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Yet to the Drama's sons be not alone
Your plausive glance, and soft indulgence shewn―
But be the well-earned meed of laurel shed
On the aspirant's young and anxious head,
Who from a bold design, with taste correct,
Has reared this splended pile—the Architect.
Dreading no frown, no critic word severe,
He humbly waits for your approval—here.
Cawnpore, October 1829.
