Who never did in battle wince;

With valour tart as pungent quince,

He slew the vaunting Gaul.

Rest there awhile, my bearded lance,

While from green curtain I advance

To yon foot-lights, no trivial dance,[28]

And tell the town what sad mischance

Did Drury Lane befall.

THE NIGHT.

On fair Augusta’s[29] towers and trees