Characters of vertue and vice described in the persons of the wise-man, the valiant man ... attempted in verse from a treatise of the reverend Joseph Hall, late lord bishop of Exeter / by N. Tate.

THE BUSY-BODY.

HIS own Estate's too narrow for his Mind, And Room in other Men's Affairs He'll find. In Friend and Strangers Business He will move, And ever with the same Pretence of Love. No News can pass his Door, and, good or ill, He cannot know the Thing he does not tell. He knows the Rates of Traffique to a Hair, What Forces the Confederates can prepare, How Swedeland, and how Denmark will declare. Though Trav'ling on Affairs of Life and Death, He'll stop the Post, and Talk him out of Breath. And if his Humour, or his Hast Refuse, Ride back with him, and piece-meal catch the News. And if through Speed th' Intelligence does fail, His Wit Supplies, and makes a perfect Tale. Then Woe to the next Man that He comes near, Blow, Rain, or Lighten, he must stay to hear;

And hear him out, while in a tedious round, The Listner and Himself he does Confound. Disjointedly each Sentence does express, With long Successions of Parentheses. Retrencht, to let his stream of Matter run, But Vows to fill 'em up e'er He has done. If two together in the street He views Discoursing closely, He concludes strange News. But if a Letter be produc'd, He's charm'd, And of the Secret begs to be inform'd. Deny'd, it serves his Turn almost as well, If Him of Wonders they'll permit to tell. Then with a Scotish Mine he does begin, Of a whole Shoal of Whales come up at Linn. Thank Him, a thousand Times your Thanks repeat, All's One, his Tongue it's Larum must compleat. You'll name no Undertaking which He'll baulk, But all Concludes, where it Commenc'd, in Talk. He'll teach Another what Himself ne'er knew, And be a Guide in Ways he ne'er pass'd through. Look in at's Neighbour's Window, and demand The Reason why his Servants idle stand.

Call'd to Another's Table, 'tis his way To slander some Third Person, and Convey The Tale to him that's wrong'd, whom having sworn To Secrecy, with speed he does return To his first Host, and this dark Practice ply, Till Both are set on Fire they know not why. His Ears are Quick, and no less quick his Eyes, To Imperfections These, and Those to Lyes. He stops Another's Servant, takes him in, Treats him, and does his Master's Health begin; Thence slily falls to ask of his Affairs, What sort of Company t' his House repairs; What is their usual Fare, and what Discourse Passes at Meals. Thus does th' Extorter force; But, soon as drein'd, the Guest his leave must take, And Room for fresh Intelligencers make. This Man thinks Constancy a dull disgrace, And still is shifting of his Work and Place; But of no Place can half so weary seem, Or half so soon, as is the Place of Him. In each Acquaintance he has got a Foe, For not to hate him you must Him not know.

He toils unthank'd, he talks without Belief, Living has no Man's Love, Dead, no Man's Grief; Unless by Chance the last Defect's supply'd, And some may Grieve that he no sooner Dy'd.