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.