A Huffing Courtier

Is a Cypher, that has no Value himself, but from the Place he stands in. All his Happiness consists in the Opinion he believes others have of it. This is his Faith, but as it is heretical and erroneous, though he suffer much Tribulation for it, he continues obstinate, and not to be convinced. He flutters up and down like a Butterfly in a Garden ; and while he is pruning of his Peruque takes Occasion to contemplate his Legs, and the symmetry of his Britches. He is part of the Furniture of the Rooms, and serves for a walking Picture, a moving Piece of Arras. His Business is only to be seen, and he performs it with admirable Industry, placing himself always in the best Light, looking wonderfully Politic, and cautious whom he mixes withal. His Occupation is to show his Cloaths, and if they could but walk themselves, they would save him the
Labour, and do his Work as well as himself. His Immunity from Varlets is his Freehold, and he were a lost Man without it. His Cloaths are but his Taylor’s Livery, which he gives him, for ’tis ten to one he never pays for them. He is very careful to discover the Lining of his Coat, that you may not suspect any Want of Integrity of Flaw in him from the skin outwards. His Taylor is his Creator, and makes him of nothing ; and though he lives by Faith in him, he is perpetually committing Iniquities against him. His soul dwells in the Outside of him, like that of a hollow Tree ; and if you do but pill the Bark off him he deceases immediately. His Carriage of himself is the wearing of his Cloaths, and, like the Cinamon Tree, his Bark is better than his Body. His looking big is rather a Tumor, than Greatness. He is an Idol, that has just so much Value, as other Men give him that believe in him, but none of his own. He makes his Ignorance pass for Reserve, and, like a Hunting-nag, leaps over what he cannot get through. He has just so much of Politics, as Hostlers in the University have Latin. He is as humble as a Jesuit to his superior ; but repays himself again in Insolence over those, that are below him ; and with a generous scorn despises those, that can neither do him good, nor hurt. He adores those, that may do him good, though he knows they never will; and despises those, that would not hurt him, if they could. The Court is his Church, and he believes as that believes, and cries up and down every Thing, as he finds it pass there. It is a great Comfort to him to think, that some who do not know him may perhaps take him for a Lord ; and while that Thought lasts he looks bigger than usual, and forgets his Acquaintance; and that’s the Reason why he will sometimes know you, and sometimes not. Nothing but want of Money or Credit puts him in mind that he is mortal ; but then he trusts Providence that somebody will trust him; and in Expectation of that hopes for a better Life, and that his Debts will never rise up in Judgment against him. To get in debt is to labour in his Vocation ; but to pay is to forfeit his Protection ; for what’s that worth to one that owes Nothing ? His Employment being only to wear his Cloaths, the whole Account of his Life and Actions is recorded in shopkeepers Books, that are his faithful Historiographers to their own Posterity ; and he believes he loses so much Reputation, as he pays off his Debts; and that no Man wears his Cloaths in Fashion, that pays for them, for noting is further from the Mode. He believes that he that runs in Debt is beforehand with those that trust him, and only those, that pay, are behind. His Brains are turned giddy, like one that walks on the Top of a House ; and that’s the Reason it is so troublesome to him to look downwards. He is a Kind of spectrum, and his Cloaths are the shape he takes to appear and walk in; and when he puts them off he vanishes. He runs as busily out of one Room into another, as a great Practiser does in Westminster Hall from one Court to another. When he accosts a Lady he puts both Ends of his Microcosm in Motion, by making Legs at one End, and combing his Peruque at the other. His Garniture is the sauce to his Cloaths, and he walks in his Portcannons like one, that stalks in long Grass. Every Motion of him crys Vanity of Vanities, all is Vanity, quoth the Preacher. He rides himself like a well-managed Horse, reins in his Neck, and walks Terra Terra. He carries his elbows backward, as if he were pinioned like a trust-up Fowl, and moves as stiff as if he was upon the spit. His Legs are stuck in his great voluminous Britches, like the Whistles in a Bagpipe, those abundant Britches, in which his nether Parts are not cloathed, but packt up. His Hat has been long in a Consumption of the Fashion, and is now almost worn to Nothing ; if it do not recover quickly it will grown too little for a Head of Garlick. He wears Garniture on the Toes of his shoes to justify his Prentensions to the Gout, or such other Malady, that for the Time being is most in Fashion or Request. When he salutes a Friend he pulls off his Hat, as Women do their Vizard-Masques. His Ribbons are of the true Complexion of his Mind, a Kind of painted Cloud or gawdy Rainbow, that has no Colour of it self, but what is borrows from Reflection. He is as tender of his Cloaths, as a Coward is of his Flesh, and as loth to have them disordered. His Bravery is all his Happiness ; and like Atlas he carries his Heaven on his Back. He is like the golden Fleece, a fine Outside on a sheep’s Back. He is a Monster or an Indian Creature, that is good for nothing in the World but to be seen. He puts himself up into a sedan, like a Fiddle in a Case, and is taken out again for the Ladies to play upon, who when they have done with him, let down his treble-string, till they are in the Humour again. His Cook and Valet de Chambre conspire to dress Dinner and him so punctually together, that the one may not be ready before the other. As Peacocks and Ostridges have the gaudiest and finest Feathers, yet cannot fly; so all his Bravery is to flutter only. The Beggars call him my Lord, and he takes them at their Words, and pays them for it. If you praise him, he is so true and faithful to the Mode, that he never fails to make you a Present of himself, and will not be refused, tho’ you know not what to do with him when you have him.