ot ceremonious, but thinks he owes that reverence to the Church to bow
his judgment to it, and make more conscience of schism, than a surplice.
He esteems the Church hierarchy as the Church's glory, and however we
jar with Rome, would not have our confusion distinguish us. In
simoniacal purchases he thinks his soul goes in the bargain, and is
loath to come by promotion so dear: yet his worth at length advances
him, and the price of his own merit buys him a living. He is no base
grater of his tithes, and will not wrangle for the odd egg. The lawyer
is the only man he hinders, by whom he is spited for taking up quarrels.
He is a main pillar of our church, though not yet dean or canon, and his
life our religion's best apology. His death is the last sermon, where,
in the pulpit of his bed, he instructs men to die by his example.[10]

A MERE DULL PHYSICIAN.

His practice is some business at bedsides, and his speculation an
urinal: he is distinguished from an empiric, by a round velvet cap and
doctor's gown, yet no man takes degrees more superfluously, for he is
doctor howsoever. He is sworn to Galen and Hippocrates, as university
men to their statutes, though they never saw them; and his discourse is
all aphorisms, though his reading be only Alexis of Piedmont,[11] or the
Regiment of Health.[12] The best cure he has done is upon his own purse,
which from a lean sickliness he hath made lusty, and in flesh. His
learning consists much in reckoning up the hard names of diseases, and
the superscriptions of gallipots in his apothecary's shop, which are
ranked in his shelves and the doctor's memory. He is, indeed, only
languaged in diseases, and speaks Greek many times when he knows not. If
he have been but a bystander at some desperate recovery, he is slandered
with it though he be guiltless; and this breeds his reputation, and that
his practice, for his skill is merely opinion. Of all odours he likes
best the smell of urine, and holds Vespasian's[13] rule, that no gain is
unsavory. If you send this once to him you must resolve to be sick
howsoever, for he will never leave examining your water, till he has
shaked it into disease:[l4] then follows a writ to his drugger in a
strange tongue, which he understands, though he cannot construe. If he
see you himself, his presence is the worst visitation: for if he cannot
heal your sickness, he will be sure to help it. He translates his
apothecary's shop into your chamber, and the very