of your life. You will be mild and meek in your conversation, and not frighten parliamentmen, and keep even lord lieutenants in awe. You will then be qualified for that slavery, which the country you live in, and the order you profess, seem to be designed for. It will take off that giddiness in your head, which has disturbed yourself and others. The disputes between sir Arthur[1] and my lady, will for the future be confined to prose; and an old thorn may be cut down in peace, and warm the parlour chimney, without heating the heads of poor innocent people, and turning their brains.
You ought to remember what St. Austin says, Poesis est vinum dæmonum. Consider the life you now lead: you warm all that come near you with your wine and conversation; and the rest of the world, with your pen dipped deep in St. Austin's vinum dæmonum.
So far for your soul's health. Now, as to the health of your body: I must inform you, that part of what I prescribe to you, is the same which our great friar Bacon prescribed to the pope who lived in his days. Read his Cure of old age, and Preservation of youth, chapter the 12th. You used to say, that you found benefit from riding. The French, an ingenious people, used the word chevaucher, instead of monter à cheval, and they look upon it as the same thing in effect.
- ↑ Sir Arthur Acheson, at whose seat, in a village called Markethill in Ireland, the dean sometimes made a long visit. The dispute between sir Arthur and my lady, here alluded to, is whether Hamilton's bawn should be turned into a barrack, or a malthouse? The Old Thorn, is that cut down at Market hill, the subject of a little poem written by Swift.
