When Charles the First was King by J.S. Fletcher

By the time we reached the inn where I had stayed when I passed through Peterborough on my journey to London, the stranger's illness was much increased, so that it was all I could do to keep him upright upon his horse. The host of the inn was at first opposed to admitting him; for the man, he said, looked like death, and he wanted no death in his house. Upon my promising to pay him well for whatever trouble he and his were put to, he altered his tone, and we presently carried the sick man to a chamber which they had hastily made ready for him, and there he was laid in bed while the ostler went to seek the apothecary.

Having thus seen my charge comfortably disposed of, I made my way to the inn parlour and gave orders for my supper, for which I had gotten a keen appetite. While they made it ready I fell amusing by the hearth, my mind being full of the strange events of the last few days. Never had I passed through such exciting incidents as those which occurred on the day of the King's execution. To see his Majesty suffer was terrible enough, but I think the death of Dennis Watson had moved me even more than the scene before Whitehall. For bitterly as he had wronged me, and bound as I was to punish him, I could not help reflecting upon the change which had come over him since the time he left his father's house. In the old days he had been a fine-looking man, whom the maidens were wont to admire for his handsome countenance, and at that time I do not think he would have run away from me or from any other man. But when I saw him dead at my feet I noticed that his good looks were gone, and his face was worn and discoloured by hard living and drinking, and his hair was thickly shot with gray; and I reflected that he had not had spirit to meet me fairly, but must needs fly from me like a thief, whereby he met his ignominious death. Yet his old craft and malice had been strong in him till the end, for he had striven to shoot me as I followed him down the dark alley. However, he was now dead, and had come to his end in a shameful manner, and so he would never more trouble me or mine.