And now comes the moment--the watches and clocks All point to _eleven_!--the bolts and the locks Give way--and the party turn out their bag-fox!-- With step noiseless and light, Though half in a fright, "A cup in her left hand, a draught in her right," In her robe long and black, and her veil long and white, Ma'amselle Agnes des Moulins walks in as a Sprite!-- She approaches the bed With the same silent tread Just as though she had been at least half a year dead! Then seating herself on the "rush-bottom'd chair," Throws a cold stony glance on the Black Mousquetaire. If you're one of the "play-going public," kind reader, And not a Moravian or rigid Seceder, You've seen Mr. Kean, I mean in that scene Of Macbeth,--by some thought the crack one of the piece, Which has been so well painted by Mr. M'Clise,-- When he wants, after having stood up to say grace,[22] To sit down to his haggis, and can't find a place; You remember his stare At the high-back'd arm-chair, Where the Ghost sits that nobody else knows is there, And how, after saying "What man dares I dare!" He proceeds to declare He should not so much care If it came in the shape of a "tiger" or "bear," But he don't like its shaking its long gory hair! While the obstinate Ghost, as determined to brave him, With a horrible grin, Sits, and cocks up his chin, Just as though he was asking the tyrant to shave him. And Lenox and Rosse Seem quite at a loss If they ought to go on with their sheep's head and sauce; And Lady Macbeth looks uncommonly cross, And says in a huff It's all "Proper stuff!"-- All this you'll have seen, Reader, often enough; So, perhaps 'twill assist you in forming some notion Of what must have been François Xavier's emotion, If you fancy what troubled Macbeth to be _doubled_, And, instead of one Banquo to stare in his face Without "speculation," suppose he'd _a brace_!