  BURLESQUE OF SHAKESPEARE. Travestie of the drama and things dramatic has naturally played a large part in the history of English stage burlesque. Side by side with the producers and interpreters of tragedy, melodrama, and plays of sentiment, have been the possessors of the humorous spirit, who—whether as writers or as actors—have been quick to see the points in which works of serious plan and treatment have been open to the shafts of ridicule and raillery. As we have seen, most of the earliest efforts in English stage burlesque were directed against the extravagant tragedies of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As time went on, and the limits of the serious drama became more extended, so did the limits of burlesque expand, and, from the days of John Poole downwards, the large variety of serious dramatic production has co-existed with a corresponding variety in the subject and style of the travesties submitted to the public. Among those travesties a prominent place has been taken by the pieces devoted to the burlesque of Shakespeare—not because they have been particularly numerous, for they have not been so—nor because they have been The truth is, a brilliant burlesque does harm to nobody; and a bad burlesque does but recoil upon the head of its author and his exponents. Poole's "Hamlet Travestie" is King (to Hamlet). Cheer up, my son and cousin, never mind— Ham. A little more than kin, and less than kind. King. Why hang the clouds still on you? Come, have done. Ham. You're out, my lord; I'm too much in the sun.— Queen. Come, Hamlet, leave off crying; 'tis in vain, Since crying will not bring him back again. Besides, 'tis common: all that live must die— So blow your nose, my dear, and do not cry. Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. Queen.If it be, Why seems there such a mighty fuss with thee? Ham. Talk not to me of seems—when husbands die, 'Twere well if some folks seem'd the same as I. But I have that within, you can't take from me— As for black clothes—that's all my eye and Tommy. King. Cheer up, my hearty; though you've lost your dad, Consider that your case is not so bad: Your father lost a father; and 'tis certain, Death o'er your great-grandfather drew the curtain. You've mourn'd enough; 'tis time your grief to smother; Don't cry: you shall be king some time or other. Queen. Go not to Wittenburg, my love, I pray you. Ham. Mamma, I shall in all my best obey you. King. Well said, my lad! Cheer up, no more foul weather: We'll meet anon, and all get drunk together. It was part of Poole's method to put the soliloquies into the form of songs, and so we find the lines beginning "O that this too too solid flesh would melt!" appearing in the following form:— A ducat I'd give if a sure way I knew How to thaw and resolve my stout flesh into dew! How happy were I if no sin was self-slaughter! For I'd then throw myself and my cares in the water. Derry down, down, down, derry down. How weary, how profitless,—stale, and how flat, Seem to me all life's uses, its joys, and all that: This world is a garden unweeded; and clearly Not worth living for—things rank and gross hold it merely. Derry down, etc. Two months have scarce pass'd since dad's death, and my mother, Like a brute as she is, has just married his brother.— To wed such a bore!—but 'tis all too late now: We can't make a silk purse of the ear of a sow. Derry down, etc. The time-honoured "To be or not to be" is sung in this version to the tune of "Here we go up, up, up":— When a man becomes tired of his life, The question is, "to be, or not to be?" For before he dare finish the strife, His reflections most serious ought to be. When his troubles too numerous grow, And he knows of no method to mend them, Had he best bear them tamely, or no?— Or by stoutly opposing them, end them? Ri tol de rol, etc. To die is to sleep—nothing more— And by sleeping to say we end sorrow, And pain, and ten thousand things more,— Oh, I wish it were my turn to-morrow! But, perchance, in that sleep we may dream, For we dream in our beds very often— Now, however capricious 't may seem, I've no notion of dreams in a coffin. Ri tol de rol, etc. 'Tis the doubt of our ending all snugly, That makes us with life thus dispute; Or who'd bear with a wife old and ugly, Or the length of a chancery suit? Or who would bear fardels, and take Kicks, cuffs, frowns, and many an odd thing, When he might his own quietus make, And end all his cares with a bodkin? Ri tol de rol, etc. W. S. Gilbert. The "annotations" appended to the text of the burlesque are in parody of the performances of the commentators, who at least are fair game for chaff of this sort, and on whom Poole, in his preface, lavishes some excellent indignation. Of subsequent burlesques of "Hamlet" there have not been many, but some of them have been really clever and commendable. There was, for instance, Talfourd's, published at Oxford in 1849; there was the "Hamlet À la Mode" of Messrs. G. L. Gordon and G. W. Anson, performed at Liverpool in 1877; there was the "Very Little Hamlet" of Mr. William Yardley, seen at the Gaiety in 1884; and last, but assuredly not least, we have had the "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern" of Mr. Gilbert, which, written originally without thought either of public or of private representation, has been enacted at a benefit matinÉe during the present year. In "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern," which is an unpretentious little "skit," covering only some sixteen or seventeen printed pages, Mr. Gilbert supposes that Hamlet is the son (not the step-son) of Claudius. "Rosencrantz is a lover of Ophelia, to whom Hamlet is betrothed, and they lay their heads together to devise a plan by which Hamlet In the first act, Rosencrantz, who has never seen Hamlet (apparently, because the former has been abroad), asks Ophelia what the Prince is like, and that gives Mr. Gilbert an opportunity for some characteristic satire. Ophelia says of Hamlet that he is "alike for no two seasons at a time":— Sometimes he's tall—sometimes he's very short— Now with black hair—now with a flaxen wig— Sometimes an English accent—then a French— Then English with a strong provincial "burr." Once an American and once a Jew— But Danish never, take him how you will! And, strange to say, whate'er his tongue may be, Whether he's dark or flaxen—English—French— Though we're in Denmark, A. D. ten—six—two— He always dresses as King James the First! Guild. Oh, he is surely mad! Oph.Well, there again Opinion is divided. Some men hold That he's the sanest far of all sane men— Some that he's really sane, but shamming mad— Some that he's really mad, but shamming sane— Some that he will be mad, some that he was— Some that he couldn't be! But, on the whole (As far as I can make out what they mean), The favourite theory's somewhat like this: Hamlet is idiotically sane With lucid intervals of lunacy. In the second act, the Queen, observing that Hamlet is about to soliloquise, urges Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to "prevent this, gentlemen, by any means":— Anticipate his points, And follow out his argument for him; Thus you will cut the ground from 'neath his feet, And leave him nought to say. The result is as follows:— Enter Hamlet; he stalks to a chair, throws himself into it. Ham. To be—or not to be! Ros.(R. of chair)Yes—that's the point! Whether he's bravest who will cut his throat Rather than suffer all— Guild. (l. of chair) Or suffer all Rather than cut his throat? Ham. (annoyed at interruption, resumes) To die—to sleep—— Ros. It's nothing more—Death is but sleep spun out— Why hesitate?(Offers him a dagger.) Guild.The only question is Between the choice of deaths which death to choose. (Offers another.) Ham. (in great terror) Do take these dreadful things away. They make My blood run cold. (Resumes) To sleep, perchance to—— Ros. Dream. That's very true. I never dream myself, But Guildenstern dreams all night long out loud. Guild. With blushes, sir, I do confess it true! Ham. This question, gentlemen, concerns me not. (Resumes) For who would bear the whips and scorns of time—— Ros. (as guessing a riddle) Who'd bear the whips and scorns? Now let me see. Who'd bear them, eh? Guild. (same business) Who'd bear the scorns of time—— Ros. (correcting him) The whips and scorns. Guild.The whips and scorns, of course. (Hamlet about to protest) Don't tell us—let us guess—the whips of time? Ham. Oh, sirs, this interruption likes us not. I pray you give it up. Ros.My lord, we do. We cannot tell who bears these whips and scorns! The third act opens with a passage in which the turns and rhythm of Shakespearean prose are happily imitated:— Enter King and Queen, meeting Rosencrantz.
After Poole published his "Hamlet," W. J. Hammond played Othello in this piece, both at Liverpool, and afterwards at the Strand Theatre, where popular Miss E. Daly was the Desdemona and H. Hall the Iago. What can these presumably capable actors have thought of their rÔles? The text of the burlesque is almost wholly without humour, of which, however, there is a gleam in the complaint made by Cassio that he has been ruined by a pint of beer:— My reputation's lost—my reputation! I'm bother'd, sir—I'm bother'd quite with thinking; I've lost my reputation, sir, for drinking. I, who to good brown stout ne'er yet turn'd tail, Drunk and bedevil'd with a mug of ale! Was ever man in such a situation? My reputation, sir—my reputation! H. J. Byron's "Rival Othellos" (played at the Strand in 1876) was not a travestie of the tragedy; but it gave opportunity for some clever burlesque of tragic acting. We come now to the first (and, so far as I know, the only) travestie of "King John," which happily was essayed by the capable pen of Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett. The year was 1837, the locale the St. James's Theatre, and Hall the representative of the title-part, with Mme. Sala as Lady Constance. The play was lucky in being dealt with by so deft a workman. The subject was not very promising, and all was done with it that was possible. The scene in which Hubert, my friend, I had a thing to say. But let it pass—the sun is shining bright: To suit my purpose, it had needs be night, If where we stand could be a railroad tunnel, As if we looked at Tartarus through a funnel; If you could only scent what I propose, Yet let it not smell rankly in your nose, If you could, or if I—Hubert, my lad, Who made that coat?—indeed, the cut's not bad. Hub. Great king, you know I always lov'd you well, Then why not in a word your wishes tell? Why roll your troubled eye about its socket? My lord, your heart is in your breeches pocket. Though it would cost my life, what is't you need? I'll do your bidding— K. John.You're a friend indeed! But Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw your eye On that young lad, that now is standing by; I'll tell you what, my friend: that boy, I feel, Is, in my path, a piece of orange peel, And wheresoe'er I tread he'll throw me down, And if I fall, you know, I crack my crown. (Taking out his snuff-box.) You are his keeper—are you up to snuff? Hub. I am! I'll keep the urchin safe enough. K. John. Remove him—— Hub. He shall die! K. John. Egad, I feel So merry, Hubert, I could dance a reel. What shall I give thee? Hub.What you please. K. John. Then let it— Stand over, gentle Hubert, till you get it. Here, again, is the perversion of the famous scene between Hubert and the boy:— Arth. Hubert, good Hubert, how are you to-day? Hub. I must not listen to his childish chatter, For if I do he'll melt my heart like batter. (Aside) Look here, young Arthur (gives warrant): can you understand This paper, written in a large text hand? Arth. Oh, can I read it?—oh, unhappy youth! Must you with pinchers then take out my tooth? Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth.And will you? Hub.Yes, I will. Arth. 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! Hub. 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, etc. (To Ruffian). Do as I bid you. Arth.Hubert, stay: My tooth is out—do send that man away. (Ruffian seizes Arthur.) Hub. Now for the pinchers—now for one bold tug. Arth. 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, thy word indeed shall be my law; My tooth is out: see, I will hold my jaw! Hub. (to Ruffian). Go, stand without; I by myself will do it. Ruffian. Indeed 'twould make me ill were I to view it. [Exit Ruffian. Elsewhere King John sings, to the air of "The Light of other Days," this excellent parody:— The robe of other days has faded, Its gloss has from it pass'd; For dust with little specks has shaded The stuff too fine to last. The robe of velvet made of cotton, For wear much better pays; But, alas! how shabby this I've got on, The robe of other days! The coat that is not worth a stiver, An old and worn-out thing, When touch'd with black and blue reviver, Like a new one up will spring. You may dye the coat of one that's needy, Of stuff as coarse as baize; But the robe is done for when 'tis seedy, The robe of other days. The first burlesque of "Romeo and Juliet" was brought out at the Strand in the same year as that which saw the birth of A'Beckett's "King John." The author was Maurice G. Dowling, who succeeded in producing something worthy to rank with his "Othello." In his "Romeo and Juliet" Montagu and Capulet are rival basket-makers, "Mr." Mercutio being foreman to the former, who also has "Mr. Ben Volio" in his employ. Tybalt is a fireman and ratcatcher to the Duke of Mantua; "Mr." Friar Laurence, a "black-and-white-smith" at Gretna Green. Romeo talks in illiterate fashion, and at one point sticks a pin into Paris's back! Miss Daly was the Juliet, and she and Hammond (as Romeo) had to speak, in the balcony scene, such lines as these:— Enter Romeo over wall. Rom. He just knows nothing who's been scratched with pins, Unless he's felt the pain of broken shins. (Juliet appears at balcony with lantern.) Oh my! what light is that upon the wall Rising like yeast? Crikey, if she should fall! You'll easy stare her out of countenance. You're prettier far than she—I'm not in joke, Miss; what did you say? Oh, la, I thought she spoke! I wish she was in heaven, and then her eyes Would be two stars a twinkling in the skies. There! now she puts her hand upon her head— I wish I was that hair—those curls instead, That she might comb me when she went to bed. Jul. Oh, my! I wish that nice young man would come! Rom. She speaks! a sign she isn't deaf and dumb. Jul. O Romeo!—Romeo! perhaps you're not to blame, But it's a very shocking, ugly name; Go to your godfather, and refuse to wear it, Or if you won't, be but my love, and swear it; And I'll leave home, and go live with you, And be young Mistress Romeo Montague. The name is not so bad—what's in a name? A Rose if Garlick call'd would smell the same. The Friar's directions to Juliet are given in the course of a song, of which the following is the opening verse:— Here's a bottle of gin—do take it, dear, Put it under your pillow, or somewhere near, And when the old Nurse to her bed is gone, First make yourself certain you're quite alone. Then take this bottle—drink part of it off— 'Tis double distill'd, and may make you cough— When presently through your veins will walk A comical tremor—a wish to talk, Oh, the bottle of gin! When, in 1859, Andrew Halliday produced, at the Strand, a "Romeo and Juliet Travestie, or the Cup of Cold Poison,"
Rom. He jests at scars, who never wore a patch, Or mounted garden wall and got a scratch From row of broken bottles. (Juliet appears on balcony.) Jul.Ha! 'tis he! Rom. Juliet! Jul.Romeo! ah, yes! 'tis he! Rom. Oh, say that name again! Jul.Oh, me! oh! Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Rom. Well, 'pon my soul, my love, my sweet, my dear, I haven't got the most remote idea; My father perhaps—— Jul.Deny him. Rom.Then my mother. She does not know I'm out. Jul.Oh, what a bother! Rom. What is a bother, sweet? Jul.That you, My Romeo, should be a Montague, And I a Capulet—and yet what's in a name? Were you called Jones, I'd love you all the same; You'd be no worse: mark this, I do entreat— The Serpentine by other name would smell as sweet. Rom. Would I were some one else—— Jul.But fate assigns A bitter lot, and rules the hardest lines. Rom. (sneezes, and as if with cold in his head) It's getting chilly, dear, but hear me swear— By the boon, green cheese of heaven—look there, Shining as brightly as a silver spoon. Jul. (sneezing, and with a cold) Swear not by the boon—the inconstant boon, Who changes oft, and twelve times in a year Hooks it like a tenant in arrear. Rom. What shall I swear by, then, to gain a seat In your affections? Jul.Oh, do not swear, my sweet, At all. A good rule we now commence with: We take our seats—the oaths we do dispense with. For the rest, the burlesque followed many lines of the original closely enough, The piece was well stocked with puns; as, for example:— Who doubts Mercutio's courage him mistakes: He hates a broil, but he will fight for stakes. And again:— By reason of this bunion on my toe, This pilgrim's progress has been very slow. After "Romeo and Juliet," the first of Shakespeare's plays to be burlesqued was "Richard III.," of which Charles Selby, the comedian, and Stirling Coyne, the well-known man of letters, each perpetrated a travestie in 1844. Selby's piece Take, for example, his arrangement of the scene in which Richard woos the Lady Anne:— Lady A. Well, I never! You ugly, naughty man, Why do you thus torment the wretched Anne? Richard. Torment! sweet saint, recall that killing word, And substitute adore. Lady A.Indeed! I've heard Old gossips say he's but a silly calf, Who fondly thinks to catch old birds with chaff. Look on that pattern of thy gentle love! (pointing off r.) Richard. I do, and weep, my pretty turtle-dove. And yet methinks I can excuse myself. Lady A. Wholesale butcher! Richard.Thou dost abuse thyself! (Rapidly, with great passion) Thou art the cause of all my peccadilloes— Thy beauty (like Battersean billows, Which market barges smash to shivereens, And cheat the town of sparrow grass and greens), Thy fatal beauty, for whose dear sake, Of all the world I'd Epping sausage make! Or kill myself—(if thou shouldst wish me die) One hour on that soft breast to lie. Lady A. Nonsense! I don't believe you! get along! (hitting him playfully with her fan.). Richard. I know, dear love, I've done thee grievous wrong! But though by me thy husband's death was done, 'Twas but to help thee to a better one. Lady A. His better does not wear a head. Richard. He lives who loves thee better. Lady A.Whom? Richard. Nay, guess. Lady A. I can't. I'm a dunce at riddle-me-ree. Some lunatic, of course? Richard.Made so by thee! (kneels) Turn thy bright eyes on this devoted head— Lady A. Would they were baganets, to stick thee dead! (crosses R.) Richard. I would they were—that I at once might hop the twig! For now, with cruel scorn, they at me dig, If thou art determined, sweet, to kill me, This "Trifle from Sheffield" in my buzzum stick, And let the daylight through your loving Dick. (kneels and gives her his sword.) Twenty-four years later, Mr. Burnand took up this subject. His work was called "The Rise and Fall of Richard III.," and was performed at the Royalty. His treatment of the wooing scene may well be contrasted with that of Selby. For instance:— Richard. I see that you a passion for me foster—— Anne. Passion for you! High, mighty, double Glo'ster. Rich. Oh, call me double Glo'ster, if you please, As long as I, in your eyes, am the cheese. Anne. A cheese! Why, then I cut you. (going) Rich.I've the daring To ask you to consider this cheese paring. Anne. You are hump-backed. Rich.Oh, hump-bug! Anne.And knock'd knee'd. Rich. A friend in-knee'd, ma'am, is a friend indeed. In puns, and good puns too, this piece is particularly prolific. Thus, Richard's mother says of him that He as a child took early to the bottle, As all our family did, and my relations— I can look back on many ginny-rations. Yes, and my ancestors—they never fought With greater spirit than at A-gin-court. Buckingham says to Richard— Don't be Protector, Richard—be Dick-tator. Richmond says of him:— There Richard lays; whereupon Richard replies:— To order sir, I rise; Who says "he lays" grammatically lies. Of Richmond, the Duchess of York observes:— His hair is cut so short where once it flowed. Richard. Tis a French crop, like grass—'tis À la mowed. Richmond, by the way, is supposed to be fresh from France, and talks broken English. The Duchess aforesaid asks him:— How are you, Richmond? well? or Richmond 'ill? Buckingham says to Anne:— I'll introduce, allow me, to your Grace, The Lord Mayor, the Recorder, and Jem Mace. Anne. Their robes are beautiful. Oh, nicey, nicey! Especially the Mace—he does look spicey! But perhaps the best pun in the piece is that which is made apropos of the fact that Catesby and Tyrell have fallen over the coal-scuttle on the stairs and hurt themselves:— Richard. My friends are hurt, so you'll excuse them grinning. Elizabeth. Excuse! oh, they're more shinned against than shinning! Talfourd's "Macbeth, somewhat removed from the Text of Shakespeare," was first performed in 1847 at Henley-on-Thames during the regatta; next, at the Strand, in 1848; afterwards at the Olympic, in 1853. At the last-named theatre it had the advantage of the aid of Robson in the title-part, of G. Cooke as Duncan, and of Mrs. A. Phillips as Lady Macbeth. It paraphrases the original fairly well until near the close, when, after Macduff has slain Macbeth, Duncan reappears (like Henry VI. in Selby's piece) and takes the crown from Malcolm. Similarly, Macbeth, his wife, and Banquo turn up again, and announce their willingness to die nightly. In the first act Lady Macbeth comes in reading her husband's letter, as follows:— We met, 'twas on a heath, and on that day When victory had flushed us; really they Both turned our blood to curds and stopped our way; Sally, report has said, and I have got A gothic notion, they know what is what; They called me, dear, all manner of rum things: While Cawdor's title in my noddle rings, Would you believe it? but a flunkey brings The news of Cawdor's death; I have to thank That queer old file for giving me his rank. One hailed me King—I pause to wipe my eye, For it's affecting.—Sally, dear, good-bye! Ever affectionately yours, till death Pops on his extinguisher, Samuel Macbeth. Lady Macbeth comments on this:— Of all rum goes, this is about the rummest! Cawdor thou art, and shalt be—what thou'rt promised. Yet will thy scruples my intentions clog; To go at once the unadulterate hog Is not thy nature. Thou'rt the style of buck That has the will to sin, but not the pluck. When Macbeth enters, she cries:— Welcome, great Glamis!—welcome, worthy Cawdor! Nay greater! (they embrace). Macb.Ducky! Duncan comes to-night, To stay and sup with us. Lady M.Yes, that's all right. (Significantly) When goes he hence? Macb.To-morrow he'll endeavour. Lady M. (mysteriously) Not if I knows it, Sammy— trust me, never! Macb. What mean you? Lady M.Why, at such things you a muff are! Macb. You wouldn't have me spifflicate the buffer? I must think more of this. Lady M.Look (so thou wilt less Suspicion rouse) particularly guiltless— Leave all the rest to me. Macb. The rest? Don't fret at all;— If I do this, no rest for me—you'll get it all. Then they sing a duet, to the tune of "There's a good time coming":— Lady M. There's a good chance coming, Sam— A good chance coming! If the King comes here to-day, We're not such flats as throw away The good chance coming! Macb.But, my love, it's very wrong— Nothing could be wronger Than such a thing—— Lady M. Well, hold your tongue, And wait a little longer! The first burlesque of "The Tempest" made its appearance at the Adelphi in 1848. It was from the pen of the Brothers Brough, and was entitled "The Enchanted Isle, or Raising the Wind on the most Approved Principles." "O." Smith was Prospero, with Miss Taylor as his daughter Miranda; Miss Woolgar being the Ferdinand, with Paul Bedford for her father—the Ariel Mme. Celeste, and the Caliban Munyard. Some years were destined to elapse before the subject again attracted the burlesque writer; and the writer then was Mr. Burnand, who gave to his work the name of "Ariel," submitting it to the public in 1883 at the Gaiety. Miss Ellen Farren took the title-part, with Mr. Henry Monkhouse as Prospero, Mr. Frank Wyatt as Sebastian, Mr. Dallas as Alonso, and Miss Connie To Talfourd belongs the distinction of being the first to burlesque "The Merchant of Venice." He called his work "Shylock, or the Merchant of Venice Preserved: an entirely New Reading of Shakespeare, from an edition hitherto undiscovered by modern authorities, and which it is hoped may be received as the stray leaves of a Jerusalem Hearty-Joke." This came out at the Olympic in 1853, and again Talfourd had Robson as the exponent of his principal character. Again, too, he followed his original with some care, burlesquing rather in detail than on broad lines. Take, for example, his "reading" of a portion of the trial scene. Shylock has been foiled by Portia, and wishes to leave the court:— Shy. Give me my principal, and I'll away. Por. Best carry out your principle and stay. Nay, Shylock, though you choose forgive the debt, You'd find the law had hold upon you yet. Shy. I say, young man, your practice rather sharp is. Grat. Not when he practises on the Jews-harp-ies. Ant. Shylock, although your conduct in this case In its whole tenor has been thorough base, On one condition I won't press the charge, And you're at liberty to go at large. Shy. At large? I feel particularly small, (Aside) But thank my stars that I can go at all. (Shylock is going, but is prevented by the officers of the Court) Ant. There are two points, though, that I must insist on: You'll shave your face and look more like a Christian, And take your daughter to your arms again. Shy. Well, since you've got the upper hand, it's plain I must knock under—and I will, I swear, Receive my heiress and cut off my hair! (Jessica and Lorenzo come forward.) Jess. You pardon us, pa? Shy.Yes, howe'er distressing To my paternal feelings, take my blessing. Fathers, I think, will own my case a hard 'un, She's done for pa, and now she asks her par-don. Gratiano, in this version, is represented as a flunkey, in which character he makes love to Nerissa:— Blush not that I'm a footman, I conjures; Let not my plushes be the cause of yours. You to the eyes—but, though more difficulter, I to the knees plush as the knee plush ultra. Everywhere the puns are as clever as they are bright. Portia says to Nerissa:— Mind, a maiden should Of kisses to a bearded man be chary. Nerissa. Such a salute, ma'am, must be salute-hairy. Launcelot, again, says to Jessica:— But smile again, and all will sunshine be, Sweet Israelite, you is real light to me!... Mock not my misery—I know full well I'm a poor serf and he's a heavy swell. Once more, Shylock says:— My only heiress, folks will say in mock, Fled like a timid hair from a Shy-lock!... Unfeeling child, who's left her sire to sigh, Without a tie or prop or prop-er-ty. We come now to the production, at the Lyceum in 1856, of William Brough's perversion of "The Winter's Tale,"—"Perdita, or the Royal Milkmaid." This period to match, in each single snatch Of music to be sung, I've tried of The oldest tunes to get, including that as yet Unknown melody the old cow died of. And that all might be In antiquity Alike, I for my puns cry quarter, For I've chosen, good folks, The most ancient jokes For this worthy old dramatist's slaughter. When Autolycus appears upon the scene, with his pedlar's box, he is made to excuse his "conveying" propensities in a ditty suggested by the then popular song called "Bobbing Around":— The shopkeeper who gives short weight Is robbing all round, all round, all round; The grocers who adulterate, Like me go robbing all round. The milkman in his lowly walk Goes robbing all round, all round, all round; When, 'stead of milk, he walks his chalk, And so goes robbing around. The publican dilutes our beer, A robbing all round, all round, all round; With water, and still worse, I fear, So he goes robbing all round. In all we eat, or drink, or buy, There's robbing all round, all round, all round, And tradesmen with each other vie, Who'll best do robbing all round. Who'll first at me, then, throw a stone For robbing around, around, around? My trade's as honest as their own, Since all go robbing around. Mr. Burnand has written two burlesques on "Antony and Cleopatra"—one brought out under that title at the Haymarket in 1866; the other produced at the Gaiety in 1873, under the name of "Our Own Antony and Cleopatra." A third travestie of the tragedy, called "Mdlle. Cleopatra," and written by Mr. W. Sapte, junior, was seen at the Avenue in the present year. |
|
