have wanted it before this time. Sirrah, sirrah, says I, you shall know to-morrow, to your cost, that I am alive, and alive like to be. Why, it is strange, sir, says he, you should make such a secret of your death to us that are your neighbours; it looks as if you had a design to defraud the church of its dues; and, let me tell you, for one that has lived so long by the heavens, that is unhandsomely done. Hist, hist, says another rogue that stood by him; away, doctor, into your flannel gear as fast as you can, for here is a whole pack of dismals coming to you with their black équipage, and how indecent will it look for you to stand frightening folks at your window, when you should have been in your coffin these three hours? In short, what with undertakers, embaliers, joiners, sextons, and your damned elegy hawkers upon a late practitioner in physic and astrology, I got not one wink of sleep that night, nor scarce a moment's rest ever since. Now I doubt not but this villainous 'squire has the impudence to assert, that these are entirely strangers to him; he, good man, knows nothing of the matter, and honest Isaac Bickerstaff, I warrant you, is more a man of honour, than to be an accomplice with a pack of rascals, that walk the streets on nights, and disturb good people in their beds; but he is out, if he thinks the whole world is blind; for there is one John Partridge can smell á knave as far as Grub-street, although he lies in the most exalted garret, and writes himself 'squire:-but I will keep my temper, and proceed in the narration. I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after this, but presently one comes up to me in the street, Mr Partridge, that coffin you was last buried in, I have not yet been paid for: doctor, cries another dog, how do you think people can live by making of graves for nothing? next time you die, you may even toll out the bell yourself for Ned. A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders how I have the conscience to sneak abroad without paying my funeral expences. Lord, says one, I durst have swore that was honest Dr Partridge, my old friend; but, poor man, he is gone. I beg your pardon, says another, you look so like my old acquaintance, that I used to consult on some private occasions: but, alack, he is gone the way of all flesh.— Look, look, look, cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me, would not one think our neighbour the almanack-maker was crept out of his grave, to take the other peep at the stars in this world, and show how much he is improved in fortune-telling, by having taken a journey to the other? Nay, the very reader of our parish, a good, sober, discreet person, has sent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the contrary; or, if I have been interred in any other parish, to produce my certificate, as the act* requires. My poor wife is run almost distracted with being called widow Partridge, when she knows it is false; and once a term she is cited into the court to take out letters of administration. But the greatest grievance is, a paltry quack, that takes up my * The statute of 30 Car. II. for burying in woollen, requires, that oath shall be made of the compliance with this act, and a certificate thereof lodged with the minister of the parish, within eight days after interment. calling just under my nose, and in his printed directions with N. B.-says, he lives in the house of the late ingenious Mr John Partridge, an eminent practitioner in leather, physic, and astrology. But to show how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and resentment, can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided me a monument at the stone-cutter's, and would have erected it in the parish church; and this piece of notorious and expensive villany had actually succeeded, if I had not used my utmost interest with the vestry, where it was carried at last but by two voices, that I am alive. That stratagem failing, out comes a long sable elegy, bedecked with hourglasses, mattocks, sculls, spades, and skeletons, with an epitaph as confidently written to abuse me and my profession, as if I had been under ground these twenty years. And after such barbarous treatment as this, can the world blame me, when I ask, what is become of the freedom of an Englishman? and where is the liberty and property, that my old glorious friend came over to assert? we have drove popery out of the nation, and sent slavery to foreign climes. The arts only remain in bondage, when a man of science and character shall be openly insulted, in the midst of the many useful services he is daily paying the public. Was it ever heard, even in Turkey or Algiers, that a state astrologer was bantered out of his life by an ignorant impostor, or bawled out of the world by a pack of villainous deep-mouthed hawkers? though I print almanacks, and publish advertisements; though I produce certificates under the minister's and churchwardens' hands I am alive, and attest the same on oath at quarter-sessions, out comes a full and true relation of the death and interment of John Partridge; truth is bore down, attestations neglected, the testimony of sober persons despised, and a man is looked upon by his neighbours as if he had been seven years dead, and is buried alive in the midst of his friends and acquaintance. Now can any man of common sense think it consistent with the honour of my profession, and not much beneath the dignity of a philosopher, to stand bawling before his own door-Alive! alive! ho! the famous Dr Partridge! no counterfeit, but all alive!--as if I had the twelve celestial monsters of the zodiac to show within, or was forced for a livelihood to turn retailer to May and Bartholomew fairs. Therefore, if her majesty would but graciously be pleased to think a hardship of this nature worthy her royal consideration, and the next parliament, in their great wisdom, cast but an eye toward the deplorable case of their old philomath, that annually bestows his good wishes on them, I am sure there is one Isaac Bickerstaff, esq. would soon be trussed up for his bloody predictions, and putting good subjects in terror of their lives: and that henceforward to murder a man by way of prophecy, and bury him in a printed letter, either to a lord or commoner, shall as legally entitle him to the present possession of Tyburn, as if he robbed on the highway, or cut your throat in bed. I shall demonstrate to the judicious that France and Rome are at the bottom of this horrid conspiracy against me; and that culprit aforesaid is a popish emissary, has paid his visits to St Germain's, and is now in the measures of Lewis XIV. |