Or clutch’d at Macbeth’s visionary knife.
But unto these the bright and glorious stage
Full in their face its holy portals slamm’d,
Harsh managers repressed their noble rage,
And told them, ungenteelly, they’d be “damned.”
Full many a pearl of purest ray serene
The rugged oyster-shell doth hold inside,
Full many a vot’ry of the tragic queen,
The dingy offices of London hide.
Some Lear, whose daughters never turn’d his head,