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And should I own myself, his tender heart
Would break betwixt the extremes of grief and joy. [Aside.

Old Man. How now? who's there?

Edg. (advancing R. H. of Gloucester). A charity for poor Tom. Play fair and defy the foul fiend. O gods! and must I still pursue this trade, Trifling beneath such loads of misery?

Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.

Glo. In the late storm I such a fellow saw,
Which made me think a man a worm.
Where is the lunatick ?

Old Man. Here, my lord.

Glo. Get thee now away; if for my sake
Thou wilt o’ertake us hence a mile or two,
I'th' way to Dover, do't for ancient love,
And bring some cov'ring for this naked wretch,
Whom I'll intreat to lead me.

Old Man. Alack, my lord, he's mad.

Glo. 'Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind; Do as I bid thee.

Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have, Come on't what will.

Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow.

Edg. Poor Tom 's a-cold; I cannot fool it longer; [Aside. And yet I must.-Bless thy sweet eyes, they bleed; Believe 't, poor Tom ev'n weeps his blind to see 'em. Glo. Knows't thou the way to Dover ?

Edg. Both stile and gate, horseway and footpath.
Poor Tom has been scared out of his good wits. Bless
Every true man's son from the foul fiend.

Glo. Here, take this purse; that I am wretched
Makes thee the happier. Heav'n deal so still!
Thus let the griping usurer's hoard be scatter'd,
So distribution shall undo excess,
And each man have enough. Dost thou know Dover?

Edg. Ay, master.

A mistresses command. Weare this ; spare speech;
Decline your head. This kisse, if it durst speake,
Would stretch thy spirits up into the ayre :
Conceive, and fare the well.

Edm. Yours in the rankes of death.

Gon. My most deare Glos'ter.
Oh the strarge difference of man, and man,
To thee a woman's services are due,
My foole usurpes my body.


Then came the days of the Siddons. Shakespeare was appreciated then. We have all heard our fathers or grandfathers talk of John Philip Kemble, and how great he was in Hamlet and Coriolanus. Remembering, as we do, the reading that was appreciated in the desk, and the oratory that was popular in the pulpit, in our boyhood's days, we doubt if John Kemble would be greatly approved at the present time. John Philip Kemble was esteemed a great actor, a scholar, and a gentleman.

Young was the great tragedian of our early days. Edmund Kean was a fine impersonator of certain characters; but Young's reading, elocution, dress, and deportment, was much more finished and refined. Charles Kemble, in light comedy, was clever; he dressed as well as the Charles Mathews

Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks dreadfully down on the roaring deep;
Bring me but to the very brink of it,
And I'll repair the poverty thou bear'st
With something rich about me. From that place
I shall no leading need.

Edg. Give me thy arm ? poor Tom shall guide thee.
Glo. Soft, for I hear the tread of passengers.

Enter KENT in his own character, and CORDELIA, L. H.

of the present day; but he could never forget that he was a handsome man, and a favourite with the . ladies. When his daughter Fanny played Belvidera, in Venice Preserved, he took the part of Pierre. Pierre had never been such a gay gallant soldier before. He played the character well though. Young had often performed it; and when he came to the line Curse on this weakness,

[Weeps. the refined and elegant Young used (we can't find a better expression) to grub the tear out with his knuckle. Try the action, reader, and you will feel its appropriateness. Charles Kemble, at the same passage, drew out a cambric handkerchief, and with an appropriate flourish, like the soldier in the song who leant upon his sword,“ he wiped away a tear.”

The several actions were characteristic of the two men.

We will admit that John Philip Kemble was a great actor, attaching our own meaning to that word. The characters of a scholar and a gentleman we cannot award him, at present. He, like Nahum Tate, had heard that a man called Shakespeare had made a thing called the Tempest, and he compiled a play out of it. It is called






OCTOBER 13th, 1789.

Printed for J. Debrett, opposite Burlington

House, Piccadilly.

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We have extracted a scene or two :

Act V. Scene 1.– A Wood.

Pros. You beg in vain ; I cannot pardon him,
He has offended Heaven.

Mir. Then let Heav'n punish him.
Pros. It will, by me.
Mir. Grant him at least some respite for my sake.

Pros. I by deferring justice should incense
The Deity against myself and you.

Mir. Yet I have heard you say the pow'rs above Are slow in punishing, and should not you Resemble them? And can you be his judge and executioner.

Pros. I cannot force Gonzalo, or my brother, Much less the father to destroy the son; It must be then the monster Caliban, And he's not here; but Ariel straight shall fetch him.

Enter ARIEL. Ariel. My potent lord, before thou call'st I come To serve thy will.

Pros. Then, spirit, fetch me here my savage slave. Ariel. My lord, it does not need.

Pros. Art thou then prone to mischief, wilt thou be Thyself the executioner ?

Ariel. Think better of thy airy minister,
Who, for thy sake, unbidden, this night has flown
O’er almost all the habitable world.

Pros. But to what purpose was thy diligence ?

Ariel. When I was chidden by my mighty lord
For my neglect of young Hippolito,
I went to view his body, and soon found
His soul was but retir'd, not sally'd out:
Then I collected

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