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acted actor admirable afterwards amongst appeared astonishment audience beautiful became better called Charles Kean Charles Kemble Charles Mathews Charles Reade comedian comedy commenced Covent Garden curtain dear delightful drama Drury Lane Edinburgh Edmund Kean engagement exclaimed eyes fact farewell father Forrest fortune gentleman growled Hamlet hand Haymarket head heart Helen Faucit Henry honour Iago John Kean's Keeley knew Lady Lear London Macbeth Macready Macready's Madame Vestris magnificent mannerist memory mind Miss morning never night o'clock occasion Olympic opened Othello performance Phelps piece play poor pounds Princess's Priscilla Horton rehearsal remember replied returned Romeo Rosalind round Ryder Sadler's Samuel Phelps scene season seen Shylock stage stage-door stage-manager Street theatre thing thought told took town tragedian unfortunate walked Webster week wife Wigan William Farren young youth
Page 242 - ... she crumbles it at once, into her palm, and pours upon him her whole artillery of airs, eyes, and motion ; down goes her dainty, diving body, to the ground, as if she were sinking under the conscious load of her own attractions; then launches into a flood of fine language and compliment, still playing her chest forward in fifty falls and risings, like a swan upon waving water...
Page 30 - I must be idle," a man on the right side of the stage — upper boxes or gallery, but said to be upper boxes — hissed ! The audience took it up, and I waved the more, and bowed derisively and contemptuously to the individual. The audience carried it, though he was very staunch to his purpose. It discomposed me, and, alas, might have ruined many ; but I bore it down. I thought of speaking to the audience, if called on, and spoke to Murray about it, but he very discreetly dissuaded me. Was called...
Page 31 - This is true, and, by the way, the only truth which 1 have been enabled to gather from the whole scope of his address. But why say 'an American actor'? Why not openly charge me with the act? for I did it, and publicly avowed it in The Times newspaper of London, and at the same time have asserted my right to do so.
Page 192 - I maintain, from the experience of eighteen years, that the perpetual iteration of Shakespeare's words, if nothing more, going on daily for so many months in the year, must and would produce a great effect upon the public mind.
Page 29 - ... flashing fire, the pallor of the white face enhanced by his blue-black beard, which contrasted strangely with his turneddown white collar (an unusual mode of wearing the collar at that time), his jaw set like a bull-dog's, his arms folded on his broad chest. As he rose and faced his would-be assailants, he looked exactly as he used to look in " The Gladiator," when he said, " Let them come ; we are prepared.
Page 93 - Of breaking honesty:) horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes blind With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing; My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Page 20 - ... here, my Gondolier' BARON: When you, my dear, Are gone, dull here The days will seem to glide; But let us hear. By post, my dear, Whate'er may you betide. My doublet take - (aside) Tis quite as well The skirts are gone, I see: For now no tails it has to tell Of where it went with me!
Page 24 - Like Niobe, all tears; why she, even she, — O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, My father's brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules...
Page 204 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o...
Page 165 - Not having seen her," said the veteran, " you don't know what beauty is. Her voice was liquid music. Her laugh — there never was such a laugh ! Her eyes, living crystals, lamps lit with light divine ! Her gorgeous neck and shoulders — her superbly symmetrical limbs, her grace, her taste, her nameless but irresistible charm. . . . You may rave about Helen Faucit's Rosalind, but you never saw Nisbett.