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Low point of the performance: shrill Gracie Barrie singing I've Got To Get Hot, a ballad about a choir singer turned crooner which includes the following tristich: I've squelched my ideals, Now I belch at my meals� I had to get hot.

I should have preferred, indeed, the ante-penultimate tristich as the finale of the poem.

His friend and protege was handcuffed before his eyes and carried off to the county jail amid the grins and stares of a score of gaping rustics, who would make a fine story of it this evening in both public-houses; and a hundred voices would echo some such conversational Tristich as this: 1st Rustic.