232 Her Opinion of the Play

DO I like it? I think it just splendid!

You see how I speak out my mind,

And I think ’t would be better if men did

The same when they feel so inclined.

But no, you ’re all dumb as an oyster,

You critics who sit here and stare,

Looking grave as a monk in his cloister—

You have n’t laughed once, I declare!

I ’m sure there ’s been lots that is jolly,

And more that ’s exciting, you ’ll own;

Why, I pity the poor hero’s folly

As if he were some one I ’d known!

And was n’t it grand and heroic

When he shielded that friendless girl Sue?

’T would have quickened the pulse of a stoic,

But of course, sir, it could n’t rouse you!

And then for the villain De Lancey—

Now, does n’t he act with a dash?

Such art and such delicate fancy,

And—did you observe his moustache?

He made my very blood tingle

When he threw himself down on his knees—

Do you know if he’s married or single?

Yes, the villain—there, laugh if you please!

I admit I know nothing of “action,”

Of “unities,” “plot,” and the rest,

But the play gives complete satisfaction,

And that is a good enough test.

Yes, I know you will pick it to pieces

In your horribly savage review,

But, for me, its interest increases

Because ’t will be censured by you!

I should think ’t would be awfully jolly

For the author to make such a hit;

How he pricks all the bubbles of folly

With his sharp little needle of wit!

I am sure he is perfectly charming,

Or he could never write such a play—

(I declare, sir, it ’s really alarming

To have you sit staring that way!)

And oh, if I only were brighter,

And not such a poor little dunce,

I should so like to meet with the writer,

For I know I should love him at once.

Yes, I should, though you think it audacious,

And I ’d tell him so, too, which is more,

And—you are the author?—good gracious!

Why did n’t you say so before?

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