The phrensy of your prototype!"

His scanty hair he wildly tore:
"That's right," said I, "it shows your breed."
He danced--he stamped--he wildly swore--
"Bless me, that's very fine indeed!"

"Sir," said the grand Shakesperian boy
(Continuing to blaze away),
"You think my face a source of joy;
That shows you know not what you say.

"Forgive these yells and cellar-flaps:
I'm always thrown in some such state
When on his face well-meaning chaps
This wretched man congratulate.

"For, oh! this face--this pointed chin--
This nose--this brow--these eyeballs too,
Have always been the origin
Of all the woes I ever knew!

"If to the play my way I find,
To see a grand Shakesperian piece,
I have no rest, no ease of mind
Until the author's puppets cease.

"Men nudge each other--thus--and say,
'This certainly is SHAKESPEARE'S son,'
And merry wags (of course in play)