And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Are seated round at this momentous hour,
Waiting to hear the Thane of Cawdor rave.
The curtain rises, and reveals to sight
The scenes all have assembled to behold;
But, long before the witching hour of night,
The public are convinced they have been sold.
Let not Ambition mock my fruitless toil,
My stagey gasp and readings most obscure;
I saw, alas! from their disdainful smile,