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 lose that Glory which I have
purchased so dear, as at the Price of the fairest, dearest, softest
Creature that ever Nature made? No, no!’ Then at her Name Grief would
get the Ascendant of Rage, and he would lie down by her Side, and water
her Face with Showers of Tears, which never were wont to fall from those
Eyes; and however bent he was on his intended Slaughter, he had not
Power to stir from the Sight of this dear Object, now more beloved, and
more ador’d than ever.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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