LETTER XVII
MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.MONDAY, JULY 17, ELEVEN AT NIGHT.
Curse upon thy hard heart, thou vile caitiff! How hast thou tortured me,by thy designed abruption! 'tis impossible that Miss Harlowe should haveever suffered as thou hast made me suffer, and as I now suffer!
That sex is made to bear pain. It is a curse that the first of itentailed upon all her daughters, when she brought the curse upon us all.And they love those best, whether man or child, who give them most--Butto stretch upon thy d----d tenter-hooks such a spirit as mine--No rack,no torture, can equal my torture!
And must I still wait the return of another messenger?
Confound thee for a malicious devil! I wish thou wert a post-horse, andI upon the back of thee! how would I whip and spur, and harrow up thyclumsy sides, till I make thee a ready-roasted, ready-flayed, mess ofdog's meat; all the hounds in the country howling after thee, as I drovethee, to wait my dismounting, in order to devour thee piece-meal; lifestill throbbing in each churned mouthful!
Give this fellow the sequel of thy tormenting scribble.
Dispatch him away with it. Thou hast promised it shall be ready. Everycushion or chair I shall sit upon, the bed I shall lie down upon (if I goto bed) till he return, will be stuffed with bolt-upright awls, bodkins,corking-pins, and packing needles: already I can fancy that, to pink mybody like my mind, I need only to be put into a hogshead stuck full ofsteel-pointed spikes, and rolled down a hill three times as high as theMonument.
But I lose time; yet know not how to employ it till this fellow returnswith the sequel of thy soul-harrowing intelligence!