Dialogues of the Dead.
In Imitation of LUCIAN.
The Scene Hell.
The Trial of Cuckolds.
Lucifer. HOLD! porter, shut the gates of this our angust court, that we may not be thus throng’d. Let no more come in, ’till we have clear’d the bench of these numbers we have before us already.
Porter. Mighty emperor, your commands shall be obey’d.
Lucif. Now, my noble lords, set we ourselves to search and examine what of late years brings daily such gluts and spring-tides of souls to our infernal mansions, ’specially at this time, when neither war, famine, nor plague, are abroad in the upper world, or at least in that part of it from whence I observe most of this gang arrive; Europe I mean: if there were war, ’twould be no wonder so many were damn’d; the liberties of the sword surprize enough in their sins to throng our courts of justice: nor is the plague without advantages for us that way; the few that have spiritual relief, in such contagious and quickly-destroying distempers, encrease our crop: and the general cruelty of mankind is such, that in famine, those that have will keep for themselves and their dogs, and let the rest of their own species perish, without so much as a pitying look: and this makes many atheists in their wants, and does that, without our instigation, which we could not perswade Job to do, that is, Curse God, and die.
But, my lords, when none of these, our loyal vassals, are abroad, ’tis not strange that I am to seek in the cause of this great concourse at our tribunal; and, therefore, that virtue, for want of reward and due praise, may not slacken, we will examine to what industrious friend we owe this unexpected success; wherefore, you minor devils and under-officers of our court, bring them in order to the bar, and let no devil of honour, that has past that inferior office of touching the uncleanness of humanity, defile himself with too near an approach to any of them.