I confess to you, my dear Lysander, that it was a great while before I cou'd make myself be believ'd by Bellinda, or gain any credit upon her heart, she had a great deal of Wit and cou'd see farther into the designs of her Lovers than those who had not so much, or had had so many vows pay'd them: I perceiv'd well enough, I was not hated by her, and that she had not a heart wholly insensible; so that I never quitted her till I had gain'd so much upon her to accompany me to Permission, where for some time we pass our days very pleasantly; and having so good fortune with Bellinda, I had now a great desire to try my power over Bellimante: and where indeed, contrary to my expectation, I was not so happy: But she went from me to Denial; and I was for that hour oblig'd to return again to Bellinda, it was some time I searcht her in vain, but at last found her at a little Village, extreamly agreeable. There are very few Inhabitants, but those that are live in perpetual union, yet do not talk much, for they understand one another with half words: A sign of the Hand, the Head or the Eye, a glance or smile is sufficient to declare a great part of the Inclination. It is here where the Lover takes all freedoms, without controul, and says and does all that soft Love can permit: And every day they take and give a secret Entertainment, speaking a particular Language, which every body does not understand, and none but Lovers can reply to; in effect, there are as many Languages as there are persons.
The Governess of this Village is very charming to those that are acquainted with her; and as disagreeable to those that are not; she is a person of a great deal of Wit, and knows all things. She has a thousand ways to make herself understood, and comprehends all in a moment, that you wou'd or can say to her.
In this place, to divert, we make a thousand pretty sorts of Entertainments; and we have abundance of Artifices, which signify nothing, and yet they serve to make life Agreeable and Pleasant.
'Twas thus I liv'd at Intelligence; when I understood that Bellimante was retir'd to Cruelty. This news afflicted me extreamly, but I was not now of a humour to swell the Floods with my tears, or increase the rude winds with my ruder sighs; to tear my hair and beat my Innocent breast as I us'd in my first Amour to do. However I was so far concern'd that I made it my business not to lose this insensible fair one, but making her a visit in spight of her retreat, I reproacht her with cruelty.
Why, fair Maid, are you uneasy,
When a slave designs to please you;
When he at your feet is lying
Sighing, languishing, and dying?
Why do you preserve your charms
Only for offensive Armes?
What the Lover wou'd possess
You maintain but to oppress.
Cease, fair Maid, your cruel sway,
And let your Lover dy a nobler way.
Who the Devil wou'd not believe me as much in love now as I ever was with Silvia: My heart had learnt then all the soft Language of Love which now it cou'd prattle as naturally as its Mother Tongue; and sighing and dying was as ready for my mouth as when it came from my very heart; and cost me nothing to speak; Love being as cheaply made now by me as a barter for a Horse or a Coach; and with as little concern almost: It pleas'd me while I was speaking, and while I believ'd I was gaining the vanity and pleasure of a conquest over an unvanquisht heart. However I cou'd yet perceive no Grist come to my Mill; no heart to my Lure; young as it was, it had a cunning that was harder to deceive than all Bellinda's Wit: And seeing her persist still in her Resolution I left her with a heart, whose pride more than Passion resented the obdurat'ness of this Maid, I went as well compos'd however as I cou'd to Intelligence; and found even some pleasure in the cruelty and charming resistance of Bellimante, since I propos'd to myself an infinite happiness in softening a heart so averse to Love, and which I knew I shou'd compel to yield some time or other with very little pains and force.
Oh! what Pleasure 'tis to find
A coy heart melt by slow degrees;
When to yielding 'tis inclin'd,
Yet her fear a ruin sees.
When her tears do kindly flow,
And her sighs do come and goe.
Oh! how charming 'tis, to meet
Soft resistance from the fair;
When her pride and wishes meet
And by turns increase her care,
Oh! how charming 'tis to know,
She wou'd yield but can't tell how.
Oh! how pretty is her scorn
When confus'd 'twixt Love and shame,
Still refusing (though she burn,)
The soft pressures of my Flame.
Her Pride in her denyal lies,
And mine is in my Victories.