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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.