A priest stole him out of the cradle, like the fairies, and left a fool and changeling in his place. He new dyes his religion, and commonly into a sadder and darker colour than it was before. He gives his opinion the somersault and turns the wrong side of it outwards. He does not mend his manners, but botch them with patches of another stuff and colour. Change of religion, being for the most part used by those who understand not why one religion is better than another, is like changing of money two sixpences for a shilling; both are of equal value, but the change is for convenience or humour. There is nothing more difficult than a change of religion for the better, for as all alterations in judgment are derived from a precedent confessed error, that error is more probably like to produce another than anything of so different a nature as truth. He imposes upon himself in believing the infirmity of his nature to be the strength of his judgment, and thinks he changes his religion when he changes himself, and turns as naturally from one thing to another as a maggot does to a fly. He is a kind of freebooty and plunder, or one head of cattle driven by the priests of one religion out of the quarters of another, and they value him above two of their own; for, beside the glory of the exploit, they have a better title to him (as he that is conquered is more in the power of him that subdued him than he that was born his subject), and they expect a freer submission from one that takes quarter than from those that were under command before. His weakness or ignorance, or both, are commonly the chief causes of his conversion; for if he be a man of a profession that has no hopes to thrive upon the account of mere merit, he has no way so easy and certain as to betake himself to some forbidden church, where, for the common cause's sake, he finds so much brotherly love and kindness, that they will rather employ him than one of another persuasion though more skilful, and he gains by turning and winding his religion as tradesmen do by their stocks. The priest has commonly the very same design upon him, for he that is not able to go to the charges of his conversion may live free enough from being attacked by any side. He was troubled with a vertigo in his conscience, and nothing but change of religion, like change of air, could cure him. He is like a sick man that can neither lie still in his bed nor turn himself but as he is helped by others. He is like a revolter in an army; and as men of honour and commanders seldom prove such, but common soldiers, men of mean condition, frequently to mend their fortunes, so in religion clergymen who are commanders seldom prevail upon one another, and when they do, the proselyte is usually one who had no reputation among his own party before, and after a little trial finds as little among those to whom he revolts.
A CLOWN
Is a centaur, a mixture of man and beast, like a monster engendered by unnatural copulation, a crab engrafted on an apple. He was neither made by art nor nature, but in spite of both, by evil custom.. His perpetual conversation with beasts has rendered him one of them, and he is among men but a naturalised brute. He appears by his language, genius, and behaviour to be an alien to mankind, a foreigner to humanity, and of so opposite a genius that 'tis easier to make a Spaniard a Frenchman than to reduce him to civility. He disdains every man that he does not fear, and only respects him that has done him hurt or can do it. He is like Nebuchadnezzar after he had been a month at grass, but will never return to be a man again as he did, if he might, for he despises all manner of lives but his own, unless it be his horse's, to whom he is but valet de chambre. He never shows himself humane or kind in anything but when he pimps to his cow or makes a match for his mare; in all things else he is surly and rugged, and does not love to be pleased himself, which makes him hate those that do him any good. He is a stoic to all passions but fear, envy, and malice, and hates to do any good though it cost him nothing. He abhors a gentleman because he is most unlike himself, and repines as much at his manner of living as if he maintained him. He murmurs at him as the saints do at the wicked, as if he kept his right from him, for he makes his clownery a sect and damns all that are not of his Church. He manures the earth like a dunghill, but lets himself lie fallow, for no improvement will do good upon him. Cain was the first of his family, and he does his endeavour not to degenerate from the original churlishness of his ancestor. He that was fetched from the plough to be made dictator had not half his pride and insolence, nor Caligula's horse that was made consul. All the worst names that are given to men are borrowed from him, as villain, deboise, peasant, &c. He wears his clothes like a hide, and shifts them no oftener than a beast does his hair. He is a beast that Gesner never thought of.
A WOOER
Stands candidate for cuckold, and if he miss of it, it is none of his fault, for his merit is sufficiently known. He is commonly no lover, but able to pass for a most desperate one where he finds it is like to prove of considerable advantage to him, and therefore has passions lying by him of all sizes proportionable to all women's fortunes, and can be indifferent, melancholy, or stark-mad according as their estates give him occasion; and when he finds it is to no purpose, can presently come to himself again and try another. He prosecutes his suit against his mistress as clients do a suit in law, and does nothing without the advice of his learned counsel, omits no advantage for want of soliciting, and, when he gets her consent, overthrows her. He endeavours to match his estate, rather than himself, to the best advantage, and if his mistress's fortune and his do but come to an agreement, their persons are easily satisfied, the match is soon made up, and a cross marriage between all four is presently concluded. He is not much concerned in his lady's virtues, for if the opinion of the Stoics be true, that the virtuous are always rich, there is no doubt but she that is rich must be virtuous. He never goes without a list in his pocket of all the widows and virgins about the town, with particulars of their jointures, portions, and inheritances, that if one miss he may not be without a reserve; for he esteems Cupid very improvident if he has not more than two strings to his bow. When he wants a better introduction he begins his addresses to the chambermaid, like one that sues the tenant to eject the landlord, and according as he thrives there makes his approaches to the mistress. He can tell readily what the difference is between jointure with tuition of infant, land, and money of any value, and what the odds is to a penny between them all, either to take or leave. He does not so much go a-wooing as put in his claim, as if all men of fortune had a fair title to all women of the same quality, and therefore are said to demand them in marriage. But if he be a wooer of fortune, that designs to raise himself by it, he makes wooing his vocation, deals with all matchmakers, that are his setters, is very painful in his calling, and if his business succeed, steals her away and commits matrimony with a felonious intent. He has a great desire to beget money on the body of a woman, and as for other issue is very indifferent, and cares not how old she be so she be not past money-bearing.
AN IMPUDENT MAN
Is one whose want of money and want of wit have engaged him beyond his abilities. The little knowledge he has of himself, being suitable to the little he has in his profession, has made him believe himself fit for it. This double ignorance has made him set a value upon himself, as he that wants a great deal appears in a better condition than he that wants a little. This renders him confident and fit for any undertaking, and sometimes (such is the concurrent ignorance of the world) he prospers in it, but oftener miscarries and becomes ridiculous; yet this advantage he has, that as nothing can make him see his error, so nothing can discourage him that way, for he is fortified with his ignorance, as barren and rocky places are by their situation, and he will rather believe that all men want judgment than himself. For, as no man is pleased that has an ill opinion of himself, Nature, that finds out remedies herself, and his own ease, render him insensible of his defects. From hence he grows impudent; for, as men judge by comparison, he knows as little what it is to be defective as what it is to be excellent. Nothing renders men modest but a just knowledge how to compare themselves with others; and where that is wanting impudence supplies the place of it, for there is no vacuum in the minds of men, and commonly, like other things in Nature, they swell more with rarefaction than condensation. The more men know of the world, the worse opinion they have of it; and the more they understand of truth, they are better acquainted with the difficulties of it, and consequently are the less confident in their assertions, especially in matters of probability, which commonly is squint-eyed and looks nine ways at once. It is the office of a just judge to hear both parties, and he that considers but the one side of things can never make a just judgment, though he may by chance a true one. Impudence is the bastard of ignorance, not only unlawfully but incestuously begotten by a man upon his own understanding, and laid by himself at his own door, a monster of unnatural production; for shame is as much the propriety of human nature, though overseen by the philosophers, and perhaps more than reason, laughing, or looking asquint, by which they distinguish man from beasts; and the less men have of it the nearer they approach to the nature of brutes. Modesty is but a noble jealousy of honour, and impudence the prostitution of it; for he whose face is proof against infamy must be as little sensible of glory. His forehead, like a voluntary cuckold's, is by his horns made proof against a blush. Nature made man barefaced, and civil custom has preserved him so; but he that's impudent does wear a vizard more ugly and deformed than highway thieves disguise themselves with. Shame is the tender moral conscience of good men. When there is a crack in the skull, Nature herself, with a tough horny callous repairs the breach; so a flawed intellect is with a brawny callous face supplied. The face is the dial of the mind; and where they do not go together, 'tis a sign that one or both are out of order. He that is impudent is like a merchant that trades upon his credit without a stock, and if his debts were known would break immediately. The inside of his head is like the outside, and his peruke as naturally of his own growth as his wit. He passes in the world like a piece of counterfeit coin, looks well enough until he is rubbed and worn with use, and then his copper complexion begins to appear, and nobody will take him but by owl-light.
AN IMITATOR
Is a counterfeit stone, and the larger and fairer he appears the more apt he is to be discovered; whilst small ones, that pretend to no great value, pass unsuspected. He is made like a man in arras-hangings, after some great master's design, though far short of the original. He is like a spectrum or walking spirit, that assumes the shape of some particular person and appears in the likeness of something that he is not because he has no shape of his own to put on. He has a kind of monkey and baboon wit, that takes after some man's way whom he endeavours to imitate, but does it worse than those things that are naturally his own; for he does not learn, but take his pattern out, as a girl does her sampler. His whole life is nothing but a kind of education, and he is always learning to be something that he is not nor ever will be. For Nature is free, and will not be forced out of her way, nor compelled to do anything against her own will and inclination. He is but a retainer to wit and a follower of his master, whose badge he wears everywhere, and therefore his way is called servile imitation. His fancy is like the innocent lady's, who, by looking on the picture of a Moor that hung in her chamber, conceived a child of the same complexion; for all his conceptions are produced by the pictures of other men's imaginations, and by their features betray whose bastards they are. His Muse is not inspired, but infected with another man's fancy; and he catches his wit, like the itch, of somebody else that had it before, and when he writes he does but scratch himself. His head is, like his hat, fashioned upon a block and wrought in a shape of another man's invention. He melts down his wit and casts it in a mould; and as metals melted and cast are not so firm and solid as those that are wrought with the hammer, so those compositions that are founded and run in other men's moulds are always more brittle and loose than those that are forged in a man's own brain. He binds himself apprentice to a trade which he has no stock to set up with, if he should serve out his time and live to be made free. He runs a-whoring after another man's inventions, for he has none of his own to tempt him to an incontinent thought, and begets a kind of mongrel breed that never comes to good.