adventure, join to give her memory? For, as Martial wisely observeth, Post cineres gloria sera venit. Then, as Ausonius layeth it down with equal propriety, that those favours which are speedily conferred are the most graceful and obligingAnd to the same purpose Ovid: Gratia ab officio, quod mora tardat, abest. And, sir, whatever you do, let the lady's pardon be as ample, and as cheerfully given, as she can wish for it; that I may be able to tell her, that it hath your hands, your countenances, and your whole hearts, with it-for, as the Latin verse hath it (and I presume to think, I have not weakened its sense by my humble advice) Dat bene, dat multum, qui dat cum munere vultum. And now, sir, when I survey this long letter*, (albeit I see it enamelled, as a beautiful meadow is enamelled by the spring or summer flowers, very glorious to behold!) I begin to be afraid that I may have tired you; and the more likely, as I have written without that method or order, which I think constituteth the beauty of good writing: which method or order, nevertheless, may be the better excused in a familiar epistle (as this may be called), you par * And here, by way of note, permit me to say, that no sermon I ever composed, cost me half the pains that this letter hath done-but I know your great appetite after, as well as admiration of, the ancient wisdom, which you so justly prefer to the modern-and indeed I join with you to think, that the modern is only borrowed (as the moon doth its light from the sun), at least, that we excel them in nothing; and that our best cogitations may be found, generally speaking, more elegantly dressed and expressed by them. doning, sir, the familiarity of the word: but yet not altogether here, I must needs own; because this is a letter, and not a letter, as I may say; but a kind of short and pithy discourse, touching upon various and sundry topics, every one of which might be a fit theme to enlarge upon, even to volumes: if this epistolary discourse (then let me call it) should be pleasing to you (as I am inclined to think it will, because of the sentiments and aphorisms of the wisest of the ancients which glitter through it like so many dazzling sunbeams,) I will (at my leisure) work it up into a methodical discourse; and perhaps may one day print it, with a dedication to my honoured patron, (if, sir, I have your leave) singly at first (but not till I have thrown out anonymously two or three smaller things, by the success of which I shall have made myself of some account in the commonwealth of letters,) and afterwards in my works-not for the vanity of the thing (however) I will, say, but for the may be of to the public; for (as one well observeth) though glory always followeth virtue, yet it should be considered only as its shadow. use it Contemnit laudem virtus, licet usque sequatur Gloria virtutem, corpus ut umbra suum. A very pretty saying, and worthy of all men's admiration! And now, (most worthy sir, my very good friend and patron) referring the whole to yours, and to your two brothers, and to young Mr. Harlowe's con sideration, and to the wise consideration of good Madam Harlowe, and her excellent daughter Miss Arabella Harlowe; I take the liberty to subscribe myself, what I truly am, and ever shall delight to be, in all cases, and at all times, Your and their most ready and obedient, LETTER XII. MR. LOVELACE TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. [In Answer to Letter ix.] Wedn. morn. Sept. 6. AND is she somewhat better?-Blessings upon thee without number or measure! Let her still be better and better! Tell me so at least, if she be not so: for thou knowest not what joy that poor temporary reprieve, that she will hold out yet a day or two, gave me. But who told this hard-hearted and death-pronouncing doctor, that she will hold it no longer? By what warrant says he this? What presumption in these parading solemn fellows of a college, which will be my contempt to the latest hour of my life, if this brother of it (eminent as he is deemed to be) cannot work an ordinary miracle in her favour, or rather in mine! Let me tell thee, Belford, that already he deserves the utmost contempt, for suffering this charming clock to run down so low. What must be his art, if it could not wind it up in a quarter of the time he has attended her, when, at his first visits, the springs and wheels of life and motion were so good, that they seemed only to want common care and oiling! I am obliged to you for endeavouring to engage her to see me. 'Twas acting like a friend. If she had vouchsafed me that favour, she should have seen at her feet the most abject adorer that ever kneeled to justly-offended beauty. What she bid you, and what she forbid you, to tell me (the latter for tender considerations;) that she forgives me; and that, could she have made me a good man, she could have made me a happy one! that she even loved me! At such a moment to own that she once loved me! Never before loved any man! That she prays for me! That her last tear should be shed for me, could she by it save a soul doomed, without her, to perdition!-O Belford! Belford! I cannot bear it!--What a dog, what a devil have I been to a goodness so superlative!-Why does she not inveigh against me?-Why does she not execrate me? -Ŏ the triumphant subduer!-Ever above me !— And now to leave me so infinitely below her! Marry and repair, at any time; this, wretch that I was! was my plea to myself. To give her a lowering sensibility; to bring her down from among the stars which her beamy head was surrounded by, that my wife, so greatly above me, might not despise me; this was one of my reptile motives, owing to my more reptile envy, and to my consciousness of inferiority to her!-Yet she, from step to step, from distress to distress, to maintain her superiority; and like the sun, to break out upon me with the greater refulgence for the clouds that I had contrived to cast about her-and now to escape me thus !-No power left me to repair her wrongs!-No alleviation to my self-reproach!-No dividing of blame with her Tell her, O tell her, Belford! 'that her prayers and wishes, her superlatively generous prayers and wishes, shall not be vain: that I can, and do repent -and long have repented:-tell her of my frequent deep remorses-it was impossible that such remorses should not at last produce effectual remorse-yet she must not leave me-she must live, if she would wish to have my contrition perfect-for what can despair produce? * * I WILL do every thing that you would have me do, in the return of your letters. You have infinitely obliged me by this last, and by pressing for an admission for me, though it succeeded not. Once more, how could I be such a villain to so divine a creature! Yet love her all the time, as never man loved woman!-Curse upon my contriving genius! Curse upon my intriguing head, and upon my seconding heart!-To sport with the fame, with the honour, with the life, of such an angel of a woman! O my d-n'd incredulity! that, believing her to be a woman, I must hope to find her a woman! On my incredulity, that there could be such virtue (virtue for virtue's sake) in the sex, founded I my hope of succeeding with her. But say not, Jack, that she must leave us yet. If she recover, and if I can but re-obtain her favour, then, indeed, will life be life to me. The world never saw such a husband as I will make. I will have no will but hers. She shall conduct me in all my steps. She shall open and direct my prospects, and turn every motion of my heart as she pleases. You tell me, in your letter, that at eleven o'clock she had sweet rest; and my servant acquaints me, from Mrs. Smith, that she has had a good night. What hopes does this fill me with! I have given the fellow five guineas for his good news, to be divided between him and his fellow-servant. Dear, dear Jack! confirm this to me in thy next -for Heaven's sake do!-Tell the doctor I will make him a present of a thousand guineas if he recover her. Ask if a consultation be necessary. Adieu, dear Belford! Confirm, I beseech thee, the hopes that now, with sovereign gladness, have taken possession of a heart, that, next to hers, is Thine. |