The Anatomy of Melancholy

To see a man assume every shape like a chameleon, or like Proteus, “transforming himself into every monstrous form,” playing twenty roles and persons at once; shifting with circumstances for his own advantage and changing like the planet Mercury, good among the good, bad among the bad; with a different face, manner, and character for everyone he meets, accommodating every religion, temperament, and inclination; fawning like a spaniel “with false and mimicked deference,” raging like a lion, barking like a cur, fighting like a dragon, stinging like a serpent; meek as a lamb, then baring his teeth like a tiger, weeping like a crocodile; lording it over some while others lord it over him, commanding here, cringing there, tyrannizing in one place and being humiliated in another; a wise man at home, a fool abroad to make others laugh.

To see such a difference between words and deeds, so many leagues between tongue and heart; men playing all kinds of roles like actors, giving others good advice, soaring aloft while they themselves crawl on the ground.

To see a man profess friendship and kiss the hand of someone “he would rather see mutilated”; smile while intending harm, or cheat the man he greets; heap extravagant praise on an unworthy friend, yet vilify and disgrace an enemy, however good a man, and all his actions, with the worst that envy and malice can invent.

To see a servant rich enough to buy out his master, the mace-bearer worth more than the magistrate—a thing Plato absolutely forbids in book 11 of the Laws, and Epictetus abhors. A horse that tills the land is fed on chaff, while an idle nag has feed in abundance; the shoemaker goes barefoot, the food seller is nearly starved; the labouring drudge wastes away, while the idle drone prospers.

To see men buy smoke instead of goods, castles built from fools’ heads, men aping the fashions in dress, gestures, and conduct: if the king laughs, everyone laughs. You laugh? He shakes with louder laughter; he weeps if he sees his friend in tears. Alexander bent his head; so did his courtiers. Alfonso turned his head; so did his flatterers. Poppaea Sabina, Nero’s wife, wore amber-coloured hair; in an instant, so did all the Roman ladies. Her fashion became theirs.

To see people wholly governed by their feelings, admired or condemned on the strength of opinion without judgement; a thoughtless crowd, like the dogs in a village—if one barks, they all bark for no reason. As fortune’s fan turns, if a man is in favour or praised by someone powerful, the whole world applauds him. If he falls into disgrace, they all hate him at once. Like people watching an eclipse of the sun, those who previously paid him no attention now gaze and stare.