‘Mr. Godly-Fear, are you not well? You seem to be ill of body or mind, or both. I have a cordial of Mr. Forget-Good’s making, the which, sir, if you will take a dram of, I hope it may make you bonny and blithe, and so make you more fit for us, feasting companions.’
Unto whom the good old gentleman discreetly replied, ‘Sir, I thank you for all things courteous and civil; but for your cordial I have no list thereto. But a word to the natives of Mansoul: You, the elders and chief of Mansoul, to me it is strange to see you so jocund and merry, when the town of Mansoul is in such woeful case.’
Then said Mr. Carnal-Security, ‘You want sleep, good air, I doubt. If you please, lie down, and take a nap, and we meanwhile will be merry.’
Then said the good man as follows: ‘Sir, if you were not destitute of an honest heart, you could not do as you have done and do.’
_Godly_. Nay, pray interrupt me not. It is true the town of Mansoul was strong, and, with a _proviso_, impregnable; but you, the townsmen, have weakened it, and it now lies obnoxious to its foes. Nor is it a time to flatter, or be silent; it is you, Mr. Carnal-Security, that have wilily stripped Mansoul, and driven her glory from her; you have pulled down her towers, you have broken down her gates, you have spoiled her locks and bars.
And now, to explain myself: from that time that my lords of Mansoul, and you, sir, grew so great, from that time the Strength of Mansoul has been offended, and now he is arisen and is gone. If any shall question the truth of my words, I will answer him by this, and suchlike questions. ‘Where is the Prince Emmanuel? When did a man or woman in Mansoul see him? When did you hear from him, or taste any of his dainty bits?’ You are now a feasting with this Diabolonian monster, but he is not your Prince. I say, therefore, though enemies from without, had you taken heed, could not have made a prey of you, yet since you have sinned against your Prince, your enemies within have been too hard for you.
Then said Mr. Carnal-Security, ‘Fie! fie! Mr. Godly-Fear, fie!—will you never shake off your _timorousness_? Are you afraid of being sparrow-blasted? Who hath hurt you? Behold, I am on your side; only you are for doubting, and I am for being confident. Besides, is this a time to be sad in? A feast is made for mirth; why, then, do you now, to your shame, and our trouble, break out into such passionate melancholy language, when you should eat and drink, and be merry?’