If you wou'd recover your
strength, ask Gito, or rather not ask him for't--I can assure a return
of your vigour if you cou'd sleep three nights alone: As to myself I
am not in the least apprehensive of appearing to another less charming
than I have to you. I am told neither my glass nor report does
flatter me. Farewell, if you can."
When Chrysis found I had read the reproach, "This is the custom, sir,"
said she, "and chiefly of this city, where the women are skill'd in
magick-charms, enough to make the moon confess their power, therefore
the recovery of any useful instrument of love becomes their care; 'tis
only writing some soft tender things to my lady, and you make her
happy in a kind return. For 'tis confest, since her disappointment,
she has not been her self." I readily consented, and calling for
paper, thus addrest myself:
"'Tis confest, madam, I have often sinned, for I'm not only a man, but
a very young one, yet never left the field so dishonourably before.
You have at your feet a confessing criminal, that deserves whatever
you inflict: I have cut a throat, betray'd my country, committed
sacrilege; if a punishment for any of these will serve, I am ready to
receive sentence. If you fancy my death, I wait you with my sword;
but if a beating will content you, I fly naked to your arms. Only
remember, that 'twas not the workman, but his instruments that fail'd:
I was ready to engage, but wanted arms.
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