I thank you heartily for your intended presents, but do by no means see the necessity you are under of burthening yourself thereby. You have read old Wither's Supersedeas to small purpose. You object to my pauses being at the end of my lines. I do not know any great difficulty I should find in diversifying or changing my blank verse; but I go upon the model of Shakspere in my Play, and endeavour after a colloquial ease and spirit, something like him. I could so easily imitate Milton's versification; but my ear & feeling would reject it, or any approaches to it, in the drama. I do not know whether to be glad or sorry that witches have been detected aforetimes in shutting up of wombs. I certainly invented that conceit, and its coincidence with fact is incidental [? accidental], for I never heard it. I have not seen those verses on Col. Despard—I do not read any newspapers. Are they short, to copy without much trouble? I should like to see them.

I just send you a few rhymes from my play, the only rhymes in it—a forest-liver giving an account of his amusements:—

What sports have you in the forest?
Not many,—some few,—as thus.
To see the sun to bed, and see him rise,
Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,
Bursting the lazy bands of sleep that bound him:
With all his fires and travelling glories round him:
Sometimes the moon on soft night-clouds to rest,
Like beauty nestling in a young man's breast,
And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep
Admiring silence, while those lovers sleep:
Sometimes outstretch'd in very idleness,
Nought doing, saying little, thinking less,
To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
Go eddying round; and small birds how they fare,
When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn,
Filch'd from the careless Amalthea's horn;
And how the woods berries and worms provide,
Without their pains, when earth hath nought beside
To answer their small wants;
To view the graceful deer come trooping by,
Then pause, and gaze, then turn they know not why,
Like bashful younkers in society;
To mark the structure of a plant or tree;
And all fair things of earth, how fair they be! &c. &c.

I love to anticipate charges of unoriginality: the first line is almost
Shakspere's:—

"To have my love to bed & to arise." Midsummer Nights Dream [III., I, 174].

I think there is a sweetness in the versification not unlike some rhymes in that exquisite play, and the last line but three is yours:

"An eye That met the gaze, or turn'd it knew not why." Rosamund's Epistle.

I shall anticipate all my play, and have nothing to shew you. An idea for Leviathan:—

Commentators on Job have been puzzled to find out a meaning for
Leviathan,—'tis a whale, say some; a crocodile, say others. In my
simple conjecture, Leviathan is neither more nor less than the Lord
Mayor of London for the time being.

"Rosamund" sells well in London, maugre the non-reviewal of it.