Little did I think it would come to
this. But I must say, if ever there was a rogue in the world, it is me.
I have all along shewed your letters to my master: He employed me for
that purpose; and he saw every one, before I carried them to your father
and mother; and then scaled them up, and sent me with them. I had some
business that way, but not half so often as I pretended: and as soon as I
heard how it was, I was ready to hang myself. You may well think I could
not stand in your presence. O vile, vile wretch, to bring you to this!
If you are ruined, I am the rogue that caused it. All the justice I can
do you, is to tell you, you are in vile hands; and I am afraid will be
undone in spite of all your sweet innocence; and I believe I shall never
live, after I know it. If you can forgive me, you are exceeding good;
but I shall never forgive myself, that's certain. Howsomever, it will do
you no good to make this known; and may-hap I may live to do you service.
If I can, I will: I am sure I ought.--Master kept your last two or three
letters, and did not send them at all. I am the most abandoned wretch of
wretches. 'J. ARNOLD.'
'You see your undoing has been long hatching. Pray take care of your
sweet self.
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