Cruelty
and
Lust
.
An
Epistolary
Essay
.
This
Piece
was
occasion'd
by
the
Barbarity
of
Kirke
,
a
Commander
in
the
Western
Rebellion
,
1685.
who
Debauched
a
young
Lady
,
with
a
promise
to
save
her
Husband's
Life
,
but
hang'd
him
the
next
Morning
.
Where
can
the
wretched'st
of
all
Creatures
fly
To
tell
the
Story
of
her
Misery
?
Where
,
but
to
faithful
Celia
,
in
whose
Mind
A
manly
Brav'ry's
with
soft
pity
join'd
.
I
fear
these
Lines
will
scarce
be
understood
,
Blurr'd
with
incessant
Tears
,
and
writ
in
Blood
:
But
if
you
can
the
mournful
Pages
read
,
The
sad
Relation
shows
you
such
a
Deed
,
As
all
the
Annals
of
th'
Infernal
Reign
Shall
strive
to
equal
,
or
exceed
,
in
vain
.
Neronior's
Fame
,
no
doubt
,
has
reach'd
your
Ears
,
Whose
Cruelty
has
caus'd
a
Sea
of
Tears
:
Fill'd
each
lamenting
Town
with
Fun'ral
Sighs
,
Deploring
Widows
Shrieks
,
and
Orphans
Cries
.
At
ev'ry
Health
the
horrid
Monster
quaff'd
,
Ten
Wretches
died
,
and
as
they
died
,
he
laugh'd
:
Till
,
tir'd
with
acting
Devil
,
he
was
led
,
Drunk
with
excess
of
Blood
,
and
Wine
,
to
Bed
,
Oh
cursed
Place
!
—
I
can
no
more
command
My
Pen
,
Shame
and
Confusion
shake
my
Hand
:
But
I
must
on
,
and
let
my
Celia
know
,
How
barb'rous
are
my
Wrongs
,
how
vast
my
Woe
.
Amongst
those
Crouds
of
Western
Youth
,
who
ran
To
meet
the
brave
,
betray'd
,
unhappy
Man
,
The
Duke
of
Monmouth
.
My
Husband
,
fatally
uniting
,
went
;
Unus'd
to
Arms
,
and
thoughtless
of
th'Event
.
But
when
the
Battle
was
by
Treach'ry
won
,
The
Chief
,
and
all
,
but
his
false
Friend
,
undone
:
Tho'
in
the
Tumult
of
that
desp'rate
Night
,
He
'scap'd
the
dreadful
Slaughter
of
the
Flight
,
Yet
the
sagacious
Blood-hounds
,
skill'd
too
well
In
all
the
murd'ring
Qualities
of
Hell
,
Each
secret
Place
so
regularly
beat
,
They
soon
discover'd
his
unsafe
Retreat
.
As
hungry
Wolves
,
triumphing
o'er
their
Prey
,
To
sure
Destruction
hurry
them
away
.
So
the
Purveyors
of
fierce
Moloc's
Son
,
With
Charon
to
the
common
Butch'ry
run
;
Where
proud
Neronior
by
his
Gibbet
stood
To
glut
himself
with
fresh
supplies
of
Blood
.
Our
Friends
,
by
pow'rful
Intercession
,
gaind
A
short
Reprieve
,
but
for
three
Days
obtain'd
,
To
try
all
ways
might
to
Compassion
move
The
Savage
General
,
but
in
vain
they
strove
.
When
I
perceiv'd
that
all
Addresses
fail'd
,
And
nothing
o'er
his
stubborn
Soul
prevail'd
,
Distracted
almost
,
to
his
Tent
I
flew
,
To
make
the
last
Effort
what
Tears
could
do
.
Low
on
my
Knees
I
fell
,
then
thus
began
:
Great
Genius
of
Success
,
thou
more
than
Man
!
Whose
Arms
to
ev'ry
Clime
have
Terrour
hurl'd
,
And
carried
Conquest
round
the
trembling
World
.
Stil
may
the
brightest
Glories
Fame
can
lend
,
Your
Sword
,
your
Conduct
,
and
your
Cause
attend
.
Here
now
,
the
Arbiter
of
Fate
you
sit
,
While
suppliant
Slaves
their
Rebel
Heads
submit
.
Oh
pity
the
unfortunate
,
and
give
But
this
one
thing
?
Oh
let
but
Charion
Live
.
And
take
the
little
all
,
that
we
possess
:
I'll
bear
the
meager
anguish
of
Distress
;
Content
,
nay
pleas'd
to
beg
,
or
earn
my
Bread
,
Let
Charion
live
,
no
matter
how
I'm
fed
.
The
fall
of
such
a
Youth
no
lustre
brings
,
To
him
whose
Sword
performs
such
wond'rous
things
,
As
saving
Kingdoms
,
and
supporting
Kings
.
That
Triumph
only
with
true
Grandeur
shines
,
Where
God-like
Courage
,
God-like
Pity
joins
.
Caesar
,
the
eldest
Favorite
of
War
,
Took
not
more
Pleasure
to
subdue
,
than
spare
:
And
since
in
Battle
you
can
greater
be
,
That
over
,
be'nt
less
merciful
than
he
.
Ignoble
Spirits
by
Revenge
,
are
known
,
And
cruel
Actions
spoil
the
Conqu'ror's
Crown
:
In
future
Hist'ries
fill
each
mournful
Page
With
Tales
of
Blood
,
and
Monuments
of
Rage
:
And
while
his
Annals
are
with
Horror
read
,
Men
curse
him
living
,
and
detest
him
dead
.
Oh
,
do
not
sully
with
a
sanguine
Dye
,
The
foulest
Stain
,
so
fair
a
Memory
!
Then
as
you'll
live
the
Glory
of
our
Isle
,
And
Fate
on
all
your
Expeditions
smile
;
So
when
a
noble
Course
,
you've
bravely
ran
,
Die
the
best
Soldier
,
and
the
happiest
Man
.
None
can
the
Turns
of
Providence
foresee
,
Or
what
their
own
Catastrophe
may
be
;
Therefore
to
Persons
lab'ring
under
Woe
,
That
Mercy
they
may
want
,
should
always
show
,
For
in
the
Chance
of
War
,
the
slightest
thing
May
lose
the
Battle
,
or
the
Vict'ry
bring
.
And
how
would
you
that
General's
Honour
prize
,
Should
in
cool
Blood
his
Captive
Sacrifice
?
He
that
with
Rebel
Arms
to
fight
is
led
,
To
Justice
forfeits
his
opprobrious
Head
:
But
'tis
unhappy
Charion's
first
Offence
,
Seduc'd
by
some
too
plausible
Pretence
,
To
take
the
inj'ring
side
by
error
brought
;
He
had
no
Malice
,
tho'
he
has
the
Fault
.
Let
the
old
Tempters
find
a
shameful
Grave
,
But
the
half-innocent
,
the
Tempted
,
save
.
Vengeance
Divine
,
tho'
for
the
greatest
Crime
,
But
rarely
strikes
the
first
or
second
time
:
And
he
best
follows
the
Almighty's
Will
,
Who
spares
the
guilty
,
he
has
Pow'r
to
kill
.
When
proud
Rebellions
would
unhinge
a
State
,
And
wild
Disorders
in
a
Land
create
,
'Tis
requisite
,
the
first
Promoters
shou'd
Put
out
the
Flames
,
they
kindled
,
with
their
Blood
:
But
sure
'tis
a
degree
of
Murder
,
all
That
draw
their
Swords
,
should
undistinguish'd
fall
:
And
since
a
Mercy
must
to
some
be
shown
,
Let
Charion
'mongst
the
happy
few
be
One
:
For
as
none
guilty
has
less
Guilt
than
he
,
So
none
for
Pardon
has
a
fairer
Plea
.
When
David's
General
had
won
the
Field
,
And
Absalom
,
the
lov'd
ungrateful
,
kill'd
,
The
Trumpets
sounding
made
all
Slaughter
cease
,
And
mis-led
Israelites
return'd
in
Peace
.
The
Action
past
,
where
so
much
Blood
was
spilt
,
We
hear
of
none
arraign'd
for
that
Day's
Guilt
:
But
all
concludes
with
the
desir'd
Event
,
The
Monarch
Pardons
,
and
the
Jews
Repent
.
As
great
Examples
your
high
Courage
warms
,
And
to
illustrious
Deeds
excites
your
Arms
:
So
when
you
Instances
of
Mercy
view
,
They
should
inspire
you
with
Compassion
too
:
For
he
that
emulates
the
truly
Brave
,
Would
always
conquer
,
and
should
always
save
.
Here
interrupting
,
stern
Neronior
cry'd
,
(
Swell'd
with
Success
,
and
blubber'd
up
with
Pride
)
Madam
,
his
Life
depends
upon
my
Will
,
For
ev'ry
Rebel
,
I
can
spare
,
or
kill
:
I'll
think
of
what
you've
said
,
this
Night
return
At
Ten
,
perhaps
you'll
have
no
cause
to
mourn
.
Go
see
your
Husband
,
bid
him
not
despair
;
His
Crime
is
great
,
but
you
are
wond'rous
Fair
.
When
anxious
Miseries
the
Soul
amaze
,
And
dire
Confusion
in
our
Spirits
raise
;
Upon
the
least
appearance
of
Relief
Our
Hopes
revive
,
and
mitigate
our
Grief
.
Impatience
makes
our
Wishes
earnest
grow
,
Which
thro'
false
Opticks
our
Deliv'rance
show
.
For
while
we
fancy
Danger
does
appear
Most
at
a
distance
,
it
is
oft
too
near
:
And
many
times
secure
from
obvious
Foes
,
We
fall
into
an
Ambuscade
of
Woes
.
Pleas'd
with
the
false
Neronior's
dark
Reply
,
I
thought
the
end
of
all
my
Sorrows
nigh
;
And
to
the
Main-guard
hasten'd
,
where
the
prey
Of
this
Blood-thirsty
Fiend
in
durance
lay
.
When
Charion
saw
me
,
from
his
turffy
Bed
With
Eagerness
he
rais'd
his
drooping
Head
.
Oh
,
fly
my
Dear
,
this
guilty
place
,
he
cry'd
,
And
in
some
distant
Clime
thy
Virtue
hide
!
Here
nothing
but
the
foulest
Dæmons
dwell
,
The
Refuse
of
the
Damn'd
,
and
Mob
of
Hell
:
The
Air
they
breath
,
is
ev'ry
Atom
curst
,
There's
no
Degrees
of
Ill
,
for
all
are
worst
.
In
Rapes
and
Murders
,
they
alone
delight
,
And
Villanies
of
less
Importance
slight
:
Act
'em
indeed
,
but
scorn
they
should
be
nam'd
,
For
all
their
Glory's
to
be
more
than
damn'd
;
Neronior's
Chief
of
this
infernal
Crew
,
And
seems
to
merit
that
high
Station
too
.
Nothing
but
Rage
,
and
Lust
inspire
his
Breast
,
By
Asmodai
,
and
Moloc
both
possest
.
When
told
you
went
to
intercede
for
me
,
It
threw
my
Soul
into
an
Agony
.
Not
that
I
would
not
for
my
Freedom
give
What's
requisite
,
or
do
not
wish
to
live
:
But
for
my
Safety
I
can
ne'er
be
base
,
Or
buy
a
few
short
Years
with
long
Disgrace
Nor
would
I
have
your
yet
unspotted
Fame
For
me
expos'd
to
an
eternal
Shame
.
With
Ignominy
to
preserve
my
Breath
,
Is
worse
,
by
infinite
Degrees
,
than
Death
.
But
if
I
can't
my
Life
with
Honour
save
,
With
Honour
I'll
descend
into
the
Grave
,
For
tho'
Revenge
and
Malice
both
combine
,
(
As
both
to
fix
my
Ruin
seem
to
join
)
Yet
maugre
all
their
Violence
and
Skill
,
I
can
die
just
,
and
I'm
resolv'd
I
will
.
But
what
is
Death
,
we
so
unwisely
fear
?
An
end
of
all
our
busy
Tumults
here
:
The
equal
Lot
of
Poverty
and
State
,
Which
all
partake
of
by
a
certain
Fate
.
Who
e'er
the
Prospect
of
Mankind
surveys
,
At
divers
Ages
,
and
by
divers
Ways
,
Will
find
'em
from
this
noisy
Scene
retire
,
Some
the
first
Minute
that
they
breath
,
expire
.
Others
perhaps
survive
to
talk
,
and
go
,
But
die
,
before
they
Good
or
Evil
know
.
Here
one
to
Puberty
arrives
,
and
then
Returns
lamented
to
the
Dust
again
:
Another
there
,
maintains
a
longer
Strife
With
all
the
pow'rful
Enemies
of
Life
;
Till
with
Vexation
tir'd
,
and
threescore
Years
,
He
drops
into
the
dark
,
and
disappears
.
I'm
young
indeed
,
and
might
expect
to
see
Times
future
long
,
and
late
Posterity
.
'Tis
what
with
Reason
I
should
wish
to
do
,
If
to
be
old
,
were
to
be
happy
too
.
But
since
substantial
Grief
so
soon
destroys
The
Gust
of
all
imaginary
Joys
,
Who
would
be
too
importunate
to
live
,
Or
more
for
Life
,
than
it
can
merit
,
give
.
Beyond
the
Grave
stupendous
Regions
lie
,
The
boundless
Realms
of
vast
Eternity
;
Where
Minds
,
remov'd
from
earthly
Bodies
dwell
;
But
who
their
Government
,
or
Laws
can
tell
?
What's
their
Employment
till
the
final
Doom
,
And
Time's
eternal
Period
shall
come
?
Thus
much
the
sacred
Oracles
declare
,
That
all
are
blest
,
or
miserable
there
:
Tho'
if
there's
such
Variety
of
Fate
,
None
good
expire
too
soon
,
none
bad
too
late
.
For
my
own
part
,
with
Resignation
still
I
can
submit
to
my
Creator's
Will
:
Let
him
recal
the
Breath
,
from
him
I
drew
,
When
he
thinks
fit
,
and
when
he
pleases
too
.
The
way
of
dying
is
my
least
Concern
,
That
will
give
no
Disturbance
to
my
Urn
:
If
to
the
Seats
of
Happiness
I
go
,
There
end
all
possible
Returns
of
Woe
:
And
when
to
those
blest
Mansions
I
arrive
,
With
pity
I'll
behold
those
that
survive
.
Once
more
I
beg
,
you'd
from
these
Tents
retreat
,
And
leave
me
to
my
Innocence
,
and
Fate
.
Charion
,
said
I
,
oh
,
do
not
urge
my
flight
!
I'll
see
the
Event
of
this
important
Night
:
Some
strange
Presages
in
my
Soul
forebode
The
worst
of
Mis'ries
,
or
the
greatest
Good
.
Few
Hours
will
show
the
utmost
of
my
Doom
,
A
joyful
Safety
,
or
a
peaceful
Tomb
.
If
you
miscarry
,
I'm
resolv'd
to
try
,
If
gracious
Heaven
will
suffer
me
to
die
.
For
when
you
are
to
endless
Raptures
gone
,
If
I
survive
,
'tis
but
to
be
undone
.
Who
will
support
an
injur'd
Widow's
Right
,
From
sly
Injustice
,
or
oppressive
Might
?
Protect
her
Person
,
or
her
Cause
defend
?
She
rarely
wants
a
Foe
,
or
finds
a
Friend
,
I've
no
distrust
of
Providence
,
but
still
Tis
best
to
go
beyond
the
reach
of
Ill
:
And
those
can
have
no
reason
to
repent
,
Who
tho'
they
die
betimes
,
die
innocent
.
But
to
a
World
of
everlasting
Bliss
Why
would
you
go
,
and
leave
me
here
in
this
?
'Tis
a
dark
Passage
,
but
our
Foes
shall
view
,
I'll
die
as
calm
,
tho'
not
so
brave
as
you
:
That
my
Behaviour
to
the
last
may
prove
,
Your
Courage
is
not
greater
than
my
Love
.
The
Hour
approach'd
,
as
to
Neronior's
Tent
With
trembling
,
but
impatient
Steps
I
went
,
A
Thousand
Horrors
throng'd
into
my
Breast
,
By
sad
Ideas
,
and
strong
Fears
possest
.
Where-e'er
I
pass'd
,
the
glaring
Lights
would
show
Fresh
Objects
of
Despair
,
and
Scenes
of
Woe
.
Here
,
in
a
Crowd
of
drunken
Soldiers
,
stood
A
wretched
,
poor
old
Man
,
besmear'd
with
Blood
,
And
at
his
Feet
,
just
thro'
the
Body
run
,
Strugling
for
Life
,
was
laid
his
only
Son
;
By
whose
hard
Labour
he
was
daily
fed
,
Dividing
still
with
pious
Care
,
his
Bread
.
And
while
he
mourn'd
with
Floods
of
aged
Tears
,
The
sole
Support
of
his
decripid
Years
,
The
barb'rous
Mob
,
whose
Rage
no
limit
knows
,
With
blasphemous
Derision
mock'd
his
Woes
.
There
,
under
a
wide
Oak
,
disconsolate
,
And
drown'd
in
Tears
,
a
mournful
Widow
sat
.
High
in
the
Boughs
the
murder'd
Father
hung
;
Beneath
,
the
Children
round
their
Mother
clung
;
They
cry'd
for
Food
,
but
'twas
without
Relief
;
For
all
they
had
to
live
upon
,
was
Grief
:
A
Sorrow
so
intense
,
such
deep
Despair
,
No
Creature
meerly
Human
,
long
cou'd
bear
.
First
in
her
Arms
her
weeping
Babes
she
took
,
And
with
a
Groan
,
did
to
her
Husband
look
!
Then
lean'd
her
Head
on
their's
,
and
sighing
cry'd
,
Pity
me
Saviour
of
the
World
!
and
dy'd
.
From
this
sad
Spectacle
my
Eyes
I
turn'd
;
Where
Sons
their
Fathers
,
Maids
their
Lovers
mourn'd
;
Friends
for
their
Friends
,
Sisters
for
Brothers
wept
;
Pris'ners
of
War
in
Chains
,
for
Slaughter
kept
.
Each
ev'ry
Hour
did
the
black
Message
dread
,
Which
should
declare
,
the
Person
lov'd
was
dead
.
Then
I
beheld
,
with
brutal
Shouts
of
Mirth
,
A
comely
Youth
,
and
of
no
common
Birth
,
To
Execution
led
,
who
hardly
bore
The
Wounds
in
Battle
,
he
receiv'd
before
;
And
as
he
pass'd
,
I
heard
him
bravely
cry
,
I
neither
wish
to
live
,
nor
fear
to
die
.
At
the
curst
Tent
arriv'd
,
without
delay
They
did
me
to
the
General
convey
;
Who
thus
began
—
Madam
!
by
fresh
Intelligence
I
find
,
That
Charion's
Treason's
of
the
blackest
kind
;
And
my
Commission
is
express
to
spare
None
that
so
deeply
in
Rebellion
are
.
New
Measures
therefore
'tis
in
vain
to
try
,
No
Pardon
can
be
granted
,
he
must
Die
.
Must
,
or
I
hazard
all
,
which
yet
I'd
do
,
To
be
oblig'd
in
one
Request
by
you
,
And
maugre
all
the
Dangers
I
foresee
:
Be
Mine
this
Night
,
I'll
set
your
Husband
free
Soldiers
are
rough
,
and
cannot
hope
success
By
supple
Flattery
,
and
by
soft
Address
;
The
pert
,
gay
Coxcomb
by
these
little
Arts
,
Gains
an
Ascendant
o'er
the
Ladies
Hearts
,
But
I
can
no
such
whining
methods
use
;
Consent
,
he
Lives
;
he
Dies
,
if
you
refuse
.
Amaz'd
at
this
demand
,
said
I
,
the
brave
,
Upon
ignoble
Terms
,
disdain
to
save
;
They
let
their
Captives
still
with
Honour
live
;
Nor
more
require
,
than
what
themselves
would
give
:
For
gen'rous
Victors
,
as
they
scorn
to
do
Dishonest
Things
,
scorn
to
propose
'em
too
.
Mercy
,
the
brightest
Virtue
of
the
Mind
,
Should
with
no
devious
Appetite
be
join'd
:
For
if
when
exercis'd
,
a
Crime
it
cost
,
Th'
intrinsick
Lustre
of
the
Deed
is
lost
.
Great
Men
their
Actions
of
a
piece
should
have
,
Heroick
all
,
and
each
intirely
Brave
:
From
the
nice
Rules
of
Honour
none
should
swerve
;
Done
because
good
,
without
a
mean
reserve
.
The
Crimes
,
new
charg'd
on
the
unhappy
Youth
May
have
Revenge
,
and
Malice
,
but
no
Truth
.
Suppose
the
Accusation
justly
brought
,
And
clearly
prov'd
to
the
minutest
fault
,
Yet
Mercy's
next
,
to
infinite
abate
,
Offences
next
,
to
infinitely
Great
:
And
'tis
the
Glory
of
a
noble
Mind
,
In
full
Forgiveness
not
to
be
confin'd
,
Your
Prince's
Frowns
,
if
you
have
cause
to
fear
,
This
Act
will
more
Illustrious
appear
;
Tho'
his
excuse
can
never
be
withstood
,
Who
disobeys
,
but
only
to
be
good
.
Perhaps
the
hazard's
more
than
you
express
;
The
Glory
would
be
,
were
the
danger
less
.
For
he
,
that
to
his
prejudice
will
do
A
noble
Action
,
and
a
gen'rous
too
,
Deserves
to
wear
a
more
resplendent
Crown
,
Than
he
,
that
has
a
thousand
Battles
won
.
Do
not
invert
Divine
Compassion
so
,
As
to
be
Cruel
,
or
no
Mercy
show
!
Of
what
Renown
can
such
an
Action
be
,
Which
Saves
my
Husband's
Life
,
but
Ruins
me
?
Tho'
if
you
finally
resolve
to
stand
Upon
so
vile
,
inglorious
a
Demand
,
He
must
submit
;
if
'tis
my
Fate
to
mourn
His
Death
,
I'll
bathe
with
virtuous
Tears
his
Urn
.
Well
,
Madam
,
haughtily
,
Neronior
cry'd
,
Your
Courage
and
your
Virtue
shall
be
try'd
:
But
to
prevent
all
prospect
of
a
Flight
,
Some
of
my
Lambs
Kirke
used
to
call
the
most
Inhuman
of
his
Soldiers
,
his
Lambs
.
shall
be
your
Guard
to
Night
.
By
them
,
no
doubt
,
you'll
tenderly
be
us'd
,
They
seldom
ask
a
Favour
that's
refus'd
:
Perhaps
you'll
find
them
so
genteely
bred
,
They'll
leave
you
but
few
virtuous
Tears
to
shed
.
Surrounded
with
so
innocent
a
Throng
,
The
Night
must
pass
delightfully
along
:
And
in
the
Morning
,
since
you
will
not
give
What
I
require
,
to
let
your
Husband
live
,
You
shall
behold
him
sigh
his
latest
Breath
,
And
gently
swing
into
the
Arms
of
Death
.
His
Fate
he
merits
,
as
to
Rebels
due
,
And
yours
will
be
as
much
deserv'd
by
you
.
Oh
,
Celia
,
think
!
so
far
as
Thought
can
show
,
What
Pangs
of
Grief
,
what
Agonies
of
Woe
,
At
this
dire
Resolution
seiz'd
my
Breast
!
By
all
things
sad
,
and
terrible
possest
.
In
vain
I
wept
,
and
'twas
in
vain
I
pray'd
,
For
all
my
Pray'rs
were
to
a
Tyger
made
;
A
Tyger
!
worse
;
for
'tis
beyond
dispute
,
No
Fiend's
so
cruel
as
a
Reas'ning
Brute
,
Encompass'd
thus
,
and
hopeless
of
Relief
,
With
all
the
Squadrons
of
despair
and
Grief
:
Ruin
—
it
was
not
possible
to
shun
,
What
could
I
do
,
Oh
!
What
would
you
have
done
?
The
Hours
that
pass'd
,
till
the
black
Morn
return'd
,
With
Tears
of
Blood
should
be
for
ever
mourn'd
.
When
to
involve
me
with
consummate
Grief
,
Beyond
Expression
,
and
above
Belief
,
Madam
,
the
Monster
cry'd
,
that
you
may
find
I
can
be
grateful
to
the
Fair
that's
kind
,
Step
to
the
Door
,
I'll
show
you
such
a
Sight
,
Shall
overwhelm
your
Spirits
with
Delight
.
Does
not
that
Wretch
,
who
would
Dethrone
his
King
.
Become
the
Gibbet
,
and
adorn
the
String
?
You
need
not
now
an
injur'd
Husband
dread
,
Living
he
might
,
he'll
not
upbraid
you
Dead
.
'Twas
for
your
sake
,
I
seiz'd
upon
his
Life
,
He
would
perhaps
have
scorn'd
so
Chast
a
Wife
.
And
,
Madam
,
you'll
excuse
the
Zeal
I
show
,
To
keep
that
Secret
none
alive
should
know
.
Curst
of
all
Creatures
,
for
compar'd
with
thee
,
The
Devils
,
said
I
,
are
dull
in
Cruelty
.
O
may
that
Tongue
eternal
Vipers
breed
,
And
,
wasteless
,
their
eternal
Hunger
feed
,
In
Fires
too
hot
for
Salamanders
dwell
,
The
burning
Earnest
of
a
hotter
Hell
.
May
that
vile
Lump
of
execrable
Lust
Corrupt
alive
,
and
rot
into
the
Dust
.
May'st
thou
despairing
at
the
Point
of
Death
,
With
Oaths
and
Blasphemies
resign
thy
Breath
;
And
the
worst
Torments
that
the
Damn'd
should
share
,
In
thine
own
Person
all
united
bear
.
O
Celia
,
O
my
Friend
!
what
Age
can
show
Sorrows
like
mine
,
so
exquisite
a
Woe
?
Indeed
it
does
not
infinite
appear
,
Because
it
can't
be
everlasting
here
;
But
'tis
so
vast
,
that
it
can
ne'er
increase
,
And
so
confirm'd
,
it
never
can
be
less
.