pt. 2. Authors and actors: I-Y. Appendix. Additions and corrections

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1812

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Сторінка 416 - But he has done his robberies so openly, that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch ; and what would be theft in other poets, is only victory in him.
Сторінка 416 - In his works you find little to retrench or alter. Wit, and language, and humour, also in some measure, we had before him; but something of art was wanting to the drama, till he came.
Сторінка 627 - ... the inhumanity of his mother had given him a right to find every good man his father*.
Сторінка 417 - To conclude of him: as he has given us the most correct plays, so in the precepts which he has laid down in his Discoveries we have as many and profitable rules for perfecting the stage as any wherewith the French can furnish us.
Сторінка 663 - Of all species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern times, whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, the solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred morality of the pulpit have hitherto furnished, nothing has surpassed, nothing has equalled, what we have this day heard in Westminster Hall.
Сторінка 681 - We have old Mr. Southern at a gentleman's house a little way off, who often comes to see us ; he is now seventy-seven years old,* and has almost wholly lost his memory ; but is as agreeable as an old man can be, at least I persuade myself so when I look at him, and think of Isabella and Oroonoko.
Сторінка 503 - ... he fell from his duty, and all his former friends, and prostituted himself to the vile office of celebrating the infamous acts of those who were in rebellion against the king ; which he did so meanly, that he seemed to all men to have lost • his wits, when he left his honesty ; and so shortly after died miserable and neglected, and deserves to be forgotten.
Сторінка 417 - Shakespeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic poets; Jonson was the Virgil, the pattern of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakespeare.
Сторінка 492 - Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high, Our height is but the gibbet of our name. A celebrated wretch when I behold, When I behold a genius bright and base, Of towering talents and terrestrial aims, Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, The glorious fragments of a soul immortal, With rubbish mix'd, and glittering in the dust...
Сторінка 481 - His stature was diminutive, but he was regularly formed ; his appearance, till he grew corpulent, was agreeable, and he suffered it to want no recommendation that dress could give it. His conversation was elegant and easy.