A WIFE NOW The Widow OF SIR THOMAS OVERBURYE.  
Being A most exquisite and singular Poem of the choice of a Wife.  
WHEREUNTO ARE ADDED many witty Characters, and conceited News, written by himself and other learned Gentlemen his friends.  
Dignum laud virum musa vetat mori,  
Coelo musa beat.  Hor: car: lib. 3. 
LONDON Printed for Laurence Lisle, and are to be sold at his shop in Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the Tiger's head. 1614   

THE PRINTER TO the Reader.  
THY ignorance may challenge liberty enough, not to relish the deep Art of Poetry: because opinion makes thee obstinate; and rude tradition hath taught thee nothing but an abuse of knowledge. For when thou readest a quaffing fellows barbarism, a worthy-written style in Tragedies, and a collusive flourish only fronted with the name of excellent; thou overlookest them all with the usual contempt or aspersion of frivolous, and fantastic labours, putting no difference betwixt the horse pictured on a signpost, and the curious limbed Pegasus: But the age gives one comfort in extremity, that as there is a Lizard which assails; so is there one, which wonders at the majesty of man: sure I am if any shall neglect, nay not commend the worth of this so generally approved Poem; he may (if it proceeds from nice critiscisme) be well excluded as a churlish retainer to the Muses; (if from a direct plain dealing) he must be degraded for insufficiency. For had such a volume been extant among the ancient Romans, though they wanted our easy conservations of wit, by printing; yet would they rather, and more easily, have committed the sense hereof to brass, and cedar leaves, then let such an Author, have lost his due eternity. If to converse with a creature so amiable, here described, be thought more than difficult, let then the contemplation of it be admirable, which hath expressed the soul in so compact aforme of body. The surplusage, that now exceeds the last edition, was (that I may be honestly impartial) in some things only to be challenged by the first author, but others now added, (little inferior to the residue) being in nature answerable, and first transcribed by Gentlemen of the same quality, I have upon good inducements, made public with warranty of their and my own credit. Not doubting therefore to be doubly discharged, both by the verdict of conscience and the well-deserved thanks of all judicious Readers, I bid you every one farewell, May 16. 1614   

A MORNING-SACRIFICE to the Author.  
THe only curse or blessing that betides  
To men, (made doubtful) by their beauteous brides,  
Can never (being apparent) satisfy  
The full enjoyer, with satiety  
Of confidence, to call them good, or bad,  
So much; as this good work (which chief had  
A fair creation, to create anew  
The soul of some, and to confirm some few)  
Hath rescued shameless judgement from the suit  
Of mere opinion, and speaks absolute.  
This widow book then, wife to ravished skill,  
Married and made by the most maiden quill  
Of one, not lost to her, though she to him,  
Hath leave to live thus single; richly trim,  
Yet never to be challenged; being so chaste  
In purity, and not to be embraced  
Without the reverence of her wedlock's love;  
Which when thou seem'st unwilling to approve,  
Scorn a complete fair woman; and so grudge  
Because thou hast no liberty to judge.  
Nor, let thy glorious confidence presume,  
To make this Lady pliant, through perfume  
Ospowdred phrase, and robes, or complement;  
For though on pilgrimage thy learning went  
In quest of such a wonder, yet thy pains  
Were lost, although thy labri'ng suit obtains:  
For woman (in the abstract) hath no more  
Than hath the wife, the widow, maiden, whore,  
And altogether; therefore thou hast none,  
Except thy labours purchase such a one:  
Which (to have said) they all agreed in Eve  
Is all enough; if jealous man beleene.  
By I. S. Lincolniensis Gentleman.   

Brief Panegyrickes to the Author's praise.  

To the Book.  
Exposed to all thou wilt less worthy seem  
I fear: wives common, all men disesteem;  
Yet some things have a differing fate: some fret  
We doubt in wares which are in corners set:  
Hid medals rust, which being used grow bright;  
The day more friendeth virtue then the night  
Thou though more common, then mayst seem more good  
I only wish thou mayst be understood.  
G. R.   

TO make a Wife of wit, or mere Philosophy,  
And deck her up with flowers of sweetest poesy,  
Is no hard task, but such a one of flesh to find  
Would weary all the wits and bodies of mankind:  
Since worse must serve the turn, than men must be content  
To take such as they find, not such as they invent.  
T. B.   

WEll hast thou said that woman should be such;  
And were they that, had but a third as much  
I would be married too: but that I know  
Not what she is, but should be thou dost show:  
So let me praise thy work, and let my life  
Be single, or thy widow be my wife.  
X. Z.    

Of the choice of a Wife.  

IF I were to choose a woman,  
As who knows but I may marry,  
I would trust the eye of no man  
Nor a tongue that may miscarry:  
For in way of love and glory  
Each tongue best tells his own story.   

First to make my choice the bolder  
I would have her child to such  
Whose free virtuous lives are older  
Than antiquity can touch,  
For 'tis seldom seen that blood  
Gives a beauty great and good.   

Yet an ancient stock may bring  
Branches I confess of worth,  
Like rich mantles shadowing  
Those descents that brought them forth,  
Yet such hills though gilded show  
Soon feel the age of snow.   

Therefore to prevent such care  
That repentance soon may bring,  
Like Merchants I would choose my ware,  
Useful good, not glittering.  
He that weds for state or face  
Buys a horse to lose a race.   

Yet I would have her fair as any,  
But her own not kissed away:  
I would have her free to many  
Look on all like equal 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 itself in such a letter  
That it leaves unstudied no man;  
I would have my mistress grow  
Only tall to answer no.   

Yet I would not have her lose  
So much breeding as to fling  
Vnbecomming scorn on those  
That must worship every thing.  
Let her fear lose looks to scatter,  
And lose men will fear to flatter.   

Children I would have her bear  
More for love of name then bed,  
So each child I have is heir  
To another maidenhead;  
For she that in the act's afraid  
Every night's another maid.   

Such a one as when she's wood  
Blushes not for ill thoughts passed,  
But so innocently good  
That her dreams are ever chaste;  
For that maid that thinks a sin  
Has betrayed the fort she's in.   

In my visitation still  
I would have her scatter fears,  
How this man, and that was ill;  
After protestations tears;  
And who vows a constant life  
Crowns a meritorious wife.   

When the Priest first gives our hands,  
I would have her think but thus:  
In what high and holy bands  
Heaven, like twins, hath planted us,  
That like Aaron's rod together  
Both may bud, grow green, and whither.   
FINIS.   

THE METHOD.  
FIrst of Marriage, and the effect thereof, children. Then of his contrary, Lust; then for his choice. First, his opinion negatively, what should not be: the first causes in it, that is, neither Beauty, Birth, nor Portion. Then affirmatively, what should be, of which kind there are four: Goodness, Knowledge, Discretion, and as a second thing Beauty. The first only is absolutely good, the other being built upon the first do likewise become so. Then the application of that woman by love to himself, which makes her a wife. And lastly the only condition of a wife, Fitness.  
A Wife.  

EAch Woman is a brief of Womankind,  
And doth in little even as much contain;  
As, in one Day & Night, all life we find,  
Of either, More, is but the same again,  
God framed Her so, that to Her husband, She,  
As Eve, should all the world of Women be.   

So framed he Both, that neither power he gave,  
Use of themselves, but by exchange, to make:  
Whence in their Face the Fair no pleasure have,  
But by refl●xe of what thence other take:  
Our Lips in their own Kiss no pleasure find,  
Toward their proper Face, our Eyes are blind.   

So God in Eve did perfect Man, begun,  
Till then, in vain much of himself he had,  
In Adam God created only one,  
Eve, and the world to come in Eve he made;  
We are two halves, whiles each from other strays,  
Both barren are; Joined both their like can raise.   

At first both Sexes were in Man combin'de,  
Man, a Shee-man did in his body breed;  
Adam was eves, Eve mother of Mankind,  
Eve from Live-flesh, Man did from Dust proceed,  
One thus made two, Marriage doth reunite,  
And makes them both but one Hermaphrodite.   

Man did but the well-being of his life  
From woman take, her Being she from Man,  
And therefore Eve created was a Wife,  
And at the end of all, her Sex began:  
Marriage their object is; their Being then,  
And now Perfection, they receive from Men.   

Marriage, to all, whose joys two parties be,  
And doubled are by boing parted so,  
Wherein the very act is chastity,  
Whereby two Souls into one Body go,  
It makes two one, whiles here they living be,  
And after death in their Posterity.   

God to each Man a private woman gave,  
That in that Centre his desires might stint,  
That he a comfort like himself might have,  
And that on her his like he might imprint.  
Double is Woman's use, part of their end  
Doth on this Age, part on the next depend.   

We are but part of Time, yet cannot die,  
Till we the world a fresh supply have lent,  
Children are Bodies sole Eternity;  
Nature is Gods, Art is Man's instrument.  
Now all Man's Art but only dead things makes,  
But here in Man in things of life partakes.   

For wandering Lust; I know 'tis infinite,  
It still gins, and adds not more to more,  
The guilt is everlasting, the delight,  
This instant doth not feel of that before.  
The taste of it is only in the Sense,  
The operation, in the Conscience.   

Woman is not Lusts bounds, but Womankind.  
One is loves number, who from that doth fall,  
Hath lost his hold, and no new roast shall find,  
Vice hath no mean, but not to be at all;  
A wife is that Enough, Lust cannot find,  
For Lust is still with want, or toomuch pined.   

Bate Lust the Sin, my share is even with his,  
For Not to Lust, and to Enjoy is one:  
And More or Less past, equal Nothing is,  
I still have one, Lust one at once alone:  
And though the woman often changed be,  
Yet he's the same without variety.   

Marriage our Lust (as 'ttwere with fuel fire)  
Doth, with a medicine of the same, allay;  
And not forbid, but rectify desire.  
Myself I cannot choose, my wife I may:  
And, in the choice of Her, it much doth lie,  
To mend myself in my Posterity.   

O rather let me Love, then be in Love,  
So let me choose as Wife and Friend to find.  
Let me forget her Sex when I approve.  
Beast's likeness lies in shape, but ours in mind:  
Our souls no Sexes have, their Love is clean,  
No Sex, both in the better part are Men.   

But Physic for our lust their Bodies be,  
But matter fit to show our Love upon,  
But only Shells for our posterity,  
Their souls were given lest man should be alone;  
For, but the Souls interpreters, words 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, Life's middle way:  
The worth of it is nothing that is seen,  
But only that it holds a Soul within.   

And all the carnal Beauty of my wife,  
Is but skin-deep, but to two Senses known;  
Short even of Pictures, shorter lived than Life,  
And yet the love survives thats built thereon:  
For our Imagination is too high,  
For Bodies when they meet to satisfy.   

All Shapes, all Colours are alike in Night,  
Nor doth our Touch distinguish foul or fair:  
But Man's imagination, and his sight;  
And those, but the first week, by Custom are  
Both made alike, which diffred at first view;  
Nor can that difference, Absence much renew.   

Nor can that Beauty lying in the Face,  
But merely by imagination be  
Enjoyed by us in an inferior place.  
Nor can that Beauty by enjoying we  
Make ours become, so our desire grows tame:  
We changed are, but it remains the same.   

Birth, less than beauty, shall my reason blind,  
Her birth goes to my Children, not to me.  
Rather had I that active gentry find,  
Virtue, then passive from her Ancestry;  
Rather in her alive one virtue see,  
Then all the rest dead in her Pedigree.   

In the Degrees, high rather be she placed,  
Of Nature then of Art and Policy.  
Gentry is but a relic of Time-past,  
And Love doth only 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 odds of Sexes) Portion;  
Nor will I shun it, nor my aim it make.  
Birth, Beauty, Wealth, are nothing worth alone,  
All these I would for good Additions take,  
Not for Good Parts; those two are ill combined,  
Whom any third thing from themselves hath joined.   

Rather than these, the object of my Love  
Let it be Good, when these with virtue go,  
They (in themselves indifferent,) virtues prove.  
For Good (like Fire) turns all things to be so.  
God's Image in Her Soul, o let me place  
My Love upon, not adam's in Her Face.   

Good, is a fairer attribute then White,  
'tis the Mind's beauty keeps the other sweet:  
That's not still one, nor mortal with the light,  
Nor glass, nor painting can it counterfeit,  
she's truly fair, whose beauty is unseen  
Like heaven fair sight-ward, but more fair within.   

By Good, I would have Holy understood,  
So God She cannot love, but also me,  
The law requires our words, and deeds be good,  
Religion even the Thoughts doth sanctify:  
And she is more a Maid which ravished is,  
Then She which only doth but wish amiss.   

Lust only by Religion is withstood,  
Lust's object is alive, his strength within,  
Morality resists but in cold blood,  
Respect of Credit feareth shame not sin.  
But no place dark enough for such offence  
She finds, that's watched by her own Conscience.   

Then may I trust Her Body with her Mind,  
And, thereupon secure, need never know  
The pangs of jealousy: and Love doth find  
More pain to doubt her false, then know her so;  
For Patience is of evils that are known,  
The certain Remedy; but Doubt hath none.   

And be that Thought once stirred 'twill never die,  
Nor will the grief more mild by Custom prove;  
Nor yet amendment can it satisfy,  
The anguish more or less is as our Love:  
This misery doth jealousy ensue,  
That we may prove Her false, but cannot True.   

Suspicion may the will of Lust restrain,  
But Good prevents from having such a will,  
A Wife that's Good, doth Chaste and more contain,  
For Chaste is but an Abstinence from ill:  
And in a Wife that's Bad, although the best  
Of qualities; yet in a Good the least.   

To bar the means is Care, not jealousy.  
Some lawful things to be avoided are,  
When, they occasion of unlawful be.  
Lest ere it hurts is best descried afar.  
Lust is a sin of two; he that is sure  
Of either part, may be of both secure.   

Give me next Good, an understanding Wife,  
By Nature wise, not learned by much Art,  
Some knowledge on Her side will all my life  
More scope of Conversation impart,  
Besides, Her inborn virtue fortify.  
They are most firmly good, that best know why.   

A passive understanding to conceive,  
And judgement to discern, I wish to find,  
Beyond that, all as hazardous I leave,  
Learning and pregnant wit in Womankind,  
What it finds malleable maketh frail,  
And doth not add more ballast, but more sail.   

Books are a part of Man's prerogative,  
In formal Ink they Thoughts and Voices hold,  
That we to them our solitude may give,  
And make Time-present travail that of old.  
Our Life, Fame p●eceth longer at the end,  
And Books it farther backward do extend.   

Domestic Charge doth best that Sex befit,  
Contiguous business, so to fix the Mind,  
That leisure space for Fancies not admit:  
Their Leisure 'tis corrupteth Womankind,  
Else being placed from many vices free,  
They had to heaven a shorter cut than we.   

As good, and knowing, let her be Discreet.  
That to the others weight, doth Fashion bring,  
Discretion doth consider what is Fit,  
Goodness but what is lawful, but the Thing  
Not Circumstances; Learning is and wit,  
In Men but curious folly without it.   

To keep their Name when 'tis in others hands  
Discretion asks, their Credit is by far  
More frail than They, on likelihoods it stands,  
And hard to be disproved Lust's slanders are.  
Their Carriage, not their Chastity alone,  
Must keep their Name chaste from suspicion.   

women's Behaviour is a surer bar  
Than is their No: That fairly doth deny  
Without denying, thereby kept they are  
Safe even from Hope; in part to blame is she,  
Which hath without consent been only tried;  
He comes too near, that comes to be denied.   

Now since a Woman we to Marie are,  
A Soul, and Body, not a Soul alone;  
When one is Good, then be the other Fair,  
Beauty is Health and Beauty both in one,  
Be She so fair as change can yield no gain,  
So fair, as She most Women else contain.   

At least so Fair let me imagine Her,  
That thought to me is Truth; Opinion  
Cannot in matter of opinion err;  
With no Eyes shall I see her but mine own,  
And as my Fancy Her conceives to be,  
Even such my Senses both, do Feel, and See.   

The Face we may the seat of Beauty call,  
In it the relish of the rest doth lie,  
Nay even a figure of the Mind withal:  
And of the Face the Life moves 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 Soul;  
The Soul which from no single part doth rise,  
But from the just proportion of the whole,  
And is a mere spiritual harmony,  
Of every part united in the Eye.   

Love is a kind of Superstition,  
Which fears the Idol which itself hath framed,  
Lust a Desire, which rather from his own  
Temper, then from the object is inflamed;  
Beauty is loves object, Woman Lust's, to gain  
Love, Love Desires, Lust only to obtain.   

No circumstance doth Beauty beautify,  
Like graceful Fashion, native Gomelinesse,  
Nay even gets pardon for Deformity;  
Art cannot it beget, but may increase,  
When Nature had fixed Beauty perfect made,  
Something she left for Motion to add.   

But let that Fashion more to Modesty  
Tend, than Assurance; Modesty doth set  
The face in his just place, from Passions free,  
'tis both the Minds, and Body's Beauty met;  
But Modesty; no virtue can we see;  
That is the Faces only Chastity.   

Where goodness fails, twixt ill and ill that stands:  
Whence 'tis that women though they weaker be,  
And their desires more strong, yet on their hands  
The Chastity of men doth often lie:  
Lust would more common be then any one,  
Can it like other sins be done alone.   

All these good parts a Perfect woman make,  
Add Love to me, they make a Perfect Wife,  
Without Her Love, Her Beauty should I take  
As that of Pictures, dead, That gives it life:  
Till than Her Beauty like the Sun doth shine  
A like to all; That makes it only mine.   

And of that Love, let Reason Father be,  
And Passion Mother; let it from the one  
His Being take, the other his Degree;  
Self love (which second loves are built upon,)  
Will make me (if not Her) her Love respect;  
No Man but favours his own worths effect.   

As Good, and wise, so be She Fit for me,  
That is, To will, and Not to will the same,  
My Wife is my Adopted-Selfe, and She  
As Me, so what I love, to Love must frame.  
For when by Marriage both in one concur,  
Woman converts to Man, not Man to her.   
FINIS   

The Authors Epitaph.  
THe Span of my days measured, here I rest,  
That is my body; but my soul his guest  
Is hence ascended, whither, neither Time,  
Nor Faith, nor Hope, but only love can claim;  
Where being now enlightened, She doth know  
The Truth of all men argue of below:  
Only this dust doth here in Pawn remain,  
That when the world dissolves she come again.   

CHARACTERS, OR Witty Descriptions of the properties of sundry Persons.  

A good Woman.  
A Good Woman is a comfort, like a man.. She lacks of him nothing but heat. Thence is her sweetness of disposition, which meets his stoutness more pleasantly; so wool meets iron easier than iron, and turns resisting into embracing. Her greatest learning is religion, and her thoughts are on her own Sex, or on men, without casting the difference. Dishonesty never comes nearer than her ears, and then wonder stops it out, and saves virtue the labour. She leaves the neat youth telling his luscious tales, and puts back the Servingman's putting forward with a frown: yet her kindness is free enough to be seen; for it hath no guilt about it: and her mirth is clear, that you may look through it, into virtue, but not beyond. She hath not behaviour at a certain, but makes it to her occasion. She hath so much knowledge as to love it, and if she have it not at home; she will fetch it; for this sometimes in a pleasant discontent she dares chide her Sex, though she use it never the worse. She is much within, and frames outward things to her mind, not her mind to them. She wears good clothes, but never better; for she finds no degree beyond Decency. She hath a content of her own, and so seeks not a husband, but finds him. She is indeed most, but not much to description, for she is direct and one, and hath not the variety of ill. Now she is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth nothing more than love him, for she takes him to that purpose. So his good becomes the business of her actions, and she doth herself kindness upon him. After his, her chiefest virtue is a good husband. For She is He.   

A very very Woman.  
A Very very Woman, is a dow-bakt man, or a She meant well towards man, but fell the two bows short strength & understanding. Her virtue is the hedge of Modesty, that keeps a man from climbing over into her faults. She simpers as if she had no teeth, but lips, and she divides her eyes and keeps half for herself, and gives th' other to her near Youth. Being set down she casts her face into a platform, which dureth the meal, and is taken away with the voider. Her draft reacheth to good manners, not to thirst, and it is a part of their mystery not to profess hunger; but Nature takes her in private and stretcheth her upon meat. She is Marriageable and Fourteen at once; and after she doth not live but tarry. She reads over her face every morning, and sometime blots out pale, and writes red. She thinks she is fair, though many times her opinion goes alone, and she loves her glass and the knight of the Sun for lying. She is hid away all but her face, and that's hanged about with toys and devices, like the sign of a Tavern to draw Strangers. If she show more, she prevents desire, and by too free-giving, leaves no Gift. She may escape from the Servingman, but not from the chambermaid. She commits with her ears for certain, after that she may go for a Maid, but she hath been lain with in her understanding. Her Philosophy is a seeming neglect of those, that be too good for her. she's a younger brother for her portion, but not for her portion of wit, that comes from her in a triple, which is still too big for it; yet her Vanity seldom matcheth her, with one of her own degree, for than she will beget another creature a beggar, and commonly if she marry better, she marries worse. She gets much by the simplicity of her Suitor, and for a jest, laughs at him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for herself, and after takes him for his patience, and the land adjoining, ye may see it, in a Servingman's fresh napery, and his leg steps into an unknown stocking. I need not speak of his garters, the tassel shows itself. If she love she love, she loves not the man but the beast of him. She is salomon's cruel creature, and a man's walking consumption: every caudle she gives him, is a purge. Her chief commendation is, she brings a man to repentance.  

Her next part.  
Her lightness gets her to swim at top of the Table, where her wry little singer, bewrays carving; her neighbours at the latter end, know they are welcome, and for that purpose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to and among, and so becomes a woman of good entertainment, for all the folly in the country, comes in clean linen to visit her; she breaks to them her grief in sugar cakes, and receives from their mouths in exchange, many stories that conclude to no purpose. Her eldest Son is like her howsoever, and that dispraiseth him best: her utmost drift, is to turn him fool, which commonly she obtains at the years of discretion. She takes a journey sometimes to her nieces house, but never thinks beyond London. Her Devotion is good clothes, they carry her to Church, express their stuff and fashion, and are silent; if she be more devout, she lifts up a certain number of eyes, in stead of prayers, and takes the Sermon and measures out a nap by it, just as long. She sends Religion afore to Sixty, where she never overtakes it, or drives it before her again. Her most necessary instruments, are a waiting-Gentlewoman, and a chambermaid, she wears her Gentlewoman still, but most often leaves th'other in her chamber window. She hath a little Kennel in her lap, and she smells the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of her Providence, is the fatness of a Capon, and her greatest envy, is the next Gentlewoman's better gown. Her most commendable skill, is to make her husband's fustian bear her velvet. This she doth many times over, and then is delivered to old age and a chair, where every body leaves her.    

A Dissembler  
IS an essence needing a double definition, for he is not that he appears. Unto the eye he is pleasing, unto the ear not harsh, but unto the understanding intricate, and full of windings: he is the prima materia, and his intents give him form: he dieth his means and his meaning into two colours, he baits craft with humility, and his countenance is the picture of the present dispositions. He wins not by battery, but undermining, and his rack is soothing. He allures, is not allured by his affections, for they are the brokers of his observation. He knows passion only by sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes his time an accountant to his memory, and of the humours of men weaves a net for occasion; the inquisitor must look through his judgement, for to the eye only he is not visible.   

A Courtier  
TO all men's thinking is a man, and to most men the finest: all things else are defined by the understanding, but this by the senses; but his surest mark is, that he is to be found only about Princes. He smells; and putteth away much of his judgement about the situation of his clothes. He knows no man that is not generally known. His wit, like the Marigold, openeth with the Sun, and therefore he riseth not before ten of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words than meaning, and more in his pronunciation than his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he hath but one receipt of making love. He follows nothing but inconstancy, admires nothing but beauty, honours nothing but fortune. loves nothing. The sustenance of his discourse is news, and his censure like a shot depends upon the charging. He is not, if he be out of Court, but fish-like breathes destruction, if out of his own element. Neither his motion, or aspect are regular, but he moves by the upper Spheres, and is the reflection of higher substances. If you find him not here, you shall in Paul's, with a picktooth in his hat, a cape cloak, and a long stocking.   

A golden Ass  
IS a young thing, whose Father went to the Devil; he is followed like a salt bitch, and limbed by him that gets up first; his disposition is cut, and knaves rend him like tenterhooks: he is as blind as his mother, and swallows flatterers for friends. He is high in his own imagination, but that imagination is a stone, that is raised by violence, descends naturally; when he goes, he looks who looks, if he finds not good store of vaylers, he comes home stiff and sere until he be new oiled and watered by his husbandmen. Wheresoever he eats, he hath an officer to warn men not to talk out of his element, and his own is exceeding sensible, because it is sensual; but he cannot exchange a piece of reason, though he can a piece of gold. He is nought plucked, for his feathers are his beauty, and more than his beauty, they are his discretion, his countenance, his All. He is now at an end, for he hath had the wolf of vainglory, which he fed until himself became the food.   

A Flatterer  
IS the shadow of a fool. He is a good woodman, for he singleth out none but the wealthy. His carriage is ever of the colour of his patient; and for his sake he will halt or wear a wry neck. He dispraiseh nothing but poverty, and small drink, and praiseth his grace of making water. He selleth himself with reckoning his great Friends, and teacheth the present how to win his praises by reciting the others gifts: he is ready for all employments, but especially before dinner, for his courage and his stomach go together. He will play any part upon his countenance, and where he cannot be admitted for a counsellor, he will serve as fool. He frequents the court of wards and ordinaries, and fits these guests of Togae virilis, with wives or whores. He entereth young men into acquaintance and debt books. In a word, he is the impression of the last term, and will be so, until the coming of a new term or termer.   

Anignorant glory-hunter  
IS an insecta animalia; for he is the maggot of opinion, his behavuiour is another thing from himself, and is glued, and but set on. He entertains men with repetitions, and returns them their own 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 utters them for his companions. He confesseth vices that he is guiltless of, if they be in fashion; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, or out of fashion. There is not a public assembly without him, and he will take any pains for an acquaintance there. In any show he will be one, though he be but a whistler or a torchbearer; and bears down strangers with the story of his actions. He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his wardrobe, diet, and all customs, with entitling their beginnings from Princes, great Soldiers, and strange Nations. He dares speak more than he understands, and adventures his words without the relief of any seconds. He relates battles and skirmishes, as from an eye witness, when his eyes theevishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to make sure of admiration, he will not let himself understand himself, but hopes fame and opinion, will be the Readers of his Riddles.   

A Tymist  
IS a noun adjective of the present tense. He hath no more of a conscience then Fear, and his religion is not his but the Princes. He reverenceth a Courtier's Servants servant. Is first his own Slave, and then whosoever looketh big; when he gives he curseth, and when he sells he worships. He reads the statutes in his chamber, and wears the Bible in the streets; he never praiseth any but before themselves or friends; and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. His newyears gifts are ready at Allhalomas, and the suit he meant to mediate before them. He pleaseth the children of great men, and promiseth to adopt them; and his courtesy extends itself even to the stable. He strains to talk wisely, and his modesty would serve a Bride. He is gravity from the head to the foot, but not from the head to the heart; you may find what place he affecteth, for he creeps as near 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 vessel. In a word, he danceth to the tune of Fortune, and studies for nothing but to keep time.   

An Amorist  
IS a creature blasted or planet-stroken, and is the dog that leads blind Cupid; when he is at the best, his fashion exceeds the worth of his weight. He is never without verses, and musk comfects: and sighs to the hazard of his buttons; his eyes are all white, either to wear the livery of his Mistress complexion, or to keep Cupid from hitting the black. He fights with passion, and looseth much of his blood by his weapon; dreams, thence his paleness. His arms are carelessly used, as if their best use were nothing but embracements. He is untrust and unbuttoned, ungartred, not out of carelessness, but care; his farthest end being but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatness, but it goeth not alone, for than he makes some other quality moralise his affection, and his trimnes is the grace of that grace. Her favour lifts him up as the Sun moisture; when she disfavours, unable to hold that happiness, it falls down in tears; his fingers are his Orators, and he expresseth much of himself upon some instrument. He answers not, or not to the purpose; and no marvel, for he is not at home. He scocheth time with dancing with his Mistress, taking up of her glove, & wearing her feather; he is confined to her colour, & dares not pass out of the circuit of her memory. His imagination is a fool, and it goeth in a pied-coat of red and white; shortly he is translated out of a man into folly; his imagination is the glass of lust, and himself the traitor to his own disceretion.   

An affected traveler  
IS a speaking fashion; he hath taken pains to be ridiculous, and hath seen more than he hath perceived. His attire speaks French or Italian, and his gate cries Behold me. He censures all things by countenances, and shrugs, and speaks his own language with shame and lisping: he will choke rather than confess Beer good drink: and his picktooth is a main part of his behaviour. He chooseth rather to be counted a Spy, than not a Politician: and maintains his reputation by naming great men familiarly. He chooseth rather to tell lies then not wonders, and talks with men singly; his discourse sounds big but means nothing: and his boy is bound to admire him howsoever. He comes still from great personages, but goes with mean. He takes occasion to show lewells given him in regard of his virtue, that were bought in S. Martin's, and not long after, having with a Mountebaneks method, pronounced them worth thousands, empawneth them for a few shillings. Upon festival days he goes to Court, and salutes without resaluting: at night in an Ordinary he confesseth the business in hand, and seems as conversant 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; he offereth courtesies, to show them, rather than himself humble. He disdains all things above his reach, and preferreth all Countries before his own. He imputeth his wants and poverty to the ignorance of the time, not his own unworthiness: and concludes his discourse with a half period, or a word, and leaves the rest to imagination. In a word, his religion is fashion, and both body and soul are governed by same, he loves most voices above truth.   

A Wiseman  
IS the truth of the true definition of man, that is, a reasonable creature. His disposition altars, altars not. He hides himself with the attire of the vulgar; and in indifferent things is content to be governed by them. He looks according to nature, so goes his behaviour. His mind enjoys a continual smoothness, so cometh it, that his consideration is always at home. He endures the faults of all men silently, except his friends, and to them he is the mirror of their actions; by this means his peace cometh not from fortune, but himself. He is cunning in men, not to surprise but keep his own, and beats off their ill affected humours, no otherwise then if they were flies. He chooseth not friends by the subsidy book, and is not luxurious after acquaintance. He maintains the strength of his body, not by delicacies, but temperance; and his mind by giving it pre-eminence over his body. He understands things not by their form, but qualities; and his comparisons intent not to excuse, but to provoke him higher. He is not subject to casualties, for fortune hath nothing to do with the mind, except those drowned in the body: but he hath divided his soul, from the case of his soul, whose weakness he assists no otherwise than commiseratively, not that it is his, but that it is. He is thus, and will be thus: and lives subject neither to time nor his frailties; the servant of virtue, and by virtue the friend of the highest.   

A noble Spirit  
HAth surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all occurrents into experience, between which experience and his reason, there is a marriage; the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seethe the end before he shoot. Men are the instruments of his Art, and there is no man without his use: occasion incites him, none enticeth him; and he moves by affection, not for affection; he loves glory, scorns shame, and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance; for it comes from one consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his meditation hath travailed over them; and his eye mounted upon his understanding seethe them as things underneath. He covers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth these delicacies by his body, but teacheth it, since it is not able to defend it's own imbecility to show or suffer. He licenseth not his weakness, to wear fate, but knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, he is the Steersman of his own destiny. Truth is his Goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like her. He knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing by another, and then another. To these he carries his desires, not his desires him; and sticks not fast by the way (for that contentment is repentance) but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of all things, to have but one centre or period, without all distraction he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true and natural element. He doth not contemn fortune, but not confess her. He is no Gamester of the world (which only complain and praise her) but being only sensible of the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement or scum. Unto the society of men he is a Sun, whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion: when he is more particular, he is the wiseman's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him: and he feels age more by the strength of his soul, than the weakness of his body: thus feels he not pain, but esteems all such things as friends that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison.   

An old Man  
IS a thing that hath been a man in his days. Old men are to be known blindfolded: for their talk is as terrible as their resemblance. They praise their own times as vehemently, as if they would sell them. They become wrinkled with frowning and facing youth: they admire their own customs, even to the eating of red herring, and going wetshod. They call the thumb under the girdle gravity, and because they can hardly smell at all, their posies are under 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 driveled beards. Their discourse is unanswerable, by reason of their obstinacy: and their speech is much, though little to the purpose. Truths and lies pass with an equal affirmation, for their memories several is worn into one receptacle, and so they come out with one sense. They teach their servants their duties with as much scorn & tyranny, as some people teach their dogs to fetch. Their envy 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 custom should. They take a pride in halting and going stiffly, and therefore their staves are carved and tipped; they trust their attire with much of their gravity; and they dare not go without a gown in summer. Their hats are brushed to draw men's eyes off from their faces; but of all, their Pomanders are worn to most purpose, for their putri fied breath ought not to want either a smell to defend, or a dog to excuse.   

A Country Gentleman  
IS a thing out of whose corruption, the generation of a justice of peace is produced. He speaks statutes and husbandry well enough, to make his neighbours think him a wiseman; he is well skilled in Arithmetic or rates; and hath eloquence enough to save his twopences. His conversation amongst his Tenants is desperate; but amongst his equals full of doubt. His travel is seldom farther than the next market town, and his inquisition is about the price of corn: when he traveleth he will go ten mile out of the way, to a Cousin's house of his to save charges; and rewards the Seruanrs by taking them by the hand when he departs. Nothing under a Sub-poena can draw him to London, and when he is there, he sticks fast upon every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and becomes the prey of every cutpurse. When he comes home those wonders serve him for his holiday talk. If he goes to Court, it is in yellow stockings, and if he be in winter, in a sleight taffeta cloak, & pumps and pantastles. He is chained, that woos the usher fo his coming into the presence, where he becomes 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 kiss his hand, and make a leg both together, and the names of Lords and Counsellors; he hath thus much toward entertainment and courtesy, but of the last he makes more use; for by the recital of my Lord, he conjures his poor countrymen. But this is not his element, but he must home again, being like a Dor, that ends his flight in a dunghill.   

A fine Gentleman  
IS the Cinnamon tree, whose bark is more worth than his body. He hath read the book of good manners, and by this time each of his limbs may read it. He alloweth of no judge, but the eye; painting, boulstring and bombasting are his Orators: by these also he proves his industry: for he hath purchased legs, hair, beauty, and straightness, more than nature left him. He unlocks maidenheads with his language, and speaks Ephues not so gracefully as hearty. His discourse makes not his behaviour, but he buys it at Court, as countrymen their clothes in Burchin lane. He is somewhat like the Salamander, and lives in the flame of love, which pains he expresseth comically: and nothing grieves him so much, as the want of a Poet to make an issue in his love; yet he sighs sweetly, and speaks lamentably: for his breath is perfumed, and his words are wind. He is best in season at Christmas; for the Boor's head and Reveller come together; his hopes are laden in his quality, and lest fiddlers should take him unprovided, he wears pumps in his pocket, and lest he should take fiddlers unprovided, he whistles his own galliard. He is a calendar of ten years, and marriage rusts him. Afterwards he maintains himself an implement of household by carving and ushering. For all this he is judicial only in Tailors and Barbers, but his opinion is ever ready and ever idle. If you will know more of his Arts, the Broker's shop is the witness of his valour, where lies wounded, dead, rend and out of fashion many a spruce suit overthrown by his fantastikenes.   

An elder Brother.  
IS a creature borne to the best advantage of things without him; that hath the start at the beginning, but loiters it away before the ending. He looks like his land, as heavily, and dirtily, as slubbornely. He dares do any thing but fight: and fears nothing but his Father's life and minority. The first thing he makes known is his estate; and the loadstone that draws him is the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a particular, and his strongest argument is the jointure. His observation is all about the fashion, and he commends Partlets for a rare devise. He speaks no language, but smells of dogs or hawks; and his ambition flies justice-hight. He loves to be commended, and he will go into the kitchen, but he'll have it. He loves glory, but is so lazy as he is content with flattery. He speaks most of the precedency of age, and protests fortune the greatest virtue. He summoneth the old servants, and tells what strange acts he will do, when he reigns. He verily believes housekeepers the best commonwealths men; and therefore studies baking, brewing, greasing, and such, as the limbs of goodness. He judgeth it no small sign of wisdom to talk much, his tongue therefore goes continually his errand, but never speeds. If his understanding were not honester than his will, no man should keep a good conceit by him; for he thinks it no theft, to sell all he can to opinion. His pedigree and his father's seale-ring, are the stilts of his crazed disposition. He had rather keep company with the dregs of men, than not to be the best man. His insinuation is the inviting men to his house; and he thinks it a great modesty, to comprehend his cheer under a piece of mutton and a rabbit; if by this time he be not known, he will go home again, for he can no more abide to have himself concealed, than his land; yet he is as you see good for nothing, except to make a stallion to maintain the race.   

A Welshman  
IS the Oyster, that the pearl is in, for a man may be picked out of him. He hath the abilities of the mind in potentia, and actu nothing but boldness. His clothes are in fashion before his body; and he accounts boldness the chiefest virtue. Above all men he loves a Herald, and speaks pedigrees naturally. He accounts none well descended, that call him not cozen: and prefers Owen Glendower before any of the nine Worthies. The first note of his familiarity is the confession of his valour; and so he prevents quarrels. He voucheth Welch a pure, an unconquered language; and courts Ladies with the story of their Chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his own conceit, and upon S. David's day without comparison.   

A Pedant  
HE treads in rule, and one hand skans verses, and the other holds his sceptre. He dares not think a thought, that the Nominative case governs not the verb; and he never had meaning in his life, for he traveled only for words. His ambition is Criticism, and his example is Tully. He values phrases, and elects them by the found, and the eight parts of speech are his servants. To be brief, he is a Hetaroclue, for he wants the plural number, having only the single quality of words.   

A Servingman  
IS a Creature which though he be not drunk, yet is not his own man. He tells without ask, who owns him, by the superscription of his livery. His life is for ease and leisure much about gentlemanlike. 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, he values himself higher or lower, as his Master is. He hates or loves the men, as his Master doth the Master. He is commonly proud of his Master's horses, or his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his. He seldom breaks his own clothes. He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged: not commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose: and seldom abstains till he come to a thirst. His discretion is to be careful for his Master's credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table, and to carve well. His neatness consists much in his hair and outward linen. His courting language, visible bawdy jests; and against his matter fail, he is always ready furnished with a song. His inheritance is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his Master's daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for want of a better; he always cuckolds himself, and never marries but his own widow. His Master being appeased, he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his heirs males for ever.   

An Host  
IS the kernel of a sign: or the sign is the shell, and mine Host is the snail. He consists of double beer and fellowship, and his vices are the bawds of his thirst. He entertains humbly, and gives his guests power, aswell of himself as house. He answers all men's expectations to his power, save in the reckoning: and hath gotten the trick of greatness, to lay all mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the Cumenseede of his dove house: and to be a good guest is a warrant for her liberty. He traffics for guests by men's friends, friends friend, and is sensible only of his purse. In a word, he is none of his own: for he neither eats, drinks or thinks but at other men's charges and appointments.   

An Ostler  
IS a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his horse, reasonably himself. He consists of travelers, though he be none himself. His highest ambition is to be Host, and the invention of his sign is his greatest wit: for the expressing whereof he sends away the painters forwant of understanding. He hath certain charms for a horse mouth, that he shall not eat his hay: and behind your back, he will cousin your horse to his face. His currycomb is one of his best parts, for he expresseth much by the jingling: and his mane-combe is a Spinner's card turned out of service. He puffs and blows over your horse, to the hazard of a double jug: and leaves much of the dressing to the proverb of Muli mut uo scabient, one horse rubs another. He comes to him that calls loudest not first; he takes a broken head patiently, but the knave he feels not. His utmost honesty is good-fellowship, and he speaks Northern, what countryman soever. He hath a pension of Ale from the next Smith and Sadler for intelligence. He loves to see you ride, and holds your stirrup in expectation.    

NEWS, FROM ANY WHENCE: OR Old Truths under a supposal of Novelty.  
Occasioned by divers Essays and private passages of wit between sundry Gentlemen upon that subject.  

News from Court.  
IT is thought here, that there are as great miseries beyond happiness, as a this side it, as being in love. That truth is every man's by assenting. That time makes every thing aged, and yet itself was never but a minute old. That next sleep, the greatest devourer of time is business: the greatest stretcher of it, Passion; the truest measure of it, Contemplation. To be saved, always is the best plot: and virtue always clears her way as she goes. Vice is ever behindhand with itself; that wit and a woman are two frail things, and both the frailer by concurring. That the means of begetting a man hath more increased mankind then the end. That the madness of love is to be sick of one part, and cured by another. The madness of jealousy, that it is so diligent, and yet hopes to lose his labour. That all women for the bodily part, are but the same meaning put in divers words; that the difference in the sense is their understanding. That the wisdom 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 use of what is. That every man is weak in his own humours. That every man a little beyond himself is a fool. That affectation is the more ridiculous part of folly, than ignorance. That the matter of greatness 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 up trump. That custom is the soul of circumstances. That custom hath so far prevailed, that truth is now the greatest news.  
T. O.   

Answer to the Court news.  
THat Happiness and Misery are Antipodes. That Goodness is not Felicity, but the road thither. That man's strength is but a vicisitude of falling and rising. That only to refrain ill, is to be ill still. That the plot of salvation was laid before the plot of Paradise. That enjoying is the preparative to contemning. That he that seeks opinion beyond merit, goes just so far back. That no man can obtain his desires; nor the world hath not to fill his measure. That to study men is more profitable than books. That men's loves are their afflictions. That titles of honour are tartles to still ambition. That to be a King is fame's butt, and fears quiver. That the souls of women and lovers are wrapped up in the portmanque of their senses. That imagination is the end of man. That wit is the web, and wisdom the woose of the cloth, so that women's souls were never made up. That envy knows what it will not confess. That Goodness is like the art prospective, one point centre, begetting infinite rays. That man, woman, and the devil, are the three degrees of comparison. That this news holds number but not weight, by which couple all things receive form.  
A. S.   

Country News.  
THat there is most here, for it gathers in going. That reputation is measured by the acre. That poverty is the greatest dishonesty. That the pity of (alas poor soul) is for the most part mistaken. That roast beef is the best smell. That a justice of peace is the last relic of Idolatry. That the allegory of justice drawn blind, is turned the wrong way. That not to live to heavenly, is accounted great wrong. That wisdom descends in a race. That we love names better than persons. That to hold in knights-service is a slippery tenure. That a Papist is a new word for a traitor. That the duty of religion is lent not paid. That the reward is lost in the want of humility. That the Puritan persecution is as a cloud that can hide the glory of the light, but not the day. That the emulation of English and Scots to be the King's countrymen, thrust the honour on the Welsh. That a Courtier never attains his self knowledge but by report. That his best 〈◊〉 is a hearne dog. That many great men are 〈◊〉 they know not their own Fathers. That love is the 〈◊〉 worm. That a woman is the effect of her own first same. That to remember, to know, and to understand, are three degrees not understood. That country ambition is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, for there is nothing above a man. That fight i● a Servingman's valour, martyrdom their Masters. That to live long is to fill up the days we live. That the ●●ale of some men's religion reflects from their friends. That the pleasure of vice is indulgence of the present, for it endures but the acting. That the properreward of goodness is from within, the external is policy. That good and ill is the cross and pile in the game of life. That the soul is the lamp of the body, reason of the soul, religion of reason, faith of religion, Christ of faith. That circumstances are the atomies of policy, censure the being, action the life, but success the ornament. That authority presseth down with weight and is thought violence: policy trips up the heels and is called dexterity. That this life is a throng in a narrow passage, he that is first out finds ease, he in the middle worst, hemmed in with troubles, the hindmost that drives both our afore him, though not suffering wrong, hath his part in doing it. That God requires of our debts a reckoning, not payment. That heaven is the easiest purchase, for we are the richer for the disbursing. That liberality should have no object but the poor, if our minds were rich. That the mystery of greatness is to keep the inferior ignorant of it. That all this is no news to a better wit.  
That the City cares not what the Country thinks.  
Sr. T. R.   

News from the very Country.  
THat it is a fripery of Courtiers, Merchants, and others, which have been in fashion, and are very near worn out. That justices of peace have the felling of underwoods, but the Lords have the great falls. That jesuits are like Apricocks, heretofore here and there one succoured in a great man's house and cost dear, now you may have them for nothing in every cottage. That every great vice is a Pike in a pond that devours virtues and less vices. That it is wholesomest getting a stomach, by walking on your own ground: & the thriftiest laying of it at another's table. That debtors are in London close prisoners, and here have the liberty of the house. That Atheists in affliction, like blind beggars, are forced to ask though they know not of whom. That there are (God be thanked) not two such acres in all the country, as the Exchange and Westminster-hall. That only Christmas Lords know their ends. That women are not so tender fruit, but that they do as well and bear as well upon beds, as plashed against walls. That our carts are never worse employed, than when they are waited on by coaches. That sentences in Authors like hairs in an horsetaile, concur in one root of beauty and strength, but being plucked out one by one, serve only for springs and snares. That both want and abundance equally advance a rectified man from the world, as cotton and stones are both good casting for an hawk. That I am sure there is none of the forbidden fruit left, because we do not all eat thereof. That our best three piled mischief 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 own wife and children are best pastime, another's wife and your children worse, your wife and another's children worst. That Statesmen hunt their fortunes, and are often at default: Favourites course her and are ever in view. That intemperance is not so unwholesome here; for none ever saw Sparrow sick of the pox. That here is no treachery nor fidelity, but it is because here are no secrets. That Court motions are up and down, our● circular: theirs like squibs cannot stay at the highest, nor return to the place which they rose from, but vanish & we are out in the way, Ours like mill-wheels busy without changing place; they have peremptory fortunes, we vicissitudes.  
I. D.   

Answer to the very Country News.  
IT is thought here, that man is the cool of time, and made dresser of his own fatting. That the fine Senses are Cinque ports for temptation, the traffic sin, the Lieutenant Satan, the custom tribute, souls. That the Citizens of the high Court grow rich by simplicity: but those of London by simple craft. That life, death and time, do with short cudgels dance the Matachive. That those which dwell under the Zona Torrida, are troubled with more damps, than those of Frigida. That Policy and Superstition hath of late her mask rend from her face, and she 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 loving her own, becomes unnatural and foolish. That the soul in some is like an egg, hatched by a young pullet, who often rigging from her nest, makes hot and cold beget rottenness, which her wanton youth will not believe, till the fair shell being broken, the stink appeareth to profit others, but cannot her. That those are the wise ones, that hold the superficies of virtue, to support her contrary and all-sufficient. That clemency within and without is the nurse of rebellion. That thought of the future is retired into the country, and time present dwells at Court. That I living near the churchyard, where many are buried of the pest, yet my infection cometh from Spain, and it is feared it will disperse further into the kingdom.  
A. S.   

News to the University.  
A Mere Scholar, is but a live book. Action doth express knowledge, better than words; so much of the soul is lost, as the body cannot utter. To teach should rather be an effect, than the purpose of learning. Age decay nature, perfects Art: therefore the glory of youth, is strength of the grey head, wisdom; yet most condemn the follies of their own infancy, run after those of the worlds, and in reverence of antiquity will bear an old error against a new truth. Logic is the Heraldry of Arts, the array of judgement; none itself, nor any science without it: where it and learning meet not, must be either a skilful ignorance, or a wild knowledge. Understanding cannot conclude out of mood and figure. Discretion contains Rhetoric; the next way to learn good words, is to learn sense; the newest Philosophy is soundest, the eldest Divinity: Astronomy gins in nature, ends in magic. There is no honesty of the body without health, which no man hath had since Adam. Intemperance that was the first mother of sickness, is now the daughter. Nothing dies but qualities. No kind in the world can perish without ruin of the whole. All parts help 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 drawn strong conclusions, to disprove all the rest. Where one truth is granted, it may be by direct means brought to confirm any other controverted. The soul and body of the first man, were made fit to be immortal together, we cannot live to the one, but we must die to the other. A man and a Christian are two creatures. Our perfection in this world is virtue, in the next knowledge, when we shall read the glory of God in his own face.   

News from Sea.  
THat the best pleasure is to have no object of pleasure, and uniformity is a better prospect than variety. That putting to Sea is change of life but not of condition: where rise and falls calms and crossegales are yours in order and by turn, forewinds but by chance. That it is the worst wind to have no wind, and that your smooth-faced Courtiers deading your course by a calm, gives greater impediment, than an open adversaries crosse-gale. That levity is a virtue, for many are held up by it That it's nothing so intricate & infinite to rig a ship as a woman, and the more either is fraught, the apt to leak. That to pump the one and shreeve the other, is alike noisome. That small faults habituated are as dangerous as little leaks unfound, and that to punish and not prevent, is to labour in the pump, and leave the leak open. That it is best striking sail before a storm, and necessariest in it. That a little time in our life is best, as the shortest cut to our haven is the happiest voyage. That to him that hath no Haven no wind, is friendly, and yet it is better to have no Haven, than some kind of one. That expedition is every where to be bribed but at Sea. That gain works this miracle to make men walk upon the water, and that the sound of commodity drowns the noise of a storm, especially of an absent one. That I have once in my life out gone night at Sea, but never darkness: and that I shall never wonder to see a hard world, because I have lived to see the Sun a bankrupt, being ready to starve for cold in his perpetual presence. That a man's companions are (like ships) to be kept in distance, for falling foul one of another, only with my friend I will close. That the fairest field for a running head is the Sea, where he may run himself out of breath, and his humour out of him. That I could carry you much further, and yet leave more before then behind, and all will be but via Navis, without print or track, for so is moral instruction to youths waterish humour. That though a ship under sail be a good sight, yet it is a better to see her moored in the Haven. That I care not what become of this frail Bark of my flesh, so I save the passenger. And here I cast anchor.  
W. S.    

Foreign News of the year 1604.  

From France.  
IT is delivered from France that the choice of friends there is as of their wines, those that being new, are hard and harsh, prove best; the most pleasing are lest lasting. That an enemy fierce at the first on set is as a torrent tumbling down a mountain; a while it bears all before it, have but that whiles patience you may pass it dryfoot. That a penetrating judgement may enter into a man's mind by his body's gate; if this appear affected, apish, and unstable; a wonder if that be settled. That vainglory, new fashions and the French disease are upon terms of quitting their Country's allegiance to be made free Denizens of England. That the wounds of ancient enmities have their scars which cannot be so well closed to the sight but they will lie open to the memory. That a Princes pleasurable vices ushered by authority and waited on by convinence, sooner punish themselves by the subjects imitation, than they can be reform by remonstrance or correction, so apt are ill examples to rebound on them that give them. That Kings hear truth oftener for the tellers then their own advantage.   

From Spain.  
THat the shortest cut to the riches of the Indies is by their contempt. That who is feared of most, fears most. That it more vexeth the proud that men despise them, then that they not fear them. That greatness is fruitful enough, when other helps fail, to beget on itself destruction. That it is a gross flattering of tired cruelty to honest it with the title of clemency. That to eat much at other men's cost and little at his own is the wholesomest and most nourishing diet both in Court and country. That those are aptest to domineer over others who by suffering indignities have learned to offer them. That ambition like a seeled Dove flies up to fall down, it minds not whence it came but whither it will. That even Galleyslaves setting light by their captivity, find freedom in bondage. That to be slow in military businesses is to be so courteous as to give the way to an enemy. That lightning and greatness more fear then hurt.   

From Rome.  
THat the venereal (called venial) sin is to pass in the rank of Cardinal virtues, and that those should be held henceforth his Holiness beneficial friends that sin upon hope of pardon. That where vice is a state-commoditie, he is an offender that often offends not. That jews and Courtesans 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 live so we take heed how we live. That greatness comes not down by the way it went up, there being often found a small distance between the highest and the lowest fortunes. That tacked authority is oft less at home then abroad regarded, while things that seem, are (commonly) more a far off then near hand feared.   

From Venice.  
THat the most profitable bank is the true use of a man's self, while such as grow mouldy in idleness make their houses their tombs 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 overtop them. That professed Courtesans if they be any way good, it is because they are openly bad. That frugality is the richest treasure of an Estate, where men feed for hunger, cloth for cold and modesty, & spend for honour, charity, and safety.   

From Germany.  
THat the infectious vice of drunken good-fellowship is like to stick by that Nation as long as the multitude of offenders benumbs the sense of offending, and that a common blot is held no stain. That discretions must be taken by weight not tail: who doth otherwise, shall both prove his own too light and fall short of his reckoning. That fear and a nice forecast of every sleight danger seldom gives either faithful or fruitful counsel. That the Empire of Germany is not more great than that over a man's self.   

From the Low Countries.  
THat one of the surest grounds of a man's liberty is, not to give another power over it. That the most dangerous plunge whereto to put thine enemy is desperation▪ while forcing him to set light by his own life, thou makest him master of thine. That neglected danger lights soon and heaviest. That they are wisest who in the likelihood of good, provide for ill. That since pity dwells at the next door to misery, he liveth most at ease that is neighboured with envy. That the evil fortune of the wars as well as the good is variable.   

News from my Lodging.  
THat the best prospect is to look inward. That it is quieter sleeping in a good conscience than a whole skin. That a soul in a fat body lies soft, and is loath to rise. That he must rise betimes who would cozen the devil. That Flattery is increased from a pillow under the elbow, to a bed under the whole body. That Policy is the unsleeping night of reason. That he who sleeps in the cradle of security, sins sound without starting. That guilt is the flea of the conscience. That no man is thoroughly awaked but by affliction. That a hanged chamber in private is nothing so convenient as a hanged Traitor in public. That the religion of Papistry, is like a curtain made to keep out the light. That the life of most women is walking in their sleep, and they talk their dreams. That chambering is counted a civiler quality, then playing at tables in the Hall, though Servingmen use both. That the best bedfellow for all times in the year 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 down, and take humility in his way. That sleep is death's picture drawn to life, or the twilight of life and death. That in sleep we kindly shake death by the hand, but when we are awaked we will not know him. That often sleeping are so many trials to die, that at last we may do it perfectly. That few dare write the true news of their chamber, and that I have none secret enough to tempt a stranger's curiosity, or a servants discovery. God give you good morrow.  
B. R.   

News of my morning work.  
THat to be good is the way to be most alone or the best accompanied. That the way to heaven is mistaken for the most melancholy walk. That most fear the world's opinion more than God's displeasure. That a Court friend seldom goes further than the first degree of charity. That the devil is the perfectest Courtier. That innocency was first cousin to man, now guiltiness hath the nearest alliance. That sleep is deaths leger Ambassador. That time can never be spent: we pass by it and cannot return. That none can be sure of more time than an instant. That sin makes work for repentance or the devil. That patience hath more power than afflictions. That every one's memory is divided into two parts: the part losing all is the sea, the keeping part is land. That honesty in the Court lives in persecution like Protestants in Spain. That predestination and constancy are alike uncertain to be judged of. That reason makes love the Servingman. That virtues favour is better than a King's favourite. That being sick gins a suit to God, being well possesseth it. That health is the coach which carries to heaven, sickness the post-horse. That worldly delights to one in extreme sickness is like a hiecandle to a blind man. That absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens it, that the one brings fuel, the other blows till it burns clear, that love often breaks friendship, that ever increaseth love. That constancy in women and love in men is alike rare. That Art is truth's juggler. That falsehood plays a larger part in the world than truth. That blind zeal and lame knowledge are alike apt to ill. That fortune is humblest where most contemned. That no porter but resolution keeps fear out of minds. That the face of goodness without a body is the worst wickedness. That woman's fortunes aspire but by others powers. That a man with a female wit is the worst Hermaphrodite. That a man not worthy being a friend, wrongs himself by being an acquaintance. That the worst part of ignorance is making good and ill seem alike. That all this is news only to fools.  
M r●●. B.   

News from the lower end of the Table.  
IT is said among the folks here, that if a man die in his infancy, he hath only broke his fast in this world: If in his youth, he hath left us at dinner. That it is bedtime with a man at therescore and ten; and he that lives to a hundred years hath walked a mile after supper. That the humble-minded man makes the lowest curtsy. That grace before meat is our election before we were; grace after, our salvation when we are gone. The soul that halts between two opinions, falls between two stools. That a fool at the upper end of the table is the bread before the salt. He that hates to be reproved sits in his own light. Hunger is the cheapest sauce 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 foul trencher: He that tells a lie to save his credit, wipes his mouth with his sleeve to spare his napkin. The tongue of aiester is the fiddle that the bearts of the company dance to. The tongue of a fool carves a piece of his heart to every man sits next him. A silent man is a covered mess. The contented man only is his own carver. He that hath many friends eats too much salt with his meat. That wit without discretion cuts other men meat and his own fingers. That the soul of a choleric man sits ever by the fire side. That patience is the lard to the lean meat of adversity. The Epicure puts his money into his belly, and the miser his belly into his purse. That the best company makes the upper end of the table, and not the saltseller. The superfluity of a man's possessions is the broken meat that should remain to the poor. That the envious keeps his knife in his hand and swallows his meat whole. A rich fool among the wise is a gilt empty bowl among the thirsty. Ignorance is an insensible hunger. The water of life is the best wine. He that robs me of my invention bids himself welcome to another man's table, and I will bid him welcome when he is gone. The vainglorious man pisseth more than he drinks. That no man can drink a health out of the cup of blessing. To surfeit upon wit is more dangerous then to want it. He that's overcome of any passion is dry drunk. 'tis easier to fill the belly of faith, than the eye of reason. The rich glutton is better fed then taught. That faith is the elbow for a heavy soul to lean on. He that sins that he may repent, surfeits that he may take physic. He that riseth without thanksgiving, goes away and pays not for his ordinary. He that gins to repent when he is old, never washed his hands till night. That this life is but one day of three meals, or one meal of three courses, childhood, youth, and old age. That to sup well is to live well, and that's the way to sleep well. That no man goes to bed till he dies, nor wakes till he is dead. And therefore  
Good night to you here & good morrow hereafter. J. C.   

News from the Bed.  
THat the bed is the best rendevou of mankind, and the most necessary ornament of a chamber. That Soldiers are good antiquaries in keeping the old fashion, for the first bed was the bare ground. That a man's pillow is his best counsellor. That Adam lay in state when the heaven was his canopy. That the naked truth is Eve, and Eve lay without sheets. That they were either very innocent, very ignorant, or very impudent, they were not ashamed the heavens should see them lie without a coverlet. That it is likely Eve studied Astronomy, which makes the posterity of her sex ever since to lie on their backs. That the circumference of the bed is nothing so wide as the convex of the heavens, yet it contains a whole world. That the five senses are the greatest sleepers. That a slothful man is but a reasonable Dormouse. That the soul ever wakes to watch the body. That a jealous man sleeps dogsleep. That sleep makes no difference between a wiseman and a fool. That for all times sleep is the best bedfellow. That the devil and mischief ever wake. That love is a dream. That the preposterous hopes of ambitious men are like pleasing dreams, farthest off when awake. That the bed pays Venus more custom than all the world beside. That if dreams and wishes had been all true, there had not been since Popery one maid to make a Nun of. That the secure man sleeps sound and is hardly to be waked. That the charitable man dreams of building Churches, but starts to think the ungodly Courtier will pull them down again. That great sleepers were never dangerous in a state. That there is a natural reason why popish Priests choose the bed to confess their women upon, for they hold it necessary that humiliation should follow shrift. That if the bed should speak all it knows, it would put many to the blush. That it is fit the bed should know more than paper.   
R. S.  
FINIS