Thanks to my friends in _London_, says he, I hear my _Oceana_ is lately reprinted, and furbish’d with a new dedication to those judicious and worthy gentlemen, my lord-mayor and court of aldermen, by Mr. _Toland_. You need not value yourself so much upon that, says _Algernoon Sidney_, for my works were published there long before yours. And so were mine, cries _Milton_, at the expence of some worthy patriots, that were not afraid to publish them under a monarchical government. But what think you of my memoirs, cries _Ludlow_, for if you talk of histories, there’s a history for you, which, for sincerity and truth, never saw its fellow since the creation. Upon this the uproar began afresh, so thinking it high time to withdraw, I jogg’d my friend _Nokes_ by the elbow, and as we went down stairs told him, that _Pluto_ was certainly in the right on’t, to lock up these hot-headed mutineers by themselves, allow them neither pen, ink, fire, nor candle; for should he give them leave to propagate their seditious doctrines, he would only find himself king of _Erebus_, at the courtesy of his loving subjects. Just as we were going out of this famous edifice; I have an odd piece of news to tell you, says Mr. _Nokes_, which is, that altho’ we have men of all countries, more or less here, yet there never was one _Irishman_ in it. How comes that about, I beseech you? said I to him. Why, replies he, madness always supposes a loss of reason; but the duce is in’t if a man can lose that which he never possess’d in his life. Oh your humble servant, answer’d I, ’tis well none of our swaggering Dear Joys in _Covent-Garden_ hear you talk so, for if they did, ten to one but they would cut your throat for this reflection upon the intellects of their country, and send you to the Devil for the honour of St. _Patrick_.