I wonder how you learnt to
love so easily, I had a thousand Charms to meet my Eyes and Ears, e'er
I cou'd yield; and 'twas the knowledge of Belvile's Merit, not the
surprising Person, took my Soul- Thou art too rash to give a Heart at
first sight. Hell. Hang your considering Lover; I ne'er thought beyond
the Fancy, that 'twas a very pretty, idle, silly kind of Pleasure to
pass ones time with, to write little, soft, nonsensical Billets, and
with great difficulty and danger receive Answers; in which I shall
have my Beauty prais'd, my Wit admir'd (tho little or none) and have
the Vanity and Power to know I am desirable; then I have the more
Inclination that way, because I am to be a Nun, and so shall not be
suspected to have any such earthly Thoughts about me- But when I walk
thus- and sigh thus- they'll think my Mind's upon my Monastery, and
cry, how happy 'tis she's so resolv'd!- But not a Word of Man. Flor.
What a mad Creature's this! Hell. I'll warrant, if my Brother hears
either of you sigh, he cries (gravely)- I fear you have the
Indiscretion to be in love, but take heed of the Honour of our House,
and your own unspotted Fame; and so he conjures on till he has laid
the soft-wing'd God in your Hearts, or broke the Birds-nest- But see
here comes your Lover: but where's my inconstant? let's step aside,
and we may learn something.
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