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To Britons far more noble pleasures spring,

Nobly disdainful of each Navish art,
In native notes whilft Beard and Vincent fing. She makes her first attack upon the heart:
Might figure give a title unto fame,

Pleas'd with the summons, it receives her laws,
What rival should with Yates dispute her claim; And all is silence, sympathy, applause.
But justice may not partial trophies raise,

But when, by fond ambition drawn afide, Nor link the actress in the woman's praise.

Giddy with praise, and puff'd with female pride, Still hand in hand her words and actions go,

She quits the tragic scene, and, in pretence And the heart feels more than the features thew : To comic merit, breaks down Nature's fence; . For, through the regions of that beauteous face, I scarcely can believe my ears or eyes, We no variety of passions trace ;

Or find out Cibber through the dark disguise. Dead to the soft emotions of the heart,

Pritchard, by nature for the stage design'd, No kindred softness can those eyes impart ;

In perfon graceful, and in sense refin'd; The brow, still fix'd in forrow's sullen frame,

Her art as much as Nature's friend became, Void of distinction, marks all parts the same. Her voice as free from blemish as her fame.

What's a fine person, or a beauteous face, Who knows so well in majesty to please, Unless deportment gives them decent grace? Attemper'd with the graceful charms of ease? Bless'd with all other requisites to please,

When Congreve's favour'd pantomime to graces Some want the striking elegance of ease;

She comes a captive queen of Moorish race; The curious eye their aukward movement tires; When love, hate, jealousy, despair and rage, They seem like puppets led about by wires.

With wildest tumults in her breast engage ; Others, like Itatues, in one poiture still,

Still equal to herself is Zara seen; Give great ideas of the workman's skill;

Her passions are the passions of a queen. Wond'ring, his art we praise the more we view, When she to murther whets the timorous Thane, And only grieve he gave not motion too.

I feel ambition rush through every vein ; Weak of themselves are what we beauties call, Persuasion hangs upon her daring tongue, It is the manner which gives ftrength to all.

My heart grows flint, and ev'ry nerve's new strung. This teaches ev'ry beauty to unite,

In Comedy-" Nay, there, cries Critic, “ hold, And brings them forward in the noblest light. “ Pritchard's for comedy too fat and old. Happy in this, behold, amidst the throng,

« Who can, with patience, bear the gray coquette, With transient gleam of grace, Hart sweeps along. " Or force a laugh with over-grown Julett ? If all the wonders of external grace,

" Her speech, look, action, humour, all are juft ; A person finely turn'd, a mould of face,

" But then, her age and figure give disgust." Where, union rare, expreffion's lively force

Are foibles then, and graces of the mind, With beauty's softeft magic holds discourse,

In real life, to lize or age confin'd?
Attract the eye ; if feelings, void of art,

Do spirits flow, and is good breeding plac'd
Rouze the quick paflions, and inflame the heart; In any set circumference of waist ?
If music, sweetly breathing from the tongue, As we grow old, doth affectation cease,
Captives the ear, Bride must not pass unsung. Or gives not age new vigour to caprice ?

When fear, which rank ill-nature terms conceit. If in originals these things appear,
By time and cultom 'conquerid, shall retreat; Why should we bar them in the copy here?
When judgment tutor'd by experience sage,

The nice punctilio mongers of this age,
Shall shoot abroad, and gather strength from age; The grand minute reformers of the stage,
When heav'n in mercy thall the stage release Slaves to propriety of ev'ry kind,
From the dull Numbers of a ftill life-piece;

Some standard-measure for each part should find,
When some stale flow'r, disgraceful to the walk, Which then the best of actors shall exceed,
Which long hath hung, tho' wither'd on the stalk, Let it devolve to one of smaller breed.
Shall kindly drop, then Bride shall make her way, All actors too upon the back should bear
And merit find a passage to the day ;

Certificate of birth ;

-time, when ;Brought into action, the at once hall raise

where. Her own renown, and justify our praise.

For how can critics rightly fix their worth,
Form'd for the tragic scene, to grace the itage, Unless they know the minute of their birth?
With rival excellence of love and rage,

An audience too, may find too late
Mistress of each soft art, with matchless skill That they have clapp'd an actor out of date.
To turn and wind the passions as the will;

Figure, I own, at first may give offence, 'To melt the heart with sympathetic woe,

And harshly strike the eye's too curious sense : Awake the sigh, and teach the tear to flow; But when perfections of the mind break forth, To put on frenzy's wild distracted glare,

Humour's chaste fallies, judgment's folid worth ; And freeze the soul with horror and despair; When the pure genuine flame, by Nature taught, With just desert enroll'd in endless frame,

Springs into sense, and ev'ry action's thought;
Conscious of worth superior, Cibber came.

Before such merit all objections fly ;
When poor Alicia's madd’ning brains are rack'd, Pritchard's genteel, and Garrick's six feet high.
And strongly imag'd griefs her mind dittract ;

Oft have I, Pritchard, seen thy wond'rous skill,
Struck with her grief, I catch the madness too! Confess'd thee great, but find thee greater still.
My brain turns round, the headless trunk I view! That worth, which shone in scatter'd rays before,
The roof cracks, fhakes and falls !--New horrors Collected now, breaks forth with double pow'r.
rite,

The Jealous Wife ! on that thy trophies raise, And reason buried in the ruin lies.

Inferior only to the author's praise.

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From Dublin, fam'd in legends of romance Grey-bearded vet'rans, who, with partial tongue,
For mighty magic of enchanted lance,

Extol the times when they themselves were young ;
With which her heroes arm'd victorious prove, Who having lost all relish for the itage,
And like a flood rush o'er the land of love,

See not their own defects, but lalh the age,
Mosfop and Barry came—names ne'er design'd Receiv'd with joyful murmurs of applause,
By fate in the same fentence to be join'd.

Their darling chief, and lin'd his fav'rite cause. Rais'd by the breath of popular acclaim,

Far be it from the candid Muse to tread They mounted to the pinnacle of fame ;

Insulting o'er the ashes of the dead,
There the weak brain, made giddy with the height, But, just to living merit, she maintains,
Spurr'd on the rival chiefs to mortal fight.

And dares the test, whilft Garrick’s genius reigns ;
Thus sportive boys, around some bason's brim, Ancients in vain endeavour to excel,
Behold the pipe-drawn bladders circling swim: Happily prais'd, if they could act as well.
But if from lungs more potent, there arise

But though prescription's force we disallow,
Two bubbles of a more than common size,

Nor to antiquity submissive bow; Eager for honour they for fight prepare,

Though we deny imaginary grace, Bubble meets bubble, and both sink to air.

Founded on accidents of time and place ;
Moslop, attach'd to military plan,

Yet real worth of ev'ry growth shall bear
Still kept his eye fix'd on his right hand man. Due praise, nor muft we, Quin, forget thee there.
Whilst the mouth measures words with seeming skill, His words bore sterling weight, nervous and strong
The right hand labours, and the left lies ftill; In manly tides of sense they rolld along.
For he resolv'd on scripture-grcunds to go,

Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence
What the right doth, the left hand-shall not know. To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense.
With ítudied impropriety of speech,

No actor ever greater heights could reach He foars beyond the hackney critic's reach;

In all the labour'd artifice of speech.
To epithets allots emphatic state,

Speech! Is that all ?--And shall an actor found
Whilst principals, ungrac’d, like lacquies wait; An universal fame on partial ground?
In ways first trodden by himself excels,

Parrots themselves speak properly by rote,
And itands alone in undeclinables ;

And, in fix months, my dog shall howl by note. Conjunction, Preposition, Adverb join

I laugh at those, who, when the stage they tread, To stamp new vigour on the nervous line:

Neglect the heart, to compliment the head ;
In monosyllables his thunders roll,

With strict propriety their care's confind
HE, SHE, IT, AND, WE, YE, THEY, fright the soul. To weigh out words, while passion halts behind.
In person taller then the common size,

To syllable-disectors they appeal,
Behold where Barry draws admiring eyes!

Allow them accent, cadence,-fools may feel ;
When lab’ring paßions, in his bosom pent,

But, spite of all the criticising elves,
Convulsive rage, and struggling heave for rent ; Those who would make us feel, must feel themselves:
Spectators, with imagin'd terrors warm,

His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll,
Anxious expect the bursting of the storm :

Proclaim'd the fullen habit of his soul. But, all unfit in such a pile to dwell,

Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage, His voice comes forth, like Echo from her cell, Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage. To swell the tempest needful aid denies,

When Hector's lovely widow shines in tears, And all a-down the stage in feeble murmurs dies. Or Rowe's gay rake dependant virtue jeers,

What man, like Barry, with such pains, canerr With the same cast of features he is seen
In elocution, action, character ?

To chide the libertine, aná court the queen.
What man could give-if Barry was not here, From the tame scene, which without passion flowe,
Such well-applauded tenderness to Lear?

With just desert his reputation rose ;
Who else can speak so very, very fine,

Nor less he pleas’d, when, on some surly plan, That sense may kindly end with ev'ry line ?

He was, at once, the actor and the man. Some dozen lines before the ghost is there,

In Brute he shone unequallid : all agree
Behold him for the folemn scene prepare.

Garrick's not half so great a brute as he.
See how he frames his eyes, poises each limb, When Cato's labour'd scenes are brought to view,
Puts the whole body into proper trim.-

With equal praise the actor labour'd too ;
From whence we learn, with no great stretch of art, For still you'll find, trace passions to their root,
Five lines hence comes a ghost, and, ha! a start. Small diff 'rence 'twixt the Stoic and the brute,

When he appears most perfect, still we find In fancied scenes, as in life's real plan,
Something which jars upon, and hurts the mind. He could not, for a moment, sink the man.
Whatever lights upon a part are thrown,

In whate'er cast his character was laid, We see too plainly they are not his own.

Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd. No flame from Nature ever yet he caught ;

Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in : Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught ; Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff,- till 'was Quin. He rais'd his trophies on the base of art,

Next follows Sheridan-a doubtful name, And conn'd his passions, as he conn'd his part. As yet unsettled in the rank of fame.

Quin, from afar, lur'd by the scent of fame, This, fondly lavish in his praises grown, A stage Leviathan, put in his claim,

Gives him all merit: That allows him none.
Pupil of Betterton and Booth. Alone,

Between them both, we'll steer the middle course,
Sulten he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own. Nor, loving praise, rob Judgment of her force.
For how should moderns, mushrooms of the day, Just his conceptions, natural and great:
Who ne'er those masters knew, know how to play? His feelings strong, his words enforc'd with weight.

Was speech-fam'd Quin himself to hear him speak, Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain Envy would drive the colour from his cheek:

Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain ; But step-dame Nature, niggard of her grace,

The gods,--a kindness I with thanks must

pay,

,Deny'd the social powʻrs of voice and face.

Have form'd me.of a coarser kind of clay ; Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye, Nor ftung with envy, nor with spleen diseas'd, Paffions, like chaos, in confusion lie :

A poor dull creature, still with Nature pleas'd ; In vain the wonders of his skill are try'd

Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree, To form distinctions Nature hath deny'd.

And, pleas'd with Nature, must be pleas'd with thee. His voice no touch of harmony admits,

Now might I tell, how silence reign'd t': oughout, Irregularly deep and thrill by fits :

And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout : The two extremes appear like man and wife, How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with desire, Coupled together for the sake of trife.

Was pale as ashes, or as red as fire : His action's always strong, but sometimes such, But, loose to fame, the Muse more fimply acts, That candour must declare he acts too much. Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts. Why must impatience fall three paces back ?

The judges, as the several parties came, Why paces three return to the attack ?

With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each Why is the right-leg too forbid to ftir,

claim, Unless in motion semicircular ?

And, in their sentence happily agreed, Why must the hero with the Nailor vie,

In name of both, Great Shakespeare thus decreed. And hurl the close-clench'd fist at nose or eye?

“ If manly sense ; if Nature link'd with Art ; In royal John, with Philip angry grown,

“ If thorough knowledge of the human heart; I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies down. “ If pow'rs of acting vast and unconfin'd ; Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame,

" If feweft faults with greatest beauties join'd; To fright a king so harmless and so tame ?

“ If strong expression, an::trange pow'rs which lie But, spite of all defects, his glories rise ;

" Within the magic circle of the eye ; And Att, by Judgment form’d, with Nature vies: “ If feelings which few hearts, like his, can knowing Behold him found the depth of Hubert's soul, " And which no face so well as his, can shew; Whilft in his own contending passions roll ;

“ Deserve the pref'rence ;-Garrick, take the chair ; View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan, “ Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there.” 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 ftature somewhat low, “ Your Hero always should be tall, you know.- A P O L 0 G Y * True nat'ral greatness all confifts in height.” Produce your voucher, Critic.--- Serjeant Kite."

ADDRESS ID Another can't forgive the paltry arts

CRITICAL REVIEW ERS, By which he makes his way to shallow hearts ; Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause

AUGHS not the heart, when giants big with « Avaunt, unnat'ral fart, affected pause."

pride, For me, by Nature form’d to judge with phlegm, Assume the pompous port, the martial stride; I can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn.

O'er arm Herculean heave th’enormous shield, The best things carried to excess are wrong:

Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield; The start may be too frequent, pause too long i

With the loud voice of thund'ring Jove defy, But, only us'd in proper time and place,

And dare to single combai-What ? --A Aly. Severest judgment must allow them grace.

And laugh we lefs, when giant names, which If bunglers, form'd on imitation's plan,

Thine Just in the way that monkies mimic man,

Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Their copied scene with mangled arts disgrace, Critics, whom ev'ry captive art adores,
And pause and start with the same vacant face ; To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores ;
We join the critic laugh ; those tricks we scorn, Who high in letter'd reputarioa sit,
Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adom. And hold, Astræa-like, the scales of wit ;
But when, from Nature's pure and genuine source, With partial rage rush forth,—Oh! thame to tell!
These strokes of acting flow with gen'rous force, To crush a bard just bursting from the shell ?
When in the features all the soul's pourtray'd,

Great are his perils in this stormy time
And passions, such as Garrick's, are display'd, Who rafhly ventures on a sea of rime.
To me they seem from quickest feelings caught : Around vait furges roll, winds envious blow,
Each start is Nature ; and each pause is Thought. And jealous rocks and quicksands lurk below :

When reason yields to paffion's wild alarms, Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends ; And the whole state of man is up in arms;

He hurts me most who lavishly commends. What but a Critic could condemn the Play'r,

Look thro' the world-in ev'ry other trade
For pausing here, when Cool Sense pauses there? The same employment's cause of kindness made,
Whilt, working from the heart, the fire I trace, At least appearance of good-will creates,
And mark it strongly flaming to the face ;

And ev'ry fool puffs off the fool he hates.
Whilft, in each sound, I hear the very man; Coblers with coblers smoke away the night,
I can't catch words, and pity those who cam And in the common caufa e'en play’rs unit:
VOL. VIH.

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RDV as (peech-fam'd Quin himself to hear him speak, Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain Envy would drive the colour from his cheek:

Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain ; But step-dame Nature, niggard of her grace, The gods,-a kindness I with thanks must

рау,— Deny'd the social pow'rs of voice and face.

Have form'd me of a coarser kind of clay ; Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye, Nor stung with envy, nor with spleen diseas'd, Passions, like chaos, in confusion lie :

А poor dull creature, still with Nature pleas'd; In vain the wonders of his skill are try'd

Hence to thy praises, Garrick, I agree, To form distinctions Nature hath deny'd.

And, pleas'd with Nature, must be pleas'd with thee. His voice no touch of harmony admits,

Now might I tell, how silence reign'd t'::oughout, Irregularly deep and shrill by fits :

And deep attention hush'd the rabble rout : The two extremes appear like man and wife, How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with desire, Coupled together for the sake of ftrife.

Was pale as afhes, or as red as fire : His action's always strong, but sometimes such, But, loose to fame, the Muse more fimply acts, That candour must declare he acts too much. Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts. Why must impatience fall three paces back?

The judges, as the several parties came, Why paces three return to the attack ?

With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each Why is the right-leg too forbid to stir,

claim, Unless in motion semicircular ?

And, in their fentence happily agreed, Why must the hero with the Nailor vie,

In name of both, Great Shakespeare thus decreed. And hurl the close-clench'd fist at nose or eye?

If manly sense ; if Nature link'd with Art ; In royal John, with Philip angry grown,

“ If thorough knowledge of the human heart; I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies down. “ If pow'rs of acting vaft and unconfin'd; Inhuman tyrant ! was it not a shame,

“ If fewest faults with greatest beauties join'd; To fright a king fo harmless and so tame ?

If strong expreflion, anà :trange pow'rs which lie But, spite of all defects, his glories rise ;

“ Within the magic circle of the eye ; And Att, by Judgment form’d, with Nature vies: “ If feelings which few hearts, like his, can know, Behold him found the depth of Hubert's soul,

“ And which no face so well as his, can shew; Whilft in his own contending paflions roll ;

“ Deserve the pref'rence ;-Garrick, take the chair ; View the whole scene, with critic judgment scan, “ Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there." 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 ftature somewhat low, “ Your Hero always should be tall, you know.* True nat'ral greatness all consists in height.” Produce your voucher, Critic.-- Serjeant Kite."

ADDRESSED Another can't forgive the paltry arts

CRITICAL REVIEW ER SE By which he makes his way to Thallow hearts ; Mere pieces of fineffe, traps for applause

AUGHS not the heart, when giants big with "Avaunt, unnat'ral start, affected pause."

pride, For me, by Nature form’d to judge with phlegm, Assume the pompous port, the martial stride; I can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn.

O'er arm Herculean heave th’enormous shield, The best things carried to excess are wrong :

Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield; The start may be too frequent, pause too long i With the loud voice of thund'ring Jove defy, But, only us'd in proper time and place,

And dare to single combai-What?-A fly. Severest judgment must allow them grace.

And laugh we lefs, when giant names, which If bunglers, form’d on imitation's plan,

Thine Just in the way that monkies mimic man,

Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Their copied fcene with mangled arts disgrace, Critics, whom ev'ry captive art adores,
And pause and start with the same vacant face ; To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores ;
We join the critic laugh ; those tricks we scorn, Who high in letter'd reputation sit,
Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adorn. And hold, Aftræa-like, the scales of wit ;
But when, from Nature's pure and genuine source, With partial rage rush forth,--Oh! thame to tell!
These strokes of acting flow with gen'rous force, To crush a bard just bursting from the shell ?
When in the features all the soul's pourtray'd,

Great are his perils in this stormy time
And paffions, such as Garrick's, are display'd, Who rafhly ventures on a sea of rime.
To me they seem from quickest feelings caught : Around vait furges roll, winds envious blow,
Each start is Nature ; and each pause is Thu!! And jealous rocks and quicksands lurk below :
When reason yields to passion's wild

Greatly hi tres he dreads, but more his friends; And the whole state of man is up in

Hehu

t who lavishly commends. Whar but a Critic could condemn

world--in ev'ry other trade For pausing here Cool

t's cause of kindness made, Whilt, was

Lut good-will creates, And mar

off the fool he hates. While

finoke away the night, 1 car

a caufe e'en play’rs unita.

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