As of some one madly clinging to the bell at his front door;
“It is D’Oyly Carte,” he muttered, “ringing at my big front door,
Merely this, and nothing more.”
Poking then the glowing ember, for ’twas cold as bleak December,
Gilbert said, “Ah, I remember in the olden time of yore,
Yea, and shall forget it never, though I were to live for ever,
How I vainly did endeavour once to see my ‘Pinafore;’
Sat and suffered awful anguish in the stalls at ‘Pinafore,’
Just that once, but nevermore.”
“For the feeling sad uncertain, at the rising of the curtain.