قراءة كتاب Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 16, 1892
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Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 16, 1892
attendance of "friends in front;" but when "returns" are on the stage, their excellence may be questioned on the score of monotony. Now, as to the Churchyard Scene, permit me to make a suggestion:—the Second Gravedigger has been commissioned by the First Gravedigger, with money down, to go to a neighbouring publican of the name of YAUGHAN, pronounced Yogan or Yawn,—probably the latter, on account either of his opening his mouth wide, or of his being a sleepy-headed fellow,—and fetch a stoop of liquor. Now, when all the turmoil is over, the remaining gravedigger would at once set to work, as in fact he does in this scene at the Haymarket; but here he just shovels a handful of mould into the grave, and then, without rhyme or reason (with both of which he has been plentifully supplied by SHAKSPEARE), suddenly away he goes, merely to allow for the "business" of Hamlet's re-entrance. But why shouldn't there be here, prior to the return of Hamlet, a re-entrance of the Second Gravedigger, as if coming back from friend YAUGHAN's with the pot of ale? The sight of this would attract First Gravedigger, and take the thirsty soul most readily from his work to discuss the refreshment in some shady nook. Then by all means let Hamlet return to pour out his grief; and on this picture ought the Curtain effectively descend.
A novel point introduced by Mr. TREE is that his Hamlet, entertaining an affectionate remembrance of the late YORICK, assumes a friendly and patronising air towards YORICK's successor, a Court Fool, apparently so youthful that he may still be supposed to be learning his business. So when His Royal Highness Hamlet has what he considers "a good thing" to say, Mr. TREE places the novice in jesting near himself, and pointedly speaks at him; as e.g., when, in reply to the King's inquiry after his health, he tells him that he "eats air promise-crammed," adding, with a sly look at the Court Fool, "you cannot feed capons so." Whereat the Fool, put into a difficult position, through his fear of offending the Prince by not laughing, or angering the King (his employer) by laughing, has to acknowledge the Prince's witticism with a deferential, but somewhat deprecatory, snigger.
Again, when Hamlet is "going to have a lark" with old Polonius—a proceeding in exquisitely bad taste by the way—Mr. TREE's Hamlet attracts the young Court Jester's attention to his forthcoming novelty. Now this time, as the repartee is about as rude a thing as any vulgar cad of an 'ARRY might have uttered, the professional Jester, who evidently does not owe his appointment to the Lord Chamberlain's favour, and is exempt from his jurisdiction, grins all over his countenance, and hops away to explain the jest to some of the courtiers, while Hamlet himself, to judge by his smiling countenance, is clearly very much pleased with his own performance in showing a Jester how the fool should be played. And this notion is consistent with the character of a Prince who takes upon himself to lecture the Actors on their own art. There is no subtler touch in SHAKSPEARE's irony than his putting these instructions to players in the mouth of a noble amateur. Of the revival, as a whole, one may truthfully say, Ça donne à penser, and, indeed, the study of Hamlet is inexhaustible.
WITH THEIR EASTER EGGS.
The Emp-r-r of G-rm-ny.—Presentation copy of the light and leading satirical English Paper.
The Cz-r of R-ss-a.—Letter of regret from President C-RN-T.
The Pr-s-d-nt of the Fr-nch R-p-bl-c.—Secretly-obtained copy of proposed treaty for a Quadruple Alliance.
The K-ng of It-ly.—Scheme for a modus vivendi.
The P-pe.—Duplicate copy of ditto.
Ch-nc-ll-r C-pr-vi.—Permit for leave of absence.
Pr-nce V-n B-sm-rck.—A song, "The Return of the Pilot."
The M-rq-s of S-l-sb-ry.—Date of the General Election.
The Ch-nc-ll-r of the Exch-q-r.—Comments on the Budget.
F-rst L-rd of the Tr-s-ry.—New rules for the game of Golf.
Rt. Hon. W.E. Gl-dst-ne.—Set of Diaries for the next twenty years.
The P-t L-r-te.—The Order of "The Foresters."
The Oxf-rd E-ght.—The Blue Riband of the Thames.
S-r A-g-st-s Dr-r-l-n-s.—A month's well-deserved rest.
N-b-dy in P-rt-c-l-r.—A legacy of £100,000.
Ev-ryb-dy in G-n-r-l.—Rates and taxes.

SO FRIVOLOUS!
Wife. "SOLOMON, I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU."
Solomon (flippantly). "WITH PLEASURE, MY DEAR, SO LONG AS IT'S A FUNNY BONE!"
THE DYNAMITE DRAGON.
A dragon! Faugh! that foul and writhing Worm
Seems scarcely worthy of the ancient term
That fills old myth, and typifies the fight
'Twixt wrathful evil and the force of right.
The dragons of the prime, fierce saurian things
With ogre gorges and with harpy wings,
Fitted their hour; the haunts that gave them birth,
The semi-chaos of the early earth,
The slime, the earthquake shock, the whelming flood,
Made battle ground for the colossal brood.
But now, when centuries of love and light
Have warmed and brightened man's old home; when might
Is not all sinister, nor all desire
Fierce appetite, that all-devouring fire,—
When life is not alone a wasting scourge,
But from the swamps of soulless strife emerge
Some Pisgah peaks of promise where the dove
Finds footing, high the whirling gulfs above,—
Now the intrusion of this loathly shape,
With pestilence-breathing jaws that blackly gape
For indiscriminate prey, is sure a thing
To set celestial guards once more a-wing;
To fire a new St. Michael or St. George
With the bright death to cleave the monster's gorge,
And trample out the Laidly Worm's last breath
In the convulsions of reluctant death.
A crawling, craven, sneaking, snaking brute;
Purposeless spite, and hatred absolute,
In hideous shape incarnate! Venomed Gad
In Civilisation's path; malignant-mad,
And blindly biting; raising an asp-neck
In Beauty's foot-tracks, and prepared to wreck
The ordered work of ages in a day,
To raze and shatter, to abase and slay.
Blind as the earthquake, headlong as the storm,
Yet in such hideous subter-human form,
Vulgar as venomous! Dragon indeed,
And dangerous, but with no soul save greed,
No aim save chaos. Bloody, yet so blind,
The common enemy of humankind;
Whose age-stored works and ways it yearns to blast,
To smite to ruined fragments, and to cast
Prone—as itself is prone—in common dust.
The Beautiful, the Wise, the Strong, the Just,
All fruit of labour, and all spoil of thought,
All that co-operant Man hath won or wrought,
All that the heart has loved, the mind has taught
Through the long generations, hoarded gains
Of plastic fancies, and of potent brains;
Thrones, Temples, Marts, Art's alcoves, Learning's domes,
Patrician palaces, and bourgeois homes.
Down, down!—to glut its spleen, the paltry thing,
Impotent, save to lurk, and coil, and spring,
But powerful as the poison-drop, once sped,
That creeps, corrupts, and leaves its victim—dead!
As the asp's fang could turn to pulseless clay
The Pride of Egypt, so this Worm can slay
If left