If, therefore, dearest, you would have me paint
My residence exactly (aside) as it ain't,
(Aloud) I would entreat you, Proserpine, to come where
A palace lifting to eternal—somewhere—
Its marble halls invites us.
Proserp. By-the-bye,
Where is this place?
Pluto (embarrassed). In the Isle of Skye.
Thy days all cloudless sunshine shall remain,
For on our pleasure we will ne'er draw rein;
At noon we'd sit beneath the vine-arched bowers,
And, losing all our calculating powers,
Think days but minutes—reckoning time by ours;
Darkness shall be at once with light replaced,
When my hand lights on that light taper waist;
Our friends shall all true constant lovers be
(So we should not be bored with company);
Love's Entertainments only would we seek,
And, sending up to Mudie's once a week,
No tales that were not Lover's we'd bespeak,
No sentiments in which we were not sharers
(Think what a lot of rubbish that would spare us)....
Dost like the picture, love, or are you bored?
Proserp. Beautiful!
Pluto (aside).'Tis a copy after Claude.
"Pluto and Proserpine" has the usual supply of puns, as in the following couplet:—
Diana. You never weigh a word, dear, you're so wild.
Proserp. You used to call me such a wayward child.
But Talfourd, like Planché, could rise above mere jeux d'esprit, and furnish, when necessary, bits of persiflage which deserve to linger in the memory. Thus, in one of the scenes, Pluto addresses Cerberus in a fashion intended to suggest Launce's colloquy with his dog in "The Two Gentlemen of Verona":—
You've yet to learn the notions of propriety,
Observed by dogs in upper-air society;
So I'll exhibit in a bird's eye view
Th' ordeal well-bred puppies must go through.
Your thoughts you show too openly—on earth
They oft are saddest who display most mirth;
You must by no means growl to mark resentment,
Or wag your tail in token of contentment;
When most you're doing wrong, be most polite,
And ne'er your teeth show less than when you bite,
So may you still enjoy, when youth is past,
The sunshine of your dog-days to the last.
I have already referred to three classical burlesques by H. J. Byron. A fourth exists in the "original classical pastoral" called "Pan," which first saw the light at the Adelphi in 1865. Pan, it may be recorded, was impersonated by Mr. J. L. Toole. He had a good deal to say, and much of it was in the form of jeux de mots. Take, for example, the passage in which Pan discovers that Syrinx, whom he loves, is in love with Narcissus. He calls down thunder from the skies; and then follows this tirade:—