Punch: Punch (96.1889)

June 29, 1889.

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

in

SCENE—A Glade in the New Forest.

Mr. Punch [sings).

Mr. Punch discovered seated under the spreading boughs of a tree, with only Tour and a
tankard for “ the best of all good companie.”

“ Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat,

‘ ‘ Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.”

A Voice. More, more, I pr’ythee, more !

Mr. Punch. What, my fine, fantastical, forest-haunting moraliser, my Burton in trunk-hose, my well-beloved Melan-
choly Jaques, is it you? Welcome, I say, welcome ! Though surely you have lost your way, like other rambling ruminants,
for this is the New Forest, not the Forest of Arden, and it is—or was lately—haunted, not by the gentle Duke and his com-
rades, but by the fat Knight—him of Malwood, not of Windsor or Eastcheap—and his Grand Old Guest.

Jaques. ’Tis a far cry from Arden to Hawarden, and he who would devote holiday hours in mid-June to railways,
not ruminating, to perorating, not placidity, is scarce a man to my mind. “ He is too disputable for my company.”

Mr. Punch. Why, verily, your maxim, “ ’Tis good to be sad and say nothing,” would hardly commend itself to
William thu un-Silent. Now I am taking it easy, under the shade of boughs not melancholy in their beautiful June leafiness,
but “far from the madding crowd,” and from Parliament, Morning Papers, the Special Commission, Portland Weddings, and
all other forms of modish plaguiness and palaver.

Jaques. The wiser you. You are the latter-day Touchstone of this bosky wilderness, “ a rare fellow, good at anything,
wdio uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and, under the presentation of that, shoots his wit.”

Mr. Punch. Well, well, you need not be shot standing. Pr’ythee be seated, Jaques, if—if you are not hindered, like
Marley’s spectre, by circumstances beyond your control; and drink—-if there’s a passage in your ghostly throat.

Jaques. For this cool tipple—yes. Iced Champagne Cup was not known in Arden; ’tis one thing in which you have
the Letter of us. Could the hungry and angry Orlando now rush in upon our feast, he might almost be excused for some
“ strong enforcement ” in his resolve to share it.

Mr. Punch. We have our Orlandos yet, Jaques.

“ The thorny point

Of hare distress hath ta’en from them the show
Of smooth civility.”

But they are to be found in City slums rather than in woodland glades, and would muster menacingly in Trafalgar Square
rather than in a forest opening. Poor souls ! they need my genial ministrations.

‘ ‘ Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and. I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of th’ infected world,

If they will patiently receive my medicine.’

Dost remember the words, Jaques ?