The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy [57]
quarter in my life to any man who cried out for it;--but to a woman or a child, continued Trim, before I would level my musket at them, I would loose my life a thousand times.--Here's a crown for thee, Trim, to drink with Obadiah to-night, quoth my uncle Toby, and I'll give Obadiah another too.--God bless your Honour, replied Trim,--I had rather these poor women and children had it.--thou art an honest fellow, quoth my uncle Toby.--My father nodded his head, as much as to say--and so he is.--
But prithee, Trim, said my father, make an end,--for I see thou hast but a leaf or two left.
Corporal Trim read on.)
'If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not sufficient,-- consider at this instant, how the votaries of that religion are every day thinking to do service and honour to God, by actions which are a dishonour and scandal to themselves.
'To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of the Inquisition.'--(God help my poor brother Tom.)--'Behold Religion, with Mercy and Justice chained down under her feet,--there sitting ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks and instruments of torment. Hark!- -hark! what a piteous groan!'--(Here Trims's face turned as pale as ashes.)--'see the melancholy wretch who uttered it'--(Here the tears began to trickle down)--'just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial, and endure the utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been able to invent.'--(D..n them all, quoth Trim, his colour returning into his face as red as blood.)--'Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,--his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement.'--(Oh! 'tis my brother, cried poor Trim in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon the ground, and clapping his hands together--I fear 'tis poor Tom. My father's and my uncle Toby's heart yearned with sympathy for the poor fellow's distress; even Slop himself acknowledged pity for him.-- Why, Trim, said my father, this is not a history,--'tis a sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.)--'Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,--his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it suffers.
'Observe the last movement of that horrid engine!'--(I would rather face a cannon, quoth Trim, stamping.)--'See what convulsions it has thrown him into!--Consider the nature of the posture in which he how lies stretched,-- what exquisite tortures he endures by it!'--(I hope 'tis not in Portugal.)- -''Tis all nature can bear! Good God! see how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips!' (I would not read another line of it, quoth Trim for all this world;--I fear, an' please your Honours, all this is in Portugal, where my poor brother Tom is. I tell thee, Trim, again, quoth my father, 'tis not an historical account,--'tis a description.--'Tis only a description, honest man, quoth Slop, there's not a word of truth in it.--That's another story, replied my father.--However, as Trim reads it with so much concern,--'tis cruelty to force him to go on with it.--Give me hold of the sermon, Trim,--I'll finish it for thee, and thou may'st go. I must stay and hear it too, replied Trim, if your Honour will allow me;-- tho' I would not read it myself for a Colonel's pay.--Poor Trim! quoth my uncle Toby. My father went on.)
'--Consider the nature of the posture in which he now lies stretched,--what exquisite torture he endures by it!--'Tis all nature can bear! Good God! See how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips,--willing to take its leave,--but not suffered to depart!--Behold the unhappy wretch led back to his cell!'--(Then, thank God, however, quoth Trim, they have not killed him.)--'See him dragged out of it again to meet the flames, and the insults in his last agonies, which this principle,--this principle, that there can be religion without mercy, has prepared for him.'--(Then, thank God,--he is dead, quoth Trim,--he is out of his pain,--and they have done their worst at
But prithee, Trim, said my father, make an end,--for I see thou hast but a leaf or two left.
Corporal Trim read on.)
'If the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not sufficient,-- consider at this instant, how the votaries of that religion are every day thinking to do service and honour to God, by actions which are a dishonour and scandal to themselves.
'To be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of the Inquisition.'--(God help my poor brother Tom.)--'Behold Religion, with Mercy and Justice chained down under her feet,--there sitting ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks and instruments of torment. Hark!- -hark! what a piteous groan!'--(Here Trims's face turned as pale as ashes.)--'see the melancholy wretch who uttered it'--(Here the tears began to trickle down)--'just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial, and endure the utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been able to invent.'--(D..n them all, quoth Trim, his colour returning into his face as red as blood.)--'Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,--his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement.'--(Oh! 'tis my brother, cried poor Trim in a most passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon the ground, and clapping his hands together--I fear 'tis poor Tom. My father's and my uncle Toby's heart yearned with sympathy for the poor fellow's distress; even Slop himself acknowledged pity for him.-- Why, Trim, said my father, this is not a history,--'tis a sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.)--'Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,--his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it suffers.
'Observe the last movement of that horrid engine!'--(I would rather face a cannon, quoth Trim, stamping.)--'See what convulsions it has thrown him into!--Consider the nature of the posture in which he how lies stretched,-- what exquisite tortures he endures by it!'--(I hope 'tis not in Portugal.)- -''Tis all nature can bear! Good God! see how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips!' (I would not read another line of it, quoth Trim for all this world;--I fear, an' please your Honours, all this is in Portugal, where my poor brother Tom is. I tell thee, Trim, again, quoth my father, 'tis not an historical account,--'tis a description.--'Tis only a description, honest man, quoth Slop, there's not a word of truth in it.--That's another story, replied my father.--However, as Trim reads it with so much concern,--'tis cruelty to force him to go on with it.--Give me hold of the sermon, Trim,--I'll finish it for thee, and thou may'st go. I must stay and hear it too, replied Trim, if your Honour will allow me;-- tho' I would not read it myself for a Colonel's pay.--Poor Trim! quoth my uncle Toby. My father went on.)
'--Consider the nature of the posture in which he now lies stretched,--what exquisite torture he endures by it!--'Tis all nature can bear! Good God! See how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips,--willing to take its leave,--but not suffered to depart!--Behold the unhappy wretch led back to his cell!'--(Then, thank God, however, quoth Trim, they have not killed him.)--'See him dragged out of it again to meet the flames, and the insults in his last agonies, which this principle,--this principle, that there can be religion without mercy, has prepared for him.'--(Then, thank God,--he is dead, quoth Trim,--he is out of his pain,--and they have done their worst at