Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

When the Day ſhall arrive, when I commence writing that great Culmination of Natural Philoſophy and intellectual Britiſhneſs which will be my Life's Juſtification, I muſt be ſure to expend a Chapter or more upon that ſtrange Irony of Greatneſs, whereby the moſt powerful and virtuous Nation may be fatally conſumed from within by nothing more than the Preſence of a few refugees, and whereby the moſt deſerving Gentleman may find himſelf unable to ſurvive a ſingle Day in his own Houſe without a great Staff of Butlers, Valets, Footmen, Maids, Cooks, Laundreſses, Beaters, Nurſemaids and ſundry other lowly Creatures, including a ſpecial Team of Catheter-wielders ſhould his Orifices be inflamed or ſwollen to puſtulent Cloſure from the Gout, the French Sickneſs or the Weſtminſter Pox.

It is doubtleſs by the Operation of ſome ſimilar Principle, that our noble Prime Miniſter findeth himſelf unable to conduct his Buſineſs in the Houſe of Commons while deprived of his legitimate Birthright in the Applauſe of his loyal Subordinates. I have communicated my Willingneſs to offer my own moſt fervent Services at the uſual Volume, or even more ſhould it be required of me in theſe days of national Emergency, but Her Majeſty's Government is much occupied for the Moment with reſtoring the Children of the common People to their proper Station of honeſt and improving Labour. Indeed it is a Meaſure of the Severity of this Peſtilence, that many Chimneys have not been ſwept in weeks and my Lord Splyce-Chyldebryde, whom I lately met at Savile Row, complaineth that there is barely a Whore to be had below fourteen Years of Age.