After "Romeo and Juliet," the first of Shakespeare's plays to be burlesqued was "Richard III.," of which Charles Selby, the comedian, and Stirling Coyne, the well-known man of letters, each perpetrated a travestie in 1844. Selby's piece[40] was founded on the Colley Cibber adaptation, and introduced Henry VI., who, at the end, was represented as coming to life again and quietly assuming the crown which Richmond was about to take. Richard also is resuscitated, after a fashion very popular in burlesques of Shakespeare. Of literary merit Selby's work had little. [40] Produced at the Strand, with Hammond as Richard, Wigan as Henry VI., Romer as Tressel, Miss L. Lyons as Lady Anne, and so on. Take, for example, his arrangement of the scene in which Richard woos the Lady Anne:-- _Lady A._ Well, I never! You ugly, naughty man, Why do you thus torment the wretched Anne? _Richard._ Torment! sweet saint, recall that killing word, And substitute adore. _Lady A._ Indeed! I've heard Old gossips say he's but a silly calf, Who fondly thinks to catch old birds with chaff. Look on that pattern of thy gentle love! (_pointing off_ R.) _Richard._ I do, and weep, my pretty turtle-dove. And yet methinks I can excuse myself. _Lady A._ Wholesale butcher! _Richard._ Thou dost abuse thyself! (_Rapidly, with great passion_) Thou art the cause of all my peccadilloes-- Thy beauty (like Battersean billows, Which market barges smash to shivereens, And cheat the town of _sparrow grass_ and greens), Thy fatal beauty, for whose dear sake, Of all the world I'd Epping sausage make! Or kill myself--(if thou shouldst wish me die) One hour on that soft breast to lie. _Lady A._ Nonsense! I don't believe you! get along! (_hitting him playfully with her fan_.). _Richard._ I know, dear love, I've done thee grievous wrong! But though by me thy husband's death was done, 'Twas but to help thee to a better one. _Lady A._ His better does not wear a head. _Richard._ He lives who loves thee better. _Lady A._ Whom? _Richard._ Nay, guess. _Lady A._ I can't. I'm a dunce at riddle-me-ree. Some lunatic, of course? _Richard._ Made so by thee! (_kneels_) Turn thy bright eyes on _this_ devoted head-- _Lady A._ Would they were _baganets_, to stick thee dead! (_crosses_ R.) Richard. I would they were--that I at once might hop the twig! For now, with cruel scorn, they at me dig, And _homoeopathically_ mill me. If thou art determined, sweet, to kill me, This "Trifle from Sheffield" in my buzzum stick, And let the daylight through your loving Dick. (_kneels and gives her his sword._)