I DO here give notice to posterity, that having been the author of severall writings, both in prose and verse, which have passed with good Success, it hath drawn upon me the censure of innumerable attempters and imitatorers and censurers, many of whose names I know, but shall in this be wiser than Virgil and Horace, by not delivering their names down to future ages, and at the same time disappoint that tribe of writers whose chief end next to that of getting bread, was an ambition of having their names upon record by answering or retorting their Scurrilityes; and would slily have made use of my resentment to let the future world know that there were such Persons now in being.1 I do therefore charge my Successors in fame, by virtue of being an antient 200 years hence, to follow the same method. Dennis, Blackmore, Bentley, and severall others, will reap great advantage by those who have not observed my rule: And heaven forgive Mr. Pope, who hath so grievously transgressed it, by transmitting so many names of forgotten memory, full at length, to be known by Readers in succeeding times, who perhaps may be seduced to Ducklane and Grubstreet, and there find some of the very Treatises he mentions in his Satyrs.2 I heartily applaud my own innocency and prudence upon this occasion, who never named above 6 authors of remarkable worthlessness; let the Fame of the rest be upon Mr. Pope and his Children. Mr. Gay, although more sparingly, hath gone upon the same mistake.
Friday, at 11 in the morning I left Chester. It was Sept. 22d 1727.
I bated at a blind ale-house 7 miles from Chester. I thence rode to Ridland; in all 22 miles. I lay there, had bad meat, and tolerable wine. I left Ridland a quarter after 4 morn. on Saturday; stopt on Penmenmawr, examined about my sign verses; the Inn is to be on t’ other side therefore the verses to be changed. I baited at Conway. The Guide going to anothr Inn, the Maid of the old Inn saw me in the Street, and said that was my Horse she knew me; there I dined, and send for Ned Holland, a Squire famous for being mentioned in Mr Lyndsay’s verses to Davy Morice. I there again saw Hook’s Tomb, who was the 41st Child of his Mother, and had himself 27 Children; he dyed about 1638. There is a nota bene that one of his posterity new furbishd up the Inscription.3 I had read in A.Bp Williams Life that he was buryed in an obscure Church in North Wales. I enquired, and heard it was at —— Church within a mile of Bangor, whither I was going; I went to the Church, the Guide grumbling; I saw the Tomb with his Statue kneeling (in marble). It began thus: [Hospes lege et relege quod in hoc obscuro sacello non expectares. Hic jacet omnium Præsulum celeberrimus].4 I came to Bangor, and crossed the Ferry a mile from it, where there is an Inn, which if it be well kept will break Bangor. There I lay,—it was 22 miles from Holyhead. I was on horseback at 4 in the morning, resolving to be at Church at Holyhead, but to shew Wat Owen Tudor’s Tomb at Penmany.5 We passt the place (being a little out of the way) by the Guides knavery, who had no mind to stay. I was now so weary with riding, that I was forced to stop at Langueveny, 7 miles from the Ferry, and rest 2 hours. Then I went on very weary, but in a few miles more, Watt’s Horse lost his two foreshoes, so the Horse was forced to limp after us.6 The Guide was less concerned than I. In a few miles more, my Horse lost a foreshoe; and could not go on the rocky ways. I walked above 2 miles to spare him. It was Sunday, and no Smith to be got. At last there was a Smith in the way; we left the Guide to shoe the horses, and walked to a hedge Inn 3 miles from Holyhead; There I stayd an hour, with no ale to be drunk. a Boat offered, and I went by Sea and Sayl in it to Holyhead. The guide came about the same time. I dined with an old Inkeeper, Mrs. Welch, about 3, on a Loyn of mutton, very good, but the worst ale in the world, and no wine, for the day before I came here, a vast number went to Ireld after having drank out all the wine. There was Stale beer, and I tryed a receit of Oyster shells which I got powderd on purpose; but it was good for nothing. I walked on the rocks in the evening, and then went to bed, and dreamt (he) I had got 20 falls from my Horse.
Monday, Septr 25. The Captain talks of sailing at 12. The talk goes off, the Wind is fair, but he says it is too fierce; I believe he wants more company. I had a raw chicken for dinner, and Brandy with water for my drink. I walkt morning and afternoon among the rocks. This evening Watt tells me that my Landlady whispered him that the Grafton packet boat, just come in, had brought her 18 bottles of Irish Claret. I secured one, and supped on part of a neat’s tongue, which a friend at London had given Watt to put up for me, and drank a pint of the wine, which was bad enough. Not a soul is yet come to Holyhead, except a young fellow who smiles when he meets me, and would fain be my companion; but it is not come to that yet. I writ abundance of verses this day; and severall usefull hints (thô I say it). I went to bed at 10, and dreamt abundance of nonsense.
Tuesd. 26th. I am forced to wear a shirt 3 days; for fear of being lowsy. I was sparing of them all the way. It was a mercy there were 6 clean when I left London; otherwise Watt (whose blunders would bear an history) would have put them all in the great Box of goods which goes by the Carrier to Chester. He brought but one cravat, and the reason he gave was because the rest were foul, and he thought he should not put foul linnen into the Portmanteau. For, he never dreamt it might be washed on the way. My shirts are all foul now, and by his reasoning, I fear he will leave them at Holyhead when we go. I got anothr Loyn of mutton, but so tough I could not chew it, and drank my 2d pint of wine. I walked this morning a great way among the rocks, and to a hole in one of them from whence at certain periods the water spurted up severall foot high. It raind all night, and hath rained since dinner. But now the sun shines, and I will take my afternoons walk. It was fairer and milder weather than yesterday yet the Captain never dreams of Sailing. To say the truth Michaelmas is the worst season in the year. Is this strange stuff? Why, what would you have me do. I have writt verses, and put down hints till I am weary. I see no creature, I cannot read by candle-light. Sleeping will make me sick. I reckon my self fixed here: and have a mind like Marechall Tallard to take a house and garden.7 I wish you a merry Christmas, and expect to see you by Candlemas. I have walked this evening again about 3 miles on the rocks, my giddyness God be thanked is almost gone, & my hearing continues;8 I am now retired to my Chamber to scribble or sit hum-drum. The night is fair, and they pretend to have some hopes of going to-morrow.
Septr. 26th. Thoughts upon being confind at Holyhead. If this were to be my settlement during life, I could amuse my self a while by forming some conveniencyes to be easy; and should not be frighted either by the solitude, or the meaness of lodging, eating or drinking. I shall say nothing upon the suspense I am in about my dearest friend; because that is a case extraordinary, and therefore by way of amusemt, I will speak as if it were not in my thoughts, and only as a passenger who is in a scurvy unprovided comfortless place without one companion, and who therefore wants to be at home, where he hath all conveniences there proper for a Gentleman of quality. I cannot read at night, and I have no books to read in the day. I have no subject in my head at present to write on. I dare not send my Linnen to be washed for fear of being called away at half an hours warning, and then I must leave them behind me, which is a serious point; in the mean time I am in danger of being lowsy, which is a ticklish Point. I live at great expense without one comfortable bit or sup. I am afraid of joyning with passengers for fear of getting acquaintance with Irish. The Days are short, and I have five hours at night to spend by my self before I go to bed. I should be glad to converse with Farmers or shopkeepers, but none of them speak English. A Dog is better company than the Vicar, for I remembr him of old. What can I do but write every thing that comes into my head. Watt is a Booby of that Species which I dare not suffer to be familiar with me, for he would ramp on my shoulders9 in half an hour. But the worst part is my half hourly longing, and hopes and vain expectations of a wind; so that I live in suspense which is the worst circumstance of human nature. I am a little vicious [?] from two scurvy disorders, and if I should relapse, there is no[t] a welch house curr that would not have more care taken of him than I, and whose loss would not be more lamented. I confine my self to my narrow chambr in all unwalkable hours. The Master of the pacquet boat, one Jones, hath not treated me with the least civility, altho Watt gave him my name. In short: I come from being used like an Emperor to be used worse than a Dog at Holyhead. Yet my hat is worn to pieces by answering the civilityes of the poor inhabitants as they pass by. The Women might be safe enough, who all wear hats yet never pull them off, if the dirty streets did not foul their petticoats by courtisying so low. Look you; be not impatient, for I onely wait till my watch marks 10, and then I will give you ease, and my self sleep, if I can. On my conscience you may know a Welch dog as well as a Welch man or woman by its peevish passionate way of barking. This paper shall serve to answer all your questions about my Journey; and I will have it printed to satisfy the Kingdom. Forsan et haec olim10 is a damned lye, for I shall always fret at the remembrance of this imprisonment. Pray pity poor Wat, for he is called dunce, puppy, and Lyar 500 times an hour, and yet he means not ill, for he means nothing. Oh for a dozen bottles of deanry wine and a slice of bread and butter. The wine you sent us yesterday is a little upon the scum[?]11 I wish you had chosen better. I am going to bed at ten a clock, because I am weary of being up.
Wednesday. Last night I dreamt that Ld Bolingbroke and Mr Pope were at my Cathedrall in the Gallery, and that my Ld was to preach: I could not find my Surplice, the Church Servants were all out of the way; the Doors were shut. I sent to my Ld to come into my Stall for more conveniency to get into the Pulpit. The Stall was all broken; the[y] sd the Collegians had done it. I squeezed among the Rabble, saw my Ld in the Pulpit; I thought his prayer was good, but I forget it. In his Sermon, I did not like his quoting Mr. Wycherlye by name, and his Plays.12 This is all, and so I waked. To day we were certainly to sayl; the morning was calm. Wat and I walked up the monstrous mountain properly called Holy head or Sacrum promontorium by Ptolemy, 2 miles from this town.13 I took breath 59 times. I looked from the top to see the wicklow hills, but the day was too hazy, which I felt to my sorrow; for returning, we were overtaken with a furious shower. I got in to a welch cabin almost as bad as an Irish one. There was onely an old welch woman sifting flower, who understood no English, and a boy who fell a roaring for fear of me. Wat (otherwise called unfortunate Jack) ran home for my coat, but stayd so long that I came home in worse rain without him, and he was so lucky to miss me, but took care to carry the key of my room where a fire was ready for me. So I coold my heels in the Parlor till he came, but called for a glass of Brandy. I have been cooking my self dry, and am now in my night gown; and this moment comes a Letter to me from one Whelden who tells me he hears I am a lover of the Mathematicks, that he has found out the Longitude, shewn his discourse to Dr Dobbs of yr Colledge, and sent Letters to all the Mathematicians in London 3 months ago, but received no answer; and desires I would read his discourse. I sent back his Letter with my answer under it, too long to tell you, onely I said I had too much of the Longitude already, by 2 Projectors, whom I encouraged, one of which was a cheat, and the other cut his own throat, and for himself I thought he had a mind to deceive others, or was deceived himself.14 And so I wait for dinner. I shall dine like a King all alone, as I have done these 6 days. As it happened, if I had gone strait from Chester to Parkgate, 8 miles, I should have been in Dublin on Sunday last. Now Michlmas approaches, the worst time in the year for the Sea, and this rain has made these parts unwalkable, so that I must either write or doze. Bite, when we were in the welch cabin, I order Wat to take a cloath and wipe my wet gown and cassock; it happened to be a meal bag, and as my Gown dryd, it was all dawbed with flower well cemented with the rain. What do I, but see the Gown and cassock well dryd in my room, and while Wat was at dinner, I was an hour rubbing the meal out of them, and did it exactly; He is just come up, and I have gravely bid him take them down to rub them, and I wait whether he will find out what I have been doing. The Rogue is come up in six minutes with my gown, and says there were but few spots (tho he saw a thousand at first), but neither wonders at it nor seems to suspect me who labored like a horse to rub them out. The 3 Pacquet boats are now all on this side; and the weather grows worse, and so much rain, that there is an end of my walking. I wish you would send me word how I shall dispose of my time. If the Vicar could but play at backgammon I were an Emperor; but I know him not. I am as insignificant here as parson Brooke is in Dublin; by my conscience I believe Cæsar would be the same without his army at his back. Well; the longer I stay here, the more you will murmur for want of packets. Whoever would wish to live long, should live here, for a day is longer than a week, and if the weather be foul, as long as a fortnight. Yet here I could live with two or three friends in a warm house, and good wine—much better than being a Slave in Ireld.15 But my misery is, that I am in the worst part of wales under the very worst circumstances; afraid of a relapse; in utmost solitude; impatient for the condition of our friend; not a soul to converse with, hindered from exercise by rain, cooped up in a room not half so large as one of the Deanry Closets. My room smoaks into the bargain, and the w[eather] is too cold and moist to be without a fire. There is or should be a Proverbe here. When Mrs. Welch’s Chimney smoaks, Tis a sign she’ll keep her folks. But, when of smoak the room is clear, It is a sign we sha’nt stay here. All this is to divert thinking. Tell me, am not I in a comfortable way. The Yatcht is to be here for Ld Carteret on the 14th of Octbr. I fancy he and I shall come over together.16 I have opend my door to let in the wind that it may drive out the smoak. I asked the wind why [he] is so cross, he assures me ’tis not his fault, but his cursed master Æolus’s. Here is a young Jackanapes in the same Inn waiting for a wind, who would fain be my companion, and if I stay here much longer, I am afraid all my pride and grandeur will truckle to comply with him, especially if I finish these leaves that remain; but I will write close, and do as the Devil did at mass, pull the paper with my teeth to make it hold out.
Thursday. Tis allowed that we learn patience by suffering. I have now not spirits enough left me to fret: I was so cunning these 3 last days, that whenever I began to rage and storm at the weather, I took special care to turn my face towards Ireland, in hopes by my breath to push the wind forward. But now I give up. However, when upon asking how is the wind, the people answer, Full in yr teeth, I cannot help wishing a T—17 were in theirs. Well, it is now 3 afternoon. I have dined, and invited the Master, the wind and tide serve, and I am just taking boat to go [to] the Ship: so adieu till I see you at the Deanry.
Friday, Michlmas day. You will now know something of what it is to be at sea. We had not been half an hour in the ship till a fierce wind rose directly against us. We tryed a good while, but the storm still continued; so we turned back, and it was 8 at night, dark and rainy before the ship got back and at anchor: the other passengers went back in a boat to Holyhead: but to prevent accidents and broken shins, I lay all night on board, and came back this morning at 8; am now in my Chamber, where I must stay, and get in a new stock of patience. You all know well enough where I am, for I wrote thrice after your Letter that desired my coming over; the last was from Coventry, 19th instant, but I brought it with me to Chester, and saw it put into the Post, on Thursday, 21st, and the next day followed it my self, but the Pacquet boat was gone before I could get here: because I could not ride 70 miles a day.