Part 27 (1/2)

Is a piece of clockwork, that moves only as it is wound up and set, and not like a voluntary agent. He is a mathematical body, nothing but _punctum, linea, et superficies_, and perfectly abstract from matter. He walks as stiffly and uprightly as a dog that is taught to go on his hinder legs, and carries his hands as the other does his fore-feet. He is very ceremonious and full of respect to himself, for no man uses those formalities that does not expect the same from others. All his actions and words are set down in so exact a method that an indifferent accountant may cast him up to a halfpenny-farthing. He does everything by rule, as if it were in a course of Lessius's diet, and did not eat, but take a dose of meat and drink; and not walk, but proceed; not go, but march. He draws up himself with admirable conduct in a very regular and well-ordered body. All his business and affairs are junctures and transactions, and when he speaks with a man he gives him audience. He does not carry but marshal himself, and no one member of his body politic takes place of another without due right of precedence. He does all things by rules of proportion, and never gives himself the freedom to manage his gloves or his watch in an irregular and arbitrary way, but is always ready to render an account of his demeanour to the most strict and severe disquisition. He sets his face as if it were cast in plaster, and never admits of any commotion in his countenance, nor so much as the innovation of a smile without serious and mature deliberation, but preserves his looks in a judicial way, according as they have always been established.

A FLATTERER

Is a dog that fawns when he bites. He hangs bells in a man's ears, as a carman does by his horse while he lays a heavy load upon his back. His insinuations are like strong wine, that pleases a man's palate till it has got within him, and then deprives him of his reason and overthrows him. His business is to render a man a stranger to himself, and get between him and home, and then he carries him whither he pleases. He is a spirit that inveighs away a man from himself, undertakes great matters for him, and after sells him for a slave. He makes division not only between a man and his friends, but between a man and himself, raises a faction within him, and after takes part with the strongest side and ruins both. He steals him away from himself (as the fairies are said to do children in the cradle), and after changes him for a fool. He whistles to him, as a carter does to his horse while he whips out his eyes and makes him draw what he pleases. He finds out his humour and feeds it, till it will come to hand, and then he leads him whither he pleases. He tickles him, as they do trouts, until he lays hold on him, and then devours and feeds upon him. He tickles his ears with a straw, and while he is pleased with scratching it, picks his pocket, as the cutpurse served Bartl. c.o.kes. He embraces him and hugs him in his arms, and lifts him above ground, as wrestlers do, to throw him down again and fall upon him. He possesses him with his own praises like an evil spirit, that makes him swell and appear stronger than he was, talk what he does not understand, and do things that he knows nothing of when he comes to himself. He gives good words as doctors are said to give physic when they are paid for it, and lawyers advice when they are fee'd beforehand. He is a poisoned perfume that infects the brain and murders those it pleases. He undermines a man, and blows him up with his own praises to throw him down. He commends a man out of design, that he may be presented with him and have him for his pains, according to the mode.

A PRODIGAL

Is a pocket with a hole in the bottom. His purse has got a dysentery and lost its retentive faculty. He delights, like a fat overgrown man, to see himself fall away and grow less. He does not spend his money, but void it, and, like those that have the stone, is in pain till he is rid of it. He is very loose and incontinent of his coin, and lets it fly, like Jupiter, in a shower. He is very hospitable, and keeps open pockets for all comers. All his silver turns to mercury, and runs through him as if he had taken it for the _miserere_ or fluxed himself. The history of his life begins with keeping of wh.o.r.es, and ends with keeping of hogs; and as he fed high at first, so he does at last, for acorns are very high food. He swallows land and houses like an earthquake, eats a whole dining-room at a meal, and devours his kitchen at a breakfast. He wears the furniture of his house on his back, and a whole feather-bed in his hat, drinks down his plate, and eats his dishes up. He is not clothed, but hung. He'll fancy dancers cattle, and present his lady with messuage and tenement. He sets his horses at inn and inn, and throws himself out of his coach at come the caster. He should be a good husband, for he has made more of his estate in one year than his ancestors did in twenty. He dusts his estate as they do a stand of ale in the north. His money in his pocket (like hunted venison) will not keep; if it be not spent presently it grows stale, and is thrown away. He possesses his estate as the devil did the herd of swine, and is running it into the sea as fast as he can. He has shot it with a zampatan, and it will presently fall all to dust. He has brought his acres into a consumption, and they are strangely fallen away; nothing but skin and bones left of a whole manor.

He will shortly have all his estate in his hands; for, like bias, he may carry it about him. He lays up nothing but debts and diseases, and at length himself in a prison. When he has spent all upon his pleasures, and has nothing left for sustenance, he espouses a hostess dowager, and resolves to lick himself whole again out of ale, and make it pay him back all the charges it has put him to.

THE INCONSTANT

Has a vagabond soul without any settled place of abode, like the wandering Jew. His head is unfixed, out of order, and utterly unserviceable upon any occasion. He is very apt to be taken with anything, but nothing can hold him, for he presently breaks loose and gives it the slip. His head is troubled with a palsy, which renders it perpetually wavering and incapable of rest. His head is like an hour-gla.s.s; that part that is uppermost always runs out until it is turned, and then runs out again. His opinions are too violent to last, for, like other things of the same kind in Nature, they quickly spend themselves and fall to nothing. All his opinions are like wefts and strays that are apt to straggle from their owners and belong to the lord of the manor where they are taken up. His soul has no retentive faculty, but suffers everything to run from him as fast as he receives it. His whole life is like a preposterous ague in which he has his hot fit always before his cold one, and is never in a constant temper. His principles and resolves are but a kind of movables, which he will not endure to be fastened to any freehold, but left loose to be conveyed away at pleasure as occasion shall please to dispose of him. His soul dwells, like a Tartar, in a hoord, without any settled habitation, but is always removing and dislodging from place to place. He changes his head oftener than a deer, and when his imaginations are stiff and at their full growth, he casts them off to breed new ones, only to cast off again the next season. All his purposes are built on air, the chamelion's diet, and have the same operation to make him change colour with every object he comes near. He pulls off his judgment as commonly as his hat to every one he meets with. His word and his deed are all one, for when he has given his word he has done, and never goes farther.

His judgment, being unsound, has the same operation upon him that a disease has upon a sick man, that makes him find some ease in turning from side to side, and still the last is the most uneasy.

A GLUTTON

Eats his children, as the poets say Saturn did, and carries his felicity and all his concernments in his paunch. If he had lived when all the members of the body rebelled against the stomach there had been no possibility of accommodation. His entrails are like the sarcophagus, that devours dead bodies in a small s.p.a.ce, or the Indian zampatan, that consumes flesh in a moment. He is a great dish made on purpose to carry meat. He eats out his own head, and his horses' too; he knows no grace but grace before meat, nor mortification but in fasting. If the body be the tabernacle of the soul, he lives in a sutler's hut. He celebrates ma.s.s, or rather mess, to the idol in his belly, and, like a papist, eats his adoration. A third course is the third heaven to him, and he is ravished into it. A feast is a good conscience to him, and he is troubled in mind when he misses of it. His teeth are very industrious in their calling, and his chops like a Bridewell perpetually hatcheling. He depraves his appet.i.te with _haut-gousts_, as old fornicators do their lechery into fulsomeness and stinks. He licks himself into the shape of a bear, as those beasts are said to do their whelps. He new forms himself in his own belly, and becomes another thing than G.o.d and Nature meant him. His belly takes place of the rest of his members, and walks before in state. He eats out that which eats all things else--time--and is very curious to have all things in season at his meals but his hours, which are commonly at midnight, and so late that he prays too late for his daily bread, unless he mean his natural daily bread. He is admirably learned in the doctrines of meats and sauces, and deserves the chair in _juris-prudentia_; that is, in the skill of pottages. At length he eats his life out of house and home and becomes a treat for worms, sells his clothes to feed his gluttony, and eats himself naked, as the first of his family, Adam, did.

A RIBALD

Is the devil's hypocrite, that endeavours to make himself appear worse than he is. His evil words and bad manners strive which shall most corrupt one another, and it is hard to say which has the advantage. He vents his lechery at the mouth, as some fishes are said to engender. He is an unclean beast that chews the cud, for after he has satisfied his l.u.s.t he brings it up again into his mouth to a second enjoyment, and plays an after-game of lechery with his tongue much worse than that which the _Cunnilingi_ used among the old Romans. He strips Nature stark naked, and clothes her in the most fantastic and ridiculous fas.h.i.+on a wild imagination can invent. He is worse and more nasty than a dog, for in his broad descriptions of others' obscene actions he does but lick up the vomit of another man's surfeits. He tells tales out of a vaulting-school. A lewd, bawdy tale does more hurt and gives a worse example than the thing of which it was told, for the act extends but to few, and if it be concealed goes no farther; but the report of it is unlimited, and may be conveyed to all people and all times to come. He exposes that with his tongue which Nature gave women modesty, and brute beasts tails, to cover. He mistakes ribaldry for wit, though nothing is more unlike; and believes himself to be the finer man the filthier he talks, as if he were above civility as fanatics are above ordinances, and held nothing more shameful than to be ashamed of anything. He talks nothing but Aretine's pictures, as plain as the Scotch dialect, which is esteemed to be the most copious and elegant of the kind. He improves and husbands his sins to the best advantage, and makes one vice find employment for another; for what he acts loosely in private he talks as loosely of in public, and finds as much pleasure in the one as the other. He endeavours to purchase himself a reputation by pretending to that which the best men abominate and the worst value not, like one that clips and washes false coin and ventures his neck for that which will yield him nothing.

A MODERN POLITICIAN

Makes new discoveries in politics, but they are, like those that Columbus made of the New World, very rich, but barbarous. He endeavours to restore mankind to the original condition it fell from, by forgetting to discern between good and evil, and reduces all prudence back again to its first author, the serpent, that taught Adam wisdom; for he was really his tutor, and not Samboscor, as the Rabbins write. He finds the world has been mistaken in all ages, and that religion and morality are but vulgar errors that pa.s.s among the ignorant, and are but mere words to the wise. He despises all learning as a pedantic little thing, and believes books to be the business of children and not of men. He wonders how the distinction of virtue and vice came into the world's head, and believes them to be more ridiculous than any foppery of the schools. He holds it his duty to betray any man that shall take him for so much a fool as one fit to be trusted. He steadfastly believes that all men are born in the state of war, and that the civil life is but a cessation, and no peace nor accommodation; and though all open acts of hostility are forborne by consent, the enmity continues, and all advantages by treachery or breach of faith are very lawful; that there is no difference between virtue and fraud among friends as well as enemies, nor anything unjust that a man can do without damage to his own safety or interest; that oaths are but springes to catch woodc.o.c.ks withal, and bind none but those that are too weak and feeble to break them when they become ever so small an impediment to their advantages; that conscience is the effect of ignorance, and the same with that foolish fear which some men apprehend when they are in the dark and alone; that honour is but the word which a prince gives a man to pa.s.s his guards withal and save him from being stopped by law and justice, the sentinels of governments, when he has not wit nor credit enough to pa.s.s of himself; that to show respect to worth in any person is to appear a stranger to it, and not so familiarly acquainted with it as those are who use no ceremony, because it is no new thing to them, as it would appear if they should take notice of it; that the easiest way to purchase a reputation of wisdom and knowledge is to slight and undervalue it, as the readiest way to buy cheap is to bring down the price; for the world will be apt to believe a man well provided with any necessary or useful commodity which he sets a small value upon; that to oblige a friend is but a kind of casting him in prison, after the old Roman way or modern Chinese, that chains the keeper and prisoner together; for he that binds another man to himself binds himself as much to him and lays a restraint upon both. For as men commonly never forgive those that forgive them, and always hate those that purchase their estates (though they pay dear and more than any man else would give), so they never willingly endure those that have laid any engagement upon them, or at what rate soever purchased the least part of their freedom; and as partners for the most part cheat or suspect one another, so no man deals fairly with another that goes the least share in his freedom.

To propose any measure to wealth or power is to be ignorant of the nature of both, for as no man can ever have too much of either, so it is impossible to determine what is enough; and he that limits his desires by proposing to himself the enjoyment of any other pleasure but that of gaining more shows he has but a dull inclination that will not hold out to his journey's end. And therefore he believes that a courtier deserves to be begged himself that is ever satisfied with begging; for fruition without desire is but a dull entertainment, and that pleasure only real and substantial that provokes and improves the appet.i.te and increases in the enjoyment; and all the greatest masters in the several arts of thriving concur unanimously that the plain downright pleasure of gaining is greater and deserves to be preferred far before all the various delights of spending which the curiosity, wit, or luxury of mankind in all ages could ever find out.

He believes there is no way of thriving so easy and certain as to grow rich by defrauding the public; for public thieveries are more safe and less prosecuted than private, like robberies committed between sun and sun, which the county pays and no one is greatly concerned in; and as the monster of many heads has less wit in them all than any one reasonable person, so the monster of many purses is easier cheated than any one indifferent, crafty fool. For all the difficulty lies in being trusted, and when he has obtained that, the business does itself; and if he should happen to be questioned and called to an account, a pardon is as cheap as a paymaster's fee, not above fourteenpence in the pound.

He thinks that when a man comes to wealth or preferment, and is to put on a new person, his first business is to put off all his old friends.h.i.+ps and acquaintances, as things below him and no way consistent with his present condition, especially such as may have occasion to make use of him or have reason to expect any civil returns from him; for requiting of obligations received in a man's necessity is the same thing with paying of debts contracted in his minority when he was under age, for which he is not accountable by the laws of the land. These he is to forget as fast as he can, and by little neglects remove them to that distance that they may at length by his example learn to forget him, for men who travel together in company when their occasions lie several ways ought to take leave and part. It is a hard matter for a man that comes to preferment not to forget himself, and therefore he may very well be allowed to take the freedom to forget others; for advancement, like the conversion of a sinner, gives a man new values of things and persons, so different from those he had before that that which was wont to be most dear to him does commonly after become the most disagreeable; and as it is accounted n.o.ble to forget and pa.s.s over little injuries, so it is to forget little friends.h.i.+ps, that are no better than injuries when they become disparagements, and can only be importune and troublesome instead of being useful, as they were before. All Acts of Oblivion have, of late times, been found to extend rather to loyal and faithful services done than rebellion and treasons committed. For benefits are like flowers, sweet only and fresh when they are newly gathered, but stink when they grow stale and wither; and he only is ungrateful who makes returns of obligations, for he does it merely to free himself from owing so much as thanks. Fair words are all the civility and humanity that one man owes to another, for they are obliging enough of themselves, and need not the a.s.sistance of deeds to make them good; for he that does not believe them has already received too much, and he that does ought to expect no more.

And therefore promises ought to oblige those only to whom they are made, not those who make them; for he that expects a man should bind himself is worse than a thief, who does that service for him after he has robbed him on the highway. Promises are but words, and words air, which no man can claim a propriety in, but is equally free to all and incapable of being confined; and if it were not, yet he who pays debts which he can possibly avoid does but part with his money for nothing, and pays more for the mere reputation of honesty and conscience than it is worth.

He prefers the way of applying to the vices and humours of great persons before all other methods of getting into favour; for he that can be admitted into these offices of privacy and trust seldom fails to arrive at greater, and with greater ease and certainty than those who take the dull way of plain fidelity and merit. For vices, like beasts, are fond of none but those that feed them, and where they once prevail all other considerations go for nothing. They are his own flesh and blood, born and bred out of him, and he has a stronger natural affection for them than all other relations whatsoever; and he that has an interest in these has a greater power over him than all other obligations in the world; for though they are but his imperfections and infirmities, he is the more tender of them, as a lame member or diseased limb is more carefully cherished than all the rest that are sound and in perfect vigour. All offices of this kind are the greatest endearments, being real flatteries enforced by deeds and actions, and therefore far more prevalent than those that are performed but by words and fawning, though very great advantages are daily obtained that way; and therefore he esteems flattery as the next most sure and successful way of improving his interests. For flattery is but a kind of civil idolatry, that makes images to itself of virtue, worth, and honour in some person that is utterly void of all, and then falls down and wors.h.i.+ps them; and the more dull and absurd these applications are, the better they are always received; for men delight more to be presented with those things they want than such as they have no need nor use of. And though they condemn the realities of those honours and renowns that are falsely imputed to them, they are wonderfully affected with their false pretences; for dreams work more upon men's pa.s.sions than any waking thoughts of the same kind, and many, out of an ignorant superst.i.tion, give more credit to them than the most rational of all their vigilant conjectures, how false soever they prove in the event. No wonder, then, if those who apply to men's fancies and humours have a stronger influence upon them than those that seek to prevail upon their reason and understandings, especially in things so delightful to them as their own praises, no matter how false and apparently incredible; for great persons may wear counterfeit jewels of any carat with more confidence and security from being discovered than those of meaner quality, in whose hands the greatness of their value (if they were true) is more apt to render them suspected. A flatterer is like Mahomet's pigeon, that picks his food out of his master's ear, who is willing to have it believed that he whispers oracles into it, and accordingly sets a high esteem upon the service he does him, though the impostor only designs his own utilities; for men are for the most part better pleased with other men's opinions, though false, of their happiness than their own experiences, and find more pleasure in the dullest flattery of others than all the vast imaginations they can have of themselves, as no man is apt to be tickled with his own fingers; because the applauses of others are more agreeable to those high conceits they have of themselves, which they are glad to find confirmed, and are the only music that sets them a-dancing, like those that are bitten with a tarantula.

He accounts it an argument of great discretion, and as great temper, to take no notice of affronts and indignities put upon him by great persons; for he that is insensible of injuries of this nature can receive none, and if he lose no confidence by them, can lose nothing else; for it is greater to be above injuries than either to do or revenge them, and he that will be deterred by those discouragements from prosecuting his designs will never obtain what he proposes to himself.

When a man is once known to be able to endure insolences easier than others can impose them, they will raise the siege and leave him as impregnable; and therefore he resolves never to omit the least opportunity of pressing his affairs, for fear of being baffled and affronted; for if he can at any rate render himself master of his purposes, he would not wish an easier nor a cheaper way, as he knows how to repay himself and make others receive those insolences of him for good and current payment which he was glad to take before, and he esteems it no mean glory to show his temper of such a compa.s.s as is able to reach from the highest arrogance to the meanest and most dejected submissions. A man that has endured all sorts of affronts may be allowed, like an apprentice that has served out his time, to set up for himself and put them off upon others; and if the most common and approved way of growing rich is to gain by the ruin and loss of those who are in necessity, why should not a man be allowed as well to make himself appear great by debasing those that are below him? For insolence is no inconsiderable way of improving greatness and authority in the opinion of the world. If all men are born equally fit to govern, as some late philosophers affirm, he only has the advantage of all others who has the best opinion of his own abilities, how mean soever they really are; and, therefore, he steadfastly believes that pride is the only great, wise, and happy virtue that a man is capable of, and the most compendious and easy way to felicity; for he that is able to persuade himself impregnably that he is some great and excellent person, how far short soever he falls of it, finds more delight in that dream than if he were really so; and the less he is of what he fancies himself to be the better he is pleased, as men covet those things that are forbidden and denied them more greedily than those that are in their power to obtain; and he that can enjoy all the best rewards of worth and merit without the pains and trouble that attend it has a better bargain than he who pays as much for it as it is worth. This he performs by an obstinate, implicit believing as well as he can of himself, and as meanly of all other men, for he holds it a kind of self-preservation to maintain a good estimation of himself; and as no man is bound to love his neighbour better than himself, so he ought not to think better of him than he does of himself, and he that will not afford himself a very high esteem will never spare another man any at all. He who has made so absolute a conquest over himself (which philosophers say is the greatest of all victories) as to be received for a prince within himself, is greater and more arbitrary within his own dominions than he that depends upon the uncertain loves or fears of other men without him; and since the opinion of the world is vain and for the most part false, he believes it is not to be attempted but by ways as false and vain as itself, and therefore to appear and seem is much better and wiser than really to be whatsoever is well esteemed in the general value of the world Next pride, he believes ambition to be the only generous and heroical virtue in the world that mankind is capable of; for, as Nature gave man an erect figure to raise him above the grovelling condition of his fellow-creatures the beasts, so he that endeavours to improve that and raise himself higher seems best to comply with the design and intention of Nature. Though the stature of man is confined to a certain height, yet his mind is unlimited, and capable of growing up to heaven; and as those who endeavour to arrive at that perfection are adored and reverenced by all, so he that endeavours to advance himself as high as possibly he can in this world comes nearest to the condition of those holy and divine aspirers. All the purest parts of Nature always tend upwards, and the more dull and heavy downwards; so in the little world the n.o.blest faculties of man, his reason and understanding, that give him a prerogative above all other earthly creatures, mount upwards; and therefore he who takes that course, and still aspires in all his undertakings and designs, does but conform to that which Nature dictates. Are not the reason and the will, the two commanding faculties of the soul, still striving which shall be uppermost? Men honour none but those that are above them, contest with equals, and disdain inferiors. The first thing that G.o.d gave man was dominion over the rest of his inferior creatures; but he that can extend that over man improves his talent to the best advantage. How are angels distinguished but by dominions, powers, thrones, and princ.i.p.alities? Then he who still aspires to purchase those comes nearest to the nature of those heavenly ministers, and in all probability is most like to go to heaven, no matter what destruction he makes in his way, if he does but attain his end; for nothing is a crime that is too great to be punished; and when it is once arrived at that perfection, the most horrid actions in the world become the most admired and renowned. Birds that build highest are most safe; and he that can advance himself above the envy or reach of his inferiors is secure against the malice and a.s.saults of fortune. All religions have ever been persecuted in their primitive ages, when they were weak and impotent, but when they propagated and grew great, have been received with reverence and adoration by those who otherwise had proved their cruellest enemies; and those that afterwards opposed them have suffered as severely as those that first professed them. So thieves that rob in small parties and break houses, when they are taken, are hanged; but when they multiply and grow up into armies and are able to take towns, the same things are called heroic actions, and acknowledged for such by all the world. Courts of justice, for the most part, commit greater crimes than they punish, and do those that sue in them more injuries than they can possibly receive from one another; and yet they are venerable, and must not be told so, because they have authority and power to justify what they do, and the law (that is, whatsoever they please to call so) ready to give judgment for them. Who knows when a physician cures or kills? And yet he is equally rewarded for both, and the profession esteemed never the less wors.h.i.+pful; and therefore he accounts it a ridiculous vanity in any man to consider whether he does right or wrong in anything he attempts, since the success is only able to determine and satisfy the opinion of the world which is the one and which the other. As for those characters and marks of distinction which religion, law, and morality fix upon both, they are only significant and valid when their authority is able to command obedience and submission; but when the greatness, numbers, or interest of those who are concerned outgrows that, they change their natures, and that which was injury before becomes justice, and justice injury. It is with crimes as with inventions in the mechanics, that will frequently hold true to all purposes of the design while they are tried in little, but when the experiment is made in great prove false in all particulars to what is promised in the model: so iniquities and vices may be punished and corrected, like children, while they are little and impotent, but when they are great and st.u.r.dy they become incorrigible and proof against all the power of justice and authority.

Among all his virtues there is none which he sets so high an esteem upon as impudence, which he finds more useful and necessary than a vizard is to a highwayman; for he that has but a competent stock of this natural endowment has an interest in any man he pleases, and is able to manage it with greater advantages than those who have all the real pretences imaginable, but want that dexterous way of soliciting by which, if the worst fall out, he is sure to lose nothing if he does not win. He that is impudent is shot-free, and if he be ever so much overpowered can receive no hurt, for his forehead is impenetrable, and of so excellent a temper that nothing is able to touch it, but turns edge and is blunted.