SKETCH OF MR. KEMBLE AS AN ACTOR.

BY JOHN TAYLOR, ESQ.

********

TO clofe in order due, our long career,

See Kemble march majestic and fevere;
Fraught with uncommon pow'rs of form and face,
He comes the pomp of tragedy to grace.
Fertile in genius, and matur'd by art,
Not foft to fteal, but stern to seize, the heart,
In mould of figure, and in frame of mind,
To him th' heroic fphere must be affign'd.
Auguft or daring, he adorns the stage:
The gloomy fubtlety, the favage rage,
The fcornful menace, and the cynic ire,
The hardy valour, and the patriot fire-
Thefe fhew the vigour of a master's hand,
And o'er the fancy give him firm command;
As Richard, Timon, and Macbeth proclaim,
Or ftern Coriolanus' nobler aim.

Nor fierce alone, for well his pow'rs can fhew
Calm declamation and attemper'd woe;-
The virtuous Duke who fway awhile declines,
Yet checks the Deputy's abhorr'd defigns,
And, in the fov'reign or the faintly guife,
Benevolently juft, and meekly wife;
The Dane, bewailing now a father's fate,
Now deeply pond'ring man's myfterious state;
Tender and dignified, alike are feen—
The philofophic mind and princely mien.
When merely tender, he appears too cold;
Or rather fashion'd in too rough a mould:
Nor fitted love in fofter form to wear,
But ftung with pride, or mad'ning with despair,
As when the loft Octavian's * murmurs flow
In full luxuriance of romantic woe.

Yet where Orlando cheers.defponding age,

Or the sweet wiles of Rofalind engage,

We own, that manly graces finely blend
The tender lover and the foothing friend.

*The Mountaineers.

Though

Though Nature was fo prodigally kind
In the bold lineaments of form and mind,
As if to check a fond excess of pride,
The pow'rs of voice fhe fcantily fupplied:
Oft, when the hurricanes of paffion rife,
For correfpondent tones he vainly tries;
To aid the ftorm, no tow'ring note combines,
And the spent breath th' unequal task declines.
Yet, fpite of nature, he compels us still
To own the potent triumph of his skill,
While, with dread paufes, deepen'd accents roll,
Whofe awful energy arrefts the foul.

At times, perchance, the fpirit of the scene,
Th' impaffion'd accent, and impreffive mien,
May lofe their wonted force, while, too refin'd,
He strives by niceties to ftrike the mind;
For action too precife, inclin'd to pore,
And labour for a point unknown before;
Untimely playing thus the critic's part,
To gain the head, when he fhould fmite the heart.
Yet ftill muft candour, on reflection, own
Some useful comment has been fhrewdly fhewn;
Nor here let puny malice vent its gall,
And texts with fkill reftor'd, new readings* call;
Kemble for actors nobly led the way,

And prompted them to think as well as play.
With cultur'd fenfe, and with experience fage,
Patient he cons the time-disfigur'd page.
Hence oft we see him with success explore,
And clear the drofs from rich poetic ore,
Trace, through the maze of diction, paffion's clew,
And open latent character to view.

Though for the mufe of tragedy defign'd,
In form, in features, paffions, and in mind,
Yet would he fain the comic nymph embrace,
Who feldom without awe beholds his face.
Whene'er he tries the airy and the gay,
Judgment, not genius, marks the cold effay;
But in a graver province he can please
With well-bred spirit, and with manly ease.

* The cant term by which useful refearches have been difcouraged.

When genuine wit, with fatire's active force,
And faithful love purfues its gen'rous courfe,
Here, in his Valentine, might Congreve view
Th' embodied portrait, vig'rous, warm, and true.
Nor let us, with unhallow'd touch, prefume
To pluck one fprig of laurel from the tomb;
Yet, with due rev'rence for the mighty dead,
'Tis juft the fame of living worth to spread :
And could the noblest vet'rans now appear,
Kemble might keep his state, devoid of fear;
Still, while obfervant of his proper line,
With native luftre as a rival fhine.

IMPROMPTU

ON SEEING MR. STEPHEN KEMBLE IN FALSTAFF. [From the Morning Chronicle.]

WITH mind as enlarg'd as his ftature,

17

with good nature,

Yet fatire enough to affright;

Friend Stephen, a princely good fellow,
Who rocks like a first rate when mellow,
Prefents oft a whimfical fight.

In arm-chair when gaily reclining,
Quaffing, laughing-his wit fprightly fhining,
He makes our fides shake all the night.
Their rammers laid down when he's walking,
Paviours bless him as homeward he's stalking;
Great Stephen's the paviour's delight.

New Inn.

W. D.

NOON.

WRITTEN BY STEPHEN KEMBLE, ESQ.

NOW in the fouth the ardent god of day

Reftrains the foaming courfers of his car;
And now the dial flaming with his ray,
Denotes the ruftic at his fimple fare.

He earns his food in the remoter scene;

In flaxen folds that fhame the lily's bloom, His fun-burnt prattler rambles. o'er the green, To fhare the feast among the yellow broom. Contented Labour foon to work returns, Her modeft thanks are borne above the skies; No poifon lurks within her delphen urnsThe dying groans from goiden goblets rife. Now blooming damfels give the bubbling rill Their home-fpun vefts, and bleach them on the thorn; While the pert coxcomb poppies on the hill Nod their gay bells amid the waving corn. Now Vegetation through her countless hoft Feels in each fibre the creative power! Eeftatic Nature, in the tranfport loft,

Unfolds her odours to the fpangled fhower. The bufy bee now rifles ev'ry fweet,

And ftores the luscious treafure for his hive; Now fwarming millions leave their dark retreat,, And mountains, woods, and waters, are alive. And now the linnet on the poplar bough

Warbles in fofteft notes the fong of love; The melting fair believes the pleafing vow

Take heed, ye nymphs, fly Cupid's in the grove ! Down the parch'd cliffs now drive the bleating flocks, And feek the fhelter of the spreading fhades; The fcorching heat, reflected from the rocks, Saps the kind moisture, and the herbage fades.. The toiling peafant proftrate lays the grafs, And now exhaufted on his fcythe reclines; The fun-beam dancing on the wat'ry glafs, Where, with a mimic beauty, Flora fines.

The lufty bull now fcours across the mead,
Stung by the hornet, bellowing out his pain;
And now the curfe pronounc'd on Adam's feed,
Drops from the ruftic's forehead fast as rain.
Yet, happy ruftic, low as is thy lot,

Still Joy and Peace, thofe nymphs of rofy hue,
With meek Content, live only in the cot

That shelters Labour from the evening's dew.

EPIGRAM

ON OUR THEATRES ROYAL HAVING A NEW PIECE DD ON THE SAME EVENING AT EACH HOUSE

*

W HAT! two new dramas d--'d the felf-fame night!
The audience could not do it out of spite;

For had they been well charg'd with wit, perforce
Their pieces would have gone off well of courfe.

A VOLUNTEER,

ON A MODERN DRAMATIST.
OT for the ftage his plays are fit,

"NOT

But fuit the closet," faid a wit:

"The clofet!" faid his friend; "I ween

The water-clofet 'tis you mean!"

IMPROMPTU.

HINT TO A MONO-DRAMATIST, HOW TO AVOID

DAMNATION †.

DEAR Mat, if again you should write for the stage,
Extinguish your madness and filence your rage:
Return to your nature; and, when you 're quite cool,
Be ftupidly flippant, or playfully dull;

It's the way to be fafe :-and the secret is this,
When an audience all yarn, they're unable to hifs.

The Three per Cents, and Scapin in Masquerade.

+ Written about the time that the Captive was acted at Covent Garden, March 22, 1803,