If--no if's--but I shall be very sick to-morrow. I shall, 'faith.
Sick!--Why sick? What a-devil shouldst thou be sick for?
For more good reasons than one, Jack.
I should be glad to hear but one.--Sick, quotha! Of all thy roguish
inventions I should not have thought of this.
Perhaps thou thinkest my view to be, to draw the lady to my bedside.
That's a trick of three or four thousand years old; and I should find it
much more to my purpose, if I could get to her's. However, I'll
condescend to make thee as wise as myself.
I am excessively disturbed about this smuggling scheme of Miss Howe. I
have no doubt, that my fair-one, were I to make an attempt, and miscarry,
will fly from me, if she can. I once believed she loved me: but now I
doubt whether she does or not: at least, that it is with such an ardour,
as Miss Howe calls it, as will make her overlook a premeditated fault,
should I be guilty of one.
And what will being sick do for thee?
Have patience. I don't intend to be so very bad as Dorcas shall
represent me to be. But yet I know I shall reach confoundedly, and bring
up some clotted blood. To be sure, I shall break a vessel: there's no
doubt of that: and a bottle of Eaton's styptic shall be sent for; but no
doctor. If she has humanity, she will be concerned. But if she has
love, let it have been pushed ever so far back, it will, on this
occasion, come forward, and show itself; not only in her eye, but in
every line of her sweet face.
I will be very intrepid. I will not fear death, or any thing else. I
will be sure of being well in an hour or two, having formerly found great
benefit by this astringent medicine, on occasion of an inward bruise by a
fall from my horse in hunting, of which perhaps this malady may be the
remains. And this will show her, that though those about me may make the
most of it, I do not; and so can have no design in it.
Well, methinks thou sayest, I begin to think tolerably of this device.
I knew thou wouldst, when I explained myself. Another time prepare to
wonder; and banish doubt.
Now, Belford, I shall expect, that she will show some concern at the
broken vessel, as it may be attended with fatal effects, especially to
one so fiery in his temper as I have the reputation to be thought to be:
and the rather, as I shall calmly attribute the accident to the harasses
and doubts under which I have laboured for some time past. And this will
be a further proof of my love, and will demand a grateful return--
And what then, thou egregious contriver?
Why then I shall have the less remorse, if I am to use a little violence:
for can she deserve compassion, who shows none?
And what if she shows a great deal of concern?
Then shall I be in hopes of building on a good foundation. Love hides a
multitude of faults, and diminishes those it cannot hide. Love, when
acknowledged, authorizes freedom; and freedom begets freedom; and I shall
then see how far I can go.
Well but, Lovelace, how the deuce wilt thou, with that full health and
vigour of constitution, and with that bloom in thy face, make any body
believe thou art sick?
How!--Why, take a few grains of ipecacuanha; enough to make me reach like
a fury.
Good!--But how wilt thou manage to bring up blood, and not hurt thyself?
Foolish fellow! Are there no pigeons and chickens in every poulterer's
shop?
Cry thy mercy.
But then I will be persuaded by Mrs. Sinclair, that I have of late
confined myself too much; and so will have a chair called, and be carried
to the Park; where I will try to walk half the length of the Mall, or so;
and in my return, amuse myself at White's or the Cocoa.
And what will this do?
Questioning again!--I am afraid thou'rt an infidel, Belford--Why then
shall I not know if my beloved offers to go out in my absence?--And shall
I not see whether she receives me with tenderness at my return? But this
is not all: I have a foreboding that something affecting will happen
while I am out. But of this more in its place.
And now, Belford, wilt thou, or wilt thou not, allow, that it is a right
thing to be sick?--Lord, Jack, so much delight do I take in my
contrivances, that I shall be half sorry when the occasion for them is
over; for never, never, shall I again have such charming exercise for my
invention.
Mean time these plaguy women are so impertinent, so full of reproaches,
that I know not how to do any thing but curse them. And then, truly,
they are for helping me out with some of their trite and vulgar
artifices. Sally, particularly, who pretends to be a mighty contriver,
has just now, in an insolent manner, told me, on my rejecting her
proffered aids, that I had no mind to conquer; and that I was so wicked
as to intend to marry, though I would not own it to her.
Because this little devil made her first sacrifice at my altar, she
thinks she may take any liberty with me: and what makes her outrageous at
times is, that I have, for a long time, studiously, as she says, slighted
her too-readily-offered favours: But is it not very impudent in her to
think, that I will be any man's successor? It is not come to that
neither. This, thou knowest, was always my rule--Once any other man's,
and I know it, and never more mine. It is for such as thou, and thy
brethren, to take up with harlots. I have been always aiming at the
merit of a first discoverer.
The more devil I, perhaps thou wilt say, to endeavour to corrupt the
uncorrupted.
But I say, not; since, hence, I have but very few adulteries to answer
for.
One affair, indeed, at Paris, with a married lady [I believe I never told
thee of it] touched my conscience a little: yet brought on by the spirit
of intrigue, more than by sheer wickedness. I'll give it thee in brief:
'A French marquis, somewhat in years, employed by his court in a public
function at that of Madrid, had put his charming young new-married wife
under the controul and wardship, as I may say, of his insolent sister, an
old prude.
'I saw the lady at the opera. I liked her at first sight, and better at
second, when I knew the situation she was in. So, pretending to make my
addresses to the prude, got admittance to both.
'The first thing I had to do, was to compliment the prude into shyness by
complaints of shyness: next, to take advantage of the marquise's
situation, between her husband's jealousy and his sister's arrogance; and
to inspire her with resentment; and, as I hoped, with a regard to my
person. The French ladies have no dislike to intrigue.
'The sister began to suspect me: the lady had no mind to part with the
company of the only man who had been permitted to visit her; and told me
of her sister's suspicions. I put her upon concealing the prude, as if
unknown to me, in a closet in one of her own apartments, locking her in,
and putting the key in her own pocket: and she was to question me on the
sincerity of my professions to her sister, in her sister's hearing.
'She complied. My mistress was locked up. The lady and I took our
seats. I owned fervent love, and made high professions: for the marquise
put it home to me. The prude was delighted with what she heard.
'And how dost thou think it ended?--I took my advantage of the lady
herself, who durst not for her life cry out; and drew her after me to the
next apartment, on pretence of going to seek her sister, who all the time
was locked up in the closet.'
No woman ever gave me a private meeting for nothing; my dearest Miss
Harlowe excepted.
'My ingenuity obtained my pardon: the lady being unable to forbear
laughing throughout the whole affair, to find both so uncommonly tricked;
her gaoleress her prisoner, safe locked up, and as much pleased as either
of us.'
The English, Jack, do not often out-wit the French.
'We had contrivances afterwards equally ingenious, in which the lady, the
ice once broken [once subdued, always subdued] co-operated. But a more
tender tell-tale revealed the secret--revealed it, before the marquise
could cover the disgrace. The sister was inveterate; the husband
irreconcilable; in every respect unfit for a husband, even for a French
one--made, perhaps, more delicate to these particulars by the customs of
a people among whom he was then resident, so contrary to those of his own
countrymen. She was obliged to throw herself into my protection--nor
thought herself unhappy in it, till childbed pangs seized her: then
penitence, and death, overtook her the same hour!'
Excuse a tear, Belford!--She deserved a better fate! What hath such a
vile inexorable husband to answer for!--The sister was punished
effectually--that pleases me on reflection--the sister effectually
punished!--But perhaps I have told thee this story before.