LITMIR.BIZ

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In measured time his feet were taught to go.

       Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye,

       Lest this should quit his place, that step awry.

       Appearances to save his only care;

       So things seem right, no matter what they are. 300

       In him his parents saw themselves renew'd,

       Begotten by Sir Critic on Saint Prude.

       Then came drum, trumpet, hautboy, fiddle, flute;

       Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mute:

       Legions of angels all in white advance;

       Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance;

       Pantomime figures then are brought to view,

       Fools, hand in hand with fools, go two by two.

       Next came the treasurer of either house;

       One with full purse, t'other with not a sous. 310

       Behind, a group of figures awe create,

       Set off with all the impertinence of state;

       By lace and feather consecrate to fame,

       Expletive kings, and queens without a name.

       Here Havard,[23] all serene, in the same strains,

       Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs and complains;

       His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart

       Which could not feel emotions, nor impart.

       With him came mighty Davies:[24] on my life,

       That Davies hath a very pretty wife! 320

       Statesman all over, in plots famous grown,

       He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.

       Next Holland[25] came: with truly tragic stalk,

       He creeps, he flies—a hero should not walk.

       As if with Heaven he warr'd, his eager eyes

       Planted their batteries against the skies;

       Attitude, action, air, pause, start, sigh, groan,

       He borrow'd, and made use of as his own.

       By fortune thrown on any other stage,

       He might, perhaps, have pleased an easy age; 330

       But now appears a copy, and no more,

       Of something better we have seen before.

       The actor who would build a solid fame,

       Must Imitation's servile arts disclaim;

       Act from himself, on his own bottom stand;

       I hate e'en Garrick thus at second-hand.

       Behind came King.[26]—Bred up in modest lore,

       Bashful and young, he sought Hibernia's shore;

       Hibernia, famed, 'bove every other grace,

       For matchless intrepidity of face. 340

       From her his features caught the generous flame,

       And bid defiance to all sense of shame.

       Tutor'd by her all rivals to surpass,

       'Mongst Drury's sons he comes, and shines in Brass.

       Lo, Yates[27]! Without the least finesse of art

       He gets applause—I wish he'd get his part.

       When hot Impatience is in full career,

       How vilely 'Hark ye! hark ye!' grates the ear;

       When active fancy from the brain is sent,

       And stands on tip-toe for some wish'd event, 350

       I hate those careless blunders, which recall

       Suspended sense, and prove it fiction all.

       In characters of low and vulgar mould,

       Where Nature's coarsest features we behold;

       Where, destitute of every decent grace,

       Unmanner'd jests are blurted in your face,

       There Yates with justice strict attention draws,

       Acts truly from himself, and gains applause.

       But when, to please himself or charm his wife,

       He aims at something in politer life, 360

       When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan,

       He treads the stage by way of gentleman,

       The clown, who no one touch of breeding knows,

       Looks like Tom Errand[28] dress'd in Clincher's clothes.

       Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown,

       Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown,

       Prom side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates,

       And seems to wonder what's become of Yates.

       Woodward[29], endow'd with various tricks of face,

       Great master in the science of grimace, 370

       From Ireland ventures, favourite of the town,

       Lured by the pleasing prospect of renown;

       A speaking harlequin, made up of whim,

       He twists, he twines, he tortures every limb;

       Plays to the eye with a mere monkey's art,

       And leaves to sense the conquest of the heart.

       We laugh indeed, but, on reflection's birth,

       We wonder at ourselves, and curse our mirth.

       His walk of parts he fatally misplaced,

       And inclination fondly took for taste; 380

       Hence hath the town so often seen display'd

       Beau in burlesque, high life in masquerade.

       But when bold wits—not such as patch up plays,

       Cold and correct, in these insipid days—

       Some comic character, strong featured, urge

       To probability's extremest verge;

       Where modest Judgment her decree suspends,

       And, for a time, nor censures, nor commends;

       Where critics can't determine on the spot

       Whether it is in nature found or not, 390

       There Woodward safely shall his powers exert,

       Nor fail of favour where he shows desert;

       Hence he in Bobadil such praises bore,

       Such worthy praises, Kitely[30] scarce had more.

       By turns transform'd into all kind of shapes,

       Constant to none, Foote laughs, cries, struts, and scrapes:

       Now in the centre, now in van or rear,

       The Proteus shifts, bawd, parson, auctioneer.

       His strokes of humour, and his bursts of sport,

       Are all contain'd in this one word—distort. 400

       Doth a man stutter, look a-squint, or halt?

       Mimics draw humour out of Nature's fault,

       With personal defects their mirth adorn,

       And bang misfortunes out to public scorn.

       E'en I, whom Nature cast in hideous mould,

       Whom, having made, she trembled to behold,

       Beneath the load of mimicry may groan,

       And find that Nature's errors are my own.

       Shadows behind of Foote and Woodward came;

       Wilkinson this, Obrien[31] was that name. 410

      

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