the poets; but thou must be tasteless of their beauties now: yet be not
discountenanced by this uncouth and unreflecting Mowbray, for, as Juvenal
says, Tears are the prerogative of manhood.

'Tis at least seasonably said, my dear Belford. It is kind to keep me in
countenance for this womanish weakness, as Mowbray has been upbraidingly
calling it, ever since he has been with me: and in so doing, (whatever I
might have thought in such high health as he enjoys,) has convinced me,
that bottle-friends feel nothing but what moves in that little circle.

Well, well, proceed in your own way, Jack. I love my friend Belton as
well as you can do; yet for the blood of me, I cannot but think, that
soothing a man's weakness is increasing it.

If it be a weakness, to be touched at great and concerning events, in
which our humanity is concerned, said I, thou mayest be right.

I have seen many a man, said the rough creature, going up Holborn-hill,
that has behaved more like a man than either of you.

Ay, but, Mowbray, replied the poor man, those wretches have not had their
minds enervated by such infirmities of body as I have long laboured
under. Thou art a shocking fellow, and ever wert.--But to be able to
remember nothing in these moments but what reproaches me, and to know
that I cannot hold it long, and what may then be my lot, if--but
interrupting himself, and turning to me, Give me thy pity, Jack; 'tis
balm to my wounded soul; and let Mowbray sit indifferent enough to the
pangs of a dying friend, to laugh at us both.

The hardened fellow then retired, with the air of a Lovelace; only more