follow his mind, and that's not at leisure. He thinks business, but
+never does any; he is all contemplation, no action. He hews and fashions
+his thoughts, as if he meant them to some purpose, but they prove
+unprofitable, as a piece of wrought timber to no use. His spirits and
+the sun are enemies: the sun bright and warm, his humour black and cold;
+variety of foolish apparitions people his head, they suffer him not to
+breathe according to the necessities of nature, which makes him sup up a
+draught of as much air at once as would serve at thrice. He denies
+nature her due in sleep, and nothing pleaseth him long, but that which
+pleaseth his own fantasies; they are the consuming evils, and evil
+consumptions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man only in show;
+but comes short of the better part, a whole reasonable soul, which is
+man's chief pre-eminence and sole mark from creatures sensible.
+
+
+
+A SAILOR
+
+Is a pitched piece of reason caulked and tackled, and only studied to
+dispute with tempests. He is part of his own provision, for he lives
+ever pickled. A fore-wind is the substance of his creed, and fresh water
+the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is ever
+climbing; out of which as naturally he fears, for he is ever flying.
+Time and he are everywhere ever contending who shall arrive first; he is
+well-winded, for he tires the day, and outruns darkness. His life is
+like a hawk's, the best part mewed; and if he live till three coats, is
+a master. He sees God's wonders in the deep, but so as rather they
+appear his playfellows than stirrers of his zeal. Nothing but hunger and
+hard rocks can convert him, and then but his upper deck neither; for his
+hold neither fears nor hopes, his sleeps are but reprievals of his
+dangers, and when he wakes 'tis but next stage to dying. His wisdom is
+the coldest part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies
+lowest, which makes his valour every tide overflow it. In a storm it is
+disputable whether the noise be more his or the elements, and which will
+first leave scolding; on which side of the ship he may be saved best,
+whether his faith be starboard faith or larboard, or the helm at that
+time not all his hope of heaven. His keel is the emblem of his
+conscience, till it be split he never repents, then no farther than the
+land allows him, and his language is a new confusion, and all his
+thoughts new nations. His body and his ship are both one burden, nor is
+it known who stows most wine or rolls most; only the ship is guided, he
+has no stern. A barnacle and he are bred together, both of one nature,
+and it is feared one reason. Upon any but a wooden horse he cannot ride,
+and if the wind blow against him he dare not. He swerves up to his seat
+as to a sail-yard, and cannot sit unless he bear a flagstaff. If ever he
+be broken to the saddle, it is but a voyage still, for he mistakes the
+bridle for a bowline, and is ever turning his horse-tail. He can pray,
+but it is by rote, not faith, and when he would he dares not, for his
+brackish belief hath made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand plucks him
+before he be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping.
+
+
+
+A SOLDIER
+
+Is the husbandman of valour; his sword is his plough, which honour and
+_aqua vita_, two fiery-metalled jades, are ever drawing. A younger
+brother best becomes arms, an elder the thanks for them. Every heat
+makes him a harvest, and discontents abroad are his sowers. He is
+actively his prince's, but passively his anger's servant. He is often a
+desirer of learning, which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour.
+He is a lover at all points, and a true defender of the faith of women.
+More wealth than makes him seem a handsome foe, lightly he covets not,
+less is below him. He never truly wants but in much having, for then his
+ease and lechery afflict him. The word peace, though in prayer, makes
+him start, and God he best considers by His power. Hunger and cold rank
+in the same file with him, and hold him to a man; his honour else, and
+the desire of doing things beyond him, would blow him greater than the
+sons of Anak. His religion is, commonly, as his cause is, doubtful, and
+that the best devotion keeps best quarter. He seldom sees grey hairs,
+some none at all, for where the sword fails, there the flesh gives fire.
+In charity he goes beyond the clergy, for he loves his greatest enemy
+best, much drinking. He seems a full student, for he is a great desirer
+of controversies; he argues sharply, and carries his conclusion in his
+scabbard. In the first refining of mankind this was the gold, his
+actions are his amel. His alloy (for else you cannot work him perfectly)
+continual duties, heavy and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as
+cold diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line him with these,
+and link him to his squadrons, and he appears a most rich chain
+for princes.
+
+
+
+A TAILOR
+
+Is a creature made up of threads that were pared off from Adam, when he
+was rough cast; the end of his being differeth from that of others, and
+is not to serve God, but to cover sin. Other men's pride is the best
+patron, and their negligence a main passage to his profit. He is a thing
+of more than ordinary judgment: for by virtue of that he buyeth land,
+buildeth houses, and raiseth the set roof of his cross-legged fortune.
+His actions are strong encounters, and for their notoriousness always
+upon record. It is neither Amadis de Gaul, nor the Knight of the Sun,
+that is able to resist them. A ten-groat fee setteth them on foot, and a
+brace of officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth the Spanish
+pike to the hazard of many poor Egyptian vermin; and in show of his
+valour, scorneth a greater gauntlet than will cover the top of his
+middle finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the long bill; and this
+he will manage to the great prejudice of a customer's estate. His
+spirit, notwithstanding, is not so much as to make you think him man;
+like a true mongrel, he neither bites nor barks but when your back is
+towards him. His heart is a lump of congealed snow: Prometheus was
+asleep while it was making. He differeth altogether from God; for with
+him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and, without
+hope of recovery, shall be cast down into hell. He is partly an
+alchemist; for he extracteth his own apparel out of other men's clothes;
+and when occasion serveth, making a broker's shop his alembic, can turn
+your silks into gold, and having furnished his necessities, after a
+month or two, if he be urged unto it, reduce them again to their proper
+subsistence. He is in part likewise an arithmetician, cunning enough for
+multiplication and addition, but cannot abide subtraction: _summa
+totalis_ is the language of his Canaan, and _usque ad ultimum
+quadrantem_ the period of all his charity. For any skill in geometry I
+dare not commend him, for he could never yet find out the dimensions of
+his own conscience; notwithstanding he hath many bottoms, it seemeth
+this is always bottomless. And so with a _libera nos a malo_ I leave
+you, promising to amend whatsoever is amiss at his next setting.
+
+
+
+A PURITAN
+
+Is a diseased piece of apocalypse: bind him to the Bible, and he
+corrupts the whole text. 'Ignorance and fat feed are his founders; his
+nurses, railing, rabies, and round breeches. His life is but a borrowed
+blast of wind: for between two religions, as between two doors, he is
+ever whistling. Truly, whose child he is is yet unknown; for, willingly,
+his faith allows no father: only thus far his pedigree is found, Bragger
+and he flourished about a time first. His fiery zeal keeps him
+continually costive, which withers him into his own translation; and
+till he eat a schoolman he is hide-bound. He ever prays against
+non-residents, but is himself the greatest discontinuer, for he never
+keeps near his text. Anything that the law allows, but marriage and
+March beer, he murmurs at; what it disallows and holds dangerous, makes
+him a discipline. Where the gate stands open, he is ever seeking a
+stile; and where his learning ought to climb, he creeps through. Give
+him advice, you run into traditions; and urge a modest course, he cries
+out counsel. His greatest care is to contemn obedience; his last care to
+serve God handsomely and cleanly. He is now become so cross a kind of
+teaching, that should the Church enjoin clean shirts, he were lousy.
+More sense than single prayers is not his; nor more in those than still
+the same petitions: from which he either fears a learned faith, or
+doubts God understands not at first hearing. Show him a ring, he runs
+back like a bear; and hates square dealing as allied to caps. A pair of
+organs blow him out of the parish, and are the only glyster-pipes to
+cool him. Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, for his
+arguing is but the efficacy of his eating: good bits he holds breed good
+positions, and the Pope he best concludes against in plum-broth. He is
+often drunk, but not as we are, temporally; nor can his sleep then cure
+him, for the fumes of his ambition make his very soul reel, and that
+small beer that should allay him (silence) keeps him more surfeited, and
+makes his heat break out in private houses. Women and lawyers are his
+best disciples; the one, next fruit, longs for forbidden doctrine, the
+other to maintain forbidden titles, both which he sows amongst them.
+Honest he dare not be, for that loves order; yet, if he can be brought
+to ceremony and made but master of it, he is converted.
+
+
+
+A MERE COMMON LAWYER
+
+Is the best shadow to make a discreet one show the fairer. He is a
+_materia prima_ informed by reports, actuated by statutes, and hath his
+motion by the favourable intelligence of the Court. His law is always
+furnished with a commission to arraign his conscience; but, upon
+judgment given, he usually sets it at large. He thinks no language worth
+knowing but his Barragouin: only for that point he hath been a long time
+at wars with Priscian for a northern province. He imagines that by sure
+excellency his profession only is learning, and that it is a profanation
+of the Temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberal arts be
+there admitted to offer strange incense to her. For, indeed, he is all
+for money. Seven or eight years squires him out, some of his nation less
+standing; and ever since the night of his call, he forgot much what he
+was at dinner. The next morning his man (in _actu_ or _potentia_) enjoys
+his pickadels. His laundress is then shrewdly troubled in fitting him a
+ruff, his perpetual badge. His love-letters of the last year of his
+gentlemanship are stuffed with discontinuances, remitters, and uncore
+priests; but, now being enabled to speak in proper person, he talks of a
+French hood instead of a jointure, wags his law, and joins issue. Then
+he begins to stick his letters in his ground chamber-window, that so the
+superscription may make his squireship transparent. His heraldry gives
+him place before the minister, because the Law was before the Gospel.
+Next term he walks his hoopsleeve gown to the hall; there it proclaims
+him. He feeds fat in the reading, and till it chance to his turn,
+dislikes no house order so much as that the month is so contracted to a
+fortnight. Amongst his country neighbours he arrogates as much honour
+for being reader of an Inn of Chancery, as if it had been of his own
+house; for they, poor souls, take law and conscience, Court and
+Chancery, for all one. He learned to frame his case from putting riddles
+and imitating Merlin's prophecies, and to set all the Cross Row together
+by the ears; yet his whole law is not able to decide Lucan's one old
+controversy betwixt Tau and Sigma. He accounts no man of his cap and
+coat idle, but who trots not the circuit. He affects no life or quality
+for itself, but for gain; and that, at least, to the stating him in a
+Justice of Peace-ship, which is the first quickening soul superadded to
+the elementary and inanimate form of his new tide. His terms are his
+wife's vacations; yet she then may usurp divers Court-days, and has her
+returns in _mensem_ for writs of entry--often shorter. His vacations are
+her termers; but in assize time (the circuit being long) he may have a
+trial at home against him by _nisi prius_. No way to heaven, he thinks,
+so wise as through Westminster Hall; and his clerks commonly through it
+visit both heaven and hell. Yet then he oft forgets his journey's end,
+although he look on the Star-Chamber. Neither is he wholly destitute of
+the arts. Grammar he has enough to make termination of those words which
+his authority hath endenizoned rhetoric-some; but so little that it is
+thought a concealment. Logic, enough to wrangle. Arithmetic, enough for
+the ordinals of his year-books and number-rolls; but he goes not to
+multiplication, there is a statute against it. So much geometry, that he
+can advise in a _perambulatione fadenda_, or a _rationalibus divisis_.
+In astronomy and astrology he is so far seen, that by the Dominical
+letter he knows the holy-days, and finds by calculation that Michaelmas
+term will be long and dirty. Marry, he knows so much in music that he
+affects only the most and cunningest discords; rarely a perfect concord,
+especially song, except _in fine_. His skill in perspective endeavours
+much to deceive the eye of the law, and gives many false colours. He is
+specially practised in necromancy (such a kind as is out of the Statute
+of Primo), by raising many dead questions. What sufficiency he hath in
+criticism, the foul copies of his special pleas will tell you. Many of
+the same coat, which are much to be honoured, partake of divers of his
+indifferent qualities; but so that discretion, virtue, and sometimes
+other good learning, concurring and distinguishing ornaments to them,
+make them as foils to set their work on.
+
+
+
+A MERE SCHOLAR.
+
+A mere scholar is an intelligible ass, or a silly fellow in black that
+speaks sentences more familiarly than sense. The antiquity of his
+University is his creed, and the excellency of his college (though but
+for a match at football) an article of his faith. He speaks Latin better
+than his mother-tongue, and is a stranger in no part of the world but
+his own country. He does usually tell great stories of himself to small
+purpose, for they are commonly ridiculous, be they true or false. His
+ambition is that he either is or shall be a graduate; but if ever he get
+a fellowship, he has then no fellow. In spite of all logic he dares
+swear and maintain it, that a cuckold and a town's-man are _termini
+convertibles_, though his mother's husband be an alderman. He was never
+begotten (as it seems) without much wrangling, for his whole life is
+spent in _pro et contra_. His tongue goes always before his wit, like
+gentleman-usher, but somewhat faster. That he be a complete gallant in
+all points, _cap-a-pie_, witness his horsemanship and the wearing of his
+weapons. He is commonly long-winded, able to speak more with ease than
+any man can endure to hear with patience. University jests are his
+universal discourse, and his news the demeanour of the proctors. His
+phrase, the apparel of his mind, is made of divers shreds, like a
+cushion, and when it goes plainest it hath a rash outside and fustian
+linings. The current of his speech is closed with an _ergo_; and,
+whatever be the question, the truth is on his side. It is a wrong to his
+reputation to be ignorant of anything; and yet he knows not that he
+knows nothing. He gives directions for husbandry, from Virgil's
+"Georgics;" for cattle, from his "Bucolics;" for warlike stratagems,
+from his "AEneids" or Caesar's "Commentaries." He orders all things and
+thrives in none; skilful in all trades and thrives in none. He is led
+more by his ears than his understanding, taking the sound of words for
+their true sense, and does therefore confidently believe that Erra Pater
+was the father of heretics, Radulphus Agricola a substantial farmer, and
+will not stick to aver that Systemo's Logic doth excel Keckerman's. His
+ill-luck is not so much in being a fool, as in being put to such pains
+to express it to the world, for what in others is natural, in him (with
+much ado) is artificial. His poverty is his happiness, for it makes some
+men believe that he is none of fortune's favourites. That learning which
+he hath was in non age put in backward like a glyster, and it's now like
+ware mislaid in a pedlar's pack; a has it, but knows not where it is. In
+a word, his is the index of a man and the title-page of a scholar, or a
+puritan in morality--much in profession, nothing in practice.
+
+
+
+A TINKER
+
+Is a movable, for he hath no abiding-place; by his motion he gathers
+heat, thence his choleric nature. He seems to be very devout, for his
+life is a continual pilgrimage, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot,
+thereon making necessity a virtue. His house is as ancient as Tubal
+Cain's, and so is a renegade by antiquity: yet he proves himself a
+gallant, for he carries all his wealth upon his back; or a philosopher,
+for he bears all his substance about him. From his art was music first
+invented, and therefore he is always furnished with a song, to which his
+hammer keeping tune, proves that he was the first founder for the
+kettledrum. Note, that where the best ale is, there stands his music
+most upon crochets. The companion of his travels is some foul sun-burnt
+quean, that, since the terrible statute, recanted gipseyism and is
+turned pedlaress. So marches he all over England with his bag and
+baggage. His conversation is unreprovable, for he is ever mending. He
+observes truly the statutes, and therefore he can rather steal than beg,
+in which he is unremovably constant in spite of whip or imprisonment;
+and so a strong enemy to idleness, that in mending one hole he had
+rather make three than want work, and when he hath done, he throws the
+wallet of his faults behind him. He embraceth naturally ancient custom,
+conversing in open fields and lowly cottages. If he visit cities or
+towns, 'tis but to deal upon the imperfections of our weaker vessels.
+His tongue is very voluble, which with canting proves him a linguist. He
+is entertained in every place, but enters no further than the door, to
+avoid suspicion. Some will take him to be a coward, but believe it, he
+is a lad of metal; his valour is commonly three or four yards long,
+fastened to a pike in the end for flying off. He is provident, for he
+will fight but with one at once, and then also he had rather submit than
+be counted obstinate. To conclude, if he escape Tyburn and Banbury, he
+dies a beggar.
+
+
+
+AN APPARITOR
+
+Is a chick of the egg abuse, hatched by the warmth of authority; he is a
+bird of rapine, and begins to prey and feather together. He croaks like
+a raven against the death of rich men, and so gets a legacy
+unbequeathed. His happiness is in the multitude of children, for their
+increase is his wealth, and to that end he himself yearly adds one. He
+is a cunning hunter, uncoupling his intelligencing hounds under hedges,
+in thickets and cornfields, who follow the chase to city suburbs, where
+often his game is at covert; his quiver hangs by his side stuffed with
+silver arrows, which he shoots against church-gates and private men's
+doors, to the hazard of their purses and credit. There went but a pair
+of shears between him and the pursuivant of hell, for they both delight
+in sin, grow richer by it, and are by justice appointed to punish it;
+only the devil is more cunning, for he picks a living out of others'
+gains. His living lieth in his eye, which (like spirits) he sends
+through chinks and keyholes to survey the places of darkness; for which
+purpose he studieth the optics, but can discover no colour but black,
+for the pure white of chastity dazzleth his eyes. He is a Catholic, for
+he is everywhere; and with a politic, for he transforms himself into all
+shapes. He travels on foot to avoid idleness, and loves the Church
+entirely, because it is the place of his edification. He accounts not
+all sins mortal, for fornication with him is a venial sin, and to take
+bribes a matter of charity; he is collector for burnings and losses at
+sea, and in casting account readily subtracts the lesser from the
+greater sum. Thus lives he in a golden age, till death by a process
+summons him to appear.
+
+
+
+AN ALMANAC-MAKER
+
+Is the worst part of an astronomer; a certain compact of figures,
+characters, and ciphers, out of which he scores the fortune of a year,
+not so profitably as doubtfully. He is tenant by custom to the planets,
+of whom he holds the twelve houses by lease parol; to them he pays
+yearly rent, his study and time, yet lets them out again with all his
+heart for 40s. per annum. His life is merely contemplative; for his
+practice, 'tis worth nothing, at least not worthy of credit, and if by
+chance he purchase any, he loseth it again at the year's end, for time
+brings truth to light. Ptolemy and Tycho Brahe are his patrons, whose
+volumes he understands not but admires, and the rather because they are
+strangers, and so easier to be credited than controlled. His life is
+upright, for he is always looking upward, yet dares believe nothing
+above _primum mobile_, for 'tis out of the reach of his Jacob's staff.
+His charity extends no further than to mountebanks and sow-gelders, to
+whom he bequeaths the seasons of the year to kill or torture by. The
+verses of his book have a worse pace than ever had Rochester hackney;
+for his prose, 'tis dappled with ink-horn terms, and may serve for an
+almanac; but for his judging at the uncertainty of weather, any old
+shepherd shall make a dunce of him. He would be thought the devil's
+intelligencer for stolen goods, if ever he steal out of that quality. As
+a fly turns to a maggot, so the corruption of the cunning man is the
+generation of an empiric; his works fly forth in small volumes, yet not
+all, for many ride post to chandlers and tobacco shops in folio. To be
+brief, he falls three degrees short of his promises, yet is he the key
+to unlock terms and law days, a dumb mercury to point out highways, and
+a bailiff of all marts and fairs in England. The rest of him you shall
+know next year, for what he will be then he himself knows not.
+
+
+
+A HYPOCRITE
+
+Is a gilded pill, composed of two virtuous ingredients, natural
+dishonesty and artificial dissimulation. Simple fruit, plant, or drug he
+is none, but a deformed mixture bred betwixt evil nature and false art
+by a monstrous generation, and may well be put into the reckoning of
+those creatures that God never made. In Church or commonwealth (for in
+both these this mongrel weed will shoot) it is hard to say whether he be
+physic or a disease, for he is both in divers respects.
+
+As he is gilt with an outside of seeming purity, or as he offereth
+himself to you to be taken down in a cup or taste of golden zeal and
+simplicity, you may call him physic. Nay, and never let potion give
+patient good stool if, being truly tasted and relished, he be not as
+loathsome to the stomach of any honest man.
+
+He is also physic in being as commodious for use as he is odious in
+taste, if the body of the company into which he is taken can make true
+use of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so
+informer-like-dangerous, in taking advantage of anything done or said,
+yea, even to the ruin of his makers, if he may have benefit, that such a
+creature in a society makes men as careful of their speeches and actions
+as the sight of a known cut-purse in a throng makes them watchful over
+their purses and pockets. He is also in this respect profitable physic,
+that his conversation being once truly tasted and discovered, the
+hateful foulness of it will make those that are not fully like him to
+purge all such diseases as are rank in him out of their own lives, as
+the sight of some citizens on horseback make a judicious man amend his
+own faults in horsemanship. If one of these uses can be made of him, let
+him not long offend the stomach of your company; your best way is to
+spue him out. That he is a disease in the body where he liveth were as
+strange a thing to doubt as whether there be knavery in horse-coursers.
+For if among sheep, the rot; amongst dogs, the mange; amongst horses,
+the glanders; amongst men and women, the Northern itch and the French
+ache, be diseases, an hypocrite cannot but be the like in all States and
+societies that breed him. If he be a clergy hypocrite, then all manner
+of vice is for the most part so proper to him as he will grudge any man
+the practice of it but himself; like that grave burgess, who being
+desired to lend his clothes to represent a part in a comedy, answered:
+No, by his leave, he would have nobody play the fool in his clothes but
+himself. Hence are his so austere reprehensions of drinking healths,
+lascivious talk, usury, and unconscionable dealing; whenas himself,
+hating the profane mixture of malt and water, will, by his good will,
+let nothing come within him but the purity of the grape, when he can get
+it of another's cost. But this must not be done neither without a
+preface of seeming soothness, turning up the eyes, moving the head,
+laying hand on the breast, and protesting that he would not do it but to
+strengthen his body, being even consumed with dissembled zeal, and
+tedious and thankless babbling to God and his auditors. And for the
+other vices, do but venture the making yourself private with him or
+trusting of him, and if you come off without a savour of the air which
+his soul is infected with you have great fortune. The fardel of all this
+ware that is in him you shall commonly see carried upon the back of
+these two beasts that live within him, Ignorance and Imperiousness, and
+they may well serve to carry other vices, for of themselves they are
+insupportable. His Ignorance acquits him of all science, human or
+divine, and of all language but his mother's; holding nothing pure,
+holy, or sincere but the senseless recollections of his own crazed
+brain, the zealous fumes of his inflamed spirit, and the endless labours
+of his eternal tongue, the motions whereof, when matter and words fail
+(as they often do), must be patched up to accomplish his four hours in a
+day at the least with long and fervent hums. Anything else, either for
+language or matter, he cannot abide, but thus censureth: Latin, the
+language of the beast; Greek, the tongue wherein the heathen poets wrote
+their fictions; Hebrew, the speech of the Jews that crucified Christ;
+controversies do not edify; logic and philosophy are the subtilties of
+Satan to deceive the simple; human stories profane, and not savouring of
+the Spirit; in a word, all decent and sensible form of speech and
+persuasion (though in his own tongue) vain ostentation. And all this is
+the burden of his Ignorance, saving that sometimes idleness will put in
+also to bear a part of the baggage. His other beast, Imperiousness, is
+yet more proudly laden; it carrieth a burden that no cords of authority,
+spiritual nor temporal, should bind if it might have the full swing. No
+Pilate, no prince should command him, nay, he will command them, and at
+his pleasure censure them if they will not suffer their ears to be
+fettered with the long chains of his tedious collations, their purses to
+be emptied with the inundations of his unsatiable humour, and their
+judgments to be blinded with the muffler of his zealous ignorance; for
+this doth he familiarly insult over his maintainer that breeds him, his
+patron that feeds him, and in time over all them that will suffer him to
+set a foot within their doors or put a finger in their purses. All this
+and much more is in him; that abhorring degrees and universities as
+reliques of superstition, hath leapt from a shop-board or a cloak-bag to
+a desk or pulpit; and that, like a sea-god in a pageant, hath the rotten
+laths of his culpable life and palpable ignorance covered over with the
+painted-cloth of a pure gown and a night-cap, and with a false trumpet
+of feigned zeal draweth after him some poor nymphs and madmen that
+delight more to resort to dark caves and secret places than to open and
+public assemblies. The lay-hypocrite is to the other a champion,
+disciple, and subject, and will not acknowledge the tithe of the
+subjection to any mitre, no, not to any sceptre, that he will do to the
+hook and crook of his zeal-blind shepherd. No Jesuits demand more blind
+and absolute obedience from their vassals, no magistrates of the canting
+society more slavish subjection from the members of that travelling
+State, than the clerk hypocrites expect from these lay pulpits. Nay,
+they must not only be obeyed, fed, and defended, but admired too; and
+that their lay-followers do sincerely, as a shirtless fellow with a
+cudgel under his arm doth a face-wringing ballad-singer, a water-bearer
+on the floor of a playhouse, a wide-mouthed poet that speaks nothing but
+blathers and bombast. Otherwise, for life and profession, nature and
+art, inward and outward, they agree in all; like canters and gypsies,
+they are all zeal no knowledge, all purity no humanity, all simplicity
+no honesty, and if you never trust them they will never deceive you.
+
+
+
+A CHAMBERMAID.
+
+She is her mistress's she secretary, and keeps the box of her teeth, her
+hair, and her painting very private. Her industry is upstairs and
+downstairs, like a drawer; and by her dry hand you may know she is a
+sore starcher. If she lie at her master's bed's feet, she is quit of the
+green sickness for ever, for she hath terrible dreams when she's awake,
+as if she were troubled with the nightmare. She hath a good liking to
+dwell in the country, but she holds London the goodliest forest in
+England to shelter a great belly. She reads Greene's works over and
+over, but is so carried away with the "Mirror of Knighthood," she is
+many times resolved to run out of her self and become a lady-errant. The
+pedant of the house, though he promise her marriage, cannot grow further
+inward with her; she hath paid for her credulity often, and now grows
+weary. She likes the form of our marriage very well, in that a woman is
+not tied to answer to any articles concerning questions of virginity.
+Her mind, her body, and clothes are parcels loosely tacked together, and
+for want of good utterance she perpetually laughs out her meaning. Her
+mistress and she help to make away time to the idlest purpose that can
+be, either for love or money. In brief, these chambermaids are like
+lotteries: you may draw twenty ere one worth anything.
+
+
+
+A PRECISIAN.
+
+To speak no otherwise of this varnished rottenness than in truth and
+verity he is, I must define him to be a demure creature, full of oral
+sanctity and mental impiety; a fair object to the eye, but stark naught
+for the understanding, or else a violent thing much given to
+contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposition with the Papist,
+though it be sometimes accompanied with an absurdity, like the islanders
+near adjoining unto China, who salute by putting off their shoes,
+because the men of China do it by their hats. If at any time he fast, it
+is upon Sunday, and he is sure to feast upon Friday. He can better
+afford you ten lies than one oath, and dare commit any sin gilded with a
+pretence of sanctity. He will not stick to commit fornication or
+adultery so it be done in the fear of God and for the propagation of the
+godly, and can find in his heart to lie with any whore save the whore of
+Babylon. To steal he holds it lawful, so it be from the wicked and
+Egyptians. He had rather see Antichrist than a picture in the church
+window, and chooseth sooner to be half hanged than see a leg at the name
+of Jesus or one stand at the Creed. He conceives his prayer in the
+kitchen rather than in the church, and is of so good discourse that he
+dares challenge the Almighty to talk with him extempore. He thinks every
+organist is in the state of damnation, and had rather hear one of Robert
+Wisdom's psalms than the best hymn a cherubim can sing. He will not
+break wind without an apology or asking forgiveness, nor kiss a
+gentlewoman for fear of lusting after her. He hath nicknamed all the
+prophets and apostles with his sons, and begets nothing but virtues for
+daughters. Finally, he is so sure of his salvation, that he will not
+change places in heaven with the Virgin Mary, without boot.
+
+
+
+AN INNS OF COURT MAN.
+
+He is distinguished from a scholar by a pair of silk stockings and a
+beaver hat, which makes him condemn a scholar as much as a scholar doth
+a schoolmaster. By that he hath heard one mooting and seen two plays, he
+thinks as basely of the university as a young sophister doth of the
+grammar-school. He talks of the university with that state as if he were
+her chancellor; finds fault with alterations and the fall of discipline
+with an "It was not so when I was a student," although that was within
+this half year. He will talk ends of Latin, though it be false, with as
+great confidence as ever Cicero could pronounce an oration, though his
+best authors for it be taverns and ordinaries. He is as far behind a
+courtier in his fashion as a scholar is behind him, and the best grace
+in his behaviour is to forget his acquaintance.
+
+He laughs at every man whose band fits not well, or that hath not a fair
+shoe-tie, and he is ashamed to be seen in any man's company that wears
+not his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his outside, and
+his chiefest prayer is, that his revenues may hold out for taffety
+cloaks in the summer and velvet in the winter. To his acquaintance he
+offers two quarts of wine for one he gives. You shall never see him
+melancholy but when he wants a new suit or fears a sergeant, at which
+times he only betakes himself to Ploydon. By that he hath read
+Littleton, he can call Solon, Lycurgus, and Justinian fools, and dares
+compare his law to a lord chief-justice's.
+
+
+
+A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE.
+
+He is one whose hopes commonly exceed his fortunes and whose mind soars
+above his purse. If he hath read Tacitus Guicciardine or Gallo-Belgicus,
+he condemns the late Lord-Treasurer for all the state policy he had, and
+laughs to think what a fool he could make of Solomon if he were now
+alive. He never wears new clothes but against a commencement or a good
+time, and is commonly a degree behind the fashion. He hath sworn to see
+London once a year, though all his business be to see a play, walk a
+turn in Paul's, and observe the fashion. He thinks it a discredit to be
+out of debt, which he never likely clears without resignation money. He
+will not leave his part he hath in the privilege over young gentlemen in
+going bare to him, for the empire of Germany. He prays as heartily for a
+sealing as a cormorant doth for a dear year, yet commonly he spends that
+revenue before he receives it.
+
+At meals he sits in as great state over his penny commons as ever
+Vitellius did at his greatest banquet, and takes great delight in
+comparing his fare to my Lord Mayor's.
+
+If he be a leader of a faction, he thinks himself greater than ever
+Caesar was or the Turk at this day is. And he had rather lose an
+inheritance than an office when he stands for it.
+
+If he be to travel, he is longer furnishing himself for a five miles'
+journey than a ship is rigging for a seven years' voyage. He is never
+more troubled than when he has to maintain talk with a gentlewoman,
+wherein he commits more absurdities than a clown in eating of an egg.
+
+He thinks himself as fine when he is in a clean band and a new pair of
+shoes, as any courtier doth when he is first in a new fashion.
+
+Lastly, he is one that respects no man in the university, and is
+respected by no man out of it.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY COMMANDER IN THE WARS
+
+Is one that accounts learning the nourishment of military virtue, and
+lays that as his first foundation. He never bloodies his sword but in
+heat of battle, and had rather save one of his own soldiers than kill
+ten of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vainglorious, and suspected
+bounty to be full of good words; his rewarding, therefore, of the
+deserver arrives so timely, that his liberality can never be said to be
+gouty-handed. He holds it next his creed that no coward can be an honest
+man, and dare die in it. He doth not think, his body yields a more
+spreading shadow after a victory than before; and when he looks upon his
+enemy's dead body 'tis a kind of noble heaviness--no insultation. He is
+so honourably merciful to women in surprisal, that only that makes him
+an excellent courtier. He knows the hazard of battles, not the pomp of
+ceremonies, are soldiers' best theatres, and strives to gain reputation,
+not by the multitude but by the greatness of his actions. He is the
+first in giving the charge and the last in retiring his foot. Equal toil
+he endures with the common soldier; from his examples they all take
+fire, as one torch lights many. He understands in war there is no mean
+to err twice, the first and last fault being sufficient to ruin an army:
+faults, therefore, he pardons none; they that are precedents of disorder
+or mutiny repair it by being examples of his justice. Besiege him never
+so strictly, so long as the air is not cut from him, his heart faints
+not. He hath learned as well to make use of a victory as to get it, and
+pursuing his enemies like a whirlwind, carries all before him; being
+assured if ever a man will benefit himself upon his foe, then is the
+time when they have lost force, wisdom, courage, and reputation. The
+goodness of his cause is the special motive to his valour; never is he
+known to slight the weakest enemy that comes armed against him in the
+band of justice. Hasty and overmuch heat he accounts the step-dame to
+all great actions that will not suffer them to drive; if he cannot
+overcome his enemy by force, he does it by time. If ever he shake hands
+with war, he can die more calmly than most courtiers, for his continual
+dangers have been, as it were, so many meditations of death. He thinks
+not out of his own calling when he accounts life a continual warfare,
+and his prayers then best become him when armed _cap-a-fie_. He utters
+them like the great Hebrew general, on horseback. He casts a smiling
+contempt upon calumny; it meets him as if glass should encounter
+adamant. He thinks war is never to be given o'er, but on one of these
+three conditions: an assured peace, absolute victory, or an honest
+death. Lastly, when peace folds him up, his silver head should lean near
+the golden sceptre and die in his prince's bosom.
+
+
+
+A VAINGLORIOUS COWARD IN COMMAND
+
+Is one that hath bought his place, or come to it by some nobleman's
+letter. He loves alive dead pays, yet wishes they may rather happen in
+his company by the scurvy than by a battle. View him at a muster, and he
+goes with such a nose as if his body were the wheelbarrow that carried
+his judgment rumbling to drill his soldiers. No man can worse design
+between pride and noble courtesy. He that salutes him not, so far as a
+pistol carries level, gives him the disgust or affront, choose you
+whether. He trains by the book, and reckons so many postures of the pike
+and musket as if he were counting at noddy. When he comes at first upon
+a camisado, he looks, like the four winds in painting, as if he would
+blow away the enemy; but at the very first onset suffers fear and
+trembling to dress themselves in his face apparently. He scorns any man
+should take place before him, yet at the entering of a breach he hath
+been so humble-minded as to let his lieutenant lead his troops for him.
+He is so sure armed for taking hurt that he seldom does any; and while
+he is putting on his arms, he is thinking what sum he can make to
+satisfy his ransom. He will rail openly against all the great commanders
+of the adverse party, yet in his own conscience allows them for better
+men. Such is the nature of his fear that, contrary to all other filthy
+qualities, it makes him think better of another man than himself. The
+first part of him that is set a running is his eye-sight; when that is
+once struck with terror all the costive physic in the world cannot stay
+him. If ever he do anything beyond his own heart 'tis for a knighthood,
+and he is the first kneels for it without bidding.
+
+
+
+A PIRATE,
+
+Truly defined, is a bold traitor, for he fortifies a castle against the
+king. Give him sea-room in never so small a vessel, and like a witch in
+a sieve, you would think he were going to make merry with the devil. Of
+all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not leave off his
+thieving, though he be in a narrow prison, and look every day, by
+tempest or fight, for execution. He is one plague the devil hath added
+to make the sea more terrible than a storm, and his heart is so hardened
+in that rugged element that he cannot repent, though he view his grave
+before him continually open. He hath so little of his own that the house
+he sleeps in is stolen: all the necessities of life he filches but one;
+he cannot steal a sound sleep for his troubled conscience. He is very
+gentle to those under him, yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the
+world, for he gives licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty in his own
+example. What he gets is small use to him, only lives by it somewhat the
+longer to do a little more service to his belly, for he throws away his
+treasure upon the shore in riot, as if he cast it into the sea. He is a
+cruel hawk that flies at all but his own kind; and as a whale never
+comes ashore but when she is wounded, so he very seldom but for his
+necessities. He is the merchant's book that serves only to reckon up his
+losses, a perpetual plague to noble traffic, the hurricane of the sea,
+and the earthquake of the exchange. Yet for all this give him but his
+pardon and forgive him restitution, he may live to know the inside of a
+church, and die on this side Wapping.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY FENCER
+
+Is a fellow that, beside shaving of cudgels, hath a good insight into
+the world, for he hath long been beaten to it. Flesh and blood he is
+like other men, but surely nature meant him stockfish. His and a
+dancing-school are inseparable adjuncts, and are bound, though both
+stink of sweat most abominable, neither shall complain of annoyance.
+Three large bavins set up his trade, with a bench, which, in the
+vacation of the afternoon, he used for his day-bed. When he comes on the
+stage at his prize he makes a leg seven several ways, and scrambles for
+money, as if he had been born at the Bath in Somersetshire. At his
+challenge he shows his metal, for, contrary to all rules of physic, he
+dares bleed, though it be in the dog-days. He teaches devilish play in
+his school, but when he fights himself he doth it in the fear of a good
+Christian; he compounds quarrels among his scholars, and when he hath
+brought the business to a good upshot he makes the reckoning. His wounds
+are seldom above skin deep; for an inward bruise lamb-stones and
+sweetbreads are his only spermaceti, which he eats at night next his
+heart fasting. Strange schoolmasters they are that every day set a man
+as far backward as he went forward, and throwing him into a strange
+posture, teach him to thresh satisfaction out of injury. One sign of a
+good nature is that he is still open-breasted to his friends; for his
+foil and his doublet wear not out above two buttons, and resolute he is,
+for he so much scorns to take blows that he never wears cuffs; and he
+lives better contented with a little than other men, for if he have two
+eyes in his head he thinks nature hath overdone him. The Lord Mayor's
+triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time to flourish. Lastly,
+these fencers are such things that care not if all the world were
+ignorant of more letters than only to read their patent.
+
+
+
+A PUNY CLERK.
+
+He is taken from grammar-school half coddled, and can hardly shake off
+his dreams of breeching in a twelvemonth. He is a farmer's son, and his
+father's utmost ambition is to make him an attorney. He doth itch
+towards a poet, and greases his breeches extremely with feeding without
+a napkin. He studies false dice to cheat costermongers. He eats
+gingerbread at a playhouse, and is so saucy that he ventures fairly for
+a broken pate at the banqueting-house, and hath it. He would never come
+to have any wit but for a long vacation, for that makes him bethink him
+how he shall shift another day. He prays hotly against fasting, and so
+he may sup well on Friday nights, he cares not though his master be a
+puritan. He practices to make the words in his declaration spread as a
+sewer doth the dishes of a niggard's table; a clerk of a swooping dash
+is as commendable as a Flanders horse of a large tail. Though you be
+never so much delayed you must not call his master knave, that makes him
+go beyond himself, and write a challenge in court hand, for it may be
+his own another day These are some certain of his liberal faculties; but
+in the term time his clog is a buckram bag. Lastly, which is great pity,
+he never comes to his full growth, with bearing on his shoulder the
+sinful burden of his master at several courts in Westminster.
+
+
+
+A FOOTMAN.
+
+Let him be never so well made, yet his legs are not matches, for he is
+still setting the best foot forward. He will never be a staid man, for
+he has had a running head of his own ever since his childhood. His
+mother, which out of question was a light-heeled wench, knew it, yet let
+him run his race thinking age would reclaim him from his wild courses.
+He is very long-winded, and without doubt but that he hates naturally to
+serve on horseback, he had proved an excellent trumpet. He has one
+happiness above all the rest of the serving-men, for when he most
+overreaches his master he is best thought of. He lives more by his own
+heat than the warmth of clothes, and the waiting-woman hath the greatest
+fancy to him when he is in his close trouses. Guards he wears none,
+which makes him live more upright than any cross-gartered
+gentleman-usher. 'Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life,
+because a man must take it as he's running, only this, horses are
+usually let blood on St. Steven's Day. On St. Patrick's he takes rest,
+and is drenched for all the year after.
+
+
+
+A NOBLE AND RETIRED HOUSEKEEPER
+
+Is one whose bounty is limited by reason, not ostentation; and to make
+it last he deals it discreetly, as we sow the furrow, not by the sack,
+but by the handful. His word and his meaning never shake hands and part,
+but always go together. He can survey good and love it, and loves to do
+it himself for its own sake, not for thanks. He knows there is no such
+misery as to outlive good name, nor no such folly as to put it in
+practice. His mind is so secure that thunder rocks him asleep, which
+breaks other men's slumbers; nobility lightens in his eyes, and in his
+face and gesture is painted the god of hospitality. His great houses
+bear in their front more durance than state, unless this add the greater
+state to them, that they promise to outlast much of our new fantastical
+buildings. His heart never grows old, no more than his memory, whether
+at his book or on horseback. He passeth his time in such noble exercise,
+a man cannot say any time is lost by him; nor hath he only years to
+approve he hath lived till he be old, but virtues. His thoughts have a
+high aim, though their dwelling be in the vale of an humble heart,
+whence, as by an engine (that raises water to fall that it may rise the
+higher), he is heightened in his humility. The adamant serves not for
+all seas, but this doth; for he hath, as it were, put a gird about the
+whole world and found all her quicksands. He hath this hand over
+fortune, that her injuries, how violent or sudden soever, they do not
+daunt him; for whether his time call him to live or die, he can do both
+nobly; if to fall, his descent is breast to breast with virtue; and even
+then, like the sun near his set, he shows unto the world his clearest
+countenance.
+
+
+
+AN INTRUDER INTO FAVOUR
+
+Is one that builds his reputation on others' infamy, for slander is most
+commonly his morning prayer. His passions are guided by pride and
+followed by injustice. An inflexible anger against some poor tutor he
+falsely calls a courageous constancy, and thinks the best part of
+gravity to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is the most slavishly
+submissive, though envious to those that are in better place than
+himself; and knows the art of words so well that (for shrouding
+dishonesty under a fair pretext) he seems to preserve mud in crystal.
+Like a man of a kind nature, he is the first good to himself, in the
+next file to his French tailor, that gives him all his perfection; for
+indeed, like an estridge, or bird of paradise, his feathers are more
+worth than his body. If ever he do good deed (which is very seldom) his
+own mouth is the chronicle of it, lest it should die forgotten. His
+whole body goes all upon screws, and his face is the vice that moves
+them. If his patron be given to music, he opens his chops and sings, or
+with a wry neck falls to tuning his instrument; if that fail, he takes
+the height of his lord with a hawking pole. He follows the man's
+fortune, not the man, seeking thereby to increase his own. He pretends
+he is most undeservedly envied, and cries out, remembering the game,
+chess, that a pawn before a king is most played on. Debts he owns none
+but shrewd turns, and those he pays ere he be sued. He is a flattering
+glass to conceal age and wrinkles. He is mountain's monkey that,
+climbing a tree and skipping from bough to bough, gives you back his
+face; but come once to the top, he holds his nose up into the wind and
+shows you his tail. Yet all this gay glitter shows on him as if the sun
+shone in a puddle, for he is a small wine that will not last; and when
+he is falling, he goes of himself faster than misery can drive him.
+
+
+
+A FAIR AND HAPPY MILKMAID
+
+Is a country wench, that is so far from making herself beautiful by art,
+that one look of hers is able to put all face physic out of countenance.
+She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator to commend virtue, therefore
+minds it not. All her excellences stand in her so silently, as if they
+had stolen upon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel
+(which is herself) is far better than outsides of tissue; for though she
+be not arrayed in the spoil of the silk-worm, she is decked in
+innocency, a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long a-bed,
+spoil both her complexion and conditions; Nature hath taught her too
+immoderate sleep is rust to the soul; she rises therefore with
+chanticleer, her dame's cock, and at night makes lamb her curfew. In
+milking a cow and straining the teats through her fingers, it seems that
+so sweet a milk-press makes the milk the whiter or sweeter; for never
+came almond glove or aromatic ointment off her palm to taint it. The
+golden ears of corn fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them, as if
+they wished to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand that felled
+them. Her breath is her own, which scents all the year long of June,
+like a new made haycock. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her
+heart soft with pity; and when winter's evenings fall early (sitting at
+her merry wheel) she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of fortune. She
+doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will not
+suffer her to do ill, because her mind is to do well. She bestows her
+year's wages at next fair; and, in choosing her garments, counts no
+bravery in the world like decency. The garden and beehive are all her
+physic and chirurgery, and she lives the longer for it. She dares go
+alone and unfold sheep in the night, and fears no manner of ill because
+she means none; yet, to say truth, she is never alone, for she is still
+accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short
+ones; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are not palled with
+ensuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreams are so chaste that she dare
+tell them: only a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she
+conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is that she
+may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her
+winding-sheet.
+
+
+
+AN ARRANT HORSE-COURSER
+
+Hath the trick to blow up horse-flesh, as the butcher doth veal, which
+shall wash out again in twice riding betwixt Waltham and London. The
+trade of spur-making had decayed long since, but for this ungodly
+tireman. He is cursed all over the four ancient highways of England;
+none but the blind men that sell switches in the road are beholding to
+him. His stable is filled with so many diseases, one would think most
+part about Smithfield was an hospital for horses, or a slaughter-house
+of the common hunt. Let him furnish you with a hackney, it is as much as
+if the King's warrant overtook you within ten miles to stay your
+journey. And though a man cannot say he cozens you directly, yet any
+hostler within ten miles, should he be brought upon his book-oath, will
+affirm he hath laid a bait for you. Resolve when you first stretch
+yourself in the stirrups, you are put as it were upon some usurer that
+will never bear with you past his day. He were good to make one that had
+the colic alight often, and, if example will cause him, make urine; let
+him only for that say, Grammercy horse. For his sale of horses, he hath
+false covers for all manner of diseases, only comes short of one thing
+(which he despairs not utterly to bring to perfection), to make a horse
+go on a wooden leg and two crutches. For powdering his ears with
+quicksilver, and giving him suppositories of live eels, he is expert.
+All the while you are cheapening, he fears you will not bite; but he
+laughs in his sleeve when he hath cozened you in earnest. Frenchmen are
+his best chapmen; he keeps amblers for them on purpose, and knows he can
+deceive them very easily. He is so constant to his trade that, while he
+is awake, he tries any man he talks with, and when he is asleep he
+dreams very fearfully of the paving of Smithfield, for he knows it would
+founder his occupation.
+
+
+
+A ROARING BOY.
+
+His life is a mere counterfeit patent, which, nevertheless, makes many a
+country justice tremble. Don Quixote's water-mills are still Scotch
+bagpipes to him. He sends challenges by word of mouth, for he protests
+(as he is a gentleman and a brother of the sword) he can neither write
+nor read. He hath run through divers parcels of land, and great houses,
+beside both the counters. If any private quarrel happen among our great
+courtiers, he proclaims the business--that's the word, the business--as
+if the united force of the Romish Catholics were making up for Germany.
+He cheats young gulls that are newly come to town; and when the keeper
+of the ordinary blames him for it he answers him in his own profession,
+that a woodcock must be plucked ere he be dressed. He is a supervisor to
+brothels, and in them is a more unlawful reformer of vice than prentices
+on Shrove-Tuesday. He loves his friend as a counsellor at law loves the
+velvet breeches he was first made barrister in, he will be sure to wear
+him threadbare ere he forsake him. He sleeps with a tobacco-pipe in his
+mouth; and his first prayer in the morning is he may remember whom he
+fell out with over night. Soldier he is none, for he cannot distinguish
+between onion-seed and gunpowder; if he have worn it in his hollow tooth
+for the toothache and so come to the knowledge of it, that is all. The
+tenure by which he holds his means is an estate at will, and that's
+borrowing. Landlords have but four quarter-days, but he three hundred
+and odd. He keeps very good company, yet is a man of no reckoning; and
+when he goes not drunk to bed he is very sick next morning. He commonly
+dies like Anacreon, with a grape in his throat; or Hercules, with fire
+in his marrow. And I have heard of some that have escaped hanging begged
+for anatomies, only to deter man from taking tobacco.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKEN DUTCHMAN RESIDENT IN ENGLAND
+
+Is but a quarter-master with his wife. He stinks of butter as if he were
+anointed all over for the itch. Let him come over never so lean, and
+plant him but one month near the brew-houses in St Catherine's, and he
+will be puffed up to your hand like a bloat herring. Of all places of
+pleasure he loves a common garden, and with the swine of the parish had
+need be ringed for rooting. Next to these he affects lotteries
+naturally, and bequeaths the best prize in his will aforehand; when his
+hopes fall he's blank. They swarm in great tenements like flies; six
+households will live in a garret. He was wont, only to make us fools, to
+buy the fox skin for threepence, and sell the tail for a shilling. Now
+his new trade of brewing strong waters makes a number of madmen. He
+loves a Welshman extremely for his diet and orthography; that is, for
+plurality of consonants, and cheese. Like a horse, he is only guided by
+the mouth; when he's drunk you may thrust your hand into him like an
+eel's-skin, and strip him, his inside outwards. He hoards up fair gold,
+and pretends 'tis to seethe in his wife's broth for consumption; and
+loves the memory of King Henry the Eighth, most especially for his old
+sovereigns. He says we are unwise to lament the decay of timber in
+England; for all manner of buildings or fortification whatsoever, he
+desires no other thing in the world than barrels and hop-poles. To
+conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at is small beer and the
+Spanish Inquisition.
+
+
+
+A PHANTASTIQUE: AN IMPROVIDENT YOUNG GALLANT,
+
+There is a confederacy between him and his clothes, to be made a puppy:
+view him well and you will say his gentry sits as ill upon him as if he
+had bought it with his penny. He hath more places to send money to than
+the devil hath to send his spirits; and to furnish each mistress would
+make him run besides his wits, if he had any to lose. He accounts
+bashfulness the wickedest thing in the world, and therefore studies
+impudence. If all men were of his mind all honesty would be out of
+fashion. He withers his clothes on a stage, as a saleman is forced to do
+his suits in Birchin Lane; and when the play is done, if you mark his
+rising, 'tis with a kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, to
+know if his suit may pass for current. He studies by the discretion of
+his barber, to frizzle like a baboon; three such would keep three the
+nimblest barbers in the town from ever having leisure to wear
+net-garters, for when they have to do with him, they have many irons in
+the fire. He is travelled, but to little purpose; only went over for a
+squirt and came back again, yet never the more mended in his conditions,
+because he carried himself along with him. A scholar he pretends
+himself, and says he hath sweat for it, but the truth is he knows
+Cornelius far better than Tacitus. His ordinary sports are cock-fights,
+but the most frequent, horse-races, from whence he comes home
+dry-foundered. Thus when his purse hath cast her calf he goes down into
+the country, where he is brought to milk and white cheese like
+the Switzers.
+
+
+
+A BUTTON-MAKER OF AMSTERDAM
+
+Is one that is fled over for his conscience, and left his wife and
+children upon the parish. For his knowledge he is merely a Horn-book
+without a Christ-cross before it; and his zeal consists much in hanging
+his Bible in a Dutch button. He cozens men in the purity of his clothes;
+and 'twas his only joy when he was on this side, to be in prison. He
+cries out, 'tis impossible for any man to be damned that lives in his
+religion, and his equivocation is true--as long as a man lives in it, he
+cannot; but if he die in it, there's the question. Of all feasts in the
+year he accounts St. George's feast the profanest, because of St.
+George's cross, yet sometimes he doth sacrifice to his own belly,
+provided that he put off the wake of his own nativity or wedding till
+Good Friday. If there be a great feast in the town, though most of the
+wicked (as he calls them) be there, he will be sure to be a guest, and
+to out-eat six of the fattest burghers. He thinks, though he may not
+pray with a Jew, he may eat with a Jew. He winks when he prays, and
+thinks he knows the way so now to heaven, that he can find it blindfold.
+Latin he accounts the language of the beast with seven heads; and when
+he speaks of his own country, cries, he is fled out of Babel. Lastly,
+his devotion is obstinacy; the only solace of his heart, contradiction;
+and his main end, hypocrisy.
+
+
+
+A DISTASTER OF THE TIME
+
+Is a winter grasshopper all the year long that looks back upon harvest
+with a lean pair of cheeks, never sets forward to meet it; his malice
+sucks up the greatest part of his own venom, and therewith impoisoneth
+himself: and this sickness rises rather of self-opinion or over-great
+expedition; so in the conceit of his own over-worthiness, like a
+coistrel he strives to fill himself with wind, and flies against it. Any
+man's advancement is the most capital offence that can be to his malice,
+yet this envy, like Phalaris' bull, makes that a torment first for
+himself he prepared for others. He is a day-bed for the devil to slumber
+on. His blood is of a yellowish colour, like those that have been bitten
+by vipers, and his gall flows as thick in him as oil in a poisoned
+stomach. He infects all society, as thunder sours wine: war or peace,
+dearth or plenty, makes him equally discontented. And where he finds no
+cause to tax the State, he descends to rail against the rate of
+salt-butter. His wishes are whirlwinds, which breathed forth return into
+himself, and make him a most giddy and tottering vessel. When he is
+awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walk in his sleep, for his
+visitation is directed to none, his business is nothing. He is often
+dumb-mad, and goes fettered in his own entrails. Religion is commonly
+his pretence of discontent, though he can be of all religions, therefore
+truly of none. Thus by naturalising himself some would think him a very
+dangerous fellow to the State; but he is not greatly to be feared, for
+this dejection of his is only like a rogue that goes on his knees and
+elbows in the mire to further his cogging.
+
+
+
+A MERE FELLOW OF AN HOUSE
+
+Examines all men's carriage but his own, and is so kind-natured to
+himself, he finds fault with all men's but his own. He wears his apparel
+much after the fashion; his means will not suffer him to come too nigh.
+They afford him mock-velvet or satinisco, but not without the college's
+next lease's acquaintance. His inside is of the self-same fashion, not
+rich; but as it reflects from the glass of self-liking, there Croesus is
+Irus to him. He is a pedant in show, though his title be tutor, and his
+pupils in a broader phrase are schoolboys. On these he spends the false
+gallop of his tongue, and with senseless discourse tows them alone, not
+out of ignorance. He shows them the rind, conceals the sap; by this
+means he keeps them the longer, himself the better. He hath learnt to
+cough and spit and blow his nose at every period, to recover his memory,
+and studies chiefly to set his eyes and beard to a new form of learning.
+His religion lies in wait for the inclination of his patron, neither
+ebbs nor flows, but just standing water, between Protestant and Puritan.
+His dreams are of plurality of benefices and non-residency, and when he
+rises acts a long grace to his looking-glass. Against he comes to be
+some great man's chaplain he hath a habit of boldness, though a very
+coward. He speaks swords, fights ergos. His peace on foot is a measure,
+on horseback a gallop, for his legs are his own, though horse and spurs
+are borrowed. He hath less use than possession of books. He is not so
+proud but he will call the meanest author by his name; nor so unskilled
+in the heraldry of a study but he knows each man's place. So ends that
+fellowship and begins another.
+
+
+
+A MERE PETTIFOGGER
+
+Is one of Samson's foxes; he sets men together by the ears, more
+shamefully than pillories, and in a long vacation his sport is to go a
+fishing with the penal statutes. He cannot err before judgment, and then
+you see it, only writs of error are the tariers that keep his client
+undoing somewhat the longer. He is a vestryman in his parish, and easily
+sets his neighbour at variance with the vicar, when his wicked counsel
+on both sides is like weapons put into men's hands by a fencer, whereby
+they get blows, he money. His honesty and learning bring him to
+Under-Shrieveship, which, having thrice run through, he does not fear
+the Lieutenant of the Shire; nay more, he fears not God. Cowardice holds
+him a good commonwealth's-man; his pen is the plough and parchment the
+soil whence he reaps both coin and curses. He is an earthquake that
+willingly will let no ground lie in quiet. Broken titles makes him
+whole; to have half in the country break their bonds were the only
+liberty of conscience. He would wish, though he be a Brownist, no
+neighbour of his should pay his tithes duly, if such suits held
+continual plea at Westminster. He cannot away with the reverend service
+in our Church, because it ends with the peace of God. He loves blows
+extremely, and hath his chirurgeon's bill of rates, from head to foot,
+incense the fury; he would not give away his yearly beatings for a good
+piece of money. He makes his will in form of a law-case, full of
+quiddits, that his friends after his death (if for nothing else, yet)
+for the vexation of the law, may have cause to remember him. And if he
+thought the ghost of men did walk again (as they report in the time of
+Popery), sure he would hide some single money in Westminster Hall that
+his spirit might haunt there. Only with this I will pitch him over the
+bar and leave him: that his fingers itch after a bribe ever since his
+first practising of court-hand.
+
+
+
+AN INGROSSER OF CORN.
+
+There is no vermin in the land like him: he slanders both heaven and
+earth with pretended dearths when there is no cause of scarcity. He
+hoarding in a dear year, is like Erysicthon's bowels in Ovid: _Quodque
+urbibus esset, quodque satis poterat populo, non sufficit uni_. He prays
+daily for more inclosures, and knows no reason in his religion why we
+should call our forefathers' days the time of ignorance, but only
+because they sold wheat for twelve pence a bushel. He wishes that
+Dantzig were at the Moluccas, and had rather be certain of some foreign
+invasion than of the setting up of the steelyard. When his barns and
+garners are full, if it be a time of dearth, he will buy half a bushel
+in the market to serve his household, and winnows his corn in the night,
+lest, as the chaff thrown upon the water showed plenty in Egypt, so his
+carried by the wind should proclaim his abundance. No painting pleases
+him so well as Pharaoh's dream of the seven lean kine that ate up the
+fat ones, that he has in his parlour, which he will describe to you like
+a motion, and his comment ends with a smothered prayer for a like
+scarcity. He cannot away with tobacco, for he is persuaded (and not much
+amiss), that 'tis a sparer of bread-corn, which he could find in his
+heart to transport without license; but, weighing the penalty, he grows
+mealy-mouthed, and dares not. Sweet smells he cannot abide; wishes that
+the pure air were generally corrupted; nay, that the spring had lost her
+fragrancy for ever, or we our superfluous sense of smelling (as he terms
+it), that his corn might not be found musty. The poor he accounts the
+Justices' intelligencers, and cannot abide them. He complains of our
+negligence of discovering new parts of the world, only to rid them from
+our climate. His son, by a certain kind of instinct, he binds prentice
+to a tailor, who, all the term of his indenture, hath a dear year in his
+belly, and ravens bread exceedingly. When he comes to be a freeman, if
+it be a dearth, he marries him to a baker's daughter.
+
+
+
+A DEVILISH USURER
+
+Is sowed as cummin or hempseed, with curses, and he thinks he thrives
+the better. He is far better read in the penal statutes than in the
+Bible, and his evil angel persuades him he shall sooner be saved by
+them. He can be no man's friend, for all men he hath most interest in he
+undoes. And a double dealer he is certainly, for by his good will he
+ever takes the forfeit. He puts his money to the unnatural act of
+generation, and his scrivener is the supervisor bawd to it. Good deeds
+he loves none, but sealed and delivered; nor doth he wish anything to
+thrive in the country but beehives, for they make him wax rich. He hates
+all but law-Latin, yet thinks he might be drawn to love a scholar, could
+he reduce the year to a shorter compass, that his use money might come
+in the faster. He seems to be the son of a jailor, for all his estate is
+in most heavy and cruel bonds. He doth not give, but sell, days of
+payment, and those at the rate of a man's undoing. He doth only fear the
+Day of Judgment should fall sooner than the payment of some great sum of
+money due to him. He removes his lodging when a subsidy comes; and if he
+be found out, and pay it, he grumbles treason: but 'tis in such a
+deformed silence as witches raise their spirits in. Gravity he pretends
+in all things but in his private vice, for he will not in a hundred
+pound take one light sixpence. And it seems he was at Tilbury Camp, for
+you must not tell him of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience, for
+(like the Jakes-farmer that swooned with going into Bucklersbury) he
+falls into a cold sweat if he but look into the Chancery; thinks, in his
+religion, we are in the right for everything, if that were abolished. He
+hides his money as if he thought to find it again at the last day, and
+then begin's old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription, and
+whether they or his body are more rotten is a question. Yet, should he
+live to be hanged in them, this good they would do him: the very hangman
+would pity his case. The table he keeps is able to starve twenty tall
+men. His servants have not their living, but their dying from him, and
+that's of hunger. A spare diet he commends in all men but himself. He
+comes to cathedrals only for love of the singing-boys, because they look
+hungry. He likes our religion best because 'tis best cheap, yet would
+fain allow of purgatory, cause 'twas of his trade, and brought in so
+much money. His heart goes with the same snaphance his purse doth: 'tis
+seldom open to any man. Friendship he accounts but a word without any
+signification; nay, he loves all the world so little, that an it were
+possible he would make himself his own executor. For certain, he is made
+administrator to his own good name while he is in perfect memory, for
+that dies long before him; but he is so far from being at the charge of
+a funeral for it, that he lets it stink above-ground. In conclusion, for
+neighbourhood you were better dwell by a contentious lawyer. And for his
+death, 'tis either surfeit, the pox, or despair; for seldom such as he
+die of God's making, as honest men should do.
+
+
+
+A WATERMAN
+
+Is one that hath learnt to speak well of himself, for always he names
+himself "the first man." If he had betaken himself to some richer trade,
+he could not have choosed but done well; for in this, though a mean one,
+he is still plying it, and putting himself forward. He is evermore
+telling strange news, most commonly lies. If he be a sculler, ask him if
+he be married: he'll equivocate, and swear he's a single man. Little
+trust is to be given to him, for he thinks that day he does best when he
+fetches most men over. His daily labour teaches him the art of
+dissembling, for, like a fellow that rides to the pillory, he goes not
+that way he looks. He keeps such a bawling at Westminster, that, if the
+lawyers were not acquainted with it, an order would be taken with him.
+When he is upon the water he is fair company; when he comes ashore he
+mutinies, and, contrary to all other trades, is most surly to gentlemen
+when they tender payment. The playhouses only keep him sober, and, as it
+doth many other gallants, make him an afternoon's man. London Bridge is
+the most terrible eyesore to him that can be. And, to conclude, nothing
+but a great press makes him fly from the river, nor anything but a great
+frost can teach him any good manners.
+
+
+
+A REVEREND JUDGE
+
+Is one that desires to have his greatness only measured by his goodness.
+His care is to appear such to the people as he would have them be, and
+to be himself such as he appears; for virtue cannot seem one thing and
+be another. He knows that the hill of greatness yields a most delightful
+prospect; but, withal, that it is most subject to lightning and thunder,
+and that the people, as in ancient tragedies, sit and censure the
+actions of those in authority. He squares his own, therefore, that they
+may far be above their pity. He wishes fewer laws, so they were better
+observed; and for those are mulctuary, he understands their institution
+not to be like briers or springs, to catch everything they lay hold of,
+but, like sea-marks on our dangerous Goodwin, to avoid the shipwreck of
+innocent passengers. He hates to wrong any man: neither hope nor despair
+of preferment can draw him to such an exigent. He thinks himself most
+honourably seated when he gives mercy the upper hand. He rather strives
+to purchase good name than land; and of all rich stuffs forbidden by the
+statute, loathes to have his followers wear their clothes cut out of
+bribes and extortions. If his Prince call him to higher place, there he
+delivers his mind plainly and freely, knowing for truth there is no
+place wherein dissembling ought to have less credit than in a prince's
+council. Thus honour keeps peace with him to the grave, and doth not (as
+with many) there forsake him, and go back with the heralds; but fairly
+sits over him, and broods out of his memory many right excellent
+commonwealth's-men.
+
+
+
+A VIRTUOUS WIDOW
+
+Is the palm-tree, that thrives not after the supplanting of her husband.
+For her children's sake she first marries; for she married that she
+might have children; and for their sakes she marries no more. She is
+like the purest gold, only employed for princes' medals: she never
+receives but one man's impression. The largest jointure moves her not,
+titles of honour cannot sway her. To change her name were (she thinks)
+to commit a sin should make her ashamed of her husband's calling. She
+thinks she hath travelled all the world in one man; the rest of her
+time, therefore, she directs to heaven. Her main superstition is, she
+thinks her husband's ghost would walk, should she not perform his will.
+She would do it were there no Prerogative Court. She gives much to pious
+uses, without any hope to merit by them; and as one diamond fashions
+another, so is she wrought into works of charity, with the dust or ashes
+of her husband. She lives to see herself full of time; being so
+necessary for earth, God calls her not to heaven till she be very aged,
+and even then, though her natural strength fail her, she stands like an
+ancient pyramid, which, the less it grows to man's eye, the nearer it
+reaches to heaven. This latter chastity of hers is more grave and
+reverend than that ere she was married, for in it is neither hope, nor
+longing, nor fear, nor jealousy. She ought to be a mirror for our
+youngest dames to dress themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles.
+No calamity can now come near her, for in suffering the loss of her
+husband she accounts all the rest trifles. She hath laid his dead body
+in the worthiest monument that can be: she hath buried it in her one
+heart. To conclude, she is a relic, that, without any superstition in
+the world, though she will not be kissed, yet may be reverenced.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY WIDOW
+
+Is like the herald's hearse-cloth; she serves to many funerals, with a
+very little altering the colour. The end of her husband begins in tears,
+and the end of her tears begins in a husband. She uses to cunning women
+to know how many husbands she shall have, and never marries without the
+consent of six midwives. Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her
+suitors, and by them she gains; for one serves to draw on another, and
+with one at last she shoots out another, as boys do pellets in eldern
+guns. She commends to them a single life, as horse-coursers do their
+jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of the biggest of the
+Guard, but knighthood makes her draw in in a weaker bow. Her servants or
+kinsfolk are the trumpeters that summon any to his combat. By them she
+gains much credit, but loseth it again in the old proverb, _Fama est
+mendax_. If she live to be thrice married, she seldom fails to cozen her
+second husband's creditors. A churchman she dare not venture upon, for
+she hath heard widows complain of dilapidations; nor a soldier, though
+he have candle-rents in the city, for his estate may be subject to fire;
+very seldom a lawyer, without he shows his exceeding great practice, and
+can make her case the better; but a knight with the old rent may do
+much, for a great coming in is all in all with a widow, ever provided
+that most part of her plate and jewels (before the wedding) be concealed
+with her scrivener. Thus, like a too-ripe apple, she falls off herself;
+but he that hath her is lord but of a filthy purchase, for the title is
+cracked. Lastly, while she is a widow, observe her, she is no morning
+woman; the evening, a good fire and sack may make her listen to a
+husband, and if ever she be made sure, 'tis upon a full stomach
+to bedward.
+
+
+
+A QUACK-SALVER
+
+Is a mountebank of a larger bill than a tailor: if he can but come by
+names enough of diseases to stuff it with, 'tis all the skill he studies
+for. He took his first beginning from a cunning woman, and stole this
+black art from her, while he made her sea-coal fire. All the diseases
+ever sin brought upon man doth he pretend to be a curer of, when the
+truth is, his main cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes him,
+what with railing against such as leave their cures for fear of
+infection, and in friendly breaking cake-bread with the fishwives at
+funerals. He utters a most abominable deal of carduus water, and the
+conduits cry out, All the learned doctors may cast their caps at him. He
+parts stakes witn some apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he
+lies; and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the apothecary
+dares not (for the richest horn in his shop) displease him. All the
+midwives in the town are his intelligencers; but nurses and young
+merchants' wives that would fain conceive with child, these are his
+idolaters. He is a more unjust bone-setter than a dice-maker. He hath
+put out more eyes than the small-pox; more deaf than the cataracts of
+Nilus; lamed more than the gout; shrunk more sinews than one that makes
+bowstrings, and killed more idly than tobacco. A magistrate that had
+any-way so noble a spirit as but to love a good horse well, would not
+suffer him to be a farrier. His discourse is vomit, and his ignorance
+the strongest purgation in the world. To one that would be speedily
+cured, he hath more delays and doubles than a hare or a lawsuit. He
+seeks to set us at variance with nature, and rather than he shall want
+diseases, he'll beget them. His especial practice (as I said before) is
+upon women; labours to make their minds sick, ere their bodies feel it,
+and then there's work for the dog-leech. He pretends the cure of madmen;
+and sure he gets most by them, for no man in his perfect wit would
+meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a juggler with urinals, so
+dangerously unskilful, that if ever the city will have recourse to him
+for diseases that need purgation, let them employ him in scouring
+Moorditch.
+
+
+
+A CANTING ROGUE.
+
+'Tis not unlikely but he was begot by some intelligencer under a hedge,
+for his mind is wholly given to travel. He is not troubled with making
+of jointures; he can divorce himself without the fee of a proctor, nor
+fears he the cruelty of overseers of his will. He leaves his children
+all the world to cant in, and all the people to their fathers. His
+language is a constant tongue; the northern speech differs from the
+south, Welsh from the Cornish; but canting is general, nor ever could be
+altered by conquest of the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out
+of his limit though he starve, nor break his oath, if he swear by his
+Solomon, though you hang him; and he pays his custom as truly to his
+grand rogue as tribute is paid to the great Turk. The March sun breeds
+agues in others, but he adores it like the Indians, for then begins his
+progress after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot endure him, for he is of
+the infantry, and serves best on foot. He offends not the statute
+against the excess of apparel, for he will go naked, and counts it a
+voluntary penance. Forty of them lie together in a barn, yet are never
+sued upon the Statute of Inmates. If he were learned no man could make a
+better description of England, for he hath travelled it over and over.
+Lastly, he brags that his great houses are repaired to his hands when
+churches go to ruin, and those are prisons.
+
+
+
+A FRENCH COOK.
+
+He learnt his trade in a town of garrison near famished, where he
+practised to make a little go far. Some derive it from more antiquity,
+and say, Adam, when he picked salads, was of his occupation. He doth not
+feed the belly, but the palate; and though his command lie in the
+kitchen, which is but an inferior place, yet shall you find him a very
+saucy companion. Ever since the wars in Naples, he hath so minced the
+ancient and bountiful allowance as if his nation should keep a perpetual
+diet. The serving-men call him the last relic of popery, that makes men
+fast against their conscience. He can be truly said to be no man's
+fellow but his master's, for the rest of the servants are starved by
+him. He is the prime cause why noblemen build their houses so great, for
+the smallness of their kitchen makes the house the bigger; and the lord
+calls him his alchemist, that can extract gold out of herbs, mushrooms,
+or anything. That which he dresses we may rather call a drinking than a
+meal, yet he is so full of variety that he brags, and truly, that he
+gives you but a taste of what he can do. He dares not for his life come
+among the butchers, for sure they would quarter and bake him after the
+English fashion, he's such an enemy to beef and mutton. To conclude, he
+were only fit to make, a funeral feast, where men should eat their
+victuals in mourning.
+
+
+
+A SEXTON
+
+Is an ill-wilier to human nature. Of all proverbs he cannot endure to
+hear that which says, We ought to live by the quick, not by the dead. He
+could willingly all his lifetime be confined to the churchyard; at
+least, within five foot on't, for at every church stile commonly there's
+an alehouse, where, let him be found never so idle-pated, he is still a
+grave drunkard. He breaks his fast heartiest while he is making a grave,
+and says the opening of the ground makes him hungry. Though one would
+take him to be a sloven, yet he loves clean linen extremely, and for
+that reason takes an order that fine Holland sheets be not made
+worms'-meat. Like a nation called the Cusani, he weeps when any are born
+and laughs when they die; the reason, he gets by burials not
+christenings. He will hold an argument in a tavern over sack till the
+dial and himself be both at a stand; he never observes any time but
+sermon-time, and there he sleeps by the hour-glass. The ropemaker pays
+him a pension, and he pays tribute to the physician; for the physician
+makes work for the sexton, as the ropemaker for the hangman. Lastly, he
+wishes the dog-days would last all year long; and a great plague is his
+year of jubilee.
+
+
+
+A JESUIT
+
+Is a larger spoon for a traitor to feed with the devil than any other
+order; unclasp him, and he's a grey wolf with a golden star in the
+forehead; so superstitiously he follows the pope that he forsakes Christ
+in not giving Caesar his due. His vows seem heavenly, but in meddling
+with state business he seems to mix heaven and earth together. His best
+elements are confession and penance: by the first he finds out men's
+inclinations, and by the latter heaps wealth to his seminary. He sprang
+from Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish soldier; and though he were found out
+long since the invention of the cannon, 'tis thought he hath not done
+less mischief. He is a half-key to open princes' cabinets and pry in
+their councils; and where the pope's excommunication thunders, he holds
+it no more sin the decrowning of kings than our Puritans do the
+suppression of bishops. His order is full of irregularity and
+disobedience, ambitious above all measure; for of late days, in Portugal
+and the Indies, he rejected the name of Jesuit, and would be called
+disciple. In Rome and other countries that give him freedom, he wears a
+mask upon his heart; in England he shifts it, and puts it upon his face.
+No place in our climate holds him so securely as a lady's chamber; the
+modesty of the pursuivant hath only forborne the bed, and so missed him.
+There is no disease in Christendom that may so properly be called the
+King's evil. To conclude, would you know him beyond sea? In his seminary
+he's a fox, but in the inquisition a lion rampant.
+
+
+
+AN EXCELLENT ACTOR.
+
+Whatsoever is commendable to the grave orator is most exquisitely
+perfect in him, for by a full and significant action of body he charms
+our attention. Sit in a full theatre and you will think you see so many
+lines drawn from the circumference of so many ears, while the actor is
+the centre. He doth not strive to make nature monstrous; she is often
+seen in the same scene with him, but neither on stilts nor crutches; and
+for his voice, 'tis not lower than the prompter, nor louder than the
+foil or target. By his action he fortifies moral precepts with examples,
+for what we see him personate we think truly done before us: a man of a
+deep thought might apprehend the ghost of our ancient heroes walked
+again, and take him at several times for many of them. He is much
+affected to painting, and 'tis a question whether that make him an
+excellent player, or his playing an exquisite painter. He adds grace to
+the poet's labours, for what in the poet is but ditty, in him is both
+ditty and music. He entertains us in the best leisure of our life--that
+is, between meals; the most unfit time for study or bodily exercise. The
+flight of hawks and chase of wild beasts, either of them are delights
+noble; but some think this sport of men the worthier, despite all
+calumny. All men have been of his occupation; and indeed, what he doth
+feignedly, that do others essentially. This day one plays a monarch, the
+next a private person; here one acts a tyrant, on the morrow an exile; a
+parasite this man tonight, tomorrow a precisian; and so of divers
+others. I observe, of all men living, a worthy actor in one kind is the
+strongest motive of affection that can be; for, when he dies, we cannot
+be persuaded any man can do his parts like him. But, to conclude, I
+value a worthy actor by the corruption of some few of the quality as I
+would do gold in the ore--I should not mind the dross, but the purity of
+the metal.
+
+
+
+A FRANKLIN.
+
+His outside is an ancient yeoman of England, though his inside may give
+arms with the best gentleman and never see the herald. There is no truer
+servant in the house than himself. Though he be master, he says not to
+his servants, "Go to field," but "Let us go;" and with his own eye doth
+both fatten his flock and set forward all manner of husbandry. He is
+taught by nature to be contented with a little; his own fold yields him
+both food and raiment; he is pleased with any nourishment God sends,
+whilst curious gluttony ransacks, as it were, Noah's ark for food only
+to feed the riot of one meal. He is never known to go to law;
+understanding, to be law-bound among men is to be hide-bound among his
+beasts; they thrive not under it, and that such men sleep as unquietly
+as if their pillows were stuffed with lawyers' penknives. When he builds
+no poor tenant's cottage hinders his prospect: they are indeed his
+almshouses, though there be painted on them no such superscription. He
+never sits up late but when he hunts the badger, the vowed foe of his
+lambs; nor uses he any cruelty but when he hunts the hare; nor subtilty
+but when he setteth snares for the snipe or pitfalls for the blackbird;
+nor oppression but when, in the month of July, he goes to the next river
+and shears his sheep. He allows of honest pastime, and thinks not the
+bones of the dead anything bruised or the worse for it though the
+country lasses dance in the churchyard after evensong. Rock Monday and
+the wake in summer, Shrovings, the wakeful catches on Christmas Eve, the
+hockey or seed-cake, these he yearly keeps, yet holds them no relics of
+popery. He is not so inquisitive after news derived from the privy
+closet, when the finding an eyry of hawks in his own ground, or the
+foaling of a colt come of a good strain, are tidings more pleasant, more
+profitable. He is lord paramount within himself, though he hold by never
+so mean a tenure, and dies the more contentedly, though he leave his
+heir young, in regard he leaves him not liable to a covetous garden.
+Lastly, to end him, he cares not when his end comes; he needs not fear
+his audit, for his quietus is in heaven.
+
+
+
+A RHYMER
+
+Is a fellow whose face is hatched all over with impudence, and should he
+be hanged or pilloried, 'tis armed for it. He is a juggler with words,
+yet practises the art of most uncleanly conveyance. He doth boggle very
+often, and because himself winks at it, thinks 'tis not perceived. The
+main thing that ever he did was the tune he sang to. There is nothing in
+the earth so pitiful--no, not an ape-carrier; he is not worth thinking
+of, and, therefore, I must leave him as nature left him--a dunghill not
+well laid together.
+
+
+
+A COVETOUS MAN.
+
+This man would love, honour, and adore God if there were an _I_ more in
+his name. He hath coffined up his soul in his chests before his body: he
+could wish he were in Midas his taking for hunger, on condition he had
+his chemical quality. At the grant of a new subsidy he would gladly hang
+himself, were it not for the charge of buying a rope, and begins to take
+money upon use when he hears of a privy seal. His morning prayer is to
+overlook his bags, whose every parcel begets his adoration. Then to his
+studies, which are how to cozen this tenant, beggar that widow, or to
+undo some orphan. Then his bonds are viewed, the well-known days of
+payment conned by heart; and if he ever pray, it is some one may break
+his day that the beloved forfeiture may be obtained. His use is doubled,
+and no one sixpence begot or born but presently, by an untimely thrift,
+it is getting more. His chimney must not be acquainted with fire for
+fear of mischance; but if extremity of cold pinch him, he gets him heat
+with looking on, and sometime removing his aged wood-pile, which he
+means to leave to many descents, till it hath outlived all the woods of
+that country. He never spends candle but at Christmas (when he has them
+for New Year's gifts), in hope that his servants will break glasses for
+want of light, which they double pay for in their wages. His actions are
+guilty of more crimes than any other men's, thoughts; and he conceives
+no sin which he dare not act save only lust, from which he abstains for
+fear he should be charged with keeping bastards. Once a year he feasts,
+the relics of which meal shall serve him the next quarter. In his talk
+he rails against eating of breakfasts, drinking betwixt meals, and
+swears he is impoverished with paying of tithes. He had rather have the
+frame of the fall than the price of corn. If he chance to travel he
+curses his fortune that his place binds him to ride, and his faithful
+cloak-bag is sure to take care for his provision. His nights are as
+troublesome as his days; every rat awakes him out of his unquiet sleeps.
+If he have a daughter to marry, he wishes he were in Hungary, or might
+follow the custom of that country, that all her portion might be a
+wedding-gown. If he fall sick, he had rather die a thousand deaths than
+pay for any physic; and if he might have his choice, he would not go to
+heaven but on condition he may put money to use there. In fine, he lives
+a drudge, dies a wretch that leaves a heap of pelf, which so many
+careful hands had scraped together, to haste after him to hell, and by
+the way it lodges in a lawyer's purse.
+
+
+
+THE PROUD MAN
+
+Is one in whom pride is a quality that condemns every one besides his
+master, who, when he wears new clothes, thinks himself wronged if they
+be not observed, imitated, and his discretion in the choice of his
+fashion and stuff applauded. When he vouchsafes to bless the air with
+his presence, he goes as near the wall as his satin suit will give him
+leave, and every passenger he views under the eyebrows, to observe
+whether he vails his bonnet low enough, which he returns with an
+imperious nod. He never salutes first, but his farewell is perpetual. In
+his attire he is effeminate; every hair knows his own station, which if
+it chance to lose it is checked in again with his pocket-comb. He had
+rather have the whole commonwealth out of order than the least member of
+his muchato, and chooses rather to lose his patrimony than to have his
+band ruffled. At a feast, if he be not placed in the highest seat, he
+eats nothing howsoever; he drinks to no man, talks with no man for fear
+of familiarity. He professeth to keep his stomach for the pheasant or
+the quail, and when they come he can eat little; he hath been so cloyed
+with them that year, although they be the first he saw. In his discourse
+he talks of none but privy councillors, and is as prone to belie their
+acquaintance as he is a lady's favours. If he have but twelve pence in
+his purse, he will give it for the best room in a playhouse. He goes to
+sermons only to show his gay clothes, and if on other inferior days he
+chance to meet his friend, he is sorry he sees him not in his best suit.
+
+
+
+A PRISON.
+
+It should be Christ's Hospital, for most of your wealthy citizens are
+good benefactors to it; and yet it can hardly be so, because so few in
+it are kept upon alms. Charity's house and this are built many miles
+asunder. One thing notwithstanding is here praiseworthy, for men in this
+persecution cannot choose but prove good Christians, in that they are a
+kind of martyrs, and suffer for the truth. And yet it is so cursed a
+piece of land that the son is ashamed to be his father's heir in it. It
+is an infected pest-house all the year long; the plague-sores of the law
+are the diseases here hotly reigning. The surgeons are atomies and
+pettifoggers, who kill more than they cure. Lord have mercy upon us, may
+well stand over these doors, for debt is a most dangerous and catching
+city pestilence. Some take this place for the walks in Moorfields (by
+reason the madmen are so near), but the crosses here and there are not
+alike. No, it is not half so sweet an air. For it is the dunghill of the
+law, upon which are thrown the ruins of gentry, and the nasty heaps of
+voluntary decayed bankrupts, by which means it comes to be a perfect
+medal of the iron age, since nothing but jingling of keys, rattling of
+shackles, bolts, and grates are here to be heard. It is the horse of
+Troy, in whose womb are shut up all the mad Greeks that were men of
+action. The _nullum vacuum_ (unless in prisoners' bellies) is here truly
+to be proved. One excellent effect is wrought by the place itself, for
+the arrantest coward breathing, being posted hither, comes in three days
+to an admirable stomach. Does any man desire to learn music; every man
+here sings "Lachrymse" at first sight, and is hardly out. He runs
+division upon every note, and yet (to their commendations be it spoken)
+none of them for all that division do trouble the Church. They are no
+Anabaptists; if you ask under what horizon this climate lies, the
+Bermudas and it are both under one and the same height. And whereas some
+suppose that this island like that is haunted with devils, it is not so.
+For those devils so talked of and feared are none else but hoggish
+jailors. Hither you need not sail, for it is a ship of itself; the
+master's side is the upper deck. They in the common jail lie under
+hatches, and help to ballast it. Intricate cases are the tacklings,
+executions the anchors, capiases the cables, chancery bills the huge
+sails, a long term the mast, law the helm, a judge the pilot, a counsel
+the purser, an attorney the boatswain, his Setting clerk the swabber,
+bonds the waves, outlawries gust, the verdict of juries rough wind,
+extents the knocks that split all in pieces. Or if it be not a ship, yet
+this and a ship differ not much in the building; the one is moving
+misery, the other a standing. The first is seated on a spring, the
+second on piles. Either this place is an emblem of a bawdy house, or a
+bawdy house of it; for nothing is to be seen in any room but scurvy beds
+and bare walls. But (not so much to dishonour it) it is an university of
+poor scholars, in which three arts are chiefly studied: to pray, to
+curse, and to write letters.
+
+
+
+A PRISONER
+
+Is one that hath been a monied man, and is still a very close fellow;
+whosoever is of his acquaintance, let them make much of him, for they
+shall find him as fast a friend as any in England: he is a sure man, and
+you know where to find him. The corruption of a bankrupt is commonly the
+generation of this creature. He dwells on the back side of the world, or
+in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement which he is sure none
+will go about to take over his head. To a man that walks abroad, he is
+one of the antipodes, that goes on the top of the world, and this under
+it. At his first coming in, he is a piece of new coin, all sharking old
+prisoners lie sucking at his purse. An old man and he are much alike,
+neither of them both go far. They are still angry and peevish, and they
+sleep little. He was born at the fall of Babel, the confusion of
+languages is only in his mouth. All the vacations he speaks as good
+English as any man in England, but in term times he breaks out of that
+hopping one-legged pace into a racking trot of issues, bills,
+replications, rejoinders, demures, querelles, subpoenas, &c., able to
+fright a simple country fellow, and make him believe he conjures.
+Whatsoever his complexion was before, it turns in this place to choler
+or deep melancholy, so that he needs every hour to take physic to loose
+his body; for that, like his estate, is very foul and corrupt, and
+extremely hard bound. The taking of an execution off his stomach give
+him five or six stools, and leaves his body very soluble. The
+withdrawing of an action is a vomit. He is no sound man, and yet an
+utter barrister, nay, a sergeant of the case, will feed heartily upon
+him; he is very good picking meat for a lawyer. The barber-surgeons may,
+if they will, beg him for an anatomy after he hath suffered an
+execution. An excellent lecture may be made upon his body; for he is a
+kind of dead carcase--creditors, lawyers, and jailors devour it:
+creditors peck out his eyes with his own tears; lawyers flay off his own
+skin, and lap him in parchment; and jailors are the Promethean vultures
+that gnaw his very heart. He is a bond-slave to the law, and, albeit he
+were a shopkeeper in London, yet he cannot with safe conscience write
+himself a freeman. His religion is of five or six colours: this day he
+prays that God would turn the hearts of his creditors, and to-morrow he
+curseth the time that ever he saw them. His apparel is daubed commonly
+with statute lace, the suit itself of durance, and the hose full of long
+pains. He hath many other lasting suits which he himself is never able
+to wear out, for they wear out him. The zodiac of his life is like that
+of the sun, marry not half so glorious. It begins in Aries and ends in
+Pisces. Both head and feet are, all the year long, in troublesome and
+laborious motions, and Westminster Hall is his sphere. He lives between
+the two tropics Cancer and Capricorn, and by that means is in double
+danger of crabbed creditors for his purse, and horns for his head, if
+his wife's heels be light. If he be a gentleman, he alters his arms so
+soon as he comes in. Few here carry fields or argent, but whatsoever
+they bear before, here they give only sables. Whiles he lies by it, he
+is travelling over the Alps, and the hearts of his creditors are the
+snows that lie unmelted in the middle of summer. He is an almanac out of
+date; none of his days speak of fair weather. Of all the files of men,
+he marcheth in the last, and comes limping, for he is shot, and is no
+man of this world. He hath lost his way, and being benighted, strayed
+into a wood full of wolves, and nothing so hard as to get away without
+being devoured. He that walks from six to six in Paul's goes still but a
+quoit's cast before this man.
+
+
+
+A CREDITOR
+
+Is a fellow that torments men for their good conditions. He is one of
+Deucalion's sons, begotten of a stone. The marble images in the Temple
+Church that lie cross-legged do much resemble him, saving that this is a
+little more cross. He wears a forfeited bond under that part of his
+girdle where his thumb sticks, with as much pride as a Welshman does a
+leek on St. David's Day, and quarrels more and longer about it. He is a
+catchpole's morning's draught, for the news that such a gallant has come
+yesternight to town, draws out of him both muscadel and money too. He
+says the Lord's Prayer backwards, or, to speak better of him, he hath a
+Paternoster by himself, and that particle, Forgive us our debts, as we
+forgive others, &c., he either quite leaves out, or else leaps over it.
+It is a dangerous rub in the alley of his conscience. He is the
+bloodhound of the law, and hunts counter, very swiftly and with great
+judgment. He hath a quick scent to smell out his game, and a good deep
+mouth to pursue it, yet never opens till he bites, and bites not till he
+kills, or at least draws blood, and then he pincheth most doggedly. He
+is a lawyer's mule, and the only beast upon which he ambles so often to
+Westminster. And a lawyer is his God Almighty, in him only he trusts. To
+him he flies in all his troubles; from him he seeks succour. To him he
+prays, that he may by his means overcome his enemies. Him does he
+worship both in the temple and abroad, and hopes by him and good angels
+to prosper in all his actions. A scrivener is his farrier, and helps to
+recover all his diseased and maimed obligations. Every term he sets up a
+tenters in Westminster Hall, upon which he racks and stretches gentlemen
+like English broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wool, till the threads
+crack, and that causeth them with the least wet to shrink, and presently
+to wear bars. Marry, he handles a citizen (at least if himself be one)
+like a piece of Spanish cloth, gives him only a twitch, and strains him
+not too hard, knowing how apt he is to break of himself, and then he can
+cut nothing out of him but threads. To the one he comes like Tamburlain,
+with his black and bloody flag; but to the other his white one hangs
+out, and, upon the parley, rather than fail, he takes ten groats in the
+pound for his ransom, and so lets him march away with bag and baggage.
+From the beginning of Hilary to the end of Michaelmas his purse is full
+of quicksilver, and that sets him running from sunrise to sunset up
+Fleet Street, and so to the Chancery, from thence to Westminster, then
+back to one court, after that to another. Then to an attorney, then to a
+councillor, and in every of these places he melts some of his fat (his
+money). In the vacation he goes to grass, and gets up his flesh again,
+which he baits as you heard. If he were to be hanged unless he could be
+saved by his book, he cannot for his heart call for a psalm of mercy. He
+is a law-trap baited with parchment and wax. The fearful mice he catches
+are debtors, with whom scratching attorneys, like cats, play a good
+while, and then mouse them. The bally is an insatiable creditor, but
+man worse.
+
+
+
+A SERGEANT
+
+Was once taken, when he bare office in his parish, for an honest man.
+The spawn of a decayed shopkeeper begets this fry; out of that dunghill
+is this serpent's egg hatched. It is a devil made sometime out of one of
+the twelve companies, and does but study the part and rehearse it on
+earth, to be perfect when he comes to act it in hell; that is his stage.
+The hangman and he are twins; only the hangman is the elder brother, and
+he dying without issue, as commonly he does, for none but a ropemaker's
+widow will marry him, this then inherits. His habit is a long gown, made
+at first to cover his knavery, but that growing too monstrous, he now
+goes in buff; his conscience and that being both cut out of one hide,
+and are of one toughness. The Counter-gate is his kennel, the whole city
+his Paris gardens; the misery of a poor man, but especially a bad liver,
+is the offals on which he feeds. The devil calls him his white son; he
+is so like him that he is the worse for it, and he takes after his
+father, for the one torments bodies as fast as the other tortures souls.
+Money is the crust he leaps at; cry, "a duck! a duck!" and he plunges
+not so eagerly as at this. The dog's chaps water to fetch nothing else;
+he hath his name for the same quality. For sergeant is _quasi See
+argent_, look you, rogue, here is money. He goes muffled like a thief,
+and carries still the marks of one; for he steals upon man cowardly,
+plucks him by the throat, makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they
+differ, the thief is more valiant and more honest. His walks in term
+times are up Fleet Street, at the end of the term up Holborn, and so to
+Tyburn; the gallows are his purlieus, in which the hangman and he are
+quarter rangers--the one turns off, and the other cuts down. All the
+vacation he lies imbogued behind the lattice of some blind drunken,
+bawdy ale-house, and if he spy his prey, out he leaps like a freebooter,
+and rifles, or like a ban-dog worries. No officer to the city keeps his
+oath so uprightly; he never is forsworn, for he swears to be true varlet
+to the city, and he continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so
+comfortable to the stomach in all kind of meats, turns in his hand to
+mortal poison. This raven pecks not out men's eyes as others do; all his
+spite is at their shoulders, and you were better to have the nightmare
+ride you than this incubus. When any of the furies of hell die, this
+Cacodeemon hath the reversion of his place. The city is (by the custom)
+to feed him with good meat, as they send dead horses to their hounds,
+only to keep them both in good heart, for not only those curs at the
+doghouse, but these within the walls, are to serve in their paces in
+their several huntings. He is a citizen's birdlime, and where he
+holds he hangs.
+
+
+
+HIS YEOMAN
+
+Is the hanger that a sergeant wears by his side; it is a false die of
+the same ball but not the same cut, for it runs somewhat higher and does
+more mischief. It is a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a
+bungler, and knows not how to cut up a man without tearing, but by a
+pattern. One term fleshes him, or a Fleet Street breakfast. The devil is
+but his father-in-law, and yet for the love he bears him will leave him
+as much as if he were his own child. And for that cause (instead of
+prayers) he does every morning at the Counter-gate ask him blessing, and
+thrives the better in his actions all the day after. This is the hook
+that hangs under water to choke the fish, and his sergeant is the quill
+above water, which pops down so soon as ever the bait is swallowed. It
+is indeed an otter, and the more terrible destroyer of the two. This
+counter-rat hath a tail as long as his fellows, but his teeth are more
+sharp and he more hungry, because he does but snap, and hath not his
+full half-share of the booty. The eye of this wolf is as quick in his
+head as a cutpurse's in a throng, and as nimble is he at his business as
+an hangman at an execution. His office is as the dogs do worry the sheep
+first, or drive him to the shambles; the butcher that cuts his throat
+steps out afterwards, and that's his sergeant. His living lies within
+the city, but his conscience lies bed-rid in one of the holes of a
+counter. This eel is bred too out of the mud of a bankrupt, and dies
+commonly with his guts ripped up, or else a sudden stab sends him of his
+last errand. He will very greedily take a cut with a sword, and suck
+more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. His beginning is
+detestable, his courses desperate, and his end damnable.
+
+
+
+A COMMON CRUEL JAILOR
+
+Is a creature mistaken in the making, for he should be a tiger; but the
+shape being thought too terrible, it is covered, and he wears the vizor
+of a man, yet retains the qualities of his former fierceness,
+currishness, and ravening. Of that red earth of which man was fashioned
+this piece was the basest, of the rubbish which was left and thrown by
+came this jailor; his descent is then more ancient, but more ignoble,
+for he comes of the race of those angels that fell with Lucifer from
+heaven, whither he never (or very hardly) returns. Of all his bunches of
+keys not one hath wards to open that door, for this jailor's soul stands
+not upon those two pillars that support heaven (justice and mercy), it
+rather sits upon those two footstools of hell, wrong and cruelty. He is
+a judge's slave, and a prisoner's his. In this they differ; he is a
+voluntary one, the other compelled. He is the hangman of the law with a
+lame hand, and if the law gave him all his limbs perfect he would strike
+those on whom he is glad to fawn. In fighting against a debtor he is a
+creditor's second, but observes not the laws of the _duello_; his play
+is foul, and on all base advantages. His conscience and his shackles
+hang up together, and are made very near of the same metal, saving that
+the one is harder than the other and hath one property above iron, for
+that never melts. He distils money out of the poor men's tears, and
+grows fat by their curses. No man coming to the practical part of hell
+can discharge it better, because here he does nothing but study the
+theory of it. His house is the picture of hell in little, and the
+original of the letters patent of his office stands exemplified there. A
+chamber of lousy beds is better worth to him than the best acre of
+corn-land in England. Two things are hard to him (nay, almost
+impossible), viz., to save all his prisoners that none ever escape, and
+to be saved himself. His ears are stopped to the cries of others, and
+God's to his; and good reason, for lay the life of a man in one scale
+and his fees on the other, he will lose the first to find the second. He
+must look for no mercy if he desires justice to be done to him, for he
+shows none; and I think he cares the less, because he knows heaven hath
+no need of such tenants--the doors there want no porters, for they stand
+ever open. If it were possible for all creatures in the world to sleep
+every night, he only and a tyrant cannot. That blessing is taken from
+them, and this curse comes in the stead, to be ever in fear and ever
+hated: what estate can be worse?
+
+
+
+WHAT A CHARACTER IS.
+
+If I must speak the schoolmaster's language, I will confess that
+character comes of this infinitive mood, [Greek: charassen], which
+signifies to engrave, or make a deep impression. And for that cause a
+letter (as A, B) is called a character: those elements which we learn
+first, leaving a strong seal in our memories.
+
+Character is also taken for an Egyptian hieroglyphic, for an impress or
+short emblem; in little comprehending much.
+
+To square out a character by our English level, it is a picture (real or
+personal) quaintly drawn in various colours, all of them heightened by
+one shadowing.
+
+It is a quick and soft touch of many strings, all shutting up in one
+musical close; it is wit's descant on any plain song.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
+
+BY SIR H. W.[1]
+
+   How happy is he born or taught
+   That serveth not another's will;
+   Whose armour is his honest thought,
+   And silly truth his highest skill!
+
+   Whose passions not his masters are,
+   Whose soul is still prepared for death;
+   Untied unto the world with care
+   Of princely love or vulgar breath.
+
+   Who hath his life from rumours freed,
+   Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
+   Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
+   Nor ruin make accusers great.
+
+   Who envieth none whom chance doth raise
+   Or vice, who never understood
+   How deepest wounds are given with praise;
+   Not rules of State, but rules of good.
+
+   Who God doth late and early pray
+   More of His grace than gifts to lend;
+   Who entertains the harmless day
+   With a well-chosen book or friend.
+
+   This man is free from servile bands,
+   Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
+   Lord of himself, though not of lands,
+   And having nothing he hath all.
+
+
+
+AN ESSAY OF VALOUR.
+
+I am of opinion that nothing is so potent either to procure or merit
+love as valour, and I am glad I am so, for thereby I shall do myself
+much ease, because valour never needs much wit to maintain it. To speak
+of it in itself, it is a quality which he that hath shall have least
+need of; so the best league between princes is a mutual fear of each
+other. It teacheth a man to value his reputation as his life, and
+chiefly to hold the lie insufferable, though being alone he finds no
+hurt it doth him. It leaves itself to other's censures; for he that
+brags of his own, dissuades others from believing it. It feareth a sword
+no more than an ague. It always makes good the owner; for though he be
+generally held a fool, he shall seldom hear so much by word of mouth,
+and that enlargeth him more than any spectacles, for it makes a little
+fellow to be called a tall man. It yields the wall to none but a woman,
+whose weakness is her prerogative; or a man seconded with a woman, as an
+usher which always goes before his betters. It makes a man become the
+witness of his own words, to stand to whatever he hath said, and
+thinketh it a reproach to commit his reviling unto the law. It
+furnisheth youth with action, and age with discourse, and both by
+futures; for a man must never boast himself in the present tense. And to
+come nearer home, nothing draws a woman like to it, for valour towards
+men is an emblem of an ability towards women, a good quality signifies a
+better. Nothing is more behoveful for that sex, for from it they receive
+protection, and we free from the danger of it; nothing makes a shorter
+cut to obtaining, for a man of arms is always void of ceremony, which is
+the wall that stands betwixt Pyramus and Thisbe, that is, man and woman,
+for there is no pride in women but that which rebounds from our own
+baseness, as cowards grow valiant upon those that are more cowards, so
+that only by our pale asking we teach them to deny. And by our
+shamefacedness we put them in mind to be modest, whereas indeed, it is
+cunning rhetoric to persuade the hearers that they are that already
+which we would have them to be. This kind of bashfulness is far from men
+of valour, and especially from soldiers, for such are ever men without
+doubt forward and confident, losing no time lest they should lose
+opportunity, which is the best factor for a lover. And because they know
+women are given to dissemble, they will never believe them when they
+deny. Whilom before this age of wit and wearing black broke in upon us,
+there was no way known to win a lady but by tilting, tourneying, and
+riding through forests, in which time these slender striplings with
+little legs were held but of strength enough to marry their widows. And
+even in our days there can be given no reason of the inundation of
+serving-men upon their mistresses, but only that usually they carry
+their mistresses' weapons and his valour. To be counted handsome, just,
+learned, or well-favoured, all this carries no danger with it, but it is
+to be admitted to the title of valiant acts, at least the venturing of
+his mortality, and all women take delight to hold him safe in their arms
+who hath escaped thither through many dangers. To speak at once, man
+hath a privilege in valour; in clothes and good faces we but imitate
+women, and many of that sex will not think much, as far as an answer
+goes, to dissemble wit too. So then these neat youths, these women in
+men's apparel, are too near a woman to be beloved of her, they be both
+of a trade; but he of grim aspect, and such a one a glass dares take,
+and she will desire him for newness and variety. A scar in a man's face
+is the same that a mole in a woman's, is a jewel set in white to make it
+seem more white, for a scar in a man is a mark of honour and no blemish,
+for 'tis a scar and a blemish in a soldier to be without one. Now, as
+for all things else which are to procure love, as a good face, wit
+clothes, or a good body, each of them, I confess, may work somewhat for
+want of a better, that is, if valour be not their rival. A good face
+avails nothing if it be in a coward that is bashful, the utmost of it is
+to be kissed, which rather increaseth than quencheth appetite. He that
+sends her gifts sends her word also that he is a man of small gifts
+otherwise, for wooing by signs and tokens employs the author dumb; and
+if Ovid, who writ the law of love, were alive (as he is extant), he
+would allow it as good a diversity that gifts should be sent as
+gratuities, not as bribes. Wit getteth rather promise than love. Wit is
+not to be seen, and no woman takes advice of any in her loving but of
+her own eyes and her waiting-woman's; nay, which is worse, wit is not to
+be felt, and so no good bedfellow. Wit applied to a woman makes her
+dissolve her simpering and discover her teeth with laughter, and this is
+surely a purge of love, for the beginning of love is a kind of foolish
+melancholy. As for the man that makes his tailor his means, and hopes to
+inveigle his love with such a coloured suit, surely the same deeply
+hazards the loss of her favour upon every change of his clothes. So
+likewise for the other that courts her silently with a good body, let me
+certify him, that his clothes depend upon the comeliness of his body,
+and so both upon opinion. She that hath been seduced by apparel let me
+give her to wit, that men always put off their clothes before they go to
+bed. And let her that hath been enamoured of her servant's body
+understand, that if she saw him in a skin of cloth, that is, in a suit
+made of the pattern of his body, she would see slender cause to love him
+ever after. There is no clothes sit so well in a woman's eye as a suit
+of steel, though not of the fashion, and no man so soon surpriseth a
+woman's affections as he that is the subject of all whispering, and hath
+always twenty stories of his own deeds depending upon him. Mistake me
+not; I understand not by valour one that never fights but when he is
+backed with drink or anger, or hissed on with beholders, nor one that is
+desperate, nor one that takes away a serving-man's weapons when
+perchance it cost him his quarter's wages, nor yet one that wears a
+privy coat of defence and therein is confident, for then such as made
+bucklers would be counted the Catilines of the commonwealth. I intend
+one of an even resolution grounded upon reason, which is always even,
+having his power restrained by the law of not doing wrong. But now I
+remember I am for valour, and therefore must be a man of few words.
+
+
+
+
+JOSEPH HALL'S
+
+
+CHARACTERS OF VICES AND VIRTUES
+
+_were published four years earlier than Overbury's, but Overbury's were
+posthumous, and in actual time of writing there can have been no very
+material difference. Hall's age was thirty-four when he first published
+his Characters. He was born on the 1st July 1574, at Ashby de la Zouch,
+in Leicestershire. His father was governor of this town under the Earl
+of Huntingdon, when he was President of the North. His mother, Winifred,
+was a devout Puritan, and he was from infancy intended for the Church.
+In 1589, at the age of fifteen, Joseph Hall was sent to Emmanuel
+College, Cambridge, where he was maintained at the cost of an uncle. He
+passed all his degrees with applause, obtained a Fellowship of his
+college in 1595, and proceeded to M.A. in 1596, and having already
+obtained credit at Cambridge as an English poet, he published in 1597
+"Virgidemiarum, Sixe Bookes, First Three Books of Toothlesse Satyrs,
+Poetical, Academical, Moral, followed in the next year by Three last
+Bookes of Byting Satyres." Of these Satires he said in their Prologue--_
+
+   "I first adventure, with foolhardy might,
+   To tread the steps of perilous despite.
+   I first adventure, follow me who list,
+   And be the second English satirist."
+
+_He could only have meant by this to claim that he was the first in
+England to write Satires in the manner of the Latins. He would not
+bend, he said, to Lady or to Patron--_
+
+   "Rather had I, albe in careless rhymes,
+   Check the misordered world and lawless times."
+
+_Some of these Satires were, of course, of the nature of Characters, and
+I quote two or three in passing._
+
+
+
+A DOMESTIC CHAPLAIN.
+
+   A gentle squire would gladly entertain
+   Into his house some trencher-chaplain;
+   Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
+   And that would stand to good conditions.
+   First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed,
+   Whilst his young master lieth o'er his head.
+   Secondly, that he do, on no default,
+   Ever presume to sit above the salt.
+   Third, that he never change his trencher twice.
+   Fourth, that he use all common courtesies;
+   Sit bare at meals, and one half rise and wait.
+   Last, that he never his young master beat
+   But he must ask his mother to define
+   How many jerks she would his breech should line.
+   All these observed, he could contented be,
+   To give five marks and winter livery.
+
+
+
+THE WITLESS GALLANT.
+
+   Seest thou how gaily my young master goes,
+   Vaunting himself upon his rising toes;
+   And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side;
+   And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide?
+   'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day?
+   In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray.
+   Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer,
+   Keeps he for every straggling cavalier.
+   An open house, haunted with great resort;
+   Long service mixed with musical disport.
+   Many fair younker with a feathered crest,
+   Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest,
+   To fare so freely with so little cost,
+   Than stake his twelve-pence to a meaner host.
+   Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say
+   He touched no meat of all this live-long day.
+   For sure methought, yet that was but a guess,
+   His eyes seem sunk for very hollowness,
+   But could he have (as I did it mistake)
+   So little in his purse, so much upon his back?
+   So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt,
+   That his gaunt gut not too much stuffing felt.
+   Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip?
+   Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip.
+   Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by,
+   All trapped in the new-found bravery.
+   The nuns of new-won Cales his bonnet lent,
+   In lieu of their so kind a conquerment.
+   What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain,
+   His grandam could have lent with lesser pain?
+   Tho' he perhaps ne'er passed the English shore,
+   Yet fain would counted be a conqueror.
+   His hair, French-like, stares on his frightened head,
+   One lock amazon-like dishevelled,
+   As if he meant to wear a native cord,
+   If chance his fates should him that bane afford.
+   All British bare upon the bristled skin,
+   Close notched is his beard both lip and chin;
+   His linen collar labyrinthian set,
+   Whose thousand double turnings never met:
+   His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings,
+   As if he meant to fly with linen wings.
+   But when I look, and cast mine eyes below,
+   What monster meets mine eyes in human show?
+   So slender waist with such an abbot's loin,
+   Did never sober nature sure conjoin.
+   Lik'st a strawn scare-crow in the new-sown field,
+   Reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield.
+   Or if that semblance suit not every dale,
+   Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel
+   Despised nature suit them once aright,
+   Their body to their coat, both now misdight.
+   Their body to their clothes might shapen be,
+   That nil their clothes shape to their body.
+   Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back,
+   Whilst, the empty guts loud rumbling for long lack,
+   The belly envieth the back's bright glee,
+   And murmurs at such inequality.
+   The back appears unto the partial eyne,
+   The plaintive belly pleads they bribed been;
+   And he, for want of better advocate,
+   Doth to the ear his injury relate.
+   The back, insulting o'er the belly's need,
+   Says, thou thyself, I others' eyes must feed.
+   The maw, the guts, all inward parts complain
+   The back's great pride, and their own secret pain.
+   Ye witless gallants, I beshrew your hearts,
+   That sets such discord 'twixt agreeing parts,
+   Which never can be set at onement more,
+   Until the maw's wide mouth be stopped with store.
+
+_Joseph Hall obtained in 1601 the living of Halsted in Suffolk, and
+married in 1603. In an autobiographical sketch of "Some Specialities in
+the Life of Joseph Hall," he thus tells us himself the manner of his
+marrying_:--
+
+"Being now, therefore, settled in that sweet and civil country of
+Suffolk, near to St. Edmundsbury, my first work was to build up my
+house, which was extremely ruinous; which done, the uncouth solitariness
+of my life, and the extreme incommodity of that single housekeeping,
+drew my thoughts, after two years, to condescend to the necessity of a
+married estate, which God no less strangely provided for me; for,
+walking from the church on Monday in the Whitsun-week, with a grave and
+reverend minister, Mr. Grandidge, I saw a comely and modest gentlewoman
+standing at the door of that house where we were invited to a wedding
+dinner, and inquiring of that worthy friend whether he knew her. Yes
+(quoth he), I know her well, and have bespoken her for your wife. When I
+farther demanded an account of that answer, he told me she was the
+daughter of a gentleman whom he much respected, Mr. George Winniff, of
+Bretenham; that out of an opinion had of the fitness of that match for
+me, he had already treated with her father about it, whom he found very
+apt to entertain it, advising me not to neglect the opportunity, and not
+concealing the just praises of modesty, piety, good disposition, and
+other virtues that were lodged in that seemly presence. I listened to
+the motion as sent from God, and at last, upon due prosecution, happily
+prevailed, enjoying the comfortable society of that meet help for the
+space of forty-nine years."
+
+_In 1605 Joseph Hall published at Frankfort in Latin a witty satire on
+the weak side of the world, which had been written several years
+earlier, entitled "Mundus Alter et Idem." Of this book I have given a
+description in the volume of "Ideal Commonwealths," which forms one of
+the series of the "Universal Library." Hall had obtained reputation as a
+divine, by publishing two centuries of religious "Meditations," which
+united wit with piety. Prince Henry, having sought an opportunity of
+hearing him preach, made Hall his chaplain, and the Earl of Norwich gave
+him the living of Waltham in Essex. At the same time, 1608, a
+translation of Hall's Latin Satire, printed twice abroad, was published
+in London as "The Discovery of a New World;" he himself published also
+two volumes of Epistles, and this book of "Characters." There was a long
+career before him as a leader among churchmen fallen upon troubled days.
+He became Bishop of Exeter and was translated to Norwich. He was
+committed to the Tower, released, and ejected from his see, and after
+ten years of retirement, living upon narrow means at the village of
+Higham near Norwich, he died in the Commonwealth time at the age of
+eighty-two, on the 8th of September 1656. He took a conspicuous part in
+the controversy of 1641 about the bishops, but twenty years before that
+date a collection of his earlier works had formed a substantial folio of
+more than eleven hundred pages. His "Characters of Virtues and Vices,"
+written in early manhood, follow next in our collection._
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS OF VIRTUES AND VICES.
+
+_IN TWO BOOKS._
+
+BY JOSEPH HALL.
+
+
+
+
+A PREMONITION or THE TITLE AND USE OF CHARACTERS.
+
+
+Reader,--The divines of the old heathens were their moral philosophers.
+These received the acts of an inbred law, in the Sinai of nature, and
+delivered them with many expositions to the multitude. These were the
+overseers of manners, correctors of vices, directors of lives, doctors
+of virtue, which yet taught their people the body of their natural
+divinity, not after one manner: while some spent themselves in deep
+discourses of human felicity and the way to it in common, others thought
+it best to apply the general precepts of goodness or decency to
+particular conditions and persons. A third sort in a mean course betwixt
+the two other, and compounded of them both, bestowed their time in
+drawing out the true lineaments of every virtue and vice, so lively,
+that who saw the medals might know the face; which art they
+significantly termed Charactery. Their papers were so many tables, their
+writings so many speaking pictures, or living images, whereby the ruder
+multitude might even by their sense learn to know virtue and discern
+what to detest. I am deceived if any course could be more likely to
+prevail, for herein the gross conceit is led on with pleasure, and
+informed while it feels nothing but delight; and if pictures have been
+accounted the books of idiots, behold here the benefit of an image
+without the offence. It is no shame for us to learn wit of heathens,
+neither is it material in whose school we take out a good lesson. Yea,
+it is more shame not to follow their good than not to lead them better.
+As one, therefore, that in worthy examples hold imitation better than
+invention, I have trod in their paths, but with an higher and wider
+step, and out of their tablets have drawn these larger portraitures of
+both sorts. More might be said, I deny not, of every virtue, of every
+vice; I desired not to say all but enough. If thou do but read or like
+these I have spent good hours ill; but if thou shalt hence abjure those
+vices, which before thou thoughtest not ill-favoured, or fall in love
+with any of these goodly faces of virtue, or shalt hence find where thou
+hast any little touch of these evils, to clear thyself, or where any
+defect in these graces to supply it, neither of us shall need to repent
+of our labour.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST BOOK.
+
+
+_CHARACTERISMS OF VIRTUES._
+
+
+
+THE PROEM.
+
+Virtue is not loved enough, because she is not seen; and vice loseth
+much detestation, because her ugliness is secret. Certainly, my lords,
+there are so many beauties, and so many graces in the face of goodness,
+that no eye can possibly see it without affection, without ravishment;
+and the visage of evil is so monstrous through loathsome deformities,
+that if her lovers were not ignorant they would be mad with disdain and
+astonishment. What need we more than to discover these two to the world?
+This work shall save the labour of exhorting and dissuasion. I have here
+done it as I could, following that ancient master of morality, who
+thought this the fittest task for the ninety and ninth year of his age,
+and the profitablest monument that he could leave for a farewell visit
+to his Grecians. Lo here then virtue and vice stripped naked to the open
+view, and despoiled, one of her rags the other of her ornaments, and
+nothing left them but bare presence to plead for affection: see now
+whether shall find more suitors. And if still the vain minds of lewd men
+shall dote upon their old mistress, it will appear to be, not because
+she is not foul, but for that they are blind and bewitched. And first
+behold the goodly features of wisdom, an amiable virtue, and worthy to
+lead this stage; which as she extends herself to all the following
+graces, so amongst the rest is for her largeness most conspicuous.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE WISE MAN.
+
+There is nothing that he desires not to know, but most and first
+himself, and not so much his own strength as his weaknesses; neither is
+his knowledge reduced to discourse, but practice. He is a skilful
+logician, not by nature so much as use; his working mind doth nothing
+all his time but make syllogisms and draw out conclusions; everything
+that he sees and hears serves for one of the premisses; with these he
+cares first to inform himself, then to direct others. Both his eyes are
+never at once from home, but one keeps house while the other roves
+abroad for intelligence. In material and weighty points he abides not
+his mind suspended in uncertainties, but hates doubting where he may,
+where he should be resolute: and first he makes sure work for his soul,
+accounting it no safety to be unsettled in the foreknowledge of his
+small estate. The best is first regarded; and vain is that regard which
+endeth not in security. Every care hath his just order; neither is there
+any one either neglected or misplaced. He is seldom ever seen with
+credulity; for, knowing the falseness of the world, he hath learned to
+trust himself always, others so far as he may not be damaged by their
+disappointment. He seeks his quietness in secrecy, and is wont both to
+hide himself in retiredness, and his tongue in himself. He loves to be
+guessed at, not known; and to see the world unseen; and when he is
+forced into the light, shows by his actions that his obscurity was
+neither from affectation nor weakness. His purposes are neither so
+variable as may argue inconstancy, nor obstinately unchangeable, but
+framed according to his after-wits, or the strength of new occasions. He
+is both an apt scholar and an excellent master; for both everything he
+sees informs him, and his mind, enriched with plentiful observation, can
+give the best precepts. His free discourse runs back to the ages past,
+and recovers events out of memory, and then preventeth time in flying
+forward to future things; and comparing one with the other, can give a
+verdict well near prophetical, wherein his conjectures are better than
+another's judgments. His passions are so many good servants, which stand
+in a diligent attendance ready to be commanded by reason, by religion;
+and if at any time forgetting their duty, they be miscarried to rebel,
+he can first conceal their mutiny, then suppress it. In all his just and
+worthy designs he is never at a loss, but hath so projected all his
+courses that a second begins where the first failed, and fetcheth
+strength from that which succeeded not. There be wrongs which he will
+not see, neither doth he always look that way which he meaneth, nor take
+notice of his secret smarts, when they come from great ones. In good
+turns he loves not to owe more than he must; in evil, to owe and not
+pay. Just censures he deserves not, for he lives without the compass of
+an adversary; unjust he contemneth, and had rather suffer false infamy
+to die alone than lay hands upon it in an open violence. He confineth
+himself in the circle of his own affairs, and lists not to thrust his
+finger into a needless fire. He stands like a centre unmoved, while the
+circumference of his estate is drawn above, beneath, about him. Finally,
+his wit hath cost him much, and he can both keep, and value, and employ
+it. He is his own lawyer, the treasury of knowledge, the oracle of
+counsel; blind in no man's cause, best sighted in his own.
+
+
+
+OF AN HONEST MAN.
+
+He looks not to what he might do, but what he should. Justice is his
+first guide, the second law of his actions is expedience. He had rather
+complain than offend, and hates sin more for the indignity of it than
+the danger. His simple uprightness works in him that confidence which
+ofttimes wrongs him, and gives advantage to the subtle, when he rather
+pities their faithlessness than repents of his credulity. He hath but
+one heart, and that lies open to sight; and were it not for discretion,
+he never thinks aught whereof he would avoid a witness. His word is his
+parchment, and his yea his oath, which he will not violate for fear or
+for loss. The mishaps of following events may cause him to blame his
+providence, can never cause him to eat his promise: neither saith he,
+This I saw not; but, This I said. When he is made his friend's executor,
+he defrays debts, pays legacies, and scorneth to gain by orphans, or to
+ransack graves, and therefore will be true to a dead friend, because he
+sees him not. All his dealings are square and above the board; he
+bewrays the fault of what he sells, and restores the overseen gain of a
+false reckoning. He esteems a bribe venomous, though it come gilded over
+with the colour of gratuity. His cheeks are never stained with the
+blushes of recantation, neither doth his tongue falter to make good a
+lie with the secret glosses of double or reserved senses, and when his
+name is traduced his innocency bears him out with courage: then, lo, he
+goes on the plain way of truth, and will either triumph in his integrity
+or suffer with it. His conscience overrules his providence; so as in all
+things good or ill, he respects the nature of the actions, not the
+sequel. If he see what he must do, let God see what shall follow. He
+never loadeth himself with burdens above his strength, beyond his will;
+and once bound, what he can he will do, neither doth he will but what he
+can do. His ear is the sanctuary of his absent friend's name, of his
+present friend's secret; neither of them can miscarry in his trust. He
+remembers the wrongs of his youth, and repays them with that usury which
+he himself would not take. He would rather want than borrow, and beg
+than not to pay: his fair conditions are without dissembling, and he
+loves actions above words. Finally, he hates falsehood worse than death:
+he is a faithful client of truth, no man's enemy, and it is a question
+whether more another man's friend or his own; and if there were no
+heaven, yet he would be virtuous.
+
+
+
+OF THE FAITHFUL MAN.
+
+His eyes have no other objects but absent and invisible, which they see
+so clearly as that to them sense is blind. That which is present they
+see not; if I may not rather say, that what is past or future is present
+to them. Herein he exceeds all others, that to him nothing is
+impossible, nothing difficult, whether to bear or undertake. He walks
+every day with his Maker, and talks with Him familiarly, and lives ever
+in heaven, and sees all earthly things beneath him. When he goes in to
+converse with God, he wears not his own clothes, but takes them still
+out of the rich wardrobe of his Redeemer, and then dares boldly press in
+and challenge a blessing. The celestial spirits do not scorn his
+company; yea, his service. He deals in these worldly affairs as a
+stranger, and hath his heart ever at home. Without a written warrant he
+dare do nothing, and with it anything. His war is perpetual, without
+truce, without intermission, and his victory certain; he meets with the
+infernal powers, and tramples them under feet. The shield that he ever
+bears before him can neither be missed nor pierced; if his hand be
+wounded, yet his heart is safe. He is often tripped, seldom foiled, and,
+if sometimes foiled, never vanquished. He hath white hands, and a clean
+soul fit to lodge God in, all the rooms whereof are set apart for His
+holiness. Iniquity hath oft called at the door and craved entertainment,
+but with a repulse; or, if sin of force will be his tenant, his Lord he
+cannot. His faults are few, and those he hath God will not see. He is
+allied so high, that he dare call God father, his Saviour brother,
+heaven his patrimony, and thinks it no presumption to trust to the
+attendance of angels. His understanding is enlightened with the beams of
+divine truth. God hath acquainted him with His will; and what he knows
+he dare confess: there is not more love in his heart than liberty in his
+tongue. If torments stand betwixt him and Christ, if death, he contemns
+them; and if his own parents lie in his way to God, his holy
+carelessness makes them his footsteps. His experiments have drawn forth
+rules of confidence, which he dares oppose against all the fears of
+distrust; wherein he thinks it safe to charge God with what he hath
+done, with what he hath promised. Examples are his proofs, and instances
+his demonstrations. What hath God given which he cannot give? What have
+others suffered which he may not be enabled to endure? Is he threatened
+banishment? there he sees the dear Evangelist in Patmos. Cutting in
+pieces? he sees Esai under the saw. Drowning? he sees Jonah diving into
+the living gulf? Burning? he sees the three children in the hot walk of
+the furnace. Devouring? he sees Daniel in the sealed den amidst his
+terrible companions. Stoning? he sees the first martyr under his heap of
+many gravestones. Heading? lo, there the Baptist's neck bleeding in
+Herodias' platter. He emulates their pain, their strength, their glory.
+He wearies not himself with cares; for he knows he lives not of his own
+cost, not idly omitting means, but not using them with diffidence. In
+the midst of ill rumours and amazements his countenance changeth not;
+for he knows both whom he hath trusted, and whither death can lead him.
+He is not so sure he shall die as that he shall be restored, and
+outfaceth his death with resurrection. Finally, he is rich in works,
+busy in obedience, cheerful and unmoved in expectation, better with
+evils, in common opinion miserable, but in true judgment more than
+a man.
+
+
+
+OF THE HUMBLE MAN.
+
+He is a friendly enemy to himself; for, though he be not out of his own
+favour, no man sets so low a value of his worth as himself--not out of
+ignorance or carelessness, but of a voluntary and meek dejectedness. He
+admires everything in another, while the same or better in himself he
+thinks not unworthily contemned. His eyes are full of his own wants, and
+others' perfections. He loves rather to give than take honour; not in a
+fashion of complimental courtesy, but in simplicity of his judgment.
+Neither doth he fret at those on whom he forceth precedence, as one that
+hoped their modesty would have refused; but holds his mind unfeignedly
+below his place, and is ready to go lower (if need be) without
+discontent. When he hath his due, he magnifieth courtesy, and disclaims
+his deserts. He can be more ashamed of honour than grieved with
+contempt; because he thinks that causeless, this deserved. His face, his
+carriage, his habit, savour of lowliness without affectation, and yet he
+is much under that he seemeth. His words are few and soft, never either
+peremptory or censorious; because he thinks both each man more wise, and
+none more faulty than himself. And, when he approacheth to the throne of
+God, he is so taken up with the Divine greatness that, in his own eyes,
+he is either vile or nothing. Places of public charge are fain to sue to
+him, and hail him out of his chosen obscurity; which he holds ofif, not
+cunningly, to cause importunity, but sincerely, in the conscience of his
+defects. He frequenteth not the stages of common resorts, and then alone
+thinks himself in his natural element when he is shrouded within his own
+walls. He is ever jealous over himself, and still suspecteth that which
+others applaud. There is no better object of beneficence; for what he
+receives he ascribes merely to the bounty of the giver, nothing to
+merit. He emulates no man in anything but goodness, and that with more
+desire than hope to overtake. No man is so contented with his little,
+and so patient under miseries; because he knows the greatest evils are
+below his sins, and the least favours above his deservings. He walks
+ever in awe, and dare not but subject every word and action to an high
+and just censure. He is a lowly valley, sweetly planted and well
+watered; the proud man's earth, whereon he trampleth; but secretly full
+of wealthy mines, more worth than he that walks over them; a rich stone
+set in lead; and, lastly, a true temple of God built with a low roof.
+
+
+
+OF A VALIANT MAN.
+
+He undertakes without rashness, and performs without fear; he seeks not
+for dangers, but, when they find him, he bears them over with courage,
+with success. He hath ofttimes looked death in the face, and passed by
+it with a smile; and when he sees he must yield, doth at once welcome
+and contemn it. He forecasts the worst of all events, and encounters
+them before they come in a secret and mental war. And if the suddenness
+of an unexpected evil have surprised his thoughts, and infected his
+cheeks with paleness, he hath no sooner digested it in his conceit than
+he gathers up himself, and insults over mischief. He is the master of
+himself, and subdues his passions to reason, and by this inward victory
+works his own peace. He is afraid of nothing but the displeasure of the
+Highest, and runs away from nothing but sin: he looks not on his hands,
+but his cause; not how strong he is, but how innocent: and, where
+goodness is his warrant, he may be over-mastered; he cannot be foiled.
+The sword is to him the last of all trials, which he draws forth still
+as defendant, not as challenger, with a willing kind of unwillingness:
+no man can better manage it, with more safety, with more favour; he had
+rather have his blood seen than his back, and disdains life upon base
+conditions. No man is more mild to a relenting or vanquished adversary,
+or more hates to set his foot on a carcase. He had rather smother an
+injury than revenge himself of the impotent, and I know not whether he
+more detests cowardliness or cruelty. He talks little, and brags less;
+and loves rather the silent language of the hand, to be seen than heard.
+He lies ever close within himself, armed with wise resolution, and will
+not be discovered but by death or danger. He is neither prodigal of
+blood to misspend it idly, nor niggardly to grudge it, when either God
+calls for it, or his country; neither is he more liberal of his own life
+than of others. His power is limited by his will, and he holds it the
+noblest revenge, that he might hurt and doth not. He commands without
+tyranny and imperiousness, obeys without servility, and changes not his
+mind with his estate. The height of his spirits overlooks all
+casualties, and his boldness proceeds neither from ignorance nor
+senselessness; but first he values evils, and then despises them. He is
+so balanced with wisdom that he floats steadily in the midst of all
+tempests. Deliberate in his purposes, firm in resolution, bold in
+enterprising, unwearied in achieving, and howsoever happy in success;
+and if ever he be overcome, his heart yields last.
+
+
+
+OF A PATIENT MAN.
+
+The patient man is made of a metal, not so hard as flexible: his
+shoulders are large, fit for a load of injuries; which he bears not out
+of baseness and cowardliness, because he dare not revenge, but out of
+Christian fortitude, because he may not: he has so conquered himself
+that wrongs cannot conquer him; and herein alone finds that victory
+consists in yielding. He is above nature, while he seems below himself.
+The vilest creature knows how to turn again; but to command himself not
+to resist being urged is more than heroical. His constructions are ever
+full of charity and favour; either this wrong was not done, or not with
+intent of wrong; or if that, upon mis-information; or if none of these,
+rashness (though a fault) shall serve for an excuse. Himself craves the
+offender's pardon before his confession; and a slight answer contents
+where the offended desires to forgive. He is God's best witness; and
+when he stands before the bar for truth his tongue is calmly free, his
+forehead firm, and he with erect and settled countenance hears his just
+sentence, and rejoices in it. The jailors that attend him are to him his
+pages of honour; his dungeon, the lower part of the vault of heaven; his
+rack or wheel, the stairs of his ascent to glory: he challenges his
+executioners, and encounters the fiercest pains with strength of
+resolution; and while he suffers the beholders pity him, the tormentors
+complain of weariness, and both of them wonder. No anguish can master
+him, whether by violence or by lingering. He accounts expectation no
+punishment, and can abide to have his hopes adjourned till a new day.
+Good laws serve for his protection, not for his revenge; and his own
+power, to avoid indignities, not to return them. His hopes are so strong
+that they can insult over the greatest discouragements; and his
+apprehensions so deep that, when he hath once fastened, he sooner
+leaveth his life than his hold. Neither time nor perverseness can make
+him cast off his charitable endeavours and despair of prevailing; but in
+spite of all crosses and all denials, he redoubleth his beneficial
+offers of love. He trieth the sea after many shipwrecks, and beats still
+at that door which he never saw opened. Contrariety of events doth but
+exercise, not dismay him; and when crosses afflict him, he sees a divine
+hand invisibly striking with these sensible scourges, against which he
+dares not rebel nor murmur. Hence all things befall him alike; and he
+goes with the same mind to the shambles and to the fold. His recreations
+are calm and gentle, and not more full of relaxation than void of fury.
+This man only can turn necessity into virtue, and put evil to good use.
+He is the surest friend, the latest and easiest enemy, the greatest
+conqueror, and so much more happy than others, by how much he could
+abide to be more miserable.
+
+
+
+OF THE TRUE FRIEND.
+
+His affections are both united and divided; united to him he loveth,
+divided betwixt another and himself; and his one heart is so parted,
+that whilst he has some his friend hath all. His choice is led by
+virtue, or by the best of virtues, religion; not by gain, not by
+pleasure; yet not without respect of equal condition, of disposition not
+unlike; which, once made, admits of no change, except he whom he loveth
+be changed quite from himself; nor that suddenly, but after long
+expectation. Extremity doth but fasten him, whilst he, like a
+well-wrought vault, lies the stronger, by how much more weight he bears.
+When necessity calls him to it, he can be a servant to his equal, with
+the same will wherewith he can command his inferior; and though he rise
+to honour, forgets not his familiarity, nor suffers inequality of estate
+to work strangeness of countenance; on the other side, he lifts up his
+friend to advancement with a willing hand, without envy, without
+dissimulation. When his mate is dead, he accounts himself but half
+alive; then his love, not dissolved by death, derives itself to those
+orphans which never knew the price of their father; they become the
+heirs of his affection, and the burden of his cares. He embraces a free
+community of all things, save those which either honesty reserves
+proper, or nature; and hates to enjoy that which would do his friend
+more good. His charity serves to cloak noted infirmities, not by
+untruth, not by flattery, but by discreet secrecy; neither is he more
+favourable in concealment, than round in his private reprehensions; and
+when another's simple fidelity shows itself in his reproof, he loves his
+monitor so much the more, by how much more he smarteth. His bosom is his
+friend's closet, where he may safely lay up his complaints, his doubts,
+his cares; and look how he leaves, so he finds them; save for some
+addition of seasonable counsel for redress. If some unhappy suggestion
+shall either disjoint his affection or break it, it soon knits again,
+and grows the stronger by that stress. He is so sensible of another's
+injuries, that when his friend is stricken he cries out and equally
+smarteth untouched, as one affected not with sympathy, but with a real
+feeling of pain: and in what mischief may be prevented, he interposeth
+his aid, and offers to redeem his friend with himself. No hour can be
+unseasonable, no business difficult, nor pain grievous in condition of
+his ease: and what either he doth or suffers, he neither cares nor
+desires to have known, lest he should seem to look for thanks. If he can
+therefore steal the performance of a good office unseen, the conscience
+of his faithfulness herein is so much sweeter as it is more secret. In
+favours done, his memory is frail; in benefits received, eternal: he
+scorneth either to regard recompense or not to offer it. He is the
+comfort of miseries, the guide of difficulties, the joy of life, the
+treasure of earth, and no other than a good angel clothed in flesh.
+
+
+
+OF THE TRULY NOBLE.
+
+He stands not upon what he borrowed of his ancestors, but thinks he must
+work out his own honour: and if he cannot reach the virtue of them that
+gave him outward glory by inheritance, he is more abashed of his
+impotency than transported with a great name. Greatness doth not make
+him scornful and imperious, but rather like the fixed stars; the higher
+he is, the less he desires to seem. Neither cares he so much for pomp
+and frothy ostentation as for the solid truth of nobleness. Courtesy and
+sweet affability can be no more severed from him than life from his
+soul; not out of a base and servile popularity, and desire of ambitious
+insinuation, but of a native gentleness of disposition, and true value
+of himself. His hand is open and bounteous, yet not so as that he should
+rather respect his glory than his estate; wherein his wisdom can
+distinguish betwixt parasites and friends, betwixt changing of favours
+and expending them. He scorneth to make his height a privilege of
+looseness, but accounts his titles vain if he be inferior to others in
+goodness: and thinks he should be more strict the more eminent he is,
+because he is more observed, and now his offences are become more
+exemplar. There is no virtue that he holds unfit for ornament, for use;
+nor any vice which he condemns not as sordid, and a fit companion of
+baseness; and whereof he doth not more hate the blemish, than affect the
+pleasure. He so studies as one that knows ignorance can neither purchase
+honour nor wield it; and that knowledge must both guide and grace, him.
+His exercises are from his childhood ingenious, manly, decent, and such
+as tend still to wit, valour, activity: and if (as seldom) he descend to
+disports of chance, his games shall never make him either pale with fear
+or hot with desire of gain. He doth not so use his followers, as if he
+thought they were made for nothing but his servitude, whose felicity
+were only to be commanded and please: wearing them to the back, and then
+either finding or framing excuses to discard them empty; but upon all
+opportunities lets them feel the sweetness of their own serviceableness
+and his bounty. Silence in officious service is the best oratory to
+plead for his respect: all diligence is but lent to him, none lost. His
+wealth stands in receiving, his honour in giving. He cares not either
+how many hold of his goodness, or to how few he is beholden: and if he
+have cast away favours, he hates either to upbraid them to his enemy, or
+to challenge restitution. None can be more pitiful to the distressed, or
+more prone to succour; and then most where is least means to solicit,
+least possibility of requital. He is equally addressed to war and peace;
+and knows not more how to command others, than how to be his country's
+servant in both. He is more careful to give true honour to his Maker
+than to receive civil honour from men. He knows that this service is
+free and noble, and ever loaded with sincere glory; and how vain it is
+to hunt after applause from the world till he be sure of Him that
+mouldeth all hearts, and poureth contempt on princes; and shortly, so
+demeans himself as one that accounts the body of nobility to consist in
+blood, the soul in the eminence of virtue.
+
+
+
+OF THE GOOD MAGISTRATE.
+
+He is the faithful deputy of his Maker, whose obedience is the rule
+whereby he ruleth. His breast is the ocean, whereinto all the cares of
+private men empty themselves; which, as he receives without complaint
+and overflowing, so he sends them forth again by a wise conveyance in
+the streams of justice. His doors, his ears, are ever open to suitors;
+and not who comes first speeds well, but whose cause is best. His
+nights, his meals, are short and interrupted; all which he bears well,
+because he knows himself made for a public servant of peace and justice.
+He sits quietly at the stern, and commands one to the topsail, another
+to the main, a third to the plummet, a fourth to the anchor, as he sees
+the needs of their course and weather requires; and doth no less by his
+tongue than all the mariners with their hands. On the bench he is
+another from himself at home; now all private respects of blood,
+alliance, amity are forgotten; and if his own son come under trial he
+knows him not. Pity, which in all others is wont to be the best praise
+of humanity and the fruit of Christian love, is by him thrown over the
+bar for corruption. As for Favour, the false advocate of the gracious,
+he allows him not to appear in the court; there only causes are heard
+speak, not persons. Eloquence is then only not dis-couraged when she
+serves for a client of truth. Mere narrations are allowed in this
+oratory, not proems, not excursions, not glosses. Truth must strip
+herself and come in naked to his bar, without false bodies or colours,
+without disguises. A bribe in his closet, or a letter on the bench, or
+the whispering and winks of a great neighbour, are answered with an
+angry and courageous repulse. Displeasure, Revenge, Recompense stand on
+both sides the bench, but he scorns to turn his eye towards them,
+looking only right forward at Equity, which stands full before him. His
+sentence is ever deliberate and guided with ripe wisdom, yet his hand is
+slower than his tongue; but when he is urged by occasion either to doom
+or execution, he shows how much he hateth merciful injustice. Neither
+can his resolution or act be reversed with partial importunity. His
+forehead is rugged and severe, able to discountenance villainy, yet his
+words are more awful than his brow, and his hand than his words. I know
+not whether he be more feared or loved, both affections are so sweetly
+contempered in all hearts. The good fear him lovingly, the middle sort
+love him fearfully, and only the wicked man fears him slavishly without
+love. He hates to pay private wrongs with the advantage of his office;
+and if ever he be partial, it is to his enemy. He is not more sage in
+his gown than valorous in arms, and increaseth in the rigour of
+discipline as the times in danger. His sword hath neither rusted for
+want of use, nor surfeiteth of blood; but after many threats is
+unsheathed, as the dreadful instrument of divine revenge. He is the
+guard of good laws, the refuge of innocence, the comet of the guilty,
+the paymaster of good deserts, the champion of justice, the patron of
+peace, the tutor of the Church, the father of his country, and as it
+were another God upon earth.
+
+
+
+OF THE PENITENT.
+
+He has a wounded heart and a sad face, yet not so much for fear as for
+unkindness. The wrong of his sin troubles him more than the danger. None
+but he is the better for his sorrow; neither is any passion more hurtful
+to others than this is gainful to him: the more he seeks to hide his
+grief, the less it will be hid; every man may read it not only in his
+eyes, but in his bones. Whilst he is in charity with all others, he is
+so fallen out with himself that none but God can reconcile him. He hath
+sued himself in all courts, accuseth, arraigneth, sentenceth, punisheth
+himself impartially, and sooner may find mercy at any hand than at his
+own. He only hath pulled off the fair visor of sin; so as that which
+appears not but masked unto others, is seen of him barefaced, and
+bewrays that fearful ugliness, which none can conceive but he that hath
+viewed it. He hath looked into the depth of the bottomless pit, and hath
+seen his own offence tormented in others, and the same brands shaken at
+him. He hath seen the change of faces in that cool one, as a tempter, as
+a tormentor; and hath heard the noise of a conscience, and is so
+frightened with all these, that he can never have rest till he have run
+out of himself to God, in whose face at first he find rigour, but
+afterwards sweetness in his bosom; he bleeds first from the hand that
+heals him. The law of God hath made work for mercy, which he hath no
+sooner apprehended than he forgets his wounds, and looks carelessly upon
+all these terrors of guiltiness. When he casts his eye back upon
+himself, he wonders where he was and how he came there; and grants that
+if there were not some witchcraft in sin, he could not have been so
+sottishly graceless. And now, in the issue, Satan finds (not without
+indignation and repentance) that he hath done him a good turn in
+tempting him: for he had never been so good if he had not sinned; he had
+never fought with such courage, if he had not seen his blood and been
+ashamed of his folly. Now he is seen and felt in the front of the
+spiritual battle; and can teach others how to fight, and encourage them
+in fighting. His heart was never more taken up with the pleasure of sin,
+than now with care of avoiding it: the very sight of that cup, wherein
+such a fulsome portion was brought him, turns his stomach: the first
+offers of sin make him tremble more now than he did before at the
+judgments of his sin; neither dares he so much as look towards Sodom.
+All the powers and craft of hell cannot fetch him in for a customer to
+evil; his infirmity may yield once, his resolution never. There is none
+of his senses or parts, which he hath not within covenants for their
+good behaviour, which they cannot ever break with impunity. The wrongs
+of his sin he repays to men with recompense, as hating it should be said
+he owes anything to his offence; to God (what in him lies) with sighs,
+tears, vows, and endeavours of amendment. No heart is more waxen to the
+impressions of forgiveness, neither are his hands more open to receive
+than to give pardon. All the injuries which are offered to him are
+swallowed up in his wrongs to his Maker and Redeemer; neither can he
+call for the arrearages of his farthings, when he looks upon the
+millions forgiven him: he feels not what he suffers from men, when he
+thinks of what he hath done and should have suffered. He is a thankful
+herald of the mercies of his God; which if all the world hear not from
+his mouth it is no fault of his. Neither did he so burn with the evil
+fires or concupiscence as now with the holy flames of zeal to that glory
+which he hath blemished; and his eyes are as full of moisture as his
+heart of heat. The gates of heaven are not so knocked at by any suitor,
+whether for frequency or importunity. You shall find his cheeks
+furrowed, his knees hard, his lips sealed up, save when he must accuse
+himself or glorify God, his eyes humbly dejected, and sometimes you
+shall take him breaking of a sigh in the midst, as one that would steal
+an humiliation unknown, and would be offended with any part that should
+not keep his counsel. When he finds his soul oppressed with the heavy
+guilt of a sin, he gives it vent through his mouth into the ear of his
+spiritual physician, from whom he receives cordials answerable to his
+complaint. He is a severe exactor of discipline: first upon himself, on
+whom he imposes more than one Lent; then upon others, as one that vowed
+to be revenged on sin wheresoever he finds it; and though but one hath
+offended him, yet his detestation is universal. He is his own taskmaster
+for devotion; and if Christianity have any work more difficult or
+perilous than other, that he enjoins himself, and resolves contentment
+even in miscarriage. It is no marvel if the acquaintance of his wilder
+times know him not, for he is quite another from himself; and if his
+mind could have had any intermission of dwelling within his breast, it
+could not have known this was the lodging. Nothing but an outside is the
+same it was, and that altered more with regeneration than with age. None
+but he can relish the promises of the gospel, which he finds so sweet
+that he complains not, his thirst after them is unsatiable; and now that
+he hath found his Saviour, he hugs Him so fast and holds Him so dear
+that he feels not when his life is fetched away from him for his
+martyrdom. The latter part of his life is so led as if he desired to
+unlive his youth, and his last testament is full of restitutions and
+legacies of piety. In sum, he hath so lived and died as that Satan hath
+no such match, sin hath no such enemy, God hath no such servant as he.
+
+
+
+HE IS A HAPPY MAN
+
+That hath learned to read himself more than all books, and hath so taken
+out this lesson that he can never forget it; that knows the world, and
+cares not for it; that, after many traverses of thoughts, is grown to
+know what he may trust to, and stands now equally armed for all events;
+that hath got the mastery at home, so as he can cross his will without a
+mutiny, and so please it that he makes it not a wanton; that in earthly
+things wishes no more than nature, in spiritual is ever graciously
+ambitious; that for his condition stands on his own feet, not needing to
+lean upon the great, and can so frame his thoughts to his estate that
+when he hath least he cannot want, because he is as free from desire as
+superfluity; that hath seasonably broken the headstrong restiness of
+prosperity, and can now manage it at pleasure; upon whom all smaller
+crosses light as hailstones upon a roof; and for the greater calamities,
+he can take them as tributes of life and tokens of love; and if his ship
+be tossed, yet he is sure his anchor is fast. If all the world were his,
+he could be no other than he is, no whit gladder of himself, no whit
+higher in his carriage, because he knows contentment lies not in the
+things he hath, but in the mind that values them. The powers of his
+resolution can either multiply or subtract at pleasure. He can make his
+cottage a manor or a palace when he lists, and his home-close a large
+dominion, his stained cloth arras, his earth plate, and can see state in
+the attendance of one servant, as one that hath learned a man's
+greatness or baseness is in himself; and in this he may even contest
+with the proud, that he thinks his own the best. Or if he must be
+outwardly great, he can but turn the other end of the glass, and make
+his stately manor a low and straight cottage, and in all his costly
+furniture he can see not richness but use; he can see dross in the best
+metal and earth through the best clothes, and in all his troupe he can
+see himself his own servant. He lives quietly at home out of the noise
+of the world, and loves to enjoy himself always, and sometimes his
+friend, and hath as full scope to his thought as to his eyes. He walks
+ever even in the midway betwixt hopes and fears, resolved to fear
+nothing but God, to hope for nothing but what which he must have. He
+hath a wise and virtuous mind in a serviceable body, which that better
+part affects as a present servant and a future companion, so cherishing
+his flesh as one that would scorn to be all flesh. He hath no enemies;
+not for that all love him, but because he knows to make a gain of
+malice. He is not so engaged to any earthly thing that they two cannot
+part on even terms; there is neither laughter in their meeting, nor in
+their shaking of hands tears. He keeps ever the best company, the God of
+Spirits and the spirits of that God, whom he entertains continually in
+an awful familiarity, not being hindered either with too much light or
+with none at all. His conscience and his hand are friends, and (what
+devil soever tempt him) will not fall out. That divine part goes ever
+uprightly and freely, not stooping under the burden of a willing sin,
+not fettered with the gyves of unjust scruples. He would not, if he
+could, run away from himself or from God; not caring from whom he lies
+hid, so he may look these two in the face. Censures and applauses are
+passengers to him, not guests; his ear is their thoroughfare, not their
+harbour; he hath learned to fetch both his counsel and his sentence from
+his own breast. He doth not lay weight upon his own shoulders, as one
+that loves to torment himself with the honour of much employment; but as
+he makes work his game, so doth he not list to make himself work. His
+strife is ever to redeem and not to spend time. It is his trade to do
+good, and to think of it his recreation. He hath hands enough for
+himself and others, which are ever stretched forth for beneficence, not
+for need. He walks cheerfully in the way that God hath chalked, and
+never wishes it more wide or more smooth. Those very temptations whereby
+he is foiled strengthen him; he comes forth crowned and triumphing out
+of the spiritual battles, and those scars that he hath make him
+beautiful. His soul is every day dilated to receive that God, in whom he
+is; and hath attained to love himself for God, and God for His own sake.
+His eyes stick so fast in heaven that no earthly object can remove them;
+yea, his whole self is there before his time, and sees with Stephen, and
+hears with Paul, and enjoys with Lazarus, the glory that he shall have,
+and takes possession beforehand of his room amongst the saints; and
+these heavenly contentments have so taken him up that now he looks down
+displeasedly upon the earth as the region of his sorrow and banishment,
+yet joying more in hope than troubled with the sense of evils. He holds
+it no great matter to live, and his greatest business to die; and is so
+well acquainted with his last guest that he fears no unkindness from
+him: neither makes he any other of dying than of walking home when he is
+abroad, or of going to bed when he is weary of the day. He is well
+provided for both worlds, and is sure of peace here, of glory hereafter;
+and therefore hath a light heart and a cheerful face. All his
+fellow-creatures rejoice to serve him; his betters, the angels, love to
+observe him; God Himself takes pleasure to converse with him, and hath
+sainted him before his death, and in his death crowned him.
+
+
+
+
+THE SECOND BOOK.
+
+
+CHARACTERISMS OF VICES.
+
+
+
+THE PROEM.
+
+I have showed you many fair virtues: I speak not for them; if their
+sight cannot command affection let them lose it. They shall please yet
+better after you have troubled your eyes a little with the view of
+deformities; and by how much more they please, so much more odious and
+like themselves shall these deformities appear. This light contraries
+give to each other in the midst of their enmity, that one makes the
+other seem more good or ill. Perhaps in some of these (which thing I do
+at once fear and hate) my style shall seem to some less grave, more
+satirical: if you find me, not without cause, jealous, let it please you
+to impute it to the nature of those vices which will not be otherwise
+handled. The fashions of some evils are, besides the odiousness,
+ridiculous, which to repeat is to seem bitterly merry. I abhor to make
+sport with wickedness, and forbid any laughter here but of disdain.
+Hypocrisy shall lead this ring worthily, I think, because both she
+cometh nearest to virtue and is the worst of vices.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE HYPOCRITE.
+
+An hypocrite is the worst kind of player, by so much as he acts the
+better part, which hath always two faces, ofttimes two hearts; that can
+compose his forehead to sadness and gravity, while he bids his heart be
+wanton and careless within, and in the meantime laughs within himself to
+think how smoothly he hath cozened the beholder. In whose silent face
+are written the characters of religion, which his tongue and gestures
+pronounce but his hands recant. That hath a clean face and garment with
+a foul soul, whose mouth belies his heart, and his fingers belie his
+mouth. Walking early up into the city, he turns into the great church,
+and salutes one of the pillars on one knee, worshipping that God which
+at home he cares not for, while his eye is fixed on some window, on some
+passenger, and his heart knows not whither his lips go. He rises, and
+looking about with admiration, complains on our frozen charity, commends
+the ancient. At church he will ever sit where he may be seen best, and
+in the midst of the sermon pulls out his tables in haste, as if he
+feared to lose that note; when he writes either his forgotten errand or
+nothing. Then he turns his Bible with a noise to seek an omitted
+quotation, and folds the leaf as if he had found it, and asks aloud the
+name of the preacher, and repeats it, whom he publicly salutes, thanks,
+praises, invites, entertains with tedious good counsel, with good
+discourse, if it had come from an honester mouth. He can command tears
+when he speaks of his youth, indeed because it is past, not because it
+was sinful; himself is now better, but the times are worse. All other
+sins he reckons up with detestation, while he loves and hides his
+darling in his bosom. All his speech returns to himself, and every
+occurrence draws in a story to his own praise. When he should give, he
+looks about him and says, "Who sees me?" No alms, no prayers, fall from
+him without a witness, belike lest God should deny that He hath received
+them; and when he hath done (lest the world should not know it) his own
+mouth is his trumpet to proclaim it. With the superfluity of his usury
+he builds an hospital, and harbours them whom his extortion hath
+spoiled; so while he makes many beggars he keeps some. He turneth all
+gnats into camels, and cares not to undo the world for a circumstance.
+Flesh on a Friday is more abomination to him than his neighbour's bed:
+he more abhors not to uncover at the name of Jesus than to swear by the
+name of God. When a rhymer reads his poem to him he begs a copy, and
+persuades the press there is nothing that he dislikes in presence that
+in absence he censures not. He comes to the sick-bed of his stepmother,
+and weeps when he secretly fears her recovery. He greets his friend in
+the street with so clear a countenance, so fast a closure, that the
+other thinks he reads his heart in his face, and shakes hands with an
+indefinite invitation of "When will you come?" and when his back is
+turned, joys that he is so well rid of a guest; yet if that guest visit
+him unfeared, he counterfeits a smiling welcome, and excuses his cheer,
+when closely he frowns on his wife for too much. He shows well, and says
+well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In brief, he is the
+stranger's saint, the neighbour's disease, the blot of goodness, a
+rotten stick in a dark night, a poppy in a corn-field, an ill-tempered
+candle with a great snuff that in going out smells ill; and an angel
+abroad, a devil at home, and worse when an angel than when a devil.
+
+
+
+OF THE BUSYBODY.
+
+His estate is too narrow for his mind, and therefore he is fain to make
+himself room in others' affairs, yet ever in pretence of love. No news
+can stir but by his door, neither can he know that which he must not
+tell. What every man ventures in Guiana voyage, and what they gained, he
+knows to a hair. Whether Holland will have peace he knows, and on what
+conditions, and with what success, is familiar to him ere it be
+concluded. No post can pass him without a question, and rather than he
+will lose the news, he rides back with him to apprise him of tidings;
+and then to the next man he meets he supplies the wants of his hasty
+intelligence and makes up a perfect tale, wherewith he so haunteth the
+patient auditor, that after many excuses he is fain to endure rather the
+censure of his manners in running away than the tediousness of an
+impertinent discourse. His speech is oft broken off with a succession of
+long parentheses, which he ever vows to fill up ere the conclusion, and
+perhaps would effect it if the other's ear were as umveariable as his
+tongue. If he see but two men talk and read a letter in the street, he
+runs to them and asks if he may not be partner of that secret relation;
+and if they deny it, he offers to tell, since he may not hear, wonders,
+and then falls upon the report of the Scottish mine, or of the great
+fish taken up at Lynne, or of the freezing of the Thames, and after many
+thanks and admissions is hardly entreated silence. He undertakes as much
+as he performs little; this man will thrust himself forward to be the
+guide of the way he knows not, and calls at his neighbour's window and
+asks why his servants are not at work. The market hath no commodity
+which he prizeth not, and which the next table shall not hear recited.
+His tongue, like the tail of Samson's foxes, carries firebrands, and is
+enough to set the whole field of the world on a flame. Himself begins
+table-talk of his neighbour at another's board, to whom he bears the
+first news, and adjures him to conceal the reporter, whose choleric
+answer he returns to his first host enlarged with a second edition; so
+as it uses to be done in the sight of unwilling mastiffs, he claps each
+on the side apart, and provokes them to an eager conflict. There can no
+act pass without his comment, which is ever far-fetched, rash,
+suspicious, dilatory. His ears are long and his eyes quick, but most of
+all to imperfections, which as he easily sees, so he increases with
+intermeddling. He harbours another man's servant, and amidst his
+entertainment asks what fare is usual at home, what hours are kept, what
+talk passeth their meals, what his master's disposition is, what his
+government, what his guests? and when he hath by curious inquiries
+extracted all the juice and spirit of hoped intelligence, turns him off
+whence he came, and works on anew. He hates constancy as an earthen
+dulness, unfit for men of spirit, and loves to change his work and his
+place: neither yet can he be so soon weary of any place as every place
+is weary of him, for as he sets himself on work, so others pay him with
+hatred; and look how many masters he hath, so many enemies: neither is
+it possible that any should not hate him but who know him not. So then
+he labours without thanks, talks without credit, lives without love,
+dies without tears, without pity, save that some say it was pity he died
+no sooner.
+
+
+
+OF THE SUPERSTITIOUS.
+
+Superstition is godless religion, devout impiety. The superstitious is
+fond in observation, servile in fear; he worships God but as he lists;
+he gives God what He asks not more than He asks, and all but what he
+should give; and makes more sins than the Ten Commandments. This man
+dares not stir forth till his breast be crossed and his face sprinkled:
+if but an hare cross him the way, he returns; or if his journey began
+unawares on the dismal day, or if he stumble at the threshold. If he see
+a snake unkilled, he fears a mischief; if the salt fall towards him, he
+looks pale and red, and is not quiet till one of the waiters have poured
+wine on his lap; and when he sneezeth, thinks them not his friends that
+uncover not. In the morning he listens whether the crow crieth even or
+odd, and by that token presages of the weather. If he hear but a raven
+croak from the next roof he makes his will, or if a bittern fly over his
+head by night; but if his troubled fancy shall second his thoughts with
+the dream of a fair garden, or green rushes, or the salutation of a dead
+friend, he takes leave of the world and says he cannot live. He will
+never set to sea but on a Sunday, neither ever goes without an _Erra
+Pater_ in his pocket. Saint Paul's Day and Saint Swithin's with the
+Twelve are his oracles, which he dares believe against the almanack.
+When he lies sick on his deathbed no sin troubles him so much as that he
+did once eat flesh on a Friday; no repentance can expiate that, the rest
+need none. There is no dream of his without an interpretation, without a
+prediction; and if the event answer not his exposition, he expounds it
+according to the event. Every dark grove and pictured wall strikes him
+with an awful but carnal devotion. Old wives and stars are his
+counsellors, his night-spell is his guard, and charms his physicians. He
+wears Paracelsian characters for the toothache, and a little hallowed
+wax is his antidote for all evils. This man is strangely credulous, and
+calls impossible things miraculous. If he hear that some sacred block
+speaks, moves, weeps, smiles, his bare feet carry him thither with an
+offering; and if a danger miss him in the way, his saint hath the
+thanks. Some ways he will not go, and some he dares not; either there
+are bugs, or he feigneth them; every lantern is a ghost, and every noise
+is of chains. He knows not why, but his custom is to go a little about,
+and to leave the cross still on the right hand. One event is enough to
+make a rule; out of these he concludes fashions proper to himself; and
+nothing can turn him out of his own course. If he have done his task he
+is safe, it matters not with what affection. Finally, if God would let
+him be the carver of his own obedience, He could not have a better
+subject; as he is, He cannot have a worse.
+
+
+
+OF THE PROFANE.
+
+The superstitious hath too many gods; the profane man hath none at all,
+unless perhaps himself be his own deity, and the world his heaven. To
+matter of religion his heart is a piece of dead flesh, without feeling
+of love, of fear, of care, or of pain from the deaf strokes of a
+revenging conscience. Custom of sin hath wrought this senselessness,
+which now hath so long entertained that it pleads prescription and knows
+not to be altered. This is no sudden evil; we are born sinful, but have
+made ourselves profane; through many degrees we climb to this height of
+impiety. At first he sinned and cared not, now he sinneth and knoweth
+not. Appetite is his lord, and reason his servant, and religion his
+drudge. Sense is the rule of his belief; and if piety may be an
+advantage, he can at once counterfeit and deride it. When aught
+succeedeth to him he sacrifices to his net, and thanks either his
+fortune or his wit; and will rather make a false God than acknowledge
+the truth; if contrary, he cried out of destiny, and blames him to whom
+he will not be beholden. His conscience would fain speak with him, but
+he will not hear it; sets the day, but he disappoints it; and when it
+cries loud for audience, he drowns the noise with good fellowship. He
+never names God but in his oaths; never thinks of Him but in extremity;
+and then he knows not how to think of Him, because he begins but then.
+He quarrels for the hard conditions of his pleasure for his future
+damnation, and from himself lays all the fault upon his Maker; and from
+His decree fetcheth excuses of his wickedness. The inevitable necessity
+of God's counsel makes him desperately careless; so with good food he
+poisons himself. Goodness is his minstrel; neither is any mirth so
+cordial to him, as his sport with God's fools. Every virtue hath his
+slander, and his jest to laugh it out of fashion; every vice his colour.
+His usualest theme is the boast of his young sins, which he can still
+joy in, though he cannot commit; and (if it may be) his speech makes him
+worse than he is. He cannot think of death with patience, without
+terror, which he therefore fears worse than hell, because this he is
+sure of, the other he but doubts of. He comes to church as to the
+theatre, saving that not so willingly, for company, for custom, for
+recreation, perhaps for sleep, or to feed his eyes or his ears; as for
+his soul, he cares no more than if he had none. He loves none but
+himself, and that not enough to seek his true good; neither cares he on
+whom he treads that he may rise. His life is full of license, and his
+practice of outrage. He is hated of God as much as he hateth goodness;
+and differs little from a devil, but that he hath a body.
+
+
+
+OF THE MALCONTENT.
+
+He is neither well full nor fasting; and though he abound with
+complaints, yet nothing dislikes him but the present; for what he
+condemned while it was, once past he magnifies, and strives to recall it
+out of the jaws of time. What he hath he seeth not, his eyes are so
+taken up with what he wants; and what he sees he cares not for, because
+he cares so much for that which is not. When his friend carves him the
+best morsel, he murmurs that it is an happy feast wherein each one may
+cut for himself. When a present is sent him he asks, Is this all? and,
+What, no better? and so accepts it, as if he would have his friend know
+how much he is bound to him for vouchsafing to receive it. It is hard to
+entertain him with a proportionable gift. If nothing, he cries out of
+unthankfulness; if little, that he is basely regarded; if much, he
+exclaims of flattery, and expectation of a large requital. Every
+blessing hath somewhat to disparage and distaste it; children bring
+cares, single life is wild and solitary, eminency is envious,
+retiredness obscure, fasting painful, satiety unwieldy, religion nicely
+severe, liberty is lawless, wealth burdensome, mediocrity contemptible.
+Everything faulteth, either in too much or too little. This man is ever
+headstrong and self-willed, neither is he always tied to esteem or
+pronounce according to reason; some things he must dislike he knows not
+wherefore, but he likes them not; and otherwhere, rather than not
+censure, he will accuse a man of virtue. Everything he meddleth with he
+either findeth imperfect or maketh so; neither is there anything that
+soundeth so harsh in his ear as the commendation of another; whereto yet
+perhaps he fashionably and coldly assenteth, but with such an
+after-clause of exception as doth more than mar his former allowance;
+and if he list not to give a verbal disgrace, yet he shakes his head and
+smiles, as if his silence should say, I could and will not. And when
+himself is praised without excess, he complains that such imperfect
+kindness hath not done him right. If but an unseasonable shower cross
+his recreation, he is ready to fall out with heaven, and thinks he is
+wronged if God will not take his times when to rain, when to shine. He
+is a slave to envy, and loseth flesh with fretting--not so much at his
+own infelicity as at others' good; neither hath he leisure to joy in his
+own blessings whilst another prospereth. Fain would he see some
+mutinies, but dares not raise them; and suffers his lawless tongue to
+walk through the dangerous paths of conceited alterations; but so, as in
+good manners he had rather thrust every man before him when it comes to
+acting. Nothing but fear keeps him from conspiracies, and no man is more
+cruel when he is not manacled with danger. He speaks nothing but satires
+and libels, and lodgeth no guests in his heart but rebels. The
+inconstant and he agree well in their felicity, which both place in
+change; but herein they differ--the inconstant man affects that which
+will be, the malcontent commonly that which was. Finally, he is a
+querulous cur, whom no horse can pass by without barking at; yea, in the
+deep silence of night the very moonshine openeth his clamorous mouth. He
+is the wheel of a well-couched firework, that flies out on all sides,
+not without scorching itself. Every ear is long ago weary of him, and he
+is now almost weary of himself. Give him but a little respite, and he
+will die alone, of no other death than other's welfare.
+
+
+
+OF THE INCONSTANT.
+
+The inconstant man treads upon a moving earth and keeps no pace. His
+proceedings are ever heady and peremptory, for he hath not the patience
+to consult with reason, but determines merely upon fancy. No man is so
+hot in the pursuit of what he liketh, no man sooner wearies. He is fiery
+in his passions, which yet are not more violent than momentary; it is a
+wonder if his love or hatred last so many days as a wonder. His heart is
+the inn of all good motions, wherein, if they lodge for a night, it is
+well; by morning they are gone, and take no leave; and if they come that
+way again they are entertained as guests, not as friends. At first, like
+another Ecebolius, he loved simple truth; thence, diverting his eyes, he
+fell in love with idolatry. Those heathenish shrines had never any more
+doting and besotted client; and now of late he is leapt from Rome to
+Munster, and is grown to giddy Anabaptism. What he will be next as yet
+he knoweth not; but ere he hath wintered his opinion it will be
+manifest. He is good to make an enemy of, ill for a friend; because, as
+there is no trust in his affection, so no rancour in his displeasure.
+The multitude of his changed purposes brings with it forgetfulness, and
+not of others more than of himself. He says, swears, renounces, because
+what he promised he meant not long enough to make an impression. Herein
+alone he is good for a commonwealth, that he sets many on work with
+building, ruining, altering, and makes more business than time itself;
+neither is he a greater enemy to thrift than to idleness. Propriety is
+to him enough cause of dislike; each thing pleases him better that is
+not his own. Even in the best things long continuance is a just quarrel;
+manna itself grows tedious with age, and novelty is the highest style of
+commendation to the meanest offers; neither doth he in books and
+fashions ask, How good? but, How new? Variety carries him away with
+delight, and no uniform pleasure can be without an irksome fulness. He
+is so transformable into all opinions, manners, qualities, that he seems
+rather made immediately of the first matter than of well-tempered
+elements; and therefore is in possibility anything or everything,
+nothing in present substance. Finally, he is servile in imitation, waxy
+to persuasions, witty to wrong himself, a guest in his own house, an ape
+of others, and, in a word, anything rather than himself.
+
+
+
+OF THE FLATTERER.
+
+Flattery is nothing but false friendship, fawning hypocrisy, dishonest
+civility, base merchandise of words, a plausible discord of the heart
+and lips. The flatterer is blear-eyed to ill, and cannot see vices; and
+his tongue walks ever in one track of unjust praises, and can no more
+tell how to discommend than to speak true. His speeches are full of
+wondering interjections, and all his titles are superlative, and both of
+them seldom ever but in presence. His base mind is well matched with a
+mercenary tongue, which is a willing slave to another man's ear; neither
+regardeth he how true, but how pleasing. His art is nothing but
+delightful cozenage, whose rules are smoothing and guarded with perjury;
+whose scope is to make men fools in teaching them to overvalue
+themselves, and to tickle his friends to death. This man is a porter of
+all good tales, and mends them in the carriage; one of Fame's best
+friends and his own, that helps to furnish her with those rumours that
+may advantage himself. Conscience hath no greater adversary, for when
+she is about to play her just part of accusation, he stops her mouth
+with good terms, and well-near strangleth her with shifts. Like that
+subtle fish, he turns himself into the colour of every stone for a
+booty. In himself he is nothing but what pleaseth his great one, whose
+virtues he cannot more extol than imitate his imperfections, that he may
+think his worst graceful. Let him say it is hot, he wipes his forehead
+and unbraceth himself; if cold, he shivers and calls for a warmer
+garment. When he walks with his friend he swears to him that no man else
+is looked at, no man talked of, and that whomsoever he vouchsafes to
+look on and nod to is graced enough; that he knows not his own worth,
+lest he should be too happy; and when he tells what others say in his
+praise, he interrupts himself modestly and dares not speak the rest; so
+his concealment is more insinuating than his speech. He hangs upon the
+lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but oracles,
+and finds occasion to cite some approved sentence under the name he
+honoureth; and when aught is nobly spoken, both his hands are little
+enough to bless him. Sometimes even in absence he extolleth his patron,
+where he may presume of safe conveyance to his ears; and in presence so
+whispereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be
+unheard where he meant it. He hath salves for every sore, to hide them,
+not to heal them; complexion for every face; sin hath not any more
+artificial broker or more impudent bawd. There is no vice that hath not
+from him his colour, his allurement; and his best service is either to
+further guiltiness or smother it. If he grant evil things inexpedient or
+crimes errors, he hath yielded much; either thy estate gives privilege
+of liberty or thy youth; or if neither, what if it be ill? yet it is
+pleasant. Honesty to him is nice singularity, repentance superstitious
+melancholy, gravity dulness, and all virtue an innocent conceit of the
+base-minded. In short, he is the moth of liberal men's coats, the earwig
+of the mighty, the bane of courts, a friend and a slave to the trencher,
+and good for nothing but to be a factor for the devil.
+
+
+
+OF THE SLOTHFUL.
+
+He is a religious man, and wears the time in his cloister, and, as the
+cloak of his doing nothing, pleads contemplation; yet is he no whit the
+leaner for his thoughts, no whit learneder. He takes no less care how to
+spend time than others how to gain by the expense; and when business
+importunes him, is more troubled to forethink what he must do, than
+another to effect it. Summer is out of his favour for nothing but long
+days that make no haste to their even. He loves still to have the sun
+witness of his rising, and lies long, more for lothness to dress him
+than will to sleep; and after some streaking and yawning, calls for
+dinner unwashed, which having digested with a sleep in his chair, he
+walks forth to the bench in the market-place, and looks for companions.
+Whomsoever he meets he stays with idle questions, and lingering
+discourse; how the days are lengthened, how kindly the weather is, how
+false the clock, how forward the spring, and ends ever with, What shall
+we do? It pleases him no less to hinder others than not to work himself.
+When all the people are gone from church, he is left sleeping in his
+seat alone. He enters bonds, and forfeits them by forgetting the day;
+and asks his neighbour when his own field was fallowed, whether the next
+piece of ground belong not to himself. His care is either none or too
+late. When winter is come, after some sharp visitations, he looks on his
+pile of wood, and asks how much was cropped the last spring. Necessity
+drives him to every action, and what he cannot avoid he will yet defer.
+Every change troubles him, although to the better, and his dulness
+counterfeits a kind of contentment. When he is warned on a jury, he had
+rather pay the mulct than appear. All but that which Nature will not
+permit he doth by a deputy, and counts it troublesome to do nothing, but
+to do anything yet more. He is witty in nothing but framing excuses to
+sit still, which if the occasion yield not he coineth with ease. There
+is no work that is not either dangerous or thankless, and whereof he
+foresees not the inconvenience and gainlessness before he enters; which
+if it be verified in event, his next idleness hath found a reason to
+patronize it. He had rather freeze than fetch wood, and chooses rather
+to steal than work; to beg than take pains to steal, and in many things
+to want than beg. He is so loth to leave his neighbour's fire, that he
+is fain to walk home in the dark; and if he be not looked to, wears out
+the night in the chimney-corner, or if not that, lies down in his
+clothes, to save two labours. He eats and prays himself asleep, and
+dreams of no other torment but work. This man is a standing pool, and
+cannot choose but gather corruption. He is descried amongst a thousand
+neighbours by a dry and nasty hand, that still savours of the sheet, a
+beard uncut, unkempt, an eye and ear yellow with their excretions, a
+coat shaken on, ragged, unbrushed, by linen and face striving whether
+shall excel in uncleanness. For body, he hath a swollen leg, a dusky and
+swinish eye, a blown cheek, a drawling tongue, an heavy foot, and is
+nothing but a colder earth moulded with standing water. To conclude, is
+a man in nothing but in speech and shape.
+
+
+
+OF THE COVETOUS.
+
+He is a servant to himself, yea, to his servant; and doth base homage to
+that which should be the worst drudge. A lifeless piece of earth is his
+master, yea his god, which he shrines in his coffer, and to which he
+sacrifices his heart. Every face of his coin is a new image, which he
+adores with the highest veneration; yet takes upon him to be protector
+of that he worshippeth, which he fears to keep and abhors to lose, not
+daring to trust either any other god or his own. Like a true chemist, he
+turns everything into silver, both what he should eat, and what he
+should wear; and that he keeps to look on, not to use. When he returns
+from his field, he asks, not without much rage, what became of the loose
+crust in his cupboard, and who hath rioted among his leeks. He never
+eats good meal but on his neighbour's trencher, and there he makes
+amends to his complaining stomach for his former and future fasts. He
+bids his neighbours to dinner, and when they have done, sends in a
+trencher for the shot. Once in a year, perhaps, he gives himself leave
+to feast, and for the time thinks no man more lavish; wherein he lists
+not to fetch his dishes from far, nor will be beholden to the shambles;
+his own provision shall furnish his board with an insensible cost, and
+when his guests are parted, talks how much every man devoured, and how
+many cups were emptied, and feeds his family with the mouldy remnants a
+month after. If his servant break but an earthen dish for want of light,
+he abates it out of his quarter's wages. He chips his bread, and sends
+it back to exchange for staler. He lets money, and sells time for a
+price, and will not be importuned either to prevent or defer his day;
+and in the meantime looks for secret gratuities, besides the main
+interest, which he sells and returns into the stock. He breeds of money
+to the third generation, neither hath it sooner any being, than he sets
+it to beget more. In all things he affects secrecy and propriety; he
+grudgeth his neighbour the water of his well, and next to stealing he
+hates borrowing. In his short and unquiet sleeps he dreams of thieves,
+and runs to the door and names more men than he hath. The least sheaf he
+ever culls out for tithe, and to rob God holds it the best pastime, the
+clearest gain. This man cries out above others of the prodigality of our
+times, and tells of the thrift of our forefathers: how that great prince
+thought himself royally attired, when he bestowed thirteen shillings and
+fourpence on half a suit. How one wedding gown served our grandmothers
+till they exchanged it for a winding-sheet; and praises plainness, not
+for less sin, but for less cost. For himself, he is still known by his
+forefather's coat, which he means with his blessing to bequeath to the
+many descents of his heirs. He neither would be poor, nor be accounted
+rich. No man complains so much of want, to avoid a subsidy; no man is so
+importunate in begging, so cruel in exaction; and when he most complains
+of want, he fears that which he complains to have. No way is indirect to
+wealth, whether of fraud or violence. Gain is his godliness, which if
+conscience go about to prejudice, and grow troublesome by exclaiming
+against, he is condemned for a common barretor. Like another Ahab, he is
+sick of the next field, and thinks he is ill-seated, while he dwells by
+neighbours. Shortly, his neighbours do not much more hate him, than he
+himself. He cares not (for no great advantage) to lose his friend, pine
+his body, damn his soul; and would despatch himself when corn falls, but
+that he is loth to cast away money on a cord.
+
+
+
+OF THE VAINGLORIOUS.
+
+All his humour rises up into the froth of ostentation, which if it once
+settle falls down into a narrow room. If the excess be in the
+understanding part, all his wit is in print; the press hath left his
+head empty, yea, not only what he had, but what he could borrow without
+leave. If his glory be in his devotion, he gives not an alms but on
+record; and if he have once done well, God hears of it often, for upon
+every unkindness he is ready to upbraid Him with merits. Over and above
+his own discharge, he hath some satisfactions to spare for the common
+treasure. He can fulfil the law with ease, and earn God with
+superfluity. If he hath bestowed but a little sum in the glazing,
+paving, parieting of God's house, you shall find it in the church
+window. Or if a more gallant humour possess him, he wears all his land
+on his back, and walking high, looks over his left shoulder, to see if
+the point of his rapier follow him with a grace. He is proud of another
+man's horse, and well mounted, thinks every man wrongs him that looks
+not at him. A bare head in the street doth him more good than a meal's
+meat. He swears big at an ordinary, and talks of the court with a sharp
+accent; neither vouchsafes to name any not honourable, nor those without
+some term of familiarity, and likes well to see the hearer look upon him
+amazedly, as if he said, How happy is this man that is so great with
+great ones! Under pretence of seeking for a scroll of news, he draws out
+an handful of letters endorsed with his own style to the height, and
+half reading every title, passes over the latter part with a murmur, not
+without signifying what lord sent this, what great lady the other, and
+for what suits; the last paper (as it happens) is his news from his
+honourable friend in the French court. In the midst of dinner, his
+lackey comes sweating in with a sealed note from his creditor, who now
+threatens a speedy arrest, and whispers the ill news in his master's
+ear, when he aloud names a counsellor of state, and professes to know
+the employment. The same messenger he calls with an imperious nod, and
+after expostulation, where he hath left his fellows, in his ear, sends
+him for some new spur-leathers or stockings by this time footed; and
+when he is gone half the room, recalls him, and sayeth aloud, It is no
+matter, let the greater bag alone till I come. And yet again calling him
+closer, whispers (so that all the table may hear), that if his crimson
+suit be ready against the day, the rest need no haste. He picks his
+teeth when his stomach is empty, and calls for pheasants at a common
+inn. You shall find him prizing the richest jewels and fairest horses,
+when his purse yields not money enough for earnest. He thrusts himself
+into the press before some great ladies, and loves to be seen near the
+head of a great train. His talk is how many mourners he furnished with
+gowns at his father's funeral, how many messes, how rich his coat is,
+and how ancient, how great his alliance; what challenges he hath made
+and answered; what exploits he did at Calais or Newport; and when he
+hath commended others' buildings, furnitures, suits, compares them with
+his own. When he hath undertaken to be the broker for some rich diamond,
+he wears it, and pulling off his glove to stroke up his hair, thinks no
+eye should have any other object. Entertaining his friend, he chides his
+cook for no better cheer, and names the dishes he meant and wants. To
+conclude, he is ever on the stage, and acts still a glorious part
+abroad, when no man carries a baser heart, no man is more sordid and
+careless at home. He is a Spanish soldier on an Italian theatre, a
+bladder full of wind, a skinful of words, a fool's wonder and a wise
+man's fool.
+
+
+
+OF THE PRESUMPTUOUS.
+
+Presumption is nothing but hope out of his wits, an high house upon weak
+pillars. The presumptuous man loves to attempt great things, only
+because they are hard and rare. His actions are bold and venturous, and
+more full of hazard than use. He hoisteth sail in a tempest, and sayeth
+never any of his ancestors were drowned. He goes into an infected house,
+and says the plague dares not seize on noble blood. He runs on high
+battlements, gallops down steep hills, rides over narrow bridges, walks
+on weak ice, and never thinks, What if I fall? but, What if I run over
+and fall not? He is a confident alchemist, and braggeth that the womb of
+his furnace hath conceived a burden that will do all the world good;
+which yet he desires secretly borne, for fear of his own bondage. In the
+meantime his glass breaks, yet he upon better luting lays wagers of the
+success, and promiseth wedges beforehand to his friend. He saith, I will
+sin, and be sorry, and escape; either God will not see, or not be angry,
+or not punish it, or remit the measure. If I do well, He is just to
+reward; if ill, He is merciful to forgive. Thus his praises wrong God no
+less than his offence, and hurt himself no less than they wrong God. Any
+pattern is enough to encourage him. Show him the way where any foot hath
+trod, he dare follow, although he see no steps returning; what if a
+thousand have attempted, and miscarried, if but one hath prevailed it
+sufficeth. He suggests to himself false hopes of never too late, as if
+he could command either time or repentance, and dare defer the
+expectation of mercy, till betwixt the bridge and the water. Give him
+but where to set his foot, and he will remove the earth. He foreknows
+the mutations of states, the events of war, the temper of the seasons;
+either his old prophecy tells it him, or his stars. Yea, he is no
+stranger to the records of God's secret counsel, but he turns them over,
+and copies them out at pleasure. I know not whether in all his
+enterprises he show less fear or wisdom; no man promises himself more,
+no man more believes himself. I will go and sell, and return and
+purchase, and spend and leave my sons such estates: all which, if it
+succeed, he thanks himself; if not, he blames not himself. His purposes
+are measured, not by his ability, but his will; and his actions by his
+purposes. Lastly, he is ever credulous in assent, rash in undertaking,
+peremptory in resolving, witless in proceeding, and in his ending
+miserable, which is never other than either the laughter of the wise or
+the pity of fools.
+
+
+
+OF THE DISTRUSTFUL.
+
+The distrustful man hath his heart in his eyes or in his hand; nothing
+is sure to him but what he sees, what he handles. He is either very
+simple or very false, and therefore believes not others, because he
+knows how little himself is worthy of belief. In spiritual things,
+either God must leave a pawn with him or seek some other creditor. All
+absent things and unusual have no other but a conditional entertainment;
+they are strange, if true. If he see two neighbours whisper in his
+presence, he bids them speak out, and charges them to say no more than
+they can justify. When he hath committed a message to his servant, he
+sends a second after him to listen how it is delivered. He is his own
+secretary, and of his own counsel for what he hath, for what he
+purposeth. And when he tells over his bags, looks through the keyhole to
+see if he have any hidden witness, and asks aloud, Who is there? when no
+man hears him. He borrows money when he needs not, for fear lest others
+should borrow of him. He is ever timorous and cowardly, and asks every
+man's errand at the door ere he opens. After his first sleep he starts
+up and asks if the furthest gate were barred, and out of a fearful sweat
+calls up his servant and bolts the door after him, and then studies
+whether it were better to lie still and believe, or rise and see.
+Neither is his heart fuller of fears than his head of strange projects
+and far-fetched constructions. What means the state, think you, in such
+an action, and whither tends this course? Learn of me (if you know not)
+the ways of deep policies are secret, and full of unknown windings; that
+is their act, this will be their issue: so casting beyond the moon, he
+makes wise and just proceedings suspected. In all his predictions and
+imaginations he ever lights upon the worst; not what is most likely will
+fall out, but what is most ill. There is nothing that he takes not with
+the left hand; no text which his gloss corrupts not. Words, oaths,
+parchments, seals, are but broken reeds; these shall never deceive him,
+he loves no payments but real. If but one in an age have miscarried by a
+rare casualty, he misdoubts the same event. If but a tile fallen from an
+high roof have brained a passenger, or the breaking of a coach-wheel
+have endangered the burden, he swears he will keep home, or take him to
+his horse. He dares not come to church for fear of the crowd, nor spare
+the Sabbath's labour for fear of the want, nor come near the Parliament
+house, because it should have been blown up. What might have been
+affects him as much as what will be. Argue, vow, protest, swear, he
+hears thee, and believes himself. He is a sceptic, and dare hardly give
+credit to his senses, which he hath often arraigned of false
+intelligence. He so lives, as if he thought all the world were thieves,
+and were not sure whether himself were one. He is uncharitable in his
+censures, unquiet in his fears, bad enough always, but in his own
+opinion much worse than he is.
+
+
+
+OF THE AMBITIOUS.
+
+Ambition is a proud covetousness, a dry thirst of honour, the longing
+disease of reason, an aspiring and gallant madness. The ambitious climbs
+up high and perilous stairs, and never cares how to come down; the
+desire of rising hath swallowed up his fear of a fall. Having once
+cleaved like a burr to some great man's coat, he resolves not to be
+shaken off with any small indignities, and, finding his hold thoroughly
+fast, casts how to insinuate yet nearer. And therefore he is busy and
+servile in his endeavours to please, and all his officious respects turn
+home to himself. He can be at once a slave to command, an intelligencer
+to inform, a parasite to soothe and flatter, a champion to defend, an
+executioner to revenge anything for an advantage of favour. He hath
+projected a plot to rise, and woe be to the friend that stands in his
+way. He still haunteth the court, and his unquiet spirit haunteth him,
+which, having fetched him from the secure peace of his country rest,
+sets him new and impossible tasks, and, after many disappointments,
+encourages him to try the same sea in spite of his shipwrecks, and
+promise better success. A small hope gives him heart against great
+difficulties, and draws on new expense, new servility, persuading him
+like foolish boys to shoot away a second shaft, that he may find the
+first. He yieldeth, and now secure of the issue, applauds himself in
+that honour, which he still affecteth, still misseth; and, for the last
+of all trials, will rather bribe for a troublesome preferment than
+return void of a title. But now, when he finds himself desperately
+crossed, and at once spoiled both of advancement and hope, both of
+fruition and possibility, all his desire is turned into rage, his thirst
+is now only of revenge, his tongue sounds of nothing but detraction and
+slander. Now the place he fought for is base, his rival unworthy, his
+adversary injurious, officers corrupt, court infectious; and how well is
+he that may be his own man, his own master, that may live safely in a
+mean distance, at pleasure, free from starving, free from burning? But
+if his designs speed well, ere he be warm in that feat, his mind is
+possessed of an higher. What he hath is but a degree to what he would
+have. Now he scorneth what he formerly aspired to. His success doth not
+give him so much contentment as provocation; neither can he be at rest
+so long as he hath one, either to overlook, or to match, or to emulate
+him. When his country friend comes to visit him, he carries him up to
+the awful presence, and now in his sight, crowding nearer to the chair
+of state, desires to be looked on, desires to be spoken to by the
+greatest, and studies how to offer an occasion, lest he should seem
+unknown, unregarded; and if any gesture of the least grace fall happily
+upon him, he looks back upon his friend, lest he should carelessly let
+it pass, without a note; and what he wanteth in sense he supplies in
+history. His disposition is never but shamefully unthankful, for unless
+he have all he hath nothing. It must be a large draught, whereof he will
+not say that those few drops do not slake but inflame him. So still he
+thinks himself the worse for small favours. His wit so contrives the
+likely plots of his promotion, as if he would steal it away without
+God's knowledge, besides His will. Neither doth he ever look up, and
+consult in his forecasts with the supreme Moderator of all things, as
+one that thinks honour is ruled by fortune, and that heaven meddleth not
+with the disposing of these earthly lots; and therefore it is just with
+that wise God to defeat his fairest hopes, and to bring him to a loss in
+the hottest of his chase, and to cause honour to fly away so much the
+faster, by how much it is more eagerly pursued. Finally, he is an
+importunate suitor, a corrupt client, a violent undertaker, a smooth
+factor, but untrusty, a restless master of his own, a bladder puffed up
+with the wind of hope and self-love. He is in the common body as a mole
+in the earth, ever unquietly casting; and, in one word, is nothing but a
+confused heap of envy, pride, covetousness.
+
+
+
+OF THE UNTHRIFT.
+
+He ranges beyond his pale, and lives without compass. His expense is
+measured, not by ability, but will. His pleasures are immoderate, and
+not honest. A wanton eye, a liquorish tongue, a gamesome hand, have
+impoverished him. The vulgar sort call him bountiful, and applaud him
+when he spends; and recompense him with wishes when he gives, with pity
+when he wants. Neither can it be denied that he raught true liberality,
+but overwent it. No man could have lived more laudably, if, when he was
+at the best, he had stayed there. While he is present, none of the
+wealthier guests may pay aught to the shot without much vehemence,
+without danger of unkindness. Use hath made it unpleasant to him not to
+spend. He is in all things more ambitious of the title of good
+fellowship than of wisdom. When he looks into the wealthy chest of his
+father, his conceit suggests that it cannot be emptied; and while he
+takes out some deal every day, he perceives not any diminution; and when
+the heap is sensibly abated, yet still flatters himself with enough. One
+hand cozens the other, and the belly deceives both. He doth not so much
+bestow benefits as scatter them. True merit doth not carry them, but
+smoothness of adulation. His senses are too much his guides and his
+purveyors, and appetite is his steward. He is an impotent servant to his
+lusts, and knows not to govern either his mind or his purse.
+Improvidence is ever the companion of unthriftiness. This man cannot
+look beyond the present, and neither thinks nor cares what shall be,
+much less suspects what may be; and while he lavishes out his substance
+in superfluities, thinks he only knows what the world is worth, and that
+others overprize it. He feels poverty before he sees it, never complains
+till he be pinched with wants; never spares till the bottom, when it is
+too late either to spend or recover. He is every man's friend save his
+own, and then wrongs himself most when he courteth himself with most
+kindness. He vies time with the slothful, and it is a hard match whether
+chases away good hours to worse purpose, the one by doing nothing, or
+the other by idle pastime. He hath so dilated himself with the beams of
+prosperity that he lies open to all dangers, and cannot gather up
+himself, on just warning, to avoid a mischief. He were good for an
+almoner, ill for a steward. Finally, he is the living tomb of his
+forefathers, of his posterity; and when he hath swallowed both, is more
+empty than before he devoured them.
+
+
+
+OF THE ENVIOUS.
+
+He feeds on others' evils, and hath no disease but his neighbour's
+welfare. Whatsoever God do for him, he cannot be happy with company; and
+if he were put to choose whether he would rather have equals in a common
+felicity, or superiors in misery, he would demur upon the election. His
+eye casts out too much, and never returns home, but to make comparisons
+with another's good. He is an ill prizer of foreign commodity; worse of
+his own, for that he rates too high, this under value. You shall have
+him ever inquiring into the estates of his equals and betters, wherein
+he is not more desirous to hear all than loth to hear anything over
+good; and if just report relate aught better than he would, he redoubles
+the question, as being hard to believe what he likes not, and hopes yet,
+if that be averred again to his grief, that there is somewhat concealed
+in the relation, which, if it were known, would argue the commended
+party miserable, and blemish him with secret shame. He is ready to
+quarrel with God, because the next field is fairer grown, and angrily
+calculates his cost, and time, and tillage. Whom he dares not openly
+backbite, nor wound with a direct censure, he strikes smoothly with an
+over cold praise; and when he sees that he must either maliciously
+impugn the just praise of another (which were unsafe), or approve it by
+assent, he yieldeth; but shows withal that his means were such, both by
+nature and education, that he could not, without much neglect, be less
+commendable. So his happiness shall be made the colour of detraction.
+When an wholesome law is propounded, he crosseth it either by open or
+close opposition, not for any incommodity or inexpedience, but because
+it proceeded from any mouth besides his own. And it must be a cause
+rarely plausible that will not admit some probable contradiction. When
+his equal should rise to honour, he strives against it unseen, and
+rather with much cost suborneth great adversaries; and when he sees his
+resistance vain, he can give an hollow gratulation in presence, but in
+secret disparages that advancement. Either the man is unfit for the
+place, or the place for the man; or if fit, yet less gainful, or more
+common than opinion; whereto he adds that himself might have had the
+same dignity upon better terms, and refused it. He is witty in devising
+suggestions to bring his rival out of love into suspicion. If he be
+courteous, he is seditiously popular; if bountiful, he binds over his
+clients to a faction; if successful in war, he is dangerous in peace; if
+wealthy, he lays up for a day; if powerful, nothing wants but
+opportunity of rebellion. His submission is ambitious hypocrisy; his
+religion, politic insinuation; no action is safe from a jealous
+construction. When he receives a good report of him whom he emulates, he
+saith, "Fame is partial, and is wont to blanche mischiefs;" and pleaseth
+himself with hope to find it worse; and if ill-will have dispersed any
+more spiteful narration, he lays hold on that, against all witnesses,
+and broacheth that rumour for truest because worst; and when he sees him
+perfectly miserable, he can at once pity him, and rejoice. What himself
+cannot do, others shall not; he hath gained well if he have hindered the
+success of what he would have done, and could not. He conceals his best
+skill, not so as it may not be known that he knows it, but so as it may
+not be learned, because he would have the world miss him. He attained to
+a foreign medicine by the secret legacy of a dying empiric, whereof he
+will leave no heir lest the praise shall be divided. Finally, he is an
+enemy to God's favours, if they fall beside himself; the best nurse of
+ill-fame, a man of the worst diet, for he consumes himself, and delights
+in pining; a thorn-hedge covered with nettles, a peevish interpreter of
+good things, and no other than a lean and pale carcase quickened with
+a fiend.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+JOHN STEPHENS,
+
+_The younger, a lawyer of Lincoln's Inn, published in 1615 "Satyrical
+Essayes, Characters, and others, or accurate and quick Descriptions
+fitted to the life of their Subjects." He had published two years before
+a play called "Cinthia's Revenge, or Maenander's Extasie," which
+Langbaine described as one of the longest he had ever read, and the most
+tedious. Somebody seems to have attacked him and his Characters. A
+second edition, in 1631, was entitled "New Essays and Characters, with a
+new Satyre in defence of the Common Law, and Lawyers: mixt with Reproofe
+against their enemy Ignoramus."_
+
+JOHN EARLE
+
+_Is the next of our Character writers. His "Microcosmography, or a Piece
+of the World discovered, in Essays and Characters" was first printed in
+1628. John Earle was born in the city of York, at the beginning of the
+seventeenth century, probably in the year 1601. His father, who was
+Registrar of the Archbishop's Court, sent him to Oxford in 1619, and he
+was said to be eighteen years old when he matriculated, that year, as a
+commoner at Christchurch. He graduated as Master of Arts in 1624. He was
+a Fellow of Merton, and wrote in his younger days several occasional
+poems that won credit before he published anonymously, still as an
+Oxford man, when he was about twenty-seven years old, his famous
+Characters. But he remembered York when adding to their title that they
+were "newly composed for the northern part of this Kingdom." This first
+edition contained fifty-four characters, which precede the others in the
+following collection. In the next year, 1629, the book reached a fifth
+edition, printed for Robert Allot, in which the number of the characters
+was increased to seventy-six. Two more characters--a Herald, and a
+Suspicious or Jealous Man--were added in the sixth edition, which was
+printed for Allot in 1633. The seventh edition was printed for Andrew
+Coolie in 1638, the eighth in 1650. Other editions followed in 1669,
+1676, 1732, and at Salisbury in 1786. In 1811 the little book was edited
+carefully by Dr. Philip Bliss, and it was edited again by Professor
+Edward Arber in 1868, in his valuable series of English Reprints.
+
+John Earle, after the production of his "Microcosmography," wrote in
+April 1630 a short poem upon the death of William, third Earl of
+Pembroke, son of Sidney's sister. The third Earl's younger brother
+Philip succeeded as fourth Earl, and was Chancellor of the University of
+Oxford. He was then, or thereafter became, Earle's patron, and made him
+his chaplain. About the same time, in 1631, Earle acted as proctor of
+the University. In 1639 the Earl of Pembroke presented John Earle to the
+living of Bishopston in Wiltshire, as successor to Chillingworth.
+Pembroke being Lord Chamberlain was entitled also to a residence at
+Court for his chaplain, and thus Earle was brought under the immediate
+notice of Charles I., who appointed him to be his own chaplain, and made
+him tutor to Prince Charles in 1641, when Dr. Brian Duppa, the preceding
+tutor, had been made Bishop of Salisbury. In 1642 Earle proceeded to the
+degree of D.D. In 1643 he was elected Chancellor of the Cathedral at
+Salisbury, but he was presently deprived by the Parliament of that
+office, and of his living at Bishopston. He then lived in retirement
+abroad, made a translation into Latin of Hooker's "Ecclesiastical
+Polity" which his servants negligently used, after his death, as waste
+paper, and of the "Eikon Basilike" which was published in 1649. After
+the Restoration, Dr. Earle was made Dean of Westminster; then, in 1662,
+Bishop of Worcester. He was translated to Salisbury in 1663, died in
+November 1665, and was buried near the altar in Merton College Church.
+
+Earle was a man so gentle and liberal, that while Clarendon described
+him as "among the few excellent men who never had and never could have
+an enemy," Baxter wrote in the margin of a kindly letter from him, "O,
+that they were all such!" and Calamy described him as "a man that could
+do good against evil, forgive much out of a charitable heart." The
+Parliament, even just before depriving him as a malignant, had put him
+to the trouble of declining its nomination as one of the Westminster
+Assembly of Divines. As a Bishop in the early days of Charles the Second
+he did all he could to oppose the persecuting spirit of the first
+Conventicle Act and of the Five Mile Act.
+
+Dr. Philip Bliss, who died in 1857, after a life marked by many services
+to English Literature, chose Bishop Earle's "Characters" for one of his
+earlier studies, published in 1811, when his own age was twenty-four.
+His book[2] included an account of Bishop Earle himself, a list of his
+writings, publication for the first time of some of his early verses,
+his correspondence with Baxter, and a Chronological List of Books of
+Characters from 1567 to 1700, which was the first contribution to a
+study of this feature in our Seventeenth Century Literature. Bliss took
+his text of Earle from the edition of 1732, collated with the first
+impression in 1628. As the Characters which now follow are given with
+Bliss's text and notes, I add what the editor himself says of his
+method. The variations of the 1732 text from the first impressions in
+1628 are thus distinguished: "Those words or passages which have been
+added since the first edition are contained between brackets_ [and
+printed in the common type]; _those which have received some alteration
+are printed in italic; and the passages, as they stand in the first
+edition, are always given in a note."_
+
+
+
+MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;
+
+OR,
+
+A PIECE OF THE WORLD CHARACTERIZED.
+
+
+
+A CHILD
+
+Is a man in a small letter, yet the best copy of Adam before he tasted
+of Eve or the apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the world
+can only write this character. He is nature's fresh picture newly drawn
+in oil, which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His soul is yet
+a white paper[3] unscribbled with observations of the world, wherewith,
+at length, it becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because
+he knows no evil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with
+misery. He arrives not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils
+to come, by foreseeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, when the
+smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater. Nature and his parents
+alike dandle him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a draught of
+wormwood. He plays yet, like a young prentice the first day, and is not
+come to his task of melancholy. [4][All the language he speaks yet is
+tears, and they serve him well enough to express his necessity.] His
+hardest labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use so deceitful an
+organ; and he is best company with it when he can but prattle. We laugh
+at his foolish sports, but his game is our earnest; and his drums,
+rattles, and hobby-horses, but the emblems and mocking of man's
+business. His father hath writ him as his own little story, wherein he
+reads those days of his life that he cannot remember, and sighs to see
+what innocence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows, he is a stair
+lower from God; and, like his first father, much worse in his
+breeches.[5] He is the Christian's example, and the old man's relapse;
+the one imitates his pureness, and the other falls into his simplicity.
+Could he put off his body with his little coat, he had got eternity
+without a burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG RAW PREACHER
+
+Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped out of his nest to be
+chirping on a hedge, and will be straggling abroad at what peril soever.
+His backwardness in the university hath set him thus forward; for had he
+not truanted there, he had not been so hasty a divine. His small
+standing, and time, hath made him a proficient only in boldness, out of
+which, and his table-book, he is furnished for a preacher. His
+collections of study are the notes of sermons, which, taken up at St.
+Mary's,[6] he utters in the country: and if he write brachigraphy,[7]
+his stock is so much the better. His writing is more than his reading,
+for he reads only what he gets without book. Thus accomplished he comes
+down to his friends, and his first salutation is grace and peace out of
+the pulpit. His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers his college
+more at large,[8] The pace of his sermon is a full career, and he runs
+wildly over hill and dale, till the clock stop him. The labour of it is
+chiefly in his lungs; and the only thing he has made _in_[9] it himself,
+is the faces. He takes on against the pope without mercy, and has a jest
+still in lavender for Bellarmine: yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in
+his way, though with a mind, I must needs say, very orthodox. His action
+is all passion, and his speech interjections. He has an excellent
+faculty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a very good grace. [His
+stile is compounded of twenty several men's, only his body imitates some
+one extraordinary.] He will not draw his handkercher out of his place,
+nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that he never
+looks upon book; and indeed he was never used to it. He preaches but
+once a year, though twice on Sunday; for the stuff is still the same,
+only the dressing a little altered: he has more tricks with a sermon,
+than a tailor with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and at last
+quite disguise it with a new preface. If he have waded farther in his
+profession, and would show reading of his own, his authors are postils,
+and his school-divinity a catechism. His fashion and demure habit gets
+him in with some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on Friday nights.
+You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and serge facing; and his
+ruff, next his hair the shortest thing about him. The companion of his
+walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange points,
+which they both understand alike. His friends and much painfulness may
+prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a chambermaid;
+with whom we leave him now in the bonds of wedlock:--next Sunday you
+shall have him again.
+
+
+
+A GRAVE DIVINE
+
+Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make
+his shoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch
+forth of his port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning,
+and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end
+of his studies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts
+his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with human reading,
+or to smooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
+both religions, and anchored in the best, and is a protestant out of
+judgment, not faction; not because his country, but his reason is on
+this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit
+not his itch, but fear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric,
+and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with
+inforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his
+meditations at one butt; and beats upon his text, not the cushion;
+making his hearers, not the pulpit, groan. In citing of popish errors,
+he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels them with barren invectives;
+and labours more to shew the truth of his cause than the spleen. His
+sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his devotion
+goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week,
+because he would not be idle; nor talks three hours together, because he
+would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches at fit times, and his
+conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony, he is
+not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow
+his judgment to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a surplice.
+He esteems the Church hierarchy as the Church's glory, and however we
+jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In
+simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes in the bargain, and is
+loath to come by promotion so dear: yet his worth at length advances
+him, and the price of his own merit buys him a living. He is no base
+grater of his tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer
+is the only man he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels.
+He is a main pillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his
+life our religion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
+in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example.[10]
+
+
+
+A MERE DULL PHYSICIAN.
+
+His practice is some business at bedsides, and his speculation an
+urinal: he is distinguished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap and
+doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is
+doctor howsoever. He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as university
+men to their statutes, though they never saw them; and his discourse is
+all aphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont,[11] or the
+Regiment of Health.[12] The best cure he has done is upon his own purse,
+which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His
+learning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and
+the superscriptions of gallipots in his apothecary's shop, which are
+ranked in his shelves and the doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only
+languaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many times when he knows not. If
+he have been but a bystander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered
+with it though he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that
+his practice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes
+best the smell of urine, and holds Vespasian's[13] rule, that no gain is
+unsavory. If you send this once to him you must resolve to be sick
+howsoever, for he will never leave examining your water, till he has
+shaked it into disease:[l4] then follows a writ to his drugger in a
+strange tongue, which he understands, though he cannot construe. If he
+see you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot
+heal your sickness, he will be sure to help it. He translates his
+apothecary's shop into your chamber, and the very windows and benches
+must take physic. He tells you your malady in Greek, though it be but a
+cold, or head-ache; which by good endeavour and diligence he may bring
+to some moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is, that he leaves a man
+gasping, and his pretence is, death and he have a quarrel and must not
+meet; but his fear is, lest the carcase should bleed.[15] Anatomies, and
+other spectacles of mortality, have hardened him, and he is no more
+struck with a funeral than a grave-maker. Noblemen use him for a
+director of their stomach, and the ladies for wantonness,[16] especially
+if he be a proper man. If he be single, he is in league with his
+she-apothecary; and because it is the physician, the husband is patient.
+If he have leisure to be idle (that is to study), he has a smatch at
+alchemy, and is sick of the philosopher's stone; a disease uncurable,
+but by an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His two main opposites are a
+mountebank and a good woman, and he never shews his learning so much as
+in an invective against them and their boxes. In conclusion, he is a
+sucking consumption, and a very brother to the worms, for they are both
+ingendered out of man's corruption.
+
+
+
+AN ALDERMAN.
+
+He is venerable in his gown, more in his beard, wherewith he sets not
+forth so much his own, as the face of a city. You must look on him as
+one of the town gates, and consider him not as a body, but a
+corporation. His eminency above others hath made him a man of worship,
+for he had never been preferred, but that he was worth thousands. He
+over-sees the commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argument of his
+policy, that he has thriven by his craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in
+his ward; yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be like the
+balances in his warehouse. A ponderous man he is, and substantial, for
+his weight is commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment nothing
+rises so much as his belly. His head is of no great depth, yet well
+furnished; and when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may bring
+forth a city apophthegm, or some such sage matter. He is one that will
+not hastily run into error, for he treads with great deliberation, and
+his judgment consists much as his pace. His discourse is commonly the
+annals of his mayoralty, and what good government there was in the days
+of his gold chain, though the door posts were the only things that
+suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely religious, especially on
+solemn days; for he comes often to church to make a shew, [and is a part
+of the quire hangings.] He is the highest star of his profession, and an
+example to his trade, what in time they may come to. He makes very much
+of his authority, but more of his satin doublet, which, though of good
+years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh every Sunday: but his
+scarlet gown is a monument, and lasts from generation to generation.
+
+
+
+A DISCONTENTED MAN
+
+Is one that is fallen out with the world, and will be revenged on
+himself. Fortune has denied him in something, and he now takes pet, and
+will be miserable in spite. The root of his disease is a self-humouring
+pride, and an accustomed tenderness not to be crossed in his fancy; and
+the occasion commonly of one of these three, a hard father, a peevish
+wench, or his ambition thwarted. He considered not the nature of the
+world till he felt it, and all blows fall on him heavier, because they
+light not first on his expectation. He has now foregone all but his
+pride, and is yet vain-glorious in the ostentation of his melancholy.
+His composure of himself is a studied carelessness, with his arms
+across, and a neglected hanging of his head and cloak; and he is as
+great an enemy to a hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels at the time and
+up-starts, and sighs at the neglect of men of parts, that is, such as
+himself. His life is a perpetual satire, and he is still girding the
+age's vanity, when this very anger shews he too much esteems it. He is
+much displeased to see men merry, and wonders what they can find to
+laugh at. He never draws his own lips higher than a smile, and frowns
+wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into that deadly melancholy
+to be a bitter hater of men, and is the most apt companion for any
+mischief. He is the spark that kindles the commonwealth, and the bellows
+himself to blow it: and if he turn any thing, it is commonly one of
+these, either friar, traitor, or mad-man.
+
+
+
+AN ANTIQUARY.
+
+He is a man strangely thrifty of time past, and an enemy indeed to his
+maw, whence he fetches out many things when they are now all rotten and
+stinking. He is one that hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured of
+old age and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese), the
+better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because
+we say it is most antient; and yet a broken statue would almost make him
+an idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and
+reads only those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. He
+will go you forty miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey; an
+there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the way, he'll be
+considering it so long, till he forget his journey. His estate consists
+much in shekels, and Roman coins; and he hath more pictures of Caesar,
+than James or Elizabeth. Beggars cozen him with musty things which they
+have raked from dung-hills, and he preserves their rags for precious
+relics. He loves no library, but where there are more spiders' volumes
+than authors', and looks with great admiration on the antique work of
+cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this latter age, but
+a manuscript he pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all
+moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between every syllable. He
+would give all the books in his study (which are rarities all), for one
+of the old Roman binding, or six-lines of Tully in his own hand. His
+chamber is hung commonly with strange beasts' skins, and is a kind of
+charnel-house of bones extraordinary; and his discourse upon them, if
+you will hear him, shall last longer. His very attire is that which is
+the eldest out of fashion, [[17] _and you may pick a criticism out of
+his breeches_.] He never looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and
+then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His grave does not fright
+him, for he has been used to sepulchres, and he likes death the better,
+because it gathers him to his fathers.
+
+
+
+A YOUNGER BROTHER.
+
+His elder brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like
+Jacob at his heels. His father has done with him as Pharaoh to the
+children of Israel, that would have them make brick and give them no
+straw, so he tasks him to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to
+maintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder's
+knighthood must sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His birth and
+bringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth;
+but he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, of his
+brother. He is something better than the serving-men; yet they more
+saucy with him than he bold with the master, who beholds him with a
+countenance of stern awe, and checks him oftener than his liveries. His
+brother's old suits and he are much alike in request, and cast off now
+and then one to the other. Nature hath furnished him with a little more
+wit upon compassion, for it is like to be his best revenue. If his
+annuity stretch so far, he is sent to the university, and with great
+heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as a profession he is
+condemned to by his ill fortune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
+the king's high-way; where at length their vizard is plucked off, and
+they strike fair for Tyburn: but their brother's pride, not love, gets
+them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries,[18] where rags and
+lice are no scandal, where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, and
+dies without a shirt. The only thing that may better his fortunes is an
+art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and then some
+rich widow that is hungry after his blood. He is commonly discontented
+and desperate, and the form of his exclamation is, _that churl my
+brother_. He loves not his country for this unnatural custom, and would
+have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent[19] only, which
+he holds in admiration.
+
+
+
+A MERE FORMAL MAN
+
+Is somewhat more than the shape of a man, for he has his length,
+breadth, and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked
+through him, and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is
+merely example, and his action is not guided by his understanding, but
+he sees other men do thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we
+cannot call him a wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a
+knave; nor a protestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain
+is the carriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame;
+which he performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other
+meditations. His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he
+swears, in the phrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair
+inviter, and can excuse his good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has
+some faculty in the mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of his
+morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He apprehends a jest by seeing men
+smile, and laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his turn. His
+businesses with his friends are to visit them, and whilst the business
+is no more, he can perform this well enough. His discourse is the news
+that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other matters his discretion
+is, that he will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His life is
+like one that runs to the church-walk,[20] to take a turn or two, and so
+passes. He hath staid in the world to fill a number; and when he is
+gone, there wants one, and there's an end.
+
+A CHURCH-PAPIST
+
+Is one that parts his religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, and
+comes to church not to serve God but the king. The face of the law makes
+him wear the mask of the gospel, which he uses not as a means to save
+his soul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to lose by it;
+and though he be something scared with the bulls of Rome, yet they are
+far off, and he is struck with more terror at the apparitor. Once a
+month he presents himself at the church, to keep off the church-warden,
+and brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels with the
+congregation, but prays by himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming
+thither. If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his hat over his
+eyes, and frowns out the hour; and when he comes home, thinks to make
+amends for this fault by abusing the preacher. His main policy is to
+shift off the communion, for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel,
+and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter; and indeed he lies not,
+for he has a quarrel to the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr and
+good traveller, for his conscience is so large he could never wander out
+of it; and in Constantinople would be circumcised with a reservation.
+His wife is more zealous and therefore more costly, and he bates her in
+tires what she stands him in religion. But we leave him hatching plots
+against the state, and expecting Spinola.[21]
+
+A SELF-CONCEITED MAN
+
+Is one that knows himself so well, that he does not know himself. Two
+excellent well-dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it that first
+commended him to madness. He is now become his own book, which he pores
+on continually, yet like a truant reader skips over the harsh places,
+and surveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own
+good parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy,
+like an old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He
+imagines every place where he comes his theatre, and not a look stirring
+but his spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that
+is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a march,
+and like his opinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his
+own person, or on others with reflection to himself. If he have done any
+thing that has passed with applause, he is always re-acting it alone,
+and conceits the extasy his hearers were in at every period. His
+discourse is all positions and definitive decrees, with _thus it must
+be_ and _thus it is_, and he will not humble his authority to prove it.
+His tenet is always singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can, from
+which you must not hope to wrest him. He has an excellent humour for an
+heretic, and in these days made the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus
+before Aristotle, and Paracelsus before Galen,[22] [_and whosoever with
+most paradox is commended._] He much pities the world that has no more
+insight in his parts, when he is too well discovered even to this very
+thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him, for he can tell him nothing but
+what he knows before: and yet he loves him too, because he is like
+himself. Men are merciful to him, and let him alone, for if he be once
+driven from his humour, he is like two inward friends fallen out: his
+own bitter enemy and discontent presently makes a murder. In sum, he is
+a bladder blown up with wind, which the least flaw crushes to nothing.
+
+A TOO IDLY RESERVED MAN
+
+Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a strange piece of politician,
+that manages the state of himself. His actions are his privy-council,
+wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and
+prescription, and dare not show his teeth without Machiavel. He
+converses with his neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an
+inquisitive man as much as the inquisition. He suspects all questions
+for examinations, and thinks you would pick something out of him, and
+avoids you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, which locks up
+every toy or trifle, or some bragging mountebank that makes every
+stinking thing a secret. He delivers you common matters with great
+conjuration of silence, and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament.
+You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoever he
+reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for fear of bad
+comments, and _he knows not how his words may be misapplied_. Ask his
+opinion, and he tells you his doubt; and he never hears any thing more
+astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cards at
+primivist,[23] where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify what
+they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if
+he swore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be
+craftier than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction
+to hinder their plots and designs, where they mean freely. He has been
+long a riddle himself, but at last finds OEdipuses; for his over-acted
+dissimulation discovers him, and men do with him as they would with
+Hebrew letters, spell him backwards and read him.
+
+
+
+A TAVERN
+
+Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs above an ale-house,
+where men are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's
+nose[24] be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is
+supplied by the ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers
+that have been washed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next
+morning; not furnished with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary
+implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more
+news than hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here
+by some spungy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men come
+here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this musick above is
+answered with the clinking below. The drawers are the civilest people in
+it, men of good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can
+boast more justly of their high calling. 'Tis the best theatre of
+natures, where they are truly acted, not played, and the business as in
+the rest of the world up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar
+to the great chamber. A melancholy man would find here matter to work
+upon, to see heads as brittle as glasses, and often broken; men come
+hither to quarrel, and come hither to be made friends: and if Plutarch
+will lend me his simile, it is even Telephus's sword that makes wounds
+and cures them. It is the common consumption of the afternoon, and the
+murderer or maker-away of a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that
+scorches _the_[25] face, and tobacco the gun-powder that blows it up.
+Much harm would be done, if the charitable vintner had not water ready
+for these flames. A house of sin you may call it, but not a house of
+darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is like those countries
+far in the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as at mid-day. After
+a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing shower, where the
+spouts are flushing above, and the conduits running below, while the
+Jordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. To give you the total
+reckoning of it; it is the busy man's recreation, the idle man's
+business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the
+inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness, and the
+citizen's courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of
+canary[26] their book, whence we leave them.
+
+
+
+A SHARK
+
+Is one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. He
+is some needy cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung off, yet
+still clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon any thing
+that is next at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks he has happily
+lost shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his brain to more
+use than he, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new
+stratagem. He has an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there
+passed but _how do you_ betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice
+for an embrace, and that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack out
+of joy to see you, and in requital of his courtesy you can do no less
+than pay for it. He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a school-boy
+with his points, when he is going to be whipped, 'till the master, weary
+with long stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is paid, he says, It
+must not be so, yet is straight pacified, and cries, What remedy? His
+borrowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling or two, as he can
+well dispend; which they lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but
+that he will come no more. He holds a strange tyranny over men, for he
+is their debtor, and they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of any
+employment, though it be but to carry commendations, which he will be
+sure to deliver at eleven of the clock[27]. They in courtesy bid him
+stay, and he in manners cannot deny them. If he find but a good look to
+assure his welcome, he becomes their half-boarder, and haunts the
+threshold so long 'till he forces good nature to the necessity of a
+quarrel. Publick invitations he will not wrong with his absence, and is
+the best witness of the sheriff's hospitality[28]. Men shun him at
+length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossed in his way
+if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the age as his
+clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.
+
+
+
+A CARRIER
+
+Is his own hackney-man; for he lets himself out to travel as well as his
+horses. He is the ordinary embassador between friend and friend, the
+father and the son, and brings rich presents to the one, but never
+returns any back again. He is no unlettered man, though in show simple;
+for questionless, he has much in his budget, which he can utter too in
+fit time and place. He is [like] the vault in[29] Gloster church, that
+conveys whispers at a distance, for he takes the sound out of your mouth
+at York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young
+student's joy and expectation, and the most accepted guest, to whom they
+lend a willing hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting
+is commonly, _Your friends are well; [and to prove it[30]]_ in a piece
+of gold delivers their blessing. You would think him a churlish blunt
+fellow, but they find in him many tokens of humanity. He is a great
+afflicter of the high-ways, and beats them out of measure; which injury
+is sometimes revenged by the purse-taker, and then the voyage
+miscarries. No man domineers more in his inn, nor calls his host
+unreverently with more presumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of
+the strength of his horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his
+ease, for he is drunk commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the
+prodigal child, still packing away and still returning again. But
+let him pass.
+
+A YOUNG MAN.
+
+He is now out of nature's protection, though not yet able to guide
+himself; but left loose to the world and fortune, from which the
+weakness of his childhood preserved him; and now his strength exposes
+him. He is, indeed, just of age to be miserable, yet in his own conceit
+first begins to be happy; and he is happier in this imagination, and his
+misery not felt is less. He sees yet but the outside of the world and
+men, and conceives them, according to their appearing, glister, and out
+of this ignorance believes them. He pursues all vanities for happiness,
+and[31] [_enjoys them best in this fancy._] His reason serves, not to
+curb but understand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with
+a more eager earnestness. Himself is his own temptation, and needs not
+Satan, and the world will come hereafter. He leaves repentance for grey
+hairs, and performs it in being covetous. He is mingled with the vices
+of the age as the fashion and custom, with which he longs to be
+acquainted, and sins to better his understanding. He conceives his youth
+as the season of his lust, and the hour wherein he ought to be bad; and
+because he would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes religion as
+a sad thing, and is six years elder for a thought of heaven. He scorns
+and fears, and yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it with
+wrinkles. He loves and hates with the same inflammation, and when the
+heat is over is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friendship is
+seldom so steadfast, but that lust, drink, or anger may overturn it. He
+offers you his blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take yours
+to-morrow. He does seldom any thing which he wishes not to do again, and
+is only wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his knowledge, and
+a great deal of folly it is makes him a wise man. He is free from many
+vices, by being not grown to the performance, and is only more virtuous
+out of weakness. Every action is his danger, and every man his ambush.
+He is a ship without pilot or tackling, and only good fortune may steer
+him. If he scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and may live to be
+a man.
+
+AN OLD COLLEGE BUTLER
+
+Is none of the worst students in the house, for he keeps the set hours
+at his book more duly than any. His authority is great over men's good
+names, which he charges many times with shrewd aspersions, which they
+hardly wipe off without payment. [His box and counters prove him to be a
+man of reckoning, yet] he is stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and
+delivers not a farthing without writing. He doubles the pains of
+Gallobelgicus[32], for his books go out once a quarter, and they are
+much in the same nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are out of
+request as soon. His comings in are like a taylor's, from the shreds of
+bread, [the] chippings and remnants of a broken crust; excepting his
+vails from the barrel, which poor folks buy for their hogs but drink
+themselves. He divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety than
+Keckerman[33], and sub-divides the _a prima ortum_ so nicely, that a
+stomach of great capacity can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober
+man, considering his manifold temptations of drink and strangers; and if
+he be overseen, 'tis within his own liberties, and no man ought to take
+exception. He is never so well pleased with his place as when a
+gentleman is beholden to him for showing him the buttery, whom he greets
+with a cup of single beer and sliced manchet[34], and tells him it is
+the fashion of the college. He domineers over freshmen when they first
+come to the hatch, and puzzles them with strange language of cues and
+cees, and some broken Latin which he has learned at his bin. His
+faculties extraordinary are the warming of a pair of cards, and telling
+out a dozen of counters for post and pair, and no man is more methodical
+in these businesses. Thus he spends his age till the tap of it is run
+out, and then a fresh one is set abroach.
+
+AN UPSTART COUNTRY KNIGHT
+
+[_Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the stuff of his clothes, not
+the stuff of himself_,[35]] for he bare the king's sword before he had
+arms to wield it; yet being once laid o'er the shoulder with a
+knighthood, he finds the herald his friend. His father was a man of good
+stock, though but a tanner or usurer; he purchased the land, and his son
+the title. He has doffed off the name of a [_country fellow_,[36]] but
+the look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish of churn-milk.
+He is guarded with more gold lace than all the gentlemen of the country,
+yet his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping
+is seen much in the distinct families of dogs, and serving-men attendant
+on their kennels, and the deepness of their throats is the depth of his
+discourse. A hawk he esteems the true burden of nobility,[37] and is
+exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the sport, and have his fist
+gloved with his jesses.[38] A justice of peace he is to domineer in his
+parish, and do his neighbour wrong with more right.[39] He will be drunk
+with his hunters for company, and stain, his gentility with droppings of
+ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the shire by instinct, and dreads
+the assize-week as much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod of his
+own earth, or his land is the dunghill and he the cock that crows over
+it: and commonly his race is quickly run, and his children's children,
+though they scape hanging, return to the place from whence they came.
+
+AN IDLE GALLANT
+
+Is one that was born and shaped for his cloaths; and, if Adam had not
+fallen, had lived to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the first sin,
+and fig-leaves that were an occasion of [his] bravery. His first care is
+his dress, the next his body, and in the uniting of these two lies his
+soul and its faculties. He observes London trulier then the terms, and
+his business is the street, the stage, the court, and those places where
+a proper man is best shown. If he be qualified in gaming extraordinary,
+he is so much the more genteel and compleat, and he learns the best
+oaths for the purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, and he
+is as curious in their newness as the fashion. His other talk is ladies
+and such pretty things, or some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a
+great part in his discourse, so does his body, the upper parts whereof
+are as starched as his linen, and perchance use the same laundress. He
+has learned to ruffle his face from his boot, and takes great delight in
+his walk to hear his spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat
+slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the time, for he is still
+drawing his watch out of his pocket, and spends part of his hours in
+numbering them. He is one never serious but with his tailor, when he is
+in conspiracy for the next device. He is furnished with his jests, as
+some wanderer with sermons, some three for all congregations, one
+especially against the scholar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he
+knows by no other definition but a silly fellow in black. He is a kind
+of walking mercer's shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and another
+to-morrow; an ornament to the room he comes in as the fair bed and
+hangings be; and is merely ratable accordingly, fifty or an hundred
+pounds as his suit is. His main ambition is to get a knighthood, and
+then an old lady, which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and a
+coach so much longer: Otherwise, himself and his clothes grow stale
+together, and he is buried commonly ere he dies, in the gaol or
+the country.
+
+
+
+A CONSTABLE
+
+Is a viceroy in the street, and no man stands more upon't that he is the
+king's officer. His jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he
+has commission for the heels only, and sets the rest of the body at
+liberty. He is a scarecrow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his
+morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard for not standing in the
+king's name. Beggars fear him more than the justice, and as much as the
+whip-stock, whom he delivers over to his subordinate magistrates, the
+bridewell-man and the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tumults of
+double jugs, and ventures his head by his place, which is broke many
+times to keep whole the peace. He is never so much in his majesty as in
+his night-watch, where he sits in his chair of state, a shop-stall, and
+environed with a guard of halberts, examines all passengers. He is a
+very careful man in his office, but if he stay up after midnight you
+shall take him napping.
+
+
+
+A DOWN-RIGHT SCHOLAR
+
+Is one that has much learning in the ore, unwrought and untried, which
+time and experience fashions and refines. He is good metal in the
+inside, though rough and unsecured without, and therefore hated of the
+courtier, that is quite contrary. The time has got a vein of making him
+ridiculous, and men laugh at him by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity
+but is put upon his profession, and done like a scholar. But his fault
+is only this, that his mind is [somewhat] too much taken up with his
+mind, and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage besides. He has not
+put on the quaint garb of the age, which is now a man's [_Imprimis and
+all the Item_.[40]] He has not humbled his meditations to the industry
+of compliment, nor afflicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body is
+not set upon nice pins, to be turning and flexible for every motion, but
+his scrape is homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his hand and cry,
+madam, nor talk idle enough to bear her company. His smacking of a
+gentlewoman is somewhat too savoury, and he mistakes her nose for her
+lips. A very woodcock would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the
+logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty of sliding over a tale,
+but his words come squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laughter
+commonly before the jest. He names this word college too often, and his
+discourse beats too much on the university. The perplexity of
+mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is sharp set at an argument
+when he should cut his meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all games
+but one and thirty[41], and at tables he reaches not beyond doublets.
+His fingers are not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but his fist
+clunched with the habit of disputing. He ascends a horse somewhat
+sinisterly, though not on the left side, and they both go jogging in
+grief together. He is exceedingly censured by the inns-of-court men, for
+that heinous vice, being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a dog in his
+own dialect, and understands Greek better than the language of a
+falconer. He has been used to a dark room, and dark clothes, and his
+eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The hermitage of his study has made him
+somewhat uncouth in the world, and men make him worse by staring on him.
+Thus is he [silly and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for some
+quarter of a year out of the university. But practise him a little in
+men, and brush him over with good company, and he shall out-balance
+those glisterers, as far as a solid substance does a feather, or gold,
+gold-lace.
+
+
+
+A PLAIN COUNTRY FELLOW
+
+Is one that manures his ground well, but lets himself lie fallow and
+untilled. He has reason enough to do his business, and not enough to be
+idle or melancholy. He seems to have the punishment of Nebuchadnezzar,
+for his conversation is among beasts, and his talons none of the
+shortest, only he eats not grass, because he loves not salads. His hand
+guides the plough, and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and
+land-mark is the very mound of his meditations. He expostulates with his
+oxen very understandingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than English.
+His mind is not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat cow come
+in his way, he stands dumb and astonished, and though his haste be never
+so great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation. His habitation is
+some poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn by the loop-holes
+that let out smoke, which the rain had long since washed through, but
+for the double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which has hung there from
+his grandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for posterity. His
+dinner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour;
+he is a terrible fastener on a piece of beef, and you may hope to stave
+the guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his copyhold, which he
+takes from his landlord, and refers it wholly to his discretion: Yet if
+he give him leave he is a good Christian to his power, (that is,) comes
+to church in his best clothes, and sits there with his neighbours, where
+he is capable only of two prayers, for rain, and fair weather. He
+apprehends God's blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, and
+never praises him but on _good ground_. Sunday he esteems a day to make
+merry in, and thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening-prayer,
+where he walks very solemnly after service with his hands coupled behind
+him, and censures the dancing of his parish. [His compliment with his
+neighbour is a good thump on the back, and his salutation commonly some
+blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices, but pride and
+ill-husbandry, from which he will gravely dissuade the youth, and has
+some thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his discourse. He is a niggard
+all the week, except only market-day, where, if his corn sell well, he
+thinks he may be drunk with a good conscience. His feet never stink so
+unbecomingly as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster-hall, and
+even cleaves the ground with hard scraping in beseeching his worship to
+take his money. He is sensible of no calamity but the burning a stack of
+corn or the overflowing of a meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the
+greatest plague that ever was, not because it drowned the world, but
+spoiled the grass. For death he is never troubled, and if he get in but
+his harvest before, let it come when it will, he cares not.
+
+
+
+A PLAYER.
+
+He knows the right use of the world, wherein he comes to play a part and
+so away. His life is not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be
+more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. His
+profession has in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more disliked,
+and yet none more applauded; and he has the misfortune of some scholar,
+too much wit makes him a fool. He is like our painting gentlewomen,
+seldom in his own face, seldomer in his clothes; and he pleases, the
+better he counterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for
+gold lace. He does not only personate on the stage, but sometimes in the
+street, for he is masked still in the habit of a gentleman. His parts
+find him oaths and good words, which he keeps for his use and discourse,
+and makes shew with them of a fashionable companion. He is tragical on
+the stage, but rampant in the tiring-house,[42] and swears oaths there
+which he never conned. The waiting women spectators are over-ears in
+love with him, and ladies send for him to act in their chambers. Your
+inns-of-court men were undone but for him, he is their chief guest and
+employment, and the sole business that makes them afternoon's-men. The
+poet only is his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's friend
+drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday he fears as much as the banns, and
+Lent[43] is more damage to him than the butcher. He was never so much
+discredited as in one act, and that was of parliament, which gives
+hostlers privilege before him, for which he abhors it more than a
+corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one well-furnished actor has
+enough in him for five common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body,
+[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge any Cato, for it has
+been his practice to die bravely.
+
+A DETRACTOR
+
+Is one of a more cunning and active envy, wherewith he gnaws not
+foolishly himself, but throws it abroad and would have it blister
+others. He is commonly some weak parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is
+strangely ambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but
+bringing them down with his tongue to his own poorness. He is indeed
+like the red dragon that pursued the woman, for when he cannot
+over-reach another, he opens his mouth and throws a flood after to drown
+him. You cannot anger him worse than to do well, and he hates you more
+bitterly for this, than if you had cheated him of his patrimony with
+your own discredit. He is always slighting the general opinion, and
+wondering why such and such men should be applauded. Commend a good
+divine, he cries postilling; a philologer, pedantry; a poet, rhiming; a
+school-man, dull wrangling; a sharp conceit, boyishness; an honest man,
+plausibility. He comes to publick things not to learn, but to catch, and
+if there be but one solecism, that is all he carries away. He looks on
+all things with a prepared sourness, and is still furnished with a pish
+beforehand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all things
+whatsoever. If fear of the company make him second a commendation, it is
+like a law-writ, always with a clause of exception, or to smooth his way
+to some greater scandal. He will grant you something, and bate more; and
+this bating shall in conclusion take away all he granted. His speech
+concludes still with an Oh! but,--and I could wish one thing amended;
+and this one thing shall be enough to deface all his former
+commendations. He will be very inward with a man to fish some bad out of
+him, and make his slanders hereafter more authentic, when it is said a
+friend reported it. He will inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good
+name into his clutches; he will be your pandar to have you on the hip
+for a whore-master, and make you drunk to shew you reeling. He passes
+the more plausibly because all men have a smatch of his humour, and it
+is thought freeness which is malice. If he can say nothing of a man, he
+will seem to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he
+would; and when he has racked his invention to the utmost, he ends;--but
+I wish him well, and therefore must hold my peace. He is always
+listening and enquiring after men, and suffers not a cloak to pass by
+him unexamined. In brief, he is one that has lost all good himself, and
+is loth to find it in another.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF THE UNIVERSITY
+
+Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and to say hereafter, he has
+been at the university. His father sent him thither because he heard
+there were the best fencing and dancing-schools; from these he has his
+education, from his tutor the over-sight. The first element of his
+knowledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated in a tavern by the
+way, which hereafter he will learn of himself. The two marks of his
+seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his proficiency at
+tennis, where when he can once play a set, he is a freshman no more. His
+study has commonly handsome shelves, his books neat silk strings, which
+he shews to his father's man, and is loth to untie[44] or take down for
+fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for recreation he retires thither,
+and looks over the pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is commonly
+some short history, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his tutor gives
+him money to spend next day. His main loytering is at the library, where
+he studies arms and books of honour, and turns a gentleman critic in
+pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to be mistaken for a scholar,
+and hates a black suit though it be made of sattin. His companion is
+ordinarily some stale fellow, that has been notorious for an ingle to
+gold hatbands,[45] whom he admires at first, afterwards scorns. If he
+have spirit or wit he may light of better company, and may learn some
+flashes of wit, which may do him knight's service in the country
+hereafter. But he is now gone to the inns-of-court, where he studies to
+forget what he learned before, his acquaintance and the fashion.
+
+
+
+A WEAK MAN
+
+Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature huddled up in haste, and
+left his best part unfinished. The rest of him is grown to be a man,
+only his brain stays behind. He is one that has not improved his first
+rudiments, nor attained any proficiency by his stay in the world: but we
+may speak of him yet as when he was in the bud, a good harmless nature,
+a well meaning mind[46] [_and no more_] It is his misery that he now
+wants a tutor, and is too old to have one. He is two steps above a fool,
+and a great many more below a wise man: yet the fool is oft given him,
+and by those whom he esteems most. Some tokens of him are,--he loves men
+better upon relation than experience, for he is exceedingly enamoured of
+strangers, and none quicklier aweary of his friend. He charges you at
+first meeting with all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows
+more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes much his abusers for
+friends, and his friends for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in
+nothing so much as in good counsel. One that is flexible with any thing
+but reason, and then only perverse. [A servant to every tale and
+flatterer, and whom the last man still works over.] A great affecter of
+wits and such prettinesses; and his company is costly to him, for he
+seldom has it but invited. His friendship commonly is begun in a supper,
+and lost in lending money. The tavern is a dangerous place to him, for
+to drink and be drunk is with him all one, and his brain is sooner
+quenched than his thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with company, but
+suffers alone, and the bastard commonly laid to his charge. One that
+will be patiently abused, and take exception a month after when he
+understands it, and then be abused again into a reconcilement; and you
+cannot endear him more than by cozening him, and it is a temptation to
+those that would not. One discoverable in all silliness to all men but
+himself, and you may take any man's knowledge of him better than his
+own. He will promise the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny one
+break with all. One that has no power over himself, over his business,
+over his friends, but a prey and pity to all; and if his fortunes once
+sink, men quickly cry, Alas!--and forget him.
+
+
+
+A TOBACCO-SELLER
+
+Is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of but do not;
+for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with
+greater seriousness, or challenges your judgment more in the
+approbation. His shop is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue
+with their noses, and their communication is smoke.[47] It is the place
+only where Spain is commended and preferred before England itself. He
+should be well experienced in the world, for he has daily trial of men's
+nostrils, and none is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing
+commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and that to
+his wife, which is the flame that follows this smoke.
+
+
+
+A POT-POET
+
+Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good drink may have some relish.
+His inspirations are more real than others, for they do but feign a God,
+but he has his by him. His verse runs like the tap, and his invention as
+the barrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spigot. In thin drink he
+aspires not above a ballad, but a cup of sack inflames him, and sets his
+muse and nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and stamps him now
+and then a sixpence or two in reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His
+works would scarce sell for three half-pence, though they are given oft
+for three shillings, but for the pretty title that allures the country
+gentleman; for which the printer maintains him in ale a fortnight. His
+verses are like his clothes miserable centoes[48] and patches, yet their
+pace is not altogether so hobbling as an almanack's. The death of a
+great man or the _burning_[49] of a house furnish him with an argument,
+and the nine Muses are out strait in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries
+fire! fire! [His other poems are but briefs in rhyme, and like the poor
+Greeks collections to redeem from captivity.] He is a man now much
+employed in commendations of our navy, and a bitter inveigher against
+the Spaniard. His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are
+chanted from market to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst
+the poor country wench melts like her butter to hear them: and these are
+the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a strange monster out of
+Germany;[50] or, sitting in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments. He
+drops away at last in some obscure painted cloth, to which himself made
+the verses,[51] and his life, like a can too full, spills upon the
+bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, which my hostess loses.
+
+
+
+A PLAUSIBLE MAN
+
+Is one that would fain run an even path in the world, and jut against no
+man. His endeavour is not to offend, and his aim the general opinion.
+His conversation is a kind of continued compliment, and his life a
+practice of manners. The relation he bears to others, a kind of
+fashionable respect, not friendship but friendliness, which is equal to
+all and general, and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. He loves
+not deeper mutualities, because he would not take sides, nor hazard
+himself on displeasures, which he principally avoids. At your first
+acquaintance with him he is exceedingly kind and friendly, and at your
+twentieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an excellent command
+over his patience and tongue, especially the last, which he accommodates
+always to the times and persons, and speaks seldom what is sincere, but
+what is civil. He is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths,
+and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He considers who are friends
+to the company, and speaks well where he is sure to hear of it again.]
+He can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausive attention, and
+conceal his laughter at nonsense. Silly men much honour and esteem him,
+because by his fair reasoning with them as with men of understanding, he
+puts them into an erroneous opinion of themselves, and makes them
+forwarder hereafter to their own discovery. He is one _rather well_[52]
+thought on than beloved, and that love he has is more of whole companies
+together than any one in particular. Men gratify him notwithstanding
+with a good report, and whatever vices he has besides, yet having no
+enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.
+
+
+
+A BOWL-ALLEY
+
+Is the place where there are three things thrown away beside bowls, to
+wit, time, money, and curses, and the last ten for one. The best sport
+in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it that looks on and bets not. It
+is the school of wrangling, and worse than the schools, for men will
+cavil here for a hair's breadth, and make a stir where a straw would end
+the controversy. No antick screws men's bodies into such strange
+flexures, and you would think them here senseless, to speak sense to
+their bowl, and put their trust in entreaties for a good cast. The
+betters are the factious noise of the alley, or the gamesters bedesmen
+that pray for them. They are somewhat like those that are cheated by
+great men, for they lose their money and must say nothing. It is the
+best discovery of humours, especially in the losers, where you have fine
+variety of impatience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, and
+others more ridiculously comfort themselves with philosophy. To give you
+the moral of it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's ambition:
+where most are short, or over, or wide or wrong-biassed, and some few
+justle in to the mistress Fortune. And it is here as in the court, where
+the nearest are most spited, and all blows aimed at the toucher.
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S WISE MAN
+
+Is an able and sufficient wicked man: It is a proof of his sufficiency
+that he is not called wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined in
+himself and his own ends, and his instruments herein any thing that will
+do it. His friends are a part of his engines, and as they serve to his
+works, used or laid by: Indeed he knows not this thing of friend, but if
+he give you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. Never more
+active in his businesses, than when they are mixed with some harm to
+others; and it is his best play in this game to strike off and lie in
+the place. Successful commonly in these undertakings, because he passes
+smoothly those rubs which others stumble at, as conscience and the like;
+and gratulates himself much in this advantage. Oaths and falsehood he
+counts the nearest way, and loves not by any means to go about. He has
+many fine quips at this folly of plain dealing, but his "tush!" is
+greatest at religion; yet he uses this too, and virtue and good words,
+but is less dangerously a devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to
+an unpractisedness in the world, and conscience a thing merely for
+children. He scorns all that are so silly to _trust_[53] him, and only
+not scorns his enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he fears him as a
+man well armed and provided, but sets boldly on good natures, as the
+most vanquishable. One that seriously admires those worst princes, as
+Sforza, Borgia, and Richard the Third; and calls matters of deep villany
+things of difficulty. To whom murders are but resolute acts, and treason
+a business of great consequence. One whom two or three countries make up
+to this completeness, and he has travelled for the purpose. His deepest
+endearment is a communication of mischief, and then only you have him
+fast. His conclusion is commonly one of these two, either a great man,
+or hanged.
+
+
+
+A SURGEON
+
+Is one that has some business about this building or little house of
+man, whereof nature is as it were the tiler, and he the plaisterer. It
+is ofter out of reparations than an old parsonage, and then he is set on
+work to patch it again. He deals most with broken commodities, as a
+broken head or a mangled face, and his gains are very ill got, for he
+lives by the hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a physician as a
+sore does from a disease, or the sick from those that are not whole, the
+one distempers you within, the other blisters you without. He complains
+of the decay of valour in these days, and sighs for that slashing age of
+sword and buckler; and thinks the law against duels was made merely to
+wound his vocation. He had been long since undone if the charity of the
+stews had not relieved him, from whom he has his tribute as duly as the
+pope; or a wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart pot hit right.
+The rareness of his custom makes him pitiless when it comes, and he
+holds a patient longer than our [spiritual] courts a cause. He tells you
+what danger you had been in if he had staid but a minute longer, and
+though it be but a pricked finger, he makes of it much matter. He is a
+reasonable cleanly man, considering the scabs he has to deal with, and
+your finest ladies are now and then beholden to him for their best
+dressings. He curses old gentlewomen and their charity that makes his
+trade their alms; but his envy is never stirred so much as when
+gentlemen go over to fight upon Calais sands,[54] whom he wishes drowned
+ere they come there, rather than the French shall get his custom.
+
+
+
+A CONTEMPLATIVE MAN
+
+Is a scholar in this great university the world; and the same his book
+and study. He cloisters not his meditations in the narrow darkness of a
+room, but sends them abroad with his eyes, and his brain travels with
+his feet. He looks upon man from a high tower, and sees him trulier at
+this distance in his infirmities and poorness. He scorns to mix himself
+in men's actions, as he would to act upon a stage; but sits aloft on the
+scaffold a censuring spectator. [He will not lose his time by being
+busy, or make so poor a use of the world as to hug and embrace it.]
+Nature admits him as a partaker of her sports, and asks his approbation,
+as it were, of her own works and variety. He comes not in company,
+because he would not be solitary; but finds discourse enough with
+himself, and his own thoughts are his excellent play-fellows. He looks
+not upon a thing as a yawning stranger at novelties, but his search is
+more mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven out of earth. He knits
+his observations together, and makes a ladder of them all to climb to
+God. He is free from vice, because he has no occasion to employ it, and
+is above those ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all that can
+here be taught him, and comes now to heaven to see more.
+
+
+
+A SHE PRECISE HYPOCRITE
+
+Is one in whom good women suffer, and have their truth misinterpreted by
+her folly. She is one, she knows not what herself if you ask her, but
+she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the fashion of religion, and
+is enamoured of the new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close
+stomacher and ruff of Geneva print, [55] and her purity consists much in
+her linen. She has heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very
+sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Babylon for a very naughty
+woman. She has left her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries in
+her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at the church is much in the
+turning up of her eye; and turning down the leaf in her book, when she
+hears named chapter and verse. When she comes home, she commends the
+sermon for the Scripture, and two hours. She loves preaching better than
+praying, and of preachers, lecturers; and thinks the week day's exercise
+far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her oftest gossipings are
+sabbath-day's journeys, where (though an enemy to superstition), she
+will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced minister, when there is a
+better sermon in her own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's
+salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows her own place in heaven as
+perfectly as the pew she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith she
+has no room for charity, and understands no good works but what are
+wrought on the sampler. She accounts nothing vices but superstition and
+an oath, and thinks adultery a less sin than to swear _by my truly._ She
+rails at other women by the names of Jezebel and Delilah; and calls her
+own daughters Rebecca and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She suffers
+them not to learn on the virginals, [56] because of their affinity with
+organs, but is reconciled to the bells for the chimes' sake, since they
+were reformed to the tune of a psalm. She overflows so with the Bible,
+that she spills it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her maids
+without Scripture. It is a question whether she is more troubled with
+the Devil, or the Devil with her: she is always challenging and daring
+him, and her weapon [57] [is The Practice of Piety.] Nothing angers her
+so much as that women cannot preach, and in this point only thinks the
+Brownist erroneous; but what she cannot at the church she does at the
+table, where she prattles more than any against sense and Antichrist,
+'till a capon's wing silence her. She expounds the priests of Baal,
+reading ministers, and thinks the salvation of that parish as desperate
+as the Turk's. She is a main derider to her capacity of those that are
+not her preachers, and censures all sermons but bad ones. If her husband
+be a tradesman, she helps him to customers, howsoever to good cheer, and
+they are a most faithful couple at these meetings, for they never fail.
+Her conscience is like others' lust, never satisfied, and you might
+better answer Scotus than her scruples. She is one that thinks she
+performs all her duties to God in hearing, and shows the fruits of it in
+talking. She is more fiery against the maypole than her husband, and
+thinks she might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the fiddler. She
+is an everlasting argument, but I am weary of her.
+
+
+
+A SCEPTIC IN RELIGION
+
+Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not
+one but stirs him and none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity than
+he is taken to be; for it is out of his belief of everything, that he
+fully believes nothing. Each religion scares him from its contrary: none
+persuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he is
+something of an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is partly a
+Christian; and a perfect heretic, but that there are so many to distract
+him. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least
+reason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most a
+confused and wild Christian, not specialized by any form, but capable of
+all. He uses the land's religion, because it is next him, yet he sees
+not why he may not take the other, but he chuses this, not as better,
+but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and scruples
+better than resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His
+learning is too much for his brain, and his judgment too little for his
+learning, and his over-opinion of both, spoils all. Pity it was his
+mischance of being a scholar; for it does only distract and irregulate
+him, and the world by him. He hammers much in general upon our opinion's
+uncertainty, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what
+is true. He is troubled at this naturalness of religion to countries,
+that protestantism should be born so in England and popery abroad, and
+that fortune and the stars should so much share in it. He likes not this
+connection with the commonweal and divinity, and fears it may be an
+arch-practice of state. In our differences with Rome he is strangely
+unfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-book's
+meditations transport him. He could like the gray hairs of popery, did
+not some dotages there stagger him: he would come to us sooner, but our
+new name affrights him. He is taken with their miracles, but doubts an
+imposture; he conceives of our doctrine better, but it seems too empty
+and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of truth
+to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old legends
+true. He approves well of our faith, and more of their works, and is
+sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience
+interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by
+both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a
+good writer, and at Bellarmine [58] recalls as far back again; and the
+fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus [59] and
+Vorstius [60] afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than
+himself. He puts his foot into heresies tenderly, as a cat in the water,
+and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him; yet
+he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions
+out of him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in
+error, nor so many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double
+when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant
+of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a father's _dixit,_
+and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
+doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a
+greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.
+
+
+
+AN ATTORNEY.
+
+His antient beginning was a blue coat, since a livery, and his hatching
+under a lawyer; whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now nested for
+himself, and with his hoarded pence purchased an office. Two desks and a
+quire of paper set him up, where he now sits in state for all comers. We
+can call him no great author, yet he writes very much and with the
+infamy of the court is maintained in his libels[61]. He has some smatch
+of a scholar, and yet uses Latin very hardly; and lest it should accuse
+him, cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak out. He is,
+contrary to great men, maintained by his followers, that is, his poor
+country clients, that worship him more than their landlord, and be they
+never such churls, he looks for their courtesy. He first racks them
+soundly himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer for execution. His
+looks are very solicitous, importing much haste and dispatch: he is
+never without his hands full of business, that is--of paper. His skin
+becomes at last as dry as his parchment, and his face as intricate as
+the most winding cause. He talks statutes as fiercely as if he had
+mooted[62] seven years in the inns of court, when all his skill is stuck
+in his girdle, or in his office-window. Strife and wrangling have made
+him rich, and he is thankful to his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he
+live in a country village, he makes all his neighbours good subjects;
+for there shall be nothing done but what there is law for. His business
+gives him not leave to think of his conscience, and when the time, or
+term, of his life is going out, for doomsday he is secure; for he hopes
+he has a trick to reverse judgment.
+
+
+
+A PARTIAL MAN
+
+Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the one speaks ill falsely,
+and the other well, and both slander the truth. He is one that is still
+weighing men in the scale of comparisons, and puts his affections, in
+the one balance, and that sways. His friend always shall do best, and
+you shall rarely hear good of his enemy. He considers first the man and
+then the thing, and restrains all merit to what they deserve of him.
+Commendations he esteems not the debt of worth, but the requital of
+kindness; and if you ask his reason, shows his interest, and tells you
+how much he is beholden to that man. He is one that ties his judgment to
+the wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily both alike. He prefers
+England before other countries because he was born there, and Oxford
+before other universities, because he was brought up there, and the best
+scholar there is one of his own college, and the best scholar there is
+one of his friends. He is a great favourer of great persons, and his
+argument is still that which should be antecedent; as,--he is in high
+place, therefore virtuous;--he is preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask
+his opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and he is indifferent
+in nothing but conscience. Men esteem him for this a zealous
+affectionate, but they mistake him many times, for he does it but to be
+esteemed so. Of all men he is worst to write an history, for he will
+praise a Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect of his all
+posterity shall be cozened.
+
+
+
+A TRUMPETER
+
+Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he eats nothing but what comes
+through this way. His profession is not so worthy as to occasion
+insolence, and yet no man so much puffed up. His face is as brazen as
+his trumpet, and (which is worse) as a fiddler's, from whom he differeth
+only in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea of drink and much
+wind make a storm perpetually in his cheeks, and his look is like his
+noise, blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of war, but
+now of peace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are
+sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant of glittering folks,
+whether in the court or stage, where he is always the prologue's
+prologue.[63] He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, shrillest when
+he is empty; when his belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves
+life more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a
+counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when he is blown up.
+
+
+
+A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN
+
+Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry,
+and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publickly
+affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never
+owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though he
+knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, "thus men say;" and
+"thus most do;" and "thus the world goes;" and thinks this enough to
+poise the other. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks
+all a great man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and
+repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of
+fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly
+all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the pope
+and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest cassock the best scholar; and
+the best clothes the finest man. That is taken only with broad and
+obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries, Chaucer
+for his money above all our English poets, because the voice has gone
+so, and he has read none. That is much ravished with such a nobleman's
+courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his
+hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the king's hand, and cries, "God
+bless his majesty!" loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of
+favour, and the first that says "away with the traitors!"--yet struck
+with much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill
+the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in
+it, and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears. That measures the
+happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm
+of state, but ill trading. Within this compass too, come those that are
+too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those
+things; that call to thrive, to do well; and preferment only the grace
+of God. That aim all studies at this mark, and show you poor scholars as
+an example to take heed by. That think the prison and want a judgment
+for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jail-bird. That know no
+other content but wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures; that think
+all else but idle speculation, and the philosophers madmen. In short,
+men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shows, appearances,
+the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of
+singularity, and scorns something.
+
+
+
+A PLODDING STUDENT
+
+Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, that would change the
+dull lead of his brain into finer metal, with success many times as
+unprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own oil
+and candles. He has a strange forced appetite to learning, and to
+achieve it brings nothing but patience and a body. His study is not
+great but continual, and consists much in the sitting up till after
+midnight in a rug-gown and a nightcap, to the vanquishing perhaps of
+some six lines; yet what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so long
+to understand it, till he gets it without book. He may with much
+industry make a breach into logic, and arrive at some ability in an
+argument; but for politer studies he dare not skirmish with them, and
+for poetry accounts it impregnable. His invention is no more than the
+finding out of his papers, and his few gleanings there; and his
+disposition of them is as just as the book-binder's, a setting or gluing
+of them together. He is a great discomforter of young students, by
+telling them what travel it has cost him, and how often his brain turned
+at philosophy, and makes others fear studying as a cause of duncery. He
+is a man much given to apophthegms, which serve him for wit, and seldom
+breaks any jest but which belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in
+Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, that will go a whole
+week together, but never out of a foot pace; and he that sets forth on
+the Saturday shall overtake him.
+
+
+
+PAUL'S WALK[64]
+
+Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great
+Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here
+discern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap of
+stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple
+not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of
+bees, a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet: it is
+a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all
+discourse, and no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a-foot.
+It is the synod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most
+serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is
+the antic of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you
+need go no farther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom
+you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of
+all famous lies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined
+and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few
+pockets. The best sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves'
+sanctuary, which rob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst
+every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the
+day, after plays and tavern; and men have still some oaths left to swear
+here. The visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal
+inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains[65] out of
+service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turn
+merchants here and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their
+dinner, and travel for a stomach: but thriftier men make it their
+ordinary, and board here very cheap[66]. Of all such places it is least
+haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he could not.
+
+
+
+A COOK.
+
+The kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in it, where his meat and he
+fry together. His revenues are showered down from the fat of the land,
+and he interlards his own grease among, to help the drippings. Choleric
+he is not by nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd temptation
+that the chopping-knife is so near. His weapons ofter offensive are a
+mess of hot broth and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in
+his way. In the kitchen he will domineer and rule the roast in spite of
+his master, and curses in the very dialect of his calling. His labour is
+mere blustering and fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a
+storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in all this tumult, he does
+not love combustion, but will be the first man that shall go and quench
+it. He is never a good Christian till a hissing pot of ale has slacked
+him, like water cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame and
+dispossessed. His cunning is not small in architecture, for he builds
+strange fabrics in paste, towers and castles, which are offered to the
+assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' palace in one banquet
+demolished. He is a pitiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles poor
+fowls with unheard-of tortures; and it is thought the martyrs'
+persecutions were devised from hence: sure we are, St. Lawrence's
+gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best faculty is at the dresser,
+where he seems to have great skill in the tactics, ranging his dishes in
+order military, and placing with great discretion in the fore-front
+meats more strong and hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the rear;
+as quaking tarts and quivering custards, and such milk-sop dishes, which
+scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now the second course is
+gone up and he down in the cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four
+o'clock[67] in the afternoon, and then returns again to his regiment.
+
+A BOLD FORWARD MAN
+
+Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden more to his elbow than
+his legs, for he does not go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in
+the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts
+on. He can do some things, but dare do much more, and is like a
+desperate soldier, who will assault any thing where he is sure not to
+enter. He is not so well opinioned of himself, as industrious to make
+others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial as blushing. He is still
+citing for himself, that a candle should not be hid under a bushel; and
+for his part he will be sure not to hide his, though his candle be but a
+snuff or rush-candle. Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard in
+displaying, and is like some needy flaunting goldsmith, nothing in the
+inner room, but all on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has commonly
+stepped into the pulpit before a degree, yet into that too before he
+deserved it. He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency, and his next
+sermon is at Paul's cross,[68] [and that printed.] He loves publick
+things alive; and for any solemn entertainment he will find a mouth,
+find a speech who will. He is greedy of great acquaintance and many, and
+thinks it no small advancement to rise to be known. [He is one that has
+all the great names at court at his fingers' ends, and their lodgings;
+and with a saucy, "my lord," will salute the best of them.] His talk at
+the table is like Benjamin's mess, five times to his part, and no
+argument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of all disgraces he endures not
+to be nonplussed, and had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which few
+descry, than to nothing, which all. His boldness is beholden to other
+men's modesty, which rescues him many times from a baffle; yet his face
+is good armour, and he is dashed out of anything sooner than
+countenance. Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare man; and
+wiser men, though they know him, [yet] take him [in] for their pleasure,
+or as they would do a sculler for being next at hand. Thus preferment at
+last stumbles on him, because he is still in the way. His companions
+that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him come ready for
+scarlet, whilst themselves lie musty in their old clothes and colleges.
+
+
+
+A BAKER.
+
+No man verifies the proverb more, that it is an alms-deed to punish him;
+for his penalty is a dole,[69] and does the beggars as much good as
+their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of charity, and thinks his
+bread cast away when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice
+neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates the clerk of the market
+as his executioner; yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his basket
+only is sent to prison.[70] Marry, a pillory is his deadly enemy, and he
+never hears well after.
+
+
+
+A PRETENDER TO LEARNING
+
+Is one that would make all others more fools than himself, for though he
+knew nothing, he would not have the world know so much. He conceits
+nothing in learning but the opinion, which he seeks to purchase without
+it, though he might with less labour cure his ignorance than hide it. He
+is indeed a kind of scholar-mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is
+tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, and at the first
+encounter none passes better. He is oftener in his study than at his
+book, and you cannot pleasure him better than to deprehend him: yet he
+hears you not till the third knock, and then comes out very angry as
+interrupted. You find him in his _slippers_[71] and a pen in his ear, in
+which formality he was asleep. His table is spread wide with some
+classick folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid
+open in the same page this half year. His candle is always a longer
+sitter up than himself, and the _boast_[72] of his window at midnight.
+He walks much alone in the posture of meditation, and has a book still
+before his face in the fields. His pocket is seldom without a Greek
+testament or Hebrew Bible, which he opens only in the church, and that
+when some stander-by looks over. He has sentences for company, some
+scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all occasions. If
+he reads any thing in the morning, it comes up all at dinner; and as
+long as that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great plagiary of
+tavern wit, and comes to sermons only that he may talk of Austin. His
+parcels are the mere scrapings from company, yet he complains at parting
+what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seem a judgment,
+and listens with a sour attention to what he understands not. He talks
+much of Scaliger, and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers some
+unheard of Dutch name before them all. He has verses to bring in upon
+these and these hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in his
+opportunity. He is critical in a language he cannot construe, and speaks
+seldom under Arminius in divinity. His business and retirement and
+caller away is his study, and he protests no delight to it comparable.
+He is a great nomenclator of authors, which he has read in general in
+the catalogue, and in particular in the title, and goes seldom so far as
+the dedication. He never talks of anything but learning, and learns all
+from talking. Three encounters with the same men pump him, and then he
+only puts in or gravely says nothing. He has taken pains to be an ass,
+though not to be a scholar, and is at length discovered and laughed at.
+
+A HERALD
+
+Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of nobility, and to the making
+of him went not a generation but a genealogy. His trade is honour, and
+he sells it and gives arms himself, though he be no gentleman. His
+bribes are like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the prices of
+blood. He seems very rich in discourse, for he tells you of whole fields
+of gold and silver, or, and argent, worth much in French but in English
+nothing. He is a great diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and hot
+a by-channel or bastard escapes him; yea he does with them like some
+shameless quean, fathers more children on them than ever they begot. His
+traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware, scutchions, and pennons, and little
+daggers and lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen; but his
+pennyworths are rampant, for you may buy three whole brawns cheaper than
+three boar's heads of him painted. He was sometimes the terrible coat of
+Mars, but is now for more merciful battles in the tilt-yard, where
+whosoever is victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in England but
+in Wales nature, where they are born with heraldry in their mouths, and
+each name is a pedigree.
+
+
+
+THE COMMON SINGING-MEN IN CATHEDRAL CHURCHES
+
+Are a bad society, and yet a company of good fellows, that roar deep in
+the quire, deeper in the tavern. They are the eight parts of speech
+which go to the syntaxis of service, and are distinguished by their
+noises much like bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. Their
+pastime or recreation is prayers, their exercise drinking, yet herein so
+religiously addicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunk.
+Their humanity is a leg to the residencer, their learning a chapter, for
+they learn it commonly before they read it; yet the old Hebrew names are
+little beholden to them, for they miscall them worse than one another.
+Though they never expound the scripture, they handle it much, and
+pollute the gospel with two things, their conversation and their thumbs.
+Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at prayers as at their pots, for
+they swallow them down in an instant. Their gowns are laced commonly
+with streamings of ale, superfluities of a cup or throat above measure.
+Their skill in melody makes them the better companions abroad, and their
+anthems abler to sing catches. Long lived for the most part they are
+not, especially the bass, they overflow their bank so oft to drown the
+organs. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they die constantly in God's
+service; and to take their death with more patience, they have wine and
+cakes at their funeral, and now they keep[73] the church a great deal
+better and help to fill it with their bones as before with their noise.
+
+A SHOPKEEPER.
+
+His shop is his well stuft book, and himself the title-page of it, or
+index. He utters much to all men, though he sells but to a few, and
+intreats for his own necessities, by asking others what they lack. No
+man speaks more and no more, for his words are like his wares, twenty of
+one sort, and he goes over them alike to all comers. He is an arrogant
+commender of his own things; for whatsoever he shows you is the best in
+the town, though the worst in his shop. His conscience was a thing that
+would have laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put it off, and
+makes great use of honesty to profess upon. He tells you lies by rote,
+and not minding, as the phrase to sell in and the language he spent most
+of his years to learn. He never speaks so truly as when he says he would
+use you as his brother; for he would abuse his brother, and in his shop
+thinks it lawful. His religion is much in the nature of his customer's,
+and indeed the pander to it: and by a mis-interpreted sense of scripture
+makes a gain of his godliness. He is your slave while you pay him ready
+money, but if he once befriend you, your tyrant, and you had better
+deserve his hate than his trust.
+
+
+
+A BLUNT MAN
+
+Is one whose wit is better pointed than his behaviour, and that coarse
+and unpolished, not out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a great
+enemy to the fine gentleman, and these things of compliment, and hates
+ceremony in conversation, as the Puritan in religion. He distinguishes
+not betwixt fair and double dealing, and suspects all smoothness for the
+dress of knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salutation as an
+assault, and beseeches you in choler to forbear your courtesy. He loves
+not any thing in discourse that comes before the purpose, and is always
+suspicious of a preface. Himself falls rudely still on his matter
+without any circumstance, except he use an old proverb for an
+introduction. He swears old out-of date innocent oaths, as, by the mass!
+by our lady! and such like, and though there be lords present, he cries,
+my masters! He is exceedingly in love with his humour, which makes him
+always profess and proclaim it, and you must take what he says
+patiently, because he is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still,
+and other men's tyrant; for he must speak his mind, and that is his
+worst, and craves your pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you.
+His jests best become him, because they come from him rudely and
+unaffected; and he has the luck commonly to have them famous. He is one
+that will do more than he will speak, and yet speak more than he will
+hear; for though he love to touch others, he is touchy himself, and
+seldom to his own abuses replies but with his fists. He is as
+squeazy[74] of his commendations, as his courtesy, and his good word is
+like an eulogy in a satire. He is generally better favoured than he
+favours, as being commonly well expounded in his bitterness, and no man
+speaks treason more securely. He chides great men with most boldness,
+and is counted for it an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in behalf
+of the commonwealth, and is in prison oft for it with credit. He is
+generally honest, but more generally thought so, and his downrightness
+credits him, as a man not well bended and crookened to the times. In
+conclusion, he is not easily bad in whom this quality is nature, but the
+counterfeit is most dangerous, since he is disguised in a humour that
+professes not to disguise.
+
+
+
+A HANDSOME HOSTESS
+
+Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above the fair sign, or fair
+lodgings. She is the loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and
+roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and are not easily got off.
+Her lips are your welcome, and your entertainment her company, which is
+put into the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcel in it. No
+citizen's wife is demurer than she at the first greeting, nor draws in
+her mouth with a chaster simper; but you may be more familiar without
+distaste, and she does not startle at anything. She is the confusion of
+a pottle of sack more than would have been spent elsewhere, and her
+little jugs are accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She may be an
+honest woman, but is not believed so in her parish, and no man is a
+greater infidel in it than her husband.
+
+A CRITIC
+
+Is one that has spelled over a great many books, and his observation is
+the orthography. He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the wounds
+of dust and ignorance. He converses much in fragments and _desunt
+multa's_, and if he piece it up with two lines he is more proud of that
+book than the author. He runs over all sciences to peruse their
+syntaxis, and thinks all learning com-prised in writing Latin. He tastes
+styles as some discreeter palates do wine; and tells you which is
+genuine, which sophisticate and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany
+of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, and entombed by Varro,
+and the modernest man he follows is Plautus. He writes _omneis_ at
+length, and _quidquid_, and his gerund is most inconformable. He is a
+troublesome vexer of the dead, which after so long sparing must rise up
+to the judgment of his castigations. He is one that makes all books sell
+dearer, whilst he swells them into folios with his comments.
+
+
+
+A SERGEANT, OR CATCH-POLE
+
+Is one of God's judgments; and which our roarers do only conceive
+terrible. He is the properest shape wherein they fancy Satan; for he is
+at most but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. He is the creditors' hawk,
+wherewith they seize upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his
+talons. He is the period of young gentlemen, or their full stop, for
+when he meets with them they can go no farther. His ambush is a
+shop-stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly at your back. He
+respites you in no place but a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer
+than a clockmaker. The common way to run from him is through him, which
+is often attempted and atchieved, [[75]_and no man is more beaten out of
+charity._] He is one makes the street more dangerous than the highways,
+and men go better provided in their walks than their journey. He is the
+first handsel of the young rapiers of the templers; and they are as
+proud of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a Turk. He is a moveable
+prison, and his hands two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an
+occasioner of disloyal thoughts in the commonwealth, for he makes men
+hate the king's name worse than the devil's.
+
+
+
+A UNIVERSITY DUN
+
+Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, for his own money has hired
+him. He is an inferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards,
+contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, too weak to be put in
+suit, and he arrests your modesty. He is now very expensive of his time,
+for he will wait upon your stairs a whole afternoon, and dance
+attendance with more patience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore
+beleaguerer of chambers, and assaults them sometimes with furious
+knocks; yet finds strong resistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a
+great complainer of scholars loitering, for he is sure never to find
+them within, and yet he is the chief cause many times that makes them
+study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men that shun him for his
+kindness, but indeed it is his own fault, for he is too great an
+upbraider. No man puts them more to their brain than he; and by shifting
+him off they learn to shift in the world. Some chuse their rooms on
+purpose to avoid his surprisals, and think the best commodity in them
+his prospect. He is like a rejected acquaintance, hunts those that care
+not for his company, and he knows it well enough, and yet will not keep
+away. The sole place to supple him is the buttery, where he takes
+grievous use upon your name,[76] and he is one much wrought with good
+beer and rhetoric. He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and no
+gallant walks the streets to less purpose.
+
+
+
+A STAID MAN
+
+Is a man: one that has taken order with himself, and sets a rule to
+those lawlessnesses within him: whose life is distinct and in method,
+and his actions, as it were, cast up before: not loosed into the world's
+vanities, but gathered up and contracted in his station: not scattered
+into many pieces of business, but that one course he takes, goes through
+with. A man firm and standing in his purposes, not heaved off with each
+wind and passion: that squares his expense to his coffers, and makes the
+total first, and then the items. One that thinks what he does, and does
+what he says, and foresees what he may do before he purposes. One whose
+"if I can" is more than another's assurance; and his doubtful tale
+before some men's protestations:--that is confident of nothing in
+futurity, yet his conjectures oft true prophecies:--that makes a pause
+still betwixt his ear and belief, and is not too hasty to say after
+others. One whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the time, and
+then strikes, and says much when he talks little:--that can see the
+truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree even in that they fall
+out upon:--that speaks no rebellion in a bravery, or talks big from the
+spirit of sack. A man cool and temperate in his passions, not easily
+betrayed by his choler:--that vies not oath with oath, nor heat with
+heat, but replies calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him
+too:--that can come fairly off from captains' companies, and neither
+drink nor quarrel. One whom no ill hunting sends home discontented, and
+makes him swear at his dogs and family. One not hasty to pursue the new
+fashion, nor yet affectedly true to his old round breeches; but gravely
+handsome, and to his place, which suits him better than his tailor:
+active in the world without disquiet, and careful without misery; yet
+neither engulfed in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but has his
+hour for both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but his mirth is a
+cheerful look: of a composed and settled countenance, not set, nor much
+alterable with sadness of joy. He affects nothing so wholly, that he
+must be a miserable man when he loses it; but fore-thinks what will come
+hereafter, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. One that loves his
+credit, not this word reputation; yet can save both without a duel.
+Whose entertainments to greater men are respectful, not complimentary;
+and to his friends plain, not rude. A good husband, father, master; that
+is, without doting, pampering, familiarity. A man well poised in all
+humours, in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he has not spoiled the
+work. A man of more wisdom than wittiness, and brain than fancy; and
+abler to any thing than to make verses.
+
+A MODEST MAN
+
+Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that shews better to all men
+than himself, and so much the better to all men, as less to himself;[77]
+for no quality sets a man off like this, and commends him more against
+his will: and he can put up any injury sooner than this (as he calls it)
+your irony. You shall hear him confute his commenders, and giving
+reasons how much they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they do not
+believe him. Nothing threatens him so much as great expectation, which
+he thinks more prejudicial than your under-opinion, because it is easier
+to make that false, than this true. He is one that sneaks from a good
+action, as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify it; and is more
+blushingly reprehended in this, than others in sin: that counts all
+publick declarings of himself, but so many penances before the people;
+and the more you applaud him the more you abash him, and he recovers not
+his face a month after. One that is easy to like any thing of another
+man's, and thinks all he knows not of him better than that he knows. He
+excuses that to you, which another would impute; and if you pardon him,
+is satisfied. One that stands in no opinion because it is his own, but
+suspects it rather, because it is his own, and is confuted and thanks
+you. He sees nothing more willingly than his errors, and it is his error
+sometimes to be too soon persuaded. He is content to be auditor where he
+only can speak, and content to go away and think himself instructed. No
+man is so weak that he is ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to
+confess it; and he finds many times even in the dust, what others
+overlook and lose. Every man's presence is a kind of bridle to him, to
+stop the roving of his tongue and passions: and even impudent men look
+for this reverence from him, and distaste that in him which they suffer
+in themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured and shews more
+scurvily than another. An unclean jest shall shame him more than a
+bastard another man, and he that got it shall censure him among the
+rest. He is coward to nothing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever
+dare lie on him hath power over him; and if you take him by his look, he
+is guilty. The main ambition of his life is not to be discredited; and
+for other things, his desires are more limited than his fortunes, which
+he thinks preferment though never so mean, and that he is to do
+something to deserve this. He is too tender to venture on great places,
+and would not hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was the
+violence of his friends constrained him, how hardly soever he obtain it
+he was harder persuaded to seek it.
+
+
+
+A MERE EMPTY WIT
+
+Is like one that spends on the stock without any revenues coming in, and
+will shortly be no wit at all; for learning is the fuel to the fire of
+wit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out itself. A good conceit or
+two bates of such a man, and makes a sensible weakening in him; and his
+brain recovers it not a year after. The rest of him are bubbles and
+flashes, darted out on a sudden, which, if you take them while they are
+warm, may be laughed at; if they are cool, are nothing. He speaks best
+on the present apprehension, for meditation stupefies him, and the more
+he is in travail, the less he brings forth. His things come off then, as
+in a nauseateing stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, strains and
+convulsions, and some astonishing bombast, which men only, till they
+understand, are scared with. A verse or some such work he may sometimes
+get up to, but seldom above the stature of an epigram, and that with
+some relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary companion of his
+pocket, and he reads him as he were inspired. Such men are commonly the
+trifling things of the world, good to make merry the company, and whom
+only men have to do withal when they have nothing to do, and none are
+less their friends than who are most their company. Here they vent
+themselves over a cup somewhat more lastingly; all their words go for
+jests, and all their jests for nothing. They are nimble in the fancy of
+some ridiculous thing, and reasonable good in the expression. Nothing
+stops a jest when it's coming, neither friends, nor danger, but it must
+out howsoever, though their blood come out after, and then they
+emphatically rail, and are emphatically beaten, and commonly are men
+reasonable familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose life is but to
+laugh and be laughed at; and only wits in jest and fools in earnest.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKARD
+
+Is one that will be a man to-morrow morning, but is now what you will
+make him, for he is in the power of the next man, and if a friend the
+better. One that hath let go himself from the hold and stay of reason,
+and lies open to the mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds him
+disarmed and fenceless, and with the least assault enters. If any
+mischief escape him, it was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for
+it as he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw his father the first of
+this sin, an uncovered man, and though his garment be on, uncovered; the
+secretest parts of his soul lying in the nakedest manner visible: all
+his passions come out now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller
+humours which discretion clothes. His body becomes at last like a miry
+way, where the spirits are beclogged and cannot pass: all his members
+are out of office, and his heels do but trip up one another. He is a
+blind man with eyes, and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has of
+this vessel himself, is to hold thus much; for his drinking is but a
+scooping in of so many quarts, which are filled out into his body, and
+that filled out again into the room, which is commonly as drunk as he.
+Tobacco serves to air him after a washing, and is his only breath and
+breathing while. He is the greatest enemy to himself, and the next to
+his friend, and then most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness
+is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down first: and men come from
+him as a battle, wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a man off more from
+his credit, and business, and makes him more recklessly careless what
+becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a serious thought, or if he
+do, it is such melancholy that it sends him to be drunk again.
+
+
+
+A PRISON
+
+Is the grave of the living,[78] where they are shut up from the world
+and their friends; and the worms that gnaw upon them their own thoughts
+and the jailor. A house of meagre looks and ill smells, for lice, drink,
+and tobacco are the compound. Plato's court was expressed from this
+fancy; and the persons are much about the same parity that is there. You
+may ask, as Menippus in Lucian, which is Nireus, which Thersites, which
+the beggar, which the knight;--for they are all suited in the same form
+of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out at elbows is in fashion here,
+and a great indecorum not to be thread-bare. Every man shews here like
+so many wrecks upon the sea, here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the
+relicks of so many manors, a doublet without buttons; and 'tis a
+spectacle of more pity than executions are. The company one with the
+other is but a vying of complaints, and the causes they have to rail on
+fortune and fool themselves, and there is a great deal of good
+fellowship in this. They are commonly, next their creditors, most bitter
+against the lawyers, as men that have had a great stroke in assisting
+them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hardheartedness, yet they feign
+it sometimes to slip melancholy, and keep off themselves from
+themselves, and the torment of thinking what they have been. Men huddle
+up their life here as a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old
+suit, the faster the better; and he that deceives the time best, best
+spends it. It is the place where new comers are most welcomed, and, next
+them, ill news, as that which extends their fellowship in misery, and
+leaves few to insult:--and they breath their discontents more securely
+here, and have their tongues at more liberty than abroad. Men see here
+much sin and much calamity; and where the last does not mortify, the
+other hardens; as those that are worse here, are desperately worse, and
+those from whom the horror of sin is taken off and the punishment
+familiar: and commonly a hard thought passes on all that come from this
+school; which though it teach much wisdom, it is too late, and with
+danger: and it is better be a fool than come here to learn it.
+
+
+
+A SERVING MAN
+
+Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as well as his clothes, and
+somewhat in the same nature, for he is cast behind his master as
+fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he is but _in querpo_[79]
+without him. His properness[80] qualifies him, and of that a good leg;
+for his head he has little use but to keep it bare. A good dull wit best
+suits with him to comprehend commonsense and a trencher; for any greater
+store of brain it makes him but tumultuous, and seldom thrives with him.
+He follows his master's steps, as well in conditions as the street: if
+he wench or drink, he comes him in an under kind, and thinks it a part
+of his duty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his master's; of his
+faction,--of his cut,--of his pleasures:--he is handsome for his credit,
+and drunk for his credit, and if he have power in the cellar, commands
+the parish. He is one that keeps the best company, and is none of it;
+for he knows all the gentlemen his master knows, and picks from thence
+some hawking and horse-race terms,[81] which he swaggers with in the
+ale-house, where he is only called master. His mirth is evil jests with
+the wenches, and, behind the door, evil earnest. The best work he does
+is his marrying, for it makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it
+his master's direction, it is commonly the best service he does him.
+
+
+
+AN INSOLENT MAN
+
+Is a fellow newly great and newly proud; one that hath put himself into
+another face upon his preferment, for his own was not bred to it; one
+whom fortune hath shot up to some office or authority, and he shoots up
+his neck to his fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. His
+very countenance and gesture bespeak how much he is, and if you
+understand him not, he tells you, and concludes every period with his
+place, which you must and shall know. He is one that looks on all men as
+if he were angry, but especially on those of his acquaintance, whom he
+beats off with a surlier distance, as men apt to mistake him, because
+they have known him: and for this cause he knows not you 'till you have
+told him your name, which he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with
+much ado seems to recover. If you have any thing to use him in, you are
+his vassal for that time, and must give him the patience of any injury,
+which he does only to shew what he may do. He snaps you up bitterly,
+because he will be offended, and tells you, you are saucy and
+troublesome, and sometimes takes your money in this language. His very
+courtesies are intolerable, they are done with such an arrogance and
+imputation; and he is the only man you may hate after a good turn, and
+not be ungrateful; and men reckon it among their calamities to be
+beholden unto him. No vice draws with it a more general hostility, and
+makes men readier to search into his faults, and of them, his beginning;
+and no tale so unlikely but is willingly heard of him and believed. And
+commonly such men are of no merit at all, but make out in pride what
+they want in worth, and fence themselves with a stately kind of
+behaviour from that contempt which would pursue them. They are men whose
+preferment does us a great deal of wrong, and when they are down, we may
+laugh at them without breach of good-nature.
+
+
+
+ACQUAINTANCE
+
+Is the first draught of a friend, whom we must lay down oft thus, as the
+foul copy, before we can write him perfect and true: for from hence, as
+from a probation, men take a degree in our respect, till at last they
+wholly possess us: for acquaintance is the hoard, and friendship the
+pair chosen out of it; by which at last we begin to impropriate and
+inclose to ourselves what before lay in common with others. And commonly
+where it grows not up to this, it falls as low as may be; and no poorer
+relation than old acquaintance, of whom we only ask how they do for
+fashion's sake, and care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is but
+somewhat a more boldness of society, a sharing of talk, news, drink,
+mirth together; but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing nearer
+our heart, and to be delivered with it. Nothing easier than to create
+acquaintance, the mere being in company once does it; whereas
+friendship, like children, is engendered by a more inward mixture and
+coupling together; when we are acquainted not with their virtues only,
+but their faults, their passions, their fears, their shame.--and are
+bold on both sides to make their discovery. And as it is in the love of
+the body, which is then at the height and full when it has power and
+admittance into the hidden and worst parts of it; so it is in friendship
+with the mind, when those _verenda_ of the soul, and those things which
+we dare not shew the world, are bare and detected one to another.
+
+Some men are familiar with all, and those commonly friends to none; for
+friendship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and taker up of our
+affections to some few, and suffers them not loosely to be scattered on
+all men. The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place and country,
+which are shifted as the place, and missed but while the fancy of that
+continues. These are only then gladdest of other, when they meet in some
+foreign region, where the encompassing of strangers unites them closer,
+till at last they get new, and throw off one another. Men of parts and
+eminency, as their acquaintance is more sought for, so they are
+generally more staunch of it, not out of pride only, but fear to let too
+many in too near them: for it is with men as with pictures, the best
+show better afar off and at distance, and the closer you come to them
+the coarser they are. The best judgment of a man is taken from his
+acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both partial; whereas these
+see him truest because calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for
+him. And men that grow strange after acquaintance seldom piece together
+again, as those that have tasted meat and dislike it, out of a mutual
+experience disrelishing one another.
+
+A MERE COMPLIMENTAL MAN
+
+Is one to be held off still at the same distance you are now; for you
+shall have him but thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose him.
+Methinks Virgil well expresses him in those well-behaved ghosts that
+AEneas met with, that were friends to talk with, and men to look on, but
+if he grasped them, but air.[82] He is one that lies kindly to you, and
+for good fashion's sake, and 'tis discourtesy in you to believe him. His
+words are so many fine phrases set together, which serve equally for all
+men, and are equally to no purpose. Each fresh encounter with a man puts
+him to the same part again, and he goes over to you what he said to him
+was last with him: he kisses your hands as he kissed his before, and is
+your servant to be commanded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. His
+proffers are universal and general, with exceptions against all
+particulars. He will do any thing for you, but if you urge him to this,
+he cannot, or to that, he is engaged; but he will do any thing. Promises
+he accounts but a kind of mannerly words, and in the expectation of your
+manners not to exact them: if you do, he wonders at your ill breeding,
+that cannot distinguish betwixt what is spoken and what is meant. No man
+gives better satisfaction at the first, and comes off more with the
+elegy of a kind gentleman, till you know him better, and then you know
+him for nothing. And commonly those most rail at him, that have before
+most commended him. The best is, he cozens you in a fair manner, and
+abuses you with great respect.
+
+
+
+A POOR FIDDLER
+
+Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in worse case than his fiddle.
+One that rubs two sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and rubs
+a poor living out of it; partly from this, and partly from your charity,
+which is more in the hearing than giving him, for he sells nothing
+dearer than to be gone. He is just so many strings above a beggar,
+though he have but two; and yet he begs too, only not in the downright
+'for God's sake,' but with a shrugging 'God bless you,' and his face is
+more pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the greatest pain he takes,
+except a broken head sometimes, and the labouring John Dory.[83]
+Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and 'tis some mirth to see
+him. A good feast shall draw him five miles by the nose, and you shall
+track him again by the scent. His other pilgrimages are fairs and good
+houses, where his devotion is great to the Christmas; and no man loves
+good times better. He is in league with the tapsters for the worshipful
+of the inn, whom he torments next morning with his art, and has their
+names more perfect than their men. A new song is better to him than a
+new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls merry; and hates
+naturally the puritan, as an enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and
+Whitsun-ale are the two main places he domineers in, where he goes for a
+musician, and overlooks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk, and in
+the stocks.
+
+
+
+A MEDDLING MAN
+
+Is one that has nothing to do with his business, and yet no man busier
+than he, and his business is most in his face. He is one thrusts himself
+violently into all employments, unsent for, unfeed, and many times
+unthanked; and his part in it is only an eager bustling, that rather
+keeps ado than does any thing. He will take you aside, and question you
+of your affair, and listen with both ears, and look earnestly, and then
+it is nothing so much yours as his. He snatches what you are doing out
+of your hands, and cries "give it me," and does it worse, and lays an
+engagement upon you too, and you must thank him for this pains. He lays
+you down an hundred wild plots, all impossible things, which you must be
+ruled by perforce, and he delivers them with a serious and counselling
+forehead; and there is a great deal more wisdom in this forehead than
+his head. He will woo for you, solicit for you, and woo you to suffer
+him; and scarce any thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, or
+at least himself is not seen: if he have no task in it else, he will
+rail yet on some side, and is often beaten when he need not. Such men
+never thoroughly weigh any business, but are forward only to shew their
+zeal, when many times this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they
+have done what they can, that is, as much hurt. Wise men still deprecate
+these men's kindnesses, and are beholden to them rather to let them
+alone; as being one trouble more in all business, and which a man shall
+be hardest rid of.
+
+
+
+A GOOD OLD MAN
+
+Is the best antiquity, and which we may with least vanity admire. One
+whom time hath been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, ripened
+when others are shaken down. He hath taken out as many lessons of the
+world as days, and learnt the best thing in it; the vanity of it. He
+looks over his former life as a danger well past, and would not hazard
+himself to begin again. His lust was long broken before his body, yet he
+is glad this temptation is broke too, and that he is fortified from it
+by this weakness. The next door of death sads him not, but he expects it
+calmly as his turn in nature; and fears more his recoiling back to
+childishness than dust. All men look on him as a common father, and on
+old age, for his sake, as a reverent thing. His very presence and face
+puts vice out of countenance, and makes it an indecorum in a vicious
+man. He practises his experience on youth without the harshness of
+reproof, and in his counsel is good company. He has some old stories
+still of his own seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them better
+in the telling; yet is not troublesome neither with the same tale again,
+but remembers with them how oft he has told them. His old sayings and
+morals seem proper to his beard; and the poetry of Cato does well out of
+his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the author. He is not apt to
+put the boy on a younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can distinguish
+gravity from a sour look; and the less testy he is, the more regarded.
+You must pardon him if he like his own times better than these, because
+those things are follies to him now that were wisdom then; yet he makes
+us of that opinion too when we see him, and conjecture those times by so
+good a relic. He is a man capable of a dearness with the youngest men,
+yet he not youthfuller for them, but they older for him; and no man
+credits more his acquaintance. He goes away at last too soon whensoever,
+with all men's sorrow but his own; and his memory is fresh, when it is
+twice as old.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures flatter many times, so he
+oft shews fairer than the true substance: his look, conversation,
+company, and all the outwardness of friendship more pleasing by odds,
+for a true friend dare take the liberty to be sometimes offensive,
+whereas he is a great deal more cowardly, and will not let the least
+hold go, for fear of losing you. Your mere sour look affrights him, and
+makes him doubt his cashiering. And this is one sure mark of him, that
+he is never first angry, but ready though upon his own wrong to make
+satisfaction. Therefore he is never yoked with a poor man, or any that
+stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes may tempt his pains to
+deceive him. Him he learns first, and learns well, and grows perfecter
+in his humours than himself, and by this door enters upon his soul, of
+which he is able at last to take the very print and mark, and fashion
+his own by it, like a false key to open all your secrets. All his
+affections jump[84] even with yours; he is before-hand with your
+thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you. He will commend to you
+first what he knows you like, and has always some absurd story or other
+of your enemy, and then wonders how your two opinions should jump in
+that man. He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of deep judgment,
+and has a secret of purpose to disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say,
+is persuaded. He listens to your words with great attention, and
+sometimes will object that you may confute him, and then protests he
+never heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts him with an
+overflowing laughter, and he remembers it for you to all companies, and
+laughs again in the telling. He is one never chides you but for your
+virtues, as, _you are too good, too honest, too religious_, when his
+chiding may seem but the earnester commendation, and yet would fain
+chide you out of them too; for your vice is the thing he has use of, and
+wherein you may best use him; and he is never more active than in the
+worst diligences. Thus, at last, he possesses you from yourself, and
+then expects but his hire to betray you: and it is a happiness not to
+discover him; for as long as you are happy, you shall not.
+
+
+
+A HIGH-SPIRITED MAN
+
+Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not: you may forgive him his
+looks for his worth's sake, for they are only too proud to be base. One
+whom no rate can buy off from the least piece of his freedom, and make
+him digest an unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch to a great man
+to possess him, nor fall low to the earth to rebound never so high
+again. He stands taller on his own bottom, than others on the advantage
+ground of fortune, as having solidly that honour of which title is but
+the pomp. He does homage to no man for his great style's sake, but is
+strictly just in the exaction of respect again, and will not bate you a
+compliment. He is more sensible of a neglect than an undoing, and scorns
+no man so much as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired, and quickly
+laid down with satisfaction, but remits any injury sooner than words:
+only to himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never forgives a
+disgrace, but is still stabbing himself with the thought of it, and no
+disease that he dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish than be
+beholden for his life, and strives more to quit with his friend than his
+enemy. Fortune may kill him but not deject him, nor make him fall into
+an humbler key than before, but he is now loftier than ever in his own
+defence; you shall hear him talk still after thousands, and he becomes
+it better than those that have it. One that is above the world and its
+drudgery, and cannot pull down his thoughts to the pelting businesses of
+life. He would sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade, or anything
+that might disparage the height of man in him, and yet thinks no death
+comparably base to hanging neither. One that will do nothing upon
+command, though he would do it otherwise; and if ever he do evil, it is
+when he is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal his worth puts a
+lustre in all preferment; but if otherwise he be too much crossed, turns
+desperately melancholy, and scorns mankind.
+
+
+
+A MERE GULL CITIZEN
+
+Is one much about the same model and pitch of brain that the clown is,
+only of somewhat a more polite and finical ignorance, and as sillily
+scorns him as he is sillily admired by him. The quality of the city hath
+afforded him some better dress of clothes and language, which he uses to
+the best advantage, and is so much the more ridiculous. His chief
+education is the visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine ladies
+resort, he is infected with so much more eloquence, and if he catch one
+word extraordinary, wears it forever. You shall hear him mince a
+compliment sometimes that was never made for him; and no man pays dearer
+for good words,--for he is oft paid with them. He is suited rather fine
+than in the fashion, and has still something to distinguish him from a
+gentleman, though his doublet cost more; especially on Sundays,
+bridegroom-like, where he carries the state of a very solemn man, and
+keeps his pew as his shop; and it is a great part of his devotion to
+feast the minister. But his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the
+greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if you be an honest
+gentleman, that is trust him to cozen you enough. His friendships are a
+kind of gossiping friendships, and those commonly within the circle of
+his trade, wherein he is careful principally to avoid two things, that
+is poor men and suretyships. He is a man will spend his sixpence with a
+great deal of imputation,[85] and no man makes more of a pint of wine
+than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of foolish love to scholars, and
+to Cambridge especially for Sturbridge[86] fair's sake; and of these all
+are truants to him that are not preachers, and of these the loudest the
+best; and he is much ravished with the noise of a rolling tongue. He
+loves to hear discourses out of his element, and the less he understands
+the better pleased, which he expresses in a smile and some fond
+protestation. One that does nothing without his chuck,[87] that is his
+wife, with whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the wantoner she
+is, the more power she has over him; and she never stoops so low after
+him, but is the only woman goes better of a widow than a maid. In the
+education of his child no man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a
+harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging still the weakness of the
+boy, and pays a fine extraordinary for his mercy. The first whipping
+rids him to the university, and from thence rids him again for fear of
+starving, and the best he makes of him is some gull in plush. He is one
+loves to hear the famous acts of citizens, whereof the gilding of the
+cross[88] he counts the glory of this age, and the four[89] prentices of
+London above all the nine[90] worthies. He intitles himself to all the
+merits of his company, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions, in
+which he is joint benefactor, though four hundred years ago, and
+upbraids them far more than those that gave them: yet with all this
+folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and in that a sufficienter man
+than he that is wiser.
+
+
+
+A LASCIVIOUS MAN
+
+Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but all are but his lust, to
+which only he is faithful, and none besides, and spends his best blood
+and spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to his body, and those
+that assist him in this nature the nearest to it. No man abuses more the
+name of love, or those whom he applies this name to; for his love is
+like his stomach to feed on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit
+and loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him; and it kindles on any
+sooner than who deserve best of him. There is a great deal of malignity
+in this vice, for it loves still to spoil the best things, and a virgin
+sometimes rather than beauty, because the undoing here is greater, and
+consequently his glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, or is so
+extremely tickled with the remembrance of it; and he is more violence to
+a modest ear than to her he defloured. An unclean jest enters deep into
+him, and whatsoever you speak he will draw to lust, and his wit is never
+so good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue, for that commits
+always what he must act seldomer; and that commits with all what he acts
+with few; for he is his own worst reporter, and men believe as bad of
+him, and yet do not believe him. Nothing harder to his persuasion than a
+chaste man; and makes a scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a
+maid. And from this mistrust it is that such men fear marriage, or at
+least marry such as are of bodies to be trusted, to whom only they sell
+that lust which they buy of others, and make their wife a revenue to
+their mistress. They are men not easily reformed, because they are so
+little ill-persuaded of their illness, and have such pleas from man and
+nature. Besides it is a jeering and flouting vice, and apt to put jests
+on the reprover. Their disease only converts them, and that only when it
+kills them.
+
+
+
+A RASH MAN
+
+Is a man too quick for himself; one whose actions put a leg still before
+his judgement, and out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the signal
+that sets him forward, and his reason comes still in the rear. One that
+has brain enough, but not patience to digest a business, and stay the
+leisure of a second thought. All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth
+and freezing of action, and it shall burn him rather than take cold. He
+is always resolved at first thinking, and the ground he goes upon is,
+_hap what may_. Thus he enters not, but throws himself violently upon
+all things, and for the most part is as violently upon all off again;
+and as an obstinate _"I will"_ was the preface to his undertaking, so
+his conclusion is commonly _"I would I had not;"_ for such men seldom do
+anything that they are not forced to take in pieces again, and are so
+much farther off from doing it, as they have done already. His friends
+are with him as his physician, sought to only in his sickness and
+extremity, and to help him out of that mire he has plunged himself into;
+for in the suddenness of his passions he would hear nothing, and now his
+ill success has allayed him he hears too late. He is a man still swayed
+with the first reports, and no man more in the power of a pick-thank
+than he. He is one will fight first, and then expostulate, condemn
+first, and then examine. He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling,
+and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and then curses the occasion
+drew this mischief upon him, and cries God mercy for it, and curses
+again. His repentance is merely a rage against himself, and he does
+something in itself to be repented again. He is a man whom fortune must
+go against much to make him happy, for had he been suffered his own way,
+he had been undone.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED MAN
+
+Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things. One that would go a strain
+beyond himself, and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all things with
+great solemnity of circumstance; and whereas with more negligence he
+might pass better, makes himself with a great deal of endeavour
+ridiculous. The fancy of some odd quaintnesses have put him clean beside
+his nature; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost what he was. He is
+one must be point-blank in every trifle, as if his credit and opinion
+hung upon it; the very space of his arms in an embrace studied before
+and premeditated, and the figure of his countenance of a fortnight's
+contriving; he will not curse you without-book and extempore, but in
+some choice way, and perhaps as some great man curses. Every action of
+his cries,--"_Do ye mark me?_" and men do mark him how absurd he is: for
+affectation is the most betraying humour, and nothing that puzzles a man
+less to find out than this. All the actions of his life are like so many
+things bodged in without any natural cadence or connection at all. You
+shall track him all through like a school-boy's theme, one piece from
+one author and this from another, and join all in this general, that
+they are none of his own. You shall observe his mouth not made for that
+tone, nor his face for that simper; and it is his luck that his finest
+things most misbecome him. If he affect the gentleman as the humour most
+commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio of a fine man, but he is
+strict in to a hair, even to their very negligences, which he cons as
+rules. He will not carry a knife with him to wound reputation, and pay
+double a reckoning, rather than ignobly question it: and he is full of
+this--ignobly--and nobly--and genteely; and this mere fear to trespass
+against the genteel way puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs
+through many things besides, but is an ill-favoured ostentation in all,
+and thrives not:--and the best use of such men is, they are good parts
+in a play.
+
+
+
+A PROFANE MAN
+
+Is one that denies God as far as the law gives him leave; that is, only
+does not say so in downright terms, for so far he may go. A man that
+does the greatest sins calmly, and as the ordinary actions of life, and
+as calmly discourses of it again. He will tell you his business is to
+break such a commandment, and the breaking of the commandment shall
+tempt him to it. His words are but so many vomitings cast up to the
+loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of his company[91] loath it
+not. He will take upon him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of
+his company, and makes good sport at his conquest over the puritan fool.
+The Scripture supplies him for jests, and he reads it on purpose to be
+thus merry: he will prove you his sin out of the Bible, and then ask if
+you will not take that authority. He never sees the church but of
+purpose to sleep in it, or when some silly man preaches, with whom he
+means to make sport, and is most jocund in the church. One that
+nick-names clergymen with all the terms of reproach, as "_rat,
+black-coat_" and the like; which he will be sure to keep up, and never
+calls them by other: that sings psalms when he is drunk, and cries "_God
+mercy_" in mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems to dare God in
+all his actions, but indeed would out-dare the opinion of Him, which
+would else turn him desperate; for atheism is the refuge of such
+sinners, whose repentance would be only to hang themselves.
+
+
+
+A COWARD
+
+Is the man that is commonly most fierce against the coward, and
+labouring to take off this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of
+valour is a good protection to those that dare not use it. No man is
+valianter than he is in civil company, and where he thinks no danger may
+come on it, and is the readiest man to fall upon a drawer and those that
+must not strike again: wonderful exceptious and cholerick where he sees
+men are loth to give him occasion, and you cannot pacify him better than
+by quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow, the more temperate man is
+he; he protests he always honoured you, and the more you rail upon him,
+the more he honours you, and you threaten him at last into a very honest
+quiet man. The sight of a sword wounds him more sensibly than the
+stroke, for before that come he is dead already. Every man is his master
+that dare beat him, and every man dares that knows him. And he that dare
+do this is the only man can do much with him; for his friend he cares
+not for, as a man that carries no such terror as his enemy, which for
+this cause only is more potent with him of the two: and men fall out
+with him of purpose to get courtesies from him, and be bribed again to a
+reconcilement. A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for the
+apprehension of each danger loosens him, and makes him bewray both the
+room and it. He is a Christian merely for fear of hell-fire; and if any
+religion could fright him more, would be of that.
+
+
+
+A SORDID RICH MAN
+
+Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth we may say as of other
+men's unthriftiness, that it has brought him to this: when he had
+nothing he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a man whom men hate
+in his own behalf for using himself thus, and yet, being upon himself,
+it is but justice, for he deserves it. Every accession of a fresh heap
+bates him so much of his allowance, and brings him a degree nearer
+starving. His body had been long since desperate, but for the reparation
+of other men's tables, where he hoards meats in his belly for a month,
+to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes were never young in our
+memory; you might make long epochas from them, and put them into the
+almanack with the dear year[92] and the great frost,[93] and he is known
+by them longer than his face. He is one never gave alms in his life, and
+yet is as charitable to his neighbour as himself. He will redeem a penny
+with his reputation, and lose all his friends to boot; and his reason
+is, he will not be undone. He never pays anything but with strictness of
+law, for fear of which only he steals not. He loves to pay short a
+shilling or two in a great sum, and is glad to gain that when he can no
+more. He never sees friend but in a journey to save the charges of an
+inn, and then only is not sick; and his friends never see him but to
+abuse him. He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantic thrift, and one of
+the strangest things that wealth can work.
+
+
+
+A MERE GREAT MAN
+
+Is so much heraldry without honour, himself less real than his title.
+His virtue is, that he was his father's son, and all the expectation of
+him to beget another. A man that lives merely to preserve another's
+memory, and let us know who died so many years ago. One of just as much
+use as his images, only he differs in this, that he can speak himself,
+and save the fellow of Westminster[94] a labour: and he remembers
+nothing better than what was out of his life. His grandfathers and their
+acts are his discourse, and he tells them with more glory than they did
+them; and it is well they did enough, or else he had wanted matter. His
+other studies are his sports and those vices that are fit for great men.
+Every vanity of his has his officer, and is a serious employment for his
+servants. He talks loud, and uncleanly, and scurvily as a part of state,
+and they hear him with reverence. All good qualities are below him, and
+especially learning, except some parcels of the chronicle and the
+writing of his name, which he learns to write not to be read. He is
+merely of his servants' faction, and their instrument for their friends
+and enemies, and is always least thanked for his own courtesies. They
+that fool him most do most with him, and he little thinks how many laugh
+at him bare-head. No man is kept in ignorance more of himself and men,
+for he hears naught but flattery; and what is fit to be spoken, truth,
+with so much preface that it loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb
+be made ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity.
+
+
+
+A POOR MAN
+
+Is the most impotent man, though neither blind nor lame, as wanting the
+more necessary limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. A man
+unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts of the world, which blow all in
+upon him, like an unroofed house; and the bitterest thing he suffers is
+his neighbours. All men put on to him a kind of churlisher fashion, and
+even more plausible natures are churlish to him, as who are nothing
+advantaged by his opinion. Men fall out with him before-hand to prevent
+friendship, and his friends too to prevent engagements, or if they own
+him 'tis in private and a by-room, and on condition not to know them
+before company. All vice put together is not half so scandalous, nor
+sets off our acquaintance farther; and even those that are not friends
+for ends do not love any dearness with such men. The least courtesies
+are upbraided to him, and himself thanked for none, but his best
+services suspected as handsome sharking and tricks to get money. And we
+shall observe it in knaves themselves, that your beggarliest knaves are
+the greatest, or thought so at least, for those that have wit to thrive
+by it have art not to seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard enough to
+mask his vices, nor ornament enough to set forth his virtues, but both
+are naked and unhandsome; and though no man is necessitated to more ill,
+yet no man's ill is less excused, but it is thought a kind of impudence
+in him to be vicious, and a presumption above his fortune. His good
+parts lie dead upon his hands, for want of matter to employ them, and at
+the best are not commended but pitied, as virtues ill placed, and we may
+say of him, "Tis an honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that call
+him so will trust a knave before him. He is a man that has the truest
+speculation of the world, because all men shew to him in their plainest
+and worst, as a man they have no plot on, by appearing good to; whereas
+rich men are entertained with a more holiday behaviour, and see only the
+best we can dissemble. He is the only he that tries the true strength of
+wisdom, what it can do of itself without the help of fortune; that with
+a great deal of virtue conquers extremities; and with a great deal more;
+his own impatience, and obtains of himself not to hate men.
+
+
+
+AN ORDINARY HONEST MAN
+
+Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, for if he were not this, he
+were nothing: and yet he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious
+fellow, that complies well with the debauchments of the time, and is fit
+for it. One that has no good part in him to offend his company, or make
+him to be suspected a proud fellow; but is sociably a dunce, and
+sociably a drinker. That does it fair and above-board without legermain,
+and neither sharks for a cup or a reckoning: that is kind over his beer,
+and protests he loves you, and begins to you again, and loves you again.
+One that quarrels with no man, but for not pledging him, but takes all
+absurdities and commits as many, and is no tell-tale next morning,
+though he remember it. One that will fight for his friend if he hear him
+abused, and his friend commonly is he that is most likely, and he lifts
+up many a jug in his defence. He rails against none but censurers,
+against whom he thinks he rails lawfully, and censurers are all those
+that are better than himself. These good properties qualify him for
+honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale-house commendation, who,
+if he had any other good quality, would be named by that. But now for
+refuge he is an honest man, and hereafter a sot: only those that commend
+him think him not so, and those that commend him are honest fellows.
+
+
+
+A SUSPICIOUS OR JEALOUS MAN
+
+Is one that watches himself a mischief, and keeps a lear eye still, for
+fear it should escape him. A man that sees a great deal more in every
+thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks he sees nothing: his own eye
+stands in his light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some weaknesses,
+which he might conceal if he were careless:--now his over-diligence to
+hide them makes men pry the more. Howsoever he imagines you have found
+him, and it shall go hard but you must abuse him whether you will or no.
+Not a word can be spoke but nips him somewhere; not a jest thrown out
+but he will make it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out of
+company, with some twenty quarrels to every man, stung and galled, and
+no man knows less the occasion than they that have given it. To laugh
+before him is a dangerous matter, for it cannot be at any thing but at
+him, and to whisper in his company plain conspiracy. He bids you speak
+out, and he will answer you, when you thought not of him. He
+expostulates with you in passion, why you should abuse him, and explains
+to your ignorance wherein, and gives you very good reason at last to
+laugh at him hereafter. He is one still accusing others when they are
+not guilty, and defending himself when he is not accused: and no man is
+undone more with apologies, wherein he is so elaborately excessive, that
+none will believe him; and he is never thought worse of, than when he
+has given satisfaction. Such men can never have friends, because they
+cannot trust so far; and this humour hath this infection with it, it
+makes all men to them suspicious. In conclusion, they are men always in
+offence and vexation with themselves and their neighbours, wronging
+others in thinking they would wrong them, and themselves most of all in
+thinking they deserve it.
+
+
+
+NICHOLAS BRETON
+
+_Published in 1615 "Characters upon Essays, Moral and Divine" and in
+1616 a set of Characters called "The Good and the Bad." He was of a good
+Essex family, second son of William Breton of Redcross Street, in the
+parish of St. Giles without Cripplegate. His father was well-to-do, and
+died in January 1559 (new style) when Nicholas was a boy. His mother
+took for second husband George Gascoigne the poet. Only a chance note in
+a diary informs us that Nicholas Breton was once of Oriel College,
+Oxford. In 1577, when his stepfather Gascoigne died, Breton was living
+in London, and he then published the first of his many books. He married
+Ann Sutton in the church of St. Giles, Cripplegate, on the 14th of
+January 1593 (new style), had a son Henry, born in 1603, a son Edward in
+1606, and a daughter Matilda in 1607, who died in her nineteenth year.
+He was from 1577 onward an active writer both of prose and verse, and a
+poet of real mark in the days of Elizabeth and James the First, though
+it was left to Dr. A. B. Grosart to be, in 1875-79, the first editor of
+his collected works in an edition limited to a hundred copies. The date
+of Breton's last publication, "Fantastics," is 1626, but of the time of
+his death there is no record, Nicholas Breton's "Characters upon
+Essaies" published in 1615, were entitled in full "Characters upon
+Essaies Morall and Divine, written for those good spirits that will take
+them 'in good part, and make use of them to good purpose." In
+recognition of the kinship between Bacon's Essays and Character
+writings, they were dedicated_
+
+    To the Honourable, and my much worthy honoured,
+truly learned, and Judicious Knight, SIR FRANCIS BACON,
+        his Maties. Attorney General,
+    _Increase of honour, health, and eternal happiness_.
+
+Worthy knight, I have read of many essays and a kind of charactering of
+them, by such, as when I looked unto the form or nature of their writing
+I have been of the conceit that they were but imitators of your breaking
+the ice to their inventions, which, how short they fall of your worth, I
+had rather think than speak, though truth need not blush at her blame.
+Now, for myself, unworthy to touch near the rock of those diamonds, or
+to speak in their praise, who so far exceed the power of my capacity,
+vouchsafe me leave yet, I beseech you, among those apes that would
+counterfeit the actions of men, to play the like part with learning, and
+as a monkey that would make a face like a man and cannot, so to write
+like a scholar and am not; and thus not daring to adventure the print
+under your patronage, without your favourable allowance in the devoted
+service of my bounden duty, I leave these poor travails of my spirit to
+the perusing of your pleasing leisure, with the further fruits of my
+humble affection, to the happy employment of your honourable
+pleasure.--At your service in all humbleness,
+
+NICH. BRETON.
+
+_Breton prefixed also this address_--
+
+TO THE READER.
+
+Read what you list, and understand what you can. Characters are not
+every man's construction, though they be writ in our mother tongue; and
+what I have written, being of no other nature, if they fit not your
+humour they may please a better. I make no comparison, because I know
+you not, but if you will vouchsafe to look into them, it may be you may
+find something in them; their natures are diverse, as you may see, if
+your eyes be open, and if you can make use of them to good purpose, your
+wits may prove the better. In brief, fearing the fool will be put upon
+me for being too busy with matters too far above my understanding, I
+will leave my imperfection to pardon or correction, and my labour to
+their liking that will not think ill of a well-meaning, and so
+rest,--Your well-willing friend,
+
+N.B.
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS UPON ESSAYS,
+
+
+MORAL AND DIVINE.
+
+BY NICHOLAS BRETON.
+
+
+WISDOM.
+
+Wisdom is a working grace in the souls of the elect, by whom the spirit
+is made capable of those secrets that neither nature nor reason is able
+to comprehend; who, by a powerful virtue she hath from the Divine
+Essence, worketh in all things according to the will of the Almighty,
+and, being before beginning, shall exceed time in an eternal proceeding.
+She is a light in the intellectual part, by which reason is led to
+direct the senses in their due course, and nature is preserved from
+subjecting herself to imperfection. In the Creation she was of counsel
+with the Trinity in the pleasing of the Deity; in the Redemption the
+inventor of mercy for the preservation of the elect; and in the
+Glorification the treasurer of life for the reward of the faithful, who,
+having committed to her care the carriage of the whole motion, finding
+the disposition of earth in all the children of her womb, by such a
+measure as she finds fitting their quality, she gives them either the
+grace of nature or the glory of reason. While being the mother of the
+graces, she gives them that holy instruction that, in the knowledge of
+the highest love, through the paths of virtue, makes a passage to
+heaven. Learning hath from her that knowledge without the which all
+knowledge is mere ignorance, while only in the grace of truth is seen
+the glory of understanding. Knowledge hath from her that learning
+whereby she is taught the direction of her love in the way of life.
+Understanding hath from her that knowledge that keeps conceit always in
+the spirit's comfort; and judgment from understanding, that rule of
+justice that by the even weight of impartiality shows the hand of Heaven
+in the heart of humanity. In the heavens she keeps the angels in their
+orders, teacheth them the natures of their offices, and employs them in
+the service of their Creator. In the firmament she walks among the
+stars, sets and keeps them in their places, courses, and operations, at
+her pleasure. She eclipseth the light, and in a moment leaves not a
+cloud in the sky. In her thunders and lightnings she shows the terror of
+the Highest wrath, and in her temperate calms, the patience of His
+mercy. In her frosty winters she shows the weakness of nature, and in
+her sunny springs the recovery of her health. In the lovers of this
+world lives no part of her pureness, but with her beloved she makes a
+heaven upon earth. In the king she shows grace, in his council her care,
+and in his state her strength. In the soldier she shows virtue the
+truest valour; in the lawyer, truth the honour of his plea; in the
+merchant, conscience the wealth of his soul; and in the churchman,
+charity the true fruit of his devotion. She lives in the world but not
+the world's love, for the world's unworthiness is not capable of her
+worth. She receiveth Mammon as a gift from his Maker, and makes him
+serve her use to His glory. She gives honour, grace in bounty, and
+manageth wit by the care of discretion. She shows the necessity of
+difference, and wherein is the happiness of unity. She puts her labour
+to providence, her hope to patience, her life to her love, and her love
+to her Lord; with whom, as chief secretary of His secrets, she writes
+His will to the world, and as high steward of His courts she keeps
+account of all His tenants. In sum, so great is her grace in the heavens
+as gives her glory above the earth, and so infinite are her excellencies
+in all the course of her action; and so glorious are the notes of her
+incomprehensible nature, that I will thus only conclude, far short of
+her commendation:--She is God's love, and His angels' light, His
+servants' grace, and His beloved's glory.
+
+
+
+LEARNING.
+
+Learning is the life of reason and the light of nature, where time,
+order, and measure square out the true course of knowledge; where
+discretion in the temper of passion brings experience to the best fruit
+of affection; while both the Theory and Practice labour in the life of
+judgment, till the perfection of art show the honour of understanding.
+She is the key of knowledge that unlocketh the cabinet of conceit,
+wherein are laid up the labours of virtue for the use of the scholars of
+wisdom; where every gracious spirit may find matter enough worthy of the
+record of the best memory. She is the nurse of nature, with that milk of
+reason that would make a child of grace never lie from the dug. She is
+the schoolmistress of wit and the gentle governor of will, when the
+delight of understanding gives the comfort of study. She is unpleasing
+to none that knows her, and unprofitable to none that loves her. She
+fears not to wet her feet, to wade through the waters of comfort, but
+comes not near the seas of iniquity, where folly drowns affection in the
+delight of vanity. She opens her treasures to the travellers in virtue,
+but keeps them close from the eyes of idleness. She makes the king
+gracious and his council judicious, his clergy devout and his kingdom
+prosperous. She gives honour to virtue, grace to honour, reward to
+labour, and love to truth. She is the messenger of wisdom to the minds
+of the virtuous, and the way to honour in the spirits of the gracious.
+She is the storehouse of understanding, where the affection of grace
+cannot want instruction of goodness, while, in the rules of her
+directions, reason is never out of square. She is the exercise of wit in
+the application of knowledge, and the preserver of the understanding in
+the practice of memory. In brief, she makes age honourable and youth
+admirable, the virtuous wise and the wise gracious. Her libraries are
+infinite, her lessons without number, her instruction without
+comparison, and her scholars without equality. In brief, finding it a
+labyrinth to go through the grounds of her praise, let this suffice,
+that in all ages she hath been and ever will be the darling of wisdom,
+the delight of wit, the study of virtue, and the stay of knowledge.
+
+
+
+KNOWLEDGE.
+
+Knowledge is a collection of understanding gathered in the grounds of
+learning by the instruction of wisdom. She is the exercise of memory in
+the actions of the mind, and the employer of the senses in the will of
+the spirit: she is the notary of time and the trier of truth, and the
+labour of the spirit in the love of virtue: she is the pleasure of wit
+and the paradise of reason, where conceit gathereth the sweet of
+understanding. She is the king's counsellor and the council's grace,
+youth's guard and age's glory. It is free from doubts and fears no
+danger, while the care of Providence cuts off the cause of repentance.
+She is the enemy of idleness and the maintainer of labour in the care of
+credit and pleasure of profit: she needs no advice in the resolution of
+action, while experience in observation finds perfection infallible. It
+clears errors and cannot be deceived, corrects impurity and will not be
+corrupted. She hath a wide ear and a close mouth, a pure eye and a
+perfect heart. It is begotten by grace, bred by virtue, brought up by
+learning, and maintained by love. She converseth with the best
+capacities and communicates with the soundest judgments, dwells with the
+divinest natures and loves the most patient dispositions. Her hope is a
+kind of assurance, her faith a continual expectation, her love an
+apprehension of joy, and her life the light of eternity. Her labours are
+infinite, her ways are unsearchable, her graces incomparable, and her
+excellencies inexplicable; and therefore, being so little acquainted
+with her worth as makes me blush at my unworthiness to speak in the
+least of her praise, I will only leave her advancement to virtue, her
+honour to wisdom, her grace to truth, and to eternity her glory.
+
+
+
+PRACTICE.
+
+Practice is the motion of the spirit, where the senses are all set to
+work in their natures, where, in the fittest employment of time, reason
+maketh the best use of understanding. She is the continuance of
+knowledge in the ease of memory, and the honour of resolution in the
+effect of judgment. She plants the spring and reaps the harvest, makes
+labour sweet and patience comfortable. She hath a foot on the earth but
+an eye at heaven, where the prayer of faith finds the felicity of the
+soul. In the fruit of charity she shows the nature of devotion, and in
+the mercy of justice the glory of government. She gives time honour in
+the fruit of action, and reason grace in the application of knowledge.
+She takes the height of the sun, walks about the world, sounds the depth
+of the sea, and makes her passage through the waters. She is ready for
+all occasions, attendeth all persons, works with all instruments, and
+finisheth all actions. She takes invention for her teacher, makes time
+her servant, method her direction, and place her habitation. She hath a
+wakeful eye and a working brain, which fits the members of the body to
+the service of the spirit. She is the physician's agent and the
+apothecary's benefactor, the chirurgeon's wealth and the patient's
+patience. She brings time to labour and care to contentment, learning to
+knowledge and virtue to honour: in idleness she hath no pleasure, nor
+acquaintance with ignorance, but in industry is her delight and in
+understanding her grace. She hath a passage through all the
+predicaments, she hath a hand in all the arts, a property in all
+professions, and a quality in all conditions. In brief, so many are the
+varieties of the manners of her proceedings as makes me fearful to
+follow her too far in observation, lest being never able to come near
+the height of her commendation, I be enforced as I am to leave her
+wholly to admiration.
+
+
+
+PATIENCE.
+
+Patience is a kind of heavenly tenure, whereby the soul is held in
+possession, and a sweet temper in the spirit, which restraineth nature
+from exceeding reason in passion. Her hand keeps time in his right
+course, and her eye passeth into the depth of understanding. She
+attendeth wisdom in all her works, and proportioneth time to the
+necessity of matter. She is the poison of sorrow in the hope of comfort,
+and the paradise of conceit in the joy of peace. Her tongue speaks
+seldom but to purpose, and her foot goeth slowly but surely. She is the
+imitator of the Incomprehensible in His passage to perfection, and a
+servant of His will in the map of His workmanship: in confusion she hath
+no operation, while she only aireth her conceit with the consideration
+of experience. She travels far and is never weary, and gives over no
+work but to better a beginning. She makes the king merciful and the
+subject loyal, honour gracious and wisdom glorious. She pacifieth wrath
+and puts off revenge, and in the humility of charity shows the nature of
+grace. She is beloved of the highest and embraced of the wisest,
+honoured with the worthiest and graced with the best. She makes
+imprisonment liberty when the mind goeth through the world, and in
+sickness finds health where death is the way to life. She is an enemy to
+passion, and knows no purgatory; thinks fortune a fiction, and builds
+only upon providence. She is the sick man's salve and the whole man's
+preserver, the wise man's staff and the good man's guide. In sum, not to
+wade too far in her worthiness, lest I be drowned in the depth of
+wonder, I will thus end in her endless honour:--She is the grace of
+Christ and the virtue of Christianity, the praise of goodness and the
+preserver of the world.
+
+
+
+LOVE.
+
+Love is the life of Nature and the joy of reason in the spirit of grace;
+where virtue drawing affection, the concord of sense makes an union
+inseparable in the divine apprehension of the joy of election. It is a
+ravishment of the soul in the delight of the spirit, which, being
+carried above itself into inexplicable comfort, feels that heavenly
+sickness that is better than the world's health, when the wisest of men
+in the swounding delight of his sacred inspiration could thus utter the
+sweetness of his passion, "My soul is sick of love." It is a healthful
+sickness in the soul, a pleasing passion in the heart, a contentive
+labour in the mind, and a peaceful trouble of the senses. It alters
+natures in contrarieties, when difficulty is made easy; pain made a
+pleasure; poverty, riches; and imprisonment, liberty; for the content of
+conceit, which regards not to be an abject, in being subject but to an
+object. It rejoiceth in truth, and knows no inconstancy: it is free from
+jealousy, and feareth no fortune: it breaks the rule of arithmetic by
+confounding of number, where the conjunction of thoughts makes one mind
+in two bodies, where neither figure nor cipher can make division of
+union. It sympathises with life, and participates with light, when the
+eye of the mind sees the joy of the heart. It is a predominant power
+which endures no equality, and yet communicates with reason in the rules
+of concord: it breeds safety in a king and peace in a kingdom, nation's
+unity, and Nature's gladness. It sings in labour, in the joy of hope;
+and makes a paradise in reward of desert. It pleads but mercy in the
+justice of the Almighty, and but mutual amity in the nature of humanity.
+In sum, having no eagle's eye to look upon the sun, and fearing to look
+too high, for fear of a chip in mine eye, I will in these few words
+speak in praise of this peerless virtue:--Love is the grace of Nature
+and the glory of reason, the blessing of God and the comfort of
+the world.
+
+
+
+PEACE.
+
+Peace is a calm in conceit, where the senses take pleasure in the rest
+of the spirit. It is Nature's holiday after reason's labour, and
+wisdom's music in the concords of the mind. It is a blessing of grace, a
+bounty of mercy, a proof of love, and a preserver of life. It holds no
+arguments, knows no quarrels, is an enemy to sedition, and a continuance
+of amity. It is the root of plenty, the tree of pleasure, the fruit of
+love, and the sweetness of life. It is like the still night, where all
+things are at rest, and the quiet sleep, where dreams are not
+troublesome; or the resolved point, in the perfection of knowledge,
+where no cares nor doubts make controversies in opinion. It needs no
+watch where is no fear of enemy, nor solicitor of causes where
+agreements are concluded. It is the intent of law and the fruit of
+justice, the end of war and the beginning of wealth. It is a grace in a
+court, and a glory in a kingdom, a blessing in a family, and a happiness
+in a commonwealth. It fills the rich man's coffers, and feeds the poor
+man's labour. It is the wise man's study, and the good man's joy: who
+love it are gracious, who make it are blessed, who keep it are happy,
+and who break it are miserable. It hath no dwelling with idolatry, nor
+friendship with falsehood; for her life is in truth, and in her all is
+Amen. But lest in the justice of peace I may rather be reproved for my
+ignorance of her work than thought worthy to speak in her praise, with
+this only conclusion in the commendation of peace I will draw to an end
+and hold my peace:--It was a message of joy at the birth of Christ, a
+song of joy at the embracement of Christ, an assurance of joy at the
+death of Christ, and shall be the fulness of joy at the coming
+of Christ.
+
+
+
+WAR.
+
+War is a scourge of the wrath of God, which by famine, fire, or sword
+humbleth the spirits of the repentant, trieth the patience of the
+faithful, and hardeneth the hearts of the ungodly. It is the misery of
+time and the terror of Nature, the dispeopling of the earth and the ruin
+of her beauty. Her life is action, her food blood, her honour valour,
+and her joy conquest. She is valour's exercise and honour's adventure,
+reason's trouble and peace's enemy: she is the stout man's love and the
+weak man's fear, the poor man's toil and the rich man's plague: she is
+the armourer's benefactor and the chirurgeon's agent, the coward's ague
+and the desperate's overthrow. She is the wish of envy, the plague of
+them that wish her, the shipwreck of life, and the agent for death. The
+best of her is, that she is the seasoner of the body and the manager of
+the mind for the enduring of labour in the resolution of action. She
+thunders in the air, rips up the earth, cuts through the seas, and
+consumes with the fire: she is indeed the invention of malice, the work
+of mischief, the music of hell, and the dance of the devil. She makes
+the end of youth untimely and of age wretched, the city's sack and the
+country's beggary: she is the captain's pride and the captive's sorrow,
+the throat of blood and the grave of flesh. She is the woe of the world,
+the punishment of sin, the passage of danger, and the messenger of
+destruction. She is the wise man's warning and the fool's payment, the
+godly man's grief and the wicked man's game. In sum, so many are her
+wounds, so mortal her cures, so dangerous her course, and so devilish
+her devices, that I will wade no further in her rivers of blood, but
+only thus conclude in her description:--She is God's curse and man's
+misery, hell's practice and earth's hell.
+
+
+
+VALOUR.
+
+Valour is a 'virtue in the spirit which keeps the flesh in subjection,
+resolves without fear, and travails without fainting: she vows no
+villainy nor breaks her fidelity: she is patient in captivity and
+pitiful in conquest. Her gain is honour and desert her mean, fortune her
+scorn and folly her hate; wisdom is her guide and conquest her grace,
+clemency her praise and humility her glory: she is youth's ornament and
+age's honour, nature's blessing and virtue's love. Her life is
+resolution and her love victory, her triumph truth, and her fame virtue.
+Her arms are from antiquity and her coat full of honour, where the title
+of grace hath her heraldry from heaven. She makes a walk of war and a
+sport of danger, an ease of labour and a jest of death: she makes famine
+but abstinence, want but a patience, sickness but a purge, and death a
+puff. She is the maintainer of war, the general of an army, the terror
+of an enemy, and the glory of a camp. She is the nobleness of the mind
+and the strength of the body, the life of hope and the death of fear.
+With a handful of men she overthrows a multitude, and with a sudden
+amazement she discomfits a camp. She is the revenge of wrong and the
+defence of right, religion's champion and virtue's choice. In brief, let
+this suffice in her commendation:--She strengthened David and conquered
+Goliath, she overthrows her enemies and conquers herself.
+
+
+
+RESOLUTION.
+
+Resolution is the honour of valour, in the quarrel of virtue, for the
+defence of right and redress of wrong. She beats the march, pitcheth the
+battle, plants the ordnance, and maintains the fight. Her ear is stopped
+for dissuasions, her eye aims only at honour, her hand takes the sword
+of valour, and her heart thinks of nothing but victory. She gives the
+charge, makes the stand, assaults the fort, and enters the breach. She
+breaks the pikes, faceth the shot, damps the soldier, and defeats the
+army. She loseth no time, slips no occasion, dreads no danger, and cares
+for no force. She is valour's life and virtue's love, justice's honour
+and mercy's glory. She beats down castles, fires ships, wades through
+the sea, and walks through the world. She makes wisdom her guide and
+will her servant, reason her companion and honour her mistress. She is a
+blessing in Nature and a beauty in reason, a grace in invention and a
+glory in action. She studies no plots when her platform is set down, and
+defers no time when her hour is prefixed. She stands upon no helps when
+she knows her own force, and in the execution of her will she is a rock
+irremovable. She is the king's will without contradiction, and the
+judge's doom without exception, the scholar's profession without
+alteration, and the soldier's honour without comparison. In sum, so many
+are the grounds of her grace and the just causes of her commendation,
+that, leaving her worth to the description of better wits, I will in
+these few words conclude my conceit of her:--She is the stoutness of the
+heart and the strength of the mind, a gift of God and the glory of
+the world.
+
+
+
+HONOUR.
+
+Honour is a title or grace given by the spirit of virtue to the desert
+of valour in the defence of truth; it is wronged in baseness and abused
+in unworthiness, and endangered in wantonness and lost in wickedness. It
+nourisheth art and crowneth wit, graceth learning and glorifieth wisdom;
+in the heraldry of heaven it hath the richest coat, being in nature
+allied unto all the houses of grace, which in the heaven of heavens
+attend the King of kings. Her escutcheon is a heart, in which in the
+shield of faith she bears on the anchor of hope the helmet of salvation:
+she quarters with wisdom in the resolution of valour, and in the line of
+charity she is the house of justice. Her supporters are time and
+patience, her mantle truth, and her crest Christ treading upon the globe
+of the world, her impress _Corona mea Christus_. In brief, finding her
+state so high that I am not able to climb unto the praise of her
+perfection, I will leave her royalty to the register of most princely
+spirits, and in my humble heart thus only deliver my opinion of
+her:--She is virtue's due and grace's gift, valour's wealth and
+reason's joy.
+
+
+
+TRUTH.
+
+Truth is the glory of time and the daughter of eternity, a title of the
+highest grace, and a note of a divine nature. She is the life of
+religion, the light of love, the grace of wit, and the crown of wisdom:
+she is the beauty of valour, the brightness of honour, the blessing of
+reason, and the joy of faith. Her truth is pure gold, her time is right
+precious, her word is most gracious, and her will is most glorious. Her
+essence is in God and her dwelling with His servants, her will in His
+wisdom and her work to His glory. She is honoured in love and graced in
+constancy, in patience admired and in charity beloved. She is the
+angel's worship, the virgin's fame, the saint's bliss, and the martyr's
+crown: she is the king's greatness and his counsel's goodness, his
+subject's peace and his kingdom's praise: she is the life of learning
+and the light of law, the honour of trade and the grace of labour. She
+hath a pure eye, a plain hand, a piercing wit, and a perfect heart. She
+is wisdom's walk in the way of holiness, and takes up her rest but in
+the resolution of goodness. Her tongue never trips, her heart never
+faints, her hand never fails, and her faith never fears. Her church is
+without schism, her city without fraud, her court without vanity, and
+her kingdom without villainy. In sum, so infinite is her excellence in
+the construction of all sense, that I will thus only conclude in the
+wonder of her worth:--She is the nature of perfection in the perfection
+of Nature, where God in Christ shows the glory of Christianity.
+
+
+
+TIME.
+
+Time is a continual motion, which from the highest Mover hath his
+operation in all the subjects of Nature, according to their quality or
+disposition. He is in proportion like a circle, wherein he walketh with
+an even passage to the point of his prefixed place. He attendeth none,
+and yet is a servant to all; he is best employed by wisdom, and most
+abused by folly. He carrieth both the sword and the sceptre, for the use
+both of justice and mercy. He is present in all inventions, and cannot
+be spared from action. He is the treasury of graces in the memory of the
+wise, and brings them forth to the world upon necessity of their use. He
+openeth the windows of heaven to give light unto the earth, and spreads
+the cloak of the night to cover the rest of labour. He closeth the eye
+of Nature and waketh the spirit of reason; he travelleth through the
+mind, and is visible but to the eye of understanding. He is swifter than
+the wind, and yet is still as a stone; precious in his right use, but
+perilous in the contrary. He is soon found of the careful soul, and
+quickly missed in the want of his comfort: he is soon lost in the lack
+of employment, and not to be recovered without a world of endeavour. He
+is the true man's peace and the thief's perdition, the good man's
+blessing and the wicked man's curse. He is known to be, but his being
+unknown, but only in his being in a being above knowledge. He is a
+riddle not to be read but in the circumstance of description, his name
+better known than his nature, and he that maketh best use of him hath
+the best understanding of him. He is like the study of the philosopher's
+stone, where a man may see wonders and yet short of his expectation. He
+is at the invention of war, arms the soldier, maintains the quarrel, and
+makes the peace. He is the courtier's playfellow and the soldier's
+schoolmaster, the lawyer's gain and the merchant's hope. His life is
+motion and his love action, his honour patience and his glory
+perfection. He masketh modesty and blusheth virginity, honoureth
+humility and graceth charity. In sum, finding it a world to walk through
+the wonder of his worth, I will thus briefly deliver what I find truly
+of him:--He is the agent of the living and the register of the dead, the
+direction of God and a great work-master in the world.
+
+
+
+DEATH.
+
+Death is an ordinance of God for the subjecting of the world, which is
+limited to his time for the correction of pride: in his substance he is
+nothing, being but only ii deprivation, and in his true description a
+name without a nature. He is seen but in a picture, heard but in a tale,
+feared but in a passion, and felt but in a pinch. He is a terror but to
+the wicked, and a scarecrow but to the foolish; but to the wise a way of
+comfort, and to the godly the gate to life. He is the ease of pain and
+the end of sorrow, the liberty of the imprisoned and the joy of the
+faithful; it is both the wound of sin and the wages of sin, the sinner's
+fear and the sinner's doom. He is the sexton's agent and the hangman's
+revenue, the rich man's dirge and the mourner's merry-day. He is a
+course of time but uncertain till he come, and welcome but to such as
+are weary of their lives. It is a message from the physician when the
+patient is past cure, and if the writ be well made, it is a
+_supersedeas_ for all diseases. It is the heaven's stroke and the
+earth's steward, the follower of sickness and the forerunner to hell In
+sum, having no pleasure to ponder too much of the power of it, I will
+thus conclude my opinion of it:--It is a sting of sin and the terror of
+the wicked, the crown of the godly, the stair of vengeance, and a
+stratagem of the devil.
+
+
+
+FAITH.
+
+Faith is the hand of the soul which layeth hold of the promises of
+Christ in the mercy of the Almighty. She hath a bright eye and a holy
+ear, a clear heart and sure foot: she is the strength of hope, the trust
+of truth, the honour of amity, and the joy of love. She is rare among
+the sons of men and hardly found among the daughters of women; but among
+the sons of God she is a conveyance of their inheritance, and among the
+daughters of grace she is the assurance of their portions. Her dwelling
+is in the Church of God, her conversation with the saints of God, her
+delight with the beloved of God, and her life is in the love of God. She
+knows no falsehood, distrusts no truth, breaks no promise, and coins no
+excuse; but as bright as the sun, as swift as the wind, as sure as the
+rock, and as pure as the gold, she looks toward heaven but lives in the
+world, in the souls of the elect to the glory of election. She was
+wounded in Paradise by a dart of the devil, and healed of her hurt by
+the death of Christ Jesus. She is the poor man's credit and the rich
+man's praise, the wise man's care and the good man's cognisance. In sum,
+finding her worth in words hardly to be expressed, I will in these few
+words only deliver my opinion of her:--She is God's blessing and man's
+bliss, reason's comfort and virtue's glory.
+
+
+
+FEAR.
+
+Fear is a fruit of sin, which drove the first father of our flesh from
+the presence of God, and hath bred an imperfection in a number of the
+worse part of his posterity. It is the disgrace of nature, the foil of
+reason, the maim of wit, and the slur of understanding. It is the palsy
+of the spirit where the soul wanteth faith, and the badge of a coward
+that cannot abide the sight of a sword. It is weakness in nature and a
+wound in patience, the death of hope and the entrance into despair. It
+is children's awe and fools' amazement, a worm in conscience and a curse
+to wickedness. In brief, it makes the coward stagger, the liar stammer,
+the thief stumble, and the traitor start. It is a blot in arms, a blur
+in honour, the shame of a soldier, and the defeat of an army.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Breton's next little prose book, published in the following year,
+1616--year of the death of Shakespeare--was a set of Characters, "The
+Good and the Bad," without suggestion that they were built upon the
+lines of Bacon's Essays. Bacon's Essays first appeared as a set of ten
+in 1597, became a set of forty in the revised edition of 1612, and of
+fifty-eight in the edition of 1625, published a year before their
+author's death. In their sententious brevity Bacon's Essays have, of
+course, a style more nearly allied to the English Character Writing of
+the Seventeenth Century than to the Sixteenth Century Essays of
+Montaigne, which were altogether different in style, matter, and aim.
+This, for example, was Bacon's first Essay in the 1597 edition:--_
+
+
+
+OF STUDIES.
+
+Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, for abilities; their chief
+use for pastimes is in privateness and retiring, for ornaments in
+discourse, and for ability in judgment; for expert men can execute, but
+learned men are more fit to judge and censure. To spend too much time in
+them is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affectation; to make
+judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar; they perfect
+nature, and are themselves perfected by experience; crafty men contemn
+them, wise men use them, simple men admire them; for they teach not
+their own use, but that there is a wisdom without them and above them
+won by observation. Read not to contradict nor to believe, but to weigh
+and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and
+some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some are to be read only in
+parts, others to be read but curiously, and some few to be read wholly
+with diligence and attention. Reading maketh a full man, conference a
+ready, and writing an exact man; therefore, if a man write little, he
+had need of a great memory; if he confer little, he had need of a
+present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to
+seem to know that he doth not know. Histories make men wise; poets
+witty; the mathematics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral grave;
+logic and rhetoric able to contend.
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOOD AND THE BAD;
+
+OR,
+
+DESCRIPTIONS OF THE WORTHIES AND
+
+UNWORTHIES OF THIS AGE.
+
+BY NICHOLAS BRETON.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY KING.
+
+A worthy king is a figure of God, in the nature of government. He is the
+chief of men and the Church's champion, Nature's honour and earth's
+majesty: is the director of law and the strength of the same, the sword
+of justice and the sceptre of mercy, the glass of grace and the eye of
+honour, the terror of treason and the life of loyalty. His command is
+general and his power absolute, his frown a death and his favour a life:
+his charge is his subjects, his care their safety, his pleasure their
+peace, and his joy their love. He is not to be paralleled, because he is
+without equality, and the prerogative of his crown must not be
+contradicted. He is the Lord's anointed, and therefore must not be
+touched, and the head of a public body, and therefore must be preserved.
+He is a scourge of sin and a blessing of grace, God's vicegerent over
+His people, and under Him supreme governor. His safety must be his
+council's care, his health his subjects' prayer, his pleasure his peers'
+comfort, and his content his kingdom's gladness. His presence must be
+reverenced, his person attended, his court adorned, and his state
+maintained. His bosom must not be searched, his will not disobeyed, his
+wants not unsupplied, nor his place unregarded. In sum, he is more than
+a man, though not a god, and next under God to be honoured above man.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY KING.
+
+An unworthy king is the usurper of power, where tyranny in authority
+loseth the glory of majesty, while the fear of terror frighteneth love
+from obedience; for when the lion plays with the wolf, the lamb dies
+with the ewe. He is a messenger of wrath to be the scourge of sin, or
+the trial of patience in the hearts of the religious. He is a warrant of
+woe in the execution of his fury, and in his best temper a doubt of
+grace. He is a dispeopler of his kingdom and a prey to his enemies, an
+undelightful friend and a tormentor of himself. He knows no God, but
+makes an idol of Nature, and useth reason but to the ruin of sense. His
+care is but his will, his pleasure but his ease, his exercise but sin,
+and his delight but inhuman. His heaven is his pleasure, and his gold is
+his god. His presence is terrible, his countenance horrible, his words
+uncomfortable, and his actions intolerable. In sum, he is the foil of a
+crown, the disgrace of a court, the trouble of a council, and the plague
+of a kingdom.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY QUEEN.
+
+A worthy queen is the figure of a king who, under God in His grace, hath
+a great power over His people. She is the chief of women, the beauty of
+her court, and the grace of her sex in the royalty of her spirit. She is
+like the moon, that giveth light among the stars, and, but unto the sun,
+gives none place in her brightness. She is the pure diamond upon the
+king's finger, and the orient pearl unprizeable in his eye, the joy of
+the court in the comfort of the king, and the wealth of the kingdom in
+the fruit of her love. She is reason's honour in nature's grace, and
+wisdom's love in virtue's beauty. In sum, she is the handmaid of God,
+and the king's second self, and in his grace, the beauty of a kingdom.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PRINCE.
+
+A worthy prince is the hope of a kingdom, the richest jewel in a king's
+crown, and the fairest flower in the queen's garden. He is the joy of
+nature in the hope of honour, and the love of wisdom in the life of
+worthiness. In the secret carriage of his heart's intention, till his
+designs come to action, he is a dumb show to the world's imagination. In
+his wisdom he startles the spirits of expectation in his valour, he
+subjects the hearts of ambition in his virtue, he wins the love of the
+noblest, and in his bounty binds the service of the most sufficient. He
+is the crystal glass, where nature may see her comfort, and the book of
+reason, where virtue may read her honour. He is the morning star that
+hath light from the sun, and the blessed fruit of the tree of earth's
+paradise. He is the study of the wise in the state of honour, and is the
+subject of learning, the history of admiration. In sum, he is the note
+of wisdom, the aim of honour, and in the honour of virtue the hope of
+a kingdom.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY PRINCE.
+
+An unworthy prince is the fear of a kingdom. When will and power carry
+pride in impatience, in the close carriage of ambitious intention, he is
+like a fearful dream to a troubled spirit. In his passionate humours he
+frighteneth the hearts of the prudent, in the delight of vanities he
+loseth the love of the wise, and in the misery of avarice is served only
+with the needy. He is like a little mist before the rising of the sun,
+which, the more it grows, the less good it doth. He is the king's grief
+and the queen's sorrow, the court's trouble and the kingdom's curse. In
+sum, he is the seed of unhappiness, the fruit of ungodliness, the taste
+of bitterness, and the digestion of heaviness.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PRIVY COUNCILLOR.
+
+A worthy privy councillor is the pillar of a realm, in whose wisdom and
+care, under God and the king, stands the safety of a kingdom. He is the
+watch-tower to give warning of the enemy, and a hand of provision for
+the preservation of the state. He is an oracle in the king's ear, and a
+sword in the king's hand; an even weight in the balance of justice, and
+a light of grace in the love of truth. He is an eye of care in the
+course of law, a heart of love in his service to his sovereign, a mind
+of honour in the order of his service, and a brain of invention for the
+good of the commonwealth. His place is powerful while his service is
+faithful, and his honour due in the desert of his employment. In sum, he
+is as a fixed planet among the stars of the firmament, which through the
+clouds in the air shows the nature of his light.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY COUNCILLOR.
+
+An unworthy councillor is the hurt of a king and the danger of a state,
+when the weakness of judgment may commit an error, or the lack of care
+may give way to unhappiness. He is a wicked charm in the king's ear, a
+sword of terror in the advice of tyranny. His power is perilous in the
+partiality of will, and his heart full of hollowness in the protestation
+of love. Hypocrisy is the cover of his counterfeit religion, and
+traitorous invention is the agent of his ambition. He is the cloud of
+darkness that threateneth foul weather; and if it grow to a storm, it is
+fearful where it falls. He is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and
+worthy of death in disloyalty to his sovereign. In sum, he is an unfit
+person for the place of a councillor and an unworthy subject to look a
+king in the face.
+
+
+
+A NOBLEMAN.
+
+A nobleman is a mark of honour, where the eye of wisdom in the
+observation of desert sees the fruit of grace. He is the orient pearl
+that reason polisheth for the beauty of nature, and the diamond spark
+where divine grace gives virtue honour. He is the notebook of moral
+discipline, where the conceit of care may find the true courtier. He is
+the nurse of hospitality, the relief of necessity, the love of charity,
+and the life of bounty. He is learning's grace and valour's fame,
+wisdom's fruit and kindness' love. He is the true falcon that feeds on
+no carrion, the true horse that will be no hackney, the true dolphin
+that fears not the whale, and the true man of God that fears not the
+devil. In sum, he is the darling of nature in reason's philosophy, the
+loadstar of light in love's astronomy, the ravishing sweet in the music
+of honour, and the golden number in grace's arithmetic.
+
+
+
+AN UNNOBLE MAN.
+
+An unnoble man is the grief of reason, when the title of honour is put
+upon the subject of disgrace; when either the imperfection of wit or the
+folly of will shows an unfitness in nature for the virtue of
+advancement. He is the eye of baseness and spirit of grossness, and in
+the demean of rudeness the scorn of nobleness. He is a suspicion of a
+right generation in the nature of his disposition, and a miserable
+plague to a feminine patience. Wisdom knows him not, learning bred him
+not, virtue loves him not, and honour fits him not. Prodigality or
+avarice are the notes of his inclination, and folly or mischief are the
+fruits of his invention. In sum, he is the shame of his name, the
+disgrace of his place, the blot of his title, and the ruin of his house.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY BISHOP.
+
+A worthy bishop is an ambassador from God unto man, in the midst of war
+to make a treaty of peace; who with a general pardon upon confession of
+sin, upon the fruit of repentance gives assurance of comfort. He brings
+tidings from heaven of happiness to the world, where the patience of
+mercy calls nature to grace. He is the silver trumpet in the music of
+love, where faith hath a life that never fails the beloved. He is the
+director of life in the laws of God, and the chirurgeon of the soul in
+lancing the sores of sin; the terror of the reprobate in pronouncing
+their damnation, and the joy of the faithful in the assurance of their
+salvation. In sum, he is in the nature of grace, worthy of honour; and
+in the message of life, worthy of love; a continual agent betwixt God
+and man, in the preaching of His Word and prayer for His people.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY BISHOP.
+
+An unworthy bishop is the disgrace of learning, when the want of reading
+or the abuse of understanding, in the speech of error may beget
+idolatry. He is God's enemy, in the hurt of His people, and his own woe
+in abuse of the Word of God. He is the shadow of a candle that gives no
+light, or, if it be any, it is but to lead into darkness. The sheep are
+unhappy that live in his fold, when they shall either starve or feed on
+ill ground. He breeds a war in the wits of his audience when his life is
+contrary to the nature of his instruction. He lives in a room where he
+troubles a world, and in the shadow of a saint is little better than a
+devil. He makes religion a cloak of sin, and with counterfeit humility
+covereth incomparable pride. He robs the rich to relieve the poor, and
+makes fools of the wise with the imagination of his worth. He is all for
+the Church but nothing for God, and for the ease of nature loseth the
+joy of reason. In sum, he is the picture of hypocrisy, the spirit of
+heresy, a wound in the Church, and a woe in the world.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY JUDGE.
+
+A judge is a doom, whose breath is mortal upon the breach of law, where
+criminal offences must be cut off from a commonwealth. He is a sword of
+justice in the hand of a king, and an eye of wisdom in the walk of a
+kingdom. His study is a square for the keeping of proportion betwixt
+command and obedience, that the king may keep his crown on his head, and
+the subject his head on his shoulders. He is feared but of the foolish,
+and cursed but of the wicked; but of the wise honoured, and of the
+gracious beloved. He is a surveyor of rights and revenger of wrongs, and
+in the judgment of truth the honour of justice. In sum, his word is law,
+his power grace, his labour peace, and his desert honour.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY JUDGE.
+
+An unworthy judge is the grief of justice in the error of judgment, when
+through ignorance or will the death of innocency lies upon the breath of
+opinion. He is the disgrace of law in the desert of knowledge, and the
+plague of power in the misery of oppression. He is more moral than
+divine in the nature of policy, and more judicious than just in the
+carriage of his conceit. His charity is cold when partiality is
+resolved; when the doom of life lies on the verdict of a jury, with a
+stern look he frighteth an offender and gives little comfort to a poor
+man's cause. The golden weight overweighs his grace, when angels play
+the devils in the hearts of his people. In sum, where Christ is preached
+he hath no place in His Church; and in this kingdom out of doubt God
+will not suffer any such devil to bear sway.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY KNIGHT.
+
+A worthy knight is a spirit of proof in the advancement of virtue, by
+the desert of honour, in the eye of majesty. In the field he gives
+courage to his soldiers, in the court grace to his followers, in the
+city reputation to his person, and in the country honour to his house.
+His sword and his horse make his way to his house, and his armour of
+best proof is an undaunted spirit. The music of his delight is the
+trumpet and the drum, and the paradise of his eye is an army defeated;
+the relief of the oppressed makes his conquest honourable, and the
+pardon of the submissive makes him famous in mercy. He is in nature mild
+and in spirit stout, in reason judicious, and in all honourable. In sum,
+he is a yeoman's commander and a gentleman's superior, a nobleman's
+companion and a prince's worthy favourite.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY KNIGHT.
+
+An unworthy knight is the defect of nature in the title of honour, when
+to maintain valour his spurs have no rowels nor his sword a point. His
+apparel is of proof, that may wear like his armour, or like an old
+ensign that hath his honour in rags. It may be he is the tailor's
+trouble in fitting an ill shape, or a mercer's wonder in wearing of
+silk. In the court he stands for a cipher, and among ladies like an owl
+among birds. He is worshipped only for his wealth, and if he be of the
+first head, he shall be valued by his wit, when, if his pride go beyond
+his purse, his title will be a trouble to him. In sum, he is the child
+of folly and the man of Gotham, the blind man of pride and the fool of
+imagination. But in the court of honour are no such apes, and I hope
+that this kingdom will breed no such asses.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY GENTLEMAN.
+
+A worthy gentleman is a branch of the tree of honour, whose fruits are
+the actions of virtue, as pleasing to the eye of judgment as tasteful to
+the spirit of understanding. Whatsoever he doeth it is not forced,
+except it be evil, which either through ignorance unwillingly, or
+through compulsion unwillingly, he falls upon. He is in nature kind, in
+demeanour courteous, in allegiance loyal, and in religion zealous; in
+service faithful, and in reward bountiful. He is made of no baggage
+stuff, nor for the wearing of base people; but it is woven by the spirit
+of wisdom to adorn the court of honour. His apparel is more comely than
+costly, and his diet more wholesome than excessive; his exercise more
+healthful than painful, and his study more for knowledge than pride; his
+love not wanton nor common, his gifts not niggardly nor prodigal, and
+his carriage neither apish nor sullen. In sum, he is an approver of his
+pedigree by the nobleness of his passage, and in the course of his life
+an example to his posterity.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY GENTLEMAN.
+
+An unworthy gentleman is the scoff of wit and the scorn of honour, where
+more wealth than wit is worshipped of simplicity; who spends more in
+idleness than would maintain thrift, or hides more in misery than might
+purchase honour; whose delights are vanities and whose pleasures
+fopperies, whose studies fables and whose exercise worse than follies.
+His conversation is base, and his conference ridiculous; his affections
+ungracious, and his actions ignominious; his apparel out of fashion, and
+his diet out of order; his carriage out of square, and his company out
+of request. In sum, he is like a mongrel dog with a velvet collar, a
+cart-horse with a golden saddle, a buzzard kite with a falcon's bells,
+or a baboon with a pied jerkin.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY LAWYER.
+
+A worthy lawyer is the student of knowledge how to bring controversies
+into a conclusion of peace, and out of ignorance to gain understanding.
+He divides time into uses, and cases into constructions. He lays open
+obscurities, and is praised for the speech of truth; and in the court of
+conscience pleads much _in forma pauperis_, for small fees. He is a mean
+for the preservation of titles and the holding of possessions, and a
+great instrument of peace in the judgment of impartiality. He is the
+client's hope in his case's pleading, and his heart's comfort in a happy
+issue. He is the finder out of tricks in the craft of ill conscience,
+and the joy of the distressed in the relief of justice. In sum, he is a
+maker of peace among spirits of contention, and a continuer of quiet in
+the execution of the law.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY LAWYER.
+
+An unlearned and unworthily called a lawyer, is the figure of a
+foot-post, who carries letters but knows not what is in them, only can
+read the superscriptions to direct them to their right owners. So
+trudgeth this simple clerk, that can scarce read a case when it is
+written, with his handful of papers from one court to another, and from
+one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good payment for his
+pains he will be so saucy as to call himself a solicitor. But what a
+taking are poor clients in when this too much trusted cunning companion,
+better read in Piers Plowman than in Plowden, and in the play of
+"Richard the Third" than in the pleas of Edward the Fourth, persuades
+them all is sure when he is sure of all! and in what a misery are the
+poor men when upon a _Nihil dicit_, because indeed this poor fellow
+_Nihil potest dicere_, they are in danger of an execution before they
+know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish all such more wicked than
+witty unlearned in the law and abusers of the same, to look a little
+better into their consciences, and to leave their crafty courses, lest
+when the law indeed lays them open, instead of carrying papers in their
+hands, they wear not papers on their heads; and instead of giving ear to
+their client's causes or rather eyes into their purses, they have never
+an ear left to hear withal, nor good eye to see withal, or at least
+honest face to look out withal; but as the grasshoppers of Egypt, be
+counted the caterpillars of England, and not the fox that stole the
+goose, but the great fox that stole the farm from the gander.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY SOLDIER.
+
+A worthy soldier is the child of valour, who was born for the service of
+necessity, and to bear the ensign of honour in the actions of worth. He
+is the dyer of the earth with blood, and the ruin of the erections of
+pride. He is the watch of wit, the advantage of time, and the
+executioner of wrath upon the wilful offender. He disputes questions
+with the point of a sword, and prefers death to indignities. He is a
+lion to ambition, and a lamb to submission; he hath hope fast by the
+hand, and treads upon the head of fear. He is the king's champion, and
+the kingdom's guard; peace's preserver, and rebellion's terror. He makes
+the horse trample at the sound of a trumpet, and leads on to a battle as
+if he were going to a breakfast. He knows not the nature of cowardice,
+for his rest is set up upon resolution; his strongest fortification is
+his mind, which beats off the assaults of idle humours, and his life is
+the passage of danger, where an undaunted spirit stoops to no fortune.
+With his arms he wins his arms, and by his desert in the field his
+honour in the court. In sum, in the truest manhood he is the true man,
+and in the creation of honour a most worthy creature.
+
+
+
+AN UNTRAINED SOLDIER.
+
+An untrained soldier is like a young hound, that when he first falls to
+hunt, he knows not how to lay his nose to the earth; who, having his
+name but in a book, and marched twice about a market-place, when he
+comes to a piece of service knows not how to bestow himself. He marches
+as if he were at plough, carries his pike like a pike-staff, and his
+sword before him for fear of losing from his side. If he be a shot, he
+will be rather ready to say a grace over his piece, and so to discharge
+his hands of it, than to learn how to discharge it with a grace. He puts
+on his armour over his ears, like a waistcoat, and wears his morion like
+a nightcap. When he is quartered in the field, he looks for his bed, and
+when he sees his provant, he is ready to cry for his victuals; and ere
+he know well where he is, wish heartily he were at home again, with his
+head hanging down as if his heart were in his hose. He will sleep till a
+drum or a deadly bullet awake him; and so carry himself in all companies
+that, till martial discipline have seasoned his understanding, he is
+like a cipher among figures, an owl among birds, a wise man among fools,
+and a shadow among men.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY PHYSICIAN.
+
+A worthy physician is the enemy of sickness, in purging nature from
+corruption. His action is most in feeling of pulses, and his discourses
+chiefly of the natures of diseases. He is a great searcher out of
+simples, and accordingly makes his composition. He persuades abstinence
+and patience for the benefit of health, while purging and bleeding are
+the chief courses of his counsel. The apothecary and the chirurgeon are
+his two chief attendants, with whom conferring upon time, he grows
+temperate in his cures. Surfeits and wantonness are great agents for his
+employment, when by the secret of his skill out of others' weakness he
+gathers his own strength. In sum, he is a necessary member for an
+unnecessary malady, to find a disease and to cure the diseased.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY PHYSICIAN.
+
+An unlearned and so unworthy physician is a kind of horse-leech, whose
+cure is most in drawing of blood, and a desperate purge, either to cure
+or kill, as it hits. His discourse is most of the cures that he hath
+done, and them afar of; and not a receipt under a hundred pounds, though
+it be not worth three halfpence. Upon the market-day he is much haunted
+with urinals, where if he find anything (though he know nothing), yet he
+will say somewhat, which if it hit to some purpose, with a few fustian
+words he will seem a piece of strange stuff. He is never without old
+merry tales and stale jests to make old folks laugh, and comfits or
+plums in his pocket to please little children; yea, and he will be
+talking of complexions, though he know nothing of their dispositions;
+and if his medicine do a feat, he is a made man among fools; but being
+wholly unlearned, and ofttimes unhonest, let me thus briefly describe
+him:--He is a plain kind of mountebank and a true quack-salver, a danger
+for the sick to deal withal, and a dizzard in the world to talk withal.
+
+
+
+A WORTHY MERCHANT.
+
+A worthy merchant is the heir of adventure, whose hopes hang much upon
+wind. Upon a wooden horse he rides through the world, and in a merry
+gale he makes a path through the seas. He is a discoverer of countries,
+and a finder out of commodities, resolute in his attempts, and royal in
+his expenses. He is the life of traffic and the maintainer of trade, the
+sailor's master and the soldier's friend. He is the exercise of the
+exchange, the honour of credit, the observation of time, and the
+understanding of thrift. His study is number, his care his accounts, his
+comfort his conscience, and his wealth his good name. He fears not
+Scylla, and sails close by Charybdis, and having beaten out a storm,
+rides at rest in a harbour. By his sea-gain he makes his land purchase,
+and by the knowledge of trade finds the key of treasure. Out of his
+travels he makes his discourses, and from his eye observations brings
+the models of architectures. He plants the earth with foreign fruits,
+and knows at home what is good abroad. He is neat in apparel, modest in
+demeanour, dainty in diet, and civil in his carriage. In sum, he is the
+pillar of a city, the enricher of a country, the furnisher of a court,
+and the worthy servant of a king.
+
+
+
+AN UNWORTHY MERCHANT.
+
+An unworthy merchant is a kind of pedlar, who (with the help of a
+broker) gets more by his wit than by his honesty. He doth sometime use
+to give out money to gamesters, be paid in post, upon a hand at dice.
+Sometime he gains more by baubles than better stuffs, and rather than
+fail will adventure a false oath for a fraudulent gain. He deals with no
+wholesale, but all his honesty is at one word; as for wares and weights,
+he knows how to hold the balance, and for his conscience he is not
+ignorant what to do with it. His travel is most by land, for he fears to
+be too busy with the water, and whatever his ware may be, he will be
+sure of his money. The most of his wealth is in a pack of trifles, and
+for his honesty I dare not pass my word for him. If he be rich, it is
+ten to one of his pride; and if he be poor, he breaks without his fast.
+In sum, he is the disgrace of a merchant, the dishonour of a city, the
+discredit of his parish, and the dislike of all.
+
+
+
+A GOOD MAN.
+
+A good man is an image of God, lord over all His creatures, and created
+only for His service. He is made capable of reason to know the
+properties of nature, and by the inspiration of grace to know things
+supernatural. He hath a face always to look upward, and a soul that
+gives life to all the senses. He lives in the world as a stranger, while
+heaven is the home of his spirit. His life is but the labour of sense,
+and his death the way to his rest. His study is the Word of truth, and
+his delight is in the law of love. His provision is but to serve
+necessity, and his care the exercise of charity. He is more conversant
+with the divine prophets than the world's profits, and makes the joy of
+his soul in the tidings of his salvation. He is wise in the best wit,
+and wealthy in the richest treasure. His hope is but the comfort of
+mercy, and his fear but the hurt of sin. Pride is the hate of his soul,
+and patience the worker of his peace. His guide is the wisdom of grace,
+and his travel but to the Heavenly Jerusalem. In sum, he is the elect of
+God, the blessing of grace, the seed of love, and the fruit of life.
+
+
+
+AN ATHEIST OR MOST BAD MAN.
+
+An atheist is a figure of desperation, who dare do anything even to his
+soul's damnation. He is in nature a dog, in wit an ass, in passion a
+bedlam, and in action a devil. He makes sin a jest, grace a humour,
+truth a fable, and peace a cowardice. His horse is his pride, his sword
+is his castle, his apparel his riches, and his punk his paradise. He
+makes robbery his purchase, lechery his solace, mirth his exercise, and
+drunkenness his glory. He is the danger of society, the love of vanity,
+the hate of charity, and the shame of humanity. He is God's enemy, his
+parents' grief, his country's plague, and his own confusion. He spoils
+that is necessary and spends that is needless. He spits at the gracious
+and spurns the godly. The tavern is his palace and his belly is his god;
+a whore is his mistress and the devil is his master. Oaths are his
+graces, wounds his badges, shifts are his practices, and beggary his
+payments. He knows not God, nor thinks of heaven, but walks through the
+world as a devil towards hell. Virtue knows him not, honesty finds him
+not, wisdom loves him not, and honour regards him not. He is but the
+cutler's friend and the chirurgeon's agent, the thief's companion and
+the hangman's benefactor. He was begotten untimely and born unhappily,
+lives ungraciously and dies unchristianly. He is of no religion nor good
+fashion; hardly good complexion, and most vile in condition. In sum, he
+is a monster among men, a Jew among Christians, a fool among wise men,
+and a devil among saints.
+
+
+
+A WISE MAN.
+
+A wise man is a clock that never strikes but at his home, or rather like
+a dial that, being set right with the sun, keeps his true course in his
+compass. So the heart of a wise man, set in the course of virtue by the
+spirit of grace, runs the course of life in the compass of eternal
+comfort. He measureth time and tempereth nature, employeth reason and
+commandeth sense. He hath a deaf ear to the charmer, a close mouth to
+the slanderer, an open hand to charity, and an humble mind to piety.
+Observation and experience are his reason's labours, and patience with
+conscience are the lines of his love's measure; contemplation and
+meditation are his spirit's exercise, and God and His Word are the joy
+of his soul. He knows not the pride of prosperity nor the misery of
+adversity, but takes the one as the day, the other as the night. He
+knows no fortune, but builds all upon providence, and through the hope
+of faith hath a fair aim at heaven. His words are weighed with judgment,
+and his actions are the examples of honour. He is fit for the seat of
+authority, and deserves the reverence of subjection. He is precious in
+the counsel of a king, and mighty in the sway of a kingdom. In sum, he
+is God's servant and the world's master, a stranger upon earth, and a
+citizen in heaven.
+
+
+
+A FOOL.
+
+A fool is the abortive of wit, where nature had more power than reason
+in bringing forth the fruit of imperfection. His actions are most in
+extremes, and the scope of his brain is but ignorance. Only nature hath
+taught him to feed, and use to labour without knowledge. He is a kind of
+a shadow of a better substance, or like the vision of a dream that
+yields nothing awake. He is commonly known by one or two special names,
+derived from their qualities, as from wilful Will-fool, and Hodge from
+hodge-podge; all meats are alike, all are one to a fool. His exercises
+are commonly divided into four parts, eating and drinking, sleeping and
+laughing; four things are his chief loves, a bauble and a bell, a
+coxcomb and a pied-coat. He was begotten in unhappiness, born to no
+goodness, lives but in beastliness, and dies but in forgetfulness. In
+sum, he is the shame of nature, the trouble of wit, the charge of
+charity, and the loss of liberality.
+
+
+
+AN HONEST MAN.
+
+An honest man is like a plain coat, which, without welt or guard,
+keepeth the body from wind and weather, and being well made, fits him
+best that wears it; and where the stuff is more regarded than the
+fashion, there is not much ado in the putting of it on. So the mind of
+an honest man, without trick or compliments, keeps the credit of a good
+conscience from the scandal of the world and the worm of iniquity,
+which, being wrought by the workman of heaven, fits him best that wears
+it to his service; and where virtue is more esteemed than vanity, it is
+put on and worn with that ease that shows the excellency of the workman.
+His study is virtue, his word truth, his life the passage of patience,
+and his death the rest of his spirit. His travail is a pilgrimage, his
+way is plainness, his pleasure peace, and his delight is love. His care
+is his conscience, his wealth is his credit, his charge is his chanty,
+and his content is his kingdom. In sum, he is a diamond among jewels, a
+phrenix among birds, an unicorn among beasts, and a saint among men.
+
+
+
+A KNAVE.
+
+A knave is the scum of wit and the scorn of reason, the hate of wisdom
+and the dishonour of humanity. He is the danger of society and the hurt
+of amity, the infection of youth and the corruption of age. He is a
+traitor to affiance and abuse to employment, and a rule of villainy in a
+plot of mischief. He hath a cat's eye and a bear's paw, a siren's tongue
+and a serpent's sting. His words are lies, his oaths perjuries, his
+studies subtilties, and his practices villainies; his wealth is his wit,
+his honour is his wealth, his glory is his gain, and his god is his
+gold. He is no man's friend and his own enemy; cursed on earth and
+banished from heaven. He was begotten ungraciously, born untimely, lives
+dishonestly, and dies shamefully. His heart is a puddle of poison, his
+tongue a sting of iniquity, his brain a distiller of deceit, and his
+conscience a compass of hell. In sum, he is a dog in disposition, a fox
+in wit, a wolf in his prey, and a devil in his pride.
+
+
+
+AN USURER.
+
+An usurer is a figure of misery, who hath made himself a slave to his
+money. His eye is closed from pity, and his hand from charity; his ear
+from compassion, and his heart from piety. While he lives he is the hate
+of a Christian, and when he dies he goes with horror to hell. His study
+is sparing, and his care is getting; his fear is wanting, and his death
+is losing. His diet is either fasting or poor fare, his clothing the
+hangman's wardrobe, his house the receptacle of thievery, and his music
+the clinking of his money. He is a kind of cancer that with the teeth of
+interest eats the hearts of the poor, and a venomous fly that sucks out
+the blood of any flesh that he lights on. In sum, he is a servant of
+dross, a slave to misery, an agent for hell, and a devil in the world.
+
+
+
+A BEGGAR.
+
+A beggar is the child of idleness, whose life is a resolution of ease.
+His travail is most in the highways, and his rendezvous is commonly in
+an ale-house. His study is to counterfeit impotency, and his practice to
+cozen simplicity of charity. The juice of the malt is the liquor of his
+life, and at bed and at board a louse is his companion. He fears no such
+enemy as a constable, and being acquainted with the stocks, must visit
+them as he goes by them. He is a drone that feeds upon the labours of
+the bee, and unhappily begotten that is born for no goodness. His staff
+and his scrip are his walking furniture, and what he lacks in meat he
+will have out in drink. He is a kind of caterpillar that spoils much
+good fruit, and an unprofitable creature to live in a commonwealth. He
+is seldom handsome and often noisome, always troublesome and never
+welcome. He prays for all and preys upon all; begins with blessing but
+ends often with cursing. If he have a licence he shows it with a grace,
+but if he have none he is submissive to the ground. Sometime he is a
+thief, but always a rogue, and in the nature of his profession the shame
+of humanity. In sum, he is commonly begot in a bush, born in a barn,
+lives in a highway, and dies in a ditch.
+
+
+
+A VIRGIN.
+
+A virgin is the beauty of nature, where the spirit gracious makes the
+creature glorious. She is the love of virtue, the honour of reason, the
+grace of youth, and the comfort of age. Her study is holiness, her
+exercise goodness, her grace humility, and her love is charity. Her
+countenance is modesty, her speech is truth, her wealth grace, and her
+fame constancy. Her virtue continence, her labour patience, her diet
+abstinence, and her care conscience. Her conversation heavenly, her
+meditations angel-like, her prayers devout, and her hopes divine: her
+parents' joy, her kindred's honour, her country's fame, and her own
+felicity. She is the blessed of the highest, the praise of the
+worthiest, the love of the noblest, and the nearest to the best. She is
+of creatures the rarest, of women the chiefest, of nature the purest,
+and of wisdom the choicest. Her life is a pilgrimage, her death but a
+passage, her description a wonder, and her name an honour. In sum, she
+is the daughter of glory, the mother of grace, the sister of love, and
+the beloved of life.
+
+
+
+A WANTON WOMAN.
+
+A wanton woman is the figure of imperfection; in nature an ape, in
+quality a wagtail, in countenance a witch, and in condition a kind of
+devil. Her beck is a net, her word a charm, her look an illusion, and
+her company a confusion. Her life is the play of idleness, her diet the
+excess of dainties, her love the change of vanities, and her exercise
+the invention of follies. Her pleasures are fancies, her studies
+fashions, her delight colours, and her wealth her clothes. Her care is
+to deceive, her comfort her company, her house is vanity, and her bed is
+ruin. Her discourses are fables, her vows dissimulations, her conceits
+subtleties, and her contents varieties. She would she knows not what,
+and spends she cares not what, she spoils she sees not what, and doth
+she thinks not what. She is youth's plague and age's purgatory, time's
+abuse and reason's trouble. In sum, she is a spice of madness, a spark
+of mischief, a touch of poison, and a fear of destruction.
+
+
+
+A QUIET WOMAN.
+
+A quiet woman is like a still wind, which neither chills the body nor
+blows dust in the face. Her patience is a virtue that wins the heart of
+love, and her wisdom makes her will well worthy regard. She fears God
+and flieth sin, showeth kindness and loveth peace. Her tongue is tied to
+discretion, and her heart is the harbour of goodness. She is a comfort
+of calamity and in prosperity a companion, a physician in sickness and a
+musician in help. Her ways are the walk toward heaven, and her guide is
+the grace of the Almighty. She is her husband's down-bed, where his
+heart lies at rest, and her children's glass in the notes of her grace;
+her servants' honour in the keeping of her house, and her neighbours'
+example in the notes of a good nature. She scorns fortune and loves
+virtue, and out of thrift gathereth charity. She is a turtle in her
+love, a lamb in her meekness, a saint in her heart, and an angel in her
+soul. In sum, she is a jewel unprizeable and a joy unspeakable, a
+comfort in nature incomparable, and a wife in the world unmatchable.
+
+
+
+AN UNQUIET WOMAN.
+
+An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose demeanour is not to be
+described but in extremities. Her voice is the screeching of an owl, her
+eye the poison of a cockatrice, her hand the claw of a crocodile, and
+her heart a cabinet of horror. She is the grief of nature, the wound of
+wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of time. Her pride is
+unsupportable, her anger unquenchable, her will unsatiable, and her
+malice unmatchable. She fears no colours, she cares for no counsel, she
+spares no persons, nor respects any time. Her command is _must_, her
+reason _will_, her resolution _shall_, and her satisfaction _so_. She
+looks at no law and thinks of no lord, admits no command and keeps no
+good order. She is a cross but not of Christ, and a word but not of
+grace; a creature but not of wisdom, and a servant but not of God. In
+sum, she is the seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of
+bitterness, and the digestion of death.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE.
+
+A good wife is a world of wealth, where just cause of content makes a
+kingdom in conceit. She is the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence,
+the hand of labour, and the heart of love; a companion of kindness, a
+mistress of passion, an exercise of patience, and an example of
+experience. She is the kitchen physician, the chamber comfort, the
+hall's care, and the parlour's grace. She is the dairy's neatness, the
+brew-house's wholesomeness, the garner's provision and the garden's
+plantation. Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind
+virtuous, and her soul gracious. She is her husband's jewel, her
+children's joy, her neighbour's love, and her servant's honour. She is
+poverty's prayer and charity's praise, religion's love and devotion's
+zeal. She is a care of necessity and a course of thrift, a book of
+housewifery and a mirror of modesty. In sum, she is God's blessing and
+man's happiness, earth's honour and heaven's creature.
+
+
+
+AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.
+
+An effeminate fool is the figure of a baby. He loves nothing but gay, to
+look in a glass, to keep among wenches, and to play with trifles; to
+feed on sweetmeats and to be danced in laps, to be embraced in arms, and
+to be kissed on the cheek; to talk idly, to look demurely, to go nicely,
+and to laugh continually; to be his mistress' servant, and her maid's
+master, his father's love and his mother's none-child; to play on a
+fiddle and sing a love-song; to wear sweet gloves and look on fine
+things; to make purposes and write verses, devise riddles and tell lies;
+to follow plays and study dances, to hear news and buy trifles; to sigh
+for love and weep for kindness, and mourn for company and be sick for
+fashion; to ride in a coach and gallop a hackney, to watch all night and
+sleep out the morning; to lie on a bed and take tobacco, and to send his
+page of an idle message to his mistress; to go upon gigs, to have his
+ruffs set in print, to pick his teeth, and play with a puppet. In sum,
+he is a man-child and a woman's man, a gaze of folly, and
+wisdom's grief.
+
+
+
+A PARASITE.
+
+A parasite is the image of iniquity, who for the gain of dross is
+devoted to all villainy. He is a kind of thief in committing of
+burglary, when he breaks into houses with his tongue and picks pockets
+with his flattery. His face is brazen that he cannot blush, and his
+hands are limed to catch hold what he can light on. His tongue is a bell
+(but not of the church, except it be the devil's) to call his parish to
+his service. He is sometimes a pander to carry messages of ill meetings,
+and perhaps hath some eloquence to persuade sweetness in sin. He is like
+a dog at a door while the devils dance in the chamber, or like a spider
+in the house-top that lives on the poison below. He is the hate of
+honesty and the abuse of beauty, the spoil of youth and the misery of
+age. In sum, he is a danger in a court, a cheater in a city, a jester in
+the country, and a jackanapes in all.
+
+
+
+A DRUNKARD.
+
+A drunkard is a known adjective, for he cannot stand alone by himself;
+yet in his greatest weakness a great trier of strength, whether health
+or sickness will have the upper hand in a surfeit. He is a spectacle of
+deformity and a shame of humanity, a view of sin and a grief of nature.
+He is the annoyance of modesty and the trouble of civility, the spoil of
+wealth and the spite of reason. He is only the brewer's agent and the
+alehouse benefactor, the beggar's companion and the constable's trouble.
+He is his wife's woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbours' scoff, and
+his own shame. In sum, he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a
+picture of a beast, and a monster of a man.
+
+
+
+A COWARD.
+
+A coward is the child of fear. He was begotten in cold blood, when
+Nature had much ado to make up a creature like a man. His life is a kind
+of sickness, which breeds a kind of palsy in the joints, and his death
+the terror of his conscience, with the extreme weakness of his faith. He
+loves peace as his life, for he fears a sword in his soul. If he cut his
+finger he looketh presently for the sign, and if his head ache he is
+ready to make his will. A report of a cannon strikes him flat on his
+face, and a clap of thunder makes him a strange metamorphosis. Rather
+than he will fight he will be beaten, and if his legs will help him he
+will put his arms to no trouble. He makes love commonly with his purse,
+and brags most of his maidenhead. He will not marry but into a quiet
+family, and not too fair a wife, to avoid quarrels. If his wife frown
+upon him he sighs, and if she give him an unkind word he weeps. He loves
+not the horns of a bull nor the paws of a bear, and if a dog bark he
+will not come near the house. If he be rich he is afraid of thieves, and
+if he be poor he will be slave to a beggar. In sum, he is the shame of
+manhood, the disgrace of nature, the scorn of reason, and the hate
+of honour.
+
+
+
+AN HONEST POOR MAN.
+
+An honest poor man is the proof of misery, where patience is put to the
+trial of her strength to endure grief without passion, in starving with
+concealed necessity, or standing in the adventures of charity. If he be
+married, want rings in his ears and woe watereth his eyes. If single, he
+droppeth with the shame of beggary, or dies with the passion of penury.
+Of the rich he is shunned like infection, and of the poor learns but a
+heart-breaking profession. His bed is the earth and the heaven is his
+canopy, the sun is his summer's comfort and the moon is his winter
+candle. His sighs are the notes of his music, and his song is like the
+swan before her death. His study, his patience; and his exercise,
+prayer: his diet the herbs of the earth, and his drink the water of the
+river. His travel is the walk of the woful and his horse Bayard of ten
+toes: his apparel but the clothing of nakedness, and his wealth but the
+hope of heaven. He is a stranger in the world, for no man craves his
+acquaintance; and his funeral is without ceremony, when there is no
+mourning for the miss of him: yet may he be in the state of election and
+in the life of love, and more rich in grace than the greatest of the
+world. In sum, he is the grief of Nature, the sorrow of reason, the pity
+of wisdom, and the charge of charity.
+
+
+
+A JUST MAN.
+
+A just man is the child of truth, begotten by virtue and kindness; when
+Nature in the temper of the spirit made even the balance of
+indifference. His eye is clear from blindness and his hand from bribery,
+his will from wilfulness and his heart from wickedness; his word and
+deed are all one; his life shows the nature of his love, his care is the
+charge of his conscience, and his comfort the assurance of his
+salvation. In the seat of justice he is the grace of the law, and in the
+judgment of right the honour of reason. He fears not the power of
+authority to equal justice with mercy, and joys but in the judgment of
+grace, to see the execution of justice. His judgment is worthy of
+honour, and his wisdom is gracious in truth. His honour is famous in
+virtue, and his virtue is precious in example. In sum, he is a spirit of
+understanding, a brain of knowledge, a heart of wisdom, and a soul of
+blessedness.
+
+
+
+A REPENTANT SINNER.
+
+A repentant sinner is the child of grace, who, being born for service of
+God, makes no reckoning of the mastership of the world, yet doth he
+glorify God in the beholding of His creatures, and in giving praise to
+His holy name in the admiration of His workmanship. He is much of the
+nature of an angel who, being sent into the world but to do the will of
+his Master, is ever longing to be at home with his fellows. He desires
+nothing but that is necessary, and delighteth in nothing that is
+transitory; but contemplates more than he can conceive, and meditates
+only upon the word of the Almighty. His senses are the tirers of his
+spirit, while in the course of nature his soul can find no rest. He
+shakes off the rags of sin, and is clothed with the robe of virtue. He
+puts off Adam, and puts on Christ. His heart is the anvil of truth,
+where the brain of his wisdom beats the thoughts of his mind till they
+be fit for the service of his Maker. His labour is the travail of love,
+by the rule of grace to find the highway to heaven. His fear is greater
+than his love of the world, and his love is greater than his fear of
+God. In sum, he is in the election of love, in the books of life, an
+angel incarnate and a blessed creature.
+
+
+
+A REPROBATE.
+
+A reprobate is the child of sin who, being born for the service of the
+devil, cares not what villainy he does in the world. His wit is always
+in a maze, for his courses are ever out of order; and while his will
+stands for his wisdom, the best that falls out of him is a fool. He
+betrays the trust of the simple, and sucks out the blood of the
+innocent. His breath is the fume of blasphemy, and his tongue the
+firebrand of hell His desires are the destruction of the virtuous, and
+his delights are the traps to damnation. He bathes in the blood of
+murder, and sups up the broth of iniquity. He frighteth the eyes of the
+godly, and disturbeth the hearts of the religious. He marreth the wits
+of the wise, and is hateful to the souls of the gracious. In sum, he is
+an inhuman creature, a fearful companion, a man-monster, and a devil
+incarnate.
+
+
+
+AN OLD MAN.
+
+An old man is the declaration of time in the defect of Nature, and the
+imperfection of sense in the use of reason. He is in the observation of
+Time, a calendar of experience; but in the power of action, he is a
+blank among lots. He is the subject of weakness, the agent of sickness,
+the displeasure of life, and the forerunner of death. He is twice a
+child and half a man, a living picture, and a dying creature. He is a
+blown bladder that is only stuffed with wind, and a withered tree that
+hath lost the sap of the root, or an old lute with strings all broken,
+or a ruined castle that is ready to fall. He is the eyesore of youth and
+the jest of love, and in the fulness of infirmity the mirror of misery.
+Yet in the honour of wisdom he may be gracious in gravity, and in the
+government of justice deserve the honour of reverence. Yea, his word may
+be notes for the use of reason, and his actions examples for the
+imitation of discretion. In sum, in whatsoever estate he is but as the
+snuff of a candle, that pink it ever so long it will out at last.
+
+
+
+A YOUNG MAN.
+
+A young man is the spring of time, when nature in her pride shows her
+beauty to the world. He is the delight of the eye and the study of the
+mind, the labour of instruction and the pupil of reason. His wit is in
+making or marring, his wealth in gaining or losing, his honour in
+advancing or declining, and his life in abridging or increasing. He is a
+bloom that either is blasted in the bud or grows to a good fruit, or a
+bird that dies in the nest or lives to make use of her wings. He is a
+colt that must have a bridle ere he be well managed, and a falcon that
+must be well maned or he will never be reclaimed. He is the darling of
+nature and the charge of reason, the exercise of patience and the hope
+of charity. His exercise is either study or action, and his study either
+knowledge or pleasure. His disposition gives a great note of his
+generation, and yet his breeding may either better or worse him, though
+to wish a blackamoor white be the loss of labour, and what is bred in
+the bone will never out of the flesh. In sum, till experience have
+seasoned his understanding, he is rather a child than a man, a prey of
+flattery or a praise of providence, in the way of grace to prove a
+saint, or in the way of sin to grow a devil.
+
+
+
+A HOLY MAN.
+
+A holy man is the chiefest creature in the workmanship of the world. He
+is the highest in the election of love, and the nearest to the image of
+the human nature of his Maker. He is served of all the creatures in the
+earth, and created but for the service of his Creator. He is capable of
+the course of nature, and by the rule of observation finds the art of
+reason. His senses are but servants to his spirit, which is guided by a
+power above himself. His time is only known to the eye of the Almighty,
+and what he is in his most greatness is as nothing but in His mercy. He
+makes law by the direction of life, and lives but in the mercy of love.
+He treads upon the face of the earth till in the same substance he be
+trod upon, though his soul that gave life to his senses live in heaven
+till the resurrection of his flesh. He hath an eye to look upward
+towards grace, while labour is only the punishment of sin. His faith is
+the hand of his soul, which layeth hold on the promise of mercy. His
+patience is the tenure of the possession of his soul, his charity the
+rule of his life, and his hope the anchor of his salvation. His study is
+the state of obedience, and his exercise the continuance of prayer; his
+life but a passage to a better, and his death the rest of his labours.
+His heart is a watch to his eye, his wit a door to his mouth, his soul a
+guard to his spirit, and his limbs are but labourers for his body. In
+sum, he is ravished with divine love, hateful to the nature of sin,
+troubled with the vanities of the world, and longing for his joy but
+in heaven.
+
+
+
+GEOFFREY MINSHULL.
+
+_After "The Good and the Bad" published in 1616, came, in 1618, "Essays
+and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners, by G. M. of Grayes Inn, Gent."
+G.M. signed his name in full--Geffray Minshul--after the Dedication to
+his uncle, Mr. Matthew Mainwaring of Nantwich, Cheshire, and he dates
+from the King's Bench Prison. Philip Bliss found record in a History of
+Nantwich of a monument there in St. Mary's Church, erected by Geoffrey
+Minshull of Stoke, Esq., to the memory of his ancestors. He quotes also
+from Geoffrey Minshull's Characters the folloiuing passage from the
+Dedication, and the Character of a Prisoner._
+
+FROM THE DEDICATION OF "ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND
+PRISONERS."
+
+"Since my coming into this prison, what with the strangeness of the
+place and strictness of my liberty, I am so transported that I could not
+follow that study wherein I took great delight and chief pleasure, and
+to spend my time idly would but add more discontentments to my troubled
+breast, and being in this chaos of discontentments, fantasies must
+arise, which will bring forth the fruits of an idle brain, for _e malis
+minimum_. It is far better to give some account of time, though to
+little purpose, than none at all. To which end I gathered a handful of
+essays, and few characters of such things as by my own experience I
+could say _Probatum est:_ not that thereby I should either please the
+reader, or show exquisiteness of invention, or curious style; seeing
+what I write of is but the child of sorrow, bred by discontentments and
+nourished up with misfortunes, to whose help melancholy Saturn gave his
+judgment, the night-bird her invention, and the ominous raven brought a
+quill taken from his own wing, dipped in the ink of misery, as chief
+aiders in this architect of sorrow."
+
+
+
+A CHARACTER OF A PRISONER.
+
+A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingering under the rough hands of a
+cruel physician: his creditor having cast his water knows his disease,
+and hath power to cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is
+like Tantalus, who hath freedom running by his door, yet cannot enjoy
+the least benefit thereof. His greatest grief is that his credit was so
+good and now no better. His land is drawn within the compass of a
+sheep's skin, and his own hand the fornication that bars him of
+entrance: he is fortune's tossing-ball, an object that would make mirth
+melancholy: to his friends an abject, and a subject of nine days' wonder
+in every barber's shop, and a mouthful of pity (that he had no better
+fortune) to midwives and talkative gossips; and all the content that
+this transitory life can give him seems but to flout him, in respect the
+restraint of liberty bars the true use. To his familiars he is like a
+plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for fear of infection; he is a
+monument ruined by those which raised him, he spends the day with a _hei
+mihi! vae miserum!_ and the night with a _nullis est medicabilis herbis._
+
+
+
+HENRY PARROT [?].
+
+_In 1626--year of the death of Francis Bacon--appeared "Cures for the
+Itch; Characters, Epigrams, Epitaphs by H. P." with the motto "Scalpat
+qui Tangitur." H. P. was read by Philip Bliss into Henry Parrot, who
+published a collection of epigrams in 1613, as "Laquei Ridiculosi, or
+Springes for Woodcocks." The Characters in this little volume are of a
+Ballad Maker, a Tapster, a Drunkard, a Rectified Young Man, a Young
+Novice's New Younger Wife, a Common Fiddler, a Broker, a Jovial Good
+Fellow, a Humourist, a Malapert Young Upstart, a Scold, a Good Wife, and
+a Self-Conceited Parcel-Witted Old Dotard._
+
+
+
+A SCOLD
+
+Is a much more heard of, than least desired to be seen or known,
+she-kind of serpent; the venomed sting of whose poisonous tongue, worse
+than the biting of a scorpion, proves more infectious far than can be
+cured. She's of all other creatures most untameablest, and covets more
+the last word in scolding than doth a combater the last stroke for
+victory. She loudest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, with
+exclamation, flat defiance to any one says black's her eye. She dares
+appear before any justice, nor is least daunted with the sight of
+constable, nor at worst threatenings of a cucking-stool. There's nothing
+mads or moves her more to outrage than but the very naming of a wisp, or
+if you sing or whistle when she is scolding. If any in the interim
+chance to come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the
+face; or do but offer to hold her hands, she'll presently begin to cry
+out murder. There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sack, which taking
+in full measure of digestion, she presently forgets all wrongs that's
+done her, and thereupon falls straight a-weeping. Do but entreat her
+with fair words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her
+imperfections, and lays the guilt upon her maid. Her manner is to talk
+much in her sleep, what wrongs she hath endured of that rogue her
+husband, whose hap may be in time to die a martyr; and so I leave them.
+
+
+
+A GOOD WIFE
+
+Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom in conceit, and
+makes a perfect adjunct in society; she's such a comfort as exceeds
+content, and proves so precious as cannot be paralleled, yea more
+inestimable than may be valued. She's any good man's better second self,
+the very mirror of true constant modesty, the careful housewife of
+frugality, and dearest object of man's heart's felicity. She commands
+with mildness, rules with discretion, lives in repute, and ordereth all
+things that are good or necessary. She's her husband's solace, her
+house's ornament, her children's succour, and her servant's comfort.
+She's (to be brief) the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand
+of labour, and the heart of love. Her voice is music, her countenance
+meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious. She's a blessing
+given from God to man, a sweet companion in his affliction, and
+joint-copartner upon all occasions. She's (to conclude) earth's chiefest
+paragon, and will be, when she dies, heaven's dearest creature.
+
+
+             *         *         *         *         *
+
+_In_ 1629_ appeared sixteen pieces in fifty-six pages entitled
+"Micrologia, Characters or Essayes, of Persons, Trades, and Places,
+offered to the City and Country, by R. M." There was an "R. M." who
+wrote from the coast of Guiana in November 1817 "Newes of Sir W.
+Raleigh. With the true Description of Guiana: as also relation of the
+excellent Government, and much hope of the prosperity of the Voyage.
+Sent from a gentleman of his Fleet (R. M.) to a most especiall Friend of
+his in London. From the River of Caliana on the Coast of Guiana,
+Novemb._ 17, 1617," _published in 1618. The Characters of Persons and
+Trades in "Micrologia" are: a Fantastic Tailor, a Player, a Shoemaker, a
+Ropemaker, a Smith, a Tobacconist, a Cunning Woman, a Cobbler, a
+Tooth-drawer, a Tinker, a Fiddler, a Cunning Horse-Courser; and of
+Places, Bethlem, Ludgate, Bridewell, Newgate.
+
+This is R. M.'s character of a Player--_
+
+
+
+PLAYER
+
+Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, who by his
+representation and appearance makes things long past seem present. He is
+much like the counters in arithmetic, and may stand one while for a
+king, another while a beggar, many times as a mute or cipher. Sometimes
+he represents that which in his life he scarce practises--to be an
+honest man. To the point, he oft personates a rover, and therein conies
+nearest to himself. If his action prefigure passion, he raves, rages,
+and protests much by his painted heavens, and seems in the height of
+this fit ready to pull Jove out of the garret where perchance he lies
+leaning on his elbows, or is employed to make squibs and crackers to
+grace the play. His audience are oftentimes judicious, but his chief
+admirers are commonly young wanton chambermaids, who are so taken with
+his posture and gay clothes, they never come to be their own women
+after. He exasperates men's enormities in public view, and tells them
+their faults on the stage, not as being sorry for them, but rather
+wishes still he might find more occasions to work on. He is the general
+corrupter of spirits yet untainted, inducing them by gradation to much
+lascivious depravity. He is a perspicuity of vanity in variety, and
+suggests youth to perpetrate such vices as otherwise they had haply
+ne'er heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocrite, seeming
+what he is not, and is indeed what he seems not. And if he lose one of
+his fellow strolls, in the summer he turns king of the gipsies; if not,
+some great man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his
+peregrination, and a means to procure him the town-hall, where he may
+long exercise his qualities with clown-claps of great admiration, in a
+tone suitable to the large ears of his illiterate auditory. He is one
+seldom takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, together
+with a consumption or some worse disease taken up in his full career,
+have only chalked out his catastrophe but to a colon; and he scarcely
+survives to his natural period of days.
+
+
+           *         *          *          *          *
+
+_In_ 1631 _"Whimzies, or, A new Cast of Characters" inscribed to Sir
+Alexander Radcliffe by one who signed his dedication Clitus
+Alexandrinus, gave twenty-four Characters, of which this of the maker of
+a Courant or news sheet is one:--_
+
+
+
+A CORRANTO-COINER
+
+Is a state newsmonger; and his own genius is his intelligencer. His mint
+goes weekly, and he coins money by it. Howsoever, the more intelligent
+merchants do jeer him, the vulgar do admire him, holding his novels
+oracular; and these are usually sent for tokens or intermissive
+courtesies betwixt city and country. He holds most constantly one form
+or method of discourse. He retains some military words of art, which he
+shoots at random; no matter where they hit they cannot wound any. He
+ever leaves some passages doubtful, as if they were some more intimate
+secrecies of state, closing his sentence abruptly with--_hereafter you
+shall hear more._ Which words, I conceive, he only useth as baits, to
+make the appetite of the reader more eager in his next week's pursuit
+fora more satisfying labour. Some general-erring relations he picks up,
+as crumbs or fragments, from a frequented ordinary; of which shreds he
+shapes a coat to fit any credulous fool that will wear it. You shall
+never observe him make any reply in places of public concourse; he
+ingenuously acknowledges himself to be more bounden to the happiness of
+a retentive memory, than either ability of tongue or pregnancy of
+conceit. He carries his table-book still about with him, but dares not
+pull it out publicly. Yet no sooner is the table drawn than he turns
+notary, by which means he recovers the charge of his ordinary. Paul's is
+his walk in winter, Moorfields in summer, where the whole discipline,
+designs, projects, and exploits of the States, Netherlands, Poland,
+Switzer, Crimchan and all, are within the compass of one quadrangle walk
+most judiciously and punctually discovered. But long he must not walk,
+lest he make his news-press stand. Thanks to his good invention, he can
+collect much out of a very little; no matter though more experienced
+judgments disprove him, he is anonymous, and that will secure him. To
+make his reports more credible or (which he and his stationer only aims
+at) more vendible, in the relation of every occurrence he renders you
+the day of the month; and to approve himself a scholar, he annexeth
+these Latin parcels, or parcel-gilt sentences, _veteri stylo, novo
+stylo_. Palisados, parapets, counter-scarps, forts, fortresses,
+rampiers, bulwarks, are his usual dialect. He writes as if he would do
+some mischief, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. He will
+sometimes start in his sleep, as one affrighted with visions, which I
+can impute to no other cause but to the terrible skirmishes which he
+discoursed of in the daytime. He has now tied himself apprentice to the
+trade of minting, and must weekly perform his task, or (beside the loss
+which accrues to himself) he disappoints a number of no small fools,
+whose discourse, discipline, and discretion is drilled from his
+state-service. These you shall know by their Monday's mornings question,
+a little before exchange time: Stationer, have you any news? Which they
+no sooner purchase than peruse; and, early by next morning (lest their
+country friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a prize),
+they freely vent the substance of it, with some illustrations, if their
+understanding can furnish them that way. He would make you believe that
+he were known to some foreign intelligence, but I hold him the wisest
+man that hath the least faith to believe him. For his relations he
+stands resolute, whether they become approved or evinced for untruths;
+which if they be, he has contracted with his face never to blush for the
+matter. He holds especial concurrence with two philosophical sects,
+though he be ignorant of the tenets of either: in the collection of his
+observations he is peripatetical, for he walks circularly; in the
+digestion of his relations he is stoical, and sits regularly. He has an
+alphabetical table of all the chief commanders, generals, leaders,
+provincial towns, rivers, ports, creeks, with other fitting materials to
+furnish his imaginary building. Whisperings, mutterings, and bare
+suppositions are sufficient grounds for the authority of his relations.
+It is strange to see with what greediness this airy chameleon, being all
+lungs and wind, will swallow a receipt of news, as if it were physical;
+yea, with what frontless insinuation he will screw himself into the
+acquaintance of some knowing intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his
+hollow sound, do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his
+voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, they would vie in
+number with the Iliads of many fore-running ages. You shall many times
+find in his gazettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions:
+here a city taken by force long before it be besieged; there a country
+laid waste before ever the enemy entered. He many times tortures his
+readers with impertinencies, yet are these the tolerablest passages
+throughout all his discourse. He is the very landscape of our age. He is
+all air; his ear always open to all reports, which, how incredible
+soever, must pass for current and find vent, purposely to get him
+current money and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his
+chimeras live not long; a week is the longest in the city, and after
+their arrival, little longer in the country, which past they melt like
+butter, or match a pipe, and so burn. But indeed, most commonly it is
+the height of their ambition to aspire to the employment of stopping
+mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, powder, staves-aker, &c., which
+done, they expire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Long Lane will give
+him his character. He honours nothing with a more endeared observance,
+nor hugs ought with more intimacy, than antiquity, which he expresseth
+even in his clothes. I have known some love fish best that smelled of
+the pannier; and the like humour reigns in him, for he loves that
+apparel best that has a taste of the broker. Some have held him for a
+scholar, but trust me such are in a palpable error, for he never yet
+understood so much Latin as to construe _Gallo-Belgicus_. For his
+library (his own continuations excepted), it consists of very few or no
+books. He holds himself highly engaged to his invention if it can
+purchase him victuals; for authors, he never converseth with them,
+unless they walk in Paul's. For his discourse it is ordinary, yet he
+will make you a terrible repetition of desperate commanders, unheard-of
+exploits, intermixing withal his own personal service. But this is not
+in all companies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him in
+this principle--that as nothing works more on the simple than things
+strange and incredibly rare, so nothing discovers his weakness more
+among the knowing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on
+reports above conceit. Amongst these, therefore, he is as mute as a
+fish. But now imagine his lamp (if he be worth one) to be nearly burnt
+out, his inventing genius wearied and footsore with ranging over so many
+unknown regions, and himself wasted with the fruitless expense of much
+paper, resigning his place of weekly collections to another, whom, in
+hope of some little share, he has to his stationer recommended, while he
+lives either poorly respected or dies miserably suspended. The rest I
+end with his own close:--Next week you shall hear more.
+
+_The other characters in "Whimzies" were an Almanac-maker, a
+Ballad-monger, a Decoy, an Exchange-man, a Forester, a Gamester, an
+Hospital-man, a Jailer, a Keeper, a Launderer, a Metal-man, a Neater, an
+Ostler, a Postmaster, a Quest-man, a Ruffian, a Sailor, a Traveller, an
+Under-Sheriff, a Wine-Soaker, a Xantippean, a Jealous Neighbour, a
+Zealous Brother. The collection was enlarged by addition under separate
+title-page of "A Cater-Character, thrown out of a box by an Experienced
+Gamester"-which gave Characters of an Apparitor, a Painter, a Pedlar,
+and a Piper. The author added also some lines "upon the Birthday of his
+sonne Iohn," beginning--
+
+   "God blesse thee, Iohn,
+     And make thee such an one
+   That I may joy
+     In calling thee my son.
+
+   Thou art my ninth,
+     And by it I divine
+   That thou shalt live
+     To love the Muses Nine."_
+
+
+
+JOHN MILTON,
+
+_when he was at college, ventured down among the Character-writers in
+his two pieces on the University Carrier. Thomas Hobson had been for
+sixty years carrier between Cambridge and the Bull Inn, Bishopsgate
+Street, London. He was a very well-known Cambridge character. Steele, in
+No. 509 of the "Spectator" ascribed to him the origin of the proverbial
+phrase, Hobson's Choice. "Being a man of great ability and invention,
+and one that saw where there might good profit arise, though the duller
+men overlooked it, this ingenious man was the first in this island who
+let out hackney-horses.'" [That is a mistake, but never mind.] "He lived
+in Cambridge; and, observing that the scholars rid hard, his manner was
+to keep a large stable of horses, with boots, bridles, and whips, to
+furnish the gentlemen at once, without going from college to college to
+borrow. I say, Mr. Hobson kept a stable of forty good cattle, always
+ready and fit for travelling; but, when a man came for a horse, he was
+led into the stable, where there was great choice; but he obliged him to
+take the horse which stood next the stable door; so that every customer
+was alike well served according to his chance, and every horse ridden
+with the same justice--from whence it became a proverb, when what ought
+to be your election was forced upon you, to say 'Hobson's Choice!'"
+
+In the spring of 1630 the Plague in Cambridge caused colleges to be
+closed, and among other precautions against spread of infection, Hobson
+the Carrier was forbidden to go to and fro between Cambridge and London.
+At the end of the year, after six or seven, months of forced inaction,
+Hobson sickened; and he died on the first of January, at the age of
+eighty-six, leaving his family amply provided for, and money for the
+maintenance of the town conduit. At the Bull Inn in London there used to
+be a portrait of him with a money-bag under his arm.
+
+Character-writing being in fashion many a character of the University
+Carrier was written, no doubt, by Cambridge men after Hobson's death at
+the beginning of the year_ 1631 _(new style). And these were Milton's.
+Their unlikeness to other work of his lies in their likeness to a form
+of literature which was but fashion of the day, and having travelled out
+of sight of its old starting-point and forgotten where its true goal
+lay, had gone astray, and often by idolatry of wit sinned
+against wisdom._
+
+
+
+ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER,
+
+_Who sickened in the time of his Vacancy, being forbid to go to London
+by reason of the Plague._
+
+   Here lies old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt,
+   And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt;
+   Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one
+   He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
+   'Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known,
+   Death was half glad when he had got him down;
+   For he had any time this ten years full
+   Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and _The Bull_,
+   And surely Death could never have prevailed
+   Had not his weekly course of carriage failed:
+   But lately, finding him so long at home,
+   And thinking now his journey's end was come,
+   And that he had ta'en up his latest inn,
+   In the kind office of a chamberlin
+   Showed him his room where he must lodge that night,
+   Pulled off his boots, and took away the light.
+   If any ask for him, it shall be said,
+   "Hobson has supped, and's newly gone to bed."
+
+
+
+ANOTHER ON THE SAME.
+
+   Here lieth one that did most truly prove
+   That he could never die while he could move;
+   So hung his destiny, never to rot
+   While he might still jog on and keep his trot;
+   Made of sphere-metal, never to decay
+   Until his revolution was at stay.
+   Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime
+   'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time;
+   And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight,
+   His principles being ceased, he ended straight.
+   Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death,
+   And too much breathing put him out of breath;
+   Nor were it contradiction to affirm
+   Too long vacation hastened on his term.
+   Merely to drive the time away he sickened,
+   Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened.
+   "Nay," quoth he, on his swooning-bed outstretched,
+   "If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched,
+   But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers,
+   For one carrier put down to make six bearers."
+   Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right,
+   He died for heaviness that his cart went light.
+   His leisure told him that his time was come,
+   And lack of load made his life burdensome,
+   That even to his last breath (there be that say't)
+   As he were pressed to death, he cried. "More weight!"
+   But, had his doings lasted as they were,
+   He had been an immortal carrier.
+   Obedient to the moon he spent his date
+   In course reciprocal, and had his fate
+   Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas;
+   Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase.
+   His letters are delivered all and gone,
+   Only remains the superscription.
+
+_How very sure we should all be that Milton did not write these pieces,
+if he had not given them a place among his published works! Returning to
+the crowd of Character-writers we find in 1631, the year of Milton's
+writing upon Hobson,_
+
+
+
+WYE SALTONSTALL,
+
+_author of "Pictures Loquentes, or Pictures drawn forth in Characters.
+With a Poeme of a Maid" The poem of a Maid was, of course, suggested by
+the fact that Sir Thomas Overbury's Characters had joined to them the
+poem of a Wife. There was a second edition in 1635. Saltonstall's
+Characters were the World, an Old Man, a Woman, a Widow, a True Lover, a
+Country Bride, a Ploughman, a Melancholy Man, a Young Heir, a Scholar in
+the University, a Lawyers Clerk, a Townsman in Oxford, an Usurer, a
+Wandering Rogue, a Waterman, a Shepherd, a Jealous Man, a Chamberlain, a
+Maid, a Bailey, a Country Fair, a Country Ale-house, a Horse Race, a
+Farmer's Daughter, a Keeper, a Gentleman's House in the Country; to
+which he added in the second edition, a Fine Dame, a Country Dame, a
+Gardener, a Captain, a Poor Village, a Merry Man, a Scrivener, the Term,
+a Mower, a Happy Man, an Arrant Knave, and an Old Waiting Gentlewoman.
+This is one of his Characters as quoted by Philip Bliss in the Appendix
+to his edition of Earle_--
+
+
+
+THE TERM
+
+Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all comers, while her sister
+Equity strives to mitigate the rigour of her positive sentence. It is
+called the term, because it does end and terminate business, or else
+because it is the _Terminus ad quem_, that is, the end of the
+countryman's journey, who comes up to the term, and with his hobnail
+shoes grinds the faces of the poor stones, and so returns again. It is
+the soul of the year, and makes it quick, which before was dead.
+Innkeepers gape for it as earnestly as shell-fish do for salt water
+after a low ebb. It sends forth new books into the world, and
+replenishes Paul's Walk with fresh company, where _Quid novi_? is their
+first salutation, and the weekly news their chief discourse. The taverns
+are painted against the term, and many a cause is argued there and tried
+at that bar, where you are adjudged to pay the costs and charges, and so
+dismissed with "welcome, gentlemen." Now the city puts her best side
+outward, and a new play at the Blackfriars is attended on with coaches.
+It keeps watermen from sinking, and helps them with many a fare voyage
+to Westminster. Tour choice beauties come up to it only to see and be
+seen, and to learn the newest fashion, and for some other recreations.
+Now many that have been long sick and crazy begins to stir and walk
+abroad, especially if some young prodigals come to town, who bring more
+money than wit. Lastly, the term is the joy of the city, a dear friend
+to countrymen, and is never more welcome than after a long vacation.
+
+_We have also, in 1632, "London and Country Carbonadoed and Quartered
+into Several Characters" by Donald Lupton; in 1633, the "Character of a
+Gentleman" appended to Brathwaif's "English Gentleman;" in 1634, "A
+strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into a Wilderness, Deciphered
+in Characters" of which this is a specimen_:--
+
+
+
+THE HORSE
+
+Is a creature made, as it were, in wax. When Nature first framed him,
+she took a secret complacence in her work. He is even her masterpiece in
+irrational things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him forth.
+For example, his slick bay coat he took from the chestnut; his neck from
+the rainbow, which perhaps make him rain so well. His mane belike he
+took from Pegasus, making him a hobby to make this a complete jennet,
+which mane he wears so curled, much after the women's fashions
+now-a-days;--this I am sure of, howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it
+sets forth our jennet well. His legs he borrowed of the hart, with his
+swiftness, which makes him a true courser indeed. The stars in his
+forehead he fetched from heaven, which will not be much missed, there
+being so many. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat buttock, and
+thick tail are properly his own, for he knew not where to get him
+better. If you tell him of the horns he wants to make him most complete,
+he scorns the motion, and sets them at his heel. He is well shod,
+especially in the upper leather, for as for his soles, they are much at
+reparation, and often fain to be removed. Nature seems to have spent an
+apprenticeship of years to make you such a one, for it is full seven
+years ere he comes to this perfection, and be fit for the saddle: for
+then (as we), it seems to come to the years of discretion, when he will
+show a kind of rational judgment with him, and if you set an expert
+rider on his back, you shall see how sensible they will talk together,
+as master and scholar. When he shall be no sooner mounted and planted in
+the seat, with the reins in one hand, a switch in the other, and
+speaking with his spurs in the horse's flanks, a language he well
+understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance the canaries half an
+hour together in compass of a bushel, and yet still, as he thinks, get
+some ground, shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely pride.
+This will our Bucephalus do in the lists: but when he comes abroad into
+the fields, he will play the country gentleman as truly, as before the
+knight in tournament. If the game be up once, and the hounds in chase,
+you shall see how he will prick up his ears straight, and tickle at the
+sport as much as his rider shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be
+many of them, they will even drown the rural harmony of the dogs. When
+he travels, of all inns he loves best the sign of the silver bell,
+because likely there he fares best, especially if he come the first and
+get the prize. He carries his ears upright, nor seldom ever lets them
+fall till they be cropped off, and after that, as in despite, will never
+wear them more. His tail is so essential to him, that if he lose it once
+he is no longer a horse, but ever styled a curtali. To conclude, he is a
+blade of Vulcan's forging, made for Mars of the best metal, and the post
+of Fame to carry her tidings through the world, who, if he knew his own
+strength, would shrewdly put for the monarchy of our wilderness.
+
+
+     *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Then there-were separate Characters, as "of a Projector" (1642); "of an
+Oxford Incendiary" (1645); and in 1664, "A New Anatomic, or Character of
+a Christian or Roundhead, expressing his Description, Excellenrie,
+Happiness, and Innocencie. Wherein may appear how far this blind World
+is mistaken in their unjust Censures of him." Several Characters were
+included in Lord North's "Forest of Varieties" published in 1645.
+Fourteen Characters, some of individual persons, were in the "Characters
+and Elegies, by Sir Francis Wortley, Knight and Baronet" published in
+1646. The author was son of Sir Richard Wortley of Wortley in Yorkshire.
+He was a good royalist, was taken prisoner in the civil wars, and wrote
+his Characters in the Tower. They were these:--The Character of his Roy
+all Majestie; the Character of the Queene's Majestie; the Hopeful
+Prince; a true Character of the illustrious James, Duke of York; the
+Character of a Noble General; a true English Protestant; an Antinomian,
+or Anabaptistical Independent; a Jesuit; the true Character of a
+Northern Lady, as she is Wife, Mother, and Sister; the Politique Neuter;
+the Citie Paragon; a Sharking Committee-man; Britannicus his Pedigree
+--afatall Prediction of his end; and last, the Phoenix of the Court.
+
+In 1646, T. F., who is named by interlineation on his title-page among
+the King's Pamphlets, T. Ford, servant to Mr. Sam. Man, produced the
+"Times Anatomized, in several Characters." These were: A Good King,
+Rebellion, an Honest Subject, an Hypocritical Convert of the Times, a
+Soldier of Fortune, a Discontented Person, an Ambitious Man, the Vulgar,
+Error, Truth, a Self-seeker, Pamphlets, an Envious Man, True Valour,
+Time, a Neuter, a Turn-Coat, a Moderate Man, a Corrupt Committee-man, a
+Sectary, War, Peace, a Drunkard, a Novice, Preacher, a Scandalous
+Preacher, a Grave Divine, a Self-Conceited Man, Religion, Death. This is
+T. Ford's Character of Pamphlets--_
+
+
+
+PAMPHLETS
+
+Are the weekly almanacs, showing what weather is in the state, which,
+like the doves of Aleppo, carry news to every part of the kingdom. They
+are the silent traitors that affront majesty, and abuse all authority,
+under the colour of an imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of late so
+blistered the ears of all men, that they cannot endure the solid truth.
+The echoes, whereby what is done in part of the kingdom, is heard all
+over. They are like the mushrooms, sprung up in a night, and dead in a
+day; and such is the greediness of men's natures (in these Athenian
+days) of new, that they will rather feign than want it.
+
+_So the tide ran on. In_ 1647 _there was "The Character of an Agitator,"
+and also John Cleveland's Character of a London Diurnal._
+
+
+
+JOHN CLEVELAND,
+
+_The Cavalier poet, born at Loitghborough in Leicestershire in_ 1613,
+_son of an usher in a free school there, was sent to Milton's College,
+Christ's, at Cambridge in_ 1627, _when he was fifteen years old. Milton
+had gone to Christ's two years before, but at the age of seventeen.
+Cleveland left Christ's College in_ 1631, _when he took his B.A. degree,
+and went to St. John's, of which he was elected a Fellow in March_ 1634.
+_He proceeded M.A. in_ 1634, _and studied afterwards both law and
+physics, living for nine years at Cambridge. John Cleveland was ejected
+from his position as Fellow and Tutor by the Parliamentary visitors in
+February_ 1645 _(new style), and was sent to Newark as judge advocate
+under Sir Richard Willis, the Governor. After the surrender at Newark,
+Cleveland depended upon friendship of cavaliers who gave him hospitality
+for his witty companionship, and the good scholarship that made him
+valuable as a tutor to their sons, Cleveland, who lives among our poets,
+wrote in the first days of his trouble these three prose Characters:--_
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A COUNTRY COMMITTEE-MAN, WITH THE EAR-MARK. OF A
+SEQUESTRATOR.
+
+A committee-man by his name should be one that is possessed, there is
+number enough in it to make an epithet for legion. He is _persona in
+concreto_ (to borrow the solecism of a modern statesman). You may
+translate it by the Red Bull phrase, and speak as properly, Enter seven
+devils _solus_. It is a well-trussed title that contains both the number
+and the beast; for a committee-man is a noun of multitude, he must be
+spelled with figures, like Antichrist wrapped in a pair-royal of sixes.
+Thus the name is as monstrous as the man, a complex notion of the same
+lineage with accumulative treason. For his office it is the Heptarchy,
+or England's fritters; it is the broken meat of a crumbling prince, only
+the royalty is greater; for it is here, as in the miracle of loaves, the
+voider exceeds the bill of fare. The Pope and he ring the changes; here
+is the plurality of crowns to one head, join them together and there is
+a harmony in discord. The triple-headed turnkey of heaven with the
+triple-headed porter of hell. A committee-man is the relics of regal
+government, but, like holy relics, he outbulks the substance whereof he
+is a remnant. There is a score of kings in a committee, as in the relics
+of the cross there is the number of twenty. This is the giant with the
+hundred hands that wields the sceptre; the tyrannical bead-roll by which
+the kingdom prays backward, and at every curse drops a committee-man.
+Let Charles be waived whose condescending clemency aggravates the
+defection, and make Nero the question, better a Nero than a committee.
+There is less execution by a single bullet than by case-shot.
+
+Now a committee-man is a parti-coloured officer. He must be drawn like
+Janus with cross and pile in his countenance, as he relates to the
+soldiers or faces about to his fleecing the country. Look upon him
+martially, and he is a justice of war, one that hath bound his Dalton up
+in buff, and will needs be of the Quorum to the best commanders. He is
+one of Mars his lay-elders; he shares in the government, though a
+Nonconformist to his bleeding rubric. He is the like sectary in arms, as
+the Platonic is in love, keeps a fluttering in discourse, but proves a
+haggard in the action. He is not of the soldiers and yet of his flock.
+It is an emblem of the golden age (and such indeed he makes it to him)
+when so tame a pigeon may converse with vultures. Methinks a committee
+hanging about a governor, and bandileers dangling about a furred
+alderman, have an anagram resemblance. There is no syntax between a cap
+of maintenance and a helmet. Who ever knew an enemy routed by a grand
+jury and a _Billa vera?_ It is a left-handed garrison where their
+authority perches; but the more preposterous the more in fashion, the
+right hand fights while the left rules the reins. The truth is, the
+soldier and the gentleman are like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, one
+fights at all adventures to purchase the other the government of the
+island. A committee-man properly should be the governor's mattress to
+fit his truckle, and to new string him with sinews of war; for his chief
+use is to raise assessments in the neighbouring wapentake.
+
+The country people being like an Irish cow that will not give down her
+milk unless she see her calf before her, hence it is he is the
+garrison's dry nurse; he chews their contribution before he feeds them,
+so the poor soldiers live like Trochilus by picking the teeth of this
+sacred crocodile.
+
+So much for his warlike or ammunition face, which is so preter-natural
+that it is rather a vizard than a face; Mars in him hath but a blinking
+aspect, his face of arms is like his coat, _partie per pale_, soldier
+and gentleman much of a scantling.
+
+Now enter his taxing and deglubing face, a squeezing look like that of
+Vespasianus, as if he were bleeding over a close stool.
+
+Take him thus and he is in the inquisition of the purse an authentic
+gypsy, that nips your bong with a canting ordinance; not a murdered
+fortune in all the country but bleeds at the touch of this malefactor.
+He is the spleen of the body politic that swells itself to the
+consumption of the whole. At first, indeed, he ferreted for the
+parliament, but since he hath got off his cope he set up for himself. He
+lives upon the sins of the people, and that is a good standing dish too.
+He verifies the axiom, _lisdem nutritur ex quibus componitur_; his diet
+is suitable to his constitution. I have wondered often why the plundered
+countrymen should repair to him for succour, certainly it is under the
+same notion, as one whose pockets are picked goes to Moll Cutpurse, as
+the predominant in that faculty.
+
+He outdives a Dutchman, gets a noble of him that was never worth
+sixpence; for the poorest do not escape, but Dutch-like he will be
+draining even in the driest ground. He aliens a delinquent's estate with
+as little remorse as his other holiness gives away an heretic's kingdom,
+and for the truth of the delinquency, both chapmen have as little share
+of infallibility. Lye is the grand salad of arbitrary government,
+executor to the star-chamber and the high commission; for those courts
+are not extinct, they survive in him like dollars changed into single
+money. To speak the truth, he is the universal tribunal; for since these
+times all causes fall to his cognisance, as in a great infection all
+diseases turn oft to the plague. It concerns our masters the parliament
+to look about them; if he proceedeth at this rate the jack may come to
+swallow the pike, as the interest often eats out the principal. As his
+commands are great, so he looks for a reverence accordingly. He is
+punctual in exacting your hat, and to say right his due, but by the same
+title as the upper garment is the vails of the executioner. There was a
+time when such cattle would hardly have been taken upon suspicion for
+men in office, unless the old proverb were renewed, that the beggars
+make a free company, and those their wardens. You may see what it is to
+hang together. Look upon them severally, and you cannot but fumble for
+some threads of charity. But oh, they are termagants in conjunction!
+like fiddlers who are rogues when they go single, and joined in consort,
+gentlemen musicianers. I care not much if I untwist my committee-man,
+and so give him the receipt of this grand Catholicon.
+
+Take a state martyr, one that for his good behaviour hath paid the
+excise of his ears, so suffered captivity by the land-piracy of
+ship-money; next a primitive freeholder, one that hates the king because
+he is a gentleman transgressing the Magna Charta of delving Adam. Add to
+these a mortified bankrupt that helps out his false weights with some
+scruples of conscience, and with his peremptory scales can doom his
+prince with a _mene tekel_. These with a new blue-stockinged justice,
+lately made of a good basket-hilted yeoman, with a short-handed clerk
+tacked to the rear of him to carry the knapsack of his understanding,
+together with two or three equivocal sirs whose religion, like their
+gentility, is the extract of their acres; being therefore spiritual
+because they are earthly; not forgetting the man of the law, whose
+corruption gives the Hogan to the sincere Juncto. These are the simples
+of this precious compound; a kind of Dutch hotch-potch, the Hogan Mogan
+committee-man.
+
+The Committee-man hath a sideman, or rather a setter, hight a
+Sequestrator, of whom you may say, as of the great Sultan's horse, where
+he treads the grass grows no more. He is the State's cormorant, one that
+fishes for the public but feeds himself; the misery is he fishes without
+the cormorant's property, a rope to strengthen the gullet and to make
+him disgorge. A sequestrator! He is the devil's nut-hook, the sign with
+him is always in the clutches. There are more monsters retain to him
+than to all the limbs in anatomy. It is strange physicians do not apply
+him to the soles of the feet in a desperate fever, he draws far beyond
+pigeons. I hope some mountebank will slice him and make the experiment.
+He is a tooth-drawer once removed; here is the difference, one applauds
+the grinder the other the grist. Never till now could I verify the
+poet's description, that the ravenous harpy had a human visage. Death
+himself cannot quit scores with him; like the demoniac in the gospel, he
+lives among tombs, nor is all the holy water shed by widows and orphans
+a sufficient exorcism to dispossess him. Thus the cat sucks your breath
+and the fiend your blood; nor can the brotherhood of witchfinders, so
+sagely instituted with all their terror, wean the familiars.
+
+But once more to single out my embossed committee-man; his fate (for I
+know you would fain see an end of him) is either a whipping audit, when
+he is wrung in the withers by a committee of examinations, and so the
+sponge weeps out the moisture which he had soaked before; or else he
+meets his passing peal in the clamorous mutiny of a gut-foundered
+garrison, for the hedge-sparrow will be feeding the cuckoo till he
+mistake his commons and bites off her head. Whatever it is, it is within
+his desert, for what is observed of some creatures that at the same time
+they trade in productions three stories high, suckling the first, big
+with the second, and clicketing for the third: a committee-man is the
+counterpoint, his mischief is superfoetation, a certain scale of
+destruction, for he ruins the father, beggars the son, and strangles the
+hope of all posterity.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A DIURNAL-MAKER.
+
+A diurnal-maker is the sub-almoner of history, Queen Mab's register, one
+whom, by the same figure that a north country pedlar is a merchantman,
+you may style an author. It is like overreach of language, when every
+thin tinder-cloaked quack must be called a doctor; when a clumsy cobbler
+usurps the attribute of our English peers, and is vamped a translator.
+List him a writer and you smother Geoffrey in swabber-slops; the very
+name of dabbler oversets him; he is swallowed up in the phrase, like Sir
+S.L. [Samuel Luke] in a great saddle, nothing to be seen but the giddy
+feather in his crown. They call him a Mercury, but he becomes the
+epithet like the little negro mounted upon an elephant, just such
+another blot rampant. He has not stuffings sufficient for the reproach
+of a scribbler, but it hangs about him like an old wife's skin when the
+flesh hath forsaken her, lank and loose. He defames a good title as well
+as most of our modern noblemen; those wens of greatness, the body
+politic's most peccant humours blistered into lords. He hath so
+raw-boned a being that however you render him he rubs it out and makes
+rags of the expression. The silly countryman who, seeing an ape in a
+scarlet coat, blessed his young worship, and gave his landlord joy of
+the hopes of his house, did not slander his complement with worse
+application than he that names this shred an historian. To call him an
+historian is to knight a mandrake; 'tis to view him through a
+perspective, and by that gross hyperbole to give the reputation of an
+engineer to a maker of mousetraps. Such an historian would hardly pass
+muster with a Scotch stationer in a sieveful of ballads and godly books.
+He would not serve for the breast-plate of a begging Grecian. The most
+cramped compendium that the age hath seen since all learning hath been
+almost torn into ends, outstrips him by the head. I have heard of
+puppets that could prattle in a play, but never saw of their writings
+before. There goes a report of the Holland women that together with
+their children they are delivered of a Sooterkin, not unlike to a rat,
+which some imagine to be the offspring of the stoves. I know not what
+_Ignis fatuus_ adulterates the press, but it seems much after that
+fashion, else how could this vermin think to be a twin to a legitimate
+writer; when those weekly fragments shall pass for history, let the poor
+man's box be entitled the exchequer, and the alms-basket a magazine. Not
+a worm that gnaws on the dull scalp of voluminous Holinshed, but at
+every meal devoured more chronicle than his tribe amounts to. A marginal
+note of W. P. would serve for a winding-sheet for that man's works, like
+thick-skinned fruits are all rind, fit for nothing but the author's
+fate, to be pared in a pillory.
+
+The cook who served up the dwarf in a pie (to continue the frolic) might
+have lapped up such an historian as this in the bill of fare. He is the
+first tincture and rudiment of a writer, dipped as yet in the
+preparative blue, like an almanac well-willer. He is the cadet of a
+pamphleteer, the pedee of a romancer; he is the embryo of a history
+slinked before maturity. How should he record the issues of time who is
+himself an abortive? I will not say but that he may pass for an
+historian in Garbier's academy; he is much of the size of those
+knotgrass professors. What a pitiful seminary was there projected; yet
+suitable enough to the present universities, those dry nurses which the
+providence of the age has so fully reformed that they are turned
+reformadoes. But that's no matter, the meaner the better. It is a maxim
+observable in these days, that the only way to win the game is to play
+petty Johns. Of this number is the esquire of the quill, for he hath the
+grudging of history and some yawnings accordingly. Writing is a disease
+in him and holds like a quotidian, so 'tis his infirmity that makes him
+an author, as Mahomet was beholding to the falling sickness to vouch him
+a prophet. That nice artificer who filed a chain so thin and light that
+a flea could trail it (as if he had worked shorthand, and taught his
+tools to cypher), did but contrive an emblem for this skipjack and his
+slight productions.
+
+Methinks the Turk should licence diurnals because he prohibits learning
+and books. A library of diurnals is a wardrobe of frippery; 'tis a just
+idea of a Limbo of the infants. I saw one once that could write with his
+toes, by the same token I could have wished he had worn his copies for
+socks; 'tis he without doubt from whom the diurnals derive their
+pedigree, and they have a birthright accordingly, being shuffled out at
+the bed's feet of history. To what infinite numbers an historian would
+multiply should he crumble into elves of this profession? To supply this
+smallness they are fain to join forces, so they are not singly but as
+the custom is in a croaking committee. They tug at the pen like slaves
+at the oar, a whole bank together; they write in the posture that the
+Swedes gave fire in, over one another's heads. It is said there is more
+of them go to a suit of clothes than to a _Britannicus;_ in this
+polygamy the clothes breed and cannot determine whose issue is
+lawfully begotten.
+
+And here I think it were not amiss to take a particular how he is
+accoutred, and so do by him as he in his Siquis for the wall-eyed mare,
+or the crop flea-bitten, give you the marks of the beast. I begin with
+his head, which is ever in clouts, as if the nightcap should make
+affidavit that the brain was pregnant. To what purpose doth the _Pia
+Mater_ lie in so dully in her white formalities; sure she hath had hard
+labour, for the brows have squeezed for it, as you may perceive by his
+buttered bon-grace that film of a demicastor; 'tis so thin and unctuous
+that the sunbeams mistake it for a vapour, and are like to cap him; so
+it is right heliotrope, it creaks in the shine and flaps in the shade;
+whatever it be I wish it were able to call in his ears. There's no
+proportion between that head and appurtenances; those of all lungs are
+no more fit for that small noddle of the circumcision than brass bosses
+for a Geneva Bible. In what a puzzling neutrality is the poor soul that
+moves betwixt two such ponderous biases? His collar is edged with a
+piece of peeping linen, by which he means a band; 'tis the forlorn of
+his shirt crawling out of his neck; indeed it were time that his shirt
+were jogging, for it has served an apprenticeship, and (as apprentices
+use) it hath learned its trade too, to which effect 'tis marching to the
+papermill, and the next week sets up for itself in the shape of a
+pamphlet. His gloves are the shavings of his hands, for he casts his
+skin like a cancelled parchment. The itch represents the broken seals.
+His boots are the legacies of two black jacks, and till he pawned the
+silver that the jacks were tipped with it was a pretty mode of
+boot-hose-tops. For the rest of his habit he is a perfect seaman, a kind
+of tarpaulin, he being hanged about with his coarse composition, those
+pole-davie papers.
+
+But I must draw to an end, for every character is an anatomy lecture,
+and it fares with me in this of the diurnal-maker, as with him that
+reads on a begged malefactor, my subject smells before I have gone
+through with him; for a parting blow then. The word historian imports a
+sage and solemn author, one that curls his brow with a sullen gravity,
+like a bull-necked Presbyter since the army hath got him off his
+jurisdiction, who, Presbyter like, sweeps his breast with a reverend
+beard, full of native moss-troopers; not such a squirting scribe as this
+that's troubled with the rickets, and makes pennyworths of history. The
+college-treasury that never had in bank above a Harry-groat, shut up
+there in a melancholy solitude, like one that is kept to keep
+possession, had as good evidence to show for his title as he for an
+historian; so, if he will needs be an historian, he is not cited in the
+sterling acceptation, but after the rate of bluecaps' reckoning, an
+historian Scot. Now a Scotchman's tongue runs high fullams. There is a
+cheat in his idiom, for the sense ebbs from the bold expression, like
+the citizen's gallon, which the drawer interprets but half a pint. In
+sum, a diurnal-maker is the anti-mark of an historian, he differs from
+him as a drill from a man, or (if you had rather have it in the saints'
+gibberish) as a hinter doth from a holder-forth.
+
+
+
+THE CHARACTER OF A LONDON DIURNAL.
+
+A diurnal is a puny chronicle, scarce pin-feathered with the wings of
+time. It is a history in sippets: the English Iliads in a nutshell: the
+apocryphal Parliament's book of Maccabees in single sheets. It would
+tire a Welshman to reckon up how many aps 'tis removed from an annal;
+for it is of that extract, only of the younger house, like a shrimp to a
+lobster. The original sinner in this kind was Dutch, Gallo-Belgicus the
+protoplast, and the modern Mercuries but Hans-en-kelders. The Countess
+of Zealand was brought to bed of an almanac, as many children as days in
+the year. It may be the legislative lady is of that lineage, so she
+spawns the diurnals, and they at Westminster take them in adoption by
+the names of _Scoticus_, _Civicus_, _Britannicus_. In the frontispiece
+of the old Beldam diurnal, like the contents of the chapter, sitteth the
+House of Commons judging the twelve tribes of Israel. You may call them
+the kingdom's anatomy before the weekly calendar; for such is a diurnal,
+the day of the month with what weather in the commonwealth. It is taken
+for the pulse of the body politic, and the empiric divines of the
+assembly, those spiritual dragooners, thumb it accordingly. Indeed it is
+a pretty synopsis, and those grave rabbis (though in the point of
+Divinity) trade in no larger authors. The country-carrier, when he buys
+it for the vicar, miscalls it the urinal; yet properly enough, for it
+casts the water of the state ever since it staled blood. It differs from
+an Aulicus, as the devil and his exorcist, or as a black witch doth from
+a white one, whose office is to unravel her enchantments.
+
+It begins usually with an Ordinance, which is a law still born, dropped
+before quickened by the royal assent. 'Tis one of the parliament's
+bye-blows, acts only being legitimate, and hath no more sire than a
+Spanish jennet that is begotten by the wind.
+
+Thus their militia, like its patron Mars, is the issue only of the
+mother, without the concourse of royal Jupiter: yet law it is, if they
+vote it, in defiance to their fundamentals; like the old sexton, who
+swore his clock went true, whatever the sun said to the contrary.
+
+The next ingredient of a diurnal is plots, horrible plots, which with
+wonderful sagacity it hunts dry-Coot, while they are yet in their
+causes, before _materia prima_ can put on her smock. How many such fits
+of the mother have troubled the kingdom; and for all Sir W.E. [William
+Earle] looks like a man-midwife, not yet delivered of so much as a
+cushion? But actors must have properties; and since the stages were
+voted down the only playhouse is at Westminster.
+
+Suitable to their plots are their informers, skippers, and tailors,
+spaniels both for the land and water. Good conscionable intelligence!
+For however Pym's bill may inflame the reckoning, the honest vermin have
+not so much for lying as the public faith.
+
+Thus a zealous botcher in Moorfields, while he was contriving some
+quirpocut of Church-Government, by the help of his outlying ears and the
+Otacousticon of the spirit, discovered such a plot, that Selden intends
+to combat antiquity, and maintain it was a tailor's goose that preserved
+the capital.
+
+I wonder my Lord of Canterbury is not once more all to be traitored, for
+dealing with the lions to settle the Commission of Array in the Tower.
+It would do well to cramp the articles dormant, besides the opportunity
+of reforming these beasts of the prerogative, and changing their
+profaner names of Harry and Charles into Nehemiah and Eleazar.
+
+Suppose a corn-cutter being to give little Isaac a cast of his office
+should fall to paring his brows (mistaking the one end for the other,
+because he branches at both), this would be a plot, and the next diurnal
+would furnish you with this scale of votes:--
+
+_Resolved_ upon the question, That this act of the corn-cutter was an
+absolute invasion of the city's charter in the representative
+forehead of Isaac.
+
+_Resolved_, That the evil counsellors about the corn-cutter are popishly
+affected and enemies to the State.
+
+_Resolved_, That there be a public thanksgiving for the great
+deliverance of Isaac's brow-antlers; and a solemn covenant drawn up to
+defy the corn-cutter and all his works.
+
+Thus the Quixotes of this age fight with the windmills of their own
+heads, quell monsters of their own creation, make plots, and then
+discover them; as who fitter to unkennel the fox than the terrier that
+is part of him?
+
+In the third place march their adventures; the Roundheads' legends, the
+rebels' romance; stories of a larger size than the ears of their sect,
+able to strangle the belief of a Solifidian.
+
+I'll present them in their order. And first as a whiffler before the
+show enter Stamford, one that trod the stage with the first, traversed
+the ground, made a leg and exit. The country people took him for one
+that by order of the Houses was to dance a morrice through the west of
+England. Well, he's a nimble gentleman; set him upon Banks his horse in
+a saddle rampant, and it is a great question which part of the Centaur
+shows better tricks.
+
+There was a vote passing to translate him with all his equipage into
+monumental gingerbread; but it was crossed by the female committee
+alleging that the valour of his image would bite their children by
+the tongues.
+
+This cubit and half of commander, by the help of a diurnal, routed his
+enemies fifty miles off. It's strange you'll say, and yet 'tis generally
+believed he would as soon do it at that distance as nearer hand. Sure it
+was his sword for which the weapon-salve was invented; that so wounding
+and healing (like loving correlates) might both work at the same
+removes. But the squib is run to the end of the rope: room for the
+prodigy of valour. Madam Atropos in breeches, Waller's knight-errantry;
+and because every mountebank must have his zany, throw him in Hazelrig
+to set off his story. These two, like Bel and the Dragon, are always
+worshipped in the same chapter; they hunt in couples, what one doth at
+the head, the other scores up at the heels.
+
+Thus they kill a man over and over, as Hopkins and Sternhold murder the
+psalms with another of the same; one chimes all in, and then the other
+strikes up as the saints-bell.
+
+I wonder for how many lives my Lord Hopton took the lease of his body.
+
+First Stamford slew him, then Waller outkilled that half a bar; and yet
+it is thought the sullen corpse would scarce bleed were both these
+manslayers never so near it.
+
+The same goes of a Dutch headsman, that he would do his office with so
+much ease and dexterity, that the head after execution should stand upon
+the shoulders. Pray God Sir William be not probationer for the place;
+for as if he had the like knack too, most of those whom the diurnal hath
+slain for him, to us poor mortals seem untouched.
+
+Thus these artificers of death can kill the man without wounding the
+body, like lightning, that melts the sword and never singes
+the scabbard.
+
+This is the William whose lady is the conqueror; this is the city's
+champion and the diurnal's delight; he that cuckolds the general in his
+commission; for he stalks with Essex, and shoots under his belly,
+because his Excellency himself is not charged there: yet in all this
+triumph there is a whip and bell; translate but the scene to Roundway
+Down, there Hazelrig's lobsters turned crabs and crawled backwards,
+there poor Sir William ran to his lady for an use of consolation.
+
+But the diurnal is weary of the arm of flesh, and now begins an hosanna
+to Cromwell; one that hath beat up his drums clean through the Old
+Testament; you may learn the genealogy of our Saviour by the names in
+his regiment; the muster-master uses no other list but the first chapter
+of Matthew.
+
+With what face can they object to the king the bringing in of
+foreigners, when themselves entertain such an army of Hebrews? This
+Cromwell is never so valorous as when he is making speeches for the
+association, which nevertheless he doth somewhat ominously with his neck
+awry, holding up his ear as if he expected Mahomet's pigeon to come and
+prompt him. He should be a bird of prey too by his bloody beak; his nose
+is able to try a young eagle, whether she be lawfully begotten. But all
+is not gold that glitters. What we wonder at in the rest of them is
+natural to him to kill without bloodshed, for the most of his trophies
+are in a church window, when a looking-glass would show him more
+superstition. He is so perfect a hater of images that he hath defaced
+God's in his own countenance. If he deals with men, 'tis when he takes
+them napping in an old monument; then down goes dust and ashes, and the
+stoutest cavalier is no better. O brave Oliver! Time's voider, subsizer
+to the worms, in whom death, who formerly devoured our ancestors, now
+chews the cud. He said grace once as if he would have fallen aboard with
+the Marquis of Newcastle; nay, and the diurnal gave you his bill of
+fare; but it proved a running banquet, as appears by the story. Believe
+him as he whistles to his Cambridge team of committee-men, and he doth
+wonders. But holy men, like the holy language, must be read backwards.
+They rifle colleges to promote learning, and pull down churches for
+edification. But sacrilege is entailed upon him. There must be a
+Cromwell for cathedrals as well as abbeys; a secure sin, whose offence
+carries its pardon in its mouth; for how shall he be hanged for
+church-robbery, that gives himself the benefit of the clergy?
+
+But for all Cromwell's nose wears the dominical letter, compared to
+Manchester he is but like the vigils to an holy-day. This, this is the
+man of God, so sanctified a thunderbolt, that Burroughs (in a
+proportionable blasphemy to his Lord of Hosts) would style him the
+archangel giving battle to the devil.
+
+Indeed, as the angels each of them makes a several species, so every one
+of his soldiers makes a distinct church. Had these beasts been to enter
+into the ark it would have puzzled Noah to have sorted them into pairs.
+If ever there were a rope of sand it was so many sects twisted into an
+association.
+
+They agree in nothing but that they are all Adamites in understanding.
+It is a sign of a coward to wink and fight, yet all their valour
+proceeds from their ignorance.
+
+But I wonder whence their general's purity proceeds; it is not by
+traduction; if he was begotten a saint it was by equivocal generation,
+for the devil in the father is turned monk in the son, so his godliness
+is of the same parentage with good laws, both extracted out of bad
+manners, and would he alter the Scripture as he hath attempted the
+creed, he might vary the text and say to corruption, Thou art my Father.
+
+This is he that put out one of the kingdom's eyes by clouding our mother
+university; and (if this Scotch mist farther prevail) he will extinguish
+the other. He hath the like quarrel to both, because both are strung
+with the same optic nerve, knowing loyalty.
+
+Barbarous rebel! who will be revenged upon all learning, because his
+treason is beyond the mercy of the book.
+
+The diurnal as yet hath not talked much of his victories, but there is
+the more behind, for the knight must always beat the giant,
+that's resolved.
+
+If anything fall out amiss which cannot be smothered, the diurnal hath a
+help at maw. It is but putting to sea and taking a Danish fleet, or
+brewing it with some success out of Ireland, and then it goes
+down merrily.
+
+There are more puppets that move by the wire of a diurnal, as Brereton
+and Cell, two of Mars his petty-toes, such snivelling cowards that it is
+a favour to call them so. Was Brereton to fight with his teeth (as in
+all other things he resembles the beast) he would have odds of any man
+at the weapon. Oh, he's a terrible slaughterman at a Thanksgiving
+dinner. Had he been cannibal to have eaten those that he vanquished, his
+gut would have made him valiant.
+
+The greatest wonder is at Fairfax, how he comes to be a babe of grace,
+certainly it is not in his personal, but (as the State-sophies
+distinguish) in his politic capacity; degenerate _ab extra_ by the zeal
+of the house he sat in, as chickens are hatched at Grand Cairo by the
+adoption of an oven.
+
+There is the woodmonger too, a feeble crutch to a declining cause, a new
+branch of the old oak of reformation.
+
+And now I speak of reformation, _vous avez_, Fox the tinker, the
+liveliest emblem of it that may be; for what did this parliament ever go
+about to reform, but, tinkerwise, in mending one hole they made three?
+
+But I have not ink enough to cure all the tetters and ring-worms of the
+State.
+
+I will close up all thus. The victories of the rebels are like the
+magical combat of Apuleius, who thinking he had slain three of his
+enemies, found them at last but a triumvirate of bladders. Such, and so
+empty are the triumphs of a diurnal, but so many impostumated fancies,
+so many bladders of their own blowing.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_The "Surfeit to A.B.C." in 1656, was a look of Characters. "Naps upon
+Parnassus'" in 1658 contained Characters of a Temporizer and an
+Antiquary. In the same year appeared "Satyrical Characters and Handsome
+Descriptions, in Letters." In 1659 there was a third edition of a satire
+on the English, published as "A Character of England, as it was lately
+presented in a Letter to a Nobleman of France" replied to in that year
+by "A Character of France." These suggested the production in 1659 of "A
+Perfect Description of the People and Country of Scotland" and, also in
+1659, "A Brief Character of the Low Countries under the States, being
+Three Weeks' Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the Inhabitants."
+This was written by Owen Feltham, and added to several editions of his
+"Resolves." In 1660 appeared "The Character of Italy" and "The Character
+of Spain;" in 1661, "Essays and Characters by L. G.;" in 1662-63, "The
+Assembly-Man" a Character that had been written by Sir John Birkenhead
+in 1647. Then came, in 1665, Richard Flecknoe, to whom Dryden ascribed
+sovereignty as one who
+
+   "In prose and verse was owned without dispute,
+   Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute."
+
+As he was equally ready in all forms of writing that his neighbours
+followed he, of course, wrote Characters. They were "Fifty-five
+Enigmatical Characters, all very exactly drawn to the Life, from several
+Persons, Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and full of Delight. By R. F.,
+Esq." The Duke of Newcastle admired, and wrote, in lines prefixed to
+the book--_
+
+   "Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit
+   And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it.
+   Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear
+   Whole libraries were in each character.
+   Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor yet
+   Lights in the starry skies are thicker set,
+   Nor quills upon the armed porcupine,
+   Than wit and fancy in this work of thine."
+
+_This is one of Flecknoe's Characters:--_
+
+
+
+THE VALIANT MAN.
+
+He is only a man; your coward and rash being but tame and savage beasts.
+His courage is still the same, and drink cannot make him more valiant,
+nor danger less. His valour is enough to leaven whole armies; he is an
+army himself, worth an army of other men. His sword is not always out
+like children's daggers, but he is always last in beginning quarrels,
+though first in ending them. He holds honour, though delicate as
+crystal, yet not so slight and brittle to be broke and cracked with
+every touch; therefore, though most wary of it, is not querulous nor
+punctilious. He is never troubled with passion, as knowing no degree
+beyond clear courage; and is always valiant, but never furious. He is
+the more gentle in the chamber, more fierce he's in the field, holding
+boast (the coward's valour), and cruelty (the beast's), unworthy a
+valiant man. He is only coward in this, that he dares not do an
+unhandsome action. In fine, he can only be overcome by discourtesy, and
+has but one defect--he cannot talk much--to recompense which he does
+the more.
+
+_In 1673 there was published "The Character of a Coffee House, with the
+symptoms of a Town Wit;" and in the same year, "Essays of Love and
+Marriage ... with some Characters and other Passages of Wit;" in 1675,
+"The Character of a Fanatick. By a Person of Quality;" a set of eleven
+Characters appeared in 1675; "A Whip for a Jockey, or a Character of an
+Horse-Courser," in 1677; "Four for a Penny, or Poor Robin's Character of
+an unconscionable Pawnbroker and Ear-mark of an oppressing Tally-man,
+with a friendly description of a Bum-bailey, and his merciless setting
+cur or Follower," appeared in 1678; and in the same year the Duke of
+Buckingham's "Character of an Ugly Woman." In 1681 appeared the
+"Character of a Disbanded Courtier," and in 1684 Oldham's "Character of
+a certain ugly old P----." In 1686 followed "Twelve ingenious
+Characters, or pleasant Descriptions of the Properties of sundry Persons
+and Things." Sir William Coventry's "Character of a Trimmer," published
+in 1689, had been written before 1659, when it had been answered by a
+"Character of a Tory," not printed at the time, but included (1721) in
+the works of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham. In 1689
+appeared "Characters addressed to Ladies of Age," and also "The
+Ceremony-Monger his Character, in Six Chapters, by E. Hickeringill,
+Rector of All Saints, Colchester." Ohe! Enough, enough!_
+
+
+
+
+SAMUEL BUTLER,
+
+_Author of "Hudibras," who died in 1680, also exercised his wit in
+Character writing. When Butler's "Remains" were published in two volumes
+in 1759 by R. Thyer, Keeper of the Public Library of Manchester, 460
+pages of the second volume, (all the volume except forty or fifty pages
+of "Thoughts on Various Subjects,") was occupied by a collection of 120
+Characters that he had written. I close this volume of "Character
+Writings of the Seventeenth Century" with as many of Samuel Butler's
+Characters as the book has room for,--none are wittier--space being left
+for one Character by a poet of our own century, Wordsworth's "Character
+of the Happy Warrior" to bring us to a happy close._
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS.
+
+BY SAMUEL BUTLER.
+
+
+
+A DEGENERATE NOBLE; OR, ONE THAT IS PROUD OF HIS BIRTH,
+
+Is like a turnip, there is nothing good of him but that which is
+underground; or rhubarb, a contemptible shrub that springs from a noble
+root. He has no more title to the worth and virtue of his ancestors than
+the worms that were engendered in their dead bodies, and yet he believes
+he has enough to exempt himself and his posterity from all things of
+that nature for ever. This makes him glory in the antiquity of his
+family, as if his nobility were the better the further off it is, in
+time as well as desert, from that of his predecessors. He believes the
+honour that was left him as well as the estate is sufficient to support
+his quality without troubling himself to purchase any more of his own;
+and he meddles us little with the management of the one as the other,
+but trusts both to the government of his servants, by whom he is equally
+cheated in both. He supposes the empty title of honour sufficient to
+serve his turn, though he has spent the substance and reality of it,
+like the fellow that sold his ass but would not part with the shadow of
+it; or Apicius, that sold his house, and kept only the balcony to see
+and be seen in. And because he is privileged from being arrested for his
+debts, supposes he has the same freedom from all obligations he owes
+humanity and his country, because he is not punishable for his ignorance
+and want of honour, no more than poverty or unskilfulness is in other
+professions, which the law supposes to be punishment enough to itself.
+He is like a fanatic, that contents himself with the mere title of a
+saint, and makes that his privilege to act all manner of wickedness; or
+the ruins of a noble structure, of which there is nothing left but the
+foundation, and that obscured and buried under the rubbish of the
+superstructure. The living honour of his ancestors is long ago departed,
+dead and gone, and his is but the ghost and shadow of it, that haunts
+the house with horror and disquiet where once it lived. His nobility is
+truly descended from the glory of his forefathers, and may be rightly
+said to fall to him, for it will never rise again to the height it was
+in them by his means, and he succeeds them as candles do the office of
+the sun. The confidence of nobility has rendered him ignoble, as the
+opinion of wealth makes some men poor, and as those that are born to
+estates neglect industry and have no business but to spend, so he being
+born to honour believes he is no further concerned than to consume and
+waste it. He is but a copy, and so ill done that there is no line of the
+original in him but the sin only. He is like a word that by ill-custom
+and mistake has utterly lost the sense of that from which it was
+derived, and now signifies quite contrary; for the glory of noble
+ancestors will not permit the good or bad of their posterity to be
+obscure. He values himself only upon his title, which being only verbal
+gives him a wrong account of his natural capacity, for the same words
+signify more or less, according as they are applied to things, as
+ordinary and extraordinary do at court; and sometimes the greater sound
+has the less sense, as in accounts, though four be more than three, yet
+a third in proportion is more than a fourth.
+
+
+
+A HUFFING COURTIER
+
+Is a cipher, that has no value himself but from the place he stands in.
+All his happiness consists in the opinion he believes others have of it.
+This is his faith, but as it is heretical and erroneous, though he
+suffer much tribulation for it, he continues obstinate, and not to be
+convinced. He flutters up and down like a butterfly in a garden, and
+while he is pruning of his peruke takes occasion to contemplate his legs
+and the symmetry of his breeches. He is part of the furniture of the
+rooms, and serves for a walking picture, a moving piece of arras. His
+business is only to be seen, and he performs it with admirable industry,
+placing himself always in the best light, looking wonderfully politic,
+and cautious whom he mixes withal. His occupation is to show his
+clothes, and if they could but walk themselves they would save him the
+labour and do his work as well as himself. His immunity from varlets is
+his freehold, and he were a lost man without it. His clothes are but his
+tailor's livery, which he gives him, for 'tis ten to one he never pays
+for them. He is very careful to discover the lining of his coat, that
+you may not suspect any want of integrity or flaw in him from the skin
+outwards. His tailor is his creator, and makes him of nothing; and
+though he lives by faith in him, he is perpetually committing iniquities
+against him. His soul dwells in the outside of him, like that of a
+hollow tree, and if you do but peel the bark off him he deceases
+immediately. His carriage of himself is the wearing of his clothes, and,
+like the cinnamon tree, his bark is better than his body. His looking
+big is rather a tumour than greatness. He is an idol that has just so
+much value as other men give him that believe in him, but none of his
+own. He makes his ignorance pass for reserve, and, like a hunting-nag,
+leaps over what he cannot get through. He has just so much of politics
+as hostlers in the university have Latin. He is as humble as a Jesuit to
+his superior, but repays himself again in insolence over those that are
+below him, and with a generous scorn despises those that can neither do
+him good nor hurt. He adores those that may do him good, though he knows
+they never will, and despises those that would not hurt him if they
+could. The court is his church, and he believes as that believes, and
+cries up and down everything as he finds it pass there. It is a great
+comfort to him to think that some who do not know him may perhaps take
+him for a lord, and while that thought lasts he looks bigger than usual
+and forgets his acquaintance, and that's the reason why he will
+sometimes know you and sometimes not. Nothing but want of money or
+credit puts him in mind that he is mortal, but then he trusts Providence
+that somebody will trust him, and in expectation of that hopes for a
+better life, and that his debts will never rise up in judgment against
+him. To get in debt is to labour in his vocation, but to pay is to
+forfeit his protection, for what's that worth to one that owes nothing?
+His employment being only to wear his clothes, the whole account of his
+life and actions is recorded in shopkeepers' books, that are his
+faithful historiographers to their own posterity; and he believes he
+loses so much reputation as he pays off his debts, and that no man wears
+his clothes in fashion that pays for them, for nothing is further from
+the mode. He believes that he that runs in debt is beforehand with those
+that trust him, and only those that pay are behind. His brains are
+turned giddy, like one that walks on the top of a house, and that's the
+reason it is so troublesome to him to look downwards. He is a kind of
+spectrum, and his clothes are the shape he takes to appear and walk in,
+and when he puts them off he vanishes. He runs as busily out of one room
+into another as a great practiser does in Westminster Hall from one
+court to another. When he accosts a lady he puts both ends of his
+microcosm in motion, by making legs at one end and combing his peruke at
+the other. His garniture is the sauce to his clothes, and he walks in
+his portcannons like one that stalks in long grass. Every motion of him
+cries "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, quoth the preacher." He rides
+himself like a well-managed horse, reins in his neck, and walks
+_terra-terra_. He carries his elbows backward, as if he were pinioned
+like a trussed-up fowl, and moves as stiff as if he was upon the spit.
+His legs are stuck in his great voluminous breeches like the whistles in
+a bagpipe, those abundant breeches in which his nether parts are not
+clothed but packed up. His hat has been long in a consumption of the
+fashion, and is now almost worn to nothing; if it do not recover quickly
+it will grow too little for a head of garlic. He wears garniture on the
+toes of his shoes to justify his pretensions to the gout, or such other
+malady that for the time being is most in fashion or request. When he
+salutes a friend he pulls off his hat, as women do their vizard-masks.
+His ribbons are of the true complexion of his mind, a kind of painted
+cloud or gaudy rainbow, that has no colour of itself but what it borrows
+from reflection. He is as tender of his clothes as a coward is of his
+flesh, and as loth to have them disordered. His bravery is all his
+happiness, and, like Atlas, he carries his heaven on his back. He is
+like the golden fleece, a fine outside on a sheep's back. He is a
+monster or an Indian creature, that is good for nothing in the world but
+to be seen. He puts himself up into a sedan, like a fiddle in a case,
+and is taken out again for the ladies to play upon, who, when they have
+done with him, let down his treble-string till they are in the humour
+again. His cook and _valet de chambre_ conspire to dress dinner and him
+so punctually together that the one may not be ready before the other.
+As peacocks and ostriches have the gaudiest and finest feathers, yet
+cannot fly, so all his bravery is to flutter only. The beggars call him
+"my lord," and he takes them at their words and pays them for it. If you
+praise him, he is so true and faithful to the mode that he never fails
+to make you a present of himself, and will not be refused, though you
+know not what to do with him when you have him.
+
+
+
+A COURT BEGGAR
+
+Waits at Court, as a dog does under a table, to catch what falls, or
+force it from his fellows if he can. When a man is in a fair way to be
+hanged that is richly worth it, or has hanged himself, he puts in to be
+his heir and succeed him, and pretends as much merit as another, as no
+doubt he has great reason to do if all things were rightly considered.
+He thinks it vain to deserve well of his Prince as long as he can do his
+business more easily by begging, for the same idle laziness possesses
+him that does the rest of his fraternity, that had rather take an alms
+than work for their livings, and therefore he accounts merit a more
+uncertain and tedious way of rising, and sometimes dangerous. He values
+himself and his place not upon the honour or allowances of it, but the
+convenient opportunity of begging, as King Clause's courtiers do when
+they have obtained of the superior powers a good station where three
+ways meet to exercise the function in. The more ignorant, foolish, and
+undeserving he is, provided he be but impudent enough, which all such
+seldom fail to be, the better he thrives in his calling, as others in
+the same way gain more by their sores and broken limbs than those that
+are sound and in health. He always undervalues what he gains, because he
+comes easily by it; and, how rich soever he proves, is resolved never to
+be satisfied, as being, like a Friar Minor, bound by his order to be
+always a beggar. He is, like King Agrippa, almost a Christian; for
+though he never begs anything of God, yet he does very much of his
+vicegerent the King, that is next Him. He spends lavishly what he gets,
+because it costs him so little pains to get more, but pays nothing; for
+if he should, his privilege would be of no use at all to him, and he
+does not care to part with anything of his right. He finds it his best
+way to be always craving, because he lights many times upon things that
+are disposed of or not beggable; but if one hit, it pays for twenty that
+miscarry; even as those virtuosos of his profession at large ask as well
+of those that give them nothing as those few that, out of charity, give
+them something. When he has passed almost all offices, as other beggars
+do from constable to constable, and after meets with a stop, it does but
+encourage him to be more industrious in watching the next opportunity,
+to repair the charge he has been at to no purpose. He has his
+emissaries, that are always hunting out for discoveries, and when they
+bring him in anything that he judges too heavy far his own interest to
+carry, he takes in others to join with him (like blind men and cripples
+that beg in consort), and if they prosper they share, and give the
+jackal some small snip for his pains in questing; that is, if he has any
+further use of him; otherwise he leaves him, like virtue, to reward
+himself; and because he deserves well, which he does by no means approve
+of, gives him, that which he believes to be the fittest recompense of
+all merit, just nothing. He believes that the King's restoration being
+upon his birthday, he is bound to observe it all the days of his life,
+and grant, as some other kings have done upon the same occasion,
+whatever is demanded of him, though it were the one-half of his kingdom.
+
+
+
+A BUMPKIN OR COUNTRY SQUIRE
+
+Is a clown of rank and degree. He is the growth of his own land, a kind
+of Autocthonus, like the Athenians that sprang out of their own ground,
+or barnacles that grow upon trees in Scotland. His homely education has
+rendered him a native only of his own soil and a foreigner to all other
+places, from which he differs in language, manner of living, and
+behaviour, which are as rugged as the coat of a colt that has been bred
+upon a common. The custom of being the best man in his own territories
+has made him the worst everywhere else. He assumes the upper end of the
+table at an ale-house as his birthright, receives the homage of his
+company, which are always subordinate, and dispenses ale and
+communication like a self-conforming teacher in a conventicle. The chief
+points he treats on are the memoirs of his dogs and horses, which he
+repeats as often as a holder-forth that has but two sermons, to which if
+he adds the history of his hawks and fishing he is very painful and
+laborious. He does his endeavour to appear a droll, but his wit being,
+like his estate, within the compass of a hedge, is so profound and
+obscure to a stranger that it requires a commentary, and is not to be
+understood without a perfect knowledge of all circumstances of persons
+and the particular idiom of the place. He has no ambition to appear a
+person of civil prudence or understanding more than in putting off a
+lame, infirm jade for sound wind and limb, to which purpose he brings
+his squirehood and groom to vouch, and, rather than fail, will outswear
+an affidavit-man. The top of his entertainment is horrible strong beer,
+which he pours into his guests (as the Dutch did water into our
+merchants when they tortured them at Amboyna) till they confess they can
+drink no more, and then he triumphs over them as subdued and vanquished,
+no less by the strength of his brain than his drink. When he salutes a
+man he lays violent hands upon him, and grips and shakes him like a fit
+of an ague; and when he accosts a lady he stamps with his foot, like a
+French fencer, and makes a lunge at her, in which he always misses his
+aim, too high or too low, and hits her on the nose or chin. He is never
+without some rough-handed flatterer, that rubs him, like a horse, with a
+curry-comb till he kicks and grunts with the pleasure of it. He has old
+family stories and jests, that fell to him with the estate, and have
+been left from heir to heir time out of mind. With these he entertains
+all comers over and over, and has added some of his own times, which he
+intends to transmit over to posterity. He has but one way of making all
+men welcome that come to his house, and that is by making himself and
+them drunk; while his servants take the same course with theirs, which
+he approves of as good and faithful service, and the rather because, if
+he has occasion to tell a strange, improbable story, they may be in a
+readiness to vouch with the more impudence, and make it a case of
+conscience to lie as well as drink for his credit. All the heroical
+glory he aspires to is but to be reputed a most potent and victorious
+stealer of deer and beater-up of parks, to which purpose he has compiled
+commentaries of his own great actions that treat of his dreadful
+adventures in the night, of giving battle in the dark, discomfiting of
+keepers, horsing the deer on his own back, and making off with equal
+resolution and success.
+
+
+
+AN ANTIQUARY
+
+Is one that has his being in this age, but his life and conversation is
+in the days of old. He despises the present age as an innovation and
+slights the future, but has a great value for that which is past and
+gone, like the madman that fell in love with Cleopatra. He is an old
+frippery-philosopher, that has so strange a natural affection to
+worm-eaten speculation that it is apparent he has a worm in his skull.
+He honours his forefathers and foremothers, but condemns his parents as
+too modern and no better than upstarts. He neglects himself because he
+was born in his own time and so far off antiquity, which he so much
+admires, and repines, like a younger brother, because he came so late
+into the world. He spends the one-half of his time in collecting old
+insignificant trifles, and the other in showing them, which he takes
+singular delight in, because the oftener he does it the farther they are
+from being new to him. All his curiosities take place of one another
+according to their seniority, and he values them not by their abilities,
+but their standing. He has a great veneration for words that are
+stricken in years, and are grown so aged that they have outlived their
+employments. These he uses with a respect agreeable to their antiquity
+and the good services they have done. He throws away his time in
+inquiring after that which is past and gone so many ages since, like one
+that shoots away an arrow to find out another that was lost before. He
+fetches things out of dust and ruins, like the fable of the chemical
+plant raised out of its own ashes. He values one old invention, that is
+lost and never to be recovered, before all the new ones in the world,
+though never so useful. The whole business of his life is the same with
+his that shows the tombs at Westminster, only the one does it for his
+pleasure, and the other for money. As every man has but one father, but
+two grandfathers and a world of ancestors, so he has a proportional
+value for things that are ancient, and the farther off the greater.
+
+He is a great time-server, but it is of time out of mind to which he
+conforms exactly, but is wholly retired from the present. His days were
+spent and gone long before he came into the world, and since his only
+business is to collect what he can out of the ruins of them. He has so
+strong a natural affection to anything that is old, that he may truly
+say to dust and worms, "You are my father;" and to rottenness, "Thou art
+my mother." He has no providence nor foresight, for all his
+contemplations look backward upon the days of old; and his brains are
+turned with them, as if he walked backwards. He had rather interpret one
+obscure word in any old senseless discourse than be author of the most
+ingenious new one, and, with Scaliger, would sell the Empire of Germany
+(if it were in his power) for an old song. He devours an old manuscript
+with greater relish than worms and moths do, and, though there be
+nothing in it, values it above anything printed, which he accounts but a
+novelty. When he happens to cure a small botch in an old author, he is
+as proud of it as if he had got the philosopher's stone and could cure
+all the diseases of mankind. He values things wrongfully upon their
+antiquity, forgetting that the most modern are really the most ancient
+of all things in the world, like those that reckon their pounds before
+their shillings and pence of which they are made up. He esteems no
+customs but such as have outlived themselves and are long since out of
+use, as the Catholics allow of no saints but such as are dead, and the
+fanatics, in opposition, of none but the living.
+
+
+
+A PROUD MAN
+
+Is a fool in fermentation, that swells and boils over like a
+porridge-pot. He sets out his feathers like an owl, to swell and seem
+bigger than he is. He is troubled with a tumour and inflammation of
+self-conceit, that renders every part of him stiff and uneasy. He has
+given himself sympathetic love-powder, that works upon him to dotage and
+has transformed him into his own mistress. He is his own gallant, and
+makes most passionate addresses to his own dear perfections. He commits
+idolatry to himself, and worships his own image; though there is no soul
+living of his Church but himself, yet he believes as the Church
+believes, and maintains his faith with the obstinacy of a fanatic. He is
+his own favourite, and advances himself not only above his merit, but
+all mankind; is both Damon and Pythias to his own dear self, and values
+his crony above his soul. He gives place to no man but himself, and that
+with very great distance to all others, whom he esteems not worthy to
+approach him. He believes whatsoever he has receives a value in being
+his, as a horse in a nobleman's stable will bear a greater price than in
+a common market. He is so proud that he is as hard to be acquainted with
+himself as with others, for he is very apt to forget who he is, and
+knows himself only superficially; therefore he treats himself civilly as
+a stranger with ceremony and compliment, but admits of no privacy. He
+strives to look bigger than himself as well as others, and is no better
+than his own parasite and flatterer. A little flood will make a shallow
+torrent swell above its banks, and rage and foam and yield a roaring
+noise, while a deep, silent stream glides quietly on. So a
+vain-glorious, insolent, proud man swells with a little frail
+prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows his bounds, and when he
+sinks, leaves mud and dirt behind him. His carriage is as glorious and
+haughty as if he were advanced upon men's shoulders or tumbled over
+their heads like knipperdolling. He fancies himself a Colosse, and so he
+is, for his head holds no proportion to his body, and his foundation is
+lesser than his upper storeys. We can naturally take no view of
+ourselves unless we look downwards, to teach us how humble admirers we
+ought to be of our own values. The slighter and less solid his materials
+are the more room they take up and make him swell the bigger, as
+feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more close
+and solid parts.
+
+
+
+A SMALL POET
+
+Is one that would fain make himself that which Nature never meant him,
+like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. He sets up
+haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. He
+believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit, and
+whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold
+with as his own. This he puts together so untowardly, that you may
+perceive his own wit has the rickets by the swelling disproportion of
+the joints. Imitation is the whole sum of him, and his vein is but an
+itch that he has catched of others, and his flame like that of charcoals
+that were burnt before. But as he wants judgment to understand what is
+best, he naturally takes the worst, as being most agreeable to his own
+talent. You may know his wit not to be natural, 'tis so unquiet and
+troublesome in him; for as those that have money but seldom are always
+shaking their pockets when they have it, so does he when he thinks he
+has got something that will make him appear. He is a perpetual talker,
+and you may know by the freedom of his discourse that he came lightly by
+it, as thieves spend freely what they get. He measures other men's wit
+by their modesty, and his own by his confidence. He makes nothing of
+writing plays, because he has not wit enough to understand the
+difficulty. This makes him venture to talk and scribble, as chouses do
+to play with cunning gamesters until they are cheated and laughed at. He
+is always talking of wit, as those that have bad voices are always
+singing out of tune, and those that cannot play delight to fumble on
+instruments. He grows the unwiser by other men's harms, for the worse
+others write, he finds the more encouragement to do so too. His
+greediness of praise is so eager that he swallows anything that comes in
+the likeness of it, how notorious and palpable soever, and is as
+shot-free against anything that may lessen his good opinion of himself.
+This renders him incurable, like diseases that grow insensible.
+
+If you dislike him, it is at your own peril; he is sure to put in a
+caveat beforehand against your understanding, and, like a malefactor in
+wit, is always furnished with exceptions against his judges. This puts
+him upon perpetual apologies, excuses, and defences, but still by way of
+defiance, in a kind of whiffling strain, without regard of any man that
+stands in the way of his pageant. Where he thinks he may do it safely,
+he will confidently own other men's writings; and where he fears the
+truth may be discovered, he will, by feeble denials and feigned
+insinuations, give men occasion to suppose it.
+
+If he understands Latin or Greek he ranks himself among the learned,
+despises the ignorant, talks criticisms out of Scaliger, and repeats
+Martial's bawdy epigrams, and sets up his rest wholly upon pedantry. But
+if he be not so well qualified, he cries down all learning as pedantic,
+disclaims study, and professes to write with as great facility as if his
+Muse was sliding down Parnassus. Whatsoever he hears well said he seizes
+upon by poetical license, and one way makes it his own; that is, by
+ill-repeating of it. This he believes to be no more theft than it is to
+take that which others throw away. By this means his writings are, like
+a tailor's cushion of mosaic work, made up of several scraps sewed
+together. He calls a slovenly, nasty description great Nature, and dull
+flatness strange easiness. He writes down all that comes in his head,
+and makes no choice, because he has nothing to do it with that is
+judgment. He is always repealing the old laws of comedy, and, like the
+Long Parliament, making ordinances in their stead, although they are
+perpetually thrown out of coffee-houses and come to nothing. He is like
+an Italian thief, that never robs but he murders, to prevent discovery;
+so sure is he to cry down the man from whom he purloins, that his petty
+larceny of wit may pass unsuspected. He is but a copier at best, and
+will never arrive to practise by the life; for bar him the imitation of
+something he has read, and he has no image in his thoughts. Observation
+and fancy, the matter and form of just wit, are above his philosophy. He
+appears so over-concerned in all men's wits as if they were but
+disparagements of his own, and cries down all they do as if they were
+encroachments upon him. He takes jests from the owners and breaks them,
+as justices do false weights and pots that want measure. When he meets
+with anything that is very good he changes it into small money, like
+three groats for a shilling, to serve several occasions. He disclaims
+study, pretends to take things in motion, and to shoot flying, which
+appears to be very true by his often missing of his mark. His wit is
+much troubled with obstructions, and he has fits as painful as those of
+the spleen. He fancies himself a dainty, spruce shepherd, with a flock
+and a fine silken shepherdess, that follow his pipe as rats did the
+conjurers in Germany.
+
+As for epithets, he always avoids those that are near akin to the sense.
+Such matches are unlawful, and not fit to be made by a Christian poet,
+and therefore all his care is to choose out such as will serve, like a
+wooden leg, to piece out a maimed verse that wants a foot or two; and if
+they will but rhyme now and then into the bargain, or run upon a letter,
+it is a work of supererogation.
+
+For similitudes, he likes the hardest and most obscure best; for as
+ladies wear black patches to make their complexions seem fairer than
+they are, so when an illustration is more obscure than the sense that
+went before it, it must of necessity make it appear clearer than it did,
+for contraries are best set off with contraries.
+
+He has found out a way to save the expense of much wit and sense; for he
+will make less than some have prodigally laid out upon five or six words
+serve forty or fifty lines. This is a thrifty invention, and very easy,
+and, if it were commonly known, would much increase the trade of wit and
+maintain a multitude of small poets in constant employment. He has found
+out a new sort of poetical Georgics, a trick of sowing wit like
+clover-grass on barren subjects which would yield nothing before. This
+is very useful for the times, wherein, some men say, there is no room
+left for new invention. He will take three grains of wit like the
+elixir, and projecting it upon the iron age, turn it immediately into
+gold. All the business of mankind has presently vanished; the whole
+world has kept holiday; there have been no men but heroes and poets, no
+women but nymphs and shepherdesses; trees have borne fritters, and
+rivers flowed plum-porridge.
+
+We read that Virgil used to make fifty or sixty verses in a morning, and
+afterwards reduce them to ten. This was an unthrifty vanity, and argues
+him as well ignorant in the husbandry of his own poetry as Seneca says
+he was in that of a farm; for, in plain English, it was no better than
+bringing a noble to nine-pence. And as such courses brought the prodigal
+son to eat with hogs, so they did him to feed with horses, which were
+not much better company, and may teach us to avoid doing the like. For
+certainly it is more noble to take four or five grains of sense, and,
+like a gold-beater, hammer them into so many leaves as will fill a whole
+book, than to write nothing but epitomes, which many wise men believe
+will be the bane and calamity of learning. When he writes he commonly
+steers the sense of his lines by the rhyme that is at the end of them,
+as butchers do calves by the tail. For when he has made one line, which
+is easy enough, and has found out some sturdy hard word that will but
+rhyme, he will hammer the sense upon it, like a piece of hot iron upon
+an anvil, into what form he pleases.
+
+There is no art in the world so rich in terms as poetry; a whole
+dictionary is scarce able to contain them, for there is hardly a pond, a
+sheep-walk, or a gravel-pit in all Greece but the ancient name of it is
+become a term of art in poetry. By this means small poets have such a
+stock of able hard words lying by them, as dryads, hamadryads, Aonides,
+fauni, nymphae, sylvani, &c., that signify nothing at all, and such a
+world of pedantic terms of the same kind, as may serve to furnish all
+the new inventions and thorough reformations that can happen between
+this and Plato's great year.
+
+When he writes he never proposes any scope or purpose to himself, but
+gives his genius all freedom; for as he that rides abroad for his
+pleasure can hardly be out of his way, so he that writes for his
+pleasure can seldom be beside his subject. It is an ungrateful thing to
+a noble wit to be confined to anything. To what purpose did the ancients
+feign Pegasus to have wings if he must be confined to the road and
+stages like a pack-horse, or be forced to be obedient to hedges and
+ditches? Therefore he has no respect to decorum and propriety of
+circumstance, for the regard of persons, times, and places is a
+restraint too servile to be imposed upon poetical license, like him that
+made Plato confess Juvenal to be a philosopher, or Persius, that calls
+the Athenians Quirites.
+
+For metaphors, he uses to choose the hardest and most far-set that he
+can light upon. These are the jewels of eloquence, and therefore the
+harder they are the more precious they must be.
+
+He'll take a scant piece of coarse sense and stretch it on the
+tenterhooks of half-a-score rhymes, until it crack that you may see
+through it and it rattle like a drumhead. When you see his verses hanged
+up in tobacco-shops, you may say, in defiance of the proverb, "that the
+weakest does not always go to the wall;" for 'tis well known the lines
+are strong enough, and in that sense may justly take the wall of any
+that have been written in our language. He seldom makes a conscience of
+his rhymes, but will often take the liberty to make "preach" rhyme with
+"cheat," "vote" with "rogue," and "committee-man" with "hang."
+
+He'll make one word of as many joints as the tin-pudding that a juggler
+pulls out of his throat and chops in again. What think you of
+_glud-fum-flam-hasta-minantes?_ Some of the old Latin poets bragged that
+their verses were tougher than brass and harder than marble; what would
+they have done if they had seen these? Verily they would have had more
+reason to wish themselves an hundred throats than they then had to
+pronounce them.
+
+There are some that drive a trade in writing in praise of other writers
+(like rooks, that bet on gamesters' hands), not at all to celebrate the
+learned author's merits, as they would show but their own wits, of which
+he is but the subject. The lechery of this vanity has spawned more
+writers than the civil law. For those whose modesty must not endure to
+hear their own praises spoken may yet publish of themselves the most
+notorious vapours imaginable. For if the privilege of love be
+allowed--_Dicere quiz puduit, scribere jussit amor_--why should it not
+be so in self-love too? For if it be wisdom to conceal our
+imperfections, what is it to discover our virtues? It is not likely that
+Nature gave men great parts upon such terms as the fairies used to give
+money, to pinch and leave them if they speak of it. They say--Praise is
+but the shadow of virtue, and sure that virtue is very foolish that is
+afraid of its own shadow.
+
+When he writes anagrams he uses to lay the outsides of his verses even
+(like a bricklayer) by a line of rhyme and acrostic, and fill the middle
+with rubbish. In this he imitates Ben Jonson, but in nothing else.
+
+There was one that lined a hatcase with a paper of Benlowes' poetry;
+Prynne bought it by chance and put a new demi-castor into it. The first
+time he wore it he felt only a singing in his head, which within two
+days turned to a vertigo. He was let blood in the ear by one of the
+State physicians, and recovered; but before he went abroad he wrote a
+poem of rocks and seas, in a style so proper and natural that it was
+hard to determine which was ruggeder.
+
+There is no feat of activity nor gambol of wit that ever was performed
+by man, from him that vaults on Pegasus to him that tumbles through the
+hoop of an anagram, but Benlowes has got the mastery in it, whether it
+be high-rope wit or low-rope wit. He has all sorts of echoes, rebuses,
+chronograms, &c., besides carwitchets, clenches, and quibbles. As for
+altars and pyramids in poetry, he has outdone all men that way; for he
+has made a gridiron and a frying-pan in verse, that, beside the likeness
+in shape, the very tone and sound of the words did perfectly represent
+the noise that is made by those utensils, such as the old poet called
+_sartago loquendi_. When he was a captain he made all the furniture of
+his horse, from the bit to the crupper, in beaten poetry, every verse
+being fitted to the proportion of the thing, with a moral allusion of
+the sense to the thing; as the bridle of moderation, the saddle of
+content, and the crupper of constancy; so that the same thing was both
+epigram and emblem, even as a mule is both horse and ass.
+
+Some critics are of opinion that poets ought to apply themselves to the
+imitation of Nature, and make a conscience of digressing from her; but
+he is none of these. The ancient magicians could charm down the moon and
+force rivers back to their springs by the power of poetry only, and the
+moderns will undertake to turn the inside of the earth outward (like a
+juggler's pocket) and shake the chaos out of it, make Nature show tricks
+like an ape, and the stars run on errands; but still it is by dint of
+poetry. And if poets can do such noble feats, they were unwise to
+descend to mean and vulgar. For where the rarest and most common things
+are of a price (as they are all one to poets), it argues disease in
+judgment not to choose the most curious. Hence some infer that the
+account they give of things deserves no regard, because they never
+receive anything as they find it into their compositions, unless it
+agree both with the measure of their own fancies and the measure of
+their lines, which can very seldom happen. And therefore, when they give
+a character of any thing or person, it does commonly bear no more
+proportion to the subject than the fishes and ships in a map do to the
+scale. But let such know that poets as well as kings ought rather to
+consider what is fit for them to give than others to receive; that they
+are fain to have regard to the exchange of language, and write high or
+low according as that runs. For in this age, when the smallest poet
+seldom goes below more the most, it were a shame for a greater and more
+noble poet not to outthrow that cut a bar.
+
+There was a tobacco-man that wrapped Spanish tobacco in a paper of
+verses which Benlowes had written against the Pope, which, by a natural
+antipathy that his wit has to anything that's Catholic, spoiled the
+tobacco, for it presently turned mundungus. This author will take an
+English word, and, like the Frenchman that swallowed water and spit it
+out wine, with a little heaving and straining would turn it immediately
+into Latin, as _plunderat ilie domos, mille hocopokiana_, and a
+thousand such.
+
+There was a young practitioner in poetry that found there was no good to
+be done without a mistress; for he that writes of love before he hath
+tried it doth but travel by the map, and he that makes love without a
+dame does like a gamester that plays for nothing. He thought it
+convenient, therefore, first to furnish himself with a name for his
+mistress beforehand, that he might not be to seek when his merit or good
+fortune should bestow her upon him; for every poet is his mistress's
+godfather, and gives her a new name, like a nun that takes orders. He
+was very curious to fit himself with a handsome word of a tunable sound,
+but could light upon none that some poet or other had not made use of
+before. He was therefore forced to fall to coining, and was several
+months before he could light on one that pleased him perfectly. But
+after he had overcome that difficulty he found a greater remaining, to
+get a lady to own him. He accosted some of all sorts, and gave them to
+understand, both in prose and verse, how incomparably happy it was in
+his power to make his mistress, but could never convert any of them. At
+length he was fain to make his laundress supply that place as a proxy
+until his good fortune or somebody of better quality would be more kind
+to him, which after a while he neither hoped nor cared for; for how mean
+soever her condition was before, when he had once pretended to her she
+was sure to be a nymph and a goddess. For what greater honour can a
+woman be capable of than to be translated into precious stones and
+stars? No herald in the world can go higher. Besides, he found no man
+can use that freedom of hyperbole in the character of a person commonly
+known (as great ladies are) which we can in describing one so obscure
+and unknown that nobody can disprove him. For he that writes but one
+sonnet upon any of the public persons shall be sure to have his reader
+at every third word cry out, "What an ass is this to call Spanish paper
+and ceruse lilies and roses, or claps influences; to say the Graces are
+her waiting-women, when they are known to be no better than her bawds;
+that day breaks from her eyes when she looks asquint; or that her breath
+perfumes the Arabian winds when she puffs tobacco!"
+
+It is no mean art to improve a language, and find out words that are not
+only removed from common use, but rich in consonants, the nerves and
+sinews of speech; to raise a soft and feeble language like ours to the
+pitch of High-Dutch, as he did that writ--
+
+  "Arts rattling foreskins shrilling bagpipes quell."
+
+This is not only the most elegant but most politic way of writing that a
+poet can use, for I know no defence like it to preserve a poem from the
+torture of those that lisp and stammer. He that wants teeth may as well
+venture upon a piece of tough horny brawn as such a line, for he will
+look like an ass eating thistles.
+
+He never begins a work without an invocation of his Muse; for it is not
+fit that she should appear in public to show her skill before she is
+entreated, as gentlewomen do not use to sing until they are applied to
+and often desired.
+
+I shall not need to say anything of the excellence of poetry, since it
+has been already performed by many excellent persons, among whom some
+have lately undertaken to prove that the civil government cannot
+possibly subsist without it, which, for my part, I believe to be true in
+a poetical sense, and more probable to be received of it than those
+strange feats of building walls and making trees dance which antiquity
+ascribes to verse. And though philosophers are of a contrary opinion and
+will not allow poets fit to live in a commonwealth, their partiality is
+plainer than their reasons, for they have no other way to pretend to
+this prerogative themselves, as they do, but by removing poets whom they
+know to have a fairer title; and this they do so unjustly that Plato,
+who first banished poets his republic, forgot that that very
+commonwealth was poetical. I shall say nothing to them, but only desire
+the world to consider how happily it is like to be governed by those
+that are at so perpetual a civil war among themselves, that if we should
+submit ourselves to their own resolution of this question, and be
+content to allow them only fit to rule if they could but conclude it so
+themselves, they would never agree upon it. Meanwhile there is no less
+certainty and agreement in poetry than the mathematics, for they all
+submit to the same rules without dispute or controversy. But whosoever
+shall please to look into the records of antiquity shall find their
+title so unquestioned that the greatest princes in the whole world have
+been glad to derive their pedigrees, and their power too, from poets.
+Alexander the Great had no wiser a way to secure that Empire to himself
+by right which he had gotten by force than by declaring himself the son
+of Jupiter; and who was Jupiter but the son of a poet? So Caesar and all
+Rome was transported with joy when a poet made Jupiter his colleague in
+the Empire; and when Jupiter governed, what did the poets that
+governed Jupiter?
+
+
+
+A PHILOSOPHER
+
+Seats himself as spectator and critic on the great theatre of the world,
+and gives sentence on the plots, language, and action of whatsoever he
+sees represented, according to his own fancy. He will pretend to know
+what is done behind the scene, but so seldom is in the right that he
+discovers nothing more than his own mistakes. When his profession was in
+credit in the world, and money was to be gotten by it, it divided itself
+into multitudes of sects, that maintained themselves and their opinions
+by fierce and hot contests with one another; but since the trade decayed
+and would not turn to account, they all fell of themselves, and now the
+world is so unconcerned in their controversies, that three Reformado
+sects joined in one, like Epicuro-Gassendo-Charltoniana, will not serve
+to maintain one pedant. He makes his hypotheses himself, as a tailor
+does a doublet without measure; no matter whether they fit Nature, he
+can make Nature fit them, and, whether they are too straight or wide,
+pinch or stuff out the body accordingly. He judges of the works of
+Nature just as the rabble do of State affairs; they see things done, and
+every man according to his capacity guesses at the reasons of them, but
+knowing nothing of the arcana or secret movements of either, they seldom
+or never are in the right. Howsoever, they please themselves and some
+others with their fancies, and the farther they are off truth, the more
+confident they are they are near it, as those that are out of their way
+believe the farther they have gone they are the nearer their journey's
+end, when they are farthest of all from it. He is confident of
+immaterial substances, and his reasons are very pertinent; that is,
+substantial as he thinks, and immaterial as others do. Heretofore his
+beard was the badge of his profession, and the length of that in all his
+polemics was ever accounted the length of his weapon; but when the trade
+fell, that fell too. In Lucius's time they were commonly called
+beard-wearers, for all the strength of their wits lay in their beards,
+as Samson's did in his locks; but since the world began to see the
+vanity of that hare-brained cheat, they left it off to save
+their credit.
+
+
+
+A MELANCHOLY MAN
+
+Is one that keeps the worst company in the world; that is, his own; and
+though he be always falling out and quarrelling with himself, yet he has
+not power to endure any other conversation. His head is haunted, like a
+house, with evil spirits and apparitions, that terrify and fright him
+out of himself, till he stands empty and forsaken. His sleeps and his
+wakings are so much the same that he knows not how to distinguish them,
+and many times when he dreams he believes he is broad awake and sees
+visions. The fumes and vapours that rise from his spleen and
+hypochondrias have so smutched and sullied his brain (like a room that
+smokes) that his understanding is blear-eyed and has no right perception
+of anything. His soul lives in his body, like a mole in the earth that
+labours in the dark, and casts up doubts and scruples of his own
+imaginations, to make that rugged and uneasy that was plain and open
+before. His brain is so cracked that he fancies himself to be glass, and
+is afraid that everything he comes near should break him in pieces.
+Whatsoever makes an impression in his imagination works itself in like a
+screw, and the more he turns and winds it the deeper it sticks, till it
+is never to be got out again. The temper of his brain, being earthy,
+cold, and dry, is apt to breed worms, that sink so deep into it no
+medicine in art or nature is able to reach them. He leads his life as
+one leads a dog in a slip that will not follow, but is dragged along
+until he is almost hanged, as he has it often under consideration to
+treat himself in convenient time and place, if he can but catch himself
+alone. After a long and mortal feud between his inward and his outward
+man, they at length agree to meet without seconds and decide the
+quarrel, in which the one drops and the other slinks out of the way and
+makes his escape into some foreign world, from whence it is never after
+heard of. He converses with nothing so much as his own imagination,
+which, being apt to misrepresent things to him, makes him believe that
+it is something else than it is, and that he holds intelligence with
+spirits that reveal whatsoever he fancies to him, as the ancient rude
+people that first heard their own voices repeated by echoes in the woods
+concluded it must proceed from some invisible inhabitants of those
+solitary places, which they after believed to be gods, and called them
+sylvans, fauns, and dryads. He makes the infirmity of his temper pass
+for revelations, as Mahomet did by his falling sickness, and inspires
+himself with the wind of his own hypochondrias. He laments, like
+Heraclitus, the maudlin philosopher, at other men's mirth, and takes
+pleasure in nothing but his own unsober sadness. His mind is full of
+thoughts, but they are all empty, like a nest of boxes. He sleeps
+little, but dreams much, and soundest when he is waking. He sees visions
+farther off than a second-sighted man in Scotland, and dreams upon a
+hard point with admirable judgment. He is just so much worse than a
+madman as he is below him in degree of frenzy, for among madmen the most
+mad govern all the rest, and receive a natural obedience from their
+inferiors.
+
+
+
+A TRAVELLER
+
+Is a native of all countries and an alien at home. He flies from the
+place where he was hatched, like a wild goose, and prefers all others
+before it. He has no quarrel to it but because he was born in it, and,
+like a bastard, he is ashamed of his mother, because she is of him. He
+is a merchant that makes voyages into foreign nations to drive a trade
+in wisdom and politics, and it is not for his credit to have it thought
+he has made an ill return, which must be if he should allow of any of
+the growth of his own country. This makes him quack and blow up himself
+with admiration of foreign parts and a generous contempt of home, that
+all men may admire at least the means he has had of improvement and
+deplore their own defects. His observations are like a sieve, that lets
+the finer flour pass and retains only the bran of things, for his whole
+return of wisdom proves to be but affectation, a perishable commodity,
+which he will never be able to put off. He believes all men's wits are
+at a stand that stay at home, and only those advanced that travel, as if
+change of pasture did make great politicians as well as fat calves. He
+pities the little knowledge of truth which those have that have not seen
+the world abroad, forgetting that at the same time he tells us how
+little credit is to be given to his own relations and those of others
+that speak and write of their travels. He has worn his own language to
+rags, and patched it up with scraps and ends of foreign. This serves him
+for wit; for when he meets with any of his foreign acquaintances, all
+they smatter passes for wit, and they applaud one another accordingly.
+He believes this raggedness of his discourse a great demonstration of
+the improvement of his knowledge, as Inns-of-Court men intimate their
+proficiency in the law by the tatters of their gowns. All the wit he
+brought home with him is like foreign coin, of a baser alloy than our
+own, and so will not pass here without great loss. All noble creatures
+that are famous in any one country degenerate by being transplanted, and
+those of mean value only improve. If it hold with men, he falls among
+the number of the latter, and his improvements are little to his credit.
+All he can say for himself is, his mind was sick of a consumption, and
+change of air has cured him; for all his other improvements have only
+been to eat in ... and talk with those he did not understand, to hold
+intelligence with all _Gazettes_, and from the sight of statesmen in the
+street unriddle the intrigues of all their Councils, to make a wondrous
+progress into knowledge by riding with a messenger, and advance in
+politics by mounting of a mule, run through all sorts of learning in a
+waggon, and sound all depths of arts in a felucca, ride post into the
+secrets of all states, and grow acquainted with their close designs in
+inns and hostelries; for certainly there is great virtue in highways and
+hedges to make an able man, and a good prospect cannot but let him see
+far into things.
+
+
+
+A CURIOUS MAN
+
+Values things not by their use or worth, but scarcity. He is very tender
+and scrupulous of his humour, as fanatics are of their consciences, and
+both for the most part in trifles. He cares not how unuseful anything
+be, so it be but unuseful and rare. He collects all the curiosities he
+can light upon in art or nature, not to inform his own judgment, but to
+catch the admiration of others, which he believes he has a right to
+because the rarities are his own. That which other men neglect he
+believes they oversee, and stores up trifles as rare discoveries, at
+least of his own wit and sagacity. He admires subtleties above all
+things, because the more subtle they are the nearer they are to nothing,
+and values no art but that which is spun so thin that it is of no use at
+all. He had rather have an iron chain hung about the neck of a flea than
+an alderman's of gold, and Homer's Iliads in a nutshell than Alexander's
+cabinet. He had rather have the twelve apostles on a cherry-stone than
+those on St. Peter's portico, and would willingly sell Christ again for
+that numerical piece of coin that Judas took for Him. His perpetual
+dotage upon curiosities at length renders him one of them, and he shows
+himself as none of the meanest of his rarities. He so much affects
+singularity that, rather than follow the fashion that is used by the
+rest of the world, he will wear dissenting clothes with odd fantastic
+devices to distinguish himself from others, like marks set upon cattle.
+He cares not what pains he throws away upon the meanest trifle so it be
+but strange, while some pity and others laugh at his ill-employed
+industry. He is one of those that valued Epictetus's lamp above the
+excellent book he wrote by it. If he be a book-man, he spends all his
+time and study upon things that are never to be known. The philosopher's
+stone and universal medicine cannot possibly miss him, though he is sure
+to do them. He is wonderfully taken with abstruse knowledge, and had
+rather handle truth with a pair of tongs wrapped up in mysteries and
+hieroglyphics than touch it with his hands or see it plainly
+demonstrated to his senses.
+
+
+
+A HERALD
+
+Calls himself a king because he has power and authority to hang, draw,
+and quarter arms. For assuming a jurisdiction over the distributive
+justice of titles of honour, as far as words extend, he gives himself as
+great a latitude that way as other magistrates use to do where they have
+authority and would enlarge it as far as they can. 'Tis true he can make
+no lords nor knights of himself, but as many squires and gentlemen as he
+pleases, and adopt them into what family they have a mind. His dominions
+abound with all sorts of cattle, fish, and fowl, and all manner of
+manufactures, besides whole fields of gold and silver, which he
+magnificently bestows upon his followers or sells as cheap as lands in
+Jamaica. The language they use is barbarous, as being but a dialect of
+pedlar's French or the Egyptian, though of a loftier sound, and in the
+propriety affecting brevity, as the other does verbosity. His business
+is like that of all the schools, to make plain things hard with
+perplexed methods and insignificant terms, and then appear learned in
+making them plain again. He professes arms not for use, but ornament
+only, and yet makes the basest things in the world, as dogs' turds and
+women's spindles, weapons of good and worshipful bearings. He is wiser
+than the fellow that sold his ass, but kept the shadow for his own use;
+for he sells only the shadow (that is, the picture) and keeps the ass
+himself. He makes pedigrees as apothecaries do medicines when they put
+in one ingredient for another that they have not by them; by this means
+he often makes incestuous matches, and causes the son to many the
+mother. His chief province is at funerals, where he commands in chief,
+marshals the _tristitiae irritamenta_, and, like a gentleman-sower to
+the worms, serves up the feast with all punctual formality. He will join
+as many shields together as would make a Roman _testudo_ or Macedonian
+phalanx, to fortify the nobility of a new-made lord that will pay for
+the impressing of them and allow him coat and conduct money. He is a
+kind of a necromancer, and can raise the dead out of their graves to
+make them marry and beget those they never heard of in their lifetime.
+His coat is, like the King of Spain's dominions, all skirts, and hangs
+as loose about him; and his neck is the waist, like the picture of
+Nobody with his breeches fastened to his collar. He will sell the head
+or a single joint of a beast or fowl as dear as the whole body, like a
+pig's head in Bartholomew Fair, and after put off the rest to his
+customers at the same rate. His arms, being utterly out of use in war
+since guns came up, have been translated to dishes and cups, as the
+ancients used their precious stones, according to the poet, _Gemmas ad
+pocula transfert a gladiis, &c._; and since are like to decay every day
+more and more, for since he gave citizens coats-of-arms, gentlemen have
+made bold to take their letters of mark by way of reprisal. The hangman
+has a receipt to mar all his work in a moment, for by nailing the wrong
+end of a scutcheon upwards upon a gibbet all the honour and gentility
+extinguishes of itself, like a candle that's held with the flame
+downwards. Other arms are made for the spilling of blood, but his only
+purify and cleanse it like scurvy-grass; for a small dose taken by his
+prescription will refine that which is as base and gross as bull's blood
+(which the Athenians used to poison withal) to any degree of purity.
+
+
+
+A VIRTUOSO
+
+Is a well-willer to the mathematics; he pursues knowledge rather out of
+humour than ingenuity, and endeavours rather to seem than to be. He has
+nothing of nature but an inclination, which he strives to improve with
+industry; but as no art can make a fountain run higher than its own
+head, so nothing can raise him above the elevation of his own pole. He
+seldom converses but with men of his own tendency, and wheresoever he
+comes treats with all men as such; for as country gentlemen use to talk
+of their dogs to those that hate hunting because they love it
+themselves, so will he of his arts and sciences to those that neither
+know nor care to know anything of them. His industry were admirable if
+it did not attempt the greatest difficulties with the feeblest means;
+for he commonly slights anything that is plain and easy, how useful and
+ingenious soever, and bends all his forces against the hardest and most
+improbable, though to no purpose if attained to; for neither knowing how
+to measure his own abilities nor the weight of what he attempts, he
+spends his little strength in vain and grows only weaker by it; and as
+men use to blind horses that draw in a mill, his ignorance of himself
+and his undertakings makes him believe he has advanced when he is no
+nearer to his end than when he set out first. The bravery of
+difficulties does so dazzle his eyes that he prosecutes them with as
+little success as the tailor did his amours to Queen Elizabeth. He
+differs from a pedant as things do from words, for he uses the same
+affectation in his operations and experiments as the other does in
+language. He is a haberdasher of small arts and sciences, and deals in
+as many several operations as a baby artificer does in engines. He will
+serve well enough for an index to tell what is handled in the world, but
+no further. He is wonderfully delighted with rarities, and they continue
+still so to him though he has shown them a thousand times, for every new
+admirer that gapes upon them sets him a-gaping too. Next these he loves
+strange natural histories; and as those that read romances, though they
+know them to be fictions, are as much affected as if they were true, so
+is he, and will make hard shift to tempt himself to believe them first
+to be possible, and then he's sure to believe them to be true,
+forgetting that belief upon belief is false heraldry. He keeps a
+catalogue of the names of all famous men in any profession, whom he
+often takes occasion to mention as his very good friends and old
+acquaintances. Nothing is more pedantic than to seem too much concerned
+about wit or knowledge, to talk much of it, and appear too critical in
+it. All he can possibly arrive to is but like the monkeys dancing on the
+rope, to make men wonder how 'tis possible for art to put nature so much
+out of her play.
+
+His learning is like those letters on a coach, where, many being writ
+together, no one appears plain. When the King happens to be at the
+university and degrees run like wine in conduits at public triumphs, he
+is sure to have his share; and though he be as free to choose his
+learning as his faculty, yet, like St. Austin's soul, _Creando
+infunditur, infundendo creatur_. Nero was the first emperor of his
+calling, though it be not much for his credit. He is like an elephant
+that, though he cannot swim, yet of all creatures most delights to walk
+along a river's side; and as, in law, things that appear not and things
+that are not are all one, so he had rather not be than not appear. The
+top of his ambition is to have his picture graved in brass and published
+upon walls, if he has no work of his own to face with it. His want of
+judgment inclines him naturally to the most extravagant undertakings,
+like that of making old dogs young, telling how many persons there are
+in a room by knocking at a door, stopping up of words in bottles, &c. He
+is like his books, that contain much knowledge, but know nothing
+themselves. He is but an index of things and words, that can direct
+where they are to be spoken with, but no farther. He appears a great man
+among the ignorant, and, like a figure in arithmetic, is so much the
+more as it stands before ciphers that are nothing of themselves. He
+calls himself an antisocordist, a name unknown to former ages, but
+spawned by the pedantry of the present. He delights most in attempting
+things beyond his reach, and the greater distance he shoots at, the
+farther he is sure to be off his mark. He shows his parts as drawers do
+a room at a tavern, to entertain them at the expense of their time and
+patience. He inverts the moral of that fable of him that caressed his
+dog for fawning and leaping up upon him and beat his ass for doing the
+same thing, for it is all one to him whether he be applauded by an ass
+or a wiser creature, so he be but applauded.
+
+
+
+AN INTELLIGENCER
+
+Would give a penny for any statesman's thought at any time. He travels
+abroad to guess what princes are designing by seeing them at church or
+dinner, and will undertake to unriddle a government at first sight, and
+tell what plots she goes with, male or female; and discover, like a
+mountebank, only by seeing the public face of affairs, what private
+marks there are in the most secret parts of the body politic. He is so
+ready at reasons of State, that he has them, like a lesson, by rote; but
+as charlatans make diseases fit their medicines, and not their medicines
+diseases, so he makes all public affairs conform to his own established
+reason of State, and not his reason, though the case alter ever so much,
+comply with them. He thinks to obtain a great insight into State affairs
+by observing only the outside pretences and appearances of things, which
+are seldom or never true, and may be resolved several ways, all equally
+probable; and therefore his penetrations into these matters are like the
+penetrations of cold into natural bodies, without any sense of itself or
+the thing it works upon. For all his discoveries in the end amount only
+to entries and equipages, addresses, audiences, and visits, with other
+such politic speculations as the rabble in the streets is wont to
+entertain itself withal. Nevertheless he is very cautious not to omit
+his cipher, though he writes nothing but what every one does or may
+safely know, for otherwise it would appear to be no secret. He
+endeavours to reduce all his politics into maxims, as being most easily
+portable for a travelling head, though, as they are for the most part of
+slight matters, they are but like spirits drawn out of water, insipid
+and good for nothing. His letters are a kind of bills of exchange, in
+which he draws news and politics upon all his correspondents, who place
+it to account, and draw it back again upon him; and though it be false,
+neither cheats the other, for it passes between both for good and
+sufficient pay. If he drives an inland trade, he is factor to certain
+remote country virtuosos, who, finding themselves unsatisfied with the
+brevity of the _Gazette_, desire to have exceedings of news besides
+their ordinary commons. To furnish those, he frequents clubs and
+coffee-houses, the markets of news, where he engrosses all he can light
+upon; and if that do not prove sufficient, he is forced to add a lie or
+two of his own making, which does him double service; for it does not
+only supply his occasions for the present, but furnishes him with matter
+to fill up gaps in the next letter with retracting what he wrote before,
+and in the meantime has served for as good news as the best; and when
+the novelty is over it is no matter what becomes of it, for he is better
+paid for it than if it were true.
+
+
+
+A QUIBBLER
+
+Is a juggler of words, that shows tricks with them, to make them appear
+what they were not meant for and serve two senses at once, like one that
+plays on two Jew's trumps. He is a fencer of language, that falsifies
+his blow and hits where he did not aim. He has a foolish sleight of wit
+that catches at words only and lets the sense go, like the young thief
+in the farce that took a purse, but gave the owner his money back again.
+He is so well versed in all cases of quibble, that he knows when there
+will be a blot upon a word as soon as it is out. He packs his quibbles
+like a stock of cards; let him but shuffle, and cut where you will, he
+will be sure to have it. He dances on a rope of sand, does the
+somersault, strappado, and half-strappado with words, plays at all
+manner of games with clinches, carwickets, and quibbles, and talks
+under-leg. His wit is left-handed, and therefore what others mean for
+right he apprehends quite contrary. All his conceptions are produced by
+equivocal generation, which makes them justly esteemed but maggots. He
+rings the changes upon words, and is so expert that he can tell at first
+sight how many variations any number of words will bear. He talks with a
+trillo, and gives his words a double relish. He had rather have them
+bear two senses in vain and impertinently than one to the purpose, and
+never speaks without a leer-sense. He talks nothing but equivocation and
+mental reservation, and mightily affects to give a word a double stroke,
+like a tennis-ball against two walls at one blow, to defeat the
+expectation of his antagonist. He commonly slurs every fourth or fifth
+word, and seldom fails to throw doublets. There are two sorts of
+quibbling, the one with words and the other with sense, like the
+rhetorician's _figurae dictionis et figurae sententiae_--the first is
+already cried down, and the other as yet prevails, and is the only
+elegance of our modern poets, which easy judges call easiness; but
+having nothing in it but easiness, and being never used by any lasting
+wit, will in wiser times fall to nothing of itself.
+
+
+
+A TIME-SERVER
+
+Wears his religion, reason, and understanding always in the mode, and
+endeavours as far as he can to be one of the first in the fashion, let
+it change as oft as it can. He makes it his business, like a politic
+epicure, to entertain his opinion, faith, and judgment with nothing but
+what he finds to be most in season, and is as careful to make his
+understanding ready according to the present humour of affairs as the
+gentleman was that used every morning to put on his clothes by the
+weather-glass. He has the same reverend esteem of the modern age as an
+antiquary has for venerable antiquity, and, like a glass, receives
+readily any present object, but takes no notice of that which is past or
+to come. He is always ready to become anything as the times shall please
+to dispose of him, but is really nothing of himself; for he that sails
+before every wind can be bound for no port. He accounts it blasphemy to
+speak against anything in present vogue, how vain or ridiculous soever,
+and arch-heresy to approve of anything, though ever so good and wise,
+that is laid by; and therefore casts his judgment and understanding upon
+occasion, as bucks do their horns, when the season arrives to breed new
+against the next, to be cast again. He is very zealous to show himself,
+upon all occasions, a true member of the Church for the time being, that
+has not the least scruple in his conscience against the doctrine or
+discipline of it, as it stands at present, or shall do hereafter,
+unsight unseen; for he is resolved to be always for the truth, which he
+believes is never so plainly demonstrated as in that character that says
+it is great and prevails, and in that sense only fit to be adhered to by
+a prudent man, who will never be kinder to Truth than she is to him; for
+suffering is a very evil effect, and not like to proceed from a good
+cause. He is a man of a right public spirit, for he resigns himself
+wholly to the will and pleasure of the times, and, like a zealous
+implicit patriot, believes as the State believes, though he neither
+knows nor cares to know what that is.
+
+
+
+A PRATER
+
+Is a common nuisance, and as great a grievance to those that come near
+him as a pewterer is to his neighbours. His discourse is like the
+braying of a mortar, the more impertinent the more voluble and loud, as
+a pestle makes more noise when it is rung on the sides of a mortar than
+when it stamps downright and hits upon the business. A dog that opens
+upon a wrong scent will do it oftener than one that never opens but upon
+a right. He is as long-winded as a ventiduct that fills as fast as it
+empties, or a trade-wind that blows one way for half-a-year together,
+and another as long, as if it drew in its breath for six months, and
+blew it out again for six more. He has no mercy on any man's ears or
+patience that he can get within his sphere of activity, but tortures
+him, as they correct boys in Scotland, by stretching their lugs without
+remorse. He is like an earwig; when he gets within a man's ear he is not
+easily to be got out again. He will stretch a story as unmercifully as
+he does the ears of those he tells it to, and draw it out in length like
+a breast of mutton at the Hercules pillars, or a piece of cloth set on
+the tenters, till it is quite spoiled and good for nothing. If he be an
+orator that speaks _distincte et ornate_, though not _apte_, he delivers
+his circumstances with the same mature deliberation that one that drinks
+with a gusto swallows his wine, as if he were loth to part with it
+sooner than he must of necessity; or a gamester that pulls the cards
+that are dealt him one by one, to enjoy the pleasure more distinctly of
+seeing what game he has in his hand. He takes so much pleasure to hear
+himself speak, that he does not perceive with what uneasiness other men
+endure him, though they express it ever so plainly; for he is so
+diverted with his own entertainment of himself, that he is not at
+leisure to take notice of any else. He is a siren to himself, and has no
+way to escape shipwreck but by having his mouth stopped instead of his
+ears. He plays with his tongue as a cat does with her tail, and is
+transported with the delight he gives himself of his own making. He
+understands no happiness like that of having an opportunity to show his
+abilities in public, and will venture to break his neck to show the
+activity of his eloquence; for the tongue is not only the worst part of
+a bad servant, but of an ill master that does not know how to govern it;
+for then it is like Guzman's wife, very headstrong and not sure of foot.
+
+
+
+A DISPUTANT
+
+Is a holder of arguments, and wagers too, when he cannot make them good.
+He takes naturally to controversy, like fishes in India that are said to
+have worms in their heads and swim always against the stream. The
+greatest mastery of his art consists in turning and winding the state of
+the question, by which means he can easily defeat whatsoever has been
+said by his adversary, though excellently to the purpose, like a bowler
+that knocks away the jack when he sees another man's bowl lie nearer to
+it than his own. Another of his faculties is with a multitude of words
+to render what he says so difficult to be recollected that his adversary
+may not easily know what he means, and consequently not understand what
+to answer, to which he secretly reserves an advantage to reply by
+interpreting what he said before otherwise than he at first intended it,
+according as he finds it serve his purpose to evade whatsoever shall be
+objected. Next to this, to pretend not to understand, or misinterpret
+what his antagonist says, though plain enough, only to divert him from
+the purpose, and to take occasion from his exposition of what he said to
+start new cavils on the bye and run quite away from the question; but
+when he finds himself pressed home and beaten from all his guards, to
+amuse the foe with some senseless distinction, like a falsified blow
+that never hits where 'tis aimed, but while it is minded makes way for
+some other trick that may pass. But that which renders him invincible is
+abundance of confidence and words, which are his offensive and defensive
+arms; for a brazen face is a natural helmet or beaver, and he that has
+store of words needs not surrender for want of ammunition. No matter for
+reason and sense, that go for no more in disputations than the justice
+of a cause does in war, which is understood but by few and commonly
+regarded by none. For the custom of disputants is not so much to destroy
+one another's reason as to cavil at the manner of expressing it, right
+or wrong; for they believe _Dolus an virtus_, &c., ought to be allowed
+in controversy as war, and he that gets the victory on any terms
+whatsoever deserves it and gets it honourably. He and his opponent are
+like two false lute-strings that will never stand in tune to one
+another, or like two tennis-players whose greatest skill consists in
+avoiding one another's strokes.
+
+
+
+A PROJECTOR
+
+Is by interpretation a man of forecast. He is an artist of plots,
+designs, and expedients to find out money, as others hide it, where
+nobody would look for it. He is a great rectifier of the abuses of all
+trades and mysteries, yet has but one remedy for all diseases; that is,
+by getting a patent to share with them, by virtue of which they become
+authorised, and consequently cease to be cheats. He is a great promoter
+of the public good, and makes it his care and study to contrive
+expedients that the nation may not be ill served with false rags,
+arbitrary puppet-plays, and insufficient monsters, of all which he
+endeavours to get the superintendency. He will undertake to render
+treasonable pedlars, that carry intelligence between rebels and
+fanatics, true subjects and well-affected to the Government for
+half-a-crown a quarter, which he takes for giving them license to do so
+securely and uncontrolled. He gets as much by those projects that
+miscarry as by those that hold (as lawyers are paid as well for undoing
+as preserving of men); for when he has drawn in adventurers to purchase
+shares of the profit, the sooner it is stopped the better it proves for
+him; for, his own business being done, he is the sooner rid of theirs.
+He is very expert at gauging the understandings of those he deals with,
+and has his engines always ready with mere air to blow all their money
+out of their pockets into his own, as vintners do wine out of one vessel
+into another. He is very amorous of his country, and prefers the public
+good before his own advantage, until he has joined them both together in
+some monopoly, and then he thinks he has done his part, and may be
+allowed to look after his own affairs in the second place. The chiefest
+and most useful part of his talent consists in quacking and lying, which
+he calls answering of objections and convincing the ignorant. Without
+this he can do nothing; for as it is the common practice of most
+knaveries, so it is the surest and best fitted to the vulgar capacities
+of the world; and though it render him more ridiculous to some few, it
+always prevails upon the greater part.
+
+
+
+A COMPLEMENTER
+
+Is one that endeavours to make himself appear a very fine man in
+persuading another that he is so, and by offering those civilities which
+he does not intend to part with, believes he adds to his own reputation
+and obliges another for nothing. He is very free in making presents of
+his services, because he is certain he cannot possibly receive in return
+less than they are worth. He differs very much from all other critics in
+punctilios of honour; for he esteems himself very uncivilly dealt with
+if his vows and protestations pass for anything but mere lies and
+vanities. When he gives his word, he believes it is no longer his, and
+therefore holds it very unreasonable to give it and keep it too. He
+divides his services among so many that there comes but little or
+nothing to any one man's share, and therefore they are very willing to
+let him take it back again. He makes over himself in truth to every man,
+but still it is to his own uses to secure his title against all other
+claims and cheat his creditors. He is very generous of his promises, but
+still it is without lawful consideration, and so they go for nothing. He
+extols a man to his face, like those that write in praise of an author
+to show his own wit, not his whom they undertake to commend. He has
+certain set forms and routines of speech, which he can say over while he
+thinks on anything else, as a Catholic does his prayers, and therefore
+never means what he says. His words flow easily from him, but so shallow
+that they will bear no weight at all. All his offers of endearment are
+but like terms of course, that carry their own answers along with them,
+and therefore pass for nothing between those that understand them, and
+deceive those only that believe in them. He professes most kindness
+commonly to those he least cares for, like an host that bids a man
+welcome when he is going away. He had rather be every man's menial
+servant than any one man's friend; for servants gain by their masters,
+and men often lose by their friends.
+
+
+
+A CHEAT
+
+Is a freeman of all trades, and all trades of his. Fraud and treachery
+are his calling, though his profession be the strictest integrity and
+truth. He spins nets, like a spider, out of his own entrails, to entrap
+the simple and unwary that light in his way, whom he devours and feeds
+upon. All the greater sort of cheats, being allowed by authority, have
+lost their names (as judges, when they are called to the Bench, are no
+more styled lawyers) and left the title to the meaner only and the
+unallowed. The common ignorance of mankind is his province, which he
+orders to the best advantage. He is but a tame highwayman, that does the
+same things by stratagem and design which the other does by force, makes
+men deliver their understandings first, and after their purses. Oaths
+and lies are his tools that he works with, and he gets his living by the
+drudgery of his conscience. He endeavours to cheat the devil by
+mortgaging his soul so many times over and over to him, forgetting that
+he has damnations, as priests have absolutions of all prices. He is a
+kind of a just judgment, sent into this world to punish the confidence
+and curiosity of ignorance, that out of a natural inclination to error
+will tempt its own punishment and help to abuse itself. He can put on as
+many shapes as the devil that set him on work, is one that fishes in
+muddy understandings, and will tickle a trout in his own element till he
+has him in his clutches, and after in his dish or the market. He runs
+down none but those which he is certain are _fera natura_, mere natural
+animals, that belong to him that can catch them. He can do no feats
+without the co-operating assistance of the chouse, whose credulity
+commonly meets the impostor half-way, otherwise nothing is done; for all
+the craft is not in the catching (as the proverb says), but the better
+half at least in being catched. He is one that, like a bond without
+fraud, covin, and further delay, is void and of none effect, otherwise
+does stand and remain in full power, force, and virtue. He trusts the
+credulous with what hopes they please at a very easy rate, upon their
+own security, until he has drawn them far enough in, and then makes them
+pay for all at once. The first thing he gets from him is a good opinion,
+and afterwards anything he pleases; for after he has drawn from his
+guards he deals with him like a surgeon, and ties his arm before he lets
+him blood.
+
+
+
+A TEDIOUS MAN
+
+Talks to no end, as well as to no purpose; for he would never come at it
+willingly. His discourse is like the road-miles in the north, the
+filthier and dirtier the longer; and he delights to dwell the longer
+upon them to make good the old proverb that says they are good for the
+dweller, but ill for the traveller. He sets a tale upon the rack, and
+stretches until it becomes lame and out of joint. Hippocrates says art
+is long; but he is so for want of art. He has a vein of dulness, that
+runs through all he says or does; for nothing can be tedious that is not
+dull and insipid. Digressions and repetitions, like bag and baggage,
+retard his march and put him to perpetual halts. He makes his approaches
+to a business by oblique lines, as if he meant to besiege it, and
+fetches a wide compass about to keep others from discovering what his
+design is. He is like one that travels in a dirty deep road, that moves
+slowly; and, when he is at a stop, goes back again, and loses more time
+in picking of his way than in going it. How troublesome and uneasy
+soever he is to others, he pleases himself so well that he does not at
+all perceive it; for though home be homely, it is more delightful than
+finer things abroad; and he that is used to a thing and knows no better
+believes that other men, to whom it appears otherwise, have the same
+sense of it that he has; as melancholy persons that fancy themselves to
+be glass believe that all others think them so too; and therefore that
+which is tedious to others is not so to him, otherwise he would avoid
+it; for it does not so often proceed from a natural defect as
+affectation and desire to give others that pleasure which they find
+themselves, though it always falls out quite contrary. He that converses
+with him is like one that travels with a companion that rides a lame
+jade; he must either endure to go his pace or stay for him; for though
+he understands long before what he would be at better than he does
+himself, he must have patience and stay for him, until, with much ado to
+little purpose, he at length comes to him; for he believes himself
+injured if he should bate a jot of his own diversion.
+
+
+
+A PRETENDER
+
+Is easily acquainted with all knowledges, but never intimate with any;
+he remembers he has seen them somewhere before, but cannot possibly call
+to mind where. He will call an art by its name, and claim acquaintance
+with it at first sight. He knew it perfectly, as the Platonics say, in
+the other world, but has had the unhappiness to discontinue his
+acquaintance ever since his occasions called him into this. He claps on
+all the sail he can possibly make, though his vessel be empty and apt to
+overset. He is of a true philosophical temper, contented with a little,
+desires no more knowledge than will satisfy nature, and cares not what
+his wants are so he can but keep them from the eyes of the world. His
+parts are unlimited; for as no man knows his abilities, so he does his
+endeavour that as few should his defects. He wears himself in opposition
+to the mode, for his lining is much coarser than his outside; and as
+others line their serge with silk, he lines his silk with serge. All his
+care is employed to appear not to be; for things that are not and things
+that appear not are not only the same in law, but in all other affairs
+of the world. It should seem that the most impudent face is the best;
+for he that does the shamefulest thing most unconcerned is said to set a
+good face upon it; for the truth is, the face is but the outside of the
+mind, but all the craft is to know how 'tis lined. Howsoever, he fancies
+himself as able as any man, but not being in a capacity to try the
+experiment, the hint-keeper of Gresham College is the only competent
+judge to decide the controversy. He may, for anything he knows, have as
+good a title to his pretences as another man; for judgment being not
+past in the case (which shall never be by his means), his title still
+stands fair. All he can possibly attain to is but to be another thing
+than nature meant him, though a much worse. He makes that good that
+Pliny says of children, _Qui celerius fari cepere, tardius ingredi
+incipiunt_. The apter he is to smatter, the slower he is in making any
+advance in his pretences. He trusts words before he is thoroughly
+acquainted with them, and they commonly show him a trick before he is
+aware; and he shows at the same time his ignorance to the learned and
+his learning to the ignorant.
+
+
+
+A NEWSMONGER
+
+Is a retailer of rumour that takes up upon trust and sells as cheap as
+he buys. He deals in a perishable commodity that will not keep; for if
+it be not fresh it lies upon his hands and will yield nothing. True or
+false is all one to him; for novelty being the grace of both, a truth
+grows stale as soon as a lie; and as a slight suit will last as well as
+a better while the fashion holds, a lie serves as well as truth till new
+ones come up. He is little concerned whether it be good or bad, for that
+does not make it more or less news; and, if there be any difference, he
+loves the bad best, because it is said to come soonest; for he would
+willingly bear his share in any public calamity to have the pleasure of
+hearing and telling it. He is deeply read in diurnals, and can give as
+good an account of Rowland Pepin, if need be, as another man. He tells
+news, as men do money, with his fingers; for he assures them it comes
+from very good hands. The whole business of his life is, like that of a
+spaniel, to fetch and carry news, and when he does it well he is clapped
+on the back and fed for it; for he does not take to it altogether, like
+a gentleman, for his pleasure, but when he lights on a considerable
+parcel of news, he knows where to put it off for a dinner, and quarter
+himself upon it until he has eaten it out; and by this means he drives a
+trade, by retrieving the first news to truck it for the first meat in
+season, and, like the old Roman luxury, ransacks all seas and lands to
+please his palate; for he imports his narratives from all parts within
+the geography of a diurnal, and eats as well upon the Russ and Polander
+as the English and Dutch. By this means his belly is provided for, and
+nothing lies upon his hands but his back, which takes other courses to
+maintain itself by weft and stray silver spoons, straggling hoods and
+scarfs, pimping, and sets at _L'Ombre_.
+
+
+
+A MODERN CRITIC
+
+Is a corrector of the press gratis; and as he does it for nothing, so it
+is to no purpose. He fancies himself clerk of Stationers' Hall, and
+nothing must pass current that is not entered by him. He is very severe
+in his supposed office, and cries, "Woe to ye scribes!" right or wrong.
+He supposes all writers to be malefactors without clergy that claim the
+privilege of their books, and will not allow it where the law of the
+land and common justice does. He censures in gross, and condemns all
+without examining particulars. If they will not confess and accuse
+themselves, he will rack them until they do. He is a committee-man in
+the commonwealth of letters, and as great a tyrant, so is not bound to
+proceed but by his own rules, which he will not endure to be disputed.
+He has been an apocryphal scribbler himself; but his writings wanting
+authority, he grew discontent and turned apostate, and thence becomes so
+severe to those of his own profession. He never commends anything but in
+opposition to something else that he would undervalue, and commonly
+sides with the weakest, which is generous anywhere but in judging. He is
+worse than an _index expurgatorius_; for he blots out all, and when he
+cannot find a fault, makes one. He demurs to all writers, and when he is
+overruled, will run into contempt. He is always bringing writs of error,
+like a pettifogger, and reversing of judgments, though the case be never
+so plain. He is a mountebank that is always quacking of the infirm and
+diseased parts of books, to show his skill, but has nothing at all to do
+with the sound. He is a very ungentle reader, for he reads sentence on
+all authors that have the unhappiness to come before him; and therefore
+pedants, that stand in fear of him, always appeal from him beforehand,
+by the name of Momus and Zoilus, complain sorely of his extra-judicial
+proceedings, and protest against him as corrupt, and his judgment void
+and of none effect, and put themselves in the protection of some
+powerful patron, who, like a knight-errant, is to encounter with the
+magician and free them from his enchantments.
+
+
+
+A BUSY MAN
+
+Is one that seems to labour in every man's calling but his own, and,
+like Robin Goodfellow, does any man's drudgery that will let him. He is
+like an ape, that loves to do whatsoever he sees others do, and is
+always as busy as a child at play. He is a great undertaker, and
+commonly as great an underperformer. His face is like a lawyer's buckram
+rag, that has always business in it, and as he trots about his head
+travels as fast as his feet. He covets his neighbour's business, and his
+own is to meddle, not do. He is very lavish of his advice, and gives it
+freely, because it is worth nothing, and he knows not what to do with it
+himself. He is a common-barreter for his pleasure, that takes no money,
+but pettifogs gratis. He is very inquisitive after every man's
+occasions, and charges himself with them like a public notary. He is a
+great overseer of State affairs, and can judge as well of them before he
+understands the reasons as afterwards. He is excellent at preventing
+inconveniences and finding out remedies when 'tis too late; for, like
+prophecies, they are never heard of till it is to no purpose. He is a
+great reformer, always contriving of expedients, and will press them
+with as much earnestness as if himself and every man he meets had power
+to impose them on the nation. He is always giving aim to State affairs,
+and believes by screwing of his body he can make them shoot which way he
+pleases. He inquires into every man's history, and makes his own
+commentaries upon it as he pleases to fancy it. He wonderfully affects
+to seem full of employments, and borrows men's business only to put on
+and appear in, and then returns it back again, only a little worse. He
+frequents all public places, and, like a pillar in the old Exchange, is
+hung with all men's business, both public and private, and his own is
+only to expose them. He dreads nothing so much as to be thought at
+leisure, though he is never otherwise; for though he be always doing, he
+never does anything.
+
+
+
+A PEDANT
+
+Is a dwarf scholar, that never outgrows the mode and fashion of the
+school where he should have been taught. He wears his little learning,
+unmade-up, puts it on before it was half finished, without pressing or
+smoothing. He studies and uses words with the greatest respect possible,
+merely for their own sakes, like an honest man, without any regard of
+interest, as they are useful and serviceable to things, and among those
+he is kindest to strangers (like a civil gentleman) that are far from
+their own country and most unknown. He collects old sayings and ends of
+verses, as antiquaries do old coins, and is as glad to produce them upon
+all occasions. He has sentences ready lying by him for all purposes,
+though to no one, and talks of authors as familiarly as his
+fellow-collegiates. He will challenge acquaintance with those he never
+saw before, and pretend to intimate knowledge of those he has only heard
+of. He is well stored with terms of art, but does not know how to use
+them, like a country-fellow that carries his gloves in his hands, not
+his hands in his gloves. He handles arts and sciences like those that
+can play a little upon an instrument, but do not know whether it be in
+tune or not. He converses by the book, and does not talk, but quote. If
+he can but screw in something that an ancient writer said, he believes
+it to be much better than if he had something of himself to the purpose.
+His brain is not able to concoct what it takes in, and therefore brings
+things up as they were swallowed, that is, crude and undigested, in
+whole sentences, not assimilated sense, which he rather affects; for his
+want of judgment, like want of health, renders his appetite
+preposterous. He pumps for affected and far-set expressions, and they
+always prove as far from the purpose. He admires canting above sense. He
+is worse than one that is utterly ignorant, as a cock that sees a little
+fights worse than one that is stark blind. He speaks in a different
+dialect from other men, and much affects forced expressions, forgetting
+that hard words, as well as evil ones, corrupt good manners. He can do
+nothing, like a conjurer, out of the circle of his arts, nor in it
+without canting and ... If he professes physic, he gives his patients
+sound, hard words for their money, as cheap as he can afford; for they
+cost him money, and study too, before he came by them, and he has reason
+to make as much of them as he can.
+
+
+
+A HUNTER
+
+Is an auxiliary hound that assists one nation of beasts to subdue and
+overrun another. He makes mortal war with the fox for committing acts of
+hostility against his poultry. He is very solicitous to have his dogs
+well descended of worshipful families, and understands their pedigree as
+learnedly as if he were a herald, and is as careful to match them
+according to their rank and qualities as High-Germans are of their own
+progenies. He is both cook and physician to his hounds, understands the
+constitutions of their bodies, and what to administer in any infirmity
+or disease, acute or chronic, that can befall them. Nor is he less
+skilful in physiognomy, and from the aspects of their faces, shape of
+their snouts, falling of their ears and lips, and make of their barrels
+will give a shrewd guess at their inclinations, parts, and abilities,
+and what parents they are lineally descended from; and by the tones of
+their voices and statures of their persons easily discover what country
+they are natives of. He believes no music in the world is comparable to
+a chorus of their voices, and that when they are well matched they will
+hunt their parts as true at first scent as the best singers of catches
+that ever opened in a tavern; that they understand the scale as well as
+the best scholar that ever learned to compose by the mathematics; and
+that when he winds his horn to them 'tis the very same thing with a
+cornet in a quire; that they will run down the hare with a fugue, and a
+double do-sol-re-dog hunt a thorough-base to them all the while; that
+when they are at a loss they do but rest, and then they know by turns
+who are to continue a dialogue between two or three of them, of which he
+is commonly one himself. He takes very great pains in his way, but calls
+it game and sport because it is to no purpose; and he is willing to make
+as much of it as he can, and not be thought to bestow so much labour and
+pains about nothing. Let the hare take which way she will, she seldom
+fails to lead him at long-running to the alehouse, where he meets with
+an after-game of delight in making up a narrative how every dog behaved
+himself, which is never done without long dispute, every man inclining
+to favour his friend as far as he can; and if there be anything
+remarkable to his thinking in it, he preserves it to please himself and,
+as he believes, all people else with, during his natural life, and after
+leaves it to his heirs male entailed upon the family, with his
+bugle-horn and seal-ring.
+
+
+
+AN AFFECTED MAN
+
+Carries himself like his dish (as the proverb says), very uprightly,
+without spilling one drop of his humour. He is an orator and
+rhetorician, that delights in flowers and ornaments of his own devising
+to please himself and others that laugh at him. He is of a leaden, dull
+temper, that stands stiff, as it is bent, to all crooked lines, but
+never to the right. When he thinks to appear most graceful, he adorns
+himself most ill-favouredly, like an Indian that wears jewels in his
+lips and nostrils. His words and gestures are all as stiff as buckram,
+and he talks as if his lips were turned up as well as his beard. All his
+motions are regular, as if he went by clockwork, and he goes very true
+to the nick as he is set. He has certain favourite words and
+expressions, which he makes very much of, as he has reason to do, for
+they serve him upon all occasions and are never out of the way when he
+has use of them, as they have leisure enough to do, for nobody else has
+any occasion for them but himself. All his affectations are forced and
+stolen from others; and though they become some particular persons where
+they grow naturally, as a flower does on its stalk, he thinks they will
+do so by him when they are pulled and dead. He puts words and language
+out of its ordinary pace and breaks it to his own fancy, which makes it
+go so uneasy in a shuffle, which it has not been used to. He delivers
+himself in a forced way, like one that sings with a feigned voice beyond
+his natural compass. He loves the sound of words better than the sense,
+and will rather venture to incur nonsense than leave out a word that he
+has a kindness for. If he be a statesman, the slighter and meaner his
+employments are the bigger he looks, as an ounce of tin swells and looks
+bigger than an ounce of gold; and his affectations of gravity are the
+most desperate of all, as the aphorism says--Madness of study and
+consideration are harder to be cured than those of lighter and more
+fantastic humour.
+
+
+
+A MEDICINE-TAKER
+
+Has a sickly mind and believes the infirmity is in his body, like one
+that draws the wrong tooth and fancies his pain in the wrong place. The
+less he understands the reason of physic the stronger faith he has in
+it, as it commonly fares in all other affairs of the world. His disease
+is only in his judgment, which makes him believe a doctor can fetch it
+out of his stomach or his belly, and fright those worms out of his guts
+that are bred in his brain. He believes a doctor is a kind of conjurer
+that can do strange things, and he is as willing to have him think so;
+for by that means he does not only get his money, but finds himself in
+some possibility by complying with that fancy to do him good for it,
+which he could never expect to do any other way; for, like those that
+have been cured by drinking their own water, his own imagination is a
+better medicine than any the doctor knows how to prescribe, even as the
+weapon-salve cures a wound by being applied to that which made it. He is
+no sooner well but any story or lie of a new famous doctor or strange
+cure puts him into a relapse, and he falls sick of a medicine instead of
+a disease, and catches physic like him that fell into a looseness at the
+sight of a purge. He never knows when he is well or sick, but is always
+tampering with his health till he has spoiled it, like a foolish
+musician that breaks his strings with striving to put them in tune; for
+Nature, which is physic, understands better how to do her own work than
+those that take it from her at second hand. Hippocrates says, _Ars
+longa, vita brevis_, and it is the truest of all his aphorisms--
+
+   "For he that's given much to the long art
+   Does not prolong his life, but cut it short."
+
+
+
+THE MISER
+
+Is like the sea, that is said to be richer than the land, but is not
+able to make any use of it at all, and only keeps it from those that
+know how to enjoy it if they had it. The devil understood his business
+very well when he made choice of Judas's avarice to betray Christ, for
+no other vice would have undertaken it; and it is to be feared that his
+Vicars now on earth, by the tenderness they have to the bag, do not use
+Him much better than His steward did then. He gathers wealth to no
+purpose but to satisfy his avarice, that has no end, and afflicts
+himself to possess that which he is, of all men, the most incapable of
+ever obtaining. His treasure is in his hands in the same condition as if
+it were buried uncier ground and watched by an evil spirit. His desires
+are like the bottomless pit which he is destined to, for the one is as
+soon filled as the other. He shuts up his money in close custody, and
+that which has power to open all locks is not able to set itself at
+liberty. If he ever lets it out it is upon good bail and mainprize, to
+render itself prisoner again whensoever it shall be summoned. He loves
+wealth as an eunuch does women, whom he has no possibility of enjoying,
+or one that is bewitched with an impotency or taken with the falling
+sickness. His greedy appetite to riches is but a kind of dog-hunger,
+that never digests what it devours, but still the greedier and more
+eager it crams itself becomes more meagre. He finds that ink and
+parchment preserves money better than an iron chest and parsimony, like
+the memories of men that lie dead and buried when they are committed to
+brass and marble, but revive and flourish when they are trusted to
+authentic writings and increase by being used. If he had lived among the
+Jews in the wilderness he would have been one of their chief reformers,
+and have worshipped anything that is cast in gold, though a sillier
+creature than a calf. St. John in the Revelations describes the New
+Jerusalem to be built all of gold and silver and precious stones, for
+the saints commonly take so much delight in those creatures that nothing
+else could prevail with them ever to come thither; and as those times
+are called the Golden Age in which there was no gold at all in use, so
+men are reputed godly and rich that make no use at all of their religion
+or wealth. All that he has gotten together with perpetual pains and
+industry is not wealth, but a collection, which he intends to keep by
+him more for his own diversion than any other use, and he that made
+ducks and drakes with his money enjoyed it every way as much. He makes
+no conscience of anything but parting with his money, which is no better
+than a separation of soul and body to him, and he believes it to be as
+bad as self-murder if he should do it wilfully; for the price of the
+weapon with which a man is killed is always esteemed a very considerable
+circumstance, and next to not having the fear of God before his eyes. He
+loves the bowels of the earth broiled on the coals above any other
+cookery in the world. He is a slave condemned to the mines. He laughs at
+the golden mean as ridiculous, and believes there is no such thing in
+the world; for how can there be a mean of that of which no man ever had
+enough? He loves the world so well that he would willingly lose himself
+to save anything by it. His riches are like a dunghill, that renders the
+ground unprofitable that it lies upon, and is good for nothing until it
+be spread and scattered abroad.
+
+
+
+A SWEARER
+
+Is one that sells the devil the best pennyworth that he meets with
+anywhere, and, like the Indians that part with gold for glass beads, he
+damns his soul for the slightest trifles imaginable. He betroths himself
+oftener to the devil in one day than Mecaenas did in a week to his wife,
+that he was married a thousand times to. His discourse is inlaid with
+oaths as the gallows is with nails, to fortify it against the assaults
+of those whose friends have made it their deathbed. He takes a
+preposterous course to be believed and persuade you to credit what he
+says, by saying that which at the best he does not mean; for all the
+excuse he has for his voluntary damning of himself is, that he means
+nothing by it. He is as much mistaken in what he does intend really, for
+that which he takes for the ornament of his language renders it the most
+odious and abominable. His custom of swearing takes away the sense of
+his saying. His oaths are but a dissolute formality of speech and the
+worst kind of affectation. He is a Knight-Baronet of the Post, or
+gentleman blasphemer, that swears for his pleasure only; a lay-affidavit
+man, _in voto_ only and not in orders. He learned to swear, as magpies
+do to speak, by hearing others. He talks nothing but bell, book, and
+candle, and delivers himself over to Satan oftener than a Presbyterian
+classis would do. He plays with the devil for sport only, and stakes his
+soul to nothing. He overcharges his oaths till they break and hurt
+himself only. He discharges them as fast as a gun that will shoot nine
+times with one loading. He is the devil's votary, and fails not to
+commend himself into his tuition upon all occasions. He outswears an
+exorcist, and outlies the legend. His oaths are of a wider bore and
+louder report than those of an ordinary perjurer, but yet they do not
+half the execution. Sometimes he resolves to leave it, but not too
+suddenly, lest it should prove unwholesome and injurious to his health,
+but by degrees as he took it up. Swearing should appear to be the
+greatest of sins, for though the Scripture says, "God sees no sin in His
+children," it does not say He hears none.
+
+
+
+THE LUXURIOUS
+
+Places all enjoyment in spending, as a covetous man does in getting, and
+both are treated at a witch's feast, where nothing feeds but only the
+imagination, and like two madmen, that believe themselves to be the same
+prince, laugh at one another. He values his pleasures as they do honour,
+by the difficulty and dearness of the purchase, not the worth of the
+thing; and the more he pays the better he believes he ought to be
+pleased, as women are fondest of those children which they have groaned
+most for. His tongue is like a great practiser's in law, for as the one
+will not stir, so the other will not taste without a great fee. He never
+reckons what a thing costs by what it is worth, but what it is worth by
+what it costs. All his senses are like corrupt judges, that will
+understand nothing until they are thoroughly informed and satisfied with
+a convincing bribe. He relishes no meat but by the rate, and a high
+price is like sauce to it, that gives it a high taste and renders it
+savoury to his palate. He believes there is nothing dear, nor ought to
+be so, that does not cost much, and that the dearest bought is always
+the cheapest. He tastes all wines by the smallness of the bottles and
+the greatness of the price, and when he is over-reckoned takes it as an
+extraordinary value set upon him, as Dutchmen always reckon by the
+dignity of the person, not the charge of the entertainment he receives,
+put his quality and titles into the bill of fare, and make him pay for
+feeding upon his own honour and right-worship, which he brought along
+with him. He debauches his gluttony with an unnatural appetite to things
+never intended for food, like preposterous venery or the unnatural
+mixtures of beasts of several kinds. He is as curious of his pleasures
+as an antiquary of his rarities, and cares for none but such as are very
+choice and difficult to be gotten, disdains anything that is common,
+unless it be his women, which he esteems a common good, and therefore
+the more communicative the better. All his vices are, like children that
+have been nicely bred, a great charge to him, and it costs him dear to
+maintain them like themselves, according to their birth and breeding;
+but he, like a tender parent, had rather suffer want himself than they
+should, for he considers a man's vices are his own flesh and blood, and
+though they are but by-blows, he is bound to provide for them, out of
+natural affection, as well as if they were lawfully begotten.
+
+
+
+AN UNGRATEFUL MAN
+
+Is like dust in the highway, that flies in the face of those that raise
+it. He that is ungrateful is all things that are amiss. He is like the
+devil, that seeks the destruction of those most of all that do him the
+best service, or an unhealthful sinner that receives pleasure and
+returns nothing but diseases. He receives obligations from all that he
+can, but they presently become void and of none effect, for good offices
+fare with him like death, from which there is no return. His ill-nature
+is like an ill stomach, that turns its nourishment into bad humours. He
+should be a man of very great civilities, for he receives all that he
+can, but never parts with any. He is like a barren soil; plant what you
+will on him, it will never grow, nor anything but thorns and thistles,
+that came in with the curse. His mother died in child-bed of him, for he
+is descended of the generation of vipers in which the dam always eats
+off the sire's head, and the young ones their way through her belly. He
+is like a horse in a pasture, that eats up the grass and dungs it in
+requital. He puts the benefits he receives from others and his own
+faults together in that end of the sack which he carries behind his
+back. His ill-nature, like a contagious disease, infects others that are
+of themselves good, who, observing his ingratitude, become less inclined
+to do good than otherwise they would be; and as the sweetest wine, if
+ill-preserved, becomes the sourest vinegar, so the greatest endearments
+with him turn to the bitterest injuries. He has an admirable art of
+forgetfulness, and no sooner receives a kindness but he owns it by
+prescription and claims from time out of mind. All his acknowledgments
+appear before his ends are served, but never after, and, like Occasion,
+grow very thick before but bare behind. He is like a river, that runs
+away from the spring that feeds it and undermines the banks that support
+it; or like vice and sin, that destroy those that are most addicted to
+it; or the hangman, that breaks the necks of those whom he gets his
+living by, and whips those that find him employment, and brands his
+masters that set him on work. He pleads the Act of Oblivion for all the
+good deeds that are done him, and pardons himself for the evil returns
+he makes. He never looks backward (like a right statesman), and things
+that are past are all one with him as if they had never been; and as
+witches, they say, hurt those only from whom they can get something and
+have a hank upon, he no sooner receives a benefit but he converts it to
+the injury of that person who conferred it on him. It fares with persons
+as with families, that think better of themselves the farther they are
+off their first raisers.
+
+
+
+A SQUIRE OF DAMES
+
+Deals with his mistress as the devil does with a witch, is content to be
+her servant for a time, that she may be his slave for ever. He is
+esquire to a knight-errant, donzel to the damsels, and gentleman usher
+daily waiter on the ladies, that rubs out his time in making legs and
+love to them. He is a gamester who throws at all ladies that are set
+him, but is always out, and never wins but when he throws at the
+candlestick, that is, for nothing; a general lover, that addresses unto
+all but never gains any, as universals produce nothing. He never appears
+so gallant a man as when he is in the head of a body of ladies and leads
+them up with admirable skill and conduct. He is a eunuch-bashaw, that
+has charge of the women and governs all their public affairs, because he
+is not able to do them any considerable private services. One of his
+prime qualifications is to convey their persons in and out of coaches,
+as tenderly as a cook sets his custards in an oven and draws them out
+again, without the least discomposure or offence to their inward or
+outward woman; that is, their persons and dresses. The greatest care he
+uses in his conversation with ladies is to order his peruke
+methodically, and keep off his hat with equal respect both to it and
+their ladyships, that neither may have cause to take any just offence,
+but continue him in their good graces. When he squires a lady he takes
+her by the handle of her person, the elbow, and steers it with all
+possible caution, lest his own foot should, upon a tack, for want of due
+circumspection, unhappily fall foul on the long train she carries at her
+stern. This makes him walk upon his toes and tread as lightly as if he
+were leading her a dance. He never tries any experiment solitary with
+her, but always in consort, and then he acts the woman's part and she
+the man's, talks loud and laughs, while he sits demurely silent, and
+simpers or bows, and cries, "Anon, Madam, excellently good!" &c. &c. He
+is a kind of hermaphrodite, for his body is of one sex and his mind of
+another, which makes him take no delight in the conversation or actions
+of men, because they do so by his, but apply himself to women, to whom
+the sympathy and likeness of his own temper and wit naturally inclines
+him, where he finds an agreeable reception for want of a better; for
+they, like our Indian planters, value their wealth by the number of
+their slaves. All his business in the morning is to dress himself, and
+in the afternoon to show his workmanship to the ladies, who after
+serious consideration approve or disallow of his judgment and abilities
+accordingly, and he as freely delivers his opinion of theirs. The glass
+is the only author he studies, by which his actions and gestures are all
+put on like his clothes, and by that he practices how to deliver what he
+has prepared to say to the dames, after he has laid a train to bring
+it in.
+
+
+
+AN HYPOCRITE
+
+Is a saint that goes by clockwork, a machine made by the devil's
+geometry, which he winds and nicks to go as he pleases. He is the
+devil's finger-watch, that never goes true, but too fast or too slow as
+he sets him. His religion goes with wires, and he serves the devil for
+an idol to seduce the simple to worship and believe in him. He puts down
+the true saint with his copper-lace devotion, as ladies that use art
+paint fairer than the life. He is a great bustler in reformation, which
+is always most proper to his talent, especially if it be tumultuous; for
+pockets are nowhere so easily and safely picked as in jostling crowds.
+And as change and alterations are most agreeable to those who are tied
+to nothing, he appears more zealous and violent for the cause than such
+as are retarded by conscience or consideration. His religion is a
+mummery, and his Gospel-walkings nothing but dancing a masquerade. He
+never wears his own person, but assumes a shape, as his master, the
+devil, does when he appears. He wears counterfeit hands (as the Italian
+pickpocket did), which are fastened to his breast as if he held them up
+to heaven, while his natural fingers are in his neighbour's pocket. The
+whole scope of all his actions appears to be directed, like an archer's
+arrow, at heaven, while the clout he aims at sticks in the earth. The
+devil baits his hook with him when he fishes in troubled waters. He
+turns up his eyes to heaven like birds that have no upper lid. He is a
+weathercock upon the steeple of the church, that turns with every wind
+that blows from any point of the compass. He sets his words and actions
+like a printer's letters, and he that will understand him must read him
+backwards. He is much more to be suspected than one that is no
+professor, as a stone of any colour is easier counterfeited than a
+diamond that is of none. The inside of him tends quite cross to the
+outside, like a spring that runs upward within the earth and down
+without. He is an operator for the soul, and corrects other men's sins
+with greater of his own, as the Jews were punished for their idolatry by
+greater idolaters than themselves. He is a spiritual highwayman that
+robs on the road to heaven. His professions and his actions agree like a
+sweet voice and a stinking breath.
+
+
+
+AN OPINIONATER
+
+Is his own confidant, that maintains more opinions than he is able to
+support. They are all bastards commonly and unlawfully begotten, but
+being his own, he had rather, out of natural affection, take any pains,
+or beg, than they should want a subsistence. The eagerness and violence
+he uses to defend them argues they are weak, for if they were true they
+would not need it. How false soever they are to him, he is true to them;
+and as all extraordinary affections of love or friendship are usually
+upon the meanest accounts, he is resolved never to forsake them, how
+ridiculous soever they render themselves and him to the world. He is a
+kind of a knight-errant that is bound by his order to defend the weak
+and distressed, and deliver enchanted paradoxes, that are bewitched and
+held by magicians and conjurers in invisible castles. He affects to have
+his opinions as unlike other men's as he can, no matter whether better
+or worse, like those that wear fantastic clothes of their own devising.
+No force of argument can prevail upon him; for, like a madman, the
+strength of two men in their wits is not able to hold him down. His
+obstinacy grows out of his ignorance, for probability has so many ways
+that whosoever understands them will not be confident of any one. He
+holds his opinions as men do their lands, and though his tenure be
+litigious, he will spend all he has to maintain it. He does not so much
+as know what opinion means, which, always supposing uncertainty, is not
+capable of confidence. The more implicit his obstinacy is, the more
+stubborn it renders him; for implicit faith is always more pertinacious
+than that which can give an account of itself; and as cowards that are
+well backed will appear boldest, he that believes as the Church believes
+is more violent, though he knows not what it is, than he that can give a
+reason for his faith. And as men in the dark endeavour to tread firmer
+than when they are in the light, the darkness of his understanding makes
+him careful to stand fast wheresoever he happens, though it be out
+of his way.
+
+
+
+A CHOLERIC MAN
+
+Is one that stands for madman, and has as many voices as another. If he
+miss he has very hard dealing; for if he can but come to a fair polling
+of his fits against his intervals, he is sure to carry it. No doubt it
+would be a singular advantage to him; for, as his present condition
+stands, he has more full moons in a week than a lunatic has in a year.
+His passion is like tinder, soon set on fire and as soon out again. The
+smallest occasion imaginable puts him in his fit, and then he has no
+respect of persons, strikes up the heels of stools and chairs, tears
+cards limbmeal without regard of age, sex, or quality, and breaks the
+bones of dice, and makes them a dreadful example to deter others from
+daring to take part against him. He is guilty but of misprision of
+madness, and if the worst come to the worst, can but forfeit estate and
+suffer perpetual liberty to say what he pleases. 'Tis true he is but a
+candidate of Bedlam, and is not yet admitted fellow, but has the license
+of the College to practise, and in time will not fail to come in
+according to his seniority. He has his grace for madman, and has done
+his exercises, and nothing but his good manners can put him by his
+degree. He is, like a foul chimney, easily set on fire, and then he
+vapours and flashes as if he would burn the house, but is presently put
+out with a greater huff, and the mere noise of a pistol reduces him to a
+quiet and peaceable temper. His temper is, like that of a meteor, an
+imperfect mixture, that sparkles and flashes until it has spent itself.
+All his parts are irascible, and his gall is too big for his liver. His
+spleen makes others laugh at him, and as soon as his anger is over with
+others he begins to be angry with himself and sorry. He is sick of a
+preposterous ague, and has his hot fit always before his cold. The more
+violent his passion is the sooner it is out, like a running knot, that
+strains hardest, but is easiest loosed. He is never very passionate but
+for trifles, and is always most temperate where he has least cause, like
+a nettle that stings worst when it is touched with soft and gentle
+fingers, but when it is bruised with rugged, hardened hands returns no
+harm at all.
+
+
+
+A SUPERSTITIOUS MAN
+
+Is more zealous in his false, mistaken piety than others are in the
+truth; for he that is in an error has farther to go than one that is in
+the right way, and therefore is concerned to bestir himself and make the
+more speed. The practice of his religion is, like the Schoolmen's
+speculations, full of niceties and tricks, that take up his whole time
+and do him more hurt than good. His devotions are labours, not
+exercises, and he breaks the Sabbath in taking too much pains to keep
+it. He makes a conscience of so many trifles and niceties, that he has
+not leisure to consider things that are serious and of real weight. His
+religion is too full of fears and jealousies to be true and faithful,
+and too solicitous and unquiet to continue in the right, if it were so.
+And as those that are bunglers and unskilful in any art take more pains
+to do nothing, because they are in a wrong way, than those that are
+ready and expert to do the excellentest things, so the errors and
+mistakes of his religion engage him in perpetual troubles and anxieties,
+without any possibility of improvement until he unlearn all and begin
+again upon a new account. He talks much of the justice and merits of his
+cause, and yet gets so many advocates that it is plain he does not
+believe himself; but having pleaded not guilty, he is concerned to
+defend himself as well as he can, while those that confess and put
+themselves upon the mercy of the Court have no more to do. His religion
+is too full of curiosities to be sound and useful, and is fitter for a
+hypocrite than a saint; for curiosities are only for show and of no use
+at all. His conscience resides more in his stomach than his heart, and
+howsoever he keeps the commandments, he never fails to keep a very pious
+diet, and will rather starve than eat erroneously or taste anything that
+is not perfectly orthodox and apostolical; and if living and eating are
+inseparable, he is in the right, and lives because he eats according to
+the truly ancient primitive Catholic faith in the purest times.
+
+
+
+A DROLL
+
+Plays his part of wit readily at first sight, and sometimes better than
+with practice. He is excellent at voluntary and prelude, but has no
+skill in composition. He will run divisions upon any ground very
+dexterously, but now and then mistakes a flat for a sharp. He has a
+great deal of wit, but it is not at his own disposing, nor can he
+command it when he pleases unless it be in the humour. His fancy is
+counterchanged between jest and earnest, and the earnest lies always in
+the jest, and the jest in the earnest. He treats of all matters and
+persons by way of exercitation, without respect of things, time, place,
+or occasion, and assumes the liberty of a free-born Englishman, as if he
+were called to the long robe with long ears. He imposes a hard task upon
+himself as well as those he converses with, and more than either can
+bear without a convenient stock of confidence. His whole life is nothing
+but a merrymaking, and his business the same with a fiddler's, to play
+to all companies where he comes, and take what they please to give him
+either of applause or dislike; for he can do little without some
+applauders, who by showing him ground make him outdo his own expectation
+many times, and theirs too; for they that laugh on his side and cry him
+up give credit to his confidence, and sometimes contribute more than
+half the wit by making it better than he meant. He is impregnable to all
+assaults but that of a greater impudence, which, being stick-free, puts
+him, like a rough fencer, out of his play, and after passes upon him at
+pleasure, for when he is once routed he never rallies again. He takes a
+view of a man as a skilful commander does of a town he would besiege, to
+discover the weakest places where he may make his approaches with the
+least danger and most advantages, and when he finds himself mistaken,
+draws off his forces with admirable caution and consideration; for his
+business being only wit, he thinks there is very little of that shown in
+exposing himself to any inconvenience.
+
+
+
+THE OBSTINATE MAN
+
+Does not hold opinions, but they hold him; for when he is once possessed
+with an error, 'tis, like the devil, not to be cast out but with great
+difficulty. Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never
+loses, though it do but help to sink him the sooner. His ignorance is
+abrupt and inaccessible, impregnable both by art and nature, and will
+hold out to the last though it has nothing but rubbish to defend. It is
+as dark as pitch, and sticks as fast to anything it lays hold on. His
+skull is so thick that it is proof against any reason, and never cracks
+but on the wrong side, just opposite to that against which the
+impression is made, which surgeons say does happen very frequently. The
+slighter and more inconsistent his opinions are the faster he holds
+them, otherwise they would fall asunder of themselves; for opinions that
+are false ought to be held with more strictness and assurance than those
+that are true, otherwise they will be apt to betray their owners before
+they are aware. If he takes to religion, he has faith enough to save a
+hundred wiser men than himself, if it were right; but it is too much to
+be good; and though he deny supererogation and utterly disclaim any
+overplus of merits, yet he allows superabundant belief, and if the
+violence of faith will carry the kingdom of heaven, he stands fair for
+it. He delights most of all to differ in things indifferent; no matter
+how frivolous they are, they are weighty enough in proportion to his
+weak judgment, and he will rather suffer self-martyrdom than part with
+the least scruple of his freehold, for it is impossible to dye his dark
+ignorance into a lighter colour. He is resolved to understand no man's
+reason but his own, because he finds no man can understand his but
+himself. His wits are like a sack which, the French proverb says, is
+tied faster before it is full than when it is; and his opinions are like
+plants that grow upon rocks, that stick fast though they have no
+rooting. His understanding is hardened like Pharaoh's heart, and is
+proof against all sorts of judgments whatsoever.
+
+
+
+A ZEALOT
+
+Is a hot-headed brother that has his understanding blocked up on both
+sides, like a fore-horse's eyes, that he sees only straight-forwards and
+never looks about him, which makes him run on according as he is driven
+with his own caprice. He starts and stops (as a horse does) at a post
+only because he does not know what it is, and thinks to run away from
+the spur while he carries it with him. He is very violent, as all things
+that tend downward naturally are; for it is impossible to improve or
+raise him above his own level. He runs swiftly before any wind, like a
+ship that has neither freight nor ballast, and is as apt to overset.
+When his zeal takes fire it cracks and flies about like a squib until
+the idle stuff is spent, and then it goes out of itself. He is always
+troubled with small scruples, which his conscience catches like the
+itch, and the rubbing of these is both his pleasure and his pain. But
+for things of greater moment he is unconcerned, as cattle in the
+summer-time are more pestered with flies that vex their sores than
+creatures more considerable, and dust and motes are apter to stick in
+blear-eyes than things of greater weight. His charity begins and ends at
+home, for it never goes farther nor stirs abroad. David was eaten up
+with the zeal of God's house; but his zeal, quite contrary, eats up
+God's house; and as the words seem to intimate that David fed and
+maintained the priests, so he makes the priests feed and maintain him;
+and hence his zeal is never so vehement as when it concurs with his
+interest; for, as he styles himself a professor, it fares with him, as
+with men of other professions, to live by his calling and get as much as
+he can by it. He is very severe to other men's sins that his own may
+pass unsuspected, as those that were engaged in the conspiracy against
+Nero were most cruel to their own confederates; or as one says--
+
+  "Compounds for sins he is inclined to
+  By damning those he has no mind to."
+
+
+
+THE OVERDOER
+
+Always throws beyond the jack and is gone a mile. He is no more able to
+contain himself than a bowl is when he is commanded to rub with the
+greatest power and vehemence imaginable, and nothing lights in his way.
+He is a conjurer that cannot keep within the compass of his circle,
+though he were sure the devil would fetch him away for the least
+transgression. He always overstocks his ground and starves instead of
+feeding, destroys whatsoever he has an extraordinary care for, and, like
+an ape, hugs the whelp he loves most to death. All his designs are
+greater than the life, and he laughs to think how Nature has mistaken
+her match, and given him so much odds that he can easily outrun her. He
+allows of no merit but that which is superabundant. All his actions are
+superfoetations, that either become monsters or twins; that is, too
+much, or the same again; for he is but a supernumerary and does nothing
+but for want of a better. He is a civil Catholic, that holds nothing
+more steadfastly than supererogation in all that he undertakes, for he
+undertakes nothing but what he overdoes. He is insatiable in all his
+actions and, like a covetous person, never knows when he has done
+enough until he has spoiled all by doing too much. He is his own
+antagonist, and is never satisfied until he has outdone himself as well
+as that which he proposed, for he loves to be better than his word
+(though it always falls out worse) and deceive the world the wrong way.
+He believes the mean to be but a mean thing, and therefore always runs
+into extremities as the more excellent, great, and transcendent. He
+delights to exceed in all his attempts, for he finds that a goose that
+has three legs is more remarkable than a hundred that have but two
+apiece, and has a greater number of followers; and that all monsters are
+more visited and applied to than other creatures that Nature has made
+perfect in their kind. He believes he can never bestow too much pains
+upon anything; for his industry is his own and costs him nothing; and if
+it miscarry he loses nothing, for he has as much as it was worth. He is
+like a foolish musician that sets his instrument so high that he breaks
+his strings for want of understanding the right pitch of it, or an
+archer that breaks his with overbending; and all he does is forced, like
+one that sings above the reach of his voice.
+
+
+
+THE RASH MAN
+
+Has a fever in his brain, and therefore is rightly said to be
+hot-headed. His reason and his actions run downhill, borne headlong by
+his unstaid will. He has not patience to consider, and perhaps it would
+not be the better for him if he had; for he is so possessed with the
+first apprehension of anything, that whatsoever comes after loses the
+race and is prejudged. All his actions, like sins, lead him perpetually
+to repentance, and from thence to the place from whence they came, to
+make more work for repentance; for though he be corrected never so
+often, he is never amended, nor will his haste give him time to call to
+mind where it made him stumble before; for he is always upon full speed,
+and the quickness of his motions takes away and dazzles the eyes of his
+understanding. All his designs are like diseases, with which he is taken
+suddenly before he is aware, and whatsoever he does is extempore,
+without premeditation; for he believes a sudden life to be the best of
+all, as some do a sudden death. He pursues things as men do an enemy
+upon a retreat, until he is drawn into an ambush for want of heed and
+circumspection. He falls upon things as they lie in his way, as if he
+stumbled at them, or his foot slipped and cast him upon them; for he is
+commonly foiled and comes off with bruises. He engages in business as
+men do in duels, the sooner the better, that, if any evil come of it,
+they may not be found to have slept upon it, or consulted with an
+effeminate pillow in point of honour and courage. He strikes when he is
+hot himself, not when the iron is so which he designs to work upon. His
+tongue has no retentive faculty, but is always running like a fool's
+drivel. He cannot keep it within compass, but it will be always upon the
+ramble and playing of tricks upon a frolic, fancying of passes upon
+religion, State, and the persons of those that are in present authority,
+no matter how, to whom, or where; for his discretion is always out of
+the way when he has occasion to make use of it.
+
+
+
+THE AFFECTED OR FORMAL
+
+Is a piece of clockwork, that moves only as it is wound up and set, and
+not like a voluntary agent. He is a mathematical body, nothing but
+_punctum, linea, et superficies_, and perfectly abstract from matter. He
+walks as stiffly and uprightly as a dog that is taught to go on his
+hinder legs, and carries his hands as the other does his fore-feet. He is
+very ceremonious and full of respect to himself, for no man uses those
+formalities that does not expect the same from others. All his actions
+and words are set down in so exact a method that an indifferent
+accountant may cast him up to a halfpenny-farthing. He does everything
+by rule, as if it were in a course of Lessius's diet, and did not eat,
+but take a dose of meat and drink; and not walk, but proceed; not go,
+but march. He draws up himself with admirable conduct in a very regular
+and well-ordered body. All his business and affairs are junctures and
+transactions, and when he speaks with a man he gives him audience. He
+does not carry but marshal himself, and no one member of his body
+politic takes place of another without due right of precedence. He does
+all things by rules of proportion, and never gives himself the freedom
+to manage his gloves or his watch in an irregular and arbitrary way, but
+is always ready to render an account of his demeanour to the most strict
+and severe disquisition. He sets his face as if it were cast in plaster,
+and never admits of any commotion in his countenance, nor so much as the
+innovation of a smile without serious and mature deliberation, but
+preserves his looks in a judicial way, according as they have always
+been established.
+
+
+
+A FLATTERER
+
+Is a dog that fawns when he bites. He hangs bells in a man's ears, as a
+carman does by his horse while he lays a heavy load upon his back. His
+insinuations are like strong wine, that pleases a man's palate till it
+has got within him, and then deprives him of his reason and overthrows
+him. His business is to render a man a stranger to himself, and get
+between him and home, and then he carries him whither he pleases. He is
+a spirit that inveighs away a man from himself, undertakes great matters
+for him, and after sells him for a slave. He makes division not only
+between a man and his friends, but between a man and himself, raises a
+faction within him, and after takes part with the strongest side and
+ruins both. He steals him away from himself (as the fairies are said to
+do children in the cradle), and after changes him for a fool. He
+whistles to him, as a carter does to his horse while he whips out his
+eyes and makes him draw what he pleases. He finds out his humour and
+feeds it, till it will come to hand, and then he leads him whither he
+pleases. He tickles him, as they do trouts, until he lays hold on him,
+and then devours and feeds upon him. He tickles his ears with a straw,
+and while he is pleased with scratching it, picks his pocket, as the
+cutpurse served Bartl. Cokes. He embraces him and hugs him in his arms,
+and lifts him above ground, as wrestlers do, to throw him down again and
+fall upon him. He possesses him with his own praises like an evil
+spirit, that makes him swell and appear stronger than he was, talk what
+he does not understand, and do things that he knows nothing of when he
+comes to himself. He gives good words as doctors are said to give physic
+when they are paid for it, and lawyers advice when they are fee'd
+beforehand. He is a poisoned perfume that infects the brain and murders
+those it pleases. He undermines a man, and blows him up with his own
+praises to throw him down. He commends a man out of design, that he may
+be presented with him and have him for his pains, according to the mode.
+
+
+
+A PRODIGAL
+
+Is a pocket with a hole in the bottom. His purse has got a dysentery and
+lost its retentive faculty. He delights, like a fat overgrown man, to
+see himself fall away and grow less. He does not spend his money, but
+void it, and, like those that have the stone, is in pain till he is rid
+of it. He is very loose and incontinent of his coin, and lets it fly,
+like Jupiter, in a shower. He is very hospitable, and keeps open pockets
+for all comers. All his silver turns to mercury, and runs through him as
+if he had taken it for the _miserere_ or fluxed himself. The history of
+his life begins with keeping of whores, and ends with keeping of hogs;
+and as he fed high at first, so he does at last, for acorns are very
+high food. He swallows land and houses like an earthquake, eats a whole
+dining-room at a meal, and devours his kitchen at a breakfast. He wears
+the furniture of his house on his back, and a whole feather-bed in his
+hat, drinks down his plate, and eats his dishes up. He is not clothed,
+but hung. He'll fancy dancers cattle, and present his lady with messuage
+and tenement. He sets his horses at inn and inn, and throws himself out
+of his coach at come the caster. He should be a good husband, for he has
+made more of his estate in one year than his ancestors did in twenty. He
+dusts his estate as they do a stand of ale in the north. His money in
+his pocket (like hunted venison) will not keep; if it be not spent
+presently it grows stale, and is thrown away. He possesses his estate as
+the devil did the herd of swine, and is running it into the sea as fast
+as he can. He has shot it with a zampatan, and it will presently fall
+all to dust. He has brought his acres into a consumption, and they are
+strangely fallen away; nothing but skin and bones left of a whole manor.
+He will shortly have all his estate in his hands; for, like bias, he may
+carry it about him. He lays up nothing but debts and diseases, and at
+length himself in a prison. When he has spent all upon his pleasures,
+and has nothing left for sustenance, he espouses a hostess dowager, and
+resolves to lick himself whole again out of ale, and make it pay him
+back all the charges it has put him to.
+
+
+
+THE INCONSTANT
+
+Has a vagabond soul without any settled place of abode, like the
+wandering Jew. His head is unfixed, out of order, and utterly
+unserviceable upon any occasion. He is very apt to be taken with
+anything, but nothing can hold him, for he presently breaks loose and
+gives it the slip. His head is troubled with a palsy, which renders it
+perpetually wavering and incapable of rest. His head is like an
+hour-glass; that part that is uppermost always runs out until it is
+turned, and then runs out again. His opinions are too violent to last,
+for, like other things of the same kind in Nature, they quickly spend
+themselves and fall to nothing. All his opinions are like wefts and
+strays that are apt to straggle from their owners and belong to the lord
+of the manor where they are taken up. His soul has no retentive faculty,
+but suffers everything to run from him as fast as he receives it. His
+whole life is like a preposterous ague in which he has his hot fit
+always before his cold one, and is never in a constant temper. His
+principles and resolves are but a kind of movables, which he will not
+endure to be fastened to any freehold, but left loose to be conveyed
+away at pleasure as occasion shall please to dispose of him. His soul
+dwells, like a Tartar, in a hoord, without any settled habitation, but
+is always removing and dislodging from place to place. He changes his
+head oftener than a deer, and when his imaginations are stiff and at
+their full growth, he casts them off to breed new ones, only to cast off
+again the next season. All his purposes are built on air, the
+chamelion's diet, and have the same operation to make him change colour
+with every object he comes near. He pulls off his judgment as commonly
+as his hat to every one he meets with. His word and his deed are all
+one, for when he has given his word he has done, and never goes farther.
+His judgment, being unsound, has the same operation upon him that a
+disease has upon a sick man, that makes him find some ease in turning
+from side to side, and still the last is the most uneasy.
+
+
+
+A GLUTTON
+
+Eats his children, as the poets say Saturn did, and carries his felicity
+and all his concernments in his paunch. If he had lived when all the
+members of the body rebelled against the stomach there had been no
+possibility of accommodation. His entrails are like the sarcophagus,
+that devours dead bodies in a small space, or the Indian zampatan, that
+consumes flesh in a moment. He is a great dish made on purpose to carry
+meat. He eats out his own head, and his horses' too; he knows no grace
+but grace before meat, nor mortification but in fasting. If the body be
+the tabernacle of the soul, he lives in a sutler's hut. He celebrates
+mass, or rather mess, to the idol in his belly, and, like a papist, eats
+his adoration. A third course is the third heaven to him, and he is
+ravished into it. A feast is a good conscience to him, and he is
+troubled in mind when he misses of it. His teeth are very industrious in
+their calling, and his chops like a Bridewell perpetually hatcheling. He
+depraves his appetite with _haut-gousts_, as old fornicators do their
+lechery into fulsomeness and stinks. He licks himself into the shape of
+a bear, as those beasts are said to do their whelps. He new forms
+himself in his own belly, and becomes another thing than God and Nature
+meant him. His belly takes place of the rest of his members, and walks
+before in state. He eats out that which eats all things else--time--and
+is very curious to have all things in season at his meals but his hours,
+which are commonly at midnight, and so late that he prays too late for
+his daily bread, unless he mean his natural daily bread. He is admirably
+learned in the doctrines of meats and sauces, and deserves the chair in
+_juris-prudentia_; that is, in the skill of pottages. At length he eats
+his life out of house and home and becomes a treat for worms, sells his
+clothes to feed his gluttony, and eats himself naked, as the first of
+his family, Adam, did.
+
+
+
+A RIBALD
+
+Is the devil's hypocrite, that endeavours to make himself appear worse
+than he is. His evil words and bad manners strive which shall most
+corrupt one another, and it is hard to say which has the advantage. He
+vents his lechery at the mouth, as some fishes are said to engender. He
+is an unclean beast that chews the cud, for after he has satisfied his
+lust he brings it up again into his mouth to a second enjoyment, and
+plays an after-game of lechery with his tongue much worse than that
+which the _Cunnilingi_ used among the old Romans. He strips Nature stark
+naked, and clothes her in the most fantastic and ridiculous fashion a
+wild imagination can invent. He is worse and more nasty than a dog, for
+in his broad descriptions of others' obscene actions he does but lick up
+the vomit of another man's surfeits. He tells tales out of a
+vaulting-school. A lewd, bawdy tale does more hurt and gives a worse
+example than the thing of which it was told, for the act extends but to
+few, and if it be concealed goes no farther; but the report of it is
+unlimited, and may be conveyed to all people and all times to come. He
+exposes that with his tongue which Nature gave women modesty, and brute
+beasts tails, to cover. He mistakes ribaldry for wit, though nothing is
+more unlike; and believes himself to be the finer man the filthier he
+talks, as if he were above civility as fanatics are above ordinances,
+and held nothing more shameful than to be ashamed of anything. He talks
+nothing but Aretine's pictures, as plain as the Scotch dialect, which is
+esteemed to be the most copious and elegant of the kind. He improves and
+husbands his sins to the best advantage, and makes one vice find
+employment for another; for what he acts loosely in private he talks as
+loosely of in public, and finds as much pleasure in the one as the
+other. He endeavours to purchase himself a reputation by pretending to
+that which the best men abominate and the worst value not, like one that
+clips and washes false coin and ventures his neck for that which will
+yield him nothing.
+
+
+
+A MODERN POLITICIAN
+
+Makes new discoveries in politics, but they are, like those that
+Columbus made of the New World, very rich, but barbarous. He endeavours
+to restore mankind to the original condition it fell from, by forgetting
+to discern between good and evil, and reduces all prudence back again to
+its first author, the serpent, that taught Adam wisdom; for he was
+really his tutor, and not Samboscor, as the Rabbins write. He finds the
+world has been mistaken in all ages, and that religion and morality are
+but vulgar errors that pass among the ignorant, and are but mere words
+to the wise. He despises all learning as a pedantic little thing, and
+believes books to be the business of children and not of men. He wonders
+how the distinction of virtue and vice came into the world's head, and
+believes them to be more ridiculous than any foppery of the schools. He
+holds it his duty to betray any man that shall take him for so much a
+fool as one fit to be trusted. He steadfastly believes that all men are
+born in the state of war, and that the civil life is but a cessation,
+and no peace nor accommodation; and though all open acts of hostility
+are forborne by consent, the enmity continues, and all advantages by
+treachery or breach of faith are very lawful; that there is no
+difference between virtue and fraud among friends as well as enemies,
+nor anything unjust that a man can do without damage to his own safety
+or interest; that oaths are but springes to catch woodcocks withal, and
+bind none but those that are too weak and feeble to break them when they
+become ever so small an impediment to their advantages; that conscience
+is the effect of ignorance, and the same with that foolish fear which
+some men apprehend when they are in the dark and alone; that honour is
+but the word which a prince gives a man to pass his guards withal and
+save him from being stopped by law and justice, the sentinels of
+governments, when he has not wit nor credit enough to pass of himself;
+that to show respect to worth in any person is to appear a stranger to
+it, and not so familiarly acquainted with it as those are who use no
+ceremony, because it is no new thing to them, as it would appear if they
+should take notice of it; that the easiest way to purchase a reputation
+of wisdom and knowledge is to slight and undervalue it, as the readiest
+way to buy cheap is to bring down the price; for the world will be apt
+to believe a man well provided with any necessary or useful commodity
+which he sets a small value upon; that to oblige a friend is but a kind
+of casting him in prison, after the old Roman way or modern Chinese,
+that chains the keeper and prisoner together; for he that binds another
+man to himself binds himself as much to him and lays a restraint upon
+both. For as men commonly never forgive those that forgive them, and
+always hate those that purchase their estates (though they pay dear and
+more than any man else would give), so they never willingly endure those
+that have laid any engagement upon them, or at what rate soever
+purchased the least part of their freedom; and as partners for the most
+part cheat or suspect one another, so no man deals fairly with another
+that goes the least share in his freedom.
+
+To propose any measure to wealth or power is to be ignorant of the
+nature of both, for as no man can ever have too much of either, so it is
+impossible to determine what is enough; and he that limits his desires
+by proposing to himself the enjoyment of any other pleasure but that of
+gaining more shows he has but a dull inclination that will not hold out
+to his journey's end. And therefore he believes that a courtier deserves
+to be begged himself that is ever satisfied with begging; for fruition
+without desire is but a dull entertainment, and that pleasure only real
+and substantial that provokes and improves the appetite and increases in
+the enjoyment; and all the greatest masters in the several arts of
+thriving concur unanimously that the plain downright pleasure of gaining
+is greater and deserves to be preferred far before all the various
+delights of spending which the curiosity, wit, or luxury of mankind in
+all ages could ever find out.
+
+He believes there is no way of thriving so easy and certain as to grow
+rich by defrauding the public; for public thieveries are more safe and
+less prosecuted than private, like robberies committed between sun and
+sun, which the county pays and no one is greatly concerned in; and as
+the monster of many heads has less wit in them all than any one
+reasonable person, so the monster of many purses is easier cheated than
+any one indifferent, crafty fool. For all the difficulty lies in being
+trusted, and when he has obtained that, the business does itself; and if
+he should happen to be questioned and called to an account, a pardon is
+as cheap as a paymaster's fee, not above fourteenpence in the pound.
+
+He thinks that when a man comes to wealth or preferment, and is to put
+on a new person, his first business is to put off all his old
+friendships and acquaintances, as things below him and no way consistent
+with his present condition, especially such as may have occasion to make
+use of him or have reason to expect any civil returns from him; for
+requiting of obligations received in a man's necessity is the same thing
+with paying of debts contracted in his minority when he was under age,
+for which he is not accountable by the laws of the land. These he is to
+forget as fast as he can, and by little neglects remove them to that
+distance that they may at length by his example learn to forget him, for
+men who travel together in company when their occasions lie several ways
+ought to take leave and part. It is a hard matter for a man that comes
+to preferment not to forget himself, and therefore he may very well be
+allowed to take the freedom to forget others; for advancement, like the
+conversion of a sinner, gives a man new values of things and persons, so
+different from those he had before that that which was wont to be most
+dear to him does commonly after become the most disagreeable; and as it
+is accounted noble to forget and pass over little injuries, so it is to
+forget little friendships, that are no better than injuries when they
+become disparagements, and can only be importune and troublesome instead
+of being useful, as they were before. All Acts of Oblivion have, of late
+times, been found to extend rather to loyal and faithful services done
+than rebellion and treasons committed. For benefits are like flowers,
+sweet only and fresh when they are newly gathered, but stink when they
+grow stale and wither; and he only is ungrateful who makes returns of
+obligations, for he does it merely to free himself from owing so much as
+thanks. Fair words are all the civility and humanity that one man owes
+to another, for they are obliging enough of themselves, and need not the
+assistance of deeds to make them good; for he that does not believe them
+has already received too much, and he that does ought to expect no more.
+And therefore promises ought to oblige those only to whom they are made,
+not those who make them; for he that expects a man should bind himself
+is worse than a thief, who does that service for him after he has robbed
+him on the highway. Promises are but words, and words air, which no man
+can claim a propriety in, but is equally free to all and incapable of
+being confined; and if it were not, yet he who pays debts which he can
+possibly avoid does but part with his money for nothing, and pays more
+for the mere reputation of honesty and conscience than it is worth.
+
+He prefers the way of applying to the vices and humours of great persons
+before all other methods of getting into favour; for he that can be
+admitted into these offices of privacy and trust seldom fails to arrive
+at greater, and with greater ease and certainty than those who take the
+dull way of plain fidelity and merit. For vices, like beasts, are fond
+of none but those that feed them, and where they once prevail all other
+considerations go for nothing. They are his own flesh and blood, born
+and bred out of him, and he has a stronger natural affection for them
+than all other relations whatsoever; and he that has an interest in
+these has a greater power over him than all other obligations in the
+world; for though they are but his imperfections and infirmities, he is
+the more tender of them, as a lame member or diseased limb is more
+carefully cherished than all the rest that are sound and in perfect
+vigour. All offices of this kind are the greatest endearments, being
+real flatteries enforced by deeds and actions, and therefore far more
+prevalent than those that are performed but by words and fawning, though
+very great advantages are daily obtained that way; and therefore he
+esteems flattery as the next most sure and successful way of improving
+his interests. For flattery is but a kind of civil idolatry, that makes
+images to itself of virtue, worth, and honour in some person that is
+utterly void of all, and then falls down and worships them; and the more
+dull and absurd these applications are, the better they are always
+received; for men delight more to be presented with those things they
+want than such as they have no need nor use of. And though they condemn
+the realities of those honours and renowns that are falsely imputed to
+them, they are wonderfully affected with their false pretences; for
+dreams work more upon men's passions than any waking thoughts of the
+same kind, and many, out of an ignorant superstition, give more credit
+to them than the most rational of all their vigilant conjectures, how
+false soever they prove in the event. No wonder, then, if those who
+apply to men's fancies and humours have a stronger influence upon them
+than those that seek to prevail upon their reason and understandings,
+especially in things so delightful to them as their own praises, no
+matter how false and apparently incredible; for great persons may wear
+counterfeit jewels of any carat with more confidence and security from
+being discovered than those of meaner quality, in whose hands the
+greatness of their value (if they were true) is more apt to render them
+suspected. A flatterer is like Mahomet's pigeon, that picks his food out
+of his master's ear, who is willing to have it believed that he whispers
+oracles into it, and accordingly sets a high esteem upon the service he
+does him, though the impostor only designs his own utilities; for men
+are for the most part better pleased with other men's opinions, though
+false, of their happiness than their own experiences, and find more
+pleasure in the dullest flattery of others than all the vast
+imaginations they can have of themselves, as no man is apt to be tickled
+with his own fingers; because the applauses of others are more agreeable
+to those high conceits they have of themselves, which they are glad to
+find confirmed, and are the only music that sets them a-dancing, like
+those that are bitten with a tarantula.
+
+He accounts it an argument of great discretion, and as great temper, to
+take no notice of affronts and indignities put upon him by great
+persons; for he that is insensible of injuries of this nature can
+receive none, and if he lose no confidence by them, can lose nothing
+else; for it is greater to be above injuries than either to do or
+revenge them, and he that will be deterred by those discouragements from
+prosecuting his designs will never obtain what he proposes to himself.
+When a man is once known to be able to endure insolences easier than
+others can impose them, they will raise the siege and leave him as
+impregnable; and therefore he resolves never to omit the least
+opportunity of pressing his affairs, for fear of being baffled and
+affronted; for if he can at any rate render himself master of his
+purposes, he would not wish an easier nor a cheaper way, as he knows how
+to repay himself and make others receive those insolences of him for
+good and current payment which he was glad to take before, and he
+esteems it no mean glory to show his temper of such a compass as is able
+to reach from the highest arrogance to the meanest and most dejected
+submissions. A man that has endured all sorts of affronts may be
+allowed, like an apprentice that has served out his time, to set up for
+himself and put them off upon others; and if the most common and
+approved way of growing rich is to gain by the ruin and loss of those
+who are in necessity, why should not a man be allowed as well to make
+himself appear great by debasing those that are below him? For insolence
+is no inconsiderable way of improving greatness and authority in the
+opinion of the world. If all men are born equally fit to govern, as some
+late philosophers affirm, he only has the advantage of all others who
+has the best opinion of his own abilities, how mean soever they really
+are; and, therefore, he steadfastly believes that pride is the only
+great, wise, and happy virtue that a man is capable of, and the most
+compendious and easy way to felicity; for he that is able to persuade
+himself impregnably that he is some great and excellent person, how far
+short soever he falls of it, finds more delight in that dream than if he
+were really so; and the less he is of what he fancies himself to be the
+better he is pleased, as men covet those things that are forbidden and
+denied them more greedily than those that are in their power to obtain;
+and he that can enjoy all the best rewards of worth and merit without
+the pains and trouble that attend it has a better bargain than he who
+pays as much for it as it is worth. This he performs by an obstinate,
+implicit believing as well as he can of himself, and as meanly of all
+other men, for he holds it a kind of self-preservation to maintain a
+good estimation of himself; and as no man is bound to love his neighbour
+better than himself, so he ought not to think better of him than he does
+of himself, and he that will not afford himself a very high esteem will
+never spare another man any at all. He who has made so absolute a
+conquest over himself (which philosophers say is the greatest of all
+victories) as to be received for a prince within himself, is greater and
+more arbitrary within his own dominions than he that depends upon the
+uncertain loves or fears of other men without him; and since the opinion
+of the world is vain and for the most part false, he believes it is not
+to be attempted but by ways as false and vain as itself, and therefore
+to appear and seem is much better and wiser than really to be whatsoever
+is well esteemed in the general value of the world Next pride, he
+believes ambition to be the only generous and heroical virtue in the
+world that mankind is capable of; for, as Nature gave man an erect
+figure to raise him above the grovelling condition of his
+fellow-creatures the beasts, so he that endeavours to improve that and
+raise himself higher seems best to comply with the design and intention
+of Nature. Though the stature of man is confined to a certain height,
+yet his mind is unlimited, and capable of growing up to heaven; and as
+those who endeavour to arrive at that perfection are adored and
+reverenced by all, so he that endeavours to advance himself as high as
+possibly he can in this world comes nearest to the condition of those
+holy and divine aspirers. All the purest parts of Nature always tend
+upwards, and the more dull and heavy downwards; so in the little world
+the noblest faculties of man, his reason and understanding, that give
+him a prerogative above all other earthly creatures, mount upwards; and
+therefore he who takes that course, and still aspires in all his
+undertakings and designs, does but conform to that which Nature
+dictates. Are not the reason and the will, the two commanding faculties
+of the soul, still striving which shall be uppermost? Men honour none
+but those that are above them, contest with equals, and disdain
+inferiors. The first thing that God gave man was dominion over the rest
+of his inferior creatures; but he that can extend that over man improves
+his talent to the best advantage. How are angels distinguished but by
+dominions, powers, thrones, and principalities? Then he who still
+aspires to purchase those comes nearest to the nature of those heavenly
+ministers, and in all probability is most like to go to heaven, no
+matter what destruction he makes in his way, if he does but attain his
+end; for nothing is a crime that is too great to be punished; and when
+it is once arrived at that perfection, the most horrid actions in the
+world become the most admired and renowned. Birds that build highest are
+most safe; and he that can advance himself above the envy or reach of
+his inferiors is secure against the malice and assaults of fortune. All
+religions have ever been persecuted in their primitive ages, when they
+were weak and impotent, but when they propagated and grew great, have
+been received with reverence and adoration by those who otherwise had
+proved their cruellest enemies; and those that afterwards opposed them
+have suffered as severely as those that first professed them. So thieves
+that rob in small parties and break houses, when they are taken, are
+hanged; but when they multiply and grow up into armies and are able to
+take towns, the same things are called heroic actions, and acknowledged
+for such by all the world. Courts of justice, for the most part, commit
+greater crimes than they punish, and do those that sue in them more
+injuries than they can possibly receive from one another; and yet they
+are venerable, and must not be told so, because they have authority and
+power to justify what they do, and the law (that is, whatsoever they
+please to call so) ready to give judgment for them. Who knows when a
+physician cures or kills? And yet he is equally rewarded for both, and
+the profession esteemed never the less worshipful; and therefore he
+accounts it a ridiculous vanity in any man to consider whether he does
+right or wrong in anything he attempts, since the success is only able
+to determine and satisfy the opinion of the world which is the one and
+which the other. As for those characters and marks of distinction which
+religion, law, and morality fix upon both, they are only significant and
+valid when their authority is able to command obedience and submission;
+but when the greatness, numbers, or interest of those who are concerned
+outgrows that, they change their natures, and that which was injury
+before becomes justice, and justice injury. It is with crimes as with
+inventions in the mechanics, that will frequently hold true to all
+purposes of the design while they are tried in little, but when the
+experiment is made in great prove false in all particulars to what is
+promised in the model: so iniquities and vices may be punished and
+corrected, like children, while they are little and impotent, but when
+they are great and sturdy they become incorrigible and proof against all
+the power of justice and authority.
+
+Among all his virtues there is none which he sets so high an esteem upon
+as impudence, which he finds more useful and necessary than a vizard is
+to a highwayman; for he that has but a competent stock of this natural
+endowment has an interest in any man he pleases, and is able to manage
+it with greater advantages than those who have all the real pretences
+imaginable, but want that dexterous way of soliciting by which, if the
+worst fall out, he is sure to lose nothing if he does not win. He that
+is impudent is shot-free, and if he be ever so much overpowered can
+receive no hurt, for his forehead is impenetrable, and of so excellent a
+temper that nothing is able to touch it, but turns edge and is blunted.
+His face holds no correspondence with his mind, and therefore whatsoever
+inward sense or conviction he feels, there is no outward appearance of
+it in his looks to give evidence against him; and in any difficulty that
+can befall him, impudence is the most infallible expedient to fetch him
+off, that is always ready, like his angel guardian, to relieve and
+rescue him in his greatest extremities; and no outward impression, nor
+inward neither, though his own conscience take part against him, is able
+to beat him from his guards. Though innocence and a good conscience be
+said to be a brazen wall, a brazen confidence is more impregnable and
+longer able to hold out; for it is a greater affliction to an innocent
+man to be suspected than it is to one that is guilty and impudent to be
+openly convicted of an apparent crime. And in all the affairs of
+mankind, a brisk confidence, though utterly void of sense, is able to go
+through matters of difficulty with greater ease than all the strength of
+reason less boldly enforced, as the Turks are said by a small, slight
+handling of their bows to make an arrow without a head pierce deeper
+into hard bodies than guns of greater force are able to do a bullet of
+steel; and though it be but a cheat and imposture, that has neither
+truth nor reason to support it, yet it thrives better in the world than
+things of greater solidity, as thorns and thistles flourish on barren
+grounds where nobler plants would starve. And he that can improve his
+barren parts by this excellent and most compendious method deserves much
+better, in his judgment, than those who endeavour to do the same thing
+by the more studious and difficult way of downright industry and
+drudging. For impudence does not only supply all defects, but gives them
+a greater grace than if they had needed no art, as all other ornaments
+are commonly nothing else but the remedies or disguises of
+imperfections; and therefore he thinks him very weak that is unprovided
+of this excellent and most useful quality, without which the best
+natural or acquired parts are of no more use than the Guanches' darts,
+which, the virtuosos say, are headed with butter hardened in the sun. It
+serves him to innumerable purposes to press on and understand no
+repulse, how smart or harsh soever, for he that can fail nearest the
+wind has much the advantage of all others; and such is the weakness or
+vanity of some men, that they will grant that to obstinate importunity
+which they would never have done upon all the most just reasons and
+considerations imaginable, as those that watch witches will make them
+confess that which they would never have done upon any other account.
+
+He believes a man's words and his meaning should never agree together;
+for he that says what he thinks lays himself open to be expounded by the
+most ignorant, and he who does not make his words rather serve to
+conceal than discover the sense of his heart deserves to have it pulled
+out, like a traitor's, and shown publicly to the rabble; for as a king,
+they say, cannot reign without dissembling, so private men, without
+that, cannot govern themselves with any prudence or discretion
+imaginable. This is the only politic magic that has power to make a man
+walk invisible, give him access into all men's privacies, and keep all
+others out of his, which is as great an odds as it is to discover what
+cards those he plays with have in their hands, and permit them to know
+nothing of his; and, therefore, he never speaks his own sense, but that
+which he finds comes nearest to the meaning of those he converses with,
+as birds are drawn into nets by pipes that counterfeit their own voices.
+By this means he possesses men, like the devil, by getting within them
+before they are aware, turns them out of themselves, and either betrays
+or renders them ridiculous, as he finds it most agreeable either to his
+humour or his occasions.
+
+As for religion, he believes a wise man ought to possess it only that he
+may not be observed to have freed himself from the obligations of it,
+and so teach others by his example to take the same freedom. For he who
+is at liberty has a great advantage over all those whom he has to deal
+with, as all hypocrites find by perpetual experience that one of the
+best uses that can be made of it is to take measure of men's
+understandings and abilities by it, according as they are more or less
+serious in it. For he thinks that no man ought to be much concerned in
+it but hypocrites and such as make it their calling and profession, who,
+though they do not live by their faith, like the righteous, do that
+which is nearest to it, get their living by it; and that those only take
+the surest course who make their best advantages of it in this world and
+trust to Providence for the next, to which purpose he believes it is
+most properly to be relied upon by all men.
+
+He admires good nature as only good to those who have it not, and laughs
+at friendship as a ridiculous foppery, which all wise men easily
+outgrow; for the more a man loves another the less he loves himself. All
+regards and civil applications should, like true devotion, look upwards
+and address to those that are above us, and from whom we may in
+probability expect either good or evil; but to apply to those that are
+our equals, or such as cannot benefit or hurt us, is a far more
+irrational idolatry than worshipping of images or beasts. All the good
+that can proceed from friendship is but this, that it puts men in a way
+to betray one another. The best parents, who are commonly the worst men,
+have naturally a tender kindness for their children only because they
+believe they are a part of themselves, which shows that self-love is the
+original of all others, and the foundation of that great law of Nature,
+self-preservation; for no man ever destroyed himself wilfully that had
+not first left off to love himself. Therefore a man's self is the proper
+object of his love, which is never so well employed as when it is kept
+within its own confines, and not suffered to straggle. Every man is just
+so much a slave as he is concerned in the will, inclinations, or
+fortunes of another, or has anything of himself out of his own power to
+dispose of; and therefore he is resolved never to trust any man with
+that kindness which he takes up of himself, unless he has such security
+as is most certain to yield him double interest; for he that does
+otherwise is but a Jew and a Turk to himself, which is much worse than
+to be so to all the world beside. Friends are only friends to those who
+have no need of them, and when they have, become no longer friends; like
+the leaves of trees, that clothe the woods in the heat of summer, when
+they have no need of warmth, but leave them naked when cold weather
+comes; and since there are so few that prove otherwise, it is not wisdom
+to rely on any.
+
+He is of opinion that no men are so fit to be employed and trusted as
+fools or knaves; for the first understand no right, the others regard
+none; and whensoever there falls out an occasion that may prove of great
+importance if the infamy and danger of the dishonesty be not too
+apparent, they are the only persons that are fit for the undertaking.
+They are both equally greedy of employment; the one out of an itch to be
+thought able, and the other honest enough, to be trusted, as by use and
+practice they sometimes prove. For the general business of the world
+lies, for the most part, in routines and forms, of which there are none
+so exact observers as those who understand nothing else to divert them,
+as carters use to blind their fore-horses on both sides that they may
+see only forward, and so keep the road the better, and men that aim at a
+mark use to shut one eye that they may see the surer with the other. If
+fools are not notorious, they have far more persons to deal with of
+their own elevation (who understand one another better) than they have
+of those that are above them, which renders them fitter for many
+businesses than wiser men, and they believe themselves to be so for all.
+For no man ever thought himself a fool that was one, so confident does
+their ignorance naturally render them, and confidence is no contemptible
+qualification in the management of human affairs; and as blind men have
+secret artifices and tricks to supply that defect and find out their
+ways, which those who have their eyes and are but hoodwinked are utterly
+unable to do, so fools have always little crafts and frauds in all their
+transactions which wiser men would never have thought upon, and by those
+they frequently arrive at very great wealth, and as great success in all
+their undertakings. For all fools are but feeble and impotent knaves,
+that have as strong and vehement inclinations to all sorts of dishonesty
+as the most notorious of those engineers, but want abilities to put them
+in practice; and as they are always found to be the most obstinate and
+intractable people to be prevailed upon by reason or conscience, so they
+are as easy to submit to their superiors--that is, knaves--by whom they
+are always observed to be governed, as all corporations are wont to
+choose their magistrates out of their own members. As for knaves, they
+are commonly true enough to their own interests, and while they gain by
+their employments, will be careful not to disserve those who can turn
+them out when they please, what tricks soever they put upon others; and
+therefore such men prove more useful to them in their designs of gain
+and profit than those whose consciences and reason will not permit them
+to take that latitude.
+
+And since buffoonery is, and has always been, so delightful to great
+persons, he holds him very improvident that is to seek in a quality so
+inducing that he cannot at least serve for want of a better, especially
+since it is so easy that the greatest part of the difficulty lies in
+confidence; and he that can but stand fair and give aim to those that
+are gamesters does not always lose his labour, but many times becomes
+well esteemed for his generous and bold demeanour, and a lucky repartee
+hit upon by chance may be the making of a man. This is the only modern
+way of running at tilt, with which great persons are so delighted to see
+men encounter one another and break jests, as they did lances
+heretofore; and he that has the best beaver to his helmet has the
+greatest advantage; and as the former passed upon the account of valour,
+so does the latter on the score of wit, though neither, perhaps, have
+any great reason for their pretences, especially the latter, that
+depends much upon confidence, which is commonly a great support to wit,
+and therefore believed to be its betters, that ought to take place of
+it, as all men are greater than their dependents; so pleasant it is to
+see men lessen one another and strive who shall show himself the most
+ill-natured and ill-mannered. As in cuffing all blows are aimed at the
+face, so it fares in these rencounters, where he that wears the toughest
+leather on his visage comes off with victory though he has ever so much
+the disadvantage upon all other accounts. For a buffoon is like a mad
+dog that has a worm in his tongue, which makes him bite at all that
+light in his way; and as he can do nothing alone, but must have somebody
+to set him that he may throw at, he that performs that office with the
+greatest freedom and is contented to be laughed at to give his patron
+pleasure cannot but be understood to have done very good service, and
+consequently deserves to be well rewarded, as a mountebank's pudding,
+that is content to be cut and slashed and burnt and poisoned, without
+which his master can show no tricks, deserves to have a considerable
+share in his gains.
+
+As for the meanness of these ways, which some may think too base to be
+employed to so excellent an end, that imports nothing; for what dislike
+soever the world conceives against any man's undertakings, if they do
+but succeed and prosper, it will easily recant its error and applaud
+what it condemned before; and therefore all wise men have ever justly
+esteemed it a great virtue to disdain the false values it commonly sets
+upon all things and which itself is so apt to retract. For as those who
+go uphill use to stoop and bow their bodies forward, and sometimes creep
+upon their hands, and those that descend to go upright, so the lower a
+man stoops and submits in these endearing offices, the more sure and
+certain he is to rise; and the more upright he carries himself in other
+matters, the more like, in probability, to be ruined. And this he
+believes to be a wiser course for any man to take than to trouble
+himself with the knowledge of arts or arms; for the one does but bring a
+man an unnecessary trouble, and the other as unnecessary danger; and the
+shortest and more easy way to attain to both is to despise all other men
+and believe as steadfastly in himself as he can--a better and more
+certain course than that of merit.
+
+What he gains wickedly he spends as vainly, for he holds it the greatest
+happiness that a man is capable of to deny himself nothing that his
+desires can propose to him, but rather to improve his enjoyments by
+glorying in his vices; for, glory being one end of almost all the
+business of this world, he who omits that in the enjoyment of himself
+and his pleasures loses the greatest part of his delight; and therefore
+the felicity which he supposes other men apprehend that he receives in
+the relish of his luxuries is more delightful to him than the
+fruition itself.
+
+
+
+A MODERN STATESMAN
+
+Owns his election from free grace in opposition to merits or any
+foresight of good works; for he is chosen not for his abilities or
+fitness for his employment, but, like a _tales_ in a jury, for happening
+to be near in court. If there were any other consideration in it (which
+is a hard question to the wise), it was only because he was held able
+enough to be a counsellor-extraordinary for the indifference and
+negligence of his understanding, and consequent probability of doing no
+hurt, if no good; for why should not such prove the safest physicians to
+the body politic as well as they do to the natural? Or else some near
+friend or friend's friend helped him to the place, that engaged for his
+honesty and good behaviour in it. Howsoever, he is able to sit still and
+look wise according to his best skill and cunning, and, though he
+understand no reason, serve for one that does, and be most steadfastly
+of that opinion that is most like to prevail. If he be a great person,
+he is chosen, as aldermen are in the city, for being rich enough, and
+fines to be taken in as those do to be left out; and money being the
+measure of all things, it is sufficient to justify all his other talents
+and render them, like itself, good and current. As for wisdom and
+judgment, with those other out-of-fashioned qualifications which have
+been so highly esteemed heretofore, they have not been found to be so
+useful in this age, since it has invented scantlings for politics that
+will move with the strength of a child and yet carry matters of very
+great weight; and that raillery and fooling is proved by frequent
+experiments to be the more easy and certain way; for, as the Germans
+heretofore were observed to be wisest when they were drunk and knew not
+how to dissemble, so are our modern statesmen when they are mad and use
+no reserved cunning in their consultations; and as the Church of Rome
+and that of the Turks esteem ignorant persons the most devout, there
+seems no reason why this age, that seems to incline to the opinions of
+them both, should not as well believe them to be the most prudent and
+judicious; for heavenly wisdom does, by the confession of men, far
+exceed all the subtlety and prudence of this world. The heathen priests
+of old never delivered oracles but when they were drunk and mad or
+distracted, and who knows why our modern oracles may not as well use the
+same method in all their proceedings? Howsoever, he is as ably qualified
+to govern as that sort of opinion that is said to govern all the world,
+and is perpetually false and foolish; and if his opinions are always so,
+they have the fairer title to their pretensions. He is sworn to advise
+no further than his skill and cunning will enable him, and the less he
+has of either the sooner he despatches his business, and despatch is no
+mean virtue in a statesman.
+
+
+
+A DUKE OF BUCKS
+
+Is one that has studied the whole body of vice. His parts are
+disproportionate to the whole, and, like a monster, he has more of some
+and less of others than he should have. He has pulled down all that
+fabric that Nature raised in him, and built himself up again after a
+model of his own. He has dammed up all those lights that Nature made
+into the noblest prospects of the world, and opened other little blind
+loopholes backward by turning day into night and night into day. His
+appetite to his pleasures is diseased and crazy, like the pica in a
+woman that longs to eat that which was never made for food, or a girl in
+the green sickness that eats chalk and mortar. Perpetual surfeits of
+pleasure have filled his mind with bad and vicious humours (as well as
+his body with a nursery of diseases), which makes him affect new and
+extravagant ways as being sick and tired with the old. Continual wine,
+women, and music put false values upon things which by custom become
+habitual, and debauch his understanding so that he retains no right
+notion nor sense of things; and as the same dose of the same physic has
+no operation on those that are much used to it, so his pleasures require
+a larger proportion of excess and variety to render him sensible of
+them. He rises, eats, and goes to bed by the Julian account, long after
+all others that go by the new style, and keeps the same hours with owls
+and the antipodes. He is a great observer of the Tartars' customs, and
+never eats till the great Cham, having dined, makes proclamation that
+all the world may go to dinner. He does not dwell in his house, but
+haunts it like an evil spirit that walks all night to disturb the
+family, and never appears by day. He lives perpetually benighted, runs
+out of his life, and loses his time, as men do their ways, in the dark;
+and as blind men are led by their dogs, so is he governed by some mean
+servant or other that relates to his pleasures. He is as inconstant as
+the moon which he lives under; and although he does nothing but advise
+with his pillow all day, he is as great a stranger to himself as he is
+to the rest of the world. His mind entertains all things very freely
+that come and go, but, like guests and strangers, they are not welcome
+if they stay long. This lays him open to all cheats, quacks, and
+impostors, who apply to every particular humour while it lasts, and
+afterwards vanish. Thus, with St. Paul, though in a different sense, he
+dies daily, and only lives in the night. He deforms Nature while he
+intends to adorn her, like Indians that hang jewels in their lips and
+noses. His ears are perpetually drilled with a fiddlestick. He endures
+pleasures with less patience than other men do their pains.
+
+
+
+A FANTASTIC
+
+Is one that wears his feather on the inside of his head. His brain is
+like quicksilver, apt to receive any impression but retain none. His
+mind is made of changeable stuff, that alters colour with every motion
+towards the light. He is a cormorant that has but one gut, devours
+everything greedily, but it runs through him immediately. He does not
+know so much as what he would be, and yet would be everything he knows.
+He is like a paper-lantern, that turns with the smoke of a candle. He
+wears his clothes as the ancient laws of the land have provided,
+according to his quality, that he may be known what he is by them; and
+it is as easy to decipher him by his habit as a pudding. He is rigged
+with ribbon, and his garniture is his tackle; all the rest of him is
+hull. He is sure to be the earliest in the fashion, and lays out for it
+like the first peas and cherries. He is as proud of leading a fashion as
+others are of a faction, and glories as much to be in the head of a mode
+as a soldier does to be in the head of an army. He is admirably skilful
+in the mathematics of clothes, and can tell, at the first view, whether
+they have the right symmetry. He alters his gait with the times, and has
+not a motion of his body that (like a dottrel) he does not borrow from
+somebody else. He exercises his limbs like a pike and musket, and all
+his postures are practised. Take him altogether, and he is nothing but a
+translation, word for word, out of French, an image cast in
+plaster-of-Paris, and a puppet sent over for others to dress themselves
+by. He speaks French as pedants do Latin, to show his breeding, and most
+naturally where he is least understood. All his non-naturals, on which
+his health and diseases depend, are _stile nuovo_, French is his holiday
+language, that he wears for his pleasure and ornament, and uses English
+only for his business and necessary occasions. He is like a Scotchman;
+though he is born a subject of his own nation, he carries a French
+faction within him.
+
+He is never quiet, but sits as the wind is said to do when it is most in
+motion. His head is as full of maggots as a pastoral poet's flock. He
+was begotten, like one of Pliny's Portuguese horses, by the wind. The
+truth is, he ought not to have been reared; for, being calved in the
+increase of the moon, his head is troubled with a ----
+
+_N.B._--The last word not legible.
+
+
+
+AN HARANGUER
+
+Is one that is so delighted with the sweet sound of his own tongue, that
+William Prynne will sooner lend an ear than he to anything else. His
+measure of talk is till his wind is spent, and then he is not silenced,
+but becalmed. His ears have catched the itch of his tongue, and though
+he scratch them, like a beast with his hoof, he finds a pleasure in it.
+A silenced minister has more mercy on the Government in a secure
+conventicle than he has on the company that he is in. He shakes a man by
+the ear, as a dog does a pig, and never loses his hold till he has tired
+himself as well as his patient. He does not talk to a man, but attacks
+him, and whomsoever he can get into his hands he lays violent language
+on. If he can he will run a man up against a wall and hold him at a bay
+by the buttons, which he handles as bad as he does his person or the
+business he treats upon. When he finds him begin to sink he holds him by
+the clothes, and feels him as a butcher does a calf before he kills him.
+He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing
+ones. He will hold any argument rather than his tongue, and maintain
+both sides at his own charge; for he will tell you what you will say,
+though perhaps he does not intend to give you leave. He lugs men by the
+ears, as they correct children in Scotland, and will make them tingle
+while he talks with them, as some say they will do when a man is talked
+of in his absence. When he talks to a man he comes up close to him, and,
+like an old soldier, lets fly in his face, or claps the bore of his
+pistol to his ear and whispers aloud, that he may be sure not to miss
+his mark. His tongue is always in motion, though very seldom to the
+purpose, like a barber's scissors, which are always snipping, as well
+when they do not cut as when they do. His tongue is like a
+bagpipe-drone, that has no stop, but makes a continual ugly noise, as
+long as he can squeeze any wind out of himself. He never leaves a man
+until he has run him down, and then he winds a death over him. A
+sow-gelder's horn is not so terrible to dogs and cats as he is to all
+that know him. His way of argument is to talk all and hear no
+contradiction. First he gives his antagonist the length of his wind, and
+then, let him make his approaches if he can, he is sure to be beforehand
+with him. Of all dissolute diseases the running of the tongue is the
+worst, and the hardest to be cured. If he happen at any time to be at a
+stand, and any man else begins to speak, he presently drowns him with
+his noise, as a water-dog makes a duck dive; for when you think he has
+done he falls on and lets fly again, like a gun that will discharge nine
+times with one loading. He is a rattlesnake, that with his noise gives
+men warning to avoid him, otherwise he will make them wish they had. He
+is, like a bell, good for nothing but to make a noise. He is like common
+fame, that speaks most and knows least, Lord Brooks, or a wild goose
+always cackling when he is upon the wing. His tongue is like any kind of
+carriage, the less weight it bears the faster and easier it goes. He is
+so full of words that they run over and are thrown away to no purpose,
+and so empty of things or sense that his dryness has made his leaks so
+wide whatsoever is put in him runs out immediately. He is so long in
+delivering himself that those that hear him desire to be delivered too
+or despatched out of their pain. He makes his discourse the longer with
+often repeating to be short, and talking much of in fine, never means to
+come near it.
+
+
+
+A RANTER
+
+Is a fanatic Hector that has found out, by a very strange way of new
+light, how to transform all the devils into angels of light; for he
+believes all religion consists in looseness, and that sin and vice is
+the whole duty of man. He puts off the old man, but puts it on again
+upon the new one, and makes his pagan vices serve to preserve his
+Christian virtues from wearing out, for if he should use his piety and
+devotion always it would hold out but a little while. He is loth that
+iniquity and vice should be thrown away as long as there may be good use
+for it; for if that which is wickedly gotten may be disposed to pious
+uses, why should not wickedness itself as well? He believes himself
+shot-free against all the attempts of the devil, the world, and the
+flesh, and therefore is not afraid to attack them in their own quarters
+and encounter them at their own weapons. For as strong bodies may freely
+venture to do and suffer that, without any hurt to themselves, which
+would destroy those that are feeble, so a saint that is strong in grace
+may boldly engage himself in those great sins and iniquities that would
+easily damn a weak brother, and yet come off never the worse. He
+believes deeds of darkness to be only those sins that are committed in
+private, not those that are acted openly and owned. He is but a
+hypocrite turned the wrong side outward; for, as the one wears his vices
+within and the other without, so when they are counterchanged the ranter
+becomes a hypocrite, and the hypocrite an able ranter. His church is the
+devil's chapel, for it agrees exactly both in doctrine and discipline
+with the best reformed bawdy-houses. He is a monster produced by the
+madness of this latter age; but if it had been his fate to have been
+whelped in old Rome he had passed for a prodigy, and been received among
+raining of stones and the speaking of bulls, and would have put a stop
+to all public affairs until he had been expiated. Nero clothed
+Christians in the skins of wild beasts, but he wraps wild beasts in the
+skins of Christians.
+
+
+
+AN AMORIST
+
+Is an artificer or maker of love, a sworn servant to all ladies, like an
+officer in a corporation. Though no one in particular will own any title
+to him, yet he never fails upon all occasions to offer his services, and
+they as seldom to turn it back again untouched. He commits nothing with
+them but himself to their good graces; and they recommend him back again
+to his own, where he finds so kind a reception that he wonders how he
+does fail of it everywhere else. His passion is as easily set on fire as
+a fart, and as soon out again. He is charged and primed with love-powder
+like a gun, and the least sparkle of an eye gives fire to him and off he
+goes, but seldom or never hits the mark. He has commonplaces, and
+precedents of repartees, and letters for all occasions, and falls as
+readily into his method of making love as a parson does into his form of
+matrimony. He converses, as angels are said to do, by intuition, and
+expresses himself by sighs most significantly. He follows his visits as
+men do their business, and is very industrious in waiting on the ladies
+where his affairs lie; among which those of greatest concernment are
+questions and commands, purposes, and other such received forms of wit
+and conversation, in which he is so deeply studied that in all questions
+and doubts that arise he is appealed to, and very learnedly declares
+which was the most true and primitive way of proceeding in the purest
+times. For these virtues he never fails of his summons to all balls,
+where he manages the country-dances with singular judgment, and is
+frequently an assistant at _l'ombre_; and these are all the uses they
+make of his parts, beside the sport they give themselves in laughing at
+him, which he takes for singular favours and interprets to his own
+advantage, though it never goes further; for, all his employments being
+public, he is never admitted to any private services, and they despise
+him as not woman's meat; for he applies to too many to be trusted by any
+one, as bastards by having many fathers have none at all. He goes often
+mounted in a coach as a convoy to guard the ladies, to take the dust in
+Hyde Park, where by his prudent management of the glass windows he
+secures them from beggars, and returns fraught with China-oranges and
+ballads. Thus he is but a gentleman-usher-general, and his business is
+to carry one lady's services to another, and bring back the other's
+in exchange.
+
+
+
+AN ASTROLOGER
+
+Is one that expounds upon the planets and teaches to construe the
+accidents by the due joining of stars in construction. He talks with
+them by dumb signs, and can tell what they mean by their twinkling and
+squinting upon one another as well as they themselves. He is a spy upon
+the stars, and can tell what they are doing by the company they keep and
+the houses they frequent. They have no power to do anything alone until
+so many meet as will make a quorum. He is clerk of the committee to
+them, and draws up all their orders that concern either public or
+private affairs. He keeps all their accounts for them, and sums them up,
+not by debtor, but creditor alone--a more compendious way. They do ill
+to make them have so much authority over the earth, which perhaps has as
+much as any one of them but the sun, and as much right to sit and vote
+in their councils as any other. But because there are but seven Electors
+of the German Empire, they will allow of no more to dispose of all
+other, and most foolishly and unnaturally dispossess their own parent of
+its inheritance rather than acknowledge a defect in their own rules.
+These rules are all they have to show for their title, and yet not one
+of them can tell whether those they had them from came honestly by them.
+Virgil's description of fame, that reaches from earth to the stars, _tam
+ficti pravique tenax_, to carry lies and knavery, will serve astrologers
+without any sensible variation. He is a fortune-seller, a retailer of
+destiny, and petty chapman to the planets. He casts nativities as
+gamesters do false dice, and by slurring and palming sextile, quartile,
+and trine, like _six, quatre, trois_, can throw what chance he pleases.
+He sets a figure as cheats do a main at hazard, and gulls throw away
+their money at it. He fetches the grounds of his art so far off, as well
+from reason as the stars, that, like a traveller, he is allowed to lie
+by authority; and as beggars that have no money themselves believe all
+others have, and beg of those that have as little as themselves, so the
+ignorant rabble believe in him though he has no more reason for what he
+professes than they.
+
+
+
+A LAWYER
+
+Is a retailer of justice that uses false lights, false weights, and
+false measures. He measures right and wrong by his retaining fee, and,
+like a French duellist, engages on that side that first bespeaks him,
+though it be against his own brother; not because it is right, but
+merely upon a punctilio of profit, which is better than honour to him,
+because riches will buy nobility, and nobility nothing, as having no
+intrinsic value. He sells his opinion, and engages to maintain the title
+against all that claim under him, but no further. He puts it off upon
+his word, which he believes himself not bound to make good, because when
+he has parted with his right to it, it is no longer his. He keeps no
+justice for his own use, as being a commodity of his own growth, which
+he never buys, but only sells to others; and as no man goes worse shod
+than the shoemaker, so no man is more out of justice than he that gets
+his living by it. He draws bills as children do lots at a lottery, and
+is paid as much for blanks as prizes. He undoes a man with the same
+privilege as a doctor kills him, and is paid as well for it as if he
+preserved him, in which he is very impartial, but in nothing else. He
+believes it no fault in himself to err in judgment, because that part of
+the law belongs to the judge and not to him. His best opinions and his
+worst are all of a price, like good wine and bad in a tavern, in which
+he does not deal so fairly as those who, if they know what you are
+willing to bestow, can tell how to fit you accordingly. When his law
+lies upon his hands he will afford a good pennyworth, and rather
+pettifog and turn common barreter than be out of employment. His opinion
+is one thing while it is his own and another when it is paid for; for,
+the property being altered, the case alters also. When his counsel is
+not for his client's turn he will never take it back again, though it be
+never the worse, nor allow him anything for it, yet will sell the same
+over and over again to as many as come to him for it. His pride
+increases with his practice, and the fuller of business he is, like a
+sack, the bigger he looks. He crowds to the Bar like a pig through a
+hedge, and his gown is fortified with flankers about the shoulders to
+guard his ears from being galled with elbows. He draws his bills more
+extravagant and unconscionable than a tailor; for if you cut off
+two-thirds in the beginning, middle, or end, that which is left will be
+more reasonable and nearer to sense than the whole, and yet he is paid
+for all; for when he draws up a business, like a captain that makes
+false musters, he produces as many loose and idle words as he can
+possibly come by until he has received for them, and then turns them off
+and retains only those that are to the purpose. This he calls drawing of
+breviates. All that appears of his studies is, in short, time converted
+into waste-paper, tailor's measures, and heads for children's drums. He
+appears very violent against the other side, and rails to please his
+client as they do children, "Give me a blow and I'll strike him, ah,
+naughty!" &c. This makes him seem very zealous for the good of his
+client, and though the cause go against him he loses no credit by it,
+especially if he fall foul on the counsel of the other side, which goes
+for no more among them than it does with those virtuous persons that
+quarrel and fight in the streets to pick the pockets of those that look
+on. He hangs men's estates and fortunes on the slightest curiosities and
+feeblest niceties imaginable, and undoes them like the story of breaking
+a horse's back with a feather or sinking a ship with a single drop of
+water, as if right and wrong were only notional and had no relation at
+all to practice (which always requires more solid foundations), or
+reason and truth did wholly consist in the right spelling of letters,
+whenas the subtler things are the nearer they are to nothing, so the
+subtler words and notions are the nearer they are to nonsense. He
+overruns Latin and French with greater barbarism than the Goths did
+Italy and France, and makes as mad a confusion of language by mixing
+both with English. Nor does he use English much better, for he clogs it
+so with words that the sense becomes as thick as puddle, and is utterly
+lost to those that have not the trick of skipping over where it is
+impertinent. He has but one termination for all Latin words, and that's
+a dash. He is very just to the first syllables of words, but always
+bobtails the last, in which the sense most of all consists, like a cheat
+that does a man all right at the first that he may put a trick upon him
+in the end. He is an apprentice to the law without a master, is his own
+pupil, and has no tutor but himself, that is a fool. He will screw and
+wrest law as unmercifully as a tumbler does his body to lick up money
+with his tongue. He is a Swiss that professes mercenary arms, will fight
+for him that gives him best pay, and, like an Italian bravo, will fall
+foul on any man's reputation that he receives a retaining fee against.
+If he could but maintain his opinions as well as they do him, he were a
+very just and righteous man; but when he has made his most of it, he
+leaves it, like his client, to shift for itself. He fetches money out of
+his throat like a juggler; and as the rabble in the country value
+gentlemen by their housekeeping and their eating, so is he supposed to
+have so much law as he has kept commons, and the abler to deal with
+clients by how much the more he has devoured of Inns-of-Court mutton;
+and it matters not whether he keep his study so he has but kept commons.
+He never ends a suit, but prunes it that it may grow the faster and
+yield a greater increase of strife. The wisdom of the law is to admit of
+all the petty, mean, real injustices in the world, to avoid imaginary
+possible great ones that may perhaps fall out. His client finds the
+Scripture fulfilled in him, that it is better to part with a coat too
+than go to law for a cloak; for, as the best laws are made of the worst
+manners, even so are the best lawyers of the worst men. He hums about
+Westminster Hall, and returns home with his pockets like a bee with his
+thighs laden; and that which Horace says of an ant, _Ore trahit
+quodcunque potest, atque addit acervo_, is true of him, for he gathers
+all his heap with the labour of his mouth rather than his brain and
+hands. He values himself, as a carman does his horse, by the money he
+gets, and looks down upon all that gain less as scoundrels. The law is
+like that double-formed, ill-begotten monster that was kept in an
+intricate labyrinth and fed with men's flesh, for it devours all that
+come within the mazes of it and have not a clue to find the way out
+again. He has as little kindness for the Statute Law as Catholics have
+for the Scripture, but adores the Common Law as they do tradition, and
+both for the very same reason; for the Statute Law being certain,
+written and designed to reform and prevent corruptions and abuses in the
+affairs of the world (as the Scriptures are in matters of religion), he
+finds it many times a great obstruction to the advantage and profit of
+his practice; whereas the Common Law, being unwritten, or written in an
+unknown language which very few understand but himself, is the more
+pliable and easy to serve all his purposes, being utterly exposed to
+what interpretation and construction his interest and occasions shall at
+any time incline him to give it; and differs only from arbitrary power
+in this, that the one gives no account of itself at all, and the other
+such a one as is perhaps worse than none, that is implicit and not to be
+understood, or subject to what constructions he pleases to put
+upon it:--
+
+   Great critics in a _noverint universi_
+   Know all men by these presents how to curse ye;
+   Pedants of said and foresaid, and both Frenches,
+   Pedlars, and pokie, may those rev'rend benches
+   Y' aspire to be the stocks, and may ye be
+   No more call'd to the Bar, but pillory;
+   Thither in triumph may ye backward ride
+   To have your ears most justly crucified,
+   And cut so close until there be not leather
+   Enough to stick a pen in left of either;
+   Then will your consciences, your ears, and wit
+   Be like indentures tripartite cut fit.
+   May your horns multiply and grow as great
+   As that which does blow grace before your meat;
+   May varlets be your barbers now, and do
+   The same to you they have been done unto;
+   That's law and gospel too; may it prove true,
+   Then they shall do pump-justice upon you;
+   And when y' are shaved and powder'd you shall fall,
+   Thrown o'er the Bar, as they did o'er the wall,
+   Never to rise again, unless it be
+   To hold your hands up for your roguery;
+   And when you do so may they be no less
+   Sear'd by the hangman than your consciences.
+   May your gowns swarm until you can determine
+   The strife no more between yourselves and vermin
+   Than you have done between your clients' purses;
+   Now kneel and take the last and worst of curses--
+     May you be honest when it is too late;
+     That is, undone the only way you hate.
+
+
+
+AN EPIGRAMMATIST
+
+Is a poet of small wares, whose Muse is short-winded and quickly out of
+breath. She flies like a goose, that is no sooner upon the wing but down
+again. He was originally one of those authors that used to write upon
+white walls, from whence his works, being collected and put together,
+pass in the world like single money among those that deal in small
+matters. His wit is like fire in a flint, that is nothing while it is
+in, and nothing again as soon as it is out. He treats of all things and
+persons that come in his way, but like one that draws in little, much
+less than the life:--
+
+   His bus'ness is t' inveigh and flatter,
+   Like parcel parasite and satyr.
+
+He is a kind of vagabond writer, that is never out of his way, for
+nothing is beside the purpose with him that proposes none at all. His
+works are like a running banquet, that have much variety but little of a
+sort, for he deals in nothing but scraps and parcels, like a tailor's
+broker. He does not write, but set his mark upon things, and gives no
+account in words at length, but only in figures. All his wit reaches but
+to four lines or six at the most; and if he ever venture farther it
+tires immediately, like a post-horse, that will go no farther than his
+wonted stages. Nothing agrees so naturally with his fancy as bawdry,
+which he dispenses in small pittances to continue his reader still in an
+appetite for more.
+
+
+
+A FANATIC.
+
+St. Paul was thought by Festus to be mad with too much learning, but the
+fanatics of our times are mad with too little. He chooses himself one of
+the elect, and packs a committee of his own party to judge the twelve
+tribes of Israel. The apostles in the primitive Church worked miracles
+to confirm and propagate their doctrine, but he thinks to confirm his by
+working at his trade. He assumes a privilege to impress what text of
+Scripture he pleases for his own use, and leaves those that make against
+him for the use of the wicked. His religion, that tends only to faction
+and sedition, is neither fit for peace nor war, but times of a condition
+between both, like the sails of a ship that will not endure a storm and
+are of no use at all in a calm. He believes it has enough of the
+primitive Christian if it be but persecuted as that was, no matter for
+the piety or doctrine of it, as if there were nothing required to prove
+the truth of a religion but the punishment of the professors of it, like
+the old mathematicians that were never believed to be profoundly knowing
+in their profession until they had run through all punishments and just
+escaped the fork. He is all for suffering for religion, but nothing for
+acting; for he accounts good works no better than encroachments upon the
+merits of free believing, and a good life the most troublesome and
+unthrifty way to heaven. He canonises himself a saint in his own
+lifetime, as the more sure and certain way, and less troublesome to
+others. He outgrows ordinances, as an apprentice that has served out his
+time does his indentures, and being a freeman, supposes himself at
+liberty to set up what religion he pleases. He calls his own supposed
+abilities gifts, and disposes of himself like a foundation designed to
+pious uses, although, like others of the same kind, they are always
+diverted to other purposes. He owes all his gifts to his ignorance, as
+beggars do the alms they receive to their poverty. They are such as the
+fairies are said to drop in men's shoes, and when they are discovered to
+give them over and confer no more; for when his gifts are discovered
+they vanish and come to nothing. He is but a puppet saint that moves he
+knows not how, and his ignorance is the dull, leaden weight that puts
+all his parts in motion. His outward man is a saint and his inward man a
+reprobate, for he carries his vices in his heart and his religion in
+his face.
+
+
+
+A PROSELYTE.
+
+A priest stole him out of the cradle, like the fairies, and left a fool
+and changeling in his place. He new dyes his religion, and commonly into
+a sadder and darker colour than it was before. He gives his opinion the
+somersault and turns the wrong side of it outwards. He does not mend his
+manners, but botch them with patches of another stuff and colour. Change
+of religion, being for the most part used by those who understand not
+why one religion is better than another, is like changing of money two
+sixpences for a shilling; both are of equal value, but the change is for
+convenience or humour. There is nothing more difficult than a change of
+religion for the better, for as all alterations in judgment are derived
+from a precedent confessed error, that error is more probably like to
+produce another than anything of so different a nature as truth. He
+imposes upon himself in believing the infirmity of his nature to be the
+strength of his judgment, and thinks he changes his religion when he
+changes himself, and turns as naturally from one thing to another as a
+maggot does to a fly. He is a kind of freebooty and plunder, or one head
+of cattle driven by the priests of one religion out of the quarters of
+another, and they value him above two of their own; for, beside the
+glory of the exploit, they have a better title to him (as he that is
+conquered is more in the power of him that subdued him than he that was
+born his subject), and they expect a freer submission from one that
+takes quarter than from those that were under command before. His
+weakness or ignorance, or both, are commonly the chief causes of his
+conversion; for if he be a man of a profession that has no hopes to
+thrive upon the account of mere merit, he has no way so easy and certain
+as to betake himself to some forbidden church, where, for the common
+cause's sake, he finds so much brotherly love and kindness, that they
+will rather employ him than one of another persuasion though more
+skilful, and he gains by turning and winding his religion as tradesmen
+do by their stocks. The priest has commonly the very same design upon
+him, for he that is not able to go to the charges of his conversion may
+live free enough from being attacked by any side. He was troubled with a
+vertigo in his conscience, and nothing but change of religion, like
+change of air, could cure him. He is like a sick man that can neither
+lie still in his bed nor turn himself but as he is helped by others. He
+is like a revolter in an army; and as men of honour and commanders
+seldom prove such, but common soldiers, men of mean condition,
+frequently to mend their fortunes, so in religion clergymen who are
+commanders seldom prevail upon one another, and when they do, the
+proselyte is usually one who had no reputation among his own party
+before, and after a little trial finds as little among those to whom
+he revolts.
+
+
+
+A CLOWN
+
+Is a centaur, a mixture of man and beast, like a monster engendered by
+unnatural copulation, a crab engrafted on an apple. He was neither made
+by art nor nature, but in spite of both, by evil custom.. His perpetual
+conversation with beasts has rendered him one of them, and he is among
+men but a naturalised brute. He appears by his language, genius, and
+behaviour to be an alien to mankind, a foreigner to humanity, and of so
+opposite a genius that 'tis easier to make a Spaniard a Frenchman than
+to reduce him to civility. He disdains every man that he does not fear,
+and only respects him that has done him hurt or can do it. He is like
+Nebuchadnezzar after he had been a month at grass, but will never return
+to be a man again as he did, if he might, for he despises all manner of
+lives but his own, unless it be his horse's, to whom he is but _valet de
+chambre_. He never shows himself humane or kind in anything but when he
+pimps to his cow or makes a match for his mare; in all things else he is
+surly and rugged, and does not love to be pleased himself, which makes
+him hate those that do him any good. He is a stoic to all passions but
+fear, envy, and malice, and hates to do any good though it cost him
+nothing. He abhors a gentleman because he is most unlike himself, and
+repines as much at his manner of living as if he maintained him. He
+murmurs at him as the saints do at the wicked, as if he kept his right
+from him, for he makes his clownery a sect and damns all that are not of
+his Church. He manures the earth like a dunghill, but lets himself lie
+fallow, for no improvement will do good upon him. Cain was the first of
+his family, and he does his endeavour not to degenerate from the
+original churlishness of his ancestor. He that was fetched from the
+plough to be made dictator had not half his pride and insolence, nor
+Caligula's horse that was made consul. All the worst names that are
+given to men are borrowed from him, as villain, deboise, peasant, &c. He
+wears his clothes like a hide, and shifts them no oftener than a beast
+does his hair. He is a beast that Gesner never thought of.
+
+
+
+A WOOER
+
+Stands candidate for cuckold, and if he miss of it, it is none of his
+fault, for his merit is sufficiently known. He is commonly no lover, but
+able to pass for a most desperate one where he finds it is like to prove
+of considerable advantage to him, and therefore has passions lying by
+him of all sizes proportionable to all women's fortunes, and can be
+indifferent, melancholy, or stark-mad according as their estates give
+him occasion; and when he finds it is to no purpose, can presently come
+to himself again and try another. He prosecutes his suit against his
+mistress as clients do a suit in law, and does nothing without the
+advice of his learned counsel, omits no advantage for want of
+soliciting, and, when he gets her consent, overthrows her. He endeavours
+to match his estate, rather than himself, to the best advantage, and if
+his mistress's fortune and his do but come to an agreement, their
+persons are easily satisfied, the match is soon made up, and a cross
+marriage between all four is presently concluded. He is not much
+concerned in his lady's virtues, for if the opinion of the Stoics be
+true, that the virtuous are always rich, there is no doubt but she that
+is rich must be virtuous. He never goes without a list in his pocket of
+all the widows and virgins about the town, with particulars of their
+jointures, portions, and inheritances, that if one miss he may not be
+without a reserve; for he esteems Cupid very improvident if he has not
+more than two strings to his bow. When he wants a better introduction he
+begins his addresses to the chambermaid, like one that sues the tenant
+to eject the landlord, and according as he thrives there makes his
+approaches to the mistress. He can tell readily what the difference is
+between jointure with tuition of infant, land, and money of any value,
+and what the odds is to a penny between them all, either to take or
+leave. He does not so much go a-wooing as put in his claim, as if all
+men of fortune had a fair title to all women of the same quality, and
+therefore are said to demand them in marriage. But if he be a wooer of
+fortune, that designs to raise himself by it, he makes wooing his
+vocation, deals with all matchmakers, that are his setters, is very
+painful in his calling, and if his business succeed, steals her away and
+commits matrimony with a felonious intent. He has a great desire to
+beget money on the body of a woman, and as for other issue is very
+indifferent, and cares not how old she be so she be not past
+money-bearing.
+
+
+
+AN IMPUDENT MAN
+
+Is one whose want of money and want of wit have engaged him beyond his
+abilities. The little knowledge he has of himself, being suitable to the
+little he has in his profession, has made him believe himself fit for
+it. This double ignorance has made him set a value upon himself, as he
+that wants a great deal appears in a better condition than he that wants
+a little. This renders him confident and fit for any undertaking, and
+sometimes (such is the concurrent ignorance of the world) he prospers in
+it, but oftener miscarries and becomes ridiculous; yet this advantage he
+has, that as nothing can make him see his error, so nothing can
+discourage him that way, for he is fortified with his ignorance, as
+barren and rocky places are by their situation, and he will rather
+believe that all men want judgment than himself. For, as no man is
+pleased that has an ill opinion of himself, Nature, that finds out
+remedies herself, and his own ease, render him insensible of his
+defects. From hence he grows impudent; for, as men judge by comparison,
+he knows as little what it is to be defective as what it is to be
+excellent. Nothing renders men modest but a just knowledge how to
+compare themselves with others; and where that is wanting impudence
+supplies the place of it, for there is no vacuum in the minds of men,
+and commonly, like other things in Nature, they swell more with
+rarefaction than condensation. The more men know of the world, the worse
+opinion they have of it; and the more they understand of truth, they are
+better acquainted with the difficulties of it, and consequently are the
+less confident in their assertions, especially in matters of
+probability, which commonly is squint-eyed and looks nine ways at once.
+It is the office of a just judge to hear both parties, and he that
+considers but the one side of things can never make a just judgment,
+though he may by chance a true one. Impudence is the bastard of
+ignorance, not only unlawfully but incestuously begotten by a man upon
+his own understanding, and laid by himself at his own door, a monster of
+unnatural production; for shame is as much the propriety of human
+nature, though overseen by the philosophers, and perhaps more than
+reason, laughing, or looking asquint, by which they distinguish man from
+beasts; and the less men have of it the nearer they approach to the
+nature of brutes. Modesty is but a noble jealousy of honour, and
+impudence the prostitution of it; for he whose face is proof against
+infamy must be as little sensible of glory. His forehead, like a
+voluntary cuckold's, is by his horns made proof against a blush. Nature
+made man barefaced, and civil custom has preserved him so; but he that's
+impudent does wear a vizard more ugly and deformed than highway thieves
+disguise themselves with. Shame is the tender moral conscience of good
+men. When there is a crack in the skull, Nature herself, with a tough
+horny callous repairs the breach; so a flawed intellect is with a brawny
+callous face supplied. The face is the dial of the mind; and where they
+do not go together, 'tis a sign that one or both are out of order. He
+that is impudent is like a merchant that trades upon his credit without
+a stock, and if his debts were known would break immediately. The inside
+of his head is like the outside, and his peruke as naturally of his own
+growth as his wit. He passes in the world like a piece of counterfeit
+coin, looks well enough until he is rubbed and worn with use, and then
+his copper complexion begins to appear, and nobody will take him but by
+owl-light.
+
+
+
+AN IMITATOR
+
+Is a counterfeit stone, and the larger and fairer he appears the more
+apt he is to be discovered; whilst small ones, that pretend to no great
+value, pass unsuspected. He is made like a man in arras-hangings, after
+some great master's design, though far short of the original. He is like
+a spectrum or walking spirit, that assumes the shape of some particular
+person and appears in the likeness of something that he is not because
+he has no shape of his own to put on. He has a kind of monkey and baboon
+wit, that takes after some man's way whom he endeavours to imitate, but
+does it worse than those things that are naturally his own; for he does
+not learn, but take his pattern out, as a girl does her sampler. His
+whole life is nothing but a kind of education, and he is always learning
+to be something that he is not nor ever will be. For Nature is free, and
+will not be forced out of her way, nor compelled to do anything against
+her own will and inclination. He is but a retainer to wit and a follower
+of his master, whose badge he wears everywhere, and therefore his way is
+called servile imitation. His fancy is like the innocent lady's, who, by
+looking on the picture of a Moor that hung in her chamber, conceived a
+child of the same complexion; for all his conceptions are produced by
+the pictures of other men's imaginations, and by their features betray
+whose bastards they are. His Muse is not inspired, but infected with
+another man's fancy; and he catches his wit, like the itch, of somebody
+else that had it before, and when he writes he does but scratch himself.
+His head is, like his hat, fashioned upon a block and wrought in a shape
+of another man's invention. He melts down his wit and casts it in a
+mould; and as metals melted and cast are not so firm and solid as those
+that are wrought with the hammer, so those compositions that are founded
+and run in other men's moulds are always more brittle and loose than
+those that are forged in a man's own brain. He binds himself apprentice
+to a trade which he has no stock to set up with, if he should serve out
+his time and live to be made free. He runs a-whoring after another man's
+inventions, for he has none of his own to tempt him to an incontinent
+thought, and begets a kind of mongrel breed that never comes to good.
+
+
+
+A SOT
+
+Has found out a way to renew not only his youth, but his childhood, by
+being stewed, like old Aeson, in liquor; much better than the virtuoso's
+way of making old dogs young again, for he is a child again at second
+hand, never the worse for the wearing, but as purely fresh, simple, and
+weak as he was at first. He has stupefied his senses by living in a
+moist climate, according to the poet, _Boeotum in crasso jurares aere
+natum_. He measures his time by glasses of wine, as the ancients did by
+water-glasses; and as Hermes Trismegistus is said to have kept the first
+account of hours by the pissing of a beast dedicated to Serapis, he
+revives that custom in his own practice, and observes it punctually in
+passing his time. He is like a statue placed in a moist air; all the
+lineaments of humanity are mouldered away, and there is nothing left of
+him but a rude lump of the shape of a man, and no one part entire. He
+has drowned himself in a butt of wine, as the Duke of Clarence was
+served by his brother. He has washed down his soul and pissed it out,
+and lives now only by the spirit of wine or brandy, or by an extract
+drawn off his stomach. He has swallowed his humanity and drunk himself
+into a beast, as if he had pledged Madam Circe and done her right. He is
+drowned in a glass like a fly, beyond the cure of crumbs of bread or the
+sunbeams. He is like a springtide; when he is drunk to his
+high-water-mark he swells and looks big, runs against the stream, and
+overflows everything that stands in his way; but when the drink within
+him is at an ebb, he shrinks within his banks and falls so low and
+shallow that cattle may pass over him. He governs all his actions by the
+drink within him, as a Quaker does by the light within him; has a
+different humour for every nick his drink rises to, like the degrees of
+the weather-glass; and proceeds from ribaldry and bawdry to politics,
+religion, and quarrelling, until it is at the top, and then it is the
+dog-days with him; from whence he falls down again until his liquor is
+at the bottom, and then he lies quiet and is frozen up.
+
+
+
+A JUGGLER
+
+Is an artificial magician, that with his fingers casts a mist before the
+eyes of the rabble and makes his balls walk invisible which way he
+pleases. He does his feats behind a table, like a Presbyterian in a
+conventicle, but with much more dexterity and cleanliness, and therefore
+all sorts of people are better pleased with him. Most professions and
+mysteries derive the practice of all their faculties from him, but use
+them with less ingenuity and candour; for the more he deceives those he
+has to do with the better he deals with them; while those that imitate
+him in a lawful calling are far more dishonest, for the more they impose
+the more they abuse. All his cheats are primitive, and therefore more
+innocent and of greater purity than those that are by tradition from
+hand to hand derived to them; for he conveys money out of one man's
+pocket into another's with much more sincerity and ingenuity than those
+that do it in a legal way, and for a less considerable, though more
+conscientious, reward. He will fetch money out of his own throat with a
+great deal more of delight and satisfaction to those that pay him for it
+than any haranguer whatsoever, and make it chuck in his throat better
+than a lawyer that has talked himself hoarse, and swallowed so many fees
+that he is almost choked. He will spit fire and blow smoke out of his
+mouth with less harm and inconvenience to the Government than a
+seditious holder-forth, and yet all these disown and scorn him, even as
+men that are grown great and rich despise the meanness of their
+originals. He calls upon "Presto begone," and the Babylonian's tooth, to
+amuse and divert the rabble from looking too narrowly into his tricks;
+while a zealous hypocrite, that calls heaven and earth to witness his,
+turns up the eye and shakes the head at his idolatry and profanation. He
+goes the circuit to all country fairs, where he meets with good
+strolling practice, and comes up to Bartholomew Fair as his Michaelmas
+term; after which he removes to some great thoroughfare, where he hangs
+out himself in effigy, like a Dutch malefactor, that all those that pass
+by may for their money have a trial of his skill. He endeavours to plant
+himself as near as he can to some puppet-play, monster, or mountebank,
+as the most convenient situation; and when trading grows scant they join
+all their forces together and make up one grand show, and admit the
+cutpurse and balladsinger to trade under them, as orange-women do at a
+playhouse.
+
+
+
+A ROMANCE-WRITER
+
+Pulls down old histories to build them up finer again, after a new model
+of his own designing. He takes away all the lights of truth in history
+to make it the fitter tutoress of life; for Truth herself has little or
+nothing to do in the affairs of the world, although all matters of the
+greatest weight and moment are pretended and done in her name, like a
+weak princess that has only the title, and falsehood all the power. He
+observes one very fit decorum in dating his histories in the days of old
+and putting all his own inventions upon ancient times; for when the
+world was younger, it might perhaps love and fight, and do generous
+things at the rate he describes them; but since it is grown old, all
+these heroic feats are laid by and utterly given over, nor ever like to
+come in fashion again; and therefore all his images of those virtues
+signify no more than the statues upon dead men's tombs, that will never
+make them live again. He is like one of Homer's gods, that sets men
+together by the ears and fetches them off again how he pleases; brings
+armies into the field like Janello's leaden soldiers; leads up both
+sides himself, and gives the victory to which he pleases, according as
+he finds it fit the design of his story; makes love and lovers too,
+brings them acquainted, and appoints meetings when and where he pleases,
+and at the same time betrays them in the height of all their felicity to
+miserable captivity, or some other horrid calamity; for which he makes
+them rail at the gods and curse their own innocent stars when he only
+has done them all the injury; makes men villains, compels them to act
+all barbarous inhumanities by his own directions, and after inflicts the
+cruellest punishments upon them for it. He makes all his knights fight
+in fortifications, and storm one another's armour before they can come
+to encounter body for body, and always matches them so equally one with
+another that it is a whole page before they can guess which is likely to
+have the better; and he that has it is so mangled that it had been
+better for them both to have parted fair at first; but when they
+encounter with those that are no knights, though ever so well armed and
+mounted, ten to one goes for nothing. As for the ladies, they are every
+one the most beautiful in the whole world, and that's the reason why no
+one of them, nor all together with all their charms, have power to tempt
+away any knight from another. He differs from a just historian as a
+joiner does from a carpenter; the one does things plainly and
+substantially for use, and the other carves and polishes merely for show
+and ornament.
+
+
+
+A LIBELLER
+
+Is a certain classic author that handles his subject-matter very
+ruggedly, and endeavours with his own evil words to corrupt another
+man's good manners. All his works treat but of two things, his own
+malice and another man's faults, both which he describes in very proper
+and pertinent language. He is not much concerned whether what he writes
+be true or false; that's nothing to his purpose, which aims only at
+filthy and bitter, and therefore his language is, like pictures of the
+devil, the fouler the better. He robs a man of his good name, not for
+any good it will do him (for he dares not own it), but merely, as a
+jackdaw steals money, for his pleasure. His malice has the same success
+with other men's charity, to be rewarded in private; for all he gets is
+but his own private satisfaction and the testimony of an evil
+conscience; for which, if it be discovered, he suffers the worst kind of
+martyrdom and is paid with condign punishment, so that at the best he
+has but his labour for his pains. He deals with a man as the Spanish
+Inquisition does with heretics, clothes him in a coat painted with
+hellish shapes of fiends, and so shows him to the rabble to render him
+the more odious. He exposes his wit like a bastard, for the next comer
+to take up and put out to nurse, which it seldom fails of, so ready is
+every man to contribute to the infamy of another. He is like the devil,
+that sows tares in the dark, and while a man sleeps plants weeds among
+his corn. When he ventures to fall foul on the Government or any great
+persons, if he has not a special care to keep himself, like a conjurer,
+safe in his circle, he raises a spirit that falls foul on himself and
+carries him to limbo, where his neck is clapped up in the hole, out of
+which it is never released until he has paid his ears down on the nail
+for fees. He is in a worse condition than a schoolboy, for when he is
+discovered he is whipped for his exercise, whether it be well or ill
+done; so that he takes a wrong course to show his wit, when his best way
+to do so is to conceal it; otherwise he shows his folly instead of his
+wit, and pays dear for the mistake.
+
+
+
+A FACTIOUS MEMBER
+
+Is sent out laden with the wisdom and politics of the place he serves
+for, and has his own freight and custom free. He is trusted like a
+factor to trade for a society, but endeavours to turn all the public to
+his own private advantages. He has no instructions but his pleasure, and
+therefore strives to have his privileges as large. He is very wise in
+his politic capacity as having a full share in the House and an implicit
+right to every man's reason, though he has none of his own, which makes
+him appear so simple out of it. He believes all reason of State consists
+in faction, as all wisdom in haranguing, of which he is so fond that he
+had rather the nation should perish than continue ignorant of his great
+abilities that way; though he that observes his gestures, words, and
+delivery will find them so perfectly agreeable to the rules of the House
+that he cannot but conclude he learnt his oratory the very same way that
+jackdaws and parrots practise by; for he coughs and spits and blows his
+nose with that discreet and prudent caution that you would think he had
+buried his talent in a handkerchief, and were now pulling it out to
+dispose of it to a better advantage. He stands and presumes so much upon
+the privileges of the House, as if every member were a tribune of the
+people and had as absolute power as they had in Rome, according to the
+lately established fundamental custom and practice of their quartered
+predecessors of unhappy memory. He endeavours to show his wisdom in
+nothing more than in appearing very much unsatisfied with the present
+manage of State affairs, although he knows nothing of the reasons. So
+much the better, for the thing is the more difficult, and argues his
+judgment and insight the greater; for any man can judge that understands
+the reasons of what he does, but very few know how to judge mechanically
+without understanding why or wherefore. It is sufficient to assure him
+that the public money has been diverted from the proper uses it was
+raised for because he has had no share of it himself, and the government
+ill managed because he has no hand in it, which, truly, is a very great
+grievance to the people, that understand, by himself and his party, that
+are their representatives, and ought to understand for them how able he
+is for it. He fathers all his own passions and concerns, like bastards,
+on the people, because, being entrusted by them without articles or
+conditions, they are bound to acknowledge whatsoever he does as their
+own act and deed.
+
+
+
+A PLAY-WRITER
+
+Of our times is like a fanatic, that has no wit in ordinary easy things,
+and yet attempts the hardest task of brains in the whole world, only
+because, whether his play or work please or displease, he is certain to
+come off better than he deserves, and find some of his own latitude to
+applaud him, which he could never expect any other way, and is as sure
+to lose no reputation, because he has none to venture:--
+
+  Like gaming rooks, that never stick
+   To play for hundreds upon tick,
+   'Cause, if they chance to lose at play,
+   They've not one halfpenny to pay;
+   And, if they win a hundred pound,
+   Gain, if for sixpence they compound.
+
+Nothing encourages him more in his undertaking than his ignorance, for
+he has not wit enough to understand so much as the difficulty of what he
+attempts; therefore he runs on boldly like a foolhardy wit, and Fortune,
+that favours fools and the bold, sometimes takes notice of him for his
+double capacity, and receives him into her good graces. He has one
+motive more, and that is the concurrent ignorant judgment of the present
+age, in which his sottish fopperies pass with applause, like Oliver
+Cromwell's oratory among fanatics of his own canting inclination. He
+finds it easier to write in rhyme than prose, for the world being
+over-charged with romances, he finds his plots, passions, and repartees
+ready made to his hand, and if he can but turn them into rhyme the
+thievery is disguised, and they pass for his own wit and invention
+without question, like a stolen cloak made into a coat or dyed into
+another colour. Besides this, he makes no conscience of stealing
+anything that lights in his way, and borrows the advice of so many to
+correct, enlarge, and amend what he has ill-favouredly patched together,
+that it becomes like a thing drawn by counsel, and none of his own
+performance, or the son of a whore that has no one certain father. He
+has very great reason to prefer verse before prose in his compositions;
+for rhyme is like lace, that serves excellently well to hide the piecing
+and coarseness of a bad stuff, contributes mightily to the bulk, and
+makes the less serve by the many impertinences it commonly requires to
+make way for it, for very few are endowed with abilities to bring it in
+on its own account. This he finds to be good husbandry and a kind of
+necessary thrift, for they that have but a little ought to make as much
+of it as they can. His prologue, which is commonly none of his own, is
+always better than his play, like a piece of cloth that's fine in the
+beginning and coarse afterwards; though it has but one topic, and that's
+the same that is used by malefactors, when they are to be tried, to
+except against as many of the jury as they can.
+
+
+
+A MOUNTEBANK
+
+Is an epidemic physician, a doctor-errant, that keeps himself up by
+being, like a top, in motion, for if he should settle he would fall to
+nothing immediately. He is a pedlar of medicines, a petty chapman of
+cures, and tinker empirical to the body of man. He strolls about to
+markets and fairs, where he mounts on the top of his shop, that is his
+bank, and publishes his medicines as universal as himself; for
+everything is for all diseases, as himself is of all places--that is to
+say, of none. His business is to show tricks and impudence. As for the
+cure of diseases, it concerns those that have them, not him, further
+than to get their money. His pudding is his setter that lodges the
+rabble for him, and then slips him, who opens with a deep mouth, and has
+an ill day if he does not run down some. He baits his patient's body
+with his medicines, as a rat-catcher does a room, and either poisons the
+disease or him. As soon as he has got all the money and spent all the
+credit the rabble could spare him, he then removes to fresh quarters
+where he is less known and better trusted. If but one in twenty of his
+medicines hit by chance, when nature works the cure, it saves the credit
+of all the rest, that either do no good or hurt; for whosoever recovers
+in his hands, he does the work under God; but if he die, God does it
+under him: his time was come, and there's an end. A velvet jerkin is his
+prime qualification, by which he is distinguished from his pudding, as
+he is with his cap from him. This is the usher of his school, that draws
+the rabble together, and then he draws their teeth. He administers
+physic with a farce, and gives his patients a preparative of dancing on
+the rope, to stir the humours and prepare them for evacuation. His fool
+serves for his foil, and sets him off as well as his bragging and lying.
+The first thing he vents is his own praise, and then his medicines
+wrapped up in several papers and lies. He mounts his bank as a vaulter
+does his wooden horse, and then shows tricks for his patients, as apes
+do for the King of Spain. He casts the nativity of urinals, and tries
+diseases, like a witch, by water. He bails the place with a jig, draws
+the rabble together, and then throws his hook among them. He pretends to
+universal medicines; that is, such as, when all men are sick together,
+will cure them all, but till then no one in particular.
+
+
+
+A WITTOL
+
+Is a person of great complaisance, and very civil to all that have
+occasion to make use of his wife. He married a wife as a common proxy
+for the service of all those that are willing to come in for their
+shares; he engrossed her first by wholesale, and since puts her off by
+retail; he professes a form of matrimony, but utterly denies the power
+thereof. They that tell tales are very unjust, for, having not put in
+their claims before marriage, they are bound for ever after to hold
+their tongues. The reason why citizens are commonly wittols is, because
+men that drive a trade and are dealers in the world seldom provide
+anything for their own uses which they will not very willingly put off
+again for considerable profit. He believes it to be but a vulgar error
+and no such disparagement as the world commonly imagines to be a
+cuckold; for man, being the epitomy and representation of all creatures,
+cannot be said to be perfect while he wants that badge and character
+which so many several species wear both for their defence and ornament.
+He takes the only wise and sure course that his wife should do him no
+injury; for, having his own free consent, it is not in her power that
+way to do him any wrong at all. His wife is, like Eve in Paradise,
+married to all mankind, and yet is unsatisfied that there are no more
+worlds, as Alexander the Great was. She is a person of public capacity,
+and rather than not serve her country would suffer an army to march over
+her, as Sir Rice ap Thomas did. Her husband and she give and take equal
+liberty, which preserves a perfect peace and good understanding between
+both, while those that are concerned in one another's love and honour
+are never quiet, but always caterwauling. He differs from a jealous man
+as a valiant man does from a coward, that trembles at a danger which the
+other scorns and despises. He is of a true philosophical temper, and
+suffers what he knows not how to avoid with a more than stoical
+resolution. He is one of those the poet speaks of:--
+
+   "Qui ferre incommoda vitae,
+   Nec jactare jugum, vita didicere magistra."
+
+He is as much pleased to see many men approve his choice of his wife and
+has as great a kindness for them, as opiniasters have for all those whom
+they find to agree with themselves in judgment and approve the abilities
+of their understandings.
+
+
+
+A LITIGIOUS MAN
+
+Goes to law as men do to bad houses, to spend his money and satisfy his
+concupiscence of wrangling. He is a constant customer to the old
+reverend gentlewoman Law, and believes her to be very honest, though she
+picks his pockets and puts a thousand tricks and gulleries upon him. He
+has a strange kindness for an action of the case, but a most passionate
+loyalty for the King's writ. A well-drawn bill and answer will draw him
+all the world over, and a breviate as far as the Line. He enters the
+lists at Westminster like an old tiller, runs his course in law, and
+breaks an oath or two instead of a lance; and if he can but unhorse the
+defendant and get the sentence of the judges on his side, he marches off
+in triumph. He prefers a cry of lawyers at the Bar before any pack of
+the best-mouthed dogs in all the North. He has commonly once a term a
+trial of skill with some other professor of the noble science of
+contention at the several weapons of bill and answer, forgery, perjury,
+subornation, champarty, affidavit, common barretry, maintenance, &c.,
+and though he come off with the worst, he does not greatlv care so he
+can but have another bout for it. He fights with bags of money as they
+did heretofore with sand-bags, and he that has the heaviest has the
+advantage and knocks down the other, right or wrong and he suffers the
+penalties of the law for having no more money to show in the case. He is
+a client by his order and votary of the long robe, and though he were
+sure the devil invented it to hide his cloven feet, he has the greater
+reverence for it; for, as evil manners produce good laws, the worse the
+inventor was the better the thing may be. He keeps as many Knights of
+the Post to swear for him, as the King does poor knights at Windsor to
+pray for him. When he is defendant and like to be worsted in a suit, he
+puts in a cross bill and becomes plaintiff; for the plainant is eldest
+hand, and has not only that advantage, but is understood to be the
+better friend to the Court, and is considered for it accordingly.
+
+
+
+A HUMOURIST
+
+Is a peculiar fantastic that has a wonderful natural affection to some
+particular kind of folly, to which he applies himself and in time
+becomes eminent. 'Tis commonly some outlying whimsy of Bedlam, that,
+being tame and unhurtful, is suffered to go at liberty. The more serious
+he is the more ridiculous he becomes, and at the same time pleases
+himself in earnest and others in jest. He knows no mean, for that is
+inconsistent with all humour, which is never found but in some extreme
+or other. Whatsoever he takes to he is very full of, and believes every
+man else to be so too, as if his own taste were the same in every man's
+palate. If he be a virtuoso, he applies himself with so much earnestness
+to what he undertakes that he puts his reason out of joint and strains
+his judgment; and there is hardly anything in the world so slight or
+serious that some one or other has not squandered away his brains and
+time and fortune upon to no other purpose but to be ridiculous. He is
+exempted from a dark room and a doctor, because there is no danger in
+his frenzy; otherwise he has as good a title to fresh straw as another.
+Humour is but a crookedness of the mind, a disproportioned swelling of
+the brain, that draws the nourishment from the other parts to stuff an
+ugly and deformed crup-shoulder. If it have the luck to meet with many
+of its own temper, instead of being ridiculous it becomes a church, and
+from jest grows to earnest.
+
+
+
+A LEADER OF A FACTION
+
+Sets the psalm, and all his party sing after him. He is like a figure in
+arithmetic; the more ciphers he stands before the more his value amounts
+to. He is a great haranguer, talks himself into authority, and, like a
+parrot, climbs with his beak. He appears brave in the head of his party,
+but braver in his own; for vainglory leads him, as he does them, and
+both, many times out of the King's highway, over hedges and ditches, to
+find out by-ways and shorter cuts, which generally prove the farthest
+about, but never the nearest home again. He is so passionate a lover of
+the Liberty of the People that his fondness turns to jealousy. He
+interprets every trifle in the worst sense, to the prejudice of her
+honesty, and is so full of caprices and scruples that, if he had his
+will, he would have her shut up and never suffered to go abroad again,
+if not made away, for her incontinence. All his politics are speculative
+and for the most part impracticable, full of curious niceties, that tend
+only to prevent future imaginary inconveniences with greater real and
+present. He is very superstitious of having the formalities and
+punctilios of law held sacred, that, while they are performing, those
+that would destroy the very being of it may have time to do their
+business or escape. He bends all his forces against those that are above
+him, and, like a free-born English mastiff, plays always at the head. He
+gathers his party as fanatics do a church, and admits all his admirers
+how weak and slight soever; for he believes it is argument of wisdom
+enough in them to admire, or, as he has it, to understand him. When he
+has led his faction into any inconvenience they all run into his mouth,
+as young snakes do into the old ones, and he defends them with his
+oratory as well as he is able; for all his confidence depends upon his
+tongue more than his brain or heart, and if that fail the others
+surrender immediately; for though David says it is a two-edged sword, a
+wooden dagger is a better weapon to fight with. His judgment is like a
+nice balance that will turn with the twentieth part of a grain, but a
+little using renders it false, and it is not so good for use as one that
+will not stir without a greater weight.
+
+
+
+A DEBAUCHED MAN
+
+Saves the devil a labour and leads himself into temptation, being loth
+to lose his good favour in giving him any trouble where he can do the
+business himself without his assistance, which he very prudently
+reserves for matters of greater concernment. He governs himself in an
+arbitrary way, and is absolute, without being confined to anything but
+his own will and pleasure, which he makes his law. His life is all
+recreation, and his diversions nothing but turning from one vice, that
+he is weary of, to entertain himself with another that is fresh. He
+lives above the state of his body as well as his fortune, and runs out
+of his health and money as if he had made a match and betted on the
+race, or bid the devil take the hindmost. He is an amphibious animal,
+that lives in two elements, wet and dry, and never comes out of the
+first but, like a sea-calf, to sleep on the shore. His language is very
+suitable to his conversation, and he talks as loosely as he lives.
+Ribaldry and profanation are his doctrine and use, and what he professes
+publicly he practises very carefully in his life and conversation; not
+like those clergymen that, to save the souls of other men, condemn
+themselves out of their own mouths. His whole life is nothing but a
+perpetual lordship of misrule and a constant ramble day and night as
+long as it lasts, which is not according to the course of nature, but
+its own course; for he cuts off the latter end of it, like a pruned
+vine, that it may bear the more wine although it be the shorter. As for
+that which is left, he is as lavish of it as he is of everything else;
+for he sleeps all day and sits up all night, that he may not see how it
+passes, until, like one that travels in a litter and sleeps, he is at
+his journey's end before he is aware; for he is spirited away by his
+vices and clapped under hatches, where he never knows whither he is
+going until he is at the end of his voyage.
+
+
+
+THE SEDITIOUS MAN
+
+Is a civil mutineer, and as all mutinies for the most part are for pay,
+if it were not for that he would never trouble himself with it. His
+business is to kindle and blow up discontents against the Government,
+that, when they are inflamed, he may have the fairer opportunity to rob
+and plunder, while those that are concerned are employed in quenching
+it. He endeavours to raise tumults and, if he can, civil war--a remedy
+which no man that means well to his country can endure to think on
+though the disease were never so desperate. He is a State mountebank,
+whose business is to persuade the people that they are not well in
+health, that he may get their money to make them worse. If he be a
+preacher, he has the advantage of all others of his tribe, for he has a
+way to vent sedition by wholesale; and as the foulest purposes have most
+need of the fairest pretences, so when sedition is masked under the veil
+of piety, religion, conscience, and holy duty, it propagates wonderfully
+among the rabble, and he vents more in an hour from the pulpit than
+others by news and politics can do in a week. Next him, writers and
+libellers are most pernicious, for though the contagion they disperse
+spreads slower and with less force than preaching, yet it lasts longer,
+and in time extends to more, and with less danger to the author, who is
+not easily discovered if he use any care to conceal himself. And
+therefore, as we see stinging-flies vex and provoke cattle most
+immediately before storms, so multitudes of those kinds of vermin do
+always appear to stir up the people before the beginning of all
+troublesome times, and nobody knows who they are or from whence they
+came, but only that they were printed the present year that they may not
+lose the advantage of being known to be new. Some do it only out of
+humour and envy, or desire to see those that are above them pulled down
+and others raised in their places, as if they held it a kind of freedom
+to change their governors, though they continue in the same condition
+themselves still, only they are a little better pleased with it in
+observing the dangers greatness is exposed to. He delights in nothing so
+much as civil commotions, and, like a porpoise, always plays before a
+storm. Paper and tinder are both made of the same material, rags, but he
+converts them both into the same again and makes his paper tinder.
+
+
+
+THE RUDE MAN
+
+Is an Ostro-Goth or Northern Hun, that, wheresoever he comes, invades
+and all the world does overrun, without distinction of age, sex, or
+quality. He has no regard to anything but his own humour, and that, he
+expects, should pass everywhere without asking leave or being asked
+wherefore, as if he had a safe-conduct for his rudeness. He rolls up
+himself like a hedgehog in his prickles, and is as intractable to all
+that come near him. He is an ill-designed piece, built after the rustic
+order, and all his parts look too big for their height. He is so
+ill-contrived that that which should be the top in all regular
+structures--_i.e._, confidence--is his foundation. He has neither
+doctrine nor discipline in him, like a fanatic Church, but is guided by
+the very same spirit that dipped the herd of swine in the sea. He was
+not bred, but reared; not brought up to hand, but suffered to run wild
+and take after his kind, as other people of the pasture do. He takes
+that freedom in all places, as if he were not at liberty, but had broken
+loose and expected to be tied up again. He does not eat, but feed, and
+when he drinks goes to water. The old Romans beat the barbarous part of
+the world into civility, but if he had lived in those times he had been
+invincible to all attempts of that nature, and harder to be subdued and
+governed than a province. He eats his bread, according to the curse,
+with the sweat of his brow, and takes as much pains at a meal as if he
+earned it; puffs and blows like a horse that eats provender, and crams
+his throat like a screwed gun with a bullet bigger than the bore. His
+tongue runs perpetually over everything that comes in its way, without
+regard of what, where, or to whom, and nothing but a greater rudeness
+than his own can stand before it; and he uses it to as slovenly purposes
+as a dog does that licks his sores and the dirt off his feet. He is the
+best instance of the truth of Pythagoras's doctrine, for his soul passed
+through all sorts of brute beasts before it came to him, and still
+retains something of the nature of every one.
+
+
+
+A RABBLE
+
+Is a congregation or assembly of the States-general sent from their
+several and respective shops, stalls, and garrets. They are full of
+controversy, and every one of a several judgment concerning the business
+under present consideration, whether it be mountebank, show, hanging, or
+ballad-singer. They meet, like Democritus's atoms, _in vacuo_, and by a
+fortuitous jostling together produce the greatest and most savage beast
+in the whole world; for though the members of it may have something of
+human nature while they are asunder, when they are put together they
+have none at all, as a multitude of several sounds make one great noise
+unlike all the rest, in which no one particular is distinguished. They
+are a great dunghill where all sorts of dirty and nasty humours meet,
+stink, and ferment, for all the parts are in a perpetual tumult. 'Tis no
+wonder they make strange Churches, for they take naturally to any
+imposture, and have a great antipathy to truth and order as being
+contrary to their original confusion. They are a herd of swine possessed
+with a dry devil that run after hanging instead of drowning. Once a
+month they go on pilgrimage to the gallows, to visit the sepulchres of
+their ancestors, as the Turks do once a week. When they come there they
+sing psalms, quarrel, and return full of satisfaction and narrative.
+When they break loose they are like a public ruin, in which the highest
+parts lie undermost, and make the noblest fabrics heaps of rubbish. They
+are like the sea, that's stirred into a tumult with every blast of wind
+that blows upon it, till it become a watery Apennine, and heap mountain
+billows upon one another, as once the giants did in the war with heaven.
+A crowd is their proper element, in which they make their way with their
+shoulders as pigs creep through hedges. Nothing in the world delights
+them so much as the ruin of great persons or any calamity in which they
+have no share, though they get nothing by it. They love nothing but
+themselves in the likeness of one another, and, like sheep, run all that
+way the first goes, especially if it be against their governors, whom
+they have a natural disaffection to.
+
+
+
+A KNIGHT OF THE POST
+
+Is a retailer of oaths, a deposition-monger, an evidence-maker, that
+lives by the labour of his conscience. He takes money to kiss the
+Gospel, as Judas did Christ when he betrayed Him. As a good conscience
+is a continual feast, so an ill one is with him his daily food. He plies
+at a court of justice, as porters do at a market, and his business is to
+bear witness, as they do burdens for any man that will pay them for it.
+He will swear his ears through an inch-board, and wears them merely by
+favour of the Court; for, being _amicus curiae_, they are willing to let
+him keep the pillory out of possession, though he has forfeited his
+right never so often; for when he is once outed of his ears he is past
+his labour, and can do the commonwealth of practisers no more service.
+He is false weight in the balance of justice, and, as a lawyer's tongue
+is the tongue of the balance that inclines either way according as the
+weight of the bribe inclines it, so does his. He lays one hand on the
+Book, and the other is in the plaintiff's or defendant's pocket. He
+feeds upon his conscience, as a monkey eats his tail. He kisses the Book
+to show he renounces and takes his leave of it. Many a parting kiss has
+he given the Gospel. He pollutes it with his lips oftener than a
+hypocrite. He is a sworn officer of every court and a great practiser,
+is admitted within the Bar, and makes good what the rest of the counsel
+say. The attorney and solicitor fee and instruct him in the case, and he
+ventures as far for his client as any man to be laid by the ears. He
+speaks more to the point than any other, yet gives false ground to his
+brethren of the jury, that they seldom come near the jack. His oaths are
+so brittle that not one in twenty of them will hold the taking, but fly
+as soon as they are out. He is worse than an ill conscience, for that
+bears true witness, but his is always false; and though his own
+conscience be said to be a thousand witnesses, he will outswear and
+outface them all. He believes it no sin to bear false witness for his
+neighbour that pays him for it, because it is not forbidden, but only to
+bear false witness against his neighbour.
+
+
+
+AN UNDESERVING FAVOURITE
+
+Is a piece of base metal with the King's stamp upon it, a fog raised by
+the sun to obscure his own brightness. He came to preferment by unworthy
+offices, like one that rises with his bum forwards, which the rabble
+hold to be fortunate. He got up to preferment on the wrong side, and
+sits as untoward in it. He is raised rather above himself than others,
+or as base metals are by the test of lead, while gold and silver
+continue still unmoved. He is raised and swells, like a pimple, to be an
+eyesore and deform the place he holds. He is borne like a cloud on the
+air of the Prince's favour, and keeps his light from the rest of his
+people. He rises, like the light end of a balance, for want of weight,
+or as dust and feathers do, for being light. He gets into the Prince's
+favour by wounding it. He is a true person of honour, for he does but
+act it at the best; a lord made only to justify all the lords of
+May-poles, morrice-dances, and misrule; a thing that does not live, but
+lie in state before he's dead, such as the heralds dight at funerals.
+His Prince gives him honour out of his own stock, and estate out of his
+revenue, and lessens himself in both:--
+
+   "He is like fern, that vile unuseful weed,
+   That springs equivocally, without seed."
+
+He was not made for honour, nor it for him, which makes it sit so
+unfavouredly upon him. The fore-part of himself and the hinder-part of
+his coach publish his distinction; as French lords, that have _haute
+justice_--that is, may hang and draw--distinguish their qualities by the
+pillars of their gallows. He got his honour easily, by chance, without
+the hard, laborious way of merit, which makes him so prodigally lavish
+of it. He brings down the price of honour, as the value of anything
+falls in mean hands. He looks upon all men in the state of knighthood
+and plain gentility as most deplorable, and wonders how he could endure
+himself when he was but of that rank. The greatest part of his honour
+consists in his well-sounding title, which he therefore makes choice of,
+though he has none to the place, but only a patent to go by the name of
+it. This appears at the end of his coach in the shape of a coronet,
+which his footmen set their bums against, to the great disparagement of
+the wooden representative. The people take him for a general grievance,
+a kind of public pressure or innovation, and would willingly give a
+subsidy to be redressed of him. He is a strict observer of men's
+addresses to him, and takes a mathematical account whether they stoop
+and bow in just proportion to the weight of his greatness and allow full
+measure to their legs and cringes accordingly. He never uses courtship
+but in his own defence, that others may use the same to him, and, like a
+true Christian, does as he would be done unto. He is intimate with no
+man but his pimp and his surgeon, with whom he keeps no state, but
+communicates all the states of his body. He is raised, like the market
+or a tax, to the grievance and curse of the people. He that knew the
+inventory of him would wonder what slight ingredients go to the making
+up of a great person; howsoever, he is turned up trump, and so commands
+better cards than himself while the game lasts. He has much of honour
+according to the original sense of it, which among the ancients, Gellius
+says, signified injury. His prosperity was greater than his brain could
+bear, and he is drunk with it; and if he should take a nap as long as
+Epimenides or the Seven Sleepers he would never be sober again. He took
+his degree and went forth lord by mandamus, without performing exercises
+of merit. His honour's but an immunity from worth, and his nobility a
+dispensation for doing things ignoble. He expects that men's hats should
+fly off before him like a storm, and not presume to stand in the way of
+his prospect, which is always over their heads. All the advantage he has
+is but to go before or sit before, in which his nether parts take place
+of his upper, that continue still, in comparison, but commoners. He is
+like an open summer-house, that has no furniture but bare seats. All he
+has to show for his honour is his patent, which will not be in season
+until the third or fourth generation, if it lasts so long. His very
+creation supposes him nothing before, and as tailors rose by the fall of
+Adam, and came in, like thorns and thistles, with the curse, so did he
+by the frailty of his master. His very face is his gentleman-usher, that
+walks before him in state, and cries "Give way!" He is as stiff as if he
+had been dipped in petrifying water and turned into his own statue. He
+is always taking the name of his honour in vain, and will rather damn it
+like a knighthood of the post than want occasion to pawn it for every
+idle trifle, perhaps for more than it is worth, or any man will give to
+redeem it; and in this he deals uprightly, though perhaps in
+nothing else.
+
+
+
+A MALICIOUS MAN
+
+Has a strange natural inclination to all ill intents and purposes. He
+bears nothing so resolutely as ill-will, which he takes naturally to, as
+some do to gaming, and will rather hate for nothing than sit out. He
+believes the devil is not so bad as he should be, and therefore
+endeavours to make him worse by drawing him into his own party offensive
+and defensive; and if he would but be ruled by him, does not doubt but
+to make him understand his business much better than he does. He lays
+nothing to heart but malice, which is so far from doing him hurt that it
+is the only cordial that preserves him. Let him use a man never so
+civilly to his face, he is sure to hate him behind his back. He has no
+memory for any good that is done him; but evil, whether it be done him
+or not, never leaves him, as things of the same kind always keep
+together. Love and hatred, though contrary passions, meet in him as a
+third and unite, for he loves nothing but to hate, and hates nothing but
+to love. All the truths in the world are not able to produce so much
+hatred as he is able to supply. He is a common enemy to the world, for
+being born to the hatred of it, Nature, that provides for everything she
+brings forth, has furnished him with a competence suitable to his
+occasions, for all men together cannot hate him so much as he does them
+one by one. He loses no occasion of offence, but very thriftily lays it
+up and endeavours to improve it to the best advantage. He makes issues
+in his skin to vent his ill-humours, and is sensible of no pleasure so
+much as the itching of his sores. He hates death for nothing so much as
+because he fears it will take him away before he has paid all the
+ill-will he owes, and deprive him of all those precious feuds he has
+been scraping together all his lifetime. He is troubled to think what a
+disparagement it will be to him to die before those that will be glad to
+hear he is gone, and desires very charitably they might come to an
+agreement like good friends and go hand-in-hand out of the world
+together. He loves his neighbour as well as he does himself, and is
+willing to endure any misery so they may but take part with him, and
+undergo any mischief rather than they should want it. He is ready to
+spend his blood and lay down his life for theirs that would not do half
+so much for him, and rather than fail would give the devil suck, and his
+soul into the bargain, if he would but make him his plenipotentiary to
+determine all differences between himself and others. He contracts
+enmities, as others do friendships, out of likenesses, sympathies, and
+instincts; and when he lights upon one of his own temper, as contraries
+produce the same effects, they perform all the offices of friendship,
+have the same thoughts, affections, and desires of one another's
+destruction, and please themselves as heartily, and perhaps as securely,
+in hating one another as others do in loving. He seeks out enemies to
+avoid falling out with himself, for his temper is like that of a
+flourishing kingdom; if it have not a foreign enemy it will fall into a
+civil war and turn its arms upon itself, and so does but hate in his own
+defence. His malice is all sorts of gain to him, for as men take
+pleasure in pursuing, entrapping, and destroying all sorts of beasts and
+fowl, and call it sport, so would he do men, and if he had equal power
+would never be at a loss, nor give over his game without his prey; and
+in this he does nothing but justice, for as men take delight to destroy
+beasts, he, being a beast, does but do as he is done by in endeavouring
+to destroy men. The philosopher said, "Man to man is a god and a wolf;"
+but he, being incapable of the first, does his endeavour to make as much
+of the last as he can, and shows himself as excellent in his kind as it
+is in his power to do.
+
+
+
+A KNAVE
+
+Is like a tooth-drawer, that maintains his own teeth in constant eating
+by pulling out those of other men. He is an ill moral philosopher, of
+villainous principles, and as bad practice. His tenets are to hold what
+he can get, right or wrong. His tongue and his heart are always at
+variance, and fall out like rogues in the street, to pick somebody's
+pocket. They never agree but, like Herod and Pilate, to do mischief. His
+conscience never stands in his light when the devil holds a candle to
+him, for he has stretched it so thin that it is transparent. He is an
+engineer of treachery, fraud, and perfidiousness, and knows how to
+manage matters of great weight with very little force by the advantage
+of his trepanning screws. He is very skilful in all the mechanics of
+cheat, the mathematical magic of imposture, and will outdo the
+expectation of the most credulous to their own admiration and undoing.
+He is an excellent founder, and will melt down a leaden fool and cast
+him into what form he pleases. He is like a pike in a pond, that lives
+by rapine, and will sometimes venture on one of his own kind, and devour
+a knave as big as himself. He will swallow a fool a great deal bigger
+than himself, and, if he can but get his head within his jaws, will
+carry the rest of him hanging out at his mouth, until by degrees he has
+digested him all. He has a hundred tricks to slip his neck out of the
+pillory without leaving his ears behind. As for the gallows, he never
+ventures to show his tricks upon the high-rope for fear of breaking his
+neck. He seldom commits any villainy but in a legal way, and makes the
+law bear him out in that for which it hangs others. He always robs under
+the wizard of law, and picks pockets with tricks in equity. By his means
+the law makes more knaves than it hangs, and, like the Inns-of-Court,
+protects offenders against itself. He gets within the law and disarms
+it. His hardest labour is to wriggle himself into trust, which if he can
+but compass his business is done, for fraud and treachery follow as
+easily as a thread does a needle. He grows rich by the ruin of his
+neighbours, like grass in the streets in a great sickness. He shelters
+himself under the covert of the law, like a thief in a hemp-plot, and
+makes that secure him which was intended for his destruction.
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
+
+_Wrote "The Character of the Happy Warrior" in 1806. It was suggested by
+the death of Nelson at Trafalgar on the 21st of October 1805. Wordsworth
+did not connect the poem with the name of Nelson because there was a
+stain upon his public life, in his relations with Lady Hamilton, that
+clouded the ideal. The poet said that in writing he thought much of his
+true-hearted sailor-brother who, as Captain of an Indiaman, had been
+drowned in the wreck of his ship off the Bill of Portland on the 5th of
+February 1805, his body not being found until the 20th of March_.
+
+
+
+CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.
+
+   Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
+   That every man in arms should wish to he?
+   --It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
+   Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
+   Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
+   Whose high endeavours are an inward light
+   That makes the path before him always bright:
+   Who, with a natural instinct to discern
+   What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn;
+   Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,
+   But makes his moral being his prime care;
+   Who, doomed to go in company with Pain,
+   And Fear, and Bloodshed--miserable train!--
+   Turns his necessity to glorious gain;
+   In face of these doth exercise a power
+   Which is our human nature's highest dower;
+   Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
+   Of their bad influence, and their good receives:
+   By objects, which might force the soul to abate
+   Her feeling, rendered more compassionate;
+   Is placable--because occasions rise
+   So often that demand such sacrifice;
+   More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,
+   As tempted more; more able to endure
+   As more exposed to suffering and distress;
+   Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
+   --'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
+   Upon that law as on the best of friends;
+   Whence, in a state where men are tempted still
+   To evil for a guard against worse ill,
+   And what in quality or act is best
+   Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
+   He labours good on good to fix, and owes
+   To virtue every triumph that he knows:
+   --Who, if he rise to station of command,
+   Rises by open means; and there will stand
+   On honourable terms, or else retire,
+   And in himself possess his own desire;
+   Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
+   Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
+   And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
+   For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;
+   Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,
+   Like showers of manna, if they come at all:
+   Whose flowers shed round him in the common strife,
+   Or mild concerns of ordinary life,
+   A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
+   But who, if he be called upon to face
+   Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined
+   Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
+   Is happy as a Lover; and attired
+   With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;
+   And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
+   In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;
+   Or if an unexpected call succeed,
+   Come when it will, is equal to the need:
+   --He who, though thus endued as with a sense
+   And faculty for storm and turbulence,
+   Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans
+   To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
+   Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,
+   Are at his heart; and such fidelity
+   It is his darling passion to approve;
+   More brave for this, that he hath much to love:--
+   'Tis finally, the man who, lifted high,
+   Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye,
+   Or left unthought of in obscurity,--
+   Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
+   Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not--
+   Plays, in the many games of life, that one
+   Where what he most doth value must be won:
+   Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
+   Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
+   Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
+   Looks forward, persevering to the last,
+   From well to better, daily self-surpassed:
+   Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
+   For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
+   Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
+   And leave a dead unprofitable name--
+   Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
+   And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
+   His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:
+   This is the happy Warrior; this is He
+   That every Man in arms should wish to be.
+
+
+[Footnote 1:
+Henry Wootton.]
+
+[Footnote 2:
+"Microcosmography; or, a Piece of the World discovered; in Essays and
+Characters. By John Earle, D.D. of Christchurch and Merton College,
+Oxford and Bishop of Salisbury. A new edition, to which are add Notes
+and Appendix by Philip Bliss, Fellow of St. John's College, Oxford."]
+
+
+[Footnote 3:
+So Washbourne, in his _Divine Poems_, 12mo, 1654:--
+
+   "--ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin,
+   _The mind white paper_ is, and will admit
+   of any lesson you will write in it."--P. 26.
+
+Shakspeare, of a child, says--
+
+   "--the hand of time
+   Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume."--_K. John, II_ I.]
+
+[Footnote 4:
+This, and every other passage throughout the volume, [included between
+brackets,] does not appear in the first edition of 1628.]
+
+
+[Footnote 5:
+Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva Bible, "make himself
+breeches," till he knew sin: the meaning of the passage in the text is
+merely that, as a child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the
+knowledge and commission of vice and immorality.]
+
+
+[Footnote 6:
+St. Mary's church was originally built by king Alfred, and annexed to
+the University of Oxford, for the use of the scholars, when St. Giles's
+and St. Peter's (which were till then appropriated to them,) had been
+ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally rebuilt during the
+reign of Henry VII., who gave forty oaks towards the materials; and is,
+in this day, the place of worship in which the public sermons are
+preached before the members of the university.]
+
+
+[Footnote 7:
+_Brachigraphy_, or short-hand-writing, appears to have been much studied
+in our author's time, and was probably esteemed a fashionable
+accomplishment. It was first introduced into this country by Peter
+Bales, who, in 1590, published The _Writing Schoolmaster_, a treatise
+consisting of three parts, the first "of Brachygraphie, that is, to
+write as fast as a man speaketh treatably, writing but one letter for a
+word;" the second, of Orthography; and the third of Calligraphy.
+Imprinted at London, by T. Orwin, &c., 1590, 4to. A second edition,
+"with sundry new additions," appeared in 1597, 12mo, Imprinted at
+London, by George Shawe, &c. Holinshed gives the following description
+of one of Bales' performances:--"The tenth of August (1575.) a rare
+peece of worke, and almost incredible, was brought to passe by an
+Englishman borne in the citie of London, named Peter Bales, who by his
+industrie and practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the
+compasse of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed, the ten
+commandements, a praier to God, a praier for the queene, his posie, his
+name, the daie of the moneth, the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of
+the queene. And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at Hampton
+court, he presented the same to the queen's maiestie, in the head of a
+ring of gold, couered with a christall; and presented therewith an
+excellent spectacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof:
+wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein with great
+admiration, and commended the same to the lords of the councell, and the
+ambassadors, and did weare the same manie times vpon hir
+finger."--_Holinshed's Chronicle_, page 1262, b. edit, folio,
+Lond. 1587.]
+
+
+[Footnote 8:
+It is customary in all sermons delivered before the University, to use
+an introductory prayer for the founder of, and principal benefactors to,
+the preacher's individual college, as well as for the officers and
+members of the university in general. This, however, would appear very
+ridiculous when "_he comes down to his friends_" or, in other words,
+preaches before a country congregation.]
+
+
+[Footnote 9:
+_of_, first edit. 1628.]
+
+[Footnote 10:
+I cannot forbear to close this admirable character with the beautiful
+description of a _"poure Persons," riche of holy thought and werk_,
+given by the father of English poetry:--
+
+   Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
+   And in adversite ful patient:
+   And swiche he was ypreved often sithes.
+   Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,
+   But rather wolde he yeven out of doute,
+   Unto his poure parishens aboute,
+   Of his offring, and eke of his substance.
+   He coude in litel thing have suffisance.
+   Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder,
+   But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder,
+   In sikenesse and in mischief to visite
+   The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,
+   Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf.
+     *     *     *     *
+   And though he holy were, and vertuous,
+   He was to sinful men not dispitous,
+   Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne,
+   But in his teching discrete and benigne.
+   To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse,
+   By good ensample, was his besinesse.
+     *     *     *     *
+   He waited after no pompe ne reverence,
+   Ne maked him no spiced conscience,
+   But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,
+   He taught, but first he folwed it himselve.
+     _Chaucer, Prol. to Cant. Tales_, v. 485.
+
+We may surely conclude with a line from the same poem,
+     "A better preest I trowe that nowher non is."]
+
+[Footnote 11:
+_The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Piemovnt, containyng
+excellente remedies against diuers diseases, &c._, appear to have been a
+very favourite study either with the physicians, or their patients,
+about this period.
+
+They were originally written in Italian, and were translated into
+English by William Warde, of which editions were printed at London, in
+1558, 1562, 1595, and 1615. In 1603, a _fourth_ edition of a Latin
+version appeared at Basil; and from Ward's dedication to "the lorde
+Russell, erle of Bedford," it seems that the French and Dutch were not
+without so great a treasure in their own languages. A specimen of the
+importance of this publication may be given in the title of the first
+secret. "The maner and secrete to conserue a man's youth, and to holde
+back olde age, to maintaine a man always in helth and strength, as in
+the fayrest floure of his yeres."]
+
+[Footnote 12:
+_The Regiment of Helthe_, by Thomas Paynell, is another
+volume of the same description, and was printed by Thomas Berthelette, in
+1541. 410.]
+
+[Footnote 13:
+_Vespasian_, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed a tax upon urine, and when
+his son Titus remonstrated with him on the meanness of the act,
+"Pecuniam," says Suetonius, "ex prima pensione admovit ad nares,
+suscitans _num odore offenderetur?_ et illo negante, atqui, inquit, e
+lotio est."]
+
+
+[Footnote 14:
+"Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with vrinals, where, if he finde
+any thing, (though he knowe nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which
+if it hit to some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme a
+piece of strange stuffe." Character of an unworthy physician. "_The Good
+and the Badde_" by Nicholas Breton. 4to. 1618.]
+
+
+[Footnote 15:
+That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of the murderer, was, in
+our author's time, a commonly received opinion. Holinshed affirms that
+the corpse of Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment; and
+Sir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of the report, that he
+has endeavoured to explain the reason. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens,
+in a note to _Shakspeare_, that the opinion seems to be derived from the
+ancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we descend; as they
+practised this method of trial in all dubious cases.]
+
+
+[Footnote 16:
+
+   "Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please
+   The female sex, and how their corp'ral griefes to ease."
+
+Goddard's "_Mastif Whelp._" _Satires_. 4to. Without date. Sat.
+17.]
+
+[Footnote 17:
+In the first edition it stands thus:--"_and his hat is as antient as the
+tower of Babel._"]
+
+
+[Footnote 18:
+The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample room for ridicule at all
+times. In "_A brief Character of the Low-countries under the States,
+being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the
+Inhabitants_," written by Owen Feltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 12mo, we
+find them epitomized as a general sea-land--the great bog of Europe--an
+universal quagmire--in short, a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in
+which denomination the author appears to include all the natives) he
+describes as being able to "drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be
+_lowsie_ alike." P. 40.]
+
+
+[Footnote 19:
+_Gavelkind_, or the practice of dividing lands equally among all the
+male children of the deceased, was (according to Spelman) adopted by the
+Saxons, from Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description of
+that nation. _Gloss. Archaiol._, folio, Lond. 1664. Harrison, in _The
+Description of England_, prefixed to Holinshed's _Chronicle_ (vol. i.
+page 180), says, "Gauell kind is all the male children equallie to
+inherit, and is continued to this daie in _Kent_, where it is onelie to
+my knowledge reteined, and no where else in England." And Lambarde, in
+his _Customes of Kent_ (_Perambulation_, 410, 1596, page 538), thus
+notices it:--"The custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth
+itselfe throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by auncient
+tenure vnto the same, such places onely excepted, where it is altered by
+acte of parleament."]
+
+
+[Footnote 20:
+_Minster-walk_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 21:
+_Ambrose Spinola_ was one of the most celebrated and excellent
+commanders that Spain ever possessed: he was born, in 1569, of a noble
+family, and distinguished himself through life in being opposed to
+Prince Maurice of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he
+was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died in 1630, owing to
+a disadvantage sustained by his troops at the siege of Cassel, which was
+to be entirely attributed to the imprudent orders he received from
+Spain, and which that government compelled him to obey. This disaster
+broke his heart; and he died with the exclamation of "_they have robbed
+me of my honour_;" an idea he was unable to survive. It is probable
+that, at the time this character was composed, many of the disaffected
+in England were in expectation of an attack to be made on this country
+by the Spaniards, under the command of Spinola.]
+
+
+[Footnote 22:
+_and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian._ First
+edit.]
+
+[Footnote 23:
+_Primivist_ and primero were, in all probability, the same game,
+although Minshew, in his Dictionary, calls them "_two_ games at cardes."
+The latter he explains, "primum et primum visum, that is, first and
+first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of cardes, first
+winnes the game." The coincidence between Mr. Strutt's description of
+the former and the passage in the text, shows that there could be little
+or no difference between the value of the cards in these games, or in
+the manner of playing them. "Each player had four cards dealt to him,
+one by one, the _seven_ was the highest card, in point of number, that
+he could avail himself of, _which counted for twenty-one_, the _six
+counted for sixteen_, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same,"
+&c. (_Sports and Pastimes_, 247.) The honourable Daines Harrington
+conceived that Primero was introduced by Philip the Second, or some of
+his suite, whilst in England. Shakspeare proves that it was played in
+the royal circle.
+
+
+-----"I left him (Henry VIII.) at _Primero_
+With the duke of Suffolk."--_Henry VIII._
+
+So Decker: "Talke of none but lords and such ladies with whom you have
+plaid at _Primero_."--_Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609. 37.
+
+Among the Marquis of Worcester's celebrated "_Century of Inventions,_"
+12mo, 1663, is one "so contrived without suspicion, that playing at
+Primero at cards, one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning
+of all sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded."--No. 87.]
+
+
+[Footnote 24:
+"Enquire out those tauernes which are best customd, whose maisters are
+oftenest drunk, for that confirmes their taste, and that they choose
+wholesome wines."--Decker's _Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609.]
+
+
+[Footnote 25:
+_his_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 26:
+The editor of the edition in 1732, has altered _canary_ to "_sherry_,"
+for what reason I am at a loss to discover, and have consequently
+restored the reading of the first edition. Venner gives the following
+description of this favourite liquor. "Canarie-wine, which beareth the
+name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of some termed a
+sacke, with this adjunct, sweete; but yet very improperly, for it
+differeth not only from sacke in sweetness and pleasantness of taste,
+but also in colour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as
+sack, nor so thin in substance; wherefore it is more nutritive than
+sack, and less penetrative."--_Via recta ad Vitam longam_, 4to, 1622. In
+Howell's time, Canary wine was much adulterated. "I think," says he, in
+one of his Letters, "there is more Canary brought into England than to
+all the world besides; I think also, there is a hundred times more drunk
+under the name of Canary wine, than there is brought in; for Sherries
+and Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most taverns. When Sacks
+and Canaries," he continues, "were brought in first amongst us, they
+were used to be drunk in aqua vitae measures, and 'twas held fit only
+for those to drink who were used to carry their _legs in their hands,
+their eyes upon their noses_, and an _almanack in their bones;_ but now
+they go down every one's throat, both young and old, like
+milk."--Howell, _Letter to the lord Cliff_, dated Oct. 7, 1634.]
+
+
+[Footnote 27:
+We learn from Harrison's _Description of England_, prefixed to
+Holinshed, that _eleven o'clock_ was the usual time for dinner during
+the reign of Elizabeth. "With vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students,
+doo ordinarilie go to dinner at _eleuen before noone_, and to supper at
+fiue, or between fiue and six at afternoone" (vol. i. page 171, edit.
+1587). The alteration in manners at this time is rather singularly
+evinced, from a passage immediately following the above quotation, where
+we find that _merchants_ and _husbandmen_ dined and supped at a _later
+hour than the nobility_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 28:
+Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff at particular
+seasons of the year. So in _The Widow_, a comedy, 4to, 1652.
+
+   "And as at a _sheriff's table_, O blest custome!
+   A poor indebted gentleman may dine,
+   Feed well, and without fear, and depart so."]
+
+
+[Footnote 29:
+The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral church of Gloucester,
+was founded by Richard Stanley, abbot, in 1457, and finished by William
+Farley, a monk of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the
+following description of the vault here alluded to. "The _whispering
+place_ is very remarkable; it is a long alley, from one side of the
+choir to the other, built circular, that it might not darken the great
+east window of the choir. When a person whispers at one end of the
+alley, his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though the
+passage be open in the middle, having large spaces for doors and windows
+on the east side. It may be imputed to the close cement of the wall,
+which makes it as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long
+piece of timber does convey the least stroak to the other end. Others
+assign it to the repercussion of the voice from accidental
+angles."--_Atkyns' Ancient and Present State of Glostershire_, Lond.
+1712, folio, page 128. See also _Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire_,
+page 351.]
+
+
+[Footnote 30:
+_Then in apiece of gold, &c._, 1st edit._]
+
+[Footnote 31:
+_Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them_, 1st edit.]
+
+[Footnote 32:
+_Gallo-Belgicus_ was erroneously supposed, by the ingenious Mr. Reed, to
+be the "first newspaper, published in England;" we are, however, assured
+by the author of the _Life of Ruddiman_, that it has no title to so
+honourable a distinction. _Gallo-Belgicus_ appears to have been rather
+an _Annual Register_, or _History of its own Times_, than a newspaper.
+It was written in Latin, and entituled, "MERCURSS GALLO-BELGICI: _sive,
+rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum: Hispania quoque, Italia, Anglia,
+Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno 1588, ad Martium anni 1594,
+gestarum_, NUNCIJ." The first volume was printed in 8vo, at Cologne,
+1598; from which year, to about 1605, it was published annually; and
+from thence to the time of its conclusion, which is uncertain, it
+appeared in _half-yearly_ volumes. Chalmers' _Life of Ruddiman_, 1794.
+The great request in which newspapers were held at the publication of
+the present work may be gathered from Burton, who, in his _Anatomy of
+Melancholy_, complains that "if any read now-a-days, it is a play-book,
+or a pamphlet of newes."]
+
+
+[Footnote 33:
+Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in Prussia, 1571, and
+educated under Fabricius. Being eminently distinguished for his
+abilities and application, he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of
+Dantzick, to take upon him the management of their academy; an honour he
+then declined, but accepted, on a second application, in 1601. Here he
+proposed to instruct his pupils in the complete science of philosophy in
+the short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drew up a great
+number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics,
+metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &c. &c., till, as it is said,
+literally worn out with scholastic drudgery, he died at the early age
+of 38.]
+
+
+[Footnote 34:
+"Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie brought to the
+table, whereof the first and most excellent is the _mainchet_, which we
+commonlie call white bread."--Harrison, _Description of England_
+prefixed to Holinshed, chap. 6.]
+
+
+
+[Footnote 35:
+_His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bare_, &c., first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 36:
+_Clown_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 37:
+The art of hawking has been so frequently and so fully explained, that
+it would be superfluous, if not arrogant, to trace its progress, or
+delineate its history, in this place. In the earliest periods it appears
+to have been exclusively practised by the nobility; and, indeed, the
+great expense at which the amusement was supported, seems to have been a
+sufficient reason for deterring persons of more moderate income, and of
+inferior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the _Sports and
+Pastimes_ of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are given of the
+importance attached to the office of falconer, and of the immense value
+of, and high estimation the birds themselves were held in from the
+commencement of the Norman government, down to the reign of James I., in
+which Sir Thomas Monson gave L1000 for a cast of hawks, which consisted
+of only _two_.
+
+The great increase of wealth, and the consequent equalization of
+property in this country, about the reign of Elizabeth, induced many of
+inferior birth to practise the amusements of their superiors, which they
+did without regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas Elyot, in
+his _Governour_ (1580), complains that the falcons of his day consumed
+so much poultry, that, in a few years, he feared there would be a great
+scarcity of it. "I speake not this," says he, "in disprayse of the
+faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cockneyes." A reproof,
+there can be no doubt, applicable to the character in the text.]
+
+[Footnote 38:
+A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of leather which are
+fastened to the hawk's legs, by which she is held on the fist, or joined
+to the leash. They were sometimes made of silk, as appears from _The
+Boke of hawkynge, huntynge, and fysshynge, with all the propertyes and
+medecynes that are necessarye to be kepte_: "Hawkes haue aboute theyr
+legges _gesses_ made of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld
+be no lenger but that the knottes of them shulde appere in the myddes of
+the lefte hande," &c. _Juliana Barnes_, edit. 410, "_Imprynted at London
+in Pouls chyrchyarde by me Hery Tab_." Sig. C. ii.]
+
+[Footnote 39:
+_This authority of his is that club which keeps them under as his dogs
+hereafter_, first edit.]
+
+
+[Footnote 40:
+_Now become a man's total_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 41:
+Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to find any mention in
+Mr. Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_, nor is it alluded to in any of the
+old plays or tracts I have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of
+_tables_ may be read in the interesting and valuable publication
+just noticed.]
+
+
+[Footnote 42:
+The room where the performers dress, previous to coming on the stage.]
+
+[Footnote 43:
+This passage affords a proof of what has been doubted, namely, that the
+theatres were not permitted to be open during Lent, in the reign of
+James I. The restriction was waived in the next reign, as we find from
+the puritanical Prynne:--"There are none so much addicted to
+stage-playes, but when they goe unto places where they cannot have them,
+or when, as they are suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of
+pestilence, and in _Lent, till now of late_) can well subsist without
+them," &c. _Histrio Mastix_, 4to, Lond. 1633, page 384,]
+
+
+[Footnote 44:
+It may not be known to those who are not accustomed to meet with old
+books in their original bindings, or of seeing public libraries of
+antiquity, that the volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the
+_leaves_, not the _back_, in front; and that the two sides of the
+binding were joined together with _neat silk_ or other strings, and, in
+some instances, where the books were of greater value and curiosity than
+common, even fastened with gold or silver chains.]
+
+
+[Footnote 45:
+A hanger-on to noblemen, who are distinguished at the university by gold
+tassels to their caps; or in the language of the present day, a
+_tuft-hunter_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 46:
+_If he could order his intentions_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 47:
+Minshew calls a tobacconist _fumi-vendulus_, a _smoak-seller_.]
+
+[Footnote 48:
+_Cento_, a composition formed by joining scraps from other
+authors.--_Johnson_. Camden, in his _Remains_, uses it in the same
+sense. "It is quilted, as it were, out of shreds of divers poets, such
+as scholars call a _cento_."]
+
+[Footnote 49:
+_Firing_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 50:
+In the hope of discovering some account of the _strange monster_ alluded
+to, I have looked through one of the largest and most curious
+collections of tracts, relating to the marvellous, perhaps in existence.
+That bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the author of the
+_Anatomy of Melancholy_. Hitherto my researches have been unattended
+with success, as I have found only two tracts of this description
+relating to Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither giving any
+account of a monster.
+
+
+1. _A most true Relation of a very dreadfull Earthquake, with the
+lamentable Effectes thereof, which began upon the 8 of December 1612,
+and yet continueth most fearefull in Munster in Germanie. Reade and
+Tremble. Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike Notarie
+in London, and printed at Rotterdame, in Holland, at the Signe of the
+White Gray-hound_. (Date cut off. Twenty-six pages, 4to, with
+a woodcut.)
+
+2: _Miraculous Newes from the Cittie of Holt, in the Lordship of
+Munster, in Germany, the twentieth of September last past, 1616, where
+there were plainly beheld three dead bodyes rise out of their Graves
+admonishing the people of Judgements to come. Faithfully translated (&c.
+&c.) London, Printed for John Barnes, dwelling in Hosie Lane neere
+Smithfield, 1616_. (4to, twenty pages, woodcut.)]
+
+[Footnote 51:
+It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral sentences, or scraps
+of verse, on old tapestry hangings, which were called _painted cloths_.
+Several allusions to this practice may be found in the works of our
+early English dramatists. See Reed's _Shakspeare_, viii. 103.]
+
+
+[Footnote 52:
+_Beller_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 53:
+_Hale_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 54:
+Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to decide their quarrels
+on, as being out of the jurisdiction of the law. This custom is noticed
+in an Epigram written about the period in which this book
+first appeared.
+
+   "When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight,
+   He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight:
+   Till more aduizde, will not defile [his] hands,
+   Vnlesse you meete him vpon _Callice sands."
+
+The Mastive or Young Whelpe of the olde Dog. Epigrams and Satyrs._ 4to,
+Lond. (Printed, as Warton supposes, about 1600.)
+
+A passage in _The Beau's Duel: or a Soldier for the Ladies_, a comedy,
+by Mrs. Centlivre, 4to, 1707, proves that it existed so late as at that
+day. "Your only way is to send him word you'll meet him on _Calais
+sands;_ duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates," &c. See also
+other instances in Dodsley's _Old Plays,_ edit. 1780, vii. 218;
+xii. 412.]
+
+[Footnote 55:
+Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the smallness and precision
+of their ruffs, which were termed _in print_ from the exactness of the
+folds. So in Mynshul's _Essays,_ 4to, 1618. "I vndertooke a warre when I
+aduentured to speake in _print,_ (not in _print as Puritan's ruffes_ are
+set.)" The term of _Geneva print_ probably arose from the minuteness of
+the type used at Geneva. In the _Merry Devil of Edmonton_, a comedy,
+4to, 1608, is an expression which goes some way to prove the
+correctness of this supposition:--"I see by thy eyes thou hast bin
+reading _little Geneva print;"_--and, that _small ruffs_ were worn by
+the puritanical set, an instance appears in Mayne's _City Match,_ a
+comedy, 4to, 1658.
+
+   "O miracle!
+   Out of your _little ruffe,_ Dorcas, and in the fashion!
+   Dost thou hope to be saved?"
+
+From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a _ruff of Geneva
+print_ means a _small, closely-folded ruff,_ which was the distinction
+of a nonconformist.]
+
+
+[Footnote 56:
+A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a spinnet, and shaped like
+a pianoforte: the mode of playing on this instrument was therefore
+similar to that of the organ.]
+
+
+[Footnote 57:
+_Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as being the sage
+sentences of some of her own sectaries._ First edit.]
+
+
+
+[Footnote 58:
+Robert Bellarmine, an Italian jesuit, was born at Monte Pulciano, a town
+in Tuscany, in the year 1542, and in 1560 entered himself among the
+jesuits. In 1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in 1602 was
+presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua: this, however, he resigned
+in 1605, when Pope Paul V. desired to have him near himself. He was
+employed in the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leaving
+the Vatican, he retired to a house belonging to his order, and died
+September 17, in the same year.
+
+Bellarmine was one of the best controversial writers of his time; few
+authors have done greater honour to their profession or opinions, and
+certain it is that none have ever more ably defended the cause of the
+Romish Church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater
+advantage. As a proof of Bellarmine's abilities, there was scarcely a
+divine of any eminence among the Protestants who did not attack him:
+Bayle aptly says, "they made his name resound every where, ut littus
+Styla, Styla, omne sonaret."]
+
+[Footnote 59:
+Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of the sect which goes
+under his name, that a few words will be sufficient. He was born in
+1539, at Sienna, and imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his
+uncle, who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, the
+abilities of his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all his papers. After
+living several years in the world, principally at the court of Francis
+de Medicis, Socinus, in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate
+the principles of his uncle, to which, it is said, he made great
+additions and alterations of his own. In the support of his opinions, he
+suffered considerable hardships, and received the greatest insults and
+persecutions; to avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in
+Poland, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five.]
+
+
+[Footnote 60:
+Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was peculiarly detested by the
+Calvinists, and who had even the honour to be attacked by King James the
+First, of England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through the
+interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leyden, where he had
+attained the divinity-chair, and several other preferments, he retired
+to Toningen, where he died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety
+and resignation.]
+
+
+[Footnote 61:
+_His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former aforesaid;
+and yet it seems he is much troubled in it, for he is always humbly
+complaining--your poor orator_. First edit.]
+
+
+[Footnote 62:
+"To _moote_, a term vsed in the innes of the court; it is the handling
+of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their disputations," &c. So _Minshew_,
+who supposes it to be derived from the French, _mot, verbum, quasi verba
+facere, aut sermonem de aliqua re habere_. _Mootmen_ are those who,
+having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to practise, and
+appear to answer to our term of barristers.]
+
+
+[Footnote 63:
+The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets. "Present
+not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill the quaking
+prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is ready to
+giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon point to enter."--Decker's
+_Gul's Hornbook_, 1609, p. 30. "Doe you not know that I am the Prologue?
+Do you not see this long blacke veluet cloke vpon my backe? _Haue you
+not sounded thrice?_"--Heywood's _Foure Prentises of London_,
+4to, 1615.]
+
+
+[Footnote 64:
+St. Paul's Cathedral was, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, a
+sort of exchange and public parade, where business was transacted
+between merchants, and where the fashionables of the day exhibited
+themselves. The reader will find several allusions to this custom in the
+_variorum_ edition of Shakspeare, _K. Henry IV._, part 2. Osborne, in
+his _Traditional Memoires on the Reigns of Elisabeth and James_, 12mo,
+1658, says, "It was the fashion of those times (James I.) and did so
+continue till these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry, lords,
+courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in
+_St. Paul's _church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle till twelve,
+and after dinner from three to six; during which time some discoursed of
+business, others of news." Weever complains of the practice, and says,
+"it could be wished that walking in the middle isle of _Paul's_ might be
+forborne in the time of diuine service." _Ancient Funeral Monuments_,
+1631, page 373.]
+
+
+[Footnote 65:
+In the _Dramatis Personal_ to Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_,
+Bobadil is styled a _Paul's man_; and Falstaff tells us that he bought
+Bardolph in _Pauls_. _King Henry IV_., part 2.]
+
+
+[Footnote 66:
+                 ----"You'd not doe
+   Like your penurious father, who was wont
+   _To walk his dinner out in Paules._"
+
+          --Mayne's _City Match_, 1658.]
+
+[Footnote 67:
+The time of supper was about five o'clock.]
+
+[Footnote 68:
+Paul's cross stood in the churchyard of that cathedral, on the north
+side, towards the east end. It was used for the preaching of sermons to
+the populace; and Holinshed mentions two instances of public penance
+being performed here; in 1534 by some of the adherents of Elizabeth
+Barton, well known as _the holy maid of Kent_, and in 1536 by Sir Thomas
+Newman, a priest, who "_bare a faggot at Paules crosse for singing masse
+with good ale_."]
+
+
+[Footnote 69:
+_Dole_ originally signified the portion of alms that was given away at
+the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note to _Shakspeare_. Sir John Hawkins
+affirms that the benefaction distributed at Lambeth Palace gate, is to
+this day called the _dole_.]
+
+
+[Footnote 70:
+That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered to be of light weight,
+are distributed to the needy prisoners.]
+
+[Footnote 71:
+_Study_, first edit.]
+
+[Footnote 72:
+The first edition reads _post_, and, I think, preferably.]
+
+[Footnote 73:
+_Keep for attend_.]
+
+[Footnote 74:
+_Squeazy_, niggardly.]
+
+[Footnote 75:
+_And the clubs out of charity knock him down,_ first
+edit.]
+
+[Footnote 76:
+That is, _runs you up a long score_.]
+
+[Footnote 77:
+This, as well as many other passages in this work, has been appropriated
+by John Dunton, the celebrated bookseller, as his own. See his character
+of Mr. Samuel Hool, in _Dunton's Life and Errors_, 8vo, 1705, p. 337.]
+
+
+[Footnote 78:
+"A prison is a grave to bury men alive, and a place wherein a man for
+halfe a yeares experience may learne more law than he can at Westminster
+for an hundred pound."--Mynshul's _Essays and Characters of a
+Prison_, 4to, 1618.]
+
+[Footnote 79:
+_In querpo_ is a corruption from the Spanish word _cuerpo_. "_En cuerpo,
+a man without a cloak_."--Pineda's Dictionary, 1740. The present
+signification evidently is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, or
+attendant, is but half dressed:--he possesses only in part the
+appearance of a man of fashion. "_To walk in cuerpo, is to go without a
+cloak."--Glossographia Anglicana Nova_, 8vo, 1719.]
+
+
+[Footnote 80:
+_Proper_ was frequently used by old writers for comely, or handsome.
+Shakspeare has several instances of it:
+
+   "I do mistake my person all this while:
+   Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
+   Myself to be a marvellous _proper_ man."
+
+--_K. Richard III_. Act I. Sc. 2, &c.]
+
+[Footnote 81:
+"Why you know an'a man have not skill in the _hawking and hunting_
+languages now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him."--_Master Stephen.
+Every Man in his Humour_.]
+
+[Footnote 82:
+   "Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum:
+   Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago,
+   Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno."
+             --_Virgil_, AEn. vi. _v_. 700.]
+
+[Footnote 83:
+Probably the name of some difficult tune.]
+
+[Footnote 84:
+Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of Soliman and Perseda
+uses it in the same sense:
+
+   "Wert thou my friend, thy mind would _jump_ with mine."
+
+So in _Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divele_:--"Not two
+of them _jump_ in one tale," p. 29.]
+
+[Footnote 85:
+_Imputation_ here must be used for _consequence_; of which I am,
+however, unable to produce any other instance.]
+
+[Footnote 86:
+_Sturtridge fair_ was the great mart for business, and resort for
+pleasure, in Bishop Earle's day. It is alluded to in Randolph's
+_Conceited Pedlar_, 410, 1630:--
+
+   "I am a pedlar, and I sell my ware
+   This braue Saint Bartholmew or _Sturtridge faire_."
+
+Edward Ward, the author of _The London Spy_, gives a whimsical
+account of a journey to Sturbridge, in the second volume of his works.]
+
+[Footnote 87:
+This silly term of endearment appears to be derived from _chick_ or
+_my chicken_, Shakspeare uses it in _Macbeth_, Act iii.
+Scene 2:--
+
+   "Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest _chuck_."]
+
+[Footnote 88:
+The great cross in West Cheap was originally erected in 1290, by Edward
+I., in commemoration of the death of Queen Ellinor, whose body rested at
+that place, on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, to Westminster,
+for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and again in 1484. In 1584 the
+images and ornaments were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599 the top
+of the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted within the lead, and
+fears being entertained as to its safety. By order of Queen Elizabeth, and
+her privy council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, "a cross of
+timber was framed, set up, covered with lead, _and gilded_," &c.
+Stow's _Survey of London_, by Strype, book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio.
+Lond. 1720.]
+
+[Footnote 89:
+This must allude to the play written by Heywood with the following title:
+_The Foure Prentises of London.  With the Conquest of Jerusalem. As it
+hath bene diuerse times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queenes Maiesties
+Servants_. 410, Lond. 1615. In this drama, the four prentises are
+Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons to the _old Earle of
+Bullen_, who, having lost his territories, by assisting William the
+Conqueror in his descent upon England, is compelled to live like a private
+citizen in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a goldsmith, a
+haberdasher, and a grocer. The _four prentises_, however, prefer the
+life of a soldier to that of a tradesman, and, quitting the service of
+their masters, follow Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they
+perform the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally accomplish the
+_conquest of Jerusalem_. The whole play abounds in bombast and
+impossibilities, and, as a composition, is unworthy of notice or
+remembrance.]
+
+[Footnote 90:
+_The History of the Nine Worthies of the World; three whereof were
+Gentiles; I. Hector, son of Priamus, king of Troy. 2. Alexander the
+Great, king of Macedon, and conqueror of the world. 3. Julius Caesar,
+first emperor of Rome. There Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and leader
+of Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 6. Judas Maccabeus, a
+'valiant Jewish commander against the tyranny of Antiochus. Three
+Christians. 7. Arthur, king of Britain, who courageously defended his
+country against the Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France and
+emperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bullen, king of Jerusalem. Being an
+account of their glorious lives, worthy actions, renowned victories, and
+deaths._ 12mo. No date.]
+
+
+[Footnote 91:
+Those of the same habits with himself; his associates.]
+
+[Footnote 92:
+The _dear year_ here, I believe, alluded to, was in 1574, and is thus
+described by that faithful and valuable historian Holinshed:--"This
+yeare, about Lammas, wheat was sold at London for three shillings the
+bushell: but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue
+shillings, six shillings, and, before Christmas, to a noble, and seuen
+shillings; which so continued long after. Beefe was sold for twentie
+pence, and two and twentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and
+white meats at an excessiue price; all kind of salt fish verie deare, as
+fine herrings two pence, &c.; yet great plentie of fresh fish, and oft
+times the same verie cheape. Pease at foure shillings the bushell;
+ote-meale at foure shillings eight pence; baie salt at three shillings
+the bushell, &c. All this dearth notwithstanding (thanks be given to
+God), there was no want of anie thing to them that wanted not monie."
+--Holinshed, _Chronicle_, vol. in., p. 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587.]
+
+
+[Footnote 93:
+On the 21st of December 1564 began a frost, referred to by Fleming in
+his Index to _Holinshed_, as the "_frost called the great frost_," which
+lasted till the 3rd of January 1565. It was so severe that the Thames
+was frozen over, and the passage on it, from London Bridge to
+Westminster, as easy as and more frequented than that on dry land.]
+
+
+[Footnote 94:
+The person who exhibits Westminster Abbey.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Character Writings of the 17th Century, by Various
+
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