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Q^t mans o est J or tunc or his worsxls cl '-wife- 
 yetffj that MjyeWnor mar^agehcace nor strife', 
 jjye by a^oociy §y a bad one loft my IiJjlj- 
 
 can,"^jec\. 
 
 Jx -wife, likL ficrj 'writ,ma.n fcapfc 
 Of a,jalstmenxi R^mxnijwnjaitjt naXh rewf 
 
THE 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS WORKS 
 
 IN PEOSE AND VERSE 
 
 OF SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, KNT. 
 u 
 
 NOW FIRST COLLECTED. 
 
 EDITED WITH NOTES, AND A BIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BY EDWABD F. EIMBAULT, LL.D. 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN EUSSELL SMITH, 
 
 SOHO SQUARE. 
 
 1856. 
 

o 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 NTRODUCTION . ?d S 
 
 Life of Sir Thomas Overbury . . . xxv 
 
 ?Ry!JSn2 The Poem of the Wife 33 
 
 Characters, etc. 
 
 A good Woman 47 
 
 • A Very Woman 48 
 
 Her Nest Part 50 
 
 A Dissembler 52 
 
 A Courtier 52 
 
 A Golden Asse 53 
 
 AFlatterer 54 
 
 An ignorant Glory-hunter 55 
 
 ATimist 56 
 
 An Amorist 57 
 
 An Affectate Traveller 58 
 
 A Wise Man 60 
 
 A Noble Spirit 61 
 
 An Olde Man 63 
 
 A Country Gentleman 64 
 
 A fine Gentleman 65 
 
 An Elder Brother 67 
 
 A Braggadochio Welshman 68 
 
 A Pedant 69 
 
 A Serving-Man . 69 
 
 An Host 71 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 Characters, etc. continued. Page 
 
 An Ostler 71 
 
 A good Wife 72 
 
 A Melancholy Man 73 
 
 A Saylor , 75 
 
 A Souldier 76 
 
 A Taylor 78 
 
 APuritane 80 
 
 AWhoore 82 
 
 A very Whore 83 
 
 A meere Common Lawyer 84 
 
 A meere Scholer 87 
 
 A Tinker 89 
 
 An Apparatour 91 
 
 An Almanack-maker 92 
 
 An Hypocrite 94 
 
 A Maquerela 99 
 
 A Chamber-maide 101 
 
 A Precisian 102 
 
 An Innes of Court Man 103 
 
 A meere fellow of an house • 105 
 
 A worthy Commander in the Warres . . . 106 
 
 A vaine-glorious Coward in Command . . . 108 
 
 APyrate 110 
 
 An ordinarie Pencer Ill 
 
 A Puny-Clarke 113 
 
 A Poote-man 114 
 
 A Noble and retired House-keeper . . ..115 
 
 An Intruder into favour 116 
 
 A faire and happy Milk-may d 118 
 
 An arrant Horse-courser 120 
 
 A Roaring Boy . 121 
 
 A Drunken Dutchman resident in Pngland . 123 
 
 An Improvident young Gallant 124 
 
 A Button-maker of Amsterdam 125 
 
 A Distaster of the Time 127 
 
 A meere fellow of an house 128 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 Characters, etc. continued. Page 
 
 A meere Pettyfogger * . 129 
 
 An Ingrosser of Come 131 
 
 A Devillish Usurer 133 
 
 A Water-man 135 
 
 A Reverend Judge 136 
 
 A vertuous Widdow 138 
 
 An ordinary Widdow 139 
 
 A Quacksalver 141 
 
 A canting Eogue 142 
 
 A French Cooke 144 
 
 A Sexton 145 
 
 A Iesuite 146 
 
 An excellent Actor 147 
 
 A Franklin 149 
 
 A Rymer 1 50 
 
 A Covetous man 151 
 
 The proud Man . 153 
 
 A Prison 154 
 
 A Prisoner 157 
 
 ACreditour 160 
 
 A Sargeant 162 
 
 His Yeoman 165 
 
 A Iaylor 166 
 
 What a Character is 168 
 
 Newes from Court 171 
 
 Answere to the Court Newes 173 
 
 Countrey Newes 174 
 
 Newes from the verie countrie 176 
 
 Answere to the very Countrey Newes . . . 178 
 
 Newes to the Universitie 179 
 
 Newes from Sea 180 
 
 From France 183 
 
 From Spaine 184 
 
 From Rome 185 
 
 From Venice 186 
 
 From Germanie 186 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 Characters, etc. continued. Page 
 
 From the Low-Countries 187 
 
 Newes from my Lodging 187 
 
 Newes of my morning Worke 189 
 
 Newes from the lower end of the Table . . 190 
 
 Newes from the Church 193 
 
 Newes from the bed 196 
 
 Newes from Shipboord . . . . . . . . 198 
 
 Newes from the Chimney-corner 199 
 
 The First and Second Part of the Remedy of Love 201 
 Observations upon the xvu. Provinces as they stood 
 
 a. d. 1609 . , . , 221 
 
 Crumms fal'n from King James's Table .... 253 
 
 Notes 279 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^HE works of Sir Thomas Overbury are 
 now, for the first time, collected into 
 one volume. They consist of Ms cele- 
 brated poem of " The Wife ; " " Cha- 
 racters, or Wittie Descriptions of the Properties of 
 Sundry Persons;" a paraphrase of the first and 
 second parts of Ovid's " Remedy of Love ; " " Ob- 
 servations in his Travailes upon the State of the 
 XVII Provinces, as they stood, a.d. 1609;" and 
 " Crumms fal'n from King James's Table." 
 
 Independently of their particular merit, the works 
 of Overbury possess a certain charm from our re- 
 collection of the fate of their unhappy author. As 
 a poet, he was perhaps not remarkable for any par- 
 ticular graces of expression, or smoothness of versi- 
 fication; yet his poem of " The Wife" — no small 
 favourite in its day — contains some pretty passages, 
 and. a host of precepts which even the most fastidious 
 
x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 will hardly dispute. It is upon his Characters that 
 Overbury's fame must chiefly rest ; and here he dis- 
 plays the fertile and observant powers of his mind, 
 great ingenuity of conceit, and a force of expression 
 rarely equalled by any of the numerous followers of 
 Theophrastus. 
 
 Overbury's poem of " The Wife " was written to 
 dissuade the Earl of Somerset from marrying the 
 infamous Countess of Essex. This has been fre- 
 quently stated, and I am now enabled to give a co- 
 temporary statement in confirmation. Among the 
 notes taken in 1637 " from the mouth of Sir Nicholas 
 Overbury," the father of Sir Thomas, (Add. MS. 
 15,476 Brit. Mus.) we read " That Sir Thomas wrote 
 his poeme called A Wife to induce Viscount Ro- 
 chester to make a better choise, then of the divorced 
 Countesse." Le ISTeve, in his " Cursory Eemarks 
 on Some of the Ancient English Poets," speaking 
 of this poem, remarks, " The sentiments, maxims, 
 and observations, with which it abounds, are such as 
 a considerable experience, and a correct judgment 
 on mankind alone could furnish. The topics of 
 jealousy, and of the credit, and behaviour of women 
 are treated with great truth, delicacy and perspicuity. 
 The nice distinctions of moral character, and the 
 pattern of female excellence here drawn, contrasted, 
 as they were, with the heinous and flagrant enor- 
 mities of the Countess of Essex, rendered this poem 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 extremely popular, when its ingenious author was no 
 more." 
 
 Campbell, the poet, in a prefatory notice pre- 
 fixed to his Specimens, says, " The compassion of 
 the public for a man of worth, < whose spirit still 
 walked unrevenged amongst them,' together with 
 the contrast of his ideal Wife with the Countess of 
 Essex, who was his murderess, attached an interest 
 and popularity to his poem, and made it pass through 
 sixteen editions before the year 1653. His ' Cha- 
 racters, or Witty Descriptions of the Properties of 
 Sundry Persons/ is a work of considerable merit ; 
 but unfortunately his prose, as well as his verse, has 
 a dryness and quaintness that seems to oppress the 
 natural movement of his thoughts. As a poet he 
 has few imposing attractions : his beauties must be 
 fetched by repeated perusal. They are those of 
 solid reflection, predominating over, but not extin- 
 guishing sensibility ; and there is danger of the 
 reader neglecting, under the coldness and ruggedness 
 of his manner, the manly but unostentatious moral 
 feeling that is conveyed in his maxims, which are 
 sterling and liberal, if we can only pardon a few 
 obsolete ideas on female education." 
 
 With the exception of two small tracts descriptive 
 of the characters of rogues and knaves — " The Pra- 
 ternitye of Vacabondes," 1565 ; and " A Caveat for 
 Common Cursetors vulgarely called Vagabones, set 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 forth by Thomas Harman," 1567— Overbury claims 
 the distinction of being the earliest writer of Cha- 
 racters which this country can boast. 
 
 Few works have been more popular than the 
 characters of Overbury and Bishop Earle. Hallam, 
 in his " Introduction to the Literature of Europe," 
 (vol. iii. p. 153, edit. 1843) thus sums up his notice 
 of the latter : — " The Microcosmography is not an 
 original work in its plan or mode of execution ; it is 
 a close imitation of the characters of Sir Thomas 
 Overbury. They both belong to the favourite style 
 of apophthegm, in which every sentence is a point 
 or a witticism. Yet the entire character, so deli- 
 neated, produces a certain effect; it is a Dutch 
 picture, a Gerard Dow, somewhat too elaborate. 
 Earle has more natural humour than Overbury, and 
 hits his mark more neatly ; the other is more sati- 
 rical, but often abusive and vulgar. The i Fair and 
 Happy Milkmaid,' often quoted, is the best of his 
 characters. The wit is often trivial and flat ; the sen- 
 timents have nothing in them general, or worthy of 
 much remembrance ; praise is only due to the graphic 
 skill in delineating character. Earle is as clearly the 
 better, as Overbury is the more original writer." 
 
 It does not appear that any of Overbury's pro- 
 ductions were printed during his lifetime, although 
 it is frequently stated to have been the fact. Wood 
 says that his poem of the " Wife" was "printed 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiii 
 
 several times at London while the author lived;" 
 but the earliest edition which I can discover, bears 
 the date of 1614 : and from the entry in the Sta- 
 tioners' Eegisters, " 13 Dec. 1613," we may safely 
 conclude it to have been the first.* 
 
 The poem of " The Wife" must have enjoyed 
 considerable popularity, not only from its numerous 
 editions, but also from the imitations that were succes- 
 sively brought forward. In the same year appeared 
 " The Husband ; a poem expressed in a Compleat 
 Man : " in 1616, " A Select Second Husband for 
 Sir Thomas Overburie's Wife, now a matchless Wi- 
 dow," by John Davies of Hereford. In 1619, " The 
 Description of a Good Wife, or a rare one amongst 
 
 * I am indebted to my friend Mr. W. Chappell, F.S.A., 
 for the following extracts from the Stationers' Registers 
 relative to Overbury : — 
 
 13 Dec. 1613. 
 To Laurence Lyle, " A Poeme called A Wife, written 
 by Sir Thomas Overburye." 
 
 25 Nov. 1615. 
 To Laurence Lisle, " A Booke called Sir Thomas Over- 
 buryes Ghost, contayneing the history of his life and un- 
 timely death, by John Ford, gent." 
 20 Jan. 1615-16. 
 To Laurence Lisle, "The portrature of Sir Thomas 
 Overbury." 
 
 28 Jan. 1615-16. 
 To Mr. Barratt and Lau. Lisle, " A Booke of Sir Tho. 
 Overburyes Observations of his travelles in France, Ger- 
 many & the Lowe Countryes." 
 
xiv INTR OB UCTION. 
 
 Women/' by Eicliard Brathwaite ; also " A Happy 
 Husband, or Directions for a Maid to chuse her 
 Mate," by Patrick Hannay. In 1631, we have 
 " Picturse Loquentes, or Pictures drawne forth in 
 characters; with a Poeme of a Maid," by Wye 
 Saltonstall : and in 1653, " A Wife not ready made, 
 but bespoken," by Eobert Aylet. 
 
 Shortly after the publication of Overbury's " Wife," 
 and in the same year, appeared a second edition, to 
 which were appended " Many witty characters, and 
 conceited Newes, written by himselfe, and other 
 learned Gentlemen his friends." The " Characters " 
 are twenty-one in number, but it is impossible to 
 say how many came from the pen of Overbury, or 
 to distinguish them from those of the " learned gen- 
 tlemen" who assisted in the publication. 
 
 Edition after edition followed, in quick succession, 
 a list of which I have attempted to draw up. The 
 descriptions are necessarily imperfect, as many of the 
 books I have been unable to see. 
 
 1. A Wife, now a Widowe. London, Imprinted 
 for Laurence L'isle, dwelling at the Tygres head in 
 Pauls Church-yard. 1614. 8vo. 
 
 This publication was the first edition of Overbury's 
 celebrated poem. It has not the characters. Copies 
 are preserved in the Bodleian Library, and among 
 Capell's books in Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 2. A Wife: now the Widdow of Sir Thomas 
 
INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 Overburye. Being a most exquisite and singular 
 Poem of the Choice of a Wife. Whereunto are 
 added many witty Characters, and conceited Newes, 
 written by himselfe and other learned Gentlemen his 
 friends. London, printed for Lawrence Lisle, and 
 are to bee sold at his shop in Paules Church-yard, at 
 the signe of the Tigers-head. 1614. Quarto, pp. 64. 
 
 A prose epistle to the reader, dated May 16, 1614, 
 commences this edition, which I conceive to be the 
 second. Next follows " A Morning Sacrifice to the 
 author," in thirty-two lines, subscribed J. S. Lincol- 
 niensis, Gentleman, and, " Brief Panegyrickes to the 
 author's praise," by G. R., T. B. and X. Z. Eleven 
 six-line stanzas " On the choice of a "Wife " ensue, 
 and the poem then commences. The characters are 
 twenty-one in number. A copy of this edition is pre- 
 served in the British Museum. 
 
 3. The Third Impression ; with Ad- 
 dition of Sundry other new Characters. London f 
 Printed by Edivard Griffin for Lawrence Lisle, &c. 
 1614. 4to. 34 leaves. 
 
 This edition contains twenty-five " Characters," 
 and eighteen pieces of " News." See Collier's Bridge- 
 water Catalogue, p. 223. 
 
 4. The Fourth Impression, enlarged 
 
 with more Characters than any of the former editions. 
 London, Printed by G. Eld, for Lawrence Lisle, &c. 
 1614. 4to. 
 
 Contains thirty characters and seventeen pieces of 
 News. On Sign. F 2 " The Character of a Happy 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Life, by H. W." (Sir Henry Wotton). This edition 
 is described by T. Park, in a very imperfect notice of 
 Overbury's Works, in the Censura Literaria, vol. v. p. 
 363, edit. 1807. A copy is preserved among CapelTs 
 books in Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 5. The Fifth Impression. London, 
 
 Lawrence Lisle, &c. 8vo. 1614. 
 
 I cannot trace a copy of this edition. 
 
 6. New and choise Characters of severall Authors : 
 together with that exquisite and unmatcht Poeme, 
 the Wife, written by Syr Thomas Overburie. With 
 the former Characters and Conceited Newes, all in 
 one volume. With many other things added to 
 this Sixt Impression. London, Printed by Thomas 
 Creede, for Lawrence I? isle, at the Tyger's head in 
 Pauls Church-yard, 1615, small octavo, pp. 182. 
 
 In this sixth edition, appeared the character of a 
 Tinker, an Apparatour, and an Almanack-maker, 
 which were claimed by J. Cocke, as his own produc- 
 tions, in a prefix to Stephens' Essaies, 2nd edit. 1615. 
 " Newes from the Countrey," which in this edition is 
 subscribed J. D. was printed as Dr. Donne's in the 
 edition of his Poems in 1669. 
 
 7. The Seventh Impression. Lon- 
 don, Lawrence Lisle, &c. 1616, small octavo, pp. 
 292. 
 
 8. — The Eighth Impression. With 
 
 new Elegies upon his (now known) untimely death. 
 London, Lawrence Lisle, &c. 1616, small octavo, 
 pp. 292, 
 
INTR OD UCTION. xvii 
 
 9. Sir Thomas Overbury his Wife. With addi- 
 tion of many new Elegies upon his untimely and 
 much lamented death. As also New Newes, and 
 divers more Characters (never before annexed), 
 written by himselfe and other learned Gentlemen. 
 The ninth impression, augmented. London, printed 
 by Edward Griffin for Lawrence Visle, &c. 1616, 
 small octavo, pp. 292. 
 
 This edition was twice printed in the same year. 
 
 10. The Tenth Impression. London, 
 
 Lawrence Lisle, &c. 1618, small octavo. 
 
 11. Sir Thomas Overbury his Wife. With Ad- 
 ditions of New Characters, and many other Wittie 
 Conceits never before Printed. The eleventh Im- 
 pression. London, Printed for Lawrence Lisle, and 
 are to be sold by Henry Seile, at the Tigers-head in 
 Pauls Church-yard, 1622, small octavo. 
 
 In the prefatory matter to this edition is a compli- 
 mentary poem in English, "Ad Comitissam Eut- 
 landise,'' which is not in the preceding ones. The 
 " Witty Conceites," mentioned in the title, consist of 
 " Paradoxes, as they were spoken in a Maske, and 
 presented before his Majesty at Whitehall ;" " The 
 Mountebankes Receipts;" and three Mountebank's 
 Songs. 
 
 12. The Twelfth Impression. Lublin, 
 
 1626, small octavo. 
 
 This edition, which is mentioned in Harding and 
 Lepard's Catalogue, 1829, p. 420, is of great rarity, 
 b 
 
xviii INTR OB UCTIOJSf. 
 
 13. The Twelfth Impression. Lon- 
 don, 1627, small octavo. 
 
 Called also the twelfth impression on the title-page. 
 See Harding and Lepard's Catalogue, before-men- 
 tioned. 
 
 14. The Thirteenth Impression. Lon- 
 don, Printed for Robert Allot, and are to bee sold at 
 the signe of the Beare in Pauls Church-yard, 1628, 
 small octavo. 
 
 15. The Fourteenth Impression. Lon- 
 don, Robert Allot, 1630, small octavo. 
 
 16. The Fifteenth Impression. Lon- 
 don, R. B.for Robert Allot, &c. 1632, small octavo, 
 pp. 320. 
 
 17. The Sixteenth Impression. Lon- 
 don, Printed by John Haviland for A. CrooJce, and 
 are to be sold at the signe of the Beare in Pauls 
 Church-yard, 1638, small octavo. 
 
 This edition contains the character of " a Dunce," 
 not in any former impression. 
 
 18. The Seventeenth Impression. 
 
 London, 1655, small octavo. 
 
 A copy in the Douce Collection. 
 
 19. — The Eighteenth Impression. Lon- 
 don, 1664, small octavo. 
 
 Called, incorrectly, in the title-page, the seventeenth 
 edition. 
 
 In 1673, appeared " The Illustrious Wife, viz. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 that excellent Poem, Sir Thomas Overburie's Wife, 
 illustrated by Giles Oldisworth, nephew to the same 
 Sir T. O." I have not been able to find a copy of 
 this rare volume in any collection, public or private. 
 Oldisworth, it is well known, took a deep interest in 
 everything relative to his unfortunate uncle, and his 
 " Illustrations" of his celebrated poem, would doubt- 
 less contain some remarks of peculiar importance and 
 value. 
 
 In 1756, appeared " The Miscellaneous Works 
 in Yerse and Prose of Sir Thomas Overbury, Knt., 
 with Memoir of his Life, The Tenth Edition. 
 London, Printed for W. Owen, at Homer's Head, 
 near Temple Ba r." It is a small octavo of 252 pages, 
 exclusive of 23 pages of introductory matter. 
 
 The "Miscellaneous Works" is a mere reprint 
 of the volume above described, without any attempt 
 to collect the other writings of the same author. 
 From its being called " the Tenth Edition," it is 
 presumed that its editor was unacquainted with any 
 edition later than the ninth. It is a very imperfect 
 reprint, having only twelve out of the twenty pieces 
 of " Xewes " contained in the previous editions, 
 besides many grave and important errors, that could 
 easily, if necessary, be pointed out. 
 
 The reprint of Overbury's Wife and Characters, 
 in the following pages, is taken from the ninth edi- 
 tion, of which, as I have stated, there were two im- 
 
xx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pressions in the same year. They differ only in a few 
 minor points, and in the spelling. The contents of 
 both are precisely the same. 
 
 As the present volume is a collection of Over- 
 bury's writings, I have taken the liberty to reject 
 some few pieces (evidently foisted in by the pub- 
 lisher) that were not the productions of his muse, nor 
 in character with the rest of the work in which they 
 appear. They consist of u An Elegy on the late 
 Lord William Howard, Baron of Effingham, dead 
 the tenth of December, 1615,'' written by Bishop 
 Corbet; "An Elegy on the Death of the Lady 
 Rutland," by Francis Beaumont ; Sir Henry 
 Wotton's beautiful poem on " The Character of a 
 Happy Life ;" and " Certaine Edicts from a Par- 
 liament in Eutopia, written by the Lady Southwell.*'* 
 
 It is also necessary to mention the reasons why 
 the " Witty Conceites,*'* added to the eleventh edi- 
 tion, have been rejected. They consist of " Para- 
 doxes, as they were spoken in a Maske, and presented 
 before his Majesty at White-Hall ;" " The Mounte- 
 banke's Receipts ;" and three " Mountebanke's" 
 Songs. They are all connected, and form part of 
 " The Mountebank's Masque,*'* printed "fay Mr. J. 
 P. Collier, from a MS. in the possession of the Duke 
 of Devonshire, in the valuable Inigo Jones volume, 
 issued by the Shakespeare Society in 1S4S. Mr. 
 Collier considers it to be the production of the cele- 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 brated satirist and dramatist John Marston, and 
 adds, " It is a new discovery, and we impute it to 
 him, not only because his name is on the cover, in a 
 handwriting of the time, although only in pencil, 
 but because it is corrected in several places in his 
 own handwriting, which entirely agrees with other 
 extant specimens. The piece possesses much of the 
 strength, and some of the coarseness, of the popular 
 writer's mind ; but it well merited to be brought to 
 light precisely in the shape in which it has descended 
 to us." 
 
 The "Mountebank's Masque" had previously 
 appeared in print, although, at the moment of writing, 
 it had escaped the recollection of the learned editor. 
 It forms the second part of the " GestaGrayorum," as 
 printed in Nichols' " Progresses of Queen Elizabeth" 
 (vol. hi. p. 320, edit. 1823). The first part of the 
 " Gray's Inn Revels, a.d. 1594," is taken from a 
 printed copy. " The second part of the Gesta 
 Grayorum" says Nichols, " appears more like a 
 banter on the former part, than an actual Exhibition ; 
 and requires some apology for allusions ill-suited to 
 the refinement of the present age. It is taken 
 from a MS. in the Harleian Collection, and is with- 
 out date ; but Henry the Second, Prince of Graya 
 and Purpulia, occurs in the List of Subscribers to 
 Minsheu's Dictionary, 1617." 
 
xxii INTB OB UCTIOJST, 
 
 " The First and Second Part of The Remedy of 
 Love," is reprinted from an edition " Printed by 
 Nicholas Okes," in 1620, a copy of which is pre- 
 served in the British Museum. It is of the utmost 
 possible rarity, and not to be found in any of the 
 libraries of our collectors of old poetry. Lowndes 
 refers to the Museum copy, but misquotes the title 
 " The Comedy of Love." Warton (Hist, of Poet, 
 iii. 339, note, edit. 1840) speaking of Francis Beau- 
 mont, says, " He also translated part of Ovid's * Re- 
 medy of Love ;' as did Sir T. Overbury the whole 
 soon afterwards, Lond. 1620, 8vo. But I believe 
 there is a former edition, no date, 8vo." 
 
 Sir Thomas Overbury 's " Observations in his 
 Travailes," is reprinted from a small quarto pamph- 
 let, "printed 1626." It was licensed, according 
 to the entry in the Stationers' Registers, " 28 Jan. 
 1615-16 ;" but no copy of that date has come down 
 to us. Wood (Athence Oxon. ii. 135) says, " This 
 goes under his name, but doubted by some whether 
 he wrote it." The same writer mentions an edition in 
 1627, and another in 1657. Dr. Bliss informs us 
 that a MS. copy exists in the Archiepiscopal Library 
 at Lambeth (MS. Lambeth, 84,115). It is also to 
 be found in the Harleian " Collection of Voyages 
 and Travels," folio, 1745, and in the seventh volume 
 of the " Harleian Miscellany." 
 
IXTR OB VCTION. xxiii 
 
 The u Criimms fal'n from King James's Table," 
 is printed from the Harleian MS. No. 7582, fol. 42, 
 where it purports to have been copied from the ori- 
 ginal, in Sir Thomas Overbury's own handwriting. 
 It has appeared in print, but from a different MS., 
 in et The Prince's Cabala, or Mysteries of State. 
 "Written by King James the First, and some JNoble- 
 men in his Beign, and in Queen Elizabeth's," &c. 
 12mo. 1715. The editor says in his Preface, " We 
 here present the judicious reader with a choice col- 
 lection of ingenious sentences, which fell from the 
 table of that learned monarch, King James the First, 
 and never made jpublich before. The substance of 
 them are both Theological and Moral; and being 
 gather'd, as they proceeded from the royal mouth, by 
 that most witty Knight Sir Thomas Oyerbury, a 
 little before he was poyson'd in the Tower of London, 
 it is not to be doubted but they will escape the cen- 
 sures, frowns and derisions of the criticks." 
 
 It only remains to say, that in reprinting the va- 
 rious pieces contained in the following pages, I haye 
 adhered to the old spelling ; not because there is any 
 yalue in a philological view attached to it — on the 
 contrary, the same word is frequently spelt three 
 different ways in the course of the same page — but 
 for other reasons which will have more weight. 
 Overbury, in common with almost all the writers of 
 
xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 his period, occasionally uses words and " figures of 
 speech," ill-suited to the refinement of the present 
 age. In reading an old author, in his own ortho- 
 graphy, we can make every allowance for that which 
 we are apt to forget or overlook in the more modern 
 type and spelling of our own day. 
 
 Edward F. Eimbault. 
 
 October 8, 
 
 29, St. Mark's Crescent, 
 
 Regent's Park. 
 
THE LIFE OF SIE THOMAS 
 OVERBUKY. 
 
 He cometh upon you with a tale, which holdeth children 
 from play, and old men from the chimney-corner." 
 
 Sir P. Sidney's Defence of Poesy. 
 
 j^HE tale of Sir Thomas Overbury is 
 indeed one of fearful mystery. Born 
 with more than ordinary genius, nursed 
 in affluence, the companion of states- 
 men, and the favourite of princes; 
 yet this man, so highly favoured, so marked for 
 distinction, was doomed to an early death, to suffer 
 lingering tortures, and to die in a loathsome dungeon, 
 surrounded by the ghastly forms of murderers ! 
 
 Thomas Overbury was born at Compton Scorfen, 
 in the parish of Ilmington in Warwickshire, in 
 1581.* He was the son of Nicholas Overbury, of 
 Boorton-on-the-hill in Gloucestershire ; and, ac- 
 
 * At the house of his maternal grandfather, Giles Pal* 
 mer. It is a tradition in Warwickshire, that he frequently 
 resided at Barton-on-the-Heath, which was purchased by 
 Walter Overbury, younger son of Nicholas, who built the 
 present Manor House there. 
 
xxvi THE LIFE OF 
 
 cording to Wood,* was "educated partly in grammar 
 learning in those parts." In Michaelmas term, 
 1595, he became a gentleman commoner of Queen's 
 College, Oxford, and through the aid of a good tutor 
 and severe discipline, made rapid progress in philo- 
 sophy and logic. In 1598, as a " squire's son," he 
 took the degree of bachelor of arts, and soon after 
 left the university and settled in the Middle Temple. 
 How long he continued in the study of the law, 
 we have not been able to ascertain. The writer 
 of the " Secret History of the Reign of James," 
 MS. in the Harleian library,t says, at the Univer- 
 sity and the Temple, " he was instructed in all 
 those qualities which became a gentleman ; by the 
 entreaty of my Lord Treasurer, Sir Robert Cecil, 
 preferred to honour, found favour extraordinary, yet 
 hindered in his expectations by some of his enemies, 
 and to shift off discontent, forced to travel ; therein 
 spent not his time as most do, to loss, but furnished 
 himself with things fitting a statesman, by experi- 
 ence in foreign government, knowledge of the lan- 
 guage, passages of employment, external courtship, 
 and good behaviour — things not common to every 
 man." Overbury travelled for some time on the 
 Continent, and on his return home, had the reputa- 
 tion of being an accomplished person, which, as 
 
 * Athense Oxonienses, ii. 134, edit. Bliss. 
 
 f Printed in the second volume of The Autobiography 
 and Correspondence of Sir Simonds D'Ewes, 8vo. 1845. 
 Mr. Halliwell, the editor, observes, " Wilson seems to 
 have been indebted to this MS. in his Life of James, and 
 it is altogether a curious and valuable memorial of the 
 stirring events of the time." It was written before the 
 close of the year 1615. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVEBBUBY. xxvii 
 
 Wood quaintly expresses it, " tlie happiness of liis 
 pen, both in poetry and prose, doth declare." 
 
 The fortunes of Overbury now become mixed up 
 with, those of the powerful Earl of Somerset, some 
 of the events of whose early career we must briefly 
 bring before the reader. 
 
 Robert Carr was descended from an ancient 
 Scottish family,* and had spent some years in 
 France, acquiring the necessary qualifications of a 
 courtier. Some writers have asserted, that he had 
 been a favourite of King James in Scotland, and at 
 the coronation was made a Knight ; but this is not 
 the fact. Sir Robert Carr, who was made a Knight 
 of the Bath at the coronation, was afterwards created 
 Earl of Ancram ; he was related to Somerset. Ro- 
 bert Carr had certainly been a royal page before the 
 accession of James to the throne of England ; he 
 was, however, a mere child at the time, and many 
 years must have elapsed before his re-introduction 
 at court in 1606. 
 
 The circumstances attending the establishment of 
 his favour with the king, are graphically described 
 by Sir Anthony "Weldon, whose " Court of King 
 James " is worthy of much more credit than is com- 
 monly assigned to it.f 
 
 * He was the son of Carr, of Eernihurst, a faithful 
 servant of Queen Mary of Scotland, and frequently men- 
 tioned in her letters. 
 
 f Wood calls this book " a most notorious libel ; " Rapin 
 " a satire ; " and Dr. Campbell asserts " that the notions 
 and evidence it contains are of no value at all." Mr. 
 Brewer, the recent editor of Bishop Goodman's Court of 
 King James the First, calls Weldon " an infamous writer," 
 and " a monster of impurity." But in spite of those learned 
 
xxviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 " There was there," says the knight, " a young 
 gentleman, master Bobert Carre, who had his breed- 
 ing in France, and was newly returned from travel, 
 a gentleman very handsome and well bred, and one 
 that was observed to spende his time in serious stu- 
 dies, and did accompany himselfe with none but 
 men of such eminences, as by whom he might be 
 bettered. This gentleman, the Scots so wrought 
 it, that they got him a groom's place of the Bed- 
 chamber, and was very well pleasing to all. He 
 did more than any other associate himselfe with Sir 
 Thomas Overbury, a man of excellent parts, (but 
 those made him proude, over-valuing himselfe, and 
 
 writers, recent discoveries fully confirm the truth of 
 Weldon's statements. 
 
 Sir Anthony Weldon was of ancient family, originally 
 of Weltden, in Northumberland. Hugh Weltden, second 
 son of Simon Weltden, of Weltden, temp. Henry VI., was 
 sewer to Henry VII. His second son Edward was Master 
 of the Household to Henry VIII. and owned the manor 
 of Swanscombe, in Kent, where he settled. His son 
 Anthony was Clerk of the Spicery, and afterwards pro- 
 moted to be Clerk of the Green Cloth to Queen Elizabeth, 
 in which office he died. His eldest son, Sir Ralph Weldon, 
 died in the same office to King James, 1609, set. 64; and 
 Sir Ralph's younger brother Anthony, who died 1613, 
 was Clerk of the Kitchen to both Queen Elizabeth and 
 King James, which office he surrendered to his nephew, 
 Sir Anthony, (son of Sir Ralph ,) our author, 2nd James. 
 (See his epitaph in Swanscombe Church, printed in 
 Thorpe's Registrum Roifense, p. 1 005 ; and Hasteds Kent, 
 second edition, 8vo. vol. ii. pp. 411, 412.) 
 
 These particulars are derived from Sir E. Brydges' 
 Memoirs of the Peers of England, during the Reign of 
 James the Eirst: 8vo. 1802, p. 106. They are not in- 
 cluded in Sir W. Scott's notice of the author, prefixed to 
 his reprint of Weldon's Court of King James. (See Secret 
 History of the Court of James the Eirst : 8vo. Edinburgh, 
 1811, vol. i. p. 301.) 
 
SIR THOMAS OVEBBUBY. xxk 
 
 under-valuing others, and was infected with a khid 
 of insolency.) With this gentleman spent he most 
 of his time, and drew the eyes of the court, as well 
 as the affection of his master upon him ; jet very 
 few, but such as were the curious observers of those 
 times, could discern the drawing of the king's affec- 
 tion ; until upon a coronation day, riding in with 
 the Lord Dingwell to the tilt-yard, his horse fell 
 with him, and brake his legg. He was instantly 
 carried into master Eider's house, at Charing Cross, 
 and the news as instantly carried to the king, having 
 little desire to see the triumph, but much desired to 
 have it ended ; and no sooner ended, but the king 
 went instantly to visit him, and after, by his daily 
 visiting and mourning over him, taking all care for 
 his speedy recovery, made the daybreak of his glory 
 appeare, every courtier now concluding him actually 
 a favourite." 
 
 The fortunes of Robert Carr rose rapidly from this 
 hour. On Christmas-eve 1607, he was knighted, 
 and sworn a Gentleman of the Bed Chamber. In 
 1610, he was created Lord Carr, of Bransprath, and 
 Viscount Rochester, and advanced to be Lord High 
 Treasurer of Scotland. Shortly after, he was made 
 a Knight of the Garter. In 1614, he was created 
 Earl of Somerset, and appointed Lord Chamberlain 
 of the Household, and at the death of Salisbury, he 
 became first Minister. 
 
 During these successive steps to nobility, Somerset 
 (for we shall now call him by that title) was not neg- 
 lectful of Overbury, with whom he had formed an 
 acquaintance very early in life. The origin of this 
 friendship is thus related by old Sir Nicholas Over- 
 
xxx THE LIFE OF 
 
 bury, (Overbury's father,) who, in 1637, dictated 
 certain things to his grandson, Nicholas Oldisworth, 
 of Borton, relative to his unfortunate son : 
 
 " When Sir Tho. Overbury was a little past 20 
 yeares old, hee and John Guilby, his father's chiefe 
 clerke, were sent (upon a voyage of pleasure) to 
 Edinburgh, with 601. between them. There Thorn : 
 mett with Sir W m Cornwallis, one who knew him in 
 Queene's Colledge at Oxford. S r W m commended 
 him to diverse, and among the rest to Robin Carr, 
 then page to earle of Dunbarre : so they two came 
 along to England together, and were great friends."* 
 
 The circumstances respecting Overbury's intro- 
 duction at court are not recorded, but it was doubt- 
 less through the influence of his powerful friend, 
 who is said to have looked upon him as " an oracle 
 of direction." He seems to have been well adapted 
 for success, and to have been of a bold carriage and 
 aspiring temper. Sir Nicholas has recorded of his 
 son, " That when Sir Thomas was made sewer to 
 the King, his Ma ty walking in the privy garden, 
 shewed him to the Queene saying, Looke you, this 
 
 * This interesting notice is derived from Additional 
 MS., No. 15,476, in the British Museum. It is entitled 
 " A Booke touching Sir Thomas Overbury who was mur- 
 thered by Poison in the Tower of London, the 15th day of 
 September, 1613, being the 32nd year of his age." It 
 contains the proceedings of the divorce of the Earl and 
 Countess of Essex ; the trials of Weston, Mrs. Turner, 
 Franklin, and Helwysse, or Elwys ; the Earl and Countess 
 of Somerset's arraignments ; a ballad on the same parties, 
 not fit for publication ; and " Notes taken a.d. 1637, from 
 the mouth of Sir Nicholas Overbury, the father of Sir 
 Thomas." It is altogether a most valuable MS., and well 
 deserving of publication. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY, xxxi 
 
 is my newe sewer ; and queene Anne answered, ? Tis 
 a prety young fellow." 
 
 On the 19th of June, 1608, Overbury received 
 the honour of knighthood at Greenwich, and shortly 
 afterwards his father, who was a Bencher of the 
 Middle Temple, was made one of the Judges of 
 Wales. In the beginning of the following year, 
 Sir Thomas Overbury visited France and the Low 
 Countries, and penned his " Observations upon the 
 state of the Seventeen Provinces," reprinted in the 
 following pages. Shortly after his return he was 
 spoken of as likely to be employed in a diplomatic 
 capacity,* but the appointment did not take place. 
 
 Overbury was now looked upon as one of the 
 rising stars of the court, and the wits and poets of 
 the day were anxious to do him homage. Foremost 
 among them was Ben Jonson, who thus epigrama- 
 tized his friend : — 
 
 " TO SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 " So Phoebus make me worthy of his bays, 
 As but to speak thee, Overbury's praise : 
 So where thou liv'st, thou mak'st life understood, 
 Where, what makes other great, doth keep thee good ! 
 I think, the fate of court thy coming crav'd, 
 That the wit there and manners might be sav'd : 
 For since, what ignorance, what pride is fled ! 
 And letters, and humanity in the stead ! 
 
 * The Rev. John Sandford, writing to Sir Thomas 
 Edmondes, (London, March 6, 1610,) says, " The ambas- 
 sador to be sent from hence is diversly spoken of : some 
 say Sir Henry Wotton, lately arrived in court ; others 
 suspect Mr. George Calvert, who came to London on 
 Sunday last ; of late Sir Thomas Overbury, a great 
 favourite of Sir Robert Car, hath been mentioned." — The 
 Court and Times of James the First : 8vo. 1849, vol. i. 
 p. 108. 
 
xxxii THE LIFE OF 
 
 Eepent thee not of thy fair precedent, 
 Could make such men, and such a place repent : 
 Nor may any fear to lose of their degree, 
 Who' in such ambition can but follow thee." 
 
 In Ben Jonson's " Conversations with Drummond 
 of Hawthornden," we have the following entry : — 
 " Overbury was first his [Jonson's] friend, then 
 turn'd his mortall enimie." To which passage the 
 learned editor adds, "When the enmity between 
 Ben Jonson and Sir Thomas Overbury began is 
 nowhere stated ; probably anterior to February 
 1602-3, under which date we meet with the follow- 
 ing in Manningham's Diary, (Harl. MSS. 5,353) : 
 — " Ben Jonson, the poet, now lives upon one 
 Townesend and scornes the world. So Overbury."* 
 The notice in Manningham's Diary in no way re- 
 lates to the quarrel between Overbury and Jonson, 
 which must have been of a date long subsequent to 
 1602-3, at which period Overbury was probably un- 
 known at court. The difference between them was 
 after the date of Jonson's lines, of which Gifford says 
 in a note, " This Epigram was probably written about 
 1610, when Sir Thomas returned from his travels, 
 and followed the fortunes of Carr with a zeal and 
 integrity worthy of a better fate."f 
 
 Again in the same " Conversations," we read, 
 " The Countess of B-utland was nothing inferior to 
 her father, Sir P. Sidney, in poesie. Sir Th: 
 Overburie was in love with her, and caused Ben to 
 
 * Notes of Ben Jonson's Conversations with William 
 Drummond of Hawthornden, January m.dc.xix. [Edited 
 by David Laing, Esq.] Shakespeare Society, 1842. 
 
 f Ben Jonson's Works, vol. viii. p. 224. 
 
SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. xxxiii 
 
 read his Wyffe to her, which he, with ane excellent 
 grace, did, and praised the author. That the morne 
 thereafter he discorded with Overburie, who would 
 have him to intend a sute that was unlawful. The 
 lines my Lady keep'd in remembrance, He comes too 
 near who comes to be denied." Here, in all proba- 
 bility, we have the cause of quarrel between Over- 
 bury and Jonson. The story, certainly, reflects 
 more credit upon " rare Ben," than it does upon his 
 courtly cotemporary. 
 
 Somerset and Overbury were each advancing- in 
 court favour and in mutual confidence. " Such," 
 we are told, " was the warmth of their friendship, 
 that they were inseparable. Carr could enter into 
 no scheme, nor pursue any measure without the 
 advice and concurrence of Overbury, nor could 
 Overbury enjoy any felicity but in the company of 
 him he loved ; their friendship was the subject of 
 court conversation, and their genius seemed so much 
 alike, that it was reasonable to suppose no breach 
 could ever be produced between them." * 
 
 Had Somerset been half as prudent in the choice 
 of his mistress, as he had been in the selection of a 
 friend, how different might have been the denoue- 
 ment I We must now retrace our steps a little, 
 in order to introduce two other characters on the 
 scene. 
 
 On the 5th of January, 1606, Eobert Devereux, 
 Earl of Essex,f was married to Frances Howard, 
 
 * Memoir of Overbury in Cibber's Lives of the Poets, 
 vol. ii. p. 30. 
 
 f Afterwards remarkable for his achievements as the 
 general of the parliament army. He was the only son of 
 c 
 
xxxiv THE LIFE OF 
 
 daughter of Thomas, Earl of Suffolk ; a bridegroom 
 of fourteen to a bride of thirteen. In a letter of the 
 period we have a curious account of the nuptial 
 rejoicings on the occasion. " The bridegroom," 
 says the writer, " carried himself as gravely and 
 gracefully as if he were of his father's age. He had 
 greater gifts given him than my Lord of Montgomery 
 had, his plate being valued at .£3000, his jewels, 
 money, and other gifts at <£1000 more. Eut to 
 return to the Mask. Both Inigo [Jones], Ben [Jon- 
 son], and the actors, men and women, did their 
 parts with great commentation. The conceit or soul 
 of the mask, was Hymen bringing in a bride, and 
 Juno, Pronuba's priest, a bridegroom, proclaiming 
 that those two should be sacrificed to nuptial union. 
 And here the poet made an apostrophe to the union 
 of the kingdoms ; but before the sacrifice could be 
 performed, Ben Jonson turned the globe of the earth, 
 standing behind the altar, and within the concave 
 sat the eight men-maskers, representing the four 
 Humours and the four Affections, who leaped forth 
 and disturbed the sacrifice to union. But amidst 
 their fury, Season that sat above them all, crowned 
 with burning tapers, came down and silenced them. 
 These eight, together with Reason, their moderator, 
 mounted above their heads, sat somewhat like the 
 ladies in the scallop-shell, the last year. About the 
 globe of earth hovered a middle region of clouds, in 
 the centre of which stood a grand concert of musi- 
 cians, and upon the canton, or horns, sat the ladies, 
 
 the unhappy favourite of Queen Elizabeth, and was born 
 at Essex-house in the Strand, in 1592. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. xxxv 
 
 four at one corner, and four at another, who descended 
 upon the stage, downright perpendicular fashion, 
 like a Ducket into a well, hut came gently slipping 
 down. These eight, after the sacrifice was ended, 
 represented the eight nuptial powers of Juno Pro- 
 nuba, who came down to confirm the union. The 
 men were clad in crimson and the women in white ; 
 they had every one a white plume of the richest 
 herns' feathers, and were so rich in jewels upon their 
 heads, as was most glorious. I think they hired and 
 borrowed all the principal jewels and ropes of pearl, 
 both in court and city. The Spanish ambassador 
 seemed but poor to the meanest of them. They 
 danced all variety of dances, both severally and^ro- 
 miscue ; and then the women took in men, as, namely, 
 the Prince, who danced with as great perfection, and 
 as settled a majesty, as could be devised. The 
 Spanish ambassador, the Archduke's ambassador, 
 the Duke, &c, and the men, gleaned out of the 
 Queen, the bride and the greatest of the ladies."* 
 
 After the ceremony it was thought proper to sepa- 
 rate the youthful pair till they had arrived at riper 
 years. The young Earl was sent on his travels, 
 while the bride remained at court with her mother, 
 a lady whose indifferent morals rendered her totally 
 unfit for such a charge. The Countess of Essex was 
 suffered to mix at this early age in all the vanities 
 and temptations of a profligate court ; the danger 
 of which measure was heightened by her acknow- 
 ledged beauty, which soon constituted her the idol of 
 
 * Mr. Pory to Sir Kobert Cotton, Jan. 1 606, in Bishop 
 Goodman's Court of James the First, vol. ii. p. 125. 
 
xxxvi . THE LIFE OF 
 
 general admiration, and the object of amorous ad- 
 dresses. 
 
 In the mean time, after an absence of three or 
 four years, her husband returned to England, full of 
 natural eagerness to behold the young and beautiful 
 creature whom he was to claim as his wife. But so 
 far was the lady from sharing his anxiety, that she 
 had engaged her affections to another, and regarded 
 with the utmost horror the prospect of passing her 
 days with the homely Essex. Among her admirers 
 she reckoned the favourite Somerset, and Henry the 
 heir to the throne.* The Prince had been from the 
 beginning extremely jealous of the favours which his 
 father had heaped upon his pampered minion, and 
 his antipathy was not diminished, when on their 
 becoming candidates for the favours of the same lady 
 his rival proved successful. f 
 
 Essex, discovering that his person and matrimonial 
 claims were treated with disdain, applied to the 
 
 * The authors who have asserted the fact of the prince's 
 passion for Lady Essex are Wilson, Sanderson (the writer 
 of Aulicus Coquinaria?) and Sir Simonds D'Ewes. On 
 the other hand Sir Charles Cornwallis, Avho was the 
 prince's treasurer, assures us, that Henry never showed a 
 particular inclination to any of the ladies of the Court. 
 See Birch's Life of Prince Henry, 8vo. 1760, p. 402. 
 
 f A great enmity certainly subsisted between Somerset 
 and the Prince, whatever were the grounds of it. " Some 
 that knew the bickerings between the Prince and the 
 Viscount muttered out dark sentences that durst not look 
 into the light; especially, Sir James Elphington, who, 
 (observing the Prince one day to be discontented with the 
 Viscount) offered to kill him : but the Prince reproved 
 him with a gallant spirit, saying, ' If there were cause he 
 would do it himself.' " — Wilson's Life and Reign of James I. 
 1653. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. xxxvii 
 
 father of his bride to prevail on her to consummate the 
 marriage. But the first principles of virtue in the 
 Countess being- undermined, her mind revolted at the 
 idea of retiring with her husband to his seat in the 
 country, or residing with him on conjugal terms. 
 
 " A belief in the arts of necromancy is well known 
 to have characterised this age ; a creed which had 
 the king himself for its patron, and rooted supersti- 
 tion for its source. Nay, there is little doubt but 
 many practised and studied it from a confidence in 
 its efficacy, and thus had really dealings with the 
 Prince of Darkness, as far as the gross impiety and 
 turpitude of such attempts could place them in con- 
 nexion with him." 
 
 The dilemma in which the Countess was now 
 placed, suggested the idea of applying to some black 
 magician of the day, in order to divert the affection 
 of her husband from her, debilitate his body, and 
 heighten and enflame the illicit passion of Somerset. 
 She found a willing assistant in Anne Turner, " a 
 doctor of physic's widow, a woman whom prodigality 
 and looseness had brought low ; yet her pride would 
 make her fly any pitch, rather than fall into the jaws 
 of want."* This woman introduced her to Dr. 
 Forman, of Lambeth, a reputed wizard, one of those 
 
 * Mrs. Turner was remarkable for her great beauty, and 
 for the introduction of the " starched yellow ruff." When 
 Coke, the Lord Chief Justice, sentenced her to death for 
 her share in the murder of Overbury, he added the strange 
 order, that " as she was the person who had brought 
 yellow starched ruffs into vogue, she should be hanged in 
 that dress, that the same might end in shame and detesta- 
 tion." Even the hangman who executed this unfortunate 
 woman was decorated with yellow ruffs on the occasion. 
 
xxxviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 singular compounds of science and knavery of whom 
 the age boasted many. After being made acquainted 
 with the nature of the case, the magician commenced 
 his spells, and produced several little waxen images, 
 intended to represent Somerset, the Earl of Essex, 
 and the Countess herself, assuming a power of 
 working upon them by these forms, sympathetically.* 
 He dispensed also his philtrous doses, to be ad- 
 There is a wood-cut of Mrs. Turner attached to her dying 
 speech and confession, preserved in the Library of the 
 Antiquarian Society. She was executed at Tyburn, 15th 
 November, 1615, and according to the authority of a by- 
 stander (Bishop Goodman's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 146), died 
 a true penitent. Nicols, in his charming poem of " Over- 
 bury's Vision," 1616, thus eulogises her : — 
 " The roses on her lovely cheeks were deadj 
 The earth's pale colour had all overspread 
 Her sometime lively look ; and cruel Death, 
 Coming untimely with his wintry breath, 
 Blasted the fruit, which, cherry -like, in show, 
 Upon her dainty lips did whilom grow. 
 O how the cruel cord did misbecome 
 Her comely neck ! and yet by law's just doom 
 Had been her death. Those locks, like golden thread, 
 That used in youth to enshrine her globe-like head, 
 Hung careless down ; and that delightful limb 
 Her snow-white nimble hand, that used to trim 
 Those tresses up, now spitefully did tear 
 And rend the same ; nor did she now forbear 
 To beat that breast of more than lily white 
 Which sometime was the bed of sweet delight. 
 From those two springs where joy did whilom dwell, 
 Grief's pearly drops upon her pale cheek fell." 
 
 * The death of Edward VI. was said to have been com- 
 passed " by witchcraft and figures of wax." The practice of 
 attempting to destroy the lives of individuals by such pro- 
 cesses, was formerly not uncommon. Dobenek, in his 
 " Volksglauben des Deutschen Mittelalters, ii. 20-28, has a 
 curious chapter on this subject. See also Thorns' Anecdotes 
 and Traditions, printed by the Camden Society, 1839. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVEBBUBY. xxxix 
 
 ministered to the respective parties ; and Mrs. 
 Turner having an inclination for Sir Arthur Man- 
 waring, a gentleman of the Prince's household, 
 some of the love-powder was secretly administered 
 by her intervention to him, by the effect of which 
 they believed he was made to ride fifteen miles in a 
 dark night, through a storm of rain and thunder, to 
 visit her. The Countess however was credulous as 
 to the operation of these doses on her own husband, 
 and on Somerset, and observed with admiration their 
 effects, " although," as Mr. Kemp observes, " the 
 licentious passion of the one which she encouraged, 
 and her coldness towards the other, were quite suf- 
 ficient to fan the lawless flame on one side, and ex- 
 tinguish conjugal affection on the other, without the 
 aid of the Sidrophel of Lambeth." 
 
 The Earl of Essex, however, now beginning too 
 plainly to observe the misdirected inclinations of his 
 wife, interfered once more with her father, to point 
 out to her the obedience due to him as a husband, 
 and, fortified by his authority, removed his Countess 
 to his seat at Chartley, in Staffordshire, one hun- 
 dred miles from the court. 
 
 On her arrival there, she affected to be overcome 
 with a deep melancholy, refused all society whatever 
 with the Earl, shut herself up in her chamber with 
 her female attendants, and stirred out only in the 
 dead of the night. 
 
 In the mean time, she continued to receive and 
 administer Forman's damnable compositions to her 
 husband, by means of her corrupted agents.* He, 
 
 * Simon Forman, the wizard and astrologer, though 
 
xl THE LIFE OF 
 
 wearied at length with her humour, and thinking he 
 had married one either lunatic or possessed of a 
 devil, even let her return to the court, as the sphere 
 most suitahle to her phantasies. 
 
 " About seven years had elapsed since the repre- 
 sentation of the ' Masque of Hymen,' when the 
 attention of the people of England was fixed on a 
 transaction in which the parties were the somewhat 
 incongruous personages of a King, Bishops, Doctors 
 of Civil Law, Matrons, and Midwives. The females 
 of this junto were directed to examine whether the 
 Countess of Essex (the Child-Bride of the Masque 
 of Hymen) appeared to their eyes when disrobed, to 
 be still a virgin ; whilst their royal, right-reverend, 
 and learned associates were to decide, according to 
 the verdict of the matrons, whether the lady had 
 shown any adequate cause for divorce. The union- 
 maker, King James, not only sanctioned the pro- 
 ceedings, but impatiently urged them on, and dictated 
 their final conclusion.* This was, in effect, that the 
 
 undoubtedly a rogue, was far superior in learning and 
 ingenuity to the rest of his mountebank brotherhood. 
 Notices of him may be seen in Wood's Athense Oxon., 
 and in Lilly's Life and Times. See also, The Autobi- 
 ography and Personal Diary of Dr. Simon Forman, the 
 celebrated Astrologer, 1552 — 1602, from unpublished MSS. 
 in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford. Edited by J. O. 
 Halliwell. Small 4to. 
 
 * Lord Southampton, in a letter to Sir Ealph Winwood, 
 dated Aug. 6, 1613, says, " Of the nullity I see you have 
 heard as much as I can write ; by which you may discern 
 the power of a king with judges ; for of those which are 
 now for it, I knew some of them, when I was in England, 
 were vehemently against it, as the Bishops of Ely, [An- 
 drews,] and Coventry, [Neyle.]" " The Archbishop of 
 Canterbury, Abbot," says Weldon, " to his everlasting 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. xli 
 
 supposed marriage, at which the King had presided, 
 was adjudged to be no marriage at all, on the ground, 
 that, although it could not he suggested that the 
 Earl of Essex, now arrived at the age of twentj-one, 
 was incapable of having children by other women, 
 yet that the matrons discovered apparent cause for 
 believing him incapable of having any by his own 
 wife. A contemporary writer alleges, on the autho- 
 rity of the chamberlain who presided at the door of 
 this court of female inquisition, that Miss Mounson, 
 daughter of Sir Thomas Mounson, was substituted 
 for the Countess, and that, with her face thickly 
 veiled, she eluded the detection of her identity, as 
 she braved the searching investigation of her chas- 
 tity. If we suppose that the Countess of Essex was 
 herself examined, her previous intrigues with Prince 
 Henry, and the anecdote of her glove, which His 
 Highness refused to pick up, because, he said, ' it 
 had been stretched by another ; ' and her midnight 
 interviews, arranged by Mrs. Turner, in Paternoster- 
 row, which are detailed in the course of the Overbury 
 trials, or are to be found in contemporary histories, 
 give room to suspect that the matrons, who were 
 doubtless carefully selected for the nonce, came re- 
 solved not to cast the first stone, whatever revelations 
 might meet their eyes. 
 
 " We may not be surprised at means being re- 
 sorted to for duping or suborning the matrons, when 
 
 fame, mainly opposed all the proceedings, and protested 
 against them, for Avhich he ever after lived in disgrace, 
 excluded from the counsell-table, and dyed in disgrace of 
 the king on Earth, though in favour with the King of 
 kings." 
 
xlii THE LIFE OF 
 
 we read how the King prohibited the Judges of the 
 Ecclesiastical Court from giving reasons for their 
 opinions, and endeavoured to overawe the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury by a singular argument ad verecun- 
 diam, couched in the following terms : — ' I will 
 conclude, therefore, that, if a Judge should have a 
 prejudice in respect of persons, it should become you 
 rather to have a faith implicit in my judgment, as 
 well in respect of some skill I have in divinity, as 
 also that I hope no honest man doubts of the up- 
 rightness of my conscience. And the best thank- 
 fulness that you, that are so far ' my creature? can 
 use towards me, is to reverence and follow my judg- 
 ment, and not to contradict it, except where you 
 may demonstrate unto me that I am mistaken or 
 wrong informed. And so farewell. — James B,.' 
 The royal writer of this letter assumed the character 
 of a divine and a jurist, and trampled on the inde- 
 pendence of a high court of justice, whilst he was, 
 in reality, demeaning himself as the founder of a 
 flagrant act of adultery."* 
 
 The jury of grave matrons of course returned a 
 verdict favourable to the allegations on winch the 
 Countess's suit was founded, and the Commissioners, 
 the Bishops of Winchester, Ely, Coventry, Lich- 
 field, and Eochester, Sir Julius Caesar, Sir Thomas 
 Parry, and Sir Daniel Dun, signed a sentence of 
 
 * The Great Oyer of Poisoning : The Trial of the Earl 
 of Somerset for the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 in the Tower of London, and various matters connected 
 therewith, from contemporary MSS. By Andrew Amos, 
 Esq. Lond. 8vo., 1846. This is a volume of great re- 
 search, embodying a number of valuable papers and docu- 
 ments, unused by the historians of the period. 
 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. xliii 
 
 divorce, in which the sacred name of the Source of 
 all purity and created being was invoked as a sanc- 
 tion to a decree, the details of which are superla- 
 tively disgusting.* 
 
 It was while these matters were in the course of 
 agitation, that Overbury solemnly and affectionately 
 forewarned his friend against the ruinous course 
 which he was so blindly pursuing. He urged " the 
 marrying the Countess would not only be hurtful to 
 his preferment, but helpful to subvert and overthrow 
 him, and who would (being possessed of so great 
 possibilities as he was, so great honours and large 
 revenues, and daily in expectation of others) cast 
 all away upon a woman, noted for her injury and 
 immodesty, and pull upon himself the hatred and 
 contempt of great personages for so small a matter ?" 
 He spoke of the criminal intercourse which had 
 already taken place between them, and added, that 
 as she had already deserted a husband for his sake, 
 she might hereafter be induced to grant the same 
 favours to another. He even went so far as to 
 call her a " strumpet, and her mother and brother 
 bawds." Overbury was well qualified to give his 
 advice on the occasion. He had a perfect knowledge 
 of the lady's character, and had been employed 
 throughout the intrigue ; indeed, he is said to have 
 composed many exquisite letters and love-poems for 
 Somerset, which had gone far in raising that excess 
 
 * Those who wish to read a " full and particular ac- 
 count'- of this transaction, are referred to Truth brought 
 to Light by Time, or A Discourse and Historicall Narra- 
 tion of the first xiiii yeares of King James' Eeigne. Lon- 
 don, 4to. 1651. 
 
xliv THE LIFE OF 
 
 of passion which afterwards led to murder and dis- 
 grace. 
 
 " The Countess," says the writer of the Secret 
 History of the Keign of King James I., in the 
 ITarleian library, (before quoted) " having, ere this 
 borne a deadly hate towards Overbury, because he 
 had oftentimes before dissuaded the Viscount to ab- 
 stain from her company ; yet now, having disclosed 
 unto her his speech, she becomes much more re- 
 vengeful, especially because he had taxed her with 
 a bad name." The fate of Overbury was from this 
 moment sealed. A deep laid plot was formed to 
 ensnare him, to which, as we shall see, he ultimately 
 fell a victim. 
 
 It was proposed to involve Overbury in a quarrel 
 with one of the courtiers, and thus obtain his impri- 
 sonment. There were none who would quarrel with 
 him, and the scheme failed. Sir Davie Wood, in 
 some proceeding, had sought Somerset's interest, 
 and he consented, provided Overbury should be a 
 sharer with him ; this failed, and Sir Davie imbibed 
 a hatred of Overbury, who he considered was the 
 sole cause of his non-success. The Countess, aware 
 of this ill-feeling, sought, under the promise of one 
 thousand pounds, to induce Wood to eifect Over- 
 bury's assassination. Sir Davie accepted the terms, 
 but required a surety from Somerset of a pardon 
 from the King for the act ; but as that instrument 
 could not be procured, Wood prudently declined 
 proceeding.* 
 
 * In a MS. copy of the "Arraignment of the Earl of 
 Somerset," in the State Paper Office, it is mentioned that 
 
SIB THOMAS OVEBBUBY. xlv 
 
 . " Then," says D'Ewes, " it was advised by the 
 subtle head of Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton, 
 and Lord Privy Seal, her [the Countess of Somer- 
 set's] great uncle, that Viscount Kochester should 
 outwardly reconcile himself to Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 and that some means should be used to send Sir 
 Thomas to the Tower ; after which they might at 
 leisure advise what further course to take." 
 
 " The plot then must be," says Weldon, " he 
 must be sent a leidger embassadour into France,* 
 which by obeying, they should be rid of so great an 
 eye-sore ; by disobeying, he incurred the displeasure 
 of his prince, a contempt that he could not expect 
 less than imprisonment for, and by that means be 
 sequestered from his friend." An interesting ac^ 
 count of what followed is given by Sir H. Wotton, 
 in a letter to Sir Edmund Bacon, dated Thursday, 
 St. George's Eve (22nd April,) 1613. 
 
 " Yesterday about six o'clock at evening, Sir 
 Thomas Overbury was from the council- chamber 
 conveyed by a clerk of the council and two of the 
 guard to the Tower, and there, by warrant, con- 
 signed to the lieutenant as close prisoner : which, 
 
 Sir Davie Wood desired to have an assurance of pardon 
 for assassinating Overbury under the Earl of Somerset's 
 hand, " which being denied him, he refused to undertake it, 
 and so the enterprise was quashed." But the printed 
 report states that when the Countess told Sir Davie that 
 the Earl's assurance of pardon could not be got, she further 
 " promised all favour possible to him, and warranted him 
 to go on upon her life." 
 
 * Bishop Goodman says, " As I remember, it was not 
 to France, but to some meaner place." (i. 219.) Sir 
 Simonds D'Ewes says, it was proposed to send him " am- 
 bassador to Russia." (i. 73.) 
 
xlvi THE LIFE OF 
 
 both by the suddenness, like a stroke of thunder, 
 and more by the quality and relation of the person, 
 breeding in the beholders (whereof by chance I was 
 one) very much amazement, and being likely in 
 some proportion to breed the like in the hearers, I 
 will adventure, for the satisfying of your thoughts 
 about it, to set down the forerunning and leading 
 causes of this accident, as far as in so short a time 
 I have been able to wade in so deep a water. 
 
 " It is conceived that the King hath a good while 
 been much distasted with the said gentleman, even 
 in his own nature, for too stiff a carriage of his for- 
 tune ; besides that scandalous offence of the Queen 
 at Greenwich, which was never but a palliated cure. 
 Upon which considerations his majesty resolving to 
 sever him from my Lord of Rochester, and to do it 
 not disgracefully nor violently, but in some honour- 
 able fashion, commanded not long since the arch- 
 bishop by way of familiar discourse to propound 
 unto him the embassage of France or of the Arch- 
 duke's court, whereof the one was shortly to be 
 changed, and the other, at the present, vacant. In 
 which proposition it seemeth, though shadowed un- 
 der the archbishop's good will, that the King was 
 also contented some little light should be given him 
 of his majesty's inclination unto it, grounded upon 
 his merit. At this the fish did not bite ; whereupon 
 the King took a rounder way, commanding my Lord 
 Chancellor and the Earl of Pembroke to propound 
 jointly the same unto him, which the archbishop 
 had before named, as immediately from the King ; 
 and to sanction it the more, he had, as I hear, an 
 offer made him of assurance, before his going, of the 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. xlvii 
 
 place of treasurer of the chamber, which he expecteth 
 after the death of the Lord Stanhope, whom belike 
 the King would have drawn to some reasonable com- 
 position. Notwithstanding all these motives and 
 impulses, Sir Thomas Overbury refused to be sent 
 abroad, with such terms as were by the council in- 
 terpreted pregnant of contempt, in a case where the 
 King had opened his will; which refusal of his, I 
 should for my part esteem an eternal disgrace to our 
 occupation, if withal I did not consider how hard it 
 is to pull one from the bosom of a favourite. Thus 
 you see the point upon which one hath been com- 
 mitted, standing in the second degree of power in 
 the court, and conceiving (as himself told me but 
 two hours before) never better than at the present, 
 of his own fortunes and ends. 
 
 " Now in this whole matter there is one main and 
 principal doubt, which doth trouble all understand- 
 ings ; that is, whether this were done without the 
 participation of my Lord Rochester; a point neces- 
 sarily inviting two different consequences. For if it 
 were done without his knowledge, we must expect of 
 himself either a decadence or a ruin ; if not, we 
 must then expect a reparation by some other great 
 public satisfaction whereof the world may take as 
 much notice. These clouds a few days will clear. 
 In the mean while, I dare pronounce of Sir Thomas 
 Overbury, that he shall return no more to this stage, 
 unless courts be governed every year by a new 
 philosophy, for our old principles will not bear 
 it."* 
 
 * Reliquiae Wottonianae, ed. 1672, p. 408. 
 
xlviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 If the author of " Aulicus Coquinaria3," * can be 
 relied on, Overbury's conduct in this transaction was 
 well calculated to aggravate the King. He says, 
 " It was his (Overbury's) own seeking, as best 
 fitting his excellent parts to present the King's per- 
 son in embassie to Trance, which to my knowledge 
 he accepted, and seemingly prepared to advance. 
 The same writer furthermore adds, " I know his 
 instructions were drawn, and additionals thereto, by 
 his own consent" 
 
 The " scandalous affair at Greenwich," to which 
 Wotton alludes in the letter just quoted, is thus re- 
 lated in Bishop Goodman's Court of King James I. 
 " The Queen," he says, " was looking out of her win- 
 dow into the garden, where Somerset and Overbury 
 were walking ; and when the Queen saw them, she 
 said, ' There goes Somerset and his governor,' and 
 a little after Overbury did laugh. The Queen con- 
 ceiving that he had overheard her, thought they had 
 laughed at her, whereupon she complained, and 
 Overbury was committed. But when it did appear 
 unto the Queen that they did not hear her, and that 
 their laughter did proceed from a jest which the King 
 was pleased to use that day at dinner, then the Queen 
 was well satisfied and he was released." 
 
 Anne of Denmark, however, never forgave Over- 
 bury. Writing to the Earl of Salisbury, she says, 
 in allusion to him : 
 
 " My Lord, 
 The King hath told me that he will advise with 
 
 * William Sanderson, author of the Histories of James I. 
 and Charles I. His works are chiefly compilations of 
 little authority. The Aulicus Coquinarise is an answer to 
 Weldon. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVEBBUBY. xlix 
 
 you and some other four or five of the Council of that 
 fellow. I can say no more, either to make you un- 
 derstand the matter or my mind, than I said the 
 other day. Only I recommend to your care how 
 public the matter is now, both in court and city, and 
 how far I have reason in that respect, I refer the 
 rest to this bearer, and myself to your love, , 
 
 Anna K." 
 
 The Earl of Salisbury seems to have acted as a 
 mediator in this affair. In the second volume of 
 Goodman's Court of James, is preserved the follow- 
 ing letter from Overbury to the Earl. 
 
 " My Honorable Lord, 
 As your lordship was a judge of mine innocence 
 before, so would I now crave that favour, that your 
 lordship would vouchsafe to be witness of the sub- 
 mission both of myself and cause to the Queen's 
 mercy ; which I desire you rather, because as I 
 understand her Majesty is not fully satisfied of the 
 integrity of my intent that way : and to that purpose, 
 if your lordship will grant me access and audience, 
 I shall hold it as a great favour, and ever rest, 
 
 Your Lordship's to be commanded, 
 T. Oveubuhy. 
 London, 11th of September. 
 
 Overbury is accused of pride and insolence, and 
 the various records of the time, handed down to. us, 
 certainly give some colour to the imputation. At 
 any rate dining his short career he had made many 
 enemies. The King, the Queen, the powerful Earl 
 of Somerset, the Countess of Essex, and the various 
 d 
 
1 THE LIFE OF 
 
 members of the Howard family were all eager for 
 his downfall. 
 
 The last act of the tragedy was now advancing, 
 and Wotton prophesied truly, when he heard of 
 Overbury's committal to the Tower, " that he should 
 return no more to this stage." Sir Simonds D'Ewes, 
 whose contemporary accounts of many of the trans- 
 actions of this reign, are full of interest, says, " As 
 soon as the Countess of Essex had gotten him 
 [Overbury] cooped up there, she began to plot with 
 Mrs. Anne Turner by what means she might make 
 him away. Sir William Wade, Knight, an honest 
 and upright man, was then Lieutenant of the Tower ; 
 during whose continuance in his place, which was 
 but a few days after, he had fair and noble usage. 
 But the Countess's revenge brooking no delay, and 
 finding Sir William Wade's integrity to be corrup- 
 tion-proof, so as remained no hope of making him 
 an instrument of murder, she used means at Court 
 to remove him out of his place ; and settled Sir Jer- 
 vis Elvis, Knight, in his room, upon the 6th day of 
 May next following, being about fifteen days after 
 Sir Thomas Overbury's imprisonment. " 
 
 The gaoler who had the care of Overbury was 
 next removed, and one Richard Weston, a man well 
 acquainted with the power of drugs, was by the 
 Countess specially commanded to that appointment. 
 The poisoners now commenced their work. 
 
 " Upon the 19th day of the same month, Weston, 
 being yet scarcely of two days' standing in his new 
 office, had a little glass full of rosaker sent him, being 
 a water of a yellowish green colour, with which he 
 that very day poisoned Sir Thomas Overbury's broth ; 
 
SIR THOMAS OVERBURT. li 
 
 from which time, for the space of three months and 
 six days, he had several poisons administered unto 
 him in tarts, jellies, physic, and almost in everything 
 he took ; so as the stronger his body and constitution 
 •were, the more horrible were his torments ; having 
 sometimes, upon the taking of one only fascinated 
 potion, threescore stools and vomits, and divers of 
 them mixed with blood." 
 
 Sir Simonds D'Ewes' account of Overbury's suf- 
 ferings are confirmed by the following passages in a 
 series of letters written by the unhappy prisoner, 
 some extracts from which are preserved among the 
 Harleian MSS.* The persons herein named were 
 well-known physicians, of whom more anon. 
 
 fi I have now sent to the leiftennant to desire you 
 (Marie rus being absent) to send young Crag hither 
 and Sessmith ; if Nes&mith be away, send I pray 
 Cray and Allen." 
 
 '•' This morning (notwithstanding my fasting till 
 yesterday) I find a great heat continew in all my 
 bodye ; and the same desire of drinke and loathing 
 of meat, and my water is strongly high, which I 
 keep till May eras com." 
 
 " I was lett blood wensday x o'clock ; to this 
 fryday morning my heat slackens nott, my water re- 
 mains as high, my thirstines the same; the same 
 loathing of meat, having eat not a bitt since thursday 
 was senight to this howre ; the same scworing [sic] 
 and vomitting. Yesternight about eight o'clocke, 
 after Mr. Mayerus was gone, I faynted." 
 
 * sso. 7002, a MS. hitherto unnoticed by all who have 
 written upon the Overbury murder. It would have thrown 
 much light upon the subject of Mr. Amos's third chapter. 
 
lii : THE LIFE OF 
 
 " Certainly this gentleman's extreme misery," 
 says D'Ewes, " is scarce to be paralleled by any 
 examples of former ages ; being cut off in the midst 
 of his hopes, and in the flower of his youth ; betrayed 
 by his friend, and prostituted to the cruelty of his 
 fatal enemy ; sent to prison as it were in a jest, and 
 there undergoing many deaths, to satiate the impla- 
 cable malice of one cruel murderess ; debarred from 
 the sight of friends, divines, and physicians, and only 
 cumbered with the daily converse of his treacherous 
 executioner. His own father, not being able to 
 entertain the least speech with him — no, nor so 
 much as to see him, petitioned the King for remedy, 
 from whom he received a gracious answer ; but was 
 prevented by Viscount Eochester from ever reaping 
 any good effect by it, or happy issue from it, on 
 whom he } r et relied for relief and help : but he that 
 had betrayed the son, did as easily delude the father. 
 Towards this end, to fill Ijis soul yet with greater 
 horror, they conveyed him to a dark and unwholesome 
 prison, where he scarce beheld the light of the sun to 
 refresh him. His youth, indeed, even to the day of 
 his imprisonment, had been spent vainly enough, 
 according to the Court garb ; and he now found need 
 of comfort from Heaven, before he had fully studied 
 the way thither : and in this appears the devilish 
 and barbarous fury of his enemies ; who by debarring 
 him from the sight and conference of all godly 
 ministers, did, as much as in them lay, endeavour to 
 destroy both his soul and body together." 
 
 The poisoners proceeded slowly in their work. 
 The catastrophe being thus delayed, a suspicion was 
 excited in the minds of his employers that Weston 
 
SIR THOMAS OVERBURT. liii 
 
 was playing a double part. The Countess sent for 
 him ; reviled him for his treachery ; and joining 
 with him in the bloody work one James Franklin, 
 an apothecary " then dwelling on the back side of the 
 Exchange," used such arguments as induced him to 
 enter more vigorously on his task. Still the work was 
 unaccomplished. Mayerne, the King's physician, 
 (whom as we have already seen was in attendance 
 upon Overbury) recommended as medical attendant 
 one Paul de Lobell, an apothecary dwelling in Lime- 
 street, near the Tower. This man with less com- 
 punction, administered a clyster on Sept. 14th, that 
 ended all anxieties on the part of the persons involved 
 in the guilty transaction. Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 already prostrated by the frequent appliance of the 
 poisons, which Weston affirmed to have been sufficient 
 to destroy twenty other men, was a mass of sores, 
 and reduced to skin and bone. In this wretched con- 
 dition he expired about five o'clock in the morning 
 of Wednesday, Sept. 15, 1613, and was buried in 
 the body of the choir of the church within the Tower, 
 between three and four p.m. on that day. 
 
 " And now the great ones," says Sir Simonds 
 D'Ewes, " thought all future danger to be inhumed 
 with the dead body ; and therefore, shortly after, in 
 the year 1614, the Viscount Rochester, then created 
 Earl of Somerset, married the lady Francis Howard ; 
 who had been divorced from the Earl of Essex the 
 year before. Sir Jervis Elvis, Mrs. Turner, and 
 Weston, and Franklin, all rested secure to be borne 
 out by Somerset's power, if anything should be ques- 
 tioned ; and so were all the actors in the tragedy, 
 the apothecary excepted, that administered the last 
 
liv THE LIFE OF 
 
 fatal glister, all in a moment seized upon as soon as 
 the thing itself was discovered, although Weston 
 presently left the Lieutenant's service after he had 
 despatched the work he had undertaken." 
 
 The discovery of the murder of Sir Thomas Over- 
 bury, which gave occasion to Somerset's fall, has 
 been attributed to various persons, D'Ewes and 
 Bishop Goodman coincide. " It came first to light," 
 observes the former, " by a strange accident of Sir 
 Ralph Winwood, Knight, one of the Secretaries of 
 State, his dining with Sir Jervis Elvis, Lieutenant 
 of the said Tower, at a great man's [the Earl of 
 Shrewsbury's] table, not far from White-hall. Eor 
 that great man, commending the same Sir Jervis to 
 Sir Ralph Winwood as a person in respect of his 
 many good qualities very worthy of his acquaintance, 
 Sir Ralph answered him, that he should willingly 
 embrace his acquaintance, but that he could first 
 wish he had cleared himself of a foul suspicion the 
 world generally conceived of him, touching the death 
 of Sir Thomas Overbury. As soon as Sir Jervis 
 heard that, being very ambitious of the Secretary's 
 friendship, he took occasion to enter into private 
 conference with him, and therein to excuse himself 
 to have been enforced to connive at the said murder, 
 with much abhorring of it. He confessed the whole 
 circumstance of the execution of it in general, and 
 the instruments to have been set on work by Robert 
 Earl of Somerset and his wife. Sir Ralph Winwood, 
 having gained the true discovery of this bloody 
 practice from one of the actors, even beyond his 
 expectation, parted from the Lieutenant of the 
 Tower in a very familiar and friendly manner, as if 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBUILT. lv 
 
 he had received good satisfaction by the excuse he 
 had framed for himself, but soon after acquainted 
 the King's Majesty with it." 
 
 Wilson's narrative of the discovery of the murder 
 differs from this. He says, " the apothecary's boy, 
 that gave Sir Thomas Overbury the glister, falling 
 sick at Flushing, revealed the whole matter, which 
 Sir Ralph Winwood, by his correspondents, had a 
 full relation of ; and a small breach being made, his 
 enemies, like the noise of many waters, rise up 
 against him, following the stream." 
 
 Roger Coke in his " Detection of the Court and 
 State of England," published in 1696, gives a mi- 
 nute account of the arrest of Somerset.* He states 
 that the King was at Royston, on a royal progress, 
 and Somerset was with him ; and when " the King 
 had been there about a week, next day he designed 
 to proceed to Newmarket, and Somerset to return 
 to London, when Sir Ralph [Winwood] came to 
 Royston, and acquainted the King with what he had 
 discovered about Sir Thomas Overbury's murder. 
 The King was so surprised herewith, that he posted 
 away a messenger to Sir Edward Coke, to apprehend 
 the Earl : I speak this with confidence," exclaims 
 the writer, " because I had it from one of Sir Ed- 
 ward's sons. 
 
 " Sir Edward lay then at the Temple, and mea- 
 sured out his time at regular hours, two whereof 
 
 * Roger Coke was the grandson of Sir Edward Coke, 
 by his fourth son, through whom the present title to the 
 Holkham property is derived. The author died at the 
 age of seventy-seven, and lived during the latter part of 
 his life within the rules of the Fleet Prison. 
 
lvi 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 were to go to bed at nine o'clock, and in the morning 
 to rise at three. At this time Sir Edward's son, 
 and some others, were in Sir Edward's lodging, 
 but not in bed, when the messenger, about one in 
 the morning, knocked at the door, where the son 
 met him, and knew him : says he, ' I come from 
 the King, and must immediately speak with your 
 father.' ' If you come from ten kings,' he an- 
 swered, ' you shall not ; for I know my father's 
 disposition to be such, that if he be disturbed in 
 his sleep, he will not be fit for any business ; but 
 if you will do as we do, you shall be welcome ; 
 and about two hours hence my father will rise, 
 and then you may do as you please : ' to which he 
 assented. 
 
 " At three Sir Edward rung a little bell, to give 
 notice to his servant to come to him : and then the 
 messenger went to him and gave him the King's 
 letter ; and Sir Edward immediately made a warrant 
 to apprehend Somerset, and sent to the King that 
 he would wait upon him that day. 
 
 " The messenger went back post to Eoyston, and 
 arrived there about ten in the morning. The King 
 had a loathsome way of lolling his arms about his 
 Favourites' necks, and kissing them ; and in this 
 posture the messenger found the King with Somerset, 
 saying, i When shall I see thee again ? ' Somerset 
 then designing for London, when he was arrested 
 by Sir Edward's warrant. Somerset exclaimed, that 
 never such an affront was offered to a Peer of Eng- 
 land in the presence of the King. < Nay man,' said 
 the King, ' if Coke sends for me, I must go ; ' and 
 when he was gone, ' Now the Deel go with thee,' ; 
 
SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. lvii 
 
 said the King, ' for I Tvdll never see thy face any 
 
 more.' " * 
 
 The King's detestable hypocrisy and dissimulation 
 are apparent throughout the whole of this transac- 
 tion. Sir Edward Coke, arriving the same day at 
 Royston, James expressed the strongest determina- 
 tion to discover and punish the crime, without any 
 respect of persons : he added, that if he pardoned 
 any one of them, he hoped God's curse might light 
 on him and his jjosteinty. How little the King re- 
 spected this solemn imprecation is known by the 
 sequel. 
 
 Shortly after Somerset's arrival in London, he 
 was committed to the Tower, to the custody of Sir 
 George More ; and his Countess was restrained 
 under charge of Sir William Smyth at the Black- 
 friars. The accomplices in the murder were first 
 arraigned, and suffered ; being Weston, Franklin, 
 Mrs. Turner, and Sir Jervise Elwes.f The latter 
 
 * This singular passage concerning the King's parting 
 with the Earl of Somerset, confirms the statements made 
 by Weldon. But it appears from the documents discovered 
 in the State Paper Office, and printed by Mr. Amos (pp. 
 38 to 41), that Somerset was not arrested at Roi/ston by Sir 
 E. Coke's warrant. He was allowed to come to London, 
 and was arrested shortly afterwards at Whitehall. This 
 however does not impugn the main statements of Coke. 
 Mr. Amps remarks, " When the king parted with Somerset 
 at Royston, he might have kissed him in the way he had 
 been accustomed to do, and might have foreseen that those 
 kisses would not have to be repeated." 
 
 f The arraignments, trials, and confessions of all these 
 parties, may be seen in " Truth brought to Light by 
 Time," and in Mr. Amos's " Great Oyer of Poisoning." 
 "However atrocious may have been the conduct of the 
 prisoners," remarks Mr. C. W. Johnson in his Life of Sir 
 
lviii THE LIFE OF 
 
 indeed, obtained some pity, as he had been only the 
 passive accomplice of the deed. He was convicted 
 on some few expressions contained in a letter from 
 him to the Earl of Northampton,* and bore in his 
 dying words a strong testimony to the force of 
 conscience. " At my arraignment," said he, " I 
 pleaded hard for my life, and protested mine inno- 
 cency ; but when my own pen came against me, I 
 was not able to speak, but stood as one amazed, or 
 that had no tongue." 
 
 The Countass of Somerset was tried on May 24, 
 1616. She pleaded guilty, but hoped for mercy; 
 and being pregnant, had determined not to perish 
 on the scaffold, but to accomplish her own death by 
 placing a wet towel upon her abdomen, after being 
 delivered of her infant.f 
 
 Upon the approach of Somerset's trial, Weldon 
 
 Edward Coke, u however clear their guilt, the government 
 so managed the trials, as to render the whole proceeding 
 full of mystery, real or affected, — mystery which all pos- 
 terior researches have failed to clear away." 
 
 * Henry Howard Earl of Northampton, was the second 
 son of the lamented Earl of Surrey. " A long career of 
 folly and artifice was followed by an old age of infamy and 
 qrime. He had actually completed his seventieth year, 
 when he became a pander to the dishonour of his own 
 niece in her adulterous intrigue with Somerset." Of his 
 share in the murder of Overbury, not the remotest doubt 
 exists. See Winwood's Memorials, vol. iii. p. 481 ; Wood's 
 Ath. Oxon., and Cotton MS. Titus 6. vii. fol. 465. He 
 died June 15, 1614 ; had he lived but a few months longer, 
 the gallows most assuredly would have been his doom. 
 
 f It is related that when she was committed to the 
 Tower, she passionately entreated the Lieutenant that she 
 might not be imprisoned in the same room in which 
 Overbury had died. Her guilty conscience dreaded to 
 meet the spectre of her victim. 
 
SIR THOMAS OVEKBURY. lix 
 
 relates that, Sir George More telling him he must 
 go to trial the next clay, he exclaimed, " they must 
 carry me in my hed then ; for I shall not go to 
 trial, nor dare the King hring me to any ! " These 
 words so alarmed the trusty Lieutenant, that late as 
 it was, twelve at night, he took hoat and proceeded 
 to Greenwich, where, on his arrival, finding all the 
 household retired to rest, he went to the back stairs, 
 and knocking violently at the door, John Loreston, 
 one of the grooms in waiting, started from his slum- 
 ber, and demanded who knocked so boisterously at 
 such an hour. Sir George More. " I must speak 
 with the King." Loreston. " He is quiet" (a Scottish 
 phrase for asleep.) Sir George More. " You must 
 awake him then, for I have matter of great import 
 for his Majesty's ear." Sir George was accordingly 
 at length introduced into the presence, and the King 
 hearing his relation, exclaimed, " On my soul, More, 
 I know not what to do ! Thou art a wise man, help 
 me in this great strait, and thou shalt find thou 
 servest a thankful master." Sir George accordingly 
 returned to the Tower, and told Somerset that he 
 found the King full of grace and mercy towards him, 
 but that he must make his appearance to satisfy the 
 preliminary forms of justice, and he shall then return 
 without further proceedings had. It is added that 
 two servants were kept in readiness by Sir George 
 all the time of Somerset's arraignment, with a view 
 to smother his voice if he uttered anything to im- 
 peach the King ; in order that he might be taken 
 away from the bar as one distract : " and it is not 
 a little remarkable," adds Mr. Kemp, " that the 
 King (in the letters preserved at Losely Hall) dwells 
 
lx 
 
 THE LIFE OF 
 
 much on the idea of Somerset being mad, if he 
 should say the King had any share in the poisoning."* 
 
 The King, says Weldon, on the day of trial sent 
 to every boat he saw, for news how the cause was 
 proceeding, cursing (according to his custom) all 
 those which brought none. At length arrived one 
 with the news of Somerset's condemnation ; then 
 this great master of kingcraft became calm. Weldon 
 states all this on the authority of Sir George Mortis 
 own relation, who told him the story, he says, without 
 any injunction of secrecy ; an assertion borne out 
 from the indifference with which the services of Sir 
 George More were requited by the King. 
 
 Somerset bore his trial bravely. An eye witness 
 observes, — " A thing worthy of note in him was his 
 constancy and undaunted carriage in all the time of 
 his arraignment, which, as it began, so it did con- 
 tinue to the end without any change or alteration." f 
 
 Mr. Amos, who prints the Earl's speech from a 
 MS. in the State Paper Office, observes, " that it 
 displays a flow of natural eloquence that might have 
 become a suffering patriot." 
 
 As to his criminality, Weldon expresses the fol- 
 
 * The letters of the King to Sir George More, preserved 
 at Losely Hall, are remarkable confirmations of the truth 
 of Weldon's statements. They were published in the year 
 1835, by Mr. A. J. Kemp, from the originals in the pos- 
 session of James More Molyneux, Esq. 
 
 t A valuable report of the trial of the Earl of Somerset 
 is preserved among the archives of the State Paper Office. 
 It is indorsed in the handwriting of Sir R. Winwood, and 
 differs considerably from the printed report. The latter 
 was evidently prepared for the public eye by omissions and 
 emendations. See Mr. Amos's Great Oyer of Poisoning, 
 Section 11, p. 112. 
 
SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 1x1 
 
 lowing opinion on the subject. " Many believe the 
 Earl of Somerset guilty of Overbury's death, but 
 the most thought him guilty only of the breach of 
 friendship (and that in a high point) by suffering 
 his imprisonment, which was the highway to his 
 murder ; and this conjecture I take to be of the 
 soundest opinion." 
 
 According to a valuable memoranda in one of the 
 Losely papers, it appears to have been the opinion 
 of the son-in-law of Sir George More (the Lieutenant 
 of the Tower before mentioned) that Somerset was 
 innocent of Overbury's murder; but that he was 
 prosecuted, because " King James was weary of 
 him, and Buckingham had supplied Ins place." He 
 grounds his opinion upon conversations with the 
 Earl of Somerset's chief servant. The author of the 
 Annals of King James, printed in 1681, writes : — 
 " Some that were then at Somerset's trial, and not 
 partial, conceived in conscience, and as himself says 
 to the King, that he fell rather by want of well de- 
 fending, than by force of proofs." 
 
 The Earl and Countess of Somerset received a 
 pardon from the King, and were released from the 
 Tower in January 1621. The Countess died in 
 obscurity, August 23, 1632, leaving a daughter 
 Ann, who married Lord William Russell, afterwards 
 Duke of Bedford. Somerset survived till July 
 1645.* 
 
 * Some curious papers have been published in the 
 Archseologia of the Antiquarian Society, from which it 
 appears that James consulted Somerset, long after the 
 trial, concerning the proceedings of Villiers, whose inso- 
 lence had awakened the jealousy and apprehensions of the 
 
kii THE LIFE OF 
 
 We must now turn to a remarkable fact in con- 
 nection with Overbury's death. During the time 
 of his imprisonment, from the 9th of May to the 
 15th of September, he was constantly visited by 
 three physicians — Dr. Mayerne, Dr. Craig, and Sir 
 Robert Killegrew. Now it must strike the reader as 
 not a little singular, if, as Sir F. Bacon in his opening 
 speech on Somerset's trial states, " Weston chased 
 Sir T. Overbury with poison after poison, poison 
 in salt meats, poison in sweet meats, poison in me- 
 dicines and vomits," that these learned medical men 
 should not have detected the symptoms. It is also 
 worthy of remark, that the King's chief physician Dr. 
 Mayerne, was not examined at the trial. Killigrew, 
 and Lobell the apothecary, who were examined, 
 were not asked if Sir Thomas Overbury exhibited 
 any symptoms of having been poisoned. It must 
 be borne in mind too, that Lobell was a Frenchman, 
 and that he was placed in immediate attendance 
 upon Overbury by his countryman Dr. Mayerne. 
 The clyster alleged to have contained corrosive sub- 
 limate, which was the only imputed cause of Over- 
 bury's death, at all proximate to that event in point of 
 time, and which was stated (or rather related to have 
 been stated) by Weston, to have actually killed him, 
 was by the like evidence said to have been adminis- 
 tered by Lobell or one of his assistants. 
 
 In Bacon's celebrated expostulation with Sir Ed- 
 ward Coke, there is a remarkable passage indicating 
 
 Sovereign who had spoiled him by his unmeasured favour. 
 The papers alluded to were found by Lord Sinclair, of 
 Nesbit House in Berwickshire, when he became possessed 
 of that ancient seat of the Carr family. 
 
SIB THOMAS OVEBBUBY. Ixiii 
 
 that the poisoning of Overbury, was only a detached 
 part of an extensive system of secret poisoning. 
 The author of " Truth brought to light by Time," 
 says, " There never was known, in so short a time, 
 so many great men die with suspition of poyson and 
 witchcraft : for there was first my Lord Treasurer, 
 the Prince, the Lord Harrington and his sonne, Sir 
 Thomas Overbury, Northampton, and besides these, 
 which are no less than sixe, within three years and 
 a half; and the two Monsons, which yet remaine 
 untryed." 
 
 Dr. Mayerne had been physician to Henry IV. 
 of France, and was well experienced in the secret 
 state poisonings of the French capital. He was 
 invited over to England by King James in order to 
 be his own physician, and there seems little doubt 
 that he was the prime mover in the secret state 
 poisonings of the English capital.* 
 
 * Dr. Theodore Mayerne was born at Geneva in 1573, 
 and had for his godfather the celebrated Theodore Beza. 
 He studied medicine at Heidelberg and Montpellier, at 
 which latter University he took his degree, as doctor of 
 physic, in 1597. He came to England in 1606, and was 
 received into both Universities, and into the College of 
 Physicians. In July 1624 he was honoured by King 
 James with knighthood. On the accession of Charles, he 
 was appointed first physician to him and his queen, and 
 appears to have enjoyed considerable fame and reputation. 
 He is said to have been the first chemist of his time, and 
 one of the earliest practitioners who ventured on the use 
 of mineral medicines. Nevertheless, he seems to have 
 been singularly unfortunate with his patients. John 
 Chamberlain, writing to Sir Dudley Carleton (March 25, 
 1612), concerning the illness of the Lord Treasurer, adds, 
 " And yet he wants not a whole college of physicians 
 that consult upon him every day, among whom Turquet 
 
kiv . TEE LIFE OF 
 
 If the conduct of King James, in this melancholy 
 transaction, was free from reproach — if he acted 
 
 (May erne) takes upon him, and is very confident, though 
 he has failed as often in judgment as any of the rest. His 
 letting blood is generally disallowed, as well by reason as 
 by experience in this case, and in Sir William Cornwallis's, 
 whom, by that means, he despatched very presently." 
 The same, writing to the same, (Nov. 12, 1612) thus 
 speaks of Mayerne's conduct on the last illness of Prince 
 Henry, — " The world here is much dismayed at the loss 
 of so beloved and likely a prince, on such a sudden, and 
 the physicians are much blamed, though, no doubt they 
 did their best. But the greatest fault is laid on Turquet, 
 (Mayerne,) who was so forward to give him a purge the 
 day after he sickened, and so dispersed the disease, as 
 Butler says, into all parts; whereas, if he had tarried till 
 three or four fits or days had been passed, they might the 
 better have judged of the nature of it; or if instead of 
 purging, he had let him blood before it was so much cor- 
 rupted, there had been more probability. These imputa- 
 tions lie hard upon him, and are the more urged, by reason 
 of a hard censure set forth in print, not long since by the 
 Physicians of Paris against him, wherein they call him 
 temulentum, indoctum, temerarium, et indignum, with whom 
 any learned physician should confer or communicate." 
 Again, the same to the same (Oct. 31, 1617), speaking of 
 Secretary Winwood's death, says, " He had all the help 
 that our physicians could afford ; but Mayerne never saw 
 him after he had let him blood, for he went straight to 
 the King. Of all men I have no fancy to him; at least- 
 wise, for luck sake ; for, by that I have commonly ob- 
 served, he is commonly unfortunate in any dangerous 
 disease." 
 
 In the Diary of Sir Henry Slingsby, of Scriven, Bart., 
 (edited by the Bev. Daniel Parsons, 8vo. Lond. 1836,) is 
 a very interesting notice of Mayerne, introducing us into 
 the physician's study. Sir Henry speaking of his wife's 
 illness, says, " The physick I sent her down from London 
 by y e directions of D r . Mayerne of whom she had taken 
 
 Ehysick y e year before : for his custom is to register in a 
 ook y e diseases and remedies of all his patients, if they 
 be of difficulties, so y l sending for his book he finds w' he 
 
SIR THOMAS OVEBBUBY. lxv 
 
 throughout as an innocent spectator of the trials of 
 Overbury's murderers — his ill fortune and bad 
 
 had done to her formerly, and thereupon prescribes y e 
 same ; usually I went in a morning for his advise, about 
 7 of y e clock, where I us'd to find him set in his study, 
 w ch was a large room furnish'd w th books and pictures ; 
 and as one of y e cheifest he had y e picture of y e head of 
 Hyppocrates y c great physitian ; and upon his table he 
 had the proportion of a man in wax, to set forth y e ordure 
 and composure of every part : before his table he had a 
 frame w th shelves, wheron he set some books ; and behind 
 this he sat to receive those y c came for his advice, for he 
 seldom went to any, for he was corpulent and unweildy 5 
 and y n again he was rich, and y e King's physician, and a 
 Knight, w ch made him more costly to deal w th all." 
 
 Among Mayerne's Medicinal Counsels and Advices, 
 1676, are some startling receipts. He gives a gout powder, 
 one of the ingredients of which is raspings of a human skull 
 unburied ; and again, speaking of the good effects of ab- 
 sorbents, he particularly recommends human bones of the 
 same kind with the part affected. " These tokens of 
 superstition," says Aikin in his Biographical Memoirs of 
 Medicine (1780, p. 261), " are not invalidated by a recipe 
 contained in the same book, of an unguent for hypochon- 
 driacal persons, which he calls his balsam of bats. In the 
 composition of this there enters, adders, bats, sucking 
 whelps, earth-worms, hog's grease, the marrow of a stag, 
 and of the thigh-bone of an ox — ingredients fitter for the 
 witches' cauldron in Macbeth, than a learned physician's 
 prescription." 
 
 Mayerne died at Chelsea in the 82nd year of his age, 
 March 15, 1655. It is said that the immediate cause of 
 his death proceeded from the effects of bad wine — which 
 the weakness of old age rendered a quick poison, and that 
 he foretold the event to some friends with whom he had 
 been drinking moderately at a tavern in the Strand. He 
 was buried in the church of St. Martin's in the Fields. 
 Many of Mayerne's papers, are in the Ashmolean Library ; 
 others are in the British Museum. He left his library to 
 the Koyal College of Physicians. 
 
 We are glad to hear that his " Ephemerides," or Case 
 books, are to be published by the Camden Society. 
 e 
 
lxvi THE LIFE OF 
 
 management were equally deplorable. But we are 
 not inclined to look upon him as a mere spectator 
 in the affair. He was fully capable of being the 
 principal in all the villany that can be laid to his 
 charge. It may be asked, why did he seek the death 
 of Overbury ? It is sufficient to know that he hated 
 him. The Earl of Southampton writing to Sir R. 
 Win wood, on the 4th of August, 1613, observes, 
 " And much ado there hath been to keep Sir T. 
 Overbury from a public censure of banishment and 
 loss of office, such a rooted haired lyeth in the King's 
 heart towards him" The true cause of this " rooted 
 hatred " is not known. There is a tradition that 
 Overbury was concerned in the murder of Prince 
 Henry, and that his death was only a just retribu- 
 tion.* Some terrible bond of secrecy certainly ex- 
 isted between King James, Somerset, and Overbury, 
 which time has not unravelled, and probably never 
 will.f 
 
 * " The Scots have a constant report amongst them, as 
 I learned from one of them, that Sir Thomas Overbury, 
 seeing divers crossings and oppositions to happen between 
 that peerless Prince and the said Rochester, by whose 
 means only he expected to rise ; and fearing it would in 
 the end be a means to ruin Rochester himself, did first give 
 that damnable and fatal advice of removing out of the way 
 and world that royal youth by fascination, and was him- 
 self afterwards in fact an instrument for the effecting of 
 it ; and therefore, say they in Scotland, it happened by 
 the just judgment of God, afterwards as a punishment 
 upon him that he himself died by poison." — Sir Simo7ids 
 D'Ewes Autobiography, vol. i. p. 91. 
 
 f Historians relate numerous instances of the extent of 
 Somerset's influence with the King ; and Mr. Amos re- 
 marks, " The records of the State Paper Office supply a 
 variety of particulars to the same effect." The letter from 
 
SIB THOMAS OVERBURY. lxvii 
 
 Much — very much could be said upon the Over- 
 bury murder, aud documents, damning to the King, 
 could, if space permitted, be adduced. But the 
 writer reserves them for an opportunity of entering 
 more fully into the subject. 
 
 The character of Mayerne yet remains to be 
 thoroughly investigated, and his connection with the 
 King fully explained. When this has been accom- 
 plished it will then probably be found that Dr. 
 Mayerne, the courtly pander to the vices of the 
 greaf, was the instrument, and James the First, the 
 double-faced, " serpent-tongued," King of England, 
 the murderer ! 
 
 James to Somerset, printed in Mr. Halliwell's Letters of 
 the Kings of England, vol. ii. p. 126, is perhaps the most 
 extraordinary epistle from a king to a subject on record. 
 As it has been remarked, " it prepares the mind for 
 the darker hints and threatened revelations that followed 
 shortly afterwards." 
 
 EREATA. 
 Page 1, line 14, for " Griffit" read " Griffin." 
 Page 54, line 1, for " swallowers" read t: swallowes." 
 
H I S 
 
 WIFE 
 
 WITH 
 
 ADDITION OF 
 
 many new Elegies upon his 
 
 vntimely and much lamented death. 
 
 As Also 
 
 New Newes, and diuers more Characters, 
 
 (never before annexed) written by him- 
 
 felfe and other much learned Gentlemen. 
 
 The ninth imprejjion augmented. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed by Edward Griffit for Laurence Lijle, and 
 
 are to be fold at his JJ)op at the Tigers Head in 
 
 Paules Churchyard. 1616. 
 
TO THE KEADEK. 
 
 \HE general! acceptance of this match- 
 lesse Poem the Wife, (written by Sir 
 Thomas Overburie) is sufficiently 
 approoved by many, the worth ivhere- 
 of if any other out of malice shall neglect to com- 
 mend, hee may well (if it proceed from nice criti- 
 cisme) bee excluded as a churlish retainer to the 
 Muses: if from direct plaine dealing, hee shall bee 
 degraded for insufficiency. For had such a Poem 
 beene extant among the ancient Romanes, although 
 they wanted our easie conservations of wit by print- 
 ing, they would have committed it to brasse, lest in- 
 jurious time deprive it of due eternity. If to con- 
 verse ivith a creature so amiable as is here described, 
 be thought difficult ; let the contemplation thereof be 
 held admirable. To which are added (this ninth 
 impression) many new Elegies of his untimely 
 
death, diverse more Characters, and Newes, 
 written by himself e and others his friends. How- 
 soever, they are now exposed, not onely to the ju- 
 dicious, but to all that carry the least scruple of 
 mother wit about them. 
 
 Licet toto nunc Helicone frui Mar. 
 
 Lau. Lisle. 
 
ELEGIES OF SEVERALL AUTHORS, 
 
 ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF 
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 Poysoned in the Tower. 
 
 UPON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURIE. 
 
 WO ULD ease our sorrows ; 'twould re- 
 lease our teares, 
 Could we but heare those high celestiall 
 spheres, 
 
 Once tune their motions to a dolefull straine, 
 In sympathy of what we mortals plaine : 
 Or see their fair e intelligences change 
 Or face or habit, when blacke deeds, so st? , ange, 
 As might force pitty from the heart of hell, 
 Are hatcht by monsters, which among us dwell. 
 The stars me thinks, like men inclinde to sleep, 
 Should through their chry stall casements scarcely peep, 
 Or at least view us but with halfe an eye, 
 
6 
 
 For fear -e their chaster influence might descry 
 
 Some murdering hand, oaded in guiltlesse blood, 
 
 Blending vile juices to destroy the good. 
 
 The sunne should wed his beames to endlesse night, 
 
 And in dull darhnesse canopy his light, 
 
 When from the ranke stewes of adult rous brests, 
 
 Where every base unhallowed project rests, 
 
 Is belcht, as in defiance of his shine., 
 
 A streame might make even death it selfe to pine. 
 
 But these things happen still, but nere more cleare, 
 
 Nor with more lustre did these lamps appeare ; 
 
 Mercury capers with a winged heele, 
 
 As if he did no touch of sorrow feele, 
 
 And yet he sees a true Mercurian hilVd, 
 
 Whose birth his mansion with much honour filVd. 
 
 But let me not mistake those powers above, 
 
 Nor tax injuriously those courts of Jove : 
 
 Surely, they joy to see these acts reveaVd, 
 
 Which in blind silence have beene long conceaVd; 
 
 And Vertue now triumphant, whiVst we mourne 
 
 To thinke that ere she was foule Vices scorne : 
 
 Or that poore Over-buries bloude was mhde 
 
 A sacrifice to malice and darke shade. 
 
 Weston, thy hand that Couvre-feu Bell did sway, 
 
 Which did his life to endlesse sleep convay. 
 
 But rest thou where thou art ; He seeke no glory 
 
 By the relation of so sad a story. 
 
 If any more were privy to the deed, 
 
 And for the crime must be adjudged to bleed, 
 
 To heaven I pray, with heart d up hands and eyes, 
 
 That as their bodies fall, their soules may rise : 
 
And as those equally turne to one dust, 
 So these alike may shine among the just, 
 And there make up one glorious constellation, 
 Who suffered here in such a differing fashion. 
 
 D. T. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF THE GENERALLY 
 
 BEWAILED GENTLEMAN, SIR 
 
 THOMAS OVERBURIE. 
 
 BUT that w'are bound in Christian piety 
 To wish Gods will be done ; and destiny, 
 (In all that haps to men, or good, or ill) 
 Suffer'd, or sent, by that implored will ; 
 Me thinks, t' observe how Vertue drawes faint breath, 
 Subject to slanders, hate, and violent death, 
 Wise men kept low, others advanc'd to state, 
 Right checkt by wrong, and ill men fortunate ; 
 These mov'd effects, from an unmoved cause, 
 Might shake the firmest faith ; Heavens fixed laws 
 Might casuall seem, and each irregular sense 
 Spurne at just order, blame Gods Providence. 
 
 But what is man, t' expostulate th' intents 
 Of his high will, or judge of strange events ? 
 The rising sun to mortall sight reveales 
 This earthly globe ; but yet the stars conceales ; 
 So may the sense discover naturall things ; 
 Divine above the reach of humane wings. 
 
 Then not the fate, but Fates bad instrument 
 Doe I accuse in each sad accident : 
 
Good men must fall : rapes, incests, murders come ; 
 But woe and curses follow them by whom : 
 God authors all mens actions, not their sin, 
 For that proceeds from dev'lish lust within. 
 Thou then that suffer'dst by those forms so vile, 
 From whom those wicked instruments did file 
 Thy drossie part, to make thy fame shine cleare, 
 And shrine thy soule in heavens all-glorious sphere ; 
 Who being good, nought lesse to thee befell, 
 Though it appear' d disguis'd in shape of hell ; 
 Vanish thy bloud and nerves ; true life alone 
 In vertue lives, and true religion, 
 In both which thou art deathlesse ; O behold, 
 (If thou canst looke so low as earths base mold) 
 How dreadfull justice (late with lingring foot) 
 Now comes like whirlewind ! how it shakes the root 
 Of lofty cedars ; makes the stately brow 
 Bend to the foot ! how all men see that now 
 The breath of infamy doth move their sailes ; 
 Whiles thy deare name by loves more hearty gales 
 Shall still keep wing, untill thy fames extent 
 Fill ev'ry part of this vast continent. 
 Then you the Syre of this thus murther'd sonne, 
 Repine not at his fate ; since he hath wonne 
 More honour in his sufferance : and his death 
 Succeeded by his vertues endlesse breath. 
 For him, and to his life and deaths example, 
 Love might erect a statue ; Zeale a temple : 
 On his true worth the Muses might be slaine, 
 To die his honours web in purest graine. 
 
 C.B. 
 
UPON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF THE 
 
 AUTHOUE OE THIS INGENIOUS 
 POEM, SIR THOMAS OVERBURY KNIGHT 
 
 Poysoned in the Tower. 
 
 SO many moones, so many times goe round, 
 And rose from hell, and darknes under ground, 
 And yet till now, this darhned deed of hell 
 Not brought to light ? O tardy Heaven ! yet tell 
 If murther laies him down to sleep with lust 
 Or no? reveale, as thou art truth and just, 
 The secrets of this unjust secure act, 
 And what our feares make us suspect, compact 
 With greater deeds of mischief e : for alone 
 "We thinke not this, and doe suspect yet one, 
 To which compar'd, this, but a falling starre; 
 That a bright firmament of fire : thy care 
 We see takes meaner things : it times the ivorld, 
 The signes at random through the zodiack hurld, 
 The stars wild wandrings, and the glib quick hinges 
 Which turne both poles, and all the violent changes 
 It over-looks, which trouble th' endlesse course 
 Of the high firmament : by thy blest force 
 Do hory winter-frosts make forests bare, 
 And straight to groves againe their shades repaire : 
 By thee doth autumns, lyons flaming maine 
 Ripen the fruits : and the full yeare sustaine 
 
10 
 
 Her burthened powers : O being still the same, 
 
 Ruling so much, and under whom the frame 
 
 Of this vast world weigh'd, all his orbes doth guide, 
 
 Why are thy cares of men no more applide f 
 
 Or if: why seem'st thou sleeping to the good, 
 
 And guarding to the ill ? as if the brood 
 
 Of best things still, must chance take in command, 
 
 And not thy providence ; and her blind hand 
 
 Thy benefits erroniously disburse, 
 
 Which so let fall, ne're fall but to the worse ? 
 
 Whence so great crimes commit the greater sort, 
 
 And boldest acts of shame blaze in the court, 
 
 Where buffones worship in their rise of state 
 
 Those filthy scarahs, whom they serve and hate. 
 
 Sure things meer backward, there ; humour disgrast, 
 
 And vertue laid by fraud, and poison waste : 
 
 The adulterer up like Haman, and so sainted : 
 
 And females modesty (as females) painted, 
 
 Lost in all reall worth : what shall we say ? 
 
 Things so farre out of frame, as if the day 
 
 Were come, wherein another Phaeton 
 
 Stolne into Phoebus waine, had all misse-won 
 
 A cleane contrary way : O powerfull God, 
 
 Right all amisse, and set thy wonted period 
 
 Of goodnesse, in his place againe : this deed 
 
 Be usher to bring forth the maske, and weed 
 
 Whereunder, blacker things lie hid perhap, 
 
 And yet have hope to make a false escape. 
 
 Of this make knowne, why such an instrument 
 
 As Weston, a poore serving-man, should rent 
 
 The frame of this sad-good-mans life : did he 
 
11 
 
 Stand with this court-bred learned Overburie, 
 In strife for an Ambassadour-ship ? no, no, 
 His orbes held no such light : what, did he owe 
 The prophet malice for composing this, 
 This cynosure in neat poesis, 
 
 How good, and great men ought, and all, to chuse 
 A chaste, fit noble wife, and the abuse 
 Of strumpets friendly shadowing in the same, 
 Was this his fault ? or doth there lye a flame 
 Yet in the embers not unrak't, for which 
 He dy'de so falsly ? Heaven we doe beseech 
 Vnlocke this secret, and bring all to view, 
 That law may purge the bloud, lust made untrue. 
 
 W. S. 
 
 AN 
 
 ELEGIE CONSECRATED TO THE MEMORY OE 
 
 THE TRULY WORTHY AND LEARNED 
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 KNIGHT. 
 
 HAD not thy wrong like to a wound ill cur'd 
 Broke forth in death ; I had not bin assur'd 
 Of griefe enough to finish what I write. 
 These lines, as those which do in cold bloud fight, 
 Had come but faintly on ; for ever he 
 That shrines a name within an elegie, 
 (Unlesse some neerer cause doe him aspire) 
 Kindles his bright flame at the funerall fire. 
 
12 
 
 Since passion (after lessening her extent) 
 Is then more strong, and so more eloquent. 
 
 How powerfull is the hand of murther now ! 
 Wast not enough to see his deare life bow 
 Beneath her hate ? but crushing that faire frame, 
 Attempt the like on his unspotted fame f 
 O base revenge ! more than inhumane fact ! 
 Which (as the Romanes sometimes would enact 
 No doome for paricide, supposing none 
 Could ever so offend) the upright throne 
 Of Justice salves not : leaving that intent 
 Without a name, without a punishment. 
 Yet through thy wounded fame, as thorow these 
 Glasses which multiply the species, 
 We see thy vertues more ; and they become 
 So many statues sleeping on thy tombe. 
 
 Wherein confinement new thou shalt endure, 
 But so, as when to make a pearle more pure, 
 We give it to a dove, in whose womb pent 
 Some time, we have it forth most orient. 
 
 Such is thy luster now, that venom'd spight 
 With her black soule dares not behold thy light, 
 But banning it, a course begins to runne 
 With those that curse the rising of the sunne. 
 The poyson that works upwards now, shall strive 
 To be thy faire fames true preservative. 
 And witchcraft, that can maske the upper shine, 
 With no one cloud shall blind a ray of thine. 
 
 And as the Hebrewes in an obscure pit 
 Their holy fire hid, not extinguish'd it, 
 And after- time, that brake their bondage chaine 
 
13 
 
 Found it to fire their sacrifice againe : 
 
 So lay thy worth some while, but being found, 
 
 The Muses altars plentifull crown' d 
 
 With sweet perfumes, by it new kindled be, 
 
 And offer all to thy deare memory. 
 
 Nor have we lost thee long : thou art not gone, 
 Nor canst descend into oblivion. 
 But twice the sun went round since thy soule fled, 
 And only that time men shall terme thee dead. 
 Hereafter (rais'd to life) thou still shalt have 
 An antidote against the silent grave. 
 
 W. B. Int. temp. 
 
 UPON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OE SIR 
 THOMAS OVERBURIE. 
 
 IF for to live be but a misery, 
 If by death good men gaine eternity, 
 'Twas friendly done in robbing thee of life, 
 To celebrate thy nuptials with thy wife ; 
 So that his will no other aime intended, 
 But by exchange thy life should be amended : 
 Yet wert to compasse his insatiate lust, 
 He this last friendship tendred to thee : trust 
 Whiles he dishonor'd and defam'd may die, 
 Justice and Fame, shall crowne thy memorie. 
 
 B. G. medii Temp. 
 
14 
 
 IN OBITUM INTEMPESTIVUM ET LACHRYMA- 
 
 BILEM ILLUSTEISSIMI EQUITIS 
 
 AURATI, THO. OVERBURI, MAGN^E SPEI ET 
 
 EXPECTATIONS VIRI. 
 
 HOWEVER windy miscliiefe raise up high 
 Darke thickning clouds, to powre upon us all 
 A tempest of foule rumours, which descry 
 Thy hard mis -hap and strange disastrous fall ; 
 As if thy wounds were bleeding from that hand, 
 Which rather should have rais'd thee up to stand. 
 
 Yet shalt thou here survive in pittying fame, 
 
 In thy, sweet wife, in these most acute lines, 
 
 In well reputed characters of name, 
 
 And vertues tombe, which all thine honour shrines : 
 
 In spight of envy, or the proudest hate, 
 
 That thus hath set opinion at debate. 
 
 But for mine owne part, sith it fals out so, 
 That death hath had her will ; I now compare 
 It to a wanton hand, which at a throw 
 To breake a box of precious balme did dare : 
 With whose perfume, altho it was thus spild, 
 The house and commers by were better fild. 
 
 Cap. Tho. Gainsford. 
 
15 
 
 A MEMORIALL, OFFERED TO THAT MAN 
 OF VERTUE, SIR THO. OVERBURY. 
 
 ONCE dead and twice alive ; Death could not 
 frame 
 A death, whose sting could kill him in his fame. 
 He might have liv'd, had not the life which gave 
 Life to his life, betraid him to his grave. 
 If greatnesse could consist in being good, 
 His goodnesse did adde titles to his blood. 
 Onely unhappy in his lives last fate, 
 In that he liv'd so soone, to dye so late. 
 Alas, whereto shall men oppressed trust, 
 When innocence cannot protect the just ? 
 His error was his fault, his truth his end, 
 No enemy his ruine, but his friend. 
 Cold friendship, where hot vowes are but a breath, 
 To guerdon poore simplicity with death : 
 Was never man, that felt the sense of griefe, 
 So Overburyed in a safe beliefe : 
 Beliefe ? O cruell slaughter ! times unbred 
 Will say, Who dies that is untimely dead, 
 By treachery, of lust, or by disgrace. 
 In friendship, 'twas but Overburies case : 
 Which shall not more commend his truth than prove 
 Their guilt, who were his opposites in love. 
 Rest happy man ; and in thy spheare of awe 
 Behold how Justice swaies the sword of law 
 
16 
 
 To weed out those, whose hands imbrew'd in bloud 
 Cropt off thy youth, and flower in the bud. 
 
 Sleep in thy peace : thus happy hast thou prov'd, 
 Thou might'st have di'de more knowne, not more 
 belov'd. 
 
 Io. Fo. 
 
 UPON SIR THO. OVERBURIE THE AUTHOR 
 OF THIS INGENIOUS POEM. 
 
 HESPERIDES (within whose gardens grow 
 Apples of gold) may well thy losse deplore : 
 For in those gardens they could never show 
 A tree so f aire of such afruitfull store. 
 
 Grace was the root, and thou thy selfe the tree, 
 Sweet counsels were the berries grew on thee. 
 
 Wit was the branch that did adorne the stocke, 
 Reason the leafe upon those branches spred, 
 Under thy shadow did the Muses flocke, 
 And (by thee) as a mantle covered: 
 
 But what befell, O, too much out of kind ! 
 
 For thou wast blasted by a West-on wind. 
 
 E. Ca. 
 
17 
 
 OF SIR THOMAS OVERBURIE HIS WIFE AND 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 WHEN I behold this wife of thine so faire, 
 So far remov'd from vulgar beauties (aire 
 Being lesse bright and pure) me thinks I see 
 An uncloth'd soule, by potent alchymy 
 Extraught from ragged matter. Thou hast made 
 A wife more innocent than any maide. 
 JEvah's state, before the fall, decyphered here, 
 And Plato's naked vertue's not more cleare. 
 Such an idcea as scarce wishes can 
 Arrive at, but our hopes must ne're attaine 
 A soule so far beyond the common make 
 As scorn'd corporeall joyning. For her sake 
 (Despairing else contract) thou too turn'st soule ; 
 And to enjoy her f aires without controule, 
 Cast'st off this bodies clog : so must all do, 
 Cast matter off, who would abstractions woo. 
 To flie so soone then (soule) wel hast thou done, 
 For in this life, such beauties are not wone. 
 But when I call to mind thine unripe fall, 
 And so sad summons to thy nuptiall, 
 Either, in her thy bold desires did taste 
 Forbidden fruit, and have this curse purchast, 
 Or, having this elixir made thine owne 
 (Drawne from the remnant of creation,) 
 c 
 
18 
 
 The faces their malignant spirits breathe 
 
 To punish thine ambitious love with death. 
 
 Or, thy much envide choyce hath made the rest 
 
 Of concrete relicts, point their aymes infest 
 
 To thy confusion. And with them seduc'd 
 
 Friendship (displeas'd to see a love produc'd 
 
 Lesse carnall than it selfe) with policy 
 
 So pure and chaste a love to nullifie. 
 
 Yet howsoe'r, their project flies in smoke, 
 
 The poyson's cordiall, which they meant should choke : 
 
 Their deeds of darknes, like the bridall night, 
 
 Have joyn'd spirituall lovers, in despight 
 
 Of false attempts : And now the wedding's done ; 
 
 When in this life such faires had not bin won. 
 
 E. G. 
 
 TO THE BOOKE. 
 
 THOU wofull widdow, once a happy wife, 
 That didst enjoy so sweet a mate : 
 Who, now bereaved is of life, 
 Untimely wrought, through inward hate. 
 O deed most vile, to haste the end 
 Of him, that was so good a friend! 
 
 F. H. 
 
19 
 
 ON THIS EXCELLENT POEM, THE WIFE. 
 
 LOE here the matchlesse patterne of a wife, 
 Diseiphered in forme of good, and bad : 
 The bad commends the good, as dark doth light, 
 Or as a loathed bed a single life ; 
 The good, with wisdome and discretion clad, 
 With modesty, and faire demeanour dight, 
 Whose reason doth her will to love invite. 
 
 Reason begot, and passion bred her love, 
 Self-will she shun'd, fitnes the marriage made ; 
 Fitnes doth cherish love, selfe-will debate. 
 Loe thus, and in this monument of proofe 
 A perfect wife, a worke nor time can fade, 
 
 Nor loose respect betray to mortall fate. 
 
 This none can equall ; best, but imitate. 
 
 r. a 
 
 ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURIES POEM, THE 
 WIFE. 
 
 I AM glad yet ere I die, I have found occasion, 
 Honest and just, without the worlds perswasion, 
 Or flattery, or bribery, to commend 
 A woman for her goodnesse ; and God send 
 
20 
 
 I may find many more : I wish them well ; 
 
 They are pretty things to play with ; when Eve fell 
 
 She tooke a care that all the women-kind 
 
 That were to follow her, should be as blind 
 
 As she was wilfull ; and till this good wife, 
 
 This peece of vertues that ne're tooke her life 
 
 From a fraile mothers labour : those stand still 
 
 As marginals to point us to our ill, 
 
 Came to the worlde, as other creatures doe 
 
 That know no God but will ; we learn'd to woo ; 
 
 And if she were but faire, and could but kisse, 
 
 Twenty to one we could not chuse amisse ; 
 
 And as we judge of trees, if straight and tall, 
 
 That may be sound, yet never till the fall 
 
 Find how the raine hath drill'd them ; so till now 
 
 We only knew we must love ; but not how : 
 
 But here we have example, and so rare, 
 
 That if we hold but common sense and care, 
 
 And steere by this card ; he that goes awry, 
 
 He boldly say at his nativity, 
 
 That man was seal'd a foole : yet all this good 
 
 Given as it is, not cloath'd in flesh and blood, 
 
 Some may averre, and strongly, 'twas meere ment 
 
 In way of practice, but not president ; 
 
 Either will make us happy men ; for he 
 
 That marrieth any way this mystery, 
 
 Or any parcell of that benefit, 
 
 Though he take hold of nothing but the wit, 
 
 Hath got himself! a partner for his life, 
 
 ivife. 
 
 LF. 
 
21 
 
 EJUSDEM IN EADEM. 
 
 AS from a man the first fraile woman came. 
 The first that ever made us know our shame, 
 And find the curse of labour ; so againe, 
 Goodnesse and understanding found a man 
 To take this shame away ; and from him sprung 
 A peece of excellence without a tongue, 
 Because it should not wrong us ; yet the life 
 Makes it appeare, a woman and a wife. 
 And this is shee, if ever woman shall 
 Doe good hereafter; borne to blesse our fall. 
 
 J.F. 
 
 ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURIES POEM, THE 
 WIFE. 
 
 WERE every beauty, every severall grace, 
 Which is in women, in one womans face, 
 Som courtly gallants might, I think, come to her, 
 Which would not wed her, tho' they seem'd to woo 
 
 her. 
 Settled affections follow not the eye, 
 Reason and judgement must their course descry. 
 Pigmalions image, made of marble stone, 
 Was lik'd of all, belov'd of him alone : 
 
22 
 
 But here's a dame growne husbandlesse of late, 
 Which not a man but wisheth were his mate. 
 So faire without, so free from spot within, 
 That earth seemes here to stand exempt from sin. 
 Juno vouchsafe, and Hymen, when I wed, 
 I may behold this widdow in my bed. 
 
 D. T. 
 
 ON THE WIFE. 
 
 BEAUTY affords contentment to the eye, 
 Riches are meanes to cure a weake estate, 
 Honour illustrates what it commeth nie : 
 To marry thus, men count it happy fate. 
 
 Vertue they think doth in these emblemes shroud, 
 But triall shewes the' are gulled with a cloud. 
 
 These are but complements ; the inward worth, 
 The outward carriage, gesture, wit, and grace, 
 Is that alone that sets a woman forth : 
 And in this woman, these have each a place. 
 
 Were all wives such : this age would happy be, 
 
 But happier that of our posteritie. 
 
 D. T. 
 
 
23 
 
 ON THE WIFE. 
 
 WELL hast thou said, that women should be such '; 
 And were they that, had but a third as much, 
 I would be marrid too, but that I know 
 Not what she is, but should be, thou dost show : 
 So let me praise thy worke, and let my life 
 Be single, or thy widow be my wife. 
 
 X. Z. 
 
 ON THE WIFE. 
 
 THIS perfect creature, to the easterne use 
 Livd, whilst a wife retired from common shoiv , 
 Not that her lover fear d the least abuse, 
 But with the wisest knew it fitter so : 
 Since, f dine a widow, and a zealous one, 
 She would have sacrifz'de her selfe agen, 
 But importuned to life, is now alone 
 Lov'd, wood, admired, by all wise single men. 
 Which, to th' adulterous rest, that dare begin 
 Their us'd temptations, were a mortatt sin. 
 
 E 
 
 TO THE WIFE. 
 
 XPOS'D to all thou wilt lesse worthy seeme, 
 I feare : wives common, all men disesteeme, 
 
24 
 
 Yet some things have a diffring fate : some fret. 
 We doubt in wares which are in corners set : 
 Hid medals rust, which being us'd grow bright ; 
 The day more friendeth vertue then the night. 
 Thou though more common, than maist seem more 
 
 good, 
 I only wish thou maist be understood. 
 
 G. R. 
 
 TO THE CLEANE CONTRARY WIFE. 
 
 LOOK here : and chide those spirits which main- 
 taine 
 Their empire, with a strong command in you, 
 That all good eyes, which do your follies view, 
 Pitty, what you for them must once sustaine : 
 O from those evils, which free soules disdaine 
 To be acquainted with, and but pursue 
 Worst minds from them (as hatefull as untrue.) 
 By reading this, for Fames faire sake refraine : 
 Who would let feed upon her birth, the brood 
 Of lightnesse, indiscretion, and the shame 
 Of foule incontinence, when the base blood 
 Is carelesse onely of an honour'd name ? 
 Be all that gentle are, more high improv'd, 
 For loose dames are butjlatter'd, never lotfd. 
 
 W. Stra. 
 
25 
 
 OF THE CHOYCE OF A WIFE. 
 
 IF I were to chuse a woman, 
 As who knowes but I may marry ? 
 I would trust the eye of no man, 
 Nor a tongue that may miscarry : 
 For in way of love and glory, 
 Each tongue best tells his owne story. 
 
 First, to make my choyce the bolder, 
 
 I would have her childe to such, 
 
 Whose free vertuous lives are older 
 
 Then antiquity can touch : 
 For 'tis seldome seene, that blond 
 Gives a beauty great and good. 
 
 Yet an ancient stock may bring 
 
 Branches, I confesse, of worth, 
 
 Like rich mantles shadowing 
 
 Those descents that brought them forth ; 
 Yet such hills, though gilded show, 
 Soonest feele the age of snow. 
 
 Therefore to prevent such care 
 That repentance soone may bring, 
 Like marchants, I would choose my ware, 
 Use-full good, not glittering. 
 
 He that weds for state or face, 
 
 Buys a horse, to lose a race. 
 
26 
 
 Yet I would have her /aire as any, 
 But her owne not hist away • 
 I would have her free to many, 
 Looke on all like equall day ; 
 But descending to the sea, 
 Make her set with none but me. 
 
 If she be not tall, 'tis better ; 
 For that word, A goodly woman, 
 Prints it selfe in such a letter, 
 That it leaves unstudied no man : 
 
 I would have my mistris grow 
 
 Onely tall, to answer No. 
 
 Yet I would not have her lose 
 So much breeding, as to fling 
 Unbecomming scorne on those 
 That must worship every thing. 
 Let her fear e loose lookes to scatter 
 And loose men will fear e to flatter. 
 
 Children I would have her beare, 
 
 More for love of name than bed ; 
 
 So each child I have is heyre 
 
 To another mayden-head; 
 For she that in the act's afraid, 
 Every night's another maid. 
 
 Such a one, as when shee's woo'd, 
 Blushes not for ill thoughts past ; 
 But so innocently good, 
 Thai her dreams are ever chast; 
 For that maid that thinks a sin 
 Has betraid the fort shee's in. 
 
In my visitation still, 
 I would have her scatter feares, 
 How this man, and that was ill, 
 After protestations teares : 
 
 And who vowes a constant life, 
 
 Crownes a meritorious wife. 
 
 When the priest first gives our hands, 
 I would have her thinke but thus ; 
 In what high and holy bands 
 Heaven, like twins, hath planted us, 
 That like Aarons rod, together 
 Both may bud ; grow greene, and wither. 
 
 AN ELEGIE IN PEAISE OE SIR THOMAS 
 OVERBURIE, AND HIS POEM. 
 
 j^TT^IS dangerous to be good: well may we praise 
 
 JL Honesty, or innocence ; but who can raise 
 A pow'r, that shall secur't gainst wrongs to come, 
 When such a saint hath suffer'd martyrdome f 
 Injurious hands, which 'cause they could not get 
 The gemme, would therefore spoile the cabinet. 
 But though the cage be broke, the bird is flowne 
 To heaven, her proper and securer home : 
 Where 'mongst a quire of saints, and cherubins, 
 Of angels, thrones, and seraphins, she sings 
 Those sacred Haleluiahs : heaven may boast 
 T' have got that angel there which we have lost : 
 
28 
 
 But we shall still complaine, for to us here, 
 A saint is more losse than a throne is there. 
 
 That firmament of holy fires which we 
 Enjoy'd, whilst thou wert, by enjoying thee, 
 Lyes now rak't up in ashes, as the light 
 Of day, the sunne once gon, is drownd in night. 
 But as the moone, sometime, the sunne being set, 
 Appeares, and we a new (though lesse) light get; 
 So though our greatest lampe of vertue be, 
 By cruell fate extinguished, in thee, 
 Yet to adde some fresh oyle t'our snuffe of life, 
 Thou hast behind thee, left a matchlesse wife : 
 Who hath (since that sad time her husband di'd) 
 Beene woo'd by many, for a second bride : 
 But like a chaste religious widow, she 
 Having lost her first mate, scornes bigamie. 
 
 P. B. medii Temp. 
 
 A STATUE ERECTED IN MEMORY OF SIR 
 THOMAS OVERBURIE HIS WIFE. 
 
 VPON a marble fram'd by th' cunningst hand, 
 In garments greene, and orient to behold, 
 Like a most lovely virgin let her stand, 
 And on her head a crowne of purest gold. 
 First, let religion in her heart have place, (spring, 
 As th' ground and fountaine whence all vertues 
 So that each thought being sanctified by grace : 
 The punishment t' escape, that's due to sinne. 
 
29 
 
 Let beauty (joyn'd with modesty) appeare 
 
 Loves object in her face ; and chastity 
 
 In her faire eyes, brighter than chrystall cleare, 
 
 Wherein life moves, affections led thereby. 
 
 In her hands charity, and at the right 
 
 The holy angels let protecting be : 
 
 And at the left Gods mercies shining bright, 
 
 Distributing to each necessity. 
 
 Let th' earth his riches yeeld to her, and more 
 
 The heavens their influence, and by the same 
 
 Unto the blind their sight let her restore ; 
 
 Strengthning the weak, and raising up the lame. 
 
 Under her feet the devill and darknesse set, 
 
 Let pride fast bound in chaines behind her lye, 
 
 Base self-love, not appeare in place, and let 
 
 Foule-lust, and envy from her presence flie. 
 
 And on her brest, in golden letters write — 
 
 Heavens best belovd, earths chief est delight. 
 
 Hee that (in's choice) would meet with such a wife. 
 Must vow virginity, and single life. 
 
 ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURY AND HIS 
 WIFE. 
 
 A 
 
 LL right, all wrong befals me through a wife, 
 A bad one gave me death, a good one life. 
 
30 
 
 AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF SIR 
 THOMAS OVERBURY, KNIGHT. 
 
 Poysoned in the Tower. 
 
 HAD ST thou like other sirs and knights of worth, 
 Sickned and dide, bin stretcht-out, and laid-forth, 
 After thy farewell sermon, taken earth, 
 And left no deed to praise thee, but thy birth, 
 Then Overbury, by a passe of theirs, 
 Thou mighfst have tyded hence in two houres teares, 
 Then had we worne the sprigs of memory 
 No longer than thy friends did rosemary ; 
 Or than the doale was eating for thy sake, 
 And thou hadst sunke in thine owne wine and cake : 
 But since it was so ordered and thought fit 
 By some who knew thy truth, and fear d thy wit, 
 Thou shouldst be poison' 'd ; death hath done thee grace, 
 Ranckt thee above the region of thy place, 
 For none heares poyson nam'd, but makes reply 
 What prince was that f what states-man so did die f 
 In this thou hast out-dyde an elegy, 
 Which were too narrow for posterity, 
 And thy strong poyson which did seeme to kill, 
 Working afresh in some historians quill, 
 Shall now preserve thee longer ere thou rot, 
 Than could a poem mixt with antidot ; 
 Nor needst thou trust a herauld with thy name, 
 That art the voyce of justice and of fame ; 
 
31 
 
 Whilst shine (detesting her owne conscience) strives 
 To pay the use and interest of lives. 
 Enough ofryme, and might it please the law, 
 Enough ofbloud; for naming lives I saw, 
 He that writes more of thee, must write of more, 
 Which I affect not, but referre men ore 
 To Tyburne, by whose art they may define 
 What life of man is worth in valeiving thine. 
 
 ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 THOUGH dumb, deaf, dead, I cry, I heare, I kill 
 Thus growne a politician 'gainst my will. 
 
 J. M. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
THE METHOD. 
 
 First, of Mariage, and the effect thereof; Children. Then of 
 his contrary, Lust ; then for his choyce, first, his opinion nega- 
 tively, what should not be : the First, causes in it, that is, neither 
 Beauty, Birth, nor Portion. Then affirmative, what should 
 be, of which kind there are foure : Goodnesse, Knowledge, 
 Discretion, and as a second thing, Beauty. The first only is 
 absolutely good : the other being built upon the first, doe likewise 
 become so. Then the application of that woman by love to him- 
 self e, which makes her a Wife. And lastly, the only condition 
 of a Wife, Eitnesse. 
 
 A WIFE. 
 
 ACH woman is a brief e of womankind, 
 
 And doth in little even as much containe, 
 
 As, in one day and night, all life we finde , 
 
 Of either, more, is but the same againe : 
 
 God fram'd her so, that to her husband she, 
 
 As Eve, should all the world of woman be. 
 
 So fram'd he both, that neither power he gave 
 Use of themselves, but by exchange to make : 
 Whence in their face, the f aire no pleasure have. 
 But by reflex of what thence other take. 
 
 Our lips in their owne kisse no pleasure finde : 
 Toward their proper face, our eies are blinde. 
 
 D 
 
34 A WIFE. 
 
 So God in Eve did perfect man, begun ; 
 
 Till then, in vaine much of himselfe he had : 
 
 In Adam, God created only one, 
 
 Eve, and the world to come, in Eve he made. 
 
 We are two halfes : whiles each from other straies, 
 Both Darren are ; joind, both their like can raise. 
 
 At first, both sexes were in man combinde, 
 
 Man a she-man did in his body breed ; 
 
 Adam was Eves, Eve mother of mankinde, 
 
 Eve from live-flesh, man did from dust proceed. 
 One, thus made two, mariage doth re-unite, 
 And makes them both but one hermaphrodite. 
 
 Man did but the well-being of this life 
 
 From woman take ; her being she from man ; 
 
 And therefore Eve created was a wife, 
 
 And at the end of all her sex, began : 
 
 Mariage their object is ; their being then, 
 And now perfection, they receive from men. 
 
 Mariage ; to all whose joyes two parties be, 
 And doubled are by being parted so, 
 Wherein the very act is chastity, 
 Whereby two soules into one body go. 
 
 Which makes two, one ; while here they living be, 
 
 And after death in their posterity. 
 
A WIFE. 35 
 
 God to each man a private woman gave, 
 That in that center his desires might stint, 
 That he a comfort like himselfe might have, 
 And that on her his like he might imprint. 
 Double is womans use, part of their end 
 Doth on this age, part on the next depend. 
 
 We fill but part of time, and cannot dye, 
 
 Till we the world a fresh supply have lent. 
 
 Children are bodies sole eternity ; 
 
 Nature is Gods, art is mans instrument. 
 
 Now all mans art but only dead things makes, 
 But herein man in things of life partakes. 
 
 For wandring lust ; I know 'tis infinite, 
 It still begins, and addes not more to more : 
 The guilt is everlasting, the delight, 
 This instant doth not feele, of that before. 
 
 The taste of it is only in the sense, 
 
 The 1 operation in the conscience. 
 
 Woman is not lusts bounds, but woman-Jcinde ; 
 One is loves number : who from that doth fall, 
 Hath lost his hold, and no new rest shall find ; 
 Vice hath no meane, but not to be at all. 
 
 A wife is that enough ; lust cannot find ; 
 
 For lust is still with want, or too much, pin'd. 
 
36 A WIFE. 
 
 Bate lust the sin, my share is ev'n with his, 
 For, not to lust, and to enjoy, is one : 
 And more or lesse past, equall nothing is ; 
 I still have one, lust one at once, alone : 
 And though the woman often changed be, 
 Yet he's the same without variety. 
 
 Mariage our lust (as 'twere with fuell fire) 
 
 Doth, with a medicine of the same, allay, 
 
 And not forbid, but rectifie desire. 
 
 My selfe I cannot chuse, my wife I may : 
 And in the choise of her, it much doth lye, 
 To mend my selfe in my posterity. 
 
 Or rather let me love, then be in love ; 
 So let me chuse, as wife and friend to find, 
 Let me forget her sex, when I approve : 
 Beasts likenesse lies in shape, but ours in mind : 
 Our soules no sexes have, their love is cleane, 
 No sex, both in the better part are men. 
 
 But physicke for our lust their bodies be, 
 
 But matter fit to shew our love upon : 
 
 But onely shells for our posterity, 
 
 Their soules were giv'n lest men should be alone 
 For, but the soules interpreters, words be, 
 Without which, bodies are no company. 
 
A WIFE. 37 
 
 That goodly frame we see of flesh, and blood, 
 Their fashion is, not weight ; it is I say- 
 But their lay -part ; hut well digested food ; 
 Tis hut 'twixt dust, and dust, lifes middle way : 
 The worth of it is nothing that is seen, 
 But only that it holds a soule within. 
 
 And all the carnall beauty of my wife, 
 Is but skin-deep, but to two senses known ; 
 Short even of pictures, shorter liv'd then life, 
 And yet the love survives, that's built thereon : 
 For our imagination is too high, 
 For bodies when they meet, to satisfie. 
 
 All shapes, all colours, are alike in night, 
 Nor doth our touch distinguish foule or faire ; 
 But mans imagination, and his sight, 
 And those, but the first weeke ; by custome are 
 Both made alike, which differed at first view, 
 Nor' can that difference absence much renew. 
 
 Nor can that beauty, lying in the face, 
 
 But meerely by imagination be 
 
 Enjoy'd by us, in an inferiour place. 
 
 Nor can ih^t beauty by enjoying we 
 
 Make ours become ; so our desire growes tame, 
 We changed are, but it remaines the same. 
 
38 A WIFE. 
 
 Birth, lesse then beauty, shall my reason blinde, 
 Her birth goes to my children, not to me : 
 Eather had I that active gentry finde, 
 Vertue, then passive from her ancestry ; 
 Rather in her alive one vertue see, 
 Then all the rest dead in her pedigree. 
 
 In the degrees, high rather, be she plac't, 
 
 Of nature, then of art, and policy : 
 
 Gentry is but a relique of time past : 
 
 And love doth only but the present see ; [same 
 
 Things were first made, then words : she were the 
 With, or without, that title or that name. 
 
 As for (the oddes of sexes) portion, 
 Nor will I shun it, nor my aime it make ; 
 Birth, beauty, wealth, are nothing worth alone, 
 All these I would for good additions take, 
 
 Not for good parts, those two are ill combin'd, 
 Whom, any third thing from themselves hath join'd. 
 
 Eather then these the object of my love, 
 Let it be good ; when these with vertue go, 
 They (in themselves indifferent) vertues prove, 
 For good (like fire) turnes all things to be so. 
 Gods image in her soule, let me place 
 My love upon ! not Adams in her face. 
 
A WIFE. 39 
 
 Good, is a fairer attribute then white, 
 'Tis the minds beauty keeps the other sweete ; 
 That's not still one, nor mortall with the light, 
 Nor glasse, nor painting can it counterfeit ; 
 Nor doth it raise desires, which ever tend 
 At once, to their perfection and their end. 
 
 By good I would have holy understood, 
 So God she cannot love, but also me, 
 The law requires our words and deeds be good, 
 Religion even the thoughts doth sanctifie : 
 As she is more a maid that ravisht is, 
 Then she which only doth but ivish amisse. 
 
 Lust onely by religion is withstood, 
 
 Lusts object is alive, his strength within ; 
 
 Morality resists but in cold blood ; 
 
 Respect of credit feareth shame, not sin. 
 But no place darke enough for such offence 
 She findes, that's watchH, by her own conscience. 
 
 Then may I trust her body with her mind, 
 And, thereupon secure, need never know 
 The pangs oijealousie : and love doth find 
 More paine to doubt her false, then know her so : 
 For patience is, of evils that are knowne, 
 The certaine remedie ; but doubt hath none. 
 
40 
 
 A WIFE. 
 
 And be that thought once stirr'd, 'twill never die : 
 Nor will the griefe more mild by custome prove, 
 Nor yet amendment can it satisfie, 
 The anguish more or lesse, is as our love ; 
 
 This misery doth jealousie ensue, 
 
 That we may prove her false, but cannot true. 
 
 Suspicious may the will of lust restraine, 
 But good prevents from having such a will; 
 A wife that's good, doth chaste and more containe, 
 For chaste is but an abstinence from ill : 
 And in a wife that's bad, although the best 
 Of qualities ; yet in a good the least. 
 
 To barre the meanes is care, not jealousie : 
 Some lawfull things to be avoyded are, 
 When they occasion of unlawfull be : 
 Lust ere it hurts, is best descry'd afarre : 
 Lust is a sinne of two ; he that is sure 
 Of either part, may be of both secure. 
 
 Give me next good, an understanding wife, 
 By nature wise, not learned by much art, 
 Some knowledge on her side, will all my life 
 More scope of conversation impart : 
 
 Besides, her inborne vertue fortifie. 
 
 They are most firmly good, that best know why. 
 
A WIFE. 41 
 
 A passive understanding to conceive, 
 
 And judgement to discerne, I wish to finde : 
 
 Beyond that, all as hazardous I leave ; 
 
 Learning and pregnant wit in woman-kinde, 
 What it findes malleable, makes fraile, 
 And doth not adde more ballast, but more saile. 
 
 Domesticke charge doth best that sex befit, 
 Contiguous businesse ; so to fixe the mind, 
 That leisure space for fancies not admit : 
 Their ley sure 'tis corrupteth woman-kind : 
 Else, being plac'd from many vices free, 
 They had to heav'n a shorter cut then we. 
 
 Bookes are a part of mans prerogative, 
 In formall hike they thoughts and voyces hold, 
 That we to them our solitude may give, 
 And make time-present travell that of old. 
 Our life, fame peeceth longer at the end, 
 And hookes it farther backward doe extend. 
 
 As good, and knowing, let her be discreete, 
 That, to the others weight, doth fashion bring ; 
 Discretion doth consider what is Jit, 
 Goodnesse but what is lawfull ; but the thing, 
 Not circumstances ; learning is and wit, 
 In men, but curious folly without it. 
 
42 A WIFE, 
 
 To keepe their name, when 'tis in others hands, 
 Discretion askes ; their credit is by farre 
 More fraile than they : on likelihoods it stands, 
 And hard to he disprov'cl, lusts slanders are. 
 Their carriage, not their chastity alone, 
 Must keepe their name chaste from suspition. 
 
 Womans behaviour is a surer barre 
 Then is their no : that fairelj doth deny 
 Without denying ; thereby kept they are 
 Safe ev'n from hope ; in part to blame is she, 
 
 Which hath without consent bin only tride ; 
 
 He comes too neere, that comes to be denide. 
 
 Now since a woman we to marry are, 
 A soide and body, not a soule alone, 
 When one is good, then be the other faire ; 
 Beauty is health and beauty, both in one ; 
 
 Be she so faire, as change can yeeld no gaine ; 
 
 So faire, as she most woman else containe. 
 
 So faire at least let me imagine her ; 
 
 That thought to me, is truth : opinion 
 
 Cannot in matter of opinion erre ; 
 
 With no eyes shall I see her but mine owne. 
 And as ray fancy her conceives to be, 
 Even such my senses both, doe feele and see. 
 
A WIFE. 43 
 
 The face we may the seat of beauty call, 
 
 In it the relish of the rest doth lye, 
 
 Nay ev'n a figure of the mind withall : 
 
 And of the face, the life moves in the eye ; 
 No things else, being two, so like we see, 
 So like, that they, two hut in number, be. 
 
 Beauty in decent shape, and colours lies. 
 Colours the matter are, and shape the soule ; 
 The soule, which from no single part doth rise, 
 But from the just proportion of the whole, 
 
 And is a meere spirituall harmony, 
 
 Of every part united in the eye. 
 
 Love is a kind of superstition, 
 Which feares the idoll which it self hath fram'd : 
 iMSt a desire, which rather from his owne 
 Temper, then from the object is inflam'd : 
 Beauty is loves object ; woman lust's to gaine 
 Love, love desires ; lust onely to obtaine. 
 
 No circumstance doth beauty beautifie, 
 
 Like gracefull fashion, native comelinesse. 
 
 Nay ev'n gets pardon for deformity ; 
 
 Art cannot ought beget, but may increase ; 
 When nature had fixt beauty, perfect made, 
 Something she left for motion to adde. 
 
44 A WIFE. 
 
 But let that fashion more to modesty 
 Tend, then assurance : modesty doth set 
 The face in her just place, from passions firee, 
 'Tis both the mindes, and bodies beauty met ; 
 
 But modesty no vertue can we see ; 
 
 That is the faces onely chastity. 
 
 Where goodnesse failes, 'twixt ill and ill that stands : 
 Whence 'tis, that women though they weaker be, 
 And their desire more strong, yet on their hands 
 The chastity of men doth often lye : 
 
 Lust would more common be then any one, 
 Could it, as other sins, be done alone. 
 
 All these good parts a perfect woman make : 
 Adde love to me, they make a perfect wife : 
 Without her love, her beauty should I take, 
 As that of pictures ; dead ; that gives it life : 
 Till then her beauty like the sun doth shine 
 Mike to all ; that makes it, only mine. 
 
 And of that love, let reason father be, 
 And passion mother ; let it from the one 
 His being take, the other his degree ; 
 Selfe-love (which second loves are built upon) 
 
 Will make me (if not her) her love respect ; 
 
 No man but favours his owne worths effect. 
 
A WIFE. 45 
 
 As good and wise ; so be she fit for me, 
 That is, to ivill, and not to will, the same : 
 My wife is my adopted selfe, and she 
 As me, so what I love, to love must frame : 
 For when by manage both in one concurre, 
 Woman converts to man, not man to her. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
THE AUTHOUKS EPITAPH. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELFE. 
 
 THE span of my dates measured, here I rest, 
 That is, my body ; but my soule, his guest, 
 Is hence ascended : whither, neither time, 
 Nor faith, nor hope, but only love can clime ; 
 Where being now enlightned, she doth know 
 The truth of all men argue of below : 
 
 Onely this dust doth here in pawne remaine, 
 That, when the world dissolves, she come again. 
 
CHAEACTERS. 
 
 OR, WITTY DESCRIPTIONS OF THE PROPERTIES 
 OF SUNDRY PERSONS, 
 
 A Good Woman. 
 
 GOOD woman is a comfort, like a 
 man. She lacks of him nothing but 
 heat. Thence is her sweetnesse of 
 disposition, which meets his stoutnesse 
 more pleasingly; so wooll meets iron easier than 
 iron; and tumes resisting into embracing. Her 
 greatest learning is religion, and her thoughts are 
 on her owne sex, or on men, without casting the 
 difference. Dishonesty never comes neerer than her 
 eares, and then wonder stops it out, and saves vertue 
 the labour. She leaves the neat youth, telling his 
 lushious tales, and puts back the serving-mans put- 
 ting forward, with a frown : yet her kindnes is free 
 enough to be seen, for it hath no guilt about it : and 
 her mirth is cleare, that you may looke through it, 
 
48 CHARACTERS. 
 
 into vertue, but not beyond. She bath not behaviour 
 at a certaine, but makes it to her occasion. Shee 
 hath so much knowledge as to love it ; and if she 
 have it not at home, she will fetch it, for this some- 
 times in a pleasant discontent she dares chide her 
 sex, though she use it never the worse. She is much 
 within, and frames outward things to her mind, not 
 her mind to them. Shee weares good clothes, but 
 never better ; for shee finds no degree beyond de- 
 cencie. Shee hath a content of her owne, and so 
 seekes not an husband, but finds him. She is indeed 
 most, but not much of description, for she is direct 
 and one, and hath not the variety of ill. Now she 
 is given fresh and alive to a husband, and she doth 
 nothing more than love him, for she takes him to 
 that purpose. So his good becomes the businesse of 
 her actions, and she doth her selfe kindnesse upon 
 him. After his, her chiefest vertue is a good hus- 
 band. For shee is hee. 
 
 A Very Woman. 
 
 VERY woman, is a dow-bakt man, or 
 a she meant well towards man, but fell 
 two bowes short, strength and under- 
 standing. Her vertue is the hedge, modesty, that 
 keepes a man from climbing over into her faults. 
 
CHARACTERS. 49 
 
 Shee simpers as if shee had no teeth but lips : and 
 she divides her eyes, and keepes halfe for her selfe, 
 and gives the other to her neat youth. Being set 
 downe, she casts her face into a platforme, which 
 dureth the meale, and is taken away with the voider. 
 Her draught reacheth to good manners, not to thirst, 
 and it is a part of their mystery not to professe hunger ; 
 but Nature takes her in private, and stretcheth her 
 upon meat. She is marriageable and foureteene at 
 once ; and after she doth not live, but tarry. She 
 reads over her face every morning, and sometimes 
 blots out pale, and writes red. She thinks she is faire, 
 though many times her opinion goes alone, and she 
 loves her glasse, and the Knight of the Sun for lying. 
 Shee is hid away all but her face, and that's hang'd 
 about with toyes and devices, like the signe of a 
 taverne, to draw strangers. If shee shew more, 
 she prevents desire, and by too free giving, leaves 
 no gift. Shee may escape from the serving-man, 
 but not from the chamber-maid. She commits with 
 her eares for certaine : after that she may goe for a 
 maid, but she hath beene lyen with in her under- 
 standing. Her philosophy, is a seeming neglect of 
 those, that bee too good for her. She's a younger 
 brother for her portion, but not for her portion for 
 wit, that comes from her in a treble, which is still 
 too big for it ; yet her vanity seldome matcheth her, 
 with one of her own degree, for then shee will beget 
 
50 CHARACTERS. 
 
 another creature a begger ; and commonly, if shee 
 marry better she marries worse. She gets much by 
 the simplicity of her sutor, and for a jest, laughs at 
 him without one. Thus she dresses a husband for 
 her selfe, and after takes him for his patience, and 
 the land adjoyning, ye may see it ; in a serving-mans 
 fresh napery, and his leg steps into an unknowne 
 stocking. I need not speake of his garters, the tassell 
 shewes it selfe. If she love, she loves not the man, 
 but the beast of him. She is Salomons cruell creature, 
 and a mans walking consumption: every caudle 
 shee gives him, is a purge. Her chiefe commenda- 
 tion is, she brings a man to repentance. 
 
 Her Next Part 
 
 EE lightnesse gets her to swim at top of 
 the table, where her wrie little finger 
 bewraies carving ; her neighbors at the 
 latter end know they are welcome, and for that pur- 
 pose she quencheth her thirst. She travels to and 
 among, and so becomes a woman of good entertain- 
 ment, for all the folly in the country comes in cleane 
 linnen to visit her : she breaks to them her griefe in 
 suger cakes, and receives from their mouths in ex- 
 change, many stories that conclude to no purpose. 
 Her eldest son is like her howsoever, and that dis- 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 51 
 
 praiseth him best : her utmost drift is to turne him 
 foole, which commonly she obtaines at the yeares of 
 discretion. She takes a journey sometimes to her 
 neeces house, but never thinkes beyond London. 
 Her devotion is good clothes, they carry her to 
 church, expresse their stuffe and fashion, and are 
 silent ; if shee bee more devout, shee lifts up a certain 
 number of eyes, in stead of prayers, and takes the 
 sermon, and measures out a nap by it, just as long. 
 She sends religion afore to sixty, where she never 
 overtakes it, or drives it before her againe : her most 
 necessary instruments are a waiting genile-ivoman, 
 and a chamber-maid ; she weares her gentle-woman 
 still, but most often leaves the other in her chamber 
 window. She hath a little Jcennel in her lap, and 
 she smels the sweeter for it. The utmost reach of 
 her providence, is the fatnesse of a capon, and her 
 greatest envy, is the next gentlewomans better 
 gown. Her most commendable skill, is to make 
 her husbands fustian beare her velvet. This she 
 doth many times over, and then is delivered to old 
 age, and a chaire, where every body leaves her. 
 
52 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Dissembler* 
 
 ;S an essence needing a double definition, 
 for he is not that he appeares. Unto 
 the eve he is pleasing, unto the eare not 
 harsh, but unto the understanding intricate, and full 
 of windings : he is the prima materia, and his in- 
 tents give him forme : he dyeth his meanes and his 
 meaning into two colors, he baits craft with humility, 
 and his countenance is the picture of the present 
 disposition. He wins not by battery, but undermin- 
 ing, and his racke is smoothing. He allures, is 
 not allur'd by his affections, for they are the brokers 
 of his observation. -He knowes passion only by 
 sufferance, and resisteth by obeying. He makes 
 his time an accomptant to his memory, and of the hu- 
 mours of men weaves a net for occasion : the inqui- 
 sitor must looke thorow his judgement, for to the eye 
 only he is not visible. 
 
 A Courtier 
 
 ,0 all mens thinking is a man, and to 
 most men the finest : all things else are 
 defined by the understanding, but this 
 by the senses ; but his surest marke is, that he is to 
 
CHARACTERS. 53 
 
 be found only about princes. He smels ; and putteth 
 away much of his judgement about the situation of 
 his clothes. Hee knowes no man that is not gene- 
 rally knowne. His wit, like the marigold, openeth 
 with the sun, and therfore he riseth not before ten 
 of the clock. He puts more confidence in his words 
 than meaning, and more in his pronunciation than 
 his words. Occasion is his Cupid, and he hath but 
 one receit of making love. He followes nothing 
 but inconstancie, admires nothing but beauty, honors 
 nothing but fortune. Loves nothing. The suste- 
 nance of his discourse is newes, and his censure like 
 a shot depends upon the charging. He is not, if he 
 be out of court, but fish-like breaths destruction, if 
 out of his owne element. Neither his motion, or 
 aspect are regular, but he mooves by the upper 
 sjpheares, and is the reflection of higher substances. 
 If you find him not here, you shall in Pauls, with 
 a picke tooth in his hat, a capecloak, and a long 
 stocking. 
 
 A Golden Asse 
 
 S a young thing, whose father went to 
 the divell; he is followed like a salt 
 bitch, and limb'd by him that gets up 
 first ; his disposition is cut, and knaves rent him like 
 tenter-hooks ; hee is as blind as his mother, and 
 
54 CHARACTERS. 
 
 swallowers flatterers for friends. He is high in his 
 owne imagination, but that imagination is as a stone, 
 that is raised by violence, descends naturally. When 
 hee goes, hee looks who looks : if hee finds not good 
 store of vailers, he comes home stiffe and seer, untill 
 he be new oyled and watered by his husbandmen. 
 Wheresoever he eates he hath an officer, to warne 
 men not to talke out of his element, and his own is 
 exceeding sensible, because it is sensuall; but he 
 cannot exchange a peece of reason, though he can a 
 peece of gold. Hee is naught pluckt, for his feathers 
 are his beauty, and more then his beauty ; they are 
 his discretion, his countenance, his all. He is now 
 at an end, for he hath had the wolf of vaine-glory, 
 which he fed, untill himselfe became the food. 
 
 A Flatterer 
 
 S the shadow of a foole. He is a good 
 wood-man, for he singleth out none but 
 the wealthy. His carriage is ever of 
 the colour of his patient ; and for his sake hee will 
 halt or weare a wrie necke. Hee dispraiseth nothing 
 but poverty, and small drink, and praiseth his grace 
 of making water. He selleth himselfe, with reckon- 
 ing his great friends, and teacheth the present, how 
 to win his praises by reciting the other gifts : he is 
 
CHARACTERS. 55 
 
 ready for all iinployments, but especially before 
 dinner, for his courage and bis stomack goe together. 
 Hee will play any upon his countenance, and where 
 he cannot be admitted for a counseller, he will serve 
 as a foole. He frequents the court of wards and 
 ordinaries, and fits these guests of togce virilis, with 
 wives or whores. He entreth young men into ac- 
 quaintance and debt -books. In a word, hee is the 
 impression of the last term, and will bee so, untill the 
 comming of a new term or termer. 
 
 An ignorant Glory-hunter 
 
 S an insertion animal ; for he is the mag- 
 got of opinion, his behaviour is another 
 thing from himselfe, and is glewed, and 
 but set on. He entertaines men with repetitions, 
 and returnes them their own words. He is ignorant 
 of nothing, no not of those things, where ignorance 
 is the lesser shame. Hee gets the names of good 
 wits, and utters them for his companions. He con- 
 fesseth vices that he is guiltlesse of, if they be in 
 fashion ; and dares not salute a man in old clothes, 
 or out of fashion. There is not a publike assembly 
 without liim, and he will take any paines for an ac- 
 quaintance there. In any shew he will be one, 
 though he be but a whiffler, or a torch-bearer ; and 
 
56 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 beares downe strangers with the story of his actions. 
 He handles nothing that is not rare, and defends his 
 wardrobe, diet, and all customes, with entituling 
 their beginnings from princes, great souldiers, and 
 strange nations. He dares speake more then he 
 understands, and adventures his words without the 
 releefe of any seconds. He relates battels, and 
 skirmishes, as from an eye-witnesse, when his eyes 
 theevishly beguiled a ballad of them. In a word, to 
 make sure of admiration, he will not let himselfe 
 understand himselfe, but hopes fame and opinion 
 will be the readers of his riddles. 
 
 princes, 
 vant. I 
 
 A Timist 
 
 S a noune adjective of the present tense. 
 He hath no more of a conscience then 
 feare, and his religion is not his but the 
 He reverenceth a courtiers servants ser- 
 first his own slave, and then whosoever 
 looketh big ; when he gives hee curseth, and when 
 hee sels he worships. He reads the statutes in his 
 chamber, and weares the Bible in the streetes : he 
 never praiseth any but before themselves or friends : 
 and mislikes no great man's actions during his life. 
 His new-yeares gifts are ready at AThalomas, and 
 the sute hee meant to meditate before them. He 
 
CHARACTERS. 57 
 
 pleaseth the children of great men, and promiseth to 
 adopt them ; and his courtesie extends it selfe even 
 to the stable. He straines to talke wisely, and his 
 modesty would serve a bride. He is gravity from 
 the head to the foot ; but not from the head to the 
 heart : you may find what place he affecteth, for he 
 creeps as neere it as may be, and as passionately 
 courts it ; if at any time his hopes are affected, he 
 swelleth with them ; and they burst out too good for 
 the vessel! In a word, he danceth to the tune of 
 fortune, and studies for nothing but to keepe time. 
 
 An Amorist 
 
 S a man blasted or planet-strooken, and 
 is the dogge that leads blind Cupid; 
 when he is at the best, his fashion ex- 
 ceeds the worth of his weight. He is never without 
 verses and musk comfects, and sighs to the hazzard 
 of his buttons ; his eyes are all white, either to weare 
 the livery of his mistris complexion, or to keep 
 Cupid from hitting the blacke. He fights with pas- 
 sion, and loseth much of his bloud by his weapon ; 
 dreames, thence his palenesse. His armes are care- 
 lesly used, as if their best use was nothing but 
 embracements. He is Untrust, unbutton'd and un- 
 gartered, not out of carelesnesse, but care ; Ins far- 
 
58 CHARACTERS. 
 
 thest end being but going to bed. Some times he 
 wraps his petition in neatnesse, but he goeth not 
 alone ; for then he makes some other quality mora- 
 lize his affection, and his trimnesse is the grace of 
 that grace. Her favour lifts him up, as the sun 
 moisture ; when she disfavours, unable to hold that 
 happinesse, it falles downe in teares ; his fingers are 
 his orators, and hee expresseth much of himselfe upon 
 some instrument. He answers not, or not to the 
 purpose ; and no marvell, for he is not at home. Hee 
 scotcheth time with dancing with his mistris, taking 
 up of her glove, and wearing her feather ; he is 
 confin'd to her colour, and dares not passe out of the 
 circuit of her memory. His imagination is a foole, 
 and it goeth in a pyde-coat of red and white : shortly, 
 he is translated out of a man into folly ; his imagina- 
 tion is the glasse of lust, and himselfe the traitor to 
 his owne discretion. 
 
 An Affectate Traveller 
 
 S a speaking fashion; hee hath taken 
 paines to be ridiculous, and hath seen 
 more then he hath perceived. His attire 
 speakes French or Italian, and his gate cries, Behold 
 me. He censures all things by countenances, and 
 shrugs, and speakes his own language with shame 
 and lisping: he will choake, rather than confesse 
 beere good drinke ; and his pick-tooth is a maine 
 
CHARACTERS. 59 
 
 part of his behaviour. He chuseth rather to be 
 counted a spie, then not & politician : and maintaines 
 his reputation by naming great men familiarly. 
 Hee chuseth rather to tell lies, then not wonders, 
 and talkes with men singly: his discourse sounds 
 big, but meanes nothing : and his boy is bound to 
 admire him howsoever. He comes still from great 
 personages, but goes with mean. Hee takes occa- 
 sion to shew jewels given him in regard of his ver- 
 tue, that were bought in S. Martines : and not long- 
 after having with a mountbanJcs method, pronounced 
 them worth thousands, impawneth them for a few 
 shillings. Upon festival! dayes he goes to court, and 
 salutes without resaluting : at night in an ordinary 
 he canvasseth the businesse in hand, and seems as 
 conversant with all intents and plots as if hee begot 
 them. His extraordinary account of men is, first to 
 tell them the ends of all matters of consequence, and 
 then to borrow money of them ; he offereth courtesies, 
 to shew them, rather then himselfe, humble. He 
 disdaines all things above his reach, and preferreth 
 all countries before his owne. He imputeth his 
 want and poverty to the ignorance of the time, not 
 his owne unworthinesse : and concludes his discourse 
 with halfe a period, or a word, and leaves the rest 
 to imagination. In a word, his religion is fashion, 
 and both body and soule are governed by fame : he 
 loves most voyces above truth. 
 
60 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Wise man 
 
 S the truth of the true definition of man, 
 that is, a reasonable creature. His dis- 
 position alters, he alters not. He hides 
 himselfe with the attire of the vulgar ; and in indif- 
 ferent things is content to be governed by them. 
 He lookes according to nature, so goes his behaviour. 
 His mind enjoyes a continuall smoothnesse ; so 
 commeth it, that his consideration is alwaies at home. 
 He endures the faults of all men silently, except his 
 friends, and to them hee is the mirrour of their 
 actions ; by this meanes, his peace commeth not 
 from fortune, but himselfe. He is cunning in men, 
 not to surprize, but keep his own, and beates off their 
 ill affected humours, no otherwise than if they were 
 flyes. He chuseth not friends by the subsidy-book, 
 and is not luxurious after acquaintance. He main- 
 taines the strength of his body, not by delicates, but 
 temperance : and his mind, by giving itpreheminence 
 over his body. He understands things, not by their 
 forme, but qualities ; and his comparisons intend not 
 to excuse but to provoke him higher. Hee is not 
 subject to casualities ; for fortune hath nothing to 
 doe with the mind, except those drowned in the body : 
 but he hath divided his soule from the case of his 
 soule, whose weaknes he assists no otherwise then 
 
CHARACTERS. 61 
 
 commiseratively, not that it is his, but that it is. He 
 is thus, and will bee thus : and lives subject neither 
 to time nor his frailties, the servant of vertue, and 
 by vertue, the friend of the highest. 
 
 A Noble Spirit 
 
 iATH surveied and fortified his disposition, 
 and converts all occurrents into experi- 
 ence, between which experience and his 
 reason, there is mariage ; the issue are his actions. 
 He circuits his intents, and seeth the end before he 
 shoot. Men are the instruments of his art, and there 
 is no man without his use: occasion incites him, 
 none enticeth him : and he mooves by affection, not 
 for affection; he loves glory, scornes shame, and 
 governeth and obeyeth with one countenance ; for it 
 comes from one consideration. He cals not the 
 variety of the world chances, for his meditation hath 
 travelled over them ; and his eye mounted upon his 
 understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He 
 covers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth 
 these delicacies by his body, but teacheth it, since it 
 is not able to defend its own imbecility, to shew or 
 suffer. He licenceth not his weaknesse, to weare 
 fate, but knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, 
 he is the steeresman of his owne destiny. Truth 
 
62 CHARACTERS. 
 
 is the goddesse, and lie takes paines to get her, not 
 to looke like her. Hee knowes the condition of the 
 world, that he must act one thing like another, and 
 then another. To these he carries his desires, and 
 not his desires him, and stickes not fast by the way 
 (for that contentment is repentance) but knowing 
 the circle of all courses, of all intents, of all things, 
 to have but one center or period, without all distrac- 
 tion, he hasteth thither and ends there, as his true 
 and naturall element. He doth not comtemne for- 
 tune, but not confesse her. He is no gamester of 
 the world (which onely complaine and praise her) 
 but being only sensible of the honesty of actions, 
 contemnes a particular profit as the excrement or 
 scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose 
 clearenesse directs their steps in a regular motion : 
 when he is more particular, he is the wise mans 
 friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine 
 of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but 
 with him : and he feeles age more by the strength 
 of his soule, then the weaknes of his body ; thus 
 feeles he no paine, but esteemes all such things as 
 friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and helpe 
 him out of prison. 
 
CHARACTERS. 63 
 
 An Olde man 
 
 S a thing that hath heen a man in his 
 daies. Old men are to he known Wind- 
 folded : for their talke is as terrible as 
 their resemblance. Thej praise their own times as 
 vehemently, as if they would sell them. They be- 
 come wrinckled with frowning and facing youth ; they 
 admire their old customes, even to the eating of red 
 herring, and going wetshod. They call the thumbe 
 under the girdle, gravitie; and because they can 
 hardly smell at all, their posies are under their gir- 
 dles. They count it an ornament of speech, to close 
 the period with a cough ; and it is venerable (they 
 say) to spend time in wiping their driveled beards. 
 Their discourse is unanswerable, by reason of their 
 obstinacy : their speech is much, though little to the 
 purpose. Truths and lyes passe with an equall af- 
 firmation : for their memories severall is wonne into 
 one receptacle, ami so they come out with one sense. 
 They teach their servants their duties with as much 
 scorne and tyranny, as some people teach their dogs 
 to fetch. Their envy is one of their diseases. They 
 put off and on their clothes, with that certainty, as 
 if they knew their heads would not direct them, and 
 therefore custome should. They take a pride in 
 halting and going stiffely, and therefore their staves 
 
64 CHARACTERS. 
 
 are carved and tipped : they trust their attire with 
 much of their gravity ; and they dare not goe without 
 a gowne in summer. Their hats are brushed, to draw 
 mens eyes off from their faces ; but of all, their pom- 
 anders are worne to most purpose, for their putrified 
 breath ought not to want either a smell to defend, 
 or a dog to excuse. 
 
 A Country Gentleman 
 
 ;S a thing, out of whose corruption the 
 generation of a justice of peace is pro- 
 duced. He speakes statutes and hus- 
 bandry well enough, to make his neighbors thinke 
 him a wise man ; he is well skilled in arithmetick or 
 rates : and hath eloquence enough to save his two- 
 pence. His conversation amongst his tenants is des- 
 perate ; but amongst his equals full of doubt. His 
 travell is seldome farther then the next market towne, 
 and his inquisition is about the price of corne : when 
 he travelleth, he will goe ten mile out of the way to a 
 cousins house of his to save charges ; and rewards the 
 servants by taking them by the hand when hee de- 
 parts. Nothing under a subpoena can draw him to 
 London : and when he is there, he sticks fast upon 
 every object, casts his eyes away upon gazing, and 
 becomes the prey of every cutpurse. When he comes 
 home, those wonders serve him for his holy-day 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 65 
 
 talke. If he goe to Court, it is in yellow stockings ; 
 and if it be in winter, in a slight tafety cloake, and 
 pumps and pant ones. He is chained that wooes the 
 usher for his comming into the presence, where he 
 becomes troublesome with the ill managing of his 
 rapier, and the wearing of his girdle of one fashion, 
 and the hangers of another. By this time he hath 
 learned to kisse his hand, and make a legge both 
 together, and the names of Lords and Councellors ; 
 hee hath thus much toward entertainment and 
 courtesie, but of the last he makes more use ; for by 
 the recitall of my Lord, he conjures his poore countri- 
 men. But this is not his element, he must home 
 againe, being like a Dor, that ends his flight in a 
 dunghill. 
 
 A fine Gentleman 
 
 S the Cynamon tree, whose bark is more 
 worth then his body. He hath read the 
 Booke of good manners, and by this time 
 each of his limbs may read it. He alloweth of no 
 judge, but the eye ; painting, boulstering, and bom- 
 basting are his orators : by these also he proves his 
 industry : for hee hath purchased legs, haire, beauty, 
 and straightnesse, more than nature left him. He 
 unlockes maiden-heads with his language, and speaks 
 EupJines, not so gracefully as heartily. His discourse 
 
 F 
 
66 CHARACTERS. 
 
 makes not his behaviour, but hee buyes it at Court, 
 as countreymen their clothes in Birchin-lane. He is 
 somewhat like the Salamander, and lives in the 
 flame of love, which paines he expresseth comically : 
 and nothing grieves him so much, as the want of a 
 poet to make an issue in his love ; yet he sighes 
 sweetly, and speakes lamentably : for his breath is 
 perfumed, and his words are wind. He is best in 
 season at Christmas ; for the boares head and reveller 
 come together ; his hopes are laden in his quality : 
 and lest fidlers should take him unprovided, hee 
 weares pumps in his pocket : and lest he should take 
 fidlers unprovided, he whistles his owne galliard. He 
 is a calender of ten yeares, and mariage rusts him. 
 Afterwards he maintaines himselfe an implement of 
 houshold, by carving and ushering. For all this, 
 he is judicial! only in taylors and barbers, but his 
 opinion is ever ready, and ever idle. If you will 
 know more of his acts, the brokers shop is the wit- 
 nesse of his valour, where lyes wounded, dead, rent, 
 and out of fashion, many a spruce sute, overthrown 
 by his fantasticknesse. 
 
CHARACTERS. 67 
 
 An Elder Brother 
 
 S a creature borne to the best advantage 
 of things without him ; that hath the 
 start at the beginning, but loiters it 
 away before the ending. He lookes like his land, as 
 heavily and durtily, as stubbornly. * He dares do any 
 thing but fight ; and feares nothing but his fathers 
 life, and minority. The first thing he makes known, 
 is his estate ; and the load-stone that drawes him is 
 the upper end of the table. He wooeth by a parti- 
 cular, and his strongest argument is the jointure. 
 His observation is all about the fashion, and hee 
 commends partlets for a rare device. He speakes 
 no language, but smels of dogs, or hawks ; and his 
 ambition flies justice-height. He loves to be com- 
 mended ; and he will goe into the kitchin, but heele 
 have it. He loves glorie ; but is so lazy, as he is 
 content with flattery. He speakes most of the 
 precedency of age, and protests fortune the greatest 
 vertue. He summoneth the old servants, and tels 
 what strange acts he will doe when he raignes. 
 He verily beleeves house -keepers the best common- 
 wealths men ; and therefore studies baking, brewing, 
 greasing, and such as the limbes of goodnesse. He 
 judgeth it no small signe of wisdome to talke much ; 
 his tongue therefore goes continually his errand, 
 
68 CHARACTERS. 
 
 but never speeds. If his understanding were not 
 honester then his will, no man should keepe good 
 conceit by him ; for hee thinkes it no theft, to sell 
 all he can to opinion. His pedegree and his fathers 
 seale-ring, are the stilts of his crazed disposition. 
 He had rather keepe company with the dregs of men, 
 then not to be the best man. His insinuation is the 
 inviting of men to his house; and he thinks it a 
 great modesty to comprehend his cheere under a 
 peece of mutton and a rabbet ; if he by this time bee 
 not knowne, he will goe home againe : for he can 
 no more abide to have himselfe concealed, then his 
 land ; yet he is (as you see) good for nothing, except 
 to make a stallion to maintaine the race. 
 
 A Braggadochio Welshman 
 
 S the oyster that the pearle is in, for a 
 man may be pickt out of him. He hath 
 the abilities of the mind mpotentia, and 
 actu nothing but boldnesse. His clothes are in 
 fashion before his body : and hee accounts boldnesse 
 the chiefest vertue ; above all men hee loves an 
 herrald, and speaks pedegrees naturally. He ac- 
 counts none well descended, that call him not cousin ; 
 and preferres Owen Glendower before any of the 
 nine worthies. The first note of his familiarity is 
 
CHARACTERS. 69 
 
 the confession of his valour; and so he prevents 
 quarels. He voucheth Welch, a pure and unconquered 
 language, and courts ladies with the story of their 
 chronicle. To conclude, he is precious in his owne 
 conceit, and upon S. Davies day without comparison. 
 
 A Pedant. 
 
 fEE treades in a rule, and one hand scannes 
 verses, and the other holds his scepter. 
 Hee dares not thinke a thought, that the 
 nominative case governs not the verbe ; and he never 
 had meaning in his life, for he travelled only for 
 words. His ambition is criticisme, and his example 
 Tully. Hee values phrases, and elects them by the 
 sound, and the eight parts of speech are his servants. 
 To bee briefe, he is a heterodite, for hee wants the 
 plurall number, having onely the single quality of 
 words. 
 
 A Serving-man 
 
 S a creature, which though he he not 
 drunk, yet is not his owne man. He 
 tels without asking who ownes him, by 
 the superscription of his livery. His life is for ease 
 and leasure, much about gentleman-like. His wealth 
 enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him 
 
70 CHARACTERS. 
 
 happy, if he were sure of it ; for he hath little, and 
 wants nothing, he values himselfe higher or lower, 
 as his master is. Hee hates or loves the men, as 
 his master doth the master. He is commonly proud 
 of his masters horses, or his Christmas : hee sleepes 
 when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the clocke 
 of his stomack is set to go an houre after his. He 
 seldome breakes his own clothes. He never drinks 
 but double, for he must be pledg'd ; nor commonly 
 without some short sentence nothing to the purpose : 
 and seldome abstaines till he comes to a thirst. His 
 discretion is to bee carefull for his masters credit, 
 and his sufficiency to marshall dishes at a table, and 
 to carve well. His neatnesse consists much in his 
 haire and outward linnen. His courting language, 
 visible bawdy jests ; and against his matter faile, he 
 is alway ready furnished with a song. His inherit- 
 ance is the chamber-maid, but often purchaseth his 
 masters daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for 
 want of a better; he alwayes cuckolds himselfe, 
 and never maries but his owne widdow. His master 
 being appeased, he becomes a retainer, and entailes 
 himselfe and his posterity upon his heire-males for 
 ever. 
 
CHARACTERS. 71 
 
 An Host 
 
 ;S the kernell of a signe : or the signe is 
 the shell, and mine host is the snaile. 
 He consists of double beere and fellow- 
 ship, and his vices are the bawds of his thirst. He 
 entertaines humbly, and gives his guests power, as 
 well of himselfe as house. He answers all mens 
 expectations to his power, save in the reckoning: 
 and hath gotten the trieke of greatnesse, to lay all 
 mislikes upon his servants. His wife is the cum- 
 min seed of his dove-house ; and to be a good guest 
 is a warrant for her liberty. Hee traffiques for 
 guests by mens friends, friends friends, and is sensible 
 onely of his purse. In a word, hee is none of his 
 owne : for he neither eats, drinks, or thinks, but at 
 other mens charges and appointments. 
 
 An Ostler 
 
 i.S a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his 
 horse, reasonably himselfe. He consists 
 of travellers, though he be none himselfe. 
 His highest ambition is to be host, and the invention 
 of his signe is his greatest wit : for the expressing 
 whereof hee sends away the painters for want of 
 
72 CHARACTERS. 
 
 understanding. He hath certaine charmes for a 
 horse mouth, that hee should not eat his hay : and 
 behind your back, he will cozen your horse to his 
 face. His curry-combe is one of his best parts, for 
 he expresseth much by the gingling : and his mane- 
 combe is a spinners card turn'd out of service. Hee 
 puffes and blowes over your horse, to the hazard of a 
 double jugge ; and leaves much of the dressing to the 
 proverbe of Muli mutuo scabient, One horse rubs 
 another. Hee comes to him that cals loudest, not 
 first; hee takes a broken head patiently, but the 
 knave he feeles not. His utmost honesty is good fel- 
 lowship, and he speakes Northerne, what country- 
 man soever. He hath a pension of ale from the 
 next smith and sadler for intelligence : he loves to 
 see you ride, and holds your stirrop in expectation. 
 
 A good Wife 
 
 S a mans best moveable, a scien incor- 
 porate with the stocke, bringing sweet 
 fruit; one that to her husband is more 
 then a friend, lesse than trouble: an equall with 
 him in the yoke. Calamities and troubles she shares 
 alike, nothing pleaseth her that doth not him. She 
 is relative in all ; and he without her, but halfe 
 himself. She is his absent hands, eyes, eares, and 
 
CHARACTERS. 73 
 
 mouth : his present and absent all. She frames her 
 nature unto his howsoever : the hiacinth followes not 
 the sun more willingly. Stubbornnesse and ob- 
 stinacy are hearbs that grow not in her garden. 
 She leaves tattling to the gossips of the town, and 
 is more seene then heard. Her houshold is her 
 charge ; her care to that, makes her seldom non 
 resident. Pier pride is but to be cleanly, and her 
 thrift not to be prodigall. By her discretion she hath 
 children, not wantons ; a husband without her, is a 
 misery in mans apparel : none but she hath an aged 
 husband, to whom she is both a staffe and a chaire. 
 To conclude, shee is both wise and religious, which 
 makes her all this. 
 
 A Melancholy Man 
 
 S a strayer from the drove : one that 
 nature made sociable, because shee made 
 him man, and a crazed disposition hath 
 altered. Impleasing to all, as all to him; strag- 
 gling thoughts are his content, they make him 
 dreame waking, there's his pleasure. His imagina- 
 tion is never idle, it keeps his mind in a continuall 
 motion, as the poise the clocke: he winds up his 
 thoughts often, and as often unwinds them ; Pene- 
 lopes web thrives faster. He'le seldome be found 
 without the shade of some grove, in whose bottome 
 
74 CHARACTERS. 
 
 a river dwels. Hee carries a cloud in his face, 
 never faire weather: his outside is framed to his 
 inside, in that hee keepes a decorum, both unseemely. 
 Speake to him ; he heares with his eyes, eares fol- 
 low his mind, and that's not at leysure. He thinkes 
 businesse, but never does any : he is all contempla- 
 tion, no action. He hewes and fashions his thoughts, 
 as if he meant them to some purpose ; but they 
 prove unprofitable, as a peece of wrought timber to 
 no use. His spirits, and the sunne are enemies ; 
 the sunne bright and warme, his humour blacke and 
 cold : variety of foolish apparitions people his head, 
 they suffer him not to breathe, according to the ne- 
 cessities of nature; which makes him sup up a 
 draught of as much aire at once, as would serve at 
 thrice. He denies nature her due in sleep, and 
 over-paies her with watchfulnesse : nothing pleaseth 
 him long, but that which pleaseth his owne fantasies : 
 they are the consuming evils, and evill consump- 
 tions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man 
 onely in shew, but comes short of the better part ; a 
 whole reasonable soule, which is mans chiefe pre- 
 eminence, and sole marke from creatures sensible. 
 
CHARACTERS. 75 
 
 A Saylor 
 
 S a pitcht peece of reason calckt and 
 tackled, and onely studied to dispute 
 with tempests. He is part of his own 
 provision, for he lives ever pickled. A fore-wind is 
 the substance of his creed; and fresh water the 
 burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, 
 for he is ever climing : out of which as naturally he 
 feares ; for he is ever flying : time and he are every 
 where, ever contending who shall arrive first : he is 
 well winded, for he tires the day, and out-runs 
 darknesse. His life is like a hawkes, the best part 
 mewed ; and if he live till three coates, is a master. 
 Hee sees Gods wonders in the deep: but so, as 
 rather they appeare his play-fellowes, then stirrers of 
 his zeale : nothing but hunger and hard rockes can 
 convert him, and then but his upper decke neither ; 
 for his hold neither feares nor hopes. His sleepes are 
 but repreevals of his dangers, and when he wakes, 
 'tis but next stage to dying. His wisdome is the 
 coldest part about him, for it ever points to the 
 North : and it lies lowest, which makes his valour 
 every tide ore-flow it. In a storme 'tis disputable, 
 whether the noise be more his, or the elements, and 
 which will first leave scolding ; on which side of the 
 ship hee may bee saved best, whether his faith bee 
 
76 CHARACTERS. 
 
 starre-boord faith, or lar-boord ; or the helme at that 
 time not all his hope of heaven : his keele is the 
 embleme of his conscience, till it be split he never 
 repents, then no farther than the land allowes him, 
 and his language is a new confusion, and all his 
 thoughts new nations : his body and his ship are both 
 one burthen, nor is it knowne who stowes most wine, 
 or rowles most, only the ship is guided, he has no 
 sterne : a barnacle and hee are bred together, both 
 of one nature, and 'tis fear'd one reason : upon any 
 but a wooden horse he cannot ride, and if the wind 
 blow against him, he dare not : he swarves up to his 
 seat as to a saile-yard, and cannot sit unlesse he beare 
 a flag-staffe : if ever he be broken to the saddle, 'tis 
 but a voyage still, for he mis-takes the bridle for a 
 bowlin, and is ever turning his horse-taile : he can 
 pray, but 'tis by rote, not faith, and when he would 
 hee dares not, for his brackish beleefe hath made that 
 ominous. A rock or a quicke-sand plucks him be- 
 fore hee bee ripe, else he is gathered to his friends 
 at Wapping. 
 
 A Souldier 
 
 \ S the husband-man of valour, his sword 
 is his plough, which Honour and Aqua- 
 vitce, two fiery metald jades, are ever 
 drawing. A younger brother best becomes armes, 
 
CHARACTERS. 77 
 
 an elder, the thankes for them ; every heat makes 
 him a harvest ; and discontents abroad are his 
 sowers : he is actively his princes, hut passively his 
 angers servant. He is often a desirer of learning, 
 which once arrived at, proves his strongest armour : 
 he is a lover at all points ; and a true defender of 
 the faith of women : more wealth than makes him 
 seeme a handsome foe, lightly he covets not, lesse 
 is below him: he never truly wants, but in much 
 having, for then his ease and lechery afflict him : 
 the word peace, though in prayer, makes him start, 
 and Grod hee best considers by his power : hunger 
 and cold ranke in the same file with him, and hold 
 him to a man : his honour else, and the desire of 
 doing things beyond him, would blow him greater 
 than the sonnes of Anack. His religion is, com- 
 monly, as his cause is (doubtfull) and that the best 
 devotion keeps best quarter : he seldome sees gray 
 hayres, some none at all, for where the sword failes, 
 there the flesh gives fire : in charity, he goes beyond 
 the clergy, for hee' loves his greatest enemy best, 
 much drinking. He seemes a full student, for hee is 
 a great desirer of controversies, he argues sharply, 
 and carries his conclusion in his scabbard ; in the 
 first refining of man -kind tins was the gold, his 
 actions are his ammell. His alay (for else you can- 
 not worke him perfectly) continuall duties, heavy 
 and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as cold 
 
78 CHARACTERS. 
 
 diseases. No time to argue, but to execute. Line 
 him with these, and linke him to his squadrons, and 
 hee appeares a most rich chaine for princes. 
 
 A Taylor 
 
 S a creature made up out of threds, that 
 were pared off from Adam, when hee 
 was rough-cast. The end of his being 
 differeth from that of others, and is not to serve 
 God, but to cover sinne. Other mens pride is his 
 best patron, and their negligence, a maine passage 
 to his profit. He is a thing of more then ordinary 
 judgement : for by vertue of that, hee buyeth land, 
 buildeth houses, and raiseth the low set roofe of his 
 crosse legged fortune. His actions are strong en- 
 counters, and for their notoriousnesse alwaies upon 
 record. It is neither Amadis de Guide, nor the 
 Knight of the Sunne, that is able to resist them. A 
 ten groats fee setteth them on foot, and a brace of 
 officers bringeth them to execution. He handleth 
 the Spanish pike, to the hazzard of many poore 
 Egyptian vermins ; and in shew of his valour, scorn- 
 eth a greater gantlet, then will cover the top of his 
 midle finger. Of all weapons he most affecteth the 
 long bill; and this he will manage to the great 
 prejudice of a customers estate. His spirit notwith- 
 
CHARACTERS. 79 
 
 standing is not so much as to make you thinke him 
 man; like a true mongrell, he neither bites nor 
 barks, but when your back is towards him. His 
 heart is a lumpe of congealed snow : Prometheus was 
 asleep while it was making. Hee differeth altogether 
 from God; for with him the best peeces are still 
 marked out for damnation, and without hope of re- 
 covery shall be cast down into hell. He is partly an 
 alchymist ; for hee extracteth his owne apparell out 
 of other mens clothes ; and when occasion serveth, 
 making a brokers shop his alembicke ; can turne 
 your silkes into gold, and having furnished his ne- 
 cessities, after a month or two, if he be urged unto it, 
 reduce them again to their proper substance. He is 
 in part likewise an arithmetician ; cunning enough 
 for multiplication and addition, but cannot abide 
 substraction : Summa totalis, is the language of his 
 Canaan; and usque ad ultimum quadrantem, the 
 period of all his charity. For any skill in geometry, 
 I dare not commend liim ; for hee could never yet 
 find out the dimensi6ns of his owne conscience : not- 
 withstanding he hath many bottomes, it seemeth 
 this is alwaies bottomlesse. He is double yarded, 
 and yet his female complaineth of want of measure. 
 And so with a Libera nos a malo, I leave you; 
 promising to amend whatsoever is amisse, at his next 
 setting. 
 
80 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Puritane 
 
 S a diseas'd peece of Apocrypha : bind him 
 to the Bible, and he corrupts the whole 
 text : ignorance and fat feed, are his 
 founders; his nurses, railing, rabbies, and round 
 breeches : his life is but a borrowed blast of wind ; 
 for betweene two religions, as betweene two doores, 
 he is ever whistling. Truly whose child he is, is yet 
 unknowne ; for willingly his faith allowes no father : 
 onely thus far his pedegree is found, Bragger and he 
 flourisht about a time first ; his fiery zeale keepes 
 him continually costive, which withers him into his 
 own translation, and till he eat a schooleman, he is 
 hide-bound ; he ever prayes against non residents, 
 but is himselfe the greatest discontinuer, for he never 
 keepes neere his text: any thing that the law 
 allowes, but marriage, and March beere, hee mur- 
 mures at; what it disallowes and holds dangerous, 
 makes him a discipline : where the gate stands open, 
 hee is ever seeking a stile : and where his learning 
 ought to climb, he creeps through : give him ad- 
 vice, you run into traditions, and urge a modest 
 course, he cryes out councels. His greatest care is 
 to contemne obedience, his last care to serve God 
 handsomely and cleanly. Hee is now become so 
 crosse a kind of teaching, that should the Church 
 
CHARACTERS. 81 
 
 enjoyne cleane shirts, hee were lowsie : more sense 
 then single praiers is not his; nor more in those, 
 then still the same petitions : from which he either 
 feares a learned faith, or doubts God understands 
 not at first hearing. Shew him a ring, hee runs 
 backe like a beare; and hates square dealing as 
 allied to caps : a paire of organs blow him out o'th 
 parish, and are the only glister-pipes to coole him. 
 Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, 
 for his arguing is but the efficacy of his eating : 
 good bits he holds breed good positions, and the 
 Pope hee best concludes against, in plum-broth. 
 He is often drunke, but not as we are, temporally, 
 nor can his sleepe then cure him, for the fumes of 
 his ambition make his very soule reele, and that 
 small beere that should aEay him (silence) keepes 
 him more surfeited, and makes his heat breake out in 
 private houses : women and lawyers are his best 
 disciples, the one next fruit, longs for forbidden 
 doctrine, the other to maintaine forbidden titles, both 
 which he sowes amongst them. Honest he dare not 
 be, for that loves order : yet if he can bee brought 
 to ceremonie, and made but master of it, he is con- 
 verted. 
 
82 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Whoore 
 
 S a high-way to the Divell, hee that lookes 
 upon her with desire, begins his voyage : 
 hee that staies to talke with her, mends his 
 pace, and he who enjoyes her, is at his journies end : 
 her body is the tilted lees of pleasure, dasht over 
 with a little decking to hold colour ; tast her, she's 
 dead, and falls upon the pallate ; the sins of other 
 women shew in landscip, far off and full of shadow, 
 hers in statue, neere hand, and bigger in the life : 
 she prickes betimes, for her stocke is a white thorne, 
 which cut and grafted on, shee growes a medler : 
 her trade is opposite to any other, for shee sets up 
 without credit, and too much custome breakes her ; 
 the money that she gets is like a traitors, given only 
 to corrupt her; and what shee gets, serves but to 
 pay diseases. She is ever moor'd in sinne, and ever 
 mending ; and after thirty, she is the chirurgions 
 creature : shame and repentance are two strangers 
 to her, and only in an hospitall acquainted. She 
 lives a reprobate, like Cain, still branded, finding no 
 habitation but her feares, and flies the face of justice 
 like a felon. The first yeere of her trade she is an 
 eyesse, scratches and cryes to draw on more affection : 
 the second a soare : the third a ramage whoore : the 
 fourth and fiffc, she's an intermewer, preies for her 
 
CHARACTERS. 83 
 
 selfe, and ruffles all she reaches ; from thence to ten 
 she bears the name of white whoore, and then her 
 bloud forsakes her with salt rheumes, and now she 
 has mewed three coats ; now shee growes weary and 
 diseas'd together, favours her wing, checks little, 
 but lies for it, bathes for her health, and scowres to 
 keepe her coole, jet still she takes in stones, shee 
 fires her selfe else : the next remove is haggard, still 
 more cunning ; and if my art deceive me not, more 
 crazie. All cares and cures are doubled now upon 
 her, and line her perch, or now she mewes her 
 pounces, at all these yeares she flies at fooles and 
 kils too : the next is bussard bawd, and there I leave 
 her. 
 
 A very Whore 
 
 ;S a woman. Shee enquires out all the 
 great meetings, which are medicines for 
 her itching. Shee kisseth open-mouth'd, 
 and spits in the palmes of her hands to make them 
 moist. Her eyes are like free-hooters, living upon 
 the spoile of stragglers ; and shee baits her desires 
 with a million of prostitute countenances and entice- 
 ments ; in the light she listneth to parlies : but in 
 the darke shee understandeth signes best. Shee 
 will sell her smocke for cuffes, and so her shooes be 
 fine, shee cares not though her stockings want feet. 
 
84 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Her modesty is curiositie, and her smell is one of 
 her best ornaments. Shee passeth not a span bredth. 
 And to have done, she is the cook and the meat, 
 dressing her selfe all day, to be tasted with the 
 better appetite at night. 
 
 A meere Common Lawyer 
 
 S the best shadow to make a discreet one 
 shew the fairer. Hee is a materia prima 
 informed by reports, actuated by statutes, 
 and hath his motion by the favorable intelligence 
 of the court. His law is alwayes furnisht with a 
 commission to arraigne his conscience: but upon 
 judgement given, he usually sets it at large. Hee 
 thinks no language worth knowing but his Barra- 
 gouin. Onely for that point he hath beene a long- 
 time at warres with Priscian for a northerne province. 
 He imagines that by super excellency his profession 
 onely is learning, and that it's a prophanation of the 
 temple to his Themis dedicated, if any of the liberall 
 arts be there admitted to offer strange incense to her. 
 For indeed he is all for mony. Seven or eight 
 yeares squires him out, some of his nation lesse 
 standing : and ever since the night of his call, he 
 forgot much what he was at dinner. The next 
 morning his man (in actua or potentia) injoyes his 
 
CHARACTERS. 85 
 
 pickadels. His landresse is then shrewdly troubled 
 in fitting him a ruffe ; his perpetuall badge. His 
 love-letters of the last yeare of his gentlemanship 
 are stuft with discontinuances, remitters, and uncore 
 prists : but now being enabled to speake in proper 
 person, hee talkes of a French-hood, in stead of a 
 joynture, wages his law, and joynes issue. Then 
 he begins to sticke his letters in his ground cham- 
 ber-window; that so the superscription may make 
 his squire-ship transparent. His herauldry gives 
 him place before the minister, because the law was 
 before the gospell. Next tearme he walkes his 
 hoopsleeve gowne to the hall ; there it proclaimes 
 him. He feeds fat in the reading, and till it chances 
 to his turne, dislikes no house order so much, as 
 that the month is so contracted to a fortnight. 
 'Mongst his countrey neighbours, he arrogates as 
 much honour for being reader of an Inne of Chancery, 
 as if it had beene of his own house. For they, poore 
 soules, take law and conscience, Court and Chancery 
 for all one. He learn' d to frame his cases from 
 putting riddles, and imitating Merlins prophecies, 
 and to set all the crosse-row together by the eares. 
 Yet his whole law is not able to decide Lucans one old 
 controversie 'twixt Tau and Sigma. He accounts 
 no man of his cap and coat idle, but who trots' not 
 the circuit. Hee affects no life or quality for it selfe, 
 but for gaine ; and that at least, to the stating him 
 
86 CHARACTERS. 
 
 in a justice of peace-ship, which is the first quick - 
 ning soule superadded to the elementary and inani- 
 mate forme of his n ew title . His tearmes are his wives 
 vacations. Yet she then may usurpe divers court- 
 daies, and hath her returnes in mensem, for writs of 
 entry : often shorter. His vacations are her termers. 
 But in assise time (the circuit being long) he may 
 have a tryall at home against him by nisiprius. No 
 way to heaven he thinkes, so wise, as through West- 
 minster Hall ; and his clarkes commonly through it 
 visit both heaven and hell . Yet then hee oft forgets his 
 journeyes end, although hee looke on the Starr e- 
 Chamber. Neither is he wholly destitute of the 
 arts. Grammar hee hath enough to make termina- 
 tion of those words which his authority hath endeni- 
 zon'd. Rhetoricke some ; but so little, that its thought 
 a concealement. Logicke enough to wrangle. Arith- 
 meticke enough for the ordinals of his yeare books : 
 and number-roles : but he goes not to multiplica- 
 tion ; there's a statute against it. So much geome- 
 trie, that he can advise in Sbperambulationefacienda, 
 or a rationalibus divisis. In astronomy and astro- 
 logy he is so far seene, that by the Dominicall letter, 
 he knowes the holy dayes, and finds by calculation 
 that Michaelmas terme will be long and dirty. Marry 
 hee knowes so much in musicke, that he affects only 
 the most and cunningest discords ; rarely a perfect 
 concord, especially song, except in fine. His skill 
 
CHARACTERS. 87 
 
 in perspective endeavors much to deceive the eye of 
 the law, and gives many false colours. He is 
 specially practised in necromancy, (such a kind as is 
 out of the statute of Primo) by raising many dead 
 questions. What sufficiency he hath in criticisme, 
 the foule copies of his speciall pleas will tell you. 
 
 Many of the same coat, which are much to be 
 honoured, partake of divers of his indifferent qualities : 
 but so, that discretion, vertue, and sometimes other 
 good learning, concurring and distinguishing orna- 
 ments to them, make them as a foyle to set their 
 worth on. 
 
 A meere Scholer. 
 
 MEERE scholer is an intelligible asse : 
 or a silly fellow in blacke, that speaks 
 sentences more familiarly than sense. 
 The antiquity of his University is his creed, and the 
 excellency of his Colledge (though but for a match 
 at foot-ball) an article of his faith : he speakes Latin 
 better then his mother-tongue ; and is a stranger in 
 no part of the world, but his owne countrey : he do's 
 usually tell great stories of himselfe to small purpose, 
 for they are commonly ridiculous, be they true or 
 false : his ambition is, that he either is or shall be a 
 graduate : but if ever he get a fellowship, he has 
 then no fellow. In spight of all logicke he dare 
 
88 CHARACTERS. 
 
 sweare and maintaine it, that a cuckold and a 
 townes-man are termini eonvertibiles, though his 
 mothers husband be an alderman: he was never 
 begotten (as it seems) without much wrangling ; for 
 his whole life is spent in pro and contra : his tongue 
 goes alwaies before his wit, like gentleman-usher, 
 but somewhat faster. That he is a compleat gallant 
 in all points, cap a pea ; witnesse his horseman-ship 
 and the wearing of his weapons : he is commonly 
 long-winded, able to speake more with ease, then 
 any man can endure to heare with patience. Uni- 
 versity jests are his universall discourse, and his 
 newes, the demeanor of the proctors : his phrase, 
 the apparell of his mind, is made of divers shreds 
 like a cushion, and when it goes plainest, it hath a 
 rash outside, and fustian linings. The currant of 
 his speech is clos'd with an ergo ; and what-ever be 
 the question, the truth is on his side. 'Tis a wrong 
 to his reputation to be ignorant of any thing ; and 
 yet hee knowes not that he knowes nothing: he 
 gives directions for husbandry, from Virgils Geor- 
 gickes ; for cattell, from his Bucolicks ; for warlike 
 stratagems, from his JEneides, or Caesars Commen- 
 taries : hee orders all things by the booke, is 
 skilfull in all trades, and thrives in none : hee is led 
 more by his eares then his understanding, taking 
 the sound of words for their true sense : and do's 
 therefore confidently beleeve, that Erra Pater was 
 
CHAR A CTERS. 89 
 
 the father of heretiques ; Rodulphus Agricola, a 
 substantiall farmer; and will not sticke to averre, 
 that Sy sterna's logicke doth excell Keckermans : his 
 ill lucke is not so much in being a foole, as in being 
 put to such pains to expresse it to the world : for 
 what in others is naturall, in him (with much a doe) 
 is artificiall: his poverty is his happinesse, for it 
 makes some men beleeve, that he is none of fortunes 
 favorites. That learning which he hath, was in non- 
 age put in backward like a glister, and 'tis now like 
 ware miss-laid in a pedlers pack; a ha's it, but 
 knowes not where it is. In a word, hee is the index 
 of a man, and the title-page of a scholler, or a Pu- 
 ritane in morality; much in profession, nothing in 
 practice. 
 
 A Tinker 
 
 S a moveable : for hee hath no abiding 
 place ; by his motion hee gathers heat, 
 thence his cholericke nature. He seemes 
 to be very devout, for his life is a continuall pilgrim- 
 age, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot, thereon 
 making necessity a vertue. His house is as ancient 
 as Tubal Cains, and so is a runnagate by antiquity : 
 yet he proves himselfe a gallant, for he carries all 
 his wealth upon his back ; or a philosopher, for he 
 beares all his substance about him. From his art 
 
90 CHARACTERS. 
 
 was musick first invented, and therefore is he alwaies 
 furnisht with a song : to which his hammer keeping 
 tune, proves that he was the first founder of the 
 kettle-drum. Note, that where the best ale is, there 
 stands his musicke most upon crotchets. The com- 
 panion of his travels is some foule sunne -burnt 
 Queane, that since the terrible statute recanted 
 gypsisme, and is turned pedleresse. So marches he 
 all over England with his bag and baggage. His 
 conversation is unreproveable ; for hee is ever mend- 
 ing. Hee observes truly the statutes, and therefore 
 he can rather steale then begge, in which hee is 
 unremoveably constant in spight of whips or im- 
 prisonment: and so a strong enemy to idlenesse, 
 that in mending one hole, he had rather make three 
 then want worke, and when hee hath done, hee 
 throwes the wallet of his faults behind him. He 
 embraceth naturally ancient custome, conversing in 
 open fields, and lowly cottages. If he visit cities or 
 townes, tis but to deale upon the imperfections of 
 our weaker vessels. His tongue is very voluble, 
 which with canting proves him a linguist. He is 
 entertain'd in every place, but enters no further then 
 the doore, to avoid suspition. Some would take him 
 to be a coward ; but beleeve it, he is a lad of mettle, 
 his valour is commonly three or foure yards long, 
 fastned to a pike in the end for flying off. He is 
 very provident, for he will fight but with one at once, 
 
CHARACTERS. 91 
 
 and then also hee had rather submit than be counted 
 obstinate. To conclude, if he scape Tyburn and 
 Banbury, he dies a begger. 
 
 An Apparatour 
 
 S a chicke of the egge abuse, hatcht by 
 the warmth of authority : hee is a bird 
 of rapine, and begins to prey and feather 
 together. He croakes like a raven against the death 
 of rich men, and so gets a legacy unbequeath'd : 
 his happines is in the multitude of children, for their 
 increase is his wealth, and to that end, he himselfe 
 yearely addes one. He is a cunning hunter, un- 
 coupling his intelligencing hounds, under hedges, in 
 thickets and corne-fields, who follow the chase to 
 city- suburbs, where often his game is at covert : his 
 quiver hangs by his side, stuft with silver arrowes, 
 which hee shoots against church-gates, and private 
 mens doores, to the hazard of their purses and 
 credit. There went but a paire of sheeres betweene 
 him and the pursivant of hell, for they both delight 
 in sin, grow richer by it, and are by justice appointed 
 to punish it : only the devill is more cunning, for he 
 picks a living out of others gaines. His living lieth 
 in his eye which (like spirits) hee sends through 
 chinkes, and key-holes, to survey the places of dark- 
 
92 CHARACTERS. 
 
 nesse ; for which purpose he stuclieth the optickes, 
 but can discover no colour but black, for the pure 
 white of chastity dazleth his eyes. He is a Catho- 
 licke, for he is every where ; and with a politicke, 
 for he transforms himselfe into all shapes. He 
 travels on foot to avoid idlenesse, and loves the 
 church entirely, because it is the place of his edifi- 
 cation. Hee accounts not all sins mortall : for for- 
 nication with him is a veniall sin, and to take bribes, 
 a matter of charity : hee is collector for burnings and 
 losses at sea, and in casting account, can readily 
 substract the lesser from the greater summe. Thus 
 lives he in a golden age, till Death by a processc, 
 summons him to appeare. 
 
 An Almanack-maker 
 
 S the worst part of an astronomer: a 
 certaine compact of figures, characters 
 and cyphers : out of which he scores the 
 fortune of a yeare, not so profitably, as doubtfully. 
 He is tenant by custome to the planets, of whom 
 hee holds the 12. houses by lease paroll : to them 
 he paies yearely rent, his studie, and time ; yet lets 
 them out againe (with all his heart) for 40s. per 
 annum. His life is meerely contemplative : for his 
 practice, 'tis worth nothing, at least not worthy of 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 93 
 
 credit ; and if (by chance) he purchase any, he loseth 
 it againe at the yeares end, for time brings truth to 
 light. Ptolomy and Ticho Brache are his patrons, 
 whose volumes hee understands not, but admires ; 
 and the rather because they are strangers, and so 
 easier to bee credited, than controuled. His life is 
 upright, for he is alwayes looking upward ; yet dares 
 beleeve nothing above primurn mobile, for 'tis out of 
 the reach of his Jacobs staff e. His charity extends 
 no further then to mountebankes and sow-gelders, 
 to whom he bequeathes the seasons of the yeere, to 
 kill or torture by. The verses in his booke have a 
 worse pace than ever had Rochester Hackney : for 
 his prose, 'tis dappled with inke-horne tearmes, and 
 may serve for an almanacke : but for his judging at 
 the uncertainty of weather, any old shepheard shall 
 make a dunce of him. He would be thought the 
 devils intelligencer for stolne goods, if ever he steale 
 out of that quality : as a flie. turnes to a maggot, so 
 the corruption of the cunning-man is the generation 
 of an empericke : his works fly foorth in small volumes, 
 yet not all, for many ride poast to chandlers and 
 tobacco shops in folio. To be briefe, he fals 3. 
 degrees short of his promises ; yet is hee the key to 
 unlocke termes, and lawdayes, a dumbe Mer curie to 
 point out high-wayes, and a bayliffe of all marts and 
 faires in England. The rest of him you shall know 
 next yeare ; for what hee will be then, he himselfe 
 knowes not. 
 
94 CHARACTERS. 
 
 An Hypocrite 
 
 S a gilded pill, compos 'd of two vertuous 
 ingredients, naturall dishonesty, and 
 artificiall dissimulation. Simple fruit, 
 plant, or drug, he is none, but a deformed mixture, 
 bred betwixt evill nature and false art, bj a mon- 
 strous generation; and may well bee put into the 
 reckoning of those creatures that God never made. 
 In church or commonwealth (for in both these this 
 mongrell-weed will shoot) it is hard to say whether 
 hee hephysicJce or a disease : for he is both in divers 
 respects. 
 
 As he is gilt with an outside of seeming purity, 
 or as he offereth himselfe to you to be taken downe 
 in a cup or taste of golden zeale and simplicity, you 
 may call him physicke. Nay, and never let potion 
 give patient good stoole, if being truly tasted and 
 relisht, he be not as lothsome to the stomake of any 
 honest man. 
 
 He is also physicke, in being as commodious for 
 use, as hee is odious in taste, if the body of the 
 company into which he is taken, can make true use 
 of him. For the malice of his nature makes him so 
 informer -like-dangerous, in taking advantage of any 
 thing done or said : yea, even to the ruine of his 
 makers, if hee may have benefit ; that such a crea- 
 
CHARACTERS. 95 
 
 ture in a society makes men as carefull of their 
 speeches and actions, as the sight of a knowne cut- 
 purse in a throng makes them watchfull over their 
 purses and pockets : hee is also in this respect pro- 
 fitable physicke, that his conversation being once 
 truly tasted and discovered, the hateful! foulnes of it 
 will make those that are not fully like him, to purge 
 all such diseases as are ranke in him, out of their 
 own lives ; as the sight of some citizens on horse- 
 back, make a judicious man amend his owne faults 
 in horsemanship. If none of these uses can bee 
 made of him, let him not long offend the stomack of 
 your company ; your best way is to spue him out. 
 That he is a disease in the body where he liveth, 
 were as strano-e a thins: to doubt, as whether there 
 be knavery in horse-coursers. For if among sheep, 
 the rot ; among dogs, the mange ; amongst horses, 
 the glaunders ; amongst men and women, the 
 Xortherne itch, and the French ache be diseases ; 
 an hypocrite cannot but be the like in all states and 
 societies that breed him. If hee bee a clergy hypo- 
 crite, then all manner of vice is for the most part so 
 proper to him, as hee will grudge any man the 
 practice of it but himselfe ; like that grave burgesse, 
 who being desired to lend his clothes to represent a 
 part in a comedy, answered: No by his leave, he 
 would have no body play the foole in his clothes but 
 himselfe. Hence are his so austere reprehensions 
 
96 CHARACTERS. 
 
 of drinking healths, lascivious talke, usury and un- 
 conscionable dealing ; when as himself hating the 
 prophane mixture of malt and water, will by his good 
 wil let nothing come within him, but the purity of 
 the grape, when he can get it of anothers cost : but 
 this must not be done neither, without a preface of 
 seeming lothnesse, turning up the eyes, moving the 
 head, laying hand on the brest, and protesting that 
 he would not do it but to strengthen his body, being 
 even consumed with dissembled zeale, and tedious 
 and thanklesse babbling to God and his auditors. 
 And for the other vices, doe but venture the making 
 your selfe private with him, or trusting of him, and 
 if you come off without a savour of the ayre which 
 his soule is infected with, you have great fortune. 
 The fardle of all this ware that is in him, you shall 
 commonly see carried upon the backe of these two 
 beasts, that live within him, ignorance and imperious- 
 nesse : and they may well serve to carry other vices, 
 for of themselves they are insupportable. His 
 ignorance acquites him of all science, humane or 
 divine, and of all language, but his mothers ; holding 
 nothing pure, holy or sincere, but the senselesse 
 collections of his owne crazed braine, the zealous 
 fumes of his enflamed spirit, and the endlesse labours 
 of his eternall tongue ; the motions whereof, when 
 matter and words faile, (as they often doe) must be 
 patched up, to accomplish his foure houres in a day 
 
CHARACTERS. 97 
 
 at the least, with long and fervent hummes. Any 
 thing else, either for language or matter, he cannot 
 abide, but thus censureth : Latine, the language of 
 the beast ; G-reeke, the tongue wherein the heathen 
 poets wrote then fictions ; Hebrew, the speech of the 
 Jeives that crucified Christ : controversies doe not 
 edifie ; logicke and pJiilosophie, are the subtilties of 
 Sathan to deceive the simple. Humane stories pro- 
 phane, and not savouring of the spirit : in a word, 
 all decent and sensible forme of speech and perswa- 
 sion, (though in his owne tongue) vaine ostentation. 
 And all this is the burthen of his ignorance : saving 
 that sometimes idlenesse will put in also to beare a 
 part of the baggage. 
 
 His other beast imperiousnes , is yet more proudly 
 loaden, it carcyeth a burthen, that no cords of 
 authority, spirituall nor temporal!, should bind, if 
 it might have the full swinge : no pilat, no prince 
 should command him : nay, he will command them, 
 and at his pleasure censure them, if they will not 
 suffer their eares to be' fettered with the long chaines 
 of his tedious collations, their purses to be emptied 
 with the inundations of his unsatiable hiunour, and 
 their judgements to be blinded with the muffler of 
 his zealous ignorance. For this doth he familiarly 
 insult over his maintainor that breeds him, his 
 patron that feeds him, and in time over all them that 
 will suffer him to set a foot within their doores. or 
 
98 CHARACTERS. 
 
 put a finger in their purses. All this, and much 
 more is in him, that abhorring degrees and Uni- 
 versities, as reliques of superstition, hath leapt from 
 a shopboord, or a cloake-bag, to a deske, or pulpit, 
 and that like a sea-god in a pageant, hath the 
 rotten laths of his culpable life, and palpable igno- 
 rance, covered over with the painted-cloth of a pure 
 gowne, and a night -cap ; and with a false trumpet 
 of fained zeale, draweth after him some poore 
 nymphs and madmen, that delight more to resort 
 to darke caves and secret places, then to open and 
 publike assemblies. The lay -hypocrite, is to the 
 other a champion, disciple, and subject; and will 
 not acknowledge the tythe of the subjection to any 
 miter ; no, not to any scepter, that he will doe to 
 the hooke and crooke of his zeale-blind shepheard. 
 Xo Jesuites demand more blind and absolute obedi- 
 ence from their vassals, no magistrates of the canting 
 society, more slavish subjection from the members of 
 that travelling state, then the clerke hypocrites 
 expect from these lay pupils. Xay, they must not 
 only be obeyd, fed, and defended, but admired too : 
 and that their lay-followers doe sincerely, as a shirt - 
 lesse fellow with a cudgell under his arme doth a 
 face-wringing ballet-singer ; a water-bearer on the 
 floore of a play-house, a wide mouth'd poet, that 
 speakes nothing but bladders and bumbast. Other- 
 wise, for life and profession, nature and art, inward 
 
CHARACTERS. 99 
 
 and outward: they agree in all, like canters and 
 gypsies, they are all zeale, no knowledge : all purity, 
 no humanity: all simplicity, no honesty: and if 
 you never trust them, they will never deceive you. 
 
 A Maquerela, in plaine English a Bawde, 
 
 ;S an old char-cole, that hath been burnt 
 her selfe, and therefore is able to kindle 
 a whole greene coppice. The burden of 
 her song is like that of Frier Bacons head ; time is, 
 time was, and time is past : in repeating which, she 
 makes a wicked brazen face, and weepes in. the cup, 
 to allay the heat of her aqua vitce. Her teeth are 
 falne out; marry her nose, and chin, intend very 
 shortly to be friends, and meet about it. Her yeares 
 are sixty and odde : that she accounts her best time 
 of trading ; for a bawd is like a medlar, she's not 
 ripe, till she be rotten. Her envy is like that of 
 the devill, to have all faire women like her ; and 
 because 'tis impossible they should catch it being so 
 young, she hurries them to it by diseases. Her 
 parke is a villanous barren ground; and all the 
 deere in it are rascall: yet poore cottagers in the 
 country (that know her but by hearesay) thinke well 
 of her ; for what she encloses to day, shee makes 
 common to morrow. Her goods and her selfe are 
 
100 CHARACTERS. 
 
 all removed in one sort, only she makes bold to take 
 the upper hand of them, and to be carted before 
 them ; the thought of which, makes her she cannot 
 endure a posset, because it puts her in mind of a 
 bason. Shee sits continually at a rackt rent ; espe- 
 cially, if her landlord beare office in the parish : 
 for her moveables in the house ; (besides her quicke 
 cattell) they are not worth an inventory, onely her 
 beds are most commonly in print : shee can easily 
 turne a sempstresse into a waiting gentle- woman, 
 but her wardrobe is most infectious, for it brings 
 them to the falling -sicknesse : she hath only this 
 one shew of temperance : that let a gentle -man send 
 for ten pottles of wine in her house, hee shall have 
 but ten quarts ; and if he want it that way, let him 
 pay for't, and take it out in stewd prunes. The 
 justices dark stands many times her very good friend ; 
 and works her peace with the justice of quorum. 
 Nothing joyes her so much, as the comming over of 
 strangers, nor daunts her so much, as the approach 
 of Shrove-tuesday. In fine, not to foule more paper 
 with so foide a subject, he that hath past under her, 
 hath past the equinoctial ; he that hath scap't her, 
 hath scap't worse then the calenture. 
 
CHARACTERS. 101 
 
 A Chamber-maide. 
 
 | HE is her mistresses she secretary, and 
 keepes the box of her teeth, her haire, 
 and her painting very private. Her 
 industry is up staires, and down staires like a drawer : 
 and by her dry hand you may know she is a sore 
 stareher. If shee lye at her masters beds feet, she 
 is quit of the greene sicJcnesse for ever ; for she hath 
 terrible dreames when she's awake, as if she were 
 troubled with the night-mare. She hath a good 
 liking to dwell i'th country, but she holds London 
 the goodliest forest in England, to shelter a great 
 belly. She reads Greenes works over and over, but 
 is so carried away with the Mirror of Knighthood, 
 she is many times resolv'd to runne out of her selfe, 
 and become a lady errant. If she catch a clap, she 
 divides it so equally betweene the master and the 
 serving-man, as if she had cut out the getting of it 
 by a thred : only the 'knave sumner makes her bowle 
 booty, and over-reach the master. The pedant of 
 the house, though hee promise her mariage, cannot 
 grow further inward with her, she hath paid for her 
 credulity often, and now growes weary. She likes 
 the forme of our mariage very well, in that a woman 
 is not tyed to answer to any articles concerning 
 questions of virginity: her mind, her body, and 
 
102 CHARACTERS. 
 
 clothes, are parcels loosely tackt together, and for 
 want of good utterance, she perpetually laughs out 
 her meaning. Her mistris and she helpe to make 
 away time, to the idlest purpose that can he, either 
 for love or mony. In hriefe, these chambermaids 
 are like lotteries : you may draw twenty, ere one 
 worth any thing. 
 
 A Precisian. 
 
 ^^O speake no otherwise of this varnisht 
 rottennesse, then in truth and verity hee 
 is, I must define him to be a demure 
 creature, full of orall sanctity, and mentall impiety ; 
 a faire object to the eye, but starke naught for the 
 understanding : or else a violent thing, much given 
 to contradiction. He will be sure to be in opposi- 
 tion with the Papist, though it be sometimes ac- 
 companied with an absurditie ; like the ilanders 
 neere adjoyning unto China, who salute by puting 
 of their shooes, because the men of China doe it by 
 their hats. If at any time he fast, it is upon Sun- 
 day, and he is sure to feast upon Friday. Hee can 
 better affoord you ten lies, then one oath ; and dare 
 commit any sin gilded with a pretence of sanctity. 
 He will not sticke to commit fornication or adultery, 
 so it be done in the feare of God, and for the pro- 
 pagation of the godly ; and can find in his heart to 
 
CHARACTERS. 103 
 
 lye with any whore, save the whore of Babylon. 
 To steale he holds it lawfull, so it bee from the wicked 
 and Egyptians. He had rather see Antichrist, then 
 a picture in the church window : and chuseth sooner 
 to be false hanged, then see a leg at the name of 
 Jesus, or one stand at the creede. He conceives 
 his prayer in the kitchin, rather then in the church ; 
 and is of so good discourse, that he dares challenge 
 the Almighty to talke with him ex tempore. He 
 thinkes every organist is in the state of damnation, 
 and had rather heare one of Robert Wisdomes 
 Psalms, then the best hymne a cherubin can sing. 
 He will not breake wind without an apology, or 
 asking forgivenesse, nor kisse a gentle -woman for 
 feare of lusting after her. He hath nicknamed all 
 the prophets and apostles with his sonnes, and begets 
 nothing but vertues for daughters. Finally, he is so 
 sure of his salvation, that hee will not change places 
 in heaven with the Virgin Mary, without boote. 
 
 An Innes of Court man, 
 
 EE is distinguished from a scholler by a 
 paire of silke stockings, and a beaver 
 hat, which makes him contemn a scholler 
 as much as a scholler doth a schoolemaster. By 
 that he hath heard one mooting, and seene two 
 playes, he thinkes as basely of the University, as a 
 
104 CHARACTERS. 
 
 young sophister doth of the grammar-schoole. He 
 talkes of the University, with that state, as if he 
 were her chancellour ; finds fault with alterations, 
 and the fall of discipline, with an, It was not so when 
 I was a student; although that was within this 
 halfe yeare. He will talke ends of Latine, though 
 it he false, with as great confidence, as ever Cicero 
 could pronounce an oration, though his hest authors 
 for't he tavernes and ordinaries. He is as farre 
 behinde a courtier in his fashion, as a scholer is he- 
 hind him : and the best grace in his behaviour, is 
 to forget his acquaintance. 
 
 He laughes at every man whose band sits not well, 
 or that hath not a faire shoo-tie, and he is ashamed 
 to be seene in any mans company that weares not 
 his clothes well. His very essence he placeth in his 
 outside, and his chiefest praier is, that his revenues 
 may hold out for tafiata cloakes in the summer, and 
 velvet in the winter. For his recreation, he had 
 rather goe to a citizens wife, then a bawdy house, 
 onely to save charges : and he holds fee-taile to be 
 absolutely the best tenure. To his acquaintance he 
 offers two quarts of wine, for one he gives. You 
 shall never see him melancholy, but when he wants 
 a new suit, or feares a sergeant : at which times 
 onely, he betakes himselfe to Ploydon. By that he 
 hath read Littleton, he can call Solon, Lycurgus, 
 and Justinian, fooles, and dares compare his law to 
 a Lord Chief e- Justices. 
 
CHARACTERS. 105 
 
 A meere fellow of an house. 
 
 iE is one whose hopes commonly exceed 
 ~p his fortunes, and whose mind soares 
 above his purse. If he hath read Taci- 
 tus, G-uicdiardine, or Gallo-Belgicus, hee contemnes 
 the late Lord Treasurer, for all the state-policy he 
 had ; and laughs to think what a foole he could 
 make of Solomon, if hee were now alive. He never 
 weares new clothes, hut against a commencement or 
 a good time, and is commonly a degree behind the 
 fashion. He hath sworne to see London once a 
 yeare, though all his businesse be to see a play, 
 walke a turne in Pauls, and observe the fashion. 
 He thinkes it a discredit to be out of debt, which he 
 never likely cleares, without resignation mony. He 
 will not leave his part he hath in the privilege over 
 yong gentlemen, in, going bare to him, for the 
 empire of Germany : he prayes as heartily for a 
 sealing, as a cormorant doth for a deare yeare : 
 yet commonly he spends that revenue before he 
 receives it. 
 
 At meales, he sits in as great state over his penny - 
 commons, as ever Vitellius did at his greatest ban- 
 quet : and takes great delight in comparing his fare 
 to my Lord Mayors. 
 
106 CHARACTERS. 
 
 If he be a leader of a faction, he thinks himselfe 
 greater than ever Ccesar was, or the Turke at this 
 day is. And he had rather lose an inheritance then 
 an office, when he stands for it. 
 
 If he be to travell, he is longer furnishing him- 
 selfe for a five miles journey, then a ship is rigging 
 for a seven yeares voyage. He is never more 
 troubled, then when hee is to maintaine talke with a 
 gentle-woman : wherein hee commits more absurdi- 
 ties, than a clown in eating of an egge. 
 
 He thinkes himselfe as fine when he is in a cleane 
 band, and a new paire of shooes, as any courtier 
 doth, when he is first in a new-fashion. 
 
 Lastly, he is one that respects no man in the 
 University, and is respected by no man out of it. 
 
 A worthy Commander in the Warres 
 
 ; S one, that accounts learning the nourish- 
 ment of military vertue, and laies that 
 as his first foundation. He never 
 bloudies his sword but in heat of battel ; and had 
 rather save one of his own souldiers, then kill ten 
 of his enemies. He accounts it an idle, vaine- 
 glorious, and suspected bounty, to be full of good 
 words ; his rewarding therefore of the deserver 
 arrives so timely, that his liberality can never be 
 
CHARACTERS. 107 
 
 said to be gouty-handed. He holds it next his 
 creed, that no coward can he an honest man, and 
 dare die in't. He doth not thinke his body yeelds a 
 more spreading shadow after a victory then before ; 
 and when he looks upon his enemies dead body, 'tis 
 with a kind of noble heavines, not insultation ; he is 
 so honourably mercifull to women in surprizall, that 
 onely that makes him an excellent courtier. He 
 knowes, the hazard of battels, not the pompe of 
 ceremonies, are souldiers best theaters, and strives 
 to gaine reputation, not by the multitude, but by the 
 greatnes of his actions. He is the first in giving 
 the charge, and the last in retiring his foot. Equall 
 toyle hee endures with the common soulclier : from 
 his example they all take fire, as one torch lights 
 many. He understands in warre, there is no meane 
 to erre twice ; the first, and least fault being suf- 
 ficient to ruine an army : faults therefore he pardons 
 none; they that are presidents of disorder, or 
 mutiny, repaire it by, being examples of his justice. 
 Besiege him never so strictly, so long as the ayre is 
 not cut from him, his heart faints not. Hee hath 
 learned as well to make use of a victory, as to get 
 it, and in pursuing his enemie like a whirle-wind 
 carries all afore him ; being assured, if ever a man 
 will benefit himselfe upon his foe, then is the time, 
 when they have lost force, wisdome, courage, and 
 reputation. The goodnes of his cause is the speciall 
 
108 CHARACTERS. 
 
 motive to his valour ; never is he knowne to slight 
 the weak'st enemy that comes arm'd against him in 
 the hand of justice. Hasty and overmuch heat he 
 accounts the step-dame to all great actions, that will 
 not suffer them to thrive : if he cannot overcome his 
 enemy by force, he does it by time. If ever he 
 shake hands with war, he can die more calmly then 
 most courtiers, for his continuall dangers have beene 
 as it were so many meditations of death ; he thinkes 
 not out of his owne calling, when he accounts life a 
 continuall warfare, and his prayers then best become 
 him when armed cap ape. Hee utters them like the 
 great Hebrew generall, on horseback. He casts a 
 smiling contempt upon calumny, it meets him as if 
 glasse should encounter adamant. He thinks warre 
 is never to be given ore, but on one of these three 
 conditions : an assured peace, absolute victory, or an 
 honest death. Lastly, when peace folds him up, his 
 silver head should lean neere the golden scepter, and 
 dye in his princes bosome. 
 
 A vaine-glorious Coward in Command 
 
 S one, that hath bought his place, or come 
 to it by some noble-mans letter : he loves 
 a life dead payes, yet wishes they may 
 rather happen in his company by the scurvy, then 
 
CHARACTERS. 109 
 
 by a battell. View liim at a muster, and lie goes 
 with such noise, as if his body were the wheele- 
 barrow that carried his judgement rumbling to drill 
 his souldiers. ~No man can worse define betweene 
 pride and noble courtesie : he that salutes him not 
 so farre as a pistoll carries levell, gives him the 
 disgust or affront, chuse you whether. Hee traines 
 by the booke, and reckons so many postures of the 
 pike and musket, as if he were counting at noddy. 
 When he comes at first upon a camisado, he lookes 
 like the foure winds in painting, as if hee would blow 
 away the enemy ; but at the very first on-set, suffers 
 feare and trembling to dresse themselves in his face 
 apparantly. He scornes any man should take place 
 before him : yet at the entring of a breach, he hath 
 been so humble-minded, as to let his lieutenant lead 
 his troopes for him. He is so sure arm'd for taking 
 hurt, that he seldome does any : and while he is 
 putting on his armes, he is thinking what siunme 
 he can make to satisfie his ransome. He will raile 
 openly against all the great commanders of the 
 adverse party; yet in his owne conscience allowes 
 them for better men : such is the nature of his feare, 
 that contrary to all other filthy qualities it makes 
 him thinke better of another man then himselfe. 
 The first part of him that is set a running, is his 
 eyesight : when that is once struck with terrour, 
 all the costive jphysicJce in the world cannot stay him ; 
 
110 CHARACTERS. 
 
 if ever he do any thing beyond his owne heart, 'tis 
 for a knighthood, and he is the first kneeles for't 
 without bidding. 
 
 *&■ 
 
 A Pyrate 
 
 iRULY defined, is a hold traytor ; for 
 he fortifies a castle against the king. 
 Give him sea-roome in never so small a 
 vessell, and like a witch in a sieve, you would thinke 
 he were going to make merry with the devill. Of 
 all callings his is the most desperate, for he will not 
 leave off his theeving, though he be in a narrow 
 prison, and looke every day (by tempest or fight) 
 for execution. He is one plague the devill hath 
 added, to make the sea more terrible then a storm e ; 
 and his heart is so hardned in that rugged element, 
 that hee cannot repent, though he view his grave 
 (before him) continually open : he hath so little 
 of his owne, that the house he sleeps in is stoln ; 
 all the necessities of life he filches, but one : he 
 cannot steale a sound sleep, for his troubled con- 
 science. Hee is very gentle to those under him, 
 yet his rule is the horriblest tyranny in the world, 
 for he gives licence to all rape, murder, and cruelty, 
 in his own example : what he gets, is small use to 
 him, onely lives by it, (somewhat the longer) to do 
 a little more service to his belly; for he throwes 
 
CHARACTERS. Ill 
 
 away his treasure upon the shore in riot, as if he 
 east it into the sea. He is a cruell hawke that flies 
 at all hut his owne kind : and as a whale never comes 
 a-shore hut when shee is wounded; so he very 
 seldome, hut for his necessities. Hee is the mer- 
 chants book, that serves onely to reckon up his losses ; 
 a perpetuall plague to nohle traffique, the hurican 
 of the sea, and the earth-quake of the exchange. 
 Yet for all this give him hut his pardon, and for- 
 give him restitution, he may live to know the inside 
 of a church, and die on this side Wapping. 
 
 An ordinarie Fencer 
 
 S a fellow, that heside shaving of cudgels, 
 hath a good insight into the world, for hee 
 hath long beene beaten to it. Flesh 
 and bloud he is, like other men ; hut surely nature 
 meant him stockfish: his, and a dancing- schoole, 
 are inseparable adjuncts; and are bound, though 
 both stinke of sweat most abominable, neither 
 shall complaine of annoyance : three large bavins 
 set up his trade, with a bench, which (in the vacation 
 of the afternoone) he uses for his day-bed : for a 
 firkin to pisse in, he shall be allowed that, by those 
 make Allom : when hee comes on the stage at his 
 prize, he makes a legge seven several! wayes, and 
 
112 CHARACTERS. 
 
 scrambles for mony, as if he had beene borne at the 
 Bathe in Somerset-shire : at his challenge he shewes 
 his metall ; for contrary to all rules ofjphysicJc, he 
 dares bleed, though it be in the dog-dayes: he 
 teaches devilish play in's schoole, but when he fights 
 himselfe, hee doth it in the feare of a good chris- 
 tian. He compounds quarrels among his schollers, and 
 when he hath brought the businesse to a good upshot, 
 he makes the reckoning. His wounds are seldome 
 above skin-deepe ; for an inward bruise, lambstones 
 and sweet-breads are his onely sperma ceti, which 
 he eats at night, next his heart fasting : strange 
 schoole-masters they are, that every day set a man 
 as far backward as he went forward : and throwing 
 him into a strange posture, teach him to thresh 
 satisfaction out of injury. One signe of a good 
 nature is, that hee is still open brested to his friends : 
 for his foile, and his doublet, weare not out above 
 two buttons, and resolute hee is, for he so much 
 scorns to take blowes, that he never weares cuffes ; 
 and he lives better contented with a little, then other 
 men ; for if he have two eyes in's head, he thinkes 
 nature hath overdone him. The Lord Mayors 
 triumph makes him a man, for that's his best time 
 to flourish. Lastly, these fencers are such things, 
 that care not if all the world were ignorant of more 
 letters then onely to read their patent. 
 
CHARACTERS. 113 
 
 A Puny- Clarke. 
 
 I EE is tane from grammar-schoole halfe 
 f codled, and can hardly shake off his 
 dreames of breeching in a twelve month. 
 Hee is a farmers sonne, and his fathers utmost 
 ambition is to make him an attorney. He doth itch 
 towards a poet, and greases his breeches extremely 
 with feeding without a napkin. He studies false dice 
 to cheat costermongers, and is most chargeable to the 
 butler of some Line of Chancery, for pissing in their 
 green-pots. Hee eats ginger-bread at a play-house ; 
 and is so sawcy, that he ventures fairly for a broken 
 pate at the banquetting house, and hath it. Hee 
 would never come to have any wit, but for a long 
 vacation, for that makes him bethinke him how hee 
 shall shift another day. Hee prayes hotly against 
 fasting ; and so hee may sup well on Friday nights, 
 he cares not though his master be a Puritane. He 
 practises to make the words in his declaration spread, 
 as a sewer doth the dishes at a niggards table ; a 
 clarke of a swooping dash, is as commendable as a 
 Flanders horse of a large taile. Though you be 
 never so much delay'd, you must not call his master 
 knave ; that makes him goe beyond himselfe, and 
 write a challenge in court-hand ; for it may be his 
 own another day. These are some certaine of his 
 
114 CHARACTERS. 
 
 liberall faculties : but in the tearme time, his clog 
 is a buckrom bag. Lastly, which is great pittj, he 
 never comes to his full growth, with bearing on his 
 shoulder the sinfull burthen of his master at severall 
 courts in Westminster. 
 
 A Foote-man. 
 
 |ET him bee never so well made, jet his 
 legs are not matches, for hee is still 
 setting the best foot forward. Hee will 
 never be a staid man, for he has had a running 
 head of his own, ever since his child-hood. His 
 mother (which out of question, was a light-heel'd 
 wench) knew it, jet let him run his race ; thinking 
 age would reclaime him from his wild courses. He 
 is verj long winded ; and, without doubt, but that 
 he hates naturallj to serve on horse-backe, he had 
 proved an excellent trumpet. He has one happinesse 
 above all the rest of the servingmen : for when he 
 most over-reaches his master, he is best thought of. 
 He lives more bj his owne heat then the warmth of 
 clothes ; and the waiting-woman hath the greatest 
 fancj to him, when hee is in his close trouses. Gards 
 hee weares none ; which makes him live more 
 upright than anj crosse-gartered gentleman-usher. 
 'Tis impossible to draw his picture to the life, cause 
 a man must take it as he's running: onlj this, 
 
CHARACTERS. 115 
 
 horses are usually let bloud on S. Stevens day : on 
 S. Patricks he takes rest, and is drencht for all the 
 yeare after. 
 
 A Noble and retired House-keeper 
 
 ;S one whose bounty is limitted by reason, 
 not ostentation : and to make it last, he 
 deales it discreetly, as wee sow the fur- 
 row, not by the sacke, but by the handfull. His 
 word and his meaning never shake hands and part, 
 but alway goe together. He can survay good, and 
 love it, and loves to doe it himselfe, for its owne sake, 
 not for thankes. Hee knowes there is no such 
 misery as to outlive good name, nor no such folly as 
 to put it in practice. His mind is so secure, that 
 thunder rockes him asleepe, which breakes other 
 mens slumbers. Nobility lightens in his eyes ; and in 
 his face and gesture is painted, The God of Hospi- 
 tality. His great houses beare in their front more 
 durance, then state ; unlesse this adde the greater 
 state to them, that they promise to out-last much of 
 our new phantasticall building. His heart never 
 growes old, no more then his memory : whether at 
 his booke or on horsebacke, hee passeth his time in 
 such noble exercise, a man cannot say, any time is 
 lost by him : nor hath he onely yeares, to approve he 
 hath lived till he be old, but vertues. His thoughts 
 
116 CHARACTERS. 
 
 have a high aime, though their dwelling bee in the 
 vale of an humble heart, whence as by an engine 
 (that raises water to fall, that it may rise the higher) 
 he is heightned in his humility. The adamant 
 serves not for all seas, but his doth; for he hath, 
 as it were, put a gird about the whole world, and 
 found all her quiche-sands. He hath this hand over 
 Fortune, that her injuries, how violent or sudden 
 soever, they do not daunt him ; for whether his time 
 call him to live or die, he can doe both nobly : if to 
 fall, his descent is brest to brest with vertue ; and 
 even then, like the sunne neere his set, hee shewes 
 unto the world his cleerest countenance. 
 
 An Intruder into favour 
 
 S one, that builds his reputation on others 
 infamy : for slander is most commonly 
 his morning prayer. His passions are 
 guided by pride, and followed by injustice. An 
 inflexible anger against some poore sutor, he falsly 
 cals a couragious constancie, and thinkes the best part 
 of gravity to consist in a ruffled forehead. He is 
 the most slavishly submisse, though envious to those 
 that are in better place then himselfe ; and knowes 
 the art of words so well, that (for shrowding dis- 
 honesty under a faire pretext) he seems to preserve 
 
 
CHARACTERS. Ill 
 
 mud in chrystall. Like a man of a kind nature, he 
 is the first good to himselfe ; in the next file, to his 
 French taylor, that gives him all his perfection : for 
 indeed, like an estridge, or bird of paradise, his 
 feathers are more worth then his body. If ever he 
 doe good deed (which is very seldome) his owne 
 mouth is the chronicle of it, lest it should die for- 
 gotten. His whole body goes all upon srewes, and 
 his face is the vice that moves them. If his patron 
 be given to musicke, he opens his chops, and sings, 
 or with a wrie necke, fals to tuning his instrument : 
 if that faile, he takes the height of his lord with a 
 hawking pole. He folio wes the mans fortune, not 
 the man : seeking thereby to increase his owne. He 
 pretends he is most undeservedly envied, and cries 
 out, remembering the game, chesse, that a pawne 
 before a king is most playd on. Debts hee owes 
 none, but shrewd turns, and those he payes ere he be 
 sued. He is a flattering glasse to conceale age, and 
 wrinkles. He is mountaines monkie, that climbing 
 a tree, and skipping from bough to bough, gives 
 you backe his face ; but come once to the top, he 
 holds his nose up into the wind, and shewes you his 
 tayle : yet all this gay glitter, shewes on him, as if 
 the sunne shone in a puddle ; for he is a small wine 
 that will not last ; and when he is falling, hee goes 
 of himselfe faster than misery can drive him. 
 
118 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A fair e and happy Milk-may d 
 
 S a countrey wench, that is so farre from 
 making her selfe beautifull by art, that 
 one looke of hers is able to put all face- 
 physiclce out of countenance. She knowes a faire 
 looke is but a dumbe orator to commend vertue, 
 therefore minds it not. All her excellencies stand 
 in her so silently, as if they had stolne upon her 
 without her knowledge. The lining of her apparell 
 (which is her selfe) is farre better then out sides of 
 tissew : for though she be not arrayed in the spoile 
 of the silke-worme, shee is deckt in innocency, a far 
 better wearing. She doth not, with lying long abed, 
 spoile both her complexion and conditions ; nature 
 hath taught her, too immoderate sleepe is rust to the 
 soule : she rises therefore with chaunticleare, her 
 dames cock, and at night makes the lamb her courfew. 
 In milking a cow, and straining the teats through 
 her fingers, it seemes that so sweet a milk-presse 
 makes the milk the whiter or sweeter; for never 
 came almond glove or aromatique oyntment on her 
 palme to taint it. The golden eares of corne fall and 
 kisse her feet when shee reapes them, as if they 
 wisht to be boimd and led prisoners by the same 
 hand that fell'd them. Her breath is her own, which 
 sents all the yeare long of June, like a new made 
 
CHARACTERS. 119 
 
 hay-cock. She makes her hand hard with labour, 
 and her heart soft with pitty: and when winter 
 evenings fall early (sitting at her merry wheele) she 
 sings a defiance to the giddy wheele of fortune. 
 She doth all things with so sweet a grace, it seems 
 ignorance will not suffer her to doe ill, being her 
 mind is to doe well. She bestowes her yeares wages 
 at next faire ; and in choosing her garments, counts 
 no bravery i'th' world, like decencie. The garden 
 and bee-hive are all her physick and chyrurgery, 
 and she lives the longer for't. She dares goe alone, 
 and unfold sheepe i'th' night, and feares no manner 
 of ill, because she meanes none : yet to say truth, 
 she is never alone, for she is still accompanied with 
 old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short 
 ones ; yet they have their efficacy, in that they are 
 not pauled with insuing idle cogitations. Lastly, 
 her dreames are so chaste, that shee dare tell them ; 
 only a Fridaies dream is all her superstition : that 
 she conceales for feare of anger. Thus lives she, 
 and all her care is she may die in the spring-time, 
 to have store of flowers stucke upon her winding- 
 sheet. 
 
120 CHARACTERS. 
 
 An arrant Horse-courser 
 
 iATH the trick to blow up horse-flesh, as 
 the butcher doth veale, which shall wash 
 out again in twice riding twixt Waltham 
 and London. The trade of spurre-making had de- 
 cayed long since, but for this ungodly tyre-man. He 
 is curst all over the foure ancient high-wayes of 
 England ; none but the blind men that sell switches 
 i'th' road are beholding to him. His stable is fill'd 
 with so many diseases, one would thinke most part 
 about Smithfield were an hospitall for horses, or a 
 slaughter-house for the common-hunt. Let him 
 furnish you with a hackney, 'tis as much as if the 
 kings warrant overtooke you within ten miles to stay 
 your journey. And though a man cannot say, he 
 couzens you directly ; yet any ostler within ten miles, 
 should he be brought upon his book-oath, will affirme 
 he hath laid a bayt for you. Eesolve when you first 
 stretch your selfe in the stirrops, you are put as it 
 were upon some usurer, that will never beare with 
 you past his day. He were good to make one that 
 had the collick alight often, and (if example will 
 cause him) make urine ; let him onely for that say, 
 Gra J mercy horse. For his sale of horses, hee hath 
 false covers for all manner of diseases, onely comes 
 short of one thing (which he despaires not utterly to 
 
CHARACTERS. 121 
 
 bring to perfection) to make a horse goe on a wodden 
 leg and two crutches. For powdring his eares with 
 quicksilver, and giving him suppositories of live 
 eeles he's expert. All the while you are a cheap- 
 ning, he fears you will not bite ; hut hee laughs in 
 his sleeve, when he hath coozened you in earnest. 
 Frenchmen are his best chapmen, he keeps amblers 
 for them on purpose, and knowes he can deceive 
 them very easily. Hee is so constant to his trade, 
 that while hee is awake, he tires any man he talkes 
 with, and when he's asleep, he dreams very fear- 
 fully of the paving of Smithfield, for hee knowes it 
 would founder his occupation. 
 
 A Roaring Boy. 
 
 IS life is a meere counterfet patent : 
 which neverthelesse makes many a coun- 
 trey justice tremble. Don Quixotes wa- 
 ter-mills are still scotch bagpipes to him. He sends 
 challenges by word of mouth : for he protests (as he 
 is a gentleman and a brother of the sword) he can 
 neither write nor read. He hath runne through 
 divers parcels of land, and great houses, beside both 
 the counters. If any private quarrell happen among 
 our great courtiers, he proclaimes the businesse, 
 that's the word, the businesse ; as if the united forces 
 
122 CHARACTERS. 
 
 of the Romish Catholiclces were making up for Ger- 
 many. He cheats young guls that are newly come 
 to towne ; and when the keeper of the Ordinary 
 blames him for it, he answers him in his owne pro- 
 fession, that a woodcocke must be pluckt ere he be 
 drest. He is a supervisor to brothels, and in them 
 is a more unlawfull reformer of vice, then prentices 
 on Shrove-tuesday. He loves his friend, as a coun- 
 cellor at law loves the velvet breeches he was first 
 made barester in, he'll be sure to weare him thred- 
 bare ere he forsake him. He sleepes with a tobac- 
 co-pipe in's mouth ; and his first praier i' th' morn- 
 ing is, he may remember whom he fell out with over 
 night. Souldier he is none, for he cannot distin- 
 guish 'tweene onion-seed and gunpowder : if he 
 have worne it in his hollow tooth for the toothach, 
 and so come to the knowlege of it, that's all. The 
 tenure by which he holds his meanes, is an estate at 
 will ; and that's borrowing. Land-lords have but 
 foure quarter- dayes ; but he three hundred and 
 odde. He keepes very good company ; yet is a 
 man of no reckoning : and when he goes not drunk 
 to bed, he is very sick next morning. He com- 
 monly dies like Anacreon, with a grape in's throat ; 
 or Hercules, with fire in's marrow. And I have 
 heard of some (that have scap't hanging) begg'd for 
 Anatomies; only to deterre man from taking to- 
 bacco. 
 
CHARACTERS. 123 
 
 A Drunken Dutchman resident in 
 England, 
 
 ;S but a quarter-master with his wife, 
 Hee stinkes of butter, as if hee were 
 anointed all over for the itch. Let him 
 come over never so leane, and plant him but one 
 moneth neere the brew-houses in S. Catherines, 
 and he'l bee puft up to your hand like a bloat her- 
 ring. Of all places of pleasure, he loves a common 
 garden, and (with the swine of the parish) had need 
 bee ringed for rooting. Next to these he effects 
 lotteries naturally ; and bequeaths the best prize in 
 his will aforehand ; when his hopes fall, he's blanke. 
 They swarme in great tenements like flies : sixe 
 households will live in a garret. He was wont 
 (onely to make us fooles) to buy the fox-skin for 
 three pence, and sell' the taile for a shilling. Now 
 his new trade of brewing strong-waters makes a 
 number of mad-men. He loves a Welshman ex- 
 tremely for his diet and orthography ; that is, for 
 plurality of consonants, and cheese. Like a horse, 
 he's onely guided by the mouth : when he's drunke, 
 you may thrust your hand into him like an eeleskin, 
 and strip him, his inside outwards. He hoordes up 
 faire gold, and pretends 'tis to seethe in his wives 
 broth for a consumption, and loves the memory of 
 
124 CHARACTERS. 
 
 King Henry the 8. most especially for his old 
 Soveraignes. He saies we are unwise to lament 
 the decay of timber in England : for all manner of 
 buildings or fortification whatsoever, he desires no 
 other thing in the world, than barrels and hop-poles. 
 To conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at, is 
 small beere, and the Spanish Inquisition. 
 
 A PHANTASTIQUE. 
 
 An Improvident young Gallant. 
 
 I HERE is a confederacy between him and 
 his clothes, to be made a puppy : view 
 him well, and you'll say his gentry sits 
 as ill upon him, as if he had bought it with his 
 penny. He hath more places to send money to, 
 than the devill hath to send his spirits ; and to fur- 
 nish each mistresse, would make him run besides 
 his wits, if he had any to lose. He accounts bash- 
 fulnesse the wickedst thing in the world ; and there- 
 fore studies impudence. If all men were of his 
 mind, all honesty would be out of fashion : he 
 withers his clothes on a stage, as a sale-man is forc't 
 to doe his sutes in Birchin-lane : and when the 
 
 i 
 
CHARACTERS. 125 
 
 play is done, if you marke his rising, 'tis with a 
 kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, 
 to know if his suit may passe for currant : hee 
 studies by the discretion of his barber, to frizle like 
 a baboone : three such would keep three the nim- 
 blest barbers in the town, from ever having leisure 
 to weare net-garters : for when they have to doe 
 with him, they have many irons in th' fire. He is 
 travelled, but to little purpose ; only went over for 
 a squirt, and came back againe, yet never the more 
 mended in his conditions, 'cause he carried himselfe 
 along with him : a scholler he pretends himselfe 
 and saies he hath sweat for it : but the truth is, he 
 knowes Cornelius far better than Tacitus : his 
 ordinary sports are cock-fights : but the most fre- 
 quent, horse-races, from whence hee comes home 
 dry-foundred. Thus when his purse hath cast her 
 calfe, he goes downe into the country, where hee is 
 brought to milke and white cheese like the Sivitzers. 
 
 A Button-maker of Amsterdam 
 
 S one that is fled over from his conscience ; 
 and left his wife and children upon the 
 parish. For his knowledge, he is meere- 
 ly a home-book without a christ-crosse afore it : 
 and his zeale consists much in hanging his bible in a 
 
126 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Dutch button : he coozens men in the purity of his 
 clothes : and 'twas his only joy when he was on this 
 side, to be in prison : hee cries out, 'Tis impossible 
 for any man to be damn'd, that lives in his religion, 
 and his equivocation is true : as long as a man lives 
 in't, he cannot ; but if he die in't, there's the ques- 
 tion. Of all feasts in the yeare, he accounts 6. 
 Georges feast the prophanest, because of S. Georges 
 crosse, yet somtimes he doth sacrifice to his own 
 belly ; provided, that hee put off the wake of his 
 owne nativity, or wedding, till Good Friday. If 
 there be a great feast in the towne, though most of 
 the wicked (as he cals them) be there, he will be 
 sure to bee a guest, and to out-eat six of the fattest 
 Burgers : he thinks, though hee may not pray with 
 a Jew, he may eat with a Jew : he winkes when he 
 prayes, and thinkes he knowes the way so now to 
 heaven, that hee can find it blindfold. Latine he 
 accounts the language of the beast with seven heads ; 
 and when hee speakes of his owne countrey, cries, 
 he is fled out of Babel. Lastly, his devotion is 
 obstinacy ; the only solace of his heart, contradic- 
 tion ; and his maine end, hypocrisie. 
 
CHARACTERS. 127 
 
 A Distaster of the Time 
 
 ;S a winter grashopper all the yeare long 
 that looks back upon harvest, with a 
 leane paire of cheekes, never sets forward 
 to meet it : his malice sucks up the greatest part of 
 his owne venome, and therewith impoisoneth him- 
 selfe : and this sicknesse rises rather oiselfe-opinion, 
 or over-great expectation ; so in the conceit of his 
 own over-worthinesse, like a coistrell, he strives to 
 fill himselfe with wind, and flies against it. Any 
 mans advancement is the most capitall offence that 
 can be to his malice : yet this envy, like Phalaris 
 Bull, makes that a torment, first for himselfe, he 
 prepared for others : he is a day-bed for the devill 
 to slumber on ; his bloud is of a yellowish colour ; 
 like those that have beene bitten by vipers ; and his 
 gaule flowes as thick in him as oyle in a poyson'd 
 stomack. - He infects all society, as thunder sowres 
 wine : war or peace, dearth or plenty, makes him 
 equally discontented. And where hee finds no cause 
 to tax the state, he descends to raile against the 
 rate of salt-butter. His wishes are whirlewinds ; 
 which breath'd forth, returne into himselfe, and 
 make him a most giddy and tottering vessell. When 
 he is awake, and goes abroad, he doth but walk in 
 his sleep, for his visitation is directed to none ; his 
 
128 CHARACTERS. 
 
 businesse is nothing. He is often dumb-mad, and 
 goes fetter'd in his owne entrailes. Keligion is 
 commonly his pretence of discontent, though he can 
 be of all religions ; therefore truly of none. Thus 
 by unnaturalizing himselfe, some would thinke him 
 a very dangerous fellow to the state, but he is not 
 greatly to be fear'd : for this dejection of his, is only 
 like a rogue that goes on his knees and elbowes in 
 the mire, to further his begging. 
 
 A meere fellow of an House 
 
 iXAMESTES all mens carriage but his 
 own ; and is so kind-natured to him- 
 selfe, he finds fault with all mens but his 
 owne. He weares his apparell much after the 
 fashion; his meanes will not suffer him come too 
 nigh : they afford him mockvelvet, or satinisco ; but 
 not without the colleges next leases acquaintance : 
 his inside is of the selfe-same fashion, not rich : but 
 as it reflects from the glasse of selfe-liking, there 
 Croesus is Irus to him. He is a pedant in shew, 
 though his title be tutor; and his pupils, in 
 broader phrase, are schoole-boyes. On these he 
 spends the false gallop of his tongue; and with 
 senselesse discourse towes them along, not out of 
 ignorance. He shewes them the rind, conceales the 
 
CHARACTERS. 129 
 
 sap : by this meanes lie keeps them the longer, him- 
 selfe the better. He hath learnt to cough, and spit, 
 and blow his nose at every period, to recover his 
 memory : and studies chiefely to set his eyes and 
 beard to a new forme of learning. His religion lies 
 in waite for the inclination of his patron ; neither 
 ebs nor flowes, but just standing water, betweene 
 Protestant and Puritane. His dreames are of 
 plurality of benefices and non-residency ; and when 
 he rises, acts a long grace to his looking glasse. 
 Against he comes to be some great mans chaplaine, 
 he hath a habit of boldnesse, though a very coward. 
 He speakes swords, fights, ergo's : his pace on foot 
 is a measure ; on horse -back a gallop : for his legs 
 are his owne, though horse and spurres are borrowed. 
 He hath lesse use then possession of books. He is 
 not so proud, but he will call the meanest author by 
 his name : nor so unskilled in the herauldry of a 
 study, but he knowes each mans place. So ends 
 that fellowship, and begins another. 
 
 A meere Pettyfogger 
 
 { S one of Sampson's foxes ; he sets men 
 together by the eares, more shamefully 
 then pillories ; and in a long vacation 
 his sport is to goe a fishing with the penall statutes. 
 
130 CHARACTERS. 
 
 He cannot erre before judgment, and then you see 
 it, only writs of error are the tamers that keepe his 
 client undoing somewhat the longer. He is a vestry- 
 man in his parish, and easily sets his neighbour at 
 variance with the vicar, when his wicked counsell on 
 both sides is like weapons put into mens hands by a 
 fencer, whereby they get blowes, he money. His 
 honesty and learning bring him to under-shrive- 
 ship, which having thrice runne through, he doe's 
 not feare the lieutenant o'th' shire : nay more, he 
 feares not God. Cowarclise holds him a good com- 
 monwealths man ; his pen is the plough, and parch- 
 ment the soyle, whence he reapes both coyne and 
 curses. Hee is an earthquake, that willingly will 
 let no ground lye in quiet. Broken titles make him 
 whole ; to have halfe in the county break their bonds, 
 were the only liberty of conscience. He would wish 
 (though he be a hrownist) no neighbour of his should 
 pay his tithes duly, if such suits held continuall plea 
 at Westminster. He cannot away with the reverend 
 service in our church, because it ends with The peace 
 of God. He loves blowes extremely, and hath his 
 chirurgians bill of all rates, from head to foot, to 
 incense the fury : he would not give away his yearely 
 beatings for a good peece of mony. He makes his 
 will in forme of a law case, full of quiddits, that his 
 friends after his death (if for nothing else, yet) for 
 the vexation of law, may have cause to remember 
 
CHARACTERS. 131 
 
 him. And if he thought the ghosts of men did 
 walke againe (as they report in time of popery) sure 
 he would hide some single money in Westminster- 
 hall, that his spirit might haunt there. Only with 
 this, I will pitch him o're the bar, and leave him, 
 that his fingers itch after a brihe, ever since his first 
 practising of court-hand. 
 
 An Ingrosser of Come. 
 
 ,HEE.E is no vermine in the land like 
 him, he slanders both heaven and earth 
 with pretended dearths, when there's no 
 cause of scarcity. His hoording in a deere yeare, 
 is like Erisicihons bowels in Ovid : Quodque urbibus 
 esse; quodque satis poterat populo, non sufficit uni. 
 Hee prayes daily for more inclosures, and knowes 
 no reason in his religion, why we should call our 
 forefathers dayes, the time of ignorance, but onely 
 because they sold wheate for twelve pence a bushell. 
 He wishes that DansJce were at the Moloccos ; and 
 had rather be certaine of some forraine invasion, 
 then of the setting up of the stilyard. When his 
 barnes and garners are full (if it be a time of 
 dearth) he will buy halfe a bushell i'th' market to 
 serve his houshold : and winnowes his corne in the 
 night, lest, as the chaffe throwne upon the water, 
 
132 CHARACTERS. 
 
 shew'd plenty in Egypt; so his (carried by the 
 wind) should proclaime his abundance. No painting 
 pleases him so well, as Pharaolis dreame of the seven 
 leane kine, that ate up the fat ones ; that he has in 
 his parlour, which he will describe to you like a 
 motion, and his comment ends with a smothered 
 prayer for the like scarcity. He cannot away with 
 tobacco ; for he is perswaded (and not much amisse) 
 that 'tis a sparer of bread-corne ; which he could 
 find in's heart to transport without licence : but 
 weighing the penalty, he growes mealy-mouth'd, and 
 dares not. Sweet smels he cannot abide; wishes 
 that the pure aire were generally corrupted: nay, 
 that the spring had lost her fragrancy for ever, or 
 we our superfluous sense of smelling, (as he tearmes 
 it) that his corne might not be found musty. The 
 poore he accounts the justices intelligencers, and 
 cannot abide them : he complaines of our negligence 
 of discovering new parts of the world, onely to rid 
 them from our climate. His sone, by a certaine 
 kind of instinct, he binds prentice to a taylor, who 
 all the terme of his indenture, hath a deare yeare 
 in's belly, and ravins bread extremely : when he 
 comes to be a freeman (if it be a dearth) he marries 
 him to a bakers daughter. 
 
CHARACTERS. 133 
 
 A Devillish Usurer 
 
 S sowed as cummin or hemp-seed, with 
 curses ; and he thinkes he thrives the 
 better. He is far better read in the 
 pcenall statutes, then the Bible ; and his evill angell 
 perswades him, he shall sooner bee saved by them. 
 He can bee no mans friend ; for all men he hath 
 most interest in, hee undoes : and a double-dealer 
 hee is certainly ; for by his good will, he ever takes 
 the forfeit. He puts his mony to the unnatural 
 act of generation ; and his scriv'ner is the super- 
 visor bawd to't. Good deeds hee loves none, but 
 seal'd and delivered : nor doth he wish any thing 
 to thrive in the country, but bee -hives ; for they 
 make him wax rich. He hates all but law-latine, 
 yet thinks he might be drawne to love a scholler, 
 could hee reduce the yeare to a shorter compasse, 
 that his use-money might come in the faster. He 
 seemes to be the sonne of a jaylor, for all his estate 
 is in most heavy and cruell bonds. Hee doth not 
 give, but sell daies of payment, and those at the rate 
 of a mans undoing : he doth onely feare the day of 
 judgement should fall sooner, then the paiment of 
 some great sum of money due to him : he removes 
 his lodging when a subsidie comes ; and if he be 
 found out, and pay it, he grumbles treason ; but 'tis 
 
134 CHARACTERS. 
 
 in such a deformed silence, as witches raise their 
 spirits in. Gravity he pretends in all things, but in 
 his private whore ; for he will not in a hundred 
 pound take one light sixe pence ; and it seemes hee 
 was at Tilbury Campe ; for you must not tell him 
 of a Spaniard. He is a man of no conscience ; for 
 (like the Jakes-farmer that swounded with going 
 into Bucklersbury) hee falls into a cold sweat, if hee 
 but looke into the Chauncerie : thinkes in his reli- 
 gion, we are in the right for every thing, if that 
 were abolisht : hee hides his mony as if hee thought 
 to find it againe at the last day, and then begin's 
 old trade with it. His clothes plead prescription ; 
 and whether they or his body are more rotten, is a 
 question : yet should hee live to be hang'd in them, 
 this good they would doe him, the very hangman 
 would pity his case. The table he keepes is able 
 to starve twenty tall men ; his servants have not 
 their living, but their dying from him, and that's of 
 hunger. A spare diet he commends in all men, but 
 himselfe : he comes to cathedrals only for love of 
 the singing -boyes, because they looke hungry. He 
 likes our religion best, because 'tis best cheape ; yet 
 would fame allow of purgatory, cause 'twas of his 
 trade, and brought in so much money : his heart 
 goes with the same snaphance his purse doth, 'tis 
 seldome open to any man : friendship he accounts 
 but a word without any signification ; nay, he loves 
 
CHARACTERS. 135 
 
 all the world so little, that, and it were possible, he 
 would make himselfe his owne executor : for cer- 
 taine, he is made administrator to his owne good 
 name, while he is in perfect memory, for that dyes 
 long* afore him ; but he is so far from being at the 
 charge of a funerall for it, that he lets it stinke 
 above groimd. In conclusion, for neighbourhood, 
 you were better dwell by a contentious lawyer. And 
 for his death, 'tis either surfet, the pox, or despaire ; 
 for seldome such as he die of Gods making, as 
 honest men should doe. 
 
 A Water-man 
 
 ;S one that hath learnt to speak well of 
 himselfe ; for alwaies he names himselfe, 
 the first man. If he had betane himselfe 
 to some richer trade, he could not have choos'd but 
 done well : for in this (though it be a meane one) 
 he is still plying it, and putting himselfe forward. 
 He is evermore telling strange newes, most com- 
 monly lyes. If he be a sculler, aske him if he be 
 married, he'l equivocate and sweare he's a single 
 man. Little trust is to be given to him, for he 
 thinks that day he does best, when he fetches most 
 men over. His daily labour teaches him the art of 
 dissembling : for like a fellow that rides to the pil- 
 
136 CHARACTERS. 
 
 lory, he goes not that way he lookes : he keeps such 
 a bawling at Westminster, that if the lawyers were 
 not acquainted with it, an order wquld be tane with 
 him. When he is upon the water, he is fare-com- 
 pany : when he comes ashore, he mutinies, and 
 contrary to all other trades, is most surly to gentle- 
 men, when they tender payment : the play-houses 
 only keep him sober ; and as it doth many other 
 gallants, make him an after-noones man. London- 
 bridge is the most terrible eye-sore to him that can 
 be. And to conclude, nothing but a great presse, 
 makes him flye from the river ; nor any thing, but 
 a great frost, can teach him any good manners. 
 
 A Reverend Judge 
 
 S one that desires to have his greatnes, 
 only measur'd by his goodnes : his care 
 is to appeare such to the people, as hee 
 would have them be ; and to be himselfe such as he 
 appeares ; for vertue cannot seeme one thing, and be 
 another : he knowes that the hill of greatnesse yeelds 
 a most delightfull prospect ; but withall, that it is 
 most subject to lightning, and thunder : and that 
 the people, as in ancient tragedies, sit and censure 
 the actions of those in authority : he squares his 
 own therefore, that they may farre be above their 
 
CHARACTERS. 137 
 
 pitty : lie washes fewer laws, so they were better ob- 
 serv'd : and for those are mulctuary, he understands 
 their institution not to be like briers or springes, to 
 catch every thing they lay hold of; but like sea- 
 markes (on our dangerous Goodivhi) to avoid the 
 shipwrack of ignorant passengers : he hates to wrong 
 any man ; neither hope, nor despaire of preferment 
 can draw him to such an exigent : hee thinks him- 
 selfe then most honourably seated, when hee gives 
 mercy the upper hand : he rather strives to purchase 
 good name, then land ; and of all rich stuffes for- 
 bidden by the statute, loathes to have his followers 
 weare their clothes cut out of bribes and extortions. 
 If his Prince call him to higher place, there he de- 
 livers his mind plainely, and freely, knowing for 
 truth, there is no place wherein dissembling ought 
 to have lesse credit, then in a Princes Councell. 
 Thus honor keeps peace with him to the grave, and 
 doth not (as with many) there forsake him, and goe 
 back with the Heralds : but fairely sits ore him, 
 and broods out of his memory, many right excellent 
 common- wealths men. 
 
138 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A vertuous Widdow 
 
 S the palme-tree, that thrives not after 
 the supplanting of her husband. For 
 her childrens sake she first marries, for 
 she married that she might have children, and for 
 their sakes she marries no more. She is like the 
 purest gold, only imployed for princes medals, shee 
 never receives but one mans impression ; the large 
 joynture moves her not, titles of honour cannot sway 
 her. To change her name, were (she thinkes) to 
 commit a sinne should make her asham'd of her 
 husbands calling. She thinks she hath travel'd all 
 the world in one man ; the rest of her time therefore 
 she directs to heaven. Her maine superstition is, 
 she thinks her husbands ghost would walk, should 
 she not performe his will : she would doe it, were 
 there no prerogative court. She gives much to pious 
 uses, without any hope to merit by them : and as 
 one diamond fashions another, so is she wrought into 
 workes of charity, with the dust or ashes of her 
 husband. She lives to see her selfe full of time ; 
 being so necessary for earth, God cals her not to 
 heaven, till shee be very aged: and even then, 
 though her naturall strength faile her, she stands 
 like an ancient pyramid ; which the lesse it grows 
 to mans eye, the neerer it reaches to heaven. This 
 
CHARACTERS. 139 
 
 latter chastity of hers, is more grave and reverend, 
 than that ere shee was maried ; for in it, is neither 
 hope, nor longing, nor feare, nor jealousie. She 
 ought to be a mirrour for our yongest dames to dresse 
 themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles. No 
 calamity can now come neere her ; for in suffering 
 the losse of her husband, she accounts all the rest 
 trifles. She hath laid his dead body in the worthiest 
 monument that can be : she hath buried it in her 
 owne heart. To conclude, she is a relique, that 
 without any superstition in the world, though she 
 will not be kist, yet may be reverenc't. 
 
 An ordinary Widdow 
 
 S like the heraulds hearse-cloth ; she 
 serves to many funerals, with a very 
 little altering the colour. The end of 
 her husband begins in teares ; and the end of her 
 teares begins in a husband. Shee uses to cunning 
 women to know how many husbands she shall have, 
 and never marries without the consent of six midwives. 
 Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her suitors ; 
 and by them she gaines : for one serves to draw on 
 another, and with one at last she shoots out another, 
 as boyes doe pellets in elderne guns. She commends 
 to them a single life, as horse-coursers doe their 
 
140 CHARACTERS. 
 
 jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of 
 the biggest of the guard, but knighthood makes her 
 draw in a weaker bow. Her servants or kinsfolke, 
 are the trumpeters that summon any to this combat ; 
 by them she gaines much credit, but loseth it againe 
 in the old proverbe : fama est mendaoc. If she live 
 to be thrice married, she seldome failes to coozen her 
 second husbands creditors. A churchman she dare 
 not venture upon ; for she hath heard widowes com- 
 plain of dilapidations: nor a souldier, though he 
 have candle-rents in the citie, for his estate may be 
 subject to fire : very seldome a lawyer, without he 
 shewes his exceeding great practice, and can make 
 her case the better : but a knight with the old rent 
 may do much, for a great comming in is all in all 
 with a widow : ever provided, that most part of her 
 plate and jewels (before the wedding) lye conceal'd 
 with her scrivener. Thus like a too-ripe apple, she 
 falls off her selfe : but he that hath her, is lord but 
 of a filthy purchase, for the title is crack't. Lastly, 
 while she is a widdow, observe her, she is no morning 
 woman: the evening, a good 'fire, and sacke, may 
 make her listen to a husband : and if ever she be 
 made sure, 'tis upon a full stomack to bed-ward. 
 
CHARACTERS. 141 
 
 A Quacksalver 
 
 S a mountebank of a larger bill then a 
 taylor; if he can but come by names 
 enow of diseases to stuffe it with, 'tis 
 all the skill he studies for. He tooke his first be- 
 ing from a cunning woman, and stole this black art 
 from her, while hee made her sea-coale fire. All the 
 diseases ever sin brought upon man, doth he pre- 
 tend to be a curer of; when the truth is, his maine 
 cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes 
 him, what with rayling against such, as leave their 
 cures for feare of infection, and in friendly breaking 
 cake-bread, with the fish-wives at funerals, he utters 
 a most abominable deale of musty carduus-water, 
 and the conduits cry out, all the learned doctors may 
 cast their caps at him. He parts stakes with some 
 apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he lies : 
 and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the 
 apothecary dares not (for the richest home in his 
 shop) displease him. All the midwives in the towne 
 are his intelligencers : but nurses and young mer- 
 chants wives (that would faine conceive with child) 
 these are his idolaters. He is a more unjust bone- 
 setter, then a dice -maker ; hath put out more eyes 
 then the small pox ; made more deafe then the cata- 
 racts of Nilus ; lamed more then the gout : shrunk 
 
142 CHARACTERS. 
 
 more sinews then one that makes bowstrings, and 
 kild more idly then tobacco. A magistrate that had 
 any way so noble a spirit, as but to love a good horse 
 well, would not suffer him to be a farrier : his dis- 
 course is vomit, and his ignorance, the strongest 
 purgation in the world : to one that would be speedily 
 cured, he hath more delayes and doubles, then a 
 hare, or a law-suit : he seekes to set us at variance 
 with nature, and rather then he shall want diseases, 
 hee'l beget them. His especiall practice (as I said 
 afore) is upon women ; labours to make their minds 
 sick, ere their bodies feele it, and then there's work 
 for the dog-leach. He pretends the cure of mad- 
 men ; and sure he gets most by them, for no man 
 in his perfect wit would meddle with him. Lastly, 
 he is such a juggler with urinals, so dangerously 
 unskilfull, that if ever the city will have recourse 
 to him for diseases that need purgation, let them 
 employ him in scouring Moore-ditch. 
 
 A canting Rogue. 
 
 .IS not unlikely but he was begot by some 
 intelligencer under a hedge ; for his 
 mind is wholly given to travell. Hee 
 is not troubled with making of joyntures : he can 
 divorce himselfe without the fee of a proctor, nor 
 
CHARACTERS. 143 
 
 feareshee the cruelty of over-seers of his will. Hee 
 leaves his children all the world to cant in, and all 
 the people to their fathers. His language is a con- 
 stant tongue ; the Northerne speech diifers from the 
 South, Welsh from the Cornish: hut canting is 
 generall, nor ever could he altered hy conquest of 
 the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out 
 of his limit though hee starve ; nor breake his oath 
 if hee sweare hy his Salomon, though you hang him : 
 and hee payes his custome as truly to his grand 
 rogue, as tribute is paid to the great Turke. The 
 March sunne breeds agues in others, but hee adores 
 it like the Indians ; for then begins his progresse 
 after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot indure him, 
 for hee is of the infantry, and serves best on foot. 
 He offends not the statute against the excesse of 
 apparell, for hee will goe naked, and counts it a 
 voluntary pennance. Forty of them lye in a barne 
 together, yet are never sued upon the statute of 
 inmates. If hee were learned, no man could make a 
 better description of England ; for hee hath travel'd 
 it over and over. Lastly, he brags, that his great 
 houses are repaired to his hands, when churches goe 
 to mine : and those are prisons. 
 
144 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A French Cooke. 
 
 E learnt his trade in a towne of garrison 
 neere famish't, where hee practised to 
 make a little goe farre; some drive it 
 from more antiquity, and say, Adam (when he pickt 
 sallets) was of his occupation. He doth not feed the 
 belly, but the palate ; and though his command lie 
 in the kitchin (which is but an inferiour place) yet 
 shall you find him a very sawcy companion. Ever 
 since the wars in Naples, he hath so minc't the 
 ancient and bountifull allowance, as if his nation 
 should keepe a perpetuall dyet. The servingmen 
 call him the last relique of popery, that makes men 
 fast against their conscience. He can be truly said 
 to be no mans fellow but his masters : for the rest 
 of his servants are starved by him. He is the prime 
 cause why noblemen build their houses so great: 
 for the smalnesse of their kitchin, makes the house 
 the bigger : and the lord calls him his alchymist that 
 can extract gold out of hearbs, roots, mushroomes, or 
 any thing: that which he dresses, we may rather 
 call a drinking, then a meale ; yet he is so full of 
 variety, that he brags, and truly, that hee gives you 
 but a taste of what he can doe : he dare not for his 
 life come among the butchers ; for sure they would 
 quarter and bake him after the English fashion ; 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 145 
 
 hee's such an enemy to beefe and mutton. To con- 
 clude, hee were only fit to make a funerall feast, 
 where men should eat their victuals in mourning. 
 
 A Sexton 
 
 S an ill-wilier to humane nature. Of all 
 proverbs, hee cannot endure to heare 
 that which sayes, We ought to live by 
 the quick, not by the dead. He could willingly 
 all his life time be confinde to the church-yard ; at 
 least within five foot on't : for at every church stile, 
 commonly ther's an ale-house : where let him be 
 found never so idle pated, hee is still a grave 
 drunkard. He breaks his fast heartilest while hee 
 is making a grave, and sayes, the opening of the 
 ground makes him hungry. Though one would 
 take him to bee a sloven, yet hee loves cleane linnen 
 extremely, and for that reason takes an order that 
 fine holland sheetes be not made wormes meat. 
 Like a nation called the Cusani, hee weepes when 
 any are borne, andlaughes when they die : the reason ; 
 he gets by burials, not christnings : he will hold 
 argument in a taverne over sack, till the diall and 
 himselfe be both at a stand : he never observes any 
 time but sermon time, and there hee sleepes by the 
 houre-glasse. The rope-maker payes him a pension, 
 
146 CHARACTERS. 
 
 and hee payes tribute to the physitian ; for the 
 physitian makes worke for the sexton, as the rope- 
 maker for the hangman. Lastly, hee wishes the 
 dog- day es would last all yeere long : and a great 
 plague is his yeere of jubilee. 
 
 A Iesuite 
 
 S a larger spoone for a traytour to feed 
 with the devill, then any other order: 
 unclaspe him, and hee's a gray wolfe, 
 with a golden starre in the forehead : so supersti- 
 tiously he followes the pope, that he forsakes Christ, 
 in not giving Ccesar his due. His vowes seeme 
 heavenly; but in meddling with state-businesse, 
 he seemes to mix heaven and earth together. His 
 best elements, are confession and penance : by the 
 first, he finds out mens inclinations ; and by the 
 latter, heapes wealth to his seminary. He sprang 
 from Ignatius Loyola, a Spanish souldier ; and 
 though he were found out long since the invention 
 of the canon, 'tis thought hee hath not done lesse 
 mischiefe. He is a false key to open princes cabi- 
 nets, and pry into their counsels; and where the 
 popes excommunication thunders, he holds it no 
 more sinne the decrowning of kings, than our Puri- 
 tanes doe the suppression of bishops. His order is 
 
CHARACTERS. 147 
 
 full of irregularitie and disobedience: ambitious 
 above all measure ; for of late dayes, in Portugal} 
 and the Indies, he rejected the name of Jesuite, and 
 would be call'd disciple. In Rome, and other countries 
 that give him freedome, he weares a maske upon his 
 heart ; in England he shifts it, and puts it upon his 
 face. No place in our climate hides him so securely 
 as a ladies chamber : the modesty of the pursevant 
 hath only forborne the bed, and so mist him. There 
 is no disease in Christendome, that may so properly 
 be call'd The kings evill. To conclude, would you 
 know him beyond sea? In his seminary, hee's a 
 fox ; but in the inquisition, a lyon rampant. 
 
 An excellent Actor. 
 
 'HATSOEVEK is commendable to the 
 grave orator, is most exquisitely perfect 
 in him ; for by a full and significant action 
 of body, hee charmes our attention : sit in a full thea- 
 ter, and you will thinke you see so many lines drawne 
 from the circumference of so many eares, whiles the 
 actor is the center. He doth not strive to make 
 nature monstrous, she is often seene in the same 
 scene with him, but neither on stilts nor crutches ; 
 and for his voice, tis not lower then the prompter ; 
 not lowder then the foile and target. By his action 
 
148 CHARACTERS. 
 
 hee fortifies morall precepts with examples ; for 
 what wee see him personate, we thinke truly done 
 before us : a man of a deepe thought might appre- 
 hend, the ghost of our ancient heroes walk't againe, 
 and take him (at several times) for many of them. 
 Hee is much affected to painting, and tis a question 
 whether that make him an excellent player, or his 
 playing an exquisite painter. Hee addes grace to the 
 poets labours : for what in the poet is hut ditty, in 
 him is both ditty and musick. He entertaines us 
 in the best leasure of our life, that is betweene 
 meales, the most unfit time either for study or 
 bodily exercise. The flight of hawkes and chase of 
 wilde beasts, either of them are delights noble : but 
 some thinke this sport of men the worthier, despight 
 all calumny. All men have beene of his occupation : 
 and indeed, what hee doth fainedly, that doe others 
 essentially : this day one playes a monarch, the 
 next a private person. Here one acts a tyrant, on 
 the morrow an exile : a parasite this man to night, 
 to morrow a precisian, and so of divers others. I 
 observe, of all men living, a worthy actor in one 
 kinde is the strongest motive of affection that can 
 be : for when hee dyes, wee cannot be perswaded 
 any man can doe his parts like him. But to conclude, 
 I value a worthy actor by the corruption of some few 
 of the quality, as I would doe gold in the oare ; I 
 should not mind the drosse, but the purity of the 
 metall. 
 
CHARACTERS. 149 
 
 A Franklin. 
 
 IS outside is an ancient yeoman of Eng- 
 p land, though his inside may give armes 
 UP (with the hest gentlemen) and ne're see 
 the herauld. There is no truer servant in the house 
 then himselfe. Though he be master, he sayes not 
 to his servants, Goe to field, but, Let us goe ; and with 
 his owne eye, doth both fatten his flock, and set 
 forward all manner of husbandrie. Hee is taught 
 by nature to bee contented with a little ; his owne fold 
 yeelds him both food and rayment: hee is pleas'd 
 with any nourishment Grod sends, whilst curious 
 gluttony ransackes, as it were, Noalis ArTce for food, 
 onely to feed the riot of one meale. He is nere 
 knowne to goe to law ; understanding, to bee law- 
 bound among men, is like to bee hide-bound among 
 his beasts ; they thrive not under it : and that such 
 men sleepe as unquietly, as if their pillowes were 
 stuft with lawyers pen-knives. When he builds, no 
 poore tenants cottage hinders his prospect : they are 
 indeed his almes-houses, though there be painted on 
 them no such superscription : he never sits up late, 
 but when he himts the badger, the vow'd foe of his 
 lambs : nor uses hee any cruelty, but when hee hunts 
 the hare, nor subtilty, but when he setteth snares 
 for the snite, or pit-falls for the black-bird; nor 
 
150 CHARACTERS. 
 
 oppression, but when in the moneth of July, he goes 
 to the next river, and sheares his sheepe. He allowes 
 of honest pastime, and thinkes not the bones of the 
 dead any thing bruised, or the worse for it, though the 
 country lasses dance in the church-yard after even- 
 song. Kocke Munday, and the wake in summer, 
 shrovings, the wakefull ketches on Christmas Eve, 
 the hoky, or seed cake, these he yeerely keepes, yet 
 holds them no reliques of popery. He is not so 
 inquisitive after newes derived from the privie closet, 
 when the finding an eiery of hawkes in his owne 
 ground, or the foaling of a colt come of a good straine, 
 are ty dings more pleasant, more profitable. Hee is 
 lord paramount within himselfe, though hee hold by 
 never so meane a tenure ; and dyes the more con- 
 tentedly (though he leave his heire young) in regard 
 he leaves him not liable to a covetous guardian. 
 Lastly, to end him ; hee cares not when his end 
 comes, hee needs not feare his audit, for his quietus is 
 in heaven. 
 
 A Rymer 
 
 S a fellow whose face is hatcht all over 
 with impudence, and should hee bee 
 hang'd or pilloried, tis armed for it. 
 Hee is a juggler with words, yet practises the art of 
 most uncleanely conveyance. He doth boggle very 
 
CHARACTERS. 151 
 
 often ; and because himselfe winks at it, thinks tis 
 not perceived : the maine thing that ever he did, 
 was the tune hee sang to. There is nothing in the 
 earth so pittifull, no not an ape-carrier, hee is not 
 worth thinking of, and therefore I must leave him 
 as nature left him ; a dunghill not well laid together. 
 
 A Covetous man. 
 
 HIS man would love honour and adore 
 God, if there were an L more in his 
 name : Hee hath coffind up his soule in 
 his chests before his body ; hee could wish he were 
 in My das his taking for hunger, on condition he had 
 his chymicall quality. At the grant of a new subsidy 
 he would gladly hang himselfe, were it not for the 
 charge of buying a rope, and begins to take money 
 upon use, when he heares of a privy seale. His morn- 
 ing prayer is to over-looke his baggs, whose every 
 parcell begets his adoration. Then to his studies, 
 which are how to cousen this tenant, begger that 
 widow, or to undoe some orphane. Then his bonds 
 are viewed, the well knowne dayes of payment con'd 
 by heart ; and if he ever pray, it is, some one may 
 breake his day, that the beloved forfeiture may be 
 obtained. His use is doubled, and no one sixpence 
 begot or borne, but presently by an untimely thrift 
 
152 CHARACTERS. 
 
 it is getting more. His chimney must not be ac- 
 quainted with fire, for feare of mischance, but if 
 extremitie of cold pinch him, hee gets him heat with 
 looking on, and sometime removing his aged wood- 
 pile, which he meanes to leave to many descents, till 
 it hath out-lived all the woods of that countrey. He 
 never spends candle but at Christmas (when he has 
 them for new-yeeres gifts) in hope that his servants 
 will breake glasses for want of light, which they 
 doubly pay for in their wages. His actions are 
 guilty of more crimes then other mens thoughts, and 
 he conceives no sin which hee dare not act save only 
 lust, from which he abstaines for feare hee should 
 be charged with keeping bastards : once a yeere he 
 feasts, the reliques of which meale shall serve him 
 the next quarter. In his talke hee railes against 
 eating of breake -fasts, drinking betwixt meales, and 
 sweares he is impoverished with paying of tythes. 
 He had rather have the frame of the world fall, then 
 the price of corne. If he chance to travel, he curses 
 his fortune that his place binds him to ride, and his 
 faithfull cloak-bag is sure to take care for his pro- 
 vision. His nights are as troublesome as his daies, 
 every rat awakes him out of his unquiet sleeps. If 
 he have a daughter to marry, he wishes he were in 
 Hungary, or might follow the custom of that country, 
 that all her portion might be a wedding gown. If 
 he fall sicke, he had rather dye a thousand deaths, 
 
CHARACTERS. 153 
 
 then pay for any physick : and if he might have his 
 choice, he would not goe to heaven but on condition 
 he may put money to use there. In fine, he lives a 
 drudge, dies a wretch, that leaves a heap of pelfe 
 (which so many carefull hands had scraped together) 
 to haste after him to hell, and by the way it lodges 
 in a lawyers purse. 
 
 The proud Man 
 
 S one in whom pride is a quality that 
 condemnes every one besides his master, 
 who when hee weares new clothes, thinks 
 himselfe wrong'd, if they bee not observ'd, imitated, 
 and his discretion in the choice of his fashion and 
 stuffe applauded : when he vouchsafes to blesse the 
 ayre with his presence, hee goes as neere the wall 
 as his sattin suit will give him leave, and every 
 passenger he viewes under the eye-browes, to ob- 
 serve whether he vailes his bonnet low enough, which 
 hee returnes with an imperious nod : he never 
 salutes first, but his farewell is perpetuall. In his 
 attire he is effeminate, every haire knows his owne 
 station ; which if it chance to loose, it is checkt in 
 againe with his pocket combe. He had rather have 
 the whole commonwealth out of order, then the least 
 member of his muchato, and chooses rather to lose 
 
154 CHARACTERS. 
 
 his patrimony, then to have his band ruffled ; at a 
 feast if hee be not placed in the highest seat, hee 
 eats nothing, howsoever, hee drinks to no man, talks 
 with no man for feare of familiarity. He professeth 
 to keep his stomack for the pheasant or the quail e, 
 and when they come, he can eat little, hee hath been 
 so cloyed with them that yeare, although they be 
 the first he saw. In his discourse he talks of none 
 but Privy Councellors, and is as prone to be-lye their 
 acquaintance, as he is a ladies favors : if he have 
 but twelve-pence in's purse, he will give it for the 
 best room in a play-house. He goes to sermons, 
 only to shew his gay clothes, and if on other inferi- 
 our daies he chance to meet his friend, hee is sorry 
 he sees him not in his best suit. 
 
 A Prison. 
 
 T should be Christs hospitall : for most of 
 your wealthy citizens are good benefac- 
 tors to it ; and yet it can hardly be so, 
 because so few in it are kept upon almes. Charities 
 house and this, are built many miles asunder. One 
 thing notwithstanding is here praise worthy, for 
 men in this persecution cannot chuse but prove good 
 Christians, in that they are a kind of martyrs, and 
 suffer for the truth. And yet it is so cursed a peece 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 155 
 
 of land, that the sonne is ashamed to be his fathers 
 heire in it. It is an infected pest-house all the yeare 
 long : the plague-sores of the law, are the diseases 
 here wholely reigning. The surgeons are atturnies 
 and pettifoggers, who kill more then they cure. 
 Lord have mercy upon us, may well stand over these 
 doores, for debt is a most dangerous and catching 
 city pestilence. Some take this place for the walks 
 in Moore-fields, (by reason the madmen are so 
 neere) but the crosses here and there are not alike. 
 No, it is not halfe so sweet an ayre, for it is the 
 dunghill of the law, upon which is thrown the mines 
 of gentry, and the nasty heaps of voluntary de- 
 cayed bankrupts, by which means it comes to bee 
 a perfect medall of the iron age, sithence nothing 
 but gingling of keyes, rattling of shackles, bolts and 
 grates are here to be heard. It is the horse of Troy, 
 in whose womb are shut up all the mad Greeks that 
 were men of action. 1 The Nullum vacuum (unlesse 
 in prisoners bellies) is here truly to bee proved. 
 One excellent effect is wrought by the place it selfe, 
 for the arrantest coward breathing, being posted 
 hither, comes in three dayes to an admirable stomack. 
 Does any man desire to learne musick ? every man 
 here sings Lachrymce at first sight, and is hardly 
 out ; hee runnes division upon every note ; and yet 
 (to their commendations bee it spoken) none of them 
 (for all that division) doe trouble the Church. They 
 
156 CHARACTERS. 
 
 are no Anabaptists ; if you aske under what horizon 
 this climate lyes, the Bermudas and it are both 
 under one and the same height. And wheras some 
 suppose that this Hand (like that) is haunted with 
 divels, it is not so : for those divels (so talked of, 
 and feared) are none else but hoggish jaylors. 
 Hither you need not sayle, for it is a ship of it selfe : 
 the masters side is the upper deck. They in the 
 common jayle lye under hatches, and helpe to ballast 
 it. Intricate cases are the tacklings, executions the 
 anchors, capiasses the cables, chancery-bils the huge 
 sayles, a long terme the mast, law the helme, a 
 judge the pylot, a councel the purser, an atturney 
 the boatswain, his fleeting dark the swabber, bonds 
 the waves, out-lawries gusts, the verdicts of juries 
 rough winds, extents the rocks that split all in peeces. 
 Or if it be not a ship, yet this and a ship differ not 
 much in the building ; the one is a mooving misery, 
 the other a standing. The first is seated on a spring, 
 the second on piles. Either this place is an embleme 
 of a bawdy-house, or a bawdy-house of it ; for 
 nothing is to be seene (in any.roome) but scurvy 
 beds and bare walls. But (not so much to dishonor 
 it) it is an university of poore schollers, in which 
 three arts are chiefely studied: to pray, to curse, 
 and to write letters. 
 
CHARACTERS. 157 
 
 A Prisoner 
 
 S one that hath beene a monied man, 
 and is still a very close fellow ; whoso- 
 ever is of his acquaintance, let them 
 make much of him, for they shall find him as fast a 
 friend as any in England : he is a sure man, and 
 you know where to find him. The corruption of a 
 bankerupt, is commonly the generation of this crea- 
 ture : hee dwels on the hack side of the world, or 
 in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement 
 which he is sure none will goe about to take over 
 his head. To a man that walkes abroad, he is one 
 of the antipodes, that goes on the top of the world ; 
 and this under it. At his first comming in, hee is 
 a peece of new coyne, all sharking old prisoners lye 
 sucking at his purse. An old man and he are 
 much alike, neither of them both goe farre. They 
 are still angry, and peevish, and they sleepe little. 
 Hee was borne at the fall of Babel, the confusion of 
 languages is onely in his mouth. All the vacations, 
 he speakes as good English, as any man in England ; 
 in tearme times he breaks out of that and hopping 
 one-legg'd pace, into a racking trot of issues, billes, 
 replications, rejoynders, demurres, querelles, sub- 
 ■penafs, &fc. able to fright a simple countrey fellow* 
 and make him beleeve he conjures. Whatsoever 
 
158 CHARACTERS. 
 
 his complexion was before, it turnes (in this place) 
 to choler or deepe melancholy, so that hee needs 
 every houre to take physick to loose his body, for 
 that (like his estate) is very foule and corrupt, and 
 extremely hard bound. The taking of an execution 
 off his stomack, gives him five or sixe stooles, and 
 leaves his body very soluble. The withdrawing of 
 an action, is a vomit. Hee is no sound man, and 
 yet an utter Barrester (nay, a sergeant of the case) 
 will feed heartily upon him, hee is very good picking 
 meat for a lawyer. The barber surgeons may (if 
 they will) beg him for an anatomic after hee hath 
 suffered execution ; an excellent lecture may bee 
 made upon his body : hee is a kind of dead car- 
 kasse, creditors, lawyers, and jaylors devoure it : 
 creditors peck out his eyes with his owne teares, 
 lawyers flay off his owne skinne, and lappe him in 
 parchment, and jaylors are the promethean vultures 
 that gnaw his very heart. Hee is a bond-slave to 
 the law, and (albeit he were a shop-keeper in Lon- 
 don) yet he cannot with safe conscience write him- 
 selfe a freeman. His religion is of five or six 
 colours; this day he prayes that God may turne 
 the hearts of his creditors : and to morrow he curseth 
 the hour that ever he saw them. His apparell is 
 dawb'd commonly with statute lace, the suit it selfe 
 of durance, and the hose full of long paines. He 
 hath many other lasting suits, which he himselfe is 
 
CHARACTERS. 159 
 
 never able to weave out, for they weave out him. 
 The Zodiaque of his life, is like that of the Sun 
 (marry not halfe so glorious.) It begins in Avies, 
 and ends in Pisces. Both head and feet are (all the 
 yeare long) in troublesome and laborious motions, 
 and Westminstev Hall is his spheare. Hee lives 
 betweenne the two tropiques, (Cancev and Capvi- 
 corne) and by that means is in double danger (of 
 crabbed creditors) for his purse, and hovnes for his 
 head, if his wives heeles bee light. If hee be a 
 gentleman, he alters his armes so soone as he comes 
 in. Few (heere) carry fields or avgent, but what- 
 soever they bare before, here they give onely sables. 
 Whiles he lies by it, he's travelling ore the Alps, 
 and the hearts of his creditors are the snows that lye 
 unmelted in the middle of Sommer. He is an 
 almanack out of date : none of his daies speake of 
 faire weather. Of all the files of men, hee marcheth 
 in the last, and comes limping, for he is shot, and 
 is no man of this world, unlesse he be fetcht off 
 nobly. He hath lost his way, and being benighted, 
 strayed into a wood full of wolves, and nothing so 
 hard as to get away, without being devoured. Hee 
 that walkes from six to six in Pauls, goes still but 
 a quoites cast before this man. 
 
160 CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Creditour 
 
 S a fellow that torments men for their 
 good conditions. He is one of Deuca- 
 lions sons begotten of a stone. The 
 marble images in the Temple Church, that lye crosse- 
 legg'd, doe much resemble him, saving that this is 
 a little more crosse. Hee weares a forfeited bond 
 under that part of his girdle where his thumb stickes, 
 with as much pride as a Welchman does a leek on 
 S. Davids day, and quarrels more and longer about 
 it. He is a catchpoles mornings draught : for the 
 newes that such a gallant's come yesternight to 
 towne, drawes out of him both muscadel and mony 
 too. He saies the Lords praier backwards, or (to 
 speake better of him) he hath a pater noster by 
 himself, and that particle, Forgive us our debts, as 
 we forgive others, &c. he either quite leaves out, or 
 els leaps over it. It is a dangerous rub in the alley 
 of his conscience. He is the bloud-hound of the 
 law, and himts counter, very swiftly and with great 
 judgement. He hath a quicke sent to smell out 
 his game, and a good deepe mouth to pursue it, yet 
 never opens till he bites, and bites not till hee Miles, 
 or at least drawes bloud, and then hee pincheth most 
 doggedly. Hee is a lawyers moyle, and the onely 
 beast upon which he ambles so often to Westminster. 
 
CHARACTERS. 161 
 
 And a lawyer is his God Almighty, in him only he 
 trusts, to him he flyes in all his troubles, from him 
 he seekes succour ; to him he prayes, that hee may 
 by his meanes overcome his enemies : him does hee 
 worship both in the temple and abroad, and hopes 
 by him and good Angels, to prosper in all his actions. 
 A scrivener is his farriar, and helps to recover all 
 his diseased and maimed obligations. Every tearme 
 he sets up a tenters in Westminster Hall, upon 
 which he rackes and stretches gentlemen like English 
 broadcloth, beyond the staple of the wooll, till the 
 threds cracke, and that causeth them with the least 
 wet to shrink, and presently to weare bare : marrie 
 hee handles a citizen (at least if himselfe be one) 
 like a peece of Spanish cloth, gives him onely a 
 touch, and straines him not too hard, knowing how 
 apt he is to break of himselfe, and then he can cut 
 nothing out of him but shreds. To the one, he 
 comes like Tamberlaine, with his blacke and bloucly 
 flag. But to the other, his white one hangs out, 
 and (upon the parley) rather then faile, he takes ten 
 groats i'th' pound for his ransom, and so lets him 
 march away with bag and baggage. From the 
 beginning of Hilary to th' end of Michaelmas, his 
 purse is full of quicksilver, and that sets him running 
 from sun-rise to sun-set up Fleet street, and so to 
 the Chancery, from thence to Westminster, then 
 back to one court, after that to another; then to 
 
162 CHARACTERS. 
 
 attumey, then to a consellour, and in every of these 
 places, he melts some of his fat (his money.) In 
 the vacation he goes to grasse, and gets up his flesh 
 againe, which he bates as you have heard. If he 
 were to bee hang'd, unlesse he could be sav'd by his 
 book, hee cannot for his heart call for a Psalme of 
 mercy. He is a knave-trap-baited with parchment 
 and wax ; the fearefull mice he catches, are debters, 
 with whom scratching atturneyes (like cats) play a 
 good while, and then mouze them. The belly is an 
 unsatiable creditor, but man worse. 
 
 A Sargeant 
 
 JAS once taken (when he bare office in 
 his parish) for an honest man. The 
 spawn of a decaied shop-keeper begets 
 this fry ; out of that dunghill is this serpents egge 
 hatched. It is a divell made somtimes out of one 
 of the twelve companies, and does but study the 
 part and rehearse on earth, to be perfect when he 
 comes to act it in hell: that is his stage. The 
 hangman and he are twinnes ; onely the hangman 
 is the elder brother, and hee dying without issue (as. 
 commonly hee does, for none but a rope-makers 
 widdow will marry him) this then inherites. His 
 habit is a long gowne, made at first to cover his 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 163 
 
 knavery, but that growing too monstrous, hee now 
 goes in buffe : his conscience and that, being both 
 cut out of one hide, and are of one toughnesse. The 
 countergate is his Jcennell, the whole city his Paris 
 garden, the misery of poore men (but especially of 
 bad livers) are the offalles on which he feeds. The 
 devill cals him his white sonne ; he is so like him, 
 that hee is the worse for it, and hee takes after his 
 father ; for the one torments bodies, as fast as the 
 other tortures soides. Money is the crust he leaps 
 at : crie, a duclce, a ducJce, and hee plunges not in so 
 eagerly as at this. The dogs chajos water to fetch 
 nothing else : he hath his name for the same 
 quality ; for sergeant, is quasi see argent, looke you 
 rogues here is mony. Hee goes muffled like a 
 theefe, and carries still the marks of one, for he 
 stealesu^on a man coivardly,j)lucJcsh.im by the throat, 
 makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they 
 differ, the theefe is more valiant and more honest. 
 His walkes in terme time are up Fleet-street, at the 
 end of terme up Holeborne, and so to Tyburne, the 
 gallowes are his purlues, in which the hang-man 
 and hee are the quarter rangers, the one turnes off, 
 and the other cuts downe. All the vacation hee lies 
 imboag'de behinde the lattice of some blinde, 
 drunken, bawdy ale-house, and if he spie his prey, 
 out he leapes, like a free-booter, and rifles ; or like 
 a ban-dog worries. No officer to the citie, keepes 
 
164 CHARACTERS. 
 
 his oath so uprightly ; he never is forsworne, for 
 hee sweares to be true varlet to the city, and he 
 continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so 
 comfortable to the stomacke in all kinde of meats, 
 turnes in his hand to mortall poyson. This raven 
 pecks not out mens eyes as others doe, all his spite 
 is at their shoulders, and you were better to have 
 the night-mare ride you, then this incubus. When 
 any of the furies of hell die, this cacodcemon hath 
 the reversion of his place. Jle will venture as 
 desperately upon the Pox as any roaring boy of them 
 all. For when hee arrests a ivhore, himselfe puts 
 her in common bailc at his owne perill, and shee 
 paies him soundly for his labour ; upon one of the 
 sheriffes custards hee is not so greedy, nor so sharpe 
 set, as at such a stew-pot. The city is (by the 
 custome) to feed him with good meat, as they send 
 dead horses to their hounds, onely too keepe them 
 both in good heart, for not onely those curs at the 
 dog-house, but these within the walls, are to serve 
 in their places, in their severall huntings. He is a 
 citizens birdlime, and where he holds, he hangs. 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 165 
 
 His Yeoman. 
 
 ; S the hanger that a sergeant weares by 
 his side, it is a false die of the same 
 bale, but not the same cut, for it runnes 
 some-what higher, and does more mischiefe. It is 
 a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a 
 bungler, and knowes not how to cut up a man with- 
 out tearing, but by a pattern. One terme fleshes 
 him,, or a Fleet-street breaJce fast. The clevill is 
 but his father in law, and yet for the love hee beares 
 him, he will leave him as much as if he were his owne 
 child. And for that cause (in stead of prayers) he 
 does every morning at the counter-gate aske him 
 blessing, and thrives the better in his actions all the 
 day after. This is the hook that hangs under water 
 to choake the fish, , and his sergeant is the quill 
 above water, which pops downe so soone as ever the 
 bait is swallowed. It is indeed an otter, and the 
 more terrible destroyer of the two. This counter- 
 rat hath a taile as long as his fellowes, but his teeth 
 are more sharp, and he more hungry, because he 
 does but snap, and hath not his full halfe-share of 
 the booty. The eye of this wolfe is as quicke in his 
 head, as a cut-purses in a throng, and as nimble is 
 hee at his businesse, as an hang-man at an execu- 
 tion. His office is as the dogs to worrie the sheepe 
 
166 CHARACTERS. 
 
 first, or drive them to the shambles ; the butcher that 
 cuts his throat, steps out afterwards, and that's his 
 sargeant. His living lies within the city, but his 
 conscience lies buried in one of the holes of a counter. 
 This eele is bred too, out of the mud of a bankerupt, 
 and dies commonly with his guts ript up, or else a 
 sudden stab sends him of his last errant. Hee will 
 very greedily take a cut with a sword, and sucke 
 more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. 
 His beginning is detestable, his courses desperate, 
 and his end damnable. 
 
 A Iaylor. 
 
 !S a creature mistaken in the making, for 
 hee should bee a tyger, but the shape 
 being thought too terrible, it is covered ; 
 and hee weares the vizor of a man, yet retaines the 
 qualities of his former fiercenesse, currishnesse, and 
 ravening. Of that red earth, of which man was 
 fashioned, this peece was the basest ; of the rubbish 
 which was left, and throwne by, came a jaylor, or 
 if God had something els to doe then to regard such 
 trash, his descent is then more ancient, but more 
 ignoble, for then hee comes of the race of those angels 
 that fell with Lucifer from heaven, whither he never 
 (or very hardly) returnes. Of all his bunches of 
 keyes, not one hath wards to open that doore ; for a 
 
CHARACTERS. 167 
 
 jaylors soule stands not upon those two pillars that 
 support heaven, {justice and mercy :) it rather sits 
 upon those two foot-stooles of hell, wrong and 
 cruelty. Hee is a judges slave, a prisoner 's his. 
 In this they 'differ, he is a voluntary one, the other 
 eompeld. Hee is the Jiang-man of the law (with a 
 lame hand) and if the law gave him all his limbs 
 perfect, he would strike those, on whom he is glad 
 to fawne. In fighting against a debtor, hee is a 
 creditors second ; but observes not the lawes of the 
 duello, for his play is foule, and on all base advan- 
 tages. His conscience and his shackles hang up 
 together, and are made very neere of the same 
 mettle, saving that the one is harder then the other, 
 and hath one property above iron, for that never 
 melts. He distils money out of poore mens teares, 
 and growes fat by their curses. No man comming 
 to the practicall part of hell, can discharge it better, 
 because here he do's nothing but study the theoricke 
 of it. His house is the picture of hell in little, and 
 the originall of the letters patents of his office, stands 
 exemplified there. A chamber of lowsie beds, is 
 better worth to him than the best acre of corne-land 
 in England. Two things are hard to him (nay 
 almost impossible) viz : to save all his prisoners that 
 none ever escape, and to be saved himselfe. His 
 eares are stopt to the cries of others, and Gods to 
 Jiis : and good reason, for lay the life of a man in 
 
168 CHARACTERS. 
 
 one scale, and his fees on the other, hee will loose 
 the first, to find the second. He must looke for no 
 mercy (if hee desires justice to be done to him) for 
 he shevves none, and I thinke he cares the lesse, 
 because he knowes heaven hath no need of such 
 tenants, the doores there want no porters, for they 
 stand ever open. If it were possible for all creatures 
 in the world to sleepe every night, he onely and a 
 tyrant cannot. That blessing is taken from them, 
 and this curse comes in the stead, to be ever in feare, 
 and ever hated : what estate can be worse ? 
 
 What a Character is. 
 
 F I must speake the schoole-masters 
 language, I will confesse that character 
 comes of this infinitive moode yapafyo 
 which signifieth to ingrave, or make a deepe impres- 
 sion. And for that cause, a letter (as A. B.) is 
 called a character. 
 
 Those elements which wee learne first, leaving a 
 strong seale in our memories. 
 
 Character is also taken for an ^Egyptian hiero- 
 glyphicke, for an imprese, or short embleme; in 
 little comprehending much. 
 
 To square out a character by our English level!, 
 
 
CHARACTERS. 
 
 169 
 
 it is a picture (reall or personal!) quaintly drawne, 
 in various colours, all of them heightned by one 
 shadowing. 
 
 It is a quicke and soft touch of many strings, all 
 shutting up in one musicall close : it is wits descant 
 on any plaine song. 
 
NEWES FKOM ANY WHENCE. 
 
 OR, OLD TRUTH, UNDER A SUPPOSALL 
 
 OF NOVELTIE. 
 
 Occasioned by divers Essaies, and private passages 
 
 of Wit, betweene sundrie Gentlemen 
 
 upon that subject. 
 
 Newes from Court. 
 
 |T is thought heere that there are as 
 great miseries beyond happinesse, as 
 a this side it, as being in love. That 
 truth is every mans by assenting. 
 That time makes every thing aged, and yet it selfe 
 was never hut a minute old. That, next sleep, the 
 greatest devourer of time is businesse : the greatest 
 stretcher of it, passion : the truest measure of it, 
 contemplation. To be saved, alvvayes is the best 
 plot : and vertue alwayes cleares her way as she 
 goes. Vice is ever behind-hand with it selfe. That 
 wit and a woman are two fraile things, and both the 
 
172 NEWES. 
 
 frailer by concurring. That the meanes of begetting 
 a man, hath more increast mankind then the end. 
 That the madnesse of love is to be sicke of one part, 
 and cured by another. The madnesse of jealousie, 
 that it is so diligent, and yet it hopes to lose his 
 labour. That all women for the bodily part, are but 
 the same meaning put in divers words. That the 
 difference in the sense is their understanding. That 
 the wisdome of action is discretion ; the knowledge 
 of contemplation is truth : the knowledge of action 
 is men. That the first considers what should be, 
 the latter makes use of what is. That every man is 
 weake in his owne humours. That every man a 
 little beyond himselfe, is a foole. That affectation 
 is the more ridiculous part of folly then ignorance. 
 That the matter of greatnesse is comparison. That 
 God made one world of substances ; man hath made 
 another of art and opinion. That money is nothing 
 but a thing which art hath turned up trumpe. 
 That custome is the soule of circumstances. That 
 custome hath so far prevailed, that truth is now the 
 greatest newes. 
 
 Sir T. Over. 
 
NEWES. 173 
 
 Answere to the Court JVeioes. 
 
 
 a HAT Jiappinesse and miserie are <zn££- 
 ^ podes. That goodnesse is not felicitie, 
 >yiK3 but the rode thither. That mans strength 
 is but a vicissitude of falling and rising. That 
 onely to refraine ill, is to be ill still. That the plot 
 of salvation was laid before the plot of Paradise. 
 That enjoying is the preparative to contemning. 
 That hee that seekes opinion beyond merit, goes just 
 so farre back. That no man can obtaine his desires, 
 nor in the world hath not to his measure. That to 
 study, men are more profitable then bookes. That 
 mens loves are their afflictions. That titles of 
 honour, are rattles to still ambition. That to bee a 
 king, is Fames batte, and Feares quiver. That the 
 soules of women and lovers, are wrapt in the port- 
 manque of their sense's. That imagination is the 
 end of man. That wit is the webbe, and wisdome 
 the woofe of the cloth ; so that womens soules were 
 never made up. That envie knowes what it will not 
 confesse. That goodnesse is like the sit prospective : 
 one point center, begetting infinite raves. That 
 man, woman, and the devill, are the three degrees 
 of comparison. That this newes holds number, but 
 not weight, by which couple all things receive forme. 
 
174 NEWES. 
 
 Countrey Newes. 
 
 ^AT there is most heere, for it gathers 
 in going. That reputation is measured 
 by the acre. That poverty is the great- 
 est dishonesty. That the pitty of alasse poore 
 soule, is for the most part mistaken. That rost 
 beefe is the best smell. That a justice of peace is 
 the best relique of idolatry. That the allegory of 
 justice drawne blind, is turned the wrong way. 
 That not to live too heavenly is accounted great 
 wrong. That wisdome descends in a race. That 
 wee love names better then persons. That to hold 
 in knights service, is a slippery service. That a 
 papist is a new word for a traitor. That the duty 
 of religion is lent, not pay'd. That the reward is 
 lost in the want of humility. That the puritane 
 persecution is as a cloud that can hide the glory of 
 the light, but not the day. That the emulation of 
 the English and Scots to be the kings countrymen, 
 thrust the honour on the Welsh. That a courtier 
 never attaines his selfe-knowledge, but by report- 
 That his best embleme is a hearne-dog. That many 
 great men are so proud, that they know not their 
 owne fathers. That love is the taile worme. That 
 a woman is the effect of her owne first fame. That 
 to remember, to know, and to understand, are three 
 degrees not understood. That countrey ambition is 
 
NEWES. 175 
 
 no vice, for there is nothing above a man. That 
 fighting is a serving-mans valor : martvrdome 
 their masters. That to live long, is to fill up the 
 dayes we live. That the zeale of some mens reli- 
 gion reflects from their friends. That the pleasure 
 of vice is indulgence of the present, for it endures 
 but the acting. That the proper reward of good- 
 nesse is from within, the external! is policie. That 
 good and ill is the crosse and pile in the ayme of 
 life. That the soule is the lamp of the body, reason 
 of the soule, religion of reason, faith of religion, 
 Christ of faith. That circumstances are the atomies 
 of policie, censure the being, action the life, but 
 successe the ornament. That authority presseth 
 downe with weight, and is thought violence : policie 
 trips up the heeles, and is called the dexterity. That 
 this life is a throng in a narrow passage, he that is 
 first out, finds ease, hee in the middle worst hemm'd in 
 with troubles, the hindmost that drives both out afore 
 him, though not suffering wrong, hath his part in 
 doing it. That God requires of our debts, a reckon- 
 ing, not payment. That heaven is the easiest pur- 
 chase, for wee are the richer for the disbursing. 
 That liberality should have no object but the poore, 
 if our minds were rich. That the mystery of great - 
 nesse is to keepe the inferiour ignorant of it. That 
 all this is no newes to a better wit. That the city 
 cares not ivhat the countrey thinhes. Sir T. B. 
 
176 NEWES. 
 
 Newes from the verie countrie. 
 ^|HAT it is a frippery of courtiers, mar- 
 
 chants, and others, which have beene in 
 fashion, and are very neere worn out. 
 That justices of peace have the selling of under- 
 woods, but the lords have the great fals. The 
 Jesuits are like apricoekes, heretofore, heere and 
 there one succour'd in a great mans house, and cost 
 deare ; now you may have them for nothing in every 
 cottage. That every great vice is a pike in a pond, 
 that devours vertues and lesse vices. That it is 
 wholsomest getting a stomacke by walking on your 
 owne ground ; and the thriftiest laying of it at 
 anothers table. That debtors are in London close 
 prisoners, and heere have the liberty of the house. 
 That atheists in affliction, like blind beggers, are 
 forced to aske, though they know not of whom. 
 That there are (God be thanked) not two such acres 
 in all the countrey, as the Exchange and Westmin- 
 ster Hall. That only Christmasse Lords know T their 
 ends. That women are not so tender fruit, but that 
 they doe as w T ell, and beare as well upon beds, as 
 plashed against walls. That our carts are never 
 worse implo3 r ed, then when they are waighted on by 
 coaches. That sentences in authors, like haires in 
 horse tailes, concurre in one root of beauty and 
 
NEWES. Ill 
 
 strength ; but being pluckt out one by one, serve 
 only for springes and snares. That both want and 
 abundance, equally advance a rectified man from the 
 world, as cotton and stones are both good casting for 
 an hawke. That I am sure there is none of the for- 
 bidden fruit left, because we doe not all eat therof. 
 That our best three-pilde mischiefe comes from 
 beyond the sea, and rides post through the countrey, 
 but his errand is to court. That next to no wife 
 and children, your owne are the best pastime, anothers 
 wife and your children worse, your wife and anothers 
 children worst. That states -men hunt their fortunes, 
 and are often at default. Favorites course her, and 
 are ever in view. That intemperance is not sounwhol- 
 some here ; for none ever saw sparrow sicke of the 
 pox. That here is no trechery nor fidelity, but it is 
 because here are no secrets. That court-motions 
 are up and downe, ours circular, theirs like squibs 
 cannot stay at the highest, nor returne to the place 
 which they rose from, but vanish and weare out in 
 the way : ours like milwheeles, busie without chang- 
 ing place ; they have peremptory fortunes, we vicis- 
 situdes. 
 
 I.D. 
 
178 NEWES. 
 
 Answere to the very Countrey Newes. 
 
 T is a thought, that man is the cooke of 
 time, and made dresser of his owne fatting. 
 That the five senses are cinque-ports for 
 temptation, the traffique sinne, the lieutenant Sathan, 
 the custome-tribute, soules. That the citizens of 
 the high court, grow rich by simplicity ; but those 
 of London, by simple craft. That life, death, and 
 time, doe with short cudgels dance the matachine. 
 That those which dwell under the zona torrida, are 
 troubled with more damps, than those of frigida. 
 That policie and superstition hath of late her masque 
 rent from her face, and shee is found with a wrie 
 mouth and a stinking breath, and those that courted 
 her hotly, hate her now in the same degree or be- 
 yond. That Nature too much loving her own, 
 becomes unnaturall and foolish. That the soule in 
 some is like an egge, hatched by a young pullet, 
 who often rigging from her nest, makes hot and 
 cold beget rottennesse, which her wanton youth will 
 not beleeve, till the faire shell being broken, the 
 stinke appeareth to profit others, but cannot her. 
 That those are the wise ones, that hold the superficies 
 of vertue, to support her contrary, all-sufficient. 
 That clemency within and without is the nurse of 
 rebellion. That thought of the future is retired into 
 
NEWES. 179 
 
 the countrey, and time present dwels at court. That 
 I living neere the church-yard, where many are 
 buried of the pest, yet my infection commeth from 
 Spaine, and it is feared it will disperse further into 
 the kingdome. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 Newes to the Universitie. 
 
 MEEEE scholler is but a live book. 
 Actions doth expresse knowledge better 
 then words ; so much of the soule is 
 lost as the body cannot utter. To teach, should 
 rather be an effect, then the purpose of learning. 
 Age decayes nature, perfects art : therefore the glory 
 of youth, is strength ; of the gray head, wisdome ; 
 yet most condemne the follies of their owne infancie, 
 runne after those of the worlds, and in reverence of 
 antiquity will beare an old error against a new truth. 
 Logiche is the heraldrie of arts, the array of judge- 
 ment, none it selfe, nor any science without it : where 
 it and learning meete not, must be either a skilfull 
 ignorance, or a wilde knowledge. Understanding 
 cannot conclude out of moode and figure. Discretion 
 containes rhetoricke ; the next way to learne good 
 words, is to learne sense ; the newest philosophic 
 is soundest, the eldest divinitie : astronomie begins 
 in nature, ends in magick. There is no honesty 
 
180 NEWES. 
 
 of the body without health, which no man hath 
 had since Adam. Intemperance that was the first 
 mother of sicknesse, is now the daughter. Nothing 
 dies hut qualities. ~No kind in the world can perish 
 without ruine of the whole. All parts helpe one 
 another (like states) for particular interest: so in 
 arts which are but translations of nature, there is no 
 sound position in any one, which, imagine false, there 
 may not from it bee drawne strong conclusions, to 
 disprove all the rest. Where one truth is granted, 
 it may bee by direct meanes brought to confirme any 
 other controverted. The soule and body of the first 
 man, were made fit to bee immortall together : we 
 cannot live to the one, but wee must die to the other. 
 A man and a Christian are two creatures. Our per- 
 fection in this world is vertue, in the next, knowledge ; 
 when we shall read the glory of God in his owne 
 face. 
 
 Newes from Sea. 
 
 ^HAT the best pleasure is to have no 
 object of pleasure, and uniformity is a 
 better prospect then variety. That put- 
 ting to sea is change of life, but not of condition, 
 where risings and fals, calmes, and crosse-gales are 
 yours, in order and turne ; fore-winds but by chance. 
 That it is the worst wind, to have no wind, and that 
 
NEWES. 181 
 
 your smooth-fac'd courtier, deading your course by 
 a calme, gives greater impediment, then an open 
 enemies crosse-gale. That levity is a vertue, for 
 many are held up by it. That it's nothing so intri- 
 cate and infinite to rigge a ship, as a woman, and 
 the more either is fraught, the apter to leake. That 
 to pumpe the one, and shreeve the other, is alike 
 noysome. That small faults habituated, are as dan- 
 gerous as little leakes unfound ; and that to punish 
 and not prevent, is to labour in the pumpe, and leave 
 the leake open. That it is best striking saile before 
 a storme, and necessariest in it. That a little time 
 in our life is best, as the shortest cut to our haven is 
 the happiest voyage. That to him that hath no 
 haven, no wind is friendly ; and yet it is better to 
 have no haven, then some kind of one. That ex- 
 pedition is every where to bee bribed but at sea. 
 That gaine workes this miracle, to make men walke 
 upon the water ; and that the sound of commodity 
 drowns the noise of a storme, especially of an absent 
 one. That I have once in my life out-gone night 
 at sea, but never darkness e ; and that I shall never 
 wonder to see a hard world, because I have lived to 
 see the sunne a bankrupt, being ready to starve for 
 cold in his perpetuall presence. That a mans com- 
 panions are (like ships) to bee kept in distance, for 
 falling foule one of another ; onely with my friend I 
 will close. That the fairest field for a running head is 
 
182 NEWES. 
 
 the sea, where he may run himselfe out of breath, 
 and his humour out of him. That I could carry you 
 much further, and yet leave more before then be- 
 hind, and all will be but via navis, without print or 
 tracke, for so is morall instruction to youths watrish 
 humour. That though a ship under saile be a good 
 sight, yet it is better to see her moor'd in the haven. 
 That I care not what become of this fraile barke of 
 my flesh, so I save the passenger. And here I cast 
 anchor. 
 
 W. S. 
 
FOKREN NEWES OF 
 THE YEEEE 1616. 
 
 From France, 
 
 T is delivered from France, that the 
 choyce of friends there, is as of their 
 wines : those that beeing new, are 
 hard and harsh, prove best : the most 
 pleasing are least lasting. That an enemy fierce at 
 the first onset, is as a tbrrent tumbling downe a moun- 
 taine ; a while it beares all before it : have but that 
 whiles patience, you may passe it drie-foot. That 
 a penetrating judgement may enter into a mans 
 mind by his bodies gate : if this appeare affected, 
 apish and unstable ; a wonder if that be settled. 
 
 That vaine glory, new fashions, and the French 
 disease, are upon termes of quitting their countries 
 allegeance, to be made free denisons of England. 
 That the wounds of an ancient enmity have their 
 
184 NEWES. 
 
 scarres, which cannot be so well closed to the sight, 
 but the j will lye open to the memory. That a 
 princes pleasurable vices, ushered by authority, and 
 waited on by connivence, sooner punish themselves 
 by the subjects imitation, then they can bee reformed 
 by remonstrance or correction: so apt are all ill 
 examples to rebound on them that give them. That 
 kings heare truth oftner for the tellers, then their 
 owne advantage. 
 
 From Spaine. 
 
 HAT the shortest cut to the riches of the 
 Indies, is by their contempt. That who 
 is feared of most, feares most. That it 
 more vexeth the proud, that men despise them, then 
 that they do not feare them. That greatnesse is fruit- 
 full enough, when other helps faile, to beget on it 
 selfe destruction. That it is a grosse flattering of 
 tired cruelty, to honest it with the title of clemency. 
 That to eat much at other mens cost, and little at 
 his owne, is the wholesomest and most nourishing 
 diet, both in court and country. That those are 
 aptest to domineere over others, who by suffering 
 indignities, have learned to offer them. That am- 
 bition like a silly dove flies up to fall downe, it minds 
 not whence it came, but whither it will. That even 
 galley-slaves, setting light by their captivity, find 
 
NEWES. 185 
 
 freedonie in bondage. That to be slow in military 
 businesse, is to be so courteous, as to give the way 
 to an enemy. That lightning and greatnesse, more 
 feare then hint. 
 
 From Rome. 
 
 [ HAT the venereall (called veniall) sin, its 
 to passe in the rank of cardinall vertues ; 
 and that those should bee held henceforth 
 his Holinesse beneficiall friends, that sinne upon hope 
 of pardon. That where vice is a state-commodity, 
 he is an offender that often offends not. That Jewes 
 and curtezans there, are as beasts that men feed, to 
 feed on. That for an Englishman to abide at Borne, 
 is not so dangerous as report makes it; since it 
 skilles not where we live, so we take heed how we 
 live. That greatnesse comes not down by the way 
 it went up, there being often found a small distance 
 between the highest and the lowest fortunes. That 
 rackt authority is oft lesse at home then abroad 
 regarded, while things that seeme, are (commonly) 
 more a farre off then at hand feared. 
 
186 NEWES. 
 
 From Venice. 
 
 I HAT the most profitable banke, is the 
 true use of a mans selfe, whiles such as 
 grow mouldy in idlenesse, make their 
 houses their tombs, and die before their death. That 
 many dangerous spirits lie buried in their wants, 
 which had they meanes to their minds, would dare 
 as much as those that with their better fortunes over- 
 top them. That professed curtezans, if they be any 
 way good, it is because they are openly bad. That 
 frugality is the richest treasure of an estate, where 
 men feed for hunger, cloath for cold and modesty, 
 and spend for honour, charity, and safety. 
 
 From Germanie. 
 
 HAT the infectious vice of drunken-good- 
 fellowship, is like to stick by that nation 
 as long as the multitude of offenders so 
 benums the sense of offending, as that a common 
 blot is held no staine. That discretions must be 
 taken by weight, not by tale : who doth otherwise, 
 shall both prove his own too light, and fall short of 
 his reckoning. That feare and a nice fore-cast of 
 every slight danger, seldome gives either faithfull or 
 fruitfull counsell. That the empire of Germanie, is 
 not more great then that over a mans selfe. 
 
NEWES. 187 
 
 From the Low- Countries. 
 
 ■ HAT one of the surest grounds of a mans 
 liberty is, not to give another power over 
 it. That the most dangerous plunge 
 whereto to put thine enemy, is desperation, while 
 forcing him to set light by his owne life, thou makest 
 him master of thine. That neglected danger lights 
 soonest and heaviest. That they are wisest, who in 
 the likelihood of good, provide for ill. That since 
 pity dwels at the next doore to misery, he liveth 
 most at ease, that is neighboured with envie. That 
 the evill fortune of the warres, as well as the good, 
 is variable. 
 
 Newes from my Lodging. 
 
 iHAT the best prospect is to looke inward. 
 That it is, quieter sleeping in a good 
 conscience, then a whole skin. That a 
 soule in a fat body lies soft, and is loth to rise. That 
 he must rise betimes who would cosen the devil. 
 That flattery is increased from a pillow under the 
 elbow, to a bed under the whole body. That policie 
 is the unsleeping night of reason. That he who 
 sleepes in the cradle of security, sinnes soundly 
 without starting. That guilt is the flea of the con- 
 
188 NEWES. 
 
 science. That no man is throughly awaked, but by 
 affliction. That a hang'd chamber in private, is 
 nothing so convenient as a hang'd traitour in pub- 
 like. That the religion of papistry, is like a cur- 
 taine, made to keepe out the light. That the life 
 of most women is walking in their sleep, and they 
 talke their dreames. That chambering is counted a 
 civiller quality, then playing at tables in the hall, 
 though serving-men use both. That the best bed- 
 fellow for all times in the yeare, is a good bed without 
 a fellow. That he who tumbles in a calme bed, hath 
 his tempest within. That he who will rise, must 
 first lye downe and take humility in his way. That 
 sleep is deaths picture drawne to life, or the twylight 
 of life and death. That in sleep we kindly shake 
 death by the hand ; but when we are awaked, we 
 will not know him. That often sleepings are so 
 many trials to dye, that at last we may doe it per- 
 fectly. That few dare write the true newes of their 
 chamber : and that I have none secret enough to 
 tempt a strangers curiosity, or a servants discovery. 
 God give you good morrow. 
 
 B. E. 
 
NEWES. 189 
 
 Newes of my morning Worke. 
 
 ,HAT to bee good; the way is to bee 
 most alone, or the best accompanied. 
 That the way to heaven is mistaken for 
 the most melancholy walke. That the most feare 
 the worlds opinion, more then Gods displeasure. 
 That a court-friend seldome goes further then the 
 first degree of charitie. That the devill is the per- 
 fectest courtier. That innocencie was first cousin 
 to man, now guiltinesse hath the neerest alliance. 
 That sleepe is deaths leiger-ambassadour. That 
 time can never bee spent : we passe by it, and can- 
 not returne. That none can bee sure of more time 
 then an instant. That sinne makes worke for re- 
 pentance, or the devill. That patience hath more 
 power then afflictions. That every ones memory is 
 divided into two parts: the part losing all, is the 
 sea, the keeping part is land. That honesty in the 
 court lives in persecution, like Protestants in Spain. 
 That predestination and constancy are alike uncer- 
 taine to be judged of. That reason makes love the 
 serving-man. That vertues favour is better then a 
 kings favourite. That being sick, begins a suit to 
 God ; being well, possesseth it. That health is the 
 coach which carries to heaven, sicknesse the post 
 horse. That worldly delights to one in extreme 
 
190 NEWES. 
 
 sicknesse, is like a high candle to a blind man. 
 That absence doth sharpen love, presence strengthens 
 it, that the one brings fuell, the other blowes it till 
 it burnes cleare : that love often breakes friendship, 
 that ever increaseth love. That constancy of women, 
 and love in men, is alike rare. That art is truths 
 juggler. That falsehood playes a larger part in the 
 world then truth. That blind zeale, and lame know- 
 ledge, are alike apt to ill. That fortune is humblest 
 where most contemned. That no porter but resolu- 
 tion keepes feare out of minds. That the face of 
 goodnesse without a body, is the worst wickednesse. 
 That womans fortunes aspire but by others powers. 
 That a man with a female wit, is the worst herma- 
 phrodite. That a man not worthy being a friend, 
 wrongs himselfe by being in acquaintance. That 
 the worst part of ignorance, is making good and ill 
 seeme alike. That all this is newes onely to fooles. 
 
 Mist. B. 
 
 Newes from the lower end of the Table, 
 
 [T is said among the folk here, that if a 
 man die in his infancy, hee hath onely 
 broke his fast in this world: if in his 
 youth, hee hath left us at dinner. That it is bed- 
 time with a man at three-score and ten : and hee 
 that lives to a hundred yeeres, hath walked a mile 
 
NEWES. 191 
 
 after supper. That the humble-minded man makes 
 the lowest curtesie. That grace before meat, is our 
 election, before we were : grace after meat our sal- 
 vation when we are gone. The soule that halts 
 betweene two opinions, falls betweene two stooles. 
 That a foole at the upper end of the table, is the 
 bread before the salt. Hee that hates to bee re- 
 prooved, sits in his owne light. Hunger is the 
 cheapest sawce, and nature the cheapest guest. The 
 sensible man and the silent woman, are the best 
 discoursers. Repentance without amendment, is 
 but the shifting of a foule trencher. Hee that tels 
 a lie to save his credit, wipes his mouth with his 
 sleeve to spare his napkin. The tongue of a jester 
 is the fiddle that the hearts of the company dance to. 
 The tongue of a foole carves a piece of his heart to 
 every man that sits next him. A silent man is a 
 covered messe. The contented man onely is his 
 owne carver. Hee that hath many friends, eats too 
 much salt with his meat. That wit without discre- 
 tion, cuts other men meat and his owne fingers. 
 That the soule of a cholericke man sits ever by the 
 fire-side. That patience is the lard of the leane 
 meat of adversitie. The epicure puts his money into 
 his belly, and the miser his belly into his purse. That 
 the best company makes the upper end of the table, 
 and not the salt-celler. The superfluitie of a mans 
 possessions, is the broken meat that should remaine 
 
192 NFWES. 
 
 to the poore. That the envious keepes his knife in 
 his hand, and swallowes his meat whole. A rich 
 foole among the wise, is a gilt empty bowle amongst 
 the thirstie. Ignorance is an insensible hunger. 
 The water of life is the best wine. Hee that robs 
 mee of my invention, bids himselfe welcome to 
 another mans table, and I will bid him welcome 
 when hee is gone. The vaine-glorious man pisseth 
 more then he drinkes. That no man can drinke an 
 health out of the cup of blessing. To surfet upon 
 wit, is more dangerous then to want it. Hee that's 
 overcome of any passion, is dry drunk. Tis easier 
 to fill the belly of faith then the eye of reason. The 
 rich glutton is better fed then taught. That faith 
 is the elbow for a heavy soule to leane on. He that 
 sinnes that he may repent, surfets that he may take 
 physick. He that riseth without thanksgiving, goes 
 away and owes for his ordinary. He that begins to 
 repent when he is old, never washed his hands till 
 night. That this life is but one day of three meales, 
 or one meale of three courses : child-hood, youth, 
 and old age. That to sup well, is to live well : and 
 that's the way to sleepe well. That no man goes to 
 bed till he dies, nor wakes till he be dead. And 
 therefore, 
 
 Good night to you here, 
 
 and good morrow hereafter. 
 I.C. 
 
NEWES. 193 
 
 Newes from the Church. 
 
 T was thought heere, that the world was 
 made for man, and not man for the 
 world, and that therefore they take a 
 crosse course that lye downe there. That those that 
 will not rise, their soules must, and carry their bodies 
 to judgement. That wee have spent one inheritance 
 already, and are prodigall of this. That there is 
 no hope beyond mercy, and that this is that time ; 
 the next is of justice. That Christ when hee went 
 away, left good seed in his Church ; and when he 
 comes againe, hee shall finde Christians, but not 
 faith. That the devill hath got upon us, the same 
 way that he did at the first, by drawing shadowes 
 over substances, as he did the body over the soule. 
 That Protestants weare the name of Christ for a 
 charme, as Papists doe the crosse. That States use 
 it, the clergie live by it, the people follow it, more 
 by a streame, then one by one. That all are reli- 
 gious rather then some. That every one lookes to 
 another, but not to himself e. That they goe so by 
 throngs to heaven, that it is to bee feared they take 
 the broader way. That the church is in the world, 
 like a ship in the sea ; the elect in the church, like 
 lonas amongst the mariners. That to mend this, is 
 to cheate the devill, to turne man the right side 
 o 
 
194 NEWES. 
 
 outward, and set the soule foremost againe. That 
 the soule may be too ranke too, if wee looke not to 
 it : and so a Puritaine oftentimes meetes a Papist 
 in superstition another way. That to binde from and 
 to indifferent things, is equall, though it bee thought 
 otherwise. That some, out of a good meaning, have 
 fallen this way into a vice. That these faults are 
 more subtill ; and therefore lesse perceived, and lesse 
 to bee blamed ; but as dangerous as the other, if they 
 take head. That the rule is in all things, the body 
 and the soule must goe together, but the better be- 
 fore. That wee have contended so long about the 
 body of religion, that some men thought it was dead. 
 That so Atheists are come into the church, and that 
 it will bee as hard to cast them out, as devils. That 
 those which have thus broken the peace of Jerusalem, 
 are obliged to satisfaction ; and those which first 
 gave them cause of amendment. That they are a 
 good medicine one for another, and both a good 
 composition. That a pure bishop is the best govern- 
 ment, if the pride on both sides would let them know 
 it. That all controversies, for the most part, leave 
 the truth in the middle, and are factious at both ends. 
 That the church hath this good by them, they cleanse 
 the way for others, but not for themselves. That 
 sincerity, in the cause of truth, is more worth then 
 learning. That too much, and too little knowledge, 
 have made the world mad. That wee have a shorter 
 
 
NEWES. 195 
 
 cut to it ; and a surer way than Drake had over the 
 world, if wee could find it out. That every man is a 
 briefe of the whole ; and as he is so, he is greater 
 then a king. That every king is a briefe of his 
 land, and hee hath a patterne of the government of 
 it alwaies about him. That as the honour that hee 
 gives unto his nobles and counsellors is a charge ; 
 so is that which God gives him. That as he requires 
 an account, so he must give. That he is the image 
 of God in his kingdome, as man is in the world. 
 That therefore the subjects owe him obedience, as 
 the creatures doe man. That those that will not 
 obey, are neither good subjects, nor good men. That 
 to obey well, is as great a thing as to governe, and 
 more mens duties. That those that thinke not so, 
 know not the Christians part, which is to suffer. 
 That though states be naught, if they professe reli- 
 gion, they may deliver many men safe to heaven, 
 though they goe not themselves, and so they are like 
 bad ministers. That this is Gods use of both, and of 
 the world too, to convey his elect to their place. 
 That the outward face of the church hath but the 
 same use, and the elect are the church themselves. 
 That they are the temple of the Holy Ghost, and 
 therefore ought to pluck down their idols, and set up 
 God there. That the idols of these times, are 
 covetousnesse, pride, gluttony, wantonnesse, heresies, 
 and such like admiration and serving of our selves. 
 
196 NEWES. 
 
 That wee must make all time an occasion of amend- 
 ment, because the devill makes it an occasion to 
 tempt. That he is a spirit, and therefore is cunninger 
 then we. That there is no way to resist him, but 
 by the Spirit of God, which is his master. That 
 this is the gift of God, which hee giveth to all that 
 are his. That it is increased by the word, and held 
 by humility and prayer. That faith is the effect of 
 it, and workes the assurance. That thus the under- 
 standing and will, which is the whole soule of man, 
 is made up againe, and sanctifies the body. That 
 so we are the members of Christ. That our head is 
 in heaven, as a pawne, that where he is, wee shall 
 bee. That there is no opinion but knowledge ; for 
 it is the science of soules, and God the teacher. 
 
 Newes from the bed. 
 
 HAT the bed is the best rendevou of 
 mankind, and the most necessary orna- 
 ment of a chamber. That souldiers are 
 good antiquaries in keeping the old fashion ; for the 
 first bed was the bare ground. That a mans pillow 
 is his best counseller. That Adam lay in state, when 
 the heaven was his canopie. That the naked truth 
 is, Adam and Eve lay without sheetes. That they 
 were either very innocent, verie ignorant, or very 
 impudent, they were not ashamed the heavens should 
 
NEWES. 197 
 
 see them lie without a coverlet. That it is likely 
 Eve studied astronomie, which makes the posterity 
 of her sex ever since to lie on their backes. That 
 the circumference of the bed is nothing so wide as 
 the convex of the heavens, yet it containes a whole 
 world. That the five senses are the greatest sleepers. 
 That a slothfull man is but a reasonable dormouse. 
 That the soule ever awakes to watch the body. That 
 a jealous man sleepes dog-sleepe. That sleepe makes 
 no difference betweene a wise man and a foole. That 
 for all times sleepe is the best bedfellow. That the 
 devill and mischiefe ever awake. That love is a 
 dreame. That the preposterous hopes of ambitious 
 men are like pleasing dreames, farthest off when 
 awake. That the bed payes Venus more custome 
 • hen all the world beside. That if dreames and 
 wishes had beene all true, there had not beene since 
 poperie, one maide to make a nun of. That the 
 secure man sleepes soundly, and is hardly to be 
 awak't. That the charitable man dreames of build- 
 ing churches, but starts to thinke the ungodlier 
 courtier will pull them downe againe. That sleepers 
 were never dangerous in a state. That there is a 
 naturall reason, why popish priests chuse the bed to 
 confesse their women upon, for they hold it neces- 
 sarie, that humiliation should follow shrift. That if 
 the bed should speake all it knowes, it would put 
 many to the blush. That it is fit the bed should 
 know more then paper. R, S. 
 
198 NEWES. 
 
 Netves from Shipboord. 
 
 HAT repentance without amendment, is 
 like continuall pumping, without mend- 
 ing the leake. That hee that lives 
 without religion, sayles without a compasse. That 
 the wantonnesse of a peaceable common-wealth, is 
 like the playing of the porpesse before a storme. 
 That the foole is sea-sick in a calme, but the wise 
 mans stomack endures all weathers. That passions 
 in a foole, are ordinance broken loose in a storme, 
 that alter their property of offending others, and 
 ruine himselfe. That good fortunes are a soft quick- 
 sand, adversity a rock; both equally dangerous. 
 That vertue is in poverty a ready riggd ship, that lies 
 wind-bound. That good fashion in a man, is like 
 the pilot in a ship, that doth most with least force.' 
 That a fooles tongue is like the buye of an anchor, 
 you shall finde his heart by it wheresoever it lyes. 
 Wisdome makes use of the crosses of this world, as 
 a skilfull pilot of rocks for sea-markes to saile by. 
 
 H.B. 
 
WE WES. 199 
 
 Newes from the Chimney-corner, 
 
 HAT wit is brush-wood, judgement tim- 
 ber : the one gives the greatest flame, 
 the other yeelds the durablest heat, and 
 both meeting makes the best fire. That bawdes and 
 atturneyes are andirons that uphold their clyents, till 
 they burne each other to ashes : they receive warmth 
 by these ; these by them then 1 destruction. That a 
 wise rich man is like the backe or stocke of the 
 chimney, and his wealth the fire ; he receives it not 
 for his owne need, but to reflect the heat to others 
 good. That house-keeping in England is falne from 
 a great fire in a hot summers day, to boughs in the 
 chimney all winter long. That mans reason in 
 matter of faith is fire, in the first degree of his ascent 
 flame, next smoake, and then nothing. A young 
 fellow falne in love with a whore, is said to be falne 
 asleepe in the chimney corner. He that leaves his 
 friend for his wench, forsakes his bed to set up and 
 watch a coale. That the covetous rich man onely 
 freezes before the fire. That choler is an ill guest, 
 that pisses in the chimney for want of a chamber- 
 pot. That chaste beauty is like the bellowes, whose 
 breath is cold, yet makes others burne. That he 
 that expounds the Scriptures upon the warrant of 
 his owne spirit only, layes the brands together with- 
 
200 NEWES. 
 
 out tongs, and is sure (at least) to burne his owne 
 fingers. That the lover keeps a great fire in's house 
 all the yeare long. That devotion, like fire in frostie 
 weather, burnes hottest in affliction. That such 
 fryers as flye the world for the trouble of it, lye in 
 bed all day in winter to spare fire-wood. That a 
 covetous man is a dog in a wheele, that toiles to 
 roast meat for other mens eating. That pagans 
 worshipping the sunne, are said to hold their hands 
 to the glo-worme in stead of a coale for heat. That 
 a wise mans heart is like a broad hearth that keeps 
 the coales (his passions) from burning the house. 
 That good deeds, in this life, are coales raked up in 
 embers, to make a fire next day. 
 
THE 
 
 FIRST AND SE 
 
 cond part of 
 
 The Remedy of Loue: 
 
 Written by Sir Thomas Overbvry 
 Knight. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Printed by Nicholas Okes, and are to be fold by 
 
 Iohn VVeh at his fliop in Fetter-lane and 
 
 in the Temple. 
 
 1620. 
 
TO THE WORTHY GENTLEMAN, 
 
 AND HIS MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, 
 
 MASTER JOHN ONLEY. 
 
 in this my love is showne to you, 
 since I give you the Remedy of Love, a 
 receipe never before ministred by any 
 but Ovid, one well skild in the cause, therefore 
 should better gesse at the Remedy: many others, 
 perhaps, in this world, with your selfe, which cry 
 with our Poet, 
 
 . . . Oh nature too unkind, 
 That made no medcine for a lovesick mind, 
 
 Here may have remedy : (it is an infection reignes) 
 but if your selfe or any other finde remedy in tins 
 my remedy, I (not physition like) looke but for 
 thankes, and I appeale to all lovers for the patroniz- 
 ing of this little pamphlet : Thus wishing you in all 
 your desires remedy, I rest 
 
 Yours I. W. 
 
THE EEMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 [HEN Love did reade the Title of my 
 
 booke, 
 He fear'd least some had armes against 
 
 him tooke ; 
 Suspect mee not for such a wicked thought, 
 Under thy colours which so oft have fought. 
 Some youths are oft in love, hut I am ever ; 
 And now to do the same I do persever. 
 I meane not to blot out what I have taught, 
 Nor to unwinde the web that I have wrought. 
 If any love, and is with love repaide, 
 Blest be his state ! he needeth not my aide : 
 But if he reape scorne where he love hath sowne, 
 Of such it is that I take charge alone. 
 Why should love any unto hanging force ? 
 When as even hate can drive them to no worse ? 
 Why by their own hands should it cause men perish, 
 When it is peace alone that love doth cherish ? 
 IPe ease you now which taught to love before, 
 
206 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 The same hand which did wound shall heale the sore, 
 The same earth, poyson'd flowres, and healthsome 
 
 breeds, 
 The rose is often neighbour unto weeds. 
 To men and women both, I physicke give, 
 Else I but halfe the sicke world should relieve. 
 If any for that sexe unfitting are, 
 Yet they by mens example may beware : 
 Had wicked Scylla this my counsell read, 
 The golden haire had stuck to Nisus head. 
 
 Take heed, when thou dost first to like begin, 
 Thrust not love out, but let him not come in. 
 By running farre, brookes runne with greater force, 
 'Tis easier to hold in, then stop thy horse. 
 Delay, addes strength and faster hold imparts : 
 Delay, the blades of corne, to eares converts. 
 The tree which now is father to a shade, 
 And often head against the winde hath made, 
 I could at first have pluckt up with my hand, 
 Though the sunnes prospect now it dares withstand. 
 Then passions, ere they fortifie, remove, 
 " In short time, liking groweth to be love :" 
 Be provident, and so prevent thy sorrow, 
 Who will not do't to day, cannot to morrow. 
 The river which now multipli'd doth swell, 
 Is in his cradle but a little well. 
 Oft, that which when 'tis done is but a skarre, 
 Becomes a wound while we the cure deferre. 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 207 
 
 But in thy heart if love be firmely seated, 
 And hath such roote as cannot be defeated ; 
 Although it had at first, I did not take you, 
 At point of death 'twere cruell to forsake you. 
 That fire which water never can asswage, 
 For want of stuffe at length must end his rage. 
 Whiles love is in his furious heate give place, 
 Delay, what counsell cannot, brings to passe. 
 At first his minde impatient and sore, 
 Doth physicke, more then the disease abhorre. 
 
 AYho but a foole, a mother will forbid, 
 Her somie new dead, some briny drops to shed : 
 WTien she a while hath spoke her griefe in teares, 
 "With patience then, of patience she heares. 
 Out of due season who so physicke gi's, 
 Though it cause health, yet hath he done amisse, 
 And friendly counsell urged out of date, 
 Doth fret the sore, and cause the hearers hate. 
 
 But when loves anger seemeth to appease, 
 By all meanes labour to shunne idlenes : 
 This brings him first, this staies him and no other, 
 This is to Cupid both his nurse and mother. 
 Barre idlenesse, loves arrowes blunt will turne, 
 And the anflaming fire want power to burne. 
 " Love nere doth better entertainment finde, 
 Then in a desolate and empty minde." 
 Sloth is loves bawde, if thou wilt leave wooing, 
 Let still thy body, or thy minde be doing. 
 
208 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 Full happinesse nere stop'd with rub of chance, 
 Ease uncontroul'd, long sleepes and dalliance, 
 Do wound the minde, though never pierce the skin, 
 And through that wound love slily creepeth in. 
 Then either unto bookes go make thy mone, 
 So shalt thou have most company alone. 
 Or else unto the doubtfull warres go range, 
 Ready, thy selfe, for honour to exchange. 
 The Parthian, that valiant run-away, 
 To yeeld new cause of triumph doth assay. 
 JEgystus was a letcher, and why so ? 
 The cause was he had nothing else to do. 
 When all the youths of Greece for Troy were bound, 
 And with a wall of men enclos'd it round, 
 jEgystus would not from his home remove, 
 Where he did nothing, but that nothing love. 
 If these faile, to the country then repaire, 
 For any care extinguisheth this care : 
 There maist thou see the oxe, the yoke obey, 
 And though the earth, ploughs eating throgh their 
 
 way: 
 To whom thou maist set corne to use, and see 
 For every corne, spring up a little tree. 
 The sunne being midwife, thou shalt oft finde there, 
 Trees bearing far more fruite then they can beare. 
 And how the silver brookes are riding post, 
 Till in some river they themselves have lost. 
 There maist thou see goates skale the highest hill, 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 209 
 
 That they their bellies and their dugges may fill. 
 
 And harmelesse sheepe, to whom was no defence, 
 
 By nature ever given, but innocence. , 
 
 There maist thou learne to graffe, and then note how, 
 
 The old tree nurseth the adopted bough ; 
 
 And of his sap doth him allowance rate, 
 
 Though his fruite from him do degenerate. 
 
 There maist thou see the hare tred many a ring, 
 
 The hounds into a laborinth to bring : 
 
 Untill he (having long his death delaide) 
 
 By his owne steps be to the dogs betraide. 
 
 Of fishing use, so thou the fish shalt see, 
 
 Punish'd to death for their credulity. 
 
 Do this, that thou maist weary be at night, 
 
 So sleepe in spight of thoughts shall close thy sight. 
 
 Let not thy memory things past repeate, 
 
 'Tis easier oft to learne then to forget. 
 
 Therefore keepe distance, and thy love forsake, 
 
 This to effect some journey undertake : 
 
 I know thou wilt wish raine, and faine delay, 
 
 And oft thy doubtfull foote stand at a stay : 
 
 But how much more it greives thee to be gone, 
 
 So much the more remember to go on. 
 
 Name not the miles nor once look backwards home, 
 
 The Parthian by flight doth overcome. 
 
 Some say my rules are hard, I do confesse it, 
 I needs must hurt the wound because I dresse it. 
 Wilt thou bide for thy bodies health vexation ? 
 p 
 
210 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 Which straight decayes without foods reparation ? 
 And wilt not thou do this thy minde to mend ? 
 Thy hetter halfe which did from heaven descend ? 
 For your more comfort, this one proofe I say, 
 " 'Tis harder farre to part then stay away." 
 For custome with the hardest things that are, 
 Will make us in short time familiar. 
 
 If thou he once abroad there long abide, 
 Least comming home into relaps thou slide : 
 Then will thine absence bring thee to worse plight, 
 As fasting breeds a greater appetite. 
 
 Thinke not by witchcraft to fright love away, 
 Pluto himselfe hath bene in love they say, 
 Circe us'de this, the wandring knight to stirre, 
 Yet many miles were twixt his love and her. 
 
 But he that is so vex'd, that would esteeme, 
 All paines but cheape, his freedome to redeeme : 
 Let him alone summe up his mistresse crimes, 
 Thinke how much she hath cost thee many times : 
 Thinke how she usde to sweare, and kindely speake, 
 And(faithlesse) streight her word and oath to breake : 
 And thinke, the same night that she thee denies, 
 That (greedy) with some servingman she lies. 
 Urge this, thy matter never will be spent, 
 For sorrow will make any eloquent. 
 
 I was in love my selfe the other day, 
 And she ungratefull would not love repay. 
 Then grew I the physitian and the sicke, 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 211 
 
 And did my selfe recover by this tricke. 
 
 I sayd she was not fair when I did eye her, 
 
 Yet to confesse the truth I did belie her : 
 
 I blam'd her leg and foote when I stood by her, 
 
 Yet to confesse the truth I did belie her : 
 
 Yet I at length (for many times I said it) 
 
 Gainst my owne knowledge to my selfe gave credite. 
 
 Still neere to vertue, vices bordring lie, 
 For on both sides of her they seated be : 
 Then the good parts thou in thy mistresse know'st, 
 To one of those two vices, see thou bow'st. 
 Account the fat as swolne, the browne as blacke, 
 If she be slender, say, she flesh doth lacke : 
 If she be merry, sweare that she is light, 
 If modest, thinke it is for lacke of wit. 
 
 This done, thy mistresse, be she not too coy, 
 "Wherein she hath no gift nor grace, employ : 
 If she sing harsh, intreate her still to sing, 
 Hath she fat fingers ? then a lute her bring : 
 If she stride wide, then get her forth to walke, 
 If speake she ill, then give her cause to talke. 
 If she dance hobling, let her not sit still, 
 And make her laugh if that her teeth be ill : 
 Sometimes into her chamber earely presse, 
 Before at all points she herselfe can dresse : 
 That which is Venus image when 'tis done, 
 Was (while 'twas making) but a rugged stone. 
 With cloathes and tires our judgements bribed bee, 
 
212 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 And woman is least part of what we see. 
 
 But least thou too much trust this rule, beware, 
 
 For many (like truth) fairest, naked are. 
 
 Yet venture in, for there is often found, 
 
 The stuffe, whereof their painting they compound : 
 
 And boxes, which unto their cheekes give colour, 
 
 And water that doth wash their faces fouler. 
 
 THE SECOND PART OF THE KEMEDY 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 llTHEKTO have I breath'd, now will I 
 bring, 
 My ranging course into a shorter ring. 
 When that night comes, (which many nights hath 
 
 lost thee, 
 And much sweete bitter expectation cost thee,) 
 Whilst thou art heavy, and thy spirits downe, 
 And foolishly wise, by repentance growne ; 
 Then let thine eyes her body note, till they 
 Do something finde amisse, and thereon stay. 
 Some may perchance, these precepts, trifles call, 
 Who is not help'd by any may by all. 
 For all I cannot fit instructions finde, 
 Because no two are like in face and minde. 
 The same that one doth not mislike at all, 
 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 213 
 
 A great deformity, some others call. 
 
 As that nice youth, that did his love with-draw, 
 
 Because his mistresse he at privy saw. 
 
 Thy love in jeast, that so can whole become, 
 
 When Cupid shootes at such he drawes not home. 
 
 Strive thou to he in love with two together, 
 So shall thy love he violent in neither : 
 For when thy minde by halfes doth doubtfull stray, 
 One love doth take the others force away. 
 The selfe-same strength, united is more strong, 
 Then when to two, it parted, doth belong. 
 Great rivers being peece-meale oft divided, 
 Do shrink at length to brooks that may be strided. 
 This trick hath many help'd, therefore we see, 
 "Women for spite terme it inconstancie. 
 The old love, by succession out is drove, 
 In Helen, Paris lost (Eenone's love. 
 Shee which hath many sonnes, makes not such mone, 
 As she which looseth all her sonnes in one. 
 The fastest love a second love undoes, 
 For in a crosse-way love himselfe doth loose. 
 
 Although thy heart with fire like JEtna flame, 
 Let not thy mistresse once perceive the same : 
 Smother thy passions, and let not thy face, 
 Tell thy mindes secrets, while she is in place : 
 Thy heart being stormy, let thy face be cleere, 
 Nor let loves fire by smoake of sighs appeare. 
 Dissemble long, till thy dissembling breed, 
 
214 TEE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 Such use, as thou art out of love indeed. 
 I have, from drinking, so myselfe to keepe, 
 Laine on a bed and winck'd myselfe asleepe. 
 Oft have I seene youths faine themselves in love, 
 Till taken at their words they so did prove. 
 
 If she appoint thee any time to come, 
 And comming thither iind'st her not at home, 
 Do not make sonnets at her chamber dore, 
 Nor thy repulse as a mischance deplore ; 
 Nor to her, when thou meetest her againe, 
 Of thine owne wrongs or her untruth complaine. 
 For, to be patient, time will easy make it, 
 If thou have patience but to undertake it. 
 
 He that from farre his mistresse doth admire, 
 And dares not hope of his having desire : 
 His wound, a cure, uncurable will prove, 
 For what we thinke forbidden, most we love. 
 Distrust not then, till thou heare her reply, 
 " Who asketh faintly, teacheth to deny." 
 If all these faile, this next will helpe impart, 
 And love of others to selfe-love convert. 
 
 Since thoughts of love no longer us possesse, 
 Then while we live in health and happinesse, 
 Let him that is indebted thinke alone, 
 That while he thinkes his day drawes neerer on : 
 Whom a hard father from his will doth let, 
 Let him before him still his father set. 
 Let him which will a wife with nothing take, 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 215 
 
 Thinke from preferment she will keepe him hacke : 
 None need this physicke of physitions borrow, 
 For none hut hath some cause for feare or sorrow. 
 Let him that deeply loves and is forgone, 
 (Like an ill-doer) feare to be alone. 
 Use not to silent groves alone to shrinke, 
 Nothing love more upholdeth then to thinke : 
 Then will thy minde thy mistresse picture take, 
 For mem'ry all things past doth present make. 
 Then like Pigmalion we an image frame, 
 And fall in love devoutly with the same. 
 Therefore, then night, lesse dangerous is the day, 
 Because then, thoughts newborne, talk sends away. 
 Then shalt thou finde how much a friend is worth, 
 Into whose breast thou maist thy griefe poure forth. 
 Phillis alone frequented th'rivers side, 
 Clowded with shade of trees, till there she di'd. 
 
 Who loves must lovers company refuse, 
 For love is as infectious as newes. 
 By looking on sore eyes, we sore eyes get, 
 And fire doth alwaies on the next house set. 
 Did not infection to next neighbours flie, 
 Diseases would with their first owners die. 
 
 A wound new heal'd will soone break out againe, 
 Therefore from seeing of thy love refraine : 
 Nor will this serve, but thou must shun her kin, 
 And even the house which she abideth in ; 
 Let not her nurse or chamber-maide once move thee 
 
216 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 Though thej protest, how much their mistresse loves 
 
 thee, 
 Nor into any question of her breake, 
 Nor of her talk (though thou against her speake). 
 He that saves oft that he is not in love, 
 By repetition doth himselfe disprove. 
 
 I would not wish thy love in hatred end, 
 Let her that was thy love, be still thy friend. 
 But when yee needs must meet, then shew thy spirit, 
 Thinke how she loves some fellow of lesse merite, 
 Make not thy selfe against thou seest her fine, 
 For this is doubtlesse, of some love, a signe. 
 The reason is (as I myselfe have tride) 
 Why many men so long in love abide : 
 Because if they some kinder looke obtaine, 
 They forth-with thinke they are belov'd againe. 
 " To our owne flattery soone we credite give, 
 " And what we would have true we soone beleeve." 
 So they like gamesters leese on more and more, 
 Lest they should loose that little lost before. 
 But trust not thou their words, and though they swear, 
 Yet womens oathes are oather of atheists here. 
 Nor as a signe of griefe their weeping take, 
 But thinke, their eyes, use soluble doth make. 
 
 Bee still and sullen, beare a grudge in minde, 
 Nor tell the cause least she excuses finde : 
 He that beginneth with his love to chide, 
 That man is willing to be satisfide. 
 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 217 
 
 Beauty is nothing worth, for if we love, 
 
 The fowl'st she in our judgement faire will prove : 
 
 Therefore the onely meanes by which to try them, 
 
 Is then to judge when fairer do stand by them : 
 
 Conferre their faces and with all their minde, 
 
 Who seeth onely with his eyes is blinde. 
 
 Comparison, the touchstone is, whereby, 
 
 We from the good the better do descry. 
 
 'Tis but a trifle which I meane to speake, 
 
 And yet, loves strength, this trifle oft doth breake. 
 
 All letters written from thy mistresse, burne : 
 
 Such reliques, lovers mincles do backwards turne. 
 
 Though thou canst not behold them while they flame, 
 
 Thy loves last funerall fire, do thinke the same. 
 
 Take heed least thou into the place resort, 
 Which hath bene accessary to your sport : 
 Stirre not the ashes which do fire conceale, 
 Nor touch the wound which is about to heale. 
 
 Love cannot be maintain'd with povertie, 
 His ryot doth with riches best agree. 
 Honour and titles, though nor felt nor seene, 
 The chiefest cause of love to some have bene. 
 Frequent not plaies, for whiles we others love, 
 See acted, we ourselves do parties prove. 
 Upon my proofe, musicke and dancing flie, 
 For musicke, trees and stones did mollifie : 
 And fishes too though they themselves be dumbe, 
 To heare Arions harpe did gladly come. 
 
218 THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 
 
 And dancing doth in some more passions raise, 
 Then reason pacifies in many daies. 
 These melt the minde and soft our hearts do make, 
 And thereby loves impression apt to take. 
 
 Touch not the poets which of love do sing, 
 They us to love by imitation bring, 
 Whiles we in them do others love behold, 
 Change but the names the tale of us is told. 
 What man (but some stiffe clowne) but soone will 
 
 prove 
 By reading of such bookes, in love with love ? 
 Barre them I say, because in them is found, 
 A certaine musicke and a wanton sound. 
 Unlesse I by Apollo be misled, 
 Tis a mutation which most love hath bred. 
 
 Much easinesse doth cloy, and most we set, 
 By that which we with doubt from others get : 
 Then frame this selfe made rivall, but surmise, 
 That cold in middle of her bed she lies. 
 Atrides could lye dull by Helens side, 
 And was content at Greet from her to bide. 
 Untill by Paris she from him was rented, 
 Then was his love by others love augmented. 
 
 ^Lastly, I must some meates forbid the sicke, 
 That I in all may be physition like : 
 Use not on sweete and juicy meates to feede, 
 Of such, the fulnesse, doth lusts hunger breede : 
 And stuff'd with such, we any do admire, 
 
THE REMEDY OF LOVE. 219 
 
 When all their beauty lies in our desire. 
 But wine is more provoking ferre then meat, 
 This heates our bloud and it on rage doth set. 
 This drownes our minde and makes it sence obey, 
 u Loves wings being wet he cannot flye away." 
 
Sir Thomas Overbvry 
 his 
 
 O BSE RVATIONS 
 
 IN HIS TRAVAILES 
 
 VPON THE STATE OF 
 
 THE Xvii. PROVINCES 
 AS THEY STOOD 
 
 Anno Dom. 1609. 
 
 The Treatie of Peace being then 
 on foote. 
 
 Printed. M.DC. XXVI, 
 
SIR, THOMAS OVEKBURY'S 
 
 Observation in his Travels upon the State of the 
 
 17. Provinces as they stood Anno Bom. 
 
 1609. the Treaty of Peace being 
 
 then onfoote. 
 
 AND FIRST OF THE PROVINCES UNITED. 
 
 LL things concurred for the rising and 
 maintenance of this state ; the disposi- 
 tion of the people, beeing, as mutenous, 
 so industrious and frugall ; the nature 
 of the countrey, every where fortifiable with water, 
 the scituation of it, having behinde them the Baltique 
 Sea, which yeelds them all materials for ships, and 
 many other commodities, and for men, hard before 
 them, France, and England, both fearing the Spanish 
 greatnesse ; and therefore, both concurring for their 
 ayde ; the remotenesse of their master from them ; 
 the change of religion falling out about the time of 
 their revolt, and now the Marquise of Brandenburgh, 
 a Protestant, like to become Duke of Cleve. The 
 
224 OVEBBUBTS OBSEBVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 discontentments of the Low-Countries did first ap- 
 peare, soone after the going away of the kings of 
 Spaine, while the Dutchesse of Parma governed ; to 
 suppresse which beginnings, the Duke of Alva being 
 sent, inflamed them more, upon attempting to bring 
 in the Inquisition and Spanish decimation, upon the 
 beheading Count Home, and Count Egmont, perse- 
 cuting those of the religion, and undertaking to build 
 cittadels upon all their townes, which hee effected at 
 Antwerpe, but enterprising the like at Flushing, 
 that towne revolted first and under it began the warre. 
 
 But the more generall revolt of the provinces 
 happened after the death of Don Lewis de Bequiesens, 
 and upon the comming downe of Don Iohn of Austria, 
 when all the provinces, excepting Luxenburgh, upon 
 the sacke of Antiverpe and other insolencies, pro- 
 claimed the Spaniards rebels and enemies to the 
 King ; yet the abjuring of their obedience from the 
 crowne of Spaine was not in a yeare or two after. 
 
 Holland and Zealand, upon their first standing 
 out, offered the soveraigntie of themselves to the 
 Queene, then the protection, both which shee neglect- 
 ed, and that while the French sent greater ayde, and 
 more men of qualitie then wee ; but after the civill 
 warre began in France, that kept them busie at home, 
 and then the Queene, seeing the necessitie of their 
 being supported, upon the pawning of Brill and 
 Flushing, sent money and men; and since that, 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 225 
 
 most part of the great exploits there have beene done 
 by the English, who were commonly the third part 
 of the arniie, being foure regiments, besides eleven 
 hundred in Flushing, and the Ramekins, and five 
 hundred in the Brill. But of late the King of France 
 appearing more for them then ours, and paying him- 
 selfe the French that are there, they give equall, if 
 not more countenance to that nation. But upon 
 these two Kings they make their whole dependancie, 
 and though with more respect to him that is stronger, 
 for the time, yet so as it may give no distaste unto 
 the other. 
 
 For the manner of their government ; they have 
 upon occasion, an assembly of the generall States, 
 like our Parliament, being composed of those which 
 are sent from every province, upon summons ; and 
 what these enact stands for lawe. Then is there 
 besides, a counsell of State, residing for the most part 
 at the Hage, which attends daily occasions, being 
 rather imployed upon affaires of State then of parti- 
 cular justice. The most potent in this counsell was 
 Baunavzll, by reason of his advocates of Holland. 
 And besides both these, every province and great 
 towne have particular counsells of their owne. To 
 all which assemblies, as well of the generall States, 
 as the rest, the gentrie is called for order sake, but 
 the State indeed is democraticall,the merchant and the 
 tradesman being predominant, the gentrie now but 
 Q 
 
226 OVEBBUBY'S OBSEBVATIONS, $c. 
 
 few and poore ; and even at the beginning the Prince 
 of Orange saw it safer to relie upon the townes then 
 them : neither are the gentrie so much engaged in 
 the cause, the people having more advantages in a 
 free state, they in a monarchy. Their care in govern- 
 ment is very exact and particular, by reason that 
 every one hath an immediate interest in the State ; 
 such is the equality of justice, that it renders every 
 man satisfied; such the publike regularity, as a 
 man may see their lawes were made to guide, not to 
 entrappe ; such their exactnesse in casting the ex- 
 pence of an armie, as that it shall bee equally farre 
 from superfluity and want, and as much order and 
 certaintie in their acts of warre, as in ours of peace, 
 teaching it to bee both civill and rich. And they still 
 retaine that signe of a common-wealth yet uncor- 
 ruptecl, Private jpovertie and publike weale : for no 
 one private man there is exceeding rich, and few 
 very poore, and no state more sumptuous in all pub- 
 like things. But the question is; whether this, 
 being a free State, will as well subsist in peace, as it 
 hath done hitherto in warre, peace leaving every one 
 to attend Ins particular wealth, when feare, while the 
 warre lasts, makes them concurre for their common 
 safety ; and Zealand, upon the least securitie, hath 
 ever beene envious at the predominancie of Holland 
 and Utrich, ready to mutinie for religion : and be- 
 sides, it is a doubt, whether the same care and sin- 
 
OVERBURY'S OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 227 
 
 ceritie would continue, if they were at there consist- 
 ence, as appeares yet whiles they are but in rising. 
 The revenew of this State ariseth chiefely from the 
 earle of Hollands demaynes, and confiscated church 
 livings, the rising and falling of money, which they 
 use with much advantage, their fishing upon our 
 coasts, and those of Norway, contribution out of the 
 enemies countrie, taxes upon all things at home, 
 and impositions upon all merchandizes from abroad. 
 Their expences upon their ambassadours, their 
 shippings, their ditches, their rampiers and munition, 
 and commonly they have in pay by sea and land 
 60000. men. 
 
 For the strength ; the nature of the countrie 
 makes them able to defend themselves long by land, 
 neither could any thing have endangered them so 
 much as the last great frost, had not the treatie 
 beene then on foot, because the enemy being then 
 master of the field, that rendred their ditches, 
 marshes, and rivers as firme ground. 
 
 There belongs to that State 20000. vessells of all 
 sorts, so that if the Spaniard were entirely beaten 
 out of those parts, the Kings of France and England 
 would take as much paines to suppresse, as ever they 
 did to raise them : for being our enemies, they are 
 able to give us the law at sea, and eate us out of all 
 trade, much more the French, having at this time 
 three ships for our one, though none so good as our 
 best. 
 
228 OVERBURY'S OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 Now that whereupon the most part of their revenew 
 and strength depends, is their traffique, in which 
 mysterie of state they are at this day the wisest : for 
 all the commodities that this part of the world wants, 
 and the Indies have, as spice, silke, Jewells, gold, 
 they are become the conveyers of them for the rest 
 of Christendome, except us, as the Venetians were of 
 old ; and all those commodities that those Northerne 
 countries abound with, and these Southerne stand in 
 need of, they likewise convey thither, which was the 
 auncient trade of the Easterlings : and this they doe, 
 having little to export of their owne, by buying of 
 their neighbour-countries the former, and selling 
 them againe what they bring backe at their owne 
 prises, and so consequently live upon the idlenesse of 
 others. And to this purpose their scituation serves 
 fitly ; for rivers of the Rhene, the Maze, and SJceld 
 end all in their dominions ; and the BalliJce sea lies 
 not farre from them : all which affoord them what 
 ever the great continent of Germany, Russia, and 
 Poland yeelds ; then they againe lying betweene 
 Germany and the sea, doe furnish it backe with all 
 commodities forraigne. 
 
 To remember some pieces of their discipline as 
 patternes of the rest ; the watches at night are never 
 all of one nation, so that they can hardly concurre to 
 give up any one towne. The commissaries are no 
 where so strict upon musters, and where he findes a 
 
 
OVERBTJRTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 229 
 
 company thither hee reduceth them, so that when an 
 armie marcheth the list and the poll, are never farre 
 disagreeing. Their army is ever well clothed, well 
 armed, and had never yet occasion to mutinie for pay 
 or victualls. The souldiers commit no where fewer 
 insolencies upon the burgers, fewer robberies upon 
 the countrie, nor the officers fewer deceipts upon the 
 souldiers. And lastly, they provide well that their 
 Generall shall have small meanes to invade their 
 liberties : for first their army is composed of many 
 nations, which have their severall commanders, and 
 the commands are disposed by the States themselves, 
 not by the Generall. And secondly he hath never 
 an implicit commission left to discretion, but, by 
 reason their countrie hath no great bounds, receives 
 daily commands what to doe. 
 
 Their territory containes sixe entire provinces, 
 Holland, Zealand, Utrick, Groninghen, Overiscell, 
 and Ariezland, besides three parts of Gelderland, 
 and certaine townes in Brabant and Flanders ; the 
 ground of which is for the most part fruitfull ; the 
 townes no where so equally beautifull, strong, and 
 rich, which equality growes by reason that they ap- 
 propriate some one staple commodity to every town 
 of note ; only Amsterdam not only passeth them all, 
 but even Sivill, Lisbone, or any other mart towne in 
 Christendome, and to it is appropriated the trade of 
 the East Indies, where they maintaine commonly 
 
230 OVEBBUBTS OBSEBVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 forty ships, besides which there goe twice a yeare 
 from it, and the adjoyning townes, a great fleete to 
 the Baltique sea : upon the fall of Antwerp, that 
 rose rather then Middleborough, though it stand at 
 the same rivers mouth, and is their second mart 
 towne, to which is appropriated our English cloth. 
 
 Concerning the people, they are neither much 
 devout, nor much wicked, given all to drinke, and 
 eminently to no other vice ; hard in bargaining, but 
 just, surly, and respectlesse, as in all democracies, 
 thirstie, industrious and cleanly, dishartened upon 
 the least ill successe, and insolent upon good ; inven- 
 tive in manufactures, cunning in traffique, and ge- 
 nerally for matter of action, that naturall slownesse 
 of theirs sutes better, by reason of the advisednesse 
 and perseverance it brings with it, then the rashnesse 
 and changeablenesse of the French and Florentine 
 wits : and the equality of spirits which is among them 
 and the Swissers, renders them so fit for a demo- 
 cracie, which kinde of government, nations of more 
 stable wittes, being once come to a consistent great- 
 nesse, have seldome long endured, 
 
OVEBBURTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 231 
 
 Observations upon the State of the Arch- 
 Dukes Countrie, 1609. 
 BY SIR THO. OVERBURY. 
 
 S soone as I entred into the Arch-Dukes 
 countrie (which begins after Lilloiv) 
 presently I beheld workes of a province, 
 and those of a province distressed with warre ; the 
 people keartlesse, and rather repining against their 
 governours, then revengefull against the enemies, 
 the bravery of that gentrie which was left, and the 
 industry of the merchant quite decayed ; the hus- 
 bandman labouring only to live, without desire to 
 be rich to anothers use ; the townes (whatsoever 
 concerned not the strength of them) ruinous ; and 
 to conclude, the people here growing poore with lesse 
 taxes, then they flourish with on the states side. 
 
 This warre hath kept the king of Spaine busie 
 ever since it began (which some 38. yeares agoe) 
 and spending all the money that the Indies, and all 
 the men that Spaine and Italy could affoord, hath 
 withdrawne liim from persevering in any other enter- 
 prise ; neither could he give over this, without for- 
 going the meanes to undertake any thing hereafter 
 upon France or England, and consequently the hope 
 
232 OVERBUILT 8 OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 of the Westerne monarchy. For without that handle 
 the mynes of Peru, had done little hurt in these 
 parts, in comparison of what they have. The cause 
 of the expensefiilnes of it, is the remotenesse of those 
 provinces from Spaine, by reason of which, every 
 souldier of Spain or Italy, before he can arrive 
 there, costs the king an hundred crownes, and not 
 above one of ten that arrives prooves good ; besides, 
 by reason of the distance, a great part of the money 
 is drunke up betwixt the officers that convey it and 
 pay it. The cause of the continuance of it, is, not 
 only the strength of the enemy, but partly by reason 
 that the commanders themselves are content the war 
 shall last, so to maintaine and render themselves 
 necessaries, and partly because the people of those 
 countries are not so eager to have the other reduced, 
 as willing to be in the like state themselves. 
 
 The usuall revenew of those provinces which the 
 Arch-Duke hath, amounts to 1200000. crownes a 
 yeare, besides which, there come from Spaine every 
 moneth to maintaine the war, 150000. crownes. 
 It was at the first 300000. crownes a moneth, but it 
 fell by fifties to this at the time when the treaty be- 
 gan : Flanders payes more toward the warre then all 
 the rest, as Holland doth with the states. There is no 
 Spaniard of the counsell of state, nor Governour of 
 any province, but of the counsell of warre, which 
 is only active ; there they only are, and have in their 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 233 
 
 hands all the strong townes and castles of those 
 provinces, of which the Governours have hut only the 
 title. 
 
 The nations of which their armie consists, are 
 chiefly Spaniards and Italians, emulous one of 
 another there, as on the other side the French and 
 English, and of the country, chiefly Burgundians 
 and Wallons. The Popes letters, and Spinola's in- 
 clination keepe the Italians there, almost in equality 
 of command with the Spaniard himselfe. 
 
 The Governors for the King of Spaine there suc- 
 cessively have hin the D. of Alva, Don Lewis de 
 Requiesens, Don Iohn cV Austria, the Prince of Par- 
 ma, the Arch-Duke Ernestus, the Cardinal! Andrew 
 of Austrich, and the Cardinall Albert, till he maried 
 the Infanta. 
 
 Where the dominion of the Arch-Duke and the 
 States part, there also changeth the nature of the 
 country, that is, ahout Antwerp : for all below being 
 flat, and betwixt medow and marsh, thence it begins 
 to rise and become champion, and consequently the 
 people are more quicke and spiritfull, as the Bra- 
 banter, Flemming, and Wallon. 
 
 The most remarkable place in that side is Ant- 
 werp (which rose upon the fall of Bruges) equally 
 strong and beautifull, remaining yet so, upon the 
 strength of its former greatnesse ; twice spoyled by 
 the Spaniard, and the like attempted by the French. 
 
234 OVERBUBTS OBSERVATIONS, #c. 
 
 The citadell was built there by the D. of Alva, but 
 renued by the Prince of Parma after his 18. moneths 
 besieging it, the towne accepting a castle rather then 
 a garrison to mingle among them. There are yet 
 in the towne of citizens 30000. fighting men, 600. 
 of which kept watch nightly, but they allowed neither 
 cannon upon the rampier, nor megazins of powder. 
 In the castle are 200. peeces of ordnance, and com- 
 monly seven or eight hundred souldiers. Flanders 
 is the best of the seventeene provinces, but the havens 
 thereof are naught. 
 
 Observations on the State of France, 1609. 
 
 under Henry the Fourth'. 
 
 BY SIR THOMAS OVERBURY. 
 
 SAVING seene the forme of a common- 
 wealth and a province, with the different 
 effects of warres in them, I entred 
 France, flourishing with peace, and of monarchies 
 the most absolute, because the King there, not only 
 makes peace and warres, calls and dissolves parlia- 
 ments, pardoneth, naturalizeth, innobleth, names the 
 value of money, presseth to the warre ; but even 
 makes lawes, and imposes taxes at his pleasure : 
 and all this he doth alone : for as for that forme that 
 his edicts must be authorized by the next court of 
 
 
OVERBTJRTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 235 
 
 Parliament, that is, the next court of soveraigne 
 justice ; first the Presidents thereof are to he chosen 
 hy him, and to bee put out bj him ; and secondly, 
 when they concurre not with the King, he passeth 
 any thing without them, as he did the last edict for 
 the protestants : and for the assembly of the three 
 estates, it is growne now almost as extraordinary as 
 a generall counsell; with the losse of which their 
 liberty fell, and when occasion urgeth, it is possible 
 for the King to procure, that all those that shall bee 
 sent thither, shall be his instruinents : for the Duke 
 of Guise effected as much at the assembly of Bloys. 
 The occasion that first procured the King that 
 supremacie, that his edicts should be lawes, was, the 
 last invasion of the English, for at that time they 
 possessing two parts of France, the three estates 
 could not assemble, whereupon they did then grant 
 that power unto Charles the Seventh during the 
 warre ; and that which made it easie for Lewis the 
 Eleventh and his successors to continue the same, 
 the occasion ceasing, was, that the clergie and 
 gentrie did not runne the same fortune with the 
 people there, as in England ; for most of the taxes 
 falling only upon the people, the clergie and gentrie 
 being forborne, were easily induced to leave them to 
 the Kings mercy. But the King having got strength 
 upon the pesants, hath beene since the bolder to 
 invade part of both their liberties. 
 
236 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 For the succession of this monarchic, it hath sub- 
 sisted without intermission these 1200. yeares, under 
 three races of Kings. No nation hath heretofore 
 done greater things abroad in Palestine and Egipt, 
 besides all parts of Europe ; but for these last 400. 
 yeares, thej have only made sallies into Italie, and 
 often suffered at home. 
 
 Three hundred yeares the English afflicted them, 
 making two firme invasions upon them, and taking 
 their King prisoner ; the second greatnesse of Chris- 
 tendome, next the Emperour, being then in competi- 
 tion betwixt us and them ; and to secure themselves 
 against us, rather then the house of Austria, as it 
 then stood, they chose to marry the heire oiBretaigne 
 before that of Burgundy. And for this last hundred 
 yeares, the Spaniard undertaking them, hath eaten 
 them out of all but France, and endangered that 
 too. But for this present, France had never, as 
 France, a more entire greatnesse, though it hath often 
 beene richer. For since the warre the King is only 
 got afore hand, the country is but yet in recovering, 
 the war having lasted by spaces 32. yeares, and so 
 generally, that no man but had an enemie within 
 three miles, and so the countrey became frontier all 
 over. Now that which hath made them, at this time, 
 so largely great at home, is their adopting into them- 
 selves the lesser adjoyning nations, without destruc- 
 tion, or leaving any marke of strangenesse upon 
 them, as the Bretons, Gascoignes, Provincalls, and 
 
OVEBBUBTS OBSEBVATIONS, Sfc. 237 
 
 others which are not French; towards the which 
 unions, their nature, which is easie and harhorous to 
 strangers, hath done more then any lawes could have 
 effected, hut with long time. 
 
 The King (as I said) enjoying what Lewis the 
 II. did gaine, hath the entire soveraigntie in himselfe, 
 because hee can make the Parliament doe what he 
 please, or else doe what he please without them. 
 For the other three estates ; the chinch is there 
 very rich, being estimated to enjoy the third part 
 of the revenew of France, but otherwise nothing so 
 potent as else-where, partly because the Inquisition 
 is not admitted in France, but principally because 
 the Popes ordinary power is much restrayned there, 
 by the liberties which the French church claymeth ; 
 which liberties doe not so much enfranchize the 
 church it selfe, as conferre the authoritie the Pope 
 looseth upon the King, as first fruites, and the dis- 
 posing of all spirituall preferments. And by reason 
 of this neutralitie of authoritie, the church-men suffer 
 more there, then either in England, where they 
 wholly depend upon the King, or in Sjpaine and 
 Italie, where they wholly subsist by the Pope ; be- 
 cause the Pope is not able totally to support them, 
 and the King takes occasion ever to suppresse them, 
 as beeing not entirely his subjects : and to him they 
 pay yearely both the tenth of all their tithe, and of 
 all their temporall land. 
 
238 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 The gentrie are the onely entire body there, which 
 participate with the prerogatives of the crowne ; for 
 from it they receive priviledges above all other men, 
 and a kinde of limited regality upon their tenants, 
 besides reall supply to their estates, by governments 
 and pensions, and freedome from tallies upon their 
 owne lands ; that is, upon their demaines, and what- 
 soever else they manure by their servants ; but so 
 much as they let to tenants is presently tallie-able, 
 which causeth proportionable abatement in the rent ; 
 and in recompence .of this, they owe to the King the 
 Ban and the Arriereban ; that is, to serve him and 
 his Lieutenant three moneths within the land at their 
 owne charges. And as in warre they undergoe the 
 greatest part of the danger, so then is their power 
 most perremptorie above the rest, whereas in time of 
 peace, the King is ready to support inferiour persons 
 against them, and is glad to see them to waste one 
 another by contention in law, for feare they grow 
 rich, because hee fore-sees, that as the nobilitie onely 
 can doe him service, so they onely misapplyed can 
 doe him harme. 
 
 The auntient gentrie of France was most of it 
 consumed in the warres of Godfrey of Bulloigne, and 
 some in those of Saint Lewis, because upon their 
 setting out they pawned all their Feifs to the church, 
 and few of them were after redeemed ; by reason 
 whereof the church possesseth at tin's day the third 
 
OVERBTJRTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 239 
 
 part of the best Feifs in France ; and that gentrie 
 was after made up by advocates, financiers, and 
 merchants innobled, which now are reputed auntient, 
 and are dayly eaten out againe and repayred by the 
 same kinde of men. 
 
 For the people ; all those that have any kinde of 
 profession or trade, live well; but for the meere 
 peasants that labour the ground, they are onely 
 spimges to the King, to the church and the nobilitie, 
 having nothing to their owne, but to the use of them, 
 and are scarce allowed (as beasts) enough to keepe 
 them able to doe service ; for besides their rent, they 
 pay usually two thirds to the King. 
 
 The manner of government in France, is mixt, 
 betwixt peace and warre, being composed as well of 
 military discipline, as civill justice, because having 
 open frontiers and strong neighbours, and therefore 
 obnoxious to sodaine invasions, they cannot (as in 
 England) joyne ever peace and security together. 
 
 For the military part, there is ever a Constable 
 and a Marshall in being, troupes of horse and regi- 
 ments of foot in pay, and in all provinces and places 
 of strength, governours and garrisons distributed, all 
 which are meanes for the preferment of the gentry ; 
 but those as they give security against the enemy, 
 so when there is none they disturbe the enjoying of 
 peace, by making the countries taste somewhat of a 
 province. For the gentry finde a difference betwixt 
 
240 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 the Governours favour and disfavour, and the souldiers 
 commit often insolencies upon the people. 
 
 The governments there are so well disposed by 
 the King, as no Governour hath meanes to give over 
 a province into the enemies hand, the commands 
 thereof are so scattered : for the Governour commands 
 the country, and for the most part the chiefe towne ; 
 then is there a Lieutenant, to the King, not to him of 
 the same, and betwixt these two there is ever jealousie 
 nourished; then hath every towne and fortresse 
 particular Governours, which are not subaltern to 
 that of the province, but hold imediately from the 
 Prince, and many times the towne hath one Gover- 
 nour and the castle another. 
 
 The advantages of Governours (besides their pay 
 from the King) are presents from the country, dead 
 payes, making their megazins of corne and powder 
 more then they need at the Kings price, and where 
 they stand upon the sea, overseeing of unlawfull 
 goods : thus much in peace : in warre they are worth 
 as much as they will exact. Languedoc, is the best, 
 then Bretaigne. Province is worth by all these 
 means to the D. of Guise 20000. crownes a yeare ; 
 but Province only he holds without a Lieutenant. 
 
 Concerning the civill justice there, it is no where 
 more corrupt nor expencefull. The corruptnesse 
 of it proceeds, first by reason that the King sells the 
 places of justice at as high a rate as can bee honestly 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 241 
 
 made of them ; so that all thriving is left to corrup- 
 tion, and the gaine the King hath that waves, tempts 
 him to make a multitude of officers, which is another 
 burthen to the subject. Secondly, the presidents 
 are not bound to judge according to the written law, 
 but according to the equitie drawne out of it, which 
 libertie doth not so much admit conscience, as leave 
 wit without limits. The expencefulnesse of it ariseth 
 from the multitude of lawes, and multiplicitie of 
 formes of processes, the which two both beget doubt, 
 and make them long in resolving. And all this 
 chiquanerey , as they call it, is brought into France 
 from Rome, upon the Popes comming to reside at 
 Avignion. 
 
 For the strength of France, It is at this day the 
 greatest united force of Christendome ; the par- 
 ticulars in which it consists are these : the shape of 
 the countrey, which beeing round, no one part is 
 farre from succouring another ; the multitude of good 
 townes and places of strength therein are able to 
 stay an army, if not to waste it, as Metz did the 
 Emperours ; the masse of treasure which the King 
 hath in the Bastile ; the number of arsenals dis- 
 tributed upon the frontiers, besides that of Paris, all 
 which are full of good armes and artillerie : and for 
 ready men, the 5. regiments bestowed up and down 
 in garrisons, together with the 2000. of the Guard; 
 the troupes of ordinary and light horse, all ever in 
 
242 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 pay ; besides their gentrie all bred souldiers, and of 
 which they thinke there are at this present 50000. 
 fit to beare armes : and to command all these, they 
 have at this day the best Generalls of Christendome, 
 which is the only commodity the civill wars did leave 
 them. 
 
 The weaknesse of it are, first the want of a suf- 
 ficient infantry, which proceeds from the ill distribu- 
 tion of their wealth ; for the peysant, which con- 
 taines the greatest part of the people, having no 
 share allowed him, is heartlesse and feeble, and con- 
 sequently unserviceable for all military uses, by 
 reason of which, they are first forced to borrow ayde 
 of the Swissers at a great charge, and secondly to 
 compose their armies for the most part of gentlemen, 
 which makes the losse of a battaile there almost 
 irrecoverable. The second is the unproportionable 
 part of the land which the church holds, all which 
 is likewise dead to militarie uses. For, as they say 
 there, The church will loose nothing, nor defend 
 nothing. The third is the want of a competent 
 number of ships and gallies, by reason of which de- 
 fect, first the Spaniard overmasters them upon the 
 Mediterranian, and the English and Hollander upon 
 the ocean, and secondly it renders them poore in for- 
 raine trade, so that all the great actions of Christen- 
 dome for these fifty yeares, having beene bent upon 
 the Indies, they only have sate idle. The fourth is 
 
OVEBBUBTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 243 
 
 the weaknesse of their frontiers, which is so much 
 the more dangerous, because they are possessed, all 
 but the ocean, by the Spaniard : for Savoy 'hath beene 
 alwaies as his owne for all uses against France. The 
 last is the difference of religion among themselves, 
 which will ever yeeld matter of civill dissention, and 
 consequently cause the weaker to stand in neede of 
 forraigne succours. The ordinarie revenew of the 
 King, is, as they say now, some 14. millions of 
 crowns, which arise principally from the demaines 
 of the crowne, the gabell of salt, tallies upon the 
 countrie, customes upon the merchandize, sale of 
 offices, the yearely tithe of all that belongs to the 
 church, the rising and falling of money. Fines and 
 confiscations cast upon him by the law ; but as for 
 wardships, they are only knowne in Normandy. His 
 expence is chiefely ambassadours, munition, building, 
 fortifying, and maintaining of gallies. As for ships 
 when he needs them, he makes an embarque ; in 
 pay for souldiers, wages for officers, pentions at home 
 and abroad, upon the entertaining his house, his 
 state, and his private pleasures. And all the first, 
 but the demaynes were granted, in the beginning, 
 upon some urgent occasion, and after by Kings made 
 perpetuall, the occasion ceasing ; and the demaynes 
 it selfe granted, because the King should live upon 
 their owne without oppressing their subjects. But 
 at this day, though the revenew bee thus great, and 
 
244 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 
 
 the taxes unsupportable, jet doe they little more 
 then serve for necessary publike uses. For the 
 King of Sjjains greatnes and neighbourhood, forceth 
 the King there to live continually upon his guard ; 
 and the treasure which the Spaniard receives from 
 his Indies, constraines him to raise his revenew thus 
 by taxes, so to be able in some proportion to beare 
 up against him, for feare else he should be bought 
 out of all his confederates and servants. 
 
 For the relation of this State to others, it is first 
 to be considered, that this part of Christendome is 
 ballanced betwixt the three Kings oiSpaine, France, 
 and England, as the other part betwixt the Russian, 
 the Kings of Poland, Sweden, and BenmarJce. For 
 as for Germany, which if it were entirely subject to 
 one monarchy, would be terrible to all the rest, so 
 being devided betwixt so many Princes, and those of 
 so equall power, it serves only to ballance it selfe, 
 and entertaine easie warre with the Turke, while the 
 Persian with-holds him in a greater. And every 
 one of those first three, hath his particular strength, 
 and his particular weakenesse : Spaine hath the ad- 
 vantage of both the rest in treasure, but is defective 
 in men, his dominions are scattered, and the con- 
 veyance of his treasure from the Indies lyes obnoxious 
 to the power of any nation that is stronger by sea. 
 France abounds with men, lyes close together, and 
 hath money sufficiently. England beeing an Hand, 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, fyc. 245 
 
 is hard to be invaded, abounds with men, but wants 
 money to imploy them. For their particular weak- 
 nesse : Spaine is to be kept busie in the Low-Coun- 
 tries : France is to bee afflicted with Protestants, and 
 England in Ireland. England is not able to subsist 
 against any of the other hand to hand, but joyned 
 with the Lowe- Countries it can give lawe to both 
 by sea, and joyned with either of them two it is able 
 to oppresse the third as Henry the Eight did. 
 
 Now the only entire body in Christendome 
 that makes head against the Spanish monarchy, is 
 France ; and therefore they say in France, that the 
 day of the ruine of France, is the eve of the ruine of 
 England : and thereupon England hath ever since 
 the Spanish greatnesse, enclined rather to maintaine 
 France rather then to ruine it ; as when King Francis 
 was taken prisoner, the King of England lent money 
 towards the payment of his ransome : and the late 
 Queene (when the leaders, after the Duke of Guise 
 his death, had a designe to cantonize France) though 
 offered a part, would not consent. So then this 
 reason of state, of mutuall preservation, conjoyning 
 them, England may be accounted a sure confederate 
 of France, and Holland by reason it partly subsists 
 by it ; the Protestant Princes of Germany, because 
 they have countenance from it against the house of 
 Austria, the Protestant Swissers for religion and 
 money ; the Venetians for protection against the 
 
246 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 Spaniard in Italy: so that all their friends are 
 either Protestants or enclyning, and whosoever is 
 extreme Catholike, is their enemie, and factors for 
 the Spanish monarchy, as the Pope, the Cardinalls 
 for the most part, and totally the Jesuites, the 
 Catholike Princes of Germany, and the Catholicks of 
 England and Ireland. For the Jesnites, which are 
 the ecclesiasticall strength of Christendome, France, 
 notwithstanding the many late obligations, hath cause 
 to despaire of them : for they intending, as one Pope, 
 so one King, to suppresse the Protestants, and for 
 the better support of Christendome against the 
 Turhe, and seeing Spaine the likelier to bring this 
 to passe, they follow the neerer probability of effecting 
 their end. 
 
 No addition could make France so dangerous to 
 us, as that of our Lowe- Countries : for so it were 
 worse then if the Spaniard himselfe had them 
 entirely. As for their hopes of regaining Italie, it 
 concernes the Spaniard immediatly rather then us. 
 Concerning the state of the Protestants in France, 
 during peace they are protected by their edict : for 
 their two agents at court defend the generall from 
 wrong, and their Chambres-impartyes every par- 
 ticular person : and if troubles should arise, some 
 scattered particulars might be in danger, but the 
 maine body is safe, safe to defend themselves, though 
 all France joyne against them, and if it breake out 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 247 
 
 into factions, the safest, because they are both ready 
 and united. 
 
 The particulars of their strength are, first their 
 townes of surety, two of which command the river of 
 Loyre. 
 
 Secondly, their scituation, the greatest part of 
 them lying neere together, as Poictou, Zanningtonge, 
 high Gascoigne, Languedoc, and Daulphin, neere 
 the sea, so consequently fit to receive succours from 
 abroad, and remote from Paris, so that the qualitie 
 of an armie is much wasted before it can approach 
 them. 
 
 The third, is the sufficiency of their present 
 Governours, Bulloigne and Desdeguiers, and other 
 second commanders. And for the Princes of the 
 blood, whom the rest may, in shew, without emula- 
 tion obey, when they come once to open action, 
 those which want a party will quickly seeke them. 
 
 The last, is the ayde they are sure of from for- 
 raine Princes : for whosoever are friends to France 
 in generall, are more particularly their friends. 
 
 And besides, the Protestant partie being growne 
 stronger of late, as the Low- Countries, and more 
 united, as England and Scotland, part of that 
 strength reflects upon them ; and even the King of 
 Spaine himselfe, which is enemie to France in gene- 
 rall, would rather give them succour, then see them 
 utterly extirpated : and yet no forraine Prince can 
 
248 OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, $c. 
 
 ever make further use of them, then to disturhe 
 France, not to. invade it himselfe. For as soone as 
 they get an edict with hetter conditions, they turne 
 head against him that now succoured them, as they 
 did against us, at New-haven. 
 
 Concerning the proportion of their number, they 
 are not above the seventeene or eighteenth part of 
 the people, but of the gentlemen there are 6000. of 
 the religion ; but since the peace they have increased 
 in people, as principally in Paris, Normandy, and 
 Daulphin, but lost in the gentrie, which losse com- 
 meth to passe, by reason that the King when he 
 findes any gent, that will but hearken, tempts him 
 with preferment, and those he findes utterly obstinate, 
 suppresseth : and by such meanes hee hath done 
 them more harme in peace, then both his prede- 
 cessors in warre. For in all their assemblies hee 
 corrupts some of their ministers to betray their coun- 
 sell in hand ; and of the 100 and 6000. crowns a 
 yeare, which he paies the Protestants to entertaine 
 their ministers, and pay their garrisons, hee hath 
 gotten the bestowing of 16000. of them upon what 
 gentleman of the religion he pleaseth, when by that 
 meanes he moderates, if not gaines : and besides, 
 they were wont to impose upon him their two depu- 
 ties which are to stay at court, but now he makes 
 them propose sixe, out of which he chuseth the two, 
 and by that obligeth those ; and yet notwithstanding 
 
 
OVERBURTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 249 
 
 all this, in some occasions hee makes good use of 
 them too. For as towards England he placeth none 
 in any place of strength but firme Catholikes ; so 
 towards Spaine and Savoy he often gives charge to 
 Protestants, as to la Force in Bearne, Desdeguiers and 
 Boisse in Bresse. 
 
 Concerning the King himselfe, hee is a person 
 wonderfull both in war and peace : for his acts in 
 warre, hee hath manumized France from the Span- 
 iard, and subdued the league, being the most 
 dangerous plot that hath bin layd, weakening it by 
 armes, but utterly dissolving it by wit, that is, by 
 letting the Duke of Guise out of prison, and capitu- 
 lating with the heads of it every one apart, by which 
 meanes hee hath yet left a continuall hatred among 
 them, because every one sought, by preventing other, 
 to make his conditions the better ; so that now there 
 remaines little connexion of it amongst the gentrie, 
 onely there continues some dregges still among the 
 priests, and consequently the people, especially when 
 they are angred with the increase and prosperitie of 
 the Protestants. 
 
 For his acts of peace, hee hath enriched France 
 with a greater proportion of wooll, and silke, erected 
 goodly buildings, cut passages betwixt river and 
 river, and is about to doe the same bewixt sea and 
 sea, redeemed much of the mortgaged demaynes of 
 the crowne, better husbanded the money, which was 
 
250 OVERBURY'S OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 
 
 wont to bee drunke uppe two parts of it in the officers 
 hands, got aforehand in treasure, armes and munition, 
 increased the infantrie, and supprest the unpropor- 
 tionable cavalry, and left nothing undone but the 
 building of a navie. 
 
 And all this may bee attributed to himselfe onely, 
 because in a monarchy, officers are accordingly active 
 or carelesse, as the Prince is able to judge and dis- 
 tinguish of their labours, and withall to participate of 
 them somewhat himselfe. 
 
 Sure it is that the peace of France, and somewhat 
 that of Christendome it selfe, is secured by this 
 Princes life : for all titles and discontents, all factions 
 of religion there suppresse themselves till his death ; 
 but what will ensue after ; what the rest of the house 
 of Bourbon will enterprise upon the Kings children, 
 what the house of Guise upon the house of Bourbon, 
 what the league, what the Protestants, what the 
 Kings of S_paine, and England, if they see a breach 
 made by civill dissention, I chuse rather to expect 
 then conjecture, because God hath so many wayes 
 to turne aside from humaine fore-sight, as hee gave 
 us a testimony upon the death of our late Queene. 
 
 The countrey of France, considering the quantitie, 
 is the fairest and richest of all Christendome, and 
 containes in it most of the countries adjoyning. 
 For Ficardie, Normandie, and Bretaigne, resemble 
 England ; Languedoc, Spaine, Province, Italie, and 
 the rest is France. 
 
OVEBBUBTS OBSERVATIONS, Sfc. 251 
 
 Besides, all the rivers that passe through it, end 
 in it. It abounds with corne, wine, and salt, and 
 hath a competency of silke ; hut is defective in 
 wooll, leather, mettals, and horses ; and hath but 
 few very good havens, especially on the north side. 
 
 Concerning the people; their children at first 
 sight seeme men, and their men children ; but who 
 so, in negotiating, presumes upon appearance, shall 
 bee deceived, compassionate towards their owne 
 nation and countrey ; loving to the Prince, and so 
 they may have liberty in ceremony, and free accesse 
 to him, they will be the better content that hee shall 
 be absolute in matter of substance; impatient of 
 peace any longer then whiles they are in recovering 
 the ruines of warre ; the presentnesse of danger in- 
 flames their courage, but any expectation makes it lan- 
 guish ; for the most, they are all imagination, and no 
 judgement, but those that prove solid, excell ; their 
 gentlemen are all good outward men, good courtiers, 
 good souldiers, and knowing enough in men and 
 businesse, but meerly ignorant in matters of letters, 
 because at fifteene they quit bookes, and begin to 
 live in the world, when indeed a mediocritie betwixt 
 their forme of education and ours would doe better 
 then either. No men stand more punctually upon 
 their honours in matter of valour, and which is 
 strange, in nothing else ; for otherwise in their 
 conversation, the custome and shifting and over- 
 speaking, hath quite overcome the shame of it. 
 

CRUMMS FAL'N FROM 
 
 KING JAMES'S TABLE. 
 
 OR HIS TABLE TALK, 
 
 PRINCIPALLY RELATING TO RELIGION, 
 EMBASSYES, STATE-POLICY &e. 
 
 TAKEN BY 
 
 SIR THOMAS OVERBURY, 
 
 The Originall being his own 
 hand writing. 
 
CEUMMS FAL'N FEOM KING 
 JAMES'S TABLE. 
 
 OD made one part of man of earth, the 
 "basest element, to teach him humility. 
 His soule proceeded from the bosome 
 of himselfe, to teach him goodness, 
 and that if he cast his eyes downwards nothing is 
 viler, but if he look up to heaven, he is of a matter 
 more excellent than the angells : the former part 
 was a type of Adam, the second of Christ, which 
 gives life to that which .was dead in it selfe. 
 
 2. Words are not the difference of good men and 
 bad, for every man speakes honestly ; therefore how 
 noble a thing is vertue, when the worst men dare 
 not profess any thing but that : very wise men and 
 very fooles do little harm : it is the mediocrity of 
 wisdome that troubleth all the world. 
 
 3. Some men never spake a wise word, yet doe 
 wisely ; some on the other side do never a wise deed, 
 and yet speake wisely. 
 
256 C RUM MS FAUN FROM 
 
 4. Charles the Fifth Emperor, is said to be a wise 
 Prince, because he seldome spake in his affaires 
 words but of a double construction : but I think such 
 speech becomes a King noe more than glide-eyes 
 does his face, when I think he looks on me, he sees 
 me not. It is the intention makes the lye not the 
 words. 
 
 5. Vertue is easier than vice, for the essential! 
 difference betwixt vertue and vice is truth and fals- 
 hood ; and 'tis easier and less pains to tell truth, then 
 a lye : and for vices of the sences, custome is all in 
 all ; for to one that hath lived honestly, 'tis as much 
 pain to committ sinn, as for another to abstaine from 
 it. 
 
 6. Knowledge is a great stepp to goodness. There 
 is noe wisdome without honesty, all else is but art 
 and cunning, which only makes good the present, 
 but lookes to the farthest end. Truth hath but one 
 way and one face. 
 
 7. A nobleman of Scotland coming to him, making 
 a petition in the behalfe of a poore servant of his in 
 that country for a protection : My Lord, said he, I 
 came not to the crown of Scotland by conquest, to 
 give it what laws I list, but by descent, and if I 
 do not governe it accordingly, I should be a tyrant. 
 I found noe such thing there as a protection, and 
 surely I will grant none ; I would to God there had 
 never been any in England alsoe, and therefore I 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 257 
 
 will do what I can to take them away here, where 
 they have been too frequent rather than to grant 
 them where they never were used. 
 
 8. It may be I will love Grod more than I speake of, 
 but I will be sure never to love him less, neither will 
 I add sinn to sinn, by cloaking the first. 
 
 9. I will never beleive that man whose honesty 
 relyes only upon oathes, nor that religion which de- 
 pends only upon miracles. 
 
 10. You cannot name any example in any heathen 
 author but I will better it in Scripture. 
 
 11. I love not one that will never be angry, for as 
 he who is with sorrow, is without gladness, so he that 
 is without anger, is without love ; give me the heart 
 of a man, and out of that all other his actions shall 
 be acceptable. 
 
 12. The way to make vices less than they are, is 
 to make punishments for them, greater than they 
 deserve, for so the laws grow to contempt and to be 
 neglected. Many words makes me distrust the matter, 
 for I my selfe when I cannot do a man good, then 
 give I many words to sattisfie, but when I can doe 
 good, I use but few. 
 
 13. A learned Papist, and an ignorant, is of two 
 religions. 
 
 14. The Papists religion, is like Homers Ilyades of 
 the Seige of Troy, or Virgills iEniades of the begin- 
 ning of Eome ; both of them had a foundation of 
 
258 CBUMMS FAVN FROM 
 
 truth : so had the Papists the Byble, but they have 
 added so much, that the first truth i3 almost lost. 
 The preservation of the Bible is miraculous, that it 
 should remain pure and intire after it had passed 
 the hands of so many infidells which sought to 
 destroy it, and of so many hereticks that sought to 
 pervert it to their own advantage. 
 
 15. The devill when he cannot have the whole, 
 seeks ever to get one part of the soule, either the will, 
 or the understanding, which he may easiest come by ; 
 as in Protestants, the will ; in Papists the under- 
 standing. I do not think the greatest clarks are 
 nearest heaven ; much of their knowledge is super- 
 fluous, for Bellarmyne makes four hundred questions 
 of faith, not ten of which toucheth our salvation to 
 understand : we are not departed further from the 
 church of Borne than they are from their first selves ; 
 the end of the law is to punish sinn, when it is com- 
 mitted ; [but to keep it from being committed it 
 cannot ;] as the Pope, who thinks by allowing forni- 
 cation, to avoid adultery. 
 
 16. Noe indifferent gesture is so seldome done 
 without sinn as laughing, for 'tis comonly raised, 
 upon things to be pittyed, and therefore man only can 
 laugh, and he only can sinn. There are degrees of 
 men in respect of one another ; in respect of God all 
 are equall, all are to use like reverence to him, all 
 are like beggers at Gods doore. 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 259 
 
 17. The Count of Gondemore the day he tooke his 
 leave of the King at Greenwich, to go home for 
 Spaine, upon the occasion of the match, his last 
 words were to leave an impression of the advantages 
 that would arise from that happy conjunction to both 
 Kingdomes in his ma tles breast, and therefore told 
 what great things Spaine had done in Christendome, 
 in the time of Phillip the Second, who in his latter 
 dayes, being an infirm Prince, had at once to doe 
 with the greatest Christian Princes, and how he of 
 himselfe only, maintained wars in France, Germany, 
 the Low Countryes, Hungary, and against the Turks, 
 what a navy he sent into England, and after into 
 Ireland, intending the totall conquest of them both, 
 and yet he lost nothing of his own territories in all 
 his life ; so that England and Spaine being joyned by 
 this match, might by the union of their powers give 
 lawes to whole Christendome besides. The King 
 made answer with a sober countenance, My Lord, it 
 is true which you say, but it is a thing I have ever 
 observed in every nation, each [have] their proper in- 
 clinations. Observe a Frenchman, and be he never so 
 wise in his greatest affaires, within a short time he 
 will fetch a slight frisk and be casting capriolls to shew 
 himselfe a right Frenchman ; and consider a Span- 
 yard, be he never so wise, grave, and temperate in 
 his treaties, before he leaves he will shew some odd 
 rodomontado or other ; and I take it, Sir, (said the 
 
260 CBUMMS FAVN FROM 
 
 King) you are of Galatia. The Embassador comes to 
 him and caught him in his armes transported with 
 excess of laughing, and sware, per dies, he wold never 
 forget that true and ingenious reply, and it should 
 he the first thing he would aquaint the King his 
 master with. 
 
 18. I should think it a signe that God loved me 
 not, if I killed a man by chance. 
 
 19. I will not call those women whores that paint, 
 I'le boldly say 'tis the badge of a whore. 
 
 20. There are two things that keep a woman chast, 
 conscience and honour; the one within, the other 
 without. 
 
 21. Men in arguing are often carryed by the force 
 of words farther asunder than their questions was at 
 first ; like two ships going out of the same haven, 
 their landing is many times whole countryes distant. 
 
 22. All that ever wrote of Christ, said he was an 
 honest man, they had so much naturall sight as to 
 see his civill goodness, but they wanted the super 
 naturall gift to see his Godhead. 
 
 23. Any sinn done in jest, is a greater offence 
 than when it is done in earnest. 
 
 24. King Henry the Eighth was an ill natur'd 
 Prince to execute so many whome he had so highly 
 favour'd : I can never hate the person I have once 
 placed my affection upon ; I may hate some vices of his, 
 which may lessen my favour, but never bend my heart 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 261 
 
 against him, nor undoe him, unless he undoe him- 
 selfe. 
 
 25. God's decrees goes al waves before his know- 
 ledge, for else would his knowledge exceed his power, 
 but with man it is otherwyse ; he must first know, and 
 after decree ; the reason is, that which man knows is 
 without him, and that which he doth is within him- 
 selfe, and is part of his own nature. 
 
 26. God hath called many from heresies to be 
 teachers in the church, but never any of a bad life, but 
 only to a particular salvation ; for that is more against 
 nature. Who denyes a thing he even now spake, is 
 like him that looks in my face and picks my pocket. 
 
 27. In my conversation, there is two things which 
 I ever took care of, I never in my life transgressed, to 
 scandall a man's valour or honesty, nor a woman's 
 chastity, unless I knew that by common fame. 
 
 28. To make women learned, and foxes tame, 
 hath the same operation, which teacheththem to steale 
 more cuningly, but the possibility is not equall, for 
 when it doth one good, it doth twenty harme. 
 
 29. I remember well the matter of a book, seldome 
 the page ; the first is the memory of the rationall, 
 the latter of the sensative soule. 
 
 30. I wonder not so much that women paint them- 
 selves, as that when they are painted, men can love 
 them. 
 
 31. In clothes, I would have the fashion choose 
 the man, and not a man the fashioD . 
 
262 CRUMMS FAUN FROM 
 
 32. The art of phisitians is very imperfect, for I 
 doubt not but for every disease there is in nature a 
 several! symple, if they could find it out, so that their 
 compounds do rather shew their ignorance than 
 knowledge. 
 
 33. He that write th an history and giveth credit to 
 all outward reports, the author may be wise, but the 
 work shall be foolish. 
 
 34. Not only the deliverance of the Jewes 'till they 
 came to the Land of Promise, but even their dayly 
 preservation was miraculous, for there was never 
 any noted plague in Jerusalem, though it stood in an 
 hott clymate, which, had it been, it would have en- 
 dangered the whole nation, it being to assemble 
 thither thrice every yeare of necessity. 
 
 35. God accepts the intent before the deed, for if I 
 doe justice because I would be counted a just King, 
 and not for God's glory, not because I stand answer- 
 able to God if I doe otherwise, or if I doe punnish a 
 man rightly, but withall sattisfie my own malice, these 
 are an abbomination. If I give almes only for my 
 reputations safe, these are wicked deeds, because 
 there is nullum medium, whatsoever is without faith 
 is sinn. 
 
 36. I never knew that Puritane that spake well of 
 any man behind his back, or took delight to doe good to 
 any, being naturally covetous of his purse, and liberall 
 of his tongue, so that he is alwayes an ill neighbour, 
 and a false freind. 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 263 
 
 37. I would most unwillingly do that ill, which, lay 
 not in my power to mend. 
 
 38. Glod hath distributed his benefits so equally, 
 that there is noe country which excelleth not all other 
 in some things or other, so as it borrows, it lends ; 
 likewise in men there is noe one so excelleth in one 
 thing, but hath need of anothers witt in some other, 
 and from these two proceed all trafick and society. 
 
 39. God never failes of his word, but where he 
 threatens ill to man, as in punnishing Ninevye ; but 
 alwayes performes where he promisseth good, that or 
 better, as he promissed to Abraham and his seed, tem- 
 poral!, earthly blessedness, and instead of that gives 
 them everlasting and heavenly benediction. 
 
 40. Most heresies have proceeded from mingling 
 philosophy with religion, from that and policy have 
 all the Papists errors risen ; and Christ tells them 
 that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdome of 
 heaven. 
 
 41. Noe man shall do evill that thinks before he 
 undertakes what the end will be, not what his pas- 
 sions would have it to be. 
 
 42. I have been often deceived, yet will I never 
 leave to trust, neither shall the falshood of some make 
 me think none honest. 
 
 43. Wisdome is moderation, and the goodness of 
 things is the mean, a man may be overwise and over- 
 godly. 
 
264 CBUMMS FAL'N FROM 
 
 44. The wisedome of a King is cheifly seen in the 
 election of his officers, as in places which require a 
 peculiar sufficiency, not to choose them that he 
 affects most, hut to use every one according to his 
 proper fitness. 
 
 45. Noe country can he called rich wherein there is 
 warrs, as in the Low Countryes : although there T>e 
 much money, the soldiers have it in pay from the 
 governors, the hoors have it for victuals, the governors 
 from them againe in taxes, so there is noe center, 
 nor noe certain owner. 
 
 46. Time is the essence of many laws, so that a 
 King may doe well at divers times, hoth in making 
 and abrogating the same law, the present occasion is 
 the reason of the law. 
 
 47. The Queen was angry with me for receiving 
 many men whome she had discountenanced, when 
 indeed all their fault was, love to me : if I had done 
 otherwise, I had done dishonestly ; yea if I had been 
 her subject, I might have done as much. 
 
 48. At his ma ts coming into England, an English 
 Nobleman presented himselfe to him, protesting 
 what a faithfull servant he had been to Queen Eliza- 
 beth, his dead mistress, who used to permitt him 
 (having the liberty as he called it of a free man [in 
 her court]) to frequent all companyes, and when he 
 could learn any thing which he thought fitt to informe 
 her ma ty of, she was pleased to accept his intelligence, 
 and so was desirous to make the like offer to his ma ty 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 265 
 
 to doe the same service, if his pleasure was to imploy 
 him. The King replyed (My Lord) I never had 
 use of any such service to betray my subjects, and 
 therefore you may save that labour ; that which is 
 mine is my owne, that which is my subjects, theirs, 
 my prerogative cannot alter. 
 
 "49. We alwayes choose to imitate the worst, which 
 shews our naturall corruption ; as let two nations 
 meet, either will change with other their worst 
 fashions, but never mingle in the best. 
 
 50. I would strive to be like the Papists in things 
 they did well, for unity sake. 
 
 51. Parents may forbid their children an unfitt 
 marriage, but they may not force their consciences 
 to a fitt. 
 
 52. 'Tis easier to reclaime a man from any heresie 
 then to convert an atheist to the truth ; for to beleive 
 is the first degree common to all religions, and an 
 atheist is to be brought so far before he come to 
 choosing. 
 
 53. A travelling preacher, and a travelling woman 
 never comes to any good at all. 
 
 54. It is a great mercy of God, that in all the Pa- 
 pists heresies, the Trinity hath been preserved pure. 
 
 55. The Church of Rome fell at first from her 
 purity to infirmities, then to corruptions, then into 
 errors, then into heresies, and lastly into abbomina- 
 tions, God still punishing sinn with sinn. 
 
266 C RUM MS FAUN FROM 
 
 56. Types are the images of the mind, which God 
 allowed the Jews to keep them from images of the 
 sence, and to shew them that his worship was in 
 spirit and truth. 
 
 57. I desire not to multiply my articles of faith be- 
 yond necessity, but rather let them be few and firme. 
 
 58. There are two kind of types, some of which are 
 of the foundation of faith, others of anologie of faith : 
 the first are rules of faith, the latter doth illustrate 
 faith received, and are but in the manner of allego- 
 ries. 
 
 59. Whensoever I make such a warr, as the King 
 of France doth, wherein there is such tyranny used to 
 his own subjects, as well of the Protestants of the 
 one side, as of his own soldiers drawn to such 
 slaughter on the other side, surely I will put my selfe 
 in a monastry all my dayes after, and repent me of 
 my sinns, that have brought my subjects to such 
 misery. 
 
 60. A King ought to be a preserver of his people, as 
 well of their fortunes as lives, and not a distroyer of 
 his subjects : 'tis true when he commands they must 
 obey ; yea and if it be in an ill quarrell, he must 
 answer that to God alone, and is not accountable to 
 any ; but shame befall that King that warrs wrong- 
 fully. 
 
 61. I am so carefull of injuring any of my subjects, 
 that in my progress, if any complaine of hurt done 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 267 
 
 them by any of my court, I see either punishment 
 executed on the offenders or satisfaction made to the 
 wronged. 
 
 62. All God's miracles are above nature, but never 
 against it, for that were to distroy his own work, 
 which he cannot do, but he may excell it ; therefore 
 the miracle of the Papists' transubstantiation being 
 against nature is false. 
 
 63. Tis one of God's blessings that we cannot fore- 
 know the hour of our death, for a time fixed, even 
 beyond the possibility of living, would trouble us 
 more than this uncertainty doth. 
 
 64. I'll never trust any of my subjects of England 
 or Scotland, that out of discontent will goe and serve 
 the King of Spaine. 
 
 65. Any sinn winch is only an offence against my 
 selfe, I may be induced to pardon, but those sinns 
 which imediatly touch the honour of God, as witch 
 craft, and such like, I ,dare not yet take upon me to 
 forgive it, but yet if I knew there were any that had 
 fal'n that way, and hath since repented and turned 
 from that wickedness, I should rather choose not to 
 take notice, than to acquitt them. 
 
 66. We cannot conceive eternity but by faith, we 
 cannot know what God is, and of that ignorance 
 cometh all sinn ; for sure if we knew him well we 
 should not offend him : a man which understands well 
 may speake, not eloquently, but never darkly. 
 
C RUM MS FAL'N FROM 
 
 67. A Jesuite may die among the Indians, mcerly 
 for Christ crucified, before he come to any point of 
 controversy, and be a martyr. 
 
 68. At what time the Gospell did flourish, all kind 
 of learning did also abound, and upon the decay there- 
 of, there came alwayes a vaile of darkness upon the 
 face of the earth ; the reason is, knowledge is a part 
 of religion, but error and superstition is the safer 
 by ignorance. 
 
 69. I never noted the relations of the devils and 
 witches talking together, but about foolish things. 
 
 70. A father cannot injure a sonn, or a King his 
 subjects, so that they may shake off their naturall 
 obedience, or to be their revengers : if any thing be 
 amiss, all they can do is prcecibus et lacrimis, non 
 vi et armis. Cowardize is the mother of cruelty, 
 'twas only feare made tyrants put so many to death 
 to secure themselves. 
 
 71. The fashion among the Eomans for killing 
 themselves was falsly called fortitude ; for 'twas only 
 to prevent the power of fortune, when indeed vertue 
 lies within quite out of her reach, nor can any man 
 be overthrown but of himselfe, and so most truly 
 were they subdued when they fled to death for a 
 refuge against death. 
 
 72. Colonell William Stuart in Scotland, came to 
 the King in great earnest (the King being asleep in his 
 bed) and suddenly awaked him, desireing him in all 
 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 269 
 
 hast, to provide for danger, for that the old Earle 
 of Angus, was up in arms, and with great forces was 
 upon the way to surprize the court and him. The 
 King without any disturbance at all laid himselfe 
 againe to sleep, saying, If it he true, I am sorry for 
 the old man that he will thus undoe himselfe, I 
 would faine he should doe well, hut I see it will not 
 be ; this rumor was presently after confirmed by the 
 Earle of Orkney, and yet notwithstanding he went a 
 hunting according to his former purpose, and played 
 at tennis after ; at length the report proved false, and 
 all was nothing. 
 
 73. A wise King ruleth not by rumor, but pursues 
 his own way without distraction. 
 
 74. Those Princes that seeke to secure themselves 
 by blood, shall find, the more they kill, the more 
 they shall need to kill. 
 
 75. He that is vaine and foolish of himselfe, be- 
 comes more so, by the adflition of learning. Men of the 
 high understanding, as they do many things above 
 the common straine, so they often fall into greater 
 errors than those of meaner capacity, which in all 
 their actions will rather do nothing faulty then any 
 thing extraordinary, being of a better temper than 
 the former. 
 
 76. A lye of error is a faidt of credulity, not of 
 falshood, but a presumptuous lye is that which a 
 man makes as God made the world, of nothing. 
 
270 CBUMMS FAUN FROM 
 
 77. Of all the number of men slaine in the warrs, 
 not the tenth man hath been killed fighting, but flying. 
 
 78. The persons of all men are to be alike equall 
 to us, and our hate or love should goe according to 
 their vertues, or vices. The bonds of kindred should 
 only command us in all civill dutyes, but not our 
 judgement, and particular injuries should only make 
 us hate the particuler deeds, but not the doer in 
 generall. 
 
 79 . 'Tis better enj oy civility with multitude of pride 
 (which are corruptions commonly following it) than 
 barbarisme without these, for tho' the fruit of the 
 former be worse, yet the thing it selfe is better. 
 
 80. The French Embassador, Count de Tilliers, 
 coming unto the King upon the rumour of Count 
 Mansfields entring into France, and the Duke of 
 Bouloignes joyning with his forces to attempt the 
 aid of the Protestants against the French King. 
 Tilliers said, he wondered much why the Duke would 
 enter into such a dangerous attempt by warr, as those 
 troubles would bring him unto, being now seaventy- 
 five years old, when wise men would end their dayes 
 in peace and safety, rather than to choose the 
 hazard of death, and the infamy of a traytor. 
 
 81. The King replyed, that he saw no reason why 
 the Duke de Bouloigne might not as well take arms 
 for the maintenance of the true religion at the age 
 of seaventy-five, as the new constable Desdigniers to 
 
KIXG JAMES'S TABLE. 271 
 
 change his religion at eighty-four, and to fight 
 against his conscience for a constableship. 
 
 $2. All extremities come round to one end, the 
 simple obedience of the Papist, or the non obedience 
 of the Puritane ; the one breeds confusion, the other 
 ignorance and security. 
 
 S3. If I were of the age of old Desdigniers is of, 
 though I thought then I was of the false religion, I 
 would not change it ; for I might justly think that 
 age might weaken my judgement, and I might 
 doubt my selfe if extreame age woidd councell me ; 
 against that religion which I maintained when I was 
 in the strength of my judgement and understanding, 
 and therefore I had little reason, or none at all, to 
 alter my manly opinion to a decrepid. 
 
 84. That which we call witt, consists much in 
 quickness and tricks, and is so full of lightness, that 
 it seldome goes with judgement and solidity ; but 
 when they doe meet 'tis .commonly in an honest man. 
 
 85. We seldome see a man excellent in the mathe- 
 maticks, languages, or heraldry, or any of those 
 little arts, but he is as defective in greater matters. 
 
 86. Men as often fall out upon small things as 
 upon great, because after the first contradiction they 
 maintain themselves, and not the argument. 
 
 S7. Astronomic was first taught by God, for noe 
 man could have discovered it, and therefor the first 
 must needs have been the excellentest in that. 
 
272 CRUMMS FAL'N FROM 
 
 88. At his first coming into England, an Embas- 
 sador was sent hither from the then Emperor Ro- 
 dalph, desiring the King to maintain three thousand 
 men in his warrs, against the Turks : his ma ty asked 
 him, why he did not solicite Spaine, and France, seeing 
 their countries lay nearer, and so might doe more 
 good, or receive more hurt, and therefore fitter for 
 that assistance : the Embassador said, 'twas true, 
 but his ma tles example, being a more remote Prince, 
 would more effectually work upon them, than his 
 own reason. The King replyed, he loved not to anger 
 Princes, and that proportion demanded would do no 
 more hurt to the Turk, than fleas to mens skinns ; 
 but if other Princes would go soundly to work to 
 attempt the subvertion of the whole Turkish empire 
 by some brave and thorough enterprize, he would 
 with all his heart bear them company; for great 
 attempts may do good, by a distruction, but poore 
 ones doe but stir up anger and hurt themselves. 
 
 89. No man gains by warr, but he that hath not 
 wherewith to live in peace. 
 
 90. The people still desire warr till they have it, 
 and they desire it presupposing good success, but one 
 overthrow, an ill journy, or taxes imposed to main- 
 tain it, they require peace as much. In giveing 
 pardons, I doe allwayes suppose my selfe in the 
 offender, and then judge how far the like occasion 
 might have tempted me. 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 273 
 
 91. There is in essentiall things a certain truth, 
 and imutability in things indifferent, neither good nor 
 ill, but as the Church, or State, creates it. 
 
 92. Being desired by a nobelman to grant a dis- 
 pensation to one of his ma tles most eminent chaplaines 
 to hold two benefices without distance, his ma ty denyed 
 it, saying, I must answer it to God, if the people be 
 not fed by their Pastour, and therefore I will never 
 grant a dispensation in that kind ; but the Nobleman 
 replyed and said, his ma ,y had done it to other men. 
 If I did, God forgive me, he was a knave that mis- 
 informed me, and I a foole for not better enquiring. 
 
 93. Preachers are like to whores, that may be said 
 to say and doe any thing for their advantage. 
 
 94. There are noe people which turn their religion 
 so soon as Puritans and Jesuites; for zeale tran- 
 sports them more than knowledge, and having but 
 a glimering of the same, when they come to be better 
 taught, they are ready to make religion turn the way 
 of their apprehensions, and so upon fancy are sub- 
 ject to alteration. 
 
 95. All corruption is nothing but dissolution, and 
 the last dissolution of every thing is into the earth, 
 which shews that from thence we began. 
 
 96. When I hear musick, first I am sattisfied with 
 the sound of it, but after I have heard it a while, I 
 then looke what the meaning of it is, what it signifies, 
 and 'tis but aire. Many men are wise in a narrow 
 
274 CBUMMS FAUN FROM 
 
 compass, which are not so in a larger, 'tis dealing in 
 many affaires which tries a man. 
 
 97. All governments in their constitutions, and in 
 their practice tend to monarchy, and where ever the 
 better sort of people bear rule, there is alwayes some 
 one that resembles a King amongst them ; yea, 
 though in their State of Venice, their Duke is as it 
 were a dead name, yet were it impossible that then- 
 own wealth should long withold it selfe without him. 
 
 98. Good lawes must be made by a few men and 
 reasonable, and not by a multitude. 
 
 99. That a theife shall be punished is God's law ; 
 but after what manner, is left to the government of 
 every State. 
 
 100. Sir Henry Wotton sending a letter to his 
 ma ty from Venice, related how the Prince of Conde 
 sued for the title of Altess from the Synode of Venice, 
 which was refused; the King answered, that the 
 Prince had good reason to sue for the same, and the 
 Seiguiory had done ill to deny it him, considering all 
 the world knew how he deserved it ; it being his 
 custome to raise himselfe upon every man's tayle he 
 could get upon ; and by that custome he hoped to see 
 himselfe elevated by the just justice of God, to as 
 high a dignity as the gallows at last. 
 
 101. There is noe good fancy in long speeches, 
 for in speaking much it is impossible to shun little 
 errors, therefore short and pithy is the best forme 
 for business. 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 275 
 
 102. Wheresoever Kings have many people, they 
 have many friends. 
 
 103. My Lord of Bucklew said the horder men 
 were not valiant at the first onsett, but after, they 
 proved good men; the King replyed, 'Tis true, 
 borderers fight to live, and not to dye. 
 
 104. A man would have thought the invention of 
 guns would have ruined mankind, but God hath 
 made it a meanes to save mens lives, for since that 
 time men have retired themselves within walls, and 
 few sett battailes have been fought. 
 
 105. A knowing man is hott in arguing for truths 
 sake ;- an ignorant man for opinion sake. 
 
 106. The Church is to be believed in the inter- 
 pretation of the Scriptures, but not directly against 
 it, for when it differs from that, 'tis noe longer the 
 church. 
 
 107. If a man have committed a publick scandal- 
 ous sinn, he ought not only to satisfie his conscience 
 with repenting it, but withall to repaire the scandell 
 by professing it. 
 
 108. The same sentence with divers relations may 
 be both holy and devilish. 
 
 109. Incest is so odious, because there are a few 
 forbidden thee ; and all the world beside open for 
 thee. 
 
 110. Outward civility, and inward heresie, is harder 
 to be converted to a better religion than an Indian, 
 
276 CRUMMS FAL'N FROM 
 
 111. Before Christ came, it was enough for the 
 Patriarchs to believe only. Since his coming, we 
 must not only believe, but understand. 
 
 112. In disputeing with a Papist, one must main- 
 taine the grounds of Divinity, and seeke to destroy 
 the building upon it; but against Puritans, one 
 must destroy the grounds and maintaine the build- 
 ing ; that is to say, the major position is false in the 
 Puritans, and the mynor in the Papists. 
 
 113. If God gave not the kingdome of Israel to 
 Saul and his posterity, what tooke he from him upon 
 his oifence, for he enjoyed it all his life ? 
 
 114. The Chancellor Metelyn of Scotland, was 
 suspected by the King to be in conspiracy against 
 him ; the King one day called him unto him, telling 
 him how just grounds he had to suspect him, and 
 bad him be more dutyfull hereafter. His answer 
 was, that to his knowledge those attempts intended 
 to be made were nothing but fitt and necessary to 
 be done. The King replyed, if those words you have 
 spoken were uttered by a foole, they were to be 
 laughen at, but being spoken by him, thought a 
 wise man, were worthy of hanging. The Chancellor 
 submitted himselfe hereupon, and dyed within a 
 very few dayes after. 
 
 115. There are three kinds of wisdome usual in 
 Kings, a sanctified wisdome, a pollitick wisdome, 
 (which often straines itselfe to a less evill to avoid a 
 
KING JAMES'S TABLE. 277 
 
 greater) and a wisdome of falshood. The first is 
 both lawfull and necessary, the second is lawfull but 
 not necessary, the third is neither. 
 
 116. Colonel Gray coming to him out of Ger- 
 many in a garb of a soldier, buckl'd up in a buff 
 jerkin, a great belt and a huge sword, and a case of 
 pistolls ; the King said, that this towne was so well 
 fortifyed, that if it were well victualled, it seem'd 
 impregnable. 
 
 117. My ends are still constant, howsoever my 
 wayes to them may seem to differ according to oc- 
 casion. 
 
 118. There are many things which my selfe would 
 not doe, and yet, in my judgement, think lawfull to 
 be done; but where there is a broadway besides, 
 what need I tread nere the borders of vice. 
 
 119. I will not reward any man in matter of 
 justice, for that is not mine, but God's and the 
 people's. 
 
 120. The art of governing is a deep mistery, and 
 noe man can judge who is fitt to be a King, till he 
 see him one. 
 
 121. The people do never esteem truly of the 
 present state, for some thing in it they must mislike 
 whilst it is at present ; and yet such and such men 
 either to be good or bad, their censure is almost in- 
 falliable. 
 
 122. I desire to live no longer than I am accounted 
 
278 CEUMMS FROM JAMES'S TABLE. 
 
 an honest and reasonable man, of honest and rea- 
 sonable men ; nor longer to be a King, than I use 
 my power to maintain reason, and not to overthrow 
 it. 
 
 123. I will never offer to bring a new custome 
 upon the people without the peoples consent, but 
 only like a good phisitian tell them what is a-miss ; 
 and after, if they will not concur to amend it, yet I 
 have discharged my part. 
 
 124. At Oking, being shewed a gentleman's 
 house, a great part whereof was burn't by the Queens 
 servants when she was entertain'd there, for which 
 the Queen never gave him satisfaction ; one said, 
 that if it had been done by a common person, he 
 had been bound to satisfaction by law. The King 
 said, whatsoever a private man ought to doe, by law, 
 a King is bound to doe by conscience. 
 
NOTES 
 
 Page 7, line 5 ; D. T.] 
 l ROB ABLY the same person who wrote 
 Essaies Politiche and Morall, Lond. 
 1608, 12mo. His name is unknown. 
 
 Page 8, line Si ; C. B.] Christopher 
 Brooke, the author of Eglogues; dedi- 
 cated to his much loved Friend Mr. Will. Brown, of 
 the Inner Temple, Lond. 1614, 8vo. &c. 
 
 Page 10, line 23 ; A cleane contrary way\. This ex- 
 pression seems to have been proverbial. 
 
 " Come heare, lady muses, and help mee to sing, 
 
 Come love mee where as I lay ; 
 Of a duke that deserves to be made a king, 
 The cleane contrary way, 
 O the cleane contrary way." 
 
 Shane MS. No. 826. 
 " "lis you must perfect this great work, 
 
 And all malignants slay, 
 You must bring back the king again 
 The cleane contrary way." 
 
 A. Brome's Songs and Poems, 
 1664, p. 162. 
 Many other instances might be quoted. 
 
 Page 10, line 30 ; Weston]. One of the persons exe- 
 cuted for the murder of Overbury. See Life. 
 
280 NOTES. 
 
 Page 11, line 14 ; W. S.] According to a MS. note 
 of T. Park's, these initials stand for William Ship- 
 ton. 
 
 Page 13, line 12 ; W.B. Int. temp.'] William Browne, 
 the celebrated author of Britannia's Pastorals. He 
 was a student of the Temple at the same time with 
 Overbury. 
 
 Page 13, line 25 ; B. G. Medii Temp.~] Probably 
 Bernard Griffin, the author of a collection of sonnets, 
 entitled Fidessa, more Chaste then Kinde, Lond. 1596. 
 The latter has an address, " To the Gentlemen of the 
 Innes of Court," which strengthens the supposition. 
 
 Page 14, line 23 ; Cap. Tho. Gainsford]. The name 
 of this writer occurs to some verses in Add. MS. 15, 
 227, in the British Museum. See also Collier's 
 Poetical Decameron. 
 
 Page 16, line 8 ; Io. Fo.] Undoubtedly John Ford, 
 the celebrated dramatist. He became a member of 
 the Middle Temple November 16, 1602, and was in 
 all likelihood well acquainted with Overbury, who 
 was of the same Society. 
 
 Page 16, line 23 ; R. Ca.] In a copy of Overbury's 
 Characters, formerly belonging to Octavius Gilchrist, 
 that Gentleman has filled up these initials, R[ichard] 
 Ca[rew], the author of The Survey of Cornwall. 
 
 Page 18, line 15 ; E. G.] Query, Edmund Gay ton ? 
 
 Page 20, line 31 ; I. F.] John Fletcher, the cele- 
 brated dramatist ? Le Neve, speaking of the Elegies 
 prefixed to Overbury's Wife, says, " Amongst which, 
 two, from the initials, and the general satire on the 
 sex, appear to be by Fletcher." Cursory Remarks on 
 the English Poets, p. 28. 
 
 Page 24, line 25 ; W. Stra.] According to Park's 
 MS. note, William Stradling. 
 
 Page 25, line 1 ; Of the Choyce or a Wife]. This 
 little poem is always quoted as Overbury's ; but Mr. 
 
 
NOTES. 281 
 
 Collier considers it " an unclaimed poem." See 
 the Bridgewater Catalogue, p. 223. 
 
 Page 33, line 12 ; A Wife]. This poem is printed 
 in Capell's interesting volume entitled Prolusions; 
 or Select Pieces of Antient Poetry, 1760, 8vo. A col- 
 lation of the first, fourth, and ninth editions is there 
 given. The differences are so trifling, that it was 
 not thought worth while to transfer them to these 
 pages. 
 
 Page 46, line 1 ; The Authotjr's Epitaph]. In the 
 rare " Portraiture of Sir Thomas Overbury," engraved 
 by R. Elstracke, these lines are given upon a scroll, 
 which the unfortunate knight is in the act of penning. 
 This portrait is of such rarity, that at General Dowdes- 
 well's sale, Sir Mark M. Sykes purchased an impres- 
 sion for fifty pounds. On the dispersion of the Sykes' 
 Collection, it realized the large sum of seventy-four 
 guineas ! 
 
 Page 49, line 5 ; the voider], i. e. " a basket or tray, 
 into which the relics of a dinner or other meal, the 
 trenchers, &c. were swept from the table with a wooden 
 knife." — Dtce. 
 
 Page 49, line 14 ; the Knight of the Sun]. A well- 
 known hero of romance, 
 
 Page 50, line 7 ; napery] . i. e. linen of any kind, but 
 chiefly table linen ; from nappe, French. 
 
 Page 50, line 14 ; Her next part], i. e. Her marriage 
 state. 
 
 Page 50, line 16 ; her wrie little finger bewraies 
 carving, &c] The passage in the text sufficiently shows 
 that carving was a sign of intelligence made with the 
 little finger, as the glass was raised to the mouth. 
 See the prefatory Letter prefixed to IMr. R. G. 
 White's Shakespeare' 's Scholar, 8vo. New York, 1854, 
 p. xxxiii. Mr. Hunter (New Illustrations of Shakes- 
 peare, i. 215), Mr. Dyce (A few Notes on Shakespeare, 
 
282 NOTES. 
 
 1853, p. 18), and Mr. Mitford {Cursory Notes on 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, &c. 1856, p. 40), were unac- 
 quainted with this valuable illustration of a Shake- 
 spearian word given by Overbury. 
 
 Page 53, line 19 ; a picke-tooth in his hat]. The use 
 of toothpicks was formerly regarded as an affectation 
 of gentility. It was an Italian invention introduced 
 here about the year 1600. Lucio, in Fletcher's 
 Woman Hater, 1607, says, " Sir, but that I do pre- 
 sume upon your secrecy, I would not have appeared 
 to you thus ignorantly attired, without a toothpick in 
 a ribband, or a ring in my bandstring." Act v. sc. 1. — 
 Dyce's Beaumont and Fletcher, i. 78. 
 
 Page 55, line 21 ; dares not salute a man in old clothes, 
 or out of fashion] . " It is also but opinion that a proud 
 coxcombe in the fashion, wearing taffata, and an ill- 
 favored locke on his shoulder, thinkes all that weare 
 cloth, and are out of fashion, to be clownes, base, and 
 unworthie his acquaintance." — Peacham's Truth of 
 our Times, 1638, p. 57. 
 
 Page 55, line 25 ; awhifler]. The derivation of this 
 word is from whiffle, to disperse as by a puff of wind, 
 to scatter. A whiffler, in its original signification, 
 evidently meant a staff-bearer, and not a fifer, as is 
 generally supposed. See several communications on 
 this subject in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1851. 
 
 Page 55, line 25 ; a torche-bearer\. Torch-bearers 
 appear to have been the constant attendants upon 
 our old masks. "He is just like a torche-bearer to 
 maskers; he wears good cloaths, and is ranked in 
 good company, but he doth nothing." — Westward 
 Hoe, 1607. 
 
 Page 56, line 21 ; weares the Bible in the streetes']. 
 i. e. attached to the girdle ; by no means uncommon 
 at the period when Overbury wrote. Again, in his 
 character of " A Button-Maker of Amsterdam," our 
 
NOTES. 283 
 
 author says, " his zeal consists much in hanging his 
 Bible in a Dutch button." 
 
 Page 57, line 10 ; the tune of fortune"], i. e. Fortune 
 my foe, one of the most celebrated ballad tunes of the 
 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Its history may 
 be read in Mr. W. Chappell's Popular Music of the 
 Olden Time, p. 162. 
 Page 57, line 17 ; musk comfects]. i.e. sweetmeats. 
 Page 59, line 10; bought in S. Martines]. i. e. St. 
 Martin's-le- Grand, a famous place for lace and jewel- 
 lery of an inferior kind, in the seventeenth century. 
 Webster, Massinger, and other of the old dramatists, 
 allude to it. Butler has the following passage : — 
 " 'Tis not those paltry counterfeits 
 French stones, which in our eyes you set, 
 But our right diamonds, that inspire 
 And set your am'rous hearts on fire ; 
 Nor can those false St. Martin's beads, 
 Which on our lips you place for reds, 
 And make us wear like Indian dames, 
 Add fuel to your scorching flames." 
 
 Hudibras, ii. 367, ed. Nash. 
 Page 64, line 4 ; Pomanders']. A kind of perfume, 
 generally made in the form of a ball, and worn about 
 the person. See Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary, 636. 
 Page 64, line 25 ; Cut-purse]. The purse was for- 
 merly worn, suspended by a silken or leather strap, 
 outside the garment. Hence the miscreant, whom we 
 now denominate a pickpocket, was then properly a 
 cut-purse. 
 
 Page 65, line 1 ; yellow stockings]. Much worn in 
 the first half of the seventeenth century. Shake- 
 speare says, " Remember who commended thy yellow 
 stockings." — Twelfth Night, Act ii. sc. 5. 
 
 Page 65, line 3 ; pantofl.es]. i. e. slippers or pattens. 
 " A wooden pantofle or patin." — Florio. 
 
284 NOTES. 
 
 Page 65, line 8 ; Make a leg]. A leg here signifies a 
 bow. Decker says, " A jewe never weares his cap 
 threadbare with putting it off; never bends i' th' 
 hammes with casting away a leg, &c." — GulVs Home- 
 booke, p. 11. 
 
 Page 65, line 14 ; Dor]. A drone-bee. 
 
 Page 65, line 19 ; Booke of good manners]. Perhaps 
 an allusion to The Book of Good Manners, translated 
 out of the French of Jaques le Graunt, and printed 
 by Caxton in 1487. Similar works were issued at a 
 later date. 
 
 Page 65, line 26 ; speaks Euphues]. " An affected 
 style of speaking and writing introduced at the close 
 of the sixteenth century by Lilly, who set the fashion 
 in works entitled Euphues, or the Anatomy of Wit, and 
 Euphues and his England, which are replete with ab- 
 surd jargon and bombast. These books were com- 
 pletely the fashion for the time, and their immortality 
 vainly predicted by the author's contemporaries." — 
 Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary, p. 341. 
 
 Page 66, line 2 ; Birchin-lane]. Inhabited in our 
 author's time, by " the fripperers or upholders, that 
 sold old apparel and household stuff." See Stow's 
 Survey of London, Thoms's ed. p. 75. 
 
 Page 66, line 9 ; the boares head]. Anciently the 
 first dish on Christmas-day, and was ushered in with 
 its peculiar and appropriate Carol. Hollinshed says 
 that in the year 1170, upon the day of the young 
 Prince's coronation, King Henry the First " served 
 his sonne at the table as sewer, bringing up the bore's 
 head with trumpets before it, according to the man- 
 ner." — Chronicles, iii. 76. 
 
 Page 66, line 13 ; galliard]. A popular old dance, 
 the music of which consisted of two, and sometimes 
 of three strains. It derived its name from Gallia, 
 the country from whence it came. C. Simpson says, 
 
NOTES. 285 
 
 " This (according to its name) is of a lofty and frolick 
 movement ; the measure of it, always a triplet,, of three 
 minims to a time." — A Compendium of Practical Mu- 
 stek, 3rd edit. 1678, p. 117. 
 
 Page 67, line 13 ; partlets], A partlet is usually de- 
 fined to be " a ruff or band worn by women." Baret 
 says " a neckerchief or partlet." — Triple Dictionaries 
 1573. But according to the authorities cited by Sir 
 Frederick Madden (Privy Expenses of the Princess 
 Mary, note p. 255), " the partlet evidently appears to 
 have been the corset, or habit-shirt, worn at the pe- 
 riod, and which so commonly occurs in the portraits 
 of the time, generally made of velvet, and ornamented 
 with precious stones." 
 
 Page 77, line 26 ; ammelT]. An old form of the word 
 enamel, 
 
 Page 78, line 16; Amadis de Gaule, nor the Knight 
 of the Sunne~] . Heroes of romance very often coupled. 
 Snarl, in Shadwell's Comedy of The Virtuoso (Act i.) 
 speaks of " rhiming plays, with scurvy heros, worse 
 than the Knight of the Sun, or Amadis de GauV 
 
 Page 78, line 20 ; the Spanish pike"]. Needles, intro- 
 duced here from Spain, were so called. 
 
 Page 78, line 24 ; the long HIT] . " A kind of pike or 
 halbert, formerly carried by the English infantry, and 
 afterwards the usual weapon of watchmen. Soldiers 
 armed with bills were sometimes called hills. A bill- 
 hook is still called a bill in some parts of the country." 
 — Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary, p. 176. Of course 
 our author puns upon the word. 
 
 Page 79, line 8 ; cast down into hell]. A tailor's hell 
 means the place where a tailor deposits the cloth, 
 stuff, or silk, which he purloins from his employers. 
 " By metaphor 
 
 All know the cellarage under the shop-board 
 
 He calls his hell," &c. — Dyce's Middleton, v. 172. 
 
286 NOTES. 
 
 Page 80, line 17 ; March beere]. i. e. beer brewed in 
 March. Gascoigne, in his Delicate diet for daintie 
 mouthde droonkards, 1576, says, " The Almaines with 
 their small Renish wine are contented ; or rather then 
 faile, a cup of beere may entreate them to stoupe. But 
 we must have March beere, dooble beere, Dagger ale, 
 Bragget, Renish wine, White wine, French wine, 
 Gascoyne wine, Sack," &c. 
 
 Page 81, line 7; A pair e of Organs], i. e. an organ 
 with more pipes than one. Jonson, Heywood, and 
 other of our older poets, always use the term pair in 
 the sense of an aggregate, and as synonymous with 
 set : thus we have " a pair of chessmen," " a pair of 
 beads," " a pair of cards," " a pair of organs," &c. 
 When speaking of a, flight of stairs, we often say a 
 pair of stairs. Therefore, this ancient form of ex- 
 pression, although obsolete in most cases, is still in use 
 at the present day. See Hopkins and Rimbault on 
 The History and Construction of the Organ, 8vo. 1856, 
 p. 40. 
 
 Page 82, line 24 ; An eyesse]. A young hawk re- 
 cently taken out of the nest. 
 
 Page 82, line 24; a ramage~]. " (Fr.) Boughes, 
 branches, or any thing that belongs thereto. Hence 
 a ra'mage hawk, or falcoun, is such a one as hath been 
 long among the boughs and branches, preying for 
 himself, a hagard.^ — Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 
 1656. 
 
 Page 82, line 25 ; an intermewer]. The name given 
 to a hawk from the first change of her coat till she 
 turn white. 
 
 Page 83, line 8 ; haggard]. A wild hawk ; one that 
 has preyed for herself before being taken. 
 
 Page 83, line 13 ; bussard]. A great drinker. — 
 Halliwell's Archaic Dictionary. 
 
 Page 84, line 14; Barragouin], i.e. " Barettor, 
 
NOTES. 287 
 
 Barotour (French), who sets men at defiance." — 
 Coles' Dictionary, 1717. "In law, a common wrangler." 
 — Blount's Glossographia. 
 
 Page 85, line 1 ; pickadels]. Written also pickadil, 
 peccadillo, and pickardil. " Pickadilles, the severall 
 divisions or peeces fastened together about the brimme 
 of the collar of a doublet, &c." — Cotgrave's Diet. 
 " A kinde of stiffe collar, made in fashion of a band." 
 — Blount's Glossographia, ed. 1656. Gifford says, 
 " the term is simply a diminutive ofpicca (Span, and 
 Ital.) a spear-head, and was given to this article of 
 foppery, from a fancied resemblance of its stiffened 
 plaits to the bristled points of those weapons." — Jon- 
 son's Works, v. 55. 
 
 Page 85, line 2 ; ruff]. A kind of frill, formerly 
 much worn by both sexes. Its antiquity, according 
 to Taylor, the Water Poet, does not extend further 
 back than Henry VIII. 
 
 " Ruffs only at the first were in request 
 
 With such as of ability were best ; 
 
 But now the plain, the stich'd, the lae'd, and shag, 
 
 Are at all prices worn by tag and rag." 
 
 Taylor's Works, part 2, p. 167. 
 Page 85, line 22 ; Merlin's prophesies]. Merlin was 
 a Welsh magician, who lived about the year 500. 
 Spenser says, 
 
 " It Merlin was, which whylome did excell 
 All living wightes in might of magicke spell." 
 Merlin's Prophecies was, until very recently, a 
 popular chap-book. 
 
 Page 85, line 23; Crosse-row~]. "The alphabet 
 was called the Christ-cross row, some say because a 
 cross was prefixed to the alphabet in the old primers ; 
 but as probably from a superstitious custom of writing 
 the alphabet in the form of a cross, by way of charm." 
 — Nares. 
 
288 NOTES. 
 
 Page 86, line 11 ; heaven and hell~\. " Heaven and 
 Hell were two mean ale-houses, abutting on "West- 
 minster Hall. Whalley says that they were standing 
 in his remembrance. They are mentioned, together 
 with a third house called Purgatory, in a grant which 
 I have read, dated in the first year of Henry VII." — 
 GifFord's Jonson, iv. 174. See also Cunningham's 
 Hand-Bool of London, p. 224, edit. 1850. 
 
 Page 88, line 28 ; Erra Pater]. The reader will 
 recollect Butler's lines : — 
 
 " In Mathematics he was greater 
 Than Tycho Brake, or Erra Pater." 
 
 Hudibras, pt. i. canto 1. 
 
 Page 89, line 1 ; Rodulphus Agricold]. A learned 
 priest, born in the year 1442, at BafHen, a village in 
 Friesland. He is said to have been a prodigy in 
 literature and science. He died at Heidelberg in 
 1485. 
 
 Page 89, line 3 ; Systemd's logicke doth excell Keeker- 
 man's]. Bartholomew Keckerman was born at Dant- 
 zic, in Prussia, 1571, and educated under Fabricius. 
 He was eminently distinguished for his abilities, and 
 wrote upon logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics, 
 metaphysics, geography, astronomy, &c. He died, 
 literally worn out with scholastic drudgery, at the 
 early age of 38. 
 
 Page 89, line 16 ; A Tinker]. The author of this, 
 and the following characters, was a Mr. J. Cocke. In 
 an address prefixed to John Stephens' New Essayes 
 and Characters, &c. Lond. 1631, this worthy says, "I 
 am heere enforced to claime three characters follow- 
 ing the Wife ; viz. the Tinker, the Apparatour, and 
 Almanack-maker, that I may signify the ridiculous 
 and bold dealing of an unknowne botcher," &c. These 
 characters were first added to the sixth edition of 
 Overbury's Wife in 1615. 
 
NOTES. 289 
 
 Page 90, line 1 ; alwaies furnisht with a song]. 
 Samuel Harsnet, in his Declaration of Egregious Im- 
 postors, 1604, thus speaks of the musical qualifications 
 of tinkers : — " Lustie Jolly Jenkin, by his name should 
 seeme to be foreman of the motley morrice : he had 
 under him, saith himselfe, forty assistants ; or rather 
 (if I mistake not) he had beene by some old exercist 
 allowed for the master setter of Catches or Roundes 
 used to be sung by Tinkers, as they sit by the fire, with 
 a pot of good ale between their legges : Hey, jolly, 
 Jenken, I see a knave drinking, &c." A number of 
 tinkers' songs are still in existence ; for instance, 
 " Joan's Ale 's new, or the Jovial Tinker ;" " Tom 
 Tinker;" "The Tinker of Turvey;" "Clout the 
 cauldron," &c. See more on this subject in Mr. 
 Chappell's Popular Music of England. 
 
 Page 90, line 7 ; since the terrible statute, &c] A 
 curious Account of the Gypsies in England occurs in 
 The Art of Juggling or Legerdemaine, by S. R. 
 [Samuel Rid] Lond. 1612, 4to. The writer says, 
 "This kind of people, about a hundred years ago, 
 beganne to gather a head, as the first heere, about the 
 Southerne parts. And this, as I am informed, and can 
 gather, was their beginning: — Certain Egyptians 
 banished their country (belike not for their good 
 conditions) arrived heere in England, who for quaint 
 tricks and devices, not known heere at that time 
 among us, were esteemed and had in great admiration, 
 insomuch that many of our English loyterers joined 
 them, and in time learned their craftie cosening. The 
 speech which they used was the right Egyptian lan- 
 guage, with whom our Englishmen conversing at last 
 learned their language. These people continuing 
 about the country, and practising their cosening art, 
 purchased themselves great credit among the country 
 people, and got much by palmistry and telling of for- 
 u 
 
290 NOTES. 
 
 tunes, insomuch they pitifully cosezend poor country 
 girls, both of money, silver spoons, and the best of 
 their apparelle, or any goods they could make." Rid 
 farther states they had a leader of the name of Giles 
 Hather, who was termed their King ; and a woman 
 of the name of Calot, was called Queen : " these 
 riding through the country on horseback and in 
 strange attire, had a prettie traine after them." Ac- 
 cording to the same writer, the gypsies arrived here 
 about 1512, or ten years before the statute 22 Henry 
 VIII. c. 10, was passed. This statute commanded 
 them to leave the country in sixteen days from the 
 date thereof, and forbad any person bringing them 
 back to England. 
 
 Page 91, line 2 ; if he scape Tyburn and Banbury]. 
 From Bishop Corbet's Iter Boreale, the town of Ban- 
 bury appears to have been inhabited chiefly by Puri- 
 tans. It was also celebrated for its tinkers ; but I do 
 not understand the allusion in the text. 
 
 Page 91, line 4; An Apparatour\. "A Sergeant, 
 beadle, or sumner; but most commonly used for an 
 inferior officer that summons in delinquents to the 
 spiritual Court." — Blount's Glossographia. 
 
 Page 91, line 19 ; There went but a paire of sheeres 
 betweene him, &c] This means that there was little 
 difference betwixt the two. Marston and other 
 writers of his time use the expression. Mr. Halli- 
 well has given an apposite quotation from Stephens' 
 Essay es, 1615. See his edition of Marston's Dramatic 
 Works, ii. 302. 
 
 Page 93, line 3; Ticho Brache~\. The illustrious 
 astronomer, Tycho Brahe, was originally of Sweden, 
 but settled in Denmark, and had an observatory and 
 laboratory bestowed on him in the island of Huen, in 
 the Sound, where he maintained ten or twelve young 
 men, who assisted him in his observations. 
 
NOTES. 291 
 
 Page 93, line 22 ; many ride poast to chandlers and 
 tobacco shops in folio']. 
 
 " Did I for this 
 
 Consume my quarters in meditations, vows, 
 
 And woo'd her in Heroical Epistles ? 
 
 Did I expound The Owl ? 
 
 And undertook, with labour and expense, 
 
 The re-collection of those thousand pieces, 
 
 Consumed in cellars and tobacco-shops, 
 
 Of that our honour'd Englishman, Nich. Breton." 
 — Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady. Works, 
 ed. Dyce, iii. 28. 
 
 Page 96, line 16 ; fardle~\. A burden ; also a verb, 
 to pack up. This word is used by Shakespeare, 
 Drayton, Herrick, and other old writers. Nares says, 
 " Fardellus, low Latin ; from which, probably, the 
 Italian fardello, the French fardeau, and the Dutch 
 fardeeV 
 
 Page 98, line 5 ; like a sea-god in a pageant, &c] 
 Constructed of laths, or light wicker-work, the ma- 
 chinery being concealed by painted cloths. See the 
 curious wood-cuts in Mr. Fairholt's Lord Mayors' 
 Pageants (Part 1), printed by the Percy Society, 
 1843. 
 
 Page 99, line 9 ; Time is, Time was, &c] See 
 " The famous Historie of Fryer Bacon, containing 
 the wonderful Things that he did in his Life; also 
 the manner of his Death ; with the Lives and Deaths 
 of the two Conjurors Bungye and Vandermast." 
 Lond. 4to. This popular Tract is reprinted entire 
 in the Miscellanea Antiqua Anglicana, 1816; and in 
 Thoms's Early Prose Romances, 1828. See also 
 Greene's Works, by Dyce, i. 215. 
 
 Page 101, line 13; She reads Greenes works, &c] 
 " Greene," says Wood, " was author of several things 
 which were pleasing to men and women of his time. 
 
292 NOTES. 
 
 They made much sport, and were valued among 
 scholars, but since they have been mostly sold on 
 ballad-mongers' stalls.' 1 — Fasti Oxon. Part 1, p. 245, 
 ed. Bliss. Greene's Works were bought up with 
 eagerness, and read with admiration by all classes. 
 This not only appears from Nash, but even from the 
 testimony of his coward adversary, Gabriel Harvey. 
 After saying that not only the fine comedies of the 
 daintiest Attic wit were become stale, he proceeds ; 
 " even Guicciardini's silver historie, and Ariosto's 
 golden cantoes grow out of request, and the Countess, 
 of Pembroke's Arcadia is not greene enough for queasie 
 stomackes, but they must have Greene's Arcadia, and 
 I believe most eagerly longed for Greene's Faerie 
 Queen." — Four Letters, &c. 1592. 
 
 Page 101, line 14; the Mirror of Knighthood']. 
 " The celebrated Espeio de Caballerias, one of the 
 romances condemned by the curate in Don Quixote to 
 the flames. The first part, consisting of two books, 
 and Avritten by Diego Ortunez, was printed in 1562. 
 A second part, also divided into two books, by Pedro 
 de la Sierra, was published in 1580. The third and 
 fourth parts, each consisting of two books, were 
 written by Marcos Martinez. The whole work was 
 translated into English in nine parts, the last printed 
 in 1602, with the title of The Mirrour of Knighthood, 
 &c." — Weber. 
 
 Page 101, line 19; surnner]. A popular contrac- 
 tion of summoner ; i. e. the officer now called an 
 apparitor. 
 
 Page 103, line 11 ; Robert Wisdomes Psalms']. For 
 an account of Robert Wisdom, one of the metrical 
 translators of the Psalms, see Wood's Athena Oxon- 
 iensis, vol. 1. Fasti, p. 57. Some of his versions are 
 ridiculed in The Remains of Samuel Butler, edit. 1754, 
 p. 41 :— 
 
NOTES. 293 
 
 " Thence, with short meal and tedious grace, 
 
 In a loud tone and public place, 
 
 Sings Wisdom's Hymns, that trot and pace 
 
 As if Goliah scann'd 'em." 
 " Robert Wisdome's Delight," is alluded to in Phil- 
 lips's Satyr against Hypocrites, 1661, 4to. p. 6. 
 
 Page 103, line 19; without boote~\. The word hoot 
 is here used in the sense of profit or advantage. 
 
 Page 103, line 22 : a paire of silke stockings and a 
 beaver hat] . The fashionable stockings of this period 
 consisted either of woven silk, or were cut out by the 
 taylor " from silke, velvet, damaske, or other precious 
 stuffe." Decker, in his Gull's Hornbook, advises the 
 gallant to " strive to fashion his legs to his silk stock- 
 ings, and his proud gate to his broad garters." His 
 hat too must be of silk, velvet, taffeta, or beaver, the 
 last being the most expensive. In Verses upon the 
 order for making Knights of such persons who had £40 
 per annum in King James I. time (MS. Addit. 5832, 
 Brit. Mus.), we learn the price of a beaver hat of this 
 period : — 
 " Shepherds leave singing your pastorall sonnetts, 
 
 And to learne complements shew your endeavours : 
 Cast off for ever your ( twoe shillinge bonnetts, 
 Cover your coxcombs with three pound beavers." 
 Dugdale, in his Diary, April 13th, 1661, minutes 
 " payd for a bever hatt, 41. 10s. ;" the fashion of it 
 may be seen in Hollar's portrait of that distinguished 
 antiquary. 
 
 Page 104, line 18 ; taffata cloakes in the summer]. 
 " It is also but opinion that a proud coxcombe in the 
 fashion, wearing taffata, and an ill-favoured locke on 
 his shoulder, thinkes all that weare cloth, and are out 
 of fashion, to be clownes, base, and unworthie his ac- 
 quaintance." — The Truth of our Times, by Henry 
 Peacham, 12mo. 1638, p. 57. 
 
294 NOTES. 
 
 Page 105, line 1 ; A meere fellow of an house], i. e. 
 of a College. 
 
 Page 105, line 4 ; If he hath read Tacitus]. Bishop 
 Earle, in his Microcosmography, 1628, speaking of 
 " A pretender to learning," says, " He has sentences 
 for company, some scatterings of Seneca and Tacitus, 
 which are good upon all occasions." 
 
 Page 105, line 5 ; Guicchardine~\. Guicciardini, 
 the famous historian, and friend of Machiavel. See 
 a list of his works in Haym's Bib. Ital. 1803. 
 
 Page 105, line 5 ; Gallo-Belgicus~\. " Gallo-Bel- 
 gicus was written in the Latin language, and had the 
 following title : — Mercurii Gaelo Belgict : sive, 
 rerum in Gallia, et Belgio potissimum: Hispania 
 quoque, Italia, Artglia, Germania, Polonia, Vicinisque 
 locis ab anno 1588, ad Martium anni 1594, gestarum, 
 Nuncii. The first compiler of Gallo-Belgicus was 
 M. Jansen, a Frisian ; and the first volume in 8vo. 
 containing six hundred and fifty pages, was printed 
 at Cologne in 1598. It was ornamented with a 
 wooden cut, representing Mercury standing on a 
 globe, with his usual attributes." — Life of Muddiman, 
 pp. 103,4. The author of Whimzies; or, a New 
 Cast of Characters, 1631, in his description of "A 
 Corranto Coiner" (p. 15), says, " hee never yet under- 
 stood so much Latine as to construe Gallo-Belgicus." 
 
 Page 109, line 9 ; counting at noddy]. A game 
 at cards, frequently mentioned by our old dramatists. 
 It was played in various ways. See Halliwell's 
 Archaic Dictionary, p. 579. 
 
 Page 109, line 10 ; camisado]. " (From the Span- 
 ish camisa, i. e. a shirt), a sudden assaulting or sur- 
 prisal of the enemy, so tearmed because the souldiers 
 that execute it, most commonly wear shirts over their 
 armour, or take their enemies in their shirts." Cotgr. 
 — Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 1656. 
 
 
NOTES. 295 
 
 Page 111, line 11 ; die on this side Wapping]. The 
 usual place of execution for pirates was at " Wap- 
 ping in the Wose " (i. e. Wapping in the wash or drain). 
 — Stow by Howes, ed. 1631, p. 697. 
 
 Page 112, line 23; The Lord Mayors triumph']. 
 A triumph meant a public show or exhibition ; such 
 as a masque, pageant, procession. It is satisfactorily 
 explained in the Duke of Anjou's Entertainment at 
 Antwerp. 1581 : " Yet notwithstanding, their tri- 
 umphs [those of the Romans] have so borne the bell 
 above all the rest, that the word triumphing, which 
 cometh thereof, hath beene applied to all high, great, 
 and statelie doings." 
 
 Page 114, line 22; gards], i.e. facings or trim- 
 mings. " Garded or purfled garments." — Hollyband's 
 Dictionaire, 1593. 
 
 Page 114, line 24; crosse -gartered gentleman-usher']. 
 Cross gartering, so as to represent the varied colours 
 of the Scotch plaid, was very common at this period. 
 
 Page 117, line 3 ; French taylof]. " Now this 
 thing we call the Fashion, so much hunted and pur- 
 sued after (like a thiefe with an hue and cry) that 
 our tayiors dog it into France, even to the very doore. 
 It reignes commonly like an epidemic all disease, first 
 infecting the Court, then the city, after the countrey." 
 — The Truth of our Times, by Henry Peacham, 12mo. 
 1638, p. 63. 
 
 Page 117, line 4 ; estridge]. An ostrich. 
 
 Page 117, line 11 ; with a wrie neche, &c] Shake- 
 speare speaks of " the wry-necKd fife" {Merchant of 
 Venice, act ii. sc. 5). So Barnaby Rich, in the Apho- 
 rismes at the end of his Irish Hubbub, 1618 : "a fife is 
 a wry-neckt musician, for he always looks away from 
 his instrument." The fife does not mean the instru- 
 ment, but the person who played on it. — See Bos- 
 well's note in the Variorum Shakespeare, v. 54. 
 
296 NOTES, 
 
 Page 118, line 1 ; A f aire and happy Milke-mayd^]. 
 This character has been justly considered one of the 
 best of Overbury's delineations. Quaint old Izaak 
 Walton says, " I now see it was not without cause, 
 that our good Queen Elizabeth did so often wish her- 
 self a Milke-maid all the month of May, because they 
 are not troubled with fears and cares, but sing sweetly 
 all the day, and sleep securely all the night : and 
 Avithout doubt honest, innocent, pretty Maudlin does 
 so. I'll bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's Milk-maid's 
 wish upon her, that she may die in the spring ; and 
 being dead, may have good store of flowers stuck 
 round about her winding sheet." — The Complete 
 Angler, chap. iv. 
 
 Page 119, line 22 ; store of flowers stuckenpon her 
 winding-sheet]. 
 
 " Upon her grave the rosemary they threw, 
 The daisy, butter'd flow'r, and endive blue." 
 
 Gay. 
 Gough, in the Introduction to the second volume of 
 his Sepulchral Monuments, p. 5, says, " The ancients 
 used to crown the deceased with flowers, in token of 
 the shortness of life ; and the practice is still retained 
 in some places in regard to young women and chil- 
 dren. The Roman ritual recommends it in regard of 
 those who die soon after baptism, in token of purity 
 and virginity. It still obtains in Holland and parts 
 of Germany. The primitive Christians buried young 
 women with flowers, and martyrs with the instru- 
 ments of their martyrdom. I have seen fresh flowers 
 put into the coffins of children and young girls." 
 
 Page 121, line 12 ; the paving of Smithfield]. " And 
 this sommer, 1615, the citty of London reduced the 
 rude vast place of Smithfield into a faire and comely 
 order, which formerly was never held possible to be 
 done, and paved it all over, and made divers sewers to 
 convey the water from the new channels which were 
 
NOTES. 297 
 
 made by reason of the new pavement : they also 
 made strong rayles round about Smithfield, and se- 
 questred the middle part of the said Smithfield into 
 a very faire and civill walk, and rayled it round about 
 with strong rayles to defend the place from annoy- 
 ance and danger, as well from carts as all manner of 
 cattell, because it was intended hereafter, that in time 
 it might prove a faire and peaceable market-place, by 
 reason that Newgate Market, Cheapside, Leadenhall, 
 and Gracechurche street, were unmeasurably pestred 
 with the unimaginable increase and multiplicity of 
 market-folkes. And this field, commonly called West 
 Smithfield, was for many yeares called ' Kuffian's 
 Hall,' by reason it was the usual place of frayes and 
 common fio-htino- during the time that sword and 
 bucklers were in use. But the ensuing deadly fight 
 of rapier and dagger suddenly suppressed the fighting 
 with sword and buckler." — Stoic's Chronicle by Howes, 
 ed. 1631, p. 1023. 
 
 Page 121, line 14; A Roaring Boy~]. The cant 
 name for the roysters of Overbury's time, who took 
 delight in annoying quiet people. The allusions to 
 them in our early dramas are innumerable. For an 
 elaborate picture of a "roarer" see A Fair Quarel, 
 Middletoii s Works, ed. Dyce, vol. iii. 
 
 Page 122, line 7; prentices on Shrove- Tuesday']. 
 The apprentices of London from time immemorial 
 claimed, or at least exercised, the right of attacking 
 and demolishing houses of ill-fame on Shrove Tues- 
 day. In PasquiVs Palinodia, 1634, we read : — 
 
 " It was the day, of all days in the year, 
 That unto Bacchus hath his dedication, 
 
 When mad-brain'd 'prentices, that no men feare, 
 O'erthrew the dens of bawdy recreation." 
 
 Page 122, line 27 ; deterre men from taking tobacco']. 
 Pennant, speaking of Captain Myddelton, (the brother 
 
298 NOTES. 
 
 of the more celebrated Sir Hugh) adds, " It is sayed 
 that he, with Captain Thomas Price of Pldsyollin, an 
 one Captain Koet, were the first who smoked, or (as 
 they called it) drank tobacco publickly in London ; and 
 that the Londoners flocked from all parts to see 
 them. Pipes were not then invented, so they used 
 the twisted leaves or segars. The invention is usually 
 ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh. It may be so ; but 
 he was too good a courtier to smoke in public, espe- 
 cially in the reign of James, who even condescended 
 to write a book against the practice, under the title 
 of The Counter-blast to Tobacco.'" — Tours in Wales, 
 ii. 151, ed. 1810. The prejudices against tobacco in 
 England were very strong for a long time after its 
 introduction. " A good vomit," says the quaint old 
 Burton, " I confesse, a vertuous herbe, if it be well 
 qualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used ; 
 but as it is most commonly used by most men, which 
 take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischiefe, 
 a violent purger of goods, lands, health, hellish, de- 
 vilsh, damn'd tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body 
 and soule." — Anatomy of Melancholy. 
 
 Page 123, line 7; the brew-houses in S. Catherines']. 
 The king's brewery was in the olden time at St. Ca- 
 tharine's, near the Tower. See the Diary of Henry 
 Machin, printed by the Camden Society, under the 
 date Oct. 9th, 1551. 
 
 Page 124, line 3 ; the decay of timber in England]. 
 " The 8 of August (1611) the King by proclamation 
 very straightly commanded that there should be no 
 more encrease of buildings within London and y e 
 suburbs, and twenty miles thereof, and to build in 
 uniforme of bricke and stone, for the preservation of 
 timber, whereof there was plaine appearance of extreame 
 want, except by Providence prevented, as also that the 
 sudden encreasing of people in London and West- 
 
 , 
 
 
NOTES. 299 
 
 minster was the decay and depopulating of many 
 townes and hamlets in divers shires, for the more 
 speedy and assured redresse whereof, and other 
 such like enormities, the king made an other pro- 
 clamation the 10 of September following." — Howes' 
 Abridgement of the English Chronicle, &c. 1618, 
 p. 530. 
 
 Page 125, line 3 ; to know if his suite may passe for 
 currant]. Ben Jonson in his admirable play The Devil 
 is an Ass, acted in 1616, has a touch at the young 
 gallants who frequented the theatre to display their 
 fine cloathes. Fitzdottrell (addressing his wife) says : — 
 " Here is a cloak cost fifty pounds, wife, 
 Which I can sell for thirty, when I have seen 
 All London in it, and London has seen me. 
 To-day I go to the Blackfriars playhouse, 
 Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance, 
 Rise up between the acts, let fall my cloak, 
 Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit ; 
 And that's a special end why we go thither, 
 All that pretend to stand fort on the stage : 
 The ladies ask, who's that ? for they do come 
 To see us, love, as we do to see them." 
 Page 125, line 14 ; Cornelius]. Probably Cor- 
 nelius Agrippa, author of The Vanitie and Uncertaintie 
 of Arte s and Sciences, Englished by " Ja. San. Gent," 
 and printed by Bynneman in 1575. This popular 
 work went through many editions. 
 
 Page 125, line 20 ; A Button-maker of Amsterdam.] 
 " Wee must make a difference betweene our stricter 
 people in England, whom your prophaner sort call 
 precisians, and these who are super-intendants over 
 a few button-makers and weavers at Amsterdam" — 
 Peacham's Truth of our Times, 1638, p. 153. 
 
 Page 127, line 9; coistrell]. Halliwell explains 
 coistrel, " an inferior groom." (Arch. Diet, in v.) 
 
300 NOTES. 
 
 Kastril or kastrel, from which this word seems to 
 have been derived, was a bastard hawk. 
 
 Page 128, line 16 ; satinisco] ; i. e. an inferior kind 
 of satin. 
 
 Page 130, line 18 ; a Brownist]. Robert Brown of 
 Rutlandshire, temp. Elizabeth, was the founder of a 
 sect violently opposed to the Church of England. His 
 followers were termed Brownists. 
 
 Page 131, line 15 ; Hee prayes dayly for more in- 
 cisures']. " Mary for these inclosures doe undoe us 
 all, for they make us to pay dearer for our land that 
 we occupy, and causes that we can have no lande in 
 manner for our money to put to tyllage, all is taken 
 up for pasture : for pasture eyther for sheepe, or for 
 grasing of cattell, in so much that I have knowne of 
 late a dozen ploughs within lesse compasse than six 
 myles about mee, layde downe within this seven 
 yeares." — Stafford's Brief e Conceipte of English Pol- 
 licye, 1581. 
 
 Page 131, line 21 ; the setting up of the Stilyard]. 
 Steleyard, or Stilliard, in Upper Thames Street, in 
 the ward of Dowgate (facing the river), where a 
 brick building called the Steelyard still denotes its 
 site. " The Steelyard, a place for the merchants of 
 Almaine, that used to bring hither as well wheat, 
 rye, and other grain, as cables, ropes, masts, pitch, 
 tar, flax, hemp, linen cloth, wainscots, wax, steel, and 
 other profitable merchandises." — Stow, p. 87. The 
 merchants of the Steelyard were expelled the king- 
 dom in 1597-8. See Cunningham's Hand-Book of 
 London, p. 471, ed. 1850. 
 
 Page 132, line 6 ; a motion], i. e. a puppet- 
 show. 
 
 Page 133, line 25 ; subsidie]. "Aid or assistance ; 
 a tax or tribute assessed by parliament, and granted 
 by the Commons to be levied of every subject, ac- 
 
NOTES. 301 
 
 cording to the value of his land or goods," &c. — 
 Blount's Glossographia, 12mo. 1656. 
 
 Page 135, line 15 ; the first man]. A common ex- 
 clamation of the old watermen, similar to " next oars." 
 A catch or ballad " on the London Watermen," 
 printed in the second book of Playford's Pleasant 
 Musical Companion, 1687, 4to. affords some illustra- 
 tion of the subject : — 
 
 " Will you go by water, sir ? 
 I'm the next sculler ; 
 
 Go with my fare up westward, sir, 
 My boat shall be no fuller. 
 
 " Next oars, sir, next oars ! 
 Whither is't you go ? 
 
 To Foxhall, or Westminster, 
 Or through bridge. Ho !" 
 Page 136, line 7 ; the playhouses only keep Mm 
 sober]. In 1613 the watermen of London presented a 
 petition to James L, praying that the players might 
 not be permitted to have a theatre in London or 
 Middlesex, within four miles of the Thames, in order 
 that the inhabitants might be induced, as formerly, to 
 visit the playhouses in Southwark in boats. 
 
 Page 136, line 9; London-bridge isJhe most terrible 
 eye-sore to him that can be]. ■" Some of the arches 
 were too narrow for the passage of boats of any kind. 
 The widest was only 36 feet, and the resistance 
 caused to so large a body of water by this contrac- 
 tion of its channel produced a fall or rapid under the 
 bridge, so that it was necessary to ' ship oars' to shoot 
 the bridge, as it was called, — an undertaking, to ama- 
 teur watermen especially, not unattended with dan- 
 ger. I may add that with the flood-tide it was impos- 
 sible, and with the ebb-tide dangerous to pass through 
 or shoot the arches of the bridge ; in the latter case, 
 prudent passengers landed above bridge, generally at 
 
302 NOTES. 
 
 the Old Swan-stairs, and walked to some wharf, gene- 
 rally Billingsgate, below it." — Cunningham's Hand- 
 Book of London, p. 297, edit. 1850. 
 
 Page 141, line 14; carduus-water]. Perhaps a 
 specific discovered by Jerom Cardan, the eminent 
 Italian physician ? 
 
 Page 142, line 16 ; a juggler with urinals]. Richard 
 Whitlock, whose Zootomia was printed (after his 
 death) in 1654, has left us a curious passage concern- 
 ing these empirics. " If the waterologer take his de- 
 gree in a congregation of sober and rationall physi- 
 tians, the title of it will be this in summe, a dangerous 
 foole ; and his habit we wil borrow out of that Jewish 
 apothecarie's shop Langius speaketh of in his Epistles. 
 He had the picture of a foole at the entrance (doing 
 as wise men do) laughing on an urinall in his hand ; 
 and the apothecary being asked by a physitian (then 
 there with laughing) what it meant, he answered he 
 had heard from his father and grand-father, physi- 
 tians both, that such physitians as would undertake 
 to know and pronounce concerning diseases, from the 
 deceitfull informations of urines were fools, in deri- 
 sion of whom he had made this image his sign." 
 
 Page 142, line 19 ; scouring Moore -ditch']. " This 
 field [Moorefields] untill the third year of King James 
 [1606-7] was a most noysome and offensive place, 
 being a generall laystall, a rotten morish ground 
 whereof it first tooke the name. This fielde for many 
 yeares was burrowed and crossed with deep stinking 
 ditches and noysome common shewers, and was of 
 former times held impossible to be reformed." — 
 Howes, ed. 1631, p. 1021. 
 
 Page 142, line 20 ; A Canting Rogue], i. e. a vaga- 
 bond ; one who speaks the canting language. 
 
 Page 142, line 22 ; intelligencer]. A spy. 
 
 Page 143, line 16 ; the statute against the excesse of 
 
NOTES. 303 
 
 apparell]. Statutes against excess of apparel were 
 frequently passed. The earliest " Act of Apparel" 
 seems to have been passed in 3 & 4 Edw. IV. 
 
 Page 144, line 1 ; A French Cooke]. French cook- 
 ery was at this time very fashionable. Massinger, in 
 his City Madam (act i. sc. 1), says in the character 
 of Lady Frugal, — 
 
 " I'll have none 
 
 Shall touch what I shall eat, you grumbling cur, 
 
 But Frenchmen and Italians ; they wear satin, 
 
 And dish no meat but in silver." 
 
 Page 150, line 5 ; the country lasses dance in the 
 church-yard after even-song]. " For when shal the 
 common people have leave to exercise, if not upon the 
 Sundayes and Holidayes, seeing they must apply their 
 labour, and winne their living in all working dayes ? 
 * * And as for our good peoples lawfull recreation, 
 our pleasure likewise is, that after the end of Divine 
 Service, our good people be not disturbed, letted, or 
 discouraged from any lawfull recreation ; such as 
 dauncing, either men or women, archerie for men, 
 leaping, vaulting, or any other such harmlesse recre- 
 ation, nor from having of May-games, Whitson ales, 
 and Morris-dances, and the setting up of May-poles, 
 and other sports therewith used, so as the same be had 
 in due and convenient time, without impediment or 
 neglect of Divine Service." — The King's Majesties 
 Declaration to his Subjects concerning Lawful Sports 
 to be used, 1618. 
 
 Page 150, line 6 ; Roche Munday]. Dr. Whitaker 
 thinks that St. Roche, or Eockes Day (Aug. 16) was 
 celebrated as a general harvest-home. Warner (Al- 
 bion's England, ed. 1597, p. 121) speaks of " Rock and 
 Plow Monday." 
 
 Page 150, line 6 ; the Wake]. " The Wake day is 
 the day on which the parish church was dedicated, 
 
304 NOTES. 
 
 called so because the night before it they were used to 
 watch till morning in the church, and feasted all the 
 next day." — Tusser Redivivus, 1744, p. 18. 
 
 Page 150, line 7; Shrovings]. Shrove Tuesday, 
 when every one was bound to confess and be shrove, 
 or shriven. According to Taylor, the water poet, it 
 was anything but a day of humiliation. " Always 
 before Lent," says this Avorthy, " there comes wad- 
 dling a fat, grosse groome, called Shrove Tuesday, one 
 whose manners shews he is better fed than taught, 
 and indeed he is the only monster for feeding amongst 
 all the dayes of the yeere, for he devoures more flesh 
 in fourteene honres than this whole kingdom doth (or 
 at the least should doe) in sixe weekes after. Such 
 bayling and broyling, such roasting and toasting, such 
 stewing and brewing, such baking, frying, mincing, 
 cutting, carving, devouring, and gorbellied gorman- 
 dizing, that a man would thinke people did take in 
 two months' provision at once." 
 
 Page 150, line 7 ; wakeful ketches on Christmas 
 Eve~\. No festival of the church was attended by 
 more popular superstitions and observances than 
 Christmas-eve. Card singing, which our author terms 
 " wakeful ketches," were continued through the 
 greater part of the night. 
 
 Page 150, line 8 ; the Hoky\. Hock, or Hoke, Day 
 or Tide. The derivations of this word are numerous 
 and contradictory. According to Douce, it fell upon 
 the second Tuesday after Easter, while ancient writers 
 say it was celebrated on the quindena Paschas. The 
 custom of the day was for both men and women to 
 hold a rope across the road, barring the way, and 
 pulling to them the passers by, who were obliged to 
 pay a toll, which was supposed to be appropriated to 
 pious uses. 
 
 Page 150, line 8 ; Seed-caJte\. So called from one 
 
NOTES. 305 
 
 of the chief articles provided for the table. It fell at 
 the close of wheat-sowing, in October. Tusser says, 
 
 " Wife, sometime this week, if the weather hold 
 clear, 
 
 An end of wheat-sowing we make for this yeere : 
 
 Remember thou therefore, though I do it not, 
 . The Seed-cake, the pastries, and furmenty pot." 
 Tusser Redivivus, p. 147. 
 Warner has the following couplet : — 
 
 " Tie duly keepe for thy delight Rock Monday and 
 the wake, [and seed-cake" 
 
 Have shrovings, Christmas gambols, with the hokie 
 Albion's England, ed. 1602, p. 407. 
 
 Page 152, line 7 ; He never spends candle but at 
 Christmas, when he has them for new yeeres gifts']. 
 " Christmas," says Blount, " was called the Feast of 
 Lights in the Western or Latin Church, because they 
 used many lights or candles at the feast, or rather 
 because Christ, the light of all lights, that true light, 
 then came into the world. Hence the Christmas 
 candle, and what was, perhaps, only a succedaneum, 
 the yule block, or clog, before candles were in general 
 use." — Brand's Popular Antiquities, i. 471, edit. 1849. 
 " Christmas candles" are still presented by the chan- 
 dlers and grocers to their customers, the origin of 
 which may, perhaps, be traced to the Feast of Lights. 
 
 Page 153, line 23 ; his pocket combe~\. " Combing 
 the peruke at the time when men of fashion wore 
 large wigs, was even at public places an act of gal- 
 lantry. The combs for this purpose were of a very 
 large size, of ivory or tortoise-shell, curiously chased 
 and ornamented, and were carried in the pocket as 
 constantly as the snuff-box. At court, on the Mall, 
 and in the boxes, gentlemen conversed and combed 
 their perukes." — Hawkins's History of Music, vol. iv. 
 p. 447. 
 
 x 
 
306 NOTES. 
 
 Page 153, line 25 ; muchato]. i. e. moustachio. 
 
 Page 154, line 11 ; If he have but twelve-pence iris 
 purse, he will give it for the best room in a playhouse']. 
 Dekker, in his GulVs Horn-book, 1609, also thus 
 directs his hero : — " At a new play you take up the 
 twelve-penny room next the stage, because the lords 
 and you may seem to be hail fellow well met." See 
 Collier's Annals of the Stage, iii. 348. 
 
 Page 155, line 6 ; Lord have mercy upon us~\. " When 
 a house became infected, the officers impowered for that 
 purpose immediately placed a guard before it, which 
 continued there night and day, to prevent any person 
 going from thence, untill the expiration of forty days. 
 At the same time red crosses of a foot long were 
 painted upon the doors and windows, with the words, 
 Lord have mercy upon us ! in great letters written 
 over them, to caution all passengers to avoid infected 
 places." — Dodsley's Old Plays, by Collier, vol. xi. 
 p. 544. 
 
 Page 155, line 8 ; the walks in Moore-fields']. Moor- 
 fields was a general promenade for the citizens of 
 London during the summer months. Richard John- 
 son, the well-known ballad writer, published in 1607, 
 The Pleasant Walkes of Moorfields ; being the guift of 
 two Sisters, now beautified, to the continuing fame of 
 this worthy Citty, 4to. " Bedlam" was only separated 
 from these "pleasant walks" by a deep ditch. Hence 
 the allusion in the text to the "madmen" being so near. 
 
 Page 155, line 25 ; Lachrymal]. This tune is very 
 frequently mentioned by the dramatists of James's 
 reign. It was composed by John Dowland, the cele- 
 brated lutanist, and printed in his work called La- 
 chrymal; or Seven Teares figured in seaven passionate 
 Pavans, &c. An interesting copy of the air, arranged 
 for four voices, is given in D. R. Camphuysens Stickte- 
 lycke Rymen, 4to. Amsterdam, 1647. 
 
NOTES. 307 
 
 Page 158, line 26 ; statute lace] ; *. e. lace prescribed 
 by the statute or " Act of Apparel," before mentioned. 
 
 Page 158, line 27 ; durance']. A kind of durable 
 stuff, made with thread or silk, so called. It is fre- 
 quently alluded to, often with a play upon the word, 
 as in the text. 
 
 Page 158, line 27 ; full of long paines]. Breeches 
 formed of stripes, with small panes or squares of silk 
 or velvet. 
 
 Page 159, line 24 ; Hee that walkes from six to six in 
 Pauls] . " It was the fashion of those times [James I.] 
 and did so continue till these [the interregnum], for 
 the principal gentry, lords, courtiers, and men of all 
 professions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in St. 
 PauVs church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle 
 till twelve, and after dinner, from three to six; during 
 which time some discoursed of business, others of 
 news." — Osborne's Traditional Memoires, &c. 12mo. 
 1658. 
 
 Page 159, line 25 ; but a quoites cast, &c] The 
 game of quoits seems to have derived its origin from 
 the ancient discus. See a description of it in Strutt's 
 Sports and Pastimes, p. 76, ed. Hone. 
 
 Page 161, line 9 ; he sets \ip a tenters]. A Tenter 
 is " a stretcher or trier of cloth used by dyers and 
 clothiers, &c." — Jacob. 
 
 Page 161, line 19 ; like Tamberlaine, with his blacke 
 and bloudy flag]. An allusion to the cruel and 
 bombastical character of the hero of Marlow's play of 
 Tamburlaine the Greate, printed in 1590, but acted 
 anterior to 1587. Middleton alludes to this character 
 in Father Hubburds Tales, 1604, "the ordnance play- 
 ing like so many Tamburlaines." — Dyce's Middleton, 
 v. 588. 
 
 Page 162, line 6 ; a Psalme of Mercy]. It was 
 formerly the practice to sing a psalm or hymn at the 
 
308 NOTES. 
 
 execution of criminals. Tom Brown, in "An Elegy 
 on that most orthodox and Pains-taking Divine, Mr. 
 Samuel Smith, Ordinary of Newgate, &c. 1698, has the 
 following lines : — 
 
 u While Newgate is a mansion for good fellows, 
 
 And Sternhold's rhimes are murder' d at the gal- 
 lows." 
 
 Page 163, line 4; Paris Garden]. On Bankside, 
 South wark ; commonly called the Bear Garden. It 
 was originally the site of a house and grounds be- 
 longing to Robert de Paris, in the time of Richard II. 
 This place of vulgar resort was of an hexagonal shape, 
 built with stone and brick, and roofed with rushes ; 
 the locality is still pointed out by a court bearing the 
 name of " Bear-Garden Court." 
 
 Page 163, line 21 ; up Holeborne and so to Tyburne"]. 
 Holborn was the old road from Newgate and the 
 Tower to the gallows at Tyburn. See the curious 
 quotations given in Mr. Cunningham's Hand-Book of 
 London, p. 230, ed. 1850. " Holeburne" seems to 
 have been the original name of this locality, and not 
 " Oldborne," as generally stated. See an article upon 
 this subject in the Gentleman's Magazine for May, 
 1856, p. 486. 
 
 Page 167, line 10; the lawes of the Duello']. An 
 allusion to Selden's pamphlet, entitled The Duello, or 
 Single Combat, &c, first printed in quarto, 1610 ; 
 reprinted in his works. 
 
 Page 169, line 5 ; descant on any plaine song]. " To 
 run division, or variety with the voice, upon a musical 
 ground, [or plain song] in true measure. Trans- 
 ferred by metaphor to paraphrasing ingeniously upon 
 any affective subject." — Blount's Glossographia. 
 
 Page 171, line 1 ; Newes from any whence]. 
 The idea of these little sketches was taken from the 
 " news pamphlets," which were much in vogue before 
 
NOTES, 309 
 
 the establishment of regular newspapers. Thus we 
 have Newes from the North, 1579 ; Newes from Spain 
 and Holland, 1593 ; Newes from Gravesend, 1604 ; 
 Newes out of Germany, 1612 ; Good Neioes from 
 Florence, 1614, &c. 
 
 Page 175, line 28 ; Sir T. E.] Sir Thomas Roe. 
 He obtained great reputation as a traveller to Turkey, 
 Persia, and other parts of the east, whither he had 
 been sent in the capacity of Ambassador, and on his 
 return published accounts of what he had observed. 
 He represented Oxford in parliament in 1640, and 
 Charles I. soon afterwards created him a privy coun- 
 cillor and Chancellor of the Order of the Garter. 
 He died in 1644. 
 
 Page 176, line 20 ; Christmasse Lords']. The Lords 
 of Misrule, or Masters of the revels at Christmas 
 time. " These lordes, beginning their rule on Al- 
 hollen eve, continued the same till the morrow after 
 the feast of the Purification, commonly called Candle- 
 mas day. In all which space there were fine and 
 subtile disguisings, maskes, and mummeries." — Stow's 
 London. 
 
 Page 177, line 24 ; J. D.] These are the initials of 
 the celebrated Dr. John Donne. The " Newes from 
 the verie countrie" is printed in his Poems, ed. 1669, 
 p. 395. 
 
 Page 178, line 9; dance the matachine~\. The ma- 
 tachin seems to be a remnant of the pyrrhica saltatio 
 of the ancients. Douce says, " It was well known in 
 France and Italy by the name of the dance of fools or 
 matachins, who were habited in short jackets, with 
 gilt-paper helmets, long streamers tied to their shoul- 
 ders, and bells to their legs. They carried in their 
 hands a sword and buckler, with which they made 3 
 clashing noise, and performed various quick and 
 sprightly evolutions." — Illustrations of Shakespeare, 
 
310 NOTES. 
 
 ii. 435. See also Nares's Glossary. Jean Tabourot, 
 in Lis curious work on dancing, entitled Orcheso- 
 graphie, 1589, 4to. p. 97, gives a description of the 
 postures of this dance, and also a specimen of the 
 music. 
 
 Page 182, line 11 ; W. S.] Wye Saltonstall ? 
 
 Page 183, line 1 ; Forren Newes of the Yeere 
 1616]. This date is changed with each edition, but 
 the news remains the same in all. 
 
 Page 188, line 2 ; a hang'd chamber] ; i. e. a cham- 
 ber hung with tapestry. In The Mirrour of Mad- 
 nes, 1576, the house of the opulent man is described 
 as " hanged wy th clothe of tyssue, arrace, and golde." 
 The reader will recollect the description of Imogen's 
 chamber in Cymbeline : — 
 
 " Her bed-chamber was hanged 
 
 With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
 
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman." 
 
 Page 188, line 7 ; chambering']. Wantonness, in- 
 triguing. 
 
 Page 188, line 8 ; playing at tables]. " The old 
 name for backgammon ; so called also in French, and 
 in Latin, tabuiarum lusus." — Nares. 
 
 Page 188, line 23; B. R.] Benjamin Rudyerd. 
 He was of the Middle Temple, and probably well ac- 
 quainted with Overbury. His poems, in conjunction 
 with those of the Earl of Pembroke, were printed in 
 1660. 
 
 Page 191, line 6 ; a foole at the upper end of the 
 table, &c] To sit at the table above or below the 
 salt was a mark of distinction in opulent families. 
 The salt was contained in a massive silver utensil, 
 called a saler, now corrupted into cellar, which was 
 placed in the middle of the table ; persons of distinc- 
 tion sat nearest the head of the table, or above the 
 salt, and inferior relations or dependants below it. 
 
NOTES. 311 
 
 Page 193, line 1 ; Newes from the Church]. In 
 the sixth edition this is subscribed " Jo. Ruddiard." 
 Perhaps John Rudyerd, the elder brother of Sir 
 Benjamin Rudyerd, the lawyer and poet ? He matri- 
 culated at Oxford, in 1587. 
 
 Page 227, line 17 ; the last great frost], "It was 
 owing to a severe frost that the French obtained easy 
 access into Holland, which led to its subsequent sub- 
 jugation, and present annexation to France." — Park. 
 
 Page 258, line 8 ; The Count of Gondemore], Diego 
 Sarmiento de Acuiia, created Count Gondomar by 
 Philip HI. He was despatched to England as Ambas- 
 sador in 1613, and resided five years in this country. 
 A curious account of his early life may be found in 
 the Nobiliario genealogico de los Reyes y Titulos de 
 Espaiia of Lopez de Haro, folio, Madrid, 1622, vol. i. 
 pp. 236-238. He died in 1625 at Bommel in Guelder- 
 land ; sent, as was supposed, to propose the surrender 
 of the Palatine, and conciliate matters ; and bring on 
 a peace between his master and our pacific Court. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : 
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