Drama on Crutches

The opening lines... LET Contemplation all her care be- stow, To scan the Town from Shoreditch to Soho, And wonder how (when 'tis so gravely said That our poor DRAMA is completely dead) Fresh ventures still seize ev'ry vacant space, New Theatres, like ill weeds, grow a-pace, And, strange anomaly! the self-same Age Runs up new buildings, and runs down the Stage. The Drama dead, when mammoth type belies The fable of her premature demise? Dead? no! for see how nude Burlesque can thrive, And prove by kicking she is all alive! True, of late years, a most unkindly Fate Has frowned upon the old "Legiti- mate" And forced the Tragic Muse her grief to hide In the dim purlieus of the Surrey side, And rant in exile. She has had her day: Is somewhat passé: and she does not pay.