Acting Quotes ( 40 - 49 of 49 )
Prologues precede the piece in mournful verse,
As undertakers walk before the hearse.
Prologues precede the piece in mournful verse,
As undertakers walk before the hearse.
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.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting
'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting.
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting
'Twas only that when he was off, he was acting.
Everybody has his own theatre, in which he is manager, actor,
prompter, playwright, sceneshifter, boxkeepeer, doorkeeper, all
in read more
Everybody has his own theatre, in which he is manager, actor,
prompter, playwright, sceneshifter, boxkeepeer, doorkeeper, all
in one, and audience into the bargain.
It's very hard! Oh, Dick, my boy,
It's very hard one can't enjoy
A little private spouting;
read more
It's very hard! Oh, Dick, my boy,
It's very hard one can't enjoy
A little private spouting;
But sure as Lear or Hamlet lives,
Up comes our master, Bounce! and gives
The tragic Muse a routing.
And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop
To the low mimic follies of a farce,
As read more
And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop
To the low mimic follies of a farce,
As a grave matron would to dance with girls.
The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give.
For we that live to please, must please to live.
The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give.
For we that live to please, must please to live.
Who teach the mind its proper face to scan,
And hold the faithful mirror up to man.
Who teach the mind its proper face to scan,
And hold the faithful mirror up to man.
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.
