into his own mistress. He is his own gallant, and
makes most passionate addresses to his own dear perfections. He commits
idolatry to himself, and worships his own image; though there is no soul
living of his Church but himself, yet he believes as the Church
believes, and maintains his faith with the obstinacy of a fanatic. He is
his own favourite, and advances himself not only above his merit, but
all mankind; is both Damon and Pythias to his own dear self, and values
his crony above his soul. He gives place to no man but himself, and that
with very great distance to all others, whom he esteems not worthy to
approach him. He believes whatsoever he has receives a value in being
his, as a horse in a nobleman's stable will bear a greater price than in
a common market. He is so proud that he is as hard to be acquainted with
himself as with others, for he is very apt to forget who he is, and
knows himself only superficially; therefore he treats himself civilly as
a stranger with ceremony and compliment, but admits of no privacy. He
strives to look bigger than himself as well as others, and is no better
than his own parasite and flatterer. A little flood will make a shallow
torrent swell above its banks, and rage and foam and yield a roaring
noise, while a deep, silent stream glides quietly on. So a
vain-glorious, insolent, proud man swells with a little frail
prosperity, grows big and loud, and overflows his bounds, and when he
sinks, leaves mud and dirt behind him. His carriage is as glorious and
haughty as if he were advanced upon men's shoulders or tumbled over
their heads like knipperdolling. He fancies himself a Colosse, and so he
is, for his head holds no proportion to his body, and his foundation is
lesser than his upper storeys. We can naturally take no view of
ourselves unless we look downwards, to teach us how humble admirers we
ought to be of our own values. The slighter and less solid his materials
are the more room they take up and make him swell the bigger, as
feathers and cotton will stuff cushions better than things of more close
and solid parts.

A SMALL POET

Is one that would fain make himself that which Nature never meant him,
like a fanatic that inspires himself with his own whimsies. He sets up
haberdasher of small poetry, with a very small stock and no credit. He
believes it is invention enough to find out other men's wit, and
whatsoever he lights upon, either in books or company, he makes bold