Pray Heaven, she tell the truth of France!
'T is said she certainly was married
To Rocca, and had twice miscarried,
No—not miscarried, I opine,—
But brought to bed at forty-nine.70
Some say she died a Papist; some
Are of opinion that's a Hum;
I don't know that—the fellows Schlegel,[1]
Are very likely to inveigle
A dying person in compunction
To try th' extremity of Unction.
But peace be with her! for a woman
Her talents surely were uncommon,
Her Publisher (and Public too)
The hour of her demise may rue—80
For never more within his shop he—
Pray—Was not she interred at Coppet?
Thus run our time and tongues away;—
But, to return, Sir, to your play:
Sorry, Sir, but I cannot deal,
Unless 't were acted by O'Neill.
My hands are full—my head so busy,
I'm almost dead—and always dizzy;
And so, with endless truth and hurry,
Dear Doctor, I am yours,90
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 139-141.
Lines 67-82 first published, Letters, 1900, iv. 161.]
- ↑ [Byron and the elder Schlegel met at Copet, in 1816, but they did not take to each other. Byron "would not flatter him, perhaps because he did not appreciate or flatter Byron.]
and the sum of £4000 asked for the work. During the negotiations, Madame de Staël died (July 14, 1817), and the book was eventually published by Messrs. Baldwin and Cradock.—Letters, 1900, iv. 94, note.]
