better than he does
himself, he must have patience and stay for him, until, with much ado to
little purpose, he at length comes to him; for he believes himself
injured if he should bate a jot of his own diversion.

A PRETENDER

Is easily acquainted with all knowledges, but never intimate with any;
he remembers he has seen them somewhere before, but cannot possibly call
to mind where. He will call an art by its name, and claim acquaintance
with it at first sight. He knew it perfectly, as the Platonics say, in
the other world, but has had the unhappiness to discontinue his
acquaintance ever since his occasions called him into this. He claps on
all the sail he can possibly make, though his vessel be empty and apt to
overset. He is of a true philosophical temper, contented with a little,
desires no more knowledge than will satisfy nature, and cares not what
his wants are so he can but keep them from the eyes of the world. His
parts are unlimited; for as no man knows his abilities, so he does his
endeavour that as few should his defects. He wears himself in opposition
to the mode, for his lining is much coarser than his outside; and as
others line their serge with silk, he lines his silk with serge. All his
care is employed to appear not to be; for things that are not and things
that appear not are not only the same in law, but in all other affairs
of the world. It should seem that the most impudent face is the best;
for he that does the shamefulest thing most unconcerned is said to set a
good face upon it; for the truth is, the face is but the outside of the
mind, but all the craft is to know how 'tis lined. Howsoever, he fancies
himself as able as any man, but not being in a capacity to try the
experiment, the hint-keeper of Gresham College is the only competent
judge to decide the controversy. He may, for anything he knows, have as
good a title to his pretences as another man; for judgment being not
past in the case (which shall never be by his means), his title still
stands fair. All he can possibly attain to is but to be another thing
than nature meant him, though a much worse. He makes that good that
Pliny says of children, _Qui celerius fari cepere, tardius ingredi
incipiunt_. The apter he is to smatter, the slower he is in making any
advance in his pretences. He trusts words before he is thoroughly
acquainted with them, and they commonly show him a trick before he is
aware; and he shows at the same time his ign