un-employ'd

Updated: May 28, 2025

I die with that thought, my guilty pen slackens in my trembling hand, and I languish and fall over the un-employ'd paper; oh help me, some divinity, or if you did, I fear I should be angry: oh Philander! a thousand passions and distracted thoughts crowd to get out, and make their soft complaints to thee; but oh they lose themselves with mixing; they are blended in a confusion together, and love nor art can divide them, to deal them out in order; sometimes I would tell you of my joy at your arrival, and my unspeaking transports at the thought of seeing you so soon, that I shall hear your charming voice, and find you at my feet making soft vows anew, with all the passion of an impatient lover, with all the eloquence that sighs and cries, and tears from those lovely eyes can express; and sure that is enough to conquer any where, and to which coarse vulgar words are dull.

Aphra Behn - Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister