Chapter IV: Preface (4)

When the two grow up (as they do between the first scene and the second), the question is, which is to be King of Rome--a question decided eventually by personal combat, in which Remus falls. Ultimately the pair decide to be partners in the throne--an obvious allusion to the position held by the two actors in reference to the Vaudeville Theatre.

The date of the production of "Romulus and Remus" (1872) could be fixed by the aid of a brief passage introduced in travestie of a scene between Cromwell and the King in Mr. Wills's "Charles I.," then "running" at the Lyceum. Early in the piece we have these lines:--

_Remus._ The public will have (though to me it's pills)
The classic drama. Well, they have their _Wills_.

_Apollo._ One manager this line keeps without swerving--

_Baccharia._ And he succeeds!

_Romulus._ But not without des-_erving_.

Later, Remus says to Romulus:--

I can't express to you the pain I suffer
In saying it; but, brother, you're a duffer!
I am the happy man! Pride has a tumble!
Your hopes of reigning, sir, are _all of a crumble_!

_Rom._ You dare to scoff at me, rebellious thing! (_knocks his hat
off_)
Uncover in the presence of your king!
(_To audience_) That's historical!

_Rem._ What! strike me, dare you?
(_Quietly_) Give me an earldom, and perhaps I'll spare you!

_Rom._ Your base insinuation I resent.
I go in for king and parliament.

_Rem._ Your parliament's all gingerbread! (How nice!)
I am a patriot and will have my price.

_Rom._ Defied! (_blows trumpet_). What, ho! my faithful guards,
where be 'em?
(_Enter, from various entrances, all the characters, and
supers. Tableau as in "Charles I."_)
(_To audience_) I say! They can't beat _that_ at the Lyceum.

In this piece Apollo (Miss Nelly Power) figures as a sort of Chorus, commenting on the action and interposing in it; while Baccharia (Miss Maria Rhodes) is represented as the sister of Tatius and a husband-huntress. The burlesque has all Mr. Reece's ingenuity in _jeu-de-mot_ work. For instance:--

_Tatius._ This is too much!

_Baccharia._ To boast of deeds audacious.

_Tatius._ Too callous!

_Romulus._ _Calais!_ Don't be _Ostend-Tatius!_

Mr. Burnand's "Julius Cnæsar" made the walls of the Royalty resound with laughter in the autumn of 1870. In the spring of 1869 William Brough had brought out at the Strand his version of the tale of Joan of Arc, whom he represented as the leader of a troop of Amazons, extremely interested in Woman's Rights. She comes, as in history, to the French king's assistance; but, falling in love with a young English soldier, is captured by the invaders and condemned to resume female attire,--a sentence which in the end she manages to evade. A leading part is played by the Duke of Burgundy, who is for ever uncertain on which side he shall fight, and whose name provides frequent opportunity for punning. Thus:--

_Dunois._ See, Burgundy comes!

_King._ Is he indeed with me?
As a rule Burgundy ne'er yet agreed with me.
He says he is my friend!

_Duchatel._ Well, that's a thumper!
The name of Burgundy suggests a bumper!

_La Hire._ He comes!

_King_ (_looking off_). With what a swagger, too! It's clear
Burgundy doesn't think himself small beer!

Again:--

_Lionel._ Then, my lord, Burgundy, with all his train,
Will join our ranks.

_Talbot._ My plans are changed again!
He'll lick the foe in no time--if not quicker!
Burgundy's such a very potent _licker_!
Strengthened by him, war's hardest blows we'll mock--
With a strong Burgundy, despise a kn_ock_.

Here, too, is a clever bit of word-play:--

_Burgundy._ The _proffer'd table_ I must needs refuse;
My time I can more _profitably_ use.
I can't _dine nicely_ while with projects vasty
My mind is filled for changing the _dy-nasty_.

On this occasion Joan was impersonated by Mr. Thomas Thorne, Mr. David James being the Duke of Burgundy, Miss Eleanor Button the King, Miss Bella Goodall the Dunois, and Miss Amy Sheridan the Lionel. In the present year Joan of Arc has again become the subject of "respectful perversion,"--this time by Messrs. J. L. Shine and "Adrian Ross," and after a fashion to which I shall draw attention in my final chapter.

Of foreign notabilities, the only other subject of burlesque worth mentioning is Christopher Columbus, who gave the title to, and was the principal character in, a piece written by Mr. Alfred Thompson, and performed at the Gaiety two-and-thirty years ago. He was also the hero of a travestie by John Brougham, played in America.

The first English personage in burlesque, in point of historical order, is the legendary King Arthur, who was the chief figure in an "extravaganza" produced at the Haymarket in 1863.[33] Of this the author was William Brough, who owed considerably more to Malory than to Tennyson. There was a scene in which, as in the "Idylls," Vivien makes Merlin the victim of his own spell; but otherwise the laureate's withers were unwrung. Arthur (Miss Louise Keeley) becomes King of Britain by virtue of his power to draw the magic sword from the stone in which it is embedded. He is looking forward to wed Guinevere (Miss Wright), when suddenly she is captured by Cheldric, the Saxon invader, from whom, however, she is successfully re-captured by the aid of Vivien (Miss Romer) as the wielder of Merlin's wand. Sir Launcelot (Miss Lindley) is exhibited less as the lover of Guinevere than as a warrior; another prominent knight is the cowardly Sir Key, represented by Compton. Of direct parody, as I have said, the piece has little; of punning, as usual, it is all compact. Vivien says to Merlin:--

[33] "King Arthur, or the Days and Knights of the Round Table."

Teach me your art. In magic I'd excel;
In studies deep I'd plunge, a _diving belle_.

And again,--

Now for my lesson. It's a curious thing,
But knowledge is _increased_ by _lessoning_.

Arthur says to Guinevere:--

Fortune us has made alike;
I've acted like a _spoon_--while you act _ladle_-like!

Also, when he has lost his _ladle_-love:--

My Guinevere made prisoner, Merlin too!
Both I've to rue, if 'tis indeed _ter-rue_.
To cope with all these horrors can I hope?
What evil stars affect my horrors-cope!
No one can I, the slightest aid to lend, see;
I'm in a frenzy since I can no _friend see_.
My wits, unstrung, hang loose my head inside,
What should be Christmas feels like _wits-untied_.

Guinevere, on her part, is equally afflicted with the punning mania. While immured in Cheldric's castle, she soliloquises:--

Shall I endure this state of things unjust?
I, Arthur's destined spouse? I _spouse_ I must.
How _sad a loss_ is mine! regrets are idle!
A _saddle 'oss_, including _reign_ and _bridal_.
My star uprising side by side with his'n,
No more uprising now, my fate's _a-prison_.
This roomy kingdom, mine in expectation--
Now I have nought but my own _room-i-nation_.
Kept by the Saxon in this den of his,
I'm numbed with cold--no doubt the _room-it-is_.

In Australia, twenty-three years ago, there was produced a burlesque called "King Arthur, or Launcelot the Loose, Gin-ever the Square, and the Knights of the Round Table, and other Furniture"; the perpetrator's name was W. M. Akhurst. Of recent years, the only prominent travestie of the subject has been that produced in 1889, by Messrs. Richard Butler and Henry Chance Newton ("Richard-Henry"), who entitled their work "Launcelot the Lovely, or the Idol of the King." Here, again, Tennyson and Malory were both very loyally and lightly treated, and, though Mr. Arthur Roberts as Launcelot was eminently funny, the prepossessions of the audience were in no way shocked.

The romantic tale of the loves of Fair Rosamond and His Majesty Henry II. has naturally attracted the notice of the travestie writers. In one instance, I regret to record, it fared very ill at the hands of the "dramatist." One T. P. Taylor brought out at Sadler's Wells in the 'thirties a one-act piece which he called "Fair Rosamond according to the History of England," in which the story was at once modernised and degraded. Henry became a Mr. Henry King--"a ruler, having been a stationer"; the Queen necessarily figured as "Mrs. Ellinor King." Rosamond herself was transmogrified into "a black girl, fair yet faulty," talking in "darkey" patois, and furnished with a father, black like herself, who combined the profession of fiddler and boot-black. The piece appears to have been successful in its day, but, to read, it is both vulgar and without a spark of wit.

Happily, the subject was taken up in our own time by Mr. Burnand, whose "Fair Rosamond, or the Maze, the Maid, and the Monarch," seen at the Olympic in 1862, is among the most vivacious of his productions.[34] Here the writer boldly breaks away from historical tradition. He makes Henry in love with Rosamond, it is true; but Rosamond (Miss Hughes), on her side, has given her heart to Sir Pierre de Bonbon (Horace Wigan)--a Frenchman, as his name betokens. As Rosamond sings in the _finale_:--

[34] Mr. Frederick Langbridge has printed a burlesque on this subject,
with a title somewhat similar.

Hist'ry says that Rosamond
Of King Hen-e-ry was fond;
Thus my character was wronged,
By a base aspersion;
To old stories don't _you_ trust,
Covered up with ages' dust.
For the truth henceforth you must
Take our Wych Street version.

Rosamond, therefore, being innocent, it stands to reason that it would not be fair to poison her, as in the story; and so the Queen (played originally by Robson) is made to excuse her clemency in not forcing the girl to accept the "cup" she offers her:--

Why's Rosamond not killed at all? You see,
She isn't poisoned as she ought to be!
Because, in deference to modern ways,
No poisoned heroines can end our plays;
Besides, the brimming cup she held this minute,
Like the objection, friends, has nothing in it.
You'll say, with history we freedom use;
Well, don't historians write to suit their views?
We answer to the critical consistory,
That we have made _our_ views to suit our history.

One of the most amusing scenes in the burlesque is that in which Ellinor meets Henry for the first time after hearing of his infidelity:--

_Q. Ellinor_ (_coming down close to Henry_). Ahem!

_K. Henry._ You spoke. (_Aside_) I see with rage she's brimming.

_Q. Ellin._ (_aside_). I gave a "hem"--now I'll begin my trimming.
False man!

_K. Hen._ Pooh, pooh! the epithet's beneath
Contempt--I cast it in your false teeth.

_Q. Ellin._ False teeth!

_K. Hen._ False hair!

_Q. Ellin._ Your speech, sir, is too blunt.
_False hair!_ I will not put up with affront,
I'd rather dye.

_K. Hen._ For my consent don't wait;
_Die early!_ on this subject don't _di-late_.

_Q. Ellin._ Dost thou remember once a foreign land,
Dost thou remember lovers hand in hand,
Dost thou remember those soft murmuring lispers,
Dost thou remember 'twas the hour of _Vispers_,
Dost thou remember, as I think you must,
_Dost_ thou----

_K. Hen._ Oh! do not kick up such a _dust_.
I really cannot stand and listen to it,
Thank goodness, no one but yourself _du'st_ do it.

_Q. Ellin._ Treat me with scorn--that's right. Oh, ne'er was seen
A _suv'rin_ King with such a _suff'rin_ Queen!

Following the stream of time, we arrive next at a travestie of the insurrection, in the reign of Richard II., in which Wat Tyler was the prime mover. Tyler deserves celebration in the history of burlesque as the hero of the only work of this kind produced by Mr. George Augustus Sala. This well-known _littérateur_ came out as a writer of travestie at the Gaiety in 1869, but has not been tempted to repeat the achievement. The fact is to be regretted, for his "Wat Tyler, M.P." had many strokes of wit and satire. Wat, being named Tyler, naturally became, in a piece of this _genre_, a hatter. He is portrayed as aspiring to Parliament, succeeding in his candidature, resisting payment of a tax upon chignons, heading a revolt against the powers that were, penetrating triumphantly into the royal palace, there getting drunk, and being, in the end, overpowered by the forces of the King. In his address to the electors from the hustings, there is a pleasant amalgam of pun and sarcasm. Tyler (who was impersonated by Mr. Toole) begins by saying:--

A poor industrious hatter I stand here (_cheers_),
And standing now proceed to take that _cheer_.
You know me!

_Crowd._ Sartainly.

_Wat._ Am I a fool?

_Crowd._ No!

_Wat._ Was I ever base corruption's _Toole_?
Patriots, potwallopers, and townsmen dear,
Voters unbribable and pure, look 'ere.
Your sympathy my warmest thanks evokes,
For you I'd brave the very _block_--my _blokes_!
Tho' yonder dandy may treat me with scorn,
I was of poor but honest parents born.
Just twenty years ago, in ragged gown
And soleless shoes, I trudged into this town,
With one-and-ninepence and two plated spoons
Within the pockets of my pantaloons.

_Beaumanners._ Where did you get the spoons from?

_Wat._ See how malice
Ever conspires to drug the poor man's chalice!
Where did I get the spoons from? Well, so far
As I remember--from my grandmamma!
But you, my friends, my whole career have seen.
People of Essex, both these hands are clean (_holds out his hands_).

_Oldest inhabitant._ They ain't.

_Wat._ They is! Who's that? Some tyrant's minion.
Gag him! and vote for freedom of opinion,

(_Inhabitant is hustled off the stage._)

Few are the promises you'll hear from me.
Send me to Westminster as your M.P.,
And you shall see----

_Crowd._ What?

_Wat._ Here's what you shall see:
Wealth, splendour, carriages and four--that's what;
The strongest ale a halfpenny a pot,
Taxes abolished, grievances amended,
And all the theatres' free lists ne'er suspended,
Washing for nothing, pickles, pastry, fun,
And Wallsend coals at eighteenpence a ton.
Give me your votes, and by next Michaelmas quarter
Each man shall have the moon who owns a pail of water.
Then a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
Shall live on eggs and bacon neatly fried.
The workhouse poor shall feed on buttered crumpets,
And eat roast mutton to the sound of trumpets;
The beggar smoke the best Bengal cheroots,
And have another man to clean his boots.

_Beaumanners._ Suppose to this the other makes objection?

_Wat._ You hear my honourable friend's reflection.
In such a case, deny it if you can,
It's plain that we must hang the other man.
I've said my say; the Commons are my goal;
I am a hatter--let me head the poll.

Beaumanners, who is in love with Tyler's daughter Ellen (Miss Constance Loseby), was represented by Miss Ellen Farren,[35] to whom Mr. Sala assigned the delivery of some of his best puns--as, for instance:--

[35] The cast was particularly good, including Miss Rose Coghlan as the
King, Miss Litton as the Queen, Maclean as Walworth, Mrs. Leigh as Mrs.
Tyler, Miss Tremaine, and J. B. Rae.

It seems to me the business of a _pa_
Is simply all his children's bliss to _mar_.

Jane Shore has been the heroine of a burlesque written by Mr. Wilton Jones, and brought out in the provinces eleven years ago. Messrs. "Richard Henry" have also composed a travestie of her story, as handed down by chroniclers. In Mr. Jones's piece reliance was placed, as of old, upon humorous situation and ear-splitting pun. I give an example of both qualities. Jane has denounced Richard, Duke of Gloucester, as the murderer of the Princes in the Tower, and he now proclaims her doom:--

_Gloucester._ Policemen, hear the sentence on Jane Shore--
(_Reading from scroll_) She's never to have dinner any more;
No breakfast, tea nor supper--that's her fate--
No matter how much she may _supper_-licate.
She'll starve to death for being over pert.

_Jane_ (_feebly_). No _dinner_?

_Gloucester._ No, ma'am; only your _desert_.
High treason is her crime, and I repeat
No one shall give her anything to eat;
She'll have the fields, the roads to rest her knees on,
And if she likes can even sleep _high trees on_;
But take good care no pity she arouses--
And mind you keep her from the public-houses!

_Jane_ (_aghast_). And is that _all_ the sentence? I shall drop!

_Gloucester._ Yes--there the sentence comes to a _full stop_.

_Jane._ Then for the sentence I had best prepare.
Will some one kindly let down my back hair?

(_Catesby and Hastings let her back hair down._)

_Jane._ Well, if you won't remove this dreadful ban,
I'll die as picturesquely as I can!

In three well-known travesties, Henry VIII. plays the most conspicuous part--in William Brough's "Field of the Cloth of Gold" (1868, Strand), in Mr. Burnand's "Windsor Castle" (Strand, 1865), and Mr. Conway Edwardes' "Anne Boleyn" (Royalty, 1872). I name these in the order in which they deal with historical events. In "The Field of the Cloth of Gold" Katherine of Arragon is Queen, with Anne Boleyn (Miss F. Hughes) as maid of honour and (as Her Majesty suspects) a rival. To this suspicion Anne makes reference in the following lines:--

Queen Katherine! her I'm quite afraid of;
She vows it isn't _honour_ that I'm _maid_ of;
Declares King Henry loves me--as for me,
I am no better than I ought to be;
Such language she employs, I'm grieved to state
Queen _Kate_ gets daily more _in-daily-Kate_.
If I remonstrate, or to her appeal,
Katherine goes off like a Katherine wheel.

In "Windsor Castle" the King is in love, more or less, with Anne (Mr. Thomas Thorne), but inclined to let his vagrant fancy wander after Mabel Lynwood (Miss Ada Swanborough), who turns out to be Anne's sister. Anne, it is recorded, sang like a siren, and was especially addicted to a few French ditties. Of these Mr. Burnand makes her sing a diverting parody, printed, in "the book of the play," in French "as she is pronounced." The song is called

CHARNSUNNETTE D'ANNE BOLEYN,

_Arngtitulay_

"LER SHEVALIAY AY SAR BELLAY."

I.

Le Sh'valiay ay sar Bellay,
Ker deetial Sir Grong Mossoo lar?
Avec lespree der Jernessay
"Commongvoo portayvoo?"
Parley voo frarngsay?
Parley voo--Tra-la-la-la-la-la.
(_Refrang_). Parley voo, etc.

"O Sh'valiay," dit sar Bellay,
"Cumbeang ler caffy newaur lar?"
"Ay p'tee tas o der veeay?"
Toot sweet o reservoir.
Jenner comprong par
Jenner com--Tra-la-la-la-la.
(_Refrang_). Jenner com, etc.

_Morale._

Kong Johnteyomme L'Onglay say
Daymarnd lay pomme de tare lar
Partong poor lar Syreeay
Ay Veve lar Lester Square!
Charnsong ay finny
O sey ay finny mong tra-la-la-la.

In "Anne Boleyn," again, Anne (E. Danvers) is at last Queen, but with her life embittered by King Henry's flirtations with Jane Seymour (Miss Harriet Coveney). Thus, in one place, Anne exclaims:--

Again he slights me! Bubbling heart, be still!
Keep Henry from that girl I must, and will!
She hinted I--in language far from vague--
Like _Xantippe_, was _sent to be_ a plague;
Openly told that corpulent barbarian
I'm his "grey mare," and also no _grey-mare-ian_;
Said I'm a vixen, and in manner rude
Told him he wasn't _wise_ to be so _shrew'd_.
My happiness she's marred, my heart she's wrung
With _hideous hints_ from her (h)insidious tongue.
She would ke-rush me!--ah! But soft--no riot!
Now, bubbling heart, oblige me, and lie quiet.

The King himself describes the course of his feelings towards Anne in the following ditty:--

When I courted Anne Boleyn, with love I was drunk,
Oh, I cannot remember the thoughts that I--_thunk_,
I know I winked at her, and she at me--_wunk_,
With my itheremyky, kitheremyky,
Katheremyku-etty cum, fol de rol liddle de ray.

I said, "Let me kneel at your feet," and I--_knole_,
And I asked her upon me to smile, and she--_smole_,
Then I said, "I feel happier than ever I--_fole_"
With my, etc.

She murmured, "My waist do not squeeze," but I--_squoze_,
And remained at her feet till she told me to--_rose_,
For she wanted to sneeze, and softly she--_snoze_,
With my, etc.

For a time I continued to woo, yes, I--_wode_,
Then I asked her to go to the church, and we--_gode_,
Having made up our minds to be tied, we were--_tode_,
With my, etc.

Time winged his swift course, yes, his swift course Time--_wung_;
And this was the thing he was bringing, and--_brung_;
Dislike for Anne Boleyn, I wish she was _hung_!
With my, etc.

"The Field of the Cloth of Gold" (which was revived in London, with only tolerable success, a year or two ago) has to do mainly with the meeting of Henry VIII. and Francis I. (Mr. David James) on that historic spot--an event which is here surrounded with the most ludicrous circumstances possible. There is a sub-plot which deals with the loves of Constance de Grey (Miss A. Swanborough) and the Earl of Darnley (Miss Lydia Thompson), as interrupted and jeopardised by the pretensions and machinations of Sir Guy the Cripple (Mr. Thomas Thorne). The comic incidents are somewhat pantomimical, and the main merit of the piece lies in the humour of its dialogue, which is always sparkling. One of the puns in this burlesque is among the very best ever perpetrated, and is, indeed, a historical possession. Need I quote it? The King has crossed over from Dover to Calais on a stormy day, and arrives in a very "indisposed" condition:--

_Henry._ I am ill.

_Suffolk._ Nay, sire, cheer up, I pray.

_Henry._ Yesterday all was fair--a glorious Sunday,
But this _sick transit_ spoils the _glory o' Monday_.

But the piece is full of quips almost equally good. Mark the puns that the two kings fire off at each other when they foregather on the Field of the Cloth of Gold:--

_Henry._ Pshaw! Bluff King Hal fears not to make advances
So long as the great King of _France is Francis_.

_Francis._ With pride I this alliance look upon,
While _Hal be on_ the throne of _Albion_.

_Henry._ The English Harry'd flattery despise,
He deems _all truths_ here uttered by _al-lies_.
Of good old racy stock, he scorns hypocrisy.

_Francis._ We've heard much of the English _Harri-stock-racy_.

After this, one thinks comparatively little of such sallies as:--

"You an _exile_ here are _rated_."
"Yes,
It's not _exile-a-rating_, I confess."

So, sire, I on the Tuesday ran away,
To 'scape the _wedding_ on the _Wedding's day_.

"Oh, mind! my hair you out in handfuls pull."
"Why so much cry about a little wool?"

At one point we have:--

_De Bois._ Your Majesty, we've sought you everywhere.
Your absence much alarm has been creating,
Even the royal dinner's been kept waiting
Till you came home.

_Francis._ So you regret, I see,
The _missing dinner_--not the _absentee_.

Surrey, in "Windsor Castle," is represented not only as poet but as composer, and in the combined characters puts together a love song addressed to his Geraldine. Unfortunately, when he comes to sing it to her, he finds he has forgotten some of the words:--

_Surrey._ Well! the _refrain_ which I composed as well,
Is no "Fol de riddle lol," made in my cell;
Where, 'stead of idly _lolling_ all the day,
My time I fol de riddle _lolled_ away,
I cannot somehow call each verse to mind,
But substitutes for words I soon can find;
Toodle um, or something of that sort;
I'll sing the air; 'tis very sweet and short.

(_Sings._)

Oh my Geraldine,
No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um.
(_Fondly_) You are my lum ti toodle lay,
Pretty, pretty queen
Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen,
(_Rapturously_) More sweet than tiddle lum in May.
Like the star so bright,
That something's all the night,
My Geraldine!
(_With intensity_) You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen,

_Boleyn_ (_without_). What, ho!

_Surrey_ (_speaks impressively_). This is impromptu.
Hark! there is what--ho!
From something-um, you know,
Dear, what I mean.
(_With deep feeling_) Oh! rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine.

"Anne Boleyn" is particularly prolific in good puns, in the making of which the author showed himself an adept. It would be a pleasure to quote a few of them, but I give instead some lines in which, speaking through the mouth of one of his characters, the writer satirises the methods of the old-fashioned drama:--

_Mine_ were the "palmy days" when, I declare,
A little table and two chairs, sir, were
Thought furniture sufficient for a scene;
When a baize drugget--generally green--
Covered the stage where'er the place was laid,
Serving alike for palace, cot or glade;
When, in a drawing-room, a servant-maid
Would sing a duet with the comic man;
When dramas only for a few nights ran;
When a rhymed tag to every piece was tacked;
When most plays had a dozen scenes an act;
When bucket boots and ringlet wigs were worn,
"Acting's a lost art," sir, since _you_ were born;
Those are the days which I look back upon,
Of broadsword combats with--"Ha, ha! Come on!"

Good Queen Bess was added to Mr. Burnand's gallery in 1870, when his "E-liz-a-beth, or the Don, the Duck, the Drake, and the Invisible Armada," was brought out at the Vaudeville, with Mr. Thorne as the Queen, Mr. David James as Whiskerandos, and George Honey as Drake. The "Maiden Queen" has not been greatly tantalised by the burlesque writers, who, on the other hand, have made very free with a gentleman who much disturbed her successor--Guy Fawkes. Mr. Burnand handled him in 1866 (at the Strand); H. J. Byron followed suit at the Gaiety in 1874; last year we had the "Guy Fawkes, Esq." of Messrs. "A. C. Torr" (Fred Leslie) and H. F. Clark; and I believe that Mr. Wilton Jones, too, has written a travestie on the subject. Charles II. was burlesqued by Mr. Gilbert Arthur a'Beckett in 1872, the _locale_ being the Court Theatre, and the full title of the piece "Charles II., or Something like History." In this, as in Mr. Reece's "Romulus and Remus," there was some parody of the Lyceum "Charles I."--Mr. Righton, as Cromwell, imitating both Mr. Irving and George Belmore, besides indulging in the cancan! W. J. Hill was the King, and Mme. Cornèlie D'Anka the Queen (Catherine of Braganza). Pepys, Rochester, and Lily the Astrologer also figured in the piece. Cromwell was afterwards the leading personage in the "Oliver Grumble" of Mr. George Dance (Novelty, 1886).

About the names of such heroes and heroines as the Lady Godiva, Dick Whittington, Robin Hood, Herne the Hunter, and those distinguished footpads Claude Duval and Dick Turpin, there hangs a good deal that is clearly mythical. Still, some myths have more real vitality than absolute fact; and who does not believe firmly that the Lady Godiva rode round Coventry "clothed on" with nothing but her chastity, and, by taking away a grinding tax, "built herself an everlasting name"? Her adventure has been burlesqued at least twice--once by Francis Talfourd and a collaborator, at another time by Mr. H. Chance Newton. The Talfourd piece was called "Godiva, or Y^e Ladye of Coventrie and Y^e Exyle Fayrie" and produced at the Strand in 1851. Mr. Newton christened his work "Giddy Godiva." In the earlier burlesque, "y^e exyle fayrie" Ignota (Miss Romer) is introduced merely as a _dea ex machinâ_ in the interests of the heroine (Miss Marshall), who, in a passage of Shakespearean reminiscence, discusses the undertaking to which she has been incited by her husband:--

To be, or not to be, at his suggestion,
A pose plastique, is yet a doubtful question!
To bare my arms against a sea of troubles,
And by a pose to end them! Each day doubles
The people's wrongs, the proud Earl's heavy tax;
To help to ease them I would not be lax;
But then to ride--riding, by some low scrub
Perhaps be seen!--Ah, bother--there's the rub!
The fear that still my courage may be less
When I have shuffled off this mortal dress,
Must give me pause.

A prominent character in the piece is Our Own Reporter, "Y^e Specyall Commyssionere and Correspondente of y^e _Busie Bee_" (John Reeve), who would fain play the part of Peeping Tom, and who, early in the play, sings a song wittily descriptive of his ordinary avocations:--

_Rep._ I'm a mercantile man, and my living is got
By selling of articles----

_Leofric and Godwin._ What? what? what?

_Rep._ They're white and black, they're short and long,
And some of them sometimes go for a song;
And during my time, of labour by dint,
I've set up many a column of----

_Leo._ Granite?

_Godwin._ Iron?

_Leo._ Gutta Percha?

_Rep._ No, no; that's not the sort of thing to make up the business
that I do!

* * * * *

_Rep._ I'm a military man, for I often have a shot
At public foes with----

_Leofric and Godwin._ What? what? what?

_Rep._ If I fire at you 'twill be no joke,
For you'll hear the report, but see no smoke;
And my charge is prepared with what do you think?
By a devil and steam, of paper and----

_Leo._ Sulphur and brimstone?

_Godwin._ Gunpowder?

_Leo._ Gun-cotton?

_Rep._ No, no; that's not the sort of thing to make up the business
that I do!

* * * * *

_Rep._ I'm a literary man, and I can put a blot
On a proud snob's scutcheon----

_Leofric and Godwin._ Hey! what? what? what?

_Rep._ And if I mention the people's woes,
And show you up, why down you goes;
And the flow of language that I possess
Will open the tide of the Public----

_Leo._ Water Companies?

_Godwin._ Baths and Washhouses?

_Leo._ I have it--Press!

_Rep._ Just so! Now you know the sort of thing that makes up the
business that I do!

Three burlesques have been devoted to the life and adventures of Sir Richard Whittington. There was, first, the "Whittington Junior, and his Sensation Cat," of Mr. Reece (Royalty, 1870); next, the "Young Dick Whittington" of Mr. Wilton Jones (Leicester, 1881); and next, the "Whittington and his Cat" of Mr. Burnand (Gaiety, 1881). Mr. Reece had Miss Henrietta Hodson (Mrs. Labouchere) for his Whittington, while Miss Farren was Mr. Burnand's. Robin Hood has had at least as many burlesque biographies as Whittington. A travestie, written by Stocqueler, Shirley Brooks, and Charles Kenny, and produced at the Lyceum in 1846, with the Keeleys, Wigan and Frank Matthews, was followed in 1862, at the Olympic, by one from the pen of Mr. Burnand. Mr. Reece wrote one, called "Little Robin Hood," which was seen at the Royalty in 1871, and this was revived--in three-act form--at the Gaiety in 1882, with Mr. Arthur Williams as a particularly droll Richard I. Robin Hood, it may also be noted, was a prominent character in Mr. Burnand's "Hit or 'Miss,'" at the Olympic in 1868. Herne the Hunter (who has a place in Mr. Burnand's "Windsor Castle") was made the leading personage in, and gave the title to, a travestie composed by Messrs. Reece and Yardley, and performed at the Gaiety in 1881. Five years later, at the Folly, we had "Herne the Hunted," in which Mr. H. P. Stephens had a hand, as well as Messrs. Yardley and Reece. Claude Duval was turned into a burlesque hero by Mr. Burnand, and strutted his hour upon the stage at the Royalty in 1869; followed _longo intervallo_ by Turpin--here called "Dandy Dick Turpin, the Mashing Highwayman,"--whom Mr. Geoffrey Thorn (Charles Townley) made the chief personage of a travestie performed in London in 1889.

VI.

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 uniformly successful, for the earlier specimens were singularly weak--but because of the general daring of the attempts, and because also of the genuine sense of fun exhibited by such baiters of "the Bard" as Gilbert a'Beckett, Francis Talfourd, Stirling Coyne, William Brough, Andrew Halliday (Duff), F. C. Burnand, H. J. Byron, and W. S. Gilbert. The business of burlesquing Shakespeare has never, so far as I can see, been taken up in a wholesale or an intentionally irreverent spirit. The seventeenth and eighteenth-century satirists left "the Bard" severely alone, and it was not until 1810 that the first formal travestie of Shakespeare--Poole's "Hamlet Travestie"--saw the light.[36] The author then made all due apology for his temerity, at the same time pointing out the absurdity of the idea that any amount or kind of burlesque could possibly sully the fame of the dramatist. Two years later, in the course of his preface to the fourth edition of his work, Poole ironically congratulated "those who, on its first appearance, were apprehensive for the reputation of Shakespeare," upon the fact "that, notwithstanding Three Editions already before the public, he is neither expelled from our libraries, nor banished from our stage."

[36] It was performed at Covent Garden in 1813, with Mathews as Hamlet,
Blanchard as the King, Liston as Ophelia, and Mrs. Liston as the Queen.
It was revived in 1874 on one occasion with Mr. Odell as Hamlet, and
shortly afterwards with Mr. Leonard Boyne as the Prince, both actors
indulging in an imitation of Mr. Irving's performance.

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 marked by the best intentions, but, as a whole, it makes dreary reading. The opening colloquy between Hamlet, King Claudius, and Queen Gertrude will give, to those who have not already perused the piece, a notion of the quality of the dialogue:--

_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.

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 may be put out of the way. Some Court theatricals are in preparation." Now, once upon a time, Claudius had written a tragedy, which was damned, and to which no one is allowed to make reference on pain of death. "Ophelia and Rosencrantz persuade Hamlet to play his father's tragedy before the king and court. Hamlet, who is unaware of the proscription, does so; and he is banished, and Rosencrantz happily united to Ophelia."

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.

_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"):--

[37] In "Hamlet Improved," by Colonel Colomb, a Mr. Mendall is supposed
to have revised the last act of "Hamlet" in accordance with modern
notions. Polonius is alive, having been only wounded by Hamlet;
Hamlet's father also is alive, having only pretended to be dead. At the
close, the King, Queen, Laertes, and Ophelia, all come to life again.
Hamlet is represented by a stuffed figure, the actor chosen for the
part having refused to enact it.

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:--