that which is pleasant. In the speculation of his own good
parts, his eyes, like a drunkard's, see all double, and his fancy, like an
old man's spectacles, make a great letter in a small print. He imagines
every place where he comes his theater, and not a look stirring but his
spectator; and conceives men's thoughts to be very idle, that is, [only]
busy about him. His walk is still in the fashion of a march, and like his
opinion unaccompanied, with his eyes most fixed upon his own person, or on
others with reflection to himself. If he have done any thing that has past
with applause, he is always re-acting it alone, and conceits the extasy
his hearers were in at every period. His discourse is all positions and
definitive decrees, with _thus it must be_ and _thus it is_, and he will
not humble his authority to prove it. His tenent is always singular and
aloof from the vulgar as he can, from which you must not hope to wrest
him. He has an excellent humour for an heretick, and in these days made
the first Arminian. He prefers Ramus before Aristotle, and Paracelsus
before Galen,[22] [_and whosoever with most paradox is commended_.] He
much pities the world that has no more insight in his parts, when he is
too well discovered even to this very thought. A flatterer is a dunce to
him, for he can tell him nothing but what he knows before: and yet he
loves him too, because he is like himself. Men are merciful to him, and
let him alone, for if he be once driven from his humour, he is like two
inward friends fallen out: his own bitter enemy and discontent presently
makes a murder. In sum, he is a bladder blown up with wind, which the
least flaw crushes to nothing.

FOOTNOTES:

[22] _and Lipsius his hopping stile before either Tully or Quintilian._
First edit.

XII.

A TOO IDLY RESERVED MAN

Is one that is a fool with discretion, or a strange piece of politician,
that manages the state of himself. His actions are his privy-council,
wherein no man must partake beside. He speaks under rule and prescription,
and dare not shew his teeth without Machiavel. He converses with his
neighbours as he would in Spain, and fears an inquisitive man as much as
the inquisition. He suspects all questions for examinations, and thinks
you would pick something out of him, and avoids you. His breast is like a
gentlewoman's closet, which locks up every toy or trifle, or some bragging
mountebank that makes every stinking thing a secret. He de