NEXT, H—LL—ND came. — With truly tragic stalk,
He creeps, he flies. — An heroe should not walk.
As if with Heav'n he warr'd, his eager eyes
Planted their batteries against the skies:
Attitude, action, air, pause, sigh, groan
He borrow'd, and made use of as his own.
By Fortune thrown on any other stage,
He might, perhaps, have pleas'd an easy age;
But now appears a copy, and no more,
Of something better we have seen before.
The actor who would build a solid fame,
Must Imitation's servile arts disclaim;
Act from himself, on his own bottom stand. —
I hate e'en GARRICK thus at second hand.