See, how these rascals use me! They will not let my play run;
and yet they steal my thunder.

See, how these rascals use me! They will not let my play run;
and yet they steal my thunder.

The play bill which is said to have announced the tragedy of
Hamlet, the character of the Prince of read more

The play bill which is said to have announced the tragedy of
Hamlet, the character of the Prince of Denmark being left out.

Prologues like compliments are loss of time;
'Tis penning bows and making legs in rhyme.

Prologues like compliments are loss of time;
'Tis penning bows and making legs in rhyme.

Practice as if you are the worst, perform as if you are the best.

Practice as if you are the worst, perform as if you are the best.

Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; read more

Your scene precariously subsists too long,
On French translation and Italian song.
Dare to have sense yourselves; assert the stage;
Be justly warm'd with your own native rage.

If you took acting away from me, I'd stop breathing.

If you took acting away from me, I'd stop breathing.

My favorite review described me as the cinematic equivalent of junk mail.

My favorite review described me as the cinematic equivalent of junk mail.

A long, exact, and serious comedy;
In every scene some moral let it teach,
And, if it read more

A long, exact, and serious comedy;
In every scene some moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.

Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks;
Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks.
The founder's read more

Like hungry guests, a sitting audience looks;
Plays are like suppers; poets are the cooks.
The founder's you: the table is the place:
The carvers we: the prologue is the grace.
Each act, a course, each scene, a different dish,
Though we're in Lent, I doubt you're still for flesh.
Satire's the sauce, high-season'd, sharp and rough.
Kind masks and beaux, I hope you're pepperproof?
Wit is the wine; but 'tis so scarce the true
Poets, like vintners, balderdash and brew.
Your surly scenes, where rant and bloodshed join.
Are butcher's meat, a battle's sirloin:
Your scenes of love, so flowing, soft and chaste,
Are water-gruel without salt or taste.