The blasé children vote it flat,
When Mister Clown cries, "Here's a go!"
Yes, there's the box where erst we sat
And laughed so, sixty years ago.
The very box: I think, you know,
The reason I'm so queer to-night
Is merely because long ago
Here faces were not here to-night.
I'd best be off—Bless me! no Clown?
No Stage?—no Past invidious?