When we play the fool, how wide The theatre expands! beside, How long the audience sits before us! How many prompters! what a chorus!

'Tis verse that gives Immortal youth to mortal maids.

There is delight in singing, though none hear Beside the singer.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.