LONDON, _May_ 10, 1712.
I HAVE not yet ease or humour enough to go on in my journal method,
though I have left my chamber these ten days. My pain continues still in
my shoulder and collar: I keep flannel on it, and rub it with brandy, and
take a nasty diet drink. I still itch terribly, and have some few
pimples; I am weak, and sweat; and then the flannel makes me mad with
itching; but I think my pain lessens. A journal, while I was sick, would
have been a noble thing, made up of pain and physic, visits, and
messages; the two last were almost as troublesome as the two first. One
good circumstance is that I am grown much leaner. I believe I told you
that I have taken in my breeches two inches. I had your N. 29 last
night. In answer to your good opinion of my disease, the doctors said
they never saw anything so odd of the kind; they were not properly
shingles, but _herpes miliaris_, and twenty other hard names. I can
never be sick like other people, but always something out of the common
way; and as for your notion of its coming without pain, it neither came,
nor stayed, nor went without pain, and the most pain I ever bore in my
life. Medemeris {437b} is retired in the country, with the beast her
husband, long ago. I thank the Bishop of Clogher for his proxy; I will
write to him soon. Here is Dilly’s wife in town; but I have not seen her
yet. No, sinkerton: {437c} ’tis not a sign of health, but a sign that,
if it had not come out, some terrible fit of sickness would have
followed. I was at our Society last Thursday, to receive a new member,
the Chancellor of the Exchequer; {437d} but I drink nothing above wine
and water. We shall have a peace, I hope, soon, or at least entirely
broke; but I believe the first. My _Letter to Lord Treasurer_, about the
English tongue, {437e} is now printing; and I suffer my name to be put at
the end of it, which I never did before in my life. _The Appendix to the
Third Part of John Bull_ {438a} was published yesterday; it is equal to
the rest. I hope you read _John Bull_. It was a Scotch gentleman,
{438b} a friend of mine, that writ it; but they put it upon me. The
Parliament will hardly be up till June. We were like to be undone some
days ago with a tack; but we carried it bravely, and the Whigs came in to
help us. Poor Lady Masham, I am afraid, will lose her only son, about a
twelvemonth old, with the king’s evil. I never would let Mrs. Fenton see
me during my illness, though she often came; but she has been once here
since I recovered. Bernage has been twice to see me of late. His
regiment will be broke, and he only upon half-pay; so perhaps he thinks
he will want me again. I am told here the Bishop of Clogher and family
are coming over, but he says nothing of it himself. I have been
returning the visits of those that sent howdees {438c} in my sickness;
particularly the Duchess of Hamilton, who came and sat with me two hours.
I make bargains with all people that I dine with, to let me scrub my back
against a chair; and the Duchess of Ormond {438d} was forced to bear it
the other day. Many of my friends are gone to Kensington, where the
Queen has been removed for some time. This is a long letter for a kick
{438e} body. I will begin the next in the journal way, though my
journals will be sorry ones. My left hand is very weak, and trembles;
but my right side has not been touched.
This is a pitiful letter
For want of a better;
But plagued with a tetter,
My fancy does fetter.
Ah! my poor willows and quicksets! Well, but you must read _John Bull_.
Do you understand it all? Did I tell you that young Parson Gery {439a}
is going to be married, and asked my advice when it was too late to break
off? He tells me Elwick has purchased forty pounds a year in land
adjoining to his living. Ppt does not say one word of her own little
health. I am angry almost; but I won’t, ’cause see im a dood dallar in
odle sings; {439b} iss, and so im DD too. God bless MD, and FW, and ME,
ay and Pdfr too. Farewell, MD, MD, MD, FW, FW, FW. ME, ME Lele. I can
say lele it, ung oomens, iss I tan, well as oo.