The 10th of June, 1776, was marked by Garrick's retirement from the stage. With his powers unimpaired, he wisely resolved (theatrically speaking) to die as he had lived, with all his glory and with all his fame. He might have, indeed, been influenced by a more solemn feeling--
"Higher duties crave Some space between the theatre and grave; That, like the Roman in the Capitol, I may adjust my mantle, ere I fall,"
The part he selected upon this memorable occasion was Don Felix, in the Wonder. We could have wished that, like Kemble, he had retired with Shakspere upon his lips; that the glories of the Immortal had hallowed his closing scene. His address was simple and appropriate--he felt that he was no longer an actor; and when he spoke of the kindness and favours that he had received, his voice faltered, and he burst into a flood of tears. The most profound silence, the most intense anxiety prevailed, to catch every word, look, and action, knowing they were to be his last; and the public parted from their idol with tears for his love, joy for his fortune, admiration for his vast and unconfined powers, and regret that that night had closed upon them for ever.
Garrick had long been afflicted with a painful disorder. In the Christmas of 1778, being on a visit with Mrs. Garrick at the country seat of Earl Spencer, he had a recurrence of it, which, after his return to London, increased with such violence, that Dr. Cadogan, conceiving him to be in imminent danger, advised him, if he had any worldly affairs to settle, to lose no time in dispatching them. Mr. Garrick replied, "that nothing of that sort lay on his mind, and that he was not afraid to die." And why should he fear? His authority had ever been directed to the reformation, the good order, and propriety of the Stage; his example had incontestibly proved that the profession of a player is not incompatible with the exercise of every Christian and moral duty, and his well-earned riches had been rendered the mean of extensive public and private benevolence. He therefore beheld the approach of death, not with that reckless indifference which some men call philosophy, but with resignation and hope. He died on Wednesday, January 20th, 1779, in the sixty-second year of his age.