Nashes Journeye to the Fronte Door - Doubts in the Night - Nashe openeth the Front Door

Another most inauspicious event has transpired, which my minute yet elite readership will find transcribed herebelow, together with some most realisticall musinges of youre Nashe vpon the meaninges and Providences at worke in the backgammon of CONJECTURE.

Lookyng up from my evenings entertainments I noted, oozing from below the doorway to my study, a distinckt and improper orange light. I directly swivelled my plastick chair diametrickally away from my deske, and threw myselfe screaminge into the door, furious that I shoulde have been so disturbed by an errour in Nature.

My house is not on fire! I bellowed enragedly.

After bracing myself againste the opposite wall like to a star-fishe at the opening of a plunging crevasse, I recovered composure sufficient to advance on the door, which had not yet caught fire. Opening it a crakke I noted that nor hadde the hallway. Nothing burn'd, yet light was all about me, oranging me. What coulde I do? Orange glinted on my smoothe for'hede as I advanc'd on the front door. In a wanne side-roome, my clocke read 'three'. It was the very witchyng houre of nighte, and your humble narr. was whipp'd by his own fancy into a kinde of ecstatic phrenzy. What daemonry was this, that rous'd me from perusal of my favourites? Why did light thus derangedly pour from the furrow'd glasse of the door? The spyhole did wink at me. I rais'd a trembling hande and turned it in the lighte. Behind me, in the study, my candle burn'd horrid and dim in the faintess.

I conjectured the entire world must be ablaze. Yet heroically Nashe, trapp'd between a vision of gehenna and a false bedtime amongst unspeakable night-terrors - for returyng to my bookes was impossible by now - chose th'apocalips. My hande reached for the knobbe of the front door, as I clos'd my lungs and eyes to the awful consequence. My toes scrap'd the toppes of my schoes. I flunge the door open.

With an almightye crash, thirty-two pounds of o'er-ripe eggs, biscuit, and prostitutes felle on my hede.

I thinke Doctor Harvey is behinde this. When I have revenged this catastrophic slight I shalle publishe cross-sections of his manhood in a Limited Edition.