61. Robert Southey to Horace Walpole Bedford, 20 October 1793 [possibly started before this date]*

Deferor tempestas hospes quo me cunque rapit,¹ In no other form to a rhyme could I shape it,And tho this my dear Horace a very queer whim will beI must beg leave just here to insert a good simile.

Of old tis said Procrustes had a bed² And a famous bed had he Where he used to invite To pass the nightWhoever he could see.

Unlucky was the wretchWhom he resolvd to stretchFor if the man were longer than the bedHe left him shorter by the heels or head —And if the bed was longerWhy he stretchd outThe miserable loutAs strong as Harrys catapulta or stronger.But Theseus³ at last made him take to his bedGood Physician — rebukd himPilld him purged him, & pukd himAnd physickd him till he was dead.

Tis a sad thing to say & yet say I must this.That I my dear Horace resemble ProcrustesThus distort the old verse in each prominent featureAnd cut it to fit the just shape of any metre —So you may apply what is true for you know meHospes cunque rapit tempestas deferor quo me.⁴

This bed (a strange contrast) recalls to my mindA most mournful scene I have just left behind.Still still it will force on my unwilling view — And I must relate the sad story to you.When to Brixton I went — as I past thro this townAnd to this house like lightning ran rapidly downI was just introduced to Miss Colbourne⁵ in hasteMade my congè & then on my journey I past.Such my speed I scarce lookd at the young Ladys faceAnd forgot here as soon as I quitted the place.Twas even (my friend) as the sailors rude handMarks his mistresses name on the perishing sandHe perhaps drops the tear — & goes pensively onThe high billow comes & the traces are gone.

I forgot her for deeply engraved on my breastOther features their durable figure imprest,Till when I arrivd here last Wednesday — my mindRecurrd to the Lady I there left behindI enquird & was shockd at the mournful reply —The poor girl fell down & had broken her thighTo the next house bore in — the Physicians not foundCursed asses — the nature & cause of the woundA full week she lay ere the fracture was knownIn the most dreadful part of that dangerous boneSix weeks quite unable to move has she lainAnd perhaps never more will she walk well again.

You may guess what I felt. better fancied than saidTo make short this evening I saw her in bedAngel-like I beheld her meek mild & resigndAnd the sad scene is deeply imprest on my mind —Still lovely still blooming still chearful her faceAppeard from misfortune to gather new graceShe seemd like a suffering angel below —To teach how superior is Wisdom to WoeAnd whilst my breast was full with compassion the whileShe welcomd us in & conversd with a smile.

I returnd my eyes ready with tears to oerflowMy bosom high swoln in the fullness of woe.In these moods no joy so delightful as griefFrom Sorrow itself Sorrow finds its reliefIn silence I wishd to heave past oer the nightAnd sit pensively down & to you Horace write.But Fate intervened & Fate must have her way —The card table is spread & poor Southey must play —I soon lost the rubber — then gladly withdrewTook my pen & sat down to unbosom to you.

Non ignarus disco miseris succurrere malo.⁶ When this I advance I do not advance a lye.To pour Pitys balm in Adversitys breastTo lull the sharp viper of sorrow to restWith compassion to soften the anguish of woeIs the best boon which Heaven on man can bestow.But to see Beauty suffer nor render reliefFate has not in store a more exquisite grief.

I shall rhapsodize more if on this I go onBut believe me all springs from compassion aloneBy Philosophy shielded my well guarded heartI trust can repel every love pointed dart —As the small pox no longer my terror can moveSo neither I fear the invasion of Love.Can gaze tranquil & calm on each soft females charmsAnd seek shelter from Anguish in Apathys arms.

No more of this hang-gallows-heltering themeIll betake me to bed & look sharp for a dream.

God of dreams hear my prayer To my pillow repairIndulge my petition to night Around my wild brain Send thy fanciful trainAnd give me a dream I may write.

Some chimeras prepare Some visions of airUnshapd by Reflections dull art In airy state spread Let them float round my headBut let them not aim at my heart.

Be so kind & so civil To present little Snivel⁷ The far famous general Tuncq⁸ Or with ghosts & with goblins When my wits are all hoblingPut my frame in a terrible funk.

God of slumbers hear my prayerRound my sleeping head repairOer my vacant brain diffuse,Thy lethean poppy dewsCome with all thy shadowy trainRevel oer thy victims brain.Tho by the haggard night mare prestVainly heaves my panting breast —When madness rules the midnight hourTho then presides the witches powerTo load my breast with vapours chillAnd bid the freezing blood stand stillWhilst Horror triumphs oer my brainGod of dreams I ask thy reign.

Lead me lead me Fancy’s childOer woods & mountains wandering wildLead me thro the gloomy gladePathless glen & desart shadeLet me in midnight forest hearThe gaunt wolfs howling rend my earAnd seek to shun the savage foeWhilst my limbs forget to go.

Or bid thy sprightly phantoms rareRound my sleeping head repair.Let me see in church yard gloomThe ghost slow rising from the tombSlow & stern his pale hand waveAnd bid me follow to the grave.Or from the rude rocks mighty heightSeize & plunge to endless night.Or lead me, to withdraw uneathTo the dull abode of DeathWhere rangd in mouldering order layThe monumental sons of clay.

Such visions Genius round my headIn stern array I bid thee spread —I ask each horror wild & woodThat chills with fear the palsied blood.Strikes on those strings that jar my soulAnd every shrinking nerve controulFreeze me with terror — but forbearThose softer scenes that nurse despair

Vain vain my petition the God heard my prayerAnd dispersd it unnoted ungranted to air.Tis true round my head float the forms of the nightUnconnected & wild they but troubled my sprite.I saw you & Grosvenor & Harry & KateIn scenes rude & senseless too strange to relate —Wakd quite sorry that Sleep would not aid my epistleEat my breakfast & hurried away here to Bristol.

Need I say that friend Shad when at last I reachd homeWas exceedingly glad Mr Robert was come —Phillis⁹ ran to the door — & stood shaking her tailAnd Ned ran downstairs to bid Robert all hail.

How they lookd at my bott & agreed every oneThat I seemd very well & was very much grown.

As a magpye returnd from her food seeking flightFlies in haste to observe if her eggs are all rightSends her spouse what provisions he near him to catchSquats down on the eggs & expects them to hatch.Like this magpye this chattering vain noisy bird I —To the eggs in my great desk impatiently flyWhat will soon be young chickens in one place I layAnd burn what are addled or fling them away.But first Sans Culottes was laid safe on the shelfBy the side of that far famous leveller Myself.I lockd up my desk & fled quickly down stairThen with Shad to my theatre up I repairSaw the scenes put in order each part in its placeThen sat down to dinner without saying graceMade a hearty good meal off each excellent dishEat like a young tyger & drank like a fish.

Night came — as old Custom & Appetite pleaseI devourd thirteen inches of good toasted cheeseBy no means proportioned my morsel of breadThen glad of repose I retird to my bed.

So Saturday past this morn I aroseFrom fantastical visions & put on my cloathsTo church our good folks go directly to prayWhilst at home I & Edward more wickedly stayHe remaind unto me his days lesson to doAnd I my dear Horace to scribble to you.And perhaps you, this notion will Southey, confirm inI was better employd than in sleeping at sermon —At the dull heavy dogma that tediously flowsThro the filth filld foul kennel of orthodox nose.

Here I am then at home. but how long here to stayIs more than just now I can venture to say —So now to amuse & inform you I’ll tryTo explain in what manner the dull moments flyOne while I the paper my humours express onThen read & then hear my friend Edward his lesson.When evening comes on & the brew house is darkHear Phillis at watch give the sentinel bark.Run away when Shad calls like a couple of catsAnd hero-like slaughter the rabble of ratsWatch with anxious desire when the post enters BristolAnd read twenty times each delighting epistleThus I draw read & write & take care to keep warm houseEat like a young lion & sleep like a dormouseAnd hear hear ye at Brixton & envy me thenI am always in bed eer the college strikes ten.

To all your good family make my respectAnd do not to write very shortly neglect.Love &c &c to all friends relateAnd be sure you remember Drawcansir¹⁰ to Kate.

There my dear friend — if there is not rhyme enough for you God forgive your insatiable avarice; it is now seven o clock on Sunday night. October 20th 1793. I left Brixton on Tuesday morning last — peregrinated till Wednesday night — played a rubber on Thursday — read Sir Launcelot Greaves¹¹ — playd again on Friday — reachd Bristol on Saturday — & during this interval have I written to your brother & all this rhyme to your Doctorial dignity — in the mean time neither you nor Grosvenor have laid pen to paper. this letter has no curious incident to fill it such as Snivels cough or the wasps nest — had I been here during the riots you should have had a very tragical account & perhaps would have been favoured at the assizes with the last dying speech & confession birth parentage & education of the notorious RS who was hung for being engaged in the riots.¹² but my hour not being yet arrived I was peacefully employd at Brixton & scaped hanging for the present. peace is at last restored — we are still however well watchd by the military — the horse parade in martial array & we have all the appearance of war. Bristol has indeed experienced some of the miseries of war — when the soldiers fird — so ill were their pieces directed — that only two who fell were rioters — the remainder were spectators & one a woman. our walls are white with denunciations of vengeance — no murders no blood hounds — Damn Ld Bateman¹³ — & — Daunbeny¹⁴ dies — are written upon every watch box & corner . it is melancholy to reflect that all these lives are lost thro the imprudence of the commissioners in taking off the toll & then imposing it again. the people have however carried their point — but should they attempt to punish the rioters in gaol I think consequences still more serious will ensue. so much of the riots. my journey was little productive of incident — I am not made for solitude & the road which in company would have appeard short — soon fatigued me. my pilgrimage to Dunnington was pleasant. I walkd twenty miles only breaking my fast with one small biscuit & some blackberries & without resting — then threw myself on the bank & contemplated the walls where Chaucer¹⁵ wore out the evening of his days — I lookd for his oak but it existed not — the traces of foundations are still visible — the whole fabric indeed sufferd more from the the civil war than from Time. you may easily imagine with what vehemence I devourd my dinner at Newbury. by the by mine was like to be a painful pilgrimage for I felt something not unlike a pea in my shoe — upon examination one of the wooden pegs was perforating the small part of my foot — the Sans Culottes removed the obstruction.

my eyes smart much but I am unwilling to leave off so very near the end — you will write soon I hope & send the plan of the 8th book — I wait for my baggage to begin — in the mean time I have plenty of employment. the history of the theatre — Shad & Southey managers you do not yet know — perhaps my next may give you the account — Peroonte Sir Bertrand¹⁶ &c &c. we shall kill a few rats by that time & perhaps other incidents may occur to make a good letter — this must however be deserved by you. the prospect of my toasted cheese at nine keeps my eyes open. tell your brother he must write soon & make my respects to all your good family

yrs sincerely.RS.