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cares-yet for you I would meet them, though if it would leave you the happier I would rather die than do So. I have two luxuries to brood over in my walks, your Loveliness and the hour of my death. O that I could have possession of them both in the same minute. I hate the world: it batters too much the wings of my self-will, and would I could take a sweet poison from your lips to send me out of it. From no others would I take it. I am indeed astonish'd to find myself so careless of all charms but yours-remembering as I do the time when even a bit of ribband was a matter of interest with me. What softer words can I find for you after this-what it is I will not read. Nor will I say more here, but in a Postscript answer any thing else you may have mentioned in your Letter in so many words-for I am distracted with a thousand thoughts. I will imagine you Venus to-night and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.

Your's ever, fair Star,

John Keats

My seal is mark'd like a family table cloth with my Mother's initial F for Fanny: put between my Father's initials. You will soon hear from me again. My respectful Comp[limen]ts to your Mother. Tell Margaret I'll send her a reef of best rocks and tell Sam' I will give him my light bay hunter if he will tie the Bishop hand and foot and pack him in a hamper and send him down for me to bathe him for his health with a Necklace of good snubby stones about his Neck.

1 Fanny Brawne's brother and young sister.

CXXI.

To CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE.

My dear Dilke,

Shanklin, Saturday Evening

[Postmark, 2 August 1819].

I will not make my diligence an excuse for not writing to you sooner-because I consider idleness a much better plea. A Man in the hurry of business of any sort is expected and ought to be expected to look to every thing-his mind is in a whirl, and what matters it-what whirl? But to require a Letter of a Man lost in idleness is the utmost cruelty; you cut the thread of his existence, you beat, you pummel him, you sell his goods and chattels, you put him in prison; you impale him; you crucify him. If I had not put pen to paper since I saw you this would be to me a vi et armis taking up before the Judge; but having got over my darling lounging habits a little, it is with scarcely any pain I come to this dating from Shanklin and D[ea]r Dilke. The Isle of Wight is but so so &c. Rice and I passed rather a dull time of it. I hope he will not repent coming with me. He was unwell, and I was not in very good health and I am afraid we made each other worse by acting upon each other's spirits. We would grow as melancholy as need be. I confess I cannot bear a sick person in a House, especially alone-it weighs upon me day and night-and more so when perhaps the Case is irretrievable. Indeed I think Rice is in a dangerous state. I have had a Letter from him which speaks favourably of his health at present. Brown and I are pretty well harnessed again to our dog-cart. I mean the Tragedy, which goes on sinkingly. We are thinking of

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introducing an Elephant, but have not historical reference within reach to determine us as to Otho's Menagerie. When Brown first mentioned this I took it for a joke; however he brings such plausible reasons, and discourses so eloquently on the dramatic effect that I am giving it a serious consideration. The Art of Poetry is not sufficient for us, and if we get on in that as well as we do in painting, we shall by next winter crush the Reviews and the Royal Academy. Indeed, if Brown would take a little of my advice, he could not fail to be first pallet[te] of his day. But odd as it may appear, he says plainly that he cannot see any force in my plea of putting skies in the background, and leaving Indian ink out of an ash tree. The other day he was sketching Shanklin Church, and as I saw how the business was going on, I challenged him to a trial of skill-he lent me Pencil and Paper-we keep the Sketches to contend for the Prize at the Gallery. I will not say whose I think best-but really I do not think Brown's done to the top of the Art.

A word or two on the Isle of Wight. I have been no further than Steephill. If I may guess, I should [say] that there is no finer part in the Island than from this Place to Steephill. I do not hesitate to say it is fine. Bonchurch is the best. But I have been so many finer walks, with a back ground of lake and mountain instead of the sea, that I am not much touch'd with it, though I credit it for all the Surprise I should have felt if it had taken my cockney maidenhead. But I may call myself an old Stager in the picturesque, and unless it be something very large and overpowering, I cannot receive any extraordinary relish.

I am sorry to hear that Charles is so much oppress'd at Westminster, though I am sure it will be the finest touchstone for his Metal in the world. His troubles will

grow day by day less, as his age and strength increase. The very first Battle he wins will lift him from the Tribe of Manasseh. I do not know how I should feel were I a Father-but I hope I should strive with all my Power not to let the present trouble me. When your Boy shall be twenty, ask him about his childish troubles and he will have no more memory of them than you have of yours. Brown tells me Mrs. Dilke sets off to-day for Chichester. I am glad I was going to say she had a fine day—but there has been a great Thunder cloud muttering over Hampshire all day-I hope she is now at supper with a good appetite.

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So Reynolds's Piece' succeeded-that is all well. Papers have with thanks been duly received. We leave this place on the 13th, and will let you know where we may be a few days after-Brown says he will write when the fit comes on him. If you will stand law expenses I'll beat him into one before his time. When I come to town I shall have a little talk with you about Brown and one Jenny Jacobs. Open daylight! he don't care. am afraid there will be some more feet for little stockings-[of Keats' making. (I mean the feet.)] Brown here tried at a piece of Wit but it failed him, as you see, though long a brewing.-[this is a 2. lie.] Men should never despair-you see he has tried again and succeeded to a miracle.-He wants to try again, but as I have a right to an inside place in my own Letter-I take possession.

Your sincere friend
John Keats-

1 One, Two, Three, Four, Five: by Advertisement, a Musical Entertainment in one Act.

2 The interpolations printed in italics within brackets are of course by Brown.

My dear Girl,

CXXII.

To FANNY BRAWNE.

Shanklin, Thursday Night [5 August 1819].
[Postmark, Newport, 9 August 1819.]

You say you must not have any more such Letters as the last I'll try that you shall not by running obstinate the other way. Indeed I have not fair play—I am not idle enough for proper downright love-letters-I leave this minute a scene in our Tragedy' and see you (think it not blasphemy) through the mist of Plots, speeches, counterplots and counterspeeches. The Lover is madder than I am-I am nothing to him-he has a figure like the Statue of Meleager and double distilled fire in his heart. Thank God for my diligence! were it not for that I should be miserable. I encourage it, and strive not to think of you-but when I have succeeded in doing so all day and as far as midnight, you return, as soon as this artificial excitement goes off, more severely from the fever I am left in. Upon my soul I cannot say what you could like me for. I do not think myself a fright any more than I do Mr. A., Mr. B., and Mr. C. -yet if I were a woman I should not like A. B. C. But enough of this. So you intend to hold me to my promise of seeing you in a short time. I shall keep it with as much sorrow as gladness: for I am not one of the Paladins of old who liv'd upon water grass and smiles for years together. What thought would I not give tonight for the gratification of my eyes alone? This day week we shall move to Winchester; for I feel the want

1 Otho the Great.

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