the company that he is in.  He shakes a man by the ear, as a dog does a pig, and never loses his hold till he has tired himself as well as his patient.  He does not talk to a man, but attacks him, and whomsoever he can get into his hands he lays violent language on.  If he can he will run a man up against a wall and hold him at a bay by the buttons, which he handles as bad as he does his person or the business he treats upon.  When he finds him begin to sink he holds him by the clothes, and feels him as a butcher does a calf before he kills him.  He is a walking pillory, and crucifies more ears than a dozen standing ones.  He will hold any argument rather than his tongue, and maintain both sides at his own charge; for he will tell you what you will say, though perhaps he does not intend to give you leave.  He lugs men by the ears, as they correct children in Scotland, and will make them tingle while he talks with them, as some say they will do when a man is talked of in his absence.  When he talks to a man he comes up close to him, and, like an old soldier, lets fly in his face, or claps the bore of his pistol to his ear and whispers aloud, that he may be sure not to miss his mark.  His tongue is always in motion, though very seldom to the purpose, like a barber’s scissors, which are always snipping, as well when they do not cut as when they do.  His tongue is like a bagpipe-drone, that has no stop, but makes a continual ugly noise, as long as he can squeeze any wind out of himself.  He never leaves a man until he has run him down, and then he winds a death over him.  A sow-gelder’s horn is not so terrible to dogs and cats as he is to all that know him.  His way of argument is to talk all and hear no contradiction.  First he gives his antagonist the length of his wind, and then, let him make his approaches if he can, he is sure to be beforehand with him.  Of all dissolute diseases the running of the tongue is the worst, and the hardest to be cured.  If he happen at any time to be at a stand, and any man else begins to speak, he presently drowns him with his noise, as a water-dog makes a duck dive; for when you think he has done he falls on and lets fly again, like a gun that will discharge nine times with one loading.  He is a rattlesnake, that with his noise gives men warning to avoid him, otherwise he will make them wish they had.  He is, like a bell, good for nothing but to make a noise.  He is like common fame, that speaks most and knows least, Lord Brooks, or a wild goose always cackling when he is upon the wing.  His tongue is like any kind of carriage, the less weight it bears the faster and easier it goes.  He is so full of words that they run over and are thrown away to no purpose, and so empty of things or sense that his dryness has made his leaks so wide whatsoever is put in him runs out immediately.  He is so long in delivering himself that those that hear him desire to be delivered too or despatched out of their pain.  He makes his discourse the longer with often repeating to be short, and talking much of in fine, never means to come near it.