Rejected Addresses Part 10

Ah, no! 'twas a dagger of straw - Give me blinkers, to save me from starting; The knife that I thought that I saw Was nought but my eye, Betty Martin.

Now o'er this terrestrial hive A life paralytic is spread; For while the one half is alive, The other is sleepy and dead.

King Duncan, in grand majesty, Has got my state-bed for a snooze; I've lent him my slippers, so I May certainly stand in his shoes.

Blow softly, ye murmuring gales!

Ye feet, rouse no echo in walking!

For though a dead man tells no tales, Dead walls are much given to talking.

This knife shall be in at the death - I'll stick him, then off safely get!

Cries the world, this could not be Macbeth.

For he'd ne'er stick at anything yet.

Hark, hark! 'tis the signal, by goles!

It sounds like a funeral knell; O, hear it hot, Duncan! it tolls To call thee to heaven or h.e.l.l.

Or if you to heaven won't fly, But rather prefer Pluto's ether, Only wait a few years till I die, And we'll go to the devil together.

Ri fol de rol, &c.

CASE, No. II.--THE STRANGER. {71}

Who has e'er been at Drury must needs know the Stranger A wailing old Methodist, gloomy and wan, A husband suspicious--his wife acted Ranger, She took to her heels, and left poor Hypocon.

Her martial gallant swore that truth was a libel, That marriage was thraldom, elopement no sin; Quoth she, I remember the words of my Bible - My spouse is a Stranger, and I'll take him in.

With my sentimentalibus lachrymae roar 'em, And pathos and bathos delightful to see; And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.

To keep up her dignity no longer rich enough, Where was her plate?--why, 'twas laid on the shelf; Her land fuller's earth, and her great riches kitchen-stuff - Dressing the dinner instead of herself.

No longer permitted in diamonds to sparkle, Now plain Mrs. Haller, of servants the dread, With a heart full of grief, and a pan full of charcoal, She lighted the company up to their bed.

Incensed at her flight, her poor Hubby in dudgeon Roam'd after his rib in a gig and a pout, Till, tired with his journey, the peevish curmudgeon Sat down and blubber'd just like a church-spout.

One day, on a bench as dejected and sad he laid, Hearing a squash, he cried, d.a.m.n it, what's that?

'Twas a child of the count's, in whose service lived Adelaide, Soused in the river, and squall'd like a cat.

Having drawn his young excellence up to the bank, it Appear'd that himself was all dripping, I swear; No wonder he soon became dry as a blanket, Exposed as he was to the count's SON and HEIR.

Dear Sir, quoths the count, in reward of your valour, To show that my grat.i.tude is not mere talk, You shall eat a beefsteak with my cook, Mrs. Haller, Cut from the rump with her own knife and fork.

Behold, now the count gave the Stranger a dinner, With gunpowder-tea, which you know brings a ball, And, thin as he was, that he might not glow thinner, He made of the Stranger no stranger at all.

At dinner fair Adelaide brought up a chicken - A bird that she never had met with before; But, seeing him, scream'd, and was carried off kicking, And he bang'd his n.o.b 'gainst the opposite door.

To finish my tale without roundaboutation, Young master and missee besieged their papa; They sung a quartetto in grand blubberation - The Stranger cried Oh! Mrs. Haller cried Ah!

Though pathos and sentiment largely are dealt in, I have no good moral to give in exchange; For though she, as a cook, might be given to melting, The Stranger's behaviour was certainly strange, With this sentimentalibus lachrymae roar 'em, And pathos and bathos delightful to see, And chop and change ribs, a-la-mode Germanorum, And high diddle ho diddle, pop tweedle dee.

CASE, No. III.--GEORGE BARNWELL. {72}

George Barnwell stood at the shop-door, A customer hoping to find, sir; His ap.r.o.n was hanging before, But the tail of his coat was behind, sir.

A lady, so painted and smart, Cried, Sir, I've exhausted my stock o' late; I've got nothing left but a groat - Could you give me four penn'orth of chocolate?

Rum ti, &c.

Her face was rouged up to the eyes, Which made her look prouder and prouder; His hair stood on end with surprise, And hers with pomatum and powder.

The business was soon understood; The lady, who wish'd to be more rich, Cries, Sweet sir, my name is Milwood, And I lodge at the Gunner's in Sh.o.r.editch.

Rum ti, &c.

Now nightly he stole out, good lack!

And into her lodging would pop, sir; And often forgot to come back, Leaving master to shut up the shop, sir.

Her beauty his wits did bereave - Determined to be quite the crack O, He lounged at the Adam and Eve, And call'd for his gin and tobacco.

Rum ti, &c.

And now--for the truth must be told, Though none of a 'prentice should speak ill - He stole from the till all the gold, And ate the lump-sugar and treacle.

In vain did his master exclaim, Dear George, don't engage with that dragon; She'll lead you to sorrow and shame, And leave you the devil a rag on.

Your rum ti, &c.

In vain he entreats and implores The weak and incurable ninny, So kicks him at last out of doors, And Georgy soon spends his last guinea.

His uncle, whose generous purse Had often relieved him, as I know, Now finding him grow worse and worse, Refused to come down with the rhino.

Rum ti, &c.

Cried Milwood, whose cruel heart's core Was so flinty that nothing could shock it, If ye mean to come here any more, Pray come with more cash in your pocket: Make Nunky surrender his dibs, Rub his pate with a pair of lead towels, Or stick a knife into his ribs - I'll warrant he'll then show some bowels.

Rum ti, &c.

A pistol he got from his love - 'Twas loaded with powder and bullet; He trudged off to Camberwell Grove, But wanted the courage to pull it.

There's Nunky as fat as a hog, While I am as lean as a lizard; Here's at you, you stingy old dog! - And he whips a long knife in his gizzard.

Rum ti, &c.

All you who attend to my song, A terrible end of the farce shall see, If you join the inquisitive throng That follow'd poor George to the Marshalsea.

If Milwood were here, dash my wigs, Quoth he, I would pummel and lam her well; Had I stuck to my prunes and figs, I ne'er had stuck Nunky at Camberwell.

Rum ti, &c.

Their bodies were never cut down; For granny relates with amazement, A witch bore 'em over the town, And hung them on Thorowgood's cas.e.m.e.nt, The neighbours, I've heard the folks say, The miracle noisily brag on; And the shop is, to this very day, The sign of the George and the Dragon, Rum ti, &c.

PUNCH'S APOTHEOSIS--BY T. H. {73} {99}

"Rhymes the rudders are of verses, With which, like s.h.i.+ps, they steer their courses."

HUDIBRAS.

Scene draws, and discovers PUNCH on a throne, surrounded by LEAR, LADY MACBETH, MACBETH, OTh.e.l.lO, GEORGE BARNWELL, HAMLET, GHOST, MACHEATH, JULIET, FRAIR, APOTHECARY, ROMEO, and FALSTAFF.--PUNCH descends and addresses them in the following

RECITATIVE.

As manager of horses Mr. Merryman is, So I with you am master of the ceremonies - These grand rejoicings. Let me see, how name ye 'em? - Oh, in Greek lingo 'tis E-pi-thalamium.

October's tenth it is: toss up each hat to-day, And celebrate with shouts our opening Sat.u.r.day!

On this great night 'tis settled by our manager, That we, to please great Johnny Bull, should plan a jeer, Dance a bang-up theatrical cotillion, And put on tuneful Pegasus a pillion; That every soul, whether or not a cough he has, May kick like Harlequin, and sing like Orpheus.

So come, ye pupils of Sir John Gallini, {74} Spin up a tetotum like Angiolini: {75} That John and Mrs. Bull, from ale and tea-houses, May shout huzza for Punch's Apotheosis!

They dance and sing.