I have so clogged and badged this with blood
And slippery gore, that it doth mock my grasp;
A sword I say!
A speech he delivered with fine emphasis.
‘Come, that is better than “Titus Andronicus,” anyway,’ said Sheridan slily.
‘An echo, sir, a mere echo of “Richard the Third,”’ growled the tragedian.
‘Let us hope it will answer with “Richard the Fourth,”’ was the laughing rejoinder.
Their disagreement was like the conflict between the whale and a sword-fish, and could have but the same end.
‘I don’t mean to say that some things here are not better than others,’ said Kemble doggedly, ‘though perhaps I may be permitted to add that you hear them to the best advantage; but to me the whole thing has a false ring.’
‘Perhaps it’s my want of ear,’ returned the manager; ‘but do you think, Mr. Kemble,’ here he sank his voice to a whisper, ‘that many people have good ears?’
The drollery and even roguishness of his face as he hazarded this inquiry was indescribable. The tragedian ‘put the question by’ and pursued his argument.