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Theophilus Cibber [1748], Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy, Revis'd, and Alter'd from Shakespear, By Mr. Theophilus Cibber. First Reviv'd (in September, 1744,) at the Theatre in the Hay-Market: Now Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane... To which is added, A Serio-Comic Apology, For Part of the Life of Mr. Theophilus Cibber, Comedian. Written by Himself... Interspersed with Memoirs and Anecdotes, relating to Stage-Management, Theatrical Revolutions, &c. Also, Cursory Observations on some principal Players... Concluding with a Copy of Verses, call'd, The Contrite Comedian's Confession (Printed for C. Corbett... and G. Woodfall [etc.], London) [word count] [S37400].

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A Copy of VERSES, entitled The Contrite Comedian's Confession. [secondary verse]
My Faults, and Foibles having laid before ye,
I now, for Pardon undeserv'd implore ye;
Thus, while I pluck up Grace, and make Confession,
I snugly tick afresh for new Transgression:
Some few wild Oats I've sown,—have some been mowing;
And—not to lie—have left some Crops still growing.
To slight my Penitence might spoil your Convert,
Much have I suffer'd, and not little done for't;
Not but, perhaps—I've had my Share of Fun for't:
Yet, not in all my Frolicks, I miscarried;
One Fact, Sirs, clinch'd my Happiness:—I'm married
Shew me a Brother-Player, who, like me,
Can laugh, with Tragic-Heart, in Comedy:
There! There's a Proof of my Philosophy!
But hold—
To jest at Sorrows, with so pleas'd a Face,
Perchance, you'll say, is to deserve Disgrace;
Not so, I hope,—for, sure you'll bring me off,
If, I but smear myself, to make you laugh:
That's my Profession still—now, from behind it,
Should I let fall a Tear,—what Soul would mind it?
Should Pistol, Foppington, or Drugger, weep,
'Twould hardly move you; but, to laugh—or sleep.
Your Favours past, then, shall support my Spirit,
Who knows?—The Joy may raise me into Merit;
Still kindly shut my private Faults from View,
And only rate me, as I seem to you:
If, where I'm not my self, I'm sometimes right,
Let your Good-Nature cherish your Delight.
Your generous Plaudit all my Pains o'erpays,
For 'tis my proudest, warmest Wish to raise,
[illeg.]hiles from your Candour, from your Judgment Praise. FINIS.

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