[. 
 
 I
 
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 C. K. OGDEN ! 
 
 It, 
 
 
 ."
 
 MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ; 
 
 Oil 
 
 $iece of tfte 2Horto Dtecofcerea 
 
 ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS. 
 
 BY JOHN EARLE, D. D. 
 
 OF CHRIST-CHURCH AND MERTON COLLEGES, OXFORD, 
 AND BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 
 
 NOTES AND AN APPENDIX, 
 
 BY PHILIP BLISS, 
 
 FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, OXFORD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR JOHN HARDING, ST. JAMES's-STREET ; 
 
 AND 
 WHITE AND COCHRANE, FLEET-STREET. 
 
 1811.
 
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 te)j%<i3i \'> J > 
 
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 j^rii -il
 
 Annex 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE present edition of Bishop Earle's Cha. 
 racters was undertaken from an idea that they were 
 well worthy of republication, and that the present 
 period, when the productions of our early English 
 writers are sought after with an avidity hitherto un- 
 exampled, would be the most favourable for their 
 appearance. 
 
 The text has been taken from the edition of 1732, 
 collated with the first impression in 1 628. The va- 
 riations from the latter are thus distinguished : 
 those words or passages which have been added since 
 the first edition are contained between brackets, 
 [and printed in the common type] ; those which 
 have received some alteration, are printed in italic, 
 and the passages, as they stand in the first edition, 
 are always given in a note.
 
 VI 
 
 For the Notes, Appendix, and Index, the editor 
 is entirely answerable, and although he is fully 
 aware that many superfluities will be censured, 
 many omissions discovered, and many errors pointed 
 out, he hopes that the merits of the original author 
 will, in a great measure, compensate for the false 
 judgment or neglect of his reviver. 
 
 January 30, 1811. 

 
 Vll 
 
 THE PREFACE 
 
 [TO THE EDITION OF 1732*.] 
 
 THIS little book had six editions between 1628 and 
 1633, without any author's name to recommend it : I 
 have heard of an eighth in 1664. From that of 33 this 
 present edition is reprinted, without altering any thing 
 but the plain errors of the press, and the old pointing 
 and spelling in some places. 
 
 The language is generally easy, and proves our En- 
 glish tongue no. to be so very changeable as is com- 
 monly supposed; nay, sometimes the phrase seems a 
 little obscure, more by the mistakes of the printer than 
 the distance of time. Here and there we meet with a 
 broad expression, and some characters are far below 
 others ; nor is it to be expected that so great a variety 
 of portraits should all be drawn with equal excellence, 
 though there are scarce any without some masterly 
 touches. The change of fashions unavoidably casts a 
 
 * London; Printed by E, Say, Anno Domini M.IKX.X \xu
 
 via 
 
 shade upon a few places, yet even those contain an ex- 
 act picture of the age wherein they were written, as the 
 rest does of mankind in general : for reflections founded 
 upon nature will be just in the main, as long as men are 
 men, though the particular instances of vice and folly 
 may be diversified. Paul's Walk is now no more, but 
 then good company adjourn to coffee-houses, and, at the 
 reasonable fine of two or three pence, throw away as 
 much of their precious time as they find troublesome. 
 
 Perhaps these valuable essays may be as acceptable to 
 the public now as they were at first ; both for the enter- 
 tainment of those who are already experienced in the 
 ways of mankind, and for the information of others who 
 would know the world the best way, that is without 
 trying it*. 
 
 * A short account of Earle, taken from the Athena Oxo- 
 aitnscs is here omitted.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 [TO THE EDITION OF 1786 *.] 
 
 "* "" 
 
 AS this entertaining little book is become rather scarce, 
 and is replete with so much good sense and genuine 
 humour, which, though in part adapted to the times 
 when it first appeared, seems, on the whole, by no means 
 inapplicable to any aera of mankind, the editor conceives 
 that there needs little apology for the repubiication. A 
 farther inducement is, his having, from very good au- 
 thority, lately discovered t that these Characters (hither- 
 to known only under the title of Shunt's I), were ac- 
 
 * " Microcosmography ; or, a Piece of the World charac- 
 terized ; in Essays and Characters. London, printed A. D. 
 1650. Salisbury, Reprinted and sold by E. Easton, 1786. 
 Sold also by G. and T. Wilkie, St. Paul's Church-yard, London." 
 
 t I regret extremely that I am unable to put the reader in 
 possession of tins very acute discoverer's name. 
 
 { This mistake originated with Langbaine, who, in his ac- 
 count of Lilly, calls Blount '' a gentleman who has made 
 himself known to the world by the several pieces of his own 
 writing, (as Hora Subsecitte, his Microcosmography, &c.") 
 Dramatic Poets, 8vo. 1691, p. 527.
 
 tually drawn by the able pencil of JOHN EARLE, who 
 was formerly bishop of Sarum, having been translated 
 to that see from Worcester, A. D. 1663, and died at 
 Oxford, 1665. 
 
 Isaac Walton, in his Life of Hooker, delineates the 
 character of the said venerable prelate. 
 
 It appears from Antony Wood's Athen. Oxon. under 
 the Life of Bishop Earle, that this book was first of all 
 published at London in 1628, under the name of " Ed- 
 ward Biuunt." 
 

 
 VI 
 
 EDITIONS OF " MICROCOSMOGRAPHY." 
 
 THE first edition (of which the Bodleian possesses a 
 copy, 8vo. ]\ 154. Theol.) was printed with the follow- 
 ing title : " Micro-cosmographie : or, a Peece of the 
 World discovered; Jn Essayes and Characters. Netoly 
 composed for the Northerne parts of this Kingdoms. At 
 London. Printed by W. S.for Ed. Blount, 1658." 
 
 contains only fifty- four characters*, which in the present 
 edition are placed first. I am unable to speak of any sub- . 
 sequent copy, till one in the following year, (1629), **' ^* * 
 printed for Robert Allot f, and called in the title " The 
 Jirst edition much enlarged." This, as Mr. Henry Ellis 
 kindly informs me, from a copy in the British Museum, , 
 
 possesses seventy-six characters. ThesutAwas printed i $ . / 
 for Allot, in 1633, (Bodl. Mar. 441,) and has seventy- ' * 
 
 eight, the additional ones being " a herald," and " a sus- l4 ' * 
 picious, or jealous man." The seventh appeared in 1638, 
 for Andrew Crooke, agreeing precisely with the sixth ; 
 and in 1650 the eighth. A copy of the latter is in the 
 
 * Having never seen or been able to hear of any copy of 
 the second, third, or fourth editions, I am unable to point out 
 when the additional characters first appeared. 
 
 t Robert Allot, better known as the editor of England's 
 Parnassus, appears to have succeeded Blount in several of 
 his copy-rights, among others, in that of Shakspeare, as the 
 second edition (1632) was printed for him.
 
 Xll 
 
 curious library of Mr. Hill, and, as Mr. Park acquaints 
 me, is without any specific edition numbered in the title. 
 I omit that noticed by the editor of 1732, as printed in 
 1664, for if such a volume did exist, which I much 
 doubt, it was nothing more than a copy of the eighth 
 with a new title-page. In 1732 appeared the ninth, 
 which was a reprint of the sixth, executed with care and 
 judgment. I have endeavoured in vain to discover 
 to whom we are indebted for this republication of 
 bishop Earle's curious volume, but it is probable that 
 the person who undertook it, found so little encourage- 
 ment in his attempt to revive a taste for the productions 
 of our early writers, that he suffered his name to remain 
 unknown. Certain it is that the impression, probably 
 not a large one, did not sell speedily, as I have seen a 
 copy, bearing date 1740, under the name of " The World 
 display 'd : or several Essays ; consisting of the various 
 Characters and Passions of its principal Inhabitants," &c. 
 London, printed for C. Ward, and R. Chandler. The 
 edition printed at Salisbury, in 1786, (which has only 
 seventy-four characters,) with that now offered to the 
 public, close the list.
 
 XUl 
 
 W ?je .hru fI;H .iM :o -ftei\ 
 aila no. qg # i uor 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 / *- 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT to the present edition v 
 
 Preface to the edition of 1732 vii 
 
 Advertisement to the edition of 1786 ix 
 
 Editions of Microcosmography xi ^f 
 
 v* 
 Biount's Preface to the Reader xix 
 
 A child 
 
 d ! 
 
 f A yonng raw preacher 4 
 
 A grave divine 9 
 
 ' 
 
 A, A meer dull physician 12 
 
 /An alderman 18 
 
 r * i^ 
 
 X A discontented man 20 
 
 to 
 
 A An antiquary 22 
 
 l>2 A younger brother 24 
 
 ^ * A meer formal man 27 \ 
 
 ^ * A church papist 29 , ' 
 
 f^ A self-conceited man 32 .* 
 
 ^ A too idly reserved man 34 %
 
 Xl\r 
 
 JU 
 
 PAOK 
 
 y. IjU. A tavern 
 
 \7 Ashark.... 41 
 
 A young man 47 * ' 
 
 2 X An old college butler 50 
 
 ^p An upstart country knight 
 
 [ft An idle gallant 57 
 
 LO A constable ,VJ 
 
 I jT"A downright scholar <ii 
 
 ^K A plain countiy fellow <>i 
 
 l^r A player t/ 
 
 J 
 
 2j A detractor ;u 
 
 ' 4 A young gentleman of tlie university 1-* 
 
 r* 
 
 r"i A weak man 76 ^ 
 
 PJ A tobacco-seller 7'J j 
 
 20 A pot poet 80 . 
 
 r" A plausible man H4 ' 
 
 jp A bowl-alley 86 
 
 * 
 * e The world's wise man 
 
 j Asurgeon 90 3 
 
 *"^ 4 
 
 A| ^ A contemplative man .^ -' j 
 
 f?>! 1 
 
 *5 A she precise hypocrite 
 
 *U A sceptick in reb'gion 99 IUJ 
 
 ' Anattorney 105 ( 
 
 f
 
 XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ; <y _ A partial man 107 
 
 > f A trumpeter 109 
 
 i ft* A vulgar spirited man (lit 
 
 ^ i*^ *^ 
 
 L ff A plodding student 114 
 
 1 J Paul's walk 116 
 
 ^^4 A cook . 120 
 
 ^ (* A bold forward man 122 
 
 ~ A baker 125 
 
 /^i A pretender to learning 127 
 
 JL* Aherald 130 
 
 The common singing-men in cathedral churches 132 
 
 t^y A shop-keeper , 134 
 
 F* A blunt man 135 
 
 V 
 
 - A A handsome hostess 138 
 
 J'T A critic ....- 139 
 
 1 fi^ serjeant, or catch-pole 141 
 
 / 7 An university dim 142 
 
 [All from this character were added after the first edition.] 
 
 A modest man 147 
 
 A meer empty wit 151 
 
 A drunkard 153 
 
 A prison ]56
 
 XVI 
 
 PAOE 
 
 "* A serving-mau 159 
 
 An insolent man 161 
 
 1 Acquaintance 164 
 
 A meer complimental man 167 
 
 Apoorfiddler - 169 
 
 A meddling-man 171 
 
 A good old man 173 
 
 f A flatterer 176 
 
 A high spirited man 179 
 
 A meer gull citizen 
 
 w A lascivious man 
 
 A rash man 189 
 
 An affected man 192 
 
 A profane man 195 
 
 A coward 196 
 
 A sordid rich man - 198 . _ 
 
 A meer great man 201 
 
 A poor man 203 
 
 An ordinary honest man - 206 
 
 A suspicions, or jealous man *
 
 xvii 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Some account of bishop Earle * 211 
 
 Characters of bishop Earle 219 
 
 List of Dr. Earle's Works 223 
 
 Lines on sir John Burroughs 225 
 
 Lines on the death of the earl of Pembroke 227 
 
 lines on Mr. Beaumont 229 
 
 Dedication to the Latin translation of the Eaun Eas-iXmr, 233 
 
 Inscription on Dr. Heylin' monument 237 
 
 Correspondence between Dr. Earle and Mr. Bagster 240 
 
 Inscription in Streglethorp church 244 
 
 Chronological List of Books of Characters, from 1567 
 
 to 1700 - 246 
 
 Corrections and additions 315 
 
 A note on bishop Earle's arms, from Guillim's Heraldry 318 
 
 * It will be remarked, that Dr. Earle's name is frequently 
 spelled Earle and Earles in the following pages. Wherever 
 the editor has had occasion to use the name himself, he has 
 invariably called it Earle, conceiving that to be the proper 
 orthography. Wherever it is found Earles, he has attended 
 strictly to the original, from which the article or information 
 has been derived.
 
 XIX 
 
 TO THE READER*. 
 
 I HAVE (for once) adventured to play the midwife's 
 part, helping to bring forth these infants into the world, 
 which the father would have smothered ; who having 
 left them lapt up in loose sheets, as soon as his fancy 
 was delivered of them, written especially for his private 
 recreation, to pass away the time in the country, and by 
 the forcible request of friends drawn from him : yet, 
 passing seve rally from hand to hand, in written copies, 
 grew at length to be a pretty number in a little volume : 
 and among so many sundry dispersed transcripts, some 
 very imperfect and surreptitious had like to have passed 
 the press, if the author had not used speedy means of 
 prevention ; when, perceiving the hazard he ran to be 
 wronged, was unwillingly f willing to let them pass as 
 now they appear to the world. If any faults have 
 escaped the press (as few books can be printed without), 
 impose them not on the author, I intreat thee; but ra- 
 ther impute them to mine and the printer's oversight, 
 
 * Gentile, or Gentle, 8tb edit. 1630. 
 
 t Willingly, 8th edit, evidently a typographical error.
 
 XX 
 
 who seriously promise, on the re-impression hereof, by 
 greater care and diligence for this our former default, t 
 make thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I 
 remain 
 
 Thine, 
 
 ED. BLOUNT*. 
 
 * Edward Blount, who lived at the Black Bear, Saii.t 
 Paul's Church-yard, appears to have been a bookseller of re- 
 spectability, and in some respects a man of letters. Many 
 dedications and prefaces, with as much merit as compositions 
 of this nature generally possess, bear his name, and there is 
 every reason to suppose that he translated a work from the 
 Italian, which he intituled " The Hospitull of InctrabU 
 Fooles," &c. 4to. 1600. Mr. Ames has discovered, from the 
 Stationer's Register, that he was the son of Ralph Blount or 
 Blunt, merchant-lay lor of London ; that he was apprenticed 
 to William Ponsonby, in 1578, and made free in 1588. It is 
 no slight honour to his taste and judgment, that he was oue of 
 die partners in the first edition of Shakspeare.
 
 MICROCOSMOGRAPHY ; 
 
 or, 
 
 A piece of the World characterized. 
 
 1. 
 
 A child 
 
 IS a man in a small letter, yet the best copy 
 of Adam before he tasted of Eve or the apple ; 
 and he is happy whose small practice in the 
 world can only write his character. He is na- 
 ture's fresh picture newly drawn in oil, which 
 time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His 
 soul is yet a white paper ' unscribbled with obser- 
 
 1 So Washbourne, in his Divine Poems, 12mo. 
 1654: 
 
 " ere 'tis accustom'd unto sin, 
 
 The mind white paper is, and will admit 
 Of any lesson you will write in it." p. 26. 
 B
 
 vations of the "world, wherewith, at length, it 
 becomes a blurred note-book. He is purely 
 happy, because he knows no evil, nor hath 
 made means by sin to be acquainted with 
 misery. He arrives not at the mischief of 
 being wise, nor endures evils to come, by fore- 
 seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and, 
 when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on 
 his beater. Nature and his parents alike dandle 
 him, and tice him on with a bait of sugar to a 
 draught of wormwood. He plays yet, like 
 a young prentice the first day, and is not come 
 to his task of melancholy. [* All the language 
 he speaks yet is tears, and they serve him well 
 enough to express his necessity.] His hardest 
 
 Shakspeare, of a child, says, 
 
 " the hand of time 
 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume." 
 
 K.John, II. 1. 
 
 e This, and every other passage throughout the 
 volume, [included between brackets,] does not appear 
 in the first edition of 1628.
 
 3 
 
 labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use 
 so deceitful an organ ; and he is best company 
 with it when he can but prattle. We laugh at 
 his foolish ports, but his game is our earnest ; 
 and his drums, rattles, and hobby-horses, but 
 the emblems and mocking of man's business. 
 His father hath writ him as his own little story, 
 wherein he reads those days of his life that he 
 cannot remember, and sighs to see what inno- 
 cence he hath out-lived. The elder he grows, 
 he is a stair lower from God ; and, like his first 
 father, much worse in his breeches 3 . He is 
 the Christian's example, and the old man's re- 
 lapse; the one imitates his pureness, and the 
 other falls into his simplicity. Could he put 
 off his body with his little coat, he had got eter- 
 
 3 Adam did not, to use the words of the old Geneva 
 Bible, " make himself breeches," till he knew sin : the 
 meaning of the passage in the text is merely that, as a 
 child advances in age, he commonly proceeds in the 
 knowledge and commission of vice and immorality. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 nity without a burden, and exchanged but one 
 heaven for another. 
 
 II. 
 
 A young raw preacher 
 Is a bird not yet fledged, that hath hopped 
 out of his nest to be chirping on a hedge, and 
 will be straggling abroad at what peril soever. 
 His backwardness in the university hath set him 
 thus forward ; for had he not truanted there, 
 he had not been so hasty a divine. His small 
 standing, and time, hath made him a proficient 
 only in boldness, out of which, and his table- 
 book, he is furnished for a preacher. His col- 
 lections of study are the notes of sermons, 
 which, taken up at St. Mary's 4 , he utters in the 
 
 4 St. Mary's church was originally built by king 
 Alfred, and annexed to the University of Oxford, for the
 
 5 
 
 country : and if he write brachigraphy 5 , his 
 stock is so much the better. His writing is 
 more than his reading, for he reads only what 
 he gets without book. Thus accomplished he 
 comes down to his friends, and his first saluta- 
 tion is grace and peace out of the pulpit. 
 His prayer is conceited, and no man remembers 
 
 use of the scholars, when St. Giles's and St. Peter's 
 (which were till then appropriated to them,) had been 
 ruined by the violence of the Danes. It was totally re- 
 built during the reign of Henry VII. who gave forty 
 oaks towards the materials; and is, to this day, the 
 place of worship in which the public sermons are 
 preached before the members of the university. 
 
 5 Brachigraphy, or short-hand-writing, appears to 
 have been much studied in our author's time, and was 
 probably esteemed a fashionable accomplishment. It was 
 first introduced into this country by Peter Bales, who, 
 in 1590, published The Writing Schoolmaster, a treatise 
 consisting of three parts, the first " of Brachygraphie, 
 that is, to write as fast as a man speaketh treatably, 
 writing but one letter for a word;" the second, of Or- 
 thography ; and the third, of Calligraphy. Imprinted 
 at London, by T. Orwin, &c. 1590. 4to. A second 
 edition, " with ' sundry new additions," appeared in
 
 his college more at large *. The pace of his 
 sermon is a full career, and he runs wildly over 
 
 1597. ISmo. Imprinted at London, by George Shawe, 
 &c. Holinshed gives the following description of one 
 of Bales' performances : " The tenth of August (1575,) 
 a rare peece of worke, and almost incredible, was 
 brought to passe by an Englishman borne in the citie of 
 London, named Peter Bales, who by his Industrie and 
 practise of his pen, contriued and writ within the com- 
 passe of a penie, in Latine, the Lord's praier, the creed, 
 the ten commandements, a praier to God, a praier for 
 the queene, his posie, his name, the daie of the moneth, 
 the yeare of our Lord, and the reigne of the queene. 
 And on the seuenteenthe of August next following, at 
 Hampton court, he presented the same to the queen's 
 maiestie, in the head of a ring of gold, couered with a 
 christall ; and presented therewith an excellent spec- 
 tacle by him deuised, for the easier reading thereof: 
 wherewith hir maiestie read all that was written therein 
 with great admiration, and commended the same to the 
 lords of the councell, and the ambassadors, and did 
 weare the same manie times vpon hir finger." Holin- 
 ihetfs Chronicle, page 1262, b. edit, folio, Land. 1587. 
 
 6 It is customary in all sermons delivered before 
 the University, to use an introductory prayer for the 
 founder of, and principal benefactors to, the preacher's 
 individual college, as well as for the officers and mem- 
 bers of the university in general. This, however,
 
 hill and dale, till the clock stop him. The la- 
 bour of it is chiefly in his lungs ; and the only 
 thing he has made 7 in it himself, is the faces. 
 He takes on against the pope without mercy, 
 and has a jest still in lavender for Bellarmine : 
 yet he preaches heresy, if it comes in his way, 
 though with a mind, I must needs say, very or- 
 thodox. His action is all passion, and his 
 speech interjections. He has an excellent fa- 
 culty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a 
 very good grace. [His stile is compounded of 
 twenty several men's, only his body imitates 
 some one extraordinary.] He will not draw his 
 handkercher out of his place, nor blow his nose 
 without discretion. His commendation is, that 
 he never looks upon book ; and indeed he was 
 never used to it. He preaches but once a year, 
 though twice on Sunday ; for the stuff is still 
 
 would appear very ridiculous when " he comes dawn to 
 his friends," or, in other words, preaches before a coun- 
 try congregation. 
 f of, first edit. 1628.
 
 8 
 
 the same, only the dressing a little altered : he 
 has more tricks with a sermon, than a taylor 
 with an old cloak, to turn it, and piece it, and 
 at last quite disguise it with a new preface. If 
 he have waded farther in his profession, and 
 would shew reading of his own, his authors are 
 postils, and his school-divinity a catechism. 
 His fashion and demure habit gets him in with 
 some town-precisian, and makes him a guest on 
 Friday nights. You shall know him by his 
 narrow velvet cape, and serge facing ; and his 
 ruff, next his hair, the shortest thing about 
 him. The companion of his walk is some zea- 
 lous tradesman, whom he astonishes with strange 
 points, which they both understand alike. His 
 friends and much painfulness may prefer him 
 to thirty pounds a year, and this means to a 
 chambermaid ; with whom we leave him now in 
 the bonds of wedlock : next Sunday you shall 
 have him again.
 
 III. 
 
 A grave divine 
 
 Is one that knows the burthen of his calling, 
 and hath studied to make his shoulders suffi- 
 cient; for which he hath not been hasty to 
 launch forth of his port, the university, but 
 expected the ballast of learning, and the wind 
 of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning 
 but the end of his studies ; to which he takes 
 the ordinary stair, and makes the arts his way. 
 He counts it not prophaneness to be polished 
 with human reading, or to smooth his way by 
 Aristotle to school-divinity. He has sounded 
 both religions, and anchored in the best, and is 
 a protestant out of judgment, not faction ; not 
 because his country, but his reason is on this 
 side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, 
 and yet the pulpit not his itch, but fear. His 
 discourse is substance, riot all rhetoric, and he 
 utters more things than words. His speech is
 
 10 
 
 not helped with inforced action, but the mat- 
 ter acts itself. He shoots all his meditations at 
 one but; and beats upon his text, not the 
 cushion; making his hearers, not the pulpit 
 groan. In citing of popish errors, he cuts 
 them with arguments, not cudgels them with 
 barren invectives; and labours more to shew 
 the truth of his cause than the spleen. His ser- 
 mon is limited by the method, not the hour- 
 glass; and his devotion goes along with him 
 out of the pulpit. He comes not up thrice a 
 week, because he would not be idle ; nor talks 
 three hours together, because he would not talk 
 nothing : but his tongue preaches at fit times, 
 and his conversation is the every day's exer- 
 cise. In matters of ceremony, he is not cere- 
 monious, but thinks he owes that reverence to 
 the church to bow his judgement to it, and 
 make more conscience of schism, than a sur- 
 plice. He esteems the church hierarchy as the 
 church's glory, and however we jar with Rome,
 
 11 
 
 would not have our confusion distinguish us. 
 In simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes 
 in the bargain, and is loath to come by pro- 
 motion so dear : yet his worth at length ad- 
 vances him, and the price of his own merit 
 buys him a living. He is no base grater of his 
 tythes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. 
 The lawyer is the only man he hinders, by 
 whom he is spited for taking up quarrels. He 
 is a main pillar of our church, though not yet 
 dean or canon, and his life our religion's best 
 apology. His death is the last sermon, where, 
 in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die 
 by his example 8 . 
 
 8 I cannot forbear to close this admirable character 
 with the beautiful description of a " poure Persone," 
 riche of holy thought and zeerk, given by the father of 
 English poetry : 
 
 " Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, 
 And in adversite ful patient: 
 And swiche he was ypreved often sithes. 
 Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes,
 
 IV. 
 
 A meer dull physician. 
 His practice is some business at bedsides, 
 and his speculation an urinal: he is distin- 
 guished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap 
 and doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees 
 
 But rather wolde he yeven out of doute, 
 Unto his poure parishens aboute, 
 Of his offring, and eke of his substance. 
 He coude in litel thing have suffisance. 
 Wide was his parish, and houses fer asonder, 
 But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder, 
 In sikenesse and in mischief to visile 
 The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite, 
 Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf. 
 * * * * 
 
 And though he holy were, and vertuous, 
 He was to sinful men not dispitous, 
 Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne, 
 But in his teching discrete and benigne. 
 To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse, 
 By good ensample, was his besinesse. 
 * * * 
 
 He waited after no pompe ne reverence, 
 Ne maked him no spiced conscience,
 
 13 
 
 more superfluously, for he is doctor howsoever. 
 He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as uni- 
 versity men to their statutes, though they never 
 saw them ; and his discourse is all aphorisms, 
 though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont 9 , 
 
 But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, 
 He taught, but first he folwed it himselve." 
 
 Chaucer, Prol. to Cant. Tales, V. 485. 
 
 We may surely conclude with a line from the same 
 poem, 
 
 " A better preest I trowe that nowher non is." 
 
 9 The secretes of the reverende maister Alexis of Pic- 
 movnt, containyng erceilente remedies against divers dis- 
 eases, &c. appear to have been a very favourite study 
 either with the physicians, or their patients, about this 
 period. 
 
 They were originally written in Italian, and were 
 translated into English by William Warde, of which 
 editions were printed at London, in 1558, 1562, 1595, 
 and 1615. In 1603, afourt h edition of a Latin version 
 appeared at Basil ; and from Ward's dedication to " the 
 lorde Russell, erle of Bedford,"' it seems that the 
 French and Dutch were not without so great a treasure 
 in their own languages. A specimen of the impor- 
 tance of this publication mav be given in the title of the
 
 14 
 
 or the Regiment of Health 10 . The best cure he 
 has done, is upon his own purse, which from 
 a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in 
 flesh. His learning consists much in reckoning 
 up the hard names of diseases, and the super- 
 scriptions of gally-pots in his apothecary's 
 shop, which are ranked in his shelves and the 
 doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only Ian- 
 guaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many 
 times when he knows not. If he have been but 
 a by-stander at some desperate recovery, he is 
 slandered with it though he be guiltless ; and 
 this breeds his reputation, and that his prac- 
 tice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all 
 odours he likes best the smell of urine, and 
 
 first secret. " The maner and secrete to conserue a 
 man's youth, and to holde back olde age, to maintaine a 
 man always in helth and strength, as in the fayrest 
 floure of his yeres." 
 
 10 The Regiment of Helthe, by Thomas Paynell, is 
 another volume of the same description, and was 
 printed by Thomas Berthclette, in 1541. 4to.
 
 15 
 
 holds Vespasian's * rule, that no gain is unsa- 
 vory. If you send this once to him you must 
 resolve to be sick howsoever, for he will never 
 leave examining your water, till he has shaked 
 it into a disease 2 : then follows a writ to his 
 drugger in a strange tongue, which he under- 
 stands, though he cannot conster. If he see 
 you himself, his presence is the worst visitation : 
 for if he cannot heal your sickness, he will 
 be sure to help it. He translates his apothe- 
 cary's shop into your chamber, and the very 
 
 1 Vespatian, tenth emperor of Rome, imposed^ a tax 
 upon urine, and when his son Titus remonstrated with 
 him on the meanness of the act, " Pecuniam," says Sue- 
 tonius, " ex prima pensione admovit ad nares, suscitans 
 num odore offenderetur ? et illo negante, atqui, inquit, 
 e lotio est." 
 
 2 " Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with 
 vrinals, where, if he finde any thing, (though he knowe 
 nothing,) yet hee will say some-what, which if it hit to 
 some purpose, with a fewe fustian words, hee will seeme 
 a piece of strange stufFe." Character of an unworthy 
 physician. " The Good and the Badde," by Nicholas 
 Breton. 4to. 1618.
 
 16 
 
 windows and benches must take physic. He 
 tells you your malady in Greek, though it be 
 but a cold, or head-ach ; which by good en- 
 deavour and diligence he may bring to some 
 moment indeed. His most unfaithful act is, 
 that he leaves a man gasping, and his pretence is, 
 death and he have a quarrel and must not 
 meet ; but his fear is, lest the carkass should 
 bleed 3 . Anatomies, and other spectacles of 
 mortality, have hardened him, and he is no 
 more struck with a funeral than a grave-maker. 
 Noblemen use him for a director of their sto- 
 
 3 That the murdered body bleeds at the approach of 
 the murderer, was, in our author's time, a commonly re- 
 ceived opinion. Holinshrd affirms that the corps of 
 Henry the Sixth bled as it was carrying for interment ; 
 and Sir Kenelm Digby so firmly believed in the truth of 
 the report, that he has endeavoured to explain the rea- 
 son. It is remarked by Mr. Steevens, in a note to Shak- 
 speare, that the opinion seems to be derived from the 
 ancient Swedes, or Northern nations, from whom we 
 descend ; as they practised this method of trial in all 
 dubious cases.
 
 17 
 
 macb, and ladies for wantonness 4 , especially if 
 he be a proper man 5 . If he be single, he is in 
 league with his she- apothecary ; and because 
 it is the physician, the husband is patient. If 
 he have leisure to be idle (that is to study,) he 
 has a smatch at alcumy, and is sick of the phi- 
 losopher's stone; a disease uncurable, but by 
 an abundant phlebotomy of the purse. His 
 two main opposites are a mountebank and a 
 good woman, and he never shews his learning 
 so much as in an invective against them and 
 their boxes. In conclusion, he is a sucking 
 consumption, and a very brother to the worms, 
 for they are both ingendered out of man's cor- 
 ruption. 
 
 * " Faith, doctor, it is well, thy study is to please 
 The female sex, and how their corp'rall griefes to 
 ease." 
 
 Goddard's " Mastif Whelp." Satires. 4to. Without 
 date. Sat. 17. 
 
 3 Proper for handsome. 
 
 c
 
 18 
 
 V. 
 
 An alderman. 
 
 HE is venerable in his gown, more in his 
 beard, wherewith he sets not forth so much his 
 own, as the face of a city. You must look on 
 him as one of the town gates, and consider him 
 not as a body, but a corporation. His emi- 
 nency above others hath made him a man of 
 worship, for he had never been preferred, but 
 that he was worth thousands. He over-sees the 
 commonwealth, as his shop, and it is an argu- 
 ment of his policy, that he has thriven by his 
 craft. He is a rigorous magistrate in his ward ; 
 yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be 
 like the balances in his warehouse. A ponde- 
 rous man he is, and substantial, for his weight is 
 commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment 
 nothing rises so much as his belly. His head is 
 of no great depth, yet well furnished ; and
 
 19 
 
 when it is in conjunction with his brethren, may 
 bring forth a city apophthegm, or some such 
 sage matter. He is one that will not hastily 
 run into error, for he treads with great de- 
 liberation, and his judgment consists much )Y 
 his pace. His discourse is commonly the an- 
 nals of his mayoralty, and what good govern- 
 ment there was in the days of his gold chain 
 though the door posts were the only things that 
 suffered reformation. He seems most sincerely 
 religious, especially on solemn days ; for he 
 comes often to church to make a shew, [and 1 
 a part of the quire hangings.] He is the 
 highest stair of his profession, and an example 
 to his trade, what in time they may come to* 
 He makes very much of his authority, but more 
 of his sattin doublet, which, though of good 
 years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh 
 every Sunday : but his scarlet gown is a monu- 
 ment, and lasts from generation to generation. 
 c2
 
 20 
 
 VI. 
 
 A discontented man 
 
 Is one that is fallen out with the world, 
 -and will be revenged on himself. Fortune ha*, 
 denied him in something, and he now takes pet, 
 and will be miserable in spite. The root of his 
 disease is a self- humouring pride, and an ac- 
 customed tenderness not to be crossed in his 
 fancy ; and the occasion commonly of one of 
 these three, a hard father, a peevish wencb, 
 or his ambition thwarted. He considered not 
 the nature of the world till he felt it, and all 
 blows fall on him heavier, because they light 
 not first on his expectation. He has now fore- 
 gone all but his pride, and is yet vain-glorious 
 in the ostentation of his melancholy. His 
 composure of himself is a studied carelessness, 
 with his arms across, and a neglected hanging 
 of his head and cloak ; and he is as great an
 
 21 
 
 enemy to an hat-band, as fortune. He quarreli 
 at the time and up-starts, and sighs at ihe neg- 
 lect of men of parts, that is, such as himself. 
 His life is a perpetual satyr, and he is still 
 girding 6 the age's'vanity, when this very anger 
 shews he too much esteems it. He is much 
 displeased to see men merry, and wonders what 
 they can find to laugh at. He never draws his 
 own lips higher than a smile, and frowns 
 wrinkle him before forty. He at last falls into 
 that deadly melancholy to be a bitter hater of 
 men, and is the most apt companion for any 
 mischief. He is the spark that kindles the 
 commonwealth, and the bellows himself to 
 blow it : and if he turn any thing, it is com- 
 monly one of these, either friar, traitor, or 
 mad-man. 
 
 6 To gird, is to sneer at, or scorn any one. Falstaff 
 says, " men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me." 
 Henry IV. Part 2.
 
 VII. 
 
 An antiquary; 
 
 HE is a man strangly thrifty of time past, and 
 an enemy indeed to his maw, whence he fetches 
 out many things when they are now all rotten 
 and stinking. He is one that hath that unna- 
 tural disease to be enamoured of old age and 
 wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen'do 
 cheese,) the better for being mouldy and worm- 
 eaten. He is of our religion, because we say 
 it is most antient ; and yet a broken statue 
 would almost make him an idolater. A great 
 admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and 
 reads only those characters, where time hath 
 eaten out the letters. He will go you forty 
 miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey ; 
 and there be but a cross or stone foot-stool in the 
 way, he'll be considering it so long, till he for- 
 get his journey. His estate consists much in
 
 23 
 
 shekels, and Roman coins ; and he hath more 
 pictures of Caesar, than James or Elizabeth. 
 Beggars cozen him with musty things which 
 they have raked from dunghills, and he pre- 
 serves their rags for precious relicks. He loves 
 no library, but where there are more spiders 
 volumes than authors, and looks with great ad- 
 miration on the antique work of cobwebs. 
 Printed books he contemns, as a novelty of this 
 latter age, but a manuscript he pores on ever- 
 lastingly, especially if the cover be all moth- 
 eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis between 
 every syllable. He would give all the books in 
 his study (which are rarities all,) for one of the 
 old Roman binding, or six lines of Tully in his 
 own hand. His chamber is hung commonly 
 with strange beasts skins, and is a kind of char- 
 nel-house of bones extraordinary; and his 
 discourse upon them, if you will hear him, 
 shall last longer. His very attire is that which
 
 24 
 
 is the eldest out of fashion, [* and you may 
 pick a criticism out of his breeches.^ He never 
 looks upon himself till he is grey-haired, and 
 then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His 
 grave does not fright him, for he has been 
 used to sepulchers, and he likes death the tet- 
 ter, because it gathers him to his fathers. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A younger brother. 
 
 His elder brother was the Esau, that came 
 out first and left him like Jacob at his heels. 
 His father has done with him, as Pharoah to the 
 children of Israel, that would have them make 
 brick and give them no straw, so he tasks him 
 
 * In the first edition it stands thus : " and his hat is 
 antient as the tower of Babel."
 
 25 
 
 to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to 
 maintain it. The pride of his house has un- 
 done him, which the elder's knighthood must 
 sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His 
 birth and bringing up will not suffer him to de- 
 scend to the means to get wealth ; but he stands 
 at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, 
 of his brother. He is something belter than 
 the serving-men ; yet they more saucy with 
 him than he bold with the master, who beholds 
 him with a countenance of stern awe, and 
 checks him oftener than his liveries. His bro- 
 ther's old suits and he are much alike in re- 
 quest, and cast off now and then one to the 
 othfir. Nature hath furnished him with a little 
 more wit upon compassion, for it is like to 
 be his best revenue. If his annuity stretch so 
 far, he is sent to the university, and with great 
 heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as 
 a profession he is condemned to by his ill for- 
 tune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
 
 26 
 
 the king's high-way ; where at length their 
 vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for 
 Tyburn : but their brother's pride, not love, 
 gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low- 
 countries 7 , where rags and lice are no scandal, 
 where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, 
 and dies without a shirt. The only thing that 
 may better his fortunes is an art he has to make 
 a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and 
 then some rich widow that is hungry after his 
 blood. He is commonly discontented and des- 
 perate, and the form of his exclamation is, that 
 
 7 The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample 
 room for ridicule at all times. In " A brief Character 
 of the Low-countries under the States, being Three Weeks 
 Observation of the Vices and Virtues <>f the Inhabitants, 
 written by Owen Felltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 
 12mo. we find them epitomized as a general sea-land the 
 great bog of Europe an universal quagmire in short, 
 a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in which deno- 
 mination the author appears to include all the natives,) 
 he describes as being able to " drink, rail, swear, niggle, 
 steal, andbe kwsie alike." P. 40.
 
 27 
 
 churl my brother. He loves not his country 
 for this unnatural custom, and would have long 
 since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent* 
 only, which he holds in admiration. 
 
 A meer formal man 
 
 Is somewhat more than the shape of a man ; 
 for he has his length, breadth, and colour. 
 
 8 Gavelkind, or the practice of dividing lands equally 
 among all the male children of the deceased, was (.ac- 
 cording to Spelman,) adopted by the Saxons, from 
 Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description 
 of that nation. Gloss. Archaiol. folio, Lond. 1664. Har- 
 rison, in The Description of England, prefixed to Holin- 
 shed's Chronicle, (vol. i. page 180,) says, " Gauell kind 
 is all the mile children equallie to inherit, and is con- 
 tinued to this daie in Kent, where it is onelie to my 
 knowledge reteined, and no where else iu England." 
 And Lambarde, in his Customer of Kent, (Perambula- 
 tion, 4to. 1596, pa^e 538,) thus nonces it: "The 
 custom of Grauelkynde isgenerall, and spreadeth itselfe 
 throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subject by 
 auncient tenure vnto the same, such places onely ex- 
 cepted, where it is altered by acte oi parleament."
 
 28 
 
 When you have seen his oulside, you have 
 looked through him, and need employ your 
 discovery no farther. His reason is merely 
 example, and his action is not guided by his un- 
 derstanding, but he sees other men do thus, and 
 he follows them. He is a negative, for we can- 
 not call him a wise man, but not a fool ; nor an 
 honest man, but not a knave ; nor a protestant, 
 but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain 
 is the carriage of his body and the setting of 
 his face in a good frame; which he performs 
 the better, because he is not disjointed with other 
 meditations. His religion is a good quiet sub- 
 ject, and he prays as he swears, in the phrase 
 of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair in- 
 viter, and can excuse his good cheer in the ac- 
 customed apology. He has some faculty in 
 mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of 
 his morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He ap- 
 prehends a jest by seeing men smile, and 
 laughs orderly himself, when it comes to hi>
 
 29 
 
 turn. His businesses with his friends are to 
 visit them, and whilst the business is no more, he 
 can perform this well enough. His discourse is 
 the news that he hath gathered in his walk, 
 and for other matters his discretion is, that he 
 will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His 
 life is like one that runs to the 9 church-walk, 
 to take a turn or two, and so passes. He hath 
 staid in the world to fill a number ; and when 
 he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end. 
 
 X. 
 
 A Church-Papist 
 
 Is one that parts his religion betwixt his con- 
 science and his purse, and comes to church not 
 to serve God but the king. The face of the law 
 makes him wear the mask of the gospel, which 
 
 g Minster-walk, 1st edit.
 
 30 
 
 he uses not as a means to save his soul, but 
 charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to 
 lose by it ; and though he be something scared 
 with the bulls of Rome, yet they are far off, 
 and he is struck with more terror at the appa- 
 ritor. Once a month he presents himself at the 
 church, to keep off the church -warden, and 
 brings in his body to save his bail. He kneels 
 with the congregation, but prays by himself, 
 and asks God forgiveness J[or coming thither. 
 If he be forced to stay out a sermon, he pulls his 
 hat over his eyes, and frowns out the hour; 
 and when he comes home, thinks to make 
 amends for this fault by abusing the preacher. 
 His main policy is to shift off the communion, 
 for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel, 
 and will be sure to be out of charity at Easter ; 
 and indeed he lies not, for he has a quarrel to 
 the sacrament. He would make a bad martyr 
 and good traveller, for his conscience is so 
 large he could never wander out of it ; and in
 
 31 
 
 Constantinople would be circumcised with a 
 reservation. His wife is more zealous and 
 therefore more costly, and he bates her in tires I0 
 what she stands him in religion. But we leave 
 him hatching plots against the state, and ex- 
 pecting Spinola 1 . 
 
 J o The word tire is probably here used as an abbrevi- 
 ation of the word attire, dress, ornament. 
 
 i Ambrose Spinola was one of the most celebrated and 
 excellent commanders that Spain ever possessed : he 
 was born, in 1569, of a noble family, and distinguished 
 himself through life in being opposed to prince Maurice 
 of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he 
 was ever regarded with admiration and respect. He died 
 in 1630, owing to a disadvantage sustained by his 
 troops at tiie siege of Cassel, which was to be entirely at- 
 tributed to the imprudent orders he received from Spain, 
 and which that government compelled him to obey. This 
 disaster broke his heart ; and he died with the exclamation 
 of " they hare robbed me of my honour ;" an idea he was 
 unable to survive. It is probable that, at the time this 
 character was composed, many of the disaffected in 
 England were in expectation of an attack to be made 
 on this country by the Spaniards, under the command 
 f Spinola.
 
 XI. 
 
 A self-conceited man 
 
 Is one that knows himself so well, that he 
 does not know himself. Two excellent well- 
 dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it 
 that first commended him to madness. He is 
 now become his own book, which he pores on 
 continually, yet like a truant reader skips over 
 the harsh places, and surveys only that which 
 is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good 
 parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double,., 
 and his fancy, like an old man's spectacles, 
 make a great letter in a small print. He ima- 
 gines every place where he comes his theater, 
 and not a look stirring but his spectator ; and 
 conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that 
 is, [only] busy about him. His walk is still 
 in the fashion of a march, and like his opinion 
 unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon 
 his own person, or on others with reflection to
 
 33 
 
 himself. If he have done any thing that has 
 past with applause, lie is -always re-acting it 
 alone, and conceits the extasy his hearers were 
 in at every period. His discourse is all po- 
 sitions and definitive decrees-, with thus it must 
 be 'and thus it is, and he will not humble his 
 authority to prove it. His tenent is always 
 singular and aloof from the vulgar as he can, 
 from which you must not hope to wrest him. 
 He has an excellent humour for an heretick, 
 and in these days made the first Arminian. He 
 prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsus 
 before Galen, a [and whosoever with most pa- 
 radox is commended.] He much pities the 
 world that has no more insight in his parts, 
 when he is too well di- covered even to this 
 very thought. A flattrrer is a dunce to him, 
 for he can tell him nothing but what he knows 
 
 * and Lipsius his hopping &tite before ell '<er Tally or 
 Quivtilian. First edit.
 
 34 
 
 before : and yet he loves him too, because he is 
 like himself. Men are merciful to him, and 
 let him alone, for if he be once driven from his 
 humour, he is like two inward friends fallen 
 out : his own bitter enemy and discontent pre- 
 sently makes a murder. In sum, he is a blad- 
 der blown up with wind, which the least flaw 
 crushes to nothing. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A too idly reserved man 
 Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a 
 strange piece of politician, that manages the 
 state of himself. His actions are his privy- 
 council, wherein no man must partake beside. 
 He speaks under rule and prescription, and 
 dare not shew his teeth without Machiavel. He 
 converses with his neighbours as he would
 
 35 
 
 in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as 
 much as the inquisition. He suspects all 
 questions for examinations, and thinks you 
 would pick something out of him, and avoids 
 you. His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, 
 which locks up every toy or trifle, or some 
 bragging mountebank that makes every 
 stinking thing a secret. He delivers you com- 
 mon matters with great conjuration of silence, 
 and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament. 
 You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a 
 paper, and whatsoever he reads is letters. He 
 dares not talk of great men for fear of bad 
 comments, and he knows not how his words may 
 be misapplied. Ask his opinion, and he tells 
 you his doubt ; and he never hears any thing 
 more astonishedly than what he knows before. 
 His words are like the cards at primivist 3 , 
 
 3 Primivist and primero were, in all probability, the 
 same game, although Minshew, in his Dictionary, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 where 6 is 18, and 7, 21 ; for they never signify 
 what they sound ; but if he tell you he will do 
 
 calls them " two games at cardes." The latter he ex- 
 plains, " primum et primum visum, that is, first and 
 first seene, because hee that can shew such an order of 
 cardes, first winnes the game." The coincidence be- 
 tween Mr. Strutt's description of the former and the 
 passage in the text, shews that there could be little or 
 no difference between the value of the cards in these 
 games, or in the manner of playing them. " Each player 
 had four cards dealt to him, one by one, the seven was 
 the highest card, in point of number, that he could avail 
 himself of, which counted for twenty-one, the six counted 
 for sixteen, the five for fifteen, and the ace for the same," 
 &c. (Sports and Pastimes, 247.) The honourable Daines 
 Barrington conceived that Primero was introduced by 
 Philip the Second, or some of his suite, whilst in En- 
 gland. Shakspeare proves that it was played in the 
 royal circle. 
 
 " I left him (Henry VIII.) at Primero 
 
 With the duke of Suffolk." 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 So Decker: " Talke of none but lords and such ladies 
 with whom you have plaid at Primero" G til's Horne- 
 booke, 1609. 37. 
 
 Among the marquis of Worcester's celebrated " Cen- 
 tury of Inventions" 12mo. 1663, is one " so contrived
 
 37 
 
 a thing, it is as much as if he swore he would 
 not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to 
 be craftier than they are, and puts himself 
 to a great deal of affliction to hinder their plots 
 and designs, where they mean freely. He has 
 been long a riddle himself, but at last finds 
 CEdipuses ; for his over-acted dissimulation 
 discovers him, and men do with him as they 
 would with Hebrew letters, spell him back- 
 wards and read him. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A tavern 
 Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs 
 
 without suspicion, that playing at Primero at cards, 
 one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning 
 of all sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded." 
 No. 87.
 
 38 
 
 above an ale-house, where men are drunk with 
 more credit and apology. If the vintner's nose 4 
 be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the ab- 
 sence of this is supplied by the ivy-bush: the 
 rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that 
 have been washed well over night, and are 
 smelt-to fasting next morning; not furnished 
 with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary 
 implements, stools, table, and a chamber-pot. 
 It is a broacher of more news than hogsheads, 
 and more jests than news, which are sucked up 
 here by some spungy brain, and from thence 
 squeezed into a comedy. Men come here to make 
 merry, but indeed make a noise, and this mu- 
 sick above is answered with the clinking below. 
 The drawers are the civilest people in it, men of 
 good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of 
 
 * " Enquire out those tauernes which are best cus- 
 tomd, whose maisters arc oftcnest drunk, for that con- 
 firmes their taste, and that they choose wholesome 
 wines." Dicker's Gut's Horne-booke, 1609.
 
 39 
 
 them, none can boast more justly of their high 
 calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures, where 
 they are truly acted, not played, and the busi- 
 ness as in the rest of the world up and down, 
 to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great 
 chamber. A melancholy man would find here 
 matter to work upon, to see heads as brittle as 
 glasses, and often broken ; men come hither to 
 quarrel, and come hilher to be made friends : 
 and if Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even 
 Telephus's sword that makes wounds and cures 
 them. It is the common consumption of the 
 afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of 
 a rainy day. It is the torrid zone that scorches 
 the 1 face, and tobacco the gun-powder that 
 blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the 
 charitable vintner had not water ready for these 
 flames. A house of sin you may call it, but 
 not a house of darkness, for the candles are 
 
 > his, First edit-
 
 40 
 
 never out ; and it is like those countries far in 
 the North, where it is as clear at mid-night as 
 at mid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes 
 like a street in a dashing shower, where the 
 spouts are flushing above, and the conduits run- 
 ning below, while the Jordans like swelling 
 rivers overflow their banks. To give you the 
 total reckoning of it ; it is the busy man's re- 
 creation, the idle man's business, the melancho- 
 ly man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the 
 inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's 
 kindness, and the citizen's courtesy. It is the 
 study of sparkling wits, and a cup of canary ' 
 their book$ whence we leave them. 
 
 6 The OL. tor of the edition in 1732, has altered canary 
 to "sherry," for what reason I am at a loss to discover, 
 and have consequently restored the reading of the first 
 edition. Vernier gives the following description of this 
 favourite liquor. " Canarie-wine, which bearcth the 
 name of the islands from whence it is brought, is of 
 some termed a sacke, with this adjunct, sweete ; but 
 yet very improperly, for it differeth not only from sack*
 
 41 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A shark 
 
 Is one whom all other means have failed, 
 and he now lives of himself. He is some needy 
 
 in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but also in co- 
 lour and consistence, for it is not so white in colour as 
 sack, nor so thin in substance; wherefore it is more 
 nutritive than sack, and less penetrative." Via recta ad 
 Vitum longam. 4to. 1622. In Howell's time, Canary 
 wine was much adulterated. " I think," says he, in one 
 of his Letters, " there is more Canary brought into En- 
 gland than to all the world besides; I think also, there 
 is a hundred times more drunk under the name of Ca- 
 nary wine, than there is brought in ; for Sherries and 
 Malagas, well mingled, pass for Canaries in most ta- 
 verns. When Sacks and Canaries,'' he continues," were 
 brought in first amongst us, they were used to be drunk 
 in aqua vita measures, and 'twas held fit only for those 
 to drink who were med to carry their legs in their hands, 
 their eyes upon their noses, and an almanack in their bones ; 
 but now they go down every one's throat, both young 
 and old, like milk." Ho well, Letter to the lord Cliff, 
 dated Oct. T, 1634.
 
 42 
 
 cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung 
 off, yet still clasps again, and is like one a 
 drowning, fastens upon any thing that is next 
 at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks 
 he has happily lost shame, and this want sup- 
 plies him. No man puts his brain to more use 
 than he, for his life is a daily invention, and 
 each meal a new stratagem. He has an excel- 
 lent memory for his acquaintance, though there 
 passed but how do you betwixt them seven 
 years ago, it shall suffice for an embrace, and 
 that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack 
 out of joy to sec you, and in requital of his 
 courtesy you can do no less than pay for it. 
 He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a 
 school-boy with his points, when he is going to 
 be whipped, 'till the master, weary with long 
 stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is 
 paid, he says, It must not be so, yet is strait 
 pacified, and cries, What remedy ? His bor- 
 rowings are like subsidies, each man a shilling
 
 43 
 
 or two, as he can well dispend ; which they 
 lend him, not with a hope to be repaid, but 
 that he will come no more. He holds a strange 
 tyranny over men, for he is their debtor, and 
 they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of 
 any employment, though it be but to carry 
 commendations, which he will be sure to deliver 
 at eleven of the clock 7 . They in courtesy bid 
 him stay, and he in manners cannot deny them 
 If he find but a good look to assure his wel- 
 come, he becomes their half-boarder, and 
 haunts the threshold so long 'till he forces good 
 
 ' We learn from Harrison's Description of England, 
 prefixed to Holinshed, that eleven o'clock was the usual 
 time tor dinner during the reign of Elizabeth. " With 
 vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students, doo ordinarilie go 
 to dinner at eleven before noone, and to supper at fiue, 
 or between fiue and six at afternoone." (vol. i. page 
 171. edit. 1587.) The alteration in manners at this 
 time is rather singularly evinced, from a passage imme- 
 diately following the above quotation, where we find 
 that merchants and husbandmen dined and supped at a 
 later hour than the nobility.
 
 44 
 
 nature to the necessity of a quarrel. Publick 
 invitations he will not wrong with his absence, 
 and is the best witness of the sheriff's hospita- 
 lity 8 . Men shun him at length as they would 
 do an infection, and he is never crossed in his 
 way if there be but a lane to escape him. He 
 has done with the age as his clothes to him, 
 hung on as long as he could, and at last drops 
 off. 
 
 8 Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff 
 at particular seasons of the year. So in The Widow,-* co- 
 medy, 4to. 1652. 
 
 " And as at a sheriff's table, O blest custome ! 
 A poor indebted gentleman may dine, 
 Feed well, and without fear, and depart so."
 
 45 
 
 XV. 
 
 A carrier 
 
 Is his own hackney-man ; for he lets himself 
 out to travel as well as his horses. He is the 
 ordinary embassador between friend and friend, 
 the father and the son, and brings rich presents 
 to the one, but never returns any back again. 
 He is no unlettered man, though in shew sim- 
 ple ; for questionless, he has much in his bud- 
 get, which he can utter too in fit time and 
 place. He is [like] the vault 9 in Gloster 
 
 9 The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral 
 church of Gloucester, was founded by Richard Stanley, 
 abbot, in 1457, and finished by William Farley, a monk 
 of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the 
 following description of the vault here alluded to. " The 
 whispering place is very remarkable ; it is a long alley, 
 from one side of the choir to the other, built circular, 
 that it might not darken the great east window of the 
 choir. When a pel son whispers at one end of the alley, 
 his voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though 
 the passage be open in the middle, having large spaces
 
 46 
 
 church, that conveys whispers at a distance, for 
 he takes the sound out of your mouth at York, 
 and makes it be heard as far as London. He 
 is the young student's joy and expectation, and 
 the most accepted guest, to whom they lend a 
 willing hand to discharge him of his burden. 
 His first greeting is commonly, Your friends 
 are well; [and to prove if\ I0 in a piece of gold 
 delivers their blessing. You would think him 
 a churlish blunt fellow, but they find in him 
 many tokens of humanity. He is a great afflict- 
 er of the high-ways, and beats them out of 
 measure ; which injury is sometimes revenged 
 by the purse-taker, and then the voyage mis- 
 carries. No man domineers more in his inn, 
 
 for doors and windows on the east side. It may be im- 
 puted to the close cement of the wall, which makes it 
 as one entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long 
 piece of timber does convey the least stroak to th0 other 
 end. Others assign it to the repercussion of the voice 
 from accidental angles." Atkyni Ancient and Present 
 StatcofGlostershire. Land. 1712, folio, page. 128. See 
 also Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire, page 35 1. 
 10 Then in a piece of gold, <$rc. first edit.
 
 47 
 
 nor calls his host unreverently with more pre- 
 sumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of 
 the strength of his horses. He forgets not his 
 load where he takes his ease, for he is drunk 
 commonly before he goes to bed. He is like 
 the prodigal child, still packing away and still 
 returning again. But let him pass. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A young man; 
 
 HE is now out of nature's protection, though 
 not yet able to guide himself; but left loose to 
 the world and fortune, from which the weak- 
 ness of his childhood preserved him ; and now 
 his strength exposes him. He is, indeed, just 
 of age to be miserable, yet in his own con- 
 ceit first begins to be happy ; and he is happier 
 in this imagination, and his misery not felt
 
 48 
 
 is less. He sees yet but the outside of the 
 world and men, and conceives them, according 
 to their appearing, glister, and out of this igno- 
 rance believes them. He pursues all vanities 
 for happiness, and ' [enjoys them best in this 
 fancy. ~\ His reason serves, not to curb but un- 
 derstand his appetite, and prosecute the motions 
 thereof with a more eager earnestness. Him- 
 self is his own temptation, and needs not Satan, 
 and the world will come hereafter. He leaves 
 repentance for grey hairs, and performs it in be- 
 ing covetous. He is mingled with the vices 
 of the age as the fashion and custom, with 
 which he longs to be acquainted, and sins to 
 better his understanding. He conceives his 
 youth as the season of his lust, and the hour 
 wherein he ought to be bad ; and because he 
 would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes 
 religion as a sad thing, and is six years elder for 
 
 1 Whiltt he has not yet got them, enjoys them, First edit.
 
 49 
 
 a thought of heaven. He scorns and fears, and 
 yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it 
 with wrinkles. He loves and hates with the 
 same inflammation, and when the heat is over 
 is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friend- 
 ship is seldom so stedfast, but that lust, drink, 
 or anger may overturn it. He offers you his 
 blood to-day in kindness, and is ready to take 
 yours to-morrow. He does seldom any thing 
 which he wishes not to do again, and is only 
 wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his 
 knowledge, and a great deal of folly it is makes 
 him a wise man. He is free from many vices, 
 by being not grown to the performance, and is 
 only more vertuous out of weakness. Every 
 action is his clanger, and every man his am- 
 bush. He is a ship without pilot or tackling, 
 and only good fortune may steer him. If he 
 scape this age, he has scaped a tempest, and 
 may live to be a man.
 
 50 
 
 XVII. 
 
 An old college butler 
 
 Is none of the worst students in the house, 
 for he keeps the set hours at his book more duly 
 than any. His authority is great over men's 
 good names, which he charges many times with 
 shrewd aspersions, which they hardly wipe off 
 without payment. [His box and counters 
 prove him to be a man of reckoning, yet] he is 
 stricter in his accounts than a usurer, and deli- 
 vers not a farthing without writing. He doubles 
 the pains of Gollobelgicus *, for his books go out 
 
 Gallo-Belgicus was erroneously supposed, by the 
 ingenious Mr. Reed, to be the " first news-paper pub- 
 lished in England ;" we are, however, assured by the 
 author of the " Life of Iluddiman," that it has no title 
 to so honourable a distinction. Gallo-Belgicus appears 
 to have been rather an Annual Register, or History of 
 its own Times, than a newspaper. It was written in
 
 51 
 
 once a quarter, and they are much in the same 
 nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are 
 out of request as soon. His comings in are like 
 a taylor's, from the shreds of bread, [the] chip- 
 pings and remnants of a broken crust ; except- 
 ing his vails from the barrel, which poor folks 
 buy for their hogs but drink themselves. He 
 divides an halfpenny loaf with more subtlety 
 than Keckerraan % and sub-divides the a primo 
 
 Latin, and entituled, "MERCURIJ GALLO-BELGICI : sire, 
 rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum : Hispania quoque, 
 Italia, Anglia, Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque locis ab anno 
 1588, ad Martium anni 159-1-, gettarum, Nuxcu." The 
 first volume was printed in 8vo. at Cologne, 1598 ; from 
 which year, to about 1605, it was published annually ; 
 and from thence to the time of its conclusion, which 
 is uncertain, it appeared in half-yearly volumes. Chal- 
 mers' Life of Ritddhnan, 1794. The great request in 
 which newspapers were held at the publication of the 
 present work, may be gathered from Burton, who, in 
 his Anatomy of Melancholy, complains that " if auy 
 read now-a-days, it is a play-book, or a pamphlet of 
 newes." 
 
 3 Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dantzick, in.
 
 52 
 
 ortum so nicely, that a stomach of great capa- 
 city can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober 
 man, considering his manifold temptations of 
 drink and strangers; and if he be overseen, 'tis 
 within his own liberties, and no man ought to 
 take exception. He is never so well pleased 
 with his place as when a gentleman is beholden 
 to him for shewing him the buttery, whom he 
 greets with a cup of single beer and sliced man- 
 chet 4 , and tells him it is the fashion of the col- 
 
 Prussia, 1571, and educated under Fabricius. Being 
 eminently distinguished for his abilities and application, 
 he was, in 1597, requested, by the senate of Dantzick, 
 to take upon him the management of their academy; 
 an honour he then declined, but accepted, on a second 
 application, in 1G01. Here he proposed to instruct his 
 pupils in the complete science of philosophy in the 
 short space of three years, and, for that purpose, drew 
 up a great number of books upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, 
 politics, physics, metaphysics, geography, astronomy, 
 &c. &c. till, as it is said, literally worn out with scho- 
 lastic drudgery, he died at the early age of 38. 
 
 4 Of bread made of wheat we have sundrie sorts dailie 
 brought to the table, whereof the first and most excel-
 
 53 
 
 lege. He domineers over freshmen when they 
 first come to the hatch, and puzzles them with 
 strange language of cues and cees, and some 
 broken Latin which he has learnt at his bin. 
 His faculties extraordinary is the warming of a 
 pair of cards, and telling out a dozen of counters 
 for post and pair, and no man is more methodi- 
 cal in these businesses. Thus he spends his 
 age till the tap of it is run out, and then a fresh 
 one is set abroach. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 An upstart country knight 
 [Is a holiday clown, and differs only in the 
 stuff of his clothes, not the stuff of himself 5 ^] 
 
 lent is the mainchet, which we commonlie call white 
 bread. Harrison, Description of England prefixed to 
 Holinshed, chap. 6. 
 
 s His honour was tomewhat preposterous, for he bare, &c. 
 first edit.
 
 54 
 
 for he bare the king's sword before he had arms 
 to wield it ; yet being once laid o'er the shoul- 
 der with a knighthood, he finds the herald his 
 friend. His father was a man of good stock, 
 though but a tanner or usurer ; he purchased 
 the land, and his son the title. He has doffed 
 off the name of a ^country fellow^ but the 
 look not so easy, and his face still bears a relish 
 of churnc-milk. He is guarded with more gold 
 lace than all the gentlemen of the country, yet 
 his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. 
 His house-keeping is seen much in the distinct 
 families of dogs, and serving-men attendant on 
 their kennels, and the deepness of their throats 
 is the depth of his discourse. A hawk he es- 
 teems the true burden of nobility 7 , and is 
 
 6 Clown, first edit. 
 
 7 The art of hawking has been so frequently and so 
 fully explained, that it would be superfluous, if not ar- 
 rogant, to trace its progress, or delineate its history, in 
 this place. In the earliest periods it appears to have 
 been exclusively practised by the nobility ; and, indeed, 
 the great expense at which the amusement was sup-
 
 55 
 
 exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the 
 sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses 8 . 
 
 ported, seems to have been a sufficient reason for de- 
 terring persons of more moderate income, and of infe- 
 rior rank, from indulging in the pursuit. In the Sports 
 and Pastimes of Mr. Strutt, a variety of instances are 
 given of the importance attached to the office of falconer, 
 and of the immense value of, and high estimation the 
 birds themselves were held in from the commencement 
 of the Norman government, down to the reign of 
 James I. in which sir Thomas Monson gave 1000/. for 
 a cast of hawks, which consisted of only two. 
 
 The great increase of wealth, and the consequent 
 equalization of property in this country, about the reign 
 of Elizabeth, induced many of inferior birth to practise 
 the amusements of their superiors, which they did with- 
 out regard to expense, or indeed propriety. Sir Thomas 
 Elyot, in his Governour (1580), complains that the fal- 
 kons of his day consumed so much poultry, that, in a 
 few years, he feared there would be a great scarcity of it. 
 " I speake not this," says he, " in disprayse of the 
 faukons, but of them which keepeth them lyke cock- 
 neyes." A reproof, there can be no doubt, applicable 
 to the character in the text. 
 
 8 A term in hawking, signifying the short straps of 
 leather which are fastened to the hawk's legs, by which 
 she is held on the fist, or joined to the leash. They
 
 56 
 
 A justice of peace he is to domineer in his pa- 
 rish, and do his neighbour wrong with more 
 right 9 . He will be drunk with his hunters for 
 company, and stain his gentility with droppings 
 of ale. He is fearful of being sheriff of the 
 shire by instinct, and dreads the assize-week as 
 much as the prisoner. In sum, he's but a clod 
 of his own earth, or his land is the dunghill 
 and he the cock that crows over it : and com- 
 monly his race is quickly run, and his chil- 
 dren's children, though they scape hanging, 
 return to the place from whence they came. 
 
 were sometimes made of silk, as appears from 1f The 
 Boke of haickyngc, huntynge, and fysshynge, with all 
 the propertycs and medecynes that are necessarye to be 
 kepte : " Hawkes haue aboute theyr Jegges gesses made 
 of lether most comonly, some of sylke, which shuld be 
 no longer but that the knottes of them shulde appere in 
 the myddes of the lefte hande," &c. Juliana Barnes. 
 edit. 4to. " Jmprynted at London in Fouls chyrchyarde 
 by me Hcry Tat." sig. C. ii. 
 
 9 This authority of his it tliat club which keeps them under 
 as his dogs hereafter. First edit.
 
 57 
 
 XIX. 
 
 An idle gallant 
 
 Is one that was born and shaped for his 
 cloaths; and, if Adam had not fallen, had lived 
 to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the 
 first sin, and fig-leaves that were an occasion 
 of [his] bravery. His first care is his dress, 
 the next his body, and in the uniting of these 
 two lies his soul and its faculties. He observes 
 London trulier then the terms, and his business 
 is the street, the stage, the court, and those 
 places where a proper man is best shown. If 
 he be qualified in gaming extraordinary, he is 
 so much the more genteel and compleat, and he 
 learns the best oaths for the purpose. These 
 are a great part of his discourse, and he is as 
 curious in their newness as the fashion. His 
 other talk is ladies and such pretty things, or
 
 58 
 
 some jest at a play. His pick-tooth bears a 
 great part in his discourse, so does his body, 
 the upper parts whereof are as starched as his 
 linnen, and perchance use the same laundress. 
 He has learned to ruffle his face from his boot, 
 and takes great delight in his walk to hear his 
 spurs gingle. Though his life pass somewhat 
 slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the 
 time, for he is still drawing his watch out of his 
 pocket, and spends part of his hours in num- 
 bring them. He is one never serious but with 
 his taylor, when he is in conspiracy for the 
 next device. He is furnished with his jests, as 
 some wanderer with sermons, some three for all 
 congregations, one especially against the scho* 
 lar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he 
 knows by no other definition, but a silly fellow 
 in black. He is a kind of walking mercer's 
 shop, and shews you one stuff to-day and an- 
 other to-morrow ; an ornament to the room he 
 comes in as the fair bed and hangings be ; and
 
 59 
 
 is meerly ratable accordingly, fifty or an hun- 
 dred pounds as his suit is. His main ambition 
 is to get a knight-hood, and then an old lady, 
 which if he be happy in, he fills the stage and 
 a coach so much longer: Otherwise, himself 
 and his cloaths grow stale together, and he is 
 buried commonly ere he dies in the gaol, or the 
 country , 
 
 XX. 
 
 A constable 
 
 Is a vice-roy in the street, and no man stands 
 more upon't that he is the king's officer. His 
 jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where 
 he has commission for the heels only, and sets 
 the rest of the body at liberty. He is a scare-
 
 60 
 
 crow to that ale-house, where he drinks not his 
 morning draught, and apprehends a drunkard 
 for not standing in the king's name. Beggars 
 fear him more than the justice, and as much as 
 the whip-stock, whom lie delivers over to his 
 subordinate magistrates, the bridewell-man, and 
 the beadle. He is a great stickler in the tu- 
 mults of double jugs, and ventures his head by 
 his place, which is broke many times to keep 
 whole the peace. He is never so much in his 
 majesty as in his night-watch, where he sits in 
 his chair of state, a shop-stall, and invironed 
 with a guard of'halberts, examines all passengers. 
 He is a very careful man in his office, but if he 
 stay up after midnight you shall take him 
 napping.
 
 61 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A down-right scholar 
 
 Is one that has much learning in the ore, un- 
 wrought and untried, which time and experi- 
 ence fashions and refines. He is good metal in 
 the inside, though rough and unsecured with- 
 out, and therefore hated of the courtier, that is 
 quite contrary. The time has got a vein of 
 making him ridiculous, and men laugh at him 
 by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity but is 
 put upon his profession, and done like a scho- 
 lar. But his fault is only this, that his mind is 
 [somewhat] too much taken up with his mind, 
 and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage 
 besides. He has not put on the quaint garb of 
 the age, which is now a man's [Imprimis and 
 all the Item I0 .] He has not humbled his medi- 
 tations to the industry of complement, nor af- 
 
 10 Now become a man's total, first edit.
 
 62 
 
 flicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body 
 is not set upon nice pins, to be turning and 
 flexible for every motion, but his scrape is 
 homely and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his 
 hand and cry, madam, nor talk idle enough to 
 bear her company. His smacking of a gentle- 
 woman is somewhat too savory, and he mis- 
 lakes her nose for her lips. A very woodcock 
 would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the 
 logick of a capon. He has not the glib faculty 
 of sliding over a tale, but his words come 
 squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laugh- 
 ter commonly before the jest. He names this 
 word college too often, and his discourse beats 
 too much on the university. The perplexity of 
 mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is 
 sharp set at an argument when he should cut his 
 meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all 
 games but one and thirty 1 , and at tables he 
 
 1 Of the game called one and thirty, I am unable to
 
 63 
 
 reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are 
 not long and drawn out to handle a fiddle, but 
 his fist clunched with the habit of disputing. 
 He ascends a horse somewhat sinisterly, though 
 not on the left side, and they both go jogging 
 in grief together. He is exceedingly censured 
 by the inns-of-court men, for that heinous vice 
 being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a 
 dog in his own dialect, and understands Greek 
 better than the language of a falconer. He has 
 been used to a dark room, and dark cloaths, 
 and his eyes dazzle at a sattin suit. The her- 
 mitage of his study, has made him somewhat 
 uncouth in the world, and men make him 
 worse by staring on him. Thus is he [silly 
 and] ridiculous, and it continues with him for 
 
 find any mention in Mr. Strutt's Sports and Pastimes, 
 nor is it alluded to in any of the old plays or tracts I 
 have yet met with. A very satisfactory account of 
 tables may he read in the interesting and valuable pub- 
 lication just noticed.
 
 64 
 
 some quarter of a year out of the university. 
 But practise him a little in men, and brush him 
 over with good company, and he shall out-bal- 
 lance those glisterers, as far as a solid sub* 
 stance does a feather, or gold, gold-lace. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 A plain country fellow 
 Is one that manures his ground well, but lets 
 himself lye fallow and untilled. He has reason 
 enough to do his business, and not enough to 
 be idle or melancholy. He seems to have the 
 punishment of Nebuchadnezzar, for his conver- 
 sation is among beasts, and his tallons none of 
 the shortest, only he eats not grass, because he 
 loves not sallets. His hand guides the plough.
 
 65 
 
 and the plough his thoughts, and his ditch and 
 land-mark is the very mound of his meditations. 
 He expostulates with his oxen very understand- 
 ingly, and speaks gee, and ree, better than 
 English. His mind is not much distracted with 
 objects, but if a good fat cow come in his way, 
 he stands dumb and astonished, and though his 
 haste be never so great, will fix here half an 
 hour's contemplation. His habitation is some 
 poor thatched roof, distinguished from his barn 
 by the loop-holes that let out smoak, which the 
 rain had long since washed through, but for the. 
 double ceiling of bacon on the inside, which 
 has hung there from his grandsire's time, and 
 is yet to make rashers for posterity. His din- 
 ner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much 
 as at his labour ; he is a terrible fastner on a 
 piece of beef, and you may hope to stave the 
 guard off sooner. His religion is a part of his 
 copy-hold, which he takes from his land-lord, 
 and refers it wholly to his discretion : Yet if he
 
 66 
 
 give him leave he is a good Christian to his 
 power, (that is,) comes to church in his best 
 cloaths, and sits there with his neighbours, 
 where he is capable only of two prayers, for 
 rain, and fair weather. He apprehends God's 
 blessings only in a good year, or a fat pasture, 
 and never praises him but on good ground. 
 Sunday he esteems a day *o make merry in, and 
 thinks a bag-pipe as essential to it as evening- 
 prayer, where he Avalks very solemnly after 
 service with his hands coupled behind him, 
 and censures the dancing of his parish. [His 
 compliment with his neighbour is a good thump 
 on the back, and his salutation commonly some 
 blunt curse.] He thinks nothing to be vices, 
 but pride and ill husbandry, from which he 
 will gravely dissuade the youth, and has some 
 thrifty hob-nail proverbs to clout his dis- 
 course. He is a niggard all the week, except 
 only market-day, where, if his corn sell well, 
 he thinks he may be drunk with a good con-
 
 67 
 
 science. His feet never stink so unbecomingly 
 as when he trots after a lawyer in Westminster- 
 hall, and even cleaves the ground with hard 
 scraping in beseeching his worship to take his 
 money. He is sensible of no calamity but the 
 burning a stack of corn or the overflowing of a 
 meadow, and thinks Noah's flood the greatest 
 plague that ever was, not because it drowned 
 the world, but spoiled the grass. For death he 
 is never troubled, and if he get in but his har- 
 vest before, let it come when it will, he cares 
 not. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 A player. 
 
 HE knows the right use of the world, wherein 
 he comes to play a part and so away. His life is
 
 68 
 
 not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be 
 more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men 
 are upon him. His profession has in it a kind 
 of contradiction, for none is more disliked, and 
 yet none more applauded ; and he has the mis- 
 fortune of some scholar, too much wit makes 
 him a fool. He is like our painting gentle- 
 women, seldom in his own face, seldomer in his 
 cloaths ; and he pleases, the better he counter- 
 feits, except only when he is disguised with 
 straw for gold lace. He does not only person- 
 ate on the stage, but sometimes in the street, 
 for he is masked still in the habit of a gentle- 
 man. His parts find him oaths and good words, 
 which he keeps for his use and discourse, and 
 makes shew with them of a fashionable com- 
 panion. He is tragical on the stage, but ram- 
 pant in the tiring-house % and swears oaths 
 
 2 The room where the performers dress, previous to 
 coming on the stage.
 
 69 
 
 there which he never conned. The waiting 
 women spectators are over-ears in love with 
 him, and ladies send for him to act in their 
 chambers. Your inns-of-court men were un 
 done but for him, he is their chief guest 
 and employment, and the sole business that 
 makes them afternoon's-men. The poet only is 
 his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's 
 friend drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday 
 he fears as much as the bauds, and Lent 3 is more 
 damage to him than the butcher. He was never 
 so much discredited as in one act, and that was 
 of parliament, which gives hostlers priviledge 
 
 3 This passage affords a proof of what has been 
 doubted, namely, that the theatres were not permitted 
 to be open during Lent, in the reign of James I. The 
 restriction was waved in the next reign, as we find from 
 the puritanical Prynne: "There are none so much 
 addicted to stage-playes, but when they goe unto places 
 where they cannot have them, or when, as they are 
 suppressed by publike authority, (as in times of pesti- 
 lence, and in Lent, till now of late,) can well subsist 
 without them," &c. Histrio-Mastix, 4to. Land, 1633. 
 page. 384.
 
 70 
 
 before him, for which he abhors it more than 
 a corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one 
 well-furnished actor has enough in him for five 
 common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body, 
 [for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge 
 any Cato, for it has been his practice to die 
 bravely. 
 
 f 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A detractor 
 
 Is one of a more cunning and active envy, 
 wherewith he gnaws not foolishly himself, but 
 throws it abroad and would have it blister 
 others. He is commonly some weak parted 
 fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangely am- 
 bitious to match others, not by mounting their 
 worth, but bringing them down with his tongue
 
 to his own poorness. He is indeed like the red 
 dragon that pursued the woman, for when he 
 cannot over-reach another, he opens his mouth 
 and throws a flood after to drown him. You 
 cannot anger him worse than to do well, and 
 he hates you more bitterly for this, than if you 
 had cheated him of his patrimony with your 
 own discredit. He is always slighting the ge- 
 neral opinion, and wondering why such and 
 such men should be applauded. Commend a 
 good divine, he cries postilling ; a philologer, 
 pedantry; a poet, running ; a school-man, dull 
 
 wrangling ; a sharp conceit, boyishness ; an 
 
 \ ' 
 
 honest man, plausibility. He comes to publick 
 things not to learn, but to catch, and if there be 
 but one soloecism, that is all he carries away. 
 He looks on all things with a prepared sow r er- 
 ness, and is still furnished with a pish before- 
 hand, or some musty proverb that disrelishes all 
 things whatsoever. If fear of the company 
 make him second a commendation, it is like a
 
 72 
 
 law- writ, always with a clause of exception, or 
 to smooth his way to some greater scandal. 
 He will grant you something, and bate more ; 
 and this bating shall in conclusion take away all 
 he granted. His speech concludes still with an 
 Oh ! but, and I could wish one thing amended ; 
 and this one thing shall be enough to deface all 
 his former commendations. He will be very 
 inward with a man to fish some bad out of him, 
 and make his slanders hereafter more authen- 
 tick, when it is said a friend reported it. He will 
 inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good 
 name into his clutches ; he will be your pandar 
 to have you on the hip for a whore-master, and 
 make you drunk to shew you reeling. He 
 passes the more plausibly because all men have 
 a smatch of his humour, and it is thought free- 
 ness which is malice. If he can say nothing of 
 a man, he will seem to speak riddles, as if he 
 could tell strange stories if he would ; and 
 when he has racked his invention to the utmost,
 
 73 
 
 lie ends ; but I wish him well, and therefore 
 must hold my peace. He is always listening 
 and enquiring after men, and suffers not a 
 cloak to pass by him unexamined. In brief, 
 he is one that has lost all good himself, and is 
 loth to find it in another. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A young gentleman of the university 
 Is one that comes there to wear a gown, and 
 to say hereafter, he has been at the university. 
 His father sent him thither because he heard 
 there were the best fencing and dancing-schools ; 
 from these he has his education, from his tutor 
 the over-sight. The first element of his know- 
 ledge is to be shewn the colleges, and initiated 
 in a tavern by the way, which hereafter he will
 
 74 
 
 will learn of himself. The two marks of his 
 seniority, is the bare velvet of his gown, and his 
 proficiency at tennis, where when he can once 
 play a set, he is a fresh man no more. His 
 study has commonly handsome shelves, his 
 books neat silk strings, which lie shews to his 
 father's man, and is loth to unty 4 or take down 
 for fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for 
 recreation he retires thither, and looks over the 
 .pretty book his tutor reads to him, which is 
 commonly some short history, or a piece of 
 Euphormio; for which his tutor gives him 
 money to spend next day. His main loytering 
 
 4 It may not be known to those who arc not accus- 
 tomed to meet with old books in their original bindings, 
 or of seeing public libraries of antiquity, that the 
 volumes were formerly placed on the shelves with the 
 leaves, not the back, in front ; and that the two sides of 
 the binding were joined together with neat silk or other 
 strings, and, in some instances, where the books were 
 of greater value and curiosity than common, even fas- 
 tened with gold or silver chains.
 
 75 
 
 is at the library, where he studies arms and 
 books of honour, and turns a gentleman critick 
 in pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to 
 be mistaken for a scholar, and hates a black 
 suit though it be made of sattin. His com- 
 panion is ordinarily some stale fellow, that has 
 been notorious for an ingle to gold hatbands s , 
 whom he admires at first, afterward scorns. If 
 he have spirit or wit he may light of better 
 company, and may learn some flashes of wit, 
 which may do him knight's service in the 
 country hereafter. But he is now gone to the 
 inns-of-court, where he studies to forget what 
 he learned before, his acquaintance and the 
 fashion. 
 
 5 A hanger-on to noblemen, vrho are distinguished at 
 the university by gold tassels to their caps ; or in the 
 language of the present day, a tuft-hunter.
 
 XXVI. 
 
 A weak man 
 
 Is a child at man's estate, one whom nature 
 huddled up in haste, and left his best part un- 
 finished. The rest of him is grown to be a 
 man, only his brain stays behind. He is one 
 that has not improved his first rudiments, nor 
 attained any proficiency by his stay in the 
 world : but we may speak of him yet as when 
 he was in the bud, a good harmless nature, a 
 well meaning mind 6 {and no more.~\ It is bis 
 misery that he now wants a tutor, and is too old 
 to have one. He is two steps above a fool, and 
 a great many more below a wise man : yet the 
 fool is oft given him, and by those whom he 
 esteems most. Some tokens of him are, he 
 
 * If he could order his intentions, first edit.
 
 77 
 
 loves men better upon relation than experi- 
 ence, for he is exceedingly enamoured of 
 strangers, and none quicklier a weary of his 
 friend. He charges you at first meeting with 
 all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows 
 more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes 
 much his abusers for friends, and his friends 
 for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in 
 nothing so much as in good council. One that 
 is flexible with any thing but reason, and then 
 only perverse. [A servant to every tale and 
 flatterer, and whom the last man still works 
 over.] A great affecter of wits and such pretti- 
 nesscs ; and his company is costly to him, for he 
 seldom has it but invited. His friendship com- 
 monly is begun in a supper, and lost in lending 
 money. The tavern is a dangerous place to 
 him, for to drink and be drunk is with him all 
 one, and his brain is sooner quenched than his 
 thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with 
 company, but suffers alone, and the bastard
 
 78 
 
 commonly laid to his charge. One that will be 
 patiently abused, and take exception a month 
 after when he understands it, and then be abused 
 again into a reconcilement; and you cannot 
 endear him more than by cozening him, and it 
 is a temptation to those that would not. One 
 discoverable in all silliness to all men but him- 
 self, and you may take any man's knowledge 
 of him better than his own. He will promise 
 the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny 
 one break with all. One that has no power 
 over himself, over his business, over his friends, 
 but a prey and pity to all ; and if his fortunes 
 once sink, men quickly cry, Alas ! and forget 
 him.
 
 79 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A tobacco-seller 
 
 Is the only man that finds good in it which 
 others brag of but do not; for it is meat, drink, 
 and clothes to him. No man opens his ware 
 with greater seriousness, or challenges your 
 judgment more in the approbation. His shop 
 is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dia- 
 logue with their noses, and their communica- 
 tion is smoak 7 . It is the place only where 
 Spain is commended and preferred before 
 England itself. He should be well experienced 
 in the world, for he has daily trial of men's nos- 
 trils, and none is better acquainted with hu- 
 mours. He is the piecing commonly of some 
 
 7 Minshew calls a tobzccomstfumi-vendulus, a smoak- 
 idkr.
 
 80 
 
 other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and 
 that to his wife, which is the flame that follows 
 this smoak. 
 
 XXV1I1. 
 
 A pot-poet 
 
 Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good 
 drink may have some relish. His inspirations 
 are more real than others, for they do but feign 
 a God, but he has his by him. His verse runs 
 like the tap, and his invention as the barrel, 
 ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spiggot. In 
 thin drink he aspires not above a ballad, but a 
 cup of sack inflames him, and sets his muse and 
 nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and 
 stamps him now and then a six-pence or two in 
 reward of ttie baser coin his pamphlet. His
 
 81 
 
 works would scarce sell for three half-pence, 
 though they are given oft for three shillings, 
 but for the pretty title that allures the country 
 gentleman; for which the printer Maintains 
 him in ale a fortnight. His verses are like bis 
 clothes miserable centoes 8 and patches, yet their 
 pace is not altogether so hobbling as an alma- 
 nack's. The death of a great man or the burn- 
 ing 9 of a house furnish him with an argument, 
 and the nine muses are out strait in mourning 
 gowns, and Melpomene cries fire ! fire ! i"His 
 other poems are but briefs in rhime^ and like 
 the poor Greeks collections to redeem from cap- 
 tivity.] He is a man now much employed in 
 commendations of our navy, and a bitter in- 
 veigher against the Spaniard. His frequentest 
 
 8 Cento, a composition formed by joining scraps 
 from other authors. Johnson. Camden, in his J?e- 
 mains, uses it in the same sense. " It is quilted, as it 
 were, out of shreds of divers poets, such as scholars 
 call a cento." 
 
 9 Firing, first edit.
 
 82 
 
 >\orks go out in single sheets, and are chanted 
 from market to market to a vile tune and a 
 worse throat ; whilst the poor country wench 
 melts like her butter to hear them. And these 
 are the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a 
 strange monster out of Germany I0 ; or, sitting 
 
 1 In the hope of discovering some account of the 
 strange monster alluded to, I have looked through one 
 of the largest and most curious collections of tracts, re- 
 lating to the marvellous, perhaps in existence. That 
 bequeathed to the Bodleian, by Robert Burton, the au- 
 thor of the Anatomy of' Melancholy. Hitherto my re- 
 searches have been unattended with success, as I have 
 found only two tracts of this description relating to 
 Germany, both of which are in prose, and neither 
 giving any account of a monster. 
 
 1. A most true Relation of a very dreatlfull Eaith- 
 quake, with the lamentable Efftctes therecf, which began 
 i-pon the 8. of December 1612. and yet continuelh most 
 
 fcurefull in Munster in Germanic. Reade and Tremble. 
 Translated out of Dutch, by Charles Demetrius, Publike 
 Notarie in London, and printed at Rotterdame, in Hol- 
 land, at the Signe of the White Gray-hound. (Date cut 
 off. Twenty-six pages, 4 to. with a wood-cut.) 
 
 2. Miraculous Neices from the Cittie of Holt, in the 
 
 ip of M unster, in Germany, the twcnticlh of Sep-
 
 83 
 
 in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments* 
 He drops away at last in some obscure painted 
 cloth, to which himself made the verses 1 , and 
 his life, like a cann too full, spills upon the 
 bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, 
 which my hostess loses. 
 
 timber last past, 1616. where there were plainly beheld 
 three dead bodies rise out of their Graves admonishing the 
 people of ludgements to come. Faithfully translated (Sfc. 
 SfC.) London, Printed for lohn Barnes, dwelling in Hosie 
 Lane neere Smithfield, 1616. (4to. twenty pages, 
 wood-cut.) 
 
 1 It was customary to work or paint proverbs, moral 
 sentences, or scraps of verse, on old tapestry hangings, 
 which were called painted cloths. Several allusions- to 
 this practice may be found in the works of our early 
 English dramatists. See Reed's Shakspeare, viii. 103.
 
 XXIX. 
 
 A plausible man 
 
 Is one that would fain run an even path in 
 the world, and jut against no man. His en" 
 deavour is not to offend, and his aim the gene- 
 ral opinion. His conversation is a kind of con- 
 tinued compliment, and his life a practice of 
 manners. The relation he bears to others, a 
 kind of fashionable respect, not friendship but 
 friendliness, which is equal to all and general, 
 and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies* 
 He loves not deeper mutualities, because he 
 would not take sides, nor hazard himself on 
 displeasures, which he principally avoids. At 
 your Jirst acquaintance with him he is exceed- 
 ing kind and friendly, and at your twentieth 
 meeting after but friendly still. He has an ex- 
 cellent command over his patience and tongue, 
 especially the last, which he accommodates
 
 85 
 
 always to the times and persons, and speaks 
 seldom what is sincere, but what is civil. He 
 is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths, 
 and is reasonable cool in all religions. [He 
 considers who are friends to the company, and 
 speaks well where he is sure to hear of it 
 again.] He can listen to a foolish discourse 
 with an applausive attention, and conceal his 
 laughter at nonsense. Silly men much ho- 
 nour and esteem him, because by his fair rea- 
 soning with them as with men of understand- 
 ing, he puts them into an erroneous opinion of 
 themselves, and makes them forwarder here- 
 after to their own discovery. He is one rather 
 well 1 thought on than beloved, and that love 
 he has is more of whole companies together 
 than any one in particular. Men gratify him 
 notwithstanding with a good report, and what- 
 ever vices he has besides, yet having no ene- 
 mies, he is sure to be an honest fellow. 
 9 Better, first edit.
 
 86 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A bowl-alley 
 
 Is the place where there are three things 
 thrown away beside bowls, to wit, time, money, 
 and curses, and the last ten for one. The best 
 sport in it is the gamesters, and he enjoys it 
 that looks on and bets not. It is the school of 
 wrangling, and worse than the schools, for 
 men will cavil here for a hair's breadth, and 
 make a stir where a straw would end the con- 
 troversy. No antick screws men's bodies into 
 such strange flexures, and you would think 
 them here senseless, to speak sense to their 
 bowl, and put their trust in intreaties for a 
 good cast. The betters arc the factious noise 
 of the alley, or the gamesters beadsmen that 
 pray for them. They are somewhat like those 
 that are cheated by great men, for they lose
 
 87 
 
 their money and must say nothing. It is the 
 best discovery of 'humours, especially in the 
 losers, where you have fine variety of impa- 
 tience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, 
 and others more ridiculously comfort themselves 
 with philosophy. To give you the moral of 
 it; it is the emblem of the world, or the world's 
 ambition: where most are short, or over, or 
 wide or wrong- biassed, and some few justle in 
 to the mistress fortune. And it is here as in the 
 court, where the nearest are most spited, and 
 all blows aimed at the toucher. 
 
 8 aMV-'i).-; T?iO ;M<!v r 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The world's wise man 
 Is an able and sufficient wicked man : It is a 
 proof of his sufficiency that he is not called
 
 88 
 
 wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined 
 in himself and his own ends, and his instru- 
 ments herein any thing that will do it. His 
 friends are a part of his engines, and as they 
 serve to his works, used or laid by : Indeed he 
 knows not this thing of friend, but if he give 
 you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. 
 Never more active in his businesses, than when 
 when they are mixed with some harm to others ; 
 and it is his best play in this game to strike off 
 and lie in the place : Successful commonly in 
 these undertakings, because he passes smoothly 
 those rubs which others stumble at, as con- 
 science and the like; and gratulates himself 
 much in this advantage. Oaths and falshood 
 he counts the nearest way, and loves not by any 
 means to go about. He has many fine quips at 
 this folly of plain dealing, but his "tush!" is 
 greatest at religion ; yet he uses this too, and 
 virtue and good words, but is less dangerously a 
 devil than a saint. He ascribes all honesty to an
 
 89 
 
 unpractisedness in the world, and conscience a 
 thing merely for children. He scorns all that 
 are so silly to trust 3 him, and only not scorns 
 his enemy, especially if as bad as himself: he 
 fears him as a man well armed and provided, 
 but sets boldly on good natures, as the most 
 vanquishable. One that seriously admires 
 those worst princes, as Sforza, Borgia, and 
 Richard the third ; and calls matters of deep 
 yillany things of difficulty. To whom murders 
 are but resolute acts, and treason a business of 
 great consequence. One whom two or three 
 countries make up to this compleatness, and he 
 has travelled for the purpose. His deepest in- 
 dearment is a communication of mischief, and 
 then only you have him fast. His con- 
 clusion is commonly one of these two, either a 
 great man, or hanged. 
 
 3 Hate, first edit.
 
 90 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 A surgeon 
 
 Is one that has some business about this 
 building or little house of man, whereof nature 
 is as it were the tiler, and lie the plaisterer. ' 
 It is ofter out of reparations than an old parson- 
 age, and then he is set on work to patch it 
 again. He deals most with broken commo- 
 dities, as a broken head or a mangled face, and 
 his gains are very ill got, for he lives by the 
 hurts of the commonwealth. He differs from a 
 physician as a sore does from a disease, or the 
 sick from those that are not whole, the one dis- 
 tempers you within, the other blisters you with- 
 out. He complains of the decay of valour in 
 these days, and sighs for that slashing age of 
 sword and buckler ; and thinks the law against 
 duels was made meerly to wound his vocation.
 
 91 
 
 He had been long since undone if the charity 
 of the- stews had not relieved him, from whom 
 he has his tribute as duly as the pope ; or a 
 wind-fall sometimes from a tavern, if a quart 
 pot hit right. The rareness of his custom 
 makes him pitiless when it comes, and he holds a 
 patient longer than our [spiritual] courts a cause. 
 He tells you what danger you had been in if he 
 had staid but a minute longer, and though it 
 be but a pricked finger, he makes of it much 
 matter. He is a reasonable cleanly man, con- 
 sidering the scabs he has to deal with, and your 
 finest ladies are now and then beholden to him 
 for their best dressings. He curses old gentle- 
 women and their charity that makes his trade 
 their alms ; but his envy is never stirred so 
 much as when gentlemen go over to fight upon 
 Calais sands 4 , whom he wishes drowned e'er 
 
 4 Calais sands were chosen by English duellists to de- 
 cide their quarrels on, as being out of the jurisdiction of 
 the law. This custom is noticed in an Epigram writ-
 
 they come there, rather than the French shall 
 get his custom. 
 
 ten about the period in which this book first ap- 
 peared. 
 
 u When boasting Bembus challeng'd is to fight, 
 He seemes at first a very Diuell in sight : 
 Till more aduizde, will not defile [his] hands, 
 Vnlesse you meete him vpon Callice sands." 
 
 The Mastive or Young Whelpe of the olde Dog. Epigrams 
 gnd Satyrs. 4to. Lond. (Printed, as Warton supposes, 
 about 1600.) 
 
 A passage in The Beau's Duel : or a Soldier for the La- 
 dies, a comedy, by Mrs. Centlivre, 4to. 1707, proves, 
 that it existed so late as at that day. " Your only way 
 is to send him word you'll meet him on Calais sandt ; 
 duelling is unsafe in England for men of estates," &c. 
 See also other instances in Dodsley's Old Plays, edit. 
 1780. vii. 218. xii. 412.
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 A contemplative man 
 
 Is a scholar in this great university the world ; 
 and the same his book and study. He cloysters 
 not his meditations in the narrow darkness of a 
 room, but sends them abroad with his eyes, 
 and his brain travels with his feet. He looks 
 upon man from a high tower, and sees him 
 trulier at this distance in his infirmities and 
 poorness. He scorns to mix himself in men's 
 actions, as he would to act upon a stage ; but 
 sits aloft on the scaffold a censuring spectator. 
 [He will not lose his time by being busy, or 
 make so poor a use of the world as to hug and 
 embrace it.] Nature admits him as a partaker 
 of her sports, and asks his approbation as it 
 were of her own works and variety. He comes 
 uot in company, because he would not be so-
 
 94 
 
 litary, but finds discourse enough with himself, 
 and his own thoughts are his excellent play- 
 fellows. He looks not upon a thing as a yawn- 
 ing stranger at novelties, but his search is more 
 mysterious and inward, and he spells heaven 
 out of earth. He knits his observations toge- 
 ther, and makes a ladder of them all to climb 
 to God. He is free from vice, because he has 
 no occasion to imploy it, and is above those 
 ends that make man wicked. He has learnt all 
 can here be taught him, and comes now to hea- 
 ven to see more. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 A she precise hypocrite 
 Is one in whom good women suffer, and 'have 
 their truth misinterpreted by her folly. She is
 
 95 
 
 one, she knows not what her self if you ask her, 
 but she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the 
 fashion of religion, and is enamoured of the 
 new fangle. She is a nonconformist in a close 
 stomacher and ruff of Geneva print 5 , and her 
 purity consists much in her linnen. She has 
 
 5 Strict devotees were, I believe, noted for the small- 
 ness and precision of their ruff's, which were termed in 
 print from the exactness of the fo'ds. So in Mynshul's 
 Essays, 4to. 1618. " I vndertooke a warre when I ad- 
 uentured to speake in print, (not inprint as Puritan's 
 ruffes are set.)" The term of Geneva print probably 
 arose from the minuteness of the type used at Geneva. 
 In the Merry Deril of Edmonton, a comedy, 4to. 1608, 
 is an expression which goes some way to prove the cor- 
 rectness of this supposition : " I see by thy eyes thou 
 hast bin reading little Geneua print ;" and, that small 
 ruffs were worn by the puritanical set, an instance ap- 
 pears in Mayne's City Match, a comedy, 4to. 1658. 
 
 " O miracle ! 
 
 Out of your little ruffe, Dorcas, and in the fashion ! 
 Dost thou hope to be saved?" 
 
 From these three extracts it is, I think, clear that a 
 ruff of Geneva print meant a small, closely-folded ruff, 
 which was the distinction of a non-conformist.
 
 96 
 
 heard of the rag of Rome, and thinks it a very 
 sluttish religion, and rails at the whore of Baby- 
 lon for a very naughty woman. She has left 
 her virginity as a relick of popery, and marries 
 in her tribe without a ring. Her devotion at 
 the church is much in the turning up of her eye ; 
 and turning down the leaf in her book, when 
 she hears named chapter and verse. When 
 she comes home, she commends the sermon for 
 the scripture, and two hours. She loves 
 preaching better then praying, and of preach- 
 ers, lecturers ; and thinks the week day's exer- 
 cise far more edifying than the Sunday's. Her 
 oftest gossipings are sabbath-day's journeys, 
 where, (though an enemy to superstition,) she 
 will go in pilgrimage five mile to a silenced 
 minister, when there is a better sermon in her 
 own parish. She doubts of the virgin Mary's 
 salvation, and dares not saint her, but knows 
 her own place in heaven as perfectly as the pew 
 she has a key to. She is so taken up with faith
 
 97 
 
 she has no room for charity, and understands ( 
 no good works but what are wrought on the 
 sampler. She accounts nothing vices but su- 
 perstition and an oath, and thinks adultery a 
 less sin than to swear by my truly. She rails at 
 other women by the names of Jezebel and Da- 
 lilah ; and calls her own daughters Rebecca 
 and Abigail, and not Ann but Hannah. She 
 suffers them not to learn on the virginals 6 , be- 
 cause of their affinity with organs, but is re- 
 conciled to the bells for the chimes sake, since' 
 they were reformed to the tune of a psalm. 
 She overflows so with the bible, that she spills 
 it upon every occasion, and will not cudgel her 
 maids without scripture. It is a question whe- 
 ther she is more troubled with the Devil, or the 
 Devil with her : She is always challenging and 
 
 6 A virginal, says Mr. Malone, was strung like a 
 spinnet, and shaped like a piano-forte : the mode of 
 playing on this instrument was therefore similar to that 
 of the organ. 
 
 ii
 
 98 
 
 daring him, and her weapon [ 7 /s The Practice 
 of Piety. ~] Nothing angers her so much as 
 that women cannot preach, and in this point 
 only thinks the Brownist erroneous ; but Avhat 
 she cannot at the church she does at the table, 
 where she prattles more than any against sense 
 and Antichrist, 'till a capon's wing silence her. 
 She expounds the priests of Baal, reading 
 ministers, and thinks the salvation of that pa- 
 rish as desperate as the Turks. She is a main 
 derider to her capacity of those that are not her 
 preachers, and censures all sermons but bad 
 ones. If her husband be a tradesman, she 
 helps him to customers, howsoever to good 
 cheer, and they are a most faithful couple at 
 these meetings, for they never fail. Her con- 
 science is like others lust, never satisfied, and 
 you might better answer Scotus than her 
 
 7 Weapons are spells no less potent than different, as be- 
 ing the sage sentences of sonic of her orcn sectaries. First 
 edit.
 
 99 
 
 scruples. She is one that thinks she performs 
 all her duties to God in hearing 1 , and shews the L 
 fruits of it in talking. She is more fiery agains 
 the may-pole than her husband, and thinks she 
 might do a Phineas' act to break the pate of the 
 fidler. She is an everlasting argument, but I 
 am weary of her. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 A sceptick in religion 
 Is one that han^s in the balance with all sorts 
 
 o 
 
 of opinions, whereof not one but stirs him and 
 none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity 
 than he is taken to be ; for it is out of his belief 
 of every thing, that he fully believes nothing. 
 Each religion scares him from its contrary : 
 
 H2
 
 100 
 
 none persuades him to itself. He would be 
 wholly a Christian, but that he is something of 
 an atheist, and wholly an atheist, but that he is 
 partly a Christian ; and a perfect heretic, but 
 that there are so many to distract him. He 
 finds reason in all opinions, truth in none : in- 
 deed the least reason perplexes him, and the 
 best will not satisfy him. He is at most a con- 
 fused and wild Christian, not specialized by 
 any form, but capable of all. He uses the 
 land's religion, because it is next him, yet he 
 sees not why he may not take the other, but he 
 chuses this, not as better, but because there is 
 not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and 
 scruples better than resolves them, and is al- 
 ways too hard for himself. His learning is too 
 much for his brain, and his judgment too little 
 for his learning^ and his over-opinion of both, 
 spoils all. Pity it was his mischance of being 
 a scholar ; for it does only distract and irregu- 
 late him, and the world by him. He hammers
 
 101 
 
 much in general upon our opinion's uncertainty, 
 and the possibility of erring makes him not 
 Tenture on what is true. He is troubled at this 
 naturalness of religion to countries, that pro- 
 testantism should be born so in England and 
 popery abroad, and that fortune and the stars 
 should so much share in it. He likes not this 
 connection of the common-weal and divinity, 
 and fears it may be an arch-practice of state. 
 In our differences with Rome he is strangely un- 
 fixed, and a new man every new day, as his 
 last discourse-book's meditations transport him. 
 He could like the gray hairs of popery, did not 
 some dotages there stagger him : he would 
 come to us sooner, but our new name affrights 
 him. He is taken with their miracles, but 
 doubts an imposture ; he conceives of our doc- 
 trine better, but it seems too empty and naked. 
 He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscrip- 
 tion of truth to our corner, and is as hardly per- 
 suaded to think their old legends true. He ap-
 
 102 
 
 proves well of our faith, and more of their 
 works, and is sometimes much affected at the 
 zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience interposes 
 itself betwixt duellers, and whilst it would part 
 both, is by both wounded. He will sometimes 
 propend much to us upon the reading a good 
 writer, and at Bellarmine 8 recoils as far back 
 
 8 Robert Bellarmin, an Italian Jesuit, was born at 
 Monte Pulciano, a town in Tuscany, in the year 1542, 
 and in 1560 entered himself among the Jesuits. In 
 1599 he was honoured with a cardinal's hat, and in 
 1602 was presented with the arch-bishopric of Capua : 
 this, however, he resigned in 1605, when pope Paul V. 
 desired to have him near himself. He was employed in 
 the affairs of the court of Rome till 1621, when, leav- 
 ing the Vatican, he retired to a house belonging to his 
 order, and died September 17, in the same year. 
 
 Bellarmin was one of the best controversial writers of 
 his time; few authors have done greater honour to 
 their profession or opinions, and certain it is that none 
 have ever more ably defended the cause of the Romish 
 church, or contended in favour of the pope with greater 
 advantage. As a proof of Bellarmin's abilities, there 
 was scarcely a divine of any eminence among the 
 protestants who did not attack him : Bayle aptly says,
 
 103 
 
 again ; and the fathers justle him from one 
 side to another. Now Socinus 9 and Vorstius 10 
 
 " they made his name resound every where, ut littns 
 Styla, Styla, omne sonaret." 
 
 9 Faustus Socinus is so well known as the founder of 
 the sect which goes under his name, that a few words 
 will be sufficient. He was born in 1539, at Sienna, and 
 imbibed his opinions from the instruction of his uncle, 
 who always had a high opinion of, and confidence in, 
 the abilities of his nephew, to whom he bequeathed all 
 his papers. After living several years in the world, 
 principally at the court of Francis de Medicis, Sjcinus, 
 in 1577, went into Germany, and began to propagate 
 the principles of his uncle, to which, it is said, he made 
 great additions and alterations of his own. In the sup- 
 port of his opinions, he suffered considerable hardships, 
 and received the greatest insults and persecutions; to 
 avoid which, he retired to a place near Cracow, in Po- 
 land, where he died in 1504, at the age of sixty-five. 
 
 10 Conrade Vorstius, a learned divine, who was pe- 
 culiarly detested by the Calvinists, and who had even 
 the honour to be attacked by king James the first, of 
 England, was born in 1569. Being compelled, through 
 the interposition of James's ambassador, to quit Leiden, 
 where he had attained the divinity-chair, and several 
 other preferments, he retired to Toningen, where he 
 died in 1622, with the strongest tokens of piety and 
 resignation.
 
 104 
 
 afresh torture him, and he agrees with none 
 worse than himself. He puts his foot into he- 
 resies tenderly, as a cat in the water, and pulls 
 it out again, and still something unanswered 
 delays him ; yet he bears away some parcel of 
 each, and you may sooner pick all religions 
 out of him than one. lie cannot think so 
 many wise men should be in error, nor so 
 many honest men out of the way, and his won- 
 der is double when he sees these oppose one 
 another. He hates authority as the tyrant of 
 reason, and you cannot anger him worse than 
 with a father's dixit t and yet that many are 
 not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his 
 doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, 
 and his salvation a greater, which death only 
 concludes, and then he is resolved.
 
 105 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 An attorney. 
 
 His antient beginning was a blue coat, since 
 a livery, and his hatching under a lawyer ; 
 whence, though but pen-feathered, he hath now 
 nested for himself, and with his hoarded pence 
 purchased an office. Two desks and a quire of 
 paper set him up, where he now sits in state for 
 all comers. We can call him no great author, 
 yet he writes very much and with the infamy of 
 the court is maintained in his libels '. He has 
 some smatch of a scholar, and yet uses Latin 
 very hardly ; and lest it should accuse him, 
 cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak 
 
 a 
 
 His style is very constant, for it keeps still the former 
 aforesaid ; and yet it seems he is much troubled in it, for he 
 is always humbly complaining your poor orator. First 
 fdit.
 
 106 
 
 put. He is, contrary to great men, maintained 
 by his followers, that is, his poor country cli- 
 ents, that worship him more than their land- 
 lord, and be they never such churls, he looks 
 for their courtesy. He first racks them soundly 
 himself, and then delivers them to the lawyer 
 for execution. His looks are very solicitous, 
 importing much haste and dispatch, he is 
 never without his hands full of business, that is 
 of paper. His skin becomes at last as dry as his 
 parchment, and his face as intricate as the most 
 winding cause. lie talks statutes as fiercely as 
 if he had mooted 2 seven years in the inns of 
 court, when all his skill is stuck in his girdle, 
 or in his office- window. Strife and wrangling 
 
 - To moote a terme vsed in the innes of the court; it is 
 the handling of a case, as in the Vniuersitie their dispu- 
 tations, &c. So Minshcw, who supposes it to be derived 
 from the French, mot, verl/urn, quasi verba focere, uut 
 sermonem de uliqua re habere. Mootmen are those who, 
 having studied seven or eight years, are qualified to 
 practise, and appear to answer to our term of barristers.
 
 107 
 
 Lave made him rich, and he is thankful to his 
 benefactor, and nourishes it. If he live in a, 
 country village, he makes all his neighbours 
 good subjects ; for there shall be nothing done 
 but what there is law for. His business gives 
 him not leave to think of his conscience, and 
 when the tune, or term of his life is going out, 
 for dooms-day he is secure ; for he hopes he has 
 a trick to reverse judgment. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 A partial man 
 
 Is the opposite extreme to a defamer, for the 
 one speaks ill falsely, and the other well, 
 and both slander the truth. He is one that is 
 still weighing men in the scale of comparisons, 
 and puts his affections in the one balance
 
 108 
 
 and that sways. His friend always shall do 
 best, and you shall rarely hear good of his ene- 
 my. He considers first the man and then the 
 thing, and restrains all merit to what they de- 
 serve of him. Commendations he esteems not 
 the debt of worth, but the requital of kindness ; 
 and if you ask his reason, shews his interest, 
 and tells you how much he is beholden to that 
 man. He is one that ties his judgment to the 
 wheel of fortune, and they determine giddily 
 both alike. He prefers England before other 
 countries because he was born there, and Ox- 
 ford before other universities, because he was 
 brought up there, and the best scholar there 
 is one of his own college, and the best scholar 
 there is one of his friends. He is a great fa r 
 vourer of great persons, and his argument is 
 still that which should be antecedent ; as, he 
 is in high place, therefore virtuous ; he is 
 preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask his 
 opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and
 
 109 
 
 he is indifferent in nothing but conscience. 
 Men esteem him for this a zealous affectionate, 
 but they mistake him many times, for he does 
 it but to be esteemed so. Of all men he is 
 worst to write an history, for he will praise a 
 Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect 
 of his all posterity shall be cozened. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 A trumpeter 
 
 Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he 
 eats nothing but what comes through this way. 
 His profession is not so worthy as to occasion in- 
 solence, and yet no man so much puft up. His 
 face is as brazen as his trumpet, and (which is 
 worse,) as a fidler's, from whom he differeth only 
 in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea
 
 110 
 
 of drink and much wind make a storm perpetu- 
 ally in his cheeks, and his look is like his noise, 
 blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom 
 the sound of war, but now of peace ; yet as ter- 
 rible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are 
 sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant 
 of glittering folks, whether in the court or stage, 
 where he is always the prologue's prologue 3 . 
 He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, 
 shrillest when lie is empty ; when his belly is 
 full he is quiet enough. No man proves life 
 more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he 
 
 3 The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered 
 in by trumpets. " Present not yourselfe on the stage 
 (especially at a new play) untill the quaking prologue 
 hath (by nibbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is 
 ready to giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon 
 point to enter/ Decker's Gufs Hornbook, 1609. 
 p. SO. 
 
 " Doe you not know that I am the Prologue? Do you 
 not sec this long blacke veluetcloke vpon mybacke? 
 Huucynu not sounded thrice ?" Hey wood's Foure Prcn- 
 tises of London. 4to. 1615-
 
 Ill 
 
 is like a counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when 
 he his blown up. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 A vulgar-spirited man 
 Is one of the herd of the world. One -that 
 follows merely the common cry, and makes it 
 louder by one. " A man that loves none but who 
 are publickly affected, and he will not be wiser 
 than the rest of the town. That never owns a 
 friend after an ill name, or some general impu- 
 tation, though he knows it most unworthy. 
 That opposes to reason, " thus men say ;" and 
 " thus most do;" and " thus the world goes ;" 
 and thinks this enough to poise the other. That 
 worships men in place, and those only: and
 
 112 
 
 thinks all a great man speaks oracles. Mucli 
 taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all 
 to a syllab'e. One that justifies nothing out of 
 fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded 
 way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and 
 Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the 
 pope and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest 
 cassock the best scholar ; and the best cloaths 
 the finest man. That is taken only with broad 
 and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep 
 for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money 
 above all our English poets, because the voice 
 has gone so, and he has read none. That is 
 much ravished with such a nobleman's courtesy, 
 and would venture his life for him, because he 
 put off his hat. One that is foremost still to 
 kiss the king's hand, and cries, " God bless 
 his majesty !" loudest. That rails on all men 
 condemned and out of favour, and the first that 
 says "away with the traitors!" yet struck with 
 much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a
 
 113 
 
 man die, could kill the hangman. That comes 
 to London to see it, and the pretty things in it, 
 and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears. 
 That measures the happiness of the kingdom by 
 the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm 
 of state, but ill trading. Within this compass 
 too, come those that are too much wedged into 
 the world, and have no lifting thoughts above 
 those things ; that call to thrive, to do well ; 
 and preferment only the grace of God. That 
 aim all studies at this mark, and shew you 
 poor scholars as an example to take heed by. 
 That think the prison and want a judgment for 
 some sin, and never like well hereafter of a 
 jail-bird. That know no other content but 
 wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures ; that 
 think all else but idle speculation, and the phi- 
 losophers madmen. In short, men that are 
 carried away with all outwardnesses, shews, 
 appearances, the stream, the people; for there 
 i
 
 114 
 
 is no man of worth but has a piece of singula- 
 rity, and scorns something. 
 
 i 
 
 XL. 
 
 A plodding student 
 
 Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, 
 that would change the dull lead of his brain into 
 finer metal, with success many times as un 
 prosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to 
 wit, of his own oil and candles. He has a 
 strange forced appetite to learning, and to at- 
 chieve it brings nothing but patience and a 
 body. His study is not great but continual, 
 and consists much in the sitting up till after 
 midnight in a rug-gown and a night-cap, to the
 
 115 
 
 vanquishing perhaps of some six lines; yet 
 what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so 
 long to understand it, till he gets it without 
 book. He may with much industry make a 
 breach into logick, and arrive at some ability in 
 an argument; but for politer studies he dare 
 not skirmish with them, and for poetry accounts 
 it impregnable. His invention is no more than 
 the finding out of his papers, and his few 
 gleanings there ; and his disposition of them is 
 as just as the book-binders, a setting or glew- 
 ing of them together. He is a great discom- 
 forter of young students, by telling them what 
 travel it has cost him, and how often his brain 
 turned at philosophy, and makes others fear 
 studying as a cause of duncery. He is a man 
 much given to apothegms, which serve him for 
 wit, and seldom breaks any jest but which 
 belonged to some Lacedemonian or Roman in 
 Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, 
 that will go a whole week together, but never 
 i 2
 
 116 
 
 out of a foot pace ; and he that sets forth on 
 the Saturday shall overtake him. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Paul's walk* 
 
 Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the 
 lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this, 
 the whole world's map, which you may here 
 
 < St. Paul's cathedral was, during the reigns of Eliza- 
 beth and James, a sort of exchange and public parade, 
 where business was transacted between merchants, and 
 where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves. 
 The reader will find several allusions to this custom in 
 the variorum edition of Shakspeare, K. Henry IV. part 
 2. Osborne, in his Traditional Memoires on the Reigns 
 of Elizabeth and James, 12mo. 1658, says, "It was the 
 fashion of those times (James I.) and did so continue 
 till these, (the interregnum,) for the principal gentry/
 
 117 
 
 discern in its perfectest motion, justling and 
 turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with 
 a vast confusion of languages ; and were the 
 steeple not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. 
 The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange 
 humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues 
 and feet : it is a kind of still roar or loud whis- 
 per. It is the great exchange of all discourse, 
 and no business whatsoever but is here stirring 
 and a-foot. It is the synod of all pates politick, 
 jointed and laid together in most serious pos- 
 ture, and they are not half so busy at the par- 
 liament. It is the antick of tails to tails, and 
 
 lords, courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely 
 mechanicks, to meet in St. Paul's church by eleven, 
 and walk in the middle isle till twelve, and after dinner 
 from three to six j during which time some discoursed 
 of business, others of news." Weever complains of the 
 practice, and says, " it could be wished that walking 
 in the middle isle of Panics might be forborne in the 
 lime of diuine serqice." Ancient Funeral Monuments^ 
 1631, page 373.
 
 118 
 
 backs to backs, and for vizards you need go 
 no farther than faces. It is the market of 
 young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here 
 at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of 
 all famous lies, which are here like the legends 
 of popery, first coined and stamped in the 
 church. All inventions are emptied here, and 
 not few pockets. The best sign of a temple in 
 it is, that it is the thieves sanctuary, which rob 
 more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, 
 whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them. 
 It is the other expence of the day, after plays, 
 tavern, and a bawdy-house; and men have 
 still some oaths left to swear here. It is the 
 ear's brothel, and satisfies their lust and itch. 
 The visitants are all men without exceptions, 
 but the principal inhabitants and possessors are 
 stale knights and captains * out of service ; men 
 
 5 In the Dramatis Persona to Ben Jonson's Every 
 Man in hit Humour, Bobadil is styled a Paul's man ; 
 and Falstaff tells us that he bought Bardolph in Paul's. 
 King Henry IV. Parts.
 
 119 
 
 of long rapiers and breeches, which after all 
 turn merchants here and traffick for news. 
 Some make it a preface to their dinner, and 
 travel for a stomach ; but thriftier men make 
 it their ordinary, and board here very cheap *. 
 Of all such places it is least haunted with hob- 
 goblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he 
 could not. 
 
 6 You'd not doe 
 
 Like your penurious father, who was wont 
 To u,alke. his dinner out in Paules. 
 
 Mayne's City Match, 1653.
 
 120 
 
 XLII. 
 
 A cook. 
 
 THE kitchen is his hell, and he the devil it) 
 it, where his meat and lie fry together. His, 
 revenues are showered down from the fat of the 
 land, and be interlards his own grease among 
 to help the drippings. Cholerick he is not by 
 nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd 
 temptation that the chopping-knife is so near. 
 His weapons, ofter offensive, are a mess of hot 
 broth and scalding water, and woe be to him 
 that comes in his way. In the kitchen he will 
 domineer and rule the roast in spight of his 
 master, and curses in the very dialect of his 
 calling. His labour is meer blustering and 
 fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a 
 storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in 
 all this tumult, he does not love combustion,
 
 121 
 
 but will be the first man that shall go and 
 quench it. He is never a good Christian till a 
 .hissing pot of ale has slacked him, like water 
 cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame 
 and dispossessed. His cunning is not small in 
 architecture, for he builds strange fabricks in 
 paste, towers and castles, which are offered to 
 the assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' 
 palace in one banquet demolished. He is a 
 pittiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles 
 poor fowls with unheard-of tortures ; and it is 
 thought the martyrs persecutions Avere devised 
 from hence : sure we are, St. Lawrence's 
 gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best fa- 
 culty is at the dresser, where he seems to have 
 great skill in the tacticks, ranging his dishes in 
 order military, and placing with great discre- 
 tion in the fore-front meats more strong and 
 hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the 
 rear : as quaking tarts and quivering custards,
 
 and such milk-sop dishes, which scape many 
 times the fury of the encounter. But now the 
 second course is gone up and he down in the 
 cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four 
 o'clock 7 in the afternoon, and then returns 
 again to his regiment. 
 
 XLI1I. 
 
 A bold forward man 
 
 Is a lusty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden 
 more to his elbow than his legs, for he does not 
 go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in 
 the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth. 
 
 1 The time of supper was about five o'clock. See 
 note at page 43.
 
 123 
 
 that at length he puts on. He can do some 
 things, but dare do much more, and is like a 
 desperate soldier, who will assault any thing 
 where he is sure not to enter. He is not so 
 well opinioned of himself, as industrious to 
 make others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial 
 as blushing. He is still citing for himself, that 
 a candle should not be hid under a bushel ; and, 
 for his part he will be sure not to hide his, 
 though his candle be but a snuffer rush-candle. 
 Those few good parts he has, he is no niggard 
 in displaying, and is like some needy flaunting 
 goldsmith, nothing in the inner room, but all 
 on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has 
 commonly stepped into the pulpit before a de- 
 gree, yet into that too before he deserved it. 
 He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency, 
 and his next sermon is at Paul's cross 8 , [and 
 
 Paul's cross stood in the church-yard of that cathe- 
 dral, on the north bide, towards the east end. It was 
 used for the preaching of sermons to the populace;
 
 that printed.] He loves publick things alive; 
 and for any solemn entertainment he will find 
 a mouth, find a speech who will. He is greedy 
 of great acquaintance and many, and thinks it 
 no small advancement to rise to be known. 
 [He is one that has all the great names at 
 court at his fingers ends, and their lodgings ; 
 and with a saucy, " my lord," will salute the 
 best of them.] His talk at the table is like Ben- 
 jamin's mess, five times to his part, and no ar- 
 gument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of all 
 disgraces he endures not to be nonplussed, and 
 had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which 
 few descry, than to nothing which all. His 
 boldness is beholden to other men's modesty, 
 which rescues him many times from a baffle ; 
 
 and Holinshed mentions two instances of public pe- 
 nance being performed here; in 1534 by some of the 
 adherents of Elizabeth Barton, well known as the holy 
 maid of Kent, and in 1536 by sir Thomas Newman, a 
 priest, who " bare a faggot at Faults crosse for singing 
 masse rcith good ale."
 
 125 
 
 yet his face is good armour, and he is dashed 
 oiit of any thing sooner than countenance. 
 Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare 
 man ; and wiser men though they know him 
 [yet] take him [in] for their pleasure, or as 
 they would do a sculler for being next at hand. 
 Thus preferment at last stumbles on him, be- 
 cause he is still in the way. His companions 
 that flouted him before, now envy him, when 
 they see him come ready for scarlet, whilst 
 themselves lye musty in their old clothes and 
 colleges. 
 
 A baker. 
 
 No man verifies the proverb more, that it is 
 an alms-deed to punish him ; for his penalty is
 
 126 
 
 a dole % and does the beggars as much good a* 
 their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of 
 charity, and thinks his bread cast away when 
 it is given to the poor. He loves not justice 
 neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates 
 the clerk of the market as his executioner: 
 yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his bas- 
 ket only is sent to prison I0 . Marry a pillory is 
 his deadly enemy, and he never hears well 
 after. 
 
 9 Dote originally signified the portion of alms that was 
 given away at the door of a nobleman. Steevens, note 
 to Shakspeare. Sir John Hawkins affirms that the bene- 
 faction distributed at Lambeth palace gate, is to this 
 day called the dole. 
 
 10 That is, the contents of his basket, if discovered 
 to be of light weight, are distributed to the needy pri- 
 soners.
 
 127 
 
 XLV. 
 
 A pretender to learning 
 \ s one that would make all others more fools 
 than himself, for though he know nothing, he 
 would not have the world know so much. He 
 conceits nothing in learning but the opinion, 
 which he seeks to purchase without it, though 
 he might with less labour cure his ignorance 
 than hide it. He is indeed a kind of scholar- 
 mountebank, and his art our delusion. He is 
 tricked out in all the accoutrements of learning, 
 and at the first encounter none passes better. 
 He is oftener in his study than at his book, and 
 you cannot pleasure him better than to depre- 
 hend him : yet he hears you not till the third 
 knock, and then comes out very angry as in-
 
 128 
 
 * 
 
 terrupted. You find him in his slippers 1 and 
 a pen in his ear, in which formality he was 
 asleep. His table is spread wide with some 
 classick folio, which is as constant to it as the 
 carpet, and hath laid open in the same page 
 this half year. His candle is always a longer 
 sitter up than himself, and the boast* of hi? 
 window at midnight. He walks much alone 
 in the posture of meditation, and has a book 
 still before his face in the fields. His pocket 
 is seldom without a Greek testament or Hebrew 
 bible, which he opens only in the church, and 
 that when soine stander-by looks over. He has 
 sentences for company, some scatterings of 
 Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all 
 occasions. If he reads any thing in the morn- 
 ing, it comes up all at dinner ; and as long as 
 
 1 Study, first edi't. 
 
 o The first edition reads post, and, I think, preferably.
 
 129 
 
 that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great 
 plagiary of tavern wit, and comes to sermons 
 only that he may talk of Austin. His parcels 
 are the meer scrapings from company, yet he 
 complains at parting what time he has lost. He 
 is wondrously capricious to seem a judg- 
 ment, and listens with a sower attention to what 
 he understands not. He talks much of Scaliger, 
 and Casaubon, and the Jesuits, and prefers 
 some unheard-of Dutch name before them all. 
 He has verses to bring in upon these and these 
 hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in 
 his opportunity. He is critical in a language 
 he cannot conster, and speaks seldom under 
 Arminius in divinity. His business and retire- 
 ment and caller away is his study, and he pro- 
 tests no delight to it comparable. He is a great 
 nomenclator of authors, which he has read in 
 general in the catalogue, and in particular in the 
 title, and goes seldom so far as the dedication. 
 He never talks of any thing but learning, and 
 B
 
 130 
 
 learns all from talking. Three encounters with 
 the same men pump him, and then he only 
 puts in or gravely says nothing. He 1ms taken 
 pains to be an ass, though not to be a scholar, 
 and is at length discovered and laughed at. 
 
 I XLVI. 
 
 A herald 
 
 Is the spawn or indeed but the resultancy of 
 nobility, and to the making of him went not a 
 generation but a genealogy. His trade is hon- 
 our, and he sells it and gives arms himself, 
 though he be no gentleman. His bribes are 
 like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the 
 prices of blood. He seems very rich in dis-
 
 131 
 
 course, for he tells you of whole fields of gold 
 and silver, or, and argent, worth much in 
 French but in English nothing. He is a great 
 diver in the streams or issues of gentry, and not 
 a by-channel or bastard escapes him ; yea he 
 does with them like some shameless queen, 
 fathers more children on them than ever they 
 begot. His traffick is a kind of pedlary-ware, 
 scutchions, and pennons, and little daggers and 
 lions, such as children esteem and gentlemen ; 
 but his pennyworths are rampant, for you may 
 buy three whole brawns cheaper than three boar's 
 heads of him painted. He was sometimes the 
 terrible coat of Mars, but is now for more merci- 
 ful battles in the tilt-yard, where whosoever is 
 victorious, the spoils are his. He is an art in 
 England but in Wales nature, where they are 
 born with heraldry in their mouths, and each 
 name is a pedigree. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 The common singing-men in cathedral 
 
 churches 
 
 ARE a bad society, and yet a company of 
 good fellows, that roar deep in the quire, deeper 
 in the tavern. They are the eight parts of 
 speech which go to the syntaxis of service, and 
 are distinguished by their noises much like 
 bells, for they make not a concert but a peal. 
 Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their 
 exercise drinking, yet herein so religiously ad- 
 dicted that they serve God oftest when they 
 are drunk. Their humanity is a leg to the resi- 
 dencer, their learning a chapter, for they learn 
 it commonly before they read it ; yet the old 
 Hebrew names are little beholden to them, for 
 they mis-call them worse than one another. 
 Though they never expound the scripture,
 
 133 
 
 they handle it much, and pollute the gospel with 
 two things, their conversation and their thumbs. 
 Upon worky-days, they behave themselves at 
 prayers as at their pots, for they swallow them 
 down in an instant. Their gowns are laced 
 commonly with streamings of ale, the superflu- 
 ities of a cup or throat above measure. Their 
 skill in melody makes them the better com- 
 panions abroad, and their anthems abler to sing 
 catches. Long lived for the most part they 
 are not, especially the base, they overflow their 
 bank so oft to drown the organs. Briefly, if 
 they escape arresting, they die constantly in 
 God's service ; and to take their death with 
 more patience, they have wine and cakes at 
 their funeral, and now they keep 3 the church 
 a great deal better, and help to fill it with their 
 bones as before with their noise. 
 
 3 Keep for attend.
 
 134 
 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 mmi] 
 
 A shop-keeper. 
 
 His shop is his well stuft book, and himself 
 the title-page of it, or index. He utters much 
 to all men, though he sells but to a few, and in- 
 treats for his own necessities, by asking others 
 what they lack. No man speaks more and no 
 more, for his words are like his wares, twenty 
 of one sort, and he goes over them alike to all 
 commers. He is an arrogant commender of his 
 own things ; for whatsoever he shews you is the 
 best in the town, though the worst in his shop. 
 His conscience was a thing that would have 
 laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put 
 it off, and makes great use of honesty to profess 
 upon. He tells you lies by rote, and not 
 minding, as the phrase to sell in, and the lan- 
 guage he spent most of his years to learn. He
 
 135 
 
 never speaks so truely as when he says he would 
 use you as his brother ; for he would abuse his 
 brother, and in his shop thinks it lawful. His 
 religion is much in the nature of his customers, 
 and indeed the pander to it : and by a mis-in- 
 terpreted sense of scripture makes a gain of his 
 godliness. He is your slave while you pay him 
 ready money, but if he once befriend you, your 
 tyrant, and you had better deserve his hate than 
 his trust. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 A blunt man 
 
 Is one whose wit is better pointed than his be- 
 haviour, and that coarse and impolished, not 
 out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a
 
 136 
 
 great enemy to the fine gentleman, and these 
 things of complement, and hates ceremony in 
 conversation, as the Puritan in religion. He 
 distinguishes not betwixt fair and double deal- 
 ing, and suspects all smoothness for the dress of 
 knavery. He starts at the encounter of a salu- 
 tation as an assault, and beseeches you in choler 
 to forbear your courtesy. He loves not any 
 thing in discourse that comes before the pur- 
 pose, and is always suspicious of a preface. 
 Himself falls rudely still on his matter without 
 any circumstance, except he use an old pro- 
 verb for an introduction. He swears old out- 
 of-date innocent oaths, as, by the mass ! by our 
 lady ! and such like, and though there be lords 
 present, he cries, my masters ! He is exceed- 
 ingly in love with his humour, which makes 
 him always profess and proclaim it, and you 
 must take what he says patiently, because he 
 is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still, 
 and other men's tyrant; for he must speak his
 
 137 
 
 mind, and that is his worst, and craves your 
 pardon most injuriously for not pardoning you. 
 His jests best become him, because they come 
 from him rudely and unaffected ; and he has 
 the luck commonly to have them famous. He 
 is one that will do more than he will speak, and 
 yet speak more than he will hear; for though he 
 love to touch others, he is touchy himself, and 
 seldom to his own abuses replies but with his 
 fists. He is as squeazy 4 of his commendations, 
 as his courtesy, and his good word is like an 
 eulogy in a satire. He is generally better fa- 
 voured than he favours, as being commonly 
 well expounded in his bitterness, and no man 
 speaks treason more securely. He chides great 
 men with most boldness, and is counted for it 
 an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in 
 the behalf of the commonwealth, and is in pri- 
 son oft for it with credit. He is generally ho- 
 
 4 Squeazy, niggardly.
 
 138 
 
 nest, but more generally thought so, and his 
 downrightness credits him, as a man not well 
 bended and crookned to the times. In con- 
 clusion, he is not easily bad, in whom this qua- 
 lity is nature, but the counterfeit is most dan- 
 gerous, since he is disguised in a humour, that 
 professes not to disguise. 
 
 L. 
 
 A handsome hostess 
 
 Is the fairer commendation of an inn, above 
 the fair sign, or fair lodgings. She is the 
 loadstone that attracts men of iron, gallants and 
 roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and 
 are not easily got off. Her lips are your wel- 
 come, and your entertainment her company,
 
 139 
 
 which is put into the reckoning too, and is the 
 dearest parcel in it. No citizen's wife is de- 
 murer than she at the first greeting, nor draws 
 in her mouth with a chaster simper ; but you 
 may be more familiar without distaste, and she 
 does not startle at bawdry. She is the confu- 
 sion of a pottle of sack more than would have 
 been spent elsewhere, and her little jugs are 
 accepted to have her kiss excuse them. She 
 may be an honest woman, but is not believed 
 so in her parish, and no man is a greater infidel 
 in it than her husband. 
 
 LI. 
 
 A critic 
 
 Is one that has spelled over a great many 
 books, and his observation is the orthography.
 
 He is the surgeon of old authors, and heals the 
 wounds of dust and ignorance. He converses 
 much in fragments and desunt multa's, and if 
 he piece it up with two lines he is more proud 
 of that book than the author. He runs over all 
 sciences to peruse their syn taxis, and thinks all 
 learning comprised in writing Latin. He tastes 
 stiles as some discreeter palates do wine ; and 
 tells you which is genuine, which sophisticate 
 and bastard. His own phrase is a miscellany 
 of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, 
 and entombed by Varro, and the modernest 
 man he follows is Plautus. He writes omreis 
 at length, and quidquid, and his gerund is most 
 inconformable. He is a troublesome vexer of 
 the dead, which after so long sparing must rise 
 up to the judgment of his castigations. He is 
 one that makes all books sell dearer, whilst he 
 swells them into folios with his comments 5 . 
 
 5 On this passage, I fear, the present volume will be 
 a sufficient commentary.
 
 141 
 
 LII. 
 
 A sergeant, or catch-pole 
 Is one of God's judgments ; and which our 
 roarers do only conceive terrible. He is the 
 properest shape wherein they fancy Satan ; for 
 he is at most but an arrester, and hell a dungeon. 
 He is the creditor's hawk, wherewith they seize 
 upon flying birds, and fetch them again in his 
 tallons. He is the period of young gentlemen, 
 or their full stop, for when he meets with them 
 they can go no farther. His ambush is a shop- 
 stall, or close lane, and his assault is cowardly 
 at your back. He respites you in no place but 
 a tavern, where he sells his minutes dearer than 
 a clock-maker. The common way to run from 
 him is through him, which is often attempted 
 and atchieved, 6 [and no man is more beaten 
 
 6 And the clubs out of charity knock him down, first 
 edit.
 
 out of charity.'] He is one makes the street 
 more dangerous than the highways, and men 
 go better provided in their walks than their 
 journey. He is the first handsel of the young 
 rapiers of the templers ; and they are as proud 
 of his repulse as an Hungarian of killing a 
 Turk. He is a moveable prison, and his hands 
 two manacles hard to be filed off. He is an oc- 
 casioncr of disloyal thoughts in the common- 
 wealth, for he makes men hate the king's name 
 worse than the devil's. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 An university dun 
 
 Is a gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, 
 for his own money has hired him. He is an in- 
 ferior creditor of some ten shillings downwards,
 
 143 
 
 contracted for horse-hire, or perchance for drink, 
 too weak to be put in suit, and he arrests your 
 modesty. He is now very expensive of his 
 time, for he will wait upon your stairs a whole 
 afternoon, and dance attendance with more pa- 
 tience than a gentleman-usher. He is a sore be- 
 leaguerer of chambers, and assaults them some- 
 times with furious knocks ; yet finds strong re- 
 sistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a 
 great complainer of scholar's loytering, for he 
 is sure never to find them within, and yet he is 
 the chief cause many times that makes them 
 study. He grumbles at the ingratitude of men 
 that shun him for his kindness, but indeed it is 
 his own fault, for he is too great an upbraider. 
 No man puts them more to their brain than he ; 
 and by shifting him off they learn to shift in the 
 world. Some chuse their rooms on purpose to 
 avoid his surprisals, and think the best com- 
 modity in them his prospect. He is like a re- 
 jected acquaintance, hunts those that care not
 
 144 
 
 for his company, and he knows it well enough, 
 and yet will not keep away. The sole place to 
 supple him is the buttery, where he takes 
 grievous use upon your name 7 , and he is one 
 much wrought with good beer and rhetorick. 
 He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and 
 no gallant walks the streets to less purpose. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 A stayed man 
 
 Is a man : one that has taken order with him- 
 self, and sets a rule to those lawlesncsses within 
 him : whose life is distinct and in method, and 
 his actions, as it were, cast up before : not loosed 
 into the world's vanities, but gathered up and 
 
 7 That is, runs you up a long score.
 
 145 
 
 contracted in liis station : not scattered into 
 many pieces of businesses, but that one course 
 lie takes, goes through with. A man firm and 
 standing in his purposes, not heaved off with 
 each wind and passion: that squares his ex- 
 pence to his coffers, and makes the total first, 
 and then the items. One that thinks what he 
 does, and does what he says, and foresees what 
 he may do before he purposes. One whose " if 
 I can" is more than another's assurance; and 
 his doubtful tale before some men's protesta- 
 tions : that is confident of nothing in futurity, 
 yet his conjectures oft true prophecies : that 
 makes a pause still betwixt his ear and belief, 
 and is not too hasty to say after others. One 
 whose tongue is strung up like a clock till the 
 time, and then strikes, and says much when he 
 talks little : that can sec the truth betwixt two 
 wranglers, and sees them agree even in that 
 they fall out upon : that speaks no rebellion in 
 a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of sack. 
 
 L
 
 14(3 
 
 A man cool and temperate in his passions, not 
 easily betrayed by his choler : that vies not 
 oath with oath, nor heat with heat, but replies 
 calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him 
 too : that can come fairly off from captain's 
 companies, and neither drink nor quarrel. One 
 whom no ill hunting seeds home discontented, 
 and makes him swear at his dogs and family. 
 One not hasty to pursue the'new fashion, nor 
 yet affectedly true to his old round breeches ; 
 but gravely handsome, and to his place, which 
 suits him better than his taylor: active in the 
 world without disquiet, and careful without 
 misery ; yet neither ingulphed in his pleasures, 
 nor a seeker of business, but has his hour for 
 both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but 
 his mirth is a cheerful look : of a composed and 
 settled countenance, not set, nor much alterable 
 with sadness or joy. He affects nothing so 
 wholly, that he must be a miserable man when 
 he loses it ; but fore-thinks what will come here-
 
 147 
 
 after, and spares fortune his thanks and curses. 
 One that loves his credit, not this word repu- 
 tation ; yet can save both without a duel. 
 Whose entertainments to greater men are re- 
 spectful, not complementary ; and to his friends 
 plain, not rude. A good husband, father, 
 master ; that is, without doting, pampering, 
 familiarity. A man well poised in all humours, 
 in whom nature shewed most geometry, and he 
 has not spoiled the work. A man of more wis- 
 dom than wittiiiess, and brain than fancy ; and 
 abler to any thing than to make verses 
 
 LV. 
 
 A modest man 
 
 Is a far finer man than he knows of, one that 
 shews better to all men than himself, and so 
 L 2
 
 148 
 
 much the better to all men, as less to himself 8 ; 
 for no quality sets a man off like this, and com- 
 mends him more against his will : and he can 
 put up any injury sooner than this (as he calls 
 it) your irony. You shall hear him confute 
 tiis commenders, and giving reasons how much 
 they are mistaken, and is angry almost if they 
 do not believe him. Nothing threatens him 
 so much as great expectation, which he thinks 
 more prejudicial than your under-opinion, be- 
 cause it is easier to make that false, than this 
 true. He is one that sneaks from a good action, 
 as one that had pilfered, and dare not justify 
 it ; and is more blushingly reprehended in this, 
 than others in sin : that counts all publick de- 
 clarings of himself, but so many penances be- 
 fore the people ; and the more you applaud 
 
 8 This, as well as many other passages iu this work, 
 has been appropriated by John Dunton, the celebrated 
 bookseller, as his own. See his character of Mr. Samuel 
 Hool, in Dunton's Life and Errors, 8vo. 1705. p. 337.
 
 149 
 
 him, the more you abash him, and he recovers 
 not his face a month after. One that is easy to 
 like any thing of another man's, and thinks all 
 he knows not of him better than that he knows. 
 He excuses that to you, which another would 
 impute ; and if you pardon him, is satisfied. 
 One that stands in no opinion because it is his 
 own, but suspects it rather, because it is his own, 
 and is confuted and thanks you. He sees no- 
 thing more willingly than his errors, and it is 
 his error sometimes to be too soon persuaded. 
 He is content to be auditor, where he only can 
 speak, and content to go away, and think him- 
 self instructed. No man is so weak that he is 
 ashamed to learn of, and is less ashamed to con- 
 fess it ; and he finds many times even in the dust, 
 what others overlook and lose. Every man's 
 presence is a kind of bridle to him, to stop the 
 roving of his tongue and passions : and even 
 impudent .men look for this reverence from him, 
 and distaste that in him, which they suffer in
 
 150 
 
 themselves, as one in whom vice is ill-favoured, 
 and shews more scurvily than another. A 
 bawdy jest shall shame him more than a bastard 
 another man, and he that got it shall censure 
 him among the rest. And he is coward to no- 
 thing more than an ill tongue, and whosoever 
 dare lye on him hath power over him ; and if 
 you take him by his look, he is guilty. The 
 main ambition of his life is not to be discre- 
 dited ; and for other things, his desires are more 
 Mjnited than his fortunes, which he thinks pre- 
 ferment, though never so mean, and that he is 
 to do something to deserve this. He is too 
 tender to venture on great places, and would not 
 hurt a dignity to help himself: If he do, it was 
 the violence of his friends constrained him, 
 how hardly soever he obtain it, he was harder 
 persuaded to seek it.
 
 151 
 
 LV1. 
 
 A meer empty wit 
 
 Is like one that spends on the stock without 
 any revenues coming in, and will shortly be no 
 wit at all ; for learning is the fuel to the fire of 
 wit, which, if it wants this feeding, eats out it 
 self. A good conceit or two bates of such a 
 man, and makes a sensible weakening in him ; 
 and his brain recovers it not a year after. The 
 rest of him are bubbles and flashes, darted out on 
 a sudden, which, if you take them while they 
 are warm, may be laughed at ; if they are cool, 
 are nothing. He speaks best on the present 
 apprehension, for meditation stupifies him, and 
 the more he is in travel, the less he brings forth. 
 His things come off then, as in a nauseateing 
 stomach, where there is nothing to cast up, 
 strains and convulsions, and some astonishing
 
 152 
 
 bombast, which men only, till they understand, 
 are scared with. A verse or some such work 
 he may sometimes get up to, but seldom above 
 the stature of an epigram, and that witli some 
 relief out of Martial, which is the ordinary com- 
 panion of his pocket, and he reads him as he 
 were inspired. Such men are commonly the 
 trifling things of the world, good to make merry 
 the company, and whom only men have to do 
 withal when they have nothing to do, and none 
 are less their friends than who are most their 
 company. Here they vent themselves over a 
 cup some- what more lastingly ; all their words 
 go for jests, and all their jests for nothing. 
 They are nimble in the fancy of some ridicu- 
 lous thing, and reasonable good in the expres- 
 sion. Nothing stops a jest when it's coming, 
 neither friends, nordanger,but it must out how- 
 soever, though their blood come out after, and 
 then they emphatically rail, and are emphati-. 
 cally beaten, and commonly are men reasonable
 
 familiar to this. Briefly they are such whose 
 life is but to laugh and be laughed at; and 
 only wits in jest and fools in earnest. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 A drunkard 
 
 Is one that will be a man to-morrow morn- 
 ing, but is now what you will make him, for he 
 is in the power of the next man, and if a friend 
 the better. One that hath let go himself from 
 the hold and stay of reason, and lies open to the 
 mercy of all temptations. No lust but finds 
 him disarmed and fenceless, and with the least 
 assault enters. If any mischief escape him, it 
 was not his fault, for he was laid as fair for it as 
 he could. Every man sees him, as Cham saw
 
 154 
 
 his father the first of this sin, an uncovered 
 man, and though his garment be on, uncovered ; 
 the secretest parts of his soul lying in the na- 
 kedest manner visible : all his passions come out 
 now, all his vanities, and those shamefuller hu- 
 mours which discretion clothes. His body be- 
 comes at last like a miry way, where the spirits 
 are beclogged and cannot pass : all his mem- 
 l)ers arc out of office, and his heels do but trip 
 up one another. He is a blind man with eyes, 
 and a cripple with legs on. All the use he has 
 of this vessel himself, is to hold thus much ; for 
 his drinking is but a scooping in of so many 
 quarts, which are filled out into his body, and 
 that filled out again into the room, which is 
 commonly as drunk as he. Tobacco serves to 
 air him after a washing, and is his only breath 
 and breathing while. He is the greatest enemy 
 to himself, and the next to his friend, and then 
 most in the act of his kindness, for his kindness 
 is but trying a mastery, who shall sink down
 
 first: and men come from him as a battle, 
 wounded and bound up. Nothing takes a 
 man off more from his credit, and business, 
 and makes him more retchlesly careless what 
 becomes of all. Indeed he dares not enter on a 
 serious thought, or if he do, it is such melan- 
 choly that it sends him to be drunk again. 
 
 9 Rechlesse, negligent. .Saxon, rectlerre. Chaucer 
 uses it also as an adjective : 
 
 " I may not in this cas be reccheles" 
 
 Clerkes Tale, v. 8364.
 
 156 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 A prison 
 
 Is the grave of the living I0 , where they are 
 shut up from the world and their friends ; and 
 the worms that gnaw upon them their own 
 thoughts and the jaylor. A house of meagre 
 looks and ill smells, for lice, drink, and tobac- 
 co are the compound. Pluto's court was ex- 
 pressed from this fancy ; and the persons are 
 much about the same parity that is there. You 
 may ask, as Menippus in Lucian, which is Ni- 
 reus, which Thersites, which the beggar, which 
 the knight ; for they are all suited in the same 
 form of a kind of nasty poverty. Only to be out 
 
 10 " A prison is a graue to bury men aliue, and a place 
 wherein a man for halfc a yeares experience may learne 
 more law then he tan at Westminster for an hundred 
 pound." Mynshul's Essays and Characters of a Prison. 
 4to. 1618.
 
 15? 
 
 at elbows is in fashion here, and a great inde- 
 corurn not to be thread-bare. Every mau 
 shews here like so many wracks upon the sea, 
 here the ribs of a thousand pound, here the re- 
 licks of so many manners, a doublet without 
 buttons ; and 'tis a spectacle of more pity than 
 executions are. The company one with the 
 other is but a vying of complaints, and the 
 causes they have to rail on fortune and fool 
 themselves, and there is a great deal of good 
 fellowship in this. They are commonly, next 
 their creditors, most bitter against the lawyers, 
 as men that have had a great stroke in assisting 
 them hither. Mirth here is stupidity or hard- 
 heartedness, yet they feign it sometimes to slip 
 melancholy, and keep off themselves from them- 
 selves, and the torment of thinking what they 
 have been. Men huddle up their life here as 
 a thing of no use, and wear it out like an old 
 suit, the faster the better ; and he that deceives 
 the time best, best spends it. It is the place
 
 158 
 
 where new comers are most welcomed, and, 
 next them, ill news, as that which extends their 
 fellowship in misery, and leaves few to insult : 
 and they breath their discontents more securely 
 here, and have their tongues at more liberty 
 than abroad. Men see here much sin and much 
 calamity ; and where the last does not mortify, 
 the other hardens; as those that are worse 
 here, are desperately worse, and those from 
 whom the horror of sin is taken off and the 
 punishment familiar : and commonly a hard 
 thought passes on all that come from this school ; 
 which though it teach much wisdom, it is too 
 late, and with danger : and it is better be a fool 
 than come here to learn it.
 
 159 
 
 L1X. 
 
 A serving man 
 
 Is one of the makings up of a gentleman as 
 well as his clothes, and somewhat in the same 
 nature, for he is cast behind his master as 
 fashionably as his sword and cloak are, and he 
 is but in querpo l without him. His proper- 
 ness 1 qualifies him, and of that a good leg; for 
 
 1 In querpo is a corruption from the Spanish word 
 cuirpo. " En cuerpo, a man without a cloak" Pineda's 
 Dictionary, 1740. The present signification evidently 
 is, that a gentleman without his serving-man, or atten- 
 dant, is but half dressed : he posiesses only in pan the 
 appearance of a man of fashion. " To walk in cuerpo, 
 it to go without a cloak." Glossographia Anglicuna 
 Nova, 8vo. 1719. 
 
 2 Proper was frequently used by old writers for 
 comely, or handsome. Shakspeare has several instances 
 of it: 
 
 " I do mistake my person all this while : 
 Upon rny life, she finds, although I cannot, 
 Myself to be a marvellous proper man." 
 
 K. Richard III. Act I. Sc. 2. &c.
 
 liis head lie has little use but too keep it bare. 
 A good dull wit best suits with him to compre- 
 hend common sense and a trencher; for any 
 greater store of brain it makes him but tumul- 
 tuous, and seldom thrives witli him. He fol- 
 lows his master's steps, as well in conditions as 
 the street : if he wench or drink, he comes him 
 in an under kind, and thinks it a part of his 
 duty to belike him. He is indeed wholly hi* 
 master's ; of his faction, of his cut, of his 
 pleasures : he is handsome for his credit, and 
 drunk for his credit, and if he have power in 
 the cellar, commands the parish. He is one 
 that keeps the best company, and is none of it ; 
 lor he knows all the gentlemen his master 
 knows, and picks from thence some hawking 
 and horse-race terms % which he swaggers with 
 in the ale-house, where he is only called 
 
 3 " Why you know an'a man have not skill in the 
 hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I'll not 
 give a rush for him." Master Stephen. Every Man in 
 his Humour.
 
 161 
 
 master. His mirth is bawdy jests with the 
 wenches, and, behind the door, bawdy earnest. 
 The best work he does is his marrying for it 
 makes an honest woman, and if he follows in it 
 his master's direction, it is commonly the best 
 service he does him. 
 
 LX. 
 
 An insolent man 
 
 Js a fellow newly great and newly proud; one 
 that hath put himself into another face upon 
 his preferment, for his own was not bred to it. 
 One whom fortune hath shot up to some office 
 or authority, and he shoots up his neck to his 
 fortune, and will not bate you an inch of either. 
 His very countenance and gesture bespeak- how
 
 162 
 
 much he is, and if you understand him not, he 
 tells you, and concludes every period with his 
 place, which you must and shall know. He is 
 one that looks on all men as if he were angry, 
 but especially on those of his acquaintance, 
 whom he beats off with a surlier distance, as 
 men apt to mistake him, because they have 
 known him : and for this cause he knows not 
 you 'till you have told him your name, which 
 he thinks he has heard, but forgot, and with 
 much ado seems to recover. If you have any 
 thing to use him in, you are his vassal for that 
 time, and must give him the patience of any 
 injury, which he does only to shew what he 
 may do. He snaps you up bitterly, because 
 he will be offended, and tells you, you are 
 sawcy and troublesome, and sometimes takes 
 your money in this language. His very cour- 
 tesies are intolerable, they arc done with such 
 an arrogance and imputation ; and he is the 
 only man you may hate after a good turn, and
 
 163 
 
 not be ungrateful; and men reckon it among 
 their calamities to be beholden unto him. No 
 vice draws with it a more general hostility, and 
 makes men readier to search into his faults, and 
 of them, his beginning ; and no tale so unlikely 
 but is willingly heard of him and believed. 
 And commonly such men are of no merit at all, 
 but make out in pride what they want in worth, 
 and fence themselves with a stately kind of be- 
 haviour from that contempt which would pursue 
 them. They are men whose preferment does 
 us a great deal of wrong, and when they are 
 down, we may laugh at them without breach of 
 good-nature. 
 
 M
 
 164 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Acquaintance 
 
 Is the first draught of a friend, whom we 
 must lay down oft thus, as the foul copy, be- 
 fore we can write him perfect and true : for 
 from hence, as from a probation, men take a 
 degree in our respect, till at last they wholly 
 possess us : for acquaintance is the hoard, and 
 friendship the pair chosen out of it ; by which 
 at last we begin to impropriate and inclose to 
 ourselves what before lay in common with 
 others. And commonly where it grows not up 
 to this, it falls as low as may be ; and no poorer 
 relation than old acquaintance, of whom we 
 only ask how they do for fashion's sake, and 
 care not. The ordinary use of acquaintance is 
 but somewhat a more boldness of society, a
 
 165 
 
 sharing of talk, news, drink, mirth together ; 
 but sorrow is the right of a friend, as a thing 
 nearer our heart, and to be delivered with it. 
 Nothing easier than to create acquaintance, the 
 mere being in company once does it ; whereas 
 friendship, like children, is ingendered by a 
 more inward mixture, and coupling together ; 
 when we are acquainted not with their virtues 
 only, but their faults, their passions, their 
 fears, their shame, and are bold on both sides 
 to make their discovery. And as it is in the 
 love of the body, which is then at the height 
 and full when it has power and admittance into 
 the hidden and worst parts of it ; so it is in 
 friendship with the mind, when those xerenda 
 of the soul, and those things which we dare not 
 shew the world, are bare and detected one to 
 another. Some men are familiar with all, and 
 those commonly friends to none ; for friend- 
 ship is a sullener thing, is a contractor and 
 taker up of our affections to some few, and suf-
 
 166 
 
 fers them not loosely to be scattered on all men. 
 The poorest tie of acquaintance is that of place 
 and country, which are shifted as the place, and 
 missed but while the fancy of that continues. 
 These are only then gladdest of other, when 
 they meet in some foreign region, where the 
 encompassing of strangers unites them closer, 
 till at last they get new, and throw off one an- 
 other. Men of parts and eminency, as their 
 acquaintance is more sought for, so they are 
 generally more staunch of it r not out of pride 
 only, but fear to let too many in too near them : 
 for it is with men as with pictures, the best 
 show better afar off and at distance, and the 
 closer you come to them the coarser they are. 
 The best judgment of a man is taken from his 
 acquaintance, for friends and enemies are both 
 partial ; whereas these see him truest because 
 calmest, and are no way so engaged to lie for 
 him. And men that grow strange after ac- 
 quaintance, seldom piece together again, as
 
 167 
 
 those that have tasted meat and dislike it, out 
 of a mutual experience disrelishing one an- 
 other. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 A meer complimented man 
 
 Is one to be held off still at the same dis- 
 tance you are now ; for you shall have him but 
 thus, and if you enter on him farther you lose 
 him. Methinks Virgil well expresses him in 
 those well-behaved ghosts that ./Eneas met with, 
 that were friends to talk with, and men to look 
 on, but if he grasped them, but air. 7 He is 
 one that lies kindly to you, and for good 
 
 7 Ter conatus ibi collo dare brachia circura : 
 Ter frustra conprensa manus effugit imago, 
 Par leuibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. 
 Virgil .ZEn. vi. . 700. edit. Heyn ; 1757,
 
 168 
 
 fashion's sake, and tis discourtesy in you to 
 believe him. His words are so many fine 
 phrases set together, which serve equally for all 
 men, and are equally to no purpose. Ea jn fresh 
 encounter with a man puts him to the same part 
 again, and he goes over to you what he said to 
 him was last with him : he kisses your hands as he 
 kissed his before, and is your servant to be com- 
 manded, but you shall intreat of him nothing. 
 His proffers are universal and general, with ex- 
 ceptions against all particulars. He will do any 
 thing for you, but if you urge him to this, he 
 cannot, or to that, he is engaged ; but he will do 
 any thing. Promises he accounts but a kind of 
 mannerly words, and in the expectation of your 
 manners not to exact them ; if you do, he won- 
 ders at your ill breeding, that cannot distin- 
 guish betwixt what is spoken and what is 
 meant. No man gives better satisfaction at the 
 first, and comes off more with the elogy of a 
 kiud gentleman, till you know hjim better, and
 
 169 
 
 then you know him for nothing. And com- 
 monly those most rail at him, that have before 
 most commended him. The best is, he cozens 
 you in a fair manner, and abuses you "with 
 great respect. 
 
 LXI1I. 
 
 A poor Jiddler 
 
 Is a man and a fiddle out of case, and he in 
 worse case than his fiddle. One that rubs two 
 sticks together (as the Indians strike fire), and 
 rubs a poor living out of it ; partly from this, 
 and partly from your charity, which is more 
 in the hearing than giving him, for he sells 
 nothing dearer than to be gone. He is just 
 so many strings above a beggar, though he 
 have but two ; and yet he begs too, only not
 
 170 
 
 in the downright c for God's sake,' but with a 
 shrugging 'God bless you,' and his face is more 
 pined than the blind man's. Hunger is the 
 greatest pain he takes, except a broken head 
 sometimes, and the labouring John Dory 8 . 
 Otherwise his life is so many fits of mirth, and 
 tis some mirth to see him. A good feast shall 
 draw him five miles by the nose, and you 
 shall track him again by the scent. His other 
 pilgrimages are fairs and good houses, where 
 his devotion is great to the Christmas; and 
 no man loves good times better. He is in 
 league with the tapsters for the worshipful of 
 the inn, whom he torments next morning with 
 his art, and has their names more perfect than 
 their men. A new song is better to him than a 
 new jacket, especially if bawdy, which he calls 
 merry ; and hates naturally the puritan, as an 
 enemy to this mirth. A country wedding and 
 
 8 Probably the name of some difficult tune.
 
 171 
 
 Whitson-ale are the two main places he domi- 
 neers in, where he goes for a musician, and over- 
 looks the bag-pipe. The rest of him is drunk, 
 and in the stocks. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 A meddling man 
 
 Is one that has nothing to do with his busi- 
 ness, and jet no man busier than he, and his 
 business is most in his face. He is one thrusts 
 himself violently into all employments, unsent 
 for, unfeed, and many times unthanked ; and 
 his part in it is only an eager bustling, that ra- 
 ther keeps ado than does any thing. He will 
 take you aside, and question you of your affair, 
 and listen with both ears, and look earnestly,
 
 172 
 
 and then it is nothing so much yours as his. 
 He snatches what you are doing out of your 
 hands, and cries " give it me," and does it 
 worse, and lays an engagement upon you too, 
 and you must thank him for this pains. He 
 lays you down an hundred wild plots, all im- 
 possible things, which you must be ruled by 
 perforce, and he delivers them with a serious 
 and counselling forehead ; and there is a great 
 deal more wisdom in this forehead than his 
 head. He will woo for you, solicit for you, 
 and woo you to suffer him; and scarce any 
 thing done, wherein his letter, or his journey, 
 or at least himself is not seen : if he have no 
 task in it else, he will rail yet on some side, and 
 is often beaten when he need not. Such men 
 never thoroughly weigh any business, but are 
 forward only to shew their zeal, when many times 
 this forwardness spoils it, and then they cry they 
 have done what they can, that is, as much hurt. 
 Wise men still deprecate these men's kindnesses,
 
 173 
 
 and are beholden to them rather to let them 
 alone ; as being one trouble more in all business, 
 and which a man shall be hardest rid of. 
 
 LXY. 
 
 A good old man 
 
 Is the best antiquity, and which we may with 
 least vanity admire. One whom time hath 
 been thus long a working, and like winter fruit, 
 ripened when others are shaken down. He hath 
 taken out as many lessons of the world as days, 
 and learnt the best thing in it ; the vanity of it. 
 He looks over his former life as a danger well 
 past, and would not hazard himself to begin 
 again. His lust was long broken before his 
 body, yet he is glad this temptation is broke
 
 174 
 
 too, and that he is fortified from it by this 
 weakness. The next door of death sads him 
 not, but he expects it calmly as his turn in na- 
 ture; and fears more his recoiling back to 
 childishness than dust. All men look on him as 
 a common father, and on old age, for his sake, 
 as a reverent thing. Mis very presence and 
 face puts vice out of countenance, and makes it 
 an indecorum in a vicious man. He practises 
 his experience on youth without the harshness 
 of reproof, and in his counsel his good com- 
 pany. He has some old stories still of his own 
 seeing to confirm what he says, and makes them 
 better in the telling ; yet is not troublesome nei- 
 ther with the same tale again, but remembers 
 with them how oft he has told them. His 
 old sayings and morals seem proper to his 
 beard ; and the poetry of Cato does well out of 
 his mouth, and he speaks it as if he were the 
 author. He is not apt to put the boy. on a 
 younger man, nor the fool on a boy, but can
 
 175 
 
 distinguish gravity from a sour look ; and the 
 less testy he is, the more regarded. You must 
 pardon him if he like his own times better than 
 these, because those things are follies to him 
 now that were wisdom then ; yet he makes us 
 of that opinion too when we see him, and con- 
 jecture those times by so good a relick. He is 
 a man capable of a deamess with the youngest 
 men, yet he not youthfuller for them, but 
 they older for him ; and no man credits more 
 his acquaintance. He goes away at last too 
 soon whensoever, with all men's sorrow but 
 his own; and his memory is fresh, when it is 
 twice as old.
 
 176 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 A flatterer 
 
 Is the picture of a friend, and as pictures 
 flatter many times, so he oft shews fairer than 
 the true substance : his look, conversation, com- 
 pany, and all the outwardness of friendship 
 more pleasing by odds, for a true friend dare 
 take the liberty to be sometimes offensive, 
 whereas he is a great deal more cowardly, 
 and will not let the least hold go, for fear of 
 losing you. Your meer sour look affright* 
 him, and makes him doubt his casheering. 
 And this is one sure mark of him, that he is 
 never first angry, but ready though upon his 
 own wrong to make satisfaction. Therefore he 
 is never yoked with a poor man, or any that 
 stands on the lower ground, but whose fortunes 
 may tempt his pains to deceive him. Him
 
 177 
 
 he learns first, and learns well, and grows per- 
 fecter in his humours than himself, and by this 
 door enters upon his soul, of which he is able 
 at last to take the very print and mark, and 
 fashion his own by it, like a false key to open 
 all your secrets. All his affections jump 9 even 
 with your's ; he is before-hand with your 
 thoughts, and able to suggest them unto you. 
 He will commend to you first what he knows 
 you like, and has always some absurd story or 
 other of your enemy, and then wonders how 
 your two opinions should jump in that man. 
 He will ask your counsel sometimes as a man of 
 deep judgment, and has a secret of purpose to 
 
 9 Jump here signifies to coincide. The old play of 
 Soliman and Perseda, 4to. without date, uses it in the 
 same sense : 
 
 " Wert thou my friend, thy mind would jump with 
 mine.'' 
 
 So in Pierce Penilcsse his Supplication to the Divele : 
 " Not two of them jump in one tale." p. 29.
 
 178 
 
 disclose to you, and, whatsoever you say, is per- 
 suaded. He listens to your words with great 
 attention, and sometimes will object that you 
 may confute him, and then protests he never 
 heard so much before. A piece of wit bursts 
 him with an overflowing laughter, and he re- 
 members it for you to all companies, and 
 laughs again in the telling. He is one never 
 chides you but for yourvertues, as, you are too 
 goody too honest, too religious, when his chid- 
 ing may seem but the earnester commendation, 
 and yet would fain chide you out of them too ; 
 for your vice is the thing he has use of, and 
 wherein you may best use him ; and he is never 
 more active than in the worst diligences. Thus, 
 at last, he possesses you from yourself, and then 
 expects but his hire to betray you : and it is a 
 happiness not to discover him ; for as long a 
 you are happy, you shall not.
 
 179 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 A high-spirited man 
 
 Is one that looks like a proud man, but is not : 
 you may forgive him his looks for his worth's 
 sake, for they are only too proud to be base. 
 One whom no rate can buy off from the least 
 piece of his freedom, and make him digest an 
 unworthy thought an hour. He cannot crouch 
 to a great man to possess him$ nor fall low to 
 the earth to rebound never so high again. He 
 stands taller on his own bottom, than others.on 
 the advantage ground of fortune, as having so- 
 lidly that honour, of which title is but the 
 pomp. He does homage to no man for his 
 great stile's sake, but is strictly just in the ex- 
 action of respect again, and will not bate you a 
 complement^ He is more sensible of a neglect 
 than an undoing, and scorns no man so much 
 N 2
 
 180 
 
 as his surly threatener. A man quickly fired, 
 and quickly laid down with satisfaction, but 
 remits any injury sooner than words : only to 
 himself he is irreconcileable, whom he never 
 forgives a disgrace, but is still stabbing himself 
 with the thought of it, and no disease that he 
 dies of sooner. He is one had rather perish 
 than be beholden for his life, and strives more 
 to be quit with his friend than his enemy. For- 
 tune may kill him but not deject him, nor 
 make him fall into an humbler key than be- 
 fore, but he is now loftier than ever in his own 
 defence; you shall hear him talk still after 
 thousands, and he becomes it better than those 
 that have it. One that is above the world and 
 its drudgery, and cannot pulldown his thoughts 
 to the pelting businesses of life. He would 
 sooner accept the gallows than a mean trade, 
 or any thing that might disparage the height of 
 man in him, and yet thinks no death compara- 
 bly base to hanging neither. One that will do
 
 nothing upon command, though he would do it 
 otherwise ; and if ever he do evil, it is when he 
 is dared to it. He is one that if fortune equal 
 his worth puts a luster in all preferment ; but if 
 otherwise he be too much crossed, turns despe- 
 rately melancholy, and scorns mankind. 
 
 LXVII1. 
 
 A meer gull citizen 
 
 Is one much about the same model and pitch 
 of brain that the clown is, only of somewhat a 
 more polite and finical ignorance, and as sillily 
 scorns him as he is sillily admired by him. 
 The quality of the city hath afforded him some 
 better dress of clothes and language, which he 
 uses to the best advantage, and is so much the
 
 182 
 
 more ridiculous. His chief education is the 
 visits of his shop, where if courtiers and fine 
 ladies resort, he is infected with so much more 
 eloquence, and if he catch one word extraordi- 
 nary, wears it for ever. You shall hear him 
 mince a complement sometimes that was never 
 made for him ; and no man pays dearer for 
 good words, for he is oft paid with them. 
 He is suited rather fine than in the fashion, and 
 has still something to distinguish him from a 
 gentleman, though his doublet cost more ; 
 especially on Sundays, bridegroom-like, where 
 he carries the state of a very solemn man, and 
 keeps his pew as his shop; and it is a great 
 part of his devotion to feast the minister. But 
 his chiefest guest is a customer, which is the 
 greatest relation he acknowledges, especially if 
 you be an honest gentleman, that is trust him to 
 cozen you enough. His friendships are a kind 
 of gossipping friendships, and those commonly 
 within the circle of his trade, wherein he is
 
 183 
 
 careful principally to avoid two things, that is 
 poor men and suretiships. He is a man will 
 spend his six-pence with a great deal of impu- 
 tation I0 , and no man makes more of a pint of 
 wine than he. He is one bears a pretty kind of 
 foolish love to scholars, and to Cambridge es- 
 pecially for Sturbridge * fair's sake ; and of 
 these all are truants to him that are not preach- 
 ers, and of these the loudest the best ; and he 
 is much ravished with the noise of a rolling 
 tongue. He loves to hear discourses out of his 
 
 10 Imputation here must be used for consequence; of 
 which I am, however, unable to produce any other in- 
 stance. 
 
 1 Sturbridgefair was the great mart for business, and 
 resort for pleasure, in bishop Earle's day. It is alluded 
 to in Randolph's Conceited Pedlar, 4to. 1630. 
 
 " I am a pedlar, and I sell my ware 
 
 This braue Saint Barthol. or Sturbridge faire" 
 
 Edward Ward, the facetious author of The London Spy, 
 gives a whimsical account of a journey to Sturlridge, in 
 the second volume of his works.
 
 184 
 
 element, and the less be understands the better 
 pleased, which he expresses in a smile and 
 some fond protestation. One that does nothing 
 without his chuck 1 , that is his wife, with 
 whom he is billing still in conspiracy, and the 
 wantoner she is, the more power she has over 
 him; and she never stoops so low after him, 
 but is the only woman goes better of a widow 
 than a maid. In the education of his child no 
 man fearfuller, and the danger he fears is a 
 harsh school-master, to whom he is alledging 
 still the weakness of the boy, and pays a fine 
 extraordinary for his mercy. The first whip- 
 ping rids him to the university, and from 
 thence rids him again for fear of starving, and 
 the best he makes of him is some gull in plush. 
 
 2 This silly term of endearment appears to be derived 
 from chick, or my chicken. Shakspeare uses it in 
 Macbeth, Act iii. Scene 2, 
 
 " Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck."
 
 185 
 
 He is one loves to hear the famous acts of citi- 
 zens, whereof the gilding of the cross 3 he 
 counts the glory of this age, and the four 4 pren- 
 
 3 The great cross in West Cheap, was originally 
 erected in 1290, by Edward I. in commemoration of the 
 death of queen Ellinor, whose body rested at that place, 
 on its journey from Herdeby, in Lincolnshire, to West- 
 minster, for interment. It was rebuilt in 1441, and 
 again in 1484. In 1581, the images and ornaments 
 were destroyed by the populace; and in 1599, the top of 
 the cross was taken down, the timber being rotted 
 within the lead, and fears being entertained as to its 
 safety. By order of queen Elizabeth, and her privy- 
 council, it was repaired in 1600, when, says Stow, " a 
 cross of timber was framed, set up, covered with lead, 
 and gilded" &c. Stow's Survey of London, by Strype, 
 book iii. p. 35. Edit, folio, Lond. 1T20. 
 
 4 This must allude to the play written by Heywood 
 with the following title: The Fourc Prentises of London. 
 With the Conquest of lerusalem. As it hath benc diuerse 
 times acted at the Red Bull, by the Queene's Maiesties 
 Seruants. 4to. Lond. 1615. In this drama, ihefour 
 prentises are Godfrey, Grey, Charles, and Eustace, sons 
 to the old Earle of Btillen, who, having lost his territo- 
 ries, by assisting William the Conqueror in his descent 
 upon England, is compelled to live like a private citizen 
 in London, and binds his sons to a mercer, a gold-
 
 186 
 
 tices of London above all the nine* worthies, 
 He intitles himself to all the merits of his com- 
 pany, whether schools, hospitals, or exhibitions, 
 in which he is joint benefactor, though four 
 
 smith, a haberdasher, and a grocer. The/our prentises, 
 however, prefer the life of a soldier to that of a trades- 
 man, and, quitting the service of their masters, follow 
 Robert of Normandy to the holy land, where they per- 
 form the most astonishing feats of valour, and finally 
 accomplish the conquest of Jerusalem. The whole play 
 abounds in bombast and impossibilities, and, as a com- 
 position, is unworthy of notice or remembrance. 
 
 5 The History of the Nine Worthies of the World ; 
 three whereof were Gentiles : 1. Hector, son of Priamus, 
 king of Troy. 2. Alexander the Great, king of Macedon, 
 and conqueror of the world. 8. Julius CtEtar, first emperor 
 of Rome. Three Jews. 4. Joshua, captain general and 
 leader of Israel into Canaan. 5. David, king of Israel. 
 6. Judas Maccabeus, a valiant Jewish commander against 
 the tyranny ofAntiochus. Three Christians. 7. Arthur, 
 king of Britain, who courageously defended his country 
 against tht Saxons. 8. Charles the Great, king of France 
 and emperor of Germany. 9. Godfrey of Bu lien, king of 
 Jerusalem. Being an account of their glorious lives, 
 uorthy actions, renowned victories, and deaths. 12mo, 
 No date.
 
 187 
 
 hundred years ago, and upbraids them far 
 more than those that gave them : yet with all 
 this folly he has wit enough to get wealth, and 
 in that a sufficienter man than he that is wiser. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 A lascivious man 
 
 Is the servant he says of many mistresses, but 
 all are but his lust, to which only he is faithful, 
 and none besides, and spends his best blood and 
 spirits in the service. His soul is the bawd to 
 his body, and those that assist him in this na- 
 ture the nearest to it. No man abuses more the 
 name of love, or those whom he applies this 
 name to; for his love is like his stomach to feed 
 on what he loves, and the end of it to surfeit and
 
 188 
 
 loath, till a fresh appetite rekindle him ; and it 
 kindles on any sooner than who deserve best of 
 him. There is a great deal of malignity in this 
 vice, for it loves still to spoil the best things, and 
 a virgin sometimes rather than beauty, because 
 the undoing here is greater, and consequently his 
 glory. No man laughs more at his sin than he, 
 or is so extremely tickled with the remembrance 
 of it; and he is more violence to a modest ear 
 than to her he defloured. A bawdy jest enters 
 deep into him, and whatsoever you speak he 
 will draw to baudry, and his wit is never so 
 good as here. His unchastest part is his tongue, 
 for that commits always what he must act sel- 
 domer ; and that commits with all which he acts 
 with few ; for he is his own worst reporter, and 
 men believe as bad of him, and yet do not be- 
 lieve him. Nothing harder to his persuasion 
 than a chaste man, no eunuch ; and makes a 
 scoffing miracle at it, if you tell him of a maid. 
 And from this mistrust it is that sucli men fear
 
 189 
 
 marriage, or at least marry such as are of bodies 
 to be trusted, to whom only they sell that lust 
 which they buy of others, and make their wife 
 a revenue to their mistress. They are men not 
 easily reformed, because they are so little ill-per- 
 suaded of their illness, and have such pleas 
 from man and nature. Besides it is a jeering 
 and flouting vice, and apt to put jests on the 
 reprover. The pox only converts them, and 
 that, only when it kills them. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 A rash man 
 
 Is a man too quick for himself; one whose 
 actions put a leg still before his judgement, and 
 out-run it. Every hot fancy or passion is the
 
 190 
 
 signal that sets him forward, and his reason 
 comes still in the rear. One that has brain 
 enough, but not patience to digest a business, 
 and stay the leisure of a second thought 
 All deliberation is to him a kind of sloth and 
 freezing of action, and it shall burn him ra- 
 ther than take cold. He is always resolved 
 at first thinking, and the ground he goes 
 upon is, hap what may. Thus he enters not, 
 but throws himself violently upon all things, 
 and for the most part is as violently upon all oft' 
 again; and as an obstinate u I will" was the 
 preface to his undertaking, so his conclusion is 
 commonly " / would I had not " for such 
 men seldom do any thing that they are not 
 forced to take in pieces again, and are so much 
 farther off from doing it, as they have done al- 
 ready. His friends are with him as his phy- 
 sician, sought to only in his sickness and ex- 
 tremity, and to help him out of that mire he has 
 plunged himself into ; for in the suddenness of
 
 191 r 
 
 his passions he would hear nothing^ and now 
 his ill success has allayed him he hears too late. 
 He is a man still swayed with the first reports, 
 and no man more in the power of a pick-thank 
 than he. He is one will fight first, and then ex- 
 postulate, condemn first, and then examine. 
 He loses his friend in a fit of quarrelling, 
 and in a fit of kindness undoes himself; and 
 then curses the occasion drew this mischief 
 upon him, and cries, God mercy! for it, 
 and curses again. His repentance is meerly a 
 rage against himself, and he does something in 
 itself to be repented again. He is a man whom 
 fortune must go against much to make him 
 happy, for had he been suffered his own way, 
 lie had been undone.
 
 192 
 
 LXX1. 
 
 An affected man 
 
 Is an extraordinary man in ordinary tilings. 
 One that would go a strain beyond himself, 
 and is taken in it. A man that overdoes all 
 things with great solemnity of circumstance ; 
 and whereas with more negligence he might 
 pass better, makes himself with a great deal of 
 endeavour ridiculous. The fancy of some odd 
 quaintnesses have put him clean beside his na- 
 ture ; he cannot be that he would, and hath lost 
 what he was. He is one must be point-blank 
 in every trifle, as if his credit and opinion hung 
 upon it ; the very space of his arms in an em- 
 brace studied before and premeditated, and the 
 figure of his countenance of a fortnight's con- 
 triving ; he will not curse you without-book and 
 extempore, but in some choice way, and per-
 
 193 
 
 haps as some great man curses. Every action 
 of his cries, " Do ye mark me?" and men do 
 mark him how absurd he is : for affectation is 
 the most betraying humour, and nothing that 
 puzzles a man less to find out than this. All 
 the actions of his life are like so many things 
 bodged in without any natural cadence or con- 
 nection at all. You shall track him all through 
 like a school-boy's theme, one piece from one 
 author and this from another, and join all in this 
 general, that they are none of his own. You 
 shall observe his mouth not made for that tone, 
 nor his face for that simper ; and it is his luck 
 that his finest things most misbecome him. If 
 he affect the gentleman as the humour most 
 commonly lies that way, not the least punctilio 
 of a fine man, but he is strict in to a hair, even to 
 their very negligences, which he cons as rules. 
 He will not carry a knife with him to wound 
 reputation, and pay double a reckoning, rather 
 than ignobly question it : and he is full of this-^-
 
 194 
 
 ignobly and nobly and genteely ; and this 
 racer fear to trespass against the genteel way 
 puts him out most of all. It is a humour runs 
 through many things besides, but is an ill- 
 favoured ostentation in all, and thrives not: 
 and the best use of such men is, they are good 
 parts in a play. 
 
 LXX1. 
 
 A profane man 
 
 Is one that denies God as far as the law gives 
 him leave; that is, only does not say so in 
 downright terms, for so far he may go. A man 
 (hat does the greatest sins calmly, and as the or- 
 dinary actions of life, and as calmly discourses 
 f it again. He will tell you his business is
 
 195 
 
 to break such a commandment, and the break- 
 ing of the commandment shall tempt him, to it. 
 His words are but so many vomitings cast up to 
 the loathsomeness of the hearers, only those of 
 his company 6 loath it not. He will take upon 
 him with oaths to pelt some tenderer man out of 
 his company, and makes good sport at his con 
 quest over the puritan fool. The scripture 
 supplies him for jests, and he reads it on pur- 
 pose to be thus merry : he will prove you his 
 sin out of the bible, and then ask if you will 
 not take that authority. He never sees the 
 church but of purpose to sleep in it, or when 
 some silly man preaches, with whom he means 
 to make sport, and is most jocund in the church. 
 One that nick-names clergymen with all the 
 terms of reproach, as " rat, black-coat," and 
 the like ; which he will be sure to keep up, and 
 never calls them by other: that sings psalms 
 
 6 Those of the same habits with himself; his associ- 
 ates. 
 
 -
 
 196 
 
 when be is drunk, and cries " God mercy" in 
 mockery, for he must do it. He is one seems 
 to dare God in all his actions, but indeed would 
 out-dare the opinion of him, which would else 
 turn him desperate ; for atheism is the refuge of 
 such sinners, whose repentance would be only 
 to hang themselves. 
 
 LXXI1I. 
 
 A coward 
 
 Is the man that is commonly most fierce 
 against the coward, and labouring to take off 
 this suspicion from himself; for the opinion of 
 valour is a good protection to those that dare 
 not use it. No man is valianter than he is in 
 civil company, and where he thinks no danger
 
 197 
 
 may come on it, and is the readiest man to fall 
 upon a drawer and those that must not strike 
 again : wonderful exceptious and cholerick 
 where he sees men are loth to give him occa- 
 sion, and you cannot pacify him better than by 
 quarrelling with him. The hotter you grow, 
 the more temperate man is he ; he protests he 
 always honoured you, and the more you rail 
 upon him, the more he honours you, and you 
 threaten him at last into a very honest quiet 
 man. The sight of a sword wounds him more 
 sensibly than the stroke, for before that come he 
 is dead already. Every man is his master that 
 dare beat him, and every man dares that knows 
 him. And he that dare do this is the only 
 man can do much with him ; for his friend he 
 cares not for, as a man that carries no such ter- 
 ror as his enemy, which for this cause only is 
 more potent with him of the two : and men fall 
 out with him of purpose to get courtesies from 
 him, and be bribed again to a reconcilement.
 
 198 
 
 A man in whom no secret can be bound up, for 
 the apprehension of each danger loosens him, 
 arid makes him bewray both the room and it. 
 He is a Christian meerly for fear of hell-fire ; 
 and if any religion could fright him more, 
 would be of that. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 A sordid rick man 
 
 Is a beggar of a fair estate, of whose wealth 
 we may say as of other men's unthriftiness, that 
 it has brought him to this : when he had nothing 
 he lived in another kind of fashion. He is a 
 man whom men hate in his own behalf for using 
 himself thus, and yet, being upon himself, it is 
 but justice, for he deserves it. Every acces-
 
 199 
 
 of a fresh heap bates him so much of his 
 allowance, and brings him a degree nearer starv- 
 ing. His body had been long since desperate, 
 but for the reparation of other men's tables, 
 where he hoards meats in his belly for a month, 
 to maintain him in hunger so long. His clothes 
 were never young in our memory ; you might 
 make long epoch as from them, and put them 
 into the almanack with the dear year 7 and the 
 
 7 The dear year here, I believe, alluded to, was in 
 1574, and is thus described by that faithful and valuable 
 historian Holinshed: " This yeare, about Lammas, 
 wheat was sold at London for three shillings the bushell : 
 but shortlie after, it was raised to foure shillings, fiue 
 shillings, six shillings, and, before Christmas, to a 
 noble, and seuen shillings ; which so continued long 
 after. Beefe was sold for twentie pence, and two and 
 Uventie pence the stone; and all other flesh and white 
 meats at an excessiue price ; all kind of salt fish verie 
 deare, as 6ue herings t\vo pence, &c. ; yet great plentie 
 of fresh fish, and oft times the same verie cheape. 
 Pease at foure shillings the bushell; ote-meale at 
 foure shillings eight pence ; baie salt at three shillings 
 the bushell, &c. All this dearth notwithstanding,
 
 200 
 
 great frost 8 , and he is known by them longer 
 than his face. He is one never gave alms in his 
 life, and yet is as charitable to his neighbour as 
 himself. He will redeem a penny with his re- 
 putation, and lose all his friends to boot; and 
 his reason is, he will not be undone. He never 
 pays any thing but with strictness of law, for 
 fear of which only he steals not. He loves to 
 pay short a shilling or two in a great sum, and 
 is glad to gain that when he can no more. He 
 nerer sees friend but in a journey to save the 
 charges of an inn, and then only is not sick ; 
 and his friends never see him but to abuse him. 
 
 (thanks be given to God,) there was no want of anie 
 thing to them that wanted not monie." Holinshed, 
 Chronicle, vol. 3, page 1259, a. edit, folio, 1587. 
 
 8 On the 2 1st of December, 1564, began a frost re- 
 ferred to by Fleming, in his Index to Holinshed, as the 
 " frost called the great frost," which lasted till the 3rd of 
 January, 1565. It was so severe that the Thames was 
 frozen over, and the passage on it, from London-bridge 
 to Westminster, as easy as, and more frequented than 
 that on dry land.
 
 201 
 
 He is a fellow indeed of a kind of frantick 
 thrift, and one of the strangest things that wealth 
 can work. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 A meer great man 
 
 Is so much heraldry without honour, himself 
 less real than his title. His virtue is, that he 
 was his father's son, and all the expectation of 
 him to beget another. A man that lives meerly 
 to preserve another's memory, and let us know 
 who died so many years ago. One of just as 
 much use as his images, only he differs in this, 
 that he can speak himself, and save the fellow 
 of Westminster 9 a labour : and he remembers 
 
 9 The person who exhibits Westminster abbey.
 
 202 
 
 nothing belter than -what was out of his life. 
 His grandfathers and their acts are his dis- 
 course, and he tells them with more glory than 
 they did them ; and it is well they did enough, 
 or else he had wanted matter. His other studies 
 are his sports and those vices that are fit for 
 great men. Every vanity of his has his officer, 
 and is a serious employment for his servants. 
 He talks loud, and baudily, and scurvily as a 
 part of state, and they hear him with reve- 
 rence. All good qualities are below him, and 
 especially learning, except some parcels of the 
 chronicle and the writing of his name, which he 
 learns to write not to be read. He is meerly of 
 his servants' faction, and their instrument for 
 their friends and enemies, and is always least 
 thanked for his own courtesies. They that fool 
 him most do most with him, and he little thinks 
 how many laugh at him bare-head. No man is 
 kept in ignorance more of himself and men, for 
 he hears nought but flattery; and what is fit to
 
 203 
 
 be spoken, truth with so much preface that it 
 loses itself. Thus he lives till his tomb be made 
 ready, and is then a grave statue to posterity. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 A poor man 
 
 Is the most impotent man, though neither 
 blind nor lame, as wanting the more necessary 
 limbs of life, without which limbs are a burden. 
 A man unfenced and unsheltered from the gusts 
 of the world, which blow all in upon him, like 
 an unroofed house ; and the bitterest thing he 
 suffers is his neighbours. All men put on to him 
 a kind of churlisher fashion, and even more 
 plausible natures are churlish to him, as who 
 are nothing advantaged by his opinion . Whom
 
 20* 
 
 men fall out with before-hand to prevent friend- 
 ship, and his friends too to prevent engage- 
 ments, or if they own him 'tis in private and a 
 by-room, and on condition not to know them 
 before company. All vice put together is not 
 half so scandalous, nor sets off our acquaintance 
 farther; and even those that are not friends for 
 ends do not love any dearness with such men. 
 The least courtesies are upbraided to him, 
 and himself thanked for none, but his best ser- 
 vices suspected as handsome sharking and 
 tricks to get money. And we shall observe it 
 in knaves themselves, that your boggarliest 
 knaves are the greatest, or thought so at least, 
 for those that have wit to thrive by it have art 
 not tp seem so. Now a poor man has not vizard 
 enough to mask his vices, nor ornament enough 
 to set forth his virtues, but both are naked and 
 unhandsome ; and though no man is necessitat- 
 ed to more ill, yet no man's ill is less excused, 
 but it is thought a kind of impudence in him to
 
 205 
 
 be vicious, and a presumption above his for- 
 tune. His good parts lye dead upon his hands, 
 for want of matter to employ them, and at the 
 best are not commended but pitied, as virtues 
 ill placed, and we may say of him, " Tis an 
 honest man, but tis pity;" and yet those that 
 call him so will trust a knave before him. He 
 is a man that has the truest speculation of the 
 world, because all men shew to him in their 
 plainest and worst, as a man they have no plot 
 on, by appearing good to; whereas rich men 
 are entertained with a more holy-day behaviour, 
 and see only the best we can dissemble. He is 
 the only he that tries the true strength of wis- 
 dom, what it can do of itself without the help of 
 fortune ; that with a great deal of virtue con- 
 quers extremities, and with a great deal more 
 his own impatience, and obtains of himself not 
 to hate men.
 
 206 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 An ordinary honest man 
 Is one whom it concerns to be called honest, 
 for if he were not this, he were nothing : and jet 
 he is not this neither, but a good dull vicious 
 fellow, that complies well with the deboshments I0 
 of the time, and is fit for it. One that has no 
 good part in him to oflend his company, or 
 make him to be suspected a proud fellow ; but 
 is sociably a dunce, and sociably a drinker. 
 That does it fair and above-board without leger- 
 main, and neither sharks ' for a cup or a rec- 
 
 10 Minshew interprets the verb deboslie, " to corrupt, 
 make lewde, vitiate." When the word was first adopted 
 from the French language, (says Mr. Steevens, in a 
 note to the Tempest,") it appears to have been spelt ac- 
 cording to the pronunciation, and therefore wrongly; 
 but ever since it has been spelt right, it has been uttered 
 with equal impropriety. 
 
 i The verb to shark is frequently used, by old writers, 
 for to pilfer, and, as in the present instance, to spunge.
 
 207 
 
 koning : that is kind over his beer, and protests 
 he loves you, and begins to you again, and 
 loves you again. One that quarrels with no 
 man, but for not pledging him, but takes all 
 absurdities and commits as many, and is no 
 tell-tale next morning, though he remember it. 
 One that will fight for his friend if he hear him 
 abused, and his friend commonly is he that is 
 most likely, and he lifts up many a jug in his 
 defence. He rails against none but censurers> 
 against whom he thinks he rails lawfully, and 
 censurers are all those that are better than him- 
 self. These good properties qualify him for 
 honesty enough, and raise him high in the ale- 
 house commendation, who, if he had any other 
 good quality, would be named by that. But' 
 now for refuge he is an honest man, and here- 
 after a sot : only those that commend him think 
 him not so, and those that commend him artr 
 honest fellows.
 
 208 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 A suspicious or jealous man 
 Is one that watches himself a mischief, and 
 keeps a lear eye still, for fear it should escape 
 him. A man that sees a great deal more in 
 every thing than is to be seen, and yet he thinks 
 he sees nothing : his own eye stands in his 
 light. He is a fellow commonly guilty of some 
 weaknesses, which he might conceal if he were 
 careless : now his over-diligence to hide them 
 makes men pry the more. Howsoever he ima- 
 gines you have found him, and it shall go hard 
 but you must abuse him whether you will or no. 
 Not a word can be spoke, but nips him some- 
 where ; not a jest thrown out, but he will make 
 it hit him. You shall have him go fretting out 
 of company, with some twenty quarrels to every 
 man, stung and galled, and no man knows less
 
 the occasion than they that have given it. To 
 laugh before him is a dangerous matter, for it 
 Cannot be at any thing but at him, and to whis- 
 per in his company plain conspiracy. He bids 
 you speak out, and he will answer you, when 
 you thought not of him. He expostulates with 
 you in passion, why you should abuse him, 
 and explains to your ignorance wherein, and 
 gives you very good reason at last to laugh at 
 him hereafter. He is one still accusing others 
 when they are not guilty, and defending him- 
 self when he is not accused : and no man is un- 
 done more with apologies, wherein he is so ela- 
 borately excessive, that none will believe him ; 
 and he is never thought worse of, than when he 
 has given satisfaction. Such men can never 
 have friends, because they cannot trust so far ; 
 and this humour hath this infection with it, it 
 makes all men to them suspicious. In conclu- 
 sion, they are men always in offence and vexa- 
 p
 
 with themselves and their neighbours, 
 wronging others in thinking they would wrong 
 them, and themselves most of all in thinking 
 they deserve it. 
 
 END OF THE CHARACTERS, 
 
 APPENDIX.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 No. I. 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF BISHOP EARLE*. 
 
 ALL the biographical writers who have taken 
 notice of JOHN EARLE agree in stating, that he 
 was born in the city of York, although not one 
 
 * The following brief memoir pretends to be nothing 
 more than an enumeration of such particulars relative to 
 the excellent prelate, whose Cluiracters are here offered to 
 the public, as could be gathered from the historiral and 
 biographical productions of the period in which he flou- 
 rished. It is hoped that no material occurrence has 
 been overlooked, or circumstance mis-stated; but should 
 any errors appear to have escaped his observation, the 
 editor will feel obliged by the friendly intimation of 
 such persons as may be possessed of more copious in- 
 formation than he has been able to obtain, in order that 
 they may be acknowledged and corrected in another 
 place.
 
 212 
 
 of them has given the exact date of his birth, or 
 any intelligence relative to his family, or the 
 rank in life of his parents. It is, however, most 
 probable, that they were persons of respectabi- 
 lity and fortune, as he was sent, at an early 
 age, to Oxford, and entered as a commoner of 
 Christ-church college *, where his conduct was 
 so exemplary, his attention to his studies so 
 marked, and his general deportment and man- 
 ners so pleasing, that he became a successful 
 candidate at Merton-college, and was admitted 
 a probationary fellow on that foundation in 
 1620, being then, according to Wood t, about 
 nineteen years of age. He took the degree of 
 Master of Arts, July 10, 1624, and in 1631 
 served the office of Proctor of the university, 
 about which time he was also appointed chap- 
 lain to Philip Earl of Pembroke, then Chancel- 
 lor of Oxford. 
 
 * He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts whilst a 
 member of this society, July 8, 1619, and appears to 
 have been always attached to it. In 16CO he gave 
 twenty pounds towards repairing the cathedral and col- 
 lege. 
 
 Wood. Hist. etAntiq. Unit). Oxon. lib. ii. p. 284. 
 
 t Athente Oxon. ii. 365.
 
 213 
 
 During the earlier part of our author's life, 
 te appears to have possessed considerable re- 
 putation as a poet, and to have been as remark- 
 able for the pleasantry of his conversation, as 
 for his learning, virtues, and piety. Wood * 
 tells us that a his younger years were adorned 
 with oratory, poetry, and witty fancies, his 
 elder with quaint preaching and subtile dis- 
 putes." The only specimens of his poetry 
 which can be recovered at this time, are three 
 funeral tributes, which will be found in the 
 Appendix, and of which two are now printed, 
 I believe, for the first time. 
 
 Soon after his appointment to be Lord Pem- 
 broke's chaplain, he was presented by that no- 
 bleman to the rectory of Bishopstone, in Wilt- 
 shire ; nor was this the only advantage he 
 reaped from the friendship of his patron, who 
 being at that time Lord Chamberlain of the 
 King's household t, was entitled to a lodging in 
 the court for his chaplain, a circumstance which 
 in all probability introduced Mr. Earle to the 
 notice of the King, who promoted him to be 
 
 * Athena Oxon. ii. 365. 
 t Collins' Peerage, iii, 123.
 
 214 
 
 chaplain and tutor to Prince Charles, when Dr. 
 Duppa, who had previously discharged that 
 important trust, was raised to the bishopric of 
 Salisbury. 
 
 In 1642 Earle took his degree of Doctor in 
 Divinity, and in the year following was actually 
 elected one of the Assembly of Divines appointed 
 by the parliament to new model the church. 
 This office, although it may be considered a 
 proof of the high opinion even those of different 
 sentiments from himself entertained of his cha- 
 racter and merit, he refused to accept, when he 
 saw that there was no probability of assisting 
 the cause of religion, or of restraining the vio- 
 lence of a misguided faction, by an interference 
 among those who were " declared and avowed 
 enemies to the doctrine and discipline of the 
 Church of England ; some of them infamous 
 in their lives and conversations, and most of 
 them of very mean parts in learning, if not of 
 scandalous ignorance *." 
 
 On the 101 h of February, 1643, Dr. Earle 
 was elected chancellor of the cathedral of Sa- 
 
 * Clarendon. History of the Rebellion, ii, 827. Edit. 
 Oxford, 1807.
 
 215 
 
 lisbury *, of which situation, as well as his 
 living of Bishopstone, he was shortly after de- 
 prived by the ill success of the royal cause t. 
 
 When the defeat of the King's forces at Wor- 
 cester compelled Charles the Second to fly his 
 country, Earle attached himself to the fallen 
 fortunes of his sovereign, and was among the 
 first of those who saluted him upon his arrival 
 at Rouen in Normandy, 'where he was made 
 clerk of the closet, and King's chaplain :. 
 Nor w r as his affection to the family of the 
 Stuarts, and his devotion to their cause evinced 
 by personal services only, as we find by a letter 
 from Lord Clarendon to Dr. Barwick, that he 
 
 * Walker. Sufferings of the Clergy, fol. 1714, part ii. 
 page 63. 
 
 t During the early part of the civil wars, and whilst 
 success was doubtful on either side, he appears to have 
 lived in retirement, and to have employed himself in a 
 translation of Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity into Latin, 
 which, however, was never made public. At the appear- 
 ance of Charles the First's Emu* Bx;i>.iy.v, ha was desired 
 by the king(Ch. II.) to execute the same task upon that 
 production, which he performed with great ability. It 
 was printed for distribution ou the continent in 1649, 
 
 * Wood. Ath. Own, ii. 365.
 
 216 
 
 assisted the King with money in his necessi* 
 ties *. 
 
 During the time that Charles was in Scotland, 
 Dr. Earle resided at Antwerp, with his friend 
 Dr. Morley t, from whence he was called upon 
 to attend the Duke of York (afterwards James 
 II.) at Paris J, in order that he might heal some 
 of the breaches which were then existing be- 
 tween certain members of the duke's house- 
 hold $ ; and here it is probable he remained till 
 the recal of Charles the Second to the throne of 
 England. 
 
 Upon the Restoration, Dr. Earle received 
 the reward of his constancy and loyalty, he 
 was immediately promoted to the deanery of 
 "Westminster, a situation long designed for him 
 
 * Life of Dr. John Barwick, 8vo. Lond. 1724. p. 522. 
 
 t Dr. George Morley was chaplain to Charles the 
 First, and canon of Christ Church, Oxford. At the 
 Restoration he was made, first dean of Christ Church, 
 then bishop of Worcester, and lastly bishop of Win- 
 chester. He died at Farnham-castle, October 29, 1C84. 
 See Wood. Athen. Oxon. ii. 581. 
 
 $ Wood. Athens, ii. 770. 
 
 Clarendon's Rebellion, iii. 65<?
 
 217 
 
 by the King *. In 1661 he was appointed one 
 of the commissioners for a review of the Li- 
 turgy i, and on November 30, 1662, was con- 
 secrated Oishop of Worcester, from which see 
 he was translated, September 28, 1663, to the 
 dignity of Salisbury :. 
 
 Little more remains to be added. Bishop 
 Earle appears to have continued his residence 
 with the royal family after the acquisition of 
 his well-deserved honours ; and when the court 
 retired to Oxford, during the plague in 1665, 
 he attended their majesties to the place of his 
 early education, and died at his apartments in 
 University College, on the 17th of November. 
 He was buried on the 25th, near the high altar, 
 in Merton College chapel ; and was, according 
 to Wood, " accompanied to his grave, from 
 the public schools, by an herald at arms, and 
 the principal persons of the court and univer- 
 sity." His monument, which stands at the 
 north-east corner of the chapel, is still in excel- 
 lent preservation, and possesses the following in- 
 scription : 
 
 * Life of Burwick, 452. 
 
 t Kennel's Register, folio, 1728, page 501. 
 
 J Wood. At hence, ii. 366.
 
 218 
 
 " Amice, si quis hie sepultus est, roges, 
 Ille, qui nee meiuit uuqua Nee quod majus est, habuit 
 
 Initnicum ; 
 Qui potuit in aula vivere, et mundum spernere 
 
 Concionator educatus inter principes, 
 Et ipse facile princeps inter Concionatores, 
 Evangelista indefcssus, Episcopus pientissimus ; 
 
 Ille qui una cum sacratissimo Rege, 
 
 Cujus & juveniliutn studiorum, et animre Deo charae 
 
 Curani a beatissimo Patre demandatam gessit, 
 
 Nobile ac Religiosum exilium est passus ; 
 
 Ille qui Hookeri ingentis Politiarn Ecclesiasticam, 
 
 Ille qui Caroli Martyris EIKO'NA BAZIAIKH'N, 
 
 (Volumen quo post Apocalypsin divinius nullum) 
 
 Legavit Orbi sic Latine redditas, 
 
 Ut uterque unius Fidei Defensor, 
 
 Patriam adhuc retineat majestatem. 
 
 Si nomen ejus necdum tibi suboleat, Lector, 
 
 Nomen ejus ut unguenta pretiosa: 
 
 JOHANNES EAKLE Eboracensis, 
 Serenissimo Carolo 2do Regij Oratorij Clericus, 
 /'aliquando Weitmonasteriensis Dccanus, 
 
 Ecclesize J deinde wi S rniensis ") 
 
 ^ tandem Sarisburiensis > Angelus. 
 
 ^et nunc triumphantis ) 
 
 ( Doni: 1665to. 
 ObntOxonij ISovemb. 1T. Anno \ . 
 
 1 Tl.tatis suae 65. 
 
 \'oluitq. in hoc, ubi olini floruerat, Collegio, 
 Ex ^Ede Christi hue in Socium ascitus, 
 Ver magnum, ut reibrescat, expectare."
 
 219 
 
 No. II. 
 
 CHARACTERS OF BISHOP EARLE. 
 
 " HE was a person very notable for his ele- 
 gance in the Greek and Latin tongues; and Leing fellow 
 of Merton college in Oxford, and having been proctor 
 qf the university, and some very witty and sharp dis- 
 courses being published in print without his consent, 
 though known to be his, he grew suddenly into a very 
 general esteem with all men; beiug a man of great 
 piety a.id devotion ; a most eloquent and powerful 
 preacher; and of a conversation so pleasant and delight- 
 ful, so very innocent, and so very facetious, that no 
 man's company was more desired, and more loved. No 
 man was more negligent in his dress, and habit, and 
 mein ; no man more wary and cultivated in bis beha- 
 viour and discourse ; insomuch as he had the greater 
 advantage when he was known, by promising so little 
 before he was known. He was an excellent poet both 
 in Latin, Greek, and English, as appears by many pieces 
 yet abroad ; though he suppressed many more hi n^elf, 
 especially of English, incomparably good, out of an 
 Austerity to those sallies of his youth. He was very
 
 220 
 
 dear to the Lord Falkland, with whom he spent aS 
 much time as he could make his own ; and as that lord 
 would impute the speedy progress he made in the Greek 
 tongue to the information and assistance he had from Mr. 
 Earles, so Mr. Earles would frequently profess that he 
 had got more useful learning by his conversation at 
 Tew (the Lord Falkland's house,) than he had at Oxford. 
 In the first settling of the prince his family, he was 
 made one of his chaplains, and attended on him when 
 he was forced to leave the kingdom. He was amongst 
 the few excellent men who never had, nor ever could 
 have, an enemy, but such a one who was an enemy to 
 all learning and virtue, and therefore would never make 
 himself known." 
 
 LORD CLARENDON. Account of his own Life, folio, Ox- 
 ford, 1759, p. 26. 
 
 " This is thatDr.Earle, who from his youth 
 
 (I had almost said from his childhood,) for his natural 
 and acquired abilities was so very eminent in the uni- 
 versity of Oxon ; and after was chosen to be one of the 
 first chaplains to his Majesty (when Prince of Wales) : 
 who knew not how to desert his master, but with duty 
 and loyalty (suitable to the rest of his many great vir- 
 tues, both moral and intellectual,) faithfully attended his 
 Majesty both at home and abroad, as chaplain, and 
 clerk of his majesty's closet, and upon his majesty's 
 happy return, was made Dean of Westminster, and now
 
 221 
 
 Lord Bishop of Worcester, (for which, December 7, he 
 did homage to his Majesty,) having this high and rare 
 felicity by his excellent and spotless conversation, to 
 have lived so many years in the court of England, so 
 near his Majesty, and yet not given the least offence to 
 any man alive ; though both in and out of pulpit he 
 used all Christian freedom against the vanities of this 
 age, being honoured and admired by all who have either 
 known, heard, or read him." 
 
 WHITE KENNETT (Bishop of Peterborough) Regis- 
 ter and Chronicle Ecclesiastical and Civil, folio, 
 London, 1728, page 834. 
 
 " Dr. Earle, now Lord Bishop of Salisbury, 
 
 of whom I may justly say, (and let it not offend him, 
 because it is such a truth as ought not to be concealed 
 from posterity, or those that now live and yet know him 
 not,) that, since Mr. Hooker died, none have lived whom 
 God hath blessed with more innocent wisdom, more 
 sanctified learning, or a more pious, peaceable, primi- 
 tive temper: so that this excellent person seems to be 
 only like himself, and our venerable Richard Hooker." 
 
 WALTON-. Life of Mr. Richard Hooker, 8vo. Oxford, 
 1805, i. 327. 
 
 
 This Dr. Earles, lately Lord Bishop of Salis-
 
 22f 
 
 bury. A person certainly of the sweetest, most obliging 
 nature that lived in our age." 
 
 Iluca CRESSEY. Epistle Apologetical to a Person of 
 Honour (Lord Clarendon), 8vo. 1674, page 46. 
 
 u Dr. Earle, Bishop of Salisbury, was a man 
 
 that could do good against evil ; forgive much, and of a 
 charitable heart." 
 
 PIERCE. Conformist's Plea for Nonconformity, 4to. 
 1681. page 1T4.
 
 523 
 No. III. 
 
 LIST OF DR. EARLE'S WORKS. 
 
 1. Microcosmography, or a Piece of the World discovered, 
 in Essays and Characters. London. 1628. &C.&C. 12mo. 
 
 9. Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity, translated into Latin. 
 This, says Wood, " is in MS. and not yet printed." 
 In whose possession theMS. was does not appear, nor 
 have I been able to trace it in the catalogue of any 
 public or private collection. 
 
 S. Hortus Mertonensis, a Latin Poem, of which Wood 
 gives the first line " Hortus deliciee domus politae." 
 It is now supposed to be lost. 
 
 4. Lines on the Death of Sir John Bnrroughs ; now 
 printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. IV. 
 
 5. Lines on the Death of the Earl of Pembroke ; now 
 printed for the first time. See Appendix, No. V. 
 
 6. Elegy upon Francis Beaumont; first printed at the 
 end of Beaumont's Poems, London, 1640. 4to. See 
 Appendix, No. VI. 
 
 7. E?xw Batff&iiri, Tel Imago Regis Caroli, In illis suis 
 JErumnis et Solitudinf. Hag<s-Comitis. Typis S. B. &c, 
 1649. 12mo. See Appendix, No. VII. * 
 
 * Besides the pieces above noticed, several smaller poems
 
 were undoubtedly in circulation during Earle's life, the title? 
 of which are not preserved. Wood supposes (Alh. OJCOH.) 
 our author to have contrihuted to " some of the Figures, of 
 which about ten were published," but is ignorant of the exact 
 numbers to be attributed to his pen. In the Bodleian * i 
 " The Figtre of Forte : Wherein are sweet flowers, gathered 
 out^of that fruitfull ground, that I hope will yeeld pleasure and 
 profit to all sorts of people. The second Part, London, Printed 
 for lohn Wright, and are to bee sold at his shop without New- 
 gate, at the signe of the Bible, 1636." This, however, was un- 
 doubtedly one of Breton's productions, as his initials are af- 
 fixed to the preface. It is in 12mo. and consists of twenty 
 pages, not numbered. The following extracts will be suffi- 
 cient to shew the nature of the volume. 
 
 " There are fonre persons not to be believed : a horse* 
 courser when he swcares, a whore whrn shee weepes, a law- 
 yer when he pleads false, and a traveller when he tels wonders. 
 
 " There are foure great cyphers in the world : bee that is 
 lame among dancers, durabe among lawyers, dull among schol- 
 lers, and rude amongst couitiirs, 
 
 " Foure things grievously empty : a head without braines, 
 a wit without judgment, a heart Without honesty, and a purse 
 without money." 
 
 Ant. Wood possessed the figure of six, which, however, is 
 now not to be found among bis books left to tin- university of 
 Oxford, and deposited in Ashmole's museum. That it once was 
 there, is evident from the MS. catalogue of that curious col- 
 lection. 
 
 " 8vo. L. 78. Art.
 
 225 
 No. IV. 
 
 IJNES ON SIR JOHN BURROUGHS, 
 
 KILLED BY A BULLET AT REEZ *. 
 
 [From a MS. in the Bodleian.] (Rawl. Poet. 142. ) 
 
 WHY did we thus expose thee? what's now all 
 
 That island to requite thy funeral? 
 
 Though thousand French in murder'd heaps do fie, 
 
 It may revenge, it cannot satisfy: 
 
 We must bewail our conquest when we see 
 
 Our price too dear to buy a victory. 
 
 He whose brave fire gave heat to all the rest, 
 
 That dealt his spirit in t' each English" breast, 
 
 From whose divided virtues you may take 
 
 So many captains out, and fully make 
 
 * For an account of the unsuccessful expedition to the Isle 
 of Re, under the command of the Duke of Buckingham, 
 see Carte's History of England, vol. iv. page 176, folio, Lond. 
 1755. Sir John Burroughs, a general of considerable renown, 
 who possessed the chief confidence of the Duke, fell in an en- 
 deavour to reconnoitre the works of the enemy, Aug. 1627. 
 Q
 
 Them each accomplished with those parts, the which, 
 
 Jointly, did his well-furnish'd soul enrich. 
 
 Not rashly valiant, nor yet fearful wise, 
 
 His flame had counsel, and his fury, eyes. 
 
 Not struck in courage at the drum's proud heat, 
 
 Or made fierce only by the trurppet's heat 
 
 When e'en pale hearts above their pitch do fly, 
 
 And, for a while do mad it valiantly. 
 
 His rage was temper'd well, no fear could daunt 
 
 His reason, his cold blood was- valiant. 
 
 Alas ! these vulgar praises injure thee; 
 
 Which now a poet would as plenteously 
 
 Give some brag-soldier, one that knew no more 
 
 Than the fine scabbard and the scarf he wore. 
 
 Fathers shall tell their children [this] was he, 
 
 (And they hereafter to posterity,) 
 
 Rank'd with those forces scourged France of old, 
 
 Burrough's and Talbot's * names together told. 
 
 J. EARLES. 
 
 * Sir John Talbot, first earl of Shrewsbury, of whom see 
 Collins' Peerage, iii. 9. Holinshed, Rapin, Carte, &c.
 
 ; : 
 i.-ijmijt-ifo- 
 
 No. V. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE EARL OF 
 PEMBROKE*. 
 
 [From the same M5.] 
 
 COME, Pembroke lives ! Oh ! do not fright our ears 
 With the destroying truth ! first raise our fears 
 And say he is not well: that will suffice 
 To force a river from the public eyes, 
 Or, if he must be dead, oh ! let the news 
 Speak in astonish'd whispers : let it use 
 Some phrase without a voice, and be so told, 
 As if the labouring sense gricv'd to unfold 
 Its doubtfull woe. Could not the public zeal 
 Conquer the Fates, and save your's ? Did the dart 
 Of death, without a preface, pierce your heart? 
 Welcome, sad weeds but he that mourns for thee, 
 Must bring an eye that can weep elegy. 
 
 * William, third Earl of Pembroke, son of Henry, Earl of 
 Pembroke, and Mary, sister to Sir Philip Sidney, was the eU 
 der brother of Earle's patron, and Chancellor of Oxford. 
 He died at Baynard's castle, April 10, 1630. 
 Q 2
 
 A look that would save blacks : whose heavy grace 
 
 Chides mirth, and bears a funeral in his face. 
 
 Whose sighs are with such feeling sorrows blown, 
 
 That all the air he draws returns a groan. 
 
 Thou needst no gilded tomb thy memory, 
 
 Is marble to itself the bravery 
 
 Of Jem or rich enamel is mis-spent 
 
 Thy noble corpse is its own monument ! 
 
 Mr. EARLES, Merton. 

 
 No. VI. 
 
 ON MR. BEAUMONT. 
 
 WRITTEN THIRTY YEARS SINCE, PRESENTIY AFTER HI? 
 DEATII. 
 
 [From " Comedies and Tragedies written by Francis Beav- 
 mont end John Fletcher, Gentlemen" folio. London. 
 1647.] 
 
 BEAUMOXT lies here : And where now shall we have 
 A muse like his to sigh upon his grave? 
 Ah ! none to weep this with a worthy tear, 
 But he that cannot, Beaumont that lies here. 
 Who now shall pay thy tomb with such a verse 
 As thou that lady's didst, fair Rutland's herse. 
 A monument that will then lasting be, 
 When all her rearble is more du.st than she. 
 In thee all's lost : a sudden dearth and want 
 Hath seiz'd on wit, good epitaphs are scant. 
 We dare not write thy elegy, whilst each fears 
 He ne'er shall match that copy of thy tears. 
 Scarce in an age a poet, and yet he 
 Scarce live the third part of his age to see, 
 But quickly taken off and only known, 
 Is in a minute shut as soon as shown.
 
 230 
 
 Why should weak Nature tire herself in vain 
 
 In such a piece, to dash it straight again ? 
 
 Why should she take such work beyond her skill, 
 
 Which, when she cannot perfect, she must kill ? 
 
 Alas ! what is't to temper slime and mire ? 
 
 But Nature's puzzled when she works in fire. 
 
 Great brains (like brightest glass) crack straight, while 
 
 those 
 
 Of stone or wood hold out, and fear not blows ; 
 And we their ancient hoary heads can see 
 Whose wit was never their mortality. 
 Beaumont dies young, so Sidney did before, 
 There was not poetry he could live to more, 
 He could not grow up higher, I scarce know 
 If th' art itself unto that pitch could grow, 
 Were't not in thee that hadst arriv'd the height 
 Of all that wit could reach, or nature might. 
 
 when I read those excellent things of thine, 
 Such strength, such sweetness couched in ev*ry line, 
 Such life of fancy, such high choice of brain, 
 Nought of the vulgar wit or borrow'd strain, 
 
 Such passion, such expressions meet my eye, 
 Such wit untainted with obscenity, 
 And these so unaffectedly exprest, 
 All in a language purely flowing drest, 
 And all so born within thyself, thine own, 
 So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon : 
 
 1 grieve not now that old Menander's vein 
 Is ruin'd to survive in thee again ;
 
 SSI 
 
 Such, in his time, was he of the same piece, 
 
 The smooth, even, nat'ral wit and love of Greece. 
 
 Those few sententious fragments shew more worth, 
 
 Than all the poets Athens e'er brought forth ; 
 
 And I am sorry we have lost those hours 
 
 On them, whose quickness comes far short of ours, 
 
 And dwell not more on thee, whose ev'rypage 
 
 May be a pattern for their scene and stage, 
 
 I will not yield thy works so mean a praise ; 
 
 More pure, more chaste, more sainted than are plays: 
 
 Nor with that dull supineness to be read> 
 
 To pass a fire, or laugh an hour in bed. 
 
 How do the Muses suffer every where, 
 
 Taken in such mouth's censure, in such ears, 
 
 That 'twixt a whiff, a line or two rehearse, 
 
 And with their rheume together spaul a verse? 
 
 This all a poem's leisure after play, 
 
 Drink, or tobacco, it may keep the day : 
 
 Whilst ev'n their very idleness they think 
 
 Is lost in these, that lose their time in drink. 
 
 Pity then dull we, we that better know, 
 
 Will a more serious hour on thee bestow. 
 
 Why should not Beaumont in the morning please, 
 
 As well as Plautus, Aristophanes ? 
 
 Who, if my pen may as my thoughts be free, 
 
 Were scurril wits and buffoons both to thee ; 
 
 Yet these our learned of severest brow 
 
 Will deign to look on, and to note them too, 
 
 That will defy our own, 'tis English stuff, 
 
 And th* author is not rotten long enough.
 
 232 
 
 Alas ! what phlegm are they compar'd to thee, 
 
 In thy Philaster, and Maifs-Tragcdy ? 
 
 Where's such a humour as thy Bessus ? pray 
 
 Let them put all their Thrasocs in one play, 
 
 He shall out- bid them ; their conceit was poor, 
 
 All in a circle of a bawd or whore ; 
 
 A coz'ning dance ; take the fool away 
 
 And not a good jest extant in a play. 
 
 Yet these are wits, because they'r old, and now 
 
 Being Greek and Latin, they are learning too : 
 
 But those their own times were content t' allow 
 
 A thirsty fame, and thine is lowest now. 
 
 But thou shall live, and, when thy name is grown 
 
 Six ages older, shall be better known, 
 
 "When th* art of Chaucer's standing in the tomb, 
 
 Thou shalt not share, but take up all his room. 
 
 JOHN EARLE.
 
 233 
 
 \3ril 
 
 .Aft bns 
 
 "NT VTT ' muf * 
 
 . 
 DEDICATION TO THE LATIN TRANSLATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ' :ff.T J0Q 
 
 Eixw B-A/x,. 
 
 h Juft 
 
 m :d Xl3 
 
 1i nsrfVf 
 
 d^ uodT 
 *< Serenissimo et Potentissimo Monarch se, Carolo Se- 
 
 cundo, Dei Gratia Magrue Britanniae, Frauciae et Ili- 
 bernias Regi, Fidei Defensori, &c. 
 
 Serenissime Rex, 
 
 Prodeat jam sub tuis auspiciis ilia patris tui gloriosis- 
 simi imago, ilia quS. magis ad Dei similituclinem, quam 
 qua Rex aut homo accedit. Prodeat vero eo colore pe- 
 regrino, quo facta omnibus conspectior fiat publica. Ita 
 enim tu voluisli, ut sic lingua omnium communi orbi 
 traderem, in qua utinam feliciorem tibi operam navare 
 licuisset, ut illam nativam elegantiam, illam vim verbo- 
 rum et lumina, illam admirabilem sermonis structuram 
 exprimercm. Quod cum fieri (fortasse nee a peritissi- 
 mis) a me certe non possit, prsestat interim ut cum ali-
 
 234 
 
 qua venustatis injuria magnam partem Europae alloqua- 
 tur, quam intra paucos sues gentis clausa apud caeteros 
 omnes conticescat. Sunt enim hie velut quaedam Dei mag- 
 nalia quse spargi expedit humano generi, et in onmium 
 linguis exaudiri : id pro mea facultate curavi, ut si non 
 sensa tanti authoris ornate, at perspicue et fide trade- 
 rem, imo nee ab ipsa dictione et phrasi (quantum Latini 
 idiomatis ratio permittit) vel minimum recederem. Sa- 
 cri enim codicis religiosum esse decet interpretem : et 
 certe proxime ab illo sacro et adorando codice, (qui in has 
 comparationes non cadit,) spera non me audacem futu- 
 rum, si dixero nullum inter caeteros mortalium, vel 
 autore vel argumento illustriorem, vel in quo viva ma- 
 gis pietas et eximie Christiana spiratur. 
 
 II abet vero sanctitas regia nescio quid ex fortunae suae 
 majestate sublimius quiddam et auguslius, et quae im- 
 perium magis obtinet in mentes hominvmi, et reveren- 
 tia majore accipitur : quare et his maxime instruments 
 usus est Deus, qui illam partem sacras paginje ad solen- 
 nem Dei cultum pertinentem, psalmos scilicet, et hym- 
 nos : cacteraque ejusmodi perpetuis ecclesiae usibus in- 
 servitura, transmitterent hominibus, ct auctoritatem 
 quandam conciliarent. Quid quod libentius etiam ar- 
 ripiunt homines sic objectam et traditam pietatem. 
 Quod et libro huic evenit, et erit magis eventurum, quo 
 jam multo diffusior plures sui capaces invenerit. 
 
 Magnum erat profecto sic meditari, sic scribere; 
 multo inajus sic vivere, sic mori: ut sit haec pene nimia 
 dictu pietas excmplo illius superata. Scit hcec ilia orbis 
 pars miserhma jam et coutaraiaatissima. Utinam
 
 hanc maturius intellexissent virtutem, quam jam sero 
 laudant, et admirantur amissam, nee ilia opus fuisset 
 dir& fornace, qua tarn eximia regis pietas exploraretur, 
 ex qua nos tantum miseri facti sumus, ille omnium feli- 
 cissimus ; cujus ilia pars vitae novissima et <erumnosis- 
 siraa et supremus dies, (in quo hominibus, et angelis 
 spectaculum factus stetit animo excelso et interrito, 
 summum fidei, constantise, patientiae exemplar, superior 
 malis suis, et tola simul conjesta inferni malitia) omnes 
 omnium triumphos et quicquid est humanae gloria 1 , su- 
 superavit. Nihil egistis O quot estis, hominum ! (sed 
 nolo libro sanctissimo quicquam tetrius prasfari, nee 
 quos ille inter preces nominal, maledicere) nihil, in* 
 quam, egistis hoc parricidio, nisi quod famam illius et 
 immortalitatemcum ssterno vestro probroet scelere con- 
 junxistis. Nemo unquam ab orbe condito tot veris om- 
 nium lacrymis, tot sinceris laudibus celebratus est. 
 Nulli unquam principum in secundis agenti illos fictos 
 plausus vel metus dedit, vel adulatio vendidit, quam hie 
 verissimos expressere fuga, career, theatiu:n et ilia om- 
 nium funestissima securis, qua obstupe, fecit hostes mo- 
 riens et csesus triumphavit. 
 
 Tu interim (Rex augustissime) vera et viva patris ef 
 figies, (cujus inter summas erat felicitates humanas, et 
 in adversis solatium te genuisse, in quo superstite mori 
 non potest) inflammeris maxime hoc mortis illius exem- 
 plo, non tam in vindictae cupidinem, (in quem alii te 
 extimulent, non ego) quam in heroicae virtutis, et con- 
 stantise zelum : hanc vero primum adeas quam nullavis 
 tibi invito eripiet, haereditariam pietatem ; et quo es in
 
 236 
 
 luos omnes affectu raaxime philostorgo, hunc librum 
 eodem tecum genitore satum amplectere ; die sapientias, 
 soror mea es, et prudentiam affinem voca; hanc tu con- 
 sule, hanc frequens meditare, hanc imbibe penitus, et in 
 animam tuam transfunde. Vides in te omnium con- 
 jectos oculos, iu te omnium bonorum spes sitas, ex te 
 omnium vitas pendere, quas jamdiu multi taedio proje- 
 cissent, nisi ut essent quas tibi impenderent. Magnum 
 onus incumbit, magna urget procella, magna expectatio, 
 major omnium, quam quae unquam superius, virtutum 
 necessitas : an sit regnum amplius in Britannia futurum, 
 an religio, an homines, an Dens, ex tua virtute, tua for- 
 tuna dependet: immo, sola potius ex Deo fortuna ; cujus 
 opera quo magis hie necessarium agnoscis, praesenta- 
 neam requiris, eo magis magisque, (quod jam facis) om- 
 ni pietatis officio promerearis : et ilia quae in te large 
 sparsit bonitatis, prudentiae, temperantiae, justitiae, et 
 ciiuiis regiae virtutis semina foveas, augeas, et in fructum 
 matures, ut tibi Deus placatus et propitius, quod de- 
 traxit patri tuo felicitatis humanae, tibi adjiciat, et om- 
 nes illius <erumnas conduplicatis in te beneficiis cora- 
 penset, et appelleris ille restaurator, quern te unic op- 
 tant omnes et sperant futurum, et ardentissimis precibus 
 expetit 
 
 Majestatis tuaehuraillimus devotissimusque subditus 
 et sacellanus, 
 
 Jo. EARLES.
 
 aUXBOf l/)39fi 
 ^ T -r-r-r* '' ' !l<? " WU'.W 
 
 1ST n i/T 
 
 U.'JU. T J.J.J.. 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON DR. PETER HEYLIN'S* MONU- 
 MENT IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 
 
 [Written by Dr. Earle, then Dean of Westminster.} 
 
 Depositum Mortale 
 
 Petri Heylyn, S. Th. D, 
 
 Hujus Ecclesia? Prebendarii et Subdecani, 
 
 * Peter Heylin was born at Bnrford, in Oxfordshire, Nov. 
 29, 1599, and received the rudiments of his education at the 
 free school in that place, from whence he removed to Hart- 
 hall, and afterwards obtained a fellowship at Magdalen Col- 
 lege, Oxford. By the interposition of Bishop Laud, to whom 
 he was recommended by Lord Danvei s, he was presented first 
 to tho rectory of Hemingford, in Huntingdonshire, then to a 
 prebend of Westminster, and lastly to the rectory of HougL- 
 ton in the Spring, in the diocese of Durham, which latter he 
 exchanged for Aliesford, in Hampshire. In 1 633 he proceed- 
 ed D. D. and in 1638, became rector of South Warnborough, 
 Hampshire, by exchange with Mr. Atkinson, of St. John's 
 College, for Islip, in Oxfordshire. In 1640 he was chosen 
 clerk of the convocation for Westminster, and in 1642 fol- 
 lowed the king to Oxford. After the death of Charles, he
 
 Viri plane memorabilis, 
 
 Egregiis dutibus instructissimi, 
 
 Ingenio acri et foecundo, 
 
 Judicio subacto, 
 Memoria ad prodigium tenaci, 
 Cui adjunxit incrcdibilcm in studiis patientiam 
 Qua; cessantibus oculis nun cessarunt. 
 
 Scripsit varia et plurima, 
 
 Qua 1 jam manibus homimim teruntur; 
 
 Et argumentis non vulgaribus 
 
 Stylo non vulgar! suffecit. 
 
 Et Majestatis Regias assertor 
 
 Nee florentis magis utriusque 
 
 Quam afflictse, 
 
 Idemque perduellium et scismaticae factionis 
 
 Impugnator acerrimus. 
 
 Contemptor invidiae 
 
 lost all his property, and removing with his family from place 
 to place, subsisted by the exercise of his pen till the Restora- 
 tion, when he regained his livings, and was made sub-dean of 
 Westminster. His constancy and exertions were supposed 
 by many to merit a higher reward, from a government, in 
 whose defence he had sacrificed every prospect ; but the 
 warmth of his temper, and his violence in dispute, were such 
 as rendered his promotion to a higher dignity in the church* 
 impolitic in the opinion of the ministers. He died May 8, 
 1662, and was interred in Westminster-abbey, under his own 
 stall. A list of his numerous publications, as well as a cha- 
 racter of him, may be found in Wood's Athena Oxonienses,i\. 
 275.
 
 239 
 
 t aniino infracto 
 
 Plura ejusmodi meditanti 
 
 Mors indixit silentium : 
 
 Ut sileatur 
 Efficere non potest. 
 
 Obiit Anno ^Etatis 63, et 8 die Mail, A. D. 1662. 
 Possuit hoc illi maestissima conjux.
 
 240 
 
 No. IX. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN DR. EARLE 
 AND MR. BAXTER. 
 
 [See Kennett'a Register, folio, Land. 1728, page 713.] 
 
 MR. BAXTER TO DIC. EARLE. 
 " REVEREND SIR, 
 
 " By the great favour of my lord chancellor's repre- 
 hension, I came to understand how long a time I have 
 suffered in my reputation with my superiors by your 
 misunderstanding me, and misinforming others; as if 
 when I was to preach before the king, I had scornfully 
 refused the tippet as a toy ; when, as (he Searcher and 
 Judge of Hearts doth know, that I had no such thought 
 or word. I was so ignorant in those matters as to 
 think that a tippet had been a proper ensign of a doctor 
 of divinity, and I verily thought that you offered it me 
 as such : and I had so much pride as to be somewhat 
 ashamed when you offered it me, that I must tell you 
 my want of such degrees; and therefore gave you no 
 answer to your first offer, but to your second was forced 
 to say, " It belongeth not to me, Sir." And I said not 
 to you any more ; nor had any other thought in my 
 heart than with some shame to tell you that I had no
 
 241 
 
 degrees, imagining I should have offended others, and 
 made myself the laughter or scorn of many, if I should 
 have used that which did not belong to me. For I must 
 profess that I had no more scruple to wear a tippet than 
 a gown, or any comely garment. Sir, though this be 
 one of the smallest of all the mistakes which of late have 
 turne:! to my wrong, and I must confess that my igno- 
 rance gave you the occasion, and I am far from im- 
 puting it to any ill will in you, having frequently heard, 
 that in charity, and gentleness, and peaceableness of 
 mind you are very eminent ; yet because I must not con- 
 temn my estimation with my superiors, I humbly crave 
 that favour and justice of you, (which I am confident 
 you will readily grant me,) as to acquaint those with the 
 truth of this business, whom, upon mistake, you have 
 misinformed, whereby in relieving the innocence of your 
 brother, you will do a work of charity and justice, and 
 therefore not displeasing unto God, and will much 
 oblige, 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your humble servant, 
 
 RICHARD BAXTER. 
 June 20, 1662. 
 
 P. S. I have the more need of your justice in this 
 case, because my distance denieth me access to those 
 that have received these misreports, and because any 
 public vindication of myself, whatever is said of me, is 
 taken as an unsufferable crime, and therefore I am ut- 
 
 B
 
 e.t 
 
 terly incapable of vindicating my innocency, or reme- 
 . . . . ; Bsafloias 10 
 
 dying their mistakes. ..^ 
 
 To the reverend and much honoured Dr. Earles, 
 
 Dean of Westminster, &c. These." 
 
 
 
 DR. EARLE, IN REPLY. 
 
 Hampton-Court, June 23. 
 
 "SIR, 
 
 " I received your letter, which I would have an- 
 swered sooner, if the messenger that brought it had re- 
 turned. I must confess I was a little surprized with the 
 beginning of it, as I was with your name; but when I 
 read further I ceased to be so. Sir, I should be heartily 
 sorry and ashamed to be guilty of any thing like ma- 
 
 that they were lignity or uncharitableness, especially 
 all such. Note to one of your condition, with whom, 
 
 by Mr. Baxter. ., , T .* 
 
 though I concur not perhaps in point of 
 
 judgment insome particulars, yetl cannot but esteem for 
 . your personal worth and abilities; and, indeed, your ex- 
 pressions in your letter are so civil and ingenuous, that 
 
 1 am obliged thereby the more to give. you all the satis- 
 faction I can. 
 
 As I remember, then, when you came to me to the 
 closet, and I told you I would furnish you with a tippet, 
 you answered me something to that purpose as you 
 write, but whether the same numerical words, or but 
 once, I cannot possibly say from my own memory, and 
 therefore I believe yours. Only this I am sure of, that
 
 243 
 
 1 said to you at my second speaking, that, some others 
 of your persuasion had not scrupled at 
 ^ w ^ ich might' suppose (if you had 
 
 in the passage not affirmed th contrary), that you had 
 
 6AfI?5^. te made me a forraal refusal ; of which 
 giving me then no other reason than 
 that " it belonged not to you," I concluded that you were 
 more scrupulous than others were. And, perhaps, the 
 manner of your refusing it (as it appeared to me) 
 might make me think you were not very well pleased 
 with the motion. And this it is likely I might say, 
 either to my lord chancellor or others ; though seriously 
 I do not remember that I spake to my lord -/chan- 
 cellor at all concerning it. But, sir, since you give me 
 now that modest reason for it, (which, by the way, is 
 no just reason in itself, for a tippet may be worn -with- 
 out a degree, though a hood cannot ; and it ,is 00 shame 
 at all to want these formalities for him that wariteth 
 not the substance,) but, sir, I say, since you give that 
 reason for your refusal, I believe you, and shall correct 
 that mistake in myself, and endeavour to rectify it in 
 others, if any, upon this occasion, have misunderstood 
 you. In the mean time I shall desire your charitable 
 opinion of myself, which I shall be willing to deserve 
 upon any opportunity that is offered me to do you ser- 
 vice, being, sir, 
 
 Your very humble servant, 
 
 Jo. EARLES." 
 
 " To my honoured friend, Mr. Richard Baxter, These/' 
 . R 2
 
 244 
 
 a on we? Jsv ,rfoum b'aimorrq JBtb mom A 
 
 ,nOOe OR J92 bflfi <J3JS) O8 9SO1 19V9 9(loW 
 
 Noi X. 
 
 MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION 
 
 IN STRFGLETHORP CHURCH, NEAR NEWARK-UPON-TRKNT, 
 IN LINCOLNSHIRE. 
 
 [From Le Neve' Monument .dwg-Zicana *. 8vo. Lond. 1718. 
 vol. iii. p. 182.] 
 
 ^ 
 . 
 
 STAY, reader, and observe Death's partial doom, 
 
 A spreading virtue in a narrow tombe; 
 
 A generous mind, mingled with common dust, 
 
 Like burnish'd steel, cover'd, and left to rust. 
 
 Dark in the earth he lyes, in whom did shine 
 
 All the divided merits of his line. 
 
 The lustre of his name seems faded here, 
 
 No fairer star in all that fruitfull sphere. 
 
 In piety and parts extreamly bright, 
 
 Clear was his youth, and fill'd with growing light, 
 
 * Two other epitaphs appear in this collection, on the 
 Earles of Norfolk, with whom I cannot find our author to hare 
 had the least connection. A full account of this family may 
 be seen in Blomefield's History qf Norfolk, vol. iii. p. 531.
 
 ttft 
 
 245 
 
 A morn that promised much, yet saw no noon; 
 None ever rose so fast, and set so soon. 
 All lines of worth were centered' here in one, 
 Yet see, he lies in shades whose life had none. 
 But while the mother this sad structure rears, "\ 
 A double dissolution there appears 
 He into dust dissolves, she into tears. 3 
 
 RICHARDUS EARLE *, Barn tu *. 
 Obijt decimo tertio die 
 
 Aug ti Anno Dom. 1697. 
 
 - < ~"n3 ; 
 
 /Etatis suae 24. 
 
 * The title was created by Charles the First, July 2, 1629, 
 and, I believe, became extinct at the decease of this person. 
 
 - fo has ,i;bB9t ,YAT 
 
 rtiv xn.bimqe A 
 
 1^5 A 
 
 ;i ni 

 
 1o J^if -^m sanamn- 
 .iifgno I : bonaq grit ncfjj ; 
 -:Jrn 6n tJiaonin NtttfftXJ. 
 wq n/jGj'/o o) t t8ir T t . 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF BOOKS OF 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 No.i. 
 
 A Caveat 
 
 ,riJiw.Js3i. for cowmen Cvr 
 '15>H setors vvlgarely culled 
 
 Uagabones, set forth by Thomas Harmon. 
 Efquier.for the vtilitcand proffyt ofhys 
 
 naturallCountrey. Newly agmented 
 , ^ludewr atid Jmprinted Anno Domini. 
 
 -fJanqoiqi!! M.D.LXUJJ. 
 -ham orij 
 
 VtWJhaWWWdi and allowed t according unto th( 
 -3d 9msii':<. G^ ee7 * cs Maiestyes Injunctions 
 
 . 
 
 execnted wood-cut, of two persons receiving pu- 
 una DJB , . 6 r 
 
 nishmeiit at the cart's tail from the hands of a beadle.] 
 
 Imprinted 
 
 at London in Fletestretat the signe of 'the 
 
 Faitlcm by Wylliam Gr-yffith, and are to be 
 
 sofde tit his shoppe in Saynt Dvnstones 
 
 Churche yank in the West. 
 
 [4to. black letter, containing thirty folios, very incorrectly 
 numbered.]
 
 247 
 
 I commence my list of Characters, with a volume, 
 which, although earlier than ihe period I originally in-' 
 tended to begin from, is of sufficient curiosity and inte- 
 rest to warrant introduction, and, I trust, to obtain par- 
 don from the reader for the additional trouble I am thus 
 preparing for him. 
 
 Mr. Warton, in his History of English Poet ry,(iv. 74.) 
 has given, with some trifling errors, a transcript of the 
 title, and says he has a faint remembrance of a Collec- 
 tion of Epigrams, by the author, printed about 1599: 
 these I have never been fortunate enough to meet with, 
 nor do they appear in the collections of Ames or Her- 
 bert, neither of whom had seen a copy of the present 
 work, although they mention Griffith's licence to print 
 it as dated in 1566 *. 
 
 It is dedicated to Elizabeth, countess of Shrewsbury; 
 Mr. Warton thinks " with singular impropriety," al- 
 though the motive^ppears at least to justify the mea- 
 sure, if it does not entitle the author to commendation. 
 He addresses this noble lady as a person of extreme be- 
 nevoleace, and lt as also aboundautly powrynge out 
 dayly [her] ardent and bountifull charytie vppon all such 
 as commeth for reliefe." " I thought it good," he con- 
 tinues, " necessary, and my bounden dutye, to ac- 
 quaynte your goodnes with the abhominable, wycked, 
 and detestable behauor of all these rowsey, ragged rab- 
 blement of rake helles, that vnder the pretence of great 
 
 * In the epistle to the reader, the author term* it '* this 
 second impression."
 
 248 
 
 misery, dyseases, and other innumerable calamites 
 whiche they fay no through irreat hipocrisye, do wyn 
 and gay e great alvnes in all places where they wyly 
 wantler." On this account, therefore, and to preserve 
 the kindness and liberality of the countess from imposi- 
 tion, Harman dedicates his book to that lady. 
 
 The notorious characters mentioned, are a " ruffler * ; a 
 upright man f ; a hoker or angglear J ; a roge ; a wylde 
 
 * A ntffler seems to have been a bully as well as a beggar, 
 he is thus described in the Fraternitye of Vacabondes ; (see 
 p. 256. ) " A ruffeler goeth wyth a weapon to seeke sernice, 
 saying he hath bene a seruitor in the wars, and beggeth for 
 bis reliefe. But his chiefest trade is to robbe poore wayfaring 
 men and market-women." la New Custome a morality, 1573, 
 Creweltie, one of the characters, is termed a rvjfler. See also 
 Decker's Belman of London. Sign. C. iv. 
 
 t " An upright man is one that goeth wyth the tninchion of 
 a starlc, which staffe they cal a Flitehma. This man is of so 
 much authority, -that meeting with any of his profession, he 
 may cal them to accompt, and comaund a share or snap vnto 
 liimseife of al that they have gained by their trade in one mo- 
 neth." Fraternitye of Vacabondes. 
 
 | This worthy character approaches somewhat near to a 
 shop-lifter. Decker tells us that " their apparele in which 
 they walke is commonly freize jerkins and gallye slops." 
 Belman. Sign. C. iv. 
 
 A rogue, says Burton, in his MS. notes to Decker'? 
 Jlfhmtn of London, " is not so stoute and [hardy] as the vp- 
 right man."
 
 j 19 djo brt* ,ZM** 
 
 roge *; a prygger of prauncers ; a pallyarde t ; a frater j ; 
 a Abraham man ; a fresh water mariner, or whipiacke; 
 a counterfet cranke || ; a dommerar 11 ; a dronken tinc- 
 kar**; a swadder or pedler; a jarke man, and a pa- 
 trico ff ; a demaunder for glymmar Jt ; a bawdy basket ; 
 
 * A person whose parents were rogues. 
 
 t " These be called also clapperdogens } " and " go with 
 patched clokes." Sign. C. iv. 
 
 t A Frater and a Whipiacke, are persons who travel with a 
 counterfeite license, the latter in the dress of a sailor. See 
 Fraternitye, Belman, &c. 
 
 .1*1 ZiA 
 
 " An Abraham-man is he that walketh bare-armed, and 
 bare-legged, and fayneth hymselfe mad, and caryeth a packe 
 of wool, or a stycke with baken on it, or such lyke toy, and 
 nameth himselfe Poore Tom." Fraternitye of Vacabondes. 
 
 || A person who asks charity, and feigns sickness and 
 disease. 
 
 IT One who pretends to be dumb. In Hannan's time they 
 were chiefly Welsh-men. 
 
 ** An artificer who mends one hole, and makes twenty. 
 
 tt A jarke man can read and write, and sometimes under- 
 stands a little Lathi. A patrico solemnizes their marriages. 
 
 ^ These are commonly women who ask assistance, feign- 
 ing that they have lost their property by fire. 
 
 A woman who cohabits with an upright man, and pro- : 
 fesses to sell thread, &c.
 
 a antem morte * ; a walking raorte j a doxe ; a dell ; a 
 kynchin morte ; and a kynchen co." 
 
 From such a list, several instances of the tricks, as 
 well as specimens of the language of the thieves of the 
 day, might with ease be extracted, did not the limits of 
 my little volume compel me to refrain from entering at 
 large into this history of rogues ; a restriction I the 
 more regret, from its containing several passages illus- 
 trating the manners of that period, and which would be 
 found of material use towards explaining many of the 
 allusions met with in our early English dramas, aud 
 now but imperfectly understood. 
 
 "HA Prygger of Prauncers. (Sign. C. iii. b.) 
 
 " A prigger of Prauncers be horse stealers, for to. 
 prig ge signifieth in their language to steale, and a praun- 
 cer is a horse, so beinge put together, the matter is plainc. 
 These go commonly in jerkins of leather or of white 
 frese, & carry little wandes in their hands, and will 
 walke through grounds and pasturs, to search and se "' 
 horses mete for their purpose. And if thei chaunce to 
 be met and asked by the owners of the grounde what 
 they make there, they fayne straighte that they have 
 loste theyr waye ; and desyre to be enstructed the bcste 
 
 
 * " These antem mortts be marled women, as there be bat 
 a fewe : for antem, in their language is a churche " c. Har- 
 mon. Sign. E. iv. A walking morte is one unmarried : a 
 doxe, a dell, and a kynchin morte, are all females; and a A- 
 chen co is a young boy not thoroughly instructed ill the art of 
 canting and prigging.
 
 251 
 
 way to suche a place. - : Titese will also repayrt to gen- 
 tlemens houses, and aske theyr charitye, and will offer 
 theyr seruice. And if you aske them what they can 
 doe, they wil save that they can kepe two or three gel- 
 dinges, and waite vppon a gentleman. These haue also 
 theyr women that, walkinge from them in other places, 
 marke where and what they see abrode, and sheweth 
 these priggars therof, when they meete, whych is wyth- 
 in a weeke or two. And loke, where they steale any 
 thynge, they conuey the same at the leaste three score 
 miles of, or more. There was a gentleman, a verye 
 frlende of myne, rydynge from London homewarde into 
 Kente, hauinge within three myles of his house bosy- 
 nesse, alyghted of his horse, and hys man also, in a 
 pretye village, where diuers houses were, and looked 
 about hym where he myghte haue a conuenyent person 
 to walke his horse, because he would speak w e a farmer 
 that dwelte on the backe side of the sayde village, little 
 aboue a quarter of a myle from the place where he light- 
 ed, and had his man to waight vpon hym, as it was 
 mete for his callynge : espieng a priggar there standing, 
 thinkinge the same to dwel there, charging this prity 
 prigginge person to walke his horse well, and that 
 they might not stande still for takynge of colde, and at 
 his returne (which he saide should not be longe,) he 
 would geue him a peny to drinke, and so wente about 
 his busines. Tbys peltinge priggar, proude of his 
 praye, walketh hys horses vp and downe, till he sawe 
 the gentleman out of sighte, and leapes him into the 
 saddell, and awaye he goeth a mayne. This gentlemnn
 
 252 
 
 o^j as naswted 9uj>oljsib s hm ; nodo3ingia usr 
 
 returning, and;firidyng:net hie horses, sente his man to 
 the one ende of the village, & he went himselfe vnto the 
 other cnde, and enquired as he went for hys horses that 
 were vralked, and began somewhat to suspecte, because 
 neither he nor his man coulde neyther see nor fynde 
 him. Then this gentleman diligently enquired of three 
 or fourc towne dwellers there whether any such person, 
 declaring his stature, age, apparel, and so manye lina- 
 jnentes of his body as he coulde call to remembraunce. 
 And vna voce, all sayde that no such man dwelte in their 
 streate, neither in the parish that they knewe of, but 
 some did wel remember that suche a one they sawe 
 there lyrkinge and huggeringe * two houres before th 
 gentleman came thether and a straunger to them. J 
 had thought, quoth this gentleman, he had here dwelled, 
 and marched home mannerly in his botes : farre from 
 the place he dwelt not. J suppose at his comming home 
 be sente such wayes as he suspected or thought mete to 
 search for this priger, but hetherto he neuer harde any 
 tidinges againe of his palfreys. J had the best gelding 
 stolen out of my pasture that J had amogst others, while 
 this boke was first a printing." 
 
 At the end of the several characters, the author givea 
 a list of the names of the most notorious thieves of his' 
 day, a collection of the cant phrases used by them, with 
 
 * In Florio's Italian Dictionary, the word dinascoso is ex- 
 plained " secretly, hiddenly, in hugger-tmigger t " ; See also 
 Reed's Shakspeare, xviii. 284. Old Plays, 1780. viii. 48.
 
 253 
 
 their significations ; and a dialogue between an tiprighte 
 
 man and a roge, which I shall transcribe : iniirt3T 
 
 " The vprigbtOfe canteth to the Roger. 
 
 Thevprighte man spaketh to the roge. 
 Man. Bene lyghtmans to thy quarromes in what 
 lipke hast thou lipped in this darkemanes ; whether in a 
 lybbege or in the strummell ? 
 
 God morrowe to thy bodye, in what house hast thou lyne 
 in all night whether in a bed, or in the strawe ? 
 
 Roge. J couched a hogeshed in a skypper this darke- 
 mans. 
 
 Ilaye me down to sleepe in a barne this night 
 Man. J towre ye strummell tryne vpon thy nabcher 
 & togman. 
 
 J see the straw hunge Tpon thy cap and coate. irtag 
 
 Roge. J saye by the Salomon J wyll lage it of with a 
 
 gage of bene house then cut to my nose watch,iBm bnfi 
 
 J sweare by the masse J wyll wash it of with a quart of 
 
 drinke, then saye to me what thou relit. 
 
 Man. Why, hast thou any lowre in thy bouge to 
 bouse? 
 
 - Why, hast thou any money in thy purse to drinke ? 
 Roge. But a flagge, a wyn, and a make. 
 
 But a grot, a penny, and a halfe-penny. 
 Man. Why where is the kene that hath the bene 
 bouse ? 
 
 Where is the house that hath the good drinke ? 
 Roge. A bene mort hereby at the signe of the 
 prauncer. 
 
 A good &ufe here by at the signe of the hors.
 
 254 
 
 Man. J cutt it is quyer buose J bousd a flagge the 
 lastc darkemans. 
 
 J saye it is small and naughfyc drynkc, J dranke a groat e 
 there the last night. 
 
 Roge. But bouse there a bord, and thou shah haue 
 bcueship. 
 
 But drinke there a shyllinge, and thou shalt haue very 
 good. 
 
 Tower ye, yander is the kene, dup the gygger, and 
 maund that is beneshype. 
 
 Se you, yonder is the house, open the doorc, and aske for 
 the best. 
 
 Man. This bouse is as benshyp as rome bouse. 
 This drinke is as good as zeyne. 
 
 Now J tower that bene bouse makes nase nabes. 
 
 Now J se, that good drynke makes a dronken heade. 
 
 Maunde of this morte what bene pecke is in her ken. 
 
 Aske of this wyfe what good meate shee hath, in her 
 house. 
 
 Koge. She hath a cacling chete, a grunting chete, 
 ruff pecke, cassan, and popplarr ofyarum. 
 
 She hath a hen, a pyg, baken, chese, and mylke porrage. 
 
 Stan. That is beneshyp to oure watche. 
 That is very good for vs. 
 
 Now we haue well bousd, let vs strike some chete. 
 
 None we haue well dronke, let vs steale some thinge. 
 
 Yonder dwelletha quyere cufFenit were beneshype to 
 royll hym. 
 
 Yonder dwelleth a hoggeshe and choyrlyshe man it vceare 
 eery well donne to robbe him.
 
 255 
 
 Rage. Xowe, bynge we a waste to the hygh pad, the 
 ruffmanes is by. 
 
 Na-ye, let "vs go hence to the hygh. zt'aye, the wode* it at 
 hande. 
 
 Man. So may we happen on the harmanes and cry the 
 jarke, or to the quyer ken and skower quyaer cramp- 
 rings and so to tryning on the chates. 
 
 So we maye chaunce to set in the stockes, eyther be whyp- 
 ped, eyther had to prison-house, and there be shackeled with 
 bolttes and fetters, and then to hange on the gallon- ex. 
 
 [Rogue.] Gerry gan the ruffian clye thee. 
 
 A corde in t hy mouth, the deuyll take thee. 
 
 Man. What ! stowe you bene cofe and cut benar 
 whydds ; and byng we to some vyle to nyp a bong, so 
 shall we haue lowre for the bousing ken and when we 
 byng back to the deuseauyel, we wyll fylche some 
 duddes of the rufferaans, or myll the ken for a iagge of 
 dudes. 
 
 What! holde your peace, good fellowe, and speake better 
 zeordes ; andgo we toLondon tocut a purse, then shalieehauc 
 money for the ale-house, and when we come backe ugayne 
 into the countrey, we uyll steale some lynnen clothes of one 
 hedges, or robbe some house for a bucke of clothes." 
 
 I have been induced, from the curiosity and rarity of 
 this tract, to extend my account of it farther, perhaps, 
 than many of my readers may think reasonable, and 
 shall, therefore, only add a specimen of Harruan's poetry, 
 with which the original terminates*
 
 " $3T Thus J conclude my bolde beggar's booke, 
 
 That all estates most playnely maye see; 
 
 .As in a glasse well pollyshed to looke, 
 
 Their double demeaner in eche degree ; 
 
 Their lyues, their language, their names as they be ; 
 
 That with this warning their myndes may be wanned 
 
 To amende their mysdeedes, and so lyue vnhanued." 
 
 Another tract of the same description is noticed in 
 Herbert's Ames (p. 885.) as printed so early as in 1565. 
 A copy of the second edition in the Bodleian Library, 
 possesses the following title : " The Fratcrnitye of Ua- 
 tabondes. As reel of ritflyng Vacabondes, as qfbeggerly, of 
 women as of men, of gyrles as of loyes, with their proper 
 names and qualities. With a description of tlie crafty com- 
 pany of Cousoncrs and Shifters. Whereunto also is ad- 
 ioyncd the xxv orders of Knaues, othera-yse called a Quar- 
 tern of Knaues, Confirmed for euer by Cocke Lorell *, Sfe. 
 Imprinted at London by lohn Awdelcy, dwellyng in little 
 Britayne strecte without Aldersgate, 1575." This, al- 
 though much shorter than Harman's, contains nearly 
 the same characters, and is 'therefore thus briefly dis- 
 missed. An account of it, drawn up by the editor of the 
 present volume, may be found in Brydges' British Biblio- 
 grapher, vol. ii. p. 12. 
 
 Herbert notices Cock Lorelles Bote, which he describes 
 to be a satire in verse, in which the author enumerates all the 
 most common trades and callings then in being. It was 
 printed, in black letter, Wynken de Worde, 4to. without date. 
 History of Printing ii. 224, and Percy's Relieves, i. 137, 
 edit. 1794.
 
 257 
 
 It may not be amiss to notice in this place, that a 
 considerable part of The Bel/nan of London, bringing 
 to light the most notorious rillanies that are now prac- 
 tised in the kingdom, fyc. 4to. 1608, is derived from Har- 
 man's Caveat. Among the books bequeathed to the 
 Bodleian, by Burton, (4to. G.8. Art. BS.) is a copy of the 
 Belman, with the several passages so borrowed, marked 
 in the hand-writing of the author of the Anatomy of Me- 
 lancholy, who has also copied the canting dialogue just 
 given, and added several notes of his own on the margin. 
 
 ii. Picture of a Puritane, 8770. 1605. [Dr. Farmer's 
 Sale Catalogue, page 153, No. 3709.] 
 
 iii, "A Wife now the Widdow of Sir Thomas Overbvrye. 
 Being a most exquisite and singular Poem of the 
 Choice of a Wife. Wherevnto are added many 
 Uiitty Characters, and conceited Newet, written by 
 himselfe and other learned Gentlemen his friends. 
 
 Dignum laude t-irum musa vetat mori, 
 Ccelo musa beat. Hor. Car. lib. 3. 
 
 London Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and are to bee 
 sold at his shop in Paule's Church-yard, at the signe of 
 the Tiger's head. 1614."* 
 
 [4to. pp. 64, not numbered.] 
 
 * In 1614 appeared The Husband, a Poeme, expressed in 
 a compleat man. See Censura Literaria, v. 365. John Da- 
 
 s
 
 258 
 
 Of Sir Thomas Overbury's life, and unhappy end, we 
 have so full an account in the Biographia, and the va- 
 rious historical productions, treating of the period in 
 which he lived, that nothing further will be expected 
 in this place. His Wife and Characters were printed, 
 says Wood, several times during his life, and the edi- 
 tion above noticed, was supposed, by the Oxford biogra- 
 pher, to be the fourth or fifth *. Having never seen a 
 copy of the early editions, I am unable to fix on any 
 character undoubtedly the production of Overbury, and 
 the printer confesses some of them were written by 
 " other learned gentlemen." These were greatly en- 
 creased in subsequent impressions, that of 1C14 having 
 only twenty-one characters, and that in 1622 contain- 
 ing no less than eighty. 
 
 vies, of Hereford, wrote A Select Second Hvsband for Sir 
 Tkomas Ocerbvries Wife, now a matchlesse widow. 8vo. Lond. 
 1616. And in 1673 was published, The Illustrious Wife, 
 riz. That excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overbtrie's Wife, illus- 
 trated by Giles Oldisworth, Nephew to the same Sir T. O. 
 
 * It was most probably the fifth, as Mr. Capel, who has 
 printed the Wife, in his very curious volume, entitled Pro- 
 lusions, 8vo. Lond. 1760, notices two copies in 1614, one in 
 8vo- which I suppose to be the third, and one in 4to. stated 
 in the title to be the fourth edition : die sixth was in the 
 following year, 1615 ; the seventh, eighth, and ninth were 
 in 1616, the eleventh in 1622, twelfth in 1627, thirteenth 1628, 
 fourteenth, 1630, fifteenth, 1632, sixteenth, 1638, and Mr. 
 Brand possessed a copy, the specific edition of which I am 
 unable to state, printed in 1655. Catalogue, No. 4927.
 
 259 
 
 A COURTIER, (Sign. C. 4. 6.) 
 
 To all men's thinking is a man, and to most men the 
 finest : all things else are denned by the understanding, 
 but this by the sences ; but his surest marke is, that hee 
 is to bee found onely about princes. Hee smells ; and 
 putteth away much of his judgement about the scitu- 
 ation of his clothes. Hee knowes no man that is not 
 generally knowne. His wit, like the marigold, openeth 
 with the sunne, and therefore he riseth not before ten 
 of the clocke. Hee puts more confidence in his words 
 than meaning, and more in his pronuntiation than his 
 words. Occasion is his Cupid, and hee hath but one 
 receipt of making loue. Hee followes nothing but in- 
 constancie, admires nothing but beauty, honours no- 
 thing but fortune. Loues nothing. The sustenance of 
 his discourse is newes, and his censure like a shot de- 
 pends vpon the charging. Hee is not, if he be out of 
 court, but, fish-like, breathes destruction, if out of his 
 owne element. Neither bis motion, or aspect are regu- 
 lar, but he mooues by the vpper spheres, and is the re- 
 flexion of higher substances. If you finde him not 
 heere, you shall in Paules with a pick-tooth in his hat, 
 a cape cloke , and a long stocking. 
 
 iv. " Satyrical Essayes, Characters, and others, or accu- 
 rate and quick Descriptions, fitted to the life of 
 their Subjects, van r&M $n ^yXarlee-fla* juaXAuv Ji" 8 TOVC 
 
 SXK. Theophras.
 
 260 
 
 Afpice ct h<c,ai forte aHqnid decoctins audit, 
 Jude taporata Lector mihiferucut aiirc. 
 
 Plagosus minims Plagiarius. 
 TmTaJSm. 
 
 John Stephens. London, Printed by Nicholas Okes, and 
 are to be sold by Roger Barnes, at his Shop in St. DKW- 
 stane*s Church-yard. 1615." 
 
 [8vo. pp. 321. title, preface, &c. 14 more.] 
 
 In a subsequent impression of this volume, 8vo. in 
 the same year> and with a fresh title page, dated 1631 *, 
 we find the author to be " John Stephens the younger, 
 of Lincoln's Inn :" no other particulars of him appear to 
 exist at present, excepting that he was the author of a 
 play entitled, Cinthia's Revenge ; or, Mtcnander's JZxtasie. 
 Lond. for Barnes, 1613, 4to. " which," says Langbaine, 
 " is one of the longest plays I ever read, and withal the 
 most tedious." Ben Jonson addressed some lines f to 
 
 * Co%eter, in his MSS. notes to Gildon's Lives of the Eng. 
 Dram. Poets, in the Bodleian, says that the second edition 
 was in 8vo. 1613, " Essays and Characters, Ironical and In- 
 structive," but this must be a mistake. 
 
 t " Who takes thy volume to his verruoui hand, 
 Must be intended still to vnderstand : 
 Who bluntly doth but looke vpon the same, 
 May aske, what author would conceals his name ! 
 Who reads may roaue, and call the passage darke, 
 Yet may, as blind men, sometimes hit the marke.
 
 261 
 
 the author, whom he calls " his much and worthily 
 esteemed friend," as did F. C, G. Rogers, and Thomas 
 Danet. 
 
 Stephens dedicates his book to Thomas Turner, Esq. 
 For the sake of a little variety I give one of his y three 
 satyricall Essayes on Cowardlinesse," which are written 
 in verse. 
 
 ESSAY I. 
 
 " Feare to resist good virtue's common foe, 
 And feare to loose some lucre, which doth grow 
 By a continued practise ; makes our fate 
 Banish (with single combates) all the hate, 
 Which broad abuses challenge of our spleene. 
 For who in Vertue's troope was euer scene, 
 That did couragiously with mischiefes fight, 
 Without the publicke name of hipocrite ? 
 Vaine-glorious, malapert, precise, deuout, 
 Be tearmes which threaten those that go about 
 To stand in opposition of our times 
 With true defiance, or satyricke rimes. 
 Cowards they be, branded among the worst, 
 Who (through contempt of Atheisme), neuer durst 
 Crowd neere a great man's elbow to suggest 
 Smooth tales with glosse, or Enuy well addrest. 
 
 Who reads, who roaues, who hopes to vnderstand, 
 May take thy volume to his vertuous hand. 
 Who cannot reade, but onely doth desire 
 To vnderstand, bee may at length admire. 
 
 B. I."
 
 262 
 
 These be the noted cowards of our age ; 
 
 Who be not able to instruct the stage 
 
 With matter of new shamelesse impudence : 
 
 Who cannot almost laugh at innocence ; 
 
 And purchase high preferment by the vvaies, 
 
 Which had bene horrible in Nero's dayes. 
 
 They are the shamefull cowards, who contemne 
 
 Vices of state, or cannot flatter them ; 
 
 Who can refuse advantage, or deny 
 
 Villanous courses, if they can espye 
 Some little purchase to inrich their chest 
 
 Though they become vncomfortably blest. 
 We still account those cowards, who forbeare 
 (Being possess'd with a religious feare) 
 To slip occasion, when they might erect 
 Homes on a tradesman's noddle, or neglect 
 The violation of a virgin's bed 
 With promise to requite her maiden-head. 
 Basely low-minded we esteeme that man 
 Who cannot swagger well, or (if he canj 
 Who doth not with implacable desire, 
 Follow revenge with a consuming fire. 
 Extortious rascals, when they are alone, 
 Bethinke how closely they have pick'd each bone, 
 Nay, with a frolicke humour, they will brag, 
 How blancke they left their empty client's bag. 
 Which dealings if they did not giue delight, 
 Or not refresh their meetings in despight, 
 They would accounted be both weake, vnwise, 
 And, like a timorous coward, too precise.
 
 263 
 
 Your handsome-bodied youth (whose comely face 
 
 May challenge all the store of Nature's grace,) 
 
 If, when a lustfull lady doth inuite, 
 
 By some lasciuious trickes his deere delight, 
 
 If then he doth abhorre such wantonioy; 
 
 Whose is not almost ready to destroy 
 
 Ciuility with curses, when he heares 
 
 The tale recited ? blaming much his years, 
 
 Or modest weaknesse, and with cheeks ful-blown 
 
 Each man will wish the case had beene his own. 
 
 Graue holy men, whose habite will imply 
 
 Nothing but honest zeale, or sanctity, 
 
 Nay so vprighteous will their actions seeme, 
 
 As you their thoughts religion will esteeme. 
 
 Yet these all-sacred men, who daily giue 
 
 Such vowes, wold think themselves vnfit to Hue, 
 
 If they were artlesse in the flattering vice, 
 
 Euen as it were a daily sacrifice : 
 
 Children deceiue their parents with expencc : 
 
 Charity layes aside her conscience, 
 
 And lookes vpon the fraile commodity 
 
 Of monstrous bargaines with a couetous eye: 
 
 And now the name of generosity, 
 
 Of noble cariage or braue dignity, 
 
 Keepe such a common skirmish in our bloud, 
 
 As we direct the measure of things good, 
 
 By that, which reputation of estate, 
 
 Glory of rumor, or the present rate 
 
 Of sauing pollicy doth best admit. 
 
 We do employ materials of wit,
 
 264 
 
 Knowledge, occasion, labour, dignity, 
 
 Among our spirits of audacity, 
 
 Nor in our gainefull protects do we care 
 
 For what is pious, but for what we dare. 
 
 Good humble men, who haue sincerely layd 
 
 Saluation for their hope, we call afraid. 
 
 But if you will vouchsafe a patient eare, 
 
 You shall perceiue, men impious haue most feare." 
 
 The second edition possesses the following title 
 " New Essayes and Characters, with a new Satyre in de- 
 fence of the Common Law, and Lawyers : mixt with re- 
 proofe against their Enemy Ignoramus, &c. London, 
 1631." It seems not improbable that some person had 
 attacked Stephens's first edition, although I am unable 
 to discover the publication alluded to. I suspect him 
 to be the editor of, or one of the contributors to, the 
 later copies of Sir Thomas Overbury's Wife, &c. : since 
 one of Stephens's friends, (a Mr. I. Cocke) in a poetical 
 address prefixed to his New Essayes, says " I am heere 
 enforced to claime 3 characters following the Wife*; 
 viz. the Tinker, the Apparatour, and Almanack-maker, 
 that I may signify the ridiculous and bold dealing of an 
 vnknowne botcher -. but I neede make no question what 
 he is; for his hackney similitudes discouer him to be the 
 rayler above-mentioned, whosoeuer that rayler be." 
 
 * These were added to the sixth edition of the Wife, in 
 16J5.
 
 v. Caracters upon Essaies, morall and diuine, written for 
 those good spirits that will take them in good pa"t, 
 and make use of them to good purpose. London : 
 Printed by Edta. Griffin far John Guillim, and are to 
 be sold at his shop in Britaines Burse. 1615. 12mo. 
 
 [Censura Literaria, v. 51. Monthly Mirror, xi. 16.] 
 
 vi. The Good and the Badde, or Descriptions of the Wor~ 
 thies and Vnworthies of this Age. Where the Best 
 may see their Graces, and the Worst di$cerne their 
 Basenesse. London, Printed by George Purslowefor 
 John Budge, and are to be sold at the great South-dore 
 of Paules, and at Brittaines Bursse. 1616. 
 
 [4to. containing pp. 40, title, dedication u to Sir Gilbert 
 Houghton, Knight," and preface six more. A second 
 edition appeared in 1643, under the title of England's 
 
 Selected Characters, &c.] 
 
 . 
 
 The author of these characters * was Nicholas Bre- 
 ton, who dedicates them to Sir Gilbert Houghton, of 
 
 * These are a king ; a queen ; a prince ; a privy-counsel- 
 lor; a noble man; a bishop ; a judge; a knight; a gentle- 
 man; a lawyer; a soldier; a physician; a merchant (their 
 good and bad characters) ; a good man, and an atheist or most 
 bad man ; a wise man and a fool ; an honest man and a knave . 
 an usurer ; a beggar ; a virgin and a wanton woman ; a quiet
 
 266 
 
 Houghton, Knight. Of Breton no particulars are now 
 known, excepting what may be gained from an epitaph 
 in Norton church, Northamptonshire *, by which we 
 learn that he was the son of Captain Breton, of Tain- 
 worth, in Staffordshire, and served himself in the Low 
 Countries, under the command of the Earl of Leicester. 
 lie married Anne, daughter of Sir Edward Legh, or 
 Leigh, of Rushell, Staffordshire, by whom he had five 
 sons and four daughters, and having purchasedthe ma- 
 nor of Norton, died there June 22, 1624 f. 
 
 Breton appears to have been a poet of considerable 
 reputation among his contemporaries, as he is noticed 
 with commendation by Puttenhem and Meres : Sir Sa- 
 muel Egerton Brydges declares that his poetical powers 
 were distinguished by a simplicity, at once easy and 
 elegant. Specimens of his productions in verse, may 
 be found in Percy's Reliques, Ellis's Specimens, Cooper's 
 Muses' Library, Centura Literaria ; and an imperfect list 
 
 woman ; an unquiet woman ; a good wife ; an effeminate fool ; 
 a parasite ; a bawd ; a drunkard ; a coward ; an honest poor 
 man ; a just man ; a repentant sinner ; a reprobate ; an old 
 man ; a young man, and a holy man. 
 
 * It is by no means certain that this may not be intended 
 to perpetuate the memory of some other person of the same 
 names, although Mr. Gough, in n note to the second volume 
 of Queen Elizabeth's Progresses, seems to think it belongs to 
 our author. 
 
 t Bridges' Northamptonshire, vol. ii. page 78, s. Shaw's 
 Staffordshire, vol. i. page 422.
 
 267 
 / 
 
 of his publications is given by Ritson, in the BibUdgra- 
 phia Poelica, which is augmented by Mr. Park, in the 
 Cens. Lit. ix. 163 *. 
 
 A WORTHIE PRIUIE COUNCELLEB. 
 
 A worthy priuie counceller is the pillar of a realme, in 
 whose wisedome and care, vnderGod and the king, stands 
 the safety of a kingdome ; he is the watch-towre to giue 
 warning of the enemy, and a hand of prouision for the 
 preseruation of the state : hee is an oracle in the king's 
 eare, and a sword in the king's hand, an euen weight in 
 
 * To these lists of -Breton's productions may be added, 
 
 1. A Solemne Passion of the Soule's Loue. 4to. Lond. 1598. 
 
 2. The Mother's Blessing, 4to. Lond. 1602. 3. A True De- 
 scription of tnt hankfulnesse ; or an enemie to Ingratitude. 
 4to. Lond. 1602. 4. Breton's Longing, 4to. title lost in the 
 Bodleian copy : prefixed are verses by H. T. gent. 5. A 
 Paste with a packet of Mad Letters, 4to. 1633, dedicated by 
 Nicholas Breton, to Maximilian Dallison of Hawlin, Kent. 
 The last tract excepted, all the above are in a volume be- 
 queathed by Bishop Tanner to the university of Oxford, which 
 contains many of the pieces noticed by Ritson, and, in addi- 
 tion, The Passion of a discontented Minde. 4to. Lond. 160?, 
 which I should have no hesitation in placing to Breton. At 
 the end of the volume are The Passions of the Spirit, and 
 Excellent Vercis worthey imitation of eutry Christian in thier 
 Conuersiation, both in manuscript, and, if we may judge from 
 the style, evidently by the author before-mentioned. For the 
 Figures, in the composition of which he had certainly a share, 
 see page 224.
 
 268 
 
 the ballance of justice, and a light of grace in the loue 
 of truth : he is an eye of care in the course of lawe, a 
 heart of loue in the seniice of his soueraigne, a mind of 
 honour in the order of his seruice, and a braine of inuen- 
 tion for the good of the common-wealth; his place is 
 powerful, while his seruice is faithful!, and his honour 
 due in the desert of his employment. In summe, he is 
 as a fixed planet mong the starres of the firmament, 
 which through the clouds in the ayre, shewes the nature 
 of his light. 
 
 AN VNWORTHIE COUNCELLER. 
 
 An vnworthie counceller is the hurt of a king, and 
 the danger of a state, when the weaknes of judgement 
 may commit an error, or the lacke of care may give 
 way to vnhappinesse : he is a wicked charme in the 
 king's eare, a sword of terror in the aduice of tyranny : 
 his power is perillous in the partiality of will, and his 
 heart full of hollownesse in the protestation of loue : 
 hypocrisie is the couer of his counterfaite religion, and 
 traiterous inuetion is the agent of his ambition : he is 
 the cloud of darknesse, that threatneth foule weather, 
 and if it growe to a storme, it is fearefial where it falls : 
 hee is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and wor- 
 thie of death in disloyalty to his soueraigne. In summe, 
 he is an vnfit person for the place of a counceller, and 
 an vnworthy subject to looke a king in the face.
 
 AN EFFEMINATE FOOt. 
 
 An effeminate foole is the figure of a baby : he loues 
 nothing but gay, to look in a glasse, to keepe among 
 wenches, and to play with trifles; to feed on sweet 
 meats, and to be daunced in laps, to be imbraced in 
 armes, and to be kissed on the cheeke : to talke idlely, 
 to looke demurely, to goe nicely, and to laugh conti- 
 nually : to be his mistresse' servant, and her mayd's 
 master, his father's love, and his mother's none-child : 
 to play on a fiddle, and sing a loue-song, to weare sweet 
 gloues, and look on fine things : to make purposes and 
 write verses, deuise riddles, and tell lies: to follow 
 plaies, and study daunces, to heare newes, and buy 
 trifles : to sigh for loue, and weepe for kindnesse, and 
 niourne for company, and bee sicke for fashion : to ride 
 in a coach, and gallop a hackney, to watch all night, 
 and sleepe out the morning : to lie on a bed, and take 
 tobacco, and to send his page of an idle message to his 
 mistresse ; to go vpon gigges, to haue his ruffes set in 
 print, to picke his teeth, and play with a puppet. In 
 summe, hee is a man-childe, and a woman's man, a 
 ga/e of folly, and wisedome's griefe *. 
 
 * I am not aware that the following specimen of his versifi- 
 cation, which is curious, has been reprinted.
 
 270 
 
 " THE CHESSE PLAY." 
 
 Very aptly denised by N. B. Gent. 
 
 [From " The Phcenix Nest. Built rp with the matt rare and 
 refined workes of Noblemen, tcoorthy Knights, gallant Gen- 
 tlemen, Masters qfArts, and brave Schollers,'' &c. " Setfoorth 
 by R. S. <tf the Inner Temple, Gentleman." 4<o. London, 
 by lohn lackson, 1593, page 28 J 
 
 A secret many yeeres vnseene, 
 In play at chesse, who knowes the game, 
 First of the King, and then the Queene, 
 Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name, 
 
 Of enerie Pawne I will descrie, 
 
 The nature with the qualitie. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 The King himselfe is haughtie care, 
 
 Which onerlooketh all his men, 
 
 And when he seeth how they fare 
 
 He steps among them now and then, 
 
 Whom, when his foe presumes to checke, 
 His seruants stand, to giue the necke. 
 
 THE QUEENE. 
 
 The Queene is queint, and quickc conceit, 
 
 Which makes hir walke which way she list, 
 
 And rootes them vp, that lie in wait 
 
 To worke hir treason, ere she wist : 
 Hir force is such against hir foes 
 That whom she meetes, she ouerthrovves.
 
 271 
 
 THE KNIGHT. 
 
 The Knight is knowledge bow to fight 
 
 Against his prince's euimies, 
 
 He neuer makes his walke outright, 
 
 But leaps and skips, in wilie wise, 
 To take by sleight a traitrous foe, 
 Might slilie seeke tlieir oaerthrowe. 
 
 THE BISHOP. 
 
 The Bishop he is wittie braine, 
 That chooseth crassest patlies to pace, 
 And euermore he pries with paine, 
 To see who seekes him most disgrace : 
 Such straglers when he findes astraie 
 He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. 
 
 THE ROOKES. 
 
 The Rookes are reason on both sides, 
 Which keepe the corner houses still, 
 And warily stand to watch their tides, 
 By secret art to worke their will, 
 
 To take sometime a theefe vnseene, 
 Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. 
 
 THE PAWNES. 
 
 The Pawne before the King, is peace, 
 Which he desires to keepe at home, 
 Practise, the Queene's, which doth not cease 
 Amid the world abroad to roame, 
 To finde, and fall npon each foe, 
 Whereas hip mistres meanes to goe.
 
 Before the Knight, is peril! plasf, 
 
 Which he, by skipping ouergoes, 
 
 And yet that Pawne can worke a cast, 
 
 To ouerthrow his greatest foes ; 
 
 The Bishop's prudence, prieng still 
 Which way to worke his master's will. 
 
 The Rooke's pooro Pawnes, are sillie swaines, 
 Which seeldome seme, except by hap, 
 And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines, 
 To catch a great man, in a trap : 
 
 So that I see, sometime a groome 
 May not be spared from bis roorae. 
 
 THE NATURE OF THE CHESSE MEN. 
 
 The King is stately, looking hie ; 
 
 The Queene doth beare like maiestie : 
 
 The Knight is bardie, valiant, wise : 
 
 The Bishop prudent and precise. 
 
 The Rookes no raungers out of raie *, 
 The Pawues the pages in the plaie. 
 
 Then rule with care, and quicke conceit, 
 And fight with knowledge, as with force ; 
 So beare a braine, to dash deceit, 
 And worke with reason and remorse. 
 
 Forgive a fault when young men plaie, 
 So giue a mate, and go your way. 
 
 Raie, for array ; order, rank. So Spencer. 
 " And all the damzels of that towne in ray, 
 Came daunting forth, and ioyous carrols song :" 
 
 Faerie Queene, book v. canto xi. 34.
 
 273 
 
 And when you plaie beware of checke, 
 Know how to sane and gine a necke : 
 And with a checke beware of mate ; 
 But cheefe, ware had I wist too late : 
 
 Loose not the Queene, for ten to one. 
 
 If she be lost, the game is gone." 
 
 vii. Essayes and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners. 
 Written by G. M. of Grayes'-Inne, Gent. (Wood- 
 cut of a keeper standing with the hatch of a pri- 
 son open, in his left hand a staff, the following 
 lines at the side ; 
 
 " Those that keepe race, I keepe ; if can, will still : 
 Hee's a true laylor strips the Diuell in ill.") 
 
 Printed at London for Mathew Walbancke and are to be 
 solde at his shops at the new and old Gate ofGrayes-Inne. 
 1618. 
 
 [4to. pp. 48. title, dedication, &c. eight more.] 
 
 A second edition appeared in 1638, and, as the title 
 informs us, " with some new additions :" what these 
 were I am not able to state, as my copy, although it ap- 
 pears perfect, contains precisely the same with that of 
 1618. 
 
 Of Geffray Mynshul, as he signs his name to the de- 
 dication, I can learn no particulars, but I have reason to 
 suppose him descended from an ancient and highly 
 T
 
 . S7* 
 
 respectable family, residing at Mifishull, in the county of 
 Chester*, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centu- 
 ries. By what mishap he became an inmate of the 
 King's-bench prison, from when he dates f his Essayes, 
 it is impossible to conjecture, but as he talks of usury 
 and extortion, as well as of severe creditors ; and advises 
 those who are compelled to borrow, to pay as soon as 
 they can, we may suppose that imprudence and extra- 
 vagance assisted in reducing him to the situation he at- 
 tempts to describe. 
 
 In the dedication to his uncle, " Mr. Matthew Main- 
 waring J, of Namptwich, in Cheshire," he says: 
 " Since my comming into this prison, what with the 
 strangenesse of the place, and stnctnesse of my liberty, 
 I am so transported that I could not follow that study 
 wherein I tooke great delight and cheife pleasure, and 
 to spend my time idley would but adde more discon- 
 
 In the church of St. Mary, at Nantwich, in that county, 
 is a monument erected by Geofry Minshull, of Stoke, Esq. 
 to the memory of his ancestors. Historical Account of Nant- 
 ii-ich, 8vo. 1774, page 33. King, in his Vale Royal of England, 
 folio, Land. 1656, page 74, speaks of Minshull-hall, " a very 
 ancient seat, which hath continued the successions of a wor- 
 shipfull race in its own name" &c. 
 
 t This place of residence was omitted in the second edition. 
 
 $ The Mainwarings were an old family of repute, being 
 
 mentioned as residing near Nantwich, by Leland, /tin. vol. 7. 
 
 pt. i. fwl. 43. See also the list of escheators of Cheshire, i 
 
 . Lcycester's Historical Antiquities, folio, Lond. 1673, p. 18i.
 
 J m .Ilurfem M feSf"?'^ <W 73 -V^ s :' 
 s to my troubled brest, and being in. this 
 
 ' chaos of discontentments, fantasies, must arise, which 
 will bring forth the fruits of an idle braine, for e mails 
 tninimum. It is farre better to giue some accompt of 
 lime, though to little purpose, than none at all. To 
 which end I gathered a handfull of essayes, and few 
 characters of such things as by my owne experience I 
 could say Probatum est : not that thereby I should 
 either please the reader, or shew exquisitenes of inuen- 
 tion, or curious stile ; seeing what I write of is but the 
 child of sorrow, bred by discontentments, and nou- 
 risht vp with misfortunes, to whose help melancholly 
 Saturne gaue his Judgement, the night-bird her ipuen- 
 tion, and the ominous rauen brought a quill taken from 
 
 his owne wing, dipt in the inke of miserv, as chiefe 
 ' r 
 
 ayders in this architect of sorrow." ^^ 
 
 " CHARACTER OF A PRISONER. 
 -j ; ( : .- 'UOOP.J 8 
 
 .K&vA prisoner is an impatient patient, lingring Vndcr 
 the rough hands of a cruell phisitian: his creditor hauing 
 cast his water knowes his disease, and hath power to 
 cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is 
 like Tantalus, who hath freedome running by his 
 doore, yet cannot enioy the least benefit thereof, His 
 greatest griefe is that his credit was so good and now 
 no better. His land is drawne within the compasse of 
 a sheepe's skin, and his owne hand the lortihcatkm thai 
 
 ' harres him of entrance: hee is fortunes tossing-bal, ap 
 
 T 2
 
 ;omooo rnsbo/n ni |y , 
 obiect that would make mirth melancholy: to his friends 
 
 an abiect, and ;i subject of nine dayes' wonder in euery 
 barber's shop, and a mouthfull of pitty (that he had no 
 betttr fortune) to midwiues and talkatiue gossips ; and 
 all the content that this transitory life can giue him 
 seemes but to flout him, in respect the restraint of li- 
 berty barres the true vse. To his familiars hee is like a 
 plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for feare of 
 infection, be is a monument ruined by those which 
 ruysed him, he spends the day with a hei mihl ! ve mi- 
 struui ! and the night with a nullis est medicabilis herbts." 
 
 rji, illui <*> jo; 
 
 ".*3nm if. - 
 
 U ;. 
 
 viii. Cures for the Itch. Characters. Epigrams. Epitaphs. 
 Ey H. P. Scalpat qui tangitur. London, Printed for 
 Thomas Jones, at the signe of the Blacke Raucn in the 
 Strand. 1626. [8vo. containing pp. 142, not num- 
 
 *l btred.J 
 
 I have little doubt but that the initials II. P. may be 
 attributed with justice to Henry Parrot, author of La- 
 juei ridiculosi : or, Springes for Woodcocks, a collection of 
 epigrams, printed at London in 1613 *, 8vo. and com- 
 mended by Mr. Warton, who says, that " many of them 
 
 * Mr. Steevens quotes an edition in 1606, but the preface 
 exprrssly states, that they were composed in 1611. " Duo 
 propemodum unni elapri sunt, ex quo primum Epigrammata 
 hac (qvnliacunque) raptim ttfestinanter perficiebam" &c.
 
 277 
 
 . 
 
 are worthy to be revived in modern collections*. To 
 the same person I would also give The 'Mast ive, or Young 
 WhelpeqftheOldDogge. Epigrams and Satyrs. Lond. 
 (Date cut off in the Bodleian copy,) 4to, The Mouse 
 Trap, consisting of 100 Epigrams, 4 to. 1606.' Epigrams 
 by H. P. 4to. 1608. and The More the Merrier : con- 
 taining three-score and odde headlesse Epigrams,' shot (like 
 the Fooles bolt) amongst you, light where they will, 4to. 
 1608 f- 
 
 It appears from the Preface to Ceres for the Itch, that 
 the Epigrams and Epitaphs were written in 1624, during 
 the author's residence in the country, at the" long nata- 
 tion "and the Characters^, which are " not so fully per- 
 fected as was meant," were composed " of later times." 
 The following afford as fair a specimen of this part of 
 the volume as can be produced. 
 
 A SCOLD. (B.5.) 
 
 Is a much more heard of, then least desired- Jo bee 
 scene or knowne, she-kinde of serpent ; the venom'd 
 sting of whose poysonous tongue, worse then the biting 
 
 of a scorpion, proues more infectious farre then can be 
 
 . 
 
 * History of English Poetry, iv. 73. 
 
 t Censura Lileraria, iii. 387, 388. 
 
 J These consist of a ballad-maker ; a tapster ; a drunkard ; 
 a rectified young man; a young nouice's new yonger wife ; 
 a common fidler; a broker; a iouiall good fellow; a hu- 
 mourist ; a malepart yong upstart ; a scold ; a good wife, 
 *nd aselfe conceited parcell witty old dotard. 
 
 _ ) auji
 
 9ft 
 
 cured. Slice's of all other 'creatures most vntameablesf, 
 and couets more the last word in scoulding, then doth a 
 Combater the last stroke for victorie. She lowdest 
 lifts it standing at her door, bidding, w th exclamation, flat 
 defiance to any one sayes hlacke's her eye. She dares 
 appeare before any Justice, nor is least daunted with the 
 sight of counstable, nor at worst threatnings of a cuck- 
 ing-stoole. There's nothing mads or raoues her more to 
 outrage, then but the very naming of a wispe, or if you 
 sing or whistle when she is scoulding. If any in the in- 
 terim chance to come within her reach, twenty to one 
 she scratcheth him by the face; or doe but offer to hold 
 her hands, sheel presently begin to cry out murder. 
 There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sacke, which 
 taking in full measure of digestion, shee presently for- 
 gets all wrongs that's done her, and thereupon falls 
 streight a weeping. Doe but intreat her with faire 
 words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imper- 
 fections, and layes the guilt vpon the whore her mayd. 
 Her manner is to talke much in her sleepe, what 
 wrongs she hath indured of that rogue her husband, 
 whose hap may be in time to dye a martyr; and so I 
 leaue them." 
 
 " A GOOD WIFE, 
 
 Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom 
 in conceit, and makes a perfect adiunct in societie; 
 shee's such a comfort as exceeds content, and proues so 
 precious as canot be paralleld, yea more inestimable then 
 may be valued. Shee's any good man's better second
 
 second scllc, the very mirror of true constant modesty, 
 the earefull huswife of frugalitie, and dearest obiect of 
 man's heart's felicitie. She commands with milduease, 
 rules with discretion, lines in repute, and ordeieth all 
 things that are good or necessarie. Shee's her husband's 
 solace, her house's ornament, her children's succor, and 
 her seruant's comfort. Shoe's (to be briefe) the eye of 
 warinesse, the tongue of silence, the hand of labour, 
 and the heart of loue. Her voice is musicke, her coun- 
 tenance meeknesse ; her minde vertuous, and her soule 
 gratious. Shee's a blessing giuen from God to man, a 
 sweet companion in his affliction, and ioynt co-partnec 
 upon all occasions. Shee's (to conclude) earth's chiefest 
 paragon, and will bee, when shee dyes, heauen's dearest 
 creature." 
 
 TIT ffe aJeg 
 ]iytiz 
 alnow 
 
 ix. Characters of Vertves and Vices. In two Bookes. By 
 Jos. Half. Imprint^ at London, 1627. r isH 
 <bn&d pnorv 
 
 The above is copied from a separate title in the col- 
 lected works of Bishop Hall, printed in folio, and dedi- 
 cated to James the First. The book, I believe, origi- 
 nally appeared in 8vp. 1608 *. Of this edition I have 
 iu vain endeavoured to procure some information, al 
 though I cannot fancy it to be of any peculiar rarity. 
 
 See Brand's SWe Ctfubgw, 8vp. 1807, page US, Ko, 
 3147.
 
 The volume contains a dedication to Edward Lord 
 Denny, and James Lord Hay, a premonition of the title 
 and use of characters, the proemes, eleven virtuous cha- 
 racters, and fifteen of a different discription. As Bi- 
 shop Hall's collected works have so lately appeared in a 
 new edition, and as Mr. Pratt * proposes to add a life of 
 the author in a subsequent volume, I shall forbear 
 giving any specimen from the works or biographical 
 notices of this amiable prelate, recommending the pe- 
 rusal of his excellent productions, to all who admire 
 the combination of sound sense with unaffected de- 
 votion. 
 
 _____ 
 
 ij 219 :-i:. 
 X. Micrologia, Characters, or Essayes, of Persons, Trades, 
 
 aojnf and Places, offered to the City and Country. By R. 
 M. Printed at London by T. C.for Michael Sparke, 
 duelling at the blue Bible, in Greene Arbor. 1629. 
 
 ["eve. containing 56 pages, not numbered.] 
 
 The characters in this volume are " A fantasticke 
 taylor; a player; a shooe-maker; a rope-maker; a 
 smith ; a tobacconist ; a cunning woman ; a cobler ; a 
 tooth-drawer; a tinker; a fidler; a cunning horse- 
 courser; Bethlem; Ludgate; Bridewell; (and) New- 
 gate." 
 
 * See the Gentleman's Magazine for October, 1810, 
 LXXXL317.
 
 b?oJ InJswba o no'teoibsfc B.aoiB^qpa.. SQIUK 
 
 "A PLAYER. (Sign- B. iuj. 
 dUiJgrM 10 noiJfnoms-ifT B t yjRH bfod s^m&ibne ,von9G 
 
 Is a volume of various conceits or epitome of time, 
 who by his representation and appearance makes things 
 long past seeme present. He is much like the compters 
 in arithmeticke, and may stand one while for a king, 
 another while a begger, many times as a mute or cy- 
 pher. Sometimes hee represents that which in his Kfe 
 he scarse practises to be an honest man. To the point, 
 hee oft personates a rover, and therein comes neerest to 
 himselfe. If his action prefigure passion, he raoes, 
 rages, and protests much by his painted heauens^ and 
 seemes in the heighth of this fit ready to pull loue out 
 of the garret, where pershance hee lies leaning on his 
 elbowes, or is imployed to make squips and crackers to 
 grace the play. His audience are often-times iiidicious, 
 but his chiefe admirers are commonly yoang 'wanton 
 chamber-maids, who are so taken with his posture and 
 gay clothes, they neuer come to be their owhs-Vomen 
 after. Hee exasperates naen's enormities in- publike 
 view, and tels them their faults on the stage, not as 
 being sorry for them, but rather wishes still hee- might 
 finde more occasions to worke on. He is the generall 
 corrupter of spirits, yet vntainted, inducing them, by 
 gradation to much lasciuious deprauity. He is a per- 
 spicuity of vanity in variety, and suggests youth to per- 
 petrate such vices, as otherwise they had haply nere 
 heard of. He is (for the most part) a notable hypocritCj 
 seeming what he is not, and is indeed what hee seemes 
 pot. .And if hee lose one of his fellow stroules, in the
 
 282 
 
 summer he turnes Jiiog of the gipsies : if not, some great 
 man's protection is a sufficient warrant for his peregri- 
 nation, and a raeanes to procure him the town-hll, 
 where hee may long exercise his qualities, with clown- 
 claps of great admiration, in a tone salable to the large 
 eares of his illiterate auditorie. Hee is one seldomc 
 takes care for old age, because ill diet and disorder, to- 
 gether with a consumption, or some worse disease, taken 
 vp in his full careere, haue onely chalked out his catas- 
 trophe but to a colon : and he scarsely suruiues to his 
 naturall period of dayes." 
 
 xi. Wldmzics : Or, A new Cast of Characters. Nona, non 
 nota deleclant. London, Printed by F. K. and are 
 to be sold l>y Ambrose Rithirdon, at the stgne of the 
 BulFt-head, in Paul's Church-yard. 1031. 
 
 [I2rho. containing in all, pp. 280.] 
 
 The dedication to this volume, which is inscribed to 
 sir Alexander Radcliff'e, is signed " Clitus Alexandri- 
 ntts ;" the author's real name I am unable to discover. 
 It contains twenty-four characters *, besides " A cater- 
 
 * An almanack-maker ; a ballad-monger ; a corranto- 
 coiner ; a decoy ; an exchange man ; a forrester ; a gamester ; 
 an hospitall man ; a iayler ; a keeper ; a launderer ; a nictall 
 man ; a neuter ; an ostler ; a post-master : a quest-man ; a 
 rnffian ; a sailor : a trauller ; an rnder sheriffe ; a wine- 
 soaker ; a Xantippcan ; a ycalous neighbour ; a zealous bro- 
 ther.
 
 character, IkroXne out of a bate ly an experienced game-- 
 ffer*;" and some lines " vpon the birth-day of his. 
 sonne lohn," of which the first will be sufficient to sat' 
 tisfy ail curiosity. Ji^.xa gnol yeas sari-aiari'- 
 
 .aoiteiimbs iB3i| io gqsl: 
 " God blesse thee, lohn, si aid 1o 
 
 And make thee such an one 
 e> That I may ioy 
 
 in calling thee my son. 
 
 eid 
 
 Thou art my ninth. 
 
 ,..,,.. 
 and by it I divine 
 
 That thou shall live 
 to love the Muses nine." &c. &c. 
 
 " A CORRANTO-COINEtt (p. 15.) 
 
 VI bso? 
 
 Is a state newes-monger ; and his owne genius is his 
 intelligencer. His mint goes weekely, and he coines 
 monie by it. Howsoeuer, the more intelligent mer- 
 chants doe jeere him, the vulgar doe admire him, hold- 
 ing his novels oracular: and these are usually sent for 
 tokens or intermissiue curtsies betwixt city and countrey. 
 Ilee holds most constantly one forme or method of dis- 
 course. He retaines some militarie words of art, which 
 hee shootes at randome ; no matter where they hitr, 
 they cannot wound any. He ever leaves some passages 
 
 * This eater-character, which possesses a separate title 
 page, contains delineations of an apparator ; a painter; a 
 pedler ; and a piper. _i^tli
 
 doubtful], as if they were some more intimate secrecies 
 of state, clozing his sentence abruptly with thereafter 
 you shall hearemore. Which words, I conceive, he onely 
 useth as baites, to make the appetite of the reader more 
 eager in his next week's pursuit for a more satisfying 
 labour. Some generall-erring relations he pickcs up, 
 as crummes or fragments, from a frequented ordinarie : 
 of which shreads he shapes a cote to fit any credulous 
 foole that will weare it. You shall never observe him 
 make any reply in places of publike concourse; hce 
 ingenuously acknowledges himselfe to bee more boundcn 
 to the happinesse of a retentive memory, than eyther 
 ability of tongue, or pregnancy of conceite. He car- 
 ryes his table-booke still about with him, but dares not 
 pull it out publikely. Yet no sooner is the table drawnc, 
 than he turnes notarie ; by which meanes hee recovers 
 the charge of his ordinarie. Paule* is his walke in win- 
 ter ; Moorfields * in sommer. Where the whole disci- 
 pline, designes, projects, and exploits of the States, Ne- 
 therlands, Poland, Switzer, Crimchan and all, are within 
 the compasse of one quadrangle walke most judiciously 
 
 * Moorfields were a general promenade for the citizens of 
 London, daring the summer mouths. The ground was left to 
 the city by Mary and Catherine, daughters of sir William 
 Fines, a Knight of Rhodes, in the reign of Edward the Con- 
 fessor. Richard Johnson, a poetaster of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, published in 1607, The Pleasant Walkes of Moore-fields. 
 Being the Guift of two Sisters, now beautified, to tlie continuing 
 fame of this worthy Citty. 4to. black-letter, of which Mr. 
 Gpugh, (Brit. Topog.) who was ignorant of the above, no- 
 tices an impression in 1617.
 
 and punctually discovered. But lon$ he must not' 
 walke, lest hee make his newos-presse stand. Thanks to " 
 his good invention, he can collect much out of a very 
 little: no matter though more experienced judgements 
 disprove him ; hee is anonymos, and that wil secure 
 him. To make his reptfrts more credible or, (which he 
 and his stationer onely ayroes at,) more vendible, in the 
 relation of every occurrent he renders you the day of 
 the moneth ; and to approve himselfe a scholler, he an- 
 nexeth these Latine parcells, or parcell-gilt sentences, 
 veteri stylo, novo stylo. Palisados, parapets, counter- 
 scarfes, forts, fortresses, rampiers, bulwarks, are his 
 usual dialect Hee writes as if he would doe some mis- 
 chiefe, yet the charge of his shot is but paper. Hee will 
 sometimes start in his sleepe, as one affrighted with vt 
 sions, which I can impute to no other cause but to the 
 terrible skirmishes which he discoursed of in the day- 
 time. He has now tyed himselfe apprentice to the 
 trade of minting, and must weekly performe his tasJce, 
 or (beside the losse which accrues to himselfe,) he dis- 
 appoints a number of no small fooles, whose discourse, 
 discipline, and discretion, is drilled from his state-service. 
 These you shall know by their Mondai's morning ques- 
 tion, a little before Exchange time ; Stationer, htrce you 
 any nezces? Which they no sooner purchase than po- 
 ruse ; and, early by next morniug, (lest their countrey 
 friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a 
 prize,) they freely vent the substance of it, with some 
 illustrations, if their underbuilding can furnish them 
 that wav. He would make vou heleeve that hee were
 
 knownc to some towiaq; indigence, but I boid him 
 the wisest man that hath the least faith to belceve him. 
 For his relations he stands resolute, whether they be- 
 come approved, or evinced for untruths ; which if they 
 
 bee, hec has contracted with his face never to blush for 
 ' 
 
 the matter. Hee holds especiall concurrence with two 
 philusoplnca.ll sects, though hee bee ignorant of the te- 
 nets of either : in the collection of his observations, he 
 is peripateticall, for hee walkes circularly ; in the di- 
 gestion of his relations he is Stoicall, and sits regularly. 
 Hee has an alphabeticall table of all the chiefe com- 
 manders, generals, leaders, provinciall townes, rivers, 
 ports, creekes, with other fitting materials to furnish 
 his imaginary building. Whisperings, muttrings, and 
 bare suppositions, are sufficient grounds for the autho- 
 ritie of his relations. It is strange to see with what 
 jjrecdinesse this ayrie Chameleon, being all lungs and 
 winde, .will swallow a rcceite of newes, as if it were pby- 
 sicall . yea, with what frontlesse insinuation he will 
 scrue himselfe into the acquaintance of some knowing 
 Intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his hollow sound, 
 do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his 
 voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, 
 they would vyc in number with the Iliads of many fore- 
 running ages. You shall many times finde in his Ga- 
 zettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions; 
 here a city taken by force long before it bee besieged ; 
 there a countrey laid waste before ever the cnemic en- 
 tered. He many times tortures his readers with imper- 
 Tinencies. yet are these the tolcrablest passages through-
 
 sate? 
 
 out all his discourse, He is the very'Iandskip of our age. 
 He is all ayre; his care alwayes open to all reports, 
 which, how incredible soever, must passe for currant, 
 and find vent, purposely to get him currant money, and 
 delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his chymeras 
 live not long ; a weeke is the longest in the citie, and 
 after their arrival, little longer in the countrey ; which 
 past, they melt like Butter, or match a pipe, and so 
 Burne *, But incleede, most commonly it is the height 
 f their ambition to aspire to the imployment of stop- 
 ping jnustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, pouder, 
 staves-aker, &c. which done, they expire. Now for his 
 habit, Wapping and Long-lane will give him his cha- 
 racter. Hee honours nothing with a more indeered ob- 
 servance, nor hugges ought with more intimacie than 
 antiquitie, which he expresseth even in his cloathes. I 
 have knowne some love fish best that smelled of the 
 panyer ; and the like humour reignes in him, for hee 
 loves that apparele best that has a tas-te of the broker. 
 Some have held him for a scholler, but trust mee such 
 are ina palpable errour, for hee never yet understood so 
 much Latine as to construe Gallo-Befgicus. For his li- 
 brarie (his owne continuations excepted,) it consists of 
 
 * This is certainly intended as a pun upon the names of two 
 news- venders or corranto-coiners of the day. Nathaniel Butter, 
 the publisher of " The certain Neti-es vf this present lt r eek," 
 lived at the Pyde-Bull, St. Anstin's-gate, and was the proprie- 
 tor of several of the intelligencers, from I6i.'2 to about 1640. 
 Nicholas Bourne was a joint partner with Butter in Tl>t 
 fhrredish Intelligencer, $to. Land. 1632.
 
 288 
 
 very few or no bookes. He holds himsclfe highly eft. 
 gaged to his invention if it can purchase him victuals ; 
 for authors hee never converseth with them, unlesse 
 they walke in Paules. For his discourse it is ordinarie, 
 yet hee will make you a terrible repetition of desperate 
 commanders, unheard of ex ploy ts; intermixing withall 
 his owne personal! service. But this is not in all com- 
 panies, for his experience hath sufficiently informed him 
 in this principle that as nothing workes more on the 
 simple than things strange and incredibly rare; so no- 
 thing discovers his weaknesse more among the know- 
 ing and judicious than to insist, by way of discourse, on 
 reports above conceite. Amongst these, therefore, hee 
 is as mute as a fish. But now imagine his lampe (if he 
 be worth one,) to be neerely burnt out ; his inventing 
 genius wearied and surloote with raunging over so 
 many unknowne regions ; and himselfe, wasted with the 
 fruitlesse expence of much paper, resigning his place of 
 weekly collections to another, whom, in hope of some 
 little share, hee has to his stationer recommended, 
 while he lives either poorely respected, or dyes miserably 
 suspended. The rest I end with his owne cloze : Next 
 miecke you shall heare more"
 
 - 
 xii. Picture loqucntcs : or Pictures drawne forth in Cha- 
 
 racters. Wit ha Toeme of a Maid- By Wye Sal- 
 tonstall. Ne sutor ultra crepidam. London i Printed 
 c. 1631. 
 
 I have copied the above title from an article in the 
 Censura Literaria*, communicated by Mr. Park, of 
 whose copious information, and constant accuracy on 
 every subject connected with English literature, the pub- 
 lic have many specimens before them. 
 
 SaltonstalFs f Characters, &c. reached a second edition 
 in 1635. A copy of this rare volume is in the possession 
 of Mr. Douce, who, with his accustomed liberality, per- 
 mitted my able and excellent friend, Mr. John James 
 Park, to draw up the following account of it for the pre- 
 sent volume. 
 
 To " The Epistle dedicatory" of this impression, the 
 initials (or such like) of dedicatee's name only are given, 
 for, says the dedicator, " I know no fame can redound 
 unto you by these meane essayes, which were written, 
 Ocium ntagis foventes, quam studentes gloria;, as sheap- 
 heards play upon their oaten pipes, to recreate them- 
 selves, not to get credit." 
 
 * Vol. 5, p. 372. Mr. Park says that the plan of the cha- 
 racters was undoubtedly derived from that of Overbury, but, 
 he adds, the execution is greatly superior. Four stanzas 
 from the poem entitled, A Maid, are printed in the same 
 volume. 
 
 t An account of the author may be found in the Athena 
 Oxon. Vol. 1. col. 640. 
 
 V
 
 290 
 
 " To ths Reader. Since the title is the first leafe 
 ihatcomcth under censure, some, perhaps, will dislike 
 the name of pictures, and say, I have no colour for it, 
 which I confesse, for these pictures are not dravvne in 
 colours, but in characters, representing to the eye of the 
 mindc divers severall professions, which, if they appeare 
 more obscure than I coulde wish, yet I would have you 
 know that it is not the nature of a character, to be as 
 smooth as a bull-rush, but to have some fast and loose 
 knots, which the ingenious reader may easily untie. 
 The first picture is the description of a maide, which 
 young men may read, and from thence learn to know, 
 that vertue is the truest beauty. The next follow in 
 their order, being set together in this little book, that iu 
 winter you may reade them ad ignem, by the fire-tide, 
 and in summer ad umbram, under some shadie tree, and 
 therewith passe away the tedious howres. So hoping of 
 thy favourable censure, knowing that the least judicious 
 are most ready to judge, I expose them to thy view, with 
 .Apelles motto, Ne sutor, ultra crepidam. Lastly, whe- 
 ther you like them, or leave them, yet the author bids 
 .you welcome. 
 
 " Thine as mine, 
 
 W. S." 
 
 The Original Characters are, 
 
 1. The world. 5. A true lover. 
 
 2. An old mau. 6. A countrey bride. 
 
 3. A woman. 7. A plowman. 
 
 4. A widdow. 8. A melancholy man.
 
 291 
 
 9. A young heire. 18. A chamberlaine. 
 
 10. A scholler in the uni- 19. A mayde.' 
 
 versity. 20. A ba~yl?y. 
 
 11. A lawyer's dark e. 21. A countrey fayre. 
 
 12. A townsman in Oxford. 11. A con ntrey alehouse. 
 IS. An usurer. S3. A horse-race. 
 
 14. A wandering rogue. 2 K A farmer's daughter. 
 
 15. A waterman. 25. A keeper. 
 
 10. A shepheard. 26. A gentleman's house in 
 
 17. A jealous man. the countrey. 
 
 The Additions to the second Edition are f 
 
 27. A fine dame. 3*. The tearme. 
 
 28. A country dame. 35. A mower. 
 
 29. A gardiner. 36. A happy man. 
 SO. A captaine. 37. An arrant knave. 
 
 31. A poore village. 38. An old waiting gentle- 
 
 32. A merry man. woman. 
 
 33. A scrivener. 
 
 u THE TEARME 
 
 Is a time when Justice keeps open court for all com- 
 mers, while her sister Equity strives to mitigate the ri- 
 gour of her positive sentence. It is called the Tearme, 
 because it does end and terminate busines, or else be- 
 cause it is the Terminus ad quern, that is, the end of the 
 countrey man's journey, who comes up to the Tearme, 
 and with his hobnayle shooes grindes the faces of the 
 poore stones, and so returnes againe. It is the soule of 
 the yeare, and makes it quicke, which before was dead. 
 u 2
 
 292 
 
 Inkcepers gape for it as earnestly as shelrish doe for 
 salt water after a low ebbe. It sends forth new bookes 
 into the world, and replenishes Paul's walke with fresh 
 company, where Quid IIOTI ? is their first salutation, 
 and the weekely newes their chiefe discourse. The ta- 
 vernes are painted against the tearme, and many a 
 cause is argu'd there and try'd at that barre, where you 
 are adjudg'd to pay the costs and charges, and so dis- 
 mist with ' welcome gentlemen.' Now the citty puts 
 her best side outward, and a new play at the Blackfryers 
 is attended on with coaches. It keepes watermen from 
 sinking and helpes them with many a fare voyage to 
 Westminster. Your choyse beauties come up to it onely 
 to see and be scene, and to learne the newest fashion, 
 and for some other reci cations. Now monie that has 
 beene long sicke and crasie, begins to stirre and walke 
 abroad,ei<peciallyifsomeyoungprodigalls come to towne, 
 who bring more money than wit. Lastly, the tearme is 
 the joy of the citty, a deare friend to countrymen, and 
 is never more welcome than after a long vacation." 
 
 xiii. London and Country carbonadoed and quartered into 
 $euerall Characters. By Donald Lupton, 8vo. 1632. 
 
 [See British Bibliographer, i. 464 ; and Brand's .sale 
 Catalogue, page 66, No. 175k]
 
 293 
 
 xiv. Character of a Gentleman, appended to Brathwait's 
 Ejigliah Gentleman, 4to. London, by Felix Kyng- 
 ston,&,-c. 1653. 
 
 xv. " A strange Metamorphosis of Man, transformed info 
 a Wildernesse. Deciphered in Character!. London, 
 Printed by Thomas Harper, and are to be sold by 
 Lazcrence Chapman at his shop in Holborne, 1634." 
 
 [I2mo. containing pp. 296, not numbered] 
 
 This curious little volume has been noticed by Mr. 
 Haslewood, in the Centura Literaria (vii. 284.) who 
 says, with justice, that a rich vein of humour and 
 amusement runs through it, and that it is the apparent 
 lucubration of a pen ab!e to perform better things. Of 
 the author's name I have been unable tu procure the 
 least intelligence. 
 
 " THE HOUSE (^p. 16.) 
 
 Is a creature made, as it were, in waxe. When Na- 
 ture first framed him, she took a secret complacence in 
 her worke. He is even her master-peece in irracionall 
 things, borrowing somewhat of all things to set him 
 forth. For example, his slicke bay coat hee tooke from 
 the chesnut; his necke from the rainbow, which per- 
 haps make him rain so wel. His maine belike he took 
 from Fegaws, making him a hobbic to make this a com-
 
 pleat gennet *, which main he weares so curltl, much 
 after the women's fashions now adayes ; this I am 
 sure of howsoever, it becomes them, [and] it sets forth 
 our gennet well. His legges he borrowed of the hart, 
 with his swiftnesse, which makes him a true courser 
 indeed. The starres in his forehead hee fetcht from 
 heaven, which will not he much mist, there being so 
 many. The little head he hath, broad breast, fat but- 
 tocke, and thicke tayle are properly his owne, for he 
 knew not where to get him better. If you tell him of 
 the homes he wants to make him most compleat, he 
 scornes the motion, and sets them at his heele. He is 
 well shod especially in the upper leather, for as for his 
 soles, they are much at reparation, and often faine to be 
 removed. Nature seems to have spent an apprenti- 
 ship of yeares to make you such a one, for it is full seven 
 yeares ere hee comes to this perfection, and be fit for the 
 saddle : for then (as we,) it seemes to come to the yeares 
 of discretion, when he will shew a kinde of rationall 
 judgement with him, and if you set an expert rider on 
 his backe, you shall sec how s^nsiblie they will talke to- 
 gether, as master ancWscholler. When he shall be no 
 
 * Mr. Steevens, in a note to Othello, explains a jennet to 
 be a Spanish horse; but from the passage just given, I confess 
 it appeals to me to mean somewhat more. Perhaps a jennet 
 was a horse kept solely for pleasure, \vhose mane was suffered 
 to grow to a considerable length, and was then ornamented 
 with platting, &c. A hobby might auswer to what we uow 
 term a hogged poney.
 
 295 
 
 sooner mounted and planted in the seat with the reins 
 in one hand, a switch in the other, and speaking with 
 his spurres in the horse's flankes, a language he wel 
 understands, but he shall prance, curvet, and dance 
 the canaries* halfe an houre together in compasse of a 
 
 * The Canaries is the name of an old dance, frequently 
 alluded to in our early English plays. Shakipeare uses it in 
 All's well that ends well 
 
 " I have seen a medicine, 
 That's able to breathe life into a stone ; 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 
 With spritely fire and motion j" 
 
 Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Mustek, Jv. 391. says 
 that it occurs in the opera of Dioclesian, set to music by Pur- 
 ccll, and explains it to be " a very sprightly movement of 
 two reprises, or strains, with eight bars in each: the time 
 three quarters in a bar, the first pointed." I take this oppor- 
 tunity of mentioning, that among Dr. Rawlinson's MSS. in 
 the Bodleian, [Poet. 108.] is a volume which contains 
 a variety of figures of old dances, written, as I conjecture, 
 between the years 1566 and 1580. Besides several others 
 are t he pavyan ; my Lord of Essex mea/ures ; lyntennell ; the 
 old allmayne ; the longe pavian ; quanta dyspayne ; the nyne 
 muses, &c. As the pavian is mentioned by Shakspeare, in 
 the Merry Wives of Windsor, and as the directions for dancing 
 the figure have not been before discovered, I shall make no 
 apology for offering them in the present note. 
 
 " THE LONOE PAVIAN, 
 
 ij singles, ad uble forward ; ij singles syde ; a dub-e forward; 
 replnce backe once, ij singles syde, a duble forward, one
 
 296 
 
 bushell, and yet still, as he thinkes, get some ground, 
 shaking the goodly plume on his h^ad with a comely 
 pride. This will our Bucephalus do in the lists : but 
 when hee comes abroad into the fields, hee will play the 
 countrey gentleman as truly, as before the knight in tur- 
 nameut. If the game be up once, and the hounds in 
 chase, you shall see how he will pricke up his eares 
 streight, and tickle at the sport as much as his rider 
 shall, and laugh so loud, that if there be many of them, 
 they will even drowne the rurall harmony of the dogges. 
 "When he travels, of all innes he loves best the signe of 
 the silver bell, because likely there he fares best, espe- 
 cially if hee come the first, and get the prize. He carries 
 his eares upright, nor seldome ever lets them fall till they 
 be cropt off, and after that, as in despight, will never 
 weare them more. His taile is so ess^ntiall to him, that 
 if he loose it once hee is no longer an horse, but ever 
 stiled a curtail. To conclude, he is a blade of Vulcan's 
 forging, made for Mars of the best metall, and the post 
 of Fame to carrie her tidings through the world, who, if 
 he knew his own strength, would shrewdly put for the 
 monarchic of our wildernesse." 
 
 single backe twyse, ij singles, a duble forward, ij singles syde, 
 prerince backe once ; ij singles syde, a duble forward, re- 
 prince backe twyse."
 
 297 
 
 xvi. The true Character of an untrue Bishop : with a Re- 
 cipe at the end how to recover a Bishop if hee were 
 last. London, printed in the years. 1641 *. 
 
 [4to. pp. 10, besides title.] 
 
 xvii. Character of a Projector, by Hogg. 4to. 1642. 
 
 xviii. Character of an Oxford Incendiary. Printed for 
 
 Robert White in 1643. 4to. 
 [Reprinted in the Ilarlcian Miscellany, V. 469. edit. 1744.] 
 
 xix. The Reformado precisely charactered (with a frontis- 
 piece.) 
 
 [See the Sale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq. 8vo. 
 Lond. 1800. page 66. No. 1110.] 
 
 xx. " A new Anatomic, or Character of a Christian or 
 Round-head. Rxpretsing his Description, Excel- 
 lencie, Happiness and Innocencie. Wherein may 
 appear how far this blind world is mistaken in their 
 unjust Censures of him. Virtus in Arduis. Pro- 
 
 * I have a faint recollection of a single character in a rare 
 volume, entitled " A Boulster Lecture," &c. Lond. 1640.
 
 298 
 
 verbs xii. 26 ; and Judc 10, quoted.) Imprimatur 
 John Downame. London, Printed for Robert 
 Leybourne, and are to be sold at the Star, under 
 Peter's Church in Corn-hill, 1645. 8vo. pp. 13. 
 
 [la Ashmole's Museum.] 
 
 xxi. In Lord North's Forest of Varieties, London, Printed 
 by Richard Cotes, 1645, are several Characters, as 
 lord Orford informs us, " in the manner of sir 
 Thomas Overbury." Royal and Noble Authors, 
 ill. 82. Of this volume a second edition appeared 
 in 1659, neither of these, however, I have been 
 able to meet with. For some account of the 
 work, with extracts, see Brydges' Memoirs of the 
 Peers of England, 8vo. London. 1802. page 343. 
 
 xxii. Characters and Elegies *. By Francis Wortley 
 Knight and Baronet. Printed in theyeere 1646." 4to. 
 
 The characters are as follow : 
 
 1. The character of his royall majestic ; 2. The cha- 
 racter of the queene's majestic ; 3. The hopeful prince ; 
 4. A true character of the illustrious James Duke of 
 York; 5. The character of a noble general ; 6. A true 
 
 " The Elegies, according to Wood, are upon the loyalists 
 who lost their lives in the king's service, at the end of which 
 are epitaphs.
 
 299 
 
 English protestant ; 7. An antinomian,or anabaptisticall 
 independent; 8. A jesuite ; 9. The true character of a 
 northerne lady, as she is wife, mother, and sister; 
 10. The politique neuter; 11. The citie paragon j 12. A 
 sharking committee-man ; 13. Britanicus his pedigree 
 a fatall prediction of his end ; 14. The Phoenix of the 
 Court. 
 
 Britanicus his Pedigree a fatall Prediction of his End. 
 
 I dare affirme him a Jew by descent, and of the tribe 
 of Benjamin, lineally descended from the first King of 
 the Jewes, even Saul, or at best he ownes him and his 
 tribe, in most we reaoe of them. First, of our English 
 tribes, I conceive his father's the lowest, and the 
 meanest of that tribe, stocke, or generation, and the 
 worst, how bad soever they be ; melancholy he is, as 
 appeares by his sullen and dogged wit; malicious as 
 Saul to David, as is evident in his writings; he wants 
 but Saul's javelin to cast at him ; he as little spares the 
 king's friends with his pen, as Saul did Jonathan his 
 sonne in his reproach ; and would be as free of his 
 javelin as his pen, were his power sutable to his will, 
 as Ziba did to Mephibosheth, so does he by the kin^,he 
 belies him as much to the world,as he his master to Da- 
 vid, and in the day of adversitie is as free of his tongue 
 as Shimei was to his soveraigne, and would be as hum- 
 ble as he, and as forward to meet the king as he was 
 David, should the king returne in peace. Abithaes 
 there cannot want to cut off the dog's head, but David
 
 300 
 
 is more mercifull then Shimei can be wicked ; may he 
 first consult with the witch of Enclor, but not worthy of 
 so noble a death as his own sword, die the death of 
 Achitophel for feare of David, then may he be hang'd 
 up as the sonnes of Saul were against the sunne, or ra- 
 ther as the Amelekiteswho slew Isbosheth, and brought 
 tidings and the tokens of the treason to David; may 
 his hands and his feet be as sacrifices cut off, and so pay 
 for the treasons of his pen and tongue ; may all heads 
 that plot treasons, all tongues that speake them, all pens 
 that write them, be so punisht. If Sheba paid his head 
 for his tongue's fault, what deserves Britannicus to pay 
 for his pen and trumpet ? Is there never a wise woman 
 in London ? we have Abishaes. 
 
 Francis Wortley, was the son of Sir Richard Wortley, 
 of Wortley, in Yorkshire, knight. At the age of seven- 
 teen he became a commoner of Magdalen College, Ox- 
 ford; in 1610 he was knighted, and on the 29th of June 
 in the following year, was created a baronet ; being then, 
 as Wood say?, esteemed an ingenious gentleman. During 
 the civil wars he assisted the royal cause, by raising a 
 troop of horse in the king's service; but at their conclu- 
 sion he was taken prisoner, and confined in the tower 
 of London, where it seems he composed the volume just 
 noticed. In the Catalogue of Componnders his name ap- 
 pears as " of Carleton, Yorkshire," and from thence we 
 learn that he paid 500/. for his remaining property. In 
 the Athena Oxonienscs may be found a list of his works. 
 but I have been unable to trace the date of his decease.
 
 SOI 
 
 Mr. Granger says that " Anne, his daughter, married the 
 second son of the first Earl of Sandwich, who took the 
 name of Wortley," and adds that the late Countess of 
 Bute was dtscended from him. Biographical History, n. 
 810. 
 
 xxiii. The Times anatomized, in sever-all Characters. By 
 T. .F[ord, seruant to Mr. Sam. Man*.] Difficile 
 est Satyram non scribere. Juv. Sat. 1. London, 
 Printed for W. L. Anno 1647." 
 
 [12mo. in the British Museum.] 
 
 The Contents of the several! Characters. 
 
 1. A good king. 13. An envious man. 
 
 2. Rebelion. 14. True valour. 
 
 3. An honest subject. 15. Time. 
 
 4. An hypocritical convert 16. A newter. 
 
 of the times. 17. A turn-coat. 
 
 5. A souldier of fortune. 18. A moderate man. 
 
 6. A discontented person. 19. A corrupt committee- 
 
 7. An ambitious man. man. 
 
 8. The vulgar, 20. A sectary. 
 
 9. Errour. 21. Warre. 
 
 10. Truth. 22. Peace. 
 
 11. A selfe-seeker. 23. A drunkard. 
 
 12. Pamphlets. 24. A novice-preacher. 
 
 * (MS. interlineation in a copy among the King's pamphlets.)
 
 302 
 
 ?5. A scandalous preacher. 29. Religion. 
 
 26. A grave divine. 30. Death. 
 
 27. A selfe-conceited man. 
 
 " PAMPHLETS 
 
 Are the weekly almanacks, shewing what weather is in 
 the state, which, like the doves of Aleppo, carry news Jo 
 every part of the kingdom. They are the silent tray tors 
 that affront majesty, and abuse all authority, under the 
 colour of an Imprimatur. Ubiquitary flies that have of 
 late so blistered the eares of all men, that they cannot 
 endure any solid truth. The ecchocs, whereby what is 
 done in part of the kingdome, is heard all over. They 
 are like the mushromes, sprung up in a night, and dead 
 in a day; and such is the greedinesse of men's natures 
 (in these Athenian dayes) of new, that they will rather 
 feigne then want it." 
 
 xxiv. Character of a London Diurnal, 4to. 1047. [This 
 was written by Cleveland, and has been printed 
 in the various editions of his poems.] 
 
 xxv. Character of an Agitator. Printed in the Teare 
 1647. 4to. pp. 7. 
 
 This concludes with the following epitome " Hee 
 was begotten of Lilburne, (with Overton's helpe) in
 
 303 
 
 Newgate, nursed up by Cromwell, at first by the army, 
 tutored by Mr. Peters, counselled by Mr. Walwin and 
 Musgarve, patronised by Mr. Martin, (who sometimes 
 sits in counsell with them, though a member) and is like 
 to dye no where but at Tyburne, and that speedily, if 
 hee repent not and reforme his erronious judgement, 
 and his seditious treasonable practises against king, 
 parliament, and martiall discipline itselfe. Finis." 
 
 xxvi. In Mr. Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754, we have 
 The Surfeit to A. E. C. 3vo. Lend. 1656, which is 
 there represented to consist of Characters, 
 
 xxvii. Characters of a Temporizer and an Antiquary. 
 [In " Naps upon Parnassus," 8vo. 1658. See 
 the Censura Literaria, vol. vi. p. 225 ; vol. vii. 
 p. 341.] 
 
 xxviii. Satyrical Characters, and handsom Descriptions, 
 in Letters, 8vo. 1658. [Catalogue of Thomas 
 Britton the Small Coal Man, 4to. p. 19. No. 102.] 
 
 xxix. A Character of England, as it KOS lately presented 
 in a Letter to a Noble-man of France. With Re-
 
 S04 
 
 factions upon Callus Castratus. The third Edi- 
 tion. London. Printed for John Crooke, and are 
 to be sold at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-Yard, 
 1659. 
 
 (12mo. pp. 66, title and preface 20 more.) 
 
 This very severe satire upon the English nation was 
 replied to in the following publication, 
 
 xxx. A Character of France, to which is added Gallits 
 Castratus, or an Answer to a late slanderous Pam- 
 phlet, called the Character of England. Si talin 
 nefanda et facinora quis non Donocritus ? London, 
 Printed for Nath. 'Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhill, 
 1659. 
 
 xxxi. A perfect Description of the People and Country of 
 Scotland. London. Printed for J. S. 1659. 
 
 (12mo. pp. 21. besides the title.) 
 
 xxxii. A brief Character of the Low Countries under the 
 States, being Three Weeks Observation of the Victs 
 and Vertues of the Inhabitants. Non seria semper. 
 London, Printed for H. S. and are to be sold ly
 
 305 
 
 H. Lowndes, at the White Lion in St. PauPs Church 
 Yard, neer the little North Dow/y 1659. 
 
 (12mo. pp. 500. title, &c. 6 more.) 
 
 Written by Owen Feltham, and appended to the se- 
 veral folio editions of his Resolves, 
 
 xxxiii. The Character of Italy : Or, The Italian Anato- 
 miz'd by an English Chirurgion. Difficile est 
 Satyram non scribere. London : Printed for 
 Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Cornhil. 1660. 
 
 [12ino. pp. 93, title and preface 12 more.] 
 
 xxxiv. The Character of Spain : Or, An Epitome of Their 
 Virtues and Vices. 
 
 Adeo sunt mulla, loquacem 
 Ut lassare queant Fabiurn. 
 
 London : Printed for Nath. Brooke, at the Angel in Corn* 
 Ml. 1660. 
 
 [I2mo. pp. 93, title, &c. 12 more.] 
 
 axxv. Essayes and Characters, by L. G. 8vo. 1661. 
 [See Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1754 j
 
 306 
 
 
 xxxvi. The AtsemUy-man. Written in the Year 1647. 
 
 >f, and arc to be 
 Church, in Ffcel- 
 
 - 9itfi(Tib TO :3q R as a wo eld to SWIM 
 
 [4to, pp. 22.] 
 
 ' 
 
 Sir John Birkenhead was the author of this character, 
 which was printed again in 1681, and in 1704 with the 
 following title, " The Assemblyman. Written in the Year 
 1647 ; but proves the true character of (Cerberus) the ob- 
 servutor, MDCCIV." It was also reprinted in the Harleian 
 
 ff ** ** r " 
 
 Mtstellany, v;03. For an account of the author, see the 
 Biographia Britannica, edit. Kippis, ii. 324. 
 
 jjw to Uol o< 
 
 .nrljiv i;jiiotd3 P.I 
 
 xitVii. iFifly-Jive\ Enigmatical Characters, all very ex- 
 actly drawn .to the Life, from several Persons, 
 Humours, Dispositions* Pleasant and full of 
 Delight. By R F. Esq. ; London : Printed for 
 William Crook, at the sign of the Three Bibles 
 on Fleet-bridge. 1665 }." 
 
 [8vo. pp. 135, title, index, &c. not numbered, 11 more.] 
 
 . 
 
 With a very curious and rare frontispiece. 
 t I omit to particularize these characters, as many of the 
 trtles are extremely long " of a lady of excellent conversa- 
 tion. Of one that is the foyle of good conversation." &c. &c. 
 
 - 
 { Mr. Feed possessed a copy, dated in 1658. See his Ca- 
 
 <, No. 2098/
 
 307 
 
 *%** it'll n& 
 >r . Richard Flecknor, the author, of l 
 
 more known t'rom haviu^ his name affixed to one of the 
 severest satires ever written by Drjtden, than froraany 
 excellence of his own as a poet or dramatic writer. Mr. 
 Reed conceives him to have been a Jesuit, and Pope 
 terms him an Irish priest. Lan^li^ine says, that " his 
 acquaintance with the nobility #as more than wi:h the 
 muses, and he had a greater propensity to rhyming, than 
 a genius to poetry." As a proof of the former assertion 
 the Duke of Newcastle prefixed two copies of verses to 
 his characters, in which he calls Flecknoe " his worthy 
 friend," and says: 
 
 * Flecknoe, thy characters are so full of wit 
 And fancy, as each word is throng'd with it. 
 Each line's a volume, and who reads would swear 
 Whole libraries were in each character. 
 Nor arrows in a quiver stuck, nor vet 
 Lights in the starry skies are thicker set, 
 Nor quills upon the anned porcupine, 
 Than wit and fancy in this work of thine. 
 
 W. Newcastle." 
 
 To confirm the latter, requires only the perusal of his 
 verses, which were published in 1653, under the title of 
 Miscellania. Besides these, be wrote five* dramatic 
 
 * Langbaute notices a prologue intended for a play, called 
 The Physician against liis Will, which he thinks was never 
 published. A MS. note in my copy of tlje Dramatic fotett, 
 say* it was printed in 1712.
 
 pieces, the titles of which may be found in the Bio- 
 frapha Dramatica ; a collection of Epigrams, 8vo. 
 1670; Ten Years Travels in Europe. A short Discourse 
 (f the English Stage, affixed to Love's Dominion, 8vo. 
 1654; The Idea of his Highness Oliver, late Lord Protec- 
 tor,cfc. 8vo. 1659. &c. &c. 
 
 " CHARACTER OF A VALIANT MAN." (page 61.) 
 
 " He is onely a man ; your coward and rash being 
 but tame and savage beasts. His courage is still the 
 same, and drink cannot make him more valiant, nor 
 danger lesse. His valour is enough to leaven whole ar- 
 mies, he is an army himself worth an -army of other 
 men. His sword is not alvvayes out like children's dag- 
 gers, bur. he is alwayes last in beginning quarrels, though 
 first in ending them. He holds honour (though delicate 
 as chrystall) yet not so slight and brittle to be broak 
 and crackt with every touch ; therefore (though most 
 wary of it,) is not qucrilous nor punctilious. He is ne- 
 ver troubled with passion, as knowing no degree*beyond 
 
 * The Bodleian library contains " The Affections of a 
 piotu Soule, unto our Sntiowr-Chrift. Expressed in a mired 
 treatise of verse and prose. By Richard Flecknoe." 8vo. 
 1640. This I can scarcely consent to give to Mac FIccknoe, 
 - as in the address " To the Town Reader," the author informs 
 us that, " ashamed of the many idle lionrs he has spent, and 
 to avoid the expence of more, he has retired from the town' 
 and we are certain that Mac resided there long after.
 
 309 
 
 clear courage, and is alwayes valiant, but never furious, 
 lie is the more gentle i' th' chamber, more fierce he's in 
 the field, holding boast (the coward's valour,) and 
 cruelty (the beast*.*,) unworthy a valiiat man. He is 
 only coward in this, that he dares not do an unhand- 
 some action. In fine, he can onely be evercome by 
 discourtesie, and has but one deflect he cannot talk 
 much to recompence which he dos the more." 
 
 xxxviii. TheCharacter of a Coffee-house, with the symptoms 
 vfaTown-witt. With Allowance. April \\, 1673. 
 London, Printed for Jonathan Edwin, at the Three 
 Roses in Ludgate-street, 1673. 
 
 [Folio, reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, with an an- 
 swer to it, vol. vi. 429 433.] 
 
 xxxix. Essays of Lore and Marriage : Being Letters 
 written by two Gentlemen, one dissuading from 
 Love, the other an Answer thereunto. With some 
 Characters, and other Passages of Wit. 
 
 Si quando gratabere curis, 
 
 H<EC lege, pro moestte medicamine mentis habelo. 
 
 Ijondon, Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun m St. Paul's 
 Church-yard, 1673. 
 
 [12mo. pp. 103, title, &c. 4 more.]
 
 310 
 
 , T,. S,, >*>*9&Wi * -, , _. , 
 
 xi. The Character- of a Fanatick. $ *V of Quality. 
 London. 1075. 
 
 [4to. pp. 8. Reprinted in the Harleian Mitcellany, vii. 
 596.] 
 
 
 
 xli. Character of a Towne Gallant 
 of a Tnwne Miss 
 of an honest drunken Curr 
 of a pilfering Taylor 
 tfan Exchange Wenck 
 of a Sollidtor 
 of a Scold 
 of an ill Husband 
 of a Dutchman 
 of a Pawnbroker 
 of a Tally Man 
 
 1675. 
 
 
 ,4to. See Bale Catalogue of George Steevens, Esq. 8\*o. 
 ,T.4i^ London, 1800, pae 66, No. 1 1 10.] 
 
 xlii. A Whip for a Jockey : or, a Character of an Horse- 
 courter. 1677. London, Printed for JR. H. 1677. 
 
 [8vo. pp. 29.]
 
 xliii. Four .for a P^nny^or Poor Robin's Character of an 
 unconscionable PdzonlroKer^ ancl^Ear-mark of an 
 oppressing Tally-man : zcith'a Jriendly Description 
 of a Bum-bdiley, aud his merciless setting cur, or . 
 follower. With Alloicance, London, Printed for 
 L. C. 1678. 
 
 [4to. reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, vol. iv. p. 141.] 
 
 xliv. Character of an ugly Woman : or, a Hue and Cry 
 after Beauty, in prose, written (Jt>y the Duke of 
 Buckingham) in 1678. See Lord Orford's Royal 
 und Noble Authors, by Park, iii. 369. 
 . c ^ 
 
 -. .\o 
 
 slv, Character of a disbanded Courtier, fngenium Galbx 
 male habitat. 1681. 
 
 [Folio, pp. 2. Reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, 
 i. 356.] 
 
 ' *?. .or* 
 
 xlvi. Character of a certain ugly old P . London, 
 
 Printed in the Year 1634. 
 
 [In Oldham's Works, 8vo. London, 1684.] 
 
 . 
 
 xlvii. Twelve ingenious Characters : or pleasant Descrip- 
 tions of the Properties of tundry Persons mud 
 Things, vis.
 
 312 
 
 An importunate dunn; a servant or br,il<fj ; a paun- 
 broker; a prison; a tavern ; atcold; .a bad husband; a 
 town-fop ; a btucd ; a fair and happy wiik-maid ; the 
 quack's directory; a young enamourist. 
 
 Licensed, June the 2d, 1681. R. P. London, printed foi 
 S. Norri,and are to be sold by most booksellers, 1686. 
 
 [I2mo. pp. 48.] 
 
 xlvrii. Character of a Trimmer. By Sir William Coventry. 
 
 1689- 
 [4to. See Bibliotheca Harleiana, v. 4'278.] 
 
 This was written long before publication, as is proved 
 by the following 
 
 xlix. Character of a Tory in 1659, in unswer to that of a, 
 Trimmer (never published) both written in King 
 Charles' 't reign. 
 
 [Reprinted in the Works of George Villiern, second Duke 
 of Buckittglium. 4to. Lond. 1721.] 
 
 1. Characttri addressed to Ladies of Age. 8vo. Loud. 
 
 1689. 
 [Brand's Sale' Catalogue, p. 66, No. 1747.]
 
 sis 
 
 li. The Ceremony-monger, kis Character, in six Chap- 
 ters, 4" c - 4" c - ty -E- Hickeringill, Rector of the 
 Rectory of Alt-Saints, in Colchester. London, 
 Printed and are to be sold by George Larkin, at 
 the Two Sieans, without Bisltopsgate. 1689. 
 
 [4 to. pp. 66.] 
 
 lii. Character of a Jacobite. 1690. 
 [4to. See Bibl. Harl. v. No. 4279.] 
 
 The following are without date, but were probably 
 printed before 1700 *. 
 
 liii. Character of an Ill-court-favourite, translated from the 
 French. 
 
 [4to. reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, ii. 60.] 
 
 liv. Character of an honest and worthy Parliament-Man. 
 [Folio, reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, ii. 336.] 
 
 * In. Butler's Remain, published by Thyer, 2 vols. 8vo. 
 1759, are several Characters by the author of Hudibras, and 
 consequently written previously to this date, but as they de 
 not appear to have been printed so early, they cannot, with 
 propriety, be included in this list.
 
 Iv. Characterism, or the Modern Age displayed, 
 
 [Brand's Sale Catalogue, No. 1757.] 
 8tfOlT03flfl03 a>IA 83TOV1 
 
 Ivi. Character of the Presbyterian Pastors and People of 
 Scotland. 
 
 [Bibl. Harleiana, v. No. 4280.] 
 ni gnbhwlo ' .1 ami ,* 
 
 ill " ,fa3383IQ>;t. 
 
 lvH. : Cterc/er ofacompltat Physician or NatitritKst *. 
 
 [Bibl. Harleiana, v. No. 4364.] 
 OJ 3ltlfiailTjq6 v 
 
 la Uie extracts made from the foregoing series of CAa- 
 racters, Uie original orthography has been most scrupulously 
 attended to, in order to assist in shewing the progress and 
 variation of the English language. 
 
 1UO V fiji 
 
 - si=s ~ 
 
 iw.s \o ,-><;..-;. 
 
 idl , . . 
 
 . 
 
 I
 
 jmboM. sAs to t mhMttytM i ' 
 
 [.T2tt -oVL (Sa^AaioO && s'bnsiS] 
 ADDITIONAL NOTES AND CORRECTIONS. 
 
 
 Page 3, line 4. for //or/s read sports. 
 
 4, line 12. " table-book." The custom of writing in 
 table-books, or, as it was then expressed, " in 
 tables," is noticed, and instances given in Reel's 
 Shakspearc, vi, 13. xii, 170. xviii, 88. Dr. 
 Farmer adduces a passage very applicable to 
 the text, from Hall's character of the hypocrite. 
 " He will ever sit where he may be scene best, 
 and in the midst of the sermon pulles out his 
 tables'ni haste, as if he feared to loose that note," 
 &c. Decker, in his Guls Hornebooke, page 8, 
 speaking to his readers, says, " out with your 
 tables," &c. 
 
 6, note 6. This is also mentioned in Whimzies, 
 
 8vo. 1631, p. 57. " Hce must now betake 
 
 himself to prayer and devotion; remember the 
 
 founder, benefactors, head, and members of that 
 
 famous found^li.n : all which he performes with 
 
 as much zeale us an actor after the end of a 
 
 play, when hee prayes for his majestic, the 
 
 lords of his most honourable privie councell, 
 
 and all that love the king."
 
 316 
 
 Page 14, note 10. From a subsequentedition, obligingly 
 pointed out to me by the rev. Mr. arch-deacon 
 Nares, I find that this also is a translation : 
 Regimen Sanitatis Salerni. This booke teach- 
 yng all people to gouerne the in health, is trans- 
 lated out of the Latine tongue into Englishe, by 
 Thomas Paynell, whiche booke is amended, aug- 
 mented, and diligently imprinted. 1575. Colo- 
 phon. If Jmprynted at London, by Wyllyam 
 How, for Abraham Ueale. The preface says, 
 that it was compiled for the use " of the moste 
 noble and victorious kynge of England, and of 
 Praunce, by all the doctours in Phisicke of the 
 Uniuersitie of Salerne." 
 
 19, line 5, for " muchi" read much in. Line 8, in- 
 sert comma at the end. 
 
 ib. line 9, " door-postt." It was usual for public 
 officers to have painted or gilded posts at their 
 doors, on which proclamations, and other do- 
 cuments of that description, were placed, in 
 order to be read by the populace. See various 
 allusions to this custom, in Reed's Shakspeare, 
 v. 267. Old Plays, iii. 303. The reformation 
 means that they were, in the language of our 
 modern churchwardens, " repaired and beau- 
 tified," during the reign of our alderman. 
 
 50, line 10, for Gollobelgicus read Gallcbelgicus. 
 
 53, line 7. " post and pair," was a game at cards, 
 of which I can give no description. The author
 
 317- 
 
 p. g :,'^ fifllol? __ , 
 of the Compleat Gamester notices it as " very 
 much played in the West of England." See 
 Dodsley's Old Playt, 1780. vii. 296. 
 
 Page 54, line 9 " guarded with more gold lace." The 
 word guarded is continually used by the wri- 
 ters of the sixteenth century for fringed or 
 adorned* See Reed's Shakspeare, vii. 272. Old 
 Plays, iv. 36. 
 
 . 
 66, line 18, " clout." Shakspeare (Cymbeline, act iv. 
 
 scene 2.) uses the expression of clouted brogues, 
 which Mr. Steevens explains to be " shoes 
 strengthened with clout or Ao6-nails." 
 
 71, line 2. " dragon that pursued the woman." Evi- 
 dently an allusion to Revelations, xii. 15. 
 
 103, note 8, line 2, for Styla read Hyla in both in- 
 
 *OD T" 
 
 stances. 
 
 ib. note 10, line 5, for Leiden read Leyden. 
 
 - 
 
 Ill, line 2, for his read is. 
 
 132, line 10, " Their humanity is a leg to the resi- 
 denccr." A leg here signifies a bow. Decker 
 says, " a jewe neuer weares his cap threed- 
 bare with putting it off; neuer bends i' th* 
 hammes with casting away a leg, &c." Guls 
 Hornebooke. p. 11. 
 
 206, note 1, for spunge read sponge.
 
 ib. line 10, dele su at the end of the line. B gj ft 
 
 JDfl 8w - 
 
 Page 260, line 2, for Jude read Iwfe: for/eriwaf read 
 
 f 2 J'dBQ JB ,9hfi3 
 
 Jerneat. 
 
 . :o\m ya& 
 
 275, line 12, for whose read whose. 
 
 Several errors and inaccuracies of less consequence 
 than those here pointed out, will probably be discovered. 
 These were occasioned by the editor's distance from the 
 press, and he requests the gentle reader to pardon and 
 correct them. 
 
 THE Inscription, No. X. of the Appendix, should have 
 been entirely omitted. The following extract from 
 Guillim's Heraldry, shews that Bishop Earle could not 
 have been connected with the Streglethorp family, 
 since, if he had, there would have been no occasion for 
 a new grant of armorial bearings. 
 
 " He beareth ermine, on a chief indented sable, three 
 eastern crowns or, by the name of Earles. This coat 
 was granted by Sir Edward Walker, garter, the 1st of 
 August, 1660, to the Reverend Dr. John Earles, son of 
 Thomas Earles, gent, sometime Register of the Arch- 
 bishop's Court at Y.irk. He was Dean of Westminster,
 
 9H0 
 
 and Clerk of the Clo&et to his Majesty King Oar/fes the 
 
 Second ; and in the year 1663, made Bishop of Salisbury" 
 
 Guifliin's \Hcfaldry, folio. Lond. 1724. p. 282. 
 
 It is almost unnecessary to add that I was not aware 
 of, this grant, when I compiled the short account of 
 Earle, at page 211, and spoke of my inability to give 
 
 any information relative to his parents. 
 
 - 
 
 d? or 
 
 1 38odJ asrft 
 
 moit JOT tf' 51 "" 9 *** 
 
 lonhfuo: I * f maiM 
 
 ?d M j 
 -td: - -^JaH? 
 
 1S03 
 
 a 
 
 lo co 35t ^ 
 
 .' iiuoO z'qcxteid
 
 320 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 ADISHAES, 300. 
 Abithaes, 299. 
 Abraham-man, 249. 
 Achitophel, 300. 
 Acquaintance, Character of, 
 
 164. 
 
 \f ^eas, 167. 
 AL^ted man, character of, 
 
 192. 
 
 Affections of a pious Soule, 
 by Richard Flecknoe, 308 
 Alderman, character of, IB. 
 Aleppo, 302. 
 Alexis of Piedmont, 13. 
 Alfred, king, 4. 
 Allmayne, 295. 
 Alfs well that ends well, by 
 
 Shakspeare, 295. 
 Allot, Robert, xi. 
 
 Almanack in the bones, 41. 
 
 Alresford, Hampshire, 237. 
 
 Ames, Mr. xx, 247, 256. 
 
 Amsterdam, 102. 
 
 Anatomy of Alelancholly, by 
 Burton, 51,82,257. 
 
 Angglear, 348. 
 
 Antem-morte, 250. 
 Antiquary, character of, 22 
 Aristophanes, 231. 
 Aristotle, 9, 33. 
 Arminian, 33. 
 Arminins, 129. 
 Ashmole's Museum, Oxford, 
 
 224, 298. 
 
 Atkinson, Mr. 237. 
 Atkyn*, Sir Robert, 45. 
 
 x, 238, 289, 300. 
 Attorney, character of, 105 
 Austin, 129. 
 Awdeley, John, 256. 
 
 Baal, priests of, 98. 
 Babel, tower of, 24, H7. 
 Bagster, Richard, 240. 
 Baker, character of a, 125. 
 Bales, Peter, 5, 6. 
 Bardolph, 118. 
 Barnes, John, 83. 
 Barnes, Juliana, 56. 
 Barrington, Daincs, 36. 
 Barton, Elizabeth, 124.
 
 321 
 
 Barwick, Dr. 215. Life of, 
 
 216. 
 
 Bawdy-basket, 249. 
 Bayle, 102. 
 Beaumont, Francis, 223, 
 
 229, 230, 231. 
 Beau's Duel, by Mrs. Cent- 
 
 Jivre, 92. 
 
 Bedford, Earl of, 13. 
 Bellarmiue, Cardinal* 7, 
 
 102. 
 Belman of London, by 
 
 Decker, 248. Copy, with 
 
 Burton's MS. notes, 257. 
 Benar, 255. 
 Bene, 253. 
 Benjamin, 299. 
 Benjamin's mess, 124. 
 Bessns, 232. 
 Bethlem, 280. 
 Bible, printed at Geneva, 3. 
 Bibliographia Potticu, by 
 
 Ritson, 267. 
 Bibliotheca Harleiana, 312, 
 
 313, 314. 
 
 Biographia Britannica, 306. 
 Biogr aphia Dramutica, 308. 
 Birkenhead, Sir John, 306.* 
 Bishopstone, 213, 215. 
 Blackfriar's, play at, 292. 
 
 Blomefield's History of Nor- 
 folk, 244. 
 
 Blount, Edward, ix, x, xi, xx. 
 Blount, Ralph, xx. 
 Blunt man, character of, 135. 
 Bobadil, 118. 
 Bodleian Library, Oxford, 82, 
 
 224, 225, 256, 260, 295, 308. 
 Boke of hawkynge, huntynge, 
 
 and fysshinge, 56. 
 Bold forward roan, character 
 
 of, 122. 
 Bong, 255. 
 Books, mode of placing them 
 
 in old libraries, 74. 
 Bord, 254. 
 Borgia, 89. 
 Bouge, 253. 
 Boulster, Lecture, 297. 
 Bourne, Nicholas, 287. 
 Bouse, 253, 254. 
 Bousing-ken, 255. 
 Bowl-alley, character of, 86. 
 Brachigraphy, 5. 
 Brand, Mr. 258, 292, 303, 305, 
 
 312, 314. 
 Bread used in England in the 
 
 sixteenth century, 52, 53. 
 Breeches, 3. 
 Breton, captain, 266. 
 
 Y
 
 322 
 
 Breton, Nicholas, 15, 224, 
 
 265, 267. Life of, 265. 
 Breton's Longing, 267. 
 Bridewell, 280. 
 Britannicus, his pedigree, 
 
 299. 
 l>riti<li Bibliograplier, by 
 
 Brydges, 256, 292. 
 British Museum, xi, 301. 
 British Topography, by 
 
 Gongh, an addition to, 
 
 284. 
 
 Britton, Thomas, 303. 
 Brownist, 97. 
 Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger- 
 
 ton, 256, 266, 298. 
 Bucephalus, 296. 
 Bukingham, duke of, 225, 
 
 311, 312. 
 
 Bullen, earl of, 185. 
 Burford, Oxfordshire, 287. 
 Burroughs, Sir John, 223. 
 
 Lines on, 225, 226. 
 Burton, Robert, 51, 82, 257. 
 Butler, Samuel, 313. 
 Butter, Nathaniel, 287. 
 Buttery, 144. 
 Byng, 255. 
 
 C. F. 261. 
 
 Caeling cheat, 254. 
 
 Caesar, 23. 
 
 Caesars, the, 140. 
 
 Calais sands, 91, 92. 
 
 Cambridge, 183. 
 
 Camden, 81. 
 
 Canaries, a dance, 295. 
 
 Canary, 40, 41. 
 
 Cant phrases, 248, 249, _>>:;. 
 
 254, 255. 
 Capel, Mr. 258. 
 Carrier, character of a, 44. 
 Carte, 225. 
 Casaubon, 129. 
 Cassan, 254. 
 Cassel, siege of, 31. 
 Catalogue of Compounders for 
 
 their Estates, 300. 
 Cato, 70, 174. 
 Caceat for Commen Cursetors, 
 
 246. 
 Censura Literaria, 257 x 265, 
 
 266, 267, 289, 293, 303. 
 Centlivre, Mrs, 92. 
 Centoes, 81. 
 Century of Inventions, by the 
 
 Marquis of Worcester, 36. 
 Cerberus, 306. 
 Chalmers, Mr. 51. 
 Cham, 153.
 
 Chandler, R. xii. Character of a Jacobite, 313. 
 
 C haracter of an agitator, 302 of Italy, 305. 
 
 of an antiquary, 303 of a London diurnal, 
 
 of an assembly-man, 302. 
 
 306. of the Low Countries, 
 
 of an untrue bishop, 304. 
 
 297. of ax Oxford incen- 
 
 , . .of a ceremony-mon- diary, 297. 
 
 ger, 313. of a certain, ugly old 
 
 ofacojffee-house,309. P . 311. 
 
 of a disbanded cour- of an honest and tcor- 
 
 t ier, 311. thy parliament man, 
 
 of an ill court-fa- 313. 
 
 vourite, 313. of a pawn-broker, 310, 
 
 of an honest drunken 311 . 
 
 cur, 310. of a complete physi- 
 
 of a Dutchman, dan, or naturalist, 
 
 310. 314. 
 
 of England, 303 of the Presbyterian 
 
 of an exchange- pastors and people 
 
 wench, 310. of England, 314. 
 
 .of a fanatic, 310. .of a projector; 297. 
 
 of France, 304. of a scold, 310. 
 
 of a town-gallant, of Scotland, 304. 
 
 310. of a solicitor, 310. 
 
 of a horse-courser, of Spain, 305. 
 
 310. of a tally-man, 310, 
 
 of an ill husbantl, 311. 
 
 310. of a pilfering taylor, 
 
 of the hypocrite, 310. 
 
 315. . of a temporizer, 303. 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 
 
 Chaifcter of a lory, 312. 
 
 of a town miss, 
 
 310. 
 
 of a tritnmer, 312. 
 
 of an ugly woman, 
 
 311. 
 
 Characters: List of books 
 containing characters, 246 
 
 Characters, by Butler, 313. 
 
 Characters and Elegies, by 
 Wortley, 298. 
 
 C' luii-act crs upon Essaies, 265. 
 
 Characters addressed to La- 
 dies, 312. 
 
 Characters of virtues and ri- 
 ces, by bishop Hall, 279. 
 
 Characterism, or the modern 
 age displayed, 314. 
 
 Characters, twelve ingenious ; 
 or pleasant descriptions, 
 311. 
 
 Charles I. 215, 216, 218, 
 245, 312. 
 
 Charles IL 215, 216, 218, 
 233,319. 
 
 Charles, Prince, 214. 
 
 Chates, 255. 
 
 Chaucer, 13, 112, 115,232. 
 
 Cheap, cross in, 185. 
 
 Chess-play, verses on, by 
 Breton, 270. 
 
 Chcte, 254. 
 
 Child, character of, 1. 
 
 Christ-church, Oxford, 212. 
 216. 
 
 Christmas, 170. 
 
 Chuck, 184. 
 
 Church-papist, character of, 29. 
 
 Cinthia's Revenge, by Ste- 
 phens, 260. 
 
 Citizen, character of a mere 
 gull, 181. 
 
 City Match, by Mayne, 95, 
 119. 
 
 Clarendon, Lord, 214, 215. His 
 character of Earle, 220. 
 
 Clerke's Tale, by Chaucer, 155. 
 
 Cleveland, 302. 
 
 Cliff, Lord, 41. 
 
 Clitus-Alexandrinus, 282. 
 
 Clout, 66, 317. 
 
 Clye, 255. 
 
 Cocke, J. 264. 
 
 Cocke Lorell, 256. 
 
 Cocke Lorelks Bote, 256. 
 
 Cofe, 253, 255. 
 
 Colchester, 313. 
 
 College butler, character of, 50. 
 
 Comments on books, 140. 
 
 Compleat gamester, 317. 
 
 Complimental man, character 
 of, 167.
 
 S25 
 
 Conceited man, character 
 of, 32. 
 
 Conceited pedlar, by Ran- 
 dolph, 183. 
 
 Constable, character of, 59. 
 
 Constantinople, 31. 
 
 Contemplative man, charac- 
 ter of, 93. 
 
 Cook, character of a, 120. 
 
 Cooper, Mrs, 2.66. 
 
 Corranto-coiner, character 
 of, 283. 
 
 Couched, 253. 
 
 Coventry, Sir William, 312. 
 
 Conncellor, character of a 
 worthy, 267. 
 
 ^ . . . . character of an 
 
 unworthy, 268. 
 
 Counterfet cranke, 249. 
 
 Country knight, character of, 
 53. 
 
 Courtier, character of, 259. 
 
 Coward, character of, 196. 
 
 Cowardliness, essay on, in 
 verse, 261. 
 
 Coxeter, 260. 
 
 Cranke, 249. 
 
 Cressey, Hugh, his character 
 ofEarle, 222. 
 
 Cramprings, 255. 
 
 Crimchan, 284. 
 
 Critic, character of, 139. 
 
 Cromwell, 302. 
 
 Crooke, Aridrew, xi. 
 
 Cuffen, 254. 
 
 Cupid, 259. 
 
 Cure for the itch, by H. P. 
 
 276, 277. 
 Cut, 253, 254, 255. 
 
 Dallison, Maximilian, $67. 
 Dances, old, 295. 
 Danet, Thomas, 261. 
 Danvers, Lord, 237. 
 Darius, 121. 
 Darkemans, 253, 254. 
 David, 299, 300. 
 Davies of Hereford, 258. 
 Dear year, 199. 
 Deboshments, 206. 
 Decker, 36, 37, 110, 315, 
 
 248, 317. 
 Dele, 249. 
 Demaunder for glymmar, 
 
 249. 
 
 Demetrius, Charles, 82. 
 Denny, Lord Edward, 280. 
 Description of unthankful' 
 
 nesse, by Breton, 267. 
 Detractor, character of a, 
 
 70. 
 Deuseauyel, 255.
 
 326 
 
 Digby, Sir Kcnelm, 16. 
 
 Dinascoso, 252. 
 Dining in Pauls, 119. 
 
 Dinners given by the sheriff, 
 44. 
 
 Dioclesian, 295. 
 
 Discontented man, charac- 
 ter of, 20. 
 
 Discourse of the English 
 stage, by Flecknoc, 308. 
 
 Divine, character of a grave, 9. 
 
 Dole, 126. 
 
 Dommerar, 249. 
 
 Door-posts, 19, 316. 
 
 Donee, Mr. 289. 
 
 Doves of Aleppo, 302. 
 
 Doxe, 249. 
 
 Dragon that pursued the 
 woman, 71. 
 
 Dramatic Poets, by Lang- 
 baine, ix. 
 
 Drugger, 1.5. 
 
 Drunkard, character of, 153. 
 
 Dryden,307. 
 
 Dudes, 255. 
 
 Dunton, John, 148. 
 
 Duppa, Dr. 214. 
 
 Dutchmen, their love for 
 rotten cheese, 22. 
 
 Earle, Bishop, viii, x, xii : Life 
 
 of, 211,&c. Characters of, 
 219, 220, 221, 222, 318: 
 list of his works, 223 : name 
 of Earle, xvii. 
 
 Earle, Sir Richard, 245. 
 
 Earle, Thomas, 318. 
 
 Earthquake in Germany, 82. 
 
 Ecclesiastical Polity, by Hook- 
 er, 215, 218, 223. translated 
 into Latin, 215. 
 
 Edward I. 185. 
 
 Effeminate fool, character of 
 269. 
 
 Etxw Boo-iXoo), 215, 218, 223. 
 dedication to the Latin trans- 
 lation, 233. 
 
 Eleven of the clock, 43. 
 
 Elizabeth, queen, 23, 43, 116, 
 185. 
 
 Ellinor, queen, 185. 
 
 Ellis, 266. 
 
 Ellis, Henry, xi. 
 
 Empty wit, character of an, 
 151. 
 
 Endor, witch of, 300. 
 
 England, 108,131. 
 
 England's selected characters, 
 265. 
 
 English Gentleman, by Brath- 
 wait, 293. 
 
 Epigrams, by Plecknoe, 308.
 
 327 
 
 Epigrams, by H. P. 277". 
 
 Esau, 24. 
 
 Essayes and Characters, by 
 L. G. 305. 
 
 Essays and characters of a 
 prison, by Mynshul, 156, 
 273. 
 
 Essays of Love and Marriage, 
 309. 
 
 Essex, Lord, 295, " lord of 
 Essex' measures," a dance, 
 295. 
 
 Every Man in his Humour, 
 by Ben Jonson, 118, 160. 
 
 Euphormio, 74. 
 
 Excellent vercis worthey Imi- 
 tation, supposed by Bre- 
 ton, 267. 
 
 Eyes npon noses, 41. 
 
 Elyot, Sir Thomas, 55. 
 
 F. R. 306. 
 F.T.301. 
 Fabricius, 52. 
 Falcons, 55. 
 Falstaff, 21, 118. 
 Farley, WiHiarn, 45. 
 Farmer, Dr. 257. 
 Feltham, Owen, 305. 
 Fiddler, character of a poor, 
 169. 
 
 Fifty-Jive enigmatical charac- 
 ters, by R. F. 306. 
 
 Figures, by Breton, 224, 267. 
 
 Figure offoure, by Breton, 224. 
 
 Fines, Catherine, 284. 
 
 Fines, Mary, 284. 
 
 Fines, Sir William, 284. 
 
 Finical, 181. 
 
 Fires, 31. 
 
 Fishing, treatise on, 56. 
 
 Flagge, 253, 254. 
 
 Flatterer, character of a, 176. 
 
 Flecknoe, Richard, 306, 307, 
 308. 
 
 Fleming, 200. 
 
 Fletcher, John, 229. 
 
 Flitchman, 248. 
 
 Florio, 252. 
 
 Ford, T. 301. 
 
 Formal man, character of, 27. 
 
 Four of the clock, 122. 
 
 Four for a penny ; or poor Ro- 
 bin's characters, 311. 
 
 Four prentises of London, by 
 Hey wood, 110, 185. 
 
 France, 303. 
 
 Frater, 249. 
 
 Fraternitye of Vacabondet, 248. 
 249, 256. 
 
 Fresh-water Mariner, 249. 
 
 Freze, white, 249.
 
 328 
 
 Frieze jerkins, 243. 
 Frost, great, 200. 
 Funeral Monuments, by Wee- 
 ver, 1 17. 
 
 G. L. 305. 
 
 Gage, 263. 
 
 Galen, 13, 33. 
 
 Gallant, character of an idle, 
 
 57. 
 
 Gallobelgiciis, 287. 
 Gattus Cantratus, 304. 
 Gallye slops, 248. 
 Gavel-kind, 27. 
 Gee and rec, 65. 
 Geneva bible, 3. 
 Geneva print, 95. 
 Gennet, 294. 
 Germany, 27, 82. 
 Gerry, 255. 
 Gigges, 269. 
 Gilding of the cross, 185. 
 Gildon's Licet of the English 
 
 Dramatic poets, 260. 
 Giles's, St. Church, Oxford, 5 
 Girding, 21. 
 (iloxsographia Anglicana No* 
 
 va, 159. 
 
 Gloucester cathedral, 45. 
 Gloucestershire, History qf, 
 
 by Atkyns, 46. 
 
 Goddard, author of the Mat- 
 tif-tohelp, 17. 
 
 God's judgments, 8-. 
 
 Gold hat-bands, 75. 
 
 Gold tassels, worn by noble- 
 men at the University, 75. 
 
 Good and the bad, by Breton, 
 15, 265. 
 
 Governour, by Sir Thomas 
 Elyot, 55. 
 
 Gougb, Mr. 266, 284. 
 
 Gown of an alderman, 19. 
 
 Granger, Mr. 301 . 
 
 Great man, character of a 
 meer, 201. 
 
 Greek's collections, 81. 
 
 Grunting chete, 254. 
 
 Gryffith, William, 246. 
 
 Guarded with gold lace, 317. 
 
 Guillim, John, 318, 319. 
 
 Gull in plush, 184. 
 
 Gufs Hornebooke, by Decker, 
 36, 37, 110, 315, 317. 
 
 Gygger, 254. 
 
 Hall, Bishop, 279, 315. 
 Harleian Miscellany, 306, .109, 
 
 310,311,313. 
 Harman, Thomas, 246. 
 Harmant's, 255. 
 Harrison, William, 27, 43, 53.
 
 329 
 
 Hart-hall, Oxford, 2.37. 
 Haslewood, Mr. 293. 
 Hawking, 54, 160. 
 Hawkins, Sir John, 126, 295. 
 Hay, James Lord, 280. 
 Hederby, 1 85. 
 Hemingford, Huntingdon- 
 shire, t>37. 
 Henry the Fourth, by Shak- 
 
 speare, U8. 
 Henry VI. 16. 
 Henry VII. 5. 
 Henry VIII. 36. 
 Herald, character of an, 130. 
 Heraldry, Treatise on, by 
 
 Guillini, 318, 319. 
 Herbert, Mr. 247, 256. 
 Heyliu, Peter, account of, 
 
 237 inscription on his 
 
 monument, 237. 
 Heyne, 167. 
 Heywood, 110, 185. 
 Hickeringill, E. 313. 
 High-spirited man, character 
 
 of, 179. 
 Hill, Mr. xii. 
 Hippocrates, 13. 
 History of England, by Carte, 
 
 225. 
 Hittrio-mastix, by Pryune, 69. 
 
 Hobby, 294. 
 
 Hogeshed, 253. 
 
 Hogg, 997. 
 
 Hogged policy, 294. 
 
 Hoker, 243. 
 
 Holinshed, Raphael, 6, 16, 27, 
 43,53,124,199,200. 
 
 Holt, in Germany, 82. 
 
 Honest man, character of an 
 ordinary, 206. 
 
 Hooker, Richard, 215, 218, 
 221, 223. 
 
 Hool, Samuel, 148. 
 
 Horee Subsecira, ix. 
 
 Horse-race terms, 160. 
 
 Hortus Mertonensis, a poem by 
 Earle, 223. 
 
 Hospitall of Incurable Fooles, 
 xx. 
 
 Hostess, character of a hand- 
 some, 138. 
 
 Houghton, Sir Gilbert, 265. 
 
 Houghton in the Spring, 237. 
 
 Ho well, James, 41. 
 
 Hudibras, 313. 
 
 Huggeringe, 252. 
 
 Hugger-mugger, 252. 
 
 Hungarian, 142. 
 
 Hunting, 160. 
 
 Husband, a poem, 257.
 
 330 
 
 Hygh-pad, 255. 
 Hypocrite, character of a 
 she precise, 94. 
 
 Jacob, 24. 
 
 Jail-bird, 113. 
 
 James 1. 23, 69, 103, 116. 
 
 James II. 216. 
 
 Jarke, 255. 
 
 Jarke-man, 249. 
 
 Idea of his highness Oliver, 
 
 by Flecknoe, 306. 
 Jealous man, character of, 
 
 208. 
 
 Jennet, 294. 
 Jerusalem, 186. 
 Jesses, 55. 
 Jesuits, 112, 129. 
 Ignoramus, 264. 
 Illustrious wife, by Giles Ol- 
 
 diswortli, 258. 
 Imputation, 162, 183. 
 Inquisition, 55. 
 Insolent man, character of, 
 
 161. 
 
 John Dory, 170. 
 John's, St. College, Oxford, 
 
 237. 
 
 Johnson, Richard, 284. 
 Jonathan, 299. 
 
 Jonson, Ben, 118 : Lines by 
 
 260. 
 
 Jordans, 40. 
 Isbosheth, 300. 
 Islip, Oxfordshire, 237. 
 Juliana Barnes, or Berners, 56. 
 Jump, 177. 
 
 Keckerman, Bartholomew, 51. 
 
 Keep, 133. 
 
 Ken or Kene, 253, 254, 255. 
 
 Kennel t, White, 221 : his cha- 
 racter of Earle, 220. 
 
 Kent, 26, 27. 
 
 Kent, maid of, 124. 
 
 King's bench prison, 27-4. 
 
 Kippis, Dr. 306. 
 
 Knight, character of a coun- 
 try, 53. 
 
 Kynchiu-co, 249. 
 
 Kynchin-morte, 249. 
 
 Lage, 253. 
 Lagge, 255. 
 Lambarde, 27. 
 Lambeth-palace, 126. 
 Langbaine, ix, 260, 307. 
 Laquei ridiculosi, by H. P. 276. 
 Lascivious man, character of, 
 187.
 
 331 
 
 Laud, Bishop, 237. 
 Laurence, St. 121. 
 Leg to the resideucer, 132, 
 
 317. 
 
 Legs in hands, 41. 
 Legerdemain, 206. 
 Legh, Anne, 266. 
 Legli, Sir Edward, 266. 
 Leicester, Earl of, 266. 
 Leigh, see Legh. 
 Le Neve, 244. 
 Lent, 69. 
 
 Letters, by Howell, 41. 
 Life and Errors of John Dun- 
 ton, by himself, 148. 
 Life of Ruddiman, by Chal- 
 mers, 50. 
 
 Lilburnc, 302. 
 Lilly, ix. 
 Lipken, 253. 
 Lipped, 253. 
 Lipsius, 33. 
 London, 46, 199. 
 London-bridge, 200. 
 London and country carbona- 
 doed, by Lupton, 292. 
 
 London Spy, by Ward, 183. 
 
 Long-lane, 287. 
 
 Long pavian, a dance, 295. 
 
 Love's Dominion, by Fleck- 
 noe, 308. 
 
 Low Countries, 26, 266, 304: 
 Brief Character of, by Fell- 
 tham, 26. 
 
 Lowre, 253, 255. 
 
 Ltician, 156. 
 
 Ludgate, 280. 
 
 Luptou, Donald, 292, 
 
 Lybbege, 253. 
 
 Lycosthenes, 115. 
 
 Lyghtmans, 253. 
 
 M.G.273. 
 
 M. R. 280. 
 
 Macbeth, by Shakspeare, 184. 
 
 Mac-Flecknoe, 308. 
 
 Machiavel, 34. 
 
 Magdalen College, Oxford, 
 
 237, 300. 
 Maid, a Poem of, by Salstou- 
 
 stall, 289. 
 Maid's Tragedy, by Beaumont 
 
 and Fletcher, 232. 
 Mainwaring, Matthew, 274 : 
 
 family of, ib. 
 Make, 253. 
 Malaga wine, 41. 
 
 Malone Mr. 97. 
 
 Man, Samuel, 301. 
 
 Manchet,52. 
 
 Mars, 296. 
 
 Martial, 152.
 
 Martin, 303. 
 
 Mary's, St. Churcb, Oxford, 
 
 4,123. 
 
 Masltf Whelp, 17. 
 Misfire or young whelpe qf 
 
 the nld dogge, t77. 
 Mauml, 254. 
 Maurice of Nassau, 31. 
 Mayne, 95, 119. 
 Meddling-man, character of, 
 
 171. 
 
 Medicis, Francis de, 103. 
 Melpomene, 81. 
 Memoirs qf the Peers of 
 
 England, by Brydges, 
 
 298. 
 
 Menander, 230. 
 Menippns, 156. 
 Mephiboshcth, 299. 
 Meres, 266. 
 Merry Devil of Edmonton, a 
 
 Comedy, 95. 
 Merton-College, Oxford, 212, 
 
 217, 219, 223. 
 
 Microcosmography, 233. Edi- 
 tions of, xi. 
 
 Micrologia, by R. M. 280. 
 Minshall-haU, 274. 
 Minshew, 35, 106, 206. 
 Hhraculous Netces from the 
 
 CittieofHolt,M. 
 
 Miscellania, by Flecknoe, 
 
 307. 
 
 Modest man, character of, 147. 
 Monson, Sir Thomas, 55. 
 Monster out of Germany, 82. 
 Monthly Mirror, 265. 
 Monument of Earle, 217. 
 Munumenta Anglicana, by Le 
 
 Neve, 244. 
 Moorfields, 284. 
 Mooted, 106. . 
 More the Merrier, 277. 
 Morley, Dr. 216. 
 Mort, 253. 
 Mother's Blessing, by Breton, 
 
 267. 
 
 Mouse-trap, by H. P. 277. 
 Munster, 82. 
 Murdered bodies supposed to 
 
 bleed at the approach of the 
 
 murderer, 16. 
 Musgarve, 303. 
 Musick, history of, by Sir John 
 
 Hawkins, 295. 
 Myll, 254, 255. 
 Mynshul, 95, 156. 
 Mynshu), Geffray, 273, 274. 
 
 Nabeker, 253. 
 Nabes, 254. 
 
 , Cheshire, 274.
 
 333 
 
 Naps upon Parnassus, 503. 
 
 Nares, Mr. 316. 
 
 Nase, 254. 
 
 Navy of England, 81. 
 
 Nero, 262. 
 
 Netherlands, 284. 
 
 New Anatomie, or character 
 
 of a Christian or round-head, 
 
 297. 
 Newcastle, Duke of, 307 : 
 
 lilies by, ib. 
 New Cuttome, 248. 
 Newes of this present week, 
 
 287. 
 
 Newgate, 280, 302. 
 Newman, Sir Thomas, 124. 
 Nine Muses, a dance, 295. 
 Nine Worthies, 186. 
 Nireus, 156. 
 Noah's flood, 67. 
 Nonconformist, 95. 
 Norfolk, History of, by 
 
 Blomefield, -244. 
 North, Lord, 298. 
 Northern nations, 1 6. 
 Norton, Northamptonshire, 
 
 266. 
 
 Nose, 253. 
 Nyp, 255. 
 
 Oldham, Mr. 311. 
 
 Oldisworth Giles, 258. 
 
 Old roan, character of a good, 
 
 173. 
 
 One and thirty, 62. 
 Orford, Lord, 298, 311. 
 Osborne,Francis, 116. 
 Overbory, Sir Thomas, 257, 
 
 258, 264, 298. 
 Overton, 302. 
 Oxford, 4, 108, 212, 227, 237, 
 
 267, 300. 
 
 P. H. 276. 
 
 Pad, 255. 
 
 Painted cloth, 83. 
 
 Pallyarde, 249. 
 
 Pamphlets, character of, 302. 
 
 Paracelsus, 33. 
 
 Park, Mr. xii. 267, 289, 311. 
 
 Park, Mr. John James, 289. 
 
 Parrot, Henry, 276. 
 
 Parson, character of a poor, 
 
 from Chaucer, 11. 
 Partial man, character of, 107. 
 Passion of a discontented minde, 
 
 supposed by Breton, 267. 
 Passions of the Spirit, supposed 
 
 by Breton, 267. 
 Patrico, 249. 
 Pavian, 295. 
 Paul V. pope, 102.
 
 334 
 
 Panl's, St. Church, 117,259, 
 
 284, 288, 292. ' 
 Paufs-cross, 123 : penance 
 
 at, 124. 
 
 Paul's man, 118. 
 Panl's-walk, character of, 
 
 116. 
 Panl's-walk, viii : time of 
 
 walking there, 117. 
 Paynell, Thomas, 14, 316. 
 Pecke, 254. 
 Pegasus, 293. 
 Pembroke, Henry, earl of, 
 
 227. 
 Pembroke, Philip, earl of, 
 
 212, 213. 
 Pembroke, William, earl of, 
 
 223: lines on, 227. 
 Percy, bishop, 266. 
 Peters, 302. 
 
 Peter's, St. Church, Oxford, 5. 
 Pharoah, 24. 
 Philaster, by Beaumont and 
 
 Fletcher, 232, 
 Philip II. of Spain, 36. 
 Phoenix Nest, by R. S. 270. 
 Physician against his will, by 
 
 Flecknoe, 307. 
 Physician, character of a 
 
 dull, 12. 
 Pick-thank, 191. 
 
 Pictura Loguentes, by Sal- 
 
 tonstall, 289. 
 
 Pierce, character of Earle, 222. 
 Pierce Penilesse, 177. 
 Pineda, 159. 
 Plausible man, character of, 
 
 84. 
 
 Plautus, 140, 231. 
 Player, characters of, 67, 281. 
 Pleasant tralkes of Moor efit Ids, 
 
 284. 
 Plodding student, character of, 
 
 114. 
 
 Plutarch, 39. 
 Pluto, 156. 
 Points, 42. 
 Poland, 284. 
 Ponsonby, William, xx. 
 Poor man, character of, 203. 
 Poor Tom, 249. 
 Pope, A. 307. 
 Popplarof Yarum, 254. 
 Posle, by Breton, 267. 
 Post and pair, 316. 
 Pot-poet, character of, 80. 
 Practice qf Piety, 97. 
 Pratt, Mr. 280. 
 Prauncer, 253. 
 Prayer for the college, 315. 
 Prayer at the end cf a play,, 
 
 315.
 
 335 
 
 Prayer used before the uni- 
 versity, V>. 
 
 Preacher, character of a 
 young taw, 4. 
 
 Pretender to learning, cha- 
 racter of, 127. 
 
 Prigger, see Prygger. 
 
 Primero, 35, 36,37. 
 
 Primivist, 35. 
 
 Print, set in, 269. 
 
 Prison, character of a, 156. 
 
 Prisoner, character of a, 275. 
 
 Privy councellor, character 
 of a worthy, 267. 
 
 Profane man, character of, 
 194. 
 
 Progresses of queen Elizabeth, 
 266. 
 
 Prologue, 110. 
 
 Prolusions, by Capel, 258. 
 
 Proper, 17, 159. 
 
 Prygger of prauncers, cha- 
 racter of a, 250. 
 
 Prynne, 69. 
 
 Puritan, 136, 170. 
 
 Puritan, picture of a, 257. 
 
 Pnttenham, 266. 
 
 Quanto Dyspayne, a dance, 
 
 295. 
 Quarromes, 253. 
 
 Querpo, 159. 
 
 Quintilian, 33. 
 
 Quyer, or quyaer, 254, 255. 
 
 Radcliffe, Sir Alexander, 282s 
 
 Raie, 272. 
 
 Ramus, 33. 
 
 Randolph, Dr. 183. 
 
 Rash man, character of, 189. 
 
 Rat, black-coat, terms of con- 
 tempt towards the clergy, 
 195. 
 
 Rawlinson, Dr. 295. 
 
 Re, isle of, 225 : expedition to, 
 ib. 
 
 Reading, Berkshire, 316. 
 
 Rebellion, History of, by Cla- 
 rendon, 214. 
 
 Reed, Isaac, 50, 306, 315, 
 317. 
 
 Reformado precisely charac- 
 tered, 297. 
 
 Regiment of Health, 14. 
 Regimen Sanitatis Salerni, 316. 
 
 Remains, Butler's, 313. 
 
 Remains, Camden's, 81. 
 
 Reserved man, character of, 
 34. 
 
 Resolves, by Feltham, 305. 
 
 Retchlessly, 155. 
 
 Richard III. 89.
 
 336 
 
 Rich man, character of a 
 
 sordid, 193. 
 Ritson, Mr. 267. 
 Robert of Normandy, 186. 
 Roge, 248. 
 Roger, 25S. 
 Rogers, G. 261. 
 Rogue, see Roge. 
 Rome, 10, 30, 101. 
 Rome-bouse, 254. 
 Round breeches, 14C. 
 Ifuijul and nolle Authors, by 
 
 Lord Orford, 298. 
 Ruddiman, Life of, by Clial- 
 
 mers, 50. 
 
 Ruff of Geneva, print, 95. 
 Ruffs, 269. 
 Ruffian, 255. 
 Ruffler, 248, 25S. 
 Ruffinanes, 255. 
 Ruffe-pecke, 25*. 
 Russell, Earl of Bedford, 13. 
 Rutland, Lady, 229. 
 
 S. R. 270. 
 
 Sack, 40, 41, 42, 139. 
 Salerne, 316. 
 Salisbury, 318. 
 Salomon, 853. 
 Saltonstall, Wye, 289. 
 Sandwich, Earl of, 301. 
 
 Satyrical chaructws, 303. 
 
 Satyrical Essaycs, by Stephens , 
 259, 264. 
 
 Saul, 299. 
 
 Saxons, 27. 
 
 Say, E. vii. 
 
 Saye, 253. 
 
 Scaliger, 129. 
 
 Sceptick in religion, character 
 of, 99. 
 
 Scholar, character of a, 61. 
 
 Scold, character of a, 277. 
 
 Scatus, 98. 
 
 Sejanus, 108. 
 
 Select second husland /or Sir 
 Thomas Ocerburie's wife, by 
 Davies of Hereford, 258. 
 
 Seneca, 128. 
 
 Sergeant, or catchpole, cha- 
 racter of, 141. 
 
 Serving man, character of, 159. 
 
 Sforza, 89. 
 
 Shakspeare, xx, 2, J 6, 36, 83, 
 116, 126, 184, 252, 295, 315, 
 316, 317. 
 
 Shark, character of a, 41. 
 
 Shark to, 206. 
 
 Sharking, 204. 
 
 Sheba, 300. 
 
 Sheriff's hospitality, and table, 
 44.
 
 337 
 
 Sherry wine, 40, 41. 
 
 Sbimei, 299. 
 
 Ship, 254. 
 
 Shop-keeper, character of, 
 
 134. 
 
 Short-hand, 5. 
 
 Shrewsbury, Elizabeth Coun- 
 tess of, 247. 
 Shrove Tuesday, 69. 
 Sidney, Sir Philip, 227, 230. 
 Silk strings to books, 74. 
 Singing-men in cathedral 
 
 churches, character of, 
 
 132. *' , 
 Skower, 255. 
 Skypper, 253. 
 Socinus, Fadstus, 103. 
 Solemnc Passion of the Soule's 
 
 Love, by Breton, 267. 
 Soliman and Perseda, 177. 
 Sordid rich man, character 
 
 of, 198. 
 
 Spaniards, 112. 
 Specimens of early English 
 
 Poets, by Ellis, 266. 
 Spelman, Sir Henry, 27. 
 Spinola, 31. 
 Sports and Pastimes, by 
 
 Stratt, 36, 55, 63. 
 Springes for Woodcocks, by 
 H. P. 276. 
 
 Squeazy, 137. 
 
 Stanley, Richard, 45. 
 
 Stayed-man, character of a, 
 144. 
 
 Steevens, George, 16,126, 206, 
 276, 310, 317. 
 
 Stephen, Master, 160. 
 
 Stephens, John, 260, 264. 
 
 Stews, 91. 
 
 Stowe, 255. 
 
 Stow's Survey of London, 185. 
 
 Strange Metamorphosis of Man, 
 293. 
 
 Streglethorp Church, 244 : fa- 
 mily, 318. 
 
 Strike, 254. 
 
 Strummell, 253. 
 
 Strutt, Mr. 36, 55, 63. 
 
 Strype, Mr. 185. 
 
 Sturbridge-fair, 183. 
 
 Suetonius, 15. 
 
 Sufferings of the Clergy, by 
 Walker, 215. 
 
 Surfeit to A. B. C. 303. 
 
 Surgeon, character of a, 90. 
 
 Suspicious or jealous man, cha- 
 racter of, 208. 
 
 Swadder, 249. 
 
 Swedes, 16. 
 
 Swedish Intelligencer, 287. 
 
 Switzer, 284.
 
 338 
 
 Table-book, S15. 
 Tables, 63. 
 Tacitus, 128. 
 Talbot, Sir John, 226. 
 Tamwortb, Staffordshire, 
 
 266. 
 
 Tanner, Bishop, 267. 
 Tantalus, 275. 
 Tavern, character of a, 37. 
 Telephus, 39. 
 
 Tempest, by Shakspeare, 206. 
 Tennis, 74. 
 Ten Years' Travel, by Flcck- 
 
 noe, 308. 
 
 Term, character of the, 291. 
 Thersites, 156. 
 Thyer, Mr. 313. 
 Tiberius, 108. 
 Times anatomized, 301. 
 Tinckar, or tinker, 249. 
 Tiring-house, 68. 
 Titos, 15. 
 Tobacco, 39. 
 Tobacco-seller, character of, 
 
 79: called a smoak-seller, 
 
 ib. 
 
 Togman, 253. 
 Tower, 254. 
 Town-precisian, 8. 
 Traditional Memoires, by Os- 
 borne, 116. 
 
 Trumpeter, cliaracter of a, 109. 
 
 Tryne, 253. 
 
 Tryning, 255. 
 
 Tuft-hunter, 75. 
 
 Tnlly (see Cicero), 23, 33. 
 
 Turk, 142. 
 
 Turner, Thomas, 261. 
 
 Tyburn, 26, 82, 303. 
 
 Tyntermell, a dance, 295. 
 
 Valiant man, character of, 308. 
 
 Varro, 140. 
 
 Vault at Gloucester, 45. 
 
 Velvet of a gown, 74. 
 
 Venner, 40. 
 
 Vespatian, 15. 
 
 Villiers, George,* Duke of 
 
 Buckingham, 312. 
 Virgil, 167. 
 Virginals, 97, 
 University College, Oxford, 
 
 217. 
 University dun, character of a, 
 
 142. 
 University, character of a 
 
 young gentleman of the, 73. 
 University statutes, 13. 
 Vorstius, Conrade, 103. 
 Upright man, 248, 253. 
 Urinal, 12. 
 Urine, custom of examining
 
 339 
 
 it by physicians, 15 : tax 
 on, ib. 
 
 Vulcan, 296. 
 
 Vulgar-spirited man, charac- 
 ter of, 111. 
 
 Vyle, 255. 
 
 Wales, 131. 
 
 Walker, Dr. 215. 
 
 Walker, Sir Edward, 318. 
 
 Walton, Isaac, x : his cha- 
 racter of Earie, 221. 
 
 Walwin, 302. 
 
 Wapping, 287. 
 
 Ward, C. xii. 
 
 Ward, Edward, 183. 
 
 Warde, William, 13. 
 
 Warnborough, South, 237. 
 
 Warton, Thomas, 247, 276. 
 
 Washbonrae, R. his Divine 
 Poems, 1. 
 
 Waste, 255. 
 
 Watch, 253, 254. 
 
 Weak man, character of, 76. 
 
 Weever, 117. 
 
 Westminster, 156, 185, 200, 
 237, 292, 318. 
 
 Westminster, the fellow of, 
 201. 
 
 Whimzies; or a new cast of 
 
 Characters, 282,315. 
 Whip for a jockey, 310. 
 ttliipjacke, 249. 
 Whitson ale, 171. 
 Whydds, 255. 
 Widow, a comedy, 44. 
 Wife, character of a good, 
 
 278. 
 Wife, now the Widdow, of Sir 
 
 Thomas Oterbury, 257, 264. 
 
 editions of, 258. 
 William I. 185. 
 Wood, Anthony a, x, 212, 213, 
 
 217,224,238,258,300. 
 Worcester, Marquis of, 36. 
 World displayed, xii. 
 World's wise man, character 
 
 of, 87. 
 
 Wortley, Anne, 301. 
 Wortley, Sir Francis, 298, 300. 
 Wortley, Sir Richard, 300. 
 Writing school-master, by 
 
 Bales, 5. 
 Wyn, 253. 
 
 Yarum, 254. 
 York, 46, 211, 318. 
 York, James, Dnke of, after- 
 wards James II. 216,298.
 
 340 
 
 Young gentleman of the uni- Yonnger brother, character of, 
 
 versity, character of, 73. 24. 
 Young man, character of, 
 
 47. Ziba, 299. 
 
 ERRATUM. 
 
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