drowsiness; and then I yawn and stretch like a devil.

Yet in Dryden's Palemon and Arcite have I just now met with a passage,
that has in it much of our Bob.'s case. These are some of the lines.


Mr. Mowbray then recites some lines from that poem, describing a
distracted man, and runs the parallel; and then, priding himself
in his performance, says:

Let me tell you, that had I begun to write as early as you and Lovelace,
I might have cut as good a figure as either of you. Why not? But boy or
man I ever hated a book. 'Tis folly to lie. I loved action, my boy. I
hated droning; and have led in former days more boys from their book,
than ever my master made to profit by it. Kicking and cuffing, and
orchard-robbing, were my early glory.

But I am tired of writing. I never wrote such a long letter in my life.
My wrist and my fingers and thumb ache d----n----y. The pen is an
hundred weight at least. And my eyes are ready to drop out of my head
upon the paper.--The cramp but this minute in my fingers. Rot the goose
and the goose-quill! I will write no more long letters for a
twelve-month to come. Yet one word; we think the mad fellow coming to.
Adieu.



LETTER XXIII

MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ.