A TALE OF DRURY LANE — BY W. S.

Survey this shield all bossy bright; These cuisses twain behold; Look on my form in armour dight Of steel inlaid with gold. My knees are stiff in iron buckles, Stiff spikes of steel protect my knuckles. These once belong'd to sable prince, Who never did in battle wince; With valour tart as pungent quince, He slew the vaunting Gaul: Rest there awhile, my bearded lance, While from green curtain I advance To yon footlights, no trivial dance, And tell the town what sad mischance Did Drury Lane befall.