It is strange to see with what greediness this airy chameleon, being all
lungs and wind, will swallow a receipt of news, as if it were physical;
yea, with what frontless insinuation he will screw himself into the
acquaintance of some knowing intelligencers, who, trying the cask by his
hollow sound, do familiarly gull him. I am of opinion, were all his
voluminous centuries of fabulous relations compiled, they would vie in
number with the Iliads of many fore-running ages. You shall many times
find in his gazettas, pasquils, and corrantos miserable distractions:
here a city taken by force long before it be besieged; there a country
laid waste before ever the enemy entered. He many times tortures his
readers with impertinencies, yet are these the tolerablest passages
throughout all his discourse. He is the very landscape of our age. He is
all air; his ear always open to all reports, which, how incredible
soever, must pass for current and find vent, purposely to get him
current money and delude the vulgar. Yet our best comfort is, his
chimeras live not long; a week is the longest in the city, and after
their arrival, little longer in the country, which past they melt like
butter, or match a pipe, and so burn. But indeed, most commonly it is
the height of their ambition to aspire to the employment of stopping
mustard-pots, or wrapping up pepper, powder, staves-aker, &c., which
done, they expire. Now for his habit, Wapping and Long Lane will give
him his character.
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