YORK.
Nothing worth remark occur’d in my journey from hence to York; but at my approach to this celebrated city, my heart leapt for joy as soon as I beheld the towers of the cathedral; here, says I, I shall be much caressed and followed, I dare believe, as there are so many of the Dilettanti who reside within the precincts of this antient seat of music and superstition. This letter, says I, is of inestimable value, taking it from my pocket, and reading the direction, “For that incomparable Musician and Antiquarian, Dr. Hiccup;” doubtless he will pay great attention to his friends at Lincoln, who have honoured me with it. The footman shewed me into an elegant parlour, where there was a clock with chimes, so contrived that St. Peter, St. Paul, and the Virgin Mary were seen striking alternately on the bells, and by a sweet trio announced every hour of the day. Dr. Hiccup was, it seems, at his devotions, which he always performed in imitation of that great and devout musician, King David. He was a tall, boney figure, with a swarthy complexion, and blear eyes. As I sat down he took no notice of me, but continued dancing with a harp in his hand, without his breeches, and with his night-gown and shirt tucked up above his waist; and as he turned his brown posteriors this way and that, in the gyrations of the dance, all the women and children that were looking in through the window of his parlour, giggled, and made faces, and shewed variety of indecent gesticulations and noises. None of these, however, interrupted the devotions of this great man.
Never were such charming tunes elicited from mortal harp, Cambrian or Eolic! the dance was Devotion itself in human form! After a little refreshment, this illustrious Musician condescended to entertain me with several interesting particulars of the manner of his life, which I begg’d leave to copy in my pocket book in his presence.
He rose every morning, when his chime-clock struck eleven, (for, like the famous Chevalier Gluck, he is too great a genius to rise early) and generally gaped all the time his lady was putting on his breeches. For breakfast he always eat rolls and butter, whether in summer or winter; and after his breakfast paid a visit to Cloacina, but assured me he never used old music books on this occasion on any account. He retired to rest about ten, and seldom fail’d once in a month to compliment his lady for undressing him.
He communicated many other particulars to me of less moment, and was so obliging at length to beg I would treat him with an air or two on the bassoon.
I thought this a good opportunity to give him a specimen of my poetic talents, as well as of my musical ones, and performed the following song, which I composed at Gotham several years ago.
“Some came in a waggon, and some in a cart;
And many there were that did nothing but f—t:
Oh rare Nottingham town, Nottingham town!
Nottingham town; Oh rare Nottingham town!”
The sweetness of the notes on my bassoon, an instrument whose tone is so like the sound it was to represent, ravished his ears, which he hung quite down on each shoulder, during the whole time of my performance.
I slept this night at Dr. Hiccup’s house, and borrowed a shirt and pair of stockings of him. At breakfast I took an opportunity to tell him of the narrowness of my circumstances; but he was suddenly taken with a rapturous fit of devotion, and pulling up his night-gown to his waist, began to sing, and dance, and caper, and kick, to such a degree, that no one in the room was safe: I ran towards the door to save my shins, and the Doctor rising with both feet in the air like a Harlequin, gave me such a horse-kick on my rump, singing at the same time the March in Saul, that I descended into the street down five steps, head foremost, and cracked my bassoon in twenty places.
Six hours I attended at the door, but was told by a servant out of a window, that the Doctor was still performing his dance of devotion; and for aught I know, that great man may dance till doom’s-day, as I never after could get any other answer at his door.
On more mature reflexion, I thought this kind of treatment very hard from a brother musician, and one to whom I was so well recommended; but I consoled myself with considering, that though my bassoon was broken in sundry places, yet I had retained the Doctor’s shirt and stockings; and that it was very likely my great prototype, Dr. Mus himself, had frequently met with the same treatment, tho’ his modesty had inclined him to conceal it.