But thou, R. W.! kept thy moral ways,
Pit-lecturing 'twixt the farces and the plays,
A lamplight Irving to the butcher boys
That soil'd the benches and that made a noise:—
"You,—in the back!—can scarcely hear a line!
Down from those benches—butchers—they are MINE!"
IV.
Lastly—and thou wert built for it by nature!—
Crown'd was thy head in Drury Lane Theatre!
Gentle George Robins saw that it was good,