"Captain Moseley," said she, having read the summons, commanding her
that she should yield up the house, together with the ammunition, arms,
goods, servants, children, and her own person too--submitting to the
mercy of parliament, "you are, I understand, an honourable man and a
soldier."
He bowed with great humility.
"I would not receive this from any other. But"--and her lip curled
proudly as she spoke. "Here seems a slight mistake in the wording of
your message. They should rather have written _cruelty_ and not
_mercy_!"
"Nay, my lady," he replied, "the mercy of parliament. Trust me, you will
not be evil entreated at their hands."
"The _mercies_ of the wicked are _cruel_," said she, quickly, but with
great composure. "Not that I mean," she continued, "a wicked parliament,
of which body I have an honourable and reverend esteem, but wicked
agents and factors, such as Moore and Rigby, who for the advantage of
their own interests labour to turn kingdoms into blood and ruin.
Besides, 'tis dangerous treating when the sword is given into the
enemies' hand."
"Most assuredly, madam, as our tractates on the art of war teach
us,--which it seems you have not studied in vain," said Moseley, bowing
with an air of great deference and gallantry.
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