already engaged by a member of the troupe, an ex-apprentice from Birmingham.
We have already seen the name of Siddons figuring on the Kemble play-bills, when Sarah was only thirteen years of age. We can imagine, therefore, all the opportunities that the young people had of falling in love, rehearsing together, acting together, with the continual communion of interest brought about by their profession. No wonder that even Mr. Evans, a Welsh squire, with three hundred a year, who, enslaved by Sarah's singing of Robin, Sweet Robin, offered her his hand, was ignominiously refused. Her parents, however, took a different view, and, allured by the splendour of Mr. Evans's offer, revoked the unwilling consent they had given to their daughter's engagement to Siddons, and summarily dismissed him from the company.
The indignant lover had recourse to a method of revenge that seems as novel as it was ungentlemanly. Being allowed a farewell benefit, he took the opportunity—it was at Brecon—of taking the audience into his confidence, and, in doggrel of the worst description, informed them of his woes:—
Ye ladies of Brecon, whose hearts ever feel
For wrongs like to this I'm about to reveal,
Excuse the first product, nor pass unregarded
The complaints of poor Colin, a lover discarded.
Yet still on his Phyllis his hopes were all placed,
That her vows were so firm they could ne'er be effaced;
But soon she convinced him 'twas all a mere joke,
For duty rose up, and her vows were all broke.
Dear ladies, avoid one indelible stain,
Excuse me, I beg, if my verse is too plain;
But a jilt is the devil, as has long been confessed,
Which a heart like poor Colin's must ever detest.
