_Pa._ Because just as _Mars_ makes a Sport of killing Men, so do you; saving that you do it the more cruelly of the two, because you kill one that loves you.

_Ma._ Say you so! pray where's the great Slaughter of Men that I have made? Where's the Blood of the Slain?

_Pa._ You may see one dead Corpse before your Face, if you look upon me.

_Ma._ What strange Story is this? Does a dead Man talk and walk? I wish I may never meet with more frightful Ghosts than you are.

_Pa._ Ay, indeed, you make a Jest of it; but for all that, you kill poor me, and more cruelly too, than if you stuck a Dagger in my Breast. For now I, poor Wretch as I am, die a lingering Death.

_Ma._ Prithee tell me, how many Women with Child have miscarried at the Sight of thee?

_Pa._ My Paleness shews I have no more Blood in my Body than a Ghost.

_Ma._ Indeed you are as pale as a Violet; You are as pale as a ripe Cherry, or purple Grape.

_Pa._ You coquet it with my Misery.

_Ma._ If you can't believe me, look in the Gla.s.s.

_Pa._ I would never desire a better Gla.s.s, nor do I believe there is a better in the World than I am a looking in already.

_Ma._ What Looking-Gla.s.s do you mean?

_Pa._ Your Eyes.

_Ma._ You Banterer! that's like you. But how do you prove yourself to be dead? Do dead Folks eat?

_Pa._ Yes, they do; but Things that have no Relish, as I do.

_Ma._ What do they feed upon?

_Pa._ Mallows, Leeks, and Lupines.

_Ma._ But you feed upon Capons and Partridges.

_Pa._ If I do, I relish them no more than Beets without Pepper or Vinegar.

_Ma._ Poor Creature! but yet you're in pretty good Case, for all that.

And do dead Folks talk too?

_Pa._ Just as I do, with a weak Voice.

_Ma._ But when I heard you rallying your Rival a little While ago, your Voice was not very low then. But, prithee, do Ghosts walk, wear Cloaths, and sleep?

_Pa._ Yes, and enjoy one another too, after their Manner.

_Ma._ Thou art a merry Fellow.

_Pa._ But what will you say, if I prove it by undeniable Arguments, that I am dead, and that you have kill'd me too.

_Ma._ G.o.d forbid, _Pamphilus_; but let's hear your Arguments, however.

_Pa._ In the first Place, I think you will grant me this, that Death is only a Separation of Soul and Body.

_Ma._ I grant it.

_Pa._ But you must grant it so as not to eat your Words.

_Ma._ No, I will not.

_Pa._ You will not deny, I suppose, that the Person that takes away another's Life, is a Murtherer.

_Ma._ I grant that too.

_Pa._ I suppose you will grant that which has been allow'd by the greatest Men of many Ages, that the Soul of a Man is not really where it animates, but where it loves.

_Ma._ Make that a little plainer, I can't well understand it then.

_Pa._ You might as well bid me make an Adamant sensible of it.

_Ma._ I am a Maid, not a Stone.

_Pa._ Tis true, but harder than an Adamant Stone.

_Ma._ Go on with your Inferences.

_Pa._ Those that are in a Trance, do neither hear, nor see, nor smell, nor feel, if you kill them outright.

_Ma._ Indeed I have heard so.

_Pa._ What do you think is the Reason?

_Ma._ Do you, Philosopher, tell that.

_Pa._ Because their Mind is in Heaven, where it enjoys what it dearly loves; and therefore is absent from the Body.

_Ma._ Well, what then?

_Pa._ What then, hard-hearted Creature? Then it follows, that I am dead, and you have killed me.

_Ma._ Where is your Soul then?

_Pa._ Where it loves.

_Ma._ Who took this Soul of yours away? What do you Sigh for? Tell me freely: There's no Hurt in it.

_Pa._ A cruel Maid, that I could not be angry with if she kill'd me outright.