“. . . It is really infinitely droll to see these old
rogues so defeated by the Court and Doctor.
I really think Pitt is done: his face is
no longer red, but yellow; his looks are dejected; his countenance I
think much changed and fallen, and
every now and then he gives a hollow cough. Upon my soul, hating him as I do, I
am almost moved to pity to see his fallen greatness. I saw this once splendid
fellow drive yesterday to the House of Lords in his forlorn, shattered
equipage, and I stood near him behind the throne till two o’clock this
morning. I saw no expression but melancholy on the fellow’s
face—princes of the blood passing him without speaking to him, and, as I
could fancy, an universal sentiment in those around him that he was done. . . .”
