Puck — July 24, 1878 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

4 PUCK. SWEET MARY ANNE. (CHANT ROYAL) HEN the blithe robin chanted in the brake, And lush-fl»wers burned upon the sloping green, When all I did was for your precious sake (For you were pretty and but sweet sixteen), Then in my passion I was simply blind; Your dear name seemed to wander on the wind From rose to rose, and o'er my fancy reign. When the blithe robin chanted, I'll say again, Our moments of honeyed happiness began, As slow we wandered down the redolent lane, O sweet, religious, timorous Mary Anne. These memories boundless pleasure in me wake, ‘Again I seem to sit with my dove-eyed queen, Floating upon the still, diaphanous lake, All radiant with the sunset’s shimmering sheen. Full oft, in lovely dreams, I seem to find Your rosy lips to mine kisswise inclined, Which of their balmy honey I would drain Full many a time and oft. In truth, [ fain Would live again that romances short span. Which was burn on the breast of juy and died of pain, O sweet, religious, timoruus Mary Anne, ‘What pleasant rambles in the wood we'd take! * Our favorite path from view would leafeets screen, Our carpet was magnolia’s dainty flake; (I might as well embellish the pretty scene. T'cut our names upon the beech’s rind, And, like what’s-his.name, in ** As You Like It," pined To see the day which would surely make us twain, But soon to me the awful truth was plain: Your parents carried out their little plan, Which made me sad as Mr. Shakspere's Dane, O sweet, religious, timorous Mary Anne. Fall oft as doth my drearful spirit ache, I murmur thuse hackneyed words, “It might have been,” And read the silly odes which I would make— They made your father furious, | ween, Ab! you were preity, dutiful and kind, And were withal quite suited to my mind. Fine compliments I paid you not in vain, ‘And even when I stepped upon your train, You wouldn’t fatat, or scream: * Oh, horrid man!" From my bosom not till death comes you'll be ta’en, O, sweet, religious, timurous Mtary Anne. © dreams, sweet Gowers whose breasts my tear-drops slake. (Lhope the reader knows what this doth mean; It strikes me as quite mentally upaque.) Ah, from your picture tender jy [ glean; Tread your letters, which worn fillets bind. What choice allusions in them are entwine Ah, letters written in a delicate strai Yuu're to me such a blessing and a bane, That when your lines emotionally I scan, 1 fancy [have met a hurricane, sweet, religious timorous Mary Anne. Exvot. Lovers and ye who've fair unes on the brain, ‘Whether Ethel proud or pliin Rebecca Jane, Elope with her as speedily as you can, And not, like me, be driven hilf insane, O'er sweet, religious, timurous Mary Anne. R. K. Munxrrtrick, WHAT A MANAGER MAY DO. ce ES,” he said, “I’ve got a theatre on my hands, and 1 suppose I've got to run it. 1 can't find nudum fool who'll lease it; except some galoots that couldn’t se- cure me my rent. So, you see, I've got to run it myself. And what I'm thinking about is, the attractions. I can run it to tragedy, to nigger, to genteel comedy, to horse-opera; or keep no stock, and run it to combinations. Kut all these ways of running it seem to run it one way——” “ And that is?” “Well, into bankruptcy,” he said, as he drew the spittoon nearer to him and dropped his cigar ashes into it. ‘What I want is some- thing to just make New York hum; just to make ’em fight around the box-office for orchestra stalls, an’ make 'em mob the ticket speculators for ‘ first choices.’ ‘That's what 1 want.” “Have you thought of Legs?” I asked. “ Legs is played out!" quoth my manager, like an oracle. “There's one or two pair ot legs in the business that I know, and they'd draw money for a week ur two, But the idea of making a theatre go on Legs fur a season 1s absurd, What | want is something new.” And the man of management plunged in- self into a brown study, where he remained tor some minutes, “1 Aad thought,” he resumed, presently, “of getting Mackaye to twist ‘round ‘Otheller’ for me, an’ play it with a white Moor to a black Desdemony—a ginuine one, you know; and I'd part'y arranged to have a fountain of Ibin’s Extracts squirting over the audience uuring the performance; but that idea fell through,” “Why?” “Well, them cussed young leadin’ actors wouldn't play toa mahogany Desdemony; said it would ruin 'em—make 'em ridiculous, an’ all that. Then I thought of producing ‘Ham- let’ according to the new idea of what the pro- nunciation of English was in Shakspere’s days. I went and got O'Donovan Rossa up in the part, and you ought to have heard hin +Och, dat cis tootoo sollud fish wud mi Tau ‘n resholve utsilf intil a jew, Or dat de Iverlastin’ hadn't fixed Mis canon agen silf-shlaughter.’ But this again was no go. Rossa wouldn't go on unless he could take up a collection he- tween the acts ‘for the Fenian Skirmishing Fund, 1 was afraid the aud':nce wouldn't stand this, even for Shakspere in Irish, ‘hen I thought of going in for an uld-fashioned nig- 'couldn’t beat. And who d’ you suppose 1 secured for middle man?” “Couldn't guess, George Francis—" “ Better 'n that. Old George, the Count. Yes, sir! And when the old fellow was blacked up, he’d have made Darwin claim him for his own. He looked just like an old Chinpanzee I once had when | was running a menagerie. Well, we had a full rehearsal, and George opened the ball, And he talked —Lord! how he did talk! ‘The end men couldn't get ina gay; we started the full band with chorus: banjo, tambo, bones, brass and fiddles, but George talked way above it all; so that show busted right then and there.” “Well, what do you propose to do, then?” “That's hard to say. 1 want to keep down to the level of our public, ‘They can under- stand ‘Uncle Tom's Cabin,’ and if they hadn't been dused with it last season, I'd Iet’em have it now, with plenty of niggers, cotton growing on the stage, and real blood pouring down ‘Tom's back when he gets licked. ‘hat would fetch 'em, eh? As it ts, | suppose I'll have to get *Toodles’ done up into tive acts—fourth act ger-show, and I got a company that you | ‘Timothy signs the pledge, and puts on a blue ribbon—fitth act, Mrs. ‘I. discovered amidst her auction purchaxs, which | tuen distribute among the audience—a sort of temperance gift show, see?” “How the American theatre has degener- ated!” I made bold to say. “ Degenerate be hanged!" cried my mana- ger. ‘You must feed your guests according to their taste. If my public wanted Shak- spere and Sheridan, and Gulilsmith and Colman, I'm the chap to supply them. If they want ‘Foodles,’ they shall nave him, in a spick and- span new dress, If I kept a restaurant in Avenue D, would L go round serving turtle steaks to iny customers where the green fat would wrinkle up their stomachs with nausea? No, sir, I'd give ’em corned-beef and cabbage. ‘Tie people’s taste is up to ‘Tuodles; or the Fat Man and his Little Blue Ribbon.’ Bye- and-bye, perhaps, they'll be asking for ‘ bux and Cox on Horse-back.’ ‘Ihey shall have ‘em. Later on there will Le a demand for sumething more starting, so Mit give then ‘Solon Sningle’ with the team of oxen brought on the stage befure the audience. “The people are going tu be catered for this season according tu, and not against, their tastes, and don’t you forget it.” A MASH IN MADRID. I GS Js) °% Alfonso Nupotetos- d Hijo-d’-Amontilladé, Vuelt’- A bajo-Salle-Retos- Gingado-de-lampicd, I. With his light guitar behind him Walked the streets of fair Madrid; Met a vision (as we find him) Half in a mantilla hid, It. Then, in style most truly Spanish, ‘To her duor he tracked the mai I: Asthere-throngh he sees her vanish— Buckles to his serenade. IV. See—the awning lightly quivers! She will anwer him she must! All his frame with passion shivers— Something 'r other ’s got to bust! Ah! 'tis done! With eye of falcon he Sees the maid, ingenuons, fair, Slipping out upun her balcony, With the ropes to get him there. Vi. Climbs with cardiac palpitation Alfonso de etcetera — Says the Spanish for “ My Gracious" As he mects the maid’s papa, * * « * Vil. Most papas are stony-hearted; P'r'aps that’s why Alfonso went. r toward earth he started With guitar accompaniment. VIL, Don Alfonso Nupotetos— Hijo-d’-Amontilladé- Vuelt’-Abajo-Salle-Retos- Gingado-de-Tampicd Ix. Sat awhile, as if in stuly; ‘Then arose from where he fell, And remarked: [-ee cur] “ You blessed Ancient Snoozer, receive my benediction!” comicbooks.com