AN UNQUIET WOMAN.

An unquiet woman is the misery of man, whose demeanour is not to be described but in extremities.  Her voice is the screeching of an owl, her eye the poison of a cockatrice, her hand the claw of a crocodile, and her heart a cabinet of horror.  She is the grief of nature, the wound of wit, the trouble of reason, and the abuse of time.  Her pride is unsupportable, her anger unquenchable, her will unsatiable, and her malice unmatchable.  She fears no colours, she cares for no counsel, she spares no persons, nor respects any time.  Her command is must, her reason will, her resolution shall, and her satisfaction so.  She looks at no law and thinks of no lord, admits no command and keeps no good order.  She is a cross but not of Christ, and a word but not of grace; a creature but not of wisdom, and a servant but not of God.  In sum, she is the seed of trouble, the fruit of travail, the taste of bitterness, and the digestion of death.

A GOOD WIFE.

A good wife is a world of wealth, where just cause of content makes a kingdom in conceit.  She is the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand of labour, and the heart of love; a companion of kindness, a mistress of passion, an exercise of patience, and an example of experience.  She is the kitchen physician, the chamber comfort, the hall’s care, and the parlour’s grace.  She is the dairy’s neatness, the brew-house’s wholesomeness, the garner’s provision and the garden’s plantation.  Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious.  She is her husband’s jewel, her children’s joy, her neighbour’s love, and her servant’s honour.  She is poverty’s prayer and charity’s praise, religion’s love and devotion’s zeal.  She is a care of necessity and a course of thrift, a book of housewifery and a mirror of modesty.  In sum, she is God’s blessing and man’s happiness, earth’s honour and heaven’s creature.

AN EFFEMINATE FOOL.

An effeminate fool is the figure of a baby.  He loves nothing but gay, to look in a glass, to keep among wenches, and to play with trifles; to feed on sweetmeats and to be danced in 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.