TO DR. SHERIDAN.
YOU run out of your time so merrily, that you are forced to anticipate it like a young heir, that spends his fortune faster than it comes in; for your letter is dated to morrow, June 29, and God knows when it was writ, or what Saturday you mean; but I suppose it is the next, and therefore your own mare, and Dr. Swift's horse or mare, or some other horse or mare, with your own mare aforesaid, shall set out on Wednesday next, which will be June 30, and so they will have two nights rest, if you begin your journey on Saturday. You are an unlucky devil, to get a living[1] the farthest in the kingdom from Quilca. If it be worth two hundred pound a year, my lord lieutenant has but barely kept his word, for the other fifty must go in a curate and visitation charges, and poxes, proxies I mean. If you are under the bishop of Cork[2], he is a capricious gentleman; but you must flatter him monstrously upon his learning and his writings; that you have read his book against Toland a hundred times, and his sermons (if he has printed any) have been always your model, &c. Be not disappointed, if your living does not answer the sum. Get letters of recommendation to the bishop and principal clergy, and to your neighbouring parson or parsons particularly. I often advised you to get some knowledge
- ↑ In the county of Cork.
- ↑ Dr. Peter Brown.
