midnight
I would not , my dear , for the world , have any thing to say -- but I need not make resolutions . I have not opened , nor will I open , his letter . -- A sycophant creature ! -- With his hoarsenesses -- got perhaps by a midnight revel , singing to his wild note singer , and only increased in the coppice ! To be already on a footing ! -- In his esteem , I mean : for myself , I despise him . I hate myself almost for writing so much about him , and of such a simpleton as this sweet pretty girl as you call her : but no one can be either sweet or pretty , that is not modest , that is not virtuous .