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her last bed, in all probability, from whence she has
not risen in some weeks, yet in no direct pain, but a
perpetual languor. I suffer for her, for myself, and
for you, in the reflection of what you have felt at the
side of a sick bed, which I now feel, and of what I
probably soon shall suffer, which you now suffer, in
the loss of one's best friend. I have wished (ever
since I saw your letter) to ask you, since you find
your own house a scene of sorrows, to pass some
days in mine; which I begin to think I shall soon
have the same melancholy reason to shun. In the
mean time, I make a sort of amusement of this me-
lancholy situation itself, and try to derive a comfort
in imagining I give some to her. I am seldom
prompted to poetry in these circumstances; yet I'll
send you a few lines I sent t'other day from her bed-
side to a particular friend. Indeed I want spirits
and matter, to send you any thing else, or on any
other subject. These too are spiritless and incorrect.
While ev'ry joy, successful youth! is thine,
Be no unpleasing melancholy mine.

Me long, ah long! may these soft cares engage;
To rock the cradle of reposing age,

With lenient arts prolong a parent's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death.
Me, when the cares my better years have shewn
Another's age, shall hasten on my own;
Shall some kind hands, like B***'s or thine,
Lead gently down, and favour the decline?
In wants, in sickness, shall a friend be nigh,
Explore my thought, and watch my asking eye?
Whether that blessing be denied, or giv'n,

Thus far, is right; the rest belongs to Heav'n.

Excuse this, in a man who is weak and wounded,

but not by his enemies, but for his friends. I wish you the continuance of all that is yet dear to you in life, and am truly

DEAR SIR,

LETTER X.

TO THE SAME.

Yours.

September 29, 1731.

I RETURN you the inclosed the day after I received it, lest it should retard your finishing the copy, now the year draws toward winter: and though I am in a great hurry, which allows me to say little, only to tell you, in my Lord's name and my own, that we think you shew even more friendship and confidence in us, than we have hitherto been justly entitled to, from any use our opinion could be of, to a judgment so good as your own. We are fully satisfied; and 'tis but a word or two, that I can carp, with the utmost and most extended severity of a friend. It will be with infinitely greater promptitude, and pleasure, that I shall speak (every where) my real approbation and esteem of the performance, in which I shall do no more than discharge my conscience. I wish sincerely, I could as well serve you in promoting its success, as I can testify it deserves all success. You will, I am sure, be so candid, and so reasonable, as to conclude, I would not decline writing your epilogue on any but

a just reason, and indeed (to me) an invariable maxim, which I have held these twenty years. Every poetical friend I have, has had my word, I never would; and my leave to take the same refusals I made him, ill, if ever I wrote one for another: and this very winter, Mr. Thomson and Mr. Mallet excuse me, whose tragedies either are to appear this season, or the next. I fancy the latter, as I have seen or heard of no more but a first act, yet, of each.

I have lately had an address of another kind from a man of letters, which gives me more embarrassment, and in the conduct whereof I could wish I had your advice, though I hardly know how to ask it. I hope soon to see the critical work you promised me, in which I hope to have some further occasion of proving to you the real deference I have to your sentiments, and esteem for your person.

I am,

Dear Sir,

LETTER XI.

TO THE SAME.

Your, etc.

October 29, 1731.

DEAR SIR, THERE is an ill fate hangs upon me in relation to the pleasure I've often (from the very first time I saw you at Dr. Young's) proposed in our acquaintance. I really stayed that night in town, upon Bowry's notice, which he left in writing, that you should be at home all Wednesday, and had dedicated three

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hours to you, or more properly, to myself with you. I asked, particularly, for Miss Urania; but thought myself, though old enough, not familiar enough, to ask to see her. I desire your first notice, if you come this way; or rather, I wish you would take up your lodging with me. In the mean time, pray send the tragedy of Athelwold (for so I would call it), under cover, to the Countess of Suffolk, before Monday, at her lodgings in St. James's. I promised it her again; and if you think it of any consequence that the K. should see it in manuscript, I think nothing more easy. In truth, all this is doing it no credit; 'tis only doing some to those who may commend it. I could not imagine in what parts it needed addition; sure every incident is well prepared: but no man can see so far into his own work as the author, if a good one; so little, if a bad or indifferent one. -I am with truth, Sir,

Your, etc.

DEAR SIR,

LETTER XII.

TO THE SAME.

November 12, 1731. I SHALL have the pleasure (sick or well) to be at the first representation of your play to-morrow, with Lord Burlington and Lord Bathurst, and one or two

more.

Another noble Lord, who understands you best, must be contented to read the two last acts in his study but Sir Will. Wyndham, with Mr. Gay,

and some others, will be there also, in another place, in his stead. I write this that I may not take up a minute of your time in calling on me to-morrow; but if you will send to the office to-night for places for four people, we will order a man or two to go to keep 'em for us: Lord Burlington comes on purpose to town. I am, with great truth,

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I CANNOT leave London without thanking you for the pleasure you gave me last night, by which I see you can as well make actors, as plays: yet I own I receive more pleasure from reading than seeing your Athelwold. I thought the best part of the audience very attentive, and was told, several ladies were moved to tears. It is pity Mrs. Cibber's voice and person were not a little higher; she speaks extremely justly, and seems to be mistress of her part. I could not come soon enough for the prologue, but the epilogue is a very humorous one. I am ashamed to trouble you; but being gone out of town, and fearing the mistakes of servants, I beg a box may be had for Monday, the third night (if there be any empty), for Mrs. Blount, a particular friend of mine. I yesterday saw Lady Suffolk, and found, though

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