her distinction
to be in love with love,
her, a confession of failure,
why should i not love her
the black heart of jealousy chatters
vile deeds, behind the curtain i surveyed the third-rate gallery,
corked eyebrows, dainty cap
low comedians grotesque as the scenery,
eyes that were unmoved,
dingy rows of the dress-circle with a terrible consumption of hopped beer,
whatever was good for our father’s is not good enough for us,
this play, all to be bought
this dreadful play is not good enough for us
how different this time ought to be
