A _Sick Hermit_.
There was a very Good Man, that in the Five and Twentieth Year of his
Age, fell into a Desperate Fit of Sickness, the Doctors sate upon him,
and the whole College were of Opinion, that there was no saving of his
Life without the Use of a Woman. The _Poor Man_ lay Humming and Hawing a
good While, betwixt the Sin and the Remedy; but in the End, he gave up
himself wholly to the Physicians, to do with him as they thought fit.
Upon this, the Doctors, by Consent, put a Good Armful of Warm Womans
Flesh into the Bed to him, by way of a _Recipe_, and so laid him to Rest,
till about some Two Hours after: At which time they came to see how the
Prescription had Wrought; and there did they find the Poor _Religious_,
Tearing his Hair, Beating his Breast, and Groaning as if his very Heart
would break. So they fell presently to Reasoning, and Casing upon the
Matter with him, and laying Comfortable Distinctions before him betwixt
the Morality, and the Necessity of what was done. No, No, Gentlemen, says
he, my Grief is not thereabouts; but it goes to the Heart of me to think
how long I have liv’d in Ignorance; and that This Fit of Sickness should
never take me sooner.
The MORAL.
_Flesh is Frail. When a Strong Appetite, and a Troublesome Virtue Meet in
Competition, ’tis a Hard Matter for a Man to Resist the Temptation._