A Book of Burlesque: Sketches of English Stage Travestie and Parody — Reading Companion
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jesty were conscious or unconscious caricatures of the popular conception of the Evil One.
In all these cases, however, the burlesque was general. It was of the nature of travestie, and of the vaguest sort. Of particular parody one finds but few signs in the Elizabethan drama. There is a little of it in Shakespeare, where he pokes fun at the turgidity of contemporary tragedy or at the obscurity of contemporary Euphuism. The Pyramus and Thisbe episode is less burlesque than satire. It is an _exposé_ of the absurdities of the amateur performer, for whom Shakespeare, as a professional actor, could have only an amused contempt.
"The Bard" parodied, but he did not burlesque. That was left to the initiative of the gifted literary Dioscuri, Beaumont and Fletcher. "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," which saw the light in 1611, is not wholly a travestie, but it contains a travestie within itself. In the main it is a dramatic exposition of a love story, the scene of which is laid in the middle-class life of the time. Ralph, the Knight of the Burning Pestle, is by no means the hero of the tale; rather is he an excrescence upon it. A grocer and his wife sit on the stage, and suggest to the actors that Ralph, their apprentice, shall take part in the performance. They want a play in which a grocer shall do "admirable things," and Ralph is bound to do them. The apprentice, it would seem, is an amateur actor--he "hath played before," and so finds no difficulty in adapting himself to the situation. When he enters, it is "like a grocer in his shop, with two prentices, reading 'Palmerin of England.'" This gives us the key to the satire. Ralph is to burlesque the romances of chivalry, which were then so common in England, as elsewhere. "Palmerin of England" had been "translated out of French" by Anthony Munday and assistants, and published between 1580 and 1602. Ralph starts with a quotation from it, and then goes on to say:--
Certainly those knights are much to be commended who, neglecting their possessions, wander with a squire and a dwarf through the deserts to relieve poor ladies.... There are no such courteous and fair well-spoken knights in this age.
He whom Palmerin would have called "Fair Sir," and she whom Rosiclear would have called "Right beauteous Damsel," are now spoken of opprobriously. But why should not Ralph be the means of wiping out this reproach?--
Why should I not pursue this course, both for the credit of myself and our company? For amongst all the worthy books of achievements, I do not call to mind that I yet read of a grocer-errant: I will be the said knight. Have you heard of any that hath wandered unfurnished of his squire and dwarf? Thy elder prentice Tim shall be my trusty squire, and little George my dwarf. Hence, my blue apron! Yet, in remembrance of my former trade, upon my shield shall be portrayed a burning pestle, and I will be called the Knight of the Burning Pestle. My beloved squire, and George my dwarf, I charge you that henceforth you never call me by any other name but "the right courteous and valiant Knight of the Burning Pestle"; and that you never call any female by the name of a woman or wench, but "fair lady," if she have her desires; if not, "distressed damsel"; that you call all forests and heaths "deserts," and all horses "palfreys."
After this, Ralph reappears at various points in the action. He interposes, Quixote-like, in the aforesaid love-affair, and gets belaboured by the favoured lover for his pains. Later, he puts up at an inn, and, about to leave, is surprised when the tapster draws his attention to the fact that the reckoning is not paid:--
_Ralph._ Right courteous Knight, who for the order's sake Which thou hast ta'en, hang'st out the holy Bell, As I this flaming pestle bear about, We render thanks to your puissant self, Your beauteous lady, and your gentle squires, For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs, Stiffen'd with hard achievements in wild desert.
_Tapster._ Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay.
_Ralph._ Thou merry squire Tapstero, thanks to thee For comforting our souls with double jug: And if adventurous fortune prick thee forth, Thou jovial squire, to follow feats of arms, Take heed thou tender ev'ry lady's cause, Ev'ry true knight, and ev'ry damsel fair, But spill the blood of treacherous Saracens, And false enchanters that with magic spells Have done to death full many a noble knight.
Adams opens by distinguishing his work from a comprehensive history, aiming instead to provide an introduction supplemented by sketches of burlesque groups and extracts that exhibit individual writers' methods. He emphasizes the literary side over the theatrical, though he includes dates and casts for reference. The preface explicitly excludes extravaganzas and bouffoneries musicales, confining the study to deliberate travesties of pre-existing subjects.
The book's structure reflects a taxonomic impulse: burlesques are grouped by their source material, with Shakespearean travesties receiving particular attention. Adams notes that while such pieces were not especially numerous, they stand out for their daring and the genuine fun exhibited by writers like Gilbert a'Beckett, Francis Talfourd, and W. S. Gilbert. He insists that burlesque, whether brilliant or bad, does no harm to the original—a claim he supports by quoting John Poole's defensive preface to his 1810 Hamlet Travestie.
Poole's Pioneering Travesty
Adams devotes considerable space to John Poole's Hamlet Travestie (1810), the first formal Shakespeare travesty. He quotes the opening dialogue, where King Claudius urges Hamlet to “cheer up” and proposes they “all get drunk together.” The soliloquies are turned into songs with refrains like “Derry down, down, down, derry down.” Adams judges the piece “dreary reading” despite its good intentions, noting that Poole made “all due apology for his temerity.” This early example sets a pattern: burlesques often retain the original plot but replace blank verse with doggerel, and characters speak in anachronistic slang. Adams uses Poole to illustrate the tension between reverence and ridicule that pervades the genre.
The Business of Burlesquing Shakespeare
Adams argues that Shakespeare burlesquers were never “wholesale or intentionally irreverent.” He lists a lineage of writers—a'Beckett, Talfourd, Coyne, Brough, Halliday, Burnand, Byron, and Gilbert—who approached the Bard with a “genuine sense of fun.” The chapter traces how seventeenth- and eighteenth-century satirists left Shakespeare alone until Poole broke the taboo. Adams quotes Poole's ironic relief that, after three editions, Shakespeare was “neither expelled from our libraries, nor banished from our stage.” The section emphasizes the literary craft behind burlesque: the best examples, Adams implies, succeed by cleverly mimicking the original's structure while subverting its tone. He distinguishes these from mere “extravaganzas,” which he excludes from his study.
Limits and Methods of the Survey
Adams repeatedly stresses the constraints of his project. He cannot supply a “consecutive and comprehensive history” within the allotted space. Instead, he offers sketches of groups into which burlesques “naturally fall,” with extracts to exhibit individual methods. He thanks living writers for access to their prompt books, allowing quotation from unpublished work. The preface makes clear that his focus is literary and humorous, not theatrical. This self-imposed limitation shapes the book's content: readers will find analysis of dialogue and structure rather than performance history. Adams's taxonomic approach—grouping burlesques by source—provides a framework for comparing how different writers treated similar material, from Shakespeare to contemporary dramas.
Adams's book is best approached as a curated anthology of examples rather than a narrative history. Readers interested in the mechanics of parody will find value in his extracts and his grouping of burlesques by source. The preface's frank acknowledgment of limitations—and its reliance on unpublished prompt books—gives the work a provisional, insider quality. Those seeking a broader cultural analysis of Victorian burlesque may need to supplement this volume with studies of the theatrical context Adams deliberately sets aside.
I think of A Book of Burlesque as a shelf where laughter echoes, heavy with masks and mock grandeur. It reminds me of the old tract on damnation, that other volume of thunderous tempests pretending to be certain. My hand wanders between them—the jest and the sermon—and finds a quiet kinship in the warmth of their shared, stubborn breath. Hell: Warm Words on the Cheerful and Comforting Doctrine of Eternal Damnation — Inside the Classic.
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