Old Denham, naturally jealous, became more and more suspicious, and found that he had sufficient ground for such conduct:  his wife was young and handsome, he old and disagreeable:  what reason then had he to flatter himself that Heaven would exempt him from the fate of husbands in the like circumstances?  This he was continually saying to himself; but when compliments were poured in upon him from all sides, upon the place his lady was going to have near the duchess’s person, he formed ideas of what was sufficient to have made him hang himself, if he had possessed the resolution.  The traitor chose rather to exercise his courage against another.  He wanted precedents for putting in practice his resentments in a privileged country:  that of Lord Chesterfield was not sufficiently bitter for the revenge he meditated:  besides, he had no country-house to which he could carry his unfortunate wife.  This being the case, the old villain made her travel a much longer journey without stirring out of London.  Merciless fate robbed her of life, and of her dearest hopes, in the bloom of youth.

As no person entertained any doubt of his having poisoned her, the populace of his neighbourhood had a design of tearing him in pieces, as soon as he should come abroad; but he shut himself up to bewail her death, until their fury was appeased by a magnificent funeral, at which he distributed four times more burnt wine than had ever been drunk at any burial in England.

[The lampoons of the day, some of which are to be found in Andrew Marvell’s Works, more than insinuate that she was deprived of life by a mixture infused into some chocolate.  The slander of the times imputed her death to the jealousy of the Duchess of York.]

While the town was in fear of some great disaster, as an expiation for these fatal effects of jealousy, Hamilton was not altogether so easy as he flattered himself he should be after the departure of Lady Chesterfield:  he had only consulted the dictates of revenge in what he had done.  His vengeance was satisfied; but such was far from being the case with his love; and having, since the absence of her he still admired, notwithstanding his resentments, leisure to make those reflections which a recent injury will not permit a man to attend to:  “And wherefore,” said he to himself, “was I so eager to make her miserable, who alone, however culpable she may be, has it in her power to make me happy?  Cursed jealousy!” continued he, “yet more cruel to those who torment than to those who are tormented!  What have I gained by having blasted the hopes of a more happy rival, since I was not able to perform this without depriving myself, at the same time, of her upon whom the whole happiness and comfort of my life was centred.”

Thus, clearly proving to himself, by a great many reasonings of the same kind, and all out of season, that in such an engagement it was much better to partake with another than to have nothing at all, he filled his mind with a number of vain regrets and unprofitable remorse, when he received a letter from her who occasioned them, but a letter so exactly adapted to increase them, that, after he had read it, he looked upon himself as the greatest scoundrel in the world.  Here it follows: