I had some other discourse with him, which now I cannot call to mind: and I fear I have already tired your Lordship. I shall only add one circumstance. That on his deathbed, he declared himself a Nonconformist, and had a Fanatic [the political designation of Dissenters] preacher to be his spiritual guide.
After half an hour's conversation, I took my leave; being almost stifled by the closeness of the room.
I imagined he could not hold out long; and therefore withdrew to a little coffee-house hard by, leaving a servant at the house, with orders to come immediately, and tell me as near as he could the minute when PARTRIGE should expire: which was not above two hours after, when, looking upon my watch, I found it to be above Five minutes after Seven. By which it is clear that Mr. BICKERSTAFF was mistaken almost four hours in his calculation [see p. 173]. In the other circumstances he was exact enough.
But whether he hath not been the cause of this poor man's death as well as the Predictor may be very reasonably disputed. However, it must be confessed the matter is odd enough, whether we should endeavour to account for it by chance or the effect of imagination.
For my own part, although I believe no man has less faith in these matters, yet I shall wait with some impatience, and not without expectation, the fulfilling of Mr. BICKERSTAFF's second prediction, that the Cardinal De NOAILLES is to die upon the 4th of April [1708]; and if that should be verified as exactly as this of poor PARTRIDGE, I must own I shall be wholly surprised, and at a loss, and infallibly expect the accomplishment of all the rest.
[In the original broadside, there are Deaths with darts, winged hour-glasses, crossed marrow-bones, &c.]
[JONATHAN SWIFT.]
An Elegy on Mr. PATRIGE, the Almanack maker, who died on the 29th of this instant March, 1708.
[Original broadside in the British Museum, C. 39. k./74.]
Well, 'tis as BICKERSTAFF has guest;
Though we all took it for a jest;
PATRIGE is dead! nay more, he died
Ere he could prove the good Squire lied!
Strange, an Astrologer should die
Without one wonder in the sky
Not one of all his crony stars
To pay their duty at his hearse!
No meteor, no eclipse appeared,
No comet with a flaming beard!
The sun has rose and gone to bed
Just as if PATRIGE were not dead;
Nor hid himself behind the moon
To make a dreadful night at noon.
He at fit periods walks through Aries,
Howe'er our earthly motion varies;
And twice a year he'll cut th'Equator,
As if there had been no such matter.