Memoirs of Robert William Elliston, Comedian ...: 1774-1810, Volume 1

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John Mortimer, 1844 - 438 pages
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Page 150 - Swifter than the moon's sphere ; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be: In their gold coats spots you see ; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours. I must go seek some dewdrops here, And...
Page 309 - Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings own'd his secret stings, In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.
Page 217 - This was the light into which Betterton threw this scene, which he opened with a pause of mute amazement ; then rising slowly to a solemn, trembling voice, he made the ghost equally terrible to the spectator as to himself...
Page xix - Aspect threw out such a Glow of Health and Chearfulness, that, on the Stage, few Spectators that were not past it could behold her without Desire. It was even a Fashion among the Gay and Young to have a Taste or Tendre for Mrs. Bracegirdle.
Page xx - Great Jonson did by strength of judgment please ; Yet, doubling Fletcher's force, he wants his ease. In differing talents both adorn'd their age ; One for the study, t'other for the stage.
Page 7 - Amphytrion" to the stage, I heard him give it his first reading to the actors, in which, though it is true he delivered the plain sense of every period, yet the whole was in so cold, so flat, and unaffecting a manner, that I am afraid of not being believed when I affirm it.
Page 5 - Twas only that when he was off he was acting. With no reason on earth to go out of his way, He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day...
Page 58 - Yes, clocks will go as they are set. But Man, Irregular Man's ne'er constant, never certain: I've spent at least three precious hours of darkness In waiting dull attendance; 'tis the curse Of diligent virtue to be mixed like mine, With giddy tempers, souls but half resolved.
Page 223 - Heaven knows I have too many ! Do not mock me: Though I am tame, and bred up with my wrongs, Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap, Like a hand-wolf, into my natural wildness, And do an outrage.
Page 6 - It has sometimes been objected to the theatrical artist, that he merely repeats the language and embodies the conceptions of the poet. But the allegation, though specious, is unfounded. It has been completely established, by a great and genial critic of our own time, that the deeper beauties of poetry cannot be shaped forth by the actor,* and it is equally true, that the poet has little share in the highest triumphs of the performer.

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