A little still she strove, and much repented, And whispering “I will ne'er consent” — consented. - Lord Byron

But take this with thee: if I was not form'd To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine, Nor dote even on thy beauty — as I've doted On lesser charms, for no cause save that such Devotion was a duty, and I hated All that look'd like a chain for me or others (This even rebellion must avouch); yet hear These words, perhaps among my last — that none E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not To profit by them…

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

But for the present gentle reader! And still gentler purchaser