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To the Same. LETTER VI.
IT was high time for me to think of my Conscience, and it was a happie turne for me, that I made yesterdaie some part of my confession; for I had not been yet so sick as I am this day, and my sicknesse encreases so, that, had I delaied it any longer, I think I had died in a verie sad condition. At least, to measure things by the fits I am troubled with, and the di∣stractions that torment me, I see my selfe falling into extrava∣gances and enthusiasmes, and have no great hope to be, though but for one hour longer, absolute Master of my senses and in∣tellectualls. What perswades me the more it will be so, is, that amidst the sufferings & afflictions which I expected should have swallowed me up, I cannot put on much sadnesse, and find my self lesse troubled then ordinarie, though I am in the worst condition I ever was in in my life. I lost, not manie daies since, a deare friend, whom the excesse of his paine made insensible thereof. His dreames made him laugh amidst the pangs of death, and his imaginations found him some ease, whilest he was on the rack of a Feaver. I beseech you envie me not such a disso∣lution as that, and since I have not eight daies to live, give me leave to spend them after that manner. This granted I shall acknowledge you merciful beyond my faith, and my selfe happie beyond my hope. For an attempt so extravagant as mine should not meet with so good successe, and after the commission of so high an effence, I did not expect to die so soon, nor so quietlie. I crave your pardon; I thought not to have written any thing to you but what concerned your friend, and now I first perceive that I have not said a word of her. I humblie beseech you to dispose of both her and me as you please, onelie let me know when you would have me to come and hear the sentence. I should humblie begge it may be given this evening — but I am afraid to be too importunate, and I know not where to finde you in the afternoone.