The Actor Or, a Peep Behind the Curtain: Being Passages in the Lives of Booth and Some of His Contemporaries

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Wm. H. Graham, 1846 - Theater - 180 pages
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Page 53 - Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man ! Fool.
Page 148 - See! how she leans her cheek upon her hand: O! that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek.
Page 6 - His was the spell o'er hearts Which only acting lends, The youngest of the sister arts, Where all their beauty blends : For ill can Poetry express Full many a tone of thought sublime, And Painting, mute and motionless, Steals but a glance of Time. But by the mighty actor brought, Illusion's perfect triumphs come ; Verse ceases to be airy thought, And Sculpture to be dumb.
Page 37 - Hope in which there is no cheerfulness; stedfastness within and immovable resolve, with outward restlessness and whirling activity; violence with guile; temerity with cunning; and, as the result of all, interminableness of object with perfect indifference of means...
Page 79 - By permission of his Honor the President. At the new theatre in Annapolis, by the company of comedians, on Monday next, being the 13th of this instant, July 1752, will be performed a comedy called the Beaux
Page 39 - Glued to my scabbard with wronged orphans' tears, Will not be drawn. Ha ! what are these ? sure, hangmen, That come to bind my hands, and then to drag me Before the judgment-seat : now they are new shapes, And do appear like Furies, with steel whips To scourge my ulcerous soul. Shall I then fall Ingloriously, and yield ? no ; spite of Fate, I will be forced to hell like to myself. Though you were legions of accursed spirits, Thus would I fly among you.
Page 122 - For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin?
Page 164 - Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, That to be hated, needs but to be seen; But seen too oft', familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Page 65 - I've lately had two spiders Crawling upon my startled hopes — Now, tho' thy friendly hand has brush'd them from me, Yet still they crawl offensive to my eyes ; I would have some kind friend to tread upon "em. I would be king, my cousin.
Page 29 - I think it is my duty in justice to a society of which I once had the honour of being a member, to refute a most malicious piece of calumny. The Wolf Club seems to have been the foil, with which the friends of the rival theatre have, for the last two years, parried the public censure against their unsuccessful candidates. I wish, therefore, through the medium of the public prints, to inform their fears, that such a society is no longer in existence, has not been for the last nine months, and when...

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