Horace Smith, Brambletye House: or, Cavaliers and Roundheads, 1835 [Fiction?]
“Truly it’s no laughing or singing matter, but sad and melancholy work, to be mewed up as I am in the moated house, with gouty feet, and a wife that threatens to starve me till I am as lank as a greyhound. Devil a guinea do I finger nowadays; and I suppose I shall be ultimately reduced to tipple swipes, like a ditcher or a swineherd. Prithee, my dear boy, settle matters with the Court, come over, and see what thou canst do for me. I have got a bottle of claret today, in which I am now drinking your health; but I have no heart to write any more, for I have just finished the last glass: so God bless you, my dear, choleric, ill-starred, peppery, passionate, noble-hearted, own — own — own Jocelyn! These from your affectionate father, John Compton.”
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