Dear Doctor, I have read your play, Which is a good one in its way,— Purges the eyes, and moves the bowels, And drenches handkerchiefs like towels With tears, that, in a flux of grief, Afford hysterical relief To shattered nerves and quickened pulses, Which your catastrophe convulses. I like your moral and machinery; Your plot, too, has such scope for Scenery! Your dialogue is apt and smart; The play's concoction full of art; Your hero raves, your heroine cries, All stab, and every body dies. In short, your tragedy would be The very thing to hear and see: And for a piece of publication, If
...more
