“I have sent you some game, which I hope to partake with you to-morrow. Indeed, Madam, you are too cruel to desire to postpone my happiness till the beginning of the next century. I can die for the lady I love any day she pleases to command me, but to live 40 years for her is more than I can promise; besides, Madam, I would have you consider that in all the conquests Love makes, there is on the male side, constantly a little pride and vanity; do you think that I have not something of that kind, in the pleasure I propose to myself of making Mr. Montagu jealous, and of triumphing and insulting over Dr. Monsey; and can you yourself promise me either of these forty years hence? In conscience therefore reduce the horrid period of forty years to twenty at most, and tell me in your next, come twenty years hence and be happy. But all you promise in your letter is, that the beginning of next century, perhaps, you may begin to listen. This cold proceeding, with an impetuous Lover of fourscore, who is impatient to convince you how much he loves you and how passionately he is yours for the remainder of the millenium, whenever it begins,
“Bath.”
From St. James’s on December 14, Dr. Monsey writes a folio letter to Mrs. Montagu, beginning—
“Serenissima Principessa!
“There are no bounds to Pride, because an Earl is fallen in love with you, you must kiss a King, and just as he is on the brink of matrimony. How dare you do so audacious a thing, whilst your Hubby is alive too? Had he broke his neck down a coal pit the matter had been nothing, but to inflame the heart of a young monarch when he can reap no benefit from it without breaking the laws of his Kingdom, or your breaking the Laws of God. Let me tell you, Madam (if I now may presume to tell you anything), it is a very imprudent step. Emin has miscarried in Persia, and so now you will let yourself down to the deluding hopes of being Queen of England. Can you sleep this night while Majesty lies tumbling and tossing, and starts at Montagu peeping thro’ his curtains;—My Kingdom for this Woman, or this Woman for my Kingdom. Have you chosen your ladies of the bedchamber, pitched upon your coronation, and made me your chief Physician....”
DR. MONSEY’S DOGGEREL VERSE
After a long rhodomontade, he falls into doggerel verse, a frequent habit of his in his letters. As I have not hitherto recorded any verses of his in this work, I will give this specimen—
“What power can withstand Gt. Britain’s King,
Where for a Queen he has so fair a thing?
Nations fight Nations, and one fool beats t’other,