A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders “how I have the conscience to sneak abroad, without paying my funeral expenses.”

“Lord!” says one, “I durst have sworn 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!” 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 another peep at the stars in this world, and shew 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 almost run distracted with being called Widow PARTRIDGE, when she knows it’s 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 calling just under my nose; and in his printed directions with a, 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 shew how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice, and resentment can hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided a monument at the stone-cutter’s, and would have it erected 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 cometh a long sable Elegy bedecked with hour-glasses, mattocks, skulls, spades, and skeletons, with an Epitaph [see p. 486] 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 [WILLIAM III.] came over to assert?  We have driven 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 villanous deep-mouthed hawkers?