629 - Martin Madan to Judith Cowper, 13 October 1723
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{[Oct.13.1723}]
I came from Bucks last Thursday night, to
Hertford, where I met a Harpie yth screech’t to me ye
Death of Ld Cowper, immediately I condol’d with the
Family for so great a Loss; but self Love soon pre=
vail’d, my Reflections turn’d upon a subject yt affected
me in a more sensible manner. Now must I bid adieu,
now must I be depriv’d, seeing her, in whom centerd all
my wishes – How must I reflect upon the
many happy Hours I’ve past wth Miss Cowper? & think
they are no more, How must I call her Beautifull
Image to my view (an wch I’ve gaz’d my Soul away)
without Frenzy! – Monday next, I’ll stalk &
wander through the many Paths, I’ve seen you tread
There will I clasp yr Phantom, pull out the Letter you’ve
so often ask’t for, & kiss it to its native White.
Ixxx must xxx intreat you for a Line to let me know
when I can possibly see you? Life to a dying sinner
[f.4v]
would not be more priz’d, believe it then, a Charity
justly bestow’d upon me, that am Madam
your most Obedt humble
Servant
M. Madan
Sunday Morn:
PS: Mrs Squire knows nothing of this, but only thinks it
is a song, I told her I had promis’d to send {^you} & that you were
to send me another in Exchange
I came from Bucks last Thursday night, to
Hertford, where I met a Harpie yth screech’t to me ye
Death of Ld Cowper, immediately I condol’d with the
Family for so great a Loss; but self Love soon pre=
vail’d, my Reflections turn’d upon a subject yt affected
me in a more sensible manner. Now must I bid adieu,
now must I be depriv’d, seeing her, in whom centerd all
my wishes – How must I reflect upon the
many happy Hours I’ve past wth Miss Cowper? & think
they are no more, How must I call her Beautifull
Image to my view (an wch I’ve gaz’d my Soul away)
without Frenzy! – Monday next, I’ll stalk &
wander through the many Paths, I’ve seen you tread
There will I clasp yr Phantom, pull out the Letter you’ve
so often ask’t for, & kiss it to its native White.
I
when I can possibly see you? Life to a dying sinner
[f.4v]
would not be more priz’d, believe it then, a Charity
justly bestow’d upon me, that am Madam
your most Obedt humble
Servant
M. Madan
Sunday Morn:
PS: Mrs Squire knows nothing of this, but only thinks it
to send me another in Exchange