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diff --git a/old/10699.txt b/old/10699.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e2571a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10699.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16338 @@ +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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARACTER WRITINGS *** + +***** This file should be named 10699.txt or 10699.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/6/9/10699/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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