A libertine, my dear cousin, a plotting, an intriguing libertine, must be generally remorseless , Unjust he must always be. The noble rule of doing to others what he would have done to himself, is the first rule he breaks; and every day he breaks ¡t; the oftener, the greater his triumph. He has great contempt for your sex. He believes no woman chaste, because be is a profligate. Every woman who favours him, confirms him in his wicked incredulity. He is always plotting to extend the mischiefs he delights in. If a woman loves such a man, how can she bear the thought of dividing her interest in his affections, with half the town, and that perhaps the dregs of it? Then so sensual!, How will a young lady of your delicacy bear with so sensual a man: A man who makes a jest of his vows; and who perhaps will break your spirit by the most unmanly insults. To be a libertine, at setting out, all compunction, all humanity, must be overcome. To continue to be a libertine, is to continue to be every thing vile and inhuman. Prayers, tears, and the most abject submission, are but fuel to his pride: wagering perhaps with lewd companions, and, not improbably, with lewder women, upon instances which he boasts of to them of your patient sufferings, and broken spirit, and bringing them home to witness to both.

Quoted from: Samuel Richardson: Clarissa Harlowe. London: Hurst, Robinson and Co., 1824.