ABSTRACT
As quid pro quo for your enchanting verses, when approached by Sheffield, at first I wondered if I could manage Just a Smack at Empson,
but nothing occurred.
All I could fault was your conceit that Milton's God, obtrusive prolix baroque Olympian, is our Christian one. Who, though, but you has pondered
so deeply on Alke? Good voices are rare, still rarer singers with perfeet pitch. If Graves was right, if at Cambridge the tuning's a wee bit sharp, then at Oxford
it wen may be flat.
