The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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The Actor's Epitome.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
The Actor's Epitome.
If
comprehension, best, can pow'r express,
And that's, still, greatest, which contains the less;
No rank's high claim can make the player's small,
Since acting each, he comprehends them, all.
And that's, still, greatest, which contains the less;
No rank's high claim can make the player's small,
Since acting each, he comprehends them, all.
OFF, to due distance, half the stalking train!
Blots of a title, your low tastes profane!
No dull cold mouther shares the actor's plea,
Rightly to seem is transiently, to be.
Blots of a title, your low tastes profane!
No dull cold mouther shares the actor's plea,
Rightly to seem is transiently, to be.
Arduous the task, and asks a cimbing brain;
A head for judgment, and a heart for pain:
E'er sense, impress'd, reflects adopted forms,
And changeful nature shakes, with borrow'd storms.
A head for judgment, and a heart for pain:
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And changeful nature shakes, with borrow'd storms.
TEN strong-mark'd passions signs external bear,
And stamp assum'd distinctions on the player;
Joy, grief, fear, anger, pity, scorn, and hate,
Wonder, shame, jealousy, and love's soft weight.
And stamp assum'd distinctions on the player;
Joy, grief, fear, anger, pity, scorn, and hate,
Wonder, shame, jealousy, and love's soft weight.
These, when he paints, did he but first conceive
Each, on his fancy, would its image leave;
Thence, ductile fibres catch the expressive spring,
And the eyes dart it, and the accents ring.
Each, on his fancy, would its image leave;
Thence, ductile fibres catch the expressive spring,
And the eyes dart it, and the accents ring.
You, who would Joy's triumphant pride express,
What most you wish, imagine you possess.
Strait, flames th' idea to the kindling eye,
And every nerve, in concord, braces high:
Treading on air, each joint a soul displays;
The looks, all, lighten—and the limbs, all, blaze.
What most you wish, imagine you possess.
Strait, flames th' idea to the kindling eye,
And every nerve, in concord, braces high:
Treading on air, each joint a soul displays;
The looks, all, lighten—and the limbs, all, blaze.
But you, who act unhoping grief's distress,
Touch fancy, with some home-felt wretchedness.
Then, slack'ning nerves the loose impression take;
Each sad look sickens: the shock'd spirits break:
Dim falls the faded eye;—the steps drag, slow,
And ev'ry heedless gesture heaves, with woe.
Touch fancy, with some home-felt wretchedness.
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Each sad look sickens: the shock'd spirits break:
Dim falls the faded eye;—the steps drag, slow,
And ev'ry heedless gesture heaves, with woe.
FEAR is but active grief, avoiding pain,
Yet flies, too faintly, and avoids, in vain:
While stagnate spirits, thick'ning, as they spread,
O'er the cold heart, crawls slow, the living lead.
What, tho' the eye's prompt ray keen light'ning dart!
'Tis fruitless:—loos'ning fibres lame the heart.
Yet flies, too faintly, and avoids, in vain:
While stagnate spirits, thick'ning, as they spread,
O'er the cold heart, crawls slow, the living lead.
What, tho' the eye's prompt ray keen light'ning dart!
'Tis fruitless:—loos'ning fibres lame the heart.
ANGER is pride provok'd, beyond controul,
When some felt insult fires the smarting soul:
Then, the will's warmth, repelling fancy'd shame,
Strings the nerves hard, and bids the eye-balls flame:
Then marks of menace, air, and face deform;
And short, thick, breathings, paint the infelt storm.
When some felt insult fires the smarting soul:
Then, the will's warmth, repelling fancy'd shame,
Strings the nerves hard, and bids the eye-balls flame:
Then marks of menace, air, and face deform;
And short, thick, breathings, paint the infelt storm.
PITY is active sense of alien grief;
Think, some dear, dying suff'rer begs relief:
Aidful idea springs, to succour woe,
And ev'ry quivering sinew learns to glow,
While, mild, as sighing saints, the sadd'ning face,
Clouds, into anguish, with relenting grace.
Think, some dear, dying suff'rer begs relief:
Aidful idea springs, to succour woe,
And ev'ry quivering sinew learns to glow,
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Clouds, into anguish, with relenting grace.
SCORN is cold anger, careless and at ease,
Calm sense of wrongs, too harmless, to displease;
Bold, in undoubted safety, 'twould disclaim
Defiance—and with proud remissness, flame.
Now smiles, now frowns;—yet both with eye, serene;
And lets the nerves play loose, with painless spleen.
Calm sense of wrongs, too harmless, to displease;
Bold, in undoubted safety, 'twould disclaim
Defiance—and with proud remissness, flame.
Now smiles, now frowns;—yet both with eye, serene;
And lets the nerves play loose, with painless spleen.
HATRED is sullen fury, long retain'd:
'Tis willing mischief, warily restrain'd:
This to paint strong, the back-brac'd nerves should toil,
In fetter'd strain; and heave in curv'd recoil:
While, with impatient frown, th'averted eye
Shuns the loath'd object, it disdains, too nigh.
'Tis willing mischief, warily restrain'd:
This to paint strong, the back-brac'd nerves should toil,
In fetter'd strain; and heave in curv'd recoil:
While, with impatient frown, th'averted eye
Shuns the loath'd object, it disdains, too nigh.
Pain-seeking Jealousy feels doubtful rage,
Which trustful pity struggles to asswage:
Thence, frets uncertain pain, with pensive glow,
And look, and action, share divided woe.
Sad, in the face, the heart's felt softness reigns,
While each tugg'd sinew angry vengeance strains.
Which trustful pity struggles to asswage:
Thence, frets uncertain pain, with pensive glow,
And look, and action, share divided woe.
Sad, in the face, the heart's felt softness reigns,
While each tugg'd sinew angry vengeance strains.
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WONDER is curious fear—Suppose, by night,
Some pale, met spectre cross'd the moon's dim light!
Sudden, the back'ning blood, retreating swift,
Swells the press'd heart:—Each fibre fails, to lift;
Lost, in short pause, arrested motion lies,
And sense climbs doubtful, to the straining eyes.
Some pale, met spectre cross'd the moon's dim light!
Sudden, the back'ning blood, retreating swift,
Swells the press'd heart:—Each fibre fails, to lift;
Lost, in short pause, arrested motion lies,
And sense climbs doubtful, to the straining eyes.
LOVE is, at once, intense and slack desire:
There, hope inflames, while reverence cools the fire.
Fear of repulse, bold sense of joy withdraws;
Sighs in each accent; every movement awes:
Soft, earnest looks blush o'er th' inclining face,
And sinewy transport borrows shade, from grace.
There, hope inflames, while reverence cools the fire.
Fear of repulse, bold sense of joy withdraws;
Sighs in each accent; every movement awes:
Soft, earnest looks blush o'er th' inclining face,
And sinewy transport borrows shade, from grace.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |