“By G—, madam,” answered Empson, “all I consider is, that I play the best flageolet in England; and that they can no more supply my place, if they were to discard me, than they could fill Thames from Fleet-Ditch.”
“Well, Master Empson, I do not dispute but you are a man of talents,” replied the lady; “still, I say, mind the main chance—you please the ear to-day—another has the advantage of you to-morrow.”
“Never, mistress, while ears have the heavenly power of distinguishing one note from another.”
“Heavenly power, say you, Master Empson?” said the lady.
“Ay, madam, heavenly; for some very neat verses which we had at our festival say,
‘What know we of the blest above,
But that they sing and that they love?’
It is Master Waller wrote them, as I think; who, upon my word, ought to be encouraged.”
“And so should you, my dear Empson,” said the dame, yawning, “were it only for the honour you do to your own profession. But in the meantime, will you ask these people to have some refreshment?—and will you take some yourself?—the chocolate is that which the Ambassador Portuguese fellow brought over to the Queen.”
“If it be genuine,” said the musician.
“How, sir?” said the fair one, half rising from her pile of cushions—“Not genuine, and in this house!—Let me understand you, Master Empson—I think, when I first saw you, you scarce knew chocolate from coffee.”