Ask'd he, with top-lip curving.
"Queen Mary? A play by Mr. Wills,
Or something more deserving?"
Said Mrs. B., with an upturned glance,
"It is 'The Fall of Irving!'"
"His fall!" gasped he, "in sooth you jest!
O, prithee say what mean ye?
Know ye not, they call him Kemble-ish,
And speak of his style as Kean-y?
On the modern stage he stands alone."