Farquhar către Anne Oldfield

Farquhar (ce nume straniu, persan parcă!) a fost să fie un dramaturg britanic de acum trei secole (cu perucă albă, cârlionțată), îndrăgostit de actrița Anne Oldfield (în imagine). Epistola lui de dragoste este nărăvașă, cinică, impetuoasă. Mr. F se pretinde învins și se predă; și, totuși, nu o face pe de-a-ntregul. Finalul epistolei e captivant, cu sare, piper și boia, ca să zic așa. Final delicios de orgolios înăuntrul iubirii.

I came, I saw, and was conquered; never had man more to say, yet I can say nothing; where others go to save their souls, there have I lost mine; but I hope that Divinity which has the justest title to its service has received it; but I will endeavor to suspend these raptures for a moment, and talk calmly.

Nothing on earth, madam, can charm, beyond your wit but your beauty: after this not to love you would proclaim me a fool; and to say I did when I thought otherwise would pronounce me a knave; if anybody called me either I should resent it; and if you but think me either I shall break my heart.

You have already, madam, seen enough of me to create a liking or an aversion; your sense is above your sex, then let your proceeding be so likewise, and tell me plainly what I have to hope for. Were I to consult my merits my humility would chide any shadow of hope; but after a sight of such a face whose whole composition is a smile of good nature, why should I be so unjust as to suspect you of cruelty. Let me either live in London and be happy or retire again to my desert to check my vanity that drew me thence; but let me beg you to receive my sentence from your own mouth, that I may hear you speak and see you look at the same time; then let me be unfortunate if I can.

If you are not the lady in mourning that sat upon my right hand at church, you may go to the devil, for I’m sure you’re a witch.