Thus was I happy, with the wind blowing fair as I could wish, my
pockets full of money, highly in vogue, and in such a prosperous
condition that I aimed at being chief of a company of strollers. My
house was handsomely furnished, for the devil put into my head to buy
the old mouldy tapestry of taverns to hang my rooms at a cheap rate, all
which cost me about five or six crowns; for they afforded a better
prospect than any the king has, for being so ragged you might see
through any part of them, which you cannot do through any of his. The
oddest thing happened to me one day that ever was heard of, which I will
not forbear to make known, though it be to my shame. When I was writing
a play, I used to shut myself up at home in the garret, where I kept
close and dined. The maid used to bring up my dinner, and leave it
there; and it was my way to act all I wrote, and talk aloud, as if I had
been upon the stage. As the devil would have it, when the maid was
coming up the stairs, which were dark and steep, with the dish of meat
and plates in her hand, I was composing a scene of hunting a bear, and,
being wholly intent upon my play, cried out as loud as I could:
"_Fly, fly, the bloody bear; take heed, I say,_
_Alas, I'm killed, and you'll become its prey._"
The poor wench, who was a silly Galician, hearing me roar that I was
killed, and she in danger to become a prey to the bear, thought it had
been real matter of fact, and that I called to her to save herself. Upon
this conceit she took to her heels, and treading on her coats in the
confusion, tumbled down all the stairs. The soup was spilt, the plates
were broken, and she run out roaring into the street, "that a bear was
killing a man." I could not be so nimble but that all the neighbours
were about me, asking where the bear was? and I could scarce make them
believe me, though I told them it was the maid's foolish mistake, for I
was only acting a part of a play. I lost my dinner that day; my
companions were told of it, and all the town made sport with it. Many
such accidents befel me whilst I followed the trade of poetising, and
would not forsake that wicked course of life.
[Illustration]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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