LORD M. TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
TUESDAY, MAY 23.
It is a long lane that has no turning.--Do not despise me for my proverbs
--you know I was always fond of them; and if you had been so too, it
would have been the better for you, let me tell you. I dare swear, the
fine lady you are so likely to be soon happy with, will be far from
despising them; for I am told, that she writes well, and that all her
letters are full of sentences. God convert you! for nobody but he and
this lady can.
I have no manner of doubt but that you will marry, as your father, and
all your ancestors, did before you: else you would have had no title to
be my heir; nor can your descendants have any title to be your's, unless
they are legitimate; that's worth your remembrance, Sir!--No man is
always a fool, every man is sometimes.--But your follies, I hope, are now
at an end.
I know, you have vowed revenge against this fine lady's family: but no
more of that, now. You must look upon them all as your relations; and
forgive and forget. And when they see you make a good husband and a good
father, [which God send, for all our sakes!] they will wonder at their
nonsensical antipathy, and beg your pardon: But while they think you a
vile fellow, and a rake, how can they either love you, or excuse their
daughter?
And methinks I could wish to give a word of comfort to the lady, who,
doubtless, must be under great fears, how she shall be able to hold in
such a wild creature as you have hitherto been. I would hint to her,
that by strong arguments, and gentle words, she may do any thing with
you; for though you are apt to be hot, gentle words will cool you, and
bring you into the temper that is necessary for your cure.
Would to God, my poor lady, your aunt, who is dead and gone, had been a
proper patient for the same remedy! God rest her soul! No reflections
upon her memory! Worth is best known by want! I know her's now; and if
I had went first, she would by this time have known mine.
There is great wisdom in that saying, God send me a friend, that may tell
me of my faults: if not, an enemy, and he will. Not that I am your
enemy; and that you well know. The more noble any one is, the more
humble; so bear with me, if you would be thought noble.--Am I not your
uncle? and do I not design to be better to you than your father could be?
Nay, I will be your father too, when the happy day comes; since you
desire it: and pray make my compliments to my dear niece; and tell her, I
wonder much that she has so long deferred your happiness.
Pray let her know as that I will present HER (not you) either my
Lancashire seat or The Lawn in Hertfordshire, and settle upon her a
thousand pounds a year penny-rents; to show her, that we are not a family
to take base advantages: and you may have writings drawn, and settle as
you will.--Honest Pritchard has the rent-roll of both these estates; and
as he has been a good old servant, I recommend him to your lady's favour.
I have already consulted him: he will tell you what is best for you, and
most pleasing to me.
I am still very bad with my gout, but will come in a litter, as soon as
the day is fixed; it would be the joy of my heart to join your hands.
And, let me tell you, if you do not make the best of husbands to so good
a young lady, and one who has had so much courage for your sake, I will
renounce you; and settle all I can upon her and her's by you, and leave
you out of the question.
If any thing be wanting for your further security, I am ready to give it;
though you know, that my word has always been looked upon as my bond.
And when the Harlowes know all this, let us see whether they are able to
blush, and take shame to themselves.
Lady Sarah and Lady Betty want only to know the day, to make all the
country round them blaze, and all their tenants mad. And, if any one of
mine be sober upon the occasion, Pritchard shall eject him. And, on the
birth of the first child, if a son, I will do something more for you, and
repeat all our rejoicings.
I ought indeed to have written sooner. But I knew, that if you thought
me long, and were in haste as to your nuptials, you would write and tell
me so. But my gout was very troublesome: and I am but a slow writer, you
know, at best: for composing is a thing that, though formerly I was very
ready at it, (as my Lord Lexington used to say,) yet having left it off a
great while, I am not so now. And I chose, on this occasion, to write
all out of my own hand and memory; and to give you my best advice; for I
may never have such an opportunity again. You have had [God mend you!] a
strange way of turning your back upon all I have said: this once, I hope,
you will be more attentive to the advice I give you for your own good.