But her most subtle wiles proved ineffectual in ridding her, even for a moment, of her harpy jailer[…]

After ſome Months, the Quack gets privately to Town, …

The time was not yet come when eloquence was to be gagged, and reason to be hoodwinked—when the harp of the poet was to be hung on the willows of Arno, and the right hand of the painter to forget its cunning.

I don't have the foggiest idea how to get to Piccadilly Circus on the Tube.