is more in the power of him that subdued him than he that was
born his subject), and they expect a freer submission from one that
takes quarter than from those that were under command before. His
weakness or ignorance, or both, are commonly the chief causes of his
conversion; for if he be a man of a profession that has no hopes to
thrive upon the account of mere merit, he has no way so easy and certain
as to betake himself to some forbidden church, where, for the common
cause's sake, he finds so much brotherly love and kindness, that they
will rather employ him than one of another persuasion though more
skilful, and he gains by turning and winding his religion as tradesmen
do by their stocks. The priest has commonly the very same design upon
him, for he that is not able to go to the charges of his conversion may
live free enough from being attacked by any side. He was troubled with a
vertigo in his conscience, and nothing but change of religion, like
change of air, could cure him. He is like a sick man that can neither
lie still in his bed nor turn himself but as he is helped by others. He
is like a revolter in an army; and as men of honour and commanders
seldom prove such, but common soldiers, men of mean condition,
frequently to mend their fortunes, so in religion clergymen who are
commanders seldom prevail upon one another, and when they do, the
proselyte is usually one who had no reputation among his own party
before, and after a little trial finds as little among those to whom
he revolts.

A CLOWN

Is a centaur, a mixture of man and beast, like a monster engendered by
unnatural copulation, a crab engrafted on an apple. He was neither made
by art nor nature, but in spite of both, by evil custom.. His perpetual
conversation with beasts has rendered him one of them, and he is among
men but a naturalised brute. He appears by his language, genius, and
behaviour to be an alien to mankind, a foreigner to humanity, and of so
opposite a genius that 'tis easier to make a Spaniard a Frenchman than
to reduce him to civility. He disdains every man that he does not fear,
and only respects him that has done him hurt or can do it. He is like
Nebuchadnezzar after he had been a month at grass, but will never return
to be a man again as he did, if he might, for he despises all manner of
lives but his own, unless it be his horse's, to whom he is but _valet de
chambre_. He never shows himself humane or kind in anything but when h