Is the only man that finds good in it which others brag of but do not; for it is meat, drink, and clothes to him. No man opens his ware with greater seriousness, or challenges your judgment more in the approbation. His shop is the rendezvous of spitting, where men dialogue with their noses, and their communication is smoak.[47] It is the place only where Spain is commended and preferred before England itself. He should be well experienced in the world, for he has daily trial of men's nostrils, and none is better acquainted with humours. He is the piecing commonly of some other trade, which is bawd to his tobacco, and that to his wife, which is the flame that follows this smoak. FOOTNOTES: [47] Minshew calls a tobacconist _fumi-vendulus_, a _smoak-seller_. XXVIII. A POT-POET Is the dregs of wit, yet mingled with good drink may have some relish. His inspirations are more real than others, for they do but feign a God, but he has his by him. His verse runs like the tap, and his invention as the barrel, ebbs and flows at the mercy of the spiggot. In thin drink he aspires not above a ballad, but a cup of sack inflames him, and sets his muse and nose a-fire together. The press is his mint, and stamps him now and then a six-pence or two in reward of the baser coin his pamphlet. His works would scarce sell for three half-pence, though they are given oft for three shillings, but for the pretty title that allures the country gentleman; for which the printer maintains him in ale a fortnight. His verses are like his clothes miserable centoes[48] and patches, yet their pace is not altogether so hobbling as an almanack's. The death of a great man or the _burning_[49] of a house furnish him with an argument, and the nine muses are out strait in mourning gowns, and Melpomene cries fire! fire! [His other poems are but briefs in rhime, and like the poor Greeks collections to redeem from captivity.] He is a man now much employed in commendations of our navy, and a bitter inveigher against the Spaniard. His frequentest works go out in single sheets, and are chanted from market to market to a vile tune and a worse throat; whilst the poor country wench melts like her butter to hear them. And these are the stories of some men of Tyburn, or a strange monster out of Germany;[50] or, sitting in a bawdy-house, he writes God's judgments. He drops away at last in some obscure painted cloth, to which himself made the verses,[51] and his life, like a cann too full, spills upon the bench. He leaves twenty shillings on the score, which my hostess loses. FOOTNOTES: [48] _Cento_, a composition formed by joining scraps from other authors. _Johnson._ Camden, in his _Remains_, uses it in the same sense. "It is quilted, as it were, out of shreds of divers poets, such as scholars call a _cento_." [49] _Firing_, first edit.