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<title type="main">The Collected Letters of Robert Southey. Part 1: 1791-1797 </title>
<title type="subordinate">A Romantic Circles Electronic Edition</title>
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<name>Southey, Robert, 1774-1843</name>
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<date>2009-03-15</date>
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<sourceDesc>
<p>Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22.  Previously  published:
                        Kenneth Curry (ed.), New Letters of Robert Southey, 2
                        vols (London and New York, 1965), I, pp. 12–14 [in part; verse not
                        reproduced].</p>
<p>These letters were edited with the assistance of Carol Bolton, Tim Fulford and Ian Packer</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
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<div n="35" type="letter">
<head>35. Robert Southey to <ref target="people.html#BedfordGrosvenorCharles">Grosvenor Charles Bedford</ref>, <date when="1792-12-26">26 December
                        1792</date>
<note place="foot" resp="editors" type="headnote">Address:
                        Grosvenor Charles Bedford Esq<hi rend="sup">r</hi>/ Old Palace Yard/
                        Westminster/ Single Sheet<lb/>Stamped: BRISTOL<lb/>Postmark: ADE/ 29/
                        92<lb/>Watermark: G R in a circle and figure of Britannia<lb/>Seal: Black
                        wax [design illegible]<lb/>Endorsement: 26 Dec<hi rend="sup">r</hi>
                        1792<lb/>MS: Bodleian Library, MS Eng. Lett. c. 22<lb/>Previously published:
                        Kenneth Curry (ed.), <title level="m">New Letters of Robert Southey</title>, 2
                        vols (London and New York, 1965), I, pp. 12–14 [in part; verse not
                        reproduced].</note>
</head>
<opener>
<dateline rend="right">
<date when="1792-12-26">Wednesday Dec. 26. 92</date>
<address>
<placeName> Bristol</placeName>
</address>
</dateline>
<salute>My dear friend</salute>
</opener>
<p rend="indent2"> I hoped to have seen you before this day. that hope like most of
                    mine is disappointed. <ref target="people.html#SoutheyRobertSnr">my father</ref>
                    is now in heaven. on Monday week I attended him to the grave. who knows but my
                    next visit thither may be final — I ought to have written to you before but the
                    subject was painful &amp; you will excuse me. he had been long declining.
                    evident however as this was I still deceived myself. when I passed thro Bath to
                    Oxford I staid at my fathers &amp; saw him in his bed — he prest my hand
                    with affection &amp; for the only time in his life blest me. why it was I
                    know not but it struck me that I never should see him more. I never did. in a
                    better world I shall.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> Of this no more — the subject is painful to me &amp; cannot
                    be agreable to you. to his loss I am resigned. I am even thankful for it when I
                    consider how grievous a burden is a heart opprest by injustice &amp;
                    misfortune. our meeting you see is thus deferrd &amp; the melancholy silence
                    of sorrow wears away with me that season appropriated to festivity. I have
                    however resources in my own reflexions &amp; solitude I have never found
                    irksome — one book succeeds another — I take the pen for relaxation &amp; at
                    least possess negative happiness.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> you will visit me at <ref target="places.html#BalliolOxford">Baliol</ref> at the Installation<note n="1" place="foot" resp="editors">William Cavendish-Bentinck, 3rd Duke of Portland (1738–1809; <title level="m">DNB</title>), Prime Minister 1783 and 1807–1809, was installed
                        as Chancellor of the University of Oxford on 1 July 1793.</note> I hope.
                    there will be a great chair a good fire &amp; a bottle &amp; I flatter
                    myself with the hope of introducing you to the only man upon earth whom I at
                    once love &amp; respect.<note n="2" place="foot" resp="editors">It is
                        unclear to whom Southey is referring.</note> he has half promised me his
                    company. I depend upon yours — the opportunities of happiness are so rare that
                    we ought to snatch them eagerly ere they disappear. where is young <ref target="people.html#WynnCharlesWW">Wynn</ref>? he never will write to me
                    &amp; I am tired with expostulating. I asked him to send <ref target="people.html#CollinsCharles">Collins’s</ref> letter long before the
                    end of term &amp; he has never noticed the letter perhaps he never received
                    the letter. this government trick of opening private correspondence is very
                    unpleasant. next come lettres de cachet Bastille &amp; good night to poor
                        Basil<note n="3" place="foot" resp="editors">St Basil (c. 330–379), founder
                        of eastern monasticism. A pseudonym used by Southey when writing in <title level="j">The Flagellant</title> (1792).</note> —</p>
<p rend="indent1">
<ref target="people.html#CollinsCharles">Collins’</ref> last I have, &amp;
                    thank him for. your postscript did not surprize. but you have a sad trick of
                    keeping letters long after they are wrote. the Miller<note n="4" place="foot" resp="editors">Southey is referring to the traditional song sometimes known
                        as ‘The Miller of Dee’, particularly the lines ‘I care for nobody, no not
                        I,/ If nobody cares for me’.</note> was a true Philosopher &amp; I wish
                    I was of his school — such doctrines are far more calculated for promoting
                    happiness than the abstruse wisdom of the Samian.<note n="5" place="foot" resp="editors">Pythagoras (580/72–500/490 BC), Greek philosopher, born on
                        the island of Samos.</note> the metaphysics of Plato the dry reason of
                    Aristotle or the grossly-interpreted tenets of Epicurus.<note n="6" place="foot" resp="editors">Epicurus (341–270 BC), Greek philosopher, founder of
                        Epicureanism.</note> I might add the witty impiety of Voltaire &amp; the
                    artful infidelity of Hume.<note n="7" place="foot" resp="editors">David Hume
                        (1711–1776; <title level="m">DNB</title>), philosopher and historian.</note>
                    the man who destroys religion deprives us of the only substantial happiness. you
                    will believe me. I cannot write. my intention was to fill the sheet but it
                    impossible to command attention when one particular subject engrosses the mind.
                    do write me &amp; believe me in every situation</p>
<closer>
<salute rend="indent3">most sincerely yours</salute>
</closer>
<closer>
<signed rend="indent4">Robert Southey</signed>
</closer>
<postscript>
<p rend="indent1"> I send you this merely to fill up — you will it no ways equal
                        to the former</p>
<p rend="indent4">Titus<note n="8" place="foot" resp="editors">The Emperor Titus
                            Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus (AD 40–81; reigned AD 79–81).</note> to
                            Berenice<note n="9" place="foot" resp="editors">A Jewish princess (c. AD
                            28–?), daughter of Herod Agrippa I (10 BC–AD 44) and sister of Herod
                            Agrippa II (b. AD 27/28), Kings of Judea. Mistress of Titus.</note>
</p>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">“The Sun shall from the West his course pursue</l>
<l rend="indent2">Eer Titus prove to Berenice untrue</l>
<l rend="indent2">Eer that ill fated hour Nights shadowy sway</l>
<l rend="indent2">Shall mantle oer the full meridian day</l>
<l rend="indent2">All oaths all vows all love itself be vain</l>
<l rend="indent2">Or Fortune rear Jerusalem<note n="10" place="foot" resp="editors">Titus was responsible for the destruction of
                                Jerusalem by Roman troops in AD 70.</note> again.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Lovd of my soul still Memory calls to view</l>
<l rend="indent2">These vows which Love &amp; Titus breathd to you.</l>
<l rend="indent2">As now thy lines thy characters I trace</l>
<l rend="indent2">Swift flies the mantling transport to my face</l>
<l rend="indent2">The well known seal I kist &amp; instant prest</l>
<l rend="indent2">With more than mortal transport to my breast</l>
<l rend="indent2">As high the glowing tide of rapture flows</l>
<l rend="indent2">For one short moment I forget my woes</l>
<l rend="indent2">Trembling I broke the seal — my name appears</l>
<l rend="indent2">Half blotted out with Berenices tears —</l>
<l rend="indent2">She wept on Titus name — nor Titus flies</l>
<l rend="indent2">To kiss the tear away from Beautys eyes!</l>
<l rend="indent2">And couldst thou weep for me &amp; I delay</l>
<l rend="indent2">To dry those tears one hour my eager way?</l>
<l rend="indent2">Ah Berenice still oer this hapless head</l>
<l rend="indent2">Must Fate her heaviest clouds relentless spread</l>
<l rend="indent2">Like Aprils opening morn my life begun</l>
<l rend="indent2">Clear smild the sky &amp; favouring shone the sun</l>
<l rend="indent2">Still as he rose he brightend on my view</l>
<l rend="indent2">Still still alluring till eclipsed by you.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Vespasians<note n="11" place="foot" resp="editors">Titus’
                                father, the Emperor Titus Flavius Vespasianus (AD 9–79; reigned AD
                                69–79).</note> humble offspring first in arms</l>
<l rend="indent2">I rushd to follow Glorys glittring charms</l>
<l rend="indent2">Fearless of wounds &amp; prodigal of life</l>
<l rend="indent2">There Titus strove where fiercest ragd the strife</l>
<l rend="indent2">On as I rushd to Fames attractive call</l>
<l rend="indent2">I saw thy face &amp; disregarded all —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Sorrowing I found myself in chieftain state</l>
<l rend="indent2">Blind to the splendour but perceivd the weight</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oft as I fled to thee my eager speed</l>
<l rend="indent2">Has curst the slowness of the jaded steed</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oer mountains but the base to hills as high</l>
<l rend="indent2">Their summits lost amid the pendant sky</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oer these by Hope &amp; Love impatient led</l>
<l rend="indent2">With unabating course thy Titus sped.</l>
<l rend="indent2">As oer the neighbouring mountain swift he went</l>
<l rend="indent2">Hope wingd the glance adown the steep descent</l>
<l rend="indent2">Impatient Fancy saw the spot appear</l>
<l rend="indent2">Than worlds or wealth of worlds to me more dear</l>
<l rend="indent2">Thence have I seen thy hand or seemd to see</l>
<l rend="indent2">Support that Face which Love had turnd to me.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">And canst thou think that Fortunes power can wrest</l>
<l rend="indent2">Each dear-belovd remembrance from my breast</l>
<l rend="indent2">Can days or years of anguish mantle oer</l>
<l rend="indent2">Those blissful moments which are now no more —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Those moments when each melting eye ball strove</l>
<l rend="indent2">To express the fierce emotions of my love </l>
<l rend="indent2">High beat each heart to passions flowing tide</l>
<l rend="indent2">And Love forgot there was a world beside.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Again methinks adown the hill I fly</l>
<l rend="indent2">Again I seem to catch the mutual eye</l>
<l rend="indent2">Again beats high this breast to Loves alarms</l>
<l rend="indent2">Again I rush — I clasp thee in my arms —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Fond scene away — unman my soul no more</l>
<l rend="indent2">Alas Those hours of ecstasy are oer —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Yes Berenice too weak the voice of Power</l>
<l rend="indent2">To call forth Pleasure from her blissful bower</l>
<l rend="indent2">Where from the sight of courts retird she lies</l>
<l rend="indent2">And hears affrayd the harsh command &amp; flies</l>
<l rend="indent2">To her in happier solitude unknown</l>
<l rend="indent2">Each hourly peril that attends a throne —</l>
<l rend="indent2">The throng incensd — grave Wisdom<del rend="strikethrough">s</del> saw severe</l>
<l rend="indent2">Dangers gaunt form &amp; wildly glancing Fear</l>
<l rend="indent2">Dark browd Deceit that drugs the honeyd bowl</l>
<l rend="indent2">Meet not her eye nor terrify her soul —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Yet these on courts &amp; monarchs still attend</l>
<l rend="indent2">To guard weak Caution to partake no friend.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Lovd of my soul these perils still await</l>
<l rend="indent2">In grim attendance round thy Titus state</l>
<l rend="indent2">The fawning courtier on each word attends</l>
<l rend="indent2">The weal of nations on each act depends</l>
<l rend="indent2">Suspicion stalks around with jaundiced mien</l>
<l rend="indent2">And poisons every prospect round the scene.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Still still Remembrance paints that cruel day</l>
<l rend="indent2">When from thy arms harsh Fortune calld away —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Twas Evenings closing hour — the sky serene</l>
<l rend="indent2">No gloomy cloud nor harsher Fate was seen</l>
<l rend="indent2">We sat together in the jasmine bowr</l>
<l rend="indent2">And watchd the silent step of Twilights power</l>
<l rend="indent2">This better hand in thine intwind — I past</l>
<l rend="indent2">The other gently round thy yielding waste</l>
<l rend="indent2">We talkd of days of future love &amp; bliss</l>
<l rend="indent2">Nor knew the last of Love &amp; Bliss was this</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">I heard the couriers speed — swift oer my frame</l>
<l rend="indent2">A deadly chill presaging misery came</l>
<l rend="indent2">The hand unlockd its grasp — the eye that gazd</l>
<l rend="indent2">On thee with rapture bent to earth defacd</l>
<l rend="indent2">Trembling I took the scroll — oh fatal day</l>
<l rend="indent2">That forcd me from the scene of joys away</l>
<l rend="indent2">Accursed hour that swiftly gliding saw</l>
<l rend="indent2">The hapless Titus yield to Fortunes law</l>
<l rend="indent2">No Time the wounds you made from hence can wear</l>
<l rend="indent2">No Time no Splendour can efface Despair.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">Inhuman Fortune why decree<del rend="strikethrough">s</del> the hand</l>
<l rend="indent2">To stretch its sway oer every subject land</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oer others every bliss of life bestow —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Yet doom the heart to pine with endless woe</l>
<l rend="indent2">Why rather Nature didst thou not more kind</l>
<l rend="indent2">Ordain me offspring of some rustic hind</l>
<l rend="indent2">Teach me to bow the neck of labouring ox</l>
<l rend="indent2">Impress the furrow guide my fathers flocks</l>
<l rend="indent2">Then might some country lass my heart have won</l>
<l rend="indent2">Mate not unequal for a peasants son —</l>
<l rend="indent2">Willing perhaps might one my vows receive</l>
<l rend="indent2">Nor then could Fortune force me to deceive</l>
<l rend="indent2">Upon each act would hang no Empire’s weig[MS torn]</l>
<l rend="indent2">No soulless Stoics interrupt my fate</l>
<l rend="indent2">But at eves leisure hour we’d walk</l>
<l rend="indent2">And there unspied &amp; unmolested talk</l>
<l rend="indent2">Talk of our future joys — &amp; every friend</l>
<l rend="indent2">For such I then should have — around attend</l>
<l rend="indent2">When crownd with garlands of each rustic flower</l>
<l rend="indent2">We bowd beneath the Priest to Hymens<note n="12" place="foot" resp="editors">Greek god of marriage.</note> power</l>
<l rend="indent2">Till at the length secure from Envys rage</l>
<l rend="indent2">And bent beneath the gentle hand of age</l>
<l rend="indent2">We saw around our sons a hardy train</l>
<l rend="indent2">Manure the glebe &amp; furrow all the plain</l>
<l rend="indent2">Gain with their restless hands old ages store</l>
<l rend="indent2">&amp; till that land their fathers tilld before</l>
<l rend="indent2">Till Time at length mature should bring the doom</l>
<l rend="indent2">&amp; sons &amp; grandsons wait us to the
                            tomb.</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg>
<l rend="indent2">Yet een than this was Titus once more blest</l>
<l rend="indent2">Bliss more unsullied filld his faithful breast</l>
<l rend="indent2">Een then when tyrant Neros<note n="13" place="foot" resp="editors">The Emperor Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus
                                (AD 37–68; reigned AD 54–68).</note> iron hand</l>
<l rend="indent2">Delugd with patriot blood the servile land</l>
<l rend="indent2">When virtuous Seneca<note n="14" place="foot" resp="editors">Lucius Annaeus Seneca (4 BC–AD 65), philosopher and
                                dramatist, committed suicide after being accused of involvement in
                                the Pisonian conspiracy against Nero.</note> bowd down his head</l>
<l rend="indent2">When first of Bards immortal Lucan<note n="15" place="foot" resp="editors">Marcus Annaeus Lucanus (AD 39–65),
                                author of the <title level="m">Pharsalia</title>, forced to commit
                                suicide when his involvement in the Pisonian conspiracy against the
                                emperor Nero was discovered.</note> bled</l>
<l rend="indent2">Far from the guilty scene to me each day</l>
<l rend="indent2">But witnessd Love &amp; Pleasures softning sway</l>
<l rend="indent2">Methinks each blissful room each spot I view</l>
<l rend="indent2">The bower the palace hallow’d all by you</l>
<l rend="indent2">That sacred bower the seat of every bliss</l>
<l rend="indent2">Where first I dard to seize the glowing kiss</l>
<l rend="indent2">That bower where oft fatigued with Wars red fight</l>
<l rend="indent2">I gazd on thee &amp; only felt delight</l>
<l rend="indent2">Hide Memory hide the rest — that fatal bower</l>
<l rend="indent2">That sent me from the arms of Love to power</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oh come my Love with all thy heavn of charms</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oh come once more to Love &amp; Titus arms</l>
<l rend="indent2">Come thou most fair most lovely most divine</l>
<l rend="indent2">Come let thy heart responsive beat to mine</l>
<l rend="indent2">I see I see thee now — those eyes no more</l>
<l rend="indent2">Like gems bedimmd this perjurd man deplore</l>
<l rend="indent2">No longer sad shall wear the hour away</l>
<l rend="indent2">No longer Sorrow mark the livelong day</l>
<l rend="indent2">I see thee now high flows my hearts warm tide</l>
<l rend="indent2">I see but thee, nor heed the world beside</l>
<l rend="indent2">Ah no avoid me — fly me farther yet} these lines I think
                            are Popes<note n="16" place="foot" resp="editors">A rough paraphrase of
                                Alexander Pope (1688–1744; <title level="m">DNB</title>), ‘Eloisa to
                                Abelard’ (1717), lines 289–291.</note>
</l>
<l rend="indent2">Avoid me hate me if thou canst forget} if so scratch them
                            out &amp; put two in their place — </l>
<l rend="indent2">Fly — hate this wretch — unblest unkind unjust} I have no
                            book to see.</l>
<l rend="indent2">This wretch most wretched vainly stild august</l>
<l rend="indent2">Weak would be Dutys shield to fence this heart</l>
<l rend="indent2">To guard this breast from Loves resistless dart</l>
<l rend="indent2">Pride Prejudice would instant quit the field</l>
<l rend="indent2">And Nature &amp; the Man be proud to yield.</l>
<l rend="indent2">In vain I’d fly thee best belovd — in vain</l>
<l rend="indent2">Would lose thy visage mid the courtier train</l>
<l rend="indent2">Amid the gaudy show the fawning throng</l>
<l rend="indent2">The weight of empire &amp; of cares among</l>
<l rend="indent2">That form appears so fair so lovd of thine</l>
<l rend="indent2">So fair so lovely &amp; which once <hi rend="ital">was</hi> mine.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Was! what dire imports on that word attend</l>
<l rend="indent2">Can Love so blest so heavenly find an end </l>
<l rend="indent2">Must such ecstatic moments haste away</l>
<l rend="indent2">Will nought avail Times fatal course to stay?</l>
<l rend="indent2">Rapid he fled when Titus viewd that face</l>
<l rend="indent2">Now slow he lags along with leaden pace</l>
<l rend="indent2">Now heavy laden with a weight of woe</l>
<l rend="indent2">Longer than years of bliss the minutes go —</l>
</lg>
<lb/>
<lg type="stanza">
<l rend="indent2">No joys no peaceful moments eer await</l>
<l rend="indent2">The hapless Titus mid the pomp of state.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Can Pomp assuage these burning pangs? or eer</l>
<l rend="indent2">Teach Memory to forget that thou art fair?</l>
<l rend="indent2">Can Splendor eer efface from Titus breast</l>
<l rend="indent2">That Berenice was kind &amp; he was blest?</l>
<l rend="indent2">Ah no. in vain the tempting harlots face</l>
<l rend="indent2">Puts on each smile &amp; each alluring grace</l>
<l rend="indent2">Each smile each grace alluring but recall</l>
<l rend="indent2">How much my Berenice exceeds them all.</l>
<l rend="indent2">How blest would Titus (best belovd) to thee</l>
<l rend="indent2">Fly from this weight of cares &amp; misery</l>
<l rend="indent2">The noise of courts the voice of Fame despise</l>
<l rend="indent2">And seek for favor only in thy eyes!</l>
<l rend="indent2">Hid in obscurity in silence blest</l>
<l rend="indent2">Of all that heavn can give in thee possest</l>
<l rend="indent2">No hovering clouds of care would intervene</l>
<l rend="indent2">No Fear no Jealousies pollute the scene</l>
<l rend="indent2">Content &amp; Bliss should seek our secret grove</l>
<l rend="indent2">&amp; every joy be centerd found in Love</l>
<l rend="indent2">Perhaps sweet offspring of connubial bliss</l>
<l rend="indent2">Our children climb to gain the fathers kiss</l>
<l rend="indent2">Away sweet scene — no more torment this breast</l>
<l rend="indent2">Be all the senseless store now confest</l>
<l rend="indent2">Come rigid Duty triumph in thy sway</l>
<l rend="indent2">I must be wretched but I will obey</l>
<l rend="indent2">Rome spacious streets red drenchd with Roman gore</l>
<l rend="indent2">Titus Vespasians love shall neer deplore</l>
<l rend="indent2">No widows heartfelt groans for him arise</l>
<l rend="indent2">No orphans curses pierce the avenging skies</l>
<l rend="indent2">If Titus die<del rend="strikethrough">d</del>
                                Domitian<note n="17" place="foot" resp="editors">Titus Flavius
                                Domitianus (AD 51–96; reigned AD 81–96), younger brother of
                                Titus.</note> must succeed</l>
<l rend="indent2">But neer will I resign for Rome to bleed.</l>
<l rend="indent2">Supremely wretched as supremely great</l>
<l rend="indent2">Still will I drag along this load of state</l>
<l rend="indent2">Oppressd with Miserys weight I still will bear</l>
<l rend="indent2">Bane of each hour the image of my fair</l>
<l rend="indent2">With Roman Pride will seek to steel my mind</l>
<l rend="indent2">And most unhappy strive to bless mankind.</l>
</lg>
<p rend="indent6">————<note n="18" place="foot" resp="editors">No widows ...
                            ————: Written in right hand margin of fol. 1 r.</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1"> &lt;Of these epistles a few words. four years back I
                        wrote one from B. to Titus &amp; began an answer. the only copy I had
                        was with all my earliest pieces in a foul book, I lent this to one whom I
                        conceivd would take care of it. the book was lost to my eternal sorrow for
                        all in it is bad. &amp; I have reason to think it is still preservd — so
                        some time hence these cursed rhymes will rise up in judgement against me.
                        the epistle was very bad &amp; I could only recollect the beginning —
                        the two first lines as they now stand are all that remain of it. </p>
<p rend="indent1"> you now have both &amp; if you will add alter &amp;
                        correct them — by continual correction they may in time be good. the first
                        is best. this last hardly tolerable. I will hint some topics which I could
                        wish you to touch upon. some lines in answer to those “the silent lute
                        &amp;c. wish of Titus to place Berenice upon the throne. unwilling to
                        hold her in any other rank than that of partner in his throne. you will find
                        many others. Beaumont &amp; Fletcher<note n="19" place="foot" resp="editors">Francis Beaumont (1584/5–1616; <title level="m">DNB</title>) and John Fletcher (1579–1625; <title level="m">DNB</title>) collaborated on a number of plays.</note> wrote plays
                        together. — surely it more practicable to write poems.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> you will wonder at this crammd sheet after last nights
                        inability to proceed. but idleness is the worst of companions. I want
                        employment &amp; know you like a long letter.</p>
<p rend="indent1"> you will let me hear from you soon &amp; do say how
                        affairs go on in London &amp; send me the names of the prisoners in the
                            tower.<note n="20" place="foot" resp="editors">The rumour that some
                            British radicals had been imprisoned in the Tower of London was false,
                            and dismissed in the <title level="j">Times</title>, 5 December
                            1792.</note> surely it is better to run mad with politics than to turn
                        maniac or frantic. next Tuesday begins a new year. I expect a good epistle
                        from you upon that day &amp; promise you one which I shall set about
                        immediately upon concluding this. remember however that I hope to hear from
                        by return of Post. will you send me the ode you did for <ref target="people.html#BedfordHoraceWalpole">your brother</ref> quique pii
                        vates &amp; Phœbo digna locuti.<note n="21" place="foot" resp="editors">Virgil (70–19 BC), <title level="m">Aeneid</title>, Book 6, line 662.
                            The Latin translates as ‘good bards, whose songs were meet for
                            Phoebus’.</note> you shall have plenty in return of all sorts. I have a
                        tolerable Satire addrest to you but cannot send it by the Post upon this
                        levelling subject — another in embrio upon the grand Leveller Death. say
                        what you will he puts all upon an equality &amp; may one day (no matter
                        how soon) level me with the well wiggd Doctors &amp; well titled
                        champions of Aristocracy. it is very seldom I hear from you — so I remain
                        like a solitary oyster feeding upon thought — a most unsubstantial diet. in
                        this hoggish city my acquaintances are few my friends fewer. friends however
                        I have elsewhere &amp; what need to care for the world beside? let the
                        world wag how it will — let Despotism triumph or Freedom prevail I will
                        still use my pen if I can in peace — if I must quit it for the musquet it is
                        but cutting off a few years perhaps of disappointed hopes.&gt;<note n="22" place="foot" resp="editors">Of these epistles ... hopes: Inserted
                            in the margins of fol. 1 r.</note>
</p>
<p rend="indent1"> &lt;For your friendly invitation &amp; that of <ref target="people.html#CollinsCharles">Collins</ref> accept my best thanks
                        &amp; make my excuse to them. remember me to <ref target="people.html#BedfordHoraceWalpole">your Brother</ref> likewise —
                        1792 is expiring — good god how many events have transpird — from the fall
                        of Gualbertus<note n="23" place="foot" resp="editors">John Gualbert (c.
                            995–1073), founder of the Vallombrosian order. The pseudonym
                            ‘Gualbertus’ was used by Southey for his controversial attack on
                            flogging as an invention of the devil in the fifth issue of <title level="j">The Flagellant</title> (29 March 1792).</note> to that of
                            Louis!<note n="24" place="foot" resp="editors">Southey is comparing his
                            expulsion from Westminster School, for publishing an essay against
                            flogging, with the indictment of Louis XVI (1754–1793; reigned
                            1774–1792) on 11 December 1792. Louis was executed on 21 January
                            1793.</note> from my libel upon rod to Paines upon sceptres! <note n="25" place="foot" resp="editors">Southey is comparing his essay
                            against flogging in <title level="j">The Flagellant</title>, no. 5 (29
                            March 1792), 75–89, with Thomas Paine (1737–1809; <title level="m">DNB</title>), <title level="m">The Rights of Man</title>, the
                            second part of which appeared in 1792.</note> of all this more by
                        Tuesday. my letter shall reach you then. are you in any of these tremendous
                        associations? our church wardens have devised a curious test all loyal
                        subjects are desird to sign their names to an address. such is their
                        artifice that to my knowledge they made a child of ten years old write his
                        name. thus they mean to know those who believe not in the divine right
                        &amp;c. never shall the name of your friend be prostituted so
                            basely.&gt;<note n="26" place="foot" resp="editors">For your ... so
                            basely: Inserted at top of fol. 1 r.</note>
</p>
</postscript>
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