Chapter 131 of 304 · 340 words · ~2 min read

CHAPTER XV

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.

##