| Citation |
NHG-P.761.047
11 Sep 1761:12 (258)
London, April 18. A PARODY ON CATO'S SOLILOQUY, WRITTEN IN
A COUNTRY ASSEMBLY ROOM, WAITING FOR THE FIDDLERS.
It must be so--musick, thou charmest well--
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after dancing!
Or whence this secret dread, and inward thought,
Of absent fidlers! Why shrinks the body
Into itself, and slumbers in inaction!
It is the joy that moves within us,
'Tis life itself, that points out to us dancing,
And intimateth harmony to man
Harmony! what pleasing cheerful sounds!
O'er what variety of well tun'd strings,
Through what numerous instruments may ye pass!
The viol, lute and harp, all lie before me,
But only dirt and clouds of dust rest on them.
Here will I hold. If there is a fidler
(And that there is one all the parish knows,
Through all her alehouses) he must delight to play,
And that which he delights in makes us happy.
But who! or where! this drunken fellow is--
I'm weary of conjectures--this will end them.
(Enter Fidler)
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