walks most commonly with
a clove or pick-tooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of
compliment, all his behaviours are printed, his face is another
volume of essays, and his beard is an Aristarchus. He speaks all
cream skimm'd, and more affected than a dozen waiting women. He
is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the ordinary gives
him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which, indeed, is
a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all the
talk: ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter;
once a year his apparel is ready to revolt. He doth use much to
arbitrate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding well, out at a
window. He will lie cheaper than any beggar, and louder than most
clocks; for which he is right properly accommodated to the
Whetstone, his page. The other gallant is his zany, and doth most
of these tricks after him; sweats to imitate him in every thing to
a hair, except a beard, which is not yet extant. He doth learn to
make strange sauces, to eat anchovies, maccaroni, bovoli, fagioli,
and caviare, because he loves them; speaks as he speaks, looks,
walks, goes so in clothes and fashion: is in all as if he were
moulded of him. Marry, before they met, he had other very pretty
sufficiencies, which yet he retains some light impression of; as
frequenting a dancing school, and grievously torturing strangers
with inquisition after his grace in his galliard. He buys a fresh
acquaintance at any rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much
together as he goes in the street. He treads nicely like the
fellow that walks upon ropes, especially the first Sunday of his
silk stockings; and when he is most neat and new, you shall strip
him with commendations.

CUP. Here comes another. [CRITES PASSES OVER THE STAGE.]

MER. Ay, but one of another strain, Cupid; This fellow weighs
somewhat.

CUP. His name, Hermes?

MER. Crites. A creature of a most perfect and divine temper: one,
in whom the humours and elements are peaceably met, without
emulation of precedency; he is neither too fantastically
melancholy, too slowly phlegmatic, too lightly sanguine, or too
rashly choleric; but in all so composed and ordered; as it is clear
Nature went about some full work, she did more than make a man when
she made him. His discourse is like his behaviour, uncommon