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GARRICK was on a visit at Hagley, when news came that a company of
players were going to perform at Birmingham. Lord Lyttelton said to
Garrick, They will hear you are in the neighborhood, and will ask you
to write an address to the Birmingham audience.--Suppose, then, said
Garrick, without the least hesitation, I begin thus:--

Ye sons of iron, copper, brass, and steel,
Who have not heads to think, nor hearts to feel--

Oh! cried his lordship, if you begin thus, they will hiss the players
off the stage and pull the house down.--My lord, said Garrick, what
is the use of an address if it does not come home to the business and
bosoms of the audience?

Next: A Good Reason

Previous: A Compliment Ill-received

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