Say, have ye heard sure word, or wandering rumour

How our new scheme affects the public humour?

Without the multitude we cannot thrive,

Their maxim is to live and to let live.

The posts are up, the planks are fastened, and

Each man’s agog for something gay and grand.

With arched eyebrows they sit already there,

Gaping for something new to make them stare.

I know the public taste, and profit by it;

But still to-day I’ve fears of our succeeding:

’Tis true they’re customed to no dainty diet,

But they’ve gone through an awful breadth of reading.

How shall we make our pieces fresh and new,

And with some meaning in them, pleasing too?

In sooth, I like to see the people pouring

Into our booth, like storm and tempest roaring,

While, as the waving impulse onward heaves them,

The narrow gate of grace at length receives them,

When, long ere it be dark, with lusty knocks

They fight their way on to the money-box,

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