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 tenet 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
heretic, 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.

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 show 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 delivers you common matters with great
conjuration of silence, and whispers you in the ear acts of parliament.
You may as soon wrest a tooth from him as a paper, and whatsoever he
reads is letters. He dares not talk of great men for fear of bad
comments, and _he knows not how his words may be misapplied_. Ask his
opinion, and he tells you his doubt; and he never hears any thing more
astonishedly than what he knows before. His words are like the cards at
primivist,[23] where 6 is 18, and 7, 21; for they never signify what
they sound; but if he tell you he will do a thing, it is as much as if
he swore he would not. He is one, indeed, that takes all men to be
craftier than they are, and puts himself to a great deal of affliction
to hinder their plots and desi