Act II, Scene VII — The Forest.
A table set out. Enter DUKE senior, AMIENS, and Lords like outlaws.
Duke S. I think he be transform’d into a beast; For I can no where find him like a man.
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song.
Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. Go, seek him: tell him I would speak with him.
Enter JAQUES.
First Lord. He saves my labour by his own approach.
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this, That your poor friends must woo your company? What, you look merrily!
Jaq. A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun, And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms and yet a motley fool. “Good morrow, fool,” quoth I. “No, sir,” quoth he, “Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune;” And then he drew a dial from his poke, And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, “It is ten o’clock: Thus we may see,” quoth he, “how the world wags. ’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more ’twill be eleven; And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear The motley fool thus moral on the time, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative, And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. O noble fool! A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear.
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A COLD RENDERING.
The open-air performances of As You Like it at Combe are all very well, but under the influences of an east wind and damp ground, colds in the head come on very rapidly, just imagine the melancholy Jaques speaking thus:――
A fool, a fool!――I bet a fool i’ the forest, A botley fool;――a biserable world! As I do live by――attishu――food, I bet a fool; Who laid hib dowd ad bask’d hib id the sud, Ad rail’d od Lady Fortude id good terbs, Id good set terbs――attishu――ad yet a botley fool. “Good borrow, fool,” quoth I, “Dough, Sir,” quoth he. “Call be dot fool till heaved has sed be fortude.” Ad――attishu――thed he drew a dial frob his poke, Ad lookid od it with lack lustre eye, Says very wisely, “It’s ted o’clock; Thus we bay see” quoth he, “how the world wags, Tis but ad hour ago sidce it was dide; Ad after ad――attishu――hour bore, ’twill be eleved; Ad so frob hour to hour, we ripe ad ripe, Ad thed frob hour to hour we rot ad rot, Ad thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear, The botley fool thus boral od the tibe, My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-codtebplative; Ad I did laugh, sads idterbissiod. Ad――attishu――hour by his dial. O doble fool! A worthy fool! Botley’s the odly wear――attishu!
Funny Folks, 1885.
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MELANCHOLY JAQUES ON THE DUDE.
A dude――a dude! I met a dude i’ the avenue; A silly dude;――a most conceited blockhead!―― As I do live by toil, I met a dude, Who sucked his cane, and basked him in the sun, And ogled all the ladies with his grin; With good broad grin, and yet a silly dude. “Good morrow, dude,” quoth I. “No, sir,” quoth he. “Call me not dude till I have put on corsets;” And then he drew an eye-glass from his poke, And looking through it with lack-lustre eye, Said, very softly, “She’s the proper soot! Thus may we see,” quoth he, “how the world wags: The last that passed was ugly as my cane; The next that comes may be a very angel. And, so from hour to hour, we bloom and bloom, And then, from hour to hour, we fade and fade, And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear The silly dude thus comment on the girls, My toes began to itch like chilblain toes, That dudes should be so deep-nonsensical; And I did kick, sans intermission, That dude for half an hour. Oh, noble dude! A worthy dude!――skin-tight’s the only wear.
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All the world’s a Newspaper! And all our men and women merely readers: They have their tastes and their hobby horses, And each one in his turn receives a part, The number being seven――First the Poet, Fond of the jingling line and tinsel smile, Enjoying tortur’d sense and strangling art, But if the line flows smoothly to its end, For ever bathing in the Aonean font; Him nought but sonnets, stanzas, odes, delight, And so he reads his part. Next comes in view The sober, softly-sighing Sentimentalist, Seeking for rapture in the――dashy――line, The Shandean tale, ill told compar’d with Sterne’s, They fragments choose, and tales and anecdotes. Next the Wit, relishing the fun obscene If but the point be gross――Him repartees, Bon mots and gummy epigrams must please. And then the Politician, full of strange whims; Seeking essays, strictures, observations, With solemn phiz, talking of revolutions, Patriot armies, sieges, and leagues of despots; Of neutral powers and of neutral rights, cabals, Of foreign interference, suability of states, And all the mazes of the court police. He marks each signature――what Brutus writes he reads, And turns his eye from Cassius――sees in some men The wish to bond us to a foreign yoke; In others, sees the wish for nature’s state, And have the curbed bit of law destroy’d, That like the savage all might rove at will, Free as the air they breathe; while some he sees, Who wish the government of purest source And subordination, might secure Our fair inheritance――These form the general mass. Next comes the Economist, hunting for recipes, Receipts, experiments.――With up turn’d nose He runs o’er prose and verse, and like to Hotspur Had rather be a Kitten and cry mew Than, one of these same metre ballad loves. The grade of Moralist next advance to view! Fond of the maxim sage, and sober precept: They once a week expect their frugal fare, To mend the manners and instruct the mind, Last comes the pale and slipper’d Wonder Hunter, Intent on dying speeches,――hurricanes, Malignant fevers, pestilence and want.―― Of thousands butcher’d on the bloody field, And thousands starving in the wasted land, They thunder storms delight in, and seek With earnest eye for deaths and murders, Of people drown’d, or burnt, or suffocated, Learn whom the Knot of Hymen has fast tied, And whom the Knot of Justice faster noos’d; With the long list of every human ill. These all must have their part. The printer, else, Is but the standing mark of censure loud, These tastes not gratified, they will all growl, And cry the papers barren, empty, dull, Sans news, sans sense, sans art, sans everything.
From The British Minstrel, a collection of Songs, Recitations, &c. September 25, 1824.
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BUD, BLOSSOM, AND DECAY.
“All the world’s a stage” in several stages; Great Shakespeare says our acts are seven ages, “And all the men and women players merely.” See “As you like it,” which informs us clearly We have our entrances and exits here, And many of us no great shakes appear. “King John,” “Macbeth,” and others of his plays, Confirm our wickedness in many ways; First, the Infant in its nurse’s arms, it “Mewles and pukes,” and as it cries she calms it. Next there’s the Schoolboy constantly declining The verb “to work,” and with his satchel whining, As on he creeps, like snail, at slug-gard’s pace―― A sun not always “with a shining face:” Until he learns ’tis easier to be good, His master being in th’ imperative mood; And if the youth is backward in the school, He has his knuckles reddened with the rule. The rule of three he does not deem much fun, While he is flinching at the rule of one, Who makes him only ten times more perplexed; The lover, à la Vilikin comes next, And who, like Vilikin, trolls out a ballad As neatly garnished as a lobster salad; “Made to his mistress’ eyebrow;” to some air, Which howsome’er she says she cannot bear. Sometimes this age betokens noisy gent Not coming home till midnight is far spent Who cannot from the knockers quite abstain, Of which the quiet inmates will complain. Sometimes these fast young men after the play, At Cyder Cellars turn night into day, This they call “Killing time,” until they learn Old Time may, perhaps the compliment return. Then come the Soldiers and the Volunteers―― In other words the prime of life appears―― Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, zealous when on guard; Seeking without the least intimidation, What Shakespeare calls “the bubble reputation.” ’Tis strange they are not bored with so much drilling, While practising the noble art of killing! Next is the Justice, and he just is fat, Living on law――not always justice that! Proving beyond all doubt, by frequent panting, The law he lives on is not that of Banting; His body (outside) like a water butt But not within! His beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws (such as are seldom seen Excepting at a carpenter’s I ween) And modern instances; and so he plays His part, until he sees declining days Announce another age, when enters soon The sixth, “the lean and slippered Pantaloon,” “With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, “His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide “For his shrunk shank;” his voice begins to fail, And whistles up and down the vocal scale. Last scene of all this history that ends, Is mere oblivion of those trusty friends Who gather round us, and who thus endeavour To cheer and comfort ’ere we leave for ever This busy, meddling, moneymaking world; Sans teeth, as into it we once were hurled Indeed, for time can no more changes ring, “Sans sight, sans taste, sans smell, sans everything, And so the curtain falls, thus ends the play Which might be named “Bud, Blossom and Decay”! The time is short between each act, and we Should note the changes, and our errors see And thus a wholesome lesson may be gained, The proper sentiment being yet retained Without a jest against the reader’s will, Though slightly altered, “As you like it” still.
T. F. DILLON-CROKER. From The Ladies’ Companion, March, 1865.
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“All the world is but a stage,” Shakespeare told us long ago, Had he graced the present age, still the Bard had found it so; All that from existence springs, in a theatre’s compass lies, Happy moments find the “wings” time itself takes those and “flies,” Hopes that light us on the way may be called of life “the floats,” Turning gloomy night to day, as the prompter Fate denotes; Fortune gives the glare of gas, and oft causing sad mishaps, With unsteady hand, alas! speculation work “the traps,” Fate gives out the parts to play, various “lengths” assigned to each, Happy who their “tag” can say, in a good concluding speech; Every act applause will get, if the action be correct, Ending with a kind of “set” most productive of effect. Suppers should take place in both――cheering signs of lively chats; Some too often show “a cloth” closed in by a “pair of flats.” Help our brethren, worn with age――Shakespeare was of truth a sayer “All the world is but a stage,” you and I alike――a player. E. L. BLANCHARD. From The Royal Dramatic College Annual, July, 1866.
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LIFE AT OXFORD.
――――Oxford is a stage, And all the men in residence are players: They have their exeats and examinations; And one man in his time plays many parts. His acts being seven ages. At first the Freshman, Stumbling and stuttering in his tutor’s rooms. And then the aspiring Classman, with his white tie And shy desponding face creeping along Unwilling to the schools. Then, at the Union, Spouting like fury, with some woeful twaddle Upon the “Crisis.” Then a Billiard-player, Full of strange oaths, a keen and cunning card Clever in cannons, sudden and quick in hazards, Seeking a billiard reputation E’en in the pocket’s mouth. And then the Fellow, His fair round forehead with hard furrows lined, With weakened eyes and beard of doubtful growth, Crammed with old lore of useless application, And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and study-worn Professor, With spectacles on nose and class at side; His youthful nose has grown a world too large For his shrunk face; and his big manly voice, Turning again towards childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is utter donnishness and mere nonentity, Without respect, or tact, or taste, or anything.
The Oxford Spectator, May 19, 1868.
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A SHAKESPEARIAN RECITATION AFTER DINNER.
――――All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad, In his sound childish treble: then the lean And slipper’d schoolboy, whistles, with side on Pouch and pipes, and his big manly voice Full of wise oaths; and then the whining lover, With spectacles on nose, and eyes severe, Seeking his well-saved mistress’ eyebrow Even in his satchel: Then a soldier, His youthful hose, of formal cut, sans taste, Made to his shank, and full of modern saws, Creeping like snail, sans everything, to school: And then the justice, full of strange instances, Jealous in honor, like the ’pard bearded In quarrel, turning again, sudden and quick, Towards childishness, with shining morning face A world too wide for his shrunk nurses arms, And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts, Unwillingly, the bubble reputation, Sans teeth, sans eyes, into the cannon’s mouth, Mewling and puking: Then, last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second pantaloon, and mere oblivion. FREDERIC UPTON, 1885.
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SONG.
Amiens. Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. “As you like it.”――Act II. Scene V.
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THE LAMBETH CATCH.
(Written after the revelations of the “Amateur Casual.”)
Under the Greenwood shed Who loves to go to bed, And tune his husky note To paupers’ coughing throat? Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see Such thin Skillèe Keep body and soul together. SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1866.
A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT’S DREAM.
I. ――A MIDSUMMER NIGHTMARE. SCENE,――The Marquis of Salisbury’s House, Arlington Street
NORTHCOTE. Are we all met?
SALISBURY. Pat, pat; and this is a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal. This stuffed settee shall be our Speaker’s chair, these tongs the Mace, and we will do it in action as we will do it before the House.
NORTHCOTE. Salisbury――――
SALISBURY. What say’st thou, bully Stafford?
NORTHCOTE. There are things in this comedy of Jingo and Whisky that will never please. First, Jingo must draw his sword, which Radicals can never abide.
LORD JOHN MANNERS. By’r lakin, a parlous fear.
HICKS-BEACH. I believe we must leave the killing out when all is done.
SALISBURY. Not a whit. I have a desire to make all well. Write me a prologue, and let the prologue seem to say we will do no harm with our swords, and for the more better assurance tell them that I, Jingo the Foreign Secretary, am not Jingo, but Salisbury, who barks more than he bites. This will put them out of fear.
GIFFARD. Well, we shall have such a prologue, and it shall be written for six and eight.
LORD JOHN MANNERS. Will not the ladies be afeard of the tea tax?
SIR R. CROSS. I fear it, I promise you.
NORTHCOTE. Masters, you ought to consider with yourselves. To bring in――God shield us!――a tea tax among ladies, is a dreadful thing, for there is not a more fearful wild fowl living than your tea tax, and we ought to look to it.
LORD JOHN MANNERS. Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a tax.
NORTHCOTE. Nay, you must name his name, and half his face must be seen in the teapot, and he himself must speak, saying thus, or to the same defect: “Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish you, or I would request you, or I would entreat you, not to fear, not to tremble. If you think I have come hither as a tax, it were pity of my life; no, I am no such thing; I am an indirect impost, as others are”――and there, indeed, let him name his name, and tell them plainly he is Hicks-Beach, the member for Gloucestershire.
SALISBURY. Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard things; that is to bring Coercion into Ireland.
HICKS-BEACH. Have we a majority that night we play our play?
SALISBURY. ’Tis doubtful. One must come in with a rifle and a Bobby’s lantern, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present, the person of Coercion. Then there is another thing; we must have a Protection Bill in the great Chamber.
HICKS-BEACH. You can never bring in Protection What say you, Northcote?
NORTHCOTE. Some man or other――Lowther, say――must present Protection; and let him have some false statistics to signify its benefits. Or let him hold his finger to his nose, and through that sign let “buncombe” thus be known.
SALISBURY. If that may be, then all is well. Come sit down, every mother’s son, and rehearse your parts.
Funny Folks, June 27, 1885.
II. ――THE CASTING OF THE CABINET
SCENE――Room in Arlington House. Enter Members of the Conservative Party.
SALISBURY. Is all our company here?
CHURCHILL. You were best to call them generally, man by man, according to my list.
SALISBURY. Here is the scroll of every man’s name which is thought fit by Churchill and myself to play in our interlude before the Houses of Parliament, and all England.
CHURCHILL. First, good Salisbury, say what the play treats on; then read the names of the actors; and so grow to a point.
SALISBURY. Marry, our play is the most lamentable comedy and laughable tragedy――A Conservative Government.
CHURCHILL. A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a merry. Now, good Salisbury, call forth your actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.
SALISBURY. Answer as I call you: Randolph Churchill, the “Woodstock Wonder” and “Champion of the Universe.”
CHURCHILL. Ready! Name the part I set myself down for, and proceed.
SALISBURY. You, Randolph Churchill, are set down as Secretary for India.
CHURCHILL. What is Secretary for India?――a statesman or a fool?
SALISBURY. A statesman that spends himself most loyally for the State.
CHURCHILL. That will require some brains in the true performance of it. If I do it, let the country look to’t. I will move storms; I will be wise in some measure. To the rest――Yet my chief humour is for a fool. I could play a fool rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.
The raging Rads Are blackguardly cads, With lots of fads, About men’s rights.
But Churchill’s star Shall shine from far, And make and mar All lesser lights.
This was lofty. Now name the rest of the players.
SALISBURY. Stafford Northcote, the Antiquated.
STAFFORD NORTHCOTE. Here, my lord.
SALISBURY. You must take what Churchill and I choose to give you. We will attend to you when the others are all served. Hicks-Beach, the Tea-Taxer, you must play at being Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons. But disobey Churchill at your peril. Richard Cross, the Waterman.
CROSS. Here, sir.
SALISBURY. You can take the Home Office. Smith, the Stallkeeper, you must take the lion’s part――the Secretary for War. And I hope here is a Cabinet fitted.
SMITH. Have you the lion’s part written? Pray you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.
SALISBURY. You may do it extempore, as I do, for it is nothing but roaring.
CHURCHILL. Let me play the lion too. I will roar, that it will do any man’s heart good to hear me; I will roar, that I will make the Tories say, “Let him roar again! Let him roar again!”
SALISBURY. An’ you should do it too terribly, you would fright the Liberals, that they would shriek; and that would turn us all out.
ALL. That would turn us all out, every mother’s son.
CHURCHILL. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the Liberals out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to turn us out; but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any Liberal, I will roar you an ’twere any Radical.
SALISBURY. You can play no part but Secretary for India; for you took a Cook’s tour there, wear an indigo-dyed suit, use India tea for breakfast――therefore, who knows India as you do?
CHURCHILL. Well, I will undertake it. What way had I best to play it?
SALISBURY. Why, what you will.
CHURCHILL. I will discharge it in either your Tory way, your Whig manner, your Liberal-Conservative manner, your Democrat, Republican, Socialist, Communist manner, or no manner at all.
SALISBURY. Play it as you have your former parts――bare-faced. But, masters, here are your parts; and I am to entreat you, request you, and desire you to con them by to-morrow night. In the meantime, I will draw a bill of taxes such as Tories usually want.
CHURCHILL. We will meet again――and rehearse our parts most obscenely and courageously. Adieu! [Exeunt.
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THE NEW MINISTRY’S STATEMENT TO THE COUNTRY.
If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider, then, we come not in despite, We do not come as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight We are not here. That you should here repent you, The Cabinet is formed; and by their show, You shall know all that you are like to know.
THE PUBLIC.
Their speech is like a tangled chain. Truly this is hot ice, and wondrous strange snow. Where shall we find the concord of this discord?
Funny Folks, July 4, 1885.
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Oberon. I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows, Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine: There sleeps Titania sometime of the night, Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight; And there the snake throws her enamell’d skin, Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in: And with the juice of this I’ll streak her eyes, And make her full of hateful fantasies. ACT II.,――SCENE I.
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A MONODY ON MONEY.
DEDICATED TO OUR “VERY” PARTICULAR BANKERS.
“I know a bank” where busy men are daily seen to pore Over their books with earnest zeal from ten o’clock till four, From whose retreat are issued forth more rich and treasured notes Than ever have been known to come from sweetest song-birds’ throats. Where crowns abound, and sov’reigns rule the place with despot sway, For no one there will check their power, so well belov’d are they. There seems a money mania for everything that’s dear, And, strange as it may seem, I’ve heard that far-things here are near. Cleopatra drank pearls, they say, but here she is outvied, If pork they wish, they’ve guinea pigs; if beef, the silver side. Their drink is pure aqua d’ora, and I have heard it’s true Their servant men are Bills and Franks, their housemaid is a Sou. And now, before I end my lay, I ought to make it known That though this bank is always thronged, each one may get a-loan; And though these bankers care for gold, it never can be said Matter-o’-Money it will be if ever they are wed.
Fun, 1879.
――――:o:―――― SHAKESPEARE AT PADDINGTON.
I know a bank whereon foul road-slush flows, Where passing one hath need to hold one’s nose; Where the familiar slop-carts do combine To store malodorous muck in fetid line. There drowses heavy BUMBLE day and night, Lulled into stupor to his soul’s delight. He, with his pompous Paddingtonian kin, With well-plumped pocket and with well-filled skin, Allows the fetid foul fermenting mass To nauseate the souls of all who pass.
Addendum by Mr. Punch
BUMBLE’s our “Bottom”!――written down an Ass!
Punch, October 27, 1883.
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Shakespeare, who knew everything, was aware of the coming of Lord Randolph Churchill when he wrote――
“I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Salisbury and make him smile, When I a fat and bean-fed squire beguile, Speaking in likeness of a Tory rôle. And sometimes lurk I in the Lib’ral’s bowl, In very likeness of a Democrat; And when he speaks, against his lips I bob, And contradict him with my Tory tale.”
Funny Folks, May 5, 1884.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN.
As long ago as November, 1883, my valued friend Mr. T. F. Dillon-Croker, hearing that I contemplated publishing a collection of “Parodies and Burlesques,” wrote a characteristic letter, generously placing his accumulated stores of materials at my disposal. How fully and frankly I have availed myself of that kind offer may be judged from the fact that scarcely a single part of “Parodies” has appeared which has not contained one, or more, contributions furnished by Mr. Dillon-Croker.
In the letter above-mentioned, he remarked:――“You may not be aware that the late Mr. Gilbert A’ Beckett wrote a burlesque on King John (with the benefit of the Act,) 1837, so that irreverence in this direction is no novelty. Hubert was acted by Edward Wright, afterwards so popular at the Adelphi, and who, though often inclined to be coarse, made me as a boy laugh more than I have ever done since, and Madame Sala (the mother of the genial and accomplished G. A. Sala,) was Lady Constance.
Faulconbridge remarks:
We are two brothers of the same Mama, But there are reasons for suspecting rather, By some mistake there was an extra father.
Arthur, instead of losing his eyes, is condemned to have a tooth out, and Hubert enters with a large pair of pinchers:
“And you’ll take out my tooth――If you will, come, I’ll not resist, here is my tooth by gum!”
This, at the present day sounds very insipid, if not, irreverent fooling. A’ Beckett also turned Manfred into a burlesque ballet opera in 1834. These pieces were considered worth publishing, and are curious, as shewing the style of composition that amused an audience nearly 50 years ago.”
Following up the clue given in this letter, it appears that this burlesque was first produced at the St. James’s Theatre October 29, 1837, when the cast was as follows:――
NATIVES.
King John the first. (Successor to Richard the Second) Mr. H. Hall.
Hubert. (Dentist and Cupper to the Court) Mr. Wright.
Ruffian. (Attached to Hubert, but a member of the Animal’s Friend Society) Mr. Hart.
Faulconbridge. (Illegitimate & bar Sinister) Mr. Gardner.
Robert. (His brother, bar Illegitimate, but Sinister) Mr. Long.
Prince Arthur. (A royal duodecimo, a pledge of affection taken in by his uncle) Miss C. Booth.
Herald. (In accordance with the Times) Mr. Post.
Lady Constance. (Wife to her son Arthur’s father, and mother to Arthur’s father’s son) Madam Sala.
Lady Elinor. (John’s father’s widow, and Arthur’s uncle’s mother Mrs. Pensor.
FOREIGNERS.
King Philip of France. (Successor to his predecessor) Mr. Sidney.
Lewis. (Suspected of being the Dauphin) Mr. Moore.
Chatillon. (Upon speaking and singing terms with Philip) Mr. Burnett.
Duke of Austria. (Founder of the Skinner’s Company, bound in calf, but unlettered) Mr. Halford.
Cardinal Pandulph. (Full of point) Mr. Brooks.
Mr. Hall, who impersonated King John, wore a chimney cowl as a helmet, surmounted by a weather cock, of which the letters N. E. W. S., translated, burlesque fashion, became “Naughty English Wrongful Sovereign.” Undoubtedly the best scene in the burlesque is that which treats of Hubert and Prince Arthur, the first scene of the fourth act in the original. This approaches more nearly to a parody of the language of Shakespeare, than is usual in most burlesques of his tragedies.
Act II, Scene V — ――A Room in a Castle.
Enter HUBERT, with a large pair of pinchers, followed by a Ruffian.
Hubert. Just hold the pinchers, I’ve got here a youth, And I’ve got orders to take out his tooth. So when I stamp my foot come in and bind him―― His legs together and his arms behind him.
Ruffian. I hope there arn’t no gammon in the matter?
Hubert. That’s my look out. What right have you to chatter? Vanish! [Exit Ruffian.
SONG.――HUBERT.
Air.――“There’s light in her laughing eye.”
There’s a tooth in his little gum; ’Tis a pearl a garnet broach within, And they say that it out must come, ’Tis a job, I know, is quite a sin. There’s a tongue in his little head, A tongue that always wags away; Like a clock at the back of a bed, Which keeps on tick tick night and day.
There’s a tooth, &c.
Hubert. Young lad come forth, I’ve got a word to say.
Enter Arthur.
Arthur. Hubert, good Hubert, how are you to-day?
Hubert. I must not listen to his childish chatter, For if I do he’ll melt my heart like batter. Look here, young Arthur (Gives warrant.) Can you understand This paper written in a large text hand?
Arthur. Oh, can I read it. Oh, unhappy youth! Must you with pinchers then take out my tooth?
Hubert. Young boy I must.
Arthur. And will you?
Hubert. Yes I will.
Arthur. Oh, it’s too bad――When you were taken ill Who was it to the chemist’s ran full gallop, To get a penny dose of salts and jalap? And when I’ve seen you, after dining out, When you’ve made free at some hot drinking bout, Have I not always been extremely willing To give for soda-water my last shilling? And you’ll take out my tooth? If you will, come, I’ll not resist, here is my tooth, by gum!
Hubert. Young boy, I’ve sworn to do it――do not flinch, These instruments must help me at a pinch. Come forth. (Stamps.)
Enter Ruffian with a pewter basin, towel, &c.
(To Ruffian) Do as I bid you.
Arthur. Hubert stay My tooth is out, do send that man away.
(Ruffian seizes Arthur.)
Hubert. Now for the pinchers――now for one bold tug.
Arthur. Why be so boisterous I will hold my mug? For Heaven’s sake Hubert send that man away, And not a word against it I will say. Hubert, your word indeed shall be my law My tooth is out, see I will hold my jaw!
Hubert. (To Ruffian.) Go stand without, I by myself will do it.
Ruffian. Indeed ’twould make me ill were I to view it.
[Exit Ruffian.
Hubert. Come, now prepare yourself my gentle youth.
Arthur. Is there no plan?
Hubert. None but to lose your tooth.
Arthur. Oh, would that your’s good Hubert did but ache, That I to stop your pain, great pains might take.
Hubert. Is this your promise? Hold your tongue, sir, do.
Arthur. Oh, take my tongue, I want my tooth to chew, Leave only that, e’en if it be to eat, With you good Hubert, some delicious meat, Which I have ordered for a little treat.
Hubert. Boy, you have touched me hard, as I’m a sinner, I’ll leave your tooth at least till after dinner, Your uncle’s heard that dentists who ain’t clever Will sometimes lock a person’s jaw for ever.
Arthur. Hubert, I thank thee.
Hubert. Mind you ne’er unfold it. Your jaw is safe――be good enough to hold it.
A WINTER’S TALE.
A burlesque of this play was produced at the Lyceum Theatre on September 15, 1856, entitled “Perdita, or the Royal Milkmaid, being the legend upon which Shakespeare is supposed to have founded his Winter’s Tale,” a new and original burlesque by William Brough. A reproduction of the cast on that occasion will interest old playgoers:――
LEONTES (_King of Sicilia; a King who, in spite of the belief to the contrary, could do wrong_) MR. S. CALHAEM.
POLIXENES (King of Bithynia). MR. WILLIAM BROUGH. (His first appearance on any stage).
FLORIZEL (_his Son and Heir――disobedient as usual, but charming as ever_) MRS. ALFRED MELLON (late MISS WOOLGAR).
AUTOLYCUS (_a Rogue, and it is hardly necessary to add, a Vagabond_) MR. J. L. TOOLE.
CAMILLO (a Sicilian Lord) MR. J. G. SHORE.
ANTIGONUS (a Nurse) MR. BARRETT.
THE BEAR (an Ursa) MR. H. MARSHALL.
BLOCUS (_an old Shepherd, supposed――by everybody but the Audience, who know better――to be Perdita’s Father_). MR. HOLSTON.
TIME, as CHORUS (_up to everything, including, of course, the time of day_) MISS HARRIET GORDON.
HERMIONE (_Leontes’ Queen, always elegant, and finally quite Statuesque_) MRS. BUCKINGHAM WHITE.
PERDITA (the Royal Milkmaid) MISS MARIE WILTON.
PAULINA (_a strong-minded Matron; considerably the better-half of Antigonus_) MRS. WESTON.
――――――――
In 1817 Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote a dramatic poem, entitled “Zapolya, a Christmas Tale,” to which he prefixed the remark, “The form of the following dramatic poem is in humble imitation of the Winter’s Tale of Shakespeare.”
Beyond the mere form, however, Zapolya has little or no resemblance to Shakespeare’s play.
KING HENRY V.
IV. PROLOGUE
Chorus.
Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp through the foul womb of night The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each others watch: Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umber’d face; Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear, and from the tents The armourers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation.
――――:o:――――
LORD MAYOR’S DAY (1827).
Now countless turbots and unnumbered soles Fill the wide kitchens of each livery hall: From pot to spit, to kettle, stew, and pan, The busy hum of greasy scullions sounds, That the fixed beadles do almost perceive The secret dainties of each others watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each table sees the other’s bill of fare: Cook threatens cook in high and saucy vaunt Of rare and new-made dishes; confectioners, Both pastrycooks and fruiterers in league, With candied art their rivets closing up, Give pleasing notice of a rich dessert.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
On November 21, 1866, an Extravaganza, founded on the above tragedy, was produced at the Haymarket Theatre, London, then under the management of Mr. J. B. Buckstone. This burlesque was entitled “Antony and Cleopatra; or, His-tory and Her-story in a modern nilo-metre,” by F. C. Burnand, and the principal parts were played by Mr. and Mrs. Charles Matthews, Mr. Compton, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Clark. The best parody it contained was that of the well-known passage descriptive of the meeting of Antony and Cleopatra on the river of Cydnus, commencing thus:――
“The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar’d all description: she did lie In her pavilion――cloth-of-gold of tissue―― O’er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour’d fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did.”
In the Burlesque Lepidus enquires:――
Tell me how they met?
Eros. I will: And first then you must know that Marc Met Cleopatra driving in the park. The trap she sat in, like the Sun-God’s car, Shone in the drive, the seats were damask white, Tawny the rugs, and all so scented, that The swells sniffed curiously. Her whip of silver, Half parasol, which dared the sun; and flicked The ponies, which she beat to trot the faster, As amorous of her lash. For her own person It beggared all description; she reclined Upon those cushions I’ve described before, And high in front, and round, rose dangerous waves Of foaming frothy muslin petticoats, Art’s fancy outworks: in the seat behind her Sat two quick natty boys, like perky Cupids, With white pip’d breeches and pale salmon tops, To guard whose knees a pretty oilskin apron They both undid and did.
Lepi. O rare for Anthony!
Eros. And when she’d pass’d, young Egypt at the rails Look’d in each other’s eyes, then after her, Then gazed about at――well, they knew not what, As dazed as is the poor unlatch-key’d husband After a late carousal, when his spouse, Candle in hand, unchains the guardian door; So they: so Anthony: who whipped and spurred Up to her side, and whip-spered in her ear Soft nothings, which, though nothing in themselves, Lead oft――
Lepi. Sir, I’m the father of a family. Never could Tony pretty woman’s lip shun, No wonder he was caught by this Egyptian.
In the end, Cleopatra, instead of being stung by an asp, as in the tragedy, pretends to commit suicide by the use of a Pharoah’s serpent.
HAMLET.
BENJAMIN CÆSAR REDIVIVUS.
(On the happy recovery of Lord Beaconsfield from an attack of gout.)
Ben Dizzy patch’d and mended for to-day, Not like old Cæsar, dead and turned to clay, Will still go on in his corrupting play, Nor “stop a hole to keep the wind away.”
Fiz, January 18, 1879.
――――:o:――――
THE SPANIARD’S SOLILOQUY.
To fight or not to fight, that is the question, Whether ’tis nobler in the mind To bear a patient drubbing by the French Or take up arms against old Louis And by opposing end him And exterminate the Bourbons? To fight――to beat――no more; And by our beating end a thousand ills Which we were born to. ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To fight――to beat――perchance to be beat Ah! there’s the rub. For by our being beat what ills may come; There’s the respect that makes our liberty so dear, For who would bear the sneers and scoffs of tyrants, The oppressor’s wrong, the insolence of office When we can still our liberty maintain With the bare rapier? Who would mind our constitution being altered But that a dread of something more (That Alliance from whose unholy laws No state is free) puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear these ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of.
The Mirror, April 5, 1823.
――――:o:――――
A FISHERMAN’S SOLILOQUY.
To sniggle or to dibble, that’s the question! Whether to bait a hook with worm or bumble, Or to take up arms of any sea, some trouble To fish, and then home send them. To fly, to whip―― To moor and tie my boat up by the end To any wooden post, or natural rock We may be near to, on a Preservation Devoutly to be fished. To fly――to whip―― To whip! perchance two bream; and there’s the chub! * * * * * F. C. BURNAND.
As a singular instance of the popularity of Hamlet’s famous Soliloquy, it may be mentioned that a Hebrew version of it was printed in 1880, in Kottabos, a College journal published in Dublin.
――――:o:――――
THE DANISH WAR. (From our own Correspondent.)
Elsinore, May 20, 1848.
The army under General Fortinbras remains inactive. The Crown Prince Hamlet has been appointed to the command, but he is in a state of doubt as to whether he ought to accept it. A good many intrigues are believed to exist at the Danish Court, and two noblemen named Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are suspected of being employed on a delicate and dangerous mission. Gertrude, the Queen, does not appear to enjoy good health, and rumours are rife of violent scenes between her and Hamlet. The death of the late Lord Chamberlain does not seem to have been at all satisfactorily accounted for; and the consequent derangement of his daughter, who it appears has been going about singing very improper songs, has occasioned a great deal of scandal. The King, however, swills his draught of Rhenish down as usual, and even had some private theatricals lately. The monarch, however, could not sit out the first piece, and no wonder, for entre nous being legitimate it was awfully slow. Meantime Hamlet’s conduct is quite unaccountable: some people hint that he is mad; and the fact of his having got up a cock-and-bull story of a ghost, which he says is always walking about with a certain MARSHALL STALK, supposed to be a Prussian from the name, would seem to countenance the theory. For my own part, whether he be mad or no, I think his proceedings very stupid and tiresome.
The Man in the Moon.――Vol. III, 1848.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
SONG.
Balthasar,――Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leafy: Then sigh not so, &c.
――――――――
NOCTES AMBROSIANÆ.
Rail no more, Tories, rail no more; Whigs are but asses ever, On land, on wave, on sea, on shore, All rascals of white liver. Then rail not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting sounds of wrath and woe Into hey Ninny! nonny.
Sing merry ditties, and no mo Of lumps so dull and heavy; The heads of Whigs were ever so, Since summer first was leavy. Then rail not so, &c.
Blackwood’s Magazine, July, 1823. ――――:o:――――
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING IN THE CITY.
Sigh no more, dealers, sigh no more, Shares were unstable ever, They often have been down before, At high rates constant never. Then sigh not so, Soon up they’ll go, And you’ll be blithe and funny, Converting all your notes of woe Into hey, money, money.
Write no more letters, write no mo On stocks so dull and heavy. At times on ’Change ’tis always so, When bears a tribute levy. Then sigh not so, And don’t be low, In sunshine you’ll make honey, Converting all your notes of woe Into hey money, money.
Punch, September 28, 1867.
THE TEMPEST.
“The Enchanted Isle; or Raising the Wind on the most approved principles; a Drama without the smallest claim to Legitimacy, Consistency, Probability, or anything else but absurdity; in which will be found much that is unaccountably coincident with Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest.’” This burlesque, written by the Brothers R. B. and W. Brough, was first performed at the Adelphi Theatre, London, on Monday, November 26, 1848. Beyond the general foundation of the plot, it contains no parodies of Shakespeare, but is full of allusions to the political revolutions and events of 1848, and has many parodies of songs which were then popular, but which are now, for the most part, obsolete. It was no doubt a very amusing burlesque, having a good deal of lively music, songs, and dances, and the cast was a powerful one, including Paul Bedford, Miss Woolgar, Madame Celeste, and O. Smith. It was afterwards revived at the Haymarket Theatre, when Miss P. Horton, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Mr. Buckstone, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Clark performed the leading parts. The following amusing parody of the Ghost-scene in “Hamlet” was spoken as a