Of course you did.

Then let old Pepusch look out.

Nothing could be better.

Aye, it is indeed a sweet tune." Lavinia retired a few paces on to the lawn, dropped naturally into a simple pose and for a minute or two imagined herself back in the streets where she sang without effort and without any desire to create effect.
She sang the pathetic old air--much better fitted to the words than the so-called Irish melody of a later date--with delightful artlessness.
"What think you, doctor ?" whispered Gay to Pepusch.

"Can you see her as Polly--not Peggy mind ye--I'm fixed on Polly Peachum." "De girl ver goot voice has.