protector for his care of me) I resigned myself to sleep, which
immediately closed my eyelids, and would probably have detained me
very long in his gentle dominions, had I not been awaked with a
squeeze by the hand by my guard, which I at first thought intended
to alarm me with the danger of some wild beast; but I soon
perceived it arose from a softer motive, and that a gentle swain
was the only wild beast I had to apprehend. He began now to
disclose his passion in the strongest manner imaginable, indeed
with a warmth rather beyond that of both my former lovers, but as
yet without any attempt of absolute force. On my side
remonstrances were made in more bitter exclamations and revilings
than I had used to any, that villain Wild excepted. I told him he
was the basest and most treacherous wretch alive; that his having
cloaked his iniquitous designs under the appearance of virtue and
friendship added an ineffable degree of horror to them; that I
detested him of all mankind the most, and could I be brought to
yield to prostitution, he should be the last to enjoy the ruins of
my honour. He suffered himself not to be provoked by this
language, but only changed his manner of solicitation from
flattery to bribery. He unript the lining of his waistcoat, and
pulled forth several jewels; these, he said, he had preserved from
infinite danger to the happiest purpose, if I could be won by
them. I rejected them often with the utmost indignation, till at
last, casting my eye, rather by accident than design, on a diamond
necklace, a thought, like lightning, shot through my mind, and, in
an instant, I remembered that this was the very necklace you had
sold the cursed count, the cause of all our misfortunes. The
confusion of ideas into which this surprize hurried me prevented
my reflecting on the villain who then stood before me; but the
first recollection presently told me it could be no other than the
count himself, the wicked tool of Wild's barbarity. Good heavens!
what was then my condition! How shall I describe the tumult of
passions which then laboured in my breast? However, as I was
happily unknown to him, the least suspicion on his side was
altogether impossible. He imputed, therefore, the eagerness with
which I gazed on the jewels to a very wrong cause, and endeavoured
to put as much additional softness into his countenance as he was
able. My fears were a little quieted, and I was resolved to be
very liberal of promises, and hoped so thoroughly to persuade him
of my venality that he might, without any doubt, be drawn in to
wait the captain and crew's return, who would, I was very certain,
not only preserve me from his violence, but secure the restoration
of what you had been so cruelly robbed of. But, alas! I was
mistaken." Mrs. Heartfree, again perceiving symptoms of the utmost
disquietude in her husband's countenance, cryed out, "My dear,
don't you apprehend any harm.--But, to deliver you as soon as
possible from your anxiety--when he perceived I declined the
warmth of his addresses he begged me to consider; he changed at
once his voice and features, and, in a very different tone from
what he had hitherto affected, he swore I should not deceive him
as I had the captain; that fortune had kindly thrown an
opportunity in his way which he was resolved not foolishly to
lose; and concluded with a violent oath that he was determined to
enjoy me that moment, and therefore I knew the consequence of
resistance. He then caught me in his arms, and began such rude
attempts, that I skreamed out with all the force I could, though I
had so little hopes of being rescued, when there suddenly rushed
forth from a thicket a creature which, at his first appearance,
and in the hurry of spirits I then was, I did not take for a man;
but, indeed, had he been the fiercest of wild beasts, I should
have rejoiced at his devouring us both. I scarce perceived he had
a musket in his hand before he struck my ravisher such a blow with
it that he felled him at my feet. He then advanced with a gentle
air towards me, and told me in French he was extremely glad he had
been luckily present to my assistance. He was naked, except his
middle and his feet, if I can call a body so which was covered
with hair almost equal to any beast whatever. Indeed, his
appearance was so horrid in my eyes, that the friendship he had
shewn me, as well as his courteous behaviour, could not entirely
remove the dread I had conceived from his figure. I believe he saw
this very visibly; for he begged me not to be frightened, since,
whatever accident had brought me thither, I should have reason to
thank heaven for meeting him, at whose hands I might assure myself
of the utmost civility and protection. In the midst of all this
consternation, I had spirits enough to take up the casket of
jewels which the villain, in falling, had dropped out of his
hands, and conveyed it into my pocket. My deliverer, telling me
that I seemed extremely weak and faint, desired me to refresh
myself at his little hut, which, he said, was hard by. If his
demeanour had been less kind and obliging, my desperate situation
must have lent me confidence; for sure the alternative could not
be doubtful, whether I should rather trust this man, who,
notwithstanding his savage outside, expressed so much devotion to
serve me, which at least I was not certain of the falsehood of, or
should abide with one whom I so perfectly well knew to be an
accomplished villain. I therefore committed myself to his
guidance, though with tears in my eyes, and begged him to have
compassion on my innocence, which was absolutely in his power. He
said, the treatment he had been witness of, which he supposed was
from one who had broken his trust towards me, sufficiently
justified my suspicion; but begged me to dry my eyes, and he would
soon convince me that I was with a man of different sentiments.
The kind accents which accompanied these words gave me some
comfort, which was assisted by the repossession of our jewels by
an accident so strongly savouring of the disposition of Providence
in my favour.
"We left the villain weltering in his blood, though beginning to
recover a little motion, and walked together to his hut, or rather
cave, for it was under ground, on the side of a hill; the
situation was very pleasant, and from its mouth we overlooked a
large plain and the town I had before seen. As soon as I entered
it, he desired me to sit down on a bench of earth, which served
him for chairs, and then laid before me some fruits, the wild
product of that country, one or two of which had an excellent
flavour. He likewise produced some baked flesh, a little
resembling that of venison. He then brought forth a bottle of
brandy, which he said had remained with him ever since his
settling there, now above thirty years, during all which time he
had never opened it, his only liquor being water; that he had
reserved this bottle as a cordial in sickness; but, he thanked
heaven, he had never yet had occasion for it. He then acquainted
me that he was a hermit, that he had been formerly cast away on
that coast, with his wife, whom he dearly loved, but could not
preserve from perishing; on which account he had resolved never to
return to France, which was his native country, but to devote
himself to prayer and a holy life, placing all his hopes in the
blessed expectation of meeting that dear woman again in heaven,
where, he was convinced, she was now a saint and an interceder for
him. He said he had exchanged a watch with the king of that
country, whom he described to be a very just and good man, for a
gun, some powder, shot, and ball, with which he sometimes provided
himself food, but more generally used it in defending himself
against wild beasts; so that his diet was chiefly of the vegetable
kind. He told me many more circumstances, which I may relate to
you hereafter: but, to be as concise as possible at present, he at
length greatly comforted me by promising to conduct me to a
seaport, where I might have an opportunity to meet with some
vessels trafficking for slaves; and whence I might once more
commit myself to that element which, though I had already suffered
so much on it, I must again trust to put me in possession of all I
loved.
"The character he gave me of the inhabitants of the town we saw
below us, and of their king, made me desirous of being conducted
thither; especially as I very much wished to see the captain and
sailors, who had behaved very kindly to me, and with whom,
notwithstanding all the civil behaviour of the hermit, I was
rather easier in my mind than alone with this single man; but he
dissuaded me greatly from attempting such a walk till I had
recruited my spirits with rest, desiring me to repose myself on
his couch or bank, saying that he himself would retire without the
cave, where he would remain as my guard. I accepted this kind
proposal, but it was long before I could procure any slumber;
however, at length, weariness prevailed over my fears, and I
enjoyed several hours' sleep. When I awaked I found my faithful
centinel on his post and ready at my summons. This behaviour
infused some confidence into me, and I now repeated my request
that he would go with me to the town below; but he answered, it
would be better advised to take some repast before I undertook the
journey, which I should find much longer than it appeared. I
consented, and he set forth a greater variety of fruits than
before, of which I ate very plentifully. My collation being ended,
I renewed the mention of my walk, but he still persisted in
dissuading me, telling me that I was not yet strong enough; that I
could repose myself nowhere with greater safety than in his cave;
and that, for his part, he could have no greater happiness than
that of attending me, adding, with a sigh, it was a happiness he
should envy any other more than all the gifts of fortune. You may
imagine I began now to entertain suspicions; but he presently
removed all doubt by throwing himself at my feet and expressing
the warmest passion for me. I should have now sunk with despair
had he not accompanied these professions with the most vehement
protestations that he would never offer me any other force but
that of entreaty, and that he would rather die the most cruel
death by my coldness than gain the highest bliss by becoming the
occasion of a tear of sorrow to these bright eyes, which he said
were stars, under whose benign influence alone he could enjoy, or
indeed suffer life." She was repeating many more compliments he
made her, when a horrid uproar, which alarmed the whole gate, put
a stop to her narration at present. It is impossible for me to
give the reader a better idea of the noise which now arose than by
desiring him to imagine I had the hundred tongues the poet once
wished for, and was vociferating from them all at once, by
hollowing, scolding, crying, swearing, bellowing, and, in short,
by every different articulation which is within the scope of the
human organ.
CHAPTER TEN
A HORRIBLE UPROAR IN THE GATE.
But however great an idea the reader may hence conceive of this
uproar, he will think the occasion more than adequate to it when
he is informed that our hero (I blush to name it) had discovered
an injury done to his honour, and that in the tenderest point. In
a word, reader (for thou must know it, though it give thee the
greatest horror imaginable), he had caught Fireblood in the arms
of his lovely Laetitia.
As the generous bull who, having long depastured among a number of
cows, and thence contracted an opinion that these cows are all his
own property, if he beholds another bull bestride a cow within his
walks, he roars aloud, and threatens instant vengeance with his
horns, till the whole parish are alarmed with his bellowing; not
with less noise nor less dreadful menaces did the fury of Wild
burst forth and terrify the whole gate. Long time did rage render
his voice inarticulate to the hearer; as when, at a visiting day,
fifteen or sixteen or perhaps twice as many females, of delicate
but shrill pipes, ejaculate all at once on different subjects, all
is sound only, the harmony entirely melodious indeed, but conveys
no idea to our ears; but at length, when reason began to get the
better of his passion, which latter, being deserted by his breath,
began a little to retreat, the following accents, leapt over the
hedge of his teeth, or rather the ditch of his gums, whence those
hedgestakes had long since by a batten been displaced in battle
with an amazon of Drury.
[Footnote: The beginning of this speech is lost.]--"Man of honour!
doth this become a friend? Could I have expected such a breach of
all the laws of honour from thee, whom I had taught to walk in its
paths? Hadst thou chosen any other way to injure my confidence I
could have forgiven it; but this is a stab in the tenderest part,
a wound never to be healed, an injury never to be repaired; for it
is not only the loss of an agreeable companion, of the affection
of a wife dearer to my soul than life itself, it is not this loss
alone I lament; this loss is accompanied with disgrace and with
dishonour. The blood of the Wilds, which hath run with such
uninterrupted purity through so many generations, this blood is
fouled, is contaminated: hence flow my tears, hence arises my
grief. This is the injury never to be redressed, nor even to be
with honour forgiven." "M---in a bandbox!" answered Fireblood;
"here is a noise about your honour! If the mischief done to your
blood be all you complain of, I am sure you complain of nothing;
for my blood is as good as yours." "You have no conception,"
replied Wild, "of the tenderness of honour; you know not how nice
and delicate it is in both sexes; so delicate that the least
breath of air which rudely blows on it destroys it." "I will prove
from your own words," says Fireblood, "I have not wronged your
honour. Have you not often told me that the honour of a man
consisted in receiving no affront from his own sex, and that of
woman in receiving no kindness from ours? Now, sir, if I have
given you no affront, how have I injured your honour?" "But doth
not everything," cried Wild, "of the wife belong to the husband? A
married man, therefore, hath his wife's honour as well as his own,
and by injuring hers you injure his. How cruelly you have hurt me
in this tender part I need not repeat; the whole gate knows it,
and the world shall. I will apply to Doctors' Commons for my
redress against her; I will shake off as much of my dishonour as I
can by parting with her; and as for you, expect to hear of me in
Westminster-hall; the modern method of repairing these breaches
and of resenting this affront." "D--n your eyes!" cries Fireblood;
"I fear you not, nor do I believe a word you say." "Nay, if you
affront me personally," says Wild, "another sort of resentment is
prescribed." At which word, advancing to Fireblood, he presented
him with a box on the ear, which the youth immediately returned;
and now our hero and his friend fell to boxing, though with some
difficulty, both being encumbered with the chains which they wore
between their legs: a few blows passed on both sides before the
gentlemen who stood by stept in and parted the combatants; and now
both parties having whispered each other, that, if they outlived
the ensuing sessions and escaped the tree, one should give and the
other should receive satisfaction in single combat, they separated
and the gate soon recovered its former tranquillity.
Mrs. Heartfree was then desired by the justice and her husband
both, to conclude her story, which she did in the words of the
next chapter.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CONCLUSION OF MRS. HEARTFREE'S ADVENTURES.
"If I mistake not, I was interrupted just as I was beginning to
repeat some of the compliments made me by the hermit." "Just as
you had finished them, I believe, madam," said the justice. "Very
well, sir," said she; "I am sure I have no pleasure in the
repetition. He concluded then with telling me, though I was in his
eyes the most charming woman in the world, and might tempt a saint
to abandon the ways of holiness, yet my beauty inspired him with a
much tenderer affection towards me than to purchase any
satisfaction of his own desires with my misery; if therefore I
could be so cruel to him to reject his honest and sincere address,
nor could submit to a solitary life with one who would endeavour
by all possible means to make me happy, I had no force to dread;
for that I was as much at my liberty as if I was in France, or
England, or any other free country. I repulsed him with the same
civility with which he advanced; and told him that, as he
professed great regard to religion, I was convinced he would cease
from all farther solicitation when I informed him that, if I had
no other objection, my own innocence would not admit of my hearing
him on this subject, for that I was married. He started a little
at that word, and was for some time silent; but, at length
recovering himself, he began to urge the uncertainty of my
husband's being alive, and the probability of the contrary. He
then spoke of marriage as of a civil policy only, on which head he
urged many arguments not worth repeating, and was growing so very
eager and importunate that I know not whither his passion might
have hurried him had not three of the sailors, well armed,
appeared at that instant in sight of the cave. I no sooner saw
them than, exulting with the utmost inward joy, I told him my
companions were come for me, and that I must now take my leave of
him; assuring him that I would always remember, with the most
grateful acknowledgment, the favours I had received at his hands.
He fetched a very heavy sigh, and, squeezing me tenderly by the
hand, he saluted my lips with a little more eagerness than the
European salutations admit of, and told me he should likewise
remember my arrival at his cave to the last day of his life,
adding, O that he could there spend the whole in the company of
one whose bright eyes had kindled--but I know you will think, sir,
that we women love to repeat the compliments made us, I will
therefore omit them. In a word, the sailors being now arrived, I
quitted him with some compassion for the reluctance with which he
parted from me, and went forward with my companions.
"We had proceeded but a very few paces before one of the sailors
said to his comrades, 'D--n me, Jack, who knows whether yon fellow
hath not some good flip in his cave?' I innocently answered, The
poor wretch hath only one bottle of brandy. 'Hath he so?' cries
the sailor; ''fore George, we will taste it;' and so saying they
immediately returned back, and myself with them. We found the poor
man prostrate on the ground, expressing all the symptoms of misery
and lamentation. I told him in French (for the sailors could not
speak that language) what they wanted. He pointed to the place
where the bottle was deposited, saying they were welcome to that
and whatever else he had, and added he cared not if they took his
life also. The sailors searched the whole cave, where finding
nothing more which they deemed worth their taking, they walked off
with the bottle, and, immediately emptying it without offering me
a drop, they proceeded with me towards the town.
"In our way I observed one whisper another, while he kept his eye
stedfastly fixed on me. This gave me some uneasiness; but the
other answered, 'No, d--n me, the captain will never forgive us:
besides, we have enough of it among the black women, and, in my
mind, one colour is as good as another.' This was enough to give
me violent apprehensions; but I heard no more of that kind till we
came to the town, where, in about six hours, I arrived in safety.
"As soon as I came to the captain he enquired what was become of
my friend, meaning the villanous count. When he was informed by me
of what had happened, he wished me heartily joy of my delivery,
and, expressing the utmost abhorrence of such baseness, swore if
ever he met him he would cut his throat; but, indeed, we both
concluded that he had died of the blow which the hermit had given
him.
"I was now introduced to the chief magistrate of this country, who
was desirous of seeing me. I will give you a short description of
him. He was chosen (as is the custom there) for his superior
bravery and wisdom. His power is entirely absolute during his
continuance; but, on the first deviation from equity and justice,
he is liable to be deposed and punished by the people, the elders
of whom, once a year assemble to examine into his conduct. Besides
the danger which these examinations, which are very strict, expose
him to, his office is of such care and trouble that nothing but
that restless love of power so predominant in the mind of man
could make it the object of desire, for he is indeed the only
slave of all the natives of this country. He is obliged, in time
of peace, to hear the complaint of every person in his dominions
and to render him justice; for which purpose every one may demand
an audience of him, unless during the hour which he is allowed for
dinner, when he sits alone at the table, and is attended in the
most public manner with more than European ceremony. This is done
to create an awe and respect towards him in the eye of the vulgar;
but lest it should elevate him too much in his own opinion, in
order to his humiliation he receives every evening in private,
from a kind of beadle, a gentle kick on his posteriors; besides
which he wears a ring in his nose, somewhat resembling that we
ring our pigs with, and a chain round his neck not unlike that
worn by our aldermen; both which I suppose to be emblematical, but
heard not the reasons of either assigned. There are many more
particularities among these people which, when I have an
opportunity, I may relate to you. The second day after my return
from court one of his officers, whom they call SCHACH PIMPACH,
waited upon me, and, by a French interpreter who lives here,
informed me that the chief magistrate liked my person, and offered
me an immense present if I would suffer him to enjoy it (this is,
it seems, their common form of making love). I rejected the
present, and never heard any further solicitations; for, as it is
no shame for women here to consent at the first proposal, so they
never receive a second.
"I had resided in this town a week when the captain informed me
that a number of slaves, who had been taken captives in war, were
to be guarded to the sea-side, where they were to be sold to the
merchants who traded in them to America; that if I would embrace
this opportunity I might assure myself of finding a passage to
America, and thence to England; acquainting me at the same time
that he himself intended to go with them. I readily agreed to
accompany him. The chief, being advertised of our designs, sent
for us both to court, and, without mentioning a word of love to
me, having presented me with a very rich jewel, of less value, he
said, than my chastity, took a very civil leave, recommending me
to the care of heaven, and ordering us a large supply of
provisions for our journey.
"We were provided with mules for ourselves and what we carried
with us, and in nine days reached the sea-shore, where we found an
English vessel ready to receive both us and the slaves. We went
aboard it, and sailed the next day with a fair wind for New
England, where I hoped to get an immediate passage to the Old: but
Providence was kinder than my expectation; for the third day after
we were at sea we met an English man-of-war homeward bound; the
captain of it was a very good-natured man, and agreed to take me
on board. I accordingly took my leave of my old friend, the master
of the shipwrecked vessel, who went on to New England, whence he
intended to pass to Jamaica, where his owners lived. I was now
treated with great civility, had a little cabin assigned me, and
dined every day at the captain's table, who was indeed a very
gallant man, and at first, made me a tender of his affections;
but, when he found me resolutely bent to preserve myself pure and
entire for the best of husbands, he grew cooler in his addresses,
and soon behaved in a manner very pleasing to me, regarding my sex
only so far as to pay me a deference, which is very agreeable to
us all.
"To conclude my story; I met with no adventure in this passage at
all worth relating, till my landing at Gravesend, whence the
captain brought me in his own boat to the Tower. In a short hour
after my arrival we had that meeting which, however dreadful at
first, will, I now hope, by the good offices of the best of men,
whom Heaven for ever bless, end in our perfect happiness, and be a
strong instance of what I am persuaded is the surest truth, THAT
PROVIDENCE WILL SOONER OR LATER PROCURE THE FELICITY OF THE
VIRTUOUS AND INNOCENT."
Mrs. Heartfree thus ended her speech, having before delivered to
her husband the jewels which the count had robbed him of, and that
presented her by the African chief, which last was of immense
value. The good magistrate was sensibly touched at her narrative,
as well on the consideration of the sufferings she had herself
undergone as for those of her husband, which he had himself been
innocently the instrument of bringing upon him. That worthy man,
however, much rejoiced in what he had already done for his
preservation, and promised to labour with his utmost interest and
industry to procure the absolute pardon, rather of his sentence
than of his guilt, which he now plainly discovered was a barbarous
and false imputation.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE HISTORY RETURNS TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF GREATNESS.
But we have already, perhaps, detained our reader too long in this
relation from the consideration of our hero, who daily gave the
most exalted proofs of greatness in cajoling the prigs, and in
exactions on the debtors; which latter now grew so great, i. e.,
corrupted in their morals, that they spoke with the utmost
contempt of what the vulgar call honesty. The greatest character
among them was that of a pickpocket, or, in truer language, a
file; and the only censure was want of dexterity. As to virtue,
goodness, and such like, they were the objects of mirth and
derision, and all Newgate was a complete collection of prigs,
every man being desirous to pick his neighbour's pocket, and every
one was as sensible that his neighbour was as ready to pick his;
so that (which is almost incredible) as great roguery was daily
committed within the walls of Newgate as without.
The glory resulting from these actions of Wild probably animated
the envy of his enemies against him. The day of his trial now
approached; for which, as Socrates did, he prepared himself; but
not weakly and foolishly, like that philosopher, with patience and
resignation, but with a good number of false witnesses. However,
as success is not always proportioned to the wisdom of him who
endeavours to attain it, so are we more sorry than ashamed to
relate that our hero was, notwithstanding his utmost caution and
prudence, convicted, and sentenced to a death which, when we
consider not only the great men who have suffered it, but the much
larger number of those whose highest honour it hath been to merit
it, we cannot call otherwise than honourable. Indeed, those who
have unluckily missed it seem all their days to have laboured in
vain to attain an end which Fortune, for reasons only known to
herself, hath thought proper to deny them. Without any farther
preface then, our hero was sentenced to be hanged by the neck:
but, whatever was to be now his fate, he might console himself
that he had perpetrated what
---------Nec Judicis ira, nec ignis.
Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolera vetustas.
For my own part, I confess, I look on this death of hanging to be
as proper for a hero as any other; and I solemnly declare that had
Alexander the Great been hanged it would not in the least have
diminished my respect to his memory. Provided a hero in his life
doth but execute a sufficient quantity of mischief; provided he be
but well and heartily cursed by the widow, the orphan, the poor,
and the oppressed (the sole rewards, as many authors have bitterly
lamented both in prose and verse, of greatness, i. e., priggism),
I think it avails little of what nature his death be, whether it
be by the axe, the halter, or the sword. Such names will be always
sure of living to posterity, and of enjoying that fame which they
so gloriously and eagerly coveted; for, according to a GREAT
dramatic poet--
Fame
Not more survives from good than evil deeds.
Th' aspiring youth that fired th' Ephesian dome
Outlives in fame the pious fool who rais'd it
Our hero now suspected that the malice of his enemies would
overpower him. He therefore betook himself to that true support of
greatness in affliction, a bottle; by means of which he was
enabled to curse, swear, and bully, and brave his fate. Other
comfort indeed he had not much, for not a single friend ever came
near him. His wife, whose trial was deferred to the next sessions,
visited him but once, when she plagued, tormented, and upbraided
him so cruelly, that he forbad the keeper ever to admit her again.
The ordinary of Newgate had frequent conferences with him, and
greatly would it embellish our history could we record all which
that good man delivered on these occasions; but unhappily we could
procure only the substance of a single conference, which was taken
down in shorthand by one who overheard it. We shall transcribe it
therefore exactly in the same form and words we received it; nor
can we help regarding it as one of the most curious pieces which
either ancient or modern history hath recorded.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE ORDINARY OF NEWGATE AND MR. JONATHAN WILD
THE GREAT; IN WHICH THE SUBJECTS OF DEATH, IMMORTALITY, AND OTHER
GRAVE MATTERS, ARE VERY LEARNEDLY HANDLED BY THE FORMER.
ORDINARY. Good morrow to you, sir; I hope you rested well last
night.
JONATHAN. D--n'd ill, sir. I dreamt so confoundedly of hanging,
that it disturbed my sleep.
ORDINARY. Fie upon it! You should be more resigned. I wish you
would make a little better use of those instructions which I have
endeavoured to inculcate into you, and particularly last Sunday,
and from these words: "Those who do evil shall go into everlasting
fire, prepared for the devil and his angels." I undertook to shew
you, first, what is meant by EVERLASTING FIRE; and, secondly, who
were THE DEVIL AND HIS ANGELS. I then proceeded to draw some
inferences from the whole; [Footnote: He pronounced this word
HULL, and perhaps would have spelt it so.] in which I am mightily
deceived if I did not convince you that you yourself was one of
those ANGELS, and, consequently, must expect EVERLASTING FIRE to
be your portion in the other world.
JONATHAN. Faith, doctor, I remember very little of your
inferences; for I fell asleep soon after your naming your text.
But did you preach this doctrine then, or do you repeat it now in
order to comfort me?
ORDINARY. I do it in order to bring you to a true sense of your
manifold sins, and, by that means, to induce you to repentance.
Indeed, had I the eloquence of Cicero, or of Tully, it would not
be sufficient to describe the pains of hell or the joys of heaven.
The utmost that we are taught is, THAT EAR HATH NOT HEARD, NOR CAN
HEART CONCEIVE. Who then would, for the pitiful consideration of
the riches and pleasures of this world, forfeit such inestimable
happiness! such joys! such pleasures! such delights? Or who would
run the venture of such misery, which, but to think on, shocks the
human understanding? Who, in his senses, then, would prefer the
latter to the former?
JONATHAN. Ay, who indeed? I assure you, doctor, I had much rather
be happy than miserable. But [Footnote: This part was so blotted
that it was illegible.]
. . . . . . .
ORDINARY. Nothing can be plainer. St. . . .
. . . . . . .
Jonathan. . . . . If once convinced . . . . no man . . lives of .
. . . . whereas sure the clergy . . opportunity . better informed
. . . . . all manner of vice
ORDINARY. . are. atheist. . . deist ari.. cinian. hanged.. burnt..
oiled. oasted. . . . dev . . his an . ... ell fire . . ternal
da... tion.
JONATHAN. You ... to frighten me out of my wits. But the good ...
is, I doubt not, more merciful than his wicked.. If I should
believe all you say, I am sure I should die in inexpressible
horrour.
ORDINARY. Despair is sinful. You should place your hopes in
repentance and grace; and though it is most true that you are in
danger of the judgment, yet there is still room for mercy; and no
man, unless excommunicated, is absolutely without hopes of a
reprieve.
JONATHAN. I am not without hopes of a reprieve from the cheat yet.
I have pretty good interest; but if I cannot obtain it, you shall
not frighten me out of my courage. I will not die like a pimp. D--
n me, what is death? It is nothing but to be with Platos and with
Caesars, as the poet says, and all the other great heroes of
antiquity. ...
ORDINARY. Ay, all this is very true; but life is sweet for all
that; and I had rather live to eternity than go into the company
of any such heathens, who are, I doubt not, in hell with the devil
and his angels; and, as little as you seem to apprehend it, you
may find yourself there before you expect it. Where, then, will be
your tauntings and your vauntings, your boastings and your
braggings? You will then be ready to give more for a drop of water
than you ever gave for a bottle of wine.
JONATHAN. Faith, doctor! well minded. What say you to a bottle of
wine?
ORDINARY. I will drink no wine with an atheist. I should expect
the devil to make a third in such company, for, since he knows you
are his, he may be impatient to have his due.
JONATHAN. It is your business to drink with the wicked, in order
to amend them.
ORDINARY. I despair of it; and so I consign you over to the devil,
who is ready to receive you.
JONATHAN. You are more unmerciful to me than the judge, doctor. He
recommended my soul to heaven; and it is your office to shew me
the way thither.
ORDINARY. No: the gates are barred against all revilers of the
clergy.
JONATHAN. I revile only the wicked ones, if any such are, which
cannot affect you, who, if men were preferred in the church by
merit only, would have long since been a bishop. Indeed, it might
raise any good man's indignation to observe one of your vast
learning and abilities obliged to exert them in so low a sphere,
when so many of your inferiors wallow in wealth and preferment.
ORDINARY. Why, it must be confessed that there are bad men in all
orders; but you should not censure too generally. I must own I
might have expected higher promotion; but I have learnt patience
and resignation; and I would advise you to the same temper of
mind; which if you can attain, I know you will find mercy. Nay, I
do now promise you you will. It is true you are a sinner; but your
crimes are not of the blackest dye: you are no murderer, nor
guilty of sacrilege. And, if you are guilty of theft, you make
some atonement by suffering for it, which many others do not.
Happy is it indeed for those few who are detected in their sins,
and brought to exemplary punishment for them in this world. So
far, therefore, from repining at your fate when you come to the
tree, you should exult and rejoice in it; and, to say the truth, I
question whether, to a wise man, the catastrophe of many of those
who die by a halter is not more to be envied than pitied. Nothing
is so sinful as sin, and murder is the greatest of all sins. It
follows, that whoever commits murder is happy in suffering for it.
If, therefore, a man who commits murder is so happy in dying for
it, how much better must it be for you, who have committed a less
crime!
JONATHAN. All this is very true; but let us take a bottle of wine
to cheer our spirits.
ORDINARY. Why wine? Let me tell you, Mr. Wild, there is nothing so
deceitful as the spirits given us by wine. If you must drink, let
us have a bowl of punch--a liquor I the rather prefer, as it is
nowhere spoken against in Scripture, and as it is more wholesome
for the gravel, a distemper with which I am grievously afflicted.
JONATHAN (having called for a bowl). I ask your pardon, doctor; I
should have remembered that punch was your favourite liquor. I
think you never taste wine while there is any punch remaining on
the table.
ORDINARY. I confess I look on punch to be the more eligible
liquor, as well for the reasons I before mentioned as likewise for
one other cause, viz., it is the properest for a DRAUGHT. I own I
took it a little unkind of you to mention wine, thinking you knew
my palate.
JONATHAN. You are in the right; and I will take a swinging cup to
your being made a bishop.
ORDINARY. And I will wish you a reprieve in as large a draught.
Come, don't despair; it is yet time enough to think of dying; you
have good friends, who very probably may prevail for you. I have
known many a man reprieved who had less reason to expect it.
JONATHAN. But if I should flatter myself with such hopes, and be
deceived--what then would become of my soul?
ORDINARY. Pugh! Never mind your soul--leave that to me; I will
render a good account of it, I warrant you. I have a sermon in my
pocket which may be of some use to you to hear. I do not value
myself on the talent of preaching, since no man ought to value
himself for any gift in this world. But perhaps there are not many
such sermons. But to proceed, since we have nothing else to do
till the punch comes. My text is the latter part of a verse only:
---To the Greeks FOOLISHNESS.
The occasion of these words was principally that philosophy of the
Greeks which at that time had overrun great part of the heathen
world, had poisoned, and, as it were, puffed up their minds with
pride, so that they disregarded all kinds of doctrine in
comparison of their own; and, however safe and however sound the
learning of the others might be, yet, if it anywise contradicted
their own laws, customs, and received opinions, AWAY WITH IT--IT
IS NOT FOR US. It was to the Greeks FOOLISHNESS.
In the former part, therefore, of my discourse on these words, I
shall principally confine myself to the laying open and
demonstrating the great emptiness and vanity of this philosophy,
with which these idle and absurd sophists were so proudly blown up
and elevated.
And here I shall do two things: First, I shall expose the matter;
and, secondly, the manner of this absurd philosophy.
And first, for the first of these, namely, the matter. Now here we
may retort the unmannerly word which our adversaries have
audaciously thrown in our faces; for what was all this mighty
matter of philosophy, this heap of knowledge, which was to bring
such large harvests of honour to those who sowed it, and so
greatly and nobly to enrich the ground on which it fell; what was
it but FOOLISHNESS? An inconsistent heap of nonsense, of
absurdities and contradictions, bringing no ornament to the mind
in its theory, nor exhibiting any usefulness to the body in its
practice. What were all the sermons and the savings, the fables
and the morals of all these wise men, but, to use the word
mentioned in my text once more, FOOLISHNESS? What was their great
master Plato, or their other great light Aristotle? Both fools,
mere quibblers and sophists, idly and vainly attached to certain
ridiculous notions of their own, founded neither on truth nor on
reason. Their whole works are a strange medley of the greatest
falsehoods, scarce covered over with the colour of truth: their
precepts are neither borrowed from nature nor guided by reason;
mere fictions, serving only to evince the dreadful height of human
pride; in one word, FOOLISHNESS. It may be perhaps expected of me
that I should give some instances from their works to prove this
charge; but, as to transcribe every passage to my purpose would be
to transcribe their whole works, and as in such a plentiful crop
it is difficult to chuse; instead of trespassing on your patience,
I shall conclude this first head with asserting what I have so
fully proved, and what may indeed be inferred from the text, that
the philosophy of the Greeks was FOOLISHNESS.
Proceed we now, in the second place, to consider the manner in
which this inane and simple doctrine was propagated. And here--But
here the punch by entring waked Mr. Wild, who was fast asleep, and
put an end to the sermon; nor could we obtain any further account
of the conversation which passed at this interview.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WILD PROCEEDS TO THE HIGHEST CONSUMMATION OF HUMAN GREATNESS.
The day now drew nigh when our great man was to exemplify the last
and noblest act of greatness by which any hero can signalise
himself. This was the day of execution, or consummation, or
apotheosis (for it is called by different names), which was to
give our hero an opportunity of facing death and damnation,
without any fear in his heart, or, at least, without betraying any
symptoms of it in his countenance. A completion of greatness which
is heartily to be wished to every great man; nothing being more
worthy of lamentation than when Fortune, like a lazy poet, winds
up her catastrophe aukwardly, and, bestowing too little care on
her fifth act, dismisses the hero with a sneaking and private
exit, who had in the former part of the drama performed such
notable exploits as must promise to every good judge among the
spectators a noble, public, and exalted end.
But she was resolved to commit no such error in this instance. Our
hero was too much and too deservedly her favourite to be neglected
by her in his last moments; accordingly all efforts for a reprieve
were vain, and the name of Wild stood at the head of those who
were ordered for execution.
From the time he gave over all hopes of life, his conduct was
truly great and admirable. Instead of shewing any marks of
dejection or contrition, he rather infused more confidence and
assurance into his looks. He spent most of his hours in drinking
with his friends and with the good man above commemorated. In one
of these compotations, being asked whether he was afraid to die,
he answered, "D--n me, it is only a dance without music." Another
time, when one expressed some sorrow for his misfortune, as he
termed it, he said with great fierceness--"A man can die but
once." Again, when one of his intimate acquaintance hinted his
hopes, that he would die like a man, he cocked his hat in
defiance, and cried out greatly--"Zounds! who's afraid?"
Happy would it have been for posterity, could we have retrieved
any entire conversation which passed at this season, especially
between our hero and his learned comforter; but we have searched
many pasteboard records in vain.
On the eve of his apotheosis, Wild's lady desired to see him, to
which he consented. This meeting was at first very tender on both
sides; but it could not continue so, for unluckily, some hints of
former miscarriages intervening, as particularly when she asked
him how he could have used her so barbarously once as calling her
b--, and whether such language became a man, much less a
gentleman, Wild flew into a violent passion, and swore she was the
vilest of b--s to upbraid him at such a season with an unguarded
word spoke long ago. She replied, with many tears, she was well
enough served for her folly in visiting such a brute; but she had
one comfort, however, that it would be the last time he could ever
treat her so; that indeed she had some obligation to him, for that
his cruelty to her would reconcile her to the fate he was to-
morrow to suffer; and, indeed, nothing but such brutality could
have made the consideration of his shameful death (so this weak
woman called hanging), which was now inevitable, to be borne even
without madness. She then proceeded to a recapitulation of his
faults in an exacter order, and with more perfect memory, than one
would have imagined her capable of; and it is probable would have
rehearsed a complete catalogue had not our hero's patience failed
him, so that with the utmost fury and violence he caught her by
the hair and kicked her, as heartily as his chains would suffer
him, out of the room.
At length the morning came which Fortune at his birth had
resolutely ordained for the consummation of our hero's GREATNESS:
he had himself indeed modestly declined the public honour she
intended him, and had taken a quantity of laudanum, in order to
retire quietly off the stage; but we have already observed, in the
course of our wonderful history, that to struggle against this
lady's decrees is vain and impotent; and whether she hath
determined you shall be hanged or be a prime minister, it is in
either case lost labour to resist. Laudanum, therefore, being
unable to stop the breath of our hero, which the fruit of hemp-
seed, and not the spirit of poppy-seed, was to overcome, he was at
the usual hour attended by the proper gentleman appointed for that
purpose, and acquainted that the cart was ready. On this occasion
he exerted that greatness of courage which hath been so much
celebrated in other heroes; and, knowing it was impossible to
resist, he gravely declared he would attend them. He then
descended to that room where the fetters of great men are knocked
off in a most solemn and ceremonious manner. Then shaking hands
with his friends (to wit, those who were conducting him to the
tree), and drinking their healths in a bumper of brandy, he
ascended the cart, where he was no sooner seated than he received
the acclamations of the multitude, who were highly ravished with
his GREATNESS.
The cart now moved slowly on, being preceded by a troop of horse-
guards bearing javelins in their hands, through streets lined with
crowds all admiring the great behaviour of our hero, who rode on,
sometimes sighing, sometimes swearing, sometimes singing or
whistling, as his humour varied.
When he came to the tree of glory, he was welcomed with an
universal shout of the people, who were there assembled in
prodigious numbers to behold a sight much more rare in populous
cities than one would reasonably imagine it should be, viz., the
proper catastrophe of a great man.
But though envy was, through fear, obliged to join the general
voice in applause on this occasion, there were not wanting some
who maligned this completion of glory, which was now about to be
fulfilled to our hero, and endeavoured to prevent it by knocking
him on the head as he stood under the tree, while the ordinary was
performing his last office. They therefore began to batter the
cart with stones, brick-bats, dirt, and all manner of mischievous
weapons, some of which, erroneously playing on the robes of the
ecclesiastic, made him so expeditious in his repetition, that with
wonderful alacrity he had ended almost in an instant, and conveyed
himself into a place of safety in a hackney-coach, where he waited
the compulsion with a temper of mind described in these verses:
Suave mari magno, turbantibus aequora ventis,
E terra alterius magnum spectare laborem.
We must not, however, omit one circumstance, as it serves to shew
the most admirable conservation of character in our hero to his
last moment, which was, that, whilst the ordinary was busy in his
ejaculations, Wild, in the midst of the shower of stones, &c.,
which played upon him, applied his hands to the parson's pocket,
and emptied it of his bottle-screw, which he carried out of the
world in his hand.
The ordinary being now descended from the cart, Wild had just
opportunity to cast his eyes around the crowd, and to give them a
hearty curse, when immediately the horses moved on, and with
universal applause our hero swung out of this world.
Thus fell Jonathan Wild the GREAT, by a death as glorious as his
life had been, and which was so truly agreeable to it, that the
latter must have been deprobably maimed and imperfect without the
former; a death which hath been alone wanting to complete the
characters of several ancient and modern heroes, whose histories
would then have been read with much greater pleasure by the wisest
in all ages. Indeed we could almost wish that whenever Fortune
seems wantonly to deviate from her purpose, and leaves her work
imperfect in this particular, the historian would indulge himself
in the license of poetry and romance, and even do a violence to
truth, to oblige his reader with a page which must be the most
delightful in all his history, and which could never fail of
producing an instructive moral.
Narrow minds may possibly have some reason to be ashamed of going
this way out of the world, if their consciences can fly in their
faces and assure them they have not merited such an honour; but he
must be a fool who is ashamed of being hanged, who is not weak
enough to be ashamed of having deserved it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE CHARACTER OF OUR HERO, AND THE CONCLUSION OF THIS HISTORY.
We will now endeavour to draw the character of this great man;
and, by bringing together those several features as it were of his
mind which lie scattered up and down in this history, to present
our readers with a perfect picture of greatness.
Jonathan Wild had every qualification necessary to form a great
man. As his most powerful and predominant passion was ambition, so
nature had, with consummate propriety, adapted all his faculties
to the attaining those glorious ends to which this passion
directed him. He was extremely ingenious in inventing designs,
artful in contriving the means to accomplish his purposes, and
resolute in executing them: for as the most exquisite cunning and
most undaunted boldness qualified him for any undertaking, so was
he not restrained by any of those weaknesses which disappoint the
views of mean and vulgar souls, and which are comprehended in one
general term of honesty, which is a corruption of HONOSTY, a word
derived from what the Greeks call an ass. He was entirely free
from those low vices of modesty and good-nature, which, as he
said, implied a total negation of human greatness, and were the
only qualities which absolutely rendered a man incapable of making
a considerable figure in the world. His lust was inferior only to
his ambition; but, as for what simple people call love, he knew
not what it was. His avarice was immense, but it was of the
rapacious, not of the tenacious kind; his rapaciousness was indeed
so violent, that nothing ever contented him but the whole; for,
however considerable the share was which his coadjutors allowed
him of a booty, he was restless in inventing means to make himself
master of the smallest pittance reserved by them. He said laws
were made for the use of prigs only, and to secure their property;
they were never therefore more perverted than when their edge was
turned against these; but that this generally happened through
their want of sufficient dexterity. The character which he most
valued himself upon, and which he principally honoured in others,
was that of hypocrisy. His opinion was, that no one could carry
priggism very far without it; for which reason, he said, there was
little greatness to be expected in a man who acknowledged his
vices, but always much to be hoped from him who professed great
virtues: wherefore, though he would always shun the person whom he
discovered guilty of a good action, yet he was never deterred by a
good character, which was more commonly the effect of profession
than of action: for which reason, he himself was always very
liberal of honest professions, and had as much virtue and goodness
in his mouth as a saint; never in the least scrupling to swear by
his honour, even to those who knew him the best; nay, though he
held good-nature and modesty in the highest contempt, he
constantly practised the affectation of both, and recommended this
to others, whose welfare, on his own account, he wished well to.
He laid down several maxims as the certain methods of attaining
greatness, to which, in his own pursuit of it, he constantly
adhered. As--
1. Never to do more mischief to another than was necessary to the
effecting his purpose; for that mischief was too precious a thing
to be thrown away.
2. To know no distinction of men from affection; but to sacrifice
all with equal readiness to his interest.
3. Never to communicate more of an affair than was necessary to
the person who was to execute it.
4. Not to trust him who hath deceived you, nor who knows he hath
been deceived by you.
5. To forgive no enemy; but to be cautious and often dilatory in
revenge.
6. To shun poverty and distress, and to ally himself as close as
possible to power and riches.
7. To maintain a constant gravity in his countenance and
behaviour, and to affect wisdom on all occasions.
8. To foment eternal jealousies in his gang, one of another.
9. Never to reward any one equal to his merit; but always to
insinuate that the reward was above it.
10. That all men were knaves or fools, and much the greater number
a composition of both.
11. That a good name, like money, must be parted with, or at least
greatly risqued, in order to bring the owner any advantage.
12. That virtues, like precious stones, were easily counterfeited;
that the counterfeits in both cases adorned the wearer equally,
and that very few had knowledge or discernment sufficient to
distinguish the counterfeit jewel from the real.
13. That many men were undone by not going deep enough in roguery;
as in gaming any man may be a loser who doth not play the whole
game.
14. That men proclaim their own virtues, as shopkeepers expose
their goods, in order to profit by them.
15. That the heart was the proper seat of hatred, and the
countenance of affection and friendship.
He had many more of the same kind, all equally good with these,
and which were after his decease found in his study, as the twelve
excellent and celebrated rules were in that of king Charles the
first; for he never promulgated them in his lifetime, not having
them constantly in his mouth, as some grave persons have the rules
of virtue and morality, without paying the least regard to them in
their actions: whereas our hero, by a constant and steady
adherence to his rules in conforming everything he did to them,
acquired at length a settled habit of walking by them, till at
last he was in no danger of inadvertently going out of the way;
and by these means he arrived at that degree of greatness, which
few have equalled; none, we may say, have exceeded: for, though it
must be allowed that there have been some few heroes, who have
done greater mischiefs to mankind, such as those who have betrayed
the liberty of their country to others, or have undermined and
overpowered it themselves; or conquerors who have impoverished,
pillaged, sacked, burnt, and destroyed the countries and cities of
their fellow-creatures, from no other provocation than that of
glory, i. e., as the tragic poet calls it,
a privilege to kill,
A strong temptation to do bravely ill;
yet, if we consider it in the light wherein actions are placed in
this line,
Laetius est, quoties magno tibi constat honestum;
when we see our hero, without the least assistance or pretence,
setting himself at the head of a gang, which he had not any shadow
of right to govern; if we view him maintaining absolute power, and
exercising tyranny over a lawless crew, contrary to all law but
that of his own will; if we consider him setting up an open trade
publickly, in defiance not only of the laws of his country but of
the common sense of his countrymen; if we see him first contriving
the robbery of others, and again the defrauding the very robbers
of that booty, which they had ventured their necks to acquire, and
which without any hazard, they might have retained; here sure he
must appear admirable, and we may challenge not only the truth of
history, but almost the latitude of fiction, to equal his glory.
Nor had he any of those flaws in his character which, though they
have been commended by weak writers, have (as I hinted in the
beginning of this history) by the judicious reader been censured
and despised. Such was the clemency of Alexander and Caesar, which
nature had so grossly erred in giving them, as a painter would who
should dress a peasant in robes of state or give the nose or any
other feature of a Venus to a satyr. What had the destroyers of
mankind, that glorious pair, one of whom came into the world to
usurp the dominion and abolish the constitution of his own
country; the other to conquer, enslave, and rule over the whole
world, at least as much as was well known to him, and the
shortness of his life would give him leave to visit; what had, I
say, such as these to do with clemency? Who cannot see the
absurdity and contradiction of mixing such an ingredient with
those noble and great qualities I have before mentioned? Now, in
Wild everything was truly great, almost without alloy, as his
imperfections (for surely some small ones he had) were only such
as served to denominate him a human creature, of which kind none
ever arrived at consummate excellence. But surely his whole
behaviour to his friend Heartfree is a convincing proof that the
true iron or steel greatness of his heart was not debased by any
softer metal. Indeed, while greatness consists in power, pride,
insolence, and doing mischief to mankind--to speak out--while a
great man and a great rogue are synonymous terms, so long shall
Wild stand unrivalled on the pinnacle of GREATNESS. Nor must we
omit here, as the finishing of his character, what indeed ought to
be remembered on his tomb or his statue, the conformity above
mentioned of his death to his life; and that Jonathan Wild the
Great, after all his mighty exploits, was, what so few GREAT men
can accomplish--hanged by the neck till he was dead.
Having thus brought our hero to his conclusion, it may be
satisfactory to some readers (for many, I doubt not, carry their
concern no farther than his fate) to know what became of
Heartfree. We shall acquaint them, therefore, that his sufferings
were now at an end; that the good magistrate easily prevailed for
his pardon, nor was contented till he had made him all the
reparation he could for his troubles, though the share he had in
bringing these upon him was not only innocent but from its motive
laudable. He procured the restoration of the jewels from the man-
of-war at her return to England, and, above all, omitted no labour
to restore Heartfree to his reputation, and to persuade his
neighbours, acquaintance, and customers, of his innocence. When
the commission of bankruptcy was satisfied, Heartfree had a
considerable sum remaining; for the diamond presented to his wife
was of prodigious value, and infinitely recompensed the loss of
those jewels which Miss Straddle had disposed of. He now set up
again in his trade: compassion for his unmerited misfortunes
brought him many customers among those who had any regard to
humanity; and he hath, by industry joined with parsimony, amassed
a considerable fortune. His wife and he are now grown old in the
purest love and friendship, but never had another child. Friendly
married his elder daughter at the age of nineteen, and became his
partner in trade. As to the younger, she never would listen to the
addresses of any lover, not even of a young nobleman, who offered
to take her with two thousand pounds, which her father would have
willingly produced, and indeed did his utmost to persuade her to
the match; but she refused absolutely, nor would give any other
reason, when Heartfree pressed her, than that she had dedicated
her days to his service, and was resolved no other duty should
interfere with that which she owed the best of fathers, nor
prevent her from being the nurse of his old age.
Thus Heartfree, his wife, his two daughters, his son-in-law, and
his grandchildren, of which he hath several, live all together in
one house; and that with such amity and affection towards each
other, that they are in the neighbourhood called the family of
love.
As to all the other persons mentioned in this history in the light
of greatness, they had all the fate adapted to it, being every one
hanged by the neck, save two, viz., Miss Theodosia Snap, who was
transported to America, where she was pretty well married,
reformed, and made a good wife; and the count, who recovered of
the wound he had received from the hermit and made his escape into
France, where he committed a robbery, was taken, and broke on the
wheel.
Indeed, whoever considers the common fate of great men must allow
they well deserve and hardly earn that applause which is given
them by the world; for, when we reflect on the labours and pains,
the cares, disquietudes, and dangers which attend their road to
greatness, we may say with the divine that a man may go to heaven
with half the pains which it costs him to purchase hell. To say
the truth, the world have this reason at least to honour such
characters as that of Wild: that, while it is in the power of
every man to be perfectly honest, not one in a thousand is capable
of being a complete rogue; and few indeed there are who, if they
were inspired with the vanity of imitating our hero, would not
after much fruitless pains be obliged to own themselves inferior
to MR. JONATHAN WILD THE GREAT.
THE END