THE DRAMA OF THE DOCTOR'S
IN THREE ACTS, WITH A PROLOGUE
"A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus, And his love Thisbe; very tragical mirth."
-MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
ELL, I must wait!" The Doctor's
Where I used this expression,
Wore the severe official gloom Attached to that profession; Rendered severer by a bald And skinless Gladiator, Whose raw robustness first appalled
The entering spectator.
No one would call "The Lancet " gay,― Few could avoid confessing
That Jones, "On Muscular Decay," Is as a rule depressing:
So, leaving both, to change the scene, I turned toward the shutter, And peered out vacantly between A water-butt and gutter.
Below, the Doctor's garden lay,
If thus imagination
May dignify a square of clay Unused to vegetation,
Filled with a dismal-looking swing- That brought to mind a gallows— An empty kennel, mouldering, And two dyspeptic aloes.
No sparrow chirped, no daisy sprung, About the place deserted; Only across the swing-board hung A battered doll, inverted, Which sadly seemed to disconcert The vagrant cat that scanned it, Sniffed doubtfully around the skirt, But failed to understand it.
A dreary spot! And yet, I own, Half hoping that, perchance, it Might, in some unknown way, atone For Jones and for "The Lancet," I watched; and by especial grace, Within this stage contracted, Saw presently before my face A classic story acted.
Ah, World of ours, are you so gray And weary, World, of spinning, That you repeat the tales to-day You told at the beginning?
For lo! the same old myths that made The early stage successes,"
Still hold the boards," and still are played, "With new effects and dresses."
Small, lonely "three-pair-backs" behold,
To-day, Alcestis dying;
To-day, in farthest Polar cold,
Ulysses' bones are lying;
Still in one's morning "Times" one reads How fell an Indian Hector; Still clubs discuss Achilles' steeds,
Briseis' next protector ;—
Still Menelaus brings, we see, His oft-remanded case on; Still somewhere sad Hypsipyle Bewails a faithless Jason; And here, the Doctor's sill beside, Do I not now discover
A Thisbe, whom the walls divide From Pyramus, her lover?
Act I. began. Some noise had scared The cat, that like an arrow
Shot up the wall and disappeared;
And then, across the narrow,
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