ace in the world's account which he thinks his merit
capable of, falls into such an envious apoplexy, with which his judgment
is so dazzled and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any
opposite happiness in another.

_Puntarvolo_. A vainglorious knight, over-Englishing his travels, and
wholly consecrated to singularity; the very Jacob's staff of compliment;
a sir that hath lived to see the revolution of time in most of his
apparel. Of presence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own
praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, to the floutage
of his own family. He deals upon returns, and strange performances,
resolving, in despite of public derision, to stick to his own particular
fashion, phrase, and gesture.

_Carlo Buffone_. A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, that more
swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will transform any person into
deformity. A good feast-hound or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out
a supper some three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him! he
came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. A slave that
hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his palate, and will swill up
more sack at a sitting than would make all the guard a posset. His
religion is railing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in
his respect whom he studies most to reproach.

_Fastidious Brisk_. A neat, spruce, affecting courtier, one that wears
clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his glass how to salute;
speaks good remnants, notwithstanding the base viol and tobacco; swears
tersely, and with variety; cares not what lady's favour he belies, or
great man's familiarity; a good property to perfume the boot of a coach.
He will borrow another man's horse to praise, and backs him as his own.
Or, for a need, on foot can post himself into credit with his merchant,
only with the jingle of his spur, and the jerk of his wand.

_Deliro_. A good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might be of the
common-council for his wealth; a fellow sincerely besotted on his own
wife, and so wrapt with a conceit of her perfections, that he simply
holds himself unworthy of her. And, in that hoodwinked humour, lives
more like a suitor than a husband; standing in as true dread of her
displeasure, as when he first made love to her. He doth sacrifice
twopence in juniper to her every morning before she rises, and wakes her
with villainous out-of-tune music, which she out of her co