He knows the right use of the world, wherein he comes to play a part and
so away. His life is not idle, for it is all action, and no man need be
more wary in his doings, for the eyes of all men are upon him. His
profession has in it a kind of contradiction, for none is more disliked,
and yet none more applauded; and he has the misfortune of some scholar,
too much wit makes him a fool. He is like our painting gentlewomen,
seldom in his own face, seldomer in his clothes; and he pleases, the
better he counterfeits, except only when he is disguised with straw for
gold lace. He does not only personate on the stage, but sometimes in the
street, for he is masked still in the habit of a gentleman. His parts
find him oaths and good words, which he keeps for his use and discourse,
and makes shew with them of a fashionable companion. He is tragical on
the stage, but rampant in the tiring-house,[42] and swears oaths there
which he never conned. The waiting women spectators are over-ears in
love with him, and ladies send for him to act in their chambers. Your
inns-of-court men were undone but for him, he is their chief guest and
employment, and the sole business that makes them afternoon's-men. The
poet only is his tyrant, and he is bound to make his friend's friend
drunk at his charge. Shrove-Tuesday he fears as much as the banns, and
Lent[43] is more damage to him than the butcher. He was never so much
discredited as in one act, and that was of parliament, which gives
hostlers privilege before him, for which he abhors it more than a
corrupt judge. But to give him his due, one well-furnished actor has
enough in him for five common gentlemen, and, if he have a good body,
[for six, and] for resolution he shall challenge any Cato, for it has
been his practice to die bravely.