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Eyes.”
    Reluctantly, foolishly, and with Feelings of Dread and Foreboding, I knelt and clapp’d my Eye to the Hole, thro’ which I saw a Sight which scarce was worth the Pain it caus’d me later.
    My Step-Father, Lord Bellars, was betting with the Poet about who could most closely hit a Grape thrown into the Pisspott, whilst poor, corpulent Daniel lookt on, with Awe and Admiration for his Father’s manly Gifts. As for their Masculine Engines, ’twas hard to tell beneath their long Coats, but Mr. Pope’s seem’d a tiny piddling Thing, not deform’d, but Toy-like, whilst Lord Bellars appear’d most mightily well equipp’d. But ’twas the Gaming I wonder’d at, more than the Anatomy. I had little Experience then of confirm’d Gamblers, tho’ Today, I know they will lay Wagers upon anything—from twin Raindrops coursing down a Window Pane to fine Arabian Mares. Lord Bellars was surely one of those, and it astounded me that the Great Poet, who just Moments before had discours’d of Nature and Art, should now be taking great Delight in pissing at a Grape in a Chamber-Pott!
    “Pray, what are you doing?” came a stern Voice behind me. ’Twas Lady Bellars, suddenly return’d to pry out our Mischief.
    I rose and faced her, blushing hotly.
    “Fanny forced me to,” says Mary, unbidden. “Fanny forced me. I was so frighten’d. I e’en clos’d my Eyes and refus’d to look. I swear it. I swear it upon a Bible.”
    “Hush,” said Lady Bellars. “Fanny, is this true?”
    “My Lady,” says I, “I cannot plead my own Case. As you saw me with my Eye to the Keyhole, so I was. My Sin was Curiosity, nothing more. But I swear I did not force Mary’s Hand.”
    “Yes, she did! She did!” says Mary.
    “Go to your Chambers, both of you,” says Lady Bellars. “I will get the Truth of this later.”
    “My Lady, I am deeply asham’d,” I said. “I beg you to accept my Apology.”
    “Go,” says Lady Bellars, “both of you, go.”
    As we were departing, Mary whisper’d one final Insult in my Ear. “I’ll have you banish’d from Lymeworth yet,” says she.
    “Mary,” I said, drawing myself up straight and tall, “you are nothing but a Fool. Having me punish’d will not save you from your own Foolishness. You are a Fool for Life, I fear.”
    I believe my Dignity alarm’d her more than any Excuses or Insults might have done, for as she blam’d me, she very rightly expected I would blame her, but I had sufficient Understanding of Human Nature e’en then to know ’twould do no Good. Mary had brought her own Punishment upon her Head since, as she had hop’d to win her Father’s Favour by serenading him and his Famous Guest upon the Harpsichord, she was now bereft of that Consolation. Had I plotted such a Revenge, I could not have executed it more cunningly than Mary’s own Curiosity and Lechery (as well as her Desire to betray me) had done.
    If you learn only one Thing, my Belinda, learn that your Enemies will sooner betray themselves than you can help ’em to Betrayal. Accept the Blame for your own Errors and seek to learn from them, but do not try to shift the Blame onto others. ’Twill not only do you no Good (for Blaming can ne’er undo a Wrong), but ’twill cause you to become a Scold and a Coward. When caught in a grievous Error, hold your Tongue and look deep into your Heart. Let Fools scold, and blame; look instead within yourself. A Soul is partly given, partly wrought; remember always that you are the Maker of your own Soul.
    Ne’ertheless, perhaps Mary’s Rancour was an Instrument of the Fates; for tho’ our Concert now was cancell’d, my own Adventures were only just beginning, as you presently shall see.

CHAPTER V
    Of Flip-Flaps, Lollipops, Picklocks, Love-Darts, Pillicocks, and the Immortal Soul, together with some Warnings against Rakes, and some Observations upon the Erotick Proclivities of Poets.
    B ANISH’D TO MY CHAMBER , I ponder’d my Plight. Owing to my Foolish Curiosity