Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 5

CHARLIE, until that Synopsis you've
read; Wish I'd mugged it all up overnight; but I carn't get it straight in
my 'ead. Sort o' mixture of Shylock and BYRON, with bits of Othello
chucked in, Muddled up with "Chioggian wars," as seemed mostly blue
fire and bright tin.
But the scenes wos 'splendiferous, CHARLIE. About arf a mile o' stage
front, With some thousands of 'eroes and supers, as seemed all the time
on the 'unt. Lor! 'ow they did scoot up and down that there stage at the
double, old man, All their legs on the waggle, like flies, and their
armour a-chink as they ran!
Old Shylock turns up quite permiskus, and always upon the full trot; He
seemed mixed up with Portias, and Doges, smart gals, and the dickens
knows wot. All kep waving their arms like mad semy-phores, doin' the
akrybat prank, As if they was swimming in nothink, or 'ailing a 'bus for
the Bank.
I sez to a party beside me, "Old man, wot the doose does it _mean_?"
Sez he, "A dry attic, yer know, of wich Venice, yer see, wos the Queen.
That cove in a nightcap's the Doge; for an old 'un he can move about.
They had G.O.M.'s, mate, in Venice; of that there is not the least doubt.

"That's VETTORE PISANI, the Hadmiral; t'other is General ZENO
Defending the State, I persoom, and they're 'aving a fust-class old
beano. Wy PEDRO THE SECOND, of Cyprus, and Portia is made a
rum blend With Turps Siccory's Revels, and so on, no doubt we shall
twig at the hend."
I sez, "Thankee! that's werry instructive. You do know a lot, mate, you
do!" Then the fight at Chioggia came on. Sech a rum pully-haully all
through. But the Victory Percession wos proper, and so was the All
Frisky _feet_, And the way as they worked the gondolers, them
streaky-legged chaps, wos a treat.
But the best o' the barney came arter. I took a gondoler, old man, Sort o'
wobbly black coffin afloat, and perpelled on the rummiest plan With
one oar and a kind of notched post. But a dressy young party in pink
'Ad a seat in my ship, and seemed skeery. I cheered 'er up--wot do you
think?
"No danger," sez I, "not a mossel! Now is there, old lollipop-legs? Sit
'ere, Miss, and trim the old barky! Go gently now, young
'Am-and-Eggs! 'Ow much for yer mustard-striped kicksies? Way-oh!
Wy, you nearly run down The Ryhalto that time, you young josser.
Look hout, Miss, he'll crack your sweet crown!"
_Larf_, CHARLIE? She did a fair chortle. I _'ave_ sech a way with the
shes. We 'ad six sixpennorths together--I tell you 'twos
go-as-you-please! Modern Venice, took out of a toy-box, with palaces
fourteen foot 'igh. And Bridges o' Sighs cut in pasteboard, is larks all
the same, and no fly.
Sort o' cosy romanticky feeling a-paddling along them canals, With the
manderlines twangling all round, and the larf of the gayest of gals
Gurgling up through the Hightalian hair--though it do 'ave a
cockneyfied sniff,-- Wy it's better than spooning at Marlow with
MOLLY MOLLOY in a skiff.
I felt like Lord BYRON, I tell yer; I stretched myself, orty-like, hout,
And wished it could go on all night, wich my pardner did ditto, no

doubt. Modern Venice in minichure, CHARLIE, ain't really so dusty,
you bet; I wos quite a Bassanio in breeks, and I ain't lost the twang of it
yet.
My Portia wos POLLY MARIA; she tipped me her name fair and free;
And a pootier young mossel o' muslin, I never 'ad perch on my knee.
No side on 'er, nothink lowlived, CHARLIE, ladylike down to the
ground, I called 'er my fair "Bride of Venice." In fact, we wos 'appy all
round.
She said I wos _'er_ form to a hounce, and if anyone looked more O.K.,
In a nobby Gondoler than me, well that chap 'adn't travelled _'er_ way;
Wich wos Barnsbury Park--so she whispered, with sech a sly giggle,
dear boy! I sez "Bully for IMRE KIRALFY! His Show is a thing to
henjoy!"
And so it is, CHARLIE, old hoyster. The music is twangly, I own, And
if I've a fancy myself, 'taint hexactly the Great Xylophone; But the
speeches of musical scratch-backs the dancers keep time with so pat, In
that fairy-like Carnival Bally, fetched POLLY, ah, all round 'er 'at!
That 'at wos a spanker, I tell yer; as big as the Doge's State-Barge, And
like all the "Four Seasons" in one! "Well," sez POLLY, "I do like 'em
large, Them Venetian pork-pies ain't my fancy, no room for no
trimmings above. They wouldn't suit Barnsbury Park, though they
might do 'The Castle of Love'!"
Sort o' needled her