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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

"The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 07"


_Mel._ Hoh, hoh, hoh!
_Mal._ Laughest thou, malicious fiend?
I'll ope my book of bloody characters,
Shall rumple up thy tender airy limbs,
Like parchment in a flame.
_Mel._ Thou can'st not do it.
Behold this hour-glass.
_Mal._ Well, and what of that?
_Mel._ Seest thou these ebbing sands?
They run for thee, and when their race is run,
Thy lungs, the bellows of thy mortal breath,
Shall sink for ever down, and heave no more.
_Mal._ What, resty, fiend?
Nine years thou hast to serve.
_Mel._ Not full nine minutes.
_Mal._ Thou liest; look on thy bond, and view the date.
_Mel._ Then, wilt thou stand to that without appeal?
_Mal.._ I will, so help me heaven!
_Mel._ So take thee hell. [_Gives him the bond._
There, fool; behold who lies, the devil, or thou?
_Mal._ Ha! one-and-twenty years are shrunk to twelve!
Do my eyes dazzle?
_Mel._ No, they see too true:
They dazzled once, I cast a mist before them,
So what was figured twelve, to thy dull sight
Appeared full twenty-one.
_Mal._ There's equity in heaven for this, a cheat.
_Mel._ Fool, thou hast quitted thy appeal to heaven,
To stand to this.
_Mal._ Then I am lost for ever!
_Mel._ Thou art.
_Mal._ O why was I not warned before?
_Mel._ Yes, to repent; then thou hadst cheated me.
_Mal._ Add but a day, but half a day, an hour:
For sixty minutes, I'll forgive nine years.


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