At first I caught hold of the wing, And kept away; but Mr. Thing- um bob, the prompter man, Gave with his hand my chaise a shove, And said, “Go on, my pretty love; Speak to ’em, little Nan. “You’ve only got to curtsey, whisp- er, hold your chin up, laugh, and lisp, And then you’re sure to take: I’ve known the day when brats, not quite Thirteen, got fifty pounds a night; {8} Then why not Nancy Lake?” But while I’m speaking, where’s papa? And where’s my aunt? and where’s mamma? Where’s Jack? O, there they sit! They smile, they nod; I’ll go my ways, And order round poor Billy’s chaise, To join them in the pit. And now, good gentlefolks, I go To join mamma, and see the show; So, bidding you adieu, I curtsey, like a pretty miss, And if you’ll blow to me a kiss, I’ll blow a kiss to you. [_Blows a kiss and exit_. III. AN ADDRESS WITHOUT A PHŒNIX. {10a} BY S. T. P. {10b} “This was looked for at your hand, and this was balked.” _What You Will_. WHAT stately vision mocks my waking sense? Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment, hence! Ha! is it real?—can my doubts be vain? It is, it is, and Drury lives again! Around each grateful veteran attends, Eager to rush and gratulate his friends, Friends whose kind looks, retraced with proud delight, Endear the past, and make the future bright: Yes, generous patrons, your returning smile Blesses our toils, and consecrates our pile. When last we met, Fate’s unrelenting hand Already grasped the devastating brand; Slow crept the silent flame, ensnared its prize, Then burst resistless to the astonished skies. The glowing walls, disrobed of scenic pride, In trembling conflict stemmed the burning tide, Till crackling, blazing, rocking to its fall, Down rushed the thundering roof, and buried all! Where late the sister Muses sweetly sung, And raptured thousands on their music hung, Where Wit and Wisdom shone, by Beauty graced, Sat lonely Silence, empress of the waste; And still had reigned—but he, whose voice can raise More magic wonders than Amphion’s lays, Bade jarring bands with friendly zeal engage To rear the prostrate glories of the stage. Up leaped the Muses at the potent spell, And Drury’s genius saw his temple swell; Worthy, we hope, the British Drama’s cause, Worthy of British arts, and _your_ applause.