Why, wasn't the Bishop of Rochester sent to the Tower for what he said, and isn't he at this very moment in Paris and afraid to show his nose in England?
Oh, you can't call your soul your own now-a-days.

We poor playfolk may bless our lucky stars that we've only got to say the words set down for us and not our own.

Mr.Gay who writes 'em for us'll have the worry and he's got it too, what with Rich's scraping and saving and his insisting upon Mr.Quin playing in the opera." Lavinia now saw why Gay had been depressed.

But Mr.Quin the surly, who only played in tragedies, what had he to do with Gay's opera?
She put the question to Mrs.Egleton.
"Nothing at all.

He hasn't any more idea of singing than an old crow.
It's ridiculous, but Rich will have his way.