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 making 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.
Had this volume been a farce, which, unless everyone's life and opinions are regarded as a farce, I see no reason to suppose - the last chapter, Sir, would have 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. Is it in tune or no? trut, prut - They should be fifths. 'Tis wickedly strung - twang. - The bridge is a mile too high - trut, prut - hark! 'tis not so bad a tone.
Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle, dum. There is no problem in playing before good judges, but there's a man there - the grave man in black - 'Sdeath! not the gentleman with the sword on. Sir, I had rather play a Caprichio to Calliope, than draw my bow across my fiddle before that man; and yet I'll wager the greatest musical odds ever laid, that I will this moment go three hundred leagues out of tune upon my fiddle, without punishing one single nerve of his.-
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.
Diddle diddle, diddle diddle, diddle diddle - hum - drum.
Your worships love music - and some of you play delightfully yourselves - trut-prut, prut-trut.
O! I could sit and listen whole days, to one who can make what he fiddles to be felt, who inspires me with his joys and hopes, and puts the hidden springs of my heart into motion.
Book 5 - Chapter 15