st 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 Glass.

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

_Ma._ What Looking-Glass 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._ God 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