the gout may be come, or be
gone again; and then it is so pleasant to have had the benefit, and
none of the anguish!

I did send you a line last week in the cover of a letter to Lady
Craven,[1] which I knew would sufficiently tell your quickness how much
I shall be obliged to you for any attentions to her. I thought her at
Paris, and was surprised to hear of her at Florence. She has, I fear,
been _infinitamente_ indiscreet; but what is that to you or me? She is
very pretty, has parts, and is good-natured to the greatest degree; has
not a grain of malice or mischief (almost always the associates, in
women, of tender hearts), and never has been an enemy but to herself.
For that ridiculous woman Madame Piozzi,[2] and t'other more impertinent
one, of whom I never heard before, they are like the absurd English
dames with whom we used to divert ourselves when I was at Florence. As
to your little knot of poets, I do not hold the cocks higher than the
hens; nor would I advise them to repatriate. We have at present here a
most incomparable set, not exactly known by their names, but who, till
the dead of summer, kept the town in a roar, and, I suppose, will revive
by the meeting of Parliament. They have poured forth a torrent of odes,
epigrams, and part of an imaginary epic poem, called the "Rolliad,"[3]
with a commentary and notes, that is as good as the "Dispensary"[4] and
"Dunciad," with more ease. These poems are all anti-ministerial, and
the authors very young men, and little known or heard of before. I would
send them, but you would want too many keys: and indeed I want some
myself; for, as there are continually allusions to Parliamentary
speeches and events, they are often obscure to me till I get them
explained; and besides, I do not know several of the satirised heroes
even by sight: however, the poetry and wit make amends, for they are
superlative.

[Footnote 1: Lady Craven, _nee_ Berkeley, had given abundant cause for
scandal during her husband's life, which did not abate when, a month
after his death, she married the Margrave of Anspach.]

[Footnote 2: Mme. Piozzi, the Mrs. Thrale of Boswell's "Life of
Johnson." Mr. Thrale was a brewer, the founder of the great firm now
known as Barclay and Perkins. She was many years younger than he; and,
after his death, she married Signor Piozzi, a professional musician of
eminence. Johnson, who had been an habitual guest of her husband and her
at their villa at Streatham, set t