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In whate'er cast his character was laid,
Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd.
Nature in spite of all his skill crept in ;
Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff-still 't was Quin.
Next follows Sheridan- —a doubtful name,
As yet unsettled in the rank of fame;
This, fondly lavish in his praises grown,
Give him all merit; that allows him none.
Between them both we'll steer the middle course,-
Nor loving praise rob judgment of her force.
Just his conceptions, natural and great,

His feelings strong, his words enforc'd with weight.
Was speech-fam'd Quin himself to hear him speak,
Envy would drive the colour from his cheek;
But stepdame Nature, niggard of her grace,
Deny'd the social pow'rs of voice and face.
Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye,
Passions, like chaos, in confusion lie;
In vain the wonders of his skill are try'd
To form distinction Nature hath deny❜d.
His voice no touch of harmony admits,
Irregularly deep and shrill by fits;

The two extremes appear like man and wife,
Coupled together for the sake of strife.

His action's always strong, but sometimes such,
That Candour must declare he acts too much.
Why must impatience fall three paces back?
Why paces three return to the attack?
Why is the right leg, too, forbid to stir,
Unless in motion semicircular?

Why must the hero with the Nailor vie,
And hurl the close-clench'd fist at nose or eye?
In royal John, with Philip angry grown,

I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies down.
Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame

To fright a king so harmless and so tame?

But spite of all defects his glories rise,

And art, by judgment form'd, with Nature vies.
Behold him sound the depth of Hubert's soul,
Whilst in his own contending passions roll;
View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan,
And then deny him merit if you can.

Where he falls short 'tis Nature's fault alone;
Where he succeeds the merit's all his own.

Last Garrick came.-Behind him throng a train Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain.

One finds out-"He's of stature somewhat low"Your hero always should be tall, you know."True natʼral greatness all consists in height.” Produce your voucher, Critic.-"Sergeant Kyte." Another can't forgive the paltry arts

By which he makes his way to shallow hearts;
Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause.-
"Avaunt! unnatʼral start, affected pause."

For me, by Nature form'd to judge with phlegm, I can't acquit by wholesale nor condemn. The best things carry'd to excess are wrong; The start may be too frequent, pause too long; But only us'd in proper time and place, Severest judgment must allow them grace. If bunglers, form'd on Imitation's plan, Just in the way that monkeys mimic man, Their copy'd scene with mangled arts disgrace, And pause and start with the same vacant face, We join the critic laugh; those tricks we scorn Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adorn ; But when from Nature's pure and genuine source These strokes of acting flow with gen'rous force, When in the features all the soul's portray'd, And passions such as Garrick's are display'd, To me they seem from quickest feelings caught, Each start is Nature, and each pause is thought. When reason yields to passion's wild alarms, And the whole state of man is up in arms, What but a critic could condemn the play'r For pausing here when cool sense pauses there? Whilst, working from the heart, the fire I trace, And mark it strongly flaming to the face, Whilst in each sound I hear the very man, I can't catch words, and pity those who can. Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain; The gods-a kindness I with thanks must payHave form'd me of a coarser kind of clay;

Nor stung with envy nor with spleen diseas'd,
A poor dull creature, still with Nature pleas'd;
Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree,

And pleas'd with Nature must be pleas'd with thee.
Now might I tell how silence reign'd throughout,
And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout,
How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with desire,
Was pale as ashes or as red as fire;

But, loose to fame, the Muse more simply acts,
Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts.
The judges, as the sev'ral parties came,

With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each claim,
And in their sentence happily agreed,

In name of both great Shakespeare thus decreed.
"If manly sense, if nature link'd with art;
"If thorough knowledge of the human heart;
"If pow'rs of acting vast and unconfin'd;
"If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd;
"If strong expression, and strange pow'rs, which lie
"Within the magic circle of the eye;

"If feelings which few hearts like his can know,
"And which no face so well as his can show,
"Deserve the pref'rence-Garrick ! take the chair,
"Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there." *

* Unhappy for his country (if the theatre be of service to a nation's virtue) that while the pen is tracing this reflection Garrick is taking possession of a grave near his own Shakespeare! He has quitted the chair, but left no equal in his place.

An equal did I say? There is one plann'd!
Kean is his name, and Kean in all is grand!

An abler actor never trode the stage;

We wish him well in youth, we wish him well in age.

Now, Irish Roscius, take the chair,

Nor quit it till THOU place an equal there.

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ADVENTURES OF THOMAS STAGESTRUCK.

.217

THE DISTRESSES OF A FATHER; Or, the adventures of Thomas Stagestruck, related by his Father. I AM the father of an only son, who, two years ago, deserted me to join a company of players, and I have never heard of him since. Thomas had from his infancy such a turn for theatricals, that I have often thought his head deranged; he, however, got my permission to see the Play of Hamlet, and I went with him; my son seemed during the whole play to be most attentive, and, when the entertainment was over, I desired him to see if our coach was in the way, when he very soon returned, and said, "I think I hear it-stand, ho! who is there?" It happened to be our coach, and when we were seated in it, I observed that it was a fine starlight night, when Thomas exclaimed," When yon' same star, that's westward from the pole, had made his course to illume that part of Heaven." "What part of Heaven?" said I.-To where spirits oft walk in death." -I confess I did not understand him, and thought he was mad. It happened that our coachman, being somewhat in liquor, missed his road, and when I was endeavouring to put him right, Thomas called out"Whither wilt thou drive me? I'll go no further." "You go no further," said I; "if you don't behave a little better, and mind your own business."-Here he had the impudence to interrupt me with-"Ay, Sir, you to your business, and I to mine; for every man hath business, and desire such as it is."

We at last got home, and I told Thomas to pay the fare, when I heard this dialogue between him and the coachman :-Thomas-"What is your fare, Sir?" Coachman-"Five shillings, your honour." Thomas

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It's an imposition, Sir," Coachman-“We always charge five shillings for night work two miles." Thomas-" Day and night! but this is wondrous strange." Coachman-" You must pay the coach, Sir, before I leaves this here house." Thomas-" There is your fare, Sir, and be damned." Coachman-" How, Sir?" Thomas-"Like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side; begone Sir."

Upon asking Thomas what he meant by the last speech, he asked if I did not remark that the coachman

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was very much deformed. When we had sat down to a bit of supper, I asked Thomas what he would have to drink, when he replied-"I dare not drink yet, Sir,-by and by." "Well Sir," said I, " as you please; -William, I'll thank you for the cup." I had no sooner said this, and taken it in my hand, when Thomas put forth his, and exclaimed-"As thou'rt a man, give me the cup; let go; by Heaven I'll have it." He did succeed in getting hold of it, but, before he put it to his lips, roared out-"It is the poisoned cup!" William, upon hearing this, declared there was nothing in it but good ale, toast, and nutmeg, and to convince us, as he called it, drank off the whole, and then remarked that Mr. Thomas himself must surely be in his cups. Here I was obliged to tell him to hold his tongue, and Thomas joined me, and began again quoting—" If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, absent thee from felicity awhile, and in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain to tell my story!" "Your story indeed! I'll have done with you, Sir; so for the present good night." Here my son answered with-"Good night, sweet father, and flights of angels sing thee to rest."

It so happened the next day, that we had a party of friends to dine with us, when my wife, who had a very fine taste, remarked that the beer was stale and flat; upon which Thomas got up from his chair, and quoted, I believe from Shakespeare,- "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, that grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature possess it merely." Upon hearing this, I told him if again he annoyed the company with his nonsense, I would turn him out of the room; but this he saved me the trouble of doing, by taking himself out, and holding the handle of the door in one hand and assuming a theatrical air with the other, repeated these lines, I do not know from where ;

"Let Hercules himself do what he may,

The cat will mew, the dog will have his day." Here he made his exit, and as I told you before, I have never seen him since. I have the honour to be, Mr. Editor, your most obedient humble servant,

TIMOTHY STAGESTRUCK.

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