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dare tell them; only a Friday's dream is all her superstition; that she conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives she, and all her care is, she may die in the spring time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her winding-sheet."
The character of " A Serving-Man" is of a very different cast from the last, but is very amusing.
"Is a creature, which, though he be not drunk, is not his own man. He tells, without asking, who owns him, by the superscription of his livery; his life is for ease and leisure much about gentlemanHie. His wealth enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were sure of it, for he hath little, and wants nothing; he values himself higher or lower as his master is; he hates or loves the men as his master doth the master. He is commonly proud of his master's horses or his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion only; the clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his. He seldom breaks his own cloaths. He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged; nor commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose, and seldom abstains till he comes to be a-thiret. His discretion is to be careful for his master's credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table and carve well. His neatness consists much in his hair and outward linnen. His courting language, visible * • * jests, and against his matter fails, he is always ready furnished with a song. His inheritance is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his master's daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for want of a better; he always cuckolds himself, and never marries but his own widow; his master being appeased, he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his heir males for
The "Noble Spirit" is in a noble style—a character of true philosophical elevation, which could have been composed by no one who did not" speak what the spirit within him dictated."
A Noble Spirit
"Hath surveyed and fortified his disposition, and converts all occurrences into experience, between which experience and his reason there is marriage, the issue are his actions. He circuits his intents, and seeth the end before he shoots. Men are the instruments of his art, and there is no man without his use; occasion incites him, none enticeth him, and he moves by affection, not for affection; he loves glory, scorns shame, and governeth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one consideration. He calls not the variety of the world chances, for his meditation hath travelled over them, and his eyes, mounted upon his understanding, seeth them as things underneath. He covers not his body with delicacies, nor excuseth these
VOL. II. PART I. H .
delicacies by his body, but teacheth it, since it is not able to defend its own imbecility, to shew or suffer. He licenceth not his weakness to wear fate, but knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steers-man of his own destiny. Truth is his goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like her; he knows the condition of the world, that he must act one thing like another, and then another; to these he carries his desires, and not his desires him, and sticks not fast by the way, (for that contentment is repentance,) but knowing the circle of all courses, of all intents, of all things, to have but one center or period, without all distraction he hasteth thither and ends there as his true natural element. He doth not contemn fortune, but not confess her; he is no gamester of the world, (which only complain and praise her,) but being only sensible of the honesty of actions, contemns a particular profit as the excrement or scum. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion. When he is more particular, he is the wise man's friend, the example of the indifferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him, and he feels age more by the strength of his soul than the weakness of his body. Thus feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison."
"A Melancholy Man" is also drawn in a masterly manner.
A Melancholy Man
"Is a strayer from the drove, one that nature made sociable because she made him a man, and crazed disposition hath altered, unpleasing to all, as all to him; straggling thoughts are his content, they make him dream waking, there's his pleasure. His imagination is never idle, it keeps his mind in a continual motion, as the poise the clock; he winds up his thoughts often, and as often unwinds them. Penelope's web thrives faster; he'll seldom be found without the shade of some grove, in whose bottom a river dwells; he carries a cloud in his face, never fair weather; his outside is framed to his inside, in that he keeps a decorum, both unseemly. Speak to him, he hears with his eyes, ears follow his mind, and that's not at leisure. He thinks of business, but never does any; he is all contemplation, no action; he hews and fashions his thoughts as if he meant them to some purpose, but they prove unprofitable as a piece of wrought timber to no use. His spirits and the sun are enemies, the sun bright and warm, his humour black and cold. Variety of foolish apparitions people his head, they suffer him not to breathe, according to the necessity of nature, which makes him sup up a draught of as much air at once, as would serve at thrice. He denies nature her due in sleep, and over pays her in watchfulness; nothing pleases him long but that which pleases his own fancies, they are the consuming evils, and evil consumptions that consume him alive. Lastly, he is a man only in shew, but comes short of the better part, a whole reasonable soul, which is man's chief pre-eminence and sole mark from creatures sensible."
"The Sailor" is very humorous, and also very curious, as shewing the immutable nature of the effects of his mode of life. A " Fine Gentleman," or " An Amorist," of the days of James the First, is neither the man of fashion nor the lover of modern times; bet the mariner who fought and conquered under Drake or Frobisher, is the same being that fought and conquered under Nelson or Howe.
"Is a pitched piece of reason caulked and tackled, and only studied to dispute with tempests. He is part of his own provision, for he lives ever pickled; a fair wind is the substance of his creed, and fresh water the burden of his prayers. He is naturally ambitious, for he is ever climbing out of sight; as naturally he fears, for he is ever flying; time and he are every where, ever contending who shall arrive first; he is well winded, for he tires the day, and outruns darkness; his life is like a hawk's, the best part mewed, and if he lives till three coats, is a master. He sees God's wonders in the deep, but so as they rather appear his play-fellows, than stirrers of his zeal; nothing but hunger and hard rocks can convert him, and then but his upper deck neither, for his hold neither fears nor hopes; his sleeps are but reprievals of his dangers, and when he awakes 'tis but next stage to dying: his wisdom is the coldest part about him, for it ever points to the north, and it lies lowest, which makes his valour every tide o'erflow it. In a storm 'tis disputable, whether the noise be more bis or the elements, and which will first leave scolding? on which side of the ship he may be saved best? whether his faith be starboard faith, or larboard, or the helm at that time not all his hope of heaven? his keel is the emblem of his conscience, till it be split he never repents, then no farther than the land allows him. His language is a new confusion, and all his thoughts new nations; his body and his ship are both one burthen, nor is it known who stows most wine or rowls most, only the ship is guided, he has no stern; a barnacle and he are bred together, both of one nature and, 'tis fear'd, one reason; upon any but a wooden horse he cannot ride, and if the wind blows against him he dare not, he swarms up to his seat as to a sail yard, and cannot sit unless he bear a flag-staff; if ever he be broken to the saddle, 'tis but a voyage still, for he mistakes the bridle for a bowling, and is ever turning his horse tail; he can pray, but 'tis by rote, not faith, and when he would he dares not, for his brackish belief hath made that ominous. A rock or a quicksand pluck him before he be ripe, else he is gathered to his friends at Wapping."
This is the conclusion of " the Soldier," which, like the most of this ingenious work, is too much infected with that love of conceit, so fatal to most of the writers in the reign of the pedantic James.
"In charity he goes beyond the clergy, for he loves his greatest enemy best, much drinking. He seems a full student, for he'is a great desirer of controversies; he argues sharply, and carries his conclusion in his scabbard; in the first refming of mankind this was the gold; his actions are his annuel ;* his allay, (for else you cannot work him presently) continual duties, heavy and weary marches, lodgings as full of need as cold diseases, no time to argue but to execute; line him with these, and link him to his squadrons, and he appears a most rich chain for princes."
"The Tinker" is sufficiently amusing, and, to those who class the "art of punning" high in the scale of mental accomplishments, will be thought valuable.
A Tinker "Is a moveable, for he hath no abiding in one place; by his motion he gathers heat, thence his choleric nature. He seems to be very devout, for his life is a continual pilgrimage, and sometimes in humility goes barefoot, therein making necessity a virtue. His house is as ancient as Tubal Cains, and so is a renegade by antiquity, yet he proves himself a gallant, for he carries all his wealth upon his back; or a philosopher, for he bears all his substance about him. From his art was music first invented, and therefore is he always furnished with a song, to which his hammer keeping tune, proves that he was the first founder of the kettle drum. Note, that where the best ale is, there stands his music most upon crotchets. The companion of his travels is some foul sun-burnt quean; that, since the terrible statute, recanted gypsism, and is turned pedlaress. So marches he all over England with, his bag and baggage; his conversation is irreproveable, for he is ever mending. He observes truly the statutes, and therefore had rather steal than beg, in which he is irremoveably constant, in spite of whips or imprisonment, and so strong an enemy to idleness, that in mending one hole, he had rather make three than want work; and when he hath done, he throws the wallet of his faults behind him. He embraceth naturally ancient customs, conversing in open fields and lowly cottages; if he visit cities or towns, 'tis but to deal upon the imperfections of our weaker vessels. His tongue is very voluble, which, with canting, proves him a linguist. He is entertained in every place, but enters no farther than the door, to avoid suspicion. Some would take him to be a coward, but believe it he is a lad of mettle; his valour is commonly three or four yards long, fastened to a pike in the end for flying off. He is very provident, for he will fight with but one at once, and then also he had rather submit than be counted obstinate. To conclude, if he 'scape Tyburn and Banbury he dies a beggar."
Take " the Taylor," which is in the same strain, and which, together with " the Tinker," will make a pretty pair of mechanical portraits.
* An old word for enamel.
“Is a creature made up of shreds, that were pared off from Adam, when he was rough cast; the end of his being differeth from that of others, and is not to serve God, but to cover sin; other men's pride is his best patron, and their negligence a main passage to his profit. * * * * * * He handleth the Spanish pike to the hazard of many poor Egyptian vermin, and in shew of his valour, scorneth a greater gauntlet than will cover the top of his middle finger; of all weapons he most affecteth the long bill, and this he will manage to the great prejudice of a customer's estate; his spirit, notwithstanding, is not so much as to make you think him a man; like a true mongrel, he neither bites nor barks but when your back is towards him. His heart is a lump of congealed snow, Prometheus was asleep while it was making; he differeth altogether from God, for with him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and without hope of recovery shall be cast down into hell; he is partly an alchymist, for he extracteth his own apparel out of other men's clothes, and when occasion serveth, making a broker's-shop his alembick, can turn your silks into gold, and having furnished his necessities, after a month or two if he be urged unto it, reduce them again to their proper substance. He is in part likewise an arithmetician, cunning enough in multiplication and addition, but cannot abide substraction; summa totalis is the language of his Canaan, and usque ad ultimum quadrantem, the period of his charity. For any skill in geometry, I dare not commend him, for he could never yet find out the dimensions of his own conscience; notloading he hath many bottoms, it seemeth this is always bottomess.”
“The Prisoner” is likewise filled with this same kind of wit, which, when it does not lose itself in its quaintness, is very amusing. This is the beginning of it:
“Is one that hath been a monied man, and is still a very close fellow; whosoever is of his acquaintance, let them make much of him, for they shall find him as fast a friend as any in England; he is a sure man, and you know where to find him. The corruption of a bankrupt is commonly the generation of this creature, he dwells on the backside of the world, or in the suburbs of society, and lives in a tenement which he is sure none will go about to take over his head.”
The “Noble and Retired Housekeeper” is another lofty picture of a high character, in the same style as the “Noble Spirit.” It is pleasant to think that among our nobility we have always of originals for a picture like the following.
A Noble and Retired Housekeeper
“Is one whose bounty is limited by reason, not ostentation, and to make it last, he deals it discreetly as we sow the furrow, not by the