61. Robert Southey to Horace Walpole Bedford, 20 October 1793 [possibly started before this date]⁠* 

There my dear friend — if there is not rhyme enough for you God forgive your insatiable avarice; it is now seven o clock on Sunday night. October 20th 1793. I left Brixton on Tuesday morning last — peregrinated till Wednesday night — played a rubber on Thursday — read Sir Launcelot Greaves [11]  — playd again on Friday — reachd Bristol on Saturday — & during this interval have I written to your brother & all this rhyme to your Doctorial dignity — in the mean time neither you nor Grosvenor have laid pen to paper. this letter has no curious incident to fill it such as Snivels cough or the wasps nest — had I been here during the riots you should have had a very tragical account & perhaps would have been favoured at the assizes with the last dying speech & confession birth parentage & education of the notorious RS who was hung for being engaged in the riots. [12]  but my hour not being yet arrived I was peacefully employd at Brixton & scaped hanging for the present. peace is at last restored — we are still however well watchd by the military — the horse parade in martial array & we have all the appearance of war. Bristol has indeed experienced some of the miseries of war — when the soldiers fird — so ill were their pieces directed — that only two who fell were rioters — the remainder were spectators & one a woman. our walls are white with denunciations of vengeance — no murders no blood hounds — Damn Ld Bateman [13]  — & — Daunbeny [14]  dies — are written upon every watch box & corner . it is melancholy to reflect that all these lives are lost thro the imprudence of the commissioners in taking off the toll & then imposing it again. the people have however carried their point — but should they attempt to punish the rioters in gaol I think consequences still more serious will ensue. so much of the riots. my journey was little productive of incident — I am not made for solitude & the road which in company would have appeard short — soon fatigued me. my pilgrimage to Dunnington was pleasant. I walkd twenty miles only breaking my fast with one small biscuit & some blackberries & without resting — then threw myself on the bank & contemplated the walls where Chaucer [15]  wore out the evening of his days — I lookd for his oak but it existed not — the traces of foundations are still visible — the whole fabric indeed sufferd more from the the civil war than from Time. you may easily imagine with what vehemence I devourd my dinner at Newbury. by the by mine was like to be a painful pilgrimage for I felt something not unlike a pea in my shoe — upon examination one of the wooden pegs was perforating the small part of my foot — the Sans Culottes removed the obstruction.

my eyes smart much but I am unwilling to leave off so very near the end — you will write soon I hope & send the plan of the 8th book — I wait for my baggage to begin — in the mean time I have plenty of employment. the history of the theatre — Shad & Southey managers you do not yet know — perhaps my next may give you the account — Peroonte Sir Bertrand [16]  &c &c. we shall kill a few rats by that time & perhaps other incidents may occur to make a good letter — this must however be deserved by you. the prospect of my toasted cheese at nine keeps my eyes open. tell your brother he must write soon & make my respects to all your good family

yrs sincerely.

RS.