In the theatrical revolutions which happened in thoſe days, Mr. Booth, notwithſtanding his great capacity, and reputation with the town, had very little ſhare. He adhered conſtantly to Mr. Betterton, while he could be of any ſervice to him, and when his tutor retired from the management of the ſtage, he truſted to his merit, and the taſte of the public, in which he was never deceived.
Mr. Booth was particularly turned for tragedy, he never could bear thoſe parts which had not ſtrong paſſion to inſpire him; and Mr. Cibber obſerves, that he could not ſo well melt in the lover, as rage in the jealous huſband. Othello was his maſter-piece, but in all his parts he was often ſubject to a kind of indolence, which ſome people imagined he affected, to ſhew that even in his lazy fits he was ſuperior to every body upon the ſtage; as if ſecure of all beholders hearts, neglecting he could take them.[1] The late ingenious Mr. Whitingham, who perfectly underſtood theatrical excellence, and who was, beyond any man I ever knew, diſtinct, and accurate in his relations of things, often told me, that ſuch was the dignity of Booth’s appearance, ſuch his theatrical eaſe, and gracefulneſs, that had he only croſſed the ſtage without uttering a word, the houſe would be in a roar of applauſe.
We come now to that period of time, when Mr. Booth’s ſole merit raiſed him to the greateſt height, and procured for him that reward he had long deſerved. The tragedy of Cato, which had been written in the year 1703, or at leaſt four acts of it, was brought upon the ſtage in 1712, chiefly on a political principle; the part of Cato was given to Booth, for the managers were very well ſatisfied that nobody elſe could perform it. As party prejudice never ran higher than at that time, the excellency of the
- ↑ Dryden’s All for Love.
