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the dialogue of "Alcestis" we have such quips as these:
E'en like a detonator down he goes
To pay the debt o' natur which he owes.
To curb my rising love I idly tries,
I eyes the idol that I idolise !
I may be captivating; but Death, stronger,
Will not be kept-a-vaiting any longer.
I'd no time to aggravate Mamma,
Or make my Pa my foe by a faux pas !
Why was I ever saddled with this bridal ?
I'm a flirt, I'm a flirt, yet on thirty's bright side,
And numbers have offer'd to make me their bride;
Yet, though suitors don't flag in attention to me,
I'm a flirt, I'm a flirt, and my hand is yet free!
He jests at scars who ne'er in climbing hit upon
A place with spikes and broken glass to sit upon.
But soft, a light! where lights are there's a liver.
'Tis she! I'll try a gentle hint to give her
Upon my mandoline, though I'm afraid
I'm somewhat too hoarse for a serenade.
This night air is too musical by far,
And on my chest has struck a light catarrh
Ah, see! The window opens it is she,
More fair than ever in her robe de nuit .
(Atalanta appears on balcony above.)
She speaks yet nothing says! She's not to blame,
Members of Parliament do much the same.
Her mouth rests on her hand I'm not above
Wishing I were upon that hand a glove.
Gladly the storms of Poverty I'd weather,
So we might live from hand to mouth together!
I do and see
'Tis a degree too far-in-height for me.
Of recent years Atalanta has been made the heroine of a burlesque by Mr. G. P. Hawtrey. Of this I give some account in my final chapter on "The New Burlesque."
in an Electric Light," performed at the Haymarket the year following. In "Pluto and Proserpine," as in his other pieces, the original myth is followed closely. One passage supplies a happy parody of the famous "palace-lifting-to-eternal-summer" speech in "The Lady of Lyons." Pluto has appeared to Proserpine as a young man, and has laid siege to her heart in proper form. He is careful not to disclose his identity. At last Proserpine says:
But I must know at least, sir, where you lodge.
Pluto (aside ). I'll try the popular Claude Melnotte dodge.
(Walks her across the stage, as Claude does Pauline.)
If, therefore, dearest, you would have me paint
My residence exactly (aside ) as it ain't,
(Aloud ) I would entreat you, Proserpine, to come where
A palace lifting to eternal somewhere
Its marble halls invites us.
Proserp. By-the-bye,
Where is this place?
Pluto (embarrassed ). In the Isle of Skye.
Thy days all cloudless sunshine shall remain,
For on our pleasure we will ne'er draw rein ;
At noon we'd sit beneath the vine-arched bowers,
And, losing all our calculating powers,
Think days but minutes reckoning time by ours ;
Darkness shall be at once with light replaced,
When my hand lights on that light taper waist;
Our friends shall all true constant lovers be
(So we should not be bored with company);
Love's Entertainments only would we seek,
And, sending up to Mudie's once a week,
No tales that were not Lover's we'd bespeak,
No sentiments in which we were not sharers
(Think what a lot of rubbish that would spare us)
Dost like the picture, love, or are you bored?
Proserp. Beautiful!
Pluto (aside ).
'Tis a copy after Claude .
Diana. You never weigh a word, dear, you're so wild.
Proserp. You used to call me such a wayward child.
You've yet to learn the notions of propriety,
Observed by dogs in upper-air society;
So I'll exhibit in a bird's eye view
Th' ordeal well-bred puppies must go through.
Your thoughts you show too openly on earth
They oft are saddest who display most mirth;
You must by no means growl to mark resentment,
Or wag your tail in token of contentment;
When most you're doing wrong, be most polite,
And ne'er your teeth show less than when you bite,
So may you still enjoy, when youth is past,
The sunshine of your dog-days to the last.
I have already referred to three classical burlesques by H. J. Byron. A fourth exists in the "original classical pastoral" called "Pan," which first saw the light at the Adelphi in 1865. Pan, it may be recorded, was impersonated by Mr. J. L. Toole. He had a good deal to say, and much of it was in the form of jeux de mots . Take, for example, the passage in which Pan discovers that Syrinx, whom he loves, is in love with Narcissus. He calls down thunder from the skies; and then follows this tirade:
Narcissus. What means this sudden dreadful change, I wonder?
Pan. It means, great Pan is outraged!
Omnes. Pan!
Pan. Ah, Pan!
Beware his hate and jealousy, young man.
Blight shall o'erwhelm ye! See, your native corn
Turns into ashes with my withering scorn.
Your wheat shall shrink and shrivel, every sheaf;
Your cattle swell the cattle logue of grief;
With murrain all your sheep rot in their pens,
The pip shall finish all your cocks and hens;
Dry rot shall spoil your flails, your ploughs, and harrows,
Break up your waggons; even your wheel -barrows
Shall come to woe .
Your land shall grow so hard, in vain you tills.
Like lazy volunteers, with weakish wills,
It will object to being bored by drills .
Your turnip-tops shan't spring up from the roots,
Your rye shall grow awry, your corn shan't shoot,
Your peas, towards which the Arcadian feeder leans,
Become things of the past , and all turn beans ,
Ha, ha! the prospect cuts you to the core,
Probes, punctures, penetrates. Pour, torrents, pour!
Descend, ye hailstones, bumpers, thumpers, fizzers;
It cuts you like a knife , doesn't it, Nar-scissors ?
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