Extremely passionate: “whatever they wish, they wish intensely,” and they pursue what they desire most furiously. Always anxious and deeply concerned, distrustful and fearful, envious, malicious, extravagant at one time, sparing at another, but mostly covetous; muttering, repining, discontented and always complaining, resentful, ill-tempered, “holding fast to injuries,” prone to revenge, quickly troubled and most violent in all their imaginings; unfriendly in speech and disinclined to ordinary courtesies, but surly, dull, sad and stern; always “absorbed in thought,” deeply intent.

And, as Albrecht Dürer depicts Melancholy, like a sad woman leaning on her arm, with a fixed stare and neglected dress, and so on. Some therefore consider them proud, feeble, foolish or half mad, as the people of Abdera thought Democritus; yet they have deep understanding, excellent powers of perception, sound judgement, wisdom and intelligence. For I agree with that nobleman: melancholy advances people’s thoughts more than any other humour, and improves their meditations more than any strong drink or sack.

They judge some things profoundly, although in others, “being troubled, they do not judge rightly,” says Fracastorius, book 2, On Understanding. And as Arculanus, chapter 16 on book 9 of Rhazes, puts it: “Judgement is generally perverse; they are corrupted when they judge honourable things dishonourable, and take friendship for hostility.” They count honesty dishonesty, friends enemies; they will abuse their best friends and dare not offend their enemies.

Mostly cowards, “and exceedingly fearful of inflicting injury,” says Cardan, book 8, chapter 4, On the Variety of Things: reluctant to offend; and if they happen to overstep the mark in word or deed, or any small business or detail is omitted or forgotten, they are miserably tormented and picture a thousand dangers and difficulties for themselves, “an elephant out of a fly,” once they get the idea into their heads.

Overjoyed by every favourable report, story or fortunate event, they are carried beyond themselves; then, at every small loss, bad news, imagined injury, loss or danger, they are afflicted beyond measure, in great agony, perplexed, dejected, stunned, unable to bear it, utterly undone; fearful, suspicious of everyone. Yet again, many are desperate, reckless people, rash and careless, fit to be assassins, being free of all fear and sorrow; according to Hercules de Saxonia, extremely bold, daring to walk alone at night through wildernesses and dangerous places, fearing no one.

They are prone to love and easily captivated: “inclined to love and to bursts of anger” (Montaltus, chapter 21), quickly enamoured and doting on everyone. They love one woman dearly until they see another, then dote on her: “this one, and this one, and that one, and all.” The one present moves them most, and they usually love the latest best. Yet others, opponents of love, cannot bear the sight of a woman and abhor the sex, like that melancholic Duke of Muscovy who became sick immediately if he so much as saw them; and that hermit who fell into a cold palsy when a woman was brought before him.

They are changeable beyond all measure: sometimes laughing immoderately, extraordinarily merry, then weeping without a cause—which is common among many gentlewomen—groaning, sighing, pensive, sad, almost beside themselves. “They imagine many absurd things, foreign to reason,” says Frambesarius: they invent many absurdities, vain and unreasonable. One supposes himself a dog, cock, bear, horse, glass, butter, and so on. He is a giant, a dwarf, as strong as a hundred men, a lord, duke, prince, and so on.

And if he is told that his breath stinks, that he has a large nose, that he is sick or prone to this or that disease, he believes it at once, and perhaps by the force of imagination will bring it about. Many are immovable and fixed in their ideas; others change with every object they hear or see. If they see a stage play, they dwell on it for a week afterwards; if they hear music or see dancing, they have nothing but bagpipes in their brains; if they see a fight, they are all for arms.

If insulted, the insult troubles them long afterwards; if thwarted, the disappointment, and so on. Restless in thought and action, continually brooding, “like a sick person’s dreams, unreal forms are fashioned.” More like dreamers than waking people, they invent a host of grotesque, fantastic ideas; their thoughts are utterly frivolous, impossible to put into effect. Sometimes they firmly believe that they hear and see before their eyes the very phantoms or goblins they fear, suspect or imagine; they continually talk with them and follow them.

In short, “their thoughts are like those of dreamers; absorbed in thought, they experience awake what others dream.” Always, says Avicenna, they are awake as others dream, and such for the most part are their imaginings and ideas: absurd, empty, foolish trifles. Yet they are exceedingly absorbed and anxious, continually and “beyond measure,” Rhazes, Continens, book 1, chapter 9: “they ponder some matter beforehand.” As serious over a trifle as though it were essential business of great weight and importance, and still, still, still thinking about it: “they rage against themselves,” wearing themselves away.

Although they talk with you and seem otherwise occupied, and to your mind deeply intent and busy, still that trifle runs in their minds: that fear, that suspicion, that insult, that jealousy, that agony, that vexation, that disappointment, that castle in the air, that crotchet, that whim, that fiction, that pleasant waking dream, whatever it may be. “They neither ask questions,” says Fracastorius, “nor answer questions properly.”

They pay little attention to what you say; their minds are on something else. Ask what you will, they do not listen or give much attention to the business before them, but forget what they are saying, doing, or should be saying or doing, and where they are going, distracted by their own melancholic thoughts. One suddenly laughs, another smiles to himself, a third frowns, calls out, keeps moving his lips, gestures with his hand as he walks, and so on.