The well-slept passenger’s unheeding tread;
The showman’s clarion, or the echoing horn,
Too soon must rouse them from their lowly bed.
Perhaps in this neglected booth is laid,
Some head volcanic, oft discharging fire!
Hands—that the rod of magic lately sway’d;
Toes—that so nimbly danc’d upon the wire.
Some clown, or pantaloon—the gazers’ jest,
Here, with his train in dirty pageant stood: