Keats's reply to Shelley ran as follows:--


'Hampstead--August 10, 1820.

'MY DEAR SHELLEY,

'I am very much gratified that you, in a foreign country, and with a
mind almost over-occupied, should write to me in the strain of the
letter beside me. If I do not take advantage of your invitation, it will
be prevented by a circumstance I have very much at heart to prophesy[4].
There is no doubt that an English winter would put an end to me, and do
so in a lingering hateful manner. Therefore I must either voyage or
journey to Italy, as a soldier marches up to a battery. My nerves at
present are the worst part of me: yet they feel soothed that, come what
extreme may, I shall not be destined to remain in one spot long enough
to take a hatred of any four particular bedposts.

'I am glad you take any pleasure in my poor poem--which I would
willingly take the trouble to unwrite if possible, did I care so much as
I have done about reputation.

'I received a copy of _The Cenci_, as from yourself, from Hunt. There is
only one part of it I am judge of--the poetry and dramatic effect, which
by many spirits nowadays is considered the Mammon. A modern work, it is
said, must have a purpose; which may be the God. An artist must serve
Mammon: he must have "self-concentration"--selfishness perhaps. You, I
am sure, will forgive me for sincerely remarking that you might curb
your magnanimity, and be more of an artist, and load every rift of your
subject with ore. The thought of such discipline must fall like cold