It must be confest, _Damon_, that you are the most importuning Man in the World. Your Billets have a hundred times demanded a _Discretion_, which you won of me; and tell me, you will not wait my Return to be paid. You are either a very faithless Creditor, or believe me very unjust, that you dun with such impatience. But to let you see that I am a Maid of Honour, and value my Word, I will acquit my self of this Obligation I have to you, and send you a _Watch_ of my fashion; perhaps you never saw any so good. It is not one of those that have always something to be mended in it: but one that is without fault, very just and good, and will remain so as long as you continue to love me: But _Damon_, know, the very Minute you cease to do so, the String will break, and it will go no more. ‘Tis only useful in my Absence, and when I return ‘twill change its Motion: and though I have set it but for the Spring-time, ‘twill serve you the whole Year round: and ‘twill be necessary only that you alter the Business of the Hours (which my _Cupid_, in the middle of my _Watch_, points you out) according to the length of the Days and Nights. Nor is the Dart of that little God directed to those Hours, so much to inform you how they pass, as how you ought to pass them; how you ought to employ those of your Absence from _Iris_. ‘Tis there you shall find the whole Business of a Lover, from his Mistress; for I have design’d it a Rule to all your Actions. The Consideration of the Work-man ought to make you set a Value upon the Work: And though it be not an accomplisht and perfect piece; yet, _Damon_, you ought to be grateful and esteem it, since I have made it for you alone. But however I may boast of the Design, I know, as well as I believe you love me, that you will not suffer me to have the Glory of it wholly, but will say in your Heart, _That_ Love, _the great Instructor of the Mind,_ _That forms anew, and fashions every Soul,_ _Refines the gross Defects of human Kind;_ _Humbles the proud and vain, inspires the dull;_ _Gives Cowards noble Heat in Fight,_ _And teaches feeble Women how to write:_ _That doth the Universe Command,_ _Does from my_ Iris’ _Heart direct her Hand._ I give you the Liberty to say this to your Heart, if you please: And that you may know with what Justice you do so, I will confess in my turn. The Confession.