the sky; but scarcely was I past the small gate in the city wall
when a brisk shower of hail and sleet drove me to shelter in the Pig
Market ( or _Proscholium_) before the Divinity School. 'Tis an
ample vaulted passage, as I dare say you know; and here I found a
great company of people already driven by the same cause.

To describe them fully 'twould be necessary to paint the whole state
of our city in those distracted times, which I have neither wit nor
time for. But here, to-day, along with many doctors and scholars,
were walking courtiers, troopers, mountebanks, cut-purses,
astrologers, rogues and gamesters; together with many of the first
ladies and gentlemen of England, as the Prince Maurice, the lords
Andover, Digby and Colepepper, my lady Thynne, Mistress Fanshawe, Mr.
Secretary Nicholas, the famous Dr. Harvey, arm-in-arm with my lord
Falkland (whose boots were splash'd with mud, he having ridden over
from his house at Great Tew), and many such, all mix'd in this
incredible tag-rag. Mistress Fanshawe, as I remember, was playing on
a lute, which she carried always slung about her shoulders: and
close beside her, a fellow impudently puffing his specific against
the _morbus campestris_, which already had begun to invade us.

"_Who'll buy?_" he was bawling. "'_Tis from the receipt of a famous
Italian, and never yet failed man, woman, nor child, unless the heart
were clean drown'd in the disease: the lest part of it good muscadine,
and has virtue against the plague, smallpox, or surfeits!_"

I was standing before this jackanapes, when I heard a stir in the
crowd behind me, and another calling, "_Who'll buy? Who'll buy?_"

Turning, I saw a young man, very gaily dressed, moving quickly about