LETTER XIX

MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
SAT. AFTERNOON, SEPT. 9.


I understand, that thou breathest nothing but revenge against me, for
treating thee with so much freedom; and against the cursed woman and her
infernal crew. I am not at all concerned for thy menaces against myself.
It is my design to make thee feel. It gives me pleasure to find my
intention answered. And I congratulate thee, that thou hast not lost
that sense.

As to the cursed crew, well do they deserve the fire here, that thou
threatenest them with, and the fire hereafter, that seems to await them.
But I have this moment received news which will, in all likelihood, save
thee the guilt of punishing the old wretch for her share of wickedness as
thy agent. But if that happens to her which is likely to happen, wilt
thou not tremble for what may befal the principal?

Not to keep thee longer in suspense; last night, it seems, the infamous
woman got so heartily intoxicated with her beloved liquor, arrack punch,
at the expense of Colonel Salter, that, mistaking her way, she fell down
a pair of stairs, and broke her leg: and now, after a dreadful night, she
lies foaming, raving, roaring, in a burning fever, that wants not any
other fire to scorch her into a feeling more exquisite and durable than
any thy vengeance could give her.

The wretch has requested me to come to her; and lest I should refuse a
common messenger, sent her vile associate, Sally Martin; who not finding