which muſt of Neceſſity, whether they Live or Dye, furniſh Matter of Great Anxiety to the Parents. The Loſs of them is Grievous to us. The Miſcarriage of them, by falling into Lew'd and Vicious Courſes, is much Worſe: And one ſuch Diſappointment is ſufficient to Blaſt the Comfort of All the Reſt. Nay the very Poſſibility, or rather the Likelihood and Odds, that ſome out of ſuch a Number will Prove Ungracious and Rebellious, makes our Heads Uneaſie to us; Fills our Heads and our Hearts with Carking Thoughts, and keeps us in Anxiety Night and Day for fear they ſhould be ſo, and prove like Vipers, to Eat out the Belly of their Own Mothers.
Fab. CXCVII.
A Woman and her Two Daughters.
A Woman that had Two Daughters, Bury’d one of them, and Mourners were Provided to Attend the Funeral. The Surviving Daughter Wonder'd to ſee Strangers ſo Much concern’d at the Loſs of her Siſter, and her Neareſt Relations ſo Little. Pray Mother, ſays ſhe, What’s the Reaſon of This? Oh, ſays the Mother, We that are a-Kin to her, are never the Better for Crying, but the Strangers have Money for't.
The MORAL.
REFLEXION.
FUNERAL Tears are only Civilities of Courſe, but there muſt be Wringing of Hands yet, and Ejulations, ſome where or Other; and where the Relations are not in humour for't, ‘tis the Faſhion to Provide Mercenaries to do the Office. The Moral of This will reach to All the Pompous Solemnities of our Mourning Proceſſions, which upon the Whole, Amount to no more then Dreſs and Pageantry, to make the Show look Diſinal, and ſo many Sowre Faces that are Hir'd to Adorn the Hipocriſie. This was the Widows Caſe, that Cry'd her ſelf Half Mad and Blind with a Thouſand Paſſionate Interjections, for the Loſs of her Dear Husband. [Never ſo Dear, ſo Dear a Man!] This Woman, ſay (when ſhe had done All This, and Renounc’d the World, the Fleſh and the Devil, with as much Solemnity as ever ſhe did in her Baptiſm) was at the Long-Laſt prevail'd upon to hear the Will read: But when the found in the Concluſion, that the Dear Man the ſo often call’d upon, had left her Nothing that he could keep from her, but her Wedding-Ring and her Apron-Strings, Up the ſtarted, Wip'd her Eyes, Rais'd her Voice, [And is This all with a Pox] ſhe cry'd; and with Thoſe Words in her Mouth, ſhe came to her ſelf again. Now This Widow, in the Pure Strength of Fleſh and Blood; cry’d as Arrantly for Money as the Mercenaries in the Fable.
A
