Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 12.djvu/33

Rh best, I have an ill head and an aching heart. Pray God send you soon back to your country in peace and honour, that I may once more see him cum quo morantem sæpe diem fregi, &c.

DEAR SIR,

INCE I love you with all the ties of inclination and friendship, and wish you half the happiness of life, health especially, the chiefest, you will pardon me being a little peevish, when I received your'syours [sic] of the twenty-eighth past, which told me I must not expect to see you here, and that you were not perfectly well at Dublin. I hope there is a little spleen mixed with your distemper; in which case your horse may be your physician, and your physician may have the happiness of being your companion; an honour, which many here would envy him. As to the sang froid of fifty, who has it not, that is worth conversing with, except Harley and Bathurst? at least, make no more that sort of complaint to me. Isthæc commemoratio est quasi exprobratio; for fifty (as Mr. Locke observes) is equal to fifty; and a cough is worse than the spleen. My bookseller is a blockhead; so have they all been, or worse, from Chaucer's scrivener, down to John and Jacob; Mr. Hyde only excepted, to whom my books in quires are consigned, and the greatest care taken, that they are rightly put up. Several of the subscribers to you, requiring their books here, have had them. I need not repeat my thanks to you, for the trouble this Rh