At this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This man, with whom you are so taken, will beguile with this tongue of his twenty of them that know him not.
Faith. Do you know him, then?
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 doth he dwell?
Chr. He is the son of one Saywell. He dwelt in Prating-Row; and he is known to all that are acquainted with him by the name of Talkative of Prating-Row; and, notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but a miserable fellow.
Faith. Well, he seems to be a very nice sort of a man.
Chr. That is to them that have not a thorough acquaintance with him, for he is best abroad; near home he is ugly enough. Your saying that he is a nice man, brings to my mind what I have observed in the work of a painter, whose pictures show best at a distance; but very near, more unpleasing.
Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you smiled.
Chr. God forbid that I should jest (though 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 head, the more of these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath no
