O, my fair Eloisa, what a strange capricious deity is Love! My present felicity seems far to exceed my most sanguine expectations, and yet I am discontented. You love me, you confess your passion, and yet I sigh. My presumptuous heart dares to wish still farther, though all my wishes are gratified. I am punished with its wild imaginations; they render me unhappy in the very bosom of felicity. Do not, however, believe that I have forgotten the laws you have imposed, or lost the power of obedience: no, but I am displeased to find the observance of those laws irksome to me alone; that you, who not long ago, was all imbecility, are now become so great a heroine; and that you are so excessively careful to prevent every proof of my integrity.
How you are changed, andyoualone, within these two months! Where is now your languor, your disgust, your dejected look? The graces have again resumed their post; your charms are all returned; the new-blown rose is not more fresh and blooming; you have recovered your vivacity and wit; you banter, even with me, as formerly; but what hurts me more than all this, is that you swear eternal fidelity with as much gaiety and good humour as if it were something droll, or indifferent.
O, my fair inconstant! is this characteristic of an ungovernable passion? If you were, in any degree, at war with your inclinations, would not the constraint throw a damp upon your enjoyments? O how infinitely more amiable you were, when less beautiful! How do I regret that pathetic paleness, that precious assurance of a lover's happiness, and hate the indiscretion of that health which you have recovered at the expense of my repose! Yes, I could be much better satisfied with your indisposition, than with that air of content, those sparkling eyes, that blooming complexion, which conspire to insult me. Have you already forgot the time when you were glad to sue for mercy? Eloisa, Eloisa! the violent tempest hath been very suddenly allayed.
But what vexes me most, is that, after having committed yourself entirely to my honour, you should seem apprehensive and mistrustful where there is no danger. Is it thus I am rewarded for my discretion? Does my inviolable respect deserve to be thus affronted? Your father's absence is so far from giving you more liberty, that it is now almost impossible to catch you alone. Yourconstantcousin never leaves you a moment. I find we are insensibly returning to our former circumspection, with this difference only that what was then irksome to you is now become matter of amusement.
What recompense can I expect for the purity of my adoration, if not your esteem? And to what purpose have I abstained even from the least indulgence, if it produces no gratitude? In short, I am weary of suffering ineffectually, and of living in a state of continued self-denial, without being allowed the merit of it. I cannot bear to be despised whilst you are growing every day more beautiful. Why am I to gaze eternally at those delicious fruits which my lips dare not touch? Must I relinquish all hope, without the satisfaction of a voluntary sacrifice? No, since you depend no longer upon my honour, it stands released from its vain engagement; your own precautions are sufficient. You are ungrateful, and I am too scrupulous; but for the future I am resolved not to reject the happiness which fortune, in spite of you, may throw in my way. Be it as it will, I find that I have taken upon me a charge that is above my capacity. Eloisa, you are once more your own guardian. I must resign the deposit which I cannot preserve without being tempted to a breach of faith, and which you yourself are able to secure with less difficulty than you were pleased to imagine.
I speak seriously; depend upon your own strength, else banish me, or in other words, deprive me of existence. The promise I made, was rash and inconsiderate; and I am amazed how I have been able to keep it so long. I confess it ought to remain for ever inviolable; but of that I now perceive the impossibility. He who wantonly exposes his virtue to such severe trials, deserves to fall. Believe me, fairest among women! by him who desired life only on your account, you will always be honoured and respected; but reason may forsake me, and my intoxicated senses may hint the perpetration of a crime, which, in my cooler hours, I should abhor. I am however happy in the reflection that I have not hitherto abused your confidence. Two whole months have I triumphed over myself; but I am intitled to the reward due to as many ages of torment.
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