A pretty face--a pretty voice--an air--faith, such gifts may work wonders.

But let us keep Mr.
Pope waiting no longer." They approached the table beneath the cedar tree.
"Sir," said Gay with a bow to Pope, "I've prevailed upon my young madam here to give us a taste of her quality.

I trust your twittering birds won't be provoked to rivalry.

Happily their season of song is past." "I warn you Mr.Gay, the age of miracles is _not_ past.

What if the work you're toiling at sends the present taste of the town into a summersault?
Would not that be a miracle ?" "You think then that my 'Beggar's Opera' won't do," broke in Gay, his face losing a little of its colour.
"You know my views.