I am sorry to hear of thy misfortune; but hope thou wilt not long lie
by it. Thy servant tells me what narrow escape thou hadst with thy
neck, I wish it may not be ominous: but I think thou seemest not to be
in so enterprising a way as formerly; and yet, merry or sad, thou seest
a rake’s neck is always in danger, if not from the hangman, from his
own horse. But, ’tis a vicious toad, it seems; and I think thou
shouldst never venture upon his back again; for ’tis a plaguy thing for
rider and horse both to be vicious.
The fellow tells me, thou desirest me to continue to write to thee in
order to divert thy chagrin on thy forced confinement: but how can I
think it in my power to divert, when my subject is not pleasing to
myself?
Caesar never knew what it was to be hipped, I will call it, till he
came to be what Pompey was; that is to say, till he arrived at the
height of his ambition: nor did thy Lovelace know what it was to be
gloomy, till he had completed his wishes upon the most charming
creature in the world.
And yet why say I completed? when the will, the consent, is wanting—and
I have still views before me of obtaining that?
Yet I could almost join with thee in the wish, which thou sendest me up
by thy servant, unfriendly as it is, that I had had thy misfortune
before Monday night last: for here, the poor lady has run into a
contrary extreme to that I told thee of in my last: for now is she as
much too lively, as before she was too stupid; and ’bating that she has
pretty frequent lucid intervals, would be deemed raving mad, and I
should be obliged to confine her.
I am most confoundedly disturbed about it: for I begin to fear that her
intellects are irreparably hurt.
Who the devil could have expected such strange effects from a cause so
common and so slight?
But these high-souled and high-sensed girls, who had set up for shining
lights and examples to the rest of the sex, are with such difficulty
brought down to the common standard, that a wise man, who prefers his
peace of mind to his glory, in subduing one of that exalted class,
would have nothing to say to them.
I do all in my power to quiet her spirits, when I force myself into her
presence.
I go on, begging pardon one minute; and vowing truth and honour
another.
I would at first have persuaded her, and offered to call witnesses to
the truth of it, that we were actually married. Though the license was
in her hands, I thought the assertion might go down in her disorder;
and charming consequences I hoped would follow. But this would not do.—
I therefore gave up that hope: and now I declare to her, that it is my
resolution to marry her, the moment her uncle Harlowe informs me that
he will grace the ceremony with his presence.
But she believes nothing I say; nor, (whether in her senses, or not)
bears me with patience in her sight.
I pity her with all my soul; and I curse myself, when she is in her
wailing fits, and when I apprehend that intellects, so charming, are
for ever damped.
But more I curse these women, who put me upon such an expedient! Lord!
Lord! what a hand have I made of it!—And all for what?
Last night, for the first time since Monday night, she got to her pen
and ink; but she pursues her writing with such eagerness and hurry, as
show too evidently her discomposure.