LETTER XLVI MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ. [IN ANSWER TO LETTERS XXIX. XXXII. OF THIS VOLUME.] EDGWARE, MONDAY, JULY 24.
I speak! I know not what!-- Speak ever so: and if I answer you I know not what, it shows the more of love. Love is a child that talks in broken language; Yet then it speaks most plain.
The like may be pleaded in behalf of that modest respect which made the humble offerer afraid to invade the awful eye, or the revered hand; but awkwardly to drop its incense behind the altar it should have been laid upon. But how should that soul, which could treat delicacy itself brutally, know any thing of this!
But I am still more amazed at thy courage, to think of throwing thyself in the way of Miss Howe, and Miss Arabella Harlowe!--Thou wilt not dare, surely, to carry this thought into execution!
As to my dress, and thy dress, I have only to say, that the sum total of thy observation is this: that my outside is the worst of me; and thine the best of thee: and what gettest thou by the comparison? Do thou reform the one, I'll try to mend the other. I challenge thee to begin.
Mrs. Lovick gave me, at my request, the copy of a meditation she showed me, which was extracted by the lady from the scriptures, while under arrest at Rowland's, as appears by the date. The lady is not to know that I have taken a copy.
You and I always admired the noble simplicity, and natural ease and dignity of style, which are the distinguishing characteristics of these books, whenever any passages from them, by way of quotation in the works of other authors, popt upon us. And once I remember you, even you, observed, that those passages always appeared to you like a rich vein of golden ore, which runs through baser metals; embellishing the work they were brought to authenticate.
Try, Lovelace, if thou canst relish a Divine beauty. I think it must strike transient (if not permanent) remorse into thy heart. Thou boastest of thy ingenuousness: let this be the test of it; and whether thou canst be serious on a subject too deep, the occasion of it resulting from thyself.
MEDITATION Saturday, July 15.
O that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balance together!
For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words are swallowed up!
For the arrows of the Almighty are within me; the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit. The terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise? When will the night be gone? And I am full of tossings to and fro, unto the dawning of the day.
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope-- mine eye shall no more see good.
Wherefore is light given to her that is in misery; and life unto the bitter in soul?
Who longeth for death; but it cometh not; and diggeth for it more than for hid treasures?
Why is light given to one whose way is hid; and whom God hath hedged in?
For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me!
I was not in safety; neither had I rest; neither was I quiet; yet trouble came.
But behold God is mighty, and despiseth not any.
He giveth right to the poor--and if they be found in fetters, and holden in cords of affliction, then he showeth them their works and their transgressions.
I have a little leisure, and am in a scribbing vein: indulge me, Lovelace, a few reflections on these sacred books.