from which there is no return.  His ill-nature is like an ill stomach, that turns its nourishment into bad humours.  He should be a man of very great civilities, for he receives all that he can, but never parts with any.  He is like a barren soil; plant what you will on him, it will never grow, nor anything but thorns and thistles, that came in with the curse.  His mother died in child-bed of him, for he is descended of the generation of vipers in which the dam always eats off the sire’s head, and the young ones their way through her belly.  He is like a horse in a pasture, that eats up the grass and dungs it in requital.  He puts the benefits he receives from others and his own faults together in that end of the sack which he carries behind his back.  His ill-nature, like a contagious disease, infects others that are of themselves good, who, observing his ingratitude, become less inclined to do good than otherwise they would be; and as the sweetest wine, if ill-preserved, becomes the sourest vinegar, so the greatest endearments with him turn to the bitterest injuries.  He has an admirable art of forgetfulness, and no sooner receives a kindness but he owns it by prescription and claims from time out of mind.  All his acknowledgments appear before his ends are served, but never after, and, like Occasion, grow very thick before but bare behind.  He is like a river, that runs away from the spring that feeds it and undermines the banks that support it; or like vice and sin, that destroy those that are most addicted to it; or the hangman, that breaks the necks of those whom he gets his living by, and whips those that find him employment, and brands his masters that set him on work.  He pleads the Act of Oblivion for all the good deeds that are done him, and pardons himself for the evil returns he makes.  He never looks backward (like a right statesman), and things that are past are all one with him as if they had never been; and as witches, they say, hurt those only from whom they can get something and have a hank upon, he no sooner receives a benefit but he converts it to the injury of that person who conferred it on him.  It fares with persons as with families, that think better of themselves the farther they are off their first raisers.

A SQUIRE OF DAMES

Deals with his mistress as the devil does with a witch, is content to be her servant for a time, that she may be his slave for ever.  He is esquire to a knight-errant, donzel to the damsels, and gentleman usher daily waiter on the ladies, that rubs out his time in making legs and love to them.  He is a gamester who throws at all ladies that are set him, but is always out, and never wins but when he throws at the candlestick, that is, for nothing; a general lover, that addresses unto all but never gains any, as universals produce nothing.  He never appears so gallant a man as when he is in the head of a body of ladies and leads them up with admirable skill and