The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From William Pulteney to Jonathan Swift - 7
I HAD, some time ago, a letter from Mr. Stopford, who told me, that you enjoyed a better state of health last year than you had done for some time past. No one wishes you more sincerely than I do the continuance of it. And since the gout has been your physick, I heartily hope you may have one good fit regularly every year, and all the rest of it perfect health and spirits.
I am persuaded you will do me the justice to believe, that if I have not writ to you for some time, it has proceeded from an unwillingness alone of engaging you in a very useless correspondence, and not from any want of a real regard and true esteem. Mr. Pope can be my witness how constantly I inquire after you, and how pleased and happy I am, when he tells me, that you have the goodness frequently to mention me in your letters to him.
I fear you have but little desire to come among us again. England has few things inviting in it at present. Three camps, near forty thousand troops, and sixteen kings[1], and most of them such as are really fit to be kings in any part of the world. Four millions of money have been raised on the people this year, and in all probability nothing will be done. I have not the least notion, that even our expedition under lord Cathcart[2] is intended to be sent any where; and yet every minister we have (except sir Robert) very gravely affirms it will go; nay, and I am afraid believes it too. But our situation is very extraordinary; sir Robert will have an army, will not have a war, and cannot have a peace; that is, the people are so averse to it, that he dares not make one. But in one year more, when, by the influence of this army and our money, he has got a new parliament to his liking, then he will make peace, and get it approved too, be it as it will. After which I am afraid we shall all grow tired of struggling any longer, and give up the game.
But I will trouble you with no more politicks: and if I can hear from you in two lines that you are well, I promise you not to reply to it too soon. You must give me leave to add to my letter a copy of verses at the end of a declamation made by a boy at Westminster school on this theme,
Ridentem dicere verum,
Quid vetat?
Dulce, decane, decus, flos optime gentis Hibernæ
Nomine quique audis, ingenioque celer;
Dum lepido indulges risu, et mutaris in horas,
Quô nova vis animi, materiesque rapit;
Nunc gravis astrologus, cœlo dominaris et astris,
Filaque pro libitu Partrigiana secas.
Nunc populo speciosa hospes miracula promis,
Gentesque æquoreas, aëriasque creas.
Seu plausum captat queruli persona draperi,
Seu levis a vacuo fabula sumpta cado.
Mores egregius mira exprimis arte magister,
Et vitam atque homines pagina quæque sapit.
Socraticæ minor est vis et sapientia chartæ,
Nec tantum potuit grande Platonis opus.
Mrs. Pulteney knowing that I am writing to you, charges me to present her services, when I assure you that I am most faithfully and sincerely,
Your obedient humble servant,
- ↑ Sixteen lords of the regency, the king being abroad.
- ↑ Against Carthagena. It went, and miscarried.