And put out Charley Kean’s immortal nose.
Of one of these I heard a drummer say,
“Oft have I seen him from the muddy street,
Across the crimson benches make his way,
To gain his well-loved and accustomed seat,
“There, where yon orchestra uprears its rail,
On which I hang my drumsticks, many a night
I’ve seen him with a dirty shirt, and pale,
Watching the motley scene with wild delight.
“There, upon yonder seat, which now appears