While Mr Holcroft was in this company, or a short time before he entered it, he married again. His second wife was the sister of a Mr Tipler, of Nottingham: by her he had two children, William, born in 1773, and Sophy, born at Cockermouth, in 1775. Her mother either died in child-bed of her, or shortly after. This marriage would have been a very happy one, had it not been embittered by scenes of continual distress and disappointment, which Mrs. H. bore with a resignation and sweetness of temper, which could not but endear her to a husband of Mr Holcroft’s character. There is a sort of Shandean manuscript of his, written at this time, and in which he gives an account of his own situation, crosses, poverty, etc. In this there are several passages expressive of the tenderest attachment to his wife; and which, from the amiable character he has drawn of her, she seems to have deserved. One of these will, I think, strongly paint the amiableness of his own heart. After describing a series of misfortunes, he breaks out into the following beautiful address to his wife.
‘Oh Matilda! shall I ever forget thy tenderness and resignation? Or when in the bitterness of despair, beholding thee pregnant, wan with watching thy sick infant, and sitting assiduously at thy needle to earn a morsel of bread,—when thou hast beheld the salt rheum of biting anguish scald my agonizing cheek, with what tender love, what mild, what sweet persuasive patience, thou hast comforted my soul, and made even misery smile in hope, and fond forgetfulness! Richer than all the monarchs of the east, Matilda, has thy kindness made me: the world affords not thy equal!’
Mr Holcroft afterwards removed with his wife into Booth’s company. She had a good figure, and her husband had taught her to sing, and instructed her sufficiently in the business of the stage to render her serviceable to the theatre. When at Cockermouth in 1775, Mr Holcroft addressed a letter and a poem to David Garrick, which I shall here insert; both as they are curious in themselves, and are characteristic of the state of his feelings at the time. For the romantic extravagance of his appeal to Garrick’s generosity, noother apology seems necessary, than the old adage, that drowning men catch at straws.
‘To David Garrick, Esq.
‘To David Garrick, Esq.
‘To David Garrick, Esq.
‘Sir, I know of no excuse that I can make for the impertinence of this address, but my feelings. They press hard upon me, they are not to be withstood. They have told me your sympathetic heart sighs for the distressed, and weeps with the child of sorrow. I believe they told me truth.
‘I am a strolling comedian, have a wife and family, for whom I would fain provide, but have sometimes, notwithstanding the strictest economy, found the task a very difficult one. I am now near three hundred miles from London, in a company that must, in all human probability, soon be dispersed; my wife lying-in at an inn, and in circumstances that I cannot describe. I do not wish to eat the bread of idleness; I neither know, nor wish to know any thing of luxury; and a trifling salary would make me affluent. I have played in the country with applause, and my friends, I am afraid, have flattered me: some of them have ranked me among the sons of genius, and I have, at times, been silly enough to believe them. I have succeeded best in low comedy and old men. I understand music very well, something of French and fencing, and have a very quick memory, as I can repeat any part under four lengths at six hours’ notice. I have studied character, situation, dress, deliberation, enunciation, but above all, the eye and the manner; and have so far succeeded, as to be entirely at the head of my profession here in all those characters which nature has any way qualified me for. I am afraid, Sir, you think by this time that I have undertaken to write my own panegyric. That, however, is far from my intention; neither do I wish for employment in any but a very subordinate situation. My wife is a good figure, but her timidity would always place her behind a Queen at your theatre. If you were to find me capable of any thing better than an attendant, to your judgment would I cheerfully accede. If you do not chuse to employ my wife, but would only engage me, I think we shouldbothremember it with that enthusiasm of gratitude, with which good minds are oppressed when they receive favours which they have no possible means of returning.
‘I am, Sir,‘Your very humble Servant, etc.
‘I am, Sir,‘Your very humble Servant, etc.
‘I am, Sir,‘Your very humble Servant, etc.
‘I am, Sir,
‘Your very humble Servant, etc.
‘Cockermouth, in Cumberland,June 1st, 1775, at the houseof George Bowes, hatter.
‘Cockermouth, in Cumberland,June 1st, 1775, at the houseof George Bowes, hatter.
‘Cockermouth, in Cumberland,June 1st, 1775, at the houseof George Bowes, hatter.
‘Cockermouth, in Cumberland,
June 1st, 1775, at the house
of George Bowes, hatter.
‘P.S. With respect to the trifling Poem inclosed, I meant only to ease my own heart by it: should it reach yours, it will be more than I can expect.’
HOPE;OR,THE DELUSION.
HOPE;OR,THE DELUSION.
HOPE;
OR,
THE DELUSION.
‘Advance, soft soother of the mind,Oh! hither bend, a welcome guest:Sweet Hope! stray hither, here thou’lt findThose sanguine thoughts, that please thee best.Fair Fancy bring, thy darling child,Deck’d in loose robes of Alpine white:With thee, her happy Parent, wildShe wings her bold, romantic flight.Blest pair! I’ll sing, inspir’d by you,Of wealth bestow’d to noble ends,Of sweet enchanting scenes in view,Of future times and faithful friends.Tho’ my sweet William, prattling youth,For bread oft begs in accents meek;Matilda, fairest flower of truth,Droops on my breast her dew-dipt cheek.Tho’ the big tears run down my faceTo see her aspect wan and mild,And hear her lov’d affection traceMy care-mark’d features in our child.Tho’ fortune lowly bows my neck,And cares not for the wretch’s groan,—Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,And I’ll ascend her star-built throne.Now, now, I mount! Behold me rise!Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,Oh! listen to the magic lies,Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings!With Independence truly blest,Of some neat cot she styles me lord,Where Age and Labour love to rest,Where healthy viands press the board.Now lay me down, kind nymph, at easeBeneath yon verdant mountain’s brow,Where wanton zephyrs fan the trees,Where violets spring, and waters flow.What joys—delusive charmer, hold!Despair has seiz’d my thick’ning blood:Her lips how pale! Her cheek how cold!Matilda faints for want of food!’
‘Advance, soft soother of the mind,Oh! hither bend, a welcome guest:Sweet Hope! stray hither, here thou’lt findThose sanguine thoughts, that please thee best.Fair Fancy bring, thy darling child,Deck’d in loose robes of Alpine white:With thee, her happy Parent, wildShe wings her bold, romantic flight.Blest pair! I’ll sing, inspir’d by you,Of wealth bestow’d to noble ends,Of sweet enchanting scenes in view,Of future times and faithful friends.Tho’ my sweet William, prattling youth,For bread oft begs in accents meek;Matilda, fairest flower of truth,Droops on my breast her dew-dipt cheek.Tho’ the big tears run down my faceTo see her aspect wan and mild,And hear her lov’d affection traceMy care-mark’d features in our child.Tho’ fortune lowly bows my neck,And cares not for the wretch’s groan,—Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,And I’ll ascend her star-built throne.Now, now, I mount! Behold me rise!Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,Oh! listen to the magic lies,Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings!With Independence truly blest,Of some neat cot she styles me lord,Where Age and Labour love to rest,Where healthy viands press the board.Now lay me down, kind nymph, at easeBeneath yon verdant mountain’s brow,Where wanton zephyrs fan the trees,Where violets spring, and waters flow.What joys—delusive charmer, hold!Despair has seiz’d my thick’ning blood:Her lips how pale! Her cheek how cold!Matilda faints for want of food!’
‘Advance, soft soother of the mind,Oh! hither bend, a welcome guest:Sweet Hope! stray hither, here thou’lt findThose sanguine thoughts, that please thee best.
‘Advance, soft soother of the mind,
Oh! hither bend, a welcome guest:
Sweet Hope! stray hither, here thou’lt find
Those sanguine thoughts, that please thee best.
Fair Fancy bring, thy darling child,Deck’d in loose robes of Alpine white:With thee, her happy Parent, wildShe wings her bold, romantic flight.
Fair Fancy bring, thy darling child,
Deck’d in loose robes of Alpine white:
With thee, her happy Parent, wild
She wings her bold, romantic flight.
Blest pair! I’ll sing, inspir’d by you,Of wealth bestow’d to noble ends,Of sweet enchanting scenes in view,Of future times and faithful friends.
Blest pair! I’ll sing, inspir’d by you,
Of wealth bestow’d to noble ends,
Of sweet enchanting scenes in view,
Of future times and faithful friends.
Tho’ my sweet William, prattling youth,For bread oft begs in accents meek;Matilda, fairest flower of truth,Droops on my breast her dew-dipt cheek.
Tho’ my sweet William, prattling youth,
For bread oft begs in accents meek;
Matilda, fairest flower of truth,
Droops on my breast her dew-dipt cheek.
Tho’ the big tears run down my faceTo see her aspect wan and mild,And hear her lov’d affection traceMy care-mark’d features in our child.
Tho’ the big tears run down my face
To see her aspect wan and mild,
And hear her lov’d affection trace
My care-mark’d features in our child.
Tho’ fortune lowly bows my neck,And cares not for the wretch’s groan,—Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,And I’ll ascend her star-built throne.
Tho’ fortune lowly bows my neck,
And cares not for the wretch’s groan,—
Yet smile but Hope, or Fancy beck,
And I’ll ascend her star-built throne.
Now, now, I mount! Behold me rise!Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,Oh! listen to the magic lies,Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings!
Now, now, I mount! Behold me rise!
Hope lends me strength, and Fancy wings,
Oh! listen to the magic lies,
Which fleeting, faithless Fancy sings!
With Independence truly blest,Of some neat cot she styles me lord,Where Age and Labour love to rest,Where healthy viands press the board.
With Independence truly blest,
Of some neat cot she styles me lord,
Where Age and Labour love to rest,
Where healthy viands press the board.
Now lay me down, kind nymph, at easeBeneath yon verdant mountain’s brow,Where wanton zephyrs fan the trees,Where violets spring, and waters flow.
Now lay me down, kind nymph, at ease
Beneath yon verdant mountain’s brow,
Where wanton zephyrs fan the trees,
Where violets spring, and waters flow.
What joys—delusive charmer, hold!Despair has seiz’d my thick’ning blood:Her lips how pale! Her cheek how cold!Matilda faints for want of food!’
What joys—delusive charmer, hold!
Despair has seiz’d my thick’ning blood:
Her lips how pale! Her cheek how cold!
Matilda faints for want of food!’
The foregoing stanzas have been given less for the poetry than the history they contain. The distress which they paint did not, it seems, reach Garrick’s heart: at least Mr Holcroft left Cockermouth some time after without having received an answer to his letter. Whether his wife died before or after he left Cockermouth, I do not know; but there is an epitaph on Mrs. Holcroft, written about this period, in which he feelingly laments her loss.
Beauty, Love, and Truth lie here:Passenger, a moment stay!Breathe a sigh, and drop a tear,O’er her much-lamented clay.Death! thy dart is harmless now,Widow’d griefs thy stroke defy:Weak the terrors of thy browTo the wretch who longs to die.
Beauty, Love, and Truth lie here:Passenger, a moment stay!Breathe a sigh, and drop a tear,O’er her much-lamented clay.Death! thy dart is harmless now,Widow’d griefs thy stroke defy:Weak the terrors of thy browTo the wretch who longs to die.
Beauty, Love, and Truth lie here:Passenger, a moment stay!Breathe a sigh, and drop a tear,O’er her much-lamented clay.
Beauty, Love, and Truth lie here:
Passenger, a moment stay!
Breathe a sigh, and drop a tear,
O’er her much-lamented clay.
Death! thy dart is harmless now,Widow’d griefs thy stroke defy:Weak the terrors of thy browTo the wretch who longs to die.
Death! thy dart is harmless now,
Widow’d griefs thy stroke defy:
Weak the terrors of thy brow
To the wretch who longs to die.
At the time that Mr Holcroft was at Cockermouth, he was in Booth’s company, which he had joined at Carlisle in the autumn of 1774. He had just then left Stanton’s company, who were performing at Kendal. He was recommended to Booth by a friend of the name of Hatton, who was an excellent comedian, and the hero of the company. He had spoken in high terms of Holcroft’s talents, who himself sent off a letter as hisavant-courier, in which he undertook to do a great deal for very little. He engaged to perform all the old men, and principal low-comedy characters; he was to be themusic, that is, literally the sole accompaniment to all songs, etc., on his fiddle in the orchestra; he undertook to instruct the younger performers in singing and music, and to write out the different casts or parts in every new comedy; and, lastly, he was to furnish the theatre with several new pieces, never published, but which he brought with him in manuscript, among the rest Dr. Last in his Chariot, which character he himself performed. Here was certainly enough for one man to do; and for all these services, various and important as theywere, he stipulated that he should be entitled to a share and a half of the profits of the theatre, which generally amounted to between four and five pounds a night whenever it opened, that is, three times a week. This proposed salary could not, therefore, amount to more than seventeen or eighteen shillings weekly.
In the above list of employments, which Mr Holcroft undertook to fulfil, the capital attraction, and that which he believed no country manager could resist, was the character of Dr. Last, which he did in imitation of the London performers. The scene in which he produced the most effect was that of the doctor’s examination. This, as I have heard it described, was a very laughable, if not a very pleasing performance. Mr Holcroft was naturally rather long-backed; and in order to give a ridiculous appearance to the doctor, he used to lean forwards, with his chin raised as high as possible into the air, and his body projecting proportionably behind; and in this frog-like attitude, with his eyes staring wide open, and his teeth chattering, he answered the questions that were put to him, in a harsh, tremulous voice, sometimes growling, and sometimes squeaking, and with such odd starts and twitches of countenance, that the effect produced upon the generality of spectators was altogether convulsive. The person who gave me this description said he thought the part a good deal overdone, but that it was a very entertaining caricature. Mr Holcroft himself went through this part to gratify a friend, a very short time before his death. He said, it always produced a very great effect, whenever he acted it; but that the chief, or only merit it had, was that of being a close imitation of Weston’s manner of doing it.[3]
The history of the company in which Mr Holcroft was now engaged, deserves notice from its singularity. The name of the original founder of the company was Mills, a Scotchman. He and his family had formerly travelled the country, playing nothing but Allan Ramsay’s Gentle Shepherd. This they continued to do for several years without either scenery or music. As the younger branches of the family grew up, one of them became a scene-painter,and some of the others learned to fiddle. They now, therefore, added scenes and music to the representation of their favourite pastoral. They afterwards enlarged their circuit, and made excursions into the North of England: and though the loves of Patie and Peggy were a never-failing source of delight on the other side of the Tweed, their English auditors grew tired of this constant sameness. They therefore, after the performance of theGentle Shepherd, which was still the business of the evening, introduced a farce occasionally, as a great treat to the audience. Mills’s daughters married players. This brought an accession of strength into the family, so that they were now able to act regular plays; and by degrees, Allan Ramsay, with his shepherds and shepherdesses, and flocks of bleating sheep, was entirely discarded. Still, however, during the life-time of Mills, the whole business of the theatre, even to the shifting of the scenes, or making up of the dresses, was carried on in the circle of his own family. At his death, the property of the theatre was purchased by a Mr Buck (formerly of Covent Garden theatre), who kept an inn at Penrith, and it was by him let out to Booth.
Mrs. Sparks, of Drury Lane Theatre, was an actress in this company, at the time Mr Holcroft belonged to it, and the youngest daughter of Mills, the late manager. Mrs. Inchbald was playing in the same company, at Inverness, in Scotland, in 1773, or the winter of 1774. The company afterwards went to Glasgow, where not being permitted to play, they were all in the utmost distress. The whole stock was detained for rent and board, etc., at an inn. From this awkward situation they were liberated by a young Scotchman, who had just joined the company in a kind of frolic, and who paid their score, and set them off to Kilmarnock, and from thence to Ayr, where they had a very brilliant run of good fortune.
Booth, the manager, was the same person who has since been well known as the inventor of the polygraphic art, and of the art of making cloth without spinning or weaving. He appears to have been always a man of much versatility of enterprise; and at this time added to his employments of manager and actor, the profession of a portrait-painter. The first thing he did when he came to any town, was to wait on the magistrate, to ask leave for his company to play; or if this was refused, that he might have the honour of painting his picture. If his scenes and dresses were lying idle, he was the more busy with his pencil: and that tempting bait hung out at the shop-windows,Likenesses taken in this manner for half-a-guinea, seldom failed to fill his pockets, while his company were starving.
CHAPTER V
Mr Holcroft continued in Booth’s company about a year and a half. He next joined Bates’s company, which made the circuit of the principal towns on the east side of the north of England, including Durham, Sunderland, Darlington, Scarborough, Stockton-upon-Tees, etc.
It was sometime in the year 1777, that Mr Holcroft walked with Mr Shield (the celebrated composer, who was then one of the band in the same company) from Durham to Stockton-upon-Tees. Mr Holcroft employed himself on the road in studying Lowth’s Grammar, and reading Pope’sHomer.—The writers that we read in our youth are those, for whom we generally retain the greatest fondness. Pope always continued a favorite with Mr Holcroft, and held the highest place in his esteem after Milton, Shakspeare, and Dryden. He used often, in particular, to repeat the character of Atticus, which he considered as the finest piece of satire in the language. Moral description, good sense, keen observation, and strong passion, are the qualities which he seems chiefly to have sought in poetry. He had therefore little relish even for the best of our descriptive poets, and often spoke with indifference, approaching to contempt, of Thomson, Akenside, and others. He was, however, at this time, exceedingly eager to make himself acquainted with all our English poets of any note; and he was seldom without a volume of poetry in his pocket.
At the time that Bates’s company were at Scarborough, Fisher, the late celebrated Oboe player, gave concerts there, which were led by Dance, and in which a Miss Harrop, (afterwards Mrs. Bates) was the principal vocal performer. Holcroft used to sing in the choruses.—He at this time practised a good deal on the fiddle, which he continued ever after to do occasionally; but he never became a good performer. It was Bates, who conducted the commemoration of Handel at Westminster Abbey.
Among the parts which Mr Holcroft played most frequently, were—Polonius, which he did respectably; Scrub, in the Beaux’ Stratagem; Bundle, in the Waterman; and Abel Drugger. He acted this last character after he came to London, one night when Garrick happened to be present.
At Stockton-upon-Tees, Mr Holcroft first became acquainted with Ritson, the antiquarian, and author of the Treatise on animal food, who was afterwards one of his most intimate friends. He was at that time articled to an attorney in the town; but was, like mostother young men of taste or talents, fonder of poetry than the law. The poet Cunningham was an actor in the same company. He was the intimate friend of Shield. He was, it seems, a man of a delicate constitution, of retired habits, and extreme sensibility, but an amiable and worthy man. The parts in which he acted with most success were mincing fops and pert coxcombs,—characters the most opposite to his own. He played Garrick’s character of Fribble, in Miss in her Teens. He also excelled in Comus. He was often subject to fits of absence; as a proof of which, he once forgot that he had played the Duke of Albany in King Lear, and had returned to the door of the theatre for the second time, before he recollected himself.—Besides his descriptive poems, he wrote several prologues; and an opera called “The Lass with Speech,” which was offered to the theatres, but never acted, and from which the Lying Valet was taken. He dedicated his poems to Garrick, who sent him two guineas on the occasion, which he returned, begging that they might be added to the theatrical fund. It seems he either did not want pecuniary remuneration for the compliment he had paid to Garrick, or he thought this a very inadequate one. When he was writing anything, his room was strewed with little scraps of paper, on which he wrote down any thought as it occurred; and afterwards he had some difficulty in connecting these scattered, half-forgotten fragments together, before he could make out a fair copy.
At the time that Mr Shield was most with him, he had been long in ill health, apparently in a decline; and this had given a deeper tinge of melancholy to the natural thoughtfulness of his disposition. A little before his death, he wrote the following lines, which seem to convey a presentiment of his fate.
‘Sweet object of the zephyr’s kiss,Come rose, come, courted by the hours,Queen of the banks, the garden’s bliss,Come, and abash yon tawdry flow’rs.“Why call us to revokeless doom,”With grief the op’ning buds reply,“Scarce suffer’d to expand our bloom,Scarce born, alas! before we die.”‘Man, having pass’d appointed years,(Years are but days) the scene must close:And when Fate’s messenger appears,What is he but a withering rose?’
‘Sweet object of the zephyr’s kiss,Come rose, come, courted by the hours,Queen of the banks, the garden’s bliss,Come, and abash yon tawdry flow’rs.“Why call us to revokeless doom,”With grief the op’ning buds reply,“Scarce suffer’d to expand our bloom,Scarce born, alas! before we die.”‘Man, having pass’d appointed years,(Years are but days) the scene must close:And when Fate’s messenger appears,What is he but a withering rose?’
‘Sweet object of the zephyr’s kiss,Come rose, come, courted by the hours,Queen of the banks, the garden’s bliss,Come, and abash yon tawdry flow’rs.“Why call us to revokeless doom,”With grief the op’ning buds reply,“Scarce suffer’d to expand our bloom,Scarce born, alas! before we die.”
‘Sweet object of the zephyr’s kiss,
Come rose, come, courted by the hours,
Queen of the banks, the garden’s bliss,
Come, and abash yon tawdry flow’rs.
“Why call us to revokeless doom,”
With grief the op’ning buds reply,
“Scarce suffer’d to expand our bloom,
Scarce born, alas! before we die.”
‘Man, having pass’d appointed years,(Years are but days) the scene must close:And when Fate’s messenger appears,What is he but a withering rose?’
‘Man, having pass’d appointed years,
(Years are but days) the scene must close:
And when Fate’s messenger appears,
What is he but a withering rose?’
These lines can hardly fail of being acceptable to the reader, when he is told, they were the last ever written by a man, to whom we areindebted for some of the most pleasing and elegant pastoral descriptions in the language.—It must abate something of the contempt with which we are too apt to mention the name of a strolling player, when we recollect that Cunningham was one.
Mr Holcroft had never been satisfied with his employment as a strolling actor in the country. He sighed for the literary advantages, and literary intercourse which London afforded. He was indeed the whole time labouring hard to cultivate his mind, and acquire whatever information was within his reach. But his opportunities were very confined. He had studied Shakespeare with the greatest ardour, and with some advantage to himself in his profession. Polonius was the character in which he was most successful: he also played Hamlet, and other parts, of which he was but an indifferent representative. I have been told, that Mr Holcroft’s acting, both in its excellences and defects, more resembled Bensley’s than any other person’s. The excellent sense and judgment of that able actor were almost entirely deprived of their effect, by his disadvantages of voice and manner. Mr Holcroft, in the performance of grave parts, had the same distinct, but harsh articulation, and the same unbending stiffness of deportment.
After wandering for seven years as an itinerant actor, with no very brilliant success, he resolved upon trying his fortune in London, and arrived there early in the latter end of 1777. His stay with the last company, which he joined, must therefore have been short. His separation from this company was I believe in some measure hastened by little disagreeable circumstances, but it was no doubt chiefly owing to the general bias of his inclination, to the desire and expectation of fame of some sort or other, either theatrical or literary, on which his mind had for some years been brooding. It is not likely that his success on the stage, though it might in time have ensured him a livelihood in inferior parts, would ever have been such as to satisfy the ambition of an aspiring and vigorous mind. It was, however, on his talents as an actor, that he first rested his hopes of pushing his fortune in London, and of recommending himself to the favour of the public. But before we follow him up to town, it may not be improper to take a retrospect of the path we have already trod. There are some persons of nice tastes, who may perhaps be disgusted with the meanness of his adventures; and who may think the situation in which he embarked in life, and the society into whose characters and manners he seems to have entered with so much relish, unworthy of a man of genius.
But it should be recollected, first, that men of genius do not always chuse their own profession or pursuit. In Mr Holcroft’scase, the question was, whether he should turn strolling player, or starve.
Secondly, there are in this very profession, which is held in such contempt, circumstances which must make a man of genius, not very averse to enter into it. In spite of the real misery, meanness, ignorance, and folly, often to be found among its followers, the player as well as the poet, lives in an ideal world.
The scenes of petty vexation, poverty, and disappointment, which he has to encounter, are endless; so are the scenes of grandeur, pomp, and pleasure, in which he is as constantly an actor. If his waking thoughts are sometimes disagreeable, his dreams are delightful, and the business of his life is to dream. This may be a reason why every one else should shun this profession as a pest, but it is for this very reason that the man of genius may pass his time pleasantly and profitably in it. But let us hear Mr Holcroft’s apology for his former way of life, which seems to have been dictated with a view to his own feelings. ‘Know then,’ he says,[4]‘there is a certain set or society of men, frequently to be met in straggling parties about this kingdom, who by a peculiar kind of magic, will metamorphose an old barn, stable, or out-house, in such a wonderful manner, that the said barn, stable, or out-house, shall appear, according as it suits the will or purpose of the said magicians, at one time a prince’s palace; at another, a peasant’s cottage; now the noisy receptacle of drunken clubs, and wearied travellers, called an inn; anon the magnificent dome of a Grecian temple. Nay, so vast is their art, that, by pronouncing audibly certain sentences, which are penned down for them by the head, or master magician, they transport the said barn, stable, or out-house, thus metamorphosed, over sea, or land, rocks, mountains, or deserts, into whatsoever hot, cold, or temperate region the director wills, with as much facility as my lady’s squirrel can crack a nut-shell. What is still more wonderful, they carry all their spectators along with them, without the witchery of broom-sticks. These necromancers, although whenever they please they become princes, kings, and heroes, and reign over all the empires of the vast and peopled earth; though they bestow governments, vice-royalties, and principalities, upon their adherents, divide the spoils of nations among their pimps, pages, and parasites, and give a kingdom for a kiss, for they are exceedingly amorous; yet, no sooner do their sorceries cease, though but the moment before they were revelling and banqueting with Marc Antony, or quaffing nectar with Jupiter himself, it is a safe wager of a pound to a penny that half of them go supperless to bed. A set of poor, but pleasant rogues! miserable, but merry wags!that weep without sorrow, stab without anger, die without dread, and laugh, sing, and dance, to inspire mirth in others, while surrounded themselves with wretchedness. A thing still more remarkable in these enchanters is, that they completely effect their purpose, and make those, who delight in observing the wonderful effects of their art, laugh or cry, condemn or admire, love or hate, just as they please; subjugating the heart with every various passion: more especially when they pronounce the charms and incantations of a certain sorcerer, called Shakespeare, whose science was so powerful, that he himself thus describes it:
——I have oft be-dimm’dThe noon-tide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, etc.’
——I have oft be-dimm’dThe noon-tide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, etc.’
——I have oft be-dimm’dThe noon-tide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, etc.’
——I have oft be-dimm’d
The noon-tide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds, etc.’