there were those that bragged they had an infallible ointment and
plaister, which being applied to the sore, would cure it in a few
days; at the same time they would give her a pill that would purge
off all her bad humours, sweeten her blood, and rectify her
disturbed imagination. In spite of all applications the patient
grew worse every day; she stunk so, nobody durst come within a
stone's throw of her, except those quacks who attended her close,
and apprehended no danger. If one asked them how Mrs. Bull did?
Better and better, said they; the parts heal, and her constitution
mends: if she submits to our government she will be abroad in a
little time. Nay, it is reported that they wrote to her friends in
the country that she should dance a jig next October in Westminster
Hall, and that her illness had been chiefly owing to bad physicians.
At last, one of them was sent for in great haste, his patient grew
worse and worse: when he came, he affirmed that it was a gross
mistake, and that she was never in a fairer way. Bring hither the
salve, says he, and give her a plentiful draught of my cordial. As
he was applying his ointments, and administering the cordial, the
patient gave up the ghost, to the great confusion of the quack, and
the great joy of Bull and his friends. The quack flung away out of
the house in great disorder, and swore there was foul play, for he
was sure his medicines were infallible. Mrs. Bull having died
without any signs of repentance or devotion, the clergy would hardly
allow her a Christian burial. The relations had once resolved to
sue John for the murder, but considering better of it, and that such
a trial would rip up old sores, and discover things not so much to
the reputation of the deceased, they dropped their design. She left
no will, only there was found in her strong box the following words
written on a scrip of paper--"My curse on John Bull, and all my
posterity, if ever they come to any composition with the Lord