Chapter 1

JANUARY 7th 1893.

LONDON: PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET, AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.

1893.

LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

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PREFACE

SCENE--_The Elysian Fields, a flower-gemmed bank, by a flowing stream, beneath the sylvan shade of unfading foliage._ Mr. PUNCH--_who is free of all places, from Fleet Street to Parnassus--discovered, in Arcadian attire, attempting "numerous verse" on a subject of National importance--to wit, the approaching Royal Marriage._

_Mr. Punch._ Propt on this "bank of amaranth and moly," Beneath the shade of boughs _un_melancholy, I meditate on AEstas and on Hymen! Pheugh! _What_ a Summer! Torrid drought doth try men,-- And fields and farms; yet when our Royal MAY Weds--in July--'tis fit that Phoebus stay His fiery car to welcome her! By Jove, That sounds Spenserian! Illustrious Love Epithalamion demands, and lo! We've no official Laureate, to let flow, With Tennysonian dignity and sweetness, Courtly congratulation. DRYDEN's neatness, Even the gush of NAHUM TATE or PYE Are not available, so PUNCH must try His unofficial pen. My tablets, TOBY! This heat's enough to give you hydrophoby! Talk about Dog-days! Is that nectar iced? Then just one gulp! It beats the highest priced And creamiest champagne. Now, silence, Dog, And let me give my lagging Muse a jog!

[_Writes, with one eye on the portraits of the_ Duke of YORK _and the_ Princess MAY, _the other on the iced nectar-cup._

Humph! I do hope the happy Royal Pair (Whose counterfeit presentments front me there, Inspiring, in young manhood and frank beauty) Will think their Laureate hath fulfilled his duty, His labour of most loyal love, discreetly. Compliments delicate, piled not sickly-sweetly, Like washy WARTON's, nor so loud thrasonical-- Like Glorious JOHN's--that they sound half ironical! 'Tis hard indeed for loyal love to hit The medium just 'twixt sentiment and wit----

[TOBY _barks, and a mellifluous voice soundeth, courteously intervenient, as two splendid Shades steal silently through the verdurous shadows._

_First Voice._ But you _have_ hit it, never-missing-One!

_Second Voice._ For fulsome twaddle finds best check in Fun!

_Mr. Punch_ (_with respectful heartiness_). What! Sweet-voiced SPENSER! Chivalrous-souled SIDNEY!! This _is_ a joy! For heroes of your kidney PUNCH hath a heartier homage, as he hopes, Than the most thundering Swinburnian tropes Could all express!

_Spenser_ (_smiling mildly_). ALGERNON's one of Us! In fierce superlatives, and foam and fuss, He deals o'ermuch, but proof lies in his page. _He_'s of the true Parnassian lineage, And should be Laureate--if he care to be so.

_Sidney._ Would he but heed what HORACE wrote to PISO! "The singing-skill of god APOLLO's giving" Is his, however, and no lyrist living Hath such a stretch of finger, or such tone.

_Mr. Punch._ Faith, but he sings immortal Fames--your own, My PHILIP, latest and not least--in strains That thrill our nerves and mount into our brains. If he would study less in GOSSON's "School" (That of "Abuse," o'er which you laid the rule In your "Defence of Poesy"), and stay Less in dim Orcus than Arcadia, Then--well, I might have well been spared this task. SPENSER, _you_ penned _your own_; now may I ask Epithalamion-recipes from you?

_Spenser_ (_smiling_). Yes--when you need them! I was Laureate too! There's enough inspiration in those faces [_Pointing to portraits of the_ Duke of YORK _and the_ Princess MAY. To bring the needful Muses, and the Graces, All to your aid!

_Mr. Punch._ By Jove! That "takes the cake." You great Elizabethans had the knack Of courtly compliment. Young GEORGE, fair MAY, Shall have your _mot_ upon their marriage day, As a choice wedding gift, to pair with mine!

_Spenser and Sidney_ (_together_). What's that?

_Mr. Punch_ (_politely_). One you may share, if you incline. TOBIAS, hand the new-bound Oracle here! Take it, brave SIDNEY, take it, SPENSER dear! It may enliven e'en this amaranth shore; It is my new