To gentle pity then he changes-
Thro’ wantonness, thro’ piques he ranges;

But in whatever shape he moves,
He’s still himself, and still is Love.

See how we trifle! but one can’t pass one’s youth too amusingly for one must grow old, and that in England; two most serious circumstances, either of which makes people gray in the twinkling of a bedstaff; for know you there is not a country upon earth where there are so many old fools and so few young ones.

Now I proceed in my answers.

I made but small collections, and have only bought some bronzes and medals, a few busts, and two or three pictures:  one of my busts is to be mentioned; ’tis the famous vespasian in touchstone, reckoned the best in Rome, except the Caracalia of the Farnese- I gave but twenty-two POUDds for it at Cardinal Ottoboni’s sale.  One of my medals is as great a curiosity; ’tis of Alexander Severus, with the amphitheatre in brass; this reverse is extant on medals of his, but mine is a medagliuncino, or small medallion, and The Only one with this reverse known in the world:  ’twas found by a peasant while I was in Rome, and sold by him for sixpence to an antiquarian, to whom I paid for it seven guineas and a half:  but to virtuosi ’tis worth any sum.

As to Tartini’s (219) musical compositions, ask Gray; I know but little in music.

But for the Academy, I am not of it, but frequently in company with it:  ’tis all disjointed.  Madame * * *, who, though a learned lady, has not lost her modesty and character, is extremely scandalized with the other two dames, especially Moll Worthless, who knows no bounds.  She is at rivalry with Lady W. for a certain Mr. * * *, whom perhaps you knew at Oxford.  If you did not, I’ll tell you:  he is a grave young man by temper, and a rich one by constitution; a shallow creature by nature, but a wit by the grace of our women here, whom he deals with as of old with the Oxford toasts.  He fell into sentiments with my Lady W. and was happy to catch her at Platonic love; but as she seldom stops there, the poor man will be frightened out of his senses when she shall break the matter to him; for he never dreamt that her purposes were so naught.  Lady Mary is so far gone, that to get him from the mouth of her antagonist she literally took him out to dance country dances last night at a formal ball, where there was no measure kept in laughing at her old, foul, tawdry, painted, plastered personage.  She played at pharaoh two or three times at Princess Craon’s, where she cheats horse and foot.  She is really entertaining:  I have been reading her works, which she lends out in manuscript, but they are too womanish:  I like few of her performances.  I forgot to tell you a good answer of Lady Pomfret to mr.  W. *** who asked her if she did not approve Platonic love.  “Lord, sir,” says she, , “I am sure any one that knows me never heard that I had any love but one, and there sit two proofs of it,” pointing to her two daughters.