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.
Queen. A fair good morrow to you, Rosencrantz. How march the
Royal revels?
Ros. Lamely, madam, lamely, like a one-legged duck. The Prince
has discovered a strange play. He hath called it "A Right Reckoning
Long Delayed."
Claud. And of what fashion is the Prince's play?
Ros. 'Tis an excellent poor tragedy, my Lord—a thing of shreds and
patches welded into a form that hath mass without consistency, like an
ill-built villa.
Queen. But, sir, you should have used your best endeavours to wean
his phantasy from such a play.
Ros. Madam, I did, and with some success; for he now seeth the
absurdity of its tragical catastrophes, and laughs at it as freely as we
do. So, albeit the poor author had hoped to have drawn tears of
sympathy, the Prince hath resolved to present it as a piece of pompous
folly intended to excite no loftier emotion than laughter and surprise.
After Poole published his "Hamlet,"[37] Shakespearean
burlesque slumbered until 1834, when Maurice G. Dowling
produced at Liverpool his "Othello Travestie." In this
dull production, the Moor of Venice figures as "an independent
nigger from the Republic of Hayti," and talks
in "darkey" dialect (as does the same writer's Clifford in
"Fair Rosamond"). Here, for example, is this Othello's
address to the Senate (written and sung to the air of
"Yankee Doodle"):—
Potent, grave, and rev'rend sir,
Very noble massa—
When de maid a man prefer
Den him no can pass her.
Yes, it is most werry true,
Him take dis old man's daughter;
But no by spell, him promise you,
But by fair means him caught her.
'Tis true she lub him berry much,
'Tis true dat off him carry her,
And dat him lub for her is such,
'Tis werry true him marry her.
All dis be true—and till him dead,
Him lub her widout ending—
And dis, my massa, is the head
And tail of him offending.
Dis old man once him lub me too,
Do' now in rage before ye,
And often say, "Come Othello,
And tell us pretty story,
About der time when yon young child,
(You naughty lilly child ye),
And when you 'bout de wood run wild,
And when you sold for slavey."
Den ebery day him tell all dis,
And sometimes lilly lie, too,
And him look in de eye of miss.
And den him hear her sigh, too,
Den missee meet him all alone,
And den him ax her wedder,
Him make de both two hearts in one,
Den off dey run togedder.
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
the King incites Hubert to get rid of Arthur was thus
travestied:—
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!
Come down, my duck: the moon can't stand no chance—
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,"[38]
he did better, I need hardly say, than his predecessor. His
treatment of the balcony scene, for instance, was at least
not vulgar:—
Romeo appears on the top of the wall and comes down ladder.
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,[39] save that, at the end, Romeo,
Juliet, Mercutio, Tybalt, and Paris, were all revived,
much to the indignation of Shakespeare, a statue of whom
appeared, with finger held up in a menacing manner.
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[40] was founded on the Colley Cibber adaptation,
and introduced Henry VI., who, at the end, was represented
as coming to life again and quietly assuming the crown
which Richmond was about to take. Richard also is
resuscitated, after a fashion very popular in burlesques
of Shakespeare. Of literary merit Selby's work had little.
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,
And homœopathically mill me.
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:—
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
Gilchrist as Miranda. This "perversion" was in three
acts, and was one of the productions which led the way to
the New Burlesque.
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:—