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— 14 —
In their melodious bark, Alceste and Célimène,
Tartufe, Orgon, and all, — thy glorious fools, —
Pass, playing again before us the comedy of life
On waves — like thee, smiling and deep.
O thou, our immortal honour, all the Earth,
O peerless Poet, hails thee in this day !
To Shakspeare :
Thou, Shakspeare, England’s immortal pride,
Molière hails thee ! And France with him !
To the audience :
Under the protection of these names, our highest glories,
We hail you, our Spectators, our Hosts,
Englishmen ! Once before, — ten years ago, — when a dark wind
Was blowing, covering despairing France with grief, —