Nor blame Mr. Warden when circumstance severs
The ties of his home and consigns him to jail;
The Bard would be willing, and yearns to be able,
To thrill the whole world to its innermost soul,
And Warden would cheerfully grace his own table,
But “circumstance over which we’ve no control.”
Oh, blame not the British Museum for showing
Its autotype Raphaels all of a row,
For wert thou “originals” on them bestowing
They’d hang them with pleasure I happen to know;