’.is time to be weary, ‘tis Night: Take leave of your Friends and retire home. ‘Tis in this Retreat that you ought to recollect in your Thoughts all the Actions of the Day, and all those things that you ought to give me an account of, in your Letter: You cannot hide the least Secret from me, without Treason against sacred Love. For all the World agrees that Confidence is one of the greatest Proofs of the Passion of Love; and that Lover who refuses his Confidence to the Person he loves, is to be suspected to love but very indifferently, and to think very poorly of the Sense and Generosity of his Mistress. But that you may acquit your self like a Man, and a Lover of Honour, and leave me no doubt upon my Soul; think of all you have done this day, that I may have all the Story of it in your next Letter to me: but deal faithfully, and neither add nor diminish in your Relation; the Truth and Sincerity of your Confession will atone even for little Faults that you shall commit against me, in some of those things you shall tell me. For if you have fail’d in any Point or Circumstance of Love, I had much rather hear it from you than another: for ‘tis a sort of Repentance to accuse your self; and would be a Crime unpardonable, if you suffer me to hear it from any other: And be assur’d, while you confess it, I shall be indulgent enough to forgive you. The noblest Quality of Man is Sincerity; and (_Damon_) one ought to have as much of it in Love, as in any other Business of one’s Life, notwithstanding the most part of Men make no account of it there; but will believe there ought to be Double-dealing, and an Art practised in Love as well as in War. But, Oh! beware of that Notion. Sincerity. _Sincerity! thou greatest Good!_ _Thou Virtue which so many boast!_ _And art so nicely understood!_ _And often in the searching lost!_ _For when we do approach thee near,_ _The fine Idea fram’d of thee,_ _Appears not now so charming fair_ _As the more useful Flattery._ _Thou hast no Glist’ring to invite;_ _Nor tak’st the Lover at first sight._ _The modest Virtue shuns the Croud,_ _And lives, like Vestals, in a Cell;_ _In Cities ‘twill not be allow’d,_ _Nor takes delight in Courts to dwell;_ _’.is Nonsense with the Man of Wit;_ _And ev’n a Scandal to the Great:_ _For all the Young, and Fair, unfit;_ _And scorn’d by wiser Fops of State._ _A Virtue, yet was never known_ _To the false Trader, or the falser Gown._ _And_ (Damon) _tho’ thy noble Blood_ _Be most illustrious, and refin’d;_ _Tho’ ev’ry Grace and ev’ry Good_ _Adorn thy Person and thy Mind:_ _Yet, if this Virtue shine not there,_ _This God-like Virtue, which alone,_ _Wert thou less witty, brave, or fair,_ _Wou’d for all these, less priz’d, atone;_ _My tender Folly I’d controul,_ _And scorn the Conquest of thy Soul._ EIGHT o’.LOCK.