rupt, thrives
best when he is blown up.

FOOTNOTES:

[63] The prologue to our ancient dramas was ushered in by trumpets.
"Present not yourselfe on the stage (especially at a new play) untill the
quaking prologue hath (by rubbing) got cullor into his cheekes, and is
ready to giue the trumpets their cue that hee's vpon point to enter."
Decker's _Gul's Hornbook_, 1609. p. 30.

"Doe you not know that I am the Prologue? Do you not see this long blacke
veluet cloke vpon my backe? _Haue you not sounded thrice?_" Heywood's
_Foure Prentises of London_. 4to. 1615.

XXXIX.

A VULGAR-SPIRITED MAN

Is one of the herd of the world. One that follows merely the common cry,
and makes it louder by one. A man that loves none but who are publickly
affected, and he will not be wiser than the rest of the town. That never
owns a friend after an ill name, or some general imputation, though he
knows it most unworthy. That opposes to reason, "thus men say;" and "thus
most do;" and "thus the world goes;" and thinks this enough to poise the
other. That worships men in place, and those only; and thinks all a great
man speaks oracles. Much taken with my lord's jest, and repeats you it all
to a syllable. One that justifies nothing out of fashion, nor any opinion
out of the applauded way. That thinks certainly all Spaniards and Jesuits
very villains, and is still cursing the pope and Spinola. One that thinks
the gravest cassock the best scholar; and the best cloaths the finest man.
That is taken only with broad and obscene wit, and hisses any thing too
deep for him. That cries, Chaucer for his money above all our English
poets, because the voice has gone so, and he has read none. That is much
ravished with such a nobleman's courtesy, and would venture his life for
him, because he put off his hat. One that is foremost still to kiss the
king's hand, and cries, "God bless his majesty!" loudest. That rails on
all men condemned and out of favour, and the first that says "away with
the traitors!"--yet struck with much ruth at executions, and for pity to
see a man die, could kill the hangman. That comes to London to see it, and
the pretty things in it, and, the chief cause of his journey, the bears.
That measures the happiness of the kingdom by the cheapness of corn, and
conceives no harm of state, but ill trading. Within this compass too, come
those that are too much wedged into the world, and have no lifting
thoughts above those things; that