Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93. July 30, 1887

A natural anxiety that his pupils should be furnished with as complete a repertory as possible, has prompted Mr. Punch to command one of his spare Poets to knock off a little dramatic piece founded (at a respectful distance) upon a famous Transatlantic model. The spare Poet in question—all reluctant as he felt even to appear to be competing with the inimitable—had, as the minion of Punch the Peremptory, no option but to obey to the best of his powers. The special merit of the present production will be found in the care with which it has been watered down to suit the capacity of amateurs for whom the original would offer difficulties well-nigh insuperable. This poem is particularly recommended to diffident young ladies with a suppressed talent for recitation. Some on reading it may imagine that its rough but genuine pathos is scarcely adapted to feminine treatment—but wait until you hear some young lady recite it! Mr. Punch , for his part, is content to wait for almost any length of time. The Author calls it:—
Hasdrubal Jopp.
The Reciter is supposed to be in the Strand, facing the audience. As you come on, the idea is that you are suddenly attracted by an advertisement borne by the last of a string of Sandwich-men. You stop him, and begin as follows. By the way, as you are enacting an American, you will of course be careful to speak through your nose, whenever it occurs to you. Now then:—
H'yur, you! bossing them boards—Jess you fetch up a spell!
Don't go twitching your cords! ( Impatiently. ) Lemme look at ye well:
( Genial amusement. ) Why, I'm derned ef ye don't look as skeered as a tortoise growed out of his shell!
What's the style of your show? This yer pictur looks gay:
Why, ye don't tell me so! ( Homely gratification. ) It's a Murrican play!
And you mosey along with the posters—wa'al, now, do ye find the job pay ?
( With a kindly curiosity. ) Say, what was it— drink ? As has led to it....Stop!
Wa'al, on'y to think —Ef it isn't his shop!