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 casement,
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.
XXI.
PUNCH’S APOTHEOSIS.
BY T. H. {102}
[Mr. Hook died 24th August, 1841, in his 53rd year.]
* * * * *
“Rhymes the rudders are of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses.”
HUDIBRAS.
* * * * *
_Scene draws_, _and discovers_ PUNCH _on a throne_, _surrounded by_ LEAR,
LADY MACBETH, MACBETH, OTHELLO, 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 Saturday!
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, {103a}
Spin up a tetotum like Angiolini: {103b}
That John and Mrs. Bull, from ale and tea-houses,
May shout huzza for Punch’s Apotheosis!
_They dance and sing_.
AIR, “_Sure such a day_.”—TOM THUMB.
LEAR.
Dance, Regan! dance, with Cordelia and Goneril—
Down the middle, up again, poussette, and cross;
Stop, Cordelia! do not tread upon her heel,
Regan feeds on coltsfoot, and kicks like a horse.
See, she twists her mutton fists like Molyneux or Beelzebub,
And t’other’s clack, who pats her back, is louder far than hell’s
hubbub.
They tweak my nose, and round it goes—I fear they’ll break the ridge
of it,
Or leave it all just like Vauxhall, with only half the bridge of it.
{103c}
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
LADY MACBETH.
_I_ kill’d the king; my husband is a heavy dunce;
He left the grooms unmassacred, then massacred the stud.
One loves long gloves; for mittens, like king’s evidence,
Let truth with the fingers out, and won’t hide blood.
MACBETH.
When spoonys on two knees implore the aid of sorcery,
To suit their wicked purposes they quickly put the laws awry;
With Adam I in wife may vie, for none could tell the use of her,
Except to cheapen golden pippins hawk’d about by Lucifer.
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
OTHELLO.
Wife, come to life, forgive what your black lover did,
Spit the feathers from your mouth, and munch roast beef;
Iago he may go and be toss’d in the coverlet
That smother’d you, because you pawn’d my handkerchief.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
Why, neger, so eager about your rib immaculate?
Milwood shows for hanging us they’ve got an ugly knack o’ late;
If on beauty ’stead of duty but one peeper bent he sees,
Satan waits with Dolly baits to hook in us apprentices.
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
HAMLET.
I’m Hamlet in camlet; my ap and peri-helia
The moon can fix, which lunatics makes sharp or flat.
I stuck by ill luck, enamour’d of Ophelia,
Old Polony like a sausage, and exclaim’d, “Rat, rat!”
GHOST.
Let Gertrude sup the poison’d cup—no more I’ll be an actor in
Such sorry food, but drink home-brew’d of Whitbread’s manufacturing.
MACHEATH.
I’ll Polly it, and folly it, and dance it quite the dandy O;
But as for tunes, I have but one, and that is Drops of Brandy O.
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
JULIET.
I’m Juliet Capulet, who took a dose of hellebore—
A hell-of-a-bore I found it to put on a pall.
FRIAR.
And I am the friar, who so corpulent a belly bore.
APOTHECARY.
And that is why poor skinny I have none at all.
ROMEO.
I’m the resurrection-man, of buried bodies amorous.
FALSTAFF.
I’m fagg’d to death, and out of breath, and am for quiet clamorous;
For though my paunch is round and stanch, I ne’er begin to feel it ere
I
Feel that I have no stomach left for entertainment military.
OMNES.
Round let us bound, for this is Punch’s holyday,
Glory to Tomfoolery, huzza! huzza!
[_Exeunt dancing_.
* * * * *
THE END.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES
{0a} See Note at p. xiv.
{0b} 12mo., 1833. The first published by Mr. Murray. The “Preface” was
written by Horace Smith; the “Notes” to the Poems by James Smith.
{0c} Samuel Whitbread, M.P. He died by his own hand in 1815.
{0d} This was Horatio, the writer of the present Preface. The envelope
which enclosed his Address to the Committee was sold with two volumes of
the original Addresses at Mr. Winston’s sale, Dec. 14, 1849, and was
inscribed inside “Horatio Smith, 36, Basinghall Street.”
{0e} The passage, as originally written, continued thus: “and among
others, so difficult is it to form a correct judgment in catering to the
public taste, by the very bibliopolist who has now, after an interval of
twenty [_only_ seven] years, purchased the copyright from a brother
bookseller, and ventured upon the present edition.” To this, on the
proof-sheet, the late Mr. Murray appended the following note:—“I never
saw or even had the MS. in my possession; but knowing that Mr. Smith was
brother-in-law to Mr. Cadell, I took it for granted that the MS. had been
previously offered to him and declined.” Mr. H. Smith consequently drew
his pen through the passage.
{0f} Between 1807 and 1810. The _Monthly Mirror_ was edited by Edward
Du Bois, author of “My Pocket-Book,” and by Thomas Hill; the original
Paul Pry; and the Hull of Mr. Theodore Hook’s novel of “Gilbert Gurney.”
{0g} Miss Lydia White, celebrated for her lively wit and for her
blue-stocking parties, unrivalled, it is said, in “the soft realm of
_blue_ May Fair.” She died in 1827, and is mentioned in the diaries of
Scott and Byron.
{0h} See note on “The Beautiful Incendiary,” p. 56.
{1} “The first piece, under the name of the loyal Mr. Fitzgerald, though
as good we suppose as the original, is not very interesting. Whether it
be very like Mr. Fitzgerald or not, however, it must be allowed that the
vulgarity, servility, and gross absurdity of the newspaper scribblers is
well rendered.”—JEFFREY, _Edinburgh Review_.
WILLIAM THOMAS FITZGERALD.—The annotator’s first personal knowledge of
this gentleman was at Harry Greville’s Pic-Nic Theatre, in
Tottenham-street, where he personated Zanga in a wig too small for his
head. The second time of seeing him was at the table of old Lord Dudley,
who familiarly called him Fitz, but forgot to name him in his will. The
Viscount’s son (recently deceased), however, liberally supplied the
omission by a donation of five thousand pounds. The third and last time
of encountering him was at an anniversary dinner of the Literary Fund, at
the Freemasons’ Tavern. Both parties, as two of the stewards, met their
brethren in a small room about half an hour before dinner. The
lampooner, out of delicacy, kept aloof from the poet. The latter,
however, made up to him, when the following dialogue took place:
Fitzgerald (with good humour). “Mr. —, I mean to recite after dinner.”
Mr. —. “Do you?”
Fitzgerald. “Yes: you’ll have more of ‘God bless the Regent and the Duke
of York!’”
The whole of this imitation, after a lapse of twenty years, appears to
the Authors too personal and sarcastic; but they may shelter themselves
under a very broad mantle:
“Let hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern-hall.”—Byron.
Fitzgerald actually sent in an address to the Committee on the 31st of
August, 1812. It was published among the other _Genuine Rejected
Addresses_, in one volume, in that year. The following is an extract:—
“The troubled shade of Garrick, hovering near,
Dropt on the burning pile a pitying tear.”
What a pity that, like Sterne’s recording angel, it did not succeed in
blotting the fire out for ever! That failing, why not adopt Gulliver’s
remedy?
{2} Mr. B. Wyatt, architect of Drury Lane Theatre, son of James Wyatt,
architect of the Pantheon.
{3a} In plain English, the Halfpenny hatch, then a footway through
fields; but now, as the same bards sing elsewhere—
“St. George’s Fields are fields no more,
The trowel supersedes the plough;
Swamps huge and inundate of yore,
Are changed to civic villas now.”
{3b} Covent Garden Theatre was burnt down 20th September, 1808; Drury
Lane Theatre (as before stated) 24th February, 1809.
{4a} The east end of St. James’s Palace was destroyed by fire, 21 Jan.,
1809. The wardrobe of Lady Charlotte Finch (alluded to in the next line)
was burnt in the fire.
{4b} Honourable William Wellesley Pole, now (1854) Earl of Mornington,
married, 14th March, 1812, Catherine, daughter and heir of Sir James
Tylney Long, Bart; upon which occasion he assumed the additional names of
Tylney and Long.
{5a} “The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any of the
higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth’s poetry; but has succeeded perfectly
in the imitation of his mawkish affectations of childish simplicity and
nursery stammering. We hope it will make him ashamed of his _Alice
Fell_, and the greater part of his last volumes—of which it is by no
means a parody, but a very fair, and indeed we think a flattering,
imitation.”—JEFFERY, _Edinburgh Review_.
{5b} Jack and Nancy, as it was afterwards remarked to the Authors, are
here made to come into the world at periods not sufficiently remote. The
writers were then bachelors. One of them [James], unfortunately, still
continues so, as he has thus recorded in his niece’s album:
“Should I seek Hymen’s tie,
As a poet I die—
Ye Benedicks, mourn my distresses!
For what little fame
Is annexed to my name
Is derived from _Rejected Addresses_.”
The blunder, notwithstanding, remains unrectified. The reader of poetry
is always dissatisfied with emendations: they sound discordantly upon the
ear, like a modern song, by Bishop or Braham, introduced in _Love in a
Village_.
{8} This alludes to the Young Betty mania. The writer was in the
stage-box at the height of this young gentleman’s popularity. One of the
other occupants offered, in a loud voice, to prove that Young Betty did
not understand Shakespeare. “Silence!” was the cry; but he still
proceeded. “Turn him out!” was the next ejaculation. He still
vociferated. “He does not understand Shakespeare;” and was consequently
shouldered into the lobby. “I’ll prove it to you,” said the critic to
the doorkeeper. “Prove what, sir?” “That he does not understand
Shakespeare.” This was Molière’s housemaid with a vengeance.
Young Betty may now [1833] be seen walking about town—a portly personage,
aged about forty—clad in a furred and frogged surtout; probably muttering
to himself (as he has been at college), “O mihi præteritos!” &c. [He is
still alive, 1854. Master Betty, or the “Young Roscius,” was born in
1791, and made his first appearance on a London stage as Achmet in
“Barbarossa,” at Covent Garden Theatre, on the lst of December, 1804. He
was, therefore, “not quite thirteen.” He lasted two seasons.]
{10a} A “Phoenix” was perhaps excusable. The first theatre in Drury
Lane was called “The Cock-pit or Phoenix Theatre.” Whitbread himself
wrote an address, it is said, for the occasion; like the others, it had
of course a Phoenix. “But Whitbread,” said Sheridan, “made more of the
bird than any of them; he entered into particulars, and described its
wings, beak, tail, &c.; in short, it was a _poulterer’s_ description of a
Phoenix.”
{10b} For an account of this anonymous gentleman, see Preface, xiii.
{12a} “The author has succeeded better in copying the melody and
misanthropic sentiments of _Childe Harold_, than the nervous and
impetuous diction in which his noble biographer has embodied them. The
attempt, however, indicates very considerable power; and the flow of the
verse and the construction of the poetical period are imitated with no
ordinary skill.”—JEFFREY, _Edinburgh Review_.
{12b} This would seem to show that poet and prophet are synonymous, the
noble bard having afterwards returned to England, and again quitted it,
under domestic circumstances painfully notorious. His good-humoured
forgiveness of the Authors has already been alluded to in the Preface.
Nothing of this illustrious poet, however trivial, can be otherwise than
interesting. “We know him well.” At Mr. Murray’s dinner-table the
annotator met him and Sir John Malcolm. Lord Byron talked of intending
to travel in Persia. “What must I do when I set off?” said he to Sir
John. “Cut off your buttons!” “My buttons! what, these metal ones!”
“Yes; the Persians are in the main very honest fellows; but if you go
thus bedizened, you will infallibly be murdered for your buttons!” At a
dinner at Monk Lewis’s chambers in the Albany, Lord Byron expressed to
the writer his determination not to go there again, adding, “I never will
dine with a middle-aged man who fills up his table with young ensigns,
and has looking-glass panels to his book-cases.” Lord Byron, when one of
the Drury-lane Committee of Management, challenged the writer to sing
alternately (like the swains in Virgil) the praises of Mrs. Mardyn, the
actress, who, by-the-bye, was hissed off the stage for an imputed
intimacy of which she was quite innocent.
The contest ran as fellows:
“Wake, muse of fire, your ardent lyre,
Pour forth your amorous ditty,
But first profound, in duly bound,
Applaud the new Committee;
Their scenic art from Thespis’ cart
All jaded nags discarding,
To London drove this queen of love,
Enchanting Mrs. Mardyn.
Though tides of love around her rove,
I fear she’ll choose Pactolus—
In that bright surge bards ne’er immerge.
So I must e’en swim solus.
‘Out, out, alas!’ ill-fated gas,
That shin’st round Covent Garden,
Thy ray how flat, compared with that
From eye of Mrs. Mardyn!”
And so on. The reader has, no doubt, already discovered “which is the
justice, and which is the thief.”
Lord Byron at that time wore a very narrow cravat of white sarsnet, with
the shirt-collar falling over it; a black coat and waist-coat, and very
broad white trousers to hide his lame foot—these were of Russia duck in
the morning, and jean in the evening. His watch-chain had a number of
small gold seals appended to it, and was looped up to a button of his
waistcoat. His face was void of colour; he wore no whiskers. His eyes
were grey, fringed with long black lashes; and his air was imposing, but
rather supercilious. He under-valued David Hume; denying his claim to
genius on account of his bulk, and calling him, from the Heroic Epistle,
“The fattest hog in Epicurus’ sly.”
One of this extraordinary man’s allegations was, that “fat is an oily
dropsy.” To stave off its visitation, he frequently chewed tobacco in
lieu of dinner, alleging that it absorbed the gastric juice of the
stomach, and prevented hunger. “Pass your hand down my side,” said his
Lordship to the writer; “can you count my ribs?” “Every one of them.”
“I am delighted to hear you say so. I called last week on Lady —; ‘Ah,
Lord Byron,’ said she, ‘how fat you grow!’ But you know Lady — is fond
of saying spiteful timings!” Let this gossip be summed up with the words
of Lord Chesterfield, in his character of Bolingbroke: “Upon the whole,
on a survey of this extraordinary character, what can we say, but ‘Alas,
poor human nature!’”
His favourite Pope’s description of man is applicable to Byron
individually:
“Chaos of thought and passion all confused,
Still by himself abused or disabused;
Created part to rise and part to fall,
Great lord of all things, yet a slave to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled—
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”
The writer never heard him allude to his deformed foot except upon one
occasion, when, entering the green-room of Drury-lane, he found Lord
Byron alone, the younger Byrne and Miss Smith the dancer having just left
him, after an angry conference about a _pas suel_. “Had you been here a
minute sooner,” said Lord B., “you would have heard a question about
dancing referred to me:—me! (looking mournfully downward) whom fate from
my birth has prohibited from taking a single step.”
{14} The first stanza (see Preface) was written by James Smith; the
remainder by Horace.
{15a} See Note, p. 8.
{15b} “Holland’s edifice.” The late theatre was built by Holland the
architect. The writer visited it on the night of its opening [April 21,
1794]. The performances were _Macbeth_ and the _Virgin Unmasked_.
Between the play and the farce, an excellent epilogue, written by George
Colman, was excellently spoken by Miss Farren. It referred to the iron
curtain which was, in the event of fire, to be let down between the stage
and the audience, and which accordingly descended, by way of experiment,
leaving Miss Farren between the lamps and the curtain. The fair speaker
informed the audience, that should the fire break out on the stage (where
it usually originates), it would thus be kept from the spectators;
adding, with great solemnity—
“No! we assure our generous benefactors
’Twill only burn the scenery and the actors!”
A tank of water was afterwards exhibited, in the course of the epilogue,
in which a wherry was rowed by a real live man, the band playing—
“And did you not hear of a jolly young waterman?”
Miss Farren reciting—
“Sit still, there’s nothing in it,
We’ll undertake to drown you in a single minute.”
“O vain thought!” as Othello says. Notwithstanding the boast in the
epilogue—
“Blow, wind—come, rack, in ages yet unborn,
Our castle’s strength shall laugh a siege to scorn”—
the theatre fell a victim to the flames within fifteen years from the
prognostic! These preparations against fire always presuppose presence
of mind and promptness in those who are to put them into action. They
remind one of the dialogue, in Morton’s _Speed the Plough_, between Sir
Able Handy and his son Bob:
“_Bob_. Zounds, the castle’s on fire!
_Sir A_. Yes.
_Bob_. Where’s your patent liquid for extinguishing fire?
_Sir A_. It is not mixed.
_Bob_. Then where’s your patent fire-escape?
_Sir A_. It is not fixed.
_Bob_. You are never at a loss?
_Sir A_. Never.
_Bob_. Then what do you mean to do?
_Sir A_. I don’t know.”
{17} A rather obscure mode of expression for _Jews’_-harp; which some
etymologists allege, by the way, to be a corruption of _Jaws’_-harp. No
connection, therefore, with King David.
{20} The Weekly Register, which he kept up without the failure of a
single week from its first publication till his death—a period of above
thirty-three years.
{21} Bagshaw. At that time the publisher or Cobbett’s Register.
{22} The old Lyceum Theatre, pulled down by Mr. Arnold. That since
destroyed by fire [16th Feb., 1830] was erected on its site. [The Drury
Lane Company performed at the Lyceum till the house was rebuilt.]
{23a} The present colonnade in Little Russell Street formed no part of
the original design, and was erected only a few years back.
{23b} An allusion to a murder then recently committed on Barnes Terrace.
[The murder (22nd July, 1812) of the Count and Countess D’Antraigues
(distantly related to the Bourbons), by a servant out of livery of the
name of Laurence—an Italian or Piedmontese, who made away with himself
immediately after.]
{24a} At that time keeper of Newgate. The present superintendent (1833)
is styled Governor!
{24b} A portentous one that made its appearance in the year 1811; in the
midst of the war,
“with fear of change
Perplexing nations.”
{25} “_The Living Lustres_ appears to us a very fair imitation of the
fantastic verses which that ingenious person, Mr. Moore, indites when he
is merely gallant, and, resisting the lures of voluptuousness, is not
enough in earnest to be tender.” —JEFFREY, _Edinburgh Review_.
{26} This alludes to two massive pillars of verd antique which then
flanked the proscenium, but which have since been removed. Their colour
reminds the bard of the Emerald Isle, and this causes him (_more suo_) to
fly off at a tangent, and Hibernicise the rest of the poem.
{28a} “_The Rebuilding_ is in the name of Mr. Southey, and is one of the
best in the collection. It is in the style of the Kehama of that
multifarious author, and is supposed to be spoken in the character of one
of his Glendoveers. The imitation of the diction and measure, we think,
is nearly almost perfect; and the descriptions as good as the original.
It opens with an account of the burning of the old theatre, formed upon
the pattern of the Funeral of Arvalan.”—JEFFREY, _Edinburgh Review_.
{28b} For the Glendoveer, and the rest of the dramatis persona of this
imitation, the reader is referred to the “Curse of Kehama.”
{28c} “Midnight, and yet no eye
Through all the Imperial City closed in sleep.”
SOUTHEY.
{29a} This couplet was introduced by the Authors by way of bravado, in
answer to one who alleged that the English language contained no rhyme to
chimney.
{29b} Apollo. A gigantic wooden figure of this deity was erected on the
roof. The writer (_horrescit referens_!) is old enough to recollect the
time when it was first placed there. Old Bishop, then one of the masters
of Merchant Tailors’ School, wrote an epigram upon the occasion, which,
referring to the aforesaid figure, concluded thus:
“Above he fills up Shakespeare’s place.
And Shakespeare fills up his below.”
Very antithetical; but quære as to the meaning? The writer, like Pluto,
“long puzzled his brain” to find it out, till he was immersed “in a lower
deep” by hearing Madame de Staël say, at the table of the late Lord
Dillon, “Buonaparte is not a man, but a system.” Inquiry was made in the
course of the evening of Sir James Mackintosh as to what the lady meant?
He answered, “Mass! I cannot tell.” Madame de Staël repeats this
apophthegm in her work on Germany. It is probably understood _there_.