he last word not legible.

AN HARANGUER

Is one that is so delighted with the sweet sound of his own tongue, that
William Prynne will sooner lend an ear than he to anything else. His
measure of talk is till his wind is spent, and then he is not silenced,
but becalmed. His ears have catched the itch of his tongue, and though
he scratch them, like a beast with his hoof, he finds a pleasure in it.
A silenced minister has more mercy on the Government in a secure
conventicle than he has on 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.