will
certainly make them think not of sparing what they have only, but of
looking up to heaven for support, and of the wise man's prayer, 'Give
me not poverty, lest I steal.'

Let them remember that a time of distress is a time of dreadful
temptation, and all the strength to resist is taken away; poverty
presses, the soul is made desperate by distress, and what can be done?
It was one evening, when being brought, as I may say, to the last gasp,
I think I may truly say I was distracted and raving, when prompted by I
know not what spirit, and, as it were, doing I did not know what or
why, I dressed me (for I had still pretty good clothes) and went out.
I am very sure I had no manner of design in my head when I went out; I
neither knew nor considered where to go, or on what business; but as
the devil carried me out and laid his bait for me, so he brought me, to
be sure, to the place, for I knew not whither I was going or what I did.

Wandering thus about, I knew not whither, I passed by an apothecary's
shop in Leadenhall Street, when I saw lie on a stool just before the
counter a little bundle wrapped in a white cloth; beyond it stood a
maid-servant with her back to it, looking towards the top of the shop,
where the apothecary's apprentice, as I suppose, was standing upon the
counter, with his back also to the door, and a candle in his hand,
looking and reaching up to the upper shelf for something he wanted, so
that both were engaged mighty earnestly, and nobody else in the shop.

This was the bait; and the devil, who I said laid the snare, as readily
prompted me as if he had spoke, for I remember, and shall never forget
it, 'twas like a voice spoken to me over my shoulder, 'Take the bundle;
be quick; do it this moment.' It was no sooner said but I stepped into
the shop, and with my back to the wench, as if I had stood up for a
cart that was going by, I put my hand behind me and took the bundle,
and went off with it, the maid or the fellow not perceiving me, or any
one else.

It is impossible to express the horror of my soul all the while I did
it. When I went away I had no heart to run, or scarce to mend my pace.
I crossed the street indeed, and went down the first turning I came to,
and I think it was a street that went through into Fenchurch Street.
From thence I crossed and turned through so many ways and turnings,
that I could never tell which way it was, not where I went; for I felt
not the ground I stepped on