A SERVING-MAN

Is a creature, which, though he be not drunk, yet is not his own man.  He tells without asking who owns him, by the superscription of his livery.  His life is for ease and leisure, much about gentleman-like.  His wealth enough to suffice nature, and sufficient to make him happy, if he were sure of it, for he hath little, and wants nothing; he values himself higher or lower as his master is.  He hates or loves the men as his master doth the master.  He is commonly proud of his master’s horses or his Christmas; he sleeps when he is sleepy, is of his religion, only the clock of his stomach is set to go an hour after his.  He seldom breaks his own clothes.  He never drinks but double, for he must be pledged; nor commonly without some short sentence nothing to the purpose, and seldom abstains till he comes to a thirst.  His discretion is to be careful for his master’s credit, and his sufficiency to marshal dishes at a table, and to carve well; his neatness consists much in his hair and outward linen; his courting language, visible coarse jests; and against his matter fail, he is always ready furnished with a song.  His inheritance is the chambermaid, but often purchaseth his master’s daughter, by reason of opportunity, or for want of a better, he always cuckolds himself, and never marries but his own widow.  His master being appeased, he becomes a retainer, and entails himself and his posterity upon his heir-males for ever.

AN HOST

Is the kernel of a sign; or the sign is the shell, and mine host is the snail.  He consists of double beer and fellowship, and his vices are the bawds of his thirst.  He entertains humbly, and gives his guests power, as well of himself as house.  He answers all men’s expectations to his power, save in the reckoning; and hath gotten the trick of greatness, to lay all mislikes upon his servants.  His wife is the common seed of his dove-house; and to be a good guest is a warrant for her liberty.  He traffics for guests by men-friends’ friends’ friends, and is sensible only of his purse.  In a word, he is none of his own; for he neither eats, drinks, or thinks, but at other men’s charges and appointments.

AN OSTLER

Is a thing that scrubbeth unreasonably his horse, reasonably himself.  He consists of travellers, though he be none himself.  His highest ambition is to be host, and the invention of his sign is his greatest wit, for the expressing whereof he sends away the painters for want of understanding.  He hath certain charms for a horse mouth, that he should not eat his hay; and behind your back he will cozen your horse to his face.  His curry-comb is one of his best parts, for he expresseth much by the jingling; and his mane-comb is a spinner’s card turned out of service.  He puffs and blows over your horse, to the hazard of a double jug, and leaves much of the dressing to the proverb of muli mutuo scabient, one horse rubs another.  He comes to him that calls loudest, not first; he takes a broken head patiently, but the knave he feels it not; utmost honesty is good fellowship, and he speaks northern, what countryman soever.  He hath a pension of ale from the next smith and saddler for intelligence; he loves to see you ride, and hold your stirrup in expectation.