By the present enclosed in your excellency's letter, I find the Sicilians to be bad delineators, and worse poets. As sneakingly as the prince looks at the bishop's foot, I could have made him look ten times worse, and have done more right to the piece, by placing your excellency there, representing your mistress the queen, and delivering the crown to the bishop, with orders where to place it. I should like your new king very well, if he would make Sicily his constant residence, and use Savoy only as a commendam. Old books have given me great ideas of that island. I imagine every acre there worth three in England; and that a wise prince, in such a situation, would, after some years, be able to make what figure he pleased in the Mediterranean.
The duke of Shrewsbury, not liking the weather on our side the water, continues in Ireland, although he formally took his leave there six weeks ago. Tom Harley is every hour expected here, and writes me word, "he has succeeded at Hanover to his wishes." Lord Stafford writes the same, and gives himself no little merit upon it.
Barber the printer was, some time ago, in great distress, upon printing a pamphlet, of which evil tongues would needs call me the author[1]: he was brought before your house, which addressed the queen in a body, who kindly published a proclamation with three hundred pounds to discover. The fault was, calling the Scots "a fierce poor northern people." So well protected are those who scribble for the government! Upon which, I now put one
