And we vowed not to come on the morrow.
We thought as he quivered, and gasped, and strode,
And made us long for our pillow,
That a taste of his tragic genius he owed
To our cousins far over the billow.
Even there, though his fame before has gone;
He may find it melt in a minute;
But little he'll reck, if they let him act on
In a play with a murderer in it.
But half the heavy play was o'er