Micro-cosmographie. OR, A PIECE OF THE WORLD DISCOVERED; IN ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS.  
LONDON, Printed by William Stansby for Edward Blount. 1628.   

TO THE READER GENTILE OR GENTLE.  
I Have (for once) adventured to play the Midwives' part, helping to bring forth these Infants into the World, which the Father would have smothered: who having left them leapt up in loose Sheets, as soon as his Fancy was delivered of them; written especially for his private Recreation, to pass away the time in the Country, and by the forcible request of Friends drawn from him; Yet passing severally from hand to hand in written Copies, grew at length to be a pretty number in a little Volume: and among so many sundry dispersed Trans●cripts, some very imperfect and surreptitious had like to have past the Press, if the Author had not used speedy means of prevention: When, perceiving the hazard he ran to be wronged, was unwillingly willing to let them pass as now they appear to the World. If any faults have escaped the Press, (as few Books can be printed without) impose them not on the Author I entreat Thee; but rather impute them to mine and the Printers oversight, who seriously promise on the re-impression hereof by greater care and diligence, for this our former default, to make Thee ample satisfaction. In the mean while, I remain  
Thine, ED: BLOUNT.   

A TABLE OF CONTENTS.  

A Child. 1.  
A young raw Preacher. 2.  
A grave Divine. 3.  
A mere dull Physician. 4.  
An Alderman. 5.  
A discontented Man. 6.  
An Antiquary. 7.  
A younger Brother. 9  
A formal Man. 10.  
A Church-Papist. 11  
A selfe-conceied man. 12▪  
A Tavern. 13▪  
A reserved Man. 14▪  
A Shark. 15▪  
A Carrier. 16▪  
An old College Pu●ler. 17▪  
An Upstart Knight. 18▪  
An idle Gallant. 19▪  
A Constable. 20▪  
A downright Scholar 21▪  
A Player. 22▪  
A Detractor. 23▪  
A young Gentleman o● the University. 24▪  
A Pot-Poet. 25.  
A Cook. 26.  
A forward Man. 27.  
A Baker. 28.  
A plain Country Fellow. 30.  
A Youngman. 31.  
The common Singing-Men. 32.  
A Pretender to Learning. 33.  
A Shopkeeper. 34.  
A Handsome Hostess. 35.  
A Blunt Man. 36.  
A Critic. 37.  
A Sergeant. 38.  
A weak Man. 39▪  
A Tobacco seller. 40▪  
A plausible Man. 41▪  
The Worlds wise Man 42▪  
A Bowle-Alley. 43▪  
A Surgeon. 44▪  
A Shee-precise Hypocrite. 45▪  
A Contemplative Man 46▪  
An Aturney. 47▪  
A Sceptic in religion. 48▪  
A Partial man. 49▪  
A Trumpeter. 50▪  
A vulgar-spirited Man 51▪  
A ploddding Student. 52.  
Paul's Walk. 53.  
An University Dun. 54.  
A stayed Man. 55.   
FINIS.   

Micro-cosmographic. OR, A piece of the World Characterised.  

1. A Child.  
IS a Man in a small Letter, yet the best Copy of Adam before he tasted of Eve, or the Apple; and he is happy whose small practice in the World can only write this Character. He is nature● fresh picture newly drawn in Oil, which time, and much handling, dims and defaces. His Soul is yet a white paper unscribled with observations of the world, wherewith at length it becomes a blurred Notebook. He is purely happy, because he knows no evil, nor hath made means by sin to be acquainted with misery. He arrives not at the mischief of being wise, nor endures evils to come by fore seeing them. He kisses and loves all, and when the smart of the rod is past, smiles on his cannoneer. Nature and his Parents alike dandle him, ●nd 'tice him on with a bait of sugar, to a draught of wormwood. He plays ●et, like a young Apprentice ●he first day, and is not ●ome to his task of melancholy. His hardest labour is his tongue, as if he were loath to use so deceitful an Organ; and he ●s best company with it when he can but prattle. We laugh at his foolish sport's, but his game is our ●arnest: and his drums, ●attles and hobby-horses, ●ut the Emblems, & mocking of man's business. His ●ther hath writ him as his twne little story, wherein he reads those day e●● his life that he cannot ●●●member; and sighs to 〈◊〉 what innocence he has 〈◊〉 lived. The elder he growe● he is a stayer lower fro● God; and like his first f●●ther mnch worse in 〈◊〉 ●●eeches. He is the Chr●●stians example, and the o●●mans relapse: The o●●●mitates his pureness, an● the other falls into his si●●plicitie. Could he put 〈◊〉 his body with his litt●● Coat, he had got eternity without a burden, and 〈◊〉 changed but one Heaue● for another.   

2. A young raw. Preacher.  
●S a Bird not yet fledged, 〈◊〉 that hath hoped out of his ●est to be Chirping on a ●edge, and will be strag●ng abroad at what peril 〈◊〉 ever. His backwardness 〈◊〉 the University hath set ●im thus forward; for had ●e not truanted there, he ●ad not been so hasty a divine. His small standing ●nd time hath made him a proficient only in boldness, out of which and his table-book he is furnished ●or a Preacher. His Col●ections of Study are the ●otes of Sermons, which taken up at S. Mary's, 〈◊〉 utters in the Country. A 〈◊〉 if he write Brachigraphy ● his stock is so much th● better. His writing is mor● than his reading; for he● reads only what he get● without book. Thus accomplished he comes dow● to his friends, and his fir●● salutation is grace & peac● out of the Pulpit. His prayer is conceited, and no ma● remembers his College more at large. The pace o● his Sermon is a full careers and he runs wildly 〈◊〉 hill and dale till the clock● stop him. The labour of i● is chiefly in his lungs. An● the only thing he ha●● made of it himself, is the faces. He takes on against the Pope without mercy, and has a jest still in lavender for Bellarmine. His action is all passion, and his speech interjections: He has an excellent faculty in bemoaning the people, and spits with a very good grace. He will not draw ●his handkerchief out of his place, nor blow his nose without discretion. His commendation is, that he never looks upon book, and indeed, he was never used to it. He preaches but once a year, though twice on Sunday: for the stuff is still the same, only dressing a little altered. H● has more tricks with an● Sermon, than a Tailor with an old Cloak, to turn● it, and piece it, and at las● quite disguise it with a new Preface. If he have wade● further in his profession and would show Reading of his own, his Author's a●● Postils, and his School divinity a Catechism. Hi● fashion and demure Habit gets him in with som● Town-precisian, and mak● him a Guest on Fryda● nights. You shall know him by his narrow Velue cape, and Serge facing, an● his ruff, next his Hair, th● shortest thing about hi● The companion of his walk is some zealous tradesman, whom he astonisheth with strange points, which they both understand alike. His friends and much painfulness may prefer him to thirty pounds a year, and this means, to a Chambermaid: with whom we leave him now in the bonds of Wedlock. Next Sunday you shall have him again.   

3. A Grave Divine.  
IS one that knows the burden of his calling, and hath studied to make his shoulders sufficient: for which he hath not been hasty to launch forth of his port the University, but expected the ballast of learning, and the wind of opportunity. Divinity is not the beginning but the end of his studies, to which he takes the ordinary stair, and makes the Arts his way. He counts it not profaneness to be polished with humane reading, or to smooth his way by Aristotle to schoole-divinity. He has sounded both Religions and anchor in the best, and is a Protestant out of judgement, not faction, not because his Country, but his Reason is on this side. The ministry is his choice, not refuge, and yet the Pulpit not his itch, but fear. His discourse there is substance, not all Rhetoric, and he utters more things than words. His speech is not helped with enforced action, but the matter acts itself. He shoots all his meditations at one Butt: and beats upon his text, not the Cushion, making his hearers not the Pulpit groan. In citing of Popish errors, he cuts them with Arguments, not cudgels them with barren inu●ctiues: and labours more to show the truth of his cause then the spleen. His Sermon is limited by the method, not the hourglass; and his Devotion goes along with him out of the Pulpit. He comes not up thrice a week because he would not be idle, nor talks three hours together, because he would not talk nothing: but his tongue Preaches at fit times; and his conversation is the every day's exercise. In matters of ceremony he is not ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow his judgement to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a Surplice. He esteems the Church's hierarchy, as the Church's glory, and however we jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In simoniacal purchases he thinks his Soul goes in the bargain, and is loath to come by promition so dear. Yet his worth at the length advances him, and the price of his own merit buys him a Living. He is no base Grater of his Tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd Egg. The Lawyer is the only man he hinders, he is spited for taking up quarrels. He is a main pillar of our Church, though not yet Dean nor Canon, and his life our Religion's best Apology: His death is his last Sermon, where in the Pulpit of his Bed he instructs men to dye by his example.   

4. A mere dull Physician.  
HIs practice is some business at bedsides, and his speculation an Urinal. He is distinguish● from an Empiric by a round velvet cap, and Doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is Doctor howsoever. He is sworn to Gale● and Hypocrates, as University men to their statutes, though they never saw them, and his discourse is all Aphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont, or the Regiment of Health. The best Cure he has done is upon his own purse, which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His learning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and the superscriptions of Galley-pots in his Apothecary's Shop, which are ranked in his Shelves, and the Doctor's memory. If he have been but a by-stander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered with it, though he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that his Practice; for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes best the smell of Urine, and holds Vespasian's rule, that no gain is unsavoury. If you send this once to him, you must resolve to be sick howsoever, for he will never leave examining your Water till he have shak● it into a Disease. Then follows a writ to his drugger in a strange tongue, which he understands though he cannot construe. If he see you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot heal your sickness, he will be sure to help it. He translates his Apothecary's Shop into your Chamber, and the very Windows and Benches must take Physic. He tells you your Malady in Greek, though it be but a cold, or headache: which by good endeavour and diligence he may bring to some moment indeed; his most unfaithful act is, that he leaves a man gasping, and his pretence is, death and he have a quarrel, and must not meet; but his fear is, lest the Carcase should bleed. Anatomies and other spectacles of Mortality have hardened him, and he's no more struck with a Funeral then a Grave-maker. Noblemen use him for a director of their stomaches, and Ladies for wantonness, especially if he be a proper man. If he be single, he is in league with his Shee-Apothecary, and because it is the Physician, the husband is Patient. If he have leisure to be idle (that is to study) he has a smatch at Alchemy, and is sick of the Pilosophers' stone, a disease uncurable, but by an abundant Phlebotomy of the purse. His two main opposites are a Mountebank, and a good Woman, and he never shows his learning so much as in an invective against them, and their boxes. In conclusion he is a sucking consumption, and a very brother to the worms, for they are both engendered out of man's corruption.   

5. An Alderman.  
He is Venerable in his Gown, more in his Beard, wherewith he sets not forth so much his own, as the face of a City. You must look on him as one of the Towne-Gates, and consider him not as a Body, but a Corporation. His eminency above others hath made him a man of Worship, for he had never been preferred, but that he was worth thousands. He oversees the Commonwealth, as his Shop, and it is an argument of his Policy, that he has thriven by his craft. He is a rigorous Magistrate in his Ward: yet his scale of justice is suspected, lest it be like the Balances in his Warehouse. A ponderous man he is, and substantial: for his weight is commonly extraordinary, and in his preferment nothing Rises so much as his Belly. His Head is of no great depth, yet well furnished, when it is in conjunction with his Brethren, may bring forth a City Apothegme, or some such sage matter. He is one that will not hastily run into error, for he treads with great deliberation, & his judgement consists much in his pace. His discourse is commonly the Annals of his Mayoralty, and what good government there was in the days of his gold Chain: though his doore-posts were the only things that suffered reformation: He seems not sincerely religious, especially on solemn days; for he comes oft to Church to make a show. He is the highest stair of his profession and an example to his Trade, what in time they may come to. He makes very much of his authority; but more of his Satin Doublet; which, though of good years, bears its age very well, and looks fresh every Sunday; But his Scarlet gown is a Monument, and lasts from generation to generation.   

6. A discontented Man.  
IS one that is fall'n out with the world, and will be revenged ' on himself. Fortune has denied him in something, and he now takes pet, and will be miserable in spite. The root of his disease is a selfe-humouring pride, and an accustomed tenderness, not to be cro●t in his fancy▪ and the occasions commonly one of these three▪ a hard father, a peevish wench, or his ambition thwarted. He considered not the nature of the world till he felt it, and all blows fall on him heavier, because they light not first on his expectation. He has now forgone all but his pride, and is yet vain glorious in the ostentation of his melancholy. His composure of himself is a studied carelessness with his arms a cross, and a neglected hanging of his head and cloak, and he is as great an enemy to an hatband, as Fortune. He quarrels at the time, and up-starts, and sighs at the neglect of men of Parts, that is, such as himself. His life is a perpetual Satire, and he is still girding the age's vanity; when this very anger shows he too much esteems it. He is much displeased to see men merry, and wonders what they can find to laugh at. He never draws his own lips higher than a smile, and frowns wrinkle him before forty. He at the last falls into that deadly melancholy to be a bitter hater of men, and is the most apt Companion for any mischief. He is the spark that kindles the Commonwealth, and the bellowes himself to blow it: and if he turn any thing, it is commonly one of these, either Friar, traitor, or madman.   

7. An Antiquary.  
HE is a man strangely thrifty of Time past, & an enemy indeed to his Maw, whence he fetche● out many things when they are now all rotten and stinking. He is one tha● hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured o● old age, and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do Cheese) the better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our Religion, because we say it is most ancient; and yet a broken Statue would almost make him an Idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old Monuments, and reads only those Charactars', where time hath eaten out the letters. He will go you forty miles to see a Saints Well, or ruin'd Abbey: and if there be but a Cross or stone footstool in the way, he'll be considering it so long, till he forget his journey. His estate consists much in shekels, and Roman Coins, and he hath more Pictures of Caesar, than james or Elizabeth▪ Beggars cousin him with musty things which they have rak't from dunghills, and he preserves their rags for precious Relics. He loves no Library, but where there are more Spiders volumes than Authors, and looks with great admiration on the Antique work of Cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as a novetly of this latter age; but a Manu-script the pores on everlastingly, especially if the cover be all Motheaten, and the dust make a Parenthesis between every Syllable. He would give all the Books in his Study (which are rarities all) for one of the old Roman binding, or six lines of Tully in his own hand. His chamber is hung commonly with strange Beasts skins, and is a kind of Charnel-house of bones extraordinary, and his discourse upon them, if you will hear him shall last longer. His very attire is that which is the eldest out of fashion, and you may pick a Criticism out of his Breeches. He never looks upon himself till he is gray-haired, and then he is pleased with his own Antiquity. His Grave do●s not fright him, for he has been used to Sepulchers, and he likes Death the better, because it gathers him to his Fathers.   

9 Younger Brother.  
HIs elder Brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like jacob at his heels. His father has done with him, as Phararh to the children of Israel, that would have them make brick, and give them no straw, so he tasks him to be a Gentleman, and leaves him nothing to maintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder Knighthood must sustain, and his beggary that Knighthood. His birth and bringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth: but he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse of his brother. He is something better than the Servingmen; yet they more saucy with him, than he bold with the master, who beholds him with a countenance of stern awe, and checks him oftener than his Liveries. His brother's old suits and he are much alike in request, and cast off now and then one to the other. Nature hath furnished him with a little more wit upon compassion; for it is like to be his best revenue. If his Annuity stretch so far he is sent to the University, and with great heartburning takes upon him the Ministry; as a profession he is condemned, to by his ill fortune. Other take a more crooked path, yet the King's highway, where at length their vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for Tyburn: but their Brother's pride, not love, gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries, where rags and lice are no scandal, where he lives a poor Gentleman of a Company, and dies without a shirt. The only thing that may better his fortunes, is an art he has to make a Gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and then some rich widow, that is hungry after his blood. He is commonly discontented, and desperate, and the form of his exclamation is, that Churl my Brother. He loves not his country for this unnatural custom, and would have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent only which he holds in admiration.   

10. A mere formal Man.  
IS somewhat more than the shape of a man; for he has his length, breadth, and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked through him, and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is merely example, and his action is not guided by his understanding, but he sees other men do thus, and he follows them. He is a Negative, for we cannot call him a wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a knave; nor a Protestant, but not a Papist. The chief burden of his brain is the carriage of his body, and the setting of his face in a good frame: which he performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other Meditations. His Religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays, as he swears, in the Phrase of the Land. He is a fair guest, and a fair inviter, and can excuse his good cheer in the accustomed Apology. He has some faculty in mangling of a Rabbit, and the distribution of his morsel to a neighbour trencher. He apprehends a jest by seeing men smile, and laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his turn. His discourse is the news that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other matters his discretion is, that he will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His life is like one that runs to the Minster-walke, to take a turn, or two, and so passes. He hath stayed in the world to fill a number; and when he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end.   

11. A Church-Papist.  
IS one that parts his Religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, and comes to Church not to serve God, but the King. The face of the Law makes him wear the mask of the Gospel, which he uses not as a means to save his soul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loath to lose by it, and though he be something scared with the Bulls of Rome, yet they are far off, and he is struck with more terror at the Apparitor. Once a month he presents himself at the Church, to keep off the Church warden, & brings in his body to save his bail. He knelt with the Congregation, but prays by himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming thither. If he be forced to stay out a Sermon, he puts his hat over his eyes, and frowns out the hour, and when he comes home, thinks to make amends for this fault by abusing the Preacher. His main policy is to shift off the Communion, for which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel, and will be sure to be out of Charity at Easter; and indeed lies not, for he has a quarrel to the Sacrament. He would make a bad Martyr, and good traveller, for his conscience is so large, he could never wander out of it, and in Constantinople would be circumcised with a reservation. His wife is more zealous, and therefore more costly, and he bats her in tires, what she stands him in Religion. But we leave him hatching plots against the State, and expecting Spinola.   

12. A self conceited Man.  
IS one that knows himself so well that he does not know himself. Two excellent well-dones have undone him; and he is guilty, that first commended him to madness. He is now become to his own book, which he poares on continually, yet like a truant-reader skips over the harsh places and surveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good parts, his eyes like a drunkards see all double, and his fancy like an old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He imagines every place where he comes his Theatre, and not a look stirring, but his spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that is, busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a March, and like his opinion unaccompanyed, with his eyes most fixed upon his own person, or on others with reflection to himself. If he have done any thing that has passed with applause, he is always re-acting it alone, and conceits the ecstasy his hearers were in at every period. His discourse is all positions, and definitive decrees, with thus it must be, and thus it is, and he will not humble his authority to prove it. His tenant is always singular, and aloof from the vulgar as he can, from which you must not hope to wrest him. He has an excellent humour, for an heretic, and in these days made the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus before Aristotle, & Paracelsus before Galen, and whosoever with most Paradox is commended, & Lipsius his hopping style, before either Tully or Quintilian. He much pities the World, that has no more in sight in his Parts, when he is too well discovered, even to this very thought. A flatterer is a dunce to him, for he can tell him nothing but what he knows before, and yet he loves him to, because he is like himself. Men are merciful to him, and let him alone, for if he be once driven from his humour, he is like two inward friends fallen out; His own bitter enemy, and discontent presently makes a murder. In sum, he is a bladder blown up with wind, which the least flaw crushes to nothing.   

13. A Tavern.  
IS a degree, or (if you will) a pair of stairs above an Alehouse, where men are drunk with more credit and Apology. If the Vintner's nose be at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is supplied by the juie-bush. The rooms are ill breathed, like the drinkers that have been washed well over night, and are smelled too fasting next morning; not furnished with Beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary implements, Stools, Table, and a Chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more news than hogsheads, & more jests than news, which are sucked up here by some spongy brain, and from thence squeazed into a Comedy. Men come here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this music above is answered with the clinking below. The Drawers are the civilest people in it, men of good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can boast more justly of their high calling. 'tis the best Theatre of natures, where they are truly acted, not played, and the business as in the rest of the world up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the Seller to the great Chamber. A melancholy man would find here matter to work upon, to see Heads as brittle as Glasses, and ofter broken. Men come hither to quarrel, and come hither to be made friends, and if Plutarch will lend me his Simile, it is even Telephus his sword that makes wounds, and cures them. It is the common consumption of the Afternoon, and the murderer, or maker away of a rainy day. It is the Torrid Zone that scorches the face, and Tobacco the gunpowder that blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the charitable Vintner had not Water ready for these flames. A house of sin you may call it but not a house of darkness for the Candles are never out, and it is like those Countries far in the North, where it is as clear at midnight as at midday. After a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing shower, where the spouts are flushing above, and the Conduits running below, while the Iordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. To give you the total reckoning of it. It is the busy man's recreation, the idle man's business, the melancholy man's Sanctuary, the strangers welcome, the Inns a Court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness, and the Citizen's courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of Canary their book, where we leave them.   

14. A too idly reserved Man.  
IS one that is a fool with discretion: or a strange piece of Politician, that manages the state of himself, His Actions are his Privy Counsel, wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and prescription, and dare not show his teeth without Machiavelli. He converses with his neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as much as the inquisition. He suspects all questions for examinations, and thinks you would pick something out of him, and avoids you: His breast is like a gentlewoman's closet, which locks up every toy and trifle, or some bragging Mountebank, that makes every stinking thing a secret. He delivers you common matters with great conjuration. of silence, and whispers you in the ear Acts of Parliament. You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoever he reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for fear of bad Comments, and he knows not how his words may be misapplyed. Ask his opinion and he tells you his doubt: and he never hears any thing more astonishtly than what he knows before. His words are like the Cards at Primiviste, where 6. is 18. and 7. 21. for they never signify what they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if he swore he would not. He is one indeed that takes all men to be craftier than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction to hinder their plots, and designs where they mean freely. He has been long a riddle himself, but at last finds Oedipusses; for his overacted dissimulation discovers him, and men do with him as they would with Hebrew letters, spell him backwards, and read him.   

15. A Shark.  
IS one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. He is some needy cashiered fellow, whom the World has oft flung off, yet still clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon any thing that's next at hand, amongst other of his Shipwrecks he has happily lost shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his Brain to more use than he, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new stratagem. He has an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there past but how do you betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice for an Embrace, and that for money. He offers you a Pottle of Sack out of his joy to see you, and in requital of this courtesy, you can do no less then pay for it. He is fumbling with his purse-strings, as a Schoolboy with his points, when he is going to be Whipped, till the Master weary with long Stay, forgives him. When the reckoning is paid, he says it must not be so, it is straight pacified, and cries what remedy. His borrow are like Subsidies, each man a shilling or two, as he can well dispend, which they lend him▪ not with the hope to be repaid, but that he will come no more. He holds a strange tyranny over men, for he is their debtor, and they fear him as a creditor. He is proud of any employment, though it be but to carry commendations, which he will be sure to deliver at eleven of the clock. They in courtesy bid him stay, & he in manners cannot deny them. If he find but a good look to assure his welcome, he becomes their half boorder, and haunts the threshhold so long, till he forces good natures to the necessity of a quarrel. Public iwitations he will not wrong with his absence, and is the best witness of the Sheriff's Hospitality. Men shun him at length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossed in his way, if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the Age as his clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.   

16. A Carrier.  
IS his own Hackneyman for he lets himself out to travel as well as his horses. He is the ordinary Ambassador between Friend and Friend, and brings rich Presents to the one, but never returns any back again. He is no unlettered man, though in show simple, for questionless, he has much in his Budget, which he can utter too in fit time and place; He is the Vault in Gloster Church, that conveys Whispers at a distance; for he takes the sound out of your mouth at York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young Students joy and expectation, and their most accepted guest, to whom they lend a willing hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting is, Your Friends are well; then in a piece of Gold delivers their Blessing. You would think him a Churlish blunt fellow, but they find in him many tokens of humanity. He is a great afflicter of the Highway, and beats them out of measure, which injury is sometimes revenged by the Purse-taker; & then the Voyage miscarries. No mandomineers more in his Inn, nor calls his Host unreverently with more presumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of the strength of his Horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his ease, for he is drunk commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the Prodigal Child, still packing away, and still returning again. But let him pass.   

17. An old College Butler.  
IS none of the worst Students in the house, for he keeps the set hours at his book more duly than any. His authority is great over men's good names, which he charges many times with shrewd aspersions, which they hardly wipe off without payment. His Box and Counters prove him to be a man of reckoning; yet he is stricter in his accounts then a Usurer, and delivers not a farthing without writing. He doubles the pains of Gallobelgicus, for his books go out once a quarter, and they are much in the same nature, brief notes and sums of affairs, and are out of request as soon. His comings in are like a Tailors from the shreds of bread, the chip, and remnants of the broken crust: excepting his veils from the barrel, which poor folks buy for their hogs, but drink themselves. He divides a halfpenny loaf with more subtlety than Kekerman, and sub-divides the a primo ortum so nicely, that a stomach of great capacity can hardly apprehend it. He is a very sober man considering his manifold temptations of drink and strangers, and if he be overseen, 'tis within his own liberties, and no man ought to take exceptions. He is never so well pleased with his place, as when a Gentleman is beholding to him for showing him the Buttery, whom he greets with a cup of single beer and slyst manchet, and tells him 'tis the fashion of the College. He domineers over Freshmen when they first come to the Hatch, and puzzles them with strange language of Cues, and Cees, and some broken Latin which he has learned at his Bin. His faculties extraordinary, is the warming of a pair of Cards, and telling out a dozen of Counters for Post and Pair, and no man is more methodical in these businesses. Thus he spends his age, till the ●appe of it is run out, and then a fresh one is set abroach.   

18. An upstart Country Knight.  
HIs honour was somewhat preposterous, for he bore the King's sword before he had arms to wield it; yet being once laid o'er the shoulder with a Knighthood, he finds the Herald his friend. His father was a man of good stock, though but a Tanner, or Usurer; he purchased the Land, and his son the Title. He has do●t off the name of a Clown, but the look not so easy, and his face bears still a relish of Churne-milke. He is guarded with more gold lace then all the Gentlemen o'th' Country, yet his body makes his clothes still out of fashion. His house-keeping is seen much in the distinct families of Dogs, and Servingmen attendant on their kennels, and the deepness of their throats is the depth of his discourse. A Hawk he esteems the true burden of Nobility, and is exceeding ambitious to seem delighted in the sport, and have his fist gloved with his jesses'. A justice of peace he is to domineer in his Parish, and do his neighbour wrong with more right. And very scandalous he is in his authority, for no sin almost which he will not commit. He will be drunk with his hunters for company, and stain his Gentility with droppings of Ale. He is fearful of being Sheriff of the Shire by instinct, and dreads the Size-weeeke as much as the Prisoner. In sum, he is but a clod of his own earth, or his Land is the Dunghill, and he the Cock that crows over it. And commonly his race is quickly run, and his children's Children, though they scape hanging, return to the place from whence they came.   

19 A Gallant.  
IS one that was born and shaped for his clothes: and if Adam had not fall'n, had lived to no purpose. He gratulates therefore the first sin, and fig-leaues that were an occasion of bravery. His first care is his dress, the nex● his body, and in the uniting of these two lies his soul and its faculties. He observes London trulier than the Termers, and his business is the street: the Stage, the Court, and those places where a proper man is best shown. If he be qualified in gaming extraordinary, he is so much the more gentile and complete, and he learns the best oaths for the purpose. These are a great part of his discourse, & he is as curious in their newness as the fashion. His other talk is Ladies and such pretty things, or some jest at a Play. His Picktooth bears a great part in his discourse, so does his body; the upper parts whereof are as starched as his linen, and perchance use the same Laundress. He has learned to ruffle his face from his Boot, and takes great delight in his walk to hear his Spurs jingle. Though his life pass somewhat slidingly, yet he seems very careful of the time, for he is still drawing his Watch out of his Pocket, and spends part of his hours in numbering them. He is one never serious but with his Tailor, when he is in conspiracy for the next device. He is furnished his jests, as some wanderer with Sermons, some three for all Congregations, one especially against the Scholar, a man to him much ridiculous, whom he knows by no other definition, but a silly fellow in black. He is a kind of walking Mercer's Shop, and shows you one Stuff to day, and another tomorrow; an ornament to the rooms he comes in, as the fair Bed and Hangings be; and is merely ratable accordingly, fifty or an hundred Pound as his suit is. His main ambition is to get a Knighthood, and then an old Lady, which if he be happy in, he fills the Stage and a Coach so much longer. Otherwise, himself and his clothes grow stale together, and he is buried commonly ere he dies in the Gaol, or the Country.   

20. A Constable.  
IS a Viceroy in the street, and no man stands more upon't that he is the King's Officer. His jurisdiction extends to the next stocks, where he has Commission for the heels only, and sets the rest of the body at liberty. He is a scarecrow to that Alehouse, where he drinks not his morning's draught, and apprehends a Drunkard for not standing in the King's name. Beggars fear him more than the justice, and as much as the Whipstock, whom he delivers over to his subordinate Magistrates, the Bride-wel-man, and the Beadle. He is a great stickler in the tumults of double jugges, and venter's his head by his Place, which is broke many times to keep whole the peace. He is never so much in his Majesty as in his Night-watch, where he sits in his Chair of State, a Shop-stall, and environed with a guard of Halberds, examines all passengers. He is a very careful man in his Office, but if he stay up after midnight, you shall take him napping.   

21. A down right Sholler.  
IS one that has much learning in the Ore, unwrought and untryde, which time and experience fashions and refines. He is good mettle in the inside, though rough & vnscoured without, and therefore hated of the Courtier, that is quite contrary. The time has got a vein of making him ridiculous, and men laugh at him by tradition, and no unlucky absurdity, but is put upon his profession, and done like a Scholar. But his fault is only this, that his mind is somewhat much taken up with his mind, and his thoughts not loaden with any carriage beside. He has not put on the acquaint Garb of the Age, which is now become a man's Totall. He has not humbled his Meditations to the industry of Compliment, not afflicted his brain in an elaborate leg. His body is not set upon nice Pins, to be turning and flexible for every motion, but his scrape is homely, and his nod worse. He cannot kiss his hand and cry Madam, nor talk idly enough to bear her company. His smacking of a Gentlewoman is somewhat too savoury, and he mistakes her nose for her lip. A very Woodcock would puzzle him in carving, and he wants the logic of a Capon. He has not the glib faculty of sliding over a tale, but his words come squeamishly out of his mouth, and the laughter commonly before the jest. He names this word College too often, and his discourse beats too much on the University. The perplexity of mannerliness will not let him feed, and he is sharp set at an Argument when he should cut his meat. He is discarded for a gamester at all games but one and thirty, and at tables he reaches not beyond doublets. His fingers are not long and drawn out to handle a Fiddle, but his fist is clunched with the habit of disputing. He ascends a Horse somewhat sinisterly, though not on the left side, and they both go jogging in grief together. He is exceedingly censured by the Inns a Court men, for that heinous Vice being out of fashion. He cannot speak to a Dog in his own Dialect, and understands Greek better than the language of a Falconer. He has been used to a dark room, and dark Clothes, and his eyes dazzle at a Satin Doublet. The Hermitage of his Study, has made him somewhat uncouth in the world, and men make him worse by staring on him. Thus is he silly and ridiculous, and it continues with him for some quarter of a year, out of the University. But practise him a little in men, and brush him over with good company, and he shall out-ballance those glisterers as much as a solid substance does a feather, or Gold Goldlace.   

22. A Player.  
HE knows the right use of the World, where in he comes to play a part and so away. His life is not idle for it is all Action, and no man need be more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. His Profession has in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more disliked, and yet none more applauded; and he has this misfortude of some Scholar, too much wit makes him a fool. He is like our painting Gentlewomen, seldom in his own face, seldomer in his clothes, and he pleases, the better he counterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for gold lace. He does not only personate on the Stage, but sometime in the Street, for he is masked still in the habit of a Gentleman. His Parts find him oaths and good words, which he keeps for his use and Discourse, and makes show with them of a fashionable Companion. He is tragical on the Stage, but rampant in the Tiring-house, and swears oaths there which he never conned. The waiting women Spectators are over-eares in love with him, and Ladies send for him to act in their Chambers. Your Inns of Court men were undone but for him, he is their chief guest and employment, and the sole business that makes them Afternoons men; The Poet only is his Tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's friend drunk at his charges. Shrove-tuesday he fears as much as the Bawds, and Lent is more damage to him then the Butcher. He was never so much discredited as in one Act, & that was of Parliament, which gives Ostlers Privilege before him, for which he abhors it more than a corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one wel-furnisht Actor has enough in him for five common Gentlemen, and if he have a good body for six, and for resolution, he shall Challenge any Cato, for it has been his practice to die bravely.   

23. A Detractor.  
IS one of a more cunning and active envy, wherewith he gnaws not foolishly himself, but throws it abroad and would have it blister others. He is commonly some weak parted fellow, and worse minded, yet is strangely ambitious to match others, not by mounting their worth, but bringing them down with his Tongue to his own poorness. He is indeed like the red Dragon that pursued the woman, for when he cannot overreach another, he opens his mouth and throws a flood after to drown him. You cannot anger him worse than to do well, and he hates you more bitterly for this, then if you had cheated him of his patrimony with your own discredit. He is always slighting the general opinion, and wondering why such and such men should be applauded. Commend a good Divine, he cries Postilling, a Philologer pedantry, a Poet Rhyming, a School man dull wrangling, a sharp conceit, Boy-ishnesse; an honest Man pla●sibilitie. He comes to Public things not to learn, but to catch, and if there be but one solecism, that's all he carries away. He looks on all things with a prepared sourness, and is still furnished with a Pish before hand, or some musty Proverb that disrelishes all things whatsoever. If fear of the company make him second a commendation, it is like a Law-writ, always with a clause and exception, or to smooth his way to some greater scandal. He will grant you something, and bate more; and this bating shall in conclusion take away all he granted. His speech concludes still with an Oh but, and I could wish one thing amended; and this one thing shall be enough to deface all his former commendations. He will be very inward with a man to fish some bad out of him, and make his slanders hereafter more authentic, when it is said a friend reported it. He will inveigle you to naughtiness to get your good name into his clutches, and make you drunk to show you reeling. He passes the more plausibly because all men have a smatch of his humour, and it is thought freeness which is malice. If he can say nothing of a man, he will seem to speak riddles, as if he could tell strange stories if he would: and when he has racked his invention to the uttermost, he ends: But I wish him well, and therefore must hold my peace. He is always listening and enquiring after men, and suffers not a cloak to pass by him unexamined. In brief, he is one that has lost all good himself, and is loath to find it in another.   

24. A mere young Gentleman of the University.  
IS one that comes there to wear a gown, and to say hereafter, he has been at the University. His Father sent him thither, because he heard there were the best Fencing and Dancing-schools, from these he has his Education, from his Tutor the oversight. The first Element of his knowledge is to be shown the Colleges, and initiated in a Tavern by the way, which hereafter he will learn of himself. The two marks of his seniority, is the bare Velvet of his gown, and his proficiency at Tennis, where when he can once play a Set, he is a Freshman no more. His Study has commonly handsome Shelves, his Books near Silk strings, which he shows to his Father's man, and is loath to untie or take down for fear of misplacing. Upon foul days for recreation he retires thither, and looks over the pretty book his Tutor Reads to him, which is commonly some short History, or a piece of Euphormio; for which his Tutor gives him Money to spend next day. His main loitering is at the Library, where he studies Arms and books of Honour, and turns a Gentleman-Critick in Pedigrees. Of all things he endures not to be mistaken for a Scholar, and hates a black suit though it be of Satin. His companion is ordinarily some stale fellow, that has been notorious for an Ingle to gold hatbands, whom he admires at first, afterward scorns. If he have spirit or wit, he may light of better company, and may learn some flashes of wit, which may do him Knights service in the Country hereafter. But he is now gone to the Inns of Court, where he studies to forget what he learned before, his acquaintance and the fashion.   

25. A Pot-Poet.  
IS the dreggs of wit; yet mingled with good drink mae have some relish. His Inspirations are more real than others; for they do but fain a God, but he has his by him. His Verses run like the Tap, and his invention as the Barrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spigot. In thin drink he aspires not above a Ballad, but a cup of Sack inflames him, and sets his Muse and Nose a fire together. The Press is his Mint, and stamps him now and then a six pence or two in reward of the base coin his Pamphlet. His Works woul● 〈◊〉 sell for three halfpences, though they are given oft for three Shillings, but for the pretty Title that allures the Country Gentleman: and for which the Printer maintains him in Ale a fortnight. His Verses are like his clothes, miserable Cento's and patches, yet their pace is not altogether so hobbling as an Almanacs. The death of a great man or the burning of a house furnish him with an Argument, and the nine Muses are out straight in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries Fire, Fire. His other Poems are but Briefs in Rhyme, and like the poor greeks collections to redeem from captivity. He is a man now much employed in commendations of our Navy, and a bitter inveigher against the Spaniard. His frequent'st Works go out in single sheets, and are chanted from market to market, to a vile tune, and a worse throat, whilst the poor Country wench melts like her butter to hear them. And these are the Stories of some men of Tyburn, or a strange Monster out of Germany: or sitting in a Bawdy-house; he writes Gods judgements. He ends at last in some obscure painted Cloth, to which himself made the Verses, and his life like a Can too full spills upon the bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, which my Hostess loses.   

26. A Cook.  
THe Kitchen is his Hell, and he the Devil in it, where his meat and he fry together. His Revenues are showered down from the fat of the Land, and he enter-lards his own grease among to help the drippings. choleric he is, not by nature so much as his Art, & it is a shrewd temptation that the chopping knife is so near. His weapons ofter offensive, are a mess of hot broth, and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in his way. In the Kitchen he will domineer, and rule the roast, in spite of his Master, and Curses is the very Dialect of his Calling. His labour is mere blustering and fury, and his Speech like that of Sailors in a storm, a thousand businesses at once, yet in all this tumult he does not love combustion, but will be the first man that shall go and quench it. He is never good Christian till a hizzing Pot of Ale has slaked him, like Water cast on a firebrand, & for that time he is tame and disposest. His cunning is not small in Architecture, for he builds strange Fabrics in Paste, Towers and Castles, which are offered to the assault of valiant teeth, and like Darius his Palace, in one Banquet demolished. He is a pitiless murderer of Innocents', and he mangles poor fowls with unheard of tortures, and it is thought the Martyr's persecutions were devised from hence, sure we are St. Laurence his Gridiron came out of his Kitchin. His best faculty is at the Dresser, where he seems to have great skill in the Tactickes, ranging his Dishes in order Military, and placing with great discretion in the forefront meats more strong and hardy and the more cold and cowardly in the rear, as quaking Tarts, and quivering Custards, and such milksop Dishes which scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now the second Course is gone up, and he down into the Cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four a clock in the afternoon, and then returns again to his Regiment.   

27. A forward bold Man.  
IS a lusty fellow in a crowd, that's beholding more to his elbow then his legs, for he does not go but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts on. He can do something, but dare do much more, and is like a desperate soldier, who will assault any thing where he is sure not to enter. He is not so well-opinioned of himself, as industrious to make other; and thinks no vice so prejudicial as blushing. He is still citing for himself, that a candle should not be hid under a bushel, and for his part, he will be sure not to hide his, though his candle be but a snuff or Rush-candle. These few good parts he has, he is no niggard in displaying, and is like some needy flaunting goldsmith, no thing in the inner room, but all on the ●np-boord: If he be a scholar, he has commonly stepped into the Pulpit before a degree; yet into that too before he deserved it. He never defers S. mary's beyond his regency, and his next Sermon is at Pruls Cross, and that printed. He loves public things alive: and for any solemn entertainment he will find a mouth, find a speech who will. He is greedy of great acquaintance and many, and thinks it no small advancement to rise to be known. His talk at the table is like Benjamins' mess, five times to his part, and no argument shuts him out for a quarrellour. Of all disgraces he endures not to be Nonplussed, and had rather fly for Sanctuary to Nonsense, which few can descry, then to nothing which all. His boldness is beholding to other men's modesty, which rescues him many times from a Bafflle; yet his face is good Armour, and he is dashed out of any thing sooner than Countenance. Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare man, and wiser men, though they know him, take him for their pleasure, or as they would do a Sculler for being next at hand. Thus preferment at last stumbles on him because he is still in the way. His Companions that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him come ready for Scarlet, whilst themselves lie Musty in their old Clothes and Colleges.   

28. A Baker.  
NO man verifies the Proverb more, that it is an Almsdeed to punish him: for his penalty is a Dole, and does the Beggars as much good as their Dinner. He abhors therefore works of Charity, and thinks his Bread cast away when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice neither, for the weigh-scales sake, and hates the Clerk of the Market as his Executioner: yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his Basket only is sent to Prison. Marry a Pillory is his deadly enemy, and he never hears well after.   

30. A plain Country Fellow.  
IS one that manures his ground well, but lets himself lie fallow and untiled. He has reason enough to do his business, and not enough to be idle or melancholy. He seems to have the judgement of Nabuchadnezar for his conversation is among beasts, and his talons none of the shortest, only he eats not grass, because he loves not salads. His hand guides the Plough, and the Plough his thoughts, and his ditch and landmark is the very mound of his meditations. He expostulates with his Oxen very understandingly, and speaks Gee and Ree better than English. His mind is not much distracted with objects, but if a good fat Cow come in his way, he stands dumb and astonished, and though his haste be never so great, will fix here half an hour's contemplation. His habitation is some poor Thatched roof, distinguished from his Barn, by the loopholes that let out smoak, which the rain had long since Washed thorough, but for the double ceiling of Bacon on the inside, which has hung there from his Grandsire's time, and is yet to make rashers for posterity. His Dinner is his other work, for he sweats at it as much as at his labour; he is a terrible fastner on a piece of Beef, and you may hope to stave the Guard off sooner. His Religion is a part of his Copyhold, which he takes from his Landlord, and refers it wholly to his discretion. Yet if he give him leave, he is a good Christian to his power (that is) comes to Church in his best clothes, and sits there with his Neighbours, where he is capable only of two Prayers, for rain, and fair weather. He apprehends Gods blessings only in a Good Year, or a Fat pasture, and never praises him bu● on good ground. Sunday he esteems a day to make merry in, and thinks a Bagpipe as essential to it, as Evening Prayer, where he walks very solemnly after service with his hands coupled behind him, and censures the dancing of his parish. His compliment with his Neighbour is a good thump on the back; and his salutation commonly some blunt Curse. He thinks nothing to be vices but Pride and ill-husbandrie, from which he will gravely dissuade youth and has some thrifty Hob-nayle Proverbes to Clout his discourse. He is a niggard all the Week except only Market-day, where if his Corn sell well, he thinks he may be drunk with a good Conscience. His feet never stink so unbecommingly as when he trots after a Lawyer in West-minster●hall, and even cleaves the ground with hard scraping, in beseeching his Worship to take his money. He is sensible of no calamity but the burning of a Stacke of Corn, or the overflowing of a Meadow, and thinks Noah's Flood the greatest Plague that ever was, not because it Drowned the World, but spoiled the grass. For Death he is never troubled, and if he get in but his Harvest before, let it come when it will he cares not.   

31. A Youngman.  
He is now out of Nature's protection, though not yet able to guide himself. But left loose to the World, and Fortune, from which the weakness of his Childhood preserved him: and now his strength exposes him. He is indeed just of age to be miserable, yet in his own conceit first begins to be happy; and he is happier in this imagination, and his misery not felt is less. He sees yet but the outside of the World and Men, and conceives them according to their appearing glister, and out of this ignorance believes them. He pursues all vanities for happiness, and enjoys them best in this fancy. His reason serves not to curb but understand his appetite, and prosecute the motions thereof with a more eager earnestness. Himself is his own temptation, and needs not Satan; and the World will come hereafter. He leaves repentance for grey hairs, and performs it in being covetous. He is mingled with the vices of the age as the fashion and custom, ●ith which he longs to be acquainted; and Sins to better his understanding. He conceives his Youth as the season of his Lust, and the Hour wherein he ought to be bad: and because he would not lose his time, spends it. He distastes Religion as a sad thing, and is six years elder for a thought of Heaven. He scorns and fears, and yet hopes for old age, but dare not imagine it with wrinkles. He loves and hates with the same inflammation: and when the heat is over is cool alike to friends and enemies. His friendship is seldom so steadfast but that lust, drink, or anger may overturn it. He offers you his blood to day in kindness, and is ready to take yours to morrow. He does seldom any thing which he wishes not to do again, and is only wise after a misfortune. He suffers much for his knowledge, and a great deal of folly it is makes him a wise man. He is free from many Vices, by being not grown to the performance, and is only more virtuous out of weakness. Every action is his danger, and every man his ambush. He is a Ship without Pilot or Tackling, and only good fortune may steer him. If he scape this age, he has 'scaped a Tempest, and may live to be a Man.   

32. The common singing-men in Cathedral Churches.  
ARe a bad Society, and yet a Company of good Fellows, that roar deep in the Choir, deeper in the Tavern. They are the eight parts of speech which go to the Syntaxis of Service, and are distinguished by their noises much like Bells, for they make not a Consort but a Peal. Their pastime or recreation is prayers, their exrecise drinking, yet herein so religiously addicted that they serve God oftest when they are drunk. Their humanity is a leg to the Residencer, their learning a Chapter, for they learn it commonly before they read it, yet the old Hebrew names are little beholding to them, for they miscall them worse than one another. Though they never expound the Scripture, they handle it much, and pollute the Gospel with two things, their Conversation, and their thumbs. Upon Worky-dayes they behave themselves at Prayers as at their Pots, for they swallow them down in an instant. Their Gowns are laced commonly with streamings of Ale, the superfluities of cups, or throat above measure. Their skill in melody makes them the better companions abroad, and their Anthems abler to sing Catches. Long-lived for the most part they are not, especially the base, they overflow their bank so oft to drown the Organs. Briefly, if they escape arresting, they die constantly in God's Service; and to take their death with more patience, they have Wine and Cakes at their Funeral: and now they keep the Church a great deal better, and help to fill it with their bones as before with their noise.   

33. A Pretender to Learning.  
IS one that would make others more fools than himself; for though he know nothing, he would not have the world know so much. He conceits nothing in Learning but the opinion, which he seeks to purchase without it, though he might with less labour cure is ignorance, then hide it. He is indeed a kind of Scholler-Mountebank, and his Art, our delusion. He is tricked out in all the accoutrements of Learning, and at the first encounter none passes better. He is oftener in his study, then at his Book, and you cannot pleasure him better, then to deprehend him. Yet he hears you not till the third knock, and then comes out very angry, as interrupted. You find him in his Slippers, and a Pen in his ear, in which formality he was asleep. His Table is spread wide with some Classicke Folio, which is as constant to it as the carpet, and hath laid open in the same Page this half year. His Candle is always a longer sitter up then himself, and the boast of his Window at Midnight. He walks much alone in the Posture of Meditation, and has a Book still before his face in the fields. His pocket is seldom without a Greek Testament, or Hebrew Bible, which he opens only in the Church, and that when some slander by looks over. He has his sentences for Company, some scatter of Seneca and Tacitus, which are good upon all occasions. If he read any thing in the morning, it comes up all at dinner: and as long as that lasts, the discourse is his. He is a great Plagiary of Taverne-wit: and comes to Sermons only that he may talk of Austin. His Parcels are the mere scrape from Company, yet he complains at parting what time he has lost. He is wondrously capricious to seem a judgement, and listens with a sour attention, to what he understands not: He talks much of Scaliger and Causabone, and the Jesuits, and prefers some unheard-of Dutch name before them all. He has verses to bring in upon these and these hints, and it shall go hard but he will wind in his opportunity. He is critical in a language he cannot construe, and speaks seldom under Arminius in Divinity. His business and retirement and caller away is his Study, and he protests no delight to it comparable. He is a great Nomen-clator of Authors, which he has read in general in the Catalogue, and in particular in the Title, and goes seldom so far as the Dedication. He never talks of any thing, but learning, and learns all from talking. Three encounters with the same men pump him, and then he only puts in, or gravely says no thing. He has taken pains to be an Ass, though not to be a Scholar, and is at length discovered and laughed at.   

34. A Shopkeeper.  
HIs Shop is his well stuffed Book, and himself the Title-page of it, or Index. He utters much to all men, though he sells but to a few, and entreats for his own necessities by ask others what they lack. No man speaks more and no more, for his words are like his Wares, twenty of one sort, and he goes over them alike to all comers. He is an arrogant commender of his own things; for whatsoever he shows you, is the best in the Town, though the worst in his Shop. His Conscience was a thing, that would have laid upon his hands, and he was forced to put it off: and makes great use of honesty to profess upon. He tells you lies by rote, and not minding, as the Phrase to sell in, and the Language he spent most of his years to learn. He never speaks so truly, as when he says he would use you as his Brother, for he would abuse his Brother; & in his Shop, thinks it lawful. His Religion is much in the nature of his Customers, and indeed the Pander to it: and by a misinterpreted sense of Scripture makes a gain of his Godliness. He is your slave while you pay him ready Money, but if he once befriend you, your Tyrant, and you had better deserve his hate then his trust.   

35. A handsome Hostess.  
IS the fairer commendation of an Inn, above the fair Sign or fair Lodgings. She is the Loadstone that attracts men of Iron, Gallants and Roarers, where they cleave sometimes long, and are not easily got off. Her Lips are your welcome, and your entertainment her company, which is put into the reckoning too, and is the dearest parcel in it▪ No Citizen's wife is demurer than she at the first greeting, nor draws in her mouth with a chaster simper, but you may be more familiar without distaste, and she does not startle at Bawdry. She is the confusion of a Pottle of Sack more than would have been spent elsewhere, and her little jugs are accepted, to have her Kiss excuse them. She may be an honest woman, but is not believed so in her Parish, and no man is a greater In fidel in it then her Husband.   

36. A Blunt Man.  
IS one whose wit is better pointed then his behaviour, and that course, and Impolished not out of ignorance so much as humour. He is a great enemy to the fine Gentleman, and these things of Compliment, and hates ceremony in conversation, as the Puritan in Religion. He distinguishes not betwixt fair and double-dealing, and suspects all smoothness for the dress of knavery. He starts at the encounter of a Salutation, as an assault, and beseeches you in choler to forbear your courtesy. He loves not any thing in Discourse that comes before the purpose, and is always suspicious of a Preface. Himself falls rudely still on his matter without any circumstance, except he use an old Proverb for an Introduction. He swears old out of date innocent oaths, as by the Mass, by our Lady, and such like; and though there be Lords present, he cries my Masters. He is exceedingly in love with his Humour, which makes him always profess and proclaim it, and you must take what he says patiently, because he is a plain man. His nature is his excuse still and other men's Tyrant for he must speak his mind, and that is his worst, and craves your pardon most injuriously for not Pardoning you. His jests best become him, because they come from him rudely and unaffected: and he has the luck commonly to have them famous. He is one that will do more than he will speak, and yet speak more than he will hear: for though he love to touch others, he is teachy himself, and seldom to his own abuses replies but with his Fists. He is as squeazie of his commendations as his courtesy, and his good word is like an Elegy in a Satire. He is generally better favoured than he favours, as being commonly well expounded in his bitterness, and no man speaks treason more securely. He chides great men with most boldness, and is counted for it an honest fellow. He is grumbling much in the behalf of the Commonwealth, and is in Prison oft for it with credit. He is generally honest, but more generally thought so, and his downe-rightnesse credits him, as a man not well bended and crookned to the times. In conclusion, he is not easily bad, in whom this quality is Nature, but the counterfeit is most dangerous since he is disguised in a humour, that professes not to disguise.   

37. A Critic.  
IS one that has spelled over a great many of Books, and his observation is the Orthography. He is the Surgeon of old Authors, and heals the wounds of dust and ignorance. He converses much in fragments and Desunt multas, and if he piece it up with two Lines, he is more proud of that Book then the Author. He runs over all Sciences to peruse their Syntaxis, and thinks all Learning comprised in writing Latin. He tastes Styles, as some discreeter Palates do Wine; and tells you which is Genuine, which Sophisticate and bastard. His own Phrase is a miscellany of old words, deceased long before the Caesars, and entombed by Varro, and the modern'st man he follows is Plautus. He writes Omneis at length, and quidquid, and his Gerund is most inconformable. He is a trouble troublesome vexer of the dead, which after so long sparing must rise up to the judgement of his castigations. He is one that makes all Books sell dearer, whilst he swells them into Folio's with his Comments.   

38. A Sergeant or Catchpole.  
IS one of God's judgement; and which our Roarers do only conceive terrible. He is the properest shape wherein they fancy Satan; for he is at most but an Arrester, and Hell a Dungeon. He is the Creditors Hawk, wherewith they seize upon flying Birds, and fetch them again in his Talons. He is the Period of young Gentlemen, or their full stop, for when he meets with them they can go no farther. His Ambush is a Shop-Stall, or close Lane, and his Assault is cowardly at your back. He respites you in no place but a Tavern, where he sells his Minutes dearer than a Clocke-maker. The common way to run from him, is through him, which is often attempted and achieved, and no man is ofter beaten out of charity. He is one makes the street more dangerous than the Highways, and men go better provided in their walks then their journey. He is the first handsel of the young Rapiers of the Templars, and they are as proud of his repulse, as an Hungarian of killing a Turk. He is a movable Prison, and his hands two Manacles hard to be filled off. He is an occasioner of disloyal thoughts in the Commonwealth, for he makes men hate the King's Name worse than the Devils.   

37. A weak Man.  
IS one whom Nature huddled up in haste, and left his best part unfinished. The rest of him is grown to be a man, only his brain stays behind. He is a man that has not improoued his first rudiments, nor attained any proficiency by his stay in the world: but we may speak of him yet as when he was in the bud a good harmless nature, a well meaning mind, if he could order his intentions. It is his misery that he now most wants a Tutor, and is too old to have one. He is two steps above a fool, and a great many more below a wiseman: yet the fool is oft given him, and by those whom he esteems most. Some tokens of him are. He loves men better upon relation then experience: for he is exceedingly enamoured of Strangers, and none quicklier a weary of his friend. He charges you at first meeting with all his secrets, and on better acquaintance grows more reserved. Indeed he is one that mistakes much his abusers for friends, and his friends for enemies, and he apprehends your hate in nothing so much, as in good counsel. One that is flexible with any thing but reason, and then only perverse; & you may better entice then persuade him. A servant to every tale and flatterer, & whom the last man still works over. A great affecter of wits and such pretinesses; and his company is costly to him, for he seldom has it but invited. His friendship commonly is begun in a supper and lost in lending money. The Tavern is a dangerous place to him, for to drink and to be drunk, is with him all one, and his brain is sooner quenched then his thirst. He is drawn into naughtiness with company, but suffers alone, and the Bastard commonly laid to his charge. One that will be patiently abused, and take exceptions a Month after when he understands it, and then not endear him more than by cozening him, and it is a temptation to those that would not. One discoverable in all sillinesses to all men but himself, & you may take any man's knowledge of him better than his own. He will promise the same thing to twenty, and rather than deny one break with all. One that has no power o'er himself, o'er his business, o'er his friends: but a prey and pity to all: and if his fortunes once sink, men quickly cry alas, and forget him.   

40. A Tobacco-seller.  
IS the only man that finds good in it which others brag of, but do not; for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with greater seriousness, or challenges your judgement more in the approbation. His Shop is the Rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue with their noses, and their communication is smoke. It is the place only where Spain is commended and preferred before England itself. He should be well experienced in the world: for he has daily trial of men's nostrils, and none is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his Tobacco, and that to his wife, which is the flame that follows this smoke.   

41. A plausible Man.  
IS one that would fain run an eeuen path in the world, and iutt against no man. His endeavour is not to offend, and his aim the general opinion. His conversation is a kind of continued Compliment, and his life a practice of manners. The relation he bears to others, a kind of fashionable respect, not friendship, but friendliness, which is equal to all and 〈…〉 and his kindnesses seldom exceed courtesies. He loves not deeper mutualities, because he would not take sides, nor hazard himself on displeasures, which he principally avoids. At your first acquaintance with him he is exceeding kind and friendly, and at your twentieth meeting after but friendly still. He has an excellent command over his patience and tongue, especially the last, which he accommodates always to the times and persons, and speaks seldom what is sincere, but what is civil. He is one that uses all companies, drinks all healths, and is reasonable cool in all Religions. He can listen to a foolish discourse with an applausive attention, and conceal his Laughter at Nonsense. Silly men much honour and esteem him, because by his fair reasoning with them as with men of understanding, he puts them into an erroneous opinion of themselves, and makes them forwarder hereafter to their own discovery. He is one rather well thought on then beloved, and that love he has is more of whole companies together then any one in particular. Men gratify him notwithstanding with a good report, and what ever vices he has beside, yet having no enemies, he is sure to be an honest fellow.   

42. The World's wise Man.  
IS an able and sufficient wicked man, it is a proof of his sufficiency that he is not called wicked, but wise. A man wholly determined in himself and his own ends, and his instruments herein any thing that will do it. His friends are a part of his engines, and as they serve this work, used or laid by. Indeed he knows not this thing of friend, but if he give you the name, it is a sign he has a plot on you. Never more active in his businesses, then when they are mixed with some harm to others: and 'tis his best play in this Game to strike off and lie in the place. Sucsessfull commonly in these undertake, because he passes smoothly those rubs which others stumble at, as Conscience and the like: and gratulates himself much in this advantage: Oaths and falsehood he counts the nearest way, and loves not by any means to go about. He has many fine quips at this folly of plain dealing, but his tush is greatest at Religion, yet he uses this too, and Virtue, and good Words, but is less dangerously a Devil then a Saint. He ascribes all honesty to an vnpractis'dnesse in the World: and Conscience a thing merely for Children. He scorns all that are so silly to trust him, and only not scorns his enemy; especially if as bad as himself: He fears him as a man well armed, and provided, but sets boldly on good natures, as the most vanquishable. One that seriously admires those worst Princes, as Sforza, Borgia, and Richard the Third: and calls matters of deep villainy things of difficulty. To whom murders are but resolute Acts, and Treason a business of great consequence. One whom two or three Countries make up to this completeness, and he has travelled for the purpose. His deepest indearment is a communication of mischief, and then only you have him fast. His conclusion is commonly one of these two, either a Great Man, or hanged.   

43. A Bowl Alley.  
IS the place where there are three things thrown away beside Bowls, to wit, time, money and curses, and the last ten for one. The best Sport in it is the Gamesters, and he enjoys it that looks on and bets not. It is the School of wrangling, and worse than the Schools, for men will cavil here for an hair's breadth, and make a stir where a straw would end the controversy. No Antic, screws men's bodies into such strange flexures, and you would think them senseless, to speak sense to to their Bowl, and put their trust in entreaties for a good cast. The Betters are the factious noise of the Alley, or the gamester's beadsmen that pray for them. They are somewhat like those that are cheated by great Men, for they lose their money & must say nothing. It is the best discovery of humours, especially in the losers, where you have fine variety of impatience, whilst some fret, some rail, some swear, and others more ridiculously comfort themselves with Philosophy. To give you the Moral of it; It is the Emblem of the world, or the world's ambition: where most are short, or over, or wide or wrong-Byas'r, and some few justle in to the Mistress Fortune. And it is here as in the Court, where the nearest are most spighted, and all blows aimed at the Toucher.   

44. A Surgeon.  
IS one that has some business about his Building or little house of man, whereof Nature is as it were the Tyler, and he the Playsterer. It is ofter out of reparations, than an old Parsonage, and then he is set on work to patch it again. He deals most with broken Commodities, as a broken Head, or a mangled face, and his gains are very ill got, for he lives by the hurts of the Commonwealth. He differs from a Physician as a sore does from a disease, or the sick from those that are not whole, the one distempers you within, the other blisters you without. He complains of the decay of Valour in these days, and sighs for that slashing Age of Sword and Buckler; and thinks the Law against Duels, was made merely to wound his Vocation. He had been long since undone, if the charity of the Stews had not relieved him, from whom he has his Tribute as duly as the Pope, or a windfall sometimes from a Tavern, if a quart Pot hit right. The rareness of his custom makes him pitiless when it comes: and he holds a Patient longer than our Courts a Cause. He tells you what danger you had been in if he had stayed but a minute longer, and though it be but a pricked finger, he makes of it much matter. He is a reareasonable cleanly man, considering the Scabs he has to deal with, & your finest Ladies now and then are beholding to him for their best dress. He curses old Gentlewomen, and their charity that makes his Trade their Alms: but his envy is never stirred so much as when Gentlemen go over to sight upon Calais Sands, whom he wishes drowned ere they come there, rather than the French shall get his Custom.   

45. A Shee-precise. Hypocrite.  
IS one in whom good Women suffer, and have their truth misinterpreted by her folly.  
She is one, she knows not what herself if you ask her, but she is indeed one that has taken a toy at the fashion of Religion, and is enamoured of the Newfangle. See is a Nonconformist in a close Stomacher and Ruff of Geneva Print, and her purity consists much in her Linen. She has heard of the Rag of Rome, and thinks it a very sluttish Religion, and rails at the Whore of Babylon for a very naughty Woman. She has left her Virginity as a Relic of Popery, and marries in her Tribe without a Ring. Her devotion at the Church is much in the turning up of her eye, and turning down the lease in her Book when she hears named Chapter and Verse. When she comes home, she commends the Sermon for the Scripture, and two hours. She loves Preaching better than Praying, and of Preachers Lecturers, and thinks the weekdays Exercise far more edifying than the Sundays. Her oftest Gossip are Sabaoth-dayes journeys, where (though an enemy to Superstition) she will go in Pilgrimage five mile to a silenced Minister, when there is a better Sermon in her own Parish. She doubts of the Virgin Mary's Salvation, and dare not Saint her, but knows her own place in heaven as perfectly, as the Pew she has a key to. She is so taken up with Faith, she has no room for Charity, and understands no good Works, but what are wrought on the Sampler. She accounts nothing Vices but Superstition, and an Oath, and thinks Adultery a less sin, then to swear by my Truly. She rails at other Women by the names of jezabel and Dalilah: and calls her own daughters Rebecka and Abigail, and not Anne but Hannah. She suffers them not to learn on the Virginals, because of their affinity with the Organs, but is reconciled to the Bells for the Chymes sake, since they were reformed to the tune of a Psalm. She over flows so with the Bible, that she spills it upon every occasion, and will not Cudgel her Maids without Scripture. It is a question whether she is more troubled with the Devil or the Devil with her: she is always challenging and daring him, and her weapons are Spells no less potent than different, as being the sage Sentences of some of her own Sectaries. No thing angers her so much as that Women cannot Preach, and in this point only thinks the Brownist erroneous: but what she cannot at the Church, she does at the Table, where she prattles more than any against sense, and Antichrist, till a Capon wing silence her. She expounds the Priests of Baal Reading Ministers, and thinks the Salvation of that Parish as desperate as the Turks. She is a main derider to her capacity of those that are not her Preachers, and censures all Sermons but bad ones. If her Husband be a Tradesman, she helps him to Customers, how soever to good cheer, and they are a most faithful couple at these meetings, for they never fail. Her Conscience is like others Lust never satisfied, and you might better answer Scotus then her Scruples. She is one that thinks she performs all her duty to God in hearing, and shows the fruits of it in talking. She is more fiery against the Maypole than her Husband, and thinks he might do a Phinehas his act to break the pate of the Fiddler. She is an everlasting Argument; but I am weary of her.   

46. A Contemplative Man.  
IS a Scholar in this great University the World; and the same his Book and Study. He cloisters not his Meditations in the narrow darkness of a Room, but sends them abroad with his Eyes, and his Brain travels with his Feet. He looks upon Man from a high Tower, and sees him truelier at this distance in his Infirmities and poorness. He scorns to mix himself in men's actions; as he would to act upon a Stage; but sits aloft on the Scaffold a censuring Spectator. Nature admits him as a partaker of her Sports, and asks his approbation as it were of her own Works, and variety. He comes not in Company, because he would not be solitary, but finds Discourse enough with himself, and his own thoughts are his excellent playfellows. He looks not upon a thing as a yawning Stranger at novelties; but his search is more mysterious and inward, and he spells Heaven out of earth. He knits his observations together, and makes a Ladder of them all to climb to God. He is free from vice, because he has no occasion to employ it, and is above those ends that make men wicked. He has learned all can here be taught him, and comes now to Heaven to see more.   

47. An Aturney.  
HIs Ancient beginning was a blue coat, since a livery, and his hatching under a Lawer; whence though but pen-feathered, he hath now nested for himself, and with his hoarded pence purchased an Office. Two Desks, and a choir of Pader set him up, where he now sits in state for all comers. We can-call him no great author, yet he writes very much, and with the infamy of the Court is maintained in his libels. He has some smatch of a Scholar, and yet uses Latin very hardly, and le●t it should accuse him, cuts it off in the midst, and will not let it speak, out. He is contrary to great men, maintained by his followers, that is his poor country Clients, that worship him more than their Landlord, and be there never such churls, he looks for their courtesy. He first racks them sound himself, and then delivers them to the Lawyer for execution. His looks are very solicitous importing much haste and dispatch, he is never without his hanfull of business, that is, of paper. His skin becomes at last as dry as his parchment and his face as intricate as the most winding cause. He talks Statutes as fiercely, as if he had mooted seven years in the Inns of Court; when all his skill is stuck in his girdle, or in his office window. Strife and wrangling have made him rich, and he is thankful to his benefactor, and nourishes it. If he live in a Country village, he makes all his neighbours good Subjects; for there shall be nothing done but what there is law for. His business gives him not leave to think of his conscience, and when the time, or term of his life is going out, for Doomsday he is secure; for he hopes he has a trick to reverse judgement.   

48. A Sceptic in Religion.  
IS one that hangs in the balance with all sorts of opinions, whereof not one but stirs him and none sways him. A man guiltier of credulity than he is taken to be; for it is out of his belief of every thing, that he fully believes nothing. Each Religion scars him from its contrary: none persuades him to itself. He would be wholly a Christian, but that he is something of an Atheist, and wholly an Atheist, but that he is partly a Christian; and a perfect Heretic, but that there are so many to distract him. He finds reason in all opinions, truth in none: indeed the least reason perplexes him, and the best will not satisfy him. He is at most a confused and wild Christian, not specialized, by any form, but capable of all. He uses the Lands Religion, because it is next him, yet he sees not why he may not take the other, but he chooses ●his, not as better, but because there is not a pin to choose. He finds doubts and sernples better than resolves them, and is always too hard for himself. His Learning is too much for his brain; and his judgement too little for his learning, and his overopinion of both spoils all Pity it was his mischance of being a Scholar; for it does only distracted and irregulate him & the world by him. He hammers much in general upon our opinions uncertainty, and the possibility of erring makes him not venture on what is true. He is troubled at this naturalness of Religion to Countries, that Protestantisme should be borne so in England and Popery abroad, and that fortune and the Stars should so much share in it. He likes not this connexion of the Commonweal, and Divinity, and fears it may be an Arch-practice of State. In our differences with Rome he is strangely vnfixed, and a new man every new day, as his last discourse-books Meditations transport him. He could like the grey hairs of Popery, did not some dotages there stagger him; he would come to us sooner, but our new name affrights him. He is taken with their Miracles but doubts an imposture; he conceives of our Doctrine better; but it seems too empty and naked. He cannot drive into his fancy the circumscription of Truth to our corner, and is as hardly persuaded to think their old Legends true. He approves well of our Faith, and more of their works, and is sometimes much affected at the zeal of Amsterdam. His conscience interposes itself betwixt Duellers, and whilst it would part both, is by both wounded. He will sometimes propend much to us upon the reading a good Writer, and at Bellarmine recoils as far back again; and the Fathers justle him from one side to another Now Sosinaas and Vorstius afresh torture him, and he agrees with none worse than himself. He puts his foot into Heresies tenderly as a Cat in the water, and pulls it out again, and still something unanswered delays him yet he bears away some parcel of each, and you may sooner pick all Religions out of him then one, He cannot think so many wise men should be in error, nor so many honest men out of the way and his wonder is doubled, when he sees these oppose one another. He hates authority as the Tyrant of reason, and you cannot anger him worse than with a Fathers dixit, and yet that many are not persuaded with reason, shall authorise his doubt. In sum, his whole life is a question, and his salvation a greater, which death only concludes, and then he is resolved.   

47. A Partial Man.  
IS the opposite extreme to a Defamer, for the one speaks ill falsely, and the other well, and both slander the Truth. He is one that is still weighing men in the Scale of Comparisons, and puts his affection in the one balance, and that sways. His friend always shall do best, and you shall rarely hear good of his enemy. He considers first the man, and then the thing, and restrains all merit to what they deserve of him. Commendations he esteems not the debt of Worth, but the requital of kindness: and if you ask his reason, shows his Interest, and tells you how much he is beholding to that Man. He is one that ties his judgement to the Wheel of Fortune, and they determine giddily both alike. He prefers England before other Countries, because he was borne there, and Oxford before other Universities, because he was brought up there, and the best Scholar there, is one of his own College and the best Schooler there is one of his friends. He is a great favourer of great persons, and his argument is still that which should be Antecedent, as he is in high place, therefore virtuous, he is preferred, therefore worthy. Never ask his opinion, for you shall hear but his faction, and he is indifferent in nothing but Conscience. Men esteem him for this a zealous affectionate, but they mistake him many times, for he does it but to be esteemed so. Of all men he is worst to write an History, for he will praise a Sejanus or Tiberius, and for some petty respect of his all posterity shall be cozened.   

50. A Trumpeter.  
IS the Elephant with the great Trunk, for he eats nothing but what comes through this way. His Profession is not so worthy as to occasion insolence, and yet no man so much puffed up. His face is as Brazen as his Trumpet, and (which is worse) as a Fiddlers, from whom he differeth only in this, that his impudence is dearer. The Sea of Drink, and much wind make a Storm perpetually in his Cheeks, and his look is like his noise, blustering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of War, but now of Peace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are sure to pay for't. He is the common attendant of glittering folks, whether in the Court or Stage, where he is always the Prologues Prologue. He is somewhat in the nature of a Hogshead shrillest when he is empty; when his belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves life more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a counterfeit Bankrupt, thrives best when he is blown up.   

50. A vulgar-spirited Man.  
IS one of the heard of World. One that follows merely the common cry, and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publicly affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the Town. That never owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation though he knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, Thus men say, and thus most do, and thus the world goes, and thinks this enough to poise the other. That worship's men in place, and those only, and thinks all a great man speaks Oracles. Much taken with my Lords I●st, and repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the Pope and Spynola. One that thinks the gravest Cassock the best Scholar: and the best Clothes the finest man. That is taken only with broad and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries Chaucer for his Money above all our English Poets, because the voice has gone so, and he has read none. That is much ravished with such a Nobleman's courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his Hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the King's hand, and cries God bless his Majesty loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of favour, and the first that says away with the Traitors: yet struck with much ruth at Executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill the Hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in it, and the chief cause of his journey the Bears: That measures the happiness of the Kingdom, by the cheapness of corn; and conceives no harm of State, but i'll trading. Within this compass too, come those that are too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those things that call to thrive, to do well, and Preferment only the grace of God. That aim all Studies at this mark, & show you poor Scholars as an example to take heed by. That think the Prison and want, a judgement for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jayle-bird. That know no other Content but wealth, bravery, and the Towne-Pleasures; that think all else but idle speculation, and the Philosophers, madmen: In short, men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shows, appearances, the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of singularity, and scorns something.   

32. A Herald.  
IS the spawn, or indeed but the resultancy of Nobility, and to the making of him went not a Generation, but a Genealogy. His Trade is Honour, and he sells it, and gives Arms himself, though he be no Gentleman. His bribes are like those of a corrupt judge, for they are the prices of blood. He seems very rich in discourse, for he tells you of whole fields of gold and silver, Or & Argent, worth much in French, but in English nothing. He is a great diver in the streams or issues of Gentry, and not a by-Channell of bastard escapes him, yet he does with them like some shameless Quean, father's more children on them, than ever they begot. His Trafficks is a kind of Pedlery ware, Scutcheons, and Pennons and little Daggers, and Lions, such as Children esteem and Gentlemen: but his pennyworths are rampant, for you may buy three whole Brawns cheaper, than three Boars heads of him painted. He was sometimes the terrible Coat of Mars, but is now for more merciful Battles in the Tiltyard, where whosoever is victorious, the spoils are his. He is an Art in England, but in Wales Nature, where they are borne with Heraldry in their mouths, and each Name is a Pedigree.   

52. A Plodding Student.  
IS a kind of Alchemist or, Persecurer of Nature, that would change the dull lead of his Brain into finer mettle with success, many times as unprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own Oil and Candles. He has a strange forced appetite to Learning, and to achieve it brings nothing but patience and a body. His Study is not great but continual, and consists much in the sitting up till after Midnight in a Rug-gown, and a Nightcap to the vanquishing perhaps of some six lines: yet what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so long to understand it, till he gets it without Book. He may with much industry make a breach into Logic, and arrive at some ability in an Argument: but for politer Studies he dare not skirmish with them, and for Poetry accounts it impregnable. His Invention is no more than the finding out of his Papers, and his few glean there, and his disposition of them is as just as the Bookbinders, a setting or glewing of them together. He is a great discomforter of young Students, by telling them what travel it has cost him, and how often his brain turned at Philosophy, and makes others fear Studying as a cause of Duncery. He is a man much given to Apothegms which serve him for wit, and seldom breaks any jest, but which belonged to some Lacedaemonian or Roman in Lycosthenes. He is like a dull Carrier's horse, that will go a whole week together but never out of a footpace: and he that sets forth on the Saturday shall overtake him.   

53. Paul's Walk.  
IS the Lands Epitome, or you may call it the lesser Isle of Great Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's Map, which you may here discern in its perfectest motion justling and turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with a vast confusion of Languages, and were the Steeple not sanctified nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of Bees, a strange humming or buzz, mixed of walking, tongues, and feet: It is a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great Exchange of all discourse, & no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a foot. It is the Synod of all pates politic, jointed and laid together in most serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the Parliament. It is the Antic of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you need go no further than faces. It is the Market of young Lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general Mint of all famous lies, which are here like the legends of Popery, first coined & stamped in the Church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few pockets. The best sign of a Temple in it is, that it is the Thief's Sanctuary, which rob more safely in the Crowd, than a wilderness, whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expense of the day, after Plays, Tavern, and a Bawdy-house, and men have still some Oaths left to swear here. It is the ears Brothel, and satisfies their lust, and itch. The Visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal Inhabitants and possessors, are stale Knights, and Captains out of Service, men of long Rapiers, and Breeches, which after all turn Merchants here, and traffic for News. Some make it a Preface to their Dinner, and Travel for a Stomach: but thriftier men make it their Ordinary: and Board here very cheap. Of all such places it is least haunted with Hobgoblins, for if a Ghost would walk more, he could not.   

54. A University Dunne.  
IS a Gentleman's follower cheaply purchased, for his own money has hired him. He is an inferior Creditor of some ten shillings or downwards, contracted for Horse-hire, or perchance for drink, to weak to be put in Suit. and he arrests your modesty. He is now very expensive of his time, for he will wait upon your Stairs a whole Afternoon, and dance attendance with more patience than a Gentleman-usher. He is a sore beleaguerer of Chambers, and assaults them sometimes with furious knocks: yet finds strong resistance commonly, and is kept out. He is a great complayner of Scholars loitering, for he is sure never to find them within, and yet he is the chief cause many times that makes them study. He Grumbles at the in Gratitude of men, that shun him for his kindness, but indeed it is his own fault, for he is too great an upbraider. No man put them more to their brain than he: and by shifting him off they learn to shift in the world. Some choose their rooms a purpose to avoid his surprisals, and think the best commodity in them his Prospect. He is like a rejected acquaintance, hunts those that care not for his company, and he knows it well enough; and yet will not keep away. The sole place to supply him is the Buttery, where he takes grievous use upon your Name, and he is one much wrought with good Beer and Rhetoric. He is a man of most unfortunate voyages, and no Gallant walks the streets to less purpose.   

55. A stayed Man.  
IS a man. One that has taken order with himself, and set a rule to those lawlesnesses within him. Whose life is distinct and in Method, and his Actions as it were cast up before. Not loosed into the World's vanities, but gathered up and contracted in his station. Not scattered into many pieces of businesses, but that one course he takes, goes through with. A man firm and standing in his purposes, nor heaved off with each wind and passion. That squares his expense to his Coffers, and makes the Totall first, and then the Items. One that thinks what he does, and does what he says, and forsees what he may do, before he purposes. One whose (if I can) is more then another's assurance, and his doubtful tale before some men's protestations. That is confident of nothing in futurity, yet his conjectures oft true Prophecies. That makes a pause still betwixt his ●are and belief, and is not too hasty to say after others: One whose Tongue is strung up like a Clock till the time, and then strikes, and says much when he talks little. That can see the Truth betwixt two wranglers, and sees them agree even in that they fall out upon. That speaks no Rebellion in a bravery, or talks big from the spirit of Sack. A man cool and temperate in his passions, not easily betrayed by his choler: That vies not oath with oath, nor heat with heat: but replies calmly to an angry man, and is too hard for him too. That can come fairly off from Captain's companies, and neither drink nor quarrel. One whom no ill hunting fends home discontented, and makes him swear at his dogs and family. One not hasty to pursue the new Fashion, nor yet affectedly true to his old round Breeches. But gravely handsome, & to his place, which suits him better than his Tailor. Active in the world without disquiet, and careful without misery: yet neither ingu●●● in his pleasures, nor a seeker of business, but has his hours for both. A man that seldom laughs violently, but his mirth is a cheerful look. Of a composed end settled countenance, not set, nor much alterable with sadness or joy. He affects nothing so wholly, that he must be a miserable man when he loses it: but forethinks what will come hereafter, and spares Fortune his thanks and curses. One that loves his Credit, not this word Reputation; yet can save both without a Duel: whose entertainments to greater men are respectful not complementary, and to his friends plain not rude. A good Husband, Father, Master: that is without doting, pampering, familiarity. A man well poised in all humours, in whom Nature shwed most Geometry, and he has not spoiled the work. A man of more wisdom than wittiness, and brain than fancy; and abler to any thing then to make Verses.  
FINIS.