I’m told that France has made a Peace; if so } A Visit here then sure you might bestow, } And take me with you wheresoe’er you go, } That must alone at your disposal be, I fear (alas) it is too good for me. Since you first left this sad forsaken Place, I ’ve not enjoy’d a Moment’s Health or Ease: The Accent of your Name my Cares abate, Which I a thousand times a Day repeat. Within our Convent some there are who know } From whence the Source of all my Sorrows flow, } Who strive to Ease me and Discourse of you. } I ’m constant to my Chamber, which is dear To me, because you ’ve been so often there: Your Picture as unvaluable I prize, And have it always fixt before my Eyes: The Counterfeit does Satisfaction give; But when I think that I must never live To see the Bright, the Fair Original, Great are the Horrors, great the Pains I feel, Oh! how I ’m wrack’d and torn with endless Pain To think I ne’er must see you here again! But why shou’d it be possible to be That I your lovely Form no more must see? For ever! are you then for ever gone? For ever must I make my fruitless Moan? No, Mariane, thou wilt soon have Peace; Kind Death approaches, he will give thee Ease. Ah me! how fast my fainting Spirits fail!-- Farewel, Oh, pity me!--Thou lovely Man, Farewel.---- LETTER III From a Nun to a Cavalier What will become of miserable me? What will th’ Event of my Misfortunes be, How can I hold, now all my hopes retire? On them I liv’d, and must with them expire. Where are the cordial Lines to heal my Pain, T’ assure me I shall see you here again? Where are the Letters that should bring Relief, Compose my Soul, and mitigate my Grief? Fool’d with vain Projects, I of late design’d To strive to calm and heal my tortur’d Mind: The slender Hopes I have of seeing you, Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu; Th’ Improbability of your Return, The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born, Your frivolous Excuses to be gone, Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on; Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon, I found I still must love, still doat and be undone. Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bear The heavy Burthen, which you ought to share. You ’re the Offender, and I undergo The Punishment, which ought to fall on you. ’Tis plain, I never yet enjoy’d your Love, Since all my Torments can’t your Pity move, Feign’d were the Transports, false the Vows you made, And only us’d that I might be betray’d. Your whole Design was to ensnare my Heart Then cruelly to act a Tyrant’s Part.