Propriety is
to him enough cause of dislike; each thing pleases him better that is
not his own. Even in the best things long continuance is a just quarrel;
manna itself grows tedious with age, and novelty is the highest style of
commendation to the meanest offers; neither doth he in books and
fashions ask, How good? but, How new? Variety carries him away with
delight, and no uniform pleasure can be without an irksome fulness. He
is so transformable into all opinions, manners, qualities, that he seems
rather made immediately of the first matter than of well-tempered
elements; and therefore is in possibility anything or everything,
nothing in present substance. Finally, he is servile in imitation, waxy
to persuasions, witty to wrong himself, a guest in his own house, an ape
of others, and, in a word, anything rather than himself.
OF THE FLATTERER.
Flattery is nothing but false friendship, fawning hypocrisy, dishonest
civility, base merchandise of words, a plausible discord of the heart
and lips. The flatterer is blear-eyed to ill, and cannot see vices; and
his tongue walks ever in one track of unjust praises, and can no more
tell how to discommend than to speak true. His speeches are full of
wondering interjections, and all his titles are superlative, and both of
them seldom ever but in presence. His base mind is well matched with a
mercenary tongue, which is a willing slave to another man's ear; neither
regardeth he how true, but how pleasing. His art is nothing but
delightful cozenage, whose rules are smoothing and guarded with perjury;
whose scope is to make men fools in teaching them to overvalue
themselves, and to tickle his friends to death.
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