LETTER 46.[1]
LONDON, May 10, 1712.
I have not yet ease or humour enough to go on in my journal method, though I
have left my chamber these ten days. My pain continues still in my shoulder
and collar: I keep flannel on it, and rub it with brandy, and take a nasty
diet drink. I still itch terribly, and have some few pimples; I am weak, and
sweat; and then the flannel makes me mad with itching; but I think my pain
lessens. A journal, while I was sick, would have been a noble thing, made up
of pain and physic, visits, and messages; the two last were almost as
troublesome as the two first. One good circumstance is that I am grown much
leaner. I believe I told you that I have taken in my breeches two inches. I
had your N.29 last night. In answer to your good opinion of my disease, the
doctors said they never saw anything so odd of the kind; they were not
properly shingles, but herpes miliaris, and twenty other hard names. I can
never be sick like other people, but always something out of the common way;
and as for your notion of its coming without pain, it neither came, nor
stayed, nor went without pain, and the most pain I ever bore in my life.
Medemeris[2] is retired in the country, with the beast her husband, long ago.
I thank the Bishop of Clogher for his proxy; I will write to him soon. Here
is Dilly's wife in town; but I have not seen her yet. No, sinkerton:[3] 'tis
not a sign of health, but a sign that, if it had not come out, some terrible
fit of sickness would have followed. I was at our Society last Thursday, to
receive a new member, the Chancellor of the Exchequer;[4] but I drink nothing
above wine and water. We shall have a peace, I hope, soon, or at least
entirely broke; but I believe the first. My Letter to Lord Treasurer, about
the English tongue,[5] is now printing; and I suffer my name to be put at the
end of it, which I never did before in my life. The Appendix to the Third
Part of John Bull[6] was published yesterday; it is equal to the rest. I hope
you read John Bull. It was a Scotch gentleman,[7] a friend of mine, that writ
it; but they put it upon me. The Parliament will hardly be up till June. We
were like to be undone some days ago with a tack; but we carried it bravely,
and the Whigs came in to help us. Poor Lady Masham, I am afraid, will lose
her only son, about a twelvemonth old, with the king's evil. I never would
let Mrs. Fenton see me during my illness, though she often came; but she has
been once here since I recovered. Bernage has been twice to see me of late.
His regiment will be broke, and he only upon half-pay; so perhaps he thinks he
will want me again. I am told here the Bishop of Clogher and family are
coming over, but he says nothing of it himself. I have been returning the
visits of those that sent howdees[8] in my sickness; particularly the Duchess
of Hamilton, who came and sat with me two hours. I make bargains with all
people that I dine with, to let me scrub my back against a chair; and the
Duchess of Ormond[9] was forced to bear it the other day. Many of my friends
are gone to Kensington, where the Queen has been removed for some time. This
is a long letter for a kick[10] body. I will begin the next in the journal
way, though my journals will be sorry ones. My left hand is very weak, and
trembles; but my right side has not been touched.
This is a pitiful letter
For want of a better;
But plagued with a tetter,
My fancy does fetter.
Ah! my poor willows and quicksets! Well, but you must read John Bull. Do you
understand it all? Did I tell you that young Parson Gery[11] is going to be
married, and asked my advice when it was too late to break off? He tells me
Elwick has purchased forty pounds a year in land adjoining to his living. Ppt
does not say one word of her own little health. I am angry almost; but I
won't, 'cause see im a dood dallar in odle sings;[12] iss, and so im DD too.
God bless MD, and FW, and ME, ay and Pdfr too. Farewell, MD, MD, MD, FW, FW,
FW. ME, ME Lele. I can say lele it, ung oomens, iss I tan, well as oo.
