_Tho._ _No, no_, He gave no light, but I smelt his fire and brimstone; he left a smell of it behind him, when he was gone. _Gent._ Well, so you say he had fire, but gave no light, it was a devilish fire indeed; did it feel warm? was the room hot while he was in it? _Tho._ No, no, but I was hot enough without it, for it put me into a great sweat with the fright. _Gent._ Very well, he was all in fire, you say, but without light or heat, only, it seems, he stunk of brimstone; pray what shapes was he in, what was he like; for you say you saw him? _Tho._ O! Sir, I saw two great staring saucer eyes, enough to fright any body out of their wits. _Gent._ And was that all you saw? _Tho._ No, I saw his _cloven-foot_ very plain, 'twas as big as one of our bullocks that goes to plow. _Gent._ So you saw none of his body, but his eyes and his feet? a fine vision indeed! _Tho._ Sir, that was enough to send me going. _Gent._ Going! what did you run away from him? _Tho._ No, but I fled into bed at one jump, and sunk down and pull'd the bed-clothes quite over me. _Gent._ And what did you do that for? _Tho._ To hide my self from such a frightful creature. _Gent._ Why, if it had really been the Devil, do you think the bed-clothes would have secur'd you from him? _Tho._ Nay, I don't know, but in a fright it was all I could do. _Gent._ Nay, 'twas as wise as all the rest; but come, _Thomas_, to be a little serious, pray did he speak to you? _Tho._ Yes, yes, I heard a voice, but who it was the Lord knows. _Gent._ What kind of voice was it, was it like a man's voice? _Tho._ No, it was a hoarse ugly noise, like the croaking of a Frog, and it call'd me by my name twice, _Thomas Dawson, Thomas Dawson_. _Gent._ Well, did you answer? _Tho._ No, not I, I could not have spoke a word for my life; why, I was frighted to death. _Gent._ Did it say any thing else? _Tho._ _Yes_, when it saw that I did not speak, it said, _Thomas Dawson, Thomas Dawson, you are a wicked wretch, you lay with_ Jenny S---- _last night; if you don't repent, I will take you away alive and carry you to Hell, and you shall be damned, you wretch_. _Gent._ And was it true, _Thomas_, did you lye with _Jenny S----_ the night before? _Tho._ Indeed Master, why yes it was true, but I was very sorry afterwards. _Gent._ But how should the Devil know it, _Thomas_? _Tho._ Nay, he knows it to be sure; why, they say he knows every thing. _Gent._ _Well_, but why should he be angry at that? he would rather did you lye with her again, and encourage you to lye with forty whores, than hinder you: This can't be the Devil, _Thomas_. _Tho._ Yes, yes. Sir, 'twas the _Devil_ to be sure. _Gent._ But he bid you repent too, you say? _Tho._ Yes, he threatn'd me if I did not. _Gent._ Why, _Thomas_, do you think the Devil would have you repent? _Tho._ _Why no_, that's true too, I don't know what to say to that; but what could it be? 'twas the Devil to be sure, it could be nobody else?