My father registered with these people a few months ago, and all his calls dried up. He was also of the opinion that he shouldn't need to register not to be disturbed, and he's pretty ruthless on the 'phone when he wants to be . . . but eventually he grew tired of it . . . bosh. Job done.
Wading through the apparent sarcasm, we can take his point that the badness common to popular music as a whole is not excused by the small amount of it that is notably good.
He does so much magnifie Nature and her actings in all this material world, as he gives just cause of suspicion that he hath made her a kind of joint deess with God in the affairs thereof.
Whatever has distinguished the hero; whatever has elevated the wit; whatever has indeared the lover, are all concentered in Mr Frolick, whose life has, for seven years, been a regular interchange of intrigues, dangers, and waggeries […]