just part of accusation, he stops her mouth with good terms, and well-near strangleth her with shifts.  Like that subtle fish, he turns himself into the colour of every stone for a booty.  In himself he is nothing but what pleaseth his great one, whose virtues he cannot more extol than imitate his imperfections, that he may think his worst graceful.  Let him say it is hot, he wipes his forehead and unbraceth himself; if cold, he shivers and calls for a warmer garment.  When he walks with his friend he swears to him that no man else is looked at, no man talked of, and that whomsoever he vouchsafes to look on and nod to is graced enough; that he knows not his own worth, lest he should be too happy; and when he tells what others say in his praise, he interrupts himself modestly and dares not speak the rest; so his concealment is more insinuating than his speech.  He hangs upon the lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but oracles, and finds occasion to cite some approved sentence under the name he honoureth; and when aught is nobly spoken, both his hands are little enough to bless him.  Sometimes even in absence he extolleth his patron, where he may presume of safe conveyance to his ears; and in presence so whispereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be unheard where he meant it.  He hath salves for every sore, to hide them, not to heal them; complexion for every face; sin hath not any more artificial broker or more impudent bawd.  There is no vice that hath not from him his colour, his allurement; and his best service is either to further guiltiness or smother it.  If he grant evil things inexpedient or crimes errors, he hath yielded much; either thy estate gives privilege of liberty or thy youth; or if neither, what if it be ill? yet it is pleasant.  Honesty to him is nice singularity, repentance superstitious melancholy, gravity dulness, and all virtue an innocent conceit of the base-minded.  In short, he is the moth of liberal men’s coats, the earwig of the mighty, the bane of courts, a friend and a slave to the trencher, and good for nothing but to be a factor for the devil.

OF THE SLOTHFUL.

He is a religious man, and wears the time in his cloister, and, as the cloak of his doing nothing, pleads contemplation; yet is he no whit the leaner for his thoughts, no whit learneder.  He takes no less care how to spend time than others how to gain by the expense; and when business importunes him, is more troubled to forethink what he must do, than another to effect it.  Summer is out of his favour for nothing but long days that make no haste to their even.  He loves still to have the sun witness of his rising, and lies long, more for lothness to dress him than will to sleep; and after some streaking and yawning, calls for dinner unwashed, which having digested with a sleep in his chair, he walks forth to the bench in the market-place, and looks for companions.