Cruelty and Lust . An Epistolary Essay . This Piece was occasion'd by the Barbarity of Kirke , a Commander in the Western Rebellion , 1685. who Debauched a young Lady , with a promise to save her Husband's Life , but hang'd him the next Morning . Where can the wretched'st of all Creatures fly To tell the Story of her Misery ? Where , but to faithful Celia , in whose Mind A manly Brav'ry's with soft pity join'd . I fear these Lines will scarce be understood , Blurr'd with incessant Tears , and writ in Blood : But if you can the mournful Pages read , The sad Relation shows you such a Deed , As all the Annals of th' Infernal Reign Shall strive to equal , or exceed , in vain . Neronior's Fame , no doubt , has reach'd your Ears , Whose Cruelty has caus'd a Sea of Tears : Fill'd each lamenting Town with Fun'ral Sighs , Deploring Widows Shrieks , and Orphans Cries . At ev'ry Health the horrid Monster quaff'd , Ten Wretches died , and as they died , he laugh'd : Till , tir'd with acting Devil , he was led , Drunk with excess of Blood , and Wine , to Bed , Oh cursed Place ! — I can no more command My Pen , Shame and Confusion shake my Hand : But I must on , and let my Celia know , How barb'rous are my Wrongs , how vast my Woe . Amongst those Crouds of Western Youth , who ran To meet the brave , betray'd , unhappy Man , The Duke of Monmouth . My Husband , fatally uniting , went ; Unus'd to Arms , and thoughtless of th'Event . But when the Battle was by Treach'ry won , The Chief , and all , but his false Friend , undone : Tho' in the Tumult of that desp'rate Night , He 'scap'd the dreadful Slaughter of the Flight , Yet the sagacious Blood-hounds , skill'd too well In all the murd'ring Qualities of Hell , Each secret Place so regularly beat , They soon discover'd his unsafe Retreat . As hungry Wolves , triumphing o'er their Prey , To sure Destruction hurry them away . So the Purveyors of fierce Moloc's Son , With Charon to the common Butch'ry run ; Where proud Neronior by his Gibbet stood To glut himself with fresh supplies of Blood . Our Friends , by pow'rful Intercession , gaind A short Reprieve , but for three Days obtain'd , To try all ways might to Compassion move The Savage General , but in vain they strove . When I perceiv'd that all Addresses fail'd , And nothing o'er his stubborn Soul prevail'd , Distracted almost , to his Tent I flew , To make the last Effort what Tears could do . Low on my Knees I fell , then thus began : Great Genius of Success , thou more than Man ! Whose Arms to ev'ry Clime have Terrour hurl'd , And carried Conquest round the trembling World . Stil may the brightest Glories Fame can lend , Your Sword , your Conduct , and your Cause attend . Here now , the Arbiter of Fate you sit , While suppliant Slaves their Rebel Heads submit . Oh pity the unfortunate , and give But this one thing ? Oh let but Charion Live . And take the little all , that we possess : I'll bear the meager anguish of Distress ; Content , nay pleas'd to beg , or earn my Bread , Let Charion live , no matter how I'm fed . The fall of such a Youth no lustre brings , To him whose Sword performs such wond'rous things , As saving Kingdoms , and supporting Kings . That Triumph only with true Grandeur shines , Where God-like Courage , God-like Pity joins . Caesar , the eldest Favorite of War , Took not more Pleasure to subdue , than spare : And since in Battle you can greater be , That over , be'nt less merciful than he . Ignoble Spirits by Revenge , are known , And cruel Actions spoil the Conqu'ror's Crown : In future Hist'ries fill each mournful Page With Tales of Blood , and Monuments of Rage : And while his Annals are with Horror read , Men curse him living , and detest him dead . Oh , do not sully with a sanguine Dye , The foulest Stain , so fair a Memory ! Then as you'll live the Glory of our Isle , And Fate on all your Expeditions smile ; So when a noble Course , you've bravely ran , Die the best Soldier , and the happiest Man . None can the Turns of Providence foresee , Or what their own Catastrophe may be ; Therefore to Persons lab'ring under Woe , That Mercy they may want , should always show , For in the Chance of War , the slightest thing May lose the Battle , or the Vict'ry bring . And how would you that General's Honour prize , Should in cool Blood his Captive Sacrifice ? He that with Rebel Arms to fight is led , To Justice forfeits his opprobrious Head : But 'tis unhappy Charion's first Offence , Seduc'd by some too plausible Pretence , To take the inj'ring side by error brought ; He had no Malice , tho' he has the Fault . Let the old Tempters find a shameful Grave , But the half-innocent , the Tempted , save . Vengeance Divine , tho' for the greatest Crime , But rarely strikes the first or second time : And he best follows the Almighty's Will , Who spares the guilty , he has Pow'r to kill . When proud Rebellions would unhinge a State , And wild Disorders in a Land create , 'Tis requisite , the first Promoters shou'd Put out the Flames , they kindled , with their Blood : But sure 'tis a degree of Murder , all That draw their Swords , should undistinguish'd fall : And since a Mercy must to some be shown , Let Charion 'mongst the happy few be One : For as none guilty has less Guilt than he , So none for Pardon has a fairer Plea . When David's General had won the Field , And Absalom , the lov'd ungrateful , kill'd , The Trumpets sounding made all Slaughter cease , And mis-led Israelites return'd in Peace . The Action past , where so much Blood was spilt , We hear of none arraign'd for that Day's Guilt : But all concludes with the desir'd Event , The Monarch Pardons , and the Jews Repent . As great Examples your high Courage warms , And to illustrious Deeds excites your Arms : So when you Instances of Mercy view , They should inspire you with Compassion too : For he that emulates the truly Brave , Would always conquer , and should always save . Here interrupting , stern Neronior cry'd , ( Swell'd with Success , and blubber'd up with Pride ) Madam , his Life depends upon my Will , For ev'ry Rebel , I can spare , or kill : I'll think of what you've said , this Night return At Ten , perhaps you'll have no cause to mourn . Go see your Husband , bid him not despair ; His Crime is great , but you are wond'rous Fair . When anxious Miseries the Soul amaze , And dire Confusion in our Spirits raise ; Upon the least appearance of Relief Our Hopes revive , and mitigate our Grief . Impatience makes our Wishes earnest grow , Which thro' false Opticks our Deliv'rance show . For while we fancy Danger does appear Most at a distance , it is oft too near : And many times secure from obvious Foes , We fall into an Ambuscade of Woes . Pleas'd with the false Neronior's dark Reply , I thought the end of all my Sorrows nigh ; And to the Main-guard hasten'd , where the prey Of this Blood-thirsty Fiend in durance lay . When Charion saw me , from his turffy Bed With Eagerness he rais'd his drooping Head . Oh , fly my Dear , this guilty place , he cry'd , And in some distant Clime thy Virtue hide ! Here nothing but the foulest Dæmons dwell , The Refuse of the Damn'd , and Mob of Hell : The Air they breath , is ev'ry Atom curst , There's no Degrees of Ill , for all are worst . In Rapes and Murders , they alone delight , And Villanies of less Importance slight : Act 'em indeed , but scorn they should be nam'd , For all their Glory's to be more than damn'd ; Neronior's Chief of this infernal Crew , And seems to merit that high Station too . Nothing but Rage , and Lust inspire his Breast , By Asmodai , and Moloc both possest . When told you went to intercede for me , It threw my Soul into an Agony . Not that I would not for my Freedom give What's requisite , or do not wish to live : But for my Safety I can ne'er be base , Or buy a few short Years with long Disgrace Nor would I have your yet unspotted Fame For me expos'd to an eternal Shame . With Ignominy to preserve my Breath , Is worse , by infinite Degrees , than Death . But if I can't my Life with Honour save , With Honour I'll descend into the Grave , For tho' Revenge and Malice both combine , ( As both to fix my Ruin seem to join ) Yet maugre all their Violence and Skill , I can die just , and I'm resolv'd I will . But what is Death , we so unwisely fear ? An end of all our busy Tumults here : The equal Lot of Poverty and State , Which all partake of by a certain Fate . Who e'er the Prospect of Mankind surveys , At divers Ages , and by divers Ways , Will find 'em from this noisy Scene retire , Some the first Minute that they breath , expire . Others perhaps survive to talk , and go , But die , before they Good or Evil know . Here one to Puberty arrives , and then Returns lamented to the Dust again : Another there , maintains a longer Strife With all the pow'rful Enemies of Life ; Till with Vexation tir'd , and threescore Years , He drops into the dark , and disappears . I'm young indeed , and might expect to see Times future long , and late Posterity . 'Tis what with Reason I should wish to do , If to be old , were to be happy too . But since substantial Grief so soon destroys The Gust of all imaginary Joys , Who would be too importunate to live , Or more for Life , than it can merit , give . Beyond the Grave stupendous Regions lie , The boundless Realms of vast Eternity ; Where Minds , remov'd from earthly Bodies dwell ; But who their Government , or Laws can tell ? What's their Employment till the final Doom , And Time's eternal Period shall come ? Thus much the sacred Oracles declare , That all are blest , or miserable there : Tho' if there's such Variety of Fate , None good expire too soon , none bad too late . For my own part , with Resignation still I can submit to my Creator's Will : Let him recal the Breath , from him I drew , When he thinks fit , and when he pleases too . The way of dying is my least Concern , That will give no Disturbance to my Urn : If to the Seats of Happiness I go , There end all possible Returns of Woe : And when to those blest Mansions I arrive , With pity I'll behold those that survive . Once more I beg , you'd from these Tents retreat , And leave me to my Innocence , and Fate . Charion , said I , oh , do not urge my flight ! I'll see the Event of this important Night : Some strange Presages in my Soul forebode The worst of Mis'ries , or the greatest Good . Few Hours will show the utmost of my Doom , A joyful Safety , or a peaceful Tomb . If you miscarry , I'm resolv'd to try , If gracious Heaven will suffer me to die . For when you are to endless Raptures gone , If I survive , 'tis but to be undone . Who will support an injur'd Widow's Right , From sly Injustice , or oppressive Might ? Protect her Person , or her Cause defend ? She rarely wants a Foe , or finds a Friend , I've no distrust of Providence , but still Tis best to go beyond the reach of Ill : And those can have no reason to repent , Who tho' they die betimes , die innocent . But to a World of everlasting Bliss Why would you go , and leave me here in this ? 'Tis a dark Passage , but our Foes shall view , I'll die as calm , tho' not so brave as you : That my Behaviour to the last may prove , Your Courage is not greater than my Love . The Hour approach'd , as to Neronior's Tent With trembling , but impatient Steps I went , A Thousand Horrors throng'd into my Breast , By sad Ideas , and strong Fears possest . Where-e'er I pass'd , the glaring Lights would show Fresh Objects of Despair , and Scenes of Woe . Here , in a Crowd of drunken Soldiers , stood A wretched , poor old Man , besmear'd with Blood , And at his Feet , just thro' the Body run , Strugling for Life , was laid his only Son ; By whose hard Labour he was daily fed , Dividing still with pious Care , his Bread . And while he mourn'd with Floods of aged Tears , The sole Support of his decripid Years , The barb'rous Mob , whose Rage no limit knows , With blasphemous Derision mock'd his Woes . There , under a wide Oak , disconsolate , And drown'd in Tears , a mournful Widow sat . High in the Boughs the murder'd Father hung ; Beneath , the Children round their Mother clung ; They cry'd for Food , but 'twas without Relief ; For all they had to live upon , was Grief : A Sorrow so intense , such deep Despair , No Creature meerly Human , long cou'd bear . First in her Arms her weeping Babes she took , And with a Groan , did to her Husband look ! Then lean'd her Head on their's , and sighing cry'd , Pity me Saviour of the World ! and dy'd . From this sad Spectacle my Eyes I turn'd ; Where Sons their Fathers , Maids their Lovers mourn'd ; Friends for their Friends , Sisters for Brothers wept ; Pris'ners of War in Chains , for Slaughter kept . Each ev'ry Hour did the black Message dread , Which should declare , the Person lov'd was dead . Then I beheld , with brutal Shouts of Mirth , A comely Youth , and of no common Birth , To Execution led , who hardly bore The Wounds in Battle , he receiv'd before ; And as he pass'd , I heard him bravely cry , I neither wish to live , nor fear to die . At the curst Tent arriv'd , without delay They did me to the General convey ; Who thus began — Madam ! by fresh Intelligence I find , That Charion's Treason's of the blackest kind ; And my Commission is express to spare None that so deeply in Rebellion are . New Measures therefore 'tis in vain to try , No Pardon can be granted , he must Die . Must , or I hazard all , which yet I'd do , To be oblig'd in one Request by you , And maugre all the Dangers I foresee : Be Mine this Night , I'll set your Husband free Soldiers are rough , and cannot hope success By supple Flattery , and by soft Address ; The pert , gay Coxcomb by these little Arts , Gains an Ascendant o'er the Ladies Hearts , But I can no such whining methods use ; Consent , he Lives ; he Dies , if you refuse . Amaz'd at this demand , said I , the brave , Upon ignoble Terms , disdain to save ; They let their Captives still with Honour live ; Nor more require , than what themselves would give : For gen'rous Victors , as they scorn to do Dishonest Things , scorn to propose 'em too . Mercy , the brightest Virtue of the Mind , Should with no devious Appetite be join'd : For if when exercis'd , a Crime it cost , Th' intrinsick Lustre of the Deed is lost . Great Men their Actions of a piece should have , Heroick all , and each intirely Brave : From the nice Rules of Honour none should swerve ; Done because good , without a mean reserve . The Crimes , new charg'd on the unhappy Youth May have Revenge , and Malice , but no Truth . Suppose the Accusation justly brought , And clearly prov'd to the minutest fault , Yet Mercy's next , to infinite abate , Offences next , to infinitely Great : And 'tis the Glory of a noble Mind , In full Forgiveness not to be confin'd , Your Prince's Frowns , if you have cause to fear , This Act will more Illustrious appear ; Tho' his excuse can never be withstood , Who disobeys , but only to be good . Perhaps the hazard's more than you express ; The Glory would be , were the danger less . For he , that to his prejudice will do A noble Action , and a gen'rous too , Deserves to wear a more resplendent Crown , Than he , that has a thousand Battles won . Do not invert Divine Compassion so , As to be Cruel , or no Mercy show ! Of what Renown can such an Action be , Which Saves my Husband's Life , but Ruins me ? Tho' if you finally resolve to stand Upon so vile , inglorious a Demand , He must submit ; if 'tis my Fate to mourn His Death , I'll bathe with virtuous Tears his Urn . Well , Madam , haughtily , Neronior cry'd , Your Courage and your Virtue shall be try'd : But to prevent all prospect of a Flight , Some of my Lambs Kirke used to call the most Inhuman of his Soldiers , his Lambs . shall be your Guard to Night . By them , no doubt , you'll tenderly be us'd , They seldom ask a Favour that's refus'd : Perhaps you'll find them so genteely bred , They'll leave you but few virtuous Tears to shed . Surrounded with so innocent a Throng , The Night must pass delightfully along : And in the Morning , since you will not give What I require , to let your Husband live , You shall behold him sigh his latest Breath , And gently swing into the Arms of Death . His Fate he merits , as to Rebels due , And yours will be as much deserv'd by you . Oh , Celia , think ! so far as Thought can show , What Pangs of Grief , what Agonies of Woe , At this dire Resolution seiz'd my Breast ! By all things sad , and terrible possest . In vain I wept , and 'twas in vain I pray'd , For all my Pray'rs were to a Tyger made ; A Tyger ! worse ; for 'tis beyond dispute , No Fiend's so cruel as a Reas'ning Brute , Encompass'd thus , and hopeless of Relief , With all the Squadrons of despair and Grief : Ruin — it was not possible to shun , What could I do , Oh ! What would you have done ? The Hours that pass'd , till the black Morn return'd , With Tears of Blood should be for ever mourn'd . When to involve me with consummate Grief , Beyond Expression , and above Belief , Madam , the Monster cry'd , that you may find I can be grateful to the Fair that's kind , Step to the Door , I'll show you such a Sight , Shall overwhelm your Spirits with Delight . Does not that Wretch , who would Dethrone his King . Become the Gibbet , and adorn the String ? You need not now an injur'd Husband dread , Living he might , he'll not upbraid you Dead . 'Twas for your sake , I seiz'd upon his Life , He would perhaps have scorn'd so Chast a Wife . And , Madam , you'll excuse the Zeal I show , To keep that Secret none alive should know . Curst of all Creatures , for compar'd with thee , The Devils , said I , are dull in Cruelty . O may that Tongue eternal Vipers breed , And , wasteless , their eternal Hunger feed , In Fires too hot for Salamanders dwell , The burning Earnest of a hotter Hell . May that vile Lump of execrable Lust Corrupt alive , and rot into the Dust . May'st thou despairing at the Point of Death , With Oaths and Blasphemies resign thy Breath ; And the worst Torments that the Damn'd should share , In thine own Person all united bear . O Celia , O my Friend ! what Age can show Sorrows like mine , so exquisite a Woe ? Indeed it does not infinite appear , Because it can't be everlasting here ; But 'tis so vast , that it can ne'er increase , And so confirm'd , it never can be less .