Clarissa monologue (Act 3) — The Fall of British Tyranny; Or, American Liberty Triumphant

O ye angels! ye cherubims and seraphims! waft their souls to bliss, bathe their wounds with angelic balsam, and crown them with immortality. A faithful, loving and beloved husband, a promising and filial son, a tender and affectionate brother: Alas! what a loss!--Whom have I now to comfort me?--What have I left, but the voice of lamentation: [_She weeps._] Ill-fated bullets--these tears shall sustain me--yes, ye dear friends! how gladly wou'd I follow you--but alas! I must still endure tribulation and inquietudes, from which you are now exempt; I cannot cease to weep, ye brave men, I will mourn your fall--weep on--flow, mine eyes, and wash away their blood, till the fountain of sorrow is dried up--but, oh! it never--never will--my sympathetic soul shall dwell on your bosoms, and floods of tears shall water your graves; and since all other comfort is deny'd me, deprive me not of the only consolation left me of meditating on your virtues and dear memories, who fell in defense of liberty and your country--ye brave men--ye more than friends--ye martyrs to liberty!--This, this is all I ask, till sorrow overwhelms me.--I breathe my last; and ye yourselves, your own bright spirits, come and waft me to your peaceful abode, where the voice of lamentation is not heard, neither shall we know any more what it is to separate.