MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.
COCOA-TREE, SATURDAY, MAY 27.
This ipecacuanha is a most disagreeable medicine. That these cursed
physical folks can find out nothing to do us good, but what would poison
the devil! In the other world, were they only to take physic, it would
be punishable enough of itself for a mis-spent life. A doctor at one
elbow, and an apothecary at the other, and the poor soul labouring under
their prescribed operations, he need no worse tormentors.
But now this was to take down my countenance. It has done it: for, with
violent reachings, having taken enough to make me sick, and not enough
water to carry it off, I presently looked as if I had kept my bed a
fortnight. Ill jesting, as I thought in the midst of the exercise, with
edge tools, and worse with physical ones.
Two hours it held me. I had forbid Dorcas to let her lady know any thing
of the matter; out of tenderness to her; being willing, when she knew my
prohibition, to let her see that I expected her to be concerned for me.--
Well, but Dorcas was nevertheless a woman, and she can whisper to her
lady the secret she is enjoined to keep!
Come hither, toad, [sick as the devil at the instant]; let me see what a
mixture of grief and surprize may be beat up together in thy puden-face.
That won't do. That dropt jaw, and mouth distended into the long oval,
is more upon the horrible than the grievous.
Nor that pinking and winking with thy odious eyes, as my charmer once
called them.
A little better that; yet not quite right: but keep your mouth closer.
You have a muscle or two which you have no command of, between your
cheek-bone and your lips, that should carry one corner of your mouth
up towards your crow's-foot, and that down to meet it.
There! Begone! Be in a plaguy hurry running up stair and down, to fetch
from the dining-room what you carry up on purpose to fetch, till motion
extraordinary put you out of breath, and give you the sigh natural.
What's the matter, Dorcas?
Nothing, Madam.
My beloved wonders she has not seen me this morning, no doubt; but is too
shy to say she wonders. Repeated What's the matter, however, as Dorcas
runs up and down stairs by her door, bring on, O Madam! my master! my
poor master!
What! How! When!--and all the monosyllables of surprize.
[Within parentheses let me tell thee, that I have often thought, that the
little words in the republic of letters, like the little folks in a nation,
are the most significant. The trisyllables, and the rumblers of syllables
more than three, are but the good-for-little magnates.]
I must not tell you, Madam--My master ordered me not to tell you--but he
is in a worse way than he thinks for!--But he would not have you
frighted.
High concern took possession of every sweet feature. She pitied me!--by
my soul, she pitied me!
Where is he?
Too much in a hurry for good manners, [another parenthesis, Jack! Good
manners are so little natural, that we ought to be composed to observe
them: politeness will not live in a storm]. I cannot stay to answer
questions, cries the wench--though desirous to answer [a third
parenthesis--Like the people crying proclamations, running away from the
customers they want to sell to]. This hurry puts the lady in a hurry to
ask, [a fourth, by way of establishing the third!] as the other does the
people in a hurry to buy. And I have in my eye now a whole street
raised, and running after a proclamation or express-crier, as if the
first was a thief, the other his pursuers.
At last, O Lord! let Mrs. Lovelace know!--There is danger, to be sure!
whispered from one nymph to another; but at the door, and so loud, that
my listening fair-one might hear.
Out she darts--As how! as how, Dorcas!
O Madam--A vomiting of blood! A vessel broke, to be sure!
Down she hastens; finds every one as busy over my blood in the entry,
as if it were that of the Neapolitan saint.
In steps my charmer, with a face of sweet concern.
How do you, Mr. Lovelace?
O my best love!--Very well!--Very well!--Nothing at all! nothing of
consequence!--I shall be well in an instant!--Straining again! for I was
indeed plaguy sick, though no more blood came.
In short, Belford, I have gained my end. I see the dear soul loves me.
I see she forgives me all that's past. I see I have credit for a new
score.
Miss Howe, I defy thee, my dear--Mrs. Townsend!--Who the devil are you?--
Troop away with your contrabands. No smuggling! nor smuggler, but
myself! Nor will the choicest of my fair-one's favours be long
prohibited goods to me!
***
Every one is now sure that she loves me. Tears were in her eyes more
than once for me. She suffered me to take her hand, and kiss it as often
as I pleased. On Mrs. Sinclair's mentioning, that I too much confined
myself, she pressed me to take an airing; but obligingly desired me to be
careful of myself. Wished I would advise with a physician. God made
physicians, she said.
I did not think that, Jack. God indeed made us all. But I fancy she
meant physic instead of physicians; and then the phrase might mean what
the vulgar phrase means;--God sends meat, the Devil cooks.