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To Madam — LETTER. LXXV.
MADAM,
SInce yesterday hath seem'd longer to me then the three last months, wherein I had not seen you, and that there is not any one here will be troubled with my Letters, give me leave to write to you, and to tell you that I never was so deeply in love. Three or four things of those you said to me that day have so taken up my thoughts, that I have not been able to apprehend any of those have been told me since. Besides, what you seemingly granted me, and which you did meerly to oblige me, is like to prove my ruin, and I find by experience that when it was your in∣tention to give me liberty, you cast me into Prison. This makes a brighter fire then the aromatick wood you had prepar'd for me, and it must be granted the flame of it is very pleasant since I am taken with it, even when I am devour'd thereby. I do not therefore beg any relief from you in the condition I am in, I wish not any remedies that should quench it; but would rather embrace those that should augment it. My only suit to you is, that I may burn in your presence, and since I must be consum'd, that it may be near you, that you may not want my Ashes. Those of a Lover so full of respect, so reasonable, and indifferent as to his own concern∣ments, deserve to be preserv'd, and you cannot in justice deny that favour to a man, who takes so much pleasure to dy for your sake.
Madam, when I took pen in hand I thought only to have ask'd you whether you would go to morrow to the Comedy des petites Saintot; but I c••uld not but write this to you, which if I am not mistaken, signifies little lesse then a love-Letter, though you have not been wont to receive any such, from any of your fourty three Servants. I entreat you to read this heartily: If you can avoid going abroad to morrow, you will extreamly oblige me. But if you must needs be at the Comedy, deny me not your pity, and