sity of California thern Regional Drary Facility ^ THE THEATRICAL BANQUET; OR, THE ACTOR'S BUDGET: CONSISTING OF Monologues, Prologues, .Addresses, Tales, &;g, &;c. SERIOUS AND COMIC; TOGETHER WITH COLLINS'S EVENING BRUSH, AND A RARE AND GENl/INE COLLECTION OF THEATRICAL AjVECDOTES, COMIC SONGS, &c. &c. IN TWO VOLUMES, VOL. II. By W. OXBERRY, OF THE THEATRES OF ABERDEEN AND GLASGOW, AND LATE OF COVENT GARDEN. . — >V;:> and in his usual imperfect manner, began, — " Now " fame shall tell posterity — posterity shall tell fame> " that a couple died, no, lived — Blow me out of the " world if I kno\V which." The prompter seeing his embarrasstnent, rung the bell — down dropped the curtain amid loud peals of laughter of the audience, and there was an end of a tragedy made truly comical by his strange and whimsical conclusion. But to finish the account of this wonderful performer, he stepped forward after the curtain was down, to announce to the audience the play, farce, &:c. for the ensuing night, and it being by particular desire of the mayor, for the benefit of the manager, and the last night of performing that season, he began — " Ladies " and gentlemen, to-morrow evening — " A gentleman in the pit called to hiui, " To-moi'row, sir, will be " Suiulay," but he went on — " To-morrow evening — " A second time he was told that it wotdd be Sunday : this caused a general laugh ; when that subsided, he Still persisted and proceeded with " To-morrow " evening will be prayers and a sermon at the '•^ methodist meeting, and on Monday evening will be AX LVENINg's BRLSir. 'J>7 " presented in this theatre, a celebrated comedy — ** no, a tragedy — hey, no, an opera— called — the play " bills will tell you all about it, ladies and gentlemen *' — to which will be added, a farce of, an entertain- " ment of the mayor, by desire of the manager, and " for the benefit of the last night this season." Shakspeare says, " let your clowns say no more " than is set down for thera;" for there are some actors who laugh themselves, to set on a number of spectators to do the same, though there may be some necessary part of the play to be considered : and though many performers may wish to pay a proper attention, by strictly adhering to the author, yet they may sometimes be surprised into an inadvertency : an instance of which authorises us to give the following narrative : A performer in the York company, at the time of the races, (when the stage was much crowded by gentlemen of the turf,) in playing the part of Don Pedro, in the Spanish friar, being asked the question of " What hopes ?" — his answer should have been — " As much as when physicians shake their heads, *' And bid their dying patients think of heaven.'' but unfortunately one of the jockies, either by design or accident, struck the rowel of his spur into the poor fellow's leg, just as he was concluding the last line, — therefore his answer to the question of " What " hopes?" was literally delivered thus — " As much as " when physicians shake their heads, and bid their " dying patients— go to hell, and be d — d to you !" D 2 38 AN EVF.NIKGS BRUSH. Now tl)is was rather spurring an actor in the wrong place, and John Urydcn's Pegasus was not to be pushed forward by a Yorkshire jockey. It is well known, that until the reign of Charles the second, all the female characters on the stage were represented by young men with smooth faces : and strange as it may seem, yet no more strange than true, about ten years ago, a company of itinerant players were figuring away at Camberwell, a very few miles from London, ysithout a single female amongst them. The play was Otway's tragedy of the Orphan ; and I believe it would be hard to say, Avhether the fair INIonimia or her sweet smiling sister- in-law, the gentle Serina, was the most lusty, strapping, raw-boned fellow of the two. After Moniniia had affect- ed all her airs and graces, with every soft and female blandishment and moving gesture, to charm the ear and captivate the heart; at last warmed by the fir€ of the subject, broke out — '^ Why was I born with all my sex's softness ? " My gentle nature bears not the beating of a stonn " So rude — Castalio — oh Castalio has undone me ! " And my soft soul shall ne'er have comfort more." But of all the tragedians that ever tragcdizcd, who was the most severe with his satire, and the (head of all theatric [)erformers, was the most outre in his own mode of acting : he was a great favourite of the town, and as a comic writer and a mimic performer, -a most deserved one : I mean our English Aristo- phanes, Footc, His Othello was such a master- piece of burlesque, that it can never be forgot by thosc> AN EVEXiyc's BRUSH. 29 %vho saw him. But that must have fallen very short of his Hamlet, which I am told he attempted in the early part of his life at Bath, for his own benefit. lie went through the part tolerably well in his comi- cal way, until he came to the last act ; but in the scene where he quarrels with Laertes — " What is the reason that you use me thus ? " I lov'd you ever: but 'tis no matter ; " Let Hercules himself do what he may, *' The cat will mew, tlic dog will have his day." Stimulated by a desire to excel, he entered so much into the quarrel, as to throw him out of the words, and he spoke it thus : — " I loved you ever — but it is " no matter — let Hercules himself do what he may — *' the dog will mew— no that is the cat — the cat " will, no the dog will mew — no that's wrong — the " cat will bark — no that's t!ie dog — the dog will mew " — no that's the cat, the cat will, no the dog — the " cat — the dog — Pshaw ! Pho ! its something about " mewing and barking, but as I iiope to be saved, *' ladies and gentlemen, I know nothing more « about it." I was once present at a representation of the play of Tamerlane, where the royal Bajazet did so bellow and bluster at his conqueror, and cockey Tamerlane did so chirp and chuckle at him, that the one might with great propriety be called the tragedy belwea- ther, and the other, a tragedy Bantam cock. In the scene where Tamerlane orders Bajazet to be set at liberty, I humbly conceive his sublime higlines& D 3 so AN EVENING S BRUSH. Part m. might have entered into the spirit of his author, witli- out deviatin;^ from his royalty, and have delivered Inniself in the following mnnner : " Ila ! says thou ? No : Our Prophet's *■' A^engeance blast me, if thou shalt buy '' My friendship with the empire: " Damnation on thee, thou smooth fawning " Talker; give me my chains again ; that '^ I may curse thee, and gratify my rage." Instead of which he sputtered to his conqueror thus : '•' Ha ! say'st thou no — Our Prophet's vengeance. — " Blast me if thou shalt buy my friendship. — " With the empire danmation on thee. — " Thou smooth fawning talker, give me my " Chains again that 1 may curse thee — and " Gratify my rage." And cockey Tamerlane chirped his in the follow* jiig manner : " Virtue still does witli scorn the mercenary world *' regard, " Where abject souls do good and hope reward ; " Above the worthless trophies men can raise, ^ " She seeks not wealth or pomp or airy praise, v *' But with herself, herself the goddess pays." \ It has sometimes been customary with the manager of a theatric troop, to teach young performers to throw it out— keep it up— go through with it. — Tc AS evextng's brush. 31 make use of their legs and arms, and not to stand with one hand stuck by the side, and the other extended in this manner, so that the person exactly resembles a tea-pot — this the handle, and this the spout ; so that the actor is always in motion, and appears to have got St. Vitus's dance. The great Mr. Mossop, the once celebrated tragedian, was dis- tinguished amongst the wags in the green-room by the appellation of the one-handed actor. Mr. Churchill, in his Rosciad, says of that gentleman, that his left hand did not know what his right hand did : but Mr Garrick effected a complete cure on him, by telling him the story of an actor, who having had the misfortune by some accident to lose his left arm, had a cork one made to supply the deficiency ; but disdaining the idea that one hand should liave all the labour and the other be supine, he now and then gave the artificial one a hearty smack, which kept it in motion like the pendulum of a clock : and at one time when he was performing the part of Lord Hastings, in Jane Shore, this was his method : " I own the glorious subject fires my breast, '* And my soul's darhng passion stands confess'd. (bang) ^' Beyond myself or virtue's sacred band, " Beyond my life, I prize my native land, (bang) " Think England's peace bought cheaply with my blood, <•* And die with pleasure for my country's good.'* (bang) 32 AN evening's BP.USir. Part in. SONG. Tune — " Last week in Lent I came to Town." We're told that ancient Rome had once her famous fire-earers, Her hyppodromes, her roaring bulls, and slashing gladiators, Her pastimes called olympical, uith other sports likewise, sir, But London now, in all her sports and gambols, far outvies, sir. And first there are the playhouses, are places worth regarding. We go to laugh at Drury Lane, and cry at Covent Garden ; For Bannister, while the queen of tears tells her tale of woe, sir, Will strait present ye four-and-twenty fiddlers all on a row, sir. The Opera invites us next, where folks arc pleas'd with squalling. And part with sterling English gold, for Italian cattcrwaulling; Where people flock for fashion sake, the truth you may depend on't, Tor the devil a word tliey understand from beginning. to the end on't. AN evening's brush. 33 Part HI. Then Hughes and Astley beat their rounds upon the nimble prancers, And play such feats you'd swear they were a pair of necromancers ; Here monkey's skip, and tumblers trip, and dogs are dancing jigs, sir ; And learned men at college bred, 'pos'd by a learned pig, sir. Then dear V'auxhall leads up the ball, where groves and grots resound, sir. And belles and beaux in Sunday clothes, walk in a merry round, sir ; Where many a vvight, for a single night of guttling, gig, and laughter, Will there melt down their last half-crown, if they starve for a fortnight after. Th» rage for boxing bears the belle, which old and young pursue, sir, And bets run high oli the tirst black eye of a Chris- tian or a Jew, sir, And lords and 'squires nobly dare to strip themselves in buff, sir, And lay their swords and pistols by, for a bout of fisty cuffs, sir. Attraction is the cause we find of an electric shock, sir ; I do declare, and take my word, I neither joke or mock, sir, If such good folks attracted here, I every night should see, sir. Attraction having such effect, would prove no shock to me, sir. 34 AX EVEXIXG's BIIISH. PART IV. We are told there is a time to laugh, and a time to cry ; and that the child of mirth may as easily be tired with one thing, as the child of melancholy ; therefore, for the present, we will leave the food for risible fa- culties, and call forth a more serious subject. It is a general received opinion, that the greatest crime implanted in the human mind, is ingratitude : and amongst the many instances of it daily occurring to our view, [ don't know a more striking one, than that in the well known story of Belliaarius, the poor, old, blind, discarded, and disgraced Roman General; who having crowned his country with laurels, fought all her battles with success, by heading her victorious armies ; enriched her tieasury with aiuandance of wealth ; swelled her with the utnn)st pride, pomp, and power ; and raised her to the highest pinnacle of earthly glory ; was himself at last reduced, by envy and malevolence, to beg for his own daily bread. The exhibition of that capital picture, painted by that ingenious artist Michael Angelo, of licllisarius, induced the Author to write the following song on the subject of "date obolum bellisario." SONG. Tune — " Bozc^ wore, rcow," (only slower). Oh Fortune, how strangely thy gifts are awarded; How much to thy shame, thy caprice is recorded; AX tvrxrxc s brush. As the wise, great, and good, fi-uiii thy frowns seldom 'scape any, Witness poor Bellisarius, who begg'd for an half-penny: Date obolum, date obolum, date obolum Bellisario. lie, whose fame from his valour and bravery arose, sir, Of his country the shield, and the scourge of her foes, sir. By his poor faithful dog, blind and aged was led, sir. With one foot in the grave, forc'd to beg for his bread^ sir; Date obolum, (Sec. tS:c. When a young Roman knight, in the street passing by, sir, The veteran beheld with a heart-rending sigh, sir ; And a purse in his helmet he dropp'd with a tear, sir, Whilst the soldier's sad tale thus attracted his ear, sirj Date obolum, &c. &c. '^'- I have fought, I have bled, I have conqucr'd for " Rome, sir ; " I've crown'd her with laurels, for ages will bloom, " sir; " I've enrich'd her with wealth, swell'd her pride " and her power, sir ; " I've espoused her for life,and distress is my dower, sir, ''■' Date obolum, &c. &c. " Yet blood I ne'er wantonly wasted at random, *' Losing thousands their lives, with nil desperandum ; " Ev'ry conquest I gain'd I made both friend and foe " know, '' That my soul's only aim, was pro bono publico. '■ Date obolum, &c. &c. 36 AN evening's brush. " If soldier or stateman, of what age or nation, *' lie hereafter shou'd be, should hear this relation ; "^' And of eye-sight bereft, should like me grope his *■' way, sir, " The bright sunbeams of virtue will turn night " to day, sir. " Date oboluni, &:c. &c. " Whilst I, poor, distress'd, and to darkness inur'd, sir, *' In this vile crust of clay, when no longer immur'd, sir, " At death's welcome stroke my bright course shall " begin, sir, " And enjoy endless light from the sunshine within, sir. '' Date obolum, date obolum, date obolum BcUisario. INir. Pope says — " 'Tis not enough — an harshness gives offence, " The sound shou'd be an echo to the sense ; " When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, " The line too labours and the words move slow." If so, how grating and disagreeable must it be to hear many of our modern tragedy chauntcr-pipes trumpet out their words in a high tone of voice ? as Mrs. Tabitha Bramble, in the expedition of Humph- rey Clinker, very truly calls it, " quite cock loftical, " and higli poppcty mountain." I'or example, in the Tent scene, in Richard the Third, wlicre he comes forth from his couch, shiuldering with guilt und }iorror, the awful stillness of the night, added to a conscience for ever reminding him of his cruelties, AN EVENING S BRU3II. '^7 Part IV. and a iiiiml tortured with a variety of contending passions — I should conceive any man in liis senses, would speak the following lines in an under voice, and as nearly as possible in a tone scarcely audible — thus: " 'Tis now the dead of night, and half the world " Is in a lonely solemn darkness hung : " Yet I, so coy a dame is Sleep to me, with " All the wearied vvatchings of my care-tired ** Thoughts, can't win her to my bed ; tho' e'en " The stars do wink as 'twere with overwatching." Now how contrary to common sense must it be, to hear those lines bavvUed out in an high trumpeting tone, as a certain very celebrated performer, who was many years at the head of the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, and now retired from the stage, used to do — as thus : " 'Tis now the dead of night," &c. Yet even that is better than your tragedy stocks and stones, whose ideas of acting never yet felt the shghtest touch of the Promethean torch : beheve me, I have heard iiis crook'd-back'd majesty, in the battle of Bosworth field, breath out revenge and slaughter in such a pretty, soft, lullaby strain, that you would imagine he was walking in his sleep, and only dreamt of a battle: and instead of speaking the following lines in a manner suited to the occa- sion, he, like a child, repeated them thus : AN F.VCXING 5 RRUSH. " Hence babbling dreams, ye threaten here in vain ; " Conscience avaunt — Ricliard's liimself again; " Hark ! the slirili trumpet sounds ; to horse, away, " My soul's in arms, and eager for the fray !" 'Tis astonishing that persons labouring under any particular impediment, should attempt a profession they are so evidently unfit for, as the stage. — The advice given to young adventurers in the fields of Thalia and Melpomene, in that excellent Prologue to the Apprentice, is most salutary, where it says — " Leave not your shops; there thrift and profit call, " Whilst here young gentlemen arc apt to fall." Too mawy indeed have engaged in the Shakspearian business, without a single requisite. One who has come within my own knowledge, could not pro- nounce the letter N, but substituted the letter L in place of it: and as he had, in a small itinerant com- pany, frequently tortured the audience in a few capi- tal characters, yet upon leaving that and going into rather a superior company, he found occasion to complain to his new manager for the line of business lie allotted him, by saying — " I/decd, Mr. Ma/ager, " you use me very u/ki/dly ; \L the last compa/y I *' was i/, I used to play lla/ger i/ the Suspicious " Husba/d, a/d Do/ Joh/ \L the Cha/ces, a/d low you " /ever let me do a/y thi/g but scrva/ts." As a contrast to the above gentleman, I knew another who could not articulate the letter L, but always made it an N ; yet not being conscious of lu3 AX EVENING^S BRUSH, S9 Pait IV. fortunate in his choice, that he always preferred the worst songs he could think of, to expose that very impediment, and particularly the following : " When I'm /;ate out at night, " And my wife /nes a/iO;/e, " I'm sure to prepare for a batte?^ ; " She goes to her neighbours " And makes her case known, " Against me they rain and they ratt'/z. ," Let her go to the devi«, " And do as she \\\n, ** Vn never win quit " 'Ti/i my beiiuey Vn Rn ; ** So bumper to bumper " Win make the house ring, " And I'w finish the rest of my bott'/i." A provincial dialect must also be a most horrid stumbling-block in the way of an actor : to hear a Northumbrian from the banks of the Tyne, scower out his words with an abominable Newcastle burr in his -throat, must be shocking — talking of p;Tnvileges and prrrerrrogatives, and the hnravc Br/vitish t/vroops that b;rrought down the prrride of Frrrance — that you would actually imagine he had swallowed a £C?7Tubbing-brr;ush, and was labouring with all his might and main to bring it up again. 'Tis very weU known that in Queen Elizabeth's days the people of England were robust and healthy; tea E 3 40 AN EVENINC/S BHUSII. and other debilitating fluids were either not kn(jvvn, or at least not in use amongst the Britons. The queen herself, we are very well informed, rose early, eat for breakfast (as was the fashion then) a beef- steak, and drank a tankard of ale : she would then mount her horse, take a morning ride, attended by a few favorites and domestics, and then jog home again to an early dinner. Mr. Collins has very happily de- scribed those days in a song — but as those times are past, and we are now blest with a king and queen, peace,wealth, happiness, and commerce, unrivalled by any kingdom the world can boast of, I shall conclude this Kvening's Brush, by presenting you with a song, in which 1 will endeavour to prove the golden days "we now possess, are far superior to the boasted days of good Queen Bess. SONG, Tine— " J/A/CVoaA-cr/' In the praise of Queen Bess, lofty strains have been sung, sir. And her fame has been ccho'd by old and by young, sir, But from tiinc.^ that are past, we'll for once turn our eyes, sir, As the limes wc enjoy 'tis but wisdom to prize, sir; Then whalsocvti- were the days of good Queen Bcss^ ].ct us praise the golden days wc now possess. AN EVEXINGS BRUSH. 41 Without armies to co';nl)ar, or armadas to \\ithstand, sir, The foe at our feet, and the sword in our liand, sir, Lasting peace \vc secure, while we're lords of the sea, sir. And our stout wooden walls are our sure guarantee, sir. Such are the golden days we now possess. Whatsoever were the days of good Queen Bess. No bigot rules the land now with persecution dire, sir; Burning zeal now no more heaps the fagot on the tire, sir ; No bishop now can broil a poor Jew like a pigeon, sir, Or barbacue a Pagan like a pig, for religion, sir. Such are the golden days we now possess, Whatsoever were the days of good Queen Bess, Now no legendary saint robs the labourer of one day, sir, Except now and then when he celebrates, St. Mondav. And good folk every sabbath keep the church without a pother, sir, By walking in at one door, and stealing out at t'other, sir. Such are the golden days we now possess, Whatsoever were the days of good Queen Bess, E 3 43 AN evening's brush. Then for dress, modern belles bear the belle without compare, sir, Tho' farthingales and ruffs arc got rather out of wear, sir, But when laced up like pullets, whether lean, fat, or plump, sir, 'Tis no matter If they've got but a raerry-tliought and rump, sir Such are the golden days we now possess, Whatsoever were the days of good Queen Bess. Those prcmontorics sure may be deem'd inaccessible^ As our snuU-clothcs, by prudes, are pronounc'd inexpressibles ; Nay,.tbe taste of our beaux wont admit of disputes, sir, As thcji' ride iji their slippers, and walk about in boots, sir. Such are the golden days we now possess. Whatsoever were the days of good Queen Bess. Our language is refm'd too from what it was of yore, sir. As a shoe-string's the dandy, and a buckle quite a bore, sir; Nay if rais'd from the dead, it wou'd sure pose the noddle, sir. Of Shakspearc to tell, what's the tippy or the twaddle, sir. Sucli arc the golden as Isabella. Did human beings let their passions sleep, Throw nature by, and here forget to weep, Sure flinty rocks would their foundations shake, And senseless stocks their lasting silence break; With loud acclaim the actress still pursue, And yield the palm of merit where 'tis due I ISABELLA. A GENTLER theme the soaring muse inspires* Melts all the passions and the bosom fires. Lo ! Isabella, all her wishes cross'd. The hapless mourner of a husband lost ! Nor this alone, with him her fortune flies^ And ev'ry other worldly comfort dies. Her tender infant all her care employs, Life of her hfe, and soul of all her joys ! She sees in him his father's image rise. And all her soul is in her ravish'd eyes ; A thousand torments rack her lab'ring mind^ And tempt her soul to curse all human-kind I Reflects that once she was a happy wife, Biron the joy and pleasure of her life, But now alas ! each hope is cank'ring care; The present hour a scene of black despair. Then to his sire her little one she bears. And pleads his fate with nature's tears; Rends his'hard heart, his cold affections move, And wakes his soul to tenderness and love-, f 3 51 TCEATRICAL PORTRAITS. Mrs. Siddons as Isabella. But whAic her eyes with rising joy runs o'er — She is forbid to see her infant more : Thus like a vessel just attain'd the shore, When boist'rous winds and raging tempests roar. Driven from the beach back to sea again. To beat the surges of the raging main — From door to door she'd with her infant stray, And beg his bread than this command obey. To righteous heav'n she makes her humble prayV, To take her hapless orphan to its care. *' Let me bear all — but here let mercy mild " Shed its kind influence — and spare my child.'* Lo ! faithful Villroy on the fair attends, The tend'rcst lover and the best of friends, Sooths her sad heart, would fain her grief remove^ And change her woe to happiness and love ! She but replies in deep affliction's wave, *' My joys are bury'd in my Biron's grave." Till by his bounty she is overcome, And only weds to give her child a home. — The storm abates — the tempest sleeps awhile, And fickle Fortune takes her turn to smile ; Sweet balmy peace sheds forth a gliram'ring ray, And plenty drives the fear of want away, A little space lie bury'd all her woes. While joys tumultuous Villroy 's breast o'erflows : His passions burn with love and soft desire, — Beauty excites, and reason fans the fire ! Ecstatic bliss his gentler senses move. And his whole soul is harmony and love ! But ere bright Sol had shut the gates of day. Or Cynthia shed her palid silver ray, THEAiniCAL PORTRAITS. 55 Mrs. Sirldons as Isabe'Ia. " Fate's direful book again is open'd wide And snatches Villroy from his lovely bride ! Behold lost Biron, long estrang'd from home, With love and eager expectation come To take his Isabella to his arms, And sweetly revel in her beauteous charms : To gain admittance sends the pledge of love— Nor doubts but that will ev'ry bar remove. What are the thoughts of Isabella now? Now in her hand she holds the fatal vow? Poor innocent, unhappy, wretched fair I In wild distraction rends her flowing hair: But when her Biron comes — to grief a prey, Her sinking soul in silence dies away : Wak'd by his strains again she turns to life, And tells him still she is his faithful wife. But when he hears the dreadful story told — From self-destruction he can scarce withhold. Thus ills on ills the wretched pair attend, And Fate pursues them till their beings end; He from a villain's hand receives his death. And the drawn dagger drinks her vital breath : Th' unhappy sire now hears the dismal tate, And filial tears o'er long disgust prevail ; Mourns that so long deceived he had been. And brooding sorrow shuts the fatal scene ! Siddons, pursue the glorious work divine. To copy nature let the task be thine ! Each growing grace and sentiment impart That warms the passions and amends the heart» Long live to charm and captivate the soul, Correct the manners, and refine the whole 56 THEATRICAL P0RTRAIT3. Mr. Kenible as Octavian. System of virtue, honor, truth, and 1o\g, And make us equal with the gods above. Then vice, the ruling passion of the mind, Will to its native regions be confin'd; Pride and oppression, ign'rance and deceit, Lie prostrate bowing low at Virtue's feet, Whose placid beams will shed a lieav'niy ray, And make the burning passions mild as May. TO MR. KEMBLE, Upofi his Pcrformafice of Oct AVI Ai^ in the Mountaineers. The night is rough ; from the tempestuous skies Keen lightning darts, the weighty thunders roll : Horror descends ! and link'd with pale Surprise, Sees thee start forth, and strike the shuddering souL The magic of thy mind upon tliy face The ashy hue of pin'd despair liad cast ; On thy convulsive limbs, we trembling trace Each pang that vainly threatens to be last. Tor, lording over want and naked woe. The mighty tyrant of the shattcr'd brain, Madness is there : he strikes the pitying blow, And storms may burst, and hunger gnaw in vain. THEATRICAL POUTBAITS. Mr Kemble as Ocavian For O, he locks from the exclusive breast, He makes his throne all ills of lightef force; The sovereign woe, by phrensy deep imprest. Pours misery from a solitary source. The incessant spring with petrifying power Converts all varying vices into one. All that o'er human bliss insatiate lour; The '■^ jlinty father'' baffles it alone. Alas, thus raving on the flinty rocks With more than savage speed unfaltering cross'd. The pictured charmer burning Fancy mocks, And points to fell Despair the object lost, I see the sting enfix'd, its forky flame Ploughs in the heart, and withers with its fire; And Furies there contending rend the frame. And Memory ministers to mad Desire. In lonely majesty the maniac flies To hide him from the blush of orient day 5 Deep in the shaggy cave the sufferer lies. And ceaseless weeps his weary life away« To pity only opes his woe-fraught heart. Gentle to kindred misery, see him haste ; He spurns his bosom — sorrows then apart. And leads lov'd woman o'er the wildering waste. But see Florantlie meets his ravish'd gaze ! His ears too catch the ever-thrilling sound ! He flies to clasp the fair in wild amaze, 5ut feebly grovels on the dusty ground, THEATRICAL PORTRAITS. O, can he trust tlie cheating gifts of sense ? No ! for, when night had gloom'd the distant pole, Her form has flatter'd by this evidence With witching words the aching of his soul. In clouds he views her, on tlie liowling winds She sails sublime across the vast of heaven; In every cave the lovely image finds A temple by the lover's phrensy given. Inshrin'd, ador'd ! But lo, he grasps her hand, The real ]oy now courts his wounded heart; All that e'er sunder'd what their fancy plann'd Is gone, and joins them never now to part. Kemble, my friend, belov'd, rever'd, admir'd, Thy genius claims a bolder song sublime ! A Dryden, by thy powerful action fir'd, Might bind thy merits on the wings of Time. ARNO. To ARNO, Upon reading his elegant Lin^a, ADDRESSED TO MR. KEMBLE. Presumptuous MiNSTRLL, whither dost thou run? What new idea bursts upon thy brain? The lark's glad matins brighten not the sun, Hior greater Kcmblc'b triumph for thy strain. TIIEATRTCAL PORTRAITS. To Arno. Think you to build a pillar to his tame, A shrine for young, enthusiasts to hail ; Where deep, emboss'd with his refulgent name, Thine own may burn in everlasting mail? Oh vain usurper ! 'tis not thine alone, To share that honour thousands have aspir'd ; Long subject bent before his awful throne, Alike rever'd him — as alike admir'd. I too have sat, in mute and dread amaze, The sad and sick'ning victim of his art, Fix'd by the bold magician's lightning gaze, And agonizing to the inmost heart. I too have known, as well as thou, the force Of living sympathy, of passion'd strife ; 3My blood has chill'd, and turn'd its purple course. And memory lost the breathing sense of life. I too have wish'd, but wish'd, alas ! in vain, To bring him offerings of a grateful muse ; Fear'd, lest my lips his solemn state profane ; Fear'd, lest his greatness should my gifts refuse. Few like the bard of Thebes, at once combine The poet's pleasure and the victor's pride; Select one hero, mortal or divine. Sublime his conquests, and his praise divide. Let such thy Kemble's varying art extol; IIow vast in thought ! how infinite in power ! ^Tis ours to feel him sovereign of the soulj Hespect in silence, and attempt no raoi?e. 60 THEATRICAL POrvTRAITS, On Mr. Lewis. So travellers, wandering over Egypt's sand, Where the huge Sph}nx frowns on a giant shade, Stare at her limbs stretch'd along the land, Stand dumb and shrink— delighted and dismay'd. MR. LEWIS. Mark Lewis first — Vivacity's bright cliild. From Fame the laurel seize with transport wildj See him reiterated plaudits force, Whilst bounding lightly on the scenic course; Loud laughter roaring with convulsive peals, Screams approbation for the joy he feels ; Whether in Ranger, frolicsome and gay, He rat'ling chases gloomy cares away ; Or the eccentric plaything of society, He pants in Nominal for notoriety; In maniac \'apid nature feigns to drain Ideas new, and characters to gain ; Delights to dramatize each thing that's odd^ And exit nobly like a dcmi-god. AN OLD BALLAD. 61 The Jew and the Merchant. AN OLD BALLAD : Upon which, it is the opinion of the ingenious author of observations on Spencer's Fairy Queen, that Shakspeare raised his whole superstructure for his excellent play of the Merchant of Venice; as the ballad has the air pf a narrative written before Shakspeare's play ; because if it had been written after it, it would have been more full and circumstantial ; whereas at present it has too much the nakedness of an original. A Song, — sheuing the crueltie of Gertiutus, a Jew^ zcho lending to a Marchant an hundred crozones, would have a pound of Jleshe, because he could not yay him at the time appointed. In Venice town not long agoe A cruel Jczv did dwell, Which lyved all on usurie, As Italian writers tell. Gernutus called was the Jea', Which never thought to dye. Nor never yet did anye good To them in streets that iye. Ills life was like a barrow hogge, That lyveth many a daie, Yet never once doth anye good, Untill men will him slaie. Vol. II. G 62 A-^ OLD BALLAD. The lew and tlie Merchant. N Or like a fiUthic heappe of dung That lyeth in a hoord : \Vhiche never can doe anye good, Till it be spredde abroad. So fares it with this usurer, He cannot slceppe in rest, Tor fear the theefc doth him pursue To pluck him from his nest. His heart doth think on manyc a wild How to deceive the poore; His mouth is almost full of mucke, Yet still he gapes .for more. llis wife must lend a shillinge, For every weeke a penny, Yet bring a pledge that's double worthCj If that yowe will have anye. And sed (likewise) yowe kcepe your daicj Or else yowe lose it all. This was the living of his wife, Her cowe she doth it call. Within that citie dwelt tliat tyme A JMurchant of great fame, Whiche being distrcsse«l in his necdj Unto Gernutus came; Desiring him to stande liis frif!nd, For twelve-months and a daie, To lend to him an hundred crowncS^ \^ And he for it would paio, AN OLD BALLAD. Cff The Ji.-w and the Merchanu Whatsoever lie would demandc of him, And pledges lie should have: No (qd. the jew with fleering lookcs) Sir, aske what yowc will have. No penny for the loanc of it For one yeere yowe shall pale ; Yovve may doe mee as good a turne. Before my dying daie. But we will have a merry jeast For to bee talked long: Yowe shall make mee a bond (quoth hec) That shall be large and strong: And this shall bee the forfeiture, — Of youre own fleshe a pound : If yowe agree, make yowe the bond, And here's a hundred crownes. The second part of the Jezoh cruelties ; setting forth the mercij'ulncsse of' the Judge towards the Ma7chant. With right good will the marchant said. And so the bond was made, When twelve months and a daie drew on^ That back it should be paide. The marchant's ships were all at sea. And money came not in ; W^hiche way to take or what to doe^ To thinke he dothe begin. a 2 64 AN OLD BALLAD. The lew and the Merchant. And to Gcrnutus stiiiight he comes With cap and bended knee, And sayd to him of curtesie I pray yowe bear with mee. My daie is come, and I have not The monie for to paie, And httle good the forfeiture Will do yowe 1 dare saie. "With all my heart Gernutus said, Commande it to yowre minde : In things of bigger weight than thys Yowe shall me ready tinde. He goes his way ; the day once past, Geinutus does not slacke To get a Serjeant prcsentlic, And clapt liim on the backe ; And layd him into prison strong. And sued his bond withall ; And when the judgement daie was come^ For judgement he doth call. The raarchant's friends come thither fas^ With manye a weeping eye, for other means they could not find But he that day must Aye. Some offered for his 100 crownes Five hundred for to paie, And some a thojisand, two or ihvcc^ Yet still he did dcnay. AN OLD BALLAD. C5 Jewai:d I' e Nierchan And at the last 10,0U0 crtnviies, Ihey offered him to save, Gernulus said, I will no gold, My forfeit I will have. A pound of fleshe is my demande. And that shall hee my hyre. Then said the. judge, yet my good friend Let mee of yowe desyre, To take the fleshe from suche a place As yet yowe let him lyve ; Doe so, and lo an 100 crownes To thee here will I gyve. No, no, quoth hee, no judgement here For thys it shall be tryde, For I will have my pound of fleshe From under his right syde. It grieved all the companie His crueltie to see. For neither friend nor foe could help But he must spovled bee. The bloudie Jew now ready is With whetted blade in hand, To spoyle the bloude of innocent. By forfeit of his bond. And as he was about to strike In him the deadly blow. Stay fquoth the judge) thy crueltie I charge thee to doe so : e.3 66 AN OLD BALLAD. The Jew and the Merchant. Sith needs thou uilt thy forfeit have. Which is of fleshe a pound, Sf that yowe shedde no drop of bloud, Nor yet the man confound ; Tor if thou doc, Hke murtherer. Thou here shalt hanged bee: Likewise of fleshe see that thou cut No more than 'longs to thee ; For if thou take either more or lesse, To the value of a mite, Thou slialt bee hanged presentlie As is both law and right. Oernutus now waxt frantic mad. And wotes not what to say: Quoth he at last, 10,000 crownes I will that he shall pay, And so I grant to set him free. The judge doth auswi re make, Yowe shall not have a penny given, Your forfeiture now take. At the last he doth demande But for to have his own ; No, quoth tlie judge, do as yowe list, The judgement shall be shownc. Either lake yowre pound of fleshe (qd. hec) Oi cancel' mee yowre bond. O cruell jadg<', then quoth the Jew, That doth aguiast mcc stand, AN OLD BALLAD. 6Z The Jew and the Mevchant. And so vvitli griped grieved minde He bidde'h them farewell. All the people prays'd the Lord That ever this heard tell. Good people that do hear this song For truth I dare will saic, That manye a wret( h as ill as hec Dothe lyve now at this dale, That seeketh nothing but the spoyle Of many a wealthie man, And for to trap the innocent Deviseth what they can. From whom the Lord deliver mee And everie christian too, And send to them like sentence eke, That meaneth so to doe. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, STORIES, BON MOTS, Sic. Sfc. 70 Theatrical Anecdotes, Bon Mots, S^c, Sfc. MoLTERE, the celebrated French comedian, was es- teemed the brightest genius of the age in which he lived; and therefore we may be sure he had all the choice spirits in his retinue, fn his latter days, he was contined to a milk diet; but when he was at his country-house near Paris, his friend Chapelle used to invite the guests, and be the master of the ceremonies. Moliere withdrew one evening, leaving his friends at their bottle About three in the morning the talk happened to fall on mortality. " What an insigniiicant ** thing is this lil'e of ours," cried Chapelle, " the gall ** infinitely outweighs the honey : thirty or forty years " are often thrown away in the pursuit of a pleasure, " which at last does not fall to our share, or deceives " our expectation: our poor childhood is perpetually *' plagued by our parents in stuffing our heads with a " pack of nonsense : what a plague is it to mo, whe- ** ther the sun or the earth circulates ; or whether that ** cra/y t'ellow iJescartes, or that visionary Aristotle, " be in the right ? yet my blockhead of a tutor was ♦' continually thumping such stulfinto me, and teazing ** me with his Epicurus ; though indeed him 1 liked ♦* well enough. W ell, we are no sooner out of the ** clutches of these pedants, but a settlement is brought THEATRrfcAL ANECDOTES, EtC. 7l *' on the carpet ; bv Jupiter, women are swoi n ene- " mi!>s to man's quiet : look round on everv side of " this fine life, there is nothing but care, vexation, mis- *' fortune, and confusion " Jourdain rose find em- braced him, " Spoke like thyself, my dear friend, life " is a scurvy business indeed ; let's Uaveit to Ln-ovel- " linp; fools; and lest such tiood friends should be " separated, let's even go and drown ourselves to- " gether; we have hut a step to the river." *' That's " mv hero," said Nugent, " this is the very nick of ** time to die good friends and in high spirits ; besides " the whole nation will rinirwith this exploit." This friendly motion beinir unanimously applauded, up Start these inebriated gentlemen, and staggered away to the river. Baron (Moliere's pupil) run out for help, and called up his master, who was the more terrified at this project, as he knew them to be so far in liquor. These frantics had already reached the river and were putting off a boat, in order to drown themselves in the deepest water; but luckily some of the servants and villagers, being at their heels, drew them on shore. Enraged at being pre- vented in destroying themselves, they drew their swords upon iheir helpers, and these took to their heels towards Moliere's house, who meeting his furious friends, said to them, " What's the matter, gentle- " men? what have these rascals done to you?'' " Done !"replied Jourdain j who was the most forward to begone, " these scoundrels have interrupted our " drowning ourselves. Now, dear l\ioliere, you are a " man of wit, and so may judge wh«.tljer we are not ** greatly in the right : wearied out with this paltry 79. TirCATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Moliere. " world, we were upon mending our condition in the *' other ; to w}iich the river seemed the shortest cut ; " and these dogs of rustics have frustrated our ex- " pedition ; don't they deserve our swords in their " guts?" "Is it so?" replied Moliere ; "that's too " good for them ; begone, ye scum of the earth," said he, in a seeming anger to the poor men, " or I'll " break every bone in your bodies : such fellows as " you presume to thwart gentlemen in their noble " design ! Now, gentlemen," continued Moliere, *' in what have I deserved, that you should not have " acquainted me with such an exalted purpose? " What! to drown yourselves, and leave me in this " sneaking, fickle, miserable world, I thought you had " loved me better." " lie is indeed in the right," said Chapelle; " 'twas not friendly in us; well, '* come along, the more the merrier." " Fair and ** softly," replied Moliere, " this requires some deli- " beration; it is the last act of life, and should " be attended with all its merit; were we to drown " ourselves now immediately, the spiteful world ** would not fail to say, we did it in the night " like folks in despair, or in a mad fit of drunkenness. " Let us take the season that will dignify the " achievement and set it in its full lustre; about " eight or nine in the morning, fresh and fasting, ** we will solemnly proceed hand in hand to the ** river, before a multitude of spectators, and then " a good riddance of the world." " His reasons are " unanswerable," said Nugent," I like them well." " The devil's in it," continued la Motte, " we arc " but mere idiots, in comparison of this Moliere, IIEATRICAL ANrCDOTFf, TTC. T3 " SO agreed, we will put it off till to-monow ; and in " the mean time, let's to bed, for I can hardly " keep my eyes open." Thus without Moliere's happy presence of mind, there would have been a horrid complication of guilt and mischief; for his friends were bertt upon revenge ; but a sound sleep reconciled them to the world, and they re- warded those who had put a stop to their precipitate departure. Moliere had an excellent heart, of which many instances might be given. One day his pupil Baron bringing him word a man whom extreme distress hindered from shewing himself, and that his name was jNIondargo; " I know him,'' answered Moliere; " he was one of us in Languedoc ; what will it " be proper to give him ?" Baron, after a pause, said, " Four pistoles." *' Well," replied Moliere, " I am going to give him four for myself, and " do you give him these twenty." To this handsome present Moliere added many tender expressions, and a very rich theatric habit for tragedies. The same, who was frequently very absent in mind, one day hired a coach to carry him to the theatre, but he being in haste, and the carriage not proceeding with the rapidity he wished, he got out, placed himself behind, and endeavoured to push it forward. Notwithstanding the loud and general laughter this act occasioned, he was not sensible of his folly. On arriving at the theatre, he was covered with mud, and abused the coachman for having such 7t TiiF.ATp.irAL ANr(-noTrs, rrr. ---Lnwanl 111. ^.c. n dirty caniajio, and it was not wiihont much ado lliat lie was made to undeislaad the trulh. Tlic samr, havinfi; tlirowii out alms one day to a bes^gar, the man called (;nt to the coachman to btop ; and coming up, " Sir,"' said he, " T suppose this piece *' of gold was not intended for me." Moliere, after a moment's pause, cried out, " fn what holes does " virtue nestle itself! Here, friend, there is another.'' The company of comedians, of whicii Moliere was the head, proposed a very pompous funeral for him ; but the archbishop of Paris would not allow him so much as christian burial. Moliere's widow, willing to make some amends by her respect to his corpse for the uneasiness she gave him while living, went and threw herself at the king's feet for redress ; the king told her, " that il being an affair within the *' archbishop's jurisdiction, he was the person she ** must petition." However, his majesty sent a message to the prelate, recommending tlie matter to him, as his refusal would make a great noise, and give offence. This induced the archbishop to recal- his prohibition, provided that the funeral should be plain and silent ; accordingly it was performed by two priests, without singing, a great number of friends attending, each with a torch in his hand ; but Mrs. Moliere, who was always upon extremes, several times exclaimed, " What ! is a funeral denied to " a man who deserved altars ?" The devout archbishop of Paris seems to have favoured plays as little as Edward HI. of England, who ordained, " that a company of men called THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, FTC. 75 Edward 111. *>:c La l-ontaine. " vagrants, should be whipt out of London, because " they represented scandalous foolish things in ale- *' houses and other places, to crowds of people." This severe edict put the players upon contrivin*; religious representations : for a few years after, th« clergy and scholars of St. Paul's school petitioned Richard II. " to prohibit a company of unexpert " people from representing the history of the Old " Testament, to the great prejudice of the said clergy, " who have been at great charge and expence, in " order to reprcbcnt it pub'.ickly at Christmas." La Fontaine v,as sci/.cd with a dangerous illness in lod'Z. Wiiea the piiest had talked to him of religion, concerning which he had lived in extreme carelessness, though he was far from being an iniidelor libertine, La Fontaine told him, " I have lately be- " stowed some hours in reading the New Testament; " I assure you that it is a good book; yes, as I have *' a soul to be saved, it is a very good book ; but " there is one article which staggers me, — that is " everlasting punishment : — do you think it is not " against the goodness of God?" His ditHculty was soon levelled ; and being brought to a clearer know- ledge of religious truths, the priest represented to him, that he had certain inteUigence of a dramatic piece of his, which had been read with universal applause, and was soon to be put into the actors* hands for representation. " Sir," continued he, *' the profession of an actor is counted infamous by " the laws ; their persons are excluded from the '* sacraments by the church ; consequently, to con- u 2 76 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. LK'iriinic and Santeuil. " tribute to u{)liold such a profane calling is wrong; " and I tell you I must not, that I cannot, give you " absolution upon your confession, unless you pro- " niise never to deliver that piece to the actors." Upon which, this sincere penitent threw the piece into the fire, without so much as keeping a copy. Dominic, the incomparable harlequin of the Italian theatre, was for having some Latin verses put under a print of him, and goes to Santeuil, the cele- brated Latin poet; who abruptly asked him, " Who " he was ? what brought him ? and who sent him ?'^ and immediately shut the door against him. Domi- nic perceiving that such a humourist was not to be dealt with in the common way of address, leaves him, and comes again to the cloister, dressed in liis harlequin habit and mask, with a scarlet cloak over it. He knocked at the door; and the poet, after bidding liim come in five or sik times to no purpose, called out, " If thou art the devil, come in." Domi- nic, then throwing by his cloak, stalks in. This stopt Santeuil's montli ; he stared with his arms stretched, imagining it was jio other than the dc\il. Dominic, having stood for some time in a posture correspon- dent to the poet's terror, began to trip it about the room with a thousand diverting antics, 'i his remov- ed all Santeuil's apprehensions of an infernal visitor; so that he started up and fell to the same gesticula- tions. Dominic seeing the sport take, drew his ■wooden sword, and gavo him several slajjs on the cheeks, shoulders, and fingers; .which Santeuil, a little nettled, endeavoured to return with his fists; inr.ATnin.vr ANF.cnorr.'?, etc. 77 but his adversurv vvas too nimble tor liiin. Then Dominic looseucd his »;)rt, aarl Saiiteuil taking olY his amictus, the harlequin an;! monk tell to swingiuii; one anotlier, till the monk, finding his adversary above his match, called out, " Well, if you are the *' devil, 1 must know your name." "My name?" answered Dominic; " 1 am the Suntcuilof the Italian " theatre." " Odds fish ! is it so? — then," replied Santeuil, " I am the Du)ninic oi St. Victor's.'' Upon which Dominic, unmasking, after a hearty embrace, told Santeuil he wanted a Latin inscription for his picture ; and Santeuil immediately gave him — Casti^iat ridendo Motes. A few evenings after the second part of Mr. Kelly's Tliespis appeared, in wliich the then principal per- formers of Covent-garden theatre were unmercifully treated, and particularly Mr. Ross ; a gentleman, at the Queen's Arms, St. Paul's church-yard, seeing Mr. Kearsley the publisher come in, and neither of them knowing that Mr. Ross was in the room, asked him in a low tone of voice, if he had read the pamphlet? " Yes," replied Kearsley, " and Kelly " has given them all a handsome dressing ; but *' as to Ross, he has played the devil with him." Mr, Ross, in the instant, got up, and delivered himself to the company in the following expressive lines, which met with universal applause : — " I should have blushed, " If Cato's house had stood secure, *' And flourished in a civil war." H3 ^8 TIIF.ATniCAL ANFXPOrrS, F.TC. Ilniulcl an I Arnc- -W liis^ ami Toiy. IF truth, perspicuity, wit, gravity, and every prc- perty pertaiiiiiii^ to the ancient or modern epitaph, may be expected united in one single epitaph, it is in one made for a Mr. Burbadge, a tragedian in the days of Shakspeare ; but wliether it comes from the pen of tliat great poet, 1 cannot determine. Its brevity particularly recommends it, the following being the whole— " EXIT BURBADGE." 'Musical Anecdote. — Handel and Arnc, though somewhat rivals in musical excellence, were always upon very good terms as friends and acquaintance. Although they were the very reverse in point of size, they posscssc. MdiiTfdid. Mrs. Vanbrugsen was wife to the promising actor of that name, wlio was unfortunately murdered as he was escorting the celebrated. iNh's. Bracegirdle home from the theatre. On Mrs. Montford was the justly celebrated and well-known ballad of black- eyed Susan written by Mr. Gay. Lord Berkeley's partiality for this lady, induced him to leave her at his decease three hundred pounds a-year, on condition that she never married. His lordship likewise purchased Cowley for her, which was after- wards the summer residence of Mr. Rich, and she besides received from him, at times, very consi- derable sums. After this she fell in love with that very capital actor Mr. Booth, but the desire of retaining her annuity prevented her being joined in the bands of wedlock with the lover whom she preferred to numbers that were candidates for her favour. This consideration obstructing, the union could not take place, and Mr. Booth soon found another mate. Mrs. Vanbruggen had contracted an intimacy v. ith Miss Santlow, a lady celebrated as a dancer, and esteemed a tolerable actress. She was the declared favourite of Secretary Craggs, through whose liberality she became possessed of a fortune sufficient to enable her to live independent of the stage. What Mrs. Montford could not effect. Miss Santlow did. Mr. Booth transferring his attention .from the former to the latter, soon obtained posses- sion both of her person and fortune. Mrs. Montford no sooner heard of the perfidy of her lover, and the ingratitude of her friend, than she gave way to a despeyation that deprived her of her senses. In f?f) TIIF.ATRTrAT. A NT.CDnt LJ?, LTC. this situation she vas brought from Cowley to Lon- don, that the best advice might be procured for her. ^'\s during the most violent paroxysms of her disorder she was not outrageous, and now and then a ray of rea- son beamed through the cloud that overshadowed her intellects, she was rmt placed under any rigorous confinement, but suffered to go about the house. One day, during a lucid interval, she asked her attendant uhat j)lay was to be performed that evening, and was told that it was Hamlet. In this' j)icce, while she had been on the stage, she had always met with great applause in the character of Ophelia. The recollection struck her : and with that cunning ■which is usually allied to insanity, she found means to elude the care of her servnnts, and got to the Theatre, where concealing herself until the scene in which Ophelia was to make her appearance in her insane state, she pushed on the stage before her rival who played the character that night, and exhil)ited a far more perfect representation of madness than the utmost exertions of min\ic art could do. She was in truth Ophelia herself, to the amazement of the performers as well as of the audience. Nature having made this last effort, her viral powers failed her. On her going off, she prophetically exclaimed, " It is all over !" and indeed that was soon the case, for as she was being conveyed home (to make use of the concluding lines in a sweet ballad of Gay's, where- in her fate is so truly described), " She like a lily drooping, " Then bowed her head, and died/' THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 81 111.— -['lie Whs.-- -loui Thuir.h.— -T he Ghost. Epigram on Sir John Hill, bi/ Garhick. For physic and farces, His equal there scarce is ; For his farces are physic, His physic a farce is. An actor having a play book, called *•' The Wits," Avhich he much valued, by chance lost it, for which he fell into a very great passion. One of his friends coining in the interim, asked the cause of his dis- temper, it was answered, that he had lost his wits. A voun^:; spouter having a mind to be witty with a person of low stature, who used to frequent their clubs, told liim he was informed, that he intended to act the part of Tom Thumb the Great. The person told him he was quite mistaken; "but if I was to " attempt that character," says he, " I make no doubt " hut a great many Tom fools would come to see me, ' and I am partly sure you would grace the house ** with your presence." A player performing the ghosi in Hamlet very badly, was hissed; after bearing it a good while, he put the audience in good humour by stepping forward and saying, " Ladies and gentlemen, I am extremely " sorry that my humble endeavours to please are " unsuccessful ; but if you are not satisfied, I must ** give up the ghost." 82 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. The Stage Coach. — Voltaire. — The Jack-Chain. A company of comedians at Coventry, having played a stupid farce, called the Stage Conchy one of the audience, after the curtain dropped, called out for the manager, and on his stepping forward, asked when the Stage Coach would be performed again. The manager, bowing, assured the gentleman that due notice should be given. " Thank you," said the other, " for I intend to be an outside passenger." The late Mrs. Montague was at Paris when Voltaire vented his spleen against Shakspeare, among other illiberal remarks published the following: *' Oest moi qui autrefois parlui le premier de ce *' Shakspeare: c^st 7noi qui le premier nnmtrai aux " Francois quelques perles que fuvois trouve dans son ** enor'mefu7nicr." Our fair countrywoman immedi- ately replied, (alluding to the various plagiarisms which Voltaire had made from the very works he attempted to degrade), '' C'est un J'umier qui a *' fertilize vne ierre Hen i?igrave." At an inn in a market-town upon the great road leading to Holyhead, where a country company of comedians were murdering the language of some of our best dramatic writers, an Irish gentleman sat in the kitchen smoking his pipe, and regarding with pleasure a fowl that was roasting for hiss supper; a tall meagre figure stalked in, and with an earnest and melancholy look at the fowl, he retired with a sigh ; repeating his visit a second lime, he exclaimed, ** By G — (i, that fowl will never be done in time." ^' By J — s/' says the Irishman, " what do you mean - TiirATnTCAr, ANTcnoTr.s, etc. i)5 O.niitiico long III tile Rovers. that fowl is for my supper, and you shall not touch a feather of it.'' " Uh," replied the other, " you nusunderstatul nie : I do not want the fowl ; but I am to phiy Oroonoko this evening, and cannot begin for want of the jack-chain.^' Dominico the harlequin, going to see Louis XIV. at supper, fixed his eye on a dish of partridges. The king, wlio was fond of his acting, said, " Give that *' dish to Dominico." *' And the partridges, too. Sire V Louis penetrating into the artfulness of the question, replied, '■^ And the partridges too.'' The dish wai Kold. SONG, In the Rovers, a German Drama. Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I am rotting in, I think of those companions true, Who studied with me at the U- MVERSiTY of Goitingen. ( JVeeps, and pulls out a blue handkerchief, with which he wipfs his eyes ; gazing tenderly on it, he proceeds) — Sweet 'kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in ! Alas ! Matilda then was true, At least I thought so at the U- yivERSiTY of Goitingen, St THEAfniCAL AXLCnOTF.S, LTC, Sons; in the Rovers. — Gothic Greeii-r. — On account c f t(ic length, and great variety of entertainments, JMr. RICH pledges himself to the public, that the curtain shall rise precisely at half past six, and the v\hole of the performances conclude at half past ten o'clock. \* jMr. R[C!i respectfully begs leave to inform his friends and the public, that he has been anxiously studious in the selection of the above pieces ; lie lias endeavoured to unite novelty with merit, and has, in consequence of that determination, spared no expcnce in obtaining for them an unexceptionable evening's entertainment. The play is universally acknowledged to be the very best production of the celebrated Farquhar, and not inferior to the first of our English comedies, for delicate wit and true fienuinc humour. The Prelude, he flatters himself, will be found highly laughable; and the local and descriptive humour of Peeping Tom's Ramble, cannot fail to give an additional zest to the night's diversion. Mr. Tylar's Minuet is expected to give general satis- faction, as well as the Address and Matrimonial Secret. Mr. Rich presumes to hope, that his exertion, on this occasion, will meet with that approbation and iupport which will be his cliicfcat pride to merit. THEATRICAL ANECCOTES, V.TC. S^ The Countiyman and Piippet-.how. — Edwiii^ ^^ The way to the theatre will be swept in every direction, and the house illuniinated with wax. Jtt It will be moonlight. Tickets and places for the boxes to be taken of Mr. Rich, at Mr. Dizzy's, shoemaker, No. 31, Penny- street; and of Mr. Sly, box-keeper, at the Theatre. Tiirs PRODIGIOUS Play Bill had the desired effect ; the house overflowed from all parts, and Rich was the only person pleased with the entertainment of the evening. The pieces were mutilated of one half — the lights were not wax, but the worst of slink- ing tallow — the avenues to the theatre ancle-deep in mud— and the moon disdained to shine. A countryman, who had often seen a puppet-show at his village, having come up to town, went for the first time in his life to see a play. When he heard the people round him applauding Mrs. Siddons, Mr. Kemble, &c., he looked on them with great contempt. *' What," said he, " are you such fools as to take " them for men and women ? If you had been behind *' the scenes, as I have been, you would see them " hanging upon wires." Edwin, travelling towards Wrexham, to join a company of comedians, took up his quarters at the Cannon, a little pubiic-house. The civilities of his Welsh host and hostess, who were wonderfully fond of the marvellous, and in which they were plentifully supphed by their guest, made the hours pass imper- ceptibly 'till midnight, when a chasm in the conver- sation look place, and a general yawn pronounced it I 3 60 TfltATRTCAL AKCCDorr?, r,TC. " M w i n . time to retire. Echvin, after a hearty squeeze from the landlord, soiiglit his chamber, and in an instant threw off his cloaths, and committed himself to the arms of the drowsy god, but his slumbers were of sliort duration. An assembly of rats were playing; their gambols in his apartment, one of whom, in his way to the caxon, wliich was placed beneath the pil- low, thither allured by the scent of the grease it con- tained, traversed the visage of the sleeping Thespian. The cold pats of the Norwegian immediately loos- ened the bands of Morpheus, and, in the utmost tre- pcdation, he started up in the bed — in a few minutes he recollected himself, and guessed by the squeak- ing what his visitants were, set his wits to work how to get rid of them. Stealing with all imaginable caution to that corner of the rooom which seemed most thronged, he discharged the contents of the Jordan upon the convocation — but this manotuvre had not the desired effect; the quadrupedcs, in less than ten minutes, returned to the charge with a large reinforcement; he now sent the pillows and bolster among them with all his force and good will lie was master of— this was of no more effect than the former, the rats recovered their ranks as if in con- tempt of his indignation ; however, he at last though of an expedient, wiiich answered his purpose — he was an excellent Jtiimic, and thought he would make bold with the organs of madam puss : the imitation was most successful — he mewed three times; on the first they pricked up their cars, their tails stood erect, and the symptoms of retreat were visible; the second they began to file off, and the third left not a rat behind. tlir.ATRlCAt ANFCnOIF.S, ETC. 91 -\\( When Mr. Lore appeared at Driir/-lane in the character of Falbtaff, bcini; a man of some genius, he used to puff constantly in the news-papers, upon his excellency in the part; all which, however, availed but little, as he never could bring a full house. One Bignell, sitting witli a few of the players at the Black Lion, had taken up and fiileu a pipe, the funnel of which was stopt, and after several attempts to light it, he threw it down in a passion, saying, " Egad, " gentlemen, I am like your new Falstaff; I have " been puffing, and puffing, this long while past, but " all to no purpose, for I am not able to draw" Mr. Twiss, the celebrated tour writer, was asked by a lady, on his return from Ireland, what sort of dramatic exhibitions he had seen in that kingdom? Those in Dublin, he said, came nearer to the repre- sentations in London, than what he had seen in any other city tlicre : the people of that city, madam, said he, have more money and less pride, and consequently better raanncis. WHien I was in Limerick, that sink of the kingdom for pride and beggary, for insolence and ignorance, I attended the representation of two of Shakspeare's best tragedies, Romeo and Juliet, and Hamlet ; when, to my astonish- ment, the instant the funeral of Juliet appeared, and the band of ringers began the dirge, the major part of the audience set up the Irish-howl, taking it for a funeral. And when the grave-digger in Hamlet be- gan the first stave of his sjng, a number of fellows from the gallery pelted him with apples, pronounc- ing him the most unfeeling rascal in the world, nor 93 TflEATniCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Slmier Macklin. would they suiTer him to proceed, but called out for another grave-digger; whom their spokesman ques- tioned thus : — " Can you sing, Mr. Whatcho'cum ?" " Not I, faith and troth," said the fellow ; " don't ** you remember hissing me, my jewel, in olJ Jen- " kins, last night." " Very true," said the gallery " hero," then you may dig away as fast as you can." Ned Shuter, as was often the case, was reeling home one morning to his lodgings extremely dirty, and with a remarkable long beard, when he met Garrick under the Piazza. " Heavens !" said David, *' Ned, when was you shaved last?" " Shaved last, *' Davy, egad I can't tell, for my barber has turned *' gentleman ever since he has had a thousand " pounds in the lottery." " But, Ned, ha! ha!" replied David, " 1 never depend upon barbcrs-^I *' shave myself every morning." " I do not doubt it," resumed Ned, " or that you preserve the remainder " of the lather for next day." Mr. Macklin, along with many others, accompany- ing the remains of the late Mr. Barry to the grave, when they got to the spot of interment, which was about the centre of the left quadrangle of the clois- ters in Westminster Abbey, spoke to a gentleman who was with him, to get upon some rubbish, for the bet- ter view; when the gentleman telling him, that if they staid where they were, they could very well see the interment, which was all they wanted. " Not at '• all, sir," says the stage veteran, " [I want to see •* an exact representation of the whole, for I don't TriEATRTCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 93 Day;;^er Marr. Macklm. — I'onieneilc. " know how soon I may be called upon myself to play " a principal part in the same tragedy." Dagger Marr, who was ever wrangling with the managers of Drury-lane theatre, was very fond of taking bread in his pocket, and feeding the ducks in St. James's Park : one day while he thought himself unnoticed, he observed one of the ducks swim about as swift as any three of them, and gobble up so much of the bread, that Dagger roared out loud enongh to be heard by Garrick, who was not far behind hitn, " Get out of that, you gobbling rascal, [ perceive you " are a manager ! " Macklin, going to insure some property, was asked by the clerk iiow he would please to have his name entered : " Entered,'' replied Macklin ; " why, I am " only plain Charles Macklin, a vagabone, bj/ act of " parliament ; but in compliment to the times, you " may set me down Charles Macklin, Esquire, as " they are now synon}'raous terms." Fontenelle, after the first representation of (Edi- pu^, said to the author, some previous compliments having been paid, " I could wish your verse were not " quite so pompous, it would be more easy and flow- " ing, and better suited to tragedy." « Sir," replied Voltaire, " that is a fault I intend to correct, and " with that view will go directly and read your " pastoraU." 94 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. ^ Mr. Bannister. — Voltaire.- — Dramatic Enois. At an entertainment given by the heads of the parish, to which Charles Bannister was invited, the company, when the glass had gone round a little, began to sing and be merry; when the clerk of the parish, who sung very agreeably, was so conscious of his merit, that he began to grow very troublesome, and would not suffer any gentleman to sing, except such songs as he thought proper to call for. " Hey- " day! Mr. Amen," says Bannister, " this is making " too free, methinks; for though you make the com- " pany sing what you please of a Sunday, I can sec " no reason, why you should oblige them to do so " every day in the week." Voltaire, as he was writing his tragedy of Merope, one day called his footman at 3 o'clock in the morn- ing, and gave liim some verses to carry immediately to the Sieur Paulin, who played the part of the tyrant in that play. The servant excusing himself, under a pretence that it was the hour of sleep — " Go, I say," continued Voltaire ; " tyrants never sleep." DRAMATIC ERRORS, In Beaumont and Fletcher's Humourous Lieutenant j a play in which Antigonus and Demetrius Poliorcetes arc the heroes, and where, of consequence, the scene must be laid many years before the Christian sera, Demetrius is introduced discharging a pistol: an anachronism so very ridiculous and inconsistent with the genius and learning of the two dramatic bards, that one commentator, fired with the true THEATRICAL A!sECDOTES, ETC. 95 Dramaiic Krrois. spirit of attachiuerii to his authors, has ventured to assert, that the blunder was introduced on purpose to render the comedy still more burlesque ! " Absurdum " per absurdius.'" There seems to be a palpable obscurity about Demetrius Poliorcetes; his chro- nology has misled a philosopher, two poets, and one critic. In the tragedy of Hamlet, when that Prince is questioning Horatio and Marcellus about the Ghost, and they tell him it was armed from head to foot, he says — " Then, saw you not his face ?" To which Horatio replies, " O yes, my Lord, " He wore his beaver upj' Here wearing the " beaver up," plainly signifies its being so placed as not to hide the face. There is, however, reason to believe, that wearing the " beaver " up," is the proper expression for its covering the face : for in a note on Mrs. Macauley's History of England, Vol. HI. page 437, Chap. V. quarto edi- tion, where some authority is quoted, giving an account of Lord Brooke being killed, it is mention- ed as extraordinary, because " his beaver was up, and " he was armed to the knee." Dr. Franklin, in his tragedy of Matilda, has followed the historian : — " He wore his beaver up, nor could I see " His face.'' No man is supposed to have understood the pas- ijons incident to humanity better than Otway, yet few 96 TfrF.ATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Uranijiic Liioii. have committed greater errors in the expression of those pasbioKS. One or two instances, taken from his most aduiired works, will sufriciently illustrate this observation. Tlie scene between Jafficr and Belvidera, in the middle of the fourth act of Venice Treserved., is strangely managed. The lady, who herself had instigated her husband to give evidence against the conspirators, instead of soothing and softening the anguish of his heart, when he flies to her for comfort, aggravates his distress to the most agonizing pitch, by acquainting him with the tortures which his betrayed friend Pierre is to suffer. And after having displayed bleeding bowels, broken limbs, racks and torments, with the utmost horrors of eloquence, and even goaded the wretched man by asking him, how he shall be able to bear the sight of all this? she wonders that he should " look so " terrildi/^^ upon her! Is this nature? Or could the vilest and most unprincipled of women, have taken a more judicious method of driving a man of any sensibility to despair and suicide, than the way pointed out by the tender and faithful Belvidera. Is the cool, tlvc indulgent reply of Monimia, to the insulting, loose, and unmanly speech of Polydore, at the close of the first act of the Orphan, natural? — "What can have less resemblance to nature, than the \incouth melange of politics, irony, wit, and profligacy, in the last advice which Acasto (who believes himself actually on the threshold of death,) seriously and soberly gives to his children. — As to the brutal and insolent treatment which the worthy and inoffensive, THEATRICAL ATSECD0TE3, ETC. 97 Dramatic Lnors. ~ but dependent, clergyman meets with, in the same tragedy, from liis patron, and his patron's visitor. Whatever may be said against it, it is most certainly not to be criticised on, by any means, as out of nature. Otway, however, was not the only dramatic poet of eminence who could err against nature and propriety. Even Farquhar might fall under the same censure. The speech which he puts in the mouth of Archer, in the last scene of the Beaux Stratagem — *' and the " ladi/, if she pleases, may go home with me,' is at once one of the grossest violations of decency and common sense. Mrs. Sullen, although separated from lier husband, had still a character to preserve, and to add to the absurdity of the proposal, the words are spoken in the presence of her mother-in-law, her sister-in- law, and of her oun brother^ Sir Charles Freeman. The continuation of Scarron's comic romance, and •which is always printed with it, is one of the strongest instances of the grafting of dullness on genius that has ever occurred. Besides leaving the story as unfinished as he found it,the continuer had not discern- ment to see, that Scarron intended to make Destiny turn out to be young Earl of Claris. That such was the author's design, is surely sufficiently obvious from the foUovving passage : — " My father and mother," says Destiny, " loved him tenderly, and had an " aversion to me, though I was the more hopeful boy ** of the two. There appeared nothing but what " was mean in him. As for me, I seemed to be what I " was not, and rather an earl's son than Gariquct's." VOL. ir. a VS THEATRICAL A>-ECDOTES, ETC. Dramatic Kirois. When the celebrated opera of Artaxerxcs fust came out, the last chorus was sharply censured by the reviewers. As nearly as can be recollected, the stanza objected to was thus : — *' Live to us, to empire live, *' Great Augustus, long mayst thou '* From the subject world receive *' Laurel wreaths to grace thy brow/* The reviewers justly remarked, the great absurdity of styling a king of Persia Augustus, and crowning him -with laurel. However, on referring to Metastasio, it appears, that the opera of Adriano in Siria imme- diately follows Arlaserse, in the first volume of his works, which very properly opens with this chorus : — *' Vivi a noi, vivi all' impero " Grande Agusto, c la tua fronte " Su rOriente prigioniero, " S' accostumi al sacro allor." The ingenious translator probably not liking Metastasio's ^na/r, almost literally translated the first chorus of the next opera, to supply its place. Tlie author of the tragedy of Douglas, makes his hero repeat — " Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote ** And inaccessiblcy by shepherds trod, " A hermit liv'd," THEATrvICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 90 Dr. Woodward. Now pray, Mr. Paddy Home, how did the sheplierd's reach this inaccessible mountain's brow ? Mr. Home, in another passage of the same tragedy, smells a little of the sod — *' The river rushing o'er its pebbled bed, " Imposes silence with a stilli/ soiiiuL" There is a species of grateful remorse which some- times has been known to operate forcibly on the minds of the most hardened in impudence. Towards the beginning of the last century, an actor celebrated for mimicry, was to have been employed by a comic author, to take off the person, the inanner, and the singularly aukward delivery of the celebrated Dr. Woodward, who was intended to be introduced on the stage in a laughable character.* The mimic dressed himself as a countryman, and waited on the doctor with a long catalogue of ailments, which he said attended on his wife. The physician heard with amazement, diseases and pains of the most opposite nature, repeated and redoubled on the wretched patient. For, since the actor's greatest wish was to keep the doctor in his company as long as possible, that he might make the more observations on his gestures, he loaded his poor imaginary spouse with every infirmity which had any probable chance of prolonging the interview. At length, being become * Dr. Fossile, in *' Three Hours after Marriage." The player's name Mas, to the best of tlie editor's recollection, Griftin. The anecdote was a favourite one with Dr. Campbell. K 3 100 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Queen Clirisuoa of Sweeden. completely master of his errand, he drew from liis purse a guinea, and with a scrape made an uncouth offer of it. " Put up thy money, poor fellow," cried the doctor, " put up thy money : Thou hast '* need of all thy cash, and all thy patience too, " with such a bundle of diseases tied to thy back." The actor returned to his employer, and recounted the -whole conversation with such true feeling of the physician's character, that the author screamed with approbation. His raptures were soon checked, for the mimic told him, with the emphasis of sensibility, that he would sooner die than prosti- tute his talents to the rendering such genuine humanity a public laugliing-stock. In the extracts from the Duchess of Orlean's letters, we find that Queen Christina of Sweden, (who was as peculiar in her night-dress as in almost every thing else, and who, instead of a night- cap, made use of an uncouth linen wrapper,) having spent a restless day in bed, ordered a band of Italian musicians from tl)e opera to approach near to her cnrtainf=, which were close drawn, and strive to amuse her. After some time, the voice of one of the per- formers stricking her with singular pleasure, she sud- denly thrust her homely, stern, ill-dressed head from behind the curtains, exclaiming loudly," Mort diable ! " commc 11 chante blen !"* — The poor Italians, not used to such rough applause from a figure so hideous, were unal)lc to proceed from the terror which they felt, and the whole concert was at a stand for several minutes. * •« Death and llic Devil ! how veil he sings I" THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 101 The Theatrical Pa.sion. — Ihcatncal Adventurers. On the Theatrical Passion. How it pains one to see in the tragedy line, Of both sexes adventurers aiming to shine. Without any pretensions from nature or art, To appear with address in a capital part; Who no passion with energy ever express, Who with rage never rouze you, nor melt with distress, But stand out in each character drowsily tame, And no passports can win to dramatical fame ; Who of bursting applause never hear the loud roar, But provoke all around them to cry out — Nu more ! On Theatrical Adventurers, Among the number of theatrical adventurers start- ed every year on the stage, there ai-e few so wise as to know for what parts nature has fitted them. In consequence of this want of sagacity in them, men who are born, it may be said, to appear in the lowest walks of comedy, are vain enough to think they are formed to shine in the highest paths of tragedy. Several years ago, an actor, who was not in the least qualified to make a figure in buskins, felt himself bold enough to attempt the character of King Richard HI. and he played the character in so ludicrous a style, that he failed not to raise a laugh whenever he made his appearance. In his last scene he was par- ticularly forcible, and died in so drule a manner, that K 3 102 THEATRICAL ANECDOTEF, ETC. Mr. Garrick. — Epigram on (-luin. he was encored. Flattered with so new a mark of dramatic distinction, he started up and died agairij amidst peals of mirth from all parts of the thunder- ing house. Mr. Garrick sent the following lines to a nobleman, who asked him if he did not intend being in Par- liament. *' More than content with my labour's gain, " Of public favor though a little vain; ** Yet not so vain my mind, so madly bent, " To wish to plai/ the fool in parli'raent; *' In each dramatic unity to err, " Mistaking tiine, and place, and character : " Were it my fate to quit the mimic art, " I'd " strut and fret" no more in any part; ** No more in public scenes would I engage, " Or wear the cap and mask on any stage." Epigram. Says epicure Quin— Should the d — 1 in h — 11, In fishing for men take delight. His hook bait with ven'son, I love it so well, ^^y G— d, I am sure I should bite. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 105 Exiract from a Comedy ot Lubulus. The ladies were no great favorites of the Greek comic poets. Will they pardon an extract from a comedy of Eubulus, not very remarkable for it8 gallantry ! n Z.iV •TToXvrifJt.rir, h KOtKCog \ya fcori E^u yviianKcc:, vri Ai ocGToXoifjiTiv oc^x UccvTuv ecfi-ov KTyi[Jicx,Tj}y. ho ly-viTO KuKYi yvvrt ^lr,dstcc, TLriViXoTTHOC dz Miyix 'STfocytji'. — Ipu Tij KAuTai/x,y>:5- pec xaxnj— AXx.ri^Yiv xvTiQriKOc ;^p>?r*!v. — ccXX" la-u; i^coidpixv IpBk xaxi;,* Tij. — ccXXcc vn Akz Xpn-ri Tt,- rjv /^Evroi — rtc ; — ciy.oi hiXc/Aog — T«;^Eft;j ys [jl cci x^^~^'^ yvva-iKsg I'jreXi'Trov, Tuvd av TTovripuiy In Xtyeiv TtoXXxg Ix'^- JVIay Jove confound me if my mind Is prone to rail on woman-kind, Supreme of good to mortals given. The best, the fairest boon of heaven. If you Medea bring to view, Penelope was chaste and true. The virtues by Alcestis shewn, For Clytemnestra's crimes atone ; Monstrous if Phaedra's vice appear, I'll bring her opposite, don't fear. — Bless me, what ails my stupid head? My good examples all are fled. Soon themes i)i panegyric fail, I've thousands when I w ant to rail. 104 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Edwin's Tomb. — Cardinal Richelieu. EDWIN'S TOMB. HERE LIES JOHN EDWIN, COMEDIAN, Late of Covent-Garden Theatre, Who departed this Life October SI, 1790, Aged 42 Years. Each social meed, which honoui-s human kind,^ The dust beneath this frail memorial bore; If pride of excellence uplift thy mind, Subdue the weakness, and be vain no more. A nation's mirth was subject to his art, 'Ei-e icy Death had smote this child of glee. And Care resum'd his empire o'er the heart, When Heaven issued — " Edwin shall not be.*' Cardinal Richelieu, when at the height of his glory and power, wrote a tragedy, entitled " Europe,^ and actually brought it on the French stage. As the piece was little more than a political dialogue between the European nations, in which the comparative state of their revenues, forces, &c., were brought for- ward, it was barely heard, from respect to the writer; but when it was given out for another representation, a murmur of disapprobation arose, and the " CzV," of Corneille, was loudly demanded by the audience. This hurt the right reverend dramatist so mucl), that TltEATRICAI. ANECDOTES, ETC. 105 Singular Economy.— Tragedy of Merope. he actually contrived to have a long and regular cri- tique, written by the academicians of Paris, on that ill-fated Cidy which had been set up as a rival to the progress of his tragedy. An extreme attention to the smallest points of economy, is said to have been ever a striking fea- ture in the character of a person, not long deceased, whose memory will long be remembered for tlie dis- tinguished preference which he gave, in his last will, to public charities, over his nearest relations. A very singular and laughable instance of this person is re- ported. He loved to attend dramatic exhibitions, and for his health's sake, he chose to take a great- coat with him. But where should he leave this use- ful appendage during the performance? The box- keepers would expect at least sixpence ; the orange- girls would take little less; and should he leave it at a coffee-house, he must spend three-pence to obtain house room for it. His invention supplied him with a method cheaper, and equally secure. He pawned his garment every evening that he attended the play, at a shop near the door, for a shilling, which he car- ried back at the end of the play, added one penny for interest, and received his great coat again safe and sound, as if it had literally been laid up in lavender. From some literary anecdotes, we learn that a new edition of the celebrated tragedy of Meropc, written by the Marquis Maffei, was some time since publish- ed at Verona. The sixth scene of the second act of this excellent piece, contains a passage truly pathe- tic and sublime. The wife of a noble Venetian hav- 106 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. ing lost her only son, abandoned herself to despair, A priest endeavouring to comfort her, bid her recol- lect that God had commanded Abraham to plunge a poniard into the bosom of his own son, which he obeyed without murmuring. "Ah, reverend father, said she hastily, '' the Almighty would never have " enjoined a mother to make such a sacrifice.'' The late Mr. Taswcll, an actor in Ganick's time, was taken one night in a charge by the watch for a riot in the street, he being very much disguised in liquor, and at such time he was remarkably prone to abuse and quarrel; in consequence of the charge he was carried before one of our trading justices, whose chief characteristics were those of impudence and stupidity; to every interrogatory of the magistrate, Taswcll made no oti)er answer, except " i/oia- uorship^s " zciscy xery zoine indeed, your icorship's wise.*' Not being able to get any thing else from him, he was committed to the round-house till the next morning, to sober him ; when he was again brought before the magistrate, who began to reprimand him for his idle manner of talking the night before. " What did I say ** then, sir?'' replied Mr. Taswell. " Say," cried the *' other, why, every question that I asked you,you still " replied with, your worship's wise, very wise indeed, " your worship's zcise, that I thought thou wcrt mad, " and so did madam Pruant too." " Hum !" said Taswcll, " your worship no doubt hath read and obfterv^ " ed likcrcise, that drunkenyiess is a species of insanity ** for the time, and if I said so, (as to be sure I did, be» " cause your zcorship says I did,) I was mad indeed, and *' / humbly hope your uonhip ziill excuse me." *' Well, THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 107 *' well," said the justice, (not feeling the sarcasm) ** get you gone about your business, and never let me " see you here again upon the same occasion, or you ** may not get so easily quit of me, I can assure you." The same having once been informed by a friend, that to his certain knowledge such-a-onc the bailiff had a writ against him, which he intended to execute that very day ; he asked if the bailiff had had the small-pox, to which his acquaintance having answer- ed in the negative," That's lucky,^ said he; " go your *' ways, and tell him that he may be sure of me now, " for you left me in bed." The man did as he was or- dered ; and Taswell immediately whips off his clothes and gets into bed betvveen two small children of his landlady, who were both down with the small-pox, and very full, having first let the woman into the secret. As soon as he heard the bailifFs tread upon the stairs, he covers the children up with the sheet, and calling familiarly to him by his name, bid him walk in : " Sir," said he to the catch-pole, *' I know ** your business, and have heard much of your humani- " ty ; be so kind before you execute your office, just to " sit down three minutes and hear my story, I wont " detain you : Is not mi/ plaintiff", think you, Mr. — , a " most cruel man, to arrest a person in my condition — « my wife just miscarried, I broke my leg, and two poor " blessed babies,Godhelp 'em, in this miserable condition; *' do but see, sir /" In so saying, he flung down the sheet; and holding up a child in each hand, frighted the bailiff in such a manner, that he instantly ran away, and left his prisoner to take the advantage of bis ingenuity, 108 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. On a certain Stage Heio. — View of I.oclilomonci. A young lady who had a very large mouth, was performing at the Gosport Theatre the part of Cubbay in the Irishman in London, and having to say — *' My mouth no big ciiougli, to say how much I love *' my Misse," a sailor who was in the stage box, roared out — " Not big enough ! d — n your conscience, *' how big would you have it?" On a certain Stage Hero. Lo, where the vile and aukward monarch comes, U^hcr'd by trumpets, and the beat of drums; The plumes around his head with martial pride Wave, as he reels about from side to side : Bold in the stage's front he claims a place, And into posture writhes a dismal face. As from a distant cart a pond'rous load Of stones, prepar'd to mend a rugged road, W ith inarticulate and dreadful sound. Our ears invading, rumble to the ground ; So from his lips a charge important breaks. And the scar'd audience trembles as he speaks. The late Mr. Wilson, Mr. and Mrs. Webb, and some others of the sons and daughters of Thespis, being on a strolling expedition, were for a short time at Greenock, where the receipts were very poor in- deed. To force a house, they advertised for a parti- cular night, a beautiful viezc of Lochlomond. They were so fortunate as to raise among them the sura of half-a-guinca to pay an itinerant painter for this superb scene ; Mr. Brush; however, haviug fingered THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, FTC. 10<> Mr. I"— tt and Mii. 11— we-— Mr. Wewi'.^er. the cash, thought proper to decamp. The scene wa;* expected till the last moment of drawing up the cur- tain. An apology now became necessary, but was not listened to : the place was crowded, a riot took place, and the audience would not be pacified. In this situation, the terrified actors resolved to make their escape. The stable in which they performed had unluckily no back door ; the only possible retreat was by a small window. Through this several of them got out ; but when Mrs. Webb made the at- tempt, her corpulency made her fairly stick in the hole, and so much was her dress discomposed, that she displayed a full prospect of the broadest part of her body. At this moment Dick Wilson drew up the curtain, and addressed the impatient audience *' Ladies and Gentlemen, behold the viezo of Loch- *' lomond." At the Cock-and-Hen club of performers of the Haymarket theatre, Mr. F tt was entering very slowly, when Mrs. H — we coming up behind him, said, " Advance, thou harbinger of impudence." — " True, madam," replied he, turning about and bow- ing, *' I preceed you." The knock of the president's mallet allowed the justice of the remark. Mr. Wewitzer, of Drury-lane theatre, a gentle- man no less distinguished for his merit as an actor and his good character as a man, than for the ameni- ty of his manners and the neatness of his wit, having given orders to his taylor for a spencer, asked him how much it would cost : " I cannot," said .stitch, VOL. II. i« 110 THF.ATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Venus and Adonis. — Hiss and Yawn. — Major t> — . *' exactly say, but you may depend on't, sir, that it *' will come very lowj^ — " Then," said the wit, " it " will not be a spencer." VENUS AND ADONIS. BY SHAKSPEARE. [jVbi in his Works.l Fair Venus with Adonis one day lying Within a myrtle shade, began to woo him ; She told the youngling how god Mars did try her. And as he did to her, so did she to him. " Even thus," said she, " the warlike god address'd/ Thinking the boy would act such godlike charms; *' Even thus," said she, " he seized upon my lips." And then upon his lips she made the seizure ; But as she fetches breath, away he trips, And will not take her meaning nor her pleasure. — Oh ! that I had my lady at that bay, To kiss and clip me till I ran away ! After the performance of Mr. H. Pyc the lau- reat's tragedy of Adelaide, a gentleman observed, that it was surprising it was not hissed. " How," said a lady, " can people hiss and yazon at the same « time?" Major B-: — , a great gambler, said to Foote, " Since I saw you, I have lost an eye." *' I am sorry •* for it," said Foote -, " pray at what game f " THEATHICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Ill Dean B— ke and Miss Cjtley.— Kpitapli on Slmter. ^ Dean B — kc, a very exemplary and popular clergy- man in Dublin, and who interested himselt' much in public charities, sent a message to Miss Catley, re- questing her to give him a night for thiit purpose, in one of the public gardens. Catley, although always willing to do acts of charity, found that her other engagements put it out of her power to comply with the Dean's request. However she pretended not to understand his intention, and in consequence wrote hira the following note: — " Miss Catley presents her " compliments to Dean B — ke, and acquaints him, " that, from the nature of her present connexion, she . " cannot (agreeable to his request) give the Dean a *' night : she begs leave at the same time to acquaint " him, that should this connexiun be dissolved, she " does not know any gentleman of the cloth she " would sooner indulge ; but hopes that decency will " prevent the Dean from fixing on a public garden *' for the rendezvous." EPITAPH NED SHUTER. Below in bed Lies honest Ned, Who harm ne'er did, or meant of; Who had no spice Of heinous vice. So— little to repent of. L 2 112 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. On the Deatli ot Mr. Ryan. With heart sincere, And friendly ear, He freely dealt his pelf; In life like this, Whate'er's amiss, Correct it in thyself. On the Death of Mr. Ryan. Lo ! Ryan, long the fav'rite of the age, Expires, and proves that all the world's a Stage. In ev'ry station, mortals here below, Alike their entrances and exits know; And tho' distinctions on their life attend, The great and mean resemble in their end. Upon this earthly stage each plays his part, How great, imports not, so 'tis play'd with art. This actor oft the sock and buskin wore, And gain'd applause ; but now he's heard no more. Out ! out, brief candle ! life's a walking shade; In vain was all his mimic art display'd, Power cannot rescue, talents cannot save, The hero, or the player, from the grave. Mortals are thus the phantom of a day, And life a transient dream, or motly play. Yet sure for him a grateful tear should flovr, Who oft has made us weep for others' woe: He claims our grief who taught us virtue's lore^ Now mix'd with heroes whom he play'd before. The cloud-capt towers and palaces must fail; Time's power o'er potent kingdoms shall prevail ; THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 113 I hespis and Solon. — Mr. Lacey. The solemn temples slictll dissolve in dust, And frail, like man, shall sink the mould'ring bust ; But when life's breath is fled, the virtuous mind Shall leave the memory of it's worth behind : Who well has acted, and at length withdraws, May justly claim the tribute of applause. To Thespis the honour of the tragic scene hath been given by some authors; but they were mistaken ; it was he, however, that new modelled it, and with such success, that his performances drew at that time all the world after them. Amongst the rest, Solon, the famous lawgiver, used to attend at those representa- tions for the sake of hearing Thespis, who acted himself, which was always a custom with the ancient poets. When the play was ended, he called to Thes- pis, and asked him, why he was not ashamed to utter such lyes before so many people ? Thespis, made answer, that there was no harm in lyes of that sort, and in poetical fictions, which were made for diversion. " No," replied Solon, (giving a, great stroke with his stick upon the ground,) " but if " we suffer and approve of lying for our diversion, it " will quickly find its way into all our serious engage- " ments." One Lacey, a young promising actor, who belong- ed, at the time of Mr. Garrick's first appearing at Drury-lane, to Covent-garden, and as Lacey affect- ed to mimic him in action, speech, and every thing else, one night, when the play of Cato was to be per- formed, in which he was to perform Marcus, he was L 3 lU TREATRrCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Mr. Garrick. Standing by the side of the scene ready to go on, in a new bag- front wig, made by Mr. Garrick's peruke- maker, directly after his model, and frosted like a twelfth-cake, which Mr. Quin observing, sent one of the scene-men round with his compliments to Mr. Lacey, and to tell him, that he had forgot himself, and had come down stairs in his night-cap; but that he need not throw himself into a flutter, for he had time enough to put on his wig before he should be wanted to go on the stage. The fellow returned with Mr. Lacey 's comphments again to Mr. Quin, and that Mr. Lacey was obliged to him for his caution ; "but that it was a mistake, it was no tiight-^cap, but a new wig he had on. " Hum, it is so," said Mr. Quin ; " eyes are not the better for sixty years' wear, to be ** sure, but if it be a wig, as you say it is, by the " L — d it is the most ridiculous one, and the most " like a night-cap of any wig I ever saw in my life." One of the inferior actors at Drury-lane rehears- ing his part, cither through dulness or carelessness, in a manner Mr. Garrick disapproved of, he told him in a pet, that he was not fit to carry guts to a bear. After the rehearsal was ov6r, the actor who had been thus checked, goes to a very famous sausage shop, and buys a pound ; and bringing them in his pocket to the theatre at night, took an opportunity when Mr. Garrick was present in the little green-room, to ask Ned Berry, a brother actor, wlio was remarka- bly corpulent and an ci)icure, whether he loved good sausages; " If they arc of the right sort," replied, Ked, *' I don't know any thing I like better," " There, THEATniCAL A^"ECDOTES, ETC. Illy " then," said he, producing them, " they came from " such a shop, I bought two pounds, and reserved one '* of them for you, as I knew you are funny stomach- " ed, and such a thing coming unaware, I thought ** might possibly go down." Berry received the sausages with great pleasure ; when th<2 other turning round to Mr. Garrick, "There," sir, said he," in " the morning you was genteel enough to tell me " that I was not fit to carry guts to a bear; it " has cost me eiglit-pence to make you retract your *^ opinion, and I hope I have not laid out my money ** to no purpose." When Corri, the composer, lived at Edinburgh, he happened one Sunday to pass by the Tron church, while the congregation was singing psalms; con- founded at the discordant sounds, he asked a man with a long puritannical face, who was going in, what was the matter } the other, astonished at the ques- tion, answered, that the people were praising God-al- mighty. " Santa Maria !" exclaimed Corri, shrugging up his, shoulders, " God-almighty mut have one very " bad ear !" The same Mr. Corri became bankrupt in Edin- burgh, and having been thrown into prison, he was liberated by the humanity of the law of that country, which allows an insolvent debtor, who has not acted fraudulently, to be released on his giving up to his creditor all his property on oath. This is done by an action against ihe creditors, called ecessio honorum. 116 THEATRICAt ANECDOTES, ETC.. Coveni-oardcn Rlieioric. — Mr. C" — ss — us. ^' in the course of which the bankrupt must satisfy the court respecting his losses, &c. Mr. Corri's counsel, Mr. Robert Sinclare, after enumerating a variety of losses from the theatre, a tea-garden, &c. added, " there is one article, ray lords, which I shall read to *' you from Mr. Corri's own statement: — Item, I " have had forty-seven lawsuits, all of which I lost " except one, and that costed me 3/. 17s. 8d. for the " winning of it." Two ladies belonging to Covent-garden, (not Co- vent-garden theatre, but Covent-garden market) hap- pening to fall out, poured forth on each other a tor- rent of rhetoric, which although extremely well in their mouth, would not appear altogether so becoming in these pages; at lengtli,the one finding her opponent fairly an overmatch, but being unwilling to give up the contest, laid her arms across, made a placid smiie, and to every virulent epithet returned an humble curtsey ; her success was complete ; for her yet enraged ad- versary being deprived of the fuel that fed her fire, and her gall being still unexhausted, she went up to the other's very nose, stuck her arms a-kimbo, and foaming with wrath, exclaimed, "Speak, speak, b—h, " or I'll burst !" Mr. C — ss — us, of great eccentricity who paraded the streets indifferent garbs, as quaker, sailor, law- yer, pot-boy, and had frcrjucntiy a gentleman with him who loved fun as well as himself, and who was often led into some scrape by the conduct ofC — ss— us — one evening, walking with him down Oxford-road, i; THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 117 Romeo and the Apothecary. — The atrical Delia. by way of a joke, C — ss — us shoved a negro off the foot pavement. Blackey not liking insult, would fight. C — ss — us recommended his friend to battle. They stripped and attacked each other 'till it was totally dark, and the negro was getting the best of the contest. His adversary said he would fight no more until day-light, for the fellow was blacker than the night itself, and he could not see to strike him." " Oh, oh," said C — ss — us, " I will settle that pre- " sently," and fetched a half-penny worth of whiting, with which he made the ebony man like snow, and so perfectly visible, that his friend gained his battle. A country actor, remarked for an undertoned voice, was playing Romeo, and when he got to tlie scene where he calls the apothecary, his voice was so very weak as scarcely to be heard. Unfortunately the man who personated the Apothecary, had a most wonder- ful base voice. The Romeo proceeds — *' What ho / ** apothecary/, — rcithin therCy^ in a hazy tone. The Apothecary answers, — " Who hawk so loud f* in a voice that shook the theatre. This whimsical con- trast created a great laugh at the expence of Romeo. A certain theatrical Delia, in a country theatre not ten miles from Richmond, who had been seduced and slighted by a gentleman of the bow and cat-gut, in consequence of her great volubility of tongue, in rage and disappointment wrote the following lines lo him:— 118 THEATEICVL ANECDOTES, ETC. Disap)irobation. *' In morning, eve, or noon, " May you never play in tune. " May you every public night, " Take the wrong end for the right. " May your strings be ever breakings " Your head and fingers aching. " The more you screvi' your pegs, *•■ Like your little spindle legs, " May they prove false to you, ** As you have done to Sue." The Gentleman returned the following answer : — " Your wishes, wicked jade, *' Tho' new fanglcd, are ill made— ** My instrument, why blame ? " For prating now.you're paid ; " So, adieu, my pretty maid, " You are welcome to your shame.*' An actor played a season at Richmond theatre for the privilege only of having a benefit. When his night came, he had to sustain a principle part in the piece. —The VI hole of his audience however (being thirty iu number) gave him every mark of disapprobation, and a great hissing; on which he came forward and said, ** Ladies and gentlemen,! return you my sincere thanks* " for your kindness, but when you mean to hiss me " again on my benefit night, I hope it will be by at " least six times as majiy as I have here to night.'' THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 119 Grimuldi and W— k— z. In the time of Grimaldi of famous memory, a figure- dancer in the same theatre, a Mr. \V — k — z, was iu the habit of accommodating the under actors with small loans, by a mortgage on their salaries, with pretty good interest. G. had a pressing want of ten pounds, and applied to W. for it, who (for reasons sufficiently strong to himself) refused. The other was extremely angry, and bore in his breast, a long while, resentment; at last he had determined on his revenge, and one morning addressed him thus : — "Ah, *^ vat mine dear W — , how you was-a-do : dem you " never speaken wis me now — vat for? — I have very " great respect for you — mais you no come take bot- " tie vine wis me. I have some fine macaroni to ** day — come my house 3 o'clock — I have some littler " a-business along wis you.'' W. thanked him, and attended ; dined heartily, drank his wine, and receiv- ed the warmest professions of friendship from his host. At length he tells him, that Mr. Garrick and himself had it in contemplation to bring out a Lillipu- tian dance, so that the whole corps do ballet should appear no more than three feet high ; and, says he, " Mr. Garrick no believe I can make-a-dat, ^< and I have-a-told him I shall prove the experi- <* ment with you, because you was the only genteman " in de ballet vat I trust." W. thanked him for his good opinion. " Now to de business — I sail make " one eyes, nose, and mouse, upon your pelly, and " den I sail have a cap come over your head, down " to de top of de face; what's on de pelly, den you " can see through one hole in the cap, and your arm ** appear quite short, and you look no more as three 120 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. The dead Gliost. " feet high." W. consented, and G. painted on his belly a comic face, with drying oil and <'arnish, and when compleated, sent him over to Garrick, who was preparing to play King Lear. W. called him aside and whispered to him, " Sir, sir ! a verd with " yoo !" Garrick, who was very tenacious and touchy when going to play, said, — " What the devil does the « fellow want ?" " Tis done, sir, 'tis done, Mr. Grimal- " di has done it I" " Done what ?" " Come aside, sir, " and ril show you." Garrick retired with him, and W.took up his shirt and shewed him his belly; at which he laughed himself almost to convulsions— showed* him to the whole company behind the scenes — then told him he was a fool, and G. a rogue. W. re- tired terribly embarrassed. It was some weeks be- fore he could wash his second face away : and on his. rebuking G. for playing him a dirty trick, he ex- claimed, " Ah, G — d d — n, yoa no lend-a-me ten ** pounds, — d — n, — I have doo youP A country manager at Croydon some years since, had brought out the spectacle of Don Juan, and by way of improvement intended to bring the Ghost, in the banquet scene, through a trap instead of walk- ing on in the usual manner ; but as the boards of the stage were laid on the earth, he was at the trouble to cut a hole, and dig the ground out four feet deep, and made a sliding trap, which drew off by a commu- nication behind the scenes. All was prepared before jit was remembered that U^e Ghost must unavoidabl/ J TtlCATRICAL ANCCD0TE5, rTC. H\ Gairick and ihe MuMiti. be deposited in his new dwelling twenty minutes prior to the time of his appearance, the greater part of tlic farce being pUiyed with the stage open. He was accordingly put down — the farce went on — the moment arrived— the slide drawn off, but no ghost ap- peared. The manager called — no answer — the curtain dropped — and there lay the Ghost in a state of insen- sibility and suffocation. The audience made a con- founded noise, and Scaramouch was sent forward with the following apology : — " Ladies and Gentlemen, " I am deputed by the manager, Mr. O— , to account " to you for this delay — the Ghost is dead — we are " doing all we can to revive him — but if we fail, the " manager will make a Ghost of every man in the " theatre, before you shall be disappointed." One very sultry evening in the dog-days Garrick performed the part of Lear. In the four first acts he received the accustomed tribute of applause ; at the conclusion of the fifth, when he wept over the body of Cordelia, every eye caught the soft infection. At this interesting moment, to the astonishment of all present, his face assumed a new character, and his whole frame appeared agitated by a new passion; it was not tragic; it was evidently an endeavour to suppress a laugh. In a few seconds the attendant nobles appeared to be affected in the same manner, and the beauteous Cordelia, who was lying extended on a crimson couch, opening her eyes to sec what occasioned the interrup- tion, leaped from her sofa, and with the majesty of England, the gallant Albany, and tough old Kent, raa laughing olf the stage. The audience could not account vor,. I J. T^ 122 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Grimaldi and No Popery. for this strange termination of a tragedy in any other ■way, than by supposing that the dramatis persona; were siezed with a sudden frenzy ; but their risibility had a different source. A fat Whitechapel butcher, seated on the centre of the front bench of the pit, was accompanied by his mastiff, wlio being accustomed to sit on the same seat with his master at liome, naturally supposed that he might here enjoy the like privilege : the butcher sat very far back, and the dog finding a fair opening, got on the seat, and fixing his fore paws on the rail of the orchestra, peered the performers with as upright a head, and as grave an air, as the most sagacious critic of the day. Our cor- pulent slaughter-man was made of melting stuff, and not being accustomed to the heat of a play-house, found himself oppressed by a large and well-powder- ed Sunday perriwig, which, for the gratification of cooling and wiping his head, he pulled off, and placed on the head of the mastiff. The dog being in so con- spicuous, so obtrusive a situation, caught the eye of Mr. Garrick and the other performers. A mastiff in a church-warden's wig was too much, — it would have provoked laughter in Lear himself, at the moment of his deepest distress ; no wonder then that it had such an effect on his representative. During the riots in 1780, most persons, in order to save their houses, wrote on their doors " No Po- " peri/," Old Grimaldi, to avoid all mistakes, wrote on his, " No religion /" THEATRTCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 1Q3 Mr. Tuote. — Baron Perryn. — Lord Kellie. Soon after Mr. Foote had Jiis house at North-end, Fulham, fitted up, a friend came to see him. Sara having carried him through the lunise, asked how he liked it: he answered, tliat it was very neat, and handsomely furnished, but at the same time that there was not a room fit to swing a cat in. " Sir/' says Foote, " I do not mean it to swing cats in !" Baron Perryn, having been engaged on a visit to Foote, came at an early hour, in order to enjoy the pleasure of angling in the pond. Foote, ever ready to oblige his guests, ordered the fishing apparatus to be got ready, and a chair to be placed at the pond side for the accommodation of the learned sportsman. Two hours did the Baron throw the line with as much patience as he would ; at length Foote and his company came out ; " Well, Baron, do they bite r'' " No, I have only had a nibble or two." *' By G — d, *' you have not," says Foote. " What do you mean r" says his Lordship. " I mean that there is not a *' fish in the pond, for the water was only put in *' yesterday.'^ One day. Lord Kellie, whose frequent sacrifices to Bacchus had produced a rubicundity of nose that would have done honor to Bardolph himself, called on Mr. Foote at Fulham. " Oh, Kellie," says Foote, " I am glad you are come, my peaches are very back- " ward; do, for G — d's sake, hold your nose over " them for two or three hours." I'il THEATRJCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Goldsmitli. — Woodward. — lox.— I'oote. When Goldsmith's comedy oi' She Stoops to Conquer ■nas rehearsing, he was at great pains in instructing the actors. On the first representation, he was not a little displeased to find the representative of Dig- gory play it as an Irishtnan. As s<")on as Diggory came off the stage, Goldsmith asked him the meaning of this, as it was by no means intended for an Irish character. " Sir," replied he, " I spoke it as near " as I could to the manner in which you instructed me, except that I did not give it quite so stronjj a brogue." When Woodward first played Sir John Brufe, Garrick was induced, from curiosity or perhaps jea- lousy, to be present. A few days after when they met, Woodward asked Garrick how he liked him in the part, adding, " I think I struck out sotne beauties *' in it." ** I think,'' said Garrick, " that you struck " out all the beauties in it." Fox, the manager of the old Brighton theatre, hav- ing been engaged at the Hay-market theatre during the reign of the elder Mr. Colman, had the part of one of the Scholars in the Padlock sent him. " Sir," said he, addressing the manager, " I am astonished " at getting this part, so much beneath me ; besides, ** how would a man of my si/.e and figure look like a " Scholar ?" " Indeed," replied Mr. Colman, " you " seem to be bcttcr/a/ than taught.^' There being a law-suit between Mr. Foote and Mr. Ros?, respecting the Edinburgh theatre, let by THEATRTCAt A??ECDOTES, ETC?.' tQi. \ orticcni. — I'he Lit- oi liie Day. tlie latter to the former, whicli came by appeal before the House of Lords,the matter was terminated in favor of Ross, and Foote was saddled with the costs. When he paid the bill to Mr. Walter Ross, Mr. Ross's Scotch solicitor, he said to him, " Now, Walter, when do you " go to Scotland ?" " To-morrow," said he. " And how ** do you travel? — I suppose, like the rest of your " countrymen, you will do it in the most economical " manner." " Yes," replied he, " I shall travel on *^ Fuot r In the play of Fortigern, the hero, in the first line, invokes the Almighty, and in the next, the Gods. This mixed application in the writer was profane ; and in the end, the Goth were against him. On the Lie of the Day being performed at Co- vcnt-garden tiie night Fortigern appeared at Drury-lane. Says K — e to L — s, " Pray what is your play ?'* Cries L — s to K — e, " The Lie of the Dtn/." ** Say you so ?'' reply Vi K — e ; " why we act the same y " But to cozen the town, we adopt a neio name; [say, " For that Vortigern's Shakspeare's, we some of u^ " Which you all of you know is a Lie of the DayJ^ A handsome young fellow having seen a play at Colchester, after it was done came to one of the players, and desired him, if leisure would permit, -to accept a bottle of wine for his better acquaintance j, which being accepted, the player desired him to go as far as the King's Head, and he would, as soon as M 3 i^6 TfttATRICAL A5:ECD0TES, ETC. Rape-seed ami Hemp-seed. he had made himself ready, attend on him there. In the mean time, to keep him company, he desired a friend of his to go along with him, promising to come to them instantly; V>ut staying a pretty space, his friend desired to be excused, he having some business to do, but engaged to be there in a quarter of an hour. The player comes in the mean time, and find- ing the gentleman alone, when his friend came he began to chidehimfor his absence ; he presently crav- ed pardon, and begins to excuse himself, that he had been abroad to buy rape-seed. At the word rape- seed, the man rose from the table in great anger, tell- ing the player tiiat he came in courtesy to desire his acquaintance, and to bestow the wine upon him, not thinking he would have called that fellow up to abuse him. They wondering what he meant, he proceeded — " 'Tis true indeed, I was arraigned the last sessions at '* Newgate for a rape; but, I thank God, I came off " like an honest man, little thinking to be twitted with " it here." Both began to excuse themselves, plead* ing ignorance of the knowledge of any such thing. But he that gave the offence thinking it better to express his innocence, " Young gentleman," said he, " to show " you how far I was from any intention of wronging " you,look you here,as I have rape-seed in one pocket, ** so here is hemp-seed in the other." At which word hemp-seed, said the young man, " Why, villain, dost " thou think I have deserved hanging r" and took up the bottle to fling at his head; but his hand was stayed ; and as error and mistake began the quarrel; so wine ended it. TliEATRrCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 127 A free benefit. — An Actor of All-woik. A liuly sending her servant to know what was acted that day, the players told hiin, " 'Tis pity she was *' a WfiorCf' (a play so called) ; which the fellow misunderstanding, told them they were base rogues to call his lady a whore, who was as honest a woniau as any of their mothers. On a free Beneiit gkeii at Drury-lane to one in Distress. Unask'd, the pitying players grant Their charity to worth in want : So cheap will lawyers plead its cause. Or priests deserve the like applause? Never while riches blind their eyes, And supersede all nature's ties; Never, till truth and reason reign, And true rolifiion live a^ain. An Actor of All-work. An itinerant player, well known in the West of En*'- land, when performing in Bigg's company at Barnsta- ple, one evening performed for his benefit, Boniface and Sir Charles Freeman in the Stratagem, between the acts of which he sung Dibdin's " JoUy Dick the Lamplighter ;" played a solo on the violin, and danced a hornpipe at the end of the play; he recited CoUins^s Ode on the Passions; played Shift, Sniirke, and [Mother Cole, in the Minor ; and concluded with a poetical address to the audience !!! 1'23 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Roger Wright. — I'otn Wes'on. — Mr Colnun. A diverting instance of the misconception of in- ferior actors occurred a few years since at Bristol, Mr. Moody had selected Henry the Eighth i'ov his benefit, and cast the part of Surrey to the late Roger Wright, who would not attend the rehearsals ; Moody,. somewhat nettled by Wright's conduct, reproached him for his inattention to one of Shakspeare's best plays. " Come, come. Master Moody," said Roger, " you are wrong there, at any rate, it does not strike " me as any such thing." " No !" rejoined Moody, ** give me your reasons ?" " Look in the title page," said the other, " and you will find it was disapproved ** from the beginning ; see here, (shewing the book) *' it is noted as one of Shakspeare's hint plays :" — thus mistaking the abbreviation of the word historical, for a fixed mark of popular censure. After this blunder, Roger's phrase of " it does not strike me," became in great vogue in every theatrical company in the king- dom. ==^;;=;; Tom Weston, of facetious memory, being in a strolling company in Sussex, when the success was even less than moderate, ran up a bill of three shil- lings with his landlord, who waiting on the comedian, insisted on his money immediately : " Make yourself •* easy, my honest fellow," said Weston, " for by the " gods, I will pay you this night in some shape or " another." " See you do. Master Weston," retorted the landlord surlily," and, d'ye hear, let it be as raucli " in the shape of three shillings as possible." A young Avoman applied to Mr. Col man to be en- gaged as a vocal performer — when desired to give THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 1^9 MosS in the Miser. — Ludicrous Message. an instance of her ability, she began " .Ma chere aniity'' (My charming fair,) thus, — " March after me, my " charming fair." The manager bowed, and the lady withdrew. When the Dublin stage was under the management of the late Mr. Ryder, Moss, a good low comedian, but full of the furor of extravagance in his acting, played the character of Lovegold in the comedy of the Miser ; to give an additional, and, as he thought, a happy stroke to the part, when he was frantic for the loss of his money, he ran to the front of the stage, and snatched the harpsichord-player's wig off, exclaiming as loud as he could, " You have got my money, and I'll " keep your wig till you return it." The enraged musician, when the play was ended, flew into the green-room, and insisted upon Moss giving him satis- faction ; " Pho, pho," replied the player, " miscri " never give any thing." A certain actor (in a London theatre) of little fame, but of great notoriety, delivered a message in the following whimsical style: Thus wrote the author — *' Sir, the INIarquis of Otranto and his followers are " at the gate, and swear, that unless you deliver up " a lady that's secreted in the castle, they will set it " in flames." Thus said the actor — " There's a whole *' troop of Otranto's at the gate, and they swear, uu- " less you cortre and deliver a lady directly, you will « be all burnt alive."!!! An exhibition was opened some few years since, in Pvinton-street, Ilaymarkct, with Lcs Ombre Cftinuinf, 150 THEATRICAL ANTCDOTES, ETC. Les Ombre Chinoise. or Italian Shadows ; but to give a title of consequence, was called " The Skiagraphic." The entertainment gave general satisfaction for a long time, and was very ingeniously and respectably performed. One Englishman only was a partner, and the speaking part, of course, devolved on him. In the last scene was a magician's cave or grotto, where he was intro- duced by the following speech : — " For thirty years, " with magic powers invested, have I reigned supreme " of this mossy cave, where, assisted by invisible " agents, awful daemons, and nightly sprites, I have " transposed and metamorphosed, by my power, *' into different shapes these shelly walls; yet fain " would I mine utmost power know, and please mine " eye with yet new wonders. Bring forth the huge " and bulky elephant! — 'Tis well — of life and ftesh " do I thee deprive, and nought but skeleton bones " appear." An unfortunate circumstance one even- ing occurred. — A bailiflf having placed himself against the door of the only entrance into and out of the theatre ; and whether on the principle of a burnt child dreading the fire, or whether they really waited for this Englishman, certain it was that he did not appear. The house was full — an illustrious character was there; and they had got as far as the magician's cave, when the dialogue was began by an Italian orat 3 138 THEATRICAL ANTCDOTLS, ETC. Theatrical Correspondence. — Mr. Joseph TiefusU. « D«arH. " How many devils have you got in your company, ** male and female— and have you a good dancing '* one ? The man I had fixed on to play the devil " here has left us ; and I am sorry to say, our com- " pany is so angelic, that we cannot muster infcrnals " enough for the last scene but one in our panto- " mime, consequently cannot come to the established " conclusion.— Do let me have as tall a devil, as you " can spare ; and let him bring his cloven feet, and " a shower of lire in his pocket, or we shall be d — d. " Year's, &c. « W." " Dear W. " Send me two genteel assassins, and let them " come sober, and clean shaved. Have you a cupid "you could lend us? ours has got the small-pox. " We will give him eighteen-pence a night, but he " must find his own wings. " Your's, ever, " H." The cupid was sent, and there ended the corres- pondence. Mr. Joseph Trefusis, who was the original Trapland in Love for Love, and a well-esteemed low comedian, was famous also for dancing an aukward country clown. He was an experienced angler; and as he w as fishing by the Liffey side, some friends of his were going in a boat in order to embark for Englivnd. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. ]">!> Mr. Josrpn I'retusis. Joe seeing them, called to them to take him in, that he might see them safe on board, lie gave his fish- ing-rod to a friend on shore, to take care of until his return; but Joe, it seems, was prevailed on by liis companions to make the journey to London with them, with his fishing-clothes upon his back, not a second shirt, and but seven shillings in his pocket, liis companions left him at London; and Mr. Wilkes found him gazing at the dial in the square of Covent- garden. He hardly .knew him at first (as Mr. Wilkes said) but by his particular gait, which was beyond imitation. When he asked him how he came there, and in that pickle, — " Hum ! ha ! why faith, Bobby," replied Joe, " I only came from Dublin to see what " it was o'clock at Covent-garden." Joe was reputed the natural son of Oliver Crom- well, but did not seem to have any resemblance of features with his father. Joe had a long chin, and naturally a most consummate foolish face, by nature formed for suitable characters, yet a person of infinite humour and shrewed conceits; with a particular tone of voice and manner, that gave a double satis- faction to what he said. Adhering strictly to honesty, without guile or falsehood, he acquired the appellative from all that knew him, of honest Joe, a character he bore with justice. He entered a volun- teer on board the ship where the Duke of York com- manded in the channel, in that memorable sea-en- gagement with the Dutch fleet, commanded by Van Tromp, in the year 1673. When the preparations were making for the battle, Joe, though a volunteer, 140 THEATRICAL AKECDOTr?, r.TC. Mr. Joseph Trefu is. — l". Le li— n. confessed fear began to invade him ; but when the man, at the top-mast head, cried, a sail ! then tuo sail! and after, zounds, a ufioie zcood f Joe's terrors augmented : but his fears came to the full heigth, when a sailor asked him, ij' he had not performed on thestas^e. Joe replied in the affirmative. " Tl'%, ^Af/?, " replied the blunt tar, to-morrow^ if you are not killed " the first broad-side, by G — d you rcill see the deepest ** and bloodiest tragedy you ever saw in your life.*' Joe was so inimitable in dancing (he clown, that General Ingoldshy, on seeing him perform one even- ing, sent him five guineas from the box where he sat. Joe dressed himself next day, and went to the castle to return thanks. The General was hard to be per- suaded it was the same person, but Joe soon convinced him, by saying, " Ise the very tuon, anU phase your ex- " cell-en-cy ;" and at the same time twirling his hat, as he did in the dance, with his consummnte foolish face and scrape. " Now, now, I am convinced," replied the General, laughing, " and thou shalt not shew such " a face for nothing here,'' — so gave Joe five guineas more; which so well pleased him, that he paid hi.s compliments in his aukward clownish manner, and set the table in a roar. The late T — y Le B — n, an actor well known, liad, in his younger days, been a coal merchant of some respectability, but had failed, and took to the stage. Some few years after the circumstance, be applied to Mr. Dodd, the actor, for eleven pounds due lor coals. *^ Bless my suul !" says Dodd, " why. I paid' the THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 141 B — tin— ter and P— 1— r. — Italian Performer. — Colley Cibber. " money for the benefit of your creditors." ** The " devil you did," says Toney ; " why that was a great " liberty^ and such a one as jf never took zcith them ** in mi/ life.*' Mr. B — nn — ter and Mr. P — I— r were passing through a street in the city, where a fire had broken out wliich threatened destruction to the whole neigh- bourhood. It began at a hat maker's shop, which w as then entirely destroyed, with its contents ; and they learnt, that neither house, goods, nor stock in trade, were insured. " Bless me," says P — 1 — r, " this will be a terrible loss for the poor man and " his family." " Yes," says the other, " the loss " will be muchfeltr A certain Italian gentleman, of the theatre at the Antipodes, went to his butcher, and gave him the following order : — " I must-a-havc one ver fine co\r " head — send-a to mine house — I sail have one, " two, friend, vat will dine wis me to-morrow." The next day an ox's cheek was sent. He returned it in a rage — " Dem you, sare, vat you have send-a-me r" " Why, a cow's head." " Yes, but den you have send " de head of de mamma cow — I vas-a-vant one little *^ child cow head." " Oh," says the butcher, * a calf's " head — I did not understand your lingo." A foolish young fellow came dancing, whistling, and singing into a room, where old Colley Cibber sat coughing and spitting — and cutting a caper, triumphantly exclaimed — " There, you old put, what 142 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Tfie Virgin Mariyr.— Old Cheese — Blundciing Acut. " would you give to be as young as 1 ain?'' " Why " faitli, young gentleman," replied the veteran, " I " would be content to be almost as foolish." Sir Edmund Mundeford sent his man into the street, at London, to see what was to be acted that night. The Firgin Martyr was upon the post ; which the man rashly apprehending, brought his master up word, that it was the play of the Virgin Mary. An actor was at a dinner given by a gentleman, where the company amounted to sixty or seventy persons. When it was nearly over, some very old cheese was brought on the table, and the gentleman, who was exceedingly polite to his guests, hoped it would not be offensive to any one present. A person of great delicacy and effeminacy, said he could not endure the smell— he should certainly faint. " Take away the cheese,'' said the gentleman. " No," says the actor, " take away the mun.'^ An actor in Ireland, who was never trusted with more than a message, on account of the extreme propensity he had to drinking, was one day at a public-house enjoying himself, when the prompter's boy brought him a part, written as ftjllows : — " Act I. *' Scene II. at " Behold he comes,'' — go on to King, P. *• S. shake head, and come off." The actor thought he eertoinly could do thnt, although he should be never so diunk, a^ there was nothing to say. He attended at the side— heard his cue — then ran on the stage to the King — catchcd hiui bythc collar— fchook the Kin;;'s I THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 143 Origin of Juhii Audley. — I he CouiUiyman ami the Actors. head until his hat and wig fell off, and then retired. The actor following could not smother his laughter. The prompter abused him foF his error ; but he con- tended he was right, according to the words of the part ; — " for," says he, " as it only expressed shake " headj I surely had a right to my choice, which head *' I would make use of," Origin of John Audley. — When strolling players shorten a piece for their purpose of playing it, they call it John Audlei/ing it, which originated thus : — Tn the year 1749, Shuter was rr^aster of a droll at Bar- tholomew fair, in West-Smithfield, and it was his mode to lengthen the exhibition until a sufficient number of persons were gathered at the door to fill the house — this event was signified by a fellow pop- ping his head in at the gallery door, and bellowing out, " John Audley !" as if in the act of inquiry, though the intention was to let Shuter know that a fresh audience were in high expectation below. — The consequence of this notification was, that the enter- tainments were instantly concluded, and the gates of the booth thrown open for a new auditory. Two actors of the theatre Drury-lane, on their way to Brighton, stopped at an inn to change horses, where there was a coach coming to London, waiting the same accommodation ; on the roof of which was seated a farmer's man, who hailed the two actors thus : — " Ah, ah ! what, my masters, you are going a « mumming, eh ?" '' What," says S— t, " how the devil " does that fellow know we are performers ?" " Whj 144 THEATRICAL ANECDOTr.S, TACi Macklin's Opinion. — Epitapli — Sliylock. " do not you see," said B— r, " he is on the stage « himself." Mr. Macklin^ being very much pressed to give his opinion of the late Mr. J. Palmer's S/iylock, said, " Why, sir, my opinion is, that Mr. Palmer played the " character of Shylock in onestyle — In this scene there *' was a sameness, in that scene a sameness, and in " every scene a sameness; it was all same ! same ! *< same ! same ! — no variation. lie did not look the " character, nor laugh the character, nor speak the " character of Shakspeare's Jew. In the trial scene, ** where he comes to cut the pound of flesh, he was no ** Jeiv. Indeed, sir, he did not hit the part, nor the *' part did not hit him." Several years before his death, Mr. Macldin hap- pened to be in a large company of ladies and gentle- men, among whom was the celebrated Mr. Pope. — The conversation having turned upon INIr. Maeklin's age, one of the ladies addressed herself to Mr. Pope, in words to the following effect : — " Mr. Pope, when ^* Macklin dies, you must write his epitaph." " That " I will, madam," said Pope; " nay, I will give it you " now: — " Here lies the Jew " That Shakspeare drew.'* Mr. Macklin was very particular in the business of Shylockf so much so, that he requested Bobby Bates, who performed the part of Tubul, not to fipcak until he sa,w him standing on a. certain spot. J THCATIIICAL ANECDOTES, FTC. 1 1 •> Mr. Macklin.— Mr. Dodd. *' nay," says Macklin, " not till you see me place my *'• fight foot on this nail," (pointing with his stick ta the head of a large nail which was drove into the stage). Bobby promised to remember the old man's instructions, and that he might have a better view of tlie nail, when the rehearsal was over, he got apiece of chalk and marked it in a conspicuous manner. At night Macklin had forgot the nail ; therefore, when Tubal entered, and remained for sometime without speak- ing, Macklin exclaimed in an under voice, " Why " the devil don't you speak ?" " Sir," replied Bobby, " put your right foot upon the nail." This so discon- certed the old gentleman that it was with the greatest difficulty he finished the part. The same requested Mr. Bernard, who performed Gratiano in the same piece, to badger liim in the trial scene; accordingly at night he complied with the old gentleman's request, and began with slapping him on the back, — to twitch and twinge Sht/lock in a way he did not much relish. When they came off the stage, Mr. Macklin addressed Bernard after the following manner: — "Sir, I requeste 1 you to " badger me, it is true, but I did not v»i>,h you ta ** tear me to pieces." In the time of Garrick, Mr. Dodd had the pnrt of an Eunuch sent him, which he thought «a unplea- iant a thing, that he applied to Mrs. Garrick to inr terccde with her husband to let hmi out of it* Ac- cordingly, the next rehearsal, the tliree parties bein^ all present, Mrs. Garrick took an opportunity of say- VOL, II. ' o 116 theatrical' anecdotes, etc. ode on Black Eyes. ing, " My dear Mr. Garrlck, I link dat it is no right " dat Mr. Dodd shall play tis Eunuch ; for he has " got a wife and two or three childrens.'^ " Yes, '* ma'am," says Dodd, puHing up his cravat and swelling, " and another coming too." An Ode on Black Eyes. [The subject taken from a circumstance which took ' place two years since, at the Theatre in the GrasS' market.'] Collin to Rose once a suitering went, For he lov'd her, and thought her a prize — His happiness hing'd on her giving consent, For he doated on Rose's black eyes. Rose heard all his suit, and bid him beware. To be equally am'rous and wise ; He swore she had driven him into despair, By her beautiful jetty black eyes. Now wedded they were, he'd his wishes complete ; He laid down — and with pleasure did rise; And however he toil'd, his reward he thought sweet, *Twas Rose's two little black eyes. But how short was happiness, pr'ythee but list, He'd much better have let her alone ; For in anger and rage, with a neat little fist* She's now^ given him two of his own. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 147 A Great Actor in a Little Skin . A Great Actor in a Little Skin, [Found in the Pit of Covent-garden Theatre.] As dame Nature, one time in a frolicsome mood, Was beguiling an evening away. She look'd down with a smile on her own little brood, Who were squandering their hours in play. She pcep'd into palaces, prisons, and courts. And at length on the stage fix'd her eye ; Where whim, wit, and humour, goodruature supports. And recorded their praises with wonder on high. To encourage such genius, she instant began, Half a con weight of sucli merit to place In a figure quite small, yet resembling a man. With a whimsical figure and face. No patterri she had — some too large, some too small, She'd giants, and dwarfs in great plenty. So made this a wonderful figure 'twixt ail. And gave him for heigth, inches twenty. Thus completed, and stock'd well with whim and Admired by all as a great little wonder, [ability, In pantomime first he displayed his ability. Now an actor as big and tremendous as thunder. In all his great efforts he's sure to succeed. And to gain your applause and support ; In Dickey — all Dickey's he'll ever exceed, He gives birth to such excellent sport, o 2 1-J8. TnEATRICAL A-RECDOTIS, tTC. A Fat Actor i.i a Great Part.— Iheatrical Register. As an actor so small, but in value so great, Does not every daj fall to your lot ; To keep him secure to your own little state. You may cram him into a quart pot. A Fat Actor in a Great Part. •' [Found in the Gallery of a large Theatre.] Such stuffing and craraing of late we have had. To make JPa/sfa^ appear as he ought; With horse-hair and tow, they have driven us mad, ^nd yet of the part they've made nought. Dcbtroy all your cushions — the pads that ye lace, We've an actor that wants no increase ; W'irh his jolly plump carcase, his limbs and his face. He may pass for an emblem of Greece. Were Sir John but alive — and aloft 'mong the gods. He'd think himself handsomely treated ; 'J'bcre's sin-cly in vveight snob a monstrous odds, ••He's full halfi^ atuiic overweighted- Copif of an Advertise went over the Chimney-piece, TUEATRICAL ReGISTLR, DUiNSTABLE. .Wanted, to complete a company of respectability, performers of the following descriptions. They must be neat in their persons, accomplished in their man- ners, and of tolerable characters; to whom such salaries will be given as underwritten, if approved by the managers. JNole- — The compuny one hundred and ei^hti/ uiilesj'rom towtt, — the circuit seventj/. A gcntlcFutu) for llavilers, hearts, Richard's^ Othello's, . ike. a jMud dijurc : must occasionally play Harlequin, TH£ATRrCAL AKECDOTE?, tJC. X4^ 1 heatricil Register. receive money at the doors, take care. of the candles, prompt, and beat a drum. If he has been damned in town, it will be no objection. — Salary, twelve shillings per week, A tragedy heroine, from five feet ten inches to six feet, marking features, and straight in her person — must find lier own dresses, and occasionally dance a hornpipe, wash for the company, and blow a trumpet on market days. — Salary twcke shillings^, JVIB. — The manager plays the fops a«d lovers, Valentine mVuhn- tine and Orson, &c. ; is a young man, athletic formed, six feet, well proportioned, except in the legs, they ai-e rather too heavy for his body ; and in pantomime, in particular, he drags them after him as if they were made of cork. If the lady will make herself useful, and answer the manager's purpose, her salary vtill be raised, and she will be treated as one of the family. — She must occasionally play — Casfalio, to the man- ager's Lothario ; Millwood, to his George Barnzcell ; Juliet, to his Romeo, &c. A genteel liar, to make handsome apologies, sing between the acts, play low comedy, write out parts, and light the lamps. A lawyer's clei-k or footman would be preferred. — Salary, nine shillings. JJirst sijiging gentleman, moderate size, with great compass of voice ; must run cadences, and shake well, speak good English ; play occasionally — guitar, piano- forte, fiddle, flute, and hurdy-gurdy.-^Salary, twelve shillings. A singing lady, clear pipe, figi»re plump, no deject in her eyes ; she must be called Madame, or Signora, nothing English will go down ia the scheme, ih^rc- o :j 1.50 THEATRICAL ANrCDOTr?, ETC. Tlictiicjl Registei. — Hlundi'iingA'tor. fore slie will be passed as a foreign wonder. Must be clean, neat, and perfect at night. — May come dirty to . rehearsals if she pleases. The slighter her reputation the better— less lumber in travelling. — Salary, twelve shillings, A Barbery (a fat one will be preferred), as he must play FaUtuff. He must dress the company, and a real gentlewoman, who is of the manager's household; must make and mend wigs, find soap, basons, towels, and hair-powder without lime : he must say and nr>say things at pleasure: he must speak the performers fair to their face, and belie them when tbeir back is turned : he must have one story for the manager, and another for the performers : should there be any re- bellious subjects in the company, he must gain all ihe intelligence he can, and bring it to the manager ; in sliort, he must say and do every thing the manager shall suggest, but turn Jew and deny his Saviour. , Benefits on tlie most liberal plan. After paying the expenres, and sharing the overplus with the manager, ail the whole of the remainder for the performer. — M.B. — The benefits will not commence until the stock business will not pk'oduce a shilling. None need apply who stutter, stare, squint, or who are hipshot, bow-legged, fiplay-footed, knock-kneed, hump-backed, pot-bellied, have lost an eye, or front Ucth, or who snuffle, or have any defect in the nose, or are given to li(juor or incthodism. A country actor, performing the part of Sadi in the MountuinetrSj said, " If I were to die now, I can *1 ckiim little better than paf.boild (pitbald) " burial !" THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 151 ' Blunlering Actor. — A ciowded House. The same, as Sir P/iilijj Blundford, having to saj to his daughter, " Well, my child, and so you danc- " ed with your lover ;" said, — " And so you danced ** with your partner." Again, in the same character, — " When I was a boy, my father died infestaie." Instead of which he said, " When I was a boy, my " father died in child-bed." The same, as Orozembo in Pizarro, describing Rolla, said, " he was in war a tiger chased (chafed) " by the hunter's spear; in peace more gentle than ** the M?i-TAMED (unueari'd) lamb." A crowded House. A mighty jumble stuck together. Thick as pease in summer weather; Formed in motley groupes they sit, In boxes, gallery, and pit. Ladies fine enougli to tempt ye ; Dashing wigs, and heads quite empty ; Runners, bailiffs, all in trade ; Bond-street beaux of both afraid. Hangmen, publicans, and footmen ; Rogues who nightly rob and shoot men ; Noble, single, all conditions ; Lawyers, poets, priests, physicians. Scots beneath a thread-bare cover; Aldermen who live in clover ; Females, red, fair, brown, and black. With naked arms, and shorteu'd back. 152 tiieatrica-l anecdotes, etc. Irish dislike and approbation. — Grimaldi. — Mr. KayiTi(-nd: Handsome, ugly, noisy, still, — Some that wont, — and more that will, Many a bargain, if you strike it.— A London audience — how d'ye like it? In the Dublin theatre, it is the custom of the Irish gods to express their dislike or approbation of any person or performance by calling for a groan or clap. Whilst the Union was in agitation, and the ex-minister very unpopular. Bine Beard happened to be repre- sented ; when, after the duetto of " Pit-a-pat — pit-a- ** pat," &c. a fellow in the gallery roared out, — ** Come now, my honies ! a groan for Pit, and a " clap for Pat." Old Grimaldi (who was a dentist), greatly alarmed a gentleman who applied to him to drAw his decayed tooth ; the facetibus demist, after taking out the offensive member, slid the tooth of a horse into the gentleman's mouth, and drawing it out again all over blood, said, " Got bless my soul, heres a toots ! — ** why, sir, your fadder must have been a horse." The gentleman expressed his astonishment, and gave Grimaldi a guinea to take the wonderful tooth with him, to shew it as a curiosity. Mr. Raymond made the first of his appearance on the Dublin stage in Oroonoko. — In the most interest- ing part of the last act, the misery in which he saw his beloved Imoinda, fixed itself with such strength in liis tortured mind, that, in a frenzy of love and despair, he applied his burnished check so closely to that of THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 153 Mr. K — and the Coachman. his unhappy princess, as to leave half of his sooty complexion on her fair face. This aukward blunder convulsed the house with laughter; however, the play finished, greatly to the satisfaction of Mr. Hay- mond. - A certain great actor, having a house beyond Hammersmith, got one night into a hackney coach and desired the coachman to drive him on the Turnham-Green road till he pulled the check-string; the man accordingly mounted his box and proceeded on the journey. Mr. K — , who can sometimes drink one, two, three, or even, on very pressing occasions, four bottles, had unfortunately swallowed wine enough to produce a narcotic effect, and forgetful of the signal agreed upon, very comfortably went to sleep for three hours, when he was awoke by the coach suddenly stopping, " What's the matter?" exchiimed he, rubbing his eyes and tluustiag his head out of the window. " Please your honor," said ihc. coachman, " I can't go any further, I asn out of the *' l>ills of mortality already — where shall I set you " down .? " " Zounds, man !" replied the astonished tragedian, " get along back the same road you came, " 'till I pull the check !" The coachman did as he was desired, and Somnus again sealed the eyelids of Mr. K — , who in due time was once more disturbed by the coachman, who appeared at the door, enquiring where his honor would be set down. — " Where am " I, c(;achman.?" " At the top of Albemarle-street, " sir, and much ado I had to get my poor beasts so " far." "The devil you are?'' said Mr. K — , vcrj 154 theathical anecdotes, etc. Funeral of Holland. — Wetion. deliberately, (for he even swears by rule) — " well, well, " I suppose I shan't see Turnham-Green to-night, I'll " endeavour to sleep an hour or two at Hatchett's, " — take your fare, coachman, your horses are d — d ** tired, and so am I.'^ There is an anecdote relative to the funeral of Holland; he was one of Foote's greatest favorites. George Garrick, who was one of Holland's executors, with his usual good nature, undertook to manage the funeral in a way suitable to his friend's circumstances; for which purpose he went to Chiswick, and ordered a decent vault, and such other preparations as he thought necessary. Holland's father Avas a bake?', Footc was invited to the funeral, which it is said he attended with unfeigned sorrow; for exclusive of his real concern for the loss of a con\ ivial compa- nion, whenever he had a serious moment, he felt with very strong susceptibility. While the ceremony was performing, G. Garrick remarked to Foote, how happy he was, out of respect to his friend, to see every thing so decently conducted. " You sec," said he, " what a snug family vault we have made here.'* " Famih/ ruidt V^ said Foote, with tears trickling down his ckecks — " D — me if I didn't think it had been " a family orc«." Weston, in the early part of his life, felt distresses, which, however comic they might afterwards appear, were severely felt at the moment. He and a com- panion were obliged to keep their room while their linen was washed; the landlady came as usual for THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 155 Weaton and Shuter. ~" money to provide breakfast. They had but a sleeve of a shirt between them. The companion hid himself; Weston jumped into bed, slipped on the sleeve, and stretching out the arm thus covered, gave the money required. Weston, before his comic fame was established, appeared as a substitute for Shuter in the part of Sharp. Shuter's name was in the play bills ; and when Weston appeared, the galleries vociferated " Shuter I Shuter !" Mrs. Clive played the part of Kitty Pi-y, and was no less a favourite than the other. The uproar continued, and nothing could be heard but " Shuter ! Shuter !" As soon as it was possible to be heard, Weston, in his own inimitable and hu- morous manner, asked aloud in a seemingly stupid amazement, and pointing to Mrs. Clive, " Shoot hcrl *^ Shoot her ! why should I Shoot her ? I am sure she *' plays her part very well." Good humour was in- stantly restored, and he met with universal applause. Westonh Will, — A few weeks before his death, Weston said to a friend, " If you will write for me, ** I will make my will." The friend complied, and Weston dictated, not puns, but strong sense, and keen satire. — " I Thomas Weston, comedian, hating all form *' and ceremony,*shall use none in my will, but pro- " ceed immediately to the explaining my intentions. " Imprimis — As from Mr. Foote I derived all my '< consequence in life, and as it is the best thing I am *' in possession of, I would, in gratitude, at my l^G THEAXniCAL A N F.C DOTES, ETC. V Vestoii's Will. ** decease, leave it to the said Mr. Foote; but I " know he neither stands in need of it as an author, " actor, nor as a man; tlie public have fully proved 1* it in the two first, and his good nature and humau- " ity have secured it to him in the last. " Item. — I owe some obligations to Mr. Garrick ; " I therefore bequeath him all the money I die " possessed of, as there is nothing on earth he is so *' very fond of. " Item, — Though I owe no obligation to Mr. *' Harris, yet his having shown a sincere regard for *' the performers of his theatre (by assisting them " in their necessities, and yet taking no advantage " thereof by driving a jew bargain at their signing " fi^sh articles), demands from me, as an actor, ** some acknowledgment ; I therefore leave him in ** the entire possession of tliat satisfaction which ** must naturally result on reflecting, that during iiis '* management, he has never done any thing base or " mean, to sully his character as an honest man op »*' a gentleman. " Item. — I having played under the management of *' Mr. Jefferson at Richmond, and received from him " every politeness, I therefore leave him all my " stock of prudence, it being the only good quality ** I think he stands in need of. " Item. — I give to Mr. Iled(hsh a grain of honesty ; " 'tis indeed a small legacy, but being a rarity ty " him, I think he will not refuse to accept it. ** Item. — 1 leave Mr. Yates all my spirit, '' Item. — I leave Mrs. Yates my luimility. " llaiu — Upon reflection, I think it wrong- to jjiv* THEATRICAL ANECDOTr.'^, ETC. i'yT '■' separate legacies to a man and his \viic, therefore '' I revoke the above bequests, and leave to be " enjoyed by them jointly, peace, harmuni/, and good *' nature. " Item. — Notwithstanding my illness, I think I ^^ sliall outlive Ned Sliuter; if I should not, I had *' thought of leaving him my example how to live ; " but that I am afraid will be of little use to him; " I therefore leave him my example how to die. " Item.. — I leave Mr. Brunton a small portion of " modesty. Too much of one thing is good for *' nothing. " Item. — As Mr. Jacobs has been a long while " eagerly tvaitingfor dead men's shoes, I leave him two *' or three pair, the worst I have, they being good *' enough in all conscience for him. " Item. — Though the want of vanity be a proof of " understanding, yet I would recommend to my old " friend Baddeley, to make use of a little of the first, " though it cost him more than he would willingly " pay for it. It will increase not only his conse- *' quence with the public, but his salary with the " managers; but, however, should his stomach tura " against it as nauseous, he may use for a succc- " daneum a small quantity of opinion, and it will " answer the purpose as well. " Item. — Mr. Quick has long laboured to obtaia " the applause of the town: the method he has *' taken is a vague one; the surest method to obtain *' his end is to copy nature. — Experientia docct. " Item. — Miss Young has had some disputes with *' the managers, about dressing her tail, complaining vot. II p loB . THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. We.ion's Will. " of the want of fringe: as fringe seems to be an *' absolute requisite in the ornamenting ladies' tails, " and I always love to see them as they ought to be, " I leavq-her therefore the fringe about the flaps of " my waistcoat, in whicli I usually played Jerry " Sneak. " Ite??i. — As I would not forget my friends, par- " ticularly old ones, I leave Charles Bannister my " portrait, to be taken when I am dead, and to be " worn about his neck as a memento to him, that " regularity is among the most certainmethods to *' procure health and long life. " ]t(})/. — Dibble Davis claims something at my " hands, from the length of our acquaintance ; I " therefore leave him my constitution : but I atn *' afraid, when 1 die, it will be little better than his " own. *' Item. — I leave to the ladies in general, on the " stage (if not the reality, yet) the appearance of " modesty : it will serve them on more occasions " than they are aware of. ** Ilcm. — To the gentlemen of the stage, some " show of prudence. " Jtc7?L — To the authors of the present times, a " spattering of humour. " llcjn. — To the public, a grateful heart." Here his voice failing him, he told his friend he would finish it as the next day, and bade him put it into his pocket, which he did; but Tom left it, as he did all his promises of amendment, only just begun. lIIEATniCAL ANLCDOTES, ETC. 150 L|.ii:i);hs cm W esi^'ii. The following lines are oBcred as tributes to his memory. Epitaph. Alas ! poor Toui has tumbled oiT the perch, And left his gay Thalia in the lurch ; Once ljig,h he blood upon the comic pinnacle, But when he siipp'd, t'ell — Scrub — Sneak — Last— and [Binnacle. 'Epitaph > Or on the stage, or in the world's great play, ^ Fill well your parts, ye old, ye young, ye gay, >• Here lies full prool" that nature will decay. \ Extempore, On the Death o/' Westox. The mould where nature sat imprcss'd on, Death has defac'd by conquering Weston. Extempore — supposed to be spoken by Mr. Weston. Such losses as these pray who can withstand ? 1 o lose, first my leg, and then my right-han J. On the Death ()f\VLSToy. Ilis stool tripp'd up, down tell poor Doctor Last, The best must fall when once tlie die is Cast. ' In Weston's time, it was the cu-tom in country (or Strolling) companies, for the nienibers to form a kind -4' 1 jO THF.ATniCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Weston and Uie Manager. of partnership or coiunionvvealti), and all share alike ; but the manager, for his trouble, care, fniding clothes, scenes, Si.c. was entitled for the same to four shares, wl)ich are called dcud uncs. He manages, fixes the plays, is treasurer, and shares the monQ.y, after paying bills, servants, lights, carriage of goods from town to town, erecting buildings, and all manner of incidental charges, and is to keep a book, wherein they are to be set down for t!ic inspection of the compa'ny. This the manager of a company, in which Weston was playing, omitted, and therefore divided the re- ceipts of the house as he thought proper, always complaining that he was in advance. Tom thought liimstif ill used, and took ujion him to be spokes- man for his brethren, who all promised to back him. One morning at rehearsal, he insisted on seeing the stock (for so it is called). The manager asked him if he meaiit to pay the debt which the company owed. Weston answered, he had a right to see whether or not. Words therefore arose between them, and the manager tolel him, to cut short the matter, he siiould play no more with liim (an argument generally used by rascally managers, when perform- ers want to know more than they chuse to let them). The rest of the performers who had promised to back him, only lurntd their backs on him, and slinked away terriHed at the manager's sentence, lest it should be tlieir lot also. Weston gave him a hearty d — n, and leaving the company directly, steered his course to a small troop which was but twenty miles off. TTIEATRICAL A\EC DOTEa, ETC. 161 Weston's Stratagem. — W es One daj, vvlicii Weston's nuiiie was in tlie hills, he was borrowed by a IVJarshalsta-cjuit officer, for a small debt, which being unable to discharge, he sent to the managers, who refused to comply with his .request. Tom being known to the oificers, he pre- vailed on them to go to the play with him that night, .and with them placed himself in the front of the two- shilling gallery ; when the play was to begin, a per- former came forward to make an apology for Mr, Weston, that being ill, he could not possibly attend, and therefore hoped the audience would accept of another person to play his part. On this Mr. Weston got upon the bench in the gallery, and speak- ing out aloud, said it was entirely false, that he was not ill, but that he was ready to do his business on the stage, but that at present he was in custody of a couple of bailifts, for a small debt, which he harl sent to the managers the same morning to give security for, that he might have his enlargement. Tom's trick had its effect, the managers sent for him out, and the matter was settled. Liquor, from whence Weston derived his greatest pleasure, proved his greatest curse ; during even the performance of a part he must have a dram ; and as the servants of the theatre were forbid providing any, Tom generally brought it himself. One evening, coming to the theatre very late, i»Ir. Foote met hiui just as he entered the stage door, and asked him what he had in his hand under his coat; Tom said a bottle of Seltzer Spa water, which the doctor ordered him to drink. Mr. Foote, suspecting it was gin, insisted p 3 1(32 THEATRICAL ANECnnTES, ETC. W eston's Due!. upon tasting, and Tom as peremptorily refused ; at length tiic manager's desire was complied with, and the contents of the bottle proved Holland's gin, as was suspected ; on which lie threw it on the ground, brci' c the bottle, and spilt its contents. Tom imme- diately swore he would not play that evening, unless it was replaced, and Mr. Footc was forced to com- ply with his demand. • Weston having borrowed the sum of five pounds, and failing in payment, the gentleman who had lent the money, took occasion indiscreetly to talk of it in the public colf^c-housc, which obliged Weston to take notice of it, so that it came to a challenge. Being got into the lield, the gentlcjuan, a little tender in the point of courage, offered him the note to make it up, to which Weston readily consented, and had the note delivered. " But now," said the gentleman, " if we should return without fightins;, our compani- " ons will laugh at us ; therefore let us give one " another a slight scratch",' and say we wounded one '< another." " With all my heart," says Weston ; " come, I will wound you first;" so drawing his sword, lie whips it through the fieshy.part of his antagonist's arm, until he brought the tears into his eyes. This done, and the wound tied up with a liandkerchief, " Come," said the gentleman, " where " shall I wound you ? " Weston putting himself in a posture of defence — " Where you can, by G — d, sir." *' Well, well," says the other, " 1 can swear I received " this wound of you/' and marched off contentedly. TIIEATRTGAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 163 Mrs. Jordan.— Kiay White.— Mr. Quick. Wlieu Mrs. Jordan applied to Tate Wilkinson for an eni:;agcment, he a.skcd her what line she chose, whether tragcdj/, gciitcei comech/, loco comedy, operciy or farce ; she answered, to his great astonishnicnr, (ill. — Though he much doubted such versatile talents, he promised her a trial, and she was announced for CaliiUi in the Fair Peiiifent, \\ith Songs after the play, and Luci/ m the Virgin Vniivi^hcd ; all which she accomplished, to the no small delight of the audience. Kitty White, a pupil of i\Ir. Rich's, to whom, during lier initiation, Mr. O'Brien of Drury-lane gave some instructions how to perform with propriety the cha- racter of Sylvia, in the Recruiting Officer. One dav as he was thus employed, observing that the lady misconceived his directions, and repeated a passage very improperly, he told her it was a parenthesis, and therefore required a different tone of voice, and a greater degree of volubility than the rest of the sen- tence. " A parenthesis !" said Miss White, " what's " that ?" Her mother, who happened to be present, blushing for lier daughter's ignorance, immediately broke out — " Oh what an infernal limb of an actress " will you make ! — not know the meaning of ^prentice, " and that it is the plural number of 'prentices J " When Quick waited on IMacklin to receive his in- structions, he asked t!ie young comedian whether he knew the Jirst qualification of an actor, and im- mediately gave the precept, which was, to be able to stand stilL 164 THEATRICAL ANPCDOTES, ETC. \ oltaire.— llu- VoUaire. — An envious critic was saying, before a person ot' candour and acutenesis, that the play of Alzire was not written by Voltaire. " I am glad of *' it;,'' replied the man of candour. " Vvhyr" replied the opponent. " Because if it is not," rejoined the other, " we have one good poet more." At the rehearsal of one of Voltaire's tragedies, .JVIi'. Cramer, bookseller at Geneva, (and the author's own immediate publisher), was finishing his part, wljich was to end with some dying sentences. Voltaire cried out aloud, " Cramer, you lived like a prince in " the four preceding acts, but in the fifth you die " like a bookseller." Dr. Trouchin, the Boerhaaxe of his age, being present, could not help, in kindnes?^, interfering; adding withal — " Why, Monsieur de \'ol- " taire, can you expect gentlemen to be at the cxpencc *' of dresses, and the fatigue of such long parts, if " you thus upbraid them ? On the contrary, I think " they all deserve thegreatest encouragement at your " hands ; and as to my friend Cramer, I declare that, " as far as I am a judge, lie dies with the same dig- " nity he lived." \'oltaire, who detested advice or in- formation from an inferior, (for an author was, in his eye, beyond even an /Esculapius, had he been living), made this cool answer : — " Prithee, doctor, when you " have got kings to kill, kill them in your own way; " but let mc kill mine as I please." When Voltaire exhibited his Orphan of China at Ills own house near Geneva, Judge Montcijquieu was present at the representation, but fell asleep before the second act. Voltaire observing it, exclaimed— THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ITC. 165 l\>m Kill^; aiici ihe Sweep. — tvieuiporc on Ganick. " Let him sleep on ; I suppose the president thinks " he is on the bench." At a town in Warwickshire, one of the members of a distressed company of comedians prevailed upon a blacksmith with a stentorian voice, to undertake the song of the Eur/j/ Honiy by way of making a little variety, and raining the zoind at his benefit. The blacksmith came upon the stage, and began to clear his pipes with a tije-tum-taw. " D — n your tye-tum- " taw," cried a fellow from the gallery. " Why, d — n " you, then," returned the blacksmith, " and d — n " vie if I sing any more," and accordingly made his exit. ■ The late facetious Tom Ki;)g, pace walking through the streets of Liverpool, where he was then perform- ing, was met by a chimney-sweeper and his boy; the boy stopped and stared at him, although his master called to him several times to come along, at length he exclaimed, " Why, he's a player." " Hold your " tongue, you dog," said old sweep, '* you don't know " what you may come to yourself." A gentleman asked a friend, who had seen Gar- rick perform his first and last character, if he thought him as good an actor when he took his leave of the stage at old Drury, as when he first played at Good- man's fields, he gave for an answer the following Extejiipore, I £aw him rising in the East, In all his energetic glows ; I saw him setting in the West, In greater splendour than the rose 1G6 THEATRICAL ANFCJDOTtS, tTG. Lxteuipoie on y\ iLoii ami sliuiei. — Uclpini By the same, on his being told Wilson was thou<;ht to be a better actor than Ned Shuler. — I've very often heard it said, Nine tailors make a man. But can nine ]]'ilsu,'is make a Ned? No, d— :ne if they can. When Delpini first came to England his company .was much sought after by the great; he was invited to almost all the fashionable parties in town; this greatly impaired his health, he therefore resolved to Jead a more retired life; but invitation upon invita- tion pouring in upon him, and he not speaking Eng- lish very well, asked a friend " l\it he say, ven de ** people ax Iiim come tea and sup T' *■' Say ? why say " you hdxegot other fish loj'ri/." In a day or two after this he was met in the street by lord C — , who told Jjim he was going to have a party that evening, and %vould be glad if he would K'avor him with his com- pany ; " No," replied Delpini, " 1 no come." " No ! " why not?" says his loi'dship. '' Cause J go J'rjj mj/ *' other fish." The same, when he was discharged from Ci^-cnt- garden, was met one day by the 1* — of W — s, \%ho inquired after his health. " My health very bad, iNlr. *' Prince, I get no vine nowJ' No ^vinc ! that's bad in- **' deed," said the Prince ; " well, go to my cellar-man, ** and tell him to send you some." '* Yes, I go, God " bless you, Mr. Prince. He accordingly went to the coIl:ir-n».i:i, and having informed him of the Prince's Oi-vlc'is, liL' was asked how much he would have, and wliat sort, lie replied, " On/j/ twelve dozcn^ and all ♦' sort:' THEATRICAL AN F.C DOTES, ETO. 167 Kannisier. — I he empty house —Le (Jrand I'itn;t. B r, when a physician told him, " You look " well," answered, " Yes, you are not mi/ p/tj/Hician.*' When the same was blamed by a friend for speak- ing ill of a physician he liad never tried, he replied, " If I had tried him, I should not have lived to speak *' ill of him." An eccentric country manager was playing Romeo to almost empty benches; in the garden scene, Juliet speaking very low, lie, with a face of woful humour, exclaimed, " My dear, you may speak out, you see " there is no one to hear us." Le Grand Pitrot, well known throughout all Europe for his superior professional excellence. This consequential prince of the skipping, capering tribe, had the august appellation of le grand tacked to his parental name; the pride, obstinacy, and merit of tliis performer, became proverbial at all the courts of Europe, and he took particular care to mark liis own character. At Vienna, he chose to "appear only in the last act of a bailet. On the Emperor's desiring that he should make his entree at the end of the first act, he answered the officer, that " men of talent never made themselves too *' clieap.'' The monarch instantly left the opera, and most followed his example. Fitrot, on l)cing in- formed of this, stepped forward, and iji the face of the whole remaining audience, thus addressed the dancers:—" Mes enfants, nous dansons pour nous- mju.M, et non pas pour rEmpcrour." And it 168 TTIEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Le (iraiid Pitiot. is said, that in his life lie never danced so well. However strange it may appear, tlic Emperor forgave the insult ; and when he understood that Fi trot's engagement was finished, and he upon the point of departing, he sent this favourite exotic a gold snuff- box, with his picture set round with brilliants; Pitrot was under the liands of his hair-dresser, when a colonel belonging to the Emperor's guards delivered him the present. Pitrot took it after a careless man- ner, looked at it, then pressed his thumb upon the crystal, and crushed the picture, which done, he gave the box to his hair-dresser, and bade the officer acquaint his master, that that was the way he disposed of baubles sent him by men he did not think worthy of his friendship — then stepped into his carriage, and just got out of the Emperor's dominions time enough to save his head, a party of hussars having been dispatched in search of the fugitive. The same was desired by the king of Prussia to get up a most magnificent ballet, leaving the expence of it entirely to him; but the charge was so very extravagant, that Frederic remonstrated. The in- trepid dealer in hops told bhat bold prince, that the honor of I'itrot was not to be limited by the purses of mouarchs; and that the king, in future, might take the trifling part (the charges) upon him- self. In France, at the moment when he was about to begin a dance \\\\U the sister of Madanie du 1 h«'-, the father of the present duke of Orleans whispered THEATRICAL ANECDOTr.S, r.TC. 160 Gabiielli. — Faiinelli. to her that he should sup with her ; Pitrot heard him, and told the lady that he was resolved to supplant the duke. The lady modestly told him that his highness would give her an hundred loui« d'ors. " Well," replied Pitrot, " I will give you a thou- *' sand." On her expressing her doubts, he laid his hand on his breast, and replied, " You shall have * them, on the honor of de Pitrot ;" and the next morning he kept his word. In 1774, Gabrielli was in Petersburgh; previous to her engagement by the Empress, she was at Milan ; the price she demanded was 15001. sterling per annum, beside a house and carriage ; nor would she take less. She was remonstrated with on the unrea- sonableness of so enormous a salary ; and to induce her to make some abatement, they assured her that a field-marshal had no more. " If that be the case,'* she said, " I would advise all her majesty's ficld- " marshals to sing." In 1735, his present majesty's father, then Prince of Wales, made a present of a fine wrought gold snuff-box, richly set with diamonds and rubies, in which was inclosed a pair of diamond knee-buckles, as also a purse of one hundred guineas, to the famous Signior Farinelli, — returning to Italy, he raised out of a small part of the sum he had acquired in England, a very superb building, in which he dwelt, and chose to dignify it with the significant appellation of the English folly. VOL, II. Q 170 THEATRICAL ANECDOTTS, ETC. Mi. Suelt. — Mr. ImjdI.— Counti v ACKir. A young fellow, boastinp; of his health and consti- tutional stamina, in the hearing of Suett, was asked to what Jic chiefl)' attributed so great a happiness. *' Why, sir, to. laying a good foundation, to be sure ; ** I make it a point to eat a great deal every raorn- " ing." " Then, I presume, sir," remarked Suett, " you usually breakfast in a timber-yard.^* Foot being asked by a prating barber, how he would please to be shaved, answered, " In silence.''* The same, when a very small bottle of wine was brought in, with the praise, that it was very old, an- swered, " 7/ is xerx) little for its ageJ* The same, seeing an actor, who in pronouncing '* O Jupiter r' held down his hand, and " earth /" held it up, said, '' T/iefellozc has committed a solecism " zcith his hand.'' A country actor, to oblige his friends, and after much entreaty, went to a London manager for an en- gagement: he found him in the company of several of the performers, and without any ceremony told him liis business. The manager gave him a flat refu- sal. The actor, as in joy, returned him many thanks. The byc-standers asking him why he was so grateful, he answered, " Because I act uilh no delays /" An actor, who was much in debt, being asked how lie could sleep with such debts upon him, said, ^* The wonder is, how my creditors can sleep.'' J TflEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. J7l The .\Ku-;;ate llov.— Actor ami Landlady. — Cosmograiihy. The saiiie being on board a Margate hoy, night came on, and the passengers retired to bed, but it being a remarkable fine evening, he remained on deck until all the beds,- save one, were doubli/ occupied, he therefore desired the person who had no bed-fellow to make room, when, to his great astonishment, a fe- male popped up her head, and exclaimed — " You " can't come here, go to the next cabin." " I have, my *' dear,'' said he, " and every one of the beds have " two persons in them." " Well, I don't care, you " shall not came to bed to me, for I am undressed." " O that, my dear madam," he repHed, " makes no " difference to me, 17/ undress too'' The same, bcliig in a passion, said many scurrilous words ; a friend being ly, said, '' You speak foolishly.'' He answered, " It is that you mat/ uyiderstand nieJ' An actor hiring a lodging, said — " I assure you, " madam, I am so much liked, that I never left a " lodging but my landlady shed tears." " Ferhups,'* said she, " you ulzcaifs zccnt azcay zcithout pai/ing.^' A stranger, being much addicted to lying, was telling of the many countries and cities he had been in. — Bannister asked him if he had ever been in CosmogrupJiy. The stranger, thinking tliis the name of a city, said, " We saw it at a distance but could *' not visit it, beinsi; in haste." In a Dutch translation of Cato, the version of the soliloquy is curious: — For, " It must be so, Plato, 17^2 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. " Spanish Play Bill. — Venice Preserved. " thou reasonest well," — you read, *' Just so, you " »re very rightj Mynheer Plato." A Sptniish Play Bill. To the Sovereign of Heaven— To the Mother of the eternal World— ^ To the Polar Star of Spain — To tlie faithful Protectress of the Spanish Nation — To the Honor and Glory of the most . Holy Virgin Mary — For her Benefit, and for the propagation of her Worship, The Company of Comedians TV ill this day give a representation of the Comic Piece, called MANINE. The celebrated Italian will also dance The Fandango, and the Theatre will be superbly illuminated. Mr. Sparks, of the Dublin theatre, one night pre- siding in the senate scene in Venice Preserved, he thus addressed the conspirators, instead of—" Yon, " Jafhcr, are free, the rest must wait for judgment ;" *' he, witli unusual gravity, delivered himself thus : — " You, Jaflicr, are free to go to jail; as for the ** rest, let them wait till the day of judgment." TTIEATniCAL AXFCDOTES, ETC. 1*3 t|)i!apli on Sueit — Kpiiapii on Plulli^. Epitaph on the late Mii. Richard Sdett. Here lies, to mix with kindred earth, A child of wit, of glee, of inirth. IIushM are those powers that gave delight, And made us laugh in Reason's spight. Thy gibes and jests sliali now no more Set all the table in a roar ! Sons of mirth and humour come. And drop a tear on Suett's tomb ; Nor ye alone, but all who view it, Sigh and exclaim — " Alas, poor Suett T' Epitaph. Beneath this turf a female lies. That once the boast of fame was; Have patience, readers, if you're wise. You'll then know what her name v.as. In days of youth — (he censure blind) To men she would be creeping ; When, 'mongst the many (;ne prov'd kind, . And took her — into keeping. Then to the stage* she bent her way. Where more applauded none was ; She gain'd new lovers every day. But constant still to — one was. * A little spaniel bitch strayed into the theatre in Drur\ - lane, and fixed upon Mr. Beard as her master and protector ; she was constantly at his heels, and attended him o\\ the stage in the character of Hawthorn. She died much lamented, rot only by her master, who was member of the Beaf-s'.eak club, but by all the otlier members j at one ,of, ilieir meetings, as many as chose it, were requested to furnish at their next meeting an Epitaph J among divers, prefereri':e was' given te> the above. ■■•'•■ Q 3 174 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Suett and Simmons.— Gallants and Husbands. — Deaf and Dumb. By players, poets, peers address'd. Nor bribe, nor flatt'ry mov'd her ; And tho' by all the men caress'd, Yet all the women lov'd her. Some kind remembrance then bestow Upon the peaceful sleeper ! Her name was FhilUsy — you must know, One Hawthorn was her keeper. Suett and Simmons chancing to meet at a publi« dinner, the conversation turned on the abilities of the latter as an actor ; " Whatever merit he may ** possess as a performer," says Suett, " he certainly " can boast of more than many of us ; for he never ** wore a gicat-coat in his life, nor ever laid long in ^' bed." An actress being asked why she had married an ngly husband, said, " Gallants ought to be handsome ; " but husbands as it pleased God." An actor being asked why he had married a deaf ^ifc, said, " In hopes she tvas also dumb" The same said " A beautiful zcoman is worse than '' the devil ; for the devil hurts only the bad, but she " both good and bad." A very ugly man invited B r to dine with him. At siftting down a lady came in, and the host said, *' Sir, ffvis is my wtfe." B r lookipg at h«r, aud THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 175 15 — r.— Dili — m. — Palmer. — i:d\vin.— Nan Cuiley. Seeing her as ugly as her husband, said, " Is this your " wife, sir, ?'' " Yes," said the husband. " Upon my " word," said B r, " I took her for your sister .'" The same said of a lady who was just married, and who, though very ugly, had a great fortune, that her imsband had taken her by the zccig/tt, and paid nothing for the zcorkmanship. A lady going to hear mass was met by Dig — m at; (he chapel-door; " What," said she, " is the mass " for actors ended ?" " Yes, Madam," replied he> ^^ but that for w — s is beginning, and you arc just " in time." John Palmer, meeting a lady in the street, and giving her way, said, " All should give way to so *' beautiful a lady." She, being very proud, answered, " You are ugly enough." He replied, '* Madam, " I said one falshood and you another." Edwin the comedian, towards the close of his life, was a great drinker, and being ill of a fever attended with great thirst, a consultation of physicians was called ; who debating much among themselves, hoW to cure the fever and remove the thirst, — " Gentle- " mey?," said the patient, " do you cure the fever, and " I shall remove the thirst myself.^' Nan Catley, when in the bloom of her beauty, being in company with a number of other actresses, who were paintedj the game was proposed, in which 176 THEATRICAL AXFXDOTr.S, ETC. A Pensioner— Deal aiul Shuffle.— i;;iliaii lanHiia-e. what one did, was to be done by all. When her turn came, she called for a bason of water, and zcns/ied her face ; the rest, rather than imitate her, left the house. A country manager, who was kept by a lady of fashion, had a quarrel with an actor, who was not equal to what he had engaged for. " Sir," said the manager, " you arc a d d bad actor, and no " better than a pensioner.^^ ^' Sir," replied the actor, *' izco in the same liyie of business seldom agree." An actor, who was notorious for getting into tradesmen's debt and never paying them, went with another to make a purchase ; the man of the shop being very polite, he told him in future he should deal with him; " Yes,'* said the other, "deal and « shuffle too:' An eccentric country manager being in company with several Italians, asked one of them if it was not Tcry easy to speak Italian. •* Nothing more so," replied the Italian, "you have only to add an (■,(), or " an a, to almost every word you speak.' Ihe mana- ger thanked him, and went home fully convinced lie should soon be able to speak very good Italian. — He gave a thundering rat-tat at the door, his wife looked out of the window, and inquired " Who's *' there?" — he replied, " Jenny-o, open the door-c-(;. His wife thinking he was drujdv, §aid, " What js it *' y^u, you fool-f-o y" lie bawls out, " D — n you, you ♦* b— h, where did you learn to speak Itul-i-a-nc-o 'f' T H E A T R TC AL AyECDOTO, TTC. 177 The Irisliman and the (Jhost^ A London actor was some years since playing in Ireland (seven nights at diftcrent theatres for a benefit at each), having completed his engagement, and taken his benefit at Cork, he wished to get forward as he could to Limerick; and it being a fine moonlight night, he resolved to lose no time, but, to start at the moment the play was over, and thus by travelling all night to expedite his journey. He got into a noddy (a single horse-chaise, with a man to drive), and after travelling some few miles fell asleep, when he was roused by the splashing of the harses feet in the water, and on looking out, he found he was up to the axle-tree, though on the right was a good dry road. He called to the man, and asked him why he did not keep the road instead of the water. . " Hush ! hush !" cries Pat, *' do not speak now for the *' soul of you — I will tell you presently !" The actor was quiet for some few minutes, still the fellow kept in the water by choice — " Do you mean to drown me r" exclaimed the actor. " Get on the road, or I will blow " your brains out." " Upon my soul, master," re- plied Pat, *• it is impossible." " Why so r" says the actor. " Only look up upon the top of the cliff over " the road, and dcre's a great big church-yard." " Well, sir, and what of that ?" " Sir, it is all full of " Ghusfes/" " Get out, you stupid blockhead!" " Don't you bcliuve in ghostes, sir,'' " No, fool," " Tlien very likely you wont believe I was driving a " noddy past dis very spot last Saturday night at " twelve o'clock, and I saw a great big white cock " ghost sitting upon the church wall." '• Well, auJ " pray what was it like ?" " For all the world like a 178 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Mr. Moore. — Epigiam on Barr y and Ri>-h. " great big white torn cat." " Pooh ! then it was a " great big white torn cat." " A torn cat, by J s ? *' Sir, would you persuade rae a torn cat would be " fool enough to get out of his warm bed at twelve " at night, to go sit upon a church wall, to make " believe he was a ghost, — answer me dut." Mr. Moore, the author of many ingenious pieces, being a long time under an expensive prosecution in Doctors' Commons for marrying two sisters, was call- ed upon one morning by his proctor, as he was writ- ing his excellent tragedy of the Gamester : the proc- tor having a leisure hour, Mr. Moor read him four acts of his piece, which were all at that time finish- ed. The proctor was so affected by it, that he ex- claimed, " Good God ! how can you possibly add to *f this couple's distress in the last act .?" " Oh, very ", easily," says the poet; " there I intend to put " them both into the spiritual courlJ^ Ej igram on Mu. B\b.t.y joinitig Mr. Rich. One great GoHah Gath could boast Of Philistines of yore ; But Covent-gardcn's threal'ning host Boasts one Goliah more : — Yet fear not ye of Drury-lane, B)' little champion led; Their two Goliahs roam in vain While David's * at your head. * Garrick. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. ITO Mrs. Moiinifoit. — Mis. Libber. — Mrs. Hamilton. Mrs. A'erbruggen, the famous actress who preced- ed Mrs. Oldfield, was daughter to Mr. Percival, and first married to Mr. Mountfort, who was killed by lord INIohun. One remarkable particular in this lady's story deserves to be taken notice of. Her father, old Percival, had tlie misfortune to be drawn into the assassination plot against King William, and received sentence of death, on the very same night that the news of her husband's death was communi- cated to her. L'nder this most unparalleled afflic- tion, she was introduced to Queen Mary, who being, as she was pleased to say, struck to the heart upon receiving Mrs. Mountfort's petition, immediately granted all that was in her power, — a remission of her father's execution, — and afterwards was graciously pleased to procure a mitigation of his sentence, which was changed to that of banishment. But Mr. Perci- val, being weakened by his long imprisonment, fell ill upon the road, and died at Portsmouth. When the celebrated actress Mrs. Gibber was in Dublin, she sung in the Oratorio of the Messiah. A certain bishop was so struck with the extreme sensi- bility of her manner, that he could not refrain from saying loud enough to be heard by numbers round him, — " Woman ! thy sins be forgiven thee I" Mrs. Hamilton of the Edinburgh theatre, playing the part of Arpasia in Tamerlane, and being very lusty, the scene-men found great difficulty to lift the chair into which she had thrown herself, upon her supposed death; which she observing, she ordered 180 THEATRICAL ANECDOTE?, ETC. Pizarro.— shuter and ihe Highwayman. them to set it down, and making her courtesy to the audience, walked ofF as coolly as if she was not to be supposed dead. A ludicrous circumstance lately occurred at the theatre at Market Drayton, Shropshire, The com- pany were performing Fizarro, when, during the hymn to the sun, the lights being placed too close to the transparency-scene of the luminary, it unfortu- nately took fire. — The manager, who was officiating as high priest, just after singing the words — "O " power supreme," — observed the mishap, and in the utmost consternation, called out to the stage-keeper — " The sun is on fire !" — then proceeding with the hymn, — " O power supreme ! — D — n you, put out " the sun, I say." The sun, however, continued to blaze, and the manager to sing and swear, until the audience, notwithstanding their fears, were convulsed with laughter; the fire in the sun being extinguished, the ploy proceeded. At the close of that season in which Mr. Shuter the comedian first became so universally and deservedly celebrated in his performance of Master Stephen, in Every Man in his Humour, he was engaged for a few nights iu a principal city in tli€ north of England. It happened that the stage iu which he went down, and in which there was only an old gentleman and himself, was stopped on the other side of rinchley common, by a single highwayman. The old gentleman, in order to save his money, pre- tended to be a sleep; but Simttr resolved to be even TIIE.VTRICAL AXECDOTF.S, ETC. 181 lianniiter and Andrew*. — I'lic Devil in ilie Theatre. with him ; accordingly, when the liighwayman pre- sented jiis pistol, and commanded Shutcr to deliver up his money, instantly, or he was a dead man — " Money ! '^ returned he with an idiotic shrugs and a countenance inexpressibly vacant, — " O Lud, sir, they " never trust me with any; for nuncle, here, always *' pays for me, turnpikes, and all, your honour !" Upon which the highwayman gave him a few hearty curses for his stupidity, complimented the old gentle- man with a smart slap on the face to awaken him, and robbed him of every shilling he had in his pocket ; while Shuter, who did not lose a single farthing, with great satisfaction and merriment pursued his journiey, laui^hing heartily at his fellow-traveller. Bannister asked Andrews when he intended ta bring forth another new play; " Why," replied An- drews, " my Muse is big, and will soon be delivered." " Then," said Bannister, " I'll come to the groaning" The Devil in the Theatre. — It is told of some English theatre, that, during the performance of Doctor Fuus- ius, the audience and the doctor suddenly discovered one more, and much uglier dcyil, than belonged to the piece, who was dancing and kicking his heels about very merrily with the rest. Immediately on his bcjiio; oljscrved, he took flight, and, it is added, carried avray with him the roof of the theatre. The French have amongst them a similar fable. J.- J. Rousseau, in his Oeuvres Dizcrses, relates it tlms : I have in my youth read a tragedy called UifrS/tfsr, in VOL. IX. n 18-2 .THI:aTRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Foote and the barber. — Laconic Lpistles. -which the devil was represented by one of the actors. The piece was once performed, as I was informed, when this personage coming on the stage, found liim- self in company with a second devil ; the original, as if jealous of the audacity of the counterfeit, appeared in j)ropria persona, frightened all the people out of the house, and put an end to tlie representation. In the time of Footc, (who was an admirer of Avit wherever he met it), a barber of some eccentricity opened a shop under the walls of the King's Bench, and as the windows were all broken at the time he pntered the premises, he mended them with paper, as a cheap substitute for glass ; and on each window was printed, " Shave for a penny — Hair cut and " dressed — Don't wait a moment," &c. and over his door the following poetry : — " Here lives Jemmy Wright, " Shaves as well as any man in England, " Almost — not quite." Tiic lines claimed the attention, and so forcibly struck Foote that the possessor was a strange charac- ter, that, to ascertain it, he pulled off Lis hat, and thrust his head through a paper pane into the shop, saying, — " Is Jemmy Wright at home?" Jemmy, thrust his head out of another pane, and replied, " No, sir, he just popped out." Tootc laughed hearti- ly, and gave him a guinea. Mrs. Foote, mother of our English Aristophanes, was nearly as eccentric and whimsical a character as THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC/ 183 Foote an>i tiie Aiuhor.— loutc and tiie Colonel — I'oote and_Bad')e!cy. her son. The day she was sent prisoner to the King's Bench, Foote was taken to a spunging-liouse, and the following laconic epistles past between them : — " Dear Sam, *' I am in prison. " Ann Foote." (Anszcer,) " Dear Mother, " So am I. " Sam. Foote.^' An author wlio had given a comedy into the liands of Foote for liis perusal, called on him for his opinion of the piece. Whilst the poor author in trembling anxiety expected the fate of his performance, Foote returned the phiy with a grave face, saying, — " Sir, "depend upon it, this is a thing not to be laughed " at." Colonel G , calling on Foote in an elegant new phaeton, at parting desired Foote to come to the door, just to look at it:—" 'lis a pretty thing," said t!ie Colonel, " and 1 ha>'e it on a iiciv plan. " Before " I set my eyes on it," said the wit, " my dear coio- " nel, I am d — nably afraid you have it on the old " plan, — never to pay for it." Baddeley, previous to his becoming a player, was a cook : the first character he happened to appear in, it was necessary he should wear a sword. Foote, seeing him R 2 18-i THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETf. ( ount Tracey and roote.— Cold Beer.— Rough Si)ort.— A Dedication. tl)us ej'juipped, immediately exclaimed, " Baddelcy, " my boy, I am heartily glad to see you in the way " of complete transmigration — you have turned your " spit into u suurd already." Count Tracey complaining to Foote that a man had ruined his character, " So much the better," replied the %vir, " for it was a d— d bad one, and the sooner it " was destroyed the more to your advantage." The same being at Lord Kelley's table, when a gen- tleman present complained that the beer was rather cold — " Get his lordship to dip his nose into the tank- " ard," said Footc, " and if he keeps it there half- " a-minute, and the beer does not boil, it must be " /lrc-p?o()f." A gai^ibler observing to Foote that he had liad very rough sport at Margate — *♦ What," says the wit, *' I suppose you were detected, and kicked out of the " hazard room." When the same published his Englishman at Paris, he wrote a dedication to his bookseller : — " Having '* no obligations to any lord or lady of these king- " doins, and wishing my play to havo a protector, I " bog leave to thank you for the neatness of the im- '* pression, the beauty of the type, and the fineness of '* the paper, with which you have honored the work *' of vour humble servant, Sam. Foote." A player once complaining to Footc, that his wife's TnEATnrcAT, .vxrcDOTts, etc. Jf?5 Uliai can be said tbi itf — Irons in tiie Fire. — Lord Kelly's N(>se drunkenness and ill conduct had almost ruined him, concluded w'nh a phrase he had a habit of using, " And for goodness sake, sir, what is to be said for ** it?" " Nothing that I know," said Footc, '* can bo ** said /or it, but a devilish deal may be saiti against " it:' " A person once told Foote that he had a mmd to publish his poems, hut that he had so many irons in the fire that he did not know what to do. " Then,'' replied Foote, " put your poems where your irons " are." The late Duke of Norfolk was much addicted to the bottle. On a masquerade night, he asked Foote what new character he shoulil go in — " Go sober I" said Foote. The late Lord Kelley, who was remarkable for liis rubicundity of nose, having spoken disrespectfully of a gentleman in the army, an Irishman present obser\-»- ed, " that if any man that lived, or ever had lived, or *' ever could live, had said the same of him, he would " have pulled him by the nose." " Yes," replied Foote, " I dare say you would ; but in the present " case that would not do: there are ways enough of ^' revenging an insult, without running one's hand into « the fire:' The same being once in company where a bishop was at the table, and having been talking on a sub- R 3 ISO ttltAtmtxl A^ECbOTES, ETC. Footc anc! tlie Bisliof) — Addison and Steele. — I'oote and Caiey. ject tliat was not altogether agreeable — " When " will the comedian leave ofF preaching ?" exclaimed the bishop. " Ol), sir," said Mr. Foote, " the moment " I am made a bishop/' Old Usiier, one of the veterans of the Ilay-markct iheatre, praising very much a loin of veal that was on Poote's table, asked who was his butcher. " I think "*' his name's Addison," said Foote. " Addison," cried Usher; '* I wonder if he is any relation to the ** great Addison r" " Why that 1 don't exactly know ; " and yet I think he must, as he is seldom without " his steel (Steele) by his side." Baron B— , a celebrated gambler, well known by tire name of the left-handed Baron, being detected some years ago at Bath secreting a card, the compa- ny, in the warmth of their resentment, threw him out of the window of a one-pair of stairs room, whore they had been playing. The Baron meeting Foolc some time after, was loudly complaining of this usage, and asked what he should do. "Do?" says' the wit, " why it is a plain case, — never play so hi^h " again as long as you live." Foot and Carey were at a masquerade, when Carey happening to say something that ruffled Mr. Foot, on which Foote told him he talked too fast, and he was afraid he would wear out his wit before the company broke up, and then he would be under the neces- sity of coaxing it ; to which Carey replied, " Then " I shall be undcrthe necessity o{ serving my wit, as ** you d.d your «tockings a few years ago." TIIEATRICAL \^- F.CDOTr.?, T.TC. 1t*7 W atcraii'i Wine. — A de:ii- Wire. — I ht-lihicknmuor Li;ay.— Fooics I When Tom Weston applied to u surgeon, under strong suspicions of his habit of body being dropsi- cal he was on the occasion accompanied by Foote. On examining the patient, the surgeon pronounced him to liave mucli water lodged in the bellv, and that it would be necessary to tap it. " It cannot be \va- " ter that occasions the swelling," said Weston, *' it " may be wine." " No, no," replied Foote, " if it had " been wine, Tom, you would have long before this " time tapped it yourself/' A gentleman just married, telling Foote he had that morning laid out 300/. in jewels for his dear wife; " Faith, sir," says the wit, " I see you are no " hypocrite, for she is truly your dear wife." Foote, in order to procure a good benefit for him- self at the llaymarket theatre, caused it to be insert- ed in the play bill, " that, by particular desire, and " for that night only, the part of Calista, in the " Fair Penitent J would be performed by a blacka- *'■' moor lady of great accomplishments." Foote was never remarkable for economy; so long as economy continued the favourite pass-word at court, so long did it continue the favourite mock-word of the English Aristophanes. Every body who re- members Mr. Foote, must remember the beautiful set of dun horses with which he used to drive his carriage. On being complimented respecting their limbs, their fine shapes and colour, one day, '* Yes," replied the wag, <* I am never without a set of duns ir>n TIIEATniCAL AXrCDOTr.S, r.TC. .\eck or i\oil.i:is.— Ganick's Bust.— Lord (:lie»iei field : lid Foote. " in ray retinue; but with this difference, that in " summer T drive the duns, and in winter the duns *' drive me." The same was very fond of good eating and drink- ing, and naturally frequented those tables where the best was to be found. He one day, not long before his deatli, called upon an alderman in the city, (with whom he was intimately acquainted,) just at dinner- time ; when, instead of the usual delicacies, he saw only some green-peas soup and a neck of mutton ; he suffered both to be tnkcn away, and said he would wait for something else. The alderman could not refrain telling him, that they had an accident in the morning, which spoiled the whole dinner, and nothijig had escaped the catastrophe but those two dishes, for the kitchen chimney had fallen in. "Oh! is it " so?" said Foote, " then, John, bring back the " mutton, for I see it's neck or nothing w ith us.'* A gentleman who called to pay a morning visit to Foote, took notice of a bust of Garrick on a bureau. *' Do you know my reason," says Foote, " for " making Garrick stand sentry there?" *' No," replied his friend. " I place hini tlierc," resumed the wit, " te take care of my money, for in truth I can't " take care of it myself." Lord Chesterfield, in a very sickly state, was taking the air in Ilyde-park one morning, when Foote rode up to inquire after his lordship's health. *' Well, Sam," says the witty carl, « what part do TIIEATRICAL AXCCDOTES, FTC. 189 Practice makes i)ertcct — I'oote and Luid Onslow. " you play tO-night r" "■ JLady Dowager Whitfield," replied the wag. " I am going to cut a figure myself," suid his lordship. " You have long cut a splendid ** figure, my lord," says Foote. " It may be so," says his lordship with a smile, " but I am now *' rehearsing the principal part in the Funeral." A young lady, in dancing at a masquerade at Carlisle-house, happened to trip, and fell flat on her back; Foote, who was in a domino, and near her, stooping to pick her up, said, " Never mind it, my " pretty dear, practice 7/iakes perfect " Some years before Foote took leave of one of his legs, or this world, he, with many other knights of the napkin, had occasion to dine with the late Lord Onslow of facetious memory. In course of conver- sation after dinner, the long corks being introduced, which was never the case 'till the second-rate port gncsls had made their conge — " Now, Sam," said his lordship, " don't you think I am a very happy fellow; " I have always good wine and good company." " Yes, my lord," said Sam, " you may repeat with " the poet — " From ignorance our comfort flows, iTJ ** The only wretched are the wise." " Bravo ! by G— d," said his lordship, " Sam's never " at a stand for a iiood thino;." 190 THEATRICAL AXECt)OTE?, ETC. Jud:;e Kobiiison. — reriilic Tiagedies.— 1 he Conspirators. When the same was tried in Dubhn for the libel upon George Faulkner the printer, (whom he dramatized as Peter Paragraph,) the late judge Robinson vvasono of the bench. This was an old, crabbed, peevish gen- tleman, who wore a wig of a singular shape, and had his forehead very much broke out in blotches, which, "when in an ill temper, he was in the habit of picking off, and throwing down upon the clerks, attornies, &c. beneath the bench. Shortly after his trial, Foote appeared upon the stage as Justice Midasy with a costume, wig, and countenance so exactly that of the judge, and with the blotches which he picked antl distributed, with gestures so perfectly according to the model, that the whole audience, by most of whom lie was known, (especially in the gallery,) where con- vulsed with laughter, many crying out, " llobinson ! " Kobinsion !'' Crtbillon, the writer of French tragedy, was asked why his tragedies were so terrific. " Sir," says the poet, " Ameille occupies the heavens, lloune the " earth, and to me is X^h pandamoniiun" The same, when composing his tragedy of Cafalinc, a friend called on him, and was surprised to see four large ravens sitting at his elbow. " \Vulk gently, my " good sir," says the poet, " or you will put my " conspirators to flight." The house in \^hich the immortal Shakspcarc lived THEATRICAL ANECDOTF-S, ETC. 191 Sliakspeare's Abode— The first announcement of Mr. Garrick. at Stratford-upon-Avon, is now inhabited by a butcher, who has written over his door — " Shakspeare " Was born here. " N.B, — A horse and cart to let." An exact copy of the play bill which announced the first appearance of Mr. Garrick on the London sta£;e. October 19th, 1741, Goodraan's-fields. At the late theatre in Goodman's-fields, this day will be performed a Concert of vocal and instru- mental Music, divided into two parts. Tickets at three, two, and one shilling. Places for the Boxes, to be taken at the Fleece Tavern, next the theatre. N.B. — Between the two parts of the Concert, will be presented, an Historical Play, called THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING RICHARD THE THIRD : Containing the distress of King Henry VI. — The artful acquisition of the crown by King Richard. — The mur- der of young King Edward V. and his brother in the Tower. — The landing of the Earl of Richmond ; and the death of King Richard in the memorable battle of Bosworth-field, being the last that was fought between the houses of York and Lancaster ; — with maoy other true liistorical passages.— The part of X9'i THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, T.IC. Clerkenwell. King Kichard, by a Gentleman (who never appeared on any stage). King Henry, by Mr. GifRird ; Richmond, Mr. Marshall ; Prince Edward, by IMissIlippisley ; Duke of York, Miss Naylor; Duke of Buckingham, Mr. Patterson; Duke of Norfolk, Mr. Blakes ; Lord Stanley, Mr. Pagett; Oxford, Mr. Vaughan ; Trcssel, Mr. W. Giftxird; Catesby, Mr, Marr; Ratcliff, Mr. Crofts; Blunt, Mr. Naylor; Tyrrel,Mr. Puttenham ; Lord Mayor, Mr. Dunstall ; The Queen, Mrs. Steel ; Dutchess of York, Mrs. Yates; and the part of Lady Ann(^ by Mrs. Gifthrd. With Entertainments of Dancing, By Mons. Fromet, ]^L1dam Duvalt, and the two Masters and Miss Granicr. To which will be added, A Ballad Opera of one Act, called THE VIllGIN X/NMASKED. The part of Lucy, by Miss Hippislcy. Both of which will be performed gratis, by persons for their diversion. The Concert will begin exactly at six o'clock. At the lower end of Clerkenwell, now called Ray- street, is a pump erected in a little recess of the street, on which is fixed an iron plate, giving an historical account of the place. 'J he substance of the inscrl^;- tion informs us, that, according to some of the an- cient records of that parish, the Benedictine monks performed their sacred plays on that spot, ciilh U Clerk s-wcll. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 10$ Sliakspeare and Buibadge. — Sir William Davenant. Wilkes, ia his View of the Stage, gives the following anecdote of Shakspeare : — One evening, when Richard the Third was to be performed by Burbadge (wlio was the original representative of that character), Shaks- peare observed a young woman delivering a message to Burbadge in so cautious a manner, as excited his curiosity to listen to lier. It imported that her master was gone out of town that morning, and that her mistress would be glad of his company after the play ; and to know what signal he would appoint for admittance. Burbadge replied, " Three taps at the *' door, and it's I, Richard the Thh'dJ^ — She immedi- ately withdrew, and Shakspeare followed until he observed her go into a house in the city ; and inquiring in the neighbourhood, he was informed that a young lady lived there, the favourite of an old rich merchant. Near the appointed time of meeting, Shakspeare thought proper to anticipate Mr. Bur- badge, and was introduced by the concerted signal. The lady was very much surprised at Shakspeare presuming to act Mr. Burbadge's part ; but as he who had written Romeo and Juliet, we may be certain did not want wit or eloquence to apologize for the intrusion, she was soon pacified, and they were mutually happy until Burbadge came to the door and repeated the signal ; when Shakspeare, popping his head out the window, bid him be gone; for that " William the Conqueror had reigned before Richard « the Thirdr Sir William Davenant was by many supposed to be the natural son of Shakspeare, from a story which is VOL. 11. $ 39i THr.ATRICAL AKECDOTES, ETC, Sir Uilliani Davenani. — lieaumont and Fletdicr. told, that our poet was intimate with Sir W. Daven- ant's mother, who was a beautiful woman, and whose husband kept the Crown Tavern, Oxford, where Shakspeare annually put up on his road to Stratford. It is said, that in Davcnant's face Shakspearc's features were strongly marked, 'till Sir William lost Lis nose, which gave cause to the following anecdote : Sir WiUiam walking by Tcmplc-bar, a fishmonger's boy, in watering his fish upon the stall, besprinkled the laurcat; who, snudling, loudly complained of the abuse. The master begged the knight's pardon, and ■was going to chastise his servant for the offence ; *' Zounds, sir ! " cried the boy, " it is very hard I " must be corrected for my cleanliness; the gentle- " man blew his nose upon my fish, and I was washing */ it off, that's all." This jest pleased Sir William so well, that he gave the boy some money, and went away highly delighted. As the same was walking along the Mews, an ynfortunate beggar-woman teazed him for charity, with often repeating, " Heaven bless your eye- " sight ! — God preserve your lordship's eye-sight ! " *' Woman ! " replied Sir William, " I find no defect *.' there." " Ah ! good sir, I wish you never may," returned the beggar, " for should your sight ever fail " you, you must borrow a nose of your neighbour to " hang your spectacles on." Beaumont and Fletcher having concerted the plan <)f a tragedy over a bottle, they settled which part of the play they should respectively take, which being iHr.ATRICAL AXFCnOTES, ETC. 105 Gariick aiic! ('cixclto. perfectly adjusted, " Well," said rietclier, "'it shall *' be so,' you manage the rest, and ril undertake to " kill the king." These ^vords being overheard by the waiter, iliey were presently surrounded, and made prisoners; but their having it in their power easily to prove that they only meditated the assassination of a tlieatrical monarch, the whole went off as a jest. Garriclv, after an absence of two years, returned to the management of Drury-lane ; he prepared an address to the audience, which he delivered previous to the play. As soon as the unprecedented applause he met with had a little subsided, and all was hushed as deoth, and anxious cNpectation sat on every face, old Ccrvetto, who was better known by tiie name of Nosei/, anticipated the very first hue of the address by—** Aw I " — a tremendous yawn. A convulsion of laughter ensued, and it was some minutes before the wishcd-for silence could be again restored; that, however, obtained, Garrick delivered his address, and retired. The moment he came oft the stage, he flew like lightning to the music-room, ^vhcre collaring the astonislied Nosej/, he began to abuse him pretty vociferously,—" What— why ?~you old scoundrel— " you must be the most infernal ." At length poor Cervctto said—" Oh! Mr. Garrick ! vat is de mat- " ter — vat I have do— Oh, G— d, vat it is?" " The " matter ! why you old d—d base-viol— just at the a— " the very moment I had played with the audience— " tickled them like a trout, and brought them to the' " most accommodating silence — so pat to my pur- " pose— so perfect — that it was, one may say, a coui- s 2 ' ' - 196 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC, Garrick at die French Theatre. — Hopkins and Garrick " panioii for Milton's visible darkness " " Indeed, " Mr. Garrick, it vas no darkness." " Darkness! " stupid fool — but how should a man of my reading " make himself understood by— a— answer mc, was " not the whole house, pit, box, and gallery, very " still?" Yes, sir, indeed — still as a mouse."" Well then, " just at that very moment did you not, with your " d — d jaws extended, wide enough to swallow a six- " penny loaf— yawn ? Oh, I wish you had never shut " your d— d jaws again !" " Sare, Mr. Garrick, only '' if you please hcare me von vord, — It is alvay the " vay — it is indeed, Mr. Garrick, and alvay the vay I " go when 1 haf the greatest rapture^ Mr. Garrick." The little great man's anger instantly cooled, and de- clared that he ought to be forgiven for the wit of the oftence. Wlicn Garrick was in France, he attended the performances of a famous French comedian. This person one day attempted the character of a drunken man. " Sir," says the English Roscius, " the man " cannot stagger, his legs are sober." How well Garrick was qualified to criticise on this subject, his fame in acting Sir John Brute amply testifies. When Hopkins, Garrick's prompter, once recom- mended a man to be engaged as mechanist in pre- paring the scenery for a new pantomime, Garrick made the following objections to employing him : — " I ** tell you, Hopkins, the man will never answer the pur- ** pose of the theatre. In the first place, he capnot *' uflJike a moou : 1 would not give liim three-pence h THEATRICAL ANF.CDOTES, ETC. lOT 0:irri(l< anH t'.e .\!an of Ra?s.— M:s Macaulay^ ♦• dozen for such moons as he shewed me to-day. " His suns ai-e, if possible, worse. I gave him dircc- " tions about the clouds, and such d — d clouds were " never seen since tiie flood. Desire the carpenter " to knock the rainbow to-picccs; it is execrable ;— *< his stars were the only things tolerable. His ho- " nesty T have no doubt on, but until he can make a " good sun, moon, and rainbow, I must dispense with " his future services. " D. Garrick." A shabby fellow chanc'd one day to meet The British Roscius in the street, (Garrick, of whom our nation justly brags); The fellow hiigg'd him with a kind embrace. — *' Good sir, I do not recollect your face," Quoth Garrick. " No ?" reply'd the man of rags : " The boards of Drury you and I have trod " Full many a time together, I am sure." '^ SVhen?" with an oath, cry'd Garrick — " by G — d " I never saw that face of your's before ! " What characters, I pray, " Did you and I together play ?" ** Lord !" quoth the fellow, " think not that I mock — ** When you play'd Hamlet, sir, — I play'd the cock.''^ When Mrs. Macaulay published her Loose Thoug/ils, Mr. Garrick was asked if he did not think it u strange title for a lady to choose. " By no means,"" replied he ; " the sooner a woman gets rid of such " thoughts the belter." s 3 19S tftEAtHTCAL AtCECDOTES, ETC. . Garrick and Macklin. — Lord Orrery and Garrick. The vanity of Garrick induced him to usk Macklin what he thought of the different modes of acting RomeOf adopted by Barry and liimself. " Sir," said Macklin, " Barry comes into the garden strutting " and talking loud, Uke a lord, about his love, that I *' wonder the Capulets do not come out and toss the " fellow in a blanket." " Well, my dear Mack," ex- claimed Garrick, " go on." ** Now," says Macklin, " how does Garrick act this? — why, sir, sensible that " the family are at enmity with him and his house, " he comes creeping in upon his toes, whispering his " love, and looking about him just like a thief in the " 7iight:' Lord Orrery being well acquainted with the envy and illiberality of Garrick, in not allowing any other performer the least merit, was determined to exercise his talent for satire and humour in chastising and exposing him. Meeting our late Roscius in a party which he thought most favourable for his design, he began.—" I understand, David, you have had a ** great season : I rejoice to hear it. But where " Garrick and Mossop are, that theatre must tri- " umph. * The Douglas and the Percy botli in " arms ' in the same cause, have a right to confide. " You are two bright luminaries united— you are the " Castor and Pollux of the theatric hemisphere ; for ** no man, David, except yourself, so forcibly exhibits " the various passions that agitate and, I may say, " agonize the human mind. And Mossop makes the " broad stroke at the heart, which,directed by the hand " of Nature, equally reaches the peer and the peasant. TTIEAXnrCAL AXECDOTES, ETC. 109 l.oifi oricy and (.urtick. " Do not you think he has an amazing line voice— " particularly in the spirited and impassioned scenes? " — I do not mean a rant, David. You know well ** that a rant, David, i? misapplying the great exer- " tions of the voice. Now, do not you think, David, *' that his voice is what the ancients called the aj^geu" " tmn, that silver-tone? — and when he speaks, mute " attention reigns. Now do not you think his voice — ?'' " Why, a, a, a, now, my Lord, as to his, his, '* his, his, voice — I, I, I, must acknowledge that " his voice is loud enough — a, a, a, he has amazing " lungs ; and his best friends — a, a, a, cannot accuse " him of sparing 'em. And I, I, I, don't know whether " ultimately he will be of any use to the theatre ; for " egad he bawls so loud, that the pubhc need go no " farther than to the pastry-cook's, in BAissel-court, " and buy a penny tart, and they may hear him as " well as if they were in the orchestra, for he makes " the welkin roar again. But, a, a, a, don't you *' think, my Lord, that there is a kind of a bawl ?'' " What, you have discovered that he bellows ? — " You have found that he roars ? — You have noted " that he bawls? Sir, the rascal bawls like a town " bull — The bull of Jason did not roar louder than he <' does. — We always call him Bull IMossop, Mossop " the Bull : don't you remember, Lady Orrery, at <* our house in the country, we always call him Bull " Mossop, and Mossop the Bull ? But independent of " the bull, what do you think, David, of his eye ? '* The eye, David, is an organ entirely independent of •* the voice, and has the power of conveying the " passions without her assistauce. No man has a yOO TIIEATRfCAr, AKICDOTFS, r.TC Loiil Oirei y ;i iiii Gairiok. " finer eye limn yourselF, David; nor docs any one " know how to use it better. — Now don't you think « his eye — ? " ** \\ h y now, my Lord, with great submission lo " your accurate judgment and comprehensive mind, ** does not your Lordship think there is a kind of a, " a, a, fihn — a, a, a dull sort of heaviness — a, a, a " blanket, a, a, a ? — I declare, when I am on the stage " with the man, T never know where to have him — " he's always here and there — Don't you think, my " Lord, there's a kind of opacity, a, a, a r" " The truth is, David, the rascal's eye is as opake " as a mill-stone ;— he's as blind as a miller's horse. " When you meet him in the street, he will run bump " upon your nose, like that nauseous animal the " beetle. — We always called him Beetle Mossopj or " Mossop the Beetle. But inde[)cndent of the bull " and the beetle, David, havcyou any other objection ? *' — Now his deportment! Deportment you know, " David, is the true characteristic of a gentleman." " Why I declare, my Lord, that as to his deport- *' ment, I, a, a, a, grant you, he is tall and upright *' enough — But, with great subnjission, don't you " think there is a kind of an, an, an, awkwardness? " a vulgarity, a, a, a, I don't know how. — We have '' in our theatres, fencing-masters, dancing masters, ** and, ccod, drill Serjeants! but they were never " able to make any thing of him — there's a kind of " a stiffness about him, that a, a, a, — .'' " I confess, David, that the rascal is aS stiff as a " poker.~Wc always culled him Poker Mossop, *' Mossop the Poker, But independent of the poker, THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 501 l.oiil Orrciv aiid (ianick. " David, have you any other objections ? Now his " memory, David, — I believe in this particular we " shall unite — his memory is wonderful tenacious." " Why, my Lord, as to his memory, the prompter ** is obliged to repeat to him every sentence ; Hop- " kins, my prompter, is obliged to split it and give it " him in two parts — So that a, a, a, — ." " Why your penetration has observed that his head " runs out; upon my soul it will hold nothing. It " lias as many holes in it as a cabbage net — it is " perforated as a cullender. — We always called Inm " Cullender Mossop, Mossop the Cullender. But, '' David, have you any other objection, indepen- " dent of the bull, the beetle, the poker, and the " cullender ? Now his disposition — liis temper — " such a wax-like yielding disposition, that you may '' mould him into any form.'* " Why — why — a^ a, a, now my Lord, I must " oppose you in the most pointed manner; for of all " the most hardened, headstrong, obstinate, unman- " ageable animals I ever dealt with in my life, he is *' the worst; he— c, c, e, c, c, is the most untracta- " ble, the most stubborn, and the most wrong- " headed. — If I advise him to dress a character plain, " why he would come on the stage like that ginger- ** bread king, Tiddy Doll. — If at other times it was " necessary to recommend courtly splendour in his " attire, and vivacity in manner, he would come on " the stage as prim and demure as a Quaker. — In " fact he was the most obstinate — ." " Why the truth is, David, he was as obstinate as " a pig, and had more of that animal's pertinacity 502 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, tTC. Lord Orrery and Garrick. — •The S)v.inibl) Kiiar. " than any man I ever knew in my H^e. — We always " called him Pig Mossop, Mossop the Pig. My Lady *' Orrery, do not you remember, at our house in the ** country, we always called him Pig Mossop, and " Mossop the Pig ? But independent of the bull, the " beetle, the poker, the cullender, and the pig, have *' you any other objections ? — Odso ! it is near two ** o'clock ; Lady Orrery, we shall be late home* " Well, David, we have bot'n remarked with equal " candour upon his beauty and his imperfections — To " be surcj David, he has been most terribly mauled " In the newspapers.— But, indeed, what the iiews- " papers gay is nothing more than smoke— the fume " of the day, the dense elastic vapour arising from " the burning of a jaundiced mind, or an hungry " stomach. — Sir, I compare those infernal diurnal " critics to an ass in a flower-garden, — they trample " down the rose and the lily while searching for " their favourite bitter bile, the thistle — they contcm- " plate genius as common people do an eclipse of the " sun through a piece of smoked glass ; the beauty " and splendour of its orb n all lost to them, and " they see nothing but the dark spot in it. Come *' along, I-ady Orrery. David, I wish you a good «' night." Curious anecdote of Queen Mary, consort to kltig William HL, relative to the tragi-comedy of the Spnnhh Friar. This tragedy, which is certainly the best of Drydcn's dramatic efforts, was much decried, both by his enemies and the adherents of the Duke of York, on its first representation. The former THEATRICAL ANTCDOTCS, ETC. 203 I uote and Ganick. — Mr. 'I'vviss and Gariick. — The \'o\veIs. said it was mostly stolen from other authors; and tlie latter thought it trenched too much on the Popish rc- lii^ion. The witty Charles, however, thought other- ■wise ; he said, in regard to the latter, that knaves in ever}^ profession should be alike subject to ridicule ; and as to the first, he exclaimed—" God's fish ! steal " me such another play, any of you, and I will fre- *' quent it as much as I do the Spanish Friar.'' Foote and Garrick being at a tavern together, at the time of the first regulation of the gold coin, the former, pulling out his purse to pay the reckoningr, asked the latter what he should do with the light guinea he had. " Pshaw! 'tis worth nothing," says Garrick, " Jiing it to the devil," " Well, David/' says the other, " you are what I always took you for, " — ever contriving to make a guinea go further than *' any other man." Mr. Twiss, a great traveller, was talking of a church he saw in Spain, which was a mile and a half long. " Bless my soul !" said Mr. Garrick, wondering, " and " how broad was it ?'' " About ten yards," said Twiss. " This is, you will observe, gentlemen," said Mr. Gar- rick, " not a round lie, but differs from his other " stories, which are generally as broad as they are « lonsr." Mr. Garrick, going up Ilolborn when a great mob was gathered together to see a criminal pass to Ty- burn, asked Mr.Lockyer Davis, who was standing at his shop door, what was the name of the person gO-1 THEATRICAL ANECDOTLS, ETC. Dr. Keniick,— Mr. Price.— Mr. Walker.— Sir John Hill. going to his fatal exit, and what was his crime. Mr. Davis told him his name was Vowel, and his crime forgery. " Ah !" said Garrick, *' do you know which " of the Vowels it is, for there arc several of that *' name? — However/' continued he, ** it is certain, *' and I am very glad of it, that it is neither Uj nor I." When Mr. Garrick heard tliat Dr. Kenrick was going to give lectures on the beauties of Shakspeare, in Mary-le-bone gardens, " Well," says he, " let the " doctor take of the fate of our first parents, — a full " in the garden.^* The late Mr. C. Price, calling for a bill of fare at the Bedford coffee-house one day, obsen'ed nothing hut p Old ti'i/ in it, which, with a hearty curse, he re- turned to the waiter. Mr. Garrick begged Mr. Price not to be so critically severe, as it was only a foul copy. Mr. Wallace was observing, that it was hard that Mr. Wilkes should go unrewarded, after having served such a long apprenticeship to patriotism, " True," replied Mr. Garrick, " but he is nozo out of his time,'^ Mr. Edmund Burke, the Irish orator, was telling Mr. Garrick, one day at Hampton, that all bitter things were hot, " Ay." says Garrick, " what do « you think, Mr. Burke, of bitter cold rceather ?" The late Sir John Hill, the celebrated botanist, was very remarkable for being a voluiniuous writer, THlATRrCAL AXECDOTTS, ETC. Q63 Mr. S. Kemble and Miss Sa tcliell.— Beirgars Oi)ei3. and in general dedicated his productions to people that were popular; when he was about to be delivered of his offspring, dedicated a small volume in quarto to Mr. Garrick, when he was in the zenith of hie glory, that he had found out the philosopher's stone, and could turn any thing into gold. Mr. Garrick sent him, as a mark of respect, a large empty purse, with his compliments to Sir John, " That as he knew '• how to make ^oldy he had sent him a purse to hold " iir The first time Mr. Stephen Kemble and Miss Satchell played together, was in the characters of Othello and Desdemona. In the scene where Othello kisses Desdemona, he blackened her face. On their being married in a few days after, one of the actresses expressed her surprise at the shortness of the court- ship, " Lord, madam," said Mrs. Inchbald, " do " you not recollect he was smutty with lier the first " night they played together." Beggars Opera, — Age nor time has not been able to stale this celebrated opera. Every species of per- formers have attempted it, from the Theatre Royal, to barns and puppet-shows. Not longer ago than the year 1799, it was played at Barnstaple, in Devonshire ; when Mackheath had but one eye — Polly but one arm — the songs supported in the or- chestra by a man who whistled to the tunes — whilst the manajier could not write. la the summer of 1806, as Mrs. Hitchcock's servant- wnaid, of Crow-street theatre, Dublin, was foUowinj T 206 THFATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Mrs. HitclicDck. and Servant Maui. — The Italians and llie Uailcrr. her mistress on a car to Cork, where she had gone a few days before to join Mr. Daily's company, she was surrounded by three ruffians, on a mountain be- tween Clonmel and Cork, who brutally ravished the poor creature. When she arrived at the theatre, the despoiled wench ran immediately to her mistress behind the scenes, and told the dismal tale. At the conclusion of the story, Mrs. Hitchcock, who was then dressed for .the Queen in hiamlcty bridling up her head, exclaimed with much solemnity, in the language of Shakspeare, " Aye, it had been so with *' us, had we been there !" An Italian singer, at the Opera House, who had but lately arrived in this country, and not speaking EngUsh, was so anxious to acquire it, that he always had in his pocket an Italian and English dictionary; and being in general accompanied by a friend, who spoke a little better than himself, he determined to practise nothing else. On his first visit to the Orange coffee-house, he placed himself before the fire, and called " X'ater, vater," but to no purpose. His friend whispered him — " He's no vater at all— he's vaiter." ** Oh den, vaiter, vaiter." " What do you want, *' gentlemen?" " Medin, medin." " I do not « understand," said the waiter. His friend again whispered — *' He's no racdin, he's dinne me." '' Ah ! " dinnc me," repeats the other. " Oh, c/in7?er," says the waiter ; " what would you like to i)ave ?" " One large " porkshop." " The devil you will," said the waiter; " what a whole porkshop ?'' His friend whispers — *' He no porkshop— hg's one pork chops." "Ob, porli J I THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 207 Suett and Bannister. — tdwin and the Justice. " chops, very well." The dinner was brought, and after he had dined, he called " Vaiter, vaiter!" " Well, " sir r" *' Mettez irioi six or seven turnpikes." " Seven '* turnpikes? that's impossible, sir." His friend whis- pers again, — '" He's no turnpikes — he's tiddlepicks." " Ah ! tiddlepicks." " I do not understand yet, sir." " No ! Got d— n ! it is to take it away de meat out " ma tooth:' Suett, meeting Bannister, said, " I intend dining *' with you soon, on eggs and bacon — what day shall " I come, Jack?" To which the other replied, " Why, " if you will have that dish, you must come on a '' frydayr ' A country justice invited one day to dinner Edwin, with many other persons ; and ha\ ing a mind to shew his wit, took these aside and said to them, " Gcntlc- " men, if you'll be ruled by me, we shall make our- *' selves merry to-day with Edwin, who you know sets " up for a jester, and drolls npon every body. My " clerk being sick a-bed, so that T have nobody tt> " wait on us, T will propose to draw lots, to sec which " of us shall go to the cellar to draw the wine, and *' wait on the rest while tlicy are at dinner; and I " will contrive it so that it shall fall to Edwin's lot.'' Which being thus concluded amongst them, was put into execution accordingly. Edwin smoked the plot, and was resolved to make his host repent it. Down he goes to the cellar to fill the bottles, whilst the others fell to; and being come up again with the bottles—" You see, gentlemen," said he, " ho\v f ?0R TnrATniCAL anecdotf*, etc. Kni;lish Biill.— Mrs. Porter.— Mr. Collins. *' have performed what I had to do ; let us now draw '' lots, to see which of us shall go down into tiie cel- " lar to stop the hogsheads I have left running." The justice talked no more of casting lots, but run$ into the cellar, where he finds his vessels running and part of his wine spilt, for which he afterwards expos- tulated with Edwin. ** You have no reason to com* ** plain of me," answered he, " since I have punctu- " ally complied with the conditions of the play, " which indeed obliged me to draw the wine and fill " the bottles, but not to stop the vessels." The Iiish are accused of blunders. — "What shni! wc say of ihc following advertisement, inserted at the timcDrury-lane play-lrouse was rebuilding.'' — ** Dru- " ry-lane opens at the Opera-house the 10th of next " montlv." As IVTrs. Porter was performing that part of the character of Lady Nottingham, in the Earl of Essexy wiiere she excuses herself from having any concern in procuring the Earl's execution, a sailor in the gallery cried out, " You lie, you b — ^h, you know you hate " the ring in your pocker." Mr. Collins, better known by the name of Bfush Collins, being in want of a situation, sent the follow- ing laconic epistle to a Mr. Herbert, the manager of a strolhng company in Norfolk :— « Sir, — Fortunately for your company I am disert- « gaged. I am up to Melpomene, down upon Thalia, «• twig Farce, and sraoke Pantomime. They say 1 am TiirATnroAL A\r(,DOTES, rrr. QOO G.-.\. Stevens.— Mr. Y:aes " a very good figure, and I never saw a lookin^-jilass *' tliat contradicted that report. To have iuc, now is " your time or never. — Your's, &c." The celebrated G.-A. Stevens playing at I.ynn for several nights to ahnost an empty barn, he neglected to perfect himself in the part of Lorenzo, in the Alercliant of Venice, which he had given ovit to per- form before the company left the town : he bustled through t it tolerably well, till he got to the part where he should address Jessica on the subject of Leander being drowned in crossing the Hellespont, where he made a monstrous boggle, which was so intolerable to the audience, that a general hiss from all parts ex- pressed their disapprobation, and he retired, as he called it, in a blaze : as soon as silence was obtained by his exit, he returned on the stage, leading Jessica forward, with wliom he addressqd the audi,ence thus : — , \ " Oh, Jessica, in such* a night as this wc came to town, " And since that night have touch 'd but half-a-crowu; " Let yon and I then bid these folks good night, " Lest we by longer stay are starved quite !" Yates, the day before his decease, complained to a friend that he had been extrehiely ill used by the .Managers of Drury-lane, refusing him an order! " That was unkind, indeed, to an old servant," re- joined the friend. " Yes," r«?plied the dying comedian, " particularly when my admission could have kept T 3 510 TIIEATRTCAL ANECDOTES, KTC. ^ The late M anager of Windsor 1 heatrc. " no soul living out of the house ; for I only request- " ed their order to be buried under the centre of the ** stage, and they were hard hearted enough to refuse '* me." Mr. T n, the lute manager of Windsor theatre, after playing Bulcnzen Muley, in the Mountaineers^ before the Royal Family, he was commanded to attend the Castle for farther orders. lie instantly undressed, put on a great coat, and went to the appointment. Being ushered into the room in which he usually received instructions, he knelt to address an illustrious personage, who instantly burst into a fit of laughter and suddenly retired, furnishing the nonder-strnck dependent with a fine dramatic inci- dent. — Much disconcerted, he returned, ruminating on tiie cause of this so strange occurrence; when by accident, a looking-glass developed the foregoing mystery: — his countenance was decorated with aii enormous pair of whiskers, and besmeared with ochre, just as he had personated tlifc Moorish chief. Mr- T n is so remarkable for absence of mind, that he has frequently gone to London from Windsor, to purchase some article for the theatre, and returned without it. The same, when dressing for an evening's perform- ance, he sought, where it was usually deposited, preparatory to his dressing, for a clean shirt, and not finding it, sent to INIrs. T., who assured him she had put four ther€ the preceding day ; however, as nut THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, IITC. 211 ' ''• "»'' F'-' V >'''"• one could be found another was sent for, and brought him : when proceeding to put it on, it was discovered lie had ah-eady put on the four ! in the search for which so much time liad been lost. An Irhlt Flay Bill. By his Majesty's Company of Comedians. Kilkenny Theatre Royal. (Positively the last night, because the Company go to- morrow to Waterford.) On Saturday, May 14, 1793, Will be performed, by desire and command of several respectable people in this learned Matrapolishf For the Benefit of MR. KEARNES, THE MANAGER, The tragedy of HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. Originally written and composed by the celebrated Dan. Hyes, of Limerick, and insarted in Shaks- pear's works. IIamlet, by Mr. Kearnes, (being his first appear- ance in that character, and who, between the acts, ■will perform several solos on the patent bag-pipes, which play two tunes at the same time. Ophelia, by Mrs. Prior, who will introduce seve- ral favourite airs in character, particularly " The " Lass of Richmond Hill,** and " We'll te unhappy " together," from the Rev. ]\Ir. Dibden's oddities. The parts of the King and Queen, by directions of the Rev. Father O'Callagan, will be omitted, a* too immoral for any stage. St5 TIlEATUICVr. ANECDOTES, ETC. PoEoxius, the cornica! politician, hy a young gea- tleinnn, being his first appearance in public The Ghost, the (»r>,AV,;-DinGiiR, aiul liAERTEs, by Mr. Sainpson, the great London Comedian. The characters to be (h-essed in Roman shapes. To which will be added, on Intertude, in which will be introduced several slight-of-hand tricks, by the celebrated surveyor Hunt. The whole to conclude with the farce of Mahomet the Impostor. Mahomet, by Mr. Kearnes. Tickets to be had of Mr. Kearnes, at the sign of the GoRt's Beard, in Castle-street. ^■jic^ The value of the tickets, as usual, will be taken cut (if required) in candles, bacon, soap, but- ter cheese, potatoes, ike. — as Mr. Kearnes wishes, in ^very particular, to accommodate the public, iV. B. — No smoking allowed. — No person whatso- ever will be admitted into the boxes without shoes or stockinss. When the Beggars Opera was acted the seventy- second tiine, Walker, who jjerformc.d Mackheath, happened to be rather imperfect in his part, which Rich, the manager, observing, exclaimed, " Why *^ how, master Walker, has this happened, I thought *' you had a pretty memory ?" " So I have," rcplieci the actor, " but you cannot expect it to last for ever." THEATRICAL ANLCDOTES, TTC. 21S Spiller and the Barl)<;r. — 5toi)|)claer's Letter. — The Black Joke. Spiller, the comedian, beiag one evening behind the scenes, tormented by a violent fit of the tooth-ache, the barber of the theatre offered to relieve him by drawing it. " No, my good friend," replied he, " no, " I camiot spare one tooth now, but on the tenth ** day of June the iiousc closes, and you may then " draw every tooth I have, for I am sure, after that^ " I shall have nothing: to cat." The following letter was actually written by Michael Stoppelaer, an artist and painter, to Rich, the manager of Covcnt-Karden theatre :— " cd me; but have had a violent cold and horseness " upon rae this tzoehe months, vvhich continued above " six months, and is not gone yet, and I am appre- " heusive it will return. T can but just keep my *' head above water, by painting, therefore do not " care to engage in the playhouse any more. I met " 1/ou last Thursday according to appointment, btet *' you did not come ; but if you please to appoint the " time and place, / will not fad to meet you zchether ** you come or not. " I am, &c." When Mr. Kcmble, in performing Hamlet, (at Plymouth,) repeated his entreaty to his School-fello\r to play upon the pipe, Bernard, who performed the part, replied, " Well, if I must, I must," and played the air of " The Black Joke." 214 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Ross and ihe Deputy Manager. — Liberal Gift. Ross being eni^aged by Yates to perform for a few nights at Birminszham, his first appearance was to be in the Fair Penitent. Ross went to examine tlie box- book, and fomid it a perfect blank. Concluding by this the performance would not take place, he order- ed a late dinner, determined to indulge. At the time the piece was about to commence, lo, there was no Horatio ! a note was dispatched to require immediate attendance; to which he returned a verbal reply, and sent some one to spy out the state of the house, which was then so bad, that he resolved to stay where he was. A peremptory order from the deputy mana- ger was the consequence, that he should come and fulfil his engagement; whereupon he arose, went angrily to the theatre, put on a red coat and waist- coat, and a wig, retaining his black satin breeclics, >vhite stockings, and dirty shoes, which he had worn all day. In the quarrelling scene, he gave the dcpv'.i'f who played Lothario, so severe a blow, that he abso- lutely sent him olf the stage. When he afterwards required the reason of the insult, Ross, with affected ignorance, replied — " Insult ! I don't remember iiovv." " Why, sir, the blow you gave me." " Blow, sir .'"' rejoined the other, considering, — " blow! — Oh, sir, I ** felt the animation of the parlf that was all — but no " blow, sir, no blow." A comedian at Covent-garden advised one of the scene-shifters, who had met with au acciflent, to the plan of a sul)scripti()n ; and a few days afterwards be asked for the list of names, which, when he had reud over, he returned. " ^Vily, sir," iays the poor THEATRICAL ANCPDOTr.S, HTC. 215 " Kelinod Judgment and I'asic — Mr. Cliciry. — Spiller's Poverty. follow, '* Won't you give me something ?'' " Why " zounds, man" replied the comedian, " didn't I give " you the hint r" Mrs. Clark says in her life, that she was once requested by a person in the pit, while playing the part of Fj^rrhuSy to give some speeches out of Scnibf which she had performed the night before with great success : — a curious specimen of refined juc/ementf aad ihsatricai taste, in the amateurs of former days. Mr, A. Clierry, the comedian, was written to a few yeai's ago, with an offer of a very good engagement from a manager, who, on a former occasion, had not behaved altogether well to him. Cherry sent him word, that he had been bit by him oncCy and he was resolved that he should not make tuQ bites of A. Chei'fy. Spiller, the comedian, for whose benefit Hogarth engraved a ticket, was, about the year 1720, in such estimation, that he had what was then deemed a very great salary ; his improvident disposition, and un- bounded extravagance, (especially in his amours,) always kept him poor. With his poverty he was frequently reproached, and once with some severity, by a female performer, who having a good person, and a very tender heart, contrived to make a figure with a very inferior salary. Of this she boasted, and asked him why he could not manage in the same way. " Madam,'* replied the irritated performer, that " which makes you rich^ keeps me perpetually 210 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Quick's Apology. — Taswell and Mrs. Clive. Mr. Quick, (now of such well-earned celebrity,) while performing the part of llomeo,* was seized with an involuntary fit of laughter, which subjected him to the severe rebuke of his auditors. It happened in the scene of Romeo and the Apothecary, who, going for the phial of poison, found it broken ; not to detain the scene, he snatched, in a hurry, a pot of soft pomatum. Quick was no sooner presented with k, than he fell into a most convulsive fit of laughter. But being soon recalled to a sense of his duly by the reproofs of the audience, he came forward and made the following whimsical apology : — " Ladies and *' gentlemen, I could not resist the idea that struck " me when the pot of pomatum, instead of the phial " of poison, was presented. Had he at the same time " given me a tea-spoon, it would not have been so " improper; for the poison might have been made *' up as a lenitive electuary. But if you please, " ladies and gentlemen, we will begin the scene ** again without laughing.'* Old Taswell, the comedian, having a dispute with Mrs. Clive, conchuicd his remarks on her, saying, ** Madam, I have heard of tartar, and brimstove ; " and by G — d you arc the cream of one, and the " Jlour of tlMJ other." The marriage of Mrs. Clive with the counsellor of that name, was attended with continual jars and * In the early pnrt of his theatrical career J)C playetl all tJie first tragedy chaisaclcrs. THEATRICAL AXICOOTES, ETC. SIT Counsell!*!" Clive and the H nslscrwomaii. — Origin of Mis. Cli'.e. squabbles, which chiefly arose from the shrewisli dis- position of the lady. In a few months tliey parted by mutual consent, to the great satisfaction of the lien-pccked counsellor; who, upon his return soon after to his chambers in Lincoln's-inn from the western circuit, finding liis washerwoman had pawned some of his linen in his absence, dispatched his foot- man to engage another person in thatcapacit}-, whoso honesty might be depended upon. A laundress was found, and on her waiting upon Mr. Clive, while the- servant was counting out the dirty clothes to her, he made some inquiries, which occasioned the good woman to give him an account of the many respect- able people she washed for ; " and, sir," says she, " I also wash for a namesake of your's, and a mighty " good sort of a woman she is, though she be one of " the player-folks." " Oii ! what you wash for Mrs. " Clive, the actress, do you ?'' " Yes, sir, and she is " one of the best customers I have." " Is she so ?" replied the counsellor, — " Stop, stop, toss the clothes " back into the closet again. — Here, woman, I ara " sorry you have had this trouble ; take this half- *' crown, — you can never wash for me; — for I'll be " d-:;d if ever I sufler my shirt to be rubi>ud against *' licr shift any more, as long as I live." Mrs. Clive was originally servant to Miss Eleanor- Knowlcs, afterwards Mrs. Young, mother to the pre- sent Sir George Young, and Mr. Thomas Young, who, in 1774, came out at Covent-garden theatre in Macbeth, which he performed nine nights with raucH celebrity. When Mrs. Clive lived with Miss Knowles,- VOL. II, VI 218 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Miss \\ liite aj LaJy Aiiiic—Mr. lleibert as the Duke ut Yoik . Avho then lodged at Mrs. Sncll's, a tan-painter, in Church-row, Ilounsditch, Mr. Watson, many years l)0^-kcepcr at Drury-lane, kept the Bell Tavern, directly opposite to Mrs. Snell's. At this house was held the Beef-steak Club, instituted by Mr. Beard, Mr. Dunstall, Mr. Woodward, &c. &c. Kitty Rafter, afterwards JNIrs. Clive, being one day washing the steps of the door, and singing, the windows of the club-room being open, they were instantly crowded by the company, who were all enchanted with her natural grace and simplicity. This circumstajicc alone led her to the stage, under the auspices of Mr. Beard and Mr. Dunstall. At Portsmouth, a gentleman says that he witnessed the representation of Richard the Thirds (under the management of Kennedy) ; in which, on llichard ex- claiming — ^** Oh, take more pity in thine eyes, and see " him here" — Miss White, in Lady Anne, indignantly exclaimed, — " Would tliey were battle-axe, to strike *' thee dead:' Mr. Herbert, a celebrated country comedian, when a child, and just able to speak sufficiently for the stage, he represented the pai't of the Duke of York, in liichard the Third; when lie ehould have said, " Oh, *' mother ! mother !" he made a pause. The lady who performed the (iuccn, gave him the sentence several times, to which he at last replied — " You are *' not w^/ mother; give mc my leather breeches^ and ** let mc go home." THr.ATRICAL ANF.CDOTLS, ETC. 2 10 Jeinniy WhiNlev. — llnbert and his Son. OlclJcaimy Whitcley, in a journey to Stamford, to save cxpcnccs, walked, and carried his portman- teau on his arm : wicUin a few miles of the place of destination, he saw a hearse, and bargained with the driver to take him up. Being weary, he got into the interior and fell fast asleep, luiving previously desir- ed John to call him when he approached the town. The arch whip, auticipatlng the pleasure of a joke, drove into the inn yard (the George) at Stan^sford, and collecting together as many of Wiiiteley's friends as he could muster, told thcni " he'd sliorv'emj'uyi ;" then opening the door, waked the snoring mahuger with news of his journey's end. Jcvnmy got out, and, to Ids astonishment, perceived himself surrounded by a number of people, who all at once vociferated — " All, *' master Whiteley ! how do you do? welcome to ". Stamford." To which the disconcerted wiglst replied, in his usual phrase^ — " You lie, you he, you *' thieves, I am 7iot master Whiteley ; 1 don't know " any such person," and coolly walked off with his portmanteau. Herbert, a country a<:t6r, one night represented Douglas, in Henry the Fourthy and Xaihanicl, his son. Sir Walter Blunt.— In the fifth act, where Blunt is siain, Herbert, who seldom attended to either the words or business of his part, fell down, instead of Nathaniel. A voice from behind, cursing his old soul, and advising him of his error, caused him to spring up and renevv the combat, when Sir Walter expired, amidst the shouts and accl ambitions of the audience. ?' nil bowed their heads together. Quin, when once dining with a friend, called lusti- ly for the pudding. The cook had forgot it. " Oh ! " the Sabbath-breaking brimstone," exclaimed he, ** no wonder we have earthtjuakes !" The same, when at Bath, dined along with some gentlemen at a lady's house, who was a great admirer of his ability as an actor. In the course of conversa- tion, she addressed him after the following manner: — " Mr. Gwynn, I was once vastly entertained with " your playing the Ghost of Gimlet, at Drury-lane, ** when you rose up through the stage, with a while *' face and red eyes, and spoke oi' <^u nils upon the " frightful porcupine :— do, pray, spout a little the " Ghost of Gimlet." " Madam," said Quin, with a j^lancc of incflfable disdain, " The Ghost of Gimlet is •* laid never to rise again.'' " Well, to b« sure, J TIirATRICAL AXECDOTl'S, ETC. 291 Tlie Lady, duin, and tiie Gliost ot Gimlet. " Mr. Gwynn, you looked and talked so like a real " Ghost; and then the cock crowed so natural — I " wonder how you could tcacli him to crow so exact " in the very nick of time; but suppose he's game — " an't h(? game, Mr. Gwynn?" " Dung-hill, madam." " Well, dung-hill, or not dung-hillj he has got such '' a clear: counter-tenor, that I wish I had such " another at my house, to wake tiic maids of a " morning. — Do you know where I could find one "of his brood?" " Probably in the workhouse of " St. Giles's parish, madam, but I protest I know not '' his particular mew." " Good God, sister," cried her brother, " how you talk ! — I have told you tvv-enty " times, that this gentleman's name is not Gwynn." " Hoity toity, brother," she replied, " no offence, I " hope ! — Gwynn is an honorable name, of true old " British extraction ; I thought the gentleman had " been come of Mrs. Helen Gwynn, who was of his " own profession ; and if so be that were the case ** he might be of King Charles's breed, and have " royal blood in his veins." " No, madam," answered Quin, with great solemnity, *' my mother " was not a w of such distinction. True it is, I " am sometimes tempted to believe myself of royal " descent; for my inclinatians are often arbitrary. If " I was an absolute prince at this instant, I believe " I should send for the head of your cook in a char- " ger. — She has committed felony on the person of " that John Dorey, which is mangled in a cruel man- " ner, and even presented without sauce." u 3 222 TiiEATnrrAL AXEcnorrs, Ere. Quin's So'.iliHiuy. — Quin's Desciiption of the Scots. Quik's Soliloquy, on seeing the eiuhalmed body of Duke Humphrey, «^ St, Albans. " A plague on Egypt's arts, T say, — " Embalm the dead !— on senseless clay " Rich wine ami spices waste : " Like sturgeon, or like brawn, sliall I, '* Bound in a precious pickle lie, ** Which I can never taste ! ** Let me embalm this flcsli of mine, ** With turtle fat, and BourJeaux wine, ^' And spoil the Egyptian trade, *' Than Glo'ster's Duke, more happy I, " Emblam'd alive, old Quin shall lie " A mummy ready made/' A country candidate for a London truncheon, was desired by Quin to give a specimen of his abilities : after he had rehearsed a speech from a popular tragedy, Quin asked him, with a contemptuous sneer, ■whether he had ever done any part in comedy. The young fellow answered, that he had done the part of " Abel, in tlic Alchymist" To which Quin replied, " You mistake, boy, it was the part of Cain you " acted ; for I am sure you inurdacd Abel." Quin being asked if he had ever been in Scotland, and how he liked the people, " If you " mean," replied he, " the lower order of tliem, I " shall be at a loss to answer you; fori had- no " farther acquaintance with them than by tiie smelL " As for the nobihty they are numerous, and for the clU I THEATRICAI. ANECDOTTS, ETC. 223 (liim's Oesc-iipiion ot the Scot?. <' most part, proud and beggarly. I remember, \vl)cn " I crossed from the north of Irchmd into tlicir ♦* d — d country, I came to a wretched villas^c, con- ** sisting of a dozen huts, in the style of the Ilotten- " tots, the principal of which was an inn, and kept " by an earl. I was mounted on n shrivelled quadru- *' pede, (for there was no certainty of calling it horse, << mare, or gelding,) much like a North Wales goat, " but larger, and without iiorns. The whole village " was up in an instant to salute me, supposing, from " the elegance of my appearance, tliat I must Le " some person of a large fortune and great family. " The earl ran and took hold of my stirrup wliilc I " dismounted, then turning to his eldest son, who " stood by us without breeclies, said, ' My lord, do *' you take the gentleman's horse to the stable, and " desire your sister, lady Betty, to draw him a pint ** of twopenny; for I suppose so great a mou will " ha' the best liquor in the whol hous.' I was " obliged," continued Quin, " to stay here the wliole " night, and to make a supper of ratten potatoes and ** stinking eggs. The nobleman was indeed very " complaisant, and made roe accept of his own bcd; " I cannot say the dormitory was the best in the " world j for there was nothing but an old box to sit " upon in the room, and there were neither sheets " Dor curtains to the bed. Lady Betty was kind '< enough to apologize for the apartment, assuring " me many persons of great degnaty had frequently " slept in it, and that though the blonkets luked sae " block, it was not quite four years sin they had been <* washed by the countess, her mother, and lady g2t TIIEATrvICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. (^uin and Macklin. — Uuiii and Dr. Dulibou. — C^iiiii ami llie Paismi. " Miitlltla-Carolina-Amclia-Eleouora-Sophia, one of *• her younger sisters : she then wished me a good " night, and said that the viscount, her brother, *' woukl take particular care to grease my boots !'' Quin and Macklin disputing concerning the execution of Charles the First — " But by what laws," said Macklin, '^ was he put to death?" Quin replied — " By all the laws that he had left them." Mr. Quin calUng to lie at Burford, at the time of the races, could have no bed but the part of a cler- gyman's who lay in the garret, which he accepted, and made the doctor drunk for his civility. Mr. Quin, on going to bed, perceived the parson's linen to be excessively dirty, whereupon he asked him his name, (being yet a stranger to it,) the gentleman told him it was Dobson, and that by the benevolence of his patron, he enjoyed a very good living some twenty miles off. " Doctor Dobson," said Mr. Quin, " I ** have nothing to do with the benevolence of your " patron, or the goodness of your living; but take ** this from me, Doctor Dobson, — you shall not come " to bed with your cassock on, you may depend upon « it." A well beneficed old parson having a large com- pany to dinner, entertained them with nothing else but the situation and profits of liis parochial livings, which at last he said he kept entirely to himself. The company in general despised him too much to make any remarks on his self-importance; but Quin, TUrATRTCAT. ANECDOTE?;, r.TC. 225 Quin's Sa\ing. — Quin and la-Jy B'.'rkeley. — Quiu and llie Spnilc. bclui^ one of the party, and observing the parson, as he stretclicd across the table, to shew a pair of very dirty yellow hands, he immediately called out — " So, " so, doctor, I think you do keep your gkbc in your " own Imnds with a witness !"' On the 30th of January, (the martyrdom of King Charles the First,) Quin used to say, " Every " king ill Europe would rise with a crick in hii « neck.'' The same told Lady Berkeley, that slie looked as J>looming as the s[»ring; but recollecting t!iat the season was not then very promising, he added, — " I " would to heaven the spring would look like your « ladyship." The same wounded a young fellow (who had drawn upon him) slightly in the hand, in a riot at the stage door of Covent-garden theatre. The spark, presently after, can\e into one of the green boxes over the stage door. The play was IMocheth ; and in the fine soliloquy, when he sees the imaginary dagger, as Quin repeated, " and on thy blade are drops of reeking " blood I" the young fellow bawls out, — " Ah, reeking " indeed ! What does your conscience prick you ? " you rascal, that's my blood you drew just now." The actor giving him a severe side-glance, replied, just loud enough to be heard by him, " D— n your *' blood, I say !" and then without the least hesita- tion went on with the speech. 2'26 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC, U.iun and the Conuito. — Kiiglish Curiosity. '' A pun,'' said Quin, " is like a stumbling-block, " that a man cannot always avoid without hitting his *.* shins against it, but the sooner he clears himself " from it the better." Quin was asked once by a celebrated cornuto, what measure he would have him take ;• to which he replied, " Cut off your wife's nose, and it's ten to one *' if any other man will fall in love with her afier- *' wards." " Yes, but," resumed the distracted hus- band, " do you consider the terrors of the black act ?" *^ Ay, but/' rejoined the vivacious Jolly James, " she *' has been guilty, according to your account, of *' many a black act, and you may accordingly recoji- *' cilc it to your conscience, as coming entirely vvith- ** in the letter of the law, black as it is, lex talionis.'^ As Quin and another gentleman were passing through St. Paul's church-yard, their attention was attracted by a mob of people, who were assembled to hear a man relate that there had been a chimney on fire in the Borough; that he had seen, with his own eyes, the engines go, in order to extinguish it ; but that it was quite got under before they arrived. Upon seeing the attention of so many people attracted by so uncntortaining a detail, Quin and his friend could not help reflecting upon the natural curiosity of Englishmen, which was excited by the most trilling circumstance, and very frequently by no circumstance at all ; " Let us try," said (^uin, " an experiment upon " our countrymen's curiosity." This was immedi- ately agcecd to j and they accordingly repaired to. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 227 English Curiosiiy. — C-luin and the Nobleman. the opposite side of the cliurch-yard, where having taken a convenient stand, and staring up to the stone- gallery, Quin gravely said — " This is about the time." " Yes," replied the other, taking out his watch and looking at it under a lamp, " this was precisely the " time it made its appearance last niglit." They had now collected a least a dozen inquisitive specta- tors, who fixing their eyes upon the steeple, asked what was to be seen. To this Quin replied — " The ** ghost of a lady who has been murdered, had been " seen to walk round the rails of the stone-gallery " for some evenings, and she is expected to walk *' again to-night." This information was presently spread througli the multitude, which by this time was augmented to at least a hundred. All eyes were fixed upon the stone-gallery, and imagination fre- quently supplied the place of reahty, in making them Jbelieve they saw something move on the top of the balustrade. The joke having thus taken, Quin and liis companion withdrew, went and passed the even- ing at the lialf-moon tavern in Cheapside, and upon their return, between twelve and one, the crowd still remained in eager expectation of the ghost's arrival. A nobleman, who was not famous for his private or public morality, was joking with Quin, who was then in a moralizing strain of talking. " Come, " Quin," said his lordship, " push about the bottle. " I know what your end will be — you will either be " hanged, or die of the p — ." " That depends, my " lord," retorted Quin, " whether I embrace your " lordship's mistress, or yowv principles,'^ SQS THEATRICAL ANFCDOTLS, ETC. Uuiii and the John Dorey. — Uuecii Caroline and the Attendant. Quin was so great an epicure, that he made frequent journies to Bath, purposely to cat John Dorey. He arrived one night at eleven o'clock, went to bed without supper, and ordered his servant to get a good dish of John Dorey, and call him at nine in the morning. At nine next morning the servant knocked at his door — " Who's there?" says Quin^ ** It's me, sir!" " Weil, what do you say?' " There " will be no John Dorey up to day." " Ihe devil ** there wont ! — then call me at nine to-morrovr " morning." Queen Caroline, who was a great patroness of Mrs. Porter, (an actress justly celebrated in the last century,) prevailed upon the king to conmiand a play for Mrs. Porter's benefit. The audience was splendid, and the house crowded. At the end of the play, the actress attended at the door of their majesties' box, to pay her duty to the queen. Ilcr majesty, being busied in talk with some of the lords in waiting, did not immediately observe that Mrs. Porter was stay- ing for an audience. The poor woman that opened the boxes, who thought, perhaps, that a queen on tl^ stage was equal to any sovereign upon earth, lost all patience at the queen's inattention, and at last pulled her majesty by the sleeve, and bluntly told her that Mrs. Porter was there. The queen smiled at the woman's ignorance, and thanked her for her notice of Mrs. Porter's waiting, to whom she wished joy of so gi'cat a benefit. Mr. Mastcrman, the manager of a theatre in Wales, had lost u favourite child. It wa* his wi*h TrtEATniCAL ANLCDOTr.S, f.TC. '?:':> Air. NJa^i eniian.— sijmino i iiig. — Poi . .isiou ut .ui A jiIim'., Mcaiimg. that the whole of liis company should attend the fu- neral. On setting out, one of t'ne company, a low comedian, asked the inconsolable father in wliat or- der or form they were to walk. Masterman, with his usual proneness to jocularity, gravely replied, " The " tragedy people first by all means ; and tell the comc- *' dy folks to zveep and be d — d to them, or the fune- ** ral will he performed without any tragic effect, and " that won't be theatrical, you know I" Stammering.— A gentleman conceiving himself in possession of great theatrical genius and abilities, chose the part of Richmond, in Shakspearc's tragedy of Richard the Third, for his debut. From a natural defect in his utterance, the delivery of his first line produced an effect, which at once convinced him of his error, and he retired without proceeding in the character. He spoke the line as follows : — *' Thus " f — f — far have w — w — we marched int — t — to the " b — bowels of tlie land w — without impediment.''* Perversion of an author'' s meaning. — In Speed the Plough, Sir Abel Handy says, that he has obtained a patent for converting " saw-dust into deal boards;" but a comedian, in performing that character (at Portsmouth) boasted that he had obtained a patent for converting " deal boards intc sazc-dust," Curious coincidence. — A Mr. Campbell, wiio wa = a season at Covert -garden theatre about twelve years since, happened inadvertently to be out of tiie wnv wlien he should have been on the stage, to have be- roL, If. X 230 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Cuiious Coincidence. — Mr. Wilkinson and the Actor. gun the second act of Alexander the Great. It was so long before he could be found, that the audience had become very clamorous; on his entrance he was re- ceived with hissings and hootings, particularly from the galleries ; when silence was at length obtained, his first line ran thus : — " Why all this noise, yc " partial Gods declare ? " An actor in the York theatre, of very slender talent, but possessing a great portion of conceit, having played all the first-rate characters in very small companies, expostulated with Mr. Wilkinson, the manager, for giving him some very inferior parts, and used language highly unbecoming; he frequently made use of the phrase — " I, who am at the top of " the ladder !" " Well," replied the manager, « I'll ** end your troubles ; for if you are at the top of the *' ladder, I'll turn you o]^' directly." Miss Romanzini (now Mrs. Bland) when in Dublin, Dalli/j the manager, was so well pleased with her, that he very soon whispered in her ear the soft language of love. This did not escape the timid eye of hermotlier, who, apprehensive that her daughter's virtue was in danger, took Mr. Dally aside, and remonstrated nearly in the following words : — " Vat dust you vant " vit my little black ting ; you have one very fine *' voman of your own, so I beg you vill let my little ** black ting alone." Collcy Cibbcr, known only for some years by the name of Master Collcy, made liis first appearance in TUEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 531 CoUey Cibljer. — Nell Gwyiine . — Hibernian Pronunciation. an inferior situation. After waiting impatiently for the prompter's notice, he, by good fortune, obtained the honor of carrying a message on the stage to one of the chief actors of that clay, whom he greatly disconcerted. Betterton asked in some anger, wlio it was that had committed the blunder. Downs, the prompter, replied, " Master Colley." " Then forfeit " him," rejoined the other. " Why, sir, lie has no " salary." «* No ! then put him down ten shillings " a week, and forfeit hira five." A remarkable instance is recorded of Nell Gwynne when upon the stage. After she had died in some character, and the servants of the stage were pre- paring jto carry her off, she started up, and exclaim- ed— " Hold, yoa d — d confounded dog ! " I'm to rise and speak the epilogue." An Hibernian ! a member of Berwick-street private theatre, rehearsing the character of Octavian, in the Mountaineers^ in his first soliloquy, should have said, " and then I could outwatch the lynx ;" to which he made the following interpolation: — " and *' then you know I could outwatch the lyn-ux." The prompter told him it was not lyn-wi', but lynx. " You lie," he replied, " it's 1-y-n-x, lyn-wx." The same, rehearsing the part of the Earl of Oxford, in Richard the Third, after Richmond has related his dream to his otiicers, Oxford should say, " A good omen, my lord." Instead of which he X 2 'iTy2 TllEATiUCAL A MCDm E5, ETC. Dr. Johiuon aiiti the Yc.uiif^ Man-— Cl'.arles Hulett. said, " A good onniiunt, my lord." Being informed it * was Ofnen ; " he replied, " I don't care, omnium is " a better, and more higher sounding word." Doctor Johnson being one night at Driiry'lanc ihcatre, to see Mr. Garrick play Macbeth; in one of the most interesting scenes of the play, he and the whole company in tlie box were interrupted by tlic impertinence of a young man of fashion, who insisted on having a place, though none was kept for him : the disturbance continued until the end of the act ; when the doctor turning about, with great contempt, cried, " Pshaw ! sir, how can you be so mistaken, jjour " place is in the shilling gallcri/" When Mrs. Siddons visited Doctor Johnson, he paid her two or three very elegant compliments; when she retired, he said to Dr. Glover — " Sir, she is " a prodigious fine woman." " Yes," replied. Dr. Glover, " but don't you think she is much finer on the " stage, when adorned by art?" " Sir, said Johnson, *' on the stage art does not adorn her, nature adorns " her there, and art glorifies her." Charles Ilulett, the player, about the year 1710, was put apprentice to a bookseller. By reading of plays in his master's shop, he used to repeat speeches in the kitchen in the evening, to the destruction of many a chair, which he substituted in the room of real persons in the drama. One night, as he was repeat- ing the part of Alexander with his wooden represen- tative of C'lytus (an elbow-chair), and coming to the TlIF.ATniCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 233 Uniust Pi'itraii of Kdwin. - A ISIukI ^c!or. — K earnes a nri tii f lusiice. speech where the old general is to be killed, this young mock Alexander snatched a poker instead of a javelin, And threw it with such strength against poor Clytus, that the chair was killed upon the spot, and lay mangled on the floor. The death of Clytus made a monstrous noise, which disturbed the master in the parlour, who called out to know the reason ; and was answered by the cook, below, " Nothing, sir, but " Alexander has killed Clytus." It is the opinion of the liherul and mpartlcjily tliat Edwin never had his equal in any one character he performed, yet tiie following portrait is given of him in the Thespian Magazine : " If distortion of feature, *' and the action of a clown; if the unmeaning stare " of a lunatic, and the tones of an itinerant chair- " mender, be requisite qualifications in a modern " comedian, Mr. Edwin will long remain the admira- " tion of ajudiciuus audience." One Briscoe, the manager of a small theatrical company now in Staffordshire, though stone blind, plays all the heroes in his tragedies, and lovers in genteel comed'iGS.^-Wolverhampton Chroniclef Feb. Some strollers being taken before a magistrate in the country, one of the company, named Kearnes, was first examined, and being asked his name, replied, " It was Bajazet last night." " And what is your " profession?" interrogated the justice. " I plays aU; X 3 234 THEATRIfiAL AXECDOTES, ETC. Tlic Actor tumed into a Horse. — Hissing. — Tlie Dutch Hamlet. ** the tyrants in tragedy." " And what do you get by " that, friend ?" " Seven shillings a week, your ho- '< nor, and find my own jewels !" , The actor turned into a horse. — The hero of a country company of comedians having requested a tradesman in the town to take some tickets for his benefit, he promised to use his interest witjj his friends, and accordingly kept his word. Calling at the actor's lodgings for tickets, he found his wife ironing, and the hero himself, hung all over with wet and ragged things from the wash-tub, in the act of turning round before a large fire ; on seeing his friend enter, he exclaimed, " Here I am, my dear '* fellow, you see I am a horse." " A horse I" replied the tradesman with astonishment. " Yes," said he, " my wife has been washing, and the things " are hung round me to diy.'' .nissi7ig. — The mode of expressing popular disap- probation of a popular speaker, appears, from the following passage in Cicero's letters, to be very ancient. Speaking of the orator Ilortcnsius, Ccelius,' thus describes the success of that speaker's eloquence : " Hoc magis animadversum est, quod intactus a sibilo " pervcnerat Horiensius ad senectutcm." It is worth observation to remark, that Hortcnsius arrived at old age, witiiout once incurring the disgrace of being hissed at. The Dutch have got upon tlveir stage the story of >Iumlct, chiefly borrowed from the play of Shaks- * J THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Epigram on shaksjjeari; and Voltaire. peare ; though in one or two instances the translator has taken the liberty to deviate from the original. The ghost of the royal Dane, instead of being clad " in complete steel," makes his appearance conso- nantly to the vulgar opinion of ghosts, in a white sheet. The conduct of the catastrophe is materially different from that adopted by Shakspeare, and certainly more satisfactory to the mind of the specta- tor. Instead of the scene of carnage which takes place, and involves all the principal personages of the dr^ma, Hamlet avenges the murder of his father by killing the usurper, and is happily established on the throne. Epigram on Shakspeare and Voltaire. Glad in the wealthy robes his genius wrought. In happy dreams was gentle Shakspeare laid ; His pleas'd soul wandering thro' the realms of thouglit, While all his elves and fairies round him play'd. Voltaire approach'd, straight fled the quaint-ey'd band. For envious breath such spirits may not endure; He pilfer'd many a gem with trembling hand, Then stabb'd and stabb'd, to make the theft secure. Ungrateful man ! but vain thy black design, Th' attempt, and not the deed thy hand defil'd, Preserv'd by his own charms and spells divine, Safely the gentle Shakspeare slept and smil'd. 536 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. The Musician and the Pigs.— Sir J. M — y;ind the Cirrus. — Mr. C-^uick. «— ^— I H I I I II- ^■■■■.'i-li.i. ■ A French musician of the Opera-house orchestra, in the gloomy month of November, felt an inclina- tion for a nap after dinner, in his apartments, and for that purpose lay on the bed for an hour's repose, prior to the time of his attendance at the theatre (seven o'clock) : he slept till five, then woke in a great alarm, threw up his sash, and listened for some person passing, to ask the hour ; a sow and pigs happened to be under the window, and he demands, ** Quelle heure est il, Monsieur .>"' " Neuf," grunts the sow. " Est il vrai, Monsieur?" *' Oui," cries a prg. " Oh dam, I have sleepa too late, by gar ! " Some years since, when the Royal Circus was opened with performances by children, on an appli- cation for a renewal of the license, at Kingston, the late Sir J. M y, who was chairman, expatiated largely on the impropriety of licensing a place where children were brought up, he said, to infamy and prostitution ; that the infantile mind was corrupted, and that was one great reason our streets were so crowded by infamous characters ; and concluded by saying, " Should I license this place, I subscribe to ** their destruction, and what will they say to me " when I meet them in the other world ?'' Dibdin fa- cetiously replied, " That, Sir Joseph,depends on where " about in the other world you mean to meet them !" Mr. Quick, with all that liberal humour which marks his conversation, has observed, that during his juveinle country excursions, helms frequently played for the enormous sum of one shilling per night, the "thr.AtrvtcAr. anecdotes, etc. 25f Mr. \Vhite!c-\-. — The P.-i fiMmtN', Uie Partrid -cs, and the Pointer. characters of Ric/iard the Third, and Sharp tlie valet ; and that one time he represented the tragic and comic sable heroes, Oroonoko and Mungo, upon the same terms. - No man's name is better known among the theatric tribes ot' Tiiespis than Mr. Whiteley's ; the anecdotes arisin*:; from his singularity of disposition are innu- merable : this gentleman (formerly the manager of a company who performed in Nottinghamshire) having constantly an eye to his interest, one evening, during the performance of Richard the Third, gave a toler- able proof of that being his leading principle: repre- senting the crook'd-back'd tyrant, he exclaimed—' " Hence babbling dreams, you threaten here in vain, *' Conscience avaunt !" — " That man in the brown wig " the?'e has got into the pit uithout paying,^^ — " Richard's himself again !" A country performer, after having ranted away the two first acts of Othello, in the interval before the Commencement of the third, stept out of the theatre, and well knowing his sable generalship had no pro- vision for his supper, after the fatigue of the charac- ter he was acting, popped into a poulterer's shop, opposite the play-house entrance, and purloined a brace of fine partridges ; after which he returned to his station, and went on very pathetically with the lines — " What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust ? ** I saw it not, thought it not— it harm'd not mc ; " I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; " I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips." 238 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. The Musician turned Player. — Delpini and Garrow. when a pointer, belonging to a sportsman in tlie pit, invited by the powerful scent of the game, jumped on the stage, and re- stole from tlie Moor what he had just filched from the dealer in fowls. — The actor find- ing himself thus detected, turned towards the audi- ence, as the animal was escaping with his prize to his master, and went on in his part with extraordinary feeling and emphasis: — " He that is robb'd, not knowing what is storn, " Let him not know it, and he is not robb'd at all.'* Mr. Richards, a good musician, and a very excellent performer in the orchestra, resolved, for his own benefit, to try his abilities on the stage ; having but an indifferent study, he made choice of the Servant to the Lieutenant of the Tower, in Hichard the Third. In the first act he has to say — " Sir, here's a gentlertian brings a wai-rant " For his access to King Henry's presence." Whether from fright, or not having sufficient time to study the part, I know not, but true it is, he delivered it after the following manner : — " Sir, here's a gentleman brings a warrant [throne." " For his accession to King George the Third's Delpini tiie clown, being subpoenaed as a witness on a trial at the Court of King's Bench, Mr. Garrow, who was coimsel on the opposite side, endeavoured to invalidate his testimony, by addressing the bench, — " My lord, no attention can be paid to what this " mail says, — he is the fool at Covent-garden.'^ THFATnrCAL ANF.CDOTES, ETC. 2w9 Quin and the Lannlord. — DJiini^ Robbery. Delpini, enraged at the reflection cast upon him, instantly retorted — " Then, be gar, you are the fool of « the Court of Kings Bench ! " At a tavern where Quin used to frequent, to regale himself with his favourite dish of John Dorey, the landlord of which complained of his premises being overrun with rats. One day after dinner, Quin hav- ing demanded the bill, which was brought in, and it appearing to him an exorbitant charge, he sent for the landlord, and asked him if he was not very much infested with rats, and proposed to give him a receipt for a certain remedy to expel them, upon condition that he should receive in consideration a dozen of wine ; the landlord joyfully consented, when Quin threw the bill at him, saying, ** Shew them that, and " by G — d it will frighten them all away !" DARING ROBBERY. (From the Oracle, 1807.; The annals of depravity have lately recorded a transaction which a feeling mind cannot contemplate without horror ! Our immortal bard has wisely observed, *' Who steals my purse steals trash" which inculcates very strongly a contempt of the " auri " sacra fames ;" but what shall be said to palliate the following most atrocious burglary : — On Twelfth- night, Mr. Lauza, who composed The Deserts of Arabia for the express purpose of displaying the vocal powers of Incledon, and who purposes taking the music to America, made a present to the orchestra of a Twelfth-cake and a dozen of port wine. The 240 THEATRICAL ANICDOTf-S, ETC. D a 1 i n ^-; Rubbe r}'. gentlemen of the band were extremely grateful, and, no doubt, each individual priva-tely determined to play the fnstjidd/e, but it was resolved that the treat sliould be postponed until the ensuing evening. They met in full band. The closet door in the huh- dressers room, in which the dainties were deposited, Tvas opened ; when horrilfle diciu ! they had all vanish- ed ! the cake and wines were stolen ! The sharps had proved too many for the Jiats. To describe or delineate the consternation of the orchestra, requires the pen of Fielding, or the pencil of Hogarth. The bass grumbled, the hautboys squeaked, and the whole band, in mournful unison, struck up the dismal elegy of, " Oh ! cruel, cruel case ! " and " My courage is " out." — Thus it was clearly proved that — " Procrcn- *' tinutkm is the thief of C'«Ae." The following persons were suspected of having perpetrated this most atrocious deed : — ISJr. Kembie, who proved that he sat up all night attempting to revive a dead tragedy. Mr. Cooke, who sarcastically exclaimed, " I'm " busy; thou troublcst me; I'm not in the vein." Mr. Brandon, who nnmediately gave his accuser a hox — on the car. iVJr. Munden, wliom a Kentish-Town watchman proved to be in Led; as he mistook the tuneful accompaniment of his nose for a drove o{ suitic. Mr. Liston, who was sei/cd with a shivering fit, but discharged on an alibi, being proved by Mrs. Grim, It is stroniily suspected by the activity of the Bow-ttrcet ofliccrs, who arc no cukca, the theft will TIIKATRICAr ANECDOTES, ETC. 24t Daring Kobbery. be tiaced to Mother Goose; iii which case, it is sup- posed Simmons will lose his gibletSy. and tu,rn out to be a luckless gander. Grimaldi, in the pantomime, very illiberallyproduces a piece of cake, and addresses the orchestra with, " I like twelfth-cake !" It is extremely cruel — but what inanners can be expected from a clozon ? Mr. Ware, the leader of the orches- tra, is so anxious to discover uhere the. cake is^ that he has affixed the following hand-bill to the §tage door : — " Whereas a cake has been stolen from the hair- " dresser's room, whoever will give the necessary in- '* formation shall receive a reward of ten crotchets," (Signed,) « W. Ware.'' Unhappy fiddlers ! alas, ye cannot exclaim with the Moor — ** He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stole, " Let hira not know*ty and he's not robb'd at all." MORE PARTICULARS. (From the same.) The nefarious peculation of fiddler's cake^ still re - wiains buried in the same obscurity as Mr. Kemble'* dissyllabic pronunciation of aches in the Tempest j but leaving this knotty point to the learned author of the short-lived farce of Mr. H. we shall proceed to state some additional facts, which have come ▼OL, ir> T 212 THEATP.ICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Darinjj Robbery. within GUI' knowleclge. From several circumstances which have been promulgated it has been ascertain- ed, that a large slice, either of buttered bun or plumb' cake, was seen carried into the lodgings of Mr. Ledger. It was by no means a common-place entry ; and as it was done in the evening, it could not be in- serted in the day-book. A search-warrant was con- sequently obtained from Bow-street; hut after a minute inquiry, the investigation proved unsuccessful; though, upon its being communicated to Tozvnsendf the knowing trap acutely observed, " Vy, my jolly *• master, didn't you look under Glumdalias petti- *' coats?" The treasury have incurred their share in the obloquy; for which unjust accusation, Messrs. Hughes, J. Brandon, and TuH, have determined to give their accusers a check. Mr. Ware, the leader of the fiddlers, the giant among pigmies, the one-eyed monarch of the blindj is much hurt at the disgrace put upon the sons of Rosin. lie asserted, in the green-room, that the orchestra was not to be consi- dered as secondary ; to which an actor, of approved and estimable celebrity, aptly retorted — " No, sir, *^ fourth or fifth J* Thus remains the case: but we are concerned to inform the hungry fiddlers f that from certain information, we can state in black let' ter — " The cake is eaten** THEATRICAL ANECDOTCS, ETC. 2'13 THE RAPE OF THE CAKE. A Covent-garden Eclogue. Inscribed to the Musical Band of Covcnt-gardcn thea- tre, on account of the recent tlieft of their Twelfth- cake. {From the same.) " QUID RAPUISTI ?" The night was dark ! fast clos'd the plunderer's And idle Jehu's slept upon the stand ! [hand ! The lone Piazza, erst the gay resort Of flash and fun, and meritricious sport. Then only echo'd to th' unvarying sound Of drowsy watchmen, pacing their dull round. Kiddies no more at Glue or 'Brilliant sup. And e'en the far-fain'd Finish was done up. All rest in sleep ! save — those uho ucre axcuke — The wicked wags who stole ihc fiddlers' cake. Not with more silence did Ulysses tread, When he relentless struck King Rhesus dead ; Not with more caution did the invading Gaul Attempt to storm the capitolian wall; Not with more care did valorous Smith advance To burn tlie navy of insulting France ; Not with more case did Belcher beat poor Burke, Than those vile plunderers did the dreadful work !!! But say, my muse, what prodigies appear'd ? The rain fast pour'd, and horrid screams were heard ! Loud thunder shook the gay theatric pile, And Kemble first relax'd into a smile ! The theft announc'd, the band were in dismay, [day !'' And nought was heard, but " Oh !" and " Well-a- Y 2 944 THEAiniCAL ANECDOTES, ETC. Fragment of a Covent-garden Pastoral. The leader Ware, with anger in his soul. While his limbs tremhle, and his eyeballs roll, " D— n !" cried, " this insult's too imposing, " Shall we bear this, ye scraping sons of Rosin f " The puffy Parke, who never was a starter, Said, " In this cause I wish to die a Martyr !" Hawtin, with face inflated like a crumpet, [pet. " Lord bless us," said, and dropp'd his brazen truni^ And smirking Davy, with his poudcr'd pate, Plump'd snug upon his seat, and grinn'd in state. While feeble Woodcock let Ins anger loose, And fix'd the theft on harmless Mother Goose !!! But say, ray muse, and then 1*11 cry farewell ! Who stole the cake ?— " Indeed I cannot tell ! " And this I swear, in accents strong and slow, " I cannot tell ! — because I do not know /'* TIM TARTLET. PJIAGMENT OF A COVENT-GARDEN PASTORAL. (From the same.) " Despairing beside a clear stream." — Gay. Did you see a Twelfth-cake in your round; A good one as ever was made ? 'Tis sweet, and weighs many a pound, Alas ! it is stolen or stray 'd ! You may know the dear cake by this mark- On the top is a gilt sugar lyre, And the bust of Apollo, that spark That sets every geniu* on fire. THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ETC. 245 t ' ■ Fragment of a Covent-garden Pastoral. To the fiddlers, that sweetly do play, This cake was presented so fine, And because it was on a Twelfth-day, Came grac'd with twelve bottles of wine I Tn a hair-dresser's room was it stow'd, And carefully lock'd was the door, Where not a mouse, nor a rat had abode,. Yet the Twelftb-cake was never seen more. Long they search'd, and they searched all around, Long they search'd, but, alas ! 'twas in vain; When they heard a deep baseviol sound. And a voice, sweetly sad, thus complain : — " Ah r whither, Twelfth^cake, art thou gone? " Shall we ne'er see thy sweet face again ? ** Art thou curing John Kemblc's sad moan, " And dispelling his aitches and pain ?" '* O no !" Johnny Kemble replies, " By my suvraii power I swear, " By my burd, and the conschince I prize, " That Twelfth-cake did never come here I " O'er Baddeley's cake have I been " Full many times churful and gay; " But the jiddlerii cake never have seen — " Then away, base complainer, away 1'' He said, and he march'd through the room> With a monstrously dignified air; And with him went all the sad gloom. Dame Tragedy's stalk and her stare.. r 3 f40 THEATRICAL ANECDOTES, ITC. Fragment of a Covent-garden Pastoral. Then listen once more unto me, In sorrow 'lis well to be -brief; And if the dear cake we can't sec, Let's find out the name of the thief. The box-book they search'd all in vain, Jem Brandon he lent them his aid ; But in the old Ledger^ 'twas plain, A sweet double entry was made ! ** O ! ho !" cried the fiddlers all round, ** We swear by our gut-scraping fame, " That, though our Twelfth-cake be not found, " This Ledger conceals the rogue's name I " Cj:tera Desukt. 1 STLVF5TKR DAG6ERW00D. 547 SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. Fustian and Sylvester discovered, the clock strikes 11. Fust. Eight, 9, 10, 11,— Zounds! 11 o'clock; and here I have been waiting ever since 9, for an interview with the manager. (A servant crosses the stage, from R. H.J Harkyc, young man, is your master visible yet? Servt. Sir ! Fust. I say, can I see your master ? Servt. He has two gentlemen with him at present. Fust. Who is this gentleman asleep in the corner. Servt. Oh, that, sir, is a gentleman who wants to eome out. Fust. Come out ! then wake him, and open the door.— Gad, the greatest difficulty at this house is to get in. Servt. Ha ! ha ! I mean he wants to appear on the stage ; 'tis Mr. Sylvester Daggervvood, of the Dunstable company. Fust. Oh, a country candidate for a London truncheon, a sucking Prince of Denmark, — D — me he snores like a tinker, fatigued with his journey I •appose. Servt. No, sir — ^he has taken a nap in this room these five mornings — but has not been able to obtain tn audience here yet. 248 STLVESTER DAGGEllWOOD. ' ' — U. Fust. No, nor at Dunstable neither, I take it. Servt. I am loth to disturb him, poor gentle- man, so I never wake him till a full half hour aftei my master is gone out. Fust. Upon my soul that's very obliging — I must keep watch here, I find, like a lynx. Well, friend, you'll let your master know Mr. Fustian is here, when the two gentlemen have left him at leisure. Seuvt. The moment they make their exit. Exit Servant^ L.H, Fust. Make their exit!— this fellow must have lived here some time, by his language, and Fll war- rant him lies by rote like a parrot (takes out a M.S.) If I cou'd nail this manager for a minute, I'd read him such a tragedy. Dag. " Nay, and thou'lt mouth, — I'll rant as well " as thee." Fust. Eh, d — me, he's talking in his sleep, acting Hamlet, before twelve tallow candles, in the country.. Dag. " To be, or not to be ? " Fust. Yes, he's at it — let me sec — f turning over haves of his tragedy) — I think there's no doubt of its running. Dag. " That is the question "^" Who wou'd " fardles bear." Fust. Zounds ! there's no bearing you, — Ilis Grace's patronage will fill half the side boxes — and I warrant we'll stuff the critics into the pit. Dag. *' To groan and sweat" — " when he himself ** might his quietus make.' Fust. Quietus, — I wish with all my heart I cou'd make yours — ^The Countess of Crambo insists on tU« SVLVrSTER DAGCFRWOOn. 549 best places, for the first night of performance j she'll sit in the stage box. Dag. " With a bare bodkin." Fu5T. O, the devil, there's no enduring this. — Sir, sir, (tcaking him) do you intend to sleep any more ? Dag. (leaking) Eh, what, when ? — " Methought " I heard a voice crv sleep no more." Fust. Faith, sir, you heard something very like' it, and that voice was mine. Dag. Sir, I am your respective servant to com- mand, Sylvester Daggerwood — whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particular desire of several persons of distinctiun — You'd make an excel- lent Macbeth, sir. Fust. Sir? Dag. " Macbeth doth murder sleep, — the inno- " cent sleep, — balm of hurt minds, — great nature's " second course." — Faith, and very often the first course, when a dinner is unavoidably deferred by your humble servant to command, Sylvester Daj:ger\vood, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particular desire of several persons of distinction. Fust. I am very sorry, sir, you should ever have occasion to postpone so pleasant a performance. Dag. Eating, sir, is a popular entertainment for man and horse, as I may say, — but I am apt to appear nice, sir — and somehow or other, I never could manage to sit down to dinner in a bad company. Fust, lias your company been bad then, of late, sir. Dag. D — n'd bad, indeed, sir,— the Dunstable 250 SYLVESTER DAGGER WOOD. company — where I have eight shillings a week, four bits of candle, one wife, tln'ce shirts, and nine chil- dren. Fust. A very numerous family. Dag. a crowded house to be sure, sir, but not ▼cry profitable. Mrs. Daj^gerwood, a fine figure, but, unfortunately, stutters; so of no use in the theatrical line. Children too young to make a debut, except my oldest, Master Apollo Daggerwood, a youth of only eight years old, who has twice made his appear- ance in Tom Thumb, to an overflowing and brilliant barn-house, I mean— with unbounded and universal applause. Fust. Have you been long on the stage, Mr. Daggerwood. Dag. Fifteen years since I first smelt the lamp, sir : my father was an eminent button maker at Birmingham, and meant to marry rae to Miss Molly Metre, daughter to the rich director of the coal works at VVoolvcrhampton ; but I had a soul above buttons, and abhorred the idea of a mercenary marriage, — I panted for a liberal profession — so ran away from my father, and engaged with a travelling company of comedians ; in my travels, 1 had soon the happiness of forming a romantic attachment with the present Mrs. Daggerwood, wife to Sylvester Daggerwood, your humble servant to command, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particular desire of several persons of distinction, — so you see, sir, I have a taste. Fust, Have you ? — then sit down, and Fll read you my tragedy : I am determined somebody shall hear it before I go out of the house, fsils doicnj 1 SYLVrSTr-R DAGGERWOOD. f O 1 Dag. a tragedy ! sir, I'll be ready for you in a moment; let mc prepare for woe (Takes out a very ragged pocket-handkerchief) . " This handkerchief, *' did an Egyptian to my mother give." Fust. Faith, I should think so — and to all ap- pearance one of the Norwood party. Dag. Now, sir, for your title, and ihea for the dramatis personae. Ftjst. The title I think will strike : the fashion of plays, you know, is to rescue certain characters from the illiberal odium with which custom has marked them. Thus we have a generous Israelite, an amiable cynic— and so on.— Nont, sir, I call my play The Humane Footpad! Dag. What ! Fust. There's a title for you ! Isn^t it happy ?—• Eh, how do you like my Footpad ? Dag. Humph— Why, I think he'll strike— but then he ought to be properly executed. Fust. Oh, sir, let me alone for that. An excep- tion to a general rule is now the grand secret for dramatic composition : — Mine is a free-booter of benevolence, and plunders with sentiment. Dag. There may be something in that, and for my part, I was always with Shakspeare, — " Who ** steals my purse, steals trash." I never had any weighty reason yet for thinking otherwise. Now, sir, as we say, please to " leave your d— nable faces, " and begin." Fust. My d — nable faces ! Dag. Come—" We'll to't like French falconers.** Fust, (reading) Scene first— A dark wood— night. SYLVrSItU D^GGERWOOD. Dag. a very awful beginning. Fust, (reading) The inoon behind a cloud. Dag. That's new; an audience never saw a moon behind a cloud before— but it will be difficult to paint. Fust. Don't interrupt — where was I? oh, behind a cloud. Dag. " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous '• palaces." Fust. Hey, the devil, v\'hat are you at ? Dag. Beg pardon ; but that speech never come* into my head but it runs away with nie. Proceed. Fust, (reading) Enter. Dag. " The solemn temples, — " Fust. Nay, then, I've done. Dag. So have I. Fm dumb. Fust. Enter Egbert, (musing), (readiyig) Dag. O.P. Fust. Pshaw ! what does that signify ? Dag. Not much—" The great globe itself." Fust, (reading) Egbert, (musing,) Clouded ih night I come. Dag. (starting up.) " The cloud-capt towers, " The gorgeous palaces, *'* The solemn temples*'' Fust, (gets up) D — me, he's mad ! a bedlamite ! raves like Lear, and foams out a folio of Shukspearo- without drawing breath ! — I am almost afraid to stay iii the room with him. (Enter Servant.) Oh, Fm glad you arc come, friend ! now I shall b« delivered : your master would be glad to see me T Trarrant. SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. 253 Servt. My master is just gone out, sir. Fust. Gone out ! Dag. " Oh, day and night, but this is wondrous " strange." Fust. What, without seeing me, who have been waiting for him these thr^e hours ! Dag. Three hours ! pugh ! — I'v^ slept here for five mornings in his old arm chair. Servt. He ordered me to tell you, gentlemen, he was particularly sorry, but he is obliged to hurry down to the theatre, to meet Mr. Bannister and Mr. Suett upon particular business. Fust. They are ! and what the devil, friend, have I to do with Mr. Bannister ? d — n Mr. Bannister ! Dag. And d — n Mr. Suett ! what the devil have I to do with Mr. Suett? Now he has shirted us. Fll lay you an even bet, he has gone to neither of them. Fust. Pretty treatment ! pretty treatment truly ! to be kept here half the morning, kicking my heels in a manager's anti-room, shutup with a mad Dunstable actor. Dag. Mad ! zounds, sir ! Fd have you to know, that " when the wind's southerly, I know a hawk *^ from a hand-saw." Fust. Tell your master, friend ; tell your master — ^^but no matter ; he don't catch me here again, that's all ; damme, I'll go home, turn my play into a pageant, put a triumphal procession at the end on't, and bring it out at one of the winter theatres. {Exit. J Dag. {To the servant J Young man, you know zne; I shall come to the old arm chair again to-mor- row, but must go to Dunstable the day after, for a VOL. ir. z 25i SYLVESTER DAGCERWOOB. week, to finish my engagement—wish for an inter- view — inchnation to tread the London boards, and so on — you know my name — Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood, whose benefit is fixed for the 11th of June, by par- ticular desire of several persons of distinction. Servt. I shall be sure to tell him, sir. Dag. " I find thee apt — " And duller would'st thou be, than the fat weed " That rots itself at ease on Lethe's wharf, " Would'st thou not stir in this." *' Open the street door : go on, I'll follow thee.'* (Exit,) 1 COMIC SONGS. COMIC SONGS. THE ORIGIN OF OLD BACHELORS. Dame Nature one day in a comical mood. While mixing the mould to make man, Was struck with a thought as th' ingredients she To alter a little her plan ; [view'd, Her children she knew were much given to rove, So tempering the clay with great art. She sparingly threw in the soft seeds of love, That usually spring round the heart : But she quickly repented, tho' too late 'tis^ t'-"^' ( fFrcsto.) For a fusty old bachelor stood forth toT view. J Yes, an old bachelor, — a fusty old bachelor. What's an old bachelor like ?— why, I'll tell ye, — An old bachelor is like — is like — a — a — A tree without a branch, A buck without a haunci), A knife without a fork, Bottle without a cork, A key without a lock, A wig without a block. [creature Thus you see, my good friends, what a whimsical Was form'd in a frolic by old madam Nature, z 3 958 COMIC SONGS. The Origin of Old Bachelors . The world ever since has been teaz'd with these crea- Well known by their stiff formal strut, [tures, Their dull downcast looks, crabb'd vinegar features, And dress of true bachelor cut : The bright blaze of beauty can't warm their cold clay ; Dislik'd by maid, widow, and wife ', In a kind of half stupor the days pass away. Of these blanks in the lottery of life. Thus curtail'd of pleasure, a stranger to love,. The fusty old bachelor's destined to rove ; Yes, the old bachelor, — the fusty old bachelor, — What's an old bachelor P—Why, I think, that An old bachelor's like a— -a Ship without a sail, A cat without a tail, Cellar without wine-o. Purse without the rhino, A watch without a chain, A skull without the brain. [ture Thus you see, my good friend, what a whimsical crea- Was form'd in a frohc by old madam Nature. Now mark, if the sexes in number agree, As some queer philosophers think, Full many a damsel's soft heart I foresee, At this part of my story sink. As two wives at once, men are not here allowed, Unless their suit parliament aids; And as bachelors stupid our streets daily crowd, It follows their must be old maids. Thus we get from the smoke neatly into the smother. For one evil treads on the hecU of another. eoMic 30NG». 259 The Old Maid's Song. O fie on all old bachelors, — all flinty hearted bache- lors. What's an old bachelor? — Why, I am sure the la- dies, young or old, married or single, will agree with me, that an old bachelor's like— what shall I say — like — a — a — like — A bell without a clapper, A door without a rapper, A drum without a fife, Butcher without a knife, A sun without a moon, A dish without a spoon. [creature Thus you see, my good friends, what a whimsical Was made in a frolic by old madam Nature. THE OLD MAID'S SONG. Extatic lovely pangs that beat within my breast, Ah cease, ah cease awhile and let a maiden rest. Oh Cupid, god of love, I own thy sov'reigu sway, My gentle tender heart, alas, is stole away. Faddle laddie litum,faddle liddle litum, faddle laddie litum, faddle liddle de. Faddle laddie litum, faddle liddle litum, faddle laddie litum, faddle liddle de. Love's glances from my eyes have pierc'd him to the heart. He with sighs his flame reveal'd, it would be death to part. Though my sister scoffs, the malicious taunting she. Yet I'm the maid he loves, and he's the lad for me. Faddle laddie, &c. 2G0 COMIC SONGS. Dr. L;isr, Sole and bodv Mcndei DR. LAST, SOLE AND BODY MENDER. Behold Dr. Last, known for ages past, I'm the man, as sure as a gun, sir; Your pulses to feel, or mend a shoe heel, I'm the son of the seventh son, sir : Bleed and blister — gargle and glister, Patients buried under the soddy ; Scarify, dilute — or make a new boot — I can mend both your sole and your body. When seated in my stall, shou'd a patient chance to Myself I always fresh rig, sir ; [call, For, a doctor's sense, and consequence. Lies in his cane and wig, sir: With Latin words a fuss — cooka sauccpanabus — I can break your teeth with words very oddy; Paris oomc, paribend — lapstonc and wax-end, I can mend both your sole and your body. At inoculation I'm the best in the nation, And, by fees, I am scraping up the pelf, sir; Tho' the physic that T give, the patient may outlive, I shou'dn't like to take it myself, sir; !Make a mortar of the stew-tub — mix sal by salpolyr- rist and rhubarb, As a medicine for the palsy, niddy noddy; Damag'd welt and upper leather, I can always put For I mend both the sole and the body, [together, COMIC SONGS. 261 Loga n M'Connaiigh Betwixt you and me, the college all agree, However I might bolus and have pill'd him; If a patient chance to die, he mustn't say 'twas I, He must not say 'twas I that kill'd him : [harm. An ague I can charm — knock a tooth out without But, zounds ! how you'd caper, diddy doddy ; The ladies cry, in hast, " Let us fly to Dr. Last," He cures both the sole and the body. LOGAN JSrCONNAUGH. I£ you please I'll be giving a sketch of my life ; To begin, sirs, — one day faith I married a wife, The beauty of all the creation ! [crack ; 'Twixt her nose and her chin, sure a nut you might She'd a squint wid one eye, and a hump on her back, And a voice full of sweet modulation. Sing fillileu diddero, bubbero whack I Every morning this crature was up w'ld de lark, And wou'd sing at noon-day like an owl in the dark, Her soft dities so tender and pleasing : But whenever she open'd her elegant mouth [south, If her nose pointed north, then her chin was due Her charms were so rare and amazing ! Sing fillileu, &c. One accomplishment greater by far than the rest, Was the tongue and the temper Xantippe possess'd; Of whiskey she'd take such big sups, That she'd bother my shoulders and pate with a peg, I well knew by the name of her nate wooden leg, Whenever she got in her cups. Sing fillileu, &c 262 COMIC SONGS. Logan M'Connaunb. But one day in the night, just as morning was breaking, Death gave lier a dose of cold sliiv'ring ana sliaking, That froze the warm blood in her heart ! [spake/' *' Och ! Logan," says she, " don't you see I can't " Sure," says I, " I see that, by the noise that you Och ! good luck to Death and his dart. [make/* Sing fiUiicu, &c. While I laugh'd to myself, cried she, " Logan, I die !" " Never mind it, that's nothing, dear Judy/' says I, " Have done with palav'ring and crying :" [tight, " For when in your coffin they've nail'd you down " And the dirt is thrown o'er you to keep out the light, *' No more you'll be bother'd with dying!" Sing fiUileu, &c. So she gave a big groan, and rcsign'd up her breath ! Falling down on my knees, says I, " Thanks, Mr. " You've done me a mighty great favour ; [Death, " But where you can take her now bothers myself, " For unless you can fix her up fast on a shelf, " The devil will never receive her." Sing fillileu, «&c. When the crature was dead, and gone, — devil knows w lie re, I was frisking and gay as a dancing JMarch hare, Yet fearing she'd trouble me a'ter. To England, says I, if I take a small trip, I'll be safe when 1 am I^ided on board of a ship. Sure ghosts can't be crossing the water. Sing fillileu, &c. \ COMTC SONGS. J63 The Little Cock Sparrow. But to pay me a visit, to England she came. Faith nately drcss'd up — in the shape of a dream, And made such a d — nable pother ! When I wak'd, and jump'd up, fast asleep in a fright, And found myself all in the dark by moon-light, I thought 'twas the devil's own mother ! Sing fillileu, &c. No sure, you must think mine a mighty bad case, That, neither here, there, nor, in this, or that place, This Judy won't let me be quiet ! But living or dead, she adheres to her plan. To bother and vex me as much as she can, Ever teazing and making a riot ! Sing fillileu, &c. LITTLE COCK SPARROW. (Introduced in the character of Jerry Sneak,) Once a little cock sparrow a' top of a tree, He cherup'd and chatter'd, so merry was he ; So this little cock sparrow a' top of the tree, He cherup'd and chatter'd, so merry was he. He cherup'd and chatter'd, so merry was he ! He cherup'd and chatter'd, so merry was he ! He cherup'd and chatter'd, lo merry was he! I>id this little cock sparrow a' top of the tree ! t6^ COMIC S0XG9. An Old Chapter of Players. Then a little boy came M'ith his bow and reed arrow, Determined to shoot this poor little cock sparrow, So this naughty boy came with his bow and reed arrow, Determined to shoot this poor little cock sparrow ! Determin'd to shoot this poor little cock sparrow Determin'd to shoot this poor little cock sparrow Determin'd to shoot this poor little cock sparrow Was this nauglity boy with his bow and reed arrow. liien this little boy cry'd as his bow-string he drew, This little cock sparrow shall make me a stew, And his giblets sliall make me a little pie too. But he miss'd his aim, broke his arrow in two ! Cries the little cock sparrow,T'll not make your stew! Cries the little cock sparrow,I'll not make your stew! Cries the little cock sparrow,I'llnot make your stew! Tor ril stay no longer, be d— n'd if I do ! AN OLD CHAPTER OF PLAYERS. Old Shakspeare taught us long ago. From infaivcy to age, That all mankind acre players. And that all the world's a stage. And a playing they do go, do go, do go, And a playing they do go. Some people will in earnest play, While others play in jest, Some few will play a double part ; Fair play is always best. And a playing, 6cc (^OMIC S0NG3. 265 An Old Chapter of Flayers. Tlie heedless man who goes to law. Oft plays with an edge tool, For while the lawyer plays the knave, His client plays the fool ; And a playing, Sec Young soldiers play the hero's part. And talk of damn'd hard duty; Old statesmen boat economy, But all the while play booty ; And a playing, &c. The wife will sometimes play the truant, The husband play the grub ; The scrub will play the gentleman, The gentleman the scrub ; And a playing, &c. The borrower oft plays too loose, The lender plays too tight ; The creditor would fain play sure. The debtor least in sight; And a playing, &c. Good lord ! how folks mistake their parts, By taking that for this, For little miss will play mamma, And fat mamma play miss ; And a playing, &c If miss the matron plays too soon, Why then it's quite the vogue ; Is nymph or swain to blame — poor things, They only plav'd the rogue ; And a playinc, 5:c. 'OL. II, A a 266 COMIC saNGS. All Old Cluii)ler ot Pbyejs. The prude will play the hypocrite, The wanton the coquette ; Old maids must play a solo part, Brisk widows a duett ; And a playing, &c. The fribble plays the monkey's part ; While full of roar and revel, Your bucks and bloods, and jolly dogs, Will play the very devil ; And a playing, &c« The scolding wife plays hell on earth. And storms and raves and teazes ; But a sweet good-natured wife will play What part her husband pleases; And a playing, &C. When all these trifling scenes arc past, And life's last act is o'er. When Death does let the curtain drop, And we can play no more; And a playing, &c. And who play'd beggar, who play'd king, Will not be then the test, The only question then will be, Who play'd his part the best ? When a playing they did go, did go, did gOj When a playing they did go. COMIC SONCS. i267 t.vcry Man his Hobby. EVERY MAN HIS HOBBY. Tune—" Ge-hoy Bobbin:* It was Dryden observ'd, whom you know was fam'd That men are but children, tho' six feet in size, [wise, And honest old shandy, that whimsical droll, Thro' life's journey on hobbies he makes us all stroll. Ge-ho, Dobbin, (!raith-i, and likewise undertakers, sir, 274 COMIC soscs. rlie Uniied Englishmen. And many more whose praise aloud shall Britons cheerful sing, sir, Who stand protectors of their wives, their children, and their king, sir. Then merry be, &c. The lazcyer folks should lead the r«?i, for not to speak too large, sir, All know, who've seen the lawyers' bills, they're not affraid to charge, sir; I'm sure in each engagement they wou'd ever foremost be, sir, And twenty actions in a day would suit them to a T, sir. Then merry be, &:c. The doctors they will prime them well, with powder, ball, and pill, sir, And well they know tiiat eight in ten, tliey're always sure to kill, sir ; Two mortars they will keep well charged, with such as tlicy know best, Will draft them off to'thcr world and send thcin quietly to rest. Then merry be, ike. We've bakers who would y\v\% a peal, 'till foes cry'd fire and faggots, sir ; And cheesemongers, those mighty men would make thcia tkip like maggots, sir ; COMIC SONGS. 2t3 Sucli a Keauty 1 ours and friends, liere's a new song, entitled and call'd, I am a wild and roving boy, — Come, play up, (Speaking in a gruff" tone.) Stop, let's rosin first — (Singing 7vith a ),queahing voice.) " I am a wild and " roving boy,'* (Singing in a gruff voice.) " And my lodging is in " the island of Cloy;" (Squeaking.) " A rambling boy altho* I be," (Gruff.) " I'll forsake them all, and I'll follow thee." (Speaking.) There's a man wants to buy a ballad there — (Squeaking.) " Were I a blackbird, or a thrush, (Gruff.) " Hopping about from bush to bush," (Speaking.) Sing, Moll — (Squeaking.) '' Then all the " world might plainly see," (Speaking gruff.) It's a bad halfpenny, Moll. — (Singing.) " I love the girl that loves not me." (Squeaking.) It 'ant a bad halfpenny — (Gruff.) It is a bad halfpenny — I tell you what, you had better be quiet, or I'll mill your eye. (Squeaking.) Hark'e, fellow, I don't care for you nor your — Toll de roll loll, &<:. 288 COMIC SONGS. A New Mccilev. To make the wretched bless'd, private charity is best, Tlie common beggar spurns at our laws — Tho' I reprobate the train, I wish to beg again, To solicit your kind applause — (Speaking.) And if you don't condescend to smile " upon mc, I must say that my begging trade is no better than — A NEW MEDLEY. Spirit I spirit ! spirit of my sainted sire ! With success my soul inspire ! And call a guardian angel down — And call a guardian angel down — to cry Lilly white muffins, oh rare crumpets, Smoking hot Yorkshire cakes,— hot rolls and charming cakes, One a penny, two a penny. [p'^y> Peter Grcvious brought his cats that with him used to The only companions he cou'd find to pass his time — At the dead of the night when by whiskey inspir'd. And pretty Kitty Flannagan his senses had fir'd ! lie tapp'd at her window, when thus she began — An old woman clothed in grey, Whose daughter was charming and young ; And she was deluded away — by a — Long tail'd pig, or a short tail'd pig. Or a pig w ithout e'er a tail,— a pig that sung — * Tliib bst verf.c is only fit for the stage. COMIC 50NCS. 28^ A New Medley. Cease rude Boreas, blustering raiJer, lift, ye lands- men all to me, Messmates, hear a brother sailor sing the dangers of— Four-and-twenty washerwomen ail on a row ! Four-and-twcnty washerwomen all on a row ! There was bucking up to the elbows in sudds — Ah, goody, nobody labours so hard as you and I — another glass of gin, if you please— with more warm water, a bit more soap, and help me to wring this pair of sheets, while the rest of the world are iu the majority; minority and majority, majority and minority, this side and that side, right side and wrong side, all sides and every side ; sometimes on no side at all — with prittle prattle, tittle tattle — Madam, mind your stops — thirds, fifths, and eighths — twcedle, tweedle, up to the top of the bridge, and then they come rumbling, tumbling down below — where Frenchmen shall just bite at our dust, But the devil a bit more of the island. Where Frenchmen shall just bite at our dust, But the devil a bit more of — I courted a lass, and as bonny a lass As ever my eyes did sec. But for all my love and my toying trick*-, She cared not a fig for me ; She took me home to her own house, I'd never been there before, And she tumbled mc into the hog-f'jl>— that was— - Whither my love, ah ! wlnther ait thou gone ? Let not thy absence cloud this liappy dawn ; "^ay, by thy heart, ran falsehood e'er ho known - VOT.. TI. c »• 290 COMIC SONGS. A New iMcdley. Ah ! no, all ! no, — Ah ! no, no, no, I judge it by my — Fal de lal tit, tit fal dc ral ! Then I sung — Lovely nymph, assuage my anguish, At your feet a tender — Maiden that lived in a large market town, Whose skin was much fairer than any that's brown ; Her eyes were as dark as tiie coals in the mine, And when they weren't shut, why — 'twas Sweet to kiss upon the grass, Gad-zooks 1 can't in town ; Give my merry willing lass — Two dips and a wallup for a baubee ! down with it and double it — twenty can play as well as one. — At gaming perhaps you may win, ritol lol, lol, lodde de ! If not you may take the flats in — with — Fair ladies, lay your costly robes aside, No longer shall you glory in — your Old king Cole, that merry old soul, For a merry old soul was he — For he tickled up the fiz with a twiggle and a friz, With a twiggle, twiggle, twiggle, and a frizzle. W^hen I've money I am merry, when I've none I'm very sad, When I'm sober I am civil, when I'm drunk I'm — A little farthing rush-light— a curs'd farthing rush- light, Fa ral la ral Ic ! — Lil lily, lil lily, lil lily white sand ho ? tOMIC SONGS. 291 rl)e Chapter of Fashions- When I to London first came in, liow I began to gape and stare, The cries they kept up such a din, — fresh lobsters, dust, and wooden ware, A damsel, lovely and black-eyed, tripp'd thro' the streets and sweetly cried, Buy my live sprats — buy my live sprats : A youth on t'other side the way, in hoarser tones did echoing sing — Poll, dang it, how d'ye do ? Now won't you give a buss ! Why what's to do with you ? Why here's a pretty fuss ; Why what's to do with you Why here's a pretty fuss. Say shall we kiss and toy ; I'll go to sea no more; Oh, I'm the sailor boy For capering ashore ; Oh, I'm the sailor boy For caoerinsr ashore. THE CHAPTER OF FASHIONS. Tl'ne — " Chapter of Kings.*' Fashion was forni'd when the world began, And Adam, I'm told, was a very smart man ; As for Eve, I shall say nothing more nor less. But that ladies of fashion now copy her dress ; iSo bairiug all pother, of ihis, that, or t'other, We all bow to fashion in turn. c c ii i?y'* COMIC SONGS, The Chapter of Fashions. The fashion next came to hunting poor brutes, And Nimrod invented the fashion of boots, Por he was a buck, tho' he hadn't a wife, And never saw Bond-street perhaps in his life. But barring all pother, &c. Our barons of old wore comical clothes, [hose. And their shoes were square toed, yellow worsted their Your Henrys and Edwards were famous for dress; But ale and beef-steaks were the fashion with Bess. So barring all pother, &c. In the reign of King Charles, you distinguished a prig, By the length of his cue, and the size of his wig; Cromwell's hats were all broad, and his head it was round, And his hair hung like candies sixteen to the pound. But barring all pother, &c. The tories wore wigs in the reign of Queen Anne, Now wigs suit the female, as well as the man ; No crops but in corn-fields you'd formerly meet, Now thcir*s few in the fields, and enough in the street. So barring all pother, &c. flowever the fashions are subject to change, (Jnc fashion remains, if it didn't 'twere strange ; Twas always the fashion, each Englishman knows, To be true to our king, and to humble our foes. But barring all pother, &c. Now the fashion's arrived at a wonderful height, For what's boorish at noon, is quite stylish at night; COMIC SONGS. 293 Maixeiy ri>t)|)mf;. So they bore ye with style, and they style you a boor, As perhaps you may me, if I sing any more ; So without any pother, of tliis, that, or t'other, I'll e'en take my leave, and begone. MARGERY TOPPING. When I was in Cumberland, I went a wooing, But love, to my sorrow, had nigh prov'd my ruin ; I died by inches, I look'd so shocking. And all for the sake of Margery Topping. Tol, lol, de rol, lol de rol, la. "With thinking of her, so handsome and proper, I sigh'd all tlie day, and I ne'er eat no supper; My mammy cry'd, " Peter, pray mac thyself easy ;'' But she was not Margery — Oh, lack a daisey ! Tol, lol, &c. I put on my best clothes, and I thought I look'd gay, For if I should get her, I knew that was the way ; So I powder'd my hair with our old drudging-box, And I got a pig's tail too, — only see how it cocks. Tol, lol, &c. Then I pluck'd up a spirit, and I ax'd this maiden, If ever she thought it would come" to a wedding; But she laughed in my face, and call'd me'a ninny, ** Have tiice ?" says Margery," No, riot for a guinea." Tol, lol, &c. c c 3 ' 294 COMIC SONGS. Margery Topping. Thought I to myself, what the devil can ail her? I'll e'en gang my ways, and go for a sailor; So T got some paper, and I writ her a letter, Saying, farewell, Madge, 'till thou loves me better. Tol, lol, &c. Then straight she came to me, beslubber'd with tears, And told me she'd have me, if I'd ease her fears ; So I raention'd the parson, and bid her comply, She blush'd — her eyes twinkled — she cou'd not tell why. Tol, lol, &c. The fiddlers came in, and they fiddled away, [way ; And all the folks throngM, while Madge and I led the The priest join'd our hands, all the folks standing by. Lord ! how shamed was Margery, and how shamed was I. Tol, lol, &c. Next our dinners we got, while the folks were ad- vancing, [dancing; The neighboms throng'd in, and they long'd to be The fiddlers struck up in the midst of the hall, So Margery and I open'd the ball. Tol, lol, &c. Soon after, our Margery had stolen aside. The bridemaid were up stairs undressing the bride,. I run up stairs to them^ pops bridemaid out at the door, Put the candle out, thctt— odd rabbit it, I won't tellnp more. Tol, lol, ^c. COMIC SONGS. 295 John Bum))kin upon Drill. JOHN BUMPKIN UPON DRILL, A MEDLEY. Enters to the Tune of Duke of York's March:' Tune—" Hearts of Oak:' Wi*^ stout martial steps sec John Bumpkin is come, To raise new recruits with the sound of the drum ; Then rouse, hearts of oak ! an example see here, John Bumpkin to drill for a tall grenadier. (Speaking.) I think they'll mak summat o'me, at last — they ha* gin me this fine red coit and splat- terdashes, and sarjeant has undcrtain to drill ma himsen. " Eyes right!" — Dang it, that's left; I want ray arms chalking. — " Attention !" Chorus,— Tune— « Duke of York's MarcL" With thingumbobs here, so pratty and queer, Ecod, I'll be a coptain in less nor a year; Rumtum de rumtum, &c. Tune—" Mrs.Casei/:' When first I heard the drum and fife strike up a march so neatly, I thought I never in my life heard music sound so sweetly ; With martial air, to win the fair, I look'd I don't know how, sir ; They laugh'd and cry'd, and sigh'd and died, when first I join'd the row-dow, sir. (Speaking.) Ecod, it were enough to make a cat laugh, to see sarjeant drilling me—*' Heads up I 196 COMIC SONGS. .!« hn b impki.i u))iMi O.ill. " higher ! still higher !" — What, mun I look always up a this'en ? — " To he sure you must." — Why, then, gi's your hand, sarjeant : good bye ; for I shall never see yow any more — With thingumbobs here, &c. Tune— « Lovely Do fly.'' Shou'd sweetheart Nan look pale or wan, when I am gone away, sir. Or shouVl she swound upon the ground, the devil a word I say, sir ; When I cnter'd first my father curs'd, and call'd me simple tony. With pig-tail tied, cock'd-hat beside, I'm quite a macaroni. {Speaking,] I shall ha' sweethearts enough now, mun ; for wenches, like turkey-cocks, gobble at red rags. No, but I shou'd do better if I cou'd but turn my toes out : and this stock, it throttles one dand- nationly. Sarjeant has found out a new way to make one hould up one's head ; for he sticks a pitch-fork under one's chin, and if you bob down, prongs goes up to your ears, and you look like a man in a pillory — With thingumbobs here, &c. Tune—" Jolly Pigeoris." Now, in peace, you may chance to be hungry ; In vain for some victuals you'll call ; IJut war gives the soldiers, in battle, A breaskfast of powder and ball : COMIC SONGS. 2§? John Bumpkin u))<.)n Drill. It fills a mail's stomach at once, And soon puts an end to his pain; And if once you shou'd eat this provision, You'll never be hungry again. (Speaking.) Why, our sarjcant has tou'd me, as how he has fought up to tlie breeches waistband in blood; and once a red hot ball were coming plump in his face, but he up wi' his sword and split it in two — Hold, meastcr sarjeant, says I, — I think that's a—" Silence, you scoundrel ! Eyes right ! Atten- " tion !"— With thingumbobs here, &c. Tune — " Bobbing Joan.*' Tommy, what dost tliink of fighting and of druming ? Prithee, never slink now the French are coming; What need there more be said — it is a fine diversion, And if you are shot dead, why, you're only in the fashion. (Speaking.) If you cou'd nobut hear our sarjeant making a speak — " Gentlemen, now's your only " time — if any 'prentice has a bad master — if any " man has a bad wife— let him apply to me, at the *' sign of the Pig and Tinder-box ; or at Corporal " Breakbones, at the Hen's Teeth and Cat's Fea- " thers; or of Drummer Crackskull, at the Devil " and Bag of Nails; they shall meet encouragement, " Gentlemen, what a glorious thing war is !" — Ay, says I, when one comes home, and it's all safe over ; for you know, measter, no plaister will stick on a head. — " Silence ! Attention !" — With thingumbobs here, &c. 298 GOMIC SONGS. The Drunken Buck. Tune—" Queen Bess.'* Now, lads so clever, try hows'mcver to kick tlie •world before you, [mortal glory ; ^Tis better, say, tlian cudgel play, and wins you im- Loyal hearts, stand the test, and shew your resolu- tion, [breed confusion. And may the gallows catch the rest tliat strive to It is my will, the French to kill — I'll do't wi' all my heart — "Who knows ! a recruit may chance to shoot great General Bonypart. (Spoken.) And, ecod, if I shou'd, they'd mak more fuss about me than they do about young Iloscus — and mayhap they'd ha' me painted and hung up at alehouse door for a sign— then I shou'd say, atten- tion ! look at me for an object — "With thingumbobs here, &c. THE DRUNKEN BUCK. I'm a lad well known in town, i Among the fair, the black, the brown ; S Can black an eye, or break a crown ; j With countenance so wibc, sir. A sup of drink will make you glad, i And cheer your heart however sad; ^ Too much, you know, will make you mad, j And close up both your eyes, sir. (Speakin*^.) Tor my part, I likes a sup, it makes me so funny — 1 loves fun, and likes to keep it up.— Yesterday I drove a Wind horse into a china shop — that was d d jolly, — and last night I loss'd COMIC SONGS. 299 'I lie Drunken tiuck. the waiter out of the window, and bid the landlord charge lutn in the reckoning. (Chorus to every verse.) Tipsey, dizzy, muzzy, Sucky, groggy, drinking port ; We bucks are always muzzy — O, d — me, that's your sort ! Drink, doctors say, will hurt your health, ^ Though oft' they take a sup by stealth — \. And Justice says 'twill hurt your wealth — V For this they get their fees, sir : The Quaker, too, don't drink, he'll say, J Tho' by himself he'll suck away, S And sanctified, cries yea and nay, j As muzz'd as you see me, sir. (Speaking.) I'll tell you what — I said one of the best things, last week, I ever said in my life — it was a bon mot, or jew de sprit, or a rapartee, I don't know which. — I'll tell you — I was in high spirits — so I stole a dog from a blind man — for I loves fun — so then the blind man cried for his dog, and that made me laugh— so says I to the blind man, hip, master, do you want your dog ? " Yes, sir," says he. — Xow only mind what I said to the blind man — says I, — do you want your dog ? " Yes, sir," says he. — Then says I to the blind man — says I — go look for him. — Keep it up ! Tipsey, dizzy. Sec. When ladies drink, we sneering say, 1 Or point in pantomimic way, V Upon my soul, she's rather gay, \ 300 COMIC SONGS. The Drunken BlicIc. Indeed she's mighty muddled. When bucks are bubb'd, they're in the sun, ) So keep it up, for I loves fun ; s. And when a husband up is done, \ The wife cries, " Deary's fuddled." (Speaking.) Now, my wife's one of the cleverest men in our parish — she always makes her mutton pies of beef-steaks; and she will have it,that the shortest day is too long by a yard and a half ; but I am so doatingly fond of her, if she long'd for arsenic, I'd go ten miles but she shou'd have it. Tipsey, dizzy, &c. When Jack is grogg'd, he's ship'd his beer, — ^ Stand clear — make way — mind how you steer ; v Tlie lover, he sighs out — my dear I \ I'm prim'd without much trouble; Sometimes disguis'd, and sometimes mellow, ^ A bosky rocky cheerful fellow, > And when I'm muzz'd, the truth I tcUo — \ I every thing see double. (Speaking.) I went to sec my broihcr Tom yester- day, and 1 never swore so well in my life — I swore all my new oaths — it wou'd have done you good to have heard juc swear. — So, Tom says, " Brother, " brother,\vhat will this world come to .?" Says I,the same place it set out from tiiis day twelve-month. " These are very slippery times, very slippery " times." — They are always so in frosty weather.— " I can't bear to see such times !" — Shut your oy( -^ then- Tip«ey, dirzy, ^,<- COMIC SONGS. 301 1 he Jolly Dif r. Then, bring me bowls of geiiVous wine, ^ Since life's a jest, 1 ne'er repine ; y The morning sun begins to shine — V We'll do some deed of wonder: The Germans say they drink the raost^ "^ And France und Italy will boast; v Old England still will rule the roast, \ And make 'em all knock under. (Speaking.) I understands history — and I always lov'd Queen Anne, because as how her name was Betty. — Where the devil's my bottle ? {Drink so?ne local toast.) THE JOLLY DIER. Tune — '^ A plague of your pother about this or that."' In this world so extensive, how many, to eat, Will laugh or will cry, will pray or will cheat; But for me, I exist quite a difterent way, For the better to livej sirs, I die every day. Tol, lol, &c. Your doctors may physic, your counsellors talk. Your pugilists box, your pedestrians walk ; By the death of their friends, undertakers get pelf, But my living arises from dying myself. Tol, lol, 5:c. In the noose matrimonial, how many are fast, A knot ty'd so firm, it for ever must last; But with us men of colour, 'tis loosen'd with ease. For we make our wives die whenever we please, VOL. u. D d Tol, lol. kc. 302 COMIC SOXGS. [he Sensible Family. Mankind we distinguish by different hues, And know, by their colours, Turks, Frenchmen, and Jews ; Yet we never, like West-India planters, good lack, Would oppress a poor brotiier, because he's died black. Tol, lol, &c. What are all your great patriots, who gain such applause. By saying they'd die for their country and laws ; Were they to perform all their promises speak, They could only die once, while we die all the zceeh. Tol, lol, &c. THE SENSIBLE FAMILY. I had a wife of my own. Still with her tongue she clatter'd on, Not with her knuckle and bone. But with her tongue she batter'd on. With cuckold, ass, blockhead, and drone, And such like words she clatter'd on, Not with her knuckle and bone. But with poker and tongs she batter'd on. (Speaking.) But, poor soul ! she happen'd to die one day, and went out like the snuff of a candle, singing, Ka, ba, wa, wa, wow, eh, wow, &c. (Imitating Punchf thefirsl part of the tunefor chorus) tOMIC SONGS. SOS riie Sensible Familj'. Soon I married a second, She, like the other, wouM rule again; A beauty by most folks she's reckon'd, Though her frowns soon made me cool again ; Her beauty and charms, I vow, Wou'd move the heart of any man; She's as fat as a pig or a sow. With a face like a well polish'd warming-pan. (Speaking.) A dropsy carried her off, poor soul ! and she left me one child, and a sensible boy he is — Going to stir the fire the other day, he lays hold of the hot end of the poker, and as soon as he found it burnt his fingers, d — n me if he didn't drop it im- mediately — Oh ! he's a sensible boy — and can sing, Ka, ba, wa, &c. I then vow'd to keep my=eir single. My person neglected, strong taken too. But Dorothy's charms made mv hean tingle, And my vow, like pie-crust, was broken too : Though some men hor love had derided. Her face, [ must needs say, was copper-brown; To be sure, she was rather lop-sided With a short and long leg that went up and down. (Speaking. ) Poor creature ! she lc!t ine one child, and a clever lad he is; and writes two charming hands — one lie can't re id fiimsclf, and the t;thcr nobody can read for him— but still he contrives to siug, Ka, ba, wa, &c. ode 30i COMIC SOKGS. The SeubiLlc umiUy. Two children left on my hands, They took a trifle maintaining too; With Hymen acjain link'd in hands, My wife louk'd rather disdaining two; Her cash hke trout I must tickle, She's brisk, and forswears melancholy too ; Tho' her walk's rather rumbusticle, And her name's Gimlet-eyed Molly too. (Speaking.) She left me one only daughter, and the parson of the parish took a liking to her — And what do you think she did ? — she mended the parson's black stockings with white worsted, and set him hopping to church like a magpie. — Oh ! she's a cheerful lass, and always sings, Ka, ba, w a, wa, &c. My present wife just suits again ; And I trust I may have occasion to liaise a new rare of recruits again, To keep us from foreign invasion too : J^he's a swect-temper'd creature, good lack ! With a title 1 hope wont degrade her too. For having a hump on her back. Why you may call her my wife, or my lady too. (Speaking.) I have but one child by her, and a sharp lad he is. — Turning the corner of the street the other day, lie ran full butt against an attorney, and d- n mc if he has been able to speak a word of truth ever since. — Having given you a full descrip- tion of my wives and family, I wish you cou'd sec us all sitting in the chimney corner, on a winter's evening, every one of us singing, Ka, ba, wa, wa, wow, cb,wow, &:c. eOMIC SONGS. 1 lie Jew I'c Jiai THE JEW PEDLAR. Tho' late I was a pedlar, ray shop vas in my box, So sure as I'm a smouch, and my name is Mordecai, In cheating of the world against vhipping post or stocks, For I never sticks for trifles, vlicn derc's monies in de vay. I cuts copper gilt for gold rings, and so I gets my bread, With sealing-vax of brick dust, and pencils vithout lead. Vid my pick-pack, nick-nack, trick-track, jimmack. And sing, tink ring chink, is de music still for me. Suppose I do de business of a doctor or a priest, [me; And in vant of my assistance, a poor man sends for In doing of my business, I should mind myself at least. If I spies a good fat piece of pork, and he cou'd give no fee, He'd think I would refuse it; but, bless me ! he's mistaken ; I cou'd sell it, if not eat it, and dat wou'd not save his bacon. Vid my pick-packj &c. Suppose I vas a judge, or a justice of de peace. And venever prosecutor brings a thief before de bench. They must swear upon dc thief, 'till dey all be black in face ; If de prisoner bring good argument, a fig for evidence ; » d 3 30(3. 'COJIIC SONG?. '1 lie Muhin-Man. BuLif that dog be pcnnyless, my vork 1 must go thvo', As my conscience would not Ici mc rob dc gallows of its due. Vid my pick-pack, ike. Suppose I vas in Parliament, de scheme I vou'd propose, So sure as I'm a smoucli, and my name is Mordecai, I'd be like dc little plow-boy, sell off my ayes and noes, For I never sticks for trifles, ven dcre's monies in the vay. And before I vou'd stand out, vere dcre's plenty of the pelf. If the devil vas de purchaser, by got I'd sell myself. Vid my pick-pack, Sic. THE MUFFIN-MAN. While your opera squallers fine verses are singing, Of heroes, and poets, and such like hunigutlins; While the world's running round like a mill in full sail, I ne'er bother my head with what other folks ail. But careless and frisky my bell I keep ringing. And walk about merrily, crying my muffins. (Chorus.) Lily white muffins, O rare crumpets, smoking hot Yorkshire cakes, hot loaves and •harming cakes, one a penny, two a penny, York- shire cakes. COMIC SONGS. . 307 or. My K\e and He.ijgy Mai What matters to me, if great folks run a gadding, For politics, fashion, or such hotheration ? Let them drink as they brew, while I merrily bake, For tho' f sell muttins, I'm not such a cake To let other fool's fancies e'er set me a-madding, Or burden my thoughts with tiie cares of t!ie nation. (Spoken.) What have I to do with politics ; and as for your Parliament cakes, every body knows they are bought and sold all over the nation. No, no, it's enough for me to cry — Lily white muffins, dkc. Let sailors and soldiers, contending for glory, Delight in the rattle of drums and of trumpets ; Undertakers get living by other folks dying; While actors make money by laughing and crying; Let lawyers with quizzes and guiddities bore ye; It's iwthing to me while Fm crying my crumpets. (Spoken.) What do I care for lawyers? An't I a baker, and master of the rolls myself? Droll enough too, for a master of the rolls to be crying — Lily -white muffins, &c. CAKES; OR, MY EYE AND PEGGY MARTIN. Here am I so gay, I hope to make you merry, Here are cakes — come, buy away, encourage little Jerry : The world, you will agree, of things that's strange partakes, sir, We're all one family, and like different cakes, sir. 508 COMIC SONGS. Cakes; or, My Eye and Pe^sy Martin. ( Sjjeukiug.) i o he sure, tliere are your hot cakes and your cold cakes ; your flat cakes, and your sharp cakes; your dry cakes, and your shy cakes; your biscuits, and your avercakes : — For my part, 1 re- commend every one of you, to — Buy nice cakes I sell, they're genuine, I'm sartin, [tin. But if the truth I tell, it's all my eye and Peggy Mar- A coxcomb's head is chaff, like mouldy crust, won't bake, sir, [sir ; Too puffy he's by half, and therefore call'd a cake, "While the miser, lackaday's ! a gripe-cake, you may trust, sir. And, the best that you can say, he's but a mouldy crust, sir. (Speaking.) I met a miser the other day — " Hark'e, " fellow," says he, '■' Are your cakes made of the " best flour?" Oh, yes, upon my honor, sir, says I. ♦* D n your honor," say she : " When I was in " trade I had no honor." Egad, he had me there ; Jiowever, I advis'd him, to — Buy a nice queen-cake — they're genuine, I'm sartin ; But if honor is the stake, it's all my eye and Peggy Martin. A sailor, like tea-cake, is moulded of the best, sir; A bailiff, like a sea-cake, is d — d hard to dige>^t, sir; The doctor is an ill-cake, sure you will agree, sir, For if he gives a pill-cake, he pockets snug his fee, sir. (Speaking.) A German doctor came to attend my wife when she was dying, — "Ah! ah!" says he, " Dis is very bad country for de health — de people " do die very fast here." — Says I, doctor, I'll be COMIC S0XC3. 509 Cakes ; or, My bye and Peg^y M.utiii obliged to you to tell me the couutry where the people do not die, and I'll go there and end my days. — 'Gad, I had him there. — Come, says I, doctor, — Ciiy my cakes, sj fine — -my wife's ilead, I'm snrtin, For her to grieve or piiie^ is all my eye and Peggy Martin. A prude, you know's a dry-cake, neither bitter, sour, nor s^vect, A coquette we'll call a biy-cakc, that none wou'd wish to eat ; A soldier is a rum-cake, w])o frightens well our foe, sir, And pretty miss a plumb-cake, — a bride-cake we all know, sir. ( Speaking- ) Few females, T fancy, but what are fond of a bride-cake; though they all declare," O, dear ! " don't talk to me about husbands ; — I hate the " nasty men ! — Fm resol\ 'd Fll never he mar- " ried I" — Till somebody asks you, says I. — That's right, miss, take my advice, and — Bride-cake buy again — of this I'm sure and sartin, If you say you hate the men, it's all my eye and Peggy Martin. A lover is a lean-cake, soften'd by his fair, sir, And beauty is a queen-cake, that drives him to despair, sir ; Of spices made so pat, a lawyer is a ban-cake. His client is the flat, and therefore like a pan-cake. (Speaking.) Tlie law always bothers me — for it puts me in mind of a coffin — if once you get in, you 310 COMIC SONGS. C kes; or, My Eye awd Peg^y Martin. never get out again — therefore, sooner than meddle or make, I wou'd advise you, to — Buy nice cakes, regale — of this I'm sure and sartin, If lawyers tell a tale, it's all my eye and Peggy Mar- tin. Now, to sum up all my cakes, and make e'm in one batch, sir, [sir, May the devil, that hard-cake monopoly, once catch, In his oven, warm and deep, may he be bak'd secure, sir, Whilst the wheat-cake may grow cheap, for to benefit the poor, sir. (Speaking.) And there is not the least doubt of it, as we keep unanimous at home; and shou'd our enemies choose to be troublesome, why, I'll tell 'em Our soldiers wou'd take heart, and our seamen too, I'm sartin, [Martin. Wou'd tell great Bonapart, it's all my eye and Peggy SONG. Inlroduced hj/ Jobson, in *' The Devil to Pay. AVhon good king Arthur ruled this land, lie was a mi':j}iry ^;ing, lie sto'o a peck of barlev-mcal To make plumb ]md-c/i}ig. And for to make this pudding gOod> They stuck it full of plumbs, And in it put large gobs of fat. As big as my two thumbs. COMIC SnXGS. 311 My Grandmother's Lye-water. Of this pudding all did eat, And then to bed they hied, And what they cou'd not eat that night The queen next morning fried. SONG, Li the character of Motley, in " The Dead Auve,' An actor's a comical dog ; Now frisky, now dull as a log. So changeable all, Now short, and now tall, Now plump, then as slim as a frog. Now Paddy, the brogue he puts on ; Then struts with the pride of a Don ; Now a French oui, monsieur; Then a Dutch j/aio, mynheer ; Or bra' Donald, the head of his clan. How rarely they take in the town, From one shilling up to a crown: They pant, and they cry. Fight, tremble, and die. But laugh when the curtain is down. MY GRANDMOTHER'S EYE- WATER. Of all sorts of drops, drooping spirits to cure, A good drop of comfort's the best, I am sure ; 312 COMIC SONGS. Some take their drop open, and some take it sly, But the drop I hke best is a drop in my eye, Tol, lol, &c. We all love a drop now a then, we do. Your delicate ladies pretend, you know, As how they never get muzzy or so ; But they're all in their cups when the tea they touch, And they now and then get a cup too much. Tol, lol, &c. My Granny, because IVe bad eyes, gave me 1 he genuine eye-water; only see : (Holds up a bottle) But ray hand shakes so, north, cast, west, south, I never can get it beyond my mouth. Tol, lol, &c. I'm a very dry creature, the people say. Of course I must drink to moisten my clay; And when it's too moist, drink again, you know, For the more you drink, the drier you grow. OTHELLO. Oh ! have ye not heard of a story, A comical story and true ? If yau haven't, and will but attend, It's a hundred to one but you do; COMIC SONGS. It is of a man of some note, A comical outlandish fellow, In Venice he lived, as it's wrote. And his name it was Mr. Othello, Ruinpti uditj. A gentleman there had a daughter, With Othy she'd grown very mellow. He wonder'd what passion had caught her — She sigh'd for her blacky Othello : Now Bribantio had offer'd his daughter A husband a long time before. She sncez'd at the one he had brought her, She vow'd and declared she'd have Moor. Rumpti, Sec. Then general Othello he came, And to Gretna the lady he carried ; Gretna may'nt be indeed the right name. But no matter — I'm sure they were married : No sooner they tightly were tied, Than jealousy seizes love's place, And Othello so mad with his bride, That egad he's quite black in the face. Rumpti, 6ic, A young captain, Cassio, by luck She saw, a fine dashing gay fellow,. His sabre and gorget they stuck In the gizzard of Mr. Othello. VOL. ir. ?. e i314 rem re songs. After drill, now this viiunter so gay, Ott with Mrs. Othello drank cotfec, sir, Till Othy thought proper to say, " Sweet Desdy, don't ask that young officer." llunipti, &c. One evening this captain so smart. Called in winter, as truly 'tis said. And tho' he was hot in his heart, Yet he'd got a bad cold in his head : Now as IVIr. Othello was out. And for favors his wife could not thank her chief, To wipe Cassio's acquiline snout, Desdemona lent her pocket-handkerchief. Rumpti, &c, A young ancient lago love felt. And sweet Desdy he wish'd to be kissing, But finding the Fair wouldn't melt, Turn'd to mischief her handkerchief missing; And bent upon making a row, Treated Othy with beer at an oyster house, Invented the when and the how, Tiicn Othello turn'd wonderful boisterous. Rumpti, (Sec. So wlicn he came home, straight lie goes To Mrs. Othello in bed, And says he, " Dear, I must blow my nose, " For I've got a sad cold in my head, COMIC SONGS. 31. *' A haiidkercliief, wife — I expect one," So out from the pillow she tost it ; " Not tliis/' he exclaim'd, " but the clieckM one,'* " Oh, curse it," cry'd Desdy, " I've lost it." lUunpti, Sec. " You lie," says Othello, " that's true, " So nothing remains to be said.'' " I lie — yes, my dear, t}\at I do, " For byjingo I lie in the bed." Cries Othello, " I vow there's too much light, " I'll never be call'd a blood-spiller," So the general he put out the rush-light. And killed his wife dead with the pillow. llumpll, &c. Then the blood of lago lie slicd, Then he fell on his dear Dcsdy's body. Then Mrs. Othello's dead head On her shoulders went nidity noddy. All this comes from a cold in the head,. So blind fortune in this matter shews her eye, Not one of these folks would be dead If they had but worn fine fleecy hosiery. HAMLET. A hero's life I sing. His story shall my pen mark, He was not the king. But Hamlet Prince of Denmark. E e ^ COMIC SONCS. His mamma %vas young, The crown she had her eyes on ; Her husband stopt her tongue — She stopt liis cars with poison; Toorol loorol lay, ti rol rurapti udy, Tweedle decdle ch, ri fol rumpti doodle. When she had killed tlic king, She ogled much his brother, And having slain one spouse, She quickly got another, And this so soon did she. And was so great a sinner, The funeral baked meats Serv'd for the wedding dinner. Toorol, &c. Now Hamlet sweet, her son, No bully or bravado. Of love felt hot the flame. And so went to Burnardo : " Oh, sir," says he, " we've seea " A sight with monstrous sad eye;" And this was nothing but — The ghost of Hamlet's daddy. Toorol, kc. Just at that time it rose, And sighing said — *' List, Hammy, " Your mother is the snake •' That poisoned me, or d — mc. COMIC SONGS. 517 " And now I'm down in h — 1!, '' All over sulphrous flame boy, •' That your dad should lie on fiie, " You'll owu'a a burning shame boy.'^ Toorol; &c. Just at the time he spoke, The morn was breaking thro* dell, Up jump'd a cock and cried, " Cock a doodle doodle:" " I'm now cock-sure of going ; " Preserve you from all evil; " You to your mother walk, " And I'll walk to the devil." Toorol, &c, Hamlet loved a maid, Calumny had pais'd her. She ne'er had played tricks, 'Cause — nobody had ask'd her: Madness seized her wits. Poor lord chamberlain's daughter ! She jump'd into a pond, And went to heaven by water, Toorol, &:c» No matter now for that, A play they made and shammed it^ The audience Claudius was. And he got up and damn'd it, E e 3 313 COMIC SONGS. A Sup of^Good U huky. He vow'd he'd see no more, He felt a wondrous diz/iness, And then for candles called, To make light of the business. Toorol;