Faith is the hand of the soul which layeth hold of the promises of Christ in the mercy of the Almighty. She hath a bright eye and a holy ear, a clear heart and sure foot: she is the strength of hope, the trust of truth, the honour of amity, and the joy of love. She is rare among the sons of men and hardly found among the daughters of women; but among the sons of God she is a conveyance of their inheritance, and among the daughters of grace she is the assurance of their portions. Her dwelling is in the Church of God, her conversation with the saints of God, her delight with the beloved of God, and her life is in the love of God. She knows no falsehood, distrusts no truth, breaks no promise, and coins no excuse; but as bright as the sun, as swift as the wind, as sure as the rock, and as pure as the gold, she looks toward heaven but lives in the world, in the souls of the elect to the glory of election. She was wounded in Paradise by a dart of the devil, and healed of her hurt by the death of Christ Jesus. She is the poor man's credit and the rich man's praise, the wise man's care and the good man's cognisance. In sum, finding her worth in words hardly to be expressed, I will in these few words only deliver my opinion of her:--She is God's blessing and man's bliss, reason's comfort and virtue's glory.
Fear is a fruit of sin, which drove the first father of our flesh from the presence of God, and hath bred an imperfection in a number of the worse part of his posterity. It is the disgrace of nature, the foil of reason, the maim of wit, and the slur of understanding. It is the palsy of the spirit where the soul wanteth faith, and the badge of a coward that cannot abide the sight of a sword. It is weakness in nature and a wound in patience, the death of hope and the entrance into despair. It is children's awe and fools' amazement, a worm in conscience and a curse to wickedness. In brief, it makes the coward stagger, the liar stammer, the thief stumble, and the traitor start. It is a blot in arms, a blur in honour, the shame of a soldier, and the defeat of an army.
Breton's next little prose book, published in the following year, 1616--year of the death of Shakespeare--was a set of Characters, "The Good and the Bad," without suggestion that they were built upon the lines of Bacon's Essays. Bacon's Essays first appeared as a set of ten in 1597, became a set of forty in the revised edition of 1612, and of fifty-eight in the edition of 1625, published a year before their author's death. In their sententious brevity Bacon's Essays have, of course, a style more nearly allied to the English Character Writing of the Seventeenth Century than to the Sixteenth Century Essays of Montaigne, which were altogether different in style, matter, and aim. This, for example, was Bacon's first Essay in the 1597 edition:--
Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, for abilities; their chief use for pastimes is in privateness and retiring, for ornaments in discourse, and for ability in judgment; for expert men can execute, but learned men are more fit to judge and censure. To spend too much time in them is sloth; to use them too much for ornament is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholar; they perfect nature, and are themselves perfected by experience; crafty men contemn them, wise men use them, simple men admire them; for they teach not their own use, but that there is a wisdom without them and above them won by observation. Read not to contradict nor to believe, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some are to be read only in parts, others to be read but curiously, and some few to be read wholly with diligence and attention. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready, and writing an exact man; therefore, if a man write little, he had need of a great memory; if he confer little, he had need of a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to seem to know that he doth not know. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematics subtile; natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric able to contend.
A worthy king is a figure of God, in the nature of government. He is the chief of men and the Church's champion, Nature's honour and earth's majesty: is the director of law and the strength of the same, the sword of justice and the sceptre of mercy, the glass of grace and the eye of honour, the terror of treason and the life of loyalty. His command is general and his power absolute, his frown a death and his favour a life: his charge is his subjects, his care their safety, his pleasure their peace, and his joy their love. He is not to be paralleled, because he is without equality, and the prerogative of his crown must not be contradicted. He is the Lord's anointed, and therefore must not be touched, and the head of a public body, and therefore must be preserved. He is a scourge of sin and a blessing of grace, God's vicegerent over His people, and under Him supreme governor. His safety must be his council's care, his health his subjects' prayer, his pleasure his peers' comfort, and his content his kingdom's gladness. His presence must be reverenced, his person attended, his court adorned, and his state maintained. His bosom must not be searched, his will not disobeyed, his wants not unsupplied, nor his place unregarded. In sum, he is more than a man, though not a god, and next under God to be honoured above man.
An unworthy king is the usurper of power, where tyranny in authority loseth the glory of majesty, while the fear of terror frighteneth love from obedience; for when the lion plays with the wolf, the lamb dies with the ewe. He is a messenger of wrath to be the scourge of sin, or the trial of patience in the hearts of the religious. He is a warrant of woe in the execution of his fury, and in his best temper a doubt of grace. He is a dispeopler of his kingdom and a prey to his enemies, an undelightful friend and a tormentor of himself. He knows no God, but makes an idol of Nature, and useth reason but to the ruin of sense. His care is but his will, his pleasure but his ease, his exercise but sin, and his delight but inhuman. His heaven is his pleasure, and his gold is his god. His presence is terrible, his countenance horrible, his words uncomfortable, and his actions intolerable. In sum, he is the foil of a crown, the disgrace of a court, the trouble of a council, and the plague of a kingdom.
A worthy queen is the figure of a king who, under God in His grace, hath a great power over His people. She is the chief of women, the beauty of her court, and the grace of her sex in the royalty of her spirit. She is like the moon, that giveth light among the stars, and, but unto the sun, gives none place in her brightness. She is the pure diamond upon the king's finger, and the orient pearl unprizeable in his eye, the joy of the court in the comfort of the king, and the wealth of the kingdom in the fruit of her love. She is reason's honour in nature's grace, and wisdom's love in virtue's beauty. In sum, she is the handmaid of God, and the king's second self, and in his grace, the beauty of a kingdom.
A worthy prince is the hope of a kingdom, the richest jewel in a king's crown, and the fairest flower in the queen's garden. He is the joy of nature in the hope of honour, and the love of wisdom in the life of worthiness. In the secret carriage of his heart's intention, till his designs come to action, he is a dumb show to the world's imagination. In his wisdom he startles the spirits of expectation in his valour, he subjects the hearts of ambition in his virtue, he wins the love of the noblest, and in his bounty binds the service of the most sufficient. He is the crystal glass, where nature may see her comfort, and the book of reason, where virtue may read her honour. He is the morning star that hath light from the sun, and the blessed fruit of the tree of earth's paradise. He is the study of the wise in the state of honour, and is the subject of learning, the history of admiration. In sum, he is the note of wisdom, the aim of honour, and in the honour of virtue the hope of a kingdom.
An unworthy prince is the fear of a kingdom. When will and power carry pride in impatience, in the close carriage of ambitious intention, he is like a fearful dream to a troubled spirit. In his passionate humours he frighteneth the hearts of the prudent, in the delight of vanities he loseth the love of the wise, and in the misery of avarice is served only with the needy. He is like a little mist before the rising of the sun, which, the more it grows, the less good it doth. He is the king's grief and the queen's sorrow, the court's trouble and the kingdom's curse. In sum, he is the seed of unhappiness, the fruit of ungodliness, the taste of bitterness, and the digestion of heaviness.
A worthy privy councillor is the pillar of a realm, in whose wisdom and care, under God and the king, stands the safety of a kingdom. He is the watch-tower to give warning of the enemy, and a hand of provision for the preservation of the state. He is an oracle in the king's ear, and a sword in the king's hand; an even weight in the balance of justice, and a light of grace in the love of truth. He is an eye of care in the course of law, a heart of love in his service to his sovereign, a mind of honour in the order of his service, and a brain of invention for the good of the commonwealth. His place is powerful while his service is faithful, and his honour due in the desert of his employment. In sum, he is as a fixed planet among the stars of the firmament, which through the clouds in the air shows the nature of his light.
An unworthy councillor is the hurt of a king and the danger of a state, when the weakness of judgment may commit an error, or the lack of care may give way to unhappiness. He is a wicked charm in the king's ear, a sword of terror in the advice of tyranny. His power is perilous in the partiality of will, and his heart full of hollowness in the protestation of love. Hypocrisy is the cover of his counterfeit religion, and traitorous invention is the agent of his ambition. He is the cloud of darkness that threateneth foul weather; and if it grow to a storm, it is fearful where it falls. He is an enemy to God in the hate of grace, and worthy of death in disloyalty to his sovereign. In sum, he is an unfit person for the place of a councillor and an unworthy subject to look a king in the face.
A nobleman is a mark of honour, where the eye of wisdom in the observation of desert sees the fruit of grace. He is the orient pearl that reason polisheth for the beauty of nature, and the diamond spark where divine grace gives virtue honour. He is the notebook of moral discipline, where the conceit of care may find the true courtier. He is the nurse of hospitality, the relief of necessity, the love of charity, and the life of bounty. He is learning's grace and valour's fame, wisdom's fruit and kindness' love. He is the true falcon that feeds on no carrion, the true horse that will be no hackney, the true dolphin that fears not the whale, and the true man of God that fears not the devil. In sum, he is the darling of nature in reason's philosophy, the loadstar of light in love's astronomy, the ravishing sweet in the music of honour, and the golden number in grace's arithmetic.
An unnoble man is the grief of reason, when the title of honour is put upon the subject of disgrace; when either the imperfection of wit or the folly of will shows an unfitness in nature for the virtue of advancement. He is the eye of baseness and spirit of grossness, and in the demean of rudeness the scorn of nobleness. He is a suspicion of a right generation in the nature of his disposition, and a miserable plague to a feminine patience. Wisdom knows him not, learning bred him not, virtue loves him not, and honour fits him not. Prodigality or avarice are the notes of his inclination, and folly or mischief are the fruits of his invention. In sum, he is the shame of his name, the disgrace of his place, the blot of his title, and the ruin of his house.
A worthy bishop is an ambassador from God unto man, in the midst of war to make a treaty of peace; who with a general pardon upon confession of sin, upon the fruit of repentance gives assurance of comfort. He brings tidings from heaven of happiness to the world, where the patience of mercy calls nature to grace. He is the silver trumpet in the music of love, where faith hath a life that never fails the beloved. He is the director of life in the laws of God, and the chirurgeon of the soul in lancing the sores of sin; the terror of the reprobate in pronouncing their damnation, and the joy of the faithful in the assurance of their salvation. In sum, he is in the nature of grace, worthy of honour; and in the message of life, worthy of love; a continual agent betwixt God and man, in the preaching of His Word and prayer for His people.
An unworthy bishop is the disgrace of learning, when the want of reading or the abuse of understanding, in the speech of error may beget idolatry. He is God's enemy, in the hurt of His people, and his own woe in abuse of the Word of God. He is the shadow of a candle that gives no light, or, if it be any, it is but to lead into darkness. The sheep are unhappy that live in his fold, when they shall either starve or feed on ill ground. He breeds a war in the wits of his audience when his life is contrary to the nature of his instruction. He lives in a room where he troubles a world, and in the shadow of a saint is little better than a devil. He makes religion a cloak of sin, and with counterfeit humility covereth incomparable pride. He robs the rich to relieve the poor, and makes fools of the wise with the imagination of his worth. He is all for the Church but nothing for God, and for the ease of nature loseth the joy of reason. In sum, he is the picture of hypocrisy, the spirit of heresy, a wound in the Church, and a woe in the world.
A judge is a doom, whose breath is mortal upon the breach of law, where criminal offences must be cut off from a commonwealth. He is a sword of justice in the hand of a king, and an eye of wisdom in the walk of a kingdom. His study is a square for the keeping of proportion betwixt command and obedience, that the king may keep his crown on his head, and the subject his head on his shoulders. He is feared but of the foolish, and cursed but of the wicked; but of the wise honoured, and of the gracious beloved. He is a surveyor of rights and revenger of wrongs, and in the judgment of truth the honour of justice. In sum, his word is law, his power grace, his labour peace, and his desert honour.
An unworthy judge is the grief of justice in the error of judgment, when through ignorance or will the death of innocency lies upon the breath of opinion. He is the disgrace of law in the desert of knowledge, and the plague of power in the misery of oppression. He is more moral than divine in the nature of policy, and more judicious than just in the carriage of his conceit. His charity is cold when partiality is resolved; when the doom of life lies on the verdict of a jury, with a stern look he frighteth an offender and gives little comfort to a poor man's cause. The golden weight overweighs his grace, when angels play the devils in the hearts of his people. In sum, where Christ is preached he hath no place in His Church; and in this kingdom out of doubt God will not suffer any such devil to bear sway.
A worthy knight is a spirit of proof in the advancement of virtue, by the desert of honour, in the eye of majesty. In the field he gives courage to his soldiers, in the court grace to his followers, in the city reputation to his person, and in the country honour to his house. His sword and his horse make his way to his house, and his armour of best proof is an undaunted spirit. The music of his delight is the trumpet and the drum, and the paradise of his eye is an army defeated; the relief of the oppressed makes his conquest honourable, and the pardon of the submissive makes him famous in mercy. He is in nature mild and in spirit stout, in reason judicious, and in all honourable. In sum, he is a yeoman's commander and a gentleman's superior, a nobleman's companion and a prince's worthy favourite.
An unworthy knight is the defect of nature in the title of honour, when to maintain valour his spurs have no rowels nor his sword a point. His apparel is of proof, that may wear like his armour, or like an old ensign that hath his honour in rags. It may be he is the tailor's trouble in fitting an ill shape, or a mercer's wonder in wearing of silk. In the court he stands for a cipher, and among ladies like an owl among birds. He is worshipped only for his wealth, and if he be of the first head, he shall be valued by his wit, when, if his pride go beyond his purse, his title will be a trouble to him. In sum, he is the child of folly and the man of Gotham, the blind man of pride and the fool of imagination. But in the court of honour are no such apes, and I hope that this kingdom will breed no such asses.
A worthy gentleman is a branch of the tree of honour, whose fruits are the actions of virtue, as pleasing to the eye of judgment as tasteful to the spirit of understanding. Whatsoever he doeth it is not forced, except it be evil, which either through ignorance unwillingly, or through compulsion unwillingly, he falls upon. He is in nature kind, in demeanour courteous, in allegiance loyal, and in religion zealous; in service faithful, and in reward bountiful. He is made of no baggage stuff, nor for the wearing of base people; but it is woven by the spirit of wisdom to adorn the court of honour. His apparel is more comely than costly, and his diet more wholesome than excessive; his exercise more healthful than painful, and his study more for knowledge than pride; his love not wanton nor common, his gifts not niggardly nor prodigal, and his carriage neither apish nor sullen. In sum, he is an approver of his pedigree by the nobleness of his passage, and in the course of his life an example to his posterity.
An unworthy gentleman is the scoff of wit and the scorn of honour, where more wealth than wit is worshipped of simplicity; who spends more in idleness than would maintain thrift, or hides more in misery than might purchase honour; whose delights are vanities and whose pleasures fopperies, whose studies fables and whose exercise worse than follies. His conversation is base, and his conference ridiculous; his affections ungracious, and his actions ignominious; his apparel out of fashion, and his diet out of order; his carriage out of square, and his company out of request. In sum, he is like a mongrel dog with a velvet collar, a cart-horse with a golden saddle, a buzzard kite with a falcon's bells, or a baboon with a pied jerkin.
A worthy lawyer is the student of knowledge how to bring controversies into a conclusion of peace, and out of ignorance to gain understanding. He divides time into uses, and cases into constructions. He lays open obscurities, and is praised for the speech of truth; and in the court of conscience pleads muchin forma pauperis, for small fees. He is a mean for the preservation of titles and the holding of possessions, and a great instrument of peace in the judgment of impartiality. He is the client's hope in his case's pleading, and his heart's comfort in a happy issue. He is the finder out of tricks in the craft of ill conscience, and the joy of the distressed in the relief of justice. In sum, he is a maker of peace among spirits of contention, and a continuer of quiet in the execution of the law.
An unlearned and unworthily called a lawyer, is the figure of a foot-post, who carries letters but knows not what is in them, only can read the superscriptions to direct them to their right owners. So trudgeth this simple clerk, that can scarce read a case when it is written, with his handful of papers from one court to another, and from one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good payment for his pains he will be so saucy as to call himself a solicitor. But what a taking are poor clients in when this too much trusted cunning companion, better read in Piers Plowman than in Plowden, and in the play of "Richard the Third" than in the pleas of Edward the Fourth, persuades them all is sure when he is sure of all! and in what a misery are the poor men when upon aNihil dicit, because indeed this poor fellowNihil potest dicere, they are in danger of an execution before they know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish all such more wicked than witty unlearned in the law and abusers of the same, to look a little better into their consciences, and to leave their crafty courses, lest when the law indeed lays them open, instead of carrying papers in their hands, they wear not papers on their heads; and instead of giving ear to their client's causes or rather eyes into their purses, they have never an ear left to hear withal, nor good eye to see withal, or at least honest face to look out withal; but as the grasshoppers of Egypt, be counted the caterpillars of England, and not the fox that stole the goose, but the great fox that stole the farm from the gander.
A worthy soldier is the child of valour, who was born for the service of necessity, and to bear the ensign of honour in the actions of worth. He is the dyer of the earth with blood, and the ruin of the erections of pride. He is the watch of wit, the advantage of time, and the executioner of wrath upon the wilful offender. He disputes questions with the point of a sword, and prefers death to indignities. He is a lion to ambition, and a lamb to submission; he hath hope fast by the hand, and treads upon the head of fear. He is the king's champion, and the kingdom's guard; peace's preserver, and rebellion's terror. He makes the horse trample at the sound of a trumpet, and leads on to a battle as if he were going to a breakfast. He knows not the nature of cowardice, for his rest is set up upon resolution; his strongest fortification is his mind, which beats off the assaults of idle humours, and his life is the passage of danger, where an undaunted spirit stoops to no fortune. With his arms he wins his arms, and by his desert in the field his honour in the court. In sum, in the truest manhood he is the true man, and in the creation of honour a most worthy creature.
An untrained soldier is like a young hound, that when he first falls to hunt, he knows not how to lay his nose to the earth; who, having his name but in a book, and marched twice about a market-place, when he comes to a piece of service knows not how to bestow himself. He marches as if he were at plough, carries his pike like a pike-staff, and his sword before him for fear of losing from his side. If he be a shot, he will be rather ready to say a grace over his piece, and so to discharge his hands of it, than to learn how to discharge it with a grace. He puts on his armour over his ears, like a waistcoat, and wears his morion like a nightcap. When he is quartered in the field, he looks for his bed, and when he sees his provant, he is ready to cry for his victuals; and ere he know well where he is, wish heartily he were at home again, with his head hanging down as if his heart were in his hose. He will sleep till a drum or a deadly bullet awake him; and so carry himself in all companies that, till martial discipline have seasoned his understanding, he is like a cipher among figures, an owl among birds, a wise man among fools, and a shadow among men.
A worthy physician is the enemy of sickness, in purging nature from corruption. His action is most in feeling of pulses, and his discourses chiefly of the natures of diseases. He is a great searcher out of simples, and accordingly makes his composition. He persuades abstinence and patience for the benefit of health, while purging and bleeding are the chief courses of his counsel. The apothecary and the chirurgeon are his two chief attendants, with whom conferring upon time, he grows temperate in his cures. Surfeits and wantonness are great agents for his employment, when by the secret of his skill out of others' weakness he gathers his own strength. In sum, he is a necessary member for an unnecessary malady, to find a disease and to cure the diseased.
An unlearned and so unworthy physician is a kind of horse-leech, whose cure is most in drawing of blood, and a desperate purge, either to cure or kill, as it hits. His discourse is most of the cures that he hath done, and them afar of; and not a receipt under a hundred pounds, though it be not worth three halfpence. Upon the market-day he is much haunted with urinals, where if he find anything (though he know nothing), yet he will say somewhat, which if it hit to some purpose, with a few fustian words he will seem a piece of strange stuff. He is never without old merry tales and stale jests to make old folks laugh, and comfits or plums in his pocket to please little children; yea, and he will be talking of complexions, though he know nothing of their dispositions; and if his medicine do a feat, he is a made man among fools; but being wholly unlearned, and ofttimes unhonest, let me thus briefly describe him:--He is a plain kind of mountebank and a true quack-salver, a danger for the sick to deal withal, and a dizzard in the world to talk withal.
A worthy merchant is the heir of adventure, whose hopes hang much upon wind. Upon a wooden horse he rides through the world, and in a merry gale he makes a path through the seas. He is a discoverer of countries, and a finder out of commodities, resolute in his attempts, and royal in his expenses. He is the life of traffic and the maintainer of trade, the sailor's master and the soldier's friend. He is the exercise of the exchange, the honour of credit, the observation of time, and the understanding of thrift. His study is number, his care his accounts, his comfort his conscience, and his wealth his good name. He fears not Scylla, and sails close by Charybdis, and having beaten out a storm, rides at rest in a harbour. By his sea-gain he makes his land purchase, and by the knowledge of trade finds the key of treasure. Out of his travels he makes his discourses, and from his eye observations brings the models of architectures. He plants the earth with foreign fruits, and knows at home what is good abroad. He is neat in apparel, modest in demeanour, dainty in diet, and civil in his carriage. In sum, he is the pillar of a city, the enricher of a country, the furnisher of a court, and the worthy servant of a king.
An unworthy merchant is a kind of pedlar, who (with the help of a broker) gets more by his wit than by his honesty. He doth sometime use to give out money to gamesters, be paid in post, upon a hand at dice. Sometime he gains more by baubles than better stuffs, and rather than fail will adventure a false oath for a fraudulent gain. He deals with no wholesale, but all his honesty is at one word; as for wares and weights, he knows how to hold the balance, and for his conscience he is not ignorant what to do with it. His travel is most by land, for he fears to be too busy with the water, and whatever his ware may be, he will be sure of his money. The most of his wealth is in a pack of trifles, and for his honesty I dare not pass my word for him. If he be rich, it is ten to one of his pride; and if he be poor, he breaks without his fast. In sum, he is the disgrace of a merchant, the dishonour of a city, the discredit of his parish, and the dislike of all.
A good man is an image of God, lord over all His creatures, and created only for His service. He is made capable of reason to know the properties of nature, and by the inspiration of grace to know things supernatural. He hath a face always to look upward, and a soul that gives life to all the senses. He lives in the world as a stranger, while heaven is the home of his spirit. His life is but the labour of sense, and his death the way to his rest. His study is the Word of truth, and his delight is in the law of love. His provision is but to serve necessity, and his care the exercise of charity. He is more conversant with the divine prophets than the world's profits, and makes the joy of his soul in the tidings of his salvation. He is wise in the best wit, and wealthy in the richest treasure. His hope is but the comfort of mercy, and his fear but the hurt of sin. Pride is the hate of his soul, and patience the worker of his peace. His guide is the wisdom of grace, and his travel but to the Heavenly Jerusalem. In sum, he is the elect of God, the blessing of grace, the seed of love, and the fruit of life.
An atheist is a figure of desperation, who dare do anything even to his soul's damnation. He is in nature a dog, in wit an ass, in passion a bedlam, and in action a devil. He makes sin a jest, grace a humour, truth a fable, and peace a cowardice. His horse is his pride, his sword is his castle, his apparel his riches, and his punk his paradise. He makes robbery his purchase, lechery his solace, mirth his exercise, and drunkenness his glory. He is the danger of society, the love of vanity, the hate of charity, and the shame of humanity. He is God's enemy, his parents' grief, his country's plague, and his own confusion. He spoils that is necessary and spends that is needless. He spits at the gracious and spurns the godly. The tavern is his palace and his belly is his god; a whore is his mistress and the devil is his master. Oaths are his graces, wounds his badges, shifts are his practices, and beggary his payments. He knows not God, nor thinks of heaven, but walks through the world as a devil towards hell. Virtue knows him not, honesty finds him not, wisdom loves him not, and honour regards him not. He is but the cutler's friend and the chirurgeon's agent, the thief's companion and the hangman's benefactor. He was begotten untimely and born unhappily, lives ungraciously and dies unchristianly. He is of no religion nor good fashion; hardly good complexion, and most vile in condition. In sum, he is a monster among men, a Jew among Christians, a fool among wise men, and a devil among saints.
A wise man is a clock that never strikes but at his home, or rather like a dial that, being set right with the sun, keeps his true course in his compass. So the heart of a wise man, set in the course of virtue by the spirit of grace, runs the course of life in the compass of eternal comfort. He measureth time and tempereth nature, employeth reason and commandeth sense. He hath a deaf ear to the charmer, a close mouth to the slanderer, an open hand to charity, and an humble mind to piety. Observation and experience are his reason's labours, and patience with conscience are the lines of his love's measure; contemplation and meditation are his spirit's exercise, and God and His Word are the joy of his soul. He knows not the pride of prosperity nor the misery of adversity, but takes the one as the day, the other as the night. He knows no fortune, but builds all upon providence, and through the hope of faith hath a fair aim at heaven. His words are weighed with judgment, and his actions are the examples of honour. He is fit for the seat of authority, and deserves the reverence of subjection. He is precious in the counsel of a king, and mighty in the sway of a kingdom. In sum, he is God's servant and the world's master, a stranger upon earth, and a citizen in heaven.
A fool is the abortive of wit, where nature had more power than reason in bringing forth the fruit of imperfection. His actions are most in extremes, and the scope of his brain is but ignorance. Only nature hath taught him to feed, and use to labour without knowledge. He is a kind of a shadow of a better substance, or like the vision of a dream that yields nothing awake. He is commonly known by one or two special names, derived from their qualities, as from wilful Will-fool, and Hodge from hodge-podge; all meats are alike, all are one to a fool. His exercises are commonly divided into four parts, eating and drinking, sleeping and laughing; four things are his chief loves, a bauble and a bell, a coxcomb and a pied-coat. He was begotten in unhappiness, born to no goodness, lives but in beastliness, and dies but in forgetfulness. In sum, he is the shame of nature, the trouble of wit, the charge of charity, and the loss of liberality.
An honest man is like a plain coat, which, without welt or guard, keepeth the body from wind and weather, and being well made, fits him best that wears it; and where the stuff is more regarded than the fashion, there is not much ado in the putting of it on. So the mind of an honest man, without trick or compliments, keeps the credit of a good conscience from the scandal of the world and the worm of iniquity, which, being wrought by the workman of heaven, fits him best that wears it to his service; and where virtue is more esteemed than vanity, it is put on and worn with that ease that shows the excellency of the workman. His study is virtue, his word truth, his life the passage of patience, and his death the rest of his spirit. His travail is a pilgrimage, his way is plainness, his pleasure peace, and his delight is love. His care is his conscience, his wealth is his credit, his charge is his chanty, and his content is his kingdom. In sum, he is a diamond among jewels, a phrenix among birds, an unicorn among beasts, and a saint among men.
A knave is the scum of wit and the scorn of reason, the hate of wisdom and the dishonour of humanity. He is the danger of society and the hurt of amity, the infection of youth and the corruption of age. He is a traitor to affiance and abuse to employment, and a rule of villainy in a plot of mischief. He hath a cat's eye and a bear's paw, a siren's tongue and a serpent's sting. His words are lies, his oaths perjuries, his studies subtilties, and his practices villainies; his wealth is his wit, his honour is his wealth, his glory is his gain, and his god is his gold. He is no man's friend and his own enemy; cursed on earth and banished from heaven. He was begotten ungraciously, born untimely, lives dishonestly, and dies shamefully. His heart is a puddle of poison, his tongue a sting of iniquity, his brain a distiller of deceit, and his conscience a compass of hell. In sum, he is a dog in disposition, a fox in wit, a wolf in his prey, and a devil in his pride.
An usurer is a figure of misery, who hath made himself a slave to his money. His eye is closed from pity, and his hand from charity; his ear from compassion, and his heart from piety. While he lives he is the hate of a Christian, and when he dies he goes with horror to hell. His study is sparing, and his care is getting; his fear is wanting, and his death is losing. His diet is either fasting or poor fare, his clothing the hangman's wardrobe, his house the receptacle of thievery, and his music the clinking of his money. He is a kind of cancer that with the teeth of interest eats the hearts of the poor, and a venomous fly that sucks out the blood of any flesh that he lights on. In sum, he is a servant of dross, a slave to misery, an agent for hell, and a devil in the world.
A beggar is the child of idleness, whose life is a resolution of ease. His travail is most in the highways, and his rendezvous is commonly in an ale-house. His study is to counterfeit impotency, and his practice to cozen simplicity of charity. The juice of the malt is the liquor of his life, and at bed and at board a louse is his companion. He fears no such enemy as a constable, and being acquainted with the stocks, must visit them as he goes by them. He is a drone that feeds upon the labours of the bee, and unhappily begotten that is born for no goodness. His staff and his scrip are his walking furniture, and what he lacks in meat he will have out in drink. He is a kind of caterpillar that spoils much good fruit, and an unprofitable creature to live in a commonwealth. He is seldom handsome and often noisome, always troublesome and never welcome. He prays for all and preys upon all; begins with blessing but ends often with cursing. If he have a licence he shows it with a grace, but if he have none he is submissive to the ground. Sometime he is a thief, but always a rogue, and in the nature of his profession the shame of humanity. In sum, he is commonly begot in a bush, born in a barn, lives in a highway, and dies in a ditch.
A virgin is the beauty of nature, where the spirit gracious makes the creature glorious. She is the love of virtue, the honour of reason, the grace of youth, and the comfort of age. Her study is holiness, her exercise goodness, her grace humility, and her love is charity. Her countenance is modesty, her speech is truth, her wealth grace, and her fame constancy. Her virtue continence, her labour patience, her diet abstinence, and her care conscience. Her conversation heavenly, her meditations angel-like, her prayers devout, and her hopes divine: her parents' joy, her kindred's honour, her country's fame, and her own felicity. She is the blessed of the highest, the praise of the worthiest, the love of the noblest, and the nearest to the best. She is of creatures the rarest, of women the chiefest, of nature the purest, and of wisdom the choicest. Her life is a pilgrimage, her death but a passage, her description a wonder, and her name an honour. In sum, she is the daughter of glory, the mother of grace, the sister of love, and the beloved of life.