All his humour rises up into the froth of ostentation, which if it once
settle falls down into a narrow room. If the excess be in the
understanding part, all his wit is in print; the press hath left his
head empty, yea, not only what he had, but what he could borrow without
leave. If his glory be in his devotion, he gives not an alms but on
record; and if he have once done well, God hears of it often, for upon
every unkindness he is ready to upbraid Him with merits. Over and above
his own discharge, he hath some satisfactions to spare for the common
treasure. He can fulfil the law with ease, and earn God with
superfluity. If he hath bestowed but a little sum in the glazing,
paving, parieting of God's house, you shall find it in the church
window. Or if a more gallant humour possess him, he wears all his land
on his back, and walking high, looks over his left shoulder, to see if
the point of his rapier follow him with a grace. He is proud of another
man's horse, and well mounted, thinks every man wrongs him that looks
not at him. A bare head in the street doth him more good than a meal's
meat. He swears big at an ordinary, and talks of the court with a sharp
accent; neither vouchsafes to name any not honourable, nor those without
some term of familiarity, and likes well to see the hearer look upon him
amazedly, as if he said, How happy is this man that is so great with
great ones! Under pretence of seeking for a scroll of news, he draws out
an handful of letters endorsed with his own style to the height, and
half reading every title, passes over the latter part with a murmur, not
without signifying what lord sent this, what great lady the other, and
for what suits; the last paper (as it happens) is his news from his
honourable friend in the French court. In the midst of dinner, his
lackey comes sweating in with a sealed note from his creditor, who now
threatens a speedy arrest, and whispers the ill news in his master's
ear, when he aloud names a counsellor of state, and professes to know
the employment. The same messenger he calls with an imperious nod, and
after expostulation, where he hath left his fellows, in his ear, sends
him for some new spur-leathers or stockings by this time footed; and
when he is gone half the room, recalls him, and sayeth aloud, It is no
matter, let the greater bag alone till I come. And yet again calling him
closer, whispers (so that all the table may hear), that if his crimson
suit be ready against the day, the rest need no haste. He picks his
teeth when his stomach is empty, and calls for pheasants at a common
inn. You shall find him prizing the richest jewels and fairest horses,
when his purse yields not money enough for earnest. He thrusts himself
into the press before some great ladies, and loves to be seen near the
head of a great train. His talk is how many mourners he furnished with
gowns at his father's funeral, how many messes, how rich his coat is,
and how ancient, how great his alliance; what challenges he hath made
and answered; what exploits he did at Calais or Newport; and when he
hath commended others' buildings, furnitures, suits, compares them with
his own. When he hath undertaken to be the broker for some rich diamond,
he wears it, and pulling off his glove to stroke up his hair, thinks no
eye should have any other object. Entertaining his friend, he chides his
cook for no better cheer, and names the dishes he meant and wants. To
conclude, he is ever on the stage, and acts still a glorious part
abroad, when no man carries a baser heart, no man is more sordid and
careless at home. He is a Spanish soldier on an Italian theatre, a
bladder full of wind, a skinful of words, a fool's wonder and a wise
man's fool.