LETTER XVII.

From the Bishop of ROCHESTER.

I

Bromley, May 25, 1722.

Had much ado to get hither last night, the water being fo rough that the ferry-men were unwilling to venture. The first thing I faw this morning after my eyes were open, was your letter, for the freedom and kindness of which I thank you. Let all compliments be laid afide between us for the future; and depend upon me as your faithful friend in all things within my power, as one that truly values you, and wishes you all manner of happiness. I thank you and Mrs. Pope for my kind reception, which has left a pleafing impreffion upon me that will not foon be effaced.

Lord has prefs'd me terribly to fee him at *, and told me in a manner betwixt kindness and refentment, that it is but a few miles beyond Twitenham.

I have but a little time left, and a great deal to do in it; and must expect that ill health will render a good fhare of it useless; and therefore what is likely to be left at the foot of the account, ought by me to be cherish'd, and not thrown away in compliment. You know the Motto of my fun-dial, Vivite, ait, fugio. I will,

as

as far, as I am able, follow its advice, and cut off all unneceffary avocations and amufements. There are thofe that intend to employ me this winter in a way I do not like: If they perfift in their intentions, I must apply myself to the work they cut out for me, as well as I can. But withal, that shall not hinder me from employing myself also in a way which they do not like. The givers of trouble one day fhall have their share of it another; that at last they may be induced to let me be quiet, and live to myself with the few (the very few) friends I like; for that is the point, the fingle point I now aim at: tho', I know, the generality of the world who are unacquainted with my intentions and views, think the very reverse of this character belongs to me. I don't know how I have rambled into this account of myself; when I sat down to write, I had no thought of making that any part of my letter.

You might have been fure without my telling

you, that my right-hand is at eafe; elfe I fhould not have overflow'd at this rate. And yet I have not done, for there is a kind intimation in the end of yours, which I understood, because it seems to tend towards employing me in fomething that is agreeable to you. Pray explain yourself, and believe that quaintance in the world that would be more in

you

have not an ac

earnest on such an occafion than I, for I love you, as well as esteem you.

All the while I have been writing, Pain, and a fine Thrush have been severally endeavouring to call off my attention; but both in vain, nor fhould I yet part with you, but that the turning over a new leaf frights me a little, and makes me refolve to break thro' a new temptation, before it has taken too fast hold on me.

You

I am, &c.

LETTER XVIII.

From the fame.

June 15, 1722.

OU have generally written first, after our parting; I will now be before-hand with you in my enquiries, how you got home and how you do, and whether you met with Lord *, and delivered my civil reproach to him, in the manner I defir'd? I fuppofe you did not, because I have heard nothing either from you, or from him on that head; as, I fuppofe, I might have done, if you had found him.

I am fick of these men of quality; and the more fo, the oft'ner I have any business to tranfact with them. They look upon it as one of their diftinguishing privileges, not to be

punc

tual

tual in any business, of how great importance foever; nor to set other people at ease, with the lofs of the leaft part of their own. This conduct of his vexes me; but to what purpose? or how can I alter it?

I long to fee the original MS. of Milton: but don't know how to come at it, without your repeated affistance.

you

I hope you won't utterly forget what pass'd in the coach about Samfon Agonistes. I fhall not prefs you as to time, but fome time or other, I wish you would review, and polish that piece. If upon a new perufal of it (which I defire to make) you think as I do, that it is written in the very spirit of the Ancients; it deserves your care, and is capable of being improved, with little trouble, into a perfect model and standard of Tragic poetry-always allowing for its being a ftory taken out of the Bible; which is an objection that at this time of day, I know, is not to be got over. I am, &c.

LETTER XIX.

July 27.

I

Have been as conftantly at Twitenham as your Lordship has at Bromley, ever fince you faw Lord Bathurst. At the time of the

Duke

Duke of Marlborough's funeral, I intend to lie at the Deanry, and moralize one evening with you on the vanity of human Glory.-

The Duchefs's a letter concerns me nearly, and you know it, who know all my thoughts without disguise: I must keep clear of Flattery; I will and as this is an honeft refolution, I dare hope, your Lordship will not be fo unconcern'd for my keeping it, as not to affist me in fo doing. I beg therefore you would represent thus much at leaft to her Grace, that as to the fear fhe feems touch'd with, [That the Duke's memory should have no advantage but what he must give himself, without being beholden to any one friend] Your Lordship may certainly, and agreeably to your character, both of rigid honour and Christian plainness, tell her, that no man can have any other advantage: and that all offerings of friends in fuch a case pass for nothing. Be but fo good as to confirm what I've represented to her, that an inscription in the antient way, plain, pompous, yet modeft, will be the most uncommon, and therefore the most diftinguishing manner of doing it. And fo, I hope, fhe will be fatisfied, the Duke's honour be preferv'd, and my integrity alfo: which is too facred a thing to be forfeited, in confideration of any little (or what people of quality may call

a The Duchefs of Buckingham.

great)