THEATRICAL FUN DINNER.
The Bard of Avon summon'd his ghosts
Around his own bright shade, in hosts,
And the characters came to the Poet of Fame,
To hear his mighty say.
"Well, now," he cried, "bright spirits all,
Hither to-day you have my call,
To quit the volume in which you are bound,
And make, together, a holiday round,
And go in a group to the play."
So the principal characters, giving a look
Of delight, jumped out of the Shakspeare book;
Daylight was on the wane.
Out they skipped, ready equipped,
And started for Drury Lane.
In full-ness of his fat led Falstaff, spruce and clean,
(No false staff wanted he whereon to lean)—
The van.
Othello, black, beneath his dazzling vest,
Polished with Warren's best,
Look'd just the man
For women fair to love him,
You felt you couldn't take the shine out of him!
Romeo escorted Juliet—pretty lisper, she fed on Romeo's whisper.
Hamlet, the fencing dueller,
(The only modern Hamlet we can boast,
Was born a jeweller;
Just as each uncle that our poets sing
Reigns now a pawnbroker, and not a king);
Hamlet, I say, took up his princely post,
Between his uncle and his father's ghost.
Shylock, the Jew that Shakspeare drew,
Had nobody to draw him now—so walked;
Macduff, Macbeth, Iago, and the rest,
Marched all abreast.
The witch alone, dress'd in her riding-hood,
Travelled upon her broomstick, as she should.
Grov'ling below her, in the rear,
Crawled Caliban,
While Clown
Turned somersets eternal up and down,
That he was born, to make it plain appear,
A Somerset man!
On, a few paces, jolly Bardolph goes,
To light the party with his flaming nose.
Now they gain Drury Lane:
There, of course, they need do no more
Than present themselves at the free-list door;
Over the book Jack Falstaff bends,
To write the name of "Shakspeare and Friends."
When, lo! with sighs, and tears in his eyes,
And to everybody's immense surprise,
Mr. Parker cries,
With a look of most discomfiting woe,
"I'm exceedingly sorry to tell you so,
But 'Shakspeare and friends' are now no go;
No go, I say, but to go away.
They are struck entirely off the list;
For the whole concern has taken a twist.
It's the Chamberlain's pleasure, I vow, with pain,
And Shakspeare's diddled at Drury Lane!"
By Falstaff's flabbergastered frown,
You see he now is thoroughly down,
Where he stood before like a swell so nobby,
He's ready to burst with passion and thirst,
And he'd get up a row, and bully 'em now,
But he sees the new police in the lobby.
So, to hide what he feels, he turns on his heels,
And to all his retinue making a sign,
Shouts, "Boys, follow me on the road to dine!
As we are not free at this house of base uns,
We'll march at once to our own Freemason's;
The Cuff that will greet us there, we know,
Is better than this last knock-down blow;
And there—of us every mother's son—
Shakspeare saint, or Shakspeare sinner,
As bonny before we've often done,
On the fat of the land, will feast at a grand
Theatrical Fun
Dinner!"
The tavern is open, they've gathered 'em there,
Fat old Falstaff has taken the chair;
He's eating away like an old gormandizer,
Who's been into College and come out a sizer.
And Bartley perceives, now he's taken enough in,
That Falstaff himself cannot play without stuffing.
Close behind his benevolent face,
And belly and back, as he's taking his whack,
Good Master Clown is making grimace,
And acting toastmaster-in-chief of the place.
Falstaff glows, from his top to his toes,
His great big body keeps warming his clothes,
As he puffs and blows, while his glass overflows,
He is lighting his clay pipe at Bardolph's nose
Drury Lane has dismissed him, alack!
But Falstaff's accustomed to getting the sack!
There he sits like a friar or monk,
Till the guests around grow uncommonly drunk;
The witch of the party, with gin they cram her,
In their eager strife for the good of the dram her;
But Shakspeare's voice, from bottle and stoup,
Warned all the spirits to go their ways,
And Cruikshank had hardly finished his group,
Ere they'd all got home to their several plays!
APRIL—"I know a bank" Shaks: (A consol-atory refletion)
Dandies ask, How will the weather go?
A heavy swell.
Rainbows for
fine beaux,
whether or no!