_Jourd._ Oh! say not so, Father! _Mart._ I should have said will not, or not without difficulty: for the Church can do all things. _Jourd._ That is some Comfort again. _Mart._ I hope, however, tho' you have not confessed them, you have not forgotten them; for they must be confessed before they can be forgiven. _Jourd._ I hope I shall recollect them, they are a black Roll--I remember I once was the Occasion of ruining a Woman's Reputation by shewing a Letter from her. _Mart._ If you had shewn it to the Priest it had been no Fault. _Jourd._ Alas! Sir, I wrote the Letter to my self, and thus traduced the Innocent. I afterwards commanded a Company of Granadiers, at the taking of a Town, where I knocked a poor old Gentleman in the Head for the sake of his Money, and ravished his Daughter. _Mart._ These are crying Sins indeed. _Jourd._ At the same time I robbed a Jesuit of two Pistoles. _Mart._ Oh! damnable! Oh! execrable! _Jourd._ Good Father, have Patience: I once borrowed five hundred Livres of an honest Citizen in Paris, and repay'd him by lying with his Wife: And what sits nearest my Heart, was forced to pay a young Cavalier the same Sum, by suffering him to lie with mine. _Mart._ Oh! _Jourd._ And yet what are these to what I have done since I commenced Merchant. What have I not done to get a Penny. I insured a Ship for a great Value, and then cast it away; I broke when I was worth a hundred thousand Livres, and went over to _London_. I settled there, renounced my Religion, and was made a Justice of Peace. _Mart._ Oh! that Seat of Heresy and Damnation! that Whore of _Babylon_! _Jourd._ With the Whores of _Babylon_ did I unite: I protected them from Justice: Gaming-houses and Baudy-houses did I license, nay, and frequent too; I never punished any Vice but Poverty: for Oh! I dread to name it: I once committed a Priest to _Newgate_ for picking Pockets. _Mart._ Oh! monstrous! horrible! dreadful! I'll hear no more. Thou art damn'd without Reprieve. _Jourd._ Take Pity, Father, take Pity on a Penitent. _Mart._ Pity! the Church abhors it. 'Twere Mercy to such a Wretch to pray him into Purgatory. _Jourd._ I'll give all my Estate to the Church, I'll found Monasteries, I'll build Abbies. _Mart._ All will not do, ten thousand Masses will not deliver you. _Jourd._ Was ever such a miserable Wretch! _Mart._ Thou hast Sins enough to damn thy whole Family. Monstrous Impiety! to lift up the Hand of Justice against the Church. _Jourd._ Oh speak some Comfort to me: will no Penance expiate my Crime? _Mart._ It is too grievous for a single Penance, go settle your Estate on the Church, and send your Daughter to a Nunnery, her Prayers will avail more than yours: Heaven hears the young and innocent with Pleasure. I will, my self, say four Masses a-day for you; and all these, I hope, will purchase your Forgiveness, at least your Stay in Purgatory will be short.