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Royal Tunbridge Wells
Madman, surnamed Drapier, who strikes us all with pannick Fear, and affords us Diversion at the same time. He has raised a Regiment and enlists his soldiers in a manner not a little extraordinary. He fixes on any gentleman whom his wild Imagination represents as fit for martial Exploits, and, holding a Pistoll to the pore Captive's Breast, obliges him to open a Vein and write his name in Blood upon the Regimental Flag. Some have leap't out of Window to escape the Ceremony of bleeding, but many others have tamely submitted, and they march every morning in Military Order at his Heels. He has in his Suite an Irish Viscount, an English Baronet, three Jews, five Merchants, and a Supercargo. These are the Cheife, but the whole Regiment consists of Twenty-Seven. All agree he should go to Bedlam, but none dare send Him there. The unbelieving Jews tremble at the Sight of Him, and the sober Citizens of London turn pale when he enters the Room. To his natural heat he adds the strength of Liquor, and is a most terrible Hector. I wish he was chained up, for the Women are all frightened out of their Wits about Him; thank Heaven I have not the Honour of his Acquaintance. There 170 |
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