my sight; and, by staring want, solitude, neglect and the rest of that train in the face, I have disarmed them of their terrours. I have heard of somebody, who, while he was in the Tower, used, every morning, to lie down on the block, and so act over his last scene.
Nothing disturbs me, but the uncertainty of my situation, which the zeal of a few friends, and the inveteracy of a great many enemies, entertain. The more prepared I am to pass the remainder of my life in exile, the more sensibly shall I feel the pleasure of returning to you, if his majesty's unconditional favour (the offers of which prevented even my wishes) proves at last effectual. I cannot apply to myself, as you bid me do;
Non tibi parvum
Ingenium, non incultum est,
and what follows; and, if ever we live in the same country together, you shall not apply to me,
Quod si
Frigida curarum fomenta relinquere posses.
I have writ to you, before I was aware of it, a long letter. The pleasure of breaking so long a silence transports me; and your sentiment is a sufficient excuse. It is not so easy to find one for talking so much about myself; but I shall want none with you upon this score. Adieu.
This letter will get safe to London; and from thence, I hope, the friend, to whom I recommend it, will find means of conveying it to you. — For God's sake, no more apologies for your quotations, unless you mean, by accusing yourself, to correct me.
