Volume VI Part 15 (1/2)

Fool! to that body to return, Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to mourn!

[I could a tale unfold---- Would harrow up thy soul----]

O my Miss Howe! if thou hast friends.h.i.+p, help me, And speak the words of peace to my divided soul, That wars within me, And raises ev'ry sense to my confusion.

I'm tott'ring on the brink Of peace; an thou art all the hold I've left!

a.s.sist me----in the pangs of my affliction!

When honour's lost, 'tis a relief to die: Death's but a sure retreat from infamy.

[By swift misfortunes How I am pursu'd!

Which on each other Are, like waves, renew'd!]

The farewell, youth, And all the joys that dwell With youth and life!

And life itself, farewell!

For life can never be sincerely blest.

Heav'n punishes the bad, and proves the best.

After all, Belford, I have just skimmed over these transcriptions of Dorcas: and I see there are method and good sense in some of them, wild as others of them are; and that her memory, which serves her so well for these poetical flights, is far from being impaired. And this gives me hope, that she will soon recover her charming intellects--though I shall be the sufferer by their restoration, I make no doubt.

But, in the letter she wrote to me, there are yet greater extravagancies; and though I said it was too affecting to give thee a copy of it, yet, after I have let thee see the loose papers enclosed, I think I may throw in a transcript of that. Dorcas therefore shall here transcribe it. I cannot. The reading of it affected me ten times more than the severest reproaches of a regular mind could do.

TO MR. LOVELACE

I never intended to write another line to you. I would not see you, if I could help it--O that I never had!

But tell me, of a truth, is Miss Howe really and truly ill?--Very ill?- And is not her illness poison? And don't you know who gave it to her?

What you, or Mrs. Sinclair, or somebody (I cannot tell who) have done to my poor head, you best know: but I shall never be what I was. My head is gone. I have wept away all my brain, I believe; for I can weep no more.

Indeed I have had my full share; so it is no matter.

But, good now, Lovelace, don't set Mrs. Sinclair upon me again.--I never did her any harm. She so affrights me, when I see her!--Ever since--when was it? I cannot tell. You can, I suppose. She may be a good woman, as far as I know. She was the wife of a man of honour--very likely--though forced to let lodgings for a livelihood. Poor gentlewoman! Let her know I pity her: but don't let her come near me again--pray don't!

Yet she may be a very good woman--

What would I say!--I forget what I was going to say.

O Lovelace, you are Satan himself; or he helps you out in every thing; and that's as bad!

But have you really and truly sold yourself to him? And for how long?

What duration is your reign to have?