Hamlet’s strange wo, or wronged Othello’s rage
Hallowed fair Albion’s selectest age:
Yet would I not, like certain ones, behold
Theatric pomp proscribed in liberal land,
While pale Contempt (as once in ages old)
Kills with a single look the buskin band.
A beauty sparkles yet around the Place—
A mystic charm—a fairy-beaming grace—
Appealing loudly to the coldest heart:
These boards once held the glory of our race,