I have met with so many axidents, suprisals, and terrifications, that
I am in a pafeck fantigo, and I believe I shall never be my own self
again. Last week I was dragged out of a river like a drowned rat, and
lost a bran-new night-cap, with a sulfer stayhook, that cost me a good
half-a-crown, and an odd shoe of green gallow monkey; besides wetting my
cloaths and taring my smuck, and an ugly gash made in the back part of
my thy, by the stump of a tree--To be sure Mr Clinker tuck me out of the
cox; but he left me on my back in the water, to go to the ‘squire; and I
mought have had a watry grave, if a millar had not brought me to the dry
land--But, O! what choppings and changes girl--The player man that came
after Miss Liddy, and frightened me with a beard at Bristol Well, is now
matthew-murphy’d into a fine young gentleman, son and hare of ‘squire
Dollison--We are all together in the same house, and all parties have
agreed to the match, and in a fortnite the surrymony will be performed.
But this is not the only wedding we are to have--Mistriss is resolved
to have the same frolick, in the naam of God! Last Sunday in the parish
crutch, if my own ars may be trusted, the clerk called the banes of
marridge betwixt Opaniah Lashmeheygo, and Tapitha Brample, spinster; he
mought as well have called her inkle-weaver, for she never spun and hank
of yarn in her life--Young ‘squire Dollison and Miss Liddy make the
second kipple; and there might have been a turd, but times are changed
with Mr Clinker--O Molly! what do’st think? Mr Clinker is found to be a
pye-blow of our own ‘squire, and his rite naam is Mr Matthew Loyd (thof
God he nose how that can be); and he is now out of livery, and wares
ruffles--but I new him when he was out at elbows, and had not a rag to
kiver his pistereroes; so he need not hold his head so high--He is for
sartin very umble and compleasant, and purtests as how he has the same
regard as before; but that he is no longer his own master, and cannot
portend to marry without the ‘squire’s consent--He says he must wait
with patience, and trust to Providence, and such nonsense--But if so be
as how his regard be the same, why stand shilly shally? Why not strike
while the iron is hot, and speak to the ‘squire without loss of time?
What subjection can the ‘squire make to our coming together--Thof my
father wan’t a gentleman, my mother was an honest woman--I didn’t come
on the wrong side of the blanket, girl--My parents were marred according
to the right of holy mother crutch, in the face of men and angles--Mark
that, Mary Jones.
Mr Clinker (Loyd I would say) had best look to his tackle. There be
other chaps in the market, as the saying is--What would he say if I
should except the soot and sarvice of the young squire’s valley? Mr
Machappy is a gentleman born, and has been abroad in the wars--He has a
world of buck larning, and speaks French, and Ditch, and Scotch, and all
manner of outlandish lingos; to be sure he’s a little the worse for the
ware, and is much given to drink; but then he’s good-tempered in his
liquor, and a prudent woman mought wind him about her finger--But I have
no thoughts of him, I’ll assure you--I scorn for to do, or to say, or
to think any thing that mought give unbreech to Mr Loyd, without furder
occasion--But then I have such vapours, Molly I sit and cry by myself,
and take ass of etida, and smill to burnt fathers, and kindal-snuffs;
and I pray constantly for grease, that I may have a glimpse of the
new-light, to shew me the way through this wretched veil of tares. And
yet, I want for nothing in this family of love, where every sole is so
kind and so courteous, that wan would think they are so many saints in
haven. Dear Molly, I recommend myself to your prayers, being, with my
sarvice to Saul,
your ever loving, and discounselled friend, WIN. JENKINS Oct. 14.
To Dr LEWIS.