did the herd of swine, and is running it into the sea as fast as he can.  He has shot it with a zampatan, and it will presently fall all to dust.  He has brought his acres into a consumption, and they are strangely fallen away; nothing but skin and bones left of a whole manor.  He will shortly have all his estate in his hands; for, like bias, he may carry it about him.  He lays up nothing but debts and diseases, and at length himself in a prison.  When he has spent all upon his pleasures, and has nothing left for sustenance, he espouses a hostess dowager, and resolves to lick himself whole again out of ale, and make it pay him back all the charges it has put him to.

THE INCONSTANT

Has a vagabond soul without any settled place of abode, like the wandering Jew.  His head is unfixed, out of order, and utterly unserviceable upon any occasion.  He is very apt to be taken with anything, but nothing can hold him, for he presently breaks loose and gives it the slip.  His head is troubled with a palsy, which renders it perpetually wavering and incapable of rest.  His head is like an hour-glass; that part that is uppermost always runs out until it is turned, and then runs out again.  His opinions are too violent to last, for, like other things of the same kind in Nature, they quickly spend themselves and fall to nothing.  All his opinions are like wefts and strays that are apt to straggle from their owners and belong to the lord of the manor where they are taken up.  His soul has no retentive faculty, but suffers everything to run from him as fast as he receives it.  His whole life is like a preposterous ague in which he has his hot fit always before his cold one, and is never in a constant temper.  His principles and resolves are but a kind of movables, which he will not endure to be fastened to any freehold, but left loose to be conveyed away at pleasure as occasion shall please to dispose of him.  His soul dwells, like a Tartar, in a hoord, without any settled habitation, but is always removing and dislodging from place to place.  He changes his head oftener than a deer, and when his imaginations are stiff and at their full growth, he casts them off to breed new ones, only to cast off again the next season.  All his purposes are built on air, the chamelion’s diet, and have the same operation to make him change colour with every object he comes near.  He pulls off his judgment as commonly as his hat to every one he meets with.  His word and his deed are all one, for when he has given his word he has done, and never goes farther.  His judgment, being unsound, has the same operation upon him that a disease has upon a sick man, that makes him find some ease in turning from side to side, and still the last is the most uneasy.

A GLUTTON