THIS instant receiv’d, this instant I answer your’s—Dr. Cresswell has one copy, which I cannot just now re-demand, because at his desire I have sent a “Satan” to him, which when he ask’d for, I frankly told him, was imputed a lampoon on Him!!! I have sent it him, and cannot, till we come to explanation, go to him or send—
But on the faith of a Gentleman, you shall have it back some day for another. The 3 I send. I think 2 of the blunders perfectly immaterial. But your feelings, and I fear pocket, is every thing. I have just time to pack this off by the 2 o Clock stage. Yours till we meet
At all events I behave more gentlemanlike than Emma did, in returning the copies.
Yours till we meet—do come.
Bring the Sonnets—
Why not publish ’em?—or let another
Bookseller?