FAITH. Do you know him, then?
{190} CHR. Know him! Yes, better than he knows himself.
FAITH. Pray, what is he?
CHR. His name is Talkative; he dwelleth in our town. I wonder that
you should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our town is
large.
FAITH. Whose son is he? And whereabout does he dwell?
CHR. He is the son of one Say-well; he dwelt in Prating Row; and is
known of all that are acquainted with him, by the name of Talkative
in Prating Row; and notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but a
sorry fellow.
{191} FAITH. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man.
CHR. That is, to them who have not thorough acquaintance with him;
for he is best abroad; near home, he is ugly enough. Your saying
that he is a pretty man, brings to my mind what I have observed in
the work of the painter, whose pictures show best at a distance,
but, very near, more unpleasing.
{192} FAITH. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you
smiled.
CHR. God forbid that I should jest (although I smiled) in this
matter, or that I should accuse any falsely! I will give you
a further discovery of him. This man is for any company, and for
any talk; as he talketh now with you, so will he talk when he is on
the ale-bench; and the more drink he hath in his crown, the more
of these things he hath in his mouth; religion hath no place in his
heart, or house, or conversation; all he hath lieth in his tongue,
and his religion is, to make a noise therewith.
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