In fact, I know not how the thing began,— ’Tis their dependence on my credit here, And fear not, nor, in fact, have cause to fear.” But did that pair, who seem’d to think that all Unwatch’d will wander and unguarded fall, Did they permit a youth and maid to meet Both unreproved? were they so indiscreet? This sometimes enter’d Henry’s mind, and then, “Who shall account for women or for men?” 450 He said; “or who their secret thoughts explore? Why do I vex me? I will think no more.” My lord of late had said, in manner kind, “My good friend Harry, do not think us blind!” Letters had past, though he had nothing seen, His careful father and my lord between; But to what purpose was to him unknown— It might be borough business, or their own. Fanny, it seem’d, was now no more in dread; If one approach’d, she neither fear’d nor fled. 460 He mused on this—“But wherefore her alarm? She knows me better, and she dreads no harm.” Something his father wrote that gave him pain: “I know not, son, if you should yet remain;— Be cautious, Harry; favours to procure We strain a point, but we must first be sure. Love is a folly—that, indeed, is true— } But something still is to our honour due; } So I must leave the thing to my good lord and you.” } But from Cecilia came remonstrance strong: 470 “You write too darkly, and you stay too long; We hear reports; and, Henry—mark me well— I heed not every tale that triflers tell;— Be you no trifler; dare not to believe That I am one whom words and vows deceive: You know your heart, your hazard you will learn, And this your trial——instantly return.”— “Unjust, injurious, jealous, cruel maid! } Am I a slave, of haughty words afraid? } Can she who thus commands expect to be obey’d? 480} O! how unlike this dear assenting soul, Whose heart a man might at his will control!” Uneasy, anxious, fill’d with self-reproof, He now resolved to quit his patron’s roof; And then again his vacillating mind To stay resolved, and that her pride should find. Debating thus, his pen the lover took, And chose the words of anger and rebuke. Again, yet once again, the conscious pair Met, and “O, speak!” was Fanny’s silent prayer; 490 And, “I must speak,” said the embarrass’d youth, “Must save my honour, must confess the truth. Then, I must lose her; but, by slow degrees, She will regain her peace, and I my ease.” Ah! foolish man! to virtue true nor vice, He buys distress, and self-esteem the price; And what his gain?—a tender smile and sigh From a fond girl to feed his vanity. Thus, every day they lived, and every time They met, increased his anguish and his crime. 500 Still in their meetings they were ofttimes nigh The darling theme, and then past trembling by; On those occasions Henry often tried For the sad truth—and then his heart denied