LETTER IIIFrom a Nun to a Cavalier
What will become of miserable me?What will th’ Event of my Misfortunes be,How can I hold, now all my hopes retire?On them I liv’d, and must with them expire.Where are the cordial Lines to heal my Pain,T’ assure me I shall see you here again?Where are the Letters that should bring Relief,Compose my Soul, and mitigate my Grief?Fool’d with vain Projects, I of late design’dTo strive to calm and heal my tortur’d Mind:The slender Hopes I have of seeing you,Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu;Th’ Improbability of your Return,The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born,Your frivolous Excuses to be gone,Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on;Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon,I found I still must love, still doat and be undone.Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bearThe heavy Burthen, which you ought to share.You ’re the Offender, and I undergoThe Punishment, which ought to fall on you.’Tis plain, I never yet enjoy’d your Love,Since all my Torments can’t your Pity move,Feign’d were the Transports, false the Vows you made,And only us’d that I might be betray’d.Your whole Design was to ensnare my HeartThen cruelly to act a Tyrant’s Part.T’ abuse a Love like mine, is highly base,And cannot but redound to your Disgrace.Who would have thought, when of my love possest,’Twas not enough to make you ever blest?And ’tis for your own sake I ’m troubled most,When I but think upon the Joys you ’ve lost:Nay, did you judge aright,——The difference soon by you perceiv’d would be,Betwixt abusing and obliging me;Betwixt the Pleasures, which you might have prov’d,Of loving much, and being much belov’d.Such is the Force of my excessive woe,I ’m quite insensible of what I do;Ten Thousand different Thoughts distract my Mind,My rigid Fate can’t be by words defin’d;To Death I love, yet cannot wish that youShould share the Miseries I undergo.To loath, t’ have all things odious in your sight,Receive no Ease by Day, no Rest by Night:Your Soul o’erloaded with continual Cares,Your Eyes still flowing with a flood of Tears;Did you but suffer this my grief for you,’Twou’d quickly finish what my own can’t do.Why do I write? Shou’d I your Pity move,What good wou’d Pity do without your Love?I scorn it; and my self with equal ScornI loath, when I reflect on what I ’ve born:My Friends I ’ve lost, and Reputation too,Have ran the hazard of our Laws for you:But what ’s much worse, now I all this have done,False as you are, ev’n you ’re ingrateful grown.Yet, oh! I cannot, cannot yet repent,But rather am with all my Ills content:I cannot grieve at what I’ve done for you,But more for your dear sake wou’d undergo;To you wou’d sacrifice my Life and Fame;They ’re yours, which you (and only you) can claim.In short, I ’m vex’d with every thing I do;Nor can I think I ’m kindly us’d by you.False as I am, why don’t I die with Shame,And so convince you of my raging Flame?If I had lov’d so well as oft I ’ve said,Your Cruelty ere this had struck me dead.No, all this while, ’tis you ’ve deluded been,And have the greatest Reason to complain.{How could I see you go, and yet survive,{  out of Hopes of your Return and Live?{I ’ve wrong’d you; but I hope you will forgive.Yet grant it not, treat me severely still,Tell me, that I ’ve abus’d, and us’d you ill.Be harder still to please, encrease my Care.And end my Sufferings with a sure Despair.A Fate that ’s Tragical would doubtless beThe Way t’ endear me to your Memory.Perhaps too you ’d be touch’d with such a Death,When you reflect how I ’ve resign’d my Breath.To me I ’m sure, ’twou’d welcome be indeed,And far to be preferr’d before the Life Ilead.——Farewel, I wish your Eyes I ’d never seen,But ah! my Heart, now contradicts my Pen.I find I ’d rather live involv’d in HarmsThan once to wish I ne’er had known your Charms.And since you think not fit to mend my State,I ’ll cheerfully (tho’ hard) embrace my Fate.Adieu,—but Promise me when I am dead,Some pitying Tears you ’ll o’er my Ashes shed.At least, let my too-sad Example proveThe means to hinder any other Love.’Twill yield some Ease, since I must lose your Charms,That you ’ll not revel in another’s Arms.Neither can you be so inhumane sureTo make my Fate assist a new Amour.I fear my Lines are troublesome to you;But you ’ll forgive my foolery—adieu,Ah me! methinks too often I repeatThe Story of my too unhappy Fate;Yet let me pay the Thanks to you I oweFor all the Miseries I undergo.I hate the State in which I liv’d beforeThe more my Cares encrease, I ’m pleas’d the more;My Flame does greater every moment grow—And I have still—Ten Thousand ThousandThings to say toyou.——
What will become of miserable me?What will th’ Event of my Misfortunes be,How can I hold, now all my hopes retire?On them I liv’d, and must with them expire.Where are the cordial Lines to heal my Pain,T’ assure me I shall see you here again?Where are the Letters that should bring Relief,Compose my Soul, and mitigate my Grief?Fool’d with vain Projects, I of late design’dTo strive to calm and heal my tortur’d Mind:The slender Hopes I have of seeing you,Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu;Th’ Improbability of your Return,The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born,Your frivolous Excuses to be gone,Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on;Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon,I found I still must love, still doat and be undone.Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bearThe heavy Burthen, which you ought to share.You ’re the Offender, and I undergoThe Punishment, which ought to fall on you.’Tis plain, I never yet enjoy’d your Love,Since all my Torments can’t your Pity move,Feign’d were the Transports, false the Vows you made,And only us’d that I might be betray’d.Your whole Design was to ensnare my HeartThen cruelly to act a Tyrant’s Part.T’ abuse a Love like mine, is highly base,And cannot but redound to your Disgrace.Who would have thought, when of my love possest,’Twas not enough to make you ever blest?And ’tis for your own sake I ’m troubled most,When I but think upon the Joys you ’ve lost:Nay, did you judge aright,——The difference soon by you perceiv’d would be,Betwixt abusing and obliging me;Betwixt the Pleasures, which you might have prov’d,Of loving much, and being much belov’d.Such is the Force of my excessive woe,I ’m quite insensible of what I do;Ten Thousand different Thoughts distract my Mind,My rigid Fate can’t be by words defin’d;To Death I love, yet cannot wish that youShould share the Miseries I undergo.To loath, t’ have all things odious in your sight,Receive no Ease by Day, no Rest by Night:Your Soul o’erloaded with continual Cares,Your Eyes still flowing with a flood of Tears;Did you but suffer this my grief for you,’Twou’d quickly finish what my own can’t do.Why do I write? Shou’d I your Pity move,What good wou’d Pity do without your Love?I scorn it; and my self with equal ScornI loath, when I reflect on what I ’ve born:My Friends I ’ve lost, and Reputation too,Have ran the hazard of our Laws for you:But what ’s much worse, now I all this have done,False as you are, ev’n you ’re ingrateful grown.Yet, oh! I cannot, cannot yet repent,But rather am with all my Ills content:I cannot grieve at what I’ve done for you,But more for your dear sake wou’d undergo;To you wou’d sacrifice my Life and Fame;They ’re yours, which you (and only you) can claim.In short, I ’m vex’d with every thing I do;Nor can I think I ’m kindly us’d by you.False as I am, why don’t I die with Shame,And so convince you of my raging Flame?If I had lov’d so well as oft I ’ve said,Your Cruelty ere this had struck me dead.No, all this while, ’tis you ’ve deluded been,And have the greatest Reason to complain.{How could I see you go, and yet survive,{  out of Hopes of your Return and Live?{I ’ve wrong’d you; but I hope you will forgive.Yet grant it not, treat me severely still,Tell me, that I ’ve abus’d, and us’d you ill.Be harder still to please, encrease my Care.And end my Sufferings with a sure Despair.A Fate that ’s Tragical would doubtless beThe Way t’ endear me to your Memory.Perhaps too you ’d be touch’d with such a Death,When you reflect how I ’ve resign’d my Breath.To me I ’m sure, ’twou’d welcome be indeed,And far to be preferr’d before the Life Ilead.——Farewel, I wish your Eyes I ’d never seen,But ah! my Heart, now contradicts my Pen.I find I ’d rather live involv’d in HarmsThan once to wish I ne’er had known your Charms.And since you think not fit to mend my State,I ’ll cheerfully (tho’ hard) embrace my Fate.Adieu,—but Promise me when I am dead,Some pitying Tears you ’ll o’er my Ashes shed.At least, let my too-sad Example proveThe means to hinder any other Love.’Twill yield some Ease, since I must lose your Charms,That you ’ll not revel in another’s Arms.Neither can you be so inhumane sureTo make my Fate assist a new Amour.I fear my Lines are troublesome to you;But you ’ll forgive my foolery—adieu,Ah me! methinks too often I repeatThe Story of my too unhappy Fate;Yet let me pay the Thanks to you I oweFor all the Miseries I undergo.I hate the State in which I liv’d beforeThe more my Cares encrease, I ’m pleas’d the more;My Flame does greater every moment grow—And I have still—Ten Thousand ThousandThings to say toyou.——
What will become of miserable me?What will th’ Event of my Misfortunes be,How can I hold, now all my hopes retire?On them I liv’d, and must with them expire.Where are the cordial Lines to heal my Pain,T’ assure me I shall see you here again?Where are the Letters that should bring Relief,Compose my Soul, and mitigate my Grief?
What will become of miserable me?
What will th’ Event of my Misfortunes be,
How can I hold, now all my hopes retire?
On them I liv’d, and must with them expire.
Where are the cordial Lines to heal my Pain,
T’ assure me I shall see you here again?
Where are the Letters that should bring Relief,
Compose my Soul, and mitigate my Grief?
Fool’d with vain Projects, I of late design’dTo strive to calm and heal my tortur’d Mind:The slender Hopes I have of seeing you,Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu;Th’ Improbability of your Return,The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born,Your frivolous Excuses to be gone,Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on;Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon,I found I still must love, still doat and be undone.
Fool’d with vain Projects, I of late design’d
To strive to calm and heal my tortur’d Mind:
The slender Hopes I have of seeing you,
Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu;
Th’ Improbability of your Return,
The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born,
Your frivolous Excuses to be gone,
Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on;
Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon,
I found I still must love, still doat and be undone.
Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bearThe heavy Burthen, which you ought to share.You ’re the Offender, and I undergoThe Punishment, which ought to fall on you.’Tis plain, I never yet enjoy’d your Love,Since all my Torments can’t your Pity move,Feign’d were the Transports, false the Vows you made,And only us’d that I might be betray’d.Your whole Design was to ensnare my HeartThen cruelly to act a Tyrant’s Part.
Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bear
The heavy Burthen, which you ought to share.
You ’re the Offender, and I undergo
The Punishment, which ought to fall on you.
’Tis plain, I never yet enjoy’d your Love,
Since all my Torments can’t your Pity move,
Feign’d were the Transports, false the Vows you made,
And only us’d that I might be betray’d.
Your whole Design was to ensnare my Heart
Then cruelly to act a Tyrant’s Part.
T’ abuse a Love like mine, is highly base,And cannot but redound to your Disgrace.Who would have thought, when of my love possest,’Twas not enough to make you ever blest?And ’tis for your own sake I ’m troubled most,When I but think upon the Joys you ’ve lost:Nay, did you judge aright,——The difference soon by you perceiv’d would be,Betwixt abusing and obliging me;Betwixt the Pleasures, which you might have prov’d,Of loving much, and being much belov’d.
T’ abuse a Love like mine, is highly base,
And cannot but redound to your Disgrace.
Who would have thought, when of my love possest,
’Twas not enough to make you ever blest?
And ’tis for your own sake I ’m troubled most,
When I but think upon the Joys you ’ve lost:
Nay, did you judge aright,——
The difference soon by you perceiv’d would be,
Betwixt abusing and obliging me;
Betwixt the Pleasures, which you might have prov’d,
Of loving much, and being much belov’d.
Such is the Force of my excessive woe,I ’m quite insensible of what I do;Ten Thousand different Thoughts distract my Mind,My rigid Fate can’t be by words defin’d;To Death I love, yet cannot wish that youShould share the Miseries I undergo.To loath, t’ have all things odious in your sight,Receive no Ease by Day, no Rest by Night:Your Soul o’erloaded with continual Cares,Your Eyes still flowing with a flood of Tears;Did you but suffer this my grief for you,’Twou’d quickly finish what my own can’t do.
Such is the Force of my excessive woe,
I ’m quite insensible of what I do;
Ten Thousand different Thoughts distract my Mind,
My rigid Fate can’t be by words defin’d;
To Death I love, yet cannot wish that you
Should share the Miseries I undergo.
To loath, t’ have all things odious in your sight,
Receive no Ease by Day, no Rest by Night:
Your Soul o’erloaded with continual Cares,
Your Eyes still flowing with a flood of Tears;
Did you but suffer this my grief for you,
’Twou’d quickly finish what my own can’t do.
Why do I write? Shou’d I your Pity move,What good wou’d Pity do without your Love?I scorn it; and my self with equal ScornI loath, when I reflect on what I ’ve born:My Friends I ’ve lost, and Reputation too,Have ran the hazard of our Laws for you:But what ’s much worse, now I all this have done,False as you are, ev’n you ’re ingrateful grown.
Why do I write? Shou’d I your Pity move,
What good wou’d Pity do without your Love?
I scorn it; and my self with equal Scorn
I loath, when I reflect on what I ’ve born:
My Friends I ’ve lost, and Reputation too,
Have ran the hazard of our Laws for you:
But what ’s much worse, now I all this have done,
False as you are, ev’n you ’re ingrateful grown.
Yet, oh! I cannot, cannot yet repent,But rather am with all my Ills content:I cannot grieve at what I’ve done for you,But more for your dear sake wou’d undergo;To you wou’d sacrifice my Life and Fame;They ’re yours, which you (and only you) can claim.
Yet, oh! I cannot, cannot yet repent,
But rather am with all my Ills content:
I cannot grieve at what I’ve done for you,
But more for your dear sake wou’d undergo;
To you wou’d sacrifice my Life and Fame;
They ’re yours, which you (and only you) can claim.
In short, I ’m vex’d with every thing I do;Nor can I think I ’m kindly us’d by you.False as I am, why don’t I die with Shame,And so convince you of my raging Flame?If I had lov’d so well as oft I ’ve said,Your Cruelty ere this had struck me dead.No, all this while, ’tis you ’ve deluded been,And have the greatest Reason to complain.{How could I see you go, and yet survive,{  out of Hopes of your Return and Live?{I ’ve wrong’d you; but I hope you will forgive.
In short, I ’m vex’d with every thing I do;
Nor can I think I ’m kindly us’d by you.
False as I am, why don’t I die with Shame,
And so convince you of my raging Flame?
If I had lov’d so well as oft I ’ve said,
Your Cruelty ere this had struck me dead.
No, all this while, ’tis you ’ve deluded been,
And have the greatest Reason to complain.
{How could I see you go, and yet survive,
{Â Â out of Hopes of your Return and Live?
{I ’ve wrong’d you; but I hope you will forgive.
Yet grant it not, treat me severely still,Tell me, that I ’ve abus’d, and us’d you ill.Be harder still to please, encrease my Care.And end my Sufferings with a sure Despair.A Fate that ’s Tragical would doubtless beThe Way t’ endear me to your Memory.Perhaps too you ’d be touch’d with such a Death,When you reflect how I ’ve resign’d my Breath.To me I ’m sure, ’twou’d welcome be indeed,And far to be preferr’d before the Life Ilead.——
Yet grant it not, treat me severely still,
Tell me, that I ’ve abus’d, and us’d you ill.
Be harder still to please, encrease my Care.
And end my Sufferings with a sure Despair.
A Fate that ’s Tragical would doubtless be
The Way t’ endear me to your Memory.
Perhaps too you ’d be touch’d with such a Death,
When you reflect how I ’ve resign’d my Breath.
To me I ’m sure, ’twou’d welcome be indeed,
And far to be preferr’d before the Life Ilead.——
Farewel, I wish your Eyes I ’d never seen,But ah! my Heart, now contradicts my Pen.I find I ’d rather live involv’d in HarmsThan once to wish I ne’er had known your Charms.And since you think not fit to mend my State,I ’ll cheerfully (tho’ hard) embrace my Fate.Adieu,—but Promise me when I am dead,Some pitying Tears you ’ll o’er my Ashes shed.At least, let my too-sad Example proveThe means to hinder any other Love.’Twill yield some Ease, since I must lose your Charms,That you ’ll not revel in another’s Arms.Neither can you be so inhumane sureTo make my Fate assist a new Amour.I fear my Lines are troublesome to you;But you ’ll forgive my foolery—adieu,Ah me! methinks too often I repeatThe Story of my too unhappy Fate;Yet let me pay the Thanks to you I oweFor all the Miseries I undergo.I hate the State in which I liv’d beforeThe more my Cares encrease, I ’m pleas’d the more;My Flame does greater every moment grow—And I have still—Ten Thousand ThousandThings to say toyou.——
Farewel, I wish your Eyes I ’d never seen,
But ah! my Heart, now contradicts my Pen.
I find I ’d rather live involv’d in Harms
Than once to wish I ne’er had known your Charms.
And since you think not fit to mend my State,
I ’ll cheerfully (tho’ hard) embrace my Fate.
Adieu,—but Promise me when I am dead,
Some pitying Tears you ’ll o’er my Ashes shed.
At least, let my too-sad Example prove
The means to hinder any other Love.
’Twill yield some Ease, since I must lose your Charms,
That you ’ll not revel in another’s Arms.
Neither can you be so inhumane sure
To make my Fate assist a new Amour.
I fear my Lines are troublesome to you;
But you ’ll forgive my foolery—adieu,
Ah me! methinks too often I repeat
The Story of my too unhappy Fate;
Yet let me pay the Thanks to you I owe
For all the Miseries I undergo.
I hate the State in which I liv’d before
The more my Cares encrease, I ’m pleas’d the more;
My Flame does greater every moment grow—
And I have still—Ten Thousand Thousand
Things to say toyou.——