R.C. You talk, Will, too feelingly and sensibly for me; I am not able to bear it.
W.A. You bear it, Sir! you know nothing of it.
R.C. But yes, Atkins, I do; and every shore, valley, and tree in this island, witness the anguish of my soul for my undutifulness to my kind father, whom I have murdered likewise; yet my repentance falls infinitely short of yours. But, Will, how comes the sense of this matter to touch you just now?
W.A. Sir, the work you have set me about, has occasioned it; for talking to my wife about God and religion, she has preached me such a sermon, that I shall retain it in lasting remembrance.
R.C. No, no, it is your own moving pious arguments to her, has made conscience fling them back upon you. But pray, Atkins, inform us what passed between you and your wife, and in what manner you did begin.
W.A. I talked to her of the laws of marriage, the reason of such compacts, whereby order and justice is maintained; without which men would run from their wives and children, to the dissolution of families or inheritances.
R.C. Well, and what did she say to all this?
W.A. Sir, we began our discourse in the following manner, which I shall exactly repeat according to my mean capacity, if you think it worth you while to honour it with your attention.
The DIALOGUE between WILL ATKINS and his Wife in the wood.