She then made an oblique preliminary sweep, and came down with such a courtesy as the young had never seen.
James Quin, not to disgrace his generation, attempted a corresponding bow, for which his figure and apoplectic tendency rendered him unfit; and while he was transacting it, the graceful Cibber stepped gravely up, and looked down and up the process with his glass, like a naturalist inspecting some strange capriccio of an orang-outang.

The gymnastics of courtesy ended without back-falls--Cibber lowered his tone.
"You are right, Bracy.

It is nonsense denying the young fellow's talent; but his Othello, now, Bracy! be just--his Othello!" "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried she; "I thought it was Desdemona's little black boy come in without the tea-kettle." Quin laughed uproariously.
"It made me laugh a deal more than Mr.Quin's Falstaff.

Oh, dear! oh, dear!" "Falstaff, indeed! Snuff!" In the tone of a trumpet.
Quin secretly revoked his good opinion of this woman's sense.
"Madam," said the page, timidly, "if you would but favor us with a specimen of the old style--" "Well, child, why not?
Only what makes you mumble like that?
but they all do it now, I see.

Bless my soul! our words used to come out like brandy-cherries; but now a sentence is like raspberry-jam, on the stage and off." Cibber chuckled.
"And why don't you men carry yourself like Cibber here ?" "Don't press that question," said Colley dryly.
"A monstrous poor actor, though," said the merciless old woman, in a mock aside to the others; "only twenty shillings a week for half his life;" and her shoulders went up to her ears--then she fell into a half reverie.