before?
Tho. No, no, I had never seen him before, to be sure; but, for all that, I know ’twas the Devil.
Gent. Well, if you’re sure, Thomas, there’s no contradicting you; pray what clothes had he on?
Tho. Nay, Sir, don’t jest with me, he had no clothes on, he was clothed with fire and brimstone.
Gent. Was it dark or day light when you saw him?
Tho. O! it was very dark, for it was midnight.
Gent. How could you see him then? did you see by the light of the fire you speak of?
Tho. No, no, he gave no light himself; but I saw him, for all that.
Gent. But was it within doors, or out in the street?
Tho. It was within, it was in my own Chamber, when I was just going into bed, that I saw him.
Gent. Well then, you had a candle, hadn’t you?
Tho. Yes, I had a candle, but it burnt as blue! and as dim!
Gent. Well, but if the Devil was clothed with fire and brimstone, he must give you some light, there can’t be such a fire as you speak of, but it must give a light with it.
Tho. No, no, He gave no light, but I smelt his fire and brimstone; he left a smell of it behind him, when he was gone.
Gent. Well, so you say he had fire, but gave no light, it was a devilish fire indeed; did it feel warm? was the room hot while he was in it?
Tho. No, no, but I was hot enough without it, for it put me into a great sweat with the fright.
Gent. Very well, he was all in fire, you say, but without light or heat, only, it seems, he stunk of brimstone; pray what shapes was he in, what was he like; for you say you saw him?
Tho. O! Sir, I saw two great staring saucer eyes, enough to fright any body out of their wits.
Gent. And was that all you saw?
Tho. No, I saw his cloven-foot very plain, ’twas as big as one of our bullocks that goes to plow.
Gent. So you saw none of his body, but his eyes and his feet? a fine vision indeed!
Tho. Sir, that was enough to send me going.
Gent. Going! what did you run away from him?
Tho. No, but I fled into bed at one jump, and sunk down and pull’d the bed-clothes quite over me.
Gent. And what did you do that for?
Tho. To hide my self from such a frightful creature.
Gent. Why, if it had really been the Devil, do you think the bed-clothes would have secur’d you from him?
Tho. Nay, I don’t know, but in a fright it was all I could do.
Gent. Nay, ’twas as wise as all the rest; but come, Thomas, to be a little serious, pray did he speak to you?
Tho. Yes, yes, I heard a voice, but who it was the Lord knows.
Gent. What kind of voice was it, was it like a man’s voice?
Tho. No, it was a hoarse ugly noise, like the croaking of a Frog, and it call’d me by my name twice, Thomas Dawson, Thomas Dawson.
Gent. Well, did you answer?
Tho. No, not I, I could not have spoke a word for my life; why, I was frighted to death.
Gent. Did it say any thing else?
Tho. Yes, when it saw that I did not speak, it said, Thomas Dawson, Thomas Dawson, you are a wicked wretch, you lay with Jenny S—— last night; if you don’t repent, I will take you away alive and carry you to Hell, and you shall be damned, you wretch.
Gent. And was it true, Thomas, did you lye with Jenny S—— the night before?
Tho. Indeed Master, why yes it was true, but I was very sorry afterwards.
Gent. But how should the Devil know it, Thomas?
Tho. Nay, he knows it to be sure; why, they say he knows every thing.
Gent. Well, but why should he be angry at that? he would rather did you lye with her again, and encourage you to lye with forty whores, than hinder you: This can’t be the Devil, Thomas.
Tho. Yes, yes. Sir, ’twas the Devil to be sure.
Gent. But he bid you repent too, you say?
Tho. Yes, he threatn’d me if I did not.
Gent. Why, Thomas, do you think the Devil would have you repent?
Tho. Why no, that’s true too, I don’t know what to say to that; but what could it be? ’twas the Devil to be sure, it could be nobody else?
Gent. No, no, ’twas neither the Devil, Thomas, nor any body else, but your own frighted imagination; you had lain with that wench, and being a young sinner of that kind, your Conscience terrified you, told you the Devil would fetch you away, and you would be damn’d; and you were so persuaded it would be so, that you at last imagin’d he was come for you indeed; that you saw him and heard him; whereas, you may depend upon it, if Jenny S—— will let you lye with her every night, the Devil will hold the candle, or do any thing to forward it, but will never disturb you; he’s too much a friend to your wickedness, it could never be the Devil, Thomas; ’twas only your own guilt frighted you, and that was Devil enough too, if you knew the worst of it, you need no other enemy.
Tho. Why that’s true, Master, one would think the Devil should not bid me repent, that’s true; but certainly ’twas the Devil for all that.
Now Thomas was not the only man that having committed a flagitious crime had been deluded by his own imagination, and the power of fancy, to think the Devil was come for him; whereas the Devil, to give him his due, is too honest to pretend to such things; ’tis his business to persuade men to offend, not to repent; and he professes no other; he may press men to this or that action, by telling them ’tis no sin, no offence, no breach of God’s Law, and the like, when really ’tis both; but to press them to repent, when they have offended, that’s quite out of his way; ’tis none of his business, nor does he pretend to it; therefore, let no man charge the Devil with what he is not concern’d in.
But to return to his Person, he is, as I have said, notwithstanding his lost glory, a mighty, a terrible and an immortal Spirit; he is himself call’d a Prince, the Prince of the Power of the Air; the Prince of Darkness, the Prince of Devils, and the like, and his attending Spirits are call’d
