a bad one, yet I have often tried, by myself, but in vain, to
reach the least distant likeness of the _vis comica_ of Nokes. Though
this may seem little to his praise, it may be negatively saying a good
deal to it, because I have never seen any one actor, except himself,
whom I could not, at least so far imitate, as to give a more than
tolerable notion of his manner. But Nokes was so singular a species, and
was so formed by nature, for the stage, that I question if, beyond the
trouble of getting words by heart, it ever cost him an hour's labour to
arrive at that high reputation he had and deserved.

The characters he particularly shone in, were Sir Martin Marrall, Gomez
in the Spanish Friar, Sir Nicolas Cully in Love in a Tub, Barnaby
Brittle in the Wanton Wife, Sir Davy Dunce in the Soldier's Fortune,
Sosia in Amphytrion, &c. &c. To tell you how he acted them, is beyond
the reach of criticism: but to tell you what effect his action had upon
the spectator, is not impossible: this then is all you will expect from
me, and hence I must leave you to guess at him.

He scarce ever made his first entrance in a play, but he was received
with an involuntary applause, not of hands only, for those may be, and
have often been partially prostituted, and bespoken; but by a general
laughter, which the very sight of him provoked, and nature could not
resist; yet the louder the laugh, the graver was his look upon it; and
sure, the ridiculous solemnity of his features were enough to set a
whole bench of bishops into a titter, could he have been honoured (may
it be no offence to suppose it) with such grave and right reverend
auditors. In the ludicrous distresses, which by the laws of comedy,
Folly is often involved in; he sunk into such a mixture of piteous
pusillanimity, and a consternation so ruefully ridiculous and
inconsolable, that when he had shook you, to a fatigue of laughter, it
became a moot point, whether you ought not to have pitied him. When he
debated any matter by himself, he would shut up his mouth with a dumb
studious pout, and roll his full eye into such a vacant amazement, such
a palpable ignorance of what to think of it, that his silent perplexity
(which would sometimes hold him several minutes) gave your imagination
as full content, as the most absurd thing he could say upon it. In the
character of Sir Martin Marrall, who is always committing blunders to
the prejudice of his own interest, when he had brought himself t