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When lab'ring paffions, in his bofom pent,
Convulfive rage, and ftruggling heave for vent;
Spectators, with imagin'd terrors warm,
Anxious expect the bursting of the ftorm:
But, all unfit in fuch a pile to dwell,
His voice contes forth, like Echo from her cell;
To fwell the tempeft needful aid denies,
And all a-down the ftage in feeble murmurs dies.
What man, like Barry, with fuch pains, can en
In elocution, action, character?

What man could give, if Barry was not here,
Such well-applauded tenderness to Lear?
Who elte can fpeak to very, very fine,
That fente may kindly end wit. ev'ry line?

With ftri&t propriety their care 's confin'd
To weigh out words, while paffion halts behind.
To fyllable-diffectors they appeal,


Some dozen aines before the ghoft is there, Behold him for the folenin fcens prepare. See how he Frames his sves, poifes each limb, Purs the whole body into proper trim.-From whence we learn, with, no great ftretch of Five lines hence comes a ghot, and, ha! a fait. When he appears mort perfect, ftill we find Something which jars upon, and hurts the mind. Whatever lights upon a part are thrown, We fee too plainly they are not his own. No flame from nature ever yet he caught; Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught; He rais'd his trophics on the bafe of art, And con'd his pallions as he conn'd his part. Qum, from afar lur'd by the fcent of fanie, Aftage Let than, put in his claim, Fupil of Betterton and Booth. Alone. Sullen he walk'd, and deem'd the chair his own. For how fhould moderns, mushrooms of the day. Whone'er thofe maiters knew, know how toplay? Grey-bearded vet rans, who, with partial tongue, Extol the times when they themselves were young, Who having foft all relifh for the stage, See pot their own defects, but lath the age, Receiv'd with joyful muriners of appkaute Their darling chief, and lim'd his fav rite caufe. Far be it from the candid mufe to tread Infulting o'er the athes of the dead, But, just to living merit, fhe maintains, And dares the teft, whilft Garrick's genius reigns; Ancients in vain endeavour to excel, Happily prais'd, if they could act as well. But though prefcription's force we difallow, Nor to antiquity fubmiffive bow; Though we deny imaginary grace, Founded on accidents of time and place; Yet real worth of ev'ry growth shall bear Due praife, nor muft we, Quin, forget thee there. His words bore fterling weight, nervous and In manly tides of fenfe they roll'd along. [ftrong Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit fenfe. No actor ever greater heights could reach In all the labour'd a tifice of speech.

Allow them accent, cadence,--fook may feel;
But, fpite of all the criticifing clves,
Thofe who would make us feck, muft feel them-

His eyes, in gloomy focket taught to roll, Proclaim'd the fullen habit of his foul. Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage, Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage. When Hector's lovely widow fhines in tears, Or Rowe's gay rake dependant vintne jeers, With the fame caft of features he is feen To chide the libertine, and court the queen. From the tame feene, which without paffion dows, With juft defert his reputation refe; Nor lefs he pleas'd, when, on fome farly plan, He was, at once, the aétor and the man.

In Brute he fhone unequall'd: all agree Garrick 's not half to great a brute as he. When Cato's labour'd fcenes are brought to view, With equal praise the actor labour'd too; For ftill you'll find, trace paflions to their root, Small diffience twixt the Stoic and the brute. In faucied fcenes, as in life's real plan, He could not for a mement fink the man. In whate'er caft his character was laid, Self ftill, ke oil, upon the furface play'd. Nature, in fpite of all his fkill, crept in: Horatio, Dorax, Falftaff,―&ill 'twas Quin.

Next follows Sheridan-a doubtful name, As yet unfettled in the rank of fame. This, fondly lavifh in his praifes grown, Gives him all merit: That allows him none. Between them both we 'll freer the middle courfe, Nor, loving praife, rob judgment of her force.

Jut his conceptions, naural and great: His feelings fong, his words enforc'd with weight.

Was fpeech-fam'd Quin himself rohear him speak,
Envy ould drive the colour from his cheek:
But ftep-dame nature, niggard of her grace,
Deny'd the focial pow'rs of voice and face.
Fix'd in one frame of features, glare of eye,
Paffions, like chaos, in confufion lie:
In vain the wonders of his kill are try'd
To form diftinctions nature hath dery'd.
His voice no touch of harmony admits,
Irregularly deep and fhrill by hits:
The two extremes appear like man and wife,
Coupled together for the fake of ftrife.

His action's always ftrong, but fometimes fuck,
That candour must declare he acts too much.
Why muft impatience fall three paces back?
Why paces three return to the attack?
Why is the right-leg too forbid to ftir,
Unles in motion femicircular?

Speech! Is that all And fhalk an actor found Why moft the hero with the Nailor vic, An univerfal fame on partial ground? Parrots themfelves fpeak properly by rote, And, in fix months, my dog fhall howl by note. I laugh at thofe, who, when the ftage they tread, Neglect the heart, to compliment the head;

And hurl the clofe-clench'd fift at nofe or eye?
In roya! John, with Philip angry grown,
I thought he would have knock'd poor Davies
Inhuman tyrant was it not a fhame, [down.
To fright a king fo harmless and fo tame?


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But, fpite of all defects, his glories rife;
And art, by judgment form'd, with nature vies:
Behold him found the depth of Hubert's foul,
Whilft in his own contending paflions roll;
View the whole fcene, with critic judgment fcan,
And then deny him merit if you can.
Where he falls fhort, 'tis nature's fault alone;
Where he fucceeds, the merit 's all his own.

Laft Garrick came.-Behind him throng a train
Of fnarling critics, ignorant as vain.

One finds out, He 's of ftature fomewha:

"Your hero always fhould be tall, you know.-
"True natural greatnefs all confifts in height."
Produce your voucher, critic." Serjeant Kite."

§ 35. The Pleafines of Imagination. AKENSIDE.


Another can't forgive the paltry arts
By which he makes his way to allow hearts; WITH what attractive charms this goodly
Mere pieces of fineffe, traps for applaufe-
"Avaunt, unnatural ftart, affected paule."


Forme,by nature forin'd to judge with phlegm,
I can't acquit by wholefale, nor condemn.
The beft things carried to excefs are wrong:
The tart may be too frequent, paufe too long:
But, only us'd in proper time and place,
Severeft judgment must allow them grace.

If bunglers, form'd on imitation's plan,
Just in the way that monkies mimic man,
Their copied fcene with mangled arts difgrace,
And pause and start with the fame vacant face;
We join the critic laugh; those tricks we scorn,
Which fpoil the fcenes they mean them to adorn.
But when, from nature's pure and genuine fource,
Thefe ftrokes of acting flow with gen'rous force;
When in the features all the foul's pourtray'd,
And pallions, fuch as Garrick's, are difplay'd;
To me they feem from quickest feelings caught:
Each start is nature; and cach paufe is thought.
When reafon yields to paffion's wild alarms,
And the whole ftate of man is up in arms;
What but a critic could condemn the player,
For paufing here, when cool fenfe pauies there?
Whilft, working from the heart, the fire I trace.
And mark it ftrongly flaming to the face;
Whilft, in each found, I hear the very man;
I can't catch words, and pity those who can.

Let wits, like spiders, from the tortur'd brain
Fine-draw the critic-web with curious pain;
The gods,-a kindness Į with thanks must pay,-
Have form'd me of a courfer kind of clay;
Nor ftung with envy, nor with fpleen difcas'd,
A poor dull creature, ftill with nature pleas'd;
Hence to thy praifes, Garrick, I agree,
And, pleas'd with nature, muft be pleas'd with


Now might I tell, how filence reign'd through


And deep attention hufh'd the rabble rout:
How ev'ry claimant, tortur'd with defire,
Was pale as afhes, or as red as fire:
But, loofe to fame, the Mufe more fimply acts,
Rejects all flourish, and relates mere facts.

And, in their fentence happily agreed,
In name of both, Great Shakespear thus decreed:
"If manly fenfe; if nature link'd with art;
If thorough knowledge of the human hearî;
If pow'rs of acting valt and unconfin'd;
If feweft faults with greatest beauties join'd;
If ftrong expreflion, and ftrange pow'rs which lie
Within the magic circle of the eye;

If feelings which few hearts, like his, can know,
And which no face to well as his can fhew;
Deferve the pref 'rence;-Garrick, take the chair;
Nor quit it-till thou place an equal there."

The judges, as the feveral parties came, With temper heard, with judgment weigh'd each claim,

Of nature touches the confenting hearts
Of mortal men; and what the pleafing ftores
Which beauteous imitation thence derives
To deck the poet's, or the painter's toil;
My verte unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers
Of mufical delight! and while I fing
Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.
Thou, finiling queen of ev'ry tuneful breaft,
Indulgent Fancy from the fruitful banks
Of Avon, whence thy rofy fingers cull
Fresh flowers and dews to fprinkle on the turf
Where Shakespear lies, be present: and with thee
Let Fiction come, up on her vagrant wings
Wafting ten thousand colours through the air,
Wh ch, by the glances of her magic eye,
She blends and shifts at will, through countless

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony! defcend
And join this feftive train for with thee comes
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,
Her fifter Liberty will not be far.
Be prefent, all ye Genii, who conduct
The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,
New to your fprings and fhades: who touch his


With finer founds: who heighten to his eye
The bloom of nature, and before him turn
The gayeft, happieft attitude of things.

Oft have the laws of each poetic ftrain
The critic-verfe employ'd; yet ftill unlung
Lay this prime fubject, though importing inoft
A poet's name: for fruitlefs is the attempt,
By dull obedience and by creeping toil
Obfcure to conquer the fevere afcent

Of high Parnaffus. Nature's kindling breath
Muft fire the chofen genius; nature's hand
Muft ftring his nerves, and imp his eagle wings
Impatient of the painful fteep, to foar
High as the fumipit, there to breathe at large
Ethereal air; with bards and fages old,
Immortal fons of praife. Thefe flattering fcenes
To this neglected labour court my fong;
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful talk



The mind fupreme. They alfo feel her charms
Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulfive ftring
Confenting, founded through the warbling air
Unbidden trains; even fo did Nature's hand
To certain fpecies of external things,
Attune the finer organs of the mind;
So the glad impulfe of congenial powers,
Or of tweet found, or fair proportion'd form,
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,
From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive
They catch the fpreading rays: till now the foul
At length difclofes every tuneful fpring,

To that harmonious movement from without
Refponfive. Then the inexpreffive ftrain
Diffufes its enchantment: Fancy dreams
Of facred fountains and Elyfian groves,

Or Wildom taught the fons of men her lore;
Then liv'd the Almighty One: then, deep-retir'd | And vales of blifs: the intellectual power
In his unfathom'd effence, view'd the forms,
The forms eternal of created things;
The radiant fun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,
The mountains, woods and streams, the rolling


And wildom's mien celeftial. From the first
Of days, on thein his love divine he fix'd,
His admiration till in time complete,
What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital fmile
Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
Of life informing each organic frame,
Hence the green earth, and wild refounding waves;
Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold:
And clear autumnal skies and vernal fhowers,
And all the fair variety of things.

Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
And miles: the paffions, gently footh'd away,
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
Alone are waking; love and joy, ferene
As airs that fan the fummer. O attend,
Whoe'er thou art, whom thefe delights can touch,
Whole candid bofom the refining love
Of Nature warms, O! liften to my fong;
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,
And teach thy folitude her voice to hear,
And point her lovelieft features to thy view.

Knowthen, whate'er of nature's pregnant stores,
Whate'er of mimic art's reflected forms
With love and admiration thus inflame
The powers of fancy, her delighted fons
To three illuftrious orders have referr'd;
Three fifter-graces, whom the painter's hand,
The poet's tongue confeffes; the fublime,
The wonderful, the fair. I fee them dawn!
I fee the radiant vifions, where they rife,
More lovely than when Lucifer difplays
His beaming forehead through the gates of morn,
To lead the train of Phoebus and the fpring.

Say, why was man fo eminently rais'd
Amid the vaft creation; why ordain'd
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
But that the Omnipotent might fend him forth
In fight of mortal and immortal powers,
As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of juftice; to exalt
His generous aim to all diviner deeds;
To chafe cach partial purpose from his breaft;
And through the mifts of paflion and of sense,
And through the toiling tide of chance and pain,
To hold his couric unfaltering, while the voice
Of truth and virtue, up the fteep afcent
Of nature, calls him to his high reward,
The applauding fmile of heaven? Elfe wherefore


To paint the finest features of the mind,
And to moft fubtile and myfterious things
Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love
Of nature and the mutes bids cplore,
Through fecret paths erewhile untrod by man,
The fair poetic region, to detect
Untafted fprings, to drink infpiring draughts,
And hade my temples with unfading flowers
Cull'd from the laurcate vale's profound reccfs,
Where never poct gain'd a wreath before.

From heaven my ftrains begin: from heaven

The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love and beauty, and poetic joy
And infpiration. Ere the radiant fun
Sprang from the eaft, or 'mid the vault of night
The moon fufpended her ferener lamp;
Ere mountains, woods, or ftreams adorn'd the

But not alike to every mortal eye
Is this great fcene unveil'd. For fince the claims
Of focial life to different labours urge
The active powers of man; with wife intent
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds
Imprints a different bias, and to each
Decrees its province in the common toil.
To fome the taught the fabric of the sphere,
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
The golden zones of heaven: to fome the gave
To weigh the moment of eternal things,
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain,
And will's quick impulfe: others by the hand
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
What healing virtue fwells the tender veins
Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of thorn
Draw forth, diftilling from the clifted rind
In balmy tears. Bur fome to higher hores
Were destin'd; fome within a finer mould
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
To thefe the Sire omnipotent unfolds
The world's harmonious volume, there to read
The tranfcript of himself. On every part
They trace the bright impreffions of his hand :
In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
Blooming with rofy fimiles, they fee portray'd
That uncreated beauty, which delights

In mortal bofoms this unquenched hope,
That breathes from day to day fublimer things,
And mocks poffeffion ? wherefore darts the mind,

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And continents of fand; will turn his gaze
To mark the windings of a fcanty rill
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born foul
Difdains to reft her heaven-afpiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth
And this diurnal fcene, the fprings aloft
Through fields of air; purfues the flying ftorm;
Rides on the vollied lightning through the

heavens ; Or, yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blaft,

Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high the foars
The blue profound, and hovering round the fun
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting fway
Bend the reluctant planets to abfolve
The fated rounds of time. Thence far effus'd
She darts her fwiftnefs up the long career
Of devious comets; through its burning figns
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of nature, and locks back on all the stars,
Whole blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invetts the orient. Now amaz'd the views
The empyreal waste, where happy fpirits hold,
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode;
And fields of radiance, whofe unfading light
Has travell'd the profound fix thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in fight of mortal things.
Even on the barriers of the world untir'd
She meditates the eternal depth below
Till half recoiling down the headlong fteep
She plunges; foon o'erwhelm'd and fwallow'd up
In that immenfe of being. There her hopes
Reft at the fated goal. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the fov'reign maker faid,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Power's purple robes, nor pleature's flowery lap,
The foul fhould find enjoyment: but from thefe
Turning difdainful to an equal good,
Through all the afcent of things inlarge her view,
Till every bound at length fhould difappear,
And infinite perfection clofe the fcene.


Call now to mind what high capacious powers Lie folded up in man: how far beyond The praife of mortals, may the eternal growth Of nature to perfection half divine, Expand the blooming foul? What pity then Should floth's unkindly fogs deprefs to earth Her tender bloffom; choak the ftreams of life, And blaft her fpring! Far otherwife design'd Almighty wifdom; nature's happy cares

The obedient heart far otherwife incline, Witnefs the fprightly joy when aught unknown Strikes the quick fente, and wakes each active power

To brifker measures: witnefs the neglect
Of all familiar profpects, though beheld
With tranfport once; the fond attentive gaze
Of young astonishment; the sober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For fuch the bounteous providence of heaven,
In every breaft implanting this defire
Of objects new and frange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to purfue
Thofe facred stores that wait the ripening foul,
In Truth's exhauftlefs bofom. What need words
To paint its power? For this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove; the penfive fage,
Heedleis of fleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the fickly taper; and untir'd
The virgin follows, with inchanted step,
The mazes of fome wild and wondrous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Uninindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night,
The village-matron round the blazing hearth
Sufpends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing attonishment! of witching rhimes,
And evil fpirits; of the death-bed-call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet fouls
Rifen from the grave to cafe the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of fhapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and


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The branches fhoot with gold; where'er his step Confefs'd in aught, whofe moft peculiar ends
Marks the glad foil, the tender clusters grow
With purple ripenefs, and inveft each hill
As with the blushes of an evening sky?
Or wilt thou rather ftoop thy vagrant plume,
Where, gliding through his daughter's honour'd

Are lame and fruitlefs? Or did Nature mean
This pleafing call the herald of a lie;
To hide the thame of difcord and disease,
And catch with fair hypocrify the heart
Of idle Faith: O no! with better cares
The indulgent mother, confcious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illuftrious image, in each kind
Still more illuftrious where the object holds
Its native powers moft perfect, the by this
Illumes the headstrong impulfe of Defire,
And fanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
Whofe bolom fimiles with verdure, the clear tract
Of streams delicious to the thirsty foul,
The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,
And every charm of animated things,
Are only pledges of a state fincere,
The integrity and order of their frame,
When all is well within, and every end
Accomplish'd.Thus was Beauty fent from


The fmooth Peneus from his glaffy flood
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleafant scene?
Fair Tempe! haunt belov'd of fylvan powers,
Of nymphs and fauns; where in the golden age
They play'd in fecret on the fhady brink
With ancient Pan: while round their choral steps
Young hours and genial gales with conftant hand
Shower'd bloffoms, odours, fhower'd ambrofial

And Spring's Elyfian bloom. Her flowery store
To thee nor Tempe fhall refufe; nor watch
Of winged Hydra guard Hefperian fruits
From thy free fpoil. O bear then, unreprov'd,
Thy finiling treasures to the green rece's
Where young Dione ftays. With fweeteft airs
Entice her forth to lend her angel-form
For Beauty's honour'd image. Hither turn
Thy grateful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,
Incline thy polith'd forehead: let thy eyes
Effufe the mildnefs of their azure dawn;
And may the fanning breezes waft afide
Thy radiant locks: difclofing, as it bends
With airy foftnefs from the marble neck,
The cheek fair-blooming, and the roty lip,
Where winning fimiles and pleafures fweet as

The lovely miniftrefs of Truth and Good
In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one,
And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore then,
O fons of carth! would ye diffolve the tie ?
O wherefore, with a rafh impetuous aim,
Seek ye thote flowery joys with which the hand
Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene
Where Beauty feems to dwell, nor once inquire
Where is the fanction of eternal Truth,
Or where the feal of undeceitful Good,
To fave your fearch from folly! Wanting these,
Lo! Beauty withers in your void embrace,
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
Did fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam
Of youthful hope that fines upon your hearts,
Be chill'd or clouded at this awful tafk,
To learn the lore of undeceitful Good,
And Truth eternal. Though the poifoncus

With fancity and wifdom, tempering blend
Their foft allurement. Then the pleafing force
Of nature, and her kind parental care
Worthier I'd fing: then all the enamour'd youth,
With each admiting virgin, to my lyre
Should throng attentive, while I point on high
Where Beauty's living image, like the morn
That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,
Moves onward; or as Venus, when the food
Effulgent on the pearly car, and fmii'd,
Fresh from the deep, and confcious of her form,
To fee the Tritons tune their vocal thells,
And each coerulean fifter of the flood
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
To feck the Idalian bower. Ye fmiling band
Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze
Of young defire with rival-fteps purfue
This charm of beauty; if the pleating toil
Cau yield a moment's refpite, hither turn
Your favourable ear, and trust my words.
I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
Of Superftition drefs'd in Wifdom's garb,
To damp your tender hopes; I do not mean
To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
Or fhapes infernal rend the groaning earth
To fright you from your joys; my cheerful fong
With better omens calls you to the field,
Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chafe,
And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,
Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where Health
And active Ufe are ftrangers? Is her charm

Of baleful Superftition guide the feet
Of fervile numbers, through a dreary way
To their abode, through deferts, thorns and mire;
And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn
To mule at laft, amid the ghoftly gloom
Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloifter'd cells;
To walk with fpectres through the midnight

And to the fcreaming owl's accurfed song
Attune the dreadful workings of his heart;
Yet be not ye difinay'd. A gentler ftar
Your lovely fearch iilumines. From the grove
Where Wifdom talk'd with her Athenian fons,
Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,
Then should my powerful verfe at once difpel
Those monkish horrors: then in light divine
Difclofe the Elyfian profpect, where the fteps
Of thofe whom nature charms, through blooming
Through fragrant mountains and poetic ftreams,
Amid the train of fages, heroes, bardis,


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