Peg Woffington | Page 9

corner,
and complimented him on his well-timed eulogy.
"You acted that mighty well, sir," said he. "Stop my vitals! if I did not
think you were in earnest, till I saw the jade had slipped in among us. It
told, sir--it told."
Up fired Vane. "What do you mean, sir?" said he. "Do you suppose my
admiration of that lady is feigned?"
"No need to speak so loud, sir," replied the old gentleman; "she hears
you. These hussies have ears like hawks."
He then dispensed a private wink and a public bow; with which he
strolled away from Mr. Vane, and walked feebly and jauntily up the
room, whistling "Fair Hebe;" fixing his eye upon the past, and
somewhat ostentatiously overlooking the existence of the present
company.
There is no great harm in an old gentleman whistling, but there are two
ways of doing it; and as this old beau did it, it seemed not unlike a
small cock-a-doodle-doo of general defiance; and the denizens of the
green-room, swelled now to a considerable number by the addition of
all the ladies and gentlemen who had been killed in the fourth act, or
whom the buttery-fingered author could not keep in hand until the fall
of the curtain, felt it as such; and so they were not sorry when Mrs.
Woffington, looking up from her epilogue, cast a glance upon the old
beau, waited for him, and walked parallel with him on the other side of
the room, giving an absurdly exact imitation of his carriage and
deportment. To make this more striking, she pulled out of her pocket,

after a mock search, a huge paste ring, gazed on it with a ludicrous
affectation of simple wonder, stuck it, like Cibber's diamond, on her
little finger, and, pursing up her mouth, proceeded to whistle a quick
movement,
"Which, by some devilish cantrip sleight,"
played round the old beau's slow movement, without being at variance
with it. As for the character of this ladylike performance, it was clear,
brilliant, and loud as blacksmith.
The folk laughed; Vane was shocked. "She profanes herself by
whistling," thought he. Mr. Cibber was confounded. He appeared to
have no idea whence came this sparkling adagio. He looked round,
placed his hands to his ears, and left off whistling. So did his musical
accomplice.
"Gentlemen," said Cibber, with pathetic gravity, "the wind howls most
dismally this evening! I took it for a drunken shoemaker!"
At this there was a roar of laughter, except from Mr. Vane. Peg
Woffington laughed as merrily as the others, and showed a set of teeth
that were really dazzling; but all in one moment, without the
preliminaries an ordinary countenance requires, this laughing Venus
pulled a face gloomy beyond conception. Down came her black brows
straight as a line, and she cast a look of bitter reproach on all present;
resuming her study, as who should say, "Are ye not ashamed to divert a
poor girl from her epilogue?" And then she went on, "Mum! mum!
mum!" casting off ever and anon resentful glances; and this made the
fools laugh again.
The Laureate was now respectfully addressed by one of his admirers,
James Quin, the Falstaff of the day, and the rival at this time of Garrick
in tragic characters, though the general opinion was, that he could not
long maintain a standing against the younger genius and his rising
school of art.
Off the stage, James Quin was a character; his eccentricities were
three--a humorist, a glutton and an honest man; traits that often caused
astonishment and ridicule, especially the last.
"May we not hope for something from Mr. Cibber's pen after so long a
silence?"
"No," was the considerate reply. "Who have ye got to play it?"
"Plenty," said Quin; "there's your humble servant, there's--"

"Humility at the head of the list," cried she of the epilogue. "Mum!
mum! mum!"
Vane thought this so sharp.
"Garrick, Barry, Macklin, Kitty Clive here at my side, Mrs. Cibber, the
best tragic actress I ever saw; and Woffington, who is as good a
comedian as you ever saw, sir;" and Quin turned as red as fire.
"Keep your temper, Jemmy," said Mrs. Woffington with a severe
accent. "Mum! mum! mum!"
"You misunderstand my question," replied Cibber, calmly; "I know
your dramatis personae but where the devil are your actors?"
Here was a blow.
"The public," said Quin, in some agitation, "would snore if we acted as
they did in your time."
"How do you know that, sir?" was the supercilious rejoinder; _"you
never tried!"_
Mr. Quin was silenced. Peg Woffington looked off her epilogue.
"Bad as we are," said she coolly, "we might be worse."
Mr. Cibber turned round, slightly raised his eyebrows.
"Indeed!" said he. "Madam!" added he, with a courteous smile, "will
you