Garrick. "Upon my honour, my Lord, if his memory was what you describe in Ireland, he must have forgot to bring it with him to London; for here, the prompter is obliged to repeat every sentence, and a whole sentence he cannot retain: there is absolutely a necessity for splitting it into parts."
Orrery. "What! you have found that his head runs out. Upon my soul, it never would hold anything: Lady Orrery used to call him 'Cullender Mossop'—Mossop the Cullender:' the fellow could not remember a common distich. But, notwithstanding this, his carriage is so easy, his air so gentleman-like, his deportment has so much fashion, that you perceive at a glance he has kept the best company; and no one who sees him conceives him a player. He looks like one of our house: he has the port of nobility."
Garrick. "As to his port, my Lord, I grant you that the man is tall, and upright enough; but with submission, the utmost submission to your Lordship's better judgment, don't you think there is an awkwardness, a rigid, vulgar, unbending sort of a—a—. We had fencing masters, dancing masters, and drill sergeants, but all would not do; he looked more like a tailor than a gentleman."
Orrery. "What! you think that he is stiff? By the Lord, David, you are right,—nothing escapes you: he is stiff—stiff as a poker: we used to call him 'Poker Mossop;'—we had no better name for him in the country. But however his body might want (as I must acknowledge it did) the graceful, easy bend of the Antinous, his mind was formed of the most yielding and flexible materials: any advice which you gave him, he would take; from you, I am persuaded, a hint was sufficient."
Garrick. "Why, in this, my Lord, I must be bold enough to differ from you in the most pointed and positive terms; for of all the obstinate, headstrong, and unmanageable animals I ever dealt with, he is the most stubborn, the most untractable, the most wrongheaded. I never knew one instance where he followed my instructions in any the smallest degree. If I recommend him to dress a character plain, he comes upon the stage like a gingerbread king; if I advise him to be splendid in his apparel, he endeavours to get a Quaker's habit from the keeper of our wardrobe; and in everything, he—more than I thought belonged to human nature—had that impenetrable, that—that—that—"
Orrery. "So!—you think him obstinate? Upon my soul he is—as obstinate as a pig; he has more of that animal's pertinacity than any man I ever knew in my life. But yet, David, with all these faults, he is—I have not time to enter into particulars.—Be what he will, you have engaged him? I sincerely wish you may agree together, and am, my dear fellow, your most obedient. Say no more.—Farewell.—To Mrs. Garrick present my compliments."
[155] In an ode to the memory of Le-Stue, cook to the late Duke of Newcastle, this was whimsically parodied by a Mr. Shaw, the writer of a monody addressed to Lord Lyttleton:
"When Philip's fam'd, all-conquering son,
Had every blood-stain'd laurel won,
He sigh'd that his creative word,