Of course you will decide--your
wish shall be my law. If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon
me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive.
I wish you would go down with me to Newstead. Hodgson will be there, and
a young friend, named Harness, the earliest and dearest I ever had from
the third form at Harrow to this hour. I can promise you good wine, and,
if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres, fires, books, your own free
will, and my own very indifferent company. 'Balnea, vina, Venus' [1].
Hodgson will plague you, I fear, with verse;--for my own part I will
conclude, with Martial, 'nil recitabo tibi' [2]; and surely the last
inducement, is not the least. Ponder on my proposition, and believe me,
my dear Moore,
Yours ever,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1:
"Balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora nostra."
The words are thus given in Grueter ('Corpus Inscriptionum' (1603), p.
DCCCCXII. 10).]
[Footnote 2: Martial (xi. lii. 16), 'Ad Julium Cerealem':
"Plus ego polliceor: nil recitabo tibi."]
* * * * *
215.--To Francis Hodgson.
8, St. James's Street, Dec. 12, 1811.
Why, Hodgson! I fear you have left off wine and me at the same time,--I
have written and written and written, and no answer! My dear Sir Edgar
[1], water disagrees with you--drink sack and write. Bland did not come
to his appointment, being unwell, but Moore supplied all other vacancies
most delectably.
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