Mr. Titlepage. Draw it mild!
Mr. Bigstick. As the moonbeams!—Gentlemen, lend me your ears; which, perhaps, you would rather do than your purses! Who steals mine, steals—what he will not grow inconveniently corpulent upon!
The Tragedian began to rummage an ancient hair-trunk that looked as raggedly bald as his own scalp; dislodging sceptres, daggers, crowns, spangled robes and stage wigs. In Dicky Gossip's bob * he discovered what he sought for; a dirty, torn, dog's-eared disjecti membra.
* Suett boasted a recherché and extensive collection of
stage wigs, comprising every variety, from the full-bottom,
to the Tyburn bob; which unique assortment was unfortunately
burned in a fire that happened at the Birmingham Theatre, on
Friday, August 13, 1792. This loss gave rise to several
smart epigrams, among which were the following.
“'Twas sure some upstart Tory in his rigs,
Who fir'd poor Suett's long-tail'd race of Wigs;
Ah! cruel Tory, thus his all to take,
Nor leave him one e'en for a hair-breadth 'scape.”
“Raise your subscriptions, every free-born soul—
Stript of his wigs—behold a suffering Pole”
Dicky answered the doggrel, in a jingle of his own.
“Well—well may you joke, who perhaps have a wig,
But my loss is severe tho', for all this here gig;
For if spouse is dispos'd or to wrangle or box,
Alas! what will keep her from combing my locks?
My fortune's too ruin'd, as well as renown,
For in losing my wigs—I am stripp'd to a crown!”
Opening the bundle, and selecting at random, he bespoke the company's attention to a fragment of
“THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BONASSUS, OR THE BIGSTICK MEMOIRS.”
“All the world's a caravan! and all the gentlemen and ladies Lions and Tigresses! For if a man be neither dwarf nor giant, but an unhappy medium between the two—if he be not upon boxing terms with a whole menagerie, and will not fisty-cuff-it and roar for an engagement, dam'me! he may whistle for one!”
Mr. Bigstick paused, glared ghastly terrible and ghostly grim.
“Yes, I'm too tall for a wonderful monkey, and too good-natured for an intelligent bull-dog. I can't drink sangaree out of my father's skull, nor beat the big drum with the bones of my grandmother!”
He then, after taking a deep draught at the mum, resumed his narrative.