I saw M^r Jerningham the Poet at Bath too, & took a strong Aversion to him: so finical, so despicable, so delicate.  he had got a Harp, & he was to sing to it: so he whispered his Airs out in so soft a Warble one could not hear him: & then the door must be open’d, & then the Fire must be put out, & then he must have two Candles to shew off his Figure, & then the Carpet must be rolled up, & then he must have some Milk and Water—and then he sung Arne’s Ballads. 

M^rs Montagu said Oh! M^r Jerningham! he is a favourite Child of the Muses—silly pedantic Stuff.