to be acted, for some political
reason, which it is not in our power to guess.

The play of Tancred and Sigismunda was acted in the year 1744; this
succeeded beyond any other of Thomson's plays, and is now in possesion
of the stage. The plot is borrowed from a story in the celebrated
romance of Gil Blas: The fable is very interesting, the characters are
few, but active; and the attention in this play is never suffered to
wander. The character of Seffredi has been justly censured as
inconsistent, forced, and unnatural.

By the command of his royal highness the prince of Wales, Mr. Thomson,
in conjunction with Mr. Mallet, wrote the Masque of Alfred, which was
performed twice in his royal highness's gardens at Cliffden. Since Mr.
Thomson's death, this piece has been almost entirely new modelled by Mr.
Mallet, and brought on the stage in the year 1751, its success being
fresh in the memory of its frequent auditors, 'tis needless to say more
concerning it.

Mr. Thomson's last Tragedy, called Coriolanus, was not acted till after
his death; the profits of it were given to his sisters in Scotland, one
of whom is married to a minister there, and the other to a man of low
circumstances in the city of Edinburgh. This play, which is certainly
the least excellent of any of Thomson's, was first offered to Mr.
Garrick, but he did not think proper to accept it. The prologue was
written by Sir George Lyttleton, and spoken by Mr. Quin, which had a
very happy effect upon the audience. Mr. Quin was the particular friend
of Thomson, and when he spoke the following lines, which are in
themselves very tender, all the endearments of a long acquaintance, rose
at once to his imagination, while the tears gushed from his eyes.

He lov'd his friends (forgive this gushing tear:
Alas! I feel I am no actor here)
He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart,
So clear of int'rest, so devoid of art,
Such generous freedom, such unshaken real,
No words can speak it, but our tears may tell.

The beautiful break in these lines had a fine effect in speaking. Mr.
Quin here excelled himself; he never appeared a greater actor than at
this instant, when he declared himself none: 'twas an exquisite stroke
to nature; art alone could hardly reach it. Pardon the digression,
reader, but, we feel a desire to say somewhat more on this head. The
poet and the actor were friends, it cannot then be quite foreign to the
purpose to proceed. A deep fetch