_Unworthy of my Love, this Rope receive. The last, most welcome Present I can give. I'll never vex thee more. I'll cease to woe. And whether you condemned, freely go; Where dismal Shades and dark_ Oblivion _dwell_. Of the same Nature also is what soon after follows. _Yet grant one Kindness and I ask no more; When you shall see me hanging at the Door. Do not go proudly by, forbear to smile. But stay,_ Sweet Fair, _and gaze, and weep a while; Then take me down, and whilst some Tears are shed, Thine own soft Garment o're my Body spread. And grant One Kiss,--One Kiss when I am dead. Then dig a Grave, there let my Love be laid; And when you part, say thrice,_ My friend is Dead. All these Thoughts contain Simplicity as an Addition to the Mournful. And 'tis impossible for any Thoughts to be more Natural. 'Twere endless to enumerate all the several kinds of Beautiful Pastoral Thoughts, but from these any one may discover the rest; and the general Rule we gave at the beginning of the Chapter will be a Direction for his ranging them into distinct Classes. Yet give me leave to mention one Kind, which I think we may term the finest. 'Tis where the Agreeable Thought, and the Tender, meet together, and have besides, the Addition of Simplicity. I would explain my Meaning by a Quotation out of some Pastoral Writer, but I am at a loss how to do it; give me leave therefore to bring a Passage out of the Orphan. A Thought may contain the Tender, either with regard to some Person spoken of, or the Person speaking. The first is common, this Play is full of it. I will therefore Instance in the latter. And first where 'tis chiefly occasion'd by the turn that is given to it in the Expression. Chamont presses his Sister to tell him who has abused her. Mon.) _But when I've told you, will you keep your Fury Within it's bound? Will you not do some rash And horrid Mischief? for indeed_, Shamont, _You would not think how hardly I've been used From a near Friend_. Cham.) _I will be calm; but has_ Castalio _wrong'd thee?_ Mon.) _Oh! could you think it!_ (Cham.) _What?_ Mon.) _I fear he'll kill me_. (Cham.) _Hah!_ Mon.) _Indeed I do; he's strangely cruel too me. Which if it lasts, I'm sure must break my Heart_. Act. 4. In the other passage the Tender lyes more in the Thought. Mon.) _Alas my Brother! What have I done? And why do you abuse me? My Heart quakes in me; in your settled Face And clouded Brow methink's I see my Fate; You will not kill me!_ Cham.) _Prithee, why dost talk so?_ Mon.) _Look kindly on me then, I cannot bear Severity; it daunts and does amaze me. My Heart's so tender, should you charge me rough. I should but Weep, and Answer you with Sobing. But use me gently, like a loving Brother, And search thro' all the Secrets of my Soul_. CHAP. VI.