Usurp’d the Muse’s realm, and mark’d her fall;
Say—shall this new, nor less aspiring pile,
Rear’d where once rose the mightiest in our isle,
Know the same favour which the former knew,
A shrine for Shakspere—worthy him and you?
Yes—it shall be—the magic of that name
Defies the scythe of time, the torch of flame;
On the same spot still consecrates the scene,
And bids the Drama be where she has been:
This fabric’s birth attests the potent spell—