In "Dido," Mr. Burnand's genius for word-play is agreeably manifested. I take some lines at random:—
"Æneas, son of Venus, sails the sea,
Mighty and high."
"As Venus' son should be."
On the sea-shore, dear, I've just come from walking,
Studying my fav'rite poets. Need I tell ye
The works I read were those of Crabbe and Shelley?
It is the Queen—of life she seems aweary;
And mad as Lear, looking just as leary.
A riddle strikes me: "Why's she thus behaving,
Just like a bird of night?" "'Cos she's a raving."
Mad as a March hare. It is the fate
Of hares to be then in a rabid state.
"I ne'er shall move as heretofore so gaily,
I feel quite ill and dizzy."
"Dizzy? Raly?"
Æneas comes on first as a begging sailor, with "I'm starving" inscribed on a paper suspended from his neck. He strikes up a song, but soon stops it:—
What? no one here? Thy singing vain appears.
Land may have necks and tongues—it has no ears.
None to be done, and nothing here to do.