No doubt of it, as thou sayest, the devils would rejoice in the fall of such a woman.  But this is my confidence, that I shall have it in my power to marry when I will.  And if I do her this justice, shall I not have a claim of her gratitude?  And will she not think herself the obliged, rather than the obliger?  Then let me tell thee, Belford, it is impossible so far to hurt the morals of this lady, as thou and thy brother varlets have hurt others of the sex, who now are casting about the town firebrands and double death.  Take ye that thistle to mumble upon.

***

A short interruption.  I now resume.

That the morals of this lady cannot fail, is a consideration that will lessen the guilt on both sides.  And if, when subdued, she knows but how to middle the matter between virtue and love, then will she be a wife for me:  for already I am convinced that there is not a woman in the world that is love-proof and plot-proof, if she be not the person.

And now imagine (the charmer overcome) thou seest me sitting supinely cross-kneed, reclining on my sofa, the god of love dancing in my eyes, and rejoicing in every mantling feature; the sweet rogue, late such a proud rogue, wholly in my power, moving up slowly to me, at my beck, with heaving sighs, half-pronounced upbraidings from murmuring lips, her finger in her eye, and quickening her pace at my Come hither, dearest!

One hand stuck in my side, the other extended to encourage her bashful approach—­Kiss me, love!—­sweet, as Jack Belford says, are the joys that come with willingness.

She tenders her purple mouth [her coral lips will be purple then, Jack!]:  sigh not so deeply, my beloved!—­Happier hours await thy humble love, than did thy proud resistance.

Once more bent to my ardent lips the swanny glossiness of a neck late so stately.—­

There’s my precious!

Again!

Obliging loveliness!

O my ever-blooming glory!  I have tried thee enough.  To-morrow’s sun—­

Then I rise, and fold to my almost-talking heart the throbbing-bosom’d charmer.

And now shall thy humble pride confess its obligation to me!

To-morrow’s sun—­and then I disengage myself from the bashful passive, and stalk about the room—­to-morrow’s sun shall gild the altar at which my vows shall be paid thee!

Then, Jack, the rapture! then the darted sun-beams from her gladdened eye, drinking up, at one sip, the precious distillation from the pearl-dropt cheek!  Then hands ardently folded, eyes seeming to pronounce, God bless my Lovelace! to supply the joy-locked tongue:  her transports too strong, and expression too weak, to give utterance to her grateful meanings!—­All—­all the studies—­all the studies of her future life vowed and devoted (when she can speak) to acknowledge and return the perpetual obligation!

If I could bring my charmer to this, would it not be the eligible of eligibles?—­Is it not worth trying for?—­As I said, I can marry her when I will.  She can be nobody’s but mine, neither for shame, nor by choice, nor yet by address:  for who, that knows my character, believes that the worst she dreads is now to be dreaded?