meanwhile fled, and was hardly prevailed
with to return, upon repeated assurances that she was in no danger,
promising himself that if she escaped with life then, he would never
suffer himself to be so far transported with passion as to do her an
injury again.

The fatal occasion of that quarrel which produced the immediate death of
the woman, warm with liquor, and in the midst of passion, and which soon
after brought on a shameful and ignominious end to the man himself,
happened by Mrs. Brinsden's drinking cheerfully with some company at
home, and after their going away, demanding of her husband what she
should have for supper? He answered, bread and cheese; to which the
deceased replied that she thought bread and cheese once a day was
enough, and as she had eaten it for dinner, she would not eat it for
supper. Brinsden said, she should have no better than the rest of his
family, who were like to be contented with the same, except his eldest
daughter for whom he had provided a pie, and towards whom on all
occasions he showed a peculiar affection, occasioned as he said, from
the care she took of his other children and of his affairs, though
malicious and ill-natured people gave out that it sprang from a much
worse and, indeed, the basest of reasons.

On the discourse I have mentioned between him and his wife, Mrs.
Brinsden in a violent passion declared she would go to the general shop
and sup with her friends, who were gone from her but a little before.
He, therefore, having got between her and the door, having the knife in
his hand with which he cut the bread and cheese, and she still
persisting with great violence in endeavouring to go out, he threw her
down with one hand and stabbed her with the other. This is the account
of this bloody action as it was sworn against him at his trial by his
own daughter, though he persisted in it that what she called throwing
down was only gently laying her on the bed after she received the blow,
which as he averred happened only by chance, and her own pressing
against him as the knife was in his hand. However that was, he sent for
basilicon and sugar to dress the wound, in hopes she might at least
recover so far as to declare there was no malice between them, but those
endeavours were in vain, for she never spoke after.

In the meanwhile, Brinsden took occasion during the bustle that this sad
accident occasioned, and fled to one Mr. Kegg's at Shadwell Dock, where,
though for some