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I shall be very loath To say your eyes are twinckling Starres agen, Your lipps twin cherries and out blush the rubie, Your azure veines vye beauty with the Saphire Or that your swelling breasts are hills of Ivory, Pillowes for Jove to rest his amorous head, When my owne Conscience tells me that Bunhill Is worth a hundred on 'em, and but Higate Compar'd with 'em is Paradice.
N. at her spinning. C. has given me a wool comforter of her owne worke, and sum stockings wich are two thick to ware, but I hav not told her so." Again, in 1764: "Tabitha Meynell's brother goes more than ever to Higate.
I went to look at ye old house in J. St., but I wou'd not go in to see Mr. F. or ye old roomes; for I think I shou'd see the aparishions of those that once liv'd in them. C. thrivs at Higate, wear the aire is fresh and pewer. I go to see her offen. She is nerely as high as you. Give my servis to Mrs.
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