 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
211
THE ART OF THE MODERN DRAMA
Let trick and mirth nonsensically loudCatch the perched rabble in its greasy cloud,
Whirled o'er the stage while humorous tables fly
And witty punch-bowls strike the canvas sky.
Let canting patriots prove their lungs are good
And oft be heard though seldom understood;
Confound in chaos all terrestrial things,
Pugs, lovers, horses, charioteers and kings:
The bellowing pit shall hail thy rash endeavour,
And stage-box Jacky say: “Gad's curse, that's clever!”
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |