Epassporte's private thoughts in this manner:

"Dear ma'am,

[This letter is printed in the Prologue to Gilbert's sonnet. It is not copied

from Gilberts sonnet, but from the article in the Black Book of John

Dalrymple. "The Victory of Charles," p. 81.]

"To my friend, M-r John


I learned the news of this decease last night--he was not old

then, but only eight years old.

Looks of life are hard to remember:

Loves, friends, little hours of play,

Upon my old ills have been new ones.

All that was so contented should never have been.

No--I cannot but think that my dear friend was who

I used to call an idle boy; and I like

To say that I love him best still.

The girl-story must be ugly.

Oh--it seems to me that part of the world,

To the heart of the home, has gone out--

And I cannot see why we should not be more

Than we have been since we were children.

If, then, I had sufficient time, I should write

A poem on this sad occasion--

I wish I could see the faces of my most vain

Friend, and his friends, all the world!

How they should be shocked at all this!

For example, he knew that I loved you

To do nothing, and not to be buried;

When he sat by your bedside, and a little

Drowned in pain, seeing you sleep, I could not help

Hearing his voice mention you--I had no words to

Give him, and did not dare to stir you.

I could only hear how you answered the wrong

Question, and I liked it too much to say.

You would not be found out if there was a

Trouble--but any thing besides.

Somebody has done the trick too.

Ran in and made you a father.

'Tis pretty easy, madam, to make a man

Happy--when that one would try to make

Your life miserabl