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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431447" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Epistle from Arthur Grey, the Footman, to Mrs. Murray, after His Condemnation for Attempting to Commit Violence.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read, <br>I have no more to wish, nor you to dread; <br>I ask not life, for life to me were vain, <br>And death a refuge from severer pain. <br>My only hope in these last lines I try -- <br>I would be pitied, and I then would die. <br>Long had I liv'd as sordid as my fate, <br>Nor curs'd the destiny that made me wait <br>A servile slave: content with homely food, <br>The gross instinct of happiness pursued: <br>Youth gave me sleep at night and warmth of blood. <br>Ambition yet had never touch'd my breast; <br>My lordly master knew no sounder rest; <br>With labour healthy, in obedience blest. <br>But when I saw -- oh! had I never seen <br>That wounding softness, that engaging mien! <br>The mist of wretched education flies, <br>Shame, fear, desire, despair, and love arise, <br>The new creation of those beauteous eyes. <br>But yet that love pursu'd no guilty aim; <br>Deep in my heart I hid the secret flame: <br>I never hop'd my fond desire to tell, <br>And all my wishes were to serve you well. <br>Heav'ns! how I flew when wing'd by your command, <br>And kiss'd the letters giv'n me by your hand. <br>How pleas'd, how proud, how fond I was to wait, <br>Present the sparkling wine, or change the plate! <br>How, when you sung, my soul devour'd the sound, <br>And ev'ry sense was in the rapture drown'd! <br>Though bid to go, I quite forgot to move; <br>-- You knew not that stupidity was love! <br>But oh! the torment not to be express'd, <br>The grief, the rage, the hell, that fir'd this breast, <br>When my great rivals, in embroidery gay, <br>Sate by your side, or led you from the play! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I still contriv'd near as I could to stand <br>(the flambeau trembling in my shaking hand); <br>I saw, or thought I saw, those fingers press'd, <br>For thus their passion by my own I guess'd, <br>And jealous fury all my soul possess'd. <br>Like torrents, love and indignation meet, <br>And madness would have thrown me at your feet. <br>Turn, lovely nymph (for so I would have said), <br>Turn from those triflers who make love a trade; <br>This is true passion in my eyes you see; <br>They cannot, no -- they cannot love like me; <br>Frequent debauch has pall'd their sickly taste, <br>Faint their desire, and in a moment past; <br>They sigh not from the heart, but from the brain; <br>Vapours of vanity and strong champagne. <br>Too dull to feel what forms like yours inspire, <br>After long talking of their painted fire, <br>To some lewd brothel they at night retire; <br>There, pleas'd with fancy'd quality and charms, <br>Enjoy your beauties in a strumpet's arms. <br>Such are the joys those toasters have in view, <br>And such the wit and pleasure they pursue; <br>-- And is this love that ought to merit you? <br>Each opera night a new address begun, <br>They swear to thousands what they swear to one. <br>Not thus I sigh -- but all my sighs are vain -- <br>Die, wretched Arthur, and conceal thy pain: <br>'Tis impudence to wish, and madness to complain. <br>Fix'd on this view, my only hope of ease, <br>I waited not the aid of slow disease; <br>The keenest instruments of death I sought, <br>And death alone employ'd my lab'ring thought. <br>This all the night -- when I remember well <br>The charming tinkle of your morning bell! <br>Fir'd by the sound, I hasten'd with your tea, <br>With one last look to smooth the darksome way -- <br>But oh! how dear that fatal look has cost! <br>In that fond moment my resolves were lost. <br>Hence all my guilt, and all your sorrows rise -- <br>I saw the languid softness of your eyes; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I saw the dear disorder of your bed; <br>Your cheeks all glowing with a tempting red; <br>Your night-clothes tumbled with resistless grace, <br>Your flowing hair play'd careless down your face <br>Your night-gown fasten'd with a single pin; <br>-- Fancy improv'd the wondrous charms within! <br>I fix'd my eyes upon that heaving breast, <br>And hardly, hardly, I forbore the rest: <br>Eager to gaze, unsatisfied with sight, <br>My head grew giddy with the near delight! <br>-- Too well you know the fatal following night! <br>Th'extremest proof of my desire I give, <br>And since you will not love, I will not live. <br>Condemn'd by you, I wait the righteous doom. <br>Careless and fearless of the woes to come. <br>But when you see me waver in the wind, <br>My guilty flame extinct, my soul resign'd, <br>Sure you may pity what you can't approve, <br>The cruel consequence of furious love. <br>Think the bold wretch, that could so greatly dare, <br>Was tender, faithful, ardent, and sincere; <br>Think when I held the pistol to your breast, -- <br>Had I been of the world's large rule possess'd, -- <br>That world had then been yours, and I been blest; <br>Think that my life was quite below my care, <br>Nor fear'd I any hell beyond despair. -- <br>If these reflections, though they seize you late, <br>Give some compassion for your Arthur's fate: <br>Enough you give, nor ought I to complain: <br>You pay my pangs, nor have I died in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lady+Mary+Wortley+Montagu">Lady Mary Wortley Montagu</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=431447" data-title="Epistle from Arthur Grey, the Footman, to Mrs. Murray, after His Condemnation for Attempting to Commit Violence." data-description="Read, lovely nymph, and tremble not to read, 
I have no more to wish, nor you to dread; 
I ask not life, for life to me were vain, 
And death a refuge from severer pain. 
My only hope in these last lines I try -- 
I would be pitied, and I then wou..."></div>
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