And thus do I pass my Days a stranger to mankind. I'll not be a Stander-by, but you will not see me pass among them in the World.

(You will disquiet your self, Master, says Nat coming towards me).

And what a World is it, of Tricking and Bartering, Buying and Selling, Borrowing and Lending, Paying and Receiving; when I walk among the Piss and Sir-reverence of the Streets I hear, Money makes the old Wife trot, Money makes the Mare to go (and Nat adds, What Words won't do, Gold will). What is their God but shineing Dirt and to sing its Devotions come the Westminster-Hall-Whores, the Charing-cross whores, the Whitehall whores, the Channel-row whores, the Strand whores, the Fleet Street whores, the Temple-bar whores; and they are followed in the same Catch by the Riband weavers, the Silver-lace makers, the Upholsterers, the Cabinet-makers, Watermen, Carmen, Porters, Plaisterers, Lightemen, Footmen, Shopkeepers, Journey-men… and my Voice grew faint through the Curtain of my Pain.

Thus did I speak to Nat on the first Day of my Sicknesse and, thinking now on those work men that I mencioned, I see them as they pass by me in the thorow-fare of my Memory: Richard Vining, Jonathan Penny, Geoffrey Strode, Walter Meyrick, John Duke, Thomas Style, Jo Cragg. I speak these Names into the Air and the Tears run down my Face, for I know not what Reason. And now my Thoughts are all suspended and like a Pilgrim moving into the Glare of the Sun I am lost in the wastes of Time.

I was in the middle of this earnest Business when Nat comes in, returned from delivering my Letter to Walter, with his Will you drink a Dish of Tea with your Bread and Butter or will you have a Glass of Ale? He put me in such Confusion that I would have dismist him with a kick in the Arse, and yet the Particles of Memory gather around me and I am my self again.

And so I may return from this Digression to the Narrative of my trew History: I ought in method to have informed the Reader a few pages ago of my Life as a Street-Boy after my strange converse with Mirabilis, and so I shall go back a little here to where I left off. I will save you from Ruin, little Faustus he had said to me, and I have already imparted to you my Reasons for staying with his Assembly in Black Step Lane; for being a Boy pennyless and friendless as I then was, the Key to his Door burned a Hole in my Breeches (as they say) until I imployed it. For altho' my Rambling mood was not yet extinguish'd, it was still my Pleasure to studdye with Mirabilis when I so desired it: he did not press me to stay, nor did he so much as Hint at it, and when the Assembly arrived at Dusk I hasten'd into the Streets and made my self a child of Hazard. There was a Band of little Vagabonds who met by moon-light in the Moorfields, and for a time I wandred with them; most of them had been left as Orphans in the Plague and, out of the sight of Constable or Watch, would call out to Passers by Lord Bless you give us a Penny or Bestow a half penny on us: I still hear their Voices in my Head when I walk abroad in a Croud, and some times I am seiz'd with Trembling to think I may be still one of them.

For I was then much like a Glass-Bottle-House Boy, dealing always in the Street dirt: I slept in the days before Winter in Bulk-heads and Shop-doors where I was known (I cou'd not sleep in the House of Mirabilis, where the Noises affrighted me) and in the Winter, when the Plague had abated and the Streets were lighted again, I got into Ash-holes and was the very Figure of a Beggar boy, despicable and miserable to the last degree. Those in their snug Bed-chambers may call the Fears of Night meer Bugbears, but their Minds have not pierced into the Horror of the World which others, who are adrift upon it, know. So those who looked upon me in those past Evil Days shook their Heads and cryed Poor boy! or Tis a Pity!, but they offred me no Help and let me go: I did not make a Noise then but I laid up all these things in my Heart so that I was as well read in Men as in Books.

Truly, said Mirabilis gazing at my Raggs, you are Ship-wracked upon the Isle of Man but do not be downcast; read these Bookes, studdye them well and learn from me, and these Christian Gentlemen who turn their Faces from you will then be Dust under your Feet: when they are consum'd in Flame, the Lords of the Earth will do you no Harm. And thus was I comforted, even though my Portion did seem to be presently one of Confinement and a Gaol.

In this manner I lived from the months August until December when, the Plague almost ceas'd, my Aunt, the sister of my Mother, returned from the town of Watford where she had travelled to escape the Distemper. She began to make enquiries about me in the neigh bourhood of Spittle-Fields and, since I was now in the way of strowl ing abroad in the Streets where I had played as a Child, she soon became acquainted with my sad Condition and thereupon I was had into her House in Coleman-Street. I was now near Fourteen-year-old and she was at a Loss what to do with me for, though she carried fair weather in her Countenance, she was a perfect bundle of Contradictions and would no sooner hit upon a Course than tack herself round and choose another. Nick, says she to me, Fetch me that Book and yet let it alone too: but let me see it however, and yet 'tis no great matter either. Her Head was just like a squirrel's Cage, and her Mind was the Squirrel that whirled it round: that I should be bound Apprentice was her first Consideration, but she wearied her self over the question whether it be to a Book-seller, or Toy-man, or Coach-maker. I kept my Peace in this, understanding from Mirabilis that my Fate was already determined, but my Silence only kept this whirligig a spinning: And then again, says she, we might go back to the Country, tho' perhaps it is not wise if there is no good Company there, and yet I am all for Quietness.

Her Reflections were soon at a stand, however, for I was only with my Aunt for two month when London was put in to the Oven and the Fire burnt it. It would tire the Reader should I dwell on the Lamentable Judgment or God's Terrible Voyce (as they call'd it) but I have layed by in Memory how, when the Sun looked red like Blood as it peeped through the Smoke, the People cryed aloud to Heaven, raked in the dung of their rotten Hearts and voiced abroad their inward Filthinesse. As the Houses tumbled upon the Streets with a great roaring Noise, they cryed out We are undone! We are great Sinners! and the like: and yet as soon as the Danger was passed, they came back with their Hey ho the Devil is Dead!

Eat, drink, and go merry to Bed!

Thus the Sick confesse to their Contagion only when they are like to Die of it, even tho' they carry their Death with them every where. I saw one Gentlewoman who was burned into a very Emblemme of Mortality: her face, legs and feet were quite consumed to Ashes, the trunk of her Body was much burnt, but her Heart, her filthy Heart, was hanging like a Cole in the midst of it.

My Aunt was in the last stages of Uncertainty. We shall certainly be burnt, says she but she could not determine to remove her self and her goods to the open Fields. She ran into the Street and then came back againe: It is a hotte wind, Nick, she cries, does it blow this way? I think it does, she continues without waiting for my Answer, but perhaps in a little while it might Abate: the Noise is frightful, and yet do I hear it lessen? Hang out your cloathes, I told her, and the winde will dry them.

For I had no fear of the Flames: they were not for me, as Mirabilis had prophesied, and the Fire came to a Stop at the lower end of Coleman- Street.

At which my Aunt rejoyced exceedingly, and complimented herself upon her Resolution.

Little of the City remayned save part of Bread and Bishop-gate Street, all Leadenhall Street, and some of the adjacent Lanes about Algate and Cretchett Fryers. With the old Houses of Timber gone, new Foundations could be layed -and it was for this Reason that I soon came to Stand upon my own Legs. For I conceeved a great Fancy to become a Mason, which occurred to me in the following Fashion: 1 returned after the Fire to the House of Mirabilis in Black Step Lane (which had been saved from the Flames) and, meeting there my good Master, asked his Counsel now that the City had been laid waste. You will build, he replied, and turn this Paper-work house (by which he meant the Meeting-place) into a Monument: let Stone be your God and you will find God in the Stone. Then he pickt up his dark Coat, and in the dusk of the Evening departed away whither I never saw him afterwards.