THE SPOUTING CLUB.
Some youth's residing in a country town,
And ever on the wing to gain renown,
Must needs, to raise their fame a little higher,
Proudly to the histrionic art aspire:
Some females too, engaged to lend their aid,
Part of the histrionic party made.
One night they met, and soon a club was formed;
The poet's language every bosom warm'd;
Beyond its bounds each heart began to soar,
And soon their theatre was in a roar.
'That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this;'
Cries a slim grocer, with Satanic hiss.
"By heavens, 'tis false,' proud Warwick sternly cries,
And almost on the taunting Edward flies;
Whilst with a voice shrill, dissonant, and hoarse,
A barber bawls, 'my kingdom for a horse.'
Next comes a taylor, with his clenched fist,
And solemnly he cries, 'list, list; oh list.'
Next comes young pedagogue, with hat and cane,
And loudly shouts ''tis I, Hamlet the Dane.'
Whilst a young crackly with a dandy roll,
Cried ——— fine charming girl, upon my soul.”
'So fast one woe doth tread upon another,'
La Gertrude cries, 'now do look at my brother.
I never—Robert, how you do behave,
He's jump'd right down into Ophelia's grave.'
'Confound thee, thou old smooth fawning falker,"
Cries an heroic youth, a licensed hawker;
'Here it not,' cries a smith, 'for 'tis a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.'
''Tis now the very witching time of night,—'
'Is't by George,' cries Richard, in affright,
'I should have shut up shop three hours ago,
My master will be after me I know.
My blood grows chilly, and I freeze with horror,
I'm sure I cannot shave a man to-morrow.
The lateness of the hour sets all in fright,
And now on every side resounds 'good night!'
And every one hastes home half dead with fear
Of the reception that awaits him there.
