HANDBOUND
AT THE
MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ;
$iece of fye SKortu tii
IN
ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS.
r
HARDING AND WRIGHT, PRINTERS,
St. John's-squate, London.
MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ;
OR
a $iece of tfic Gloria Di
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, 8T. J AM ESJS- STREET.
1811.
BF
921
£3
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE present edition of Bishop Earle's Cha.
racters was undertaken from an idea that they were
well worthy of republication, and that the present
period, when the productions of our early English
writers are sought after with an avidity hitherto un-
exampled, would be the most favourable for their
appearance.
The text has been taken from the edition of 1732,
collated with the first impression in 1 628. The va-
riations from the latter are thus distinguished : —
those words or passages which have been added since
the first edition are contained between brackets,
[and printed in the common type] ; those which
have received some alteration ? are printed in italic,
and the passages, as they stand in the first edition,
are always given in a note.
vi
For the Notes, Appendix, and Index, the editor
is entirely answerable, and although he is fully
aware that many superfluities will be censured,
many omissions discovered, and many errors pointed
out, he hopes that the merits of the original author
will, in a great measure, compensate for the false
judgment or neglect of his revivev.
January 30, 1811.
vii
THE PREFACE
[TO THE EDITION OF 1732*.]
THIS little book had six editions between 1628 and
1633, without any author's name to recommend it : I
have heard of an eighth in 1664. From that of 33 this
present edition is reprinted, without altering any thing
but the plain errors of the press, and the old pointing
and spelling in some places.
The language is generally easy, and proves our Eu-
glish tongue no* to be so very changeable as is com-
monly supposed; nay, sometimes the phrase seems a
little obscure, more by the mistakes of the printer than
the distance of time. Here and there we meet with a
broad expression, and some characters are far below
others ; nor is it to be expected that so great a variety
of portraits should all be drawn with equal excellence,
though there are scarce any without some masterly
touches. The change of fashions unavoidably casts a
* London: Printed by E. Say, Anno Domini M.DCC.XXXII.
Vlll
shade upon a few places, yet even those contain an ex-
act picture of the age wherein they were written, as the
rest does of mankind in general : for reflections founded
upon nature will be just in the main, as long as men are
men, though the particular instances of vice and folly
may be diversified. Paul's Walk is now no more, but
then good company adjourn to coffee-houses, and, at the
reasonable fine of two or three pence, throw away as
much of their precious time as they find troublesome.
Perhaps these valuable essays may be as acceptable to
the public now as they were at first ; both for the enter-
tainment of those who are already experienced in the
ways of mankind, and for the information of others who
would know the world the best way, that is — without
trying it *.
* A short account of Earle, taken from the Athena Oxo-
•iiienses is here omitted.
ADVERTISEMENT
. [TO THE EDITION OF 1786 *.]
AS this entertaining little book is become ratherscarce,
and is replete with so much good sense and genuine
humour, which, though in part adapted to the times
when it first appeared, seems, on the whole, by no means
inapplicable to any sera of mankind, the editor conceives
that there needs little apology for the republication. A
farther inducement is, his having, from very good au-
thority, lately discovered f that these Characters (hither-
to known only under the title of Blount's\\ were ac-
* " Microcosmography ; or, a Piece of the World charac-
terized; in Essays and Characters. London, printed A. D.
1650. Salisbury, Reprinted and sold by E. Easton, 1786.
Sold also by G. and T. Willcie, St. Paul's Church-yard, London."
1 1 regret extremely that I am unable to put the reader in
possession of this very acute discoverer's name.
J This mistake originated with Langbaine, who, in his ac-
count of Lilly, calls Blouut " a gentleman who has made
himself known to the world by the several pieces of his own
writing, (as Horte Subsecivce, his Microcosmography, Sac.")
Dramatic Poets, 8vo. 1691, p. 327".
tually drawn 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 at
Oxford, 1665.
Isaac Walton, in his Life of Hooker, delineates the
character of the said venerable 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 the name of ** Ed-
ward Blount."
XI
EDITIONS OF « MICROCOSMOGRAPHY.'
THE first edition (of which the Bodleian possesses a
copy, 8vo. P. 154. Theol.) was printed with the follow-
ing title: " Micro-cosmographie : or, a Peece of I lie
World discovered; Jn Essayes and Characters. Newly
composed for the Northerns parts of this Kingdome. At
London. Printed by W. S.for Ed. Blount, 1628." This
contains only fifty-four characters*, which in the present
edition are placed first. I am unable to speak of any sub-
sequent copy, till one in the following year, (1629),
printed for Robert Allot f, and called in the title " The
jirst edition much enlarged." This, as Mr. Henry Ellis
kindly inlorms me, from a copy in the British Museum,
possesses seventy-six characters. The sixth was printed
for Allot, in 1633, (Bodl. Mar. 441,) and has seventy-
eight, the additional ones being " a lierald," and " a sus-
picious, or jealous man." The seventh appeared in 1638,
tor Andrew Crooke, agieeing precisely with the sixth;
and in 1650 the eighth. A copy of the latter is in the
* 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 additional characters first appeared.
t Robert Allot, better known as the editor of England's
Parnassus, appears to have succeeded Blount in several of
his copy-rights, among others, in that of Shakspeare, as the
second edition (1632) was printed for him.
Xll
curious library of Mr. Hill, and, as Mr. Park acquaints
me, is without any specific edition numbered in the title.
I omit that noticed by the editor of 1732, as printed in
1664, for if such a volume did exist, which I much
doubt, it was nothing more than a copy of the eighth
with a new title-page. In 1732 appeared the ninth,
which was a reprint of the sixth, executed with care and
judgment. I have endeavoured in vain to discover
to whom we are indebted for this republication of
bishop Earle's curious volume, but it is probable that
the person who undertook it, found so little encourage-
ment in his attempt to revive a taste for the productions
of our early writers, that he suffered his name to remain
unknown. Certain it is that the impression, probably
not a large one, did not sell speedily, as I have seen a
copy, bearing date 1740, under the name of " The World
displayed : or several Essays ; consisting of the various
Characters and Passions of its principal Inhabitants" &c.
London, printed for C. Ward, and R. Chandler. Tha
edition printed at Salisbury, in 1786, (which has only
seventy-four characters,) with that now offered to the
public, close the list.
XU1
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
A DVERTISEMEAT to the present edition v
Preface to the edition of 1732 . vii
Advertisement to the edition of 1786 ix
Editions of Ulicrocosmography , xi
Blount's Preface to the Reader xix
Achild 1
A young raw preacher 4
A grave divine 9
A nicer dull physician 12,
An alderman 18
A discontented man 20
An antiquary 2$
A younger brother 24
A meer formal [man (g?
A church papist 29
A self conceited man 32
A too idly reserved man 34
XIV
PAGE
A tavern 37
A shark 41
A carrier 45
A young man 47
An old college butler 50
An upstart country knight 53
An idle gallant 57
A constable 59
A downright scholar f/§\
A plain countiy fellow 64
A player 67
A detractor 70
A young gentleman of the university 73
A weak man 76
A tobacco-seller 79
A pot poet (89
A plausible man 84>
A bowl-alley 86
The world's wise man 87
A surgeon , 90
A contemplative man 93
A she precise hypocrite 94
A sceptick in religion 99
An attorney 105
XV
PAGE
A partial man 107
A trumpeter 109
A vulgar spirited man Ill
(^plodding student
Paul's walk 116
A cook 120
A bold forward man 1 22
A baker ••• 125
Arpjretender to learning • O27^-
A herald 130
The common singing-men in cathedral churches 132
A shop-keeper ' 13&
A blunt man 135
A handsome hostess 138
A critic YO39
A serjeant, or catch-pole 141
An university dun <• 142
A stayed man 144
[All from this character were added after the first edition.]
A modest man 147
A meer empty wit 151
A drunkard 1 53
A prison • • • 156
XVI
PAGE
A serving-man , • 159
An insolent man 161
Acquaintance 164
A meer complimental man 167
A poor fiddler 169
A meddling-man • 171
A good old man 173
A flatterer 176
A high spirited man 179
A meer gull citizen 181
A lascivious man 187
A rash man 189
An affected man « • • « (^92
A profane man • *•• 195
A coward •««• 196
A sordid rich man 198
A meer great man 201
A poor man 203
An ordinary honest man 206
A suspicious, or jealous man 208
xvii
APPENDIX.
PAGE.
Some account of bishop Earle * 211
Characters of bishop Earle 219
List of Dr. Earle's Works 22,3
Lines on sir John Burroughs 225
Lines on the death of the earl of Pembroke 227
Lines on Mr. Beaumont • - 229
Dedication to the Latin translation of the Euuov Bac-iXutn 233
Inscription on Dr. Heylin's monument 237
Correspondence between Dr. Earle and Mr. Bagster • • 240
Inscription in Streglethorp church 244
Chronological List of Books of Characters, from 1567
to 1700 - - - . 246
Corrections and additions 315
A note on bishop Earle's arms, from Guillim's Heraldry 318
* It will be remarked, that Dr. Earle's name is frequently
spelled Earle and Earles in the following pages. Wherever
the editor has had occasion 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 article or information
has been derived.
XIX
TO THE READER*.
I HAVE (for once) adventured to play the midwife's
part, helping to bring forth 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
was delivered of them, written especially for his private
recreation, to pass away the time in the country, and by
the forcible request of friends drawn from 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 many sundry dispersed transcripts, some
very imperfect and surreptitious had like to have passed
the press, if the author had not used speedy means of
prevention; when, perceiving the hazard he ran to be
wronged, was unwillingly f willing to let them pass as
now they appear to the world. If any faults have
escaped the press (as few books can be printed without),
impose them not on the author, I intreat thee; but ra-
ther impute them to mine and the printer's oversight,
* Gentile, or Gentle, 8th edit. 1650.
t Willingly, 8th edit, evidently a typographical error.
XX
who seriously promise, on the re-impression hereof, by
greater care and diligence for this our former default, to
make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I
remain
Thine,
ED. BLOUNT*.
* Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saint
Paul's Church-yard, appears to have been a bookseller of re-
spectability, and in some respects a man of letters. Many
dedications and prefaces, with as much merit as compositions
of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there is
every reason to suppose that he translated a work from the
Italian, which he intituled " The Hospitall of Incvrable
Fooles," &c. 4to. 1600. Mr. Ames has discovered, from the
Stationer's Register, that he was the son of Ralph Blount or
Blunt, merchant-taylor of London ; that he was apprenticed
to William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is
no slight honour to his taste and judgment, that he was one of
the partners in the first edition of Shakspeare.
MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ;
or,
A piece of the World characterized.
L
A child
IS a man in a small letter, yet the best copy
of Adam before he tasted of Eve or the apple ;
and he is happy whose small practice in the
world can only write his character. He is na-
ture's fresh picture newly drawn in oil, which
time, and much handling^ dims and defaces. His
soul is yet a white paper ' unscribbled with obser-
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.
B
vations of the world, wherewith, at length, it
becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely
happy, because he knows no evil, nor hath
made means by sin to be acquainted with
misery. He arrives not at the mischief of
being wise, nor endures evils to come, by fore-
seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and,
when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on
his beater. Nature and his parents alike dandle
him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a
draught of wormwood. He plays yet, like
a young prentice the first day, and is not come
to his task of melancholy. [a All the language
he speaks yet is tears, and they serve him well
enough to express his necessity.] His hardest
Shakspeare, of a child, says,
t( the hand of time
Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume."
K.John, II. 1.
2 This, and €very other passage throughout the
volume, [included between brackets,] does not appear
in the first edition of 1628.
3
labour is bis tongue, as if he were loath to use
so deceitful an organ ; and he is best company
with it when he can but prattle. We laugh at
his foolish ports, but his game is our earnest ;
and his drums, rattles, and hobby-horses, but
the emblems and mocking of man's business.
His father hath writ him as his own little story,
wherein be reads those days of his life that he
cannot remember, and sighs to see what inno-
cence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows,
he is a stair lower from God ; and, like his first
father, much worse in his breeches *. He is
the Christian's example, and the old man's re-
lapse; the one imitates his pureness, and the
other falls into his simplicity. Could he put
off his body with his little coat, he had got eter-
3 Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva
Bible, " make himself breeches," till he knew sin : tbe
meaning of the passage in the text is merely that, as a
child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the
knowledge and commission of vice and immorality.
iiity without a burden, and exchanged but one
heaven for another.
JI.
A young raw preacher
Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped
out of his nest to be chirping on a hedge, and
•will be straggling abroad at what peril soever.
His backwardness in the university hath set him
thus forward ; for had he not truanted there,
he had not been so hasty a divine. His small
standing, and time, hath made him a proficient
only in boldness, out of which, and his table-
book, he is furnished for a preacher. His col-
lections of study are the notes of sermons,
which, taken up at St. Mary's 4, he utters in the
4 St. Mary's church was originally built by king
Alfred, and annexed to the University of Oxford, for the
country : and if he write brachigraphy 5, his
stock is so much the better. His writing is
more than his reading1, for he reads only what
he" gets without book. Thus accomplished he
comes down to his friends, and his first saluta-
tion is grace and peace out of the pulpit.
His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers
use of the scholars, when St. Giles's and St. Peter's
(which were till then appropriated to them,) had been
ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally re-
built during the reign of Henry VII. who gave forty
oaks towards the materials; and is, to this day, the
place of worship in which the public sermons are
preached before the members of the university.
5 Brachigraphy, or short-hand-writing, appears to
have been much studied in our author's time, and was
probably esteemed a fashionable accomplishment. It was
first introduced into this country by Peter Bales, who,
in 1590, published The Writing Schoolmaster, a treatise
consisting of three parts, the first " of Brachygraphie,
that is, to write as fast as a man speaketh treatably,
writing but one letter for a word;" the second, of Or-
thography ; and the third, of Calligraphy. Imprinted
at London, by T. Orwin, &c. 1590. 4to. A second
edition, " with ] sundry new additions," appeared in
6
his college more at large 6. The pace of his
sermon is a full career, and he runs wildly over
1597. 12mo. Imprinted at London, by George Shawer
&c. Holinshed gives the following description of one
of Bales' performances :— " The tenth of August (1575,)
a rare peece of worke, and almost incredible, was
brought to passe by an Englishman borne in the citie of
London, named Peter Bales, who by his industrie and
practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the com-
passe of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed,
the ten commandements, a praier to God, a praier for
the queene, his posie, his name, the daie of the moneth,
the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of the queene.
And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at
Hampton court, he presented the same to the queen's
maiestie, in the head of a ring of gold, couered with a
christall ; and presented therewith an excellent spec-
tacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof:
wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein
with great admiration, and commended the same to the
lords of the councell, and the ambassadors, and did
weare the same manie times vpon hir finger." Holin-
shed's Chronicle, page 1262, b. edit, folio, Lond. 1587.
6 It is customary in all sermons delivered before
the University, to use an introductory prayer for the
founder of, and principal benefactors to, the preacher's
individual college, as well as for the officers and mem-
bers of the university in general. This, however,
7
hill and dale, till the clock stop him. The la-
bour of it is chiefly in his lungs ; and the only
thing he has made 1 in it himself, is the faces.
He takes on against the pope without mercy,
and has a jest still in lavender for Bellarmine :
yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in his way,
though with a mind, I must needs say, very or-
thodox. His action is all passion, and his
speech interjections. He has an excellent fa-
culty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a
very good grace. [His stile is compounded of
twenty several men's, only his body imitates
some one extraordinary.] He will not draw his
handkercher out of his place, nor blow his nose
without discretion. His commendation is, that
lie never looks upon book ; and indeed he was
never used to it. He preaches but once a year,
though twice on Sunday ; for the stuff is still
would appear very ridiculous when " he comes down to
his friends" or, in other words, preaches before a coun-
try congregation.
7 of, first edit. 1628.
s
the same, only the dressing a little altered : he
has more 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 have waded farther in his profession, and
would shew reading of his own, his authors are
postils, and his school-divinity a catechism.
His fashion and demure habit gets him in with
some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on
Friday nights. You shall know him by his
narrow velvet cape, and serge facing ; and his
ruff, next his hair, the shortest thing about
him. The companion of his walk is some zea-
lous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange
points, which they both understand alike. His
friends and much painfulness may prefer him
to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a
chambermaid ; with whom we leave him now in
the bonds of wedlock :— next Sunday you shall
have him again.
III.
A grave divine
fs one that knows the burthen of his calling,
and hath studied to make his shoulders suffi-
cient; for which he hath not been hasty to
launch forth of his port, the university, but
expected the ballast of learning, and the wind
of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning
but the end of his studies ; to which he takes
the ordinary stair, and makes the arts his way.
He counts it not prophaneness to be polished
with human reading, or to smooth his way by
Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded
both religions, and anchored in the best, and is
a protestant out of judgment, not faction ; not
because his country, but his reason is on this
side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge,
and yet the pulpit not his itch, but fear. His
discourse is substance, not all rhetoric, and he
utters more things than words. His speech is
10
not helped with inforced action, but the mat-
ter acts itself. He shoots all his meditations at
one but; and beats upon his text, not the
cushion; making his hearers, not the pulpit
groan. In citing of popish errors, he cuts
them with arguments, not cudgels them with
barren invectives; and labours more to shew
the truth of his cause than the spleen. His ser-
mon is limited by the method, not the hour-
glass; and his devotion goes along with him
out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a
week, because he would not be idle ; nor talks
three hours together, because he would not talk
nothing : but his tongue preaches at fit times,
and his conversation is the every day's exer-
cise. In matters of ceremony, he is not cere-
monious, but thinks he owes that reverence to
the church to bow hi? judgement to it, and
make more conscience of schism, than a sur-
plice. He esteems the church hierarchy as the
church's glory, and however we jar with Rome,
11
would not have our cdnfusion distinguish us.
In simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes
in the bargain, and is loath to come by pro-
motion so dear : yet his worth at length ad-
vances him, and the price of his own merit
buys him a living. He is no base grater of his
tythes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg.
The lawyer is the only man he hinders, by
whom he is spited for taking up quarrels. He
is a main pillar of our church, though not yet
dean or canon, and his life our religion's best
apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die
by his example 8.
8 I cannot forbear to close this admirable character
with the beautiful description of a " poure Personc"
riche of holy thought and zverk, given by the father of
English poetry : —
" Benigne he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversite ful patient :
And swiche he was ypreved often sithes.
Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,
IV.
A meer dull physician.
His practice is some business at bedsides,
and his speculation an urinal: he is distin-
guished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap
and doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees
But rather wolde he yeven out of doute,
Unto his poure parishens aboute,
Of his ofi'ring, 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,
lie 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,
13
more superfluously, for he is doctor howsoever,
He is sworn to Galen and H ippocrates, as uni-
versity men to their statutes, though they never
saw them ; and his discourse is all aphorisms,
though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont 99
But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve,
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve."
Chaucer, Prol. to Cunt. Tales, v. 485.
We may surely conclude with a line from the same
poem,
" A better preest I trowe that nowher non is."
9 The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Pie-
mount, containyng erceUente remedies against diners dis-
eases, &c. appear to have been a very favourite study
either with the physicians, or their patients, about this
period.
They were originally written in Italian, and were
translated into English by William Warde, of which
editions were printed at London, in 1558, 1562, 1595,
and 1615. In 1603, & fourth edition of a Latin version
appeared at Basil ; and from Ward's dedication to " the
lorde Russell, erle of Bedford," it seems that the
French and Dutch were not without so great a treasure
in their own languages. A specimen of the impor-
tance of this publication maybe given in the title of the
14
or the Regiment of Health I0. The best cure he
has done, is upon his own purse, which from
a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in
flesh. His learning consists much in reckoning
up the hard names of diseases, and the super-
scriptions of gally-pots in his apothecary's
shop, which are ranked in his shelves and the
doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only lan-
guaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many
times when he knows not. If he have been but
a by-stander at some desperate recovery, he is
slandered with it though he be guiltless ; and
this breeds his reputation, and that his prac-
tice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all
odours he likes best the smell of urine, and
first secret. " The maner and secrete to conserue a
man's youth, and to holde back olde age, to maintaine a
man always in helth and strength, as in the fayrest
floure of his yeres."
10 The Regiment of Helthe, by Thomas Paynell, is
another volume of the same description, and was
printed by Thomas Berthelette, in 1541. 4to.
15
holds Vespasian's ' rule, that no gain is unsa-
vory. If you send this once to him you must
resolve to be sick howsoever, for he will never
leave examining your water, till he has shaked
it into a disease * : then follows a writ to his
drugger in a strange tongue, which he under-
stands, though he cannot conster. If he see
you himself, his presence is the worst visitation:
for if he cannot heal your sickness, he will
be sure to help it. He translates his apothe-
cary's shop into your chamber, and the very
1 Vespatian, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed, a tax
upon urine, and when his son Titus remonstrated with
him on the meanness of the act, " Pecuniam," says Sue-
tonius, " ex prima pensione admovit ad nares, suscitans
num odore offenderetur ? et illo negante, atqui, inquit,
c lotio est."
2 " Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with
vrinals, where, if he finde any thing, (though he knowe
nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which if it hit to
some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme
a piece of strange stuffe." Character of an unworthy
physician. « The Good and the Badde," by Nicholas
Breton. 4to. 1618.
16
windows and benches must take physic. He
tells you your malady in Greek, though it be
but a cold, or head-ach ; which by good en-
deavour and diligence he may bring to some
moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is,
that he leaves a man gasping, and his pretence is,
death and he have a quarrel and must not
meet ; but his fear is, lest the carkass should
bleed3. Anatomies, and other spectacles of
mortality, have hardened him, and he is no
more struck with a funeral than a grave-maker.
Noblemen use him for a director of their sto-
•3 That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of
the murderer, was, in our author's time, a commonly re-
ceived opinion. Holinshed affirms that the corps of
Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment ;
and Sir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of
the report, that he has endeavoured to explain the rea-
son. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens, in a note to Shak-
spearc, that the opinion seems to be derived from the
ancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we
descend ; as they practised this method of trial in all
dubious cases.
17
mach, and ladies for wantonness4, especially if
he be a proper man 5. 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 phi-
losopher's stone; a disease uncurable, but by
an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His
two main opposites are a mountebank and a
good woman, and he never shews his learning
so much as in an invective against them and
their boxes. In conclusion, he is a sucking
consumption, and a very brother to the worms,
for they are both ingendered out of man's cor-
ruption.
* " Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please
The female sex, and how their corp'rall griefes to
ease."
Goddard'S " Mast if W help." Satires. 4to. Without
date. Sat. 17.
5 Proper for handsome.
18
V.
An alderman.
HE is venerable in his gown, more in his
beard, wherewith he sets not forth so much his
own, as the face of a city. You must look on
him as one of the town gates, and consider him
not as a body, but a corporation. His emi-
nency above others hath made him a man of
worship, for he had never been preferred, but
that he was worth thousands. He over-sees the
commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argu-
ment of his policy, that he has thriven by his
craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in his ward ;
yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be
like the balances in his warehouse. A ponde-
rous man he is, and substantial, for his weight is
commonly extraordinary r and in his preferment
nothing rises so much as his belly. His head is
ef no great depth, yet well furnished ; and
19
when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may
bring forth a city apophthegm, or some such
sage matter. He is one that will not hastily
run into error, for he treads with great de-
liberation and his judgment consists much
his pace. His discourse is commonly the an-
nals of his mayoralty, and what good govern-
ment there was in the days of his gold chain
though the door posts were the only things that
suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely
religious, especially on solemn days ; for he
comes often to church to make a shew, [and i
a part of the quire hangings.] He is the
highest stair of his profession, and an example
to his trade, what in time they may come to.
He makes very much of his authority, but more
of his sattin doublet, which, though of good
years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh
every Sunday : but his scarlet gown is a monu-
ment, and lasts from generation 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 be miserable in spite. The root of his
disease is a self- humouring pride, and an ac-
customed tenderness not to be crossed in his
fancy ; and the occasion commonly of one of
these three, a hard father, a peevish wench,
or his ambition thwarted. He considered not
the nature of the world till he felt it, and all
blows fall on him heavier, because they light
not first on his expectation. He has now fore-
gone all but his pride, and is yet vain-glorious
in the ostentation of his melancholy. His
composure of himself is a studied carelessness,
with his arms across, and a neglected hanging
of his head and cloak; and he is as great an
21
enemy to an hat-band, as fortune. He quarrels
at the time and up-starts, and sighs at the neg-
lect of men of parts, that is, such as himself.
His life is a perpetual satyr, and lie is still
girding6 the age's vanity, when this very anger
shews he too much esteems it. He is much
displeased to see men merry, and wonders what
they can find to laugh at. He never draws his
own lips higher than a smile, and frowns
wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into
that deadly melancholy to be a bitter hater of
men, and is the most apt companion for any
mischief. He is the spark that kindles the
commonwealth, and the bellows himself to
blow it : and if he turn any thing, it is com-
monly one of these, either friar, traitor, or
mad -man.
6 To gird, is to sneer at, or scorn any one. Falstaff
says, " men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me." —
Henry IV. Part 2.
VIL
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
and stinking. He is one that hath that unna-
tural disease to be enamoured of old age and
wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do
cheese,) the better for being mouldy and worm-
eaten. He is of our religion, because we say
it is most antient ; and yet a broken statue
would almost make him an idolater. A great
admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and
reads only those characters, where time hath
eaten out the letters. He will go you forty
miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey ;
and there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the
way, he'll be considering it so long, till he for-
get his journey. His estate consists much in
23
shekels, and Roman coins ; and he hath more
pictures of Caesar, than James or Elizabeth.
Beggars cozen him with musty tilings which
they have raked from dunghills, and he pre-
serves their rags for precious relicks. He loves
no library, but where there are more spiders
volumes than authors, and looks with great ad-
miration on the antique work of cobwebs.
Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this
latter age, but a manuscript he pores on ever-
lastingly, especially if the cover be all moth-
eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between
every syllable. He would give all the books in
his study (which are rarities all,) for one of the
old Roman binding, or six lines of Tully in his
own hand. His chamber is hung commonly
with strange beasts skins, and is a kind of char-
nel-house of bones extraordinary; and his
discourse upon them, if you will hear him,
•hall last longer. His very attire is that which
24
is the eldest out of fashion, [* and you may
pick a criticism out of his breeches.^ He never
looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and
then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His
grave does not fright him, for he has been
used to sepulchers, and he likes death the bet-
ter, because it gathers him to his fathers.
VIII.
A younger brother.
His elder brother was the Esau, that came
out first and left him like Jacob at his heels.
His father has done with him, as Pharoah to the
children of Israel, that would have them make
brick and give them no straw, so he tasks him
* In the first edition it stands thus :— " and his hat is
as antient as the tower of Babel."
25
to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to
maintain it. The pride of his house has un-
done him, which the elder's knighthood must
sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His
birth and bringing up will not suffer him to de-
scend to the means to get wealth ; but he stands
at the mercy of the world, and which is worse,
of his brother. He is something better than
the serving-men ; yet they more saucy with
him than he bold with the master, who beholds
him with a countenance of stern awe, and
checks him oftener than his liveries. His bro-
ther's old suits and he are much alike in re-
quest, and cast oft' now and then one to the
other. Nature hath furnished him with a little
more wit upon compassion, for it is like to
be his best revenue. If his annuity stretch so
far, he is sent to the university, and with great
heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as
a profession he is condemned to by his ill for-
tune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
26
the king's high-way ; where at length their
vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for
Tyburn : but their brother's pride, not love,
gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-
countries 7, where rags and lice are no scandal,
where he lives a poor gentleman of a company,
and dies without a shirt. The only thing that
may better his fortunes is an art he has to make
a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and
then some rich widow that is hungry after his
blood. He is commonly discontented and des-
perate, and the form of his exclamatio n is, that
7 The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample
room for ridicule at all times. In *' A brief Character
of the Low-countries under the States, being Three Weeks
Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the Inhabitants,
written by Owen Felltham, and printed Lond. 1659,
12mo. we find them epitomized as a general sea-land — the
great bog of Europe— an universal quagmire — in short,
a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in which deno-
mination the author appears to include all the natives,)
he describes as being able to " drink, rail, swear, niggle,
steal, andbe lowsie alike." P. 40.
27
churl my brother. He loves not his country
for this unnatural custom, and would have long
since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent8
only, which he holds in admiration.
IX.
A meer formal man
Is somewhat more than the shape of a man ;
for he has his length, breadth, and colour.
8 Gavelkind, or the practice of dividing lands equally
among all the male children of the deceased, was (ac-
cording to Spelman,) adopted by the Saxons, from
Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description
of that nation. Gloss, A rchaiol. folio, Lond. 1664. Har-
rison, in The Description of England, prefixed to Holm-
shed's Chronicle, (vol. i. page 180,) says, " Gauell kind
is all the male children equallie to inherit, and is con-
tinued to this daie in Kent, where it is onelie to my
knowledge reteined, and no where else in England."
And Lambarde, in his Customes of Kent, (Perambula-
tion, 4to. 1596, page 538,) thus notices it : — " The
custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth itselfe
throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by
auncient tenure vnto the same, such places onely ex-
cepted, where it is altered by acte of parleament"
28
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 un-
derstanding, but he sees other men do thus, and
he follows them. He is anegative, , for we can-
not call him a wise 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 the carriage of his body and the setting of
his face in a good frame; which he performs
the better, because he is not disjointed with other
meditations. His religion is a good quiet sub-
ject, and he prays as he swears, in the phrase
of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair in-
viter, and can excuse his good cheer in the ac-
customed apology. He has some faculty in
mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of
his morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He ap-
prehends a jest by seeing men smile, and
laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his
29
turn. His businesses with his friends are to
visit them, and whilst the business is no more, he
can perform this well enough. His discourse is
th'e news that he hath gathered in his walk,
and for other matters his discretion is, that he
will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His
life is like one that runs to the 9 church-walk,
to take a turn or two, and so passes. He hath
staid in the world to fill a number ; and when
he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end.
X.
A Church-Papist
Is one that parts his religion betwixt his con-
science and his purse, and comes to church not
to serve God but the king. The face of the law
makes him wear the mask of the gospel, which
u Minster-walk, 1st edit.
30
he uses not as a means to save his soul, but
charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to
lose by it ; and though he be something scared
with the bulls of Rome, yet they are far off,
and he is struck with more terror at the appa-
ritor. Once a month he presents himself at the
church, to keep off the church-warden, and
brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels
with the congregation, but prays by himself,
and asks God forgiveness for coming thither.
If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his
hat over his eyes, and frowns out the hour;
and when he comes home, thinks to make
amends for this fault by abusing the preacher.
His main policy is to shift off the communion,
for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel,
and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter ;
and indeed he lies not, for he has a quarrel to
the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr
and good traveller, for his conscience is so
large he could never wander out of it ; and in
31
Constantinople would be circumcised with a
reservation. His wife is more zealous and
therefore more costly, and he bates her in tires I0
what she stands him in religion. But we leave
him hatching plots against the state, and ex-
pecting Spinola1.
10 The word tire is probably here used as an abbrevi-
ation of the word attire, dress, ornament.
1 Ambrose Spinola was one of the most celebrated and
excellent commanders that Spain ever possessed: he
was born, in 1569, of a noble family, and distinguished
himself through life in being opposed to prince Maurice
of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he
was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died
in 1630, owing to a disadvantage sustained by his
troops at the siege of Cassel, which was to be entirely at-
tributed to the imprudent orders he received from Spain,
and which that government compelled him to obey. This
disaster broke his heart; and he died with the exclamation
of " they have robbed me of my honour ;" an idea he was
unable to survive. It is probable that, at the time this
character was composed, many of the disaffected in
England were in expectation of an attack to be made
on this country by the Spaniards, under the command
»f Spinola.
XI.
A self-conceited man
Is jHie that knows himself so well, that he
does, not know himself. Two excellent well-
dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it
that first commended him to madness. He is
now become his own book, which he pores on
continually, yet like a truant reader skips over
the harsh places, and surveys only that which
is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good
parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double,
and his fancy, like an old man's spectacles,
make a great letter in a small print. He ima-
gines every place where he comes his theater,
and not a look stirring but his spectator ; and
conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that
is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still
in the fashion of a march, and like his opinion
unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon
his own person, or on others with reflection to
3.9
Irimself. If he have done any thing that has
past with applause, he is always re-acting it
alone, and concerts the extasy his hearers were
in at every period. His discourse is all po-
sitions and definitive decrees, with thus it must
be and thus it w, and he will not humble his
authority to prove it. His tenent is always
singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can,
from which you must not hope to wrest him.
He has an excellent humour for an heretick,
and in these days made the first Arminian. He
prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsus
before Galen, a [and whosoever with most pa?
radox is commended.'] He much pities the
world that has no more insight in his parts,
when he is too well discovered even to this
very thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him,
for he can tell him nothing but what he knows
* and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tally or
Quintilian. First edit.
34
before : and yet he loves him too, because he is
like himself. Men are merciful to him, and
let him alone, for if he be once driven from his
humour, he is like two inward friends fallen
out : his own bitter enemy and discontent pre-
sently makes a murder. In sum, he is a blad-
der blown up with wind, which the least flaw
crushes to nothing.
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 his neighbours as he would
35
in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as
much as the inquisition. He suspects all
questions for examinations, and thinks you
would pick something out of him, and avoids
you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet,
which locks up every toy or trifle, or some
bragging mountebank that makes every
stinking thing a secret. He delivers you com-
mon matters with great conjuration of silence,
and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament.
You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a
paper, and whatsoever he reads is letters. He
dares not talk of great men for fear of bad
comments, and he knows not how his words may
be misapplied. Ask his opinion, and lie tells
you his doubt ; and he never hears any thing
more astonishedly than what he knows before.
His words are like the cards at primivist3,
3 Primivist and primero were, in all probability, the
same game, although Minshew, in his Dictionary,
D 2
36
where 6 is 18, and 7, 21 ; for they never signify
what they sound ; but if he tell you he will do
calls them «' two games at cardes." The latter he ex*
plains, " primum et primum visum. that is, first and
first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of
cardes, first winnes the game." The coincidence be-
tween Mr. Strutt's description of the former and the
passage in the text, shews that there could be little or
no difference between the value of the cards in these
games, or in the manner of playing them. tc Each player
had four cards dealt to him, one by one, the seven was
the highest card, in point of number, that he could avail
himself of, which counted for tzcenty-one, the six counted
for sixteen, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same,"
&c. (Sports and Pastimes, 24T.) The honourable Daines
Barrington conceived that Primero was introduced by
Pfyilip the Second, or some of his suite, whilst in En-
gland. Shakspeare proves that it was played in the
royal circle.
-" I left him (Henry VIII.) at Primero
With the duke of Suffolk."
Henry VIII.
So Decker: " Talke of none but lords and such ladies
with whom you have plaid at Primero." — Gul's Horne-
booke, 1609. 37.
Among the marquis of Worcester's celebrated " Cen-
tury of Inventions " 12mo. 1663, is one " so contrived
37
a thing, it is as much as if he swore he would
not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to
be craftier than they are, and puts himself
to a great deal of affliction to hinder their plots
and designs, where they mean freely. He has
been long a riddle himself, but at last finds
CEdipuses ; for his over-acted dissimulation
discovers him, and men do with him as they
would with Hebrew letters, spell him back-
wards and read him.
XIIL
A tavern
Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs
without suspicion, that playing at Primero at cards,
one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning
of all sixes, sevens, and aoes, which he hath discarded."
—No. 87.
38
above an ale-house, where men are drunk with
more credit and apology. If the vintner's nose 4
be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the ab-
sence of this is supplied by the ivy-bush: the
rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that
have been washed well over night, and are
smelt-to fasting next morning; not furnished
with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary
implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot.
It is a broacher of more news than hogsheads,
and more jests than news, which are sucked up
here by some spungy brain, and from thence
squeezed into a comedy. Men come here to make
merry, but indeed make a noise, and this mu-
sick above is answered with the clinking below.
The drawers are the civilest people in it, men of
good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of
* " Enquire out those tauernes which are best cus-
tomd, whose maisters are oftenest drunk, for that con -
rirrnes their taste, and that they choose wholesome
wines."— Decker's GuVs Horne-booJte, 1609.
39
them, none can boast more justly of their high
calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures, where
they are truly acted, not played, and the busi-
ness as in the rest of the world up and down,
to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great
chamber. A melancholy man would find here
matter to work upon, to see heads as brittle as
glasses, and often broken ; men come hither to
quarrel, and come hither to be made friends :
and if Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even
Telephus's sword that makes wounds and cures
them. It is the common consumption of the
afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of
a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that scorches
the3 face, and tobacco the gun-powder that
blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the
charitable vintner had not water ready for these
flames. A house of sin you may call it, but
not a house of darkness, for the candles are
5 /«'*, First edit.
40
never out ; and it is like those countries far in*
the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as
at raid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes
like a street in a dashing shower, where the
spouts are flushing above, and the conduits run-
ning below, while the Jordans like swelling
rivers overflow their banks. To give you the
total reckoning of it ; it is the busy man's re-
creation, the idle man's business, the melancho-
ly man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the
inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's
kindness, and the citizen's courtesy* It is the
study of sparkling wits, and a cup of canary 6
their book, whence we leave them.
6 The editor of ihe edition in 1732, has altered canary
to " sherry* fur what reason I am at a loss to discover,
and have consequently restored the reading of the first
edition. Vernier gives the following description of this
favourite liquor. " Canarie-wine, which beareth the
name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of
some termed a sacke, with this adjunct, sweete; but
yet very improperly, for it differeth not only from sacke
41
XIV.
A shark
Is one whom all other means have failed,
and he now lives of himself. He is some needy
in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but also in co-
lour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as
sack, nor so thin in substance; wherefore it is more
nutritive than sack, and less penetrative." Via recta ad
Vitam Ion gum* 4to. 1622. In Howell's time, Canary
wine was much adulterated. 4< I think," says he, in one
of his Letters, " there is more Canary brought into En-
gland than to all the world besides; I think also, there
is a hundred times more drunk under the name of Ca-
nary wine, than there is brought in ; for Sherries and
Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most ta-
verns. When Sacks and Canaries," he continues," were
brought in first amongst us, they were used to be drunk
in aqua vitas measures, and 'twas held fit only for those
to drink who were used to carry their legs in their hands,
their eyes upon their noses, and an almanack in their bones ;
but now they go down every one's throat, both young
and old, like milk." Howell, Letter to the lord Cliff,
dated Oct. 7, 1634.
42
cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung
off, yet still clasps again, and is like one a
drowning, fastens upon any thing that is next
al hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks
he has happily lost shame, and this want sup-
plies him. No man puts his brain to more use
than he, for his life is a daily invention, and
each meal a new stratagem. He has an excel-
lent memory for his acquaintance, though there
passed but how do you betwixt them seven
years ago, it shall suffice for an embrace, and
that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack
out of joy to see you, and in requital of his
courtesy you can do no less than pay for it.
He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a
school-boy with his points, when he is going to
be whipped, 'till the master, weary with long
stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is
paid, he says, It must not be so, yet is strait
pacified, and cries, What remedy ? His bor-
rowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling
43
or two, as he can well dispend ; which they
lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but
that he will come no more. He holds a strange
tyranny over men, for he is their debtor, and
they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of
any employment, though it be but to carry
commendations, which he will be sure to deliver
at eleven of the clock7. They in courtesy bid
him stay, and he in manners cannot deny them
If he find but a good look to assure his wel-
come, he becomes their half-boarder, and
haunts the threshold so long 'till he forces good
7 We learn from Harrison's Description of England,
prefixed to Holinshed, that eleven o'clock was the usual
time for dinner during the reign of Eli/abeth. " With
vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students, doo ordinarilie go
to dinner at eleiien before noone, and to supper at fiue,
or between fiue and six at afternoone." (vol. i. page
171. edit. 1587.) The alteration in manners at this
time is rather singularly evinced, from a passage imme-
diately following the above quotation, where we find
that merchants and husbandmen dined and supped at a
Later hour than the nobility.
44
nature to the necessity of a quarrel. Publicfc
invitations he will not wrong with his absence,
and is the best witness of the sheriff's hospita-
lity8. Men shun him at length as they would
do an infection, and he is never crossed in his
way if there be but u lane to escape him. He
has clone with the age as his clothes to him,
hung on as long as he could, and at last drops
off.
8 Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff
at particular seasons of the year. So in The Widow,* co-
medy, 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."
45
XV.
A carrier
Is his own hackney-man ; for he lets himself
out to travel as well as his horses. He is the
ordinary embassador between friend and friend,
the father and the son, and brings rich presents
to the one, but never returns any back again.
He is no unlettered man, though in shew sim-
ple ; for questionless, he has much in his bud-
get, which he can utter too in fit time and
place. He is [like] the vault9 in Gloster
9 The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral
church of Gloucester, was founded by Richard Stanley,
abbot, in 1457, and finished by William Farley, a monk
of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the
following description of the vault here alluded to. " The
whispering place is very remarkable ; it is a long alley,
from one side of the choir to the other, built circular,
that it might not darken the great east window of the
choir. When a person whispers at one end of the alley,
his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though
the passage be open in the middle, having large spaces
46
church, that conveys whispers at a distance, for
he takes the sound out of your mouth at York,
and makes it be heard as far as London. He
is the young student's joy and expectation, and
the most accepted guest, to whom they lend a
willing hand to discharge him of his burden.
His first greeting is commonly, Your friends
are well; [and to prove if] I0 in a piece of gold
delivers their blessing. You would think him
a churlish blunt fellow, but they find in him
many tokens of humanity. He is a great afflict-
er of the high-ways, and beats them out of
measure ; which injury is sometimes revenged
by the purse-taker, and then the voyage mis-
carries. No man domineers more in his inn,
for doors and windows on the east side. It may be im-
puted to the close cement of the wall, which makes it
as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long
piece of timber does convey the least stroak to the other
end. Others assign it to the repercussion of the voice
from accidental angles." Atkyns Ancient and Present
State of Glostershire. Lond. 1712, folio, page 128. See
also Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire, page 351.
1° Then in a piece of gold, fyc. first edit.
47
nor calls his host unreverently with more pre-
sumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of
the strength of his horses. He forgets not his
load where he takes his ease, for he is drunk
commonly before he goes to bed. He is like
the prodigal child, still packing away and still
returning again. But let him pass.
XVI.
A young man;
HE is now out of nature's protection, though
not yet able to guide himself; but left loose to
the world and fortune, from which the weak-
ness of his childhood preserved him ; and now
his strength exposes him. He is, indeed, just
of age to be miserable, yet in his own con-
ceit first begins to be happy ; and he is happier
in this imagination, and his misery not felt
48
is less. He sees yet but the outside of the
world and men, and conceives them, according
to their appearing, glister, and out of this igno-
rance believes them. He pursues all vanities
for happiness, and l [enjoys them best in this
fancy. ~\ His reason serves, not to curb but un-
derstand his appetite, and prosecute the motions
thereof with a more eager earnestness. Him-
self is his own temptation, and needs not Satan,
and the world will come hereafter. He leaves
repentance for grey hairs, and performs it in be-
ing covetous. He is mingled with the vices
of the age as the fashion and custom, with
which he longs to be acquainted, and sins to
better his understanding. He conceives his
youth as the season of his lust, and the hour
wherein he ought to be bad ; and because he
would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes
religion as a sad thing, and is six years elder for
1 Whilst he has not yet got them, enjoys them, First edit.
49
a thought of heaven. He scorns and fears, and
yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagkie it
with wrinkles. He loves and hates with the
same inflammation, and when the heat is over
is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friend-
ship is seldom so stedfast, but that lust, drink,
or anger may overturn it. He offers you his
blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take
yours to-morrow. He does seldom any thing
which he wishes not to do again, and is only
wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his
knowledge, and a great deal of folly it is makes
him a wise man. He is free from many vices,
by being not grown to the performance, and is
only more vertuous out of weakness. Every
action is his danger, and every man his am-
bush. He is a ship without pilot or tackling,
and only good fortune may steer him. If he
scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and
may live to be a man.
50
XVII.
An old college butler
Is none of the worst students in the house,
for he keeps the set hours at his book more duly
than any. His authority is great over men's
good names, which he charges many times with
shrewd aspersions, which they hardly wipe off
without payment. [His box and counters
prove him to be a man of reckoning, yet] he is
stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and deli-
vers not a farthing without writing. He doubles
the pains of Gollobelgicus % for his books go out
2 Gallo-Belgicus was erroneously supposed, by the
ingenious Mr. Reed, to be the " first news-paper pub-
lished in England ;" we are, however, assured by the
author of the " Life of Ruddiman," that it has no title
to so honourable a distinction. Gallo-Belgicus appears
to have been rather an Annual Register, or History of
its own Times, than a newspaper. It was written in
51
once a quarter, and they are much in the same
nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are
out of request as soon. His comings in are like
a taylor's, from the shreds of bread, [the] chip-
pings and remnants of a broken crust ; except-
ing his vails from the barrel, which poor folks
buy for their hogs but drink themselves. He
divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety
than Keckerman % and sub-divides the a primo
Latin, and entituled, "MERCURIJ GALLO-BELGICI : sivet
rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum : Hispania quoquey
Italia, Anglia, Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno
1588, ad Martium anni 1594, gestarum, NUNCIJ." The
first volume was printed in 8vo. at Cologne, 1598 ; from
•which year, to about 1605, it was published annually;
and from thence to the time of its conclusion, which
is uncertain, it appeared in half-yearly volumes. Chal-
mers' Life of Ruddiman, 1794. The great request in
which newspapers were held at the publication of the
present work, may be gathered from Burton, who, in
his Anatomy of Melancholy, complains that " if any
read now-a-days, it is a play-book, or a pamphlet of
nevves."
3 Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, ia
52
ortum so nicely, that a stomach of great capa-
city can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober
man, considering his manifold temptations of
drink and strangers; and if he be overseen, 'tis
within his own liberties, and no man ought to
take exception. He is never so well pleased
with his place as when a gentleman is beholden
to him for shewing him. the buttery, whom he
greets with a cup of single beer and sliced man-
chet4, and tells him it is the fashion of the col-
Prussia, 1571, and educated under Fabricius. Being
eminently distinguished for his abilities and application,
he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of Dantzick,
to take upon him the management of their academy;
an honour he then declined, but accepted, on a second
application, in 1601. Here he proposed to instruct his
pupils in the complete science of philosophy in the
short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drevy
up a great number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics,
politics, physics, metaphysics, geography, astronomy,
&c. &c. till, as it is said, literally worn out with scho-
lastic drudgery, he died at the early age of 38.
4 Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie
brought to the table, whereof the first and most excel-
53
lege. He domineers over freshmen when they
first come to the hatch, and puzzles them with
strange language of cues and cees, and some
broken Latin which he has learnt at his bin.
His faculties extraordinary is the warming of a
pair of cards, and telling out a dozen of counters
for post and pair, and no man is more methodi-
cal in these businesses. Thus he spends his
age till the tap of it is run out, and then a fresh
one is set abroach.
XVIII.
An upstart country knight
[/s a holiday clown, and differs only in the
stuff of his clothes, not the stuff of himself5,]
lent is the mainchet, which we commonlie call white
bread. Harrison, Description of England prefixed to
Holinshed, chap. 6.
5 His honour was somewhat preposterous, for he baret &c.
first edit.
54
for he bare the king's sword before he had arms
to wield it ; yet being once laid o'er the shoul-
der with a knighthood, he finds the herald his
friend. His father was a man of good stock,
though but a tanner or usurer ; he purchased
the land, and his son the title. He has doffed
off the name of a [6 country fellow^] but the
look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish
of churne-milk. He is guarded with more gold
lace than all the gentlemen of the country, yet
his body makes his clothes still out of fashion.
His house-keeping is seen much in the distinct
families of dogs, and serving-men attendant on
their kennels, and the deepness of their throats
is the 'depth of his discourse. A hawk he es-
teems the true burden of nobility 7, and is
6 Clown, first edit.
7 The art of hawking has been so frequently and so
fully explained, that it would be superfluous, if not ar-
rogant, to trace its progress, or delineate its history, in
this place. In the earliest periods it appears to have
been exclusively practised by the nobility ; and, indeed,
the great expense at which the amusement was sup-
55
exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the
sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses 8.
ported, seems to have been a sufficient reason for de-
terring persons of more moderate income, and of infe-
rior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the Sports
and Pastimes of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are
given of the importance attached to the office of falconer,
and of the immense value of, and high estimation the
birds themselves were held in from the commencement
of the Norman government, down to the reign of
James I. in which sir Thomas Monson gave 1000/. for
a cast of hawks, which consisted of only two.
The great increase of wealth, and the consequent
equalization of property in this country, about the reign
of Elizabeth, induced many of inferior birth to practise
the amusements of their superiors, which they did with-
out regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas
Elyot, in his Governour (1580), complains that the fal-
kons of his day consumed so much poultry, that, in a
few years, he feared there would be a great scarcity of it.
" I speake not this," says he, " in disprayse of the
faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cock-
neyes." A reproof, there can be no doubt, applicable
to the character in the text.
8 A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of
leather which are fastened to the hawk's legs, by which
she is held on the fist, or joined to the leash. They
56
A justice of peace he is to domineer in his pa-
rish, and do his neighbour wrong with more
right 9. He will be drunk with his hunters for
company, and stain his gentility with droppings
of ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the
shire by instinct, and dreads the assize-week as
much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod
of his own earth, or his land is the dunghill
and he the cock that crows over it : and com-
monly his race is quickly run, and his chil-
dren's children, though they scape hanging,
return to the place from whence they came.
were sometimes made of silk, as appears from f The
Soke of hawkynge, hunlyugc, and fysshynge, with all
the propertyes and medecynes that are necessarye to be
kepte : " Hawkes haue aboute theyrlegges gesses made
of lether most comorily, some of sylke, which shuld be
no lenger but that the knottes of them shulde appere in
the myddes of the lefte hande," &c. Juliana Barnes.
edit. 4to. " Jmprynted at London in Pauls chyrchyarde
by me Hery Tab." sig. C. ii.
g This authority of his is that club which keeps them under
as his dogs hereafter. First edit.
57
XIX.
An idle gallant
Is one that was born and shaped for his
cloaths; and, if Adam had not fallen, had lived
to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the
first sin, and fig-leaves that were an occasion
of [his] bravery. His first care is his dress,
the next his body, and in the uniting of these
two lies his soul and its faculties. He observes
London trulier then the terms, and his business
is the street, the stage, the court, and those
places where a proper man is best shown. If
he be qualified in gaming extraordinary, he is
so much the more genteel and compleat, and he
learns the best oaths for the purpose. These
are a great part of his discourse, and he is as
curious in their newness as the fashion. His
other talk is ladies and such pretty things, or
58
some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a
great part in his discourse, so does his body,
the upper parts whereof are as starched as his
linnen, and perchance use the same laundress.
He has learned to ruffle his face from his boot,
and takes great delight in his walk to hear his
spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat
slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the
time, for he is still drawing his watch out of his
pocket, and spends part of his hours in num-
bring them. He is one never serious but with
his taylor, when he is in conspiracy for the
next device. He is furnished with his jests, as
some wanderer with sermons, some three for all
congregations, one especially against the scho-
lar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he
knows by no other definition, but a silly fellow
in black. He is a kind of walking mercer's
shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and an-
other to-morrow ; an ornament to the room he
comes in as the fair bed and hangings be ; and
59
is meerly ratable accordingly, fifty or an hun-
dred 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
a coach so much longer: Otherwise, himself
and his cloaths grow stale together, and he is
buried commonly ere he dies in the gaol, or the
country.
XX.
A constable
Is a vice-roy in the street, and no man stands
more upon't that he is the king's officer. His
jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where
he has commission for the heels only, and sets
the rest of the body at liberty. He is a scare-
60
crow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his
morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard
for not standing in the king's name. Beggars
fear him more than the justice, and as much as
the whip-stock, whom lie delivers over to his
subordinate magistrates, the bridewell-man, and
the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tu-
mults of double jugs, and ventures his head by
his place, which is broke many times to keep
whole the peace. He is never so much in his
majesty as in his night-watch, where he sits in
his chair of state, a shop-stall, and invironed
with a guard of halberts, examines all passengers.
He is a very careful man in his office, but if he
stay up after midnight you shall take him
napping.
61
XXI.
A down-right scholar
Is one that has much learning in the ore, un-
wrought and untried, which time and experi-
ence fashions and refines. He is good metal in
the inside, though rough and unsecured with-
out, and therefore hated of the courtier, that is
quite contrary. The time has got a vein of
making him ridiculous, and men laugh at him
by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity but is
put upon his profession, and done like a scho-
lar. But his fault is only this, that his mind is
[somewhat] too much taken up with his mind,
and his thoughts not loadcn with any carriage
besides. He has not put on the quaint garb of
the age, which is now a man's [Imprimis and
all the Item I0.] He has not humbled his medi-
tations to the industry of complement, nor af-
10 Now become, a maiis total, first edit.
62
flicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body
is not set upon nice pins, to be turning and
flexible for every motion, but his scrape is
homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his
hand and cry, madam, nor talk idle enough to
bear her company. His smacking of a gentle-
woman is somewhat too savory, and he mis-
takes her nose for her lips. A very woodcock
would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the
logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty
of sliding over a tale, but his words come
squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laugh-
ter commonly before the jest. He names this
word college too often, and his discourse beats
too much on the university. The perplexity of
mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is
sharp set at an argument when he should cut his
meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all
games but one and thirty1, and at tables he-
1 Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to
63
reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are
not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but
his fist clunched with the habit of disputing.
He ascends a horse somewhat sinisterly, though
not on the left side, and they both go jogging
in grief together. He is exceedingly censured
by the inns-of-court men, for that heinous vice
being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a
dog in his own dialect, and understands Greek
better than the language of a falconer. He has
been used to a dark room, and dark cloaths,
and his eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The her-
mitage of his study, has made him somewhat
uncouth in the world, and men make him
worse by staring on him. Thus is he [silly
and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for
find any mention in Mr. Strutt's Sports and Pastimes,
nor is it alluded to in any of the old plays or tracts I
have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of
tables may be read in the interesting and valuable pub-
lication just noticed.
64
some quarter of a year out of the university.
But practise him a little in men, and brush him
over with good company, and he shall out-bal-
lance those glisterers, as far as a solid sub-
stance does a feather, or gold, gold-lace.
XXII.
A plain country fellow
Is one that manures his ground well, but lets
himself lye fallow and untilled. He has reason
enough to do his business, and not enough to
be idle or melancholy. He seems to have the
punishment of Nebuchadnezzar, for his conver-
sation is among beasts, and his tallons none of
the shortest, only he eats not grass, because he
loves not sallets. His hand guides the plough.
65
and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and
land-mark is the very mound of his meditations.
He expostulates with his oxen very understand-
ingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than
English. His mind is not much distracted with
objects, but if a good fat cow come in his way,
he stands dumb and astonished, and though his
haste be never so great, will fix here half an
hour's contemplation. His habitation is some
poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn
by the loop-holes that let out smoak, which the
rain had long since washed through, but for the
double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which
has hung there from his grandsire's time, and
is yet to make rashers for posterity. His din-
ner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much
as at his labour ; he is a terrible fastner on a
piece of beef, and you may hope to stave the
guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his
copy-hold, which he takes from his land-lord,
and refers it wholly to his discretion : Yet if he
66
give him leave lie is a good Christian to his
power, (that is,) comes to church in his best
cloaths, and sits there with his neighbours,
where he is capable only of two prayers, for
rain, and fair weather. He apprehends God's
blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture,
and never praises him but on good ground.
Sunday he esteems a day to make merry in, and
thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening-
prayer, where he walks very solemnly after
service with his hands coupled behind him,
and censures the dancing of his parish. [His
compliment with his neighbour is a good thump
on the back, and his salutation commonly some
blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices,
but pride and ill husbandry, from which he
will gravely dissuade the youth, and has some
thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his dis-
course. He is a niggard all the week, except
only market-day, where, if his corn sell well,
he thinks he may be drunk with a good con-
67
science. His feet never stink so unbecomingly
as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster-
hall, and even cleaves the ground with hard
scraping in beseeching his worship to take his
money. He is sensible of no calamity but the
burning a stack of corn or the overflowing of a
meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the greatest
plague that ever was, not because it drowned
the world, but spoiled the grass. For death he
is never troubled, and if he get in but his har-
vest before, let it come when it will, he cares
not.
XXIII.
A player.
HE knows the right use of the .world, wherein
he comes to play a part and so away. His life is
68
not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be
more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men
are upon him. His profession has in it a kind
of contradiction, for none is more disliked, and
yet none more applauded ; and he has the mis-
fortune of some scholar, too much wit makes
him a fool. He is like our painting gentle-
women, seldom in his own face, seldomer in his
cloaths ; and he pleases, the better he counter-
feits, except only when he is disguised with
straw for gold lace. He does not only person-
ate on the stage, but sometimes in the street,
for he is masked still in the habit of a gentle-
man. His parts find him oaths and good words,
which he keeps for his use and discourse, and
makes shew with them of a fashionable com-
panion. He is tragical on the stage, but ram-
pant in the tiring-house*, and swears oaths
2 The room where the performers dress, previous to
coming on the stage.
69
there which he never conned. The waiti ig
women spectators are over-ears in love with
him, and ladies send for him to act in their
chambers. Your inns-of-court men were un-
done but for him, he is their chief guest
and employment, and the sole business that
makes them afternoon' s-men. The poet only is
his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's
friend drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday
he fears as much as the bauds, and Lent 3 is more
damage to him than the butcher. He was never
so much discredited as in one act, and that was
of parliament, which gives hostlers priviledge
3 This passage affords a proof of what has been
doubted, namely, that the theatres were not permitted
to be open during Lentr in the reign of James I. The
restriction was waved in the next reign, as we find from
the puritanical Prynne :— " There are none so much
addicted to stage-playes, but when they goe unto places
where they cannot have them, or when, as they are
suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of pesti-
lence, and in Lent, till now of late,) can well subsist
without them," &c. Histrio-Mastix, 4to. Lond. 1633.
page 384.
70
before him, for which he abhors it more than
a corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one
well-furnished actor has enough in him for five
common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body,
[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge
any Cato, for it has been his practice to die
bravely.
XXIV.
A detractor
Is one of a more cunning and active envy,
wherewith he gnaws not foolishly himself, but
throws it abroad and would have it blister
others. He is commonly some weak parted
fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangely am-
bitious to match others, not by mounting their
worth, but bringing them down with his tongue
71
to his own poorness. He is indeed like the red
dragon that pursued the woman, for when he
cannot over-reach another, he opens his mouth
and throws a flood after to drown him. You
cannot anger him worse than to do well, and
he hates you more bitterly for this, than if you
had cheated him of his patrimony with your
own discredit. He is always slighting the ge-
neral opinion, and wondering why such and
such men should be applauded. Commend a
good divine, he cries postilling ; a philologer,
pedantry ; a poet, rhiming ; a school-man, dull
wrangling ; a sharp conceit, boyishness ; an
honest man, plausibility. He comes to publick
things not to learn, but to catch, and if there be
but one solcecism, that is all he carries away*
He looks on all things with a prepared sower-
ness, and is still furnished with a pish before-
hand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all
things whatsoever. If fear of the company
make him second a commendation, it is like a
72
law-writ, always with a clause of exception, or
to smooth his way to some greater scandal.
He will grant you something, and bate more ;
and this bating shall in conclusion take away all
he granted. His speech concludes still with an
Oh ! but, — and I could wish one thing amended ;
and this one thing shall be enough to deface all
his former commendations. He will be very
inward with a man to fish some bad but of him,
and make his slanders hereafter more authen-
tick, when it is said a friend reported it. He will
inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good
name into his clutches ; he will be your pandar
to have you on the hip for a whore-master, and
make you drunk to shew you reeling. He
passes the more plausibly because all men have
a smatch of his humour, and it is thought free-
ness which is malice. If he can say nothing of
a man, he will seem to speak riddles, as if he
could tell strange stories if he would; and
when he has racked his invention to the utmost.
73
lie ends ; — but I wish him well, and therefore
must hold my peace. He is always listening
and enquiring after men, and suffers not a
cloak to pass by him unexamined. In brief,
he is one that has lost all good himself, and is
loth to find it in another.
XXY.
A young gentleman of the university
Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and
to say hereafter, he has been at the university.
His father sent him thither because he heard
there were the best fencing and dancing-schools ;
from these he has his education, from his tutor
the over-sight. The first element of his know-
ledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated
in a tavern by the way, which hereafter he will
74
will learn of himself. The two marks of his
seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his
proficiency at tennis, where when he can once
play a set, he is a fresh man no more. His
study has commonly handsome shelves, his
books neat silk strings, which he shews to his
father's man, and is loth to unty4 or take down
for fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for
recreation he retires thither, and looks over the
pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is
commonly some short history, or a piece of
Euphormio; for which his tutor gives him
money to spend next day. His main loytering
4 It may not be known to those who are not accus-
tomed to meet with old books in their original bindings,
or of seeing public libraries of antiquity, that the
volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the
leaves, not the back) in front j and that the two sides of
the binding were joined together with neat silk or other
strings, and, in some instances, where the books were
of greater value and curiosity than common, even fas-
tened with gold or silver chains.
75
is at the library, where he studies arms and
books of honour, and turns a gentleman critick
in pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to
be -mistaken for a scholar, and hates a black
suit though it be made of sattin. His com-
panion is ordinarily some stale fellow, that has
been notorious for an ingle to gold hatbands 5,
whom he admires at first, afterward scorns. If
he have spirit or wit he may light of better
company, and may learn some flashes of wit,
which may do him knight's service in the
country hereafter. But he is now gone to the
inns-of-court, where he studies to forget what
he learned before, his acquaintance and the
fashion.
5 A hanger-on to noblemen, who are distinguished at
the university by gold tassels to their caps ; or in the
language of the present day, a tuft-hunter.
XXVI.
A weak man
Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature
huddled up in haste, and left his best part un^
finished. The rest of him is grown to be a
man, only his brain stays behind. He is one
that has not improved his first rudiments, nor
attained any proficiency by hi? stay in the
world : but we may speak of him yet as when
he was in the bud, a good harmless nature, a
well meaning mind 6 [and no more.'] It is his
misery that he now wants a tutor, and is too old
to have one. He is two steps above a fool, and
a great many more below a wise man : yet the
fool is oft given him, and by those whom he
esteems most. Some tokens of him are, — he
* If lie could order his intentions, first edit. ,
77
loves men better upon relation than experi-
ence, for he is exceedingly enamoured of
strangers, and none quicklier a weary of his
friend. He charges you at first meeting with
all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows
more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes
much his abusers for friends, and his friends
for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in
nothing so much as in good council. One that
is flexible with any thing but reason, and then
only perverse. [A servant to every tale and
flatterer, and whom the last man still works
over.] A great affecter of wits and such pretti-
nesses ; and his company is costly to him, for he
seldom has it but invited. His friendship com-
monly is begun in a supper, and lost in lending
money. The tavern is a dangerous place to
him, for to drink and be drunk is with him all
one, and his brain is sooner quenched than his
thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with
company, biit suffers alone, and the bastard
78
commonly laid to his charge. One that will be
patiently abused, and take exception a month
after when he understands it, and then be abused
again into a reconcilement; and you cannot
endear him more than by cozening him, and it
is a temptation to those that would not. One
discoverable in all silliness to all men but him-
self, and you may take any man's knowledge
of him better than his own. He will promise
the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny
one break with all. One that has no power
over himself, over his business, over his friends,
but a prey and pity to all; and if his fortunes
once sink, men quickly cry, Alas !— and forget
him.
79
XXVII.
A tobacco-seller
Is the only man that finds good in it which
others brag of but do not; for it is meat, drink,
and clothes to him. No man opens his ware
with greater seriousness, or challenges your
judgment more in the approbation. His shop
is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dia-
logue with their noses, and their communica-
tion is smoak7. It is the place only where
Spain is commended and preferred before
England itself. He should be well experienced
in the world, for he has daily trial of men's nos-
trils, and none is better acquainted with hu-
mours. He is the piecing commonly of some
7 Minshew calls a tobzccomstfumi-vendulus, a smoak-
seller.
80
other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and
that to his wife, which is the flame that follows
this sraoak.
XXVIII.
A pot-poet
Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good
drink may have some relish. His inspirations
are more real than others, for they do but feign
a God, but he has his by him. His verse runs
like the tap, and his invention as the barrel,
ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spiggot. In
thin drink he aspires not above a ballad, but a
cup of sack inflames him, and sets his muse and
nose a-fire together, The press is his mint, and
stamps him now and then a six-pence or two in
reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His
81
works would scarce sell for three half-pence,
though they are given oft for three shillings^
but for the pretty title that allures the country
gentleman; for which the printer maintains
him in ale a fortnight. His-¥erscs are like his
clothes miserable centoes 8 and patches, yet their
pace is not altogether so hobbling as an alma-
nack's. The death of a great man or the burn-
ing9 of a house furnish him with an argument,
and the nine muses are out strait in mourning
gowns, and Melpomene cries fire ! fire! [His
other poems are but briefs in rhime, and like
the poor Greeks collections to redeem from cap-
tivity.] He, is a man now much employed in
commendations of our navy, and a bitter in-
veigher against the Spaniard. His frequeritest
8 Cento, a composition formed by joining scraps
from other authors. Johnson. Camden, in his Re-
mains, uses it in the same sense. " It is quilted, as it
were, out of shreds of divers poets, such as scholars
call a, cento."
9 Firing, first edit.
82
works go out in single sheets, and are chanted
from market to market to a vile tune and a
worse throat ; whilst the poor country wench
melts like her butter to hear them. And these
are the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a
strange monster out of Germany 10 ; or, sitting
30 In the hope of discovering some account of the
strange monster alluded to, I have looked through one
of the largest and most curious collections of tracts, re-
lating lo the marvellous, perhaps in existence. That
bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the au-
thor of the Anatomy of Melancholy. Hitherto my re-
searches have been unattended with success, as I have
found only two tracts of this description relating to
Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither
giving any account of a monster.
1. A most true Relation of a very drcaclfull Earth-
quake, zcith the lamentable Effectes thereof, which began
vpon the 8. of December 1612. and yet continuelh most
fcarefull in Munster in Germanic. Rcade and Tremble.
Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike
Notarie in London, and printed at Rottcrdame, in Hol-
land, at the Signe of the White Gray-hound. (Date cut
eff. Twenty-six pages, 4to. with a wood-cut.)
2. Miraculous Newes from the Cittie of Holt, in the
Lordship of Munster, in Germany, the twentieth of Sep-
83
in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments*
He drops away at last in some obscure painted
cloth, to which himself made the verses1, and
his life, like a cann too full, spills upon the
bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score,
which my hostess loses.
t ember last past, 1616. where there were plainly beheld
three dead bodyes rise out of their Graves admonishing the
people of Judgements to come. Faithfully translated (<§-c.
Sf-c.) London, Printed for John Barnes, dwelling in Hosie
Lane neere Smithfield, 1616. (4to. twenty pages,
wood-cut.)
1 It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral
sentences, or scraps of verse, on old tapestry hangings,
which were called painted cloths. Several allusions to
this practice may be found in the works of our early
English dramatists. See Reed's Shakspeare, viii. 103.
84'
XXIX.
A plausible man
Is one that would fain run an even path itf
the world, and jut against no man. His en-
deavour is not to offend, and his aim the gene-
ral opinion. His conversation is a kind of con-
tinued compliment, and his life a practice of
manners. The relation lie bears to others, a
kind of fashionable respect, not friendship but
friendliness, which is equal to all and general,
and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies,
lie loves not deeper mutualities, because he
would not take sides, nor hazard himself on
displeasures, which he principally avoids. At
your first acquaintance with him he is exceed-
ing kind and friendly, and at your twentieth
meeting after but friendly still. He has an ex-
cellent command over his patience and tongue,
especially the last, which he accommodates
85
always to the times and persons, and speaks
seldom what is sincere, but what is civil. He
is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths,
and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He
considers who are friends to the company, and
speaks well where he is sure to hear of it
again.] He can listen to a foolish discourse
with an applausive attention, and conceal his
laughter at nonsense. Silly men much ho-
nour and esteem him, because by his fair rea-
soning with them as with men of understand-
ing, he puts them into an erroneous opinion of
themselves, and makes them forwarder here-
after to their own discovery. He is one rather
wdl% thought on than beloved, and that love
he has is more of whole companies together
than any one in particular. Men gratify him
notwithstanding with a good report, and what*
ever vices he has besides, yet having no ene-
mies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.
2 Better, first edit.
XXX.
A bowl-alley
Is the place where there are three things
thrown away beside bowls, to wit, time, money,
and curses, and the last ten for one. The best
sport in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it
that looks on and bets not. It is the school of
wrangling, and worse than the schools, for
men will cavil here for a hair's breadth, and
make a stir where a straw would end the con-
troversy. No antick screws men's bodies into
such strange flexures, and you would think
them here senseless, to speak sense to their
bowl, and put their trust in intreaties for a
good cast. The betters are the factious noise
of the alley, or the gamesters beadsmen that
pray for them. They are somewhat like those
that are cheated by great men, for they lose
87
their money and must say nothing. It is the
best discovery of humours, especially in the
losers, where you have fine variety of impa-
tience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear,
and others more ridiculously comfort themselves
with philosophy. To give you the moral of
it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's
ambition: where most are short, or over, or
wide or wrong- biassed, and some few justle in
to the mistress fortune. And it is here as in the
court, where the nearest are most spited, and
all blows aimed at the toucher.
XXXI.
The world's wise man
Is an able and sufficient wicked man : It is a
proof of his sufficiency that he is not called
88
wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined
in himself and his own ends, and his instru-
ments herein any thing that will do it. His
friends are a part of his engines, and as they
serve to his works, used or laid by : Indeed he
knows not this thing of friend, but if he give
you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you.
Never more active in his businesses, than when
when they are mixed with some harm to others ;
and it is his best play in this game to strike off
and lie in the place : Successful commonly in
these undertakings, because he passes smoothly
those rubs which others stumble at, as con-
science and the like; and gratulates himself
much in this advantage. Oaths and falshood
he counts the nearest way, and loves not by any
means to go about. He has many fine quips at
this folly of plain dealing, but his utush!" is
greatest at religion ; yet he uses this too, and
virtue and good words, but is less dangerously a
devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to an
89
unpractisedness in the world, and conscience a
thing merely for children. He scorns all that
are so silly to trust3 him, and only not scorns
his -enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he
fears him as a man well armed and provided,
but sets boldly on good natures, as the most
vanquishable. One that seriously admires
those worst princes, as Sforza, Borgia, and
Richard the third ; and calls matters of deep
villany things of difficulty. To whom murders
are but resolute acts, and treason a business of
great consequence. One whom two or three
countries make up to this compleatness, and he
has travelled for the purpose. His deepest in-
dearment is a communication of mischief, and
then only you have him fast. His con-
clusion is commonly one of these two, either a
great man, or hanged.
5 Hate, first edit.
90
XXXII.
A surgeon
]s one that has some business about this
building or little house of man, whereof nature
is as it \vere the tiler, and he the plaisterer.
It is ofter out of reparations than an old parson-
age, and then he is set on work to patch it
again. He deals most with broken commo-
dities, as a broken head or a mangled face, and
his gains are very ill got, for he lives by the
hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a
physician as a sore does from a disease, or the
sick from those that are not whole, the one dis-
tempers you within, the other blisters you with-
out. He complains of the decay of valour in
these days, and sighs for that slashing age of
sword and buckler 5 and thinks the law against
duels was made meerly to wound his vocation.
91
He had been long since undone if the charity
of the stews had not relieved him, from whom
he has his tribute as duly as the pope ; or a
wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart
pot hit right. The rareness of his custom
makes him pitiless when it comes, and he holds a
patient longer than our [spiritual] courts a cause.
He tells you what danger you had been in if he
had staid but a minute longer, and though it
be but a pricked ringer, he makes of it much
matter. He is a reasonable cleanly man, con-
sidering the scabs he has to deal with, and your
finest ladies are now and then beholden to him
for their best dressings. He curses old gentle-
women and their charity that makes his trade
their alms; but his envy is never stirred so
much as when gentlemen go over to fight upon
Calais sands 4, whom he wishes drowned e'er
4 Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to de-
cide their quarrels on, as being out of the jurisdiction of
the law. This custom is noticed in an Epigram writ-
92
they come there, rather than the French shall
get his custom.
ten about the period in which this book first ap-
peared.
" When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight,
He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight :
Till more adnizde, will not defile [his] hands,
Vnlesse you meete him vpon Callice sands.1'
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 La-
dies, a comedy, by Mrs. Ceritlivre, 4to. 1707, proves,
that it existed so late as at that day. " Your only way
is to send him word you'll meet him on Calais sands ;
duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates," &c.
See also other instances in Dodsley's Old Plays, edit.
1780. vii. 218.— xii. 412.
XXXI1L
A contemplative man
Is a scholar in this great university the world ;
and the same his book and study. 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 distance in his infirmities and
poorness. He scorns to mix himself in men's
actions, as he would to act upon a stage ; but
sits aloft on the scaffold a censuring spectator.
[He will not lose his time by being busy, or
make so poor a use of the world as to hug and
embrace it.] Nature admits him as a partaker
of her sports, and asks his approbation as it
were of her own works and variety. He comes
not in company, because he would not be so-
94
litary, but finds discourse enough with himself,
and his own thoughts are his excellent play-
fellows. He looks not upon a thing as a yawn-
ing stranger at novelties, but his search is more
mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven
out of earth. He knits his observations toge-
ther, and makes a ladder of them all to climb
to God. He is free from vice, because he has
no occasion to imploy it, and is above those
ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all
can here be taught him, and comes now to hea-
ven to see more.
XXXIV.
A she precise hypocrite
Is one in whom good women suffer, and have
their truth misinterpreted by her folly. She is
95
one, she knows not what her self if you ask her,
but she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the
fashion of religion, and is enamoured of the
new farigle. She is a nonconformist in a close
stomacher and ruff of Geneva print 5, and her
purity consists much in her linnen. She has
3 Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the small-
ness and precision of their ruffs, which were termed in
print from the exactness of the folds. So in Mynshul's
Essays, 4to, 1613. " I vndertooke a warre when I ad-
uentured to speake in print, (not in print as Puritan's
ruffes are set.)" The term of Geneva print probably
arose from the minuteness of the type used at Geneva.
In the Merry Devil of Edmonton, a comedy, 4to. 1608,
is an expression which goes some way to prove the cor-
rectness of this supposition : — " I see by thy eyes thou
hast bin reading little Geneua print ;" — and, that smalt
ruffs were worn by the puritanical set, an instance ap-
pears in Mayne's City Match, a comedy, 4to. 1658.
" O miracle !
Out of your little ruffe, Dorcas, and in the fashion !
Dost thou hope to be saved?"
. From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a
ruff" of Geneva print meant a small, closely-folded ruff,
which was the distinction of a non-conformist.
96
heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very
sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Baby-
lon for a very naughty woman. She has left
her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries
in her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at
the church is much in the turning up of her eye ;
and turning down the leaf in her book, when
she hears named chapter and verse. When
she comes home, she commends the sermon for
the scripture, and two hours. She loves
preaching better then praying, and of preach-
ers, lecturers ; and thinks the week day's exer-
cise far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her
oftest gossipings are sabbath-day's journeys,
where, (though an enemy to superstition,) she
will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced
minister, when there is a better sermon in her
own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's
salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows
her own place in heaven as perfectly as the pew
she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith
97
she has no room for charity, and understands
no good works but what are wrought on the
sampler. She accounts nothing vices but su-
perstition and an oath, and thinks adultery a
less sin than to swear by my truly. She rails at
other women by the names of Jezebel and Da-
lilah; and calls her own daughters Rebecca
and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She
suffers them not to learn on the virginals 6, be-
cause of their affinity with organs, but is re-
conciled to the bells for the chimes sake, since
they were reformed to the tune of a psalm.
She overflows so with the bible, that she spills
it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her
maids without scripture. It is a question whe-
ther she is more troubled with the Devil, or the
Devil with her : She is always challenging and
6 A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a
spinnet, and shaped like a piano-forte : the mode of
playing on this instrument was therefore similar to that
of the organ.
H
98
daring him, and her weapon [7 is The Practice
of Piety. ~] Nothing angers her so much as
that women cannot preach, and in this point
only thinks the Brownist erroneous ; but what
she cannot at the church she does at the table,
where she prattles more than any against sense
and Antichrist, 'till a capon's wing silence her.
She expounds the priests of Baal, reading
ministers, and thinks the salvation of that pa-
rish as desperate as the Turks. She is a main
derider to her capacity of those that are not her
preachers, and censures all sermons but bad
ones. If her husband be a tradesman, she
helps him to customers, howsoever to good
cheer, and they are a most faithful couple at
these meetings, for they never fail. Her con-
science is like others lust, never satisfied, and
you might better answer Scotus than her
7 Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as be-
ing the sage sentences of some of her own sectaries, First
edit.
99
scruples. She is one that thinks she performs
all her duties to God in hearing, and shews the1
fruits of it in talking. She is more fiery agains
the may-pole than her husband, and thinks she
might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the
fidler. She is an everlasting argument, but I
am weary of her.
XXXV.
A sceptick in religion
Is one that hangs in the balance with all sorts
of opinions, whereof not one but stirs him and
none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity
than he is taken to be ; for it is out of his belief
of every thing, that he fully believes nothing.
Each religion scares him from its contrary :
100
none persuades him to itself. He would be
wholly a Christian, but that he is something of
an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is
partly a Christian ; and a perfect heretic, but
that there are so many to distract him. He
finds reason in all opinions, truth in none : in-
deed the least reason perplexes him, and the
best will not satisfy him. He is at most a con-
fused and wild Christian, not specialized by
any form, but capable of all. He uses the
land's religion, becau.se it is next him, yet he
sees not why he may not take the other, but he
chuses this, not as better, but because there is
not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and
scruples better than resolves them, and is al-
ways too hard for himself. His learning is too
much for his brain, and his judgment too little
for his learning, and his over-opinion of both,
spoils all. Pity it was his mischance of being
a scholar ; for it does only distract and irregu-
late him, and the world by him. He hammers
101
much in general upon our opinion's uncertainty,
and the possibility of erring makes him not
venture on what is true. He is troubled at this
naturalness of religion to countries, that pro-
testantism should be born so in England and
popery abroad, and that fortune and the stars
should so much share in it. He likes not this
connection of the common-weal and divinity,
and fears it may be an arch-practice of state.
In our differences with Rome he is strangely un-
fixed, and a new man every new day, as his
last discourse-book's meditations transport him.
He could like the gray hairs of popery, did not
some dotages there stagger him : he would
come to us sooner, but our new name affrights
him. He is taken with their miracles, but
doubts an imposture ; he conceives of our doc-
trine better, but it seems too empty and naked.
He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscrip-
tion of truth to our corner, and is as hardly per-
suaded to think their old legends true. He ap-
102
proves well of our faith, and more of their
works, and is sometimes much affected at the
zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience interposes
itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part
both, is by both wounded. He will sometimes
propend much to us upon the reading a good
writer, and at Bellarmine 8 recoils as far back
8 Robert Bellarmin, an Italian Jesuit, was bom at
Monte Pulciano, a town in Tuscany, in the year 1542,
and in 1560 entered himself among the Jesuits. Tn
1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in
1602 was presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua :
this, however, he resigned in 1605, when pope Paul V.
desired to have him near himself. He was employed in
the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leav-
ing the Vatican, he retired to a house belonging to his
order, and died September 17, in the same year.
Bellarmin was one of the best controversial writers of
his time; few authors have done greater honour to
their profession or opinions, and certain it is that none
have ever more ably defended the cause of the Romish
church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater
advantage. As a proof of Bellarmin's abilities, there?
was scarcely a divine of any eminence among' the
protestants who did not attack him : Bayle aptly says,
103
again ; and the fathers justle him from one
side to another. Now Socinus9 and Vorstius10
" "they made his name resound every where, tit littus
-Styla, Styla, omne sonaret."
9 Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of
the sect which goes under his name, that a few words
will be sufficient. He was born in 1539, at Sienna, and
imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his uncle,
who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in,
the abilities of his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all
his papers. After living several years in the world,
principally at the court of Francis de Medicis, Sucinus,
in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate
the principles of his uncle, to which, it is said, he made
great additions and alterations of his own. In the sup-
port of his opinions, he suffered considerable hardships,
and received the greatest insults and persecutions; to
avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in Po-
land, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five.
10 Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was pe-
culiarly detested by the Calvinists, and who had even
the honour to be attacked by king James the first, of
England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through
the interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leiden,
where he had attained the divinity-chair, and several
other preferments, he retired to Toningen, where he
died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety and
resignation.
104
afresh torture him, and he agrees with none
worse than himself. He puts his foot into he-
resies tenderly, as a cat in the water, and pulls
it out again, and still something unanswered
delays him ; yet he bears away some parcel of
each, and you may sooner pick all religions
out of him than one. He cannot think so
many wise men should be in error, nor so
many honest men out of the way, and his won-
der is double when he sees these oppose one
another. He hates authority as the tyrant of
reason, and you cannot anger him worse than
with a father's dixit, and yet that many are
not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his
doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question,
and his salvation a greater, which death only
concludes, and then he is resolved.
105
XXXVI.
An attorney.
His antient beginning was a blue coat, since
a livery, and his hatching under a lawyer ;
whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now
nested for himself, and with his hoarded pence
purchased an office. Two desks and a quire of
paper set him up, where he now sits in state for
all comers. We can call him no great author,
yet he writes very much and with the infamy of
the court is maintained in his libels \ He has
some smatch of a scholar, and yet uses Latin
very hardly ; and lest it should accuse him,
cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak
i His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former
aforesaid ; and yet it seems he is much troubled in it,for he
is always humbly complaining— your poor orator. First
edit.
106
put. He is, contrary to great men, maintained
by his followers, that is, his poor country cli-
ents, that worship him more than their land-
lord, and be they never such churls, he looks
for their courtesy. He first racks them soundly
himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer
for execution. His looks are very solicitous,
importing much haste and dispatch, he is
never without his hands full of business, that is —
of paper. His skin becomes at last as dry as his
parchment, and his face as intricate as the most
winding cause. He talks statutes as fiercely as
if lie had mooted2 seven years in the inns of
court, when all his skill is stuck in his girdle,
or in his office-window. Strife and wrangling
2 To nwote a terme vsed in the innes of the court ; it is
the handling of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their dispu-
tations, &c. So Minshcw, who supposes it to be derived
from the French, mot, verbum, quasi verba facere, (tut
sermonem de aliqua re huhere. Mootmen are those who,
having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to
practise, and appear to answer to our term of barristers.
107
have made him rich, and he is thankful to his
benefactor, and nourishes it. If he live in a
country village, he makes all his neighbours
good subjects ; for there shall be nothing done
but what there is law for. His business gives
him not leave to think of his conscience, and
when the time, or term of his life is going out,
for dooms-day he is secure ; for he hopes he has
a trick to reverse judgment.
XXXV11.
A partial man
Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the
one speaks ill falsely, and the other well,
and both slander the truth. He is one that is
still weighing men in the scale of comparisons,
and puts his affections in the one balance
• 108
and that sways. His friend always shall do
best, and you shall rarely hear good of his ene-
my. He considers first the man and then the
thing, and restrains all merit to what they de-
serve of him. Commendations he esteems not
the debt of worth, but the requital of kindness ;
and if you ask his reason, shews his interest,
and tells you how much he is beholden to that
man. He is one that ties his judgment to the
wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily
both alike. He prefers England before other
countries because he was born there, and Ox-
ford before other universities, because he was
brought up there, and the best scholar there
is one of his own college, and the best scholar
there is one of his friends. He is a great fa-
vourer of great persons, and his argument is
still that which should be antecedent ; as, — he
is in high place, therefore virtuous; — he is
preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask his
opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and
109
he is indifferent in nothing but conscience.
Men esteem him for this a zealous affectionate,
but they mistake him many times, for he does
it But to be esteemed so. Of all men he is
worst to write an history, for he will praise a
Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect
of his all posterity shall be cozened.
XXXVIII.
A trumpeter
Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he
eats nothing but what comes through this way.
His profession is not so worthy as to occasion in-
solence, and yet no man so much puft up. His
face is as brazen as his trumpet, and (which is
worse,) as a fidler's, from whom he differeth only
in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea
110
of drink and much wind make a storm perpetu-1
jilly in his cheeks, and his look is like his noise/
blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom
the sound of war, but now of peace ; yet as ter-
rible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are
sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant
of glittering folks, whether in the court or stage,
where he is always the prologue's prologue3.
He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead,
shrillest when he is empty ; when his belly is
full he is quiet enough. No man proves life
more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he
3 The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered
in by trumpets. " Present not yourselfe on the stage
(especially at a new play) untill the quaking prologue
hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is
ready to giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon
point to enter.'* Decker's Gul's Hornbook, 1609.
p. 30.
" Doe you not know that I am the Prologue? Do you
not see this long blacke veluetcloke vpon my backe?
Haueyou not sounded thrice. ?" Heywood's Foure Pren-
tises of London. 4to, 1615.
Ill
is like a counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when
he his blown up.
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 publickly affected, and he will not be wiser
than the rest of the town. That never owns a
friend after an ill name, or some general impu-
tation, though he knows it most unworthy.
That opposes to reason, " thus men say ;" and
" thus most do;" and " thusthe world goes;"
and thinks this enough to poise the other. That
worships men in place, and those only; and
112
thinks all a great man speaks oracles. Much
taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all
to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of
fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded
way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and
Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the
pope and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest
cassock the best scholar ; and the best cloaths
the finest man. That is taken only with broad
and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep
for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money
above all our English poets, because the voice
has gone so, and he has read none. That is
much ravished with such a nobleman's courtesy,
and would venture his life for him, because he
put off his hat. One that is foremost still to
kiss the king's hand, and cries, " God bless
his majesty !" loudest. That rails on all men
condemned and out of favour, and the first that
says "away with the traitors !" — yet struck with
much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a
113
man die, could kill the hangman; That comes
to London to see it, and the pretty things in it,
and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears.
That measures the happiness of the kingdom by
the cheapness of corrij and conceives no harm
of state, but ill trading. Within this compass
too, come those that are too much wedged into
the world, and have no lifting thoughts above
those things ; that call to thrive, to do well ;
and preferment only the grace of God. That
aim all studies at this mark, and shew you
poor scholars as an example to take heed by.
That think the prison and want a judgment for
some sin, and never like well hereafter of a
jail-bird. That know no other content but
wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures ; that
think all else but idle speculation, and the phi-
losophers madmen. In short, men that are
carried away with all outwardnesses, shews,
appearances, the stream, the people ; for there
i
114
is no man of worth but has a piece of singula-
rity, and scorns something.
XL.
A plodding student
Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature,
that would change the dull lead of his brain into
finer metal, with success many times as un-
prosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to
wit, of his own oil and candles. He has a
strange forced appetite to learning, and to at-
chieve it brings nothing but patience and a
body. His study is not great but continual,
and consists much in the sitting up till after
midnight in a rug-gown and a night-cap, to the
115
Vanquishing perhaps of some six lines; yet
what lie has, he has perfect, for he reads it so
long to understand it, till he gets it without
book. He may with much industry make a
breach into logick, and arrive at some ability in
an argument ; but for politer studies he dare
not skirmish with them, and for poetry accounts
it impregnable. His invention is no more than
the finding out of his papers, and his few
gleanings there ; and his disposition of them is
as just as the book-binders, a setting or glew-
ing of them together. He is a great discom-
forter of young students, by telling them what
travel it has cost him, and how often his brain
turned at philosophy, and makes others fear
studying as a cause of duncery. He is a man
much given to apothegms, which serve him for
wit, and seldom breaks any jest but which
belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in
Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse,
that will go a whole week together, but never
out of a foot pace ; and he that sets forth on
the Saturday shall overtake him.
XLI.
Paul's walk4
Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the
lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this,
the whole world's map, which you may here
4 St. Paul's cathedral was, during the reigns of Eliza-
beth and James, a sort of exchange and public parade,
where business was transacted between merchants, and
where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves.
The reader will find several allusion* to this custom in
the variorum edition of Shakspeare, K. Henry IV. part
2. Osborne, in his Traditional Memoires on the Reigns
of Elisabeth and James, 12mo. 1658, says, "It was the
fashion of those times (James I.) and did so continue
till these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry,
117
discern in its perfectest motion, justling and
turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with
a vast confusion of languages ; and were the
steeple not sanctified, nothing liker Babel.
The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange
humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues
and feet : it is a kind of still roar or loud whis*
per. It is the great exchange of all discourse,
and no business whatsoever but is here stirring
and a-foot. It is the synod of all pates politick,
jointed and laid together in most serious pos-
ture, and they are not half so busy at the par-
liament. It is the antick of tails to tails, and
lords, courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely
mechanicks, to meet in St. Paul's church by eleven,
and walk in the middle isle till twelve, and after dinner
from three to six ; during which time some discoursed
of business, others of news." Wcever complains of the
practice, and says, " it could be wished that walking
in the middle isle of Paules might be forborne in the
time of diuine seruice." Ancient Funeral Monuments,
.1631, page 373.
118
backs to backs, and for vizards you need go
no farther than faces. It is the market of
young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here
at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of
all famous lies, which are here like the legends
of popery, first coined and stamped in the
church. All inventions are emptied here, and
not few pockets. The best sign of a temple in
it is, that it is the thieves sanctuary, which rob
more safely in the crowd than a wilderness,
whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them.
It is the other expence of the day, after plays,
tavern, and a bawdy-house ; and men have
still some oaths left to swear here. It is the
ear's brothel, and satisfies their lust and itch.
The visitants are all men without exceptions,
but the principal inhabitants and possessors are
stale knights and captains 5 out of service ; men
5 In the Dramatis Persona to Ben Jonson's Every
Man in his Humour, Bobadil is styled a Paul's man ;
and Falstaft' tells us that he bought Bardolph in Paul's.
King Henry IV. Parts.
119
of long rapiers and breeches, which after all
turn merchants here and traffick for news.
Some make it a preface to their dinner, and
travel for a stomach ; but thriftier men make
it their ordinary, and board here very cheap 6.
Of all such places it is least haunted with hob-
goblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he
could not.
C You'd not doe
Like your penurious father, who was wont
To walke his dinner out in Paules.
Mayne's City Match,
120
XLII.
A cook.
THE kitchen is his hell, and he the devil in
it, where his meat and he fry together. His
revenues are showered down from the fat of tjie
land, a^d he interlards his own grease among
to help the drippings. Cholerick he is not by
nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd
temptation that the chopping-knife is so near.
His weapons, ofter offensive, are a mess of hot
broth and scalding water, and w,oe be to him
that comes in his way. In the kitchen he will
domineer and rule the roast in spight of his
master, and curses in the very dialect of his
calling. His labour is meer blustering and
fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a
storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in
all this tumult, he does not love combustion,
121
but will be the first man that shall go and
quench it. He is never a good Christian till a
hissing pot of ale has slacked him, like water
east on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame
and dispossessed. His cunning is not small in
architecture, for he builds strange fabricks in
paste, towers and castles, which are offered to
the assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius'
palace in one banquet demolished. He is a
pittiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles
poor fowls with unheard-of tortures ; and it is
thought the martyrs persecutions were devised
from hence : sure we are, St. Lawrence's
gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best fa-
culty is at the dresser, where he seems to have
great skill in the tacticks, ranging his dishes in
order military, and placing with great discre-
tion in the fore-front meats more strong and
hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the
rear; as quaking tarts and quivering custards.
and such milk-sop dishes, which scape many
times the fury of the encounter. But now the
second course is gone up and he down in the
cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four
o'clock 7 in the afternoon, and then returns
again to his regiment.
XLI1I.
A bold forward man
Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden
more to his elbow than his legs, for he does not
go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in
the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth,
7 The time of supper was about five o'clock. See
note at page 43.
123
that at length he puts on. He can do some
things, but dare do much more, and is like a
desperate soldier, who will assault any thing
where he is sure not to enter. He is not so
well opinioned of himself, as industrious to
make others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial
as blushing. He is still citing for himself, that
a candle should not be hid under a bushel ; and
for his part he will be sure not to hide his,
though his candle be but a snuff or rush-candle.
Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard
in displaying, and is like some needy flaunting
goldsmith, nothing in the inner room, but ail
on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has
commonly stepped into the pulpit before a de-
gree, yet into that too before he deserved it.
He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency,
and his next sermon is at Paul's cross 8, [and
« Paul's cross stood in the church-yard of that cathe-
dral, on the north side, towards the east end. It was
used for the preaching of sermons to the populace ;
134
that printed.] He loves pubiick things alive;
and for any solemn entertainment he will find
a mouth, find a speech \vlio will. He is greedy
of great acquaintance and many, and thinks it
no small advancement to rise to be known.
[He is one that has all the great names at
court at his fingers ends, and their lodgings ;
and with a saucy, u my lord," will salute the
best of them.] His talk at the table is like Ben-
jamin's mess, five times to his part, and no ar-
gument shuts him out for a quarrel ier. Of all
disgraces he endures not to be nonplussed, and
had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which
few descry, than to nothing which all. His
boldness is beholden to other men's modesty,
which rescues him many times from a baffle ;
and Holinshed mentions two instances of public pe-
nance being performed here; in 1534 by some of the
adherents of Elizabeth Barton, well known as the holy
maid of Kent, and in 1536 by sir Thomas Newman, a
priest, who " bare a faggot at Panics crosse for singing
masse with good ale."
125
yet his face is good armour, and he is dashed
out of any thing sooner than countenance.
Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare
"man ; and wiser men though they know him
[yet] take him [in] for their pleasure, or as
they would do a sculler for being next at hand.
Thus preferment at last stumbles on him, be-
cause he is still in the way. His companions
that flouted him before, now envy him, when
they see him come ready for scarlet, whilst
themselves lye musty in their old clothes and
colleges.
XLIV.
A baker.
No man verifies the proverb more, that it is
an alms-deed to punish him ; for his penalty is
126
a dole % and does the beggars as much good as
their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of
charity, and thinks his bread cast away when
it is given to the poor. He loves not justice
neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates
the clerk of the market as his executioner;
yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his bas-
ket only is sent to prison 10. Marry a pillory is
his deadly enemy, and he never hears well
after.
9 Dole originally signified the portion of alms that was
given away at the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note
to Shakspeare. Sir John Hawkins affirms that the bene-
faction distributed at Lambeth palace gate, is to this
day called the dole.
10 That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered
to be of light weight, are distributed to the needy pri-
soners.
127
XLV.
A pretender to learning
Is one that would make all others more fools
than himself, for though he know nothing, he
would not have the world know so much. He
conceits nothing in learning but the opinion,
which he seeks to purchase without it, though
he might with less labour cure his ignorance
than hide it. He is iddeed^a.Jkind of scholar-
mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is
tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning,
and at the first encounter none passes better.
He is oftener in his study than at his book, and
you cannot pleasure him better than to depre-
heud him : yet he hears you not till the third
knock, and then comes out very angry as in-
18*
terrupted. You find him in his slippers1 and
a pen in his ear, in which formality he was
asleep. His table is spread wide with some
. ^
classick folio, which is as constant to it as the
carpet, and hath laid open in the same page
this half year. His jcjmdl&Js always a longer
sitter up than himself, and the boast * of Jris
wmdowjtt midnight. He walks much alone
in the posture of meditation, and has a book
still before his face in the fields. His pocket
is seldom without a Greek testament or Hebrew
bible, which he opens only in the church, and
that when some stander-by looks over. He has
sentences for company, some scatterings of
Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all
occasions. If he reads any thing in the morn-
ing, it comes up all at dinner ; and as long as
Study, first edit.
The first edition reads post, and, 1 think, preferably.
129
that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great
plagiary of tavern wit, and comes to sermons
only that he may talk of Austin. His parcels
are the meer scrapings from company, yet he
complains at parting what time he has lost.^He
is wondrously capricious to seem a judg-
ment, and listens with a sower attention to what
he understands not. He talks much of Scaliger,
and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers
* J 1
some unheard-of Dutch name before them all.
He has verses to bring in upon these and these
hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in
his opportunity. He_^criUcaJ^m a language
he cannot coaster, and speaks seldom under
Arminius in divinity. His business and retire-
ment and caller away is his study, and he pro-
tests no delight to it comparable. He is a great
nomenclator of authors, which he has read in
general in the catalogue, and in particular in the
title, and goes seldpjam|ar .as i the ^dedication.
He never talks of anj thing but learning, and
K
130
learns all from talking. Three encounters with
the same men pump him, and then he only
puts in or gravely says nothing. He has taken
pains to be an ass , though not to be a scholar,
and is at length discovered and laughed at.
XLVI.
A herald
Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of
nobility, and to the making of him went not a
generation but a genealogy. His trade is hon-
our, and he sells it and gives arms himself,
though he be no gentleman. His bribes are
like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the
prices of blood. He seems very rich in dis-
131
course, for lie tells you of whole fields of gold
and silver, or, and argent, worth much in
French but in English nothing. He is a great
diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and not
a by-channel or bastard escapes him; yea he
does with them like some shameless queen,
fathers more children on them than ever they
begot. His traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware,
scutchions, and pennons, and little daggers and
lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen ;
but his pennyworths are rampant, for you may
buy three whole brawns cheaper than three boar's
heads of him painted. He was sometimes the
terrible coat of Mars, but is now for more merci-
ful battles in the tilt-yard, where whosoever is
victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in
England but in Wales nature, where they are
born with heraldry in their mouths, and each
name is a pedigree.
K 2
132
XLVII.
The common singing-men in cathedral
churches
ARE a bad society, and yet a company of
good fellows, that roar deep in the quire, deeper
in the tavern. They are the eight parts of
speech which go to the syntaxis of service, and
are distinguished by their noises much like
bells, for they make not a concert but a peal.
Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their
exercise drinking, yet herein so religiously ad-
dicted that they serve God oftcst when they
are drunk. Their humanity is a leg to the resi-
dencer, their learning a chapter, for they learn
it commonly before they read it ; yet the old
Hebrew names are little beholden to them, for
they mis-call them worse than one another.
Though they never expound the scripture,
133
they handle it much, and pollute the gospel with
two things, their conversation and their thumbs.
Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at
-prayers as at their pots, for they swallow them
down in an instant. Their gowns are laced
commonly with streamings of ale, the superflu-
ities of a cup or throat above measure. Their
.skill in melody makes them the better com-
panions abroad, and their anthems abler to sing
catches. Long lived for the most part they
are not, especially the base, they overflow their
bank so oft to drown the organs. Briefly, if
they escape arresting, they die constantly in
God's service ; and to take their death with
more patience, they have wine and cakes at
their funeral, and now they keep 3 the church
a great deal better, and help to fill if with their
bones as before with their noise.
3 Keep for attend.
-
134
XLVIII.
A shop-keeper.
His shop is his well stuft book, and himself
the title-page of it, or index. He utters much
to all men, though he sells but to a few, and in-
treats for his own necessities, by asking others
what they lack. No man speaks more and no
more, for his words are like his wares, twenty
of one sort, and he goes over them alike to all
commers. He is an arrogant commender of his
own things ; for whatsoever he shews you is the
best in the town, though the worst in his shop.
His conscience was a thing that would have
laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put
it off, and makes great use of honesty to profess
upon. He tells you lies by rote, and not
minding, as the phrase to sell in, and the lan-
guage he spent most of his years to learn. He
135
never speaks so truely as when he says he would
use you as his brother ; for he would abuse his
brother, and in his shop thinks it lawful. His
religion is much in the nature of his customers,
and indeed the pander to it : and by a mis-in-
terpreted sense of scripture makes a gain of his
godliness. He is your slave while you pay him
ready money, but if he once befriend you, your
tyrant, and you had better deserve his hate than
his trust.
XLIX.
A blunt man
Is one whose wit is better pointed than his be-
haviour, and that coarse and impolished, not
out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a
136
great enemy to the fine gentleman, and these
things of complement, and hates ceremony in
conversation,, as the Puritan in religion. He
distinguishes not betwixt fair and double deal-
ing, and suspects all smoothness for the dress of
knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salu-
tation as an assault, and beseeches you in choler
to forbear your courtesy. He loves not any
thing in discourse that comes before the pur-
pose, and is always suspicious of a preface.
1 f itself falls rudely still on his matter without
any circumstance, except, he use an old prp-
vcrl) for an introduction. He swears old out-
of-date innocent oaths, as, by the mass ! by. our -,
lady ! and such like, and though there be Iqrck _
present, he cries, my masters ! He is exceed- ~
ingly in love .with his humour, which makes
him always profess and proclaim if, and -you
must tak<? what he says - patiently, because he
is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still,
aud other men's tyrant ; for he, must speak his
137
mind, and that is his worst, and craves your
pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you.
His jests best become him, because they come
from him rudely and unaffected ; and he has
the luck commonly to have them famous. He
is one that will do more than he will speak, and
yet speak more than he will hear ; for though he
love <o touch others, he is touchy himself, and
seldom to his own abuses replies but with his
fists. He is as squeazy 4 of his commendations,
as his courtesy, and his good word is like an
eulogy in a satire. He is generally better fa-
voured than he favours, as being commonly
well expounded in his bitterness, and no man
speaks treason more securely. He chides great
men with most boldness, and is counted for it
an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in
the behalf of the commonwealth, and is in pri-
son oft for it with credit. He is generally ho-
4 Sgueazy, niggardly.
138
nest, but more generally thought so, and his
downrightness credits him, as a man not well
bended and crookned to the times. In con-
clusion, he is not easily bad, in whom this qua-
lity is nature, but the counterfeit is most dan-
gerous, since he is disguised in a humour, that
professes not to disguise.
L.
A handsome hostess
Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above
the fair sign, or fair lodgings. She is the
loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and
roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and
are not easily got off. Her lips are your wel-
come, and your entertainment her company,
139
which is put into tbe reckoning too, and is the
dearest parcel in it. No citizen's wife is de-
murer than she at the first greeting, nor draws
in her mouth with a chaster simper ; but you
may be more familiar without distaste, and she
does not startle at bawdry. She is the confu-
sion of a pottle of sack more than would have
been spent elsewhere, and her little jugs are
accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She
may be an honest woman, but is not believed
so in her parish, and no man is a greater infidel
in it than her husband.
LI.
A critic
Is one that has spelled over a great many
bqoks, and his objsctvatioa i§ ttie, orthography.
140
Hejsjhe^ Burgeon of old authors, and , heals the
wounds of dust and ignorance. He converses
much in fragments and desunt multtfsy and if
he piece it up with two lines he is more proud
of that book than the author. He runs over all
sciences to peruse their syntaxis, and thinks all
learning comprised in writing Latin. He tastes
stiles as some discreeter palates do wine ; and
tells you which is genuine, which sophisticate
and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany
A v
of old words, deceased long before the Caesars,
and entombed by Varro, and the modernest
man he follows is Plautus. He writes omncis
atjengthj, and gitidquid, and his gerund is most
in conformable. He is a troublesome vexer of
the dead, which after so long sparing must rise
up to the judgment of his castigations. He is
one that makes all books sell dearer, whilst he
swells them into folios with his comments 5.
5 On this passage, I fear, the present volume will be
a sufficient commentary.
141
LII.
A sergeant, or catch-pole
Is one of God's judgments; and which our
roarers do only conceive terrible. He is the
properest shape wherein they fancy Satan ; for
he is at most but an arrester, and hell adungeon.
He is the creditor's hawk, wherewith they seize
upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his
tallons. He is the period of young gentlemen,
or their full stop, for when he meets with them
they can go no farther. His ambush is a shop-
stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly
at your back. He respites you in no place but
a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer than
a clock-maker. The common way to run from
Jhim is through him, which is often attempted
and atchieved, 6 [and no man is more beaten
6 And the clubs out of charity knock him down, first
edit.
142
out of charity .~\ He is one makes the street
more dangerous than the highways, and men
go better provided in their walks than their
journey. He is the first handsel of the young
rapiers of the templers ; and they are as proud
of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a
Turk. He is a moveable prison, and his hands
two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an oc-
casioner of disloyal thoughts in the common-
wealth, for he makes men hate the king's nams
worse than the devil's.
LIII.
An university dun
Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased,
for his own money has hired him. He is an in-
ferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards,
143
contracted for horse-lure, or perchance for drink,
too weak to be put in suit, and he arrests your
modesty. Tie is now very expensive of his
time, for he will wait upon your stairs a whole
afternoon, and dance attendance with more pa-
tience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore bc-
leaguercr of chambers, and assaults them some-
times with furious knocks ; yet finds strong re-
sistance commonly, and is kept out. _He Js a
great complainer of scholar's loytering, for he
is sure never to find them within, andjret .he is
the chief cause many times that makes them
study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men
that shun him for his kindness, but indeed it is
his own fault, for he is too great an upbraider.
No man puts them more to their brain than he ;
and by shifting him off they learn to shift in the
world. Some _cjiuse their rooms on purpose to
avoid his sj^rj^als, and think the best com-
modity in them his prospect. He is like a re-
jected acquaintance, hunts those that care not
J44
for his company, and he knows it well enough,
and yet will not keep away. The sole place to
supple him is the buttery, where he takes
grievous use upon your name 7, and he is one
much wrought with good beer and rhetorick.
He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and
no gallant walks the streets to less purpose.
L1V.
A stayed man
Is a man : one that has taken order with him-
self, and sets a rule to those lawlesnesses within
him : whose life is distinct and in method, and
his actions, as it were, cast up before : not loosed
into the world's vanities, but gathered up and
7 That is, runs you up a long score.
145
contracted in his station: not scattered inlo
many pieces of businesses, but that one course
he takes, goes through with. A man firm and
standing in his purposes, not heaved off with
each wind and passion: that squares his ex-
pence to his coffers, and makes the total firs!,
and then the items. One that thinks what he
does, and does what he says, and foresees what
he may do before he purposes. One whose " if
I can" is more than another's assurance ; and
his doubtful tale before some men's protesta-
tions:— that is confident of nothing in futurity,
yet his conjectures oft true prophecies : — that
makes a pause still betwixt his ear and belief,
and is. not too hasty to say after others. One
whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the
time, and then strikes, and says much when he
talks little : — that can see the truth betwixt two
wranglers, and sees them agree even in that
they fall out upon : — that speaks no rebellion in
a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of sack.
146
A man cool and temperate in his passions, not
easily betrayed by his c holer :— that vies not
oath with oath, nor heat with heat, but replies
calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him
too : — that can come fairly off from captain's
companies, and neither drink nor quarrel. One
whom no ill hunting sends home discontented,
and makes him swear at his dogs and family.
One not hasty to pursue the new fashion, nor
yet affectedly true to his old round breeches ;
but gravely handsome, and to his place, which
suits him better than his taylor: active in the
world without disquiet, and careful without
misery ; yet neither ingulphed in his pleasures,
nor a seeker of business, bat has his hour for
both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but
his mirth is a cheerful look : of a composed and
settled countenance, not set, nor much alterable
with sadness or joy. He affects nothing so
wholly, that he must be a miserable man when
he loses it ; but fore-thinks what will come here-
147
after, and spares fortune his thanks and curses.
One that loves his credit, not this word repu-
tation ; yet can save both without a duel.
Whose entertainments to greater men are re-
spectful, not complementary ; and to his friends
plain, not rude. A good husband, father,
master ; that is, without doting, pampering,
familiarity. A man well poised in all humours,
in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he
has not spoiled the work. A man of more wis-
dom than wittiness, and brain than fancy ; and
abler to any thing than to make verses
LV.
A modest man
Is a far finer man than he knows of, one thai
shews better to all men than himself, and s»
L 2
148
much the better to all men, as less to himself8 ;
for no quality sets a man off like this, and com-
mends 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
hiscommenders, and giving reasons how much
they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they
do not believe him. Nothing threatens him
so much as great expectation, which he thinks
more prejudicial than your under-opinion, be-
cause it is easier to make that false, than this
true. He is one that sneaks from a good action,
as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify
it ; and is more blushingly reprehended in this,
than others in sin : that counts all publick de-
clarings of himself, but so many penances be-
fore the people ; and the more you applaud
8 This, as well as many other passages in this work,
has been appropriated by John Dunton, the celebrated
bookseller, as his own. See his character of Mr. Samuel
Hool, in Dunton's Life and Errors, 8vo. 1705, p. 337.
149
him, the more you abash him, and he recovers
not his face a month after. One that is easy to
like any thing of another man's, and thinks all
"he knows not of him better than that he knows.
He excuses that to you, which another would
impute ; and if you pardon him, is satisfied.
One that stands in no opinion because it is his
own, but suspects it rather, because it is his own,
and is confuted and thanks you. He sees no-
thing more willingly than his errors, and it is
his error sometimes to be too soon persuaded.
He is content to be auditor, where he only can
speak, and content to go away, and think him-
self instructed. No man is so weak that he is
ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to con-
fess it ; and he finds many times even in the dust,
what others overlook and lose. Every man's
presence is a kind of bridle to him, to stop the
roving of his tongue and passions : and even
impudent men look for this reverence from him,
and distaste that in him, which they suffer in
150
themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured,
and shews more scurvily than another. A
bawdy jest shall shame him more than a bastard
another man, and he that got it shall censure
him among the rest. And he is coward to no-
thing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever
dare lye on him hath power over him ; and if
you take him by his look, he is guilty. The
main ambition of his life is not to be discre-
dited ; and for other things, his desires are more
limited than his fortunes, which he thinks pre-
ferment, though never so mean, and that he is
to do something to deserve this. He is too
tender to venture on great places, and would not
hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was
the violence of his friends constrained him,
how hardly soever he obtain it, he was harder
persuaded to seek it.
16.1
LVi.
I
A meer empty wit
Is like one that spends on the stock without
any revenues corning in, and will shortly be no
witjat all ; for learning is the fuel to the fire of
wit, which, if it wants, this feeding, eats out it
' . . .-**->-j^.V;.v.,~-..,. . .07
self. A good conceit or two bates of such a
-^
man, and makes a sensible weakening in him;
and hjs JxmxemYeJK§JLjnaU, jear after. The
rest of him are bubbles and flashes, darted out on
a sudden, which, if you take them while, they
are wjirmj may be laughed at ; iftbey_are cool,
arejK)tMng. He speaks best on the present
apprehension, for meditation stupifies him, and
.the more he is in travel, the less he brings forth.
His things come off then, as in a nauseateing
stomach, where there is nothing to cast up,
strains and convulsions, and some astonishing
152
bombast, which men only, till they understand,
are scared with. A verse or some such work
lie may sometimes get up to, but seldom above
the stature of an epigram, and that with some
relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary com-
panion of his pocket, and he reads him as he
were inspired. Such men are commonly the
trifling things of the world, good to make merry
the company, and whom only men have to do
withal when they have nothing to do, and none
arc less their friends than who are most their
company. Here they vent themselves over a
cup some- what more lastingly ; all their words
go for jests, and all their jests for nothing.
They are nimble in the fancy of some ridicu-
lous thing, and reasonable good wi the expres-
sion. Nothing stops a jest when it's coming,
neither friends, nor danger, but it must out how-
soever, though their blood come out after, and
then they emphatically rail, and are emphati-
cally beaten, and commonly are men reasonable
153
familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose
life is but^tojaugh and be laughed at; and
only wits in jest and fools in earnest.
LVII.
A drunkard
Is one that will be a man to-morrow morn-
ing, but is now what you will make him, for he
is in the power of the next man, and if a friend
the better. One that hath let go himself from
the hold and stay of reason, and lies open to the
mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds
him disarmed and fenceless, and with the least
assault enters. If any mischief escape him, it
was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for it as
he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw
1,54
his father the first of this sin, an uncovered
man, and though his garment be on, uncovered ;
the secretest parts of his soul lying in the na-
kedest manner visible : all his passions come out
now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller hu-
mours which discretion clothes. His body be-
comes at last like a miry way, where the spirits
are beclogged and cannot pass : all his mem-
bers are out of office, and his heels do but trip
up one another. He is a blind man with eyes,
and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has
of this vessel himself, is to hold thus much ; for
his drinking is but a scooping in of so many
quarts, which are filled out into his body, and
that filled out again into the room, which is
commonly as drunk as he. Tobacco serves to
air him after a washing, and is his only breath
and breathing while. He is the greatest enemy
to himself, and the next to his friend, arid then
most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness
is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down
155
first: and men come from him as a battle,
wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a
man off more from his credit, and business,
and makes him more retchlesly 9 careless what
becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a
serious thought, or if he do, it is such melan-
choly that it sends him to be drunk again.
9 Rechlesse, negligent. Saxon, rectlejfre. Chaucer
uses it also as an adjective :
" I may not in this cas be reccheks*'
Clerkes Tale, v. 8364.
156
LVIII.
A prison
Is the grave of the living 10, \vhere they arc
shut up from the world and their friends ; and
the worms that gnaw upon them their own
thoughts and the jaylor. A house of meagre
looks and ill smells, for lice, drink, and tobac-
co are the compound. Pluto's court was ex-
pressed from this fancy; and the persons are
much about the same parity that is there. You
may ask, as Menippns in Lucian, which is Ni-
reus, which Thersites, which the beggar, which
the knight ; — for they are all suited in the same
form of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out
10 " A prison is a graue to bury men aliue, and a place
wherein a man for halfe a yeares experience may learne
more law then he can at Westminster for an hundred
pound/' Mynshul's Essays and Characters of a Prison*
4to. 1618.
157
at elbows is in fashion here, and a great inde-
corum not to be thread-bare. Every man
shews here like so many wracks upon the sea,
here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the re-
licks of so many manners, a doublet without
buttons ; and 'tis a spectacle of more pity than
executions are. The company one with the
other is but a vying of complaints, and the
causes they have to rail on fortune and fool
themselves, and there is a great deal of good
fellowship in this. They are commonly, next
their creditors, most bitter against the lawyers,
as men that have had a great stroke in assisting
them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hard-
heartedness, yet they feign it sometimes to slip
melancholy, and keep off themselves from them-
selves, and the torment of thinking what they
have been. Men huddle up their life here as
a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old
suit, the faster the better ; and he that deceives
the time best, best spends it. It is the place
158
where new comers are most welcomed, and,
next them, ill news, as that which extends their
fellowship in misery, and leaves few to insult : —
and they breath their discontents more securely
here, and have their tongues at more liberty
than abroad. Men see here much sin and much
calamity ; and where the last does not mortify,
the other hardens; as those that are worse
here, are desperately worse, and those from
whom the horror of sin is taken off and the
punishment familiar : and commonly a hard
thought passes on all that come from this school;
which though it teach much wisdom, it is too
late, and with danger : and it is better be a fool
than come here to learn it.
159
L1X.
A serving man
Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as
well as his clothes, and somewhat in the same
nature, for lie is cast behind his master as
fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he
is but in querpo* without him. His proper-
ness1 qualifies him, and of that a good leg; for
•
1 In quprpo is a corruption from the Spanish word
cutrpo. *' En cuerpo, a man without a cloak." Pineda's
Dictionary, 1740. The present signification evidently
is, that a gentleman without his >erving-man, or atten-
dant, is but half dressed : — he possesses only in part the
appearance of a man of fashion. " To walk in cuerpo,
is to go without a cloak" Glossographia Anglicana
Nova, 8vo. 1719.
2 Proper was frequently used by old writers for
comely, or handsome. Shakspeare has severalinstances
of it:
" I do mistake.rhy person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man."
K, Richard HI. Act I. Sc, 2. &c.
160
his head he has little use but too keep it bare.
A good dull wit best suits with him to compre-
hend common sense and a trencher; for any
greater store of brain it makes him but tumul-
tuous, and seldom thrives with him. He fol-
lows his master's steps, as well in conditions as
the street : if he wench or drink, he comes him
in an under kind, and thinks it a part of his
duty to be like him. He is indeed wholly his
master's ; of his faction, — of his cut,— of his
pleasures :— he is handsome for his credit, and
drunk for his credit, and if he have power in
the cellar, commands the parish. He is one
that keeps the best company, and is none of it ;
for he knows all the gentlemen his master
knows, and picks from thence some hawking
and horse-race terms % which he swaggers with
in the ale-house, where he is only called
a « Why you know an'a man have not skill in the
hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I'll not
give a rush for him." Master Stephen. Every Man in
his Humour,
161
master. His mirth is bawdy jests with the
wenches, and, behind the door, bawdy earnest.
The best work he does is his marrying, for it
makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it
his master's direction, it is commonly the best
service he does him.
LX.
An insolent man
Is a fellow newly great and newly proud ; one
that hath put himself into another face upon
his preferment, for his own was not bred to it.
One whom fortune hath shot up to some office
or authority, and he shoots up his neck to his
fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either.
His very countenance and gesture bespeak how
162
much he is, and if you understand him not, he
tells you, and concludes every period with his
place, which you must and shall know. He is
one that looks on all men as if he were angry,
but especially on those of his acquaintance,
whom he beats off with a surlier distance, as
men apt to mistake him, because they have
known him : and for this cause he knows not
you 'till you have told him your name, which
he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with
piuch ado seems to recover. If you have any
thing to use him in, you are his vassal for that
time, and must give him the patience of any
injury, which he does only to shew what he
may do. He snaps you up bitterly, because
he will be offended, and tells you, you are
.sawcy and troublesome, and sometimes takes
your money in this language. His very cour-
tesies are intolerable, they are done with such
an arrogance and imputation ; and he is the
only man you may hate after a good turn, and
163
not be ungrateful ; and men reckon it among
their calamities to be beholden unto him. No
vice draws with it a more general hostility, and
makes men readier to search into his faults, and
of them, his beginning ; and no tale so unlikely
but is willingly heard of him and believed.
And commonly such men are of no merit at all,
but make out in pride what they want in worth,
and fence themselves with a stately kind of be-
haviour from that contempt which would pursue
them. They are men whose preferment does
us a great deal of wrong, and when they are
down, we may laugh at them without breach of
good-nature.
164
LXI.
Acquaintance
Is the first draught of a friend, whom we
must lay down oft thus, as the foul copy, be-
fore we can write him perfect and true: for
from hence, as from a probation, men take a
degree in our respect, till at last they wholly
possess us : for acquaintance is the hoard, and
friendship the pair chosen out of it ; by which
at last we begin to impropriate and inclose to
ourselves what before lay in common with
others. And commonly where it grows not up
to this, it falls as low as may be ; and no poorer
relation than old acquaintance, of whom we
only ask how they do for fashion's sake, and
care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is
but somewhat a more boldness of society, a
165
sharing of talk, news, drink, mirth together;
but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing
nearer our heart, and to be delivered with it.
Nothing easier than to create acquaintance, the
mere being in company once does it ; whereas
friendship, like children, is ingendered by a
more inward mixture, and coupling together ;
when we are acquainted not with their virtues
only, but their faults, their passions, their
fears, their shame, — and are bold on both sides
to make their discovery. And as it is in the
love of the body, which is then at the height
and full when it has power and admittance into
the hidden and worst parts of it ; so it is in
friendship with the mind, when those verenda
of the soul, and those things which we dare not
shew the world, are bare and detected one to
another. Some men are familiar with all, and
those commonly friends to none ; for friend-
ship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and
taker up of our affections to some few, and su£
166
fers them not loosely to be scattered on all men.
The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place
and country, which are shifted as the place, and
missed but while the fancy of that continues.
These are only then gladdest of other, when
they meet in some foreign region, where the
encompassing of strangers unites them closer,
till at last they get new, and throw off one an-
other. Men of parts and eminency, as their
acquaintance is more sought for, so they are
generally more staunch of itr not out of pride
only, but fear to let too many in too near them :
for it is with men as with pictures, the best
show better afar off and at distance, and the
closer you come to them the coarser they are.
The best judgment of a man is taken from his
acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both
partial; whereas these see him truest because
calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for
him. And men that grow strange after ac-
quaintance, seldom piece together again, as
167
those that have tasted meat and dislike it/ out
of a mutual experience disrelishing one an-
other.
LXII.
A meer complimental mart
Is one to be held off still at the same dis-
tance you are now ; for you shall have him but
thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose
him. Methinks Virgil well expresses him in
those well-behaved ghosts that ^Eneas met with,
that were friends to talk with, and men to look
on, but if he grasped them, but air.7 He is
one that lies kindly to you, and for good
7 Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circum :
Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago,
Par leuibus ventis, volucrique simiilima somno.
Virgil ^En. vi. v. 700. edit* Heyne, 178?>
168
fashion's sake, and tis discourtesy in you to
believe him. His words are so many fine
phrases set together, which serve equally for all
men, and are equally to no purpose. Each fresh
encounter with a man puts him to the same part
again, and he goes over to you what he said to
him was last with him : he kisses your hands as he
kissed his before, and is your servant to be com-
manded, but you shall intreat of him nothing.
His proffers are universal and general, with ex-
ceptions against all particulars. He will do any
thing for you, but if you urge him to this, he
cannot, or to that, he is engaged ; but he will do
any thing. Promises he accounts but a kind of
mannerly words, and in the expectation of your
manners not to exact them; if you do, he won-
ders at your ill breeding, that cannot distin-
guish betwixt what is spoken and what is
meant. No man gives better satisfaction at the
first, and comes off more with the elogy of a
kind gentleman, till you know him better, arid
169
then you know him for nothing. And com-
monly those most rail at him, that have before
most commended him. The best is, he cozens
you in a fair manner, and abuses you with
great respect.
LXI1I.
A poor jiddler
Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in
worse case than his fiddle. One that rubs two
sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and
rubs a poor living out of it ; partly from this,
and partly from your charity, which is more
in the hearing than giving him, for he sells
nothing dearer than to be gone. tie is just
so many strings above a beggar, though he
have but two ; and yet he begs too, only not
170
in the downright c for God's sake,' but with a
shrugging cGod bless you,' and his face is more
pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the
greatest pain he takes, except a broken head
sometimes, and the labouring John Dory8.
Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and
tis some mirth to see him. A good feast shall
draw him five miles by the nose, and you
shall track him again by the scent. His other
pilgrimages are fairs and good houses, where
his devotion is great to the Christmas; and
no man loves good times better. He is in
league with the tapsters for the worshipful of
the inn, whom he torments next morning with
his art, and has their names more perfect than
their men. A new song is better to him than a
new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls
merry ; and hates naturally the puritan, as an
enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and
8 Probably the name of some difficult tune.
171
Whitson-ale are the two main places he domi-
neers in, where he goes for a musician, and over-
looks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk,
and in the stocks.
LXIV.
A meddling man
Is one that has nothing to do with his busi*
ness, and yet no man busier than he, and his
business is most in his face. He is one thrusts
himself violently into all employments, unsent
for, unfeed, and many times unthanked ; and
his part in it is only an eager bustling, that ra-
ther keeps ado than does any thing. He will
take you aside, and question you of your affair,
and listen with both ears, and look earnestly,
172
and then it is nothing so much yours as his.
He snatches what you are doing out of your
hands, and cries " give it me," and does it
worse, and lays an engagement upon you too,
and you must thank him for this pains. He
lays you down an hundred wild plots, all im-
possible things, which you must be ruled by
perforce, and he delivers them with a serious
and counselling forehead ; and there is a great
deal more wisdom in this forehead than his
head. He will woo for you, solicit for you,
and woo you to suffer him; and scarce any
thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey,
or at least himself is not seen : if he have no
task in it else, he will rail yet on some side, and
is often beaten when he need not. Such men
never thoroughly weigh any business, but are
forward only to shew their zeal, when many times
this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they
have done what they can, that is, as much hurt.
Wise men still deprecate these men's kindnesses,
173
and are beholden to them rather to let them
alone; as being one trouble more in all business,
and which a man shall be hardest rid of.
LXV.
A good old man
Is the best antiquity, and which we may with
least vanity admire. One whom time hath
been thus long a working, and like winter fruit,
ripened when others are shaken down. He hath
taken out as many lessons of the world as days,
and learnt the best thing in it ; the vanity of it.
He looks over his former life as a danger well
past, and would not hazard himself to begin
again. His lust was long broken before his
body, yet he is glad this temptation is broke
174
too, and that he is fortified from it by this
weakness. The next door of death sads him
not, but he expects it calmly as his turn in na-
ture; and fears more his recoiling back to
childishness than dust. All men look on him as
a common father, and on old age, for his sake,
as a reverent thing. His very presence and
face puts vice out of countenance, and makes it
an indecorum in a vicious man. He practises
his experience on youth without the harshness
of reproof, and in his counsel his good com-
pany. He has some old stories still of his own
seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them
better in the telling ; yet is not troublesome nei-
ther with the same tale again, but remembers
with them how oft he has told them. His
old sayings and morals seem proper to his
beard ; and the poetry of Cato does well out of
his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the
author. He is not apt to put the boy on a
younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can
175
distinguish gravity from a sour look ; and the
less testy he is, the more regarded. You must
pardon him if he like his own times better than
the.se, because those things are follies to him
now that were wisdom then ; yet he makes us
of that opinion too when we see him, and con-
jecture those times by so good a relick. He is
a man capable of a dearness with the youngest
men, yet he not youthfulier for them, but
they older for him ; and no man credits more
his acquaintance. He goes away at last too
soon whensoever, with all men's sorrow but
his own ; and his memory is fresh, when it is
twice as old.
176
LXVI.
A Jlatterer
Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures
flatter many times, so he oft shews fairer than
the true substance : his look, conversation, com-
pany, and all the outwardness of friendship
more pleasing by odds, for a true friend dare
take the liberty to be sometimes offensive,
whereas he is a great deal more cowardly,
and will not let the least hold go, for fear of
losing you. Your meer sour look affrights
him, and makes him doubt his casheering.
And this is one sure mark of him, that he is
never first angry, but ready though upon his
own wrong to make satisfaction. Therefore he
is never yoked with a poor man, or any that
stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes
may tempt his pains to deceive him. Him
177
be learns first, and learns well, and grows per-
fecter in his humours than himself, and by this
door enters upon his soul, of which he is able
at last to take the very print and mark, and
fashion his own by it, like a false key to open
all your secrets. All his affections jump9 even
with your's ; he is before-hand with your
thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you.
He will commend to you first what he knows
you like, and has always some absurd story or
other of your enemy, and then wonders how
your two opinions should jump in that man.
He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of
deep judgment, and has a secret of purpose to
9 Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of
Soliman and Perseda, 4to. without date, uses it in the
same sense :
" Wert thou my friend, thy mind would jump with
mine."
So in Pierce Penilesse his Supplication to the Divele :-— -
" Not two of them jump in one tale." p. 29.
N
178
disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say, is per-
suaded. He listens to your words with great
attention, and sometimes will object that you
may confute him, and then protests he never
heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts
him with an overflowing laughter, and he re-
members it for you to all companies, and
laughs again in the telling. He is one never
chides you but for yourvertues, as, you are too
good) too honest^ too religious^ when his chid-
ing may seem but the earnester commendation,
and yet would fain chide you out of them too ;
for your vice is the thing he has use of, and
wherein you may best use him ; and he is never
more active than in the worst diligences. Thus,
at last, he possesses you from yourself, and then
expects but his hire to betray you : and it is a
happiness not to discover him ; for as long as
you are happy, you shall noL
179
LXVIL
A high-spirited man
Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not ;
you may forgive him his looks for his worth's
sake, for they are only too proud to be base.
One whom no rate can buy oft' from the least
piece of his freedom, and make him digest an
unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch
to a great man to possess him, nor fall low to
the earth to rebound never so high again. He
stands taller on his own bottom, than others on
the advantage ground of fortune, as having so-
lidly that honour, of which title is but the
pomp. He does homage to no man for his
great stile's sake, but is strictly just in the ex-
action of respect again, and will not bate you a
complement. He is more sensible of a neglect
than an undoing, and scorns no man so much
180
as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired,
and quickly laid down with satisfaction, but
remits any injury sooner than words : only to
himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never
forgives a disgrace, but is still stabbing himself
with the thought of it, and no disease that he
dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish
than be beholden for his life, and strives more
to be quit with his friend than his enemy. For-
tune may kill him but not deject him, nor
make him fall into an humbler key than be-
fore, but he is now loftier than ever in his own
defence; you shall hear him talk still after
thousands, and he becomes it better than those
that have it. One that is above the world and
its drudgery, and cannot pull down his thoughts
to the pelting businesses of life. He would
sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade,
or any thing that might disparage the height of
man in him, and yet thinks no death compara-
bly base to hanging neither. One that will do
181
nothing upon command, though he would do it
otherwise; and if ever he do evil, it is when he
is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal
his worth puts a luster in all preferment ; but if
otherwise he be too much crossed, turns despe-
rately melancholy, and scorns mankind.
LXVI11.
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 sillily
scorns him as he is sillily admired by him.
The quality of the city hath afforded him some
better dress of clothes and language, which he
uses to the best advantage, and is so much the
182
more ridiculous. His chief education is the
visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine
ladies resort, he is infected with so much more
eloquence, and if he catch one word extraordi-
nary, wears it for ever. You shall hear him
mince a complement sometimes that was never
made for him ; and no man pays dearer for
good words, — for he is oft paid with them.
He is suited rather fine than in the fashion, and
has still something to distinguish him from a
gentleman, though his doublet cost more ;
especially on Sundays, bridegroom-like, where
he carries the state of a very solemn man, and
keeps his pew as his shop ; and it is a great
part of his devotion to feast the minister. But
his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the
greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if
you be an honest gentleman, that is trust him to
cozen you enough. His friendships are a kind
of gossipping friendships, and those commonly
within the circle of his trade, wherein he is
183
careful principally to avoid two things, that is
poor men and suretiships. He is a man will
spend his six-pence with a great deal of impu-
tation I0, and no man makes more of a pint of
wine than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of
foolish love to scholars, and to Cambridge es-
pecially for Sturbridge l fair's sake ; and of
these all are truants to him that are not preach-
ers, and of these the loudest the best ; and he
is much ravished with the noise of a rolling
tongue. He loves to hear discourses out of his
10 Imputation here must be used for consequence; of
which I am, however, unable to produce any other in-
stance.
1 Sturbridgefair was the great mart for business, and
resort for pleasure, in bishop Earle's day. It is alluded
to in Randolph's Conceited Pedlar, 4 to. 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 whimsical account of a journey to Siurbridge, in
the second volume of his works.
184
element, and the less he understands the better
pleased, which lie expresses in a smile and
some fond protestation. One that does nothing
without his chuck2, that is his wife, with
whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the
wantoner she is, the more power she has over
him ; and she never stoops so low after him,
but is the only woman goes better of a widow
than a maid. In the education of his child no
man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a
harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging
still the weakness of the boy, and pays a fine
extraordinary for his mercy. The first whip-
ping rids him to the university, and from
thence rids him again for fear of starving, and
the best he makes of him is some gull in plush.
2 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"
185
He is one loves to hear the famous acts of citi-
zens, whereof the gilding of the cross 3 he
counts the glory of this age, and the four4 pren-
3 The great cross in West Cheap, was originally
erected in 1290, by Edward I. in commemoration of the
death of queen Ellinor, whose body rested at that place,
on its journey from Ilerdeby, in Lincolnshire, to West-
minster, for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and
again in 1484. In 1581, the images and ornaments
were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599, the top of
the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted
within the lead, and fears being entertained as to its
safety. By order of queen Elizabeth, and her privy
council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, " a
cross of timber was framed, set up, covered with lead,
and gilded? &c. Stow's Survey of London, by Strype,
book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio, Lond. 1720.
4 This must allude to the play written by Heywood
with the following title : The Foure Prentiscs of London.
With the Conquest of lerusalem. As it hath bene diuers'e
times acted at tlie Red Bull, by the Quecne's Maiesties
Seruants. 4to. Lond. 1615. In this drama, the/oar
prentises are Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons
to the old Earle ofBullen, who, having lost his territo-
ries, by assisting William the Conqueror in his descent
upon England, is compelled to live like a private citizen
in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a gold-
186
tices of London above all the nine5 worthies.
He intitles himself to all the merits of his com^
pany, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions,
in which he is joint benefactor, though four
smith, a haberdasher, and a grocer. The four prenlises,
however, prefer the life of a soldier to that of a trades-
man, and, quitting the service of their masters, follow
Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they per-
form the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally
accomplish the conquest of Jerusalem. The whole play
abounds in bombast and impossibilities, and, as a com-
position, is unworthy of notice or remembrance.
5 The History of the Nine Worthies of the World ;
three whereof were Gentiles : 1. Hector, son of Priamus,
king of Troy. 2. Alexander the Great, king of Macedon,
and conqueror of the world. 3. Julius Ctesar, first emperor
of Home. Three Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and
leader of Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel.
6. Judas Maccabeus, a valiant Jewish commander against
the tyranny ofAntiochus. Three Christians. 7. Arthurt
king of Britain, who courageously defended his country
against the Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France
and emperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bullen, king of
Jerusalem. Being an account of their glorious lives,
worthy actions} renowned victories, and deaths. 12mo>
No date.
187
hundred years ago, and upbraids them far
more than those that gave them : yet with all
this folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and
in that a sufficienter man than he that is wiser.
LXIX.
A lascivious man
Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but
all are but his lust, to which only he is faithful, *
and none besides, and spends his best blood and
spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to
his body, and those that assist him in jjiis na-
ture the nearest to it. No man abuses more the
name of love, or those whom he applies this
name to ; for his love is like his stomach to feed
on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit and
188
loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him ; and it
kindles on any sooner than who deserve best of
him. ^here is a great deal of malignity in this
vice, ibl it loves still to spoil the best things, and
a virgin sometimes rather than beauty, because
the undoing here is greater, and consequently his
glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he,
or is so extremely tickled with the remembrance
of it; and he is more violence to a modest ear
than to her he defloured. A bawdy jest enters
deep into him, and whatsoever you speak he
will draw to baudry, and his wit is never so
good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue,
for that commits always what he must act sel-
domer ; and that commits with all which he acts
with few ; for he is his own worst reporter, and
men believe as bad of him, and yet do not be-
lieve him. Nothing harder to his persuasion
than a chaste man, no eunuch ; and makes a
scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a maid.
And from this mistrust it is that such men fear
189
marriage, or at least marry such as are of bodies
to be trusted, to whom only they sell that lust
which they buy of others, and make th^ir wife
a revenue to their mistress. They arc rij ,»i not
easily reformed, because they are so litl's 'l-per-
suaded of their illness, and have such pleas
from man and nature. Besides it is a jeering
and flouting vice, and apt to put jests on the
reprover. The pox only converts them, and
that only when it kills them.
LXX.
A rash man
Js a man too quick for himself; one whose
actions put a leg still before his judgement, and
out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the
190
signal that sets him forward, and his reason
comes still in the rear. One that has brain
enough, but not patience to digest a business,
and stay the leisure of a second thought
All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth and
freezing of action, and it shall burn him ra-
ther than take cold. He is always resolved
at first thinking, and the ground he goes
upon is, hap what mat/. Thus he enters not,
but throws himself violently upon all things,
and for the most part is as violently upon all off
again; and as an obstinate " Twill" was the
preface to his undertaking, so his conclusion is
commonly " / would I had not " for such
men seldom do any thing that they are not
forced to take in pieces again, and are so much
farther off from doing it, as they have done al-
ready. His friends are with him as his phy-
sician, sought to only in his sickness and ex-
tremity, and to help him out of that mire he has
plunged himself into ; for in the suddenness, of
191
his passions he would hear nothing, and now
his ill success has allayed him he hears too late.
He is a man still swayed with the first reports,
and -no man more in the power of a pick-thank
than he. He is one will fight first, and then ex-
postulate, condemn first, and then examine.
He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling,
and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and
then curses the occasion drew this mischief
upon him, and cries, God mercy ! for it,
and curses again. His repentance is meerly a
rage against himself, and he does something in
itself to be repented again. He is a man whom
fortune must go against much to make him
happy, for had he been suffered his own way,
he had been undone.
192
LXXI.
An affected man
Is an extraordinary man in ordinary things.
One that would go a strain beyond himself,
and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all
things with great solemnity of circumstance ;
and whereas with more negligence he might
pass better, makes himself with a great deal of
endeavour ridiculous. The fancy of some odd
quaintnesses have put him clean beside his na-
ture ; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost
what he was. He is_pne must be point-blank
in ^every trifle, as if his credit and opinion hung
upon it ; the very space of his arms in an em-
brace studied before and premeditated, and the
%H£J?this countenance of a fortnight's con-
triving ; he will not curse you without-book and
extempore^ but in some choice way, and per-
193
haps as some great man curses. JEverj_actiori
of his cries, — " Do ye mark me?" and men do
mark hm^how_absiird he isj for affectation is
the most betraying humour, and nothing that
puzzles a man less to find out than this. All
'the actions of his life are like so many things
bodged-in without any natural cadence or con-
nection at all. You shall track him all through
like a school-boy's theme, one piece from one
author and this from another, and join all, ifljtiiis
general, that they are none of his own. You
shall observe his mouth not made for that tone,
nor his face for that simper ; and it is his luck
that his finest things most misbecome him. If
he affect the gentleman as the humour most
commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio
of a fine man, but he is strict in to a hair, even to
their very negligences, which he cons as rules.
He will not carry a knife with him to wound
reputation, and pay double a reckoning, rather
;than ignobly question it : and he is full of this— »-
194
ignobly — and nobly — and genteely ; — and this
nicer fear to trespass against the genteel way
puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs
through many things besides^ but is an ill-
favoured ostentation in all, and thrives not : —
and the best use of such men is., they are good
parts in a play.
LXXi.
A profane man
Is one that denies God as far as the law gives
him leave; that is, only does not say so in
downright terms, for so far he may go. A man
(hat does the greatest sins calmly, and as the or-
dinary actions of life, and as calmly discourses
of it again. He will tell you his business is
195
to break such a commandment, and the break-
ing of the commandment shall tempt him to it.
His words are but so many vomitings cast up to
the loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of
his company 6 loath it not. He will take upon
him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of
his company, and makes good sport at his con-
quest over the puritan fool. The scripture
supplies him for jests, and he reads it on pur-
pose to be thus merry : he will prove you his
sin out of the bible, and then ask if you will
not take that authority. He never sees the
church but of purpose to sleep in it, or when
some silly man preaches, with whom he means
to make sport, and is most jocund in the church.
One that nick-names clergymen with all the
terms of reproach, as " rat, black-coat," and
the like ; which he will be sure to keep up, and
never calls them by other: that sings psalms
6 Those of the same habits with himself; his associ-
ates.
196
when he is drunk, and cries et God mercy" in
mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems
to dare God in all his actions, but indeed would
out-dare the opinion of him, which would else
turn him desperate ; for atheism is the refuge of
such sinners, whose repentance would be only
to hang themselves.
LXXI1I.
A coward
Is the man that is commonly most fierce
against the coward, and labouring to take off
this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of
valour is a good protection to those that dare
not use it. No man is valiantcr than he is in
civil company, and where he thinks no danger
197
may come on it, and is the readiest man to fall
upon a drawer and those that must not strike
again ; wonderful exceptions and cholerick
where he sees men are loth to give him occa-
sion, and you cannot pacify him better than by
quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow,
the more temperate man is he ; he protests lie
always honoured you, and the more you rail
upon him, the more he honours you, and you
threaten him at last into a very honest quiet
man. The sight of a sword wounds him more
sensibly than the stroke, for before that come he
is dead already. Every man is his master that
dare beat him, and every man dares that knows
him. And he that dare do this is the only
man can do much with him ; for his friend he
cares not for, as a man that carries no such terr
ror as his enemy, which for this cause only is
more potent with him of the two : and men fall
out with him of purpose to get courtesies from
him, and be bribed again to a reconcilement,
198
A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for
the apprehension of each danger loosens him,
and makes him bewray both the room and it.
He is a Christian meerly for fear of hell-fire ;
and if any religion could fright him more,
would be of that.
LXXIV.
A sordid rich man
Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth
we may say as of other men's unthriftiness, that
it has brought him to this : when he had nothing
he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a
man whom men hate in his own behalf for using
himself thus, and yet, being upon himself, it is
but justice, for he deserves it. Every acces-
199
sion of a fresh heap bates him so much of his
allowance, and brings him a degree nearer starv-
ing. His body had been long since desperate,
but for the reparation of other men's tables,
where he hoards meats in his belly for a month,
to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes
were never young in our memory ; you might
make long epochas from them, and put them
into the almanack with the dear year 7 and the
7 The dear year here, I believe, alluded to, was in
1574, and is thus described by that faithful and valuable
historian Holinshed: — "This yeare, about Lammas,
wheat was sold at London for three shillings the bushell :
but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue
shillings, six shillings, and, before Christinas, to a
noble, and seuen shillings ; which so continued long
after. Beefe was sold for twentie pence, and two and
twentie pence the stone; and all other flesh and white
meats at an excessiue price ; all kind of salt fish verie
deare, as fiue herings two pence, &c. ; yet great plentie
of fresh fish, and oft times the same verie cheape.
Pease at foure shillings the bushell; ote-meale at
foure shillings eight pence ; baie salt at three shillings
the bushell, &c. All this dearth notwithstanding,
200
great frost % and he is known by them longer
than his face. He is one never gave alms in his
life, and yet is as charitable to his neighbour as
himself. He will redeem a penny with his re-
putation, and lose all his friends to boot; and
his reason is, he will not be undone. He never
pays any thing but with strictness of law, for
fear of which only he steals not. He loves to
pay short a shilling or two in a great sum, and
is glad to gain that when he can no more. He
never sees friend but in a journey to save the
charges of an inn, and then only is not sick ;
and his friends never see him but to abuse him.
(thanks be given to God,) there was no want of anie
thing to them that wanted not monie." Holinshed,
Chronicle, vol. 3, page 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587.
8 On the 2 1st of December, 1564, began a frost re-
ferred to by Fleming, in his Index to Holinshed, as the
" frost called the great frost," which lasted till the 3rd of
January, 1565. It was so severe that the Thames was
frozen over, and the passage on it, from London-bridge
to Westminster, as easy as, and more frequented than
that on dry land.
201
He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantick
thrift, and one of the strangest things that wealth
can work.
LXXV.
A meer great man
Is so much heraldry without honour, himself
less real than his title. His virtue is, that he
was his father's son, and all the expectation of
him to beget another. A man that lives meerly
to preserve another's memory, and let us know
who died so many years ago. One of just as
much use as his images, only he differs in this,
that he can speak himself, and save the fellow
of Westminster9 a labour: and he remembers
9 The person who -exhibits Westminster abbey.
202
nothing better than what was out of his life.
His grandfathers and their acts are his dis-
course, and he tells them with more glory than
they did them ; and it is well they did enough,
or else he had wanted matter. His other studies
are his sports and those vices that are fit for
great men. Every vanity of his has his officer,
and is a serious employment for his servants.
He talks loud, and baudily, and scurvily as a
part of state, and they hear him with reve-
rence. All good qualities are below him, and
especially learning, except some parcels of the
chronicle and the writing of his name, which he
learns to write not to be read. He is meerly of
his servants' faction, and their instrument for
their friends and enemies, and is always least
thanked for his own courtesies. They that fool
him most do most with him, and he little thinks
how many laugh at him bare-head. No man is
kept in ignorance more of himself and men, for
he hears nought but flattery ; and what is fit to
203
be spoken, truth with so much preface that it
loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb be made
ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity.
LXXVI.
A poor man
Is the most impotent man, though neither
blind nor lame, as wanting the more necessary
limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden.
A man unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts
of the world, which blow all in upon him, like
an unroofed house; and the bitterest thing he
suffers is his neighbours . All men put on to him
a kind of churlisher fashion, and even more
plausible natures are churlish to him, as who
are nothing advantaged by his opinion . Whom
men fall out with before-hand io prevent friend-
ship, and his friends too to prevent engage-
ments, or if they own him 'tis in private and a
by-room, and on condition not to know them
before company. All vice put together is not
half so scandalous, nor sets off' our acquaintance
farther; and even those that are not friends for
ends do not love any dearness with such men.
The least courtesies are upbraided to him,
and himself thanked for none, but his best ser-
vices suspected as handsome sharking and
tricks to get money. And we shall observe it
in knaves themselves, that your beggarliest
knaves are the greatest, or thought so at least,
for those that have wit to thrive by it have art
not to seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard
enough to mask his vices, nor ornament enough
to set forth his virtues, but both are naked and
unhandsome ; and though no man is necessitate
ed to more ill, yet no man's ill is less excused,
but it is thought a kind of impudence in him to
205
be vicious, and a presumption above his for-
tune. His good parts lye dead upon his hands,
for want of matter to employ them, and at the
best are not commended but pitied, as virtues
ill placed, and we may say of him, " Tis an
honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that
call him so will trust a knave before him. He
is a man that has the truest speculation of the
world, because all men shew to him in their
plainest and worst, as a man they have no plot
on, by appearing good to; whereas rich men
are entertained with a more holy-day behaviour^
and see only the best we can dissemble. He is
the only he that tries the true strength of wis-
dom, what it can do of itself without the help of
fortune ; that with a great deal of virtue con-
quers extremities, and with a great deal more
his own impatience, and obtains of himself not
to hate men.
206
LXXVII.
An ordinary honest man
Is one whom it concerns to be called honest,
tor if he were not this, he were nothing : and yet
he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious
fellow, that complies well with the deboshments '•
of the time, and is fit for it One that has no
good part in him to offend his company, or
make him to be suspected a proud fellow ; but
is sociably a dunce, and sociably a drinker.
That does it fair and above-board without leger-
main, and neither sharks l for a cup or a rec-
10 Minshew interprets the verb deboshe, " to corrupt,
make lewde, vitiate." When the word was first adopted
from the French language, (says Mr. Steevens, in a
note to the Tempest,) it appears to have been spelt ac-
cording to the pronunciation, and therefore wrongly;
but ever since it has been spelt right, it has been uttered
with equal impropriety.
i The verb to shark is frequently used, by old writers,
for to pilfer, and, as in the present instance, to spungc.
207
koning : that is kind over his beer, and protests
he loves you, and begins to you again, and
loves you again. One that quarrels with no
man, but for not pledging him, but takes all
absurdities and commits as many, and is no
tell-tale next morning, though he remember it.
One that will fight for his friend if he hear him
abused, and his friend commonly is he that is
most likely, and lie lifts up many a jug in his
defence. He rails against none but censurers,
against whom he thinks lie rails lawfully, and
censurers are all those that are better than him-
self. These good properties qualify him for
honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale-
house commendation, who, if he had any other
good quality, would be named by that. But
now for refuge he is an honest man, and here-
after a sot : only those that commend him think
him not so, and those that commend him are
honest fellows.
208
LXXV1IL
A suspicious or jealous man
Is one that watches himself a mischief, and
keeps a lear eye still, for fear it should escape
liim. A man that sees a great deal more in
every thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks
he sees nothing : his own eye stands in his
light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some
weaknesses, which he might conceal if he were
careless : — now his over-diligence to hide them
makes men pry the more. Howsoever he ima-
gines you have found him, and it shall go hard
but you must abuse him whether you will or no.
Not a word can be spoke, but nips him some-
where ; not a jest thrown out, but he will make
it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out
of company, with some twenty quarrels to every
man, stung and galled, and no man knows less
209
the occasion than they that have given it. To
laugh before him is a dangerous matter, for it
cannot be at any thing but at him, and to whis-
per in his company plain conspiracy. He bids
you speak out, and he will answer you, when
you thought not of him. He expostulates with
you in passion, why you should abuse him,
and explains to your ignorance wherein, and
gives you very good reason at last to laugh at
him hereafter. He is one still accusing others
when they are not guilty, and defending him-
self when he is not accused : and no man is un-
done more with apologies, wherein he is so ela-
borately excessive, that none will believe him ;
and he is never thought worse of, than when he
has given satisfaction. Such men can never
have friends, because they cannot trust so far ;
and this humour hath this infection with it, it
makes all men to them suspicious. In conclu-
sion, they are men always in offence and vexa-
210
tion with themselves and 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,
APPENDIX.
No. I.
SOME ACCOUNT OF BISHOP EARLE*.
ALL the biographical writers who have taken
notice of JOHN EARLE agree in stating, that he
was born in the city of York, although not one
* The following brief memoir pretends to be nothing
more than an enumeration of such particulars relative to
the excellent prelate, whose Characters are here offered to
the public, as could be gathered from the historical and
biographical productions of the period in which he flou-
rished. It is hoped that no material occurrence has
teen overlooked, or circumstance mis-stated; but should
any errors appear to have escaped his observation, the
editor will feel obliged by the friendly intimation of
such persons as may be possessed of more copious in-
formation than he has been able to obtain, in order that
they may be acknowledged and corrected in another
place.
of them has given the exact date of his birth, or
any intelligence relative to his family, or the
rank in life of his parents. It is, however, most
probable, that they were persons of respectabi-
lity and fortune, as he was sent, at an early
age, to Oxford, and entered as a commoner of
Christ-church college *, where his conduct was
so exemplary, his attention to his studies so
marked, and his general deportment and man-
ners so pleasing, that he became a successful
candidate at Merton-college, and was admitted
a probationary fellow on that foundation in
1620, being then, according to Wood t, about
nineteen years of age. He took the degree of
Master of Arts, July 10, 1624, and in 1631
served the office of Proctor of the university,
about which time he was also appointed chap-
lain to Philip Earl of Pembroke, then Chancel-
lor of Oxford.
* He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts whilst a
member of this society, July 8, 1619, and appears to
have been always attached to it. In 16CO he gave
twenty pounds towards repairing the cathedral and col-
lege.
/food. Hist, et Antiq. Univ. Oxon. lib. ii. p. 384.
f Athena Oxon. ii. 365,
§15
During the earlier part of our author's life,
lie appears to have possessed considerable re-
putation as a poet, and to have been as remark-
able for the pleasantry of his conversation, as
for his learning1, virtues, and piety. AVood *
tells us that cc his younger years were adorned
with oratory, poetry, and witty fancies, his
elder with quaint preaching and snbtile dis-
putes." The only specimens of his poetry
which can be recovered at this time, are three
funeral tributes, which will be found in the
Appendix, and of which two are now printed,
I believe, for the first time.
Soon after his appointment to be Lord Pem-
broke's chaplain, he was presented by that no-
blemaa to the rectory of Bishopstone, in Wilt-
shire ; nor was this the only advantage he
reaped from the friendship of his patron, who
being at that time Lord Chamberlain of the
King's household t, was entitled to a lodging in
the court for his chaplain, a circumstance which
in all probability introduced Mr. Earle to the
notice of the King, who promoted him to be
* AthencE Oxon. ii. 365.
I Collinb' Peerage, iii, 123,
chaplain and tutor to Prince Charles, when Dr.
Duppa, who had previously discharged that
important trust, was raised to the bishopric of
Salisbury.
In 1642 Earle took his degree of Doctor in
Divinity, and in the year following was actually
elected one of the Assembly of Divines appointed
by the parliament to new model the chuith.
This office, although it may be considered a
proof of the high opinion even those of different
sentiments from himself entertained of his cha-
racter and merit, he refused to accept, when he
saw that there was no probability of assisting
the cause of religion, or of restraining the vio-
lence of a misguided faction, by an interference
among those who were u declared and avowed
enemies to the doctrine and discipline of the
Church of England ; some of them infamous
in their lives and conversations, and most of
them of very mean parts in learning, if not of
scandalous ignorance *."
On the 10th of February, 1643, Dr. Earle
was elected chancellor of the cathedral of Sa-.
* Clarendon. History of the Rebellion, ii. 827. Edit.
Oxford, 1807.
lisbury *, of which situation, as well as his
living of Bishopstone, he was shortly after de-
prived by the ill success of the royal cause t.
When the defeat of the King's forces at Wor-
cester compelled Charles the Second to fly his
country, Earle attached himself to the fallen
fortunes of his sovereign, and was among the
first of those who saluted him upon his arrival
at Rouen in Normandy, where he was made
clerk of the closet, and King's chaplain {.
Nor was his affection to the family of the
Stuarts, and his devotion to their cause evinced
by personal services only, as we find by a letter
from Lord Clarendon to Dr. Barwick, that he
* Walker. Sufferings of the Clergy, fol. 1714, part ii.
page 63.
f During the early part of the civil wars, and whilst
success was doubtful on either side, he appears to have
lived in retirement, and to have employed himself in a
translation of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity into Latin,
which, however, was never made public. At the appear-
ance of Charles the First's Eixuv B«y/^/x>j,he was desired
l>y the king(Ch. II.) to execute the same task upon that
production, which he performed with great ability. It
was printed for distribution on the continent in 1649,
* Wood, Ath. Oxon. ii, 365.
216
assisted the King with money in his necessi-
ties *.
During the time that Charles was in Scotland,
Dr. Earle resided at Antwerp, with his friend
Dr. Morley +, from whence he was called upon
to attend the Duke of York (afterwards James
II.) at Paris J, in order that he might heal some
of the breaches which were then existing be-
tween certain members of the duke's house-
hold § ; and here it is probable he remained till
the recal of Charles the Second to the throne of
England*
Upon the Restoration, Dr. Earle received
the reward of his constancy and loyalty, he
•was immediately promoted to the deanery of
Westminster, a situation long designed for him
* Life of Dr. John Barwick, 8vo. Lond. 1724. p. 522.
f Dr. George Morley was chaplain to Charles the
First, and canon of Christ Church, Oxford. At the
Restoration he was made, first dean of Christ Church,
then hishop of Worcester, and lastly bishop of Win-
chester. He died at Farnham-castle, October 29, 1684.
See Wood. Athen. Oxon. ii. 581.
£ Wood. Athena, ii. 770.
§ Clarendon's Rebellion, iii.
S17
by the King*. In 1661 he was appointed one
of the commissioners for a review of the Li-
turgy t, and on November SO, 1662, was con-
secrated Oisliop of Worcester, from which see
lie was translated, September 28, 1663, to the
dignity of Salisbury :(:.
Little more remains to be added. — Bishop
Earle appears to ha ye continued his residence
with the royal family after the acquisition of
his well-deserved honours ; and when the court
retired to Oxford, during the plague in 1665,
he attended their majesties to the place of his
early education, and died at his apartments in
University College, on the 17th of November.
He was buried on the 25th. near the hi<rh altar.
/ O 7
in Merton College chapel ; and was, according
to Wood, " accompanied to his grave, from
the public schools, by an herald at arms, and
the principal persons of the court and univer-
sity." His monument, which stands at the
north-east corner of the chapel, is still in excel-
lent preservation, and possesses the following in-
scription : —
* Life of Barwick, 452.
t Rennet's Register, folio, 1728, page 501.
t Wood. Athene, ii, 366.
218
" Amice, si quis hie sepultus est, roges,
Ille, qui nee meruit unqua — Nee quod majus est, habuit
Inimicum ;
Qui potuit in aula 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 animae Deo charae.
Curam a beatissimo Patre demandatam gessit,
Nobile ac Religiosum ex ilium est passus;
Ille qui Hookeri ingentis Politiam Ecclesiasticam,
Ille qui Caroli Martyris EIKO'NA BASIAIKH'N,
(Volmnen quo post Apocalypsin divinius nullum)
Legavit Orbi sic Latine 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 2do Regij Oratorij Clericus,
/"aliquando Westmonasteriensis Decanus,
Ecclesiae 3 deinde wiSorniensis ^
I tandem Sarisburiensis > Angelus.
set nunc triumphantis 3
fDoni: 1665to.
ObiitOxonii Novemb. 17°. Anno \ ^ .
( /Etatis suas 65t»,
Voluitq. in hoc, ubi olim floruerat, Collegio,
Ex ^Ede Christi hue in Socium ascitus,
Ver magnum, ut reflorescat, expectare."1
219
No. II.
CHARACTERS OF BISHOP EARLE.
" HE was a person very notable for his ele-
gance in the Greek and Latin tongues; and being fellow
of Merton college in Oxford, and having been proctor
of the university, and some very witty and sharp dis-
courses being published in print without his consent,
though known to be his, he grew suddenly into a very
general esteem with all men; being a man of great
piety and devotion ; a most eloquent and powerful
preacher; and of a conversation so pleasant and delight-
ful, so very innocent, and so very facetious, that no
man's company was more desired, and more loved. No
man was more negligent in his dress, and habit, and
meia ; no man more wary and cultivated in his beha-
viour and discourse ; insomuch as he had the greater
advantage 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 by many pieces
yet abroad ; though he suppressed many more himself,
especially of English, incomparably good, out of an
austerity to those sallies of his youth. He was very
dear to the Lord Falkland, with whom he spent a3
much time as he could make his own ; and as that lord
would impute the speedy progress he made in the Greek
tongue to the information and assistance he had from Mr.
Earles, so Mr. Earles would frequently profess that he
had got more useful learning by his conversation at
Tew (the Lord Falkland's house,) than he had at Oxford.
In the first settling of the prince his family, he was
made one of his chaplains, and attended on him when
he was forced to leave the kingdom. He was amongst
the few excellent men who never had, nor ever could
have, an enemy, but such a one who was an enemy to
all learning and virtue, and therefore would never make
himselfknown."
LORD CLARENDON. Account of his own Life, folio, Ox-
ford, 1759, p. 26.
« This is that Dr. Earle, who from his youth
(I had almost said from his childhood,) for his natural
and acquired abilities was so very eminent in the uni-
versity of Oxon ; and after was chosen to be one of the
first chaplains to his Majesty (when Prince of Wales):
who knew not how to desert his master, but with duty
and loyalty (suitable to the rest of his many great vir-
tues, both moral and intellectual,) faithfully attended his
Majesty both at home and abroad, as chaplain, and
clerk of his majesty's closet, 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 to his Majesty,) having this high and rare
felicity by his excellent and spotless conversation, to
have lived so many years in the court of England, so
near his Majesty, and yet not given the least offence to
any man alive ; though both in and out of pulpit he
used all Christian freedom against the vanities of this
age, being honoured and admired by all who have either
known, heard, or read him/'
WHITE KENNETT (Bishop of Peterborough) Regis*
ter and Chmnicle Ecclesiastical 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 be concealed
from posterity, or those that now live and yet know him
not,) that, since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom
God hath blessed with more innocent wisdom, more
sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable, primi-
tive temper: so that this excellent person seems to be
only 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 Sails-
222
bury.— A person certainly of the sweetest, most obliging
nature that lived in our age."
HUGH CRESSEY. Epistle Apologetical to a Person of
Honour (Lord Clarendon), 8vo. 1674, page 46.
— — " Dr. Earle, Bishop of Salisbury, was a man
that could do good against evil ; forgive much, and of a
charitable heart."
PIERCE. Conformist's Plea for Nonconformity, 4te.
1681. page 174.
223
No. III.
LIST OF DR. EARLE'S WORKS.
1. Microcosmography, or a Piece of the World discovered,
in Essays and Characters. London- 1623. &c.&c. 12mo.
9. Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, translated into Latin.
This, says Wood, " is in MS. and not yet printed."
In whose possession theMS. was does not appear, nor
have I been able to trace it in the catalogue of any
public or private collection.
3. Hortus Mertonensis, a Latin Poem, of which Wood
gives the first line " Hortus deliciae domus politae."
It is now supposed to be lost.
4. Lines on the Death of Sir John Burroughs ; now
printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. IV.
5. Lines on the Death of the Earl of Pembroke ; now
printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. V.
6. Elegy upon Francis 'Beaumont; first printed at the
end of Beaumont's Poems, London? 1640. 4to. See
Appendix, No. VI.
7. Eixwv Boco-i^iM, vel Imago Regis Caroli, In illis suis
Mrumnis et Solitudine. Hag<s-Comitis. Typis S. B. &c.
1649. 12mo. See Appendix, No. VII. *
* Besides the pieces above noticed, several smaller poems
were undoubtedly in circulation during Earle's life, the titles
cf which are not preserved. Wood supposes (Ath. Oxon.)
our author to have contributed to " some of the Figures, of
which about ten were published," but is ignorant of the exact
numbers to be attributed to his pen. In the Bodleian * is
" The Figi-re of Fame: Wherein are sweet flowers, gathered
out of that fruitfull ground, that I hope will yeeld pleasure and
profit to all sorts of people. The second Part, London, Printed
for lohn f Fright, and are to bee sold at his shop without New-
gate, at the signe of the Bible, 1636." This, however, was un-
doubtedly one of Breton's productions, as his initials are af-
fixed to the preface. It is in 12mo. and consists of twenty
pages, not numbered. The following extracts "will be suffi-
cient to shew the nature of the volume,
" There are foure persons not to be believed : a horse-
courser when he sweaves, a whore when shee weepes, a law-
yer when he pleads falsej and a traveller when he tels wonders.
" There are four0 great cyphers in the world : hee that is
lame among daucers, climbe among lawyers, dull among schol-
lers, and rude amongst courtiers.
" Foure things grievously empty : a head without braines.,
a wit without judgment, a heart without honesty, and a purse
without money.'.'
Ant. Wood possessed the figure of six, which, however, is
now not to be fouisd among bis hooks left to the university of
Oxford, and deposited in Ashmole's museum. That it once was
there, is evident from the BIS. catalogue of that curious col-
lection.
* 8vo. L. 78, Art,
225
No. IV.
LINES ON SIR JOHN BURROUGHS,
KILLED BY A BULLET AT REEZ *.
[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
* For an account of the unsuccessful expedition to the Isle
of R£, under the command of the Duke of Buckingham,
see Carte's History of England, vol. iv. page 176, folio, Lond.
17.55. Sir John Burroughs, a general of considerable renown,
who possessed the chief confidence of the Duke, fell in an en-
deavour to reconnoitre the works of the enemy, Aug. 1627.
a
Them each accomplished 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 heat,
Or made fierce only by the trumpet's heat — j j, y^
When e'en pale hearts above their pitch do fly,
And, for a while do mad it valiantly.
His rage was temper'd well, no fear could daunt
His reason, his cold blood was valiant.
Alas ! these vulgar praises injure thee;
Which now a poet would as p'.enteously
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 * names together told.
J. EARLES.
* Sir John Talbot, first earl of Shrewsbury, of whom see
Collins' Peerage^ iii, 9. Holinshed, Kapin, Carte, &c.
227
.
XT tr
No. V.
.
ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF
PEMBROKE*.
[JF>0m the same MS.]
"*
^
bidW
^ _ , , .. , _. , , ....
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,
„ ._, i i i i i 1 i
Or, if he must be dead, oh ! let the news
01- • l»l v_- r •
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.
* William, third Earl of Pembroke, son of Henry, Earl of
Pembroke, and Mary, sister to Sir Philip Sidney, was the el-
der brother of Earle's patron, and Chancellor of Oxford.
He died at Bayriard's castle, April 10, 1630.
Q 2
228
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,
u ! riA
uom A
aadW
"ttfll
a 9H
VUSDC?
ptoiR
'
229
^ ___ i dr>
.awo!,:- No. VI.
ON MR. BEAUMON F.
WRITTEN TIIIUTY YEARS SINCE, PRESENTLY AFTER HIS
DEATH.
[From " Comedies and Tragedies written by Francis Beau-
mont find John Fletcher, 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 naarble 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.
230
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.
0 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 :
1 grieve not now that old Menander's vein
Is ruin'd to survive in thee again ;
>aA
231
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'rypage
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 averse?
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.
232
Alas ! what phlegm are they compar'd to thee,
In thy Philaster, 2nd Maid's-Tragedy ?
Where's such a humour as thy Bessus ? pray
Let them put all their Thrasocs 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.
233
/d* nI
•VT -CTTT ->:9il7/
No. VII.
9H
"
DEDICATION TO THE LATIN TRANSLATION
or THE
3ufi
u . irf* A*
O 23^6 Xl3
"Serenissimo et Potentissimo Monarchse, Carolo Se-
cundo, Dei Gratia Magnee Britannia, Franciae et Hi-
bernian Regi, Fidei Defensori, &c.
Serenissime Rex,
Prodeat jam sub tuis auspiciis ilia patris tui gloriosis-
simi imago, ilia qua magis ad Dei similitudinem, quam
qua Rex aut homo accedit. Prodeat vero eo colore pe-
regrino, quo facta omnibus conspectior fiat publica. Ita
enim tu voluisti, ut sic lingua omnium communi orbi
traderem, in qua utinam feliciorem tibi operam navare
licuisset, ut illam nativam elegantiam, illam vim verbo-
rum et lumina, illam admirabilem sermonis structuram
exprimerem. Quod cum fieri (fortasse nee a peritissi-
mis) a me certe non possit, pra?stat interim ut cum all-
qua venustatis injuria magnam paitem Europae alloqua-
tur, quam intra paucos suas gentis clausa apud cseteros
omnes conticescat. Sunt enim hie velut qucedam Dei mag-
nalia quas spargi expedit humane generi, et in omnium
linguis exaudiri : id pro mea facultate curavi, ut si non
sensa tanti authoris ornate, at perspicue et fide trade-
rem, imo nee ab ipsa dictione et phrasi (quantum Latini
idiomatis ratio permittit) vel minimum recederem. Sa-
cri enim codicis religiosum esse decet interpretem : et
certe proxime ab illo sacro et adorando codice, (qui in has
comparationes non cadit,) spera non me audacem futu-
rum, si dixero nullum inter caeteros mortalium, vel
autore vel argumento illustriorem, vel in quo viva ma-
gis pietas et eximie Christiana spiratur.
Habet vero sanctitas regia nescio quid ex fortune sua
maj estate sublimius quiddam et augustius, et quac iui-
perium magis obtinet in mectes hominum, et reveren-
tia majore accipitur : quare et his maxime instrumentis
usus est Deus, qui illam partem sacrse pagince ad solen-
nem Dei cultum pertinentem, psalmos scilicet, et hym-
nos : caeteraque ejusmodi perpetuis ecclesise usibus in-
servitura, transrnitterent hominibus, et auctoritatem
quandam conciliarent. Quid quod libentius etiam ar-
ripiunt homines sic objectam et traditam pietatem.
Quod et libro huic evenit, et erit magis eventurum, quo
jam multo diffusior plures sui capaces invenerit.
Magnum erat profecto sic meditari, sic scribere;
multo maj us sic vivere, sic mori : ut sit haec pene nimia
dictu pietas exemplo illius superata. Scit haec ilia orbis
pars miserrima jam et contaminatissima. Utinam
235
hanc maturius intellexissent virtutem, quam jam sero
laudant, et admirantur amissam, nee ilia opus fuisset
clira fornace, qu& tarn eximia regis pietas exploraretur,
ex qua nos tantum miseri facti sumus, ille omnium feli-
cissimus ; cujus ilia pars vitse novissima et zerumnosis-
sima et supremus dies, (in quo hominibus, et angelis
spectaculum factus stetit animo excelso et interrito,
suramum fidei, constant, patientiae exemplar, superior
malis suis, et tot& simul conjestS, inferni maliti£) omnes
omnium triumphos et quicquid est humans gloriae, su-
superavit. Nihil egistis O quot estis, hominum ! (sed
nolo libro sanctissimo quicquam tetrius prasfari, nee
quos ille inter preces nominal, maledicere) nihil, in-
quam, egistis hoc parricidio, nisi quod famam illius et
irnmortalitatem cum csterno vestro probro et scelere con-
junxistis. Nemo unquam ab orbe condito tot veris om-
nium lacrymis, tot sinceris laudibus celebratus est.
Nulli unquam principum in secundis agenti illos fictos
plausus vel metus dedit, vel adulatio vendidit, quam hie
verissimos expressere fuga, career, theatiu:n et ilia om-
nium funestissima securis, qua obstupe, fecit hostes mo-
riens et caesus triumphavit.
Tu interim (Rex augustissime) vera et viva patris ef-
figies, (cujus inter summas erat felicitates humanas, et
in adversis solatium te genuisse, in quo superstite mori
non potest) inflammeris maxime hoc mortis illius exem-
plo, non tarn in vindictae cupidinem, (in quom alii te
extimulent, non ego) quam in heroicae virtutis, et con-
stantioe zelum : hanc vero primum adeas quam nullavis
tibi invito eripiet, haereditariam pietatem j et quo es in
236
tuos omnes aft'ectu maxirae philostorgo, hunc librum
eodem tecum genitore satum amplectere ; die sapientiae,
soror mea es, et prudentiam affinem voca ; hanc tu con-
sule, hanc frequens meditare, hanc imbibe penitus, et in
animam tuam transfunde. Vides in te omnium con-
jectos oculos, in te omnium bonorum spes sitas, ex te
omnium vitas pendere, quas jamdiu multi taedio proje-
cissent, nisi ut essent quas tibi impenderent. Magnum
onus incumbit, magna urget procella, magna expectatio,
major omnium, quam quae unquam superius, virtutum
necessitas : an sit regnumamplius in Britannia futurum,
an religio, an homines, an Deus, ex tua virtute, tua for-
tuna dependet: immo, sola potius ex Deo fortuna; cujus
opein quo magis hie necessarian! agnoscis, praesenta-
neam requiris, eo magis magisque, (quod jam facis) om-
ni pietatis officio promerearis : et ilia qua in te large
sparsit bonitatis, prudentiae, temperantias, justitiae, et
omnis regies virtutis semina foveas, augeas, et infructum
matures, ut tibi Deus placatus et propitius, quod de-
traxit patri tuo felicitatis humanae, tibi adjiciat, et om-
nes illius aarumnas conduplicatis in te beneficiis com-
penset, et appelleris ille restaurator, quern te tmic4 op-
tant omnes et sperant futurum, et ardentissimis precibus
expetit
Majestatis tuaehumillimus devotissimusque subditus
et sacellanus,
Jo. EARLES,
^T)t
'
237
oundii
XT T7TTT
ISO. Vlll.
INSCRIPTION ON DR. PETER HEYLIN'S* MONU
MENT IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.
[Written by Dr. Earle, then Dean of Westminster.']
.
Depositum Mortale
Petri Heylyn, S. Th. D.
Hujus Ecclesiae Prebendarii et Subdecani,
* Peter Heylin was born at Burford, in Oxfordshire, Nov.
29, 1599, and received the rudiments of his education at the
free school in that place, from whence he removed to Hart-
hall, and afterwards obtained a fellowship at Magdalen Col-
lege, Oxford. By the interposition of Bishop Laud, to whom
he was recommended by Lord Danvers, he was presented first
to the rectory of Hemingford, in Huntingdonshire, then to a
prebend of Westminster, and lastly to the rectory of Hough-
ton in the Spring, in the diocese of Durham, which latter he
exchanged for Alrcsford, in Hampshire. In 1 633 he/proceed-
ed D. D. and in 1638, became rector of South Warnborough,
Hampshire, by exchange with Mr. Atkinson, of St. John's
College, for Islip, in Oxfordshire. In 1640 he was chosen
clerk of the convocation for Westminster, and in 1642 fol-
lowed the king to Oxford. After the death of Charles, he
Viri plane memorabilis,
Egregiis dotibus instructissimi,
Ingenio acri et foecundo,
Judicio subacto,
Memoria ad prodigium tenaci,
Cui adjunxit incredibilcm in studiis patientiamy
Quae cessantibus oculis non cessarunt.
Scripsit varia et plurima,
Quse jam manibus hominum teruntur;
Et argumentls non vulgaribus
Stylo non vulgar! sufFecit.
Et Majestatis Regias assertor
Nee florentis raagis utriusque
Quam afflictae,
Idemque perduellium et scismaticas factionis
Impugnator acerrimus.
Contemptor invidiae
lost all his property, and removing with his family from place
to place, subsisted by the exercise of his pen till the Restora-
tion, when he regained his livings, and was made sub-dean of
Westminster. His constancy and exertions were supposed
by many to merit a higher reward, from a government, in
whose defence he had sacrificed every prospect ; but the
warmth of bis temper, and his violence in dispute, were such
as rendered his promotion to a higher dignity in the church
impolitic in the opinion of the ministers. He died May 8,
1662, and was interred in Westminster-abbey, under his own
stall. A list of liis numerous publications, as well as a cha-
racter of him, may be found in Wood's Athence Oxonienses,\\.
275.
i
Et animo infracto
Plura ejusmodi meditanti
Mors indixit silentium :
Ut sileatur
Efficere non potest.
Obiit Anno ^Ltatis 63, et 8 die Mail, A. D. 1662.
Possuit hoc illi msestissima conjux,
•
•i ,iioij
tttfg^W
oi fHsnt ^d
•MITUSW
[
-
.
'
raifftotahm
240
No. IX.
CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN DR. EARLE
AND MR. BAXTER.
[See Kermett's Register, folio, Lond. If 23, page 713.]
MR. BAXTER TO DIt. EARLE.
" REVEREND SIR,
" By the great favour of my Jord chancellor's repre-
hension, 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 j nor had any other thought in my
heart than with some shame to tell you that I had no
241
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 igno-
rance gave you the occasion, and I am far from im-
puting 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 con-
temn 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 denietk 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 ut-
rerly incapable of vindicating my mnocency, or rerae*
dying their mistakes.
" To the reverend and much honoured Dr. Earles,
fafiri $ Dean of Westminster, &c. These."
.
*x»a -M. \?4
aoaeai
uo^ to. DR> EARLE> IN REPLYT.33flol9d Ji >J J£rt3
Hampton.Court,June<X.
« ~
'. , . . . . _ ...
<l I received your letter, which I would have an-
swered sooner, if the messenger that brought it had re-
turned. 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 ma-
0 that they weje riSnity or uncharitableness, especially
all such.— Note to one of your condition, with whom,
by mr. tiax er. though I concur not perhaps in point of
j udgment in some particulars, yet I cannot but esteem for
your personal worth and abilities; and, indeed, your ex-
pressions in your letter are so civil and ingenuous, that
1 am obliged thereby the more to give you all the satis-
faction I can.
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
243
l-said coyetnat my second speaking, that some others
of your persuasion had not scrupled at
> which m*Zht suppose (if Jou had
in the passage not affirmed the contrary), that you had
from him. — Note f •> c c \ • •
by Mr. Baxter. 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 chan-
cellor 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 with-
out 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 ser-
vice, being, sir,
? Your ver? humble serv*nt>
Jo. EARLES."
friend, Mr. Richard Baxter, These."
R 2
tif tedl mom A
980TI9V9 3flO%-
io asm! HA
No; X.
i t sliriw JuH
'siduohA
MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION
IN STREGLETHORP CHURCH, NEAR NEWARK-UPON-TRENT,
IN LINCOLNSHIRE,
[From Le Neve's Monumenta Anglicana*. 8vo. Lond. 1718.
vol. iii. p. 182.]
9«fi9»«i> - s ^a^D9«f ,9V9iifed I ^bir*
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 rie lyes, in whom tfid shine
All the divided merits of his line.
The lustre of his name seems faded here,
No fairer star in all that fruitfull sphere.
In piety and parts extreamly bright,
Clear was his youth, and fill'd with growing light,
* Two other epitaphs appear in this collection, on the
Earles of Norfolk, with whom I cannot find our author to have
had the least connection. A fall account of this family may
be seen in Blomefield's History of Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 531.
215
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.
RICHARDTJS EARLE *, Barn*119.
Obijt decimo tertio die
Augli Anno Dom. 1697.
JEtatis suae 24.
'
* The title was created by Charles the First, July 2, 1629,
and, I believe, became extinct at the decease of this person.
f; • f
&
.."< oVl
.
srft no fnoit^!fo
avjsdot loriitff mo I
^sra ^fem^lt eidtlo Jauo- -.fa bp.rl
-
m
•
-HI vIl&aigiTo I I- ikT -v r
No. Al.
-Sim bus y;-i- •' nigro
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF BOOKS OF
CHARACTERS.
(.*•? ,'-•{. "•' •. ,uo*iJ5V/
No. i.
.- _. _, - .
ji Caveat
:Q6ftt Juodi . Jwc smBiwtqa lo noil
/or -c.oinm.cn Lvr
> 7 77 7
setors vclgarely cauea
-isli. 10 23,:, • • • - • <qaB vsifj ob ioa
(Jagflboncs, set forth by Thomas Harman.
Esquier.for the vtUiteandproffytofhys
naturullCountrey. 'Newly agmented
, T . , , -r, '-^t ui bs)£b ga It
and Jmpnnted Anno Domini.
..
M.D.LXUJJ.
-IB '^snqoiqai lidi aoJtfiW ,iM
5f Ventd, examined, and allowed, according vnto tht
Queenes Maiesiyes Iniunctions
»ad &/- ... ...... vbjs sH
[Roughly-executed w.ood-ciit, of two persons receiving pu-
nishment at the cart's tail from the hands of a beadle,]
byA' ut London in Yletestretatthesigneofthe .
Faulcon j>y Wylliam Gryffith, and are to be
solde at his shoppe in Saynt Dunstones
Churcheyarde in the West.
[4to. black letter, containing^ ^thirty
HUinbered.]
247
I commence my list of Characters, with a volume,
which, although earlier than the period I originally in-
tended to begin from, is of sufficient curiosity and inte-
rest to warrant introduction, and, I trust, to ohtain par-
don from the reader for the additional trouble I am thus
preparing for him.
Mr. Warton, in his History of English Poctry,(\v, 74.)
has given, with some trifling errors, a transcript of the
title, and says he has a faint remembrance of a Collec-
tion of Epigrams, by the author, printed about 1599:
these I have never been fortunate enough to meet with,
nor do they appear in the collections of Ames or Her-
bert, neither of whom had seen a copy of the present
work, although they mention Griffith's licence to print
it as dated in 1566 *.
It is dedicated to Elizabeth, countess of Shrewsbury;
Mr. Warton thinks " with singular impropriety," al-
ihough the motive appears at least to justify the mea-
sure, if it does not entitle the author to commendation.
He addresses this noble lady as a person of extreme be-
nevolence, and " as also aboundautly powrynge out
dayly [her] ardent and bountifull chary tie vppon all such
as commeth for reliefe."— " I thought it good," he con^
tinues, " necessary, and my bounden dutye, to ac-
quaynte your goodnes with the abhominable, wycked,
and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, ragged rab-
blement of rake helles, that vnder the pretence of great
* In the epistle to the reader, the aathor terms it " this
sfcond impression."
248
misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites
whiche they fayne through great hipocrisye, do wyn
and gayne great almes in all places where they wyly
wander." — On this account, therefore, and to preserve
the kindness and liberality of the countess from imposi-
tion, Harman dedicates his book to that lady.
The notorious characters mentioned, are a " ruffler * ; a
upright man f ; a hoker or angglear J ; a roge § ; a wylde
* A ruffler seeros to have been a bully as well as a beggar,
lie is thus described in the Fraternitye of Vacabondes ; (see
p. 256.) " A ruffeler goeth vvyth a weapon to seeke seruice,
saying he hath bene a seruitor in the wars, aud beggeth for
his reliefe. But his chiefest trade is to robbe poore wayfaring
men and market-women." In New Custome a morality, 1573,
Crewel tie, one of the "characters, is termed a ritjfter. See also
Decker's Bclman of London. Sign. C. iv.
t " An upright man is one that goeth wyththe trunchion of
a staffe, which staffe they cal a Flitchma. This man is of so
much authority, that meeting with any of his profession, he
may cal them to accompt, and comaund a share or snap vnto
himselfe of al that they have gained by their trade in one rao-
neth." Fraternitye of Vacabondes.
+ This worthy character approaches somewhat near to a
shop-lifter. Decker tells us that " their apparele in which
they walke is commonly freize jerkins and gallye slops.-'
Btlman. Sign. C. iv.
/,ii ^9iiJ ifirfj SH
§ A rogue, says Burton, in his MS. notes to Decker's
Jklflnian of London, " is not so stoute and [hardy] as the vp-
right man."
249
roge * ; a prygger of prauncers ; a pallyarde t ; a frater * ;
a Abraham man §; a fresh water mariner, or whipiacke;
» counterfet cranke || ; a dommerar H" ; a dronken tine-
fear**; a swadder or pedler ; a jarke man, and a pa-
trie? ft ; a demaimder for glyrnmar % ; a bawdy basket §$ ;
* A pci-son whose parents were rogues.
t « These be called also clapperdogens,'' and « go with
patched clokes." Sign. C. iv.
t A Prater and a Whipiacke, are persons who travel with a
counterfeite license, the latter in the dress of a sailor. See
•Fratermtye, Belman, &c.
101 liJ9^9^ ''
gm4H»An Ahrdum-mm is he that walketh bare-armed, and
bare-legged, and fayneth hymselfe mad, and caryeth a packe
of wool, or astycke with baken on it, or such lyke toy, and
nameth himselfe Poore Tom." Fraternitye of Vacabondes*
\\ A person who asks charity, and feigns sickness and
If One who pretends to be dumb. In Harman's time they
were chiefly Welsh-men.
<oin90ct & ^dbdiii^s
** An artificer who mends one hole, and makes twenty.
tt A jarke man can read and write, and sometimes under-
stands a little Latin. A patrico solemnizes their marriages*
v r.qold :r{ils§ brie
$t These are commonly women who ask assistance, feign-
ing that they have lost their property by fire.
- $ A woman who cohabit* with an upright man, a»d pro
fesses to sell thread, <Src.
250
4 antem morte * ; a walking morte j adoxe; a dell; a;
kynchin morte ; and a kynchen co." namal*
From such a list, several instances of the tricks, as
well as specimens of the language of the thieves of the
day, might with ease be extracted, did not the limits of
my little volume compel me to refrain from entering at
large into this history of rogues ; a restriction I the
more regret, from its containing several passages illus*
trating the manners of that period, and which would be
found of material use towards explaining many of the
allusions met with in our early English dramas,, and
now but imperfectly understood.
« U A Prygger of Prauncers. (Sign. C. iii. V>.)
" A prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers, for to
prip.ge signifieth in their language to steale, and a prami-
cer is a horse, so beinge put together, the matter is plaine.
These go commonly in jerkins of leather or of white
frese, & carry little wandes in their hands, and will
walke through grounds and pasturs, to search and se
horses mete for their purpose. And if thei chaunce to
be met and asked by the owners of the grounde what
they make there, they fayne straighte that they have
loste theyr waye; and desyre to be enstructed the beste
.
* « These antem mortes be marled wemen, as there be but
a fewe : for antem, in the.ir language is a churche — " £c. Har-
mon. Sign. E. iv. A walking morte is one unmarried : a
dgxe, a dell, and a kynch in mart e, are all females; and a kyn-
clten co rs a young boy not thoroughly instructed iu theart«f~
c anting and prigging.
way to suche a place. These will also repayre to gen*
tlemens houses, and aske theyr charitve, and will offer
theyr 'seruice. And if you aske them what they can
doe, they wil save that they can kepe two or three gel-
dinges, and waite vppon a gentleman. These haue also
theyr women that, walkinge from them in other places,
marke where and what they see abrode, and sheweth
these priggars therof, when they meete, whych is wyth-
in a'weeke or two. And loke, where they steale any
thynge, they conuey the same at the leaste three score
miles of, or more. There was a gentleman, a verye
friende of myne, rydynge from London hoinewarde into
Rente, hauinge within three myles of his house busy-
nesse, alyghted of his horse, and hys man also, in a
pretye village, where diuers houses were, and looked
about hym where he myghte haue a conuenyent person
to walke his horse, because he would speak \ve a farmer
that dwelte on the backe side of the sayde village, little
aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he light-
ed, and had his man to waight vpon hym, as it was
mete for his callynge : espieng a priggar there standing,
thinkinge the same to dwel there, charging this prity
prigginge person to walke his horse well, and that
they might not stande still fortakynge of colde, and at
bis returne (which he saiUe should not be longe,) he
would geue him a peny to drinke, and so wente about
his busines. Thys peltinge priggar, proude of his
prayoj waiketh hys horses vp and downe, till he sawe
the gentleman out of 'sighte, and leapes him into the
saddell, and awaye he goeth a mayne. This' gentleman
returning, and findyng not his horses, sente his man to
the one endeof the village, & he went himselfe vnto the
other ende, and enquired as he went for hys horses that
were walked, and began somewhat to suspecte, because
neither he nor his man coulde neyther see nor fynde
him. Then this gentleman diligently enquired of three
or foure towne dwellers there whether any such person,
declaring his stature, age, apparel, and so man ye lina-
mentes of his body as he coulde call to remembraunce.
And -crui voce, all sayde that no such man dwelte in their
streate, neither in the parish that they knewe of, but
some did wel remember that suche a one they sawe
there lyrkinge and huggeringe * two houres before the
gentleman came thether and a straunger to them. J
had thought, quoth this gentleman, he had here dwelled,
and marched home mannerly in his boles : farre from
the place he dwelt not. J suppose at his comming home
he sente such wayes as he suspected or thought mete to
search for this prigger, but hetherto he neuer harde any
tidinges againe of his palfreys. J had the best gelding
stolen out of my pasture that J had amogst others, while
this boke was first a printing."
.11 *aoft
At the end of the several characters, the author gives
a list of the names of the most oiotorious thieves of his
day, a collection of the cant phrases used by themy Wfti
* In Florto's Italian Dictionary, the word dinascos6]&ex~
plained " secretly, hiddenly, in hugger-mugger." Sek alsfc
Reed's Shakspeare, xviii. 2S4. Old Plays, 178Q±y&i 48.
253
their significations •; and a dialogue between anuprighte.
man and a roge, which I shall transcribe : —
" The vpright Cofe canteth to the Roger.
92U£3e The vprighte man spaketh to the roge.
' Man. Bene lyghtmans to thy quarromes in what
lipke hast them lipped in this darkeraanes ; 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 sir awe ?
Roge. J couched a hogeshed in a skypper this darke-
mans. 3W9D3I ^D 'ssite
SWB8 vllaye me dozen to sleepe in a barne this night
Man. J towre ye strummell tryne vpon thy nabcher
& togman.
ibslfev I see the straw hange vpon thy cap and coated bed
Roge. J saye by the Salomon J wyll lage it of with a
gage of bene house then cut to my nose watch, i'q grfj
J sweare by the masse J wyll wash it of with a quart of
drinke, then saye to me what thou wilt. ln.63?
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. ;t JA
Man. Why where is the kene that hath the bene
iouse?
Where is the house that hath the good drinke ?
Roge. A bene mort hereby at the signe of the
praunccr,
«8* A good uyfe here by at the signe of the hors. basH
254
Man, J cutt it is quyer buose J bousd a flagge the
laste darkemans.
J saye it is small and naughtye drynke, J dranke a groale
there the last night.
Roge. But bouse there a bord, and thou shalt haue
beneship. : 9,rf-i£r
But drinke there a shyllinge, and thou sMt haue very
S°°d- 3.-JS Q&
Tower ye, yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and
maund that is beneshype.
Se yon, yonder is the house, open the doore, and aske Jor
the lest.
Man, This bouse is as benshyp as rorae bouse.
This drinke i$ 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 tehat good meate shee hath in her
house.
Roge. She hath a cacling chete, a grunting chete,
ruff pecke, cassan, and popplarr ofyarum.
She hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese, and ntylke porrage.
Man. That is beneshyp to oure watche.
That is very good for vs.
Now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete.
Nome we haue well dronke, let vs stcale some thinge,^ j{
Yonder dvvelleth a quyere cuffenit were beneshype to
myll hym.
Yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man it «
very well donne to robbe him. I0 t&jlMAvt riiiw
. Nowe, bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the
ruffmanes is by.
Naye, let vs £0 hence to the hygh wtiye, the zvvdes it at
handc.
. So may we happen on the harmanes and cly the
jarke, or to the quyer ken and skower quyaer cramp-
rings and so to tryning on the chates.
So we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whyp-
ped, eyther had to prison-house, and there be shackeledwith
bolttes and fetters, and then to hange on the gallowes.
[Rdgue.] Gerry gan the ruffian clye thee.
A corde in thy mouth, the deuyll take thee.
Man. What! stowe you bene cofe and cut benar
vvhydds ; 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 deuseauyel, 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."
.Oj6ffo 9£I108 £
I have been induced, from the curiosity and rarity of
thfs tract, to extend my account of it farther, perhaps,
than many of my readers may think reasonable, and
shall, therefore, only add a specimen of Harman's poetry,
with which the original terminates.
256
" (£f Tfeus 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 tbe same description is noticed in
Herbert's Ames (p. 885.) as printed so early as in 1565.
A copy of the second edition in the Bodleian Library,
possesses the following title : — " The Fratcrnitye of Ua-
cabondcs. As zed of rnflyng Vacabondes, as of beggerly, of
women as of men, of gyrles as of boyes, with their proper
names and qualities. With a description of the crafty com-
pany of Cousoners and Shifters. Whereunto also is ad-
ioyned the xxv orders of Knaues, otherwyse called a Quar-
tern of Knaues. Confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell *, #c.
Imprinted at London by lohn Awdeley, dwellyng in little
Britayne streete without Aldersgate. 1575." This, al-
though much shorter than Harman's, contains nearly
the same characters, and is therefore thus briefly dis-
missed. An account of it, drawn up by the editor of the
present volume, may be found in Brydges* British Biblio-
grapher,\o\. ii. p. 12.
* Herbert notices Cock Lorelles Bote, which he describes
to be. a satire in verse, in which the author enumerates all the
most common trades and callings then in being. It was
printed, in black letter, Wynken de Worde, 4to. without date.
History of Printing ii. 224, and Percy's Reliques, i, 137,
edit. 1794.
257
It may not be amiss to notice in this place, that a
considerable part of The Bel/nan of London, bringing
to light the most notorious villanies that are now prac-
tised in the kingdom, #c. 4to. 1608, is derived from Har-
man'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 so borrowed, marked
in the hand-writing of the author of the Anatomy of Me-
lancholy, who has also copied the canting dialogue just
given, and added several notes of his own on the margin.
ii. Picture of a Puritane, Qvo. 1605. [Dr. Farmer's
Sale Catalogue, page 153, No. 3709.]
iii, " A Wife now the Widdow of Sir Thomas Overbvryc.
Being a most exquisite and singular Poem of the
Choice of a Wife. Wherevnto are added many
witty Characters, and conceited Nezves, written by
himselfe and other learned Gentlemen his friends.
Dignum laude wrum musa vetat mori,
Ccelo musa beat. Hor. Car. lib. 3.
London Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and are to bee
sold at his shop in Paule's Church-yardt at the signe of
the Tiger's head. 1614."*
[4to. pp. 64, not numbered.]
* In 1614 appeared The Husband, a Poeme, expressed in
a compleat man. See Censura Literaria, v. 365. John Da-
258
Of Sir Thomas Overbury's life, and unhappy end, we
have so full an account in the Eiogruphia, and the va-
rious historical productions, treating of the period in
which he lived, that nothing further will be expected
in this place. His Wife and Characters were printed,
says Wood, several times during his lite, and the edi-
tion above noticed, was supposed, by the Oxford biogra-
pher, to be the fourth or fifth *. Having never seen a
copy of the early editions, I am unable to fix on any
character undoubtedly the production of Overbury, and
the printer confesses some of them were written by
" other learned gentlemen." These were greatly en-
creased iu subsequent impressions, that of 1614 having
only twenty-one characters, and that in 1622 contain-
ing no less than eighty.
vies, of Hereford, wrote A Select Second Hvsbund for Sir
Thomas Overbvries Wife, now a matchlesse widow. 8vo. Lond.
1616. And in 1673 was published, The Illustrious Wife,
viz. That excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overbvrie's Wife, illus-
trated by Giles Oldisworth, Nephew to the same Sir T. O.
* It was most probably the fifth, as Mr. Capel, who has
printed the Wife, in his very curious volume, entitled Pro-
lusions, 8vo. Lond. 1760, notices two copies in 1614, one in
8vo- which I suppose to be the third, and one in 4to. stated
in the title to be the fourth edition : the sixth was in the
following year, 1615; the seventh, eighth, and ninth were
in 1616, the eleventh in 1622, twelfth in 1627, thirteenth 1 628,
fourteenth, 1630, fifteenth, 1632, sixteenth, 1638, and Mr.
Brand possessed a copy, the specific edition of which I am
unable to state, printed in 1655. Catalogue, No. 4927.
259
A COURTIER, — (Sign. C.4. />.)
To all men's thinking is a man, and to most men the
finest : all things else are denned by the understanding,
but this by the sences ; but his surest marke is, that hee
is to bee found onely about princes. Hee smells ; and
putteth away much of his judgement about the scitu-
ation of his clothes. Hee knowes no man that is not
generally knowne. His wit, like the marigold, openeth
with the sunne, and therefore he riseth not before ten
of the clocke. Hee puts more confidence in his words
than meaning, and more in his pronuntiation than his
words. Occasion is his Cupid, and hee hath but one
receipt of making loue. Hee followes nothing but in-
constancic, admires nothing but beauty, honours no-
thing but fortune. Loues nothing. The sustenance of
his discourse is newes, and his censure like a shot de-
pends vpon the charging. Hee is not, if he be out of
court, but, fish-like, breathes destruction, if out of his
owne element. Neither his motion, or aspect are regu-
lar, but he mooues by the vpper spheres, and is the re-
flexion of higher substances. If you finde him not
heere, you shall in Panics with a pick-tooth in his hat,
a cape cloke,and a long stocking.
iv. " Satyrical Essayes, Characters, and others, or accu-
rate and quick Descriptions, fitted to the life of
their SubiectS.
£#'?. Theophras.
s 2
260
Aspice et hcec, si forte aliquid decoctius audis,
Jude vaporata Lector mihiferucat aure. IUUENT.
Plagosus minime Plagiarius.
John Stephens. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, and
are to be sold by Roger Barnes, at his Shop in St, Dun-
stane'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 with a fresh title page, dated 1631 *,
we find the author to be " John Stephens the younger,
of Lincoln's Inn :" no other particulars of him appear to
exist at present, excepting that he was the author of a
play entitled, Cinthia's Revenge ; or, Manander's Rxtasie.
Lond. for Barnes, 1613, 4to. " which," says Langbaine,
" is one of the longest plays I ever read, and withal the
most tedious." Ben Jonson addressed some lines f to
* 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. 1 613, " Essays and Characters, Ironical and In-
structive," but this must be a mistake.
t " 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.
261
the author, whom he calls " his much and worthily
esteemed friend," as did F. C, G. Rogers, and Thomas
Danet.
Stephens dedicates his book to Thomas Turner, Esq.
Eor the sake of a little variety I give one of his " three
satyricall Essayes on Cowardlinesse," 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 scene,
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.
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."
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 possessed with a religious feare)
To slip occasion, when they might erect
Homes 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, vnvvise,
And, like a timorous coward, too precise.
263
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'u couetous eye:
And now the name of generosity,
Of noble cartage 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,
264
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 and Characters, with a new Satyre in de-
fence of the Common Law, and Lawyers : mixt with re-
proofe against their Enemy Ignoramus, &c. London,
1631." It seems not improbable that some person had
attacked Stephens's first edition, although I am unable
to discover the publication alluded to. I suspect him
to be the editor of, or one of the contributors to, the
later copies of Sir Thomas Overbury's Wife, &c. : since
one of Stephens's friends, (a Mr. I. Cocke) in a poetical
address prefixed to his New Essayes, says " I am heere
enforced to claime 3 characters following the Wife * ;
viz. the Tinker, the Apparatour, and Almanack-maker,
that I may signify the ridiculous and bold dealing of an
vnknowne botcher : but I neede make no question what
he is; for his hackney similitudes discouer him to be the
rayler above-mentioned, whosoeuer that rayler be."
* These were added to the sixth edition of the Wife, in
1615.
265
v. Caracters upon Essaies, morall and diuine, written for
those good spirits that will take them in good part,
and 'make use of them to good purpose. London :
Printed by Edw. Griffin far John Guillim, and are to
-be sold at his shop in Britaines Burse. 1615. 12mo.
[Censura Literaria, v. 51. Monthly Mirror, xi. 16/j
vi. The Good and the Badde, or Descriptions of the Wor-
thies and Vnworthies of this Age. Where the Best
may see their Graces, and the Worst discerns their
Basenesse. London, Printed by George Purslowefor
lohn Budge, and are to be sold at the great South-dore
ofPaules^andat Brittaines Bursse. 1616.
[4to. containing pp. 40, title, dedication " to Sir Gilbert
Houghton, Knight," and preface six more. A second
edition appeared in 1643, under the title of England's
Selected Characters, &c.]
The author of these characters * was Nicholas Bre-
ton, who dedicates them to Sir Gilbert Houghton, of
* These are a king ; a queen ; a prince ; a privycounsel-
lor; a noble man; a bishop ; a judge; a knight; a gentle-
man ; a lawyer ; a soldier ; a physician ; a merchant (their
good and bad characters) ; a good man, and an atheist 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
Houghton, Knight. Of Breton no particulars are now
known, excepting what may be gained from an epitaph
in Norton church, Northamptonshire *, by which we
learn that he was the son of Captain Breton, of Tarn-
worth, in Staffordshire, and served himself in the Low
Countries, under the command of the Earl of Leicester.
He married Anne, daughter of Sir Edward Legh, or
Leigh, of Rushell, Staffordshire, by whom he had five
sons and four daughters, and having purchasedthe ma-
nor of Norton, died there June 22, 1624 f.
Breton appears to have been a poet of considerable
reputation among his contemporaries, as he is noticed
with commendation by Puttenhem and Meres : Sir Sa-
muel Egerton Brydges declares that his poetical powers
were distinguished by a simplicity, at once easy and
•elegant. Specimens of his productions in verse, may
be found in Percy's Reliqucs, Ellis's Specimens, Cooper's
Muses' Library, Censura Literaria ; and an imperfect list
woman ; an unquiet woman ; a good wife ; an effeminate fool ;
a parasite ; a bawd ; a drunkard ; a coward ; an honest poor
man ; a just man ; a repentant sinner ; a reprobate ; an old
man ; a young man, and a holy man.
* It is by no means certain that this may not be intended
to perpetuate the memory of some other person of the same
names, although Mr. Gough, in a note to the second volume
of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, seems to think it belongs to
our author.
t Bridge;
Staffordshire, vol. i. page 422.
267
of his publications is given by Ritson, in the Bibliogm-
phia Pottica, which is augmented by Mr. Park, in the
Cens. Lit. ix. 163 *.
A WORTHIE PRIUIE COTJNCELLEIl.
A worthy priuie counceller is the pillar of a realme, in
whose wisedome and care, vnderGod and the king, stands
the safety of a kingdome ; he is the watch-towre to giue
warning of the enemy, and a hand of prouision for the
preseruation of the state: hee is an oracle in the king's
eare, and a sword in the king's hand, an euen weight in
* To these lists of Breton's productions may be added,
1. A Solemne Passion of the Soule's Loue. 4to. Lond. 1598.
2. The Mother's Blessing, 4to. Lond. 1602. 3. A Trve De-
scription of vnthtmkfulnesse ; or an enemie to Ingratitude.
4to. Lond. 1602. 4. Breton's Longing, 4to. title lost in the
Bodleian copy : prefixed are verses by H. T. gent. 5. A
Poste with « packet of Mad Letters, 4to. 1633, dedicated by
Nicholas Breton, to Maximilian Dallison of Hawlin, Kent.
The last tract excepted, all the above are in a volume be-
> queathed by Bishop Tanner to the university of Oxford, which
contains many of the pieces noticed by Ritson, and, in addi-
tion, The Passion of a discontented Minde. 4to. Lond. 1602,
which I should have no hesitation in placing to Breton. At
the end of the volume are The Passions of the Spirit, and
Excellent Vercis worthey imitation of every Christian in thier
Conuersiation, both in manuscript, and, if we may judge from
the style, evidently by the author before-mentioned. For the
Figures, in the composition of which he had certainly a share,
see page 224.
268
the ballance of justice, and a light of grace in the loue
of truth : he is an eye of care in the course of lawe, a
heart of loue in the seruice of his soueraigne, a mind of
honour in the order of his seruice, and a hraine of inuen-
tion for tjie good of the common-wealth ; his place is
powerful, while his seruice is faithfull, and his honour
due in the desert of his employment. In summe, he is
as a fixed planet mong the starres of the firmament,
which through the clouds in the ayre, shewes the nature
of his light.
AN VNWORTHIE COUNCELLEE.
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 care may give
way to vnhappinesse : he is a wicked charme in the
king's eare, a sword of terror in the aduice of tyranny :
his power is perillous in the partiality of will, and his
heart full of hollownesse in the protestation of loue:
hypocrisie is the couer of his counterfaite religion, and
traiterous inuetion is the agent of his ambition : he is
the cloud of darknesse, that threatneth foule weather,
and if it growe to a storme, it is feareful where it falls :
hee is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and wor-
thie of death in disloyalty to his soueraigne. In summe,
he is an vnfit person for the place of a counceller, and
an vnworthy subject to looke a king in the face.
269
AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.
An effeminate foole is the figure of a baby : he loues
nothing but gay, to look in a glasse, to keepe among
wenches, and to play with trifles; to feed on sweet
meats, and to be daunced in laps, to be imbraced in
armes, and to be kissed on the cheeke : to talke idlely,
to looke demurely, to goe nicely, and to laugh conti-
nually : to be his mistresse' servant, and her mayd's
master, his father's love, and his mother's none-child :
to play on a fiddle, and sing a loue-song, to weare sweet
gloues, and look on fine things : to make purposes and
write verses, deuise riddles, and tell lies: to follow
plaies, and study daunces, to heare newes, and buy
trifles : to sigh for loue, and weepe for kindnesse, and
niourne for company, and bee sicke for fashion : to ride
in a coach, and gallop a hackney, to watch all night,
and sleepe out the morning : to lie on a bed, and take
tobacco, and to 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 a puppet. In
summe, hee is a man-childe, and a woman's man, a
gaze of folly, and wisedome's griefe*.
s jjILsl Tr swdw J?
* I am not aware that the following specimen of his versifi-
cation, which is cnrious, has been reprinted.
270
" TH2 CHESSE PLAY.'*
Very aptly deuised by N. B. Gent.
[From " The PhamiX Nest. Built tp with the most rare and
refined workes of Noblemen, woorthy Knights, gallant Gen-
tlemen, Masters of Arts, andbraue Schollers," &c. « Setfoorth
by R. S. of the Inner Temple, Gentleman.9' 4to. London,
by lohn lackson, 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.
k
THE KING.
The King himselfe is hanghtie 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 ouer'throwes.
271
THE KNIGHT.
The Knight is knowledge how to tight
Against his prince's enimies,
He iieuer 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 Grossest 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.
272
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 bardie, valiant, wise :
The Bishop prudent and precise.
The llookes no raungers out of raie %
The Pawnes the pages in the plaie,
L ENVOY.
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.
* Raie, for array ; order, rank. So Spencer;
" And all the daiuzil* of thattowneiij ray,
Came daunomg forth, and ioyous carrols song :"
Faerit Qtifene. book v, canto xi. 34
273
And when you plaie beware of checke,
Know how to saue and giue a necke :
And witli 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."
Vii. Essayes and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners.
Written by G. M. of Grayes'-Inne, Gent. (Wood-
cut of a keeper standing with the hatch of a pri-
son 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 laylor strips the Diuell in ill.")
Printed at London for Mathew Walbancke and are to be
solde at his shops at the new and old Gate ofGrayes-Inne.
1618.
[4to. pp. 48. title, dedication, &c. eight more.]
A second edition appeared in 1638, and, as the tide
informs us, " with some new additions :" what these
were I am not able to state, as my copy, although it ap-
pears perfect, contains precisely the same with that of
1618.
Of Geffray Mynshul, as he signs his name to the de-
dication, I can learn no particulars, but I have reason to
suppose him descended from an ancient and highly
274
•respectable family, residing at Minshull, in the county of
Chester*, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centu-
ries. By what mishap he became an inmate of the
Khig's-bench prison, from when he dates f his Essayes,
it is impossible to conjecture, but as he talks of usury
and extortion, as well as of severe creditors ; and advises
those who are compelled to borrow, to pay as soon as
they can, we may suppose that imprudence and extra-
vagance assisted in reducing him to the situation he at-
tempts to describe, o.;ohu3io
In tbe dedication to his nncle, " Mr. Matthew Maiu-
waringt, of Namptwich, in Cheshire," he says :—
" Siuce my comming into this prison, what with the
straugenesse of the place, and strictnesse of my liberty,
I am so transported that I could not follow that study
wherein I tooke great delight and cheife pleasure, .and
to spend my time idley would but adde more discori-
* In the church of St. Mary, at Nantwlch, in that county,
is a monument erected by Geofry Minshull, of Stoke, Esq.
to the memory of his ancestors. Historical Account of ffant-
wick, 8vo. 1774, page S3. King, in his Vale Royal of England,
folio, Lond. 1656, page 74, speaks of Minshall-hall, « a very
ancient seat, which hath continued the successions of a wor-
shipfnll race in its own name"— &c.
t This place of residence was omitted in the second edition.
^ The Mainwarings were an old family of repute, being
mentioned as residing near Nantwich, by Leland, ftin. vol. 7.
pt. i. fol. 43. See also the list of escheators of Cheshire, in
'Leicester's Historical Antiquities, folio, Lond. 1G7H, p.'l«6.
•275
tenements to my troubled brest, and being in thi*
chaos of discontentments, fantasies must arise, which
will bring forth the fruits of an idle braine, for e walis
minimum. It is farre better to giue some accompt of
time, though to little purpose, than none at all. To
which end I gathered a hanrlfull of essayes, and few
characters of such things as by my owne experience I
could say Probatum est : not that thereby I should
either please the reader, or shew exquisitenes of inuen-
tion, or curious stile ; seeing what I write of is but the
child of sorrow, bred by discontentments, and nou-
risht vp with misfortunes, to whose help melancholly
Saturne gaue his Judgement, the night-bird her imien-
tion, and the ominous rauen brought a quill taken from
'His owne wing, dipt in the inke of misery, as chiefe
ayders in this architect of sorrow." 1 maredw
ncoeib aio.r n fcuaae oi
Jfirflm" CHARACTER OF A PRISONER. J} flj *
pa3
A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingring vndei.
the rough hands of a cruell phisitian: his creditor hauing
v^i£t his water knpwes his disease, and hath power to
sure, him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is
like Tantalus, who hath freedome running by his
,doore, yet cannot enioy the least benefit thereof. His
greatest griefe is that his credit was so good and now
, no better. His land is drawne within the compasse of
a sheepe's ^kin, and his owne hand the tbrtihcatkm thai:
barres him of entrance : hce is fortunes tossing-bal, an
276
obiect that would make mirth melancholy: to his friends
an abiect, and a subiect of nine dayes' wonder in euery
barber's shop, and a mouthfull of pitty (that he had no
better fortune) to midwiues and talkatiue gossips ; and
all the content that this transitory life can giue him
seemes but to flout him, in respect the restraint of li-
berty barres the true vse. To his familiars hee is like a
plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for feare of
infection, he is a monument ruined by those which
raysed him, he spends the day with a hei mihi / ve mi"
serum ! and the night with a nullis est medicabilis herbis."
urfjijfi arij
>19q V
riii. Cms for the Itch. Characters. Epigrams. Epitaphs.
By H. P. Scalpat qui tangitur. London^ Printed for
Thomas Tones, at the signe of the Blacke Rauen in the
Strand. 1626. [8vo. containing pp. 142, not num-
bered.]
A ic,. 3fl9G,
I have little doubt but that the initials H. P. may be
attributed with justice to Henry Parrot, author of La-
quei ridiculosi : or, Springes for Woodcocks, a collection of
epigrams, printed at London in 1613 *, 8vo. and com-
mended by Mr. Warton, who says, that " many of them
* Mr. Steevens quotes an edition in 1606, but the preface
expressly states, that they were composed in 1611.—" Duo
propemodum anni elapsi sunt, ex quo primum Epigramanata
h<ec Cqualiacunque) rapiim etfestinanter perficiebain':'?-&v.
277
are worthy to be revived in modern collections *. 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. 4,to. 1608, — and The More the Merrier : con-
taining three-score and odde headlesse Epigrams, shot (like
the Fooles bolt) amongst you, light where they will, 4to.
' ° J ' ° J
1608 f.
It appears from the Preface to Cvresfor the Itch, that
the Epigrams and Epitaphs were written in 1624, during
the author's residence in the country, at the " long vaca-
tion," and the Characters t, which are " not so fully per-
fected as was meant," were composed " of later times."
The following afford as fair a specimen of this part of
. • " . -I sfo -to\ 83
the volume as can be produced.
IV^WJ) ..^ ^,£J
.
•nwnJoa .£H ,q<; " A SCOLD. (B. 5.)
Is a much more heard of, then least desired to bee
scene or knowne, she-kinde of serpent; the venom'd
sting of whose poysonous tongue, worse then the biting
of a scorpidrij proues more infectious farre then can be
onoiJo--..
'History of English Poetry, il.73.
t Censura Lileraria,m. 387, 388.
$ These consist of a ballad-maker; a tapster; a drunkard;
a rectified young man; a. young nouice's new yonger wife ;
..aCcomnipn fidler; a broker; a iouiall good fellow; a hu-
moorist ^ ;a malepart yong upstart ; a scold ; a good wife.
andaselfe conceited .pareell- witty old dotard.
278
cured. Shee's of all other creatures most vntameablest,
and couets more the last word in scoulding, then doth a
Corabater the last stroke for victorie. She lowdest
lifts it standing at her door, bidding, wth exclamation, flat
defiance to any one sayes blacke's her eye. She dares
-appeare before any iustice, nor is least daunted with the
sight of counstable, nor at worst threatnings of a cuck-
ing-stoole. There's nothing mads or moues her more to
outrage, then but the very naming of a wispe, or if you
sing or whistle when she is scoulding. If any in the in-
terim chance to come within her reach, twenty to one
she scratcheth him by the face; or doe 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 full measure of digestion, shee presently for-
gets all vrrongs that's done her, and thereupon falls
streight a weeping. Doe but intreat her with faire
words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imper-
fections, and layes the guilt vpon the whore her mayd.
Her manner is to talke much in her sleepe, what
wrongs she hath indured of that rogue her husband,
whose hap may be in time to dye a martyr; and so I
leaue them."
390TBI oi bste?
" A GOOD WIFE, ,»qe ^Ilfia
Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom
in conceit, and makes a perfect adiunct in societie;
shee's such a comfort as exceeds content, and proues so
precious as canot be paralleld, yea more inestimable then
may be valued. Shee's any good man's better second
279
second selfe, the very mirror of true constant modesty,
the carefull huswife of frugalitie, and dearest obiect of
man's heart's felicitie. She commands with mildnesse,
rules with discretion, Hues in repute, and ordereth all
things that are good or necessarie. Shee's her husband's
solace, her house's ornament, her children's succor, and
her seruant's comfort. Shee's (to be briefe) the eye of
warinesse,3 the tongue of silence, the hand of labour,
and the heart of loue. Her voice is musicke, her coun-
tenance meeknesse ; her minde vertuous, and her soule
gratious. Shee's a blessing giuen from God to man, a
sweet companion in his affliction, and ioynt co-partner
upon all occasions. Shee's (to conclude) earth's chiefest
paragon, and will bee, when shee dyes, heauen's dearest
»
creature. .ua^m ilii:
alfet aoqus'.
slifiV dim " '
-iStfrtir i3d
ix. Characters of Verttes and Vices. In two Bookes. By
los. Ball. Imprinted at London, 1627.
^basdeud isif su aoiw
.The above is copied from a separate title in the col-
lected works of Bishop Hall, printed in folio, and dedi-
cated to James the First. The book, I believe, origi-
nally appeared in 8vo. 1608*. Of this edition I have
id vain endeavoured to procure some information, al-
though I cannot fancy it to be of any peculiar rarity.
suoiq bos ,in9Jno'>
* See Brand's Sale Catalogue, 8vo. 1307, page 115, No,
.tool?'
280
The volume contains a dedication to Edward Lord
Denny, and James Lord Hay, a premonition of the title
and use of characters, the proemes, eleven virtuous cha-
racters, and fifteen of a different description. As Bi-
shop Hall's collected works have so lately appeared in a
new edition, and as Mr. Pratt* proposes to add a life of
the author in a subsequent volume, I shall forbear
giving any specimen from the works or biographical
notices of this amiable prelate, recommending the pe-
rusal of his excellent productions, to all who admire
the combination of sound sense with unaffected de-
votion.
tuo Si»oJ Huq oj
?.it{ no gainso!'
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.for Michael Sparke,
dwelling at the blue Bible, in Greene Arbor. 1629,
[8vo. containing 56 pages, not numbered.]
. <W9IV
The characters in this volume are " A fantasticke
taylor; a player; a shooe-maker; a rope-maker; a
smith; a tobacconist ; a cunning woman ; a cobler; a
tooth-drawer; a tinker; a fidler; a cunning horse-
courser; Bethlem; Ludgate; Bridewell; (and) New-*
gate."—
* See the Gentleman's Magazine for October, 1810,
LXXXI. 317.
cr sriT
Utf$%73£ftBfc B. in.)
Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time,
who by his representation and appearance makes things
long past seeme present. He is much like the compters
in arithmeticke, and may stand one while for a king,
another while a begger, many times as a mute or cy-
pher. Sometimes hee represents that which in his life
he scarse practises— to be an honest man. To the point,
hee oft personates a rover, and therein cornes neerest to
himselfe. If his action prefigure passion, he raue?,
rages, and protests much by his painted heauens, and
seemes in the heighth of this fit ready to pull loue out
of the garret, where pershance hee lies leaning on his
elbowes, or is imployed to make squips and crackers to
grace the play. His audience are often-times iudicious,
but his chiefe admirers are commonly young wanton
chamber-maids, who are so taken with his posture and
gay clothes, they neuer come to be their owne women
after. Hee exasperates men'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 more occasions to worke on. He is the generall
corrupter of spirits, yet vntainted, inducing them by
gradation to much lasciuious deprauity. He is a per-
spicuity of vanity in variety, and suggests youth to per-
petrate such vices, as otherwise they had haply nere
heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocrite
seeming what he is not, and is indeed what hee seemes
not, And if hee lose one of his fellow stroules, in the
summer he turnes king of the gipsies : if not, some great
man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his peregri-
nation, and a meanes to procure him the town-hall,
where hee may long exercise his qualities, with clown-
claps of great admiration, in a tone sutable to the large
eares of his illiterate auditorie. Hee is one seldome
takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, to-
gether with a consumption, or some worse disease, taken
vp in his full careere, haue onely chalked out his catas-
trophe but to a colon : and he scarsely suruiues to his
naturall period of dayes."
>DU3
dT
xi. Whimzies : Or, A new Cast of Characters. Nova, non
nota deleclant. London, Printed by F. K. and are
to be sold ly Ambrose Rithirdon, at the signe of the
Bull's-head, in Paul's Church-yard. 1631.
[I2mo. containing in all, pp. 280.]
The dedication to this volume, which is inscribed to
sir Alexander Radcliffe, is signed " Clitus — Alexandri-
nus ;n the author's real name I am unable to discover.
It contains twenty-four characters *, besides " A cater-
iora gbloti
* An almanack-maker; a ballad-moager ; a corranto-
coiner ; a decoy ; an exchange man ; a forrester ; a gamester ;
an hospitall-man • a iayler ; a keeper ; a laundcrer ; a metall
man ; a neuter ; an ostler ; a post-master : a quest-man ; a
rnffian ; a sailor : a trauller j an rnder sheriffe ; a wme-
soaker j a Xantippean j a yealous neighbour ; a zealous bro-
ther.
character, thro&ne out of a loxe ty an experienced game-
ster * ;" and some lines " vpon the birth-day of his
sonne lohii," of which the first will be sufficient to sa-
tisfy all curiosity.
«< God blesse thee, lohn,
J tiafc i And make thee such an one
a«L:, That I may ioy
•2£tea gjjrf ifa calling thee my son. , > [[& 2
zid cc
Thou art my ninth,
and by it I divine
That thou shalt live
to love the Muses nine."— &c. &c.
3-ta h«fc .& ,1 ^fc »Xojt
^ x « A CORUANTO-COINER-Cp. 15.)
Is a state newes-monger ; and his owne genius is his
intelligencer. His mint goes weekely, and he coines
monie by it. Howsoeuer, the more intelligent mer-
chants doe jeere him, the vulgar doe admire him, hold-
ing his novels oracular: and these are usually sent for
tokens or intermissiue curtsies betwixt city and countrey.
Hee holds most constantly one forme or method of dis-
course. He retaines some militarie words of art, which
hee shootes at randome ; no matter where they hitt,
they cannot wound any. He ever leaves some passages
* This eater-character, which possesses a separate title
page, contains delineations of an apparatorj a painter j a
pedlerj and a piper,
284
doubtfull, as if they were some more intimate secrecies
of state, clozing his sentence abruptly with — heereafter
you shall heare more. Which words, I conceire, he onely
useth as baites, to make the appetite of the reader more
eager in his next week's pursuit for a more satisfying
labour. Some generall-erring relations he pickes up,
as crummes or fragments, from a frequented ord marie :
of which shreads he shapes a cote to fit any credulous
ibole that will weare it. You shall never observe him
make any reply in places of publike concourse; hee
ingenuously acknowledges himselfe to bee more bounden
to the happinesse of a retentive memory, than eyther
ability of tongue, or pregnancy of conceite. He car-
ryes his table-booke still about with him, but dares not
pull it out publikely. Yet no sooner is the table drawee,
than he turnes notarie ; by which meanes hee recovers
the charge of his ordinarie. Paules is his walke in win-
ter; Moorfields * in sommer. Where the whole disci-
pline, designes, projects, and exploits of the States, Ne-
therlands, Poland, Svvitzer, Crimchan and all, are within
the compasse of one quadrangle walke most judiciously
* Meoifields were a general promenade for the citizens of
London, during the summer months. The ground was left tdi
the city by Mary and Catherine, daughters of sir William
Fines, a Knight of Rhodes, in the reign of Edward the Con-
fessor. Richard Johnson, a poetaster of the sixteenth cen-
tury, published in 1607, The Pleasant Walkes of Moore -fields.
Being the Guift of two Sisters, now beautified, to the continuing
fame of this worthy Citty. 4to. black-letter, of which Mr..
Gough, (Brit. Topog.) who was ignorant of the above, no-
tices an impression in 1617.
and punctually discovered. But Ions; he must not
walke, lesthee make his newcs-presse stand. Thanks to
his good invention, he can collect much out of a very
little : no matter though more experienced judgements
disprove him ; hee is anonymos, and that wil secure
him. To make his reports more credible or, (which he
and his stationer onely aymes at,) more vendible, in the
relation of every occurrent he renders you the day of
the moneth ; and to approve himselfe a scholler, he an-
nexeth these Latine parcells, or parcell-gilt sentences,
veteri stylo, now stylo. Palisados, parapets, connter-
scarfes, forts, fortresses, rampiers, bulwarks, are his
usual dialect. Hee writes as if he would doe some mis-
chiefe, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. Hee will
sometimes start in his sleepe, as one affrighted with vi-
sions, which I can impute to no other cause but to the
terrible skirmishes which he discoursed of in the day-
time. He has now tyed himselfe apprentice to the
trade of minting, and must weekly performe his taske,
or (beside the losse which accrues to himselfe,) he dis-
appoints a number of no small fooles, whose discourse,
discipline, and discretion, is drilled from his state-service.
These you shall know by their Mondai's morning ques-
tion, a little before Exchange time ; Stationer, have you
any newest Which they no sooner purchase than pe-
ruse; and, early by next morning, (lest their countrey
friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a
prize,) they freely vent the substance of it, with some
illustrations, if their understanding can furnish them
that way. He would make you beleeve that hee were
J -•: "-
knownc to some forraine intelligence, but I hold him
the wisest man that hath the least faith to beleeve him,
Tor his relations he stands resolute, whether they be-
come approved, or evinced for untruths ; which if the}'
bee, hee has contracted with his face never to blush for
the matter. Hee holds especiall concurrence with two
philosophicall sects, though hee bee ignorant of the te-
nets of either : in the collection of his observations, he
is peripateticall, for hee walkes circularly; in the di-
gestion of his relations he is Stoicall, and sits regularly.
Hee has an alphabeticall table of all the chiefe com-
manders, generals, leaders, provinciall townes, rivers,
ports, creekes, with other fitting materials to furnish
his imaginary building. Whisperings, muttrings, and
bare suppositions, are sufficient grounds for the autho-
ritie of his relations. It is strange to see with what
greedinesse this ayrie Chameleon, being all lungs and
winde, will swallow a receite of newes, as if it were phy-
sicall: yea, with what frontlesse insinuation he will
scrue himselfe into the. acquaintance of some knowing
Intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his hollow sound,
do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his
voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled,
they would vye in number with the Iliads of many fore-
running ages. You shall many times finde in his Ga-
zettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions ;
here a city taken by force long before it bee besieged f
there a countrey laid waste before ever the enemie en-
tered. He many times tortures his readers with imper-
tinencies. yet are these the tolerablest passages
267
«4it alibis discourse. lie is the very landskip of our age.
He is all ayre; his care alwayes open to all reports,
which, how incredible soever, must passe for currant.
and find vent, purposely to get him currant money, and
delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his chymeras
live not long ; a weeke is the longest iu the citie, and
after their arrival, little longer in the countrey ; which
past, they melt like Butter, or match a pipe, and so
Burne *. But indeede, most commonly it is the height
of their ambition to aspire to the imploymeut of stop-
ping mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, pouder,
staves-aker, £c. which done, they expire. Now for his
habit, Wapping and Long-lane will give him his cha-
i^acter. Bteejionours nothing with a more indeered ob-
servance, nor hugges ought with more intimacie than
antiquitie, which he expresseth even in his cloathes. I
have kaowne some love fish best that smelled of the
panyer j and the like humour reignes in him, for hee
loves that apparele best that has a taste of the broker.
§0flfle: have held him for a scholler, but trust mee such
ure in a palpable errour, for hee never yet understood so
much Jaatine as to construe Gallo-Belgicus. For his li-
brarie (his owue continuations excepted,) it consists of
•3io"Wnjsrn lo gbsill o; uiuow xsnt
* This is certainly intended as a pun upon the names of two
news- venders or corranto-coiners of the day. Nathaniel Butter,
the publisher of " The certain Newes of thin present Week"
lived at the Pi/de-Bull, St. Austin's-gate, and was the proprie-
tor ofseveral of the intelligencers, from 1622 to about 1640.
Nicholas Bourne was a joint partner with Butter in Thf
Sveeditn tnteW*encer, 4to. Lond.lGM.
288
very few or no bookes. He holds himselfe highly en-
gaged to his invention if it can purchase him victuals;
for authors hee never converseth with them, imlesse
they walke in Panics. For his discourse it is ordinarie,
yet hee will make you a terrible repetition of desperate
commanders, unheard of exployts ; intermixing withali
his owne personal! service. But this is not in all com-
panies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him
in this principle — that as nothing workes more on the
simple than things strange and incredibly rare ; so no-
thing discovers his weaknesse more among the know-
ing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on
reports above conceite. Amongst these, therefore, hee.
is as mute as a fish. But now imagine his lampe (if he
be worth one,) to be neerely burnt out ; his inventing
genius wearied and surfoote with raunging over so
many unknowne regions ; and himselfe, wasted with the
fruitlesse expence of much paper, resigning his place of
weekly collections to another, whom, in hope of some
little share, hee has to his stationer recommended,
while he lives either poorely respected, or dyes miserably
suspended. The rest I end with his owne cloze ; — Next
zceeke you shall heare more."
289
fcli. Picture loquenles : or Pictures draune forth in Cha-
racters. With a Poeme of a Maid. By Wye *Sal~
tonstall. Nesutor ultra crepiiam. London: Printed
ly T. Coles, $c. 1631. 12/no.
I have copied the above title from an article in the
Censnra Lilerariu*, communicated by Mr. Park, of
whose copious information, and constant accuracy on
every subject connected with English literature, the pub-
lic have many specimens before them.
Saltonstall's f Characters, &c. reached a second edition
in 1G35. A copy of this rare volume is in the possession
of Mr. Douce, who, with his accustomed liberality, per-
mitted my able and excellent friend, Mr. John James
Park, to draw up the following account of it for the pre-
sent volume.
To " The Epistle dedicatory" of this impression, the
initials (or such like) of dedicatee's name only are given,
for, says the dedicator, " I know no fame can redound
unto you by these meane essayes, which were written,
Ocium magis foventes, quam studcntes gloria;, as sheap-
heards play upon iheir oaten pipes, to recreate them-
selves, not to get credit."
* Vol. 5, p. 372. Mr. Park says that the plan of the cha-
racters was undoubtedly derived from that of Overbury, but,
he adds, the execution is greatly superior. Four stanzas
from the poem entitled, A Maid, are printed in the same
volume.
t An account of the author may be found in the Afhcntr
OXOK, Vol. 1. col. 640.
290
s Reader.— Since the title is the first leafe
i hat cometh under censure, some, perhaps, will dislike
the name of pictures, and say, I have no colour for it,
which I confesse, for these pictures are not dravvne in
colours, but in characters, representing to the eye of the
minde divers severall professions, which, if they appeare
more obscure than I coulde wish, 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 the description of a maide, which
young men may read, and from thence learn to know,
that vertue is the truest beauty. The next follow in
their order, being set together in this little book, that in
winter you may reade them ad ignem, by the fireside,
and in summer ad umbram, under some shadie tree, and
therewith passe away the tedious howres. So hoping of
thy favourable censure, knowing that the least judicious
are most ready to judge, I expose them to thy view, with
Apelles motto, Ne sutor, ultra crepidam. Lastly, whe-
ther you like them, or leave them, yet the author bids
you welcome.
" Thine as mine,
W. S."
The Original Characters are,
1. The world. 5. A true lover.
2. An old man. 6. A countrey bride.
3. A woman. 7. A plowman.
4. A \viddo\v: 8. A melancholy man.
291
9. A young heire. 13. A chamberlainc.
10. A scholler in the uni- 19. A mayde.
versity. 20. A baylsy.
11. A lawyer's clarke. 21. A countrey fayre.
12., A townsman in Oxford. 22. A countrey alehouse.
13. An usurer. 93. A horse- race.
14. A wandering rogue. 2k A farmer's daughter.
15. A waterman. 25. A keeper.
16. A shepheard. 26. A gentleman's house in
17. A jealous man. the countrey.
The Additions to the second Edition arer
27. A fine dame. '34. The tearme.
28. A country dame. 35. A mower.
29. A gardiner. 36. A happy man.
30. A captaine. 37. An arrant knave.
31. A poore village. 38. An old waiting gentle-
32. A merry man. woman.
S3. A scrivener.
" THE TEARME
Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all com-
rners, while her sister Equity strives to mitigate the ri-
gour of her positive sentence. It is called the Tearme,
because it does end and terminate busines, or else be-
cause it is the Terminus ad quern, that is, the end of the
countrey man's journey, who comes up to the Tearme,
and with his hobnayle shooes grindes the faces of the
poore stones, and so returnes againe. It is the souie of
the yeare, and makes it quicke, which before was dead,
u 2
292
Inkeepers gape 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 vvalke with fresh
company, where Quid novi ? is their first salutation,
and the weekely newes their chiefe discourse. The ta-
vernes are painted against the tearme, and many a
cause is argu'd there and try'd at that barre, where you
are arljudg'd to pay the costs and charges, and so dis-
mist with ' welcome gentlemen.' Now the citty puts
her best side outward, and a new play at the Blackfryers
is attended on with coaches. It keepes watermen from
sinking and helpes them with many -a fare voyage to
Westminster. Your choyse beauties come up to it onely
to see and be seene, and to learne the newest fashion,
and for some other reci cations. Now monie that has
beene long sicke and crasie, begins to stirre and walke
abroad, especially if some youngprodigalls 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."
xiii. London and Country carbonadoed and quartered into
seuerall Characters. By Donald Lupton, 8vo. 1632.
[See British Bibliographer, i. 464 ; and Brand's Sale
Catalogue, page 66', No. 1754.]
•
293
xiv. Character of a Gentleman, appended to Brathwait's
English Gentleman, 4to. London, by Felix Kyng-
»ton,$c. 1633.
xv, " A strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed into
a Wildernesxe. Deciphered in Characters. London,
Printed by Thomas Harper, and are to be sold by
Law; ence Chapman at his shop in Holborne, 1634."
[iSmo. containing pp. 296, not numbered.]
This curious little volume has been noticed by Mr.
Haslewood, in the Centura Literaria (vii. 284.) who
says, with justice, that a rich vein of humour and
amusement runs through it, and that it is the apparent
lucubration of a pen able to perform better things. Of
the author's name I have been unable to procure the
least intelligence.
" THE HORSE (No. 16.)
Is a creature made, as it were, in waxe. When Na-
ture first framed him, she took a secret complacence in
her worke. He is even her master-peece in irracionall
things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him
forth. For example, his slicke bay coat hee tooke from
the chesnut ; his necke from the rainbow, which per-
haps make him rain so wel. His maine belike he took
from Fegasus, making him a hobble to make this a corn-
294
onnet*, which main he weares so curld, much
after the women's fashions now adayes ; — this I am
fTire of howsoever,, it becomes them, [and] it sets forth
our cenuet well. His legges he borrowed of the hart,
with his swiftnesse, which makes him a true courser
indeed. The starres in his forehead hee fetcht from
u, which will not he much mist, there being so
many. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat but-
tocke, and thicke tayle are properly his owne, for he
knew not where to get him better. If you tell him of
the homes he wants to make him most compleat, he
scornes the motion, and sets them at his heele. He is
well shod especially in the upper leather, for as for his
soles, they are much at reparation, and often faine to be
removed. Nature seems to have spent an apprenti-
ship of yeares to make you such a one, for it is full seven
yeares ere hee comes to this perfection, and be fit for the
saddle : for then (as we,) it seemes to come to the yeares
of discretion, when he will shew a kinde of rationall
judgement with him, and if you set an expert rider on
his backe, you shall sec how spnsiblie they will talke to-
gether, as master and scholler. When he shall be no
* Mr. Steevens, in a note to Othello, explains a jennet to
be a Spanish horse; but from the passage just given, I confess
it appears to me to mean somewhat more. Perhaps a jennet
was a horse kept solely for pleasure, whose mane was suffered
to grow to a considerable length, and was then ornamented
with platting, &c. — A hobby might answer to what we now
term a hogged poney.
295
sooner mounted and planted in the seat with the reins
in one hand, a switch in the other, and speaking with
his.spurres in the horse's flankes, a language he \vel
understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance
the canaries* halfe an houre together in compasse of a
* Tlie Canaries is the name of an old dance, frequently
alluded to in our early English plays. Shakspeare uses it in
All's well that ends veil—
— — — — " 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 occurs in the opera of Dioclesian, set to music by Pur-
cell, and explains it to be " a very sprightly movement of
two reprises, or strains, with eight bars in each : the time
three quarters in a bar, the first pointed." I take this oppor-
tunity of mentioning, that among Dr. Rawlinson's MSS. in
the Bodleian, [Poet. 108.] is a volume which contains
a variety of figures of old dances, written, as I conjecture,
between the years 1566 and 1580. Besides several others
are thepatyan; my Lord of Essex measures ; tyntermell; the
old allmayne ; the longe patian ; quanta dyspayne ; the nyne
muses, &c. As the pavian is mentioned by Shakspeare, iu
the Merry Wives of Windsor, and as the directions for dancing
the figure have not been before discovered, I shall make no
apology for offering them in the present note.
" THE LONGE PAVIAN,
ij singles, a duble forward ; ij singles syde, a duble forward;
replace backe once, ij singles syde, a duble forward, one
296
bushell, and yet still, as he thinkes, get some ground,
shaking the goodly plume on his head with a comely
pride. This will our Bucephalus do in the lists; but
when hee comes abroad into the fields, hee will play the
countrey gentleman as truly, as before the knight in tur-
nameut. If the game be up once, and the hounds in
chase, you shall see how he will pricke up his eares
streight, and tickle at the sport as much as his rider
shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be many of them,
they will even drowne the rurall harmony of the dogges.
When he travels, of all innes he loves best the signe of
the silver bell, because likely there he fares best, espe-
cially if hee come the first, and get the prize. He carries
his eares upright, nor seldome ever lets them fall till they
be cropt off, and after that, as in despight, will never
weare them more. His taile is so essentiall to him, that
if he loose it once hee is no longer an horse, but ever
stiled a curtail. To conclude, he is a blade of Vulcan's
forging, made for Mars of the best metal!, and the post
of Fame to carrie her tidings through the world, who, if
he knew his own strength, would shrewdly put for the
monarchic of our wildernesse."
single backe twyse, ij singles, a duble forward, ij singles syde,
preriuce backe once ; ij singles syde, a duble forward, re*
prince backe twyse."
297
*vi. The true Character of an untrue Bishop : with a Re-
cipe at the end hozv to recover a Bishop if hee were
lost. London, printed in the year e 1641*.
[4to. pp. 10, besides title.]
xvii. Character of a Projector, by — — Hogg. 4tO. 1642.
xviii. Character of an Oxford Incendiary. Printed for
Robert White in 1643. 4to.
[Reprinted in the Ilarleian Miscellany, V. 469. edit. 1744.]
.
xix. The Reformado precisely charactered (with a frontis-
piece.)
[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, Excel-
lencie, Happiness and Innocencie. Wherein may
appear how far this blind world is mistaken in their
unjust Censures of him. Virtus in Arduis. Pro-
* I have a faint recollection of a single character in a rare
volume; entitled " A Boulster Lecture," &c. Lond. 1640.
298
verbs xii. 26; and Jude 10, quoted.) Imprimatur
John Downame.. London, Printed for Robert
Lei/bourne, and are to be sold at the Star, under
Peter's Church in Corn-hill, 1645. 8vo. pp. 13.
[In Ashmole's Museum.j
xxi. In Lord North's Forest of Varieties, London, Printed
by Richard Cotes, 1645, are several Characters, as
lord Orford informs us, " in the manner of sir
Thomas Overbury." Royal and Noble Authors,
iii. 82. Of this volume a second edition appeared
in 1659, neither of these, however, I have been
able to meet with. For some account of the
work, with extracts, see Brydges' Memoirs of the
Peers of England, 8vo. London. 1802. page 343.
xxii. Characters and Elegies *. ~By Francis Wortlcy
Knight and Baronet. Printed in theyeere 1646." 4to.
The characters are as follow :
1. The character of his royall majestic ; 2. The cha-
racter of the queene's majestic; 3. The hopeful prince ;
4. A true character of the illustrious James Duke of
York ; 5. The character of a noble general ; 6. A true
* The Elegies, according to Wood, are upon the loyalists
who lost their lives in the king's service, at theen.d of which
are epitaphs.
299
English protestant; T. Anantinomian,or anabaptisticall
independent ; 8. A jesuite ; 9. The true character of a
northerne lady, as she is wife, mother, and sister;
10. The politique neuter; 11. The citie paragon ; 12. A
sharking committee-man ; 13. Britanicus his pedigree —
a fatall prediction of his end ; 14. The Phcenix 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 best he own.es him and his
tribe, in most we reade of them. First, of our English
tribes, I conceive his father's the lowest, and the
meanest of that tribe, stocke, or generation, and the
worst, how bad soever they be ; melancholy he is, as
appeares by his sullen and dogged wit; malicious as
Saul to David, as is evident in his writings; he wants
but Saul's javelin to cast at him ; he as little spares the
king's friends with his pen, as Saul did Jonathan his
sonne in his reproach ; and would be as free of his
javelin as his pen, were his power sutable to his will,
as Ziba did to Mephibosheth, so does he by the king, he
belies him as much to the world, as he his master to Da-
vid, and in the day of adversitie is as free of his tongue
as Shimei was to his soveraigne, and would be as hum-
ble as he, and as forward to meet the king as he was
David, should the king returne in peace. Abithaes
there cannot want to cut off the dog's head, but David
300
is more merciful! then Shimei can be wicked; may he
first consult with the witch of Endor, but not worthy of
so noble a death as his own sword, die the death of
Achitophel for feare of David, then may he be hang'd
up as the sonnes of Saul were against the sunne, or ra-
ther as the Amelekiteswho slew Isbosheth, and brought
tidings and the tokens of the treason to David; may
his hands and his feet be as sacrifices cut off, and so pay
for the treasons of his pen and tongue; may all heads
that plot treasons, all tongues that speake them, all pens
that write them, be so punisht. If Sheba paid his head
for his tongue's fault, what deserves Britannicus to pay
for his pen and trumpet? Is there never a wise woman
in London ? we have Abishaes.
.
Francis Wortley, was the son of Sir Richard Wortley,
of Wortley, in Yorkshire, knight. At the age of seven-
teen he became a commoner of Magdalen College, Ox-
ford; in 1610 he was knighted, and on the 29th of June
jn the following year, was created a baronet; being then,
as Wood says, esteemed an ingenious gentleman. During
the civil wars he assisted the royal cause, by raising a
troop of horse in the king's service; but at their conclu-
sion he was taken prisoner, and confined in the tower
of London, where it seems he composed the volume just
noticed. In the Catalogue of Compounders his name ap-
pears as " of Carleton, Yorkshire," and from thence we
learn that he paid 500/. for his remaining property. In
the Athena Oxonienscs may be found a list of his works,
but I have been unable to trace the date of his decease.
SOI
Mr. Granger says that " Anne, his daughter, married the1
second son of the first Earl of Sandwich, who took the
name of Wortley," and adds that the late Countess of
Bute was dtscended from him. biographical History, ii.
S10.
xxiii. The Times anatomized, in severall Characters. By
T. JF[ord, seruant to Mr. Sam. Man*.] Difficile
est Satyram non scribere. Jut). Sat. 1. London,
Printed for If. L. Anno 1647."
[12mo. in the British Museum.]
The Contents of the severall Characters.
1. A good king. 13. An envious man.
2. Kebelion. 14. True valour.
3. An honest subject. 15. Time.
4. An hypocritical convert 16. A newter.
of the times. 17. A turn-coat.
5. A souldier of fortune. 18. A moderate man.
6. A discontented person. 19. A corrupt commifctee-
7. An ambitious man. man.
8. The vulgar, 20. A sectary.
9. Errour. 21. Warre.
10. Truth. 22. Peace.
11. A selfe-seeker. 23. A drunkard.
12. Pamphlets. 24. A novice-preacher.
* (MS. interlineation iu a copy amon^ the King's pamphlets. )
302
25. A scandalous preacher. 29. Religion.
26. A grave divine. 30. Death.
27. A selfe-conceited man.
" 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. They are the silent traytors
that affront majesty, and abuse all authority, under the
colour of an Imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of
late so blistered 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 all over. They
are like the mushromes, sprung up in a night, and dead
in a day; and such is the greedinesse of men's natures
(in these Athenian dayes) of new, that they will rather
fei°;ne then want it."
xxiv. Character af a London Diurnal, 4to. 1647. [This
was written by Cleveland, 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
303
Newgate, nursed up by Cromwell, at first by the army,
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 that speedily, if
hee repent not and reforme his erronious judgement,
and his seditious treasonable practises against king,
parliament, and martiall discipline itselfe. Finis."
xxvi. In Mr. Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754, we have
The Surfeit to A. B. C. 3vo. Lond. 1656, which is
there represented to consist of Characters.
xxvii. Characters of a Temporizer and an Antiquary.
[In " Naps upon Parnassus," 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 rcas lately presented
in a Letter to a Nollc-man of France. With Re-
304
factions upon Callus Castratus. The third Edi-
tion. London. Printed for John Crooke, and arc
to be sold at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-Yard,
3659.
(12mo. pp. 66, title and preface 20 more.)
This very severe satire upon the English nation was
replied to in the following publication,
xxxv A Character of France, to which is added Gallus
Castratus, or an Answer to a late slanderous Pam-
phlet, called the Character of England. Si talia
nefanda etfacinora quis non Democritus ? London,
Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Corn/till,
1659.
xxxi. A perfect Description of the People arid Country, of
Scotland. London. Printed for J. S. 1659.
a2mo. pp. 21. besides the title.)
A-xxii. A brief Character of the Low Countries under the
States, being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices
and Vcrtues of the Inhabitants. Non seria semper.
London j Printed for #, S. and are 'to be sold ly
305
H. Lqpndes, at the White Lion in St. Paufs Church
Yard, neer the little North Door, 1659.
(12mo. pp. 500. title, &c. 6 more.)
Written by Owen Feltharn, and appended to the se-
'eralfolio editions of his Resolves,
xxxiii. The Character of Italy: Or, The Italian Anato-
mizjd by an English Chirurgion. 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 and Vices.
— —Adeo sunt multa, loquacem
Ut lassare queant Fabittm.
London : Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Corn-
hil. 1660.
[I2mo. pp. 93, title, &c. 12 more.]
xxxv. Essayes and Characters, by L. G. 8vo. 1661.
[See Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754 J
366
xxxvi. The Assembly-man. Written in the Year 1647.
London : Printed for Richard Marritft, and are to be
sold at hiii shop under Si. Dunstan's Church, in Fleet-
street, 1662—3 *
KavidDaoo baaH
[4to.pp. 22,] •••..\lasauAtmT9S
Sir John Birkenhead was the author of this character,
which was printed again in 1681 , and in 1704 with the
following title, " The Assemblyman. Written in the Year
1647 ; but proves the true character of (Cerberus) the ob-
servator, 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. ^ »
.' bnA
3£'3w . , ~
,i3lp*; ji
jcxxvii. Fifty-Jive^ Enigmatical Characters, all very ex-
actly drawn' to the Life, from several Persons,
Humours, Dispositions. Pleasant and full of
Delight. By E. F. Esg. ; London : Printed for
William Crook, at the sign of the Tfiree Bibles
on Fleet-bridge. 1665 J.w
-;f8^o. pp. 135, title, index, &c. not numbered, :
16 ohn : .86df ni bsrfeildoq STOW riiidw ,83Ei3v
^iji:Di * With a very curious; and rare frojUispieee* ; >%4M
1 1 omit to particularize these characters, as many of the
titles are extremely long — " of a lady of excellent tJ&»v£rsa-
tion. Ofene that is the foyle of good conversation.^ &Ci&c.
V Mr. Reed possessed a copy, dated in 1658. See his <5a-
talogue, No. 2098.
SOT
Richard Flecknoe,. the authpr of these characters, .is
.more known from, having his name affixed to one of- the
severest satires* ever written by Dryden, than from any
excellence of his own as a poet or dramatic writer. Mr.
Reed conceives him to have been a Jesuit, and Pope
terras him an Irish priest. Langbaiue says, that " his
acquaintance with the nobility was more than with. the
muses, and he h;ul a greater propensity to rhyming, than
a genius to poetry." As a proof of the former assertion
the Duke of Newcastle prefixed two copies of verses to
his characters, in which he calls Flecknoe " his worthy
f 1"
nen , an sajs: "X cV t\fjuj\h™M
« Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit
And fancy, as each word is tbroDg'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
, • t • , , • , • ,'
Lights in the starry skies are thicker set,
Nor quills upon the armed porcupine,
»Wsa'rhan wit and fancy in this work of thinc-
W. Newcastle."
*4cfl !- no
To confirm the latter, requires only the perusal of his
verses, which were published in 1653, under the title of
Miscellania. Besides these, he wrote five* 'dramatic
* Langbauie notices a prologue intended for a play, called
The Physician against his Will, which he thinks was ne.ver
published. A MS. note in my copy of the Dramati^ Poets,
says it was printed in 1712.
x
SOS
pieces, the titles of which may be found in the Bio-
grapkia Dramatica ; a collection of Epigrams, 8vo.
167O; Ten Years Travels in Europe. — A short Discount
of the English Stage, affixed to Love's Dominion, 8vo.
1654; The Idea, of his Highness Oliver, late Lord Protec-
tor, 4-c. 8vo. 1659. &C.&C.*
'•d sracom Hnoe
f033li>
" CHARACTER OF A VALIANT MAN."— (page GLjbuni
" 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, nor
danger lesse. His valour is enough to leaven whole ar-
mies, he is an army himself worth an army of other
men. His sword is not alwayes out like children's dag-
gers, bun he is alwayes last in beginning quarrels, though
first in ending them. He holds honour (though delicate
as chrystall) yet not so slight and brittle to be broak
and crackt with every touch ; therefore (though most
wary of it,) is not querilous nor punctilious. He is ne-
Ter troubled with passion, as knowing no degree beyond
«ir»J\ «r«',Vir
* The Bodleian library contains " The Affections of a
pious Soule, unto our Saviour-Christ. Expressed in a. mixed
treatise of verse and prose. By Richard Flecknoe" 8vo.
1640. This 1 can scarcely consent to give to Mac Flecknoe,
as in the address " To the Town Reader," the author informs
us that, " ashamed of the many idle hours he has spent; and
to avoid the expence of more, he has retired from the town"
—and we are certain that Mac resided there long after.
309
•
clear cgurage, 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's valour,) and
cruelty (the beast's,) unworthy a valiant man. He i?
only coward in this, that he dares not do an unhand-
some action. In fine, he can onely be evercome by
discourtesie, and has but one deflect— he cannot talk
much—to recompence which he dos the more."
[gjn has " --H **
ad* Ilite ai 9g,*mj : bfl.c 30i*i iud
xxxviii. TheCharacter of a Coffee-house, with the symptoms
of a Town-wit t. With Allowance- April 1 1,1675.
London, Printed for Jonathan Edwin, at the Three
Roses in Ludgate-street, 1673.
[Folio, reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, with an an-
swer to it, vol. vi. 429—433.] 3?^rf5 8fi
teoai rigucd}) 37 5 bus
°9n BI sJEL ,,»?uo:
xxxix. Essays of Ior;e a"'/ Marriage : Being Letters
written by two Gentlemen, one dissuading from
Love, the other an Answer thereunto. With some
Characters, and other Passages of Wit.
,ov8 .v»S§!iJT
^oajfosra t>»U-<r • Si quando gravabere curis,
Hac Itge, pro moesta medicamine rnevtis habeto.
London, Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun, in St. Pau^
Church-yard, 1673.
' [12mo. pp. 103, title, &c. 4 more.]
310
xl. T^e Character of a Fanatick. By a Person q
London. 1075.
f4to. pp. 8. Reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, vii,
596.]
- . .0 ...i
f.t£I . . . _. anqoi ,oHfc
xli. Character of a Tozvne Gallant
of a Towne Miss
of an honest drunken Cnrr
l^° l of a pi! firing Taylor
of an Exchange Wench
of a Sollicitor >• 1675.
of a Scold
of an ill Husband
of a Dutchman
vnt^taVfiiM. stoi of a Pawnbroker jjqd^J
of a Tally Ma.i J
L4to. See Sale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq. 8vo.
London , 1 800, page 66, N o. 1 1 1 0. ]
; ^
xlii. A Whip for a Jockey : or, a Character of an Horsf-
courser. 1677. London, Printed for R. H. 1677 .
•;£i« acpUttsT
[8vo. pp. 29.]
_
311:
xliii, Fuur for a^Pennyf or Poor Robin's Character of an
unconscionable Pawnbroker, and Ear- mark of an
oppressing Tally-yuan : with a friendly Description
of a. Bum-bailey, and his merciless setting cur. or
. follower. With Allorcan.ee. London, Printed for
L. C. 1678.
[4to. reprinted in the Harleiun^Miscetlany, vol. iv. p. 141.]
••• - . ..
xliv. Character of an ugly Woman : or,, a Hue and Cry
after Beauty, in prose, written;. /by the Duke of
Buckingham) in 1678. See Lord Orford's Royal
and Noble Authors,, by Park, iiL 309.
_____ ".
-- i V
xlv. Character of a disbanded Courtier*. Ingenium Galbf
male habitat. 1681.
[Folio, pp. 2. Reprinted in the Hafleian Miscellany,
i. 356.]
. - —
xlvi. Character of a certain ugly old P — — . London,
Printed in the Year 1684.
[In Oldham's Works, 8vo. London, 1684.]
'
'
xlvii. Twelve ingenious Characters : or pleasant Descrip-
tions of the Properties of sundry Persons end
Things, viz.
312
An importunate dunn ; a Serjeant or bailiff ; a
bvoker ; a prison ; a tavern ; a scold ; a bad husband; a
tozofcfop ; a bawd; a fair and happy -milh^maid; the
quack's directory; a young enamourist.
Licensed, June tKe 2d, 1681. JR. P. London, printed for
S. Nor r is, and are to be sold by most booksellers, 1686.
[I2mo. pp. 43.]
,- ?7! ,v . . • .
llviii. Character of a Trimmer. By Sir William Coventry.
1689.
' Seo BMirtfa* Harleiana, v. 4-278.} ^
This was written long before publication, as is proved
by the following
riix. Character of a Tory in 1659, •* ntiucr to that of 0
Trimmer (never published} both written in King
Charles's reign.
[Reprinted in the Works of George Viltiers, second Duke
ofBuckingfunn. 4to. Lond. 1721.]
1. Characters addressed to Ladies (f Age. 8vo. Lond.
1689.
[Brand's Sale 'Cat^e, p. 66, No. 1747.]
L O > f ) 'aifj^R JOft
"•j[<yuf
313
li. Tke Ceremony-monger, his Character, in six Chap-
ters, 4-c. $c. By E. Htckeringilf, Rector of the
Rectory of All-Saints, in Colchester. London,
Printed and are to be sold by George Lar kin, at
the Two Swans, without Bishopsgate. 1689.
*
[4to.pp. 66..]
lii. Character o£a Jacobite. 1690.
[4to. See B.ibl. Harl. v. No. 4279.]
'
The following are without date, but were probably
printed before 1700*. "olfwttnw gfiw aid!
liii. Character of an Ill-court-favourite, translated from the
^French.
, f4to. reprinted in the Marleian Miscellany, ii. 60.1
. L i . Jl J
tiki's. ' . -:jf1
Hv. Character O/'CTI honest and worthy Parliament-Man.
[Folio, reprinted in the Harleian, Miscellany, ii. 336.]
* In Butler's Reto,in<, published by Thyer, 2 vols. 8vo.
1759, are several Characters by the author of Hudibras, and
consequently written previously to this date, but as they do
not appear to have been printed so early, they cannot, with
propriety, be included in this list.
lv. Charactcrism, or the Modern Age displayed.
[Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1757.]
Ivi. Character of the Presbyterian Pastors and People of
Scotland.
[Bill. HaHeiana, v. No. 4280.] B a°£<3
_ fit sjntil t£
df£3
Ivii. Character of a compleat Physician or Naturalist *»
[Bibl. Harleiana, v. No. 4304.]
ot akfjiDskjqji ^137 &.-. -'.sft
^inooc^A 9dJ i aiij
• In the extracts made from the foregoing series of Cha-
racters, the original orthography has been most scrupulously
attended to, in order to assist in shewing the progress and
variation of the English language.
•:ft!»\,
.
315
ADDITIONAL NOTES AND COKRECTIONS.
.
Page 3, line 4. for ports read sports. \
4, line 12. " table-book." The custom of writing in
table-books, or, as it was then expressed, " m
tables," is noticed, and instances given inlteei'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 scene best,
Xfetiol' and in tne midst of the sermon Pulles out nis
fong . tablesm 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 Wliimzies,
8vo. 1631, p. 57. " Hee must now betake
himself to prayer and devotion ; remember the
founder, benefactors, head, and members of that
famous fountiiiiju : all which heperformes with
as much zeale us 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."
316
Page 14, note 10. — From a subsequentedition, obligingly
pointed out to me by the rev. Mr. arch-deacon
Nares, I find that this also is a translation :
Regimtn Sanitatis Salerni. This booke teach-
yng all people to gouerne the in health, is trans-
lated out of the Latine tongue into Englishe, by
Thomas Paynell, whiche booke is amended, aug'
merited, and diligently imprinted. 1575. Colo-
phon. 51 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."
19, line 5, for " muchi" read much in. Line 8, in-
sert comma at the end.
., n
ib. line 9, " door-posts." — It was usual for public
officers to have painted or gilded posts at their
doors, on which proclamations, and other do-
cuments 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 beau-
tified," during the reign of our alderman.
50, line 10, for Gollobelgicus read Gallcbelgicus.
53, line 7. " post and pair," was a game at cards,
of which I can give no description. The author
317
of the Cnmpleat Gamester notices it as " very
much played in the West of England." See
Dodsley's Old Plays, 1780. vii. 296.
Page 54, line 9—" guarded with more gold Utce." The
word guarded is continually used by the wri-
ters of the sixteenth century for fringed or
adorned. See Reed's Shakspeare, vii^272. Old
-oioD ,ei?teys>iv. 36.
66, line 18, " clout." Shakspeare (Cymbeline,activ.
vsom scene ^ uses ti)e exPressi°n of clouted brogues,
id bnfi ,[>8&ich Mr' Steevens explains to be " shoes
<»rf) t strengthened with \lout or //06-nails."
71, line 2. " dragon that pursued the woman." Evi-
dently an allusion to Revelations, xii. 15.
103, note 8, line 2, for Styla read Hyla in both in-
stances.
•
ib. note 10, line 5, for Leiden read Leyden.
Ill, line 2, for his read is.
132, line 10, " Their humanity is a leg to the resi-
dencer.* A leg here signifies a bow. Decker
says, " a jewe neuer weares his cap threed-
~u&vd bn^bare with putting it off; neuer bends i' th'
hammes with casting away a leg> &c." Guls
Hornebooke. p. 11.
i 206, note 1, for spunge read sponge,
todJuK >dT .oto^.n? . .
318
234, line 11, for spew read spero. > 9rf, "io ^0 fen*
235, line 9, tor conjctfa read congesta.
ui«O
ib. line 10, dele su at the end of the line.
;« leorrde ai Jl V
Page 260, line 2, for Jw<fe read Inde : for ferucat read
9vig -;: ferueat. ,,? j.r, ^[tea
275, line 12, for nttotc read .whose. •••*«"<*« ^
Several errors and inaccuracies of less consequence
than those here pointed out, will probably be discovered.
These were occasioned by the editor's distance from the
press, and he requests the gentle reader to pardon and
correct them.
THE Inscription, No. x. of the Appendix, should have
been entirely omitted. The following extract from
Guillim's Heraldry, shews that Bishop Earle could not
have been connected with the Streglethorp family,
since, if he had, there would have been no occasion for
a new grant of armorial bearings.
" He beareth ermine, on a chief indented sable, three
eastern crowns or, by the name of Earles. This coat
was granted by Sir Edward Walker, garter, the 1st of
August, 1660, to the Reverend Dr. John Earles, son of
Thomas Earles, gent, sometime Register of the Arch-
bishop's Court at Ytirk. He was Dean of Westminster,
319
and Clerk of the Closet to his Majesty King Charles the
Second; and in the year 16C3, made Bishop of Salisbury."
Guillim's Heraldry, folio. Lond. 1724. p. 282.
It is almost unnecessary to add that I was not aware
of this grant, when I compiled the short account of
Earle, at page 211, and spoke of my inability to give
any information relative to his parents.
fj nedi
aril rv,
bnjs n
inofi Jbi.\;- no ^tamne
Jon Wooo .r>
a99fl avjBii
9ii li t93m<!.
^Aa? b
to
no- .t^\tn5L ^'
-oi/\
' lo nF9<I
INDEX.
ES, SOO.
Abithaes, 299.
Abraham-man, 249.
Achitophel, 300.
Acquaintance, Character of,
164.
Aeneas, 167.
Affected man, character of,
192.
Affections of a pious Soule,
by Richard Flecknoe, 308
Alderman, character of, 18.
Aleppo, 302.
Alexis of Piedmont, 13.
Alfred, king, 4.
Allmayne, 295.
All's well thai ends well, by
Shakspeare, 295.
Allot, Robert, xi.
Almanack in the bones, 41.
Alresford, Hampshire, 237.
Ames, Mr. xx, 247, 256.
Amsterdam, 102.
Anatomy of Melancholly, by
Burton, 51, 82, 257.
Angglear, 248.
Antem-morte, 250.
Antiquary, character of, 22
Aristophanes, 231.
Aristotle, 9, 33.
Arminian, 33.
Arminius, 129.
Ashmole's Museum, Oxford,
224, 298.
Atkinson, Mr. 237.
Atkyns, Sir Robert, 45.
A thence O.romenses,byWood,
x, 238, 289, 300.
Attorney, character of, 105
Austin, 129.
Awdeley, John, 256.
Baal, priests of, 98.
Babel, tower of, 24, H7.
Bagster, Richard, 240.
Baker, character of a, 125.
Bales, Peter, 5, 6.
Bardolph, 118.
Barnes, John, 83.
Barnes, Juliana, 56.
Barrington, Daines, 36.
Barton, Elizabeth, 124.
321
Bar wick, Dr. 215. Life of,
216.
Bawdy-basket, 249.
Eayle, 102.
Beaumont, Francis, 223,
229, 230, 231.
Beau's Dud, by Mrs. Cent-
livre, 92.
Bedford, Earl of, 13.
Bellarmine, Cardinal, 7,
102.
Belman of London, by
Decker, 248. Copy, with
Burton's MS. notes, 257.
Benar, 255.
Dene, 253.
Benjamin, 299.
Benjamin's mess, 1-24.
Bessns, 232.
Betblem, 280.
Bible, printed at Geneva, 3.
Bibliogr aphia Poet lot, by
Ritson, 267.
Biblioiheca Harleiana, 312,
313, .314.
Biogi aphia Britannica, 306.
Biographia Dramatica, 303.
Birkenhead, Sir John, 306. *
Bishopstone, 213, 215.
Blackfriar's, play at, 292.
UlomeficUr* History of Nor-
folk, 244.
Blount, Edward, ix, x, xi, xx.
Blount, Ralph, xx.
Blunt man, character of, 135.
Bobadil, 118.
Bodleian Library, Oxford, 82,
224, 225, 256, 260, 295, 308.
Boke of hawkynge, huntynge,
and fysshinge, 56.
Bold forward man, character
Of, 122.
Bong, 255.
Books, mode of placing them
in old libraries, 74.
Bord, 254.
Borgia, 89.
Bouge, 253.
Bouhter, Lecture, 297.
Bourne, Nicholas, 287.
Bouse, 253, 254.
Bousing-ken, 255.
Bowl-allcy, character of7 86.
Brachigraphy, 5.
Brand, Mr. 258, 292, 303, 305,
312,314.
Bread used in Finland in the
sixteenth century, 52, 53.
Breeches, 3.
Breton, captain, 266,
322
Breton, Nicholas, 15, 224,
265, 267. Life of, 265.
Breton's Longing, 267»
Bridewell, 280.
Britannicus, his pedigree,
299.
British Bibliographer, by
' Brydges, 256, 292.
British Museum, xi, 301.
British Topography, by
Gough, an addition to,
234.
Britton, Thomas, 303.
Brownist, 97.
Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger-
ton, 256, 266, 298.
Bucephalus, 296.
Bukingham, duke of, 225,
311, 312.
Bullen, earl of, 185.
Burford, Oxfordshire, 287.
Burroughs, Sir John, 223.
Lines on, 225, 226.
Burton, Robert, 51, 82, 257.
Butler, Samuel, 313.
Butter, Nathaniel, 287.
Buttery, 144.
Byng, 255.
C. F. 261.
Caeling cheat, 254.
Caesar, 23.
Caesars, the, 140.
Calais sands, 91,92.
Cambridge, 183.
Camden, 81.
Canaries, a dance, 295.
Canary, 40,41.
Cant phrases, 248, 249, 253,
254, 255.
Capel, Mr. 258.
Carrier, character of a, 44.
Carte, 225.
Casaubon, 129.
Cassan, 254.
Cassel, siege of, 31.
Catalogue of Compounders for
their Estates, 300.
Cato, 70, 174.
Caveat for Commen Cursetors,
246.
Censura Literaria, 257, 265,
266, 267, 289, 293, 303.
Centlivre, Mrs, 92.
Centoes, 81.
Century of Inventions, by the
Marquis of Worcester, 36.
Cerberus, 306.
Chalmers, Mr. 51.
Cham, 153.
323
Chandler, R. xii. Character of a Jacobite, 313.
( haracttr of an agitator, 302 qf Italy, 305.
of an antiquary, 303 of a London diurnal,
of an assembly-man, 302 .
306. of the Low Countries,
of an untrue bishop, 304.
297. of an Oxford incen-
. . . of a cercmony-mon- diary, 297.
ger, 313. of a certain ugly old
of a coffee-house, 309. P— . 311.
of a disbanded cour- of an honest and wor-
ticr, 31 1 . thy parliament man,
of an ill court-fa- 313.
vouritc, 313. of a pawn-broker, 310,
of an honest drunken 311.
cur, 310. of a complete physi-
of a, Dutchman, dan, or naturalist,
310. 314.
of England, 303 of the Presbyterian
of an exchange- pastors and people'
wench, 310. of England, 314.
of a fanatic, 310 , . .of a projector, 297.
of France, 304. of a scold, 310.
of a town-gallant, of Scotland, 304.
310. of a solicitor, 310.
.-of a horse-courser, of Spain, 305.
310. of a tally-man, 310,
of an ill husband, 311.
310. of a pilfering taylor,
of the hypocrite, 310.
315. of a temporizer^ 303.
Y 2
32*
Character of a tory, 312.
of a town miss,
310.
of a trimmer, 312.
...>.... of an ugly woman,
311.
Characters: List of books
containing characters, 246
Characters, by Butler, 313.
Characters and Elegies, by
Wortley, 298.
Characters upon Essaies-, 265.
Characters addressed to LM-
diest 312.
Characters of virtues and ri-
ces, by bishop Hall, 279.
Characterism, or the modern
age displayed, 314.
Characters, twelve ingenious ;
or pleasant descriptions,
311.
Charles I. 215, 216, 218,
245, 312.
Charles II. 215, 216, 218,
233, 319.
Charles, Prince, 214.
Chates, 255.
Chaucer, 13, 112, 115,232.
Cheap, cross in, 185.
Chess-play, verses on, by
Breton, 270.
Chete, 254.
Child, character of, 1.
Christ-church, Oxford, 212r
216.
Christmas, 170.
Chuck, 184.
Church-papist, character of, 29.
Cinthia's Revenge, by Ste-
phens, 260.
Citizen, character of a mere
gull, 181.
City Match, by Mayne, 95,.
119.
Clarendon, Lord, 214, 215. His
character of Earle, 220.
Clerke's Tale, by Chaucer, 155.
Cleveland, 302.
Cliff, Lord, 41.
Clitus-Alexandrinus, 282.
Clout, 66, 317.
Clye, 255.
Cocke,J. 264.
Cocke Lorell, 256.
Cocke LorelUs Bate, 256.
Cofe, 253, 255.
Colchester, 313.
College butler, character of, 50.
Comments on books, 140.
Compleat gamester, 317.
Complimental man, character
of, 167.
S25
Conceited man, character
of, 32.
Conceited pedlar, by Ran-
dolph, 183.
Constable, character of, 69.
Constantinople, 31 .
Contemplative man, charac-
ter of, 93.
Cook, character of a, 120.
Cooper, Mrs. 266.
Corranto-coiner, character
of, 283.
Couched, 253.
Coventry, Sir William, 312.
Councellor, character of a
worthy, 267.
character of an
unworthy, 268.
Connterfet cranke, 249.
Country knight, character of,
53.
Courtier, character of, 259.
Coward, character of, 196.
Cowardliness, essay on, in
verse, 261.
Coxeter, 260.
Cranke, 249.
Cressey, Hugh, his character
ofEarle, 222.
Cramp-ings, 255.
Crimchan, 284.
Critic, character of, 139.
Cromwell, 302.
Crooke, Andrew, xi.
Cuffen, 25*.
Cupid, 259.
Cure for the itch, by H. P.
276, 277.
Cut, 253, 254, 255.
gaioiftttioo
Dallison, Maximilian, 267.
Dances, old, 295.
Dauet, Thomas, 261.
Danvera, Lord, 237.
Darius, 121. ;
Darkemans, 253, 254*. <<*ib
David, 299, 300. jnmO
Davies of Hereford, 258.
Dear year, 199.
Deboshments, 206. J^
Decker, 36, 37-, 110, 315,
248, 317.
Dele, 249.
Dema under for glymmar,
249.
Demetrius, Charles, 82.
Denny, Lord Edward, 280.
Description of unthankful-
nesse, by Breton, 267.
Detractor, character of a,
70.
Deuseauyel, 255.
Digby, Sir Kenelm, 16.
Dinascoso, 252.
Dining in Pauls, 119.
Dinners given by the sheriff,
44.
Dioclesian, 295.
Discontented man, charac-
ter of, 20.
Discourse of the English
stage, by Flecknoe, 308.
Divine,character ofagrave, 9.
Dole, 126.
Dommerar, 249.
Door-posts, 19, 316.
Douce, Mr. 289.
Doves of Aleppo, 302.
Doxe, 249.
Dragon that pursued the
woman, 71.
Dramatic Poets, by Lang-
baine, ix.
Drugger, 15.
Drunkard, character of, 153.
Dryden, 307.
Dudes, 255.
Dunton, John, 148.
Duppa, Dr. 214.
Dutchmen, their love for
rotten cheese, 22.
Eavle, Bishop, viii, x, xii : Life
of, 211, &c. Characters of,
219, 220, 221, 222, 318:
list of his works, 223 : name
of Earle, xvii.
Earle, Sir Richard, 245.
Earle, Thomas, 318.
Earthquake in Germany, 82.
Ecclesiastical Polity, by Hook-
er, 215, 218, 223. translated
into Latin, 215.
Edward I. 185.
Effeminate fool, character of
269.
EMIOV Bao-tXuoj, 215, 218, 223.
dedication to the Latin trans-
lation, 233.
Eleven of the clock, 43.
Elizabeth, queen, 23, 43, 116,
185.
Ellinor, queen, 185.
Ellis, 266.
Ellis, Henry, xi.
Empty wit, character of an,
151. yi
Endor, witch of, 300.
England, 108, 131.
England's selected characters,
265.
English Gentleman, by Brath-
wait, 293.
Epigrams, by Flecknoe, 308.
S27
Epigrams, by H. P. 277.
Esau, 24.
Essayes and Characters, by
L. G. 305.
Essays and characters of a
prison, by Mynshnl, 156,
273.
Essays of Love and Marriage,
309.
Essex, Lord, 295, " lord of
Essex' measures," a dance,
295.
Every Man in his Humour,
by Ben Jonson, 118, 160.
Euphormio, 74.
Excellent tercis worthey Imi-
tation, supposed by Bre-
ton, 267.
Eyes upon noses, 41.
Elyot, Sir Thomas, 55.
F. R. 306.
F.T.301.
Fabricius, 52.
Falcoas, 65.
Falstaff, 21, 118.
Farley, William, 45.
Farmer, Dr. 257.
Feltham, Owen, 305.
Fiddler, character of a poor,
169.
Fifty-five enigmatical charac-
ters, by R. F. 306.
Figures, by Breton, 224, 267.
Figure offoure, by Breton, 224.
Fines, Catherine, 284.
Fines, Mary, 284.
Fines, Sir William, 284.
Finical, 181.
Fires, 31.
Fishing, treatise on, 56.
Flagge, 253, 254.
Flatterer, character of a, 176.
Flecknoe, Richard, 306, 307,
308.
Fleming, 200.
Fletcher, John, 229.
Flitchman, 248.
Florio, 252,
Fprd, T. 301.
Formal man, character of, 27.
Four of the clock, 122.
Four for a penny ; or poor Ro-
bin's characters, 311.
Four prentises of London, by
Hey wood, 110, 185.
France, 303.
Frater, 249.
Fraternitye of Vacabondes, 248.
249, 256.'
Fresh-water Mariner, 219.
Freze, white, 249.
Frieze jerkins, 248.
Frost, great, 200.
Funeral Monuments, by Wee-
ver,117. .
G. L. 305.
Gage, 253.
Galen, 13, 33.
Gallant, character of an idle,
57.
Gallobelgicus, 287.
Gallus Castratus, 304.
Gallye slops, 248.
Gavel-kind, 27.
Gee and ree, 65.
Geneva bible, 3.
Geneva print, 95.
Gennet, 294.
Germany, 27, 82.
Gerry, 255.
Gigges, 269.
Gilding of the cross, 185.
Gildon's Lives of the English
Dramatic poets, 260.
Giles's, St, Church, Oxford, 5
Girding, 21.
Glossographia Anglicana No-
va, 159.
Gloucester cathedral, 45".
Gloucestershire, History of,
byAtkyns,46.
Goddard, author of the Mas-
tif-whelp, 17.
God's judgments, 82.
Gold hat-bands, 75.
Gold tassels, worn by noble-
men at the University, 75.
Good and the bad, by Breton,
15, 265.
Governour, by Sir Thomas
Elyot, 55.
Gough, Mr. 266, 284.
Gown of an alderman, 19.
Granger, Mr. 301 .
Great man, character of a
meer, 201.
Greek's collections, 81.
Grunting chete, 254.
Gryffith, William, 246.
Guarded with gold lace, 317.
Guillim, John, 318, 319.
Gull in plush, 184.
Gul's Hornebooke, by Decker,
36, 37, 110, 315, 317.
Gygger, 254.
Hall, Bishop, 279, 315.
Harkian Miscellany, 306, "09,
510, 311, 313.
Harman, Thomas, 246,
Harmanes, 255.
Harrison, William, 27, 43, 53,
329
Hart-hall, Oxford, 237.
Haslewood, Mr. 293.
Hawking, 54, 160.
Hawkins, Sir John, 126, 2P5.
Hay, James Lord, 280.
Hederby, 18.5.
Heraingford, Huntingdon-
shire, 237.
Henry the Fourth, by Shak-
speare, 118.
Henry VI. 16.
Henry VII. 5.
Henry VIII. 36.
Herald, character of an, 130.
Heraldry, Treatise on, by
Gnillim, 318, 319.
Herbert, Mr. 247, 256.
Heylin, Peter, account of,
237 — inscription on his
monument, 237.
Heyne-, 167.
Hey wood, 110, 185.
Hickeringill, E. 313.
High-spirited man, character
of, 179.
Hill, Mr. xii.
Hippocrates, 13.
Ht*t ory of England, by Carte,
225.
Histrio-mastix, by Prynne, 69.
Hobbv,594.
Hosei.eV.53.
Hogg, m.
Hogged pouey, 2?4.
Hoker, 248.
Holinshed, Raphael, 6, 16, 27,
43,53,124, 199, 200.
Holt, in Germany, 82.
Honest man, character of an
ordinary, 206.
Hooker, Richard, 215, 218,
221, 223.
Hool, Samuel, 148.
Hor& Subseciva, ix.
Horse-race terms, 160.
Hortus Mertoncnsis, a poem by
Earle, 223.
Hospitall of Incurable Fooles,
XX.
Hostess, character of a hand-
some, 138.
Houghton, Sir Gilbert, 265.
Hough ton in the Spring, 237.
Howell, James, 41.
Hudibras, 313.
Huggeringe, 252.
Hugger-mugger, 252.
Hungarian, 142.
Hunting, 160.
Husband, a poem, 257.
330
Hygh-pad, 255.
Hypocrite, character of a
she precise, 94.
Jacob, 24.
Jail-bird, 113.
James 1. 23, 69, 103, 116.
James II. 216.
Jarke, 255.
Jarke-man, 249.
Idea of his highness Oliver,
by Flecknoe, 308.
Jealous man, character of,
208.
Jennet, 294.
Jerusalem, 186.
Jesses, 55.
Jesuits, 112, 129.
Ignoramus, 264.
Illustrious wife, by Giles Ol-
disworth, 258.
Imputation, 162, 183.
Inquisition, 35.
Insolent man, character of,
161.
John Dory, 170.
John's, St. College, Oxford,
237.
Johnson, Richard, 284.
Jonathan, 299.
Jonson, Ben, 118: Lines by
260.
Jordan?, 40.
Isbosheth, 300.
Islip, Oxfordshire, 237.
Juliana Barnes, or Berners, 56.
Jump, 177.
Keckerman, Bartholomew, 51.
Keep, 133.
Ken or Kene, 253, 254, 255.
Kennett, White, 221: his cha-
racter of Earle, 220.
Kent, 26, 27.
Kent, maid of, 124.
King's bench prison, 274 .
Kippis, Dr. 306.
Knight, character of a coun-
try, 53.
Kynchin-co, 249.
Kynchin-morte, 249.
Lage, 253.
Lagge, 255.
Lambarde, 27.
Lambeth-palace, 126.
Langbaine, ix, 260, 307.
Laquei ridiculosi, by H. P. 276.
Lascivious man, character of,
187.
331
Land, Bishop, 237.
Laurence, St. 121.
Leg to the resideucer, 1:12,
317.
Legs in hands, 41.
Legerdemain, 206.
Legh, Anne, 266.
Legh, Sir Edward, 266.
Leicester, Earl of, 266.
Leigh, see Legh.
Le Neve, 244.
Lent, 69.
Letters, by Howell, 41.
Life and Errors of John Dun-
ton, by himself, 148.
Life of Ruddiman, by Chal-
mers, 50. ,
Lilburne, 302.
Lilly, ix.
Lipken, 253.
Lipped, 253.
Lipsius, 33.
London, 46, 199.
London-bridge, 260.
London and country carbona-
doed, by Lupton, 292.
London Spy, by Ward, 183.
Long-lane, 287.
Long pavian, a dance, 295*
Love's Dominion} by Fleck-
noe, 308.
Low Countries, 26, 266, 304:
Brief Character of, by Fell-
tham, 26.
Lowre, 253, 255.
Lucian, 156.
Ludgate, 280.
Lupton, Donald, 292.
Lybbege, 253.
Lycosthenes, 115.
Lyghtmans, 253.
M.G.,273.
M. R. 280.
Macbeth, by Shakspeare, 184.
Mac-Flecknoe, 308.
Machiavel, 34-.
Magdalen College, Oxford,
237, 300.
Maid, a Poem of, by Salstou-
stall, 289.
Maid's Tragedy, by Beaumont
and Fletcher, 232.
Mainwaring, Matthew, 274:
family of, ib.
Make, 253.
Malaga wine, 41.
MaloneMr. 97.
Man, Samuel, 301.
Manchet, 52.
. Mars, 296.
Martial, 152.
Martin, 303.
Miscellania, by Flecknoe,
4, 123. Modest man, character of, 147.
Maslif Whelp, 17. Monson, Sir Thomas, 55.
Mastive or young whelpe of Monster out of Germany, 82.
Monthly Mirror, 265.
Monument of Earle, 217.
Monumenta, Anglicana, by Le
Neve, 244.
Meddling-man, character of, Moorfields, 284.
171. Mooted, 106.
Medicis, Francis de, 103. More the Merrier, 277.
Melpomene, 81. Morley, Dr. 216.
Peers of Mort, 253.
Brydges, Mother's Blessing, by Breton,
267.
Mouse-trap, by H. P. 277.
Munster, 82. .
Murdered bodies supposed to
bleed at the approach of the
murderer, 16.
Musgarve, 303.
the old dogge, 277.
Maund, 254.
Maurice of Nassau, 31.
Mayne, 95, 119.
Memsirs of the
England, by
298.
Menander, 230.
Menippus, 156.
Mephibosheth, 299.
Meres, 266.
Merry Devil of Edmonton, a
Comedy, 95.
Merten-College, Oxford, 212, Musick, history of, by Sir John
217, 219, 223. Hawkins, 295.
Microcosmography, 233. Edi- Myll, 254, 255.
Mynshul, 95, 156.
Mynshul, Geffray, 273, 274.
tions of, xi.
Micrologia, by R. M. 280.
Minshall-haJl, 274.
Minshew, 35, 106, 206.
Miraculous Newes from the
CittieofHolt, 82.
Nabekef , 253.
Nabes, 254.
Namptwich, Cheshire, 274.
333
Naps upon Parnassus, 503.
Nares,Mr.3l6.
Nase, 254.
Navy of England, 81.
Neroj 262.
Netherlands, 284.
New Anatomic, or character
of a Christian or round-head,
297.
Newcastle, Duke of, 307:
lines by, ib.
New Custome, 248.
Netces of this present iveek,
287.
Newgate, 280, 302.
Newman, Sir Thomas, 124.
Nine Mnses, a dance, 295.
Nine Worthies, 186.
Nireus, 156.
Noah's flood, 67.
Nonconformist, 95.
Norfolk, History of, by
Blomefield, 244.
North, Lord, 298.
Northern nations, 16.
Norton, Northamptonshire,
266.
Nose, 253.
Nyp,255.
Oldham, Mr. 311.
Oldisworth Giles, 258.
Old man, character of a good,
173.
One and thirty, 62.
Orford, Lord, 298, 311.
Osborne, Francis, 116.
Overbury, Sir Thomas, 257,
258, 264, 298.
Overton, 302.
Oxford, 4, 108, 212, ?<27, 237,
267, 300.
P. H. 276.
Pad, 255.
Painted cloth, 83.
Pallyarde, 249.
Pamphlets, character of, 502".
Paracelsus, 33.
Park, Mr. xii. 267, 289, 311.
Park, Mr. John James, 289.
Parrot, Henry, 276.
Parson, character of a poor,
from Chaucer, 11.
Partial man, character of, 107.
Passion of a discontented minde,
supposed by Breton, 267.
Passions of the Spirit, supposed
by Breton, 267.
Patrico, 249.
Pavian, 295.
Paul V. pope, 102.
334
Paul's, St. Church, 117,259,
284, 288, 292.
Paul's-cross, 123: penance
at, 124.
Paul's man, 118.
PauPs-walk, character of,
116.
Paul's-walk, viii : time of
walking there, 1 17.
Paynell, Thomas, 14, 316.
Pecke, 254.
Pegasus, 293.
Pembroke, Henry, earl of,
227.
Pembroke, Philip, earl of,
212, 213.
Pembroke, William, earl of,
223 : lines on, 227.
Percy, bishop, 266.
Peters, 302.
Peter's, St. Church, Oxford, 5
Pharoah, 24.
Philaster, by Beaumont and
Fletcher, 232,
Philip II. of Spain, 36.
Pluxmix Nsst, by R. S. 270.
Physician against his ivill, by
Flecknoe, 307.
Physician, character of a
dull, 12.
Pick-thank, 191.
PicturcB Loquentes, by Sal-
tonstall, 289.
Pierce, character of Earle, 222.
Pierce Penilesse, 177.
Pineda, 159.
Plausible man, character of,
84.
Plautus, 140, 231.
Player, characters of, 67, 281.
Pleasant walkes of Moorefields,
284.
Plodding student, character of7
114.
Plutarch, 39.
Pluto, 156.
Points, 42.
Poland. 284.
Ponsonby, William, xx.
Poor man, character of, 203.
Poor Tom, 249.
. Pope, A. 307.
PopplarofYarum, 254.
Posle, by Breton, 267.
Post and pair, 316.
Pot-poet, character of, 80.
Practice of Piety, 97.
Pratt, Mr. 280.
Prauncer, 253.
Prayer for the college, 315.
Prayer at the end of a play,
315.
335
Prayer used before the uni-
versity, 6.
Preacher, character of a
young raw, 4.
Pretender to learning, cha-
racter of, 127.
Prigger, see Prygger. '
Primero, 35, 36, 37.
Primivist, 35.
Print, set in, 269.
Prison, character of a, 156.
Prisoner, character of a, 275.
Privy councellor, character
of a worthy, 267.
Profane man, character of,
194.
Progresses of queen Elizabeth,
266.
Prologue, 110.
Prolusions, by Capel, 253.
Proper, 17, 159.
Prygger of prauncers, cha-
racter of a, 250.
Prynne, 69.
Puritan, 136, 170.
Puritan, picture of a} 267.
Puttenham, 266.
Quanto Dyspayne, a dance,
295.
Quarromes, 253.
Querpo, 159.
Quintilian, 33.
Quyer, or qnyaer, 254, 255.
Radcliffe, Sir Alexander, 282.
Raie, 272.
Ramus, 33.
Randolph, Dr. 183.
Rash man, character of, 189.
Rat, black-coat, terms of con-
tempt towards the clergy,
195.
Rawlinson, Dr. 295.
Re, isle of, 225 : expedition to,
ib.
Reading, Berkshire, 316.
Rebellion, History of, by Cla-
rendon, 214.
Reed, Isaac, 50, 306, 315,
317.
Reformado precisely charac-
tered, 297.
Regiment of Health, 14.
Regimen SanitatisSalerni}ol6.
Remains, Butler's, 313.
Remains, Camden's, 81.
Reserved man, character of,
34,-
Resolves, by Feltham, 305.
Retchlessly, 155.
Richard III. 89.
336
Rich man, character of a
sordid, 198.
Ritson, Mr. 267.
Robert of Normandy, 186.
Roge, 248.
Roger, 253.
Rogers, G. 261.
Rogue, see Roge.
Rome, 10, 30, 101.
Rome-bouse, 254.
Round breeches, 146.
Royal and noble Authors , by
Lord Orford, 298.
Ruddiman, Life of, by Chal-
mers, 50.
Ruff of Geneva, print, 95.
Ruffs, 269.
Ruffian, 255.
Ruffler, 248, 253.
Ruffmanes, 255.
Ruffe-pecke, 254.
Russell, Earl of Bedford, 13.
Rutland, Lady, 229.
S. R. 270.
Sack, 40, 41, 42, 139.
Salerne, 316.
Salisbury, 318.
Salomon, 253.
Saltonstall, Wye, 289.
Sandwich, Earl of, 301.
Satyrical clwructers., 303.
Satyrical Essayes, by Steplieiis ,.
259, 264.
Saul, 299.
Saxons, 27.
Say, E. vii.
Saye, 253.
Scaliger, 1 29.
Sceptick in religion, character
of, 99.
Scholar, character of a, 61.
Scold, character of a, 277.
Scetus, 98.
Sejanus, 108.
Select second husband for Sir
Thomas Ocwburie's wife, by
Davies of Hereford, 258.
Seneca, 128.
Sergeant, or catchpole, cha-
racter of, 141.
Serving-man, character of, 159.
Sforza, 89.
Shakspeare, xx, 2, 16, 36, 83,
116, 126, 184, 252, 295, 315,
316, 317.
Shark, character of a, 41.
Shark to, 206.
Sharking, 204.
Sbeba, 300.
Sheriff's hospitality, and table,
44r
337
Sherry wine, 40, 41.
Shiraei, 299.
Ship, 254.
Shop-keeper, character of,
134.
Short-hand, 5.
Shrewsbury, Elizabeth Coun-
tess of, 247.
Shrove Tuesday, 69.
Sidney, Sir Philip. 227, 230.
Silk strings to books, 74.
Singing-men in cathedral
churches, character of,
132.
Skower, 2.55.
Skypper, 253.
Socinus, Faustus, 103.
Solemne Passion of the Soule's
Love, by Breton, 267.
Soliman and Perseda, 177.
Sordid rich man, character
of, 198.
Spaniards, 112.
Specimens of early English
Poets, by Ellis, 266.
Spelman, Sir Henry, 27.
Spinola, 31.
Sports and Pastimes, by
Strutt, 36, 55, 63.
Springes for Woodcocks, by
H. P. 276.
Squeazy, 137.
Stanley, Richard, 45.
Stayed-man, character of a,
144.
Steevens, George, 16,126, 206,
276,310,317.
Stephen, Master, 160.
Stephens, John, 260, 264.
Stews, 91.
Stowe, 25.5.
Stow's Survey of London, 185.
Strange Metamorphosis of Man,
293.
Stregle thorp Church, 244 : fa-
mily, 318.
Strike, 254.
Strummell, 253.
Strutt, Mr. 36, 55, 63.
Strype, Mr. 185.
Sturbridge-fair, 183.
Suetonius, 15.
Sufferings of the Clergy, by
Walker, 215.
Surfeit to A. B.C. 303.
Surgeon, character of a, 90.
Suspicious or jealous man, cha-
racter of, 208.
Swadder, 249. ,
Swedes, 16.
Sweedish Intelligencer) 287.
Switzer, 284.
338
Table-book, 315.
Tables, 63.
Tacitus, 128.
Talbot, Sir John, 226.
Tamworth, Staffordshire,
266.
Tanner, Bishop, 267.
Tantalus, 275.
Tavern, character of a, 37.
Telephus, 39.
Tempest, by Shakspeare, 206.
' Tennis, 74.
Ten Years' Travel, by Fleck-
noe, 303.
Term, character of the, 291.
Thersites, 156.
Thyer, Mr. 313.
Tiberius, 108.
Time* anatomized, 301.
Tinckar, or tinker, 249.
Tiring-house, 68.
Titus, 15.
Tobacco, 39.
Tobacco- seller, character of,
79 : called a smoak-seller,
ib.
Togman, 253.
Tower, 254.
Town-precisian, 8.
Traditional Mimoim,by Os-
borne, 116.
Trumpeter, character of a, 109.
Tryne, 253.
Tryning, 255.
Tuft-hunter, 75.
Tully (see Cicero), 23, 33.
Turk, 142.
Turner, Thomas, 261.
Tyburn, 26, 82, 303.
Tyntermell, a dance, 295.
Valiant man, character of, 308.
Varro, 140.
Vault at Gloucester, 45.
Velvet of a gown, 74.
Venner, 40.
Vespatian, 15.
Villiers, George, Duke of
Buckingham, 312.
Virgil, 167.
Virginals, 97.
University College, Oxford,
217.
University dun, character of a,
142.
University, character of a
young gentleman of the, 73.
University statutes, 13.
Vorstius, Conrade, 103.
Upright man, 248, 253.
Urinal, 12.
Urine, custom of examining
339
it by physicians, 15: tax
on, ib.
Vulcan, 296.
Vulgar-spirited man, charac-
ter of, ill.
Vyle, 255.
Wales, 131.
Walker, Dr. 215.
Walker, Sir Edward, 318.
Walton, Isaac, x: his cha-
racter of Earle, 5221.
Walwin, 302.
Wapping, 287.
Ward, C. xii.
Ward, Edward, 183.
Warde, William, 13.
Warnborough, South, 237.
Warton, Thomas, 247, 276.
Washbourne, R. his Divine
Poems, 1.
Waste, 255.
Watch, 253, 254.
Weak man, character of, 76.
Weever, 117.
Westminster, 156, 185, 200,
237, 292, 318.
Westminster, the fellow of,
201.
Whimsies; or a new cast of
Characters, 282, 315.
Whip for a jockey, 310.
Whipjacke, 249.
Whitson ale, 171.
Whydds, 255.
Widow, a comedy, 44.
Wife, character of a good,
278.
Wife, note the Widdow, of Sir
Thomas Ocerbury, 257, 264.
editions of, 258.
William I. 185.
Wood, Anthony a, x, 212, 213,
217, 224, 238, 258, 300.
Worcester, Marquis of, 36.
World displayed, xii.
World's wise man, character
of, 87.
Wortley, Anne, 301.
Wortley, Sir Francis, 298, 300.
Wortley, Sir Richard, 300.
Writing school-master, by
Bales, 5.
Wyn, 253.
Yamm, 254.
York, 46, 211,318.
York, James, Duke of, after-
wards James II. 216, 298.
340
Young gentleman of the uni- Younger brother, character of,
versity, character of, 73. 24.
Young man, character of,
47< Ziba. 299.
THE END.
ERRATUM.
Page xi. line 12, for first, read./?/*.
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