My dear Sir
I value poetry as silversmiths do old plate, – by the materials & not the fashion thereof. Upon that principle I may say these verses are worth something, – for the silver is yours & nothing but the workmanship mine, which as it adds nothing to the intrinsic value, so I hope it takes nothing from it.  From the time that Madoc  was finished till my return from the South last year I did not write a single line of poetry. since that time I have written about 3500,  – every line before breakfast, – & it was <some> satisfaction to find that my hand had not forgotten its cunning.  – If I could have earned 200 £ a year xxx <by> doing it I would have written yearly a narrative poem of from three to six thousand lines, – plans having long been formed, & materials unremittingly collected for many, xxx <during> ten years past. But whether it be that the world supposes us poor Poets to be of the same nature as the Cameleon & that the breath of fame is sufficient food for us,  or if I have misunderstood the trading part of the business, (I know not which) – so however it is, that if I had not borrowed hours from sleep for this new Poem of mine it would never have been written at all. It will be mortifying enough if that which has kept me waking should set other persons to sleep. – I will wish them no other punishment if this be the case than such dreams as some parts of it are likely enough to occasion, & which will not need the help of a Night Mare to make my revenge compleat. It is not yet in the press, nor indeed have I yet determined in what form to print it.
Did you receive the second edition of Thalaba which I directed to be sent you some six months ago, because it is a more beautiful book than the first, & contains some improvements. 
Our friend Duppa informed me that you were going to Tunbridge Wells. – I fear from the post-mark of your letter that you have returned without benefit.
An epidemic cold is making the tour of my household, happily however thus far with less severity than some of our neighbours have experienced. A six weeks or two months catarrh in the summer seems to serve me as a composition for the rest of the year, – & such are the changes of the human constitution that I who went to Lisbon for my health,  & love warmth as xxx instinctively as a hot house plant, of late years catch cold only from exposure to the sunshine, & defy the worst weather of winter.
The Printer comes on slowly with my history, & the winter will be nearly over before he gets thro his work.  I must try to spur him forward, being a little impatient to see the title page for a new title page xxx <is> one of the pleasures of an authors life. – The Friend seems likely to proceed regularly,  & will become more generally interesting as soon as the groundwork of principles is laid.
believe me my dear Sir
yours very truly & respectfully
Ego et Rex meus. 
suggested by the Jubilee. Oct 25. 1809. 
 The second edition of Thalaba the Destroyer (1801) was published in 1809, with the notes moved from the foot of the page to the end of the books, and with a section omitted at the end of the ninth book On the alterations, see the introduction and variants in volume 3 Thalaba the Destroyer of Robert Southey: Poetical Works 1793–1810, gen ed. Lynda Pratt, 5 vols (London, 2004). BACK