When Bunn reign’d o’er Drury-lane;
For the music of thy strings
Haunts the ear when Romer sings.
But to me that voice is mute!
Tuneless kettle-drum and flute
I but hear one liquid lyre—
Kettle bubbling on the fire,
Whizzing, fizzing, steaming out
Music from its curved spot,
Wak’ning visions by its song