Such is the woman, such is the angel, whom thou hast betrayed into thy power, and wouldst deceive and ruin.—–­Sweet creature! did she but know how she is surrounded, (as I then thought, as well as now think,) and what is intended, how much sooner would death be her choice, than so dreadful a situation!—­’And how effectually would her story, were it generally known, warn all the sex against throwing themselves into the power of ours, let our vows, oaths, and protestations, be what they will!’

But let me beg of thee, once more, my dear Lovelace, if thou hast any regard for thine own honour, for the honour of thy family, for thy future peace, or for my opinion of thee, (who yet pretend not to be so much moved by principle, as by that dazzling merit which ought still more to attract thee,) to be prevailed upon—­to be—­to be humane, that’s all—­ only, that thou wouldst not disgrace our common humanity!

Hardened as thou art, I know that they are the abandoned people in the house who keep thee up to a resolution against her.  O that the sagacious fair-one (with so much innocent charity in her own heart) had not so resolutely held those women at distance!—­that as she boarded there, she had oftener tabled with them!  Specious as they are, in a week’s time, she would have seen through them; they could not have been always so guarded, as they were when they saw her but seldom, and when they prepared themselves to see her; and she would have fled their house as a place infected.  And yet, perhaps, with so determined an enterprizer, this discovery might have accelerated her ruin.

I know that thou art nice in thy loves.  But are there not hundreds of women, who, though not utterly abandoned, would be taken with thee for mere personal regards!  Make a toy, if thou wilt, of principle, with respect to such of the sex as regard it as a toy; but rob not an angel of those purities, which, in her own opinion, constitute the difference between angelic and brutal qualities.

With regard to the passion itself, the less of soul in either man or woman, the more sensual are they.  Thou, Lovelace, hast a soul, though a corrupted one; and art more intent (as thou even gloriest) upon the preparative stratagem, that upon the end of conquering.

See we not the natural bent of idiots and the crazed?  The very appetite is body; and when we ourselves are most fools, and crazed, then are we most eager in these pursuits.  See what fools this passion makes the wisest men!  What snivellers, what dotards, when they suffer themselves to be run away with by it!—­An unpermanent passion!  Since, if (ashamed of its more proper name) we must call it love, love gratified, is love satisfied—­and where consent on one side adds to the obligation on the other.  What then but remorse can follow a forcible attempt?

Do not even chaste lovers choose to be alone in their courtship preparations, ashamed to have even a child to witness to their foolish actions, and more foolish expressions?  Is this deified passion, in its greatest altitudes, fitted to stand the day?  Do not the lovers, when mutual consent awaits their wills, retire to coverts, and to darkness, to complete their wishes?  And shall such a sneaking passion as this, which can be so easily gratified by viler objects, be permitted to debase the noblest?