He shows well, and says
well, and himself is the worst thing he hath. In brief, he is the
stranger's saint, the neighbour's disease, the blot of goodness, a
rotten stick in a dark night, a poppy in a corn-field, an ill-tempered
candle with a great snuff that in going out smells ill; and an angel
abroad, a devil at home, and worse when an angel than when a devil.
OF THE BUSYBODY.
His estate is too narrow for his mind, and therefore he is fain to make
himself room in others' affairs, yet ever in pretence of love. No news
can stir but by his door, neither can he know that which he must not
tell. What every man ventures in Guiana voyage, and what they gained, he
knows to a hair. Whether Holland will have peace he knows, and on what
conditions, and with what success, is familiar to him ere it be
concluded. No post can pass him without a question, and rather than he
will lose the news, he rides back with him to apprise him of tidings;
and then to the next man he meets he supplies the wants of his hasty
intelligence and makes up a perfect tale, wherewith he so haunteth the
patient auditor, that after many excuses he is fain to endure rather the
censure of his manners in running away than the tediousness of an
impertinent discourse. His speech is oft broken off with a succession of
long parentheses, which he ever vows to fill up ere the conclusion, and
perhaps would effect it if the other's ear were as umveariable as his
tongue. If he see but two men talk and read a letter in the street, he
runs to them and asks if he may not be partner of that secret relation;
and if they deny it, he offers to tell, since he may not hear, wonders,
and then falls upon the report of the Scottish mine, or of the great
fish taken up at Lynne, or of the freezing of the Thames, and after many
thanks and admissions is hardly entreated silence.
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