ce, than they could do us good by remaining with us: For
though the best of them could not support a play, the worst of them by
their absence could maim it; as the loss of the least pin in a watch
may obstruct its motion.--CIBBER.]

[Footnote B: Dr. Doran's "Annals of the Stage."]

So wagged the mimic world with Nance as its most attractive figure.
Sometimes she laughed her way through a play; and again she committed
suicide for the edification of the audience, as when she appeared in
"Busiris." This was a windy tragedy by Dr. Young (he of the "Night
Thoughts"), wherein Wilks, as Memnon, also had to kill himself.
The performance was, naturally enough, far from cheerful, and no
particular inspiration could have been obtained from the presence of
Busiris himself, that semi-savage Egyptian king to whom Ovid referred:

"'Tis said that Egypt for nine years was dry;
Nor Nile did floods, nor heaven did rain supply.
A foreigner at length informed the King
That slaughtered guests would kindly moisture bring.
The King replied, 'On thee the lot shall fall;
Be thou, my guest, the sacrifice for all.'"

Certainly a most ungenial host.

There were times when Oldfield could even arouse enthusiasm amid the
dullest and most unappealing surroundings. This she did, for instance,
in the stupid "Sophonisba" of James Thomson, who could write
delightful poetry about nature without being able to carry any of that
nature into the art of play-making. It was in this artificial tragedy
that the famous line occurred: "Oh Sophonisba! Sophonisba, o!" which
was afterwards parodied by "Oh! Jemmy Thomson! Jemmy Thomson, oh!"
and it was in the same ill-fated compilation that Cibber had the
distinction of being hissed off the stage. The latter, unlike
Oldfield, had a sneaking fondness for tragedy, and when "Sophonisba"
was first read in the green room he appropriated to his own use the
dignified character of Scipio. His egotism and foolishness had their
full reward. For two nights successively, as Davies tells us, "Cibber
was as much exploded as any bad actor could be. Williams, by desire of
Wilks, made himself master of the part; but he, marching slowly, in
great military distinction, from the upper part of the stage, and
wearing the same dress as Cibber, was mistaken for him, and met
with repeated hisses, joined to the music of cat-calls [notice, ye
theatre-goers of 1898, that the cat-call is not the invention of the
modern gallery god