LETTER IN VERSE by WILLIAM COWPER

IF I write not to you
As I gladly would do
To a Man of your Mettle & Sense,
'Tis a Fault I must own
For which I'll attone
When I take my Departure from hence.

To tell you y@4e@1 Truth,
I'm a queer kind of Youth
And I care not if all y@4e@1 world knows it;
Whether Sloven, or Beau,
In Square, Alley, or Row,
At Whitehall, in y@4e@1 court, or y@4e@1 closet.

Having written thus much
In honest high Dutch,
I must now take a nobler still up:
Give my Fancy, a prick,
My Invention, a flick,
And my Genius a pretty smart Fillip.

For the Bus'ness in hand
You are to understand,
Is indeed neither trifling nor small:
But w@4ch@1 you may transact
If your scull is not crackt
As well as y@4e@1 best of them all.

And so may your @3Dear Wife@1
Be y@4e@1 joy of your Life,
And of all our brave troops y@4e@1 Commandress,
As you shall convey
What herein I say
To y@4e@1 very fair Lady, my Laundress.

That to Town I shall trot
(No I Lie, I shall not,
For to Town I shall jog in y@4e@1 stage)
On October y@4e@1 Twentieth,
For my Father consenteth
To make me y@4e@1 Flower of y@4e@1 Age.

So bid her prepare
Every Table & Chair,
And warm well my Bed by y@4e@1 Fire,
And if this be not done
I shall break her Back bone
As sure as I ever come nigh her.

I am Jovial & Merry,
Have writ till I'm weary,
Am become, with a great deal of Talking, hoarse:
So farewell—sweet Lad!
Is all I shall add,
Except—
y@4rs@1 obed@4ly@1 @3stalking Horse.@1

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