Sir Thomas Ouerburie his wife with new elegies vpon his (now knowne) vntimely death : whereunto are annexed, new newes and characters / written by himselfe and other learned gentlemen.

Sir Thomas Ouerburie his wife with new elegies vpon his (now knowne) vntimely death : whereunto are annexed, new newes and characters / written by himselfe and other learned gentlemen.

Table of contents

Title page

To the Reader.

Elegies of seuerall Authors, on the vntimely death of SIR Thomas Ouerburie poysoned in the Tower.

Vpon the vntimely death of Sir Thomas Ouerburie.

To the Memorie of that generally bewailed Gentleman, Sr. Thomas Ouerburie.

Vpon the vntimely Death of the Author of this ingenious Poem, Sr. THO: OVERBVRY Knight, poysoned in the Towre.

An Elegie consecrated to the memorie of the truly worthy and learned Sir Thomas Ouerburie KNIGHT.

Vpon the vntimely Death of Sr. Thomas Ouerbury.

In obitum intempestiuum & lachrimabilem Illustrissimi Equitis aurati TH: OVERBVRI magnae spei & expectationis Viri.

Encomiasticke Uerses on this excellent Poem the Wife.

On Sir Thomas Ouerburies Poem the Wife.

Eiusdem in Eadem.

On Sir Thomas Ouerburies Poem the Wife.

On the Wife.

To the Wife.

On the Wife.

On the Wife.

§

To the cleane contrary wife.

To the Wife.

Of the choyce of a Wife.

§

THE METHOD.

A WIFE.

The Authors Epitaph, written by himselfe.

Characters, OR Wittie descriptions of the properties of sundry Persons.

A good Woman.

A very Woman.

§

Her next part.

A Dissembler,

A Courtier,

A Golden Asse,

A Flatterer,

An ignorant Glorie-hunter,

A Timist,

An Amorist,

An Affectate Traueller

A Wise man

A Noble Spirit

An Olde Man

A Countrey Gentleman

A Fine Gentle-man

An Elder Brother

A Braggadochio Welchman

A Pedant

A Seruing-man

An Host

An Ostler

A good Wife

A Melancholie man

A Sailor

A Souldier

A Taylor

A Puritane

A Whoore

A very Whoore

A meere Common Lawyer

A Meere Scholler.

A Tinker

An Apparatour

An Almanacke-maker

An Hypocrite

A Maquerela, in plain English, a Bawd

A Chamber-Maide,

A Precisian.

An Innes of Court man.

A meere Fellow of an House.

A worthy Commander in the Warres.

A vaine-glorious Coward in Command,

A Pyrate,

An ordinarie Fencer

A Puny-clarke.

A Foote-man,

A noble and retir'd Housekeeper,

An Intruder into fauour

A faire and happy Milke-mayd,

An Arrant Horse-courser

A Roaring Boy

Adrunken Dutch-man resident in England

A Phantastique. An Improuident young Gallant.

A Button-maker of Amsterdam,

A Distaster of the Time

A meere Fellow of a House

A meere Petifogger

An Ingrosser of Corne.

A Diuellish Usurer

A Water-Man

A Reuerend Iudge

A vertuous Widdow

An ordinary Widdow

A Quacksaluer

A Canting Rogue.

A French Cooke

A Sexton

A Iesuite

An excellent Actor.

A Franklin.

A Rimer

The Character of a happy life.

Certaine Edicts from a Parliament in Eutopia; Written by the Lady Southwell.

NEVVES FROM ANY WHENCE. OR, OLD TRVTH, VNDER A SVPposall of Noueltie. Occasioned by diuers Essayes, and priuate passages of Wit, betweene sundrie Gentlemen vpon that subiect.

Newes from Court.

Answere to the Court Newes.

Countrey Newes.

Newes from the very Countrey.

Answer to the very Country Newes.

Newes to the Vniuersitie.

Newes from Sea.

Forreine Newes of the yeere 1616.

From France.

From Spaine.

From Rome.

From Venice.

From Germany.

From the Low Countries.

Newes from my Lodging.

Newes of my Morning worke.

Newes from the lower end of the Table.

Newes from the Church.

Newes from the Bed.

Newes from Shipbord.

Newes from the Chimney corner.

§

§

[Page]

Sir Thomas Ouerburie

HIS WIFE,

With NEW ELEGIES vpon his (now knowne) vntimely death.

Whereunto are annexed, new Newes and Characters, written by him selfe and other learned Gentlemen.

Editio Septima.

LONDON,

Printed by Edward Griffin for Laurence L'isle, and are to bee sold at his shop at the Tigers head in Pauls Churchyard. 16⟨11⟩.

[Page]

[Page]

To the Reader.

THE generall acceptance of this matchlesse Poem the Wife, (written by SIR Thomas Ouerbury) is sufficiently approued by many, the worth whereof if any other, out of malice, shall neglect to commend, hee may well (if it proceed, from nice Criticisme) be excluded as a Churlish Retainer to the MVSES: if from direct plaine dealing, he shall be degraded for insufficiencie. For had such a Poem [Page] beene extant among the ancient Romanes, although they wanted our easie conseruations of wit by printing, they would haue cōmitted it to brasie lest iniurions time might depriue it of due eternitie; If to cōuerse with a Creature so amiable as is here described, be thought difficult; let the contemplation thereof be held admirable. To which are added many Elegies of his vntimely death, and Characters and Newes written by himselfe and others his friends. Howsoeuer, they are now exposed, not only to the Iudicious, but to all that cary the least scruple of mother wit about them.

Licet toto nunc Helicone frui—Mar.

Lau: L'isle.

Elegies of seuerall Authors, on the vntimely death of SIR Thomas Ouerburie poysoned in the Tower.

[Page]

Vpon the vntimely death of Sir Thomas Ouerburie.

T'would ease our Sorrowes, t'would release our Teares,

Could we but heare those high celestiall Spheares,

Once tune their Motions to a dolefull straine

In sympathie of what we Mortalls plaine.

Or see their faire Intelligences change

Or face or habit, when blacke Deeds, so strange,

As might force pittie from the heart of Hell

Are hatch'd by Monsters, which among vs dwell,

The Starres me thinks, like Men inclin'd to sleepe,

Should through their chrystall casements scarcely peepe,

Or at least view vs but with halfe an eye,

For feare their chaster Influence might descry

Some murdering hand, oaded in guiltlesse bloud,

Blending vile iuices to destroy the good.

The Sunne should wed his Beames to endles Night,

And in dull darknesse canopie his Light,

When from the ranke stewes of adulterous Brests,

Where euery base vnhallowed Proiect rests,

[Page]Is belcht, as in defiance of his shine,

A steame, might make euen Death it selfe to pine.

But these things happen still; but ne're more cleare,

Nor with more lustre did these Lampes appeare:

Mercurie capers with a winged heele,

As if he did no touch of sorrow feele,

And yet he sees a true Mercurian killd,

Whose birth his Mansion with much honour filld.

But let me not mistake those Powers aboue,

Nor taxe iniuriously those Courts of Ioue;

Surely, they ioy to see these Acts reueald,

Which in blinde silence haue bin long conceald;

And Virtue now triumphant; whil'st we mourne

To thinke that ere shee was foule Uices scorne:

Or that poore Ouer-buries bloud was made

A sacrifice to Malice and darke shade.

Weston thy Hand that Couvre-feu Bell did sway,

Which did his life to endles sleepe conuay.

But rest thou where thou art; Ile seeke no glorie

By the relation of so sad a storie.

If any more were priuie to the Deed,

And for the Crime must be adiudg'd to bleed,

To Heauen I pray, with heau'd-vp Hands and Eyes,

That as their Bodies fall, their Soules may rise.

And as those equally turne to one Dust,

So these alike may shine among the Iust.

And there make vp one glorious constellation,

Who suffred here in such a differing fashion.

D. T.

[Page]

To the Memorie of that generally bewailed Gentleman, Sr. Thomas Ouerburie.

BVt that w'are bound in Christian pietie

To wish Gods will be done; and Destinie

(In all that happs to Men, or Good, or Ill)

Suffer'd, or sent, by that implored Will;

Me thinks, t'obserue how Vertue drawes faint Breath,

Subiect to slanders, Hate, and violent Death,

Wise men kept low, others aduanc'd to State,

Right check't by wrong, and Ill men fortunate;

These mou'd Effects, from an vnmoued Cause,

Might shake the firmest Faith; Heauens fixed Lawes

Might casuall seeme, and each irregular Sence

Spurne at iust Order, blame Gods Prouidence.

But what is Man, t'expostulate th' Intents

Of his high Will, or iudge of strange Euents?

The rising Sunne to mortall sight reueales

This Earthly Globe; but yet the Starrs conceales;

So may the Sence discouer Naturall Things;

Diuine, aboue the reach of Humane wings.

Then not the Fate, but Fates bad Instrument

Doe I accuse, in each sad Accident:

Good men must fall, Rapes, Incests, Murders come;

But woe and curses follow them by whom:

God Authors all mens Actions, not their sin,

For that proceeds from deu'lish Formes within.

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Thou then that sufferd'st by those Formes so vile,

From whom those wicked Instruments did file

Thy drossie part, to make thy Fame shine cleare,

And Shrine thy Soule in Heauens all glorious Sphere;

Who being good, naught les to thee befel,

Though it appear'd disguis'd in shape of Hell;

Vanish thy Blood and Nerues; true Life alone

In Vertue liues, and true Religion,

In both which thou art deathles: O behold,

(If thou canst looke so low as Earths base Moulde)

How dreadfull Iustice (larewith lingring Foot)

Now comes like Whirle-winde? how it shakes the Root

Of loftie Cedars; makes the stately Brow

Bend to the Foot? how all men see that now

The Breath of Infamie doth moue their Sayles;

Whiles thy deare name by Loues more hartie gales

Shall still keep Winge, vntill thy Fames extent

Fill eu'rie part of this vast Continent.

Then you the Syre of this thus murder'd Sonne;

Repine not at his Fate; since he hath wonne

More Honor in his Sufferance; and his Death

Succeeded by his Vertues endles Breath.

For him, and to his Life and Deaths Example,

Loue might erect a Statue; Zeale, a Temple:

On his true worth the Muses might be slayne

To dye his Honors Web in purest Grayne.

C. B.

[Page]

Vpon the vntimely Death of the Author of this ingenious Poem, Sr. THO: OVERBVRY Knight, poysoned in the Towre.

SO many Moones so many times gone round,

And rose from Hell, & Darknesse, vnder ground,

And yet till now, this darkned deed of Hell

Not brought to light? ô tardie Heauen! yet tell

If Murther layes him downe to sleep with Lust

Or no? reueale, as thou art Truth, and Iust,

The Secrets of this vniust secure Act,

And what our feares make vs suspect, compact

With greater deeds of Mischiefe, for alone

We thinke not This, and doe suspect yet One,

To which compar'd, This, but a falling Starre,

That a bright Firmament of Fire: Thy Care

We see takes meaner things: It times the World

The Signes at random thorough the Zodiack hurld,

The Stars wild wandrings, & the glib-quick Hinges

Which turne both Poles; and all the violent changes

It ouer-lookes, which trouble th'endlesse course

Of the high Firmament: by thy blest Force

Doe hoary winter frosts make forrests bare,

And straight to Groues againe their shades repaire,

[Page]By Thee doth Autums, Lyons-flaming Maine

Ripen the fruits: and the full yeere sustaine

Her burdned powers: ô being still the same,

Ruling so much, and vnder whom the frame

Of this vast world weighd, all his Orbes dost guide,

Why are thy Cares of Men no more applide?

Or if: why seem'st thou sleeping to the Good,

And guarding to the Ill? as if the brood

Of best things still must Chance take in Command

And not thy Prouidence: and Her blinde Hand

Thy Benefits erroniously disburse,

Which so let fall, ne're fall but to the worse?

Whence so, great crimes commit the Greater sort,

And boldest acts of shame blaze in the Court,

Where Buffones Worship in their rise of State

Those filthy Scarrabs, whom they Serue, and Hate.

Sure things meere backward, there; Honor disgracst,

And Uertue layd by Fraud, and Poyson, waste:

The Adult'rer vp like Haman, and so Sainted:

And Femals modesty (as Femals) painted,

Lost in all reall worth: what shall we say?

Things so farre out of frame, as if the day

Were come wherein another Phaeton

Stolne into Phoebus waine, had all misse-won

A cleane contrary way: ô powerfull God,

Right all amisse, and set the wonted period

Of Goodnesse in his place againe: This deed

Be Vsher to bring foorth the Maske, and Weed

[Page] Where vnder, blacker things lye hid perhap,

And yet haue Hope to make a safe escape.

Of This, make knowen, why such an Instrument

As Weston, a poore Seruing-man, should rent

The frame of this sad-good-mans life: did he

Stand with this Court-bred learned OVERBVRIE,

In strife for an Ambasdorship? no, no,

His Orbe held no such light: what did he owe

The Prophet malice for composing this,

This Cynossura in a neat Poësis,

How Good, and Great men ought, and All, to chuse

A chaste, fit, noble Wife, and the abuse

Of Strumpets friendly shadowing in the same,

Was this his fault? or doth there lie a flame

Yet in the embers not vnrak't, for which

He di'de so falsly? Heauen we doe beseech

Vnlocke this secret, and bring all to view,

That Law may purge the bloud, Lust made vntrue.

W. S.

[Page]

An Elegie consecrated to the memorie of the truly worthy and learned Sir Thomas Ouerburie KNIGHT.

HAd not thy wrong, like to a wound ill cur'd

Broke forth in death; I had not been assur'd

Of griefe enough to finish what write.

These lines, as those which doe in cold bloud fight

Had come but faintly on; for, euer, he

That shrines a name within an Elegie

(Vnles some neerer cause doe him inspire)

Kindles his bright flame at the Funerall fire.

Since passion (after, lessning her extent)

Is then more strong, and so more eloquent.

How powerfull is the hand of Murther now!

Was't not enough to see his deare life bowe

Beneath her hate? but crushing that faire frame,

Attempt the like on his vnspotted Fame?

O base reuenge! more then inhumane fact!

Which (as the Romanes sometime would enact

No doome for Patricide, supposing none

Could euer so offend) the vpright Throne

Of Iustice salues not: leauing that intent

Without a Name, without a punishment.

Yet through thy wounded Fame, as thorow these

Glasses which multiply the Species,

[Page]We see thy vertues more; and they become;

So many Statues sleeping on thy Tombe.

Wherein, confinement new thou shalt endure,

But so; as when to make a Pearle more pure

We giue it to a Doue, in whose wombe pent

Some time, we haue it forth most orient.

Such is thy luster now, that venomd Spight

With her blacke Soule dares not behold thy light,

But banning it, a course begins to runne

With those that curse the rising of the Sunne.

The poyson, that workes vpwards now, shall striue

To be thy faire Fames true Preseruatiue.

And witch-craft that can maske the vpper Shine

With no one clowd shall blinde a raye of thine.

And as the Hebrewes in an obscure pit

Their holy fire hid, not extinguish'd it,

And after times, that broke their bondage chaine

Found it, to fire their sacrifice againe:

So lay thy worth somewhile, but being found,

The Muses altars plentifully crownd

With sweet perfumes, by it new kindled be

And offer all to thy deare memorie.

Nor haue we lost thee long: thou art not gone,

Nor canst descend into Obliuion.

But twice the Sun went round since thy Soule fled,

And onely that time men shall tearme thee dead.

Heereafter (rais'd to life) thou still shalt haue

An Antidote against the silent grave.

W.B. Int. Temp.

[Page]

Vpon the vntimely Death of Sr. Thomas Ouerbury.

IF for to liue be but a misery,

If by death good men gaine eternity,

Twas friendly done in robbing thee of life,

To celebrate thy nuptials with thy wife;

So that his will no other aimeintended,

But by exchange thy life should be amended:

Yet wert to compasse his insatiate Lust,

He this last friendship tendred to thy trust

Whiles he dishonour'd and defam'd may die,

Iustice and Fame, shall crowne thy memorie.

B. G. medij Temp.

[Page]

In obitum intempestiuum & lachrimabilem Illustrissimi Equitis aurati TH: OVERBVRI magnae spei & expectationis Viri.

HOw euer windie mischiefe raise vp high,

Darke thickning clouds, to poure vpon vs all

A tempost of foule rumors, which descry

Thy hard mishap and strange distastrous fall,

As if thy wounds were bleeding from that hand,

Which rather should haue raisd thee vp to stand.

Yet shalt thou here suruiue in pittying fame,

In thy sweet Wife, in these most acute lines,

In well reputed Characters of name,

And vertues tombe, which all thy honor shrines,

In spight of enuie, or the proudest hair,

That thus hath set opinion at debate.

But for mine owne part, sith it falls out so,

That death hath had her will; I now compare

It to awanton hand, which at a throw

To breake a box of pretious balme did dare:

With whose perfume, although it was thus spilld,

The house and commers by were better filld.

Cap: Th: Gainsford.

[Page]

Encomiasticke Uerses on this excellent Poem the Wife.

LOe here the matchles patterne of a Wife,

Deciphered in forme of Good and Bad:

The Bad commends the Good as Darke doth Light,

Or as a loathed Bed a Single life;

The Good, with Wisdom and Discretion clad,

With Modestie, and faire demeanour dight,

Whose Reason doth her Will to Loue inuite.

Reason begot, and Passion bred her loue,

Selfe-will She shun'd, Fitnes the Mariage made;

Fitnes doth cherish Loue, Selfe-will Debate.

Loe thus; and in this Monument of proofe

A perfect Wife, a Worke nor Time can fade,

Nor loose respect betray to mortall Fate.

This, none can equall; Best, but imitate.

R.C.

[Page]

On Sir Thomas Ouerburies Poem the Wife.

I Am glad yet ere I die, I haue found occasion

Honest and iust; without the worlds perswasion

Or flatterie or briberie to commend

A woman for her goodnesse; and God send

I may finde many more: I wish them well,

They are pretty things to play with: when Eue fell

She tooke a care that all the Wo-men-kinde

That were to follow her, should be as blinde

As she was wilfull; and till this good Wife,

This peece of vertue, that nere tooke her life

From a fraile mothers labor: Those stand still

As marginalls to point vs to our ill

Came to the world, as other creatures doe

That know no God but will; we learnt to woe,

And if she were but faire and could but kisse,

Twentie to one we could not chuse amisse;

And as we iudge of trees if straight and tall

That may be found, yet neuer till the fall

Finde how the raine hath drill'd them; So till now

We only knew we must loue; but not how.

But here we haue example, and so rare,

That if we hold but common sense and care,

And steere by this card; he that goes awry,

Ile boldly say at his natiuity,

[Page]That man was seal'd a foole: yet all this good

Giuen as it is, not cloath'd in flesh and blood

Some may auerre and strongly twas meere ment

In way of practise, but not president;

Either will make vs happy men; for he

That marrieth any way this my sterie,

Or any parcell of that benefit,

Though he take hold of nothing but the wit,

Hath got himselfe a partner for his life,

More then a woman, better then a wife.

I. F.

Eiusdem in Eadem.

AS from a man the first fraile woman came,

The first that euer made vs know our shame,

And finde the curse of labor; so againe,

Goodnesse and vnderstanding found a man

To take this shame away; and from him sprung

A peece of excellence without a Tongue

Because it should not wrong vs; yet the life

Makes it appeare a woman and a wife.

And this is she, if euer woman shall

Doe good heereafter; borne to blesse our fall.

J. F.

[Page]

On Sir Thomas Ouerburies Poem the Wife.

WEre euery beauty, euery seuerall grace,

Which is in Women, in one Womans face,

Some courtly Gallants might, I think, come to her,

Which would not wed her, though they seem'd to woe her.

Setled Affections follow not the Eye;

Reason and Iudgement, must their course descrie.

Pigmalions Image made of Marble stone,

Was lik'd of all; belou'd of him alone.

But heere's a Dame growen husbandlesse of late,

Which not a Man but wisheth were his Mate.

So faire without, so free from spot within,

That Earth seemes heere to stand exempt from sin,

Iuno vouchsafe, and Hymen, when I wed,

I may behold this Widdow in my Bed.

D. T.

[Page]

On the Wife.

BEauty affords contentment to the Eye,

Riches are meanes to cure a weake estate,

Honour illustrates what it commeth nie:

To marry thus men count it happy Fate.

Vertue they think doth in these Emblems shroud

But triall shewes they are gulled with a Cloud.

These are but complements; the inward worth,

The outward carriage, gesture, wit, and grace,

Is that alone which sets a Woman forth:

And in this Woman, these haue each a place.

Were all wiues such, This age would happy bee,

But happier that of our Posteritie.

D. T.

[Page]

To the Wife.

EXpos'd to all, thou wilt lesse worthy seeme

I feare: Wiues common, all men disesteems;

Yet somethings haue a differing Fate: some fret,

We doubt in wares which are in corners set:

Hid Medalls rust, which being vs'd grow bright;

The day more friendeth vertue then the night.

Thou though more commō, then maist seem more good,

I onely wish thou maist be vnderstood.

G. R.

On the Wife.

WEl hast thou said, that womē should be such;

And were they that, had but a third as much

I would be maried too, but that I know

Not what shee is, but should be thou dost show:

So let me praise thy worke, and let my life

Be single, or thy Widdow be my Wife.

X. Z.

[Page]

On the Wife.

THis perfect Creature, to the Easterne vse

Liu'd, whilst a wife retir'd from common show:

Not that her Louer fear'd, the least abuse,

But with the wisest, knew it fitter so:

Since, falne a widdow, and a zealous one,

She would haue sacrifizde her selfe agen,

But importun'd to life, is now alone,

Lou'd, woo'd, admir'd, by all wise single men,

Which, to th'adultrous rest, that dare begin

There vs'd temptations, were a mortall sinne.

§

TO make a Wife of Wit, or meere Philosophie,

And deck her vp with flowres of sweetest poesie,

Is no hard taske: but such an one of flesh to find,

Would weary all the wits and bodies of mankinde:

Since worse must serue the turne, then men must be content

To take such as they find, not such as they inuent.

T. B.

[Page]

To the cleane contrary wife.

Look here: & chide those Spirits, which maintain

Their Empire, with so strong command in you,

That all good eyes, which do your follies view,

Pitty, what you for them, must once sustaine:

O from those Euills, which free Soules disdaine

To be acquainted with, (and but persue

Worst Minds) from them (as hatefull, as vntrue,)

By reading this, for Fames faire sake refraine:

Who would let feed vpon her birth, the brood

Of lightnes, Indiscretion, and the shame

Of fowle Incontinence, when the base blood

Is carelesse only of an Honourd Name,

Be all that gentle are, more high improou'd,

For loose Dames are but flatter'd, neuer Lou'd.

W: Stra:

[Page]

To the Wife.

WEep on kinde Soule; and though thou cōmest in view,

Put on Woes habit, Melancholies hew.

A Widdowes beautie makes the louelier show,

When flouds of sorrow doe her cheekes oreflow.

The faire Achieuements soft Affection beares

Are bleeding Hearts, Eyes euer-dropping Teares.

The Turtle tells thee, Thou shouldst alwaies grone,

And waile thy Mate with selitarie mone.

Adde then sweet Soule no bounds to thy Laments,

Tis fit sad plaints should follow sad euents.

Yet haue a care his name be not reneal'd:

Griefe merits most, where it is most conceal'd

[Page]

Of the choyce of a Wife.

IF I were to chuse a Woman,

As who knowes but I may marry:

I would trust the eye of no man,

Nor a tongue that may miscarry:

For in way of Loue and Glory

Each Tongue best tells his owne story.

First, to make my choyse the bolder,

I would haue her childe to such

Whose free vertuous liues are older

Then Antiquitie can touch:

For tis seeldome seene, that Blood

Giues a Beautie great and good.

Yet an ancient stocke may bring

Branches I confesse of worth,

Like rich-mantles shadowing

Those descents that brought them forth.

Yet such Hills though gilded showe

Soonest feele the Age of snowe.

[Page]

Therefore to preuent such care

That repentance soone may bring,

Like Marchants I would chuse my ware.

Vse-full good, not glittering.

He that weds for state or face,

Buyes a Horse to lose a Race.

Yet I would haue her faire as any,

But her owne not kist away:

I would haue her free to many,

Looke on all like equall day;

But descending to the Sea,

Make her set with none but me.

If she be not tall tis better;

For that word, A goodly Woman,

Prints it selfe in such a letter,

That it leaues vnstudied no man:

I would haue my Mistresse grow

Onely tall, to answere No.

[Page]

Yet I would not haue her lose

So much breeding, as to fling

Vnbecomming scorne on those

That must worship euery thing.

Let her feare loose lookes to scatter,

And loose men will feare to flatter.

Children I would haue her beare.

More for loue of name then bed:

So each childe I haue is heyre

To another maydenhead;

For she that in the act's afraids.

Euery nigh'ts another maide.

Such a one, as when shees woo'd

Blushes not for ill thoughts past;

But so innocently good,

That her dreames are euer chast;

For that Maide that thinkes a sin,

Has betraide the Fort shee's in.

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In my visitation still,

I would haue her scatter feares,

How this man, and that was ill,

After protestations teares:

And who vowes a constant life,

Crownes a meritorious Wife.

When the Priest first giues our hands,

I would haue her thinke but thus;

In what high and holy bands

Heauen, like twinnes, hath planted vs,

That like Aarons rod together,

Both may bud, grow greene, and wither.

FINIS.

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§

§

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THE LIVELY PORTRAICTURE OF SIR THOMAS OVERBURY.

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THE METHOD.

FIrst of Mariage, and the effect thereof, Children. Then of his contrarie, Lust; then for his choice. First, his opinion negatiuely, what should not be: the first causes in it, that is, neither Beautie, Birth, nor Portion. Then affirmatiuely, what should be, of which kind there are foure: Goodnesse, Knowledge, Discretion, and as a second thing, Beautie. The first only is absolutely good: the other being built vpon the first doe likewise become so. Then the application of that woman by loue to himselfe, which makes her a wife. And lastly, the only condition of a wife, Fitnesse.

A WIFE.

EAch Woman is a briefe of Woman-kinde,

And doth in little euen as much containe,

As, in one Day and Night, all life we finde,

Of either, More, is but the fame againe:

God fram'd Her so, that to her Husband, She,

As Eue, should all the World of Women be.

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So fram'd he Both, that neither power he gaue,

Vse of themselues, but by exchange, to make:

Whence in their Face the Fayre no pleasure haue,

But' by reflex of what thence other take.

Our Lips in their owne Kisse no pleasure find:

Toward their proper Face, our Eyes are blind.

So God in Eue did perfit Man begun;

Till then, in vaine much of himselfe he had:

In Adam God created onely one,

Eue, and the world to come, in Eue he made.

We are two halfes: whiles each frō other straies,

Both barren are; Ioyn'd both their like can raise

At first both Sexes were in Man combin'de,

man, a Shee-man did in his bodie breed;

Adam was Eues, Eue Mother of Mankinde,

Eue From Liue-flesh, Man did from Dust proceed.

One thus made two, Marriage doth revnite,

And makes them both but on Hermaphrodite.

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Man did but the well-being of his life

From Woman take, her Being she from Man,

And therefore Eue created was a Wife,

And at the end of all, her Sex began:

Mariage their obiect is; their Being then,

And now Perfection, they receiue from Men.

Marriage, to all, whose ioyes two parties be,

And doubled are by being parted so,

Wherein the very act is Chastitie,

Whereby two Soules into one Bodie goe.

Which makes two one while here they liuing be,

And after death in their Posteritie.

God to each Man a priuate Woman gaue,

That in that Center his desires might stint,

That he a comfort like himselfe might haue,

And that on her his like he might imprint.

Double is Womans vse, part of their end

Doth on this Age, part on the next depend.

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We fill but part of Time, and cannot dye,

Till we the world a fresh supply haue lent,

Children are Bodies sole Eternitie;

Nature is Gods, Art is Mans instrument.

Now all Mans Art but only dead things makes,

But herein Man in things of life partakes.

For wandring Lust; I know tis infinite,

It still begins, and addes not more to more.

The guilt is euerlasting, the delight,

This instant doth not feele of that before.

The taste of it is only in the Sense,

The operation, in the Conscience.

Woman is not Lusts bounds, but Woman-kinde,

One is Loues number: who from that doth fall,

Hath lost his hold, and no new rest shall finde,

Uice hath no meane, but not to be at all;

A Wife is that enough, Lust cannot finde,

For Lust is still with want, or too much, pinde.

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Bate lust the Sin, my share is eu'n with his,

For Not to lust, and to Enjoy is one:

And more or lesse past, equall Nothing is,

I still haue one, Lust one at once, alone:

And though the Woman often changed be,

Yet Hee's the same without varietie.

Marriage our lust (as 'twere with fuell fire)

Doth, with a medicine of the same, allay;

And not forbid, but rectifie desire.

My selfe I cannot chuse, my wife I may:

And in the choyce of Her, it much doth lie,

To mend my selfe in my Posteritie.

O rather let me Loue, then be in loue;

So let me chuse as Wife and Friend to finde,

Let me forget her Sex when I approue,

Beasts likenesse lies in shape, but ours in minde.

Our Soules no Sexes haue, their Loue is cleane,

No Sex, both in the better part are Men.

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But Physicke for our lust their Bodies be,

But matter fit to shew our Loue vpon.

But onely Shells for our posteritie,

Their soules were giu'n lest man should be alone:

For, but the Soules Interpreters, wordes be,

Without which Bodies are no Company.

That goodly frame we see of flesh and blood,

Their fashion is, not weight, it is I say

But their Laye-part, but well digested food;

Tis but twixt Dust, and Dust, Liues middle way:

The worth of it is nothing that is seen,

But onely that it holds a Soule within.

And all the carnall Beautie of my Wife,

Is but skin-deepe, but to two senses knowne;

Short euen of Pictures, shorter liu'd then Life,

And yet the loue suruiues that's built thereon:

For our Imagination is too high,

For Bodies when they meete to satisfie.

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All Shapes, all Colours are alike in Night,

Nor doth our Touch distinguish foule or faire:

But mans imagination, and his sight;

And those, but the first weeke, by Custome are

Both made alike, which diffred at first view;

Nor can that difference, Absence much renew.

Nor can that Beautie lying in the Face,

But meerely by imagination be

Enioy'd by vs in an inferior place.

Nor can that Beauty by enioying we

Make ours become, so our desire growes tame:

We changed are, but it remaines the same.

Birth, lesse then Beauty, shall my Reason blinde,

Her Birth goes to my Children, not to me.

Rather had I that actiue Gentrie finde,

Vertue, then passiue from her Ancestry;

Rather in her aliue, one vertue see,

Then all the rest dead in her Pedegree.

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In the Degrees, high rather be she plac't,

Of Nature then of Art and Policie:

Gentry is but a relique of Time-past,

And Loue doth onely but the present see;

Things were first made, then words: she were the same,

With, or without, that title, or that name.

As for (the oddes [...] Sexes) Portion;

Nor will I shun it, nor my ayme it make;

Byrth, Beautie, Wealth, are nothing worth alone,

All these I would for good additions take,

Not for Good Parts; those two are ill combin'd,

Whō any third thing frō themselues hath ioynd.

Rather then these, the obiect of my Loue,

Let it be Good; when these with vertue go,

They (in themselues indifferent,) vertues proue,

For Good (like fire) turnes all things to be so.

Gods Image, in Her Soule, ô let me place

My Loue vpon; not Adams in Her Face.

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Good, is a fairer attribute then White,

Tis the mindes beautie keepes the other sweet:

That's not still one, nor mortall with the light,

Nor glasse, nor painting can it counterfet,

Nor doth it raise desires, which euer tend

At once, to their perfection, and their end.

By Good I would haue Holy vnderstood,

So God she cannot loue, but also mee,

The law requires our words and deedes be good,

Religion euen the Thoughts doth sanctifie:

And she is more a Maide that rauisht is,

Then She which onely doth but wish amisse.

Lust only by Religion is withstood,

Lusts obiect is aliue, his strength within,

Moralitie resists but in cold bloud,

Respect of Credit feareth shame not sinne.

But no place darke enough for such offence

She finds, that's watcht by her owne Conscience.

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Then may I trust her Body with her Minde,

And, thereupon secure, neede neuer know

The pangs of Iealousie: and Loue doth finde

More paineto doubt her false, then know her so:

For Patience is of euils that are knowne,

The certaine Remedie; but Doubt hath none.

And be that thought once stirr'd, twill neuer dye,

Nor will the griefe more milde by custome proue:

Nor yet Amendment can it satisfie,

The Anguish more or lesse, is as our Loue:

This miserie doth Iealousie ensue,

That we may proue her false, but cannot True.

Suspicion may the will of Lust restraine.

But Good preuents from hauing such a will,

A Wife that's Good, doth Chast and more containe,

For Chast is but an Abstinence from ill:

And in a Wife that's Bad; although the best

Of qualities; yet in a Good the least.

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To barre the meanes is Care, not Iealousie.

Some lawfull things to be auoyded are,

When, they occasion of vnlawfull be,

Lust ere it hurts, is best descride a farre:

Lust is a finne of two; he that is sure

Of either part, may be of both secure.

Giue me next Good, an vnderstanding Wife,

By Nature wise, not Learned by much Art,

Some Knowledge on Her side will all my life

More scope of conuersation impart,

Besides, Her inborne vertue fortifie,

They are most firmly good, that best know Why.

A passiue vnderstanding to conceiue,

And Iudgement to discerne, I wish to finde:

Beyond that, all as hazardous I leaue,

Learning and pregnant wit in Woman-kinde,

What it findes malleable maketh fraile,

And doth not adde more Ballast, but more Saile.

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Domesticke Charge doth best that Sexe befit,

Contiguous businesse, so to fixe the Minde,

That Leasure space for Fancies not admit:

Their Leasure tis corrupteth Woman-kinde,

Else being plac'd from many vices free,

They had to Heau'n a shorter cut then wee.

Bookes are a part of Mans prerogatiue,

In formall Inke they Thoughts and Uoices hold,

That we to them our solitude may giue,

And make Time-present trauell that of old.

Our Life, Fame peeceth longer at the end,

And Bookes it farther backward doe extend.

As good, and knowing, let her be Discreet,

That to the others weight, doth Fashion bring,

Discretion doth consider what is Fit,

Goodnesse but what is lawfull, but the Thing

Not Circumstances; Learning is and wit,

In Men but curious folly without it.

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To keepe their Name when 'tis in others hands

Discretion askes, their Credit is by farre

More fraile then They, on likely-hoods it stands,

And hard to be disproou'd, Lust's slanders are.

Their Carriage, not their Chastity alone,

Must keepe their Name chaste from suspition.

Womens Behauiour is a surer barre

Then is their No: That fairely doth denie

Without denying, thereby kept they are

Safe eu'n from Hope; in part to blame is shee,

Which hath without consent bin onely tride;

He comes too neere, that comes to be denide.

Now since a Woman we to Marry are,

A Soule and Body, not a Soule alone;

When one is Good, then be the other Faire,

Beauty is Health, and Beauty both in one,

Bee shee so faire as change can yeeld no gaine,

So faire, as Shee most Women else containe.

So Faire at least let me imagine Her,

That thought to me is Truth: Opinion

Cannot in matter of opinion erre;

With no Eyes shall I see her but mine owne.

And as my Fancy Her conceiues to bee.

Euen such my Senses both, doe Feele and See.

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The Face we may the seat of of Beauty call,

In it the rellish of the rest doth lie,

Nay eu'n a figure of the Minde withall:

And of the Face the Life moues in the Eye;

No things else being two so like we see,

So like, that they two but in number be.

Beauty in decent shape, and Colours lies,

Colours the matter are, and shape the Soule;

The Soule which from no single part doth rise,

But from the iust proportion of the whole,

And is a meere spirituall-harmonie,

Of euery part vnited in the Eye.

Loue is a kinde of Superstition,

Which feares the Idoll which it selfe hath fram'd;

Lust a Desire, which rather from his owne

Temper, then from the obiect is inflam'd;

Beauty is Loues obiect, Women Lust's, to gaine

Loue, Loue Desires, Lust onely to obtaine.

No circumstance doth Beauty beautifie,

Like gracefull fashion, natiue Comelinesse,

Nay eu'n gets pardon for Deformity;

Art cannot it beget, but may encrease,

When Nature had fixt Beauty perfect made,

Something she left for Motion to adde.

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But let that Fashion more to Modestie

Tend, then Assurance; Modesty doth set

The face in hir iust place, from Passions free,

Tis both the Mindes, and Bodies Beauty met;

But Modesty; no vertue can we see;

That is the Faces onely Chastitie.

Where goodnesse failes, twixt ill and ill that stands:

Whence tis that women though they weaker be,

And their desires more strong, yet on their hands

The Chastitie of men doth often lie:

Lust would more common be then any one,

Could it as other sinnes be done alone.

All these good parts a Perfect woman make,

Adde Loue to me, they make a Perfect Wife,

Without her Loue Her Beauty should I take,

As that of Pictures, dead, That giues it life;

Till then Her Beauty like the Sunne doth shine

Alike to all; That makes it onely mine.

And of that Loue, let Reason Father be,

And Passion Mothor; let it from the one

His Being take, the other his Degree;

Selfe-loue (which second Loues are built vpon)

Will make me (if not Her) her Loue respect;

No Man but fauours his owne worths effect.

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As Good, and wise, so be she Fit for mee,

That is, To will, and Not to will the same,

My Wife is my Adopted-selfe, and shee

As Mee, so what I loue, to Loue must frame.

For when in Mariage both in one concurre,

Woman conuerts to Man, not Man to her.

FINIS.

The Authors Epitaph, written by himselfe.

THe Span of my dayes measur'd, heere I rest,

That is, my body; but my soule, his guest

Is hence ascended, whither, nestber Time,

Nor Faith, nor Hope, but onely loue can clime;

Where being now enlightned, Shee doth know

The Truth of all men argue of below:

Onely this dust doth heere in Pawne remaine,

That when the world dissolues she come againe.

Characters, OR Wittie descriptions of the properties of sundry Persons.

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A good Woman.

A Good Woman is a comfort, like a man. Shee lacks of him nothing but heat. Thence is her sweetnes of disposition, which meets his stoutnes more pleasingly; so wooll meets yron easier then yron, and turnes resisting [Page] into embracing. Her greatest learning is religion, and her thoughts are on her owne Sexe, or on men, without casting the difference. Dishonestie neuer comes neerer than her eares, and then wonder stops it out, and saues vertue the labour. Shee leaues then eat youth, telling his lushious tales, and puts back the Seruingmans putting forward with a frowne: yet her kindnes is free enough to be seene; for it hath no guilt about it: and her mirth is cleare, that you may looke through it, into vertue, but not beyond. She hath not behauiour at a certaine, but makes it to her occasion. Shee hath so much knowledge as to loue it, and if she haue it not at home, shee will fetch it; for this sometimes in a pleasant discontent she dares chide her Sexe, though she vse it neuer the worse. She is much within, and frames outward things to her minde, not her minde to them. She weares good clothes, but neuer better; for she findes no degree beyond Decencie. Shee hath a content of [Page] her owne, and so seeks not an husband, but findes him. She is indeed most, but not much to description, for she is direct and one, and hath not the varietie of ill. Now shee is giuen fresh and aliue to a husband, and shee doth nothing more then loue him, for she takes him to that purpose. So his good becomes the businesse of her actions, and shee doth her selfe kindnesse vpon him. After his, her chiefest vertue is a good husband. For Shee is Hee.

A very Woman.

§

A Very Woman, is a dow-bakt man, or a Shee ment well towards man, but fell two bowes short, strength and vnderstanding. Her vertue is the hedge, Modestie, that keeps a man from climing ouer into her faults. Shee simpers as if she had no teeth, but lips, and she diuides her eyes and keeps halfe for [Page] her selfe, and giues the other to her near Youth. Being set downe shee casts her face into a platforme, which dureth the meale, & is taken away with the voider. Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to thirst, and it is a part of their mysterie not to professe hunger; but Nature takes her in priuate and stretcheth her vpon meat. Shee is Marigeable and Fourteene at once; and after she doth not liue but tarrie. Shee reads ouer her face euery morning, and sometimes blots out pale, and writes red. She thinks she is faire, though many times her opinion goes alone, and she loues her glasse, and the knight of the Sunne for lying. Shee is hid away all but her face, and that's hang'd about with toyes and deuices, like the signe of a Tauerne, to draw Strangers. If shee shew more shee preuents desire, and by too free giuing, leaues no Gift. Shee may escape from the Seruing-man, but not from the Chamber-maide. Shee commits with her eares for certaine: after that shee [Page] may goe for a Maide, but she hath been lien with in her vnderstanding. Her Philosophie, is a seeming neglect of those, that be too good for her. Shee's a yonger brother for her portion, but not for her portion of wit, that comes from her in a treble, which is still too big for it; yet hir Vanitie seldom matcheth hir, with one of her owne degree, for then she wil beget another creature a begger: and commonly, if shee marrie better, shee marries worse. Shee gets much by the simplicitie of her Sutor, and for a iest, laughes at him without one. Thus she dresses a Husband for her selfe, and after takes him for his patience, and the land adioyning, yee may see it, in a Seruingmans fresh Naperie, and his Leg steps into an vnknowne stocking. I need not speake of his Garters, the tassell shewes it selfe. If she loue, she loues not the Man, but the beast of him. Shee is Salomons cruel creature, and a mans walking-consumption: euery caudle shee giues him, is a purge. Her chiefe commendation [Page] is, shee brings a man to repentance.

Her next part.

Her lightnesse gets her to swimme at top of the table, where her wrie little finger bewraies caruing; her neighbors at the latter end know they are welcom, and for that purpose shee quencheth her thirst. She trauels to and among, and so becomes a woman of good entertainment, for all the follie in the countrie, comes in cleane Linnen to visit her: she breakes to them her griefe in Sugar cakes, and receiues from their mouthes in exchange, many stories that conclude to no purpose. Her eldest Sonne is like her howsoeuer, and that dispraiseth him best: her vtmost drift is to turne him Foole, which commonly she obtaines at the yeeres of discretion, Shee takes a iourney sometimes to her Neeces house, but neuer thinks beyond London. Her Deuotion is good clothes, they carrie her to Church, expresse their stuffe and fashion, [Page] and are silent, if she be more deuout, shee lifts vp a certaine number of eyes, in stead of prayers, and takes the Sermon, and measures out a nap by it, iust as long. She sends Religion afore to Sixtie, where shee neuer ouertakes it, or driues it before her againe. Her most necessarie instruments, are a waiting Gentlewoman, and a Chamber-maide; shee weares her Gentlewoman still, but most often leaues the other in her Chamber-window. She hath a little Kennel in her lap, and she smells the sweeter for it. The vtmost reach of her Prouidence, is the fatnesse of a Capon, and her greatest enuie, is the next Gentlewomans better gown. Her most commendable skill, is to make her Husbands fustian beare her Veluer. This she doth many times ouer, and then is deliuered to old Age, and a Chaire, where euery bodie leaues her.

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A Dissembler,

IS an essence needing a double definition, for hee is not that hee appeares. Vnto the eye he is pleasing, vnto the eare not harsh, but vnto the vnderstanding intricate, and full of windings: he is the prima materia, & his intents giue him forme: he dieth his meanes and his meaning into two colours, he baites craft with humilitie, and his countenance is the picture of the present disposition. He winnes not by batterie, but vndermining, and his racke is soothing. Hee allures, is not allur'd by his affections, for they are the brokers of his obseruation. He knowes passion onely by sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes his time an accomptant to his memorie, and of the humors of men weaues a net for occasion: the Inquisitor must looke through his iudgment, for to the eye only he is no [...] visible.

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A Courtier,

TO all mens thinking is a man, and to most men the finest: all things else are defined by the vnderstanding, but this by the senses; but his surest marke is, that hee is to be found onely about Princes. Hee smells; and putteth away much of his iudgment about the scituation of his clothes. He 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. He puts more confidence in his words than meaning, and more in his pronuntiation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he hath but one receipt of making loue. He followes nothing but inconstancie, admires nothing but beautie, honours nothing but fortune. Loues nothing. The sustenance of his discourse is Newes, and his censure like a shot depēds vpō the charging. [Page] He is not, if he be out of Court, but fish-like breathes destruction, if out of his owne element. Neither his motion, or aspect are regular, but he moues by the vpper Spheres, and is the reflection of higher substances.

If you finde him not heere, you shall in Paules, with a picke-tooth in his Hat, a cape cloke, and a long stocking.

A Golden Asse,

IS a young thing, whose Father went to the Diuell; he is followed like a salt bitch, and limb'd by him that gets vp first; his disposition is cut, and knaues rent him like Tenter-hookes: he is as blinde as his mother, and swallowes flatterers for friends. He is high in his owne imagination; but that imagination, as a stone, that is raised by violence, descends naturally: when he goes, he lookes who lookes: if he findes not good store of [Page] vailers, he comes home stiffe and seer, vntill he be new oyled and watered by his husbandmen. Wheresoeuer be eates he hath an officer, to warne men not to talke out of his element, and his owne is exceeding sensible, because it is sensuall; but he cannot exchange a peece of reason, though he can a peece of gold. He is naught pluckt, for his feathers are his beauty, and more then his beautie, they are his discretion, his countenance, his All. He is now at an end, for hee hath had the Wolfe of vaine-glorie, which he fed, vntill himselfe became the food.

A Flatterer,

IS the shadow of a Foole. Hee is a good wood-man, for he singleth out none but the wealthy. His carriage is euer of the colour of his patient; and for his sake he will halt or weare a wry necke. He dispraiseth nothing but pouerty, [Page] and small drinke, and praiseth his grace of making water. Hee selleth himselfe, with reckoning his great Friends, and teacheth the present, how to winne his praise by reciting the others gifts: hee is ready for all imploiments, but especially before Dinner, for his courage and his stomacke go together. Hee will play any vpon his countenance, and where he cannot be admitted for a counseller, he will serue as a foole. Hee frequents the court of wards and ordinaries, and fits these guests of Togae virilis, with wiues or whoores. He entreth young men into acquaintance and debt books. In a word, he is the impression of the last terme, and will be so, vntill the comming of a new terme or termer.

An ignorant Glorie-hunter,

IS an insectum animal; for he is the maggot of opinion, his behauiour is anothing from himselfe, and is glewed, and [Page] but set on. He entertaines men with repetitions, and returnes them their owne words. He is ignorant of nothing, no not of those things, where ignorance is the lesser shame. He gets the names of good wits, and vtters them for his companions. He confesseth vices that he is guiltlesse of, if they be in fashion; and dares not salute a man in old cloths, or out of fashion. There is not a publicke assembly without him, and he will take any paines for an acquaintance there. In any shew he will be one, though he be but a whistler, or a torch bearer; and beares downe strangers with the story of his actions. He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his wardrobe, diet, and all customes, with entitling their beginnings from Princes, great Souldiers and strange Nations. He dares speake more then he vnderstands, and aduentures his words without the reliefe of any seconds. Hee relates battels and skirmishes, as from an eye witnesse, when his eies theeuishly beguiled a ballad [Page] of them. In a word, to make sure of admiration, he will not let himselfe vnderstand himselfe, but hopes, fame and opinion will bee the Readers of his Riddles.

A Timist,

IS a noune adiectiue of the present tense. He hath no more of a conscience then Feare, and his religion is not his but the Princes. Hee reuerenceth a Courtiers Seruants seruant. Is first his own Slaue, and then whosoeuer looketh big; when he giues he curseth, and when hee fells he worships. He reades the statutes in his chamber, and weares the Bible in the streetes: he neuer praiseth any but before themselues or friends: and mislikes no great mans actions during his life. His new yeares gifts are ready at Alhalomas, and the sute he meant to mediate before them. He pleaseth the children of [Page] great men, and promiseth to adopt them; and his curtesie extends it selfe euen to the stable. Hee straines to talke wisely, and his modesty would serue a Bride. He is grauity from the head to the foote; but not from the head to the heart; you may finde what place he affecteth, for he creepes as neere it as may be, and as passionately courts it; if at any time his hopes are effected, he swelleth with them; and they burst out too good for the vessell. In a word, he danceth to the tune of fortune, and studies for nothing but to keepe time.

An Amorist,

IS a certaine blasted or planet-stroken, and is the dog that leades blinde Cupid; when he is at the best, his fashion exceedes the worth of his weight. He is neuer without verses, and muske confects; and sighs to the hazard of his buttons; [Page] his eyes are all white, either to weare the liuery of his Mistris complexion, or to keepe Cupid from hitting the blacke. Hee fights with passion, and looseth much of his blood hy his weapon; dreames, thence his palenes. His armes are carefuly vsed, as it their best vse were nothing but embracements. He is vntrust, vnbuttoned, and vngartered, not out of carelesnesse, but care; his farthest end being but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatnesse, but is goeth not alone; for then he makes some other qualitie moralize his affection, and his trimnesse is the grace of that grace. Hir fauour lifts him vp, as the Sun moisture; when she disfauours, vnable to hold that happinesse, it falls downe in teares; his fingers are his Orators, and hee expresseth much of himselfe vpon some instrument. He answeres not, or not to the purpose; and no maruell, for he is not at home. He scotcheth time with dancing with his Mistris, taking vp of her gloue, and wearing her feather; [Page] hee is confinde to her colour, and dares not passe out of the circuit of her memory. His imagination is a foole, and it goeth in a pide-coat of red and white; shortly, he is translated out of a man into folly; his imagination is the glasse of lust, and himselfe the traitour to his owne discretion.

An Affectate Traueller

IS a speaking fashion; hee hath taken paynes to be ridiculous; and hath seen more then he hath perceiued. His attire speakes French or Italian, and his gate cryes, Behold me. Hee censures all things by countenances, and shrugs, and speaks his owne language with shame and lisping: he will choake rather then confesse Beere good drinke: and his pick-tooth is a maine part of his behauiour. Hee chuseth rather to be counted a Spie, then not a Politician: and maintaines his reputation [Page] by naming greatmen familiarly. He chuseth rather to tell lies, then not wonders, and talkes with men singly: his discourse sonnds big, but meanes nothing: & his Boy is bound to admire him howsoeuer. He comes still from great Personages, but goes with meane. He takes occasion to shew Iewels giuen him in regard of his vertue, that were bought in S. Martins: and not long after, hauing with a Mountebanks method, pronounced them woorth thousands, enpawneth them for a few shillings. Vpon festiuall dayes he goes to Court, and salutes without resaluting: at night in an Ordinary he canvasseth the businesse in hand, and seems as conuersant with all intents and plots, as if he begot them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to tell them the ends of all matters of consequence, and then to borrow money of them; hee offereth courtefies, to shew them, rather then himselfe humble. Hee disdaines all things aboue his reach, and preferreth all Countries before his owne. Hee imputeth [Page] his wants and pouerty to the ignorance of the time, not his owne vnworthinesse: and concludes his discourse with halfe a period, or a word, and leaues the rest to imagination. In a word, his religion is fashion, and both bodie and soule are gouerned by fame, hee loues most voices aboue truth.

A Wise man

IS the truth of the true definition of man, that is, a reasonable creature. His disposition alters, alters not. Hee hides himselfe with the attire of the vulgar; and in indifferent things is content to be gouerned by them. He lookes according to nature, so goes his behauiour. His minde enioyes a continuall smoothnesse: so commeth it, that his consideration is alwaies at home. He endures the faults of all men silently, except his friends, and to them he is the mirrour of [Page] their actions; by this meanes his peace commeth not from fortune, but himselfe. He is cunning in men, not to surprize but keepe his owne, and bears off their ill affected hurnours, no otherwise then if they were flies. Hee chuseth not friends by the subsidy-booke, and is not luxurious after acquaintance. He maintaines the strength of his body, not by delicacies, but temperance; and his minde by giuing it preheminence ouer his bodie. Hee vnderstands things not by their forme, but qualities; and his comparisons intend not to excuse, but to prouoke him higher. He is not subiect to casualties, for Fortune hath nothing to do with the minde, except those drowned in the body: but he hath diuided his soule, from the case of his soule, whose weakenesse hee assists no otherwise then commiseratiuely, not that it is his, but that it is. He is thus, and will bee thus: and liues subiect neither to Time nor his frailties; the feruant of vertue, and by vertue, the friend of the highest.

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A Noble Spirit

HAth surueyed and fortified his disposition, and conuerts all occurrents into experience, betweene which experience and his reason, there is marriage; the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seeth the end before he shoot. Men are the instruments of his Art, and there is no man without his vse: occasion incites him, none enticeth him; and he mooues by affection, not for affection; he loues glory, scornes shame, and gouerneth and obeyeth with one countenance; for it comes from one consideration. Hee cals not the varietie of the world chances, for his meditation hath trauelled ouer them; and his eye mounted vpon his vnderstanding, seeth them as things vnderneath. Hee couers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his body, but teacheth it, since it is not able to defend its owne [Page] imbecillity, to shew or suffer. Hee licenceth not his weakenesse, to weare Fate, but knowing reason to bee no idle gift of Nature, hee is the Sreeres-man of his owne destiny. Truth is his Goddesse, and he takes paines to get her, not to look like her. He knowes the condition of the world, that he must act one thing like another, and then another. To these hee carries his desires, & not his desires him; and stickes not fast by the way (for that contentment is repentance) but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of all things, to haue but one center or period, without all distraction, he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and naturall element. He doth not contemne Fortune, but not confesse her. Hee is no Gamester of the world (which only complaine and praise her) but being onely sensible of the honesty of actions, contemnes a particular profit as the excrement or scum. Vnto the society of men he is a Sunne, whose cleerenesse directs their steps in a regular motion: when he [Page] is more particular, hee is the wise mans friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him: and he feeles age more by the strength of his soule, than the weakenesse of his body: thus feeles he no paine, but esteemes all such things as friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.

An Olde Man

IS a thing that hath beene a man in his dayes. Olde men are to bee knowen blind-folded: for their talke is as terrible as their resemblance. They praise their own times as vehemently, as if they would sell them. They become wrinckled with frowning and facing youth; they admire their old customes, euen to the eating of red herring, and going wetshod. They call the thumbe vnder the girdle, Grauity; and because they can [Page] hardly smell at all, their Posies are vnder their girdles. They count it an Ornament of speech, to close the period with a cough; and it is venerable, they say, to spend time in wiping their driueled beards. Their discourse is vnanswerable, by reason of their obstinacy: their speech is much, though little to the purpose. Trueths and lies passe with an equall affirmation, for their memories seuerall is wonne into one receptacle, and so they come out with one sense. They teach their seruants their duties with as much scorne and tyranny, as some people teach their dogs to fetch. Their enuy is one of their diseases. They put off and on their clothes, with that certainty, as if they knew, their heads would not direct them, and therefore Custome should. They take a pride in halting and going stiffely, and therefore their staues are carued and tipped: they trust their attire with much of their grauity; and they dare not goe without a gowne in Summer. Their hats are brushed to draw mens eyes off from [Page] their faces; but of all, their Pomandars are worne to most purpose, for their putrified breath ought not to want either a smell to defend, or a dog to excuse.

A Countrey Gentleman

IS a thing, out of whose corruption the generation of a Iustice of peace is produced. Hee speakes statutes and husbandry well enough, to make his neighbours thinke him a wise man; hee is well skilled in Arithmeticke or rates: and hath eloquence enough to saue his two pence. His conuersation amongst his Tenants is desperate; but amongst his equals full of doubt. His trauell is seldome farther then the next market towne, and his inquisition is about the price of Corne: when he trauelleth, he will goe ten mile out of the way to a Couzens house of his to saue charges; and rewards the Seruants by taking them by the hand when hee departs. [Page] Nothing vnder a Sub-poena can draw him to London: and when hee is there, he stickes fast vpon euery obiect, casts his eyes away vpon gazing, and becomes the prey of euery Cut-purse. When hee comes home, those wonders serue him for his Holy-day talke. If hee goe to Court, it is in yellow stockings; and if it be in Winter, in a slight taffetie cloake, and pumps and pantofles. He is chaind, that wooes the vsher for his comming into the presence, where hee becoms troublesome with the ill managing of his Rapier, and the wearing of his girdle of one fashion, and the hangers of another; by this time he hath learned to kisse his hand, and make a Leg both together, and the names of Lords and Counsellours; hee hath thus much toward entertainment and courtesie, but of the last hee makes more vse; for by the recitall of my Lord, hee coniures his poor country-men. But this is not his element, he must home againe, being like a Dor, that ends his flight in a dunghill.

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A Fine Gentle-man

IS the Cynamon tree, whose barke is more worth then his body. Hee hath read the Booke of good manners, and by this time each of his limbs may read it. He alloweth of no iudge, but the eye; painting, boulstring, and bombasting are his Oratours: by these also hee prooues his industry: for hee hath purchased legs, haire, beautie, and straightnesse, more then nature left him. He vnlockes maiden-heads with his language, and speakes Euphues, not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse makes not his behauiour, but hee buies it at Court, as Countrey men their cloathes in Birchinlane. Hee is somewhat like the Salamander, and liues in the flame of loue, which paines he expresseth comically: and nothing grieues him so much, as the want of a Poet to make an issue in his loue; yet he sighs sweetly, and speakes lamentably: [Page] for his breath is perfumed, and his words are winde. He is best in season at Christmas; for the Boares head and Reueller come together; his hopes are laden in his quality: & left Fidlers should take him vnprouided, hee weares pumps in his pocket: and lest hee should take Fidlers vnprouided, he whistles his owne Galliard. He is a Calender of ten yeeres, and marriage rusts him. Afterwards he mainetaines himselfe an implement of houshold by caruing and vshering. For all this, he is iudiciall onely in Taylours and Barbers, but his opinion is euer ready, and euer idle. If you will know more of his acts, the Brokers shoppe is the witnesse of his valour, where lies wounded, dead, rent, and out of fashion, many a spruce Sute, ouerthrowen by his fantasticknesse.

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An Elder Brother

IS a creature borne to the best aduantage of things without him, that hath the start at the beginning, but loyters it away before the ending. Hee lookes like his Land, as heauily, and durtily, as stubbornly. He dares doe any thing but fight; and feares nothing but his fathers life and minority. The first thing hee makes known is his estate; and the Loadstone that drawes him is the vpper end of the Table. Hee wooeth by a particular, and his strongest argument is the ioynture. His obseruation is all about the fashion, and hee commends Partlets for a rare deuise. He speakes no language, but smels of dogs or hawkes; and his ambition flies Iustice-height. He loues to bee commended, and hee will goe into the Kitchin, but heele haue it. He loues glory, but is so lazie, as hee is content with flattery. Hee speakes most of the precedency [Page] of age, and protests fortune the greatest vertue. He summoneth the old seruants, and tels what strange acts he wil doe when he raignes. He verily beleeues house-keepers the best common-wealths men; and therefore studies baking, brewing, greasing, and such, as the limmes of goodnesse. He iudgeth it no small signe of wisdome to talke much; his tongue therefore goes continually his errand, but neuer speeds. If his vnderstanding were not honester then his will, no man should keepe good conceit by him; for hee thinkes it no theft, to fell all he can to opinion. His pedigree & his fathers sealering, are the stilts of his crazed disposition. He had rather keepe company with the dregs of men, then not to be the best man. His insinuation is the inuiting of men to his house; and he thinks it a great modesty to comprehend his cheere vnder a peece of Mutton and a Rubet: if he by this time be not knowen, he will goe home againe: for he can no more abide to haue himself concealed, then his land; [Page] yet he is as you see good for nothing, except to make a stallion to maintaine the race.

A Braggadochio Welchman

IS the Oyster, that the Pearle is in, for a man may be pickt out of him. He hath the abilities of the minde in Potentia, and actu nothing but boldnesse. His clothes are in fashion before his body; and he accounts boldnesse the chiefest vertue. Aboue all men he loues an Herrald, and speakes pedigrees naturally. He accounts none well descended, that call him not Couzen; and preferres Owen Glendower before any of the nine Worthies. The first note of his familiarity is the confession of his valour; and so hee preuents quarrels. He vouchech Welch, a pure and vnconquered language, and courts Ladies with the story of their Chronicle. To conclude, he is precious [Page] in his owne conceit, and vpon S. Dauies day without comparison.

A Pedant

HE treads in a rule, and one hand scannes verses, and the other holds his Scepter. He dares not think a thought that the nominatiue case gouerns not the Verbe; and hee neuer had meaning in his life, for he trauelled onely for words. His ambition is Criticisme, and his example Tully. Hee values phrases, and elects them by the sound, and the eight parts of speech are his Seruants. To be briefe, he is a Hetoroclite, for he wants the plurall number, hauing onely the single quality of words.

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A Seruing-man

IS a creature, which though hee bee not drunke, yet is not his owne man. Hee tels without asking who ownes him, by the superscription of his Liuery. His life is, for ease and leisure, much about Gentleman-like. His wealth enough to suffice Nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were sure of it; for he hath little, and wants nothing, hee values himselfe higher or lower, as his Master is. Hee hates or loues the Men, as his Master doth the Master. Hee is commonly proud of his Masters horses, or his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the clock of his stomack is set to go an houre after his. He seldome breakes his owne clothes. He neuer drinkes but double, for hee must bee pledg'd; nor commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose: and seldome abstaines till [Page] hee come to a thirst. His discretion is to be carefull for his Masters credit, & his sufficiency to marshall dishes at a Table, and to carue well. His neatnesse consists much in his haire and outward linnen. His courting language, visible bawdy iests; and against his matter faile, he is alway ready furnished with a song. His inheritance is the Chamber-mayd, but often purchaseth his Masters daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for want of a better: he alwaies cuckolds himselfe, and neuer marries but his owne widdow. His Master being appeased, hee becomes a Retainer, and entailes himselfe and his posterity vpon his heire-males for euer.

An Host

IS the kernell of a Signe: or the Signe is the shell, & mine Host is the Snaile. [Page] He consists of double-beere and followship, and his vices are the bawds of his thirst. Hee enterraines humbly, and giues his Guests power, as well of himselfe as house. He answers all mens expections to his power, saue in the reckoning: and hath gotten the tricke of greatnesse, to lay all mislikes vpon his seruants. His wife is the Cummin-seed of his Doue-house; and to bee a good Guest, is a warrant for her liberty. He traffiques for Guests by mens friends, friends-friend, and is sensible onely of his purse. In a word, hee is none of his owne: for hee neither eats, drinkes, or thinkes, but at other mens charges and appoyntments.

An Ostler

IS a thing that scrubbeth vireasonably his horse, reasonably himselfe. He consists of Trauellers, though he bee none [Page] himselfe. His highest ambition is to be Host, and the inuention of his signe is his greatest wit: for the expressing whereof he sends away the Painters for want of vnderstanding. Hee hath certaine charmes for a horse mouth, that he should not eat his hay: and behinde your backe, hee will cozen your horse to his face. His curry-combe is one of his best parts, for hee expresseth much by the gingling: and his mane-combe is a spinners card turn'd out of seruice. He puffes and blowes ouer your horse, to the hazard of a double Iugge: and leaues much of the dressing to the prouerb of Muli mutuo scabient, One horse rubs another. Hee comes to him that cals lowdest, not first; hee takes a broken head patiently, but the knaue hee feeles not. His vtmost honesty is good fellowship, and he speakes Notherne, what country man soeuer. He hath a pension of Ale from the next smith and Sadler for intelligence. He loues to see you ride, & holds your stirrop in expectation.

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A good Wife

IS a mans best mooueable, a scien incorporate with the stocke, bringing sweetfruit; one that to her husband is more then a friend, lesse then trouble: an equall with him in the yoake. Calamities and troubles shee shares alike, nothing pleaseth her that doth not him. Shee is relatiue in all; and hee without her, but halfe himselfe. She is his absent hands, eies, eares, and mouth: his present and absent All. She frames her nature vnto his howsoeuer: the Hiacinth followes not the Sunne more willingly. Stubbornenesse and obstinacy, are hearbes that grow not in her garden. She leaues tatling, to the gossips of the towne, and is more seen then heard: Her houshold is her charge, her care to that, makes her seldome non resident. Her pride is but to be cleanly, & her thrift not to be prodigal. By her discretion [Page] she hath children, notwantons; a Husband without her, is a miserie in mans apparell: none but shee hath an aged husband, to whom she is both a staffe and a chaire. To conclude, shee is both wise and religious, which makes her all this.

A Melancholie man

IS a straier from the droue: one that nature made sociable, because shee made him man, and a crazed disposition hath altered. Impleasing to all, as all to him; stragling thoughts are his content, they make him dreame waking, there's his pleasure. His imagination is neuer idle, it keeps his minde in a continu all motion, as the poise the clocke: he windes vp his thoughts often, and as often vnwindes them; Penelopes webbe thriues faster. Hel'e seldome be found without the shade of [Page] some groue, in whose bottom a riuer dwells. He carries a cloud in his face, neuer faire weather: his outside is framed to his inside, in that he keepes a Decorum, both vnseemly. Speake to him, he heares with his eyes, eares follow his mind, and that's not at leasure. Hee thinks businesse, but neuer does any: he is all contemplation, no actiō. He hewes and fashions his thoughts, as if he meant them to some purpose, but they proue vnprofitable, as a piece of wrought timber to no vse. His Spirits and the Sunne are enemies; the Sunne bright and warme, his humor blacke and cold: varietie of foolish apparitions people his head, they suffer him not to breath, according to the necessities of nature; which makes him sup vp a draught of as much aire at once, as would serue at thrice. Hee denies nature her due in sleepe, and ouer-paies her with watchfulnesse: nothing pleaseth him long, but that which pleaseth his owne fantasies: [Page] they are the consuming euills, and euill consumptions, that consume him aliue. Lastly, he is a man only in shew, but comes short of the better part; a whole reasonable soule, which is mans chiefe preheminence, and sole marke from creatures sensible.

A Sailor

IS a pitcht peece of reason calkt and tackled, and onely studied to dispute with tempests. He is part of his owne Prouision, for he liues euerpickled. A fore-winde is the substance of his Creed; and fresh water the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is euer climing: out of which as naturally he feares; for hee is euer flying: time and he are euery where, euer contending who shall ariue first: hee is well winded, for he tires the day, and out-runne darknesse. His life is like a Hawkes, the best part mewed; and if [Page] he liue till three coates, is a Master. He sees Gods wonders in the deep: but so as rather they appeare his play-fellowes, then stirrers of his zeale: nothing but hunger and hard rockes can conuert him, and then but his vpper deck neither; for his hold neither feares nor hopes. His sleeps are but repreeuals of his dangers, and when he awakes, tis but next stage to dying. His wisdome is the coldest part about him, for it euer points to the North: and it lyes lowest, which makes his valor euerie tide oreflow it. In a storme tis disputable, whether the noise be more his, or the Elements, and which will first leaue scolding; on which side of the ship he may be saued best, whether his faith bee starre-bord faith, or lar-bord: or the helme at that time not all his hope of heauen: his keel is the Embleme of his conscience, till it be split hee neuer repents, then no farther then the land allowes him, and his language is a new confusion: and all his thoughts new [Page] nations: his bodie and his ship are both one burthen, nor is it known who stowes most wine, or rowles most, only the ship is guided, he has no sterne: a barnacle and hee are bred together both of one nature, and tis fear'd one reason: vpon any but a woodden horse hee cannot ride, and if the winde blow against him he dare not: hee swarues vp to his seat as to a saile yarde, and cannot sit vnlesse he beare a flag staffe: if euer he be broken to the saddle, tis but a voyage still, for hee mistakes the bridle for a bowlin, and is euer turning his horse taile: he can pray, but tis by rote, not faith, and when he would hee dares not, for his brackish beleefe hath made that ominous. A rocke or a quick sand plucke him before hee be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping.

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A Souldier

IS the husband-man of valour, his sword is his plough, which honor and aqua-vitae, two fiery mettald iades, are euer drawing. A younger brother best becomes Armes; an elder, the thanks for them; euery heat makes him a haruest: and discontents abroad are his Sowers: he is actiuely his Princes, but passiuely his angers seruant. Hee is often a desirer of learning, which once arriued at, proues his strongest armour: he is a louer at all points; and a true defender of the faith of women: more wealth then makes him seeme a handsome foe, lightly he couets not, lesse is below him: he neuer truely wants, but in much hauing, for then his ease and letcherie afflict him: the word Peace, though in prayer, makes him start, and God he best considers by his power: hunger and cold ranke in the same file [Page] with him, and hold him to a man: his honour else, and the desire of doing things beyond him, would blow him greater then the sonnes of Anack. His religion is, commonly, as his cause is (doubtfull) and that the best devotion keeps best quarter: he seldom sees gray haires, some none at all, for where the sword failes, there the flesh giues fire: in charitie, he goes beyond the Clergy, for hee loues his greatest enemie best, much drinking. He seemes a full Student, for he is a great desirer of controuersies, he argues sharply, and carries his conclusion in his scabbard; in the first resining of mankind this was the gold, his actions are his ammell. His alay (for else you cannot worke him perfectly) continuall duties, heauie and wearie marches, lodgings as full of neede as cold diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line him with these, and linke him to his squadrons, and he appeares a most rich chaine for Princes.

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A Taylor

IS a creature made vp of shreds, that were pared off from Adam, when he was rough cast. The end of his Being differeth from that of others, and is not to serue God, but to couer sinne. Other mens pride is his best Patron, and their negligence, a maine passage to his profit. Hee is a thing of more then ordinary iudgement: For by vertue of that, he buieth land, buildeth houses and raiseth the lowe set roofe of his crosse legged Fortune. His actions are strong incounters, and for their notoriousnesse alwaies vpon Record. It is neither Amadic de Gaule, nor the Knight of the Sunne, that is able to resist them. A tenne groates fee setteth them on foote, and a brace of Officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth the Spanish Pike, to the hazard of many poore Egyptian vermins; and [Page] in shew of his valour, scorneth a greater Gantlet, then will couer the toppe of his middle-finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the long Bill, and this he will manage to the great preiudice of a Customers estate. His spirit notwithstanding is not so much as to make you thinke him man; like a true mongrell, he neither bites nor barkes, but when your backe is towards him. His heart is a lumpe of congealed snow: Prometheus was a sleepe while it was making. He differeth altogether from God; for with him the best peeces are still marked out for damnation, and without hope of recouery shal be cast downe into hell. Hee is partly an Alchimist; for hee extracteth his owne apparell out of other mens clothes; and when occasion serueth, making a Brokers shop his Alembike, can turne your silkes into gold, and hauing furnished his necessities, after a moneth or two, if he be vrg'd vnto it, reduce them againe to their proper [Page] substance. Hee is in part likewise an Arithmetician, cunning enough in Multiplication and addition, but cannot abide substraction: Summa totalis, is the Language of his Canaan; & vs (que) ad vltimum quadrantem, the period of all his Charitie. For any skill in Geometrie, I dare not commend him; For he could neuer yet finde out the dimensions of his owne conscience: Notwithstanding he hath many bottoms, it seemeth this is alwaies bottomlesse. He is double yarded, and yet his femall complaineth of want of measure. And so, with a Libera nos à malo; I leaue you promising to amend whatsoeuer is a misse, at his next setting.

A Puritane

IS a diseas'd peece of Apocripha: binde him to the Bible, and hee corrupts the whole text: Ignorance, and fat feed, [Page] are his Founders; his Nurses, Railing, Rabbies, and round breeches: his life is but a borrowed blast of winde; For betweene two religions, as betweene two doores, he is euer whistling. Truly whose childe he is, is yet vnknown; For willingly his faith allowes no Father: onely thus farre his pedegree is found, Bragger and he flourisht about a time first; his fierie zeale keepes him continuall costiue, which withers him into his owne translation, and till hee eate a Schooleman, he is hidebound; hee euer praies against Non Residents, but is himselfe the greatest discontinuer, for hee neuer keepes neere his text: any thing that the Law allowes, but Marriage, and March-beere, hee murmures at; what it disallowes, and holdes dangerous, makes him a discipline. Where the gate standes open, he is euer seeking a stile: and where his Learning ought to climbe, he creepes through; giue him aduice, you runne into Traditions, and vrge a modest [Page] course, he cries out Councels. His greatest care is, to contemne obedience, his last care to serue God, handsomely and clenly; Hee is now become so crosse a kinde of teaching, that should the Church enioyne cleane shirts, he were lowsie: more sense then single praiers is not his; nor more in those, then still the same petitions: from which hee either feares a learned Faith, or doubts God vnderstands not at first hearing. Shew him a Ring, he runs backe like a Beare; and hates square dealing as allied to caps, a paire of Organs blow him out o'th Parish, and are the only glister pipes to coole him. Where the meate is best, there he confutes most, for his arguing is but the efficacy of his eating: good bits hee holds breedes good positions, and the Pope he best concludes against, in Plum-broth. He is often drunk, but not as we are, temporally, nor can his sleepe then cure him, for the fumes of his ambition make his very soule reele, and that [Page] small Beere that should alay him (silence) keepes him more surfeited, and makes his heate breake out in priuate houses: women and Lawyers are his best Disciples, the one next fruit, longs for forbidden Doctrine, the other to maintain forbidden titles, both which he sowes amongst them. Honest hee dare not be, for that loues order: yet if he can be brought to Ceremonie, & made but master of it, he is conuerted.

A Whoore

IS a hie way to the Diuell, hee that lookes vpon her with desire, begins his voiage: he that staies to talke with her, mends his pace, and who enioies her is at his iourneis end: Her body is the tilted Lees of pleasure, dasht ouer with a little decking to hold colour: tast her, she's dead, and fals vpon the pallate; the sins of other women shew [Page] in Landscip, far off and full of shadow; hers in Statue, neere hand, and bigger in the life: she prickes betimes, for her stocke is a white thorne, which cut & grafted on, she growes a Medler: Her trade is opposite to any other, for she sets vp without credit, and too much custome breakes her; The mony that she gets is like a traitors, giuen only to corrupt her, and what she gets, serues but to pay diseases. She is euer moo'rd in sinne, and euer mending, and after thirty, she is the Chirurgians creature; shame and Repentance are two strangers to her, and only in an hospitall acquainted: she liues a Reprobate, like Caine, still branded, finding no habitation but her feares, and flies the face of Iustice like a Fellon. The first yeare of her trade she is an Eyesse scratches and cries to draw on more, affection: the second Soare: the third a Ramage whoore: the fourth and fifth, she's an intermewer, preies for her selfe, and ruffles all she reaches; from thence to [Page] tenne shee beares the name of white whoore, for then her bloud forsakes her with salt Rheumes, and now shee has mewd three coates; Now shee growes weary and diseas'd together, fauours her wing, checkes little, but lies for it, bathes for her health, & scoures to keepe her coole, yet still she takes in stones, she fires her selfe else: the next remoue is Haggard, stil more cunning; and if my art deceiue mee not, more crazie. All cares and cures are doubled now vpon her, and line her perch, or now she mews her pounces, at all these yeares shee flies at fooles and kils too: the next is Bussard Bawde, and there I leaue her.

A very Whoore

IS a woman. She enquires out all the great meetings, which are medicines for her itching. She kisseth open [Page] mouth'd, and spits in the palmes of her hands to make them moist. Her eies are like free-booters liuing vpon the spoile of stragglers; and she baites her desires with a million of postitute countenances, and entisements; In the light she listneth to Parlies: but in the darke she vnderstands signes best. She will sell her smocke for Cuffes, and so her shoes be fine, she cares not though her stockings want feet. Hers modesty is curiositie, and her smell is one of her best ornaments. She passeth not a span breadth. And to haue done, she is the Cooke and the meate dressing, her selfe all day, to bee tasted with the better appetite at night.

A meere Common Lawyer

IS the best shadow to make a discreet one shew the fairer. He is a Materia prima informed by reports, actuated [Page] by Statutes, and hath his Motion by the fauourable Intelligence of the Court. His Law is alwaies furnisht with a Commission to arraigne his Conscience: but vpon iudgement giuen he vsually sets it at large. He thinks no language worth knowing but his Barragoüin. Onely for that point hee hath been a long time at warres with Priscian for a Northerne Prouince. He imagines that by superexcellencie his profession only is learning, and that its a prophanation of the temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberall Arts be there admitted to offer strange incense to Her. For indeed he is all for money. Seuen or eight yeares squires him out, some of his Nation lesse standing: and euer since the Night of his Call, he forgot much what he was at dinner. The next morning his man (in Actu or potentia) enioies his pickadels. His Landresse is then shrewdly troubled in fitting him a Ruffe; His perpetuall badge. His loue letters of [Page] the last yeare of his Gentlemanship are stuft with Discontinuances, Remitters, and Vncore prists: but now being enabled to speake in proper person, hee talkes of a French hood, insteede of a Iointure, wages his law, and ioines issue. Then he begins to sticke his letters in his ground Chamber window; that so the superscription may make his Squire-ship transparent. His Heraldry giues him place before the Minister, because the Law was before the Gospell. Next termne hee walkes his hoopsleeue gowne to the Hall; there it proclaimes him. He feedes fat in the Reading, and till it chances to his turn, dislikes no house order so much, as that the month is so contracted to a fortnight, Mongst his countrey neighbours, he arrogates asmuch honor for being Reader of an Inne of Chancery, as if it had been of his owne house. For they, poore soules, take Law and Conscience, Court and Chancery for all one. He learnd to frame his Cases [Page] from putting Riddles and imitating Merlins Prophesies, and so set all the Crosse row together by the eares. Yet his whole Law is not able to decide Lucians one olde controuersie twixt Tau and Sigma. Hee accounts no man of his Cap and coate idle, but who trots not the Circuit. Hee affects no life or qualitie for it selfe, but for gaine; and that at least, to the stating him in a Iustice of peaceship, which is the first quickning soule superadded to the elementary and inanimate forme of his new Title. His termes are his wiues vacations. Yet shee then may vsurpe diuers Court-daies, and hath her Returnes in Mensem, for writs of entry; often shorter. His vacations are her Termers. But in Assise time (the circuit being long) he may haue a triall at home against him by Nisi Prius. No way to heauen, he thinkes, so wife, as through West-minster Hall; and his Clarkes commonly through it visit both heauen and hell. Yet then he oft [Page] forgets his iourneis end, although he looke on the Starre-Chamber. Neither is hee wholie destitute of the Arts. Grammer he hath, enough to make terminations of those words which his authoritie hath endenizon'd. Rhetorike some; but so little, that its thought a concealement. Logike enough to wrangle. Arithmetike enough for the Ordinals of his yecre-bookes, and numberrolls: but he goes not to Multiplication; there's a Statute against it. So much Geometrie, that hee can aduice in a Perambulatione facienda; or a Rationalibus diuisis. In Astronomie and Astrologie he is so far seene, that by the Dominicall latter, he knowes the Holy-dayes, and finds by Calculation that Michaelmas Terme will be long and dirty. Marry, he knowes so much in Musique, that he affects onely the most and cunningest Discords; rarely a perfect Concord, especially song, except in fine. His skill in Perspectiue endeauours much to deceiue the eye of the Lawe, and giues [Page] many false colours. He is specially practised in Necromancie, (such a kinde as is out of the Statute of Primo) by raising many dead Questions. What sufficiency he hath in Criticisme, the fowle Copies of his Speciall Pleas will tell you.

Many of the same coat, which are much to bee honoured, partake of diuers of his indifferent qualities, but so, that Discretion, Vertue, and sometimes other good learning, concurring and distinguishing Ornaments to them, make them as a foyle, to set their worth on.

A Meere Scholler.

A Meere Sholler is an intelligible Asse: Or a silly fellow in blacke, that speakes Sentences more familiarly then Sense. The Antiquity of his Vniuersity is his Creed, and the excellency of his Colledge (though but for a match at Foot-ball) an Article of his [Page] faith: he speakes Latine better then his Mother-tongue; and is a stranger in no part of the World, but his owne Countrey: he do's vsually tell great stories of himself to small purpose, for they are cō monly ridiculous, be they true or false: his Ambition is, that hee either is, or shall be a Graduate: but if euer he get a Fellowship, hee ha's then no fellow. Inspite of all Logick he dare sweare and mainetaine it, that a Cuckold and a Towns-man are Termini Conuertibiles, though his Mothers husband bee an Alderman: he was neuer begotten (as it seemes) without much wrangling; for his whole life is spent in Pro & Contrae his tongue goes alwaies before his wit, like a Gentleman-vsher, but somewhat faster. That he is a compleat Gallant in all points, Cap a pea; witnesse his horsemanship, and the wearing of his weapons: hee is commonly long-winded, able to speake more with ease, then any man can endure to heare with patience. Vniuersity iests are his vniuersall [Page] discourse, and his newes the demeanor of the Proctors: his Phrase, the apparell of his mind, is made vp of diuers shreds like a Cushion, and when it goes plainest't hath a Rash outside, and Fustian linings. The currant of his speech is clos'd with an Ergô; and what euer be the question, the trueth is on his side. Tis a wrong to his reputation to bee ignorant of any thing; and yet he knowes not that hee knowes nothing: hee giues directions for husbandry from Virgils Georgicks; for Cattell from his Bucolicks; for Warlike Stratagems, from his AEneides, or Caesars Commentaries: hee orders all things by the Booke, is skilfull in all trades, and thriues in none: he is led more by his eares then his vnderstanding, taking the sound of words for their true sense: and do's therefore confidently beleeue, that Erra Pater was the Father of hereticks, Rodolphus Agricola, a substantiall Farmer; and will not sticke to auerre, that Systema's Logicke doth excell Keckermans: his ill [Page] lucke is not so much in being a foole, as in being put to such paines to expresse it to the world: for what in others is naturall, in him (with much adoe) is artificiall: his pouerty is his happinesse, for it makes some men beleeue, that hee is none of fortunes fauorites. That learning which hee hath, was in Non-age put in backeward like a Glister, and 'tis now like Ware mislayd in a Pedlers packe; a ha's it, but knowes not where it is. In a word, hee is the Index of a man, and the Title-page of a Scholler, or a Puritane in morality, much in profession, nothing in practise.

A Tinker

IS a mooueable: for hee hath no abiding place; by his motion he gathers heat, thence his chollericke nature. He seemes to bee very deuout, for his life is a continuall Pilgrimage, and [Page] sometimes in humility goes barefoot, therein making necessity a vertue. His house is as ancient as Tubal-Caines, and so is a runnagate by antiquity: yet hee prooues himselfe a Gallant, for he carries all his wealth vpon his backe; or a Philosopher, for hee beares all his substance about him. From his Art was Musicke first inuented, and therefore is hee alwayes furnisht with a song: to which his hammer keeping tune, prooues that he was the first founder of the Kettle-drumme. Note that where the best Ale is, there stands his musicke most vpon crotchets. The companion of his trauels is some soule sunne-burnt Queane, that since the terrible Statute recanted Gypsisme, and is turned Pedleresse. So marches he all ouer England with his bag and baggage. His conuersation is vnreprooueable; for he is euer mending. He ob [...]erues truely the Statutes, and therefore he had rather steale then begge, in which he is vnremooueably constant in spight of whips or imprisonment: [Page] and so strong an enemy to idlenesse, that in mending one hole, he had rather make three then want work; and when hee hath done, hee throwes the Wallet of his faults behinde him. Hee embraceth naturally ancient customes, conuersing in open fields, and lowly Cottages. If hee visit Cities or Townes, tis but to deale vpon the imperfections of our weaker vessels. His tongue is very voluble, which with Canting prooues him a Linguist. Hee is entertain'd in euery place, but enters no further then the doore, to auoid suspicion. Some would take him to be a Coward; but beleeue it, hee is a Lad of mettle, his valour is commonly three or fower yards long, fastned to a pike in the end for flying off. Hee is very prouident, for he will fight but with one at once, and then also hee had rather submit then bee counted obstinate. To conclude, if he scape Tiburne and Banbury, he dies a begger.

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An Apparatour

IS a Chick of the Egge Abuse, hatcht by the warmth of authority: he is a bird of rapine, and beginnes to prey, and feather together. He croakes like a Rauen against the death of rich men, and so gets a Legacy vnbequeat'd: his happinesse is in the multitude of children, for their increase is his wealth; and to that end, hee himselfe yeerely addes one. He is a cunning hunter, vncouping his intelligencing hounds, vnder hedges, in thickets, and corn-fields, who follow the chase to City-Suburbs, where often his game is at couert: his quiuer hangs by his side, stuft with siluer arrowes, which hee shoots against Church-gates, and priuate mens dores, to the hazard of their purses and credit. There went but a paire of sheeres, betweene him and the Pursiuant of Hell, for they both delight in sin, grow [Page] richer by it, and are by iustice appointed to punish it: onely the Diuell is more cunning, for hee pickes a Liuing out of others gaines. His liuing lieth in his eyes, which (like spirits) hee sends through chinckes, and key-holes, to suruey the places of darkenesse; for which purpose, he studieth the opticks, but can discouer no colour but blacke, for the pure white of chastity dazleth his eyes. He is a Catholike, for hee is euery where; and with a Politicke, for he transformes himselfe into all shapes. He trauels on foot to auoid idlenesse, and loues the Church entirely, because it is the place of his edification. He accounts not all sinnes mortall; for fornication with him is a veniall sinne, and to take bribes a matter of charity: hee is collector for burnings, and losses ar Sea, and in casting account, can readily subtract the lesser from the greater summe. Thus liues he in a golden age, till death by a processe, summons him to appeare.

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An Almanacke-maker

IS the worst part of an Astronomer: a creature compact of figures, characters, and cyphers: out of which he scores the fortune of a yeere, not so profitably, as doubtfully. He is tenant by custome to the Planets, of whom he holds the 12. Houses by lease parol: to them he payes yeerely rent, his study, and time; yet lets them out again (with all his heart) for 40.s. per annum. His life is meerely contemplatiue: for his practise, tis woorth nothing, at least not worthy of credit; & (if by chance) he purchase any, hee loseth it againe at the yeeres end, for time brings truth to light. Ptolomy and Ticho-Barche are his Patrons, whose volumes he vnderstands not, but admires; and the rather because they are Strangers, and so easier to bee credited, then controul'd. His life is vpright, for he is alwaies looking [Page] vpward; yet dares beleeue nothing aboue Primium mobile, for tis out of the reach of his Iacobs Staffe. His charity extends no further then to Mountebanks and Sow-gelders, to whom hee bequeathes the seasons of the yeere, to kill or torture by. The verses in his Booke haue a worse pace then euer had Rochester Hackney: for his Prose, 'tis dappled with Inke-borne tearmes, and may serue for an Almanacke: but for his iudging at the vncertainty of weather, any old Shepheard shall make a Dunce of him. He would bee thought the Diuels Intelligencer for stoln goods: if euer he steale out of that quality, as a flie turnes to a Maggot, so the corruption of the cunning-man is the generation of an Empiricke: his workes flye soorth in small volumes yet not all, for many ride post to Chaundlers and Tobacco shops in Folio. To be briefe, he fals three degrees short of his promises; yet is hee the Key to vnlocke Termes, and Law-dayes, a dumbe Mercury to [Page] point out high-wayes, and a Bayliffe of all Marts and Faires in England. The rest of him you shall know next yeere; for what hee will be then, hee himselfe knowes not.

An Hypocrite

IS a gilded Pill, compos'd of two vertuous ingredients, Naturall dishonesty, and Artificiall dissimulation. Simple Fruit, Plant or Drug, he is none, but a deformed mixture, bred betwixt Euill Nature and false Art, by a monstrous generation; and may well bee put into the reckoning of those creatures that God neuer made. In Church or common-wealth, (For in both these this Mongrell-weed will shoote) it is hard to say whether he be Physicke or a Disease: for he is both, in diures respects.

As he is gilt with an out side of Seeming purity, or as he offreth himselfe to [Page] you to be taken downe in a cup or taste of Golden zeale and Simplicity, you may call him physicke. Nay, and neuer let potion giue Patient good stoole, if being truely tasted and rellisht, hee be not as loathsome to the stomacke of any honest man.

He is also Physicke, in being as commodious for vse, as he is odious in taste, if the Body of the company into which he is taken, can make true vse of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so Informer-like-dangerous, in taking aduantage, of any thing done or sayde: yea, euen to the ruine of his makers, if hee may haue Benefit; that such a creature in a society makes men as carefull of their speeches and actions, as the sight of a known Cut-purse in a throng, makes them watchfull ouer their purses and pockets: he is also in this respect profitable Physicke, that his conuersation beeing once truely tasted and discouered, the hatefull foulnesse of it will make those that are not fully like him, [Page] to purge all such Diseases as are ranke in him, out of their owne liues; as the sight of some Citizens on horse-backe, makes a iudicious man amend his own faults in horsemanship. If none of these vses can bee made of him, let him not long offend the stomacke of your company; your best way is to spue him out. That he is a Disease in the body where hee liueth, were as strange a thing to doubt, as whether there bee knauery in Horse-coursers. For, if amongst Sheep, the rot; amongst Dogs, the mange; amongst Horses, the glaunders; amongst Men and Women, the Northerne itch, and the French Ache bee diseases; an Hypocrite cannot but be the like in all States and Societies that breede him. If he be a Cleargy Hypocrite, then all manner of vice is for the most part so proper to him, as hee will grudge any man the practise of it but himselfe; like that graue Burgesse, who being desired to lend his cloathes to represent a part in a Comedy, answered; No, by his [Page]leaue, he would haue no body play the foole in his cloathes but himselfe. Hence are his so austere reprehensions of drinking healths, lasciuious talke, vsury and vnconscionable dealing; when as himselfe hating the profane mixture of malt & water, will by his good will let nothing come within him, but the purity of the Grape, when he can get it of anothers cost: But this must not bee done neither, without a preface of seeming lothnesse, turning vp the eyes, mouing the head, laying hand on the brest, and protesting that he would not doe it, but to strengthen his body, being euen consumed with dissembled zeale, and tedious and thankelesse babling to God and his Auditors, And for the other vices, doe but venture the making your selfe priuate with him, or trusting of him, & if you come off without a sauor of the aire which his soule is infected with, you hane great fortune. The fardle of all this ware that is in him, you shall commonly see carried vpon the [Page] backe of these two beasts, that liue within him, Ignorance and imperiousnesse: and they may well serue to cary other vices, for of themselues they are insuppportable. His Ignorance acquites him of all science, humane or diuine, and of all Language, but his mothers; holding nothing pure, holy, or sincere, but the senselesse collections of his owne crazed braine, the zealous fumes of his inflamed spirit, and the endlesse labors of his eternall tong; the motions wherof, when matter and words faile, (as they often doe) inust be patched vppe, to accomplish his foure houres in a day at the least, with long and seruent hummes. Any thing else, either for language or matter hee cannot abide, but thus censureth: Latine, the language of the Beast; Greeke, the tongue wherin the Heathen Poets wrote their fictions; Hebrue the speech of the Iewes, that crucified Christ: Controuersies doe not edifie, Logique and Phylosophy, are the subtilties of Sathan, to deceiue [Page] the Simple, Humane stories prefane, and not sauouring of the Spirit; In a word, all decent and sensible forme of Speech and perswasion (though in his owne tongue) vaine Ostentation. And all this, is the burthen of his Ignorance: sauing that sometimes Idlenesse will put in also, to beare a part of the baggage.

His other Beast Imperiousnesse, is yet more proudly loaden, it carrieth a burthen, that no cords of Authoritie, Spirituall, nor Temporall should binde, if it might haue the full swinge: No Pilate, no Prince should command him: Nay, he will command them, and at his pleasure censure them, if they will not suffer their eares to bee fettered with the long chaines of his tedious collations, their purses to be emptied with the inundations of his vnsatiable humor, and their iudgements to bee blinded with the muffler of his zealous Ignorance. For this doth he familiarly insult ouer his Maintainer that breedes [Page] him, his Patrone that feedes him, and in time ouer all them that will suffer him to set a foote within their doores, or put a finger in their purses. All this, and much more is in him, that abhorring Degrees and Vniuer sities, as reliques of Superstition, hath leapt from a Shopbord, or a Cloke-bag, to a Deske, or Pulpit, and that like a Sea god in a Pageant, hath the roten laths of his culpable life, and palpable ignorance, couered ouer with the painted cloth of a pure gown, and a night-cap; and with a false Trumpet of Fained-zeale, draweth after him some poore Nymphes and Madmen, that delight more to resort to darke Caues and secret places, then to open and publike assemblies. The Lay-Hypocrite, is to the other a Champion, Disciple and Subiect; and will not acknowledge the Tithe of the Subiection, to any Miter, no, not to any Scepter, that he will do to the hooke & crooke of his zeale-blinde Shepheard. No Iesuites demand more blinde and absolute [Page] obedience from their vassals; no Magistrates of the Canting societie, more flauish subiection from the members of that trauelling state, then the Clerke Hypocrites expect from these lay Pupils. Nay, they must not onely be obeyed, fedde, and defended, but admired too: and that their Lay followers do as sincerely, as a shirtlesse fellow with a Cudgell vnder his arme doth a face-wringing Ballet-singer; a Water-bearer on the floore of a Playhouse, a wide-mouth'de Poet, that speakes nothing but bladders & bumbast. Otherwise, for life and profession, nature and Art, inward and outword, they agree in all, like Canters and Gypsies: they are all zeale, no knowledge; All puritie, no humanitie; all simplicitie, no honestie: and if you neuer trust them they will neuer deceiue you.

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A Maquerela, in plain English, a Bawd

IS an old Char-cole, that hath beene burnt her selfe, and therefore is able to kindle a whole green Coppice. The burden of her song is like that of Fryer Bacons Head; Time is, Time was, and Time is past: in repeating which, she makes a wicked brazen face, & weepes in the Cuppe, to alay the heate of her Aqua-vitae. Her teeth are falne out; mary her Nose, and chin, intend very shortly to be friends, and meete about it. Her yeeres are sixty and odde: that she accounts her best time of trading; for a Bawde is like a Medlar, shee's not ripe, till the be rotten. Her enuie is like that of the Diuell; To haue all faire women like her; and because it is impossible they should catch it being so young, she hurries them to it by diseases. Her Parke is a villanous barren ground; and all the Deere in it are [Page] Rascall: yet poore Cottagers in the Countrey (that know her but by heare say) thinke well of her; for what she incloses to day, she makes Common to morrow. Her goods and her selfe are all remou'd in one sort, onely shee makes bold to take the vpper hand of them, and to be Carted before them; the thought of which, makes her thee cannot endure a posset, because it puts her in minde of a Bason. She sits continually at a rackt Rent; especially, if her Landlord beare office in the Parish: for her moueables in the house; (besides her quicke cattell) they are not worth an Inuentory, onely her beds are most commonly in print: shee can easily turne a sempstresse, into a waiting gentle woman, but her Warde-robe is most infectious, for it brings them to the Falling-sicknesse: she hath only this one shew of Temperance, that let a Gentleman send for tenne pottles of wine in her house, hee shall haue but tenne quarts; and if he want it that way, let [Page] him pay for't, and take it out in stewde prunes. The Iustices Clarke standes many times her very good friend: and workes her peace with the Iustice of Quorum. Nothing ioies her so much as the comming ouer of Strangers, nor daunts her so much as the approach of Shroue-tuesday. In fine, not to foule more paper with so foule a subiect, hee that hath past vnder her, hath past the Equinoctiall; He that hath scap't her, hath scap't worse then the Calenture.

A Chamber-Maide,

SHe is her Mistresses she Secretarie, and keepes the box of her teeth, her haire, and her painting, very priuate. Her industrie is vp-stares, and downestaires like a drawer: and by her drie hand you may know she is a sore starcher. If she lie at her Masters beds feete she is quit of the Greene-sicknesse fore euer; [Page] For shee hath terrible dreames when she is awake, as if she were troubled with the night Mare. She hath a good liking to dwellith Countrey, but she holds London, the goodliest Forrest in England, to shelter a great Bellie. She reades Greenes workes ouer and ouer, but is so carried away with the Myrrour of Knighthood, she is many times resolud to run out of her selfe, and become a Lady Errant. If she catch a clap, shee diuides it so equally between the Master and the Seruingman, as if she had cut out the getting of it by a Threed: onely the knaue Sumner makes her bowle booty, and ouer-reach the Master. The pedant of the house, though he promise her Marriage, cannot grow further inward with her, she hath paide for her credulitie often, & now growes wearie. She likes the forme of our marriage very well, in that a woman is not tied to answere to any Articles concerning question of her virginitie: Her minde, her body, and Clothes, [Page] are parcels loosely tackt together, and for want of good vtterance, she perpetually laughes out her meaning. Her Mistris and shee helpe to make away Time, to the idlest purpose that can be, either for loue or money. In briefe, these Chambermaides are like Lotteries: you may draw twenty, ere one worth any thing.

A Precisian.

TO speake no otherwise of this varnisht Rottennesse then in truth and verity he is, I must define him to be a demure Creature, full of orall Sanctitie, and mentall impietie; a faire obiect to the eye, but starke nought for the vnderstanding: or else a violent thing, much giuen to contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposition with the Papist, though it be sometimes accompanied with an absurdity; [Page] like the Ilanders neere adioyning vnto China, who salute by putting off their shooes, because the men of China do it by their hats. If at any time he fast, it is vpon Sunday, and he is sure to feast vpon Friday. He can better afford you tenne lies, then one oath, and dare commit any sinne gilded with a pretence of sanctitie. He will not sticke to commit fornieation or Adulterie, so it be done in the feare of God, and for the propagation of the godly; and can finde in his hart to lie with any whore, saue the whore of Babylon. To steale he holds it lawfull, so it bee from the wicked and AEgyptians. He had rather see Antichrist, then a picture in the Church window: and chuseth sooner to be halfe hanged, then see a legge at the name of IESVS, or one stand at the Creede. He conceiues his praier in the kitchin, rather then in the Church, and is of so good discourse, that hee dares challenge the Almighty, to talke with him ex tempore. He thinkes euery [Page] Organist is in the state of damnation, and had rather heare one of Robert Wisdoms psalmes, then the best Hymne a Cherubin can sing. He will not breake winde without an Apologie, or asking forgiuenesse, nor kisse a Gentlewoman for feare of lusting after her. He hath nicknamde all the Prophets and Apostles with his Sonnes, and begers nothing but Vertues for Daughters. Finally, he is so sure of his saluation, that he will not change places in heauen, with the Virgin Marie, without boote.

An Innes of Court man.

HE is distinguished from a Scholler by a paire of silke stockings, and a Beauer Hat, which makes him contemne a Scholler as much as a Scholler doth a Scholemaster. By that he hath heard one mooting, and seen two plaies, he thinkes as basely of the [Page] Vniuersity, as a young Sophister doth of the Grammer-schoole. He talkes of the Vniuersity, with that state, as if he were her Chancellour; finds fault with alterations, and the fall of Discipline, with an It was not so when I was a Student; although that was within this halfe yeare. He will talke ends of Latine, though it be false, with as great confidence, as euer Cicero could pronounce an Oration, though his best authors for't, be Tauerns & Ordinaries. He is as farre behinde a Courtier in his fashion, as a scholler is behinde him: and the best grace in his behauiour, is to forget his acquaintance.

Hee laughes at euery man whose Band sits not well, or that hath not a faire shoo-ty, and he is ashamed to be seene in any mans company that weares not his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his outside, and his chiefest prayer is, that his reuenues may hold out for Taffata cloakes in the Summer, and veluet in the winter. [Page] For his recreation, hee had rather go to a Citizens Wife, then a Bawdyhouse, only to saue charges: and hee holds Fee-taile to bee absolutely the best Tenure. To his acquaintance hee offers two quarts of wine, for one hee giues. You shall neuer see him melancholie, but when he wants a newe Suite, or feares a Seriant: At which times only, he betakes himselfe to Ploydon. By that hee hath read Littleton, he can call Solon, Licurgus, and Iustinian, fooles, and dares compare his Law to a Lord Chiefe-iustices.

A meere Fellow of an House.

HE is one whose Hopes commonly exceed his Fortunes, & whose minde soares aboue his purse. If hee hath read Tacitus, Guicchardine, or GalloBelgicus, hee contemnes the late LordTreasurer, for all the State-policie hee [Page] had; and laughes to think what a foole he could make of Salomon, if hee were now aliue. Hee neuer weares new cloathes, but against a commencement or a good time, and is commonly a degree behinde the fashion. Hee hath sworne to see London once a yeare, though all his busines be to see a play, walke a turne in Paules, and obserue the fashion. He thinkes it a discredit to bee out of debt, which hee neuer likely cleeres, without resignation money. He will not leaue his part hee hath in the priuiledge ouer yong Gentlemen, in going bare to him, for the Empire of Germany; He praies as heartily for a Sealing, as a Cormorant doth for a deare yeare: yet commonly hee spends that reuenue before he receiues it.

At meales, he sits in as great state ouer his Penny-Commons, as euer Vitellius did at his greatest Banquet: and takes great delight in comparing his fare to my Lord Mayors.

[Page]If he be a leader of a Faction, hee thinkes himselfe greater then euer Caesar was, or the Turke at this day is. And he had rather loose an Inheritance then an Office, when hee stands for it.

If he be to trauell, hee is longer furnishing himselfe for a siue miles iourney, then a ship is rigging for a seuen yeares voyage. Hee is neuer more troubled, then when he is to maintain talke with a Gentle-woman: wherein he commits more absurdities, then a clowne in eating of an egge.

Hee thinkes himselfe as fine when he is in a cleane Band, and a new paire of shooes, as any Courtier doth, when he is first in a New-fashion.

Lastly, hee is one that respects no man in the Vniuersitie, and is respected by no man out of it.

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A worthy Commander in the Warres.

IS one that accounts learning the nourishment of military vertue, and layes that as his first foundation. He neuer bloudies his sword but in hear of battell; and had rather saue one of his owne Souldiers, then kill ten of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vaineglorious, and suspected bounty, to bee full of good words; his rewarding therfore of the deseruer arriues so timely, that his liberality can neuer bee sayd to be gouty handed. He holds it next his Creed, that no Coward can be an honest man, and dare die in't. Hee doth not think his body yeelds a more spreading shadowe after a victory then before; and when he lookes vpon his enemyes dead body, tis with a kinde of noble heauinesse, not insultation; hee is so honourably mercifull to women in [Page] surprisall, that onely, that makes him an excellent Courtier. He knowes the hazards of battels, not the pompe of Ceremonies, are Souldiers best Theaters, and striues to gain reputation not by the multitude, but by the greatnes of his actions. Hee is the first in giuing the charge, and the last in retiring his foot. Equall toile he endures with the Common Souldier, from his example they all take fire as one Torch lights many. He vnderstands in warre, there is no meane to erre twice; the first, and least fault beeing sufficient to ruine an Army: faults therefore he pardons none, they that are presidents of disorder or mutiny, repaire it by being examples of his Iustice. Besiege him neuer so strictly, so long as the aire is not cut from him, his heart faints not. He hath learned aswell to make vse of a victory as to get it, and in pursuing his enemy like a whirlewinde carries all afore him; being assured if euer a man will benefit himselfe vpon his foe, then is the time, [Page] when they haue lost force, wisedome, courage and reputation. The goodnesse of his cause is the speciall motiue to his valour; neuer is hee knowen to slight the weakest enemy that comes arm'd against him in the hand of Iustice. Hasty and ouermuch heat he accounts the Step-dame to all great actions, that wil not suffer them to thriue; if he cānot ouercome his enemy by force, he does it by Time. If euer hee shake hands with warre, hee can die more calmely then most Courtiers, for his continuall dangers haue beene as it were so many meditations of death; hee thinkes not out of his owne calling, when he accounts life a continuall warfare, and his prayers then best become him when armed Cap a pea. He vtters them like the great Hebrew Generall, on horsebacke. Hee casts a smiling cōtempt vpon Calumnie, it meets him as if Glasse should encounter Adamant. He thinkes warre is neuer to be giuen ore, but on one of these three conditions: an assured peace, absolute [Page] victory, or an honest death. Lastly, when peace folds him vp, his filuer head should leane neere the golden Scepter, and die in his Princes bosome.

A vaine-glorious Coward in Command,

IS one that hath bought his place, or come to it by some Noble-mans letrer, hee loues a life dead payes, yet wishes they may rather happen in his Company by the scuruy, then by a battell. View him at a muster, and he goes with such noise, as if his body were the wheelebarrow that carried his iudgement rumbling to drill his Souldiers. No man can worse define betweene Pride and noble Courtesie: hee that salutes him not as farre a Pistol carries leuell, giues him the disgust or affront, chuse you whether. He traines by the [Page] booke, and reckons so many postures of the Pike and Musket, as if hee were counting at Noddy. When hee comes at first vpon a Camisado, he lookes like the foure windes in painting, as if hee would blow away the enemy; but at the very first onset suffers feare & trembling to dresse themselues in his face apparantly. He scorns any man should take place before him: yet at the entring of a breach, he hath been so humble minded, as to let his Lieutenant lead his Troopes for him. He is so sure armed for taking hurt, that he seldome does any: and while hee is putting on his Armes, he is thinking what summe hee can make to satisfie his ransome. He will rail openly against all the great Commanders of the aduerse party, yet in his owne conscience allowes them for better men: such is the nature of his feare, that contrary [...] all other filthy qualities, it make him thinkes better of another man then himselfe. The first part of him that is set a running, is his [Page] Eye-sight: when that is once struck with terrour, all the Costiue Physicke in the world cannot stay him; if euer he doe any thing beyond his owne heart, tis for a Knighthood, and he is the first kneeles for't without bidding.

A Pyrate,

TRuely defined, is a bold Traitour, for he fortifies a castle against the King. Giue him Sea-roome in neuer so small a vessel; and like a witch in a sieue, you would think he were going to make merry with the Diuell. Of all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not leaue off his theeuing thogh he be in a narrow prison, and looke euery day (by tempest or fight) for execution. He is one plague the Diuell hath added, to make the Sea more terrible then a storme; and his heart is so hardned in that rugged element, that hee [Page] cannot repent, though hee view his graue (before him) continually open: he hath so little his own, that the house he sleepes in is stolne; all the necessities of life hee filches, but one: hee cannot steale a sound sleepe, for his troubled conscience: He is very gentle to those vnder him, yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the world: for hee giues licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty in his owne example: what hee gets, is small vse to him, onlie liues by it, (somwhat the longer) to do a little more seruice to his belly; for hee throwes away his treasure vpon the shore in riot, as if he cast it into the Sea. Hee is a cruell Hawke that flies at all but his own kind: and as a Whale neuer comes a shore, but when she is wounded; so hee, very seldome, but for his necessities. He is the Marchants booke, that serues onely to reckon vp his losses; a perpetuall plague to noble traffique, the Hurican of the Sea, & the Earth-quake of the Exchange. Yet for all this giue him but his pardon, [Page] and forgiue him restitution, hee may liue to know the inside of a Church, and die on this side Wapping.

An ordinarie Fencer

IS a fellow, that beside shauing of Cudgels, hath a good insight into the world, for he hath long been beaten to it. Flesh and bloud hee is like other men; but surely Nature meant him Stock-fish: his and a Dancingschoole are inseparable adiuncts; and are bound, though both stinke of sweat most abominably, neither shall complaine of annoiance: three large bauins set vp his trade, wich a bench; which (in the vacation of the afternoone) hee vses for his day bed; for a sirkin to pisse in, hee shall be allowed that, by those make Allom: when hee comes on the Stage, at his Prize, hee makes a leg seuen seuerall waies, and [Page] scrambles for money, as if he had been borne at the Bathe in Somerset-shire: at his challenge hee shewes his mettall; for contrarie to all rules of Physicke, he dare bleed, though it be in the dogdaies: hee teaches Diuelish play in's Schoole, but when he fights himselfe, he doth it in the feare of a good Christian. He compounds quarrels among his Schollers, and when hee hath brought the busines to a good vpshot, he makes the reckoning. His wounds are seldom aboue skin deep; for an inward bruse, Lambe-stones and sweetbreads are his only Sperma Ceti, which he eats at night, next his heart fasting: strange Schoole-masters they are, that euery day set a man as farre backward as he went forward; and throwing him into a strange posture, teach him to thresh satisfaction out of iniurie. One signe of a good nature is, that hee is still open breasted to his friends, for his foile, and his doubler, weare not aboue two buttons: and resolute he is, for he [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] so much scornes to take blowes, that he neuer weares Cuffes: and he liues better contented with a little, then other men; for if he haue two eyes in's head, he thinks Nature hath ouerdone him. The Lord Maiors triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time to flourish. Lastly, these Fencers are such things, that care not if all the world were ignorant of more Letters then only to read their Patent.

A Puny-clarke.

HE is tane from Grammar-schoole halfe codled, and can hardly shake off his dreames of breeching in a twelue-month. He is a Farmers sonne, and his Fathers vtmost ambition is to make him an Atturney. He doth itch towards a Poet, and greeses his breeches extreamely with feeding without a napkin. He studies false dice [Page] to cheat Costermongers, and is most chargeable to the butler of some Inne of Chancerie, for pissing in their greene pots. He eats Ginger bread at a Playhouse; and is so saucie, that he venters fairely for a broken pate at the banqueting house, and hath it. He would neuer come to haue any wit, but for a long vacation, for that makes him bethinke him how he shall shift another day. He prayes hotly against fasting; and so he may sup wel on friday nights, he cares not though his Master be a Puritan. He practises to make the words in his Declaration spread, as a Sewer doth the dishes at a Niggards table; a Clarke of a swooping Dash, is as commendable as a Flanders horse of a large taile. Though you be neuer so much delaid, you must not call his master knaue; that makes him goe beyond himselfe and write a challenge in Court hand; for it may be his owne another day. These are some certaine of his liberall faculties: but in the [Page] Terme time, his Clog is a Buckrom bag. Lastly, which is great pittie, hee neuer comes to his full growth, with bearing on his shoulder the sinfull burden of his Master at seuerall Courts in Westminster.

A Foote-man,

LEt him be neuer so well made, yet his Legs are not matches, for hee is still setting the best foot forward. He will neuer be a staid man, for he has had a running head of his owne, euer since his childhood. His mother (which, out of question, was a light heel'd wench) knew it, yet let him run his race, thinking age would reclaime him from his wilde courses. He is very long winded; and, without doubt, but that he hates naturally to serue on horsbacke, hee had proued an excellent trumpet. He has one happinesse aboue [Page] all the rest of the Seruingmen, for when he most ouer-reaches his Master, hee's best thought of. He liues more by his owne heat then the warmth of clothes; and the waiting-woman hath the greatest fancie to him when hee is in his close trouses. Gardes he weares none; which makes him liue more vpright then any grosse gartered Gentlemanvsher. Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life, cause a man must take it as he's running, only this; Horses are vsually let bloud on S. Steuens day: on S. Patrickes he takes rest, and is drencht for all the yeere after.

A noble and retir'd Housekeeper,

IS one whose bountie is limited by reason, not astentation: and to make it last, he deales it discreetly, as wee sowe the furrow, not by the sacke, but [Page] by the handfull. His word and his meaning neuer shake hands and part, but alway goe together. Hee can suruay good, and loue it, and loues to doe it himselfe, for it owne sake, not for thankes. Hee knowes there is no such miferie as to out-liue good name; not no such follie as to put it in practise. His minde is so secure, that thunder rockes him asleepe, which breakes other mens flumbers. Nobilitie lightens in his eies; and in his face and gesture is paintted, The God of Hospitalitie. His great houfes beare in their front more durance, then state; vnlesse this adde the greater state to them, that they promise to outlast much of our new phantasticall building. His heart neuer growes old, no more then his memorie: whether at his booke, or on horsebacke, he passeth his time in such noble exercise, a man cannot say, any time is lost by him: nor hath he only yeeres, to approue he hath liued till hee be old, but vertues. His thoughts haue a high aime, though [Page] their dwelling be in the Vale of an humble heart; whence, as by an Engine (that raises water to fall, that it may rise the higher) hee is heightned in his humilitie. The Adamant serues not for all Seas, but his doth; for he hath, as it were, put a gird about the whole world, and sounded all her quick-sands. He hath this hand ouer Fortune, that her iniuries, how violent or sudden soeuer, they do not daunt him; for whether his time call him to liue or die, he can do both nobly: if to fall, his descent is breast to breast with vertue; and euen then, like the Sunne neere his Set, hee shewes vnto the world his clearest countenance.

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An Intruder into fauour

IS one that builds his reputation on others infamy: for slaunder is most commonly his morning praier. His passions are guided by Pride, and followed by Iniustice. An inflexible anger against some poore sutor, he falsly calles a Couragious constancy, and thinks the best part of grauitie to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is the most slauishly submisse, though enuious to those are in better place then himselfe; and knowes the Art of w [...] well, that (for shrowding dishonestie vnder a faire pretext) he seemes to preserue mud in Chrystall. Like a man of a kinde nature, he is first good to himselfe; in the next file, to his French Tailor, that giues him all his perfection: for indeed, like an Estridge, or Birde of Paradise, his feathers are more worth then his body. If euer hee doe [Page] good deede (which is very seldome) his owne mouth is the Chronicle of it, least it should die forgotten. His whole bodie goes all vpon screwes, and his face is the vice that moues them. If his Patron be giuen to musicke, hee opens his chops, and sings, or with a wrie necke falles to tuning his instrument: if that faile hee takes the height of his Lord with a Hawking pole. Hee followes the mans fortune, not the man: seeking thereby to increase his owne. He pretends, he is most vndeseruedly enuied, and cries out, remembring the game, Chesse, that a Pawne before a King is most plaide on. Debts he owes none, but shrewd turnes, and those he paies ere he besued. He is a flattering Glasse to conceale age, and wrinkles. He is Mountaines Monkie, that climbing a tree, and skipping from bough to bough, giues you backe his face; but comne once to the top, he holdes his nose vp into the winde, and shewes you his taile: yet all this gay glitter [Page] shewes on him, as if the Sunne shone in a puddle; for he is a small wine that will not last, and when he is falling, he goes of himselfe faster then misery can driue him.

A faire and happy Milke-mayd,

IS a Countrey Wench, that is so far from making her selfe beautifull by Art, that one looke of hers is able to put all face Phisick out of countenance, She knowes a faire looke is but a dumbe Orator to commend vertue, therefore mindes it not. All her excellencies stand in her so silently, as if they had stolne vpon her without her knowledge. The lining of her apparel (which is her selfe) is far better then outsides of Tissew: for though she be not arraied in the spoile of the Silke-worme, she is deckt in innocence, a far better wearing. She doth not, with lying long a bed, [Page] spoile both her complexion and Conditions; nature hath taught her too Immoderate sleepe is rust to the soule: shee rises therefore with Chaunticleare, her Dames Cocke, and at night makes the Lambe her Courfew. In milking a Cow, and strayning the Teates through her fingers, it seemes that so sweet a Milkepresse makes the Milke the whiter, or sweeter; for neuer came Almond Gloue or Aromatique Oyntment on her Palme to taint it. The golden eares of corne fall and kisse her feete when she reapes them, as if they wisht to be bound and led prisoners by the same hand fell'd them. Her breath is her owne, which sents all the yeere long of Iune, like a new made Hay-cocke. She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with pittie: and when winter euenings fall early (sitting at her merry wheele) shee sings a defiance to the giddy wheele of Fortune. She doth all things with so sweete a grace, it seemes ignorance will not suffer her to doe ill, [Page] being her minde is to doe well. Shee bestowes her yeares wages at next faire; and in choosing her Garments, counts no brauery i'th' world like decencie. The Garden and Bee-hiue are all her Phisicke and Chyrurgery, and she liues the longer for't. Shee dare goe alone, and vnfold sheep i'th' night, & feares no manner of ill, because shee meanes none: yet to say truth, shee is neuer alone, for shee is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones; yet they haue their efficacy, in that they are not pauled with insuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreames are so chaste, that she dare tell them: onely a Frydaies dreame is all her superstition: that shee conceales for feare of anger. Thus liues she, and all her care is, shee may dye in the Spring time, to haue store of flowers stuck vpon her winding sheet.

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An Arrant Horse-courser

HAth the tricke to blow vp Horseflesh, as a Butcher doth Veale, which shall wash out againe in twice riding twixt Waltham & London. The Trade of Spurre-making had decayed long since, but for this vngodly tyre-man. He is curst all ouer the foure ancient High-wayes of England; none but the blind men that sel switches i'th' Road are beholding to him. His Stable is fill'd with so many Diseases, one would thinke most part about Smithfield were an Hospitall for Horses, or a slaughter-house for the common hunt. Let him furnish you with a Hackney, 'tis as much as if the Kings Warrant ouer-tooke you within ten miles to stay your iourney. And though a man cannot say, he cozens you directly; yet any Ostler within ten miles, should hee [Page] be brought vpon his Booke-oath, will affirme hee hath layd a bait for you. Resolue when you first stretch your selfe in the stirrops, you are put as it were vpon some Vsurer, that will neuer beare with you past his day. He were good to make one that had the Collick alight often, and (if example will cause him) make vrine; let him onely for that say, Gr'amercy Horse. For his sale of horses, he hath false couers for all manner of Diseases, onely comes short of one thing (which hee despaires not vtterly to bring to perfection) to make a Horse goe on a wodden legge and two crutches. For powding his eares with Quicksiluer, and giuing him suppositories of liue Eeles he's expert. All the while you are a cheapning he fears you will not bite; but he laughs in his sleeue when hee hath cozened you in earnest. French men are his best Chapmen, he keepes amblers for them on purpose, and knowes he can deceiue them very easily. He is so constant to his Trade, [Page] that while he is awake, he tires any man he talkes with, and when hee's asleepe he dreams very fearefully of the pauing of Smithfield, for hee knowes it would founder his occupation.

A Roaring Boy

HIs life is a meere counterfet Patent: which neuerthelesse, makes many a Countrey Iustice tremble. Don Quixotes water Milles are still Scotch Bagpipes to him. Hee sendes Challenges by word of mouth: for hee protests (as hee is a Gentleman and a brother of the Sword) hee can neither write nor read. He hath runne throgh diuers parcels of Land and great houses, beside both the Counters. If anie priuate Quarrell happen among our great Conrtiers, he proclaimes the businesse, thats the word, the businesse; as if all the vnited forces of the Romish-Catholickes [Page] were making vp for Germany. Hee cheats young Guls that are newly come to Towne; and when the Keeper of the Ordinarie blames him for it, hee answers him in his own Professiō, that a Woodcocke must bee pluckt ere he be drest. Hee is a Superuisor to Brothels, & in them is a more vnlawfull reformer of vice, then Prentises on Shroue-tuesday. He loues his Friend, as a Counseller at Law loues the veluet Breeches he was first made Barrester in, hee'll be sure to weare him thread-bare ere hee forsake him. He sleepes with a Tobacco-pipe in's mouth; and his first prayer i'th' morning is, hee may remember whom he fell our with ouer night. Soldier hee is none for hee cannot distinguish 'tweene Onion seede and Gunpowdir: if hee haue worne it in his hollow tooth for the Tooth-ach, and so come to the knowledge of it, that's all. The Tenure by which he holds his meanes, is an estate at Will; and that's borrowing Land-lords haue but but foure [Page] Quarter-dayes; but he three hundred and odde. Hee keepes very good Company; yet is a man of no reckaning: and when he goes not drunke to bed, hee is very sick next morning, He commonly dies like Anacreon, with a Grape in's throat; or Hercules, with fire in's marrow. And I haue heard of some (that haue scap't hanging) begg'd for Anatomies, onely to deterre men from taking Tobacco.

Adrunken Dutch-man resident in England

IS but Quarter Master with his Wife. Hee stinkes of Butter, asif hee were noynted all ouer for the Itch. Let him come ouer neuer so leane, and plant him but one Moneth neere the Brew-houses in S.Catherines, and hee'll bee puft vp to your hand like a bloate Herring, Of all places of pleasure, he [Page] loues a Common Garden, and (with the Swine of the Parish) had neede be ringed for rooting. Next to these hee affects Lotteries naturally; and bequeathes the best prize in his Will afore-hand; when his hopes fall, hee's blanke. They swarme in great Tenements like flies: sixe House-holds will liue in a Garret. Hee was wont (onely to make vs fooles) to buy the Foxe skin for three pence, and sell the taile for a shilling. Now his new Trade of brewing Strong-waters makes a number of mud men. He loues a Welch-man extreamly for his Diet and Orthography; that is, for pluralitie of consonants and cheese. Like a Horse, hee's onely guided by the mouth: when hee's drunke, you may thrust your hand into him like an Eele skinne, and strip him his inslde outwards. Hee hoordes vp faire gold, and pretends 'tis to seethe in his Wiues broth for a consumption, and loues the memory of King; Henry the 8. most especially for his old Soueraigns. [Page] He saies wee are vnwise to lament the decay of Timber in England: for all manner of buildings or Fortification whatsoeuer, hee desires no other thing in the world, then Barrels and Hoppoles. To conclude, the onely two plagues he trembles at, is small Beere, and the Spanish Inquisition,

A Phantastique. An Improuident young Gallant.

THere is a confederacy betweene him and his Clothes, to be made a puppy: view him well, & you'll say his Gentry sits as ill vpon him, as if he had boght it with his pēny. He hath more places to send money to, then the Diuell hath to send his Spirits: and to furnish each Mistresse, would make him runne beside his wits, if hee had any to lose. Hee accounts bashfulnesse the [Page] wicked'st thing in the world; and therfore studies Impudence. If all men were of his mind, al honesty would be out of fashion: he withers his Cloathes on the Stage, as a Sale-man is forc't to do his sutes in Birchin-lane; & when the Play is done, if you marke his rising, tis with a kinde of walking Epilogue betweene the two candles, to knowe if his Suite may passe for currant: he studies by the discretion of his Barber, to frizle like a Baboone: three such would keep three the nimblest Barbers i'th' towne, from euer hauing leasure to weare net-Garters: for whē they haue to do with him they haue many Irons i'th'fire. He is trauelled, but to little purpose; onlie went ouer for a squirt, and came back againe yet neure the more mended in his conditions, cause he carried himselfe along with him: a Scholler he pretends himselfe, and faies he hath sweat for it: but the truth is, he knowes Cornelius, farre better then Tacitus: his ordinary sports [Page] are Cock-fights; but the most frequent, horse races, from whence hee comes home drie foundred. Thus when his purse hath cast her calfe, he goes down into the Country, where he is brought to milk and white cheese like the Switzers.

A Button-maker of Amsterdam,

IS one that is fled ouer from his Conscience; and left his wife and children vpon the Parish. For his knowledge, he is meerely a Horne-booke without a Christ-crosse afore it, and his zeale consists much in hanging his Bible in a Dutch button: hee cozens men in the purity of his cloathes: and twas his only ioy when hee was on this side, to bee in Prison: hee cries out, tis impossible for any man to be damn'd, that liues in his Religion, and his equiuocation is [Page] true: so long as a man liues in't, he cannot; but if he die in't, there's the question. Of all Feasts in the yeere, hee accounts S. Georges Feast the prophanest, because of St. Georges Crosse, yet somtimes he doth sacrifice to his own belly; prouided, that heeput off the Wake of his owne natiuitie, or wedding, till Good Friday. If there bee a great feast in the Towne, though most of the wicked (as he cals them) be there, he will bee sure to be a guest, and to out-eat sixe of the fattest Burgers: he thinkes, though he may not pray with a Iew, hee may eat with a Iew: he winkes when he prayes, and thinkes he knowes the way so now to heauen, that he can finde it blindefold. Latine he accounts, the language of the Beast with seuen heads; & when he speakes of his owne Countrie, cries, he is fled out of Babel. Lastly, his deuotion is Obstinacy, the onely solace of his heart, Contradiction, and his maine end Hypocrisie.

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A Distaster of the Time

IS a Winter Grashopper al the yeer long that lookes back vpon Haruest, with a leane paire of cheekes, neuer sets forward to meete it: his malice suckes vp the greatest part of his own venome, & therewith impoisoneth himselfe: and this sickenesse rises rather of Selfe-opinion, or ouer-great expectation; so in the conceit of his owne ouer-worthinesse, like a Coistrell, he striues to fill himselfe with winde, and flyes against it. Any mans aduancement is the most capitall offence that can bee to his malice: yet this enuy, like Phalaris Bull, makes that a torment, first for himselfe, hee prepared for others: hee is a Day-bed for the Diuell to slumber on; his bloud is of a yellowish colour: like those that haue bin bitten by Vipers: & his gaule flowes as thick in him as oyle, in a poyson'd stomacke. [Page] He infects all societie, as thunder sowres wine: war or peace, dearth or plenty, make him equaly discontented. And where he findes no cause to taxe the State, hee descends to raile against the rate of salt butter. His wishes are whirlewindes; which breath'd forth, returne into himselfe, and make him a most giddy & tottering vessell. When he is awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walke in his sleepe, for his visitation is directed to none: his businesse is nothing. He is often dumbe-madde, and goes fetter'd in his owne entrailes. Religion is commonly his pretence of discontent, though he can be of all religions; therefore truly of none. Thus by vnnaturallising himselfe, some would thinke him a very dangerous fellow to the State, but he is not greatly to be fear'd: for this deiection of his, is onely like a rogue that goes on his knees and elbowes in the mire, to further his begging.

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A meere Fellow of a House

EXamines all mens carriage but his owne; and is so kinde natured to himselfe, he findes fault with all mens but his owne. He weares his apparell much after the fashion; his meanes will not suffer him come to nigh: they afford him Mock-veluet or Satinisco; but not without the Colledges next leases acquaintance: his inside is of the selfe same fashion, not rich: but as it reflects from the glasse of selfe-liking, there Croesus is Irus to him. He is a Pedant in shew, though his title be Tutor; and his Pupils, in broader phrase, are Scholeboyes. On these he spends the false gallop of his tongue; and with senselesse discourse towes them along, not out of ignorance. He shewes them the rinde, conceales the sappe: by this meanes he keepes them the longer, himselfe the better. He hath learn't to cough, and [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] spit, and blow his nose at euery period, to recouer his memorie: and studies chiefely to set his eyes and beard to a new forme of learning. His Religion lyes in waite for the inclination of his Patron; neither ebbes nor flowes, but iust standing water, betweene protestant and Puritane. His dreames are of pluralitie of Benefices and non-residency; and when he rises, acts a long Grace to his looking glasse. Against hee comes to bee some great mans Chaplaine, he hath a habite of boldnesse, though a very Coward. Hee speakes Swords, Fights, Ergo's: his pase on foote is a measure; on horsebacke, a gallop: for his legs are his owne, though horse and spurres are borrowed. He hath lesse vse then possession of Bookes. He is not so proud, but he will call the meanest Author by his name; nor so vnskill'd in the Heraldrie of a Studie, but he knowes each mans place. So ends that fellowship, and begins an other.

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A meere Petifogger

IS one of Sampsons Foxes: He sets men together by the eares, more shamefully then Pillories; and in a long Vacation his sport is to go a Fishing with the Penall Statutes. He cannot erre before Iudgement, and then you see it, onely Writs of error are the Tariers that keepe his Client vndoing somewhat the longer. He is a Vestrie man in his Parish, and easily sets his neighbours at variance with the Vickar, when his wicked counsell on both sides is like weapons put into mens hands by a Fencer, whereby they get blowes, he money. His honesty and learning bring him to Vnder-Shrif-Ship; which hauing thrise runne through, hee do's not feare the Lieutenant a'th' Shire: nay more, hee feares not God. Cowardise holds him a good Common-wealthes-man; his pen is the plough, and parchment the [Page] Soyle, whence he reapes both Coyne and Curses. He is an Earthquake, that willingly will let no ground lie in quiet. Broken titles make him whole; to haue halfe in the Countie breake their Bonds, were the onely libertie of conscience: He would wish (though he be a Brownist) no neighbour of his should pay his tithes duly, if such Sutes held continuall Plea at Westminster. He cannot away with the reuerend Seruice in our Church, because it ends with The peace of God. He loues blowes extreamely, and hath his Chyrurgions bill of all rates, from head to foote, to incense the fury: he would not giue away his yeerely beatings for a good peece of money. He makes his Will in forme of a Law-case, full of quiddits, that his Friends after his death (if for nothing else) yet, for the vexation of Law, may haue cause to remember him. And if hee thought the Ghosts of men did walke againe (as they report in time of Popery) sure he would [Page] hide some single mony in WestminsterHall, that his spirit might haunt there. Only with this, I will pitch him o're the Barre, and leaue him; That his fingers itch after a Bribe, euer since his first practising of Court-hand.

An Ingrosser of Corne.

THere is no Vermine in the Land like him; hee slanders both Heauen and Earth with pretended Dearths, when there's no cause of scarsitie. His whording in a deare yeere, is like Erisicthons Bowels, in Ouid: Quodque vrbibus esse, quod (que) satis poterat populo, non sufficit vni. He prayes daily for more inclosures, and knowes no reason in his Religion, why wee should call our fore-fathers daies, The time of ignorance, but onely because they sold VVheat for twelue pence a bushell. He wishes that Danske were at the Moloccos; [Page] and had rather be certaine of some forraine inuasion, then of the setting vp of the Stilyard. When his Barnes and Garners are ful(if it be a time of dearth) he will buy halfe a bushell i'th' Market to serue his Household: and winnowes his Corne in the night, lest, as the chaffe throwne vpon the water, shew'd plenty in AEgypt; so his (caried by the winde) should proclaime his abundance. No painting pleases him so wel, as Pharaohs dreame of the seauen leane Kine, that ate vp the fat ones; that hee has in his Parlour, which he will describe to you like a motion, and his comment ends with a smothered prayer for the like scarsitie. Hee cannot away with Tobacco; for hee is perswaded (and not much amisse) that tis a sparer of Breadcorne which he could finde in's heart to transport without Licence: but weighing the penaltie, hee growes mealy-mouth'd, and dares not. Sweet smells he cannot abide; wishes that the pure ayre were generally corrupted: [Page] nay, that the Spring had lost her fragrancie for euer, or wee our superfluous sense of Smelling (as he tearmes it) that his corne might not bee found mustie. The Poore he accounts the Iustices intelligencers, and cannot abide them: he complaines of our negligence of discouering new parts of the VVorld, only to rid them from our Clymate. His Sonne, by a certaine kinde of instinct, he bindes Prentise to a Taylor, who all the terme of his Indenture hath a deare yeere in's bellie, and rauins bread extreamly: when he comes to be a Freeman (if it be a Dearth) he marries him to a Bakers daughter.

A Diuellish Usurer

IS sowed as Cummin or Hemp-seede, with curses; and he thinks he thriues the better. Hee is better read in the Penall Statutes, then the Bible; and his euill Angell perswades him, hee shall [Page] sooner be saued by them. He can be no mans friend; for all men hee hath most interest in, hee vndo's: and a double dealer hee is certainely; for by his good will he euer takes the forfeit. He puts his money to the vnnaturall Act of generation; and his Scriuener is the superuisor Bawd to't. Good Deeds he loues none, but Seal'd and Deliuered; nor doth he wish any thing to thriue in the Countrey, but Bee-hiues; for they make him waxe rich. He hates all but Law-Latine; yet thinks hee might be drawne to loue a Scholler, could he reduce the yeere to a shorter compasse, that his vse-money might come in the faster: he seems to be the son of a Iailor, for all his estate is most heauic & cruell bonds. He doth not giue, but fell daies of Payment; and those at the rate of a mans vndoing: he doth only feare, the day of Iudgment should fall sooner, then the payment of some great sum of money due to him: hee remoues his lodging when a Subsidie comes; and if [Page] he be found out, and pay it, hee grumbles Treason; but tis in such a deformed silence, as VVitches raise their Spirits in. Grauitie hee pretends in all things, but in his priuate Whore; for hee will not in a hundreth pound take one light sixe-pence; and it seemes hee was at Tilburie Campe, for you must not tell him of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience; for (like the lakes-farmer that swounded with going into Bucklersburie) hee falls into a cold sweat, if hee but looke into the Chauncerie: thinks in his Religion, wee are in the right for euery thing, if that were abolisht: hee hides his money, as if hee thought to finde it againe at last day, and then begin's old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription; and whether they or his bodie are more rotten, is a question: yet should hee liue to be hangd in them, this good they would doe him, The very Hangman would pittie his case. The Table hee keeps is able to starue twentie tall men; his servants [Page] haue not their liuing, but their dying from him, and that's of Hunger. A spare Dyet he commends in all men, but himselfe: he comes to Cathedralls onely for loue of the singing Boyes, because they looke hungry. He likes our Religion best, because tis best cheape; yet would faine allow of Purgatorie, 'cause 'twas of his Trade, and brought in so much money: his heart goes with the same snaphance his purse doth, tis seldome open to any man: friendship hee accounts but a word without any signification; nay, he loues all the world so little, that, and it were possible, hee would make himselfe his owne Executor: for certaine, hee is made Administrator to his own good name, while he is in perfect memorie, for that dyes long afore him; but he is so farre from being at the charge of a Funerall for it, that hee lets it stinke aboue ground. In conclusion, for Neighbourhood, you were better dwell by a contentious Lawyer. And for his death, tis rather [Page] Surfet, the Pox, or Despaire; for seldom such as hee dye of Gods making, as honest men should doe.

A Water-Man

IS one that hath learnt to speake well of himselfe; for alwaies hee names himselfe, The first man. If he had betane himselfe to some richer Trade, hee could not haue chos'd but done well: for in this (though it be a meane one) he is still plying it, and putting himselfe forward. He is euermore telling strange newes; most commonly lyes. If he be a Sculler, aske him if hee be maried, hee'l equiuocate and sweare hee's a single man. Little trust is to be giuen to him, for he thinks that day he does best when he fetches most men ouer. His daily labour teaches him the Arte of dissembling; for like a fellow that rides to the Pillorie, he goes not that way he [Page] lookes: hee keepes such a bawling at Westminster, that if the Lawyers were not acquainted with it, an order would be tane with him. When he is vpon the water, he is Fare-companie: when hee comes ashore, hee mutinies; and contrarie to all other trades, is most surely to Gentlemen, when they tender payment. The Play-houses only keep him sober; and as it doth many other Gallants, makes him an afternoones man. London Bridge is the most terriblest eye-sore to him that can be. And to conclude, nothing but a great Presse, makes him flye from the Riuer; nor any thing; but a great Frost, can teach him any good manners.

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A Reuerend Iudge

IS one that desires to haue his greatnes, onely measur'd by his goodnesse: his care is to appeare such to the people, as he would haue them be; and to be himselfe such as hee appeares; for vertue cannot seeme one thing, and be another: hee knowes that the hill of greatnesse yeelds a most delighifull prospect, but with all that it is most subiect to lightning, and thunder: and that the people, as in ancient Tragedies, sit and censure the actions of those are in authoritie: he squares his owne therefore, that they may farre bee aboue their pittie: he wishes fewer Lawes, so they were better obseru'd: and for those are Mulctuarie, he vnderstands their institution not to be like briers or springes, to catch euery thing they lay hold of; but like Sea-marks (on our dangerous Goodwin) to auoid the shipwracke [Page] of ignorant passengers: hee hates to wrong any man; neither hope, nor despaire of preferment can draw him to such an exigent: he thinks himselfe then most honorably seated, when he giues mercie the vpper hand: hee rather striues to purchase good name then land; and of all rich stuffes forbidden by the Statute, loaths to haue his followers weare their clothes cut out of bribes and extortions. If his Prince call him to higher place, there he deliuers his minde plainly, and freely; knowing for truth, there is no place wherein dissembling ought to haue lesse credit, then in a Princes Councel. Thus honour keeps peace with him to the graue, and doth not(as with many) there forsake him, and goe backe with the Heralds: but fairely sits ore him, and broods out of his memorie, many right excellent Common-wealths men.

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A vertuous Widdow

IS the Palme-tree, that thriues not after the supplanting of her husband. For her Childrens sake she first marries, for shee married that shee might haue children, and for their sakes shee marries no more. She is like the purest gold, onely imploide for Princes meddals, shee neurer receiues but one mans impression; the large iointure moues her not, titles of honor cannot sway hir. To change her name, were (she thinks) to commit a sinne should make her asham'd of her husbands calling; shee thinks she hath traueld all the world in one man; the rest of her time therfore she directs to heauen. Her maine superstition is, shee thinks her husbands ghost would walke, should she not performe his VVill: she would doe it, were there no Prerogatiue Court. She giues much to pious vses, without any hope [Page] to merit by them: and as one Diamond fashions another; so is she wrought into works of Charitie, with the dust or ashes of her husband. She liues to see her selfe full of time; being so necessarie for earth, God calls her not to heauen, till shee be very aged: and euen then, though her naturall strength faile her, she stands like an ancient Piramid; which the lesse it growes to mans eye, the neerer it reaches to heauen: this latter Chastitie of Hers, is more graue and reuerend, then that ere shee was married; for in it is neither hope, nor longing, nor feare, nor iealousie. Shee ought to be a mirrour for our yongest Dames, to dresse themselues by, when she is fullest of wrinkles. No calamitie can now come neere her, for in suffering the losse of her husband, shee accounts all the rest trifles: she hath laid his dead bodie in the worthiest monument that can be: Shee hath buried it in her owne heart. To conclude, she is a Relique, that without any superstition [Page] in the world; though she will not be kist, yet may be reuerenc't.

An ordinary Widdow

IS like the Heralds Hearse-cloath; she serues to many funerals, with a very little altering the colour. The end of her Husband begins in teares; and the end of her teares beginnes in a Husband. She vses to Cunning women to know how many Husbands shee shall haue, and neuer marries without the consent of sixe midwiues. Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her Suitors; and by them she gaines: for one serues to draw on another, and with one at last she shootes out another, as Boies doe Pellets in Elderne Gunnes. She commends to them a single life, as Horsecourses doe their Iades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of the biggest of the Guard, but Knighthood [Page] makes her draw in a weaker Bow. Her seruants, or kinsfolke, are the Trumperers that summon any to this combat: by them she gaines much credit, but looseth it againe in the old Prouerbe: Fama est mendax. If she liue to be thrise married, she seldome failes to cozen her second Husbands Creditors. A Church man shee dare not venture vpon; for she hath heard widdowes complaine of dilapidations: nor a Soldier, though he haue Candlerents in the City, for his estate may be subiect to fire: very seldome a Lawier, without he shew his exceeding great practise, & can make her case the better: but a Knight with the old rent may do much, for a great comming in, is all in all with a Widdow: euer prouided, that most part of her Plate and Iewels (before the wedding) lie concealde with her Scriuener. Thus like a too ripe Apple, shee falles of her selfe: but he that hath her, is Lord but of a filthy purchase, for the title is [Page] crackt. Lastly, while she is a Widdow, obserue euer, shee is no Morning woman the euening a good fire and sack may make her listen to a Husband: and if euer she be made sure, tis vpon a full stomacke to bedward.

A Quacksaluer

IS a Mountebanke of a larger bill then a Taylor; if hee can but come by names enow of Diseases, to stuffe it with, tis all the skill hee studies for. He tooke his first being from a Cunning woman, and stole this blacke Art from her, while he made her Seacoale fire. All the diseases euer sin brought vpon man, doth he pretend to be Curer of; when the truth is, his maine cunning, is Corne-cutting. A great plague makes him; what with railing against such, as leaue their cures for feare of infection, and in friendly breaking [Page] Cakebread, with the Fish-wiues at Funerals, he vtters a most abominable deale of musty Carduus-water, & the Conduits crie out, All the learned Doctors may cast their Caps at him. He parts stakes with some Apothecary, in the Suburbes, at whose house he lies: and though hee be neuer so familiar with his wife; the Apothecary dare not (for the richest Horne in his shop) displease him. All the Mid-wiues in the towne are his intelligencers; but nurses and young Marchants Wines (that would fain conceiue with childe) these are his Idolaters. Hee is a more vniust Bone-setter, then a Dice-maker; hath put out more eyes then the small Pox; made more deafe then the Cataracts of Nilus; lamed more then the Gout; shrunke more sinewes, then one that makes Bow-stringes; and kild more idly, then Tobacco. A Magistrate that had any way so noble a spirit, as but to loue a good horse well, would not suffer him to bee a Farrier. [Page] His discourse is vomit; and his ignorance, the strongest purgation in the world: to one that would be speedily cured, he hath more delaies, and doubles, then a Hare, or a Law suite: hee seekes to set vs at variance with nature, and rather then hee shall want diseases he'le beget them. His especiall practise (as I said afore) is vpon women; labours to make their mindes sicke, ere their bodies feele it, and then there's worke for the Dog-leach. Hee pretends the cure of mad-men; and sure he gets most by them, for no man in his perfect witte would meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a Iuggler with Vrinals, so dangerously vnskilfull, that if euer the Citie will haue recourse to him for diseases that neede purgation, let them imploy him in scouring Moore-ditch.

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A Canting Rogue.

TIs not vnlikely but hee was begot by some intelligencer vnder a hedge; for his minde is wholy giuen to trauell. He is not troubled with making of Iointures: he can diuorce himselfe without the see of a Proctor, nor feares he the crueltie of ouerseers of his Will. Hee leaues his children all the world to Cant in, and all the people to their fathers. His Language is a Constant tongue; the Northerne speech differs from the south, VVelch from the Cornish: but Canting is generall, nor euer could be altered by conquest of the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He wil not beg out of his limit though hee starue; nor breake his oath if hee sweare by his Salomon, though you hang him: and hee payes his custome as truely to his Graund Rogue, astribute is payd to the great Turke. The [Page] March Sunne breedes agues in others, but hee adores it like the Indians; for then beginnes his progresse after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot endure him, for he is of the infantry, and serues best on foote. Hee offends not the Statute against the excesse of apparell, for hee will goe naked, and counts it a voluntary pennance. Forty of them lie in a Barne together, yet are neuer sued vpon the statute of Inmates. If hee were learned, no man could make a better description of England; for hee hath traueld it ouer and ouer. Lastly, hee bragges, that his great houses are repair'd to his hands; when Churches go to ruine: and those are prisons.

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A French Cooke

HE learnt his trade in a Towne of Garrison neere famish't, where he practised to make a little goe farre; some deriue it from more antiquity, and say Adam (when hee pickt fallets) was of his occupation. He doth not feed the belly, but the Palate: and though his command lie in the kitchin (which is but an inferiour place) yet shall you finde him a very saucy companion. Euer since the warres in Naples, hee hath so minc't (the ancient and bountifull allowance) as if his nation should keep a perpetuall diet. The Seruingmen call him the last relique of Popery, that makes men fast against their Conscience. He can be truly said to be no mans fellow but his Masters: for the rest of his seruants are starued by him. Hee is the prime cause why [Page] Noblemen build their Houses so great, for the smalnesse of the Kitchin, makes the house the bigger: and the Lord calles him his Alchymist that can extract gold out of hearbs, rootes, mushroomes or anything: that which hee dresses wee may rather call a drinking, then a meale: yet is hee so full of variety, that he brags, and truely, that hee giues you but a taste of what hee can do: he dare not for his life come among the Butchers; for sure they would quarter and bake him after the English fashion; hee's such an enemy to Beefe and Mutton. To conclude, hee were onely fit to make a funerall feast, where men should eat their victuals in mourning.

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A Sexton

IS an ill willer to humane nature. Of all Prouerbs, hee cannot endure to heare that which sayes, Wee ought to liue by the quicke, not by the dead. He could willingly all his life time bee confinde to the Church-yard; at least within fiue foote on't: for at euery Church stile, commonly there's an Alehouse; Where let him bee found neuer so idle pated, hee is still a graue drunkard. Hee breakes his fast heartiliest while he is making a graue, and sayes the opening of the ground makes him hungry. Though one would take him to be a slouen, yet hee loues cleane linnen extreamely, and for that reason takes an order that fine holland sheers bee not made wormes meate. Like a nation cald the Cusani, he weeps when any are borne, and laughes when they die: the reason; hee gets by Burials [Page] not Christnings: he will hold argument in a Tauerne ouer Sacke, till the Diall and himselfe bee both at a stadd: he neuer obserues any time but Sermon time, and there he sleepes by the hourglasse. The rope-maker payes him a pension, and hee paies tribute to the Physitian; for the Physitian makes work for the Sexton; as the Rope-maker for the Hang-man. Lastly, he wishes the Dogge dayes would last all yeere long: and a great plague is his yeere of lubile.

A Iesuite

IS a larger Spoone for a Traytour to feed with the Diuell, then any other Order: vnclaspse him, and hee's a gray Wolfe, with a golden Starre in the fore-head: so superstitiously hee followes the Pope, that hee forsakes Christ, in not giuing Caesar his due. His vowes seeme heauenly; but in medling [Page] with State-businesse, he seems to mixe heauen and earth together. His best Elements, are Confession & Pennance: by the first, he findes out mens inclinations; and by the latter, heapes wealth to his Seminary. He sprang from Ignanatius Loiola, a Spanish Souldier; and though hee were found out long since the inuention of the Canon, 'tis thoght he hath not done lesse mischiefe. Hee is a false Key to open Princes Cabinets, and pry into their Counsels; and where the Popes excommunication thunders, hee holds it no more sinne the decrowning of Kings, then our Puritanes doe the suppression of Bishops. His order is full of all irregularity and disobedience; ambitious aboue all measure; for of late dayes, in Portugall and the Indies, he reiected the name of Iesuit, and would bee called Disciple. In Rome, and other countries that giue him freedome, hee weares a Maske vppon his heart; in England he shifts it, and puts it vpon his face. No place in our Climate [Page] hides him so securely as a Ladies Chamber; the modesty of the Purseuant hath onely forborne the bed, and so mist him. There is no Disease in Christendome, that may so properly be call'd The Kings Euill. To conclude, would you know him beyond Sea? In his Seminary, hee's a Foxe; but in the Inquisition, a Lyon Rampant.

An excellent Actor.

VVHatsoeuer is commendable in the graue Orator, is most exquisitly perfect in him; for by a full and significant action of body, he charmes our attention: sit in a full Theater, and you will thinke you see so many lines drawen from the circumference of so many eares, whiles the Actor is the Center. He doth not striue to make nature monstrous, she is often seene in the same Scaene with him, but [Page] neither on Stilts nor Crutches; and for his voice tis not lower then the prompter, nor lowder then the Foile and Targer. By his action hee fortifies morall precepts with example; for what wee see him personate, wee thinke truely done before vs: a man of a deep thoght might apprehend, the Ghosts of our ancient Heroes walk't againe, and take him(at feueral times)for many of them. He is much affected to painting, and tis a question whether that make him an excellent Player, or his playing an exquisite Painter. Hee addes grace to the Poets labours: for what in the Poet is but ditty, in him is both ditty and musicke. He entertaines vs in the best leasure of our life, that is betweene meales, the most vnfit time, either for study or bodily exercise: the flight of Hawkes, and chase of wilde beasts, either of them are delights noble: but some thinke this sport of men the worthier, despight all calumny. All men haue beene of his occupation: and indeed, [Page] what hee doth fainedly, that doe others essentially: this day one playes a Monarch, the next a priuate person. Heere one Acts a Tyrant, on the morrow an Exile: A Parasite this man too night, tomorrow a Precisian, and so of diuers others. I obserue, of all men liuing, a woorthy Actor in one kinde is the strongest motiue of affection on that can be: for when hee dies, wee cannot be perswaded any man can doe his parts like him. But to conclude, I value a worthy Actor by the corruption on of some few of the quality, as I wold doe gold in the oare; I should not minde the drosse, but the purity of the mettall.

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A Franklin.

HIs outside is an ancient Yeoman of England, though his inside may giue armes (with the best Gentleman) and ne're fee the Herald. There is no truer seruaht in the house then himselfe. Though he be Master, he saies not to his seruants, goe to field, but let vs goe; and with his owne eye, doth both fatten his flocke, and set forward all manner of husbandrie. He is taught by nature to be contented with a little; his owne fold yeelds him both food and raiment: hee is pleasd with any nourishment God sends, whilest curious gluttonie ransacks, as it were, Noahs Arke for food, onely to feed the riot of one meale. He is nere knowne to goe to Law; vnderstanding, to be Law-bound among men, is like to bee hide-bound among his beasts; they thriue not vnder it: and that such men [Page] sleep as vnquietly, as if their pillowes were stuft with Lawyers pen-knifes. When hee builds, no poore Tenants cottage hinders his prospect, they are indeed his Almes-houses, though there be painted on them no such superscription. Hee neuer fits vplate but when he hunts the Badger, the vowed foe of his Lambes: nor vses he any crueltie, but when he hunts the Hare, nor subtiltie but when he setteth snares for the Snite, or pit-falls for the Black-bird; nor oppression, but when in the month of Iuly, hee goes to the next riuer, and sheares his sheep. Hee allowes of honest pastime, and thinks not the bones of the dead any thing bruifed, or the worse for it, though the Countrey Lasses dance in the Church-yard after Euen-song. Rocke Monday, and the Wake in Summer, shrouings, the wakefull ketches on Christmas Eue, the Hoky, or Seed-cake, these he yeerly keeps, yet holds them no reliques of Poperie. He is not so inquisitiue after [Page] newes deriued from the priuie closet, when the finding an eiery of Hawkes in his owne ground, or the foaling of a Colt come of a good straine, are tydings more pleasant, more profitable. He is Lord paramount within himselfe, though hee hold by neuer so meane a Tenure; and dies the more contentedly (though he leaue his heire yong) in regard he leaues him not liable to a couetous Guardian. Lastly, to end him; hee cares not when his end comes; hee needs not feare his Audit, for his Quietus is in heauen.

A Rimer

IS a fellow whose face is hatcht all ouer with impudence, and should he be hang'd or pilloried tis armed for it. Hee is a Iuggler with words, yet practises the Art of most vncleanly [Page] conueyance. He doth boggle very often; and because himselfe winkes at it, thinks tis not perceiued: the maine thing that euer he did, was the tune he sang to. There is nothing in the earth so pittifull, no not an Ape-carrier, he is not worth thinking of, and therefore I must leaue him as nature left him, a Dunghil not well aid together.

The Character of a happy life.

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By Sr. H. W.

HOw happy is he borne or taught,

That serueth not anothers will;

Whose Armour is his honest thought,

And sillie Truth his highest skill.

Whose passions not his Masters are,

Whose soule is still prepar'd for death:

Vntyed vnto the world with care

Of Princely loue, or vnlgar breath.

Who hath his life from rumors freed.

Whose conscience is his strong retreit:

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

Nor ruine make accusers great.

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Who enuieth none whom chance doth raise,

Or vice: who neuer vnderstood,

How deepest wounds are giuē with praise,

Not rules of state, but rules of good.

Who GOD doth late and early pray,

More of his grace, then gifts to lend;

Who entertaines the harmelesse day,

With a well chosen Booke or Friend.

This man is free from seruile bands,

Of hope to rise, or feare to fall;

Lord of himselfe, though not of Lands:

And hauing nothing, he hath All.

Certaine Edicts from a Parliament in Eutopia; Written by the Lady Southwell.

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INprimis, Hee that hath no other worth to commend him then a good Suite of Apparell, shall not dare to woe a Lady in his owne behalfe, but shall be allowed to carry the Hieroglyphike of his friends affection.

Item, that no fowle fac'd Lady shall raile on her that is fairer, because she is fairer; nor seeke by blacke calumniation to darken her fame, vnlesse shee bee her corriuall.

Item, that no man may entitle himselfe by the matchles name of a Friend, that loues vpon condition, vnlesse hee be a Schoole-master.

Item, that no Lady, which modestly [Page] keepes her house for want of good clothes to visit her Gossips shall professe contempt of the worlds vanity, vnlesse she see no hope of the tides returning.

Item, that no Bankerupt Knight, that to set vp shop againe, becomes Parasite or Buffone to some great Lord, shall euer after sweare by his honour; but by his Knight-hood he may.

Item, that no Lady that vseth to paint, shall finde fault with her painter that hath not counterfeted her picture faire enough, vnlesse she will acknowledge her selfe to be the better counterfetter.

Item, that no man whose vaine loue hath beene reiected by a vertuous Lady, shall report that he hath refused and cast her off, vnlesse he will take the base lying fellow by the next assailant, so reiected, without any further quarrell.

Item, that no Lady shall court her looking glasse, past one houre in a day, vnlesse she professe to be an Inginer.

Item, that no Quarter waiter shall feed on cheese three quarters of a yeere [Page] to feast on satten one quarter, without Galens aduice, and the Apothecaries bill to be written by a Taylor.

Item, that wench that is ouer-enamored of her selfe, and thinkes all other so too, shall bee bound to carry a burden of Birdlime on her backe, and spinne at a Barne-doore to catch fooles.

Item, he that sweareth when hee loseth his mony at dice, shall challenge his damnation by the way of purchase.

Item, no Lady that silently simpereth for want of wit shall be call'd modest.

Item, no fellow that begins to argue with a woman, & wants wit to encounter her, shall think he hath redeemed his credit by putting her to silence with some lasciuious discourse,vnlesse hee weare white for William, and greene for Sommer.

Item, no woman that remaineth constant for want of assault shall be called chaste.

[Page] Item, he that professeth vertuous loue to a woman, and giues ground when his vanity is reiected, shall haue his bels cut off and flie for a haggard.

Item, she that respecteth the good opinion of others, before the Beeing of good in her selfe, shall not refuse the name of Hypocrite; and she that emploies all her time in working trappings for her selfe, the name of spider: and she that sets the first quest of enquiry amongst her gossips for new fashions, shall not refuse a stitcher for her second husband.

Item, He that hath reported a Lady to be vertuous, for the which he professeth to loue her, yet vnder hand commenceth a base suit, and is disdained; shall not on this blow which his owne vice hath giuen him, out of policy raile suddenly on her, for feare he be noted for a vicious foole: but to his friend in priuate he may say that his iudgement was blinded by her cunning disguise, & that he finds her wauering in goodnesse, [Page] and in time he shall openly professe to raile on her; but with such a modesty forsooth, as if he were loth to bring his iudgement into question; nor would he doe it, but that hee preferres truth euen out of his owne reach.

NEVVES FROM ANY WHENCE. OR, OLD TRVTH, VNDER A SVPposall of Noueltie. Occasioned by diuers Essayes, and priuate passages of Wit, betweene sundrie Gentlemen vpon that subiect.

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Newes from Court.

IT is thought heere, that there are as great miseries beyond happinesse, as a this side it, as being in loue. That truth is euery mans by assenting. That time makes euery thing aged, and yet it selfe was [Page] neuer but a minute old. That, next sleepe, the greatest deuourer of time is business: the greatest stretcher of it, Passion, the truest measure of it, Contemplation. To be saued, alwaies is the best plot: and vertue alwaies cleeres her way as she goes. Vice is euer behind-hand with it selfe. That Wit and a woman are two fraile things, and both the frailer by concurring. That the meanes of begetting a man, hath more increast mankinde then the end. That the madnesse of Loue is to be sicke of one part, and cured by another. The madnesse of Iealousie, that it is so diligent, and yet it hopes to lose his labor. That all Women for the bodily part, are but the same meaning put in diuers words. That the difference in the sense is their vnderstanding. That the wisedome of Action is Discretion; the knowledge of contemplation is truth: the knowledge of action is men. That the first considers what should be, the latter makes vse of what is. [Page] That euery man is weake in his owne humours. That euery man a little beyond himselfe is a foole. That affectation is the more ridiculous part of folly then ignorance. That the matter of greatnesse is comparison. That God made one world of Substances; Man hath made another of Art and Opinion. That Money is nothing but a thing which Art hath turned vp trumpe. That custome is the soule of circumstances. That custome hath so farre preuailed, that Truth is now the greatest newes.

Sr. T. Ouer.

Answere to the Court Newes.

THat Happinesse and Miscrie are Antipodes. That Goodnesse is not Felicitie, but the rode thither. That Mans strength is but a vicissitude of falling and rising. That onely to refraine ill, is to be ill still. That the plot [Page] of Saluation was laid before the plot of Paradise. That enioying is the preparatiue to contemning. That hee that seekes opinion beyond merite, goes iust so farre backe. That no man can obtaine his desires; nor in the world hath not to his measure. That to studie, men are more profitable then bookes. That mens loues are their afflictions. That Titles of Honor, are rattles to still ambition. That to be a King, is Fames Butte, and feares Quiuer. That the soules of Women and Louers, are wrapt in the portmanque of their senses. That imagination is the end of man. That wit is the webbe, and wisedome the woofe of the cloth; so that womens soules were neuer made vp. That enuie knowes what it will not confesse. That Goodnesse is like the Art Prospectiue: one point Center, begetting infinite rayes. That Man, Woman, and the Diuell, are the three degrees of comparison. That this Newes holds number, but [Page] not weight, by which couple all things receiue forme.

Countrey Newes.

THat there is most here, for it gathers in going. That reputation is measured by the Acre. That Pouertie is the greatest dishonestie. That the pittie of, Alasse poore soule, is for the most part mistaken. That Rost beefe is the best smel. That a iustice of peace is the best relique of Idolatrie. That the Allegorie of Iustice drawn blinde, is turned the wrong way. That not to liue to heauenly is accounted great wrong. That wisedome descends in a race. That we loue Names better then persons That to hold in Knights seruice, is a flipperie seruice. That a Papist is a new word for a Traitor. That the dutie of Religion is lent, not pay'd. That the reward is lost in the want of humilitie. That the Puritane [Page] persecution is as a clowde that can hide the glory of the light, but not the day. That the emulation of the English and Scots to be the Kings Countrey-men, thrust the honour on the Welch. That a Courtier neuer attaynes his selfe-knowledge, but by report. That his best Embleme is a hearne dogge. That many great men are so proud, that they know not their owne Fathers. That Loue is the tailworme. That a woman is the effect of her owne first fame. That to remember, to know, and to vnderstand, are 3. degrees not vnderstood. That Countrey ambition is no vice, for there is nothing aboue a man. That fighting is a Seruing-mans valor: Martyrdome their Masters. That to liue long, is to fill vppe the dayes wee liue That the zeale of some mens Religion reflects from their Friends. That the pleasure of vice is indulgence of the present, for it endures but the acting. That the proper reward of goodnesse is [Page] from within the externall is policy. That good and ill is the crosse and pile in the aime of life. That the Soule is the lampe of the body, Reason, of the Soule, Religion of Reason, Faith of Religion, Christ of Faith. That circumstances are the Atomies of policy, Censure the being, Action the life, but successe the Ornament. That Authority presseth downe with weight, and is thought violence: policy trips vp the heeles, & is called the dexterity. That this life is a throng in a narrow passage, hee that is first out, findes case, hee in the middle worst hemm'd in with troubles, the hindmost that driues both out afore him, though not suffering wrong, hath his part in doing it. That God requires of our debts, a reckoning, not payment: That heauen is the easiest purchase, for wee are the richer for the disbursing. That liberality should haue no obiect but the poore, if our mindes were rich. That the mysterie of greatnesse, is to keepe the inferiour [Page] ignorant of it. That all this is no Newes to a better wit. That the City cares not what the Countrey thinkes.

Sr. T. R.

Newes from the very Countrey.

THat it is a Fripery of Courtiers, Marchants, and others, which haue beene in fashion, and are very neere worne out. That Iustices of Peace haue the felling of vnder-woods, but the Lords haue the great fals. The Iesuits are like Apricockes, heeretofore, heere and there one succour'd in a great mans house, and cost deere; now you may haue them for nothing in euery cottage. That euery great Vice is a Pike in a Pond, that deuoures vertues, and lesse vices. That it is wholsomest getting a stomacke by walking on your owne ground: and the thriftiest laying [Page] of it at anothers Table. That debtors are in London close prisoners, and heere haue the liberty of the house. That Atheists in affliction, like blinde beggers, are forced to aske, though they know not of whom. That there are (God be thanked) not two such Acres in all the Countrey, as the Exchange & Westminster Hall. That onely Christmas Lords know their ends. That VVomen are not so tender fruit, but that they doe as well, and beare as well vpon Beds, as plashed against walles. That our Cares are neuer worse emploied, then when they are wayted on by Coaches. That Sentences in Authors, like haires in horse taile, concur in one root of beauty and strength, but being pluckt out one by one, serue only for Springes and Snares. That both want and abundance, equally aduance a rectified man from the world, as cotton and stones are both good casting for an Hawke. That I am sure there is none of the forbiddenfruit left, because [Page] we doe not all eat therof. That our best three pilde mischiefe comes from beyond the sea, and rides post through the country, but his errand is to Court. That next to no wife and children, your owne are the best pastime, anothers wife and your children worse, your wife & anothers children worst. That Statesmen hunt their fortunes, and are often at default: Fauorites course her, and are euer in view. That intemperance is not so vnwholsome heere; for none euer saw Sparrow sicke of the poxe. That heere is no trechery nor fidelity, but it is because heere are no secrets. That Court motions are vp and downe; ours circular: theirs like squibs cannot stay at the highest, nor returne to the place which they rose from, but vanish and weare out in the way: Ours like Mil-wheels, busie without changing place; they haue peremptory fortunes; we vicissitudes.

I. D.

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Answer to the very Country Newes.

IT is a thought, that man is the Cook of time, and made dresser of his own fatting. That the fiue Senses are Cinque-ports for temptation, the trafficke sinne, the Lieutenant Sathan, the custome-tribute, soules. That the Citizens of the high Court grow rich by simplicitie; but those of London, by simple craft. That life, death, and time, do with short cudgells dance the Matachine. That those which dwell vnder the Zona Torrida, are troubled with more damps, then those of Frigida. That Policie and Superstition hath of late her masque renr from her face, and shee is found with a wry mouth and a stinking breath, and those that courted her hotly, hate her now in the same degree, or beyond. That Nature too much louing her owne, [Page] becomes vnnaturall and foolish. That the soule in some is like an egge, hatched by a young Pullet, who often rigging from her nest, makes hot and cold beget rottennesse, which her wanton youth will not beleeue, till the faire shell being broken, the stinke appeareth to profit others, but cannot her. That those are the wise ones, that hold the superficies of vertue, to support her contrarie, all-sufficient. That clemencie within and without is the nurse of rebellion. That thought of the future is retyred into the Countrey, and time present dwells at Court. That I liuing neere the Church-yard, where many are buried of the Pest, yet my infection commeth from Spaine, and it is feared it will disperse further into the Kingdom.

A.S.

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Newes to the Vniuersitie.

A Meere Scholler is but a liue book, Action doth expresse knowledge better then words; so much of the soule is lost as the bodie cannot vtter. To teach, should rather be an effect, then the purpose of learning. Age decaies nature, perfects Art: therefore the glory of youth, is strength; of the gray head, wisdome; yet most condemne the follies of their owne infancie, runne after those of the worlds, and in reuerence of antiquitie will beare an old error against a new truth. Logicke is the Heraldrie of Arts, the array of Iudgment, none it selfe, nor any Science without it: where it and learning meete not, must be either a skilful ignorance, or a wilde knowledge. Vnderstanding cannot conclude out of moode and figure. Discretion conteines Rhetherique; the next way to [Page] learne good words, is to learne sense; the newest Philosophie, is foundest, the eldest Diuinitie: Astronomie begins in Nature, ends in Magicke. There is no honestie of the bodie without health, which no man hath had since Adam. Intemperance that was the first mother of sicknesse, is now the daughter. Nothing dyes but qualities. No kinde in the world can perish without ruine of the whole. All parts helpe one another (like States) for particular interest: So in Arts which are but translations of nature; there is no sound position in any one, which, imagine false, there may not from it be drawne strong conclusions, to disproue all the rest. VVhere one truth is granted, it may be by direct meanes brought to confirme any other controuerted. The soule and bodie of the first man, were made fit to be immortall together, we cannot liue to the one, but we must dye to the other. A man and a Christian are two creatures. Our [Page] perfection in this World is vertue; in the next knowledge, when wee shall read the glory of God in his own face.

Newes from Sea.

THat the best pleasure is to haue no obiect of pleasure, and vniformitie is a better prospect then varietie. That putting to Sea, is change of life, but not of condition; where risings and falls, Calmes, and crosse-gales are yours, in order and turne; fore-windes but by chance. That it is the worst winde to haue no winde, and that your smooth fac'd Courtier, deading your course by a calme, giues greater impediment, then an open enimies crossegale. That leuitie is a vettue, for many are held vp by it. That it's nothing so intricate and infinite, to rigge a Ship as a woman, and the more either is fraught, the apter to leake. That to [Page] pumpe the one, and shreeue the other, is alike noysome. That small faults habituated, are as dangerous as little leakes vnfound; and that to punish and not preuent, is to labour in the pumpe, & leaue the leake open. That it is best striking Sayle before a storme, and necessariest in it. That a little time in our life is best, as the shortest cut to our Hauen is the happiest voyage. That to him that hath no Hauen, no winde is friendly; and yet it is better to haue no Hauen, then some kinde of one. That expedition is euery where to bee bribed but at Sea. That gaine works this miracle, to make men walke vpon the water; and that the sound of Commoditie drowns the noise of a Storme, especially of an absent one. That I haue once in my life out-gone night at Sea, but neuer darknesse; and that I shall neuer wonder to see a hard world, because I haue liued to see the Sunne a bankrupt, being ready to starue for cold in his perpetuall [Page] presence. That a mans companions are (like ships) to be kept in distance, for falling foule one of another; only with my friend I will close. That the fairest field for a running head is the Sea, where he may runne himselfe out of breath, and his humor out of him. That I could carrie you much further, and yet leaue more before then behinde, and all will be but via Nauis, without print or tracke, for so is morall instruction to youthes watrish humor. That though a Ship vnder Saile be a good sight, yet it is better to see her moor'd in the Hauen. That I care not what become of this fraile Barke of my flesh, so I saue the Passenger. And here I cast Anchor.

W. S.

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Forreine Newes of the yeere 1616.

From France.

IT is deliuered from France, that the choise of friends there is as of their Wines: those that being new, are hard and harsh, proue best; the most pleasing are least lasting. That an enemie fierce at the first onset, is as a torrent tumbling downe a Mountaine; a while it beares all before it: haue but that whiles patience, you may passe it dry-foot. That a penetrating iudgement may enter into a mans minde by his bodies gate; if this appeare affected, apish, and vnstable; a wonder if that be setled.

That vaine-glory, new fashions, and the French disease, are vpon termes of [Page] quitting their Countries Allegeance, to be made free Denisons of England. That the wounds of an ancient enmitie haue their scarres, which cannot be so well closed to the sight, but they will lie open to the memorie. That a Princes pleasurable vices, vshered by authoritie, and waited on by conniuence, sooner punish themselues by the subiects imitation, then they can be reformed by remonstrance or correction; so apt are all ill examples to rebound on them that giue them. That Kings heare truth oftner for the tellers, then their owne aduantage.

From Spaine.

THat the shortest out to the riches of the Indies, is by their contempt. That who is feared of most, feares most. That it more vexeth the proud, that men despise them, then that they not [Page] feare them. That greatnes is fruitfull enough, when other helps faile, to beget on it selfe destruction. That it is a grosse flattering of tyred crueltie, to honest it with the title of clemencie. That to eat much at other mens cost, and little at his owne, is the wholesomest and most nourishing diet, both in Court and Countrey. That those are aptest to domineere ouer others, who by suffering indignities haue learned to offer them. That ambition like a sillie Doue flies vp to fall downe, it mindes not whence it came, but whither it will. That enen Galley-slaues, setting light by their captiuitie, finde freedom in bondage. That to be slow in militarie businesses, is to be so courteous, as to giue the way to an enemie. That Lightning and greatnesse more feare then hurt.

[Page]

From Rome.

THat the Venereall (called veniall) sin is to passe in the ranke of Cardinall vertues; and that those should be held henceforth his Holinesse beneficiall friends, that sinne vpon hope of pardon. That where vice is a Statecommoditie, he is an offender that often offends not. That Iewes and Curtezans there, are as beasts that men feed, to feed on. That for an Englishman to abide at Rome, is not so dangerous as report makes it; since it skills not where we liue, so we take heed how we liue. That greatnesse comes not downe by the way it went vp, there being often found a small distance betweene the highest and the lowest Fortunes. That rackt authoritie is oft lesse at home then abroad regarded, while things that seem, are (commonly) more a far off then at hand feared.

[Page]

From Venice.

THat the most profitable Banke, is the true vse of a mans selfe, whiles such as grow mouldy in idlenes, make their houses their Tombes, and die before their death. That many dangerous spirits lie buried in their wants, which had they means to their minds, would dare as much as those that with their better Fortunes ouertop them. That professed Curtezans, if they bee any way good, it is because they are openly badde. That frugalitie is the richest treasure of an estate, where men feede for hunger, cloath for cold and modestie, and spend for Honour, Charitie, and Safety.

[Page]

From Germany.

THat the infectious vice of Drunken-good-fellowship, is like to sticke by that Nation as long as the multitude of Offenders so benums the sense of offending, as that a common blot is held no staine. That discretions must be taken by weight, not by tale: who doth otherwise, shall both proue his own too light, and fall short of his reckoning. That feare and a nice fore-cast of euery sleight danger, seldome giues either faithfull or fruitfull counsell. That the Empire of Germany, is not more great then that ouer a mans selfe.

[Page]

From the Low Countries.

THat one of the sureft grounds of a mans libertie is, not to giue another power ouer it. That the most dangerous plunge whereto to put thine enemie, is desperation, while forcing him to set light by his owne life, thou makest him master of thine. That neglected danger lights soonest and heauiest. That they are wisest, who in the likely-hood of good, prouide for ill. That since pittie dwells at the next doore to miserie, he liueth most at ease that is neighboured with enuy. That the euill fortune of the warres, as well as the good, is variable.

[Page]

Newes from my Lodging.

THat the best prospect is to looke inward. That it is quieter sleeping in a good conscience then a whole skin. That a soule in a fat body lies soft, and is loath to rise. That he must rise betimes who would cosen the Diuell. That Flatterie is increased, from a pillow vnder the elbow, to a bed vnder the whole body. That Policie is the vnsleeping night of reason. That hee who sleepes in the cradle of securitie, sinnes soundly without starting. That guilt is the Flea of the conscience. That no man is throughly awaked, but by affliction. That a hang'd Chamber in priuate, is nothing so conuenient as a hang'd Traitor in publike. That the religion of Papistrie, is like a curtaine, made to keepe out the light. That the life [Page] of most Women is walking in their sleep, and they talke their dreames. That Chambering is counted a ciuiller qualitie, then playing at tables in the Hall, though seruing-men vse both That the best bedfellow for all times in the yeare, is a good bed without a fellow. That he who tumbles in a calm bed, hath his tempest within. That he who will rise, must first lie downe and take humilitie in his way. That sleepe is deaths picture drawne to life, or the twi-light of life and death. That in sleepe wee kindely shake death by the hand; but when we are awaked, wee will not know him. That often sleepings are so many trials to die, that at last we may do it perfectly. That few dare write the true newes of their Chamber: and that I haue none secret enough to tempt a strangers curiositie, or a Seruants discouerie.

God giue you good morrow.

B. R.

[Page]

Newes of my Morning worke.

THat to be good, the way is to be most alone, or the best accompanied. That the way to heauen is mistaken for the most Melancholywalke. That the most feare the worlds opinion, more then Gods displeasure. That a Court-friend seldome goes further then the first degree of Charitie. That the Diuell is the perfectest Courtier. That innocency was first cozen to man, now guiltinesse hath the neerest alliance. That sleepe is deaths Leger Embassador. That time can neuer be spent: wee passe by it and cannot returne. That none can be sure of more time then an instant. That sinne makes worke for repentance or the Diuell. That patience hath more power then afflictions. That euery ones memory is diuided into two parts: the part loosing [Page] all is the Sea, the keeping part is Land. That honesty in the Court liues in persecution, like Protestanss in Spaine. That Predestination and constancy are alike vncertaine to beiudged of. That reason makes loue the Seruing-man. That vertues fauour is better then a a Kings fauorite. That being sicke begins a suit to God, being wel possesseth it. That health is the Coach which carries to Heauen, sickenesse the posthorse. That worldly delights to one in extreame sickenesse, is like a high candle to a blinde man. That absence doth sharpen loue, presence strengthens it, that the one brings fuell, the other blowes till it burnes cleere: that loue often breakes friendship, that euer encreaseth loue. That constancy of women, and loue in men, is alike rare. That Arts is truths lugler. That falshood playes a larger part in the world then truth. That blinde zeale & lame knowledge are alike apt to ill. That fortune is humblest where most contemned. [Page] That no porter but resolution keepes feare our of mindes. That the face of goodnesse without a body is the worst wickednesse. That womens fortunes aspire but by others powers. That a man with a female wit is the worst Hermaphrodite. That a man not woorthy beeing a friend, wrongs himselfe by beeing in acquaintence. That the worst part of ignorance, is making good and ill seeme alike. That all this is newes onely to fooles.

Mris. B.

Newes from the lower end of the Table.

IT is sayd among the folks here, that if a man die in his infancy, hee hath onely broke his fast in this world: If in his youth, hee hath left vs at dinner. That it is bed-time with a man at three score and ten; and hee that liues to a [Page] hundred yeeres, hath walked a mile after supper. That the humble-minded man makes the lowest curtsie. That grace before meat, is our electiō before we were: grace after meatour saluation when wee are gone. The soule halts betweene two opinons, fals betweene two stooles. That a foole at the vpper end of the table, is the bread before the salt. He that hates to bee reprooued, sits in his owne light. Hunger is the cheapest sawce, and nature the cheapest guest. The sensible man and the silent woman are the best discoursers. Repentance without amendment, is but the shifting of a foule trencher. He that tels a lie to saue his credit, wipes his mouth with his sleeue to spare his napkin. The tongue of a icster is the fiddle that the hearts of the company dance to. The tongue of a foole carues a peace of his heart to euery man that sits next him. A silent man is a couered messe. The contented man onely is his owne caruer. He [Page] that hath many friends eates too much salt with his meat. That wit without discretion cuts other men meate and his owne fingers. That the soule of a chollericke man sits euer by the fire side. That patience is the lard of the leane meat of aduersity. The Epicure puts his money into his belly, and the Miser his belly into his purse. That the best company makes the vpper end of the table, and not the saltseller. The superfluity of a mans possessions, is the broken meate that should remaine to the poore. That the enuious keepes his knife in his hand, and swallowes his meat whole. A rich foole among the wife is a gilt empty bowle amongst the thirsty. Ignorance is an insensible hunger. The water of life is the best wine. He that robs mee of my inuention, bids himselfe welcome to another mans table, and I will bid him welcom when he is gone. The vaine-glorious man pisseth more then he drinks. That no man can drinke an health out of the [Page] cup of blessing. To surfet vpon wit, is more dangerous then to want it. He that's ouercom of any passiō is dry drūk. Tis easier to fill the belly of faith, then the eye of reason. The rich glutton is better fed then taught. That faith is the elbow for a heauy soule to lean on, He that sinnes that he may repent, surfets that hee may take physicke. Hee that riseth without thankesgiuing, goes away and owes for his ordinary. Hee that beginnes to repent when he is old, neuer washed his hands till night. That this life is but one day of three meales, or one meale of three courses: childe-hood, youth, & old age. That to sup well, is to liue well: and that's the way to sleepe well. That no man goes to bed till he dies, nor wakes till he is dead. And therefore

Good night to you heere, and good morrow heereafter,

I. C.

[Page]

Newes from the Church.

IT is thought heere, that the world was made for man, and not man for the world, and that therefore they take a crosse course that lye downe there. That those that will not rise, their souls must, and carry their bodies to Iudgement. That we haue spent one inheritance already, and are prodigall of this. That there is no hope beyond mercy, and that this is that time; the next is of Iustice. That Christ when hee went away, left good seede in his Church; and when hee comes againe, he shall finde Christians, but not faith. That the Diuell hath got vpon vs, the same way that hee did at the first, by drawing shadowes ouer substances, as he did the body ouer the soule. That Protestants weare the name of Christ for a Charme, as Papists doe the Crosse. That States vse it, the Clergy liue by [Page] it, the People follow it, more by a stream, then one by one. That all are religious rather then some. That euery one lookes to another, but not to himselfe. That they go so by throngs to Heauen, that it is to bee feared they take the broader waye. That the Church is in the world, like a Ship in the Sea; the Elect in the Church, like Ionas amongst the Mariners. That to mend this, is to cheate the Diuell, to turne man the right side outward, and set the soule foremost againe. That the soule may be too ranke too, if wee looke not to it: and so a Puritane often times meets a Papist in superstition another way. That to binde from and to indifferent things, is equall, though it be thought otherwise. That some, out of a good meaning haue fallen this way into a vice. That these faults are more subtill; and therefore lesse perceiued, and lesse to be blamed; but as dangerous as the other, if they take heed. That the rule is in all things, [Page] the body and the soule must goe together, but the better before. That wee haue contended so long about the body of Religion, that some men thought it was dead. That so, Atheists are come into the Church, and that it will be as hard to cast them out as Diuels. That those, which haue thus broken the peace of Ierusalem, are obliged to satisfaction; and those which first gaue them cause of amendment. That they are a good medicine one for another, and both a good Composition. That a pure Bishop is the best gouernment, if the pride on both sides would let them know it. That all Controuersies for the most part, leaue the truth in the middle, and are factious at both ends. That the Church hath this good by them, they cleanse the way for others, but not for themselues. That sincerity, in the cause of truth, is more worth then learning. That too much, and too little knowledge, haue made the world mad. That we haue a [Page] shorter cut to it, and a surer way then Drake had ouer the world, if wee could find it out. That euery man is a briefe of the whole; & as he is so, he is greater then a King. That euery King is a briefe of his Land, and hee hath a Patterne of the gouernment of it alwayes abour him. That as the honour that he giues vnto his Nobles and Counsellours is a charge; so is that which God giues him. That as hee requires an account, so he must giue. That he is the Image of God in his Kingdome, as man is in the World. That therefore the Subiects owe him obedience, as the Creatures doe Man. That those that will not obey, are neither good Subiects, nor good men. That to obey well, is as great a thing as to gouerne, and more mens duties. That those that thinke not so, know not the Christians part, which is to suffer. That though States bee naught, if they professe Religion, they may deliuer many men safe to Heauen, though they goe [Page] not themselues, and so they are like bad Ministers. That this is Gods vse of both, and of the world too, to conuey his Elect to their place. That the outward face of the Church hath but the same vse, and the Elect are the Church themselues. That they are the Temple of the holy Ghost, and therefore ought to plucke downe their Idols, and set vp God there. That the Idolles of these times, are Couetousnesse, Pride, Gluttony, Wantonnesse, Heresies, and such like admiration and seruing of our selues. That we must make all time an occasion of amendment, because the Diuell makes it an occasion to tempt. That he is a Spirit, and therefore is cunninger then we. Thar there is no way to resist him, but by the Spirit of God, which is his Master. That this is the gift of God, which he giueth to all that are his. That it is encreased by the word, and held by humility and prayer. That Faith is the effect of it, and workes the assurance.

[Page]That thus the vnderstanding and will, which is the whole soule of man, is made vp againe, and sanctifies the body. That so wee are the members of Christ. That our Head is in Heauen, as a Pawne, that where he is, we shall bee. That there is no opinion but knowledge; for it is the Science of soules, and God the Teacher.

I. R.

Newes from the Bed.

THat the bed is the best Rendevou of mankinde, aud the most necessarie ornament of a Chamber.

That Souldiers are good antiquaries in keeping the old fashion, for the first bed was the bare ground.

That a mans pillow is his best Counseller.

[Page]That Adam lay in state, when the heauen was his canopie.

That the naked truth is, Adam and Eue lay without sheets.

That they were either very innocent, very ignorant, or very impudent, they were not ashamed the heauens should see them lye without a couerlet

That it is likely Eue studied Astronomie, which makes the posteritie of her Sex euer since to lye on their backs.

That the circumference of the bed, is nothing so wide as the conuex of the heauens, yet it contains a whole world.

That the fiue Senses are the greatest sleepers.

That a slothfull man is but a reasonable Dormouse.

That the Soule euer wakes to watch the bodie.

That a Iealous man sleeps dog-sleep.

That sleep makes no difference between a wife man and a foole.

That for all times sleep is the best bedfellow.

[Page]That the deuill and mischiefe euer wake.

That Loue is a dreame.

That the preposterous hopes of ambitious men are like pleasing dreames, farthest off when awake.

That the bed payes Venus more custome then all the world beside.

That if dreames and wishes had been all true, there had not been since Poperie, one Maide to make a Nun of.

That the secure man sleeps soundly, and is hardly to be awak't.

That the charitable man dreames of building Churches, but starts to thinke the vngodly Courtier will pull them down againe.

That great sleepers were neuer dangerous in a state.

That there is a naturall reason, why popish Priests chuse the bed to confesse their women vpon, for they hold it necessarie, that humiliation should follow shrift.

That if the bed should speake all it [Page] knowes, it would put many to the blush.

That it is fit the bed should know more then paper.

R. S.

Newes from Shipbord.

THat Repentance without amendment, is like continuall pumping, without mending the leake.

That he that liues without Religion, sayles without a compasse.

That the wantonnesse of a peacefull Common-wealth, is like the playing of the Porpesse before a storme.

That the foole is Sea sick in a Calme, but the Wisemans stomacke endures all weathers.

That passions in a foole are Ord'nance broken loose in a storm, that alter their [Page] propertie of offending others and ruine himselfe.

That good Fortunes are a soft quicksand, aduersitie a rocke; both equally dangerous.

That Vertue in pouertie is a ready rigg'd Ship that lyes wind bound.

That good fashion in a man is like the Pilot in a Ship, that doth most with least force.

That a Fooles tongue is like the buye of an Ankor, you shall finde his heart by it wheresoeuer it lyes.

Wisdome makes vse of the crosses of this world, asskilfull Pylots of Rocks for Sea-marks to saile by.

H. R.

[Page]

Newes from the Chimney corner.

THat wit is Brushwood, Iudgment Timber: the one giues the greatest flame, the other yeelds the durablest heat, and both meeting makes the best fire.

That Bawdes and Atturneyes are Andyrons that hold vp their Clyents till they burne each other to Ashes: they receiue warmth by these; these by them their destruction.

That a Wise-rich-man is like the backe or stocke of the Chimney, and his wealth the fire, it receiues not for it owne need, but to reflect the heat to other good.

That House-keeping in England is falne from a great fire in a hot summers day, to boughes in the Chimney all winter long.

[Page]That mans reason in matter of faith is Fire, in the first degree of his ascent flame, next smoake, and then nothing.

A young fellow falne in loue with a Whore, is said to be falne asleepe in the Chimney corner.

Hee that leaues his friend for his wench, forsakes his bed to sit vp and watch a coale.

That the couetous rich man onely freezes before the fire.

That Choller is an ill guest that pisses in the Chimney for want of a Chamber-pot.

That chaste Beautie is like the bellowes, whose breath is cold, yet makes others burne.

That hee that expounds the Scriptures vpon the warrant of his owne spirit only, layes the brands together without tongs, and is sure (at least) to burne his owne fingers.

That the Louer keeps a great fire in's house all the yeere long.

That deuotion, like fire in frostie [Page] weather, burnes hottest in affliction.

That such Fryers as flie the world for the trouble of it, lye in bed all day in winter to spare firewood.

That a couetous man is a dog in a wheele, that toyles to roast meat for other mens eating.

The Pagans worshipping the Sunne are said to hold their hands to the Gloworme in stead of a coale for heat.

That a Wisemans heart is like a broad hearth, that keeps the coales (his passions) from burning the house.

That good deeds in this life, are coales raked vp in embers, to make a fire next day.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

Sir Thomas Ouerburie his wife with new elegies vpon his (now knowne) vntimely death : whereunto are annexed, new newes and characters / written by himselfe and other learned gentlemen.

Overbury, Thomas, Sir, 1581-1613.

Edition statement

1611

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A08597

ID [STC]

STC 18909

ID [STC]

ESTC S1598

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

20234643

ID [OCLC]

ocm 20234643

ID [VID]

23866

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Early English books online.

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A08597)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 23866)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1711:10)

Source

— Sir Thomas Ouerburie his wife with new elegies vpon his (now knowne) vntimely death : whereunto are annexed, new newes and characters / written by himselfe and other learned gentlemen., Overbury, Thomas, Sir, 1581-1613.. Edition septima..

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[251] p. : port.

Printed by Edward Griffin for Laurence L'isle, and are to bee sold at his shop at the Tigers head in Pauls Church-yard,. London :: 16[16]. (Date of imprint defaced; date suggested by STC (2nd ed.).) (Signatures: [par.]⁸(-[par.]1) A-M⁸ O-P⁸ Q⁷.) (Reproduction of original in the Harvard University. Library.)

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