Mrs. D—f—ld, at a Sadler's, Charles Street, Soho.
Then he began to rave and tear,
And swore once more he'd try the fair
To grace his notes he would take care,
She gave her kind consent.
He pitch'd the highest note he could,
And kept the stops just where he should,
Damon, says she, your musick's good,
And I am now content.
This lady, we are told, is remarkably fond of musick, and there is no tune within compass of the flute but she plays with the greatest dexterity; she is perfect mistress of all the graces, is never out in stopping, and is full as well skilled in pricking; altho' the principal part of her music is played in duets, and every duet in a natural key, she has not the smallest objection to two flats; she has a variety of sweet notes, and many pleasing airs, and generally chooses the lowest part; every shake and quaver she feels instinctively, and sometimes has played the same tune over twice, before her partner has gone through it once, without the least deviation from true concord; she does not allow of any cross barrs, and is particularly partial to the Tacit flute; her moving stars are as black and as round as the end of a Crotchet; no flower that blows is like her cheek, or scatters such perfume as her breath: no advice can controul her love; she does as she will with her swain, presses him away to the copse, puts the wanton God where the bee sucks into her pleasant native plains, soon after you feel the graceful move and find how sweet it is in the lowlands; and should it be in sable night, she loves to restore the drooping plant, thinks variety is charming, and always gives one kind kiss before she parts; and as she is now only nineteen, can sing a French as well as an English song, and has a very good friend, whose name she at present assumes: you must not approach her shrine without being well fortifyed with root of all evil.