upon compassion, for it is like to be his best revenue. If his
annuity stretch so far, he is sent to the university, and with great
heart-burning takes upon him the ministry, as a profession he is
condemned to by his ill fortune. Others take a more crooked path yet,
the king's high-way; where at length their vizard is plucked off, and
they strike fair for Tyburn: but their brother's pride, not love, gets
them a pardon. His last refuge is the Low-countries,[18] where rags and
lice are no scandal, where he lives a poor gentleman of a company, and
dies without a shirt. The only thing that may better his fortunes is an
art he has to make a gentlewoman, wherewith he baits now and then some
rich widow that is hungry after his blood. He is commonly discontented
and desperate, and the form of his exclamation is, _that churl my
brother_. He loves not his country for this unnatural custom, and would
have long since revolted to the Spaniard, but for Kent[19] only, which
he holds in admiration.

A MERE FORMAL MAN

Is somewhat more than the shape of a man, for he has his length,
breadth, and colour. When you have seen his outside, you have looked
through him, and need employ your discovery no farther. His reason is
merely example, and his action is not guided by his understanding, but
he sees other men do thus, and he follows them. He is a negative, for we
cannot call him a wise man, but not a fool; nor an honest man, but not a
knave; nor a protestant, but not a papist. The chief burden of his brain
is the carriage of his body and the setting of his face in a good frame;
which he performs the better, because he is not disjointed with other
meditations. His religion is a good quiet subject, and he prays as he
swears, in the phrase of the land. He is a fair guest, and a fair
inviter, and can excuse his good cheer in the accustomed apology. He has
some faculty in the mangling of a rabbit, and the distribution of his
morsel to a neighbour's trencher. He apprehends a jest by seeing men
smile, and laughs orderly himself, when it comes to his turn. His
businesses with his friends are to visit them, and whilst the business
is no more, he can perform this well enough. His discourse is the news
that he hath gathered in his walk, and for other matters his discretion
is, that he will only what he can, that is, say nothing. His life is
like one that runs to the church-walk,[20] to take a turn or two, and so
passes. He hath staid in the worl