Letter LXII
Charles Street, May 9, 1778.
TO MISS C——.
The Sanchos—in full synod—humbly present their respectful compliments to the good Mrs. C—— and Miss —— (what a C——!) are happy in hearing they got well into Suffolk—that they continue so—and enjoy the beauties of this sweetest of seasons—with its attendant dainties—fresh butter—sweet milk—and the smiles of boon nature—on hill and dale—fields and groves—shepherds piping—milk-maids dancing—and the chearful respondent carolings of artless joy in the happy husbandmen—Should you perchance rise early in pursuit of May dew—I earnestly make it my request—you will save—and bring to town a little bottle of it for my particular use.—Happy—thrice happy nymphs—!—be merciful to the poor hapless swains. The powerful little god of mischief and delight now—at this blest season—prunes his beauteous wings—new feathers and sharpens his arrows—tight strings his bow—and takes too sure his aim.—Oh! lads, beware the month of May. For you, blest girls—nature, decked out as in a birth-day suit, courts you with all its sweets where-e’er you tread—the grass and wanton flowerets fondly kiss your feet—and humbly bow their pretty heads—to the gentle sweepings of your under-petticoats—the soft and amorous southern breezes toy with your curls, and uncontroul’d steal numberless kisses—the blackbirds and thrushes suspend their songs—and eye beauty and humanity with pleasure;—and, could their hearts be read, thank most sincerely the generous fair hands that fed them in the winter;—the cuckoo sings on every tree the joys of married life—the shrubbery throws out all its sweets to charm you—though, alas! an unlucky parciplepliviaplemontis seizes my imagination—my brains are on the ferment—Miss C—— will excuse me.—Make my best wishes to Mrs. C——, tell her I hope she rides and walks in moderation—eats heartily, and laughs much—sleeps soundly, dreams happily—that she—you—my R—— and your connexions—may enjoy the good of this life without its evil—is the true Black-a-moor wish of
I. SANCHO.
Now mark, this is not meant as a letter—no—it is an address to the ladies.—Pray our best respects to Mr. and Mrs. B——; it is an address to Spring-birds and flowers—and when you see Johnny, our loves—it is a caution to the swains against the popery of Love.—The K—— and Q—— are just now returned from Portsmouth.—I said nothing in regard to the month by way of advice to the ladies.—The Spectator—blessings on his memory—has.—They say the Royal chaise was covered with dirt—even the very glasses.—Quistus Quirini—was found very late last night.—Nothing broke—except the hemmings of advantage.—They say the Queen never looked better.—But what amaz’d most people—both the Royal postillions rode the off-horses—which it is expected the Gazette of this night will explain—Adieu.
Is not that—a good one.
From the Public Advertiser of May 13th, 1778
Inserted unknown to Mr. Sancho.
TO MR. B——.
DEAR SIR,
I could not see Mr. de Groote till this morning—he approached the threshold—poor man—in very visible illness;—yet, under the pressure of a multitude of infirmities—he could not forget his recent humane benefactor. With faultering speech he enquired much who you were;—and, in the conclusion, put up his most earnest petitions to the Father of Mercies in your behalf—which (if the prayers of an indigent genius have as much efficacy as those of a fat bishop) I should hope and trust you may one day be the better for.—He is in direct descent from the famous Hugo Grotius by the father’s side.—His own mother was daughter to Sir Thomas Hesketh. He married the widow Marchioness de Melaspina.—His age is 86; he had a paralytic stroke—and has a rupture.—His eyes are dim, even with the help of spectacles.—In truth, he comes close to Shakspeare’s description in his last age of man—“Sans teeth—sans eyes—sans taste—sans every thing.”
He has the honour to be known to Dr. Johnson—and the luck to be sometimes remembered by Mr. Garrick.—If you help him—you do yourself a kindness—me a pleasure—and he, poor soul, a good—which he may one time throw in your teeth—in that country where good actions are in higher estimation than stars—ribbons—or crowns.
Yours, most respectfully,
IGNATIUS SANCHO.
He lodges at Nᵒ. 9, New Pye-Street, Westminster.