talked of on
account of Jermyn, all her other advantages would avail nothing for her
glory: it was, therefore, to receive this finishing stroke, that she
resolved to throw herself into his arms.

She was of a middle size, had a skin of a dazzling whiteness, fine hands,
and a foot surprisingly beautiful, even in England: long custom had given
such a languishing tenderness to her looks, that she never opened her
eyes but like a Chinese; and, when she ogled, one would have thought she
was doing something else.

Jermyn accepted of her at first; but, being soon puzzled what to do with
her, he thought it best to sacrifice her to Lady Castlemaine. The
sacrifice was far from being displeasing to her; it was much to her glory
to have carried off Jermyn from so many competitors; but this was of no
consequence in the end.

Jacob Hall (the famous rope-dancer) was at that time in vogue in London;
his strength and agility charmed in public, even to a wish to know what
he was in private; for he appeared, in his tumbling dress, to be quite of
a different make, and to have limbs very different from the fortunate
Jermyn.

["There was a symmetry and elegance, as well as strength and
agility, in the person of Jacob Hall, which was much admired by the
ladies, who regarded him as a due composition of Hercules and
Adonis. The open-hearted Duchess of Cleveland was said to have been
in love with this rope-dancer and Goodman the player at the same
time. The former received a salary from her grace."--Granger, vol.
ii., part 2, p. 461. In reference to the connection between the
duchess and the ropedancer, Mr. Pope introduced the following lines
into his "Sober Advice from Horace:"

"What push'd poor E--s on th' imperial whore?
'Twas but to be where Charles had been before,
The fatal steel unjustly was apply'd,
When not his lust offended, but his pride
Too hard a penance for defeated sin,
Himself shut out, and Jacob Hall let in."]

The tumbler did not deceive Lady Castlemaine's expectations, if report
may be believed; and as was intimated in many a song, much more to the
honour of the rope-dancer than of the countess; but she despised all
these rumours, and only appeared still more handsome.

While satire thus found employment at her cost, there were continual
contests for the favours of another beauty, who was not much more
niggardly in that way than herself; this