Whether or no the House be good. Spite managerial wile,
One sweep of my lorgnette, and then, I'll confidently say
Which are the boxes duly filled, and which those given away.
The curtain up—my toils commence—and loungingly I pass
From tier to tier, and box to box, myself, boots, hat and glass.
And flirt with Emily, or Kate, and chat with dear Mamma,
Or even fling myself away five minutes on Papa.
And then we talk, oh, how we talk, of pic-nics, rides, and balls;
Or quiz that lady's strange toilette down yonder in the stalls,
And wonder who the men can be in very dubious stocks,