Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 12.djvu/416

 You are the silliest lover in Christendom: If you like Mrs., why do you not command her to take you? if she does not, she is not worth pursuing; you do her too much honour; she has neither sense nor taste, if she dares to refuse you, though she had ten thousand pounds. I do not remember to have told you of thanks that you have not given, nor do I understand your meaning, and I am sure I had never the least thoughts of any myself. If I am your friend, it is for my own reputation, and from a principle of self-love, and I do sometimes reproach you for not honouring me by letting the world know we are friends.

I see very well how matters go with the duchess in regard to me. I heard her say, "Mr. Gay, fill your letter to the dean, that there may be no room for me, the frolick is gone far enough, I have writ thrice, I will do no more; if the man has a mind to come, let him come; what a clutter is here? positively I will not write a syllable more." She is an ungrateful duchess considering how many adorers I have procured her here, over and above the thousands she had before. — I cannot allow you rich enough till you are worth seven thousand pounds, which will bring you three hundred per annum, and this will maintain you, with the perquisite of spunging while you are young, and when you are old will afford you a pint of port at night, two servants, and an old maid, a little garden, and pen and ink — vided