Colley Cibber was an English actor-manager, playwright and Poet Laureate. His colourful memoir Apology for the Life of Colley Cibber (1740) describes his life in a personal, anecdotal and even rambling style. He wrote 25 plays for his own company at Drury Lane, half of which were adapted from various sources, which led Robert Lowe and Alexander Pope, among others, to criticise his "miserable mutilation" of "crucified Molière [and] hapless Shakespeare". He regarded himself as first and foremost an actor and had great popular success in comical fop parts, while as a tragic actor he was persistent but much ridiculed. Cibber's brash, extroverted personality did not sit well ... more »
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Colley Cibber Poems
The Blind Boy
O SAY what is that thing call’d Light, Which I must ne’er enjoy; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy!
Quotationsmore quotations »
''Prithee don't screw your wit beyond the compass of good manners.''Colley Cibber (1671-1757), British actor-manager, playwright. Narcissa, in Love's Last Shift, act 2, sc. 1.
''You know, one had as good be out of the world, as out of the fashion.''Colley Cibber (1671-1757), British actor-manager, playwright. repr. In Dramatic Works (1966). Narcissa, in Love's Last Shift, act 2, sc. 1 (1696). ...
''Our hours in love have wings; in absence, crutches.''Colley Cibber (1671-1757), British actor-manager, playwright. Tamira, in Xerxes, act 4, sc. 3.
Comments about Colley Cibber
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Blind Boy
O SAY what is that thing call’d Light,
Which I must ne’er enjoy;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
Whene’er I sleep or play;
And could I ever keep awake
With me ’twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne’er can know. ...