Amaz'd at this demand; faid I, The brave, • Upon ignoble terms difdain to fave;

They let their captives ftill with honour live,
Nor more require than what themselves would give;
For gen❜rous victors, as they scorn to do
Dishonest things, fcorn to propofe them too.
Mercy, the brighteft virtue of the mind,
• Should with no devious appetite be join'd:
For if, when exercis'd, a crime it cost,

• Th' intrinfick luftre of the deed is loft.

• Great men their actions of a piece should have; Heroick all, and each entirely brave:

From the nice rules of honour none fhould fwerve;
Done because good, without a mean reserve.

The crimes new charg'd upon the unhappy youth,

May have revenge and malice, but no truth.

Suppofe the accufation juftly brought,

And clearly prov'd to the minutest thought;

Yet mercies 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 caufe to fear,
This act will more illuftrious appear;

Though his excufe can never be withstood,

Who disobeys, but only to be good.

Perhaps the hazard's more than you exprefs The glory would be, were the danger lefs. For he that, to his prejudice, will do A noble action, and a gen'rous too, • Deferves to wear a more refplendent crown Than he that has a thoufand battles won.

• Do not invert divine compaffion fo

As to be cruel, and no mercy fhew!

;

⚫ of what renown can fuch an action be, Which faves my husband's life, but ruins me?

Though, if you finally refolve to stand
Upon fo vile, inglorious a demand,

He muft fubmit: if 'tis my fate to mourn

• His death, I'll bathe with virtuous tears his urn.'
Well, Madam,' haughtily Neronier cried,
Your courage and your virtue shall be tried.
But, to prevent all profpect of a flight,

Some of my lambs* fhall be your guard to-night:

By them, no doubt, you'll tenderly be us'd;

They feldom ask a favour that's refus❜d.
Perhaps you'll find them fo genteelly bred,
They'll leave you but few virtuous tears to fhed.
• Surrounded with fo innocent a throng,
The night muft pafs delightfully along;
And in the morning, fince you will not give
• What I require, to let your husband live,
• You shall behold him figh his latest breath,
And gently fwing into the arms of death!
His fate he merits, as to rebels due,
And yours will be as much defery'd by you.'
Oh, Celia! think, fo far as thought can show,
What pangs of grief, what agonies of woe,
At this dire refolution, feiz'd my breaft,
By all things fad and terrible poffefs'd!
In vain I wept, and 'twas in vain I pray'd,
For all my pray'rs were to a tiger made:
A tiger! worfe; for 'tis beyond dispute
No fiend's fo cruel as a reas'ning brute.
Encompafs'd thus, and hopeless of relief,
With all the squadrons of despair and grief,
Ruin-it was not poffible to fhun:

What could I do? Oh! what would you have done?
The hours that pafs'd till the black morn return'd
With tears of blood fhould be for ever mourn'd;

Kirke ufed to call the moft inhuman of his foldiers his lambs.

When

When, to involve me with confummate grief,
Beyond expreffion, 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 fhew you such a fight

• Shall overwhelm your fpirits 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 hufband dread;
Living he might, he'll not upbraid you dead:
"Twas for your fake I seiz'd upon his life;
He would, perhaps, have fcorn'd so chaste a wife.
And, Madam, you'll excufe the zeal I fhew
To keep that fecret none alive should know.'
Curs'd of all creatures! for, compar'd with thee,
The devils,' faid I, are dull in cruelty.
Oh! may that tongue eternal vipers breed,.
And, wastelefs, their eternal hunger feed;
In fires too hot for falamanders dwell,

The burning earnest of a hotter hell!

May that vile lump of execrable luft
Corrupt alive, and rot into the duft!

• May'st thou, despairing at the point of death,
• With oaths and blafphemies resign thy breath;
• And the worst torments that the damn'd should share,
In thine own perfon, all united, bear!'

Oh, Celia! oh, my friend! what age can fhew
Sorrows like mine, fo exquifite a woe?
Indeed it does not infinite appear,
Because it can't be everlafting here:
But it's fo vaft, that it can ne'er increase;
And fo confirm'd, it never can be less.

WILLIAM

Awake!' fhe cried, thy true-love calls,
• Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy pity hear the maid

This is the dumb and dreary hour

When injur'd ghosts complain;

• When yawning graves give up their dead, To haunt the faithless swain.

• Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath;
And give me back my maiden Vow,
And give me back my troth.

6

Why did you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?

< Why did you fwear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave thofe eyes to weep?

< That face, alas! no more is fair, Those lips no longer red;

• Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And ev'ry charm is fled.

• The hungry worm my fister is;

• This winding-sheet I wear;

< And cold and weary lafts our night,

<Till the laft morn appear.

. But,