Whimsies: OR, A NEW CASTANNA OF CHARACTERS.  
Nova, non nota delectant.  
LONDON, Printed by F. K. and are to be sold by Ambrose Rithirdon at the sign of the Bulls-head in Paul's Churchyard. 1631.   

TO HIS MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, Sir Alexander Radcliffe, the accomplishment of his noblest Wishes.  SIR, 
SOme have I heard affirm, (but more tarily, I hope, then truly) that to be a Knight and a Scholar, was the Mirror of Knighthood: howsoever the Tenet hold, sure I am, that you are this Mirror. Being as you are ennobled by des●…ent, so enabled by desert; a patron to the le●…rned professant, and in all le●…ing a ●…ich proficient. This i●… was, and this only, which first induced me, contrary to that native di●…position everbred in me, so freely to tender myself to the knowledge of you; and which hath ever since stamped in me so deep an impression of you. Let others affect your Title, while I live to honour yourself. The generous and free goodness of your mind, is my object, than which it is not possible to treat of a more attractive subject. This is to be incomparably valued above any outward good. Let this serve for the prelude, not to delude you, for you are wiser; but to express myself really unto you, whose noble s●…ccesse I do intimately tender. You may be pleased to remember that at my last intercourse with you, it was my promise upon a precedent purpose to address some small memorial to public view under your Name, in lieu of those many respects which I bear you. Which promises, I must ingenuously conf●…sse, (as in this kind, so in all others justly grounded) it hath been ever my course religiously to observe. For in coming short of performance in what we promise, argues either a precipitate rashness in the promiser, or inconstancy in his resolves, or forgetfulness in what he undertakes. It is recommended unto us by authentic story, that it was the usual observation both of a Roman Emperor, and of an English Monarch, never to promise any thing but what they registered and set down with their own hands: which rule requireth imitation even of in●…eriours. An Expression whereof I have here made in the tender of this Alphabetical gradation of Characters, to your generous & ingenious view. Neither (indeed) without a preceding ground of reason did I make choice of this Subject. For howsoever the argument may seem much bet: yet in my opinion may it be much bettered both in style and substance. Many Characters (I confess) have been published both in former times, when the ignorance of the age could scarcely render the ambiguity of the word: as likewise in these more refined times of ours, wherein, as in habit and attire, so in discourses of this nature, nothing but rarities (be they never so light) can afford delight. But to give them their true and native Character, they relished more of Aphorism. than Character. For to suit them with their approvedst and retentivest title, what else are Characters but stamps or impressures, noting such an especial place, person, or office; and leaving such a mark or cognizance upon it, as the conceit may neither taste of too much lightness; nor the close of so witty an observance leave too much bitterness, nor the whole passage or series incline to too much dulness? Truth is, he that should strive in each particular, either for Style or Subject, to please the various palates of all men, would prove an excellent Tailor to fashion this age; & might in time make a Coat for the Moon. Strong lines have been inrequest; but they grew disrelishing, because they smelled too much of the Lamp and opinionate singularity. Clinching likewise were held nimble fl●…shes; but affect●…tion spoiled all, and discovered their levity.  
Characterism holds good concurrence, and runn●…s with the smoothest current in this age; so it be not wrapped up in too much ambiguity. He writes best, that affects least; and effects most. For such as labour too intentively to please themselves, they for most part make it their labour to please none but themselves. This hath been ever my maxim, that singularity and affectation are Antipodes to Iudgem●…nt and Discre●…ion. Self-opinion makes a man's self his own Minion. He is the true Emblem of Narcissus, and dotes more on his own shadow, than an others substance. But I will not look too much on these Glow-worms; they are soils to the purest paper: leaving their spongy Labours to the worst of censure. For these few digested papers, (wherein you shall too highly prise me, if at vacant and retired hours you deign only to peruse me) I dare confidently avouch, you shall find me to have preferred the pi●…h before the rind, and caused the Maid to attend upon her Mistress. My provision was how to furnish the main building: for other ornaments or embellishments of art, they tendered themselves; they were not much sought after. Now it resteth that this Character or token (for so the word may import) of my true zeal, unto your Noble self, retain that impression in you, which he retains that honours you. These are more lasting memorials than material jewels, and to the judicious more imcomparably precious. The richest Cabinet is the mind; the treasures thereof purer than the Oar of any Mine. which when we communicate to our friend, we make him really ours, we enfeoff him in ours; yea, we incorporate him in us, and make him individually ours. So may we ever be, till I surcease to be  
Clitus-Alexandrinus.   

To the equal Reader.  
CHaracters in this age, may be properly resembled to Squibbs or Crackers; they give a Crack and a Flash, and so dye: Or to passing fair faces, but ill-favoured; at which the more we look, the 〈◊〉 we like. Or to raw and ill-drest meat, which procures in the longing appetite a loathing; being to be egested long before it come to be digested, Or to the growth of Mushroms, who no sooner flourish than perish: Or to the first flourishes of trees, whose blooms and blossoms are so tende●…, as they cannot repel the violent distemper of any Wether. Thus ev●…ry post displays their post●…re. But here be fruits (Equal Reader, for so I would have thee) of former setting, deeper rooting and longer promising. If thou be'st ignorant, here is an A. B. C. for thee, in this Table Alphabetical. If solid, here are plenty of passages, moving and material. What is wanting then but thy equal acceptance? In confidence whereof, CLITUS will retire, to call forth this jury, which consists of four and twenty; but neither so good men nor true as the State would have them.   

WHIMSIES: OR, A NEW CASTANNA OF CHARACTERS.  

1. An Almanac-maker  
IS an annual Author, no less constant in his M●…thod then ma●…r; enlarging his yearly Edition with a figure or cipher. He cities as familiarly, as if they were his familiars, Euclid, Ptolomi●…, Ticho-Brache, etc. But▪ believe it, many have spoke of Robin Hood, that never shot in his bow. He scrapes acquaintance of a fortu●…ate gentleman, one 〈◊〉, whom he erron●…ously takes for brother of that feigned knight Parismus; whose name he interprets to be, Bo●…i ominis captatio, whereof he himself for his part, was never capable. Orisons, Hemisphear●…s, Horoscopes, Apogaeums, Hypogaeum's, Perigaeum's, Astrolabes, Cycles, Epicycles are his usual dialect; yet I am pe●…swaded they may be something to eat, for aught he knows. His frequent repetition of Mazzaroth, 〈◊〉, Orion, and the Pleyades▪ proclaim him highly versed in the astrological 〈◊〉 of Io●…, whom he resembles in a Parallel line of Poverty, rather than patience. He has the true situation and just proportion of the p●…incipall Angles or houses of the Heaven or Firmament: yet can hardly pay house rend for his ow●…e. Forty shillings is his yearly pension upon every impression: but his veils are meaner, unless he have the Art for stolen goods to cast a figure: wherein, trust me, he h●…'s a pretty smattering. He walks in the Clouds, and prates as familiarly of the in●…luence of the Moon, as if h●…e had b●…ene the man that was in her. He would make you believe he●… had a smack of Poetry, by the verses which he ●…ixeth above every month, but do not credit him, he is guiltless of that art: only some stolen shreads he hath ●…aked out from the kenn●…ll of other Authors, which most 〈◊〉 he assumes to himself, and makes an additament to his Labours. Whole Summer nights long he lies on his back, as if he were melldewed or Planet-struck, gazing on the starry gallery: and would make you believe that he knew the names and marks of all the Oxen that draw Charles wain. He talks much of the 12. Signs, yet I am confident, that one might persuade him that the Cardinal's hat, or Saracens head were one of them. He keeps a terrible quarter with his Jacob's staff, which he conjectures was first found at Jacob's Well; as his erring Erra pater informs him: for other Cabals he disclaims them. The Memorable work of co●…veying the N●…w River from Ware to London▪ was the issue of his brain, if you may believe him: yea, he will tell you, the state is much engaged to his notions. He ha'●… some small scruple of Physician in him, and can most Empyrically discourse of the s●…ate of your Body: but had he st●…re of Patients, he would slaughter more than a Pest●…lence. He has a little judgement in your Chris●…: and which is best season for 〈◊〉: yet he knows not, whether Phlebotomy be a man or a woman. Not a high-w●…y m●…n in Europe can direct you better in the Road: all which he has by instira●…ion, for he scarce ever 〈◊〉 out of smoke o'●…h City. He has excellent observations for planting, plo●…ng, setting, sowing▪ with other ●…xperimentall rule●… of 〈◊〉, yet never was Master of ●… Plough in all his ti●…e. Ce●…taine (but most 〈◊〉) g●…erall Notions he 〈◊〉 of t●…e seas●…ns of weathers, which he express●…th in such strange and unbaptised language, as like the Delph●…an sword, it may cut either way. About four a clock at night (saith he) which may as soon fall out at four a clock i'th' morning for aught he knows, there will fall some mizling, drizzling drops, with some whistling, rustling winds, etc. all which he finds out of the depth of Art. He professeth some skill in palmistry; wherein trust me, the Gip●…ies do far outstrip him: poring on the table of your hand, he fetcheth a deep sigh, thinking of his own unfurnished Table at home, than which none can be barer. And examining the lines of your Table, he always finds his own to be most ominous. He shows himself deeply read in antiquity, by the artless draught of his threadbare Chronologie; and imps his illiterate work, for want of better s●…uffe, with a trite discourse of weights and measures: most ponderously dividing them into Troy and Aver depois: where he finds his own gold still too light by many grains for either scale. His Cage (or Study if you please) is hung about with Moth-eaten Maps, Orbs, Globes, Perspectives; with which he can work wonders. His shelves for want of authors, are subully inter-woven with Spider's Ca●…les, which he makes the stupid vulgar believe, are pure Elixirs extracted from the influence of the Moon. It is the height of his ambition to aspire to the credit of a Blank Almanac.; upon which election he holds himself a 〈◊〉 Author. If famous, he seldom dies; for some ●…iour Artist will assume to himself his name. But if he die, an other Phoenixlike, will be forth with raked out of his ashes. His death makes him in this infinitely happy; It is not b●…tter to him in respect of his su●…stance: And in this only he expresseth hi●…e a Scholar; He d●…es poor. In a word, this may be his comfort, he leaves his kindred in a settled and composed peace: for they need not fall by the ears together for his goods. That which he long discoursed of but understood not (I mean his Clymactericall year) has now attached hi●…: And so ends his perpetual A●…nack.   

2. A Ballad-monger  
IS the ignominious ni●…kname of a penu●…ious poet of ●…hom he partakes in no●…g but in poverty. His strain (in my opinion) would sort best with a ●…unerall Elegy, for he writes most pitifully. He has a singular gift of imagination, for he can descant on a man's exec●… long before his confession. Nor comes his Invention far short of his Imagination; for want of truer r●…lations, for a need he can find you out a Sussex Dragon, some Sea or Inland monster, drawn out by some Shoelane man in a Go●…nlike feature, to enforce more horror in the beholder. He has an excellent faculty in this; He has one tune in store that will indifferently serve for any ditty. H●… 〈◊〉 your only man in request ●…or Christmas Carols. His works are lasting-pasted monuments u●…on the insides of Country Alehouses, w●… they may 〈◊〉 without expense of a fa●…ing: which makes their thirsty Author cry out in this manner, if he have so much Latin:  Quò licuit chartis, non licet ire mihi. 
He stands much upon Stanza's, which halt and hobble as l●…mely as th●…t one legged Ca●…tor that sings them: It would do a man's heart good to see how twinlike he and his songman couple. Wits of equal size, though more holding veils befall the voice. Now you shall see them (if both their stocks aspire to that strength) drop into some blind Alehouse, where these two naked Uirginians will call for a great pot, a toast, and a pipe. Where you may imagine the first and last to be only called for out of an humour; but the midst out of mere necessity, to allay hunger. Yet to see how they will hug, hook, and shrug over these materials in a Chimney corner (O Polyhymnia) it would make the Muse's wonder! But now they are parted: and Ste●…tor has fitted his Batillus with a Subject: whereon he vows to bestow better Lines than ever stuck in the Garland of good will. By this time with botches and old ends, this BalladBard has expressed the Quintessence of his Genius, extracted from the muddy spirit of Bottle-Ale and froth. But all is one for that; his ‛ rinkilo must have it, if he wil●… come to his price, yet before he have it, it must suffer the Press. By this, N●…ck Ballad has got him a Quartern of this new Impression; with which he mounts Holborn as merry as a Carter; and takes his stand against some eminent Bay-win●…ow; where he ven●…s his stuff. He needs not dance attendance; for in a trice you shall see him guarded with a janissary of Cost rmongers, and Countr●…y Gooselings: while his Nips, I●…s, Bungs and ` Prina●…o's, of whom he hol●…s in fee, ofttimes prevent the Lanyer, by diving too deep into his Client's pocket; while h●…e gives too deep attention to this wo●…derfull Bal●…d. B●…t stale Balla●…-newes, like s●…ale fish, when it begins to smell of the Pa●…yer, are not for queas●…e stomaches. You must therefore imagine, that by this time they are cashiered the Cit●…e and mu●… now ride post for the Country: where they are no less admired than a Giant in a pageant: till at last they grow so common there too, as every poor Milk maid can chant and chirp it under h●…r Cow; which she useth as an harmless charm to make her let down her milk. Now therefore you must suppose our facetious Ballad-monger, as one nectar-infused with some poetical Liquor, re-ascending the horsehoofed mount, and with a cup of six (for his token-pledge will be taken for no more) he presums to represent unto the world a new conceit, entitled; A proper new Ball●…d, to the tune of Bragadeery round. Which his Chant●…leere sings with variety of airs (having as you may suppose, an ins●…rumētall Polyphon in the cra●…e of his nose.) Now he 〈◊〉 a n●…urall Base, than a perpet●…all Treble, and ends with a Countert●…nure. You shall hear him feign an artful strain through the Nose, purposely to 〈◊〉 vate into the attention of the purer brotherhood: But all in vain; They blush at the 〈◊〉 of this knave, and demurely passing by him, call him the lost child. Now, for his Author, you must not take him for one of those pregnant critic Suburbane wits, who make work for the fiddlers of the City. For those are more knaves, than fools, but these quite contrary. In those you shall find salt, sense, and verse; but in these none of all three. What then is ●…o be expected from so sterile a Pernassian, where impudence is his best conductor, Ignorance his best Instructor, and Indigence his best Proctor? Shall we then close with him thus? He is constant in nothing but in his Clothes. He 〈◊〉 casts his slough but against B●…tholomew Fair: where he may ●…asually e●…danger the purchase of a cast suit: Else, trust me, he is no shifter. In a word, ●…et his poo●…e corpses a sheet to s●…rowd them in at his dying, they 〈◊〉 more than his ●…use could ever make him worth while he was living.   

3. A Corranto-coiner.  
IS a State-Newes-monger; and his own Genius is his intelligencer. His Mint goes weekly, and he coins money by it. Howsoever, the more intelligent merchants do jeer him, the vulgar do admire him, holding his Novels oracular. And these are usually se●…t for Tokens or 〈◊〉 Curtsies betwixt City and Country. He hol●…s most constantly o●…e fo●…me or me●…hod of disc●…urse. He ●…etaines some military words of art, which he shoot●…s at random; no matt●…r where they h●…t, they cannot wound any. He ever leaves some passages doubtful, as if they were some more intimate secrecies of state, clozing his sentence abruptly,— With hereafter you shall hear more. Which words, I conceive, he o●…ely useth as baits, to make the appetite of the Reader more eager in his next weeks pursuit for a more satisfying labour. Some generall-erring relations he pick●…s up, as Crumbs or fragments, from a frequented Ordinario: Of which shreads he shapes a Coat to fit any credulous fool that will wear it. You sh●…ll never observe him make any reply in places of public concourse; he ingenuously acknowledges hims●…lfe to be more bounden to the happiness of a retentive me●…ory, than either ability 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. or pregnancy of conceit. He carries his Table-booke●…ill ●…ill about with him, but dares not pull it out publicly: yet no sooner is the Table drawn, than he turns Notary; by which means he recovers the charge of his ordinary. Paul's is his Walk in Winter; Moorfi●…lds in Summer. Where the whole discipline, designs, projects, and exploits of the St●…tes, Netherlands, Poland, Swisser, Crim chan and all, are within the Compass of one Quadrangle walk most judiciously and punctually discovered. But long he must not walk, lest he make his N●…wes-presse stand. Thanks to his good invention, he can collect much out of a very little: no matter thou●…h more experienced judgements disprove him; he is Anonymo●…, & that will secure h●…m. To make his reports more credible (or which he and his Stationer only aims at) more vendible, in the relation of every occurrent: he renders you the day of the Month; and to approve himself a Scholar, he annexeth these Latin parcels, or parcell-gilt sentences, veteri Stylo, novo Stylo. Palisadoes, Parapets, Counterscarps, Forts, Fortresses, Rampires, Bulwark's are his usual dialect. He writes as if he would do some mischief; yet the charge of his shot is but paper. He will sometimes start i●… his sleep, as one affrighted with v●…sions; which I can imp●…te to no other cause but to the terrible skirmishes which h●… discoursed of, in the day time. He has now tied himself Apprentice to the trade of minting: and must weekly perform his task, or (beside the loss w●…ich accrues to himself) he disappoi●…ts a number of no small fools, whose discourse, discipline, and discretion is drilled from his State service. These you shall know by their Mondai's morning Question, a little before Exchange time; Stationer have you any news. Which they no sooner purchase than peruse; and early by next morning (lest their Country friend should be deprived of the benefit of so rich a prize) they freely vent the substance of it, with some illustrations, if their understanding can furnish them that way. He would make you believe that he were known to some foreign intelligence, but I hold him the wisest man that hath the least faith to believe him. For his relations he stands resolute, whether they become approved or evinced for untruths; which if they be, he has contr●…cted with his face never to blush for the matter. He holds especial concurrence with two philosophical sects, though he be ignora●…t of the T●…nets of either: in the collection of his observations he is Pe●…ipateticull, for he walks circularly: in the dig●…stion of his relations he is Stoical, and sits regularly. He has an Alph●…beticall Table of all the chief Commanders, Generals, Leaders, provincial Towns, Rivers, Ports, Creeks, with other fitting materials to furnish his imaginary building. Whisper, mu●…trings, & bare suppositions are suffici●…nt grounds for the authority of his relat●…ons. It is strange to see with what greediness this airy Chameleon being all lungs and wind, will swallow a receit of News, as i●… it ●…ere physical: yea, with ●…at frontless insinuation he will screw himself i●…to the acquaintance of some knowing Intelligencers, who trying the Cask by his hollow sound, do familiarly g●…ll him. I am of opinion, were all his voluminous centuries of fabulo●…s relations compiled, ●…hey ●…ould vie in number with the 〈◊〉 of many fo●…erunning ages. You shall many ti●…es find in his 〈◊〉, Pasquil's▪ & Courantes miserable di●…ractions; here a City taken by force, long before it be besieged; there a Country laid wa●…e before ever the enemy ent●…red. He many times tortures his R●…ader with impertinencies: y●…t are these the tolerablest p●…ssages throughout all his discourse. He is the very Landscape of our age. He is all air; his ear always open to all r●…ports; which how incredible soever, must pass for currant, and find vent, purpos●…ly to get him currant money, and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his Chimaeras live not long; a week is the longest in the City, and af●…er their arrival, little longer in the Country. Which passed, they melt like Butter, or m●…tch a pipe and so Burn. But ind●…ede, most commonly it is the height of their ambition, to aspire to the employment of stopping mu●…tard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, powder, s●…aves-aker, etc. which done, they ●…xpire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Longlane will give him his Character. He honours nothing with a more endeared observance, nor hugs aught with more intimacy than antiquity, which he expresseth even in his 〈◊〉. I have known some love fish best that smelled of the pannier; and the like humour reigns in him, for he loves that apparel best th●…t has a taste o●… the Brok●…r. Some have held hi●… for a Scholar, but trust m●…e such are in a palpable error, for he never yet understood so much Latin, as to construe Gallob●…lgicus. For his Library, (his own continuations excepted) it consists of very few or no Books: he holds himself highly engaged to his in●…, if it can purchase him victuals, for Authors he never converseth with them, unless they walk in P●…les. For his discourse it is ordinari●…: yet he will make you a terrible repetition of desperate Commanders, unheard of exploits; intermixing with all his own personal service. But this is not in all companies: for his experience hath sufficiently informed him in this principle: That as nothing works more on the simple than things strange and incredibly rare; so nothing discovers his weakness more among the knowing and judicious, than to insist by way of discourse, on reports above conceit. 〈◊〉 th●…se therefore, he is as mute as a fish. But now imagine his Lamp (if he be worth one) to be neer●…ly burnt out; his inventing Genius, wear●…d and surfoote with ranging over so many unk●…owne Regions; and himsel●…e wasted with the ●…ruitlesse expense of much paper, resig●…ing his place of weekly Collecti●…ns to an other: whom in hope of some little share, h●…e has to his Station●…r recommended, while he lives either poorly respected, or dies mis●…rably ●…uspended. The rest I end with his own close; next week you sh●…ll hear more.   

4 A Decoy  
IS a brave metalled Blade, as apt to take as to give. H●…s morni●…g preparative is, What sconce shall we build? Though he never bore office in the Ward where he lives, he has the word of a Constable, and can bid stand. He is a witty Hypocrite; for sometimes i●… occasion serve, he can play the civil Div●…ll, and cou●…terfeite a demure 〈◊〉. He will close with you in any ●…rgument out of a pregnant-prese●…t conceit: s●… as he would make one 〈◊〉 he had the Eleme●…ts of all Learning: Bu●… hold him to it, and he will ●…all ●…ff, a●… he doth in his whole cour●…e ●…rom the practice of goodness. To 〈◊〉 his frie●… or rather befriend 〈◊〉, h●…e will turn true Asi●…n knight, and swear for you most pragmatically. A more affable or sociable companion the world cannot afford you: for he will mould himself to your humour, be it in the quest of busi●…esse or pleasure: your own shadow cannot be more attendant, nor more obsequiously observant. His only desi●…e is but to know where you lodge (and for want of his high-road revenues) he will be your incessant visitant. Having by this wrought o●… your easy temper, and in your bosom purchased him a friendly harbour: He pretends occasions abroad; and complains his horse is lame, and what injury the base F●…rrier had done him. This in Civility you cannot choose but take notice of, especially to so intimate a friend, who has so many times vowed to engage his person for your honour. By this he mounts your Palfrey, and makes for the Country; where if he do not speed himself of a fortune by the way; next friday in Smithfield you s●…all find your Demi-lance in the Fair. Whom if you should chance to own, yet were you never a whit nearer your own: for your sweete-bosome friend will not stick to face you and swear you out of him. Nay, he will tax you of impudence and countenanced by some of his own Co●…rades, vow revenge for this undigested imputation. Now, i●… your discretion will not be thus outbraved no●… baffelt, he will show himself tru●… spark of valour, and encounter you where you will or dare. But set up this for your rest, if you adjorne time, you shall as soon meet with your horse as ●…im. But these a●…e but pe●…ty assays to other of his masterpieces. By th●…s he hath taken upon him the title of a great Heir; which is seconded by the approvement of his 〈◊〉 F●…ye. All Cubs of one Lit●…er, and equally fur●…ished ●…or a cheating Lecture. This some rich Mercer. Milliner, or Tailor, or some other necessary appendice of a gentleman is presently pos●…est of; who become humble Supplicants for his Custom, and by corrupting the Groom of his Chamb●…r, (who was corrupt enough already) purposely cheat●… themselves with expense of some ●…w Crowns. Along goes ou●… De●…oy▪ as a●… imaginary H●…ire, well accoutred and attended, towards his 〈◊〉 of Cust●…me. 〈◊〉, as o●…e borne to more m●…anes than bra●…nes, he be●…aves himself like a very Gandergoose, which strengthens his credu●…ous Creditors gainful expectance, hoping to make an Essex Calf of him. But his acquaintance begets a good effect in them, for it ever ends with repentance. But these are but his civil City cheats, for want of employment abroad. For howsoever his Name, in its own proper signification seem to render him, his profession has proclaimed him an universal 〈◊〉. Public fairs are his revenues; and there is nothing which he keeps better in heart tha●… their time. He has his variety of Led suits: and can (if need require) counterfeate the habit of Grazier, Gallant, or Citizen all in one day. With which habits he plays the cunning Impostor, and deludes those whose cond●…n he 〈◊〉: He had need be one of Volpon●…'s truebred Cubbes that shall smell him out. Private alleys and by-lanes are his Sanctuaryes in the City: but places of public frequent in the Country. H●…e has more D●…xes than a Gipsy, which he makes use of, ei●…her for receiving his purchase, or for informing him of a prey. If at any time he shall be accused or attached by some simple Count●…ey Officer: ●…ee affronts him with such biggswolne words of points of reputa●…on▪ g●…ntile, estimation, detraction, derogation; as holding all these to be several Titles of his honour, he not only releases him, but most humbly complaining, invites him to a dinner; lest his too rash attach of a Gentleman of ●…rship, (for 〈◊〉 his ignorance holds him) should bring him in danger. Which simplicity of his our Decoy observes, and works upon it. He must have his reputation salved with some 〈◊〉 album, or he will not sit down with this disgrace. Which (to prevent all ensuing harm, taking him bound withal that he shall stir up no powerful friend against him, whereof our cheat pretends a myriad) this official Offal applies, to cure the ulcer of his impostumed reputation; and so they part, a fool and a foist. You shall find him now and then betting with some of his rooking consorts in Bowl-alleyes; where if a young Novice come, he stands confident of a purchase. you shall see him presently (yet with a reserved counterfeit civility) close with him. His own 〈◊〉 shall not seem more intimate. But our young Mast●…r still goes by weeping-●…rosse; He leaves as few Crumbs of Comfort in his Purse, as hair on his Chin, or wit in his Pate. It is above the reach of conceit, to observe him, how understandingly he will converse with a Country Farmer, after he has saluted him at the 〈◊〉 door. His tale is of a Tur●…e, his matter a Mattocke, his plea a Pl●…ugh. But the Catastrophe is a piece of plate, which he ever leaves the Countryman in pledge for. To display him by his garb, or describe him by his garment, were a task of some difficulty▪ he sorts a●…d suits himself purposely to fool the world, i●… such variety. Sometimes you shall see him n●…ate and b●…ske, and accoutred bravely: next day, like one at Odds with himself, nitty a●… na●…y. Which inde●…d, is his tru●… natural garb, that best become him: and may be best preserv'●… in regard of those uncertain veils which befall him. He may for most part compare with those brave Roman Emperors for the manner of his death; for he seldom dies in his bed. He hopes one day to be advanced above the residue of his fellows, which I conjecture must either be on the Pillory or the Gallows: where I leave him.   

5. An Exchange▪ man  
IS the peremptory br●…nch of an Intergatorie; What do 〈◊〉? He would make you b●…eve, that he will furnish you 〈◊〉; but such profuse boun●…y 〈◊〉 ●…ot pay Scot and lot; your money therefore must be your p●…edge, ●…efore you have his ●…inket. It is a wonder to s●…e what var●…ety of Knick-k●…acks he has in so small a Compass. His quest of i●…quiry is, ●…at is most in request: so as, 〈◊〉 Shop co●…sists as much of fa●…n as 〈◊〉▪ form as 〈◊〉. It would make one muse how ●…ver so many G●…w-gawes should find vent in a wise state; And yet the l●…bouring invention of the Brain is ●…ver teeming and produci●…g so●… eye-temp●…g Bab●…e or other, to allure the Ne●…fangle passenger. The hurrii●… of a Coach is as pleasi●…g me●… to 〈◊〉 in his expe●…tance, ●… th●… last sound before a New-play is to an i●…ching audience. W●…en the Simp●…e go to market, 〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉 get money. By 〈◊〉 ●…y L●…dy w●…th he●… D●…apred 〈◊〉▪ hav●… as many poakes as 〈◊〉, are mou●…ted the stairs; a●…d 〈◊〉 now th●… long Pe●…patetick gallery; they a●…e encountered with volleys of more questions, than they know how to resolve. Gladly would this Salic train buy all they see, if their revenues would mount to the price. But they must in civil curtsy leave some few Commodities for others. Mean time they buy more than they know how to employ." That is a pretty conceited toy (says my Ladies gentle woman) I will buy it whatsoever it cost me: which discreet spe●…ch delivered in the hearing of our Exchange-man, it must want no praise, a●…d consequently no p●…ice. H●…e ●…ll usually demand the three 〈◊〉 value for any commod●…ty; but far be it from me to 〈◊〉 him to have the Consce●…ce ●…o ●…ake it if they would give it. It is his only drift without any other policy to make trial of 〈◊〉 judgement: his equal and conscionable moderation is such (at least he will pretend so much) in these trivial●… subjects of gain, as he hates to wo●…ke on any one's weaken●…sse, being the expressivest argum●…nt of mercenary ●…asenesse. But were all that traffic with him as well-li●…'d in pate as purse, we should find many empty shoops b●…fore the next vacation. By this, a new troop of ruffling pl●…m'd Myrmydons are arrived; and these will swoop up all before th●…m; N●…t so much us a 〈◊〉 ty●…e, be it never so ugly, shall es●…ape their encounter. Now out w●…th your lures, baits, and lime-twiggs, my nimble D●…dapper. Your harvest is not all the year. See how he s●…ruggs; and with what downright reverence he entertains them! If oaths, civil compliments, demure looks have any hope to prevail with raw and unexperienced credulity, he is in a notable thriving way: for he has set his Partridg●… al●…eady; there is no doubt of ●…pringing them till his N●…t be spread over them: By wh●…ch means he ha▪ s a trick to catch the Old one. S●…lence, and you shall hea●…e his project. The Ancient Matron which strikes the stroke, and directs her young charge in their merchand●…ze, is by this time as firmly retained by ou●… Exchange-man, as ever was Lawyer by his Client. What great matter is it, though it cost him a Muff, a wrought Waistcoat, or some curious Border? He may pay himself in his price: for they are too generous (so their Direc●…sse approve it) to stand upon tea●…mes. Let this suffice; it is a good market, where all are pleased, and so are these. They joy no less in his Commodity, than he in their money. Yet are the Savages, in my opinion, much more to be approved in their Commerce than these. Indeed they exchange precious stuff for tri●…es: Bevers and Ermi●…s for knives, hatchets, kettledrums and hobby-horses. But this they do out of their Superfluity; whereas our nicer D●…mes bestow that upon trifles, which might support a needful family. But the Age labours of this Epidemical Error; too universal therefore is the Crime to admit of Censure. Now you must suppose that Invention is the Exchange-mans' most useful A●…tizan. Therefore, for his better return, he keeps his weekly Synodall with his Girdler, Perfumer, Tyre-woman and Sempster: who bray their brains in a mortar, to produce some useful renew, some gainful issue for their ●…hriving Master. Never was poor ●…ade more troubled with fashions than these are. By this time, 〈◊〉 something invented; which, wh●…st it is now in his Embryo, re●…ives admittance to his shop, and to take the curious passenger, appears in his full shape. He needs not use any Exchange- 〈◊〉 to set it forward; Novelties will ve●…d themselves. A vacation is his vexation; and a Michaelmas term the sole hope of his 〈◊〉. H●… has by th●… ti●…, served all offices in hi●… 〈◊〉▪ 〈◊〉 now draws▪ homeward. 〈◊〉 portion he had ●…f the World, he has bequeathed to his Executors, Adm●…istrators, and Assigns. The Birds are ●…low 〈◊〉; his Customers gone; It is hig●… time to shut up shop.   

6. A Forester  
IS a Woodman; but by all likelihood he shall lose that t●…tle, if he live to another age; for there will be little or no Wood left in all his Forest. He proves by his W●…ndfals, it is an ill wind that blows no man profit. His Commo●…-weale is his Chase, his People Dear. Though his Subjects be wild, he can tame them with a Powder. Though he make no Porters of them, he draws a part of his main●…enance from their 〈◊〉. ●…he judgement which i●… most requis●…te to a man of his 〈◊〉, c●…nsists in singling out a go●…d De●…re. He is an excellent 〈◊〉- man, and will serve your warrant daintily, if you Fee him. He wears by his side, what he would not for a world have fixed on his front: though he have many times deserved it, by playing the Rascal Dear, leaving his own do, breaking over his own Pale, and ranging in another's Purlew. But for all that she is impaled, when fitly tappised, she may prove one of Swetnams brood, He Act●…s bird, if Calysto's egg be rightly hatched. One would take him for the Living sign of Robin Hood with a Forest bill in his hand. He has a warren to turn Co●…e-catcher; where he erects a place of Ex●…cution for his ver●…in. You would think him a co●…templative man by his solitary Walks; and no question b●…t he might benefit hi●…selfe mu●…h that way; but his m●…nde stands not so affected. He wears his Mother's Livery, and domineers like a petty king in his own Liberty. He k●…epes a choice consort of Musicians; with which he is not at so much charge as to the value of a Lut●…-string. Amorous and attractive is his colour, else Semele had never so much affected it in her juppiter. His very Habit includes an Emble●…e. He attires himself to the Colour of the Forest to deceive his game; and our Spiritual enemy attires himself in the Colour we most affect and least suspect, to receive his prey. Were he a Scholl●…r, he might infinitely improve his knowledge by the Objects which he daily sees. He i●… as the A●…podes to us; for our Day is his N●…ght, his Night our Day. He●… is one of L●…tona's se●…vants; and is so conversant with her, as he knows certainly whether the Moon be made of green chees●… or no. He is a proper man of his hands; but most courageous when he is impaled. Yet if his friend come for a piece of flesh, he will not walk that Night, but sl●…pe as sound as a Constable. But visit any other his Chase, he will ferret them. He can do miracles with his Line-hound; who by his good Education has more Sophistry than his Master. He were a brave man, had he the World as he has his dog in a string. For Venison, h●… is generally better provided than the Commander of the game: and give the Blade his dew, he is no niggard of his flesh: for he will c●… large tho●…gs out of another's leather. If his Game thrive not, the cause must be imputed to a murrain or a stormy Winter; but his generous, if not m●…rcenary bounty, was the occasion rather. His body proclaims him apt for any employment, but his breeding hath accommodated him better for a Pale than a Pike, a Chase than a Campe. For discourse, expect no such matter at his hands; A very small quantity of reason will su●…fice the Creatures he converse●…h with. A natural bluntness doth best beseem him; for Rhetoric becomes not the Woods. If we be companions to Ostriches, we shall be sure to savour of the wilderness. He knows whether the Poets conc●…te of Fa●…nes and S●…lvanes be true or no; for th●…y walk in his range At Wakes and May-games he 〈◊〉 a brave 〈◊〉: for our wenches of ●…e green hold him a marvellous proper man. For the rest of our Hobbinols, they retai●…e such an opinion of his valour, they dare scarc●…ly say their sou●…es are their own●…. For his revenew's, be●… they more or less, he makes ●…ven work at every years' end. He has no land but Leases; and th●…se will wear out in time. The 〈◊〉 which ●…ost dignify him, are these; he can hollow, give a gibbet, wi●…d a horn▪ cut up a piece of flesh, and laugh at an ignorant Animal that takes saime between the frontl●…s. When he is to present some ne●…ghbouring Gentleman in his Master's n●…me, with a side or a fouch he has an excellent art in improving his venison to the best; and in aggravat●…ng the d●…fficulties he suffered before h●…e could come to his purpose; And whereto tends all this, but to bind a greater courtesy upon the receiver▪ and to purchase a better reward for hims●…fe? For memory, he may vie with X●…xes; he knows all his wild regiment by head. For religion, he cannot be justly taxed in his tenets, either of 〈◊〉 or error; for he is yet to choose. The Lawnd is his Templ●…, the bi●…ds his quirresters. His employment for the winter quart●…r is a con●…nuate imposture; laying Spring●… for Woodcocks, 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉, etc. His condition of all 〈◊〉 is most mutable; his 〈◊〉 Count●…nance variable; and his place to many overtures ●…vable. It were necessary there●…ore that he took ●…at fees while he is in office; that he may have something to build on in his vacancy from s●…rvice. But in this particular he is so well cautioned, as his pr●…decessors Lecture hath made him completely armed. If he live till he be old, he incurs th●… th●… ge●…erall fate of an ancient discarded Servingman; clozing the Evening of his life with contempt or neglect. Those materials or appendices of his place, Horn, Lease and Bill he resigns (if not pawned already) to his successor; ●…ho keeps a mig●…ty racket the first q●…arter, but af●…rwards falls off, imitating Endym●…on, his predecessors steps, in conniving at his friends, and compounding with his 〈◊〉. The green L●…very, that Emblem of frailty, which h●…e wore living, must now be the Carp●…t t●… cover him dying. Out of all hi●… spacious range, he has rese●…ved so much ground a●… may afford him a Grave. More he n●…edes not, and to be debarr●…d t●…is, even in humanity he can●…ot. What rests then, but that he rest after his long Walk? While 〈◊〉 a●…fixe his own Epitaph upon his own naked monume●…t, to make his memory more perp●…tuate; Defessus sum ambulando. Pity were it then to disquiet him.   

7. A Gamester  
IS a Merch●…t-venturer, for his stock ru●…nes always upon hazard. H●…e has a perp●…tuall Pals●…y in his Elbow; which never leaves shaking till his fortunes be shaken. He remembers God more in Oaths than Orison●…. And if he pray at any time, it is not premeditate but extemporal. The sum of his devotion consists not in the expression or conf●…ssion of himself like a penitent sinner, but that he may come off at next meeting a competent winner. But where finds he any such in all our Collect●…? H●…e so over-braves and abuseth the poor dice, that if they were his equals, they would, questionless, call him to account for't. The Ordinary is his Oratory, where h●…e pr●…yes upon the Countrey-gull to feed himself. He was a gr●…at Heir, and entered the world full-handed; but falling to Game purposely to make him more complete, his Long acre hath passed the Alienation offi●…e, and made him a stranger to his father's Mansion-house: And now he is fitter for a Gamester than ever he was; Let fortune do her worst, his estate cannot be much worse. In his minority, he played ever upon disadvantage; but Experience hath now sufficiently informed him in his maturity; though his dice seem square, he seldom plays so. Advantage is his advancement; wherein if you prevent him and bring him to square, he is ever seconded with sinister fortune. Sundry pretty passages and conveyances h●… has in his pockets, sleeves, and other private places ●…or his little familiars; and these furnish him at a dead lift. You fear ●…gging, and to make sure work, you bring him a Box; but all this will not serve your turn; he has a Bee in a Box to sting you. It is his care to creep into a good suit of clothes; lest the Ordinary should bar him by and main. Which having purchased, by translating and accommodating it to the fashion most i●… request, it seems quarterly new. He feeds well, howsoever he fare. Hope and fear make his recreation an affliction. He has no time to refresh his mind, being equally divided betwixt hope of g●…ine, and fear of loss. For his loss of patience, it is so familiar with him, as he holds it no loss. Money is of too dear and tender an estimate to let it slip from him, and he like a Stoical Stock to say nothing. T●…llus Hostilius put FEAR and PALENESS in the number of his gods: and it is pity (saith Lactantius) that ever his gods should go from him. These two are our Gamester's Furies, which startle him in midst of his jubilee. He is poor, yet miserably covetous; Envy like Ivy, is ever wreathing about his heart: Others success is his eyesore. He seldom has time to take air, unless it be to a Play; where if his pockets will give leave, you shall see him aspire to a Box: or like the ●…ilent Woman, sit demurely upon the stage. Where, at the end of every Act, while the encurtained Music sounds, to give Enterbreath to the Actors, and more grace to their Action, casting his Cloak carelessly on his left shoulder, he enters into some complemental d●…scourse with one of his ordinary Gallants. The argument of their learned conference is this; Where shall we sup, or how shall we trifle away this night? Where shall we meet to morrow; or how bestow ourselves? He takes no course how to live, nor knows any way how to thrive but in this high-bet-path of idleness. Any other employment were his torment. It were the wisest part to deal with such lewd and inordinate walkers, time-triflers, standers, sitters in the ways of idleness, and incendiaries to a Civil state, as Philip of Macedon dealt with two of his Subjects, in whom there was little hope of grace, or redemption of time: He made one of them run out of the Country, and the other d●…ive him: So his people was rid of both. The longer he lives, more arguments of his baseness he leaves. Whom he consorts with he depraves, and those that believe him he deceives. It were a strange account that he would make, if he w●…re called to't; since his first imitation in this profession. Surely, he would express himself a second Marg●…tes, of whom it is said, that h●…e never ploughed, nor digged, nor addressed himself to aught all his life long that might tend unto goodness, being wholly unprofitable to the World. To dissuade him then ●…rom this habitu●…te Course of perverted Liberty, might sceme a fruitless task: ●…or ●…eates must be ●…is revenues or he 〈◊〉. Howbeit to such as are but freshmen, and are not throughly salted with his rudiments, these Caut●…ons will not prove altog●…ther useless. This complete Gallant, which you see every way thus accoutred, is master of nothing but what he wears; and that in Lavender ere long. He is famous in nothing but in being the last of his house. He is only used by the Master of the Ordinary, as men use Cumminseede, to replenish their Culverhouse; his employment is the draught of Customers. Have your ●…yes about you, if you play with him: for want of a L●…underer he can set your ruff n●…atly by help of a glass behind you, or a damask pummel to discover your gam●…. This he will do so ●…imbly, as you shall scarce know who hurt you. In a word, be our you●…g Novices affected to play? Let them remember Plato's golde●… rule: Parvum est al●…â luder●…, & non parvum est assuescere: It is no great matter to play at dice, but it is a great error to make dice their dayes-taske. Let it be their pastime, not their practice. Let them know further, that Gamest●…rs are but as Rivulets, but the Box that main Ocean into which they descend. By this time you may suppose our cunning Gamester to be now fallen to his very last stake; his wit in the wain; and his fortune in the eb●…e. He cannot hold out long, for infamy has marked him for a Cheat; and the more generous professants have by this discarded him for a Bum-card. He is out of Credit with the Ordinary; and entertained with a scornful look by his own familiars. He resolves therefore to turn penitentiary, now when he ha'●… nought el●…e to do. Suppose him then walking l●…ke a second Malevolo with a dejected eye, a broad-brimed hat or'e-pentising his discontented look, an e●…wreathed arm like a dispassionate Lover, a weak yingling spur guiltless of gold, with a wint●…r suit, which must of necessity suit him all Summer; till drawing n●…re some Cook's shop, he takes occasion to mend his spurre-leather, purposely to a●…lay hi●… hunger with a comfortabl●… savour. Happy were he, if he, ●…ho in his time had been so boun●…ifull to the Gamesters box●… might now receive any benefit or competent rele●…f from the Pooremans' box: but misery no so●…ner found him, tha●… pity left 〈◊〉: it is high time then for us to l●…ave him.   

8. An Hospitall-man  
IS the 〈◊〉 of a greater work; b●…ing all that is left of a decay●…d G●…ntleman, a maimed Souldi●…r, or a discarded Servingman. He is now ta●…ked to th●…t in his age, which he was little acquainted with in his youth. He must now betake himself to prayer a●…d devotion; remember the Found●…r, Benefactors, H●…ad and members of that ●…amous foundation: all which he performs with as much z●…ale, as as Actor aster the end of a Play, when he prays for his Majesty, the Lords of his most honourable pri●…ie Counc●…ll, and all that love the King. He has scarce fully ended his Orisons, till he looks back at the Buttery hatch, to see whether it be open or no. The sorrow he conceives for his sins has made him dry: The Proselyte therefore had n●…ede of some refresh●…ent. His gown and retired walks would argue him a S●…holler: but it is not the hood that makes the Monk; he can be no such man unless he have it by inspiration. But admit he were, he is at the best but a lame Scholar. A great part of a long winter night is passed over by him and the rest of his devout Circumcellions in discoursing of what they have been and seen. While sometimes they fall at variance in the relation and comparison of their actions. But all their differences are soon rinsed down in lambs-wool. Which done, with a friendly and brotherly regreet one of another, as loving members of one soci●…tie, they betake themselves to their rest. Before the first Cock at the longest awakes o●…r Hospitall-man; ●…or aches and cramps will not suffer his sleeps to be long: which is a great motive to make his prayers more frequent. The morning Bell summons him early to his devotions, whereto, howso●…ver his inward man stand affected, his outward is with due reverence addressed. No sooner has he got repast for his soul, than he prepares r●…leefe for his belly. He cannot endure to chastise it so lo●…g as he may cherish it. Austerity he can embrace, so it restrain him neither in his repast nor rest. For other bodily exercises, he stands indifferent: for he finds his body unable to use them. To speak of the condition of his life, he might conceive an high m●…asure of Contemplative sweetness in it, if the Sun of hi●… Soul (too long e●…clipsed by the interpos●…ion of earth) could clearly apprehend it. It is stra●…ge to see with what tenderness he embrace●…h this life, which in all reaso●… should be rather by h●…m loathed than lov●…d. His head i●… a recep●…acle of Catarrhs, his eyes 〈◊〉 of sluxes and 〈◊〉, his breast a Conduit of rhumatick●… distillations; the Sciatica has seized on his hips, aches and convulsions rack his back and reins; in a word, his whole body is a very Magazine of diseases; and diseases, you k●…ow, are the Suburbs of death. Yet he hopes to put the Hospital to the charge of another Livery gown, and a whole year's Com●…ons; whence he seems to verify the proverb: There is none so desperately old, but he hopes to live one year longer. Yet for all this, he ca●… never be 〈◊〉 merry: being enjoined to a task, which he cannot i●…ure 〈◊〉 to without irksomeness or 〈◊〉. For to bring an ●…axter●…o ●…o the exercise of Devotion, is ●…o bring an old Bird to sing pricksong in a Cage. The rules of his house he observes most punctually; but for Clancular hours of private prayer and devotion, he absolu●…ely holds them works of Supererogation. His Camp is now translated into a Cloister; yet his zeal as much then as now: for a●… Hospitall-fire, and too liberal 〈◊〉 has cooled his fervour. He conc●…ives as much delight in discoursi●…g ●…t the G●…te, as 〈◊〉 in 〈◊〉 C●…l; yet h●… demu●…e 〈◊〉, ag●…d reve●…ence, an●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 more 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 expect●…ce. Ho●…ly in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 he 〈◊〉 o●…●…is 〈◊〉, and guides he has to waft him to the port of felicity; wherein it were to be wished, that as he is retentive of the one, so he would not be unmindful of the other. There is no Provision he need take care for, but how to dye, and that he will do at leisure, when necessity calls him to't. The world is well changed with him, if he could make right use on't. In stead of the cold ground for his palate, Arms and Alarms, and volleys of shot; he may now lie softly, sleep sweetly, repose safely, and if he look well to the regiment of ●…is soul, discampe securely. Fears and Foes he may have within him, but neither Foes nor Fears without him. Armour he has aswell as before, and that more complete: this is spiritual, that corporal. Methinks it should not grieve him to remember he was a man in his time. That condition is the best, which makes him best. Admit he had means, yet being a means to corrupt his mind, they were better lost than possessed. In his Summer Arbour of prosperiti●… he was d●…sperately sick, for he had no sense of his sin. Sycophants he had to dandle him in the lap of security, and belull him in his sensual Lethargy. These tame beasts are gone; These Summer-swallowes flown; the fuel of his loose-expended hours consumed; the veil which kept him from discovery of himself, removed. What remains now, but that he alien himself from the world, seeing what he had in the world is aliened from him? His soules-tillage is all the husbandry he need intend. This neglected, his case is desperate; This resp●…cted, all is fortunate. Every day then, as his body is nearer E●…rth, let his soul be nearer Heaven. He feeds but a languishing-lingring life, while he lives here: It is but a ●…abernacle at the best, so long as he is encloistered; upon his manumission hence, he is truly enfranchised. While he had means, he might leave an estate to his successor; and so much means he has now, as will cause some Hospitall-Brother thank God for his departure. The thirsty Earth gapes not more greedily for his Corp●…e, than some Beadsm●…n or oth●…r doth for his place. He has by this got his passport; he has ●…id the World a d●…w, by paying N●…ture ●…r de●…: Dry eyes att●…nd him; his 〈◊〉 Brothers follow him, a●… bri●…g hi●… to ●…is long home. A shor●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 up hi●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; more state he needs not, and less he cannot have.   

9 A jailer  
IS a Surly host, who entertains his Guests with harsh language, and hard usage. He will neither allow them what is sufficient for them, nor give them Liberty to seek an other I●…ne. He is the Phy●…itian, and they are his Patients; to whom he p●…escribes such a strict die●…, that if they would, they cannot surfeit. If at any time they grow irregular, he allays their distemper 〈◊〉 cold iron. He receives the first fruits o●… the A●…m svasket, and leaves them the 〈◊〉. He holds nothing more unprofitable to one of his place than 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 more dissorting than compassion; so as it little moves him to see his famished family in affliction. His Mency cannot be more impious than he is imperious: he domineers bravely; bears himself towards his ragged regiment bravingly; and makes himself Almoner of their poor treasury. He is in fee with the Constables of all the Wards to send him Nightwalkers to be his Paymasters. He turns not his key but he will have his fee of every Inmate. If he would turn them out, he deserved it better; but he both stays and starves them together. If he provide any cheer for them, it must be Whipping-cheere. His Ornaments are fetters, bolts, and mannacl●…s. These are his Bracelets, yingles, and Caparisous: Thus must his enthralled Crickets live ever in an Iron age. Yet according to a proportionable weight in starling, he will abate a proportionable weight in Iron. He so doubles and redoubles his wards, as one would think he had some infinite treasure; but he that should seek for any such within his precincts, should lose his labour. He has a rough hoarse voice ever menacing fire and faggot: for he has contracted with his tongue never to utter one syllable of comfort: And concludes, that the jailer in the Acts, was o●… too mild temper to supply the place of a jailer If his Prisoner have revenew's, and desire to breathe the air of liberty; he m●…y purchase an artificial day's freedom and a Keeper to boot, by his bounty. But his Exhibition must be good, otherwise he sleights his quality. For those poor Snakes who feed on reversions, a glimpse through the keyhole, or a light through the Grate, m●…st be all their prospect. He ha'●… many times troubled and broken sleeps; and starts out a bed, crying, The prison is broken: So incessant are his fears, so impressive his cares. Which to prevent, he redoubles his Wards, reburdens his irons; and if all this will not do, but that the fury of fear still dogs him: he fortifies his thoughts against suspicion with strength of liquor. Which 〈◊〉 him as insensible of fear, if occasion were offered, as he was be●…ore app●…ehensive of fear, ere any 〈◊〉 of suspicion was ministered. Hence it appears, that nothing amates him so much as fear of a Prisoners escape. For his ●…innes, they never so much as break hi●… sleep, trouble his head, or 〈◊〉 his mind. When the Sessions draw near, how officio●…sly obsequious he is to any o●… his well-lined Prisoners? Now he must 〈◊〉 how to mince his guilt, and 〈◊〉 his own gain. He has already comp●…unded with him ●…or the Sum: the project must be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his brain. 〈◊〉, if it hit, he has vowed to be ●…runke that night; but if it ●…il'd, pu●…posely to be revenged of himself, he will quench his hydropicke thirst with six shillings bear, and so dye of a male-tympanie. If any of his more happy Prisoners be admitted to his Clergy, and by help of a compassionate Prompter, hack out his Neck-verse, he has a cold iron in store if he be hot, but an hot iron if he be cold. Where there be many Irons in the fire, some must cool. If his pulse (I mean his purse) be hot, his fist may cry fizze, but want his impression: but if his pulse be cold, the poor beggarly knave must 〈◊〉 his literal expression. He hears more ghostly instruction at the Ordinaries funeral Sermon before an Execution, than all the year after: Y●…t is his attention as far distant from that Sermon as Newgate from Tyburn. And yet say not but he is a most constant friend to his convicted Inmates, for he seldom ever leaves them till he see them hanged. Now some again will object that he is a subtle Macchiavel, and loves to walk in the Clouds, because he never resolves those with whom he deals, but fills them full of doubts, and in the end ever leaves them in suspense. But this is a badge of his profession, and consequently pleads exemption. Do you hear yo●… Newgate bird? How sweetly the pilfering Siren sings! Well warbled Chuck. The C●…im Tartar with the bunch of keys at his belt will requite thee. Thou knowest he expects a master's share, or no release. One Note higher then, as thou hopes for relief. He has Collectors too with basons to improve his rents: which consist of veils and bribes: but he is more beholden to the later. It is just contrary with his Oeconomie and with others; the greater his thievish family is, the richer is his fare. He can do sometimes very good offices (if he please) by discovery of Cacus cave. But it is not the public which he must prefer before his particular: anoint him, and he will come on like an oy●…d glove. Notable intelligence he receives daily from his ancient Inmates: who for the good entertainment they have already received, and what they may expect hereafter, pr●…sent him now and then ●…ith a remembrance of their love; and so they may afford it very good cheap, for it cost them nought. But now what with Surfeits, colds, fears, frights. suppose him dra●…ing near his Goal-delivery. Though he had about him Emblems of man's life daily; though he saw continual Objects of humane misery; though he encountered with nothing but Specta●…les of infelicity: yet his security imprisoned his understanding, so as he made no use of them. He is now roaming, he knows not whither; and must of necessity grapple with that which he scarce ever thought of before this instant of his departure. Death has entered one Ward already; No churlish affront can possibly amate him; no humane power repel him. Now he has a poor prisoner within him, that suffers more anguish than ever any sick Captive did without him. He gropes under his head, and he finds his keys gone; he looks inward, and he finds foes many, but friends few or none. Cold are those comforts which are in him; many those discomforts which enthrall him. Yet two beame-lines of comfort dart upon him in this hour of terror; from him he expects succour who received the penitent thief, and converted the layler.   

10. A Keeper  
IS an equivocal officer; for if by a Keeper you intent a ranger or forester, he is a Wild-man, or a Woodman, as we have formerly given him his character. If by him you intent a jailer, he is an Iron-monger, whose Iron sides will suffer no compassion to enter. If an Alehouse-keeper, his house is the Devil's Booth, and himself the recetter. If a Keeper of horses at Livery, he is a knave without a Livery; he will put in your hand a lame Palfrey, who will lay your honour in the dust. If a fi●…ld-Keeper, he is a Night walker, who though he have store of near Inmates ever about h●…m, they ever backbite him. He imitates the Bellman in his ●…ogge, but wants his bell. If the world do not belly him, he will sooner share with a Night-catcher than descry him. If a Doorkeeper a frequent third day at a taking New play, will make this Collector a Colloguer. If a Shop keeper, deep oaths, dark shops, base wares, false weights have al●…eady proclaimed him a civil cunning Impostor. If a Book keeper, he may get him frien●…s, if his Master be not all the wiser; and improve his own means by change of a figure. But leaving these, give me a good Housekeeper, who only of all these merits a deserving Character. He preserves that relic of Gentry, the honour of hospitality, and will rather fall, than it should fail. He revives the Black jack, puts beef in his pot, makes poor passengers pray for him, his followers to stick near him, his Country to honour him, his friends to love him, his foes to praise him. He wonders how any one should be so void of pity as to leave his smoaklesse house in the Country, where he has his means, to riot in the City, and estrange himself to his ●…riends. He conceives for what end he was borne, and keeps hi●… dayes-account ●…o discharge the old score. He affects nothing so much as discr●…t and well-tempered bounty; he admits no injurious thought to lodge within him. How it 〈◊〉 him to see a full table▪ Men to eat●… his meat, 〈◊〉 to feed thos●… m●…n! He 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 so low, as to ac●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 w●…th those bas●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, who prefer 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 pub●…●…ate, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his ●…oy to become a Liberal dispenser, and to relieve the needy with the fattest portion of his trencher. Competence he holds the best fortune; and herein he strives to confine his own desires. The Sun of his aims tends rather to the relief of others want, than his own weal; yea he holds the relief of their want his supreme weal. The Court seldom takes him, but if it do, he is never taken by it. He hath set up his rest, that the place which gave him first being, with means to support that being, shall receive what with conveniency he may bestow while he lives in it; with some lasting remembrance of his love when he departs from it. He is generally the pooremans' friend▪ and will suffer no oppressor to nes●…le near him. 〈◊〉 is he altoge●…her so pre●…ise as to admit of no pl●…asure. Wherefore he keeps Horses, Hawks, Hounds, or whatsoever the most free and generous dispositions usually affect: yet shal●… not his recreations so seize on him, as to foreslow any useful Offices in him. He divides his day into distinct hours, his hours into devout ta●…kes. His affability ●…ixt with sweetness of bounty, his bounty with alacrity, hath so won his family, as no earthly state ca●… promise more felicity. It is like a well-rigged ship; every one knows their peculiar charge or office: their love unto their mast●…r makes it no eye service. His Garner is his C●…untryes Mag●…zin. If a famine threaten that Coast, hi●… provision must be brought forth, purposely to 〈◊〉 down the Market. His heart bleeds to see a famished soul languish; he will therefore by timely relief succour him lest he per●…h. He sets not his aims on purchasing: it contents him well to preserve what his Ancestors l●… him. He makes even with the World, as he would with his own Soul. One principal care counterpoizeth the rest: yea, the more s●…riously to address himself to this o●…ely one, h●… disvalues all the rest. Neither is there o●…ght which confers more true glory on these deserving actions, than his disesteem of worl●…ly praise or popular applause. He shuts his ea●…e when he hears himself approved, and rejoices most within him●…elfe when his deservingest actions are least observed. The Beggar or distressed Traveller, he holds to be his most 〈◊〉 benefactors, rather than he theirs. He●… holds it better to give than ta●…e▪ wherefore he acknowledges himself their debtor, who petition his alms in this nature. Knock at his gate, and you shall find it not surely but civilly guarded; e●…ter his Court, and you shall see the poor and needy charitably rewarded; Ascend up higher and step into his Hall, and you shall read this posy in Capital Letters inscribed; A PILGRIMS SOLACE IS A CHRISTIANS OFFICE. Suppose Christmas now approaching, the ever-green Ivy trimming and adorning the portals and partcloses of so frequented a building; the usual carols, to observe antiquity, cheerfully sounding; and that which is the compliment of his inferior comforts, his Neighbours whom he tenders as members of his own family, join with him in this Consort of mirth and melody. Bu●… see! T●…e poor man's comfort is now declining with the old year; which fi●…ls their eyes as full of water, as he is of sickness through infirmity of nature. This Mirror of hospitality now breathes sh●…rt; it is to be ●…eared he will breathe his last. He may leave an Heir to inherit his means, but never his mind. Well, funeral blacks are now to be worn aswell inward as outward; his Son mourns least, though he be at most cost. It is thought erelong, he will mourn in Scarlet, for vanity has seized on him already, and got him to forsake his Country, and forswear Hospitality.   

11. A Launderer  
IS a Linen Barber, and a mere Sa●…urnine; for you shall ever fi●…de her in the Sudds. Used she Clipping as much as washing, sh●…e were an egregious Counterfeit, and might quickly come within compass of the Statute. She is an Epicene, and of the doubtful g●…nder: for a L●…nderer may be asw●…ll a Male as a Female, by course of nature. But for her, there woul●… be no ●…hifter; with whom qu●…rterly she becomes a Sharer. She is in principal request with Collegiat Vnderbutlers, Pu●…ie Clarks in Inns of Cha●…y, with other officers of inferior qu●…litie; unless higher gra●…uates will deign to show her their humility, In Progress time (being f●…llen into Contempt) she follows the Court; and consorts familiarly with the Blackguard. B●…t she scorns the motion (I mean to be so poorly employed) during the flourishing Spring of her youth: for she has good veils, b●…sides her standing wages: and now and then gets good bits which neither the Principal nor Seniors know of. Her young Masters, whom she serves with all diligence, need no Cock but her: she'll come to their Chambers, and wake them early; and if they have the Spirit to rise, may at their pleasure use her help to make them ready. She is a notable witty, ta●…ing Titmouse; and can make twenty sleeveless ar●… in hope of a good turn. By her frequent recourse and familiar concourse with professors of Law, she knows by this how to put a Case: and amongst her ignorant Neighbours can argue it when she has done. In some ByAlley is her dwelling generally: where she keeps a quarter, as if she were She-Constable of the Ward. If she demean herself wisely, and pretend only a car●… of preserving her honesty, she may come in time to some unexpected advancement. But truth is (as it fares commonly with the easiest and tractablest natures) she is of that yielding temper as she cannot endure to be long wooed b●…fore she be won. Her Fort may be sacked by paper pellets of promises and assumpsits, if she be credulous; or by silver shot of plates and p●…eces, if she be covetous. Whence it is, that in very short time, the dropping fruit of this Launderer, becomes like a Medlar; no sooner ripe than rotten; yea many times rotten before it b●…e ripe. Now for the Stock which should support her trade: a very little will set her up, and f●…rre less will bring her down. She will find friends, if her parts be thereafter. Neither shall she need much curiosity in her 〈◊〉: only she must indent with h●…r breast to be secret, with her 〈◊〉 to be silent, and with her 〈◊〉 to be constant. She must not tell what she sees; dictate on what she hears; nor blush at what she enjoys. She must be modestly seeming strange, where she most affects, a●…d relish nothing more than what she inwardly rejects. To salve the credit of the Puny Clerk her young-Master, she turns honest woman, and matcheth herself to the Houses Butcher. The necessity of the time is such, as these hopeful Nuptials must not stay for a Licence, admit they could purchase it. Delay breeds danger; and so pregnant the wench is grown, as she doubts lest before she be honoured with the style of Bride, she become a Mother. But her long experience in law-quirks hath sufficiently informed her; a Child borne within marriage is freed from bastardy, and may inherit all their hereditary lands, if they had a●…y. She by this has aspi●…'d to the purchase of a gown and a f●…lt: so as she now wives it, as if she were Head-Marsh●…ls wife of the Ward. She has got a neat guilded book too, to make her Neighbour's conceit her to be a Scholar: but happy were she if she were as guiltless of lightn●…sse as of learning: for the Cover, she may handle it, and upon alleging of a text of Scripture toss it, but for the C●…nt ●…ts, as she knows them not, so she greatly cares not. She now scorns to be so meanly employed in her own person, as she has formerly been; she has got her therefore a brace of VnderLa●…ndresses to supply her place, perform her charge, and go throughstitch with her trade. The sweat is theirs; but the sweet is hers. These must be accomptants weekly of their comings in; and return a just particular of all such veils, profits, or emoluments, as usually or accidentally have any way accrued. She now stands upon her pantofles forsooth; and will not wet her hand, lest she spoil the grain of her skin: Mistress joan has quite forgot that she was once jug. Yet she keeps ●…ome ancient records of her former youthful profession. When a Horse grows old, he loseth the mark in his mouth: but it is not so with her, for she in her age retains the mark of the beast in her nose, that is flat. Several ways she has to advance her inconstant means in several places: If her continuance in Court purchase ●…er the least scruple of esteem, by petitionary course she labours her preferment: but her request ●…ust not be great, because her repute is but small. Which upon procurement, must suffer many divisions, subdivisions, and subtractions, before she be admitt●…d to a share. If her abode in the City, hath poss●…st her mistress●…s with an opinion of her secrecy: she is made an useful agent that way. Nothing ca●… be too dear for her: she becomes a gainful factor, and though she ●…either do nor suffer, yet receives she with both hands from agent and patient. If her residence in any incorporate society hath got her esteem, her age r●…ceives for her long service a pencionary recompense: mean time exchange of brooms for old shoes, and other veils of decayed Linen raise her a maintenance. But like a Barbers-ball, with much rinsing and rubbing she now grows quite washed away. She dies neither very rich nor contemptibly poor; neither with much love, no●… great hate. So much she hath reserved out of all the labours of her life, as will buy some small portion of diet bread, Comfits, and burnt Claret to welcome in her Neighbours now ●…t her departing, of whose cost they never so freely tasted while she was living.   

12 A Metall-man  
IS nothing less than what his name imports. He has a beetle head, and a leaden heel. The Emblem of him is expressed in the hollow-chamell voice of that walking Trunkhosed goblin, any ends of gold or silver? The Arch-artist in this Mineral is the Alchemist; for the rest are all sublunary unto him, he only Mercury sublimate unto them. His Stoves, Limbecks, and materials are already provided: his longacres have been measured out to m●…ke his provisions come in. He hold●… himself nothing inferior to Kelley in art, he only wisheth but himself like fate. Seven years are now expired, since his Promethean fire received first light; & yet the Philosopher's stone may be in Sysip●…s pocket, for aught that he knows. The●…e is no Artist that has more 〈◊〉 than he, upon less grounds. He doubts not but before the sign enter Aries, hee-shall like another jason, purchase a golden fl●…ece. It is the highest employment wherein he engageth his most intimate friends, to furnish him with sufficiency of Brass, Copper, Pewter, etc. He will make the state rich enough, if he have enough to do withal. By this, he thinks he sees a corner of the Philosopher's Stone, yet he cannot discern the colour. Hope of profit bereaves him of sleep; but the cost of his art deprives him of profit. It is a wonder to observe what rare crotchets and ●…evices he retains purposely to guli himself! What choice structures 〈◊〉 intends to erect out of his pure Elixirs! Yea, so far deluded is he with the strength of a transported imagination, as one might easily make him believe that the reparation of Paul's was only reserved to be his Master-p●…ece; and that many of our Duke Humfreys knights expected when he should perfect it. The flourishing Citiewalkes of moorfield's, though delightful, yet not so precious or beautiful as he will make them. Those sallow-coloured El●…s, must be turned into yellow-H●…sperian Plants: where every Bankrupt Merchant may pluck a branch at his pleasure, to resu●…nish his decayed treasure. O the transcendency of Art! He looks back at the hour of his Nativity, and by a prob●…ble argument of the Constellation wherein he was borne, he gathers that the Crucible of his brain must be the Indies of this State. Not a morning shines upon him, wherein he expects not before the West receive him, but that his hopes shall enrich him, and those many jeering Mountebanks that attend him. Every day's experience, becom●…s now a precious observance: which makes him think he draws near the shore; and so he doth, for now the ship of his fortune rides at low water. Yet i●… he as rich in mountains of golden conceits and airy imaginations as ever he was: His Speculation in time will make him as rich as a new-shorne-sheepe; but this his wisdom believes not. Heyday; what a racket he keeps? Elevate that tripod; sublimate that pipkin; Elixate your antimony; intenerate your Chrysocolla; accelerate our Crucible. Quick, quick, the Mint stays for our metal. Let our materials be infused. Our Art requires your diligence; your diligence ample recompense. How much may one hours' remissness prejudice this consequent business? Frustrate the State's expectance? And perpetually estrange the richest discovery that ever age brought forth, from our Successors. Dear Democritus, hold thy sides or they will crack else! This diving Paracelsian seeks Amalthea, but finds Amalga. His metals have more Moon than Sun in them. How he tires himself in a wilde-goose-chase? As near he was yesterday as to day, yet poorer to day than yesterday. His Art ha●…s arrived her secretest port, attained her highest pitch. Which makes him now convert his Speculation into admiration: wondering that this Stone s●…ould be so long concealed from him. By this time he encounters with a nimble Quacksalver, who forgeth new 〈◊〉 to delude him. He encourageth 〈◊〉 i●… his attempt, seconds him with his advice and assistance; purposely to extract out of ●…he decreasing Limbeck of his fortunes a monthly allowance. H●…e limits him a time, which expired, his hopes are arrived: but before the time come, this nimble Doctor is flown. But what more powerfully prevalent than error? All these rubs shall not draw him from his bias. He will not desist till he see an end of something; and so he may quickly, for his fortunes now he a bleeding But now his expense becomes more easy and temperate: for though his device be delicious, yet the ebb of his fortunes makes him in his disbursements more parsimonious, and in distillations less precious. Before the next Month end, his art hath wrought out the end of his state: so as this Alchemist becomes All-A-Mist, and Theogenes-like ends in smoak●…. A Bill must be now erected, a Chemical Schedule pasted, where his hopeful Utensils were lately reared; and if any m●…tall'd Spark will spend some Crowns in the same Science, the Pupil may have a Tutor: whose judgement and precious experiments he may use for board-wages. Now will any one buy a kettle, a Cauldron, or a Limbeck? How much is the State deceived in this greatmans' masterpiece? How his hopes are thawed? His fortunes distilled? And his aims miserably closed? How this threede-bare Philosophe●… shrugs, shifts, and shuf●…les for a cup of six, whose thirsty desires were once for aurum potabil●…? Few or none compassionate his infelicity, save only the Metall-men of Lo●…hburie, who expected for their grosser metals ready vent by means of his philosophy. His sumptuous fires are now extinguished, the oil of his life's lamp consumed, his hopes into impossibilities resolved, and he in his last Scene on earth, to earth returned.   

13. A Neuter  
IS an Hedg●…hog; Who ha●…h two holes or portals in his siege; one toward the South, another toward the North. Now when the Southern wind blows, he stops up that hole, and turns him Northward: Again, when the Northerne●… Wind blows, he stops up that hole likewise, and turns him Southward. Such an Urchin is this Neuter, who will suit himself with the habit of any profession for lucre. Gregory Nazianzen called Iuli●…n the Apostata a Cham●…leon; fo●… he could change himself into all shapes and colours. Such a Cha●… is the lukewarm Laodicean. What abundance of zeal he will pretend among the zealous? What indifferency among our Timists? How hot he is in palate, but how cold at heart? He has procured a dispensation with his Conscience, that he may the warilier and wiselier run with the tide. He holds him a simple Christian that will profess publicly. what he holds to be Orthodoxal privately. It is his Art to put the wrongside outward; and to dazzle the eye of the World with fair shows, and golden shadows. What Cringes he will make to a rising favourite? How he will mould him to his temper? And screw himself into his knowledge in servilest manner? His own shadow cannot be more inseparably attendant, nor more officiously observant. It is the bend of his studies to dive into his disposition; and then to apply fuel of his own provision to feed it. He desires to be nothing less than what he seems: for he fears by wearing himself too familiarly in the world, he might in short time wear himself out. A formal Moral zeal calls him to the Church; where he has one Pharisaical eye to look up, and an other Publican eye to look down. For the Notes which he gathers, they are either worldlypoliticall, or none at all. He will resolve of nothing definitely without some reservation; but of all others, what religion he will be of, must be his last resolution. He were a wiseman that could catch him in any Tenet that he holds. He admires the d●…●…ipline of our Church; but is not 〈◊〉 resolved as yet to be a member of her. He grounds his saith on what the bravest, not on what the best hold. Preferment is a tender object to his eye; he affects nought with more fervour; receives nought with more honour; foregoes nought with more displeasure. A Conscience (saith he) I profess; but yet I would not have it so nicely scrupulous, as to reject opportunity of profit; that conscience is too regular, that makes her master a beggar; He is too Stoical that is wholly for his Cell, and nothing for the World. Thus he labours to take off the fire-edge from his Conscience, and to cool it; to the end he may be l●…sse limited or restrained by it. By which means, he begins to be more secure; since liberty of Conscience took from him all grounds of a religious fear. Propose now the way, so it direct him to profit, which he will not tread with delight. One minutes Task in the School of virtue tastes of more strictness, than Iliads of years in the Temple of Mammon. He has now taken a course with his Consci●…ce for quietness sake, never to call it to an Evening account: that m●…ght trouble his sleep, and distemper his next days projects. He ha●…h enough to do, that hath to do wi●…h the World. 〈◊〉 Contemplations might hinder his practice that way. Whatsoever therefore he 〈◊〉 himse●…fe to be, he hath made a covenant with his heart to cl●…ave to the world, as the Remora to the ship: He has conceived such infinite 〈◊〉 in it, as he can relish 〈◊〉 ●…t what savou●… of it. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 therefore are those M●…morials which inform him in this thriving course of godless policy: and which he holds as Maxims in each society. He will seem to love the Church, but live by sacrilege. Honour his L●…ra, but creep c●…nningly into h●…s 〈◊〉. Hold the middle path betwixt Baal and B●…thel. Hear much, and observe it, speak little that may be obs●…rved; and lastly remain in such s●…spence in matters of religion, as to be as far from resolving at the day of his death, as the hour of his entering. Excell●…nt conclusions, drained from a dangerous sconce, but a far more dangerous soul. What will this Puffin come to in time? Long has he walked in the Clouds; and hung his conscience in so even a balance b●…twixt Atheism and Religion as one grain would cast him. How s●…rious an Instrum●…nt of justice he will show himself towards Recusants, upon 〈◊〉 tou●… th' execution of Penal Statutes? Again, how remiss and conniving, if he perceive no such thing intended? It is a singular argument of his wisdom not to fish in troubled waters, nor swim against the stream. He makes that use of religion, which men make of upright shoes; to wear them with indifferency on either foot. Upon perusal of ancient Martyrologies (but seldom is he so well employed) he wonders at men's constancy, how they could find in their heart, by insisting on scruples, to deprive themselves of life and liberty. The pains of compiling so large a volume might have been saved, had all those constant professors b●…ene possessed of his spirit. Thus hath he lived to deceive all the World, and himself the most. For he, who tendered the welfare of no friend; nor relied on any virtuous ground; nor reserved one poor minute to meditate of the Supreme good; nor valued aught worthy esteem, but what the world brought forth; nor ever en●…ered into consideration of his own estate; nor accounted otherwise of reli●…ion, than as a Cloak; nor of Christianity, than as a dream; nor of the whole practice of Piety, than of ●…umane policy. Behold how his fr●…ends discard him; hypocrisy arraigns' him; his long belulled Conscienc●… awakes him; Atheism condemns him; and his desperate contempt of verity hopelessly torments him! See how this grand Politician hath deluded himself! How this co●…terfeite picture, who was neither masculine nor feminine Christian, but a Neuter, hath catcht himself in his own ●…rror! His discourse of Heaven, was as of a matter of compliment; his treaty of Earth, as of his choicest continent. But now ●…is mouth is fill●…d with gravel; and that which once che●…r'd him, hath now chokes him. To his outward friends he walked in a mist, but to his inward he c●…uld ●…ot; by the former as he was discarded, so by the latter is h●…e discovered. Long time he d●…spenc'd with Con●…cience: who 〈◊〉 h●…th vowed no longer 〈◊〉.   

14. An Ostler  
IS a ●…ottleman; not a Ba●…ber in Europe can set a better edge on his razor, than he can set on horses teeth, to save hi●… provender. The proverb is; The master's eye 〈◊〉 his horse; but the Ostlers starves him. Now, if you desire to h●…ve your Palfrey make quick dispatch of his provender, m●…ke your Ostler his Supervisor, and by nimble co●…veyance he will quickly make an empty Manger. What a rubbi●…g and scrubbing he will make in hope of a small reward at close of a reckoning? What humble Obeisance may you expect at his hand, when he prostrates himself in such low service to the heels of your Horse? Thus labours he by currying your beast, to curry favour with yourself. He has no Litter●…re, ●…hough he trade something ●…are it. He●… profits out of measure; his Ostrie must not be tie to Winchester. If Oats seem dear, he will tell you how much their price quickened at every quarter last Ma●…ket day: and he has one close at his elbow that will second him. He will justify it, that no Host on all the Road got his hay so sweetly or seasonably as his Master. Though th●…re be Ostlers of all Countries, yet generally are they Northern men; and those you shall find the simplest, but diligentest, and consequently the honestest; for industry and simplicity are antidotes against knavery. But it is twenty to one, he will be as near your Co●…ntreyman as he can inform himself, purposely to procure your better respect, and purchase the larger reward. He will tell you, if he find you credulous, that your horse hurts at W●…thers, or he is hoofe-bound; but refer all unto him, and you shall be sure to pay both Sadl●…r and Farrier for nothing. He can direct you to a pot of the nappiest Ale in all the street, and conduct you too, so the Tapster know not. He has sundry petty-officers, as Vnder-Ostlers, Litter-strowers, Boot-catchers, to whom little accrues after his deductions. He pro●…esseth some skill in horses, and knows how to cure diverse maladies with Oil of Oats; but he will never cure so many as he has diseased, nor fat so many as he has starved. To a bare stranger that promiseth but small profit to the Stable, he will be as peremptory as a Beadle. He will feed his horse with delays and demurs, and cause him stay greater guests leisure. But how officious the Snake will be, where he smells benefit? He speaks in his Ostrie (the chief seat of his Hypparchie) like a Frog in a Well, or a Cricket in a Wall. When Guests horses stand at Livery, he sleeps very little, fearing lest they should eat too much; but at bottle, he is more secure; howsoever, he has a dainty Deutifrice that will charm them. He is a constant stable man; and herein only commendable; consta●…cy in respect of his place, and humility in respect of his person, makes him both known and k●…avish. He has a notable glib vein in vain discourse: No Country can you name, but it is in his verge; his long acquaintance with people of all conditions and Countrie●…, is become so Mathematically useful unto him, as he has the Geographical M●…ppe of the whole Co●…tinent (so far as this lland extends) i●… his illiterate pericranium; which he vents by way of description, upon every occasion; and this he makes his weekly StableLecture. He is at very little charge with his 〈◊〉 but for his ●…alse sh●…rt and nightcap; which he wears as Ornaments to his p●…ofession, and in them acts his daily penance: for it is his use to encounter your Pal●…ry in a shirt of male, be he male or female. If he rise to any preferment, he may say, Gramercy horse; yet will he hardly confess so much. He aspires sometimes to Tapster, holding it the more beneficial place; but howsoever, better for him, for he may now d●…ke of free cost. Long-Winter nights watching, and early rising (for he must be either the Guests Cock, or they his) have much foreslowed his diligence: for now he will endure a call or two before he rise. But this is no fault of his, but the diversity of his occasions: for his desire is naturally to rise early, and to be officious to his guests before they be stirring, in giving their horse's provender, which they may dispatch in a trice, before ever their Masters come out of their chambers. When he finds convenient time and leisure, he will toss a pot sociably with his Neighbour. But none are so familiar with him as the Smith and Sadler, whom he is bound to present (upon some private composition) to any Gentleman or other, that shall have occasion to use them. If he may make so much bold with you, he will send his commends sweetened with a Nutmeg, by you to the Ostler of your next I●…ne; & this bege●…s reciprocal courtesies betwixt them, with titles too, which they are wholly guiltless off; as honest Boy; true Blade, etc. But these styles are but given them by their fellow Ostlers, whose desertless commendations exact as much at their hands. If he be but indifferently honest (as I would have no superlative degrees of honesty in that profession) he improves the benefit of the In●… above comparison: All desire to harbour where there is an honest Ostler. Which opinion once purchased, he retains for ever; and by it strengthens him with his Master's favour. He begins now to be a Landed man by means of his honesty and usury. If he●… have the grace to stay the good hour, he may succeed his Master, and by matching with his M●…stresse rise to Innkeeper. But this is very rare, for he is not by half so neat a Youth as the Chamberlain. Long and sore did he labour in the Spring of his youth, before he came to reap any crop in the 〈◊〉 of his age. He is now grown resty. P●…ofit is an alluring bai●…e, but it cannot make him do that which he did. Now he loves to s●…ort under the Manger, and sleep out his time before his departure: yet he cannot endure that any should succeed him in his place, though he cannot supply it himself. Well, suppose him now drawing on to his last Quarter; some grasps or gripes of mortality he feels, which makes him conclude in his own Element; Grass and Hay, we are all mortal. He could for all this, find in his heart to live one year longer; to compare his last years veils and this together; and perchance, redeem his arrearages too with better measure. But his Ostrie is shut up; the Guests gone; their reckoning paid; only a poor Guest of his own stays yet in her I●…e. and has not discharged. But now I see the I●…e dissolved; the Sign of her being fallen to Earth, and de●…aced and his Inmate lodged, where the great Innkeeper has appointed.   

15 A Postmaster  
IS a Chequerman: who though he gallop ●…euer so fast, yet can he hardly with his post overtake his ●…ay; fo●… that is always before hand with him. The first question he asks you, (for else he has none material) Where is your Commission? Though you know the length of his stage, and price of his miles, yet his Post-boy hath horses of all prices: to whom if you be not liberally minded, look for no other but to be lamely mounted. One would verily think that he had some charm in the blast of his horn, for he makes Passengers leave their high-road and give way in the midst of winter, to foundered Hackneys inevitable danger. He rides as securely as if he were in fee with Highway men, before whom he may whistle as merrily as an empty. Traveller, without lea●…t fear of encounter. Our Night is his artificial day, as he makes it. There is nothing that gives so terrible a report in his ear as a packet of Letters, for that posts away at free cost. To save weight he seldom rides with a band, unless it be upon affairs of highest consequence, and then this hopeful sprig holds it no small honour to pride himself in the wear of an halter. He is generally more peremptory than other guides; for you may have them as you two can agree; and they will usually abate of their demands; but two pence half penny a mile is his price, and he will not abate a denere of it through out all his stage. He will discourse with you most cursorily, touching what he heare●… of matters of state: and to gain him more esteem in the opinion of the ignorant, will not stick to belly his knowledge. He is valiant, not by natural instinct, but by virtue of his Commission, which authorizeth him to take way of his betters. He can retur●…e a surly answer, or resolve a waggish question, and this is wit enough for one of his profession. He is familiarly versed with oaths of all natures; and these he blusters out as frequently, as if they w●…re his natural Rhetoric. He quarter's out his life into four Cantons, Eating, drinking, sleeping and riding; but the second and last are two principal ones. H●…e trusseth up your Port●…antua wi●…h all 〈◊〉 and alacrity, to 〈◊〉 your good opi●…ion, but most of all i●… hope of your bounty. H●…s 〈◊〉 a●…e merely voluntaries, which (so prevalent is custom) he as constantly expects, as if they were his 〈◊〉: your liberality makes him register your name; enrol you amo●…g his Benefactors; and take notice of you upon your retur●…e: yet must you continue your munificence, or former Bounties will dive deep into the Lethe of forgetfulness. He will be your servile servant so long as he tast●…s of your benevol●…ce; your pampered lade shall not be foundered of all four, your palfrey loosely saddled, or budget carelessly trussed. Besides, to expr●…sse a kind of moral remembrance of curtsies received, like a grateful Gnat, he will recommend your bounty to his succeeding Post-boy, who will accurately furnish you with a dreami●…g Drom●…dary, to accelerate your journey. He rides altogether up●…n spur, and no less is 〈◊〉 for his dull supporter; who is ●…s familiarly acquainted with a ●…anterbury, as he who makes Chaucer his Author, is with his Tale; and who by sore expe●…ence and spur-ga●…'d dilige●…ce is grown well-neare as intelligible as his M●…ster, in the distance of his stage; further than which it is impossible to hale him. He rides most commonly with on●… spur; and to him that is so inquisitive, as he will demand the reason of it, he can readily shape him this waggish answer; He holds two superfluous, for if the one ●…ide of his lad●… go forward, he thinks he will not leave the other behind. He becomes in short time an excellent Farrier; which knowledge he attains out of his own proper but bitter experience: for his Stable is a very shop of all diseases; Glanders, Yellows, Fashions, Maladers, Curbs, Scratches, Staggers, Strangles, Ringbones, Windgalls, Navelgalls, Bogspaving, with a Myriad more of practical contingents become his familiar acquaintance. On these he daily practiseth, but rarely cureth. A Pack of Dogs he usually keeps, which he feeds with the provision of his own Stable: For he that used to carry one, in short space becomes Carrion. He holds shoes usel●…sse implements, for he seldom rides a bootl●…sse●…rrand ●…rrand. And now drawing near the end of his stage, he is neither much wiser nor richer, than when he first entered the world. His life as it properly resembles a post, (for it cannot have relation to an apt comparison) is now very nearly run out a breath. And yet observe the miserable condition of this Horse-fly! Though he never gained farther experience in the whole course of his life than the practice of some cureless cures, the distance of his own stage, to give a windy summons with his horn, and to hoist a pot of ale at the door, yet nothing is so bitter to him as the remembrance of his dissolution. His life was a Labour, his age a Pilgrimage, his service servitude. No rest, no repose, poor repast tasted he on earth: yet prefers he this Labour before a quiet and reposed harbour. Many years has he spent to small purpose; his hours are useless; his endeavours fr●…itlesse; and now after such a quotidian fever of an Hectick●… labour, being fallen from his horse, and out of request (by a writ of ea●…e) with that science he becomes worm's provender: for his Legac●…es, they are to be discharged out of arrearages ●…rom the Exchequer.   

16. A Quest-man  
IS a man of account for this year: yet of 〈◊〉 such honour i●… New-Troy, as he was in Old-Rome. He never goes withou●… his Notebook, w●…ich. 〈◊〉 ●…ee have so much Lati●…e, he 〈◊〉 ●…is VADE MECUM. Wher●… i●… he ha'●… th●… names of all the 〈◊〉, middle. sizemen, and 〈◊〉, wi●…hin his whole Ward. And this is all the m●…thod 〈◊〉 is r●…quired in his Common-place book. He is a sworn man; which Oa●…h serves an ●…njunction upon his Conscience to be honest Howsoever, he must be brought to account for it. The day of his Election is ●…ot more ready for him, than h●… fo●… it. He assumes upon h●…m a parcel of illb●…seeming gravit●…e; strokes his beard, as if it were the Dew-lap of his conce●…te; fetcheth an imperti●…ent 〈◊〉, purpo●…ely to pump for more wit; and co●…cludes with a set punctual gesture, laying his soape-besmeared hand upon his reverend breast: God make me an honest man. Whence he most ingenuously implies, that he is not as yet, made that man he should be: but much may be done in time. He keep●…s an ●…speciall Register of all such ●…nmates a●… nestle within his Ward: whose poverty must be squeezd to eas●… the richer; yet slighted with neglect for their labour. These he visits qua●…terly, which visitation they (poor Gnats) may properly term a plague; which in time they recover of, for it leaves not a token. Some treasure he hath under his hand, which he must return; he can convert very little to his own use, nor defeat the Parish of any house rend: for he has as wise men as himself in the Ward, who now in his life-time are made his Supervisors, to look to his fingers, that the pretended gravity or reverence of his person authorise him not to abuse his place. This makes many more unwilling to be so dignified; because much labour but small profit is to accrue it. Yet his wife's Pew in the Church is a mighty motive: for by this means she becomes exalted according to the dignity of his office, which with a most supercilious zeal she accepts; and doub●…s not but some of her neighbours will envy it. This place hath not put on more reverence in him, than state on her. Eye but her postures, and you will confess it. Her eye is wand'ring, wooing observance. Her f●…ote most gingerly paced, for more state-reservance. Her tongue too civ●…cally mincing, for vulgar attention. Mean time, this Questman he●… husband, the better to enable him for his place, becomes frequently versed in sundry ancient Precedents. He casts his eye behi●…de him, to see wh●…t was done before him: and he smiles at the simplicity of his preceding Officers; and turning to himself, most Sagely concl●…des: The●…e wanted thy sconce Boy. He is now a●…mitted (by 〈◊〉 of the reverence of his hairs) to the Learned Counsel of the Ward. Where he shoots his bolt with the foremost. Some Orders or Parochial constitutions, he has been long studying, which he purposeth the next Revestrie day to present to the rest of his worshipful Brethren, to the end they may be put in speedy execution. But l●…ke good purposes, (the more is the pity) they seldom take. After Evening prayer time, he descends immediately into the low Gallery, which he with the rest of the wise masters make their Consistory. Where (like good Parishioners, studious of the public good) they treat of all such abuses as are crept into the body of their Ward. While their censures become as ●…ifferent, as their persons; their voices as their places. One shows ●…imselfe a Paracelsian, and he professeth the cure of these maladies by minerals and incisions; another a Dioscoridan, and he holds them more curable by leniments, emplasters, and unctions; the third a mere Mountebank Florentine, who wraps up his receipts in a remnant of Rhetorical bombast, but never returns one healthful patient. So long, and as fruitless as long, debate they the cause and cure of these ●…normities, till an aged nod or two dissolve their Council: and summon them to a new 〈◊〉 upon expense of half pints a piece. Where they fall in, till some argument, whereof they are ignorant, make them fall out. All which time our 〈◊〉 scorns to be silent; as one desirous rather to speak to no purpose, ●…han not to speak at all. Some acquaint words hath he got, which he u●…derstands not; and these he useth upon all occasions. Neither are they more ignorantly delivered by him, than they are pitifully ad●…ired by them. It is a strange thing to observe how much he●… is improved since the last year: Neither is it possible to dive into the reason of it. For ●…ither is there some admirable secret faculty concealed from the judgement of man, in the Lining of a furred gown, or else it is to be wondered at, whence this late-bred sufficiency of his should proceed. But in this surely h●…e shows himself most wise, in that he communicates not his knowledge to any but the ignorant: for it is that makes his judgement pass for currant. But his year is now upon expiration; and his Account drawing to his preparation. Where Honesty and 〈◊〉 m●…ete, there cannot choose but be a good account. And in him neither can b●…e wanting; for his b●…ard shows the one, and his place proves the other. He cannot now show himself so shallow nor appear so silly, but he will retain the opinion of a deepehead-peece: For he is now o●…e of the Seniors. A very small portion of understandi●…g, and less of wit, will serve him to spin out the remainder of his time. For a Cipher in some place stands in more account, than a figure doth in another. What rests now, but that he rest, since his rents are collected, his account perfected, himself discharged, and another pewfellow, equal to him both for worth and wit, by general vote and voice elected?   

17. A Ruffian  
IS a roaring Dam without a Ruff. None more valiant than he in tongue, less resolute in heart. He has vowed to be ill-conditioned in all Companies; and to press a quarrel rather than miss it. A white-livered Soldier and a Gallant is the fittest patient he can practise on. One would think his very language would fall at odds with itself, and outbrave the Speaker. He has a dangerous eye, not to strike (for so I mean not) but to move one's patience to strike him. For a kind of uncivile contempt doth always attend his look, as base provoking language accompanies his tongue. He hath ranked himself with a troop of shallow uncivile Shallops, like himself: whose chiefest valour consists in braves, screwed faces, desperate mouchatoes, new-minted Oaths; all which moulded together, make a terrible quarter in an Ordinary. He wears more metal on his heel, than in his purse. He triumphs damnably on some stolen favour, be it lighter than a feather, and threatens mischief to him that will not pledge her. But it falls out many times, that he is bastinadoed out of this humour. You shall best distinguish him by a nasty neglectful carriage, accoutred with disdain and contempt, so as his very countenance is a Letter of Challenge to the beholder. Those which know him, rather jeer him, than fear him: for they experimentally know, that a Pigmy would beat him. And with such (forasmuch as his shoulders have felt their censure) he keeps a fair and civil quarter. His Sovereignty is shown highest at May-games, Wakes, Summerings, and Rush-bearings: where it is twenty to one but he becomes beneficial b●…ore he part, to the Lord of the Man our by means of ●… bloody nose or a broken pate. He will now and then for want of a better Subject to practise on, squabble with the Minstrel, and most heroically break his Drone, because the Drone cannot roar out his tune. The wenches poor souls, sh●…ke in their skins, fearing a mischief: and entreat their ●…hearts to give him fair language. All is out a square while he is there. But th●…se are but his 〈◊〉 pagea●…ts. He will i●…trude most frontl●…sly into any Company; and advance himsel●…e with the highest at an Ordinari●…; yet many times he eats far more than he can defray; yea, now and then he receives where he should disburse; a kick, I mean, from some surly Naprie groom, which serves in full discharge of his Commons. Never crept farthel of worse qualities into more choice and select companies. But these he cannot consort with long. For their Purses are too strong-stringed, their hearts too well- 〈◊〉, their hands too truly-metaled to veil to his b●…senesse. He must be discarded, and with disgrace, if he haste not. Suppose him then with his resty regiment dropping out of a three-pennie Ordinary: where the last man's Cloak is sure to be seized on for all the reckoning. But when the Cook eyes it more precisely, and considers how irreparably it is aged, he will not take it in full satisfaction of his hungry Commons, without some other pawn: which for fear of Clubs, they submissively condescend to: by disroabing one of their Complices, who may best spare it, of an ancient Buff-jerkin; whose laps you may imagine, by long use, so beliquored and belarded, as they have oil enough to fry themselves without any other material. Yet they cannot pocket up this indignity with patience: wherefore they vow to be revenged, which for most part, is as basely clozed. Next night the●…efore, these nitty Ha●…ters intent with strong hand to break his glass●…indow's, or at dead-time of night to pull down his Sign: and so ends their fair quarrel. To a play they will hazard to go, though with never a rag of mon●…y: where after the second Act, when the D●…ore is weakly guarded, they will make sorcibl●… entry; a knock with a Cudgel is the worst; whereat though they grumble, they rest pacified upon their admittance. Forthwith, by violent assault and assent, they aspire to the twopenny room; where being furnished with Tinder, Match, and a portion of decayed Barmoodas, they smoke it most terribly, applaud a profane jest unmeasurably, and in the end grow distastefully rude to all the Company. At the Conclusion of all, they single out their dainty Doxes, to clozeup a fruitless day with a sinful evening. Whereto (truth is) they repair, rather for relief then to relieve: yea, their house of sin becomes ofttimes their house of Correction: for when they will not pay for what they call for, Lais and her Laundry will return them their payment by assistance of such familiar Inmates, as she will make bold to call for. But suppose now this Ty●…darian Tribe dispersed, out of all civil societies discarded, and with no better entertainment than contempt, wheresoever received. Our Ruffian has left his Mates, and they him. Poverty has now seized on him; for his brain, it is as barren of a shift, as his back guiltless of a shirt. Those Iron tools of his, with which he affrighted his Scarecrows, hang now in Long-lane for a sign of the Sword and Buckler. His slashed Suit, like L●…bels or tart-papers hang peeee meal, estranged both from substance and colour. His yingling sp●…rre hath lost his voice, his head his lock; yea, his decayed Lungs the puff of a R●…rer. The wall now must be no Subject of quarrel; nor his distended Mouch●…to a Spectacle of terror. The extremest effects of hunger, have taken him off from standing upon points of honour. He would gladly encounter with death if he durst: But there was such distance betwixt him and the remembrance of it, during the whole progress of his unfruitful life, as now it startles him to entertain●… the least thought of death. Yet may this be one of his inferior comforts, he leaves nothing behind him, that may be termed properly his own, that is worth enjoying. In a word, he cannot be so weary of the World, as it was long since of him. Never was Creature less useful or more unfruitful; Let it content hi●…, that he hath prevented that contempt by dying, which he should have i●…curred daily by living.   

18. A Sailor  
IS an Otter; an Amphibium that lives both on Land and Water. He shows himself above Hatches in shape like a male Meeremaid, visible to the half body. He stands at his 〈◊〉, and holds out his hand to you, as if he craved your more acquaintance: where, though he tell you, that he is your first man, do not believe him: for his founder Zabul●…n was long after Adam. He never shows himself nimbler, nor contests with his fellows with more active vigour, than in shooting the Bridge at a Low water. He will hazard a life in a whirlwind without fear, rather than lose the benefit o●… his Fare. The breadth of an inch-boord is betwixt him and drowning, yet he●… swears and drinks as deeply, as if he were a fathom from it. His familiarity with death and danger, hath armed him with a kind of dissolute security against any encounter. The Sea cannot roar more abroad, than he within, fire him but with liquor. He is as watchful as a Crane in a storm, and as secure as a Dormo●…se in a calm. In a tempest you shall hear him pray, but so amethodically, as it argues, that he is seldom versed in that practice. Fear is the principal motive of his devotion; yet I am persuaded, for form sake, he shows more than he feels. He loves to fish in troubled waters, have an Oar in every man's boat, and to break the tenth Commandment in the conclusion of his lukewarmeprayer; hay, for a rich prize. He●… lives in a tottri●…g state, and he sits himself to it. He is as constant as the Moon in his resolves. So he can have Sea-room, no coast holds itself to be of more firm Land. If he play the Sea-sharke, and advance his fortunes by a precious prize: yet to spare his Executors that labour, he intends a course to leave them few ends of gold or silver. He must feed his valour with the liquid sp●…rit of some piercing Elixir: and thus he duck's and dives out his time like a true Didapper. He makes small or no choice of his pallet; he can sleep aswell on a Sack of Pumice as a pillow of down. He was never acquainted much with civility: The Sea ha'●… taught him other Rhetoric. Compassionate himself he could never much, and much less another. He has conditioned with the Sea not to make him sick: and it is the best of his conceit to jeer at a ●…ueasie stomach. He is more active than contemplati●…e, unless h●… turn Ast●…nomer, and that is only in cases of extremity. He is most constant to his shirt, and other his seldome-washed linen. He has been so long acquainted with the surges of the Sea, as too long a calm distempers him. He cannot speak low, the Sea talks so lo●…d. His advice is seldom taken in naval affairs; though his hand be s●…rong, his head-piece is stupid. He is used therefore as a necessary instrument of action: for he can spin up a rope like a Spider, and down again like a lightning. T●…e rope is his road, and the topmast his Beac●…n. One would think his body were wounded, for he wears pitch cloth upon it: but that is invulnerable, unless a bullet casually find out a Loop-hole, and that quite ripps up his Saile-cloath. He partakes much of the Chameleon, when he is mounted the topmast: where the air is his Diet-bread. His visage is an unchangeable var●…ish; neither can wind pierce it, nor Sun parch it. He ever takes worst rest when he goes to bed most sober. He will domineer furiously in the height of his Potation, but he is quickly cudgelled out of that humour by the Master of the house of Correction. He has coasted many Countries, arrived sundry havens, sojourned in flourishing Cities, and conversed with various sorts of people: yet call him to account, and you shall find him the unfruitfull'st Navigatour that ere you conversed with. Deep drinkers have ever shallow memories: He can remember nothing more precisely, than the great vessel at Heidelberg; affairs of ●…tate are above his sconce. It is his best Arithmetic to remember his months pay: and if necessity urge him not, he would scarcely think on that either. What a starveling he is in a frosty morning with his Seafrocke, which seems as if it were shrunk from him, and grown too short, but it will be long enough ere he get another? His Sign is always in Aquarius, unless he be in his pots, and then it is in Aries. He is of a Phlegmatic watery constitution; very little Sanguine, unless it be in a Sea-fight; wherein, though he expect no honour, he expresseth some dying sparks of valour, in hope to become sharer in a pyratical treasure. He hath an invincible stomach, which Ostridge-like could well-neare digest iron. He is very seldom subject to surfeit, or shorten the days of his watery P●…lgrimage with excess: unless it fall out upon rifling of Wines, that he endanger his Topsail with an over-charge. He is many times so long on Sea, as he fo●…gets his friends by Land. Associates he has, and those so constantly cleaving, as one voice commands all. Stairs cannot be more faithful in their society, than these Hanskins in their fraternity. They will brave it valiantly, when they are ranked together, an●… relate their adventures with wonderful terror. Yet these relations ever halt through want of Learning, which defect abridgeth the story of their deserving. Necessary instruments they a●…e, and Agents of main importance in that Hydrarchy wherein they live; for the walls of their state could not subsist without them: but least useful they are to themselves, and most needful of others supportance. They taste of all waters and all weathers: only the gale of prosperity seldom breathes on their sails: neither care they much for any such Companion. They ●…epe without fear of losing what they enjoy; and in enjoying little, they share in the less burden of cares. Yet it is much to be wondered at, that our Sailor should have such frequent occasion to erect his eye upward, and retain such servile dejected thoughts inward. He converseth with the Stars, observes their motions, and by them directs his Compass▪ Singular notions derives he from them, mean time he is blind to Him that made them. He sliceth the depths, and is ignorant of Him that confine●… them; he cutteth the surging swelling waves, and thinks not of Him that restrains them; he coasteth by the shel●…s, and forgets Him that secures him. True is that Maxim; Custom takes away the apprehension of passion. In the infancy of his Pro●…ession, there appeared not a billow before his eyes, which conveyed not a fear unto his heart. Numerous perils has he now passed, hourly objects of approaching danger are presented, yet these aswell as those equally slighted. Death he has seen in so many shapes, as it cannot amate him, appear it never so terrible unto him. Yet needs must that Enemy affright him against whom he comes, for whom he was never provided before he came. Well; suppose him now ●…rawing towards the Port, where all mortality must land. He has tugged long enough upon the Main, he must now gather up his vessels within the haven. He has drawn in his sails and taken adieu of the Sea: unless she show him so much kindness, as to receive him into her briny bosom, and entomb him dying, whom she entertained living: which courtesy if she tender him, the worms are deceived by him, for he goes not the way of all flesh, but the way of all fish, whose fry feeds on him, as their foref●…thers fed him.   

19 A Traveller  
IS a journeyman; but can never be freeman, till he be end●…nized in his own Country. He is troubled with a perpe●…uall migrim; at Sea he wisheth to be on Land, and on Land at Sea. He makes his life a right Pilgrimage, for he finde●… no place to abide in, but only to ●…ojourne in: so as the wand'ring jew may be his Emblem. The whole World is his Inn, where savage beasts aswell as reasonable men are his Inmates. He converseth with all Nations, and p●…rtakes of their natures: wh●…rein generally, ●…ice becomes a more attractive object than virtue. Whence it is, that he oftener i●…proves his knowledge, than his 〈◊〉; his language, than carriage. He takes a survey of this universe, in the sites of Cities, Country's a●…d Provinces; and observes what s●…emes most remarkable; mean time he observes himself so slightly, as o●…e can hardly distinguish the substance from the sh●…dow. Now he is for launching i●…to the deep●…; to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 stat●…s; 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 himself all the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…dy age wher●…in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 out some 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or other from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 make his fruitles●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…lued, himself 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his re●…urne mor●… 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 will usually lose 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…lated discourse of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: and if his memory 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, ●…mpe hi●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, ye●…, n●…w ●…nd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 absurd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…cipall Subject o●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 upon rare 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…ments, which he 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 su●…h ●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 er●…han ●…han 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 blazons as if he were their Herald: styling Constantinople the store-house of Greece; Paris the regal of France; Venice the eye of Italy; Florence the Seat of Beauty; Rome the Lady City▪ with her imprese: ORBIS IN VRBE. In which, as in all things else, he is merely titular. He can mould himself to all conditions, fashions & religions. But in all these three he returns for most part, far worse than before he went forth. In the first he has learned to be loose & lascivious; in the ●…econd, fantastically humorous; in the third, strangely superstitious. Some things he observes worth remembering, if he lived in an other age: but like an understanding Timist, he holds no concurrence with that fashion, which ag●…ees not with the humour of his Nation. Having now changed his air, and with continuance, his h●…ire, but not one of his ●…onditions; he reviewes his own Cou●…trey with a kind of disdainful loathing, as if there were nothing in it worthy l●…ving. He disvalues out rarities, disesteemes our beauties, j●…eres at our compliment, slights our entertainem●…nt, and clozeth up his u●…seasoned distaste with an interjection of admiration: O the rare objects that I have seen in my days! Then he runs on in a mere verbal circuit of affected discourse, which the ignorant only admire, and weaker than wome●… affect. Mean time, he introduceth some conceits of his own, as fashions in r●…quest: Whi●…h he seconds with high approv●…t, being his own 〈◊〉. A●…d that he might represent in himselse this pattern of perfection, and move others to imitate his postures: you may suppose him walking, like one ●…ade up 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 him, nor 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…ooke ●…o 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, no●… 〈◊〉 ●…composed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 accoutre him. With ●…hat c●…pt he 〈◊〉 ●… com●…▪ Co●…gie? And as if it we●… 〈◊〉, to a man of hi●… pl●…, 〈◊〉 to observe his distance, 〈◊〉 a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or ●…od▪ aswell as pace▪ 〈◊〉 will rectify that error too, to make those Co●…orts with ●…hom he deigns to converse, or com●…ate himsel●…e▪ every way acc●…d as himself. He●… hol●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 much engaged to his o●…ces: so highly hath 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with him▪ 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 b●…ught 〈◊〉 ●…o 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Now▪ should ●…ee 〈◊〉 ●…p 〈◊〉 〈◊〉▪ 〈◊〉 collect the be●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of his Tra●…▪ 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 expense of his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; 〈◊〉 ●…ould 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉 g●…eat, his 〈◊〉 ●…ts small: his ●…s 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 short of hi●… d●…. He is 〈◊〉, ind●…d, in that which this age calls co●…t He is all for your Serv●… Serva●…, and titles of lowest observance. He overcomes his Mistress' stomach with this overlarded protest; He lives not but by her, nor desires to live but for her; he plants his love in an equal diameter between Bellon●… and Minerv●…, reason and courage; yet is he no less barren of the one, than cool in the other. Or else, he marrieth with his instrument his voice, matched with an Italian Canto, and aired with more 〈◊〉, than he has pence in his Budget. This is the vintage of his Pilgrimage. He hath traced this Th●… of earth, and made himself the Emblem of what he is; much hath he seen, with many hath he conversed, and a full view hath he taken of this inferior globe. Div●…rsity of soils, variety of fruits, multiplicity of creatures h●…ve his eyes enjoyed, yet rest not satisfied; through many Coasts and Countries hath he travell●…d, yet his experience in those people's natures little improved; In sundry Cities hath he sojorned, yet from their knowledge now estranged. Merchants of unvalued fortunes hath he seen split, while their factors sported; ruined while they rioted. Cur●…izans he hath observed, their sumptuous state, the fuel of their maintenance, and how their Comic Scenes ever clozed with tragic Catastrophe●…s. Foreign savorites hath he marked, their projects, designs, ●…vents: What fair flourishes their first admittance to their Prince's p●…esence showed; how soon tho●…e fading blossoms of vading glory were nipped. Stately and sumptuous statues of victorious Champions hath he eyed, their inscriptions perused, and trampled upon those scattered ashes (the remains of a greater work) which sometimes were with the b●…eath of fame enlivened. Thus great stones are become great men's covers. No distinction betwixt the Noble and Ignoble, save only that the higher Peer●… is crushed with the heavier pills. High and goodly structures brought to rubbish, and flourishing states to ruin, hath he noted. And now drawing towards his own native so●…le; he admireth nothing more, than to see hospitality so much honoured abroad, and so contemp●…ible at home. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Househol●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. He goes to the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 knocks, but the Court●…a's ●…a's swallowed up the hall; this complete Peregrine may sooner break his neck thun his fast; which makes him cry out most passionately, forth of a sensible compassion of his own necessity: O the 〈◊〉 of Hospitality which I have seen! But by this time, his Carier●… through the world hath made him weary. He has a great desire for the benefit of his Country (as he pretends) to communicate these lean scraps of his starved Travails to the world. Published he would have them (according to the Eratas of his life): in folio: but so indigested are his collections, and so illaborate his style, as the Stationer shuns them like a Noli me tangere, fearing their sale. Well; though the World will not receive them; long winter-nights and his Neighbours credulous ears shall enter●…aine them. Where having told his tale, he hopes out of the wide Circumference of his Trav●…iles, to find so much ground as will afford him a grave.   

20. An Undersheriff.  
IS a master of fence; and by deputation, the Co●…ntenance of of the County wherein he lives▪ The Kings Letters he opens as familiarly, as if they were but neighbourly commends: and bring●… more unwelcome salutes from the Prince, to his Subject, than he hath thanks for. Wai●…es and strays he impounds in his pocket: for Felo●…s goods, he compounds for them at his own rate: all which he doth by virtue of his Office, if there be any virtue extant in it. A terrible pother he keeps with his repledges and distresses: the State could hardly subsist without such a grave▪ Censor. He professeth more execution than judgement. A great portion of his discretion is incorporated in his Whi●…e staff: which is as terrible to a yealous debtor, as death's head to an ●…surer. If he attemper his Office with the balm of con●…ivence, it binds an ample recompense. Next to whetting one's knife at the Counter-gate, I hold it the 〈◊〉 assay to affront him▪ If you would gratify him, a better turn you cannot do him, than by turning Informer at the Sheriff's turn. Where, presentments of decayed ways, But●…, Bloodsheds, with other enormities, are no less beneficial to the public state in their redress, than to his private stock upon the distress. Notable cunning Terriers he hath beside, of all sorts and sizes; some to rouse and raise his game; Others of lighter temper to have it in hot pursuit: the last sort on whom he principally relies, being stronger and stiffer, to close & grapple with his prey, and bring it down. Thus he sh●…wes himself every way more active than 〈◊〉. He is of an excellent memory: for if you cannot remember your debts yourself, he will put you in mind of them. His head is many times full of Proclam●…tions, which, he cannot rest, till he vent. He would make a strange Secretary, for he will not stick to cry at the Cross, what he hears. He tenders all serviceable observance to his Superiors, a kind of slight acquaintance to his equals, but a disdainful contempt to his inferiors. By help of some Law-presidents, he retains the elements of that profession, which he makes singular use of: though he●… be no sworn Att●…rney, he can accept grat●…ities in lien of fees; and by means of his i●…bred ingenuity, alter the propriety of them. He is much conversant in the Statutes: employing a great part of his time in an useful exposition, or rather inversion of them. He would gladlybring in profit, and keep him●…elfe within compass of statute. This is the the highest pitch of knowledge, which his vocation calls him to: and this he hopes conference and experience in time will bring him to. Authority is his sole Subterfuge in all his extremities: which (by abusing his Author) many times leaves him in his own hand. In the Subject of wr●…gs; he is oftener active than passive. None can justly lay an aspersion on him, which he hath not some underhand 〈◊〉 to take to. It is his constant Te●…et; So long as the root holds untainted, the inferior sprigs and si●… may be supported: but when it grows shaken, the branches must needs suffer. So long as he holds up his head, his Nits may find harbour: but squeeze him, and and they are starved for ever. He yearly improves his place by some useful project or other, which he leaves as a Memorial of his love, and argument of his wit to all succeeding Professors in that Cra●…t. He never served as Apprentice to Plasterer or Mason, and yet he knows the craft of da●…bing; and he will lay it on before he suffer disgrace. Crimes require Curtains; Spiders their ●…auls. Places of Office must be unct●…s if vici●…s. But service is no inheritance; lest therefore in process of time, either he should grow weary of his place, or his place of him; like a provident Pismire, he begins now in his Summer, to store up against wi●…ter. Fi●… and amercia●…ents must enhance his rents and hereditaments: for which he contracts now and then with the Clerk of the Market, whom he palpably gulls, and consequently proves; All Clerks are not the wisest men. Such a parcel of ground butts near him, and is an eyesore to him: gladly would he have it, though the owner have neither mind nor need to sell it. His brains must plot for this purchase; and his witty Genius, after long plodding, hath found a way to supple him. Contempts, which this simple Snake never dreamed of, must be forth with levied. No interplea nor demur will serve; he must timely prevent the occasion, and remove the ground (which is the ground-●…ork of his disquiet) from him and his heirs for ever, by accepting a low price to purchase his own peace, and make the Vn●…ersheriffe his friend. Of two extremes the lesse is to be chosen; thus s●…rues he himsel●…e i●…to every convenient bargain. By this time, so important are his affairs at home, as they estrange him from employments abro●…d. His nimble f●…rrets must ●…ow b●…ome pioneers for their 〈◊〉; ●…ho coupes them, lest they should grow too fat to endure labour. Suppose him then, who was once a man in his time, and an experienced professant; One, who had been acquanted with most ●…rits except holy writ; served Precepts many, but observed few; retired like a Cricket to his Oven-mouth: where he warms himself well without, having cold comfort to warm him within. During the whole progress of his time he was for gathering, the residue of his days he be●…owes in disposing. Hopeful Cubs he hath to confer his hopeless state on. No matter; their ●…arth-resolving father's fines make them fine; his amerci●…ents cause them div●… deep into the Mercer's book. Now the Web of his fading fortunes i●…terwoven with the injurious warp of dishonest practices, is to b●… divi●…d 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 i●… sh●…dds and 〈◊〉. So mu●…h he 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…d h●…ire, wh●… 〈◊〉 ●…o 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…irst and last of h●… 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to his second; so much ●…o his ●…rd: with comp●… portio●…, to b●…tter his daughter's proportion●…. Mean time, (see the fatal overture of this wiseman's providence!) He is called to an account before his time, (yet all in due time) for ar●…erages to the high-sheriff his Master, and abuse of his place. His whole estate will hardly repay the st●…. He would gladly come off fair, and I cannot blame him: But his Pi●…ce road still at Harbour till now: an unexpected ●…mpest hath assailed him: And he ●…ust make speedy restitution for all his pillage. He could dispense well enough with Conscience, and gain by the C●…ntract: but the misery of it is, he finds himself now at last a prisoner and in bonds to the Sheriff●…; whereby he stands bound to keep him harmel●…sse (but well had it been for his Country if he had proved so:) which security is the argument of his T●…agedie. It w●…e not amiss that he altered his Will, and (though much against his will) made his Mast●…r his sole Exec●…tor. It must be so: Thus by prowling to get all, he has fool d himself out of all: O●…ely, he may go with more peace to Earth, since he has made so clear account on Earth. It were a si●…ne to disq●…iet him, since he 〈◊〉 his Quie●…us est with him.   

21. A Wine-soaker  
IS an ingenious Engine, that runs 
A 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  on Wheels. If one of the wits, he is a m●…rry Cricket, or a muddy Critic; a witty waggish Brain●…-worme, and can solely hug a pot, as if it were his darling. He is mighty valiant, for he dare be drunk; And desperate if he be challenged, for his weapons are pot-g●…ns. By this time he hath called the Drawer's rogues, with much facility, yet (as he is a true Northern Blade) joys in their felicity. And now, for it grows late, he hath had his Evening lecture, and trenching home, suppor●…ed by his friendly Impress●…r, makes every foot an Indenture. He calls the Scavingers wife familia●…ly 〈◊〉 ●…ough 〈◊〉 be as 〈◊〉 as o●… of 〈◊〉 ●…gher 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉, ●…rough 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of, long 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 f●…ll (if the Cell●… 〈◊〉 be open) and unsealing hi●… eyes, seeing the consorts of iniquity, cli●…ging close to a pot in the nook of a Chimney, he ●…owes himself thrice blessed to have fallen into so sweet and sociable a Company. By this, he falls further; whence a P●…danticall 〈◊〉 starts up, and asks him; What says th●… Pr●…phet? And he answers; H●… bade 〈◊〉 go●… seek my fath●…rs Asses, a●…d having found them to 〈◊〉 again. After him struts up a most Thrasonical Thraskite, and asks him; What saith th●… Calydonia●… Po●…: And he answers, That the 〈◊〉 ●…f an Ass in the 〈◊〉 of a Cella●…, t●… an illiterate gull is a d●…licate 〈◊〉. He loves sometimes ●…o take the ay●…, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 strong b●…th th●… 〈◊〉 ●…ffords. Wh●…re h●…s 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 encounters with a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, w●…ich sa●…kes his ●…all, make●… his 〈◊〉 c●…t 〈◊〉 E●…glish, his supporte●…s 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thei●… pos●…ures, ●…nd 〈◊〉 da●…gerously. By this time his 〈◊〉 is heard, and ●…ow th●…s val- 〈◊〉 grown 〈◊〉, ●…uld fig●…t i●… he k●…w how 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 his sally out a door●… if he●… 〈◊〉 find it. Ye●… he will out●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…o rem●…die, a●…d stalk h●…meward, ●…hough it be la●…e 〈◊〉 ●…he 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 in 〈◊〉 ●…ay, 〈◊〉 he u●…happily ●…ll into ●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, he tax●…h ●…he 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 la●… do●…res so 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a●… 〈◊〉 time a ●…ight. Y●…t 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 if he can 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 i●… som●… bl●…de, Alley, he terribly affrights the Passenger if he meet any: For he coasts here and there, as if it were Saint Anthony's fi●…e, or some ignis fatu●…s; whereas, his cressetflaming nose is the sole incendiary of these Chimaeras. He has a mighty desire to squabble with the Watch; but the inarticulate motion of his tongue makes those illiterate R●…g-gownes think he speaks Heathen Greek. So as their compassion to a stranger, which they gather by his strange language, moves them to commiserate his case; This gets him a Lantern and a conductor; but for his lodging, he is ne'er a whit the nearer, for he has quite forgot his plantation. Thus th●…n like Hippocrates twins walk these two coupled together, but secure from danger, for a watchman's Lantern is a Drunkards Supersedeas. Gladly would this frozen Sentinel return to his charge, and leave his luggage: but he clings to him like the bark to the tree; he calls this goat-bearded Groom his Amaryllis, and he will love her eternally. At last his A●…aryllis (this officer I mean) persuades him for want of a bed to take a nap on a bench till the morning: but he has so much wit as to scorn advice, preferring this walk in his Gallery (for so he terms it) before the repose in his pall●…t. It is a wonder with what extravagancies he entertains his conductor: who admires his l●…arning, if he were himself. By this, the blind Lantern grows surfoot, sleepy, and thirsty; along therefore with his same (like a night-roving Lazarell●…) he accosts a Taphouse boldly, thumps stoutly, and by virtue of his au●… ●…ters courageously. 〈◊〉 a dozen quencheth the Officious Salamander's thirst, ●…nd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●…andring 〈◊〉 t●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; ●…here he is left ●…o t●…e 〈◊〉 c●…re, or Drawers cure; P●…r t●…e charge it is his, if hi●… coyn●… 〈◊〉 a●…swere: howsoever, a good 〈◊〉 never shamed his master. 〈◊〉 ●… word, he i●… in the Evening, what you shall not find him in the Morning. He takes leave of th●… Draw●…r▪ with a solemn●… salute 〈◊〉 i●…●…e were dyi●…g; and so he is, for h●…e 〈◊〉 and dropp●…s down d●…ad at the ●…nd of a reckoning.   

22. A Xantippean  
IS a Scold in English. The wheel o●… her tongue goes with a perpetual motion: yet she spits more than she speaks: and never spits but in spite. She is never less at ease, than when she is quiet; nor better pleased, than when the whole family is displeased. She makes every place where she comes, an 〈◊〉, and rails it about at her own proper charge. She is never at quiet but when she is at rest, nor at rest, but when she is sleeping, nor then neither; for purposely she awakes the house with a terrible fit of snoring. A Burr about the Moon is not half so certain a presage of a tempest, as her Brow is of a storm. L●…urell, hawthorn, and Seale-skinne are held preservatives agai●…st th●…nder; but no ●…ceite can be found so sovereign as to still haet clamour. She makes such a pattering with her lips, as if she were pos●…st; and so she 〈◊〉, with the spirit of cont●…ntion. She is wormwood in bed, and a Chafing-dish at board. She cannot possibly take cold, for she is ever in a heat. She holds no infirmit●… worse than to be tongue-●…de. She loves a good bit but hates a bridle. It is a wonder she fell not fowl with the Priest, when she was married. Many times since hath she cursed him, but he fears no worfe. Methinks I see the creeping Snail her husband, bless him, as if there were Lightning, when he comes in her presence. She has either quite forgot his name, or else she likes it not, which makes her re-baptise him with names of her own. She accosts him with such fresh but furious encounters, as he sneak's away from her like a Tr●…ant from his Master. He is never more homely used than at home: so as to comfort his cold stomach, and encourage him all the better against his next encounter, he hath challenged a pot of Ale to enter lists with him in a single combat. The challenge is entertained, the field pitched, the weapons provided. Where, though the pot lose more blood, yet the Challenger gets the foil. Home he would go, if he could go, but he must f●…st learn to stand before he go▪ and so by holds till he crawll home. M●…netime, suppose him now 〈◊〉 out his Indentures at le●…gth▪ obse●…ving his recoils and r●…treits, and spen●…ing half the night and more in his short journey. Moonlight he needs not, for he hath a nose in grain to guide him, which, were his eyes matches, would quickly fire him. But see the strength of imagination! While his crazy vessel is rolling homeward, a sudden panic fear suggests to his fantasy ever working, the apparition of a spirit now approaching. Betwixt two ways, perplexed with two minds, he stands amazed; fear bids him retire, and desire bids him go on. And so strange hath his resolution wrought with him, as he intends not only to go on his way, but to expostulate the case with this imaginary Hoblin that bids him stay; and thus he encounters it, having first blessed him, to make him more suc●…ssive in the conquest of it: If tho●… be'st a good spirit, thou wilt do m●…e no harm, such is my affiance; and if the Devil himself, thou hast ●…o reason to do me harm, for I married thy sister, and claim thy alliance. But this Spirit in a sheet, is presently transformed into some sheep, so as his fear (if he had so much apprehension left him) is to reflect more on his Spirit at home, than this in the way: for this was but seemingly visible, whereas that he goes to, will prove personally sensible. He finds her asleep, but muttering words of revenge: which upon her awaking (and long may it be first) she makes show of, by grinding he●… teeth, b●…ting her fist, and other outward tokens, fully to execute. All this while, he sleeps sound without rocking, till an unseasonable correction awake him. Now the Wasp is raised; the horn●…t roused. Sure he is to be caperclawed; Cap a pe, he hath ●…o sense for it. He must bear it off with he●…d and shoulders, and arm himself with patience, against all encounters. Every look she darts is a lash to sco●…rge him; Every Word she speaks is a wound to g●…ll him.  — Non vox hominem sona●…, O Lea certe! 
Happy were he, if the World were rid of him, or he of her. Gladly would he reclaim her without shame, or disclaim in her his share: But as she hates ever to admit of the former, so he despairs of the happi●…es to partake of the later. Sundry distract●…d thoughts do perplex him; sometimes he thinks verily, that this ill-agrement betwixt them, proceds either from some ceremony in his marriage negle●…ted▪ or some circum●…e or other om●…tted, or that the ba●…es of 〈◊〉 were not duly published, or sure in some point or other they were not rightly married. So as, gladly would he (if the orders of the Church would permit it) be remarried, to try for once a conclusion, if he cou●…d prevent his former disquiet, by an old ma●…riage new solemnised: but his Pastor smell●… his drift, and will by no means condescend to so irregular a motion: fearing (by all likelihood) th●…t when he comes to the giving of this woman to this man, he will not take her but leave her in his own hand. But his indifferency little troubles her: her only fear is, that she cannot pick quarrels enough to baste him: which afflicts her above comparison. If a●…y one reprove her for it, she twitts them with ignorance, replying, she knows better than they what is good for him; and she seconds her assertion with natural reading. If cudgelling be useful to the Walnut tree, to make it fruitful, a little correction seasoned with discretion, cannot do amiss to make her husband more dutiful. This causeth him to resolve some times of more violent conclusions: for he thinks with himself, how desperate sores must have desperate cures. He vows therefore, to bring her in all disgrace to the Cucking-stool; and she vows again, to bring him with all contempt to the stool of repentance. Thus, tread he never so softly, this 〈◊〉 will turn again. There is no humour (so strangely is she humorous) can affect her; no conceit, how pregnant or present soever, delight her; no company, how affable or sociable soever, content her. She is apt to interpret what she hears, evermore to the worst sense. More captious than capable of offence. Impatient of any one's praise. Attentive to the report of their disgrace. Only ●…trong in will, which she counterpoizeth with want of worth. All her neighbours bless them from her: wishing this quotidian fever of her tongue cured with a raz●…r. She hath lived to a fair hour; for wheresoever she comes, she may have the room herself. She needs neither contend nor contest for priority of place, nor precedency at table, nor opinion in argument; herself serves for a whole mess, for her Gossips have left her. Well for all this, there is a meager, rawboned shrimp, that dare and will accost her. He is not one of many words, though she be. But his will is his law; which none can oppose, much less prevent, with price, prayer, power, or policy. Her unpeaceable tong●… must now be bound to good behaviour; a lasting silence must charm it. This her Neighbours hear, that she is laid speechless, (which assures them she cannot live long:) to her therefore they repair, to perform the last office of Christian charity, and commend her (with all their hearts) to Earth, implying how weary they were of her company. Her funeral solemnity is the first day of her husband's jubilee: for all the wrongs she did him on Earth, she has made him sufficient amends now by her death. Howbeit, he, on whom by general suffrage of the Gods, the golden Tripod was first bestowed, and to whom our Zantipp●… was espoused, held that currish opinion of Timon fit to be exploded; who wished all Women suspended, blessing all such fruit, trees, as were so plentifully stored: to whose milder judgement I appeal; clozing with the Poet.  

Cursed be the Tree which Timon 
〈◊〉 procul●…●…strts Timonia ficus ab h●…, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ramis sacta se●…cta 〈◊〉.  blessed,  
Cursed be his hateful vows,  
Women were made in Bowers to hug.  
And not to hang on Bow●…s.    

23. A Yealous Neighbour  
IS an E●…ve-dropper. He would make an excellent Rat-catcher, for he is creeping and sneaking in every corner. Though he have no argument whereon to ground his credulous suspicion, his imagination suggests to▪ him variety of matter, which serves for fuel to feel his distemper. The sign with him is ever in Aries, as he is strongly conceited. The next year he will be a high-flyer, for he is this year a Brancher. He dare not for an empire go a hunting, lest his dogs take him for Actaeon, and so worry him. His blood is foully infected, which a●…yes him desperately with the yellows. The Bird Galgulus hath first eyed him, which makes him labour of an incurable jaundice. He would pawn his estate for those two rings of Gyges' and Hans Carvile, but the latter he holds fitter for his purpose, though the former might make him an invisible Cuckold. He looks with a meager complexion, which discovers his inward infection. He feels not a pimpl●… in his forehead, which publisheth not his fat●…. Sometimes he will expostulate his wrongs himself, and say; Well; what remedy? I am neither the first nor last; Patie●… shall be my plaster. M●…ane time, he is as patient as a Wasp or an Hornet. He will scarce credit his own eyes, when he sees nothing but actions of modesty: all which he imagines m●…re deceptions of sight; purposely to gull his ignora●…ce, and gild s●… with a Saintly holiness. He hears all that neighbour near him, or resort unto him, say, They never saw Children liker their father; and 〈◊〉 (replies he) no●… one of them all is like an other. He is a little Puritanically affected, the private conventicles he affects not. He feeds his humour more with sh●…dowes than substance. Travail he would to the next market town, in hope of profit; but he turns back before he come half way there, to take her napping to his own discredit. He is sometimes resolved to proclaim his shame, but he fears by that means, he shall increase his shame, and add to the number of her acquaintance. How like a silly man he looks in the presence of his wife and a proper attendant? Wha●… a dejected eye he casts upon himself, and how ●…lous he is of this stranger's Countenance? He feels, whether his ears go not through his Nightcap; and if his forehead begin not to burgeon. He bids his Apprentice look to his foreman, and acquaint him with what he hears or sees. He calls the Shoemaker impudent knave, for pulling on his wife's shoe; and offering to beat him, wisheth it were his Last: and that, as he is ever working his own ends, he may have a speedy end. He exclaims grievously against her Body-maker, and inverting his name, calls him directly Baud-maker: he vows to strip his Corporation stark naked, and lash him with Whalebone. He buys his wife's gowns ready made, fearing (belike) some false measure from the Tailor. In her presence he fetcheth a deep sigh, semi-breved in these words: Well; she might be honest, if she had so much grace; I have been held a proper man in my time. You shall find him by whole hours together eave-dropping under his Lettuce, or peeping through a Keyhole, purposely to take her napping. Never man took more pains to add fresh fuel to his affliction. He could wish with all his hart, that it were enacted by the whole house of Parliament for fornication to be F●…lony. He hath solemnly vowed, never to take journey when either the Sign is in Ari●…s, 〈◊〉, or Capric●…. When the Lion banished all hor●…-beasts his Court, it was impossible for me (saith he) to turn Co●…rtier. He had some smattering in the Elements of all Learning, but he has forgot all, and now like a Tr●… must turn back to his Horne-book●…. Thus he trifles out his time in the discovery of his own sh●…me. He hunts all the day long from chamber to chamber: and lest Locks or bolts might become a Supersedeas to shield her dishonour, he resolves to keep open-●…ouse to give more air to his Larder, though he suffer pillage for his labour. He hath la●…ly created a new Officer, who every evening cries, H●…ng out your La●…thorne and Candlelight maids; The Night is dark, and the entry long; timely preventions is the life of policy. With his wife sleeping and waking he keeps diapason; he wakes till she sleep, lest she should give him the slip. His sleeps are shor●… and troubled: and when he awakes, the first thing he does, is seeking whether she be there or no. He looks sometimes as if he were affrighted; but it is his own 〈◊〉 that haunts him: yet were his wife all ●…pirit and no substance, he should be less affrighted. He dare not for a world look himsel●…e ●…▪ th' glass, lest he should eye his own 〈◊〉. He holds that a wife may ●…e her husband o●…e of the strangest 〈◊〉 in Europe. He 〈◊〉 he could sustain nature without sle●…p, that he might take full●…r view of his wives nightwo●…ks. He is ●…ever less drunk with this distemper, th●…n when he is distempered with liquor: and then he gives best opportunity, but sees it not. He hath but lately stepped into an office, and that one of the lowest in all his Ward, yet he verily thinks that the whole Ward holds him for one of the headmen of their Parish. Store of Biscuit, W●…fers and C●…eawayes he bestows at his Child's Christening, yet are his cares nothing lessened; he is persuaded, that he may eat his part of this Babe, and never break his fast. H●…e presents himself for a Gentleman-Ush●…r to his wife, when her humour is for taking the air: before whom he walks most pedantically stoic●…ll, yet with a r●…cting eye, lest some fiend should steal away his Proserpina. In a word, his yealous mind, and his two suspicious eyes are the Hesperid●…s, his Wife the golden grove; whose fruit is so mellow, as he fears it will fall before the time. It is in vain to apply any receipts to cure his malady; no Unicorn's horn can poss●…bly help this poisovous infection. Suspicion once grounded, and by continuance hardened, can scarcely by force of any argument be removed. For all this, howsoever it fare with him touching his r●…ll estate, it thrives well with him in his p●…onall; for he has store o●… Cornucopia. He is by this time as weary of the world, as his wife is of him. He would gladly leave it, but there is something he so dotingly loves in it, as he cannot find in his heart to forgo it, unless along with him he might carry it. He knows how to dispose of his goods, but not of all his moveables. He doubts another must possess, what he enjoyed with so much care: and jeer at his follies, whilst his Successor supplies his place. He would articulate with his wife, if he had so much hope in her constancy; or opinion of his own deserts, to expect from her so much loyalty; clozing his short-lived words with these passionate interbreaths; Nay surely, I shall be s●…one forgotten. Her protests cannot remove from him this conceit; it were to no purpose therefore for her to promise what he neither will believe, nor she intends to perform. His eyes now begin to shroud themselves in their lodges. He hath by this disposed of all things that are in his power, even to that vessel of frailty, his earth-reverting body, which (according to his mind) is to be buried in some Cell, Roach, or Vault, and in no open place, lest Passengers (belike) might stu●…ble on his grave. Meat for his funeral pie is shred, some few ceremonial tears on his funeral pile are shed; but the worms are scarce entered his shroud, his corpse-flowers not fully dead, till this Yealous Earthworm is forgot, and another more 〈◊〉, but less yealous, mounted his bed.   

24. A Zealous Brother  
IS a sure stake t●… his Sist●…r; He sets forth in an Amsterdam print his faith and works in two several tomes, and in two different volumes; the fi●…st in folio, the latter in Decimo Sexto. He is an Antip●…s to all Church government; When she feasts he fasts; when she fasts▪ he feasts; Good-Fryday is his Shrove-Tuesday; He commends this notable carnal caveat to his family; Eat flesh upon day●…s 〈◊〉, it is good against Popery: He buys a Blank-Almanack, to set down his conventi●…le hours. Breach of promise with the 〈◊〉, he holds an indifferent err●…r, but with his Sister it is piacular. T●…ere is nothing so far out of tun●… in his ●…are as Church-musicke. He keeps a 〈◊〉 quarter in his sinful Syn●…dalls, and denounceth an heavy woe upon all Wakes, Summerings, and Rush-bearings: preferri●…g that Act, whereby Pipers were mad●… 〈◊〉 by Act of Parliament, before any in all the Acts and Monuments. His Band is a Diminutive, but his chol●…r a Su●…erlative, if he be provok'●…▪ He is so 〈◊〉 with i●…spiration, as he holds it a disti●…sting of the Spirit to use pr●…meditation. No spirit can affright him so much in any shape, as in the habit of a Sirpecloath. He ever takes the Cross on his left hand, to avoid superstition. He has bountiful Benefactors, from whom he receives weekly presents; and they know his mind: Half Sacrifices are abominable; This faithful Family is his Monopoly; he has ingrossed them to himself; he feeds on them, while he feeds them. His frequent preaching leaves him no time to pray in; He can stand better than he can 〈◊〉. He loves mix●… societies, and he takes this from the Ark, where there was a Male and Female of every kind. He avoucheth, that learned Lily most orthodoxally proved the undoubted necessity of matrimony in the presbytery, in his declination of hic & h●…c sacerd●…s. He holds his Mother tongue to be the Original tongue; and in that only he is constant, for he hath none to change it withal. He wonders how Babel should have such a confused variety of tongues, and he understand but one. He never reads any Author, lest he should be held for an Apocryphal P●…stor. One would take him for an incessant Student by his pale visage and enfeebled body; but the bent of his studies intends more the practic than Theoric. He is seldom or never constant to those Tenets he holds: which proving for most part scarce Orthodoxal, do usually convent him: which makes him grow in great request with the purely-ignorant. He holds all Bonds bearing date at Lammasse, Michaelmas, Candlemas, or any Mass whatsoever, to be frustrate and of no effect; but by changing mass into tide, they become of full force and virtue. Matins and U●…spers he holds two dangerous words; he loves not to hear of the●…. He maintains equality in Presbytery; but if the necessity of time be such, as a Superintendent be requisite, his zealous followers hold none si●…ter to supply that place than hi●…selfe. For the decision of all doubts, difficulties, and differences he makes a private family his revestry. Whatsoever tends to the doctrine of mortification, he holds for Romish: abstinence therefore he avoucheth to be an error newly crept into the Church; but if you put this Inter gatorie to him, in what time it crept, this weaklyread Depone●…t knoweth not. No season through all the year accounts he more subject to abomination than Bartholomew fair: Their Drums, Hobbihorses, Rattles, Babies, Ie●…trumps, nay Pigs●…nd ●…nd all are wholly I●…daicall. The very Booths are Brothels of iniquity, and distinguished by the stamp of the Beast. Yet under favour, he will authorise his Sister to eat of that unclean and irruminating bea●…t, a Pig, provided, that this Pig be fat, and that himself or some other zealous Bro●…her accompany her: and all this is held for authentic and canonical. Though he seem all spirit, yet during his being in this Tabernacle of clay, he holds it fitting to have a little relish of the flesh. He prefers the union of bodies before the union of minds; and he holds no unity worse than churchconformity. He conceives more inveterate hate towards the Church of Rome, than the temple of Mecha: and could find with all his heart rather to embrace the traditions of the latter, than submit to the discipline of the former. His devotion consists rather in elevation of the eye, than bending of the knee. In his extemporal Se●…mons he is a son of thunder, denouncing terror, but seldom hope of favour to the ●…jected si●…ner. This desperate 〈◊〉 he continues, and holds them till night, and then leaves them Children of darkness. He thumps a pulpit pitifully, as if he were angry; but if he be, it is with those only that come short in their oblations. He baptizeth his Children with Scripture-names; wherein only he shows the depth of his reading. Yet in these he mistakes miserably, for want of E●…ymology; taking AMAN for AMON, DIANA for DINA. He holds one probable Tenet constantly; That there are no walking Spirits on earth; and yet he finds a terrible one at home: which all his Divinity cannot conjure. This hath made him sometimes, to have a months' mind to go for Virginia, to save souls: till he right wisely considered, how the enterprise was full of peril, and that he wanted materials to defray the charge of his Travel. Of all Sects of Philosophers, he cannot endure to hear of the Academics; for he never came amongst them. Of all metals, he hates Latin: for he hath heard how it was sometimes the Roman tongue; and that cannot choose but be Schismatical. He fears no shot so much as that of the Canon; for it enjoins him to that which he most hates, Conformity. He would beyond Sea, but his Duck will not swim over with him: which makes him peremptorily conclude; She is better fed than ta●…ght. He was once in election to have been a Vice-verger in Amsterdam, but he wanted an audible voice. Howsoever, he is holden a great Rabbi amongst his Brethren, whose weakness he strengthens with perilous paradoxes: which when he comes to explain, he as littl●… understands as his amazed hearers. He was pleased sometime to make so bold with affairs of State, Church-government, with otherlike Subjects far above his verge, as a late asthma has taken him, and restrained him to a perpetual silence. This makes his illiterate brutes to double their pensions for his maintenance; and to idolise him the more, because taken notice of by the State. And now he is altogether for his private Lectures; where he vents such unauthenticke stuff, as it proves pregnantly from what spirit it comes. He now takes time to intend controversies, which he secretly commenceth amongst his own Familists, against the Communion Book and Book of common Prayer. Anthems and Versicles he holds papistical; sundry other ●…xceptions he finds no less criminal. But these quarrels become Conv●…ntuall, and he must answer them. In the end, the contemptibleness of his person, with the weakness of his fortunes, rid him out a briers: while now, after so many alterations in matters of religion, he purposeth to have some little bartering with the world, be●…ore he go out of it, lest his poor progeny curse him that ever he came in it. But truth is, he shows the necessity of his 〈◊〉 in nothing so much as in w●…nt, which only makes him out of love with the world, and gives him the true mark of a Schol●…r. Some he hath to provide for, if he knew how: but he must leave them, being abj●…cts through poverty, objects of charity; yet has he no great reason to expect that his brood should partake of those good works now after his death, which he could never endure to hear so much as commended all his life. By this our C●…rnelius is become Tacitus, since he dropped into his bathin-tub, where he left his hair, and lost his honour: since which time, he is quite fall'n off from his zeal●…us Br●…threns favour: for the damp of his life hath so darkened the light of his doctrine, as now for want of audience, he may save himself a labour. Thus reft of friends, fortune, health and liberty, he clozeth his Evening Lecture with a senseless Lethargy. There is nothing now that troubles him so much in his sickness, as that the Bells shall ring for him after his death. Which to prevent, he hath taken course with his Executor to give the Sexto●… nothing; purposely to put the Bel●…rey to ●…ilence▪ Some 〈◊〉 he hath of his own, who howl not so much that he s●…ould leave them, as that nothing is left them.   

&c  
IS the most notorious Knave 
1. Almanac-maker.  picked out of all these: As 1. if under colour of Astrology, he practise the Art of Necr●…ncy.  
2. If Nick Ballader contract 
2. Ballad-monger.  with Bully Purser, to get him a base booty from a Ninny new●…om'd forth a Country.  
3. If he abuse foreign States, 
3. Corranto-coiner.  and gull the Reader to cram his belly.  
4. If he shark where he hath 
4. Decoy.  ●…ngag'd his heart, and prove disloyal to his fraternity.  
5. If he vent base ware with 
5. Exchange-man.  oaths, and improve his Exchange by perjury.  
6. If he ra●…nge without his 
6. Forrester.  Pale, and make the country fo●…termother to his progeny.  
7. If he profess himself honest, 
7. Gamester.  and publish himself Cheat upon discovery.  
8. If o●…r H●…spitall-man pretend 
8. Hospitall-man.  but zeal, and prise piety as the Miser hospitality.  
9 If our I●…yler tyrannize over 
9 jailer.  his Ten●…nt▪ and triumph in his misery.  
10. If the Keeper neglect his 
10. Keeper  soul, and prepare not for her delivery.  
11. If she wash her skin, but 
11. Launderer.  〈◊〉 her s●…ule, and so soil her inward beauty.  
12. If he set too high a stamp 
12. Metal-man.  upon his meta●…, and blanche his allegiance with colour of Al●….  
13. If our 〈◊〉 halt betwixt 
13. Neuter.  two, and slight his conscience for worldly policy.  
14. If to save his provender, he 
14. Ostler.  set a●… artificial edge on a stranger's Palfrey.  
15. If he furnish his Poster 
15. Postmaster.  with a foundered Hackney.  
16. If what he collects in the 
16. Quest-man.  Ward, he convert to himself and his Meniey.  
17. If he outbrave his best 
17. Ruffian.  friends, and slave himself to any villainy.  
18. If he row without fear to 
18. Sailer.  gain h●…m a f●…re, and hazard a passengers safety.  
19 If he travail to novellize 
19 Traveller.  himself, and not to benefit his Country.  
20. If to enrich his reckless 
20. Undersheriff.  progeny, he care not much to beggar the whole County.  
21. If he drink till he roar, 
21. Wine-soaker.  and roaring uncivilly wrong himself ●…nd his company.  
22. If he scold till she scare 
22. Xantippean.  her husband, make him debauch himself, and abandon his family.  
23. If he proclaim himself a 
23. Yealous Neighbour.  Monster causelessly, and brand his posterity with the odious mark of bastardy.  
24. If his hollow heart display 
24. Zealous Brother.  him for a counterfeit, and his painted zeal tax him of hypocrisy.  
If so or so, know, that such an one is an A pierce A for knavery; whose Comic beginning shall close his dying Act with a Tragic Catastrophe.  
So good night to all the four and twenty.  
FINIS.    

A CATER-CHARACTER, thrown out of a Box By an Experienced Gamester.  
— Ova prognatus ab uno.  

1. An Apparator.  
2. A Painter.  
3. A Pedlar.  
4. A Piper.   
LONDON, Imprinted by F. K. and are to be sold by R. B.  
1631.   

DEDICATED AND DEVOTED BY CLITUS— ALEXANDRINUS, TO HIS NO LESS HONOURED THAN ENDEARED, Sr. ALEXANDER RADCLIFFE, KNIGHT OF THE BATH.   

A CATER-CHARACTER, THROWN OUT OF A BOX By AN EXPERIENCED Gamester.  

An Apparator  
IS the usher of a Gho●…t in a white sh●…ete. He tells you of that, which he himself seldom or never rememberstill, his end, Summons. He can most pragmatically discourse of the Subject of p●…nnance, but finds no time to apply the use u●…to himself. Honesty were a main prejudice to his practice: which makes him hold that acquaintance of most weight, whose conversation is most light. Circumspect you must be in your words, howsoever you express yourself in your works: for his ear lies ever open for advantage: which he will advance in a public Court, with a frontless impudence. His conscience is a Delphian sword, and will cut both ways: yet anoint him; and you berust him, and consequently charm him for being so glad in the sheath. He can tell you of a way how to do●… you good, and it is in his hand, so he be capable of your gold. He has a plaster in store for a debauched credit; and can mince a penance with his familiar acquaintance. Protests he has, and store of them; he will be your friend, and your fee shall bind him. He can wink as well as see, and distinguish of your guilt by your guild. This makes him ever go partiall-guilt, holding it an inseparable appendice to his place, to aim at his own particular, and by it procure the peccants peace: His ordinary Dialect is the thundering out of Canons to the vulgar, whose honest simplicity begets in them wonder: which thaws and resolves itself into admiration, to observe the fearful depth of the man. Yet so wise he is, as one truly conscious of his own ignorance, he can cri●…ge low to a knowing presence, and relish a submissive reproof for his connivance. He carries still his Ephem●…rides ab●…ut with him, which he daily enlargeth with Scandals a●…d defamations. The best report that comes to his ear, is the ill report of his Neighbour: which he seems sorry for; mea●…e time out of his feigned sorrow, he really discovers his neighbour's shame. He usually takes more strict notice of Christen than burials, and is better versed in their filiations, than if he were Overseer for the Parish. He might be Truth by his true search, for he lies lurking in ev●…ry corner. It were his breaking for the age to be virtuous; his veils are the vices of the time; which he vows to ferres, and so turns Conycatcher. A pestilent head-piece he has to blow up Suburbane Traders: with whom he trucks, if they fear to be fruitful: for others, their sterility hath procured them free licence. He is the very scourge of the time, and were the time better he would scourge himself. Revenues are good men's virtues; but his stock h●…▪ s no such dependence: light weights are his subsistence. An ignorant Curate is his patient; whose purpose is the subject of his phlebotomy. Bleed he must, or he dies. The neglect of his cure, is the object of his care; yet cannot this poor Curate do him a greater injury, than labour reformation of this malady. He domineers bravely in his place, as if it were his Chapel of ease: mean time, he is as timorous as the ●…are, lest his clandestnie contracts breed him harm. In a word, he is the safest, that knows him laest; but if knowing, he is securest that knows him best. Braves cannot affront, where knowledge hath already armed. Let him appear then, in ●…hat portriature or posture he will, he cannot dismay where knowing resolution is forewarned of his strength. His Reading is his practice; Nor of all others, needs he any Choke; for want of ready pay is the generation of his Subpena. It were great pity he should want friends, he is so obsequiously observant unto his owners: yet those that are known to him most, are affectionately beholden to him least. He complains of the iniquity of the age; but were it better, he were worse. He has a Catalogue of abuses, which he makes his morning, meridian, and evening orisons. If he can be so happy as to add to their score, it inhanceth his state: which procures his seldom- 〈◊〉 Heir an Apparators 〈◊〉, when he is gone. Long time has he been an instrument of discovery touching abuses of the Church: yet none i●…formes of him, whose Precedent is the worst: He has so choked his accusers with shreads and parcels of broakt Civilian latin, as they are graveled, and he in the opinion of the illiterate, graced. By this, he has performed his place with general approbatio●…: and now he is to be Apparator for himself. This he so much the more fears, as he was the more unprovided for it before it came. It were well for him, that he might find a proxi, to discharge his place: but his conscience summons him to a personal appearance. Bequeath his goods he may, which his Executors enjoy; but the occasion of their joy, is his grief. L●…ve l●…nger he would, but the world says he ha'●… lived too long. ●…rience hath ta●…ght him so much, as the ripe●…esse of his si●…e hath raised him to that height, as he can mount no higher. He must of necessity then leave his place to a Novice to succeed him: while he, poor man, becomes Apparator for himself. His summons are given, his shroud, the remainder of his conniving f●…es, prepared; his Sexton stays at the holemouth, and will not budge a foot, till this old Fox be ea●…thed.   

A Painter  
IS a face-maker; and the worst in all his shop is his own. He can never hold his hand from the Table, which proves him a true Englishman; for he cannot leave it when it is well. By a special privilege granted to his Art, he ●…xerciseth Martial Law, and hangs and draws within himself: wherein he observes a legal and lineal method in his form of ex●…cution: he draws first, and hangs afterwards. Sometimes he will play the egregious flatterer, and bestow more graceful beauty on your face, than ever nature gave you, and so gull you. He looks on you as if he would look through you, when h●…e draw●…s you: yet he shows you a kind of Barber-obeisance, being content to stand▪ while you sit. He is a partial Artist: he will portray a man of note for nothing; but b●…ing obscure, a Cat of Mount sh●…ll receive more courtesy from hi●… Pencile, than a nobler Creature. He is not entangled much in law; yet he 〈◊〉 now and then to Westminster, where he practiseth upon grave 〈◊〉, & makes faces, and this he liv●…s by. He will not abate you an hair●…, if he be exquisite; having none, he will supply the want of that excrement with a curious shadow, and so procure an artful ornament. He observes small method in the ranking or disposing of his painted creatures: A La●…y and a Monkey may stand cheek by jowl one with the other. Nothing so much angers him, as to have dirt thrown on his picture; and yet the m●…terials of it are of no better temper. He sometimes plays the witty Satirist, and displays light Tweaks in loose robes; bu●… draw them out with Po●…kes on their h●…ads, he will not, for that would darken his Art. He has an a●…tificiall veil for all his d●…formities; and can make the ugliest Hag ●…nlike her s●…lfe, purpos●…ly to make her like her s●…lfe. His judgement consists not in Pul●…e but Phy●…nomy. There is nothing he undertakes, but he has some colour for it. He has Pomatum and other rare confections to allay the inflammation of a cind●…rous face; and yet a Saint Antoni●…s fire constantly sparkles in his own. When he paints a shoulder of mutton, his teeth water, wishing with all his heart, he could infuse substance into the picture. He can Zeuxeslik●…, though not like Ze●…xes▪ paint Grapes, but the fowl that takes them for liv●…ly, deserves 〈◊〉 name. He can accommodate his portraiture with a true garb; Hobs●…n the Carrier must have his picture, with his hand in his bag to design his Condition. He make●… the ●…ye of his feature, a light g●…dding creature; for it reflects on every corner. He miserably abuseth the Nine Wor●…hies, both in their postures, P●…lfreys and 〈◊〉: but pres●…ription pleads excuse beyond exception. The Nine Muses are much misused; The ●…ree Graces ungraciously handl●…d. By all which it appears, he assumes to himself a Po●…ticall l●…ence, alb●…it he never attained to the freedom of that Company. He holds a Paint●…rs lib●…rtie to b●…e of equal authority to the highest profess●…nt of Poetry; but his pencile must veil to their P●…n. Ignorance, which originally hatched this conceit, being retained to defend his cause, replies▪ The Painter knows not what the 〈◊〉 mean. Fantas●…s are his features, and their ●…ffigies the Embryo of his brain. Whence it is, that ●…ll those ancient Heroes become his Proteans. Neither is he only familiar with these: for h●…e will make no less bold in missh●…ping the Patriarches, by reserving one beard in store for a whole Tribe. He receives upon trust some Chronicle stories, both Divine and Humane; which (p●…esupposing him to be of eminent employment) he makes use of in Pageants, Chimney-peeces and Bay-windowes. But if he be of no frequent custom, he trudgeth with a truss of colours on his back down to the Country; where most humbly complaining, he prostrates his Art and industry at the feet of a most vigil●…nt Churchwarden: By whose wisdom if he be entertained, that the Church may be beauti●…ied, and his intolerable Art discovered; he belards the walls with monstrous false English: for which, if at any time he receive reproof, he returns this answer; He could paint better, but th●… Country will not be at the charge of good English. And if you seriously ask him, where he had those sentences, he will with no less impudence than profaneness tell you, they are foolish conceits of his own. Now and then he is employed at Funerals, which he performs most pi●…ifully. His ●…noyl'd colours fall off like other mourners: his horse-gold displays the integrity of the Artist. If he be so ambitious, as to fix his lamentable Elegy on the Hearse, his lean lines fall so flat, and close in such unjointed cadencies, as they ever redound to his shame. But in these, as they are a sphere too high for his employment, he is r●…rely versed. My Lord Mayor's day is his jubilee, if any such inferiou●… Artist be admitted to so serious a solemnity: If not, Country presentments are his preferment; or else he bestows his pencile on an aged piece of decayed Canvas in a sooty Alehouse, where M●…ther Red cap must be set out in her colours. H●…e he and his barmyHostesse draw both together, but not in like nature; She in ale, h●…e in ●…yle. But her commoditi●… goes better down, which he means to have his full share of, when his work is done. If she aspire to the conceit of a sign, and desire to have her birch-pole pulled down, he will supply her with one; which he performs so poorly, as none that sees it but would take it for a Sign he was drunk when he made it. A long consultation is had, before they can agree what Sign must be reared. A Meere-m●…ide, says she, for that will sing Catches to the Youths of the Parish. A Lion, says he, for that's the only Sign that he can make. And this he forms so art-lesly, as it requires his expression: This is ●… Lion. Which old E●…lenor Rumming, his Tap dame, de●…ies, saying, It should have been a Meeremaid. Now and then he turns Rover, and bestows the height of his Art on Archers stakes. Sundry Whimzi●…s he has in his head, but of all others there is none that puzzles him so much as this one: He has a special handsome Masterpiece (for so he terms her) and is so jealous of her, a●… when any one inquires for his picture, he simply mistakes himself, and shows them Act●…on. Gl●…dly would he cure this in●…red malady with the secret receipt of an It●…lian s●…curitie, could 〈◊〉 A●… contrive it, or his state pro●…ure it. Well, so it is, that he who took the d●…aught of others, and lived by it, must now leave that Trade, for Death hath drawn him out to the full body. His chief Master-Artists imprese was this: No day without a line: but now the last line of his life is drawn. If he die well, it i●… more than he did all his life time. His memory seldom survive●… him: being now the Image of Death, as he was before a living picture.   

A Pedlar  
IS a m●…n of Ware. A wand'ring St●…rre; O●…e, whose chiefest ●…ommerce is with Country Wen●…es. The materials of their truck●…ng are of his part, Pinnes, Ribbons, a●…d Laces; of theirs, Coney-skins, Lambe-skinnes, and Feathers; for Marrowbones, their honest si●…plicity never knew the operation o●… them. What do ye l●…cke, is his ordinary Interrogatory; yet you may lac●… many things, ere he can supply you. Pepper do ye want, ●…d he will p●…pper it for you; He ●…ill sell you clots for Clov●…s, cou●…se crumm●…s for Currans, Orpine for Saffron, and ●…ompound your pepper with his Earth-pouder, to gull you. It were a strange disease, that his farthel cannot cure; blessed be his Genius! he has a receipt to cure any one from breaking, but himself: and this is the least he do●…bts, for his P●…pouder Court is his only te●…ror. He is no ●…choler, yet turning Rope-maker, he draws stron●… lines; which drains more from C●…rdener than Philosopher. It is a pretty thing to observe how he carries his Trinkilo's about him: which m●…kes the Country Choughs esteem him a man of prize. A Country Rush-bearing, or Morri●…e Pastoral, is his festival: if ever he aspire to plum▪ porridge, that i●… the day. Here ●…he Guga-g●…les gi●…gle it ●…ith his 〈◊〉 nifles: while he sculkes u●…der a B●…h, and shows his wit never till then, in admiring their follie●…. H●… has an obscene vei●…e of Ballatry, which m●…kes the Wen●…hes of the Green laugh; and this purchaseth him, upon better acquaintance, a posset or a Syllabub. He is ever removing his tents: and might be complained of for nonresidence, if his informer could gain aught by'●…. The Tinker of turvy cannot put him down at long-staffe: Which he could find in his heart to employ for highway receipts, if his white liver would give him leave. Would you have a true survey of his family, and number them by the pole? you shall fi●…de them subsist of three heads: Himself, his Truck, and her Misset. Where the last wears, commonly, the sleakest skin. He might be a good ma●… by the Philosopher's reason: for Every place is his country: and generally lest trusted in his own. His Atlantick●… shoulder●… are his supporters: if they fail, his revenues fall. His judgement consists principally in the choice of his ware, and place of their vent. Saint Martin's Rings, and counterfeit Bracelets are commodities of i●…finite consequence: these will pass for current at a Maypole, and purchase a favour from their May-Marian. One would take him for some appendice of a Soldier, by his Leather, but you shall find as much valour in his Hamper. There is nothing so much disheartens him as the report of a Pr●…sse: this makes him stir his stumps: but if that will not serve, he turns Sergeant Crippl●…, and as one cut off by the stumps, he cants his maims most me●…hodically: and this practice he most co●…stantly retains till the coast be clear. Sometimes he co●…sorts wi●…h his Bungs: and these keep Sentinel near his Booth, to take notice of a 〈◊〉 prey; which purchase makes the sile●…t Evening in some blind A●…ley, or place of known 〈◊〉, the divider of their prize. He 〈◊〉 a certain Catalogue of al●… the principal Fairs: where, though he have little to vend, he can find some way or other to bring i●… a booty. He will not stick to pretend, for want of better supply, an extraordinary skill in Physic: and so turns most impudent dogmatic Quacksalve●…. What transnaturalized Elixirs will this mercenary Mountebank produce to delude the vulgar: All which he finds experiments of useful consequence, till the whipstock wain him from his practice. It were wonderful this general Artist should not thrive, having so many irons i'ch fire. Yet he finds himself in nothing so constant as in matter of estate being for all his endeavour neither worse nor better, but just as he was at first, a direct beggar. Now, should you a●…ke him the reason: he will tell you, one of his calling cannot be honest and thrive too. If he could have faced and outfaced truth, set a deceitful gloss on his adulterate w●…res, or dispencd with oaths to beget Cu●…tome, his Pack had been a storehouse of rich commodities before this time: but making conscience of his de●…ling, was his main undoing. Thus would he make you credulously believe that he were seized of what he never had, nor should he live longer, would ever have. Well, something he would gladly leave the young Hamperman, his hopeful heir, whom he fur●…isheth, to express his love, for want of better fortunes, with the improved example of his life. He shows him in a Landscape the whole Model of his Pedlar▪ p●…grimage, with whom he may to his much benefit securely truck; and on whose sun ●…licity he may most usefully work. He tells him some mysterious secrets, which he never durst till that hour discover, lest they should have prevented him of a natural death. Now he is to leave the world, and to his successors grie●…e, to leave nothing unto him in all the world. His father's empty hamper is his sole patrimony. Truth is he sh●…wd great improvi●…ence i●… the course of hi●… li●…e, not to leave one poor knot o●… black ribbo●…, to display his tr●…de, and beget a few seeming mourner●…. B●…t his comfort is, he dies cn●…ven board. His Ex●…cutor (if any such minister be 〈◊〉) may thank God for his wan●… of Credit, for it kept him out of debt. Well; now he is to trace no more the mountains nor valleys; this merry mate is now turned grave ma●…. His funeral Obits are soon solen: nized. Next day at the longest, his t●…arefeigning widow cnters new commerce; and hopes to aspire to a jointure e●…e she dye. His son, as one retentive of his father's memento'●…, t●…aceth his paths; lives in as honest name and fame as his Predecessor did: and that he might resemble his father in fortune as well as same, he dies neither much indebted by reason of credit, nor leaves much owing him by those with whom he traded. And so for altogether have they jointly shut up their Hamper.   

A Piper  
IS a very drone, ever soaking and sucking from others labours. In Wakes, and Rush-bearings he turns flat roarer. Yet the Youths without him can keep no true measure. His head, pipe, and leg hold one consort. He cannot for his hanging fit himself to any tune, but his active foot or great toe will keep time. He is never sober, but when he is either sleeping, or piping: for his repast partakes too much of the pot, to keep him sober in his feeding. He is generally more careful how to get a coat for his Pipe than his child. And a ●…ibband hung in his Chamber draws him into an overweening humour and hono●…r of ●…o musical a savour. He might be not altogether improperly charactered, An ill wind that begins to blow upon Christ mass eve, and so continues very loud and blustering all the twelve days: Or an airy Me●…eor composed of flat●…ous ma●…ter, that then appears and vanisheth to the great peace of the whole family, the thirt●…enth day. His St●…tors voice 〈◊〉 itself to the expression of a largesse upo●… receipt of the least benevolence. He deserves not his wench, that ●…ll not p●…y for her dance. He is ●… dangerous instrument in the Common wealth; for drawing together routs and riotous assemblies: yet so long as they dance after his pipe, there can be intended no great perilous project of state. Since h●… was enacted Rogue by Parliament, he has got hold of a shameless tunelesse Shawm to be his consort, that the statute might take less hold of his single quality. And to grace it the more, he has shrowde●… himself with the inco●…porate reverence of a pye-coloured livery. Yet it is to be feared that the Snake must ere long, lose his slough; for either his veils fail him, or he falls from his veils. A continued practice of his procession hath brought him to that perfection, as he can pipe when he cannot speak: so as, his C●…anter becomes his interpreter, and performs the thankful office of a true Servant, in speaking for his mute Master, who cannot speak for himself. He is oftener out of tune than his pipe; yet never plays better voluntari●…s than when he is drunk. In one respect, he may be compared to a downright Satirist: he will not stick to play upon his best friends. He infinitely prefers his art before all other mecha●…icks: yet all the means of his gettings is but from hand to mouth. The most dissorting Comp●…ion for his humour, is the Ti●…r for he is a metal man, which the Piper is not: Besides, they are so unsociably affected to their liquor; as it is death to them to drink to one another; yet the noose of the law oft●…imes reconciles them, when it enjoins them to hang both together. He is of an invincible strong breath, whereof he leaves usually in the blast of his pipe such a vaporous and vicious steam, as it would go near to poison any Creature but a Piper. He suits himself to the seasons of the yccre, wherein if his honest Neighbour partake of any be●…efit, h●…e expects his musical share. And to wind him the more in his love, without which he cannot live, every distinct time must be accommodated to a several tune. He ha'sa's strain to enchant the shepherd in his shearing; an other for the husbandman in his ●…eaping; in all which he ha'sa's peculiar privilege for gleaning. Sundry corners he reserves in his k●…apsack for these neighbourly bounties, which in short time, by prescription, become customary to him, and all his lineal succcssor●… of the same Science, after him. I●… his bonny Blouze, or dai●…ty doxy, being commonly a collapsed Tinker's wife, or some high way commodity, taken up upon trust, demand of him supply, after these numerous incomes, he bids her go pipe. For his bed, he leaves it the soon, and goes to it the latest. He is injoy●…ed by his place, to rise early, roar highly, and ●…ouze the whole family. So as, his pipe may be properly termed the instrumental cause both of 
〈◊〉 dr●…▪ ming  their rising and his own. He is 
Dro ●…ne pl●… the grand i●…postor; hi●… m●…rry chante●…●… meer●… inc ban●…r▪ ca●…sing peopl●… to 〈◊〉 in a r●…ng, as if he bade r●…sd the div●… 〈◊〉 a circl●….  no constant dweller, and yet he is no shifter. All he reeds, he puts into his pipe: Which consisting of three notes, breaks out into a most vociferous Syllogism. He will be heard at Ho●…se-races; where it makes him infinitely proud, if the Horse will but vouchsafe to lay his nose to his drone. This so transports him, as it makes him think himself worthy to be recorded in those musical airs or annals of Orpheu●… and Arion, who made beasts follow them. Which he doth daily, for his Doxy dogs him. Being weary of the Country, or she rather weary of him, he dives into some Suburban or Citty-cellar, where he roars like the Devil in a vault. here he deeply inhanceth his Cellar-rents, if he had grace to keep them: but truth is, whatsoever he drains from the four corners of the City, goes in muddy taplash down Gutter-lane, and so sinks down into P●…ier alley. So he get his morning draught, which ends about midday, at the soon, he stands not much upon breakfast: Neither indeed will his veils find supply both for thirst and hu●…ger. This sauce-●…eam'd Porcupi●…, when his veins b●…gin to warm, will b●…e many times monstrously mal●…pert, which purchaseth him a beating with much patience. You may break his head as good cheap, as any man's in Europe. If his Prugge aspire to so much stock or so great trust, as to brew to sell; he will be sure to drink up all the gai●…es. He will not stick to run on score with a score, so h●… may have credit: but when they come for their coin, he solicits some longer time, and pays them home with a tune: 'tis merri●… when maltmen meet. But th●…y may pipe small ere they mee●…e with their money. By this, his holy bush is pulled down, which proclaims him ba●…kerupt: by which means, he may most politicly compound upon i●…fferent terms with his Malt-worms▪ Thus are his fortunes no perpetu●…tie: An ill wind bla●…s them: being commonly, ligh●…ly got amongst nimble heeled fools, and lewdly spent amongst heavy headed knaves. His vocatio●… is no peculiar station, but a roving r●…creation. There is no m●…n will more sufficiently sit down to eat, nor more cheerfully rise up to play than himself. To keep him company, and free him of th●…t, which his leaden conceit is seldom capable of, melancholy, he wisheth no other associate than a Iack●…napes, or a jolly 〈◊〉: wherein it is his highe●…t strain of study to accommodate his Ape with a guarded Coat, and so fool his spectators out of their coin. He dies a sound man and merrily, for he dies a Piper, but no good death, for he hath played away his time. He could find in his heart to pipe longer, but his wind fails him, which makes him play his lastgoodnight. His wealth may appear by his 〈◊〉 which contains the over worn remains of a Motley Livery, a decayed Pipe-bagge, and half a shirt; all wh●…ch, without his Neighbour's chari●…y, will scarce amount to the purchase of a sheet.  
FINIS.    


CLITUS retire; Waste no more oil on these,  
No care can cure a desperate disease:  
Shouldst write as much of every bas●… profession,  
Europe would be too straight for that Impression.   

Mean time, these Swaine●… may on the Plains go breathe them,  
For thou hast left a Curious Piper with them.    

CLITUS HIS GENETHLIA 
Na●… est nineteen. Feb A●… D●…. 1630.  Upon the Birthday of his Son JOHN.  

Vagi●…ndo ●…allem intramu●…,  
Suspirando relinquim●…s.   

With shrieks we live, and with a sigh we die;  
Thus live we, die we, grief is ever die.   

GOd bless thee JOHN and make thee such a●… one,  
That I may joy in calling thee my Son.   

Thou art my Ninth, and by it I divin●…  
That thou shalt live to love the 
* Musa 〈◊〉, Natura nov●…m pul●… pr●…lem  Muse's nin●…,   

And live by loving them: for it were fit  
A younger Brother had an Elder wit. 
Exhib●…it, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.    

Thou mayst be Gamester, or what trade thou'ls choose,  
For much I shall not leave my Boy to lose;   

And that's fittest for a Gamest●…r: but be sure  
●… address thy care upon thin●… inwardcure.   

" Be honest, and thou canst not want a friend,  
" Neither before thine end, nor in thine end.   

Three things THREE VOUCHERS for thee undertake,  
The WORLD, FLESH, DEVIL, th●…u must quite for sake;   

And so I hope thou wilt: to th' WORLD I show thee,  
But thy poor fortune's such, she will not know thee.   

And for the FLESH, even Nature must permit  
That it be given t●… thee, ere thou to it.   

Now for the DEVIL, he has so much to do  
With roaring boys, he'll sl●…ght such Babes as tho●…:   

Yet be not too s●…cure, but put him to'●…,  
For he'll play at small game, ere he sit out.   

Th' e●…crease of thy Revenues is but small,  
Look ●…o thy Brains, poor JOHN, for that is all.   

A better Legacy I have not for ●…ee,  
Unless thou die, and I sing Di●…ges o'er thee:   

By which I should collect, thou were't bu●… LENT me,  
As thou wast near that time by Nature sent me:   

B●…ing only sh●…wne on Earth, but to abst●…e  
From ●…inne on Earth, and turn to earth again●…▪   

And so shouldst ●…hou rise high, by vading hence  
With a sweet smile, in state of innocence.   

This is my close;  
" Short be thou or long liver,  
" Live well, my Boy,  
" that thou mayst live for ever.   
FINIS.   

An Alphabetical Table of the Characters.  

AN Almanac-maker.  
A Ballad-monger.  
A Corranto-coiner.  
A Decoy.  
An Exchange-man.  
A Forester.  
A Gamester.  
An Hospitall-man.  
A jailer.  
A Keeper.  
A Launderer.  
A Metall-man.  
A Neuter.  
An Ostler.  
A Postmaster.  
A Quest-man.  
A Ruffian.  
A Sailer.  
A Traveller.  
An Under-sheriff.  
A Wine-soaker.  
A Xantippean.  
A Yealous Neighbour.  
A Zealous Brother.   
etc.  
Or The Egregious'st Pimp of a●… this debauched order, with a brief but free cens●…re, of their nature, nurture, and number:  
Closing With the Supply of a CuriousCountrey-Cater-Character, to supple the rig●…r of the roughest Censor.   

Upon the Erratas.  
As there ●…ee Characters ●…f Errors, be●…rrors ●…rrors incident to Characters. These, be they literal or material, it is in th●…e, Reader, to make them venial.  
In Epist. to Reader, lin. 25. for fo●…r, read firmer. p. 36. l. 11. f. shoope, r. shop. p. 53. l. ●…0. f. imitation, r. ●…itiation. p. 55. l ●…. f. &▪ r. at. p. 57 l▪ 6. f. as, r. an. p. 69▪ l. 11. f. failed, r. ●…aile. p. 77. l. 6▪ f. ●…unne, r. Sum. pag. 80. lin. 5. for Surely, read Surly. p. 174. lin. 18▪ for fears no worse, r. fares no ●…se. p. 188. l. 6. f. the, r. yet. p. 186. l 9 for feel, r feed. p. 205. l▪ 7. f. alterations, ●…▪ altercations. p. ●…10. l 23. f. he, r. s●…ee.  
Second Part.  
Pag. 5 lin. 16. f. clandestnie, r. cl●…ndestine. In the Genethlia, l▪ 8. f. die, r. ni●….   

 

  

  

  

 
●…lias 〈◊〉, Ilium ●…orum.