Till their gush to columns ran;
Condoning a fiasco great,
As friendly critics can;
And he still strutted on the stage,
An over-rated man.
He wore pink tights—his vest apart,
To clutch his manly chest;
And he went at the knees in his old, old way,
Whilst his brow he madly prest.
So he whisper'd and roared, and gasp'd and groan'd,