A
COLLECTION
of Letters written to severall
Persons of Honour.
To the worthiest Lady Mrs. Bridget White.
Madame,
I could make some guesse whe-
ther souls that go to heaven,
retain any memory of us
that stay behinde, if I knew
whether you ever thought of
us, since you enjoyed your heaven, which
is your self, at home. Your going away hath
made London a dead carkasse. A Tearm, and
a Court do a little spice and embalme it,
and keep it from putrefaction, but the soul
went away in you: and I think the onely
reason why the plague is somewhat slack-
ned, is, because the place is dead already,
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