_Garrick._ "As to his port, my Lord, I grant you that the man is tall, and upright enough; but with submission, the utmost submission to your Lordship's better judgment, don't you think there is an awkwardness, a rigid, vulgar, unbending sort of a--a--. We had fencing masters, dancing masters, and drill sergeants, but all would not do; he looked more like a tailor than a gentleman."
_Orrery._ "What! you think that he is stiff? By the Lord, David, you are right,--nothing escapes you: he is stiff--stiff as a poker: we used to call him 'Poker Mossop;'--we had no better name for him in the country. But however his body might want (as I must acknowledge it did) the graceful, easy bend of the Antinous, his mind was formed of the most yielding and flexible materials: any advice which you gave him, he would take; from you, I am persuaded, a hint was sufficient."
_Garrick._ "Why, in this, my Lord, I must be bold enough to differ from you in the most pointed and positive terms; for of all the obstinate, headstrong, and unmanageable animals I ever dealt with, he is the most stubborn, the most untractable, the most wrongheaded. I never knew one instance where he followed my instructions in any the smallest degree. If I recommend him to dress a character plain, he comes upon the stage like a gingerbread king; if I advise him to be splendid in his apparel, he endeavours to get a Quaker's habit from the keeper of our wardrobe; and in everything, he--more than I thought belonged to human nature--had that impenetrable, that--that--that--"
_Orrery._ "So!--you think him obstinate? Upon my soul he is--as obstinate as a pig; he has more of that animal's pertinacity than any man I ever knew in my life. But yet, David, with all these faults, he is--I have not time to enter into particulars.--Be what he will, you have engaged him? I sincerely wish you may agree together, and am, my dear fellow, your most obedient. Say no more.--Farewell.--To Mrs. Garrick present my compliments."
[155] In an ode to the memory of Le-Stue, cook to the late Duke of Newcastle, this was whimsically parodied by a Mr. Shaw, the writer of a monody addressed to Lord Lyttleton:
"When Philip's fam'd, all-conquering son, Had every blood-stain'd laurel won, He sigh'd that his creative word, Like that which rules the skies, Could not bid other nations rise, To glut his yet unsated sword.