LETTER VFrom a Nun to a Cavalier
I hope, by th’ different Ayre of this, you ’ll findThat as I ’ve chang’d my Stile, I ’ve chang’d my Mind.The Substance of these Lines will let you knowThat you ’re to take them for my last Adieu:For since your Love is past redemption gone,I ’ve no Pretence to justifie my own.All that I have of yours shall be convey’dTo you, without so much as mention madeOf your loath’d Name; the Pacquet shall not bearThose Letters which I now detest to hear.In Donna Brites I can well confide,And whom, you know, I ’ve other ways imploy’d;Your Picture she ’ll (and all that ’s yours) remove,Those once-endearing Pledges of your Love:A thousand Times I ’ve had a strong DesireTo tear and throw them in the flaming Fire;But I ’m a Fool too easie in my Pain,And such a generous Rage can’t entertain.Wou’d but the Story of my Cares createThe like to you, methinks ’twou’d mine abate.Your Trifles, I must own, went near my Heart,With them I found it difficult to part.To what was yours I bore such mortal Love,Tho’ you yourself did quite indiff’rent prove,They ’ve cost me many a Sigh, and many a Tear,And more Distraction than you e’er shall hear.My Friend, I say, now keeps them in her Pow’r,And I am never to behold ’em more;She them will secretly to you convey,Without my Knowledge hasten them away:Tho’ for a sight I on my Knees shou’d lie,The more I pray, she must the more deny.Ne’er had I known the Fury of my FlameHad I not try’d my Passion to reclaim;Nay, to attempt a Cure I ’d ne’er begun,Cou’d I ’ve foreseen the Hazards I must run:For sure I am, I cou’d with greater EaseSupport your Scorn, as rig’rous as it is,Rather than to retain the dreadful Thought,That Absence must for ever be my Lot.I shou’d be happy if I cou’d be Proud,And with the Nature of our Sex endow’d:Cou’d I despise you, and your Actions scorn,And be reveng’d for all the Ills I ’ve born.Fool as I am, to let my hopes relyOn one who strives t’ encrease my Misery!You talk of Truth and Sincerity;They both are what you never shew’d to me.To tell you what I ’ve born ’tis now too late,(For th’ most obliged, and yet the most ingrate)Let it suffice I all your Falsehood know;And all I ask for what I ’ve done for you,Is, Write no more, but some Invention findTo tear your Image from my Tortur’d Mind.{I too must now forbear to write to you,{Lest a Relapse shou’d by that means ensue;{And the Event of this I ’ve no Desire to know.Methinks you shou’d enough contented beWith th’ Ills you have already brought on me:Sure now you need no more molest my Ease,Or shake the Structure of my future Peace.Do you but leave me in Uncertainty,I hope in time I shall at quiet be:’Tis not impossible but I may findA Love as true as you have been unkind.But what will Love that any Man shall shewAfford to me, without I love him too?Why shou’d his Am’rous Passion more inclineTo move my Heart, than yours was mov’d by mine?And I perceive by what I now endure,That the first Wounds of Love admits no Cure;All sorts of Remedies then prove in vain,W’ are ne’er recover’d to our selves again;So fixt, and so immutable is Fate,We ’re doomed to Love, though w’ are repaid with Hate.I ’m sure I cou’d not so hard-hearted be,To treat another as you ’ve treated me:Provided you was to another chang’d,Of you I cou’d not that way take revenge.I ’d fain perswade my self a Nun shou’d ne’erConfine the Passions of a Cavalier;But if a man wou’d by his Reason move,A Mistress in a Convent is most fit for Love;Those in the World do all their Thoughts employOn Balls, on Visits, and their Finery,Encrease their Husbands’ Jealousies and Cares,Whilst those who favour us have no such Fears.Alas! we ’ve nothing here to change Desire,But by Reflection daily fan the Fire.I wou’d not have you think that I maintainThese Arguments, in hopes I may regainYour Love; too well I know my Destiny;I always was, and still must wretched be.{When you was here I did no Rest enjoy:{Present, for fear of infidelity;{When distant, Absence did my ease destroy.I always trembled while you was with me,Lest you shou’d be found, and come to Injury:While in the Field, both Lives in Danger were;Fear of my parents did encrease my Care.So that ’tis plain, ev’n at the best, my MindWas as disturb’d as I at present find:Since you left me, had you but once seem’d kind,I shou’d have follow’d, and not been confin’d.Alas! what wou’d have then become of me,T’ have brought a Scandal on my Family;T’ have lost my Parents and my Honour too,And, after all, to be despis’d by you?What Thoughts soever you of me retain,I reconjure you ne’er to write again:Methinks you shou’d sometimes reflect uponThe base ungen’rous Injuries you ’ve done.No woman sure did e’er so easy prove;What did you ever do to gain my Love?You was the first that to the Army went;To stay the longest there, the best content.Did you more careful of your Person grow,Altho’ upon my knees I begg’d you wou’d do so?Did you e’er strive to fix in Portugal,A Place where you was well belov’d of all?Your Brother’s Letter hurry’d you away,On the receipt of it you ’d not a moment stay;And I ’m inform’d you ne’er was pleased moreThan when on board a making from our Shore.You can’t deny but you deserve my Hate,And I may thank my self for all my Fate;I was too free, and gave my Heart too soon,And brought upon my self the Ills I ’ve undergone.Alas! from Love alone Love ne’er will rise,It must be rais’d by Skill and Artifice.Your first Design was to ensnare my Love,And nothing wou’d have spar’d that might successful prove:Nay, I believe, if it had needful been,Rather than failed, you wou’d have lov’d again;But you found easier ways to work upon,And thought it best to let the Lovealone.——Perfidious Man! which way can you atoneFor th’ base and treach’rous Affronts you ’ve done?The blinding Passion now is vanquished quite,That kept the foulness of them from my sight:Must my tormented Soul never have Ease?When shall I be, thou cruel Man, at Peace?Within a while you yet perhaps may hear,Or have a Letter, from your injur’d Fair,To let you know that she is at repose,Freed of the Torments that from you arose.Oh! what a Pleasure it will be to me,Without concern t’ accuse you of your Treachery!When I ’ve forgot the wracking Pains I ’ve born,And able am to talk of you with Scorn!You ’ve had the better, it is plainly prov’d,Because I you have out of Reason lov’d;But by the Conquest you small Honour won,For I was young, and easily undone.I, whilst a Child, was cloister’d, knew no hurt,Discours’d with none but of the vulgar Sort,And what belonged to Flatt’ry never knew,Till I unhappily was taught by you:You ’d a good Character of every one,Which you made use of to entice me on.My Indignation, and your Falsehood too,Makes me at present much disorder’d grow;But, I assure you, I will shortly findSome Means or other for to ease my Mind.Perhaps may take a way to quit my CareWhich, when ’tis acted, you ’ll be pleas’d to hear.Fool as I am, to say thus o’er and o’erThe same that I ’ve so often said before!Of you a Thought I must not entertain,And fancy too I ne’er shall write again?For what occasion ’s there that I to youShou’d be accountable for all I do?
I hope, by th’ different Ayre of this, you ’ll findThat as I ’ve chang’d my Stile, I ’ve chang’d my Mind.The Substance of these Lines will let you knowThat you ’re to take them for my last Adieu:For since your Love is past redemption gone,I ’ve no Pretence to justifie my own.All that I have of yours shall be convey’dTo you, without so much as mention madeOf your loath’d Name; the Pacquet shall not bearThose Letters which I now detest to hear.In Donna Brites I can well confide,And whom, you know, I ’ve other ways imploy’d;Your Picture she ’ll (and all that ’s yours) remove,Those once-endearing Pledges of your Love:A thousand Times I ’ve had a strong DesireTo tear and throw them in the flaming Fire;But I ’m a Fool too easie in my Pain,And such a generous Rage can’t entertain.Wou’d but the Story of my Cares createThe like to you, methinks ’twou’d mine abate.Your Trifles, I must own, went near my Heart,With them I found it difficult to part.To what was yours I bore such mortal Love,Tho’ you yourself did quite indiff’rent prove,They ’ve cost me many a Sigh, and many a Tear,And more Distraction than you e’er shall hear.My Friend, I say, now keeps them in her Pow’r,And I am never to behold ’em more;She them will secretly to you convey,Without my Knowledge hasten them away:Tho’ for a sight I on my Knees shou’d lie,The more I pray, she must the more deny.Ne’er had I known the Fury of my FlameHad I not try’d my Passion to reclaim;Nay, to attempt a Cure I ’d ne’er begun,Cou’d I ’ve foreseen the Hazards I must run:For sure I am, I cou’d with greater EaseSupport your Scorn, as rig’rous as it is,Rather than to retain the dreadful Thought,That Absence must for ever be my Lot.I shou’d be happy if I cou’d be Proud,And with the Nature of our Sex endow’d:Cou’d I despise you, and your Actions scorn,And be reveng’d for all the Ills I ’ve born.Fool as I am, to let my hopes relyOn one who strives t’ encrease my Misery!You talk of Truth and Sincerity;They both are what you never shew’d to me.To tell you what I ’ve born ’tis now too late,(For th’ most obliged, and yet the most ingrate)Let it suffice I all your Falsehood know;And all I ask for what I ’ve done for you,Is, Write no more, but some Invention findTo tear your Image from my Tortur’d Mind.{I too must now forbear to write to you,{Lest a Relapse shou’d by that means ensue;{And the Event of this I ’ve no Desire to know.Methinks you shou’d enough contented beWith th’ Ills you have already brought on me:Sure now you need no more molest my Ease,Or shake the Structure of my future Peace.Do you but leave me in Uncertainty,I hope in time I shall at quiet be:’Tis not impossible but I may findA Love as true as you have been unkind.But what will Love that any Man shall shewAfford to me, without I love him too?Why shou’d his Am’rous Passion more inclineTo move my Heart, than yours was mov’d by mine?And I perceive by what I now endure,That the first Wounds of Love admits no Cure;All sorts of Remedies then prove in vain,W’ are ne’er recover’d to our selves again;So fixt, and so immutable is Fate,We ’re doomed to Love, though w’ are repaid with Hate.I ’m sure I cou’d not so hard-hearted be,To treat another as you ’ve treated me:Provided you was to another chang’d,Of you I cou’d not that way take revenge.I ’d fain perswade my self a Nun shou’d ne’erConfine the Passions of a Cavalier;But if a man wou’d by his Reason move,A Mistress in a Convent is most fit for Love;Those in the World do all their Thoughts employOn Balls, on Visits, and their Finery,Encrease their Husbands’ Jealousies and Cares,Whilst those who favour us have no such Fears.Alas! we ’ve nothing here to change Desire,But by Reflection daily fan the Fire.I wou’d not have you think that I maintainThese Arguments, in hopes I may regainYour Love; too well I know my Destiny;I always was, and still must wretched be.{When you was here I did no Rest enjoy:{Present, for fear of infidelity;{When distant, Absence did my ease destroy.I always trembled while you was with me,Lest you shou’d be found, and come to Injury:While in the Field, both Lives in Danger were;Fear of my parents did encrease my Care.So that ’tis plain, ev’n at the best, my MindWas as disturb’d as I at present find:Since you left me, had you but once seem’d kind,I shou’d have follow’d, and not been confin’d.Alas! what wou’d have then become of me,T’ have brought a Scandal on my Family;T’ have lost my Parents and my Honour too,And, after all, to be despis’d by you?What Thoughts soever you of me retain,I reconjure you ne’er to write again:Methinks you shou’d sometimes reflect uponThe base ungen’rous Injuries you ’ve done.No woman sure did e’er so easy prove;What did you ever do to gain my Love?You was the first that to the Army went;To stay the longest there, the best content.Did you more careful of your Person grow,Altho’ upon my knees I begg’d you wou’d do so?Did you e’er strive to fix in Portugal,A Place where you was well belov’d of all?Your Brother’s Letter hurry’d you away,On the receipt of it you ’d not a moment stay;And I ’m inform’d you ne’er was pleased moreThan when on board a making from our Shore.You can’t deny but you deserve my Hate,And I may thank my self for all my Fate;I was too free, and gave my Heart too soon,And brought upon my self the Ills I ’ve undergone.Alas! from Love alone Love ne’er will rise,It must be rais’d by Skill and Artifice.Your first Design was to ensnare my Love,And nothing wou’d have spar’d that might successful prove:Nay, I believe, if it had needful been,Rather than failed, you wou’d have lov’d again;But you found easier ways to work upon,And thought it best to let the Lovealone.——Perfidious Man! which way can you atoneFor th’ base and treach’rous Affronts you ’ve done?The blinding Passion now is vanquished quite,That kept the foulness of them from my sight:Must my tormented Soul never have Ease?When shall I be, thou cruel Man, at Peace?Within a while you yet perhaps may hear,Or have a Letter, from your injur’d Fair,To let you know that she is at repose,Freed of the Torments that from you arose.Oh! what a Pleasure it will be to me,Without concern t’ accuse you of your Treachery!When I ’ve forgot the wracking Pains I ’ve born,And able am to talk of you with Scorn!You ’ve had the better, it is plainly prov’d,Because I you have out of Reason lov’d;But by the Conquest you small Honour won,For I was young, and easily undone.I, whilst a Child, was cloister’d, knew no hurt,Discours’d with none but of the vulgar Sort,And what belonged to Flatt’ry never knew,Till I unhappily was taught by you:You ’d a good Character of every one,Which you made use of to entice me on.My Indignation, and your Falsehood too,Makes me at present much disorder’d grow;But, I assure you, I will shortly findSome Means or other for to ease my Mind.Perhaps may take a way to quit my CareWhich, when ’tis acted, you ’ll be pleas’d to hear.Fool as I am, to say thus o’er and o’erThe same that I ’ve so often said before!Of you a Thought I must not entertain,And fancy too I ne’er shall write again?For what occasion ’s there that I to youShou’d be accountable for all I do?
I hope, by th’ different Ayre of this, you ’ll findThat as I ’ve chang’d my Stile, I ’ve chang’d my Mind.The Substance of these Lines will let you knowThat you ’re to take them for my last Adieu:For since your Love is past redemption gone,I ’ve no Pretence to justifie my own.All that I have of yours shall be convey’dTo you, without so much as mention madeOf your loath’d Name; the Pacquet shall not bearThose Letters which I now detest to hear.
I hope, by th’ different Ayre of this, you ’ll find
That as I ’ve chang’d my Stile, I ’ve chang’d my Mind.
The Substance of these Lines will let you know
That you ’re to take them for my last Adieu:
For since your Love is past redemption gone,
I ’ve no Pretence to justifie my own.
All that I have of yours shall be convey’d
To you, without so much as mention made
Of your loath’d Name; the Pacquet shall not bear
Those Letters which I now detest to hear.
In Donna Brites I can well confide,And whom, you know, I ’ve other ways imploy’d;Your Picture she ’ll (and all that ’s yours) remove,Those once-endearing Pledges of your Love:A thousand Times I ’ve had a strong DesireTo tear and throw them in the flaming Fire;But I ’m a Fool too easie in my Pain,And such a generous Rage can’t entertain.
In Donna Brites I can well confide,
And whom, you know, I ’ve other ways imploy’d;
Your Picture she ’ll (and all that ’s yours) remove,
Those once-endearing Pledges of your Love:
A thousand Times I ’ve had a strong Desire
To tear and throw them in the flaming Fire;
But I ’m a Fool too easie in my Pain,
And such a generous Rage can’t entertain.
Wou’d but the Story of my Cares createThe like to you, methinks ’twou’d mine abate.Your Trifles, I must own, went near my Heart,With them I found it difficult to part.To what was yours I bore such mortal Love,Tho’ you yourself did quite indiff’rent prove,They ’ve cost me many a Sigh, and many a Tear,And more Distraction than you e’er shall hear.My Friend, I say, now keeps them in her Pow’r,And I am never to behold ’em more;She them will secretly to you convey,Without my Knowledge hasten them away:Tho’ for a sight I on my Knees shou’d lie,The more I pray, she must the more deny.
Wou’d but the Story of my Cares create
The like to you, methinks ’twou’d mine abate.
Your Trifles, I must own, went near my Heart,
With them I found it difficult to part.
To what was yours I bore such mortal Love,
Tho’ you yourself did quite indiff’rent prove,
They ’ve cost me many a Sigh, and many a Tear,
And more Distraction than you e’er shall hear.
My Friend, I say, now keeps them in her Pow’r,
And I am never to behold ’em more;
She them will secretly to you convey,
Without my Knowledge hasten them away:
Tho’ for a sight I on my Knees shou’d lie,
The more I pray, she must the more deny.
Ne’er had I known the Fury of my FlameHad I not try’d my Passion to reclaim;Nay, to attempt a Cure I ’d ne’er begun,Cou’d I ’ve foreseen the Hazards I must run:For sure I am, I cou’d with greater EaseSupport your Scorn, as rig’rous as it is,Rather than to retain the dreadful Thought,That Absence must for ever be my Lot.
Ne’er had I known the Fury of my Flame
Had I not try’d my Passion to reclaim;
Nay, to attempt a Cure I ’d ne’er begun,
Cou’d I ’ve foreseen the Hazards I must run:
For sure I am, I cou’d with greater Ease
Support your Scorn, as rig’rous as it is,
Rather than to retain the dreadful Thought,
That Absence must for ever be my Lot.
I shou’d be happy if I cou’d be Proud,And with the Nature of our Sex endow’d:Cou’d I despise you, and your Actions scorn,And be reveng’d for all the Ills I ’ve born.
I shou’d be happy if I cou’d be Proud,
And with the Nature of our Sex endow’d:
Cou’d I despise you, and your Actions scorn,
And be reveng’d for all the Ills I ’ve born.
Fool as I am, to let my hopes relyOn one who strives t’ encrease my Misery!You talk of Truth and Sincerity;They both are what you never shew’d to me.To tell you what I ’ve born ’tis now too late,(For th’ most obliged, and yet the most ingrate)Let it suffice I all your Falsehood know;And all I ask for what I ’ve done for you,Is, Write no more, but some Invention findTo tear your Image from my Tortur’d Mind.
Fool as I am, to let my hopes rely
On one who strives t’ encrease my Misery!
You talk of Truth and Sincerity;
They both are what you never shew’d to me.
To tell you what I ’ve born ’tis now too late,
(For th’ most obliged, and yet the most ingrate)
Let it suffice I all your Falsehood know;
And all I ask for what I ’ve done for you,
Is, Write no more, but some Invention find
To tear your Image from my Tortur’d Mind.
{I too must now forbear to write to you,{Lest a Relapse shou’d by that means ensue;{And the Event of this I ’ve no Desire to know.Methinks you shou’d enough contented beWith th’ Ills you have already brought on me:Sure now you need no more molest my Ease,Or shake the Structure of my future Peace.Do you but leave me in Uncertainty,I hope in time I shall at quiet be:’Tis not impossible but I may findA Love as true as you have been unkind.But what will Love that any Man shall shewAfford to me, without I love him too?Why shou’d his Am’rous Passion more inclineTo move my Heart, than yours was mov’d by mine?And I perceive by what I now endure,That the first Wounds of Love admits no Cure;All sorts of Remedies then prove in vain,W’ are ne’er recover’d to our selves again;So fixt, and so immutable is Fate,We ’re doomed to Love, though w’ are repaid with Hate.
{I too must now forbear to write to you,
{Lest a Relapse shou’d by that means ensue;
{And the Event of this I ’ve no Desire to know.
Methinks you shou’d enough contented be
With th’ Ills you have already brought on me:
Sure now you need no more molest my Ease,
Or shake the Structure of my future Peace.
Do you but leave me in Uncertainty,
I hope in time I shall at quiet be:
’Tis not impossible but I may find
A Love as true as you have been unkind.
But what will Love that any Man shall shew
Afford to me, without I love him too?
Why shou’d his Am’rous Passion more incline
To move my Heart, than yours was mov’d by mine?
And I perceive by what I now endure,
That the first Wounds of Love admits no Cure;
All sorts of Remedies then prove in vain,
W’ are ne’er recover’d to our selves again;
So fixt, and so immutable is Fate,
We ’re doomed to Love, though w’ are repaid with Hate.
I ’m sure I cou’d not so hard-hearted be,To treat another as you ’ve treated me:Provided you was to another chang’d,Of you I cou’d not that way take revenge.I ’d fain perswade my self a Nun shou’d ne’erConfine the Passions of a Cavalier;But if a man wou’d by his Reason move,A Mistress in a Convent is most fit for Love;Those in the World do all their Thoughts employOn Balls, on Visits, and their Finery,Encrease their Husbands’ Jealousies and Cares,Whilst those who favour us have no such Fears.Alas! we ’ve nothing here to change Desire,But by Reflection daily fan the Fire.
I ’m sure I cou’d not so hard-hearted be,
To treat another as you ’ve treated me:
Provided you was to another chang’d,
Of you I cou’d not that way take revenge.
I ’d fain perswade my self a Nun shou’d ne’er
Confine the Passions of a Cavalier;
But if a man wou’d by his Reason move,
A Mistress in a Convent is most fit for Love;
Those in the World do all their Thoughts employ
On Balls, on Visits, and their Finery,
Encrease their Husbands’ Jealousies and Cares,
Whilst those who favour us have no such Fears.
Alas! we ’ve nothing here to change Desire,
But by Reflection daily fan the Fire.
I wou’d not have you think that I maintainThese Arguments, in hopes I may regainYour Love; too well I know my Destiny;I always was, and still must wretched be.{When you was here I did no Rest enjoy:{Present, for fear of infidelity;{When distant, Absence did my ease destroy.I always trembled while you was with me,Lest you shou’d be found, and come to Injury:While in the Field, both Lives in Danger were;Fear of my parents did encrease my Care.So that ’tis plain, ev’n at the best, my MindWas as disturb’d as I at present find:Since you left me, had you but once seem’d kind,I shou’d have follow’d, and not been confin’d.Alas! what wou’d have then become of me,T’ have brought a Scandal on my Family;T’ have lost my Parents and my Honour too,And, after all, to be despis’d by you?What Thoughts soever you of me retain,I reconjure you ne’er to write again:Methinks you shou’d sometimes reflect uponThe base ungen’rous Injuries you ’ve done.
I wou’d not have you think that I maintain
These Arguments, in hopes I may regain
Your Love; too well I know my Destiny;
I always was, and still must wretched be.
{When you was here I did no Rest enjoy:
{Present, for fear of infidelity;
{When distant, Absence did my ease destroy.
I always trembled while you was with me,
Lest you shou’d be found, and come to Injury:
While in the Field, both Lives in Danger were;
Fear of my parents did encrease my Care.
So that ’tis plain, ev’n at the best, my Mind
Was as disturb’d as I at present find:
Since you left me, had you but once seem’d kind,
I shou’d have follow’d, and not been confin’d.
Alas! what wou’d have then become of me,
T’ have brought a Scandal on my Family;
T’ have lost my Parents and my Honour too,
And, after all, to be despis’d by you?
What Thoughts soever you of me retain,
I reconjure you ne’er to write again:
Methinks you shou’d sometimes reflect upon
The base ungen’rous Injuries you ’ve done.
No woman sure did e’er so easy prove;What did you ever do to gain my Love?You was the first that to the Army went;To stay the longest there, the best content.Did you more careful of your Person grow,Altho’ upon my knees I begg’d you wou’d do so?Did you e’er strive to fix in Portugal,A Place where you was well belov’d of all?Your Brother’s Letter hurry’d you away,On the receipt of it you ’d not a moment stay;And I ’m inform’d you ne’er was pleased moreThan when on board a making from our Shore.You can’t deny but you deserve my Hate,And I may thank my self for all my Fate;I was too free, and gave my Heart too soon,And brought upon my self the Ills I ’ve undergone.Alas! from Love alone Love ne’er will rise,It must be rais’d by Skill and Artifice.Your first Design was to ensnare my Love,And nothing wou’d have spar’d that might successful prove:Nay, I believe, if it had needful been,Rather than failed, you wou’d have lov’d again;But you found easier ways to work upon,And thought it best to let the Lovealone.——
No woman sure did e’er so easy prove;
What did you ever do to gain my Love?
You was the first that to the Army went;
To stay the longest there, the best content.
Did you more careful of your Person grow,
Altho’ upon my knees I begg’d you wou’d do so?
Did you e’er strive to fix in Portugal,
A Place where you was well belov’d of all?
Your Brother’s Letter hurry’d you away,
On the receipt of it you ’d not a moment stay;
And I ’m inform’d you ne’er was pleased more
Than when on board a making from our Shore.
You can’t deny but you deserve my Hate,
And I may thank my self for all my Fate;
I was too free, and gave my Heart too soon,
And brought upon my self the Ills I ’ve undergone.
Alas! from Love alone Love ne’er will rise,
It must be rais’d by Skill and Artifice.
Your first Design was to ensnare my Love,
And nothing wou’d have spar’d that might successful prove:
Nay, I believe, if it had needful been,
Rather than failed, you wou’d have lov’d again;
But you found easier ways to work upon,
And thought it best to let the Lovealone.——
Perfidious Man! which way can you atoneFor th’ base and treach’rous Affronts you ’ve done?The blinding Passion now is vanquished quite,That kept the foulness of them from my sight:Must my tormented Soul never have Ease?When shall I be, thou cruel Man, at Peace?
Perfidious Man! which way can you atone
For th’ base and treach’rous Affronts you ’ve done?
The blinding Passion now is vanquished quite,
That kept the foulness of them from my sight:
Must my tormented Soul never have Ease?
When shall I be, thou cruel Man, at Peace?
Within a while you yet perhaps may hear,Or have a Letter, from your injur’d Fair,To let you know that she is at repose,Freed of the Torments that from you arose.Oh! what a Pleasure it will be to me,Without concern t’ accuse you of your Treachery!When I ’ve forgot the wracking Pains I ’ve born,And able am to talk of you with Scorn!
Within a while you yet perhaps may hear,
Or have a Letter, from your injur’d Fair,
To let you know that she is at repose,
Freed of the Torments that from you arose.
Oh! what a Pleasure it will be to me,
Without concern t’ accuse you of your Treachery!
When I ’ve forgot the wracking Pains I ’ve born,
And able am to talk of you with Scorn!
You ’ve had the better, it is plainly prov’d,Because I you have out of Reason lov’d;But by the Conquest you small Honour won,For I was young, and easily undone.I, whilst a Child, was cloister’d, knew no hurt,Discours’d with none but of the vulgar Sort,And what belonged to Flatt’ry never knew,Till I unhappily was taught by you:You ’d a good Character of every one,Which you made use of to entice me on.
You ’ve had the better, it is plainly prov’d,
Because I you have out of Reason lov’d;
But by the Conquest you small Honour won,
For I was young, and easily undone.
I, whilst a Child, was cloister’d, knew no hurt,
Discours’d with none but of the vulgar Sort,
And what belonged to Flatt’ry never knew,
Till I unhappily was taught by you:
You ’d a good Character of every one,
Which you made use of to entice me on.
My Indignation, and your Falsehood too,Makes me at present much disorder’d grow;But, I assure you, I will shortly findSome Means or other for to ease my Mind.Perhaps may take a way to quit my CareWhich, when ’tis acted, you ’ll be pleas’d to hear.
My Indignation, and your Falsehood too,
Makes me at present much disorder’d grow;
But, I assure you, I will shortly find
Some Means or other for to ease my Mind.
Perhaps may take a way to quit my Care
Which, when ’tis acted, you ’ll be pleas’d to hear.
Fool as I am, to say thus o’er and o’erThe same that I ’ve so often said before!Of you a Thought I must not entertain,And fancy too I ne’er shall write again?For what occasion ’s there that I to youShou’d be accountable for all I do?
Fool as I am, to say thus o’er and o’er
The same that I ’ve so often said before!
Of you a Thought I must not entertain,
And fancy too I ne’er shall write again?
For what occasion ’s there that I to you
Shou’d be accountable for all I do?
THE END OF THE NUN’S LETTERS.