a convenient stock of confidence.  His whole life is nothing but a merrymaking, and his business the same with a fiddler’s, to play to all companies where he comes, and take what they please to give him either of applause or dislike; for he can do little without some applauders, who by showing him ground make him outdo his own expectation many times, and theirs too; for they that laugh on his side and cry him up give credit to his confidence, and sometimes contribute more than half the wit by making it better than he meant.  He is impregnable to all assaults but that of a greater impudence, which, being stick-free, puts him, like a rough fencer, out of his play, and after passes upon him at pleasure, for when he is once routed he never rallies again.  He takes a view of a man as a skilful commander does of a town he would besiege, to discover the weakest places where he may make his approaches with the least danger and most advantages, and when he finds himself mistaken, draws off his forces with admirable caution and consideration; for his business being only wit, he thinks there is very little of that shown in exposing himself to any inconvenience.

THE OBSTINATE MAN

Does not hold opinions, but they hold him; for when he is once possessed with an error, ’tis, like the devil, not to be cast out but with great difficulty.  Whatsoever he lays hold on, like a drowning man, he never loses, though it do but help to sink him the sooner.  His ignorance is abrupt and inaccessible, impregnable both by art and nature, and will hold out to the last though it has nothing but rubbish to defend.  It is as dark as pitch, and sticks as fast to anything it lays hold on.  His skull is so thick that it is proof against any reason, and never cracks but on the wrong side, just opposite to that against which the impression is made, which surgeons say does happen very frequently.  The slighter and more inconsistent his opinions are the faster he holds them, otherwise they would fall asunder of themselves; for opinions that are false ought to be held with more strictness and assurance than those that are true, otherwise they will be apt to betray their owners before they are aware.  If he takes to religion, he has faith enough to save a hundred wiser men than himself, if it were right; but it is too much to be good; and though he deny supererogation and utterly disclaim any overplus of merits, yet he allows superabundant belief, and if the violence of faith will carry the kingdom of heaven, he stands fair for it.  He delights most of all to differ in things indifferent; no matter how frivolous they are, they are weighty enough in proportion to his weak judgment, and he will rather suffer self-martyrdom than part with the least scruple of his freehold, for it is impossible to dye his dark ignorance into a lighter colour.  He is resolved to understand no man’s reason but his own, because he finds no man can understand his but himself.  His wits are like a sack which, the French proverb says, is tied faster before it is full than when it is; and his opinions are like plants that grow upon rocks, that stick fast though they have no rooting.  His understanding is hardened like Pharaoh’s heart, and is proof against all sorts of judgments whatsoever.