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"I know not, said he, most lovely of women, whether I should venture to express the sensations of my heart at this moment; that respect which ever attends a love so sincere as mine, has hitherto kept me silent; but the late accident, in which all that I hold dear was endangered, has opened every sluice of tenderness in my soul, and I were more or less than man, did I resist the impulse of declaring it."

— Mackenzie, Henry (1745-1831)

Author

The Man of the World

Place of Publication

London

Publisher

Printed for W. Strahan; and T. Cadell

Date

1773

Metaphor

"I know not, said he, most lovely of women, whether I should venture to express the sensations of my heart at this moment; that respect which ever attends a love so sincere as mine, has hitherto kept me silent; but the late accident, in which all that I hold dear was endangered, has opened every sluice of tenderness in my soul, and I were more or less than man, did I resist the impulse of declaring it."

Metaphor in Context

Sindall, whose eyes had not been idle before, cast them now to the ground with a look of the most feeling discomposure; and gently lifting them again, "I know not, said he, most lovely of women, whether I should venture to express the sensations of my heart at this moment; that respect which ever attends a love so sincere as mine, has hitherto kept me silent; but the late accident, in which all that I hold dear was endangered, has opened every sluice of tenderness in my soul, and I were more or less than man, did I resist the impulse of declaring it." "This is no place, sir,"--said Harriet, trembling and covered with blushes.--"Every place, cried Sindall, is sacred to love, where my Harriet is." At the same time he threw himself on his knees before her, and imprinted a thousand burning kisses on her hand. "Let go my hand, sir Thomas," she cried, her voice faltering and her cheek overspread with a still higher glow: "Never, thou cruel one, said he, (raising himself gently till he had gained a place on the settee by her side) never, till you listen to the dictates of a passion too violent to be longer resisted."--At that instant some bustle was heard at the door, and presently after a voice in a country-accent, vociferating "It is my neighbour's own daughter, and I must see her immediately."--The door burst open, and discovered Jack Ryland, Mrs. Eldridge following him, with a countenance not the most expressive of good-humour.
(pp. 217-219)