to call to him for Help. Thus she went on tottering, 'till she tore all her
Garments, so that her Robes appeared like the ragged Colours in
_Westminster-Hall_; at length seeing her Danger, he reached her out a Pole,
and then she shewed a tolerable Skill and Agility; which the People
perceiving, who were towards France, they resolved to let go the Rope that
she might slip down to their Side, and this gave me such Pain for her
Safety, that I waked with a Start of Consternation.

Tho' there was nothing in this but a Dream, it cannot be imagined how
concerned I was, that it did not last till I could be satisfied whether she
fell, or no. I was grave for at least an Hour after, and reflected on the
Policy of those, who forsake a safe and profitable Path, for vain and
dangerous Flights; I fancied my self a Politician too, and imagined I knew
what a Nation of _Projectors_ must bring their Country to. I shall here
make a Digression, without giving any Reason for it; for since I am not
bound to the Unities of Time, and Place, as we are in Poetry, I stand in no
Awe of the peevish Criticks.

Three _French_ Men were travelling into _Spain_, over the Mountains of
_Biscay_: One of them trundled before him a _Wheelbarrow_, with Implements
for grinding _Knives_ and _Scissors_; another carried a Load of
_Mouse-Traps_ and _Bellows_; and the third had a Box of Combs and _Pins_. A
poor _Spaniard_, who was travelling into _France_ on Foot, with his Cloak
on his Shoulder, met them half Way on the Ascent of a craggy Hill. They
sate down to rest in the Shade, and began to confer Notes. They asked the
_Spaniard_, whither he was going? He replied, into _France_. What to do?
says one of the _Frenchmen_: To seek my Fortune, replies the _Spaniard_: He
was asked again, what Trade he was of? He answered, of no Trade at all: of
late, says he, we _Spaniards_ have been bred to no Trades; but those of us
that are poor, and honest, either beg or borrow; those, that are not, rob