OR, THE JOLLY BATHERS.
First Jolly Bather (singing, quaveringly):—
Spring's delights are now revi-i-i-vi-i-i-ng,
Verdant leaflets deck each spr-a-ay!
Second Jolly Bather (impatiently). Don't, ARTHUR, make that row! B-r-r-r! (Shivers.) Spring's delights, indeed! And as to the "verdant leaflets" (unless you mean election squibs), where are they?
First Ditto. Ah, "verdant leaflets" not a bad name for Financial Reform tracts, et id genus omne. Touch of your old satirical Saturday-Reviewish style there, Nunky!
Second Ditto (hastily). Oh, bother! What are we here for?
First Ditto (coolly). Why, to bathe, I presume.
Second Ditto. Bah! One would think, ARTHUR, we belonged to that society of lunatics who make a point of taking a matutinal plunge in the Serpentine every morning, all the year round, even if they have to break the ice to do it! Ineffable idiots! [Curls up.
First Ditto. Well, we may as well put a good face on it, Uncle.
[Grimaces.
Second Ditto. Ah, yes, you can say so—at your age, ARTHUR. I like my morning tub in my bath-room—with the chill off.
[Wraps his towel round his neck.
First Ditto. (Sings again, tremolo):—
Why linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away?
Second Ditto (sharply). Why, you're at it again, ARTHUR! And a Conventicler's hymn, too, this time. I'm a-a-shamed of you.
First Ditto. Ah! that's what LABOUCHERE, O'KELLY, CONYBEARE, and Company say! I don't mind; in fact, as I told 'em, I rather like it. Does me a world of good.
Second Ditto (admiringly). Ah! you have got a nerve, ARTHUR. I will say that for you. Still, you've been giving them something to "guy" you about lately, you know.
First Ditto (sharply). Ah! have I? Well, "I can assure you that I am the last person in the world to object to a process from which I have profited so much."
Second Ditto. Oh, yes, that was all very well for them, over yonder. In fact, I own it was rather neatly put.
First Ditto (slily). Didn't "lack finish," was sufficiently "ad unguem," eh, Nunky?
Second Ditto (moodily). Ah! what do you youngsters know about those fine old fighting days? I didn't love DIZZY, but he was a neat hand with the foils, boy.
First Ditto. Especially in a bout with a friend,—with the buttons off. But I say, this isn't bathing, you know!
Second Ditto. No. (Eyeing the stream distastefully.) Hadn't we better postpone the pleasure till a little later in the season, ARTHUR. When those "Spring's delights" of which you melodiously twangle are a leetle more en évidence.
First Ditto (pipes). Hawthorn buds give joyful tidings.
Welcome, youths, 'tis bright bath-day!
Second Ditto. Ah! if we're here to do the Eclogue business, STREPHON can take his turn, as well as CORYDON. [Sings.
Let us plunge into the ri-i-i-v-e-e-r!
Leave our vesture on the bank!
First Ditto. Bless me, STREPHON, how you shi-i-v-e-e-r!
Second Ditto. 'Tis like a fishmonger's tank!
First Ditto. Pooh! 'tis lovely—when you're in it;
One bold header, and 'tis done!
Second Ditto. Ah, quite so, but—wait a minute,
Till I've warmed me with a run.
That will stir my circulation;
For the moment I am "friz."
First Ditto. Magnifique! my dear relation;
But, you'll own, it is not "biz."
Both. We must o-o-o-ow-n it is not "biz!"
Second Ditto. Well, no, I suppose it isn't, ARTHUR. By the way, what's that row behind there?
First Ditto. (looking). By Jove! it's that Gladstone gang! They've tracked us! (Sings)—
They're after us! They're after us!
We're the individuals they require.
Second Ditto. (sardonically). What a lyric répertoire you have, ARTHUR! Old English glee, Puritan psalmody. Music-hall song, all come equally well to you, it seems. But those roughs mean mischief, Nephew mine!
