Chapter XI: Part 11

A worthy bishop is an ambassador from God unto man, in the midst of war to make a treaty of peace; who with a general pardon upon confession of sin, upon the fruit of repentance gives assurance of comfort. He brings tidings from heaven of happiness to the world, where the patience of mercy calls nature to grace. He is the silver trumpet in the music of love, where faith hath a life that never fails the beloved. He is the director of life in the laws of God, and the chirurgeon of the soul in lancing the sores of sin; the terror of the reprobate in pronouncing their damnation, and the joy of the faithful in the assurance of their salvation. In sum, he is in the nature of grace, worthy of honour; and in the message of life, worthy of love; a continual agent betwixt God and man, in the preaching of His Word and prayer for His people.

AN UNWORTHY BISHOP.

An unworthy bishop is the disgrace of learning, when the want of reading or the abuse of understanding, in the speech of error may beget idolatry. He is God's enemy, in the hurt of His people, and his own woe in abuse of the Word of God. He is the shadow of a candle that gives no light, or, if it be any, it is but to lead into darkness. The sheep are unhappy that live in his fold, when they shall either starve or feed on ill ground. He breeds a war in the wits of his audience when his life is contrary to the nature of his instruction. He lives in a room where he troubles a world, and in the shadow of a saint is little better than a devil. He makes religion a cloak of sin, and with counterfeit humility covereth incomparable pride. He robs the rich to relieve the poor, and makes fools of the wise with the imagination of his worth. He is all for the Church but nothing for God, and for the ease of nature loseth the joy of reason. In sum, he is the picture of hypocrisy, the spirit of heresy, a wound in the Church, and a woe in the world.

A WORTHY JUDGE.

A judge is a doom, whose breath is mortal upon the breach of law, where criminal offences must be cut off from a commonwealth. He is a sword of justice in the hand of a king, and an eye of wisdom in the walk of a kingdom. His study is a square for the keeping of proportion betwixt command and obedience, that the king may keep his crown on his head, and the subject his head on his shoulders. He is feared but of the foolish, and cursed but of the wicked; but of the wise honoured, and of the gracious beloved. He is a surveyor of rights and revenger of wrongs, and in the judgment of truth the honour of justice. In sum, his word is law, his power grace, his labour peace, and his desert honour.

AN UNWORTHY JUDGE.

An unworthy judge is the grief of justice in the error of judgment, when through ignorance or will the death of innocency lies upon the breath of opinion. He is the disgrace of law in the desert of knowledge, and the plague of power in the misery of oppression. He is more moral than divine in the nature of policy, and more judicious than just in the carriage of his conceit. His charity is cold when partiality is resolved; when the doom of life lies on the verdict of a jury, with a stern look he frighteth an offender and gives little comfort to a poor man's cause. The golden weight overweighs his grace, when angels play the devils in the hearts of his people. In sum, where Christ is preached he hath no place in His Church; and in this kingdom out of doubt God will not suffer any such devil to bear sway.

A WORTHY KNIGHT.

A worthy knight is a spirit of proof in the advancement of virtue, by the desert of honour, in the eye of majesty. In the field he gives courage to his soldiers, in the court grace to his followers, in the city reputation to his person, and in the country honour to his house. His sword and his horse make his way to his house, and his armour of best proof is an undaunted spirit. The music of his delight is the trumpet and the drum, and the paradise of his eye is an army defeated; the relief of the oppressed makes his conquest honourable, and the pardon of the submissive makes him famous in mercy. He is in nature mild and in spirit stout, in reason judicious, and in all honourable. In sum, he is a yeoman's commander and a gentleman's superior, a nobleman's companion and a prince's worthy favourite.

AN UNWORTHY KNIGHT.

An unworthy knight is the defect of nature in the title of honour, when to maintain valour his spurs have no rowels nor his sword a point. His apparel is of proof, that may wear like his armour, or like an old ensign that hath his honour in rags. It may be he is the tailor's trouble in fitting an ill shape, or a mercer's wonder in wearing of silk. In the court he stands for a cipher, and among ladies like an owl among birds. He is worshipped only for his wealth, and if he be of the first head, he shall be valued by his wit, when, if his pride go beyond his purse, his title will be a trouble to him. In sum, he is the child of folly and the man of Gotham, the blind man of pride and the fool of imagination. But in the court of honour are no such apes, and I hope that this kingdom will breed no such asses.

A WORTHY GENTLEMAN.

A worthy gentleman is a branch of the tree of honour, whose fruits are the actions of virtue, as pleasing to the eye of judgment as tasteful to the spirit of understanding. Whatsoever he doeth it is not forced, except it be evil, which either through ignorance unwillingly, or through compulsion unwillingly, he falls upon. He is in nature kind, in demeanour courteous, in allegiance loyal, and in religion zealous; in service faithful, and in reward bountiful. He is made of no baggage stuff, nor for the wearing of base people; but it is woven by the spirit of wisdom to adorn the court of honour. His apparel is more comely than costly, and his diet more wholesome than excessive; his exercise more healthful than painful, and his study more for knowledge than pride; his love not wanton nor common, his gifts not niggardly nor prodigal, and his carriage neither apish nor sullen. In sum, he is an approver of his pedigree by the nobleness of his passage, and in the course of his life an example to his posterity.

AN UNWORTHY GENTLEMAN.

An unworthy gentleman is the scoff of wit and the scorn of honour, where more wealth than wit is worshipped of simplicity; who spends more in idleness than would maintain thrift, or hides more in misery than might purchase honour; whose delights are vanities and whose pleasures fopperies, whose studies fables and whose exercise worse than follies. His conversation is base, and his conference ridiculous; his affections ungracious, and his actions ignominious; his apparel out of fashion, and his diet out of order; his carriage out of square, and his company out of request. In sum, he is like a mongrel dog with a velvet collar, a cart-horse with a golden saddle, a buzzard kite with a falcon's bells, or a baboon with a pied jerkin.

A WORTHY LAWYER.

A worthy lawyer is the student of knowledge how to bring controversies into a conclusion of peace, and out of ignorance to gain understanding. He divides time into uses, and cases into constructions. He lays open obscurities, and is praised for the speech of truth; and in the court of conscience pleads much _in forma pauperis_, for small fees. He is a mean for the preservation of titles and the holding of possessions, and a great instrument of peace in the judgment of impartiality. He is the client's hope in his case's pleading, and his heart's comfort in a happy issue. He is the finder out of tricks in the craft of ill conscience, and the joy of the distressed in the relief of justice. In sum, he is a maker of peace among spirits of contention, and a continuer of quiet in the execution of the law.

AN UNWORTHY LAWYER.

An unlearned and unworthily called a lawyer, is the figure of a foot-post, who carries letters but knows not what is in them, only can read the superscriptions to direct them to their right owners. So trudgeth this simple clerk, that can scarce read a case when it is written, with his handful of papers from one court to another, and from one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good payment for his pains he will be so saucy as to call himself a solicitor. But what a taking are poor clients in when this too much trusted cunning companion, better read in Piers Plowman than in Plowden, and in the play of "Richard the Third" than in the pleas of Edward the Fourth, persuades them all is sure when he is sure of all! and in what a misery are the poor men when upon a _Nihil dicit_, because indeed this poor fellow _Nihil potest dicere_, they are in danger of an execution before they know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish all such more wicked than witty unlearned in the law and abusers of the same, to look a little better into their consciences, and to leave their crafty courses, lest when the law indeed lays them open, instead of carrying papers in their hands, they wear not papers on their heads; and instead of giving ear to their client's causes or rather eyes into their purses, they have never an ear left to hear withal, nor good eye to see withal, or at least honest face to look out withal; but as the grasshoppers of Egypt, be counted the caterpillars of England, and not the fox that stole the goose, but the great fox that stole the farm from the gander.

A WORTHY SOLDIER.

A worthy soldier is the child of valour, who was born for the service of necessity, and to bear the ensign of honour in the actions of worth. He is the dyer of the earth with blood, and the ruin of the erections of pride. He is the watch of wit, the advantage of time, and the executioner of wrath upon the wilful offender. He disputes questions with the point of a sword, and prefers death to indignities. He is a lion to ambition, and a lamb to submission; he hath hope fast by the hand, and treads upon the head of fear. He is the king's champion, and the kingdom's guard; peace's preserver, and rebellion's terror. He makes the horse trample at the sound of a trumpet, and leads on to a battle as if he were going to a breakfast. He knows not the nature of cowardice, for his rest is set up upon resolution; his strongest fortification is his mind, which beats off the assaults of idle humours, and his life is the passage of danger, where an undaunted spirit stoops to no fortune. With his arms he wins his arms, and by his desert in the field his honour in the court. In sum, in the truest manhood he is the true man, and in the creation of honour a most worthy creature.

AN UNTRAINED SOLDIER.

An untrained soldier is like a young hound, that when he first falls to hunt, he knows not how to lay his nose to the earth; who, having his name but in a book, and marched twice about a market-place, when he comes to a piece of service knows not how to bestow himself. He marches as if he were at plough, carries his pike like a pike-staff, and his sword before him for fear of losing from his side. If he be a shot, he will be rather ready to say a grace over his piece, and so to discharge his hands of it, than to learn how to discharge it with a grace. He puts on his armour over his ears, like a waistcoat, and wears his morion like a nightcap. When he is quartered in the field, he looks for his bed, and when he sees his provant, he is ready to cry for his victuals; and ere he know well where he is, wish heartily he were at home again, with his head hanging down as if his heart were in his hose. He will sleep till a drum or a deadly bullet awake him; and so carry himself in all companies that, till martial discipline have seasoned his understanding, he is like a cipher among figures, an owl among birds, a wise man among fools, and a shadow among men.

A WORTHY PHYSICIAN.

A worthy physician is the enemy of sickness, in purging nature from corruption. His action is most in feeling of pulses, and his discourses chiefly of the natures of diseases. He is a great searcher out of simples, and accordingly makes his composition. He persuades abstinence and patience for the benefit of health, while purging and bleeding are the chief courses of his counsel. The apothecary and the chirurgeon are his two chief attendants, with whom conferring upon time, he grows temperate in his cures. Surfeits and wantonness are great agents for his employment, when by the secret of his skill out of others' weakness he gathers his own strength. In sum, he is a necessary member for an unnecessary malady, to find a disease and to cure the diseased.

AN UNWORTHY PHYSICIAN.

An unlearned and so unworthy physician is a kind of horse-leech, whose cure is most in drawing of blood, and a desperate purge, either to cure or kill, as it hits. His discourse is most of the cures that he hath done, and them afar of; and not a receipt under a hundred pounds, though it be not worth three halfpence. Upon the market-day he is much haunted with urinals, where if he find anything (though he know nothing), yet he will say somewhat, which if it hit to some purpose, with a few fustian words he will seem a piece of strange stuff. He is never without old merry tales and stale jests to make old folks laugh, and comfits or plums in his pocket to please little children; yea, and he will be talking of complexions, though he know nothing of their dispositions; and if his medicine do a feat, he is a made man among fools; but being wholly unlearned, and ofttimes unhonest, let me thus briefly describe him:--He is a plain kind of mountebank and a true quack-salver, a danger for the sick to deal withal, and a dizzard in the world to talk withal.

A WORTHY MERCHANT.

A worthy merchant is the heir of adventure, whose hopes hang much upon wind. Upon a wooden horse he rides through the world, and in a merry gale he makes a path through the seas. He is a discoverer of countries, and a finder out of commodities, resolute in his attempts, and royal in his expenses. He is the life of traffic and the maintainer of trade, the sailor's master and the soldier's friend. He is the exercise of the exchange, the honour of credit, the observation of time, and the understanding of thrift. His study is number, his care his accounts, his comfort his conscience, and his wealth his good name. He fears not Scylla, and sails close by Charybdis, and having beaten out a storm, rides at rest in a harbour. By his sea-gain he makes his land purchase, and by the knowledge of trade finds the key of treasure. Out of his travels he makes his discourses, and from his eye observations brings the models of architectures. He plants the earth with foreign fruits, and knows at home what is good abroad. He is neat in apparel, modest in demeanour, dainty in diet, and civil in his carriage. In sum, he is the pillar of a city, the enricher of a country, the furnisher of a court, and the worthy servant of a king.

AN UNWORTHY MERCHANT.

An unworthy merchant is a kind of pedlar, who (with the help of a broker) gets more by his wit than by his honesty. He doth sometime use to give out money to gamesters, be paid in post, upon a hand at dice. Sometime he gains more by baubles than better stuffs, and rather than fail will adventure a false oath for a fraudulent gain. He deals with no wholesale, but all his honesty is at one word; as for wares and weights, he knows how to hold the balance, and for his conscience he is not ignorant what to do with it. His travel is most by land, for he fears to be too busy with the water, and whatever his ware may be, he will be sure of his money. The most of his wealth is in a pack of trifles, and for his honesty I dare not pass my word for him. If he be rich, it is ten to one of his pride; and if he be poor, he breaks without his fast. In sum, he is the disgrace of a merchant, the dishonour of a city, the discredit of his parish, and the dislike of all.

A GOOD MAN.

A good man is an image of God, lord over all His creatures, and created only for His service. He is made capable of reason to know the properties of nature, and by the inspiration of grace to know things supernatural. He hath a face always to look upward, and a soul that gives life to all the senses. He lives in the world as a stranger, while heaven is the home of his spirit. His life is but the labour of sense, and his death the way to his rest. His study is the Word of truth, and his delight is in the law of love. His provision is but to serve necessity, and his care the exercise of charity. He is more conversant with the divine prophets than the world's profits, and makes the joy of his soul in the tidings of his salvation. He is wise in the best wit, and wealthy in the richest treasure. His hope is but the comfort of mercy, and his fear but the hurt of sin. Pride is the hate of his soul, and patience the worker of his peace. His guide is the wisdom of grace, and his travel but to the Heavenly Jerusalem. In sum, he is the elect of God, the blessing of grace, the seed of love, and the fruit of life.

AN ATHEIST OR MOST BAD MAN.

An atheist is a figure of desperation, who dare do anything even to his soul's damnation. He is in nature a dog, in wit an ass, in passion a bedlam, and in action a devil. He makes sin a jest, grace a humour, truth a fable, and peace a cowardice. His horse is his pride, his sword is his castle, his apparel his riches, and his punk his paradise. He makes robbery his purchase, lechery his solace, mirth his exercise, and drunkenness his glory. He is the danger of society, the love of vanity, the hate of charity, and the shame of humanity. He is God's enemy, his parents' grief, his country's plague, and his own confusion. He spoils that is necessary and spends that is needless. He spits at the gracious and spurns the godly. The tavern is his palace and his belly is his god; a whore is his mistress and the devil is his master. Oaths are his graces, wounds his badges, shifts are his practices, and beggary his payments. He knows not God, nor thinks of heaven, but walks through the world as a devil towards hell. Virtue knows him not, honesty finds him not, wisdom loves him not, and honour regards him not. He is but the cutler's friend and the chirurgeon's agent, the thief's companion and the hangman's benefactor. He was begotten untimely and born unhappily, lives ungraciously and dies unchristianly. He is of no religion nor good fashion; hardly good complexion, and most vile in condition. In sum, he is a monster among men, a Jew among Christians, a fool among wise men, and a devil among saints.

A WISE MAN.

A wise man is a clock that never strikes but at his home, or rather like a dial that, being set right with the sun, keeps his true course in his compass. So the heart of a wise man, set in the course of virtue by the spirit of grace, runs the course of life in the compass of eternal comfort. He measureth time and tempereth nature, employeth reason and commandeth sense. He hath a deaf ear to the charmer, a close mouth to the slanderer, an open hand to charity, and an humble mind to piety. Observation and experience are his reason's labours, and patience with conscience are the lines of his love's measure; contemplation and meditation are his spirit's exercise, and God and His Word are the joy of his soul. He knows not the pride of prosperity nor the misery of adversity, but takes the one as the day, the other as the night. He knows no fortune, but builds all upon providence, and through the hope of faith hath a fair aim at heaven. His words are weighed with judgment, and his actions are the examples of honour. He is fit for the seat of authority, and deserves the reverence of subjection. He is precious in the counsel of a king, and mighty in the sway of a kingdom. In sum, he is God's servant and the world's master, a stranger upon earth, and a citizen in heaven.

A FOOL.

A fool is the abortive of wit, where nature had more power than reason in bringing forth the fruit of imperfection. His actions are most in extremes, and the scope of his brain is but ignorance. Only nature hath taught him to feed, and use to labour without knowledge. He is a kind of a shadow of a better substance, or like the vision of a dream that yields nothing awake. He is commonly known by one or two special names, derived from their qualities, as from wilful Will-fool, and Hodge from hodge-podge; all meats are alike, all are one to a fool. His exercises are commonly divided into four parts, eating and drinking, sleeping and laughing; four things are his chief loves, a bauble and a bell, a coxcomb and a pied-coat. He was begotten in unhappiness, born to no goodness, lives but in beastliness, and dies but in forgetfulness. In sum, he is the shame of nature, the trouble of wit, the charge of charity, and the loss of liberality.

AN HONEST MAN.

An honest man is like a plain coat, which, without welt or guard, keepeth the body from wind and weather, and being well made, fits him best that wears it; and where the stuff is more regarded than the fashion, there is not much ado in the putting of it on. So the mind of an honest man, without trick or compliments, keeps the credit of a good conscience from the scandal of the world and the worm of iniquity, which, being wrought by the workman of heaven, fits him best that wears it to his service; and where virtue is more esteemed than vanity, it is put on and worn with that ease that shows the excellency of the workman. His study is virtue, his word truth, his life the passage of patience, and his death the rest of his spirit. His travail is a pilgrimage, his way is plainness, his pleasure peace, and his delight is love. His care is his conscience, his wealth is his credit, his charge is his chanty, and his content is his kingdom. In sum, he is a diamond among jewels, a phrenix among birds, an unicorn among beasts, and a saint among men.

A KNAVE.

A knave is the scum of wit and the scorn of reason, the hate of wisdom and the dishonour of humanity. He is the danger of society and the hurt of amity, the infection of youth and the corruption of age. He is a traitor to affiance and abuse to employment, and a rule of villainy in a plot of mischief. He hath a cat's eye and a bear's paw, a siren's tongue and a serpent's sting. His words are lies, his oaths perjuries, his studies subtilties, and his practices villainies; his wealth is his wit, his honour is his wealth, his glory is his gain, and his god is his gold. He is no man's friend and his own enemy; cursed on earth and banished from heaven. He was begotten ungraciously, born untimely, lives dishonestly, and dies shamefully. His heart is a puddle of poison, his tongue a sting of iniquity, his brain a distiller of deceit, and his conscience a compass of hell. In sum, he is a dog in disposition, a fox in wit, a wolf in his prey, and a devil in his pride.

AN USURER.

An usurer is a figure of misery, who hath made himself a slave to his money. His eye is closed from pity, and his hand from charity; his ear from compassion, and his heart from piety. While he lives he is the hate of a Christian, and when he dies he goes with horror to hell. His study is sparing, and his care is getting; his fear is wanting, and his death is losing. His diet is either fasting or poor fare, his clothing the hangman's wardrobe, his house the receptacle of thievery, and his music the clinking of his money. He is a kind of cancer that with the teeth of interest eats the hearts of the poor, and a venomous fly that sucks out the blood of any flesh that he lights on. In sum, he is a servant of dross, a slave to misery, an agent for hell, and a devil in the world.

A BEGGAR.

A beggar is the child of idleness, whose life is a resolution of ease. His travail is most in the highways, and his rendezvous is commonly in an ale-house. His study is to counterfeit impotency, and his practice to cozen simplicity of charity. The juice of the malt is the liquor of his life, and at bed and at board a louse is his companion. He fears no such enemy as a constable, and being acquainted with the stocks, must visit them as he goes by them. He is a drone that feeds upon the labours of the bee, and unhappily begotten that is born for no goodness. His staff and his scrip are his walking furniture, and what he lacks in meat he will have out in drink. He is a kind of caterpillar that spoils much good fruit, and an unprofitable creature to live in a commonwealth. He is seldom handsome and often noisome, always troublesome and never welcome. He prays for all and preys upon all; begins with blessing but ends often with cursing. If he have a licence he shows it with a grace, but if he have none he is submissive to the ground. Sometime he is a thief, but always a rogue, and in the nature of his profession the shame of humanity. In sum, he is commonly begot in a bush, born in a barn, lives in a highway, and dies in a ditch.

A VIRGIN.

A virgin is the beauty of nature, where the spirit gracious makes the creature glorious. She is the love of virtue, the honour of reason, the grace of youth, and the comfort of age. Her study is holiness, her exercise goodness, her grace humility, and her love is charity. Her countenance is modesty, her speech is truth, her wealth grace, and her fame constancy. Her virtue continence, her labour patience, her diet abstinence, and her care conscience. Her conversation heavenly, her meditations angel-like, her prayers devout, and her hopes divine: her parents' joy, her kindred's honour, her country's fame, and her own felicity. She is the blessed of the highest, the praise of the worthiest, the love of the noblest, and the nearest to the best. She is of creatures the rarest, of women the chiefest, of nature the purest, and of wisdom the choicest. Her life is a pilgrimage, her death but a passage, her description a wonder, and her name an honour. In sum, she is the daughter of glory, the mother of grace, the sister of love, and the beloved of life.

A WANTON WOMAN.

A wanton woman is the figure of imperfection; in nature an ape, in quality a wagtail, in countenance a witch, and in condition a kind of devil. Her beck is a net, her word a charm, her look an illusion, and her company a confusion. Her life is the play of idleness, her diet the excess of dainties, her love the change of vanities, and her exercise the invention of follies. Her pleasures are fancies, her studies fashions, her delight colours, and her wealth her clothes. Her care is to deceive, her comfort her company, her house is vanity, and her bed is ruin. Her discourses are fables, her vows dissimulations, her conceits subtleties, and her contents varieties. She would she knows not what, and spends she cares not what, she spoils she sees not what, and doth she thinks not what. She is youth's plague and age's purgatory, time's abuse and reason's trouble. In sum, she is a spice of madness, a spark of mischief, a touch of poison, and a fear of destruction.

A QUIET WOMAN.

A quiet woman is like a still wind, which neither chills the body nor blows dust in the face. Her patience is a virtue that wins the heart of love, and her wisdom makes her will well worthy regard. She fears God and flieth sin, showeth kindness and loveth peace. Her tongue is tied to discretion, and her heart is the harbour of goodness. She is a comfort of calamity and in prosperity a companion, a physician in sickness and a musician in help. Her ways are the walk toward heaven, and her guide is the grace of the Almighty. She is her husband's down-bed, where his heart lies at rest, and her children's glass in the notes of her grace; her servants' honour in the keeping of her house, and her neighbours' example in the notes of a good nature. She scorns fortune and loves virtue, and out of thrift gathereth charity. She is a turtle in her love, a lamb in her meekness, a saint in her heart, and an angel in her soul. In sum, she is a jewel unprizeable and a joy unspeakable, a comfort in nature incomparable, and a wife in the world unmatchable.

AN UNQUIET WOMAN.

An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose demeanour is not to be described but in extremities. Her voice is the screeching of an owl, her eye the poison of a cockatrice, her hand the claw of a crocodile, and her heart a cabinet of horror. She is the grief of nature, the wound of wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of time. Her pride is unsupportable, her anger unquenchable, her will unsatiable, and her malice unmatchable. She fears no colours, she cares for no counsel, she spares no persons, nor respects any time. Her command is _must_, her reason _will_, her resolution _shall_, and her satisfaction _so_. She looks at no law and thinks of no lord, admits no command and keeps no good order. She is a cross but not of Christ, and a word but not of grace; a creature but not of wisdom, and a servant but not of God. In sum, she is the seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of bitterness, and the digestion of death.

A GOOD WIFE.

A good wife is a world of wealth, where just cause of content makes a kingdom in conceit. She is the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand of labour, and the heart of love; a companion of kindness, a mistress of passion, an exercise of patience, and an example of experience. She is the kitchen physician, the chamber comfort, the hall's care, and the parlour's grace. She is the dairy's neatness, the brew-house's wholesomeness, the garner's provision and the garden's plantation. Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious. She is her husband's jewel, her children's joy, her neighbour's love, and her servant's honour. She is poverty's prayer and charity's praise, religion's love and devotion's zeal. She is a care of necessity and a course of thrift, a book of housewifery and a mirror of modesty. In sum, she is God's blessing and man's happiness, earth's honour and heaven's creature.

AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.

An effeminate fool is the figure of a baby. He loves nothing but gay, to look in a glass, to keep among wenches, and to play with trifles; to feed on sweetmeats and to be danced in laps, to be embraced in arms, and to be kissed on the cheek; to talk idly, to look demurely, to go nicely, and to laugh continually; to be his mistress' servant, and her maid's master, his father's love and his mother's none-child; to play on a fiddle and sing a love-song; to wear sweet gloves and look on fine things; to make purposes and write verses, devise riddles and tell lies; to follow plays and study dances, to hear news and buy trifles; to sigh for love and weep for kindness, and mourn for company and be sick for fashion; to ride in a coach and gallop a hackney, to watch all night and sleep out the morning; to lie on a bed and take tobacco, and to send his page of an idle message to his mistress; to go upon gigs, to have his ruffs set in print, to pick his teeth, and play with a puppet. In sum, he is a man-child and a woman's man, a gaze of folly, and wisdom's grief.

A PARASITE.

A parasite is the image of iniquity, who for the gain of dross is devoted to all villainy. He is a kind of thief in committing of burglary, when he breaks into houses with his tongue and picks pockets with his flattery. His face is brazen that he cannot blush, and his hands are limed to catch hold what he can light on. His tongue is a bell (but not of the church, except it be the devil's) to call his parish to his service. He is sometimes a pander to carry messages of ill meetings, and perhaps hath some eloquence to persuade sweetness in sin. He is like a dog at a door while the devils dance in the chamber, or like a spider in the house-top that lives on the poison below. He is the hate of honesty and the abuse of beauty, the spoil of youth and the misery of age. In sum, he is a danger in a court, a cheater in a city, a jester in the country, and a jackanapes in all.

A DRUNKARD.

A drunkard is a known adjective, for he cannot stand alone by himself; yet in his greatest weakness a great trier of strength, whether health or sickness will have the upper hand in a surfeit. He is a spectacle of deformity and a shame of humanity, a view of sin and a grief of nature. He is the annoyance of modesty and the trouble of civility, the spoil of wealth and the spite of reason. He is only the brewer's agent and the alehouse benefactor, the beggar's companion and the constable's trouble. He is his wife's woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbours' scoff, and his own shame. In sum, he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a picture of a beast, and a monster of a man.

A COWARD.

A coward is the child of fear. He was begotten in cold blood, when Nature had much ado to make up a creature like a man. His life is a kind of sickness, which breeds a kind of palsy in the joints, and his death the terror of his conscience, with the extreme weakness of his faith. He loves peace as his life, for he fears a sword in his soul. If he cut his finger he looketh presently for the sign, and if his head ache he is ready to make his will. A report of a cannon strikes him flat on his face, and a clap of thunder makes him a strange metamorphosis. Rather than he will fight he will be beaten, and if his legs will help him he will put his arms to no trouble. He makes love commonly with his purse, and brags most of his maidenhead. He will not marry but into a quiet family, and not too fair a wife, to avoid quarrels. If his wife frown upon him he sighs, and if she give him an unkind word he weeps. He loves not the horns of a bull nor the paws of a bear, and if a dog bark he will not come near the house. If he be rich he is afraid of thieves, and if he be poor he will be slave to a beggar. In sum, he is the shame of manhood, the disgrace of nature, the scorn of reason, and the hate of honour.

AN HONEST POOR MAN.

An honest poor man is the proof of misery, where patience is put to the trial of her strength to endure grief without passion, in starving with concealed necessity, or standing in the adventures of charity. If he be married, want rings in his ears and woe watereth his eyes. If single, he droppeth with the shame of beggary, or dies with the passion of penury. Of the rich he is shunned like infection, and of the poor learns but a heart-breaking profession. His bed is the earth and the heaven is his canopy, the sun is his summer's comfort and the moon is his winter candle. His sighs are the notes of his music, and his song is like the swan before her death. His study, his patience; and his exercise, prayer: his diet the herbs of the earth, and his drink the water of the river. His travel is the walk of the woful and his horse Bayard of ten toes: his apparel but the clothing of nakedness, and his wealth but the hope of heaven. He is a stranger in the world, for no man craves his acquaintance; and his funeral is without ceremony, when there is no mourning for the miss of him: yet may he be in the state of election and in the life of love, and more rich in grace than the greatest of the world. In sum, he is the grief of Nature, the sorrow of reason, the pity of wisdom, and the charge of charity.

A JUST MAN.

A just man is the child of truth, begotten by virtue and kindness; when Nature in the temper of the spirit made even the balance of indifference. His eye is clear from blindness and his hand from bribery, his will from wilfulness and his heart from wickedness; his word and deed are all one; his life shows the nature of his love, his care is the charge of his conscience, and his comfort the assurance of his salvation. In the seat of justice he is the grace of the law, and in the judgment of right the honour of reason. He fears not the power of authority to equal justice with mercy, and joys but in the judgment of grace, to see the execution of justice. His judgment is worthy of honour, and his wisdom is gracious in truth. His honour is famous in virtue, and his virtue is precious in example. In sum, he is a spirit of understanding, a brain of knowledge, a heart of wisdom, and a soul of blessedness.

A REPENTANT SINNER.

A repentant sinner is the child of grace, who, being born for service of God, makes no reckoning of the mastership of the world, yet doth he glorify God in the beholding of His creatures, and in giving praise to His holy name in the admiration of His workmanship. He is much of the nature of an angel who, being sent into the world but to do the will of his Master, is ever longing to be at home with his fellows. He desires nothing but that is necessary, and delighteth in nothing that is transitory; but contemplates more than he can conceive, and meditates only upon the word of the Almighty. His senses are the tirers of his spirit, while in the course of nature his soul can find no rest. He shakes off the rags of sin, and is clothed with the robe of virtue. He puts off Adam, and puts on Christ. His heart is the anvil of truth, where the brain of his wisdom beats the thoughts of his mind till they be fit for the service of his Maker. His labour is the travail of love, by the rule of grace to find the highway to heaven. His fear is greater than his love of the world, and his love is greater than his fear of God. In sum, he is in the election of love, in the books of life, an angel incarnate and a blessed creature.

A REPROBATE.

A reprobate is the child of sin who, being born for the service of the devil, cares not what villainy he does in the world. His wit is always in a maze, for his courses are ever out of order; and while his will stands for his wisdom, the best that falls out of him is a fool. He betrays the trust of the simple, and sucks out the blood of the innocent. His breath is the fume of blasphemy, and his tongue the firebrand of hell His desires are the destruction of the virtuous, and his delights are the traps to damnation. He bathes in the blood of murder, and sups up the broth of iniquity. He frighteth the eyes of the godly, and disturbeth the hearts of the religious. He marreth the wits of the wise, and is hateful to the souls of the gracious. In sum, he is an inhuman creature, a fearful companion, a man-monster, and a devil incarnate.

AN OLD MAN.

An old man is the declaration of time in the defect of Nature, and the imperfection of sense in the use of reason. He is in the observation of Time, a calendar of experience; but in the power of action, he is a blank among lots. He is the subject of weakness, the agent of sickness, the displeasure of life, and the forerunner of death. He is twice a child and half a man, a living picture, and a dying creature. He is a blown bladder that is only stuffed with wind, and a withered tree that hath lost the sap of the root, or an old lute with strings all broken, or a ruined castle that is ready to fall. He is the eyesore of youth and the jest of love, and in the fulness of infirmity the mirror of misery. Yet in the honour of wisdom he may be gracious in gravity, and in the government of justice deserve the honour of reverence. Yea, his word may be notes for the use of reason, and his actions examples for the imitation of discretion. In sum, in whatsoever estate he is but as the snuff of a candle, that pink it ever so long it will out at last.

A YOUNG MAN.

A young man is the spring of time, when nature in her pride shows her beauty to the world. He is the delight of the eye and the study of the mind, the labour of instruction and the pupil of reason. His wit is in making or marring, his wealth in gaining or losing, his honour in advancing or declining, and his life in abridging or increasing. He is a bloom that either is blasted in the bud or grows to a good fruit, or a bird that dies in the nest or lives to make use of her wings. He is a colt that must have a bridle ere he be well managed, and a falcon that must be well maned or he will never be reclaimed. He is the darling of nature and the charge of reason, the exercise of patience and the hope of charity. His exercise is either study or action, and his study either knowledge or pleasure. His disposition gives a great note of his generation, and yet his breeding may either better or worse him, though to wish a blackamoor white be the loss of labour, and what is bred in the bone will never out of the flesh. In sum, till experience have seasoned his understanding, he is rather a child than a man, a prey of flattery or a praise of providence, in the way of grace to prove a saint, or in the way of sin to grow a devil.

A HOLY MAN.

A holy man is the chiefest creature in the workmanship of the world. He is the highest in the election of love, and the nearest to the image of the human nature of his Maker. He is served of all the creatures in the earth, and created but for the service of his Creator. He is capable of the course of nature, and by the rule of observation finds the art of reason. His senses are but servants to his spirit, which is guided by a power above himself. His time is only known to the eye of the Almighty, and what he is in his most greatness is as nothing but in His mercy. He makes law by the direction of life, and lives but in the mercy of love. He treads upon the face of the earth till in the same substance he be trod upon, though his soul that gave life to his senses live in heaven till the resurrection of his flesh. He hath an eye to look upward towards grace, while labour is only the punishment of sin. His faith is the hand of his soul, which layeth hold on the promise of mercy. His patience is the tenure of the possession of his soul, his charity the rule of his life, and his hope the anchor of his salvation. His study is the state of obedience, and his exercise the continuance of prayer; his life but a passage to a better, and his death the rest of his labours. His heart is a watch to his eye, his wit a door to his mouth, his soul a guard to his spirit, and his limbs are but labourers for his body. In sum, he is ravished with divine love, hateful to the nature of sin, troubled with the vanities of the world, and longing for his joy but in heaven.

GEOFFREY MINSHULL.

_After "The Good and the Bad" published in 1616, came, in 1618, "Essays and Characters of a Prison and Prisoners, by G. M. of Grayes Inn, Gent." G.M. signed his name in full--Geffray Minshul--after the Dedication to his uncle, Mr. Matthew Mainwaring of Nantwich, Cheshire, and he dates from the King's Bench Prison. Philip Bliss found record in a History of Nantwich of a monument there in St. Mary's Church, erected by Geoffrey Minshull of Stoke, Esq., to the memory of his ancestors. He quotes also from Geoffrey Minshull's Characters the folloiuing passage from the Dedication, and the Character of a Prisoner._

FROM THE DEDICATION OF "ESSAYS AND CHARACTERS OF A PRISON AND PRISONERS."

"Since my coming into this prison, what with the strangeness of the place and strictness of my liberty, I am so transported that I could not follow that study wherein I took great delight and chief pleasure, and to spend my time idly would but add more discontentments to my troubled breast, and being in this chaos of discontentments, fantasies must arise, which will bring forth the fruits of an idle brain, for _e malis minimum_. It is far better to give some account of time, though to little purpose, than none at all. To which end I gathered a handful of essays, and few characters of such things as by my own experience I could say _Probatum est:_ not that thereby I should either please the reader, or show exquisiteness of invention, or curious style; seeing what I write of is but the child of sorrow, bred by discontentments and nourished up with misfortunes, to whose help melancholy Saturn gave his judgment, the night-bird her invention, and the ominous raven brought a quill taken from his own wing, dipped in the ink of misery, as chief aiders in this architect of sorrow."

A CHARACTER OF A PRISONER.

A prisoner is an impatient patient, lingering under the rough hands of a cruel physician: his creditor having cast his water knows his disease, and hath power to cure him, but takes more pleasure to kill him. He is like Tantalus, who hath freedom running by his door, yet cannot enjoy the least benefit thereof. His greatest grief is that his credit was so good and now no better. His land is drawn within the compass of a sheep's skin, and his own hand the fornication that bars him of entrance: he is fortune's tossing-ball, an object that would make mirth melancholy: to his friends an abject, and a subject of nine days' wonder in every barber's shop, and a mouthful of pity (that he had no better fortune) to midwives and talkative gossips; and all the content that this transitory life can give him seems but to flout him, in respect the restraint of liberty bars the true use. To his familiars he is like a plague, whom they dare scarce come nigh for fear of infection; he is a monument ruined by those which raised him, he spends the day with a _hei mihi! væ miserum!_ and the night with a _nullis est medicabilis herbis._

HENRY PARROT [?].

_In 1626--year of the death of Francis Bacon--appeared "Cures for the Itch; Characters, Epigrams, Epitaphs by H. P." with the motto "Scalpat qui Tangitur." H. P. was read by Philip Bliss into Henry Parrot, who published a collection of epigrams in 1613, as "Laquei Ridiculosi, or Springes for Woodcocks." The Characters in this little volume are of a Ballad Maker, a Tapster, a Drunkard, a Rectified Young Man, a Young Novice's New Younger Wife, a Common Fiddler, a Broker, a Jovial Good Fellow, a Humourist, a Malapert Young Upstart, a Scold, a Good Wife, and a Self-Conceited Parcel-Witted Old Dotard._

A SCOLD

Is a much more heard of, than least desired to be seen or known, she-kind of serpent; the venomed sting of whose poisonous tongue, worse than the biting of a scorpion, proves more infectious far than can be cured. She's of all other creatures most untameablest, and covets more the last word in scolding than doth a combater the last stroke for victory. She loudest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, with exclamation, flat defiance to any one says black's her eye. She dares appear before any justice, nor is least daunted with the sight of constable, nor at worst threatenings of a cucking-stool. There's nothing mads or moves her more to outrage than but the very naming of a wisp, or if you sing or whistle when she is scolding. If any in the interim chance to come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the face; or do but offer to hold her hands, she'll presently begin to cry out murder. There's nothing pacifies her but a cup of sack, which taking in full measure of digestion, she presently forgets all wrongs that's done her, and thereupon falls straight a-weeping. Do but entreat her with fair words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imperfections, and lays the guilt upon her maid. Her manner is to talk much in her sleep, what wrongs she hath endured of that rogue her husband, whose hap may be in time to die a martyr; and so I leave them.

A GOOD WIFE