You’ll be voting Monsieur Dumas a most terrific bore;
With your head upon your hand, and your hand upon your knee,
You will long to be at home again at Kensington with me.
When the playhouse doors are opened, you’ll be madly rushing on,
Never thinking if they squash you, that your only chance is gone;
For your hard eggs will be broken, and your brandy bottle cracked,
And you’ll faint from thirst and hunger in the pit so densely packed.
Oh! if I were Lord Chamherlain, or, better still, the Queen,
At Drury Lane, I’d take good care, no Frenchmen should be seen.
If they choose to bring out pieces which it took two nights to play,