are weak, for if they were true, they would not need it. How false soever they are to him, he is true to them; and as all extraordinary affections of love or friendship are usually upon the meanest accounts, he is resolved never to forsake them, how ridiculous soever they render themselves and him to the world. He is a kind of a knight-errant, that is bound by his order to defend the weak and distressed, and deliver enchanted paradoxes, that are bewitched, and held by magicians and conjurers in invisible castles. He affects to have his opinions as unlike other men's as he can, no matter whether better or worse, like those that wear fantastic clothes of their own devising. No force of argument can prevail upon him; for, like a madman, the strength of two men in their wits is not able to hold him down. His obstinacy grows out of his ignorance; for probability has so many ways, that whosoever understands them will not be confident of any one. He holds his opinions as men do their lands, and, though his tenure be litigious, he will spend all he has to maintain it. He does not so much as know what opinion means, which always supposing uncertainty, is not capable of confidence. The more implicit his obstinacy is, the more stubborn it renders him; for implicit faith is always more pertinacious than that which can give an account of itself; and as cowards, that are well backed, will appear boldest, he that believes as the church believes is more violent, though he knows not what it is, than he that can give a reason for his faith. And as men in the dark endeavour to tread firmer than when they are in the light, the darkness of his understanding makes him careful to stand fast wheresoever he happens, though it be out of his way.

THE OBSTINATE MAN

Does not hold opinions, but they hold him; for when he is once possessed with an error, it is, like the devil, not to be cast out but with great difficulty. Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never loses, though it do but help to sink him the sooner. His ignorance is abrupt and inaccessible, impregnable both by art and nature, and will hold out to the last, though it has nothing but rubbish to defend. It is as dark as pitch, and sticks as fast to anything it lays hold on. His skull is so thick, that it is proof against any reason, and never cracks but on the wrong side, just opposite to that against which the impression is made, which surgeons say does happen very frequently. The slighter and more inconsistent his opinions are the faster he holds them, otherwise they would fall asunder of themselves; for opinions that are false ought to be held with more strictness and assurance than those that are true, otherwise they will be apt to betray their owners before they are aware. If he takes to religion, he has faith enough to save a hundred wiser men than himself, if it were right; but it is too much to be good; and though he deny supererogation, and utterly disclaim any overplus of merits, yet he allows superabundant belief, and if the violence of faith will carry the kingdom of heaven, he stands fair for it. He delights most of all to differ in things indifferent; no matter how frivolous they are, they are weighty enough in proportion to his weak judgment, and he will rather suffer selfmartyrdom than part with the least scruple of his freehold ; for it is impossible to dye his dark ignorance into a lighter colour. He is resolved to understand no man's reason but his own, because he finds no man can understand his but

himself. His wits are like a sack which, the French proverb says, is tied faster before it is full, than when it is; and his opinions are like plants that grow upon rocks, that stick fast though they have no rooting. His understanding is hardened like Pharaoh's heart, and is proof against all sorts of judgments whatsoever.

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 possession, 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 offspring of ignorance. 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 is, by his horns, made proof against a blush. Nature made man barefaced, and civil custom has preserved him so, but he that is 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 callus, 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 it is 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.

THE RUDE MAN

Is an Ostro-Goth, or northern Hun, that wheresoever he comes invades and all the world does overrun, without distinction of age, sex, or quality. He has no regard to anything but his own humour, and that he expects should pass everywhere without asking leave, or being asked wherefore, as if he had a safe-conduct for his rudeness. He rolls up himself, like a hedgehog, in his prickles, and is as untractable to all that come near him. He is an ill-designed piece, built after the rustic order; and all his parts look too big for their height. He is so ill-contrived that that which should be the top in all regular structures, i.e., confidence, is his foundation. He has neither doctrine nor discipline in him, like a fanatic church, but is guided by the very same spirit that dipped the herd of swine in the sea. He was not bred but reared, not brought up to hand but suffered to run wild and take after his kind, as other people of the pasture do. He takes that freedom in all places as if he were not at liberty, but had broken loose and expected to be tied up again. He does not eat but feed, and when he drinks goes to water. The old Romans beat the barbarous part of the world into civility, but if he had lived in those times he had been invincible to all attempts of that nature, and harder to be subdued and governed than a province. He eats his bread, according to the curse, with the sweat of his brow, and takes as much pains at a meal as if he earned it, puffs and blows like a horse that eats provender, and crams his