Chapter LII: Appendix: II

(_See note to p. 217._)

ON MR KEAN’S IAGO

MR. EXAMINER,—I was not at all aware that in the remarks which I
offered on Mr. Kean’s _Iago_ my opinions would clash with those
already expressed by the respectable writer of the Theatrical
Examiner: for I did not mean to object to ‘the gay and careless air
which Mr. Kean threw over his representation of that arch villain,’
but to its being nothing but carelessness and gaiety; and I thought
it perfectly consistent with a high degree of admiration of this
extraordinary actor, to suppose that he might have carried an
ingenious and original idea of the character to a paradoxical
extreme. In some respects, your Correspondent seems to have mistaken
what I have said; for he observes that I have entered into an
analysis to shew, ‘that _Iago_ is a malignant being, who hates his
fellow-creatures, and doats on mischief and crime as the best means
of annoying the objects of his hate.’ Now this is the very reverse
of what I intended to shew; for so far from thinking that _Iago_ is
‘a ruffian or a savage, who pursues wickedness for its own sake,’ I
am ready to allow that he is a pleasant amusing sort of gentleman,
but with an over-activity of mind that is dangerous to himself and
others; that so far from hating his fellow-creatures, he is
perfectly regardless of them, except as they may afford him food for
the exercise of his spleen, and that ‘he doats on mischief and
crime,’ not ‘as the best means of annoying the objects of his hate,’
but as necessary to keep himself in that strong state of excitement
which his natural constitution requires, or, to express it
proverbially, in _perpetual hot water_. Iago is a man who will not
suffer himself or any one else to be at rest; he has an insatiable
craving after action, and action of the most violent kind. His
conduct and motives require some explanation; but they cannot be
accounted for from his interest or his passions,—his love of
himself, or hatred of those who are the objects of his persecution:
these are both of them only the occasional pretext for his cruelty,
and are in fact both of them subservient to his love of power and
mischievous irritability. I repeat, that I consider this sort of
unprincipled self-will as a very different thing from common
malignity; but I conceive it also just as remote from indifference
or levity. In one word, the malice of _Iago_ is not _personal_, but
_intellectual_. Mr. Kean very properly got rid of the brutal
ferocity which had been considered as the principle of the
character, and then left it without any principle at all. He has
mistaken the want of moral feeling, which is inseparable from the
part, for constitutional ease and general indifference, which are
just as incompatible with it. Mr. Kean’s idea seems to have been,
that the most perfect callousness ought to accompany the utmost
degree of inhumanity; and so far as relates to callousness to moral
considerations, this is true; but that is not the question. If our
Ancient had no other object, or principle of action but his
indifference to the feelings of others, he gives himself a great
deal of trouble to no purpose. If he has nothing else to set him in
motion, he had much better remain quiet than be broken on the rack.
Mere carelessness and gaiety, then, do not account for the
character. But Mr. Kean acted it with nearly the same easy air with
which Mr. Braham sings a song in an opera, or with which a comic
actor delivers a side-speech in an after-piece.

But the character of _Iago_, says your Correspondent, has nothing to
do with the manner of acting it. We are to look to the business of
the play. Is this then so very pleasant, or is the part which _Iago_
undertakes and executes the perfection of easy comedy? I should
conceive quite the contrary. The rest of what your Correspondent
says on this subject is ‘ingenious, but not convincing.’ It amounts
to this, that _Iago_ is a hypocrite, and that a hypocrite should
always be gay. This must depend upon circumstances. _Tartuffe_ was a
hypocrite, yet he was not gay: _Joseph Surface_ was a hypocrite, but
grave and plausible: _Blifil_ was a hypocrite, but cold, formal and
reserved. The hypocrite is naturally grave, that is, thoughtful, and
dissatisfied with things as they are, plotting doubtful schemes for
his own advancement and the ruin of others, studying far-fetched
evasions, double-minded and double-faced.—Now all this is an effort,
and one that is often attended with disagreeable consequences; and
it seems more in character that a man whose invention is thus kept
on the rack, and his feelings under painful restraint, should rather
strive to hide the wrinkle rising on his brow, and the malice at his
heart, under an honest concern for his friend, or the serene and
regulated smile of steady virtue, than that he should wear the
light-hearted look and easy gaiety of thoughtless constitutional
good humour. The presumption therefore is not in favour of the
lively, laughing, comic mien of hypocrisy. Gravity is its most
obvious resource, and, with submission, it is quite as effectual a
one. But it seems, that if _Iago_ had worn this tremendous mask,
‘the gay and idle world would have had nothing to do with him.’ Why,
indeed, if he had only intended to figure at a carnival or a
ridotto, to dance with the women or drink with the men, this
objection might be very true. But _Iago_ has a different scene to
act in, and has other thoughts in his contemplation. One would
suppose that _Othello_ contained no other adventures than those
which are to be met with in _Anstey’s Bath Guide_,[92] or in one of
_Miss Burney’s_ novels. The smooth smiling surface of the world of
fashion is not the element he delights to move in: he is the busy
meddling fiend ‘who rides in the whirlwind, and directs the
storm,’[93] triumphing over the scattered wrecks, and listening to
the shrieks of death. I cannot help thinking that Mr. Kean’s _Iago_
must be wrong, for it seems to have abstracted your Correspondent
entirely from the subject of the play. Indeed it is one great proof
of Mr. Kean’s powers, but which at the same time blinds the audience
to his defects, that they think of little else in any play but of
the part he acts. ‘What! a gallant Venetian turned into a musty
philosopher! Go away, and beg the reversion of Diogenes’ tub! Go
away, the coxcomb _Roderigo_ will think you mighty dull, and will
answer your requests for money with a yawn; the cheerful spirited
_Cassio_ will choose some pleasanter companion to sing with him over
his cups; the fiery _Othello_ will fear lest his philosophic Ancient
will be less valorously incautious in the day of battle, and that he
will not storm a fort with the usual uncalculating intrepidity.’
Now, the coxcomb _Roderigo_ would probably have answered his demands
for money with a yawn, though he had been ever so facetious a
companion, if he had not thought him useful to his affairs. He
employs him as a man of business, as a dextrous, cunning, plotting
rogue, who is to betray his master and debauch his wife, an
occupation for which his good humour or apparent want of thought
would not particularly qualify him. An accomplice in knavery ought
always to be a solemn rogue, and withal a casuist, for he thus
becomes our better conscience, and gives a sanction to the roguery.
_Cassio_ does not invite _Iago_ to drink with him, but is prevailed
upon against his will to join him; and _Othello_ himself owes his
misfortunes, in the first instance, to his having repulsed the
applications of _Iago_ to be made his lieutenant. He himself affects
to be blunt and unmannerly in his conversation with _Desdemona_.
There is no appearance of any cordiality towards him in _Othello_,
nor of his having been a general favourite (for such persons are not
usually liked), nor of his having ever been employed but for his
understanding and discretion. He every where owes his success to his
intellectual superiority, and not to the pleasantness of his
manners. At no time does _Othello_ put implicit confidence in
_Iago’s_ personal character, but demands his proofs; or when he
founds his faith on his integrity, it is from the gravity of his
manner: ‘Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more,’
_etc._[94]

Your Correspondent appeals to the manners of women of the town, to
prove that ‘there is a fascination in an open manner.’ I do not see
what this has to do with _Iago_. Those who promise to give only
pleasure, do not of course put on a melancholy face, or ape the
tragic muse. The Sirens would not lull their victims by the
prophetic menaces of the Furies. _Iago_ did not profess to be the
harbinger of welcome news. The reference to Milton’s _Satan_ and
_Lovelace_ is equally misplaced. If _Iago_ had himself endeavoured
to seduce _Desdemona_, the cases would have been parallel.
_Lovelace_ had to seduce a virtuous woman to pleasure, by presenting
images of pleasure, by fascinating her senses, and by keeping out of
sight every appearance of danger or disaster. _Iago_, on the
contrary, shews to _Othello_ that he has ‘a monster in his
thought’;[95] and it is his object to make him believe this by dumb
show, by the knitting of his brows, by stops and starts, _etc._
before he is willing to commit himself by words. Milton’s devil also
could only succeed by raising up the most voluptuous and delightful
expectations in the mind of Eve, and by himself presenting an
example of the divine effects produced by eating of the tree of
knowledge. Gloom and gravity were here out of the question. Yet how
does Milton describe the behaviour of this arch-hypocrite, when he
is about to complete his purpose?

‘She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold
The Tempter, but with shew of zeal and love
To man and indignation at his wrong,
New part puts on, and as to passion moved,
Fluctuates disturb’d yet comely and in act
Rais’d, as of some great matter to begin,
As when of old some orator renown’d
In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence
Flourish’d, since mute, to some great cause address’d,
Stood in himself collected, while each part,
Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue;
Sometimes in height began, as no delay
Of preface brooking through his zeal of right;
So standing, moving, or to height upgrown,
The Tempter all-impassion’d thus began:’[96]

If this impassioned manner was justifiable here, where the serpent
had only to persuade Eve to her imagined good, how much more was it
proper in _Iago_, who had to tempt _Othello_ to his damnation? When
he hints to _Othello_ that his wife is unfaithful to him—when he
tells his proofs, at which _Othello_ swoons, when he advises him to
strangle her, and undertakes to dispatch _Cassio_ from his zeal in
‘wronged Othello’s service,’[97] should he do this with a smiling
face, or a face of indifference? If a man drinks or sings with me,
he may perhaps drink or sing much as Mr. Kean drinks or sings with
_Roderigo_ and _Cassio_: if he bids me good day, or wishes me a
pleasant journey, a frank and careless manner will well become him;
but if he assures me that I am on the edge of a precipice, or
waylaid by assassins, or that some tremendous evil has befallen me,
with the same fascinating gaiety of countenance and manner, I shall
be little disposed to credit either his sincerity or friendship or
common sense.

Your Correspondent accounts for the security and hilarity of _Iago_,
in such circumstances, from his sense of superiority and his
certainty of success. First, this is not the account given in the
text, which I should prefer to any other authority on the subject.
Secondly, if he was quite certain of the success of his experiment,
it was not worth the making, for the only provocation to it was the
danger and difficulty of the enterprise; and at any rate, whatever
were his feelings, the appearance of anxiety and earnestness was
necessary to the accomplishment of his purpose. ‘He should assume a
virtue, if he had it not.’[98] Besides, the success of his
experiment was not of that kind even which has been called
_negative_ success, but proved of a very tragical complexion both to
himself and others. I can recollect nothing more to add, without
repeating what I have before said, which I am afraid would be to no
purpose. I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

W. H.

Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE

-----

Footnote 1:

A child that has hid itself out of the way in sport, is under a
great temptation to laugh at the unconsciousness of others as to
its situation. A person concealed from assassins, is in no danger
of betraying his situation by laughing.

Footnote 2:

His words are—‘If in having our ideas in the memory ready at hand
consists quickness of parts, in this of having them unconfused,
and being able nicely to distinguish one thing from another, where
there is but the least difference, consists in a great measure the
exactness of judgment and clearness of reason, which is to be
observed in one man above another. And hence, perhaps, may be
given some reason of that common observation, that men who have a
great deal of wit and prompt memories, have not always the
clearest judgment or deepest reason. For wit lying mostly in the
assemblage of ideas, and putting them together with quickness and
variety, wherein can be found any resemblance or congruity,
thereby to make up pleasant pictures and agreeable visions in the
fancy; judgment, on the contrary, lies quite on the other side, in
separating carefully one from another, ideas wherein can be found
the least difference, thereby to avoid being misled by similitude,
and by affinity to take one thing for another.’ (_Essay_, vol. i.
p. 143.) This definition, such as it is, Mr. Locke took without
acknowledgment from Hobbes, who says in his Leviathan, ‘This
difference of quickness in imagining is caused by the difference
of men’s passions, that love and dislike some one thing, some
another, and therefore some men’s thoughts run one way, some
another, and are held to and observe differently the things that
pass through their imagination. And whereas in this succession of
thoughts there is nothing to observe in the things they think on,
but either in what they be like one another, or in what they be
unlike, those that observe their similitudes, in case they be such
as are but rarely observed by others, are said to have a good wit,
by which is meant on this occasion a good fancy. But they that
observe their differences and dissimilitudes, which is called
distinguishing and discerning and judging between thing and thing;
in case such discerning be not easy, are said to have a good
judgment; and particularly in matter of conversation and business,
wherein times, places, and persons are to be discerned, this
virtue is called discretion. The former, that is, fancy, without
the help of judgment, is not commended for a virtue; but the
latter, which is judgment or discretion, is commended for itself,
without the help of fancy.’ _Leviathan_, p. 32.

Footnote 3:

Unforced.

Footnote 4:

See his Lives of the British Poets, Vol. I.

Footnote 5:

‘And have not two saints power to use
A greater privilege than three Jews?’

* * * * *

‘Her voice, the music of the spheres,
So loud it deafens mortals’ ears,
As wise philosophers have thought,
And that’s the cause we hear it not.’

Footnote 6:

‘No Indian prince has to his palace
More followers than a thief to the gallows.’

Footnote 7:

‘And in his nose, like Indian king,
He (Bruin) wore for ornament a ring.’

Footnote 8:

‘Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer
By thunder turned to vinegar.’

Footnote 9:

‘Replete with strange hermetic powder,
That wounds nine miles point-blank would solder.’

* * * * *

‘His tawny beard was th’ equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face;
In cut and die so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile:
The upper part thereof was whey,
The nether orange mixed with grey.
This hairy meteor did denounce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns;
With grisly type did represent
Declining age of government;
And tell with hieroglyphic spade
Its own grave and the state’s were made.’

* * * * *

‘This sword a dagger had his page,
That was but little for his age;
And therefore waited on him so,
As dwarfs upon knight errants do.’

Footnote 10:

‘And straight another with his flambeau,
Gave Ralpho o’er the eyes a damn’d blow.’

* * * * *

‘That deals in destiny’s dark counsels,
And sage opinions of the moon sells.’

Footnote 11:

‘The mighty Tottipottimoy
Sent to our elders an envoy.’

Footnote 12:

‘For Hebrew _roots_, although they’re found
To flourish most in barren ground.’

Footnote 13:

‘Those wholesale critics that in coffee-
Houses cry down all philosophy.’

Footnote 14:

‘This we among ourselves may speak,
But to the wicked or the weak
We must be cautious to declare
Perfection-truths, such as these are.’

Footnote 15:

The following are nearly all I can remember.—

‘Thus stopp’d their fury and the basting
Which towards Hudibras was hasting.’

It is said of the bear, in the fight with the dogs—

‘And setting his right foot before,
He raised himself to shew how tall
His person was above them all.’

* * * * *

‘At this the knight grew high in chafe,
And staring furiously on Ralph,
He trembled and look’d pale with ire,
Like ashes first, then red as fire.’

* * * * *

‘The knight himself did after ride,
Leading Crowdero by his side,
And tow’d him if he lagged behind,
Like boat against the tide and wind.’

* * * * *

‘And rais’d upon his desperate foot,
On stirrup-side he gazed about.’

* * * * *

‘And Hudibras, who used to ponder
On such sights with judicious wonder.’

* * * * *

The beginning of the account of the procession in Part II. is as
follows:—

‘Both thought it was the wisest course
To wave the fight and mount to horse,
And to secure by swift retreating,
Themselves from danger of worse beating:
Yet neither of them would disparage
By uttering of his mind his courage.
Which made ’em stoutly keep their ground,
With horror and disdain wind-bound.
And now the cause of all their fear
By slow degrees approach’d so near,
They might distinguish different noise
Of horns and pans, and dogs and boys,
And kettle-drums, whose sullen dub
Sounds like the hooping of a tub.’

Footnote 16:

Love in a Tub, and She Would if She Could.

Footnote 17:

Why Pope should say in reference to him, ‘Or _more wise_ Charron,’
is not easy to determine.

Footnote 18:

As an instance of his general power of reasoning, I shall give his
chapter entitled _One Man’s Profit is another’s Loss_, in which he
has nearly anticipated Mandeville’s celebrated paradox of private
vices being public benefits:—

‘Demades, the Athenian, condemned a fellow-citizen, who furnished
out funerals, for demanding too great a price for his goods: and
if he got an estate, it must be by the death of a great many
people: but I think it a sentence ill grounded, forasmuch as no
profit can be made, but at the expense of some other person, and
that every kind of gain is by that rule liable to be condemned.
The tradesman thrives by the debauchery of youth, and the farmer
by the dearness of corn; the architect by the ruin of buildings,
the officers of justice by quarrels and law-suits; nay, even the
honour and function of divines is owing to our mortality and
vices. No physician takes pleasure in the health even of his best
friends, said the ancient Greek comedian, nor soldier in the peace
of his country; and so of the rest. And, what is yet worse, let
every one but examine his own heart, and he will find that his
private wishes spring and grow up at the expense of some other
person. Upon which consideration this thought came into my head,
that nature does not hereby deviate from her general policy; for
the naturalists hold, that the birth, nourishment, and increase of
any one thing is the decay and corruption of another:

_Nam quodcunque suis mutatum finibus exit,
Continuo hoc mors est illius, quod fuit ante._ i.e.

For what from its own confines chang’d doth pass,
Is straight the death of what before it was.’

_Vol._ 1. _Chap._ xxi.

Footnote 19:

No. 125.

Footnote 20:

The antithetical style and verbal paradoxes which Burke was so
fond of, in which the epithet is a seeming contradiction to the
substantive, such as ‘proud submission and dignified obedience,’
are, I think, first to be found in the Tatler.

Footnote 21:

It is not to be forgotten that the author of Robinson Crusoe was
also an Englishman. His other works, such as the Life of Colonel
Jack, &c., are of the same cast, and leave an impression on the
mind more like that of things than words.

Footnote 22:

The Fool of Quality, David Simple, and Sidney Biddulph, written
about the middle of the last century, belong to the ancient
_regime_ of novel-writing. Of the Vicar of Wakefield I have
attempted a character elsewhere.

Footnote 23:

The Waiter drawing the cork, in the Rent-day, is another
exception, and quite Hogarthian.

Footnote 24:

When Meg Merrilies says in her dying moments—‘Nay, nay, lay my
head to the East,’ what was the East to her? Not a reality but an
idea of distant time and the land of her forefathers; the last,
the strongest, and the best that occurred to her in this world.
Her gipsy slang and dress were quaint and grotesque; her
attachment to the Kaim of Derncleugh and the wood of Warrock was
romantic; her worship of the East was _ideal_.

Footnote 25:

I have only to add, by way of explanation on this subject, the
following passage from the Characters of Shakspeare’s Plays:
‘There is a certain stage of society in which people become
conscious of their peculiarities and absurdities, affect to
disguise what they are, and set up pretensions to what they are
not. This gives rise to a corresponding style of comedy, the
object of which is to detect the disguises of self-love, and to
make reprisals on these preposterous assumptions of vanity, by
marking the contrast between the real and the affected character
as severely as possible, and denying to those, who would impose on
us for what they are not, even the merit which they have. This is
the comedy of artificial life, of wit and satire, such as we see
it in Congreve, Wycherley, Vanbrugh, &c. To this succeeds a state
of society from which the same sort of affectation and pretence
are banished by a greater knowledge of the world, or by their
successful exposure on the stage; and which by neutralizing the
materials of comic character, both natural and artificial, leaves
no comedy at all—but _the sentimental_. Such is our modern comedy.
There is a period in the progress of manners anterior to both
these, in which the foibles and follies of individuals are of
nature’s planting, not the growth of art or study; in which they
are therefore unconscious of them themselves, or care not who
knows them, if they can but have their whim out; and in which, as
there is no attempt at imposition, the spectators rather receive
pleasure from humouring the inclinations of the persons they laugh
at, than wish to give them pain by exposing their absurdity. This
may be called the comedy of nature, and it is the comedy which we
generally find in Shakspeare.’ P. 256.

Footnote 26:

See Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees.

Footnote 27:

This ingenious and popular writer is since dead.

Footnote 28:

See the Fudge Family, edited by Thomas Brown, jun.

Footnote 29:

The defects in the upper tones of Mr. Kean’s voice were hardly
perceptible in his performance of Shylock, and were at first
attributed to hoarseness.

Footnote 30:

For a fuller account of Mr. Kean’s Othello, see one of the last
articles in this volume.

Footnote 31:

An old gentleman, riding over Putney-bridge, turned round to his
servant, and said, ‘Do you like eggs, John?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ Here the
conversation ended. The same gentleman riding over the same bridge
that day year, again turned round, and said, ‘How?’ ‘Poached,
sir,’ was the answer.—This is the longest pause upon record, and
has something of a dramatic effect, though it could not be
transferred to the stage. Perhaps an actor might go so far, on the
principle of indefinite pauses, as to begin a sentence in one act,
and finish it in the next.

Footnote 32:

The Examiner.

Footnote 33:

It will be seen, that this severe censure of Munden is nearly
reversed in the sequel of these remarks, and on a better
acquaintance with this very able actor in characters more worthy
of his powers.

Footnote 34:

In the last edition of the works of a modern Poet, there is a
Sonnet to the King, complimenting him on ‘his royal fortitude.’
The story of the Female Vagrant, which very beautifully and
affectingly describes the miseries brought on the lower classes by
war, in bearing which the said ‘royal fortitude’ is so nobly
exercised, is very properly struck out of the collection.

Footnote 35:

The scene where the screen falls and discovers Lady Teazle, is
without a rival. Perhaps the discovery is delayed rather too long.

Footnote 36:

What Louis XVIII. said to his new National Guards.

Footnote 37:

It was about this time that Madame Lavalette assisted her husband
to escape from prison.

Footnote 38:

A Mr. Bibby, from the United States.

Footnote 39:

‘’Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing, or in judging ill.’

_Pope._

Footnote 40:

This young lady has since acted Beatrice in ‘Much Ado About
Nothing,’ with considerable applause.

Footnote 41:

So the old song joyously celebrates their arrival:—

‘The beggars are coming to town,
Some in rags, and some in jags, and some in velvet gowns,’

Footnote 42:

The story of the Heart of Midlothian was, we understand, got up at
the Surrey Theatre last year by Mr. Dibdin, in the most creditable
style. A Miss Taylor, we hear, made an inimitable Jenny Deans,
Miss Copeland was surprising as Madge Wildfire, Mrs. Dibdin as
Queen Caroline, was also said to be a complete piece of royal
wax-work, and Dumbydikes was done to the life. Would we had seen
them so done; but we can answer for these things positively on no
authority but our own. If they make as good a thing of Ivanhoe,
they will do more than the author has done.

Footnote 43:

Miss Baillie has much of the power and spirit of dramatic writing,
and not the less because, as a woman, she has been placed out of
the vortex of philosophical and political extravagances.

Footnote 44:

We have given this sentence in marks of quotation, and yet it is
our own. We should put a stop to the practices of ‘such petty
larceny rogues’—but that it is not worth while.

Footnote 45:

Generosity and simplicity are not the characteristic virtues of
poets. It has been disputed whether ‘an honest man is the noblest
work of God.’ But we think an honest poet is so.

Footnote 46:

‘Or mouth with slumbery pout.’ _Keats’s Endymion._

The phrase might be applied to Miss Stephens: though it is a vile
phrase, worse than Hamlet’s ‘beautified’ applied to Ophelia.
Indeed it has been remarked that Mr. Keats resembles Shakspeare in
the novelty and eccentricity of his combinations of style. If so,
it is the only thing in which he is like Shakspeare: and yet Mr.
Keats, whose misfortune and crime it is, like Milton, to have been
born in London, is a much better poet than Mr. Wilson, or his
Patroclus Mr. Lockart; nay, further, if Sir Walter Scott (the sly
Ulysses of the Auld Reekie school,) had written many of the
passages in Mr. Keats’s poems, they would have been quoted as the
most beautiful in his works. We do not here (on the banks of the
Thames) damn the Scotch novels in the lump, because the writer is
a _Sawney Scot_. But the sweet Edinburgh wits damn Mr. Keats’s
lines in the lump, because he is born in London. ‘Oh Scotland,
judge of England, what a treasure hast thou in one fair son, and
one fair son-in-law, neither of whom (by all accounts) thou lovest
passing well!’

Footnote 47:

The Fancy is not used here in the sense of Mr. Peter Corcoran, but
in a sense peculiar to Mr. Coleridge, and hitherto undefined by
him.

Footnote 48:

This expression is borrowed from Dr. Johnson. However, as Dr.
Johnson is not a German critic, Mr. C. need not be supposed to
acknowledge it.

Footnote 49:

This was Godwin, who saw _Venice Preserved_ at Norwich. See Kegan
Paul, _William Godwin: His Friends and Contemporaries_, I. 10.

Footnote 50:

_She Stoops to Conquer_, Act I.

Footnote 51:

_Twelfth Night_, Act I. Sc. 1.

Footnote 52:

Cf. _Twelfth Night_, Act II. Sc. 5.

Footnote 53:

_The Rivals_, Act V. Sc. 3.

Footnote 54:

James William Dodd (1740?-1796).

Footnote 55:

_The Rivals_, Act III. Sc. 3.

Footnote 56:

_Hamlet_, Act I. Sc. 2.

Footnote 57:

By Arthur Murphy (1756).

Footnote 58:

Elizabeth Pope (1744?-1797) wife of Alexander Pope the actor. She
made her first appearance in 1768 and became famous in a wide
range of parts.

Footnote 59:

Better known as Mrs. Barry. Ann Spranger Barry (1734-1801) first
appeared at Drury Lane in 1767-8, and soon acquired a great
reputation both in tragedy and comedy. She married Spranger Barry
the actor in 1768.

Footnote 60:

See _post_, note to p. 184.

Footnote 61:

Cowley, Horace, _Odes_, III. 1.

Footnote 62:

_Othello_, Act I. Sc. 3.

Footnote 63:

‘His honours and his valiant parts.’ _Ibid._

Footnote 64:

_Ibid._

Footnote 65:

Pope, _The Rape of the Lock_, II. 17-18.

Footnote 66:

See Johnson’s _Lives of the Poets_, Life of Edmund Smith.

Footnote 67:

_Macbeth_, Act V. Sc. 5.

Footnote 68:

William Dimond of Bath, the author of a great number of plays.

Footnote 69:

Cf. _ante_, pp. 411-12.

Footnote 70:

Cf. ‘In their trinal triplicities on bye.’ _The Faerie Queene_,