elieve will go nigh to break my Heart.

For indeed, my Dear, I Love you above all the Beauties I ever saw in
all my Life.

The young Gentleman, and my Masters Daughter, the _Londoner_ that is
come down to marry her, sat in the Arbour most part of last Night. Oh!
dear _Betty_, must the Nightingales sing to those who marry for Mony,
and not to us true Lovers! Oh my dear _Betty_, that we could meet this
Night where we used to do in the Wood!

Now, my Dear, if I may not have the Blessing of kissing your sweet
Lips, I beg I may have the Happiness of kissing your fair Hand, with a
few Lines from your dear self, presented by whom you please or think
fit. I believe, if Time would permit me, I could write all Day; but
the Time being short, and Paper little, no more from your
never-failing Lover till Death, James ...

Poor James! Since his Time and Paper were so short; I, that have more
than I can use well of both, will put the Sentiments of his kind Letter
(the Stile of which seems to be confused with Scraps he had got in
hearing and reading what he did not understand) into what he meant to
express.

Dear Creature, Can you then neglect him who has forgot all his
Recreations and Enjoyments, to pine away his Life in thinking of you?

When I do so, you appear more amiable to me than _Venus_ does in the
most beautiful Description that ever was made of her. All this
Kindness you return with an Accusation, that I do not love you: But
the contrary is so manifest, that I cannot think you in earnest. But
the Certainty given me in your Message by _Molly_, that you do not
love me, is what robs me of all Comfort. She says you will not see me:
If you can have so much Cruelty, at least write to me, that I may kiss
the Impression made by your fair Hand. I love you above all things,
and, in my Condition, what you look upon with Indifference is to me
the most exquisite Pleasure or Pain. Our young Lady, and a fine
Gentleman from _London_, who are to marry for mercenary Ends, walk
about our Gardens, and hear the Voice of Evening Nightingales, as if
for Fashion-sake they courted those Solitudes, because they have heard
Lovers do so. Oh _Betty!_ could I hear these Rivulets murmur, and
Birds sing while you stood near me, how little sensible should I be
that we are both Servants, that there is anything on Earth above us.
Oh! I could write to you as long as I love you, till Death it