DECLAMATION I.

Page  2The Blind Son and the Step-Mother ac∣cuse one another of the Murther.

For the Blind Son against the Step-Mother.

IF this Innocent Young-man (my Lords and Judges) would use the Motive of his sad distress, he might allege, that, together with his Eyes, he had lost all his wild unru∣ly thoughts, but when he has a mind to declare his Innocency rather by his Manners than his Miseries, he cannot bear so great a reproach to be cast either on his duty or his Conscience, as not to be thought to have committed this Mur∣ther only upon the account of his Blindness. And therefore he doth not desire that you should think him Pityable, unless also he be found Inno∣cent, neither would he have you Releive his af∣flicted Condition, unless he proves himself more unhappy in losing his Father than his Eyes. Set then (my Lords) an estimate upon this Young-man, by those accomplishments, as you would do if▪ he had his Eyes, I mean by his Conversation, by his Modesty, by his Duty to his Father, which if they can be made appear, as we shall under∣take for them all in his behalf, no Indictment will daunt him. And tho' this wicked Woman (for-sooth) hath pourtrayed our Calamity by blood∣ing the Wall, yet we are not abashed thereat, for by how much the more diligent and careful she hath been, that she might not be discovered, she hath thereby given a most certain indication, that (to be sure) she wanted not her Eyes. Gra∣mercy Page  3Dame, for bringing over the Arguments of thy too lavish suspition to our side, it would have been harder to evince, that the Blind-man had not committed this Villany, unless all things had been so personated, that such a Blind-man might seem to have committed it.

And therefore (my Lords) I may fairly hope, that those Pleas will be justly suspected by you, which are so Nonsensically forged against the poor Blind-Youth.

As first, that the large space of the House, which lay in the midst- between the Son's Cham∣ber and the Father's, was full of Blood, so or∣derly drawn along even to the poor Youths Chamber, as if indeed the Parricide had been a∣fraid, that he should not have been discovered. Next, the Night was principally chosen out for the Villany, at which time no Husband is ever found abed without his Wife. Then in a Murther, no man ever uses his own but rather anothers Sword, yet here, whose, but the Young-man's Sword, was left in the Wound? That so the Step-mother might not want this Argument against him. Lastly, The Murther was compleated at one Blow, (as if it fell pat into the groping Hand of the wandring Youth.) And yet against so many unlikely things, the Mother in Law hath nothing to plead, but only her Husbands last Will and Testament: She would have that to be the Motive of the Parricide, that so by a strange Absurdity, she might prove him to have Mur∣thered his Father, even because he did not in the least deserve to be Murthered by his hands. But if that be a Crime, that the Young-man was lest Page  4sole Heir to his Father, we acknowledge it. If when the poor Old-man was yet alive, This his Will could have come out, and have been known in the House, you know which of the Two had most reason to take Pet: And whereas she urges, that the Son was ill-resented by his Father, if we should own it, whose fault (think you) was that, but the Step-mothers? And she thinks she can prove, he was ill-resented, because he was laid up in a remote part of the House, not as a be∣loved Son, but as an hated Blind one: By this Plea she craftily enough endeavours to cloak her Envy. The Father, who disposed of his Blind Son, in a secret Apartment of his House, did thereby take off some pleasure from the Eyes of the Mother-in-law. For she, thinking to come in∣to an empty House, and reckoning that a Blind Son was as good as none at all, the indulgent Old-man devised a Way, how his poor Child might be (as to himself) in the same House, and (as to his Step-mother) in another: if the Youth had never so fain, he could not have cull'd out a secreter place for himself. If you would know the Old-man's intent herein, you may go ask his last Will: Neither can I beleive, that the prudent Father would crack of his Will to his Son, how he had made him his Heir; you cannot reasona∣bly object it against him, 'twas she rather, 'twas she, that by some discoveries, or by some cun∣ning Womanish suspicion or other had worm'd out the secrets of her Husband, and then shook hands with all Conjugal Duty. For where you Love for hope of gain, there your disappointed hope, and your pretended love end together.

Page  5'Tis true, the Young-man had a Sword in his Chamber continually, either because he got it before he fell Blind, or else because it is a comfort to one that is Dark, to have an Utensil belonging to one that can See. This id certain, his Father was never afraid of it, neither did his Step-mother ever object it to him before; The Sword lay ex∣posed to the veiw of all, it was known all the House over. You are sensible, My Lords, that a guiltless Conscience keeps a Sword more re∣gardlessly, than another; you are sensible also, that a thing, which cannot be used, may be re∣tained without any suspicion: Innocence many times occasions, that a Sword may be taken a∣way, even from one that Sees: Whether then a∣ny one of the Servants was privately dealt with, as may be rationally thought on so fair an occa∣sion; or whether the Mother her self was so bold as to take it away, which she might easily do, tho' her Son-in-law were in the Room: With∣out question (which doth most convincingly di∣scover, who was the Murtherer) That Assassin, that would leave a Sword behind, would rather use another man's than his own.

What she further alleges, my Lords, if it had been possible to have been done, yet what would it amount to? Here is a Blind-man, with∣out any Guide or Leader, pretended to have blundered along, with a Sword in his hand, from a distant part of the House, I had almost said, from another House, through a long Reach, through so many stumbling thresholds, and through Servants that kept Watch; and then to have entred his Fathers Chamber, turning to nei∣ther Page  6hand, but going on as directly as Eyes could guide a man; and so to have come to his Bed gently and without any noise, not falling on it by chance, or arriving at it sooner than he him∣self thought. I beseech you, my Lords, Judge what a Tumult such a Criminal would have made, from the Nature of the things themselves. An Old-man fast a Sleep, whom a Blind Assassin groped after, would have been sooner. Aw•ked by the bustle, than found. They and thereto Pleas, much more incredible, as how be Mur∣thered his Father, and yet med•ed not with his Step-mother; how he finished the Parricide at one Blow, which they can scarce have the hap to do, who take Aim by the Eye; that here was no∣need of Eyes, but a man about to strike at Ran∣dom, fortunate enough, if he had hit any part of the Body, in our Case lighted upon the very Heart, and presently perceived, that he had given a Deaths-Wound. My Lords, it is the of∣fice of our Eyes to tell our Hands what is done. It had been the only security of a Blind Mur∣therer to strike often: Besides, the Step-mother says, that she perceived none of all this, tho' she lay by her Husbands side, neither doth she in∣form us, whence the Ground of so great an A∣stonishment should arise. If the Father had been killed at one Blow, and his Wife fast a Sleep, the Murtherer could not have left the Sword with Security. As to their other Allegations, they are too too Suspicious, and Impudently forged; Here is a very spacious Wall, and a large side of the House, full of Prints of Blood, which the Hand of him, in his return, might seem to have Page  7left. Oh! How finely can Eyes Pourtray what they have a mind to. I should extreamly won∣der, if any man can beleive, that her Step-son could do all this in the Night: 'Tis pretended, that he left his Sword in the Wound, just as the Step-mother could wish; A Sword, which he could not deny, but that it was his own; next, what did he Print upon all the Wall? That the Parricide had drawn along his Fathers Blood even unto his own Chamber, and so had left a plain Path for any one to trace him: Would any man do so, that had a mind afterward to deny the Fact? I congratulate thy good fortune, Poor Youth, if thou couldst not perpetrate the Murther, but thou must leave a proof of thy Blindness be∣hind thee, thou couldst not chuse but be Innocent.

I am therefore determined so to Plead the Cause of this poor Young-man; As first, to defend him, who is only Accused, not Guilty; and when I have sufficiently cleared his Innocency, I will then be∣gin my charge against the Mother. You shall view them both by their Manners, and their Cases re∣spectively and so you may the more easily dis∣charge your Consciences in passing a Righteous Judgment. For tho' the Tryal takes Cognizance of them both, yet I will handle their Cases in several. And first, I will suppose the Young-man had his Sight, and that the Efforts of his Mind were not a jot weakned by any Infirmity of Body. I will demand, what debauched, what flagitious, what impious Fact he committed before this, by which he might give some previous Specimen, that at length he would mount to Parricide. You know, Innocency recedes not from a man, but Page  8by certain degrees; and lest Audaciousness might be Faint-hearted in the highest Villanies, it ga∣thers Courage time after time in smaller ones. No man ever began at that height, to which it is scarce credible, that ever he should have ar∣rived at all. His Accuser must tell, what Grudges had past between him and his Father before, and how great a Breach had intervened between the deep engagements of those two sacred Names; Beleive me, Woman, even for thy own sake, for if it be an easie thing for a Son to Mur∣ther his Father, it is much more easie for a Wife to destroy an Husband.

A VVord now concerning his sad Infirmity of Blindness. All our wildness and courage are dashed by the disaster of our Body, and the briskness of our Spirit is palled, if it be not se∣conded by the service of our Corporal Members. Destitution obliges only to mourning and soli∣tude. That countenance, which is invelop'd with a continual night, and fearful besides, can∣not so much as design a Villany, which is not practicable without Eyes. He still troubles him self, lest he should miss his way and stumble, he is solicitous about the difficulty in going and coming. There is a great necessity for the In∣nocency of that man, who knows, that no man can be discovered sooner, than he: Miserable men are always watchful over themselves, fear∣ing they may cease to deserve compassion; And who ever hath lost his Eyes, anxiously labours, that he might not seem to deserve such a loss. What lesson can a poor Dark man learn, but to fawn and beg? When I hate a man, I am the Page  9worse to see him, and it makes no small Accession to ones Fury, when he beholds him with his Eyes, whom he abominates in his Heart. As for a Blind-man, he is more to be pitied than hated, and he is more cautious than to hate.

Besides, 'tis that hath often suggested causes of Parricide to unnatural Children, which they did behold with their Eyes: For, the Eye is the Inlet of Vice to the Mind. Luxury hath put a Sword into some Childrens hands to Murther their Fathers, now Luxury is a Crime of such as have Eyes. The love of some Courtezan hath done the like for others, when she demanded an unreasonable Largess, but Love hath the Eyes for his Centinels. But in our Case, what! doth an unhappy Blind-man kill his Father? His Fa∣ther being killed, who shall now lead him by the hand with security? Whose Shoulders could he lean upon more easily? Will any one chastise the reproaches of the Servants more strictly than the Father? Will any one protect such and so distressed a condition, and so subject to abuse, with greater tenderness? Wishes go at another rate amongst Children in misery; a Blind Son prays, that his Father might survive him.

And now, I would fain know, what they will say, how so difficult a Fact could be accomplish∣ed; did a Blind-man say you, Plot Parricide? With whom did he lay the Plot? Whose Eyes did he trust? When he was to go through the whole House, whom did he chuse for his Guide? He that was alone in his own Chamber, I take it, can deliberate with none but himself; tis enough, he consults with a nimble companion, for why Page  10should he desire anothers privity to his Design, who needed no Information of any thing? First, he can tell, when 'tis Night, then he can look carefully, whether all the family be asleep? He knows how to tread sure and yet soft, and to turn about his careful Visage towards that side, whence the least fear might come: In a state of fear, 'tis provision little enough to have our Eyes. What! Did he not say to himself, 'tis true, I would fain Murther my Father, but how shall I do it? Who shall guide my hands? I will get me out of my Chamber by Night, alone by my self, but when shall I get thither? Do you think, that our Chambers are next one another? Nay, the whole House is between the Fathers and Sons Lodgings: How easily may I mistake my way? How long shall I be about it? I must grope through a huge Reach, scarce to be footed over. Thou Nonsensical Blind Fool, what art thou going about? 'Twill be broad-day before thou can'•t perfect thy Design. Again, what would you say, if he should be awake? Nay, what if the Mother only? Go too, I'le warrant you, I'le find the Threshold, I'le open the Door with∣out Creaking, I'le enter into my Fathers Cham∣ber, while he is fast a sleep; I'le Stab him in that Condition, one Blow shall do the Deed; my Step-mother shall not stir a Wink, I'le go out securely, I'le return, and no living Soul know it.

These are the wishes, ('tis true) but of such as have their Sight. A Blind-man would despair, even though the Night did promise her assistance in so many Circumstances.

In the next place, I must needs ask, what could Page  11reason be, why the Son should use none but his own Sword in this Fact? Ah,* this came into his mind that he was to leave it behind him, for if he had left a strangers Sword in the Wound, some Question might have been made, Who was the Murtherer: But the Wisacre used his own, that so, if he should have escaped, his Sword might have betrayed him; Ay, but you'l say, Why then did he keep any Sword at all in his Chamber? I will tell you, first, because he had always one by him; and next, because he never intended to use it.

What? Did I provide a Sword for Parricide so many years before? And was I innocent so long, tho' the Sword was at hand, wherewith I threatned to kill my Father? Was I ready in my Spirit and with my Sword, and yet suffer'd so many Nights to slip over my head? You know, I had made you familiarly acquainted with the sight of the Sword before, it was known also to all the Servants; it hung carelessly and disregarded in the midst of my Chamber, as a Witness of my Innocency; yea it hung so openly, that any bo∣dy living might have filch'd it away. No guilt of Conscience did conceal it, 'twas as sure known as the blindness of its Owner: He that prepares a Sword to commit a Murther doth keep it so close, that he may deny it to be his.

Set now before your Eyes the Act of the Mur∣ther, and you will find the difficulty thereof. I'le grant, that he went out of his own Chamber, and that he deceived the Servants, whom his Fa∣ther had allotted to attend him; that after much •do he sound the Old-man's Chamber, then the Page  12Wall ended, and could no longer guide the Mur∣therer, the door opened without creaking: VVhat does he do then? Does he go round about the Wall of the Bed-chamber, or does he venture into the middle of it, and flourish his Sword in the dark Room? VVell, now he finds his Fathers Bed, and stretching out his head, overhears them both Breathe, as they were asleep; tell me, how shall he know, which way he shall take his Ayme? Or VVhich of the Two to strike? VVell, did he grope out the face and the breast right a∣gainst him, did he seek the shortest Cut to let out his dying Soul? What a dead Sleep was that, that could not perceive all this? But she says, I did not perceive it my self neither. I reply, you see what a bad Cause you maintain, which you can defend but by one Plea, and that an incredible one too; say you so, was your Husband Stab'd whil'st he lay in your arms, and you never the wiser? Thy Husband is slain by thy side, and thou not awak'd, as if thy Son-in-Law had dispatcht thee first: What was thy Husband Slain by his Blind Son, and yet not struck by him? Me thinks, if the noise of the Blow could not, yet his warm Gore might have awakned thee?

But how manifest is thy Guilt, which puts thee to this shift, that when thou wouldst have it be∣leived, That, thy Son-in-Law Murthered his Father, art constrained to say, Thou perceivedst nothing: We have enough, and to spare, the Cause goes on our side, we are clearly Innocent. What! VVhen thou wert in the same Bed with him that was Slain, and perhaps didst embrace him, dost Page  13thou profess so deep and sound a Sleep? How came it then to pass, that thou didst escape? What good fortune withheld his wrathful hands from shedding thy Blood? To be sure, thou wert a Sleep to purpose, thou perceivd'st no∣thing of all this. Did thy Son-in-Law let thee escape, because he did not fear to be apprehend∣ed? Did ever Son Kill his Father and spare his Step-Mother? Could he commit the greatest vil∣lany of all without regret, and did his heart im∣mediately fail him in the Lesser? Had he violated all the Rights, so Sacred amongst men, and yet durst he not make bold with a Life so odious, as thine? It is an incredible thing and against all reason, that he should spare a Mother-in-law, when you dare accuse him for Murthering his own Father? What say'st thou, Young-man, did thy heart misgive thee to shed that Blood? Did she more passionately entreat thee to spare her Life? Hereby thou hast lost the Plea, that she perceived nothing, that it was Night, all husht, there was time enough to commit also another Murther. If it had been possible for thee to Commit the Parricide, thou could'st have Slain thy Father upon no other account, but that there∣by thou might'st have opportunity to Kill thy Step-mother too. Neither do I see any reason, why he should spare her, unless he would have her live, that she might seem to have acted that wicked Fact. Craftily enough contriv'd,* but this shall presently be overthrown by another evidence. These things do not well hang toge∣ther, to spare the Step-mother, that so she may be accused, and to leave the Sword behind, that so Page  14he himself might be discovered thereby. I have often occasion to make use of the Argument from Blindness, and in this place especially, where we come to treat of the Wound. For certainly; if a Murtherer had entred who had his sight, yea, and had carried Lights before him, yet he could never so happily have levelled his blow, for tho' the darkness had not caused him to miscarry, yet fear and guilt, which are always witnesses to great Villanies, would have put him to a loss. A Common Executioner seldome strikes but once, e∣ven altho' he fit the Neck for the Block, yea tho' his practised hand came but newly from giving the like Blow, as his ordinary Trade: But it seems, the Blind-man hit so right, as immediatly to let out the Heart-blood. Upon my Con∣science, I wonder he did not hit his Mother, when he aimed at his Father; the first Blow of the Par∣ricide doth but only shew his intent and resolu∣tion: Alas! He quivers, he is thoughtful, he Co∣lours for it, and is but one degree on this side Innocence, he only makes way by the First, so as to give a stronger Blow the second time.

And now let me ask,* what reason the Young∣man could have, to leave his Sword behind him? Oh! the Good-man, forsooth, would not have his Mother desamed; he hath barr'd all Apolo∣gy, he hath Confessed himself to be the Murther∣er by leaving his Sword in the Wound. If he had thought the first Blow had not done the deed, he would have given another, but if he had be∣leived the first had dispatched him, he would have taken away all means of discovering his Guilt. But why do I go about to demonstrate a thing, Page  15which is evident of it self? My Lords, if you would know, who left the Sword behind, think with yourselves, whose interest it was it should be found, where it was.

Oh, but you'l say, The wall was Bloodied with the Print of an hand even to the Sons Chamber. In the first place, My Lords, con∣sider, That he was no Simpleton, no Impolitick fellow, who tho' he were Blind, would attempt a wickedness, which was difficult even for one that had his Eyes? What! Did he not think with himself, when he put his Bloody hand to the Wall, that he should leave the Print of his Par∣ricide behind him? Whereas he might easily have wiped that hand (that guided him) in his Clothes, and so got away without leaving any Print behind him, yet he thought good to Blood the Wall all along, ana so every where to leave some Memorial of his poor Fa∣ther? He did not consider in the least, what would follow the next day after, what a great Hubbub would be rais'd thereupon at Day-break, but he laid a Train beyond all possible mistake, that so his Mother might trace him even to his very Chamber door. Wonderful hap! what, was not the Blood all wasted till then? Let us here consider the very Nature of the thing it self. The Wall was found so Bloodied with the Print of an hand even to the last, that the entire hand, and every finger thereof, were exquisitely imprinted thereon. Surely he would have exhausted all the Blood in his hand at 2 or 3 of the first Prints. Suppose his hand was Bloody, and thereupon, 〈◊〉 to gratify our Adversary a little) dropping wet, Page  16suppose also the length of the way, and the long Reach of the Wall (for he could not get to that farthest part of the House in a little time.) That part of the Wall next the Fathers Chamber must needs have more Blood; the next to that, less the third, as good as none; the last none at all? For the Blood, as often as it was Clapt to the Wall, sticks there, or else drys up in the warm hand of such a slow-pac'd Creeper. Now what shall we say to this, when the Print of the Blood, (would you think it) doth begin at both ends? A plain Bloody hand at the one end, and at the other. How could his hand carry along that, which it left behind? No, no, 'twas the Mother, the Mother with all her Eyes about her, she drew all this, 'twas her Right-hand took the poor mans Blood, and ever and anon dip• and renewed the Print. We find that the Bloodied Wall hath some void spaces, it is no• besmear'd all along, but here is a perfect Prin• of an hand every where; Now a Blind man would have trayled his hand all along.

I Demand next, how he could have so much Blood in his hands? All the Blood doth the•• gush out from the Body, when it Issues after a••• Sword that is newly drawn out of a Wound, bu• when a Wound is closed with the same Sword that gives it, 'tis but a dark discovery can b• made by the Blood, in that Case.

Add, that no Blood can come at that part o• the hand, which gripes that Sword-hilt and s•• clutches it self up whilst it holds the Wea•∣pon; the Back of the hand only must needs b• Bloodied, but our Wall is Imprinted with th• Page  17hollow of an hand, to which no Blood could come? 'Tis your part, My Lords, to lay all these things together, and to weigh them seriously. The reason, why a Judge should shew more dis∣cretion in finding out a Villany, than the offender did in Committing it, I suppose, is this, because •he later is thoughtful only for himself, but the former for both parties indifferently.

Thus have I defended the poor Young-man's Cause: I pass now to the Step-mother's, and what more certain Evidence of Conviction may reach Her. I omit that thred-bare and wel∣known Topick, concerning the Comparing of Per∣sons. Another man would say, that Husband and Wife, unless endear'd one to another by having Children at first, are not mutually ce∣mented by the strongest tyes of Conjugal Union. But I shall rather insist on this; Thou, Good Woman, wert deceived in thy expectation, thou thoughtest to come into a Clear house, for∣sooth, an house without an Heir. Thou expect∣edst, that the poor Youth should have been expell'd the House even upon your Wedding day, and that his Father, cajoled by thy flattering em∣braces, should have sent his desolate Son to seek his Fortune, and so have made provision, that the dismal Misfortune of his Body might not offend the Eyes of his Coy New-Bride. But on the con∣trary, thou soundest the Good Old man affection∣ately tender of his only Son, and for that reason thou despairedst of all conjugal affection from him. Miserable is that Husband, who brings in a Step-dame over his Son, because his Wife can never think he will love them both.

Page  18In the first place therefore, I demand, where your Husband was slain? In his Bed-chamber, say you! Go too! Before thou wert Marryed, thy Son-in-law had no need of this defence; was the Old-man slain in his Chamber? What! Was not the Murtherer afraid of his Wife? How durst he, that was Blind, enter into a private Mar∣riage Chamber, and approach the solitude of a Matrimonial Bed, especially with a Murthe∣rous intent? where can an Husband be found a∣lone without his Wife? Again, who ever chose the night for the Villany? The night, good Ma∣dam, was your time. Besides, what if thou hadst another advantage for thy Design? Thou needst not come from the further part of the house;* Thou need'st not Traverse all the Blind places thereof; Thou need'st not trouble thy thoughts, how to hold up the Door so gingerly on the Hinges, that it creak not in the opening; You lye pat for the occasion, your Design is ea∣sily accomplished without stirring a Foot: You need not fear, lest any body should snap you. Moreover the Servants lodged far off, and great secresy is afforded you by the very Genius of the place; you may strike when you list, you may know whether he be a Sleep or no. The night time, a Sword at hand, and a Snor∣ing Husband, who can desire more to do a Vil∣lanie? We know the poor Old-man could have been Murthered, when you had a mind to it.

But, says she, how could the Sword, that was my Son's, come to my Hands? Here we are put to it indeed; A shrewd point to be answered Page  19Alas! Who will beleive me, if I say, that the Dark-man lost his Sword; his Eyes, closed with a perpetual night, could not keep it safe. I should then be thought to devise a thing of mine own head to serve my purpose, and shame∣lessly to lament a want of proof, which is too too manifest. To speak Truth, his hand was al∣ways clapt on his Sword-hilt, it was his care day and night; do not pride thy self, as if by thy craft thou hadst out-witted a lurking cunning Ban∣ditty; no, no, it was our circumstances made the way easy for thee. It fixes the suspition more upon thee, because the Old-man was killed at one Blow. Thou hadst opportunity to prepare his body for the Stroke, even whilst thou seemedst to hug him. Thou with a gentle hand couldst grope over his breast before hand, and so find by the constant beat of the Pulse, where the panting Soul resides, where a deaths-wound might be given pre∣sently, and where, by the working Blood, the best place was to give the fatal Blow. Beleive it, my Bed-fellow can kill me at one Blow.

I come now to the Prints of the bloodied Wall, which I have urged upon thee sufficient∣ly before in the defence of the Young-man; now follows what I have hitherto kept in fur∣ther reserve against thee. When thy Husband was slain in thy Chamber, thou well knewest, there could be no Plea left for thee, if thou hadst not acted something, which it is likely Blindness might have done, and therefore thou didst put the Blood on that part of the Wall, Page  20where thou wouldst have the enquiry to be made, that so the next day the whole Chase might be guided by the trail of the Blood which was laid before. Thou layest all on the Young-man, his Calamity hath been thy Counsellor. Thou knewest, that he could not otherwise en∣ter without a Guide, but by conducting himself all along by the VVall, and therefore thou mad'st as if thou wert Blind, and to compleat thy Villany, thou hast plai'd pretty tricks with thy Husbands Blood: All these things were con∣trived and counterfeited by thee at pleasure and in all security, that so thy craft might lay the Guilt on another. For now, forsooth, thou art innocent, because thy Son's Sword was found in the Wound, and because the Wall was bloodied. Didst thou think, that either of those Indications were sufficient to discover the Murtherer? But with how easy a touch of a Ballance, are the Issues of a Cause turned? For he is often found to have committed a Murther, who accused a∣nother for the same; But, says she, he had Cause and Provocation enough to commit the Parri∣cide, because his incensed Father had packed him away into some remote part of the House. Know, Woman, that might perhaps seem an ignominy to a more happy Son-in-law, but it is a priviledge to blindness, to have retire∣ment allotted to it. Oh! The worthy and singu∣lar affection of the good Old-man! How kindly did he shut up his poor Son? How carefully did he keep him from the Eyes of his Wife, that might have rejoyced over him? How did he provide for the bashfulness of the poor man▪ Page  21••f I had been a more happy Father, says the Old-man, I would have given up the whole House to thee, but now seeing thou art ••ark B•ind, (Poor heart) possess that part, where none can see thee, and whither none, •ut my self, can come: Thou shalt have faith∣ful Servants about thee, none shall hear thy groans, nor glad themselves with thy doleful miseries. And thou hast no reason to be trou∣bled for the loss of the families conversation. The recess granted to thee, Poor Youth, is there∣fore granted, that thou mightest be less sen∣sible of the loss of thine Eyes. Did ever any Father hate a Dark Child, and rest contented only with this revenge, to assign him a quiet, a remote, and even the best part of his House: Ay but, says she, I understand it as if he had disinherited, as if he had disowned, him; what doth the peivish Old-man keep his Youth in his closest embraces, doth he remove him far∣thest from the passage out? I demand, when he separated you two the length of the House; Thee, lusty and in good health; him, poor, blind, subject to reproaches, obnoxious to inju∣ries, was he angry with the Son, or with the Wife? Son, says he, I would not have thee make use of the pleasantest part of the House, least the gaudry thereof should affect thee, be∣cause thou canst not see it. Who is so foo∣lishly angry with a Blind Son, as to think it material to him, in what part of the House he is bid to dwell? Nay, Dame, of the Two, he rather removes thee, he raises up an ob∣ject of Envy to thine Eyes, He says to thee, Page  22thou hast room over and above, thou hast the greatest part of the House, think him to be absent, leave at least a corner to a poor Son in his own Fathers House: That Father, who, in the reign of a Step-mother, assigns a se∣cret part of the House to his Son, doth plainly tell his Wife, that he cannot cast him off.

The Mother comes now to another kind of Plea, That she had no cause for the Murther, seeing the Son was found Heir Apparent of all his Fathers Estate: For who else should, that so he might take the shortest Cut to his In∣heritance. Ay, but a Son, once made Heir expresly, does not fear, That his Father will al∣ter his Will. You confess he was lest Heir of all his Fathers Estate; Well then, you see, that his Father was not angry with-him, when he allotted him a remote part of the House. Surely, contrary Pleas can never advantage thee, thou wouldst object the same thing to this Defendant, if he had been Disinherited; chuse which side thou wilt, if he knew he was Heir, he ought to love his Father the more; if he did not know it, he had nothing to hope for, by his Fathers death.

It remains now, that we consider, which of you two would most want the Murthered Old-man: I wis, the greif goes nearer to thy heart,* Good-woman, Thy sadness hath almost made an end of thee, but stay awhile, the black cloud will soon blow over, thou wilt quickly change thy Mourning Vail, fitted for thy purpose, for a new* Bridal Tire. But the Page  23Poor Youth, if he compare his present miseries with those which were past, begins now, ra∣ther than before, to be really Blind. For what hath not the poor Youth lost in his Aged Father? Whilst he lived, he was his Dearly beloved; his Fathers Eyes were ready at his service to guide him, whithersoever he pleased. The Saucy Servants durst not mock him for his unhappy blindness, nor durst they in ridicule (which is the highest contumacy) de∣sire him to play the Master amongst them. But now, Good God, how many Taunts must he undergoe? Blindness and desolateness fall to his share both at once. For, Poor Youth, what good can an Inheritance doe thee, which thou enjoy'st only by Hear-say? What's Mony to thee? What Pleasure canst thou have to en∣joy it? All thy pleasure is, that thereby thou wilt be an easier Prey to the Pillager. But how carefully did thy Fathers Eyes keep up all for thee? Oh! how easily may'st thou now be deceived? How quickly stript? How soon choust? How suddainly be made not worth a Groat? 'Tis thy Fathers Death, that Disinherits thee. What canst thou now expect, but perpetual Mourning and Abhorring even of Life it self?

This Poor Youth hath lost at last even his very Tears, neither can his Eyes bear a part in Mourn∣ing for his Father. Now thou wantest the Sword to be used on thy self; Lo, he seeks for it, he gropes after it, give it me again, says he, it was innocent as long as it touched no hands, but mine. If I must needs dye, I Page  24make it my choice to fall upon it. That burden'd and unhappy Soul did long-since ut∣ter such complaints as these; Where is now the strength, that you talk of? Where's my sprightlyness and effort? Where is my Arm, formerly (as you say) to springy? At one Blow, I beleive, I can hardly now kill my self.

Coecus pro Limine: OR, The Blind Son standing at his Chamber-door.

DECLAMATION II.

Page  27For the Blind Son against his Mother in Law.

I Am sensible, (My Lords) that this bashful Youth is much agreived, not that he is guilty of the Parricide in the least, but that he is put to clear his Innocency against his Step-mother. I know also, that much of the Reverence due to our Blind Defendants Virtues will be lost, when he urges no other Plea for his Superlative Duty, than what would •pring off another man, as well as himself. And therefore in the first place, be it known unto all affectionate pesons, that our Client scorns to make use of the Argument of his Blindness; •e, of all men living, will not allow himself the priviledge, to be thought more unlikely to have committed this Murther, because he was Blind, •han he was, when he had his Sight. This Youth, one of the most innocent that ever Virtue made an object of Pity, proclaimed to all the World, he could not design the Murther before •is Father was slain; and that you may not think •im unconcern'd in this days Solicitude, he act∣•d so, that the highest wickedness in humane Life might not be beleived, no not in another. •ardon the Young-man, I beseech you, My Lords, if he scorn to be acquitted, only in com∣•iseration or guerdon of his woful condition;

Son, that saved his Father out of the •ire with the loss of his own Eyes, tis an in∣•olerable absurdity to think, that he should be •nnocent of Parricide only upon this account, be∣cause Page  28he was not able to Murther him.

As for the Woman, My Lords, who hath no Plea to defend her self but this. That the Blind Son Murthered his Father; I had rather see her put to so impudent a shift of accusing another, than if she had only denyed the Fact. Let him look to it, who thinks it to be her Confidence in the goodness of her Cause, that she charges the Blind man with the Fact; No, no, the Impuden∣cy of the Woman is clearly discovered hereby, who can by no means be Defended; but by the suggestion of things wholly Incredible; he that accuseth a Blind-man, when he himself is suspect∣ed, must needs be the only Person, Guilty. She stood in need of other manner of proofs against so great unlikelyhood, a Dark-man ought not presently to be suspected in a Parricide upon eve∣ry blind Suggestion, no, he must be taken in the very Fact. And therefore, Good my Lords, look upon these things to make highly for the Young∣man, which are so solicitously pack'd together, as a nimiety of Proof against him. There is nothing can contribute more to the Blind-mans Innocency, than that so many things are to be framed and forged against him. There is suf∣ficient Evidence of the Piety and Harmlesness of the Party, who was to be attaqu'd with the Pro∣bability of a Parricide. Weapons, Gore Blood, Poysons, are all amassed against his woful con∣dition, and whatever else might not argue any neglect, but where there is ignorance. For there is no man, I say, no man, My Lords, that ought to have a more heedful regard in acting a Wickedness, than he that can Murther his Fa∣ther, Page  29wanting, Eyes. This Young-man, of whom the monstrousest Crime in Nature is pretend, bore always such an affection to his Father, that none of us can hardly expect the like even in our Own Flesh and Blood. When the House was all of a flaming Fire, and no hopes of safe∣guard for the Poor Old Folks, this Young Gentle∣man ran full into the midst of the Flames, with as much hast as we use to run out from them. In what a great hazard was he then, with such extraordinary Piety to his Parent? Whilst he was long doubting, through astonishment, casting his Eye on them both, and running from one to 'tother, his equally-poiz'd Piety had almost cost him his Poor Father and Mother too. But at last, when the Fire drew near and enclosed the Old Couple, (let the dutiful Youth hear this, tho' a∣gainst his will) he chose the Father, and tho' he equally loved them both, as they were a burning, yet his hovering affection pitched on Him first. He had scarce set the Old-man down, (it being in∣deed a miracle, that even He was preserved) but away he goes back, and breaks thro' the Flames again; and being engaged in the thick Globes of Fire, closing and streaming round a∣bout him, without question he had been Burnt, but that he lost his Eyes a little before. 'Tis ob∣servable, My Lords, that his great undertaking had not that success to rescue his Mother. Yet he had done less in Both, except his Eyes had been burnt out. Let them look to it, who most admire the Son upon the account of that Parent, for whose safety his Face was disfigured, and his Eyes lost; For my part, I am of opinion, that Page  30he obliged his Father (principally) by his Blind∣ness, who spent his Eyes in quest of his Mother, that he had, just then, left behind.

I know, My Lords, you don't expect any Apo∣logy for the Old-man's Marrying again, it was done at such a time, when 'twas evident he could not manage his Estate for his Son's use. Nay, I might lay a wager on't, that it was don by the Young-mans own advice. That his Father, whom the Fire had bereaved both of his Mother and Himself, might ease the remainder of his years by a second Marriadge, and that the House, which held only an Old Father and a Blind Son, might have the Servants watch't over and kept to their duty, by a New Bride. 'Tis ordinary, My Lords, for Stepmothers to deceive honest Sons-in-Law with a great deal of ease, and yet hate them nevertheless. To how many Treacheries, to how many Artifices is a Blind innocent per∣son exposed? A Woman, to whom the weakness of her Son in Law, and the Old Age of her Hus∣band, gave hopes to invade the Inheritance, un∣derstood well enough, that was the only thing wanting to the occasion of the Villany, That the Blind Son should first be blemished with the Accusation of Parricide: When this then was perceived by her, that the Young-man thought himself in the condition rather of an own Son, than of a Son in Law, she told the Father of the Poyson that she had stole into the Poor Youth's Bosom, as if he himself had provided it to Mur∣ther him. And because the Cheat might easily have been discovered if she had named any Com∣plice, she laid the whole train of the Accusation Page  31so, as to have it beleived, That one Moiety of the Estate was promised to Her, if she herself would have administred it. You see, My Lords, by what previous steps she made her approaches •o the last Will and Testament of her Husband, a Woman that, he beleived, would not take such a part of his Estate to Poyson him, must of ne∣cessity be so rewarded, as to be made his Heir. O how much otherwise should that Parricide be proved, whose Author is now clearly discovered. A Woman that said she was made privy to the wickedness, did not first desire the Father to de∣mand, who got the Poyson for the Poor Youth? •r, who gave it him? Nay rather, where she knew the greatest Intrigue of the Question to lye, •he contrived, that the innocent Youth should be •nterrogated on a sudden, and was ready to •harge his Trepidation, as if he had been taken in •he Fact, whether the Party had held his Peace, •r had denied it? The Old-man, being brought •o his Son, told him what he heard; was it ever •nown, My Lords, that a man of such plain∣•earted innocency would deny the Fact? The •outh durst not lye before Her, who discovered •he Poyson, and knew where it was. But when •he Poor Youth perceived, that his Step-mother •ush'd on the thing, and was urgent that his •osom should be search'd, then he was all in a Quandary, and wofully astonished and perplexed 〈◊〉 his thoughts, for now he understood, that was her devise to lay the Poyson there, where it •ight be found. Whereupon the Young-man in •reat hast felt all over his Body, and thrust his and deep into his Bosom, searching and grop∣ing Page  32every part that might be suspected, till he found the Poyson first himself. My Lords, I com∣mend the Innocency of our mute Defendant, I commend his confidence, that, being Interroga∣ted, For whom he had prepared it, thought it needless to ward himself against the heynous Accusation of Impoysoning. He acted the part of such an one, as knew his Father could not be∣leive it, and (such is the great resolution of' Inno∣cency) he would not rebate the Old-mans Belei by any kind of Excuse whatsoever. Alas! This was far from a guilty Trepidation, neither was it any thing of a silent Confession: He that deals in Poyson, is as well provided of a ready answer too, in case he be discovered.

Upon this, the Old-man acted so, as if he had not been at all concerned in what he had found▪ He did not put the Servants of his Blind Son to the Torture, and in a Villany, wherein there must needs be more Accomplices than the Parri∣cide himself, he did not enter upon a Formal Ex∣amination, but, which is more than to Acquit, he did not call the Young-man to his Defence Now whether it were, that afterward, whe• he understood the Craft of the wicked Woman, he was willing to protect his Son by Disinheriting him, and other while intending to dispose of his Estate with more deliberation, in the Interim made use of the occasion, that the Step-So•• should not seem to stand in the way, as a Bart to her desire; or whether it were not far more easy for her to obtain the disinherison of the Dark Youth from a man, that she had cajoled to so many things before, I leave it, My Lords, to your Page  33Wisdoms. I shall content my self in saying This, That he immediately altered his Will, and •hat you may not wonder at the haste, present∣•y thereupon he was Murthered. Judge you, My Lords, whether it concerned the Young-man, •hat his Father should live, who now died with •nother Heir? Without dispute it was not for •is advantage, that he should be slain.

My Lords, The whole House was sensible of the •omicide, which that very night was perpetrated 〈◊〉 their Masters Chamber, yea in his very Bed; e∣•ery one thought, that he was upon the very •ace of the Murther, only the Step-dame, for∣•oth, could not Wake, tho' in that place whence •l the noise came. The whole Family ran, as ••e man, in a trembling posture and a very pi∣•ful taking, whither the noise led them, and •ere they found the Old-man Kill'd and the Step-•other lying so close to his Body, that they could ••t presently ask, who slew him? At last, the ••ws was brought to the Son, who was not •nd (which is a sufficient Plea for his Innocency) 〈◊〉 his retreat from committing the Murther, but •nding at the threshold of his own Chamber, the same condition with those, who had Eyes, •d were running up and down.

Next, that the Young-mans Sword was inquired •er, 'twas done by no other, but Her com∣•and, who had caused the Poyson to be sought 〈◊〉 before. That the bloody Sword was found in 〈◊〉 Bed, I shall not be against it, My Lords, but you ••y think it no less an Argument against the •••nd-man, than that Poyson could be found about ••n, in a suspicion of Parricide. A Sword bloodied Page  34all over ought to be the last not the only Proof.

Pardon us, all you that are aware of unlucky haps, pardon us, I say, you that know how ob∣noxious mans Life is to infinite dangers, That we begin the Defence of our Client with tears and groans. Alas, the Poor Youth hath lost his aged Father, and such a Father 'twas, that his kisses and embraces did as it were foment the wounds of his Eyes, and for whose sake alone he was willing to live. 'Twas a miserable ig∣norance, and an woful weakness, that thy Mo∣ther did not rather deceive Thee, and make thee drink the Poyson, thy self.

'Tis worth while, My Lords, to compare cir∣cumstances, for thereby this Parricide will ap∣pear even past beleif. Do you think that Nup∣tial endearments, and affections that have their rise from Emblandishments and Chucks, can a∣vail as much with us, as the Natural reverence of our own Flesh and Blood? For my part, I am of opinion, that no Tyes are knit with a looser knot than sensual obligations, these later are the shortest-liv'd of all. And tho' I'le allow, that a certain reverence and grave respect ac∣crows by little and little to a Conjugal state, yet marryed couples may be severed with as much ease as they came together. A Wise is one, whom Interest both joyns and parts too. The respect of a Female seems only to lye here, that she was sought after for Procreation's sake. We hear the squabbles of some Married Couples every moment, they part habitations every day, and run out of one Bed and Embrace to another; yea, tho' a Woman have Children by her Husband, yet she Page  35can fancy another; and we may perceive how easy Women are to all that's unworthy, in that sometimes they love not their Husbands, even when they are alive; but what if you add the name of a Mother-in-law to the selfishness of the Sex? The Woman, that is brought in as a Step-mother over a former Wif's Children, can never look for the absolute respect due to a Wife. O, how doth the love and reverence due to my Father, that begat me, surpass all lesser endearments? The Affection between Father and Son seems not in∣ferior to that, which unites the whole Frame of Nature, and knits the Universe together. Can Flesh and Blood Stab that sacred and venerable Person, which he ventured to snatch out of the Flames? And for whose sake he thought his own Eyes well spent? I cannot see, My Lords, how we can salve Filial Reverence, it cannot be difficult at all for a Wife to Mur∣ther her Husband, if it be not far more difficult for a Son to cut off his own Father. Don't think, My Lords, that the Debate lies between a Silly Wo∣man and a Lusty man, nor can the Mother ad∣vantage her self on the account of her Sex, let me tell you, that the Infirmity of Blindness is a stronger Plea than any she can have, for if a Woman thinks, she hath cause enough to kill a Man, she can find strength to do it as well as the stoutest He alive. Moreover, 'tis a plain case, that the Passions of Tears, Hatred, and Wrath, do with more facility seize and over∣power the Female Sex, and because they have not strength enough to conquer the Vices of their minds, sometimes even their very weakness Page  36prompts them to mischief. Ple grant, that Wo∣men are not sufficient for such wickedness, as requires much toyle and laboriousness in the Acting; But what can be more in a Womans power, than to Murther a man, lying by her side? To assault an Old man, who gave himself up to her Embraces? And who did order and watch every nod, he took. Another Murtherer may be discovered before he gives the Blow, but a, Wife cannot be taken, but in the very Fact, nor before she hath done the Do. 'Tis no ways incredible, My Lords, that a Woman should Murther a Man, when a Poor Blind-man is ac∣cused upon the account. It may be so, My Lords, if we beleive Blind men to be innocent only out of Necessity, but there's more than that in the Case, the first incapacity of Blindness is, to refuse a mischeivous deed, when presented to it: We are much mistaken, if we think, that the loss of Eyes reaches our Bodies only, not our Minds; the whole man is disabled thereby, for if we diligently consider all humane Acts, we shall find, men are at the disposal of their Eyes. A Blind man is not so prone to chafe, to hate, or to cover, for seeing our Bodies draw activity from our Eyes, our Vicious Passions cease too, when their Causes faile. To what purpose, I beseech you, should those Hands be imployed upon any attempt, which are so long in ventu∣ring upon what is next? Those hands, which cannot do their own business? Can that weak Body undertake any exploit, which is ready to fall every step it takes? And who thinks eve∣ry thing before him a Precipice, till he gropes Page  37out the contrary? Can he be guilty of a Villa∣ny, in which he can act nothing himself, but must trust wholly to another?

But what will you say, if his Blindness came by Fire: In such a case, a Man loses more than his Eyes out of his Head; his whole Visage is defaced, while he is scorching, every step he takes failes him, neither can he hold up his hands to guard his Eyes, but he is fain to yeild them up to the Flames too, after his other Mem∣bers are disabled. Even this is enough to ar∣gue a Blind mans Innocence, that tho' he may have strength and audacity, yet he hath not the Confidence to think, that ever he shall lye un∣discovered. 'Tis not proper, My Lords, to Apolo∣gize for this Young man, by the same Pleas as would defend another Blindling: How incredi∣ble is it, that he should ever Murther his Fa∣ther, that could not endure so much as the very thoughts of losing Him? Pray what need was there of a Sword: What need was there of Poyson to make him a Parricide? Might he not with more ease have saved his Mo∣ther? Might he not have catcht her up, being the weaker of the Two, and less able to help herself? By such a trick, thou mightest have committed Parricide, and yet have been ac∣counted one of the best Sons in the World. Be∣sides, you cannot but think, that his Fathers yernings were increased towards him after this disaster; The surplusage of his affection might now make up the loss of his Eyes, that were spent in his service; and that Piety must need be boundless, when we love that, which we our Page  38selves were the occasion of: What say you, My Lords? Can a Blind Young-man, that the whole Town flocks about and admires, whom all Children love, and all Parents revere, can such an one, I say, take encouragement from his Father's indulgence to do him a mischeif? What, will he make himself a pattern of Piety and of Villany too? 'Tis easier to Murther a Father that sa∣ved Thee, than a Father, that thou thy self hast saved.

My Lords, we should inquire into the Impul∣sive Causes of no Parricide more strictly than of This. 'Twas Covetousness, (says she) that put the Young-man upon the Fact. If that be credible, much more if true, it may be considered, whe∣ther a Woman, made Heir, be not more likely to kill her Husband, than a disinherited Blind Son, his Father? Such hast, My Lords, may they make, whom nefarious Avarice doth excite, and love of Vice and Luxury doth precipitate dayly and push on. But to what purpose is an Inheritance given to a Blind-man, tho' never so deserving? 'Tis our Eyes, our Eyes, I say, that make us im∣patient to bear a mean condition; 'tis to them, that we ow all our superfluity: 'Tis they, that continually hurry us into all Vice, 'tis they, that open the door to admiration, to love, to concupi∣scence; A man may sooner fulfil and satisfy the desire of his Mind than of his Eye. To what purpose are Riches to a Blind-man, who can make no gay distinction of any thing? Thô you surround such a poor Creature with all manner of pelf and gawdry, yet he then wants most when he has most plenty; neither can you find a defect more sweetly allied to Poverty than Blind∣ness Page  39is? A man that lost his Eyes for his Parents sake, will take more comfort in his Estate under his Father, than without him.

But what way of Parricide, I beseech you, •id the Youth pitch upon? 'Tis said, he provided Poyson, If that would do the deed, what need,* I pray, of' a Sword? Doth Impoysoning require an •ccomplice, an attendant, but a Sword neither? Or did it not come into his mind till afterward, what his Hands could do? And having found the Poyson too weak, did he take heart and resolve •o try by dint of Sword? Beleive it, My Lords, •here is no man living but knows, which way to •ill another, if he have a mind to it.

My Lords, our Step-dame knew well enough, •ow incredible it was, that a Dark-youth should •emper Poyson; and therefore she makes up the matter by telling you, that she was tempted to •dminister it. I beseech you, My Lords, let her •elate what tempting words he used. Here's a Mother in Law and a Step-son caballing together a∣bout a Parricide. What? Might not one think himself to be tempted as well as 'tother. My Lords, pray speak, what your thoughts are? Was there •o other person in the House that the Parricide could corrupt, but Her? To be sure, 'twas more hard to trust her than any body else. Might he not imagin that his Father, and all his Freinds, did whisper in his ear, and give him this kind in∣timation first of all; have a care of a Step-mother •hat hath power to deny Thee. 'Tis not probable he would disclose the Parricide to one, that he knew would betray him, unless he had obtained her Consent.

Page  40I beseech you, My Lords, compare diligently these Cross-Pleas together. Here's a Woman says, she was tampered with to have a hand in the Murther. Do you think, that a Son in Law would ever have done so, if he could have got any o∣ther Accessory? Oh! But, says she, he had bought and tempered the Poyson already; 'Tis impossi∣ble the Blind-man could do it of himself, tell us then, whom he intrusted to chaffer only for the Implements of his Parricide? And why did not the same person give it to the Old-man? Or if the Husband cannot be deceived but by the hands of his Wife, why then did he design the Murther, before he knew his Mother would con∣sent? And whereas she alledges, That half of the Estate was promised to Her; that's no Argument as yet, till it be proved. A Woman solicited to a Villany, how doth she cast about, lest her Accom∣place should leave her in the Lurch? Besides, she should have provided her self of Positive Proof, whether she hearkened to the Proposal, or reject∣ed it. I shall add, 'tis a very plain Case, that the Blind Youth did not hate his Mother in Law, seeing he intrusted her with his Design against his Father, neither did he gape after the whole Estate, for she her self says, he promised her one moiety thereof. My Lords, no man living will ever commit a Parricide, that another is to have the benefit of. Woman, I shall put thee to it, who wert (by thy own allegation) an Accessory and a Complice, to bring clearer Proofs of the Young-mans Guilt. What need was there now, that the Youth should have any Poyson in the case? Come, come, produce the Witnesses to the dis∣course Page  41betwixt you, and to the words pretend∣•d to be spoken before some Servants, or some Freinds, or even in his Fathers own hearing. 'Tis he easiest thing in the world, to deceive the Pri∣•acy of a Blind-man. Go to, Woman, make your •dvantages of the Youth, who trusted himself in∣•rely to your Eyes, who spake not a word but •hat you did indite? And whose hands were but •our properties, to move as you pleased. Sup∣•ose, I grant, that he himself tempered the Poy∣••n, and that he himself was to administer it; sup∣•ose likewise, I grant, that he solicited thee a∣••in for thy consent, and that by larger proffers ••an ever. Alas! The Parricide might have •een discovered, whilst there was such ado about 〈◊〉 betwixt you Two. But, says she, He was •ound with the Poyson about him. A slight evi∣•ence, Madam, and grounded upon as weak a •undation; This is no accusation against the Blind •outh, but a Proof only that he is Blind. A man ••at lies open to every opportunity, and is ex∣•osed to all kind of Mockery, whom his very Fee∣•ng, and all things about him, cause to mistake, •hat great matter is it, what you find about him? Or in what dress you leave him, that you have 〈◊〉 mind to betray? He from whom the Mother par∣•ed but just now, whose Apparel she had right∣•d, whose Bosom she had ordered, whose Limbs •he had put in equipage, he, I say, might have Poyson about him, and yet he himself know no ••ch matter; he might have it, and yet think it any thing else Alas! If you had been so mind∣ed, he would have shewed it openly; if you •ad but spoke the word, he would have hand∣led Page  42it before Servants or Freinds; and if you had not said, 'Twas Poyson, he would have drunk it all up. My Lords, There is no Argument more Forceable to clear our Blind-Youth, than that, to all seeming, he was as it were surprised in the Fact: If he had a mind to have been a Parricide, and searched thereupon, he would have pretended to so much Innocency, at least, as not to have had the Poyson about him.

No wonder, My Lords, that the Young-man, be∣ing demanded, For whom he had procured the Poyson? returned not a word in Answer. It pro∣ceeded not from his Fathers wrath, nor from his own greif, 'twas the thing called Poyson, that the Youth was astonished at; when such crimes are objected to us, that we think impossible to be don, our very speech is taken from us; and sudden admiration strikes wretched persons, Dumb. No man can hold his Peace, when plain∣ly caught in a Villany, he is every jot as ready with his defence, as he was to commit the Fact. 'Tis easier for those who are surprised with false accusations, to hold their peace, than for those that are really Guilty. Pray, what would you have a Young-man doe, when his Father, whose life he had saved, propounds a Question to him concerning a Parricide? For my part, I wonder he did not reply, 'tis true, I would have Poysoned Thee, I am a Parricide; I should have thought, he had but upbraided an unworthy suspicion in him, if he had thus answered: 'Tis well, the Young-man had not learnt the Art of denyal, 'tis well, he did not use so many Put-offs as the Guilty do. The Poyson which the poor Blinding had about Page  43him, would have been His indeed, if he had gon •ut to excuse it.

But, says she, he was disinherited by his Father; 〈◊〉 Lords, I should think this was a close and •p design of the Old-man, and not at all le∣••ed against the Son, as if he would have the •thers accusation beleived. No, no, 'tis a •wn and common custom, My Lords, that •ves are loved to the prejudice of Children, ••d the affection of a second match ariseth from 〈◊〉 abatement of Natural love to the Off-spring 〈◊〉 the First. An Old-man that Marries again, 〈◊〉 pitiful kind of Creature, for the more ar∣•tly he loves his New Bride, the less kind he 〈◊〉 to his Children; besides, that Husband must •eds love his Wife more passionately, who bad ••ieu to his Son before: 'Tis very easy to be∣••ve a Blind Son guilty of Parricide, after you ••ve so far mistaken, as to put it to the Que∣•••n.

〈◊〉 would willingly know, My Lords, what the ••••d-man did, after he knew his Son was a Par•••ide. He did not prepare the* Culeus for him; 〈◊〉 did not make him take the Poysonous draught, ••mself; he did not so much as turn him out of ••ors: No, he only went and altered his Will, ••d so, if he would be a Parricide, he would •ake him but a Pocr one. I ask again, why •ch Post-haste? Who spurr'd him on? What! •ould he not have staid, till next day? No, no, 〈◊〉 would never have done it, had it not been to •atify his Wife. Methinks he did it so calmly, ••d so composedly, as if he had a mind to pat 〈◊〉 Trick upon Her. What say you in the Case, all Page  44poor affectionate Parents? Here's a Father about to disinherit his Son? He calls none of his kin∣dred, he sends for never a freind, he dispatcht the Writing without a Tear, and without any Out-cry at all: Alas, Old-man, the altering ones will must be done by good advice, especially if a Son be Disinherited, that deserves rather to be pitied, you must not think, My Lords, that the Schedule of the Youths Crime was not annexed to the Disinherison, because it was apparent without it. No, no man ever forbore to object Parri∣cide to his Son, therefore, because he was sure of it.

I beseech you, My Lords, let's consider, how each of these Two, that are indicted for the Mur∣ther, did behave themselves the next night af∣ter the Will was altered? As for the Youth, In∣nocent or Guilty, he stands still mute, and 'tis hard to say, which troubled him most, if he had the Poyson for himself or for another. And for the Step-dame, she had a nice and ticklish game to play, 'Tis very hard to defer a joy, which you know you do not deserve, she is quickly perswaded, that she is preferr'd before the Son. Now she expects, that her Son should plead his Cause the day after, and that all his kindred, nay the whole Town too, might find fault with the credulous Old dotard; and indeed, the Mother was sensible, that she was the Heiress only of one night? For no body living can beleive, but that mans Will is suborn'd, that was Murthered the same night, he Disinherited his Son.

My Lords, lets now compare circumstances of both sides, a Blind-man cannot know, where the Page  45Old-man lay, or whether he he were a sleep or no; and was it not very unlikely he should think, that his Father could be a sleep, who so lately had suspected, that his Son would have made him away? But you, Woman, can observe presently when he falls a sleep for heaviness: Who tells a Poor Blind creature of any. secret of day or night? You can also know, whether your careful Servants watch your Chamber-door, when you are both a bed together. You can create yourself an occasion, being Wife and Mi∣stress too. A Blind-man perhaps might have wandred to the wrong threshold; but you had nothing else to mind, but give the Blow. A Blind∣man must needs have disturb'd his Fathers rest, in the very Act of chusing, which part of the body he was to smite, but you, could feel his Gullet and his Breast all over, even in your very embraces. After the Murther, we must fall to groping again, we are at as great a loss, as we were before; as for you, you had nothing else to do, but to lay yourself down, and away presently to sleep again. Inward Plottings are not enough for one that would actually commit a Villany, there are so many other requisites, that a man, with all his Eyes about him, can hardly fetch them in. I beseech you, My Lords, of which of the Two is it most likely the Old-man was dispatcht? Of the Step-mother, who took care to cast the suspition on another? Or of the Young-man, by whose presumptive Guilt, he was to Dye, even tho' another kill'd him.

Consider, I beseech you, My Lords, the Gate and Treading of the Parricide. Such shufling steps Page  46as his, what sleep so sound, but they would have disturb'd? Blind Buzzards take many a step, be∣cause they cannot ballance their Bodies by poy∣zed and fore-essayed paces, so that being long a faultring they must needs make a deeper impres∣sion on the ground they tread upon. Besides night-repose and quiet cannot but be much broken hereby, for a Blind-mans hands are never at rest, but are held before him to grope things out, so that they give notice when they are a coming. Soft steps to nocturnal Embraces cannot be made by a Blind-man, he would discover himself strait by his rude and stamping noise: Blindness can∣not avoid what lies in his way, unless by stumb∣ling upon it first; If we would enter a Room, and walk up and down in it in the night, we should view it first by day-light. In the next place, how many things were there to do, after he had arrived at his Father? First, he must grope out the difference between them both, as they lay abed together: Then, he must feel their Faces, touch their Mouths, take off the Bed-cloths, that so he might find a sit place to give the Wound▪ Would not all this adoe wake one of the Two 〈◊〉 I'le add, that the right hand of a Wanderer makes an heavier touch: Afterward the Point of the Sword is softly to be directed to the Breast 〈◊〉 and lest a Blow, given at random, might miscar∣ry, the hand had need make way for the Sword How, I beseech you, should a Blind-man have so much strength, as to complete the Murthe at one Blow? That Wound must needs be uncer∣tain, whose impetus is not guided by the Eye in such a case, one cannot keep the place h• Page  47aims at, no not while he is drawing over to give the greater Blow. Now, did the Young-man pre∣sently fly for it, after he had given one Stab? How could he know, whether he had fully per∣formed the Exploit? Should he not rather have stayed, that he might have felt by the Carkass, whether he had made sure work, or no? And, as I said before, when all was done, he must re∣turn with the same hazard; all things were to be essayed with as much danger as at first. Now I appeal to your Consciences, My Lords, whether the very Inditement it self, as it is laid, doth not make for us: If a Blind Son could neither go nor come without such a noise, neither could he so act the Murther, that his Step-mother should not know it. This Question, Woman, I put to you a∣gain and again, what sleep can be so dead, that the slaughter of one so neer would not disturb? Men are quickly awake with a small thing in the night; never so little a stirring, an uncertain found, afar off, yea sometimes silence itself, break our sleep. Perhaps you may not perceive the last Farewel of those, who dye for pure Old-age and weakness, but the end of a man, that is slain with a Weapon, makes a bustling noise, and is like the end of one, where there is a violent resistance: Besides, 'tis evident, that no death can be more disturbing than that, which is act∣ed in a trice. Grant, he was slain when he was asleep, yet we must at no hand think, that he pass'd over immediatly from that rest to abso∣lue Death. There must needs be some medi∣um between Slumber and Death: Two such op∣posites cannot easily meet, seeing Sleep it self is Page  48an Action of Life. 'Tis no great matter here, whether the account of Life or of Death do break our sleep. Death it self doth awaken him, who is killed sleeping; perhaps he speaks no Fare∣wel words, yet instead thereof he hath his pal∣pitations, he hath his tossings and tumblings, such as shake the whole bed, he lies upon. Now you, good Woman, pray, when did you lye more sweetly incircled with the embraces of your Old Husband? How could you sleep so sound, who just now madst such a rout in the House? Whose Son-in-Law was (in thy account) no less than a Parricide: And thy Husband, a lost man. Behold, how after the deadly Blow, his hearts-blood gush'd out into thine Armes, and his Soul, flitting out of the Wound, carries ma∣ny a Groan and Sigh before it: Behold again, how that large streame of Blood doth congeal about your limbs, so that they are stiff and una∣ble to perform their offices; yet you do neither stir nor flinch, you fear nothing, but, in so strange a condition, sleep on still. There is no other Plea left for a Woman to pretend to, that must be found lying by him, whom she had Murthered. 'Tis not a whit incredible, My Lords, that one should act a Counterfeit sleep, tush, nothing is more ea∣sily imitated by a Womans craft. I will tell you, some have Counterfeited the paleness of dead Car∣kasses, yea, have held out with the Patience of death himself against blows and dint of Wea∣pons. 'Tis much easier to Ape a matter, the counterfeiting whereof requires only to close the Eyes, to stretch out our limbs, to stint our sighs, and to make as if we did not breath. There is Page  49no difference between one that really sleeps, and one that Counterfeits, but the Parties own knowledge. Don't wonder therefore, that at so many mens coming in, at such a noise of hand and foot, at so many out-cries, she still continued in the same posture, you would sooner have, awakned her, I'le warrant you, if she had been asleep in earnest. 'Tis the general guise of Nature, a mans holds out longer in nothing, than in that, which he imitates. To Counterfeit sleep hath also this easie part in it, that he, who is taken in a Fact, behaves himself as if he were awoke out of sleep. Tell me, Woman, what's the meaning of this, that what disturb'd the whole House, could not awake thee? The noise made in the night did rouze all the Servants out of their nests, tho' they are wont to be negligent enough, and to sleep securely without care or trouble, neither doth their fear ordinarily take first Alarum. Afterwards, how was the noise encreased by peoples running up and down all the House over. The first refuge of those that wake, is to call Help, Help, now we know help cannot be afforded in the night time without an Out-cry: When you were once up, there was less Schreiching. Look, your Chamber-doores are broke up in trembling hast, and many lights are brought to your Bed-side, and the whole Cham∣ber was full of Out-cries, as if you had both been stretched out for liveless Carkasses. Yet you lay still, as if you had been quite dead. Do you call this sleep? No, 'tis dissimulation, that holds out to the last. My Lords, I leave it to your Wisdoms to determine, whether the noise, Page  50which they, who first entred the Old-mans Cham∣ber, own'd to be there, was made by the strug∣ling of the Dying man, or by the Womans hur∣rying to carry back the Sword, after she had perpetrated the Murther. May not this also be reckoned amongst the Artifices of the Step-mo∣ther, that, after she had methodically contrived all the other parts of this Villany, she was to make a noise on purpose to raise the Family, ha∣ving only this to do, to be found (forsooth) a∣sleep? If the Hubbub, that raised the Family, had been made by the Blind-man in his return, he would have been apprehended, before he had carryed the Sword quite home to his Cham∣ber.

Now, My Lords, to satisfy you, that every body in the House was astonished at the noise, our Poor Blind-man was also found at his Cham∣ber-door, as he used ordinarily to pass up and down. If he could easily have gon to his Fa∣thers Chamber, why did he make such a stop at his own door? Oh! he has escaped all, he is got free, he has laid up his weapon safe; sure, 'twas much easier for the Blind-man to make as if he had been a sleep, his Eyes were clos'd already? I beseech you, what greater Argument can you have of the Blind-youths consternation, than that he started up and stood expecting the issue? Such a lonely person must needs he more affriglited, whose Eyes acquaint him with nothing, and whose mind, being pent up in Darkness, can make no prospect at the Window of the Eye, he can have nothing to bear him up under his Fear. The Young-man was surprised, where the hurry Page  51of his Fear left him. A Blind-man may need no Guide in his own Chamber, which he tra∣verses up and down night and day, and hath learn't the way perfectly, by many knocks and stumbles: But take him without door, over his own Threshold, he is as Blind as a Beetle, and can't stir a Foot, without missing his way. None in the world can be more Innocent than our Poor Blind-man, who was neither taken in the Fact, nor in the pretence to excuse it.

Heark, what the Young-man says in the case O my Dear Father, quoth he, assoon as ever the noise in the House, and your Dying Groans did seize me, I presently starred up, as 'twere to deliver you again out of the Fire. Then, and not before, wretched I found the disadvan∣tage of Blindness: I stood stock still, till I was told, you were Murthered, and whilst others in their fright ran hither and thither, I, Poor man, found no other thing to do, but to be in a per∣manent fear. O that some good Deity or other would have lent me Eyes for a moment, I would then have entred the first man into my Fathers Chamber, perhaps I might have heard some of his dying words, I might have spoke to and asked him a Question, tho' I could not see him. Ser∣vants are dilatory and timorous in doing their duty. I should have found you, Good Madam, in your waking posture, before you had com∣pos'd your self to personate sleep.

Ay, but what says she, The Blind-mans Sword was found all-Bloody. My Lords, no Blind-man is so audacious, as to bring back a Sword, when he had just then committed a Murther with it, Page  52and a man, whose bosom was searched just be∣fore for Poyson, would never carry back his weapon to his Chamber, which he could not put our of sight, nor conceal, tho' he knew it was all Bloody. My Lords, this seems to be a peice Impudence scarce tolerable. The Woman says, she could not filch away the Blind-mans Sword, when he was asleep, who has nothing to say in her own defence, but that she was asleep. 'Tis far easier to cheat Blind-men, when asleep. They sleep more soundly, who go to it in the bitter∣ness of their tired Spirits. As for one that is Dark, one may easily conveigh away his Sword, tho' he be awake. But how finely doth this Plea frame now: The careles•est person in the World would never act at such a rate, 'tis far easier for them that have Eves, to Imitate the Blind, in laying up a Bloody Sword so safely. These are all the pretences and excuses he can have, that uses another mans Weapon in a Mur∣ther.

I find, My L•rds, that our Poor Youth is very much offended, that he is put to his defence by dint of Proof and Argument. We owe this Wor∣thy person our Patronage for his Piety in the loss of his Eyes, the rest of our Plea must be spent in admiring him. Methinks, My Lords, I see be∣fore my eve a fresh and rennew'd prospect of his incredible adventure. The Youth snatch't up his Father in his Armes, and marches with him throw the raging and encreasing Flames. Per∣haps, you think, I am going to say, he hastned to get out, and to make his Escape; no, the p•or Youth is in haste to go again; his Limbs Page  53were shreiveled by the smartness of the Fire; yet he covered his Father with all his Embraces, and thô his own Eyes were almost burnt out, yet he covered none but his Fathers with his hand. Think not now, that I am astonished or wonder at this; That he was able to carry so great a bur∣then throw the midst of the roling Flames, and thrô the ruins, ready to fall about his ears. No, so hard a thing as it was, yet I will tell you what exceeds all human belief, it seemed to him ve∣ry easie. Bless me! What an hardy piece of Piety was here, to rush a second time into the Flames, where he had almost lost his Father be∣fore. Now there was no such thing as a Closet, there was now no House standing, yet where was it not, that he thought not his Mother a burning? The Poor Youths Limbs were now all on Fire, the Flames had inclosed him as he ran up and down, all that sort of strength, which he had remain∣ing, was to seek out his Mother, but with his Eyes only. This was not the First and cheifest damage by the Fire, to destroy his burning Eyes, his hands could nor protect his scorch'd Face, but while they were searching for his Mother, his Eyes and all were burnt out. Yet again, the unhappy poor man gropes all over the Fire, and and where the greatest cracks of the ruins were, thither the Poor Gentleman hastned, in hopes to find her. Which leading him out of the Fire, he was the only man preserved alive by means of his Blindness.

If you think fit, My Lords, let the Accused Person be set in open Court: We use to fetch much of our Proof from the grim and threatning Page  54Looks of Prisoners.* But see here, My Lords, This is the man, that, they say, ran up and down all night! This is that wary, and successful Parricide! All his Attendants have le•t him in his distress, and he, that is now to implore your Favour and Mercy, hath no body to guide him to your Knee, not a Servant lest, not an House to put his head in; Speak, I beseech you, all you that hear me, speak, whether a man, in his circumstances, destroyed his Father or lost him? What must we do now, thou unhappyest of youths? We must fall a begging, yet we can∣not crouch or bend, as a perfect supplicant should do; so that, we fear, your favour and compas∣sion may be withdrawn from us; yet 'tis a thou∣sand pitys that our poor defendant should suffer under the disadvantages of his woful plight. Come, take me by the hand, Young man, lean upon my wrists, Il'e lend thee Eyes. Why do'st shrink back, poor Youth? Why so unwilling? I know, thou wilt not beg thy life, yet prithee stay, stay a while, be contented to live, at least till thou art Acquitted. As ready as thou art to dye, tis sit thou add this Crowning one to the rest of thy Vertues, to take thy Absolution with thee before thou go hence.

Miles Marianus: OR,* A Soldier under Marius.

DECLAMATION III.

Page  56For the Soldier against the Colonel.

OUR Campe was injur'd and disgrac'd enough, when it came into the mind of my mad Colonel, in the very heat of the Cimbrick War, and that before out En∣signs (with reverence to your Sacred ears, be it spoken, Mighty General,) to hid one, that had a Sword by his side, to prostitute himself, that so he might offer soul and beastly violence (to say no more) to one, that was able to repel his attempt. It carries with it a Blot, that will never be forgotten, and such a new practice, when it comes to be known, will pass into an Example, to which Vice cloth too too easily ad∣vance. And thô our virtuous defendant should escape unpunished, yet in this degenerate Age, I verily believe, that more will be apt to imitate the Commander than the Soldier Noble General, I grant, That nothing is more unbecoming an Advocate, than to bereave his Client, when tried for his life, of what mercy can be afford∣ed him; yet when I call to mind For whom, and Before whom, I speak, I hope I may boldly, and not insecurely, profess, That your Soldier here stands fearless of the threatning Issue of this days-Trial, whatever it chance to be: For either you will acquit him, or Innocent, or condemn him to death, as a man of Gallantry, 'Tis no news for a man to be accused for his Life, who remembers that he was born under a Law of Mortality. Neither was he ignorant, when he Page  57first listed himself a Soldier in this Feirce and Cruel War, that he must still look Death in the Face: Nor is he such a Puny, but that he can bear any brunt, provided it be not upon an imoral account: I dare be bold to say, Great General, he had never made such resistance against his Colonel, if he had attempted his Life, as he •ately did, when he would have forc'd his chasti∣•y. Nor was he unmindful of what danger he •an into by repelling the soul embraces of this fu∣rious debaucher, with his Sword. 'Tis not praise-worthy in a Soldier, especially under so severe a General as your self, if he be chast only because •t concerns him so to be; and if he were never so willing to live, yet he would nor repent of what he hath don. When a Soldier kills u Foul Ra∣visher, if he be his Superior Officer, you make a great adoe concerning his Punishment; this I know assuredly, that if the Soldier had been the Accu∣sed Party, you would have made no bones of his. It will not repent him, Caius Marius, althô you condemn him, (give me leave to make as valiant a defence for the Soldier, as he did acquit him∣self.) If Providence will have it so, he will go to his Execution with a resolute march, for he is as ready to dye for his Chastity, as to stave off the Ravisher by killing him; and thus he will carry along with him the Eternal Praise of a Chast Gallant. Come as many Informers as can be, yet they will never make your Soldier more a∣greived for being Accused for his Life, than for being Assaulted. Let not our mother-City Rome, ••t not our Military Ensigns, let not our all-con∣quering Eagles, let not your own Godlike ver∣tue, Page  58Noble General, ever suffer, that even by your Sentence, a man of Worth, nay a Roman, and a Soldier to boot, be accounted too Chast, who is to plead his Cause in the Head of the Army. The chief thing now in debate, is, Whether it be lawful hereafter to levy Foul Pathicks amongst the Bands of the Roman Legi∣ons, and drag Soldiers, who have taken a So∣lemn Oath, to unclean villany, by your Autho∣rity? Neither is the Accuser ashamed even be∣fore C. Marius, (who seems to be a pattern sent down from Heaven, to shew, to what an high pitch Valour might advance a man) and before his Assessors, Embassadors, and Commanders, who wholly disavow such prodigious Facts, to object to a Soldier, before a whole Court of War, tha• he was a man of courage, and not so much rough• hewen and rustick, as that he is but little ac∣quainted with Arts of Impurity. As for my self; if you will beleive me, I am almost asham'd to praise Chastity in a Soldier; it is a Vertue pro∣per to the Female Sexe. A man of courage i• to be extolled otherwise, as that he is fit so the War, that he values not his Flesh, that h• is of a noble Spirit and, if I may have leave 〈◊〉 speak, worthier of the Two to be the Com∣mander; For of such a Kinsman, Marius, yo• had no reason to be asham'd.

This man's Father was a Soldier, discharg• for Age, in the Wars when we worsted Jug•∣tha bolstred up with all the povver of Numidis vvhen his hands vvere dismiss'd of Arms, he u•• them to Country-Labour: His Mother vvas a good sturdy Old-fashioned vvoman, pinched vvi•• Page  59Cold, and tann'd vvith heat, and shared vvith •r Husband in much of his Country-day-labour: his I dare say for her, no man living could have •ade bold vvith her Chastity, but he vvould a∣•arted for it. Being thus descended, he vvas 〈◊〉 from any unchast Embraces; besides, he pass'd 〈◊〉 Childhood in continual hardship, his first ex∣••cise was to keep Cattle from being devoured 〈◊〉 Wild-beasts, somthing alvvays he did above ••s Age; his recreations vvere to hurle huge •reat Stones, to throvv the Bar, to beat Thick∣•s for Game; and when he grevv a little strong∣••, he vvent to Plough, and grub'd up Trees, 〈◊〉 make Land fit for Arable; by this means which some think the only vvay) he was ••ickly hardned for the Wars. Mean vvhile, •om••he farthest parts of the Ocean, and from the •igid Zone, and as it vvere from another World, ••me a Nation, Fool-hardy, Savage, Wild, pufft •p vvith Victories and like their ovvn Beatsts for ••rength and Courage, and over-ran all Italy: •et they vvere raised not so much by their own ••ovvess, as by the debauchery and senselesnes 〈◊〉 our Commanders; for our Party followed the ••ices of Peace, even in a Time of War; we •ere nice and delicate, when our State was •iserable, and by this means our Feilds were de∣•late, our Youth exhausted, and our Empire in ••anger to be totally ruin'd: In such circum∣••ances 'tis very evident, the People of Rome •ad never more need of Gallant men to ward •t their destruction. Upon this, when it was ••pparent, That the strictness of Military disci∣•line was neglected and diluted, so that we must Page  60stand as much upon our Guard, to keep off our own debauches as the Enemy, we betook our selves to you, O Marius, whose Greatness, Sanctity, and Severity was our only refuge. Let me speak freely, at the mentioning of your very Nam• Parents made haste to send in their Children 〈◊〉 get them listed under you, and thô they knew it would be a very sharp War, yet they embra∣ced it as an Opportunity to learn the Art o• Soldiery under your Conduct; where they migh• dayly be shewed an Example of God-like Virtue and have you an Encourager of their toyle an• a witness too. Thô this was an happyness com∣mon to the whole Army, to have such a re∣nowned General, as Marius, yet those seem'd t• have attain'd an higher pitch thereof, who had th• honour to be of that Regiment, whose Colon (an high aggravation of the man's unworthy∣ness) was your Kinsman. What care you used Noble General, to pick out choise Souldiers fo• your turn, that so you might cope with an Ene∣my, scarce thought conquerable by human Power, with as brave a Militia, appears by thi• that you, knowing Valour does nor go by Estate overlook'd that consideration, and respected only Strength and Courage. But to what purpose Men will find fault with your Muster-roles how ever; Those that envy you, will say, that yo• lik'd only a Boy to go against the Cimbrians; An• yet his military age did not deceive you, th• surest standard of that, is an ability to do Va∣liantly. Neither was that a common Lust, such as takes fire from beauty to wanton and venere∣ous efforts, no, 'tis rather a desperate and de∣bauch'd Page  61•uch'd desire of abuse, and a pleasure taken in ••lany, to vitiate the spotless: This very thing, •at he ran formost before the Ensigns, that be∣••• but a Tiro he was more forward than the ••errans, that he used to return clotted with Blood ••d Dust, This, this, I say, was the reason, why was so gallant a Stripling. Beauty and Age 〈◊〉 ordinary lures and incitements to Lust, but Ganymede, that's Valiant, is one of a thousand. •y should I speak any more of those Scars and ••unds which he weares, as so many honou∣•le Badges of his hot Service? I am ashamed, ••ble-General, you understand them so much ••thout me. I pass by his offering him to be •e from Duty, when he found him not pliable •his will; and how the Officer treated the Sol∣•• more kindly (forsooth) and with greater ••iliarity than the Laws of Military discipline 〈◊〉 admit; how that he should be excused from 〈◊〉 hardest service lie was commanded forth up∣•• he oft valued himself to him on the accompt 〈◊〉 his Place, and oft on the score of his near •••tance to your self confess, Cains Marius, •••s filthy Ravisher lived the longer, because the •••ocent Soldier did not understand his drift in these ••olings. I dare sa• no more, Great-General, •ay conceive in your mind all the circumstan∣•• of that time, think upon them again and ••ain: Perhaps in other Cases, it may be allow∣•••e to aggravate the indignity of a Fact by 〈◊〉 but here we must not complain of our ••ry in our. Broad-Mother-Tongue. No, we 〈◊〉 be shy of speaking; we must stiffle the •••th, in great part. I must play false, and Page  62baulk my Client's Cause, if I have but comm••• modesty.

When our Camp was even joyning with a ter∣rible Enemies, and the whole War was just a• 'twere come to an upshot and push, all men• thoughts were solicitous about the issue of th•• Fight just then beginning, the Shouts and Bar∣barick noyses striking and hollowing in our ea•• from all quarters. Would any one comman• a Roman Soldier, one that stood Centinel, to pr•∣stitute his Body to his Filthly Lust? Every ma• may think as he please, but in my opinion, th•• Soldier is not chast enough, who, when had Arms in his hand, did only say him, Na• For this part of the Plea, I could with, N•• General, you would beleive our Accusers. The own Breviats declare a matter, worthy of a m•• who is a Roman, and Marius's Soldier; and the•• in they have even drawn to the Life the spa•∣ling of his Eyes, the staring of his Hair, and 〈◊〉 outragiousness of his Passion; upon the very 〈◊〉 overture of his obscene resolve, as if he h•• sounded an Alarum against the Enemy, he dre•• out the Sword he wore by his side, which 〈◊〉 received from you for the defence of all ch••• Roman Ladies, and ran it throw the Heart of abominable Ravisher, yea he ran it above a so• into his side. Ah! Marius, if all our Soldi•• had been like him, we had been made for ev•• For my part, I was afraid that he stood 〈◊〉 his Guard, only to fright away the Ravish and (as it is sometimes happens) whilest thinks he will retreat, and the other won't strik•• such a glorious Fact had been done only 〈◊〉 Page  63Chance-medly. For, I hope, you would not re∣•uire this of the Soldiers hand, that when his •fficer, blinded with mad lust, ran upon the point of ••s Sword to make sure his Embraces, he should ••en have put it up. For my part, I think, he ••ad scarce had the Indignation, that became him, 〈◊〉 in so great an assault, he could take any no∣••ce of his Colonel. He runs to no Excuse; all ••at he says, is, Thanks be to the Warlike God, •nd to the Protection of our Eagles, I did his ••uisiness for him, I slew him, I let out his noxious •lood with my just hand; right or wrong, done 〈◊〉 is. Would he had been capable of being kil∣•ed often, that so renewed punishment might have •ortured his soul Spirit. Our Military discipline 〈◊〉 not severe enough in punishing offences as fast •s they come, if after this Fact the Tribune shall •ave any advantage thereby, I shall not there∣••re defend my Client by the denyal of the Fact; 〈◊〉 man that is Valiant and Innocent must do no∣•hing, which he means to deny. I deny not the •act, yea if my Accusers had been silent, I would •ave told the tale my self: Make your best of it. •et, as Informers use to do, tell all. For our •odest Soldier is less ashamed to confess his Fact, •efore the Sacred Eares of his General, than to •omplain of his abuse. Are we not sufficiently •isgraced already, that no enquiry is made ra∣•her, what honour should be bestowed on so brave 〈◊〉 man, and, that we may wish for something •ear our merit, shall the Soldier, that hath done •o renowned a Feat, be rewarded only with •mpunity? No, let him be Sentenced too, and, 〈◊〉 you think good, let him be put to death for Page  64daring to be chast; Assemble together, all ye brave Legions, bring your devout assistance from all parts; The Law of the Camp is thus, and the Major part of you would have one part Law∣ful, 'tother not. Upon my word, I can hold no longer but my greif must vent it self on my Ac∣cuser. Answer me, if you had been an Officer, would you have done thus? Or if you had been a Soldier, would you have endured the 'tother? Give us your opinions, Gentlemen, settle rules of Martial discipline. The Soldier is as good as kill'd by this reproach; now he is thus bespattered with such foul reflections, what shall he do more, but say, nay? Who would not account him as in∣famous a Prostitute as any, if he had acted so, as to suffer himself to be attempted the second time?

Oh! But you'l say, he should only have de∣nied his Officer, and put off his revenge to some other time. Yes forsooth, what shall he make his complaint, after the filthy Tribune hath had his will of him? He laid violent hands upon him, he drew him from his assigned Post and Station, to make him a beastly Prostitute. I ask his Ac∣cusers, pray, Gentlemen, what shall he do in this Case? Shall he indure those lustful hands, that treat him so sorely? Shall he lay down his Arms, or use them in his own defence? He is a stout man, he hath Authority for what he doth, the Law of Arms commands it. You'l reply, 'Tis fit a Sol∣dier should obey his Officer, for hereby he may, in good time, hope for preferment, this merit may make him a Centurion, so as to march before the ranks, and have others sight under him. If this Page  65be the state of the Case, that a man may not plead in his own defence, speak out, tell us a∣forehand if a Ravisher must not be repelled by force, he must even take what follows, for he cannot be kept off by an unarmed hand. Re∣member, our Ravisher came armed to him, and when he was held fast in his filthy grasps, what, think ye, could he do for himself? Must he stand to consider, or, pray, must he endure it, in hope, upon his complaint, to have Justice done him afterward? But let all Villany be blasted in the attempt, for if the Lust of the foul debaucher had proceeded as far as his wish, no less than Two had been undone for ever.

I shall therefore use freedom of speech before you, Noble General, It concerns You most of all, what Sentence to pass upon our brave Soldier. The truth is, nothing more can be added to his renown, save only to dye for so glorious a Fact. Gray-hair'd time, the only incorrupt Wit∣ness of Vertue, will admire this man, and Fa∣thers will charge their Children to do the like, thô the punishment of Death were incurr'd there∣by. Pray, Sir, consider with your self, what Principle would you have men judg you to be of? This Example cannot be concealed on neither side: 'Tis certain, that when a man makes a judg∣ment upon it, he will think that best, which he himself would have done, in the like case. All men past thrô Childhood to Mans-Estate; and 'tis no thanks to forsake Lust, when Lust forsakes us. Reflect, Sir, upon your own Rise, and call to honest remembrance your former mean Estate, and your present Greatness: Without doubt it Page  66was nothing, but your divine Valour that ad∣vanc'd you to so many Consulships, and to so many Triumphs, either born by you, or design'd, for you. Remember also, that even you your self once serv'd under your Officer, nor could you ever have arrived at this height of dignity in so short a space, unless you had begun betimes. Must I not now tell you, that the Romans had always a great regard to Chastity? Shall I mind you of the Story of Lucretia, who ran a Sword into her own bowels, and took Vengeance on her self, thô the Act was forc'd? That her chast Soul might soon be severed from her defiled Body, she slew her self, because she could not kill her Ra∣visher. Now if you approve what the Soldier hath done, 'tis needless to add the Story of Virginius, who secured the Virginity of his Daugh∣ter, when he could do't no otherwise, even by her Death, and ran the next Sword, he could catch up, into her Body, and she also gladly re∣ceived the wound. His design was only to deli∣ver her from Appius, but the People of Rome went further, and prosecuted him with an Ex∣clusion from the Senate, yea, ventring almost a Civil War upon it, they Order'd him to be cast into Prison: Neither did any thing move the In∣dignation of the Commons more than this, that he attempted to dishonor a Soldiers Daughter. These are eminent Examples of Women, and worthy always to be remembred. As for Men, pray, what Chastity have they unless it be, not to attaque another.

Page  67'Tis bootless for me to complain in this degene∣rate Age, (for whose ears are open to hear me?) How Nature it self is overborn by obscene Lusts, and polluted Males supply the place of Females, so that Lust runs mad even upon its own Sexe. But vice it self (we see) puts some stint to its own progress, and his villany could proceed no further, when he had debauched so likely and hopeful a Youth. Now what a mad bui••nes is this? Young Soldiers are ••sted for Concubinate, and he, who is himself perhaps a Married man, is called forth to act the part of a Woman. For my part, I rejoyce in behalf of our Martial disci∣pline, I rejoyce, I say, in the reputation of our Camp, if this were the First Customer, that a Tribune, of his humour, met withal. Is it so in∣deed, (for I chuse to inveigh against his Fury, as if he were alive before us,) must thy Prostitutes take pay as Soldiers, and must Wanton Game∣sters be haled under thy Colours? Was it for this that Harlots were cashiered our Army, and that no naughty Huswife must come there? 'Tis just so, for what need of Females, as long as thou canst attaque a Soldier, (i) one more than a man, yea and one too, that was just rea∣dy to charge the Enemy, whom his Country had trusted with her safety by reason of his special Valour. Perhaps it was for this, that wherever an Alarum was given, thou didst walk the Rounds, and Visit the Corps du Guard. Ah, you would have made a goodly Colonel, if none but Young Gentlemen had been under you. Is not this down-right fury? Is it not apparent madness? Here's a man, with a Sword by his side, fenc'd Page  68with an Iron Coat of Male, his Head lock'd in an Habergeon, and, to strike a greater terror, his Crest waving up and down; thou feest Marius his name engraven in his Buckler; in a word, a S•ldier all over, armed in Martial habit Cap a pèe. Do's this Dress make him look like a Prosti∣tute? Do you think such a one is for your turn? If you offer violence to him, what can you ex∣pect thereupon? Shall he remember you to be his Captain, when you don't remember him to be your Soldier?* For we have time, I wis, to be wanton; we have nothing else to do, when all things go so well, according to hearts desire, and our Common-wealth is so little concerned, that it may easily be restored, if our Soldiers be but Civil. At this juncture our business is, not so much to enlarge our Empire, nor to reduce more Outlandish Provinces, (as of late we did) we are disputing now for Italy, our Native Coun∣try, we stand up for our Religion and Liberty; whether we shall be destroyed by Fire or by Sword; whether a Barbarous Enemy shall cut us off r•ot and branch; whether we shall change our Italian Dialect for Cimbrick Gibbrish. All our Liv•s and Safeties are at stake, (for we can suffer nothing else, no not from an Enemy. An incredible multitude of People is fallen down upon Italy, so numerous, that even their own v••t Land could not maintain them; Their bodies are of a monstrous bigness, and their hu∣mours Savage, even in the accompt of the ve∣ry Germans. The feilds are covered far and near with the multitude of our Slaughtered Bo∣dies. Those, who were discomfited under Carbo Page  69and Sylla, compared with us, are in an happy condition. Scaurus is fallen, having lost his Ar∣my before; Servilius and Manlius, each of their Armys consisting of so many Legions, have been lost. A People, that had over-run the greatest part of the World in Triumph and Victory, is now at last stopp'd by Marius alone. Pray, let me put a Question to you, Great Sir, in this State of Affairs, which had you rather, such Soldiers, or such Officers? In such a hurry of War, you would scarce give leave even to Lawful Dalliances; For the higher a man is advanc'd in Honor, his Example is the more conspicuous to all that be∣hold him. When some lye Perdue in their Arms, others secure Avenues and Passages, and some Man the Works, scarce eating their meat but on their sheilds, and that standing too, what! shall a Commander mean while tumble with his Whores? Is this all the watch he keeps? Can he not forbear, and put on a Guise of Tempe∣rance for so little a while, for fear his Soldiers should scent his Pranks? Besides, if the Tribune were yet alive, and this Fact came before you, Noble General, with your whole Army about you, how would you determine, that they might not think it an Abuse of a single Soldier only, but even of the whole discipline of War? What Sen∣tence would you pass? 'Tis a Courtesie done to you, O Marius, 'tis a Courtesie, you are now Excused from passing the Sentence of Death upon your Kinsman.

For, Sir, if we reason right, the whole Em∣pire of Rome to this day stands by Martial disci∣pline. Our Soldiery is not more numerous than Page  70That of other Nations, nor are our Bodies hardier than those of the Cimbrians, we talk of; There are diverse Countries richer than Ours, and many Barbarick People can look Death in the Face more sternly, than We, because they have not such Temptations to desire Life: 'Tis only the severity of our Orders, the managery of our Militia, a Love of hardships, and a dayly Practice of War by continual Exercise, that makes us Masters. We overcome more by our Demeanor, than by main Strength: 'Tis reckoned an Irreligi∣ous thing amongst us, if we take any Female Pri∣soners, to offer violence to them, and ther's no such thing as Abuse, no not to an Enemy. I grant, Sir, that these Regulations have been intermitted by the debauchery of your Proud Nobles, but they are again revived in your Conduct. Beleive it, My Lord, the Gods themselves tender and di∣rect your Greatness in this, that, as an accession to your •ther praises, they have offered you a New occasion to pass so just a Sentence. If you acquit your Soldier, for acting so Valiantly, the Example is wholly yours; unless perhaps, you think I check at this, that he was s Tribune; up∣on my word he was so much the worse for that, and worthier to die more than a single death. For this is the Case of Superiors, what they do seems a Command, and the Greater the Author in a bad matter, the more pernicious his Example. Who shall now restrain the Soldiery? Who shall give out strict Precepts for Camp-discipline? When you, My Lord, are taken up with grea∣ter cares, I ask, who shall execute the Law upon faulty Soldiers? Who shall Chastise and Punish Page  71the Offences of a Commander? To whom can I fly for refuge? To whom can I complain? You see, at last, there is a necessity laid upon us, we must avenge our selves. Oh, but he was a Commander, and (say I) so was this a Soldier. A Commander, you say, you mean such a one, that the Law enjoyns a Soldier to obey; one that has Authority not only over Common-Soldiers but Captains too, and shares a part with the Com∣mander in Cheif. I warrant, you think, the Sol∣dier had done something against the Law of Arms, if he had only said his Tribune, Nay. * Poor Novice, he did not know, what such Great Com∣manders could do? He was not acquainted with the Privilege of their Places. Give me leave, Noble Marius, if a shameless beastly Soldier should have been brought before you, would you have endured him to have said, My Colonel Command∣ed me? But if the Fault be equal on both sides, yet this Crime doth not misbecom your Soldier. 'Twas a Commander that offered the Abuse.

I seem to be transported, Noble General, and to forget my weak Parts, that, being scarce a∣ble to defend one, go about to plead for a whole Army. Imagine, All these Legions, that stand about you, the Flower of Italy, the Choice of our Countrymen and Allys, do cry out with one voyce before your Tribunal, We neither can nor will submit to the unclean Abuse of a Tribune. Not a man of us refuses the Toyle of hard marching; we'l carry our snapsacks or any other heavy luggage upon our Armour, with all our hearts; we are willing to abide the parching heat of Summer, and the pinching cold of Winter, under Page  72our Leathern Jackets. Weary, as we many times are, we'l scale Trenches, we'l lye Perdue at Walls and Works, we'l fall on Valiantly in the hot∣est skirmishes; As for our Wounds, we'l count them our Honour, and we'l embrace Death it self before an ignominious Abuse. What we suffer in Fight, is noble. Let our Tribune command us the cruellest marches, where the Enemy's to be beaten back, thô he have the advantage of an Hill, and where we are to scout thrô Woods that the Enemy hath possessed before us; In a word, let him lay it on upon our backs, let him inure us to the Patience of Slaves; even a Slave hath some Exemption from a Bawd and Pandar, nor can you sell your Captives, but upon such conditions. If we are under a Command only to be obscene, if we take up Arms, and yet may not repress the Abuse of a Foul Aggressor, let's deliver up our Quarters, and let the Cim∣brian stop the Tribunes Fury. The Germans them∣selves are unacquainted with such wickedness, and there's more Religion and Conscience, even amongst the Laplanders. What will the end be, My Lord, if a Soldier must be Conquered, before his Chastity can be secured? Doth not your Ex∣cellency remember what a great Sedition arose heretofore amongst the People of Rome, when a Slave rushed out of a Usurers House with his Back all torn with stripes, and in his complaint told the People, he bore those marks of punish∣ment, because he would not suffer himself to be unnaturally abused? Yet he, thô he was so vile as to attempt so foul a Villany on a Bondman, one almost a Slave and scarce Free, was somewhat Page  73mindful of the Roman sanctity in not assaulting any, but one that had his hands bound. Yet the Revenge of the People of Rome proceeded so far, that, thô War was at the door, yet none of them would be Listed, till satisfaction were given by the punishment of that corrupt Aggres∣sor, and the Abrogation of a Law. They refu∣sed to serve, thô he was no Soldier, who recei∣ved the Abuse. What should I speak of Fabius Eburnus, who put his own Son to death, when, upon a private Examination of his Cause, he found him Guilty of Uncleanness? So that now, Brave Comrade, whatever the issue be, thô the General perhaps may condemn thee to dye, 'tis better still, than to be dispatch'd by thy own Father.

But, (say you) he was Marius's Kinsman. Now, you goe to tamper with the Judge, and to hang the motive of Kindness to his Kindred upon his mind, that is otherwise unbiassed. You say, he was your Kinsman. 'Tis fit, that every Body in the World should hear your Sentence, if you give it for your near Kinsman. For if, as a Judge, you allow your self to do any thing par∣tially for your own ends, think with your self, what Envy this will raise upon you, amongst those who already carp at your Merit, when you shall seem to adjudge the Ravisher of a Sol∣dier, Innocent; or shall vindicate your own Kins∣man, as long as he is Nocent. This is not the first time, My Lord, that base Envy seeks an advantage to snarle at your Exellencys illustri∣ous Vertue; and the Nobility, who are natural∣ly averse to all that are raised on a sudden, thô Page  74at present they are husht and quell'd, as being overborn by your deserved praise, yet peepe narrowly for an opportunity of Fault-finding. And if I understand the nature of Envy, they will also cast this in your teeth, that 'twas your own Kinsman, forsooth, that was found tardy. And therefore a necessity is laid upon you, to abdicate and renounce that Blood, which is none of your own. For certain, you can do no less than revenge the Villany on him, who, among those that malign you, will seem to have acted it by your Connivance or Permission. For should not he, if ever he called to mind he was your Kinsman, have striven with might and main to have Copyed out all your Vertues, of which your Fortune is the Lowest, especially having the ad∣vantage to be so near in view of Them and You? Should he not have made this return for the hap∣pyness of being your near Kinsman? I am sure, your Soldiers imitate you better. If the Tribune should have scaped with his life after his foul re∣solve, Envy must needs have twitted him too with this, that 'twas no other than Marius's Kins∣man had plaid such a filthy prank, and that a naughty Cyons shot out from so Virtuous a stock. But when any Family is well rid of such an In∣famy, what boot is it every foot to be objecting it to Marius? It had been very well, if our Ge∣neral had never had any such Kinsman at all, and 'tis as well, that he parted with him so willingly.

May it please your Excellency, I have now done with my Plea, as well as my mediocrity was able to manage it, The Commendatory Part is Page  75yet behind, but that is utterly needless before such a Sanctity as yours. For what need I fear, That meanness should be prejudicial to a Defendant, before you, who look upon disrobed and naked Virtue, as acceptable of it self, and who counts this the greatest Glory for a man to raise his own Fortune? I commend to you the state of a Private Soldier, that you may glance upon him from an high, as one wishing to grow Great by your own method. Hitherto perhaps Nobility bore the greatest sway, but you have improved that Noble Estate, which challengeth such a long Train of Ancestry. You could not expect, that a Youth, of his years, should have done more bravely. Yet when I have set before you so Gallant a man, one so fit to serve under you, and worthy of all the Preferment, that attends your Service, still I offer to your further con∣sideration, that, for ought I know, he is a Ge∣neral in posse. I know you don't expect this from him, that at the Close of my Plea, he should come and fall upon his Knees, and beg his life with pitious mone, and all-humble supplications. You do not expect to be Entreated by the Inno∣cent, nor has a Valiant man (as such) any need of Acquittal. All that he desires is this, that if you demur on his Case, you would respit the matter to the next Battel. There put him in the Fore-Front, place him, I say, not among the Punys, but (let me speak a proud word) even before the Standard, where most danger is, and where the greatest throng of the Enemy pres∣ses the sorest: Do but look then and there how he behaves himself; now, I dare be bold to Page  76say, you will have less kindness for the Tribune. Nay, pray, let him Charge, let him Grapple with the Enemy hand to hand. If your Soldier must needs be slain, I beg of your Excellency, that you would be the better for his Death.

Mathematicus: OR, The Astrologer.

DECLAMATION IV.

Page  79For the Son against the Father.

NOble Patricians, I am plac'd in the midst of Two such sad Extremes, that I am neither worthy of Death, unless you judge me a Parricide; nor of Burial, unless you think me Innocent. Being thus intangled and held fast in the mockery of so miserable a Dilem∣ma, I sue for your Hatred, as the greatest Favour you can do me; and I beseech you, above all those particular events, which the succession of Truth predicted concerning me, hath evidenc'd and declar'd, you would beleive, I now bring sufficient Credentials of the Calamities, that over∣press me. 'Tis by reason of Parricide, 〈…〉 would kill my self; but 〈…〉 •••ms, s••ps in, and says, I must n•t▪ 'Tis not the 〈7 letters〉ger a∣lone, hath told the World •nd th• 〈◊〉 to come, that these my hands shall Mu•th•• my own ••∣ther, my own mind misgives me the same. I carry an Heart about me, that presages more dire mischeifs, than the Response of that Sacred Artist. Like an unhappy man, I have nothing in my thoughts, but what is a terrour to me: Yea, That Villany, which the Piety of my Father and the Innocency of all my other Relations presume against, That, I say, do I feele, groan under, and cannot deny.

Page  80Yet, lest any should think me to lie under a great mistake of judgment, be pleased to hear my Reason, why I cannot doubt in the least of my hard Fate. He that is Born to commit a Parricide, be∣lieves he shall do it, yet he is not afraid to pre∣vent it, by dispatching himself. In the first place, then I beg this Boon of your Publick Wisdoms, that you would not be contented with this, as the Sum or All of my Innocency, that I would fain make myself away. Tho' I seem to contend with Art, to master Necessity it self, and to bafflle Fate, I would not have you therefore think, that I may be safely trusted with my Life. Tho' I am wil∣ling to Dye to prevent it, yet, I cannot say, but I should commit it: Nay, (if you will believe me) that which you call Constancy is but Infirmity; the reason I flie to this last refuge, is, because I know my own Heart too well. The intire delive∣rance of my discourag'd Mind is yet in my pow∣er, but Death it self will shortly be out of it. I be∣seech you, Noble Senators, hope no better from my miserable Piety I, that am willing to Dye, that I may not commit a Parricide, don't see but I must commit it, if I be suffered to live.

As for my Father, who would have me live against my Will, I don't wonder at him, because he's still over-joy'd at the acquist of my Marti∣al Glory, which is yet fresh before him, his Eyes and his Mind are wholly intent on my brave At∣chievments, so that he cannot see the Parricide through the Champion.

This is the Ground, why he would save me, tho' I am predestin'd and ordain'd to such mis∣chief, and when he has done thus much for me, Page  81as to bring me up, when my Virtues were yet dubious, future, and presumptive, now he would do more for my actual gallantry, that I should not Dye. And, because I may seem to put an end to my Life, for the Piety and Reverence I bear to Him, he charges himself with the Parricide; and in the loss of his Children, which he thinks he is the Author of, he regards not so much my safe deliverance, as his own natural affection. A Son, that desires to Dye, that he may be no Parricide, thinks he cannot otherwise be rewarded, than to let him Dye. There was reason, great reason, why his sad Thoughts, and foreboding Fears should send the Poor Old Man to the Fortune-Teller. 'Twas my Fate, that I should be decla∣red a valiant Man first, and then a Parricide: Whether it were, that the extraordinary fruitful∣ness of his Poor Wife did disturb his Nights-rest by troublesome Jogs; or, whether the Old Man's careful Nights and direful Sleeps, caused by sad and dismal Apparitions, sent him to the Cunning∣man, the very Chief of that mysterious Art. Go he did, and to Him he carried not hopes or greedy desire, but sight, fears, pale looks, constant presages of some dismal mischief or other to ensue: What can you call this, Worthy Senators, but the first insuperable necessity of a Fatal Instinct? He was driven to enquire of the Astrologer concern∣ing his Wifes Issue, and when he had so done, he did not believe the Oracle.

Let me tell you, my Lords, of what Authority the Astrologer was, whom my Father, in his great Fear, thought fit to consult. He was a Man, I speak what I know, that by many good Proof, Page  82and Experiments had merited, that People, in their Cares and Fears, should flye to him as to the Ora∣cle of the Gods, and a Breast full of Divine Spirit: 'Twas said, that he inspected the Nature of the whole Heaven, digested and ranged the Constella∣tions into their Number of Stars respectively, and was amazed at the Prospect of his Fate, as to both Publick and Private concerns: With such an heap of good and bad Events, he was frighted more than the Quaerent himself, and 'twas long before he could put down in Writing, what he saw in the Scheme. But see, what a venerable Old Man this was, and worthy to whom the Fates should reveal their Secrets. When the Child, he was consulted about, had many joyful Omens for his young and tender Years, he was not content to foretel the best only, but (which is an unde∣niable Evidence of his veracity) he told All that the Figure held forth, and declared openly, that he should first be a brave Warrior, and then a Par∣ricide. What a daring answer was that? When he was to presage the highest Villany, he told us we should believe him in that, as far as his other pre∣sages had ••ld good before. For you may be sure, his Father would never have been at the charge of bringing him up, if the Astrologer had told him the melancholy part only, and had not said, his Lot should be first Victorious. Neither did the Astrologer's Judgment fail him a Jot, no, not in any one Circumstance; he said, she should have but One, and that a Male, and that he should live to be a notable robust Youth, all true to a Title. Besides, his Answer did as well hit even foreign Circumstances, as that there would be a War, a Page  83potent Enemy, and an Army levy'd to be kept on Foot, till he was able to make no mean Figure in it. And my Father was so far from being deterr'd by the Prediction of his own danger, that he him∣self, he, I say, (such is the inevitable force of Fate) girt on my Arms, and equipp'd me for the Battel, with his own Hands, as if now he were assured of the Astrologers Truth. No man need wonder, that he did not sleight the Response, while he was in hopes, I should do bravely: And now, he will not have me Dye, tho' there's nothing left for me to do, but to Murther Him. O Death, who art commendable in the Brave, desireable by the Wretched, and no back-Friend even to the Happy! How often have I courted thee, how often have I desired to meet thee in Battel? I call Heaven to Witness, I put my Life in my Hands, not in Osten∣tation of my own strength, nor for a Puff of vain∣glory, but that my low esteem of my self might put me upon some brave Service for my Coun∣try, whereby I might spend my forlorne Life, and my predestin'd and reprobated Person for the Publick Good. There, alas, I first learnt, how many things we did in Ignorance, and how many things we did against our Wills. Desperate Combatant, as I was, I rush'd into the thickest the Enemys Troopes, and lo their Army divided, and let me come. By my self alone, I ran where the hottest Service was, and not a Man was able to beat me back: I laid bare my Skin for the adverse Blows, my Breast was open to received dint of sword or dart, aim'd at me from all Quarters, and yet the Weapons fell down by me, without any Execution. Oh miserable I, in the event of my frustrated hopes! Page  84I came bravely off, even when I sought to be slain. Away, all ye that come to gratulate me; be gone, ye that think to commend me, I am not going from Temple to Temple, I give no thanks to the Deity, no, I am come home for no other purpose, but to prove my self a Parricide. You know, how my poor Conscience was cast down thereupon with shame and confusion: I had not the Heart to come back to my Father with my Armour on; believe me, I was afraid, when he ran out to meet me, lest while he kiss'd and em∣brac'd me, he might run unawares upon the Con∣quering Sword, in my Hand.

Amongst other Acclamations of the Army, when they brought me back, what was the Vogue of the People round about me? even this, Oh brave and happy Youth, (said they all) provided he Dy'd imme∣diately. Let Heaven and Earth assist me, whilst I earnestly desire, whilst I long, to Dye: Take some pity on me, don't cool my eagerness to part with my Life, with an unseasonable delay. I tistify and proclaim to all the World, I stand upon the very last precipice of my Fate, I am afraid I am not far from Murthering my Father, according to Prediction, when I am so willing, even to Dye, to prevent it: Dear Father, why do you still de∣tain me? why d'e stop me, that am hastning away? 'Tad been better, I had been stifled in my Mothers Womb, or else that I had been speedily dispatched, before my impure breath had pollu∣ted my Native Air and Soil. Grant, it was my Father's Love to his Country, that drown'd and overcame his private Fears; grant, he gave such a Villain as my self Education, in prospect of some Page  85Service I was to do for the Commonwealth, yet now all's done and ended, that induc'd him to be at charge to bring me up; there is now but one Point of my Fate behind, and that's the last Villa∣nous Fact I am to do. What d'e mean? 'Tis in vain to comfort me with your patient resolution and constancy; I say, your Case and mine are not the same; you are in danger to be Murthered, and I am in danger, will I nill I, to Murther even my own Father.

This then is the first Excuse I make to you, Noble Senators, for craving my Reward, hitherto let me be look'd upon only as a Valiant Man, let me insist only on that branch of the sacred Law, to make it a Plea for my destin'd End. Do you think, I will mention the solemn Formulary of my Wish, That high deserts are not to be rewarded with a strict equality, or just so much? No, he that hath done bravely is to be requited as bountifully, as the large Promises that set him a Work. My Country was never less able to make amends to any Man than my Self. I did that for Her, that I am bound to Dye presently after. But, pray, take no care, I will never ask the top-reward the Law allows, that infinite, that boundless, Priviledge, in∣dulg'd by Law in the Case, thô I may desire it, yet I confine it to my naked Self. Titles, Statues, Dignities, reserve them for those that must live: Grant me only my Father's safety, my own Inno∣cency, and a good Name after I am gone. There∣fore I pray deny me not this Reward, for then it may be thought, that you hated my Valiant Acts too. My choice is clearly out of the reach of En∣vy, seeing I require only that, which I might have Page  86obtained, before I behav'd my self so bravely. That I give you an account of my Choice by the by, let no man think, that I am less confident of my Reward, or of the Causes thereof, because I have made my Petition on both accounts. Pardon one, that longs to go out of the World, if I have annexed Two Petitions together, when One would serve. Nay further, I beseech you, if there be any other Law extant, that can help a Man for∣ward to his desired end; acquaint me with it, let me have the benefit thereof. In giving me Li∣berty to kill my self, let me Dye for my Reason's sake, let me be Buryed for my Guerdon's sake.

I am sensible, my Lords, this is the first Boon I am to desire of the Publick Commiseration, that you would not think me loth to Dye, because I urge so many things about the Ground of my Resolve, and because I Petition for that from you, which my own hands can grant without you. I confess, I have deserved such sinister Interpretations; that I might Dye as a Man of Valour, when I came home, I threw away my Arms, I acquir'd the Peoples favour, I receiv'd the Applause of the Town. But whether it be the great esteem we have for a decent Interment, it being a pitiful weak∣ness incident to all Men, to fear something after, thô they do fear Death; or whether he, that de∣sired to Dye to clear his Innocency, must do it with a compos'd and undisturb'd Spirit, upon one or 'tother of these accompts, pardon, I be∣seech you, my lothness for a while, pardon my Pa∣tience, and my Delay. If I had made my self away immediately, I must have Dyed as a plain Par∣ricide.

Page  87I hope, Worthy Senators, my Fathers appearing against me will not defeat me of my reward, sometimes there ought to be that Esteem for high meries, that they may seem to dispense with Obedi∣ence to Parents; so that either our applauded Vir∣tue doth ballance and counterpoise the moment of a Fathers Authority; or else we begin to renew our Obedience, when we have enjoy'd our Choice. Let not then my Father's gain-saying my design, move you. You never met with any Body yet, that had a mind to Dye, but one or other was against it. If a Man have no dear Relations, yet he will be stopt from such an Act, by the fear of those that hear of his Resolve, or by their comfort∣able and prompt Exhortations to the contrary: But for Parents, indeed all their care is, to make much of their Children, and to be timorous of their Death. If we be ta'ne from them never so justly, yet they cannot bear it; if we suffer Death for heinous Crimes, yet they still count us innocent and worthy of Commiseration. But in my Case, Noble Senators, my particular Duty and Reverence adds to the impatience of my Good Old Father. 'Tis impossible for a Son to perswade his Father to let him Dye, if he seem to kill himself for his Fa∣ther's sake.

Thus far of the Laws, and of the Merits of my Prowess, I come now to the mere Fatal part. I am resolv'd I say, I am, resolv'd, to Dye for the Causes before alledged. You may know, what I mean by this my Resolve, thô I cannot speak it out. Con∣sider, I pray, what hath brought me on thus far, here begins my Resolution. Imagin, that one of the vulgar desire the Reward, I do? It ought Page  88not to be denied him, if he hath just Ground for his demand, and it cannot be denyed, if he hath not. You cannot but fear, lest a Man's incon∣stancy should push him on to this rashly, and with∣out any Ground; and 'tis credible, that Life can speak for it self, as much as can possibly be urg'd before any C•urt. I cannot abide your Gratulations, keep your Complements to your selves, how long will it be, that you'l think me unwilling to Dye? This is the first great thing, that Nature hath devised for Man's safety, that we Dye against our Wills; and against so many cross Accidents she relieves us with a Patience well-poized. Hence it is, that even in the midst of torments and despair, yet men entertain a poor desire of prolonging Life. Do you think, I am not concern'd at all, that I am but in the Flower of my Age? That I have newly begun to tast the pleasures of Life, and the enjoyments of this World? Oh, how am I taken, when I call to mind, that I was brought back from the Field upon Men's Shoulders, and Who but I was the Theme and Discourse of the Town? Believe me, as oft as I reflect upon these Wounds of mine, and upon my Arms dropping with the Blood of the Enemy, I raise my mind above the Tyes of Necessity, I place my self superiour even to Fate. But alas! all these things are now vanish'd and gone, they are all surmounted and yield to the more honest Motive of taking revenge on my self. What Obligation have I to be concern∣ed any further for this Body of mine, that even my Eyes loath to look upon? And with which my hasty Soul quarrels, and cares not how soon it is discharged from? These Limbs are none of Page  89mine, since I can wound and peirce them, as if they were mine Enemies. A man that hath taken his last Farewel of the World, you may give him Time, if you please, but Life you cannot; and his desire to die grows higher and higher, the more it is forbid. More happy is he, that dies before his time, and before he desires it. 'Tis almost too late for that man to renounce his life, when all men think he hath no reason to preserve it. You may deny death only to that person, whose life ought legally to be taken away by Another, rather than Himself.

As for the Law, that commands an intended Self-Homicide to render a reason thereof before∣hand, or else his body to be cast out without Burial, if he made, such hast to leave the World without telling and declaring it before: He is de∣ceiv'd that Constru's it so, as if men should be oblig'd to live whether they will or no. Alas! The Law takes no notice of mens rashness in killing themselves, nor doth it willingly make a strict inquiry into other mens Greifs; It fore∣saw, that those, who were Guilty of great Crimes, and thereupon in fear of greater Torments, would otherwise be so hardy, as to put an end to their own lives, and shew no cause at all: And there∣fore lest they might prevent part of their punish∣ment, by an over-hasty end, it was further Enact∣ed, that the Body of the Offender should be cast out Unburied. The Law is Mild and Gentle, it re∣quires only, that the Cause of Self-Murther should be assign'd, not descanted upon.

Page  90If then I am ask'd the reason, why I would lay violent hands on my self I can answer in the P••••〈◊〉 of all ••nkind▪ but 'twould be •and•• for m•, to 〈…〉 •••••n wh• I should Live. Wretched man! What boo•'s it, to de∣tain thy Soul for so long a time, (provided thou run out thy natural course) in the dolesom Prison of thy Body? If we make a due search into, and a right estimate of, all the joys and pleasures of the whole World, that do either take our Eye or please our Fancy, the Foot of the accompt will be, That a mans whole Life is but, as it were, one day. Alas! Those are mean and abject Spirits, that are not cloved with the return of the same things over and over again; but he, that is better instructed, and knows what the End of the Good, and what True happiness, is, never thinks he dies too soon: Every days Life satisfies him, that lives to his Soul and inward Man.

You expect now, I should instance, that upon comparing the fears and calamitys with the joy and prosperity we meet with h•re below, the num∣ber of avoidable things doth far exceed, in this short seene of our Life. Let us take a just esti∣mate of those satisfactions, for which we weary Heaven with our Prayers, and for whose sake we complain our Life is short. What are they all, but Vanity, Humour, Height of living, Lust? Are we not even ashamed to run thrô debilitys, crosses, tedious diseases, for such poor things, as these? Yea, when we may escape them, we had rather grene under them? Ima∣gine, you heard Nature accost you with such Page  91an Harangue, as this; Behold! thou art admitted in∣to to the stately Share and Partnership of the Universe, and of the enjoyments thereof, and for many a Suc∣cessive Age, being born at last to dye, thou hast en∣joy'd what I could afford thee; now let others succeed, make room for them that come after thee. Dost thou not know, the longer thou livest, the more unwilling •hou wilt be to dye? Let your Term of Life be never so much prolonged, let one man live as •ong as two, yet he must needs go off miserably, •hat dies unwillingly.

Don't you wonder, that I hasten mine own end? Do's not every day, that passes over my head, do the same? Nay every hour, by silent and unobserved moments, makes nearer approaches t• my last end. And whilst we are basely ta∣ken up with the thoughts of living to perpetuity, we dye afore-hand every minute of our Flitting Age. Let us rather find a remedy by our Exit, and a releif in our fatality; let us bid Adieu to •he World willingly, with deliberation, full of con∣•entedness, yea let us give Thanks that our Time 〈◊〉 come. He only hath lived as long as he could wish, who chuses, at such a time, to put an end •o his Life. Let all the sad and severe Motives, I •ave, favour me, let all Virtue vote with me, •s I desire to dye so magnanimously. Is it not •nough, think you, to hasten my end, that I •ave done so gallantly? 'Tis the Badg of a base •nd ignoble Spirit to reckon ones life by number •f years. For my part, (so weary am I, or •o sated with years, that) my Valorous atcheive∣ments have made me, Old. Why do I stay any •onger among the Diseases and Casualties, here be∣low.

Page  92I, that have been received with publick Congratulations, shall appear contemptible by my present low condition. They must needs fall to less value in tract of Time, whose Great∣ness began only by success; when no room is left for more atcheivements, nor felicity to reward or crown them. 'Tis madness to dye, when our Estate and Honour sinks with us, and so to spin out a decaying Life. I reckon, no old men live with less esteem than those, who, when time was, were the bravest Sparks. What! Would you have me stay, till inglorious grey hair misbecome my mortifyed Limbs? Till my bloodless Carkass is scarce able to creep a high-lone? Till these glo∣rious hands of mine shall not be able to feed or dress me? Oh! how sad, how dolesome 'tis, to remember, what one has been in his prime? to tell a long Tale of the many scars one carries about him, and to serve up the cold remembrance of things past long ago? Whereas now, men will not believe, you were ever able to perform such Exploits, but you will be scoff'd at, even for your own Memoirs. No, I must leave the World up∣on a push, while my Body is active, and my Spi∣rit brisk, whilst Men are loth to part with me, and when I shall be miss'd; and for all this, I would fain be beholding to my own Hands, to my own Courage. Let all that is in Heaven and Earth favour me. I have found the Port of Death, whilst I bear the Name and Credit of a Man, highly deserving by his Valour.

But this Plea is common to others as well as my∣self. I come now to what's more peculiar to my∣self. If the Astrologer had fore-told, I should Page  93have lost some of my Limbs, or that I should have a Sick languishing Body, you would all pardon me, if I avoid so great misfortunes, thô they had been uncertain; but what I dread, and tremble at, is far greater: He threatens me with my own Valour, and that nought but my own Courage, shall be my ruin. So he has left me not a moment of Life, wherein I may rest or be secure. I am destin'd to run out my whole Glass in Frights and Pantings. What room for the least hope or comfort? I must Dye as a Felon, if the Fortune-teller say True, and I must Dye as a Wretch, if he say False. Did he say, I should be a Parricide hereafter? Shall we consult another, for Experiment of his greater skill? Would you have me dispute the Point afterward, whether Futuritys may be fore-told, or no? To what pur∣pose is it? So many Men, so many Minds. Why should I be toss'd up and down, according to every Body's talkative humour? He gives it under his hand, I shall kill my Father: If I can abide to live after such a Response, I shall not be Innocent, thô I never do it. Let me appeal to you, all that are Children, and to you, all that are Parents, What Courage can I have, after so dire a Presage? I am the Man, whom the Deity, being angry perhaps with the Age, wherein I lived, has singled out, as a •it Subject for such a mischief: As soon as ever I was born, 'twas said, That Valour and Villany should be my Lot: I am, as you see, capable of all things, thô never so strange and repugnant; I stand out for no difficult, no unheard of, Practices; I am destin'd to wretched Pranks; Guilty, if I do not kill my self; one, in whom you ought to •ate even his very Bravery. I know not what Page  94prodigious Barbarity slings and throws me against my Father, as against some Weapon, or some vast weight ready to fall. A Villany attends me, hardly to be believ'd, that will be no advantage to me, and which I my self am clear against. Not a word of the Time, Place, or Reason thereof it fore-told: Judge you, whether I ought to Dye, for I think, 'twas •ity that ever I was Born. My Fa∣ther himself is sensible of the Monstrousness of my predicted Cr me, and therefore strives to prove, That there is no certainty in the Astrological Art: Sometimes he urges, That there is no such thing as Fate, but all comes by chance and hazard: Otherwhile he contends, That if there be a Go∣verning Providence, yet man's knowledge is too shallow to fathom it. I lay both before you, and in the mean time desire your Wisdoms to consi∣der, That my Father was sensible of something in the Art, even because he was afraid of it. I have given a Proof, that the Astrologer spake Truth, and He thereupon believ'd what he said.

I beseech you, Dear Father, do you think, That this great variety of things, compacted into one Systeme out of disagreeing Principles, could be huddled together by chance? so that the Orbe of •ire is plac'd aloft above all heavy Bodies, by •eason of its hot and burning Nature; the Element of Water is seated below, that the hot Bodies, above it, might draw nourishment from its moisture; •h• Globe of the Earth hangs poiz'd between the ••••ament above and the Abyss below, that so a •••••lless series of Ages might spin out themselves, through perpetual vicissitudes of Times, by their •wn Laws. What shall we say of this Glorious Page  95Prospect of sparkling Constellations? some fix'd, compacted, and still shining from the Place they possess'd at first, others wandring, and perform∣ing their Planetary Courses, in a set Order, in the whole Firmament. Can you think, the disposal of them was made at random and by chance? Pray, what could that thing, called Reason, do bet∣ter? No, no, 'Twas God, God alone, the Maker of the Universe, that drew forth a comely Order out of the first rude Chaos of Confusion, and afterwards divided it into its several parts. And when he •ad bestowed a beautiful and uniform Aspect on •he World then he sent a Spirit from above to •nimate it: So that whatever is brought forth in •he World hath a signature of some divine Property •orn with it, and being thus ordained and made or a short Life, by a firm certainty of depen∣•ence, it receives its Fate as it doth its Life. I be∣••eve, Dear Father, this Doctrine was somewhat •errible to Mortals, when it was first broach'd, •ut when the Novelty of it was worn off, they ••ll to admire it. Thus by degrees, what Men were ••ighted at at first, when they took Heart seri∣•usly to consider, their deep insight pierced into the •ery Recesses of Nature, and made such Collections •om dayly observations and oft-recurring marks 〈◊〉 secret Effects, that at length they arrived at ••eir Causes. Do you think it strange, Sir, that a •an's Destiny can be fore-told? You see, the •urses and the Eclipses of Sun and Moon are so: •en can fore-tel Storms and Calms; they tell 〈◊〉, what Constellation threatens parching heat, and •hat, pinching cold; what bearded Comets por∣•nd, what their extraordinary Lustre, and what Page  96the mighty shootings and trajections of Stars. What stronger Argument for the verity of the Art, than to foretel what shall come to pass, and it comes to pass accordingly? So that if Nature, Reason, and Experience do joyntly prove, that there is such an Art as Astrology, nay, and my Father himself, who thought fit to consult the Artist, what re∣mains, but that I may yield, he spake Truth in what's to come, seeing we cannot accuse him of a Failer in what is past.

The first Proof of the veracity of the Art, is this, when the Wizard was consulted about the Child, he did not make a confus'd or intricate Ans∣wer, as if he had a mind by ambiguities to beguile his Quaerent: He said nothing that might be inter∣preted several ways, according to the fancy or humour of the respective Hearers. For that's the main design of Juglers, not to make a plain down∣right Answer to Demandants, but to amuse them with such blind hopes and promises, that what∣ever comes to pass, yet the Answer may seem true. Was this the way to put a Trick on my Father, to tell him of such common and usual Events, which might easily follow, and He was as glad to hear of? Thy Son, says he, shall be a brave Fellow. Where, I beseech you, could he have broke off handsomer, if he had a mind to chouse him? But, Oh Heavens! What Impressions had he received from above; that he could not chuse but tell my Father, when he ask'd the Question, That I was destin'd to murther him. Alack, dear Father, do you think I admire his Art so much? No, Sir, I rather wonder at his Courage; I stand amaz'd at his Fixedness, He shall be, says he, a brave Fellow Page  97first, and then a Parricide. Pray, tell me, was there any Policy in this, to speak that in the close, which takes off from the Credit of what was de∣livered before? In the Parricide, that the Astro∣loger fore-saw, if he would have cheated, 'twas his only way not to have told it. I grant, in other Consults a Man may be deceived or mistaken, but in such an heinous Villany as Parricide, an Astrolo∣ger can no more doubt of it, than an own Father suspect it. For all the Professors of that sacred Art do agree in this, that men receive their personal Qualities, and the future disposition both of Body and Mind too, from the Nature of those Constella∣tions, which were predominant at their Birth. To instance, if a Man be influenc'd by a Wandring Star, or Planet, he will live a roving Life: He that was under a benign Star at his Conception, will be a modest sweet-natur'd Man. He that was Born under a Fiery Constellation, will be a sprightly Hot-spur. He that at his Birth had a Star that was declining, and hastning to the Western Angle, shall not be so brisk in his Youth, but heavy, like those that are aged; but if a Princely Constella∣tion (Cor Leonis suppose) influence ones Birth, he is Born to Empire. For my part, I think that upon the monstrous Day of my Birth, all the angry Stars conspir'd together, and thrust down my prodigious Soul into my Body with the united con∣tribution of their hottest Flames. If the Doctrine be true, that after many Ages and a numberless Series of Years, Souls shall be restored to other Bodies, then in me there appears p•rhaps one of those, by whose wickedness, the Sun being affronted, suddenly changed the Face of Heaven, Page  98and who were driven all the World over by the scaring of the Furies, and the terrors of all-aveng∣ing Conscience.

Those Futurities must needs have fuller Signa∣tures, that come not from blind and unaccountable Originals. So the noise of the Sea, and hollow Winds in Woods foretel a Storm. Thus Comets shining in the Heavens, and bearded Meteors, fore-run the Fate of People, near to destruction. This was my Case, I was predicted by an Antecedent War, I was pointed at by Arms of all sides, the unnatural Fury, that was to follow, drove those publick Calamities, as Prognosticks before it, and as a Complement of all these mischiefs, Enter Parri∣cide. Can any Body think, this was foreseen by chance, not by Art? Perhaps, what happens hand∣over-head may come by chance, but that which is foretold cannot do so. I beseech you, Fa∣ther, consider his whole Answer from first to last and then tell me, whether ever any Bodies Fat• were more clearly predicted? He shall be a Male-Child, says he, so it was: He shall be brought up to such and such an Age, tho' a destin'd Parricide, 〈◊〉 was brought up: He shall live to be a lusty Youth, 〈◊〉 did so: He shall be notable for Prowess and Martial menace; there shall be Wars, so there were. He shall turn Soldier by thy consent, and shall do bravely in the Field, all true: He shall be a Parricide at last 〈◊〉 but stay there, it must be, if I live to it. Dear Father, if you would have an accompt of this profound and secret Art, methinks his Responses have a great agreement even in their unsutableness and diversity. He said, I should be a valiant Man, and withal a Parricide: These things are too near▪ Page  99thô they be so different; they are alike for strength, thô the Principle, from whence they proceed, be plainly dissonant. For what was it made me so much taken notice of in the War? 'Twas because I was all for killing, never satisfied with Blood; I would rejoyce over an heap of Dead Carkasses, I would trample upon the Wounded, thô yet pant∣ing for Life. This is called Valour, when 'tis act∣ed against a Rublick Enemy; but 'tis Peace that Arrests me; when I want just matter to execute my rage upon, then my sprightfulness (forsooth) must be at leasure to break out into Villany. 'Tis true, Peace is restored to the Commonwealth, but I am still practising with my Sword: I grasp it in my hand all day long, I view my Armour, I praise my Weapons, I admire 'em, I make Apo∣strophe's to 'em. Sir, be assured, 'tis as easie even to murther my own Father, as to kill mine Ene∣my, when I am predestin'd to both. But why do I insist on reason, seeing the event hath already ve∣rified the thing? And what the Wizard said with∣out any circumlocution, can it be evaded by any Art? You have already seen part of his Answer verified in another business, and that which in∣creases my torment, my Valour must be an Argu∣ment, to make my Villany believed. The Autho∣rity of his Answer is sufficiently manifested, when of Two Predictions, One is already come to pass; neither can you make any doubt of the Truth of it as long as Experiments agree with what is predicted before. That Response, in which every thing as yet prov'd true to a Title, can't be pre∣sum'd to be false only in the last clause. You'l say, 'Tis impossible, there should be a Patricide com∣mitted. Page  100'Tis no wonder, Father, you don't be∣lieve a Villany may be done, which will hardly be believ'd, when 'tis done. You are much mista∣ken, if you imagin, that 'tis fence enough against inevitable necessity predicted, That I am a dutiful Son, and you the best of Fathers. 'Tis pity you should know it, I had almost said, I my self am loth to know it. What is Fate then, but something come to pass, when we know no rea∣son, Why? How then, says he, can that be avoided, which must of necessity be done? I'le tell you, there is but one only way if I kill my self before I do it. Sir, you Conquer Fate, if you resist it; it Conquers you, if you make slight of it.

For my part, I thank the Cruel Fates, only upon this account, that they designed not this great Villany for me in the leading part of my Life, that I had opportunity to do Valiantly for my Country before, and that my famous Atcheive∣ments preceded in a great Train. I hope, a Parricide may be avoided, which is foretold shall be, and yet shall not be, till last. Suppose, Father, the Astrologer should speak false, as to this one part of my Life only? 'Tis not worth the while to beleive it, that so I may spare my Life. A mans own Father, one would think, cannot be murthered. But what if the doubt be not clear to me? The misery is inexpressible, when I cannot trust mine own Innecency, when I am jealous night and day, when I suspect my own Heart, when I arrest my Hands, indite mine Eyes, when I plot Parricide in my Thoughts. I have a greater Argument for my Death, if I beleive I shall com∣mit that Parricide, which is impossible to be Page  101committed almost by any. Alas, Father, what a hard Task do you lay upon me? How uneasie is the Patience, which you exact? I tremble at your very Salutes, lest I should crush your An∣cient Limbs by my too rough embraces. I cannot endure to sit at Table with you, lest the meat, I carve you, prove to be Poyson. I dare not tra∣vel in company, nor dare I be alone, with you, lest some mishap or other should intervene. How long shall I be jealous of my own Heart? Death can ensure me that I shall commit no Parricide, Death can ensure the World that I am not likely to do it. But, oh unhappy man that I am, how many things appear, that I ought to be afraid of, thô I resolve to the contrary! How do I know but the Idea of some great danger may transport, and so fright me out of Wits? Perhaps I may fly out, as if I followed the heat of an Alarum, as if the noise of the Fall of my Coun∣try, and the schreiching of a Taken City rouz'd me. I can perhaps govern my self by day, but what can I answer to the night, what to casualty, what to mistake? The Astrologer did not say, I would murther my Father, but that I should.

And for your part, Father, you must needs suffer far greater Agonies, by forbearing and let∣ting me alone: 'Twere better by much to kill me without any more adoe, when you stand in fear of your Life by me. When you lie sweet∣ly satisfied in my Presence, Company, and Embra∣ces, you must needs call to mind, will ye nill ye, your silent thoughts of the danger foretold. And thô you compose your self to a gallant re∣solution, yet 'tis a natural Infirmity in man, to Page  102fear the Murtherer as well as Death it self. Rid me, Dear Father, from so sad and greivous a straight, and, by a short Act of Patience, cut off your Long-liv'd anxities. 'Twill appear fairer and more becoming, to dye if I shall be innocent, than to Live, if I must be a Parricide.

I'le tell you plainly, Father, I am driven to confess it by a Fatal necessity: My own hands, I cannot now govern: My right hand, I can neither command nor countermand it. The Transport, I spoke off, comes upon me, I know nothing, I discern nothing; Then, and not before, I under∣stand, things after they are acted. What! Do you think I overcame my late Enemy in the Feild by the regular strength of my Arm? What have the very Prisoners said of me? They dread∣ed my Aspect, as if it were some monstrous ap∣pearance. Alas! I did not lay about me so much with my Weapons, as I was acted by the very sting of the Furies. My Breast was not fenced with Coat of Male or Breast-plate, but with those dire Serpents, that buckl'd about it. I can't call it a Fight, or a Skirmish, when I Conquered, 'twas not as a Soldier but as a Furious Parricide. My Acts exceeded the reach of Mortal strength, what∣ever was done was downright rage and Fury. I protest, I proclaim to all the World, I was not my-self when I did so Gallantly, and I shall com∣mit the Parricide too, when I am not my-self. I beseech this Honorable Bench, if by any means it can be brought to pass, that Presages shall not take effect, let the Glory of Innocence accrew to me rather than to my destiny: Let me be said to have Conquered destiny, to have burst the bonds of Page  103Fatal necessity; Let my Duty, I pray, let my Inte∣grity have the sole praise. God forbid, I should stay till the Issue decide the Controversie betwixt the Response and me. I had rather defeat the A∣strologer, than venture to find fault with his Pre∣dictions.

What shall I do now, worthy Senators, how can I apply my self to be your Humble Suiter, either as a Gallant, or as a Parricide? Can I say, Favour me? Can I say, Help me? These Forms are used when we pray against Death; Men in my case must court their miseries after a new and uncouth way; unless I dye, I am in fear and danger. Men think, I have given the reasons of my Resolution, only that my Father might say, Nay; and, if I rightly understand malign inter∣pretations, they will say I aimed not at my Exit, but at an Excuse to prevent it, and to cease the tossing of my wretched Shame, by appealing to the Publick: A Parricide will never be deem'd willing to dispatch himself as long as he yet breaths. And therefore, Dear Father, I chuse to fall down at your Feet, I hold up my Hands to you, as yet Guilty of nothing but Chivalry. I beseech you (if I may presume so far,) by what I have done, by your very affection to me which makes you still fearless and secure of me, have pity upon me: A Son, that would wil∣lingly die out of dutiful Affection, don't let him make a Parricide's end. Make use of that Pa∣tience, whereby you were content to be with∣out me, when you let me go to the Wars. Ima∣gin, I had died there in the Bed of Honour, and that my Carkass, hack'd in peices, was carried Page  104to its Funeral. Instead of a Son I bequeath to you all good Parents: That affection you have to keep me with you, lay it out on my Funeral; lay out my Body with your own hands, build the Funeral Pile your self, and perform the last Office. When yon have had enough of your Farewel Kisses and Embraces, then and not be∣fore, lift up your hands to Heaven, and cry out, Wizard, Thou art a Lyar.

So have I done with my Plea, and ended my Supplications. As for the rest, Help me, Hands! Assist me, Countrymen! Not that I may die, I I can do that, thô you deny me: But my Gal∣lantry commends to your Inspection and oversight the care of my Death, if perhaps I do not pre∣sently give my self a mortal Wound. If, I say, my hasty blow lets not out my Life and Soul with the stream of my Blood, be so kind as to help my hands, thrust the Weapon deeper, and be sure you keep off my Father. I know not, how far I may sling my hands in the Agony of my Death, and whereabout my Sword shall light when I pull it out my Bowels, and upon whom my Body may chance to fall, when I sink under the stroke. Would you know, how great Fear I am in, in case I should live? I am afraid, I shall kill my Father, now I die.

Aeger Redemptus: OR, The Sick-Son Ran∣som'd.

DECLAMATION▪ V.

Page  107For the Father against the Son.

Thô, My Lords, I have already under∣gon such a train of misfortunes that now 'twill be no News to me whatever can befal me, in regard my miseries, accruing both from Comforts and Cures, have left me no kind of Impatience, yet I confest that I could never foresee, either by my Fear or my Remembrance of past calamities, that, after I had to do with Pyrates, after I had lost my Son, and after I was reduc'd to want, the return of my own Child from Captivity should add to my misery. Alas, I made a shift to Live so long, that I might once more have the sight of him. And being buoy'd up only by the expectation of his being Alive, I procrastinated my ardent desire of Death, by a resolv'd Beggery. But now, I am e'en asham'd of my Resolution. The Toungster says, he return∣ed, only to be vindicated by his Brothers Death, and to mourn in Sack and Claret for my loss of him: Yet I would have him to know, that by this base undutiful Carriadg•• of his, he justifies the more, what I have do••• Now he makes me more sensible than ever, what an unworthy thing it would have been, if I had not ransomed him that was Sick. What! do's he complain, that he was left behind, yet, you see, he was able to get away. Page  108However, My Lords, my Son's present ill-carriadge justifies me for chusting his Brother; his cruelty shews, that I ransom'd the Best of the Two. Yet I will not, on this occasion, aggravate things against him as I might, neither will I chuse to defend by complaining, whatever I did in the Impatience of my unhappy affection. At that nick of time I could not consider or scan the minds and manners of my Children; my condition was so sad, that I could not stand to argue the Point, nor compare the affections of either: 'Twas mere necessity, 'twas only the miseries of them both, that were my motive. Of Two Sons, a Father loves neither best, that, of the Two, redeems him that was Sick. I confess, my Lord, this is the sad∣dest circumstance of all, in my woful case, that my Son, by his harsh Garriadge, and his slighting my Poverty and desperate need, hath question'd the Name of his good Brother. A Person, that could break Prison, and strike off the Fetters of the Corsairs, 'twas handsom for him to get clear by no other means, to chuse. For seeing he ran∣som'd himself with so much Prowess and Hazard, he would have deserved the admiration of Him too, who a little before could not get off, with∣out a ransom. Good God, what praise, what re∣nown had he deserved, if he would releive his Father, or if he had ransom'd his Brother? Being now telling you, My Lord the issue of my Troubles in order, which ar•••o many that the cruelest and hard-beartedst Man alive that hears them, cannot but allow me maintainance, my very private disdain and grief prompts me first to ad∣dress my Speech to my Son, who complains that Page  109he was undervalued by my chusing his Brother. What d' ye mean, you wilful proud Yonker? You can't tell your self, which of the Two I would have ransom'd, if you had been both well, or both amiss. The Truth is, my Lords, my Two Sons were of very different dispositions and qua∣lities, as to Body and Mind too And, as after∣wards their cruel Captivity made appear, they were wholly unlike, as to their Course of Life. One of them was hardy and could bear any thing, he was not easily softned by a prosperous, nor broken by an adverse, state: He was such an un∣dervaluer of Pleasure and Jollity, that even thence you might have known he was able to bear both conditions. This hardiness of his Mind had taught his Limbs to be hardy too. But 'tother was soon glad, soon sorry, he never knew what care meant; he could not bear the least trouble, a nice pevish Fellow, and as good as sick, when he was well. Yet this very disagreement did equally endeare them to their Father, his affection was so far equal to their different tempers, that he lov'd one with a real complacency, and 'tother with a kind of pity. But alas! what availed this equal and undivided affection? 'Twas clear enough, do what I could, whose Company I desired most, and which of the Two I had rather see and converse with. Even my Sons very complaint, my Lords, will he •ill he, proves, how his Father stood affected to∣wards him. For to be angry and quarrel, that he was not prefer'd before his Brother, who was sick and weak, is the Pet of a Person, who was lov'd best of the Two. But, my Lords, if you would have a further Proof of the equality of my Page  110affection to them both, pray consider, I did not I cull out one from 'tother to send him beyond Sea, no, I made them go both together, I set out hit Brother to be his Companion, and thus I stript my self of them both, as believing they were most with me, when they so enjoyed one another. And when they fell into disasters, my love continu∣ed the same to them both still. They were both taken Prisoners by Corsairs, and both sent Letter to me to ransom them. Thô thou dissemble ne∣ver so much, yet thou canst not but confess that I lov'd thee best, even when you were both i• a woful plight. When you were both in slavery he that was sick (I suppose) could have least hop• from his Father. Tell me, thou proud Yonker prithee, tell me, What could a Father do more that did his part to ransom you both? All my Estate went to make up Mony to redeem you; sold my Land, my Slaves, my House, and a• my valuable Goods, with as much haste as a Fa∣ther could possibly make, nay I'le tell you, th• deepest affection in the World could mount 〈◊〉 higher, for I reserv'd nothing for my self, to kee• me, when I grew Old, I laid up nothing for C•∣sualties, which might possibly happen, yea (〈◊〉 unadvised was I, in my affection) I lest nothing no, not for him that I ransom'd. You may un∣derstand, my Lords, what a large Sum I carry•• to the Pyrats, for now I have not a bit of Bre•• to eat: If you say, the ransome was mean a• low-priz'd, yet 'twas my All.

Take the richest, or if you will, take 〈◊〉 poorest Father alive, no man ever gave more 〈◊〉 his Children, than he that lest nothing for hims••• Page  111Whether the reason were, my Lords, that one of a mans Sons is counted worth his whole Estate? Or whether it were the Cunning of these cruel Bucaniers, to set a value on their Prisoners heads, only according to the ability of those that are to ransom them? Good God! How arrogantly, how proudly did the Corsair accost me! Gran∣sire, says he, Thou hast brought too little, one of thy Sons is Sick, Man. Sure, Heaven and Earth were angry with me, that, when he was resolv'd not to release them both, he did not make the choice himself? The cruel Fellow was willing to put me to more sorrow, and therefore said, I could not have them both? But to make my Circumstances more sad and deplorable, Chuse, said he, which of the Two, thou wilt. You see, Yonker, that the very Pyrats cruelty is a material Witness of my Affection. He would not have propounded such Terms to me, but that he thought I came to ransom you both? I know, my Lords, that, in that very Instant of my sad and tottering necessity, you could not but reckon, that I should have run presently to the sick Youth, and upon the very proposal of the condition, im∣mediately have knock'd off his Chains: But I'le speak the Truth, thô I incur your displeasure thereby, I was at a stand what to do. I was entangled with such a woful plunge of grief, that my Love held a long debate within my poor self, what 'twas best to do: so that I shall never be able to answer it to my Son's Ghost, nor to my own Conscience neither, because I did not presently pitch upon him that was declining, as if he had been my only Son. Thô now the loss of my Child Page  112might make me hold my peace, yet, I fancy, I added much to his weakness by my delay in chu∣sing him, so that the unhappy Youth easily saw, in this pinch, which of the Two I would certainly have chosen, if they had been both in health. At last, which was the only Motive he could urge, this very desperateness of his Case prevail'd with me. 'Tis true, I ransom'd him, that when he was releas'd, was not able to follow me home, one that took no joy in his Releasment, nor in his be∣ing preferr'd before his Brother, and thô I embra∣ced and encouraged him, yet he was dejected still. If there had been any mercifulness at all left amongst Mankind, I might have pleaded merit, even to the Pyrats themselves, that they ought to have released them both; I wish, my Lords, the young-man had so demean'd himself in his Life and Conversation, that my love not my compassion might have put me upon chusing him before his Brother. But I count my self an unhappy Man, because I had so much to justifie me herein; my Justice in preferring him is sufficiently ac∣counted for, because he Dyed, even immediately after he was ransom'd, he was a Dying Son before, and that was the only reason, I chose him. Poor Man! I had a hard Game to play, even in point of Credit! My Son (you'l say) Dyed a Natural Death, of a Consumptive Disease: Grant it, yet his Father had been guilty of his Death, if, Sick as he was, he had left him behind. As for 'tother Son, my Lords, when I saw his resolvedness in bearing his Imprisonment, it presently gave me great bopes, he was not dismayed at his Bondage, nor at my delay in coming to him, nor at his Page  113Brother's Sickness: so that seeing him so hardy, I had good Ground to hope, that, if his Sick Brother were releas'd before him, he would be the freer to make any attempt for his own escape. At last, Providence smiled upon us in our distress, and even in spight of the Pyrats cruelty, devised a Way how to return him to me, whom they de∣nyed to release: I confess, my Lords, I cannot challenge any thing to my-self, as to the contri∣vance of the Time, for I did nothing by deliberate advice: yet notwithstanding, the deliverance of both my Sons gives a sufficient reason for my ne∣ceslity. He that I ransom'd, is Dead; and he that I left in Prison, hath made his escape, and is come home. Perhaps, Poor Child, thou look'dst on thy Father, when thou found'st him begging, as if he had begg'd for himself; but thou wert mista∣ken, I was begging to make up thy ransom. I ap∣peal to the Clemency of this Charitable City, whether I did not use such Supplications, and Mo∣tives, as these. Sirs, have pity upon me, give your Charity, be as liberal to me as you can, for I am to go back to ransom him, who was willing his Brother should be ransom'd before him. As for thy self, at thy return, you should have call'd out to your Father with a loud Voice, Dear Fa∣ther, be of good chear, hold up your Head, we are now reveng'd on the cruel Pyrats, you have now ran∣som'd both your Sons. I demand maintainance, I need not say, as a Father from his Son, but as a Beggar from the next Man he meets, or as a de∣crepit Old Man from one that's young and lusty. For what Affection hath a deeper root in the sa∣cred and venerable Principles of Nature it self, Page  114than that of Pity? What more common or usual, even between Children and Parents, than one Man to feed his Neighbour, when he's hungry. It is the Command of God himself, who's the Anther of our frail Life here below, that we should help one another, and by mutual Offices of Assistance supply others, with what in time we may want our-selves. This doth not yet amount to Charity, nor to Reverence due to Persons, no, 'tis only a provident Fear of the like Accidents, and a Reli∣gious dread, lest such common misfortunes should fall to our own Lot. Every one that fills a starve∣ling's Belly, in so doing, relieves himself. Thus in Seiges, when Provisions are scanty, one Man's dole serves two; and in a Voyage at Sea, they oft come to half-allowance. Hence also arises that common Pity, we bury Dead Carkasses, thô we know not who they are, and no Travailer is in so much Post-haste, bur he will Honour him with one Shovel full of Earth, that lies unburied in his way. But as for Parents, their Children do not oblige them by their maintainance, they only repay what they have received, and, God knows, full short of what they ow for the many and great expen∣ces they have been at about us, first in our Infan∣cy, then in our Childhood, and at length in our Youth, thô we are brought up never so frugally. The Truth is, if Nature would but allow this kind of Duty, when Parents fail, or are Sick, we might well spare them even part of our very Lives, so that a small Portion of that Soul, you first had from them, might well return to them as its Original. Would you know, what great Duty, what high Veneration is due to the Authority Page  115of a Father? I'le tell you, 'Tis no Curtesy at all to allow them maintainance, but 'tis an horrid Im∣piety to deny 'em it. What do's the Law say? Children must maintain their Parents. I am even asham'd of those Sacred Names; is all the Reli∣gion of Mankind come to this? Must this be a Po∣sitive Law? What Curse shall I imprecate on that Man, who first made Filial duly to be a Vote of Senate? Children must maintain their Parents. O Cruelly done! O Famine of all Famines! What, no maintainance but by force of Law? But, says my Son, You deserve none: For answer, I'le set by the consideration of affection and merit, a while, and at present insist only on this, that I am to be rewarded only upon the account of my weakness and poverty. First of all, the Law is made so se∣vere, that we may demand maintainance with greater Confidence. They go off from the beauty and sanctity of Nature, who think that the Law provides only for such Parents, as stand upon good terms with their Children; No, the Law takes care of them, even in case of variance; and between such Sacred Relations, a just Provisi∣on is made, that even hatred should be bound to some Duty. You complain, fume, and are an∣gry with me, for this very reason the Law takes hold of you. What! would you have me stay, till the merits of our whole Life make up an agreement between Parents and Children, and till Duty, Nature and Blood do, as it were, tye a daily Knot of Friendship between them? so that unless Parents oblige them by compliance, flatte∣ry, and forbearance, presently Children renounce their Birth and Dependencies. My Lords, if you Page  116would salve the Veneration due to a Father's Name in all Cases, let it be thus, Let the Son maintain the Father, when he is good, and let the Law maintain him, when he is otherwise. I won't wrong Nature so much, nor the Law nei∣ther, as to make any Apology even for the worst of Fathers, or to think that Sacred Name is preca∣rious, and stands in need of Favour to bolster it up. No, let me be as cruel, and as bad a Fa∣ther as he can make me, yet I have lov'd him, I think, long enough already. Thô I shut him out of Door, thô I strike him out of my Will, and he has no hope to enjoy a Foot of Land after me, nay thô I load him with Irons, thô I beat him black and blew, yet such a bad Father, as this, can hardly be requited. What if I be Proud and Im∣perious to my Child? must I, think you, ern eve∣ry Day that, which was my due the first Day he was Born? Am I pliable, gentle, indulgent, these are t•rms of a less affection; for such quali∣ties as these, a Man would maintain an Acquain∣tance, or keep a Stranger. The Truth is, when somtimes we are not so, 'tis our Childrens fault, and (which is a clear Evidence, that their mis∣carriadge makes us uneven in our deportments to∣wards them) we never meet with a Parent, that is harsh and p•vish, but where the Son began first to play his Pranks. What is't you say? Am I ri∣gid, and hard-hearted? Let me not starve tho' I ask only a bit of Bread, I desire no more for the Reverence you ow to the Name of a Father. Whatever you do for a Father's maintainance, whom you pretend to be unworthy, against your Wills, 'tis not He that is maintained, but rather Page  117all Fathers in him. If willing, you shew your du∣tiful affection; if not, you must comply with the Law, that forces you. You don't maintain a Fa∣ther, if you respect only Virtue in him. Prithee, Young Man, be quiet, defer your Complaints, 'twill be time enough to Quarrel, and to twit me in the Teeth, when I call for the Respects and Largesses due to an happy and prosperous Father: Now, I don't submissly kneel before you, that you may be afraid of me; when a Father is in distress, he can be cruel to none. Thou feest, I am a ruin'd Man, all kind of misery overwhelms me; nay I cannot well be more miserable, for I have lost my Child, and I go a begging. My grey Hairs are clitted on my Head for want of Kemb∣ing; I did look fresh, but now my Eyes are sunk in my Head, and can scarce dart a poor ray through my nasty Hair, that hangs over them. I am so lean, that my Skin even sticks to my Ribs, Famine hath quite destroy'd the Man in me, I am now a mere Sceleton.

I hope in this condition I shall be a Good Fa∣ther again, and deserve my former Respect and Reverence, even from the piteousness of my Case. What! Is not this creeping of mine to my Son pu∣nishment enough for me, that I am fain to en∣treat, to crave, that I am no better than his mere Beggar? Nay, O Heavens! How many things are there that the Laws themselves cannot make good to us? And how many more do we come short of, when men do for us against their Wills. Stay, I don't require, that you should seed me with your own Hands, or that you should make much of me and chear me up; No, threw me Page  118something that I may catch; cast it under the Ta∣ble, that I may take it up. You may be reveng'd of me in some sort, if you releive me, and yet don't pity me Yet, my Lords, if any Plea can be le∣gally allow'd by you for so great an Impiety, and if you think it possible, that a Son, who will not maintain his Father, can give any reason at all for it, then, I beseech you, weigh with your selves, what horrid offence that must be, that a Son cannot revenge but by Famishing his own Fa∣ther. Oh, says he, You would not ransom me, when I was taken Prisoner? Who can but think that the Father should rather complain of the Son? Can a Father bear, his Son should tell him, I am not at all in thy Debt for giving me Life and Being once, because thou didst not add a second kindness, to give me my Life and Liberty once again. Truly, we are in a very bad Case to deserve so highly of our Children, if we must add more or else lose all; 'tis a very ill Example, if we fail in what's to come, to have no thanks for what's past. I did not ransom thee. Thy obligation to me was never the less for bringing thee forth, as a piece of my∣self, into the Visible Scene of this World. 'Twas long of me, that thou can'st make use of Sea and Land for thy advantage, and serve thy self by the unwearied Gourses of the Stars, yea and of the bright-shining Firmament of Heaven. Those very hands, which thou draw'st back ; the very words that deny me maintainance, thou hadst them both from my Substance and from my Loins. Thou should'st rather have rejoyc'd and been glad at Heart, that thy Father's unkindness and severity gives thee opportunity to shew thy self a Page  119good and dutiful Son. He only is before-hand with his Father, who complains of him, and yet re∣leives him. Yet, my Lords, how many Answers could I give to his Complaint, which would wholly take off any reflection upon me, for not ransoming him? It were an Excuse tolerable enough, if I should say, I made all the haste I could, but Old Age, my Poverty, and my Weak∣ness, were a great hindrance to me? Besides, I could not get up Mony enough to ransom you so soon: I could not equip my self for a Voyage in so much haste; 'tis difficult for those that are younger and lustier than I, so to do. Besides, be∣ing a lone Man, and stricken in Years, I did not steere so prosperously, as I expected. How many Fears, how many Jealousies did I undergo in my hasty Voyage? Good Son, be nor so wrathful, I did no more for him that I ransom'd indeed, than I did for you. I don't ow you the good hap of success in all that I do, I ow you only my good Will; I do what I can for you, but I cannot undertake for a fair Issue. I rais'd Mony to ransom you both; I put to Sea in behalf of both; I came and supplicated the Pyrats for both: suppose, they had released both, pray tell me, which had I loved best then? Go too then, Yonker, (if thou wilt) aggravate things against thy Father, give our, Thou pretend∣est starving, but 'tis Luxury, Prodigality, and vo∣luptuous Courses, have brought thee to it, like an Old Fornicator thou hast spent all thy Estate upon Misses and Sluts: If it were so, yet you ought to suc∣cour me. The Law is content only to say, That a Father, when poor, is to be releived; it doth not send the Son to enquire into the Causes of his Po∣verty. Page  120But what will you say, if I laid out all on your Education, on your running up and down, and on your ransoms? 'Tis a horrible wickedness, and without Parallel, to make one's Father a Beg∣gar, and then not to releive him.

My Lords, the Youth now endeavours to load me with another Imputation, for not redeeming him. You preferr'd, says he, my Brother before me. Sup∣pose, I plead Guilty to this Indictment, suppose, I acknowledge the Crime. Thou Impudent'st of Mortal Race! What, can'st nor endure that thy Brother should have a little Love, more than thy self? Whereas 'tis plain, thou preferr'st the Love of I know not who; the affection, that takes up the Room thy Heart, proceeds from far less Ob∣ligations. Thou dost not care, I should respect him, who drew Life and Breath from my own Bowels, as well as thy self; and who alone might well have taken up the All of a Father's Love. He is the worst of Men, that thinks his Brother cannot be loved, but he must be hated. Wilt thou Watch, I trow, and keep reckoning, whom I Kiss oft'nest, and whom I embrace most affectio∣nately? This is no discontent, or pious quarrel, which was best beloved of the Father? do'it thou think, that Brother of thine was lov'd too much, whom, thou didst not love at all? Thou art mi∣staken, Poor Youth, and ill Principles have led thee a to'side a true understanding, who supposest, That part of a Father's affection is lost to one Son, which by reason of some cogent Circumstances in∣clines to another. There is an equal, nay the same, affection to all the Children, yet somtimes he may have proper motives of Indulgence to one Page  121of 'm; and, the equality of Love being salv'd still, there is something, for which, by a secret Instinct of mind, we again love each one, as if he were the only begotten. One obtains the preference, as being the First-Born; another, because a Young-Infant; One is commended for a brisker Counte∣nance, and a prettier look after a Kiss, or so; A grave look, and honest Face endears some; others again are better beloved for unhappy Accidents; Corporal defects, and an helpless state and conditi∣on are the greatest Objects of Commiseration. Yet Fatherly affection, in gross, is safe and intire, when what we think wanting in one is supplyed in another. Be content, those affections are not wholly lost, they do not quite perish, but prevail in their turns, as we see good, one while one is serv'd, and 'tother while another. Nothing can be preferr'd before a Son, but a Son as good as He.

My Lords, Let me make the best of my Cala∣mitys awhile, and plead so, as if I had found both my Sons amongst the Pyrates, in good plight. Doubtless the Ransom, I brought, was enough for both, yet The would not Release both, but bad me, Take my Choice. Pray, advise me, what shall I do in the Case? What say you? Would it be the compassion of a Father, to get me gon, to pack away, to take pet, to make my meane, and by this means strive to make the Pyrats, Odi∣ous? Children all, I put the Question to you! Parents all, I interrogate you! Is it not a plain Crime to Ransom neither, because I cannot Ran∣som both? 'Twere a great peice of Piety, sure, to make my Children all alike in an equal state of Page  122Despair, and because I cannot releive both, there∣fore to bereave my self of both. But you, Poor Grandsire, take what's given, be glad of what's offered, whilst the feirce Pirats are in a good mood, till their cruel Temper doth abate so, as to suffer both to be redeem'd. In the mean time, many things may casually stop in; hope the best, you may come again, or you may hope, that perhaps he may make his Escape. That which cannot be done by the Lump, yet may be perform'd by Peice-meal and in parts; and 'tis easier to take in peices those parts that are separate, which in the bulk must not be medled with. As far as I understand, My Lords, my Son, that would have had little benefit by my chusing him, is only an∣gry at this, that I Ransom'd his Brother. Who, My Lords, can endure such a peice of Impudence? He accuses me, that, I should make any distincti∣on between my Children. Then he complains that himself was not chose, so that, thô his Bro∣ther, beside his equal share of Relation, had also an additional advantage, viz. the respect due to his Weakness, yet he is angry, because that Scale did not weigh heaviest, wherein the bare notion of Son was only put.

I see not, My Lords, how I could have avoided the odicusness of this Fault, if I had rather chosen to release him. A Father, that could not obtain both of the Pyrats, must needs redeem either the Weak one, or none. Nay but, says he, You prefer∣red my debauch'd Brother before me. Not so fast, good Son, forbear your reviling language. These distinctions are not seasonable here, those Vices of his, and these Vertues of yours may be confide∣red Page  123at home, but not before you come thither. In the Interim, I look upon you both alike, as Brothers, as my Children, both under Captivity and Misery, the difference between you is swal∣low'd up by your common share in calamity. You see, how unworthy 'tis, that one of you should be of less account with me, than 'tother? The Pyrats car'd not, which of you I chose. You have left, says he, your deserving Son behind, and re∣deem'd the Spend-thrift. I could have born the comparison, d'e mark me, if the dispute had been about Estate or Preferment, then I wou'd have own'd, you should have had the Preference. But we are at this Pass now, we are not to consider Probity of Mind and Manners, but only to make an Estimate of your Persons. Alas! How should He live in so delesom a condition? How could he endure the nastyness of a Prison, and the hunger∣starv'd diet of Pyrats, that could not endure the near and sparing entertainment of his Fathers House? Could he ever have liv'd in the solitude of a Dungeon, that was always us'd to Company and Good-Fellowship? You, who were accustom'd to honest Patience and commendable Labour, were better able to stay behind awhile; you your self do answer your own Objections: 'Tis you, that I left behind, and 'tis the Company-keeper that I Ransom'd. What wou'd you have? I preferr'd him, that I complain'd of to none but you; when I punish'd and rebuk'd him, you know, I us'd to commend and admire you. Aggravate your Brothers faults as much as you will, call him prodigal, deboist, as long as you know that there∣by you do the more confirm, that 'twas not his Page  124Fathers greater Love, but only a Consideration of his Misery. He is truly said to Chuse, who takes him that was best before. Prithee, Youth, forbear to misinterperet Adverssity. 'Tis no choice to take one, when a man has brought the Price of Both. What difference there is, 'twas not I, but the Pyrat made it. Whatever I acted for either of the Two, proceeded from the Affection, where∣with I lov'd you both. I, being a man, who va∣lu'd my Son only for the sake of his Misery, did not prefer him before you; but if you had been in his Case, I had done as much for you. Do you think, This was done by me out of design? No, 'twas mere Chance, that you were both made Prisoners, that one of you fell Sick, and that he did not recover, even thô he were Ransom'd. When I came to redeem Two, that which the Pyrat granted me for one, 'tis as much as if he had deny'd me both.

But how long shall I conceal the true reason of my Fact? This it was; I plainly chose him, be∣cause he was Sick. Tell me now, if you please, that he was a lewd and a debauch'd Fellow. Pray, speak softly of his Memory, lets have a devout tenderness for his last Ashes, perhaps I should have been sorry if he had liv'd. I tell you once and again, (seeing you put me to it) I make my defence from my very Accusation. 'Tis my Sick Son, I redeem'd. For the truth is, there is no difference between Children, but where calamity intervenes; amongst those, whom Natural Piety hath made all one, you can find no distinction, un∣less on account of Misery. I don't now consider Course of Life or M•rals. I found him panting, I Page  125heard his weary-groans, 'twas to him I came, not as soon as I should. Again, O Fortune, thou hast devis'd a Way, how Charity may super-erogate, and what accession may be made to the Sacred Names of Father and Son. This alone is a greater affection than to Love all Sons, to have compassi∣on on one. If any man should ask me, My Lords, the Condition was not truly meant nor honest, but savour'd of a Pyrats barbarity. I might by no means leave my Sick Son behind me, but, I hope, I may take the Weakling with me. Do you think it likely, that they would release you on as easie Terms, as they would your Brother, that was a dying? Or that Fellows of such inhu∣manity, that had the Heart to share and share a∣like of Children with their own Fathers, would suffer him to be left on their hands, who they knew wou'd die even by this, That his Father left him behind? My miserable Piety was sorely put to it, and they were pleas'd to add this also to my calamities, that I should bear the shame of such a Condition, where no side could be chosen. When a Sick-man is offer'd, in competition with a sound, he is therefore offer'd, that he alone may be chosen.

My Lords, if I mistake not, there is one point behind. That seeing he complains his Brother was preferr'd before him, you your selves would judge, which of them, in those circumstances, my Piety ought to have releiv'd? Certainly, this is the Infirmity of humane Nature, that of all misfortunes every body thinks those the sorest, that he himself undergoes; for seeing we are sensible of other mens sufferings only by Reflection on them Page  126in our thoughts, but of our own by actual pain, of necessity ours must make a deeper Impression, thô they be less, in regard of our impatience. But his was a languishing and consumptive Sickness which outstrips all other calamities, for in all other Miseries a man may have some glimpse of ease and comfort. Let a mans hands be manacled un∣der a merciless Jaylor; Let his body be shut up in the Hole or darkest Dungeon, yet some can play even with their Chains, and clear their Limbs from the links, and it hath somthing of content∣m•nt in it, to be able to manage a contest with ones Punishment. The rage of Kingdoms lies in Racks, the rage of War in Wounds, yet what∣ever we are able to go thro', doth not trouble us so much; and when Crosses fall upon us in prime of Age and Spirit, they are master'd by our stout striving against them.

What Torments, what Pains, can you compare to a languishing Sickness? when a Consumption seizes inwardly on the Bowels and Vitals, and sends the man every day piece meal to the Grave? When his Stomach calls for meat, drink, and o∣ther accommodations of Life, and yet loaths them, when they are brought to him? When we long for Attendants, and cannot endure them neither? When we bespeak the help of hand, and yet when it comes to, are loth to be touch'd? When our Body is tumbled and toss'd all over the Bed, as upon burning Coals? The very light is offensive to his almost-spent Eyes, and no Voice he has, but what he utters in groaning? When of Two Captives, the one is Sick, a Father can do no wrong, but in this only, if he chuse the sound.

Page  127Hitherto, My Lords, I have discoursed of him as if he had been Ill at home, and in his own House, amongst his Parents and Freinds: But, Oh, My Lords, a Prison, and a Thousand diseases attending it, are enough to make any one, Sick; I don't mean a Prison, that the Severity of the Law, or the Justice of the Magistrate sent him too; No mortal fear, nay the wit of man can't sufficiently conceive, what I saw. First, you have, under the Precipice of a vast Rock, a dole∣som hole, which was dug so deep by all the skill, the Pirats had, far beyond the natural darkness of the blackest night; next, the vast Ocean en∣compass'd it about, and when the tempestuous Fury of the Sea dash'd against the Rocks on all sides, it frighted us as if it would fall. Every place look'd dolesom, having Gallows's erected in it; the neighbouring parts were full of floting wracks; wherever we look'd, nothing but me∣lancholy or death, and to comfort the Hearts of Poor Captives, (the clean contrary way) no going out, but to Execution. There was only a little Breath left, by which they made a shift to live, which was drawn in and breath'd out by groans of Prisoners, and was as 'twere made up by so many languishing Captives. This was the place were my Poor Gentleman lay; such was the Bed and Furniture the Pyrat had prepar'd, ever since he began to set up the Trade. That Body, which could scarce endure the tendrest touch of those that ministred to it, lies in Fetters, which the cruel Pyrat bound him in, as if he had but newly come into his Clutches; and thô his emaciated Limbs slip from the Gives, yet they still gripe him as bad, Page  128as if his Flesh fill'd them up, they fall lower and lower in a knot as it were, the Prisoner not being able to hold them up. In what condition was be under a Chain, whose Consumptive hands could scarce endure the softest wear? What rest could he take amidst the groans and yawlings of his Fellow-Prisoners, that could scarce sleep when all was husht and quiet? Who could minister a word of comfort to him in his sad condition? All about him were in the same case, and every day, to the Old Standers, came in a New Captive to in∣crease the din. Now, do you compare, if you please, your Circumstances with your Sick Bro∣thers Case? You complain, the Pyrat did give you no Victuals, he could not but put it by, when it was offer'd him: The bare ground, and naked lodg∣ing is all that afflicts you, but he at every moti∣on of his Hectical body tumbles into his s•arting Chains, and which way soever he turns himself, tired out with pains, he renews his Punishment by a fresh exercise of his Patience. Breifly, you may Consider the height and utmost of his miserable af∣fliction, even by This, Poor man, He could not be cur'd, no not after his Father had Ransom'd him. Now, Good Son, examine me if you please, and ask me every foot, Why I made choice o• your Sick Brother? Do you think, I can give you a reason, why I did it? I protest, I could not, if I had redeem'd your-self. What if he should call me to Answer, Why I laid out all my Estate upon his Funeral? Why I invited such a Train of Friends to the Solemnity? To what pur∣pose did they dwell so long on his Funeral Pile? What, never part from his ardent embraces? To Page  129all which I say, I avow, and care not who hears me, You are a Fool or a Madman, if you ask me such Questions.

But, says he, This then is my great complaint against you, That you preferr'd a Dead man before me. Prithee, Yongster, don't impute so much Savage∣ness to me, as to suppose I thought his Case was desperate. May I not hope he would live the first time that I saw him, and embrac'd him sick and weak, and whom even the Pyrat was content to have left behind? If you ask a Fathers Judg∣ment, whatever it be that torments and troubles the Poor man, I do not think it Weakness so much, as Impatience, a longing to go home, and greif that he stays so long there. He that is detain'd by Pyrats, his only Remedy is his Ransom. But by your leave, Sweet-heart, there is no reason I should fly to this Plea for my calamitous Piety, as to say, I thought he would live. I'le rather ag∣gravate my Crime in common with thee; Let me confess I Ransom'd him, who could not brook dilatory Put-offs and delays, so that, the Pyrats sold me only some short-liv'd Kisses, and a small scantling of Life. Upon my word, if you had been both Sick, I would have Ransom'd him that Sickned first. If you had been both cast away at Sea, I would have lent my helping hand to him, that was most weary with striving against the Waves, and readiest to drown. If you had both returned Wounded from the Army, I would have sooner bound up his Wounds, that bled most cruelly. Forgive me, O Heavens, thô I know not which to chuse of my Children, yet I know which to chuse, when they are in a wretched con∣dition. Page  130Moreover, I give thanks to my Fat•, thanks, I say, that my Sick Child hath yet the use of his senses, that he knows how kind I have been to him, otherwise I had got nothing but a Carkass, and had paid the Ransom of Two for the last obsequies of one You don't know, how much I was confounded, and how much was ad∣ded to my greif, that my Children should be in the same condition under such different circum∣stances. A Sick Brother is all one to a Pyrat, but he is not all one to a Father.

But, Oh, my unhappy age! Whether I will or no I must confess, that what I did on good grounds, and with an high degree of Piety, ye• it was with difficulty and regreet. What, d'e think, my thoughts were at that time, and what trouble of mind was I in, when, Poor man, I was fain to run between both my Children, as uncertain which to Chuse? When I kiss'd one longer than ordina∣ry, I thought 'tether would die for despair. When I appropriated my Groans and my Tears to thy Sick Brother, thou lookedst, as if Thou wouldst have been Sick. How oft did I make an attempt to loose thy Chains? But my very prefe∣rence of Thee did the •••re endear to me thy Bro∣ther, whom I pass'd by. How oft did I take off his Chains and then p•t them on again, when my mind was to release thee sound, rather than him sick. I can't dissemble the difficulty of that Con∣dition, known only to my-self. I ought to Ran∣som thy Sick Brother, but I had rather it had been, Thee.

Page  131My Lords, I would willingly place you in the present straits and necessities, I my self then was. Behold, the unhappy Youth, at first sight of his Father, endeavour'd to rise up, and a little lifted his Hands, discolour'd as they were with filth and nastiness, as if he wou'd have embrac'd me, but the poor Heart swoon'd before he could bring them to my Neck, and so sell back again upon the Place he lay on. All the rest of the Prisoners were still, and lest the terrible noise of the Chains might drown our Discourse, they held their wearied Limbs with much ado, and stir'd not. Perhaps, 'tis too late to put on my Gravi∣ty, yet now, if you please, I'le begin. Thou de∣bauch'd Knave, thou deservedst to be left behind. Alas, that Man doth not know the hurrys and tossings of paternal grief, who thinks it any com∣fort to him to complain of a languishing Son, and to upraid his Course of Life and Manners. Tell me not of Virtue, pardon me at this time, O Probity; he, of my Children, is dearest to me who is upon the Point of Death. Yet, I confess, it was some comfort to me in my Childs weak∣ness, that the unhappy Youth liv'd as he would himself, and that his Life, thô sh rt, was yet mer∣ry and jocund. Believe me, Yonker, I had rather now, even for thy own sake, that thou hadst been a Prodigal too: In what time of his painful Sick∣ness would'st thou have me brow-beat and chastise him? He is a very impatient Man indeed, that will go destroy his Son, because perhaps he may have some reason to be a•gry with him. Dost thou think, I was wrought upon by his Prayers and the Intercession of his Tears? No, the poor Page  132Sickling prevail'd upon me, by saying nothing. I sate by the poor Fellow's side, he hung down his Eyes, I ask'd him a Question, his Answer was in sighs and groans. While I was considering, he be∣hav'd himself as one given up for lost; when he went about to embrace me, presently his feeble Hands sell down into my Bosom. And when we had mingled our weary Groans, and breath'd out our very Hearts in warm sighs, answering one another with united Sobs and wearisom Tears, without speaking a Word, at last he recollected his Spirit with much ado into these few Words. Truly, Father, says he, I give you thanks, that you came hither to ransom us both; yet my sick∣ness hath not so blunted my Senses, but that I know the issue of this my present condition. I am an Hector, I am a debauch'd Fellow, and I Dye under the Infamy of that Name and Report. Yet, I wish, that the Fates at last would bestow this Boon upon me, that I may breath my last in your Arms and Embraces. But if to stay for a Dying Man seem long to those that are in haste, then de∣part ye survivors, happy survivors; only speak a Word for my C•rps to the Pyrats, that it may not be dr•wn'd in the deep, or thrown into the boist∣rous Sea, then I should end as if my Father had never come and attempted to ransom me. For how can I hope, that ever you should come again to redeem me? Then upon some broken Speeches he quite fainted, and was spent, and his Vitals being gathered together where his pain was, his Limbs grew stark and stiff: I confess, I cried out, Poor Y•uth, How do'st do? Why do'st sink down in Despair? Lift up thine Eyes a little, take Heart, Page  133hold out a while, Thy very Brother hath chosen thee. At this Word the bargain was struck, the Pyrate presently took off his Chains, and loos d his Bounds; would you have me deny now, that I chose him? when he was brought forth into the open Air to see the Sun, would you have him re∣turn'd to his darkness again? For my part, I had not a Word to say, that I might consider, or refuse the Person, that was releas'd.

Pray distinguish between the Father's Act, and the Act of the Pyrats. The Father releas'd both, but the Pyrats would let him carry but one home with him. Oh, but, says my Son, You ought not to have redeem'd my Sick Brother, for, you see, he dy'd presently after. O thou cruelest of Flesh and Blood, who do'st not think thy own ransom was lost, hear how much the Pyrats restor'd to me even in my Dying Son. Your Brother, who fainted away in his Shackles, had some breathing-time when he came to a Bed, and liberty at last to toss and tumble his unmanacl'd Hands all the Bed over, after his baleful Prison he shifted himself of his filthy nasty Rags, he was so happy for a little while, as to see his Neighbours, to speak to his Friends, to lay his Charge on 'em, and bind 'em to it, and thô he were sinking under his last Fate, yet he had the priviledge to breath in the free and open Air, before. Fortune, whether she would or no, hath bestow'd on me a great comfort, even in the loss of my Son; if I had left him behind, he would have dy'd with some envious reflection upon my-self, but now, I have not kil•'d, I have only lost him. What say you, Son? If I ought not to have redeem'd my Son, that was going the Page  134way of all Flesh, don't you think it punishment enough for me, that he is dead and gon? Perhaps you might have been angry with your Father, if your Brother should have liv'd; then if I had demanded maintainance of you, you might have answer'd, Go to my Brother, who is more in your Books. As far as I see, you are reveng'd of your Father's Beggery, and you are also an Enemy to your poor Brother's Liberty? You don't know the right way of aggravating things against your Fa∣ther; your Cause would be the better, if you did take pity upon me. But, Oh H•avens! how different was the affection of the poor Youth, that's gone! For I d•clare, and proclaim, so that all the Town may hear and bear Witness, He gave you many thanks even at the very Instant of his Dy∣ing. I veri•y believe, the poor Man pined away with grief, upon this account, that for his sake I had lost all that Mony. And therefore in his lan∣guishment he spake to you, as if you had been by, Dear brother, I beg of you by that sacred and ve∣nerable Tye of our B•rth, by our joynt Travels to∣gether, by our comm•n misfortunes, by this very Sen•iment, That sickn•ss might have been your Lot, if ever your Courage, or wearisomeness of Py∣rats, shall set you free from this confounded place, I comm•nd t• •ou our Anti•nt Father, whom both of us have even m•de a Beggar. I call the im∣mortal Gods above to Witness, yea and the Infernal ones too, I would have maintain'd my Father, if he had ran om'd you.

But I may thank my self, says the Youth, for my return home. The Truth is, Young-man, I would no whit detract from the commendation of your Page  135Virtues, yet I am bound to tell you the Truth in this d•ed of mine, and you must hear it. You ungrat•ful Wretch! do you give out, that you made your escape; No, I tell you, you were re∣lea•'d, and the Piety of my Election was the Cause: How came it else to pass, that, during your Im∣pri•onment, you could not make your escape be∣fore? Crack as long as you will of your break∣ing Pri••n, and shaking off your Chains. Would you know, what made the Pyrats so s•cure and negligent in guarding you? 'Twas because I paid 'em Mony enough to ransom you both.

The Young man him••lf, my Lord•, doth now also unders•a•d, that he is not able to cope with the Justice of my Calamities, and therefore he Pleads as if he were not bound at all to main∣tain me: So that he passes over his defence to this Plea, That he is not in Case or Ability to do it. What say you, my Lords, will you endure a Young stur∣dy Fellow with such pretences? Grant, thou hast no great Estate, yet thou hast Limbs and Lusti∣hood: I don't expect any hard labour or any diffi∣cult undertaking from you, I am content, Son, with your good will only. Don't think, I desire maintainance? Nay, I rather desire shoulders for my weakness to lean upon, hands to warm my Breast that is so beaten with my knocking of it, and a Bosom, where to lay the remainder of my even exhausted Tears; I desire, that you would bury me, and lay my Bones by those of your poor Brothers deceased. I seek not for maintainance, but I seek for a Son. Moreover, I require no long and burthensome business in your last Du∣ty? Alas! I would not live long, thô you main∣tain'd Page  136me both. Rest secure, in a very short time my Groans will deliver you, and my Vitals that are even worn away by my daily waylings: Why do you send me to the Charity of the Croud? Why do you again make me burthensome to all my Neighbours? I have spent my stock of Tears already, I have worn out all the pity of the Town. Other Folks will never releive a Man, that his own Son is bound to maintain. Son, what means your harsh dealing with me, which is unbeseem∣ing my calamity, and also unbecoming your vertu∣ous Education? You have made me past shame in my miseries. Whatever I did, since you came home, 'tis Impudent Beggery. Yet the Youth per∣sists in his hard-heartedness, neither doth the Me∣mory of his Brother, nor the sad Estate of his Fa∣ther incline him to any pity at all. Another Man would here cry out, on this occasion, Oh thou absurdest of Mortals, who returned'st to greive and torment thy Father, thou art worthy to be cast into Bondage again. And thô thou insult over this my Confession, yet I shall not press it; why d'e shew me such miserable ways of Revenge, and such sad means of Relief? A Father would do so, that was never willing to redeem his Son. Come now at last, thou over-long-liv'd Age, let's come to our Prayers, and, which is the only thing a Paternal Piety doth own, let's beg and entreat. Dear Child, I beseech you by this Age of mine, which you mutter is too long, by those common misfor∣tunes of Mankind, which we have all Experience of, for thy poor Brother's sake, who had not the happiness to see thee return'd, and to stand by him at his Death, maintain me now, because I Page  137did my best to redeem thee. Maintain me, because I did actually redeem thy Brother, I don't desire, thou should'st Work till you are weary, nor do I desire to be idle my self; nor do I assign soil and sweat to your labouring hands, that I may lie still and be idle the while. No, let us joyn together in duties of mutual Piety, a mournful Pair, a Pair to be reverenc'd in all Ages, and upon all ac∣counts. We have to do with a very merciful Government. They will give more chearfully, when they shall see those, who are joyntly and alike miserable, to have both their share in mutu∣al Alimony. For my part, I'le beg, as I use to do, and the People shall throw their Alms into your Lap. Whatever my Prayers and Tears shall obtain, that take you, keep, and distribute. I am solicitous for your Credit, that you may be a dutiful Son. I will beg, and you shall maintain me.

Corpus Projectum, sive Anus Caeca. A Corps thrown into the Sea: OR, The Blind Old Woman.

DECLAMATION VI.

Page  140For the Father against the Mother.

ALthô, my Lords, in this woful plight of frail humane Nature, wherein every Ma• living hath his share, all are of this Hu∣mour, to count their own sufferings greatest and most intolerable, yet of necessity this must be a Truth, evident to all Men, That my misery doth so far exceed others, that, it alone ought to be lamented, even to the loss of ones Eyes. For what have I suffered so light, but that even the disasters of others, compar'd with mine, may be counted Felicities? Oh, 'Tis a grievous thing, to be clapt into Chains by Pyrats, which they have the greatest reason to say, who know, how sud∣denly, such persons, when taken, come to their ends. Poor Man, I was a Prisoner indeed, but I count my self more unhappy, that I was releas'd. Want of affection to ones own is very unworthy, yet how much of it appears in this matter, you all see. Nay, I have more, I must complain of this too, that my Wife and my Child, both lov'd me too too well. What could I imagin was pos∣sible to be found in the whole World, harder to be born, than total loss of Children? Yet that which is the most miserable to others, could never be my good hap, to follow my Son to his Grave. 'Tis but a light thing, that I was the cause of Death Page  141to my Son of so extraordinary and exemplary Virtue; and that being redeem'd by so precious a Person, by his death I yet live an Aged Odious man. 'Tis but a small matter, that the Waves brought me News of my Greif, and, when I was thinking of nothing less, a Poor Fathers loss was driven a •hoar, and that I buried the Carkass of my Poor Son, after it had been wafted and toss'd at Sea, •o late, thô no body at all had hindred me; I am still forbid to perform the last Office, and that not a crumb of Comfort may fall to my share, I have lost also the Pity of my Wife. See, a Wo∣man arrests a floting body, more cruel than Pyrat or Storm; and to fill up the measure of my greif, Who is it that acts thus, but my own Wife? And that no Stranger may be mistaken, 'twas not a Step-dame, but an own Mother. Oh woful, how is Nature it self changed by my misery? A Mo∣ther denys Funeral Flames to her Son, a Woman so distress'd that she wants her Husbands help in the Case. Who would beleive this of her? She is utterly undon, and yet she bewayls not her Son, she, I think, is Pistol and Thunder-proof. Let her compare her Greif, she lost her Eyes for a lesser Cause by much.

My Lords, judge you, I pray, of the quality of this Crime and Punishment by the very Death, that follows. 'Twas I, only I, that Prison'd my Son, and disgrac'd him, and that he might meet with Repentance, the usual attendant of great sor∣rows, 'twas I that plung'd him into that dismal Hole. What hap had the Poor Youth to meet with such Parents, that his Father should bereave him of Life, and his Mother deny him Burial? For Page  142to tell you, once for all, of the Piety of this Son of mine, 'twas▪ he that redeem'd his Father. If my Wife be angry, because I came home, let her give a reason, why she wept at the Receipt of my Letter. But how could the Poor Youth better divide his Duty? The Law com∣mands him to help his Parents in their distress, both of his Parents were distress'd: 'Twas more than one could do, to help 'm both; yet his artful Piety found out a way, to releive 'm both with his own ruin. He came to his Father, and he remitted me to his Mother. If this be a Crime, I know what I have to do; I will plead my Cause with Complaint and Wayle, for the Law, I hope, al∣lows a man to Weepe. Otherwise 'tis not con∣venient I should be long in pr•ising him, the Duty of his Burial would be delay'd thereby. 'Tis not the Interest of my Plea, to be overdiligent in my defence; I stay too long, before I get leave to bury him. Whil'st we wrangle and quarrel about the Corps of our lost Child; whil'st we Plead the Cause of the deceased; whil'st we stay for an Order for his Burial, whil'st we take up a great deal of time in D•claiming, the Body taints and is not in every part dry and sweet. Were it not for the Good Company of those that stand about it, the Corps would be prey'd upon by Birds and Beasts. Parents of all sorts flock to him, a crowd of People run in thick to the sight, even com∣mon humanity m•kes a kind of Funeral for the Body, thô of a Strang•r. All greive for and be∣wail h•m, but the major part say, that The Poor Youth has no body to bury him. The Young man, sure, hath neither Father nor Mother. He hath Page  143lain so long, that the shape of a Body is almost spoiled: The Corruption, that comes from him, moistens the Earth; His Bones now begin to ap∣pear thrô his Skin. Thô you were never so hard-hearted, yet you could not endure to see such a sight, you may perhaps endure to hear of it. This •s our Son, whose very hopefulness we loved, for whom we prayed to the Gods in all Temples, who were deaf to our request, that he might outlive us: This is he, we desir'd should bury us. That Love∣ly Infant, that Pretty Boy, and that Youth, before this accusation, most Dutiful. He, that when the Fortune of his Parents were both equal, was pro∣pense enough to Love you. Let me not be be∣leiv'd, if, when my Voyage parted us, he had not rather be with his Mother. When I traverst all the Sea over, to leave a better Estate to my Son behind me, lo, Pyrats, crueller than the Stor∣miest Sea, way-laid and took me. Shall I give some description of their Prison, it hung over the Sea; the Chains, strait at first, hung looser and looser by my leanness; the Ship it self, that knew all my Misery, was worn away by the pressure of my Sides, and the butcherly Dungeon envelop'd with perpe•ual darkness? No, out of modesty, I must c•nceal all this; otherwise, who would pardon me, that I accepted my ransom by leaving my Son in my room; nay, I am sorry in my heart, that ever I writ about it. Oh Letters writ crying, and with a shaking hand! Oh these hands of mine, that had too much Liberty! Oh Epistle, to be blotted out by the Tears of my Wife! Why did I acquaint them, why did I write the last lines that my Wife or Son should ever read; Page  144That I know not, which of the Two cost most, to redeem or bewail me. My Wife, a woman of a Thousand, and worthy to be the Mother of such a Son, assoon as she heard of my miserable Case, quite wept out both her Eyes, so that nothing, but stark Blindness, stop't up that ever-flow∣ing Fountain of Tears. If she had not kept back my Son from coming to redeem me, she had ex∣ceeded him. Even after that, there was continual Mourning, Sorrow beyond beleif, Lamentation all day long. I know not whether the Youth would have been more Undutiful to me or to you, if he had not ransomd me, that was so much mist by you. Whereupon he prepares for his Voyage, that so, because he could not restore his Mother her Eyes, he would send her her Husband, that was Dearer to her.

But we see sometimes, that calamitys termi∣nate in a certain madness, and our very Prayers at length are turned into Fury. She kept the Young man back, alleging the Law in opposition to my Letters. O Vain Fancies! O the minds of men lost and confounded in deep mistake! Every body thought she was solicitous for her Sons safety. Therfore the Youth did what he thought for her comfort, he commended the Tuition of his Mo∣ther to her Freinds, and left his Kinsfolks her Guar∣dians in lieu of himself. For otherwise the Poor Blind woman would never have liv'd, till my return. He did what the wit of man could do. Such was his Piety, that if he could have re∣deem'd his Mothers Eyes, he would have spent his own. He entred on his Voyage, having no company at all, but an honest heart, a pious in∣tent, Page  145neither did he judge he went without a Ransom to the Pyrats, thô he carried nothing but empty hands. But, may some say, What, did you leave nothing at home? Had you liv'd so long, and laid up nothing against a rainy day? If it had been so, I call Heaven to Witness, I had never wrote back to be redeem'd. I had enough, and more than enough to ransom me, My Lords, but my Son lest it all at home for the releif of his Mother. Whereupon he sailes thrô the Tem∣pestuous Waves, by the Groaning Shoars, and Foamy Rocks, and whithersoever the Poorfellow was carried up and down, he had an unlucky passage, as if he had been ominously retained by his Mother; his wishes being also turned the con∣trary way, he sought to be made a Prisoner by those Pyrats, who must be miserably harass't thô he scap'd them. This is the Impious Youth, you speak of, who coveted and sought to do all that for his Parents, which one Brother would not do for another, nor a Wife for a Husband, nay, let me speak it out, nor a Father for a Son. O ye Immortal Gods, Presidents of Heaven, Earth, and all under the Earth, who have been so unsuffe∣rable to none but me, I make my Appeal to you alone, How unwillingly I was redeem'd. He, Poor Youth, was undon, who was first made acquain∣ted with it. For as soon as the Young man came to the Pyrats, bringing himself as the Price of my Ransom he skipt out nimbly from the Fatal Vessel, and offer'd his hands to the Chains for mine; he threw himself at all their Feet, and, as his earn∣est desire found him words, he beseech'd them with all manner of supplications, by his miserable Page  146waylings, and by Tears almost equal to his Mo∣thers; never any man was heard, who so earn∣estly su'd, not for release but bondage. And 'twas not such a hard piece of buisiness, to obtain sla∣very of the Pyrats, no, he had more ado with me. 'Twas a sight not fit for Rogues and Raskals, to behold a Father and Son contending about their Chains, and both alike challenging a Prison. I pleaded Usage and Premier Seisin; I urg'd, that one of my years was ripe and ready to knock off. He alleg'd on the other side; what! Shall I for∣sake you in your distress? Shall I leave you in Fetters? With what Face then can I return to my Mother, who, Poor woman, for lack of you, spends whole days and nights in nothing but weeping? And who cannot so much as Live without you? Neither did he tell all out, and when he had men∣tion'd her daily bewayling, and her restless Tears, he added, By this time she is almost Blind, but per∣haps, if you return, she will recover it. In fine, I will not go back. I hope, 'tis lawful for me to do Piously even without consent of Parents. A∣gain I fay, I will not go back. If you are resolv'd to stand it out and not to return, the Pyrats must make a Gain of us both. I will be one or 'tother, either your Substitute or your Companion. With these words, how many Tears did he shed? How oft did he Kill and Murther his Eyes? If I had persevered and held off a little longer, I had made Mother and Son both Blind. The very Ras∣kally Pyrats stood amazed at so great Piety, and thô their Countenances never flinch'd before, I ob∣serv'd Tears to trickle down. Perhaps they would not have retained the Young man, unless Page  147they had beleiv'd, his Parents would have re∣deemed such a Son as He. He took the hard Iron Chains upon himself, the Son was merrier at his Imprisonment, than the Father was at his Release. Yet at last, to my Eternal reproach be it spoken, he embrac'd me with his now manacled hands, and after he had don taking care for me, now, said he, by these endearments I commend my Mo∣thers Estate to you. Pray, maintain her, protect her, love her, never forsake her; so shall we be quits. There, if you please, you shall be my Substitute; if you do so, perhaps my Mother will not be so angry, That I went a way from her. Thus, being an ill-exchanged Passenger, I went aboard my Sons Vessel, and as far as ever my Eye could ken, I look'd back from the stern to the Pyrats, I ran back by the slanting shoars, and left a vast Tract of Sea and Sky behind me, and Towring Rocks that Fronted Cities. Alas! Said I, How long do's it seem to me Co sail away from the Pyrats, even when I return? Yet, dear Child, I observe your Injunctions, I minister to, I support, your Mother: Nay, but to speak truth, Son, tis rather you that minister to and supports her; 'tis for your sake, that my care of her is so great. I am unwilling to part from my Wife, and that's the reason, I have not ransom'd my Son: But in the Interim he is almost choak'd with the conti∣nual nastiness of a Prison, his Chains fret to the very bone, he, at whom all Sons may light their Candle, dies in a Gally. Now, I hope, Madam, you have enough, even a Punishment beyond the rigour of Law. No Pyrats so Barbar••s, but Would have buried such a man, if a guilty Consci∣ence Page  148and fear of Punishment had not deterr'd them from coming ashoar: But we see, they did all that they could, they threw him into the Sea, when the wind serv'd for his own Country. A gale entertain'd him, kinder than his Mother, and (if any felicity can be in misery) wasted his Carkass with a prosperous course even almost to the Sepulchres of his Ancestors. The Historians of our time may tell of a Thing, so strangly Vari∣ous, that I know not which side is molt to be ad∣mired, The Sea brought back a Sons Corps to his Mother, and the Mother return'd it to the Sea a∣gain. I confess, 'twas my Fault in great part; For 'twas I, that brought my Wife thither, I was loth to hinder the Poor woman from shewing her Grief; and therefore I carried her (thô now she be my Adversary) to the shoar upon my back. To speak truth, her first words about him did deceive me, for I thought they had proceeded from the sense of her loss: For who would not think it an affection of Greif, when the Mother said to her deceased Son, What buisiness had you a Ship-board? Why did you go to Sea? Why would you seek out the Pyrats? As for that Speech, Son, Why did you leave me? I thought it the common Oratory of all women, in those circumstances. Nay when she lay all along upon the body, I thought she had embrac'd it; And when she laid hands on the Bearers that were taking it up, I ex∣cused it, saying, 'tis the Guise of Mothers so to do, that they may enjoy the sight of their Children a little longer, before they are put away never to be seen more. But alas! She urges Law in the Case, and makes a long Oration over the Carkass Page  149of her Son. Peace, Poor woman, Peace? Is all •our wishing come to this? Our calamitys were ••ee only from this blemish hitherto, that when ••ven amongst the Prosperous, hard-heartedness is •ighly to be blam'd, she should shew her self such 〈◊〉 Monster as never was heard of. That the •retched cruel woman should desire to de∣troy with her own hands, what the Angry Gods had left untoucht, and what cross Fortune •orgor to sweep away. Fortune may well be ac∣•uitted from all blame, when a Mother shall think •erself not wretched enough in the loss of her own Son. For my part, I lose; my very Tears at last, 〈◊〉 I bewail any thing it must be an empty Bier •t home, the abus'd Verger returns with a Flam, •nd the Funeral-wood is carried back again. A midst •ll this, the Mother gives not so much as one Groan, not a Tear, nor any complaint at all. One would think, that 'twas some Pyrat cast a∣hoar. How came she to be so spirited? If she •e not sensible of her misery upon this account, •ecause she cannot see, if blindness have such an •dvantage in it, I wish some good body or o∣•her would pull out my Eyes too. But alas, •lindness of Body doth not hinder the passion of the mind. Pray, tell me, can such a woman as this, be my Wife? Or can that, be my Son? I would call it in question, if it were possible. For ruly Time hath so disguis'd my Sons Corps, that hardly know it to be His; but alas, his Chain-•retted hands, swoln prints made by his Fetters, and his wasted Body, a proof of his long Imprison∣ment, are so many unhappy Arguments to con∣vince me: Poor man, 'tis too sure I mourn for the Page  150right person. I own my Son, my Wife I can∣not own. But seeing, our contest, in point of Law, will take up too much time, and I desire to make hast; I will begin my Plea with supplicati∣ons. Draw near, ye Parents all, of both sides, while I Pray and Intreat a Mother to do right to her Son in Burial. By our old Bond of Matri∣mony, by that mutual Love which cost both of us so dear, I add further, by the Son of both our Loins, by all those years we have liv'd together, that, by the blessing of a Son, do seem more, by my tenderness to your self; Pity me now, as here∣tofore you have don. Beleive me, what I now suffer is worse than a Prison, 'tis crueller than any slavery whatsoever. You do not punish him, but me. Pray, what great injury have I don you? Wherein have I offended you? Sure, you know, 'twas not I that forsooke you. Now if you have spent all your Affection upon this Husband of yours, and all your Compassion is ex∣tinguish'd with your Eyes, grant that our Son hath suffred deservedly, thô it cost him his Life: Let us not rip up Old Sores: But as Cicero begg'd of that cruel Tyrant of Sicily, let Death, I pray, be the Period of all suffrings. Which when he could not obtain, some Friends watch't all night at the Prison door, and bought leave to bury him with their Money? What was the Issue? You Fa∣thers and Mothers all? That which Marcus Tullius obtain'd at last, do you, Wife, sell me at least, which was the Cruellest part that Verres ever plaid. For my part, I am resolv'd to ransom my Son, and the Price is not far to seek, my own hands shall do it. Don't you put in now, and object Page  151your loss of sight. Sure, you desire to be poin∣ted at, and to be the talk of the Town, when your own Husband could not obtain so much of you as to bury your Son. Get you gon then, if you will, and push back his Corps into the Waves; Or if thou thinkest 'twas but an obscure place he was cast up in, lay hands on him, and, lest ano∣ther mans help should not please you, rather drag it along your-self, to chuse. Lay one hand upon the Corps, and with 'tother hale him to the tracks where most Carts pass, and where 'tis the deepest dirty way. Let an overloden Wain crash the Poor thing, and let the Feet of the Oxen tread out his Guts. As for Thee, because you want your Eyes, use your hands, grasp and gripe his bruised Skul, and his Bowels when they are squeez'd out of his Body, nay if you have the heart to do it, tear him peicemeal with your Teeth. We Quarrel, we hold our own, we have our several Pleas. Let me tell you, when you have got the better, there will be little difference between us, except in our affection. How! You say, I shall not bury him. Prithee take heed, take great heed, I say, lest, while you are a wrangling about it, the very Waves may throw upon him sand enough to bury him; or some merciful good People cast mould upon him. What! Do you hinder them? If perhaps some compassionate person put him in the Earth, let me see you dig him up again, and see∣ing you are such a Piece for a Mother, lets see you fume and cry out, Oh, He lov'd the Father best. Criminals that are hang'd, are cut down to be buried, and when men are Beheaded, even a com∣mon Executioner permits them a Grave. Yea the Page  152Pyrats themselves do no more than cast a Corps into the Sea. A Mother, (thô I profane that Sacred Name and Relation, to call her so) if she continues to be a Step-dame to her own Son, that is not sensible of her loss, deserves the Curse of being hard-hearted, if, beyond the Antipathy of the Enemy, who oft interr those that are Slain in Battel; if beyond what any Tyrant, or any Banditty, would do, she be so far from burying him herself, that she also hinders others to do that last Office, and quenches the Fatal fire with Water, in a manner fetcht as sar as the Sea; she shews by this, that she did not so much bear as tumble him into the World, and by such an unlucky birth dischar∣ged the wearisom burthen of her Womb. Let her tell me, as oft as she will, that she is before hand with me in conjugal Love and Duty, (a charge she can never make good) yet give me leave to speak my mind freely, it had been more Excusable in her, to have hated her Husband rather than her Son. Thô indeed as to our mutual Love one to the other, we may even cry quits; she did not value her Eyes for her Husbands sake, nor I then, my Son's loss: My loss of a Child ballances the loss of her Eyes. And yet amidst these misfortunes, I must needs be grievously trou∣bled even upon a private account. She hath lost that good Name, she had formerly got. Now my Enemys triumph, and spare not to say, This is that exemplary Woman, the Glory of the Age she lives in, Lo, she is unwilling her Husband should be ransom'd, or her Son buried! Certainly, My Lords, in my opinion every man living should Plead for the burial of the dead, for this is the Page  153only thing that concerns the whole race of mor∣tals. And therefore such a punishment is ex∣acted from none, when they are dead, unless from a damn'd Parricide. Nay, thô some Laws are against it, yet if there be but a chinck-hole, thô never so narrow, that common humanity may creep thrô, true Clemency will lay hold on the oc∣casion. I will not dispute, whether deceased Per∣sons are sensible of any thing, or no? But that the dead are covered with Earth for the sake of the Living, to put noysomness out of the way, and remove the Object of Greif out of sight: Or, when the Soul passes to the other World, she cannot have the Honour to be wafted over to the Elysian feilds, (as Poets fancy) unless the Body be buried, nor can enjoy the felicities there, which I, Poor man, hope and beleive are true and real, being quickly like to go thither to my Son. The truth is, as Dame Nature, in begetting and maintaining of man, hath of herself provided before hand a full and sufficient stock, so, when she takes her own work asunder again, she makes hast to reduce our Bodies to their first Principles, so that even in desert uninhabited places some Earth is brought down, even by showers of Rain, and swells about a dead Carkass; the force of Winds heap, and make a banke of dust about it, and in tract of time, by little and little, the very Earth sucks in the putrefied Limbs, thô no body bury them at all. Yea the Bones and all at last sink into the Earth. And in us Men, she hath begotten not only a Compassion towards the deceased, which works in our thoughts, but a certain kind of Religion too. Hence it comes to pass, that Travellours, as they Page  154pass, will bestow a hasty burial even on Corpt's they do not know; and Strangers will heave Earth upon them. If this be so, Ounworthy Fact! My Son had been buried, but that he had a Mother.

My Lords, I do not make this Plea to biass your judgments; I don't prescribe to You, 'tis my She-Adversary that I upbraid. As for that Law, I have a great deal of reason to dread it, seeing this is the onely thing objected to the poor Youth, That he did not forsake his Father in his distress: but because I am question'd in Court for my mourning, I must dispute the Point in midst of my Tears, and she frets at her loss; let's out-do her, if we can't en∣treat her. Did you ever see two persons so mi∣serably entangled in a Suit, if the Father prevail here's a Son to be buried; if the Mother hath the better, here's a Son to be cast out without burial: What says the Law in the Case? He that forsakes his Parents in their distress, must be cast out unburied. In the first place, my Lords, all the stress of the mat∣ter lies between the Words of the Law, and the Meaning of those Words; and whether our Suit shall be decided by the Ambiguity of the Letter, or by the true Intention and sense of the Law-giver: My Adversary alledges on her side, that she was the Parent in distress, and that she was the Party forsaken, the punishment of which is to be thrown out unburied. But what may be the Cause he left her, what followed thereupon, and how the Law is to be properly understood; all this she cun∣ningly conceals, she stirs not a jot from the bare words, contenting her self only with the naked Rehearsal of them too. But I, on my side, say, That the Law doth not reach all persons in general, Page  155no, nor all those that are blind neither; and that the Young-man had just Cause, and such as will bear him out, to be gone: I alledge further, he did it with a good intent, which is enough to Ju∣stify a just Law; And Lastly, Such a going away is not properly called a Forsaking: So that I put the Case upon this Issue, that the Youth is not only to be acquitted, but more than that, to be highly commended too: He that makes a doubt, whether it be not convenient to stick to the meaning of the Law, seems to me to commence a dispute about he knows not what himself. And therefore I will be the shorter; for (if you go on, as you begin) the same Ambiguity of words will make me ready to cavil too: it seems to me, that the very recital of the Law overturns the whole of my Adversaries Plea. For when the Law saies, He that forsakes his Parents in their di∣stress, and when it saies again, Let him be cast out unburied: certainly this can't be the meaning, That he may not be buried, after he is thrown into the Sea, and cast ashore again. And therefore Gentlemen, either allow me to plead as I will my self, or (which more becomes your Piety) forbid this catching at words on both sides, as unworthy of your sacred Ears. And when I shall have prov'd, that my Son was a very Non-such, let your judg∣ments be further confirmed, That our Ancestors never made any Law against Piety.

Now as to the first Point I propos'd, that the Law doth not reach this Case: I will but touch upon it, nor 'tis clear of it self; to raise doubts would but waste time. For I am not at all of the opinion, that if Age hinder an Infant, or weakness Page  156a sick person; if the Commonwealth employ a man to be their Ambassador, or a Captain retain his Souldier in some service, that the severe punish∣ment, prescrib'd by the Law, should take place notwithstanding, without admitting the Plea of meer necessity; and it it once appear, that that Door of Defence is open, then I may be fully assured of the goodness of my Cause, and need never fear, that my Son shall be Cast, for not helping of us both, as long as he had an Eye upon the very Law, in what he did. The Father was a Prisoner, the Mother was blind, they had but One Son between them both; they were at a vast distance one from another. The Law hath a Debtor in the midst of both, lead him to which of the Two you will, for to Both you cannot, unless you will tye the poor thing up to such hard terms, that, do what he can, he must be thrown upon the Dunghil. If he take his Journey, his Mother will deny him Bu∣rial; if he stay at home, his Father will do the same. I suppose there can be no doubt at all, but the Equity of the Law reaches me as well as her: unless perhaps (for I perceive you seek all Occasions against me, though never so unjustly) you imagine, that, here also, by reason of one single word, you think it one thing to help Parents, and not to forsake them, another, that is, that you'l make it a doubt, whether Parents are to be re∣liev'd in all places, be they where they will, which is my opinion; or else, that no Father deserves Relief, but he that is in misery under his Sons Eye. For if to forsake Parents in distress, be interpreted by us to be nothing but a bare departure from a poor Parent, then we allow two Impieties at once: The Page  157first is this, That he, that doth not budge, hath done his duty well enough, only by being there and standing by, for he is absolved by the Law, which bids him not stir: This would be the way to make Children not Helpers to Parents, but only Spectators of their miseries. The next is worse than the former; for as the necessity of our Af∣fairs doth almost every day separate us one from another: If any misfortune seize upon Parents on a suddain, thô a Son be but a little way off, yet he may have a lawful Excuse not to relieve or assist: For why? He may make use of this Pretence, I did not leave, I did not forsake, I stir'd not a foot, (as the Phrase is) from my Parent: A Son will be discharg'd of all obligation to help and relieve his Parents, if your Interpretation take place, that Absence is an occasion of Impiety. But my opinion is, That the Intent of the Law-giver was this, That they who came out of our own bowels, should help us (Parents) by their labour and du∣ty, where ever we be, in lieu of that life they receiv'd from us, unless any man should be so absurd as to say, that we are not Parents but when we are at home with our Children.

What then is the true meaning of, Not to forsake? 'Tis to assist, 'tis not to be wanting in what we can do. All tends to this, That Parents may be safe by the assistance of their Children This being so, the Law was made for Me, as well as for the Mother: Both of us call'd for aid, let's see, to which of the Two ought he to go? I might make use of the Authority of a Father, and boldly say, your Father commands you. The name of a Father is above any Law. If my Child be a Tribune, yet Page  158I have power over him; If he be able to bear Office, yet his Father may chastise him. We have power even of life and death over our Children; If my Son won't do as I bid him, Il'e serve him the same sawce, no burial shall he have at my hands. The Youth was compell'd to obey his Father; he did not forsake you willingly, but I pluckt him from you by meer force. Believe me, if you please, 'twas not out of disrespect to you in the least, that he came to his Imprison'd Father. Let's stand, I pray, upon even terms, and let our Son be set in the midst of us both; Il'e make no comparison between Persons, thô all Nations give the prefe∣rence to a Father, let him be lookt upon only as our Son in common; Il'e claim no advantage for giving him his Name, for making him of so cre∣ditable a Family, for spending so much money upon him, for being taken Prisoner while I was getting an Estate for his use: I won't vie with her as to matter of Indulgence, she, of herself, grants me that point already. All this I might do, but I re∣primand myself, I won't press things as far as I Lawfully might. His duty stands as indifferent be∣tween his Two Parents; First ask, First serv'd. Sure I am, in point of time, I had the better on't, for I fell into distress before you. When you were at your Freedom, I was a Prisoner; you were safe and sound, and had a good House over your head, when I did almost rot in a Jayle; you needed not yet put up any request to your Son, but I ask'd when I had need. As for your calamity, it hapned not till af∣ter the receipt of my Letter; and unless your Son had been willing to apply some comfort to you in your Crying and Lamenting State, he had took his Page  159Journy before you had been stark Blind. Don't wonder, if I got more favour than you; Alas! 〈◊〉 had prevail'd upon my Son, before ever you open'd your Mouth.

If a man should make a Mock-Assize and Fancy 〈◊〉 Judge in so woful a Case, (for, God forbid, any body should really experiment it.) Pray tell me, whose Calamity would he think the greatest? 'Tis true, overmuch affection cost you your Eyes, of your five senses you lost one, you are a dark woman, you say: Why every nigh that passes o∣ver your head, you may say as much, tho' your Eyes are safe in your head. But was not this a •reater misfortune, that deserv'd to be so greivous∣•• bewailed? For tho' she may deservedly com∣plain that the Pleasures of Life are taken away, •nd that the Acts of sensation are hindred, yet if we are not unequal Judges, nor vaingloriously mi∣•erable in the disasters we our selves are able to •ure, I will tell you, not only how she is to be •utdone by me, but rather how she is to be com∣•orted. For when all Bodily pain is away, and •he aking of our Limbs, that takes up all our Thoughts, is happily at an end; it follows, that •oo much Idleness and continual Rest would tor∣•ent one, except in such Acts, where the very Necessity brings a Pleasure. The loss of our ••ght may be made up by other delights, as Smell, •ast, Touch, Hearing, wherein tho' we must •rant the greatest Pleasure is wanting, yet a Feli∣••ty, not consummate, is far from being a deep Ca∣••mity. A House of ones own, a Marriadge-Bed, •he Society of Kindred, Conference with Freinds, 〈◊〉 calamity not to be ashamed of, (which seldom Page  160happens,) and Liberty, which is a Blessing in any State whatsoever, so many Pleasures together may well stiffle one Greif. For the desire of having your sight, if compar'd with my miseries, savours of Wantonness and Curiosity, in regard Nature is not likely to produce any thing New, as an Ob∣ject of the Eyes; whatever we are like to see, be it never so Specious and Beautiful, we have seen it already. Every day comes Night, and the Dark∣ness thereof wraps up one half of our Time; so that Nature herself is, as it were, Blind on one side. He that can have the use of another mans Eyes, he that can Hear, he that can Command, he that hath diligent Servants to tend him, (so had she, if she were not too high, and made so much account of her misfortune) is not a miserable man; especially, if he be well satisfied in the Cause of his Blindness; or if he be miserable, 'tis for default of a good Principle. He need not be troubled for a thing, that can boast thereof at the same time: Tho' indeed, whoever is struck Blind, and on whatever occasion, yet such an Assault of Fortune is lighter on a woman, than any. For yee, women, don't travel beyond Sea, you per∣form no Embassies, you do not see many fine Sights by frequent gadding abroad, no Military Employ can you pretend to, nor no business at Court of Common-Pleas. But rather you are al∣ways within doors, for the most part in one place, tied to little petty Offices.

For your part, if I am well acquainted with your humour, you lamented your Blindness for no Cause more, but because you could not go to ransom your Husband. This was your calamity, Page  161let's now take an Estimate of mine. Alas! No body was affected with it, more than your-self. Yet, pray observe, how many things I could not mention in those Letters of mine. O my Son, in what a croud of miseries did I leave thee? Liber∣ty (that Great and Principal Gift God gratifies Man with, which is fix'd and innate in the sense even of Bird and Beast) was the first thing I was strip't of. I lost my own self, I am in hold, a Market-Slave, being a Citizen of Rome I am be∣come Chaffer, b•ing an Old man I am forc'd to forget my Freedom, and being born Free I wish I were a Slave. 'Tis scarce worth the mentio∣ning to say, we dwell upon the Sea, the Stormy Winds beat in upon us. We have never a Har∣bour, nor Seat, nor Rest, but (which is the grea∣test part of our misery) our very Patroons and Masters are as wretched as our Selves. But I must slip over the mention of these things, as being greivous to my Wife for my sake, and also to Me for my Sons sake. I forbear to speak of the grim Looks of my Enemys; I pass over the Brutish grumblings of those Savage Barbarians, and that I was daily in fear to suffer, what a Poor Prisoner was able, and what a bold Pyrat durst inflict up∣on him. Nothing is more greivous to a man, than the Absence of his Friends, yet I was even afraid to see mine. Nothing more terrible than a Tempest, yet I wish't to be cast away every hour. As for death, I confess, my Servile weakness wish't not for that for this one reason, I was afraid no body would bury me. What Cloth's d'e think they left me, but what were not worth taking away? What Diet could they afford me, who themselves Page  162live upon rapine? As for those things, which I must not pass by, who can speak them to the full? A damp Prison, The Vessel smelling strong of the Pump, my restless side laid upon a bare board, my Hands bound behind me, and my Feet fetter'd, as if I could run away? 'Twas Darkness alone that eas'd me in Prison. I was often sorry I had Ears, which thô they were cover'd with my un∣kemb'd hair, did yet receive in the Noise of the Whip, and the Groanings of those that were bea∣ten, sad examples of what I might expect. Wretch that I am, thou, my Son, art lost by Sickness. Compare now the Land with the Sea, your House with a Ship, your Bed with a Prison, your Liberty with my Slavery, the loss of Eyes with the suffring of the whole Body. But how far do's this woful vying of our calamities draw me? Those that are Blind can quarrel, we see, but Prison'd Slaves can hardly live. But these things if put into an even Scale, yet ought to weigh much more on one side, and favour me more than you. We must spare no pains, where the effect will an∣swer. 'Tis a foolish care, where we hope for no advantage. 'Twas I could be ransom'd, but your Eyes could never be cur'd: Your calamity possibly, be it what it will, was incurable, it could not be help'd, 'twas capable of none to take your Place. 'Tis true, my Son, after the Receipt of my Letter, in a silly kind of officiousness, might have sate by your Beds-side, and put Finger in Eye with his Mother. When he went his Voyage, he releiv'd the Cap∣tivity, thô but of one of his Parents; whereas if he had staid at home, he would have had a Mother Blind, and a Father Prisoner too. I add, that Page  163your Sons presence was not so necessary neither, to sit by you, to tend you at Meals, to lend you his Hand, that any body else may do. Let me not be believ'd, unless it came to that pass, that when I was taken Prisoner, I was to be ransom'd upon such hard Conditions, because 'twas suffi∣ciently known, no body would ransom me, but my own Son.

Here my Plea runs, as if my Son did these things only for my sake; thô in this Action you have forgot you are a Mother, and thô you make it your business to drown the Merits of your Cause by your Injury done, and thô you put on a strange Unnaturalness, yet I admit your Testimony. 'Twas you that sent your Son to ran∣som me, when you took on so greivously, when you wish'd for death, when you cry'd out, You were rob'd of all your delight, when you oftner sigh'd for my Bondage than your own Blindness. He had not an Heart of Iron or Flint, that he could brook these things with Content: You first taught your Son, that he should venture himself, rather than sit weeping immoderately, and ra∣ther than expert to recover your Blindness. He went, it seems, and by that means sent home your Husband. O Crime unpardonable! If he had done so a little sooner, you had •ot lost your Eyes. But, say you, you could not keep him back. Here I will not say, That all natural Piety hath its Ef∣forts, and that somtimes Affection knows no Ma∣ster; neither could he keep you (you see) from passionate weeping. I'le tell you that which is more true, he had something else in his Mind. He thought it incredible, that you would be against Page  164my ransom. He reckon'd it to be the care of a Mother, he believ'd it to be the danger of the Sea, which our Family hath had such sad Tryal of; fearing if he had not been obedient to you, every body would have thought, you had put a Sham on the World. But was he able not to go to ran∣som me, when you cry'd out, I am blind, I have lost my Eyes for my Husband's sake, I cannot bear my Lonesomness and Solitude? So had he gon more excusably to redeem me, if you had made less moan for me? Is it a Question, whether he did it for your sake? You could not have your Son and Husband both; he sent you home him that you loved best. Cease then your weeping, take your Husband return'd in safety. Why are you angry? How so much alter'd? Who could believe it? You complain, that he went from you whom you hated, and yet you would not have him return, whom you pretend to love. But if He forsakes his Parents in distress, who doth not re∣lieve them (as I have prov'd before,) and if this best of Sons ransom'd me to be an Assistant to his Mother, by suffering in his own Person (as I shall n•w shew) then certainly he did relieve, (i. e.) he did not forsake them. For if, as I said before, a Man must not wag a foot from Parents in distress, then he cannot star from those he helps, no not to fetch 'em Meat, or to provide them other necessa∣ry Accommodations, that they want. But when a Parent is relieved, if it be no great matter where the Party that relieves, is, provided his Care be pre∣sent; then, whatever I did for you is due to him that ransom'd me, as the Author of the Gift. In∣deed, I sate not by you, I us'd no comfortable Page  165word to you, I did not tend you, I did not fetch and carry, I did not return an entire Beneficia∣ry to you. To confess a Truth, after all this, if you reckon your self forsaken, I cannot deny it, 'tis my fault.

But now 'tis time to defend, with greater Ar∣dency, the things which are so far from needing an Excuse, that they are very splendid and mag∣nificent; and when an exemplary Judgment is upon giving, we should understand at length the Merits of the Cause. Ah, poor Child! this Privilege, at least, thou wilt obtain, usually done to Noble Fu∣nerals; When you are dead, you shall not go without your Praise. Let us summon in hither all past Encomiums; thô the Tongues of all Poets, and Orators too, should make a joynt Agreement to chant out the Praises of this one Man, yet the Sub∣ject will pose an hundred Tongues; nay, it would baffle even Eloquence it self, if it could possibly lodge in one Body, thô I alledge nothing but the very Objections made against him. Here's a Son that gave Liberty and open Air to his Father, and (what was never heard of before) he lov'd me more than I desir'd. He went to Sea, where Storm and Tempest was the least of his Hazards; and amidst all, (which was most difficult,) in Love he surpassed his Mother. Peace, wicked Tongue! What have you to do to praise such things as these? He offer'd himself voluntarily to be a Slave; and thô he knew how grievous a thing it was to be fetter'd, yet he would come in his Fa∣ther's stead, and undergo such Hardships. His Piety did chearfully undergo those Miseries, which were grievous even to Felons. I profess, Wife, you Page  166did better, when you wou'd not let him go. Com∣pare Cases now, if a Man carry'd his Father thrô the midst of his Enemies alone, and receiv'd all the Darts, aim'd at him, in his own Body, yet he dy'd but one downright Death. We read of one, who offer'd himself for his Father, not to the Py∣rates, or to the Sea, but where there was hope of Ransom. Wo is me! I must say, that, by this very Example, we are put in mind, that 'tis for the Honour of Filial Piety, that even those that are Exe∣cuted are buried. Some like these things, but I don't. As for you, Young Man, all Ages to come will speak of you; and winged Vertue will carry up aloft to the Stars such an admirable Example, that Posterity will neuer forget: But this thy Praise costs me dear. Had it not been better for thee to have sate by thy Mothers Bed-side; and, devoting thy self to her Service, to have liv'd in Security? 'Twas your hap only, that you could excuse it to your Father, and yet not redeem him. In the mean time, a lingring Consumption would have wasted me, as it had begun: Death, which only could do it, would have releas'd the Old Man. And when my dead Body had been cast to the Waves, if the like Tempest should have hapned, 'twould have been your turn to bury me. But the Love of Glory, which is innate to brave Spi∣rits, hath mis-lead you, the Expectation of im∣mortal Praise hath impos'd upon you. Where is your Vertue? Where is your Piety? You are undon, and yet suffer by an ill Report too. I sate not by him, when he was a dying, as a Father should; I did not lay his troubled Head in a softer place, I did not turn his weary'd Side, not Page  167did I receive his last Breath. Absent was I, Dead and Rum'd, when I heard of your Death. No man unty'd your Chains when you were Sick, none freed your Hands, sully'd with your Fetters, to take your Food. You were loosed, as a neglected despised Creature, only to save your Chains. Why may I not call you the substitute of a disconsolate Old-man? Amidst so many ardent desires and longings of a Feav•rish person, you had no body to call to for supply: As you were grapled in your Chains, so you lay; you could only cast a thought on your Mother, Father and the rest of your Kindred. Do I please myself, that, I fear, you are Dead in my loathsom Prison? Alas, your Mother is not satisfied with your Death.

Because, woman, you demand an exact punish∣ment from dead Carkasses, hear the sequel. Death it self made Shipwrack of your Son, his Body was swoln by being tumbled over so many Waves, by being dash'd against so many Rocks, by being driven thrô such large and spatious Sands, yet it was never more unhappy than when it came a∣shore. Oh, how greivous is it to dye, but how far more greivous, to outlive my Son? I live hated and abhorr'd by God and Man, but most of all by my-self. Besides, I lose the Affection, even of my own Wife. About her Sons Funeral, she hath divorc'd herself. I see those Conveniences of Na∣ture, which I have depriv'd my Son of; Every part of Age calls upon me to mourn, Old Age, to which he arriv'd not; wretched Childhood, which 'tis true, now he pass'd over; Youthful Estate, in which Age he died. I survive, that, if things cotton right, I may see a Funeral, and the all-de∣vouring Page  168Flames about my Sons Corps: But if I may not be so happy, then I shall see a foul black Carkass, a loathsom Spectacle, even to those that knew him not. Amidst all these miseries, I think you will beleive mo if I say, I wish My Eyes were out too. What shall I say more? Shall I bend my supplications to you, O Wife, hitherto vainly and fruitlesly attempted? Well, go you on, make use of your Fortune! Happy you, that you are not content with this condition! I must make my recourse to you, Worthy Auditors, by our com∣mon misfortunes, by my calamity, which is the Standard or Idea of humane misery, as your Wives may love you, as they may long for you in such a case, as you may have no other Instance of such a loss, but mine may be the last, as you may have no need of such Pious Children as mine was, Take pity upon me. If you will accept of a Substitute, cast me out. My Prayers are not refiective, yet I'le have it so. No joyful acclamation shall fol∣low your Sentence; I shall not be led to the Tem∣ple but to the Grave: Thô I prevail with you, yet I must weep still; but if I prevail not, I will go to the Sea-shore all-forlorn. I will drive away the very Birds with my groans, or lay my-self as a Tomb-stone over my Sons body. We'le be both a∣like, unburied. I will throw my-self out to Wild-Beasts, or at every bodies door. I will cast my∣self at the feet of all Passengers, as Poor Beggars are wont now adaies; I'le not ask Victuals or an Alms, no, I will only beg a Grave, and a clod or two thrown upon my Son, by some compassionate hand or other; or else, (which, I hope, I may do) I will throw his Body into the Sea: Then ye Page  169Cruel Waves, and ye Winds, but too too prosperous, I return you your kindness back again. Carry it whither you will, let it be to Savages, let it be to the feircest, Enemys, nay let it be to the Pyrates themselves. Perchance some one of them will say, Let it be buried; sure there is none (that I know) will be against it.

Tormenta Pauperis: OR, The Poor man's Rack.

DECLAMATION VII.

Page  172For the Poor Man against the Rich.

I AM very sensible, my Lords, that your Commiseration of my Distress will be much abated and taken off, because I seem to bring before you too venturous a Grief; and that a new Accession is made to the sad Loss of my Child, that, when I crave and call for such severe Cruelty against my self, I am reflected upon as if I required another's Torture: Yet I cannot own how much I suffer, because there is no room for the faint-heartedness of a poor Father left in me. I saw with my own Eyes the Murtherer of my Son, and am more wretched now, than if I had not known, who 'twas that murther'd him. And I confess, my Lords, I wonder how it comes to pass that I should appeal to this way of Probation. I came hither, as if I were to relate a plain and manifest Case; neither did I expect any other Consent of this Courts Opinion concerning my Son's Murther, than as if you had every one of you seen the Murtherer too. But here, alas! here, I found cause to desire, I might be rack'd aforehand. For after my words did not seem sufficiently to make out what I had seen, I resolv'd to convince you by my Torments. But what shall I do, if the guilty Conscience of Defendants will not endure, that I should rashly engage my self to such Hard∣ship? Page  173Could I construe this to be any Pity towards me, that he would not have me rack'd, who de∣sired it, since he knows, I would say the same thing on the Rack, that I did before. Neither do I think, my Lords, any of you do so much as doubt, whence it should proceed; from what Guilt, or from what Fear, that a Man should be unwilling his Enemy should be tortur'd. Little do you think, what Torment the rich Man is in now, and what Pain he is under, because he will not consent to what I ask. Oh, how fain would he wish, he had not murthered my Son, that so I might be spar'd the Torture! Can you think, my Lords, he doth this out of regard to Law or Liberty, or that he, that has broke the Law, would be care∣ful, lest an Example be given against Law? But he is now perplex'd in Conscience, and so he takes the more pleasure in my Grief. 'Tis worth his while to deny the Rack to an Enemy, when he has brought it about, that he desires it himself. And therefore, my Lords, I, the unhappiest of all Mortals, do beg this, that seeing I have already suffered such unheard of, such incredible Griefs, That you would take no pity on my Carkass. 'Tis a more cruel and intolerable thing, not to obtain the Torture when I desire it, than to suffer it in good earnest. Even this is the strangeness of my Grief, that you cannot succour me any other way, than that, you would hate another in. Neither is any thing more unhappy than he, who of necessity flies to the Torture. I plead and contend, That I saw the very Murtherer of my Son. 'Tis hard, you cannot find this out, if it be false; and 'tis as hard, I can't prove it, if it be true. As for me, Page  174my Lords, I fancy my Son's loss, as if it were just now; and my Thoughts represent that dismal Night to me, a second time. It seems to me, that I have made my Confession already, even upon the Rack.

I had a Son, my Lords, as he was of an high• and undaunted courage, so he had not as yet any Enemy in the World, and no body would have Murther'd him on any other accompt, had it not been to greive his Poor Father. O wretched con∣dition of us, Parents! To what strange and un∣heard of Pitfals, do we lye open? We are the Persons, that provoke and offend, yet our Enemy make our Poor Children suffer. Who, my Lords would ever have been afraid of such a cunni•• false disposition, when a man shall find out a new way how to Spare and Murther too? As for the rest, my Lords, you may expect it on the Rack, no• before. Those Parents are happy in comparison of me, who hear the report of their Children•• death by others; but I am shot at by an unhear• of misery, my only Son was Murthered for the nonce, that I might see him Murthered. At nigh• we were going home togeather, as indeed in the whole course of our Lives we were seldom asun∣der: For we were men, whose Fortunes did not enable us to keep Servants to guard us, and there∣fore we made a shift to defend one another by a mutual Piety; we upheld one another, we lean'd o•• one another, and were hardly to be severed b•• by an expert Murtherer; when, behold, the Rich-man sprung forward with a Sword in his hand in the dead time of the night, and, to the amaze∣ment of us both, ran him through, that was the Page  175better man of his hands; and who, if he had killed me, might have found him some Play. I confess, my Lords, the best Eyes I had, and the greatest care a Poor Father could use, stood me in no stead at that Time. The Murtherer him∣self was willing to have it known, who 'twas. You Countrymen all, I put the Question to you; and I ask you too, O all ye humane affections, tell me, What a Poor Father should do in this Case? This Blood you see about me, spurted out from my Son's wounds: With these hands of mine, I held up the Body of my only Child, as he was a •alling. Methinks the aspect of my dying Son •ticks yet in my Eye; and the words, which his •xulting Adversary spake over his dead Carkass, yet •ingle in mine Ears. Beleive me for my Tor∣ments sake, how long shall my Sons Murther •aunt my Conscience? Open this Body of mine, and bring to light the dark business of the Mur∣ther out of my Bowels. I saw it, and yet I can't be beleived; I tell you, I saw it, so that I can say the same, when upon the Rack. Or, if you think I forge and fain, then let my Flesh be torn •n pieces with burning pincers, and yet let me not prove it at last. Or if you think fit, my Lords, you may Rack me, that I may leave of this Prating.

My Lords, I am not ignorant, that 'tis a very •eighty Action I have undertaken, thô my Case 〈◊〉 clearly just and good. For I, that am but a Poor-man, do accuse one that is Rich, and one •oo that was my Enemy before, I, I say, that am •he Murthered Youths Father; and I require that •ou would beleive my Testimony, which proceeds •rom the sense of my loss. And therefore I do Page  176not Sue, that you would not be angry with me, until I can prove it. Rack me, I beseech you, as a Lyar. Ay but, The Law, says he, prohibits, that a Free Denizon should be Rack'd. I beseech you, my Lords, is not such an Answer fitter for the Person, who is call'd to the Torture. I beleive, my Lords, no body doubts, but the Law, that pro∣hibits the Torturing a Free-man, aims only at this, That no body should be Rack'd against his will yea the Privileges, which exempt us from the Condition of Slaves, are only to succour the Weak-heartedness of such as are loth to come to't. 'Tis the very nature of all Exemptions, that they mu•• not be imposed by Force, but left at Will: Yea, that which was design'd for another's Accommoda∣tion and Honour, is no longer a Privilege, if it be forc'd. Run over, if you please, all the Law that ever were; there was never any one of them so careful for us, as to push us per-force to what it indulges us. The Law allows a bl••d Man an Action of Lex Talionis, but it doth not force his hands to execute that Law; it allows one to sue a Murtherer, but it compels him not, whether he will or no. So that, in effect, 'tis easier for a Man to let go his Revenge than his Right thereto. 'Tis a kind of Bondage, a forc'd Liberty; and 〈◊〉 you help an unwilling Man this way or that way, you do him Wrong either way. Would you know what the Law had in its Eye? It says not, I de∣mand your Torture; I admit it only, if you like it. Oh Heavens! How many things are there no less just than the Law? Some things are so highly cri∣minal, that the Law allows to abate of its Ri∣gour; and when a Crime is wonderful, the Law Page  177is as wonderful in its Execution. Here's a Son murthered in his Father's sight: Rack me now without fear. A more wicked thing could never have been acted. Pardon me, if I think this Act hath out-done the heinousness of all other Crimes. And (whence the Justice of Torturing is salv'd) greater is the Offence to be inquired after, than the manner How. No kind of Examination or Tryal must seem unjust, when there is no other to be had in the Case, and whatever conduces to the strictness of a Law, is no ways prejudicial to be put in practise. My Liberty is sufficiently rever'd and salv'd, that you are unwilling to torture me, and that no body else finds me worthy of the Rack, but my self. A Free-man must not be tortured, says the Law. That was the very reason, my Lords, why my Adversary was not afraid to murther my Son, even before my Face. I therefore urge and contend, that my Son was murthered before my Face. How say you? Would it not make against the Credit of this Appeal to all the World, if I should sit still and be quiet under my misery? Alas! when I saw this with my Eyes, would you have me give it a bare single-sol'd Testimony? Can it be any great wonder, if I now rend my Cloaths, if I strip me bare, if I call for Torture by Fire or Lash. That Father must needs run mad that, in such a Case, keeps all to himself. He is mistaken, my Lords, that thinks my Demand proceeds from a Carelesness what becomes of me, or from Fool-hardyness either. No, my Son puts me to Torture by Fire and by Lash; and if you rack me, I shall be free of that pain. If I am such a Lyar, when I desire to be rack'd, pray Page  178tell me what I shall do, when I speak Truth, and cannot prove it. Thou lyest, says he: Very well, that you also confess, that I must not be believ'd without being tortur'd.

But (in earnest) what Reason doth my rich Ad∣versary give, why I do lye? Is it, That I did not know the Murtherer, and therefore pitch'd upon him especially, to accuse of the Fact? Or, do 〈◊〉 know him well enough, and yet, upon account of old Grudges, charge the loss of my Child upon him? No, no; 'Tis evident, I could not be mis∣taken. My Son was slain as we were both going home together. Could not I discern the Murthe∣rer in the Night, when the Murtherer himself could discern Whom to strike, and Whither to fly? How say you? Did another Man murther him, and I now wreak my Revenge upon you? Then, it seems, I accuse you, that mean while the un∣known Murtherer may shew us a pair of Heels, and be gon. What a piece of madness do you charge upon me, that I should lose the Avengement of so great a Villany, by the false Accusation of I know not who? If I cannot have the Law of you, Sir, whom, I am sure, I saw murther my Son, I have left my self no way to prove it upon another Man. O thou, that art utterly alien from all Huma•• Affections, dost think, I would forge an Untru••• here? Alas! I have lost an Affection that is sweeter to us,poor Parents, than any Revenge. Do you think it comes now to my Mind, that we were sometimes at odds? Oh! you are mightily mistaken. He, that hath kill'd a Man's Son, is Ene∣my enough upon that sole Account. Do you think a Man can cover a dissembled Grief under such Page  179lying words as these, I will be rack'd upon it? Soft, I would not offer my self to the Rack, unless I had spoken the very Truth: For in the midst of Fire and Lash, 'tis enough for me to say, This was my sworn Enemy, this was the Man that eve∣ry foot gave me ill Language; This unsufferable, this outragious Person. I know not, whether it will be enough for me, under Torture, to say, That I saw it, and therefore my Enemy says, I crave the Torture. I do demand the Rack. See, I pray, to what I am driven, who am conscious to my self, I may tell a Lye; There is no need of Racks at all, if they may be made use of a∣gainst Truth, and Mankind will be depriv'd of this necessary Expedient, if they maintain and draw forth Lyes from those that forge them. Mens hu∣mours do hold out to this piece of Art, and thô a man be never so much resolv'd against making any discovery, yet his Heart fails him when he comes to the Rack. 'Tis to no purpose to aver what one forges, when twill avail little to con∣fess the Truth it self. Sure when a man is Rack'd, 'tis to make him speak contrary to what he said before. 'Tis no great matter how a man comes affected to the* Eqauleus, or what motives of silence he brings thither. For under Torture we Page  180are but Flesh and Blood, and there's no man, but it goes against him, when he comes to't. Shall I challenge the Torture or shall I refuse it? What's the difference between one thats Tortur'd, and one that shortly will be like a man, that confesses against his will. My Lords, here's a new and unusal Example started in human Life. No man ever therefore ought not to be tortur'd, why? Because he Ly'd. But, my Lords, if it be fit to doubt of the Truth of such Confessions as are made on the Rack, some body else ought to be suspected. I mean, one that is tortur'd being of a close servile Spirit, and his Body, Bond-slav'd: When the Torturer is e'n at a stand what to do with his hard brawny Limbs, when he is hardned by dayly punishments, that his Body claims acquaintance with the smart, and 'tis no news to him to have his Body stretch't out upon a Rack. But on the contrary, they, who when their Clothes are first rent and strip't off, can't well bear the shame of it, that know not how to turn and wind their Bodys at every Lash, and can't tell how to meet the Blows half-way as it were, 'tis they, I mean, even such as we, that the Page  181Law thinks fit should not be Tortured. For how can we be able to keep Counsel amidst such things? In Torture, a Free-man had need of a great deal of hardiness, that he may be able to speake the Truth.