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.