His Bread And His Art
C
Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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It was an actor, seedy, sad,
Who stood within the gate;
Long weary marches he had had
He had not dined of late.
He sighed: 'I hope I don't intrude.
Believe me or I die:
For days I have not tasted food.
A stranded player I.'
'An actor man?' the lady said.
'What is your favourite role?'
'Hot, madam, and with butter spread,'
He answered from his soul.
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