Works of Joseph Hall, Character 16 – Character 19
Of the Male-content.
HE is neither well full nor faſting; and though he abound with complaints, yet nothing diſlikes him but the preſent: for what hee condemned while it was, once paſt he magnifies, and ſtriues to recall it out of the iawes of Time. What he hath, he ſeeth not, his eies are ſo taken vp with what he wants; and what he ſees, hee cares not for, becauſe he cares ſo much for that which is not. When his friend carues him the beſt morſell, he murmures that it is an happy feaſt wherein each one may cut for himſelfe. When a preſent is ſent him, he askes, Is this all? and What, no better? and ſo accepts it, as if he would hauehave his friend know how much hee is bound to him for vouchſafing to receiue it. It is hard to entertaine him with a proportionable gift. If nothing, he cries out of vnthankfulneſſe; if little, that he is baſely regarded; if much, he exclaimes of flatterie, and expectation of a large requitall. EueryEvery bleſſing hath ſomewhat to diſparage and diſtaſte it: Children bring cares, ſingle life is wilde and ſolitarie; eminencie is enuious, retiredneſſe obſcure; faſting painfull; ſatietie vnwieldie; Religion nicely ſeuere; libertie is lawleſſe; wealth burdenſome; mediocritie contemptible: EueryEvery thing faulteth, either in too much, or too little. This man is euer head-ſtrong, and ſelfe willed, neither is hee alwaies tied to eſteeme or pronounce according to reaſon; ſome things he muſt diſlike he knowes not wherefore, but he likes them not: and other-where rather than not cenſure, he will accuſe a man of vertue. EueryEvery thing hee medleth with, he either findeth imperfect, or maketh ſo: neither is there any thing that ſoundeth ſo harſh in his eare, as the commendation of another, whereto yet perhaps he faſhionably and coldly aſſenteth, but with ſuch an after-clauſe of exception, as doth more than marre his former allowance, and if he liſt not to giuegive a verball diſgrace, yet he ſhakes his head and ſmiles, as if his ſilence ſhould ſay, I could and will not. And when himſelfe is praiſed without exceſſe, hee complaines that ſuch imperfect kindneſſe hath not done him right. If but an vnſeaſonable ſhowre croſſe his recreation, he is ready to fall out with heauen, and thinkes he is wronged, if God will not take his times when to raine, when to ſhine. He is a ſlaue to enuie, and loſeth fleſh with fretting, not ſo much at his owne infelicitie, as at others good; neither hath he leiſure to ioy in his owne bleſſings whileſt another proſpereth. Faine would hee ſee ſome mutinies, but dares not raiſe them; and ſuffers his lawleſſe tongue to walke thorow the dangerous paths of conceited alterations; but ſo, as in good manners hee had rather thruſt eueryevery man before him when it comes to acting. Nothing but feare keepes him from conſpiracies, and no man is more cruell when he is not manicled with danger. Hee ſpeakes nothing but Satyrs and Libels, and lodgeth no gheſts in his heart but Rebels. The inconſtant and he agree well in their felicitie, which both place in change: but herein they differ; the inconſtant man affects that which will be, the male-content commonly that which was. Finally, he is a querulous curre, whom no horſe can paſſe by without barking at; yea, in the deepe ſilence of night the very moone-ſhine openeth his clamorous mouth: hee is the wheele of a well-couched fire-worke, that flies out on all ſides, not without ſcorching it ſelfe. EueryEvery eare is long agoe wearie of him, and he is now almoſt wearie of himſelfe. GiueGive him but a little reſpit, and he will die alone; of no other death, than others welfare.
Of the Vnconſtant.
THe inconſtant man treads vponupon a mouing earth, and keepes no paſe. His proceedings are euer heady and peremptorie; for he hath not the patience to conſult with reaſon, but determines meerely vponupon fancie. No man is ſo hot in the purſuit of what he liketh; no man ſooner wearie. He is fierie in his paſſions, which yet are not more violent than momentanie: it is a wonder if his louelove or hatred laſt ſo many daies as a wonder. His heart is the Inne of all good motions, wherein if they lodge for a night, it is well; by morning they are gone, and take no leaue: and if they come that way againe, they are entertained as gheſts, not as friends. At firſt like another Ecebolius he loued ſimple truth, thence diuerting his eies, hee fell in louelove with idolatrie; thoſe heatheniſh ſhrines had neuer any more doting and beſotted client; and now of late he is leapt from Rome to Munſter, and is growne to giddie Anabaptiſme: what hee will be next, as yet he knoweth not; but ere he hauehave wintred his opinion, it will be manifeſt. Hee is good to make an enemie of, ill for a friend; becauſe as there is no truſt in his affection, ſo no rancor in his diſpleaſure. The multitude of his changed purpoſes brings with it forgetfulneſſe; and not of others more than of himſelfe. He ſaies, ſweares, renounces, becauſe what he promiſed, he meant not long enough to make an impreſſion. Herein alone he is good for a Common-wealth, that he ſets many on worke, with building, ruining, altering; and makes more buſineſſe than Time it ſelfe; neither is he a greater enemie to thrift, than to idleneſſe. Proprietie is to him enough cauſe of diſlike; each thing pleaſes him better that is not his owne. Euen in the beſt things, long continuance is a iuſt quarrell; Manna it ſelfe growes tedious with age, and Noueltie is the higheſt ſtile of commendation to the meaneſt offers: neither doth he in bookes and faſhions aske How good, but, How new. Varietie carries him away with delight, and no vniforme pleaſure can be without an irkſome fulneſſe. Hee is ſo transformable into all opinions, manners, qualities, that he ſeemes rather made immediatly of the firſt matter, than of well-tempered elements; and therefore is in poſſibilitie any thing or eueryevery thing; nothing in preſent ſubſtance. Finally, hee is ſeruile in imitation, waxe to perſwaſions, wittie to wrong himſelfe, a gheſt in his owne houſe, an Ape of others and in a word, any thing rather than himſelfe.
Of the Flatterer.
FLatterie is nothing but falſe friendſhip, fawning hypocriſie, diſhoneſt ciuilitie, baſe merchandize of words, a plauſible diſcord of the heart and lips. The Flatterer is bleare-eyed to ill, and cannot ſee vices; and his tongue walkes euer in one tracke of vniuſt praiſes, and can no more tell how to diſcommend, than to ſpeake true. His ſpeeches are full of wondring interiections; and all his titles are ſuperlatiue, and both of them ſeldome euer but in preſence. His baſe minde is well matched with a mercenarie tongue, which is a willing ſlaue to another mans eare; neither regardeth he how true, but how pleaſing. His Art is nothing but delightfull coozenage, whoſe rules are ſmoothing, and garded with periurie; whoſe ſcope is to make men fooles, in teaching them to ouer-value themſelues, and to tickle his friends to death. This man is a Porter of all good tales, and mends them in the carriage: One of Fames beſt friends, and his owne; that helps to furniſh her with thoſe rumours, that may aduantage himſelfe. Conſcience hath no greater aduerſarie; for when ſhe is about to play her iuſt part of accuſation, he ſtops her mouth with good termes, and wel-neere ſtrangleth her with ſhifts. Like that ſubtill fiſh, he turnes himſelfe into the colour of eueryevery ſtone, for a bootie. In himſelfe be is nothing, but what pleaſeth his Great-one, whoſe vertues hee cannot more extoll, than imitate his imperfections, that he may thinke his worſt gracefull. Let him ſay it is hot, he wipes his forehead, and vnbraceth himſelfe; if cold, he ſhiuers, and calls for a warmer garment. When hee walkes with his friend, hee ſweares to him, that no man elſe is looked at; no man talked of; and that whomſoeuer he vouchſafes to looke on and nod to, is graced enough: That he knowes not his owne worth, leſt hee ſhould be too happy; and when hee tells what others ſay in his praiſe, he interrupts himſelfe modeſtly, and dares not ſpeake the reſt: ſo his concealement is more inſinuating than his ſpeech. He hangs vponupon the lips which he admireth, as if they could let fall nothing but Oracles, and findes occaſion to cite ſome approued ſentence, vnderunder the name hee honoureth; and when ought is nobly ſpoken, both his hands are little enough to bleſſe him. Sometimes euen in abſence he extolleth his Patron, where he may preſume of ſafe conueyance to his eares; and in preſence ſo whiſpereth his commendation to a common friend, that it may not be vnheard where hee meant it. Hee hath ſalues for eueryevery ſore, to hide them, not to heale them; complexion for eueryevery face: ſinne hath not any more artificiall Broker, or more impudent Bawd. There is no vice, that hath not from him his colour, his allurement; and his beſt ſeruice is, either to further guiltineſſe, or ſmother it. If hee grant euill things inexpedient, or crimes errours, hee hath yeelded much; either thy eſtate giues priuilege of libertie, or thy youth; or if neither, What if it be ill? yet it is pleaſant. Honeſty to him is nice ſingularitie, repentance ſuperſtitious melancholy, grauitie dulneſſe, and all vertue, an innocent conceit of the baſe-minded. In ſhort, he is the Moth of liberall mens coats, the Eare-wig of the mightie, the bane of Courts, a friend and a ſlaue to the trencher, and good for nothing but to bee a factor for the Deuill.
Of the Slothfull.
HE is a religious man, and weares the time in his Cloiſter; and as the cloke of his doing nothing, pleads contemplation; yet is he no whit the leaner for his thoughts, no whit learneder. Hee takes no leſſe care how to ſpend time, than others how to gaine by the expenſe; and when buſineſſe importunes him, is more troubled to fore-thinke what he muſt doe, than another to effect it. Summer is out of his fauour, for nothing but long daies that make no haſte to their euen. He loues ſtill to hauehave the Sunne witneſſe of his riſing; and lies long, more for lothneſſe to dreſſe him, than will to ſleepe: and after ſome ſtreaking and yawning, cals for dinner, vnwaſhed; which hauing digeſted with a ſleepe in his chaire, hee walkes forth to the bench in the Market-place, and lookes for Companions: whomſoeuer he meets, he ſtaies with idle queſtions, and lingring diſcourſe; how the daies are lengthned, how kindly the weather is, how falſe the clocke, how forward the Spring, and ends euer with What ſhall we doe? It pleaſes him no leſſe to hinder others, than not to worke himſelfe. When all the people are gone from Church, hee is left ſleeping in his ſeat alone. He enters bonds, and forfeits them by forgetting the day; and askes his neighbour when his owne field was fallowed, whether the next peece of ground belong not to himſelfe. His care is either none, or too late: when Winter is come, after ſome ſharpe viſitations, he lookes on his pile of wood, and askes how much was cropped the laſt Spring. Neceſſitie driues him to eueryevery action, and what he cannot auoid, he will yet deferre. EueryEvery change troubles him, although to the better; and his dulneſſe counterfeits a kinde of contentment. When he is warned on a Iury, he had rather pay the mulct, than appeare. All but that which Nature will not permit, he doth by a Deputy, and counts it troubleſome to doe nothing; but to doe any thing yet more. He is witty in nothing but framing excuſes to ſit ſtill, which if the occaſion yeeld not, he coineth with eaſe. There is no worke that is not either dangerous, or thankleſſe, and whereof he fore-ſees not the inconuenience and gainleſneſſe before hee enters; which if it be verified in euent, his next idleneſſe hath found a reaſon to patronize it. He had rather freeze than fetch wood, and chuſes rather to ſteale than worke; to begge than take paines to ſteale, and in many things to want than begge. He is ſo loth to leaue his neighbours fire, that hee is faine to walke home in the darke; and if he be not lookt to, weares out the night in the chimney corner; or if not that, lies downe in his clothes to ſaue two labours. Hee eates and praies himſelfe aſleepe; and dreames of no other torment but worke. This man is a ſtanding Poole, and cannot chuſe but gather corruption: he is deſcried amongſt a thouſand neighbours by a dry and naſtie hand, that ſtill ſauours of the ſheet; a beard vncut, vnkembed; an eie and eare yellow, with their excretions; a coat ſhaken on, ragged, vnbruſht; by linnen and face ſtriuing whether ſhall excell in vncleanneſſe. For body he hath a ſwolne legge, a dusky and ſwiniſh eie, a blowne cheeke, a drawling tongue, an heauy foot, and is nothing but a colder earth molded with ſtanding water. To conclude, is a man in nothing but in ſpeech and ſhape.