"Faust up to Date" includes some clever songs and some excruciating puns, of which these are perhaps the most excruciating:-- _Marg._ These sapphires are the finest I have seen. _Faust._ Ah! what I've sapphired for your sake, my queen! _Marg._ An opal ring, they say, bad luck will be; This one I opal not do that for me. Again:-- _Mephis._ Along the Riviera, dudes her praises sing. _Val._ Oh, did you Riviera such a thing? "Atalanta," the travestie by Mr. G. P. Hawtrey brought out at the Strand in 1888, was fitted with prose dialogue, much of which was very smart and amusing. The songs were numerous and well-turned, and certain details of the travestie were ingenious. Hippomenes, the hero, wins the race he runs with Atalanta, by placing in her path a brand-new "costume," of modern cut and material, which she finds it impossible not to stop for. For the rest, while possessing a decidedly "classical" flavour, "Atalanta" was, in essence, a racing burlesque, abounding in the phraseology of the turf, and introducing in the last scene counterfeit presentments of a number of well-known sportsmen. An agreeable cynicism ran through both the talk and the lyrics, from one of which--a duet between King Schoeneus and his High Chamberlain, Lysimachus--I extract the following satire on turf _morale_:-- _Lys._ There's a time to win and a time to lose. _Sch._ Of course, of course, of course. _Lys._ You can make 'em safe whenever you choose-- _Sch._ By force, by force, by force. _Lys._ Then doesn't it seem a sin and a shame To stop such a pleasant and easy game? If a horse doesn't win, why, who is to blame? _Sch._ The horse, the horse, the horse. * * * * * _Lys._ If it's cleverly managed, I always think-- _Sch._ Proceed, proceed, proceed-- _Lys._ At a neat little swindle it's proper to wink. _Sch._ Indeed, indeed, indeed! I don't understand what it's all about; But a man must be punished, I have no doubt, If he's such a fool as to get found out. _Lys._ Agreed, agreed, agreed. _Lys._ It's all because jockeys have played such tricks-- _Sch._ They go too far, too far. _Lys._ That the stewards are down like a thousand of bricks-- _Sch._ They are, they are, they are. For a season or two, you'll observe with pain, They'll hunt out abuses with might and main; Then the good old times will come back again. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! Elsewhere, there is a diverting bit of parody suggested by the extreme cautiousness and bad grammar of some newspaper racing prophecies. Hippomenes and Atalanta are the sole competitors in the race, and the local "tipster" thus discusses their prospects:--