Two Essays of LOVE AND MARRIAGE. Being A LETTER Written by a Gentleman to his Friend, to dissuade him from Love. And an ANSWER thereunto by another Gentleman. Together with some Characters and other Passages of Wit. Written by Private Gentlemen for recreation.  
— Si quando gravabere curis,  
Haec lege, pro moestae medicamine mentis Hebeto.  
London, Printed for Henry Brome, at the Hand in Paul's Churchyard, 1657.   

THE STATIONER To the READERS.  
Gentl:  
THese scattered Papers coming to my hands, I thought fit upon good Reasons, to communicate them to you. I might tell you they are delightful and ingenuous; but you will not take me for a competent Judge, being neither learned, nor indifferent; Laudat venales— The truth is, my aim is as the Scots was, for all your geuds, And to please you, and profit myself, is the ambition and design of  
Your Servant, H. B.   

To his honoured Friend on his being in love.  

I.  
True Friend,  
BUt that I know heresy is fashionable, and madness the time-Livery, thou wouldst force me to no little wonder, which way possible thou shouldst stumble into Love, be sick and sottish in Love, lost as well to reason as good company, locked up from all the World but thy own thoughts, and only conversant with thyself; yet formerly pleasant and affable, desirous and desired of Society, and one that I know has lived no Anchorite upon Earth; nor yet hast had thine eyes tied up to any one face, but hast both viewed and discoursed with variety of Beauties; nay, I dare say, not guilty of the ignorance of more: yet that after so many Antidotes, thou shouldst be so far fallen from thy primitive goodness, as to lose thyself in dotage, and that dotage on one creature, and that creature a woman, and call it Love too, really next to a miracle, is my only admiration. Prithee do not miscall thy disease, and be sick of lust, and complain of Love; I can never believe that that noble passion can be the ruin of its subject; neither will I so much disparage it, as to make a woman its object. If there be love, 'tis to Heaven, Virtue, thy Country, Parents, Kindred, Friends, or what is of worth: but to the female Sex, and in thy sense where sensuality cannot but have an interest, though licenc'd by an Ordinance, 'tis only Love scandaled, it being (to the pity of the poor passion I speak it) but concupiscence handsomely burnished, or a carnal appetite speciously in titled. And therefore could I never win my judgement to affirm, that the most eager of sinners were in love with sin, but only temptingly seduced to a vicious doting; they did rather erroneously affect, then truly love. But let me inquire into thy passion: what, is it from the paint of nature, those beautiful flowers of red and white? methinks thou shouldst as well be enamoured with thy Mistress' picture as her body; for even that too is not excusable from art, and may be the worst drawn. Frank, he that marries for a face, marries for a year; 'tis not a Summer since thy desires wrought as strongly upon Mistress M. R. as now on this, and may be on as good a cause; yet how soon did a little disease whither both her beauty, and thy love? and I hope thou hast not indented either with sickness or time for this. Canst thou be so prodigal of thy affection as to waste it on such incertainties? bind up thyself to love for an age, when the cause of that love may perish in a month? But I tell thee Frank, beauty is a Chimaera, and has no being in nature: Every man makes his own Mistress, and just so much lustre does he find in her, as first his fancy gives her. For I dare challenge thee to show me but one face in the whole world, that all opinions will give in for beautiful; so that Lovers, as thou call'st them, are but in the number of Pagans; they but worship that Idol which themselves have made. May be thou wilt tell me of manners, carriage, and virtue; I am very glad to hear of it; but let not thy passion hang in thy eyes when thou look'st on them; for many of them, their gestures are but School-postures, and seem rather like a motion then a carriage. Consider that in the presence of their Servants they are on the Stage, and 'tis rather action than behaviour: it may be wert thou a peeper on them in their withdrawing rooms, thou wouldst as much wish thine eyes closed then, as now open. For their virtues, as I will not disallow the judgement of that reverend Doctor, That 'tis possible to find some virtue in some women: so I cannot believe there is such a grand stock of it in any of them, as to command any man out of his senses for the love of it; but I suppose, as we more wonder to find a Diamond on the shore then on the rock: so but a spark of virtue in a woman, gets greater reverence than a bodied lustre in the nobler Sex; for 'tis our humour to admire the more where we expect the less. The cause then of thy love is either from beauty or virtue; if from beauty, how wilt thou love her when she is old? If from virtue, why dost thou covet to lie with her? there needs not that low act of generation to the high communion of virtues; and I should scarce take thee for a platonic Lover, to warm a bed with her. But shall I tell thee the cause? done't be afraid of truth then; thou first lovest her to satisfy thy lust; and if thou after continue to lie with her, 'tis either for want of a better, or 'cause thou canst not be rid of her. For I look on all the perfections in females but as so many encouragements to desire; and that the best of women, like the best of salads, procure the strongest appetite; and in truth 'tis the woman is affected, not this, the Sex being the substance, and the Mistress but the shadow; or that the rule of thy affection, and this the instance. But then thou wilt be goring of me with that common goad of objection, thy so much curiosity in choice, and rather my Lady then Joan. Prithee tell me, be thy appetite never so good, does thy meat relish the worse for being the cleanlier dressed? I never knew that good cookery did turn the edge of a good stomach; and especially if thou limitest thy fancy to one dish, thou hadst need to be both long in choosing, and neat in dressing, as well to avoid nauseating, as to continue provocation. Remember that July holds not all the year, nor youth all thy life; there is a December and Winter of age that attends on both; and that passion that in its Spring will take fire at any face, will in its Autumn be frost at all; a bedridden palate is scarce sensible of sauce, much less meat; not the best of weapons, how brisk and keen soever at the first, but after long using grows dull, and requires a whetting: so that this studious culling of bedfellows, argues but the serious contemplations of mortality, and is no more than a wise provision for futurity. Where Frank is your love then? Call'st thou that love, that ebbs and flows with the blood? that is the brat of a goatish humour, merely servient to the body, and often dead before it? No, the essence of that passion is as pure and lasting as the soul it waits on; a sacred Vestal flame, perpetually torrid and unextinguishable; 'tis thy under-girdle love that's mortal, of flames gross and transitory, which moving in a region lower than thy heart, prove rather flashes then steady fires. I know thou art no stranger to multitude of examples that have been hotter than Italians in the chase of their games, and more frozen than Scythians after the taking it, that in the same year have been ready to die of contraries, both love and hate; and with the same eagerness studied both a marriage and divorce; that have not more longed to obtain, then having obtained, to desert their hopes, and their loves perished together, the fruition of one the expiration of the other. But may be thou wilt add to thy other motive, that of wealth, she's rich. Nay now I hear thee, and do so far allow thee to court the Lady for her fortune, as I would the Chambermaid for her Mistress; but have a care of loving in earnest, or letting in of love farther than thy tongue; a sigh or two in the presence if thou wilt, but no ejaculations in private; remember a difference betwixt acting and suffering a passion, be nothing the sadder though nothing the richer; like a good Soldier rise not so repulsed from one Leaguer, but to retain strength enough presently for another, that in a while thy soul will become face-proof, the later beauty the pellet of the former, till variety give the mastery to thy judgement, & make thee a Catholic Servant, but no particular Lover. But thou wilt justify yet farther; thou hast a fortune of thine own, and the weightiness of that requires a partner in the managing it. I don't gainsay it; nay I am so much of thy side, that I think a wife in no case more allowable, then either for the getting or preservation of an Estate. As, for thy love-marrying, I reckon it both the paradise and purgatory of fools. But yet this Frank is only an Apology for a wife, not love, and think me no enemy to marriage, but to the fondness of thy desire; I would have thee get a wife, but not to lose thyself; to serve thy occasions, but to master thy passions; so to love with reason, as not to woe without sense. Credit me, I do not at all think it to savour of impossibility, seriously to court and marry too, and yet uncinged by any spark of love, though I cannot but acknowledge the temptations of the other Sex; for I reckon them amongst their studies: yet that reason, or the soul and gallantry of man, should be basely prostituted to them, I should as soon believe an Eagle to stoop at flies, or Divinity at toys. I conceive Frank, the necessity of thy marrying streightens not thy judgement to this one Lady; I would have thee to look on her as not without companions, and then if thou makest an unlucky cast of it, thy fortune will have this comfort, thou art no loser, though no winner. Prithee why should not a woman be viewed with as little ardour as an handsome Statue? or what is the influence of flesh, as to the eye, above that of marble? If thou comest into a spacious Gallery variously behung, thou canst walk it round, look on this Picture and like it, then turn thy face and forget it in the beauty of another; there needing no more to the aspect of a face, then of Imagery, but only the complacency of the beholder, and the commendation of the Author. Women are a kind of traffic too: If thou comest to a shop, seest a commodity and likest it, thou cheapen'st it; if thou bargainest, thou takest it, if not, to the next standing, the Markets full and free. I tell thee 'tis an injury no less to nature then reason, to impale all perfection within the circuit of one creature. Now after all this, do I expect thou shouldst bid me turn the Tables and play myself the question, Was I never in love? Troth Frank I cannot excuse myself from the vanities of youth, may be I have; but let me remember thee, I have had rattles and hobby-horses too in my days, but I have left them, and now look on them and thy thoughts with the same disdain. That Mariner that hath scaped a rock, may be a Pilot to the next passenger. 'Tis my faith now, that 'tis as possible to be sick of the plague a year, as of love a day; and I doubt not, when time shall ripen both thy judgement and age, but thou wilt then sit a most strict judge upon thyself, and think no censure too severe to thy present follies, or charity too bountiful to the true advice of  
Thy true Friend, J. H.   

II.  
Prithee, dear Friend, do not burn Diana's Temple only to be talked of: Modern wits (like spirits of the lower Region) once conjured up, must be set on work, though of mischief. I must confess thou venturest hard on the paradoxology of thy brain, that darest enter the Lists Athanasius-like, contra mundum; disputing that with thy pen, which the World from Adam, and thyself by thy practice provest undeniable. What is said in case of Religion, a little Philosophy makes men Atheists, but enough confirms them in the truth, is true of thee in point of love; of which and its objects thou art no more competent a Judge, than a Red-coat is of a Moot-case. Did I not know that all wonder proceeded of ignorance, and that people most admire what they least understand, I should wonder at thy wonder, that a man of thy parts and complexion, and born of a Mother, should call that stumbling, which is so graceful and natural a motion; fall out with Love and Women, yet by thy own confession, understand neither. Thou turnest Andabate and fightest blindfold, not knowing against whom, or for what. I prithee, Friend, what Country Girl has slighted thy Madrigals, and disentertained thy affections, that thou quarrelest and fallest at defiance with the whole Sex? He that said all Crecians were liars, was himself a Crecian: and thou condemnest all Lovers as mad, yet art thyself a Lover, and consequently mad, or else more mad that thou art not a Lover. I never yet knew any despise Monarchy, but those that could not be Monarches. Every man in this is a Huntsman, who coming short of the Hare, cries, Hang her, 'tis dry meat. Among the rest of thy wonders, thou mayst put this for one, that I who am unconcerned, should at this distance take up the cudgels in defence of a friend, whom thou hast laughed into silence; but the proverb excuses me, He whom sorrow makes dumb, deserves double pity. For my part, I must confess I love to sleep in a whole skin, and not to engage in another's quarrel, unless he will lend me his skull to bear the blows: but this being the common cause, 'tis pity truth should be out-worded, and her innocence be suspected to want clearness, merely for want of clearing. There is no man more unfit for this work than I, having been ever as atheistical in love as thyself; and so far from being an Opponent to thy Thesis, that I have ever been a noted Assertor of thy Doctrine, till experience reform my judgement, and makes me look on my former error with regret and disdain. 'Tis so far from being a wonder to me, that one pleasant, affable and sociable, one that has viewed variety of beauties, should fall in love with one woman, that I wonder how it could be otherwise: none being fit for love then one so qualified; nor can any find a best, that have not viewed all. That Love per se is the ruin of its subject, I deny; yet I allow it may be accidentally true, and be a passion not the less noble. And as I would not have it only restrained to woman for its object: so I would not have them totally excluded. And truly I am so far from believing that Sex not an object of love, that I can hardly admit of any besides. That Love has several objects, as Heaven, Virtue, and the rest which you reckon up, with many more, I deny not. But all they, as obliqne objects, are so far from being adequate, that they draw love in several denominations, as piety, duty, friendship, etc. And but that seriousness would be thrown away on thee, and any thing here but sophistry useless, I could tell thee from the learned, that Love is only an expansion of the soul to its object; which is, whatever is attractive: and that naturally man loves himself best and first, and all other things in subordination to himself; and that whatever is most like man in nature and habit, is the properest object of his love. Then 'twill follow (whether you will or no) that no object is so proper as woman. But thou'lt laugh at these old-fashioned grounds, and account them like Harry's codpieces. To abstract Love from sensuality in a natural sense, is both impossible and needless, it deriving a greater influence from the sensitive soul, and being a passion from which bruits are not exempt. Nay that very thing which you call sensuality, and will allow it to derive its legitimation only from an Ordinance, may show an ancienter coat than Ordinances; it being the only way chalked out by nature for propagation and preservation of every species. So that your Epithets and Synonoma's of concupiscence and carnal appetite, etc. I attribute to the luxuriance of your fancy; and must tell you, we can easily give you and your ways the like terms without the help of a Sylva. 〈◊〉 your main besitancy is, 〈…〉, are you causes of love? 'Tis not bare red and white that are either causes of, or colours for it, but the situation and contexture of both. I never loved my Mistress face, because fair, but because I liked it, and thereby thought it so, and I therefore thought it so, because hers: so that should time or accident (from which no face has a protection) altar the complexion in the eye, I'd retain the same Idea still in mine. Next, for the Gentleman's change (with which you upbraid him) much may be pleaded in excuse: for besides the great delight in variety, I know no reason why, if a man find himself in an error, he may not repent and take a new course. Nor may you call it prodigality of affection; he that grounds his love right, is above uncertainties, in regard the true cause of love, which is sympathy, cannot perish before its object. And because you say, Beauty is a Chimaera, and every man a pigmation that carves to himself a Mistress; will you from thence infer; that because all men do not think one face beautiful, no man should think any so? And I appeal to the Synod of Divines, whether for a Lover to choose his own Mistress, and love her, or court her, be a piece of ignorance or paganism. Nor can you deny that manners, carriage and virtue, are incentives to love; and that these things are really visible in that Sex by any that look not through spectacles of prejudice. But he that has an ill sight dislikes all objects. Thou hast an humour in thine eyes, whereby thou canst not discern action from behaviour; I like it not the worse if acquired; no more than I do a good Scholar that speaks Latin by the Grammar. That there are arcana imperii among them, as well as us, is undeniable; for if all were as they appear, they would be rather Angels than women. 'Tis true, much action and deceptio visus is in both Sexes in point of Courtship, whereby they reciprocally draw their expectations to a height unobtainable, and succeeding enjoyments convince both Sexes of a handsome (but commonly an equal) cheat. I shall not only allow of that Doctor's charity, that held, That 'tis possible some virtue may be found in some women: but also shall experimentally add, That much virtue may be found in many. 'Tis not for nothing that all virtues are declined by Grammarians with haec, and fancied by Painters in female shadows. Virtue's are like Diamonds, rare and small; nor should we esteem them were they to be bought by the pound. I take virtue and beauty to be causes of affection; but I mean not by beauty the mere superficies of a visage, but the symmetry of parts; and he that grounds his affection rightly on that, finds a becoming beauty, even in old age. Virtue also I conceive a cause of love, and love a motive of copulation. Nor is generation for the communion of virtues, but propagation of issue; since 'tis an undoubted law of nature, that all creatures desire and endeavour perpetuation. You call lust the cause of love; 'tis true, if you take all altitudes by your own jacob's staff, 'tis so to you: so the Wolf conceives all creatures to eat raw flesh, because he does. I cannot imagine such a stoical apathy in men, unless in Utopia, but that we do and may make that which you call lust, a part of love. Nor is that passion itself , but circumstances may make it so: for the Stoics themselves got children, and did not deny the being of desires in men, but their domineering over Reason. Nor is it the work of a wise man to be without passions, but above them. Consider man as with a soul compounded of Will and Reason, the conquest of the will in this life, can be but by synecdoche; which being considered, it will follow, That men abstracted from desires of this nature, are rather to be looked for, then found. And for your erratical love, that is so planitary and unfixed, it shows its own weakness, but not your strength; though it be peripatetical, it makes not you a Philosopher; since Love, like Sunbeams, being diffused, are but faint: but contracted to one Object, are fervent and calefactory. Wives are not Quelque chores, in whom only variety breeds delight, but are solid food which never nauseate sound stomaches. For a man to love Virtue abstracted from its subject, is to fancy a Chimaera; but Virtue in a woman is an undoubted motive. As to your similitude of Joan and my Lady; take the whole Proverb; put in (in the dark) and you're answered, 'Tis not want of difference, but due discerning; nor is she as good, but seems so. The Cuckoo once sang better than the Nightingale; but remember who was Judge. Time's swift motion, and youth's transitoriness are common places in the beaten roads, where ever travelling wit baits and refreshes himself in his pilgrimage. But yet Desires being part of the soul, and so immortal, do not decay in age, but only alter their motives and object. Nor is the world barren of examples of aged men, eagerly desiring and performing rites of conjuncture with women. As for those changeable and quicksilver minds which love and loath in a moment, 'tis their vice, and may give you this notion, That as their love can so soon and easily change into disdain: so your present scorn may turn to a dotage on the like ground. And though perhaps you have not yet been in love, 'tis common malum (since you will call it so) like the small pox, every one hath been, or must be troubled with it; and bodies unacquainted with lesser diseases, are irrecoverably swallowed up of greater. Your wary advice to your friend, to love with discretion, I allow and commend; and for my part were I to love again, would not go a foot further than my counterpart should meet me; but where I found real love, I would scorn to be out-vied, being of Alexander his resolution, No creature should conquer me with love or hatred. 'tis not good to, play the Butcher with that naked Sex that have no arms but to embrace with, nor Emprick-like, kill them by wholesale. I never yet met any of either Sex good at the sport, but at last they met with a requital. 'Tis within the memory of man since a pregnant Spark furnished with two of your Cardinal Virtues, wit and disdain, slung his fire-balls of contempt on the whole Sex, courted some into dotage, and then jeered 'em; who at last fell foul on a Kitchenwench, and doted, who repaid him with the same devices; and which was worst, at last in despite married him. Homicida is of both Genders, and belongs to both Sexes. Your other points of marrying for wealth and yoke-fellowship, I shall agree to with silence. But I would not make wealth my Mistress' Master, while woman stands by like the Chambermaid with a broom to attend her. Let my Mistress be a figure, and her portion the Ciphers; which added to her, advance her much, but of themselves signify nothing. Passionate Courtship should, but cannot, be avoided by all; every one is not Hercules: but dissimulation may and must be shunned by all. There is no Soldier, beleaguers a Garrison, but with hopes to come off untouched: no Lover attempts a Mistress, but hopes for fruition without bloodshed; yet the Soldier may receive a shot, and the Wooer a repulse; and that which he intends for a sin, oft proves a punishment. He that lives a Catholic Wooer, may at last come to the purgatory of a general contempt. But methinks (Friend) you wheel about and approve that which at first you decried; there might be some hopes of agreement and hand-shaking between us. Allow love and marriage and I will join with thee against dotage; and would have Love sequestered from dotage, as much as thy mind from this obstinacy. But I see the Devil has always a cloven foot; you would now allow of marriage without love, and confound love and dotage, as if the same. To wed without love, is to be tied by the loins like a Monkey to a bedpost; neither is it possible to court or marry without love, as you writ, for that want of love turns courtship to flattery, and marriage to a bargain. That Women are Nature's Errata, with Aristotle I acknowledge; and that they study temptations, is undoubtedly true: but yet that they do it not alone, your own example proves; who by this fancy of Anti-womanism tempt the Sex so much, that I could wish myself one to dote on thee. Do not call the lawful and necessary intermixture of both Sexes to be a base prostitution of the Reason, Soul, and Gallantry of a man; 'tis so false and groundless, it deserves no answer but the lie. Let thy friend alone with his choice, and if he think her so, she is pieceless; only I admit your Caution, While he seeks to win her, let him not lose himself; nor shoot away all his shot at one volley, but keep a reserve for a fresh encounter; 'tis but discretion. And now to answer your similitudinary Question, Why a woman cannot be viewed with as little ardour as a Statue? it is because a Statue is not a Woman, nor directly like a Woman; if it could be, Pigmation will tell you there may be like affection, nor is the influence different as to the eye, but the power that actuates it; if a man view a thousand Pictures, he generally likes one best, and having perused all, returns to that; and though the Market be free, and Wares various, a good Chapman sticks to what he best fancies, and deals in it. Neither is all perfection thereby impaled in one Creature; but there may be enough supposed in one, to content one. That yourself hath ever loved, I question; but that you have fancied, and mist, may be true; but you cannot thereby go out a cometetent Tutor. Nor should I ever take that Mariner for my Pilot, who hath no other experience then splitting his own Ship; first guide your own Vessel to the Port, before you take another to your management and steerage. What it is to be sick of Love or the Plague, you know much alike, and so shall be believed, having studied both but in shape; for my part, I have known many sick of Love, and yet recovered; but the Plague I have no skill in. My desire is, that you participate of your own counsel; suspend your severe censure to your friend, and sit first a strict Judge on yourself, till time and experience ripen your judgement and change your mind. Which I hope I shall not longer expect, then until you have seriously perused and weighed the experimental directions and wholesome advice of,  
Thine, and thy Friend's Friend. A. B.    

A Letter to a Friend, delivering an Opinion concerning the Scotch Rising.  
SIR,  
THat you may receive an account of the Scotch business, and that there hath been such irresolute alteration about the Treaties lately, 'tis fit you know this Northern storm, like a new Disease, hath so far posed the Doctors of State, that as yet they have not given it a name; though perchance they all firmly believe it to be rebellion; and therefore, Sir, it is no wonder if these do here as the learned in Physic, who when they know not certainly the grief, prescribe Medicines sometimes too strong, sometimes too weak. The truth is, we here judge concerning the Scotch Affairs much after the rate as Mortals do of the Moon; the simple think it no bigger than a bushel, and some likewise think it a vast World, with strange things undiscovered in it; two ill ways of casting it up; sure the first will make us too secure; the other too fearful. I confess I know not how to write in the middle, and set it right; nor do I think you know; since I should believe the question rather to be, A King or no King? then A Bishop or no Bishop? In great mutinies and insurrections of this nature, pretences speciously conscionable were never wanting; and indeed they are necessary; for rebellion is of itself so ugly, that did it not put on the vizard of Religion, it would affright rather than draw people unto it; and being drawn, could not hold them without it. Imaginary cords that seem to fasten man to Heaven, have tied things here below faster than any other obligation. If it be liberty of conscience they ask; it is a foolish request, seeing they have it already, and must have in despite of power. For as Theodoret saith to the Jews, Nemo cogitur credere invitus. If they exercise that liberty, 'tis dangerous; for not three men are of the same opinion in all; and then each Family must have a War within itself. Look upon the long Preparations, and consider withal that Prophecies are ceased, and therefore they could not foretell this ●ook should be sent to them, and you will conclude they rather employed conscience then conscience them. Inquiry after the Leaders, and you will hardly find them Apostles, or men of so high sanctity, that they should order Religion; Lesley himself if his sore were searched, would certainly be found one, who because he could not live well there, took up a trade of kill men abroad; and now is returned to kill men at home. If you will have my opinion, I think their quarrel to the King is the same they have to the Sun that he doth not warm them so much, nor visit them so oft as he doth others. God and Nature placed them in the shade, and they are angry with the King for it: To conclude, this is the case; the great and wise Husbandman hath placed these Beasts ●● out-fields, and they would needs break hedges to come ●nto the Garden. This is the belief of  
Yours, J. S.   

A Whore  
IS one of Sampson's Foxes, that carries fire in the tail, to destroy the standing corn, She goes under the name of a decayed Gentlewoman; and indeed she is gentle enough, a half Crown will make her come to hand. The Devil and she are copartners in undoing, for one spoils the body, the other the soul. Turnip she affects above all roots in the Garden. She cares not for the Bridewell, having lain often at the common Ward. Her walk is Covent-Garden; and her Exchange a Tavern. He that goes to salute her, is deceived, for she is very coy of her lips, and therefore bulwarks them about with paint. Her breath stinks worse than a Bear-garden; her furniture consists of a Playster-box, a Periwig, and a Looking-glass; besides a Pimp, which she accounts one of her necessary implements. She is a she-Bias, and can say, Omnia mea mecum porto. She is a preservative against a hard frost; and a Regiment of them will beggar Newcastle, for they carry fire about them. Her children, if any, are like windfalls, and found in the King's highway. She is not ambitious, but delights in fall; yet by her falling her Stallions rise. She is a hackney Jade, and lets every fool ride her; a Barber's chair, as soon as one is out, another is in. She is a very Butcher, and sells her flesh by the stone; one may buy her awhole at the price of damnation. She is like a Medlar, never ripe till rotten; like Camomile, she thrives the better the more she is trod. About thirty she is in her Zenith, and then from thence she declines; for the pox, or rotten teeth, etc. will write her stolen, or ugly, and trading will decay; and then her only preferment is the degree of a Bawd, where three Strong-water bottles, an ounce of Tobacco, and two Country Wenches, sets her up; and she drives a trade till Shrove-tuesday; and a Cart and a bunch of Turnips is the reward of her labours; and the Bridewell the limbo of both body and bones.   

A Patentee  
WAs sometimes a Gentleman of Fortunes, but being cast overboard by his own riot or folly, lays hold of the next thing he meets with. He is begot like a Mule, between a Courtier and a Citizen, but turns Parricide to both. No air nips him so much as a West wind coming from the Parliament-House, for that brings him to the Falling-sickness; the Republic and his re-private never are in conjunction; but like Castor and Pollux, when one sets the other riseth. He is an excellent Alchemist, and can draw Gold out of Soap, Candles, and Marrowbones, and what not? Nothing anger's him so much as the sound of a Reformation; for than he is projecting to procure a Patent to hang himself. Like a Louce, he shrowds on the shoulders of Greatness; for that is his main protection. All honest men shun his company, and he theirs; in which regard you may call him a Separatist. His walk is Westminster-hall, or the Court, with his handful of Papers, because he would be taken for a man of note. The Monopolist and he, like Hypocrates twins, both live and die together. In his chamber his Glass and he are in a deep consultation, how to set his face that it may go even with the times; like a Watch, whereof his tongue is the Alarm. His pretences are fair, for the benefit and ease of the Subject; To reform some grievance (meaning his own poverty;) to increase Trade, (meaning of Patentees) and to prevent disorders; to which he rather adds a sail then a ballast. He has little skill in the Law, but only in the penal Statutes, and that in a defensive way to play the knave in a circle, and yet keep out of their bounds to prevent hanging: and less in the Gospel, unless to fish by Peter's example, for such fish as have Money in their mouths. His Religion is commonly but skin-deep, it may appear in his countenance, but it never comes near his heart; 'tis writ upon changeable Taffeta, for good and lawful considerations; his Religion and his Practice make him like the new invented Pictures, one way an Angel, another way a Devil. All his life is a continued Cataline's Conspiracy; he and the Commonwealth are like two feet, if one rise, the other falls; if both chance to rise together, 'tis but a leap, that the fall may be the greater. He feeds upon new Projects; his drink is the tears of the poor Labourers; and commonly his Livery is the ruin of some Corporation. His disease lies in his ears, for he is commonly infected with a Pillory; which at last comes into his neck, and Tyburn ends him; where his only glory is, that he died for the Commonwealth's good.   

A Politic  
IS one that makes Heaven bow to Earth; he placeth his summum bonum in Earth's felicity, and depends on no other Providence but the reach of his own brain. His Religion is but the vizard of his policy; and whatever virtue he has, craft is the keeper of it. His looks are candid, and hypocrisy is the only Saint he adores. All his discourses are obscure and ambiguous; like the Devils in the Delphic Oracle; you may understand the words, but not the meaning. He is like an Aspen-tree, every wind of Greatness blows him, and he bends. Is his Prince valorous? he is daring; covetous? he is sparing; lascivious? he is wanton; religious? he pretends much; his heart is a Theatre, wherein all humours are presented, and his face pantomimicall. He is of that man's Religion, with whom he talks; a Caesarean, a Pompeian, which soever prevails; he'll cry, Up with them, and, Down with them, all in a breath. Like a Waterman, he looks one way and rows another; or like a Lapwing, keeps most noise when she is farthest from her nest; or a cunning Fencer, that seldom makes a blow without a falsify; suller of Questions than Answers; rather desiring to know another's secrets, then bewray his own. Pleasures he is not much delighted in, but only like the Dog at Nilus, laps as he runs, for fear of the Crocodile. Every one that he deals with, he supposeth hath the Master-reach in cunning; and therefore still carries both eyes open. His sight is strong enough to apprehend dangers in Embryo, and so quells them before shape or form make them terrible. If a Contract blow favourably, he hoiseth sails, and with it steers his Voyage; if a cross gale comes to his main underground Design, he thrusts out the Oars of fair Pretences through the Portholes of his conscience. He would be accounted every man's friend, that he might know his secrets. All his actions are tipped with fair Pretences, yet are directed to himself; and therefore looks no higher. Whatever his Theme be, his Application is his own ends: yet he is often contented to do any cheap courtesies; and makes himself very joyful and happy in an opportunity, so as he be sure to be no loser by it. His cap and knee, his smiles and good words, are all at a minute's warning, to be dealt about on all occasions. In a word, he is one that loves no man, but with a reservation; nor will trust any; nor indeed any wise man him, farther than he sees him.   

A Clubber  
IS a Hogshead set on two stumps, fit for no use but to hold Liquor; the Tavern only is his ubi and the proper place of his residence; any other where he is like a Fish out of the water, who doth nothing but gape. He thinks Nature gave him a mouth, not to speak, but to drink off his Liquor, for that is the main use he puts it to; he drinks not to live (as Nature commands) but lives to drink. Of all the Miracles that ever Christ did, he thinks none so meritorious for the salvation of his soul, as the turning water into Wine; and he in imitation can work a miracle too; for he can turn a whole Shop of Wares into a Pint-pot. His only enquiry is, where dwells the best Sack or Claret? You shall find him and his Tribe about the declining part of the day, at rendezvous, like a Constellation fixed in the lower Region of a known Tavern; where their noses appear like Comets, and portend drough; there they are accommodated with a private Room, a half-Pint, some clean Pipes, and a Jordan. Their first Discourse is a general Vote about the goodness of the Wine; the next pair of half-Pints produces News; where each puffs over the inside of a Diurnal; but for want of that, the main Scene is, who were drunk the night before, and how they reeled home. They are internally Pharisees, and very exact in making clean the inside of the Glass; their strictest Criticism is, Drink off your Cup. At last, when it strikes twelve, they make a liquored Reckoning, drink their Wife's Health, in whose defence they are dutifully drunk, till they lose their own; and then they stagger home to bed, and find it in small beer in the morning.   

A politic Citizen  
IS a lump of combustible ignorance, whom the least spark of news fires into a blaze of unlikely conjectures; he measures all the designs of Foreign News by the line of Stow's Chronicle; which he never hears read, but out flies a piece of nonsense, which he miscalls State-policy, able to confound Machiavelli. He much haunts the Posthouse to note into what forms men concoct their faces at the reading of Letters; he frequents the Exchange in the Postmeridian hours, because then men empty themselves of intelligence; his only factorage is news; viewing a Bill of Exchange, he swears 'tis a Libel. Tell him of a Coranto and he's in Heaven; he takes an Almanac of foul weather for one of Merlin's Prophecies. Upon hearing of a Victory, or loss of a Sconce, he is enraged, and blames the State that he was not a General; he extols the Low-countrieses Government above any Monarchy, because the fat Citizens rule the roast; he holds it impossible for the State ever to be ruined, because it swims in Butter. His face is a piece of Stenography, where all Bicheliews designs are writ in shorthand. He keeps a common place-book of hard State-words, which though nor he nor his English Dictionary understand, he after an Alderman's Plumb-broth Feast spews out among the learned Fraternity; and is therefore slandered with the name of a Politician, and he turns Heretic and believes it; for they had rather ignorantly admire his speeches, then go to the price of understanding them. All the passages he hears are Stratagems; if he hear but a Ballad, he smells Treason in it; he cannot endure Plays, because there are Plots in them; ask him a question, you undermine him; answer him with silence, he takes you for a State Informer; he tells news by tale, not by weight. There is no way to strike him dumb but drawing out your Table-Book; every man is a fool that is not of his opinion, but he takes him for an undoubted wise man that applauds his conjectures; he seldom approves any thing that he understands, and yet he approves most things; he meditates on an old Manuscript more than the Pentateuch; he wonders why the Apocalypse is put in the end of the Bible, and thinks it a disgrace; he takes Brightman for a better Interpreter than Daniel; he cuts the Apocrypha out of his Bible, for fear of infection; yet cannot tell why he hates it, but because 'tis Apocrypho; and thinks Solomon but a fool in suffering his wisdom to be put there. Monarchy he cannot abide, but says 'tis against Christian Liberty; but thinks Anarchy is as old as the Chaos. He takes Malchus' Servant to be a Saint, because he had his ear cut; yet thinks him not right of his opinion, because he had one left. He takes Peter for a Popish Bishop, because he cut off that ear. Wherever the Scripture says strive, he takes it for fight; that makes him so in love with Civil War. Among his Superiors he is dumb; to his inferiors deaf; the one he offends by silence, the other by prating; to both he is ridiculous. In a word, he is the State Incendiary, the City's bane, and Kings evil.   

A. Schismatic.  
IS one of those rash Servants that will not let the Wheat and the Tares grow together; but crops off his hair, or rather weeds it up, lest it should hinder the growth of his ears, that when the harvest of tribulation comes, they may be reaped by handfuls for good Considerations. He thinks it impossible to be saved if ones hair transcends his teeth in longitude. He is in the head an Hermaphridite, between a Friar and a Turk, the one shaves round the head, the other the crown, he both; he hopes to be pulled up to Heaven by the ears, like a pitcher. He is a Papist turned the wrong side outwards, and so strongly denies their tenets, that he grants their maximies; his Religion and theirs run round in a circle till they meet. He is fallen out with Learning so, that he thinks ignorance his main saving grace; and would be content to speak no Language but sanctified Bulls, but that the Pope useth them; he stands much for Christian liberty, yet will tie all men from the use of ceremonies; freewill he cries down in a Papist, yet maintains that a Protestant may do what he please. All his discourse is the sand of zeal bound together without the lime of reason; for he calls that humane Traditions, and protests the Brethren do not use it. You cannot vex him more, then to tell him his soul is God's Image; for he hates idolatry. To speak Languages (he saith) is to glory in the confusion of Babel; and to talk sense, is to advance carnal reason above the Spirit. He wears his soul, as a Gallant that has put on his Periwig the back part foremost; for whereas his will should be judicious, his judgement is wilful. He flies humane Learning as from a Serpent; three words of Latin will give him nine stools. His knowledge, how small soever, never sinks into his heart, but only swims in his brain; standing bare at a Sermon makes his zeal catch cold, and that brings snuffling in the nose. He is one of the Attorneys of Dovers Court; and can with more patience talk five hours, then hear one. In company he is excellent Physic; for he will either purge your gall with anger, or your spleen with laughter. Against every new meeting, he takes in store of new Arguments to maintain some new-fangled opinion; which when he vents, his proselytes are ravished with admiration, and think him inspired with strange revelations, that he can speak English and they not under stand him. He will cross the King's Highway rather than view a Cross there. Aristotle was never so corrupted with Dutch Comments, as the Scripture is with his; his brain is like the puddle at Oxford, into which Aristotle's Well dischannels itself, and becomes stinking water. When he takes a Bishop in his mouth, 'tis in that sense as a Wolf takes a Lamb; not 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, but simpliciter. Tell him of a High Commission, and he holds his ears, and says there is a mystery in that Posture. Set but his zeal on fire, and it will flame, though it smother a Kingdom; the only way to confute him is silence or laughter. He is all for Independent Church Government, yet wishes all the Orthodox Clergy hanged. He holds a Stable as holy as a Church; but holds a Chamber holier than both, if it be well furnished; that is, with a Bed and a Sister; and then he cares not how long he stands. He that would draw the character of his Religion, had need have a Map of all the Earth, and of Hell too, where his Principles are deeply rooted. He will not believe that Christ ever descended into Hell, but intends to take a Journey thither himself to dispute with the Devil. There let him go for me.   

A Gallant  
IS one that Nature made while the World was in a Chaos, and therefore detests order ab origine. He dares use his tongue against Heaven; but scarce his hands against a Butterfly. Is he sober? his care is how to be drunk, is he drunk? his next task is how to shift the reckoning. All his Discourses are buttered with Oaths, which he uses Euphoniae gratiâ. He has worn out all his friends, but the Hangman; and all his Apparel, but his Sword; which he hacks sometimes against a Mantle-post, and swears he has been in a desperate encounter; coming from a Bawdy-house, he swears he has been in hot service, though his courage be soon taken down. Two French postures he has naturally, viz. to have his Flanks and his hair fall off; which last defect he supplies with the mercenary Auxiliaries, a Periwig. His face speaks him no true Subject, because of its frequent rise; to which Rebels his nose is Standard-bearer, and carries the colours. His common Notion or Title-page is a Low-countries Soldier; under which vizard he boasts of Victories and Adventures which he heard discoursed of at the last Tavern. He sets his faith to sale, and cries, Who will give most? His Loyalty lasts no longer than his Money. His threats are like Thunderclaps, or the motions of Mountains; and if a blow be brought forth, 'tis like a Mouse; in the midst of his fury, if you care not for his menaces, nor fear his blows, he will shake hands with you. 'Twere fearful if his valour were as great as his wickedness; or if his power echoed his will. Though he be an Infidel himself, he would have others believe his Oaths when he promiseth payment. You cannot do him a greater discourtesy, then to make his Chirurgeon drunk, for than he bewrays his secrets. He keeps good quarter with his Landress, lest she should discover the spots of his conversation. The first thing he does in morning, is to bid a Pox take those Fleas that bitten him at night; which is sure to be granted; and the last thing he doth at night, is to curse the Gentleman that cudgelled him that day. In the morning, imitating the Sun immediately after his rise, he passes into an Alehouse; or if he can get one to spend for him, to a Tavern; so passes from sign to sign, through a whole Zodiac in a day, till he comes to Aquarius; and then goes by water to a Bawdy-house, and comes out by fire. He believes there is no Sign of Virgo left in the World. In the end you shall find him kicked by his Companions for having no Money about him, which he swears is in his other pockets, when as he has but only one Suit; and that is threadbare before the Tailor is paid. Thus when he has gone his round, and been abused by his Companions for abusing them, he reels into the mouths of the Watch, and from thence is rolled into the Counter; where to his credit, many great Actions are imputed to him.   

A Ballad-maker  
IS a Volume of Rhyme composed by the hand of nonsense; or a musical Instrument, not yet tuned. An Alehouse he accounts the only Helicon; and the Ale-drapers Wife one of the nine Muses. His wit runs thick or clear, like the Ale-barrell. He is a second Charon; for none are wafted over by the way of Tyburn, but he receives money for their passage. He exceedingly longs for blazing Stars, Earthquakes, Dearths, or strange accidents. The Brethren keep constant correspondency with him, that he may compose their Libels into Metre; and being whipped or Pillory'd for it, he rejoiceth, saying that he suffers for the truth. His Companions call him Poet at every word, but 'tis in a jeer; and being patiented to bear all slanders, believes it, and bears it. Call him Goose or Woodcock, he is enraged; but yet had rather eat your words, than you should. He is sensible of no Argument but beating; and that alone drives him out of your company. He is in pay by the Country Wenches, to write Love Stories to lamentable Tunes, which they sing to the Cows, and make them weep milky tears to hear them. His common Vaticans where his Books are preserved, are the windows and walls of an Alehouse in the Country. He like the Emblematists, is beholden to an Engraver; but only his Wood carver hath certain common Places; a man and a woman serve like Panpharmacons, for all occasions. He is a dutiful Son of the Church, and loves no innovations in Musics; but they go like Hopkins and Wisdom, to the Tune of the same. He is in no better cue to write a lamentable Story, then when he is Mawdlen-drunk; his brain is the common-shore of Poetry; the streams which he sucks from Poets, he defiles with the muddy stinking puddles of his Additions. There is many a man is made a Martyr by his Elegies; wherein his Encomiastics persecute the very ashes, and hypocritically tear the dead body of Hercules with a smiling countenance. In a word; he is the Suburbs of a Poet; whose Sepulchre is the Stocks, and his Monument a Pillory.   

The Character of a self-conceited Fellow.  
HE is, I dare not say a Man, nor Boy; but in the Parenthesis of both; yet he thinks only a beard is wanting to proclaim his manhood; because he has taken up women's Smocks, he writes sumptâ virili togâ, when indeed his wit is hardly out of the clouts. He is an Ape, that imitates both, but wanting the wit of the one, acts naturally the folly of the other. He thinks himself of deep judgement, yet has nothing deep about him, but the pits of his nose; which makes him boast of hills and dales in his own possession. He affects two contraries; for he will be a laughingstock to good company, where his highest ambition is to be told he talks like an Apothecary; or else is the Bell-wether of children, fools, or Frenchmen; who have neither English enough to reprove his nonsense, nor to approve his no-wit; but pass it over for jests by ignorant laughter. He is an ignis fatuus to misled fools by a shining nothing that is in him or a blazing Star placed in the lower Regions of a Tavern; and a Cup in his brain portends the birth of some prodigious Conceit. To ingratiate himself into good company, he keeps constantly in pay a Regiment of jests and hard words, to salute their ears with a volley of nonsense; which if they be not graced with laughter, he is nonsuited. But being disrobed of this store, he whispers them of a Wench; and rather than want employment, will turn Pimp. You cannot please him unless you praise him; nor praise him, unless you flatter him, It is his summuni bonum to move laughter; and if his jests will not do it, his gesture must; if neither, you may laugh at the Jestor. He most commonly procures friendship with some wit, whom he enjoins to be the foreman in the peal of laughter; who both to his face, and behind his back, laughs at him. Much he affects to speak some Foreign Language, because in all his Discourse he would overreach the capacity of an Englishman. He whispers How d'ye, as if 'twere Treason, in the ears of any new acquaintance, to make others think he is privy to their secrets. He always detracts from other men's worth behind their backs; as if he knew by instinct others dispraised him; and it goes hard if a man wears any clothes, but he will pick a hole in his coat. He hath not exchanged two words with Nature in love (I had almost said since he was of understanding) because she made him so low, that he cannot overlook other men's actions; but to help this defect, he hath gotten the faculty of taking the wall of his betters; having nothing in himself worth this knowledge; he scorns noscere seipsum. The thing is sometimes Poetical wherein he casts up his ignorance, to make it seem of high account; he writes like the Egyptian darkness, wherein he shows cunning; for when men laugh at his Verses, he may say they laugh at they know not what; and can boast of more than any Modern Poet, that he writes above humane apprehension. He carries such a deep conceit of his own conceits, that he thinks no man worthy to understand them; nay he is such a niggard, that he grudgeth himself the benefit. The Subject of his Fancy is himself; wherein he truly shows himself poetical, if Fictions can do. He mislikes every man after the first acquaintance; nay grows weary of his native Country, and will travel; and his actions and carriage therein, not tongue can express but his own, for he may lie by Authority. Himself is gone beyond the limits of my Paper, where my Pen nor can nor will follow him.   

The Character of a City Wit.  
HE is a gaudy Vacuum, gilded over with a few hard words, which he imagines to have a deep meaning, because his dull sense cannot dive into it; which with much pains he has weeded from Authors, and placed in Garrison in a common place-book, that he might draw out a Regiment of Recruits when his wit is routed. His Discourse is a Line of Sand, or a composition of so many foot and half-words, which being put together, spell nonsense. He admits not a word into his Society, under the degree of a Tetrasilable; and takes all Discourse by measure, not weight. He were the only man to be Minshew's Son, and compose another Dictionary of hard words, had he but wit enough to spell them, or learning to tell their signification. Yet he thinks his nose a jacob's Staff, able to calculate the height of any man's fancy. By his tedious Discourses of Heraldry, he would make you believe he were a Gentleman. And to gain Honour, he dares be a Soldier; and hath taken up Arms on his Signet, for defence of his little finger; but intends only to fight by the Herald's Book, where his valour will be seen by the miserable hanging, drawing, and quartering of his innocent Coat. He had been preferred to a Trumpeters place, but that he could sound no Alarm, but his own praise. Had he but Poetry, he would out-vaper Ben; but he'll not speak a Verse, lest they should be taken for children of his own begetting, and known by their long legs. Besides his speeches are so masterless, they think it against the Liberty of the Subject to be chained in a Verse. In his Arguments his Solutions are more intricate than the Question; and that man needs a deep reach that would define his definition. After many Pleonasmes and Circumlocutions, he is delivered at length of a nonsequitur; yet makes no Conclusion, for his Discourse is endless. You may be sick of a Consumption, and cured before he hath finished a Compliment; and 'tis a wonder if the Palsy in his tongue procure not the frenzy in his head. Shows he prefers before substance; and esteems an Koran in Folio before a pocket Bible. He useth much to discommend himself; which we must interpret as a praise, the clean contrary way; yet rather than lose a drop of his praise, he will lick it up with his own tongue. The way to gain his favour, is neither to understand him, nor be understood by him; he will then applaud the depth of your judgement; for it is his property to think nothing deep, unless it be muddy. He accounts no man rich in wit, that does not jingle with it in every fool's company; he thinks not that a man's Warehouse may be full, whose Shop is empty; and a Fountain of Learning in that head, where there is no channel in the tongue. He would fain be a Philosopher, for he is very peripatetical; and because his wit is bald, he Periwigs it with stolen Comings, which he calls his own, because he bought them, and saith he studied hard for them; but it was only to remember them; and if by chance any word do put out his head in company, and is not conceived, he'll swear 'tis an admirable conceit. Because he is tall, he thinks his fancy is predominant, and therefore is apt to insult over any short man, though he hath more understanding. He thinks every man barren of Worth, that has not his tongue tipped with selfe-praise; and those unacquainted with wit, that have not their fancies writ in their faces, perspicuous to every Reader. He is mighty glad if he be in company with a fool, and thinks him his foil, though indeed he be his Looking-glass. From the ruins of good Buildings he erects the Babel's of his own conceit, and enriches his brain; which indeed is no other but a confusion of Languages, where scarce one syllable understands another. In the Church we must look for him in the highest Pew; but I am loath to stay his coming out, lest he offend my stomach with some tedious Paraphrase upon the Sermon; but there I leave him praying against a handsome Wife, lest he be made a Cuckold; and against a witty Companion, lest he be made a Coxscomb.  
J. B.   

The Character of a Humourist.  
HIs principal humour shall be my excuse; that is, inconstancy; 'tis hard to draw his Picture, that will not settle his countenance; therefore expect it rather in a Landscape then Statue. He is unsettled both in his actions and opinions; which shows his fancy to predominate in him, rather than judgement; yet can it not be denied, but that he is master of a sound judgement, but he makes others, not himself the subject of it; being better able to inform others, then reform his life; and more able to declaim against others vices, then reclaim his own. His anger is more active than hot, rather scorching then burning; soon kindled, and as soon quenched. And though that man must needs make a strange combustion in the State of his soul, that upon the landing of every Cockboat sets the Beacons on fire; yet because his Reason stands Sentinel, 'tis rather a disorder then a mutiny. Virtue he more gazeth after then follows; or if he do follow, it is rather with his tongue then feet; choosing to talk with her sooner than walk after her; and prefers a dram of Theoricks before a pound of Practics. At the Game of unlawful Pleasures he had rather be an Actor than a Spectator; seldom forsaking them till teeth like he be forced to drop off through too much satiety. Melancholy he will be in the midst of mirth; certainly when he and his serious thoughts meet together (for they are strangers) they are excellent company. Venus he esteems above all the seven Planets; but had rather worship her in a Bawdy-house then in any of the twelve Celestial Signs. In his Materials he is a Gentleman; but Fortune hath cast him in the City Mould. No doubt but age will reclaim his unstay'dness; 'tis no great fault in a young Horse to use unreasonable mounting. To his friends he is rather formal then real; apt to trust them with his person, not secrets. In a falling out of two friends, he will rather side with one, then bring both agreed; which is an Index of some indiscretion; thereby he being sure of two friends, to make one his enemy. He is no stranger to Poetry, which is Music in words; nor to Music, which is Poetry in sound; yet rather makes them his Sauce then Meat. For Logic, which gives Speech substance; or Rhetoric, which gives it Beauty; or Grammar, which gives a Tongue to Speech itself; he has only ta'en a cursory view of the first of the three; but has ruminated on the two last. But lest I make my Garment to big for the Body which I took measure of; and being something in haste, I conclude with his own Proverb, By— I cannot stay.  
J. B.   

The Character of a FUDLER.  
WE will only take a cursory view of him as he is in company, being not yet so unhappy to know him farther; but we may guests at the bulk of Hercules by his foot. He is a confused lump moulded when Nature did all things in the dark; a Cub of the Chaos not licked into form, rolled from Tavern to Tavern only to be drunk and laughed at; where he grunts out words as ill-shaped and gross as his person; and if his speeches do chance to quarrel, you must take them as they fall out. His body is built like Babel, but never with an intent to reach Heaven; the Workmen were confounded, and put Mortar where Gold should be. His ordinary Discourse is only scurrility and profaneness in a miscellany, boiled together in huge quantities of Sack, which he carves to his friends as prime Dainties. Rather than his Jests shall want fire, he will light them at God's Altar; and though a Conceit grow on the Banks of Hell, he will adventure to fetch it; not caring to gain his Conceit, though he lose his soul. In company he monopolizeth all the Discourse to himself; not regarding if his tongue keep on a gallop before, how far his understanding loiters behind. Sometimes his Wit stumbles on a Jest, as he that shoots thick, sometimes may hit; and than you will do him a great discourtesy, if you do not laugh; but the main body of his Discourse is a Wild-goose chase after some printed wit, which he cannot catch. When he speaks, 'tis not the motion of his tongue, but the rattling of his brains; and 'tis worth our wonder, that his belly should be so full, and head so empty; but the fullness of the one is the emptiness of the other. His belly, like the great Fish, eats up all the rest of his limbs, yet his wit is as fat as that. He has spent much time in travel to learn to be an Ass; all that he has seen is the Tun at Hadleburgh, which he studies to imitate; and all that he hath brought away, is the exact managing of his Fork at Table. He walks in the streets like a Roundlet of Sack on two posts; and wherever he goes, he carries a fool with him. His study is old Jests and Tales; his recreation, Drinking; and his main occupation is Wenching. But I fear I have been too long in his company; by this time he is drunk, 'tis time to leave him lest he spew in our faces.   

A Solicitor  
IS one of the blades of Corn that springs from the Ilian ruins, whose ears grow up for the Harvest of a pillory. His Profession is originally like a Cuckoo, from the Nest of another Trade; where he has learned wrangling and knavery enough in his own Causes to spoil another man's. With the sweetened Ingredients of City fraud he compounds himself (though simple enough) for any villainy. He is truly said to follow a Cause; but a small Bribe will lame him so, that he will never come near it. He is one of Sampson's Foxes, that fires all about him; but that his fire is generally in his nose, as well as his tail. His ambition is so low, not to have his Chamber in an Inns of Court, but in an Alehouse of the City; a Tavern is his form, and licking of Pots his Law. Most of his Actions are Assaults, or Slanders; which are broached where his Ale is, in a Cellar; and after a long circumstance, centre themselves where they begun; where his foolish Client, being weary of his fruitless endless Suit, and repenting the idle expense of his Money for an imaginary varnum, called getting the day; like the Chemist, that blows away his Silver and Lungs, for that Fools (rather then Philosophers) Stone; does by his wholesome advice, when his Money is spent, refer his Suit to Arbitrators and umpires; whose Verdict is, after long debate, A Supper for themselves, at the equal charge of both Parties; That both must be sony for what they have done (as they have good cause) and sit down by their losses. He seldom gets any considerable preferment, but among Fishwives or Watermen, or in a Country Village, where all stand in awe of him, and slander him with the Title of Master Lawyer. Ignorance and beggary makes him resolute, that he dares thrust his head into any employment. At last, having run through the Zodiac of all Courts, if he scape the preferment of the Gallows, he casts Anchor in a Goal, or a Bridewell; and there we leave him.  
FINIS.