I ventured to dispute
That A. in this respect was ’cute.
I struck my lyre
And told him that this dodge few people could admire
At last, you see, to spoil his game,
His dead-head “friends” rise up to blame;
Henceforth, perhaps, he’ll try this trick no more,
But warned by Monday’s gruesome sounds,
Will run his premières upon proper grounds,
And do as others do—take money at the door.