atturney, then to a consellour, and in every of these places, he melts some of his fat (his money.) In the vacation he goes to grasse, and gets up his flesh againe, which he bates as you have heard. If he were to bee hang'd, unlesse he could be sav'd by his book, hee cannot for his heart call for a Psalme of mercy. He is a knave-trap-baited with parchment and wax; the fearefull mice he catches, are debters, with whom scratching atturneyes (like cats) play a good while, and then mouze them. The belly is an unsatiable creditor, but man worse. A Sargeant EAS once taken (when he bare office in his parish) for an honest man. The spawn of a decaied shop-keeper begets this fry; out of that dunghill is this serpents egge hatched. It is a divell made somtimes out of one of the twelve companies, and does but study the part and rehearse on earth, to be perfect when he comes to act it in hell: that is his stage. The hangman and he are twinnes; onely the hangman is the elder brother, and hee dying without issue (as commonly hee does, for none but a rope-makers widdow will marry him) this then inherites. His habit is a long gowne, made at first to cover his knavery, but that growing too monstrous, hee now goes in buffe: his conscience and that, being both cut out of one hide, and are of one toughnesse. The countergate is his kennell, the whole city his Paris garden, the misery of poore men (but especially of bad livers) are the offalles on which he feeds. The devill cals him his white sonne; he is so like him, that hee is the worse for it, and hee takes after his father; for the one torments bodies, as fast as the other tortures soules. Money is the crust he leaps at: crie, a ducke, a ducke, and hee plunges not in so eagerly as at this. The dogs chaps water to fetch nothing else he hath his name for the same quality; for sergeant, is quasi see argent, looke you rogues here is mony. Hee goes muffled like a theefe, and carries still the marks of one, for he steales upon a man cowardly, plucks him by the throat, makes him stand, and fleeces him. In this they differ, the theefe is more valiant and more honest. His walkes in terme time are up Fleet-street, at the end of terme up Holeborne, and so to Tyburne, the gallowes are his purlues, in which the hang-man and hee are the quarter rangers, the one turnes off, and the other cuts downe. All the vacation hee lies imboag'de behinde the lattice of some blinde, drunken, bawdy ale-house, and if he spie his prey, out he leapes, like a free-booter, and rifles; or like a ban-dog worries. No officer to the citie, keepes his oath so uprightly; he never is forsworne, for hee sweares to be true varlet to the city, and he continues so to his dying day. Mace, which is so comfortable to the stomacke in all kinde of meats, turnes in his hand to mortall poyson. This raven pecks not out mens eyes as others doe, all his spite is at their shoulders, and you were better to have the night-mare ride you, then this incubus. When any of the furies of hell die, this cacodæmon hath the reversion of his place. He will venture as desperately upon the Pox as any roaring boy of them all. For when hee arrests a whore, himselfe puts her in common baile at his owne perill, and shee paies him soundly for his labour; upon one of the sheriffes custards hee is not so greedy, nor so sharpe set, as at such a stew-pot. The city is (by the custome) to feed him with good meat, as they send dead horses to their hounds, onely too keepe them both in good heart, for not onely those curs at the dog-house, but these within the walls, are to serve in their places, in their severall huntings. He is a citizens birdlime, and where he holds, he hangs. His Yeoman. S the hanger that a sergeant weares by his side, it is a false die of the same bale, but not the same cut, for it runnes It is some-what higher, and does more mischiefe. a tumbler to drive in the conies. He is yet but a bungler, and knowes not how to cut up a man without tearing, but by a pattern. One terme fleshes him, or a Fleet-street breake fast. The devill is but his father in law, and yet for the love hee beares him, he will leave him as much as if he were his owne child. And for that cause (in stead of prayers) he does every morning at the counter-gate aske him blessing, and thrives the better in his actions all the day after. This is the hook that hangs under water to choake the fish, and his sergeant is the quill above water, which pops downe so soone as ever the bait is swallowed. It is indeed an otter, and the more terrible destroyer of the two. This counterrat hath a taile as long as his fellowes, but his teeth are more sharp, and he more hungry, because he does but snap, and hath not his full halfe-share of the booty. The eye of this wolfe is as quicke in his head, as a cut-purses in a throng, and as nimble is hee at his businesse, as an hang-man at an execution. His office is as the dogs to worrie the sheepe first, or drive them to the shambles; the butcher that cuts his throat, steps out afterwards, and that's his sargeant. His living lies within the city, but his conscience lies buried in one of the holes of a counter. This eele is bred too, out of the mud of a bankerupt, and dies commonly with his guts ript up, or else a sudden stab sends him of his last errant. Hee will very greedily take a cut with a sword, and sucke more silver out of the wound than his surgeon shall. His beginning is detestable, his courses desperate, and his end damnable. A Taylor. S a creature mistaken in the making, for hee should bee a tyger, but the shape being thought too terrible, it is covered; and hee weares the vizor of a man, yet retaines the qualities of his former fiercenesse, currishnesse, and ravening. Of that red earth, of which man was fashioned, this peece was the basest; of the rubbish which was left, and throwne by, came a jaylor, or if God had something els to doe then to regard such trash, his descent is then more ancient, but more ignoble, for then hee comes of the race of those angels that fell with Lucifer from heaven, whither he never (or very hardly) returnes. Of all his bunches of keyes, not one hath wards to open that doore; for a |