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Cast of Hamlet Travestie,

As performed at Covent Garden, London, June 17, 1813.

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As performed at Mitchell's Olympic Theatre, New York, on

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HAMLET

TRAVESTIE.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

A Room of State in the Palace.

KING, QUEEN, HAMLET, POLONIUS, LAERTES,
GENTLEMEN, and LADIES, discovered.

Flourish of Trumpets and Drums.

King.

THO' by our dismal phizzes plain 'tis seen
The mem'ry of our brother's death is green;
Yet, as he's laid in peace upon the shelf,

'Tis time we think upon our royal self:
We, therefore, to dispel our royal spleen,

Have ta'en his widow Gertrude for our Queen.—
How now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit.—

Laertes.

My Lord, that's true:

I have a mighty wish to learn to dance,
And crave your royal leave to go to France.

Your suit is granted.

King.

Laertes.

Sire, I'm much your debtor.

King.

Then brush! the sooner you are off the better.

Exit Laertes.

(To Hamlet) Cheer up, my son and cousin, never mind—

Hamlet.

A little more than kin, and less than kind.

King.

Why hang the clouds still on you? Come, have done.

Hamlet.

You're out, my Lord: I'm too much in the sun.—

Queen.

Come, Hamlet, leave off crying; 'tis in vain,
Since crying will not bring him back again.
Besides, 'tis common: all that live must die-
So blow you nose, my dear, and do not cry.

Hamlet.

Aye, Madam, it is common.

Queen.

If it be,

Why seems there such a mighty fuss with thee?

Hamlet.

Talk not to me of seems-when husbands die,
'Twere well if some folks seem'd the same as I.
But I have that within you can't take from me-
As for black clothes,-that's all my eye and Tommy (a).

HAMLET TRAVESTIE.

King.

Cheer up, my hearty: tho' you've lost your dad,
Consider that your case is not so bad:

Your father lost a father; and 'tis certain

Death o'er your great-grandfather drew a curtain.
You've mourn'd enough: 'tis time your grief to smother;
Don't cry; you shall be king some time or other.

Queen.

Go not to Wittenberg, my love, I pray you.

Hamlet.

Mamma, I shall in all my best obey you.

King.

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Well said, my lad! Cheer up! (b) no more foul weather:

We'll meet anon, and all get drunk together.

[Flourish of trumpets and drums

Exeunt all but Hamlet.

SONG.-HAMLET.

(Tune-" Derry Down.")

A ducat I'd give if a sure way I knew

How to thaw and resolve my stout flesh into dew!

How happy were I if no sin were self-slaughter,

For I'd then throw myself and my cares in the water!
Derry down, down, down, derry down.

How weary, how profitless, stale and how flat,

Seem to me all life's uses, its joys,—and all that:

This world is a garden unweeded; and clearly

Not worth living for-things rank and gross hold it merely.

Derry down, &c.

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