lest he exalt himself.


Why now, Mrs. Lovick, said I, when I had read this meditation, as she
called it, I think I am very severely treated by the lady, if she mean me
in all this. For how is it that I am the enemy of her soul, when I love
her both soul and body?

She says, that I am a violent man, and a wicked man.--That I have been
so, I own: but I repent, and only wish to have it in my power to repair
the injuries I have done her.

The gin, the snare, the net, mean matrimony, I suppose--But is it a crime
in me to wish to marry her? Would any other woman think it so? and
choose to become a pelican in the wilderness, or a lonely sparrow on the
house-top, rather than have a mate that would chirp about her all day and
all night?

She says, she has eaten ashes like bread--A sad mistake to be sure!--And
mingled her drink with weeping--Sweet maudlin soul! should I say of any
body confessing this, but Miss Harlowe.

She concludes with praying, that the desires of the wicked (meaning poor
me, I doubt) may not be granted; that my devices may not be furthered,
lest I exalt myself. I should undoubtedly exalt myself, and with reason,
could I have the honour and the blessing of such a wife. And if my
desires have so honourable an end, I know not why I should be called
wicked, and why I should not be allowed to hope, that my honest devices
may be furthered, that I MAY exalt myself.