on of you than myself, nor is more sensible of your
particular civilities to me; which I should be very glad to make a
return of when in my power to serve you: and give me leave to add
further, without flattery to you, and with great sincerity, that I
believe our gracious master, His Majesty, is so fortunate in employing
you in his service, that, if he should lose you, it would be very
difficult for His Majesty to find a successor so well qualified in
all respects for his service, if we consider both your integrity, vast
abilities, industry, and zealous affections for his service; and,
if His Majesty were asked the question, I will hold ten to one His
Majesty declares himself of my opinion; so will I believe all that
know you, more especially our fellow-traders that are so conversant
with you and obliged by you.

This is asserted as a great truth by, Sir, your very affectionate and
hearty friend and Servant.

[Footnote 1: Cf. Letter on p. 45.]

DOROTHY OSBORNE

1628-1698

To SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE

_Passing the time_

[No date; c. 1653.]

I have been reckoning up how many faults you lay to my charge in your
last letter, and I find I am severe, unjust, unmerciful, and unkind!
O me! how should one do to mend all those! 'Tis work for an age, and
I fear that I shall be so old before I am good, that 'twill not be
considerable to any body but myself whether I am so or not.... You ask
me how I pass my time here. I can give you a perfect account, not only
of what I do for the present, but what I am likely to do this seven
years if I stay here so long. I rise in the morning reasonably early,
and before I am ready I go round the house till I am weary of that,
and then into the garden till it grows too hot for me. I then think of
making me ready; and when that's done I go into my father's chamber;
from thence to dinner, where my cousin Molle and I sit in great state
in a room and at a table that would hold a great many more. After
dinner we sit and talk till Mr. P. comes in question, and then I am
gone. The heat of the day is spent in reading or working; and about
six or seven o'clock I walk out into a common that lies hard by the
house, where a great many young wenches keep sheep and cows, and
sit in the shade singing of ballads; I go to them, and compare their
voices and beauty to some ancient shepherdesses that I have read of,
and find a vast difference there; but, trust me, I think these are
as innocent as