Bus. Psha! take it away, [Exit Davenport] and you, my dear Ophelia, do get along with you, and wait till it's your turn to come on; now do go like a good fellow.

Ophelia. Well, but

Bus. Now do go.

Ophelia, And the brandy?

Bus. Shali be better.

Ophelia. And the mulligatawny?

[Shoving him off.]

Bus. Shall be ordered. [Gets him off] That is the most troublesome, unreasonable—

Ophelia. [Running on again.] And I say, Busky my boy, I'll be hang'd if I carry that tree about the stage.

Bus. No, no, you shan't, I tell you.

Ophelia. And the brandy?

Bus. Now do go.

Ophelia, And the mulligatawny?

Bus. Confound it, get off the Stage, will you. [Pushes him off.] Well, if ever they catch me again!-Now let's see, what else is there to be done? Let me look at my memorandums, [Pulls out a list about 9 feet long of memorandums.] while I have a moment's leisure, let's see : [Reads.]

Two wigs and thirteen waistcoats for Grave Diggers.

Poison for King and Queen.

A little fresh blood.

A scull for Hamlet, and a pair of stays for Ophelia. [I shall never be able to fit him.]

Tickets.

Advertisements.

Two tenors and a bass for the dirge. Pair of shorts for Polonius. To make new lightning, mem last wouldn't flash. Augier to brighten

swords--

Enter MR. GREEN.

Well, Mr. Green, is all ready?

Green. Yes Sir, and Major Brush has just come to see the effect of his new scene.

Bus. What! has he been painting a new scene?

Green. Yes Sir, a moonlight Sir, but Capt. Rocket says Sir, its no more like the moon than his grandmother.

Bus. And what do you say, Mr. Green.

Green. Oh Sir, I am no judge, and when gentlemen are so kind as to volunteer to paint scenes, one must not be too hard upon them.

Bus. Ah, that's exactly what you observed Mr. Green, when Capt. Rocket was so kind as to paint a tent scene for Richard the Third, which the audience took for a view of the Government House turned upside down, but come, ring up, and here, in good time, to see the effect of his labours, comes Brush.

[Green rings, scene draws up and discovers a Sea and Castle view out of all perspective and proportion, (like Hogarth's illustration of false perspective,) a creature painted on one of the walls like a white wooden horse in a canter; and on one of the trees, which are like wigs, is another creature with

wings as a cherub on a tomb stone; an immense moon occupies the centre of the scene, and large stars accurately marked out, appear in various parts of the sky, as the front scene draws up. BRUSH enters, and stands in an attitude of supreme content.]

Brush. Well, my good fellow, I think I have hit you off there to a T. That's what I call a choice bit-the poetry of painting; “ye stars which are the poetry of Heaven," as Byron says--eh Buskin? Bus. Why, your scene really does astonish me.

Brush. Yon moon, "round as my shield," as Home says-eh Buskin? I flatter myself, we hit the higher walks of the art, the poetry of painting, eh! something Martinish in the whole thing-eh!

Bus. Very (aside) Betty Martinish.

Brush. The battlements of Elsinore-night,---"a solemn stillness fills the dusky air," as Grey says-ch! At a glance you can see from the mysterious silence of the scene, that a great and supernatural event is at hand. The moon and stars sympathise, eh! You understand Buskin? the poetry of painting-ch!

Bus. Yes, very clearly; but, my dear fellow, what the deuce is that taking a gallop along the battlements? I have heard of the ghost of Hamlet's father, but Shakspear makes no mention of the ghost of his horse.

Brush. Horse! horse! Mr. Buskin, that's a cat.

Bus. Oh! a cat!

Brush. Yes Sir, a cat. I cant find people eyes, or imagination, Mr. Buskin.

Bus. My dear fellow, I—

Brush. Why, my dear Buskin, what can be more expressive of the "witching hour of night," than a cat, especially of moonlight; why, now I appeal to your own good sense, my dear Buskin, don't you see them scampering about by thousands in all the gutters of Calcutta every moonlight night, and why the devil shouldn't they do the same at Elsinore?

Bus. Oh! no reason on earth; and do cupids, little loves with wings, roost in the trees at Elsinore? for I swear, that is not the case in Calcutta-(points to the cherubim-like creature).

Brush. Cupids! little loves! come come, Buskin, you know what that is, as well as I do.

Bus. Upon my soul, I dont.

Brush. Oh yes, you do.

Bus. I dont, really.

Brush. Then all I can say sir, is, demme if you've got any soul

for the poetry of painting.

Bus. My dear Brush.

Brush. I'll never touch another scene.

Bus. That will be unfortunate.

Brush. I'll-I'll-caricature the whole concern.

Bus. That will add to our concern.

Brush. (Stopping short and looking at the cherub.) But really now do you pretend not to know what that is?

Bus. Oh, my dear friend, its all a bad joke of mine. I saw all the time what it was. Its a-its a-a-a-confound it, I forget the name

of the thing just now; but any body can see that its-a-a-they are very common at what do ye call em--a.

Brush. Yes, as you say, an Owl? You and your little loves! Ah Buskin, you are a precious wag; but, my dear fellow, you see my drift? Bus. Oh, clearly.

Brush. The poetry of painting, eh? The owl and the cat, both birds of night, show midnight; so do the moon and stars; and there's another little episode connected with the whole scene,-now I'll bet you a small wager you don't guess what it is.

Bus. Why, to confess the honest truth

Brush. You can't!---bless me! how can people have such a want of perception; pray, Mr. Buskin, why should that owl sit upon that tree? Bus. For no reason on earth that I can imagine, except because it pleases him.

Brush. There it is now, you don't see the allegory. The owl represents my uncle.

Bus. Your uncle!!

Brush. Oh, nonsense, you know what I mean, "oh my prophetic soul, my uncle," that is Hamlet's uncle.

Bus. Well?

Brush. Now Hamlet is a mouse, which has taken shelter under the roots of that tree, because the owl is going to pounce upon him.

Bus. The devil. (Aside). But where is the mouse? I don't see him. Brush. How the deuce should you? didn't I tell you he is under the roots of the tree.

Bus. Oh!!

Brush. Well, the cat is fate, or vengeance, or the ghost of Ham let's father, which ever you like.

Bus. The dev'l she is!

Brush. And she's coming stealthily;

Bus. She's in a full gallop.

Brush. Nonsense, she's coming stealthily to put the owl to flight, then out comes the mouse

Bus.

And the cat eats him.

Brush. No, I tell you the cat does no such thing; but it's astonishing, how little comprehension some people have of the poetry of painting.

Bus. But there is one thing, my dear Brush, if you will allow me to ask a great favour. I am sure you will oblige me now.

Brush. Well, what is it? Mind I wont take out either the cat or the owl,"save where the owl does to the moon complain," as Grey says-eh!

Bus. I think the line might be alter'd in the present case, to "save where the owl does of the moon complain."

Brush. Ah, you're a wag, Buskin; but what do you want me to do? eh!

Bus. My dear fellow, if you only would now cut off a few feet from your moon.

Brush. What!!

Bus. It is such a whacking moon.

Brush. Mr. Buskin, I can't find people taste and judgment. Sir, I'll tell you what it is, that moon is the very best thing I ever painted in my life.

Bus. But my dear Brush

Brush. No sir, I've done sir, with the whole concern; fag, fag, toil, toil all day, amongst stinking paint and bad brushes, and these are my thanks. Sir, it is my belief, that you have not on, not ONE particle of comprehension of the poetry of painting, and so sir, I wish you a very good evening, and the next time you want a moon, sir, you may paint it yourself, sir. [Exit in a rage.

Bus. Just like all the rest, well, if ever they catch me again;—but I'm in for it this time. Come Mr. Green, let's go on, (takes up a volume of Shakspear) now. Act the 1st-Scene the 1st-Horatio, not here; Marcellus, not here; Bernardo;-well, let us go on to the second scene, Queen, confound it! not here; King,-is the King here, Mr. Green?

Green. (From behind the Scene). No sir, the King has gone to catch rats with his new terrier.

Bus. They are really incorrigible---well, let's go at once to the ghost scene, now enter Hamlet.

(At this announcement three HAMLETS come on the stage simultaneously, one O. P., one P. S., and the third from the top of the stage, they are all dressed precisely alike.)

The three Hamlets. (All speaking together with much emphasis and gesticulation.) To be, or not to be, that is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer—

Bus. Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake! what is the meaning of all this?

The three Hamlets. The stings and arrows of outrageous fortuneBus. Outrageous! s'death I wont suffer it; I insist, gentlemen, I beg-what is the meaning of all this?

First Ham. Why, Mr. Buskin, did not you ask me to take the part? Bus. Yes sir, but you replied, you did not think it would suit you. First Ham. I only said, I did not think it would suit me, and it was your duty, sir, as stage manager to have removed any scruples I might have had; because sir, it happens, that, since that, I find it will suit me exactly.

part.

Bus. But, my dear sir, another gentleman has been rehearsing the

First Ham. Oh, very well sir! very well! I am sure, I am the last person in the world to wish to force myself upon the boards; in fact, I detest acting; but I thought I was doing you a favor; however, it is of no consequence sir, none whatever; but if ever I assist again, I'll give you leave to put me into the part of the Post in Richard the Third, that's all. (Draws a chair forward and sits down very sulkily.)

Bus. (Going gently up to him.) If playing Othello next Friday week, would be agreeable to you

First Ham. Eh! Othello! why, Othello is a good part, I must confess, and if you think I could do it justice, my dear Buskin

Bus. Justice! my dear fellow!

First Ham. Say no more Buskin, come home and

good friend, and we'll look it over together.

Second Ham. Well, Mr. Buskin, pray sir, who is to go on with this scene.

Bus. Why, really, my dear Pierce, I thought you wrote me word, your health was so delicate, that you could not risk playing.

Second Ham. And pray, is that any reason? that was a week ago; did you expect me to remain in delicate health for ever?

Bus. But you have never rehearsed.

Second Ham. I beg your pardon, sir, I not only rehearsed, but play'd Macbeth in November, 1829, at the Hajeepore Fair.

Bus. But, my good sir, what has Macbeth to do with Hamlet.

Second Ham. Oh, very well, sir, I see you are one of those people who never can be convinced; a person not open to reason: but if ever you catch me playing at your beggarly theatre again-hookah lao; (in a furious voice) not that I care about it, sir,-hookah lao, you soor-no, not the pairing of a nail.-You precious soor, if you don't bring my hookah, toom burrah mar khaga.

(Enter Hookah-burdar with hookah, second Hamlet sits down and smokes in sulky silence.)

Bus. (Going up to him gently.) Now, my dear Pierce, I am truly sorry for this unfortunate misapprehension,-Coriolanus is a good part, and if next Friday fortnight you would only try

Second Hamlet. Coriolanus-eh! it is'nt so bad, faith ;-well, my dear Buskin, any thing for the benefit of our poor old Drury, and to oblige you Coriolanus, let it be next Friday fortnight,-dine with me on Saturday, my dear fellow, now do, pray oblige me. (Shaking Buskin heartily by the hand.)

let's

Lus. Well, I will look over my list of engagements: but come, get on. Now Belvi, (to third Hamlet) Marcellus, and Bernardo are gone to dine at the Club-consider the Soliloquy as over, and then enter the Ghost, (in a louder voice) enter the Ghost. Enter GHOST dressed in a long sheet, his face powdered, and a white nightcap on his head, trowsers stuffed into a pair of Hessian boots, a truncheon, and a long sword fastened awkwardly to his side. Bus. Why, my dear Muggins, who for Heaven's sake! who dressed you in that extraordinary manner?

Ghost. That is n't what you should say, my cue is. I'll go no

further," and then I say "mark me."

Eus. Upon my soul it would be difficult to avoid it; but who dressed you? Do you understand?

Ghost. Oh!!! Dress! Oh yes! I understand now-why its a very pretty dress is n't it? (admiring himself) I'm sure its very awful; I was put into a suit of clothes all over silver paper and blue paint, but Captain Rocket said it was no more like a Ghost than his grandmother, and so he was so good as to put me to rights as he called it.

Bus. Rocket's mad, and you are a-but no matter. It's the last time I'll have any thing to do with it, go on-dress as you like-do as you like,-play Hamlet or play the devil. It is really enough to try the patience of Job-but go on gentlemen if you please, go on Mr. Belvi. Angels and ministers" if you please.

Third Ham. Angels and Ministers of grace defend me-Beast!! Thou a spirit of health or goblin damned !!!