I do not fear Death for the Pain of it, being perswaded that I have endur'd as great Pains in this Life as I should find in Death; and yet it may also be that I cannot die. You may scorn this, but there have been Wonders just as great: I took my first Walk, about Eleven yesterday morning, and there by Hogg Lane I met with my own Apparition with Habit, Wigg, and everything as in a Looking-glass. Do I know you? I call'd out, much to the Bewilderment of those who passed by, but the Thing did not answer me and walked quickly away. I was much surprized but I was not affrighted. Then on this very Morning in my own Chamber I saw an Image again before me -a species of such a Body as my own, but in a strange Habit cut like an Under-garment and the Creature had no Wigg. The Back of it was always towards me and as I turned my Head it turned away equally so that I could not see its Face: my Night-gown was dark with Sweat, as if a Shaddowe had passed over it, and I must have cried out some thing for Nat was calling Master! Master! Open the Door and let me in!
Have a little Patience and I will let you in immediately, I replied and, keeping my Eyes fixed on the Image which did not move, I went across to the Door.
You will have Mrs Best afflicted if you call so loud, says Nat hurrying into the Room.
I nodded towards the Image: I have this morning, Nat, vomited up an abortive Child.
Oh well, says he not knowing what it signified, shall I bring you water to wash your Mouth? Mrs Best says For God's sake hold your Tongue, can you not see I have some thing with me? And I pointed at the Image, which still sat with its Back to me but which now bent forward and a Sigh rose like Smoak out of its Mouth, like Smoak out of a Lamp. I know not, Nat, I said, but it seems to be Real.
And Nat heard or saw something for thereupon he began to look Red and was seiz'd with violent Tremblings: Good God, he cried out, let me see nothing! And then the cold Sweat ran from his Face as he stumbled towards the Stairway. But I murmured my own Words as the Image began to fade: I am ready now for my approaching Change.
I am cut down out of Time and I turn and turn about upon my Bed: what says Mr Andrewes his Almanack for this month, Nat? And he reads to me from News of the Starres: in this month Mars is in Scorpio, Master, and if he is not bitten he will continue direct in Motion until the sixth Day. From thence he becomes retrograde, which means backwards Leave off your Commentaries, Nat!
– all the month after and is in square to Venus the second Day. Nat blushes at the mention of Venus and then goes on: at present, Master, the Starres do not favour Building and London labours under weighty Pressures and Difficulties not yet accommodated. I must take this to Mrs Best who has the Lumbago and is still troubled about the Loins Nat, Nat see if there are Prognostications of Plotting and other scurvey Désignes.
He pores upon the Pages and then comes to a Stop: Yes, here in the Starry Messenger it is said that there are some Spirits at work and Danger at Home. Then he bends his Head again: and, look, here in Poor Robin's Vox Stellarum there is a Rhyme full of Meaning. Up he gets with a grave Look and begins to recite, holding the Page before him: I saw a church Tower twelve yards deep I saw Dust made of Men's teares that weep I saw a Stone all in a Flame of Fire I saw a Stairway big as the Moon and higher I saw the Sunne red even at midnight, I saw the Man who saw this dreadful Sight.
What is the answer, Master? I cannot fathom it.
There is no Answer, Nat, for there is no End to this Rhyme.
And then I slept, and now in my long Sicknesse 1 am lifted above the poor Globe of this time-broken World: the rebels have come as far as Lancaster, a Fire last night in Tower Hill, a Dog howling by Moon- night and now I no longer have Fitts when I drink my Brandy, Hannover's troops are assembling at Warrington, the Clowds beneeth me, the Rebels are cut to peeces at Preston, and I cannot hinder the Cold from passing through all the Cloaths I put on my Bed and my Lord Warrington is killed in this Action as my Hand touches the Sheets and their Voices eccho as I try to hide myself withinne the Rocks in an area foresaken of Men and Nat calls as my Fever mounts and then breaks and as I sweat the Snow falls and the Rebels are come into London as Prisoners and I open my Eyes and now there is Frost Fayre upon the Thames.
And on this Day my Feaver abated: I rose from my Bed calling Nat, Nat where are you? but he had gone I knew not wither, and I was alone. I had been woken by the firm Resolution to visit my new completed Church, so I dressed with all Haste and yet with Care: the cold Winde had left Ice upon the Windows, and I wrapt my self up in my dubble-buttoned Coat tho' it was spotted with Tallow. As I came out into the Street a Chair-man gave a Blow to my Knees with his Pole which sent me cursing back into the Doorway and, Lord, the Coaches and Carts so shook the Ground that it was as like a natural Tremour or Convulsion of the Earth: and how many Dayes and Nights, thought I, have I laid in my fiery Feaver? What Time is this? There were some Prentices rolling along a Foot-ball in the Street beside me but when I called out to them What a Clock is this? they made no Answer, as if I were a man invisible and not to be heard. And yet some Labourers seemed to be returning home with Planks and Ladders, which suggested to me that I had risen at the close of Day, but I knew not. I walked by Leicester Feelds and heard the Mountebank calling What do you have? What do you have? I have that, thought I, which your Drops will not cure. Make way there, says some Fellow pushing a Wheelbarrow, will you have your Guts squeezed out? and I stepped back into a Crowd of common Women with their ragged Handkerchiefs, blew Aprons, and their Faces, like mine own, descended from some unknown Original. I walked down Cranborn Street, where the Cooks stood dripping at their Doors, and then into Porters Street, where the Nuts and Oysters were piled high in Shops that ran upon Wheels. All this shall pass, and all these Things shall fall and crumple into the Dust, but my Churches shall survive. From there I walked into Hogg Lane, where a Rag-seller laid hold of my Arm and asked me, What do you lack, sir? I? I lack the World, for I move like a Ghost through it.
The Noises of the City so confused me, and left me so Weak, that I could barely stand but coach'd it quite up into Fenchurch Street where a Cart, overturn'd upon the Road, forced me to alight. Once more I could hear the Cryes around me: Buy my dish of great Eeles, one call'd and to its Echoe another took up the Plaint of Any Kitchin stuff need you, my Maides? and I murmur'd these to my self as I trod upon the Stones.
As I came up into Lime Street the Skie grew dark with the Cold and yet here was an old Woman with a Child on her Back singing Fine writing Inke! Fine writing Inke! and I too might have been a Child againe, so familiarly did it sound. Then there rose that Cry which I have heard all my Life, Have you something to Mend, have you something to Mend? and I passed thro' Leadenhall Street weeping, for I knew I would never more hear it. I walked down St Mary Axe to London Wall, and my Teares fell upon the Mosse as I bent to touch it; then thro' Bishopsgate and down old Bedlam into Moorfields, and here it seemed to me that I heard the Rejoycing of the Mad who have no thought of Time as I do; then thro' Long Alley where I passed the great Musick Shop where the Crowd at the Door were dancing to the latest Tune, and one little Red-faced Blade beat Time upon the Counter as I went on.