Thank Heaven, I Am Free And Safe

Oh, I Am Very Weary, Though Tears No Longer Flow; My Eyes Are Tired Of Weeping, My Heart Is Sick Of Woe.

What A Fool You Must Be," Said My Head To My Heart, Or My Sterner To My Softer Self.

You Need Not Fear Me, For I Not Only Should Think It Wrong To Marry A Man That Was Deficient In Sense Or In Principle, But I Should Never Be Tempted To Do It; For I Could Not Like Him, If He Were Ever So Handsome, And Ever So Charming, In Other Respects; I Should Hate Him—despise Him—pity Him—anything But Love Him. My Affections Not Only Ought To Be Founded On Approbation, But They Will And Must Be So: For, Without Approving, I Cannot Love. It Is Needless To Say, I Ought To Be Able To Respect And Honour The Man I Marry, As Well As Love Him, For I Cannot Love Him Without.

He Had Not Breathed A Word Of Love, Or Dropped One Hint Of Tenderness Or Affection, And Yet I Had Been Supremely Happy. To Be Near Him, To Hear Him Talk As He Did Talk, And To Feel That He Thought Me Worthy To Be So Spoken To - Capable Of Understanding And Duly Appreciating Such Discourse - Was Enough.

If Ever I Am A Mother I Will Zealously Strive Against This Crime Of Over- Indulgence. I Can Hardly Give It A Milder Name When I Think Of The Evils It Brings.