n laps, to be embraced in arms, and
to be kissed on the cheek; to talk idly, to look demurely, to go nicely,
and to laugh continually; to be his mistress' servant, and her maid's
master, his father's love and his mother's none-child; to play on a
fiddle and sing a love-song; to wear sweet gloves and look on fine
things; to make purposes and write verses, devise riddles and tell lies;
to follow plays and study dances, to hear news and buy trifles; to sigh
for love and weep for kindness, and mourn for company and be sick for
fashion; to ride in a coach and gallop a hackney, to watch all night and
sleep out the morning; to lie on a bed and take tobacco, and to send his
page of an idle message to his mistress; to go upon gigs, to have his
ruffs set in print, to pick his teeth, and play with a puppet. In sum,
he is a man-child and a woman's man, a gaze of folly, and
wisdom's grief.

A PARASITE.

A parasite is the image of iniquity, who for the gain of dross is
devoted to all villainy. He is a kind of thief in committing of
burglary, when he breaks into houses with his tongue and picks pockets
with his flattery. His face is brazen that he cannot blush, and his
hands are limed to catch hold what he can light on. His tongue is a bell
(but not of the church, except it be the devil's) to call his parish to
his service. He is sometimes a pander to carry messages of ill meetings,
and perhaps hath some eloquence to persuade sweetness in sin. He is like
a dog at a door while the devils dance in the chamber, or like a spider
in the house-top that lives on the poison below. He is the hate of
honesty and the abuse of beauty, the spoil of youth and the misery of
age. In sum, he is a danger in a court, a cheater in a city, a jester in
the country, and a jackanapes in all.

A DRUNKARD.

A drunkard is a known adjective, for he cannot stand alone by himself;
yet in his greatest weakness a great trier of strength, whether health
or sickness will have the upper hand in a surfeit. He is a spectacle of
deformity and a shame of humanity, a view of sin and a grief of nature.
He is the annoyance of modesty and the trouble of civility, the spoil of
wealth and the spite of reason. He is only the brewer's agent and the
alehouse benefactor, the beggar's companion and the constable's trouble.
He is his wife's woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbours' scoff, and
his own shame. In sum, he is a tub of swill, a spirit of sleep, a
picture of a