hats should fly off before him like a storm, and not presume to stand in the way of his prospect, which is always over their heads.  All the advantage he has is but to go before or sit before, in which his nether parts take place of his upper, that continue still, in comparison, but commoners.  He is like an open summer-house, that has no furniture but bare seats.  All he has to show for his honour is his patent, which will not be in season until the third or fourth generation, if it lasts so long.  His very creation supposes him nothing before, and as tailors rose by the fall of Adam, and came in, like thorns and thistles, with the curse, so did he by the frailty of his master.  His very face is his gentleman-usher, that walks before him in state, and cries “Give way!” He is as stiff as if he had been dipped in petrifying water and turned into his own statue.  He is always taking the name of his honour in vain, and will rather damn it like a knighthood of the post than want occasion to pawn it for every idle trifle, perhaps for more than it is worth, or any man will give to redeem it; and in this he deals uprightly, though perhaps in nothing else.

A MALICIOUS MAN

Has a strange natural inclination to all ill intents and purposes.  He bears nothing so resolutely as ill-will, which he takes naturally to, as some do to gaming, and will rather hate for nothing than sit out.  He believes the devil is not so bad as he should be, and therefore endeavours to make him worse by drawing him into his own party offensive and defensive; and if he would but be ruled by him, does not doubt but to make him understand his business much better than he does.  He lays nothing to heart but malice, which is so far from doing him hurt that it is the only cordial that preserves him.  Let him use a man never so civilly to his face, he is sure to hate him behind his back.  He has no memory for any good that is done him; but evil, whether it be done him or not, never leaves him, as things of the same kind always keep together.  Love and hatred, though contrary passions, meet in him as a third and unite, for he loves nothing but to hate, and hates nothing but to love.  All the truths in the world are not able to produce so much hatred as he is able to supply.  He is a common enemy to the world, for being born to the hatred of it, Nature, that provides for everything she brings forth, has furnished him with a competence suitable to his occasions, for all men together cannot hate him so much as he does them one by one.  He loses no occasion of offence, but very thriftily lays it up and endeavours to improve it to the best advantage.  He makes issues in his skin to vent his ill-humours, and is sensible of no pleasure so much as the itching of his sores.  He hates death for nothing so much as because he fears it will take him away before he has paid all the ill-will he owes, and deprive him of all those precious feuds he has been scraping together