fall--and Michael, the archangel, who vanquish'd
Satan, is not more immortal than they. [_Aside. Who can relate such woes
without a tear?_],

CLARISSA. Oh! I've heard enough--too--too much [_Cries._] yet--if thou hast
worse to tell--say on--nought worse can be--O ye gods!--cruel--cruel--
thrice cruel--cou'd ye not leave me one--[_She faints, and is caught by her
friend, and placed in a chair; he rings the bell, the family come in, and
endeavour to bring her to._]

NEIGHBOUR. With surprising fortitude she heard the melancholy relation,
until I came to the last close--she then gave me a mournful look, lifted
up her eyes, and immediately sunk motionless into my arms.

WOMAN. Poor soul!--no wonder--how I sympathize with her in her
distress--my tender bosom can scarcely bear the sight! A dreadful loss!
a most shocking scene it was, that brothers should with brothers war,
and in intestine fierce opposition meet, to seek the blood of each
other, like dogs for a bare bone, who so oft in generous friendship and
commerce join'd, in festivals of love and joy unanimous as the sons of
one kind and indulgent father, and separately would freely in a good
cause spend their blood and sacrifice their lives for him.

NEIGHBOUR. A terrible black day it was, and ever will be remembered by
New-England, when that vile Briton (unworthy the name of a Briton), Lord
Boston (curse the name!), whose horrid murders stain American soil with
blood; perish his name! a fratricide! 'twas he who fir'd Charlestown,
and spread desolation, fire, flames and smoke in ev'ry corner--he was
the wretch, that waster of the world, that licens'd robber, that
blood-stain'd insulter of a free people, who bears the name of Lord
Boston, but from henceforth shall be called Cain, that pillag'd the
ruins, and dragg'd and murder'd the infant, the aged and infirm--(But
look, she recovers.)

CLARISSA. O ye angels! ye cherubims and seraphims! waft their souls to
bliss, bathe their wounds with angelic balsam, and crown them with
immortality. A faithful, loving and beloved husband, a promising and
filial son, a tender and affectionate brother: Alas! what a loss!--Whom
have I now to comfort me?--What have I left, but the voice of
lamentation: [_She weeps._] Ill-fated bullets--these tears shall sustain
me--yes, ye dear friends! how gladly wou'd I follow you--but alas! I
must still endure tribulation and inquietudes, from which you are now
exempt; I cannot cease to weep, ye br