Huntingdon, 6 Dec. 1775.
            My dearest Martha!
            No: I will not take advantage of the sweet, reluctant, amorous confession which your candour gave me yesterday. If to make me happy, be to make my Martha otherwise; then, Happiness, I'll none of thee.

            And yet I could argue. Suppose he has bred you up: Suppose you do owe your numerous accomplishments, under genius, to him: are you therefore his property? Is it as if a horse that he has bred should refuse to carry him? Suppose you therefore are his property: will the fidelity of so many years weigh nothing in the scale of gratitude?

            Years! why, can obligations (suppose they had not been repaid an hundred-fold) do away the unnatural disparity of years? Can they bid five-and-fifty stand still (the least that you could ask), and wait for five-and-twenty? Many women have the same obligations (if indeed there be many of the same accomplishments) to their fathers. They have the additional obligation to them (if, indeed, it be an obligation) of existence. The disparity of years is sometimes even less. But, must they therefore take their fathers to their bosoms? Must the jessamine fling its tender arms around the dying elm?

            To my little fortunes you are no stranger. Will you share them with me? And you shall honestly tell his Lordship that gratitude taught you to pay every duty to him, till Love taught you there were other duties which you owed to H.

            Oh, my Martha, that you would pay them!

            But, did I not say I would not take advantage? I will not. I will even remind you of your children; to whom I, alas! could only show at present the affection of a father.

            Martha, weigh us in the scales. If gratitude out-balance love—so.

            If you command it, I swear by Love, I'll join my regiment tomorrow.

            If Love prevail, and insist upon his dues; you shall declare the victory and the prize. I will take no advantage.

            Think over this. Neither will I take you by surprise. Sleep upon it, before you return your answer. Trim shall make the old excuse tomorrow.

            Why did you sing that sweet song yesterday, though I so pressed you? Those words, and your voice, were too much.

            What words can say how much I am yours?

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