'Will you not then avoid this Seat of Infection?[485] The very Air suffers by their Impurities; And they almost Pronounce the Plague. What tho' the performance may be in some measure pretty and entertaining? What tho' Innocence, yes and Virtue too, shines through some part of it? 'Tis not the custom to prepare Poyson unpalatable, nor make up Ratzbane with Rhubarb and Sena. No. To have the Mischief speed, they must oblige the Sense, and make the Dose pleasant. Thus the Devil throws in a Cordial Drop to make the Draught go down; And steals some few Ingredients from the _Dispensatory_ of Heaven. In short, look upon all the engaging Sentences of the Stage; Their flights of Fortitude, and Philosophy, the Loftiness of their Stile, the Musick of the Cadence, and the Finess of the Conduct; Look upon it only I say as Honey dropping from the Bowels of a Toad, or the Bag of a Spider: Let your Health over-rule your Pleasure, and don't die of a little _Liquorishness_.
'In earnest Christian, our time for Entertainment is not yet:[486] you are two craving and ill managed if you are so violent for Delight. And let me tell you, no wiser than you should be, if you count such Things Satisfaction. Some Philosophers placed their Happiness in bare Tranquillity. Easiness of Thought, and Absence of Pain, was all they aim'd at. But this it seems won't Satisfie Thee. Thou liest sighing and hankering after the _Play-house_. Prethee recollect thy self: Thou knowest Death ought to be our Pleasure, And therefore I hope Life may be a little without it. Are not our Desires the same with the Apostles, _To be Dissolv'd and to be with Christ_. Let us act up to our pretentions, and let Pleasure be true to Inclination.
'But if you can't wait for Delight; if you must be put into present Possession, wee'l cast the Cause upon that Issue.[487] Now were you not unreasonable, you would perceive the Liberalities of Providence, and find your self almost in the midst of Satisfaction. For what can be more transporting than the Friendship of Heaven, and the Discovery of Truth, than the Sense of our Mistakes, and the Pardon of our Sins? What greater Pleasure can there be, than to scorn being _Pleas'd_? To contemn the World? And to be a Slave to Nothing? 'Tis a mighty satisfaction I take it, to have a clear Conscience;