Farewel, I wish your Eyes I ’d never seen, But ah! my Heart, now contradicts my Pen. I find I ’d rather live involv’d in Harms Than once to wish I ne’er had known your Charms. And since you think not fit to mend my State, I ’ll cheerfully (tho’ hard) embrace my Fate. Adieu,--but Promise me when I am dead, Some pitying Tears you ’ll o’er my Ashes shed. At least, let my too-sad Example prove The means to hinder any other Love. ’Twill yield some Ease, since I must lose your Charms, That you ’ll not revel in another’s Arms. Neither can you be so inhumane sure To make my Fate assist a new Amour. I fear my Lines are troublesome to you; But you ’ll forgive my foolery--adieu, Ah me! methinks too often I repeat The Story of my too unhappy Fate; Yet let me pay the Thanks to you I owe For all the Miseries I undergo. I hate the State in which I liv’d before The more my Cares encrease, I ’m pleas’d the more; My Flame does greater every moment grow-- And I have still--Ten Thousand Thousand Things to say to you.---- LETTER IV From a Nun to a Cavalier Ye Gods! the Torments that from Love arise When the dear Object’s absent from our Eyes! I ’m told you ’ve been by raging Tempests toss’d, And forc’d to seek some Hospitable Coast, The Sea, that is the faithless Lover’s Foe, I doubt will hardly e’er agree with you. And oh! my Fears for th’ Dangers you may meet, Make me my own Tormenting Pains forget. But is your Friend then more concern’d to know Than I, the Perils that you undergo? If not, how comes it that you cou’d afford To write to him, whilst I have not a Word?---- Why do I talk? what cou’d I else expect? But base Ingratitude, and cold Neglect? From one who slighting all which once he swore Now seeks new Beauties on a Foreign Shore.---- Yet Heav’n avert its Wrath, nor may’st thou be E’er punished for thy Treachery to me, For faithless as you are, I ’m still inclin’d Not to revenge, but rather to be kind.---- Tis plain, I ’m now the least of all your Care, Else you ’d have some regard to My Despair. But I, tho’ wrack’d and torn with endless Pain, To one relentless as the grave complain. Yet I, fond I! regardless of my Fame, Still Cherish, and Indulge this fatal Flame; In vain my Reason offers to perswade, } I scorn its Counsel, and contemn its Aid, } And find a Pleasure in my being mad. } Had you but with this Coldness been possest, When first you rais’d those Tumults in my Breast: How many plagues had it from me detain’d! How calm! how easie had I now remain’d!