My most precious Treasure is this deare Billet, writ with a Coal; the last Thing he sett his Hand to, wherein he sayth, "I never liked your Manner towards me better than when you kissed me last." _19th._ They have let us bury his poor mangled Trunk; but, as sure as there's a Sun in Heaven, I'll have his Head!--before another Sun hath risen, too. If wise Men won't speed me, I'll e'en content me with a Fool. I doe think Men, for the most Part, be Cowards in theire Hearts ... moral Cowards. Here and there, we find one like _Father_, and like _Socrates_, and like ... this and that one, I mind not theire Names just now; but in the Main, methinketh they lack the moral Courage of Women. Maybe, I'm unjust to 'em just now, being crost. _July 20th._ I lay down, but my Heart was waking. Soon after the first Cock crew, I hearde a Pebble cast agaynst my Lattice, knew the Signall, rose, dressed, stole softlie down and let myself out. I knew the Touch of the poor Fool's Fingers; his Teeth were chattering, 'twixt Cold and Fear, yet he laught aneath his Breath as he caught my Arm and dragged me after him, whispering, "Fool and fayr Lady will cheat 'em yet." At the Stairs lay a Wherry with a Couple of Boatmen, and one of 'em stepping up to me, cries, "Alas for ruth, Mistress _Meg_, what is't ye do? Art mad to go on this Errand?" I sayd, "I shall be mad if I goe not, and succeed too--put me in, and push off." [Illustration: Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge-gate] We went down the River quietlie enow--at length reach _London Bridge_ Stairs. _Patteson_, starting up, says, "Bide ye all as ye are," and springs aland and runneth up to the Bridge. Anon, returns, and sayth, "Now, Mistress, alle's readie ... readier than ye wist ... come up quickly, for the Coast's clear." _Hobson_ (for 'twas he) helps me forth, saying, "GOD speed ye, Mistress.... An' I dared, I woulde goe with ye." ... Thought I, there be others in that Case. Nor lookt I up till aneath the Bridge-gate, when casting upward a fearsome Look, I beheld the dark Outline of the ghastly yet precious Relic; and, falling into a Tremour, did wring my Hands and exclaym, "Alas, alas, that Head hath lain full manie a Time in my Lap, woulde GOD, woulde GOD it lay there now!" When, o' suddain, I saw the Pole tremble and sway towards me; and stretching forth my Apron, I did in an Extasy of Gladness, Pity, and Horror, catch its Burthen as it fell. _Patteson_, shuddering, yet grinning, cries under his Breath, "Managed I not well, Mistress? Let's speed away with our Theft, for Fools and their Treasures are soon parted; but I think not they'll follow hard after us, neither, for there are Well-wishers to us on the Bridge. I'll put ye into the Boat and then say, GOD speed ye, Lady, with your Burthen." _July 23rd._