read over again this intended answer to my proposals: and how
I adore her for it!

But yet; another yet!--She has not given it or sent it to me.--It is not
therefore her answer. It is not written for me, though to me.

Nay, she has not intended to send it to me: she has even torn it, perhaps
with indignation, as thinking it too good for me. By this action she
absolutely retracts it. Why then does my foolish fondness seek to
establish for her the same merit in my heart, as if she avowed it?
Pr'ythee, dear Belford, once more, leave us to our fate; and do not thou
interpose with thy nonsense, to weaken a spirit already too squeamish,
and strengthen a conscience that has declared itself of her party.

Then again, remember thy recent discoveries, Lovelace! Remember her
indifference, attended with all the appearance of contempt and hatred.
View her, even now, wrapt up in reserve and mystery; meditating plots, as
far as thou knowest, against the sovereignty thou hast, by right of
conquest, obtained over her. Remember, in short, all thou hast
threatened to remember against this insolent beauty, who is a rebel to
the power she has listed under.

But yet, how dost thou propose to subdue thy sweet enemy!--Abhorred be
force, be the necessity of force, if that can be avoided! There is no
triumph in force--no conquest over the will--no prevailing by gentle
degrees over the gentle passions!--force is the devil!

My cursed character, as I have often said, was against me at setting out
--Yet is she not a woman? Cannot I find one yielding or but half-
yielding moment, if she do not absolutely hate me?

But with what can I tempt her?--RICHES she was born to, and despises,
knowing what they are. JEWELS and ornaments, to a mind so much a jewel,
and so richly set, her worthy consciousness will not let her value. LOVE
--if she be susceptible of love, it seems to be so much under the
direction of prudence, that one unguarded moment, I fear, cannot be
reasonably hoped for: and so much VIGILANCE, so much apprehensiveness,
that her fears are ever aforehand with her dangers. Then her LOVE or
VIRTUE seems to be principle, native principle, or, if not native, so
deeply rooted, that its fibres have struck into her heart, and, as she
grew up, so blended and twisted themselves with the strings of life, that
I doubt there is no separating of the one without cutting the others
asunder.

What then can be done to make such a matchless cre