you line from directed to the Pot-houfe in Bath. Poor Parnell is in an ill ftate of health. Pardon me if I add a word of advice in the poetical way. Write fomething on the King, or Prince, or Prineefs. On whatfoever foot you may be with the court, this can do no harm.-I fhall never know where to end, and am confounded in the many things I have to say to you, though they all amount but to this, that I am entirely, as ever, Your, etc. LETTER V. London, Nov. 8, 1717. T yours to Am extremely glad to find by a Letter of Mr. Fortefcue, that you have received one from me; and I beg you to keep, as the greateft of curiofities, that letter of mine which you received, and I never writ. But the truth is, that we were made here to expect you in a fhort time, that I was upon the ramble moit part of the Summer, and have concluded the feason in grief, for the death of my poor father. I fhall not enter into a detail of my concerns and troubles, for two reasons; because I am really afflicted and need no airs of grief, and becaufe they are not the concerns and troubles of any but myself. But I think you (without too great a compliment) enough my friend, to be pleased to know he died easily, without a groan, or the fickness of two minutes; in a word, as filently and peacefully as he lived. Sic mihi contingat vivere, ficque mori ! I am not in the humour to say gay things, nor in the affectation of avoiding them. I can't pretend to en 3 tertain either Mr. Pulteney or you, as you have done both my Lord Burlington and me, by your letter to Mr. Lowndes *. I am only forry you have no greater quarrel to Mr. Lowndes, and wish you paid fome hundreds a year to the land-tax. That gentleman is lately become an inoffenfive perfon to me too : fo that we may join heartily in our addreffes to him, and (like true patriots) rejoice in all that good done to the nation and government, to which we contribute nothing ourselves. I should not forget to acknowledge your letter fent from Aix; you told me then that writing was not good with the waters, and, I find fince, you are of my opinion, that 'tis as bad without the waters. But, I fancy, it is not writing but thinking, that is fo bad with the waters; and then you might write without any manner of judice, if you writ like our brother Poets of thefe days. pre The Duchefs, Lord Warwick, Lord Stanhope, Mrs. Bellenden, Mrs. Lepell, and I can't tell who elfe, had your letters: Dr. Arbuthnot and I expect to be treated like friends. I would fend my fervices to Mr. Fulteney, but that he is out of favour at court; and make fcme compliment to Mrs. Pulteney, if she were not a Whig. My Lord Burlington tells me fhe has as much. out-fhined all the French ladies, as fhe did the English before I am forry for it, because it will be detrimental to our holy religion, if heretical women should eclipse thofe Nuns and orthodox Beauties, in whose eyes alone lie all the hopes we can have, of gaining fuch fine gentlemen as you to our church. Yours, etc. I wish you joy of the birth of the young prince, because he is the only prince we have from whom you have had no expectations and no difappointments. * A Poem intituled, To my ingenious and worthy friend W. Lowndes, Efq; Author of ikat celebrated treatife in Folio, called the LAND-TAX BILL. LETTER VI. From Mr. GAY to Mr. F. Stanton-Harcourt, Aug. 9, 1718. THE only news that you can expect to have from me here, is news from heaven, for I am quite out of the world, and there is scarce any thing can reach me except the noife of thunder, which undoubtedly you have heard too. We have read in old authors of high towers levell'd by it to the ground, while the humble valleys have escap'd: the only thing that is proof against it is the laurel, which, however, i take to be no great fecurity to the brains of modern authors. But to let you fee that the contrary to this often happens, I muft acquaint you, that the highest and most extravagant heap of towers in the univerfe, which is in this neighbourhood," stand ftill undefaced, while a cock of barley in our next field has been confumed to afhes. Would to God that this heap of barley had been all that had perished! for unhappily beneath this little fhelter fat two much more. conftant Lovers than ever were found in Romance under the fhade of a beech-tree, John Hewet was a wellfet man of about five and twenty, Sarah Drew might be rather called. comely than beautiful, and was about the fame age. They had pafs'd through the various labours of the year together, with the greateft fatisfaction; if the milk'd, 'twas his morning and evening care, to bring the cows to her hand; it was but laft fair that he bought her a prefent of green filk for her ftraw hat, and the pofe on her filver ring was of his chufing. Their love was the talk of the whole neighbourhood; for fcandal never affirmed that they had any other views than the lawful poffeffion of each other in marriage. It was that yery morning that he had obtain'd the confent of her parents, and it was but till the next week that they were to wait to be happy. Perhaps in the intervals of their work they were now talking of the wedding cloaths, and John was fuiting several sorts of poppies and field flowers to her complexion, to chufe her a knot for the wedding-day. While they were thus bufied (it was on the last of July between two and three in the afternoon) the clouds grew black, and fuch a ftorm of lightning and thunder enfued, that all the labourers made the best of their way to what shelter the trees and hedges afforded. Sarah was frighted, and fell down in a swoon, on a heap of barley. John, who never separated from her, fat down by her fide, having raked together two or three heaps, the better to secure her from the ftorm. Immediately there was heard fo loud a crack, as if heaven had fplit afunder; every one was now folicitous for the fafety of his neighbour, and called to one another throughout the field: No answer being returned to those who called to our Lovers, they ftept to the place where they lay; they perceived the barley all in a smoke, and then spied this faithful pair: "John with one arm about Sarah's neck, and the other held over her, as to skreen her from the lightning. They were ftruck dead, and ftiffen'd in this tender pofture. Sarah's left eye-brow was fing'd, and there appeared a black fpot on her breaft: her lover was all over black, but not the leaft figns of life were found in either. Attended by their melancholy companions, they were convey'd to the town, and the next day were interr'd in Stanton-Harcourt Church-yard. My Lord: Harcourt, at Mr. Pope's and my request, has caufed a ftone to be placed over them, upon condition that we furnish'd the Epitaph, which is as follows; When Eaftern lovers feed the fun'ral fire, Here pitying Heav'n that virtue mutual found, But my Lord is apprehenfive the country people will not understand this, and Mr. Pope fays he'll make one with fomething of Scripture in it, and with as little of poetry as Hopkins and Sternhold *.. Your, etc. DEAR GAY, LETTER VII. Sept. 11, 1722. I Thank you for remembering me; I would do my best to forget myself, but that, I find, your idea is fo closely connected to me, that I muft forget both together, or The Epitaph was this, Near this place lie the bodies of were in one inftant killed by Lightning Think not, by rig'rous Judgment seiz'd, Live well, and fear no fudden fate; Alike 'tis Juftice foon or late, Mercy alike to kill or fave. Virtue unmov'd can hear the call, And face the flash that melts the ball. |