Excites not to arms;
No shrill notes of anger,
No horrid alarms,
The double, double, double beat
Of the thundering drum,
Tells—the actors are come;
Let us follow, nor think of retreat.
I'll to the well-trod stage anon,
If Settle's[97] 'cumber'd sock be on;
Or heavy Howard,[98] Folly's child,