Another contradicting him, preferred a bowl of Pease-pottage before the cheifest meat whatever, that he could never look into the pot and see them boyl round, but that his heart leapt within him, and kept time with their motion. My master (that was their Senior) scorned to be controlled in his fancy; and therefore positively determined to have some _Poor John_, swearing that the _Great Mogul_ did eat nothing else thrice a week, and that _Atabalipa_ (that Indian King whom _Cortez_ conquered) caused a sacrifice every day to be made of them to his Idol, commanding them to be laid on an _Altar_ made of some coals of fire, then the fat of some beast rubbed thereon, (because they had no Butter) and so presented to the _Idol_, afterwards to the King, which he did eat with inexpressible satisfaction. Order was given that this delicate fare should be provided. Though they did _beat_ it most _unmercifully_, yet it would not _yield_, resolving rather to be _broken_ in _peices_, then to become unlike its _Masters_ heart, or shew any thing of a _tender nature_. There was one allotted me for my proportion, which I used as they had done, laying it on the coals a little while, and so committing it to my teeths disposal, I never found till now that my teeth could be thus shamefully baffled. They made several assaults upon it to little purpose. My teeth at length fearing a total conquest, desperately and inragedly seiz’d on the thinnest and weakest part, and holding it as fast as a Vice, at last in the conflict overpowered one small fleak, but not being able to stay the swift backward motion of my head, the hinder part thereof (the seat of Memory) flew so violently against the wall, that I not only instantly forgot what I was doing, where I was, but the pain then I sustained by the knock. Strong-water they poured down my Throat to revive me, but there was nothing did sooner fetch me than a small fleak of the _Poor John_, which sticking in my Throat had well nigh choaked me, which caused a strugling, and summoned the spirits together to oppose what might be destructive to Nature. Now did I really imagine my self at Sea, where, for want of provision, I was forced to feed on _Cordage_, or the _Ship sides_. Had this poor creature been ground _small_, I might have made as hard a shift to have swallowed it, as those Sea-men did the _Saw-dust_ of deal boards coming from _Norway_, and destitute of other food. That night I slept but little, neither could I, had I swallowed _Opium_ for that purpose, for the innumerable quantity of _Buggs_ (as some call them) that had _invaded_ my body; being weary (as I suppose) of inhabiting any longer the _dry mansion_ of that old rotten Bedsted on which I lay. In the morning I found the _ruines_ of a Looking-glass in the window, which I took up to discover what _knots_ or nodes those were I felt orespreading my face. The sight whereof struck into me a Pannick fear, verily believing I had been infected with a spotted Feaver.