Here his breath failed him, and he expired. There are some false spellings here and there; but they must be pardoned in a dying man.
A
LETTER
GIVING AN ACCOUNT OF
A PESTILENT NEIGHBOUR.
Sir,
You must give me leave to complain of a pestilent fellow in my neighbourhood, who is always beating mortar; yet I cannot find he ever builds. In talking, he useth such hard words, that I want a Drugger-man to interpret them. But all is not gold that glisters. A pot he carries to most houses where he visits. He makes his prentice his gally slave. I wish our lane were purged of him. Yet he pretends to be a cordial man. Every spring his shop is crowded with country-folks, who, by their leaves, in my opinion, help him to do a great deal of mischief. He is full of scruples; and so very litigious, that he files bills against all his acquaintance: and, though he be much troubled with the simples, yet I assure you he is a Jesuitical dog; as you may know by his bark. Of all poetry he loves the dram-a-tick. I am, &c.
A
PUNNING EPISTLE ON MONEY.
Worthy Mr. Pennyfeather,