Some tired-out posture master here may rest,
Some conjuring swordsman—guiltless of his blood!
The applause of listening cockneys to command,
The threats of City-marshal to despise;
To give delight to all the grinning band,
And read their merit in spectators’ eyes,
Is still their boast; nor, haply, theirs alone,
Polito’s lions (though now dormant laid),
The human monsters, shall acquire renown,
The spotted Negro—and the armless maid!