latter chastity of hers, is more grave and reverend, than that ere shee was maried; for in it, is neither hope, nor longing, nor feare, nor jealousie. She ought to be a mirrour for our yongest dames to dresse themselves by, when she is fullest of wrinkles. No calamity can now come neere her; for in suffering the losse of her husband, she accounts all the rest trifles. She hath laid his dead body in the worthiest monument that can be: she hath buried it in her owne heart. To conclude, she is a relique, that without any superstition in the world, though she will not be kist, yet may be reverenc't. An ordinary Widdow S like the heraulds hearse-cloth; she serves to many funerals, with a very little altering the colour. The end of her husband begins in teares; and the end of her teares begins in a husband. Shee uses to cunning women to know how many husbands she shall have, and never marries without the consent of six midwives. Her chiefest pride is in the multitude of her suitors; and by them she gaines: for one serves to draw on another, and with one at last she shoots out another, as boyes doe pellets in elderne guns. She commends to them a single life, as : horse-coursers doe their jades, to put them away. Her fancy is to one of the biggest of the guard, but knighthood makes her draw in a weaker bow. Her servants or kinsfolke, are the trumpeters that summon any to this combat; by them she gaines much credit, but loseth it againe in the old proverbe : fama est mendax. If she live to be thrice married, she seldome failes to coozen her second husbands creditors. A churchman she dare not venture upon; for she hath heard widowes complain of dilapidations nor a souldier, though he have candle-rents in the citie, for his estate may be subject to fire: very seldome a lawyer, without he shewes his exceeding great practice, and can make her case the better but a knight with the old rent may do much, for a great comming in is all in all with a widow ever provided, that most part of her plate and jewels (before the wedding) lye conceal'd with her scrivener. Thus like a too-ripe apple, she falls off her selfe but he that hath her, is lord but of a filthy purchase, for the title is crack't. Lastly, while she is a widdow, observe her, she is no morning woman the evening, a good fire, and sacke, may make her listen to a husband: and if ever she be made sure, 'tis upon a full stomack to bed-ward. A Quacksalver S a mountebank of a larger bill then a taylor; if he can but come by names enow of diseases to stuffe it with, 'tis all the skill he studies for. He tooke his first being from a cunning woman, and stole this black art from her, while hee made her sea-coale fire. All the diseases ever sin brought upon man, doth he pretend to be a curer of; when the truth is, his maine cunning is corn-cutting. A great plague makes him, what with rayling against such, as leave their cures for feare of infection, and in friendly breaking cake-bread, with the fish-wives at funerals, he utters a most abominable deale of musty carduus-water, and the conduits cry out, all the learned doctors may cast their caps at him. He parts stakes with some apothecary in the suburbs, at whose house he lies: and though he be never so familiar with his wife, the apothecary dares not (for the richest horne in his shop) displease him. All the midwives in the towne are his intelligencers: but nurses and young merchants wives, (that would faine conceive with child) these are his idolaters. He is a more unjust bone-setter, then a dice-maker; hath put out more eyes then the small pox; made more deafe then the cataracts of Nilus; lamed more then the gout: shrunk more sinews then one that makes bowstrings, and kild more idly then tobacco. A magistrate that had any way so noble a spirit, as but to love a good horse well, would not suffer him to be a farrier: his discourse is vomit, and his ignorance, the strongest purgation in the world to one that would be speedily cured, he hath more delayes and doubles, then a hare, or a law-suit: he seekes to set us at variance with nature, and rather then he shall want diseases, hee'l beget them. His especiall practice (as I said afore) is upon women; labours to make their minds sick, ere their bodies feele it, and then there's work for the dog-leach. He pretends the cure of madmen; and sure he gets most by them, for no man in his perfect wit would meddle with him. Lastly, he is such a juggler with urinals, so dangerously unskilfull, that if ever the city will have recourse to him for diseases that need purgation, let them employ him in scouring Moore-ditch. A canting Rogue. IS not unlikely but he was begot by some intelligencer under a hedge; for his mind is wholly given to travell. Hee is not troubled with making of joyntures: he can divorce himselfe without the fee of a proctor, nor feares hee the cruelty of over-scers of his will. Hee leaves his children all the world to cant in, and all the people to their fathers. His language is a constant tongue; the Northerne speech differs from the South, Welsh from the Cornish: but canting is generall, nor ever could be altered by conquest of the Saxon, Dane, or Norman. He will not beg out of his limit though hee starve; nor breake his oath if hee sweare by his Salomon, though you hang him and hee payes his custome as truly to his grand rogue, as tribute is paid to the great Turke. The March sunne breeds agues in others, but hee adores it like the Indians; for then begins his progresse after a hard winter. Ostlers cannot indure him, for hee is of the infantry, and serves best on foot. He offends not the statute against the excesse of apparell, for hee will goe naked, and counts it a voluntary pennance. Forty of them lye in a barne together, yet are never sued upon the statute of inmates. If hee were learned, no man could make a better description of England; for hee hath travel'd it over and over. Lastly, he brags, that his great houses are repaired to his hands, when churches goe to ruine: and those are prisons. |