MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
MONDAY, AUG. 15.
I am extremely concerned for thy illness. I should be very sorry to lose
thee. Yet, if thou diest so soon, I could wish, from my soul, it had
been before the beginning of last April: and this as well for thy sake,
as for the sake of the most excellent woman in the world: for then thou
wouldst not have had the most crying sin of thy life to answer for.
I was told on Saturday that thou wert very much out of order; and this
made me forbear writing till I heard farther. Harry, on his return from
thee, confirmed the bad way thou art in. But I hope Lord M. in his
unmerited tenderness for thee, thinks the worst of thee. What can it be,
Bob.? A violent fever, they say; but attended with odd and severe
symptoms.
I will not trouble thee in the way thou art in, with what passes here
with Miss Harlowe. I wish thy repentance as swift as thy illness; and as
efficacious, if thou diest; for it is else to be feared, that she and you
will never meet in one place.
I told her how ill you are. Poor man! said she. Dangerously ill, say
you?
Dangerously indeed, Madam!--So Lord M. sends me word!
God be merciful to him, if he die!--said the admirable creature.--Then,
after a pause, Poor wretch!--may he meet with the mercy he has not shown!
I send this by a special messenger: for I am impatient to hear how it
goes with thee.--If I have received thy last letter, what melancholy
reflections will that last, so full of shocking levity, give to
Thy true friend,
JOHN BELFORD.