whence he fetches out many things when they are now all rotten and
stinking. He is one that hath that unnatural disease to be enamoured of
old age and wrinkles, and loves all things (as Dutchmen do cheese,) the
better for being mouldy and worm-eaten. He is of our religion, because we
say it is most antient; and yet a broken statue would almost make him an
idolater. A great admirer he is of the rust of old monuments, and reads
only those characters, where time hath eaten out the letters. He will go
you forty miles to see a saint's well or a ruined abbey; and there be but
a cross or stone foot-stool in the way, he'll be considering it so long,
till he forget his journey. His estate consists much in shekels, and Roman
coins; and he hath more pictures of Caesar, than James or Elizabeth.
Beggars cozen him with musty things which they have raked from dunghills,
and he preserves their rags for precious relicks. He loves no library, but
where there are more spiders volumes than authors, and looks with great
admiration on the antique work of cobwebs. Printed books he contemns, as a
novelty of this latter age, but a manuscript he pores on everlastingly,
especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis
between every syllable. He would give all the books in his study (which
are rarities all,) for one of the old Roman binding, or six lines of Tully
in his own hand. His chamber is hung commonly with strange beasts skins,
and is a kind of charnel-house of bones extraordinary; and his discourse
upon them, if you will hear him, shall last longer. His very attire is
that which is the eldest out of fashion, [[AW]_and you may pick a
criticism out of his breeches_.] He never looks upon himself till he is
grey-haired, and then he is pleased with his own antiquity. His grave
does not fright him, for he has been used to sepulchers, and he likes
death the better, because it gathers him to his fathers.
FOOTNOTES:
[AW] In the first edition it stands thus:--"_and his hat is as antient as
the tower of Babel_."
VIII.
A YOUNGER BROTHER.
His elder brother was the Esau, that came out first and left him like
Jacob at his heels. His father has done with him, as Pharoah to the
children of Israel, that would have them make brick and give them no
straw, so he tasks him to be a gentleman, and leaves him nothing to
maintain it. The pride of his house has undone him, which the elder's
knighthood must sustain, and his beggary that knighthood. His birth and
bringing up will not suffer him to descend to the means to get wealth; but
he stands at the mercy of the world, and which is worse, of his brother.
He is something better than the serving-men; yet they more saucy with him
than he bold with the master, who beholds him with a countenance of stern
awe, and checks him oftener than his liveries. His brother's old suits and
he are much alike in request, and cast off now and then one to the other.
Nature hath furnished him with a little more wit upon compassion, for it
is like to be his best revenue. If his annuity stretch so far, he is sent
to the university, and with great heart-burning takes upon him the
ministry, as a profession he is condemned to by his ill fortune. Others
take a more crooked path yet, the king's high-way; where at length their
vizard is plucked off, and they strike fair for Tyburn: but their
brother's pride, not love, gets them a pardon. His last refuge is the
Low-countries,[17] where rags and lice are no scandal, where he lives a
poor gentleman of a company, and dies without a shirt. The only thing that
may better his fortunes is an art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewith
he baits now and then some rich widow that is hungry after his blood. He
is commonly discontented and desperate, and the form of his exclamation
is, _that churl my brother_. He loves not his country for this unnatural
custom, and would have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for
Kent[18] only, which he holds in admiration.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] The Low-countries appear to have afforded ample room for ridicule at
all times. In "_A brief Character of the Low-countries under the States,
being Three Weeks Observation of the Vices and Virtues of the
Inhabitants_, written by Owen Felltham, and printed Lond. 1659, 12mo. we
find them epitomized as a general sea-land--the great bog of Europe--an
universal quagmire--in short a green cheese in pickle. The sailors (in
which denomination the author appears to include all the natives,) he
describes as being able to "drink, rail, swear, niggle, steal, and be
_lowsie_ alike. P. 40.
[18] _Gavelkind_, or the practice of dividing lands equally among all the
male children of the deceased, was (according to Spelman,) adopted by the
Saxons, from Germany, and is noticed by Tacitus in his description of that
nation. _Gloss. Archaiol._ folio. Lond. 1664. Harrison, in _The
Description of England_, prefixed to Holinshed's _Chronicle_, (vol. 1.
page 180,) says, "Gauell kind is all the male children equallie to
inherit, and is continued to this daie in _Kent_, where it is onelie to my
knowledge reteined, and no where else in England." And Lambarde, in his
_Customes of Kent_, (_Perambulation_, 4to. 1596, page 538,) thus notices
it:--"The custom of Grauelkynde is generall, and spreadeth itselfe
throughout the whole shyre, into all landes subiect by auncient tenure
vnto the same, such places onely excepted, where it is altered by acte of
parleament."
IX.
A MEER FORMAL MAN
Is somewhat more than the shape of a man; for he has his length, breadth,
and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked through him,
and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is merely example,
and his action is not guided by his understanding, but he sees other men
do thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we cannot call him a
wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a knave; nor a
protestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain is the
carriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame; which he
performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other meditations.
His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he swears, in the
phrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair inviter, and can excuse
his good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has some faculty in mangling
of a rabbit, and the distribution of his morsel to a neighbour's trencher.
He apprehends a jest by seeing men smile, and laughs orderly himself, when
it comes to his turn. His businesses with his friends are to visit them,
and whilst the business is no more, he can perform this well enough. His
discourse is the news that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other
matters his discretion is, that he will only what he can, that is, say
nothing. His life is like one that runs to the[19]church-walk, to take a
turn or two, and so passes. He hath staid in the world to fill a number;
and when he is gone, there wants one, and there's an end.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] _Minster-walk_, 1st edit.
X.
A CHURCH-PAPIST
Is one that parts his religion betwixt his conscience and his purse, and
comes to church not to serve God but the king. The face of the law makes
him wear the mask of the gospel, which he uses not as a means to save his
soul, but charges. He loves Popery well, but is loth to lose by it; and
though he be something scared with the bulls of Rome, yet they are far
off, and he is struck with more terror at the apparitor. Once a month he
presents himself at the church, to keep off the church-warden, and brings
in his body to save his bail. He kneels with the congregation, but prays
by himself, and asks God forgiveness for coming thither. If he be forced
to stay out a sermon, he pulls his hat over his eyes, and frowns out the
hour; and when he comes home, thinks to make amends for this fault by
abusing the preacher. His main policy is to shift off the communion, for
which he is never unfurnished of a quarrel, and will be sure to be out of
charity at Easter; and indeed he lies not, for he has a quarrel to the
sacrament. He would make a bad martyr and good traveller, for his
conscience is so large he could never wander out of it; and in
Constantinople would be circumcised with a reservation. His wife is more
zealous and therefore more costly, and he bates her in tires[20] what she
stands him in religion. But we leave him hatching plots against the state,
and expecting Spinola.[21]
FOOTNOTES:
[20] The word _tire_ is probably here used as an abbreviation of the word
_attire_, dress, ornament.
[21] _Ambrose Spinola_ was one of the most celebrated and excellent
commanders that Spain ever possessed: he was born, in 1569, of a noble
family, and distinguished himself through life in being opposed to prince
Maurice of Nassau, the greatest general of his age, by whom he was ever
regarded with admiration and respect. He died in 1630, owing to a
disadvantage sustained by his troops at the siege of Cassel, which was to
be entirely attributed to the imprudent orders he received from Spain, and
which that government compelled him to obey. This disaster broke his
heart; and he died with the exclamation of "_they have robbed me of my
honour_;" an idea he was unable to survive. It is probable that, at the
time this character was composed, many of the disaffected in England were
in expectation of an attack to be made on this country by the Spaniards,
under the command of Spinola.
XI.
A SELF-CONCEITED MAN
Is one that knows himself so well, that he does not know himself. Two
excellent well-dones have undone him, and he is guilty of it that first
commended him to madness. He is now become his own book, which he pores on
continually, yet like a truant reader skips over the harsh places, and
surveys only that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good
parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy, like an
old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He imagines
every place where he comes his theater, and not a look stirring but his
spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that is, [only]
busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a march, and like his
opinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his own person, or on
others with reflection to himself. If he have done any thing that has past
with applause, he is always re-acting it alone, and conceits the extasy
his hearers were in at every period. His discourse is all positions and
definitive decrees, with _thus it must be_ and _thus it is_, and he will
not humble his authority to prove it. His tenent is always singular and
aloof from the vulgar as he can, from which you must not hope to wrest
him. He has an excellent humour for an heretick, and in these days made
the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsus
before Galen,[22] [_and whosoever with most paradox is commended_.] He
much pities the world that has no more insight in his parts, when he is
too well discovered even to this very thought. A flatterer is a dunce to
him, for he can tell him nothing but what he knows before: and yet he
loves him too, because he is like himself. Men are merciful to him, and
let him alone, for if he be once driven from his humour, he is like two
inward friends fallen out: his own bitter enemy and discontent presently
makes a murder. In sum, he is a bladder blown up with wind, which the
least flaw crushes to nothing.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] _and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian._
First edit.
XII.
A TOO IDLY RESERVED MAN
Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a strange piece of politician,
that manages the state of himself. His actions are his privy-council,
wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and prescription,
and dare not shew his teeth without Machiavel. He converses with his
neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as much as
the inquisition. He suspects all questions for examinations, and thinks
you would pick something out of him, and avoids you. His breast is like a
gentlewoman's closet, which locks up every toy or trifle, or some bragging
mountebank that makes every stinking thing a secret. He delivers you
common matters with great conjuration of silence, and whispers you in the
ear acts of parliament. You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper,
and whatsoever he reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for
fear of bad comments, and _he knows not how his words may be misapplied_.
Ask his opinion, and he tells you his doubt; and he never hears any thing
more astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cards
at primivist,[23] where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify what
they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if he
swore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be craftier
than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction to hinder
their plots and designs, where they mean freely. He has been long a riddle
himself, but at last finds OEdipuses; for his over-acted dissimulation
discovers him, and men do with him as they would with Hebrew letters,
spell him backwards and read him.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] _Primivist_ and primero were, in all probability, the same game,
although Minshew, in his Dictionary, calls them "two games at cardes." The
latter he explains "primum et primum visum, that is, first and first
seene, because hee that can shew such an order of cardes, first winnes the
game." The coincidence between Mr. Strutt's description of the former and
the passage in the text, shews that there could be little or no difference
between the value of the cards in these games, or in the manner of playing
them. "Each player has four cards dealt to him, one by one, the _seven_
was the highest card, in point of number, that he could avail himself of,
_which counted for twenty-one_, the six _counted for sixteen_, the five
for fifteen, and the ace for the same," &c. (_Sports and Pastimes_, 247.)
The honourable Daines Barrington conceived that Primero was introduced by
Philip the Second, or some of his suite, whilst in England. Shakspeare
proves that it was played in the royal circle.
----"I left him (Henry VIII.) at _Primero_
With the duke of Suffolk."----
_Henry VIII._
So Decker: "Talke of none but lords and such ladies with whom you have
plaid at _Primero_."--_Gul's Hornebooke_, 1609. 37.
Among the marquis of Worcester's celebrated "_Century of Inventions_,"
12mo. 1663, is one "so contrived without suspicion, that playing at
Primero at cards, one may, without clogging his memory, keep reckoning of
all sixes, sevens, and aces, which he hath discarded."--No. 87.
XIII.
A TAVERN
Is a degree, or (if you will,) a pair of stairs above an ale-house, where
men are drunk with more credit and apology. If the vintner's nose[24] be
at door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is supplied by
the ivy-bush: the rooms are ill breathed like the drinkers that have been
washed well over night, and are smelt-to fasting next morning; not
furnished with beds apt to be defiled, but more necessary implements,
stools, table, and a chamber-pot. It is a broacher of more news than
hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here by some
spongy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. Men come here to
make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this musick above is answered
with the clinking below. The drawers are the civilest people in it, men of
good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem of them, none can boast more
justly of their high calling. 'Tis the best theater of natures, where they
are truly acted, not played, and the business as in the rest of the world
up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great chamber. A
melancholy man would find here matter to work upon, to see heads as
brittle as glasses, and often broken; men come hither to quarrel, and come
hither to be made friends: and if Plutarch will lend me his simile, it is
even Telephus's sword that makes wounds and cures them. It is the common
consumption of the afternoon, and the murderer or maker-away of a rainy
day. It is the torrid zone that scorches _the_[25] face, and tobacco the
gun-powder that blows it up. Much harm would be done, if the charitable
vintner had not water ready for these flames. A house of sin you may call
it, but not a house of darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is
like those countries far in the North, where it is as clear at mid-night
as at mid-day. After a long sitting, it becomes like a street in a dashing
shower, where the spouts are flushing above, and the conduits running
below, while the Jordans like swelling rivers overflow their banks. To
give you the total reckoning of it; it is the busy man's recreation, the
idle man's business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger's
welcome, the inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness,
and the citizen's courtesy. It is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup
of canary[26] their book, whence we leave them.
FOOTNOTES:
[24] "Enquire out those tauernes which are best customd, whose maistres
are oftenest drunk, for that confirmes their taste, and that they choose
wholesome wines."--Decker's _Gul's Horne-booke_, 1609.
[25] _his_, First edit.
[26] The editor of the edition in 1732, has altered _canary_ to "_sherry_"
for what reason I am at a loss to discover, and have consequently restored
the reading of the first edition. Venner gives the following description
of this favourite liquor. "Canarie-wine, which beareth the name of the
islands from whence it is brought, is of some termed a sacke, with this
adjunct, sweete; but yet very improperly, for it differeth not only from
sacke in sweetness and pleasantness of taste, but also in colour and
consistence, for it is not so white in colour as sack, nor so thin in
substance; wherefore it is more nutritive than sack, and less
penetrative." _Via recta ad Vitam longum._ 4to. 1622. In Howell's time,
Canary wine was much adulterated. "I think," says he, in one of his
_Letters_, "there is more Canary brought into England than to all the
world besides; I think also, there is a hundred times more drunk under the
name of Canary wine, than there is brought in; for Sherries and Malagas,
well mingled, pass for Canaries in most taverns. When Sacks and Canaries,"
he continues, "were brought in first amongst us, they were used to be
drunk in aqua vitae measures, and 'twas held fit only for those to drink
who were used to _carry their legs in their hands_, _their eyes upon their
noses_, and an _almanack in their bones_; but now they go down every one's
throat, both young and old, like milk." Howell, _Letter to the lord
Cliff_, dated Oct. 7, 1634.
XIV.
A SHARK
Is one whom all other means have failed, and he now lives of himself. He
is some needy cashiered fellow, whom the world hath oft flung off, yet
still clasps again, and is like one a drowning, fastens upon anything that
is next at hand. Amongst other of his shipwrecks he has happily lost
shame, and this want supplies him. No man puts his brain to more use than
he, for his life is a daily invention, and each meal a new stratagem. He
has an excellent memory for his acquaintance, though there passed but _how
do you_ betwixt them seven years ago, it shall suffice for an embrace, and
that for money. He offers you a pottle of sack out of joy to see you, and
in requital of his courtesy you can do no less than pay for it. He is
fumbling with his purse-strings, as a school-boy with his points, when he
is going to be whipped, 'till the master, weary with long stay, forgives
him. When the reckoning is paid, he says, It must not be so, yet is strait
pacified, and cries, What remedy? His borrowings are like subsidies, each
man a shilling or two, as he can well dispend; which they lend him, not
with a hope to be repaid, but that he will come no more. He holds a
strange tyrrany over men, for he is their debtor, and they fear him as a
creditor. He is proud of any employment, though it be but to carry
commendations, which he will be sure to deliver at eleven of the
clock.[27] They in courtesy bid him stay, and he in manners cannot deny
them. If he find but a good look to assure his welcome, he becomes their
half-boarder, and haunts the threshold so long 'till he forces good nature
to the necessity of a quarrel. Publick invitations he will not wrong with
his absence, and is the best witness of the sheriff's hospitality.[28] Men
shun him at length as they would do an infection, and he is never crossed
in his way if there be but a lane to escape him. He has done with the age
as his clothes to him, hung on as long as he could, and at last drops off.
FOOTNOTES:
[27] We learn from Harrison's _Description of England_, prefixed to
Holinshed, that _eleven o'clock_ was the usual time for dinner during the
reign of Elizabeth. "With vs the nobilitie, gentrie, and students, doo
ordinarilie go to dinner at _eleuen before noone_, and to supper at fiue,
or between fiue and six at afternoon." (vol. i. page 171. edit. 1587.) The
alteration in manners at this time is rather singularly evinced, from a
passage immediately following the above quotation, where we find that
_merchants_ and _husbandmen_ dined and supped at a _later hour than the
nobility_.
[28] Alluding to the public dinners given by the sheriff at particular
seasons of the year. So in _The Widow_, a comedy, 4to. 1652.
"And as at a _sheriff's table_, O blest custome!
A poor indebted gentleman may dine,
Feed well, and without fear, and depart so."
XV.
A CARRIER
Is his own hackney-man; for he lets himself out to travel as well as his
horses. He is the ordinary embassador between friend and friend, the
father and the son, and brings rich presents to the one, but never returns
any back again. He is no unlettered man, though in shew simple; for
questionless, he has much in his budget, which he can utter too in fit
time and place. He is [like] the vault[29] in Gloster church, that
conveys whispers at a distance, for he takes the sound out of your mouth
at York, and makes it be heard as far as London. He is the young student's
joy and expectation, and the most accepted guest, to whom they lend a
willing hand to discharge him of his burden. His first greeting is
commonly, _Your friends are well_; [_and to prove it_][30] in a piece of
gold delivers their blessing. You would think him a churlish blunt fellow,
but they find in him many tokens of humanity. He is a great afflicter of
the high-ways, and beats them out of measure; which injury is sometimes
revenged by the purse-taker, and then the voyage miscarries. No man
domineers more in his inn, nor calls his host unreverently with more
presumption, and this arrogance proceeds out of the strength of his
horses. He forgets not his load where he takes his ease, for he is drunk
commonly before he goes to bed. He is like the prodigal child, still
packing away and still returning again. But let him pass.
FOOTNOTES:
[29] The chapel of the Virgin Mary, in the cathedral church of Gloucester,
was founded by Richard Stanley, abbot, in 1457, and finished by William
Farley, a monk of the monastery, in 1472. Sir Robert Atkyns gives the
following description of the vault here alluded to. "The _whispering
place_ is very remarkable; it is a long alley, from one side of the choir
to the other, built circular, that it might not darken the great east
window of the choir. When a person whispers at one end of the alley, his
voice is heard distinctly at the other end, though the passage be open in
the middle, having large spaces for doors and windows on the east side. It
may be imputed to the close cement of the wall, which makes it as one
entire stone, and so conveys the voice, as a long piece of timber does
convey the least stroak to the other end. Others assign it to the
repercussion of the voice from accidental angles." _Atkyns' Ancient and
Present State of Glostershire. Lond. 1712, folio, page 128._ See also
_Fuller's Worthies, in Gloucestershire, page 351_.
[30] _Then in a piece of gold_, &c. first edit.
XVI.
A YOUNG MAN;