Classic Poem

'Tis time good sense came to mine aid,
From folly I'd be free, dear;
Too long comedian-like I've played
A comedy with thee, dear.

The scenes were gorgeous to behold
In the high romantic line, dear;
My knightly mantle blazed with gold;
My feelings were superfine, dear.

And now that from this foolish craze
I have got quit and free, dear,
I shall be wretched all my days
As when I mimed with thee, dear.

O God! I spoke what I felt—in jest,
Nor knowing until later;
I played, with death in my own breast,
The “dying Gladiator.”