This Is Him

About the Book

There is a certain northern man in this town, born at New Castle, who hath served the King of Denmark, Lucca, and Poland, traveled in seventeen provinces, Moscovia, liefland, France been taken prisoner in Spain, by another English man in Italy of all his money and apparel, lives now by sweetening of gloves, shall marry with a concubine of the Jesuits, as some say, but as I hear more probably with a common courtesan, upon condition he can be made a of Vienna (!!!) His name is Abraham Miller, of a very low stature, a great drunkard, full of words and lies not able to keep his dishonesties close, which he tells with a pride red faced; if he come unto your honor you may know him by his description (Who wouldn’t know Falstaff if he came to him!) Do I hear at my back, Stratfordians in ashes and sack, In boisterous devotion to him, Not as god but as god might be “In their orison profundus Angels and ministers of grace defend us.”

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