CHARACTER. Of a Lady of excellent Conversation.

YOu would not onely Imagine all the Muses, but all the Gra­ces were in her too, whilest for matter, words, & manner she is all that is delightfull [...] Conversation; her matter not stale [...]nd studied, but resent and occasional; [...]ot stiff, but ductile and pliable to the company; high not soaring, familiar [...]ot low, profound not obscure; and the more sublime the more intelligible and conspicuous. Her Words not too scanty, nor too wide, but just fitted to her matter, not intricately involving, but clearly unfolding and explicating the notions of her minde. In Manner, Majestique, not imperious, conversation thats a Tyranny, with others being a Com­mon-wealth with her, where every ones [Page 2] discourse and opinions are free; she ne­ver contradicting, but when any speak impertinently, only blushing for them, and saying no more: (a greater repre­hension to those, who understand blush­ing, than can be exprest in words,) Ha­ving too much reason to call passion to her ayde, and disdaining to use force and violence (the ordinary Arms of fal­shood) to defend the Truth, so if you yeeld not, she does rather than contend, leaving you the shame of a victory, when with more honour, you might have yeel­ded and been overcome: Nor does she rashly take up Argument, and abruptly lay it down again; but handsomely as­sume it; delightfully continue it, and like an Aire in musick, just then, when the ear expects, it comes unto a close: All in her being sweet, delightfull and harmo­nious, even to the very Tone and Accent of her voice, it being more musick to hear her speak than others sing. Then shees withall so easie Company, and far from all constraint, as tis pleasure to be in it: whilest others like uneasie gar­ments, [Page 3] you cannot stir in without pain; which renders her conversation far chearfuller than theirs who laugh more but smile lesse, spending more spirits with straining for an houres mirth than they can recover in a moneth again; which renders them so unequall compa­ny, whilest she is alwayes equall and the same. True joy being a constant serious thing; as far different from light and gigling mirth, as Elementall fire from [...]quibs and Crackers; whence she Prome­ [...]heus-like inspire all who converse with her, with noble flame and spirit, none ever departing from her company but wiser and far better than they came. It being vertue to know her, wisdome to converse with her, Refinest breeding to observe her, joy to behold her, and a spe­cies of the beatitude of t'other life, onely to enjoy her Coversation in this.

CHARACTER. Of one that is the foyle of good Conver­sation.

HE is t'others Antipodes, & of a quite contrary Hemisphear: his matter or some stale Common-places, like cold meat grown nauseous with often repe­tition; or else some new whimsies of his own, like French quelques choses, with no substance at all in them: his words or low, and creeping (the very reptils of a language) or so affectedly high and ram­ping, as if Eloquence stalkt and went on stilts: his manner every wayes ungrate­full, in a tone harsh and untunable; with Tempests in his mouth, and Light­ning in his eyes, whilest he strains his voice to speak loudest in the company, and heats and grows red hot presently, by force of Argument: impatient of con­tradiction, and contradicting every one; so obstinate in his opinion, as Faith that removes mountains, can never re­move him from't: whence he frieghts [Page 5] all from his conversation; their words just as in an enemies Country, in Gar­ [...]son, daring not to stir out for fear of a [...]rprize) Tis a Tyranny then to con­ [...]erse with him, none but slaves and pa­ [...]sites would endure (content to swal­ [...]ow his words whilest they feed on him) [...]hose enduring it, makes him so intole­ [...]ble to all besides, so as the wise avoid [...]is company (just as they would savage [...]easts Tam'd, who unlesse you sooth and [...]amour them are apt on every light oc­ [...]sion to start and break out to their na­ [...]ve savagnes) not always to be in feaver [...]f such an Accident, and sick of his con­versation; has neither wit for discourse, heeding for civility, understanding to know it, nor patience to learn; but by Pride, Obstinancy and Presumption is forfeited to perpetuall folly and igno­rance.

CHARACTER. Of an excellent Companion.

HE is the life and spirit of the Com­pany, that pines and droops with­out him, animating all with chearfulness, and is like sparkling liquor to your dull companion, thats only dregs and lees; his presence chases melancholly, as the Suns does clouds, and tis impossible to be sad in his company; He differs from the Buf­foon, as an excellent Comedy do's from the Farse, being pure wit, tother but foolery: He is never dry nor pumping, but al­wayes full and flowing; his returns and reparties so quick, opposite and gentile tis pleasure to observe, how handsomely he acquits himself; mean time he is nei­ther scurrulous nor profane, but a good man as well as a good companion; and so far a good fellow too, as hee'le take a chearfull glasse or two (your fine edged knives alwayes needing the whet-stone most) whilest taking too many, is like [Page 7] whetting the edge quite away: he is the [...]nely exorcist for the Melancholly Devill [...]f the times; and I imagine him just like [...]avid playing to Saul, and they just like [...]aul persecuting him: He seeming to [...]our men of businesse to confer but little [...]o the seriouser part of life; yet he whets [...]he knife of the serious man, and is to [...]usinesse as Musick to devotion, apting [...]nd disposing the mind to it afterwards, [...]o for the present delightfully, diver­ [...]ng it. In fine, he ows much of his good [...]umour to his complexion, but much more to his company (alwayes the best [...]nd noblest) so he may be poor, but never [...]ant, or if he do, it is the fault of the times, and none of his, of which when he meets with a favourable conjunction, he is most commonly the Artisan of his own Fortune, making himself (with a little industry) a far better than others are born unto, being the darling of all your great ones, and nobler sort, the favourite of Kings, and companion for any Prince.

CHARACTER. Of one that Zanys the good Companion.

HE is a wit of an under Region, grosly imitating on the lower roap what t'other do's neatly on the higher and is only for the laughter of the vul­gar; whilest your wiser and better sort can scarcely smile at him: He talks no­thing but kennel-raked stuff, and his dis­course is rather like fruit tane up rotten from the ground, than freshly gathered from the Tree. He is so far from a court­ly wit, as his breeding seems only to have been i'th' Suburbs; or at best, he seems onely graduated good companion in a Tavern (the Bedlam of wits) where men are mad rather than merry; here one breaking a jest on the Drawer, or a Candestick: there an other repeating the old end of a Play, or some bawdy song; this speaking bilke, that non-sense, whilest all with loud houting and laugh­ter [Page 9] confound the Fidlers noise, who may well be call'd a noise indeed, for no Mu­sick can be heard for them; so whilest he utters nothing but old stories, long since laught thrid-bare, or some stale jest bro­ken twenty times before: His mirth compared with theirs, new and at first-hand, is just like Brokers ware in compa­rison with Mercers, or Long-lane com­par'd unto Cheap-side: his wit being ra­ther the Hogs-heads than his own, savour­ring more of Heidelberg than of Hellicon, and he rather a drunken than a good companion.

CHARACTER. Of one that imitates the good companion another way.

HE is on, who now the stage is down Acts the Parasites part at Table; and since Tailors death, none can play Mosco's part so well as he: he is alwayes for him who has best Wine & fare (Body & Soul and all) and sooths and humours them, even to be of the same opinion and Re­ligion with them (right or wrong,) mean time although he be specially devoted to the Patron; he praises the Cook, shakes the Butler by the hand, and is familiar with all the Waiters and Serving-men; calling one Father, adopting another son, as they are of Age, or Office in the House; though he be as pernitious in a Family, as Moaths, Cankers, or Poyson, to Mettle, Cloaths, or health; corrupting his Patrons manners to render them more like his own, and impoisoning [Page 11] their ears with calumnying other men, [...]nly to ingrosse them wholly to himself: Mean time he is so ill natured, as to serve his end he will fawn on his deadliest e­nemies; and those once served abuse his [...]earest friends; equally treacherous [...]oth to friend and enemie; for the rest, [...]lthough with the ignorant, he passe for [...] good companion, tis no pure wit he ut­ [...]ers, but only a mingly of clenches, quib­ [...]les, and such half-witted stuff he (at [...]est) being rather a pump of others jests, Conceits, and Storys, than a Fountain of his own; so he is presently draw dry (af­ter a meal or two) when his mirth fail­ing and waxing stale he is forced to fall to plain flattery, or they grow weary of him strait as of dead Wine pottage cold, or meat served up to the Table, more than once.

CHARACTER. Of an irresolute Person.

HE hovers in his choice, like an em­pty Ballance with no waight of Judgement to incline him to either scale; he dodges with those he meets, nor he can ever resolve which way to let them passe: every thing he thinks on, is matter of deliberation, and he does nothing readily, but what he thinks not on: discourse that helps others out of laborinths, is a laborinth to him; and he of all creatures would be far wiser, if he had none at all: he begins nothing without deliberation; and when he begins to deliberate, never makes an end. Has some dull demon cryes, do not, do not still, when hee's on point of doing any thing, which he obeys as a divine Revelation: He plays at shall I, shall I? so long, till o­pertunity be past, and then as he did the fault, repents at leasure. He is enemy to [Page 13] Resolution, or rather as Resolution were enemy to him, his heart fails him; and [...]ike a coward he turns back presently, at [...]ght of it: He still misliking the present [...]hoice of things as Scoggan did his Tree to [...]ang on: He could never Bet at Cocking nor Hors-race yet, because the battaile or [...]ace was alwayes done or he could deli­ [...]rat which side to take, & he is only hap­py in this, that his irresolution hinders him from marrying and entring into Bonds: Nor ist (perhaps) the least part of his happinesse to be as long in choo­sing his Religion now, amongst so many new Sects, that sprout up every day; though tis thought he is a Quaker; and if he be superstitious withall, he is in for his wits, and next news you hear from him will be from Bedlam.

CHARACTER. Of a Fantastique Lady.

HEr life is a perpetuall contradicti­on, she would and she would not and make ready the Coach, yet let it alone too; drive to such a place, yet do not neither; Is her ordinary dialect: she differs from the irresolute, in that he is alwayes begin­ning, and she never makes an end; she writes and blots out again, whilest he de­liberates what to write: t'on being a resty, tother a restless pain: so you can tell what to make of ton's Negative, and how two Negatives make an Affimative; but of her I and no together, you know not what to make, but only that she knows not what to make of it her self. Her head is just like a Mill, or Squirrels cage, and her minde the Squirrel that turns and whirls it round, and her imagination dif­fers from others, as your Grotesque figures do from naturall and from grotesque; In that these have some design in them, [Page 15] but her imagination has none: She ne­ [...]er looking towards the end, but onely [...]e beginning of things; or if she does, [...]rgets or disapproves it strait: For she [...]ill call in all hast for one, and have no­ [...]ing to say to him when he is come; [...]nd long (nay dye) for some toy or trifle, [...]hich having once, she grows weary of [...]resently, and throws away. In fine, who [...]e of one minde to day, and another to [...]orrow, are constant to her, and Saturns [...]evolution compared unto the Moons; [...]or you know not where to have her a [...]noment, and whosoever would hit her [...]houghts must shoot flying; and fly themselves whosoever would follow her

CHARACTER. Of a Green-sicknesse Girle.

SHe is like a Mouse in a Holland Cheese, her house and diet all the same: whence the more she spends in her house, the worse house she keeps, the walls being both her Kitchen and Larder too, of which she eats so long, as she ful­fills the old proverb at last, The weakest go to the walls: For which should they ac­cuse her of Buglary, she has this commo­dity, she could never be starv'd in Pri­son, but whilest some eat themselves in­to Prison, she (by the Estridge help) might eat her self out again: She is a great be­nefactrix to Masons, who wher they find her are sure to finde work enough, and her zeale is so great, she has a minde to the Church-walls too, where she might sooner eat up all the ten Command­ments, by breaking her fast, than break the Commandments of the Church: no Nunnery would hold her, but shee'd [Page 17] break inclosure presently, though for [...]rictnesse of dyet, (however she eat whit­ [...]eat) shee'd put down any Minume or [...]rthusian; for a peck of Oats would [...]erve her a week at least, whence you [...]e not to wonder if in questioning [...]er you finde her somewhat meal­ [...]outhed in answering you. By her [...]mplexion, she seems rather made of [...]alk or marle, than that red earth [...]dam was made of; though she be so [...]eager a soile, she grows never the [...]tter by it; yet one knows not what a [...]ood Husbandman may do, for they say, a [...]od Husband would remedy all; but he [...]ust take her on credit then, both for [...]eauty and good housewivery; few else [...]ould ventur [...] on her complexion, and such a quality, as if she hold on as she be­gins, she soor would eat her husband out of house a [...]d home: Onely a Millar would take her with all faults, she being much of hs complexion, and for her diet would b [...]at others charge, rather than his own; neither are the walls of his Wind-mil comprized in her Bill of Fare.

CHARACTER. Of a talkative Lady.

HEr tongue runs round like a whee [...] one spoak after another, there is n [...] end of it: she makes more noice an [...] jangling than the Bels on the fifth of N [...] vember, or a Coronation day; such a wi [...] for Moroso had far surpast all the varie [...] of noic [...]s invented for tormenting him [...] and would make a husband wish that e [...] ther she were dumb, or he were dea [...] You would wonder at her matter to he [...] her talk, and would admire her ta [...] when you heard her mater; but con [...] dering both together, vould admir [...] nor wonder at neither, but onely exclai [...] with him, who plum'd the Nightingal, is a voice and nothing else, for tis nothi [...] but noice she makes, and tis he labour her tongue not brain; vhence y [...] would only wonder how that holds ou [...] but for that it moves with as great faci [...], [Page 19] as leaves wag when they are shaken [...]ith the winde (give her tongue breath, [...]d it will never lie still) or rather in­ [...]ed as Atomes move its aire, for tis quite [...]hung, and neither depends on nerve [...] imagination; there being as much [...]ference betwixt a voluble tongue and [...]s, as betwixt an excellent vaulter [...]ves artfully, and one who art-lesly [...]ecipitates himself: all the wonder is, [...]ilest she speaks onely Thrums, how she [...]kes so many different ends hold to­ [...]her (the composition of a Taylors [...]shion, all of shreds, being nothing to [...]e wonder of it) but for that she cares [...]; all her care being onely for some [...]ear her talk (whom she must hire [...]tly, none certainly else would under­ [...]he noice and vexation) mean time engine with so constant a motion as [...] tongue would be far better than any [...]muring Fountain, or purling Brook make one sleep, and she wants onely [...] faculty of talking in her sleep herself, make the perpetuall motion with her [...]gue.

CHARACTER. Of a Taciturne Person.

HE is the contrary Extremity, an [...] knows as little to speak as t'othe to hold her peace. Fryer Bacons brazed head was a talkative one to his and there is nothing so phlegmatique a [...] his discourse; you might have patienc [...] as well to tend a Still, that drops but on [...] a quarter, as to attend his speech; th [...] counting whose words, and a Dutch cloc [...] is an Excercise much alike: The wheel of his tongue, are like those of a rust [...] Jack, that ever an anon (for want o [...] oyling) are at a stand. He is like Phara [...] sius picture, all Curtain, and who thin [...] theres ought else under it, like Zeuxes ar [...] deceived; yet such vailed shrines as he [...] are counted very Oracles in Cloisters now where silence is in precept and venera­tion: Whose profession tis to be rathe [...] good Religious, than good companions and whose wisdome is the folly of the [Page 21] world; and be they their wisemen, they [...]all be my fools still, who no more ad­ [...]ire silence in them than in vegitatives: [...]or shall ever accoumpt impotency, per­ [...]ection; rather when the power of well [...]eaking never proceeds to act; I shall [...]ok there wants ability more than will; [...]d that somewhat still in the main [...]ing is amiss, when the clock neer [...]ikes; onely for this once (since they [...]ll needs have it so) I will believe [...]ere's somewhat in him, 'cause as yet I [...]uld never perceive any thing come out [...] him.

CHARACTER. Of a Dutch Waggoner.

HE converses so much with beasts a [...] he's become one himself, with onl [...] this difference, that he is a Beast Par [...] mount; and to see him mounted on h [...] forehorse like a dril, you'd take him fo [...] a Beast two stories high, nay to his ver [...] understanding he is one; he unde [...] standing nothing above the elevatio [...] of his Pole; and let them talk of the P [...] pists what they will, there is none speak the language of the Beast but he: the [...] were mightily out, who fain'd a Waggo [...] ner in Heaven, when with far more reason they might have fained one in Hell: Fo [...] besides he is more churlish than Charon, his waggon is more like Hell, where peo­ple are crowded together in perpetual [...] pain; and he like a Fury layes about him with his whip, only in this he is like phe­bus or the charioter of the day, that he always bring night with him to his jour­neyes [Page 23] end. For the rest; t'others Hor­ [...]es eats not so oft as his, nor (for all [...]is Twelve houses has he so many Innes [...]obeit at, and drink at on the way: Be­sides he is more inexorable then the [...]r for Joshua, with calling to him once [...]ould make him stay, which call your [...]art out, you can never make him do. [...] a word, he dos nothing well, but whip [...]is horses, and you can do nothing bet­ [...]er than whip him again; for he is saucy [...]nd malepert, and as rude as the Canvase [...]e wears; being a very tyrant when he gets you in his Waggon once, setting a Tax or Imposition on passengers, call'd drink-gelt, which he leavies on the first foure places of his Waggon, and were ye forty, he promises to you all: Now whe­ther this be a Holland or Flemish Waggo­ner, there lies the Riddle, betwixt whom there's this onely difference, that your Hollander looks bigger and keeps more gravity, as one that may be one of myn Heers in time, whilest t'other will never be but one of the Rascall rout.

CHARACTER. Of a huge overvaluer of himself.

He affects a certain Corpulency in al his Actions, makes them rather appear inflate and swoln than great and solide, with a singularity renders him more no­ted than notable: His wit is rather boi­sterous than strong, and has more in it of Polypheme than of the Heroe. He is rather of extravagant than extraordinary parts, and looses himself by going out of the common road; mistaking the point of Honour so, as while tis more honourable to beat the world at its own weapon, he is still inventing new: He makes a faction for folly, whilest he would needs seem wiser than he is, and proves that saying true, Nullum magnum ingenium &c. That there's no great wit without some mixture of folly, &c. onely gaining this reputa­tion (at last) with all his bustling, that he were a wiseman indeed, who were but all that he would seem to be. In fine he is so unlucky in all his professions [Page 25] both of the Courtier, Scholler and the Poli­ [...]ique, to have his speculations too high, his state policy in the ayre, his comple­ments to the skies, and his schollarship a­bove the Moon. Princes not understand [...]on, Ladies not reaching t'other; nor [...]an the University with all its Mathma­ [...]icall Instruments take tothers height. like too high prized Ware then, he lyes on his own hand still; nor will he ever off, till either he be so wise to bate of it, or meet with such fools, who will o­ver give as much as he overvalues it: Nor availes that excuse which some would make for him: ‘How in great fi­gures, falling not under one prospect of the eye; tis hardest still observing pro­portion:’ For why does he strive then to make himself so great, and seek rather excuse for errour than not to err at all? the Lady— then without Rivall may ad­mire him still, and he maybe Mr—Wise­man, but none of mine.

CHARACTER. Of an ordinary French Laquey.

HE is as mischeivous all the year as a London Prentise on Shrovetuesday, and is devillish valiant with his Rapier on, but is a poor devill when that is off, and you may beat him part in hand, and part on credit, as you please, whilest he is so rigorous an accomptant, as if you promise him, cent coups de baston: He looks you should not bate him one. He wears mourning linnen whatsoever co­lour his Livery's off, and he and the Dog are alwayes Correlatives: He swears and lyes naturally, but steals nothing, only what he can lay hands on; and if you lay not hands on him the sooner, he runs away when he has done; though for running tis the worst quality he has, in lieu of which he vault up behind the Coach, with as great facility as an Ape or Tumbler behind his Master: For the rest he does nothing more willingly than pimp [Page 27] for you, when if he can hedge in any common for himself, he counts it clear gain, and himself a free Commoner; he having in that his Masters leavings, as in all things else; whilest he that had his, would be finely sauc'd indeed. I say no­thing of the Dice he has, which however false, do break no squares with him, nor of the Cards, in his pocket (though it be all the Prayer Book he has) onely to come to his other qualities: he Paints excellent well foure fingers and a thumb, on Privy-houses, and flying dildos upon wals, with Buts at which they are shot; no Saints mind being so elevate in devo­tion to paradis as his to the Bourdell, to which he runs so often as at last one run­ning mars an other, when he is laid up in some Hospitall, and there's and end of him.

CHARACTER. Of a suspitious Person.

SHe is her own Tormentor and others too, putting her minde and them to torture of her suspitions; nor by confessi­on nor denyall is there any getting off of them: She suspects every thing, and if you whisper, she thinks tis some harm of her. If you speak loud, she interprets it in the worser sense; if you look on her, she thinks tis to spy some fault in her; and if you look not on her, she interprets it a neglect of her: Mean time, she goes on with her suspitions, like French post­horses, who when they stumble once, neer cease till they are down: She re­volving slight offences in her minde so long, till she makes mighty injuries of them at the last. Her surmises being al­wayes wiser than the Truth; whilest her freinds (both for their own sakes and hers) wish them but as wise at least, and that she had either lesse wit, or not so [Page 29] great an opinion of it as she has; she i­magining she understands the full mea­ning of every half word, and mystery of every look, when there is none at all: So to every thing simply said, she affixes a double meaning strait, counting it Ironia when any praise her, malevolence when they praise her not, flattery when you are of her opinion, and voluntary con­tradiction if you hold the contrary: Explicating others words and actions still as Hereticks do scripture in the dark and mystick sense, when the litterall is clear and manifest enough, and you may as well convert t'one as t'other from their opinions: So whilest her minde is just like the winters sun, exhaling more clouds than it can discipate again, she both looses herself in the mist she makes, and looses her friends by mistaking them for her enemies.

Of Raillerie.

THere is as much difference betwixt Raillerie and Satyrs, Jesting and Jeer­ing, &c. as betwixt gallantry and clow­nishnesse; or betwixt a gentle Accost and rude Assault. And if I would habit them in their several properties, I would cloath Satyr in hair-cloath, jeering in home spun-stuff, jesting in motley, and Raille­rie in silk. It being a gentle exercise of wit and witty harmlesse calumny, speaks ill of you by contraries; and the reverse or tother side of complement, as far be­neath as that above reality. There's no­thing in it of abusive, and only as much in it of handsome invective and reproach as may well be owned without a blush: publishing those praises of you without shame, which flattery would make you ashamed to hear. It differs from Gybing as gentle smiles from scornfull laughter, and from raylingas Gentlemens playing at foyls, from Butchers and Clowns play­ing at Cudgels. Tis nothing bitter, but [Page 31] a poignant sauce of wit, for curious pal­lats, not for your vulgar Tasts. And as Barriers, Justs and Tournment a sport one­ly for your nobler sort; somewhat re­sembling earnest, and which indeed, none should use, but those who know to make a sport of it: your Northern Nations be­ing most commonly unhappy in this, that when their wits fall short, they piece it out with choller, and the blunter their wits are, the sharper are their weapons still. In fine, tis a plant grows more na­turally in your Southern Regions, and sel­dome farther North than Paris yet: Whence whilest the French would have transplanted it with their others fashions into England, like those who first brought in Tobacco, they had but the Curses of the common People for their pains; they understanding railing far better than Raillerie: much of the nature of those Beasts who cannot play, but they must fall to scratching and biting strait, where­fore till they understand it better, 'Ile say no more of it, but leave it as a Riddle to them still amongst the rest.

CHARACTER. Of one who troubles her self with every thing.

HEr mind is just like their stomacks, who convert all they eat into disea­ses; for every thing is matter of trouble with her, and shees perpetually haunted with a panick fear, and Lord, Lord! what shall I doe? What will become of us? not contented with her own cares she trou­bles her self with those of others, and gos more than a thousand mile to seek them out, being as much troubled for the King of China's losse of his kingdome, as for our late Kings loosing his. In which she shews much charity, but ill ordered, a good naturall but sickly and infirm, and a great stock of pitty and compassion but ill husbanded and managed: nay she troubles her self with conditionary thoughts of things that neer were, nor are, nor are like to be: And if others bu­sinesses so trouble her, imagine but how [Page 33] she is troubled with her own, of which when she has any, what betwixt doing and undoing it; like penelopes webb, she never makes an end; nor can any else for her at last, she so intangles it. And all this through ignorance of how much thought [...]nd care she is to bestow on things, whence bestowing all she has on every [...]hing, (as long as there is a world, and she [...]s in the world) her care and trouble must [...]eeds be infinite and immense: So as in [...]me) her minde seems onely an Hospital of sickly thoughts; being so thronged with them, there's hardly room for any healthy one: whence through her pro­posterous lodging all her care within doors, and her comfort all without, she is so unfortunate to have the one still at hand, when she needs it least; and to­ther still to seek, when she stands in most need of it.

CHARACTER. Of one who troubles himself with nothing.

HE suffers none but gay and plea­sant thoughts to enter his Imagina­tion, putting the rest off till to morrow still; saying, to day is too soon: and then quite dismising them, saying; it is too late: He is so great a Master in the art of consolation, as he who when he casu­ally lost his eyes, comforted himself, that there was so much saved in candle light, was but a bungler at it, compared to him. He accounts nothing in this world his own, whence hee's never afflicted for the losse of any thing; and for the world it self, count it but as a pilgrimage, and him­self a pilgrime, that has no other busness in it, but onely to pass through it unto the next: to which since all wayes e­qually conduce; he laveers not by Sea, but ever sailes before the winde, and makes for the next Port, be it where it will; and by land, knows all his ea­sest [Page 35] passages, and all his turnings to a­ [...]oid uneasie ones, whilest to beguile the tediousnesse of the way, he has still choice of the best company; and at Re­lay: So passes he this vale of miseries; so easily he scarcely feels its miseries; either contracting so much wealth, nor [...]uiltinesse, in living, as may make him [...]pprehend to leave tone behinde him, [...]n this world when he dies, nor finde the [...]unishment of t'other in the next. Mean time, that neither the Revolution of things, nor inconstancy of persons, may transport, or trouble him; he has no tie to any thing, nor person, Beautie, Riches nor honours having never yet the power to make him quit his liberty, nor has the world chains strong enough to make him slave; he wondring as much at Courtiers, as at Gally-slaves; and for those who for a little profit sell their li­berties, whilest they call it fishing for a golden fish, he calls it Angling with a golden-hook: So the spendor of a Pallace, and obscurity of a Cottage equally takes his eyes, nor sees he any thing; In the riches [Page 36] of the one to envie, nor in the others povertie to pitty, more than the means that tone has more than tother; to make friends and to oblige. Thus ha­ving provided against all trouble with­out himself, that nothing within him­self may trouble him: (holding still the mean betwixt idlenesse and too great im­ploy) he cultivates his minde, rather like a Garden than a Feild, delightfully not laboriously; with studies may rather render it gay and cheerfull, than mellan­cholly and sad: shunning all by-wayes of doctrine, to avoid Errour, and all high-wayes of the vulgar to avoid igno­rance and viciousnesse; nor puts he his minde so on the rack of hope to extend them farther than to possible and easie things; which failing his expectation, he is no more troubled than at seeing Juglars play fast and loose. Lastly, not to live stranger nor enemy to himself, he first makes compact with's genius, to lead him to no ill, and then follows it, what­soever it leads him too, doing just by it as by his Horse, which he is not still put­ting [Page 37] upon new wayes, but onely spurs when it goes on slowly in the old: So constituting his pleasure rather in con­tent than voluptuousnesse, and in nothing fruition, may lessen and destroy, or that may be rendred impotent by Age: He can never be without pleasure in him­self, nor can any thing out of himself e­ver molest and trouble him: nor is this a happinesse to be attained too, but by long accustumance, and by doing by our Minde, just as we do with our Bodies. In time of Pestilence, that is, by careful­ly avoiding all commerce with those are sick, else being once infected, all Coun­cell is in vain; and you may as well bid one that is sick be well, as one thats sad and grieved be merry and comforted.

CHARACTER. Of a Chamber-Maid.

A Chamber-maid is as suspitious a name for a Maid, as a Grammar Schollar for a great Schollar, or a Schoolmaster for a great Master, &c. She differs from the Waiting-woman onely as single Roses do from double ones; and is a maid of one Coat, whilest your waiting-Gentlewoman has many; for the rest, she is the gentler of the two, when she fals into gentle handling; mar­ry the rude Serving-man she cannot en­dure, telling him shee's for his betters, &c. She is the more subject to towsing, lesse danger there is of rumpling her, (an advan­tage she has of the Gentlewoman for all she is so fine) there being more provoca­tion too in her single Peticoat (so nigh querpo) than in all tothers silken Gowns. Mean while her words and actions are to be understood by contraries, and when she schreeks and crys fie away, lay by there [Page 39] &c. You must understand they are in­terjections of encouragement, not prohibi­tion, as when she hids her self ith' dark or fains to sleep, tis only that you should groap her out and take her napping, &c. onely theres a certain thing call'd sweet­heart, and a certain thing call'd Matrimo­ny that spoils the sport, and makes her shie and cautious; for any thing else there may be sport enough, and nothing e'r the worse: For she may be a Cham­ber-maid still, though not a maid; and if she be right and of the Game indeed, whatsoever they say unto her, and what­soever they do unto her too, shee'le be sure to be a Maid still till she be married, when let her husband look where she be a Maid or no; for others they have look't often enough and found her none.

CHARACTER. Of a Noblemans Chaplain.

ALl Ministers are men of the Lord, but this is the Lords Gentleman; distinguisht by his Taffity Scarff, his fring'd Gloves, bandstrings, and Linnen more à la mode; his cheifest faculty is in saying Grace: when by the elevation of his eyes, you may easily guesse at the temperature oth' clymat, or whether his Patrons devotion be hot or cold, (and re­spectively the meat is the contrary,) ha­ving said Grace, he takes Tithes of all, as belonging to the Clergy, only the small Tythes of fruit, his Patron debars him off, (if he sit at his Table) he and his fellow Salt together, being both taken away with the Voider; when rising with tren­cher in hand (just like one playing at Buz) he makes a Canonicall leg de Cu' & Bee, and is silenst during pleasure, & con­verted into a grave Cup-board or Chim­ny piece: If he fail of the lower end of his Patrons board, he claims the higher end [Page 41] of the Stewards; where he reprehends no vice, but too many hands in the dish at once, under the name of gurmandizing, he being more beholding to his short commons in the University, for a good stomack; then for his learning (which is nothing with him) or his preaching either (which is not worth the speaking of) whilest he hunge there by the Beck like Barnacles in Scotland, till he flew a­way a Brand Goose at the last. He takes the mentioning of Sr. Roger indudgion, with all the Apurtenances and Apendixes of Cunny-tails, and Mrs. Abigals, though he makes love in godly manner to the Cham­ber-maid, or Waiting-gentlewoman (when his Lord has done with her) by whose favour with my Lady if he gets the su­per intendancy of the Family, he vexes the servants intolerably with his talking of Collegiall Discipline, and the statutes of the Ʋniversitie, with Orthodox nose prying into every thing, and if he hedge in the Tutoring of my young Master in to boot, he makes him an errant dunce, and fit onely for the Ʋniversity.

CHARACTER. Of an impertinent Governant.

SHe is a fit Abigail for Sr. Roger there, and makes as good a Governant for my young Lady, as he a Governour for my young Lord: Her wits (like an old stokin unravelling) are at an end at every turn; and had she the Governance of a whole School, she would run mad infal­libly, though she have the spirit in her of twenty School-mistresses, looking with her Pigs-eyes so narrowly to her charge; you cannot approach her, but like a Hen with one Chicken, she clocks and bristles up her feathers presently, keeping such a fidel-fadle and tatling, as you would judge her fitter to teach Parrots talk, or Apes their tricks, than for the charge she has: for the rest of her behaviour and discourse: It speaks her of your under form of breeding right; her quips and scor [...]full answers, strongly savouring of the Cittizen, as goodly, goodly, great ones! [Page 43] how say ye by that now? &c. And but an­ger her, and you'le see that with onely one weeks board at Billingsgate she would have scowlded curiously. In fine, she is perpetually busied about nothing, and her whole imployment is either in making, or else finding faults; displeased with every thing, 'cause she knows not what shee'd have; with which imper­tinency she so dozes and bemops the poor Lady, as she learns nothing at all of her, but only to unlearn all she did well, to do it ill. As for her other qualities of curi­ous handling the Bodkin and Needle (at which every School-girle and Chamber-Maid is as good as she) I say nothing 'cause they are not worth the speaking off, only that by the Tree, you may know the fruit; Ile give you the Character of the School where she was bred.

CHARACTER. Of a School of young Gentlewomen.

TO shew how many degrees they are removed from, Court breeding their Schools most commonly are erected in some Country Village nigh the Town, where to save charges (like that country parish that would not go to cost of true Orthography in painting the Ten Com­mandments) they have the worst Masters can be got, for love or money; learning to quaver instead of singing, hop instead of dancing, and rake the Ghitar, rumble the Virginals, and scratch and thrumb the Lute, instead of playing neatly and handsomely. And for their languages a Magpy in a moneth would chatter more, than they learn in a year: nor are their manners and behaviour much better, both so unfashionable and rude, (or ram­ping and hoiting, or mincing and bri­dling it, as their reverend Mistresse is libertine or precise;) as their unlearning [Page 45] them costs their Parents (commonly) more than their learning did. As for their work (which they most glory in) you have frequent examplers of it, how some one or other (ordinarily) makes such work with them, as the stitches can never be pickt out again, without the Mid-wives help: No sweet-meat shops being ever so haunted with Wasps and Flys as these Schools by all the wild-youth about the Town. Mean time, I'le not say their grave Mistresse is a Bawd (who thinks her self a very Debora for govern­ment) but certainly her Simplicity is little lesse; first, gives admittance, then opportunity to such vermine as these in­to their Bouroughs, who when they get their heads in once, all the Body natu­rally follows. To conclude, they learn nothing there befitting Gentlewomen, but onely to be so gentle at last, as commonly they run away with the first Serving-man or younger Brother makes love unto them: when their Parents finde (to their cost) that all their cost was cast away, and their Husbands after a while find too, [Page 47] how to that old saying of choosing a Horse in Smithfield, and a Serving-man in Pauls; you might well add the choosing a wife out of one of these Schools, and you shall be fitted all alike.

CHARACTER. Of a Novice.

HE is just like a young Lover, and his order is his Mistresse, who makes a fool of him, whilest he Idolatrizes it more than your French Inamourists do their Phillis's and Cloris's, and Don Quixots, love to Dulcinea was nothing so extrava­gant. The more doz'd and be mopt he is, the better still; tis a sign he's right, and has a true vocation: and if he have any wit and judgment of his own, they cry out on him for a very Reprobate: for the rest, he hates all woman-kinde and calls a Petticoat, Leviathan; and a smock but innocently blanching on a hedge: Asteroth or the fowl Devil of Fornication; he walks with his eyes alwayes fixt up­on the ground, and crumples up like a Hog-lowse for fear of effusion: he makes as many stops as an old rusty Jack, and winds up himself, as oft to rectifie his in­tention, he says his, our Fathers as de­voutly [Page 48] as others their our Father, and counts all damn'd who are not freinds of his order, as an infallable signe of Prede­stination, the being devoted to it, and the Patron thereof: he is as lively after a discipline as an Ape, newly whipt, and is no more moved then a statua at a re­prehension or reproach. Infine his novitiat passes with him, just like an enchantment, whilest he is so stund and astonisht as he knows not what to doe; onely towards the end he comes to himself again, re­covering by degrees; and the charme once expired becomes like other men.

CHARACTER. Of a Fille devote, or a ghostly daughter.

SHe is a degree farther from the Cloi­ster, and nigher the world than a Be­guine; to recompence which, she is more exemplar in her manners and behaviour, walking the streets like an Image carried in procession, without stirring hand or eye, wearing her eyes just like spectacles on her nose, and not daring to scratch though it itch never so furiously for fear of transgressing the rules of modesty: whence a fly is as safe on her nose, as a thief in Sanctuary, and a flea as t' had pas­port may travell where it please: Retur­ned home she is so neat, she puts all her cloaths up ith' presse (almost her self too) brushing her carefully for fear of a spice of Fornication ever since she understood, man was but dust.: for the world, she de­fies it with all its pompts and vanities (and tis almost all the vanitie she has) and for the Devill, she knows all his [Page 50] slights and tricks so well, as that Devill must rise betimes that couzens her; as for the Flesh she mortifies not onely her own, but that of her hoch-pot too, gi­ving it so strong allay of Carrots and Turnips, there is no danger of it insur­rection: Mean time, she holds her Con­fessor and the Patron of his order for the greatest Saints, and salutes all the rest, even to the Dog of the House with a Beati qui inhabitant, whilest of her Faith, there is no doubt, and for her good works, you may have a pattern of them when you please; for she is commonly the best Bone-lace-maker in all the Parish, though her principall Trade be making scruples of every thing (if that be not her confessa­rius work more than hers) to conclude, I could wish my soul with hers, at any time, but not my body beshrew me) especi­ally on Lady Eves and other dayes of de­votion, when she Fasts, wears Hair, and Disciplines it most intolerably.

CHARACTER. Of an Immitable Widdow.

SHe is a Tree thunder-strook, the more sacred, the more unfortunate; who had long since been dead, when death bereaved her of her better part, but for those living branches engrafted on her stock (for and in whom (more than for and in her self) she lives: She has a quite different computation from other Widdows, counting from her Husbands [...]ife, in tother world, not from his death in this; nor from his mortality, but his immortality, which every day augment­ing by consequence her memory of him, every day augments: Whence to shew she mourns not for custom, but for the dead, and eternally, not by the year; she hangs her appertement all freshly in black at the years end, when other widdows would be unhanging theirs: Its not changing colour sufficiently, declaring that tis dyed in grain: for the rest, she looks [Page 52] on a second marriage but as a kinde of Adultry. Incontinence makes necessary and custome lawfull, so far below noble woman, as her high thoughts disdain e­ver to descend into't: or at best accounts it but a kinde of Theft, or robbing of the dead; and for hers should hold it a kinde of sacriledge or stealing from the Saints in Heaven: nay, she counts your Widdows marry so soon again, but a kind of Murtheresses, killing their first Hus­band out-right, when th're but half dead once; whilest hers long as she lives (in­despight of death) can never wholly dye, on half of him (at least) surviving still in her.

CHARACTER. Of a more Imitable Widdow.

SHe shoots off Husbands as fast as Boys Pellets out of Pot-guns; and one dis­charg'd, all her care is to charge again: she is as curious in her mourning dresse, as if she rather courted a new Husband than mourned for the old; and her Glass and woman have more ado with putting on her vaile and peak than (i'th' dayes of [...]evelling) with putting on her masking cloaths; nor are these any other in effect she only making an injurd joy under an cutward grief; her vaile fitly serving her to hide her laughter in publique; as her dark chamber in private, for the rest, she hides all under her widdow-hood: before company yet she makes sorrowfull faces, and squeezes out a tear or two, but alone with her woman she laughs at it; and all their discourse is, Who is the proper'st man, and who would make the best hus­band, [Page 54] &c. She counts her self widdow'd not for her bosome but her Bed (making difference still betwixt a Husband and a Friend) and therefore procures to have that alwayes warm, when her Husband is scarcely cold; whom she presently for­gets, never making mention of a former Husband, but only as a spur unto the lat­ter, with a God be with him, he would have done thus and thus; and if they don't so too, is as ready to bid God be with them: so as 'tis onely a good dowry and the Itch oth' Taile that makes her marry again, which satisfied once, she cares not how soon shees rid of you; or unsatiat, one suffices, not, but she still longs for more: Wherefore were I to marry her, I'de be sure, one condition oth' marriage should be, she should be no more a Widdow, or (be shrew me) I'de have none of her.

CHARACTER. Of a Fifth-Monarchy man.

HE Equivocates when he sayes, Thy kingdome come, meaning his own; and ith'mean time, looks upon all Magi­strates as Usurpers of his right: He is a Saint, turn'd inside outward, or all san­ctity without and none within: his con­gregation is all in querpo, though they boast the Spirit, and they care for no cloak but Hypocrisie: Tis question whe­ther he more hates the Church for Cere­monies, or Ceremonies for the Church; certainly, he is more familiar with the Lord, than to stand on Ceremonies with him any more; and he so hates a Gentle­man, as he can't endure God should be served like one. Mean time, down goes the Churches, and White-hall should fol­low too, might he but have his will: a Barn as well as a Church or Palace, serving them, (like savages) both for their spi­ritual and temporall Monarchy: He [Page 56] counting any place good enough to preach in; and any place indeed is good good enough for his preaching, who teaches nothing but sedition and infatua­tion, whence whilest others with their Sermons people Heaven, he peoples Bed­lam or the common Jaile; calling mirth, prophanes; melancholly, Godlines; Obedience luke-warmnesse; and Faction, zeale: ma­king altogether as unchristian work with Baptizing them, as he dos with children. In fine, other Sects run low, but he's up­on the Lees, calling himself onely pure, like him who being all o're defiled with dirt, brag'd that he had never a spot on him; so he thanks God with the Pharisee that he is not like other men, and in that he sayes true, for he is far worse than they: As for his Fift-Monarchy, he may expect it when all the world is mad, till when he must give all the world leave to believe that he is so.

Of an Importunate Visitant.

HE is the onely persecutor of Ladies, and they may as well be quit of their Shaddows as of him, he follows them without any regard of Time and place, visiting them a mornings e'r they are up, and scarcely gives them leave a nights to go to bed: whence they compare him with every thing thats troublesome, and comparisons (you know) are odious: He is their vexation in their Chambers, their distraction in the Church, nor can they scarce be private and at ease for him. In their Clossets, or on their close-stools, and when they take Coach, they must have a guard of Swiz at the Boot, or else hee'le enter whether they will or no. But what do I talk of a guard? when like a spright he penetrates any place, and is as good as a Canon, or Petard to force his entrance: whence he becomes so fearfull to every one, as they fright children with only saying he comes; and old folks who weary out others are a weary of his company: whence he is in every ones Letanys, with deli­ver us good Lord: and they pray a­gainst [Page 58] him as against the plague, he being far the more incurable malady of the two; and he who knew a remedy against the Gout and him, would soon be richer than Mayern, which makes them study it, and many remedies have bin thought upon: Some having assayed to make him blush, but that they finde is impossi­sible; others have invented severall ex­cuses, but none would serve the turn, not so much as that of business, sleeping, nor taking Physick, &c. Ill looks, nor ill words wont do't, and for that way of diversion, som Ladies have found out of late, of kee­ping handsome Gentlewomen & Chamber­maids, they find it afterwards but redou­bles of Access, what drives him soonest away, is their threatning to put him him to charges of Suppers and Collations, but that he puts off too, with his won­ted impudence; onely one, who hath tra­velled many Countries, and learned many rare Receipts, of late has found out a way, to Quarrell him out of their Companys; and to perfect the cure, add but a good beating to't, and tis thought, he will never dare to return a­gain.

CHARACTER. Of a French dancing-Master in England.

A French Dancer or Balladin, thinks himself a Palladin of France, when he cōmences Master and ceases to be Ʋs­her once: betwixt whom and the French Taylor there has been long contention who should be most modish and liker a Gentleman; till the Dauncing Master car­ried it clearly away at last, and but for his Pochet might sometimes pass for one; for he is the onely Master of the Revels now, and makes all dance after his Fid­dle. He has the Regimen of your Ladies Legs, (nay little Montague pretended higher yet) and is the sole pedagogue of the Feet, teaching them not onely the French pace but the French language too, as Coupéz, passéz, levéz, &c. which they understand as perfectly as English. He fetches you up in your Dance with a hei courage, as your Carter does his Horses with a Whip; and is so cholerick some­times, [Page 06] as he is beaten for his pains, and taught to know that he is far better at his feet than hands: he gos a Pilgrimage to Paris every year, and distributes his new Branles Gavots and Sarabands, like precious Reliques amongst his Schollars at his return, speaking as reverently, and with as great devotion of Monseour Pro­vost as your Pilgrims do of the Saints, of the Shrines they have visited: In fine, he lives a merry life and a long; for his dan­cing dayes are never done, and he is a brave fellow all the year, but on a Bal or Grand-Ballet night without compare: Onely, I'de councell him to hide his Kit when he goes abroad, or if the Saints spy it, tis but pretending its strings are made of the guts of the Beast, and that they play at the wedding of Anti-christ with the Whore of Babylon; to breake it like your English-Fiddles about the Fiddlers ears, 'gainst whom their persecution is so great, as t'would even extend it self to the sign of the Cat and Fiddle too, if it durst play but so loud as to be heard by them.

CHARACTER. Of your Town-Talkers.

YOur Town Talkers are a company in Town, who make a Trade of tal­king of every thing; they work jour­ney work, and are excellent embroide­rers of lyes; any ground will serve them and tis ordinary with them to add o's and cyphers to set it the better off. They deal more by conjecture, than Almanack makers, and are such expert Chymists, they can extract certainty out of likeli­hood at any time. They wish more for ill news, than ingrossers of Corn for dear years; and are sorry with Caligula, when no publique calamity happens in their time. They would be glad the dearest friend they had should be hanged, only to afford them news; and when they have any, are as pregnant with it, as Spa­nish gynets are with aire. They hunt with full cry, and run faster away with a rumour, than a pack of northern Hounds [Page 62] do with a full scent. Their chiefest game is who, and who? and they make more marriages, than Justices oth' Peace. As for Weddings now the Arches are down, they are the onely Bawdy court, making Adamites of all the young people in the Town; and instead of the Star-chamber, they censure every one: they'le venture the repute of lyars twenty times, for that of prophets once, and make such hast as they prevent times bringing truth to light. In fine, tis naturall to them, to speak ill of every one, amongst the rest, making bold sometimes with us in the Country, they are not to take it ill, if this once we make as bold with them in Town.

CHARACTER. Of a horrible wicked and deboished person.

HE is all over Guilty, whilst others are but parcell guilt, his words, actions, cogitations and all; his mind is a room all hung with Aritins Pictures, and the Contemplation of them is all his Devotion. He is so excellent a chymist as he can ex­tract Bawdry out of any thing: and makes Cato speak it, nay Salomon and Da­vid too: He neer sees woman, but he lusts her, strips her naked, and enjoys her strait in imagination; when he Fa­thers the Children of it upon himself, nor thinks he it dishonour to bely the honour of any one. Every thing with him, is in­centive unto Lust; and every woman Devill, enough to tempt him to't; silk-gowns and wastcoteirs all alike, he playing at women, just as he does at Cards, where every suit in their turns is turnd up Trump; he watches wenches just as Tumblers do Rabbets, ready still [Page 64] to throw himself Corps [...] perdu after them; whence he has more diseases than an Hospital of which: he lies in every spring and fall, when his sweat is a curse of his own, not Adams sin: Mean time, his word is a merry life and a short, and I know not how merry tis, but I'me sure tis short enough; he consuming just like a Candle on both ends, betwixt Wine and Women, without which he holds there is no pleasure in this world, and for the other he would fain be Atheist, and be­lieve there is none at all; whilest his manners and ignorance supply his want of Faith: for he lives like one, and knows no soul he has, repents more the omit­ting an evill action, than any Saint would the committing it: His discourse is all oaths, and his oaths are all his prayers (he never but in them remembring God:) he laughs at Heaven, and imagines Hell only, a pretty winter Parlour, thinks godlinesse and Religion but folly and hypocrisie; and finally for the narrow way to Paradise, knows no other, but the common road to Maiden-head.

CHARACTER. Of a valiant man.

HE is onely a man, your Coward and Rash, being but Tame and Savage Beasts; his courage is still the same, and drink cannot make him more valiant, nor danger lesse; his valour is enough to leaven whole Armies, and he is an Army him self worth an Army of other men: His sword is not alwayes out like chil­drens Daggers, but he is alwayes last in beginning quarrels, though first in end­ing them: He holds honour (though de­licate as chrystall) yet not so slight and brittle to be broak and crackt with eve­ry touch; therefore (though most wary of it) is not querilous nor punctilious; he is never troubled with passion, as know­ing no degree, beyond clear courage, and is a [...]wayes valiant but never furious. He is the more gentle ith' chamber, more feirce he's in the field; holding boast [Page 62] (the cowards valour) and cruelty (the Beasts) unworthy a valiant man: He is only coward in this, that he dares not do an unhandsome action. In fine, he can onely be overcome by discourtesie, and has but one deffect; he cannot talk much, to recompence which he dos the more.

CHARACTER. Of a Proud one.

SHe has as much in her of the antient Counteship as would have serv'd six of Queen Elizabeths Countesses with their Coachmen and Footmen bare, their Cup-bearer serving them on the knee; and women waiting about their Canopy of state; yet is she neither Countesse nor La­dy neither, but onely of pleasure, and at courtesie of the country. She looks high, and speaks in a Majestick tone, like one playing the Queens part at the Bull, and is ready to say, blesse ye my good people all, as often as she passes by any company; she adding only disobligingnes to her disho­nor, whilest she would be thought more honourable by disobligingnesse; and is but like those tradesmen, who when they have custome enough, grow proud and to disdainfull, and must be sued for their ware, whilest those who want it, are for­ced [Page 64] to sue to you: to hide and plaister it the better, she has two countefeit vizzards, her painting and her modesty; both which she puts of a nights, when she lies with her own face, though not with her own Husband; she pretending by her stately carriage (it seems) the ho­nour of Foundresse oth' order of undispa­rag'd Concubines, nor gets she any thing else by her statelinesse; but onely, when soever there is a Parliament of Curtesans, she shall be taken not for one of the Com­mons, but the House of Lords.

CHARACTER. Of an all-admirable Person.

BEauty alone is too secular a Theam for praise and vertue too Monasticall an one; together they make an excellent conjuction, so they are accompanied with goodnesse and obligingnesse; dis­obliging Beauty else repelling as fast as it attracts (and loosing all its graces by in­fusing them into vessels disobligingness makes bottomlesse) neither is vertue ever so honoured, when its goodnesse is con­tracted in it self, as when tis diffusively good to all: To speak separatly than of all these perfections, which she has joint­ly to admiration: For her Beauty all you call sweet and ravishing is in her Face; a cheerfulnesse tis joy for to behold, and a perpetuall sun-shine without any clouds at all, joyn'd with such attractive ver­tue, as she draws all to a certain distance, and there detains and suspends them, [Page 66] with reverence and admiration; none e­ver daring to approach her nigher, nor having power to go farther off; whence that beauty, which in the dayes of Ethni­cisme, had excited to Idolatry; now on­ly excites to piety and devotion; suffici­ent alone to fill the place with votius tables, and even in picture to work mi­racles; she being still the greater miracle herself, and so all surprizing as a disease, but as taking as her eyes, would be epi­demical, and soon depopulate all the world. Then shee's so obliging, civill, and courteous, as obligingnesse, civility, and courtesie seem to be born with her, and it is feared will dye and be buried with her in the same grave when she dyes; Her speech and behaviour being all so gentle, sweet and affable, as you may talke of Magick, but there is none charms but she; nor has complacency and observance more ready at a Beck; she (to the shame and confusion of the proud and imperious) doing more with one gentle intreaty than they with all their loud iterated commands. Whence she alone with her [Page 67] sweetness and gentlenesse, would tame [...]ierce Lions, and civilize barbarousest savages; and if there be any feircenesse [...]nd savagenesse in the world, tis onely where she is not, and because she cannot be every where: whence Heaven seems onely to have made her so beautifull, to make vertue more lovely in her, the one serving to adorn the other; as her no­ble obligingnesse and goodnesse does for the ornament of both.

CHARACTER. Of a gallant Warriour.

HE is a Lover, and the Warre is his Mistresse, whom he courts so nobly as not onely she, but all are enamour'd on him: all his thoughts are on her, and all his Ambition is to deserve her favours, and declare himself worthy of her; he doing that in effect, which others onely talk off; hazzard and expose his life for his Mistresse, as often as brave Action cals him to't: Mean time, compare him but with your other fine Gallants of the Town, and you'le see what little pittifull things they'le seem compared to him (just as Puppets in comparison with men) he ith' head of an Army, with brave feircenesse in the field; they with little meens and countenances, leading a dance at home; they slickt with pomatum, all patcht and powdred; he all covered ore with dust and sweat, the powder of the Canon frizling her hair, and every patch [Page 69] hiding or shewing some noble wound; they finally proud of the favour of some knot or ribban (their Mistresse Dog has honour to wear as well as they) he glori­ously returning home with victory, a fa­vour onely greatest, Heroes are honoured with: After all which, more to encrease their shames, and his glory he beats them at their own weapons too (to shew him­self every wayes a Conquerour) and provs the gallanter courtie [...], as far surpas­sing them in the gentle Arts of Peace, as in the noble ones of War: With good reason they feigned Venus then enamour­ed of Mars; onely I wonder they fabled him born of immortall race, since in my conceit the fable had been much hand­somer, had they feigned (like our Mars's here) his noble actions onely Immortali­zing him.

CHARACTER. Of a miserable old Gentlewoman.

HEr word is, pitty any thing should be lost, whilest others say, pittie any thing should be saved, as she saves it; for she hoards up Candles ends, and scapes up Greace; being so rich in Kitchin-stuff, as her very cloaths are become part of it; excepting her brancht-velvet-gown, (thin as an old groat with the figures all worn out) which she keeps more care­fully for Sundayes and Holy-dayes; nor wonders she at the Jews wearing their cloths in the Desart forty years, for she has a petty-coat she has worn as long; her sto­macher being a piece of venerable Anti­quity, derived from the Velvet of Queen Mary's gown; and her prayer Book was a Relique of her Grand-mothers, till fal­ling into the Dripping-pan (by simpathy) the Dog and Cat fell out about it, and at last agreed to pray on it: since when for want of a Book, her ordinary prayer (without Book) is a God help ye without [Page 71] Alms, for which the Beggars curse her as fast; onely your sneezers thank her, be­cause they expect no more from her; for her house, you enter it with the same horrour as you'de do one, the witches kept their Sabot in; she sitting purring in the Chimney-corner like a melancholly Cat, mumping like an old Ape when she saluteth you; and when shee'de Regale you indeed, sends for a bottle of Sack from her Closet (as everlasting as the Widdows cruch of Oyle) has served this twelve months all strangers that come to house, together with a Box of mermelate so dry, as the flyes have given 't over long since, in dispaire of extracting any more sweetnesse out of it. In fine, to tell you all the sordid poverty of her house, I should never make an end: wherefore to conclude, her Coffers are only rich (whilst she is poore) where she hoard up all her old spurroials and Harry Angels, with her deaths-head and Gymal Rings, for who­soever she means to make her Heir, which I'm sure sha'nt be me, I laugh at her so much.

CHARACTER. Of a Ladies Little Dog.

HE is native of Bolonia, though of no great House (as tis imagined) yet he is his Ladies Favourite, and the Envy of her gallants, for his lying with her a night, whilest he innocently snugs and ne'er thinks of his happiness, and kisses her a days, without imagining any harm; for which they suspect him of frigidity, and certainly he is so cold as the Chimney-corner can scarce keep him warm; where he lies in his panier (like Diogenes in his Tub) snarling and barking at every on comes in; whence he's imagi­ned to be one of his Cinick sect, yet all Caresse and make much of him, for his Ladies sake, and that proverbs together, Love me, and love my Dog. Mean time, his chiefest bravery consists in his chollar, which you would take for the chollar of some Order (of which there are Carpet Knights enough, who would gladly like [Page 73] him be never out of Lady's laps) but that [...]e has no fellow for littleness, all other Dogs seeming Gyants unto him; and he would scarce passe for a Mastiff amongst [...]he Pigmies: though in Homers battaile betwixt the Frogs and Mice, he would [...]ave served rarely well, for mounting the Caval'ry, and have put the Infantry [...]erribly to Rout: but that he was spoil'd [...]n the managing; he (what betwixt car­ [...]ying in the Arms at home, and Coach a­ [...]road) having legs more for ornament than use: Whence he has (certainly) much to answer for Idleness, but for that [...]he cares not, who never thinks on death (though his life may well be compared [...]nto a span, his body being no more) nor [...]res he for what becomes of Dogs in the other world, he enjoying all his Heaven and Felicity in this; having a Velvet Cu­shion for his couch; walking on Turkey Carpets like the Grond Seignior, being fed as daintily as the Infanta or the King of Spain; nor can he wag his Taile for any thing, but he has it strait.

CHARACTER. Of your Ladies Coronel.

NOt to be Souldier, he was made Co­ronel at first, and to scape fighting, h'as remaind so ever since; whence he's a superlative without a positive, or like a Hovell all rouff without foundation; you may call him souldier yet in extraordi­nary, as they do Courtiers who ordinarily have nothing to do at Court, no more than he in the Feild; ere since he brought the name of Coronel to Town, as some did formerly to the suburbs that of Lievtenant or Captain. Mean time, I know not whether the Ladies made him Coronel, but I am sure they have marr'd him for ever being one; he caring more for their simpring, than either for grin­ning honour dead, or smiling on alive: So there is more danger of his over comple­menting, than over coming an enemy; and for his sword, it can so little boast its bloud, as all its gentility lies in the Hilt [Page 75] [...]nd Belt; and it derives its honour more from the scabboard than the blade, not­withstanding (though I will not abso­lutely say, he is a Souldier in his heart) certainly in his words he is a famous one, and for such he passes with my Ladies Gentlewoman, who for the title of Co­ronels wife is content to marry him: When shee's call'd Madam and puts hard for Lady too, fathering far more children on him in Peace, than ever he made fa­therlesse in war.

CHARACTER. Of a School-Boy.

ONe may well say of him, as another did of his Son, that his mother had prayed so long for a Boy, as he feared he would prove a Boy all his life, to which nothing more confers than their breed­ing in Grammer Schools, where they stu­dy Boyes so long, they are marr'd for e­ver studying men: comming thence so rude as in compare with those bred at home, they are like ragged Colts of the Commons, compar'd with Stable-breed; he has nothing so ready, as his Hat at his fingers ends; which he twirls about in mighty agony; when he is out and knows not what to say, and if you que­stion him, he looks another way, as if he sought an Answer in the Seeling, or the Floore, and scraps you just such a leg in answering you, as Jack oth' clock-house going (about to strike) mean while he speaks ith'same tone he recites his lesson [Page 77] in, as fast as a Horse running away with his Rider, and as loud as all the company were deaf: ever and annon putting his Nose in's cap, and sneering when he is out of countenance: for his learning tis all capping verses, and Faggotting Poets looser lines, which fall from him as dis­orderly as Faggot-sticks, when the band is broak; of his manners I say nothing, for he has none at all; nor is there any hope he will ever learn; his head being so doz'd with knocking, & breech hard­ned with whipping, as h'as neither fear nor wit. Judge then what hope his Pa­rents have of him, and what comfort in his schooling, where he has learnt so ma­ny miching and sneaking tricks, as had I a son, I lov'd, I'de send him to Paris-gar­den, as they do Apes to learn tricks there, rather than such tricks as they common­ly learn at School.

CHARACTER. Of one that shall be namelesse.

HE is the onely famous Ruffin of the Time, and is so exemplary vitious, as in beating their children, they bid them take warning by such an on: his vices are heavy enough to weigh down a side, whence antiently had he bin to have fought, they would have desired him, not to pray that the gods might not have known that he was there: He drunk for­merly, when he should be fighting, and now talks only of fighting in his drink; whence he is rather scandalous than dangerous, and they persecute him more for his Words than Actions; he cryes out on others not suffering like himself; like the Fox, who having lost his own Taile, would needs perswade all others out of their; nor is it zeal but envy in him, like your Boyes, who cry a whip Coach-man, when they cannot get up themselves: Mean time, he Fathers his [Page 79] decay'd Fortune on the Wars, when tis well known, twas rather caused by his Engagements with women, than with men: and were his Creditors Books well examined, you should finde his name there long before the Muster master could shew it you in his; which remaining un­c [...]nceld still, he thinks to do it by wit instead of money; and to break his Cre­ditors by breaking jests on them; but they are too wise to be witty now a days, and he too foolish not to remember how the times are so chang'd, as those who formerly for jesting, might have begged others Estates, may now for jesting chance to loose their own. Mean while, more prisons contend for him, than Cities an­tiently for Homer, on the gates of one of them, you may well write his Epitaph, for tis like to be his Sepulcher.

CHARACTER. Of a pretty sweet Innocence.

HEr Innocence is the pure white gar­ment that she wore in Baptism, which in others looses glosse, and is quickly sullyed; but in her holds colour, and conserve its candor still, tis no wit­lesse, but guiltlesse Innocence, such as was our first Parents in Paradise, of which had they been but as wary & tenacious, they had not lost it so easiely, nor had Paradise been lost so soon: She knows no harm, and therefore dos, nor imagines none, her ignorance being a far better and surer guard, for her Innocence than others knowledges. She hates Vice almost as much by Nature as by Grace; nor is there any more beholding to both than she: She is virtue's white-paper, whilest others are onely blotted, or course blotting pa­per at the best; and is onely fit to write [Page 81] Heavens dictates on. Her Inocent stole be­ [...]ng of the same stuff & piece, your Angels are made off, which could she conserve like them, but unblemisht and unspotted [...]e might go to Heaven in it without translation, which her noble birth and [...]reeding promises for her in her Infancy; nor is there any doubt, but her high Ho­nour and virtuous mind, will fully per­form when she comes to Age all that they have promised.

CHARACTER. Of a scrupulous Honour.

NEver was curious Beauty more nice nor shie of sun and winde; nor fru­gall Bravery of contracting spot or stain, than she of conserving her fame and ho­nour pure and unblemished: having such care of its integrity, she dares not trust ru­mour with it, she fearfully apprehends like some fierce Mastiff, rending and tea­ring every thing it fastens its teeth upon; this makes her walk so warily for fear of awakening it, so far she is from irritating it, to bark or bite: mean time she strictly examins all her words and actions on this nice Interrogatory, What will the people say? Nor moves she apace without first considering where she sets her foot; by which prudent conduct of hers, she clear­ly demonstrats, that howsoever foul and dirty the world is, tis but picking out ones way, and they may walk clean e­nough. And all this she dos purely from [Page 83] the principals of high Honour and noble [...]rtue, without affectation or hypocrisie; [...]d the care shee'as of the pretious odor [...] her fame, never expos'd (she knows) the subtle theft of publique aire with­out some detrement, whence no Ermine purer, nor Angel cloathed in flesh could be more carefull of preserving its inno­cence; nor vertues self could it be seen with mortall eys, could ever gain more [...]ve nor reverence than she, who of all women alive, has onely the true receipt [...] stopping rumours mouth, of silencing calumny and detraction, and purchasing [...] esteem and admiration of all.

CHARACTER. Of a Fleerer.

OF all wrinckles in the Face (next to those of comely Age) give me a hearty laughter, or a frown at least, con­cealing nothing of dissimulation, but for your fleering, tis alwayes the counterfeit vizard of the False, the Descembler, and the Treacherous (and if it proceed from simplicity tis as bad on t'other side) to adde the more to its deformity, it has somewhat in it too of the wrinkles of an Ape, makes it look more ridiculously and scurvely; tis a screw'd face onely made to insinuate into your breast, a warpt on, declaring there's no trust to it; having as many double rinds in it, as a Bulbus root; you may annihilate it as soon as peel it out of all of them. 'Thas nothing in it of the phystognomy of an honest man; open and cheerfull with eyes more smi­ling than the mouth: in smoothnes not wrinckles, unfolding the habit of the [Page 85] minde, whilest this is a Judas face, with what will you give me for motto to its trea­cherous smile, or at the worst a Scotch Presbyterian face, faining friendship and pretending zeal only to cozen you, with all its actions fawning and language flat­tery; and if I would paint a Greek Sinon it should be just with such another phy­siognomy, red hair, flat nose and gogle Eyes, with crouching posture, and fleer­ing countenance, trust them who's list for me.

CHARACTER. Of a Make-bate.

SHe is a tattling Gossip that goes a fish­ing or groaping for secrets, and tic­kles you under the gills, till she catches hold of you; onely the politique Eelo escapes her hand, and wrigles himself out again: She tels you others secrets, onely to hook yours out of you, and baits men as they do Fishes one with another still. She is as industrious as a Bee, in flying a­bout, and sucking every flowre; onely she has the Spiders quality of making poison instead of honey of it. For she has all her species of Arithmetique, Multipli­cation, Addition, and Detraction too, one­ly at Numeration she is alwayes out, ma­king every thing more or lesse than tis indeed; whilst they blame Flatterers for wanting their sicut erat to their gloria; she wants both her gloria and sicut erat too. In fine, you have diverse Serpents so ve­nemous, [Page 87] as they infect and poison with their very breaths; but none have breathes more infectious nor poisonous than she, who would set man and wife at dissention the first day of their marriage, [...]nd Children and Parents the last day of their lives; nor will Innocence ever be safe, nor conversation Innocent, till such as she be banisht humane society; the bane of all societies where they come; and if could afford them being any where with Ariosto's Discord, it should be onely amongst mine enemies: Mean time, tis my prayer, God blesse my friends from them.

CARACTERE. Du Tour a la mode.

C'est une Assemble ou les Dames sont pareéz pour le Bal, et ou les cheuaux dancent un Ballet. C'est un Marché ou l'on n' Estale que la meilleure Marchandice, en reservant le reste dans l'arriere Boutique. C'est une Blanque des visages ou pour un bon, on en rencontre cent mauuais. C'est une Battaile bien rengée, ou le Baggage est der­rier, ou ceux sont seulement a couvert des coups d'oeillades, qui sont au fond du Car­rose, et ou les primiers ayant fait leur dis­charge ilz s'en retirent pour donner place aux autres. C'est un Festin ou ceux qui vont en Carrose sont assiz a Table, et ceux qui sont par terre les regardent, et devorent des yeux. C'est l'Eglise de la Gallantrie ou il y a de la Bigotterie aussi bien qu' aillieurs, et ou, on va plus par Curiosité que par devo­tion. C'est un Ciel qui a deux monuemens contrairs, ou il y a des Estoilles de toutes Grandeurs, et ou les Dames fardées, et demauuaise [Page 89] [...]eputation sont des Commettes. C'est un [...]eu des Cartes ou tous les valets sont escar­ [...]z. C'est un Triomphe ou les vaincus aussi [...]in que les vainqueurs vont en chariot. Cest une Medaille de la vanité du monde et [...]icissitude des Mondains, a [...]ex ces Inscri­ptions Sic transit gloria mundi, et chácun en son Tour: en fin c'est là ou l'on roule doucement dedans le monde, & si l'on pou­ [...]oit ainsi aller en Paradis, on seroit aussi [...]eureux qu' Elie.

CHARACTER. Of a Changeable disposition.

SUre the Moon had great predomi­nancy in her Birth, there's such a per­petuall ebb and flow of humour in her; so as you may go twise into her company, and not twise into the same company: She is a sea without North star, and so full of shifting sand [...], as there is no sayling by Compasse with her, nor without the Plumet still in hand: she is all in the ex­tremities without medium; and now 'tis stormy, now sun-shine with her: Now shee's merry, now exceeding sad; now fond, now froward; now infinitly oblige­ing, & as disobliging now again. Whence who observe her humour are tyred out and become giddy strait, and shee's only safe in it, in that flattery knows not where to finde her out: Mean time, she falls of­ten out with you, and no wonder, for she falls out with her self as oft; and now affirms a thing, & strait gives her self the [Page 91] lye; now does a thing, and presently is displeased at it; ascenting or contra­dicting, as shee's either in good or bad humour and disposition; and when that is, you must go to a Cunning woman to [...]now, for shee's not cunning woman e­nough to know her self; her humour be­ing so marr'd by too much humouring. In fine, she's a very Camelion or Proteus in disposition, changing fashions of minde oftner than the French does fashions of Body; and did she change shapes as often as she does minds, none would know her, and the Reason of all this is (perhaps) on­ly because she dos not know her self.

CHARACTER. Of a Physition.

BY sin, sicknesse first entred into the World; and by sicknesse, death and the Physitian. Behold, how some derive his Pedegree; others say, that as Lawyers ingender processes and laws abuses, so phy­sitians do Maladyes. Certain tis, he and death are but Cozen Germains once remo­ved, and both of the same Trade and oc­cupation of killing men; though the Phy­sitian escapes (by money and corruption of the Judge) and poore Death onely is condemn'd for it. An others Reason why never Physitian yet held up his hand at Bar for killing Patient, is, because the Crowners quest have found it self-murder in those who take physick of them. Cer­tainly, they do more harm and good (for all his saying, that did not Physitians kill men so fast, the world would be so full of them, as ther'd be no living one by another) for with their purging they [Page 91] but fill the world with ordurs; and for one stool they give a man, they give him twenty pains, diseases, and molestations; who say that we must honour Physitians for necessity: mean onely, that they are necessary evills, against whom David pray'd (infallibly) when he desired to be delivered from his necessities; mean time, as tis said, necessity has no law, so would it could be said, that necessity had no Phy­ [...]itian too. But this now, is no ways to be understood by our English Physitians, but onely those of other Nations, who with their six penny fees, have skill according­ly, whilest ours in with their golden fees have golden skill.

CHARACTER. Of the Authors Idea, or of a Character.

IT gives you the hint of discourse, but discourses not; and is that in mass and ingot, you may coyn and wyer-draw to infinite; tis more Senica than Cicero, and speaks rather the language of Oracles than Orators: every line a sentence, & eve­ry two a period. It sayes not all, but all it sayes is good, and like an Aire in Musick is either full of clozes, or still driving to­wards a close: tis no long-winded ex­ercise of spirit, but a forcible one, and therefore soonest out of breath; tis all matter, and to the matter, and has nothing of superfluity, nothing of circumlocution; so little comporting with mediocrity, as it or extols to Heaven, or depresses unto Hell; having no mid' place for Purgato­ry left. Tis that in every sort of writing delighteth most, and though the Treatise be gold, it is the Jewell still, which the Authour of Characters, like your Lapi­dary [Page 93] produces single, whilest others Gold­smith-like inchass them in their works. Tis a Portraiture, not onely oth' Body, but [...]he soul and minde; whence it not one­ [...]y delights but teaches and moves with­ [...]ll, and is a Sermon as well as Picture to [...]very one. In fine, tis a short voiage, the Writer holds out with equall force, still comming fresh unto his journeys end, whilest in long ones, they commonly tire and falter on their way: And to the Reader tis a garden, not jou [...]ney, or a feast, where by reason of the subjects variety, he is never cloyed, but at each Character, [...]s at a new service, falls too with fresh Appetite.

CHARACTER. Of a Dull-fellow.

HE is the mute of the company, and only plays a part in the Dumb shew; or if he say any thing like a pump, he la­bours for it, and presently his spirits sink down again, and leave him dry. He sits nodding in company, like a sleepy person o­verwatcht; and rouse him with a que­stion, and he stares on you, like one new­ly awaked out of sleep: he looks with his mouth, and thinks you would sell him a bargain, and ask him any thing, and tis impossible to aske him any thing he understands. He may thank God then for making him when he did, for they make no more such Dunces now a dayes; so the species when he dyes is like to be extinct in him: when if he be sav'd, it must be contrary to the proceeding of our Sessions's, and rather by his Ignorance than by his Book. And if he be Bookish [Page 95] with all, he is yet the greater Dunce, be­ing just like a narrow neckt bottle, hasti­ly turnd down-ward, upon surprize you can get nothing out of him, and onely premeditation can save him from being begg'd: Whence like a dull Horse, let him go on his pace, and he advances somewhat, but spur him and through diffidence of his strength, his wit fails and [...]ongue shuffles, falters, trips, stumbles and [...]alls flat down at last, never arriving to [...] period. So goes he on plodding his Dunstable high-way, till he becomes a fa­mous schollar at the last: Of such wood (or rather blocks) they commonly nowadayes making most of their great Do­ctors in the Ʋniversity.

CHARACTER. Of a bold abusive wit.

HE talks madly, dash, dash without any fear at all, and never cares how he bespatters others, or defiles himself; nor ceases he till he has quite run him­self out of breath; when no wonder, if to fools he seem to get the start of those, who wisely pick out their way, and are as fearfull of abusing others as them­selves: He has the Buffoons priviledge of saying and doing any thing without exceptions, and he will call a jealous man Cuckold, a childe of doubtfull birth ba­stard, and a Lady of suspected honour Whore, and they but laugh at it; and all schollars are pedants & Physitians, Quaks with him, when to be angry at it is the avowing it. Then in Ladies chambers, he will tumble Beds, and towse your La­dies drest up unto the height, to the haz­zard of a Bed-staff thrown at his head, or rap o're the fingers with a Busk, and that [Page 97] is all; onely in this, he is far worse than [...]e Buffoon, since they study to delight, [...]is onely to offend; they to make merry, [...]t this onely to make you mad, whence [...] be t'ye if he discovers any imperfection [...] fault in you, for he never finds a breach, [...]t he makes a hole of it, nor a hole but he [...]s at it so long till he tear it quite; gi­ [...]ng y^t for reason of his incivility, because [...]orsooth) it troubles you) which would [...]ke any civil man cease troubling you. [...] he wears his wit, as Bravo's do their [...]ords, to mischief and offend others, [...]t as Gentlem [...]n to defend themselves: [...]d tis crime in him, what is ornament in [...]hers; he being onely a wit at that, at [...]hich a good wit only is a fool. Especial­ [...] he triumphs over your modest man; [...]d when he meets with a simple body, [...]sses for a wit, but a wit indeed makes a [...]uplician of him; so goes he persecu­ [...]ng others till some one or other at last, [...] as chollerick as he is abusive) cudgell him for his pains, when he goes grumbling a­way in mighty choler, saying, they under­ [...]tand not Jest, when indeed tis rather he.

CHARACTER. Of troublesome kindnesse.

HIs kindnesse is as troublesome as o­thers Ceremonies, and his stroakings as painfull as others stroaks; he asks ye with a great deal of joy when he sees ye, whether you be there or no? and shakes you by the hand till has shak't it out of joint, telling you twenty times, he is glad to see you well; And if he embrace you, and get you in the hug, you had as good fall into the hands of a Cornish Wrastler: he asks you so often how you do? as he makes you doubt whether you be well or no, when indeed tis rather his disease than yours: He is troublesome at Table with bidding you heartily welcome, and often drinking to you; and being a lit­tle rippled he kisses man, woman and childe, and out gos all his secrets whispe­red in your ear: (the shaking by the hand still, in all his kindnesses entring as a necessary ingredient) but above all he [Page 99] is most troublesome when you are sick, with his how d'yees? and pray be well, so as [...]ou would give as much to be rid of his [...]sits, as you are forc't to give the Physi­ [...]an for his: neither are you at quiet when [...]e is absent, but still he writes unto you, [...]nd his Letters are fill'd with commenda­ [...]ions, till they run over the margent; and [...]e be forced to end with my paper will [...]ive me leave to write no more. In fine, his [...]indnesse is rather that of children than of [...] freind; rather out of weaknesse than [...]udgment; more luscious than sweet, clear­ [...]y demonstrating that one may far soo­ [...]er be cloid with such slight junkets than with more solid food.

CHARACTER. Of a Jansenist.

A Jansenist is a new name for an He­retick, & the first Heretick that ever was Catholick: Let us imagine then (to please the Mollenists) your Jansenists condemned for Hereticks at Rome, by the Pope ex Cathedra, with all his Cardinals, and the Jesuits making Bonfires for joy. Then more to increase their joy and Bon­fires; let us imagine them again burnt for French Hugonots in Spain, the Jesuits (of their wonted charity) assisting them to the fire, and exhorting them to die pe­nitent; which they refuse (like obsti­nate Hereticks as they are) accusing the Jesuits violent wrestling their Proposi­tions to Heresie, which were Catholick enough before, telling them ‘They take their measures of Catholick or Heretick, [Page 101] as they are contrary, or according to [...]heir dogmas and principalls; and for [...]heir condemnation, say that they are ra­ [...]er unfortunate then criminal, and that [...]ftentimes the sentence may be just, and [...]et the person condemned innocent.’ [...]ter which return we to France, and i­ [...]agine the horrible bustle that is there: [...]he Gallicane Church, not admitting [...]eir ipse dixit, so easily and absolutely [...]ithout distinction as the rest do in Spain [...]d Italy &c. but there the Jansenists [...]uggle with the Molinists still, and [...]rite divers pernicious Books against [...]em, amongst the rest, one lately enti­ [...]ed the Provincials, making a terrible [...]ombustion (confuted by the Hangman, who publickly burned it.) They spring­ [...]ng up as fast as Hydras every day, whilest the Iesuits quell them as fast, like Hercules with his club; for which finally they triumph, representing Father Arnoult with all the Ring-leaders of the Iansenists blown up like Crackers in a Puppet play, and all their followers at noyce and hub­bub [Page 102] of it, running away like frighted dogs with bottles of excommunication at their tailes, with all the Jesuits Scholars houting after them, and all those of diffe­rent Religions in other Nations, making their sport at it, notwithstanding all which, Iansenius may be a very honest man.

CHARACTER. Of a certain Nobleman

HIs Dignity at home, is double the same stile abroad, and mind and per­ [...] answerable to his dignity: his titles become him as they were made for him, and he shews greater the higher he is in [...]ce: He blazons his Arms by vertues not [...]ours, and his pedigree thats but boast [...]th others, is but chronicle with him: He remembers his Ancestors more to their praise than his own; and suffers them to get the start of him in nothing [...]at priority of time: he is great not [...]oln, high not lofty, humble not stou­ [...]ing, raising his inferiours up to him, without abasing himself to them, (this being an act of weaknesse, that of power) [...]o fine, he swels not with speaking big, but is courteous and affable to all, hold­ing courtesie so main an ornament of No­bility, as that Nobleman (he imagines) dis­guises [Page 104] but himself, and puts on Pesant cloathing, who is discourteous; abov [...] all he holds loyalty so essentiall to a N [...] bleman, as who proves disloyall once (h [...] imagines) not onely degrades himself but even his posterity of their Nobility.

CHARACTER. Of an other.

HE is merry and facetious, dispatch­ing more business with dallying and tryfling, than others with all their plod­ding and seriousnes; and his grimaces are worth all their supercilious gravity: he is your only universall Courtier, belov'd of all, and no wonder for he has kindred and alliance with every one, calling one Father, an other Son; one Mother, ano­ther wife; giving the younger, the aged­er title still; and the old the younger, to be more facetious, and endear himself the more: He has nothing in him of [Page 105] Saturnin and Tetricall, but is all pleasant and joviall, wiping from old age, all the blemishes and imputations cast upon't time; and smoothing all the wrinkles of the mind, which commonly accompany the wrinkles of the Face; nature being so fearfull he should ever grow wholly old: as it gives him a youthfull [...]inde in an aged Body still; so whilest he [...]ters singing, and goes out dancing in all companies where he comes, he chases melancholly so far away, as it can never turn so long as hee's in place.

CHARACTER. Of a Naturall Beauty.