University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A street in New York, near St. Paul's Church.
Enter Philus, with arms folded, à la Kean.
Phi.
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this bright event;
And all the clouds, which on the Mirror frowned,
In the deep bosom of the ocean drowned.
Now are our brows with laurel chaplets twined;
Our doubts and fears are given to the wind;
Eleven volumes, bound at great expense,
Are now displayed as gilded monuments
Of our success, filled with the choicest treasures,
Engraving, music, and delightful measures;
Grim Opposition smooths his wrinkled face,
And now, instead of jockeying in the race,
To check our course, convinced of his mistake,
Has struck his flag, and follows in our wake.
But I, that am not shaped for fawning tricks,
To bite, and snarl, and lick the foot that kicks,
Why I shall still, without remorse or dread,
In duty's path, like Crockett, go ahead.
Mid flowers of literature I'll toil and delve,
And my next step commences Volume Twelve.

[Exit.