pitty he wishes fewer laws, so they were better observ'd and for those are mulctuary, he understands their institution not to be like briers or springes, to catch every thing they lay hold of; but like seamarkes (on our dangerous Goodwin) to avoid the shipwrack of ignorant passengers: he hates to wrong any man; neither hope, nor despaire of preferment can draw him to such an exigent: hee thinks himselfe then most honourably seated, when hee gives mercy the upper hand: he rather strives to purchase good name, then land; and of all rich stuffes forbidden by the statute, loathes to have his followers weare their clothes cut out of bribes and extortions. If his Prince call him to higher place, there he delivers his mind plainely, and freely, knowing for truth, there is no place wherein dissembling ought to have lesse credit, then in a Princes Councell. Thus honor keeps peace with him to the grave, and doth not (as with many) there forsake him, and goe back with the Heralds: but fairely sits ore him, and broods out of his memory, many right excellent common-wealths men. A vertuous Widdow S the palme-tree, that thrives not after the supplanting of her husband. For her childrens sake she first marries, for she married that she might have children, and for their sakes she marries no more. She is like the purest gold, only imployed for princes medals, shee never receives but one mans impression; the large joynture moves her not, titles of honour cannot sway her. To change her name, were (she thinkes) to commit a sinne should make her asham'd of her husbands calling. She thinks she hath travel'd all the world in one man; the rest of her time therefore she directs to heaven. Her maine superstition is, she thinks her husbands ghost would walk, should she not performe his will: she would doe it, were there no prerogative court. She gives much to pious uses, without any hope to merit by them: and as one diamond fashions another, so is she wrought into workes of charity, with the dust or ashes of her husband. She lives to see her selfe full of time; being so necessary for earth, God cals her not to heaven, till shee be very aged: and even then, though her naturall strength faile her, she stands like an ancient pyramid; which the lesse it grows to mans eye, the neerer it reaches to heaven. This 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 bonesetter, 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 |