Where, though her worship lack its ancient grace,
New days may dawn, like those of royal Bess,
And every stream a Stratford shall possess;
Where, though in marshes resonant with frogs,
And rudely housed in temples built of logs,
The nymph, regenerate in her classic robe,
May see revived the ‘Fortune’ and the ‘Globe.’
Such was the dream your fancy dared to mould
Of what yourself had witnessed here of old;
When with your twins—your Fanny and your fame—