LONDON, November 21, 1758.
MY DEAR FRIEND: You did well to think of Prince Ferdinand’s ribband,
which I confess I did not; and I am glad to find you thinking so far
beforehand. It would be a pretty commission, and I will ‘accingere me’ to
procure it to you. The only competition I fear, is that of General Yorke,
in case Prince Ferdinand should pass any time with his brother at The
Hague, which is not unlikely, since he cannot go to Brunswick to his
eldest brother, upon account of their simulated quarrel.
I fear the piece is at an end with the King of Prussia, and he may say
‘ilicet’; I am sure he may personally say ‘plaudite’. Warm work is
expected this session of parliament, about continent and no continent;
some think Mr. Pitt too continent, others too little so; but a little
time, as the newspapers most prudently and truly observe, will clear up
these matters.
The King has been ill; but his illness is terminated in a good fit of the
gout, with which he is still confined. It was generally thought that he
would have died, and for a very good reason; for the oldest lion in the
Tower, much about the King’s age, died a fortnight ago. This
extravagancy, I can assure you, was believed by many above peuple. So
wild and capricious is the human mind!
Take care of your health as much as you can; for, To BE, or NOT To BE, is
a question of much less importance, in my mind, than to be or not to be
well. Adieu.