lows that he'd as soon die
mad hunting rats as be preached to death on a cold fallow. They laughed
round him at this, but Jack Marget falls on his knees, and very
presumptuously petitions that he may be appointed to die to save the
rest of his people. This was enough to thrust 'em back into their
melancholy.

'"You are an unfaithful shepherd, Jack," I says. "Take a bat" (which we
call a stick in Sussex) "and kill a rat if you die before sunrise.
'Twill save your people."

'"Aye, aye. Take a bat and kill a rat," he says ten times over, like a
child, which moved 'em to ungovernable motions of that hysterical
passion before mentioned, so that they laughed all, and at least warmed
their chill bloods at that very hour--one o'clock or a little
after--when the fires of life burn lowest. Truly there is a time for
everything; and the physician must work with it--ahem!--or miss his
cure. To be brief with you, I persuaded 'em, sick or sound, to have at
the whole generation of rats throughout the village. And there's a
reason for all things too, though the wise physician need not blab 'em
all. _Imprimis_, or firstly, the mere sport of it, which lasted ten
days, drew 'em most markedly out of their melancholy. I'd defy sorrowful
Job himself to lament or scratch while he's routing rats from a rick.
_Secundo_, or secondly, the vehement act and operation of this chase or
war opened their skins to generous transpiration--more vulgarly,
sweated 'em handsomely; and this further drew off their black bile--the
mother of sickness. Thirdly, when we came to burn the bodies of the
rats, I sprinkled sulphur on the faggots, whereby the onlookers were as
handsomely suffumigated. This I could not have compassed if I had made
it a mere physician's business; they'd have thought it some conjuration.
Yet more, we cleansed, limed, and burned out a hundred foul poke-holes,
sinks, slews, and corners of unvisited filth in and about the houses in
the village, and by good fortune (mark here that Mars was in opposition
to Venus) burned the corn-chandler's shop to the ground. Mars loves not
Venus. Will Noakes the saddler dropped his lantern on a truss of straw
while he was rat-hunting there.'

'Had ye given Will any of that gentle cordial of yours, Nick, by any
chance?' said Puck.

'A glass--or two glasses--not more. But as I would say, in fine, when we
had killed the rats, I took ash, slag, and charcoal from the smithy, and
burnt earth from the brickyard