The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 1: 1791-1797 A Romantic Circles Electronic Edition Southey, Robert, 1774-1843 Lynda Pratt Romantic Circles General Editor, Neil Fraistat General Editor, Steven E. Jones General Editor, Carl Stahmer Technical Editor Laura Mandell 2009-03-15 rce31 letterEEd.26.31 Romantic Circles, http://www.rc.umd.edu, University of Maryland College Park, MD March 15, 2009

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Bodleian Library, MS Eng Poet c. 2. Previously published: Reminiscences of Oxford by Oxford Men 1559–1850, ed. Lilian M. Quiller Couch (Oxford, 1892), pp. [403–] 408.

These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer

For permission to publish the text of MSS in their possession, the editor wishes to thank the Beinecke Rare Books and Manuscript Library, Yale University; Berg Collection of English and American Literature, The New York Public Library, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations; the Bodleian Library Oxford University; the British Library; Boston Public Library; the Syndics of Cambridge University Library; the Syndics of the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge; Haverford College, Connecticut; the Historical Society of Pennsylvania; the Hornby Library, Liverpool Libraries and Information Services; the Houghton Library, Harvard University; the John Rylands Library, Manchester; the Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas; Luton Museum (Bedfordshire County Council); Massachusetts Historical Society; McGill University Library; the National Library of Scotland; the Newberry Library, Chicago; the New York Public Library (Pforzheimer Collections); the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; the Public Record Offices of Bedford, Suffolk (Bury St Edmunds) and Northumberland, the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge; the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne; the Trustees of the William Salt Library, Stafford, the Wisbech and Fenland Museum; the University of Virginia Library.

A research grant from the British Academy made much of the archival work possible, as did support from the English Department of Nottingham Trent University.

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31. Robert Southey to Thomas Davis Lamb, [c. 23 November 1792] Address: Thomas Davis Lamb Esqr/ Mountfield Lodge/ Rye/ Sussex Stamped: BRISTOLPostmark: DNO/ 23/ 92Watermark: A crest within a circleSeal: Red wax [design illegible]MS: Bodleian Library, MS Eng Poet c. 2Previously published: Reminiscences of Oxford by Oxford Men 1559–1850, ed. Lilian M. Quiller Couch (Oxford, 1892), pp. [403–] 408. Dear Tom — again I take my pen Resolvd to write to you, Resolvd to send To you my friend A story long & true. To say as how If time allow To Oxford I went down; And eke to tell What me befell Within that gallant town. Ordine rect.The Latin translates as ‘in the right order’. Without neglect Confusion too without We will approach Towards the coach And thence we will set out. But by the by To tell no lie I ought to say the mail For tho I rhyme At no one time Shall Falshood cloud my tale. A viel of clouds The welkin shrouds, Full dismal lookd the sky Inside no room! Unlucky doom Upon the roof get I. And by my side Did one more ride A lawyer’s clerk was he His horn guard blows — I blew my nose And merrily on went we. Scarce ten miles got (Unhappy lot!) When down descends the rain — No hope I fear Said I is near. I wish I was home again. Faint heart then said he Neer won fair Lady, Perhaps the weather’ll mend — And should it not Twill be forgot When your journeys at an end Now if you will Dear Tom stand still And listen to my dress You then shall hear What much I fear You’d never be able to guess. For next my breast Poor I was drest, With my father’s warm fur cap As in inside I could not ride It servd me thus by hap. My own old bear Was over there To speak of more were vain Half the guards coat set To keep out wet For bitterly came the rain. To Faringdon Suppose we’re gone The lawyers clerk got down. The whole coat mine Miles nine & nine, No more from Oxford town. But there a man His journey began Of whom we’ll more anon. His name indeed I can’t areed Whether Dick Jemmy Martin or John. At Oxford town As I got down I saw them all intent Upon the ground In searching round However in I went. There as awhile I sat in stile My negus was prepard, — My trunks up stairs The coachman bears And with him comes the guard. Into my hose My hand then goes Some money them to give — God help us all! No purse at all I found as sure as you live. ‘’Tis gone I swear. “No purse is there No purse can there be found! — Why to be sure That purse wer’nt yours We found upon the ground. I will soon say. Perhaps it may Of leather it was made. I do declare Two pockets there Wherein guineas four were laid God help us all They both out call — The man that was with you. Did that purse own. None could disown What all believd was true. Perhaps we can Find out this man.’ Perhaps I said we may Where he is gone We ask anon And find he went away. Coachman & Guard Both now prepard Along with me to pack Two waiters wait On us in state And followd them boot-jack. Hap-hazard we go, Not very slow, Towards the inn next door — A waiter out came Who was calld to by name Before we proceed any more. Stop stop they cry Here come to I To speak a bit we want ye Say has there been Unto your Inn A man with a hare & portmanteau? Who just came down Into this town On outside of the mail? The guard thus said And scratchd his head And listend for the tale. But here my friend I must make an end Tho only for a time In a post or so I’ll let you know The rest of the story in rhyme.

———

Why I proceed after this you will soon see. but though I go on that is no reason why you should — if you are one half as tired with reading as I am with writing you will fling this letter behind the fire.

———

As you may read I thought indeed Before to make an end But I will say Without delay Why I go on my friend. I thought it better Stead of one letter To send my tale in two Until I gues’t You’d think it best To make one postage do. Calld by his name The waiter came To us along the way. He scratchd his head And then he said What I am going to say. Just now there came One just the same As you describe I grant ye I do declare He had a hare And likewise a portmanteau. We cry o ho And is it so Where is he? waiter said — And so says John Why he is gone This minute up to bed All in a row Up stairs we go Our anger you may guess. But here we stay Tom, whilst I say What was this honest mans dress. His shirt did hide His meagre side The jordan in his hand A nightcap red Upon his head As barefooted he did stand. Where is the purse? With a hearty curse — Says he was that purse thine? No no says I As I stood by But that same purse is mine O-ho says he That Sir may be I only took the same With me to keep Whilst I did sleep Lest any rogue should claim. And then to me The purse gave he Tis well it is no worse — Twas kind (I say) To walk away To take care of my purse. Full many a name Of evil fame This fellow then they gave As — cheating rogue And gallows dog Thief villain rascal knave Whether he slept or no I do not know. One guinea still remaind This guinea too With much ado We from the gutter gaind With many a thank This last was drank By those who got my purse And going to bed We all of us said, Tis well it is no worse. Next morn I rise And ope my eyes My little trunk I make fast. A letter write And send to invite The King of Men to breakfast. How you would stare To see his hair It looks so royal well Which when at school He made a rule To grease as we can tell. Why should I express What you can guess His rooms how neat & fine So cleanly too (Tom without you) Without your help or mine Why say how fine The royal wine How ruby red his nose. Of all such stuff Enough enough The morning past suppose. I go God save me To Dr Davey Of Baliol College head — And when he came My own sweet name In modest manner said Dear Tom his wig Is not so big As many Doctors more — And so I may Presume to say His wisdom is the more — So instantly To look at me For fellows two did he send And luckily Whom should I spy In one but a very good friend. Oh my dear Thomas Indeed I promise That I was very glad Without examination Or any vexation To swear away like mad As they provide them To dare my fidem And go to the Vice Chancellor And nothing loth To buy an oath Of which he was the seller. He then a book Very shabby to look Gave me — wasn’t that kind? For which nice gift Indeed I left But one pound-four behind. Now Im in clover When all is over When without being examinated Im cappd gownd & swore And what is more To conclude matriculated. My rooms to see Away went we Rooms which my good friend found One room to keep in Another to sleep in The floor upon the ground. But every chair Dear Thomas there Is like the roaring sea — There’s a simily good As Homer could For no bottom we could see Tho’ mine be small Yet none at all You know would never do So I must have As you perceive Some chairs Dear Thomas new. To church next day I went my way A sermon grand to hear But to say next What was the text Would be as tiresome as the sermon I fear. As Thomas Davis Your friend not grave is Enough such sight to stand The great wigs all — Each in his stall With a trencher in his hand Like so many old women A very odd trim in Black gown with stripes of red So dull the sermon by hap That they all took a nap And nodded each one his great head. So heres an end My very dear friend Without any more adoe I need not tell That I got home well Else I should not be writing to you. Some compliment Pray Tom present To all my friends at Rye Pray write & tell If (as I hope) youre well — And so dear Thomas good bye.

__________

All this whole sheet I have written without intermission — my hand really aches. pray write & let me know what is become of you?