Complete. From “The Seven Deadly Sins of London.”

SLOTH was not so slow in his march when he entered the city, but Apishness (that was to take his turn next) was as quick. Do you not know him? It cannot be read in any Chronicle that he was ever with Henry VIII. at Boulogne, or at the winning of Turwin and Turnay: for (not to belie the sweet Gentleman) he was neither in the shell then, no nor then when Paules-steeple and the Weathercock were on fire; by which marks (without looking in his mouth) you may safely swear that he is but young, for he is a fierce, dapper fellow, more light headed than a musician; as phantastically attired as a court jester; wanton in discourse; lascivious in behavior; jocund in good company; nice in his trencher, and yet he feeds very hungrily on scraps of songs: he drinks in a Glass well, but vilely in a deep French-bowl: yet much about the year when Monsieur came in, was he begotten, between a French tailor and an English court seamster. This Signor Joculento (as the devil would have it) comes prancing in at Cripplegate, and he may well do it, for indeed all the parts he plays are but con’d speeches stolen from others, whose voices and actions he counterfeits, but so lamely, that all the Cripples in ten Spittle-houses show not more halting. The graver brows were bent against him, and by the awful charms of reverend authority would have sent him down from whence he came, for they knew how smooth soever his looks were, there was a devil in his bosom. But he having the stronger faction on his side, set them in a Mutiny, Sævitque animis ignobile vulgus, the many-headed Monster fought as it had been against St. George, won the gate, and then with shouts was the Gaveston of the time brought in. But who brought him in? None but rich men’s sons that were left well, and had more money given by will than they had wit how to bestow it; none but Prentices almost out of their years, and all the Tailors, Haberdashers, and Embroiderers that could be got for love or money, for these were pressed secretly to the service, by the young and wanton dames of the city, because they would not be seen to show their love to him themselves.

  Man is God’s Ape, and an Ape is zany to a man, doing over those tricks (especially if they be knavish) which he sees done before him: so that Apishness is nothing but counterfeiting or imitation; and this flower when it first came into the city had a pretty scent, and a delightful color, hath been let to run so high that it is now seeded, and where it falls there rises up a stinking weed.

  For as man is God’s ape, striving to make artificial flowers, birds, etc., like to the natural; so for the same reason are women Men’s she apes, for they will not be behind them the breadth of a tailor’s yard (which is nothing to speak of) in any new-fangled upstart fashion. If men get up French standing collars, women will have the French standing collar too; if doublets with little thick skirts, so short that none are able to sit upon them, women’s foreparts are thick skirted too; by surfeiting upon which kind of fantastical Apishness in short time they fall into the disease of pride: Pride is infectious, and breeds prodigality; Prodigality, after it has run a little, closes up and festers, and then turns to Beggary. Witty was that painter, therefore, that when he had limned one of every Nation in their proper attires, and being at his wits’ ends how to draw an Englishman, at the last (to give him a quip for his folly in apparel), drew him stark naked, with shears in his hand and cloth on his arm, because none could cut out his fashions but himself.

  For an Englishman’s suit is like a traitor’s body that hath been hanged, drawn, and quartered, and is set up in several places: the collar of his doublet is in France; the wing and narrow sleeve in Italy; the short waist hangs over a Dutch butcher’s stall in Utrich; his huge floppes speak Spanish; Polonia gives him the boots: the block for his head alters faster than the feltmaker can fit him, and thereupon we are called in scorn Blockheads. And thus we that mock every Nation for keeping one fashion, yet steal patches from every one of them to piece out our pride, are now Laughingstocks to them, because their cut so scurvily becomes us.

  This sin of Apishness, whether it be in apparel, or in diet, is not of such long life as his fellows, and for seeing none but women and fools keep him company, the one will be ashamed of him when they begin to have wrinkles, the other when they feel their purses light. The magistrate, the wealthy commoner, and the ancient citizen disdain to come near him; we were best, therefore, take note of such things as are about him, lest on a sudden he slip out of sight.

  Apishness rides in a chariot made of nothing but cages, in which are all the strangest outlandish Birds that can be gotten: the cages are stuck full of parrots’ feathers; the Coachman is an Italian mountebank who drives a fawn and a lamb; for they draw the gew-gaw in Winter, when such beasts are rarest to be had; in summer, it goes alone by the motion of wheels; two pages in light-colored suits, embroidered full of butterflies, with wings that flutter up with the wind, run by him, the one being a dancing boy, the other a tumbler. His attendants are Folly, Laughter, Inconstancy, Riot, Niceness, and Vainglory: when his Court removes, he is followed by Tobacconists, Shuttlecock-makers, Feathermakers, Cobweb-lawn-weavers, Perfumers, young Country Gentlemen, and Fools. In whose Ship whilst they all are sailing, let us observe what other abuses the Verdimotes Inquest do present on the land, albeit they be never reformed, till a second Chaos is to be refined. In the meantime, In nova fert Animus.