_Medea._ I have done for this man All that tenderness can, I have followed him half the world through, sir; I've not seen him this year, And the first thing I hear Is "he's going to marry Creusa." Going to marry Creusa, Going to marry Creusa, Ting a ting ting! Ting a ting ting! All I can say, sir, is, _do_, sir. _Jason._ If you'll take my advice, You'll pack up in a trice, Nor of time to pack off be a loser; For the popular wrath Will be likely to froth 'Gainst a foe to myself or Creusa. I am going to marry Creusa, And, believe me, the best thing for you's a Fast ship to bespeak, And some desert isle seek, Like a sort of she Robinson Cruiser. The last of Planché's classical burlesques was produced at the Lyceum in 1848. It was on the subject of "Theseus and Ariadne," and was fortunate in the services of Charles Mathews as Dædalus. In this character Mathews sang a song which Planché had written for private performance and had brought "down to date" for the occasion. It is one of the happiest _mélanges_ ever put together, beginning-- I'm still in a flutter--I scarcely can utter The words to my tongue that come dancing--come dancing; I've had such a dream that I'm sure it must seem To incredulous ears like romancing--romancing. No doubt it was brought on by that Madame Wharton, Who muddled me quite with her models--her models; Or Madame Tussaud, who in waxwork can show Of all possible people the noddles--the noddles. The only song, of the kind, worthy to compare with this, is the description of the Heavy Dragoon sung by Colonel Calverly in the "Patience" of Mr. Gilbert, who, as a master of light badinage and intricate rhythm and rhyme, is the lineal descendant of the author of "Theseus and Ariadne." After Planché, the most notable of the deceased writers of "classical" burlesque is undoubtedly Francis Talfourd. Planché's knowledge of the Greek mythology and drama was admittedly derived from translations and from dictionaries; Talfourd was a university man, and had an at-first-hand acquaintance with the masterpieces which he so skilfully travestied. The marks of this are visible in all his "classical" pieces, and notably in the first of them--"Alcestis, the Original Strong-minded Woman, being a most Shameless Misinterpretation of the Greek drama of Euripides." This was played at the Strand in 1850. The "argument" prefixed to it is an excellent bit of punning:--