(Tune" Our Polly is a sad slut.")

Ophelia is a sad slut!

In spite of all I'd taught her,
She went to fish for tittlebats,

And fell into the water.
An envious bramble near the ditch

Fast by the ankle caught her,
And sous'd her over head and heels,

Slap-dash into the water.

Oh! I've a speech of fire; but, like a spout,
My tears do play upon't, and put it out!


I've had enough ado to keep him quiet,
And now will he kick up another riot.



A Church-Yard.

GRAVEDIGGER discovered digging a Grave.


(Tune" Black Joke.”)

0, long life to the sons of the pick-axe and spade,
For they hold up an antient respectable trade;

With my dig, dig, pick-ace and spade.

In the bistry of all early states 'twill be found,
That each half-naked nobleman dug his own ground;
For antiquity, all trades to delving must give in,
Since by digging e'en Adam himself earn’d his living.

With my dig, dig, pick-are and spade.

Whilst the GRAVEDIGGER is singing this Verse,

HAMLET and HORATIO enter at a distance.

This fellow digs and sings—unfeeling knave!
He's making merry of a trade that's grave.

Horatio. Use, Sir, is second nature.


On reflection, I think I'd do the same were I a sexton.

[merged small][ocr errors]

The carpenter, shipwright, and mason, may boast
Of the strength of their buildings--they're nut-shells at most:

With my dig, dig, &c.

But the sexton builds stronger than all put together,
For the houses that he makes defy wind and weather ;
And his tenants lie snug, undisturb'd, and content,
For they're ne'er teazed for taxes, nor troubled for sent.

With my dig, dig, fc.
[Gravedigger throws up several skulls.


That skull might once have been a politician's ;
And that a lawyer's, or a grave physician's.
Law, politics, and physic, now must grovel,
To bear a basting with a dirty shovel !-
That sexton seems a dev'lish dry old elf:
Horatio, shall we quiz him?

[ocr errors]


Please yourself.

Hamlet. (To Gravedigger) Do'st know whose skull was this

amongst the many?

What! can't

tell ?

Why, how the devil can I?

Of all good fellows sure he was the best, Sir!
This skull was Yorick's once, the late king's jester.

Hamlet. Alas, poor Yorick!—Sir, I knew him well-O! He was indeed a jolly roaring fellow. Horatio, he would get dead drunk,--and after Could keep the table in a roar of laughter: The first and last was he in ev'ry row: O'th' wrong side of his mouth he's laughing now. Now, when Miss Prim is seated at her glass, With paints and washes to bedaub her face, Tell her, (to make her giggle at her toilette,) That, paint ber face inch thick, yet death will spoil it..


(Tune—“ Dorothy Dumps.").

When depriv'd of our breath,

By that harlequin, Death,
His pantomime-changes fast follow :

First his magic displaces

Eyes and nose from our faces,
And like this leaves them ghastly, and hollow.

'Tis to him the same thing,

Whether beggar or king,~
'Midst his frolics all share the same fate;

And certain it is,

To a thing just like this,
He transform'd Alexander the Great.

Next, without much delay,

We're converted to clay;
But our next transformation's a lottry:

Some are chang'd into cans,

Some to pint-pots or ans-
Some to tea-pots from Wedgewood's fam'd pott'ry!

By this rule may we trace

Julius Cæsar's bold face,
'Till we find it i'th' form of a jug;

And renown'd Alexander,

The world's great commander,
A two-penny earthenware mug !!

Bell tolls.

Hamlet. But mum! here come King, Queen, and all the

court : Let's stand aside awhile and see the sport.

[Bell tolls.


BERNARDO, GENTLEMEN, and LADIES, following the corpse of OPHELIA.

Laertes. Must there no more be done?


Steady, lad, steady; Don't talk of more-we've done too much already.

« VorigeDoorgaan »