to me to let the ladies see my dress; and they joined
their eager desires of it, even to importunity.

I desired to be excused, though I had little to say at first why I
declined it; but at last it came into my head to say it was packed up
with my other clothes that I had least occasion for, in order to be sent
on board the captain's ship; but that if we lived to come to Holland
together (which, by the way, I resolved should never happen), then, I
told them, at unpacking my clothes, they should see me dressed in it;
but they must not expect I should dance in it, like the Lady Roxana in
all her fine things.

This carried it off pretty well; and getting over this, got over most of
the rest, and I began to be easy again; and, in a word, that I may
dismiss the story too, as soon as may be, I got rid at last of my
visitors, who I had wished gone two hours sooner than they intended it.

As soon as they were gone, I ran up to Amy, and gave vent to my passions
by telling her the whole story, and letting her see what mischiefs one
false step of hers had like, unluckily, to have involved us all in;
more, perhaps, than we could ever have lived to get through. Amy was
sensible of it enough, and was just giving her wrath a vent another way,
viz., by calling the poor girl all the damned jades and fools (and
sometimes worse names) that she could think of, in the middle of which
up comes my honest, good Quaker, and put an end to our discourse. The
Quaker came in smiling (for she was always soberly cheerful). "Well,"
says she, "thou art delivered at last; I come to joy thee of it; I
perceived thou wert tired grievously of thy visitors."

"Indeed," says I, "so I was; that foolish young girl held us all in a
Canterbury story; I thought she would never have done with it." "Why,
truly, I thought she was very careful to let thee know she was but a
cook-maid." "Ay," says I, "and at a gaming-house, or gaming-ordinary,
and at t'other end of the town too; all which (by the way) she might
know would add very little to her good name among us citizens."

"I can't think," says the Quaker, "but she had some other drift in that
long discourse; there's something else in her head," says she, "I am
satisfied of that." Thought I, "Are you satisfied of it? I am sure I am
the less satisfied for that; at least 'tis but small satisfaction to me
to hear you say so. What can this be?" says I; "and when will my
uneasiness have an end?" But this was silent,