XI SUBURBAN THEATRE (“A” Company).

Crash, boom and bang—the final chorus ends, The applause breaks out, and now the curtain drops: The weary violinist joins his friends, The tenor grumbles, as his face he mops. The audience hurries out, whistling or glum: The chorus ladies drink, behind the scenes, Their long-awaited beer. Ah! soon she’ll come Through the stage door, by which the porter leans. Soon will she come to me, her little face Nested in furs, and she will take my arm, And we shall hurry from this frowsy place: O, and her heart and lips and cheeks are warm!