Thy converse drew us with delight, The men of rathe and riper years: The feeble soul, a haunt of fears, Forgot his weakness in thy sight.

Nay, indeed it is not Tyrconnel at all, but the shadow only of that Substance , for the Popish Religion he so eagerly embraces hath bruitified him to that degree, that he hath neither Humanity, Mercy, nor Pity left to. ffce Distressed Protestants that you are now generously going to relieve.

The answer is 1.245, to three decimal places

We had to learn that to refuse such gifts, which represented serious sacrifice, was more unkind than to accept them.