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Letters and Journals of Lord Byron
Lord Byron to Thomas Moore, 12 March 1814

Life of Byron: to 1806
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Life of Byron: 1813
Life of Byron: 1814
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Life of Byron: 1816 (I)
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“March 12th, 1814.

“Guess darkly, and you will seldom err. At present, I shall say no more, and, perhaps—but no matter. I hope we shall some day meet, and whatever years may precede or succeed it, I shall mark it with the ‘white stone’ in my calendar. I am not sure that I shall not soon be in your neighbourhood again. If so, and I am alone (as will probably be the case), I shall invade and carry you off, and endeavour to atone for sorry fare by a sincere welcome. I don’t know the person absent (barring ‘the sect’) I should be so glad to see again.

“I have nothing of the sort you mention but the lines (the Weepers), if you like to have them in the Bag. I wish to give them all possible circulation. The Vault reflection is downright actionable, and to print it would be peril to the publisher; but I think the Tears have a natural right to be bagged, and the editor (whoever he may be) might supply a facetious note or not, as he pleased.

“I cannot conceive how the Vault* has got about,—but so it is. It is too farouche; but, truth to say, my satires are not very playful. I have the plan of an epistle in my head, at him and to him; and, if they are not a little quieter, I shall imbody it. I should say little or nothing of myself. As to mirth and ridicule, that is out of my way; but I have a tolerable fund of sternness and contempt, and, with Juvenal before me, I shall perhaps read him a lecture he has not lately heard in the C—t. From particular circumstances, which came to my knowledge almost by accident, I could ‘tell him what he is—I know him well.’

“I meant, my dear M., to write to you a long letter, but I am hurried, and time clips my inclination down to yours, &c.

* Those bitter and powerful lines which he wrote on the opening of the vault that contained the remains of Henry VIII. and Charles I.

538 NOTICES OF THE A. D. 1814.

“P.S. Think again before you shelf your Poem. There is a youngster (older than me, by the by, but a younger poet), Mr. G. Knight, with a vol. of Eastern Tales, written since his return,—for he has been in the countries. He sent to me last summer, and I advised him to write one in each measure, without any intention, at that time, of doing the same thing. Since that, from a habit of writing in a fever, I have anticipated him in the variety of measures, but quite unintentionally. Of the stories, I know nothing, not having seen them*; but he has some lady in a sack, too, like the Giaour:—he told me at the time.

“The best way to make the public ‘forget’ me is to remind them of yourself. You cannot suppose that I would ask you or advise you to publish, if I thought you would fail. I really have no literary envy; and I do not believe a friend’s success ever sat nearer another than yours do to my best wishes. It is for elderly gentlemen to ‘bear no brother near,’ and cannot become our disease for more years than we may perhaps number. I wish you to be out before Eastern subjects are again before the public.”