ON MR ****** ACTOR GReat child of nature, well you play your part, Yet nature sure would need a little art. Excuse me ****** but I'm forc'd to tell, In nought so much as bawling you excell. And where there's no occasion for a storm, Your head's too giddy, and your blood too warm. For instance now, when men are making love, They bill and coo, as gentle as the dove; But you, all foaming like a savage bear, Attempt with blust'ring cries to move the fair. How inconsistent, vain unthinking boy, To rage a tyrant, while you look a toy. You gain applause — good faith, I grant it true, Nothing like roaring charms the vulgar crew. But men, whose judgement's rather more acute, Astonish'd stare, with indignation mute.