the pit the wearied country squire of Queen
Anne's time to his boon companion Powell, the actor, doomed to appear
in a part deficient in opportunities for oratory. "But, Mr. Bayes,
might we not have a little fighting?" inquires Johnson, in the
burlesque of "The Rehearsal," "for I love those plays where they cut
and slash one another on the stage for a whole hour together."

The single combats that occur in Shakespeare's plays are very
numerous. There is little need to remind the reader, for instance, of
the hand-to-hand encounters of Macbeth and Macduff, Posthumus and
Iachimo, Hotspur and the Prince of Wales, Richard and Richmond. Romeo
has his fierce brawl with Tybalt, Hamlet his famous fencing scene, and
there is serious crossing of swords both in "Lear" and "Othello."
English audiences, from an inherent pugnacity, or a natural
inclination for physical feats, were wont to esteem highly the combats
of the stage. The players were skilled in the use of their weapons,
and would give excellent effect to their mimic conflicts. And this
continued long after the wearing of swords had ceased to be a
necessity or a fashion. The youthful actor acquired the art of fencing
as an indispensable step in his theatrical education. A sword was one
of the earliest "properties" of which he became possessor. He always
looked forward to impressing his audience deeply by his skill in
combat. Charles Mathews, the elder, has recorded in his too brief
chapters of autobiography, "his passion for fencing which nothing
could overcome." As an amateur actor he paid the manager of the
Richmond Theatre seven guineas and a half for permission to undertake
"the inferior insipid part of Richmond," who does not appear until the
fifth act of the play. The Richard of the night was a brother-amateur,
equally enthusiastic, one Litchfield by name. "I cared for nothing,"
wrote Mathews, "except the last scene of Richmond, but in that I was
determined, to have my full swing of carte and tierce. I had no notion
of paying my seven guineas and a half without indulging my passion. In
vain did the tyrant try to die after a decent time; in vain did he
give indications of exhaustion; I would not allow him to give in. I
drove him by main force from any position convenient for his last
dying speech. The audience laughed; I heeded them not. They shouted; I
was deaf. Had they hooted I should have lunged on in my
unconsciousness of their interruption. I was resolved to show