ich I have something else to do than think of at
present.

It was an Opinion growing apace in the Town, that Sir _John Edgar_ and I
were one and the same Man: but from what Tract or Circumstance this Notion
sprung, I can neither learn nor guess. I mounted the Stage as the
Adversary, and he accepted my Challenge: upon which I attack'd him with
such Weapons as Men of Learning commonly use against one another, yet he
declin'd the Combat. I was by This in Generosity compell'd to desist from
pursuing him, yet every now and then I took upon me to reprimand him, when
I observ'd him too free in the Use of certain Figures in Rhetorick, which
are the common Dialect of a Part of the Town famous for _good Fish_ and
_Female Orators_. Thus he continued his Course of Writing, sometimes very
obscure, sometimes too plain: according as either Vapours, or Spleen, or
Love, or Resentment, or _French_ Wine predominated; which I, by my Skill in
Natural Philosophy observing, thought it advisable to leave him to himself,
till the Court of Chancery should appoint him a proper Guardian. I cannot
deny, but that we shook Hands behind the Curtain, and have been very good
Friends for these eight Papers last, have been merry without any Gall, he
regarding me as a Gentleman Philosopher, and I looking upon him as an
inoffensive Humorist.

I confess that it contributes much to my Peace of Soul, that we were
reconcil'd before his Departure from this Stage of Business and of Life.
The Reader will hereby understand that Sir _John_ is dead: It is for this
Reason that I appear in his Dress, that I assume his _Habit de Guerre_, for
Sir John chose me, from among all Men living, to be his sole Executor. The
Printer had no _black Letter_ by him, otherwise this Paper (as in Decency
it ought) should have appear'd in Mourning: however I shall use as much
Ceremony as the Time will allow; and, as _Hob_ did in the Farce by the Man
that hang'd himself, _I take up his Cloak, and am chief Mourner_.

We never can do the Memory of a Great Man more Justice, than by being
particular in his Conduct and Behaviour at the Point of Death. Sir _John_,
tho' a Wit, took no Pains to shew it at his latest Hour, that is, he did
not dye like one of those _prophane_ Wits, who bid the Curtains be drawn,
and said _the Farce of Life was ended_. This is making our Warfare too
slight and ludicrous: He departed with more Grace, and, like the memorable
Type of his Prudence, _Don Quixote de la M