He rolls up
himself like a hedgehog in his prickles, and is as intractable to all
that come near him. He is an ill-designed piece, built after the rustic
order, and all his parts look too big for their height. He is so
ill-contrived that that which should be the top in all regular
structures--_i.e._, confidence--is his foundation. He has neither
doctrine nor discipline in him, like a fanatic Church, but is guided by
the very same spirit that dipped the herd of swine in the sea. He was
not bred, but reared; not brought up to hand, but suffered to run wild
and take after his kind, as other people of the pasture do. He takes
that freedom in all places, as if he were not at liberty, but had broken
loose and expected to be tied up again. He does not eat, but feed, and
when he drinks goes to water. The old Romans beat the barbarous part of
the world into civility, but if he had lived in those times he had been
invincible to all attempts of that nature, and harder to be subdued and
governed than a province. He eats his bread, according to the curse,
with the sweat of his brow, and takes as much pains at a meal as if he
earned it; puffs and blows like a horse that eats provender, and crams
his throat like a screwed gun with a bullet bigger than the bore. His
tongue runs perpetually over everything that comes in its way, without
regard of what, where, or to whom, and nothing but a greater rudeness
than his own can stand before it; and he uses it to as slovenly purposes
as a dog does that licks his sores and the dirt off his feet.
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