troublesome by exclaiming
against, he is condemned for a common barretor. Like another Ahab, he is
sick of the next field, and thinks he is ill-seated, while he dwells by
neighbours. Shortly, his neighbours do not much more hate him, than he
himself. He cares not (for no great advantage) to lose his friend, pine
his body, damn his soul; and would despatch himself when corn falls, but
that he is loth to cast away money on a cord.

OF THE VAINGLORIOUS.

All his humour rises up into the froth of ostentation, which if it once
settle falls down into a narrow room. If the excess be in the
understanding part, all his wit is in print; the press hath left his
head empty, yea, not only what he had, but what he could borrow without
leave. If his glory be in his devotion, he gives not an alms but on
record; and if he have once done well, God hears of it often, for upon
every unkindness he is ready to upbraid Him with merits. Over and above
his own discharge, he hath some satisfactions to spare for the common
treasure. He can fulfil the law with ease, and earn God with
superfluity. If he hath bestowed but a little sum in the glazing,
paving, parieting of God's house, you shall find it in the church
window. Or if a more gallant humour possess him, he wears all his land
on his back, and walking high, looks over his left shoulder, to see if
the point of his rapier follow him with a grace. He is proud of another
man's horse, and well mounted, thinks every man wrongs him that looks
not at him. A bare head in the street doth him more good than a meal's
meat. He swears big at an ordinary, and talks of the court with a sharp
accent; neither vouchsafes to name any not honourable, nor those without
some term of familiarity, and likes well to see the hearer look upon him
amazedly, as if he said, How happy is this man that is so great with
great ones! Under pretence of seeking for a scroll of news, he draws out
an handful of letters endorsed with his own style to the height, and
half reading every title, passes over the latter part with a murmur, not
without signifying what lord sent this, what great lady the other, and
for what suits; the last paper (as it happens) is his news from his
honourable friend in the French court. In the midst of dinner, his
lackey comes sweating in with a sealed note from his creditor, who now
threatens a speedy arrest, and whispers the ill news in his master's
ear, when he aloud names a counsellor of state, an