Dis old man once him lub me too, Do' now in rage before ye, And often say, "Come Othello, And tell us pretty story, About der time when yon young child, (You naughty lilly child ye), And when you 'bout de wood run wild, And when you sold for slavey." Den ebery day him tell all dis, And sometimes lilly lie, too, And him look in de eye of miss. And den him hear her sigh, too, Den missee meet him all alone, And den him ax her wedder, Him make de both two hearts in one, Den off dey run togedder. W. J. Hammond played Othello in this piece, both at Liverpool, and afterwards at the Strand Theatre, where popular Miss E. Daly was the Desdemona and H. Hall the Iago. What can these presumably capable actors have thought of their _rôles_? The text of the burlesque is almost wholly without humour, of which, however, there is a gleam in the complaint made by Cassio that he has been ruined by a pint of beer:-- My reputation's lost--my reputation! I'm bother'd, sir--I'm bother'd quite with thinking; I've lost my reputation, sir, for drinking. I, who to good brown stout ne'er yet turn'd tail, Drunk and bedevil'd with a mug of ale! Was ever man in such a situation? My reputation, sir--my reputation! H. J. Byron's "Rival Othellos" (played at the Strand in 1876) was not a travestie of the tragedy; but it gave opportunity for some clever burlesque of tragic acting. We come now to the first (and, so far as I know, the only) travestie of "King John," which happily was essayed by the capable pen of Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett. The year was 1837, the _locale_ the St. James's Theatre, and Hall the representative of the title-part, with Mme. Sala as Lady Constance. The play was lucky in being dealt with by so deft a workman. The subject was not very promising, and all was done with it that was possible. The scene in which the King incites Hubert to get rid of Arthur was thus travestied:-- Hubert, my friend, I had a thing to say. But let it pass--the sun is shining bright: To suit my purpose, it had needs be night, If where we stand could be a railroad tunnel, As if we looked at Tartarus through a funnel; If you could only scent what I propose, Yet let it not smell rankly in your nose, If you could, or if I--Hubert, my lad, Who made that coat?--indeed, the cut's not bad. _Hub._ Great king, you know I always lov'd you well, Then why not in a word your wishes tell? Why roll your troubled eye about its socket? My lord, your heart is in your breeches pocket. Though it would cost my life, what is't you need? I'll do your bidding--