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you had cut in pieces, besides calves and dogs, a right valiant man that has any wit would tremble to come near you; and if by your threatening to ramme your sword down my throat, you do not mean your pills, which are a more dangerous weapon, the worst is passed, and I am safe enough; for as to your feats of armes, there is no half quarter of a man that is so wretched that would venture to give you battayl; but you are most unsufferable in your unconscionable en. grossing of all trades. It is not enough that you are already as many things as many of your own receipts; that you are a doctor of the civill law, and a barrister of the common, a bencher of Gray's Inne, a professour of phisick, and a fellow of the colledge; a mathematician, Caldean, a schoolman, and a piece of a grammarian (as your last work can shew were it construed), a philosopher, poet, translator, antisocordist, solliciter, broker, and usurer; besides a marquis, earl, viscount, and baron; but you must, like Dr. Suttle, professe quarrelling too, and publish yourself an Hector ; of which calling there are so many already, that they can hardly live one by another. Sir, truly there is no conscience in it, considering you have not only a more sure and safe way of killing men already than they have, but a plentiful estate beside ; so many trades, and yet bave so little conscience to eat the bread out of their mouths, they have great reason to lay it to heart; and I hope some of these will demand reparation of you, and make you give them compounding dinners too, as you have done to the rest of your fraternities. And now be your own judge, whether
any one man can be bound in honour to fight with such an bydra as you are; a monster of many heads, like the multitude, or the devil that called himself legion. Such an encounter would be no duell, but war ; which I never heard that any one man ever made alone; and I must levy forces ere I can meet you; for if every one of your capacities had but a second, you would amount to a brigade, as your letter does to a declaration; in which I cannot omit, tbat in one respect you have dealt very ingenuously, and that is, in publishing to the world that all your heroical resolutions are bụilt upon your own opinion of my want of courage; this argues you well studied in the dimensions of quarrelling; among which one of the chiefest shews how to take measure of another man's valour, by comparing it with your own, to make your approaches accordingly; but as the least mistake betrays you to an infallible beating, so you had fared, and perhaps had had the honour which you seem to desire, of falling by my sword, if I had not thought you a thing fitter for any man's contempt than anger.
THE REV. WILLIAM MOMPESSON TO HIS CHIL
DREN, GEORGE AND ELIZABETH.
DEAR HEARTS, This brings you the doleful news of your dearest mother's death; the greatest loss that could befall you. I am deprived of a kind and loving consort, and you are bereaved of the most indul
gent mother that ever poor little children had. But we must comfort ourselves in God, with this consideration,—the loss is only ours; our sorrow is her gain, which should sustain our drooping spirits. I assure myself that her rewards and her joys are unutterable. Dear children, your blessed mother lived an holy life, and made a comfortable end, though by means of the sore pestilence, and she is now invested with a crown of righteousness,
My children, I think it may be useful to you to have a narrative of your dear mother's virtues, that the knowledge thereof may teach you to imitate her excellent qualities. In the first place, let me recommend to you her piety and devotion, which were according to the exact principles of the church of England. In the next place, I can assure you, she was composed of modesty and humility, which virtues did possess her dear soul in a most exemplary manner. Her discourse was ever grave and meek, yet pleasant also; a vaunting and immodest word was never heard to come out of her mouth. Again, I can set out in her two other virtues, with no little confidence, viz. charity and frugality. She never valued any thing she had, when the necessities of a poor neighbour did require it, but had a bountiful spirit towards all distressed and indigent persons;- yet she was never lavish or profuse, but carefully, constantly, and commendably frugal. She never liked the company of tattling women, and abhorred the wandering custom of going from house to house, that wastefully spending of precious time, for she was ever busied in useful occupations. Yet, though thus prudent, she was always kind and affable; for, while she avoided those whose company could not instruct or benefit her, and would not unbosom herself to any such, she dismissed and avoided them with civility.
I do believe, my dear hearts, upon sufficient grounds, that she was the kindest wife in the world, and think from my soul that she loved me ten times better than she did herself; for she not only resisted my earnest entreaties that she would fly with you, dear children, from this place of death, but, some few days before it pleased God to visit my house, she perceived a green matter to come from the issue in my leg, which she fancied a symptom that the distemper raging amongst us had gotten a vent that way, from whence she assured herself that I was passed the malignity of the disease, whereat she rejoiced exceedingly, amidst all the danger with which her near approach to me was attended, whom she believed to be infected.
Now I will tell you my thoughts of this business. I think she was mistaken in the nature of that discharge which she saw; certainly it was the salve that made it look so green ; yet her rejoicing on that account was a strong testimony of her love to me ; for it is clear she cared not for her own peril, so I were safe.
Farther, I can assure you, my sweet babes, that her love to you was little inferior to that which she felt for me ; since, why should she thus ardently desire my longer continuance in this world of sorrows, but that you might have the protection and comfort of my life?
You little imagine with what delight she used
to talk of you both, and the pains she took when you sucked your milk from her breasts is almost incredible. She gave a strong testimony of her love for you when she lay upon her deathbed. A few hours before she expired, I brought her some cordials, which she told me plainly she was not able to take. I entreated she would take them, for your dear sakes. At the mention of your names, she, with difficulty, lifted herself and took them, which was to let me understand that, while she had any strength left, she would embrace an opportunity of testifying her affection to you.
Now I will give you an exact account of the manner of her death. It is certain she had, for some time, had symptoms of a consumption, and her flesh was considerably wasted thereby. How. ever, being surrounded with infected families, she doubtless got the distemper from them. Her natural strength being impaired, she could not struggle with the disease, which made her illness so very short. Upon being seized, she showed much contrition for the errors of her life, and often cried out,-“ One drop of my Saviour's blood, to save my soul !”
At the beginning of her sickness, she earnestly desired me not to come near her, lest I should receive harm thereby ; but I can assure you Idid not desert her, but, thank God, stood to my resolution not to leave her in her sickness, who had been so tender a nurse to me in her health. Blessed be God, that he enabled me to be so helpful and consoling to her, for which she was not a little thankful.
No worldly business was, during her illness,