three months after this, but presently one comes up to me in the street; Mr. Partridge, that coffin you was last buried in, I have not been yet paid for: doctor, cries another dog, how do you think people can live by making of graves for nothing? next time you die, you may even toll out the bell yourself for Ned. A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders, how I have the conscience to sneak abroad without paying my funeral expenses. Lord, says one, I durst have swore that was honest Dr. Partridge, my old friend; but, poor man, he is gone. I beg your pardon, says another, you look so like my old acquaintance, that I used to consult on some private occasions: but, alack, he is gone the way of all flesh Look, look, look, cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me, would not one think our neighbour the almanackmaker was crept out of his grave, to take the other peep at the stars in this world, and show how much he is improved in fortunetelling, by having taken a journey to the other?
Nay, the very reader of our parish, a good, sober, discreet person, has sent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or send him sufficient reasons to the contrary; or, if I have been interred in any other parish, to produce my certificate, as the act[1] requires. My poor wife is run almost distracted with being called widow Partridge, when she knows it is false; and once a term she is cited into the court to take out letters of administration.
- ↑ The statute of 30 Car. II for burying in woollen requires, that oath shall be made of the compliance with this act, and a certificate thereof lodged with the minister of the parish within eight days after interment.
But
