Had this volume been a farce, which, unless every one's life and opinions are to be looked upon as a farce as well as mine, I see no reason to suppose--the last chapter, Sir, had finished the first act of it, and then this chapter must have set off thus.
Ptr. . .r. . .r. . .ing--twing--twang--prut--trut--'tis a cursed bad fiddle.--Do you know whether my fiddle's in tune or no?--trut. . .prut. . .--They should be fifths.--'Tis wickedly strung--tr. . .a.e.i.o.u.-twang.--The bridge is a mile too high, and the sound post absolutely down,--else--trut. . .prut--hark! tis not so bad a tone.--Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle, dum. There is nothing in playing before good judges,--but there's a man there--no--not him with the bundle under his arm--the grave man in black.--'Sdeath! not the gentleman with the sword on.--Sir, I had rather play a Caprichio to Calliope herself, than draw my bow across my fiddle before that very man; and yet I'll stake my Cremona to a Jew's trump, which is the greatest musical odds that ever were laid, that I will this moment stop three hundred and fifty leagues out of tune upon my fiddle, without punishing one single nerve that belongs to him--Twaddle diddle, tweddle diddle,--twiddle diddle,--twoddle diddle,--twuddle diddle,--prut trut--krish--krash--krush.--I've undone you, Sir,--but you see he's no worse,--and was Apollo to take his fiddle after me, he can make him no better.
Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle--hum--dum--drum.
--Your worships and your reverences love music--and God has made you all with good ears--and some of you play delightfully yourselves--trut-prut,--prut-trut.
O! there is--whom I could sit and hear whole days,--whose talents lie in ****** what he fiddles to be felt,--who inspires me with his joys and hopes, and puts the most hidden springs of my heart into motion.--If you would borrow five guineas of me, Sir,--which is generally ten guineas more than I have to spare--or you Messrs. Apothecary and Taylor, want your bills paying,--that's your time.