I don’t know what devil possessed me to write this, for sure, ’twas a cruel thing thus to wring the heart that, as I knew, had never beat for any but myself; but when I had wrote it, I considered it again, and judged it to be an extreme neat and well-turned piece, and so hugged me in my self-conceit, like a brain-sick fool as I was. It may have been (for I conceive that this should well please the devil aforesaid) that I was desirous to render my innocent cousin as miserable as myself, who was but suffering the due reward of a foolish presumption and of a stubborn and stiff-necked resistance to the wise rulings of Providence. Now when my time at Amidavat was ended, and I went down to Surat, and opened to Mr Martin the condition of my affairs, showing him the account of the wealth that I now owned, and also of that which was still embarked in divers trading ventures, my good friend, after hearing all that I had to say, and asking me certain questions thereupon, shook his head sadly. “_Vertulesse gentilitie is worse than beggerie_,” says he. “Pray, sir,” says I, “what would you have more? I am essaying to employ my savings in such ways as you’ll approve,” and I told him concerning that sum I was about sending home for to provide a portion for Dorothy; “have you anything against me in this particular?” “Ned,” says Mr Martin, “_Tread upon a woman, and she’ll turne_. Ay, and _He that will not when he may, when hee would he shall have nay_.” “Sir,” said I, “you deal in riddles to-night.” “Do I so, Ned?” quoth he. “Perhaps you will read one of my riddles when you find out that a woman to whom love is owed an’t to be bought off with money, and the other when you come to desire that which you now despise. Are these still riddles to you, lad? Well, well; _Young men thinke that olde be fooles, but old men do know that young men be fooles_.”