her, and then his Enemies, and next himself, and the
Impossibility of escaping, and therefore he told her the Necessity of
dying. He found the heroick Wife faster pleading for Death, than he was
to propose it, when she found his fix'd Resolution; and, on her Knees,
besought him not to leave her a Prey to his Enemies. He (grieved to
Death) yet pleased at her noble Resolution, took her up, and embracing
of her with all the Passion and Languishment of a dying Lover, drew his
Knife to kill this Treasure of his Soul, this Pleasure of his Eyes;
while Tears trickled down his Cheeks, hers were smiling with Joy she
should die by so noble a Hand, and be sent into her own Country (for
that's their Notion of the next World) by him she so tenderly loved, and
so truly ador'd in this: For Wives have a Respect for their Husbands
equal to what any other People pay a Deity; and when a Man finds any
Occasion to quit his Wife, if he love her, she dies by his Hand; if not,
he sells her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus, you may
believe the Deed was soon resolv'd on; and 'tis not to be doubted, but
the parting, the eternal Leave-taking of two such Lovers, so greatly
born, so sensible, so beautiful, so young, and so fond, must be very
moving, as the Relation of it was to me afterwards.

All that Love could say in such Cases, being ended, and all the
intermitting Irresolutions being adjusted, the lovely, young and ador'd
Victim lays herself down before the Sacrificer; while he, with a Hand
resolved, and a Heart-breaking within, gave the fatal Stroke, first
cutting her Throat, and then severing her yet smiling Face from that
delicate Body, pregnant as it was with the Fruits of tenderest Love. As
soon as he had done, he laid the Body decently on Leaves and Flowers, of
which he made a Bed, and conceal'd it under the same Cover-lid of
Nature; only her Face he left yet bare to look on: But when he found she
was dead, and past all Retrieve, never more to bless him with her Eyes,
and soft Language, his Grief swell'd up to Rage; he tore, he rav'd, he
roar'd like some Monster of the Wood, calling on the lov'd Name of
_Imoinda_. A thousand Times he turned the fatal Knife that did the Deed
towards his own Heart, with a Resolution to go immediately after her;
but dire Revenge, which was now a thousand Times more fierce in his Soul
than before, prevents him; and he would cry out, 'No, since I have
sacrific'd _Imoinda_ to my Revenge, shall I