LOVE'S LABOUR NOT LOST!
Reading edition
(A Dramatic Scene, with Suggestions from Shakspeare.)
Scene.—A British Quay. Enter The Visible Prince (like the King and his companions in "Love's Labour's Lost") "in Russian habits" but bearing a true British face, not masked. To him enters the most loyal and loving of his subjects and sage counsellors, Mr. Punch.
Mr. Punch (joyously). "All hail the pleasantest Prince upon the earth!" Prince (gaily.) "Behaviour, what wert thou, till this man show'd thee?" Mr. Punch. Well capped, my Prince! Prince. Be you the same, good friend! "Your bonnet to its right use; 'tis for the head," (As Hamlet said), and "'tis indifferent cold." Mr. Punch. "It is a nipping and an eager air"— As not unusual in our Isle's December! Prince. "The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold." I feel it, Punch, through all my Russian sables, Though I'm from Muscovy. Mr. Punch. What met you there, Sir? Prince (promptly). "Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation!" Mr. Punch (applauding). Most aptly quoted, Sir! The happiest "lift," From him the ever applicable bard, I've met this many a moon. Prince. Glad to be back To English shores—and you—for all the love I leave behind, and all the cold I come to. Mr. Punch. Not in our hearts, my Prince, not in our hearts! Prince. Nay, that I'll swear. Witness your presence here, This chilling day. "How many weary steps Of many weary miles you have o'ergone!" Mr. Punch. "We number nothing that we spend for you: Our duty is so rich, so infinite, That we may do it still without account." When you "vouchsafe the sunshine of your face." Prince (laughing). Punch, know you all the Swan? Mr. Punch. E'en as the Swan Knows all his Punch, which is his favourite reading In the Elysian Fields; and one good turn Deserves another! But, my Albert Edward, "What did the Russian whisper in your ear?" Prince. Punchius, "He swore that he did hold me dear As precious eyesight, and did value me Above this world; adding thereto, moreover, That he would ever live our England's lover." Mr. Punch. "God give thee joy of him! The noble Tsar Most honourably will uphold his word" As I doubt not. I'm happy o' your visit. "But what, Sir, purpose they to visit us?" Prince. "They do, they do, and all apparel'd thus Like Muscovites, or Russians, as I dress. Their purpose is to parle, to court, to dance. And every one his love-feat will advance." Mr. Punch. As you have done, my Prince, at sorrow's flood Taking the tide of frank affection, like A skilled and trusty pilot. Such a Prince, Good faith, is worth a dozen diplomats And many full-armed legions. Prince. May it prove so! Mr. Punch. Well, let them come! "Disguis'd like Muscovites" (As Rosaline said) we'll know them still as friends; And they'll find here, as you there found, my Prince, "Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation!!!" *
[Exeunt together.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
A TEMPEST in a teapot stands, one knows, For noisy nothing in the realms of prose. But what is that to the prodigious pother When Minor Poets pulverise each other? "Birds in their little nests agree,"—all right! Bards in their little books fall out and fight. The birds of which the pious rhymster sings Sure were not "singing birds"—those angry things! Who prune themselves and peck each other frightfully. Alas that warblers should contend so spitefully. All—save the cynic—mourn the Muse's loss, When Gosse snubs Gale, or Gale be-blizzards Gosse!