TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ.,
MANAGER OF THE NEW-YORK THEATRE.
r. Philipps has gone—and he carries away with him
Much of my cash, and my hearty good-will;
To both he is welcome, and long may they stay with him—
Poor as he’s made me, I’ll cherish him still.
For when the wild spell of his melody bound me,
I marked not the flight of the gay, happy hours;
His music created a fairy-land round me;
Above it, was sunshine—below it, were flowers.
But ’tis folly to weep—we must cease to regret him;
Look about—you have many as brilliant a star:
There’s Barnes39 (you may laugh if you will), but just let him
Play Belino for once;—he’ll beat Philipps by far!
When he sings “Love’s Young Dream,” every heart will be beating,
The ladies shall wave their white kerchiefs in air;
