It goes to-morrow,
     To nobody’s sorrow.

You are silly, not I; I’m a poet, if I had but, etc.—­Who’s silly now? rogues and lasses, tinderboxes and buzzards.  O Lord, I am in a high vein of silliness; methought I was speaking to dearest little MD face to face.  There; so, lads, enough for to-night; to cards with the blackguards.  Goodnight, my delight, etc.

Dec. 1.  Pish, sirrahs, put a date always at the bottom of your letter, as well as the top, that I may know when you send it; your last is of November 3, yet I had others at the same time, written a fortnight after.  Whenever you would have any money, send me word three weeks before, and in that time you will certainly have an answer, with a bill on Parvisol:  pray do this; for my head is full, and it will ease my memory.  Why, I think I quoted to you some of ——­’s letter, so you may imagine how witty the rest was; for it was all of a bunch, as Goodman Peesley[28] says.  Pray let us have no more bussiness, but busyness:  the deuce take me if I know how to spell it; your wrong spelling, Madam Stella, has put me out:  it does not look right; let me see, bussiness, busyness, business, bisyness, bisness, bysness; faith, I know not which is right, I think the second; I believe I never writ the word in my life before; yes, sure I must, though; business, busyness, bisyness.—­I have perplexed myself, and can’t do it.  Prithee ask Walls.  Business, I fancy that’s right.  Yes it is; I looked in my own pamphlet, and found it twice in ten lines, to convince you that I never writ it before.  Oh, now I see it as plain as can be; so yours is only an s too much.  The Parliament will certainly meet on Friday next:  the Whigs will have a great majority in the House of Lords, no care is taken to prevent it; there is too much neglect; they are warned of it, and that signifies nothing:  it was feared there would be some peevish address from the Lords against a peace.  ’Tis said about the town that several of the Allies begin now to be content that a peace should be treated.  This is all the news I have.  The Queen is pretty well:  and so now I bid poor dearest MD farewell till to-night; then I will talk with them again.

The fifteen images that I saw were not worth forty pounds, so I stretched a little when I said a thousand.  The Grub Street account of that tumult is published.  The Devil is not like Lord Treasurer:  they were all in your odd antic masks, bought in common shops.[29] I fear Prior will not be one of the plenipotentiaries.

I was looking over this letter, and find I make many mistakes of leaving out words; so ’tis impossible to find my meaning, unless you be conjurers.  I will take more care for the future, and read over every day just what I have written that day, which will take up no time to speak of.

LETTER 36.

London, Dec. 1, 1711.