And here is the sad thing; they cannot come to clere
up matters with my deerest young lady, because, as
your Honner has ordered it, they have these stories
as if bribed by me out of your Honner’s sarvant;
which must not be known for fere you should kill’n
and me too, and blacken the briber!—Ah!
your Honner! I doubte as tha I am a very vild
fellow, (Lord bless my soil, I pray God!) and did
not intend it.
But if my deerest younge lady should come to harm,
and plese your Honner, the horsepond at the Blew Bore—but
Lord preserve us all from all bad mischeff, and all
bad endes, I pray the Lord!—For tho’ff
you Honner is kinde to me in worldly pelf, yet what
shall a man get to loos his soul, as holy Skrittuer
says, and plese your Honner?
But natheless I am in hope of reppentence hereafter,
being but a younge man, if I do wrong thro’
ignorens: your Honner being a grate man, and a
grave wit; and I a poor crature, not worthy notice;
and your Honner able to answer for all. But,
howsomever, I am
Your Honner’s fetheful sarvant in all dewtie,
Joseph Leman.
April 15 and 16.
Mr. Lovelace, to Joseph Leman
Monday, April 17.
You have a worse opinion of your invention than you
ought to have. I must praise it again.
Of a plain man’s head, I have not known many
better than yours. How often have your forecast
and discretion answered my wishes in cases which I
could not foresee, not knowing how my general directions
would succeed, or what might happen in the execution
of them! You are too doubtful of your own abilities,
honest Joseph; that’s your fault.—But
it being a fault that is owing to natural modesty,
you ought rather to be pitied for it than blamed.
The affair of Miss Betterton was a youthful frolic.
I love dearly to exercise my invention. I do
assure you, Joseph, that I have ever had more pleasure
in my contrivances, than in the end of them.
I am no sensual man: but a man of spirit—one
woman is like another—you understand me,
Joseph.—In coursing, all the sport is made
by the winding hare—a barn-door chick is
better eating—now you take me, Joseph.
Miss Betterton was but a tradesman’s daughter.
The family, indeed, was grown rich, and aimed at
a new line of gentry; and were unreasonable enough
to expect a man of my family would marry her.
I was honest. I gave the young lady no hope
of that; for she put it to me. She resented
—kept up, and was kept up. A little
innocent contrivance was necessary to get her out.
But no rape in the case, I assure you, Joseph.
She loved me—I loved her. Indeed,
when I got her to the inn, I asked her no question.
It is cruel to ask a modest woman for her consent.
It is creating difficulties to both. Had not
her friends been officious, I had been constant and
faithful to her to this day, as far as I know—for
then I had not known my angel.
