Friday morning [_circa_ October, 1720].

"Sir,--I received your letter with the accounts of the books you had
delivered. I have not seen Mr. Lintott's account, but shall take the
first opportunity to call on him. I cannot think your letter consists of
the utmost civility, in five lines to press me twice to make up my
account just at a time when it is impracticable to sell out of the
stocks in which my fortune is engaged. Between Mr. Lintott and you the
greatest part of the money is received, and I imagine you have a
sufficient number of books in your hands for the security of the rest.
To go to the strictness of the matter, I own my note engages me to make
the whole payment in the beginning of September. Had it been in my
power, I had not given you occasion to send to me, for I can assure you
I am as impatient and uneasy to pay the money I owe, as some men are to
receive it, and it is no small mortification to refuse you so reasonable
a request, which is that I may no longer be obliged to you."[3]

* * * * *

The loss of his fortune was, of course, a very severe blow to Gay, but
as ever, his friends gathered round him. Instead of being angry with him
for his folly--but no one of his friends was ever angry with him--they
looked upon him, and treated him, just as a spoilt child who had
disobediently tried to get over a hedge and had scratched himself in the
endeavour. They put their heads together to find "something" for him.
Gay, of course, was not easy to deal with; it was difficult to make him
listen to reason. He could not be brought to believe that it was not his
due to receive something for nothing. He had been secretary to Lord
Clarendon's brief Mission to Hanover; why had not diplomacy something to
offer him? The Princess of Wales had asked for a copy of a set of his