Ne’er to cease to remember the Gunpowder-plot.
The herald stept forth, and he made a low bow—
If you’ve seen Mr. Payne
At old Drury Lane,
In the opening part of a grand Christmas pantomime,
Do tricks, to describe which my Muse fails for want o’ rhyme—
Please to fancy my herald does just the same now;
And his trumpet he blows, and his throat well he clears,
And he twists his mustachios right up to his ears,
Looks, as usual with speakers, in dreadful distress,