We are all tumbled down.
Thus was I taught by many Signes that Humane life was of no certain course: we are governed by One who like a Boy wags his Finger in the inmost part of the Spider's web and breaks it down without a Thought.
It would tire the Reader should I dwell on my various Adventures as a Street-Boy, wherefore at present I shall say no more of them. I return in the mean time to my Reflections arising from these Incidents, and to my Considerations on the weaknesse and folly of Humane life. After the Plague abated, the Mobb were happy againe with their Masquerades, Rush-burying, Morrice-dances, Whitson-ales, Fortune telling, Legerdemain, Lotteries, Midnight-revels and lewd Ballads; but I was of a different Mould. I had looked about me and penetrated what had occurred, not let it pass like a sick man's Dreame or a Scene without a Plot. I saw that the intire World was one vast Bill of Mortality, and that Daemons might walk through the Streets even as Men (on point of Death, many of them) debauch themselves: I saw the Flies on this Dunghil Earth, and then considered who their Lord might be.
But now the Work of Time unravells and the Night has gone and I am returned to the Office where Walter Pyne is standing at the Side of me, tapping his Shooe upon the Floor. How long have I sat here in my Trance of Memory?
I have been thinking on the Dead, said I in haste, and at that Walter turned his Face from me and seemingly searched after his Rule; he does not like to hear me talk of such Matters, and so when he sat himself down I switched my Theme: It is as dusty here as the top of a Slut's cupboard, I cried, look at my Finger!
It cannot be helped, says he, for when the Dust is cleared away it returns again directly.
I was disposed to be Merry with him now: Is Dust immortal then, I ask'd him, so that we may see it blowing through the Centuries? But as Walter gave no Answer I jested with him further to break his Melancholy humour: What is Dust, Master Pyne?
And he reflected a little: It is particles of Matter, no doubt.
Then we are all Dust indeed, are we not?
And in a feigned Voice he murmured, For Dust thou art and shalt to Dust return. Then he made a Sour face, but only to laugh the more.
I went up to him and placed my Hands upon his Shoulders, which made him tremble a little. Hold still, I said, I have good News.
What News is this?
I now agree with you, 7 replied. I will place the Sepulture a little way off from the Spittle-Fields Church. And for your sake, Walter, not on the advice of Sir Chris, but for your Sake only. And I have a Secret to impart to you (at this he inclin'd his head): we will build it for the most part under the Ground.
I have Dream'd of this, said he. He spoke no more and kept his Back to me as he went about his Labours, tho' pritty soon I heard his low Whistle as he bent over his Sheets.
We must make Haste, I call'a taking Pen and Inke, for the Church must be compleat withinne the Year.
And the yeares turn so fast, adds Walter, and now he is vanish'd and I am gone back to the time of the Distemper when I went abroad among so many walking Carcasses sweating Poison. At first I seemed to be toss'd up and down by spightful Accidents of Fortune, and made the May-game of Chance, until one night I found the Thread in my Labyrinth of Difficulties. It was the last week of July, about Nine in the Night, and I was walking by the Hatters-shop near the Three Tun Tavern in Redcross-street. It was a Moonshiny night but the Moon, being got behind the Houses, shined only a slant and sent a little stream of light out of one of the small Lanes quite cross the Street. I paus'd to give a Glance to this Light when out of the Lane walked a tall and pritty lean Man dressed in a Velvet jacket, a Band and a black Cloack; with him stepped out two Women with white Linnen Handkerchiefs wrapped around the lower part of their Faces (so to protect their Nostrils from the Scents of the Plague). The Man had a swift pace, and his Companions troubled themselves to keep up to him, and then to my unutterable Astonishment he pointed at me (in my tattered Coat and ragged Shooes): There is the Hand as plain as can be, says he, do you see it plainly above his Head? He was elevated to a strange Degree and call'd over to me, Boy! Boy! Come here to me!
Come here to me! And then one of the women with him said, Do not go near him, for how do you know but he may have the Plague? To which he answered: Do not be afraid of him. And at that I came close to them.
What art thou? says he.
I am a poor Boy,
Why, have you no Sir-name?
And then strangely I bethought my self of my Schoolboy reading: Faustus, says I.
I dare say, he replies, that the Devil cannot catch you; and at that the two Women laugh'd heartily. Then he gave me a Coin: there is Sixpence for you, he says, if you will come with us. For consider these times, little Faustus, it is a great deal of Money and we mean you no Hurt.
I hugged it as close as a School-boy does a Birds-nest, but I was not easily to be perswaded: might these not be reeking Apparitions, the Spirits of the Pestilence, or might they not be Carriers of the Contagion?
But then the words of the Woman came back into my Head -Do not go near him -and I surmised that these were Humane and incorrupted Creatures. I will go with you, says I, for the space of a little way if you will give me good Reason. And I perceived there was an Alteration in the Man's Countenance as he said, I will save you from Ruin, little Faustus, if you come with me and that will be a Surety.
And so I began to walk with them, and we were got quite up into Fenchurch-street when the Wind blew mightily so that the Tiles of the very Roofs fell down upon the Ground. The Ways were now so dark that I was as bewilder'd as a Pilgrim in the Desart, but at last we came by a narrow Lane (which is to say, Black Step Lane): here I was led thro' a long obscure Entry where I groped my way like a Subterranean Labourer in the Caverns of a Cole-pit; there was no Link nor Watchman's lanthorn but my Companions moved on at a swift Pace until the Man came to a little wooden door where he knocked thrice and whisper'd Mirabilis (which was, as I learn'd, his proper Name). On entering this Dwelling I looked about me and saw that it was a mean paper Building, the walls old and ruinous, the Rooms miserable and straite with but dim burning Candles in them. Here were Men and Women, not less than Thirty in Number; and not the meanest sort of people neither but, as we say, in the middling degree of Life. They look'd on me strangely at first but Mirabilis led me by the Hand saying, He had the Sign over his Head, He is the Corn thrashed out of the Chaff, and such like Phrases. I was now in a state of great Perplexity but, seeing that this Assembly smiled mightily upon me and embraced me, I became somewhat easier in my Thoughts. Mirabilis set me down upon a little Stool, then brought me a wooden Dish with a grey liquor in it and bid me drink it off as a Cordial; I swallow'd it without examination and then fell into an extream Sweat so that my Heart beat high. Mirabilis then ask'd me who I desired to see. I said I wanted to see no one so much as my Mother before she Stank (my confus'd Words showing that the Liquor was working withinne me).