And what shall we say of the late accounts from _Portugal_? That some thousand houses, and many thousand persons are no more! That a fair city is now in ruinous heaps. Is there indeed a God that judges the world? And is he now making inquisition for blood? If so, it is not surprizing, he should begin there, where so much blood has been poured on the ground like water? Where so many brave men have been murdered, in the most base and cowardly, as well as barbarous manner, almost every day, as well as every night, while none regarded or laid it to the heart. “Let them hunt and destroy the precious life, so we may secure our stores¹ of gold and precious stones.” How long has their blood been crying from the earth? Yea, how long has that bloody _house of mercy_², the scandal not only of all religion, but even of human nature, stood to insult both heaven and earth? _And shall I not visit for these things, saith the Lord? Shall not my soul be avenged of such a city as this?_ ¹ Merchants who have lived in _Portugal_ inform us, that the king had a large building filled with diamonds: and more gold stored up, coined and uncoined, than all the other princes of _Europe_ together. ² The title which the _Inquisition_ of Portugal (if not in other countries also) takes to itself. It has been the opinion of many, that even this nation has not been without some marks of God’s displeasure. Has not war been let loose even within our own land, so that _London_ itself felt the alarm? Has not a pestilential sickness broken in upon our cattle, and in many parts, left not one of them alive? And although the earth does not yet open in _England_ or _Ireland_, has it not shook, and reeled to and fro like a drunken man? And that not in one or two places only, but almost from one end of the kingdom to the other? Perhaps one might ask, Was there nothing uncommon, nothing more than is usual at this season of the year, in the rains, the hail, the winds, the thunder and lightning, which we have lately heard and seen? Particularly, in the storm which was the same day and hour, that they were playing off _Macbeth_’s thunder and lightning at the theatre. One would almost think they designed this (inasmuch as the entertainment continued, notwithstanding all the artillery of heaven) as a formal answer to that question, “Canst thou thunder with an arm like him?” What shall we say to the affair of _♦Whitson Cliffs_? Of which were it not for the unparalleled stupidity of the _English_, all _England_ would have rang long ago, from one sea to another. And yet seven miles from the place, they knew little more of it in _May_ last, than if it had happened in _China_ or _Japan_. ♦ “Whiston” replaced with “Whitson” per Errata