R. B.
CLXXXIII.
TO MR. SUTHERLAND,
PLAYER.
ENCLOSING A PROLOGUE.
[When the farm failed, the poet sought pleasure in the playhouse: he tried to retire from his own harassing reflections, into a world created by other minds.]
Monday Morning.
I was much disappointed, my dear Sir, in wanting your most agreeable company yesterday. However, I heartily pray for good weather next Sunday; and whatever aërial Being has the guidance of the elements, may take any other half-dozen of Sundays he pleases, and clothe them with
“Vapours and clouds, and storms,
Until he terrify himself
At combustion of his own raising.”