Chapter IV: Letter III: Auchinleck, Sept. 14, 1761

Dear Captain Andrew! Poet of renown!
Whether the chairmen of Edina's town
You curious draw, and make 'em justly speak,
To use a vulgar phrase, _as clean's a leek_;
Or smart Epistles, Fables, Songs you write,
All put together handsome trim and tight;
Or when your sweetly plaintive muse does sigh,
And elegiac strains you happy try;
Or when in ode sublime your genius soars,
Which guineas brings to Donaldson by scores;
Accept the thanks of ME, as quick as sage,
Accept sincerest thanks for ev'ry page,
For ev'ry page?--for ev'ry single line
Of your rich letter aided by the Nine.[13]

[Footnote 13: The rest of Boswell's verses--more than a hundred in number--the reader will thank me for omitting.--ED.]

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You are now so heartily tired, that it would be absolutely barbarous to stun your ears any longer; only give me leave to tell you in one good round sentence, that your prose is admirable, and that I am just now (at three o'clock in the morning) sitting over the poor pale remnant of a once glorious blazing fire, and feasting upon it, till I am all in a _Lather_.

I cannot stop yet. Allow me a few more words. I live here in a remote corner of an old ruinous house, where my ancestors have been very jovial. What a solemn idea rushes on my mind! They are all gone; I must follow. Well, and what then? Let me shift about to another subject. The best I can think of is a sound sleep. So good night, and believe me,

Yours,

JAMES BOSWELL.

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