But the shouts of laughter became uproarious when Neptune came in view, clad in a blouse, a high, bulging workman's cap on his head, lovelocks glued to his temples.

Shuffling along in slippers, he cried in a thick brogue.
"Well, I'm blessed! When ye're a masher it'll never do not to let 'em love yer!" There were some shouts of "Oh! Oh!" while the ladies held their fans one degree higher.

Lucy in her stage box laughed so obstreperously that Caroline Hequet silenced her with a tap of her fan.
From that moment forth the piece was saved--nay, more, promised a great success.

This carnival of the gods, this dragging in the mud of their Olympus, this mock at a whole religion, a whole world of poetry, appeared in the light of a royal entertainment.

The fever of irreverence gained the literary first-night world: legend was trampled underfoot; ancient images were shattered.