At last sweet slumbering Trade awoke,
And on her couch her form upreared.
The Prince smiled, rubbed his chins, and spoke.
"Ah, Wilson's prophecy is queered.
He swore that you would not revive,
In his Cassandra-like Review,
But don't sit yawning! Look alive!
Or men will swear I've humbugged you!"
"All right!" said sleepy Trade. "But still
My joints feel somewhat stiff or so.