ONNYMAN.

You may depend upon 't, we all must die,
I've made such Havoc, they'll have no Compassion;
They only wait to study out new Torments:
All that can be inflicted or endur'd,
We may expect from their relentless Hands.
Their brutal Eyes ne'er shed a pitying Tear;
Their savage Hearts ne'er had a Thought of Mercy;
Their Bosoms swell with Rancour and Revenge,
And, Devil-like, delight in others' Plagues,
Love Torments, Torture, Anguish, Fire, and Pain,
The deep-fetch'd Groan, the melancholy Sigh,
And all the Terrors and Distress of Death,
These are their Music, and enhance their Joy.
In Silence then submit yourself to Fate:
Make no Complaint, nor ask for their Compassion;
This will confound and half destroy their Mirth;
Nay, this may put a stop to many Tortures,
To which our Prayers and Tears and Plaints would move them.

MRS. HONNYMAN.

Oh, dreadful Scene! Support me, mighty God,
To pass the Terrors of this dismal Hour,
All dark with Horrors, Torments, Pains, and Death!
Oh, let me not despair of thy kind Help;
Give Courage to my wretched, groaning Heart!

HONNYMAN.

Tush, Silence! You'll be overheard.

MRS. HONNYMAN.

Oh, my dear Husband! 'Tis an Hour for Prayer,
An Infidel would pray in our Distress:
An Atheist would believe there was some God
To pity Pains and Miseries so great.

HONNYMAN.

If there's a God, he knows our secret Wishes;
This Noise can be no Sacrifice to him;
It opens all the Springs of our weak Passions.
Besides, it will be Mirth to our Tormentors;
They'll laugh, and call this Cowardice in Christians
And say Religion makes us all mere Women.

MRS. HONNYMAN.

I will suppress my Grief in Silence then,
And secretly implore the Aid of Heaven.
Forbid to pray! Oh, dreadful Hour indeed! [_Pausing._
Think you they will not spare our dear sweet Babes?
Must these dear Innocents be put to Tortures,
Or dash'd to Death, and share our wretched Fate?
Must this dear Babe that hangs upon my Breast
[_Looking upon her infant._
Be snatch'd by savage Hands and torn in Pieces!
Oh, how it rends my Heart! It is too much!
Tygers would kindly soothe a Grief like mine;
Unconscious Rocks would melt, and flow in Tears
At this last Anguish of a Mother's Soul.
[_Pauses, and views her child again._
Sweet Innocent! It smiles at this Distress,
And fondly draws this final Comfort from me:
Dear Babe, no more: Dear