Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 7

a wreck. (_Laughter._)" Mr.
WOODALL: "Without being wrecked in the attempt. (_Renewed
laughter._)" Oh, witty WOODALL! Why, encouraged by this applause,
he may yet be led on to make a pun on his own name, and say, "Would
all were like him!" or some such merry jest. The proceedings in this
Committee were becoming a trifle dull, but it is to be hoped that they
may yet hear something still more sparkling from the wise and witty
WOODALL.
* * * * *

[Illustration: APRIL SHOWERS; OR, A SPOILT EASTER
HOLIDAY.
TRIO. "RAIN! RAIN! GO AWAY! COME AGAIN ANOTHER
DAY!"]
* * * * *
TO MY COOK.
[Illustration]
Oh, hard of favour, fat of form, How fairer art thou than thy looks,
Whose heart with kitchen fires is warm, Thou plainest of the plainer
Cooks!
Low down upon thy forehead grows Thick hair of no conducive dye;
Short and aspiring is thy nose, Watched ever by a furtive eye.
In shy defiance rarely seen Where kitchen stairways darkly tend, A foe
to judge thee by thy mien, Proclaimed in every act a friend!
I know thee little; not thy views On public or on private life, Whether a
single lot thou'dst choose, Or fain would'st be a Guardsman's wife;
For who can rightly read the change When, still'd the work-day traffic's
din, In best apparel, rich and strange, Thou passest weekly to thy kin!
A silken gown, that bravely stands Environing thy form, or no; Stout
gloves upon thy straining hands, For brooch, the breastplate cameo.
Shod with the well-heeled boots, whose knell Afar along the pavement
sounds, Blent with the tinkling muffin-bell, Or milkman, shrilling on
his rounds.
_Nil tangis quod non ornas._ Nay, 'Tis not alone the parsley sprig, The
paper frill, the fennel spray, The Yule-tide's pertly-berried twig;
But common objects by thy art Some proper beauty seem to own; Thy

chop is as a chop apart, Fraught with a grace before unknown;
The very egg thou poachest seems Some work of deft _orfévrerie_,-- A
yolk of gold that chastely gleams Through a thin shrine of ivory.
From thee no pale and wilted ghost, Or branded by the blackening bar,
But crisp and cheery comes the toast, And brown as ripening hazels
are.
Thy butter has not lost the voice Of English meads, where cowslips
grow, And oh, the bacon of thy choice-- Rose-jacinth labyrinthed in
snow!
And mutton, colder than the kiss Of formal love, where loathing lurks
Its deadlier chill doth wholly miss, Fired with the spirit of thy works.
To true occasion thou art true, As upon great occasions great; Doing
whatever Cook may do When PHYLLIS, neat, alone will wait,
As when the neighbouring villas send Their modish guests to statelier
fare, And PHYLLIS, neat, is helped to tend By that staid man the
Greengrocer.
Though thou art more than plain in look, Thou wieldest charms that
never tire-- O Cook--we will not call thee Cook, Thou Priestess of the
Genial Fire.
* * * * *
LAYING A GHOST!
PROSPECTIVE ARRANGEMENTS.--Owing to the continued success
of _Hamlet_, it has been decided (by arrangement with the Author) to
postpone, &c.--_Extract from Advertisement in Daily Paper._
SCENE--_Sanctum of Popular Actor-Manager of Theatre Royal
Haymarket, Popular Actor-Manager dozing over a submitted Play. He
closes his eyes and slumbers. When to him enter Master WILLIAM
SHAKSPEARE._

_Master W.S._ (_shouting_). What ho, Sir Player! Wake up, Sir, wake
up!
_P.A.-M._ (_rousing himself_). Delighted to see you, Mr.
SHAKSPEARE. I hope you have been in front and seen us?
_Master W.S._ Yes, I just had a glance. Find you have put in some new
business. When will all you fellows leave me alone?
_P.A.-M._ (_earnestly_). I hope, Sir, that in the cause of Art you do not
object, that--
_Master W.S._ (_interrupting_). Oh, no! It makes little difference to me
what you do. My author's fees ceased years ago! But look here, What
do you mean by this? (_Produces Press-cutting of advertisement and
reads_)--"Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Prospective Arrangements.
Owing to the continued success of _Hamlet_, it has been decided (by
arrangement with the Author) to postpone" another play. Now, Master
TREE, or as I may call ye, "Master up a Tree," what have you to say to
that? You see your advertisement has caught my eye. I am here to
answer it!
_P.A.-M._ Most wonderful! I do not know how or wherefore my pen
slipped, but slip it did, indeed. However, I apologise. Is that enough?
_Master W.S._ More than enough!
_Enter the Ghost of HAMLET's Father suddenly._
Ghost (_with a glance at W.S._). Ah, the Governor here already! Still, I
may have my chance as well as he! I gave the plot of _Hamlet_! Why
shouldn't I have another shot? (_To P.A.-M._)-- But that I am forbid To
tell