Judge — January 1937 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

"This is one night I'm going to read my paper in peace!” LET’S PUT IT THIS WAY MODERN WAYS of expressing our- selves, complain various educators, are flat and colorless—a far cry from the rich language of Shakespeare. In an effort to add a little color to things we offer a few suggestions as to how we might treat various situations in the good old Elizabethan manner: In telephoning, for instance: “Wench, methinks time hast dulled thy senses. Thou tarriest while I wait, chafing and impatient like to the tiger in ambush for the dallying antelope. Stir thyself, and haste thee, like the furious and untram. meled lightnings, to get me Butterfield cight-one four nine two.” At the ball game: “Come on, thou mighty and unconquerable Casey, of eye like soaring eagle and muscles like the hulking tawny bear. Fasten thou ia] upon the childish curves of yon lily liv- ered pitcher, and smite the glistening sphere atop the furthest barrier into the distant recesses of uncharted space!” On the highways: “Varlet! Wretch! Offspring of slobbering idiot and jan. gle-minded half.wit! Wherefore point- est not thy palsied hand to the left when thou wauldst turn that odd mis- shapen squeaking hulk thou callst a car in that direction? Be off before I strike that addled pate from off thy shoulders or call upon the leather-legginged cop to put thee in a dank and dayless cell!” At the market: “Two pounds I wish of the flowering succulent brocolli, one can of crimson-sweet tomato juice. Of the golden fruit of the citrus tree, give me, I pray, as many as are the months in the year, and haste thee to procure one brown-skinned loaf of the wheat. From the flanks of yonder lamb that once did gambol o’er the fields to the piping of the shepherd cut me six chops.” To a waiter: Avast, lackey! A table for two neither too near the tintinabulation of yon Afric swing band nor yet too far removed from the oaken floor upon which doth cavort our citizenry. Fur- ther, fuddlehead, two martinis, combin- ing the crystal gin of the Dutch king- dom with the rosy vermouth of Italy's Apollo-kissed plains! Be off, buffoon! To a bridge partner: “Wherefore leadest thou me the king of diamonds when my discard did plainly call for clubs? Truly thou art the Prince of Ig- norance. Hadst thou led aright our ene- mies should have been down to a greater depth than in the restless, mighty churn. ing ocean! Thou scatter-wit! Thou thrice-blind fool!”—ParkE CuMMINGS. Judge comicbooks.com