For the man in charge was napping—at the money-taker's door.

It was Mr. Buckstone's playhouse, where I lingered at the door;

Paid half price and nothing more.

Most distinctly I remember, it was just about September—

Though it might have been in August, or it might have been before—

Dreadfully I fear'd the morrow. Vainly had I sought to borrow;

For (I own it to my sorrow) I was miserably poor,

And the heart is heavy laden when one's miserably poor;

(I have been so once before.)

I was doubtful and uncertain, at the rising of the curtain,