Micro-cosmographie. OR, A PEECE OF THE WORLD DISCOVERED; IN ESSAYES AND CHARACTERS.

LONDON, Printed by William Stansby for Edward Blount. 1628.

TO THE READER GENTILE OR GENTLE.

I Haue (for once) ad­uentur'd to playe the Mid-wifes part, helping to bring forth these Infants in­to the World, which the Father would haue [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] smoothered: who ha­uing left them lapt vp in loose Sheets, as soon as his Fancy was deli­uered of them; written especially for his pri­uate Recreation, to passe away the time in the Country, and by the forcible request of Friends drawne from him; Yet passing se­uerally from hand to hand in written Co­pies, grew at length to be a prety number in a little Volume: and [Page] among so many sun­dry dispersed Trans­ [...]cripts, some very im­perfect and surreptiti­ous had like to haue past the Presse, if the Author had not vsed speedy meanes of pre­uention: When, per­ceiuing the hazard hee ran to be wrong'd, was vnwillingly wil­ling to let them passe as now they appeare to the World. If any faults haue escap'd the Presse, (as few Bookes [Page] can bee printed with­out) impose them not on the Author I intreat Thee; but rather im­pute them to mine and the Printers ouersight, 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 remaine

Thine, ED: BLOVNT.

A TABLE OF CONTENTS.

  • A Childe. 1.
  • A young raw Prea­cher. 2.
  • A graue Diuine. 3.
  • A meere dull Physi­tian. 4.
  • An Alderman. 5.
  • A discontented Man. 6.
  • An Antiquary. 7.
  • A younger Brother. 9.
  • A formall Man. 10.
  • [Page] A Church-Papist. 11
  • A selfe-conceied man. 12▪
  • A Tauerne. 13▪
  • A reseru'd Man. 14▪
  • A Sharke. 15▪
  • A Carier. 16▪
  • An old Colledge Pu [...] ler. 17▪
  • An Vpstart Knight. 18▪
  • An idle Gallant. 19▪
  • A Constable. 20▪
  • A downe-right Scholler 21▪
  • A Player. 22▪
  • A Detractor. 23▪
  • A young Gentleman o [...] the Vniuersity. 24▪
  • [Page] A Pot-Poet. 25.
  • A Cooke. 26.
  • A forward Man. 27.
  • A Baker. 28.
  • A plaine Country Fel­low. 30.
  • A Young-Man. 31.
  • The common Singing-Men. 32.
  • A Pretender to Lear­ning. 33.
  • A Shop-keeper. 34.
  • A Handsome Hostesse. 35.
  • A Blunt Man. 36.
  • A Criticke. 37.
  • A Sergeant. 38.
  • [Page] A weake Man. 39▪
  • A Tobacco seller. 40▪
  • A plausible Man. 41▪
  • The Worlds wise Man 42▪
  • A Bowle-Alley. 43▪
  • A Surgeon. 44▪
  • A Shee-precise Hypo­crite. 45▪
  • A Contemplatiue Man 46▪
  • An Aturney. 47▪
  • A Sceptick in religion. 48▪
  • A Partiall man. 49▪
  • A Trumpeter. 50▪
  • A vulgar-spirited Man 51▪
  • [Page] A ploddding Student. 52.
  • Pauls Walke. 53.
  • An Vniuersity Dun. 54.
  • A stayed Man. 55.
FINIS.

Micro-cosmographic. OR, A piece of the World Characteriz'd.

1. A Childe.

IS a Man in a small Letter, yet the best Copie of A­dam before hee tasted of Eue, or the Apple; and hee is happy whose small practice in the World can only write this [Page] Character. Hee is nature [...] fresh picture newly drawne in Oyle, which time, and much handling, dimmes and defaces. His Soule is yet a white paper vnscrib­led with obseruations of the world, wherewith at length it becomes a blurr'd Note-booke. He is purely happy, because he knowes no euill, nor hath made meanes by sinne to be ac­quainted with misery. Hee arriues not at the mischiefe of being wise, nor endures euils to come by fore seeing them. He kisses and loues all, and when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on his beater. Nature and his Pa­rents [Page] alike dandle him, [...]nd tice him on with a bait of sugar, to a draught of worme-wood. Hee playes [...]et, like a young Prentice [...]he first day, and is not [...]ome to his taske of me­lancholly. His hardest la­bour is his tongue, as if he were loath to vse so deceit­full an Organ; and hee [...]s best company with it when he can but prattle. Wee laugh at his foolish [...]ports, but his game is our [...]arnest: and his drums, [...]attles and hobby-horses, [...]ut the Emblems, & mock­ [...]ng of mans businesse. His [...]ther hath writ him as his [...]wne little story, wherein [Page] hee reades those day e [...] his life that hee cannot [...]member; and sighes to [...] what innocence he has [...] liu'd. The elder he growe [...] hee is a stayer lower fro [...] God; and like his first f [...]ther mnch worse in [...] [...]eeches. He is the Chr [...]stians example, and the o [...]mans relapse: The o [...]mitates his purenesse, an [...] the other fals into his si [...]plicitie. Could he put [...] his body with his litt [...] Coate, he had got eternit [...] without a burthen, and [...] chang'd but one Heaue [...] for another.

2. A young rawe. Preacher.

[...]S a Bird not yet fledg'd, [...] that hath hopt out of his [...]est to bee Chirping on a [...]edge, and will bee strag­ [...]ng abroad at what perill [...] euer. His backwardnesse [...] the Vniuersitie hath set [...]im thus forward; for had [...]e not truanted there, hee [...]ad not beene so hastie a [...]iuine. His small standing [...]nd time hath made him a [...]roficient onely in bold­ [...]esse, out of which and his [...]able-booke he is furnisht [...]or a Preacher. His Col­ [...]ections of Studie are the [...]otes of Sermons, which [Page] taken vp at S. Maries, [...] vtters in the Country. A [...] if he write Brachigraphy [...] his stocke is so much th [...] better. His writing is mor [...] then his reading; for he [...] reads onely what hee get [...] without booke. Thus accomplisht he comes dow [...] to his friends, and his fir [...] salutation is grace & peac [...] out of the Pulpit. His prayer is conceited, and no ma [...] remembers his Colledg [...] more at large. The pace o [...] his Sermon is a ful career [...] and he runnes wildly [...] hill and dale till the clock [...] stop him. The labour of i [...] is chiefly in his lungs. An [...] the onely thing hee ha [...] [Page] made of it himselfe, is the faces. He takes on against the Pope without mercy, and ha's a iest still in lauen­der for Bellarmine. His acti­on is all passion, and his speech interiections: Hee ha's an excellent faculty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a very good grace. Hee will not draw [...]his handkercher out of his place, nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that hee neuer looks vpon booke, and indeed, he was neuer vs'd to it. Hee preaches but once a yeare, though twice on Sunday: for the stuffe is still the same, only [Page] dressing a little alter'd. H [...] has more trickes with an [...] Sermon, then a Tailer with an old Cloake, to turn [...] it, and piece it, and at las [...] quite disguise it with a new Preface. If he haue wade [...] further in his profession and would shew Reading of his own, his Authors a [...] Postils, and his Schoole diuinitie a Ca [...]echisme. Hi [...] fashion and demure Ha [...]bit gets him in with som [...] Town-precisian, and mak [...] him a Guest on Fryda [...] nights. You shall know him by his narrow Velue cape, and Serge facing, an [...] his ruffe, next his Haire, th [...] shortest thing about hi [...] [Page] The cōpanion of his walke is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonisheth with strange points, which they both vnderstand alike. His friends and much paine­fulnesse may preferre him to thirtie pounds a yeare, and this means, to a Cham­ber-maide: with whom wee leaue him now in the bonds of Wedlocke. Next Sunday you shal haue him againe.

3. A Graue Diuine.

IS one that knowes the burden of his calling, and [Page] hath studied to make his shoulders sufficient: for which he hath not beene hasty to launch forth of his port the Vniuersity, hut expected the ballast of learning, and the winde of opportunity. Diuinity is not the beginning but the end of his studies, to which hee takes the ordinary stayre, and makes the Arts his way. He counts it not profanenesse to bee polisht with humane reading, or to smooth his way by Ari­stotle to schoole-diuinity. He ha's sounded both Re­ligions and anchord in the best, and is a Protestant out of iudgement, not fa­ction, [Page] not because his Country, but his Reason is on this side. The ministry is his choyce, not refuge, and yet the Pulpit not his itch, but feare. His dis­course there is substance, not all Rhetorique, and he vtters more things then words. His speech is not help't with enforc'd acti­on, but the matter acts it selfe. Hee shoots all his meditations at one Butt: and beats vpon his text, not the Cushion, making his hearers not the Pulpit groane. In citing of Popish errors, he cuts them with Arguments, not cudgels them with barren inu [...] ­ctiues: [Page] and labours more to shew the truth of his cause then the spleene. His Sermon is limited by the method, not the houre-glasse; and his Deuotion goes along with him out of the Pulpit. Hee comes not vp thrice a weeke because he would not bee idle, nor talkes three houres toge­ther, because hee would not talke nothing: but his tongue Preaches at fit times; and his conuersati­on is the euery dayes exer­cise. In matters of cere­monie hee is not ceremo­nious, but thinkes hee owes that reuerence to the Church to bow his iudge­ment [Page] to it, and make more conscience of schisme, then a Surplesse. Hee esteemes the Churches Hirarchie, as the Churches glory, and how-euer wee iarre with Rome, would not haue our confusion distinguish vs. In Symoniacall purchases he thinks his Soule goes in the bargaine, and is loath to come by promition so deare. Yet his worth at the length aduances him, and the price of his owne merit buyes him a Liuing. He is no base Grater of his Tythes, and will not wran­gle for the odde Egge. The Lawyer is the onely man he hinders, he is spited for [Page] taking vp quarrels. Hee is a maine pillar of our Church, though not yet Deane nor Canon, and his life our Religions best Apologie: His death is his last Sermon, where in the Pulpit of his Bed hee in­structs men to dye by his example.

4. A meere dull Physitian.

HIs practice is some bu­sinesse at bed-sides, and his speculation an V­rinall. Hee is distinguish [...] from an Empericke by a [Page] round veluet cap, and Do­ctors gowne, yet no man takes degrees more super­fluously, for he is Doctor howsoeuer. He is sworne to Gale [...] and Hypocrates, as Vniuersity men to their sta­tutes, though they neuer saw them, and his discourse is all Aphorismes, though his reading be onely A­lexis of Piemont, or the Regiment of Health. The best Cure hee ha's done is vpon his own purse, which from a leane sicklinesse he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His learning consists much in reckoning vp the hard names of diseases, and the superscriptions of [Page] Gally-pots in his Apothe­caries Shoppe, which are rank't in his Shelues, and the Doctors memory. If he haue been but a by-stander at some desperate recoue­rie, hee is slander'd with it, though hee be guiltlesse; and this breeds his reputa­tion, and that his Practice; for his skill is meerely opi­nion. Of all odors he likes best the smell of Vrine, and holds Vespatians rule, that no gaine is vnsauorie. If you send this once to him, you must resolue to be sick howsoeuer, for he will ne­uer leaue examining your Water till he haue shak [...] it into a Disease. Then fol­lowes [Page] a writ to his drugger in a strange tongue, which hee vnderstands though he cannot conster. If he see you himselfe, his presence is the worst visitation: for if hee cannot heale your sicknesse, he will be sure to helpe it. He translates his Apothecaries Shop into your Chamber, and the verie Windowes and Ben­ches must take Physicke. He tels you your Maladie in Greeke, though it be but a cold, or head-ach: which by good endeauor and di­ligence hee may bring to some moment indeed; his most vnfaithfull act is, that hee leaues a man gasping, [Page] and his pretence is, death and he haue a quarrell, and must not meete; but his feare is, least the Carcasse should bleed. Anatomies and other spectacles of Mortality haue hardened him, and hee's no more struck with a Funerall then a Graue-maker. Noble­men vse him for a director of their stomacks, and La­dies for wantonnesse, espe­cially if hee bee a proper man. If he be single, he is in league with his Shee-Apothecary, and because it is the Physitian, the hus­band is Patient. If he haue leasure to be idle (that is to study) he ha's a smatch at [Page] Alcumy, and is sicke of the Pilosophers stone, a disease vncurable, but by an abundant Phlebotomy of the purse. His two main opposites are a Mounte­banke, and a good Wo­man, and he neuer shewes his learning so much as in an inuectiue against them, and their boxes. In con­clusion he is a sucking con­sumption, and a very bro­ther to the wormes, for they are both ingendred out of mans corruption.

5. An Alderman.

HEe is Venerable in his Gowne, more in his Beard, wherewith hee sets not foorth so much his owne, as the face of a Citie. You must looke on him as one of the Towne-Gates, and consider him not as a Body, but a Corporation. His eminencie aboue o­thers hath made him a man of Worship, for hee had neuer beene prefer'd, but that hee was worth thousands. Hee ouer-sees the Common-wealth, as his Shop, and it is an ar­gument of his Policie, that he has thriuen by his craft. [Page] Hee is a rigorous Magi­strate in his Ward: yet his scale of Iustice is suspected, least it bee like the Ballan­ces in his Ware-house. A ponderous man he is, and substantial: for his weight is commonly extraordina­rie, and in his preferment nothing Rises so much as his Bellie. His Head is of no great depth, yet well furnisht, when it is in coniunction with his Bre­thren, may bring foorth a Citie Apothegme, or some such sage matter. Hee is one that will not hastily runne into error, for hee treds with great deliberati­on, & his iudgment consists [Page] much in his pace. His dis­course is commonly the Annals of his Maioralty, and what good gouerment there was in the dayes of his gold Chaine: though his doore-posts were the onely things that suffered reformation: Hee seemes not sincerely religious, e­specially on solemne daies; for he comes oft to Church to make a shew. He is the highest stayre of his pro­fession and an example to his Trade, what in time they may come to. Hee makes very much of his authority; but more of his Sattin Doublet; which, though of good yeares, [Page] bears its age very well, and looks fresh euery Sunday; But his Scarlet gowne is a Monument, and lasts from generation to generation.

6. A discontented Man.

IS one that is falne out with the world, and will bee reuengd' on himselfe. Fortune ha's deny'd him in something, and hee now takes pet, and will be mi­serable in spite. The roote of his disease is a selfe-hu­mouring pride, and an ac­custom'd tendernesse, not [Page] to bee cro [...]t in his fancy▪ and the occasions com [...]monly one of these three▪ a hard father, a peeuish wench, or his ambition thwarted. Hee considered not the nature of the world till he felt it, and all blowes fall on him heauier, because they light not first on his expectation. He has now forgone all but his pride, and is yet vaine glorious in the ostentation of his me­lancholy. His composure of himselfe is a studied carelesnesse with his armes a crosse, and a neglected hanging of his head and cloake, and he is as great an enemie to an hat-band, [Page] as Fortune. He quarrels at the time, and vp-starts, and sighs at the neglect of men of Parts, that is, such as himselfe. His life is a per­petuall Satyre, and hee is still girding the ages vani­ty; when this very an­ger shewes he too much e­steemes it. Hee is much displeas'd to see men mer­ry, and wonders what they can find to laugh at. Hee neuer drawes his own lips higher then a smile, and frownes wrinckle him be­fore fortie. Hee at the last fals into that deadly melan­choly to bee a bitter hater of men, and is the most apt Companion for any mis­chiefe. [Page] Hee is the sparke that kindles the Common-wealth, and the bellowes himselfe to blow it: and if he turn any thing, it is com­monly one of these, either Friar, traitor, or mad-man.

7. An Antiquary.

HE is a man strangely thrifty of Time past, & an enemy indeed to his Maw, whence hee fetche [...] out many things when they are now all rotten and stinking. Hee is one tha [...] hath that vnnaturall dis­ease to bee enamour'd o [...] [Page] old age, and wrinckles, and loues all things (as Dutch­men doe Cheese) the bet­ter for being mouldy and worme-eaten. He is of our Religion, because we say it is most ancient; and yet a broken Statue would al­most make him an Idola­ter. A great admirer he is of the rust of old Monu­ments, and reades onely those Charactars, where time hath eaten out the letters. Hee will goe you forty miles to see a Saints Well, or ruin'd Abbey: and if there be but a Crosse or stone foot-stoole in the way, hee'l be considering it so long, till he forget his [Page] iourney. His estate consists much in shekels, and Ro­man Coynes, and he hath more Pictures of Caesar, then Iames or Elizabeth▪ Beggers coozen him with musty things which they haue rak't from dunghils, and he preserues their rags for precious Reliques. He loues no Library, but where there are more Spi­ders volums then Authors, and lookes with great ad­miration on the Antique worke of Cob-webs. Prin­ted bookes he contemnes, as a nouetly of this latter age; but a Manu-script the pores on euerlastingly, es­pecially if the couer be all [Page] Moth-eaten, and the dust make a Parenthesis be­tweene euerie Sillable. He would giue all the Bookes in his Studie (which are ra­rities all) for one of the old Romane binding, or sixe lines of Tully in his owne hand. His chamber is hung commonly with strange Beasts skins, and is a kind of Charnel-house of bones extraordinarie, and his dis­course vpon them, if you will heare him shall last longer. His verie atyre is that which is the eldest out of fashion, and you may picke a Criticism out of his Breeches. He neuer lookes vpon him self til he is gray-hair'd, [Page] and then he is plea­sed with his owne Anti­quity. His Graue do [...]s not fright him, for he ha's been vs'd to Sepulchers, and hee likes Death the better, be­cause it gathers him to his Fathers.

9. Younger Brother.

HIs elder Brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like Iacob at his heeles. His fa­ther ha's done with him, as Phararh to the children of Israel, that would haue them make brick, and giue [Page] them no straw, so he taskes him to bee a Gentleman, and leaues him nothing to maintaine it. The pride of his house has vndone him, which the elder Knight­hood must sustaine, and his beggery that Knighthood. His birth and bringing vp will not suffer him to de­scend to the meanes to get wealth: but he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse of his brother. He is something better then the Seruing-men; yet they more saucy with him, then hee bold with the master, who be­holds him with a counte­nance of sterne awe, and [Page] checks him oftner then his Liueries. His brothers old suites and hee are much a­like in request, and cast off now and then one to the other. Nature hath fur­nisht him with a little more wit vpon compassi­on; for it is like to be his best reuenew. If his An­nuity stretch so farre he is sent to the Vniuersity, and with great heart-burning takes vpon him the Mini­stry; as a profession hee is condemn'd, to by his ill fortune. Other take a more crooked path, yet the Kings high-way, where at length their vizzard is pluck't off, and they strike [Page] faire for Tiburne: but their Brothers pride, not loue, gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries, where rags and lice are no scandall, where hee liues a poore Gentle­man of a Company, and dies without a shirt. The onely thing that may bet­ter his fortunes, is an art hee ha's to make a Gentle­woman, wherewith hee baits now and then some rich widow, that is hun­gry after his blood. He is commonly discontented, and desperate, and the forme of his exclamation is, that Churle my Brother. He loues not his country [Page] for this vnnatural custome, and would haue long since reuolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent onely which he holds in admiration.

10. A meere for­mall Man.

IS somewhat more then the shape of a man; for he has his length, breadth, and colour. When you haue seene his outside, you haue lookt through him, and need imploy your dis­couery no farther. His rea­son is meerly example, and his action is not guided by [Page] his vnderstanding, but he sees other men doe thus, and he followes them. He is a Negatiue, for we can­not call him a wise man, but not a foole; nor an ho­nest man, but not a knaue; nor a Protestant, but not a Papist. The chiefe burden of his brain is the carriage of his body, and the setting of his face in a good frame: which hee performes the better, because hee is not disiointed with other Me­ditations. His Religion is a good quiet subiect, and he prayes, as he sweares, in the Phrase of the Land. He is a faire guest, and a faire inuiter, and can excuse his [Page] good cheere in the accusto­med Apologie. Hee ha's some faculty in mangling of a Rabbet, and the distri­bution of his morsell to a neighbour trencher. Hee apprehends a iest by seeing men smile, and laughes or­derly himselfe, when it comes to his turne. His discourse is the newes that hee hath gathered in his walke, and for other mat­ters his discretion is, that he will only what hee can, that is, say nothing. His life is like one that runnes to the Minster-walke, to take a turne, or two, and so passes. He hath staid in the world to fill a number; [Page] and when he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end.

11. A Church-Papist.

IS one that parts his Re­ligion betwixt his con­science and his purse, and comes to Church not to serue God, but the King. The face of the Law makes him weare the maske of the Gospel, which he vses not as a meanes to saue his soule, but charges. He loues Popery well, but is loath to lose by it, and though he be somthing scar'd with the [Page] Buls of Rome, yet they are farre off, and he is strucke with more terror at the Apparitor. Once a moneth he presents himselfe at the Church, to keepe off the Church warden, & brings in his body to saue his bayle. He kneels with the Congregation, but prayes by himselfe, and asks God forgiuenesse for comming thither. If he be forc'd to stay out a Sermon, he puts his hat ouer his eyes, and frowns out the houre, and when hee comes home, thinkes to make amends for this fault by abusing the Preacher. His maine policy is to shift off the [Page] Communion, for which he is neuer vnfurnish't of a quarrell, and will be sure to be out of Charity at Ea­ster; and indeed lies not, for hee ha's a quarrell to the Sacrament. He would make a bad Martyr, and good trauellor, for his con­science is so large, he could neuer wander out of it, and in Constantinople would be circumcis'd with a re­seruation. His wife is more zealous, and therfore more costly, and he bates her in tyres, what she stands him in Religion. But we leaue him hatching plots against the State, and expecting Spinola.

12. A selfe conceited Man.

IS one that knowes him­selfe so well that he does not know himselfe. Two excellent well-dones haue vndone him; and hee is guilty, that first commen­ded him to madnesse. He is now become to his owne booke, which he poares on continually, yet like a tru­ant-reader skips ouer the harsh places and surueyes onely that which is plea­sant. In the speculation of his owne good parts, his eyes like a drunkards see all double, and his fancy [Page] like an old mans specta­cles, make a great letter in a small print. He imagines euery place where hee comes his Theater, and not a looke stirring, but his spectator; and conceiues mens thoughts to be very idle, that is, busie about him. His walke is still in the fashion of a March, and like his opinion vnaccom­panyed, with his eyes most fixt vpon his owne person, or on others with reflecti­on to himselfe. If he haue done any thing that ha's past with applause, he is alwayes re-acting it alone, and conceits the extasie his hearers were in at euery [Page] period. His discourse is all positions, and definitiue decrees, with thus it must be, and thus it is, and hee will not humble his autho­rity to proue it. His tenent is alwayes singular, and aloofe from the vulgar as he can, from which you must not hope to wrest him. Hee ha's an excellent humor, for an heretique, and in these dayes made the first Arminian. He pre­fers Ramus before Aristotle, & Paracelsus before Galen, and whosoeuer with most Paradox is commended, & Lipsius his hopping stile, before either Tully or Quin­tilian. He much pities the [Page] World, that ha's no more in sight in his Parts, when he is too well discouered, euen to this very thoght. A flatterer is a dunce to him, for he can tell him nothing but what hee knowes be­fore, and yet he loues him to, because he is like him­selfe. Men are mercifull to him, and let him alone, for if he be once driuen from his humor, he is like two inward friends fallen out; His own bitter enemy, and discontent presently makes a murther. In summe, he is a bladder blown vp with wind, which the least flaw crushes to nothing.

13. A Tauerne.

IS a degree, or (if you will) a paire of stayres aboue an Alehouse, where men are drunke with more credit and Apologie. If the Vintners nose be at dore, it is a signe sufficient, but the absence of this is sup­plyed by the Iuie-bush. The rooms are ill breath'd, like the drinkers that haue been washt wel ouer night, and are smelt too fasting next morning; not furnisht with Beds apt to be defil'd, but more necessary imple­ments, Stooles, Table, and a Chamber-pot. It is a [Page] broacher of more newes then hogs-heads, & more iests then newes, which are sukt vp heere by some spungie braine, and from thence squeazed into a Co­medy. Men come here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this mu­sicke aboue is answered with the clinking below. The Drawers are the ci­uilest people in it, men of good bringing vp, and howsoeuer we esteeme of them, none can boast more iustly of their high calling. Tis the best Theater of na­tures, where they are true­ly acted, not plaid, and the busines as in the rest of the [Page] world vp and downe, to wit, from the bottome of the Seller to the great Chamber. A melancholy man would finde heere matter to worke vpon, to see Heads as brittle as Glasses, and ofter bro­ken. Men come hither to quarrell, and come hither to be made friends, and if Plutarch will lend me his Simile, it is euen Tele­phus his sword that makes wounds, and cures them. It is the common cōsump­tion of the Afternoone, and the murderer, or ma­ker away of a rainy day. It is the Torrid Zone that scorches the face, and To­bacco [Page] the gun-powder that blowes it vp. Much harme would be done, if the cha­ritable Vintener had not Water readie for these flames. A house of sinne you may call it but not a house of darknesse for the Candles are neuer out, and it is like those Countries farre in the North, where it is as cleare at mid-night as at mid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing showre, where the spouts are flush­ing aboue, and the Con­duits running below, while the Iordans like swel­ling riuers ouerflow their bankes. To giue you the [Page] totall reckoning of it. It is the busie mans recreation, the idle mans businesse, the melancholy mans Sanctu­ary, the strangers welcome, the Innes a Court mans entertainment, the schol­lers kindnesse, and the Ci­tizens curtesie. It is the stu­die of sparkling wits, and a cup of Canary their book, where we leaue them.

14. A too idly reseru'd Man.

IS one that is a foole with discretion: or a strange piece of Politician, that manages the state of him­selfe, [Page] His Actions are his Priuie Counsell, wherein no man must partake be­side. He speakes vnder rule and prescription, and dare not shew his teeth without Machiauell. He conuerses with his neighbours as he would in Spaine, and feares an inquisitiue man as much as the inquisition. Hee sus­pects all questions for exa­minations, and thinks you would pick something out of him, and auoids you: His brest is lik a gentlewomans closet, which locks vp eue­rie toye and trifle, or some bragging Mounte-banke, that makes euerie stinking thing a secret. He deliuers [Page] you common matters with great coniuration. of si­lence, and whispers you in the eare Acts of Parlia­ment. You may as soone wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoeuer he reads is letters. He dares not talke of great men for feare of bad Comments, and he knowes not how his words may bee misap­plyed. Aske his opinion and he tels you his doubt: and hee neuer heares a­ny thing more astonishtly then what he knowes be­fore. His words are like the Cards at Primiuiste, where 6. is 18. and 7. 21. for they neuer signifie what they [Page] sound; but if he tell you he wil do a thing, it is as much as if hee swore he would not. He is one indeed that takes all men to be craftier then they are, and puts himselfe to a great deale of affliction to hinder their plots, and designes where they meane freely. Hee ha's beene long a riddle himselfe, but at last finds Oedipusses; for his ouer-a­cted dissimulation disco­uers him, and men doe with him as they would with Hebrew letters, spell him backwards, and read him.

15. A Sharke.

IS one whome all other meanes haue fayl'd, and hee now liues of himselfe. He is some needy casheir'd fellow, whom the World has oft flung off, yet still claspes againe, and is like one a drowning, fastens vpon any thing that's next at hand, amongst other of his Shipwrackes hee has happyly lost shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his Braine to more vse then hee, for his life is a dayly inuention, and each meale a new stra­tagem. Hee has an excel­lent [Page] memorie for his ac­quaintance, though there past but how doe you be­twixt them seuen yeeres agoe, it shall suffice for an Imbrace, and that for mo­ney. He offers you a Pottle of Sacke out of his ioy to see you, and in requitall of this courtesie, you can doe no lesse then pay for it. He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a Schoole-boy with his points, when hee is going to bee Whipt, till the Master wearie with long Stay, forgiues him. When the reckoning is payd, he sayes it must not bee so, it is strait pacified, and cryes what remedie. [Page] His borrowings are like Subsidies, each man a shil­ling or two, as he can well dispend, which they lend him▪ not with the hope to be repayd, but that he will come no more. He holds a strange tyranny ouer men, for he is their debtor, and they feare him as a credi­tor. He is proud of any im­ployment, though it bee but to carry commendati­ons, which he will be sure to deliuer at eleuen of the clocke. They in curtesie bid him stay, & he in man­ners cannot deny them. If he find but a good looke to assure his welcom, he be­comes their halfe boord­er, [Page] and haunts the thresh­hold so long, till he forces good natures to the necessi­ty of a quarrell. Publique iuuitations hee will not wrong with his absence, and is the best witnesse of the Sheriffes Hospitality. Men shun him at length as they would doe an infecti­on, and he is neuer crost in his way, if there be but a lane to escape him. He ha's done with the Age as his clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.

16. A Carrier.

IS his own Hackneyman for hee lets himselfe out to trauel as well as his hor­ses. Hee is the ordina­rie Embassadour betweene Friend and Friend, and brings rich Presents to the one, but neuer returnes any backe againe. He is no vn­letter'd man, though in shew simple, for question­lesse, hee has much in his Budget, which hee can vtter too in fit time and place; He is the Vault in Gloster Church, that con­ueyes Whispers at a di­stance; for hee takes the [Page] sound out of your mouth at Yorke, and makes it bee heard as farre as London. Hee is the young Students ioy and expectation, and their most accepted guest, to whom they lend a wil­ling hand to discharge him of his burthen. His first greeting is, Your Friends are well; then in a piece of Gold deliuers their Bles­si [...]g. You would thinke him a Churlish blunt fel­low, but they find in him many tokens of humani­tie. He is a great afflicter of the High-way, and beates them out of mesure, which iniury is somtimes reuengd by the Purse-taker; & then [Page] the Voyage miscaries. No mandomineers more in his Inne, nor cals his Host vn­reuerently with more pre­sumption, and this arro­gance proceeds out of the strength of his Horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his ease, for he is drunke commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the Prodigall Child, still packing away, and still re­turning againe. But let him passe.

17. An old Colledge Butler.

IS none of the worst Stu­dents in the house, for he keeps the set houres at his booke more duly then any. His authority is great ouer mens good names, which hee charges many times with shrewd aspersions, which they hardly wipe off without payment. His Boxe and Counters proue him to bee a man of reck­oning; yet he is stricter in his accounts then a Vsu­rer, and deliuers not a far­thing without writing. He doubles the pains of Gallo­belgicus, [Page] for his bookes goe out once a quarter, and they are much in the same nature, briefe notes and summes of affaires, and are out of request as soone. His commings in are like a Taylors from the shreds of bread, the chippings, and remnants of the broken crust: excepting his vailes from the barrell, which poore folkes buy for their hogs, but drinke them­selues. He diuides a halfe-peny loafe with more subtilty then Kekerman, and sub-diuides the a pri­mo ortum so nicely, that a stomacke of great ca­pacity can hardly appre­hend [Page] it. Hee is a very so­ber man considering his manifold temptations of drinke and strangers, and if hee be ouer-seene, tis within his owne liber­ties, and no man ought to take exceptions. He is neuer so well pleas'd with his place, as when a Gen­tleman is beholding to him for shewing him the Butte­ry, whom hee greets with a cup of single beere and slyst manchet, and tels him tis the fashion of the Col­ledge. Hee domineers o­uer Fresh-men when they first come to the Hatch, and puzzles them with strange language of Cues, [Page] and Cees, and some bro­ken Latine which he ha's learnt at his Bin. His fa­culties extraordinary, is the warming of a paire of Cards, and telling out a doozen of Counters for Post and Paire, and no man is more methodicall in these businesses. Thus hee spends his age, till the [...]appe of it is runne out, and then a fresh one is set abroach.

18. An vp-start Coun­trey Knight.

HIs honour was some­what preposterous, for hee bare the Kings sword before he had armes to wield it; yet being once laid ore the shoulder with a Knighthood, he finds the Herauld his friend. His father was a man of good stocke, though but a Tan­ner, or Vsurer; hee pur­chast the Land, and his son the Title. He ha's do [...]t off the name of a Clowne, but the looke not so easie, and his face beares still a relish of Churne-milke. Hee is [Page] garded with more gold lace then all the Gentle­men o'th Country, yet his body makes his clothes stil out of fashion. His house-keeping is seene much in the distinct families of Dogges, and Seruing-men attendant on their kennels, and the deepenesse of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A Hauke he e­steemes the true burthen of Nobility, and is excee­ding ambitious to seeme delighted in the sport, and haue his fist glou'd with his Iesses. A Iustice of peace hee is to domineere in his Parish, and doe his neighbour wrong with [Page] more right. And very scan­dalous he is in his autho­rity, for no sinne almost which hee will not com­mit. Hee will be drunke with his hunters for com­pany, and staine his Gen­tility with droppings of Ale. He is fearfull of being Sheriffe of the Shire by in­stinct, and dreads the Size-weeeke as much as the Pri­soner. In summe, he is but a clod of his owne earth, or his Land is the Dunghill, and he the Cocke that crowes ouer it. And com­monly his race is quickly runne, and his Childrens Children, though they scape hanging, returne to [Page] the place from whence they came.

19. A Gallant.

IS one that was born and shapt for his cloathes: and if Adam had not falne, had liu'd to no purpose. Hee gratulates therefore the first sinne, and fig­leaues that were an occa­sion of brauery. His first care is his dresse, the nex [...] his bodie, and in the vni­ting of these two lies his soule and its faculties. He obserues London trulier then the Termers, and his [Page] businesse is the street: the Stage, the Court, and those places where a pro­per man is best showne. If hee be qualified in ga­ming extraordinary, he is so much the more gentile and compleate, and hee learnes the best oathes for the purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, & he is as curious in their newnesse as the fashion. His other talke is Ladies and such pretty things, or some iest at a Play. His Pick-tooth beares a great part in his discourse, so does his body; the vpper parts whereof are as starcht as his linnen, and per­chance [Page] vse the same Laun­dresse. Hee has learnt to ruffle his face from his Boote, and takes great de­light in his walke to heare his Spurs gingle. Though his life passe somewhat sli­dingly, yet he seemes very carefull of the time, for hee is still drawing his Watch out of his Poket, and spends part of his houres in numbring them. He is one neuer serious but with his Taylor, when hee is in conspiracie for the next deuice. He is furnisht his Iests, as some wande­rer with Sermons, some three for all Congregati­ons, one especially against [Page] the Scholler, a man to him much ridiculous, whome hee knowes by no other definition, but a silly fel­low in blacke. He is a kind of walking Mercers Shop, and shewes you one Stuffe to day, and another tomorrow; an ornament to the roomes he comes in, as the faire Bed and Hang­ings be; and is meerely ra­table accordingly, fiftie or an hundred Pound as his suit is. His maine ambition is to get a Knight-hood, and then an olde Ladie, which if he be happy in, he fils the Stage and a Coach so much longer. Other­wise, himselfe and his [Page] Cloathes grow stale toge­ther, and he is buried com­monly ere hee dies in the Gaole, or the Country.

20. A Constable.

IS a Vice-roy in the street, and no man stands more vpon't that he is the Kings Officer. His iurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he ha's Commissi­on for the heeles onely, and sets the rest of the body at liberty. Hee is a scar-crow to that Alehouse, where he drinkes not his mornings draught, and apprehends [Page] a Drunkard for not stan­ding in the Kings name. Beggers feare him more then the Iustice, and as much as the Whip-stocke, whom hee deliuers ouer to his subordinate Magi­strates, the Bride-wel-man, and the Beadle. Hee is a great stickler in the tu­mults of double Iugges, and venters his head by his Place, which is broke many times to keep whole the peace. He is neuer so much in his Maiesty as in his Night-watch, where hee sits in his Chayre of State, a Shop-stall, and in­uiron'd with a guard of Halberts, examines all pas­sengers. [Page] He is a very care­full man in his Office, but if hee stay vp after mid­night, you shall take him napping.

21. A downe right Sholler.

IS one that has much learning in the Ore, vn­wrought and vntryde, which time and experience fashions and refines. He is good mettall in the inside, though rough & vnscour'd without, and therefore ha­ted of the Courtier, that is quite contrarie. The time [Page] has got a veine of making him ridiculous, and men laugh at him by tradition, and no vnluckie absurdity, but is put vpon his profes­sion, and done like a Schol­ler. But his fault is onely this, that his mind is some­what much taken vp with his mind, and his thoughts not loaden with any car­riage besides. Hee has not put on the quaint Garbe of the Age, which is now become a mans Totall. He has not humbled his Me­ditations to the industrie of Complement, not afflicted his braine in an elaborate legge. His body is not set vpon nice Pinnes, to bee [Page] turning and flexible for e­uery motion, but his scrape is homely, and his nod worse. He cannot kisse his hand and cry Madame, nor talke idly enough to beare her company. His smacking of a Gentle-wo­man is somewhat too sa­uory, and he mistakes her nose for her lippe. A very Woodcock would puzzle him in caruing, and hee wants the logicke of a Ca­pon. He has not the glib fa­culty of sliding ouer a tale, but his words come squea­mishly out of his mouth, and the laughter common­ly before the iest. He names this word Colledge too of­ten, [Page] and his discourse beats too much on the Vniuersi­ty. The perplexity of man­nerlinesse will not let him feed, and he is sharpe set at an Argument when hee should cut his meate. He is discarded for a gamester at all games but one and thir­ty, and at tables he reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are not long and drawn out to handle a Fid­dle, but his fist is clunch't with the habite of dispu­ting. He ascends a Horse somwhat sinisterly, though not on the left side, and they both goe iogging in griefe together. He is ex­ceedingly censur'd by the [Page] Innes a Court men, for that hainous Vice being out of fashion. Hee cannot speake to a Dogge in his owne Dialect, and vnder­stands Greeke better then the language of a Falconer. Hee has beene vsed to a darke roome, and darke Clothes, and his eyes daz­zle at a Sattin Doublet. The Hermitage of his Stu­dy, has made him somwhat vncouth in the world, and men make him worse by staring on him. Thus is he silly and ridiculous, and it continues with him for some quarter of a yeare, out of the Vniuersitie. But practise him a little in men, [Page] and brush him ore with good companie, and hee shall out-ballance those glisterers as much as a so­lid substance do's a feather, or Gold Gold-lace.

22. A Player.

HE knows the right vse of the World, where in he comes to play a part and so away. His life is not idle for it is all Action, and no man need be more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are vpon him. His Profession ha's in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more dislik'd, and [Page] yet none more applauded; and he ha's this misfor­tude of some Scholler, too much wit makes him a foole. He is like our pain­ting Gentle-women, sel­dome in his owne face, sel­domer in his cloathes, and he pleases, the better hee counterfeits, except onely when he is disguis'd with straw for gold lace. Hee do's not only personate on the Stage, but sometime in the Street, for he is mask'd still in the habit of a Gen­tleman. His Parts find him oathes and good words, which he keeps for his vse and Discourse, and makes shew with them of a fashi­onable [Page] Companion. He is tragicall on the Stage, but rampant in the Tyring-house, and sweares oathes there which he neuer con'd. The waiting women Spe­ctators are ouer-eares in loue with him, and Ladies send for him to act in their Chambers. Your Innes of Court men were vndone but for him, hee is their chiefe guest and imploy­ment, and the sole busines that makes them After­noones men; The Poet on­ly is his Tyrant, and he is bound to make his friends friend drunk at his charges. Shroue-tuesday hee feares as much as the Baudes, and [Page] Lent is more damage to him then the Butcher. He was neuer so much discre­dited as in one Act, & that was of Parliament, which giues Hostlers Priuiledge before him, for which hee abhors it more then a cor­rupt Iudge. But to giue him his due, one wel-furnisht Actor has enough in him for fiue common Gentle­men, and if he haue a good body for sixe, and for reso­lution, hee shall Challenge any Cato, for it has beene his practise to die brauely.

23. A Detractor.

IS one of a more cunning and actiue enuy, where­with he gnaws not foolish­ly himselfe, but throwes it abroad and would haue it blister others. He is com­monly some weake parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangely ambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but bringing them down with his Tongue to his owne poorenesse. Hee is indeed like the red Dragon that pursued the woman, for when hee cannot ouer­reach another, hee opens [Page] his mouth and throwes a flood after to drowne him. You cannot anger him worse then to do well, and hee hates you more bitter­ly for this, then if you had cheated him of his patri­mony with your owne dis­credit. He is alwayes sligh­ting the generall opinion, and wondring why such and such men should bee applauded. Commend a good Diuine, hee cryes Postilling, a Philologer Pedantrie, a Poet Ry­ming, a Schoole man dull wrangling, a sharpe con­ceite, Boy-ishnesse; an honest Man pla [...]sibilitie. Hee comes to Publique [Page] things not to learne, but to catch, and if there bee but one soloecisme, that's all he carries away. Hee lookes on all things with a pre­pared sowrenesse, and is still furnisht with a Pish before hand, or some musty Prouerbe that dis-relishes all things whatsoeuer. If feare of the company make him second a commendati­on, it is like a Law-writ, al­waies with a clause and ex­ception, or to smooth his way to some greater scan­dall. Hee will grant you somthing, and bate more; and this bating shal in con­clusion take away all hee granted. His speech con­cludes [Page] still with an Oh but, and I coud wish one thing amended; and this one thing shal be enough to de­face all his former com­mendations. Hee will bee very inward with a man to fish some bad out of him, and make his slanders here­after more authenticke, when it is said a friend re­ported it. He will inueigle you to naughtinesse to get your good name into his clutches, and make you drunk to shew you reeling. He passes the more plausi­bly because all men haue a smatch of his humour, and it is thought freenes which is malice. If he can say no­thing [Page] of a man, hee will seeme to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he would: and when he has rackt his inuention to the vttermost, hee ends: But I wish him well, and therfore must hold my peace. He is alwayes list­ning and enquiring after men, and suffers not a cloake to passe by him vn­examin'd. In briefe, hee is one that has lost all good himselfe, and is loth to find it in another.

24. A meere young Gen­man of the Vni­uersitie.

IS one that comes there to weare a gown, and to say hereafter, he has beene at the Vniuersitie. His Fa­ther sent him thither, be­cause hee heard there were the best Fencing and Dan­cing-Schooles, from these he has his Education, from his Tutor the ouer-sight. The first Element of his knowledge is to be shewne the Colledges, and initia­ted in a Tauerne by the way, which hereafter hee wil learne of himselfe. The two markes of his Seniori­tie, [Page] is the bare Veluet of his gowne, and his proficien­cie at Tennis, where when hee can once play a Set, he is a Fresh-man no more. His Studie has common­ly handsome Shelues, his Bookes near Silke strings, which he shewes to his Fa­thers man, and is loth to vntye or take downe for feare of misplacing. Vpon foule dayes for recreation hee retyres thither, and looks ouer the prety booke his Tutor Reades to him, which is commonly some short Historie, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his Tutor giues him Money to spend next day. His [Page] maine loytering is at the Library, where he studies Armes and bookes of Ho­nour, and turnes a Gentle­man-Critick in Pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to bee mistaken for a Scholler, and hates a black suit though it be of Sattin. His companion is ordina­rily some stale fellow, that ha's beene notorious for an Ingle to gold hatbands, whom he admires at first, afterward scornes. If hee haue spirit or wit, he may light of better company, and may learne some fla­shes of wit, which may doe him Knights seruice in the Country hereafter. But [Page] hee is now gon to the Inns of Court, where he studies to forget what hee learn'd before, his acquaintance and the fashion.

25. A Pot-Poet.

IS the dreggs of wit; yet mingled with good drink mae haue some relish. His Inspirations are more reall then others; for they doe but faine a God, but he has his by him. His Verses run like the Tap, and his in­uention as the Barrell, ebs and flowes at the mercy of the spiggot. In thin drinke [Page] hee aspires not aboue a Ballad, but a cup of Sacke inflames him, and sets his Muse and Nose a fire to­gether. The Presse is his Mint, and stamps him now and then a sixe pence or two in reward of the ba­ser coyne his Pamphlet. His Workes woul [...] [...] sell for three halfe-pence, though they are giuen oft for three Shillings, but for the prety Title that allures the Country Gentleman: and for which the Printer maintaines him in Ale a fortnight. His Verses are like his clothes, miserable Cento's and patches, yet their pace is not altogether [Page] so hobbling as an Alma­nacks. The death of a great man or the burning of a house furnish him with an Argument, and the nine Muses are out strait in mourning gownes, and Melpomine cryes Fire, Fire. His other Poems are but Briefs in Rime, and like the poore Greekes collections to redeeme from captiuity. He is a man now much im­ploy'd in commendations of our Nauy, and a bit­ter inueigher against the Spaniard. His frequent'st Workes goe out in single sheets, and are chanted from market to market, to a vile tune, and a worse [Page] throat, whilst the poore Country wench melts like her butter to heare them. And these are the Stories of some men of Tyburne, or a strange Monster out of Germany: or sitting in a Baudy-house; hee writes Gods Iudgements. Hee ends at last in some ob­scure painted Cloth, to which himselfe made the Verses, and his life like a Canne too full spils vpon the bench. He leaues twen­ty shillings on the score, which my Hostesse looses.

26. A Cooke.

THe Kitchin is his Hel, and hee the Diuell in it, where his meate aud he frye together. His Reuen­nues are showr'd downe from the fat of the Land, and he enter-lards his own grease among to helpe the drippings. Colericke hee is, not by nature so much as his Art, & it is a shrewd temptation that the chop­ping knife is so neare. His weapons ofter offensiue, are a messe of hot broth, and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in his way. In the Kitchin [Page] he wil domineere, and rule the roste, in spight of his Master, and Curses is the very Dialect of his Cal­ling. His labour is meere blustring and furie, and his Speech like that of Sailors in a storme, a thousand bu­sinesses at once, yet in all this tumult hee do's not loue cumbustion, but will be the first man that shall goe and quench it. Hee is neuer good Christian till a hizzing Pot of Ale has slak't him, like Water cast on a fire-brand, & for that time he is tame and dispo­sest. His cunning is not small in Architecture, for he builds strange Fabricks [Page] in Paste, Towres and Ca­stles, which are offered to the assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius his Pal­lace, in one Banquet de­molisht. Hee is a pittilesse murderer of Innocents, and hee mangles poore foules with vnheard of tor­tures, and it is thought the Martyrs persecutions were deuised from hence, sure we are S t. Lawrence his Gridiron came out of his Kitchin. His best facultie is at the Dresser, where he seemes to haue great skill in the Tactickes, ranging his Dishes in order Milita­rie, and placing with great discretion in the fore-front [Page] meates more strong and hardy and the more cold and cowardly in the reare, as quaking Tarts, and qui­ueri [...]g Custards, and such milke-sop Dishes which scape many times the fu­ry of the encounter. But now the second Course is gone vp, and hee downe into the Sellar, where hee drinkes and sleepes till foure a clocke in the afternoone, and then re­turnes againe to his Re­giment.

27. A forward bold Man.

IS a lusty fellow in a crowd, that's beholding more to his elbow then his legges, for he do's not goe but thrusts well. Hee is a good shuffler in the world, wherin he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts on. He can doe something, but dare doe 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-opinion'd of himselfe, as industrious to make other; and thinks no vice so pre­iudiciall [Page] as blushing. Hee is still citing for himselfe, that a candle should not be hid vnder a bushell, and for his part, he will be sure not to hide his, thogh his candle be but a snuffe or Rush-candle. These few good parts hee has, he is no niggard in displaying, and is like some needy flanting gold-smith, no thing in the inner roome, but all on the [...]np-boord: If he be a scholler, he ha's commonly stept into the Pulpit before a degree; yet into that too before he deseru'd it. He neuer de­ferres S. Maries beyond his regencie, and his next [Page] Sermon is at Pruls Crosse, and that printed. He loues publike things alife: and for any solemne entertain­ment he will find a mouth, find a speech who will. Hee is greedy of great ac­quaintance and many, and thinkes it no small ad­uancement to rise to bee knowne. His talke at the ta­ble is like Beniamins messe, fiue times to his part, and no argument shuts him out for a quarrellour. Of all disgraces he indures not to be Non-plust, and had ra­ther flye for Sanctuary to Non-sense, which few can descry, then to nothing which all. His boldnesse is [Page] beholding to other mens modestie, which rescues him many times from a Bafflle; yet his face is good Armour, and hee is dasht out of any thing sooner then Countenance. Gros­ser conceites are puzzel'd in him for a rare man, and wiser men, though they know him, take him for their pleasure, or as they would doe a Sculler for be­ing next at hand. Thus preferment at last stum­bles on him because hee is still in the way. His Com­panions that flouted him before, now enuie him, when they see him come readie for Scarlet, whilst [Page] themselues lye Mustie in their old Clothes and Col­ledges.

28. A Baker.

NO man verifies the Prouerbe more, that it is an Almes-deed to pu­nish him: for his penalty is a Dole, and do's the Beg­gers as much good as their Dinner. He abhors there­fore workes of Charitie, and thinkes his Bread cast away when it is giuen to the poore. He loues not Iu­stice neither, for the weigh-scales sake, and hates the [Page] Clarke of the Market as his Executioner: yet hee findes mercy in his offen­ces, and his Basket onely is sent to Prison. Marry a Pillory is his deadly ene­my, and he neuer heares well after.

30. A plaine Country Fellow.

IS one that manures his ground wel, but lets him­selfe lie fallow and vntil'd. Hee has reason enough to doe his businesse, and not enough to be idle or me­lancholy. Hee seemes to [Page] haue the iudgement of Na­buchadnezar for his con­uersation is among beasts, and his tallons none of the shortest, only he eates not grasse, because he loues not sallets. His hand guids the Plough, and the Plough his thoughts, and his ditch and land [...]marke is the ve­ry mound of his meditati­ons. He expostulates with his Oxen very vnderstan­dingly, and speakes Gee and Ree better then En­glish. His mind is not much distracted with obiects, but if a good fat Cowe come in his way, he stands dumbe and astonisht, and though his haste be ne­uer [Page] so great, will fixe here halfe an houres contem­plation. His habitation is some poore Thatcht roofe, distinguisht from his Barn, by the loope-holes that let out smoak, which the raine had long since Washt tho­row, but for the double see­ling of Bacon on the inside, which has hung ther from his Grandsires time, and is yet to make rashers for po­sterity. His Dinner is his o­ther worke, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour; he is a terrible fastner on a piece of Beefe, and you may hope to staue the Guard off sooner. His Religion is a part of his Copy-hold, [Page] which hee takes from his Land-lord, and referres it wholly to his discretion. Yet if hee giue him leaue, he is a good Christian to his power (that is) comes to Church in his best clothes, and sits there with his Neighbours, where he is capable onely of two Praiers, for raine, and faire weather. Hee apprehends Gods blessings onely in a Good Yeere, or a Fat pa­sture, and neuer praises him bu [...] on good ground. Sunday he esteemes a day to make merrie in, and thinkes a Bag-pipe as es­sentiall to it, as Euening Prayer, where hee walkes [Page] very solemnly after seruice with his hands coupled behind him, and censures the dauncing of his parish. His complement with his Neighbour is a good thumpe on the backe; and his salutation commonly some blunt Curse. Hee thinkes nothing to bee vi­ces but Pride and ill-hus­bandrie, from which hee wil grauely disswade youth and has some thriftie Hob­nayle Prouerbes to Clout his discourse. Hee is a nig­gard all the Weeke except onely Market-day, where if his Corne sell well, hee thinkes he may be drunke with a good Conscience. [Page] His feete neuer stinke so vnbecommingly as when hee trots after a Lawyer in West-minster [...]hall, and euen cleaues the ground with hard scraping, in be­seeching his Worship to take his money. Hee is sensible of no calamitie but the burning of a Stacke of Corne, or the ouer-flowing of a Medow, and thinkes Noahs Flood the greatest Plague that euer was, not because it Drowned the World, but spoyl'd the grasse. For Death hee is neuer troubled, and if hee get in but his Haruest be­fore, let it come when it wil he cares not.

31. A Young-man.

HEe is now out of Natures protection, though not yet able to guide himselfe. But left loose to the World, and Fortune, from which the weaknesse of his Child­hood preseru'd him: and now his strength exposes him. Hee is indeed iust of age to be miserable, yet in his owne conceit first be­gins to be happy; and hee is happier in this imagina­tion, and his misery not felt is lesse. He sees yet but the outside of the World and Men, and conceiues [Page] them according to their appearing glister, and out of this ignorance beleeues them. He pursues all vani­ties for happinesse, and enioyes them best in this fancy. His reason serues not to curbe but vnder­stand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with a more ea­ger earnestnes. Himselfe is his owne temptation, and needs not Satan; and the World will come hereaf­ter. Hee leaues repentance for gray hayres, and per­formes it in being coue­tous. Hee is mingled with the vices of the age as the fashion and custome, [...]ith [Page] which hee longs to bee ac­quainted; and Sinnes to better his vnderstanding. He conceiues his Youth as the season of his Lust, and the Houre wherein hee ought to bee bad: and be­cause he would not lose his time, spends it. He distasts Religion as a sad thing, and is sixe yeeres elder for a thought of Heauen. Hee scornes and feares, and yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it with wrin­cles. Hee loues and hates with the same inflamation: and when the heate is ouer is coole alike to friends and enemies. His friendship is seldome so stedfast but that [Page] lust, drinke, or anger may ouerturne it. He offers you his blood to day in kind­nesse, and is readie to take yours to morrow. He do's seldome any thing which hee wishes not to doe a­gaine, and is onely wise af­ter a misfortune. Hee suf­fers much for his know­ledge, and a great deale of folly it is makes him a wise man. Hee is free from ma­nie Vices, by being not grown to the performance, and is onely more vertu­ous out of weaknesse. E­uerie action is his danger, and euery man his ambush. Hee is a Shippe without Pilot or Tackling, and on­ly [Page] good fortune may steere him. If he scape this age, hee ha's scap't a Tempest, and may liue to be a Man.

32. The common singing-men in Cathedrall Churches.

ARe a bad Society, and yet a Company of good Fellowes, that roare deep in the Quire, deeper in the Tauerne. They are the eight parts of speech which goe to the Syntaxis of Seruice, and are distin­guish't by their noyses much like Bels, for they [Page] make not a Consort but a Peale. Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their exrecise drinking, yet here­in so religiously addicted that they serue God oft­est when they are drunke. Their humanity is a legge to the Residencer, their learning a Chapter, for they learne it commonly before they read it, yet the old Hebrew names are lit­tle beholding to them, for they mis-call them worse then one another. Though they neuer expound the Scripture, they handle it much, and pollute the Gos­pel with two things, their Conuersation, and their [Page] thumbes. Vpon Worky-dayes they behaue them­selues at Prayers as at their Pots, for they swallow them downe in an instant. Their Gownes are lac'd cōmonly with streamings of Ale, the superfluites of cups, or throat aboue mea­sure. Their skill in melo­dy makes them the better companions abroad, and their Anthemes abler to sing Catches. Long-liu'd for the most part they are not, especially the base, they ouer-flow their banke so oft to drowne the Or­gans. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they dye con­stantly in Gods Seruice; [Page] and to take their death with more patience, they haue Wine and Cakes at their Funerall: and now they keepe the Church a great deale better, and helpe to fill it with their bones as before with their noise.

33. A Pretender to Learning.

IS one that would make others more fooles then himselfe; for though hee know nothing, he would not haue the world know so much. He conceits no­thing [Page] in Learning but the opinion, which he seekes to purchase without it, though hee might with lesse labour cure is igno­rance, then hide it. He is indeed a kind of Scholler-Mountebank, and his Art, our delusion. He is trickt out in all the accoutre­ments of Learning, and at the first encounter none passes better. He is oftner in his study, then at his Booke, and you cannot pleasure him better, then to deprehend him. Yet he heares you not til the third knocke, and then comes out very angry, as inter­rupted. You find him in [Page] his Slippers, and a Pen in his eare, in which formali­ty he was asleep. His Table is spred wide with some Classicke Folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid open in the same Page this halfe yeare. His Candle is alwayes a longer sitter vp then him­selfe, and the boast of his Window at Midnight. He walkes much alone in the Posture of Meditati­on, and ha's a Booke still before his face in the fields. His pocket is sel­dome without a Greeke Testament, or Hebrew Bi­ble, which hee opens on­ly in the Church, and that [Page] when some stander by lookes ouer. He has his sen­tences for Company, some scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good vpon all occasions. If hee read any thing in the mor­ning, it comes vp all at dinner: and as long as that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great Plagiarie of Tauerne-wit: and comes to Sermons onely that he may talke of Austin. His Parcels are the meere scra­pings frō Company, yet he complains at parting what time he has lost. He is won­drously capricious to seem a iudgement, and listens with a soure attention, to [Page] what he vnderstands not: He talkes much of Scali­ger and Causabone, and the Iesuites, and prefers some vnheard-of Dutch name before them all. He has ver­ses to bring in vpon these and these hints, and it shall goe hard but he will wind in his opportunity. He is criticall in a language hee cannot conster, and speaks seldome vnder Armini­us in Diuinity. His busi­nesse and retirement and caller away is his Study, and he protests no delight to it comparable. Hee is a great Nomen-clator of Authors, which hee has read in generall in the Ca­talogue, [Page] and in particular in the Title, and goes sel­dome so farre as the De­dication. Hee neuer talkes of any thing, but learning, and learnes all from tal­king. Three incounters with the same men pumpe him, and then hee onely puts in, or grauely sayes no thing. He has taken paines to be an Asse, though not to be a Scholler, and is at length discouered and laught at.

34. A Shop-keeper.

HIs Shop is his wel stuft Booke, and himselfe [Page] the Title-page of it, or In­dex. Hee vtters much to all men, though he sels but to a few, and intreates for his owne necessities by asking others what they lacke. No man speakes more and no more, for his words are like his Wares, twentie of one sort, and he goes ouer them alike to all commers. He is an arro­gant commender of his owne things; for what­soeuer hee shewes you, is the best in the Towne, though the worst in his Shop. His Conscience was a thing, that would haue layde vpon his hands, and he was forc't to put it off: [Page] and makes great vse of honestie to professe vpon. Hee tels you lyes by rote, and not minding, as the Phrase to sell in, and the Language hee spent most of his yeeres to learne. He neuer speakes so truely, as when hee sayes hee would vse you as his Brother, for hee would abuse his Bro­ther; & in his Shop, thinkes it lawfull. His Religion is much in the nature of his Customers, and indeed the Pander to it: and by a mis­interpreted sense of Scrip­ture makes a gaine of his Godlinesse. Hee is your slaue while you pay him ready Money, but if hee [Page] once be-friend you, your Tyrant, and you had bet­ter deserue his hate then his trust.

35. A handsome Hostesse.

IS the fairer commenda­tion of an Inne, aboue the faire Signe or faire Lodgings. She is the Load­stone that attracts men of Iron, Gallants and Roa­rers, where they cleaue sometimes long, and are not easily got off. Her Lips are your wel-come, and your entertainement [Page] her companie, which is put into the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcell in it▪ No Citizens wife is demu­rer then shee at the first greeting, nor drawes in her mouth with a chaster sim­per, but you may be more familiar without distaste, and shee do's not startle at Baudrie. She is the con­fusion of a Pottle of Sacke more then would haue beene spent els-where, and her little Iugs are accepted, to haue her Kisse excuse them. Shee may be an ho­nest woman, but is not be­leeu'd so in her Parish, and no man is a greater In fidel in it then her Husband.

36. A Blunt Man.

IS one whose wit is bet­ter pointed then his be­hauiour, and that course, and Impollisht not out of ignorance so much as hu­mour. He is a great enemy to the fine Gentleman, and these things of Comple­ment, and hates ceremonie in conuersation, as the Pu­ritan in Religion. Hee di­stinguishes not betwixt faire and double-dealing, and suspects all smooth­nesse for the dresse of kna­uerie. Hee starts at the en­counter of a Salutation, as an assault, and beseeches [Page] you in choller to forbeare your courtesie. Hee loues not any thing in Discourse that comes before the pur­pose, and is alwaies suspici­ous of a Preface. Himselfe fals rudely still on his mat­ter without any circum­stance, except hee vse an old Prouerbe for an Intro­duction. He sweares olde out of date innocent othes, as by the Masse, by our Ladie, and such like; and though there bee Lords present, hee cryes my Ma­sters. Hee is exceedingly in loue with his Humour, which makes him alwayes professe and proclaime it, and you must take what he [Page] sayes patiently, because he is a plaine man. His nature is his excuse still and other mens Tyrant for hee must speake his mind, and that is his worst, and craues your perdon most iniuri­ously for not Pardoning you. His Iests best become him, because they come from him rudely and vnaf­fected: and hee has the lucke commonly to haue them famous. Hee is one that will doe more then he will speake, and yet speake more then hee will heare: for though hee loue to touch others, hee is teachy himselfe, and seldome to his own abuses replyes but [Page] with his Fists. Hee is as squeazie of his commenda­tions as his courtesie, and his good word is like an E­logie in a Satyre. Hee is generally better fauour'd then hee fauours, as be­ing commonly well ex­pounded in his bitternesse, and no man speaks treason more securely. Hee chides great men with most bold­nesse, and is counted for it an honest fellow. Hee is grumbling much in the behalfe of the Common-wealth, and is in Prison oft for it with credit. Hee is generally honest, but more generally thought so, and his downe-right­nesse [Page] credits him, as a man not wel bended and crook­ned to the times. In con­clusion, hee is not easily bad, in whom this quali­tie is Nature, but the coun­terfeit is most dangerous since he is disguis'd in a hu­mour, that professes not to disguise.

37. A Criticke.

IS one that has speld o­uer a great many of Bookes, and his obserua­tion is the Orthographie. Hee is the Surgeon of old Authors, and heales the [Page] wounds of dust and igno­rance. He conuerses much in fragments and Desunt multa's, and if he piece it vp with two Lines, he is more proud of that Booke then the Authour. Hee runnes ouer all Sciences to peruse their Syntaxis, and thinkes all Learning compris'd in writing Latine. Hee tastes Styles, as some discreeter Palats doe Wine; and tels you which is Genuine, which Sophisticate and ba­stard. His owne Phrase is a Miscellanie of old words, deceas'd long before the Caesars, and entoomb'd by Varro, and the modern'st man hee followes is Plau­tus. [Page] Hee writes Omneis at length, and quidquid, and his Gerund is most incon­formable. Hee is a trou­ble troublesome vexer of the dead, which after so long sparing must rise vp to the Iudgement of his castigations. He is one that makes all Bookes sell dea­rer, whilst he swels them into Folio's with his Com­ments.

38. A Sergeant or Catch-pole.

IS one of Gods Iudge­ment; and which our Roarers doe onely con­ceiue terrible. Hee is the properest shape wherein they fancie Satan; for hee is at most but an Arrester, and Hell a Dungeon. Hee is the Creditors Hawke, wherewith they seaze vp­on flying Birds, and fetch them againe in his Tallons. He is the Period of young Gentlemen, or their full stop, for when hee meetes with them they can goe no farther. His Ambush is a [Page] Shop-Stall, or close Lane, and his Assault is coward­ly at your backe. Hee re­spites you in no place but a Tauerne, where hee sels his Minutes dearer then a Clocke-maker. The com­mon way to runne from him, is through him, which is often attempted and atchieued, and no man is ofter beaten out of Cha­titie. Hee is one makes the streete more dangerous then the High-wayes, and men goe better prouided in their walkes then their Iourney. Hee is the first handsell of the young Ra­piers of the Templers, and they are as proud of his [Page] repulse, as an Hungarian of killing a Turke. He is a moueable Prison, and his hands two Manacles hard to be fil'd off. He is an occa­sioner of di [...]loyal thoughts in the Common-wealth, for he makes men hate the Kings Name worse then the Deuils.

37. A weake Man.

IS one whom Nature huddled vp in hast, and left his best part vnfinish't. The rest of him is growne to bee a man, onely his braine stayes behind. Hee [Page] is a man that ha's not im­proou'd his first rudi­ments, nor attain'd any proficiencie by his stay in the world: but wee may speake of him yet as when hee was in the budde a good harmelesse nature, a well meaning mind, if hee could order his intentions. It is his misery that hee now most wants a Tutor, and is too old to haue one. Hee is two steps aboue a foole, and a great many mo below a wise-man: yet the foole is oft giuen him, and by those whom he esteems most. Some tokens of him are. He loues men better vpon relation then experi­ence: [Page] for he is exceeding­ly enamour'd of Strangers, and none quicklier a weary of his friend. Hee charges you at first meeting with all his secrets, and on bet­ter acquaintance growes more reseru'd. Indeed he is one that mistakes much his abusers for friends, and his friends for enemies, and hee apprehends your hate in nothing so much, as in good counsell. One that is flexible with any thing but reason, and then only peruerse; & you may better intice then perswade him. A seruant to euery tale and flatterer, & whom the last man still works ouer. A [Page] great affecter of wits and such pretinesses; and his company is costly to him, for he seldom ha's it but in­uited. His friendship com­monly is begun in a supper and lost in lending money. The Tanerne is a dange­rous place to him, for to drinke and to be drunke, is with him all one, and his braine is sooner quenchd then his thirst. He is drawn into naughtines with com­pany, but suffers alone, and the Bastard common­ly laid to his charge. One that will bee patiently a­bus'd, and take excepti­ons a Moneth after when he vnderstands it, and then [Page] not endeare him more then by coozening him, and it is a temptation to those that would not. One discouerable in all sillines­ses to all men but himselfe, & you may take any mans knowledge of him better then his owne. Hee will promise the same thing to twentie, and rather then denie one breake with all. One that ha's no power o're himselfe, o're his busi­nesse, o're his friends: but a prey and pitie to all: and if his fortunes once sinke, men quickly crie alas, and forget him.

40. A Tobacco-seller.

IS the onely man that finds good in it which o­thers brag of, but doe not; for it is meate, drinke, and clothes to him. No man o­pens his ware with greater seriousnesse, or challenges your iudgement more in the approbation. His Shop is the Randeuous of spit­ting, where men dialogue with their noses, and their communication is smoke. It is the place onely where Spaine is commended and prefer'd before England it selfe. He should be well ex­perienc'd in the world: for [Page] he ha's daily tryall of mens nostrils, and none is bet­ter acquainted with hu­mors. Hee is the piecing commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his Tobacco, and that to his wife, which is the flame that followes this smoke.

41. A plausible Man.

IS one that would faine run an eeuen path in the world, and iutt against no man. His endeuour is not to offend, and his ayme the generall opinion. His con­uersation is a kind of con­tinued [Page] Complement, and his life a practise of man­ners. The relation hee beares to others, a kind of fashionable respect, not friendship, but friendlines, which is equall to all and [...] and his kindnes­ses seldome exceed courte­sies. Hee loues not deep­er mutualities, because hee would not take sides, nor hazard himselfe on dis­pleasures, which he prin­cipally auoids. At your first acquaintance with him he is exceeding kind and friendly, and at your twen­tieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an ex­cellent command ouer his [Page] patience and tongue, espe­cially the last, which hee accommodates alwayes to the times and persons, and speakes seldome what is sincere, but what is ciuill. He is one that vses al com­panies, drinkes all healths, and is reasonable coole in all Religions. He can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausiue attention, and conceale his Laughter at Non-sense. Silly men much honour and esteeme him, because by his faire reasoning with them as with men of vnderstan­ding, he puts them into an erroneous opinion of them selues, and makes them [Page] forwarder heereafter to their owne discouerie. He is one rather well thought on then belou'd, and that loue hee ha's is more of whole companies together then any one in particular. Men gratifie him notwith­standing with a good re­port, and what euer vi­ces he ha's besides, yet ha­uing no enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.

42. The Worlds wise Man.

IS an able and suffici­ent wicked man, it is a proofe of his sufficiency that hee is not called wic­ked, but wise. A man wholy determin'd in himselfe and his owne ends, and his in­struments herein any thing that will doe it. His friends are a part of his engines, and as they serue this worke, vs'd or laid by. In­deed hee knowes not this thing of friend, but if hee giue you the name, it is a signe he ha's a plot on you. Neuer more actiue in his [Page] businesses, then when they are mixt with some harme to others: and tis his best play in this Game to strike off and lie in the place. Suc­sessfull commonly in these vndertakings, because he passes smoothly those rubs which others stumble at, as Conscience and the like: and gratulates him­selfe much in this aduan­tage: Oathes and falshood he counts the neerest way, and loues not by any meanes to goe about. Hee has many fine quips at this folly of plaine dealing, but his tush is greatest at Reli­gion, yet hee vses this too, and Vertue, and good [Page] Words, but is lesse dange­rously a Diuel then a Saint. He ascribes all honestie to an vnpractis'dnesse in the World: and Conscience a thing meerely for Chil­dren. Hee scornes all that are so silly to trust him, and onely not scornes his ene­mie; especially if as bad as himselfe: He feares him as a man well arm'd, and pro­uided, 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 cals matters of deepe villa­ny things of difficultie. To whom murders are but re­solute [Page] Acts, and Treason a businesse of great conse­quence. One whom two or three Countries make vp to this compleatnesse, and he ha's traueld for the purpose. His deepest in­dearment is a communica­tion of mischiefe, and then onely you haue him fast. His conclusion is com­monly one of these two, either a Great Man, or hang'd.

43. A Bowle Alley.

IS the place where there are three things throwne 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 enioyes it that lookes on and bets not. It is the Schoole of wrangling, and worse then the Schooles, for men will cauill heere for an haires breadth, and make a stirre where a straw would end the controuersie. No An­ticke, screwes mens bodies into such strange flexures, and you would think them [Page] senslesse, to speak sense to to their Bowle, 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 their mony & must say no­thing. It is the best discoue­ry of humors, especially in the losers, where you haue fine variety of impatience, whilst some fret, some raile, some sweare, and others more ridiculously comfort themselues with Philoso­phy. To giue you the Mo­rall of it; It is the Em [...]leme [Page] of the world, or the worlds ambition: where most are short, or ouer, or wide or wrong-Byas'r, and some few iustle in to the Mistris Fortune. And it is here as in the Court, where the nearest are most spighted, and all blowes aym'd at the Toucher.

44. A Surgeon.

IS one that has some bu­sinesse about his Buil­ding or little house of man, whereof Nature is as it were the Tyler, and hee the Playsterer. It is ofter [Page] out of reparations, then an old Parsonage, and then he is set on worke to patch it againe. Hee deales most with broken Commodi­ties, as a broken Head, or a mangled face, and his gaines are very ill got, for he liues by the hurts of the Common-wealth. He dif­fers from a Physitian as a sore do's from a disease, or the sicke from those that are not whole, the one dis­tempers you within, the other blisters you without. He complaines of the de­cay of Valour in these daies, and sighes for that slashing Age of Sword and Buckler; and thinkes the [Page] Law against Duels, was made meerly to wound his Vocation. Hee had beene long since vndone, if the charitie of the Stewes had not relieued him, from whom he ha's his Tribute as duely as the Pope, or a wind-fall sometimes from a Tauerne, if a quart Pot hit right. The rarenesse of his custome maks him pit­tilesse when it comes: and he holds a Patient longer then our Courts a Cause. Hee tels you what danger you had beene in if he had staide but a minute longer, and though it bee but a prickt finger, hee makes of it much matter. He is a rea­reasonable [Page] cleanely man, considering the Scabs hee ha's to deale with, & your finest Ladies now and then are beholding to him for their best dressings. Hee curses old Gentlewomen, and their charity that maks his Trade their Almes: but his enuie is neuer stir'd so much as when Gentlemen goe ouer to sight vpon Ca­lice Sands, whome hee wishes drown'd ere they come there, rather then the French shall get his Cu­stome.

45. A Shee-precise. Hypocrite.

IS one in whom good Women suffer, and haue their truth mis-interpreted by her folly.

She is one, she knows not what her selfe if you aske her, but shee is indeed one that ha's taken a toy at the fashion of Religion, and is enamour'd of the New­fangle. See is a Non­conformist in a close Sto­macher and Ruffe of Ge­neua Print, and her puritie consists much in her Lin­nen. Shee ha's heard of the Rag of Rome, and thinkes [Page] it a very sluttish Religion, and rayles at the Whore of Babylon for a very naughty Woman. Shee ha's left her Virginity as a Relique of Popery, and marries in her Tribe with­out a Ring. Her deuotion at the Church is much in the turning vp of her eye, and turning downe the lease in her Booke when shee heares nam'd Chap­ter and Verse. When she comes home, shee com­mends the Sermon for the Scripture, and two houres. She loues Preaching bet­ter then Praying, and of Preachers Lecturers, and thinkes the Weeke-dayes [Page] Exercise farre more edify­ing then the Sundaies. Her oftest Gossippings are Sa­baoth-dayes iourneyes, where (though an ene­my to Superstition) shee will goe in Pilgrimage fiue mile to a silenc'd Mini­ster, when there is a bet­ter Sermon in her owne Parish. Shee doubts of the Virgin Marie's Salua­tion, and dare not Saint her, but knowes her own place in heauen as per­fectly, as the Pew shee ha's a key to. Shee is so taken vp with Faith, shee ha's no roome for Chari­ty, and vnderstands no good Workes, but what [Page] are wrought on the Sam­pler. She accounts no­thing Vices but Supersti­tion, and an Oath, and thinkes Adultery a lesse sinne, then to sweare by my Truely. Shee rayles at other Women by the names of Iezabel and Da­lilah: and calls her owne daughters Rebecka and A­bigail, and not Anne but Hannah. She suffers them not to learne on the Virgi­nalls, because of their affi­nity with the Organs, but is reconcil'd to the Bells for the Chymes sake, since they were reform'd to the tune of a Psalme. She ouer flowes so with the Bible, [Page] that she spils it vpon euery occasion, and wil not Cud­gell her Maides without Scripture. It is a question whether shee is more trou­bled with the Diuell or the Diuell with her: shee is al­wayes challenging and da­ring him, and her weapons are Spels no lesse potent then different, as being the sage Sentences of some of her owne Sectaries. No thing angers her so much as that Woemen cannot Preach, and in this point onely thinkes the Brownist erroneous: but what shee cannot at the Church, shee do's at the Table, where she prattles more then any [Page] against sense, and Anti­christ, till a Capon wing silence her. Shee expounds the Priests of Baal Reading Ministers, and thinkes the Saluation of that Parish as desperate as the Turkes. Shee is a maine derider to her capacitie of those that are not her Preachers, and censures all Sermons but bad ones. If her Husband be a Tradsman, shee helpes him to Customers, how so­euer to good cheere, and they are a most faithfull couple at these meetings, for they neuer faile. Her Conscience is like others Lust neuer satisfied, and you might better answere [Page] Scotus then her Scruples. Shee is one that thinkes shee performes all her du­ty to God in hearing, and shewes the fruits of it in talking. Shee is more fiery against the May-pole then her Husband, and thinkes he might doe a Phinehas his act to break the pate of the Fiddler. She is an euer­lasting Argument; but I am weary of her.

46. A Contemplatiue Man.

IS a Scholler in this great Vniuersity the World; and the same his Booke and Study. Hee cloysters not his Meditations in the narrow darknesse of a Roome, but sends them abroad with his Eyes, and his Braine trauels with his Feete. He looks vpon Man from a high Tower, and sees him trulyer at this distance in his Infirmities and poorenesse. He scornes to mixe himselfe in mens a­ctions; as he would to act vpon a Stage; but sits a­loft [Page] on the Scaffold a cen­suring Spectator. Nature admits him as a partaker of her Sports, and asks his approbation as it were of her owne Workes, and va­riety. Hee comes not in Company, because hee would not be solitary, but findes Discourse enough with himselfe, and his owne thoughts are his ex­cellent play-fellowes. He lookes not vpon a thing as a yawning Stranger at no­uelties; but his search is more mysterious and in­ward, and hee spels Hea­uen out of earth. He knits his obseruations together, and makes a Ladder of [Page] them all to climbe to God. He is free from vice, because he has no occasion to imploy it, and is aboue those ends that make men wicked. He ha's learnt all can heere be taught him, and comes now to Hea­uen to see more.

47. An Aturney.

HIs Ancient beginning was a blue coat, since a liuery, and his hatching vnder a Lawer; whence though but pen-feather'd, hee hath now nested for himselfe, and with his hor­ded [Page] pence purchast an Of­fice. Two Deskes, and a quire of Pader set him vp, where he now sits in state for all commers. We can-call him no great Anthor, yet he writes very much, and with the infamy of the Court is maintain'd in his libels. Hee ha's some smatch of a Scholler, and yet vses Latine very hard­ly, and le [...]t it should accuse him, cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speake, out. He is contrary to great men, maintained by his followers, that is his poore country Clients, that wor­ship him more then their Landlord, and be there ne­uer [Page] such churles, he lookes for their curtesie. He first racks them soundly him­selfe, and then deliuers them to the Lawier for ex­ecution. His looks are very solicitous importing much hast and dispatch, he is ne­uer without his hanfull of businesse, 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 talkes Statutes as fiercely, as if he had moo­ted seuen yeers in the Inns of Court; when all his skill is stucke in his girdle, or in his office window. Strife and wrangling haue made [Page] him rich, and he is thank­full to his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he liue in a Country village, he makes all his neighbours good Subiects; for there shall be nothing done but what there is law for. His bu­sinesse giues him not leaue to thinke of his consci­ence, and when the time, or terme of his life is go­ing out, for Doomes-day he is secure; for he hopes he has a tricke to reuerse iudgement.

48. A Scepticke in Religion.

IS one that hangs in the ballance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not one but stirres him and none swayes him. A man guilti­er of credulity then he is ta­ken to bee; for it is out of his beleefe of euery thing, that hee fully be­leeues nothing. Each Re­ligion scarres him from it's contrary: none per­swades him to it selfe. Hee would be wholy a Chri­stian, but that he is some­thing of an Atheist, and wholy an Atheist, but that [Page] hee is partly a Christian; and a perfect Heretick, but that there are so many to distract him. He finds rea­son in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least rea­son perplexes him, and the best will not satisfie him. He is at most a confus'd and wild Christian, not specializ'd, by any forme, but capable of all. He vses the Lands Religion, be­cause it is next him, yet he sees not why hee may not take the other, but he chu­ses [...]his, not as better, but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and sernples better then resolues them, and is al­wayes [Page] too hard for him­selfe. His Learning is too much for his brayne; and his iudgment too little for his learning, and his ouer­opinion of both spoyls all Pity it was his mischance of being a Scholler; for it do's only distract and irre­gulate him & the world by him. He hammers much in generall vpon our opini­ons vncertainety, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what is true. He is troubled at this naturalnesse of Religion to Countries, that Protestan­tisme should bee borne so in England and Popery a­broad, and that fortune [Page] and the Starres should so much share in it. He likes not this connexion of the Common-weale, and Di­uinity, and feares it may be an Arch-practice of State. In our differences with Rome he is strangely vn­fix't, and a new man euery new day, as his last dis­course-books Meditations transport him. Hee could like the gray haires of Po­perie, did not some dota­ges there stagger him; hee would come to vs sooner, but our new name affrights him. He is taken with their Miracles but doubts an im­posture; hee conceiues of our Doctrine better; but it [Page] seemes too empty and na­ked. He cannot driue into his fancy the circumscrip­tion of Truth to our cor­ner, and is as hardly per­swaded to thinke their old Legends true. He approues wel of our Faith, and more of their workes, and is sometimes much affected at the zeale of Amsterdam. His conscience interposes it selfe betwixt Duellers, and whillst it would part both, is by both wounded. He will somtimes propend much to vs vpon the rea­ding a good Writer, and at Bellarmine recoyles as farre backe againe; and the Fathers iustle him [Page] from one side to another Now Sosinaas and Vorstius afr [...]sh torture him, and he agrees with none worse then himselfe. He puts his foot into Heresies tenderly as a Cat in the water, and pulls it out againe, and still something vnanswer'd delayes him yet he beares away some parcell of each, and you may sooner picke all Religions out of him then one, He cannot thinke so many wise men should be in error, nor so many honest men out of the way and his wounder is du­bled, when he sees these oppose one annother. He hates authority as the Ty­rant [Page] of reason, and you cannot anger him worse then with a Fathers dixit, and yet that many are not perswaded with reason, shall authorize his doubt. In summe, his whole life is a question, and his saluati­on a greater, which death onely concludes, and then he is resolu'd.

47. A Partiall Man.

IS the opposite extreame to a Defamer, for the one speakes ill falsly, and the other well, and both slander the Truth. He is [Page] one that is still weighing men in the Scale of Com­parisons, and puts his af­fection in the one ballance, and that swayes. His friend alwayes shall doe best, and you shall rarely heare good of his enemy. Hee con­siders first the man, and then the thing, and re­straines all merit to what they deserue of him. Com­mendations hee esteemes not the debt of Worth, but the requitall of kind­nesse: and if you aske his reason, shewes his Interest, and tels you how much he is beholding to that Man. Hee is one that ties his iudgement to the Wheele [Page] of Fortune, and they de­termine giddily both a­like. He preferres England before other Countries, be­cause he was borne there, and Oxford before other Vniuersities, because hee was brought vp there, and the best Scholler there, is one of his owne Colledge and the best Schooler there is one of his friends. Hee is a great fauourer of great persons, and his argument is still that which should bee Antecedent, as he is in high place, therefore ver­tuous, he is prefer'd, there­fore worthy. Neuer aske his opinion, for you shall heare but his faction, and [Page] he is indifferent in nothing but Conscience. Men e­steeme him for this a zea­lous affectionate, but they mistake him many times, for hee does it but to bee e­steemed so. Of all men hee is worst to write an Histo­rie, for hee will praise a Seianus or Tiberius, and for some pettie respect of his all posteritie shall bee cosen'd.

50. A Trumpeter.

IS the Elephant with the great Trunke, for hee eates nothing but what comes through this way. His Profession is not so worthy as to occasion in­solence, and yet no man so much puft vp. His face is as Brazen as his Trumpet, and (which is worse) as a Fidlers, from whom hee differeth onely in this, that his impudence is dearer. The Sea of Drinke, and much wind make a Storme perpetually in his Cheeks, and his looke is like his noyse, blustering and tem­pestuous. [Page] Hee wa's whi­lome the sound of Warre, but now of Peace; yet as terrible as euer, for where­soere hee comes they are sure to pay for't. He is the common attendant of glit­tering folkes, whether in the Court or Stage, where he is alwaies the Prologues Prologue. He is somewhat in the nature of a Hogshed shrillest when he is empty; when his belly is full hee is quiet enough. No man proues life more to bee a blast, or himselfe a bubble, and he is like a counter­feit Bankrupt, thriues best when he is blowne vp.

50. A vulgar-spirited Man.

IS one of the heard of World. One that fol­lowes meerely the com­mon crye, and makes it louder by one. A man that loues none but who are publikely affected, and he will not be wiser then the rest of the Towne. That neuer ownes a friend after an ill name, or some gene­rall imputation though he knowes it most vnworthy. That opposes to reason, Thus men say, and thus most doe, and thus the world goes, and thinkes [Page] this enough to poyse the other. That worships men in place, and those onely, and thinkes all a great man speakes Oracles. Much ta­ken with my Lords I [...]st, and repeats you it all to a sillable. One that iustifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinion out of the ap­plauded way. That thinkes certainly all Spaniards and Iesuites very villaines, and is still cursing the Pope and Spynola. One that thinkes the grauest Cas­socke the best Scholler: and the best Clothes the fi­nest man. That is taken onely with broad and ob­scoene wit, and hisses any [Page] thing too deepe for him. That cries Chaucer for his Money aboue all our En­glish Poets, because the voice ha's gone so, and hee ha's read none. That is much rauisht with such a Noble-mans courtesie, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his Hat. One that is for­most still to kisse the Kings hand, and cries God blesse his Maiestie loudest. That rayles on all men con­demn'd and out of fa­uour, and the first that sayes away with the Tray­tors: yet struck with much ruth at Executions, and for pittie to see a man die, [Page] could kill the Hang-man. That comes to London to see it, and the pret­ty things in it, and the chiefe cause of his iour­ney the Beares: That measures the happinesse of the Kingdome, by the cheapnesse of corne; and conceiues no harme of State, but il trading. With­in this compasse too, come those that are too much wedg'd into the world, and haue no lifting thoughts aboue those things that call to thriue, to doe well, and Preferment onely the grace of God. That ayme all Studies at this marke, & shew you poore Schol­lers [Page] as an example to take heed by. That thinke the Prison and want, a Iudge­ment for some sin, and ne­uer like well hereafter of a Iayle-bird. That know no other Content but wealth, brauery, and the Towne-Pleasures; that thinke all else but idle spe­culation, and the Philoso­phers, mad-men: In short, men that are carried a­way with all outwardnes­ses, shews, appearances, the streame, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of singu­larity, and scornes some­thing.

32. A Herald.

IS the spawne, or in­deed but the resultancie of Nobility, and to the making of him went not a Generation, but a Genea­logie. His Trade is Ho­nour, and hee sells it, and giues Armes himselfe, though hee be no Gen­tleman. His bribes are like those of a corrupt Iudge, for they are the prices of blood. He seemes very rich in discourse, for he tels you of whole fields of gold and siluer, Or & Argent, worth much in French, but in English no­thing. [Page] He is a great diuer in the streames or issues of Gentrie, and not a by-Channell of bastard es­capes him, yet he dos with them like some shamelesse Queane, fathers more chil­dren on them, then euer they begot. His Trafficks is a kind of Pedlery ware, Scutchions, and Pennons and little Daggers, and Ly­ons, such as Children e­steeme and Gentlemen: but his peni-worths are rampant, for you may buy three whole Brawns chea­per, then three Boars heads of him painted. Hee was somtimes the terrible Coat of Mars, but is now for [Page] more mercifull Battels in the Tilt-yard, where who­soeuer is victorious, the spoiles are his. Hee is an Art in England, but in Wales Nature, where they are borne with Heraldry in their mouthes, and each Name is a Pedegree.

52. A Plodding Student.

IS a kind of Alchymist or, Persecurer of Nature, that would change the dull lead of his Brain into finer mettle with successe, many times as vnprosperous, or [Page] at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his owne Oyle and Candles. He ha's a strange forc't appetite to Learning, and to atchieue it brings nothing but pa­tience and a body. His Stu­die is not great but conti­nuall, and consists much in the sitting vp till after Mid­night in a Rug-gowne, and a Night-cap to the vanqui­shing perhaps of some sixe lines: yet what hee ha's, he ha's perfect, for he reads it so long to vnderstand it, till he gets it without Booke. Hee may with much indu­stry make a breach into Logicke, and ariue at some ability in an Argument: [Page] but for politer Studies hee dare not skirmish with them, and for Poetry ac­counts it impregnable. His Inuention is no more then the finding out of his Pa­pers, and his few gleanings there, and his disposition of them is as iust as the Book-binders, a setting or glew­ing of them together. Hee is a great discomforter of young Students, by telling them what trauell it ha's cost him, and how often his braine turn'd at Philo­sophy, and makes others feare Studying as a cause of Duncery. Hee is a man much giuen to Apothegms which serue him for wit, [Page] and seldome breakes any Iest, but which belong'd to some Lacedemonian or Romane in Lycosthenes. He is like a dull Cariers horse, that will go a whole weeke together but neuer out of a foot-pace: and hee that sets forth on the Saturday shall ouertake him.

53. Pauls Walke.

IS the Lands Epitome, or you may call it the les­ser Ile of Great Brittaine. It is more then this, the whole worlds Map, which you may here discerne in [Page] it's perfect'st motion iust­ling and turning. It is a heape of stones and men, with a vast confusion of Languages, and were the Steeple not sanctifyed no­thing liker Babel. The noyse in it is like that of Bees, a strange humming or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues, and feet: It is a kind of still roare or loud whisper. It is the great Ex­change of all discourse, & no busines whatsoeuer but is here stirring and a foot. It is the Synod of all pates politicke, ioynted and laid together in most serious posture, and they are not halfe so busie at the Par­liament. [Page] It is the Anticke of tailes to tailes, and backes to backes, and for vizards you need goe no further then faces. It is the Market of young Lectu­rers, whom you may chea­pen here at all rates and si­zes. It is the generall Mint of all famous lies, which are here like the legends of Po­pery, first coyn'd & stampt in the Church. All inuen­tions are emptyed here, and not few pockets. The best signe of a Temple in it is, that it is the Theeues Sanctuary, which robbe more safely in the Croud, then a wildernesse, whilst euery searcher is a bush to [Page] hide them. It is the other expence of the day, after Playes, Tauerne, and a Baudy-House, and men haue still some Oathes left to sweare here. It is the eares Brothell, and satis­fies their lust, and ytch. The Visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principall Inhabitants and possessors, are stale Knights, and Captaines out of Seruice, men of long Rapiers, and Bree­ches, which after all turne Merchants here, and traf­ficke for Newes. Some make it a Preface to their Dinner, and Trauell for a Stomacke: but thriftier [Page] men make it their Ordina­rie: and Boord here verie cheape. Of all such places it is least haunted with Hobgoblins, for if a Ghost would walke more, hee could not.

54. A Vniuersitie Dunne.

IS a Gentlemans follow­er cheaply purchas'd, for his own money ha's hyred him. Hee is an inferiour Creditour of some ten shil­lings or downwards, con­tracted for Horse-hire, or perchance for drinke, to [Page] weake to bee put in Suite. and he arrests your mode­sty. Hee is now very ex­pensiue of his time, for hee will waite vpon your Staires a whole After­noone, and dance atten­dance with more patience then a Gentleman-Vsher. Hee is a sore beleaguerer of Chambers, and assaults them sometimes with fu­rious knockes: yet finds strong resistance common­ly, and is kept out. Hee is a great complayner of Schollers loytering, for hee is sure neuer to find them within, and yet hee is the chiefe cause many times that makes them [Page] studie. He Grumbles at the in Gratitude of men, that shunne him for his kind­nesse, but indeed it is his owne fault, for hee is too great an vpbrayder. No man put them more to their braine then hee: and by shifting him off they learne to shift in the world. Some choose their roomes a purpose to auoide his sur­prizals, and thinke the best commoditie in them his Prospect. Hee is like a reie­cted acquaintance, hunts those that care not for his company, and hee knowes it well enough; and yet will not keepe a­way. The sole place to [Page] supply him is the But­terie, where hee takes grieuous vse vpon your Name, and hee is one much wrought with good Beere and Rhetoricke. He is a man of most vnfor­tunate voyages, and no Gallant walkes the streets to lesse purpose.

55. A stayed Man.

IS a man. One that ha's taken order with him­selfe, and set a rule to those lawlesnesses within him. Whose life is distinct and in Method, and his Acti­ons [Page] as it were cast vp be­fore. Not loos'd into the Worlds vanities, but ga­thered vp and contracted in his station. Not scatter'd into many pieces of busi­nesses, but that one course he takes, goes thorough with. A man firme and standing in his purposes, nor heau'd off with each wind and passion. That squares his expence to his Coffers, and makes the Totall first, and then the Items. One that thinkes what hee does, and does what he sayes, and forsees what he may doe, before he purposes. One whose (if I can) is more then [Page] anothers assurance, and his doubtfull tale before some mens protestations. That is confident of no­thing in futurity, yet his coniectures oft true Pro­phecies. That makes a pause still betwixt his [...]are and beleefe, and is not too hasty to say after others: One whose Tongue is strung vp like a Clocke till the time, and then strikes, and sayes much when hee talkes little. That can see the Truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree euen in that they fall out vpon. That speakes no Rebellion in a brauery, or talkes bigge from the spi­rit [Page] of Sacke. A man coole and temperate in his passi­ons, not easily betraid by his choller: 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 fairely off from Captaines companies, and neither drink nor quarrell. One whom no ill hunting fends home discontented, and makes him sweare at his dogs and family. One not hasty to pursue the new Fashion, nor yet affe­ctedly true to his old round Breeches. But grauely handsome, & to his place, which suites him better [Page] then his Tailor. Actiue in the world without disqui­et, and carefull without miserie: yet neither ingu [...] in his pleasures, nor a see­ker of businesse, but ha's his houres for both. A man that seldome laughes vio­lently, but his mirth is a cheerefull looke. Of a com­pos'd end setled counte­nance, not set, nor much alterable with sadnesse or ioy. He affects nothing so wholy, that hee must bee a miserable man when he lo­ses it: but forethinks what will come hereafter, and spares Fortune his thanks and curses. One that loues his Credit, not this word [Page] Reputation; yet can saue both without a Duell: whose entertainments to greater men are respectfull not complementary, and to his friends plaine not rude. A good Husband, Father, Master: that is without doting, pampring, familiarity. A man well poys'd in all humours, in whom Nature shwed most Geometry, and hee ha's not spoyl'd the worke. A man of more wisedome then wittinesse, and braine then fancy; and abler to any thing then to make Verses.

FINIS.

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