From distant climes, o'er widespread seas, we come, Though not with much _éclat_ or beat of drum, True patriots all; for be it understood, We left our country for our country's good: No private views disgraced our generous zeal; What urged our travels was our country's weal; And none will doubt but that our emigration Has proved most useful to the British nation. But, you inquire, what could our breasts inflame With this new passion for theatric fame? What in the practice of our former days Could shape our talents to exhibit plays? Your patience, sirs: some observations made, You'll grant us equal to the scenic trade. He who to midnight ladders is no stranger You'll own will make an admirable Ranger, And sure in Filch I shall be quite at home: Some true-bred Falstaff we may hope to start. The scene to vary, we shall try in time To treat you with a little pantomime. Here light and easy Columbines are found, And well-tried Harlequins with us abound. From durance vile our precious selves to keep, We often had recourse to the flying leap, To a black face have sometimes owed escape, And Hounslow Heath has proved the worth of crape. But how, you ask, can we e'er hope to soar. Above these scenes, and rise to tragic lore? Too oft, alas! we've forced the unwilling tear, And petrified the heart with real fear. Macbeth a harvest of applause will reap, For some of us, I fear, have murdered sleep. His lady, too, with grace will sleep and talk: Our females have been used at night to walk. Grant us your favor, put us to the test: To gain your smiles we'll do our very best, And without dread of future Turnkey Lockets, Thus, in an honest way, still _pick your pockets_!