to distinguish. Such a man is
worse than a lunatic; prompted by his vicious, corrupted head, he no
more knows what he is doing than this wretch of mine knew when I picked
his pocket of his watch and his purse of gold.

These are the men of whom Solomon says, 'They go like an ox to the
slaughter, till a dart strikes through their liver'; an admirable
description, by the way, of the foul disease, which is a poisonous
deadly contagion mingling with the blood, whose centre or foundation is
in the liver; from whence, by the swift circulation of the whole mass,
that dreadful nauseous plague strikes immediately through his liver,
and his spirits are infected, his vitals stabbed through as with a dart.

It is true this poor unguarded wretch was in no danger from me, though
I was greatly apprehensive at first of what danger I might be in from
him; but he was really to be pitied in one respect, that he seemed to
be a good sort of man in himself; a gentleman that had no harm in his
design; a man of sense, and of a fine behaviour, a comely handsome
person, a sober solid countenance, a charming beautiful face, and
everything that could be agreeable; only had unhappily had some drink
the night before, had not been in bed, as he told me when we were
together; was hot, and his blood fired with wine, and in that condition
his reason, as it were asleep, had given him up.

As for me, my business was his money, and what I could make of him; and
after that, if I could have found out any way to have done it, I would
have sent him safe home to his house and to his family, for 'twas ten
to one but he had an honest, virtuous wife and innocent children, that
were anxious for his safety, and would have been glad to have gotten
him home, and have taken care of him till he was restored to himself.
And then with what shame and regret would he look back upon himself!
how would he reproach himself with associating himself with a whore!
picked up in the worst of all holes, the cloister, among the dirt and
filth of all the town! how would he be trembling for fear he had got
the pox, for fear a dart had struck through his liver, and hate himself
every time he looked back upon the madness and brutality of his
debauch! how would he, if he had any principles of honour, as I verily
believe he had--I say, how would he abhor the thought of giving any ill
distemper, if he had it, as for aught he knew he might, to his modest
and virtuous wife, and thereby sow