1. The World.

IS a Stage, men the Actors, who seldome goe off with an applause, often are hist at. Or it may bee [Page] likened to a Scale or Prae­dicament of Relation, wher­in the King is the summum genus, under whom are many subordinate degrees of men, till at last wee de­scend to the Begger the In­fima species of mankind, whose misery cannot be sub­divided into any lesser for­tune. The world contemns a Scholler, and learning makes a Scholler contemn the world. Arts and Sci­ences are accounted here meere speculations, termi­nated onely in the know­ledge of their subjects; and therefore the most study the great volume of the world, and striue to reduce [Page] knavery to practise. Pover­ty is accounted as sprea­dingly contagious as the Plague, he that is infected with it is shun'd of all men, and his former friends looke upon him as men looke upon Dials with a skew countenance, and so finding him in the after­noone of [...]his fortunes, passe by him. Acquaintance is heere chosen with the bra­vest, not with the wisest: and a good shute makes a man good company. The cheefest goddesse heere ador'd is riches, she might have her Temple as well as Iuno, Minerva, and the rest, but in liew thereof shee [Page] takes up every mans heart, and for her sacrifice exacts their first morning thoughts, so that the most universall government is now a Ploutocracy. Friends are onely here but conco­mitants of felicity, being like the Leaves of Trees which sticke to them close in summer, but fall off from them in winter when they most neede them. To make love the foundation of marriage is contem'd as befitting the Innocency of Arcadian Sheapheards, and therefore now they marry portions and take wifes as things to boote. This per­haps glewes the eldest si­ster [Page] into some foolish fami­ly, while the younger per­haps has nothing but na­turs talent, which while she puts to use, spoyles all. When men looke for happi­nes here, tis a signe they ex­pect none above, striving to make heaven descend to earth, as though they were loath to take the paines to goe thither. To conclude and not flatter the world, shee is the fooles paradise, the wise mans skorne, the rich mans heaven who is miserably happy, the poore mans hell who is happily miserable, for these two shall hereafter exchange their condition.

2. An Old Man.

IS loath to bid the world goodnight, hee knowes the grave is a long sleepe, and therefore would sit up as long as he could. His soule has long dwelt in a ruinous tenement, and yet is so unwilling to leave it that it could be content to sue the body for reparati­ons. He lives now but to be a burthen to his friends, as age is to him, and yet his thoughts are as farre from death as he is nigh it. How­soever time be a continued motion, yet the Dyall of his age stands still at 50. [Page] that's his age for ten yeeres afterward, and loues such a friend that like a flattering glasse tels him hee seemes far younger. His memory is full of the actions of his youth, which he often hi­storifies to others in tedious tales, and thinks they should please others because him­selfe. His discourses are full of parenthesis, and his wordes fall from him as slowly as water from an Alimbeck; drop by drop. He loves the chimney cor­ner and his chaire which he brags was his grandfathers, from whence he secures the cubboard from the Catts and Dogges, or the milke [Page] from running over, and is onely good to build up the architecture of a seacole fyre by applying each cir­cumstant cynder. When his naturall powers are all im­potencyes, hee marries a young wench for warmth sake, and when he dyes makes her an estate durante viduitate onely for wid­dowhood. At talke hee commonly uses some pro­verbiall verses gathered perhaps from cheese-tren­chers or Schola Salerna, which he makes as applya­ble, as a mountebancks pla­sters to all purposes, all occasions. He cals often to the Servingman for a cup [Page] of Sacke, and to that end stiles him friend; and won­ders much that new wine should not bee put in old [...]ottels. Though the pro­verbe be, once a man and [...]wice a child, yet he hopes from his second childhood [...]o runne backe into his [...]eenes, and so be twice a man too. Lastly, he's a [...]andle burnt to the snuffe, she ruines onely of a man, whose soule [...] the salt of his body to keepe it from stincking, and can [...]carcely performe that [...]oo.

3. A Woman.

IS the second part of the little volume of man, and differs from him onely in her errataes, which can't be mended, because shee comes out worst still in the last impression. Though mens desires range after variety, yet they finde no change, since in one woman all are epitomizd; for na­ture is a skilfull painter and seldome erres, shee that drew one, drew all. The cheefect object of their creation is procreation, and the continuation of the Species of mankinde; for [Page] when God first gave her to man, he gave her with this blessing, Increase and mul­tiply. She was then call'd a helper, and so shee is still; for to many she helpes to vndoe them. Shee's like unto a running Lottery; a man may draw forty blanks before hee gets one prize. Her apparell is but like a sauce to a good dish, to stirre and provoke the ap­petite to take a taste of her selfe: Or like an envious curtayne, which our fancy perswades us conceales ma­ny rarityes from us, but be­ing once withdrawne failes much in the expectation: Shee may be ty'rd before [Page] satiated, and therefore is one of Salomons three things that cry, Give, give, hell, woman, and the grave. For her teares they must be distinguisht, for they are not onely the effects of sor­row, sometimes of deceit, sometimes anger, and can bid them flow in a plentifull manner when shee list. Shee's full of mutability and like Aprill weather, can laugh and weepe at once. Or shee's like a stratagem of warre, which admits of no second errors, for to him that marryes a woman; once to erre is for ever to be undone. If shee have beauty shee [Page] growes proud oft at fif­teene, begins to looke for suters, and baites them with laying forth her haire, smo­thing the superficies of her face, and frequents pub­lick meetings that she may the better publish her beauty, which she knowes is a flower will not long last, and therefore desires it may bee soone gathered. Shee is naturally curious and inquisitiue to know all things, but carelesse to con­ceale any. And hee that commits a secret to her, may as well put water in­to a sive or cullender, and may looke to have both kept alike. Lastly, shee is [Page] but a costly vanity, the fol­ly of wise men, the shell of our generation, more de­ceitefull than horseflesh; an instument that may bee easily plaid upon, for it ha's but one stoppe, and yet that makes musicke too.

4. A Widdow.

IS like a cold Pye thrust downe to the lower end of the Table, that has had too many fingers in't, or the last letter of the Greeke Alphabet Omega. To a younger brother shee's a reversion after three lives [...] for after the death of three [Page] husbands, shee commonly [...]elpes to reedifie his rui­ [...]ous fortunes againe. If hee be rich, her chamber [...]ntertaynes more suters [...]an a Lawyars does clients [...] Terme time, and for [...]hat purpose keepes a wai­ [...]ing Gentlewoman, upon [...]hom she pretends to be­ [...]tow the dowry of a good [...]ducation, but indeed uses [...]er as a portall to a great [...]oome to give accesse to [...]rangers. Shee praises [...]uch her former husband, [...]or whom while shee [...]ournes in her gowne shee [...]aughs in her sleeve, to [...]hinke how shee shall gull [...]er following sutors with [Page] this formality of sorrow whiles shee enforces [...] customary sigh as a tribute to the memory of her bes [...] deceased. Hee that mar­ryes her condemnes him selfe perpetually to digg [...] in a colepit, and insteed o [...] Rosemary may carry Ru [...] to the Church, for the Plague followes him. She's a good Logician, and sel­dome denies the major of­ten the minor, because shee knowes ther's small force or validity in't. Her daugh­ters (if she have any) out of the guilty consciousnesse o [...] her owne youth, are foul­ded up a nights in her owne chamber for feare [Page] of straying, and in the day time mewd up in some in­ner parler to be objects of a strangers salutation, who is more tyrd to salute them, than a French Cooke that hath many dishes to taste which gives the best relish. Shee must be wooed in a [...]onverted order from a maide, for in the one wee must begin from love to end in action, but in the other from action to gaine [...]oue. For her apparell 'tis much like herself, too much porne, and serves but as a [...]ainted cloath to cover a [...]otten wall. Her house is [...]ell furnished both for or­ [...]ament and use, onely her­selfe [Page] is the worst peece in't. She condemns much the hasty marriage of mayds, when herselfe thought fifteene too long. Her rings are so many cheates from severall suters, in one of which shee commonly weares a deaths head, but is indeed herselfe a better embleame of mortality for memento mori like a Motto to bee written in her fore­head. Lastly shee's a can­celd bond that has beene long before seal'd and de­livered, and is now growne out of date.

5. A true Lover.

IS one whose Soule hath made choyce of a mistrisse to serve and obey: and this service proceeds not from feare but love, and he loves wer not for her beauty, but [...]or her inward vertue, which shines through the coverings of her body, as gold worke shadowed un­ [...]er Lawne. His desires are so chast that if he thought enjoying would abate his [...]ove, he had rather still love [...]han injoy. In his visits hee [...]ses a playne eloquence, as [...]est becomming the truth of his affections, Telling [Page] her that he loves her, and then supplyes the rest with sighs. If she wish for any thing, her wishes are his commands, and he runnes to provide it for her. If his mistrisse bee wrong'd, hee makes his owne sword, the sword of justice to right her, and he thinkes injur't loue the fairest Quarrell▪ Hee loves her not for wealth or portion, but per se that is, for herselfe, and could bee content to take her as Adam tooke Eve, though shee were naked When shee speakes hee thinkes he heares the Lute of Orpheus, and so stands amaz'd like a wondring [Page] statue, till the close of her speech dis-enchants him. If her answer be full of scorne and disdaine, hee retires to some solitary place, brea­thing forth his complaint to Rocks & Mountaines, where Eccho from her hollow dwelling replyes againe: and when he cryes shee is cruell, Eccho cryes againe shee is cruell too, and so pleases his sad minde by soothing up his sorrowes. Thus her frownes become his frenzy, he knowes not what to doe, fayne hee would doe something, but then he dislikes that some­thing, and so does just no­ [...]hing. If he take his Lute, [Page] he quarrels with the strings, and cannot please himselfe in tuning it; when indeede the discord is in his owne thoughts. If at last shee vouchsafe to write to him, hee receives her letter with more ado­ration than a Sybils leafe, and having bestowed some kisses on the paper, opens it to know the blest contents, and in answering it spends much time, before hee can resolve what to answer. Yet at last love quickens his In­vention, and fils his brayne with choyse fancies, while he invokes no other Muse but his mistrisse. Thus he lives like a man tost in [Page] Cupids blanket, and yet is so constant to his sufferings, that he could be content to be Loves martir, and dye in the flames of love, onely to have this Epitaph: Heere lyes the true Lover.

6. A Country Bride.

IS a Sacrifize to Venus; led to Church by two young Batchlers. And all the way is pavd with strew­ings on which shee treads so lightly, that shee hardly bruses a gentle flower, while the maids attend up­on her with Rosemary and [Page] Ribbons, the ensignes of a wedding. Being come to Church, her marriage knot is soone tyde, and the Ring put on her thumbe, as an embleme of affection, which like a circle should be endlesse. The fidlers now crou'd on, till being come home the mysterious Bride-Cake is broke over their heads, in the remem­brance of the ould Romane custome of confarreation; and afterwards she is plac'd at the upper end of the Ta­ble to denoate her Supre­macy in houshold matters. Heere she minces it, and is ready to cut her fingers with too much modesty, [Page] while the name of Bride makes her simper like a pot that's ready to run o're, for shee conceits, some strange matters, and could wish the day were shorter though it be at Christmas. Dinner once done they fall to country dances, where the lusty Laddes take the Bride to taske, and all to bepecke the floore with their hobnayles, while they bestirre themselves out of measure, and are onely re­warded with a concluding smack from the brides lips. Thus the Bride is but the maygame of a country vil­lage, that fil's the towne with mirth and musicke: [Page] Till night comes, and then shee is layd in her husbands armes, where the Cur­taines being drawne, wee must leave them, and leave you to thinke out the rest your selfe.

7. A Ploughman.

IS the Earths midwife, & helpes to deliver her of her yearely burthen. His labour frees her in part from the curse of the bar­rennesse, which shee re­payes againe with a fruit­full crop. Hee's the best vsurer, for when he sowes the grayne, hee lookes to [Page] have it repayd with the se­venfold Interest. His anti­quity is from Abel, the first tiller of the ground, and himselfe goes like an Adamite alwayes in skinne. When he hangs betweene the Ploughstilts, you have his true posture, where hee's seldome an upright man, for he leanes most to one side. A whole flight of Crowes follow him for their food, and when they fly away they give him ill language. The smell of the earth makes him hungry, for hee brings home an in­vincible stomach, and no­thing holds him tacke but a barley pudding. Hee un­yokes [Page] with the Sunne, and so comes whisling home his teame, which consists of Horse or Oxen, and his care is to see them meated before himselfe. This done hee's set to supper, where his meales are not lasting because violent; for hee eates hard for the time, and when he finds himselfe sa­tisfied, puts up his knife, with a God be praysed. In the winter nights the men­ding of his whip or shooes find him businesse, and for that purpose buyes hob­nayles at Faires. His grea­test pride is a faire band­poynt, and to weare a posy in his hat snatcht from the [Page] maid Ioane. Hee prayes onely for a faire seedetime, and of all dayes will bee sure to keep Plough-mun­day. If he fall in love, hee'le be sure to single her out at the next Wake to dance with, and layes such blowes on her lips you may heare the smacke afarre off. If shee reject him, he growes melancholy, and insteed of sighes whistles out his breath; and if hee have a Riuall, challenges him at footeball. Rainy dayes makes him onely idle, for when he cannot plough yet he goes to the Harrow be­cause 'tis an Alehouse. Here he dare lose his two pots at [Page] Noddy and spends his ho­stesse more chalke to rec­kon it than her gaines are worth. In a word though he have no signe, hee's the Lands cheefe victualer, a good harvest is▪ his happi­nesse, and the last seede hee sowes is his owne bodye which he knowes like his graine, though it seeme to perish, yet shall spring a­gaine.

8. A melancholy Man.

IS a full vessell which makes not so great a sound, as those that are more empty and answer to every knocke. His wise parsimony of words shewes more wisedome, than their many, which are often­times more than wise. Hee can be merry without ex­pressing it by an ignorant laughter: And if his com­pany screw themselves up to an excessive straine of mirth; he proves amongst them but like a jarring string to a consort of mu­sicke, and cannot raise him­selfe [Page] to so high a note of jollity. When other men strive to seeme what they are not, hee alone is what he seemes not, being con­tent in the knowledge of himselfe, and not waying his owne worth in the bal­lance of other mens opini­ons. If he walke and see you not, 'tis because his mind being busied in some serious contemplation, the common sense has no time to judge of any sensuall object. Hee's hardly with much invitation drawne to a feast, where every man sits an observer of ano­ther mans action, and had rather with Diogenes wash [Page] his owne Roots at home, than with Aristippus fre­quent the Court of Kings. His actions shew no teme­rity, having beene long be­fore Intentions, and are at last produc'd as the ripe issue of a serious, and deli­berate resolution. His speech shewes more mat­ter in't than words, and like your gold coyne contaynes much worth in a little, when other mens is but like brass-farthings, and expresses little in much. As his apprehensions so his passions, are violent and strong, not enduring on the suddaine any opposition of good counsell, but like a [Page] torrent beares downe all before it. If he fall in love, he wooes more by letter than his owne presence, and is not hasty in the desire of fruition. His apparell is playne like himselfe, and shewes the riches of his mind, which contemnes a gaudy outside as the badge of fooles. He goes there­fore commonly in blacke, his Hat unbrusht, a hasty gate with a looke fixt on the ground, as though he were looking pins there, when yet his mind is then soaring in some high con­templation; and is then al­wayes most busy, when hee seemes most idle.

9. A young Heire.

IS a Gamester at Noddy, one and twenty makes him out, if he have a flush in his hand, expect him shortly to shew it without hiding his cardes. For his fathers Avarice hee runs into the other extreame prodigality; his hand is of the quality of lightening, which melts his money in his purse, but leaves his purse entirely whole. In all companies though almost his equalls, he arrogates to himselfe supremacy of pay­ment, and like a good Soul­dier withstands all the shot, [Page] letting none disperse a­mong the rest. During his minority hee's but a com­panion to Servingmen, who quickly make him proud by buzzing him in the eare with his future inheritance. Next to his father he looks for a secondary respect from the Tenants, and is much affected with the ti­tle of young Landlord. His mothers indulgence keepes him still at home, like a b [...]rd in a cage, so that when he gets forth hee's soone en­snar'd by any shee fowler and fals downe to her stales straightway. When hee has wit enough to divide Commons, hee's sent per­haps [Page] to Oxford, and having stayd there the dabling of a fresh mans growne, comes home againe, being con­tent rather to eate Suger­plums at home, than taste there of the bitter roote of Learning. From hence hee's transported to the Inns of Court, and dotes much up­on the first chapter of Little­tons Tenures concerning feesimple, because his owne estate. His fathers long life is his lingring sicknesse, and wishes to be once able to say the first petition of our Lords prayer, Our fa­ther which art in heaven. After his decease, hee takes Armes afresh of the He­rauld, [Page] and payes for crest, and Motto. Hee walkes now next to the wall with a sweld countenance, and speakes as hautily to his inferiours, as though he had swallowed a Lordship al­ready, and the Steeple stuck in his throate.

His knowne estate in the countrey proposes him va­rieties of matches, and his wealth, not his witt win's him affection. Hee's now beholding to Poets for love­sonnetts, and the posy of his wedding Ring. Beeing thus fixt in one center, his next ambition is to bee prickt downe Iustice of peace; now his warrants [Page] have more vertue in them than himselfe. Hee's ter­rible now to his Tennants, and by his authority can out of his chaire nodde a Beg­gar to the Stockes. In his discourse his inferiors must now grant him the better, and at his owne table if hee breake a saltlesse jest, all must applaud him. Thus hee lives till time making him grow ould, what was folly in youth now proves dotage, having his desires of his fathers death punisht now at last in the same de­sires of his heyre, who would gladly give Cloakes for him without mourning, and afterwards bury him [Page] in the Sepulchar of his fa­thers.

10. A Scholler in the Vni­versity,

MAy bee knowne by a harmelesse innocent looke; his nose seemes to be raw for want of fyres in winter, and yet has such a quicke sent, that he quick­ly smells out his chopt mutton commons a farre off. In his freshmanship hee's full of humility, but afterward ascends the steps of ambition by degrees. He studies so long words of Art, that all his learning at [Page] last is but an Art of words. His discourse is alwayes grounded out of Aristotle, in whose [...] hee puts as much confidence as in his Creede. In his letters hee's often ready to shake the whole frame of the sense to let in some great word, affecting a nonsenti­call eloquence before pro­priety of phrase; If hee were compeld to salute a Gentlewoman, hee would tremble more than ever hee did in pronouncing his first declamation. Hee often frequents Booke-binders shops, for his unconstant humour of tumbling over many bookes, is like a sicke [Page] mans pallat, which desires to taste of every dish but fixes on none. The Vniversi­ty Library is his magazine of learning, where hee'le be sure to bee seene in his formalityes assoone as hees graduated; for the liberty thereof expresses him a Batchelour. He earnestly enquires after the weeke­ly Currantoes, and swal­lowes downe any newes with great confidence. His cheefest curtesy to stran­gers, is to shew you his Colledge Buttery, and to skonce himselfe a halfepe­ny farthing for your enten­tainement. If you seeme to admire the names of [Page] their small divisions, as halfepeny, farthing, and the like, out of a selfe simplicity he straight laughes at your ignorance. And if you con­tend for priority in going forth, puts you downe with a stale complement. [...] est Peregrini. When he makes a journey 'tis in the vacation, and then hee canvises a fortnight afore­hand amongst his friends for Bootes and Spurres. His purse like the Sea is governd by the Moone, for he has his severall ebbes and tides, according as hee re­ceives his severall exhibi­tions from his friends. Lastly, hee weares out a [Page] great deale of time there to know what kind of Animal he is, contemns every man that is not a Graduate if himselfe be one, and be­cause he professes himselfe a Scholler, goes commonly in blacke, and many times 'tis all he has to shew for't.

11. A Lawyers Clearke.

HIs father thought it too chargable to keepe him at Schoole til he could reade Harry Stottle, and therefore preferd him to a man of Law. His maister is his genius, and dictates to him before he sets pen to [Page] paper. If he be to make a Bond or Bill, for feare of writing false Latin, he ab­breviates the ending and termination of his word with a dash, and so leaves it doubtfull. He sits night the dore to give accesse to strangers, and at their going forth gives them a legge in expectation. His master is a cunning jugler of lands and knowes how to convay them underhand, hee one­ly coppyes them over a­gaine, and lookes for a fee for expedition. His utmost knowledge is the names of the Courts and their se­verall offices, and begins after a while like a Pie that [Page] his tongue slit, to chatter out some tearmes of Law, with more audacity than knowledge: At a new play hee'le be sure to be seene in the threepeny Roome, and buyes his pippins before he goes in, because hee can have more for mony. When hee heares some stale jest (which he best apprehends) he fils the house with an ig­norant laughter. He weares cutfingerd dogskin gloves, for his ease, or the desire of bribes makes his hands grow itchy. In the vaca­tion his master goes into the countrey to keepe Courts, and then hee's tide to a Cloakebagge and rides [Page] after him. He cals himselfe the hand of the Law, and commends the wisedome thereof, in having so many words goe to a bargaine, for that both lengthens them, and makes his fees the larger. Hee would faine read Littleton if he might have a comment on him, otherwise hee's too ob­scure, and dotes much on Wests Symboliography for teaching him the forme of an acquittance. In his freshmanship he hunts af­ter cheape venerye, and is in debt to the Cooke, for Eele pyes on fasting dayes, and friday nights. The cor­ruption of him is a weake [Page] Atturney, then he trafiques with countrymens busi­nesses, and brings them downe a bill of charges, worse than a Taylers for a suite in the last fashion, and here we leave him, for now hee's at the highest.

12. A Townesman in Oxford.

IS one that hath long liv'd by the well of knowledge, but never sipt at it, for he loves no water in his wine, though it come frō Hellicon. Hee gaynes most by the re­centity of freshmen, unto whom he sticks as close as a [Page] Horseleech, till hee have suckt out the superfluity of their purses. His wife com­monly makes him free by her owne coppy, and in spight of Pembroke Col­ledge keepes open Broade­gates still. Hee loves not a Scholler in his heart, for he sides against them in a­ny faction though it be but at a match at footeball. His phrase savours some­what of the university, be­ing fragments glean'd from other mens mouthes, and gives his words such a punctuall stiffe pronuncia­tion, as though they were starcht into his mouth, and durst not come out fa­ster [Page] for feare of ruffling. A Scholler had better take up any wares of his wife than of him, for hee'le bee sure to make them pay for the expectation of their carrier. He takes ill words because he knowes he de­serves them, and yeelds the supremacy of the wall to any gowne. If the opini­on of his riches chuse him Alderman, he thinkes him­selfe as wise as any Romane Senator, after this if he can but call a poore man Rogue, and reade a proclamation, hee may bee thought eligi­ble for Maior. He frequents Sermons at S ^t. Maryes one­ly to spye out his debters, [Page] whom he afterwards haunts at their Colledge, aud trou­bles with knocking at their Chamber dores, but re­ceives no answer, for hee's knowne as well there as a Sergeant in the Innes of Court, and alike hated. Hee's no Logician, and yet sometims concludes a Syl­logisme in Bocardo, and is hardly reduc'd from thence. Lastly, hee's a burre that stickes close to freshmens gownes, a sedu­cer of hopefull wits, & one that strives to wrythe the pliantnesse of youth to all ill actions.

13. An Vsurer.

MVst be drawne like to those pictures that have a double aspect, which if you behold one way seemes to be a man, but the otherway a divell. Hee grounds the lawfulnesse of his vsury from the Para­ble, wherein the servant was not approv'd of, that had not inprov'd his talent, hee'le be sure therefore not to hide his, but make the best use of it. Hee gets into mens estats as Cutpur­ses get cloakes in the night, if he can but winde himselfe into a peece of't, [Page] hee'le bee sure to get it all at last. Or like an Essex ague, will shake whole Lordships into a consumption. His case for heaven is very dange­rous, because he sins still with security. Hee's an excellent Cooke to dresse a young Heire, for hee first pluckes off his feathers, and afterwards serves him up to the world with wood­cocke sauce. His Clearke is the Vulcan, that forges the Bonds and Shackels which he imposes on other men. If you come to bor­row money of him, if hee feele out your necessity, hee'le be sure to make you pay for't, and his first que­stion [Page] will bee, what's your security? He could finde in his heart to be circum­cis'd for a Iew, if he thought he might thrive more by his usury. His pining cove­tous thoughts eates off his flesh from his body, and as though he bad beene layne in Lime, makes him looke like a living Anatomy. All his life is a goulden dreame, for he dreames of nothing but gould, and this red earth is all the heaven hee expects. To conclude, hee's one that makes haste to be rich, and therefore can't bee innocent. Like theeves he vndoes men by binding them. And lastly, [Page] his estate is raysed out of the ruines of whole fami­lies, which first sends him in ill getting it, and after­ward his sonne in ill spen­ding it, both to the Devill; and there I leave them.

14. A wandring Rogue,

IS an Individuum Vagtim, a wandring Plannet. He alone contemns fortune, for what shee never gave, shee can never take away from him, The vayles of his ap­parell is not much worth, for 'tis a rapsody of Ragges which at michaelmas be­gins with the leaves of [Page] trees to fall off from him and leave him starke naked. Hee keepes no table, and yet has a great retinue of hangers on, which almost devoure him alive. If hee had wit he might professe himselfe a Lawyer, for he has beene often call'd to the barre, though 'twere but to pleade not guilty. Hee thinkes himselfe as aunci­ent a gentleman as the best, and can deduce his petti­gree from Adam. Hee pro­fesses often fortunetelling by looking in your hand, and yet knowes not his owne for all 'tis burnt there. He keepes a cata­logue of all Gentlemens [Page] houses, but dares not come neare a Iustice of Peaces for feare of his inexorable Mittimus. He stiles him­selfe a traveller, and indeed it is thought if he had lear­ning, he might make a good description of England, for hee knowes all the high­wayes, though not at his fingers, yet his toes-end. He's alwayes accompanied with some durty Doxie, whom hee never marryes, but lyes with under a hedge, and thinkes it a sure contract, because 'tis in the sight of heaven. On the highway if hee meete a Travelour unweapon'd, he begges stoutly of him, and [Page] so extorts a benevolence rather for feare, than chari­ty. And at last if his heart serve him, hee falls quite from begging to robbing, which he finds more gaine­full and ready to prefer­ment, for it advances him to the Gallows, and now hee's at the highest, where wee leave him to make the world his priest by a con­fession.

15. A Waterman.

IS like a peece of Hebrew spel'd backeward, or the embleame of deceite, for he rowes one way & lookes [Page] another. When you come within ken of them, you shall heare a noyse worse than the confusion of Bed­lem, and if you goe with a Skuller, the Oares thinke you no Gentleman. Hee carryes many a banquerout over the water, and yet when he set's them ashore makes them Landed men. If you dislike the rough­nesse of the water, he war­rants you a safe passage, and on that condition, gives you his hand to helpe you into the Boate, and his first que­stion is, where you'le bee? Though hee bee ne're sober yet hee's ner'e drunke, for he lives by water, and is [Page] not covetous to get any great estate, for hee's best contented when hee goes most downe the winde. A fresh water Souldier hee is, and therefore gets to weare some Noblemans badge to secure him from pressing. He knowes all newes, and informes men of the names of noble mens houses toward the Thames. A man would take him for a very busy fellow, for hee has an Oare in every Boate, which though it leake not, yet 'tis ever ready to take water. Hee's so seldome drunke that 'tis chalkt up for a miracle, for he goes commonly on the score. [Page] Thus he lives and when he dyes, hee's sure his soule shall passe to the Elisian fields, for if Charon should deny him passage, hee meanes to steale his Boate, and so ferry himselfe over.

16. A Sheapheard.

IS a happy man, and yet knowes not of it; his cheefe unhappinesse con­sists in not knowing his owne happinesse. In Sum­mer time hee enthrones himselfe on the top of some high Mountaine, from whence his eye is entertay­ned with variety of Land­skips, [Page] whilst his sheepe promiscuously chuse out the threepild grasse in the valley. Hee's the Embleme of a King or Priest, and his sheepe are his Subjects. He uses his dogge as Kings their Lawes, oftner to re­stra [...]ne than punish offer­ees; for if any of his sheepe chance to transgresse the bounds of their sheepe­walke, he whistles out his dogge to fetch them in a­gaine. Hee makes not his stomacke observe any set times of meales, but makes his meales keepe time with his stomacke, and then sits downe on his grassye car­pet, instead of tapestry, and [Page] what ever his fare be, con­tent furnisheth out his Ta­ble. His cheefest ambiti­on is to bee elected the Sheapheards King, which he obtaines not by any cor­rupt suffrage, but by ha­ving the first Lambe yeand that yeare. His professi­on is one of the ancientest, and is onely younger bro­ther unto husbandry, as Abel was to Kaine. What­soever is fabled of Iason, he alone gets the golden fleece without savling for't. To strangers h [...]e's a living Mer­cury, & if he be layd, poynts them out their way with his foote, instead of his hand, and his knowledge [Page] seldome extends farther than the reach of his eye. His common standing po­sture is crossleggd, and when he drives his sheepe, his lamenesse makes him keepe equall pace with them. When he marries hee's no ward to have a match inforc'd upon him, but chuses where hee list amongst the Sheapher­desses, where a mutuall and reciprocall love on both sides clappes up the match without any by-respect of Ioynture. This day the rest of the Swaynes (having first presented his bride un­to him crown'd with a chaplet of flowers) solem­nize [Page] with dauncing and singing Roundelaes, where­in the simplicity of their performance gives a pecu­liar grace to every action.

Afterward his care be­comes hers, she helpes him to pitch the hurdles, and at night foldes him in her owne armes. Hee's a good phisitian to his sheepe, and his Tarrbox affords a ge­nerall medicine for any outward application. Hee [...]ackes nothing but some bu­sinesse for his thoughts, for were he a Scholler hee has the best leasure for con­templation that could bee. And lastly as Alexander wisht if he were not Alexan­der [Page] to be Diogenes, so if all knew his happinesse, they would wish to bee Sheap­heards.

17. A Ielous Man.

HIs care and feares are all to know what would vex him more being once knowne. His passion proceeds from the super­fluity of his love, or from the consciousnesse of some deficiency or inability in himselfe. His unwise and ielous fearefullnesse to bee deceived, often teaches her the way to deceive him, and makes her desirous to [Page] prove that difference of other men which he so much suspects. Hee dares not invite his friend to his house, for feare hee should salute his wife, which hee esteemes as a Prologue to an ensuing comedye. At [...]able hee observes upon whom his wife scatters most favorable lookes (for hee feares there may bee a dialogue of eyes aswell as [...]ongues:) whom shee of­ [...]enest drinks to, whom shee [...]omes to, and then his sus­ [...]ition comments upon eve­ry action. Hee's witty in [...]venting trialls of his [...]ives chastity, and hee [...]retendeth verie often [Page] journeyes into the Coun­trey, thereby to make her more secure in his absence, but returnes againe unex­pectedly. Sometimes hee attends her in unknowne disguises, urges her with earnest sollicitation, and is so hasty for his hornes that he could bee content to bee his owne Cuckoldmaker. His ielous thoughts are rea­dy to bastardize his Chil­dren, and if they bee not in every respect like himselfe, thinkes them not his owne. His feare of being rob'd is worse than the robbe­ry it selfe, a woman being like an untold summe of mony, wherein the honor is [Page] [...]ot sensible of any small [...]hieft. In his thoughts hee [...]ommends much the securi­ [...]y of the Italian Padlocke, and could willingly put it [...]n practise too. His house [...]s divided into factions, [...]etts every Servant to bee a [...]pye over his fellow, and [...]ll of them over his wife. [...]f she strive to please him, he [...]hinkes it's but to deceive [...]im; if not to please him, [...]ee thinkes shee's better [...]leas'd with others. To conclude, hee's a man pos­ [...]est with a mixt passion of [...]ove-melancholy, which he more easily entertaines than [...]s quit off. His ielousy like [...]inegar dryes up his blood; [Page] hence his palenesse. Hee wishes himselfe unmaried, and thinks when he chang'd his batchelour buttons for Rosemary, hee lost the best flower in his garden. Lastly whole numbers may bee made out of fractions, but Ielosy makes an irreparable division of love, which growes worse by continu­ance.

18. A Chamberlaine.

IS the first Squire that gives entertainement to errant strangers. At your first a­lighting hee straight offers you to see a Chamber, but [Page] has got the tricke of trades­men to show you the worst first. Hee's as nimble as Hamlets ghost heere and every where, and when he has many guests, stands most upon his pantofl [...]s, for hee's then a man of some calling. His gayne consists most in gratuities & retayling of faggotts, where­in hee's allowd fourteene to the dozen, and what he can over-reckon is his owne gaine. Hee's Secretary to the Kitching and Tapstry, and payes himselfe his owne fees in adding some­thing to every particular. He takes wages of no man, and yet serves every man. [Page] Hee may seeme a base fel­low over night, but in the morning you shall find him a man of some reckoning. When you aske what's to pay, hee comes downe and returnes againe with a ge­nerall totall, which if you dislike, hee offers to prove it by an Induction of parti­cular Items. Your Tapster takes great care that your jugges shall ne're be full, and the Chamberlayne that they shall ne're b [...]e empty, for hee'le carry them away halfe full. You shall sooner get fresh litter for your hor [...]e, than cleane sh [...]et [...]s for your selfe, for hee has a tricke by wetting them to [Page] make them feele damp, and so having smooth'd up the matter, if you dislike them, he straight equivocates, and sweares they were never layne in since they were last wet. When hee's cald up a mornings, he gapes as though he were Sea-sicke, and afterward like the em­bleame of deceit, brings fire in one hand and water in the other. If you save the remainder of your meate for breakefast, hee grumbells, for he holds that Tenent, that wee ought not to care for the morrow. Lastly, his life for ease is [...]ust about Serving man-like, and commonly runnes the [Page] same fortunes, both in their age overtaking beggery; but I forbeare any farther description since his picture is drawne to the life in eve­ry Inne.

19. A Maide.

IS a fruite that growes ripe at fifteene, and if she bee not then gathered, falls of her selfe. Till she bee mar­ried she thinkes it long, but afterwards she comes shor­ter of her expectation. I [...] she keepe a Chambermaide she ly [...]s, at her bedds feete, and they two say no Pater­nosters, but in the morning [Page] tell one another all their wanton dream [...]s, talke all night long of young men, and will be both sure to fast on St Agnes Night to know who shall bee their first hus­bands. Her desires grow now impatient of delay, no­thing being more tedious than a full ripe maiden-head, which shee lets a Ser­vingman often obtaine by oportunity. When she's woo'd, like the Lapwing she flyes farthest from her nest; and because shee can seeme coy in words; would make you beleeve her thoughts are so too. Shee laughs at those that shoote at Rovers, and make their [Page] owne way difficult, when they might sooner hit the marke, and prove them­selves better shooters. If she be troubled with night tal­king, shee confesses all, and her dreames make her blush awake; when she falls sicke shee's much affeard to leade Apes in Hell, for she would not willingly dye in Igno­rance: she reades now loves historyes as Amadis de Gaule and the Arcadia, & in them courts the shaddow of love till she know the substance, Each morning shee and her glasse helpe to correct the er­rataes of nature, & comes not out of her Chamber till she be fully drest. Shee learnes [Page] many gracefull qualities as dancing and playing, which all propose to themselves no other end but to hasten her marriage. Till which she counts all time as last tarrying, and if her wishes had beene true she had not beene a Maide since shee reacht her teenes first. To conclude, shee's a fading flower, her wedding night withers her, when she rises againe with an innocent blush, and ne're greeves for her losses.

20. A Baylye▪

IS the Supervisor of a mannor under the Lord of the Soyle. The Tennants court him to connive at his Masters injuries, but yet underhand hee perswades him to enclose his Com­mon, in hope to have the yeerely letting of it. Though his master bee a Prodigall, yet hee strives to inlarge his waste, for hee informes him of all inchroachments. He trusts his Tablebooke with much of his businesse, and weares a Bre [...]nors Alma­nacke in his pocket for the blanks-sake. Hee can cast [Page] his face into a buying or bargaining forme, and can soone reduce Pounds, into Markes and Nobles. Hee gives not an account but makes it, and his Arithme­tick is onely the rule of fals­hood; His addition is by Counters with which hee casts up his Bills, and his skill in Geometry serves him to measure a Roode of hedging, and to know how many pe [...]ches are contaynd in an Acre. Hee informes his master when Faires hap­pen, where though hee cheate him in buying and selling, yet at night he makes him a faire reckning. Hee has the generall Theory of [Page] all husbandry, but his busi­nesse is the direction of o­ther mens labours. His di­ligence in harvest time is exprest, by being seene of­ten afield with a Forke on his shoulder, and hee cuts grasse alwayes in the change of the Moone. The Ten­nants hold his masters land in occupation, and hee their wives, and for b [...]friending them in renewing their Lease, he seales them with­out witnesse. He knowes how to bounder land, and counts it a haynous offence to remove a merestone. Hee is the apparitour of the Parish, and brings in his presentments against the [Page] next court day, with what Iustice the Lord knowes for they are fin'd to them by Amercements.

21. A Petty Countrey Faire.

IS the publication of some few Pedlers packs distin­guisht into Boothes, which is yet fild with a great conflu­ence of countrey people, who f [...]ocke thither to buy some triviall necessaries▪ A farre off it seemes a tumult of white staves, and red pet­ticoates and mu [...]lers, but when you come nearer they make a fayre shew.

[Page]The men buy hobnayles and plough-irons, and the woemen houshould trifles, yet such as are for use more than ornament. Your coun­trey Gentlewomen come thither to buy bonelace, and London gloves, & are onely knowne by a Maske hang­ing on their cheeke and an Anticke plume of feathers in a Faire, and t'would doe you good to heare them bar­gaine in their owne dialect. The Inns are this day fild, every man meetes his friend and unlesse they crush a pot they thinke it a dry comple­ment. Heere the young Lads give their Lasses Fair­rings, which if shee take [Page] with a simpring consent, the next Sunday their banes are bidden. A Balletsinger may be sooner heard heere than seene, for instead of the violl hee sings to the croud. If his Ballet bee of love, the countrey wenches buy it, to get by heart at home, and after sing it over their milkepayles. Gipsies flocke thither, who tell men of losses, and the next time they looke for their purses, they find their words true. At last after much sweate and trampling too and froe, each one carryes home a peece of the Faire, and so it ends.

22. A Countrey Alehouse.

IS the center of the Towns good fellowship, or some humble roof't Cottage li­cens'd to sell Ale. The in­ward hangings is a painted cloath, with a row of Bal­letts pasted on it. It smelles onely of smoake and new Wort, and yet the usuall guests thinke it a rare per­fume. They drinke noe healths here to Mistresses, but their onely comple­ment is: Here's to thee neighbour Iobson. They pay here by the polle, for they thinke that many purses makes light shots, as many [Page] hands light worke. Their onely game here is Noddy, and that but for a pot of Ale for pastime. 'Tis the marri'd mans sanctuary, whither he flyes to avoyde a scoulding wife at home, and thinkes to drench his cares in this Ale lethe. They often make bar­gaines here, but before they go out, can hardly stand to them. All the postes are Creditors, and the Chalke like an inseparable accident can hardly be wipt of. They drinke here till their mirth and drinke fly out both to­gether, the one in the Chim­ney and the other in drun­ken catches, till the streete ring againe, and every pot [Page] raises them a note higher. To strangers 'tis knowne by the advancement of a May­pole; and is the onely guest house to Pedlers pilgrima­ges. L [...]stly, if there bee two in the Towne, they live in hostile emulation; and their faction is about brewing the best Ale.

23. A Horse Race.

IS a way to let money run away full speed. Amongst the Romanes 'twas an Olim­pick exercise, and the prize was a Garland, but now they beare the Bell away. 'Tis the prodigality of coun­trey [Page] Gentlemen, & the gul­lery of Londoners; the one dyets his horse till his purse growes lanck, and the other payes for rash betting. The former would give any thing for a horse of Pegasus Race, or one begot of the wind while the mare turnd her backeside in Boreas mouth. They lay wagers here on their horse heeles, and hope to win it by their running heads. The Riders speake northern howsoever, and though they want many graynes of honest men, yet when they are put into the Scale, they are made weight. The horses are brought hither in their [Page] night clothes, and from thence walke downe to the starting post, whence grew the Latine proverbe, a car­ceribus ad metam. The coun­trey people have time now to commend white-mayne and Pepper-corne, while the Gentlemen ride up and downe with Bets in their mouthes, crying three to one, till the word Done make it a wager. By this time they are comming up, and the forerunner is re­ceiv'd ovant, with great ac­clamations of joy, and the hinder man though hee rid booty, yet he shewes that he favour'd nether side by the spur-galling. It being now [Page] done, they drop away into the villages, where their tongues run over the race againe, which for that night fills Alehouses with noyse and discourse.

24. A Farmers daughter.

IS a pretty peece of Inno­cence, that's slow into con­ceiting love, and had never thought of marriage, but for example sake, when shee saw her youngers goe be­fore her. Shee is handmayd to her mothers huswifery, which by seeing done she makes her owne, and it proves her best portion. [Page] Shee's a Bridemaid to all young couples, where shee weares her Rosemary pinn'd on her Heartside, to shew her affection to Hymens rites; and if shee see them both abed, shee carries away a strong fancy of the sequell. Shee can sell corne at the next Market, and while shee rides thither on her sacke, her short coats ad­ministers a temptation in discovering her Legge. Her corne stands not long for the sellers sake, and shee crosses the Proverbe, for shee measures it out by ano­thers Bushell. Shee receives her money of her Chap­man, and has a kisse given [Page] her alwayes to boote. If shee have any thing to buy, the Mercers shops furnishes her, where shee remembers her mothers cōmission to a halfpennerth of sope, and at home makes her account of all. If her father thrive on his farme, the poore neigh­bours put the mastership upon him, and if shee learne [...]o play on Virginalls, 'tis thought a Courtlike bree­ding. For her beauty 'tis a durable one, and feares no wind, nor weather, which shewes 'tis not behoulding to Art. Shee baytes not her eyes to attract Sutors, but for a husband trusts all to [...] Providence; and at [Page] last Cupid in compassion strikes some Farmers sonne in love with her, and then shee brewes and makes her owne Ale and Cakes for the wedding.

25. A Keeper.

IS a fellow in greene, that's led about by a dog in a lyne, and the burthen of his shoulder is a long staffe. He wanders the wilde woods to secure the Game, and is one that's licensed to be a night walker. If he find any trespassers, halfe a peece puts out halfe his eyes, and a [Page] whole one makes him who­ly blind. His lodge is a lone house, often fayn'd in histo­ryes to give entertaynment to wandering strangers, and in the fictions of Duells & ravishments, who comes in still to rescue, but a Kee­per? His honest rudenesse makes him a protector of men and maydenheades, for he thinkes the sufferance of such an act would blast the trees and make the leaves looke wan. The horne that affrightes other men, is his best musicke: he knowes the changes of the chase, and when a noted Deere is hunted, he windes his fall, and weepes at it.

[Page] All the woodnimphs court him, and when hee rushes from them, the bryers seeme to pull him backe againe. He understands no cham­ber whispring, but drownes the winds with hallowing, and is answered backe in the same Language. Hee knowes the ages of his Deere by casting their hornes, and thinkes a Cuc­kold most infortunate that his should sticke so close to him. He breakes up a wench as he does a stagge, and ha­ving tooke an essay of her, if he finde her fat in the flancke mar [...]yes her. His Children like the Indians are borne B [...]wmen, his [Page] hounds and they lappe and feede both out of a dish: he loves those that write in the prayse of hunting, and himselfe talkes whole vo­lumes of it. Hee wishes all Noble men were Nimrods, mighty hunters; for besides their liberality, the bounty o [...] beasts gives him the shoulder and the Humbles for his fee. Lastly, when he wanders to an Alehouse, he loves no signe but the Rob­binhood, because hee was a Forrester: where we leave him, till at night he be forth comming.

26. A Gentlemans House in the Countrey.

IS the prime house of some village, and carryes gentili­ty in the front of it. The Tennants round about tra­vell thither in Pilgrimage with their pigge and goose off [...]ngs, and their duty in­creases with the neere expi­ring of their leases. The Ser­vingm [...]n are like quarter wayters; for while some give attendanee at home, the rest are disperst in the Ale­houses. Their master alowes them to make men drinke for his credit, while they sound forth his fame of hos­pitallity [Page] upon the Trum­pe [...]s of blacke Iackes. They envye most their owne coate, for if a Gentleman bring halfe a dozen men with him, they'le not suffer a man to come off alive, and that expr [...]sses their Ma­sters welcome. At meales you shall have a scattered troup of dishes, led in by some blacke puddings, and in the Reare some demo­lish'd pastyes, which are not fallen yet to the Serving­men. Betweene meales there's bread and Beere for all commers, and for a stran­ger a napkin, and colde, meate in the buttery may be obtained. All the Roomes [Page] smell of Doggs and Haukes, and the Halls beares armes, though it be but a muskit [...] and two Corsletts. The maides have their severall swee-thearts, which they get by befriending men in their severall offices: As the day­ry mayde by a dish of Creame: The Chamber­mayd by her landrye; and for this the Serving man do [...] them as good a turne. After which if she knot and prove, she obtaines of her Mistresse a poore Coppi­hold, and they both turne Tennants to the family; and are called retayners. The Master of the house is a­dor'd as a Relique of genti­litye, [Page] and if his wife come by some home-match, he dares not let her see Lon­don or the Court, for feare she should make his woods pay for't. Hee observes all times and seasons of the yeare, and his Christmas is the butlers Iubile. To con­clude, his house is the seat of hospitality, the poore mans Court of justice, the Curats Sunday ordinary, and the onely exchequer of Charity, where the poore goe away relieved, and cry, God blesse the founder.