Volume 103 — THE LAY OF THE LAST KNIGHT.
Reading edition
My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART— Ah! happy augury. Would I could Leave it so. But 'twill not do. Like soap of Monkey brand, It will not wash clothes, Or, in truth, ought else. 'Tis but an accident of rhythm Born of the imperative mood that makes one Start a poem of this kind on ten feet, Howe'er it may thereafter crawl or soar. What I really was about to remark was that My name and style are ELLIS ASHMEAD BART- LETT, Knight; late Civil Lord of Admiralty You know me. I come from Sheffield; at least I did on my return thence Upon re-election.
II.
A sad world this, my masters, as someone— Was it my friend SHAKSPEARE?— Says. The sadness arises upon reflection, not That I'm a Knight, but that I am, so to speak, A Knight of only two letters. As thus—Kt. 'Tis but a glimmer of a night, If I, though sore at heart, may dally with The English tongue And make a pensive pun.
III.
Of course I expected different things from The MARKISS. What's the use, what's the purpose, Of what avail, wherefore, That a man should descend from the Spacious times of ELIZABETH with nothing In his hand other than a simple Knighthood? Anyone could do that. It might be done to anyone. He, him, all, any, both, certain, few, Many, much, none, one, other, another. One another, several, some, such and whole. Why, he made a Knight At the same time, In the same manner, Of MAPLE BLUNDELL!
IV.
Look here, MARKISS, you know, This won't do. It may pass in a crowd, but not with ELLIS ASHMEAD BART— (There it is again. Evidently doesn't matter About the feet) LETT.
V.
And yet MARKISS, mine, I shall not despair. You are somewhat out of it At the present moment. And I am not sure— Not gorged with certainty— That Mr. G. would be Inclined to make amends. He is old; he is agëd. Prejudice lurks amid His scant white locks, And forbids the stretch- Ing forth of generous hand in whose Recesses coyly glint The Bart. or K.C.B.
VI.
But you are not everyone; Nor is he. Nor do both together In the aggregate Compose the great globe And all that therein is. I'll wait awhile, possessing my soul in Patience. Everything comes to the man who waits. (Sometimes, 'tis true, 'tis the bobby Who asks what he's loafing there for, And bids him Move on. That is a chance the brave resolute soul Faces.) The pity of it is That you, MARKISS, having so much to give, So little gave To Me.
VII.
Oh, MARKISS! MARKISS! Had I but served my GLADSTONE As I have served thee, He would not have forsak— But that's another story.
THE NEW HOPERA OF 'ADDON 'ALL.—The title finally decided upon for the SULLIVAN-GRUNDY Opera is Haddon Hall. Lovely for 'ARRY! "'Ave you seen 'Addon 'All?" Then the 'ARRY who 'as only 'eard a portion of it, will say, "I 'addn't 'eard 'all." As a Cockney title, it's perfect. Successful or not, Author and Composer will congratulate themselves that, to deserve, if not command success, they 'ad don all they knew. If successful, they'll replace the aspirates, and it will be some time before they recover the exact date when they Had-don Hauling in the coin. Prosit!
MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE.—Says the Pall Mall Gazette:—"For knocking over a man selling watercress, with fatal results, a Hammersmith cabman has been committed for trial for manslaughter." If this is true, the HOME SECRETARY should immediately interpose. The action of knocking a man over is hasty, and may be indefensible. But if the Hammersmith Cabman had just grounds for belief that the man was "selling watercresses with fatal results," he should rather be commended than committed for trial.
"KEEPING-UP THE CHRISTOPHER."—(A Note from an Old Friend).—"CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS" indeed! As years ago I told Sairey Gamp about her bothering Mrs. Harris, "I don't believe there's no sich a person." That's what I says, says I, about COLUMBUS, wich ain't like any other sort of "bus" as I see before my blessed eyes every day.
Yours, ELIZABETH PRIG.
P.S.—Mr. EDWIN JOHNSON, him as wrote to the Times last Saturday, is of my opinion. Good Old JOHNSON!
"HONORIS CAUSÂ."—To Mr. GRANVILLE MONEY, son of the Rector of Weybridge, whose gallant rescue of a lady from drowning has recently been recorded, Mr. Punch grants the style and title of "Ready MONEY."
QUESTION AND ANSWER.—"Why don't I write Plays?" Why should I?