Chapter IV: Part III

PELLEAS, when he left ETTARRE'S gate,
Through all the lonely woods went groaning great;
And there, while driv'ling round in doleful plight,
He met monk PERCEVALE, reformed knight;
A wise old fox. You'd never catch him in
A tavern, Sundays, drinking milky gin!
PELLEAS button-holed him, and said he,
"As good as GUINEVERE I thought my she!"
Then PERCEVALE, pure soul! did laugh serene.
"My friend," said he, "you must be precious green.
As good as our queen, you thought your she!
I'll bet she's all of that, whoe'er she be."
PELLEAS dropped his jaw and clenched his fist,
Then through his white calcaveous teeth he hissed:

"She'll die, she'll go to burning flame!
She'll mix her ancient blood with shame!
The wind is howling in turret and tree."

"That's so," said PERCEVALE, "but you or I
Can't help all that, you know. So friend, good bye."

In darkest woods--down in a lonely dell,
A peanut woman sat--her wares to sell.
But brave PELLEAS, turning not aside,
O'er that poor woman and her stall did ride.
And as he wildly dashed along, pell-mell,
To all the night-bugs thusly he did yell:

Rosy is the West!
Rosy is the South,
Hard enough her cheek,
False enough her mouth.

When the happy Yes
Comes from lips and eyes,
Pass and blush the news
That the lady lies.

While thus PELLEAS kept his crazy course,
And tried his best to founder his poor horse
Out from the city came brave LANCELOT,
His steed just on a comfortable trot.
And as he rode thus gaily, all alone,
He loudly sang, in his fine baritone,
"There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as
mine.
There's GALAHAD and ARTHUR; GERAINT and old MERLINE,
But none so gay as LANCELOT, in all the land, they say;
For I'm with the Queen all day, Mother! I'm with the Queen all day."

But when PELLEAS, riding wild, he heard,
To stop his song the thought to him occurred;
And shouting loud, he cried, "Who's there? Hello!
What now? Hold up! Look out! Hi-yi! Ho, Ho!
Pull up, young man, and tell me who you be."
PELLEAS stopped, and thus gave answer he:
"I'm just exactly what my fancy suits;
I'm FECHTER'S Hamlet, and I'm CLARKE'S De Boots;
I'm Champagne CHARLEY, and I'm SUSAN ANTHONY, you know--or any other
man."

"If that's the case," said LANCELOT, "we'll fight."
"Well," said PELLEAS, "that suits me, all right."
Said LANCELOT, "As anxious you appear,
Just make a ring out in this meadow here.
I'm somewhat drowsy, and to sleep I'll go.
Just wake me when you're ready, friend, and so,
Comrade, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn.
Leave ms here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn."

PELLEAS now worked hard, marked out a ring,
And made it smooth and nice as anything;
He dug and sodded it, and after that
He got a roller and he rolled it flat.
When all was done, he blew a warlike catch,
And LANCELOT skipped up, and toed the scratch.
Down went their visors--each fell back a space,
And on they came at a tremendous pace.
They met! A crash! And LANCELOT, proud knight,
He knocked PELLEAS higher than a kite!

The mighty din of battle scarce did cease,
When came old PERCEVALE, who yelled, "Police!"
He might have yelled forever; they came not.
The victor sneered, "My name is LANCELOT."
Then said PELLEAS, "Well, suppose it be,
It makes no earthly difference to me."
As glum PELLEAS on the ground did sit,
Said PERCEVALE, "Young man, git up and git!"
Then cried the other, "Easy 'tis to talk--
I'd like to know how ever I can walk.

Broke, broke, broke!
Are three of my bones, oh see!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me."

Then PERCEVALE, he took him on his back,
And in the Queen's wide hall, down dumped him,--smack!
"Hello!" cried GUINEVERE, "here's been a fight!
And I not there! Young man, it serves you right!"
PELLEAS got upon his pins once more,
And thus he sang, while hobbling to the door:

"O ho! good Lady GUINEVERE
From yon blue heavens above us bent,
The grand old gardener and his wife
Smile, though they never saved a cent.
Remember that, and should you find
Time on your hands too heavy go,
Oh! teach the orphan girl to read,
Oh! teach the orphan boy to sew!"

(THE END.)

* * * * *

WAT CUM SNECST?

OR

The Oriental Mule.

A SKELETON DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS, BY D. BOSSYCOW, ESQ.

[Managers who purchase this great sensation have the right to substitute any other title, to suit their special tastes, abilities or otherwise. Also to fill up the list of characters, ditto, ditto, ditto.]

CHARACTERS (absolutely necessary.)

CLEONI _A Young Man in Love._

LUCY _A do. Woman do, do._

GIMFRISKY _Prince of Eareigh._

* * * * *

ACT I.

_Room in a Cottage._

CLEONI. Ah! Oh! my beloved, 'tis well!

LUCY. Hush! no more. I see it all.

CLEONI. Cans't thou see my mother?

LUCY. I cannest.

(_They suddenly rush into each other's arms, where they remain in two swoons; in the meanwhile the cottage is burned to the ground. Curtain falls for two minutes, and upon its rising the Ninth Regiment is discovered en bivouac on the ruins, its commander, the_ PRINCE, _reclining gracefully on the ground._)

(_Background, river Amazin, mouth wide open._) _Solo on the banjo, "Rest, Traveller, Rest_," by PAREPA ROSA.

* * * * *

ACT II.

_Room in hotel at San Francisco._

GIMFRISKY. Revenge? Aye, 'tis sweet. But see! they come!

LUCY. How now? But yesterday you said--

CLEONI. Hush, dearest, the time will come when--

(_A rumbling noise is heard, and soon the whole building is shaken into remarkably small ruins._)

[_Half an hour is supposed to elapse, for refreshments, and when the curtain rises_, GIMFRISKY, _who has emerged through a diminutive hole, is discovered in the costume of_ AJAX _defying the lightning, or something of that sort, singing_--

"I dreamt I dwelt in marble, O,"
"From quarries near to Tuckahoe."]

* * * * *

ACT III.

_Steamer on the Sound._

LUCY. How keiyind it was to give us free passes to our cottage by the sea.

CLEONI. _I_ don't see it in that light.

LUCY. But when once more--

_Enter_ GIMFRISKY, _singing, "Will you come into my parlor, my pretty little fly?"_

[_Here the stage simultaneously opens, and the noble steamer sinks out of sight, leaving only the top of one of the smoke-pipes in view, from which emerges_ BILLY BIRCH, _who sings to slow and solemn music_:

"Down, down, down, Derry down,"
"Tho' lost to sight, to memory dear."]

* * * * *