makes us feared, it alfo makes us proportionably hated, by our inferiors and dependants. Let the influence it gives us be ever fo great, that man must pay very dear for his power, who procures it at the expence of his own tranquillity and peace.

BESIDES, the imitation of anger, which is eafily formed, will produce the fame effect upon others, as if the paffion was real. If therefore to quicken the flow, to roufe the inattentive, and reftrain the fierce, it is fometimes expedient, that they believe you are moved, you may put on the outward appearance of refentment. Thus you may obtain the end of anger, without that danger and vexation that attend it; and preferve your authority, without forfeiting the peace of your mind.

HOWEVER manly and vigorous anger may be thought, it is in fact, but a weak principle, compared with the fedate refolution of a wife and virtuous man. The one is uniform and permanent, like the ftrength of a perfon in perfect health; the other like a force, which proceedeth from a fever, is violent for a time, but it foon leaves the mind more feeble than before. To him therefore who is armed with a proper firmness of foul, no degree of paffion can be useful in any refpect. And to fay it can ever be laudable and virtuous, is indeed a fufficiently bold affertion. For the most part we blame it in others, and though we are apt to be indulgent enough to our own faults, we are often afhamed of it in ourselves. Hence it is com. mon to hear men excufing themselves, and seriously declaring, they were not angry, when they have given unquestionable proofs to the contrary. But do we not commend him, who refents the injuries done to a friend or innocent perfon? Yes, we commend him; Yet not for his paffion, but for that generofity and friendship, of which it is the evidence. For let any -one impartially confider, which of these characters he esteems the better; his, who interefts himfelf in the injuries of his friend, and zealously defends him with perfect calmnefs and ferenity of temper; or his, who purfues the fame conduct under the influence of refentment.

Ir anger then is neither useful nor commendable, it is certainly the part of wisdom, to fupprefs it entirely. We should rather confine it, you tell us, within certain bounds. But how fhall we afccrtain the limits, to which it may, and beyond which it ought not to pass! When we receive a manifeft injury, it feems we may refent it, provided we do it with moderation,

M

ration. When we fuffer a worfe abufe, our anger, I fuppofe, may rife fomewhat higher. Now, as the degrees of juftice are infinite, if our anger must always be proportioned to the occafion, it may poffibly proceed to the utmost extravagance. Shall we fet bounds to our refentment, while we are yet calm ? how can we be affured, that being once yet loose, it will not carry us beyond them; or fhall we give paffion the reins, imagining we can refume them at pleasure, or trufting it will tire or ftop itself, as foon as it has run to its proper length; as well might we think of giving laws to a tempeft; as well might we endeavour to run mad by rule and method.

In reality, it is much easier to keep ourselves void of resentment, than to reftrain it from excefs, when it has gained admiffion; for if reason, while her strength is yet entire, is not able to preserve her dominion, what can she do when her enemy has in part prevailed and weakened her force? To ufe the illuftration of an excellent author, we can prevent the beginnings of fome things, whofe progress afterwards we cannot hinder. We can fear to caft ourselves down from a precipice, but if once we have taken the fatal leap, we must descend, whether we will or no. Thus the mind, if duly cautious, may ftand firm upon the rock of tranquillity; but if the rafhly forfakes the fummit, the can scarce recover herself, but is hurried away downwards by her own paffion, with increasing violence.

Do not fay, that we exhort you to attempt that which is impoffible. Nature has put it in our power to refift the motions of anger. We only plead inability, when we want an excufe for our own negligence. Was a paffionate man to forfeit a hundred pounds as often as he was angry, or was he fure he must die the next moment after the first fally of his paffion, we fhould find, he had a great command of his temper whenever he could prevail upon himself to exercife a proper attention about it. And fhall we not efteem it worthy of equal attention; worthy of our utmost care and pains to obtain that immoveable tranquillity of mind, without which we cannot relish, either life itself, or any one of its employments ?-Upon the whole then, we both may and ought, not merely to refrain, but extirpate anger. It is impatient of rule; in proportion as it prevails, it will difquiet our minds; it has nothing commendable in itfelf, nor will it answer any valuable purpofe in life.

THE ACTOR *.

ADDRESSED ΤΟ

RONNEL THOR

NTON.

Esq.

A

CTING, dear Thornton, its perfection draws

From no obfervance of mechanic laws:

No fettled maxims of a fav'rite ftage,
No rules deliver'd down from age to age,
Let players nicely mark them as they will,
Can e'er entail hereditary skill.

If 'mongst the humble hearers of the pit,
Some curious vet'ran eritic chance to nit,
Is he pleas'd more becaufe 'twas acted fo
By Booth and Cibber thirty years ago?
The mind recals an object held more dear,
And hates the copy that it comes fo near.
Why lov'd we Wilks's air, Booth's nervous tone;
In them 'twas natural, 'twas all their own.
A Garrick's genius muft our wonder raise,
But gives his mimic no reflected praife.
Thrice happy Genius, whofe unrivall'a name
Shall live for ever in the voice of fame!
'Tis thine to lead with more than magic fkill,
The train of captive paffions at thy wiil;
To bid the bursting tear spontaneous flow

In the fweet fenfe of fympathetic woe;

Through ev'ry vein I feel a chillness creep.
When horrors fuch as thine have murder'd fleep;

And at the old man's look and frantic ftare

'Tis Lear alarms me, for I fee him there.

Nor yet confin'd to tragic walks alone,

The comic mufe too claims thee for her own.
With each delightful requifite to please.
Tafte, fpirit, judgment, elegance and eafe,
Familiar nature forms thy only rule.
From Ranger's rake to Drugger's vacant fool
With powers fo pliant, and fo various bleft,
That what we fee the laft, we like the best.
Not idly pleas'd at judgment's dear expence,
But burst outrageous with the laugh of fenfe.

By Robert Lloyd, M.A.

Perfection's

Perfection's top, with weary toil and pain,
'Tis genius only that can hope to gain.
The play'r's profeffion (tho' I hate the phrafe,
'Tis fo mechanic in thefe modern days)
Lies not in trick, or attitude or start,
Nature's true knowledge is his only art.
The ftrong felt paffion bolts into the face,
The mind untouch'd, what is it but grimace?
To this one ftandard make your just appeal,
Here lies the golden fecret; learn to feel.
Or fool, or monarch, happy, or diftreft,
No actor pleases that is not poffefs'd.

Once on the ftage, in Rome's declining days,
When Chriftians were the fubject of their plays,
E'er perfecution dropp'd her iron rod,

And men still wag'd an impious war with God,

An actor flourish'd of no vulgar fame.
Nature's difciple, and Geneft his name.

A noble object for his skill he chofe,

A martyr dying 'midft infulting foes;
Refign'd with patience to religion's laws,

Yet braving monarchs in his Saviour's caufe..
Fill'd with th' idea of the fecret part,

He felt a zeal beyond the reach of art,
While look and voice, and gefture, all expres

A kindred ardour in the player's breaft,
Till as the flame thro' all his bofom ran,
He loft the actor, and commenc'd the man:
Profeft the faith, his pagan gods denied,
And what he acted then, he after died,

The player's province they but vainly try.
Who want these pow'rs, deportment, voice, and eye.
The critic fight 'tis only grace can please,
No figure charms us if he has not eafe.
There are, who think the ftature all in all,
Nor like the hero, if he is not tall.
The feeling fenfe all other want fupplies.
I rate no actor's merit from his fize.
Superior height requires fuperior grace,
And what's a giant with a vacant face?

Theatric monarchs, in their tragic gait.
Affect to mark the folemn pace of state.
One foot put forward in pofition strong,
The other, like its vaffal, dragg'd along.
So grave each motion, fo exact and flow,
Like wooden monarchs at a puppet-show.
The mien delights us that has native grace,
But affectation ill fupplies its place.

Unkilful actors, like your mimic apes,
Will writhe their bodies in a thousand fhapes;

However

However foreign to the poet's art,
No tragic hero but admires a ftart.
What tho' unfeeling of the nervous line;
Who but allows his attitude is fine?

While a whole minute equipois'd he stands,
Till praife difmifs him with her echoing hands!
Refolv'd, tho' nature hate the tedious paufe,
By perfeverance to extort applause.

When Romeo forrowing at his Juliet's doom,
With eager madness burfts the canvas tomb,
The fudden whirl, ftretch'd leg, and lifted staff,
Which please the vulgar, make the critic laugh,

To paint the paffion's force, and mark it well,
The proper action nature's felf will tell :
No pleafing pow'rs distortions e'er exprefs,
And nicer judgment always loaths excess.
In fock or bufkin, wno o'erleaps the bounds,
Difgufis our reafon, and the tafte confounds.
Of all the evils which the stage moleft,
I hate your fool who overacts his jeft:
Who murders what the poet finely writ,
And, like a bungler, haggles all his wit,
With fhrug, and grin and gesture out of place
And writes a foolish comment with his face,
Old Johnson once, thro' Cibber's perter vein
But meanly groupes him with a numerous train,
With fteady face, and fober hum'rous mein
Fill'd the ftrong outlines of the comic fcene.

What was writ down, with decent utt'rance spoke,
Betray'd no fymptom of the confcious joke ;
The very man in look, in voice, in air,
And tho' upon the ftage, appear'd no play'r.

The word and action should conjointly fuit,
But acting words is labour too minute.
Grimace will ever lead the judgment wrong;
While fober humour marks th' impreffion ftrong.
Her proper traits the fixt attention hit.
And bring me clofer to the poet's wit;
With herdelighted o'er each scene I go,
Well pleas'd, and not afham'd of being fo..
But let the generous actor ftill forbear
To copy features with a mimic's care!
'Tis a poor skill, which ev'ry fool can reach,
A vile ftage-cuftom, honour'd in the breach.
Worfe or more close, the disingenuous art
But fhews the wanton loofenefs of the heart.
When I beheld a wretch of talents mean,
Drag private foibles on the public fcene.
Forfaking nature's fair and open road