God's terrible voice in the city

In August how dreadful is the increase? from 2010 the number amounts up to 2817 in one week; and thence to 3880 the next; thence to 4237 the next; thence to 6102 the next; and all these of the Plague, besides other diseases.

Now the cloud is very black, and the storm comes down upon us very sharp. Now death rides triumphantly on his pale horse through our streets, and breaks into every house almost where any inhabitants are to be found. Now people fall as thick as leaves from the trees in Autumn, when they are shaken by a mighty wind. Now there is a dismal solitude in London-streets, every day looks with the face of a Sabbath day, observed with greater solemnity than it used to be in the City. Now shops are shut in, people rare and very few that walk about, in so much that the grass begins to spring up in some places, and a deep silence almost in every place, especially within the walls; no rattling Coaches, no prancing Horses, no calling in Customers, nor offering Wares; no London cries sounding in the ears; if any voice be heard, it is the groans of dying persons, breathing forth their last, and the funeral knells of them that are ready to be carried to their graves. Now shutting up of visited houses (there being so many) is at an end, and most of the well are mingled among the sick which otherwise would have got no help. Now in some ⟨p. 37⟩places where the people did generally stay; not one house in an hundred but is infected; and in many houses half the family is swept away; in some the whole, from the eldest to the youngest; few escape with the death of but one or two: never did so many husbands and wives die together; never did so many parents carry their children with them to the grave, and go together into the same house under earth; who had lived together in the same house upon it. Now the nights are too short to bury the dead, the whole day though at so great a length is hardly sufficient to light the dead that fall therein into their beds.

Now the cloud is very black, and the storm comes down upon us very sharp. Now death rides triumphantly on his pale horse through our streets, and breaks into every house almost where any inhabitants are to be found. Now people fall as thick as leaves from the trees in Autumn, when they are shaken by a mighty wind. Now there is a dismal solitude in London-streets, every day looks with the face of a Sabbath day, observed with greater solemnity than it used to be in the City. Now shops are shut in, people rare and very few that walk about, in so much that the grass begins to spring up in some places, and a deep silence almost in every place, especially within the walls; no ratling Coaches, no prancing Horses, no calling in Customers, nor offering Wares; no London cries sounding in the ears; if any voice be heard, it is the groans of dying perions, breathing forth their last, and the funeral knells of them that are ready to be carried to their graves. Now shutting up of visited houses (there being so many) is at an end, and most of the well are mingled among the sick which otherwise would have got no help. Now in some