_Pa._ Because just as _Mars_ makes a Sport of killing Men, so do you; saving that you do it the more cruelly of the two, because you kill one that loves you.
_Ma._ Say you so! pray where"s the great Slaughter of Men that I have made? Where"s the Blood of the Slain?
_Pa._ You may see one dead Corpse before your Face, if you look upon me.
_Ma._ What strange Story is this? Does a dead Man talk and walk? I wish I may never meet with more frightful Ghosts than you are.
_Pa._ Ay, indeed, you make a Jest of it; but for all that, you kill poor me, and more cruelly too, than if you stuck a Dagger in my Breast. For now I, poor Wretch as I am, die a lingering Death.
_Ma._ Prithee tell me, how many Women with Child have miscarried at the Sight of thee?
_Pa._ My Paleness shews I have no more Blood in my Body than a Ghost.
_Ma._ Indeed you are as pale as a Violet; You are as pale as a ripe Cherry, or purple Grape.
_Pa._ You coquet it with my Misery.
_Ma._ If you can"t believe me, look in the Gla.s.s.
_Pa._ I would never desire a better Gla.s.s, nor do I believe there is a better in the World than I am a looking in already.
_Ma._ What Looking-Gla.s.s do you mean?
_Pa._ Your Eyes.
_Ma._ You Banterer! that"s like you. But how do you prove yourself to be dead? Do dead Folks eat?
_Pa._ Yes, they do; but Things that have no Relish, as I do.
_Ma._ What do they feed upon?
_Pa._ Mallows, Leeks, and Lupines.
_Ma._ But you feed upon Capons and Partridges.
_Pa._ If I do, I relish them no more than Beets without Pepper or Vinegar.
_Ma._ Poor Creature! but yet you"re in pretty good Case, for all that.
And do dead Folks talk too?
_Pa._ Just as I do, with a weak Voice.
_Ma._ But when I heard you rallying your Rival a little While ago, your Voice was not very low then. But, prithee, do Ghosts walk, wear Cloaths, and sleep?
_Pa._ Yes, and enjoy one another too, after their Manner.
_Ma._ Thou art a merry Fellow.
_Pa._ But what will you say, if I prove it by undeniable Arguments, that I am dead, and that you have kill"d me too.
_Ma._ G.o.d forbid, _Pamphilus_; but let"s hear your Arguments, however.
_Pa._ In the first Place, I think you will grant me this, that Death is only a Separation of Soul and Body.
_Ma._ I grant it.
_Pa._ But you must grant it so as not to eat your Words.
_Ma._ No, I will not.
_Pa._ You will not deny, I suppose, that the Person that takes away another"s Life, is a Murtherer.
_Ma._ I grant that too.
_Pa._ I suppose you will grant that which has been allow"d by the greatest Men of many Ages, that the Soul of a Man is not really where it animates, but where it loves.
_Ma._ Make that a little plainer, I can"t well understand it then.
_Pa._ You might as well bid me make an Adamant sensible of it.
_Ma._ I am a Maid, not a Stone.
_Pa._ Tis true, but harder than an Adamant Stone.
_Ma._ Go on with your Inferences.
_Pa._ Those that are in a Trance, do neither hear, nor see, nor smell, nor feel, if you kill them outright.
_Ma._ Indeed I have heard so.
_Pa._ What do you think is the Reason?
_Ma._ Do you, Philosopher, tell that.
_Pa._ Because their Mind is in Heaven, where it enjoys what it dearly loves; and therefore is absent from the Body.
_Ma._ Well, what then?
_Pa._ What then, hard-hearted Creature? Then it follows, that I am dead, and you have killed me.
_Ma._ Where is your Soul then?
_Pa._ Where it loves.
_Ma._ Who took this Soul of yours away? What do you Sigh for? Tell me freely: There"s no Hurt in it.
_Pa._ A cruel Maid, that I could not be angry with if she kill"d me outright.