Is the elephant with the great trunk, for he eats nothing but what comes through this way. His profession is not so worthy as to occasion insolence, and yet no man so much puft up. His face is as brazen as his trumpet, and (which is worse,) as a fidler's, from whom he differeth only in this, that his impudence is dearer. The sea of drink and much wind make a storm perpetually in his cheeks, and his look is like his noise, bl.u.s.tering and tempestuous. He was whilom the sound of war, but now of peace; yet as terrible as ever, for wheresoever he comes they are sure to pay for it. He is the common attendant of glittering folks, whether in the court or stage, where he is always the prologue's prologue.[63] He is somewhat in the nature of a hogshead, shrillest when he is empty; when his belly is full he is quiet enough. No man proves life more to be a blast, or himself a bubble, and he is like a counterfeit bankrupt, thrives best when he is blown up.

FOOTNOTES:

[63] The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets.

"Present not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill the quaking prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is ready to giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon point to enter."

Decker's _Gul's Hornbook_, 1609. p. 30.

"Doe you not know that I am the Prologue? Do you not see this long blacke veluet cloke vpon my backe? _Haue you not sounded thrice?_" Heywood's _Foure Prentises of London_. 4to. 1615.

x.x.xIX.

A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN

Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry, and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publickly affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though he knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, "thus men say;" and "thus most do;" and "thus the world goes;" and thinks this enough to poise the other. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks all a great man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinion out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and Jesuits very villains, and is still cursing the pope and Spinola. One that thinks the gravest ca.s.sock the best scholar; and the best cloaths the finest man.

That is taken only with broad and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too deep for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money above all our English poets, because the voice has gone so, and he has read none. That is much ravished with such a n.o.bleman's courtesy, and would venture his life for him, because he put off his hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the king's hand, and cries, "G.o.d bless his majesty!" loudest. That rails on all men condemned and out of favour, and the first that says "away with the traitors!"--yet struck with much ruth at executions, and for pity to see a man die, could kill the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and the pretty things in it, and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears.

That measures the happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn, and conceives no harm of state, but ill trading. Within this compa.s.s too, come those that are too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting thoughts above those things; that call to thrive, to do well; and preferment only the grace of G.o.d. That aim all studies at this mark, and shew you poor scholars as an example to take heed by. That think the prison and want a judgment for some sin, and never like well hereafter of a jail-bird. That know no other content but wealth, bravery, and the town-pleasures; that think all else but idle speculation, and the philosophers madmen. In short, men that are carried away with all outwardnesses, shews, appearances, the stream, the people; for there is no man of worth but has a piece of singularity, and scorns something.

XL.

A PLODDING STUDENT

Is a kind of alchymist or persecutor of nature, that would change the dull lead of his brain into finer metal, with success many times as unprosperous, or at least not quitting the cost, to wit, of his own oil and candles. He has a strange forced appet.i.te to learning, and to atchieve it brings nothing but patience and a body. His study is not great but continual, and consists much in the sitting up till after midnight in a rug-gown and a night-cap, to the vanquishing perhaps of some six lines; yet what he has, he has perfect, for he reads it so long to understand it, till he gets it without book. He may with much industry make a breach into logick, and arrive at some ability in an argument; but for politer studies he dare not skirmish with them, and for poetry accounts it impregnable.

His invention is no more than the finding out of his papers, and his few gleanings there; and his disposition of them is as just as the bookbinders, a setting or glewing of them together. He is a great discomforter of young students, by telling them what travel it has cost him, and how often his brain turned at philosophy, and makes others fear studying as a cause of duncery. He is a man much given to apothegms, which serve him for wit, and seldom breaks any jest but which belongs to some Lacedemonian or Roman in Lycosthenes. He is like a dull carrier's horse, that will go a whole week together, but never out of a foot pace; and he that sets forth on the Sat.u.r.day shall overtake him.

XLI.

PAUL'S WALK[64]

Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here discern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap of stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of bees, a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet: it is a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all discourse, and no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a-foot. It is the synod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is the antick of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you need go no farther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of all famous lies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few pockets. The best sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves sanctuary, which rob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the day, after plays, tavern, and a bawdy-house; and men have still some oaths left to swear here. It is the ear's brothel, and satisfies their l.u.s.t and itch. The visitants are all men without exceptions, but the princ.i.p.al inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains[65] out of service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turn merchants here and traffick for news. Some make it a preface to their dinner, and travel for a stomach; but thriftier men make it their ordinary, and board here very cheap.[66] Of all such places it is least haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he could not.

FOOTNOTES:

[64] St. Paul's cathedral was, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James, a sort of exchange and public parade, where business was transacted between merchants, and where the fashionables of the day exhibited themselves. The reader will find several allusions to this custom in the _variorum_ edition of Shakspeare, _K. Henry IV._ part 2. Osborne, in his _Traditional Memoires on the Reigns of Elizabeth and James_, 12mo. 1658, says, "It was the fashion of those times (James I.) and did so continue till these, (the interregnum,) for the princ.i.p.al gentry, lords, courtiers, and men of all professions, not merely mechanicks, to meet in _St. Paul's_ church by eleven, and walk in the middle isle till twelve, and after dinner from three to six; during which time some discoursed of business, others of news." Weever complains of the practice, and says, "it could be wished that walking in the middle isle of _Paules_ might be forborne in the time of diuine seruice." _Ancient Funeral Monuments_, 1631, page 373.

[65] In the _Dramatis Personae_ to Ben Jonson's _Every Man in his Humour_, Bobadil is styled a _Paul's man_; and Falstaff tells us that he bought Bardolph in _Paul's_. _King Henry IV._ Part 2.

[66]

----You'd not doe Like your penurious father, who was wont _To walke his dinner out in Paules_.

Mayne's _City Match_, 1658.

XLII.

A COOK.

The kitchen is his h.e.l.l, and he the devil in it, where his meat and he fry together. His revenues are showered down from the fat of the land, and he interlards his own grease among to help the drippings. Cholerick he is not by nature so much as his art, and it is a shrewd temptation that the chopping-knife is so near. His weapons, ofter offensive, are a mess of hot broth and scalding water, and woe be to him that comes in his way. In the kitchen he will domineer and rule the roast in spight of his master, and curses in the very dialect of his calling. His labour is meer bl.u.s.tering and fury, and his speech like that of sailors in a storm, a thousand businesses at once; yet, in all this tumult, he does not love combustion, but will be the first man that shall go and quench it. He is never a good christian till a hissing pot of ale has slacked him, like water cast on a firebrand, and for that time he is tame and dispossessed. His cunning is not small in architecture, for he builds strange fabricks in paste, towers and castles, which are offered to the a.s.sault of valiant teeth, and like Darius' palace in one banquet demolished. He is a pittiless murderer of innocents, and he mangles poor fowls with unheard-of tortures; and it is thought the martyrs persecutions were devised from hence: sure we are, St.

Lawrence's gridiron came out of his kitchen. His best faculty is at the dresser, where he seems to have great skill in the tacticks, ranging his dishes in order military, and placing with great discretion in the fore-front meats more strong and hardy, and the more cold and cowardly in the rear; as quaking tarts and quivering custards, and such milk-sop dishes, which scape many times the fury of the encounter. But now the second course is gone up and he down in the cellar, where he drinks and sleeps till four o'clock[67] in the afternoon, and then returns again to his regiment.

FOOTNOTES:

[67] The time of supper was about five o'clock. See note at page 39.

XLIII.

A BOLD FORWARD MAN

Is a l.u.s.ty fellow in a crowd, that is beholden more to his elbow than his legs, for he does not go, but thrusts well. He is a good shuffler in the world, wherein he is so oft putting forth, that at length he puts on. He can do some things, but dare do much more, and is like a desperate soldier, who will a.s.sault any thing where he is sure not to enter. He is not so well opinioned of himself, as industrious to make others, and thinks no vice so prejudicial as blushing. He is still citing for himself, that a candle should not be hid under a bushel; and for his part he will be sure not to hide his, though his candle be but a snuff or rush-candle.

Those few good parts he has, he is no n.i.g.g.ard in displaying, and is like some needy flaunting goldsmith, nothing in the inner room, but all on the cupboard. If he be a scholar, he has commonly stepped into the pulpit before a degree, yet into that too before he deserved it. He never defers St. Mary's beyond his regency, and his next sermon is at Paul's cross,[68]

[and that printed.] He loves publick things alive; and for any solemn entertainment he will find a mouth, find a speech who will. He is greedy of great acquaintance and many, and thinks it no small advancement to rise to be known. [He is one that has all the great names at court at his fingers ends, and their lodgings; and with a saucy, "my lord," will salute the best of them.] His talk at the table is like Benjamin's mess, five times to his part, and no argument shuts him out for a quarreller. Of all disgraces he endures not to be non-plussed, and had rather fly for sanctuary to nonsense which few descry, than to nothing which all. His boldness is beholden to other men's modesty, which rescues him many times from a baffle; yet his face is good armour, and he is dashed out of any thing sooner than countenance. Grosser conceits are puzzled in him for a rare man; and wiser men though they know him [yet] take him [in] for their pleasure, or as they would do a sculler for being next at hand. Thus preferment at last stumbles on him, because he is still in the way. His companions that flouted him before, now envy him, when they see him come ready for scarlet, whilst themselves lye musty in their old clothes and colleges.

FOOTNOTES:

[68] Paul's cross stood in the church-yard of that cathedral, on the north side, towards the east end. It was used for the preaching of sermons to the populace; and Holinshed mentions two instances of public penance being performed here; in 1534 by some of the adherents of Elizabeth Barton, well known as _the holy maid of Kent_, and in 1536 by sir Thomas Newman, a priest, who "_bare a f.a.ggot at Paules crosse for singing ma.s.se with good ale_."

XLIV.

A BAKER.

No man verifies the proverb more, that it is an alms-deed to punish him; for his penalty is a dole,[69] and does the beggars as much good as their dinner. He abhors, therefore, works of charity, and thinks his bread cast away when it is given to the poor. He loves not justice neither, for the weigh-scale's sake, and hates the clerk of the market as his executioner; yet he finds mercy in his offences, and his basket only is sent to prison.[70] Marry a pillory is his deadly enemy, and he never hears well after.

FOOTNOTES:

[69] _Dole_ originally signified the portion of alms that was given away at the door of a n.o.bleman. Steevens, note to _Shakspeare_. Sir John Hawkins affirms that the benefaction distributed at Lambeth palace gate, is to this day called the _dole_.