Did you not think yourself par Deo? Pray God you did not; pray God you did not think yourself superare divos.
Confess the truth, doctor, you did; confess it, and repent of it, if it be not too late: but alas! I fear it is.
And now, methinks, I look down into that bog all flaming with bonnyclabber and usquebaugh; and hear you gnashing your teeth and crying, Oh! what would I give now for a glass of that small beer, I used to say was sour! or a pinch of that snuff, which I used to say was the cursed'st stuff in the world; and borrow as much as would lie on a shilling the minute after. Oh! what would I give to have had a monitor in those moments to have put me in mind of the sword hanging by a twine-thread over my head, and to have cried in a voice as loud as S—th—ll's, Memento, doctor, quia Hibernus es, et in Hiberniam reverteris.
Every man in the midst of his pleasures should remember the Roman executioner: and I have been assured, that had it not been for the unfortunate loss of his royal highness the prince[1], sir Charles Duncomb[2] would have revived that useful ceremony, which might be very properly introduced in the lord mayor's cavalcade.
I would, not be mistaken either in what has gone before, or in that which is to follow, as if I took you to be a bellygod, an Apicius, or him that wished his neck as long as a crane's, that he might have the greater pleasure in swallowing. No, dear doc-
- ↑ Of Denmark, who died October 28, 1708.
- ↑ Lord mayor of London, in 1708.
