My dear Mr. Murray, You're in a damned hurry To set up this ultimate Canto; But (if they don't rob us) You'll see Mr. Hobhouse Will bring it safe in his portmanteau.
For the Journal you hint of, As ready to print off, No doubt you do right to commend it; But as yet I have writ off, The devil a bit of Our Beppo; when copied, I'll send it.
In the mean time you've "Galley" Whose verses all tally, Perhaps you may say he's a Ninny, But if you abashed are Because of Alashtar, He'll drivel another Phrosine.
Then you've Sotheby's tour, No great things, to be sure,— You could hardly begin with a less work; For the pompous rascallion, Who don't speak Italian Nor French, must have scribbled by guess-work....
