HENRY PARROT [?].

In 1626—­year of the death of Francis Bacon—­appeared “Cures for the Itch; Characters, Epigrams, Epitaphs by H. P.” with the motto “Scalpat qui Tangitur.”  H. P. was read by Philip Bliss into Henry Parrot, who published a collection of epigrams in 1613, as “Laquei Ridiculosi, or Springes for Woodcocks.”  The Characters in this little volume are of a Ballad Maker, a Tapster, a Drunkard, a Rectified Young Man, a Young Novice’s New Younger Wife, a Common Fiddler, a Broker, a Jovial Good Fellow, a Humourist, a Malapert Young Upstart, a Scold, a Good Wife, and a Self-Conceited Parcel-Witted Old Dotard.

A SCOLD

Is a much more heard of, than least desired to be seen or known, she-kind of serpent; the venomed sting of whose poisonous tongue, worse than the biting of a scorpion, proves more infectious far than can be cured.  She’s of all other creatures most untameablest, and covets more the last word in scolding than doth a combater the last stroke for victory.  She loudest lifts it standing at her door, bidding, with exclamation, flat defiance to any one says black’s her eye.  She dares appear before any justice, nor is least daunted with the sight of constable, nor at worst threatenings of a cucking-stool.  There’s nothing mads or moves her more to outrage than but the very naming of a wisp, or if you sing or whistle when she is scolding.  If any in the interim chance to come within her reach, twenty to one she scratcheth him by the face; or do but offer to hold her hands, she’ll presently begin to cry out murder.  There’s nothing pacifies her but a cup of sack, which taking in full measure of digestion, she presently forgets all wrongs that’s done her, and thereupon falls straight a-weeping.  Do but entreat her with fair words, or flatter her, she then confesseth all her imperfections, and lays the guilt upon her maid.  Her manner is to talk much in her sleep, what wrongs she hath endured of that rogue her husband, whose hap may be in time to die a martyr; and so I leave them.

A GOOD WIFE

Is a world of happiness, that brings with it a kingdom in conceit, and makes a perfect adjunct in society; she’s such a comfort as exceeds content, and proves so precious as cannot be paralleled, yea more inestimable than may be valued.  She’s any good man’s better second self, the very mirror of true constant modesty, the careful housewife of frugality, and dearest object of man’s heart’s felicity.  She commands with mildness, rules with discretion, lives in repute, and ordereth all things that are good or necessary.  She’s her husband’s solace, her house’s ornament, her children’s succour, and her servant’s comfort.  She’s (to be brief) the eye of wariness, the tongue of silence, the hand of labour, and the heart of love.  Her voice is music, her countenance meekness, her mind virtuous, and her soul gracious.  She’s a blessing given from God to man, a sweet companion in his affliction, and joint-copartner upon all occasions.  She’s (to conclude) earth’s chiefest paragon, and will be, when she dies, heaven’s dearest creature.