Of this, our day, ’twere easy to speak ill;
The books, the wit, the manners, could be bettered
But happily while you are with us still,
No man can say England is yet unlettered.
TO THE PRODUCER OF A RECENT LIGHT MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT WHO BOASTED OF
ITS COST
If you paid thirty thousand for this stuff,
Flesh must be dear, for dirt is cheap enough.