31. Robert Southey to Thomas Davis Lamb, [c. 23 November 1792]*

Dear Tom — again I take my penResolvd to write to you, Resolvd to send To you my friendA story long & true.

To say as how If time allowTo Oxford I went down; And eke to tell What me befellWithin that gallant town.

Ordine rect.¹ Without neglectConfusion too without We will approach Towards the coachAnd thence we will set out.

But by the by To tell no lieI ought to say the mail For tho I rhyme At no one timeShall Falshood cloud my tale.

A viel of clouds The welkin shrouds,Full dismal lookd the sky Inside no room! Unlucky doomUpon the roof get I.

And by my side Did one more rideA lawyer’s clerk was he His horn guard blows — I blew my noseAnd merrily on went we.

Scarce ten miles got (Unhappy lot!)When down descends the rain — No hope I fear Said I is near.I wish I was home again.

Faint heart then said he Neer won fair Lady,Perhaps the weather’ll mend — And should it not Twill be forgotWhen your journeys at an end

Now if you will Dear Tom stand stillAnd listen to my dress You then shall hear What much I fearYou’d never be able to guess.

For next my breast Poor I was drest,With my father’s warm fur cap As in inside I could not rideIt servd me thus by hap.

My own old bear Was over thereTo speak of more were vain Half the guards coat set To keep out wetFor bitterly came the rain.

To Faringdon Suppose we’re goneThe lawyers clerk got down. The whole coat mine Miles nine & nine,No more from Oxford town.

But there a man His journey beganOf whom we’ll more anon. His name indeed I can’t areedWhether Dick Jemmy Martin or John.

At Oxford town As I got downI saw them all intent Upon the ground In searching roundHowever in I went.

There as awhile I sat in stileMy negus was prepard, — My trunks up stairs The coachman bearsAnd with him comes the guard.

Into my hose My hand then goesSome money them to give — God help us all! No purse at allI found as sure as you live.

‘’Tis gone I swear. “No purse is thereNo purse can there be found! — Why to be sure That purse wer’nt yoursWe found upon the ground.

I will soon say. Perhaps it mayOf leather it was made. I do declare Two pockets thereWherein guineas four were laid

God help us all They both out call —The man that was with you. Did that purse own. None could disownWhat all believd was true.

Perhaps we can Find out this man.’Perhaps I said we may Where he is gone We ask anonAnd find he went away.

Coachman & Guard Both now prepardAlong with me to pack Two waiters wait On us in stateAnd followd them boot-jack.

Hap-hazard we go, Not very slow,Towards the inn next door — A waiter out came Who was calld to by nameBefore we proceed any more.

Stop stop they cry Here come to ITo speak a bit we want ye Say has there been Unto your InnA man with a hare & portmanteau?

Who just came down Into this townOn outside of the mail? The guard thus said And scratchd his headAnd listend for the tale.

But here my friend I must make an endTho only for a time In a post or so I’ll let you knowThe rest of the story in rhyme.

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Why I proceed after this you will soon see. but though I go on that is no reason why you should — if you are one half as tired with reading as I am with writing you will fling this letter behind the fire.

———

As you may read I thought indeedBefore to make an end But I will say Without delayWhy I go on my friend.

I thought it better Stead of one letterTo send my tale in two Until I gues’t You’d think it bestTo make one postage do.

Calld by his name The waiter cameTo us along the way. He scratchd his head And then he saidWhat I am going to say.

Just now there came One just the sameAs you describe I grant ye I do declare He had a hareAnd likewise a portmanteau.

We cry o ho And is it soWhere is he? waiter said — And so says John Why he is goneThis minute up to bed

All in a row Up stairs we goOur anger you may guess. But here we stayTom, whilst I sayWhat was this honest mans dress.

His shirt did hide His meagre sideThe jordan in his hand A nightcap red Upon his headAs barefooted he did stand.

Where is the purse? With a hearty curse —Says he was that purse thine? No no says I As I stood byBut that same purse is mine

O-ho says he That Sir may beI only took the same With me to keep Whilst I did sleepLest any rogue should claim.

And then to me The purse gave heTis well it is no worse — Twas kind (I say) To walk awayTo take care of my purse.

Full many a name Of evil fameThis fellow then they gave As — cheating rogue And gallows dogThief villain rascal knave

Whether he slept or no I do not know.One guinea still remaind This guinea too With much adoWe from the gutter gaind

With many a thank This last was drankBy those who got my purse And going to bed We all of us said,Tis well it is no worse.

Next morn I rise And ope my eyesMy little trunk I make fast. A letter write And send to inviteThe King of Men to breakfast.

How you would stare To see his hairIt looks so royal well Which when at school He made a ruleTo grease as we can tell.

Why should I express What you can guessHis rooms how neat & fine So cleanly too (Tom without you)Without your help or mine

Why say how fine The royal wineHow ruby red his nose. Of all such stuff Enough enoughThe morning past suppose.

I go God save me To Dr DaveyOf Baliol College head — And when he came My own sweet nameIn modest manner said

Dear Tom his wig Is not so bigAs many Doctors more — And so I may Presume to sayHis wisdom is the more —

So instantly To look at meFor fellows two did he send And luckily Whom should I spyIn one but a very good friend.

Oh my dear Thomas Indeed I promiseThat I was very glad Without examination Or any vexationTo swear away like mad

As they provide them To dare my fidemAnd go to the Vice Chancellor And nothing loth To buy an oathOf which he was the seller.

He then a book Very shabby to lookGave me — wasn’t that kind? For which nice gift Indeed I leftBut one pound-four behind.

Now Im in clover When all is overWhen without being examinated Im cappd gownd & swore And what is moreTo conclude matriculated.

My rooms to see Away went weRooms which my good friend found One room to keep in Another to sleep inThe floor upon the ground.

But every chair Dear Thomas thereIs like the roaring sea — There’s a simily good As Homer couldFor no bottom we could see

Tho’ mine be small Yet none at allYou know would never do So I must have As you perceiveSome chairs Dear Thomas new.

To church next day I went my wayA sermon grand to hear But to say next What was the textWould be as tiresome as the sermon I fear.

As Thomas Davis Your friend not grave isEnough such sight to stand The great wigs all — Each in his stallWith a trencher in his hand

Like so many old women A very odd trim inBlack gown with stripes of red So dull the sermon by hap That they all took a napAnd nodded each one his great head.

So heres an end My very dear friendWithout any more adoe I need not tell That I got home wellElse I should not be writing to you.

Some compliment Pray Tom presentTo all my friends at Rye Pray write & tell If (as I hope) youre well —And so dear Thomas good bye.

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All this whole sheet I have written without intermission — my hand really aches. pray write & let me know what is become of you?