JOHN DRYDEN. I hear Tom Brown is comeing out upon me.[133] LETTER XXV. TO MR JACOB TONSON. MR TONSON, Wednesday, [f. Dec. 1697.] I have broken off my studies from the “Conquest of China,”[134] to review Virgil, and bestowed nine entire days upon him. You may have the printed copy you sent me to-morrow morning, if you will come for it yourself; for the printer is a beast, and understands nothing I can say to him of correcting the press. Dr Chetwood[135] claims my promise of the Ode on St Cecilia’s Day, which I desire you to send to him (according to the Parliament phrase) forthwith. My wife says you have broken your promise about the picture, and desires it speedily; the rest I will tell you when you come. Yours, JOHN DRYDEN. LETTER XXVI. TO MR JACOB TONSON. MR TONSON, [f. Dec. 1697.] You were no sooner gone, but I felt in my pocket, and found my Lady Chudleigh’s[136] verses; which this afternoon I gave Mr Walsh to read in the coffee-house. His opinion is the same with mine, that they are better than any which are printed before the book: so thinks also Mr Wycherly. I have them by me; but do not send them till I heare from my Lord Clifford, whether my lady will put her name to them or not: therefore I desire they may be printed last of all the copyes, and of all the book. I have also written this day to Mr Chetwood, and let him know, that the book is immediately goeing to the press again. My opinion is, that the printer shou’d begin with the first Pastoral, and print on to the end of the Georgiques; or farther, if occasion be, till Dr Chetwood corrects his preface,[137] which he writes me word is printed very false. You cannot take too great care of the printing this edition exactly after my amendments; for a fault of that nature will disoblige me eternally. I am glad to heare from all hands, that my Ode[138] is esteem’d the best of all my poetry, by all the town: I thought so myself when I writ it; but, being old, I mistrusted my own judgment. I hope it has done you service, and will do more. You told me not, but the town says you are printing Ovid _de Arte Amandi_. I know my translation[139] is very uncorrect; but at the same time I know, nobody else can do it better, with all their paines. If there be any loose papers left in the Virgil I gave you this morning, look for them, and send them back by my man: I miss not any yet; but ’tis possible some may be left, because I gave you the book in a hurry. I vow to God, if Everingham takes not care of this impression, he shall never print any thing of mine heerafter: for I will write on, since I find I can.