"
"Well, really," MICAH said,
"I've often heard and read,
But never go--do you?"
The Bishop said, "I do."
"That proves me wrong," said MICAH, in a trice:
"I thought it all frivolity and vice."
The Bishop handed him a printed card;
"Go to a theatre where they play our Bard."
The Bishop took his leave,
Rejoicing in his sleeve.
The next ensuing day
SOWLS went and heard a play.
He saw a dreary person on the stage,
Who mouthed and mugged in simulated rage,
Who growled and spluttered in a mode absurd,
And spoke an English SOWLS had never heard.
For "gaunt" was spoken "garnt,"
And "haunt" transformed to "harnt,"
And "wrath " pronounced as "rath,"
And "death" was changed to "dath."
For hours and hours that dismal actor walked,
And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked,
Till lethargy upon the parson crept,
And sleepy MICAH SOWLS serenely slept.
He slept away until
The farce that closed the bill
Had warned him not to stay,
And then he went away.
"I thought MY gait ridiculous," said he--
"MY elocution faulty as could be;
I thought _I_ mumbled on a matchless plan--
I had not seen our great Tragedian!
"Forgive me, if you can,
O great Tragedian!
I own it with a sigh--
You're drearier than I!"
A Discontented Sugar Broker
A GENTLEMAN of City fame
Now claims your kind attention;
East India broking was his game,
His name I shall not mention:
No one of finely-pointed sense
Would violate a confidence,
And shall _I_ go
And do it? No!
His name I shall not mention.
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