heart is a lump of congealed snow:  Prometheus was asleep while it was making.  He differeth altogether from God; for with him the best pieces are still marked out for damnation, and, without hope of recovery, shall be cast down into hell.  He is partly an alchemist; for he extracteth his own apparel out of other men’s clothes; and when occasion serveth, making a broker’s shop his alembic, can turn your silks into gold, and having furnished his necessities, after a month or two, if he be urged unto it, reduce them again to their proper subsistence.  He is in part likewise an arithmetician, cunning enough for multiplication and addition, but cannot abide subtraction:  summa totalis is the language of his Canaan, and usque ad ultimum quadrantem the period of all his charity.  For any skill in geometry I dare not commend him, for he could never yet find out the dimensions of his own conscience; notwithstanding he hath many bottoms, it seemeth this is always bottomless.  And so with a libera nos a malo I leave you, promising to amend whatsoever is amiss at his next setting.

A PURITAN

Is a diseased piece of apocalypse:  bind him to the Bible, and he corrupts the whole text.  ’Ignorance and fat feed are his founders; his nurses, railing, rabies, and round breeches.  His life is but a borrowed blast of wind:  for between two religions, as between two doors, he is ever whistling.  Truly, whose child he is is yet unknown; for, willingly, his faith allows no father:  only thus far his pedigree is found, Bragger and he flourished about a time first.  His fiery zeal keeps him continually costive, which withers him into his own translation; and till he eat a schoolman he is hide-bound.  He ever prays against non-residents, but is himself the greatest discontinuer, for he never keeps near his text.  Anything that the law allows, but marriage and March beer, he murmurs at; what it disallows and holds dangerous, makes him a discipline.  Where the gate stands open, he is ever seeking a stile; and where his learning ought to climb, he creeps through.  Give him advice, you run into traditions; and urge a modest course, he cries out counsel.  His greatest care is to contemn obedience; his last care to serve God handsomely and cleanly.  He is now become so cross a kind of teaching, that should the Church enjoin clean shirts, he were lousy.  More sense than single prayers is not his; nor more in those than still the same petitions:  from which he either fears a learned faith, or doubts God understands not at first hearing.  Show him a ring, he runs back like a bear; and hates square dealing as allied to caps.  A pair of organs blow him out of the parish, and are the only glyster-pipes to cool him.  Where the meat is best, there he confutes most, for his arguing is but the efficacy of his eating:  good bits he holds breed good positions, and the Pope he best concludes against in plum-broth.  He is often