A DRUNKEN DUTCHMAN RESIDENT IN ENGLAND

Is but a quarter-master with his wife.  He stinks of butter as if he were anointed all over for the itch.  Let him come over never so lean, and plant him but one month near the brew-houses in St Catherine’s, and he will be puffed up to your hand like a bloat herring.  Of all places of pleasure he loves a common garden, and with the swine of the parish had need be ringed for rooting.  Next to these he affects lotteries naturally, and bequeaths the best prize in his will aforehand; when his hopes fall he’s blank.  They swarm in great tenements like flies; six households will live in a garret.  He was wont, only to make us fools, to buy the fox skin for threepence, and sell the tail for a shilling.  Now his new trade of brewing strong waters makes a number of madmen.  He loves a Welshman extremely for his diet and orthography; that is, for plurality of consonants, and cheese.  Like a horse, he is only guided by the mouth; when he’s drunk you may thrust your hand into him like an eel’s-skin, and strip him, his inside outwards.  He hoards up fair gold, and pretends ’tis to seethe in his wife’s broth for consumption; and loves the memory of King Henry the Eighth, most especially for his old sovereigns.  He says we are unwise to lament the decay of timber in England; for all manner of buildings or fortification whatsoever, he desires no other thing in the world than barrels and hop-poles.  To conclude, the only two plagues he trembles at is small beer and the Spanish Inquisition.

A PHANTASTIQUE:  AN IMPROVIDENT YOUNG GALLANT,

There is a confederacy between him and his clothes, to be made a puppy:  view him well and you will say his gentry sits as ill upon him as if he had bought it with his penny.  He hath more places to send money to than the devil hath to send his spirits; and to furnish each mistress would make him run besides his wits, if he had any to lose.  He accounts bashfulness the wickedest thing in the world, and therefore studies impudence.  If all men were of his mind all honesty would be out of fashion.  He withers his clothes on a stage, as a saleman is forced to do his suits in Birchin Lane; and when the play is done, if you mark his rising, ’tis with a kind of walking epilogue between the two candles, to know if his suit may pass for current.  He studies by the discretion of his barber, to frizzle like a baboon; three such would keep three the nimblest barbers in the town from ever having leisure to wear net-garters, for when they have to do with him, they have many irons in the fire.  He is travelled, but to little purpose; only went over for a squirt and came back again, yet never the more mended in his conditions, because he carried himself along with him.  A scholar he pretends himself, and says he hath sweat for it, but the truth is he knows Cornelius far better than Tacitus.  His ordinary sports are cock-fights, but the most frequent, horse-races, from whence he comes home dry-foundered.  Thus when his purse hath cast her calf he goes down into the country, where he is brought to milk and white cheese like the Switzers.