I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. First, from a sensible little man, curate of a neighbouring village;[640] then from Walter Bagot; then from Henry Cowper; and now from you. It was a blunder hardly pardonable in a man who has lived amid fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two stanzas which I composed last night, when I lay awake, tormented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account for it.
Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse
If, bound in rhyming tethers,
He had committed this abuse
Of changing ewes for wethers;
But, male for female is a trope,
Or rather bold misnomer,
That would have startled even Pope
When he translated Homer.
Having translated all the Latin and Italian Miltonics, I was proceeding merrily with a Commentary on the Paradise Lost, when I was seized, a week since, with a most tormenting disorder; which has qualified me, however, to make some very feeling observations on that passage, when I shall come to it:
"Ill fare our ancestor impure!"
For this we may thank Adam;—and you may thank him, too, that I am not able to fill my sheet, nor endure a writing posture any longer. I conclude abruptly, therefore, but sincerely subscribing myself, with my best compliments to Mrs. Hill,
Your affectionate,
W. C.
TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
Weston, April 16, 1792.
My dear Lady Frog,—I thank you for your letter, as sweet as it was short, and as sweet as good news could make it. You encourage a hope that has made me happy ever since I have entertained it. And if my wishes can hasten the event, it will not be long suspended.[641] As to your jealousy, I mind it not, or only to be pleased with it; I shall say no more on the subject at present than this, that of all ladies living, a certain lady, whom I need not name, would be the lady of my choice for a certain gentleman, were the whole sex submitted to my election.