MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;

 OR, A Piece of the World discovered;

 IN

 ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS. 

 MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;

 OR, A PIECE OF THE WORLD DISCOVERED;

 IN

 ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS

 By JOHN EARLE, D. D. 

 _A Reprint of Dr. Bliss's Edition of 1811. _

 WITH A PREFACE AND SUPPLEMENTARY APPENDIX By S. T. IRWIN. 

 Bristol: PUBLISHED BY W. CROFTON HEMMONS. London: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. , LTD. 

 TO THE MEMORY OF THE REVEREND DAVID WRIGHT, "THE GRAVE DIVINE" OF THESE PAGES, WHOSE NAME WILL LIVE IN BRISTOL AS LONG AS MEN CARE FOR BEAUTY OF CHARACTER, RICHNESS OF THOUGHT, OR DISTINCTION OF SPEECH, THIS BRISTOL REPRINT IS INSCRIBED. 

 "From the contagion of the world's slow stain He was secure. "

PREFACE. 

It may be reasonably asked why Dr. Bliss's[A] edition of theMicrocosmography should require a preface, and the answer is that it doesnot require one. It would be difficult to have a more scholarly, moreadequate, more self-sufficing edition of a favourite book. Almosteverything that helps the elucidation of the text, almost everything aboutBishop Earle that could heighten our affection for him (there is nothingknown to his disparagement) is to be found here. [B] And affection for theeditor is conciliated by the way. It is not only his standard ofequipment that secures this--a standard that might have satisfied MarkPattison[C]--but also the painstaking love revealed in it, which, likeevery other true love, whether of men or books, will not give of thatwhich costs it nothing. And, as a further title to our regard, Dr. Blissis amusing at his own expense, and compares himself to Earle's "critic, "who swells books into folios with his comments. Not that this humorousself-depreciation is to be pressed; for, unlike that critic, he is no"troublesome vexer of the dead. "

But though there is no need of a preface, I have two excuses for writingone. 

The first is that I was asked to do it by my friend Mr. Frank George, ofBristol, who wished to see the book reprinted; and the second is the old_professio pietatis_, which seemed to Tacitus a sufficient defence of theAgricola, and may perhaps be allowed to serve humbler people as well. WhatEarle says of men is no less true of books: "Acquaintance is the firstdraught of a friend. Men take a degree in our respect till at last theywholly possess us;" and the history of this possession must, in everycase, have a sort of interest, as long as it is not carried to the pointof demanding from others the superlatives we permit to ourselves. It issufficiently common for people to like the same book for differentreasons; and where an author has a secure place in English literature, hisshade, like the deity of Utopia, may be best pleased with a manifold andvarious worship. [D]

The character of Earle, as drawn by Clarendon, is itself a guarantee forhis studies of character; and the fact that Lord Falkland was his chosenfriend is evidence of his possessing something of that sweetreasonableness of temper for which his host was so remarkable. "He wasvery dear" (we are told) "to the Lord Falkland, with whom he spent as muchtime as he could make his own. " Indeed, "Mr. Earles would frequentlyprofess that he had got more useful learning by his conversation at Tewthan he had at Oxford. " Of Earle's conversation Clarendon says that it was"so pleasant and delightful, so very innocent and so very facetious, thatno man's company was more desired and more loved. " Walton, too, tells usof his "innocent wisdom and sanctified learning"; and another witnessspeaks of his "charitable heart, " an epithet which is nobly borne out bythe correspondence between himself and Baxter printed in this volume. 

This is no superfluous citation of testimony. Without it we might, perhaps, have suspected, though not, I think, legitimately, somethingalmost of a cynical spirit in the severity of the punishment which hedeals out to the various disguises of vice and imposture, and in thepitiless nakedness in which he leaves them. But there are even strongerreasons for recalling contemporary verdicts pronounced on Earle as a man. Hallam, in the "Literature of Europe, "[E] has a short notice of him, andthough it shews some appreciation of his ability, it contains a veryunworthy aspersion on his character. "The chapter on the sceptic, " hesays, "is witty, but an insult to the honest searcher after truth, whichcould only have come from one that was content to take up his own opinionsfor ease or profit. " If we accept all that is said of Earle's piety anddevotion, and give its proper weight to the very significant epithet"innocent, " used both by Walton and Clarendon, we shall, I think, be slowto suspect his motive in attacking the sceptic. The honest doubter, itmust be remembered, was not the familiar--much less thefashionable--figure he has become since, and it is very certain that Earledescribed one type of sceptic both of his day and our own. That his sketchmay have done injustice to other types is likely enough; but that is noreason for calling in question the sincerity of his opinions, orattributing an interested orthodoxy to one whom Bunyan might havechristened Mr. Singleheart. The piety of the 17th Century was not disposedto be gentle to sceptics. Even Bacon's enlightenment allows itself harsherlanguage on such subjects than any to be found in Earle. "None do refuseto believe in a God save those for _whom it maketh that there were noGod_. " And if Bacon is not thought a satisfactory witness, we have anunimpeachable one very much nearer to our time. Dr. Johnson's occasionalstrictures on sceptics are well-known, but his reputation for honestthinking has never been impaired by their severity. Earle knew whatcharity was, as the Baxter correspondence shows, and he has exposed in oneof his characters "the faith that has no room for it"; and if his ownfaith needed further enlargement in the case of a sceptic, [F] someenlargement of Hallam's charity might also have been looked for indealing with the earnestness of a militant piety. 

The character-sketch is naturally a thing of limited scope. "Fineportraiture, "[G] it has been said, "is not possible under such conditionsas it imposes. The traits, common to a class, cannot at the same time bethe accurate and intimate likeness of an individual. For this, a simpleenumeration of actions which such and such a man will do, is not enough. Anovelist takes a long series of connected actions, and even then he has tointerpret, to review from time to time whole stages of development. " Allthis is, no doubt, true, but the character-writers differ to a remarkableextent in their individualising power--some of them achieving a highdegree of success, as is subsequently admitted in the case of Thackeray bythe writer just quoted. It may be noticed too, by the way, that greatnovelists are not always equally successful in the character-sketch. Oneis reminded of Johnson's phrase about Milton's inability "to carve headsupon cherry stones" when one thinks of "Theophrastus Such" on the onehand, and the almost unique position of George Eliot as a novelist on theother. Less successful as she often is in lightness of touch when she hasto pause and interpret her story, she had not prepared us for such acomplete exhaustion of power as her attempt in this branch of literature(apparently of the same genus, almost of the same species, as the novel)reveals to her disappointed admirers. It may, at any rate, be said thather failure is an instructive lesson in the literary division of labour, and that these studies require a peculiar delicacy of organisation in theobserver, as well as a special gift of exposition. 

"Dolus latet in generalibus" is a salutary warning, but thecharacter-writers, as a whole, have in most instances got creditably outof the snare, while Earle, I think, has achieved something more. Besideshis humour and acuteness, besides even his profundity, I find in him anexceptional power of individualizing. "The contemplative man, " forinstance, belongs to a small class at all times; but it is only anindividual we have known, and known at rare intervals, of whoseWordsworthian temper we are able to say that "Nature asks his approbationas it were of her works and variety. " Again, "the grave divine, who is notyet dean or canon, though his life is our religion's best apology, " readsthroughout like a personal experience. I at least so read it, or I shouldnot have borrowed from Earle for the dedication which stands at the headof this preface. Yet such identifications are usually reserved for thegreat novelist, whose highest art, as Macaulay says, is to "make theinventions of one man seem like the recollections of another. "

Some of Earle's readers appear to be chiefly impressed with his book asfurnishing "a picturesque idea of a period now remote, and as possessingmuch of the affected quaintness of its age. "[H] The picturesqueness Ifind, and a good deal of quaintness; but the total impression is that of aman who has got beyond words, ancient or modern, in his studies of humannature--of one who, whether

 "invectively he pierceth through The body of the country, city, court;"

or is "anatomizing the wise man's folly, " is as instructive a moralist inthe end of the nineteenth century as in the beginning of the seventeenth. This, in a sense, is true of all great moralists, but the distinction ofEarle, as I understand it, is that his characters are so often reallypeople of our own day, with idiosyncracies that seem almost moreapplicable to our own age than to his. 

Society is almost a technical term to-day, susceptible, one would havesaid, of refinements of difference infinitely more various than anythingthat could have existed more than two hundred years ago; yet one cannotbut feel that this observer would have been fully equal to drawing ourmicrocosm as well as his own. Earle's is a penetrating observation whichis always fresh--so fresh that no archaism of phrase in him, and no cheeryoptimism in ourselves, can disguise the fact that it is our weaknesses heis probing, our motives he is discovering. 

There are still with us "those well-behaved ghosts Æneas met with--friendsto talk with, and men to look on, but if he grasped them but air"--thoseshadowy creatures that "wonder at your ill-breeding, [I] that cannotdistinguish between what is spoken and what is meant. "

We are no strangers to "the fashionable respect which loves not deepermutualities, but though exceeding kind and friendly at your firstacquaintance, is at the twentieth meeting but friendly still"; or to thatsimilar temper which "nothing so much puts out as to trespass against thegenteel way. " And, to go a stage lower, the formal man still survives, whose "face is in so good a frame because he is not disjointed with othermeditations--who hath staid in the world to fill a number; and when he isgone there wants one and there's an end. "[J] He, to be sure, has noconversation, and that is his discretion--but others display then as now abolder discretion, and in their talk "fly for sanctuary rather to nonsensewhich few descry, than to nothing which all. "

But literary conversation is not forgotten. It may be a stretch beyondthe power of a latter-day imagination to fancy a visitor proposing tofascinate his company by some "scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, " or evento think ourselves back to a time when these "were good for alloccasions. " Yet, those who say "Chaucer[K] for our money above all ourEnglish poets because the voice has gone so, " (or had we better substituteBrowning?), [L] are still common enough examples of those who desire toacquire inexpensively the reputation of good taste. 

And there is another variety of modern artificiality which is not sparedin this book. For the many forms of busy idleness, the worship oforganisation and system, and all the other hindrances to life properlyso-called, which it has been the cherished labour of this age tomultiply, Earle would have had no reserve of patience. "The dullphysician, " we are told, has no leisure _to be idle_, that is, to study. "The grave divine, " who has "studied to make his shoulders sufficient forhis burden, comes not up thrice a week into his pulpit because _he wouldnot be idle_"; whereas the commendation of the young raw preacher is that"he speaks without book, and, indeed, he was never used to it. "

We may justly boast of the superior humanity of our century; but few woulddeny that the elaborate apparatus of modern philanthropy has too oftenbecome an end in itself, and absorption in it a serious detriment to anyworthy preparation for the work of edifying. In the absence of leisurepulpits will hardly furnish us with that "sincere erudition which can sendus clear and pure away unto a virtuous and happy life. "[M] Nor is such aloss compensated by an endless succession of services or even a wholestreet of committee-rooms. 

One would not, however, wish to rest in negations or dwell in the lastresort on Earle's critical attitude. One feels that the delightful houseat Tew did not spend all or even its best strength on criticism. Earle mayhave there pursued the method of verification and studied his charactersin the flesh. Perhaps he saw there "the staid man, " and duly appraisedthis specimen of "nature's geometry";[N] while his obvious gifts as arational peace-maker, if not much needed in such a company, would not beoverlooked by Lord Falkland. "The good old man, " too is a portrait sostrongly individualized that I cannot help thinking some very personalexperience went to the making of it--experience of a sort that was sure tobe revived at Tew, where "so good a relick of the old times" was notlikely to be wanting. It was a house, at any rate, for the "modest man" towhom, as to the poet Cowper, public appearances were so many penances; forthough the world may not agree with Earle as to the degree in which thisquality sets off a man, there is no question of Lord Falkland's welcome ofthe modest man, even if that grave divine "Mr. Earles, " did not point outthis diffident guest as one who "had a piece of singularity, " and, for allhis modesty, "scorned something. "

And, as "the most polite and _accurate_ men of the University ofOxford"[O] were to be met with at Tew, we may further hope that Earlethere watched the social mellowing of the "downright scholar whose mindwas too much taken up with his mind, "[P] and strove to carry out his ownrecommendation, "practising him in men, and brushing him over with goodcompany. "

Symposium is a word that has been much abused and vulgarised of late, butsomething like its true Platonic sense must have been realised by thecompany at Lord Falkland's, as they "examined and refined those grosserpropositions which laziness and consent made current in vulgarconversation":[Q] for a more Platonic programme it would be difficult toconceive. The pattern of the ideal republic is, we know, laid up somewherein the heavens; but the republic of letters so far as it was represented, must have been as near the ideal in that house as it ever was on earth. And in this ideal one of Earle's characters already mentioned was not onlya natural but a necessary element. "The contemplative man" is solitary, weare told, in company, but he would not be so in this company. "Outwardshow, the stream, the people, " were not taken seriously at LordFalkland's; and the man who "can spell heaven out of earth" would be thecentre of a rare group--men upon whose fresh and eager appetitesconversation that was "mysterious and inward" could not easily pall. 

Bishop Berkeley is one of the very few men who could answer with anyplausibility to this last character of Earle's. But the marvellousamenity of his social gifts brings him a little closer to the kindly raceof men than Earle thinks is usual with the contemplative student. In everyother point it is an accurate piece of portraiture. [R] Nature might wellask approbation of her works and variety from a man who was ever feedinghis noble curiosity and never satisfying it. He, too, made a "ladder ofhis observations to climb to God. " He, too, was "free from vice, becausehe had no occasion to employ it. " "Such gifts, " said the turbulent BishopAtterbury of him, "I did not think had been the portion of any butangels. " After this it is no hyperbole to say, as Earle does of thecontemplative man, "He has learnt all can here be taught him, and comesnow to heaven to see more. "

Though Clarendon does full justice to Earle's personal charm, he uses theepithets "sharp and witty" to describe his published "discourses"; and thepiercing severity of his wit is illustrated everywhere in this book. It isclear, however, from the sympathetic sketches that Earle's was no _niladmirari_ doctrine, and that while he saw grave need on all hands for mento clear their mind of cant, and their company of those who live by it, hehad great store of affection for all that is noble or noble in the making. 

The "modest man" and the high-spirited man" are opposite types, but thereis in both the worthy pursuit and the high ideal. Moreover, the second ofthose characters reveals a power of pathos which Earle might havedeveloped with more opportunity. [S] "The child" whom "his father has writas his own little story" is another indication of the same mood. 

These sketches are full of suggestive melancholy--not the melancholy ofthe misanthrope, but the true melancholy--the melancholy ofVirgil--_Invalidus etiamque tremens etiam inscius aevi. _[T]

There is another character drawn with a most incisive pathos, though less_Virgilian_[U] in its tone. 

The poor man, "with whom even those that are not friends _for ends_ lovenot a dearness, " and who, "with a great deal of virtue, obtains of himselfnot to hate men, " is a pathetic figure, but he is something more. He is asermon on human weakness, not drawn as some Iago might have drawn it withexultant mockery, but with the painful unflinching veracity of one who isashamed of himself and of his kind. When one thinks how often thisweakness is spoken of as if it were peculiar to the moneyed class or tothe uneducated, and how many people whom one knows act and think as ifpoverty were a vice if not a crime, though they shrink from avowing it, sounqualified an exposure indicates a conscience of no common sensitiveness. 

Earle's wit and humour are deadly weapons, and it must be said that thetrades and professions are treated with scant indulgence. He can evenleave a mark like that of Junius when he has a mind. Thus the dullphysician is present at "some desperate recovery, and is slandered withit, though he be guiltless"; and the attorney does not fear doomsdaybecause "he hopes he has a trick to reverse judgment!"

But though one would not ask on behalf of impostors or scoundrels forsuspension of sentence, one does wish for more than a single picture ofthe young man "who sins to better his understanding. " The companionshipof one who by his 34th year "had so much dispatched the business of lifethat the oldest rarely attain to that knowledge and the youngest enter notthe world with more innocence, "[V] might have induced Earle to pourtraymore than the weaknesses of immature manhood. 

We could not, however, have missed this or the other pictures ofcharacterless persons whether young or "having attained no proficiency bytheir stay in the world. " Inexperience may fail to recognise them andsuffer for it; or the gilding of rank and fashion may win for such personsa name in society above that which they deserve, and the moralist is boundto unmask them. These studies nevertheless are somewhat sombre;[W] andthere is something much lighter and pleasanter in his presentation ofsome not unfamiliar phases of manners. There is the self-complacency thatdeals with itself like a "truant reader skipping over the harsh places";the frank discourtesy that finds something vicious in the conventions and"circumstance" of good breeding; the patronising insolence[X] that "withmuch ado seems to recover your name"; the egoism of discontent that "hasan accustomed tenderness not to be crossed in its fancy"; or lastly, thataffectation of reticence which is as modern as anything in the book, though its illustrations look so remote. Where we meet with such a temper, Earle's is still the right method--"we must deal with such a man as we dowith Hebrew letters, spell him backwards and read him!"

Despite all this searching analysis and the biting wit which accompaniesit, I cannot think the epithet cynical, which I have heard ascribed toEarle, is defensible. There is a vast difference between recognising ourfrailty which is a fact, and insisting that our nature is made up ofnothing else, which is not a fact. The severe critic and the cynic differchiefly in this: the first reports distressing facts, the second inventsdisgraceful fictions; the one distrusts, the other insults our commonnature; and in doing justice to the possibilities of that nature, no onehas gone further than Earle in his "contemplative man. "

Something may be said of Earle's style before this introduction is broughtto an end. 

I do not think it is uniformly conspicuous[Y] for quaintness, or thatthere is much that can be called affectation; though occasionally anexcess of brevity has proved too tempting, or the desire to individualizeruns away with him. 

The following passages, taken at random from the Characters, seem tocontain phrases that we should be well content to use to-day if we hadthought of them. 

 _He sighs to see what innocence he hath outlived. _

 _We look on old age for his sake as a more reverent thing. _

 _He has still something to distinguish him from a gentleman, though his doublet cost more. _

 _It is discourtesy in you to believe him. _

 _An extraordinary man in ordinary things. _

 _His businesses with his friends are to visit them. _

 _The main ambition of his life is not to be discredited. _

 _He preaches heresy if it comes in his way, though with a mind I must needs say very orthodox. _

These quotations have no very unfamiliar sound, nor much flavour ofarchaism about them. And there are many more, surprisingly free fromconceits or other oddities, if we reflect that the book was written beforeDryden was born, or modern prose with its precision and balance eventhought of. 

There is one very distinguishing mark set on Earle's characters, theprofundity of the analysis that accompanies the sketch. He lets us knownot only what the grave divine or the staid man looks like, but why theyare what they are, and all this without turning his sketch into an essay. This mistake Bishop Hall is inclined to make, and Butler actually makes. The author of Hudibras, it seems, would have been too fortunate had heknown where his own happiness lay--to wit in that "sting" of verse, whichCowper says prose neither has nor can have. 

When one compares the essay in its beginnings with the essay as we know itto-day, it is not difficult to understand the change of form in thecharacter sketch. "The Character of a Trimmer"[Z] is a very powerful pieceof writing, containing some very fine things, but Halifax could not makeof it that finished piece of brevity which it would have become in Earle'shands. Latin criticism has the right word for his work--"densus. "[AA] Wecould not pack the thinking closer if we wished. And yet if we do notcare to reason a type out, there are pictures enough unspoilt bycommentary. [AB] Earle has some of that delightful suddenness ofillustration which Selden makes so captivating in his Table-Talk. At oncewe are made to see likeness or unlikeness, we hear no comment on it; sincethe artist desires no more moral than is to be looked for in his art. 

When on the other hand Earle makes more of the reason of the thing, he[AC]is literally "swift and sententious"--he never takes the opportunity todraw us into an instructive disquisition, or to assume airs of profundity. And his passing hint as to the cause of what _we see_ no more injures anypicture he may draw than Coleridge's prose argument at the side of thepage destroys the imaginative spectacle in the Ancient Mariner. 

Earle, it has been said, "is not so thoroughly at home with men of allsorts and conditions as Overbury, who had probably seen far more of theworld. "[AD] However relatively true this may be, Earle's book [published1628] gives evidence of an experience of men as wide as it is intimate--anexperience little short of marvellous in a resident Fellow oftwenty-seven, whose younger years were chiefly distinguished for "oratory, poetry, and witty fancies. "[AE] (Perhaps his youth may account for some ofthat excessive severity in handling follies which is occasionallynoticeable. ) The article in the "Dictionary of National Biography" gives asomewhat different impression of Earle as an observer. "The sketchesthrow, " it says, "_the greatest light_ upon the social condition of thetime. " Now this is not possible for anyone to achieve whose visionrequires "the spectacles of books"; though with such help it is doubtlesspossible to extend and improve on the observations of others, with humannature as a constant quantity. But to be at home with one's contemporariesand to record one's intimacy means to see with the eye as well as themind. The slow inductive method of personal contact is indispensable; andno reasoning from first principles, no assimilating of secondhandexperience, with whatever touches of genius, can be mistaken for it. 

It is not likely that the Registrar's house (his father's house) at Yorkadded much to Earle's sketch-book; and we have to fall back on whatClarendon says of his delightful conversation, and by implication, of hisdelight in it. In the society of a University and in the life of aUniversity town there would be presented to an observer of his exceptionalpenetration enough of the fusion or confusion of classes to furnish theanalytical powers with a tolerably wide field. 

And Earle does not suffer by comparison with his rivals. "The concisenarrative manner"[AF] of Theophrastus, though in its way as humorouslyinforming as we find Plautus and Terence, and as we should have found theNew Comedy which they copied, leaves us a little cold from the loosenessor the connexion in the quasi-narrative: we rise a little unsatisfied fromthe ingenious banquet of conversational scraps; we desire more. Overbury, again, says less than Earle, and is more artificial in saying it. Butlerand Bishop Hall too directly suggest _the essay_[AG] and the sermon. In noone of them is brevity so obviously the soul of wit as it is in Earle; noone of them is so humorously thoughtful, so lucid in conception, sostriking in phrase. 

When one has reckoned up all these gifts, and all that his friends andcontemporaries said of him, and remember also who and what these friendswere, one is not startled by the eulogistic epitaph in Merton CollegeChapel; these words are as moving as they are strong:

 Si nomen ejus necdum suboleat, Lector, Nomen ejus ut pretiosa unguenta; Johannes Earle Eboracensis. 

But his own choicer Latin in the epitaph he wrote for the learned PeterHeylin would serve no less well for himself; and the beautiful brevity ofits closing cadences has so much of the distinction of his English, andputs so forcibly what Earle deserves to have said of him, that it mayfitly be the last word here:

 Plura ejusmodi meditanti mors indixit silentium: ut sileatur efficere non potest. 

 S. T. I. 

Clifton, May, 1896. 

FOOTNOTES:

[A] It came out in 1811. Forty-four years afterwards he wrote that in hisinterleaved copy the list of Seventeenth Century Characters had increasedfourfold--good evidence of his affection for and interest in Earle'sCharacters. Yet he despaired of anyone republishing a book so "common andunimportant" (??). (See Arber's reprint of Earle. ) It is to the credit ofBristol that this pessimism has not been justified. 

[B] Since writing this preface I have added a small supplementaryappendix; but there is nothing in it to require much qualification of theopinion here expressed. It was hardly possible, as I gather, for Bliss tohave known of the Durham MS. 

[C] Mr. John Morley has called Pattison's standard "the highest of ourtime. " Bliss's conception of an editor's duties is well illustrated in thenote on p. 73. 

[D] "Varium ac multiplicem expetens cultum deus. "--_Mori Utopia Lib. II. _

[E] Vol. Iii. , pp. 153 and 154. 

[F] Were the unorthodox opinions of Hobbes known to his friends as earlyas 1647? If so, Earle could hardly have been very curious in scenting outheresy, for Clarendon hopes Earle's intercession may secure for him a bookof Hobbes's. (See letters of Clarendon in Supplementary Appendix. )

[G] Professor Jebb, in his edition of The Characters of Theophrastus. Irejoice to see that Professor Jebb assigns Earle a place of far moredistinction than is implied in the measured tribute of Hallam. His prefacefurnishes lovers of Earle with just those reasoned opinions with whichinstinctive attraction desires to justify itself; and I take thisopportunity of acknowledging my great obligations to it. 

[H] Hallam. The same tone is taken in the article on Earle in the"Encyclopædia Britannica. "

[I] Mr. Bridges indeed, ("Achilles in Scyros"), finds that this characterhas been always with us, and gives it a place in the Heroic Age. Thepassage has almost the note of Troilus and Cressida:--

 "My invitation, Sir, Was but my seal of full denial, a challenge For honor's eye not to be taken up. Your master hath slipped in manners. "

[J] We may compare Matthew Arnold's travelling companion ("Essays inCriticism, " 1st Edition, Preface), who was so nervous about railwaymurders, and who refused to be consoled by being reminded that though theworst should happen, there would still be the old crush at the corner ofFenchurch Street, and that he would not be missed: "the great mundanemovement would still go on!"

[K] Chaucer could hardly have been well-known in 1811, or Dr. Bliss wouldscarcely have quoted in full the most familiar character in his Prologue;but I could not find courage to excise, or lay a profane hand on any ofhis notes. 

[L] It is, perhaps, superfluous to say that no disrespect is intended tothe Author of the "Ring and the Book"; but it would be difficult to findanother poet who has had so many of the equivocal tributes of fashion. 

[M] Sir Thomas Browne, "Christian Morals. "

[N] "So infinite a fancy, bound in by a most logicalratiocination. "--_Clarendon (of Lord Falkland). _

[O] Clarendon. 

[P] "A great cherisher of good parts . . . And if he found men clouded withpoverty, or want, a most liberal and bountiful patron. "--_Clarendon, ib. _

[Q] Clarendon, _ib. _

[R] Between Earle himself and Berkeley there is much resemblance. OfBerkeley too it would have been said--"a person certainly of the sweetestand most obliging nature that lived in our age"; and this resemblanceextends beyond their social gifts or their cast of mind, even to theirlanguage. Earle's "vulgar-spirited" man, with whom "to thrive is to dowell, " recalls a famous passage in the Siris. 

"He that hath not thought much about God, the human soul, and the _summumbonum_, may indeed be a _thriving_ earth-worm, but he will make a sorrypatriot, and a sorry statesman. "

[S] Is this from Pliny's Letters? "Totum patrem mira similitudineexscripserat. "--_Lib. _ V. Xvi. 

[T] One may recall, too, the famous words of the Sophoclean Ajax to hisson in connection with Earle's phrases. "He is not come to his task ofmelancholy, " "he arrives not at the mischief of being wise, " read like afree translation of Soph. Ajax, II. 554 and 555. 

[U] Perhaps the simile in Æn. Viii. 408 and one or two other places wouldjustify us in calling this also Virgilian, as, indeed, one may call mostgood things. 

[V] Clarendon--his character of Lord Falkland. 

[W] There are certain things not at all sombre applicable not only to ourday, but to our _hour_, _e. G. _ "the poet (I regret to say he is 'a potpoet, ') now much employed in commendations of our navy"; or this, "Hisfather sent him to the University, because he heard there were the bestfencing and dancing schools there. " If we substitute athletics of somekind, we have a very modern reason for the existence of such things asUniversities accepted as sound by both parents and children. _cf. _ too Dr. Bliss's note on the serving-man, and its quotation, "An' a man have notskill in the hawking and hunting languages nowadays, I'll not give a rushfor him!"

[X] _cf. _ Falconbridge in "King John":

 "And if his name be George I'll call him Peter, For new-made honour doth forget men's names. "

It is this character which was the occasion of the most delightful of allstories of absence of mind, and though, doubtless, familiar to many, Icannot resist repeating it. The poet Rogers was looking at a new picturein the National Gallery in company with a friend. Rogers was soonsatisfied, but his friend was still absorbed. "I say, " said Rogers, "_thatfellow_ [Earle's insolent man] was at Holland House again last night, andhe came up and asked me if my name was Rogers. " "Yes, " said the friend, still intent on the picture, "_and was it_?

[Y] The article in the "Dictionary of National Biography" lays stress onthe freedom from conceits in Earle's few poems at a time when conceitswere universal. The lines on Sir John Burroughs contain a couplet which iswonderfully close to Wordsworth's "Happy Warrior":

 "His rage was tempered well, no fear could daunt _His reason_, his _cold_ blood was valiant. "

 _cf. _ "Who in the heat of conflict keeps _the law_ In _calmness_ made. "

Earle's standard in poetry was high. "Dr. Earle would not allow LordFalkland to be a good poet though a Great Witt, " yet many poets praisedhis verses. Aubrey, who tells us of Earle's opinion, confirms it. "He(Lord Falkland) writt not a smooth verse, but a great deal of sense. "

[Z] "The Trimmer" is no doubt a political manifesto--but no retreat frompolitics could have chastened Halifax's style into a resemblance toEarle's; when the "Character" became a political weapon, its literaryidentity was all but at an end. "The Trimmer" is commended by Macaulay inhis History, where it will be remembered he pays a tribute to its"vivacity. "

[AA] Quintilian uses it of Thucydides. 

[AB] The "She precise hypocrite" is a striking example--one of Earle'smost humorous pieces. 

_cf. _ also "The plain country fellow. "

[AC] The pictures, with the moral attached, are best seen in places: in"The Tavern, the best theatre of natures"; in "The Bowl-alley, an emblemof the world where some few justle in to the mistress fortune"; in Paul'sWalk, "where all inventions are emptied and not a few pockets!"

[AD] Professor Jebb, preface to "The Characters of Theophrastus. "

[AE] Anthony Wood. 

[AF] Professor Jebb. 

[AG] Professor Jebb justly replies to Hallam that if La Bruyère is farsuperior to Theophrastus the scope of the two writers makes the comparisonunfair. The difference between them may perhaps be expressed by sayingthat an essay was the last thing that the master and the first thing thatthe disciple was anxious to produce. 

CONTENTS

OF THE

SUPPLEMENTARY APPENDIX. 

(1) THE DURHAM MS. 

In the Cathedral Library at Durham is a small bound volume which containsforty-six of Earle's Characters, bearing date 1627[AH], --the date of thefirst edition being 1628. I was enabled by the kindness of Dr. Greenwell, the Librarian, to take it away and examine it at leisure; and the courtesyof the University Librarian, Dr. Fowler, furnished me with an exactcollation of the MS. Versions with the printed text[AI] of theseforty-six Characters, the original of the contributions made by him to"Notes and Queries, " and referred to in the "Dictionary of NationalBiography. "

(2) I have printed, besides, some other versions quoted by Bliss from "Dr. Bright's MS. , " and incorporated in his annotated copy of his own book. These are often the same with those of the Durham MS. I should mentionthat though this annotated copy is in the Bodleian Library, theSub-Librarian, Mr. Falconer Madan, "knows of no 'Bright MS. , '[AJ] norwhere Bliss's MS. With that name is. " The copy in question contains somuch additional matter that I have added a few things from it, but myspace was necessarily limited; there is good evidence in it of Bliss'sstatement that he had continued collecting materials for the book forforty-four years after its publication. Moreover, in the "Bliss SaleCatalogue" in the Bodleian there are some 530 books of Characters(including duplicates). I am myself in possession, as I believe, of a copyof Bliss's edition which belonged to himself, and which is annotated byhimself and Haslewood. [AK] It contains a castrated title-page (originallyBliss suppressed his name) and a notice of the book in the "MonthlyReview" of 1812. 

(3) I have added a few "testimonies" to Earle from Anthony Wood andothers. 

(4) I have printed three letters from Clarendon to Earle from the"Clarendon State Papers, " with short extracts from two others; as well astwo letters of Earle's from the Bodleian Library--interesting rather aspersonal relics than as containing anything very significant. All thatrelates to its author will, I believe, be acceptable to lovers of the"Cosmography. "

For this additional matter, as well as for other help and counsel, I amindebted to Mr. Charles Firth, of Balliol College, Oxford, whose learningis always at the service of his friends, and who stands in no need of theold injunction--"not to be reserved and caitiff in this part of goodness. "

(5) From a notebook of Bliss's (in MS. ) in my possession I have added afew titles of Books of Characters. 

I have retained in this Appendix the spelling I found. Bliss's text has, with a few exceptions (possibly accidental), the modern spelling. 

FOOTNOTES:

[AH] Dec. 14th, 1627. [At the end, by way of Colophon:] at the top of page1, in a different hand, "Edw. Blunt Author. " This MS. Was obviously one of"the _written copies_, passing severally from hand to hand, which grew atlength to be a pretty number in a little volume. " (See Blount's Preface tothe Reader. )

[AI] As it appears in Arber's Reprint. 

[AJ] The "Bright MS. " was obviously later than that in the DurhamCathedral Library, since it contained several Characters known to havebeen added to the first edition. 

[AK] Joseph Haslewood, Antiquary. One of the founders of the RoxburgheClub. 

 MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;

 OR

 A Piece of the World discovered;

 IN

 ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS. 

 BY JOHN EARLE, D. D. 

 OF CHRIST-CHURCH AND MERTON COLLEGES, OXFORD, AND BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 

 A NEW EDITION. 

 TO WHICH ARE ADDED, NOTES AND AN APPENDIX, BY PHILIP BLISS, FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD. 

 _LONDON:_

 PRINTED FOR WHITE AND COCHRANE, FLEET-STREET; AND JOHN HARDING. ST. JAMES'S-STREET. 

 1811. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

The present edition of Bishop Earle's Characters was undertaken from anidea that they were well worthy of republication, and that the presentperiod, when the productions of our early English writers are sought afterwith an avidity hitherto unexampled, would be the most favourable fortheir appearance. 

The text has been taken from the edition of 1732, collated with the firstimpression in 1628. The variations from the latter are thusdistinguished:--those words or passages which have been added since thefirst edition are contained between brackets, [and printed in the commontype]; those which have received some alteration, are printed in _italic_, and the passages, as they stand in the first edition, are always given ina note. 

For the Notes, Appendix, and Index, the editor is entirely answerable, andalthough he is fully aware that many superfluities will be censured, manyomissions discovered, and many errors pointed out, he hopes that themerits of the original author will, in a great measure, compensate for thefalse judgment or neglect of his reviver. 

_January_ 30, 1811. 

THE PREFACE

[TO THE EDITION OF 1732[AL]. ]

This little book had six editions between 1628 and 1633, without anyauthor's name to recommend it: I have heard of an eighth in 1664. Fromthat of 33 this present edition is reprinted, without altering any thingbut the plain errors of the press, and the old pointing and spelling insome places. 

The language is generally easy, and proves our English tongue not to be sovery changeable as is commonly supposed; nay, sometimes the phrase seems alittle obscure, more by the mistakes of the printer than the distance oftime. Here and there we meet with a broad expression, and some charactersare far below others; nor is it to be expected that so great a variety ofportraits should all be drawn with equal excellence, though there arescarce any without some masterly touches. The change of fashionsunavoidably casts a shade upon a few places, yet even those contain anexact picture of the age wherein they were written, as the rest does ofmankind in general: for reflections founded upon nature will be just inthe main, as long as men are men, though the particular instances of viceand folly may be diversified. Paul's Walk is now no more, but then goodcompany adjourn to coffee-houses, and, at the reasonable fine of two orthree pence, throw away as much of their precious time as they findtroublesome. 

Perhaps these valuable essays may be as acceptable to the public now asthey were at first; both for the entertainment of those who are alreadyexperienced in the ways of mankind, and for the information of others whowould know the world the best way, that is--without trying it[AM]. 

FOOTNOTES:

[AL] _London: Printed by E. Say, Anno Domini_ M. DCC. XXXII. 

[AM] A short account of Earle, taken from the _Athenæ Oxonienses_ is hereomitted. 

ADVERTISEMENT

[TO THE EDITION OF 1786[AN]. ]

As this entertaining little book is become rather scarce, and is repletewith so much good sense and genuine humour, which, though in part adaptedto the times when it first appeared, seems, on the whole, by no meansinapplicable to any æra of mankind, the editor conceives that there needslittle apology for the republication. A farther inducement is, his having, from very good authority, lately discovered[AO] that these _Characters_(hitherto known only under the title of _Blount's_[AP]), were actuallydrawn by the able pencil of JOHN EARLE, who was formerly bishop of Sarum, having been translated to that see from Worcester, A. D. 1663, and died atOxford, 1665. 

Isaac Walton, in his Life of Hooker, delineates the character of the saidvenerable prelate. 

It appears from Antony Wood's Athen. Oxon. Under the Life of Bishop Earle, that this book was first of all published at London in 1628, under thename of "_Edward Blount_. "

FOOTNOTES:

[AN] _"Microcosmography; or, a Piece of the World characterized; in Essaysand Characters. London, printed A. D. 1650. Salisbury, Reprinted and soldby E. Easton, 1786. Sold also by G. And T. Wilkie, St. Paul's Church-yard, London. "_

[AO] I regret extremely that I am unable to put the reader in possessionof this very acute discoverer's name. 

[AP] This mistake originated with Langbaine, who, in his account of Lilly, calls Blount "a gentleman who has made himself known to the world by theseveral pieces of his own writing, (as _Horæ Subsecivæ_, his_Microcosmography_, &c. ") _Dramatic Poets_, 8vo, 1691, p. 327. 

EDITIONS OF "MICROCOSMOGRAPHY. "

The first edition (of which the Bodleian possesses a copy, 8vo. P. 154. Theol. ) was printed with the following title: "_Microcosmographie: or, aPeece of the World discovered; In Essayes and Characters. Newly composedfor the Northerne parts of this Kingdome. At London. Printed by W. S. ForEd. Blount, 1628_. " This contains only fifty-four characters[AQ], which inthe present edition are placed first. I am unable to speak of anysubsequent copy, till one in the following year, (1629), printed forRobert Allot[AR], and called in the title "_The first edition muchenlarged_. " This, as Mr. Henry Ellis kindly informs me, from a copy in theBritish Museum, possesses seventy-six characters. The _sixth_ was printedfor Allot, in 1633, (_Bodl. Mar. _ 441, ) and has seventy-eight, theadditional ones being "a herald, " and "a suspicious, or jealous man. " The_seventh_ appeared in 1638, for Andrew Crooke, agreeing precisely with thesixth; and in 1650 the _eighth_. A copy of the latter is in the curiouslibrary of Mr. Hill, and, as Mr. Park acquaints me, is without anyspecific edition numbered in the title. I omit that noticed by the editorof 1732, as printed in 1664, for if such a volume did exist, which I muchdoubt, it was nothing more than a copy of the eighth with a newtitle-page. In 1732 appeared the _ninth_, which was a reprint of the_sixth_, executed with care and judgment. I have endeavoured in vain todiscover to whom we are indebted for this republication of bishop Earle'scurious volume, but it is probable that the person who undertook it, foundso little encouragement in his attempt to revive a taste for theproductions of our early writers, that he suffered his name to remainunknown. Certain it is that the impression, probably not a large one, didnot sell speedily, as I have seen a copy, bearing date 1740, under thename of "_The World display'd: or several Essays; consisting of thevarious Characters and Passions of its principal Inhabitants_, " &c. London, printed for C. Ward, and R. Chandler. The edition printed atSalisbury, in 1786, (which has only seventy-four characters, ) with thatnow offered to the public, close the list. 

FOOTNOTES:

[AQ] Having never seen or been able to hear of any copy of the second, third, or fourth editions, I am unable to point out when the additionalcharacters first appeared. 

[AR] Robert Allot, better known as the editor of _England's Parnassus_, appears to have succeeded Blount in several of his copy-rights, amongothers, in that of Shakspeare, as the second edition (1632) was printedfor him. 

CONTENTS. 

 PAGE

 _Preface to the Reprint of 1897_ vii. 

 Advertisement to the present edition (1811) xlv. 

 Preface to the edition of 1732 xlvii. 

 Advertisement to the edition of 1786 xlix. 

 Editions of _Microcosmography_ li. 

 Blount's Preface to the Reader lix. 

 A child 1

 A young raw preacher 4

 A grave divine 8

 A meer dull physician 11

 An alderman 16

 A discontented man 18

 An antiquary 20

 A younger brother 22

 A meer formal man 25

 A church papist 27

 A self-conceited man 29

 A too idly reserved man 31

 A tavern 34

 A shark 37

 A carrier 40

 A young man 42

 An old college butler 45

 An upstart country knight 48

 An idle gallant 51

 A constable 53

 A downright scholar 54

 A plain country fellow 57

 A player 60

 A detractor 63

 A young gentleman of the university 65

 A weak man 68

 A tobacco-seller 70

 A pot poet 71

 A plausible man 74

 A bowl-alley 76

 The world's wise man 78

 A surgeon 80

 A contemplative man 82

 A she precise hypocrite 84

 A sceptick in religion 88

 An attorney 93

 A partial man 95

 A trumpeter 97

 A vulgar spirited man 98

 A plodding student 101

 Paul's walk 103

 A cook 106

 A bold forward man 108

 A baker 111

 A pretender to learning 112

 A herald 115

 The common singing-men in cathedral churches 116

 A shop-keeper 118

 A blunt man 119

 A handsome hostess 122

 A critic 123

 A serjeant, or catch-pole 124

 An university dun 126

 A stayed man 128

 [All from this character were added after the first edition. ]

 A modest man 131

 A meer empty wit 134

 A drunkard 136

 A prison 138

 A serving-man 140

 An insolent man 142

 Acquaintance 144

 A meer complimental man 147

 A poor fiddler 149

 A meddling-man 151

 A good old man 153

 A flatterer 155

 A high spirited man 158

 A meer gull citizen 160

 A lascivious man 165

 A rash man 167

 An affected man 169

 A profane man 171

 A coward 173

 A sordid rich man 174

 A meer great man 177

 A poor man 179

 An ordinary honest man 181

 A suspicious, or jealous man 183

 APPENDIX. 

 Some account of bishop Earle[AS] 186

 Characters of bishop Earle 194

 List of Dr. Earle's Works 197

 Lines on sir John Burroughs 199

 Lines on the death of the earl of Pembroke 201

 Lines on Mr. Beaumont 203

 Dedication to the Latin translation of the [Greek: Eikôn Basilikê] 207

 Inscription on Dr. Heylin's monument 211

 Correspondence between Dr. Earle and Mr. Bagster 213

 Inscription in Streglethorp church 217

 Chronological List of Books of Characters, from 1567 to 1700 219

 Corrections and additions 279

 A note on bishop Earle's arms, from _Guillim's Heraldry_ 282

 _Supplementary Appendix, 1897, (Durham MS. , Letters of Earle and Clarendon, etc. )_ 303

FOOTNOTES:

[AS] It will be remarked, that Dr. Earle's name is frequently spelled_Earle_ and _Earles_ in the following pages. Wherever the editor has hadoccasion to use the name himself, he has invariably called it _Earle_, conceiving that to be the proper orthography. Wherever it is found_Earles_, he has attended strictly to the original, from which the articleor information has been derived. 

TO THE READER[AT]. 

I have (for once) adventured to play the midwife's part, helping to bringforth these infants into the world, which the father would have smothered;who having left them lapt up in loose sheets, as soon as his fancy wasdelivered of them, written especially for his private recreation, to passaway the time in the country, and by the forcible request of friends drawnfrom him: yet, passing severally from hand to hand, in written copies, grew at length to be a pretty number in a little volume: and among so manysundry dispersed transcripts, some very imperfect and surreptitious hadliked to have passed the press, if the author had not used speedy means ofprevention; when, perceiving the hazard he ran to be wronged, wasunwillingly[AU] willing to let them pass as now they appear to the world. If any faults have escaped the press (as few books can be printedwithout), impose them not on the author, I intreat thee; but rather imputethem to mine and the printer's oversight, who seriously promise, on there-impression hereof, by greater care and diligence for this our formerdefault, to make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I remain

 Thine, ED. BLOUNT[AV]. 

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[AT] _Gentile, or Gentle_, 8th edit. 1650. 

[AU] Willingly, 8th edit. Evidently a typographical error. 

[AV] Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saint Paul's Church-yard, appears to have been a bookseller of respectability, and in some respectsa man of letters. Many dedications and prefaces, with as much merit ascompositions of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there isevery reason to suppose that he translated a work from the Italian, whichis intituled "_The Hospitall of Incurable Fooles_, " &c. 4to. 1600. Mr. Ames has discovered, from the Stationer's Register, that he was the son ofRalph Blount or Blunt, merchant-taylor of London; that he was apprenticedto William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is no slighthonour to his taste and judgment, that he was one of the partners in thefirst edition of Shakspeare. 

MICROCOSMOGRAPHY;

_or_, _A piece of the World characterized_. 

I. 

A CHILD

Is a man in a small letter, yet the best copy of Adam before he tasted ofEve or the apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the world canonly write his character. He is nature's fresh picture newly drawn in oil, which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His soul is yet a whitepaper[1] unscribbled with observations of the world, wherewith, at length, it becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely happy, because he knows noevil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with misery. He arrivesnot at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils to come, byfore-seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, when the smart of the rodis 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 playsyet, like a young prentice the first day, and is not come to his task ofmelancholy. [[2]All the language he speaks yet is tears, and they servehim well enough to express his necessity. ] His hardest labour is histongue, as if he were loath to use so deceitful an organ; and he is bestcompany with it when he can but prattle. We laugh at his foolish ports, Shakspeare, of a child, says, "---- the hand of time Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. "

 _K. John II. _ i. 

but his game is our earnest; and his drums, rattles, and hobby-horses, butthe emblems and mocking of man's business. His father hath writ him as hisown little story, wherein he reads those days of his life that he cannotremember, and sighs to see what innocence he hath out-lived. The elder hegrows, he is a stair lower from God; and, like his first father, muchworse in his breeches. [3] He is the Christian's example, and the old man'srelapse; the one imitates his pureness, and the other falls into hissimplicity. Could he put off his body with his little coat, he had goteternity without a burden, and exchanged but one heaven for another. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] 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. 

[2] This, and every other passage throughout the volume, [included betweenbrackets, ] does not appear in the first edition of 1628. 

[3] Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva Bible, "make himselfbreeches, " till he knew sin: the meaning of the passage in the text ismerely that, as a child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in theknowledge and commission of vice and immorality. 

II. 

A YOUNG RAW PREACHER

Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped out of his nest to be chirpingon a hedge, and will be straggling abroad at what peril soever. Hisbackwardness in the university hath set him thus forward; for had he nottruanted there, he had not been so hasty a divine. His small standing, andtime, hath made him a proficient only in boldness, out of which, and histable-book, he is furnished for a preacher. His collections of study arethe notes of sermons, which, taken up at St. Mary's, [4] he utters in thecountry: and if he write brachigraphy, [5] his stock is so much thebetter. His writing is more than his reading, for he reads only what hegets without book. Thus accomplished he comes down to his friends, and hisfirst salutation is grace and peace out of the pulpit. His prayer isconceited, and no man remembers his college more at large. [6] The pace ofhis sermon is a full career, and he runs wildly over hill and dale, tillthe clock stop him. The labour of it is chiefly in his lungs; and the onlything he has made[7] _in_ it himself, is the faces. He takes on againstthe 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 mustneeds say, very orthodox. His action is all passion, and his speechinterjections. He has an excellent faculty in bemoaning the people, andspits with a very good grace. [His stile is compounded of twenty severalmen's, only his body imitates some one extraordinary. ] He will not drawhis handkercher out of his place, nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that he never looks upon book; and indeed he wasnever used to it. He preaches but once a year, though twice on Sunday; forthe stuff is still the same, only the dressing a little altered: he hasmore tricks with a sermon, than a taylor with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and at last quite disguise it with a new preface. If he havewaded farther in his profession, and would shew reading of his own, hisauthors are postils, and his school-divinity a catechism. His fashion anddemure habit gets him in with some town-precisian, and makes him a gueston Friday nights. You shall know him by his narrow velvet cape, and sergefacing; and his ruff, next his hair, the shortest thing about him. Thecompanion of his walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonishes withstrange points, which they both understand alike. His friends and muchpainfulness may prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means to achambermaid; with whom we leave him now in the bonds of wedlock:--nextSunday you shall have him again. 

FOOTNOTES:

[4] St. Mary's church was originally built by king Alfred, and annexed tothe University of Oxford, for the use of the scholars, when St. Giles'sand St. Peter's (which were till then appropriated to them, ) had beenmined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally rebuilt during thereign of Henry VII. , who gave forty oaks towards the materials; and is, tothis day, the place of worship in which the public sermons are preachedbefore the members of the university. 

[5] _Brachigraphy_, or short-hand-writing, appears to have been muchstudied in our author's time, and was probably esteemed a fashionableaccomplishment. It was first introduced into this country by Peter Bales, who, in 1590, published _The Writing Schoolmaster_, a treatise consistingof three parts, the first "of Brachygraphie, that is, to write as fast asa 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 Bale'sperformances:--"The tenth of August (1575, ) a rare peece of worke, andalmost incredible, was brought to passe by an Englishman borne in thecitie of London, named Peter Bales, who by his industrie and practise ofhis pen, contriued and writ within the compasse of a penie, in Latine, theLord's praier, the creed, the ten commandements, a praier to God, a praierfor the queene, his posie, his name, the daie of the moneth, the yeare ofour Lord, and the reigne of the queene. And on the seuenteenthe of Augustnext following, at Hampton court, he presented the same to the queene'smaiestie, in the head of a ring of gold, couered with a christall; andpresented therewith an excellent spectacle by him deuised, for the easierreading thereof: wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written thereinwith great admiration, and commended the same to the lords of thecouncell, and the ambassadors, and did weare the same manie times vpon hirfinger. " _Holinshed's Chronicle, page 1262, b. Edit, folio, Lond. 1587. _

[6] It is customary in all sermons delivered before the University, to usean introductory prayer for the founder of, and principal benefactors to, the preacher's individual college, as well as for the officers and membersof the university in general. This, however, would appear very ridiculouswhen "_he comes down to his friends_" or, in other words, preaches beforea country congregation. 

[7] _of_, first edit. 1628. 

III. 

A GRAVE DIVINE

Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, and hath studied to make hisshoulders sufficient; for which he hath not been hasty to launch forth ofhis port, the university, but expected the ballast of learning, and thewind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end of hisstudies; to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the arts his way. He counts it not prophaneness to be polished with human reading, or tosmooth his way by Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded bothreligions, 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. Theministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the pulpit not his itch, butfear. His discourse is substance, not all rhetoric, and he utters morethings than words. His speech is not helped with inforced action, but thematter acts itself. He shoots all his meditations at one but; and beatsupon his text, not the cushion; making his hearers, not the pulpit groan. In citing of popish errors, he cuts them with arguments, not cudgels themwith barren invectives; and labours more to shew the truth of his causethan the spleen. His sermon is limited by the method, not the hour-glass;and his devotion goes along with him out of the pulpit. He comes not upthrice a week, because he would not be idle; nor talks three hourstogether, because he would not talk nothing: but his tongue preaches atfit times, and his conversation is the every day's exercise. In mattersof ceremony, he is not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence tothe church to bow his judgement 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 isloath 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 ofhis tythes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer is the onlyman he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels. He is a mainpillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his life ourreligion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where, in thepulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example. [8]

FOOTNOTES:

[8] I cannot forbear to close this admirable character with the beautifuldescription of a "_poure Persone_, " _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 tythes, 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. "

IV. 

A MEER 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'sgown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is doctorhowsoever. He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as university men totheir statutes, though they never saw them; and his discourse is allaphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont, [9] or theRegiment of Health. [10] The best cure he has done, is upon his own purse, which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. Hislearning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and thesuperscriptions of gally-pots in his apothecary's shop, which are rankedin his shelves, and the doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only languaged indiseases, and speaks Greek many times when he knows not. If he have beenbut a by-stander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered with itthough he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that hispractice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes best thesmell of urine, and holds Vespasian's[11] rule, that no gain is unsavory. If you send this once to him you must resolve to be sick howsoever, for hewill never leave examining your water, till he has shaked it into adisease:[12] then follows a writ to his drugger in a strange tongue, whichhe understands, though he cannot conster. If he see you himself, hispresence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot heal your sickness, hewill be sure to help it. He translates his apothecary's shop into yourchamber, and the very windows and benches must take physic. He tells youyour malady in Greek, though it be but a cold, or headach; which by goodendeavour and diligence he may bring to some moment indeed. His mostunfaithful 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 thecarkass should bleed. [13] Anatomies, and other spectacles of mortality, have hardened him, and he is no more struck with a funeral than agrave-maker. Noble-men use him for a director of their stomach, and ladiesfor wantonness, [14] especially if he be a proper man. [15] 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 alcumy, and is sick of the philosopher's stone; adisease uncurable, but by an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His twomain opposites are a mountebank and a good woman, and he never shews hislearning so much as in an invective against them and their boxes. Inconclusion, he is a sucking consumption, and a very brother to the worms, for they are both engendered out of man's corruption. 

FOOTNOTES:

[9] _The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Piemount, containyngexcellente remedies against diuers diseases_, &c. Appear to have been avery favourite study either with the physicians, or their patients, aboutthis period. 

They were originally written in Italian, and were translated into Englishby 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 atBasil; 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 intheir own languages. A specimen of the importance of this publication maybe given in the title of the first secret. "The maner and secrete toconserue a man's youth, and to holde back olde age, to maintaine a manalways in helth and strength, as in the fayrest floure of his yeres. "

[10] _The Regiment of Helthe_, by Thomas Paynell, is another volume of thesame description, and was printed by Thomas Berthelette, in 1541. 4to. 

[11] _Vespatian_, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed a tax upon urine, andwhen 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. "

[12] "Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with vrinals, where, if hefinde 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 seemea piece of strange stuffe. " Character of an unworthy physician. "_The Goodand the Badde_, " by Nicholas Breton. 4to. 1618. 

[13] That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of the murderer, was, in our author's time, a commonly received opinion. Holinshed affirms thatthe corps of Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment; andSir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of the report, that hehas endeavoured to explain the reason. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens, ina note to _Shakspeare_, that the opinion seems to be derived from theancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we descend; as theypractised this method of trial in all dubious cases. 

[14]

 "Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please The female sex, and how their corp'rall griefes to ease. "

Goddard's "_Mastif Whelp_. " Satires. 4to. Without date. Sat. 17. 

[15] _Proper_ for handsome. 

V. 

AN ALDERMAN. 

He is venerable in his gown, more in his beard, wherewith he sets notforth so much his own, as the face of a city. You must look on him as oneof the town gates, and consider him not as a body, but a corporation. Hiseminency above others hath made him a man of worship, for he had neverbeen preferred, but that he was worth thousands. He over-sees thecommonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argument of his policy, that hehas thriven by his craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in his ward; yet hisscale of justice is suspected, lest it be like the balances in hiswarehouse. A ponderous man he is, and substantial, for his weight iscommonly extraordinary, and in his preferment nothing rises so much as hisbelly. His head is of no great depth, yet well furnished; and when it isin conjunction with his brethren, may bring forth a city apophthegm, orsome such sage matter. He is one that will not hastily run into error, forhe treads with great deliberation, and his judgment consists much in hispace. His discourse is commonly the annals of his mayoralty, and what goodgovernment there was in the days of his gold chain, though the door postswere the only things that suffered reformation. He seems most sincerelyreligious, especially on solemn days; for he comes often to church to makea shew, [and is a part of the quire hangings. ] He is the highest stair ofhis profession, and an example to his trade, what in time they may cometo. He makes very much of his authority, but more of his sattin doublet, which, though of good years, bears its age very well, and looks freshevery Sunday: but his scarlet gown is a monument, and lasts fromgeneration to generation. 

VI. 

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 bemiserable in spite. The root of his disease is a self-humouring pride, andan accustomed tenderness not to be crossed in his fancy; and the occasioncommonly of one of these three, a hard father, a peevish wench, or hisambition thwarted. He considered not the nature of the world till he feltit, and all blows fall on him heavier, because they light not first on hisexpectation. He has now foregone all but his pride, and is yetvain-glorious in the ostentation of his melancholy. His composure ofhimself is a studied carelessness, with his arms across, and a neglectedhanging of his head and cloak; and he is as great an enemy to an hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels at the time and up-starts, and sighs at theneglect of men of parts, that is, such as himself. His life is a perpetualsatyr, and he is still girding[16] the age's vanity, when this very angershews he too much esteems it. He is much displeased to see men merry, andwonders what they can find to laugh at. He never draws his own lips higherthan a smile, and frowns wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls intothat deadly melancholy to be a bitter hater of men, and is the most aptcompanion for any mischief. He is the spark that kindles the commonwealth, and the bellows himself to blow it: and if he turn anything, it iscommonly one of these, either friar, traitor, or mad-man. 

FOOTNOTES:

[16] To _gird_, is to sneer at, or scorn any one. Falstaff says, "men ofall sorts take a pride to _gird_ at me. "--_Henry IV. Part 2. _

VII. 

AN ANTIQUARY;

He is a man strangly thrifty of time past, and an enemy indeed to his maw, whence he fetches out many things when they are now all rotten andstinking. He is one that hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured ofold age and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese, ) thebetter for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because wesay it is most antient; and yet a broken statue would almost make him anidolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and readsonly those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. He will goyou forty miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey; and there be buta 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 Romancoins; and he hath more pictures of Cæsar, than James or Elizabeth. Beggars cozen him with musty things which they have raked from dunghills, and he preserves their rags for precious relicks. He loves no library, butwhere there are more spiders volumes than authors, and looks with greatadmiration on the antique work of cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as anovelty of this latter age, but a manuscript he pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesisbetween every syllable. He would give all the books in his study (whichare rarities all, ) for one of the old Roman binding, or six lines of Tullyin his own hand. His chamber is hung commonly with strange beasts skins, and is a kind of charnel-house of bones extraordinary; and his discourseupon them, if you will hear him, shall last longer. His very attire isthat which is the eldest out of fashion, [[AW]_and you may pick acriticism out of his breeches_. ] He never looks upon himself till he isgrey-haired, and then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His gravedoes not fright him, for he has been used to sepulchers, and he likesdeath the better, because it gathers him to his fathers. 

FOOTNOTES:

[AW] In the first edition it stands thus:--"_and his hat is as antient asthe tower of Babel_. "

VIII. 

A YOUNGER BROTHER. 

His elder brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him likeJacob at his heels. His father has done with him, as Pharoah to thechildren of Israel, that would have them make brick and give them nostraw, so he tasks him to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing tomaintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder'sknighthood must sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His birth andbringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth; buthe 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 himthan he bold with the master, who beholds him with a countenance of sternawe, and checks him oftener than his liveries. His brother's old suits andhe 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 itis like to be his best revenue. If his annuity stretch so far, he is sentto the university, and with great heart-burning takes upon him theministry, as a profession he is condemned to by his ill fortune. Otherstake a more crooked path yet, the king's high-way; where at length theirvizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for Tyburn: but theirbrother's pride, not love, gets them a pardon. His last refuge is theLow-countries, [17] where rags and lice are no scandal, where he lives apoor gentleman of a company, and dies without a shirt. The only thing thatmay better his fortunes is an art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewithhe baits now and then some rich widow that is hungry after his blood. Heis commonly discontented and desperate, and the form of his exclamationis, _that churl my brother_. He loves not his country for this unnaturalcustom, and would have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but forKent[18] only, which he holds in admiration. 

FOOTNOTES:

[17] The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample room for ridicule atall times. In "_A brief Character of the Low-countries under the States, being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices and Virtues of theInhabitants_, written by Owen Felltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 12mo. Wefind them epitomized as a general sea-land--the great bog of Europe--anuniversal quagmire--in short a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (inwhich denomination the author appears to include all the natives, ) hedescribes as being able to "drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be_lowsie_ alike. P. 40. 

[18] _Gavelkind_, or the practice of dividing lands equally among all themale children of the deceased, was (according to Spelman, ) adopted by theSaxons, from Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description of thatnation. _Gloss. Archaiol. _ folio. Lond. 1664. Harrison, in _TheDescription of England_, prefixed to Holinshed's _Chronicle_, (vol. 1. Page 180, ) says, "Gauell kind is all the male children equallie toinherit, and is continued to this daie in _Kent_, where it is onelie to myknowledge reteined, and no where else in England. " And Lambarde, in his_Customes of Kent_, (_Perambulation_, 4to. 1596, page 538, ) thus noticesit:--"The custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth itselfethroughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by auncient tenurevnto the same, such places onely excepted, where it is altered by acte ofparleament. "

IX. 

A MEER 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 mendo thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we cannot call him awise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a knave; nor aprotestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain is thecarriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame; which heperforms the better, because he is not disjointed with other meditations. His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he swears, in thephrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair inviter, and can excusehis good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has some faculty in manglingof 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, whenit 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. Hisdiscourse is the news that he hath gathered in his walk, and for othermatters his discretion is, that he will only what he can, that is, saynothing. His life is like one that runs to the[19]church-walk, to take aturn 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. 

FOOTNOTES:

[19] _Minster-walk_, 1st edit. 

X. 

A CHURCH-PAPIST

Is one that parts his religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, andcomes to church not to serve God but the king. The face of the law makeshim wear the mask of the gospel, which he uses not as a means to save hissoul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to lose by it; andthough he be something scared with the bulls of Rome, yet they are faroff, and he is struck with more terror at the apparitor. Once a month hepresents himself at the church, to keep off the church-warden, and bringsin his body to save his bail. He kneels with the congregation, but praysby himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming thither. If he be forcedto stay out a sermon, he pulls his hat over his eyes, and frowns out thehour; and when he comes home, thinks to make amends for this fault byabusing the preacher. His main policy is to shift off the communion, forwhich he is never unfurnished of a quarrel, and will be sure to be out ofcharity at Easter; and indeed he lies not, for he has a quarrel to thesacrament. He would make a bad martyr and good traveller, for hisconscience is so large he could never wander out of it; and inConstantinople would be circumcised with a reservation. His wife is morezealous and therefore more costly, and he bates her in tires[20] what shestands him in religion. But we leave him hatching plots against the state, and expecting Spinola. [21]

FOOTNOTES:

[20] The word _tire_ is probably here used as an abbreviation of the word_attire_, dress, ornament. 

[21] _Ambrose Spinola_ was one of the most celebrated and excellentcommanders that Spain ever possessed: he was born, in 1569, of a noblefamily, and distinguished himself through life in being opposed to princeMaurice of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he was everregarded with admiration and respect. He died in 1630, owing to adisadvantage sustained by his troops at the siege of Cassel, which was tobe entirely attributed to the imprudent orders he received from Spain, andwhich that government compelled him to obey. This disaster broke hisheart; and he died with the exclamation of "_they have robbed me of myhonour_;" an idea he was unable to survive. It is probable that, at thetime this character was composed, many of the disaffected in England werein expectation of an attack to be made on this country by the Spaniards, under the command of Spinola. 

XI. 

A SELF-CONCEITED MAN

Is one that knows himself so well, that he does not know himself. Twoexcellent well-dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it that firstcommended him to madness. He is now become his own book, which he pores oncontinually, yet like a truant reader skips over the harsh places, andsurveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own goodparts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy, like anold man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He imaginesevery place where he comes his theater, and not a look stirring but hisspectator; 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 hisopinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his own person, or onothers with reflection to himself. If he have done any thing that has pastwith applause, he is always re-acting it alone, and conceits the extasyhis hearers were in at every period. His discourse is all positions anddefinitive decrees, with _thus it must be_ and _thus it is_, and he willnot humble his authority to prove it. His tenent is always singular andaloof from the vulgar as he can, from which you must not hope to wresthim. He has an excellent humour for an heretick, and in these days madethe first Arminian. He prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsusbefore Galen, [22] [_and whosoever with most paradox is commended_. ] Hemuch pities the world that has no more insight in his parts, when he istoo well discovered even to this very thought. A flatterer is a dunce tohim, for he can tell him nothing but what he knows before: and yet heloves him too, because he is like himself. Men are merciful to him, andlet him alone, for if he be once driven from his humour, he is like twoinward friends fallen out: his own bitter enemy and discontent presentlymakes a murder. In sum, he is a bladder blown up with wind, which theleast flaw crushes to nothing. 

FOOTNOTES:

[22] _and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian. _First edit. 

XII. 

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 shew his teeth without Machiavel. He converses with hisneighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as much asthe inquisition. He suspects all questions for examinations, and thinksyou would pick something out of him, and avoids you. His breast is like agentlewoman's closet, which locks up every toy or trifle, or some braggingmountebank that makes every stinking thing a secret. He delivers youcommon matters with great conjuration of silence, and whispers you in theear 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 forfear 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 thingmore astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cardsat primivist, [23] where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify whatthey sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if heswore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be craftierthan they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction to hindertheir plots and designs, where they mean freely. He has been long a riddlehimself, but at last finds OEdipuses; for his over-acted dissimulationdiscovers him, and men do with him as they would with Hebrew letters, spell him backwards and read him. 

FOOTNOTES:

[23] _Primivist_ and primero were, in all probability, the same game, although Minshew, in his Dictionary, calls them "two games at cardes. " Thelatter he explains "primum et primum visum, that is, first and firstseene, because hee that can shew such an order of cardes, first winnes thegame. " The coincidence between Mr. Strutt's description of the former andthe passage in the text, shews that there could be little or no differencebetween the value of the cards in these games, or in the manner of playingthem. "Each player has 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 fivefor fifteen, and the ace for the same, " &c. (_Sports and Pastimes_, 247. )The honourable Daines Barrington conceived that Primero was introduced byPhilip the Second, or some of his suite, whilst in England. Shakspeareproves 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 haveplaid at _Primero_. "--_Gul's Hornebooke_, 1609. 37. 

Among the marquis of Worcester's celebrated "_Century of Inventions_, "12mo. 1663, is one "so contrived without suspicion, that playing atPrimero at cards, one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning ofall sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded. "--No. 87. 

XIII. 

A TAVERN

Is a degree, or (if you will, ) a pair of stairs above an ale-house, wheremen are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's nose[24] beat door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is supplied bythe ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that have beenwashed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next morning; notfurnished with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more news thanhogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here by somespongy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men come here tomake merry, but indeed make a noise, and this musick above is answeredwith the clinking below. The drawers are the civilest people in it, men ofgood bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can boast morejustly of their high calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures, where theyare truly acted, not played, and the business as in the rest of the worldup and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great chamber. Amelancholy man would find here matter to work upon, to see heads asbrittle as glasses, and often broken; men come hither to quarrel, and comehither to be made friends: and if Plutarch will lend me his simile, it iseven Telephus's sword that makes wounds and cures them. It is the commonconsumption of the afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of a rainyday. It is the torrid zone that scorches _the_[25] face, and tobacco thegun-powder that blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the charitablevintner had not water ready for these flames. A house of sin you may callit, but not a house of darkness, for the candles are never out; and it islike those countries far in the North, where it is as clear at mid-nightas at mid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashingshower, where the spouts are flushing above, and the conduits runningbelow, while the Jordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. Togive you the total reckoning of it; it is the busy man's recreation, theidle man's business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger'swelcome, 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 cupof canary[26] their book, whence we leave them. 

FOOTNOTES:

[24] "Enquire out those tauernes which are best customd, whose maistresare oftenest drunk, for that confirmes their taste, and that they choosewholesome wines. "--Decker's _Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609. 

[25] _his_, First edit. 

[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 restoredthe reading of the first edition. Venner gives the following descriptionof this favourite liquor. "Canarie-wine, which beareth the name of theislands from whence it is brought, is of some termed a sacke, with thisadjunct, sweete; but yet very improperly, for it differeth not only fromsacke in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but also in colour andconsistence, for it is not so white in colour as sack, nor so thin insubstance; wherefore it is more nutritive than sack, and lesspenetrative. " _Via recta ad Vitam longum. _ 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 theworld besides; I think also, there is a hundred times more drunk under thename 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 bedrunk in aqua vitæ measures, and 'twas held fit only for those to drinkwho were used to _carry their legs in their hands_, _their eyes upon theirnoses_, and an _almanack in their bones_; but now they go down every one'sthroat, both young and old, like milk. " Howell, _Letter to the lordCliff_, dated Oct. 7, 1634. 

XIV. 

A SHARK

Is one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. Heis some needy cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung off, yetstill clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon anything thatis next at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks he has happily lostshame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his brain to more use thanhe, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new stratagem. Hehas an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there passed but _howdo you_ betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice for an embrace, andthat for money. He offers you a pottle of sack out of joy to see you, andin requital of his courtesy you can do no less than pay for it. He isfumbling with his purse-strings, as a school-boy with his points, when heis going to be whipped, 'till the master, weary with long stay, forgiveshim. When the reckoning is paid, he says, It must not be so, yet is straitpacified, and cries, What remedy? His borrowings are like subsidies, eachman a shilling or two, as he can well dispend; which they lend him, notwith a hope to be repaid, but that he will come no more. He holds astrange tyrrany over men, for he is their debtor, and they fear him as acreditor. He is proud of any employment, though it be but to carrycommendations, which he will be sure to deliver at eleven of theclock. [27] They in courtesy bid him stay, and he in manners cannot denythem. If he find but a good look to assure his welcome, he becomes theirhalf-boarder, and haunts the threshold so long 'till he forces good natureto the necessity of a quarrel. Publick invitations he will not wrong withhis absence, and is the best witness of the sheriff's hospitality. [28] Menshun him at length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossedin his way if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the ageas his clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off. 

FOOTNOTES:

[27] We learn from Harrison's _Description of England_, prefixed toHolinshed, that _eleven o'clock_ was the usual time for dinner during thereign of Elizabeth. "With vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students, dooordinarilie go to dinner at _eleuen before noone_, and to supper at fiue, or between fiue and six at afternoon. " (vol. I. Page 171. Edit. 1587. ) Thealteration in manners at this time is rather singularly evinced, from apassage immediately following the above quotation, where we find that_merchants_ and _husbandmen_ dined and supped at a _later hour than thenobility_. 

[28] Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff at particularseasons 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. "

XV. 

A CARRIER

Is his own hackney-man; for he lets himself out to travel as well as hishorses. He is the ordinary embassador between friend and friend, thefather and the son, and brings rich presents to the one, but never returnsany back again. He is no unlettered man, though in shew simple; forquestionless, he has much in his budget, which he can utter too in fittime and place. He is [like] the vault[29] in Gloster church, thatconveys whispers at a distance, for he takes the sound out of your mouthat York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young student'sjoy and expectation, and the most accepted guest, to whom they lend awilling hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting iscommonly, _Your friends are well_; [_and to prove it_][30] in a piece ofgold 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 ofthe high-ways, and beats them out of measure; which injury is sometimesrevenged by the purse-taker, and then the voyage miscarries. No mandomineers more in his inn, nor calls his host unreverently with morepresumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of the strength of hishorses. He forgets not his load where he takes his ease, for he is drunkcommonly before he goes to bed. He is like the prodigal child, stillpacking away and still returning again. But let him pass. 

FOOTNOTES:

[29] The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral church of Gloucester, was founded by Richard Stanley, abbot, in 1457, and finished by WilliamFarley, a monk of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives thefollowing description of the vault here alluded to. "The _whisperingplace_ is very remarkable; it is a long alley, from one side of the choirto the other, built circular, that it might not darken the great eastwindow of the choir. When a person whispers at one end of the alley, hisvoice is heard distinctly at the other end, though the passage be open inthe middle, having large spaces for doors and windows on the east side. Itmay be imputed to the close cement of the wall, which makes it as oneentire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long piece of timber doesconvey the least stroak to the other end. Others assign it to therepercussion of the voice from accidental angles. " _Atkyns' Ancient andPresent State of Glostershire. Lond. 1712, folio, page 128. _ See also_Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire, page 351_. 

[30] _Then in a piece of gold_, &c. First edit. 

XVI. 

A YOUNG MAN;

He is now out of nature's protection, though not yet able to guidehimself; but left loose to the world and fortune, from which the weaknessof 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 beginsto be happy; and he is happier in this imagination, and his misery notfelt is less. He sees yet but the outside of the world and men, andconceives them, according to their appearing, glister, and out of thisignorance believes them. He pursues all vanities for happiness, and[31][_enjoys them best in this fancy. _] His reason serves, not to curb butunderstand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with a moreeager earnestness. Himself is his own temptation, and needs not Satan, andthe world will come hereafter. He leaves repentance for grey hairs, andperforms it in being covetous. He is mingled with the vices of the age asthe fashion and custom, with which he longs to be acquainted, and sins tobetter his understanding. He conceives his youth as the season of hislust, and the hour wherein he ought to be bad; and because he would notlose his time, spends it. He distastes religion as a sad thing, and is sixyears elder for a thought of heaven. He scorns and fears, and yet hopesfor old age, but dare not imagine it with wrinkles. He loves and hateswith the same inflammation, and when the heat is over is cool alike tofriends and enemies. His friendship is seldom so stedfast, but that lust, drink, or anger may overturn it. He offers you his blood to-day inkindness, and is ready to take yours to-morrow. He does seldom any thingwhich he wishes not to do again, and is only wise after a misfortune. Hesuffers much for his knowledge, and a great deal of folly it is makes hima wise man. He is free from many vices, by being not grown to theperformance, and is only more virtuous out of weakness. Every action ishis danger, and every man his ambush. He is a ship without pilot ortackling, and only good fortune may steer him. If he scape this age, hehas scaped a tempest, and may live to be a man. 

FOOTNOTES:

[31] _Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them_, First edit. 

XVII. 

AN OLD COLLEGE BUTLER

Is none of the worst students in the house, for he keeps the set hours athis 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 wipeoff without payment. [His box and counters prove him to be a man ofreckoning, yet] he is stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and deliversnot a farthing without writing. He doubles the pains of Gollobelgicus, [32]for his books go out once a quarter, and they are much in the samenature, 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 thebarrel, which poor folks buy for their hogs but drink themselves. Hedivides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety than Keckerman, [33] andsub-divides the _à primo ortum_ so nicely, that a stomach of greatcapacity can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober man, considering hismanifold temptations of drink and strangers; and if he be overseen, 'tiswithin his own liberties, and no man ought to take exception. He is neverso well pleased with his place as when a gentleman is beholden to him forshewing him the buttery, whom he greets with a cup of single beer andsliced manchet, [34] and tells him it is the fashion of the college. Hedomineers over freshmen when they first come to the hatch, and puzzlesthem with strange language of cues and cees, and some broken Latin whichhe has learnt at his bin. His faculties extraordinary is the warming of apair of cards, and telling out a dozen of counters for post and pair, andno man is more methodical in these businesses. Thus he spends his age tillthe tap of it is run out, and then a fresh one is set abroach. 

FOOTNOTES:

[32] Gallo-Belgicus was erroneously supposed, by the ingenious Mr. Reed, to be the "first news-paper published in England;" we are, however, assured by the author of the "Life of Ruddiman, " that it has no title toso honourable a distinction. Gallo-Belgicus appears to have been rather an_Annual Register_, or _History of its own Times_, than a news-paper. Itwas written in Latin, and entitled. "MERCURIJ GALLO-BELGICI: _sive, rerumin 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 thenceto the time of its conclusion, which is uncertain, it appeared in_half-yearly_ volumes. Chalmers' _Life of Ruddiman_, 1794. The greatrequest in which newspapers were held at the publication of the presentwork, 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 pamphletof newes. "

[33] Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in Prussia, 1571, andeducated under Fabricius. Being eminently distinguished for his abilitiesand application, he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of Dantzick, totake upon him the management of their academy; an honour he then declined, but accepted, on a second application, in 1601. Here he proposed toinstruct his pupils in the complete science of philosophy in the shortspace of three years, and, for that purpose, drew up a great number ofbooks upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics, metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &c. &c. Till, as it is said, literally worn out withscholastic drudgery, he died at the early age of 38. 

[34] Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie brought to thetable, whereof the first and most excellent is the _mainchet_, which wecommonlie call white bread. Harrison, _Description of England_ prefixed toHolinshed, chap. 6. 

XVIII. 

AN UPSTART COUNTRY KNIGHT

[_Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the stuff of his clothes, notthe stuff of himself_, ][35] for he bare the king's sword before he hadarms 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, thoughbut a tanner or usurer; he purchased the land, and his son the title. Hehas doffed off the name of a [36][_country fellow_, ] but the look not soeasy, and his face still bears a relish of churne-milk. He is guarded withmore gold lace than all the gentlemen of the country, yet his body makeshis clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping is seen much in thedistinct families of dogs, and serving-men attendant on their kennels, andthe deepness of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A hawk heesteems the true burden of nobility, [37] and is exceeding ambitious toseem delighted in the sport, and have his fist gloved with hisjesses. [38] A justice of peace he is to domineer in his parish, and do hisneighbour wrong with more right. [39] He will be drunk with his hunters forcompany, and stain his gentility with droppings of ale. He is fearful ofbeing sheriff of the shire by instinct, and dreads the assize-week as muchas the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod of his own earth, or his land isthe dunghill and he the cock that crows over it: and commonly his race isquickly run, and his children's children, though they escape hanging, return to the place from whence they came. 

FOOTNOTES:

[35] _His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bare_, &c. First edit. 

[36] _Clown_, first edit. 

[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, ordelineate its history, in this place. In the earliest periods it appearsto have been exclusively practised by the nobility; and, indeed, the greatexpense at which the amusement was supported, seems to have been asufficient reason for deterring persons of more moderate income, and ofinferior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the _Sports and Pastimes_of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are given of the importance attachedto the office of falconer, and of the immense value of, and highestimation the birds themselves were held in from the commencement of theNorman government, down to the reign of James I. In which sir ThomasMonson gave _1000l. _ for a cast of hawks, which consisted of only _two_. 

The great increase of wealth, and the consequent equalization of propertyin this country, about the reign of Elizabeth, induced many of inferiorbirth to practise the amusements of their superiors, which they didwithout regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas Elyot, in his_Governour_ (1580), complains that the falkons of his day consumed so muchpoultry, that, in a few years, he feared there would be a great scarcityof it. "I speake not this, " says he, "in disprayse of the faukons, but ofthem which keepeth them lyke cockneyes. " A reproof, there can be no doubt, applicable to the character in the text. 

[38] A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of leather which arefastened to the hawk's legs, by which she is held on the fist, or joinedto the leash. They were sometimes made of silk, as appears from ¶ _TheBoke of hawkynge, huntynge, and fysshynge, with all the propertyes andmedecynes that are necessarye to be kepte_: "Hawkes haue aboute theyrlegges gesses made of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld beno lenger but that the knottes of them shulde appere in the myddes of thelefte hande, " &c. _Juliana Barnes. _ edit. 4to. "_Imprynted at London inPouls chyrchyarde by me Hery Tab. _" sig. C. Ii. 

[39] _This authority of his is that club which keeps them under as hisdogs hereafter. _ First edit. 

XIX. 

AN IDLE GALLANT

Is one that was born and shaped for his cloaths; and, if Adam had notfallen, had lived to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the first sin, and fig-leaves that were an occasion of [his] bravery. His first care ishis dress, the next his body, and in the uniting of these two lies hissoul and its faculties. He observes London trulier than the terms, and hisbusiness is the street, the stage, the court, and those places where aproper man is best shown. If he be qualified in gaming extraordinary, heis so much the more genteel and compleat, and he learns the best oaths forthe purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, and he is as curiousin their newness as the fashion. His other talk is ladies and such prettythings, or some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a great part in hisdiscourse, so does his body, the upper parts whereof are as starched ashis linnen, and perchance use the same laundress. He has learned to rufflehis face from his boot, and takes great delight in his walk to hear hisspurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat slidingly, yet he seems verycareful 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 seriousbut with his taylor, when he is in conspiracy for the next device. He isfurnished with his jests, as some wanderer with sermons, some three forall congregations, one especially against the scholar, a man to him muchridiculous, whom he knows by no other definition, but a silly fellow inblack. He is a kind of walking mercer's shop, and shows you one stuffto-day and another to-morrow; an ornament to the room he comes in as thefair bed and hangings be; and it is meerly ratable accordingly, fifty or ahundred pounds as his suit is. His main ambition is to get a knight-hood, and then an old lady, which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and acoach so much longer: Otherwise, himself and his cloaths grow staletogether, and he is buried commonly ere he dies in the gaol, or thecountry. 

XX. 

A CONSTABLE

Is a vice-roy in the street, and no man stands more upon't that he is theking's officer. His jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he hascommission 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 morningdraught, 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, andventures his head by his place, which is broke many times to keep wholethe peace. He is never so much in his majesty as in his night-watch, wherehe sits in his chair of state, a shop-stall, and invironed with a guard ofhalberts, examines all passengers. He is a very careful man in his office, but if he stay up after midnight you shall take him napping. 

XXI. 

A DOWN-RIGHT SCHOLAR

Is one that has much learning in the ore, unwrought and untried, whichtime and experience fashions and refines. He is good metal in the inside, though rough and unscoured 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 putupon 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 histhoughts not loaden with any carriage besides. He has not put on thequaint garb of the age, which is now a man's [_Imprimis and all theItem_. [40]] He has not humbled his meditations to the industry ofcomplement, nor afflicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body is notset upon nice pins, to be turning and flexible for every motion, but hisscrape 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 agentlewoman is somewhat too savory, and he mistakes her nose for her lips. A very woodcock would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the logick of acapon. He has not the glib faculty of sliding over a tale, but his wordscome squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laughter commonly before thejest. He names this word college too often, and his discourse beats toomuch on the university. The perplexity of mannerliness will not let himfeed, and he is sharp set at an argument when he should cut his meat. Heis discarded for a gamester at all games but one and thirty, [41] and attables he reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are not long and drawnout 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, andthey both go jogging in grief together. He is exceedingly censured by theinns-of-court men, for that heinous vice being out of fashion. He cannotspeak to a dog in his own dialect, and understands Greek better than thelanguage of a falconer. He has been used to a dark room, and darkcloathes, and his eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The hermitage of hisstudy, has made him somewhat uncouth in the world, and men make him worseby staring on him. Thus is he [silly and] ridiculous, and it continueswith him for some quarter of a year out of the university. But practisehim a little in men, and brush him over with good company, and he shallout-ballance those glisterers, as far as a solid substance does a feather, or gold, gold-lace. 

FOOTNOTES:

[40] _Now become a man's total_, first edit. 

[41] Of the game called _one and thirty_, I am unable to find any mentionin Mr. Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_, nor is it alluded to in any of theold plays or tracts I have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of_tables_ may be read in the interesting and valuable publication justnoticed. 

XXII. 

A PLAIN COUNTRY FELLOW

Is one that manures his ground well, but lets himself lye fallow anduntilled. He has reason enough to do his business, and not enough to beidle or melancholy. He seems to have the punishment of _Nebuchadnezzar_, for his conversation is among beasts, and his tallons none of theshortest, only he eats not grass, because he loves not sallets. His handguides the plough, and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch andland-mark is the very mound of his meditations. He expostulates with hisoxen very understandingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than English. His mind is not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat cow comein his way, he stands dumb and astonished, and though his haste be neverso great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation. His habitation issome poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn by the loopholes thatlet out smoak, which the rain had long since washed through, but for thedouble ceiling of bacon on the inside, which has hung there from hisgrandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for posterity. His dinner ishis other work, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour; he is aterrible fastner on a piece of beef, and you may hope to stave the guardoff sooner. His religion is a part of his copy-hold, which he takes fromhis land-lord, and refers it wholly to his discretion: Yet if he give himleave he is a good Christian to his power, (that is, ) comes to church inhis best cloaths, and sits there with his neighbours, where he is capableonly of two prayers, for rain, and fair weather. He apprehends God'sblessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, and never praises him buton _good ground_. Sunday he esteems a day to make merry in, and thinks abag-pipe as essential to it as evening-prayer, where he walks verysolemnly after service, with his hands coupled behind him, and censuresthe dancing of his parish. [His compliment with his neighbour is a goodthump on the back, and his salutation commonly some blunt curse. ] Hethinks nothing to be vices, but pride and ill husbandry, from which hewill gravely dissuade the youth, and has some thrifty hob-nail proverbs toclout 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 goodconscience. His feet never stink so unbecomingly as when he trots after alawyer in Westminster-hall, and even cleaves the ground with hard scrapingin beseeching his worship to take his money. He is sensible of no calamitybut the burning a stack of corn or the overflowing of a meadow, andthinks Noah's flood the greatest plague that ever was, not because itdrowned 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, hecares not. 

XXIII. 

A PLAYER. 

He knows the right use of the world, wherein he comes to play a part andso away. His life is not idle, for it is all action, and no man need bemore wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. Hisprofession 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, seldomin his own face, seldomer in his cloaths; and he pleases, the better hecounterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for gold lace. He does not only personate on the stage, but sometimes in the street, forhe is masked still in the habit of a gentleman. His parts find him oathsand good words, which he keeps for his use and discourse, and makes shewwith them of a fashionable companion. He is tragical on the stage, butrampant in the tiring-house, [42] and swears oaths there which he neverconned. The waiting women spectators are over-ears in love with him, andladies send for him to act in their chambers. Your inns-of-court men wereundone but for him, he is their chief guest and employment, and the solebusiness that makes them afternoon's-men. The poet only is his tyrant, andhe is bound to make his friend's friend drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday he fears as much as the bauds, and Lent[43] is more damageto him than the butcher. He was never so much discredited as in one act, and that was of parliament, which gives hostlers priviledge 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 challengeany Cato, for it has been his practice to die bravely. 

FOOTNOTES:

[42] The room where the performers dress, previous to coming on the stage. 

[43] This passage affords a proof of what has been doubted, namely, thatthe theatres were not permitted to be open during Lent, in the reign ofJames I. The restriction was waved in the next reign, as we find from thePuritanical Prynne:--"There are none so much addicted to stage-playes, butwhen they goe unto places where they cannot have them, or when, as theyare 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. _

XXIV. 

A DETRACTOR

Is one of a more cunning and active envy, wherewith he gnaws not foolishlyhimself, but throws it abroad and would have it blister others. He iscommonly some weak parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangelyambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but bringing themdown with his tongue to his own poorness. He is indeed like the red dragonthat pursued the woman, for when he cannot over-reach another, he openshis mouth and throws a flood after to drown him. You cannot anger himworse than to do well, and he hates you more bitterly for this, than ifyou had cheated him of his patrimony with your own discredit. He is alwaysslighting the general opinion, and wondering why such and such men shouldbe 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 tolearn, but to catch, and if there be but one soloecism, that is all hecarries away. He looks on all things with a prepared sowerness, and isstill furnished with a pish beforehand, or some musty proverb thatdisrelishes all things whatsoever. If fear of the company make him seconda 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 hegranted. His speech concludes still with an Oh! but, --and I could wish onething amended; and this one thing shall be enough to deface all his formercommendations. He will be very inward with a man to fish some bad out ofhim, and make his slanders hereafter more authentick, when it is said afriend reported it. He will inveigle you to naughtiness to get your goodname into his clutches; he will be your pandar to have you on the hip fora whore-master, and make you drunk to shew you reeling. He passes themore plausibly because all men have a smatch of his humour, and it isthought freeness which is malice. If he can say nothing of a man, he willseem 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 wishhim well, and therefore must hold my peace. He is always listening andenquiring after men, and suffers not a cloak to pass by him unexamined. Inbrief, he is one that has lost all good himself, and is loth to find it inanother. 

XXV. 

A YOUNG GENTLEMAN OF THE UNIVERSITY

Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and to say hereafter, he has beenat the university. His father sent him thither because he heard therewere the best fencing and dancing-schools; from these he has hiseducation, from his tutor the over-sight. The first element of hisknowledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated in a tavern by theway, which hereafter he will learn of himself. The two marks of hisseniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his proficiency at tennis, where when he can once play a set, he is a fresh man no more. His studyhas commonly handsome shelves, his books neat silk strings, which he shewsto his father's man, and is loth to unty[44] or take down for fear ofmisplacing. Upon foul days for recreation he retires thither, and looksover the pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is commonly some shorthistory, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his tutor gives him money tospend next day. His main loytering is at the library, where he studiesarms and books of honour, and turns a gentleman critick in pedigrees. Ofall things he endures not to be mistaken for a scholar, and hates a blacksuit though it be made of sattin. His companion is ordinarily some stalefellow, that has been notorious for an ingle to gold hatbands, [45] whom headmires at first, afterward scorns. If he have spirit or wit he may lightof better company, and may learn some flashes of wit, which may do himknight's service in the country hereafter. But he is now gone to theinns-of-court, where he studies to forget what he learned before, hisacquaintance and the fashion. 

FOOTNOTES:

[44] It may not be known to those who are not accustomed to meet with oldbooks in their original bindings, or of seeing public libraries ofantiquity, that the volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the_leaves_, not the _back_, in front; and that the two sides of the bindingwere joined together with _neat silk_ or other strings, and, in someinstances, where the books were of greater value and curiosity thancommon, even fastened with gold or silver chains. 

[45] A hanger-on to noblemen, who are distinguished at the university bygold tassels to their caps; or in the language of the present day, a_tuft-hunter_. 

XXVI. 

A WEAK MAN

Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature huddled up in haste, and lefthis best part unfinished. The rest of him is grown to be a man, only hisbrain 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 ofhim yet as when he was in the bud, a good harmless nature, a well meaningmind[46] [_and no more_. ] It is his misery that he now wants a tutor, andis too old to have one. He is two steps above a fool, and a great manymore below a wise man; yet the fool is oft given him, and by those whom heesteems most. Some tokens of him are, --he loves men better upon relationthan experience, for he is exceedingly enamoured of strangers, and nonequicklier a weary of his friend. He charges you at first meeting with allhis secrets, and on better acquaintance grows more reserved. Indeed he isone that mistakes much his abusers for friends, and his friends forenemies, and he apprehends your hate in nothing so much as in goodcouncil. One that is flexible with any thing but reason, and then onlyperverse. [A servant to every tale and flatterer, and whom the last manstill works over. ] A great affecter of wits and such prettinesses; and hiscompany is costly to him, for he seldom has it but invited. His friendshipcommonly is begun in a supper, and lost in lending money. The tavern is adangerous place to him, for to drink and be drunk is with him all one, andhis brain is sooner quenched than his thirst. He is drawn into naughtinesswith company, but suffers alone, and the bastard commonly laid to hischarge. One that will be patiently abused, and take exception a monthafter when he understands it, and then be abused again into areconcilement; and you cannot endear him more than by cozening him, and itis a temptation to those that would not. One discoverable in all sillinessto all men but himself, and you may take any man's knowledge of himbetter than his own. He will promise the same thing to twenty, and ratherthan deny one break with all. One that has no power over himself, over hisbusiness, over his friends, but a prey and pity to all; and if hisfortunes once sink, men quickly cry, Alas!--and forget him. 

FOOTNOTES:

[46] _If he could order his intentions_, first edit. 

XXVII. 

A TOBACCO-SELLER

Is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of but do not; forit is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with greaterseriousness, or challenges your judgment more in the approbation. His shopis the rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue with their noses, andtheir communication is smoak. [47] It is the place only where Spain iscommended and preferred before England itself. He should be wellexperienced in the world, for he has daily trial of men's nostrils, andnone is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing commonly of someother trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and that to his wife, which isthe flame that follows this smoak. 

FOOTNOTES:

[47] Minshew calls a tobacconist _fumi-vendulus_, a _smoak-seller_. 

XXVIII. 

A POT-POET

Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good drink may have some relish. Hisinspirations are more real than others, for they do but feign a God, buthe has his by him. His verse runs like the tap, and his invention as thebarrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spiggot. In thin drink heaspires not above a ballad, but a cup of sack inflames him, and sets hismuse and nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and stamps him nowand then a six-pence or two in reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. Hisworks would scarce sell for three half-pence, though they are given oftfor three shillings, but for the pretty title that allures the countrygentleman; for which the printer maintains him in ale a fortnight. Hisverses are like his clothes miserable centoes[48] and patches, yet theirpace is not altogether so hobbling as an almanack's. The death of a greatman or the _burning_[49] of a house furnish him with an argument, and thenine muses are out strait in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries fire!fire! [His other poems are but briefs in rhime, and like the poor Greekscollections to redeem from captivity. ] He is a man now much employed incommendations of our navy, and a bitter inveigher against the Spaniard. His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are chanted frommarket to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst the poorcountry wench melts like her butter to hear them. And these are thestories 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 atlast in some obscure painted cloth, to which himself made the verses, [51]and his life, like a cann too full, spills upon the bench. He leavestwenty shillings on the score, which my hostess loses. 

FOOTNOTES:

[48] _Cento_, a composition formed by joining scraps from other authors. _Johnson. _ Camden, in his _Remains_, uses it in the same sense. "It isquilted, as it were, out of shreds of divers poets, such as scholars calla _cento_. "

[49] _Firing_, first edit. 

[50] In the hope of discovering some account of the _strange monster_alluded to, I have looked through one of the largest and most curiouscollections 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 withsuccess, as I have found only two tracts of this description relating toGermany, both of which are in prose, and neither giving any account of amonster. 

1. _A most true Relation of a very dreadfull Earthquake, with thelamentable Effectes thereof, which began upon the 8. Of December 1612. Andyet 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 WhiteGray-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 wereplainly beheld three dead bodyes rise out of their Graues admonishing thepeople of Iudgements to come. Faithfully translated (&c. &c. ) London, Printed for Iohn Barnes, dwelling in Hosie Lane neere Smithfield, 1616. _(4to. Twenty pages, wood-cut. )

[51] It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral sentences, orscraps of verse on old tapestry hangings, which were called _paintedcloths_. Several allusions to this practice may be found in the works ofour early English dramatists. See Reed's _Shakspeare_, viii. 103

XXIX. 

A PLAUSIBLE MAN

Is one that would fain run an even path in the world, and jut against noman. His endeavour is not to offend, and his aim the general opinion. Hisconversation is a kind of continued compliment, and his life a practice ofmanners. The relation he bears to others, a kind of fashionable respect, not friendship but friendliness, which is equal to all and general, andhis kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. He loves not deeper mutualities, because he would not take sides, nor hazard himself on displeasures, whichhe principally avoids. At your first acquaintance with him he is exceedingkind and friendly, and at your twentieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an excellent command over his patience and tongue, especially thelast, which he accommodates always to the times and persons, and speaksseldom what is sincere, but what is civil. He is one that uses allcompanies, drinks all healths, and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He considers who are friends to the company, and speaks well where he issure to hear of it again. ] He can listen to a foolish discourse with anapplausive attention, and conceal his laughter at nonsense. Silly men muchhonour and esteem him, because by his fair reasoning with them as with menof 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 ofwhole companies together than any one in particular. Men gratify himnotwithstanding with a good report, and whatever vices he has besides, yethaving no enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow. 

FOOTNOTES:

[52] _Better_, first edit. 

XXX. 

A BOWL-ALLEY

Is the place where there are three things thrown away beside bowls, towit, time, money, and curses, and the last ten for one. The best sport init is the gamesters, and he enjoys it that looks on and bets not. It isthe school of wrangling, and worse than the schools, for men will cavilhere for a hair's breadth, and make a stir where a straw would end thecontroversy. No antick screws men's bodies into such strange flexures, andyou would think them here senseless, to speak sense to their bowl, and puttheir trust in intreaties for a good cast. The betters are the factiousnoise of the alley, or the gamesters beadsmen that pray for them. They aresomewhat like those that are cheated by great men, for they lose theirmoney 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 ridiculouslycomfort themselves with philosophy. To give you the moral of it; it is theemblem of the world, or the world's ambition: where most are short, orover, or wide or wrong-biassed, and some few justle in to the mistressfortune. And it is here as in the court, where the nearest are mostspited, and all blows aimed at the toucher. 

XXXI. 

THE WORLD'S WISE MAN

Is an able and sufficient wicked man: It is a proof of his sufficiencythat he is not called wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined in himselfand 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 giveyou the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. Never more active in hisbusinesses, than when they are mixed with some harm to others; and it ishis best play in this game to strike off and lie in the place: Successfulcommonly in these undertakings, because he passes smoothly those rubswhich others stumble at, as conscience and the like; and gratulateshimself much in this advantage. Oaths and falshood he counts the nearestway, and loves not by any means to go about. He has many fine quips atthis folly of plain dealing, but his "tush!" is greatest at religion; yethe uses this too, and virtue and good words, but is less dangerously adevil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to an unpractisedness in theworld, and conscience a thing merely for children. He scorns all that areso silly to _trust_[53] him, and only not scorns his enemy, especially ifas bad as himself: he fears him as a man well armed and provided, but setsboldly on good natures, as the most vanquishable. One that seriouslyadmires those worst princes, as Sforza, Borgia, and Richard the third; andcalls matters of deep villany things of difficulty. To whom murders arebut resolute acts, and treason a business of great consequence. One whomtwo or three countries make up to this compleatness, and he has travelledfor the purpose. His deepest indearment is a communication of mischief, and then only you have him fast. His conclusion is commonly one of thesetwo, either a great man, or hanged. 

FOOTNOTES:

[53] _Hate_, first edit. 

XXXII. 

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 ofterout of reparations than an old parsonage, and then he is set on work topatch it again. He deals most with broken commodities, as a broken head ora mangled face, and his gains are very ill got, for he lives by the hurtsof the commonwealth. He differs from a physician as a sore does from adisease, or the sick from those that are not whole, the one distempers youwithin, the other blisters you without. He complains of the decay ofvalour in these days, and sighs for that slashing age of sword andbuckler; and thinks the law against duels was made meerly to wound hisvocation. He had been long since undone if the charity of the stews hadnot relieved him, from whom he has his tribute as duly as the pope; or awind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart pot hit right. The rarenessof his custom makes him pitiless when it comes, and he holds a patientlonger than our [spiritual] courts a cause. He tells you what danger youhad been in if he had staid but a minute longer, and though it be but apricked finger, he makes of it much matter. He is a reasonable cleanlyman, considering the scabs he has to deal with, and your finest ladies arenow and then beholden to him for their best dressings. He curses oldgentlewomen and their charity that makes his trade their alms; but hisenvy is never stirred so much as when gentlemen go over to fight uponCalais sands, [54] whom he wishes drowned e'er they come there, rather thanthe French shall get his custom. 

FOOTNOTES:

[54] _Calais sands_ were chosen by English duellists to decide theirquarrels on, as being out of the jurisdiction of the law. This custom isnoticed in an Epigram written about the period in which this book firstappeared. 

 "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, byMrs. 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 otherinstances in Dodsley's _Old Plays_, edit. 1780. Vii. 218. --xii. 412. 

XXXIII. 

A CONTEMPLATIVE MAN

Is a scholar in this great university the world; and the same his book andstudy. He cloysters 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 distancein his infirmities and poorness. He scorns to mix himself in men'sactions, as he would to act upon a stage; but sits aloft on the scaffolda censuring spectator. [He will not lose his time by being busy, or makeso poor a use of the world as to hug and embrace it. ] Nature admits him asa partaker of her sports, and asks his approbation as it were of her ownworks and variety. He comes not in company, because he would not besolitary, but finds discourse enough with himself, and his own thoughtsare his excellent playfellows. He looks not upon a thing as a yawningstranger at novelties, but his search is more mysterious and inward, andhe spells heaven out of earth. He knits his observations together, andmakes a ladder of them all to climb to God. He is free from vice, becausehe has no occasion to imploy it, and is above those ends that make manwicked. He has learnt all can here be taught him, and comes now to heavento see more. 

XXXIV. 

A SHE PRECISE HYPOCRITE

Is one in whom good women suffer, and have their truth misinterpreted byher folly. She is one, she knows not what her self if you ask her, but sheis indeed one that has taken a toy at the fashion of religion, and isenamoured of the new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close stomacherand ruff of Geneva print, [55] and her purity consists much in her linnen. 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 lefther virginity as a relick of popery, and marries in her tribe without aring. Her devotion at the church is much in the turning up of her eye; andturning 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 twohours. She loves preaching better then praying, and of preachers, lecturers; and thinks the week day's exercise far more edifying than theSunday's. Her oftest gossipings are sabbath-day's journeys, where, (thoughan enemy to superstition, ) she will go in pilgrimage five mile to asilenced minister, when there is a better sermon in her own parish. Shedoubts of the virgin Mary's salvation, and dares not saint her, but knowsher own place in heaven as perfectly as the pew she has a key to. She isso taken up with faith she has no room for charity, and understands nogood works but what are wrought on the sampler. She accounts nothing vicesbut 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 andDalilah; and calls her own daughters Rebecca and Abigail, and not Ann butHannah. She suffers them not to learn on the virginals, [56] because oftheir affinity with organs, but is reconciled to the bells for the chimessake, since they were reformed to the tune of a psalm. She overflows sowith the bible, that she spills it upon every occasion, and will notcudgel her maids without scripture. It is a question whether she is moretroubled with the Devil, or the Devil with her: She is always challengingand daring him, and her weapon [[57]_is the Practice of Piety_. ] Nothingangers her so much as that women cannot preach, and in this point onlythinks the Brownist erroneous; but what she cannot at the church she doesat the table, where she prattles more than any against sense andAntichrist, 'till a capon's wing silence her. She expounds the priests ofBaal, reading ministers, and thinks the salvation of that parish asdesperate as the Turks. She is a main derider to her capacity of thosethat are not her preachers, and censures all sermons but bad ones. If herhusband be a tradesman, she helps him to customers, howsoever to goodcheer, and they are a most faithful couple at these meetings, for theynever fail. Her conscience is like others lust, never satisfied, and youmight better answer Scotus than her scruples. She is one that thinks sheperforms all her duties to God in hearing, and shews the fruits of it intalking. She is more fiery against the may-pole than her husband, andthinks she might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the fidler. She isan everlasting argument, but I am weary of her. 

FOOTNOTES:

[55] Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the smallness andprecision of their _ruffs_, which were termed _in print_ from theexactness of the folds. So in Mynshul's _Essays_, 4to. 1618. "I vndertookea warre when I adventured to speake in _print_, (not in _print asPuritan's ruffes_ are set. )" The term of _Geneva print_ probably arosefrom the minuteness of the type used at Geneva. In the _Merry Devil ofEdmonton_, a comedy, 4to. 1608, is an expression which goes some way toprove the correctness of this supposition:--"I see by thy eyes thou hastbin reading _little Geneua print_;"--and, that _small ruffs_ were worn bythe puritanical set, an instance appears in Mayne's _City Match_, acomedy, 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 Genevaprint_ meant a _small, closely-folded ruff_, which was the distinction ofa non-conformist. 

[56] A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a spinnet, and shapedlike a piano-forte: the mode of playing on this instrument was thereforesimilar to that of the organ. 

[57] _Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as being the sagesentences of some of her own sectaries. _ First edit. 

XXXV. 

A SCEPTICK IN RELIGION

Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof notone but stirs him and none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity than heis taken to be; for it is out of his belief of every thing, that he fullybelieves nothing. Each religion scares him from its contrary: nonepersuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he issomething of an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is partly aChristian; and a perfect heretic, but that there are so many to distracthim. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the leastreason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most aconfused and wild Christian, not specialized by any form, but capable ofall. He uses the land's religion, because it is next him, yet he sees notwhy he may not take the other, but he chuses this, not as better, butbecause there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and scruples betterthan resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His learning istoo much for his brain, and his judgment too little for his learning, andhis over-opinion of both, spoils all. Pity it was his mischance of being ascholar; for it does only distract and irregulate him, and the world byhim. He hammers much in general upon our opinion's uncertainty, and thepossibility of erring makes him not venture on what is true. He istroubled at this naturalness of religion to countries, that protestantismshould be born so in England and popery abroad, and that fortune and thestars should so much share in it. He likes not this connection of thecommon-weal 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 everynew day, as his last discourse-book's meditations transport him. He couldlike the gray hairs of popery, did not some dotages there stagger him: hewould come to us sooner, but our new name affrights him. He is taken withtheir miracles, but doubts an imposture; he conceives of our doctrinebetter, but it seems too empty and naked. He cannot drive into his fancythe circumscription of truth to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded tothink their old legends true. He approves well of our faith, and more oftheir works, and is sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. Hisconscience interposes itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would partboth, is by both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon thereading a good writer, and at Bellarmine[58] recoils as far back again;and the fathers justle him from one side to another. Now Socinus[59] andVorstius[60] afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse thanhimself. 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 hebears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all religions outof him than one. He cannot think so many wise men should be in error, norso many honest men out of the way, and his wonder is double when he seesthese oppose one another. He hates authority as the tyrant of reason, andyou cannot anger him worse than with a father's _dixit_, and yet that manyare not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his doubt. In sum, hiswhole life is a question, and his salvation a greater, which death onlyconcludes, and then he is resolved. 

FOOTNOTES:

[58] Robert Bellarmin, an Italian Jesuit, was born at Monte Pulciano, atown in Tuscany, in the year 1542, and in 1560 entered himself among theJesuits. In 1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in 1602 waspresented with the arch-bishopric of Capua: this, however, he resigned in1605, when pope Paul V. Desired to have him near himself. He was employedin 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, inthe same year. 

Bellarmin was one of the best controversial writers of his time; fewauthors have done greater honour to their profession or opinions, andcertain it is that none have ever more ably defended the cause of theRomish church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater advantage. As a proof of Bellarmin's abilities, there was scarcely a divine of anyeminence among the protestants who did not attack him: Bayle aptly says, "they made his name resound every where, ut littus Styla, Styla, omnesonaret. "

[59] Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of the sect whichgoes under his name, that a few words will be sufficient. He was born in1539, at Sienna, and imbibed his opinions from the instruction of hisuncle, who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, the abilitiesof his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all his papers. After living severalyears in the world, principally at the court of Francis de Medicis, Socinus, in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate the principlesof his uncle, to which, it is said, he made great additions andalterations of his own. In the support of his opinions, he sufferedconsiderable hardships, and received the greatest insults andpersecutions; to avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, inPoland, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five. 

[60] Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was peculiarly detested bythe Calvinists, and who had even the honour to be attacked by king Jamesthe first, of England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through theinterposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leiden, where he had attainedthe divinity-chair, and several other preferments, he retired to Toningen, where he died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety and resignation. 

XXXVI. 

AN ATTORNEY. 

His antient beginning was a blue coat, since a livery, and his hatchingunder a lawyer; whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now nested forhimself, and with his boarded pence purchased an office. Two desks and aquire of paper set him up, where he now sits in state for all corners. Wecan call him no great author, yet he writes very much and with the infamyof the court is maintained in his libels. [61] He has some smatch of ascholar, 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, contraryto great men, maintained by his followers, that is, his poor countryclients, that worship him more than their landlords, and be they neversuch churls, he looks for their courtesy. He first racks them soundlyhimself, and then delivers them to the lawyer for execution. His looks arevery solicitous, importing much haste and dispatch, he is never withouthis hands full of business, that is--of paper. His skin becomes at last asdry 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 theinns of court, when all his skill is stuck in his girdle, or in hisoffice-window. Strife and wrangling have made him rich, and he is thankfulto his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he live in a country village, hemakes all his neighbours good subjects; for there shall be nothing donebut what there is law for. His business gives him not leave to think ofhis conscience, and when the time, or term of his life is going out, fordooms-day he is secure; for he hopes he has a trick to reverse judgment. 

FOOTNOTES:

[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 humblycomplaining--your poor orator. _ First edit. 

[62] To _moote_ a terme vsed in the innes of the court; it is the handlingof a case, as in the Vniuersitie their disputations, &c. So _Minshew_, whosupposes it to be derived from the French, _mot, verbum, quasi verbafacere, aut sermonem de aliqua re habere_. _Mootmen_ are those who, havingstudied seven or eight years, are qualified to practise, and appear toanswer to our term of barristers. 

XXXVII. 

A PARTIAL MAN

Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the one speaks ill falsely, andthe other well, and both slander the truth. He is one that is stillweighing men in the scale of comparisons, and puts his affections in theone balance and that sways. His friend always shall do best, and you shallrarely hear good of his enemy. He considers first the man and then thething, and restrains all merit to what they deserve of him. Commendationshe esteems not the debt of worth, but the requital of kindness; and if youask his reason, shews his interest, and tells you how much he is beholdento that man. He is one that ties his judgment to the wheel of fortune, andthey determine giddily both alike. He prefers England before othercountries because he was born there, and Oxford before other universities, because he was brought up there, and the best scholar there is one of hisown college, and the best scholar there is one of his friends. He is agreat favourer of great persons, and his argument is still that whichshould be antecedent; as, --he is in high place, therefore virtuous;--he ispreferred, therefore worthy. Never ask his opinion, for you shall hear buthis faction, and he is indifferent in nothing but conscience. Men esteemhim for this a zealous affectionate, but they mistake him many times, forhe does it but to be esteemed so. Of all men he is worst to write anhistory, for he will praise a Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some pettyrespect of his all posterity shall be cozened. 

XXXVIII. 

A TRUMPETER

Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he eats nothing but what comesthrough this way. His profession is not so worthy as to occasioninsolence, and yet no man so much puft up. His face is as brazen as histrumpet, and (which is worse, ) as a fidler's, from whom he differeth onlyin this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea of drink and much wind makea storm perpetually in his cheeks, and his look is like his noise, blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of war, but now ofpeace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are sure topay for it. He is the common attendant of glittering folks, whether in thecourt or stage, where he is always the prologue's prologue. [63] He issomewhat in the nature of a hogshead, shrillest when he is empty; whenhis belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves life more to be ablast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a counterfeit bankrupt, thrivesbest when he is blown up. 

FOOTNOTES:

[63] The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets. "Present not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill thequaking prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and isready 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 blackeveluet cloke vpon my backe? _Haue you not sounded thrice?_" Heywood's_Foure Prentises of London_. 4to. 1615. 

XXXIX. 

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 publicklyaffected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That neverowns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though heknows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, "thus men say;" and "thusmost do;" and "thus the world goes;" and thinks this enough to poise theother. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks all a greatman speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it allto a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinionout of the applauded way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and Jesuitsvery villains, and is still cursing the pope and Spinola. One that thinksthe gravest cassock the best scholar; and the best cloaths the finest man. That is taken only with broad and obscene wit, and hisses any thing toodeep for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money above all our Englishpoets, because the voice has gone so, and he has read none. That is muchravished with such a nobleman's courtesy, and would venture his life forhim, because he put off his hat. One that is foremost still to kiss theking's hand, and cries, "God bless his majesty!" loudest. That rails onall men condemned and out of favour, and the first that says "away withthe traitors!"--yet struck with much ruth at executions, and for pity tosee a man die, could kill the hangman. That comes to London to see it, andthe 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, andconceives no harm of state, but ill trading. Within this compass too, comethose that are too much wedged into the world, and have no liftingthoughts above those things; that call to thrive, to do well; andpreferment only the grace of God. That aim all studies at this mark, andshew you poor scholars as an example to take heed by. That think theprison and want a judgment for some sin, and never like well hereafter ofa jail-bird. That know no other content but wealth, bravery, and thetown-pleasures; that think all else but idle speculation, and thephilosophers madmen. In short, men that are carried away with alloutwardnesses, shews, appearances, the stream, the people; for there is noman of worth but has a piece of singularity, and scorns something. 

XL. 

A PLODDING STUDENT

Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, that would change the dulllead of his brain into finer metal, with success many times asunprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own oiland candles. He has a strange forced appetite to learning, and to atchieveit brings nothing but patience and a body. His study is not great butcontinual, and consists much in the sitting up till after midnight in arug-gown and a night-cap, 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 intologick, and arrive at some ability in an argument; but for politer studieshe 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 fewgleanings there; and his disposition of them is as just as thebookbinders, a setting or glewing of them together. He is a greatdiscomforter of young students, by telling them what travel it has costhim, and how often his brain turned at philosophy, and makes others fearstudying as a cause of duncery. He is a man much given to apothegms, whichserve him for wit, and seldom breaks any jest but which belongs to someLacedemonian 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 hethat sets forth on the Saturday shall overtake him. 

XLI. 

PAUL'S WALK[64]

Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of GreatBritain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may herediscern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap ofstones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeplenot 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 kindof 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 thesynod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most seriousposture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is the antickof tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you need go nofarther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you maycheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all famouslies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined and stampedin the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few pockets. Thebest sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves sanctuary, whichrob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst every searcher is abush to hide them. It is the other expence of the day, after plays, tavern, and a bawdy-house; and men have still some oaths left to swearhere. It is the ear's brothel, and satisfies their lust and itch. Thevisitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal inhabitantsand possessors are stale knights and captains[65] out of service; men oflong rapiers and breeches, which after all turn merchants here andtraffick for news. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and travel fora stomach; but thriftier men make it their ordinary, and board here verycheap. [66] Of all such places it is least haunted with hobgoblins, for ifa ghost would walk more, he could not. 

FOOTNOTES:

[64] St. Paul's cathedral was, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, asort of exchange and public parade, where business was transacted betweenmerchants, and where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves. Thereader will find several allusions to this custom in the _variorum_edition of Shakspeare, _K. Henry IV. _ part 2. Osborne, in his _TraditionalMemoires on the Reigns of Elizabeth and James_, 12mo. 1658, says, "It wasthe fashion of those times (James I. ) and did so continue till these, (theinterregnum, ) for the principal gentry, lords, courtiers, and men of allprofessions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in _St. Paul's_ church byeleven, and walk in the middle isle till twelve, and after dinner fromthree to six; during which time some discoursed of business, others ofnews. " Weever complains of the practice, and says, "it could be wishedthat walking in the middle isle of _Paules_ might be forborne in the timeof diuine seruice. " _Ancient Funeral Monuments_, 1631, page 373. 

[65] In the _Dramatis Personæ_ to Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, Bobadil is styled a _Paul's man_; and Falstaff tells us that he boughtBardolph in _Paul's_. _King Henry IV. _ Part 2. 

[66]

 ----You'd not doe Like your penurious father, who was wont _To walke his dinner out in Paules_. 

Mayne's _City Match_, 1658. 

XLII. 

A COOK. 

The kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in it, where his meat and he frytogether. His revenues are showered down from the fat of the land, and heinterlards his own grease among to help the drippings. Cholerick he is notby nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd temptation that thechopping-knife is so near. His weapons, ofter offensive, are a mess of hotbroth and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in his way. In thekitchen he will domineer and rule the roast in spight of his master, andcurses in the very dialect of his calling. His labour is meer blusteringand fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a storm, a thousandbusinesses 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 goodchristian till a hissing pot of ale has slacked him, like water cast on afirebrand, and for that time he is tame and dispossessed. His cunning isnot small in architecture, for he builds strange fabricks in paste, towersand castles, which are offered to the assault of valiant teeth, and likeDarius' palace in one banquet demolished. He is a pittiless murderer ofinnocents, and he mangles poor fowls with unheard-of tortures; and it isthought the martyrs persecutions were devised from hence: sure we are, St. Lawrence's gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best faculty is at thedresser, where he seems to have great skill in the tacticks, ranging hisdishes in order military, and placing with great discretion in thefore-front meats more strong and hardy, and the more cold and cowardly inthe rear; as quaking tarts and quivering custards, and such milk-sopdishes, which scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now thesecond course is gone up and he down in the cellar, where he drinks andsleeps till four o'clock[67] in the afternoon, and then returns again tohis regiment. 

FOOTNOTES:

[67] The time of supper was about five o'clock. See note at page 39. 

XLIII. 

A BOLD FORWARD MAN

Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden more to his elbow than hislegs, for he does not go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in theworld, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts on. Hecan do some things, but dare do much more, and is like a desperatesoldier, who will assault any thing where he is sure not to enter. He isnot so well opinioned of himself, as industrious to make others, andthinks 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 willbe 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 likesome needy flaunting goldsmith, nothing in the inner room, but all on thecupboard. If he be a scholar, he has commonly stepped into the pulpitbefore a degree, yet into that too before he deserved it. He never defersSt. 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 solemnentertainment he will find a mouth, find a speech who will. He is greedyof great acquaintance and many, and thinks it no small advancement to riseto be known. [He is one that has all the great names at court at hisfingers ends, and their lodgings; and with a saucy, "my lord, " will salutethe best of them. ] His talk at the table is like Benjamin's mess, fivetimes to his part, and no argument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of alldisgraces he endures not to be non-plussed, and had rather fly forsanctuary to nonsense which few descry, than to nothing which all. Hisboldness is beholden to other men's modesty, which rescues him many timesfrom 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 arare man; and wiser men though they know him [yet] take him [in] for theirpleasure, or as they would do a sculler for being next at hand. Thuspreferment at last stumbles on him, because he is still in the way. Hiscompanions that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him comeready for scarlet, whilst themselves lye musty in their old clothes andcolleges. 

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Paul's cross stood in the church-yard of that cathedral, on the northside, towards the east end. It was used for the preaching of sermons tothe populace; and Holinshed mentions two instances of public penance beingperformed here; in 1534 by some of the adherents of Elizabeth Barton, wellknown as _the holy maid of Kent_, and in 1536 by sir Thomas Newman, apriest, who "_bare a faggot at Paules crosse for singing masse with goodale_. "

XLIV. 

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 theirdinner. He abhors, therefore, works of charity, and thinks his bread castaway when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice neither, for theweigh-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 toprison. [70] Marry a pillory is his deadly enemy, and he never hears wellafter. 

FOOTNOTES:

[69] _Dole_ originally signified the portion of alms that was given awayat the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note to _Shakspeare_. Sir JohnHawkins affirms that the benefaction distributed at Lambeth palace gate, is to this day called the _dole_. 

[70] That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered to be of lightweight, are distributed to the needy prisoners. 

XLV. 

A PRETENDER TO LEARNING

Is one that would make all others more fools than himself, for though heknow nothing, he would not have the would know so much. He conceitsnothing in learning but the opinion, which he seeks to purchase withoutit, though he might with less labour cure his ignorance than hide it. Heis indeed a kind of scholar-mountebank, and his art our delusion. He istricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, and at the firstencounter 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 younot 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 whichformality he was asleep. His table is spread wide with some classickfolio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid open in thesame page this half year. His candle is always a longer sitter up thanhimself, and the _boast_[72] of his window at midnight. He walks muchalone in the posture of meditation, and has a book still before his facein the fields. His pocket is seldom without a Greek testament or Hebrewbible, which he opens only in the church, and that when some stander-bylooks over. He has sentences for company, some scatterings of Seneca andTacitus, which are good upon all occasions. If he reads any thing in themorning, it comes up all at dinner; and as long as that lasts, thediscourse is his. He is a great plagiary of tavern wit, and comes tosermons only that he may talk of Austin. His parcels are the meerscrapings from company, yet he complains at parting what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seem a judgment, and listens with a sowerattention to what he understands not. He talks much of Scaliger, andCasaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers some unheard-of Dutch name beforethem all. He has verses to bring in upon these and these hints, and itshall go hard but he will wind in his opportunity. He is critical in alanguage he cannot conster, and speaks seldom under Arminius in divinity. His business and retirement and caller away is his study, and he protestsno delight to it comparable. He is a great nomenclator of authors, whichhe 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 any thing butlearning, and learns all from talking. Three encounters with the same menpump him, and then he only puts in or gravely says nothing. He has takenpains to be an ass, though not to be a scholar, and is at lengthdiscovered and laughed at. 

FOOTNOTES:

[71] _Study_, first edit. 

[72] The first edition reads _post_, and, I think, preferably. 

XLVI. 

A HERALD

Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of nobility, and to the makingof him went not a generation but a genealogy. His trade is honour, and hesells it and gives arms himself, though he be no gentleman. His bribes arelike those of a corrupt judge, for they are the prices of blood. He seemsvery rich in discourse, for he tells you of whole fields of gold andsilver, or, and argent, worth much in French but in English nothing. He isa great diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and not a by-channel orbastard escapes him; yea he does with them like some shameless queen, fathers more children on them than ever they begot. His traffick is a kindof pedlary-ware, scutchions, and pennons, and little daggers and lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen; but his penny-worths are rampant, for you may buy three whole brawns cheaper than three boar's heads of himpainted. He was sometimes the terrible coat of Mars, but is now for moremerciful battles in the tilt-yard, where whosoever is victorious, thespoils are his. He is an art in England but in Wales nature, where theyare born with heraldry in their mouths, and each name is a pedigree. 

XLVII. 

THE COMMON SINGING-MEN IN CATHEDRAL CHURCHES

Are a bad society, and yet a company of good fellows, that roar deep inthe quire, deeper in the tavern. They are the eight parts of speech whichgo to the syntaxis of service, and are distinguished by their noises muchlike bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. Their pastime orrecreation is prayers, their exercise drinking, yet herein so religiouslyaddicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunk. Their humanity isa leg to the residencer, their learning a chapter, for they learn itcommonly before they read it; yet the old Hebrew names are little beholdento them, for they mis-call them worse than one another. Though they neverexpound the scripture, they handle it much, and pollute the gospel withtwo things, their conversation and their thumbs. Upon worky-days, theybehave themselves at prayers as at their pots, for they swallow them downin an instant. Their gowns are laced commonly with streamings of ale, thesuperfluities of a cup or throat above measure. Their skill in melodymakes them the better companions abroad, and their anthems abler to singcatches. Long lived for the most part they are not, especially the base, they overflow their bank so oft to drown the organs. Briefly, if theyescape arresting, they die constantly in God's service; and to take theirdeath with more patience, they have wine and cakes at their funeral, andnow they keep[73] the church a great deal better, and help to fill itwith their bones as before with their noise. 

FOOTNOTES:

[73] _Keep_ for attend. 

XLVIII. 

A SHOP-KEEPER. 

His shop is his well stuft book, and himself the title-page of it, orindex. He utters much to all men, though he sells but to a few, andintreats for his own necessities, by asking others what they lack. No manspeaks more and no more, for his words are like his wares, twenty of onesort, and he goes over them alike to all commers. He is an arrogantcommender of his own things; for whatsoever he shews you is the best inthe town, though the worst in his shop. His conscience was a thing thatwould have laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put it off, andmakes 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 mostof his years to learn. He never speaks so truely as when he says he woulduse you as his brother; for he would abuse his brother, and in his shopthinks it lawful. His religion is much in the nature of his customers, andindeed the pander to it: and by a mis-interpreted sense of scripture makesa 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 hishate than his trust. 

XLIX. 

A BLUNT MAN

Is one whose wit is better pointed than his behaviour, and that coarse andimpolished, not out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a great enemy tothe fine gentleman, and these things of complement, and hates ceremony inconversation, as the Puritan in religion. He distinguishes not betwixtfair and double dealing, and suspects all smoothness for the dress ofknavery. He starts at the encounter of a salutation as an assault, andbeseeches you in choler to forbear your courtesy. He loves not any thingin discourse that comes before the purpose, and is always suspicious of apreface. Himself falls rudely still on his matter without anycircumstance, except he use an old proverb for an introduction. He swearsold out-of-date innocent oaths, as, by the mass! by our lady! and suchlike, and though there be lords present, he cries, my masters! He isexceedingly in love with his humour, which makes him always profess andproclaim it, and you must take what he says patiently, because he is aplain man. His nature is his excuse still, and other men's tyrant; for hemust speak his mind, and that is his worst, and craves your pardon mostinjuriously for not pardoning you. His jests best become him, becausethey come from him rudely and unaffected; and he has the luck commonly tohave them famous. He is one that will do more than he will speak, and yetspeak more than he will hear; for though he love to touch others, he istouchy 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 goodword is like an eulogy in a satire. He is generally better favoured thanhe favours, as being commonly well expounded in his bitterness, and no manspeaks treason more securely. He chides great men with most boldness, andis counted for it an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in the behalf ofthe commonwealth, and is in prison oft for it with credit. He is generallyhonest, but more generally thought so, and his downrightness credits him, as a man not well bended and crookned to the times. In conclusion, he isnot easily bad, in whom this quality is nature, but the counterfeit ismost dangerous, since he is disguised in a humour, that professes not todisguise. 

FOOTNOTES:

[74] _Squeazy_, niggardly. 

L. 

A HANDSOME HOSTESS

Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above the fair sign, or fairlodgings. She is the loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants androarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and are not easily got off. Herlips are your welcome, and your entertainment her company, which is putinto the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcel in it. No citizen's wifeis demurer than she at the first greeting, nor draws in her mouth with achaster simper; but you may be more familiar without distaste, and shedoes not startle at bawdry. She is the confusion of a pottle of sack morethan would have been spent elsewhere, and her little jugs are accepted tohave her kiss excuse them. She may be an honest woman, but is not believedso in her parish, and no man is a greater infidel in it than her husband. 

LI. 

A CRITIC

Is one that has spelled over a great many books, and his observation isthe orthography. He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the wounds ofdust 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 thanthe author. He runs over all sciences to peruse their syntaxis, and thinksall learning comprised in writing Latin. He tastes stiles as somediscreeter palates do wine; and tells you which is genuine, whichsophisticate and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany of old words, deceased long before the Cæsars, and entombed by Varro, and the modernestman he follows is Plautus. He writes _omneis_ at length, and _quidquid_, and his gerund is most inconformable. He is a troublesome vexer of thedead, which after so long sparing must rise up to the judgment of hiscastigations. He is one that makes all books sell dearer, whilst he swellsthem into folios with his comments. [75]

FOOTNOTES:

[75] On this passage, I fear, the present volume will be a sufficientcommentary. 

LII. 

A SERGEANT, OR CATCH-POLE

Is one of God's judgments; and which our roarers do only conceiveterrible. He is the properest shape wherein they fancy Satan; for he is atmost but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. He is the creditor's hawk, wherewith they seize upon flying birds, and fetch them again in histallons. He is the period of young gentlemen, or their full stop, for whenhe meets with them they can go no farther. His ambush is a shop-stall, orclose lane, and his assault is cowardly at your back. He respites you inno place but a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer than aclock-maker. The common way to run from him is through him, which is oftenattempted and atchieved, [76] [_and no man is more beaten out of charity_. ]He is one makes the street more dangerous than the highways, and men gobetter provided in their walks than their journey. He is the first handselof the young rapiers of the templers; and they are as proud of his repulseas an Hungarian of killing a Turk. He is a moveable prison, and his handstwo manacles hard to be filed off. He is an occasioner of disloyalthoughts in the commonwealth, for he makes men hate the king's name worsethan the devil's. 

FOOTNOTES:

[76] _And the clubs out of charity knock him down_, first edit. 

LIII. 

AN UNIVERSITY DUN

Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, for his own money has hiredhim. He is an inferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards, contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, too weak to be put insuit, 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 attendancewith more patience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore beleaguerer ofchambers, and assaults them sometimes with furious knocks; yet findsstrong resistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a great complainer ofscholar's loytering, for he is sure never to find them within, and yet heis the chief cause many times that makes them study. He grumbles at theingratitude of men that shun him for his kindness, but indeed it is hisown fault, for he is too great an upbraider. No man puts them more totheir brain than he; and by shifting him off they learn to shift in theworld. Some chuse their rooms on purpose to avoid his surprisals, andthink the best commodity in them his prospect. He is like a rejectedacquaintance, hunts those that care not for his company, and he knows itwell enough, and yet will not keep away. The sole place to supple him isthe buttery, where he takes grievous use upon your name, [77] and he is onemuch wrought with good beer and rhetorick. He is a man of most unfortunatevoyages, and no gallant walks the streets to less purpose. 

FOOTNOTES:

[77] That is, _runs you up a long score_. 

LIV. 

A STAYED MAN

Is a man: one that has taken order with himself, and sets a rule to thoselawlesnesses within him: whose life is distinct and in method, and hisactions, as it were, cast up before; not loosed into the world's vanities, but gathered up and contracted in his station: not scattered into manypieces of businesses, but that one course he takes, goes through with. Aman firm and standing in his purposes, not heaved off with each wind andpassion: that squares his expence to his coffers, and makes the totalfirst, and then the items. One that thinks what he does, and does what hesays, 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'sprotestations:--that is confident of nothing in futurity, yet hisconjectures oft true prophecies:--that makes a pause still betwixt hisear and belief, and is not too hasty to say after others. One whose tongueis strung up like a clock till the time, and then strikes, and says muchwhen he talks little:--that can see the truth betwixt two wranglers, andsees them agree even in that they fall out upon:--that speaks no rebellionin a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of sack. A man cool andtemperate in his passions, not easily betrayed by his choler:--that viesnot oath with oath, nor heat with heat, but replies calmly to an angryman, and is too hard for him too:--that can come fairly off from captain'scompanies, and neither drink nor quarrel. One whom no ill hunting sendshome discontented, and makes him swear at his dogs and family. One nothasty to pursue the new fashion, nor yet affectedly true to his old roundbreeches; but gravely handsome, and to his place, which suits him betterthan his taylor: active in the world without disquiet, and careful withoutmisery; yet neither ingulphed in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but has his hour for both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but hismirth is a cheerful look: of a composed and settled countenance, not set, nor much alterable with sadness or joy. He affects nothing so wholly, thathe must be a miserable man when he loses it; but fore-thinks what willcome hereafter, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. One that loveshis credit, not this word reputation; yet can save both without a duel. Whose entertainments to greater men are respectful, not complementary; andto 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. Aman of more wisdom than wittiness, and brain than fancy; and abler to anything than to make verses. 

LV. 

A MODEST MAN

Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that shews better to all men thanhimself, and so much the better to all men, as less to himself;[78] for noquality 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 muchthey are mistaken, and is angry almost if they do not believe him. Nothingthreatens him so much as great expectation, which he thinks moreprejudicial than your under-opinion, because it is easier to make thatfalse, than this true. He is one that sneaks from a good action, as onethat had pilfered, and dare not justify it; and is more blushinglyreprehended in this, than others in sin: that counts all publickdeclarings of himself, but so many penances before the people; and themore you applaud him, the more you abash him, and he recovers not his facea month after. One that is easy to like any thing of another man's, andthinks all he knows not of him better than that he knows. He excuses thatto 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 itrather, because it is his own, and is confuted and thanks you. He seesnothing more willingly than his errors, and it is his error sometimes tobe too soon persuaded. He is content to be auditor, where he only canspeak, and content to go away, and think himself instructed. No man is soweak 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 histongue and passions: and even impudent men look for this reverence fromhim, and distaste that in him, which they suffer in themselves, as one inwhom vice is ill-favoured, and shews more scurvily than another. A bawdyjest shall shame him more than a bastard another man, and he that got itshall censure him among the rest. And he is coward to nothing more than anill tongue, and whosoever dare lye on him hath power over him; and if youtake him by his look, he is guilty. The main ambition of his life is notto be discredited; and for other things, his desires are more limited thanhis fortunes, which he thinks preferment, though never so mean, and thathe is to do something to deserve this. He is too tender to venture ongreat places, and would not hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, itwas the violence of his friends constrained him, how hardly soever heobtain it, he was harder persuaded to seek it. 

FOOTNOTES:

[78] This, as well as many other passages in this work, has beenappropriated by John Dunton, the celebrated bookseller, as his own. Seehis character of Mr. Samuel Hool, in _Dunton's Life and Errors_, 8vo. 1705. P. 337. 

LVI. 

A MEER EMPTY WIT

Is like one that spends on the stock without any revenues coming in, andwill shortly be no wit at all; for learning is the fuel to the fire ofwit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out it self. A good conceit ortwo bates of such a man, and makes a sensible weakening in him; and hisbrain recovers it not a year after. The rest of him are bubbles andflashes, darted out on a sudden, which, if you take them while they arewarm, may be laughed at; if they are cool, are nothing. He speaks best onthe present apprehension, for meditation stupifies him, and the more he isin travel, the less he brings forth. His things come off then, as in anauseateing stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, strains andconvulsions, and some astonishing bombasts, which men only, till theyunderstand, are scared with. A verse or some such work he may sometimesget up to, but seldom above the stature of an epigram, and that with somerelief out of Martial, which is the ordinary companion of his pocket, andhe reads him as he were inspired. Such men are commonly the triflingthings of the world, good to make merry the company, and whom only menhave to do withal when they have nothing to do, and none are less theirfriends than who are most their company. Here they vent themselves over acup some-what more lastingly; all their words go for jests, and all theirjests for nothing. They are nimble in the fancy of some ridiculous thing, and reasonable good in the expression. Nothing stops a jest when it'scoming, neither friends, nor danger, but it must out howsoever, thoughtheir blood come out after, and then they emphatically rail, and areemphatically beaten, and commonly are men reasonable familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose life is but to laugh and be laughed at; andonly wits in jest and fools in earnest. 

LVII. 

A DRUNKARD

Is one that will be a man to-morrow morning, but is now what you will makehim, 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 liesopen to the mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds him disarmed andfenceless, 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. Everyman sees him, as Cham saw his father the first of this sin, an uncoveredman, and though his garment be on, uncovered; the secretest parts of hissoul 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 becloggedand cannot pass: all his members are out of office, and his heels do buttrip up one another. He is a blind man with eyes, and a cripple with legson. All the use he has of this vessel himself, is to hold thus much; forhis drinking is but a scooping in of so many quarts, which are filled outinto his body, and that filled out again into the room, which is commonlyas drunk as he. Tobacco serves to air him after a washing, and is his onlybreath and breathing while. He is the greatest enemy to himself, and thenext to his friend, and then most in the act of his kindness, for hiskindness is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down first: and men comefrom him as a battle, wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a man off morefrom his credit, and business, and makes him more retchlesly[79] carelesswhat becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a serious thought, or ifhe do, it is such melancholy that it sends him to be drunk again. 

FOOTNOTES:

[79] Rechlesse, _negligent_. Saxon, rectlerre. Chaucer uses it also as anadjective:

 "I may not in this cas be _reccheles_. "

_Clerkes Tale_, v. 8364. 

LVIII. 

A PRISON

Is the grave of the living, [80] where they are shut up from the world andtheir friends; and the worms that gnaw upon them their own thoughts andthe jaylor. A house of meagre looks and ill smells, for lice, drink, andtobacco are the compound. Pluto's court was expressed from this fancy; andthe persons are much about the same parity that is there. You may ask, asMenippus 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 ofnasty poverty. Only to be out at elbows is in fashion here, and a greatindecorum not to be thread-bare. Every man shews here like so many wracksupon the sea, here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the relicks of somany mannors, a doublet without buttons; and 'tis a spectacle of more pitythan executions are. The company one with the other is but a vying ofcomplaints, and the causes they have to rail on fortune and foolthemselves, and there is a great deal of good fellowship in this. They arecommonly, next their creditors, most bitter against the lawyers, as menthat have had a great stroke in assisting them hither. Mirth here isstupidity or hard-heartedness, yet they feign it sometimes to slipmelancholy, and keep off themselves from themselves, and the torment ofthinking what they have been. Men huddle up their life here as a thing ofno use, and wear it out like an old suit, the faster the better; and hethat deceives the time best, best spends it. It is the place where newcomers are most welcomed, and, next them, ill news, as that which extendstheir fellowship in misery, and leaves few to insult:--and they breaththeir discontents more securely here, and have their tongues at moreliberty than abroad. Men see here much sin and much calamity; and wherethe last does not mortify, the other hardens; as those that are worsehere, are desperately worse, and those from whom the horror of sin istaken off and the punishment familiar: and commonly a hard thought passeson all that come from this school; which though it teach much wisdom, itis too late, and with danger: and it is better be a fool than come here tolearn it. 

FOOTNOTES:

[80] "A prison is a graue to bury men aliue, and a place wherein a man forhalfe a yeares experience may learne more law then he can at Westminsterfor an hundred pound. " Mynshul's _Essays and Characters of a Prison_. 4to. 1618. 

LIX. 

A SERVING MAN

Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as well as his clothes, andsomewhat in the same nature, for he is cast behind his master asfashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he is but _in querpo_[81]without him. His properness[82] qualifies him, and of that a good leg;for his head he has little use but to keep it bare. A good dull wit bestsuits with him to comprehend common sense and a trencher; for any greaterstore 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 hewench or drink, he comes him in an under kind, and thinks it a part of hisduty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his master's; of his faction, --ofhis cut, --of his pleasures:--he is handsome for his credit, and drunk forhis credit, and if he have power in the cellar, commands the parish. He isone that keeps the best company, and is none of it; for he knows all thegentlemen his master knows, and picks from thence some hawking andhorse-race terms, [83] which he swaggers with in the ale-house, where he isonly called master. His mirth is bawdy jests with the wenches, and, behindthe door, bawdy earnest. The best work he does is his marrying, for itmakes an honest woman, and if he follows in it his master's direction, itis commonly the best service he does him. 

FOOTNOTES:

[81] _In querpo_ is a corruption from the Spanish word _cuérpo_. "_Encuérpo, a man without a cloak. _" Pineda's _Dictionary_, 1740. The presentsignification evidently is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, orattendant, is but half dressed:--he possesses only in part the appearanceof a man of fashion. "_To walk in cuerpo, is to go without a cloak. _"_Glossographia Anglicana Nova_, 8vo. 1719. 

[82] _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. 

[83] "Why you know an'a man have not skill in the hawking and huntinglanguages now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him. " _Master Stephen. __Every Man in his Humour. _

LX. 

AN INSOLENT MAN

Is a fellow newly great and newly proud; one that hath put himself intoanother face upon his preferment, for his own was not bred to it. One whomfortune hath shot up to some office or authority, and he shoots up hisneck to his fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. His verycountenance and gesture bespeak how much he is, and if you understand himnot, he tells you, and concludes every period with his place, which youmust 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 asurlier 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 torecover. If you have any thing to use him in, you are his vassal for thattime, and must give him the patience of any injury, which he does only toshew what he may do. He snaps you up bitterly, because he will beoffended, and tells you, you are sawcy and troublesome, and sometimestakes your money in this language. His very courtesies are intolerable, they are done with such an arrogance and imputation; and he is the onlyman you may hate after a good turn, and not be ungrateful; and men reckonit among their calamities to be beholden unto him. No vice draws with it amore general hostility, and makes men readier to search into his faults, and of them, his beginning; and no tale so unlikely but is willingly heardof him and believed. And commonly such men are of no merit at all, butmake out in pride what they want in worth, and fence themselves with astately kind of behaviour from that contempt which would pursue them. Theyare men whose preferment does us a great deal of wrong, and when they aredown, we may laugh at them without breach of good-nature. 

LXI. 

ACQUAINTANCE

Is the first draught of a friend, whom we must lay down oft thus, as thefoul copy, before we can write him perfect and true: for from hence, asfrom a probation, men take a degree in our respect, till at last theywholly possess us: for acquaintance is the hoard, and friendship the pairchosen out of it; by which at last we begin to impropriate and inclose toourselves what before lay in common with others. And commonly where itgrows not up to this, it falls as low as may be; and no poorer relationthan 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 moreboldness of society, a sharing of talk, news, drink, mirth together; butsorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing nearer our heart, and to bedelivered with it. Nothing easier than to create acquaintance, the merebeing in company once does it; whereas friendship, like children, isingendered by a more inward mixture, and coupling together; when we areacquainted not with their virtues only, but their faults, their passions, their fears, their shame, --and are bold on both sides to make theirdiscovery. And as it is in the love of the body, which is then at theheight and full when it has power and admittance into the hidden andworst 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, andthose commonly friends to none; for friendship is a sullener thing, is acontractor and taker up of our affections to some few, and suffers themnot loosely to be scattered on all men. The poorest tie of acquaintance isthat of place and country, which are shifted as the place, and missed butwhile the fancy of that continues. These are only then gladdest of other, when they meet in some foreign region, where the encompassing of strangersunites 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, sothey are generally more staunch of it, not out of pride only, but fear tolet too many in too near them: for it is with men as with pictures, thebest show better afar off and at distance, and the closer you come to themthe coarser they are. The best judgment of a man is taken from hisacquaintance, for friends and enemies are both partial; whereas these seehim truest because calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for him. Andmen that grow strange after acquaintance, seldom piece together again, asthose that have tasted meat and dislike it, out of a mutual experiencedisrelishing one another. 

LXII. 

A MEER COMPLIMENTAL MAN

Is one to be held off still at the same distance you are now; for youshall 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 Æneasmet with, that were friends to talk with, and men to look on, but if hegrasped them, but air. [84] He is one that lies kindly to you, and for goodfashion's sake, and tis discourtesy in you to believe him. His words areso many fine phrases set together, which serve equally for all men, andare equally to no purpose. Each fresh encounter with a man puts him to thesame part again, and he goes over to you what he said to him was last withhim: he kisses your hands as he kissed his before, and is your servant tobe commanded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. His proffers areuniversal and general, with exceptions against all particulars. He will doany thing for you, but if you urge him to this, he cannot, or to that, heis engaged; but he will do any thing. Promises he accounts but a kind ofmannerly words, and in the expectation of your manners not to exact them:if you do, he wonders at your ill breeding, that cannot distinguishbetwixt what is spoken and what is meant. No man gives bettersatisfaction at the first, and comes off more with the elogy of a kindgentleman, 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 greatrespect. 

FOOTNOTES:

[84]

 Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum: Ter frustra comprensa manus effugit imago, Par leuibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. 

_Virgil_ Æn. Vi. _v. _ 700. Edit. Heyne, 1787. 

LXIII. 

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 apoor 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 dearerthan to be gone. He is just so many strings above a beggar, though he havebut 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 theblind man's. Hunger is the greatest pain he takes, except a broken headsometimes, and the labouring John Dory. [85] Otherwise his life is so manyfits of mirth, and tis some mirth to see him. A good feast shall draw himfive miles by the nose, and you shall track him again by the scent. Hisother pilgrimages are fairs and good houses, where his devotion is greatto the Christmas; and no man loves good times better. He is in league withthe tapsters for the worshipful of the inn, whom, he torments next morningwith his art, and has their names more perfect than their men. A new songis better to him than a new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he callsmerry; and hates naturally the puritan, as an enemy to this mirth. Acountry wedding and Whitson-ale are the two main places he domineers in, where he goes for a musician, and overlooks the bag-pipe. The rest of himis drunk, and in the stocks. 

FOOTNOTES:

[85] Probably the name of some difficult tune. 

LXIV. 

A MEDDLING MAN

Is one that has nothing to do with his business, and yet no man busierthan he, and his business is most in his face. He is one thrusts himselfviolently into all employments, unsent for, unfeed, and many timesunthanked; and his part in it is only an eager bustling, that rather keepsado than does any thing. He will take you aside, and question you of youraffair, and listen with both ears, and look earnestly, and then it isnothing so much yours as his. He snatches what you are doing out of yourhands, and cries "give it me, " and does it worse, and lays an engagementupon you too, and you must thank him for his pains. He lays you down anhundred wild plots, all impossible things, which you must be ruled byperforce, and he delivers them with a serious and counselling forehead;and there is a great deal more wisdom in this forehead than his head. Hewill woo for you, solicit for you, and woo you to suffer him; and scarceany thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, or at least himself isnot 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 anybusiness, but are forward only to shew their zeal, when many times thisforwardness 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 troublemore in all business, and which a man shall be hardest rid of. 

LXV. 

A GOOD OLD MAN

Is the best antiquity, and which we may with least vanity admire. One whomtime hath been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, ripened whenothers are shaken down. He hath taken out as many lessons of the world asdays, and learnt the best thing in it; the vanity of it. He looks over hisformer life as a danger well past, and would not hazard himself to beginagain. His lust was long broken before his body, yet he is glad thistemptation is broke too, and that he is fortified from it by thisweakness. The next door of death sads him not, but he expects it calmly ashis turn in nature; and fears more his recoiling back to childishness thandust. All men look on him as a common father, and on old age, for hissake, as a reverent thing. His very presence and face puts vice out ofcountenance, and makes it an indecorum in a vicious man. He practises hisexperience on youth without the harshness of reproof, and in his counselhis good company. He has some old stories still of his own seeing toconfirm what he says, and makes them better in the telling; yet is nottroublesome neither with the same tale again, but remembers with them howoft 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 ifhe were the author. He is not apt to put the boy on a younger man, nor thefool on a boy, but can distinguish gravity from a sour look; and the lesstesty he is, the more regarded. You must pardon him if he like his owntimes better than these, because those things are follies to him now thatwere wisdom then; yet he makes us of that opinion too when we see him, andconjecture those times by so good a relick. He is a man capable of adearness with the youngest men, yet he not youthfuller for them, but theyolder for him; and no man credits more his acquaintance. He goes away atlast too soon whensoever, with all men's sorrow but his own; and hismemory is fresh, when it is twice as old. 

LXVI. 

A FLATTERER

Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures flatter many times, so he oftshews fairer than the true substance: his look, conversation, company, andall the outwardness of friendship more pleasing by odds, for a true frienddare take the liberty to be sometimes offensive, whereas he is a greatdeal more cowardly, and will not let the least hold go, for fear of losingyou. Your meer sour look affrights him, and makes him doubt hiscasheering. And this is one sure mark of him, that he is never firstangry, but ready though upon his own wrong to make satisfaction. Thereforehe is never yoked with a poor man, or any that stands on the lowerground, but whose fortunes may tempt his pains to deceive him. Him helearns first, and learns well, and grows perfecter in his humours thanhimself, and by this door enters upon his soul, of which he is able atlast to take the very print and mark, and fashion his own by it, like afalse key to open all your secrets. All his affections jump[86] even withyour's; he is before-hand with your thoughts, and able to suggest themunto you. He will commend to you first what he knows you like, and hasalways some absurd story or other of your enemy, and then wonders how yourtwo opinions should jump in that man. He will ask your counsel sometimesas 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 greatattention, and sometimes will object that you may confute him, and thenprotests he never heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts him with anoverflowing laughter, and he remembers it for you to all companies, andlaughs again in the telling. He is one never chides you but for yourvertues, as, _you are too good, too honest, too religious_, when hischiding may seem but the earnester commendation, and yet would fain chideyou out of them too; for your vice is the thing he has use of, and whereinyou may best use him; and he is never more active than in the worstdiligences. Thus, at last, he possesses you from yourself, and thenexpects but his hire to betray you: and it is a happiness not to discoverhim; for as long as you are happy, you shall not. 

FOOTNOTES:

[86] _Jump_ here signifies to coincide. The old play of _Soliman andPerseda_, 4to. _without date_, uses it in the same sense:

"Wert thou my friend, thy mind would _jump_ with mine. " So in _PiercePenilesse his Supplication to the Divele_:--"Not two of them jump in onetale. " p. 29. 

LXVII. 

A HIGH-SPIRITED MAN

Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not: you may forgive him hislooks for his worth's sake, for they are only too proud to be base. Onewhom no rate can buy off from the least piece of his freedom, and make himdigest an unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch to a great man topossess him, nor fall low to the earth to rebound never so high again. Hestands taller on his own bottom, than others on the advantage ground offortune, as having solidly that honour, of which title is but the pomp. Hedoes homage to no man for his great stile's sake, but is strictly just inthe exaction of respect again, and will not bate you a complement. He ismore sensible of a neglect than an undoing, and scorns no man so much ashis surly threatener. A man quickly fired, and quickly laid down withsatisfaction, but remits any injury sooner than words: only to himself heis irreconcileable, whom he never forgives a disgrace, but is stillstabbing himself with the thought of it, and no disease that he dies ofsooner. He is one had rather perish than be beholden for his life, andstrives more to be quit with his friend than his enemy. Fortune may killhim 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 himtalk still after thousands, and he becomes it better than those that haveit. One that is above the world and its drudgery, and cannot pull down histhoughts to the pelting businesses of life. He would sooner accept thegallows than a mean trade, or any thing that might disparage the height ofman 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 iffortune equal his worth puts a luster in all preferment; but if otherwisehe be too much crossed, turns desperately melancholy, and scorns mankind. 

LXVIII. 

A MEER 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 sillilyscorns him as he is sillily admired by him. The quality of the city hathafforded him some better dress of clothes and language, which he uses tothe best advantage, and is so much the more ridiculous. His chiefeducation is the visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine ladiesresort, he is infected with so much more eloquence, and if he catch oneword extraordinary, wears it for ever. You shall hear him mince acomplement sometimes that was never made for him; and no man pays dearerfor good words, --for he is oft paid with them. He is suited rather finethan in the fashion, and has still something to distinguish him from agentleman, though his doublet cost more; especially on Sundays, bridegroom-like, where he carries the state of a very solemn man, andkeeps his pew as his shop; and it is a great part of his devotion to feastthe minister. But his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the greatestrelation he acknowledges, especially if you be an honest gentleman, thatis trust him to cozen you enough. His friendships are a kind of gossippingfriendships, and those commonly within the circle of his trade, wherein heis careful principally to avoid two things, that is poor men andsuretiships. He is a man will spend his six-pence with a great deal ofimputation, [87] and no man makes more of a pint of wine than he. He is onebears a pretty kind of foolish love to scholars, and to Cambridgeespecially for Sturbridge[88] fair's sake; and of these all are truantsto him that are not preachers, and of these the loudest the best; and heis much ravished with the noise of a rolling tongue. He loves to heardiscourses out of his element, and the less he understands the betterpleased, which he expresses in a smile and some fond protestation. Onethat does nothing without his chuck[89], that is his wife, with whom he isbilling still in conspiracy, and the wantoner she is, the more power shehas over him; and she never stoops so low after him, but is the only womangoes better of a widow than a maid. In the education of his child no manfearfuller, and the danger he fears is a harsh school-master, to whom heis alledging still the weakness of the boy, and pays a fine extraordinaryfor his mercy. The first whipping rids him to the university, and fromthence rids him again for fear of starving, and the best he makes of himis some gull in plush. He is one loves to hear the famous acts ofcitizens, whereof the gilding of the cross[90] he counts the glory of thisage, and the four[91] prentices of London above all the nine[92]worthies. He intitles himself to all the merits of his company, whetherschools, hospitals, or exhibitions, in which he is joint benefactor, though four hundred years ago, and upbraids them far more than those thatgave them: yet with all this folly he has wit enough to get wealth, andin that a sufficienter man than he that is wiser. 

FOOTNOTES:

[87] _Imputation_ here must be used for _consequence_; of which I am, however, unable to produce any other instance. 

[88] _Sturbridge fair_ was the great mart for business, and resort forpleasure, in bishop Earle's day. It is alluded to in Randolph's _ConceitedPedlar_, 4to. 1630. 

 "I am a pedlar, and I sell my ware This braue Saint Barthol. Or _Sturbridge faire_. "

Edward Ward, the facetious author of _The London Spy_, gives a whimsicalaccount of a journey to _Sturbridge_, in the second volume of his works. 

[89] 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_. "

[90] The great cross in West Cheap, was originally erected in 1290, byEdward I. In commemoration of the death of queen Ellinor, whose bodyrested at that place, on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, toWestminster, for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and again in 1484. In1581, the images and ornaments were destroyed by the populace; and in1599, the top of the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted withinthe lead, and fears being entertained as to its safety. By order of queenElizabeth, and her privy council, it was repaired in 1600, when, saysStow, "a cross of timber was framed, set up, covered with lead, _andgilded_, " &c. Stow's _Survey of London_, by Strype, book iii. P. 35. Edit, folio, Lond. 1720. 

[91] This must allude to the play written by Heywood with the followingtitle: _The Foure Prentises of London. With the Conquest of Ierusalem. Asit hath bene diuerse times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queene'sMaiesties Seruants. _ 4to. Lond. 1615. In this drama, the _four prentises_are Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons to the _old Earle ofBullen_, who, having lost his territories, by assisting William theConqueror in his descent upon England, is compelled to live like a privatecitizen in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a goldsmith, ahaberdasher, and a grocer. The _four prentises_, however, prefer the lifeof a soldier to that of a tradesman, and, quitting the service of theirmasters, follow Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they performthe most astonishing feats of valour, and finally accomplish the _conquestof Ierusalem_. The whole play abounds in bombast and impossibilities, and, as a composition, is unworthy of notice or remembrance. 

[92] _The History of the Nine Worthies of the World; three whereof wereGentiles: 1. Hector, son of Priamus, king of Troy. 2. Alexander the Great, king of Macedon, and conqueror of the world. 3. Julius Cæsar, firstemperor of Rome. Three Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and leader ofIsrael into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 6. Judas Maccabeus, avaliant Jewish commander against the tyranny of Antiochus. ThreeChristians. 7. Arthur, king of Britain, who courageously defended hiscountry against the Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France andemperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bullen, king of Jerusalem. Being anaccount of their glorious lives, worthy actions, renowned victories, anddeaths. _ 12mo. No date. 

LXIX. 

A LASCIVIOUS MAN

Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but all are but his lust, towhich only he is faithful, and none besides, and spends his best blood andspirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to his body, and those thatassist him in this nature the nearest to it. No man abuses more the nameof love, or those whom he applies this name to; for his love is like hisstomach 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 whodeserve best of him. There is a great deal of malignity in this vice, forit loves still to spoil the best things, and a virgin sometimes ratherthan beauty, because the undoing here is greater, and consequently hisglory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, or is so extremely tickledwith the remembrance of it; and he is more violence to a modest ear thanto her he defloured. A bawdy jest enters deep into him, and whatsoever youspeak he will draw to baudry, and his wit is never so good as here. Hisunchastest part is his tongue, for that commits always what he must actseldomer; and that commits with all which he acts with few; for he is hisown worst reporter, and men believe as bad of him, and yet do not believehim. Nothing harder to his persuasion than a chaste man, no eunuch; andmakes a scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a maid. And from thismistrust it is that such men fear marriage, or at least marry such as areof bodies to be trusted, to whom only they sell that lust which they buyof others, and make their wife a revenue to their mistress. They are mennot easily reformed, because they are so little ill-persuaded of theirillness, and have such pleas from man and nature. Besides it is a jeeringand flouting vice, and apt to put jests on the reprover. The pox onlyconverts them, and that only when it kills them. 

LXX. 

A RASH MAN

Is a man too quick for himself; one whose actions put a leg still beforehis judgement, and out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the signalthat sets him forward, and his reason comes still in the rear. One thathas brain enough, but not patience to digest a business, and stay theleisure of a second thought. All deliberation is to him a kind of slothand freezing of action, and it shall burn him rather than take cold. He isalways resolved at first thinking, and the ground he goes upon is, _hapwhat may_. Thus he enters not, but throws himself violently upon allthings, and for the most part is as violently upon all off again; and asan obstinate "_I will_" was the preface to his undertaking, so hisconclusion 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 muchfarther off from doing it, as they have done already. His friends are withhim as his physician, sought to only in his sickness and extremity, and tohelp him out of that mire he has plunged himself into; for in thesuddenness of his passions he would hear nothing, and now his ill successhas allayed him he hears too late. He is a man still swayed with the firstreports, and no man more in the power of a pick-thank than he. He is onewill fight first, and then expostulate, condemn first, and then examine. He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling, and in a fit of kindnessundoes himself; and then curses the occasion drew this mischief upon him, and cries, God mercy! for it, and curses again. His repentance is meerly arage against himself, and he does something in itself to be repentedagain. 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. 

LXXI. 

AN AFFECTED MAN

Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things. One that would go a strainbeyond himself, and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all things withgreat solemnity of circumstance; and whereas with more negligence he mightpass better, makes himself with a great deal of endeavour ridiculous. Thefancy of some odd quaintnesses have put him clean beside his nature; hecannot be that he would, and hath lost what he was. He is one must bepoint-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 notcurse you without-book and extempore, but in some choice way, and perhapsas 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 mostbetraying humour, and nothing that puzzles a man less to find out thanthis. All the actions of his life are like so many things bodged inwithout any natural cadence or connection at all. You shall track him allthrough like a schoolboy's theme, one piece from one author and this fromanother, and join all in this general, that they are none of his own. Youshall observe his mouth not made for that tone, nor his face for thatsimper; and it is his luck that his finest things most misbecome him. Ifhe affect the gentleman as the humour most commonly lies that way, not theleast punctilio of a fine man, but he is strict in to a hair, even totheir very negligences, which he cons as rules. He will not carry a knifewith him to wound reputation, and pay double a reckoning, rather thanignobly question it: and he is full of this--ignobly--and nobly--andgenteely;--and this meer fear to trespass against the genteel way puts himout most of all. It is a humour runs through many things besides, but isan ill-favoured ostentation in all, and thrives not:--and the best use ofsuch men is, they are good parts in a play. 

LXXI. 

A PROFANE MAN

Is one that denies God as far as the law gives him leave; that is, onlydoes not say so in downright terms, for so far he may go. A man that doesthe greatest sins calmly, and as the ordinary actions of life, and ascalmly discourses of it again. He will tell you his business is to breaksuch a commandment, and the breaking of the commandment shall tempt him toit. His words are but so many vomitings cast up to the loathsomeness ofthe hearers, only those of his company[93] loath it not. He will take uponhim with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of his company, and makesgood sport at his conquest over the puritan fool. The scripture supplieshim for jests, and he reads it on purpose to be thus merry: he will proveyou his sin out of the bible, and then ask if you will not take thatauthority. He never sees the church but of purpose to sleep in it, or whensome silly man preaches, with whom he means to make sport, and is mostjocund in the church. One that nick-names clergymen with all the terms ofreproach, as "_rat_, _black-coat_" and the like; which he will be sure tokeep up, and never calls them by other: that sings psalms when he isdrunk, and cries "_God mercy_" in mockery, for he must do it. He is oneseems to dare God in all his actions, but indeed would out-dare theopinion of him, which would else turn him desperate; for atheism is therefuge of such sinners, whose repentance would be only to hangthemselves. 

FOOTNOTES:

[93] Those of the same habits with himself; his associates. 

LXXIII. 

A COWARD

Is the man that is commonly most fierce against the coward, and labouringto take off this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of valour is agood protection to those that dare not use it. No man is valianter than heis in civil company, and where he thinks no danger may come on it, and isthe readiest man to fall upon a drawer and those that must not strikeagain: wonderful exceptious and cholerick where he sees men are loth togive him occasion, and you cannot pacify him better than by quarrellingwith him. The hotter you grow, the more temperate man is he; he protestshe always honoured you, and the more you rail upon him, the more hehonours 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 beforethat 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 onlyman can do much with him; for his friend he cares not for, as a man thatcarries no such terror as his enemy, which for this cause only is morepotent with him of the two: and men fall out with him of purpose to getcourtesies from him, and be bribed again to a reconcilement. A man in whomno secret can be bound up, for the apprehension of each danger loosenshim, and makes him bewray both the room and it. He is a christian meerlyfor fear of hell-fire; and if any religion could fright him more, would beof that. 

LXXIV. 

A SORDID RICH MAN

Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth we may say as of other men'sunthriftiness, that it has brought him to this: when he had nothing helived in another kind of fashion. He is a man whom men hate in his ownbehalf for using himself thus, and yet, being upon himself, it is butjustice, for he deserves it. Every accession of a fresh heap bates him somuch of his allowance, and brings him a degree nearer starving. His bodyhad been long since desperate, but for the reparation of other men'stables, where he hoards meats in his belly for a month, to maintain him inhunger so long. His clothes were never young in our memory; you might makelong epochas from them, and put them into the almanack with the dearyear[94] and the great frost, [95] and he is known by them longer than hisface. He is one never gave alms in his life, and yet is as charitable tohis neighbour as himself. He will redeem a penny with his reputation, andlose all his friends to boot; and his reason is, he will not be undone. Henever pays any thing but with strictness of law, for fear of which only hesteals not. He loves to pay short a shilling or two in a great sum, and isglad to gain that when he can no more. He never sees friend but in ajourney to save the charges of an inn, and then only is not sick; and hisfriends never see him but to abuse him. He is a fellow indeed of a kind offrantick thrift, and one of the strangest things that wealth can work. 

FOOTNOTES:

[94] The _dear year_ here, I believe, alluded to, was in 1574, and is thusdescribed 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, sixshillings, and, before Christmas, to a noble, and seuen shillings; whichso continued long after. Beefe was sold for twentie pence, and two andtwentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and white meats at anexcessiue price; all kind of salt fish verie deare, as fiue herings twopence, &c. ; yet great plentie of fresh fish, and oft times the same veriecheape. Pease at foure shillings the bushell; ote-meale at foure shillingseight pence; baie salt at three shillings the bushell, &c. All this dearthnotwithstanding, (thanks be given to God, ) there was no want of anie thingto them that wanted not monie. " Holinshed, _Chronicle_, vol. 3, page 1259, a. Edit. Folio, 1587. 

[95] 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 theThames was frozen over, and the passage on it, from London-bridge toWestminster, as easy as, and more frequented than that on dry land. 

LXXV. 

A MEER GREAT MAN

Is so much heraldry without honour, himself less real than his title. Hisvirtue is, that he was his father's son, and all the expectation of him tobeget another. A man that lives meerly to preserve another's memory, andlet us know who died so many years ago. One of just as much use as hisimages, only he differs in this, that he can speak himself, and save thefellow of Westminster[96] a labour: and he remembers nothing better thanwhat was out of his life. His grandfathers and their acts are hisdiscourse, and he tells them with more glory than they did them; and it iswell they did enough, or else he had wanted matter. His other studies arehis sports and those vices that are fit for great men. Every vanity of hishas his officer, and is a serious employment for his servants. He talksloud, and baudily, and scurvily as a part of state, and they hear himwith reverence. All good qualities are below him, and especially learning, except some parcels of the chronicle and the writing of his name, which helearns to write not to be read. He is meerly of his servants' faction, andtheir instrument for their friends and enemies, and is always leastthanked 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 inignorance more of himself and men, for he hears nought but flattery; andwhat 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 toposterity. 

FOOTNOTES:

[96] The person who exhibits Westminster abbey. 

LXXVI. 

A POOR MAN

Is the most impotent man, though neither blind nor lame, as wanting themore necessary limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. A manunfenced and unsheltered from the gusts of the world, which blow all inupon him, like an unroofed house; and the bitterest thing he suffers ishis neighbours. All men put on to him a kind of churlisher fashion, andeven more plausible natures are churlish to him, as who are nothingadvantaged by his opinion. Whom men fall out with before-hand to preventfriendship, 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 beforecompany. All vice put together is not half so scandalous, nor sets off ouracquaintance farther; and even those that are not friends for ends do notlove any dearness with such men. The least courtesies are upbraided tohim, and himself thanked for none, but his best services suspected ashandsome sharking and tricks to get money. And we shall observe it inknaves themselves, that your beggarliest knaves are the greatest, orthought so at least, for those that have wit to thrive by it have art notto seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard enough to mask his vices, norornament enough to set forth his virtues, but both are naked andunhandsome; and though no man is necessitated to more ill, yet no man'sill is less excused, but it is thought a kind of impudence in him to bevicious, and a presumption above his fortune. His good parts lye dead uponhis hands, for want of matter to employ them, and at the best are notcommended but pitied, as virtues ill placed, and we may say of him, "Tisan honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that call him so will trust aknave before him. He is a man that has the truest speculation of theworld, because all men shew to him in their plainest and worst, as a manthey have no plot on, by appearing good to; whereas rich men areentertained with a more holy-day behaviour, and see only the best we candissemble. He is the only he that tries the true strength of wisdom, whatit can do of itself without the help of fortune; that with a great deal ofvirtue conquers extremities, and with a great deal more his ownimpatience, and obtains of himself not to hate men. 

LXXVII. 

AN ORDINARY HONEST MAN

Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, for if he were not this, hewere nothing: and yet he is not this neither, but a good dull viciousfellow, that complies well with the deboshments[97] of the time, and isfit for it. One that has no good part in him to offend his company, ormake him to be suspected a proud fellow; but is sociably a dunce, andsociably a drinker. That does it fair and above-board without legermain, and neither sharks[98] for a cup or a reckoning: that is kind over hisbeer, and protests he loves you, and begins to you again, and loves youagain. One that quarrels with no man, but for not pledging him, but takesall 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 himabused, and his friend commonly is he that is most likely, and he lifts upmany a jug in his defence. He rails against none but censurers, againstwhom he thinks he rails lawfully, and censurers are all those that arebetter than himself. These good properties qualify him for honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale-house commendation, who, if he had any othergood quality, would be named by that. But now for refuge he is an honestman, and hereafter a sot: only those that commend him think him not so, and those that commend him are honest fellows. 

FOOTNOTES:

[97] Minshew interprets the verb _deboshe_, "to corrupt, make lewde, vitiate. " When the word was first adopted from the French language, (saysMr. Steevens, in a note to the _Tempest_, ) it appears to have been speltaccording to the pronunciation, and therefore wrongly; but ever since ithas been spelt right, it has been uttered with equal impropriety. 

[98] The verb _to shark_ is frequently used, by old writers, for to_pilfer_, and, as in the present instance, to _spunge_. 

LXXVIII. 

A SUSPICIOUS OR JEALOUS MAN

Is one that watches himself a mischief, and keeps a lear eye still, forfear it should escape him. A man that sees a great deal more in everything than is to be seen, and yet he thinks he sees nothing: his own eyestands in his light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some weaknesses, which he might conceal if he were careless:--now his over-diligence tohide them makes men pry the more. Howsoever he imagines you have foundhim, 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 ofcompany, with some twenty quarrels to every man, stung and galled, and noman knows less the occasion than they that have given it. To laugh beforehim is a dangerous matter, for it cannot be at any thing but at him, andto whisper in his company plain conspiracy. He bids you speak out, and hewill answer you, when you thought not of him. He expostulates with you inpassion, 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 isone still accusing others when they are not guilty, and defending himselfwhen he is not accused: and no man is undone more with apologies, whereinhe is so elaborately excessive, that none will believe him; and he isnever thought worse of, than when he has given satisfaction. Such men cannever have friends, because they cannot trust so far; and this humour haththis infection with it, it makes all men to them suspicious. Inconclusion, they are men always in offence and vexation with themselvesand their neighbours, wronging others in thinking they would wrong them, and themselves most of all in thinking they deserve it. 

END OF THE CHARACTERS. 

APPENDIX. 

No. I. 

SOME ACCOUNT OF BISHOP EARLE[AX]. 

All the biographical writers who have taken notice of JOHN EARLE agree instating, that he was born in the city of York, although not one of themhas given the exact date of his birth, or any intelligence relative to hisfamily, or the rank in life of his parents. It is, however, mostprobable, that they were persons of respectability and fortune, as he wassent, at an early age, to Oxford, and entered as a commoner ofChrist-church college[AY], where his conduct was so exemplary, hisattention to his studies so marked, and his general deportment and mannersso pleasing, that he became a successful candidate at Merton-college, andwas admitted a probationary fellow on that foundation in 1620, being then, according to Wood[AZ], about nineteen years of age. He took the degree ofMaster of Arts, July 10, 1624, and in 1631 served the office of Proctor ofthe university, about which time he was also appointed chaplain to PhilipEarl of Pembroke, then Chancellor of Oxford. 

During the earlier part of our author's life, he appears to have possessedconsiderable reputation as a poet, and to have been as remarkable for thepleasantry of his conversation, as for his learning, virtues, and piety. Wood[BA] tells us that "his younger years were adorned with oratory, poetry, and witty fancies, his elder with quaint preaching and subtiledisputes. " The only specimens of his poetry which can be recovered at thistime, are three funeral tributes, which will be found in the Appendix, andof which two are now printed, I believe, for the first time. 

Soon after his appointment to be Lord Pembroke's chaplain, he waspresented by that nobleman to the rectory of Bishopstone, in Wiltshire;nor was this the only advantage he reaped from the friendship of hispatron, who being at that time Lord Chamberlain of the King'shousehold[BB], was entitled to a lodging in the court for his chaplain, acircumstance which in all probability introduced Mr. Earle to the noticeof the King, who promoted him to be chaplain and tutor to Prince Charles, when Dr. Duppa, who had previously discharged that important trust, wasraised to the bishopric of Salisbury. 

In 1642 Earle took his degree of Doctor in Divinity, and in the yearfollowing was actually elected one of the Assembly of Divines appointed bythe parliament to new model the church. This office, although it may beconsidered a proof of the high opinion even those of different sentimentsfrom himself entertained of his character and merit, he refused to accept, when he saw that there was no probability of assisting the cause ofreligion, or of restraining the violence of a misguided faction, by aninterference among those who were "declared and avowed enemies to thedoctrine and discipline of the Church of England; some of them infamous intheir lives and conversations, and most of them of very mean parts inlearning, if not of scandalous ignorance[BC]. "

On the 10th of February, 1643, Dr. Earle was elected chancellor of thecathedral of Salisbury[BD], of which situation, as well as his living ofBishopstone, he was shortly after deprived by the ill success of the royalcause[BE]. 

When the defeat of the King's forces at Worcester compelled Charles theSecond to fly his country, Earle attached himself to the fallen fortunesof his sovereign, and was among the first of those who saluted him uponhis arrival at Rouen in Normandy, where he was made clerk of the closet, and King's chaplain[BF]. Nor was his affection to the family of theStuarts, and his devotion to their cause evinced by personal servicesonly, as we find by a letter from Lord Clarendon to Dr. Barwick, that heassisted the King with money in his necessities[BG]. 

During the time that Charles was in Scotland, Dr. Earle resided inAntwerp, with his friend Dr. Morley[BH], from whence he was called upon toattend the Duke of York (afterwards James II. ) at Paris[BI], in order thathe might heal some of the breaches which were then existing betweencertain members of the duke's household[BJ]; and here it is probable heremained till the recal of Charles the Second to the throne of England. 

Upon the Restoration, Dr. Earle received the reward of his constancy andloyalty, he was immediately promoted to the deanery of Westminster, asituation long designed for him by the King[BK]. In 1661 he was appointedone of the commissioners for a review of the Liturgy[BL], and on November30, 1662, was consecrated Bishop of Worcester, from which see he wastranslated, September 28, 1663, to the dignity of Salisbury[BM]. 

Little more remains to be added. --Bishop Earle appears to have continuedhis residence with the royal family after the acquisition of hiswell-deserved honours; and when the court retired to Oxford, during theplague in 1665, he attended their majesties to the place of his earlyeducation, and died at his apartments in University College, on the 17thof November. He was buried on the 25th, near the high altar, in MertonCollege chapel; and was, according to Wood, "accompanied to his grave, from the public schools, by an herald at arms, and the principal personsof the court and university. " His monument, which stands at thenorth-east corner of the chapel, is still in excellent preservation, andpossesses the following inscription:--

 "Amice, si quis hic sepultus est roges, Ille, qui nec meruit, unquá--Nec quod majus est, habuit Inimicum; Qui potuit in aulâ vivere, et mundum spernere Concionator educatus inter principes, Et ipse facile princeps inter concionatores, Evangelista indefessus, Episcopus pientissimus; Ille qui una cum sacratissimo Rege, Cujus & juvenilium studiorum, et animæ Deo charæ Curam a beatissimo Patre demandatam gessit, Nobile ac Religiosum exilium est passus; Ille qui Hookeri ingentis Politiam Ecclesiasticam, Ille qui Caroli Martyris [Greek: EIKO'NA BASILIKÊ'N], (Volumen quò post Apocalypsin divinius nullum) Legavit Orbi sic Latinè redditas, Ut uterque unius Fidei Defensor, Patriam adhuc retineat majestatem. Si nomen ejus necdum tibi suboleat, Lector, Nomen ejus ut unguenta pretiosa: JOHANNES EARLE Eboracensis, Serenissimo Carolo 2^{do} Regij Oratorij Clericus, {aliquando Westmonasteriensi, Decanus, Ecclesiæ {deinde Wigorniensis} {tandem Sarisburiensis} Angelus. {et nunc triumphantis} Obiit Oxonij Novemb. 17^o. Anno {D[=o]ni: 1665^{to}. {Ætatis suæ 65^{to}. Voluitq. In hoc, ubi olim floruerat, Collegio, Ex Æde Christi hue in Socium ascitus, Ver magnum, ut reflorescat, expectare. "

FOOTNOTES:

[AX] The following brief memoir pretends to be nothing more than anenumeration of such particulars relative to the excellent prelate, whose_Characters_ are here offered to the public, as could be gathered from thehistorical and biographical productions of the period in which heflourished. It is hoped that no material occurrence has been overlooked, or circumstance mis-stated; but should any errors appear to have escapedhis observation, the editor will feel obliged by the friendly intimationof such persons as may be possessed of more copious information than hehas been able to obtain, in order that they may be acknowledged andcorrected in another place. 

[AY] He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts whilst a member of thissociety, July 8, 1619, and appears to have been always attached to it. In1660 he gave twenty pounds towards repairing the cathedral and college. 

_Wood. Hist. Et Antiq. Univ. Oxon. _ lib. Ii. P. 284. 

[AZ] _Athenæ Oxon. _ ii. 365. 

[BA] _Athenæ Oxon. _ ii. 365. 

[BB] Collins' _Peerage_, iii. 123. 

[BC] Clarendon. _History of the Rebellion_, ii. 827. Edit. _Oxford_, 1807. 

[BD] Walker. _Sufferings of the Clergy_, fol. 1714, part ii. Page 63. 

[BE] During the early part of the civil wars, and whilst success wasdoubtful on either side, he appears to have lived in retirement, and tohave employed himself in a translation of Hooker's _Ecclesiastical Polity_into Latin, which, however, was never made public. At the appearance ofCharles the First's [Greek: Eikôn Basilikê], he was desired by the king(Ch. II. ) to execute the same task upon that production, which heperformed with great ability. It was printed for distribution on thecontinent in 1649. 

[BF] Wood. _Ath. Oxon. _ ii. 365. 

[BG] _Life of Dr. John Barwick_, 8vo. Lond. 1724. P. 522. 

[BH] Dr. George Morley was chaplain to Charles the First, and canon ofChrist Church, Oxford. At the Restoration he was made, first dean ofChrist Church, then bishop of Worcester, and lastly bishop of Winchester, He died at Farnham-castle, October 29, 1684. See Wood. _Athen. Oxon. _ ii. 581. 

[BI] Wood. _Athenæ_, ii. 770. 

[BJ] Clarendon's _Rebellion_, iii. 659. 

[BK] _Life of Barwick_, 452. 

[BL] Kennet's _Register_, folio, 1728, page 504. 

[BM] Wood. _Athenæ_, ii. 366. 

No. II. 

CHARACTERS OF BISHOP EARLE. 

----"He was a person very notable for his elegance in the Greek and Latintongues; and being fellow of Merton college in Oxford, and having beenproctor of the university, and some very witty and sharp discourses beingpublished in print without his consent, though known to be his, he grewsuddenly into a very general esteem with all men; being a man of greatpiety and devotion; a most eloquent and powerful preacher; and of aconversation so pleasant and delightful, so very innocent, and so veryfacetious, that no man's company was more desired, and more loved. No manwas more negligent in his dress, and habit, and mein; no man more wary andcultivated in his behaviour and discourse; insomuch as he had the greateradvantage when he was known, by promising so little before he was known. He was an excellent poet both in Latin, Greek, and English, as appears bymany pieces yet abroad; though he suppressed many more himself, especiallyof English, incomparably good, out of an austerity to those sallies of hisyouth. He was very dear to the Lord Falkland, with whom he spent as muchtime as he could make his own; and as that lord would impute the speedyprogress he made in the Greek tongue to the information and assistance hehad from Mr. Earles, so Mr. Earles would frequently profess that he hadgot more useful learning by his conversation at Tew (the Lord Falkland'shouse, ) than he had at Oxford. In the first settling of the prince hisfamily, he was made one of his chaplains, and attended on him when he wasforced to leave the kingdom. He was amongst the few excellent men whonever had, nor ever could have, an enemy, but such a one who was an enemyto all learning and virtue, and therefore would never make himself known. "

LORD CLARENDON. _Account of his own Life_, folio, Oxford, 1759, p. 26. 

 * * * * *

----"This is that Dr. Earle, who from his youth (I had almost said fromhis childhood, ) for his natural and acquired abilities was so very eminentin the university of Oxon; and after was chosen to be one of the firstchaplains to his Majesty (when Prince of Wales): who knew not how todesert his master, but with duty and loyalty (suitable to the rest of hismany great virtues, both moral and intellectual, ) faithfully attended hisMajesty both at home and abroad, as chaplain, and clerk of his majesty'scloset, and upon his majesty's happy return, was made Dean of Westminster, and now Lord Bishop of Worcester, (for which, December 7, he did homage tohis Majesty, ) having this high and rare felicity by his excellent andspotless conversation, to have lived so many years in the court ofEngland, so near his Majesty, and yet not given the least offence to anyman alive; though both in and out of pulpit he used all Christian freedomagainst the vanities of this age, being honoured and admired by all whohave either known, heard, or read him. "

WHITE KENNETT (Bishop of Peterborough) _Register and ChronicleEcclesiastical and Civil_, folio, London, 1728, page 834. 

 * * * * *

----"Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, of whom I may justly say, (and let it not offend him, because it is such a truth as ought not to beconcealed from posterity, or those that now live and yet know him not, )that, since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom God hath blessed withmore innocent wisdom, more sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable, primitive temper: so that this excellent person seems to beonly like himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker. "

WALTON. _Life of Mr. Richard Hooker_, 8vo. Oxford, 1805, i. 327. 

 * * * * *

----"This Dr. Earles, lately Lord Bishop of Salisbury. --A person certainlyof the sweetest, most obliging nature that lived in our age. "

HUGH CRESSEY. _Epistle Apologetical to a Person of Honour_ (LordClarendon), 8vo. 1674, page 46. 

 * * * * *

----"Dr. Earle, Bishop of Salisbury, was a man that could do good againstevil; forgive much, and of a charitable heart. "

PIERCE. _Conformist's Plea for Nonconformity_, 4to. 1681, page 174. 

No. III. 

LIST OF DR. EARLE'S WORKS. 

1. _Microcosmography, or a Piece of the World discovered, in Essays andCharacters. London. _ 1628. &c. &c. 12mo. 

2. _Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity_, translated into Latin. This, saysWood, "is in MS. And not yet printed. " In whose possession the MS. Wasdoes not appear, nor have I been able to trace it in the catalogue of anypublic or private collection. 

3. _Hortus Mertonensis_, a Latin Poem, of which Wood gives the first line"Hortus deliciæ domus politæ. " It is now supposed to be lost. 

4. _Lines on the Death of Sir John Burroughs_; now printed for the firsttime. See Appendix, No. IV. 

5. _Lines on the Death of the Earl of Pembroke_; now printed for the firsttime. See Appendix, No. V. 

6. _Elegy upon Francis Beaumont_; first printed at the end of _Beaumont'sPoems, London_, 1640. 4to. See Appendix, No. VI. 

7. [Greek: Eikôn Basilikê], _vel Imago Regis Caroli_, _In illis suisÆrumnis et Solitudine. Hagæ-Comitis. _ Typis S. B. &c. 1649. 12mo. SeeAppendix, No. VII. [BN]

FOOTNOTES:

[BN] Besides the pieces above noticed, several smaller poems wereundoubtedly in circulation during Earle's life, the titles of which arenot preserved. Wood supposes (_Ath. Oxon. _) our author to have contributedto "_some of the Figures, of which about ten were published_" but isignorant of the exact numbers to be attributed to his pen. In theBodleian[BO] is "_The Figvre of Fovre: Wherein are sweet flowers, gatheredout of that fruitfull ground, that I hope will yeeld pleasure and profitto all sorts of people. The second Part, London, Printed for Iohn Wright, and are to bee sold at his shop without Newgate, at the signe of theBible, 1636. _" This, however, was undoubtedly one of Breton's productions, as his initials are affixed to the preface. It is in 12mo. And consists oftwenty pages, not numbered. The following extracts will be sufficient toshew the nature of the volume. 

"There are foure persons not to be believed: a horse-courser when hesweares, a whore when shee weepes, a lawyer when he pleads false, and atraveller when he tels wonders. 

"There are foure great cyphers in the world: hee that is lame amongdancers, dumbe among lawyers, dull among schollers and rude amongstcourtiers

"Foure things grievously empty: a head without braines, a wit withoutjudgment, a heart without honesty, and a purse without money. "

Ant. Wood possessed the _figure of six_, which, however, is now not to befound among his books left to the university of Oxford, and deposited inAshmole's museum. That it once was there, is evident from the MS. Catalogue of that curious collection. 

[BO] 8vo. L. 78. Art. 

No. IV. 

LINES ON SIR JOHN BURROUGHS, KILLED BY A BULLET AT REEZ[BP]. 

[_From a MS. In the Bodleian_. ]--(_Rawl. Poet_. 142. )

 Why did we thus expose thee? what's now all That island to requite thy funeral? Though thousand French in murder'd heaps do lie, It may revenge, it cannot satisfy: We must bewail our conquest when we see Our price too dear to buy a victory. He whose brave fire gave heat to all the rest, That dealt his spirit in t' each English breast, From whose divided virtues you may take So many captains out, and fully make Them each accomplish'd with those parts, the which, Jointly, did his well-furnish'd soul enrich. Not rashly valiant, nor yet fearful wise, His flame had counsel, and his fury, eyes. Not struck in courage at the drum's proud beat, Or made fierce only by the trumpet's heat-- When e'en pale hearts above their pitch do fly, And, for a while do mad it valiantly. His rage was tempered well, no fear could daunt His reason, his cold blood was valiant. Alas! these vulgar praises injure thee; Which now a poet would as plenteously Give some brag-soldier, one that knew no more Than the fine scabbard and the scarf he wore. Fathers shall tell their children [this] was he, (And they hereafter to posterity, ) Rank'd with those forces scourged France of old, Burrough's and Talbot's[BQ] names together told. 

J. EARLES. 

FOOTNOTES:

[BP] For an account of the unsuccessful expedition to the Isle of Ré, under the command of the Duke of Buckingham, see Carte's _History ofEngland_, vol. Iv. Page 176, folio, _Lond_. 1755. Sir John Burroughs, ageneral of considerable renown, who possessed the chief confidence of theDuke, fell in an endeavour to reconnoitre the works of the enemy, Aug. 1627. 

[BQ] Sir John Talbot, first earl of Shrewsbury, of whom see Collins'_Peerage_, iii. 9. Holinshed, Rapin, Carte, &c. 

No. V. 

ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF PEMBROKE[BR]. 

[_From the same MS. _]

 Come, Pembroke lives! Oh! do not fright our ears With the destroying truth! first raise our fears And say he is not well: that will suffice To force a river from the public eyes, Or, if he must be dead, oh! let the news Speak in astonish'd whispers: let it use Some phrase without a voice, and be so told, As if the labouring sense griev'd to unfold Its doubtfull woe. Could not the public zeal Conquer the Fates, and save your's? Did the dart Of death, without a preface, pierce your heart? Welcome, sad weeds--but he that mourns for thee, Must bring an eye that can weep elegy. A look that would save blacks: whose heavy grace Chides mirth, and bears a funeral in his face. Whose sighs are with such feeling sorrows blown, That all the air he draws returns a groan. Thou needst no gilded tomb--thy memory, Is marble to itself--the bravery Of jem or rich enamel is mis-spent-- Thy noble corpse is its own monument!

Mr. EARLES, Merton. 

FOOTNOTES:

[BR] William, third Earl of Pembroke, son of Henry, Earl of Pembroke, andMary, sister to Sir Philip Sidney, was the elder brother of Earle'spatron, and Chancellor of Oxford. He died at Baynard's castle, April 10, 1630. 

No. VI. 

ON MR. BEAUMONT. 

WRITTEN THIRTY YEARS SINCE, PRESENTLY AFTER HIS DEATH. 

[_From "Comedies and Tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and JohnFletcher, Gentlemen" folio. London. 1647. _]

 Beaumont lies here: And where now shall we have A muse like his to sigh upon his grave? Ah! none to weep this with a worthy tear, But he that cannot, _Beaumont_ that lies here. Who now shall pay thy tomb with such a verse As thou that lady's didst, fair _Rutland's_ herse. A monument that will then lasting be, When all her marble is more dust than she. In thee all's lost: a sudden dearth and want Hath seiz'd on wit, good epitaphs are scant. We dare not write thy elegy, whilst each fears He ne'er shall match that copy of thy tears. Scarce in an age a poet, and yet he Scarce live the third part of his age to see, But quickly taken off and only known, Is in a minute shut as soon as shown. Why should weak Nature tire herself in vain In such a piece, to dash it straight again? Why should she take such work beyond her skill, Which, when she cannot perfect, she must kill? Alas! what is't to temper slime and mire? But Nature's puzzled when she works in fire. Great brains (like brightest glass) crack straight, while those Of stone or wood hold out, and fear not blows; And we their ancient hoary heads can see Whose wit was never their mortality. _Beaumont_ dies young, so _Sidney_ did before, There was not poetry he could live to more, He could not grow up higher, I scarce know If th' art itself unto that pitch could grow, Were't not in thee that hadst arriv'd the height Of all that wit could reach, or nature might. O when I read those excellent things of thine, Such strength, such sweetness couched in ev'ry line, Such life of fancy, such high choice of brain, Nought of the vulgar wit or borrow'd strain, Such passion, such expressions meet my eye, Such wit untainted with obscenity, And these so unaffectedly exprest, All in a language purely flowing drest, And all so born within thyself, thine own, So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon: I grieve not now that old _Menander's_ vein Is ruin'd to survive in thee again; Such, in his time, was he of the same piece, The smooth, even, nat'ral wit and love of Greece. Those few sententious fragments shew more worth, Than all the poets Athens e'er brought forth; And I am sorry we have lost those hours On them, whose quickness comes far short of ours, And dwell not more on thee, whose ev'ry page May be a pattern for their scene and stage. I will not yield thy works so mean a praise; More pure, more chaste, more sainted than are plays: Nor with that dull supineness to be read, To pass a fire, or laugh an hour in bed. How do the Muses suffer every where, Taken in such mouth's censure, in such ears, That 'twixt a whiff, a line or two rehearse, And with their rheume together spaul a verse? This all a poem's leisure after play, Drink, or tobacco, it may keep the day: Whilst ev'n their very idleness they think Is lost in these, that lose their time in drink. Pity then dull we, we that better know, Will a more serious hour on thee bestow. Why should not _Beaumont_ in the morning please, As well as _Plautus_, _Aristophanes_? Who, if my pen may as my thoughts be free, Were scurril wits and buffoons both to thee; Yet these our learned of severest brow Will deign to look on, and to note them too, That will defy our own, 'tis English stuff, And th' author is not rotten long enough, Alas! what phlegm are they compar'd to thee, In thy _Philaster_, and _Maid's-Tragedy_? Where's such a humour as thy _Bessus_? pray Let them put all their _Thrasoes_ in one play, He shall out-bid them; their conceit was poor, All in a circle of a bawd or whore; A coz'ning dance; take the fool away And not a good jest extant in a play. Yet these are wits, because they'r old, and now Being Greek and Latin, they are learning too: But those their own times were content t'allow A thirsty fame, and thine is lowest now. But thou shalt live, and, when thy name is grown Six ages older, shall be better known, When th' art of _Chaucer's_ standing in the tomb, Thou shalt not share, but take up all his room. 

JOHN EARLE. 

No. VII. 

DEDICATION TO THE LATIN TRANSLATION

OF THE

[Greek: Eikôn Basilikê]. 

"Serenissimo et Potentissimo Monarchæ, Carolo Secundo. Dei Gratia MagnæBritanniæ, Franciæ et Hiberniæ Regi, Fidei Defensori, &c. 

Serenissime Rex, Prodeat jam sub tuis auspiciis illa patris tui gloriosissimi imago, illaquâ magis ad Dei similitudinem, quàm quà Rex aut homo accedit. Prodeatvero eo colore peregrino, quo facta omnibus conspectior fiat publica. Itaenim tu voluisti, ut sic lingua omnium communi orbi traderem, in quautinam feliciorem tibi operam navare licuisset, ut illam nativamelegantiam, illam vim verborum et lumina, illam admirabilem sermonisstructuram exprimerem. Quod cum fieri (fortasse nec a peritissimis) à mecertè non possit, præstat interim ut cum aliqua venustatis injuria magnampartem Europæ alloquatur, quam intra paucos suæ gentis clausa apud cæterosomnes conticescat. Sunt enim hic velut quædam Dei magnalia quæ spargiexpedit humano generi, et in omnium linguis exaudiri: id pro mea facultatecuravi, ut si non sensa tanti authoris ornatè, at perspicuè et fidètraderem, imo nec ab ipsa dictione et phrasi (quantum Latini idiomatisratio permittit) vel minimum recederem. Sacri enim codicis religiosum essedecet interpretem: et certe proxime ab illo sacro et adorando codice, (quiin has comparationes non cadit, ) spera non me audacem futurum, si dixeronullum inter cæteros mortalium, vel autore vel argumento illustriorem, velin quo viva magis pietas et eximie Christiana spiratur. 

Habet vero sanctitas regia nescio quid ex fortunæ suæ majestate sublimiusquiddain et augustius, et quæ imperium magis obtinet in mentes hominum, etreverentia majore accipitur: quare et his maxime instrumentis usus estDeus, qui illam partem sacræ paginæ ad solennem Dei cultum pertinentem, psalmos scilicet, et hymnos: cæteraque ejusmodi perpetuis ecclesiæ usibusinservitura, transmitterent hominibus, et auctoritatem quandamconciliarent. Quid quod libentius etiam arripiunt homines sic objectam ettraditam pietatem. Quod et libro huic evenit, et erit magis eventurum, quojam multo diffusior plures sui capaces invenerit. 

Magnum erat profecto sic meditari, sic scribere; multo majus sic vivere, sic mori: ut sit hæc pene nimia dictu pietas exemplo illius superata. Scithæc illa orbis pars miserrima jam et contaminatissima. Utinam hancmaturius intellexissent virtutem, quam jam sero laudant, et admiranturamissam, nec illâ opus fuisset dirâ fornace, quâ tam eximia regis pietasexploraretur, ex qua nos tantum miseri facti sumus, ille omniumfelicissimus; cujus illa pars vitæ novissima et ærumnosissima et supremusdies, (in quo hominibus, et angelis spectaculum factus stetit animoexcelso et interrito, summum fidei, constantiæ, patientiæ exemplar, superior malis suis, et totâ simul conjestâ inferni malitiâ) omnes omniumtriumphos et quicquid est humanæ gloriæ, susuperavit. Nihil egistis Oquot estis, hominum! (sed nolo libro sanctissimo quicquam tetrius præfari, nec qaos ille inter preces nominat, maledicere) nihil, inquam, egistis hocparricidio, nisi quod famam illius et immortalitatem cum æterno vestroprobro et scelere conjunxistis. Nemo unquam ab orbe condito tot verisomnium lacrymis, tot sinceris laudibus celebratus est. Nulli unquamprincipum in secundis agenti illos fictos plausus vel metus dedit, veladulatio vendidit, quàm hic verissimos expressere fuga, carcer, theatrumet illa omnium funestissima securis, qua obstupe, fecit hostes moriens etcæsus triumphavit. 

Tu interim (Rex augustissime) vera et viva patris effigies, (cujus intersummas erat felicitates humanas, et in adversis solatium te genuisse, inquo superstite mori non potest) inflammeris maxime hoc mortis illiusexemplo, non tam in vindictæ cupidinem, (in quem alii te extimulent, nonego) quam in heroicæ virtutis, et constantiæ zelum: hanc vero primum adeasquam nulla vis tibi invito eripiet, hæreditariam pietatem; et quo es intuos omnes affectu maxime philostorgo, hunc librum eodem tecum genitoresatum amplectere; dic sapientiæ, soror mea es, et prudentiam affinem voca;hanc tu consule, hanc frequens meditare, hanc imbibe penitus, et in animamtuam transfunde. Vides in te omnium conjectos oculos, in te omnium bonorumspes sitas, ex te omnium vitas pendere, quas jamdiu multi tædioprojecissent, nisi ut essent quas tibi impenderent. Magnum onus incumbit, magna urget procella, magna expectatio, major omnium, quam quæ unquamsuperius, virtutum necessitas: an sit regnum amplius in Britannia futurum, an religio, an homines, an Deus, ex tua virtute, tua fortuna dependet:immo, sola potius ex Deo fortuna; cujus opem quo magis hic necessariamagnoscis, præsentaneam requiris, eo magis magisque, (quod jam facis) omnipietatis officio promerearis: et illa quæ in te largè sparsit bonitatis, prudentiæ, temperantiæ, justitiæ, et omnis regiæ virtutis semina foveas, augeas, et in fructum matures, ut tibi Deus placatus et propitius, quoddetraxit patri tuo felicitatis humanæ, tibi adjiciat, et omnes illiusærumnas conduplicatis in te beneficiis compenset, et appelleris illerestaurator, quem te unicé optant omnes et sperant futurum, etardentissimis precibus expetit. 

Majestatis tuæ humillimus devotissimusque subditus et sacellanus, JO. EARLES. 

No. VIII. 

INSCRIPTION ON DR. PETER HEYLIN'S[BS] MONUMENT IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

[_Written by Dr. Earle, then Dean of Westminster. _]

 Depositum Mortale Petri Heylyn, S. Th. D. Hujus Ecclesiæ Prebendarii et Subdecani, Viri plane memorabilis, Egregiis dotibus instructissimi, Ingenio acri et foecundo, Judicio subacto, Memoria ad prodigium tenaci, Cui adjunxit incredibilem in studiis patientiam Quæ cessantibus oculis non cessarunt. Scripsit varia et plurima, Quæ jam manibus hominum teruntur; Et argumentis non vulgaribus Stylo non vulgari suffecit. Et Majestatis Regiæ assertor Nec florentis magis utriusque Quàm afflictæ, Idemque perduellium et scismaticæ factionis Impugnator acerrimus. Contemptor invidiæ Et animo infracto Plura ejusmodi meditanti Mors indixit silentium: Ut sileatur Efficere non potest. Obiit Anno Ætatis 63, et 8 die Maii, A. D. 1662. Possuit hoc illi mæstissima conjux. 

FOOTNOTES:

[BS] Peter Heylin was born at Burford, in Oxfordshire, Nov. 29, 1599 andreceived the rudiments of his education at the free school in that place, from whence he removed to Harthall, and afterwards obtained a fellowshipat Magdalen College, Oxford. By the interposition of Bishop Laud, to whomhe was recommended by Lord Danvers, he was presented first to the rectoryof Hemingford, in Huntingdonshire, then to a prebend of Westminster, andlastly to the rectory of Houghton in the Spring, in the diocese of Durham, which latter he exchanged for Alresford, in Hampshire. In 1633 heproceeded D. D. And in 1638, became rector of South Warnborough, Hampshire, by exchange with Mr. Atkinson, of St. John's College, forIslip, in Oxfordshire. In 1640 he was chosen clerk of the convocation forWestminster, and in 1642 followed the king to Oxford. After the death ofCharles, he lost all his property, and removing with his family from placeto place, subsisted by the exercise of his pen till the Restoration, whenhe regained his livings, and was made sub-dean of Westminster. Hisconstancy and exertions were supposed by many to merit a higher reward, from a government, in whose defence he had sacrificed every prospect; butthe warmth of his temper, and his violence in dispute, were such asrendered his promotion to a higher dignity in the church impolitic in theopinion of the ministers. He died May 8, 1662, and was interred inWestminster-abbey, under his own stall. A list of his numerouspublications, as well as a character of him, may be found in Wood's_Athenæ Oxonienses_, ii. 275. 

No. IX. 

CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN DR. EARLE AND MR. BAXTER. 

[_See Kennet's Register, folio, Lond. 1723, page 713. _]

 MR. BAXTER TO DR. EARLE. 

 "REVEREND SIR, "By the great favour of my lord chancellor's reprehension, I came to understand how long a time I have suffered in my reputation with my superiors by your misunderstanding me, and misinforming others; as if when I was to preach before the king, I had scornfully refused the tippet as a toy; when, as the Searcher and Judge of Hearts doth know, that I had no such thought or word. I was so ignorant in those matters as to think that a tippet had been a proper ensign of a doctor of divinity, and I verily thought that you offered it me as such: and I had so much pride as to be somewhat ashamed when you offered it me, that I must tell you my want of such degrees; and therefore gave you no answer to your first offer, but to your second was forced to say, "It belongeth not to me, Sir. " And I said not to you any more; nor had any other thought in my heart than with some shame to tell you that I had no degrees, imagining I should have offended others, and made myself the laughter or scorn of many, if I should have used that which did not belong to me. For I must profess that I had no more scruple to wear a tippet than a gown, or any comely garment. Sir, though this be one of the smallest of all the mistakes which of late have turned to my wrong, and I must confess that my ignorance gave you the occasion, and I am far from imputing it to any ill will in you, having frequently heard, that in charity, and gentleness, and peaceableness of mind you are very eminent; yet because I must not contemn my estimation with my superiors, I humbly crave that favour and justice of you, (which I am confident you will readily grant me, ) as to acquaint those with the truth of this business, whom, upon mistake, you have misinformed, whereby in relieving the innocence of your brother, you will do a work of charity and justice, and therefore not displeasing unto God, and will much oblige, Sir, Your humble servant, RICHARD BAXTER. _June 20, 1662. _

 _P. S. _ I have the more need of your justice in this case, because my distance denieth me access to those that have received these misreports, and because any public vindication of myself, whatever is said of me, is taken as an unsufferable crime, and therefore I am utterly incapable of vindicating my innocency, or remedying their mistakes. 

 "To the reverend and much honoured Dr. Earles, Dean of Westminster, &c. These. "

DR EARLE, IN REPLY. 

 _Hampton-Court, June 23. _

 "SIR, [Sidenote: O that they were all such. --_Note by Mr. Baxter. _]

 "I received your letter, which I would have answered sooner, if the messenger that brought it had returned. I must confess I was a little surprized with the beginning of it, as I was with your name; but when I read further I ceased to be so. Sir, I should be heartily sorry and ashamed to be guilty of any thing like malignity or uncharitableness, especially to one of your condition, with whom, though I concur not perhaps in point of judgment in some particulars, yet I cannot but esteem for your personal worth and abilities; and, indeed, your expressions in your letter are so civil and ingenuous, that I am obliged thereby the more to give you all the satisfaction I can. 

 [Sidenote: These words I heard not, being in the passage from him. --_Note by Mr. Baxter. _]

 As I remember, then, when you came to me to the closet, and I told you I would furnish you with a tippet, you answered me something to that purpose as you write, but whether the same numerical words, or but once, I cannot possibly say from my own memory, and therefore I believe yours. Only this I am sure of, that I said to you at my second speaking, that some others of your persuasion had not scrupled at it, which might suppose (if you had not affirmed the contrary), that you had made me a formal refusal; of which giving me then no other reason than that "it belonged not to you, " I concluded that you were more scrupulous than others were. And, perhaps, the manner of your refusing it (as it appeared to me) might make me think you were not very well pleased with the motion. And this it is likely I might say, either to my lord chancellor or others; though seriously I do not remember that I spake to my lord chancellor at all concerning it. But, sir, since you give me now that modest reason for it, (which, by the way, is no just reason in itself, for a tippet may be worn without a degree, though a hood cannot; and it is no shame at all to want these formalities for him that wanteth not the substance, ) but, sir, I say, since you give that reason for your refusal, I believe you, and shall correct that mistake in myself, and endeavour to rectify it in others, if any, upon this occasion, have misunderstood you. In the mean time I shall desire your charitable opinion of myself, which I shall be willing to deserve upon any opportunity that is offered me to do you service, being, sir, Your very humble servant, JO. EARLES. "

 "To my honoured friend, Mr. Richard Baxter, These. "

No. X. 

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION

IN STREGLETHORP CHURCH, NEAR NEWARK-UPON-TRENT, IN LINCOLNSHIRE. 

[From Le Neve's _Monumenta Anglicana_[BT]. 8vo. Lond. 1718. Vol. Iii. P. 182. ]

 Stay, reader, and observe Death's partial doom, A spreading virtue in a narrow tombe; A generous mind, mingled with common dust, Like burnish'd steel, cover'd, and left to rust. Dark in the earth he lyes, in whom did shine All the divided merits of his line. The lustre of his name seems faded here, No fairer star in all that fruitful sphere. In piety and parts extreamly bright, Clear was his youth, and fill'd with growing light, A morn that promis'd much, yet saw no noon; None ever rose so fast, and set so soon. All lines of worth were centered here in one, Yet see, he lies in shades whose life had none. But while the mother this sad structure rears, } A double dissolution there appears--} He into dust dissolves, she into tears. }

 RICHARDUS EARLE[BU], Barn^{tus}. Obijt decimo tertio die Aug^{ti} Anno Dom. 1697. Ætatis suæ 24. 

FOOTNOTES:

[BT] Two other epitaphs appear in this collection, on the Earles ofNorfolk, with whom I cannot find our author to have had the leastconnection. A full account of this family may be seen in Blomefield's_History of Norfolk_, vol. Iii. P. 531. 

[BU] The title was created by Charles the First, July 2, 1629, and, Ibelieve, became extinct at the decease of this person. 

No. XI. 

 CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF BOOKS OF CHARACTERS. 

No. I. 

 _A Caueat for commen Cvr setors vulgarely called Uagabones, set forth by Thomas Harman. Esquier. For the vtiliteand proffyt of hys naturall Countrey. Newly agmented and Jmprinted Anno Domini. _ M. D. LXUjj. 

 ¶ _Vewed, examined, and allowed, according vnto the Queenes Maiestyes Iniunctions_

 [Roughly-executed wood-cut, of two persons receiving punishment at the cart's tail from the hands of a beadle. ]

 _Imprinted at London in Fletestret at the signe of the Faulcon by Wylliam Gryffith, and are to be solde at his shoppe in Saynt Dunstones Churche yarde in the West. _

[4to. Black letter, containing thirty folios, very incorrectly numbered. ]

I commence my list of _Characters_, with a volume, which, although earlierthan the period I originally intended to begin from, is of sufficientcuriosity and interest to warrant introduction, and, I trust, to obtainpardon from the reader for the additional trouble I am thus preparing forhim. 

Mr. Warton, in his _History of English Poetry_, (iv. 74. ) has given, withsome trifling errors, a transcript of the title, and says he has a faintremembrance of a Collection of Epigrams, by the author, printed about1599: these I have never been fortunate enough to meet with, nor do theyappear in the collections of Ames or Herbert, neither of whom had seen acopy of the present work, although they mention Griffith's licence toprint it as dated in 1566[BV]. 

It is dedicated to Elizabeth, countess of Shrewsbury; Mr. Warton thinks"with singular impropriety, " although the motive appears at least tojustify the measure, if it does not entitle the author to commendation. Headdresses this noble lady as a person of extreme benevolence, and "as alsoaboundantly powrynge out dayly [her] ardent and bountifull charytie vpponall such as commeth for reliefe. "--"I thought it good, " he continues, "necessary, and my bounden dutye, to acquaynte your goodnes with theabhominable, wycked, and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, raggedrabblement of rake helles, that vnder the pretence of great misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites whiche they fayne through greathipocrisye, do wyn and gayne great almes in all places where they wylywander. "--On this account, therefore, and to preserve the kindness andliberality of the countess from imposition, Harman dedicates his book tothat lady. 

The notorious characters mentioned, are a "ruffler[BW]; a upright man[BX];a hoker or angglear[BY]; a roge[BZ]; a wylde roge[CA]; a prygger ofprauncers; a pallyarde[CB]; a frater[CC]; a Abraham man[CD]; a fresh watermariner, or whipiacke; a counterfet cranke[CE]; a dommerar[CF]; a dronkentinckar[CG]; a swadder or pedler; a jarke man, and a patrico[CH]; ademaunder for glymmar[CI]; a bawdy basket[CJ]; a antem morte[CK]; awalking morte; a doxe; a dell; a kynchin morte; and a kynchen co. "

From such a list, several instances of the tricks, as well as specimens ofthe language of the thieves of the day, might with ease be extracted, didnot the limits of my little volume compel me to refrain from entering atlarge into this history of rogues; a restriction I the more regret, fromits containing several passages illustrating the manners of that period, and which would be found of material use towards explaining many of theallusions met with in our early English dramas and now but imperfectlyunderstood. 

"¶ Prygger of Prauncers. (Sign. C. Iii. B. )

"A prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers, for to prigge signifieth intheir language to steale, and a prauncer is a horse, so beinge puttogether, the matter is plaine. These go commonly in jerkins of leather orof white frese, & carry little wandes in their hands, and will walkethrough grounds and pasturs, to search and se horses mete for theirpurpose. And if thei chaunce to be met and asked by the owners of thegrounde what they make there, they fayne straighte that they have lostetheyr waye, and desyre to be enstructed the beste way to suche a place. These will also repayre to gentlemens houses, and aske theyr charitye, andwill offer theyr seruice. And if you aske them what they can doe, they wilsaye that they can kepe two or three geldinges, and waite vppon agentleman. These haue also theyr women that, walkinge from them in otherplaces, marke where and what they see abrode, and sheweth these priggarstherof, when they meete, whych is wythin a weeke or two. And loke, wherethey steale any thynge, they conuey the same at the leaste three scoremiles of, or more. There was a gentleman, a verye friende of myne, rydyngefrom London homewarde into Kente, hauinge within three myles of his housebusynesse, alyghted of his horse, and hys man also, in a pretye village, where diuers houses were, and looked about hym where he myghte haue aconuenyent person to walke his horse, because he would speak we a farmerthat dwelte on the backe side of the sayde village, little aboue a quarterof a myle from the place where he lighted, and had his man to waight vponhym, as it was mete for his callynge: espieng a priggar there standing, thinkinge the same to dwel there, charging this prity prigginge person towalke his horse well, and that they might not stande still for takynge ofcolde, and at his returne (which he saide should not be longe, ) he wouldgeue him a peny to drinke, and so wente about his busines. Thys peltyngepriggar, proude of his praye, walketh hys horses vp and downe, till hesawe the gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the saddell, andawaye be goeth a mayne. This gentleman returning, and findyng not hishorses, sente his man to the one ende of the village, & he went himselfevnto the other ende, and enquired as he went for hys horses that werewalked, and began somewhat to suspecte, because neither he nor his mancoulde neyther see nor fynde him. Then this gentleman diligently enquiredof three or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person, declaringhis stature, age, apparel, and so manye linamentes of his body as hecoulde call to remembraunce. And _vna voce_, all sayde that no such mandwelte in their streate, neither in the parish that they knewe of, butsome did wel remember that suche a one they sawe there lyrkinge andhuggeringe[CL] two houres before the gentleman came thether and astraunger to them. J had thought, quoth this gentleman, he had heredwelled, and marched home mannerly in his botes: farre from the place hedwelt not. J suppose at his comming home he sente such wayes as hesuspected or thought mete to search for this prigger, but hetherto heneuer harde any tidinges againe of his palfreys. J had the best geldingstolen out of my pasture that J had amogst others, while this boke wasfirst a printing. "

At the end of the several characters, the author gives a list of the namesof the most notorious thieves of his day, a collection of the cant phrasesused by them, with their significations; and a dialogue between an_uprighte man_ and a _roge_, which I shall transcribe:--

 "The vpright Cose canteth to the Roger. _The vprighte man spaketh to the roge. _

_Man. _ Bene lyghtmans to thy quarromes in what lipk[=e] hast thou lipped in this darkemanes; whether in a lybbege or in the strummell?

 _God morrowe to thy bodye, in what house hast thou lyne in all night whether in a bed, or in the strawe?_

_Roge. _ J couched a hogeshed in a skypper this darkemans. 

 _I laye me down to sleepe in a barne this night. _

_Man. _ J towre ye strummell tryne vpon thy nabcher & togman. 

 _I see the straw hange upon thy cap and coate. _

_Roge. _ J saye by the Salomon J wyll lage it of with a gage of bene bouse then cut to my nose watch. 

 _J sweare by the masse J wyll wash it of with a quart of drinke, then saye to me what thou wilt. _

_Man. _ Why, hast thou any lowre in thy bouge to bouse?

 _Why, hast thou any money in thy purse to drinke?_

_Roge. _ But a flagge, a wyn, and a make. 

 _But a grot, a penny, and a halfe-penny. _

_Man. _ Why where is the kene that hath the bene bouse?

 _Where is the house that hath the good drinke?_

_Roge. _ A bene mort hereby at the signe of the prauncer. 

 _A good wyfe here by at the signe of the hors. _

_Man. _ J cutt it is quyer bouse J bousd a flagge the laste darkemans. 

 _J saye it is small and naughtye drynke, J dranke a groate there the last night. _

_Roge. _ But bouse there a bord, and thou shalt haue beneship. 

	_But drinke there a shyllinge, and thou shalt haue very good. _

 Tower ye, yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and maund that is beneshype. 

 _Se you, yonder is the house, open the doore, and aske for the best. _

_Man. _ This bouse is as benshyp as rome bouse. 

 _This drinke is as good as wyne. _

 Now J tower that bene bouse makes nase nabes. 

 _Now J se that good drynke makes a dronken heade. _

 Maunde of this morte what bene pecke is in her ken. 

 _Aske of this wyfe what good meate shee hath in her house. _

_Roge. _ She hath a cacling chete, a grunting chete, ruff pecke, cassan, and popplarr of yarum. 

 _She hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese and mylke porrage. _

_Man. _ That is beneshyp to oure watche. 

 _That is very good for vs. _

 Now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete. 

 _Nowe we haue well dronke, let vs steale some thinge. _

 Yonder dwelleth a quyere cuffen it were beneshype to myll hym. 

 _Yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man it weare very well donne to robbe him. _

_Roge. _ Nowe, bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the ruff-manes is by. 

 _Naye, let vs go hence to the hygh waye, the wodes is at hande. _

_Man. _ So may we happen on the harmanes and cly the jarke, or to the quyer ken and skower quyaer cramprings and so to tryning on the chates. 

 _So we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whypped, eyther had to prison-house, and there be shackeled with bolttes and fetters, and then to hange on the gallowes. _

[_Rogue. _] Gerry gan the ruffian clye thee. 

 _A corde in thy mouth, the deuyll take thee. _

_Man. _ What! stowe you bene cofe and cut benar whydds; and byng we to some vyle to nyp a bong, so shall we haue lowre for the bousing ken and when we byng back to the deuseauye, we wyll fylche some duddes of the ruffemans, or myll the ken for a lagge of dudes. 

 _What! holde your peace, good fellowe, and speake better wordes; and go we to London to cut a purse, then shal we haue money for the ale-house, and when we come backe agayne into the countrey, we wyll steale some lynnen clothes of one hedges, or robbe some house for a bucke of clothes. _"

I have been induced, from the curiosity and rarity of this tract, toextend my account of it farther, perhaps, than many of my readers maythink reasonable, and shall, therefore, only add a specimen of Harman'spoetry, with which the original terminates. 

 "--> Thus J conclude my bolde beggar's booke, That all estates most playnely maye see; As in a glasse well pollyshed to looke, Their double demeaner in eche degree; Their lyues, their language, their names as they be; That with this warning their myndes may be warmed To amende their mysdeedes, and so lyue vnharmed. "

Another tract of the same description is noticed in Herbert's Ames (p. 885. ) as printed so early as in 1565. A copy of the second edition in theBodleian Library, possesses the following title:--"_The Fraternitye ofUacabondes. As wel of ruflyng Vacabondes, as of beggerly, of women as ofmen, of gyrles as of boyes, with their proper names and qualities. With adescription of the crafty company of Cousoners and Shifters. Whereuntoalso is adioyned the xxv orders of Knaues, otherwyse called a Quartern ofKnaues. Confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell[CM], &c. Imprinted at London byIohn Awdeley, dwellyng in little Britayne streete without Aldersgate. 1575. _" This, although much shorter than Harman's, contains nearly thesame characters, and is therefore thus briefly dismissed. An account ofit, drawn up by the editor of the present volume, may be found in Brydges'_British Bibliographer_, vol. Ii. P. 12. 

It may not be amiss to notice in this place, that a considerable part of_The Belman of London, bringing to light the most notorious villanies thatare now practised in the kingdom, &c. _ 4to. 1608, is derived from Harman's_Caveat_. Among the books bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Burton, (4to. G. 8. Art. BS. ) is a copy of the _Belman_, with the several passages soborrowed, marked in the hand-writing of the author of the _Anatomy ofMelancholy_, who has also copied the _canting dialogue_ just given, andadded several notes of his own on the margin. 

FOOTNOTES:

[BV] In the epistle to the reader, the author terms it "this _second_impression. "

[BW] A _ruffler_ seems to have been a bully as well as a beggar, he isthus described in the _Fraternitye of Vacabondes_; (see p. 228. ) "Aruffeler goeth wyth a weapon to seeke seruice, saying he hath bene aseruitor in the wars, and beggeth for his reliefe. But his chiefest tradeis to robbe poore way-faring men and market-women. " In _New Custome_ amorality, 1573, Creweltie, one of the characters, is termed a _ruffler_. See also Decker's _Belman of London_. Sign. C. Iv. 

[BX] "An _upright man_ is one that goeth wyth the trunchion of a staffe, which staffe they cal a Flitchm[=a]. This man is of so much authority, that meeting with any of his profession, he may cal them to accompt, andcomaund a share or snap vnto himselfe of al that they have gained by theirtrade in one moneth. " _Fraternitye of Vacabondes. _

[BY] This worthy character approaches somewhat near to a shop-lifter. Decker tells us that "their apparele in which they walke is commonlyfreize jerkins and gallye slops. " _Belman. _ Sign. C. Iv. 

[BZ] A rogue, says Burton, in his MS. Notes to Decker's _Belman ofLondon_, "is not so stoute and [hardy] as the vpright man. "

[CA] A person whose parents were rogues. 

[CB] "These be called also _clapperdogens_" and "go with patched clokes. "Sign. C. Iv. 

[CC] A _Frater_ and a _Whipiacke_, are persons who travel with acounterfeite license, the latter in the dress of a sailor. See_Fraternitye, Belman_, &c. 

[CD] "An _Abraham-man_ is he that walketh bare-armed, and bare-legged, andfayneth hymselfe mad, and caryeth a packe of wool, or a stycke with bakenon it, or such lyke toy, and nameth himselfe Poore Tom. " _Fraternitye ofVacabondes. _

[CE] A person who asks charity, and feigns sickness and disease. 

[CF] One who pretends to be dumb. In Harman's time they were chieflyWelsh-men. 

[CG] An artificer who mends one hole, and makes twenty. 

[CH] A _jarke man_ can read and write, and sometimes understands a littleLatin. A _patrico_ solemnizes their marriages. 

[CI] These are commonly women who ask assistance, feigning that they havelost their property by fire. 

[CJ] A woman who cohabits with an _upright man_, and professes to sellthread, &c. 

[CK] "These _antem mortes_ be maried wemen, as there be but a fewe: for_antem_, in their language is a churche--" &c. _Harman_. Sign. E. Iv. A_walking morte_ is one unmarried: a _doxe_, a _dell_, and a _kynchinmorte_, are all females; and a _kynchen co_ is a young boy not thoroughlyinstructed in the art of _canting_ and _prigging_. 

[CL] In Florio's _Italian Dictionary_, the word _dinascoso_ is explained"secretly, hiddenly, in _hugger-mugger_. " See also Reed's _Shakspeare_, xviii. 284. _Old Plays_, 1780. Viii. 48. 

[CM] Herbert notices _Cock Lorelles Bote_, which he describes to be asatire in verse, in which the author enumerates all the most common tradesand callings then in being. It was printed, in black letter, Wynken deWorde, 4to. Without date. _History of Printing_ ii. 224, and Percy's_Reliques_, i. 137, edit. 1794. 

ii. _Picture of a Puritane, 8vo. _ 1605. [Dr. Farmer's _Sale Catalogue_, page 153, No. 3709. ]

iii. _"A Wife novv the Widdow of Sir Thomas Overbvrye. Being a mostexquisite and singular Poem of the Choice of a Wife. Wherevnto are addedmany witty Characters, and conceited Newes, written by himselfe and otherlearned Gentlemen his friends. 

 Dignum laude virum musa vetat mori, Cælo musa beat. Hor. Car. Lib. 3. 

London Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and are to bee sold at his shop inPaule's Church-yard, at the signe of the Tiger's head. 1614. "_[CN]

[4to. Pp. 64, not numbered. ]

Of Sir Thomas Overbury's life, and unhappy end, we have so full an accountin the _Biographia_, and the various historical productions, treating ofthe period in which he lived, that nothing further will be expected inthis place. His _Wife_ and _Characters_ were printed, says Wood, severaltimes during his life, and the edition above noticed, was supposed, by theOxford biographer, to be the fourth or fifth[CO]. Having never seen acopy of the early editions, I am unable to fix on any characterundoubtedly the production of Overbury, and the printer confesses some ofthem were written by "other learned gentlemen. " These were greatlyencreased in subsequent impressions, that of 1614 having only twenty-onecharacters, and that in 1622 containing no less than eighty. 

A COURTIER, --(_Sign. C. 4. B. _)

To all men's thinking is a man, and to most men the finest: all thingselse are defined by the understanding, but this by the sences; but hissurest marke is, that hee is to bee found onely about princes. Hee smells;and putteth away much of his judgement about the scituation of hisclothes. Hee knowes no man that is not generally knowne. His wit, like themarigold, openeth with the sunne, and therefore he riseth not before tenof the clocke. Hee puts more confidence in his words than meaning, andmore in his pronuntiation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and heehath but one receipt of making loue. Hee followes nothing butinconstancie, admires nothing but beauty, honours nothing but fortune. Loues nothing. The sustenance of his discourse his newes, and his censurelike a shot depends vpon the charging. Hee is not, if he be out of court, but, fish-like, breathes destruction, if out of his owne element. Neitherhis motion, or aspect are regular, but he mooues by the vpper spheres, andis the reflexion of higher substances. If you finde him not heere, youshall in Paules with a pick-tooth in his hat, a cape cloke, and a longstocking. 

FOOTNOTES:

[CN] In 1614 appeared _The Husband_, a _Poeme_, expressed in a compleatman. See _Censura Literaria_, v. 365. John Davies, of Hereford, wrote _ASelect Second Hvsband for Sir Thomas Overbvries Wife, now a matchlessewidow_. 8vo. Lond. 1616. And in 1673 was published, _The Illustrious Wife, viz. That excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overbvrie's Wife, illustrated byGiles Oldisworth, Nephew to the same Sir T. O. _

[CO] It was most probably the fifth, as Mr. Capel, who has printed the_Wife_, in his very curious volume, entitled _Prolusions_, 8vo. Lond. 1760, notices two copies in 1614, one in 8vo. Which I suppose to be thethird, and one in 4to. Stated in the title to be the fourth edition: thesixth was in the following year, 1615; the seventh, eighth, and ninth werein 1616, the eleventh in 1622, twelfth in 1627, thirteenth 1628, fourteenth, 1630, fifteenth, 1632, sixteenth, 1638, and Mr. Brandpossessed a copy, the specific edition of which I am unable to state, printed in 1655. _Catalogue_, No. 4927. 

iv. "_Satyrical Essayes, Characters, and others, or accurate and quickDescriptions, fitted to the life of their Subiects. _ [Greek: tôn êthôn dêphylattesthai mallon dei hê tous hecheis]. Theophras. 

 Aspice et hæc, si forte aliquid decoctius audis, Jude vaporata Lector mihi ferucat aure. IUUEN. 

_Plagosus minime Plagiarius. _

_John Stephens. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, and are to be sold byRoger Barnes, at his Shop in St. Dunstane's Church-yard. 1615. _"

[8vo. Pp. 321. Title, preface, &c. 14 more. ]

In a subsequent impression of this volume, 8vo. In the same year, and witha fresh title page, dated 1631[CP], we find the author to be "JohnStephens the younger, of Lincoln's Inn:" no other particulars of himappear to exist at present, excepting that he was the author of a playentitled, _Cinthia's Revenge; or, Mænander's Extasie_. Lond. For Barnes, 1613, 4to. "which, " says Langbaine, "is one of the longest plays I everread, and withal the most tedious. " Ben Jonson addressed some lines[CQ]to the author, whom he calls "his much and worthily esteemed friend, " asdid F. C. G. Rogers, and Thomas Danet. 

Stephens dedicates his book to Thomas Turner, Esq. For the sake of alittle variety I give one of his "three satyricall Essayes onCowardlinesse, " which are written in verse. 

ESSAY I. 

 "Feare to resist good virtue's common foe, And feare to loose some lucre, which doth grow By a continued practise; makes our fate Banish (with single combates) all the hate, Which broad abuses challenge of our spleene. For who in Vertue's troope was euer seene, That did couragiously with mischiefes fight, Without the publicke name of hipocrite? Vaine-glorious, malapert, precise, deuout, Be tearmes which threaten those that go about To stand in opposition of our times With true defiance, or satyricke rimes. Cowards they be, branded among the worst, Who (through contempt of Atheisme), neuer durst Crowd neere a great man's elbow to suggest Smooth tales with glosse, or Enuy well addrest. These be the noted cowards of our age; Who be not able to instruct the stage With matter of new shamelesse impudence Who cannot almost laugh at innocence; And purchase high preferment by the waies, Which had bene horrible in Nero's dayes. They are the shamefull cowards, who contemne Vices of state, or cannot flatter them; Who can refuse advantage, or deny Villanous courses, if they can espye Some little purchase to inrich their chest Though they become vncomfortably blest. We still account those cowards, who forbeare (Being possess'd with a religious feare) To slip occasion, when they might erect Hornes on a tradesman's noddle, or neglect The violation of a virgin's bed With promise to requite her maiden-head. Basely low-minded we esteeme that man Who cannot swagger well, or (if he can) Who doth not with implacable desire, Follow revenge with a consuming fire. Extortious rascals, when they are alone, Bethinke how closely they have pick'd each bone, Nay, with a frolicke humour, they will brag, How blancke they left their empty client's bag. Which dealings if they did not giue delight, Or not refresh their meetings in despight, They would accounted be both weake, vnwise, And, like a timorous coward, too precise. Your handsome-bodied youth (whose comely face May challenge all the store of Nature's grace, ) If, when a lustfull lady doth inuite, By some lasciuious trickes his deere delight, If then he doth abhorre such wanton ioy; Whose is not almost ready to destroy Ciuility with curses, when he heares The tale recited? blaming much his years, Or modest weaknesse, and with cheeks ful-blown Each man will wish the case had beene his own. Graue holy men, whose habite will imply Nothing but honest zeale, or sanctity, Nay so vprighteous will their actions seeme, As you their thoughts religion will esteeme. Yet these all-sacred men, who daily giue Such vowes, wold think themselves vnfit to liue, If they were artlesse in the flattering vice, Euen as it were a daily sacrifice: Children deceiue their parents with expence: Charity layes aside her conscience, And lookes vpon the fraile commodity Of monstrous bargaines with a couetous eye: And now the name of _generosity_, Of _noble cariage_ or _braue dignity_, Keepe such a common skirmish in our bloud, As we direct the measure of things good, By that, which reputation of estate, Glory of rumor, or the present rate Of sauing pollicy doth best admit. We do employ materials of wit, Knowledge, occasion, labour, dignity, Among our spirits of audacity, Nor in our gainefull proiects do we care For what is pious, but for what we dare. Good humble men, who haue sincerely layd Saluation for their hope, we call _afraid_. But if you will vouchsafe a patient eare, You shall perceiue, men impious haue most feare. "

The second edition possesses the following title--"_New Essayes andCharacters, with a new Satyre in defence of the Common Law, and Lawyers:mixt with reproofe against their Enemy Ignoramus, &c. London, 1631. _" Itseems not improbable that some person had attacked Stephens's firstedition, although I am unable to discover the publication alluded to. Isuspect him to be the editor of, or one of the contributors to, the latercopies of Sir Thomas Overbury's _Wife_, &c. : since one of Stephens'sfriends, (a Mr. I. Cocke) in a poetical address prefixed to his _NewEssayes_, says "I am heere enforced to claime 3 characters following theWife[CR]; viz. The _Tinker_, the _Apparatour_, and _Almanack-maker_, thatI may signify the ridiculous and bold dealing of an vnknowne botcher: butI neede make no question what he is; for his hackney similitudes discouerhim to be the rayler above-mentioned, whosoeuer that rayler be. "

FOOTNOTES:

[CP] Coxeter, in his MSS. Notes to Gildon's _Lives of the Eng. Dram. Poets_, in the Bodleian, says that the second edition was in 8vo. 1613, "_Essays and Characters, Ironical and Instructive_, " but this must be amistake. 

[CQ]

 "Who takes thy volume to his vertuous hand, Must be intended still to vnderstand: Who bluntly doth but looke vpon the same, May aske, _what author would conceale his name?_ Who reads may roaue, and call the passage darke, Yet may, as blind men, sometimes hit the marke. Who reads, who roaues, who hopes to vnderstand, May take thy volume to his vertuous hand. Who cannot reade, but onely doth desire To vnderstand, hee may at length admire. 

 B. I. "

[CR] These were added to the sixth edition of the _Wife_, in 1615. 

v. _Caracters upon Essaies, morall and diuine, written for those goodspirits that will take them in good part, and make use of them to goodpurpose. London: Printed by Edw. Griffin for John Guillim, and are to besold at his shop in Britaines Burse. _ 1615. 12mo. 

[Censura Literaria, v. 51. Monthly Mirror, xi. 16. ]

vi. _The Good and the Badde, or Descriptions of the Worthies andVnworthies of this Age. Where the Best may see their Graces, and the Worstdiscerne their Basenesse. London, Printed by George Purslowe for IohnBudge, and are to be sold at the great South-dore of Paules, and atBrittaines Bursse. _ 1616. 

[4to. Containing pp. 40, title, dedication "to Sir Gilbert Houghton, Knight, " and preface six more. A second edition appeared in 1643, underthe title of _England's Selected Characters_, &c. ]

The author of these characters[CS] was Nicholas Breton, who dedicates themto Sir Gilbert Houghton, of Houghton, Knight. Of Breton no particularsare now known, excepting what may be gained from an epitaph in Nortonchurch, Northamptonshire[CT], by which we learn that he was the son ofCaptain Breton, of Tamworth, in Staffordshire, and served himself in theLow Countries, under the command of the Earl of Leicester. He marriedAnne, daughter of Sir Edward Legh, or Leigh, of Rushell, Staffordshire, bywhom he had five sons and four daughters, and having purchased the manorof Norton, died there June 22, 1624[CU]. 

Breton appears to have been a poet of considerable reputation among hiscontemporaries, as he is noticed with commendation by Puttenhem and Meres:Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges declares that his poetical powers weredistinguished by a simplicity, at once easy and elegant. Specimens of hisproductions in verse, may be found in Percy's _Reliques_, Ellis's_Specimens_, Cooper's _Muses' Library, Censura Literaria_; and animperfect list of his publications is given by Ritson, in the_Bibliographia Poetica_, which is augmented by Mr. Park, in the _Cens. Lit. _ ix. 163[CV]. 

A WORTHIE PRIUIE COUNCELLER. 

A worthy priuie counceller is the pillar of a realme, in whose wisedomeand care, vnder God and the king, stands the safety of a kingdome; he isthe watch-towre to giue warning of the enemy, and a hand of prouision forthe preseruation of the state: hee is an oracle in the king's eare, and asword in the king's hand, an euen weight in the ballance of justice, and alight of grace in the loue of truth: he is an eye of care in the course oflawe, a heart of loue in the seruice of his soueraigne, a mind of honourin the order of his seruice, and a braine of inuention for the good of thecommon-wealth; his place is powerful, while his seruice is faithfull, andhis honour due in the desert of his employment. In summe, he is as a fixedplanet mong the starres of the firmament, which through the clouds in theayre, shewes the nature of his light. 

AN VNWORTHIE COUNCELLER. 

An vnworthie counceller is the hurt of a king, and the danger of a state, when the weaknes of judgement may commit an error, or the lacke of caremay give way to vnhappinesse: he is a wicked charme in the king's eare, asword of terror in the aduice of tyranny: his power is perillous in thepartiality of will, and his heart full of hollownesse in the protestationof loue: hypocrisie is the couer of his counterfaite religion, andtraiterous inu[=e]tion is the agent of his ambition: he is the cloud ofdarknesse, that threatneth foule weather, and if it growe to a storme, itis feareful where it falls: hee is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and worthie of death in disloyalty to his soueraigne. In summe, he is anvnfit person for the place of a counceller, and an vnworthy subject tolooke a king in the face. 

AN EFFEMINATE FOOL. 

An effeminate foole is the figure of a baby: he loues nothing but gay, tolook in a glasse, to keepe among wenches, and to play with trifles; tofeed on sweet meats, and to be daunced in laps, to be inbraced in armes, and to be kissed on the cheeke: to talke idlely, to looke demurely, to goenicely, and to laugh continually: to be his mistresse' servant, and hermayd's master, his father's love, and his mother's none-child: to play ona fiddle, and sing a loue-song, to weare sweet gloues, and look on finethings: to make purposes and write verses, deuise riddles, and tell lies:to follow plaies, and study daunces, to heare newes, and buy trifles: tosigh for loue, and weepe for kindnesse, and mourne for company, and beesicke for fashion: to ride in a coach, and gallop a hackney, to watch allnight, and sleepe out the morning: to lie on a bed, and take tobacco, andto send his page of an idle message to his mistresse; to go vpon gigges, to haue his ruffes set in print, to picke his teeth, and play with apuppet. In summe, hee is a man-childe, and a woman's man, a gaze offolly, and wisedome's griefe[CW]. 

"THE CHESSE PLAY. "

Very aptly deuised by N. B. Gent. 

[From "_The Phoenix Nest. Built vp with the most rare and refined workesof Noble men, woorthy Knights, gallant Gentlemen, Masters of Arts, andbraue Schollers, " &c. "Set foorth by R. S. Of the Inner Temple, Gentleman. " 4to. London, by Iohn Iackson, 1593, page 28. _]

 A secret many yeeres vnseene, In play at chesse, who knowes the game, First of the King, and then the Queene, Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name, Of euerie Pawne I will descrie, The nature with the qualitie. 

THE KING. 

 The King himselfe is haughtie care, Which ouerlooketh all his men, And when he seeth how they fare He steps among them now and then, Whom, when his foe presumes to checke, His seruants stand, to giue the necke. 

THE QUEENE. 

 The Queene is queint, and quicke conceit, Which makes hir walke which way she list, And rootes them vp, that lie in wait To worke hir treason, ere she wist: Hir force is such against hir foes That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes. 

THE KNIGHT. 

 The Knight is knowledge how to fight Against his prince's enimies, He neuer makes his walke outright, But leaps and skips, in wilie wise, To take by sleight a traitrous foe, Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. 

THE BISHOP. 

 The Bishop he is wittie braine, That chooseth crossest pathes to pace, And euermore he pries with paine, To see who seekes him most disgrace: Such straglers when he findes astraie He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. 

THE ROOKES. 

 The Rookes are reason on both sides, Which keepe the corner houses still, And warily stand to watch their tides, By secret art to worke their will, To take sometime a theefe vnseene, Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. 

THE PAWNES. 

 The Pawne before the King, is peace, Which he desires to keepe at home, Practise, the Queene's, which doth not cease Amid the world abroad to roame, To finde, and fall upon each foe, Whereas his mistres meanes to goe. 

 Before the Knight, is perill plast, Which he, by skipping ouergoes, And yet that Pawne can worke a cast, To ouerthrow his greatest foes; The Bishop's prudence, prieng still Which way to worke his master's will. 

 The Rooke's poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines, Which seeldome serue, except by hap, And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines, To catch a great man, in a trap: So that I see, sometime a groome May not be spared from his roome. 

THE NATURE OF THE CHESSE MEN. 

 The King is stately, looking hie; The Queene doth beare like maiestie: The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise: The Bishop prudent and precise. The Rookes no raungers out of raie[CX], The Pawnes the pages in the plaie. 

LENVOY. 

 Then rule with care, and quicke conceit, And fight with knowledge, as with force; So beare a braine, to dash deceit, And worke with reason and remorse. Forgive a fault when young men plaie, So giue a mate, and go your way. 

 And when you plaie beware of checke, Know how to saue and giue a necke: And with a checke beware of mate; But cheefe, ware had I wist too late: Loose not the Queene, for ten to one, If she be lost, the game is gone. "

FOOTNOTES:

[CS] These are a king; a queen; a prince; a privy-counsellor; a noble man;a bishop; a judge; a knight; a gentleman; a lawyer; a soldier; aphysician; a merchant (their good and bad characters); a good man, and anatheist or most bad man; a wise man and a fool; an honest man and a knave;an usurer; a beggar; a virgin and a wanton woman; a quiet woman; anunquiet woman; a good wife; an effeminate fool; a parasite; a bawd; adrunkard; a coward; an honest poor man; a just man; a repentant sinner; areprobate; an old man; a young man, and a holy man. 

[CT] It is by no means certain that this may not be intended to perpetuatethe memory of some other person of the same names, although Mr. Gough, ina note to the second volume of _Queen Elizabeth's Progresses_, seems tothink it belongs to our author. 

[CU] Bridges' _Northamptonshire_, vol. Ii. Page 78, s. Shaw's_Staffordshire_, vol. I. Page 422. 

[CV] To these lists of Breton's productions may be added, 1. _A SolemnePassion of the Soule's Loue. _ 4to. Lond. 1598. 2. _The Mother's Blessing_, 4to. Lond. 1602. 3. _A True Description of vnthankfulnesse; or an enemieto Ingratitude. _ 4to. Lond. 1602. 4. _Breton's Longing_, 4to. Title lostin the Bodleian copy; prefixed are verses by H. T. Gent. 5. _A Poste witha packet of Mad Letters_, 4to. 1633, dedicated by Nicholas Breton toMaximilian Dallison of Hawlin, Kent. The last tract excepted, all theabove are in a volume bequeathed by Bishop Tanner to the university ofOxford, which contains many of the pieces noticed by Ritson, and, inaddition, _The Passion of a discontented Minde. _ 4to. Lond. 1602, which Ishould have no hesitation in placing to Breton. At the end of the volumeare _The Passions of the Spirit_, and _Excellent Vercis worthey imitationof euery Christian in thier Conuersiation_, both in manuscript, and, if wemay judge from the style, evidently by the author before-mentioned. Forthe _Figures_, in the composition of which he had certainly a share, seepage 198. 

[CW] I am not aware that the following specimen of his versification, which is curious, has been reprinted. 

[CX] _Raie_, for _array_; order, rank. So Spencer. 

 "And all the damzels of that towne in _ray_, Came dauncing forth, and ioyous carrols song:"

_Faerie Queene_, book v. Canto xi. 34. 

vii. _Essayes and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners. Written by G. M. Of Grayes'-Inne, Gent. _ (Woodcut of a keeper standing with the hatch of aprison open, in his left hand a staff, the following lines at the side;

 "Those that keepe mee, I keepe; if can, will still: Hee's a true Iaylor strips the Diuell in ill. ")

_Printed at London for Mathew Walbancke and are to be solde at his shopsat the new and old Gate of Grayes-Inne. _ 1618. 

[4to. Pp. 48. Title, dedication, &c. Eight more. ]

A second edition appeared in 1638, and, as the title informs us, "withsome new additions:" what these were I am not able to state, as my copy, although it appears perfect, contains precisely the same with that of1618. 

Of Geffray Mynshul, as he signs his name to the dedication, I can learnno particulars, but I have reason to suppose him descended from an ancientand highly respectable family, residing at Minshull, in the county ofChester[CY], during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. By whatmishap he became an inmate of the King's-bench prison, from when hedates[CZ] his _Essayes_, it is impossible to conjecture, but as he talksof usury and extortion, as well as of severe creditors; and advises thosewho are compelled to borrow, to pay as soon as they can, we may supposethat imprudence and extravagance assisted in reducing him to the situationhe attempts to describe. 

In the dedication to his uncle, "Mr. Matthew Mainwaring[DA], of Namptwich, in Cheshire, " he says:--"Since my comming into this prison, what with thestrangenesse of the place, and strictnesse of my liberty, I am sotransported that I could not follow that study wherein I tooke greatdelight and cheife pleasure, and to spend my time idley would but addemore discontentments to my troubled brest, and being in this chaos ofdiscontentments, fantasies must arise, which will bring forth the fruitsof an idle braine, for _e malis minimum_. It is farre better to giue someaccompt of time, though to little purpose, than none at all. To which endI gathered a handfull of essayes, and few characters of such things as bymy owne experience I could say _Probatum est_: not that thereby I shouldeither please the reader, or shew exquisitenes of inuention, or curiousstile; seeing what I write of is but the child of sorrow, bred bydiscontentments, and nourisht vp with misfortunes, to whosc helpmelancholly Saturne gaue his iudgement, the night-bird her inuention, andthe ominous rauen brought a quill taken from his owne wing, dipt in theinke of misery, as chiefe ayders in this architect of sorrow. "

"CHARACTER OF A PRISONER. 

A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingring vnder the rough hands of acruell phisitian: his creditor hauing cast his water knowes his disease, and hath power to cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He islike Tantalus, who hath freedome running by his doore, yet cannot enioythe least benefit thereof. His greatest griefe is that his credit was sogood and now no better. His land is drawne within the compasse of asheepe's skin, and his owne hand the fortification that barres him ofentrance: hee is fortunes tossing-bal, an obiect that would make mirthmelancholy: to his friends an abiect, and a subiect of nine dayes' wonderin euery barber's shop, and a mouthfull of pitty (that he had no betterfortune) to midwiues and talkatiue gossips; and all the content that thistransitory life can giue him seemes but to flout him, in respect therestraint of liberty barres the true vse. To his familiars hee is like aplague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for feare of infection, he is amonument ruined by those which raysed him, he spends the day with a _heimihi! ve miserum_! and the night with a _nullis est medicabilis herbis_. "

FOOTNOTES:

[CY] In the church of St. Mary, at Nantwich, in that county, is a monumenterected by Geofry Minshull, of Stoke, Esq. To the memory of his ancestors. _Historical Account of Nantwich_, 8vo. 1774, page 33. King, in his _ValeRoyal of England_, folio, _Lond. _ 1656, page 74, speaks of Minshall-hall, "a very ancient seat, which hath continued the successions of aworshipfull race in its own name"--&c. 

[CZ] This place of residence was omitted in the second edition. 

[DA] The Mainwarings were an old family of repute, being mentioned asresiding near Nantwich, by Leland, _Itin. _ vol. 7. Pt. I. Fol. 43. Seealso the list of escheators of Cheshire, in Leycester's _HistoricalAntiquities_, folio, Lond. 1673, p. 186. 

viii. _Cvres for the Itch. Characters. Epigrams. Epitaphs. By H. P. Scalpat qui tangitur. London, Printed for Thomas Iones, at the signs ofthe Blacke Rauen in the Strand. _ 1626. [8vo. Containing pp. 142, notnumbered. ]

I have little doubt but that the initials H. P. May be attributed withjustice to _Henry Parrot_, author of _Laquei ridiculosi: or, Springes forWoodcocks_, a collection of epigrams, printed at London in 1613[DB], 8vo. And commended by Mr. Warton, who says, that "many of them are worthy to berevived in modern collections"[DC]. To the same person I would also give_The Mastive, or Young Whelpe of the Old Dogge. Epigrams and Satyrs. _Lond. (Date cut off in the Bodleian copy, ) 4to. --_The Mouse Trap, consisting of 100 Epigrams_, 4to. 1606. --_Epigrams by H. P. _ 4to. 1608. --and _The More the Merrier: containing three-score and oddeheadlesse Epigrams, shot (like the Fooles bolt) amongst you, light wherethey will_, 4to. 1608[DD]. 

It appears from the Preface to _Cvres for the Itch_, that the _Epigramsand Epitaphs_ were written in 1624, during the author's residence in thecountry, at the "_long vacation_, " and the _Characters_[DE], which are"not so fully perfected as was meant, " were composed "of later times. "The following afford as fair a specimen of this part of the volume as canbe produced. 

"A SCOLD. (B. 5. )

Is a much more heard of, then least desired to bee seene or knowne, she-kinde of serpent; the venom'd sting of whose poysonous tongue, worsethen the biting of a scorpion, proues more infectious farre then can becured. Shee's of all other creatures most vntameablest, and couets morethe last word in scoulding, then doth a Combater the last stroke forvictorie. She lowdest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, w^{th}exclamation, flat defiance to any one sayes blacke's her eye. She daresappeare before any iustice, nor is least daunted with the sight ofcounstable, nor at worst threatnings of a cucking-stoole. There's nothingmads or moues her more to outrage, then but the very naming of a wispe, orif you sing or whistle when she is scoulding. If any in the interim chanceto come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the face; ordoe but offer to hold her hands, sheel presently begin to cry out murder. There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sacke, which taking in fullmeasure of digestion, shee presently forgets all wrongs that's done her, and thereupon falls streight a weeping. Doe but intreat her with fairewords, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imperfections, andlayes the guilt vpon the whore her mayd. Her manner is to talke much inher sleepe, what wrongs she hath indured of that rogue her husband whosehap may be in time to dye a martyr; and so I leaue them. "

"A GOOD WIFE, Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom in conceit, andmakes a perfect adiunct in societie; shee's such a comfort as exceedscontent, and proues so precious as canot be paralleld, yea moreinestimable then may be valued. Shee's any good man's better second selfe, the very mirror of true constant modesty, the carefull huswife offrugalitie, and dearest obiect of man's heart's felicitie. She commandswith mildnesse, rules with discretion, liues in repute, and ordereth allthings that are good or necessarie. Shee's her husband's solace, herhouse's ornament, her children's succor, and her seruant's comfort. Shee's(to be briefe) the eye of warinesse, the tongue of silence, the hand oflabour, and the heart of loue. Her voice is musicke, her countenancemeeknesse; her minde vertuous, and her soule gratious. Shee's a blessinggiuen from God to man, a sweet companion in his affliction, and ioyntco-partner upon all occasions. Shee's (to conclude) earth's chiefestparagon, and will bee, when shee dyes, heauen's dearest creature. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DB] Mr. Steevens quotes an edition in 1606, but the preface expresslystates, that they were composed in 1611. --"_Duo propemodum anni elapsisunt, ex quo primum Epigrammata hæc (qualiacunque) raptim et festinanterperficiebam_"--&c. 

[DC] _History of English Poetry_, iv. 73. 

[DD] _Censura Literaria_, iii. 387, 388. 

[DE] These consist of a ballad-maker; a tapster; a drunkard; a rectifiedyoung man; a young nouice's new yonger wife; a common fidler; a broker; aiouiall good fellow; a humourist; a malepart yong upstart; a scold; a goodwife, and a selfe-conceited parcell-witty old dotard. 

ix. _Characters of Vertves and Vices. In two Bookes. By Ios. Hall. Imprinted at London, 1627. _

The above is copied from a separate title in the collected works of BishopHall, printed in folio, and dedicated to James the First. The book, Ibelieve, originally appeared in 8vo. 1608[DF]. Of this edition I have invain endeavoured to procure some information, although I cannot fancy itto be of any peculiar rarity. 

The volume contains a dedication to Edward Lord Denny, and James Lord Hay, a premonition of the title and use of characters, the proemes, elevenvirtuous characters, and fifteen of a different discription. As BishopHall's collected works have so lately appeared in a new edition, and asMr. Pratt[DG] proposes to add a life of the author in a subsequent volume, I shall forbear giving any specimen from the works or biographical noticesof this amiable prelate, recommending the perusal of his excellentproductions, to all who admire the combination of sound sense withunaffected devotion. 

FOOTNOTES:

[DF] See Brand's _Sale Catalogue_, 8vo. 1807, page 115, No. 3147. 

[DG] See the _Gentleman's Magazine_ for October, 1810, LXXXI. 317. 

x. _Micrologia. Characters, or Essayes, of Persons, Trades, and Places, offered to the City and Country. By R. M. Printed at London by T. C. ForMichael Sparke, dwelling at the blue Bible, in Greene Arbor. 1629. _

[8vo. Containing 56 pages, not numbered. ]

The characters in this volume are "A fantasticke taylor; a player; ashooe-maker; a rope-maker; a smith; a tobacconist; a cunning woman; acobler; a tooth-drawer; a tinker; a fidler; a cunning horse-courser;Bethlem; Ludgate; Bridewell; (and) Newgate. "--

"A PLAYER. --(_Sign. B. _ iii. )

Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, who by hisrepresentation and appearance makes things long past seeme present. He ismuch like the compters in arithmeticke, and may stand one while for aking, another while a begger, many times as a mute or cypher. Sometimeshee represents that which in his life he scarse practises--to be an honestman. To the point, hee oft personates a rover, and therein comes neerestto himselfe. If his action prefigure passion, he raues, rages, andprotests much by his painted heauens, and seemes in the heighth of thisfit ready to pull Ioue out of the garret, where pershance hee lies leaningon his elbowes, or is imployed to make squips and crackers to grace theplay. His audience are often-times iudicious, but his chiefe admirers arecommonly young wanton chamber-maids, who are so taken with his posture andgay clothes, they neuer come to be their owne women after. Hee exasperatesmen's enormities in publike view, and tels them their faults on the stage, not as being sorry for them, but rather wishes still hee might finde moreoccasions to worke on. He is the generall corrupter of spirits, yetvntainted, inducing them by gradation to much lasciuious deprauity. He isa perspicuity of vanity in variety, and suggests youth to perpetrate suchvices, as otherwise they had haply nere heard of. He is (for the mostpart) a notable hypocrite, seeming what he is not, and is indeed what heeseemes not. And if hee lose one of his fellow stroules, in the summer heturnes king of the gipsies: if not, some great man's protection is asufficient warrant for his peregrination, and a meanes to procure him thetown-hall, where hee may long exercise his qualities, with clown-claps ofgreat admiration, in a tone sutable to the large eares of his illiterateauditorie. Hee is one seldome takes care for old age, because ill diet anddisorder, together with a consumption, or some worse disease, taken vp inhis full careere, haue onely chalked out his catastrophe but to a colon:and he scarsely suruiues to his naturall period of dayes. "

xi. _Whimzies: Or, A new Cast of Characters. Nova, non nota delectant. London, Printed by F. K. And are to be sold by Ambrose Rithirdon, at thesigne of the Bull's-head, in Paul's Church-yard. 1631. _

[12mo. Containing in all, pp. 280. ]

The dedication to this volume, which is inscribed to sir _AlexanderRadcliffe_, is signed "_Clitus--Alexandrinus_;" the author's real name Iam unable to discover. It contains twenty-four characters[DH], besides "_Acater-character, throwne out of a boxe by an experienced gamester_[DI];"and some lines "vpon the birth-day of his sonne Iohn, " of which thefirst-will be sufficient to satisfy all curiosity. 

 "God blesse thee, Iohn, And make thee such an one That I may ioy in calling thee my son. 

 Thou art my ninth, and by it I divine That thou shalt live to love the Muses nine. "--&c. &c. 

"A CORRANTO-COINER--(p. 15. )

Is a state newes-monger; and his owne genius is his intelligencer. Hismint goes weekely, and he coines monie by it. Howsoeuer, the moreintelligent merchants doe jeere him, the vulgar doe admire him, holdinghis novels oracular: and these are usually sent for tokens or intermissiuecurtsies betwixt city and countrey. Hee holds most constantly one forme ormethod of discourse. He retaines some militarie words of art, which heeshootes at randome; no matter where they hitt, they cannot wound any. Heever leaves some passages doubtfull, as if they were some more intimatesecrecies of state, clozing his sentence abruptly with--_heereafter youshall heare more_. Which words, I conceive, he onely useth as baites, tomake the appetite of the reader more eager in his next week's pursuit fora more satisfying labour. Some generall-erring relations he pickes up, ascrummes or fragments, from a frequented ordinarie: of which shreads heshapes a cote to fit any credulous foole that will weare it. You shallnever observe him make any reply in places of publike concourse; heeingenuously acknowledges himselfe to bee more bounden to the happinesse ofa retentive memory, than eyther ability of tongue, or pregnancy ofconceite. He carryes his table-booke still about with him, but dares notpull it out publikely. Yet no sooner is the table drawne, than he turnesnotarie; by which meanes hee recovers the charge of his ordinarie. Paulesis his walke in winter; Moorfields[DJ] in sommer. Where the wholediscipline, designes, projects, and exploits of the States, Netherlands, Poland, Switzer, Crimchan and all, are within the compasse of onequadrangle walke most judiciously and punctually discovered. But long hemust not walke, lest hee make his newes-presse stand. Thanks to his goodinvention, he can collect much out of a very little: no matter though moreexperienced judgements disprove him; hee is anonymos, and that wil securehim. To make his reports more credible or, (which he and his stationeronely aymes at, ) more vendible, in the relation of every occurrent herenders you the day of the moneth; and to approve himselfe a scholler, heannexeth these Latine parcells, or parcell-gilt sentences, _veteri stylo, novo stylo_. Palisados, parapets, counterscarfes, forts, fortresses, rampiers, bulwarks, are his usual dialect. Hee writes as if he would doesome mischiefe, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. Hee willsometimes start in his sleepe, as one affrighted with visions, which I canimpute to no other cause but to the terrible skirmishes which hediscoursed of in the day-time. He has now tyed himselfe apprentice to thetrade of minting, and must weekly performe his taske, or (beside the lossewhich accrues to himselfe, ) he disappoints a number of no small fooles, whose discourse, discipline, and discretion, is drilled from hisstate-service. These you shall know by their Mondai's morning question, alittle before Exchange time; _Stationer, have you any newes?_ Which theyno sooner purchase than peruse; and, early by next morning, (lest theircountrey friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a prize, )they freely vent the substance of it, with some illustrations, if theirunderstanding can furnish them that way. He would make you beleeve thathee were knowne to some forraine intelligence, but I hold him the wisestman that hath the least faith to beleeve him. For his relations he standsresolute, whether they become approved, or evinced for untruths; which ifthey bee, hee has contracted with his face never to blush for the matter. Hee holds especiall concurrence with two philosophicall sects, though heebee ignorant of the tenets of either: in the collection of hisobservations, he is _peripateticall_, for hee walkes circularly; in thedigestion of his relations he is _Stoicall_, and sits regularly. Hee hasan alphabeticall table of all the chiefe commanders, generals, leaders, provinciall townes, rivers, ports, creekes, with other fitting materialsto furnish his imaginary building. Whisperings, muttrings, and baresuppositions, are sufficient grounds for the authoritie of his relations. It is strange to see with what greedinesse this ayrie Chameleon, being alllungs and winde, will swallow a receite of newes, as if it were physicall:yea, with what frontlesse insinuation he will scrue himselfe into theacquaintance of some knowing _Intelligencers_, who, trying the cask by hishollow sound, do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all hisvoluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, they would vye innumber with the Iliads of many forerunning ages. You shall many timesfinde in his Gazettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions;here a city taken by force long before it bee besieged; there a countreylaid waste before ever the enemie entered. He many times tortures hisreaders with impertinencies, yet are these the tolerablest passagesthroughout all his discourse. He is the very landskip of our age. He isall ayre; his eare alwayes open to all reports, which, how incrediblesoever, must passe for currant, and find vent, purposely to get himcurrant money, and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, hischymeras live not long; a weeke is the longest in the citie, and aftertheir arrival, little longer in the countrey; which past, they melt like_Butter_, or match a pipe, and so _Burne_[DK]. But indeede, most commonlyit is the height of their ambition to aspire to the imployment of stoppingmustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, pouder, staves-aker, &c. Which done, they expire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Long-lane will give him hischaracter. Hee honours nothing with a more indeered observance, nor huggesought with more intimacie than antiquitie, which he expresseth even in hiscloathes. I have knowne some love fish best that smelled of the panyer;and the like humour reignes in him, for hee loves that apparele best thathas a taste of the broker. Some have held him for a scholler, but trustmee such are in a palpable errour, for hee never yet understood so muchLatine as to construe _Gallo-Belgicus_. For his librarie (his ownecontinuations excepted, ) it consists of very few or no bookes. He holdshimselfe highly engaged to his invention if it can purchase him victuals;for authors hee never converseth with them, unlesse they walke in Paules. For his discourse it is ordinarie, yet hee will make you a terriblerepetition of desperate commanders, unheard of exployts; intermixingwithall his owne personall service. But this is not in all companies, forhis experience hath sufficiently informed him in this principle--that asnothing workes more on the simple than things strange and incredibly rare;so nothing discovers his weaknesse more among the knowing and judiciousthan to insist, by way of discourse, on reports above conceite. Amongstthese, therefore, hee is as mute as a fish. But now imagine his lampe (ifhe be worth one, ) to be neerely burnt out; his inventing genius weariedand surfoote with raunging over so many unknowne regions; and himselfe, wasted with the fruitlesse expence of much paper, resigning his place ofweekly collections to another, whom, in hope of some little share, hee hasto his stationer recommended, while he lives either poorely respected, ordyes miserably suspended. The rest I end with his owne cloze:--_Next weekeyou shall heare more_. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DH] An almanack-maker; a ballad-monger; a corranto-coiner; a decoy; anexchange man; a forrester; a gamester; an hospitall-man; a iayler; akeeper; a launderer; a metall man; a neuter; an ostler; a post-master: aquest-man; a ruffian; a sailor; a trauller; an vnder sheriffe; awine-soaker; a Xantippean; a yealous neighbour; a zealous brother. 

[DI] This _cater-character_, which possesses a separate title page, contains delineations of an apparator; a painter; a pedler; and a piper. 

[DJ] _Moorfields_ were a general promenade for the citizens of London, during the summer months. The ground was left to the city by Mary andCatherine, daughters of sir William Fines, a Knight of Rhodes, in thereign of Edward the Confessor. Richard Johnson, a poetaster of thesixteenth century, published in 1607, _The Pleasant Walkes ofMoore-fields. Being the Guift of two Sisters, now beautified, to thecontinuing fame of this worthy Citty_. 4to. Black-letter, of which Mr. Gough, (_Brit. Topog. _) who was ignorant of the above, notices animpression in 1617. 

[DK] This is certainly intended as a pun upon the names of twonews-venders or _corranto-coiners_ of the day. Nathaniel _Butter_, thepublisher of "_The certain Newes of this present Week_, " lived at the_Pyde-Bull_, St. Austin's-gate, and was the proprietor of several of the_intelligencers_, from 1622 to about 1640. Nicholas _Bourne_ was a jointpartner with _Butter_ in _The Sweedish Intelligencer_, 4to. _Lond. _ 1632. 

xii. _Picturæ loquentes: or Pictures drawne forth in Characters. With aPoeme of a Maid. By Wye Saltonstall. Ne sutor ultra crepidam. London:Printed by T. Coles, &c. 1631. 12mo. _

I have copied the above title from an article in the _CensuraLiteraria_[DL], communicated by Mr. Park, of whose copious information, and constant accuracy on every subject connected with English literature, the public have many specimens before them. 

Saltonstall's[DM] _Characters_, &c. Reached a second edition in 1635. Acopy of this rare volume is in the possession of Mr. Douce, who, with hisaccustomed liberality, permitted my able and excellent friend, Mr. JohnJames Park, to draw up the following account of it for the present volume. 

To "The Epistle dedicatory" of this impression, the initials (or suchlike) of dedicatee's name only are given, for, says the dedicator, "I knowno fame can redound unto you by these meane essayes, which were written, _Ocium magis foventes, quam studentes gloriæ_, as sheapheards play upontheir oaten pipes, to recreate themselves, not to get credit. "

"To the Reader. --Since the title is the first leafe that cometh undercensure, some, perhaps, will dislike the name of pictures, and say, I haveno _colour_ for it, which I confesse, for these pictures are not drawne incolours, but in characters, representing to the eye of the minde diversseverall professions, which, if they appeare more obscure than I couldewish, yet I would have you know that it is not the nature of a character, to be as smooth as a bull-rush, but to have some fast and loose knots, which the ingenious reader may easily untie. The first picture is thedescription of a maide, which young men may read, and from thence learn toknow, that vertue is the truest beauty. The next follow in their order, being set together in this _little_ book, that in winter you may readethem _ad ignem_, by the fire-side, and in summer _ad umbram_, under someshadie tree, and therewith passe away the tedious howres. So hoping of thyfavourable censure, knowing that the least judicious are most ready tojudge, I expose them to thy view, with Apelles motto, _Ne sutor, ultracrepidam_. Lastly, whether you like them, or leave them, yet the authorbids you welcome. 

 "Thine as mine, W. S. "

_The Original Characters are_, 1. The world. 2. An old man. 3. A woman. 4. A widdow. 5. A true lover. 6. A countrey bride. 7. A plowman. 8. A melancholy man. 9. A young heire. 10. A scholler in the university. 11. A lawyer's clarke. 12. A townsman in Oxford. 13. An usurer. 14. A wandering rogue. 15. A waterman. 16. A shepheard. 17. A jealous man. 18. A chamberlaine. 19. A mayde. 20. A bayley. 21. A countrey fayre. 22. A countrey alehouse. 23. A horse-race. 24. A farmer's daughter. 25. A keeper. 26. A gentleman's house in the countrey. 

_The Additions to the second Edition are_, 27. A fine dame. 28. A country dame. 29. A gardiner. 30. A captaine. 31. A poore village. 32. A merry man. 33. A scrivener. 34. The tearme. 35. A mower. 36. A happy man. 37. An arrant knave. 38. An old waiting gentlewoman. 

"THE TEARME

Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all commers, while her sisterEquity strives to mitigate the rigour of her positive sentence. It iscalled the Tearme, because it does end and terminate busines, or elsebecause it is the _Terminus_ ad quem, that is, the end of the countreyman's journey, who comes up to the Tearme, and with his hobnayle shooesgrindes the faces of the poore stones, and so returnes againe. It is thesoule of the yeare, and makes it quicke, which before was dead. Inkeepersgape for it as earnestly as shelfish doe for salt water after a low ebbe. It sends forth new bookes into the world, and replenishes Paul's walkewith fresh company, where _Quid novi?_ is their first salutation, and theweekely newes their chiefe discourse. The tavernes are painted against thetearme, and many a cause is argu'd there and try'd at that barre, whereyou are adjudg'd to pay the costs and charges, and so dismist with'welcome gentlemen. ' Now the citty puts her best side outward, and a newplay at the Blackfryers is attended on with coaches. It keepes watermenfrom sinking and helpes them with many a fare voyage to Westminster. Yourchoyse beauties come up to it onely to see and be seene, and to learne thenewest fashion, and for some other recreations. Now monie that has beenelong sicke and crasie, begins to stirre and walke abroad, especially ifsome young prodigalls come to towne, who bring more money than wit. Lastly, the tearme is the joy of the citty, a deare friend to countrymen, and is never more welcome than after a long vacation. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DL] Vol. 5, p. 372. Mr. Park says that the plan of the characters wasundoubtedly derived from that of Overbury, but, he adds, the execution isgreatly superior. Four stanzas from the poem entitled, _A Maid_, areprinted in the same volume. 

[DM] An account of the author may be found in the _Athenæ Oxon. _ Vol. 1. Col. 640. 

xiii. _London and Country corbonadoed and quartered into seuerallCharacters. By Donald Lupton, 8vo. 1632. _

[See British Bibliographer, i. 464; and Brand's Sale Catalogue, page 66, No. 1754. ]

xiv. _Character of a Gentleman_, appended to Brathwait's _EnglishGentleman_, 4to. _London, by Felix Kyngston, &c. 1633. _

xv. "_A strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into a Wildernesse. Deciphered in Characters. London, Printed by Thomas Harper, and are to besold by Lawrence Chapman at his shop in Holborne, 1634. _"

[12mo. Containing pp. 296, not numbered. ]

This curious little volume has been noticed by Mr. Haslewood, in the_Censura Literaria_ (vii. 284. ) who says, with justice, that a rich veinof humour and amusement runs through it, and that it is the apparentlucubration of a pen able to perform better things. Of the author's name Ihave been unable to procure the least intelligence. 

"THE HORSE (No. 16. )

Is a creature made, as it were, in waxe. When Nature first framed him, shetook a secret complacence in her worke. He is even her master-peece inirracionall things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him forth. Forexample, his slicke bay coat hee tooke from the chesnut; his necke fromthe rainbow, which perhaps make him rain so wel. His maine belike he tookfrom _Pegasus_, making him a hobbie to make this a compleat gennet[DN], which main he weares so curld, much after the women's fashions now adayes;this I am sure of howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it sets forth ourgennet well. His legges he borrowed of the hart, with his swiftnesse, which makes him a true courser indeed. The starres in his forehead heefetcht from heaven, which will not be much mist, there being so many. Thelittle head he hath, broad breast, fat buttocke, and thicke tayle areproperly his owne, for he knew not where to get him better. If you tellhim of the hornes he wants to make him most compleat, he scornes themotion, and sets them at his heele. He is well shod especially in theupper leather, for as for his soles, they are much at reparation, andoften faine to be removed. Nature seems to have spent an apprentiship ofyeares to make you such a one, for it is full seven yeares ere hee comesto this perfection, and be fit for the saddle: for then (as we, ) it seemesto come to the yeares of discretion, when he will shew a kinde ofrationall judgement with him, and if you set an expert rider on his backe, you shall see how sensiblie they will talke together, as master andscholler. When he shall be no sooner mounted and planted in the seat withthe reins in one hand, a switch in the other, and speaking with hisspurres in the horse's flankes, a language he wel understands, but heshall prance, curvet, and dance the canaries[DO] halfe an houre togetherin compasse of a bushell, and yet still, as he thinkes, get some ground, shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely pride. This will ourBucephalus do in the lists: but when hee comes abroad into the fields, heewill play the countrey gentleman as truly, as before the knight inturnament. If the game be up once, and the hounds in chase, you shall seehow he will pricke up his eares streight, and tickle at the sport as muchas his rider shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be many of them, theywill even drowne the rurall harmony of the dogges. When he travels, of allinnes he loves best the signe of the silver bell, because likely there hefares best, especially if hee come the first, and get the prize. Hecarries his eares upright, nor seldome ever lets them fall till they becropt off, and after that, as in despight, will never weare them more. Histaile is so essentiall to him, that if he loose it once hee is no longeran horse, but ever stiled a curtall. To conclude, he is a blade ofVulcan's forging, made for Mars of the best metall, and the post of Fameto carrie her tidings through the world, who, if he knew his own strength, would shrewdly put for the monarchie of our wildernesse. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DN] Mr. Steevens, in a note to Othello, explains a jennet to be a Spanishhorse; but from the passage just given, I confess it appears to me to meansomewhat more. Perhaps a jennet was a horse kept solely for pleasure, whose mane was suffered to grow to a considerable length, and was thenornamented with platting, &c. --A hobby might answer to what we now term a_hogged_ poney. 

[DO] _The Canaries_ is the name of an old dance, freqnently alluded to inour early English plays. Shakspeare uses it in _All's well that endswell_--

 ----"I have seen a medicine, That's able to breathe life into a stone; Quicken a rock, and make you _dance canary_ With spritely fire and motion;"

Sir John Hawkins, in his _History of Musick_, iv. 391. Says that it occursin the opera of _Dioclesian_, set to music by Purcell, and explains it tobe "a very sprightly movement of two reprises, or strains, with eight barsin each: the time three quarters in a bar, the first pointed. " I take thisopportunity of mentioning, that among Dr. Rawlinson's MSS. In theBodleian, [_Poet. _ 108. ] is a volume which contains a variety of figuresof old dances, written, as I conjecture, between the years 1566 and 1580. Besides several others are the _pavyan_; _my Lord of Essex measures_;_tyntermell_; _the old allmayne_; _the longe pavian_; _quanto dyspayne_;_the nyne muses_, &c. As the pavian is mentioned by Shakspeare, in the_Merry Wives of Windsor_, and as the directions for dancing the figurehave not been before discovered, I shall make no apology for offering themin the present note. 

"THE LONGE PAVIAN, ij singles, a duble forward; ij singles syde, a duble forward; rep[=i]ncebacke once, ij singles syde, a duble forward, one single backe twyse, ijsingles, a duble forward, ij singles syde, prerince backe once; ij singlessyde, a duble forward, reprince backe twyse. "

xvi. _The true Character of an untrue Bishop; with a Recipe at the end howto recover a Bishop if hee were lost. London, printed in the yeare1641[DP]. _

[4to. Pp. 10, besides title. ]

FOOTNOTES:

[DP] I have a faint recollection of a single character in a rare volume, entitled "_A Boulster Lecture_, " &c. Lond. 1640. 

xvii. _Character of a Projector, by ---- Hogg. 4to. 1642. _

xviii. _Character of an Oxford Incendiary. Printed for Robert White in1643. _ 4to. 

[Reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, V. 469. Edit. 1744. ]

xix. _The Reformado precisely charactered (with a frontispiece. )_

[See the Sale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq. 8vo. Lond. 1800. Page 66. No. 1110. ]

xx. "_A new Anatomie, or Character of a Christian or Round-head. Expressing his Description, Excellencie, Happiness and Innocencie. Whereinmay appear how far this blind world is mistaken in their unjust Censuresof him. Virtus in Arduis. Proverbs xii. 26; and Jude 10_, quoted. )_Imprimatur John Downame. London, Printed for Robert Leybourne, and are tobe sold at the Star, under Peter's Church in Corn-hill, 1645. _ 8vo. Pp. 13. 

[In Ashmole's Museum. ]

xxi. In Lord North's _Forest of Varieties, London, Printed by RichardCotes_, 1645, are several _Characters_, as lord Orford informs us, "in themanner of sir Thomas Overbury. " _Royal and Noble Authors_, iii. 82. Ofthis volume a second edition appeared in 1659, neither of these, however, I have been able to meet with. For some account of the work, withextracts, see Brydges' _Memoirs of the Peers of England_, 8vo. _London. _1802. Page 343. 

xxii. _Characters and Elegies[DQ]. By Francis Wortley, Knight and Baronet. Printed in the yeere 1646. _" 4to. 

The characters are as follow:

1. The character of his royall majestie; 2. The character of the queene'smajestie; 3. The hopeful prince; 4. A true character of the illustriousJames Duke of York; 5. The character of a noble general; 6. A true Englishprotestant; 7. An antinomian, or anabaptisticall independent; 8. Ajesuite; 9. The true character of a northerne lady, as she is wife, mother, and sister; 10. The politique neuter; 11. The citie paragon; 12. Asharking committee-man; 13. Britanicus his pedigree--a fatall predictionof his end; 14. The Phoenix of the Court. 

_Britanicus his Pedigree--a fatall Prediction of his End. _

I dare affirme him a Jew by descent, and of the tribe of Benjamin, lineally descended from the first King of the Jewes, even Saul, or at besthe ownes him and his tribe, in most we reade of them. First, of ourEnglish tribes, I conceive his father's the lowest, and the meanest ofthat tribe, stocke, or generation, and the worst, how bad soever they be;melancholy he is, as appeares by his sullen and dogged wit; malicious asSaul to David, as is evident in his writings; he wants but Saul's javelinto cast at him; he as little spares the king's friends with his pen, asSaul did Jonathan his sonne in his reproach; and would be as free of hisjavelin as his pen, were his power sutable to his will, as Ziba did toMephibosheth, so does he by the king, he belies him as much to the world, as he his master to David, and in the day of adversitie is as free of histongue as Shimei was to his soveraigne, and would be as humble as he, andas forward to meet the king as he was David, should the king returne inpeace. Abithaes there cannot want to cut off the dog's head, but David ismore mercifull then Shimei can be wicked; may he first consult with thewitch of Endor, but not worthy of so noble a death as his own sword, diethe death of Achitophel for feare of David, then may he be hang'd up asthe sonnes of Saul were against the sunne, or rather as the Amelekites whoslew Isbosheth, and brought tidings and the tokens of the treason toDavid; may his hands and his feet be as sacrifices cut off, and so pay forthe treasons of his pen and tongue; may all heads that plot treasons, alltongues that speake them, all pens that write them, be so punisht. IfSheba paid his head for his tongue's fault, what deserves Britannicus topay for his pen and trumpet? Is there never a wise woman in London? wehave Abishaes. 

 * * * * *

Francis Wortley, was the son of Sir Richard Wortley, of Wortley, inYorkshire, knight. At the age of seventeen he became a commoner ofMagdalen College, Oxford; in 1610 he was knighted, and on the 29th of Junein the following year, was created a baronet; being then, as Wood says, esteemed an ingenious gentleman. During the civil wars he assisted theroyal cause, by raising a troop of horse in the king's service; but attheir conclusion he was taken prisoner, and confined in the tower ofLondon, where it seems he composed the volume just noticed. In the_Catalogue of Compounders_ his name appears as "of Carleton, Yorkshire, "and from thence we learn that he paid 500_l. _ for his remaining property. In the _Athenæ Oxonienses_ may be found a list of his works, but I havebeen unable to trace the date of his decease. Mr. Granger says that "Anne, his daughter, married the second son of the first Earl of Sandwich, whotook the name of Wortley, " and adds that the late Countess of Bute wasdescended from him. _Biographical History_, ii. 310. 

FOOTNOTES:

[DQ] The Elegies, according to Wood, are upon the loyalists who lost theirlives in the king's service, at the end of which are epitaphs. 

xxiii. _The Times anatomiz'd, in severall Characters. By T. F_[ord, seruant to Mr. Sam. Man[DR]. ] _Difficile est Satyram non scribere. Juv. Sat. 1. London, Printed for W. L. Anno 1647. _"

[12mo. In the British Museum. ]

_The Contents of the severall Characters. _

 1. A good king. 2. Rebelion. 3. An honest subject. 4. An hypocritical convert of the times. 5. A souldier of fortune. 6. A discontented person. 7. An ambitious man. 8. The vulgar. 9. Errour. 10. Truth. 11. A selfe-seeker. 12. Pamphlets. 13. An envious man. 14. True valour. 15. Time. 16. A newter. 17. A turn-coat. 18. A moderate man. 19. A corrupt committee-man. 20. A sectary. 21. Warre. 22. Peace. 23. A drunkard. 24. A novice-preacher. 25. A scandalous preacher. 26. A grave divine. 27. A selfe-conceited man. 29. Religion. 30. Death. 

"PAMPHLETS

Are the weekly almanacks, shewing what weather is in the state, which, like the doves of Aleppo, carry news to every part of the kingdom. Theyare the silent traytors that affront majesty, and abuse all authority, under the colour of an _Imprimatur_. Ubiquitary flies that have of late soblistered the eares of all men, that they cannot endure any solid truth. The ecchoes, whereby what is done in part of the kingdome, is heard allover. They are like the mushromes, sprung up in a night, and dead in aday; and such is the greedinesse of men's natures (in these Atheniandayes) of new, that they will rather feigne then want it. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DR] (MS. Interlineation in a copy among the King's pamphlets. )

xxiv. _Character of a London Diurnal_, 4to. 1647. [This was written byCleveland, and has been printed in the various editions of his poems. ]

xxv. _Character of an Agitator. Printed in the Yeare 1647. 4to. Pp. 7. _

This concludes with the following epitome--"Hee was begotten of Lilburne(with Overton's helpe) in Newgate, nursed up by Cromwell, at first by thearmy, tutored by Mr. Peters, counselled by Mr. Walwin and Musgarve, patronised by Mr. Martin, (who sometimes sits in counsell with them, though a member) and is like to dye no where but at Tyburne, and thatspeedily, if hee repent not and reforme his erronious judgement, and hisseditious treasonable practises against king, parliament, and martialldiscipline itselfe. Finis. "

xxvi. In Mr. Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754, we have _The Surfeit toA. B. C. _ 8vo. Lond. 1656, which is there represented to consist of_Characters_. 

xxvii. _Characters of a Temporizer and an Antiquary. _ [In "_Naps uponParnassus_, " 8vo. 1658. See the Censura Literaria, vol. Vi. P. 225; vol. Vii. P. 341. ]

xxviii. _Satyrical Characters, and handsom Descriptions, in Letters_, 8vo. 1658. [Catalogue of Thomas Britton the Small Coal Man, 4to, p. 19. No. 102. ]

xxix. _A Character of England, as it was lately presented in a Letter to aNoble-man of France. With Reflections upon Gallus Castratus. The thirdEdition. London. Printed for John Crooke, and are to be sold at the Shipin St. Paul's Church-Yard, 1659. _

(12mo. Pp. 66, title and preface 20 more. )

This very severe satire upon the English nation was replied to in thefollowing publication. 

xxx. _A Character of France, to which is added Gallus Castratus, or anAnswer to a late slanderous Pamphlet, called the Character of England. Sitalia nefanda et facinora quis non Democritus? London, Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhill, 1659. _

xxxi. _A perfect Description of the People and Country of Scotland. London. Printed for J. S. 1659. _

(12mo. Pp. 21. Besides the title. )

xxxii. _A brief Character of the Low Countries under the States, beingThree Weeks Observation of the Vices and Vertues of the Inhabitants. Nonseria semper. London, printed for H. S. And are to be sold by H. Lowndes, at the White Lion in St. Paul's Church Yard, neer the little North Door, 1659. _

(12mo. Pp. 500. Title, &c. 6 more. )

Written by Owen Feltham, and appended to the several folio editions of his_Resolves_. 

xxxiii. _The Character of Italy: Or, The Italian Anatomiz'd by an EnglishChirurgion. Difficile est Satyram non scribere. London: Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhil. 1660. _

[12mo. Pp. 93, title and preface 12 more. ]

xxxiv. _The Character of Spain: Or, An Epitome of Their Virtues andVices. _

 ---- _Adeo sunt multa, loquacem Ut lassare queant Fabium. _

_London: Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhil. 1660. _

[12mo. Pp. 93, title, &c. 12 more. ]

xxxv. _Essayes and Characters, by L. G. _ 8vo. 1661. 

[See Brand's _Sale Catalogue_, No. 1754. ]

xxxvi. _The Assembly-man. Written in the Year 1647. London: Printed forRichard Marriot, and are to be sold at his shop under St. Dunstan'sChurch, in Fleet-street, 1662-3[DS]. _

[4to. Pp. 22. ]

Sir John Birkenhead was the author of this character, which was printedagain in 1681, and in 1704 with the following title, "_The Assembly-man. Written in the Year 1647; but proves the true character of (Cerberus) theobservator_, MDCCIV. " It was also reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, v. 93. For an account of the author, see the _Biographia Britannica_, edit. Kippis, ii. 324. 

FOOTNOTES:

[DS] With a very curious and rare frontispiece. 

xxxvii. _Fifty-five[DT] Enigmatical Characters, all very exactly drawn tothe Life, from several Persons, Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and fullof Delight. By R. F. Esq. ; London: Printed for William Crook, at the signof the Three Bibles on Fleet-bridge. 1665[DU]. _"

[8vo. Pp. 135, title, index, &c. Not numbered, 11 more. ]

Richard Flecknoe, the author of these characters, is more known fromhaving his name affixed to one of the severest satires ever written byDryden, than from any excellence of his own as a poet or dramatic writer. Mr. Reed conceives him to have been a Jesuit, and Pope terms him an Irishpriest. Langbaine says, that "his acquaintance with the nobility was morethan with the muses, and he had a greater propensity to rhyming, than agenius to poetry. " As a proof of the former assertion the Duke ofNewcastle prefixed two copies of verses to his characters, in which hecalls Flecknoe "his worthy friend, " and says:

 "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. 

 W. Newcastle. "

To confirm the latter, requires only the perusal of his verses, which werepublished in 1653, under the title of _Miscellania_. Besides these, hewrote five[DV] dramatic pieces, the titles of which may be found in the_Biographia Dramatica_; a collection of _Epigrams_, 8vo. 1670; _Ten YearsTravels in Europe. --A short Discourse of the English Stage_, affixed to_Love's Dominion_, 8vo. 1654; _The Idea of his Highness Oliver, late LordProtector, &c. _ 8vo. 1659. &c. &c. [DW]

"CHARACTER OF A VALIANT MAN. "--(page 61. )

"He is onely 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, nordanger lesse. His valour is enough to leaven whole armies, he is an armyhimself worth an army of other men. His sword is not alwayes out likechildren's daggers, but he is alwayes last in beginning quarrels, thoughfirst in ending them. He holds honour (though delicate as chrystall) yetnot so slight and brittle to be broak and crackt with every touch;therefore (though most wary of it, ) is not querilous nor punctilious. Heis never troubled with passion, as knowing no degree beyond clear courage, and is alwayes valiant, but never furious. He is the more gentle i' th'chamber, more fierce he's in the field, holding boast (the coward'svalour, ) and cruelty (the beast's, ) unworthy a valiant man. He is onlycoward in this, that he dares not do an unhandsome action. In fine, he canonely be evercome by discourtesie, and has but one deffect--he cannot talkmuch--to recompence which he dos the more. "

FOOTNOTES:

[DT] I omit to particularize these characters, as many of the titles areextremely long--"of a lady of excellent conversation. Of one that is thefoyle of good conversation. " &c. &c. 

[DU] Mr. Reed possessed a copy, dated in 1658. See his _Catalogue_, No. 2098. 

[DV] Langbaine notices a prologue intended for a play, called _ThePhysician against his Will_, which he thinks was never published. A MS. Note in my copy of the _Dramatic Poets_, says it was printed in 1712. 

[DW] The Bodleian library contains "_The Affections of a pious Soule, untoour Saviour-Christ. Expressed in a mixed treatise of verse and prose. ByRichard Flecknoe. _" 8vo. 1640. This I can scarcely consent to give to_Mac_ Flecknoe, as in the address "To the Town Reader, " the author informsus that, "ashamed of the many idle hours he has spent, and to avoid theexpence of more, he has retired from the town"--and we are certain that_Mac_ resided there long after. 

xxxviii. _The Character of a Coffee-house, with the symptoms of aTown-witt. With Allowance. April 11, 1673. London, Printed for JonathanEdwin, at the Three Roses in Ludgate-street, 1673. _

[Folio, reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, with an answer to it, vol. Vi. 429-433. ]

xxxix. _Essays of Love and Marriage: Being Letters written by twoGentlemen, one dissuading from Love, the other an Answer thereunto. Withsome Characters, and other Passages of Wit. _

 ---- _Si quando gravabere curis, Hæc lege, pro moestæ medicamine mentis habeto. _

_London, Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun in St. Paul's Church-yard, 1673. _

[12mo. Pp. 103, title, &c. 4 more. ]

xl. _The Character of a Fanatick. By a Person of Quality. London. 1675. _

[4to. Pp. 8. Reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, vii. 596. ]

 xli. _Character of a Towne Gallant } of a Towne Miss } of an honest drunken Curr } of a pilfering Taylor } of an Exchange Wench } of a Sollicitor } 1675. Of a Scold } of an ill Husband } of a Dutchman } of a Pawnbroker } of a Tally Man_ }

[4to. See _Sale Catalogue_ of George Steevens, Esq. 8vo. London, 1800, page 66, No. 1110. ]

xlii. _A Whip for a Jockey: or, a Character of an Horse-courser. 1677. London, Printed for R. H. 1677. _

[8vo. Pp. 29. ]

xliii. _Four for a Penny, or Poor Robin's Character of an unconscionablePawnbroker, and Ear-mark of an oppressing Tally-man; with a friendlyDescription of a Bum-bailey, and his merciless setting cur, or follower. With Allowance. London, Printed for L. C. 1678. _

[4to. Reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, vol. Iv. P. 141. ]

xliv. _Character of an ugly Woman: or, a Hue and Cry after Beauty_, inprose, written (by the Duke of Buckingham) in 1678. See Lord Orford's_Royal and Noble Authors_, by Park, iii. 309. 

xlv. _Character of a disbanded Courtier. Ingenium Galbæ male habitat. 1681. _

[Folio, pp. 2. Reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, i. 356. ]

xlvi. _Character of a certain ugly old P----. London, Printed in the Year1684. _

[In Oldham's _Works_, 8vo. London, 1684. ]

xlvii. _Twelve ingenious Characters: or pleasant Descriptions of theProperties of sundry Persons and Things, viz. _

_An importunate dunn; a serjeant or bailiff; a paunbroker; a prison; atavern; a scold; a bad husband; a town-fop; a bawd; a fair and happymilk-maid; the quack's directory; a young enamourist. _

_Licensed, June the 2d, 1681. R. P. London, printed for S. Norris, and areto be sold by most booksellers, 1686. _

[12mo. Pp. 48. ]

xlviii. _Character of a Trimmer. By Sir William Coventry. 1689. _

[4to. See _Bibliotheca Harleiana_, v. 4278. ]

This was written long before publication, as is proved by the following. 

xlix. _Character of a Tory in 1659, in answer to that of a Trimmer (neverpublished) both written in King Charles's reign. _

[Reprinted in the _Works of George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham_. 4to. Lond. 1721. ]

l. _Characters addressed to Ladies of Age. _ 8vo. _Lond. _ 1689. 

[Brand's _Sale Catalogue_, p. 66, No. 1747. ]

li. _The Ceremony-monger, his Character, in six Chapters, &c. &c. By E. Hickeringill, Rector of the Rectory of All-Saints, in Colchester. London, Printed and are to be sold by George Larkin, at the Two Swans, withoutBishopsgate. 1689. _

[4to. Pp. 66. ]

lii. _Character of a Jacobite. 1690. _

[4to. See _Bibl. Harl. _ v. No. 4279. ]

 * * * * *

The following are without date, but were probably printed before 1700[DX]. 

FOOTNOTES:

[DX] In Butler's _Remains_, published by Thyer, 2 vols. 8vo. 1759, areseveral _Characters_ by the author of _Hudibras_, and consequently writtenpreviously to this date, but as they do not appear to have been printed soearly, they cannot, with propriety, be included in this list. 

liii. _Character of an Ill-court-favourite, translated from the French. _

[4to. Reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, ii. 50. ]

liv. _Character of an honest and worthy Parliament-Man. _

[Folio, reprinted in the _Harleian Miscellany_, ii. 336. ]

lv. _Characterism, or the Modern Age displayed. _

[Brand's _Sale Catalogue_, No. 1757. ]

_Character of the Presbyterian Pastors and People of Scotland. _

[_Bibl. Harleiana_, v. No. 4280. ]

vii. _Character of a compleat Physician or Naturalist[DY]. _

[_Bibl. Harleiana_, v. No. 4304. ]

FOOTNOTES:

[DY] In the extracts made from the foregoing series of _Characters_, theoriginal orthography has been most scrupulously attended to, in order toassist in shewing the progress and variation of the English language. 

ADDITIONAL NOTES AND CORRECTIONS. 

 Page 2, line 18, for _ports_ read _sports_. 

 4, line 9, "_table-book. _" The custom of writing in table-books, or, as it was then expressed, "in tables, " is noticed, and instances given in Reed's _Shakspeare_, vi, 13. Xii, 170. Xviii, 88. Dr. Farmer adduces a passage very applicable to the text, from Hall's character of the _hypocrite_. "He will ever sit where he may be seene best, and in the midst of the sermon pulles out his _tables_ in haste, as if he feared to loose that note, " &c. Decker, in his _Guls Hornebooke_, page 8, speaking to his readers, says, "out with your _tables_, " &c. 

 6, note 6. --This is also mentioned in _Whimzies_, 8vo. 1631, p. 57. "Hee must now betake himself to prayer and devotion; _remember the founder, benefactors, head, and members of that famous foundation_: all which he performes with as much zeale as an actor after the end of a play, when hee prayes for his majestie, the lords of his most honourable privie councell, and all that love the king. "

 13, note 10. --From a subsequent edition, obligingly pointed out to me by the rev. Mr. Arch-deacon Nares, I find that this also is a translation: _Regimen Sanitatis Salerni. This booke teachyng all people to gouerne the in health, is translated out of the Latine tongue into Englishe, by Thomas Paynell, whiche booke is amended, augmented, and diligently imprinted. 1575. _ Colophon. ¶ _Jmprynted at London, by Wyllyam How, for Abraham Ueale. _ The preface says, that it was compiled for the use "of the moste noble and victorious kynge of England, and of Fraunce, by all the doctours in Phisicke of the Uniuersitie of Salerne. "

 17, line 17, "_door-posts_. "--It was usual for public officers to have painted or gilded posts at their doors, on which proclamations, and other documents of that description, were placed, in order to be read by the populace. See various allusions to this custom, in Reed's _Shakspeare_, v. 267. _Old Plays_, iii. 303. The _reformation_ means that they were, in the language of our modern churchwardens, "repaired and beautified, " during the reign of our alderman. 

 45, line 11, for _Gollobelgicus_ read _Gallobelgicus_. 

 47, line 15. "_post and pair_" was a game at cards, of which I can give no description. The author of the _Compleat Gamester_ notices it as "very much played in the West of England. " See Dodsley's _Old Plays_, 1780. Vii. 296. 

 48, line 12--"_guarded with more gold lace_. " The word _guarded_ is continually used by the writers of the sixteenth century for _fringed_ or _adorned_. See Reed's _Shakspeare_, vii. 272. _Old Plays_, iv. 36. 

 59, line 15, "_clout_. " Shakspeare (Cymbeline, act iv. Scene 2. ) uses the expression of _clouted brogues_, which Mr. Steevens explains to be "shoes strengthened with _clout_ or _hob-nails_. "

 63, line 9, "_dragon that pursued the woman. _" Evidently an allusion to _Revelations_, xii. 15. 

 91, note 8, line 15, for _Styla_ read _Hyla_ in both instances. 

 92, note 10, line 5, for _Leiden_ read _Leyden_. 

 117, line 3, "Their humanity is a _leg to the residencer_. " A _leg_ here signifies a _bow_. Decker says, "a jewe neuer weares his cap threedbare with putting it off; neuer bends i' th' hammes with _casting away a leg_, &c. " _Guls Hornebooke. _ p. 11. 

 182, note 1, for _spunge_ read _sponge_. 

 208, line 4, for _spera_ read _spero_. 

 ib. Line 30, for _conjesta_ read _congesta_. 

 ib. Line 31, for _susuperavit_ read _superavit_. 

 231, line 11, for _Jude_ read _Inde_: for _ferucat_ read _ferueat_. 

 245, line 7, for _whosc_ read _whose_. 

Several errors and inaccuracies of less consequence than those herepointed out, will probably be discovered. These were occasioned by theeditor's distance from the press, and he requests the gentle reader topardon and correct them. 

[Transcriber's note:Despite a valiant effort to the contrary some additional transcriptionerrors may have slipped through during the preparation of this e-text. We can't blame the distance between the editor and the press.