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Updated: July 27, 2025
My divine maid, thus were my thoughts employ'd, when from the farthest end of the grove, where I now remain, I saw Dorillus approach with thy welcome letter; he tells, you had like to have been surpris'd in making it up; and he receiv'd it with much difficulty: ah Sylvia, should any accident happen to prevent my seeing you to-night, I were undone for ever, and you must expect to find me stretch'd out, dead and cold under this oak, where now I lie writing on its knotty root.
I have not a minute to write in; place, my dear Philander, your chariot in St Vincent's Wood, and since I am not able to fix the hour of my flight, let it wait there my coming; it is but a little mile from Bellfont, Dorillus is suspected there, remove thyself to the high-way-gate cottage there I'll call on thee 'twas lucky, that thy fears, or love, or jealousy brought thee so near me, since I'd resolv'd before upon my flight.
With much ado, with many a sigh, a panting heart, and many a languishing look back towards happy Bellfont, I have recovered Dorillus his farm, where I threw me on a bed, and lay without motion, and almost without life for two hours; till at last, through all my sighs, my great concern, my torment, my love and rage broke silence, and burst into all the different complaints both soft and mad by turns, that ever possessed a soul extravagantly seized with frantic love; ah, Sylvia, what did not I say?
If Dorillus come not with a letter, or that my page, whom I have sent to this cottage for one, bring it not, I cannot support my life: for oh, Philander, I have a thousand wild distracting fears, knowing how you are involv'd in the interest you have espoused with the young Cesario: how danger surrounds you, how your life and glory depend on the frail sacrifice of villains and rebels: oh give me leave to fear eternally your fame and life, if not your love; If Sylvia could command, Philander should be loyal as he's noble; and what generous maid would not suspect his vows to a mistress, who breaks 'em with his prince and master!
I am yet at Dorillus his farm, lingering on from one swift minute to the other, and have not power to go; a thousand looks all languishing I've cast from eyes all drowned in tears towards Bellfont, have sighed a thousand wishes to my angel, from a sad breaking heart love will not let me go and honour calls me alas, I must away; when shall we meet again? Ah, when my Sylvia?
I have at last recover'd sense enough to tell you, I have receiv'd your letter by Dorillus, and which had like to have been discover'd; for he prudently enough put it under the strawberries he brought me in a basket, fearing he should get no other opportunity to have given it me; and my mother seeing them look so fair and fresh, snatch'd the basket with a greediness I have not seen in her before; whilst she was calling to her page for a porcelain dish to put them out, Dorillus had an opportunity to hint to me what lay at the bottom: heavens! had you seen my disorder and confusion; what should I do?
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