He fain would do, did not necessity drive him. 
His the fascination of a great personality. 
Who knoweth not him of the clerical collar? 
Hair of the sage and eyes of the poet,
Features perfectly drawn and as mobile
As those of the inspired actor;
With speech so much blander than honey
And insight that maketh his staged stumbling in bargains
Cover the shrewdness of a masterly trader. 
None better than he knoweth the crowd and its likings,
As to using the patter of drama artistic,
That’s where he lives. 
With incense and color and scenery
He refilleth the bottle of art so that the contents
Go twice better than in the original package. 
Thanks be to David for joy in the playhouse. 
Wizard, magician, necromancer of switchboards,
He hath woven spells from the actual,
Keeping ideals and ideas well in the background. 
Like Gautier, these things delight him: 
Gold, marble and purple; brilliance, solidity, color. 
He can stage Tiffany’s jewels but not Maeterlinck’s bees. 
Deep in his soul there are tempests
Revealed in the storms of his dramas—­
Sandstorm and snowstorm, rainstorm and hurricane. 
That nature revealed in its subtle reactions
Would show in its deeps the soul of an Angelo
Subdued to success and dyed by democracy. 
Opportunism hath made him
An artistic materialist. 
One work remains for David Belasco,
And that is to stage with patient precision
A cross section in drama of his own self-surprising,
Making the world sit up and take notice
With what “masterly detail,” “unfailing atmosphere,”
“Startling reality” he can star David Belasco.

LO, THE HEADLINER

I was not raised for vaudeville. 
Father and mother were veteran legits;
They loved the Bard and the “Lady of Lyons.” 
I was born on a show boat on the Cumberland;
I was carried on as a child
When the farm girl revealed her shame
On the night of the snowstorm. 
The old folks died with grease paint on their faces. 
I did a little of everything
Even to staking out a pitch in a street fair. 
Hiram Grafter taught me to ballyhoo
And to make openings. 
I stole the business of Billy Sunday
And imitated William Jennings Bryan. 
I became famous in the small towns. 
One day Poli heard me—­
He’s the head of the New England variety circuit.—­
“Cul,” he said, “you are a born monologist. 
Where you got that stuff I don’t know,
But you would be a riot in the two-a-day. 
Quit this hanky-panky
And I’ll make you a headliner.” 
Well, I fell for his line of talk
Like the sod busters had fallen for mine. 
Aaron Hoffman wrote me a topical monologue;
Max Marx made me a suit of clothes;
And Lew Dockstader wised me up
On how to jockey my laughs. 
I opened in Hartford;
Believe me, I was some scream.