...over me. I trust they won't think of " pickling, and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall."* I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave,...to convey my carcass back to your soil. I would not eveu feed your worms if I could help it. — Bologna, June 17, 1819. LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF "MY GRANDMOTHER'S...

...over me. I trust they won't think of ' pickling, and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall.' I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave,...the thought would drive me mad on my deathbed, could * suppose that any of my friends would be base enough to convey my carcass back to your soil. — 1...

...over me. I trust they won't think of ' pickling, and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall." 3 I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave,...not even feed your worms, if I could help it. " So, ns Shakspeare says of Mowbray, the banished Duke of Norfolk, who died at both of thought and expression,...

...put over me. I trust they won't think of pickling and bringing me home to Clod, or Blunderbuss Hall. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." Hunt's view is, in this as in other subtle respects, nearer the truth than Moore's; for with all Byron's...

...put over me. I trust they won't think of pickling and bringing me home to Clod, or Blunderbuss Hall. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." Hunt's view is, in this as in other subtle respects, nearer the truth than Moore's ; for with all Byron's...

...put over me. I trust they won't think of pickling and bringing me home to Clod, or Blunderbuss Hall. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." Hunt's view is, in this as in other subtle respects, nearer the truth than Moore's ; for with all of...

...put over me. I trust they won't think of 'pickling and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall.' I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave,...would not even feed your worms if I could help it." In spite of the vehement bitterness of this protest, the outcast . poet was destined to rest in his...

...put over me. I trust they won't think of pickling and bringing me home to Clod, or Blunderbuss Hall. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." Hunt's view is, in this as in other subtle respects, nearer the truth than Moore's; for with all Byron's...

...of • pickling, and bringing me home to Clod or Blunderbuss Hall ' [see The Rivals, act v. sc. 3]. I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my clay mix with the earth of that country." In this halfhumorous outburst he deprecates, or pretends to deprecate, the fate which actually awaited...

...couple of years after this portion of the canto was composed) Byron wrote to a friend in London : " I believe the thought would drive me mad on my death-bed, could I suppose any of my friends would be base enough to convey my carcass back to your soil. I would not even feed...