He is a man strangely thrifty of time past, and an enemy indeed to his
maw, 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; an
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 Cæsar,
than James or Elizabeth. Beggars cozen him with musty things which they
have raked from dung-hills, and he preserves their rags for precious
relics. 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, [[17] _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 sepulchres, and he likes death the better,
because it gathers him to his fathers.