University of Virginia Library

Scene First.

—A Flash House in Pompeii; Burbo's Shop and School for Gladiators, R.; at back, C. and L., a View of the City of Pompeii (as in Drama).
Sporus.
(R.)
Let's see! that makes eight amphoræ between us.

Lydon.
(C.)
It does: I'll pay the next. Wake up, Silenus!

Burb.
(L. C.)
Fair words to Burbo, scurrilous young stripling.
Have you a taste for fighting, as for tippling?
D'ye want before your time comes to be slaughtered?

Lydon.
(comes down, R. C.)
It's plain you wish it, selling wine so water'd.

Burb.
It's strong enough for you. Good judges say
They don't taste wine like this, sir, every day.

Lydon.
(sneeringly)
Forbid it, Bacchus! (goes up again)


Burb.
(angrily)
Tongues like yours want muzzling.

Spor.
He's drunk too much. (Lydon drinks)


Burb.
(to Lydon)
You goose, do leave off guzzling!

Spor.
(crosses to Burbo)
Don't rouse him, he's a very bad character.
(whispers)
He is a disappointed Roman actor.
Besides, I've challenged him!

Burb.
A reason strong
That he won't trouble Burbo very long.
(Sporus returns to R.)
Come, Lydon! Friends! Sustain, sir, if you can.
You've heard the song, “The grasp of an honest man.”

(he grips Lydon, who howls with rage)
Lydon.
Assist me now, ye mighty powers of rage!
“Blood!” as I've often said upon the stage.

(Music—he seizes Burbo, they struggle)
Enter Diomed, Sallust and Glaucus, L. U. E.; they inspect the fight critically; the Combatants pause on seeing the Company.
Burb.
The noble Glaucus!

Glaucus.
(comes C.)
Fighting! What's the office?
(to Lydon, R. C.)
This is your “dark one,” eh? Old Burbo's Novice.
A tidy fellow! Who'll take ten to one?

Sall.
(L.)
Sestertia of course. (takes out betting book)


Glau.
Yes!

Diom.
(R. C.)
I will!

Glau.
(taking out betting book)
Done!
You've trained a point too fine, amend that matter,
(to Sporus)
I'm sorry to observe you're getting fatter;
You must train down? attend to, if you'd shine,
The up train and the down train in your line.

Sall.
Prophetic joke!

Glau.
And here excuse my stating,
That this pursuit is highly elevating.

Burb.
(L. C.)
It's quite poetical.

Sall.
Oh, sweetly!

Glau.
I,
Happily born beneath a Grecian sky,
Trained in the soft refinements of my nation,
Hail anything that promises sensation.
I've seen all sports since I was ten, or greener,
From classic skittles to the grand arena;
Languid myself, my rule's in all diversion
To patronize vicarious exertion.

Sall.
(L.)
O, happy man!

Burb.
A prince, as I'm a sinner.

Glau.
Burbo, remove these animals to dinner.

Music—Exit Burbo and Gladiators, R.
Sall.
(L. C.)
You're deuced lucky, Glaucus, on my word—
Young, rich, good-looking, clever!

Glau.
(C., not displeased)
Oh, absurd!

Diom.
(R. C.)
Adored by all the women!

Glau.
Let me call
That phrase of yours to order, friend—not “all.”

Sall.
You mean Ioné!

Diom.
You shall win her.

Glau.
Good!
Ioné! Ah, I on'y wish I could!

Arbaces appears at back from, L. U. E.
Diom.
I know she loves you, Glaucus.

Arba.
(loudly, then disappearing)
Ha! (chord)


Glau.
Dear me!

Sall.
I heard a strange remark!

Diom.
Let's go and see.

Sall.
It seems to me the sound came from the garden.

Glau.
We'll go and sift this out.

Music—they are going up the stage, when—
Arbaces enters, L. U. E.
Arba.
(quietly)
I beg your pardon!

Glau.
A party with the gloomiest of faces.

Arba.
I hope I don't intrude.

Glau.
(bowing, R. C.)
The great Arbaces!

Arba.
(C.)
Too much of my poor gifts, my lords, you say,
I have a little credit though that way.
I'll not deceive you, 'neath my native sun,
The Truthful and the Beautiful are one.

Glau.
'Twas he that bellowed “Ha!” at that strange crisis,
He makes my blood run cold, this priest of Isis.
(to him)
You're dreaded much.

Arba.
(smiling)
Each superstitious ass
Lifts up his toga, thus, to let me pass;
They take as serious what's meant for fun,
Faint when I rub two rabbits into one.
A friendly meeting I have often marr'd,
By gloomily remarking, “Take a card.” (he offers one suddenly—they all shrink)

(aside)
The Latin mind is weaker than I wish,
It's overcome by tricks with bowls of fish.
I never can from this conviction turn 'em,
That when I borrow handkerchiefs I burn 'em.
That real watches, rings, and hats are smashed,
That 'tis a pigeon in the paper squashed!
From such I turn half smilingly, half sadly,
Merely observing that I don't do badly!

Glau.
He veils his craft!

Sall.
For once report is true!

Glau.
Your own invention, sir, these feats you do?

Arba.
From other lands I no illusions call,
I'm proud to say these are Egyptian “all!”
Where is my neophyte, I hope not distant;
Pray let me introduce my young assistant. (slow Music)


Enter Apæcides, L. U. E., comes slowly forward, carrying a green bag—he is cadaverous and thin.
Glau.
(R. C.)
Ioné's brother!

Sall.
(L.)
Doubts are getting stronger!

Apæ.
(R. C.)
Dread sorcerer, I can't stand this much longer!
Uncertainty no matter to deride is,
Am I Apæcides or Apæcides?
False quantity is not a thing for sport,
You've had me long, don't take me up so short.

Arba.
(L. C.)
Peace, slave!

Apæ.
I can't! of woes I'm a repeater;
Arbaces! throw some light on this guess-metre.
My grief upon this topic you shan't gag,
(savagely)
Or I'll let all the tricks out of this bag.
They think you are a wizard!

Arba.
(grinning)
Yes, that's true.

Apæ.
'Cause they don't understand the tricks you do.
To me, your noblest axioms are bosh,
The Truthful and the Beautiful won't wash.
Your best philosophies will ne'er protect you,
But gull these fools, and see how they'll respect you!

Arba.
(loftily)
Apæcides?

Apæ.
(delighted)
I'm short—he can't be wrong.

Arba.
Just shut up, Apæcides! (goes up, L. C.)


Apæ.
(disappointed)
Sold! I'm long!
(aside)
He jests at me! I must my senses rally,
I, who 'mongst other ills became his valet,
His slave, factotum; on his skill a spunger,
Betrayed by my insane desire to conjure!
Now than his choicest tricks much worse my case is,
For I am fashioned on a false Ar-baces!
He called me “slave!” I'll show him from this hour
Apæc—no matter—has him in his power!

Glau.
(who has been talking to Diomed and Arbaces up R. C., comes down L. C.)
To prove that Egypt's first, you then aspire?
Think of my Greece, you'll own her lore is higher!
Your language seems to fit a land of dummies,
What are you famous for, except your mummies?
With Greece would you to rivalry pretend,
Greece, which designed the now immortal Bend;

Arba.
(L. C.)
Bah!—that for Greece! don't so insanely go it

Apæ.
(R. C.)
I think she gave us here and there a poet.

Arba.
Egypt is noted for her great inventions.

Apæ.
(aside)
Especially for lies of vast dimensions

Arba.
'Twas Egypt first sold pine-apples in slices

Apæ.
I've heard 'twas Egypt that invented Isis.

Arba.
At games, our skill all rivalry forbids,
Egypt has beat the world at Pyramids!

Glau.
In fact so great a land existed never?

Arba.
We are— (drawling)


Apæ.
(imitating)
By Jove—

Glau. (R. C.), Sall. (L.), Diom. (R.), Apæ (R. C.), Arba (L. C.)
(together)
A-bom-i-na-bly clevar!

Concerted Piece, “Awfully Clever.”
Glau.
We Greeks are a wonderful nation,
As potent in war as in peace,
To the world we first introduced fashion,
And certainly started police;
Our history, verse, mathematics,
Our learned philosophies see,
All high art's derived from the Attics,
And nothing much higher can be.
Oh, yes, we are awfully clevar,
Oh, so clevar—did you ever!
You'll admit that so smart a young shaver,
And so clevar was nevar before!

Apæ.
Our luxuries who could relate 'em?
Your swell but for us badly fares,
For 'twas Greece that invented pomatum,
And used it for Lydian 'airs!
In cookery too, we're creative,
Of one case in point I may speak,
If “soy” (σοι) of a pronoun is dative,
Then “pickles” are probably Greek.
Oh, yes, we are awfully clevar,
Oh, so clevar, did you ever!
The world owes us many a fla-vour,
It never could sa-vour before!

Arba.
You've talked quite enough of your nation,
Your pickles, pomatum, renown,
But in one very short observation
Your pride will, I fancy, go down!
To my land I make no allusion,
Antiquity here for it speaks,
For know, to your utter confusion,
'Twas Egypt invented the Greeks!
I think that was awfully clevar,
Oh, so clevar, did you ever?
The world must ejaculate bra-va!
One so clevar was nevar before!

(All repeat last chorus, then walk foppishly up the stage and down again into position—striking attitude at the last note—Music changes—hurry)
Enter Nydia, pursued by Burbo, from L. 2 E.
Nydia.
I won't! that's flat; in vain expend your fury,
I throw myself on this enlightened jury!

(embraces Glaucus)
Glau.
My little flower girl! 'Tis Glaucus, I—

Apæ.
(R. C.)
You're in the party's arms, why need ye cry?

Sall.
(L.)
Our pretty songstress, whom we love to hear,
And sells us nosegays, shan't be put on here! (boutonniére)


Burb.
(L. C.)
Gents, don't you interrupt 'twixt slave and owner;
To think, too, of the kindnesses I've shown her!

Nydia.
I will not stay beneath this worst of roofs!

Burb.
I'll prove to all—

Nydia.
Yes, yours are striking proofs;
Of those I've lashings, as the Irish say.

Burb.
Look here, I can't stand arguing all day.

Nydia.
Don't let me go; protect me and I'll bless—

Glau.
In Athens, dear, we all befriend distress.
What ails you?

Nydia.
Why, he drags me from the tub,
Where, night or day, I'm doomed to toil and scrub,
(Sufficient degradation!) and insists
That I shall rub the steps.

Sall.
(L.)
Insists?

Nydia.
With fists,
Washing I'll stand! but do (excuse anxiety)
Put me outside the pail of his society!

Glau.
You'll sell the girl, no doubt? I'll buy her then.

Nydia.
Oh! dearest, best, and loveliest of men! (kisses him)


Arba.
(L. C., to Apæcides)
A little plot within my brain is quickening!

Apæ.
(R. C.)
I think her forward manners simply sickening!

Arba.
She shall be made to spoil his game, that's flat!

(Glaucus and Nydia embrace)
Apæ.
No one takes liberties with me like that!

Burb.
(L. C.)
I'll sell her cheap, 'twixt me and that young “cratur.”
There's no love lost—in fact I'm glad-I-'ate her!
Pay up!

Glau.
(crosses to him, takes his hand)
As in prœsenti.

Nydia.
Oh, what fun!

Burb.
Tityre tu patulæ. (shakes hands)


Glau.
(returns to Nydia)
That's done.

Exit Burbo, L. 1 E.
Nydia.
This quick negociation fits me nicely.
Belong to you? Oh, rapture, joy!

Glau.
(coolly)
Precisely!

Nydia.
How charming it will be to wait on you.

Glau.
That's not exactly what you'll have to do,
You're to be servant to a lovely dame!

Nydia.
Servant?

Glau.
Companion, dear! (It's just the same!)
The fair Ioné.

Arba.
(to Apæcides)
Ha! (seizes his arm)


Apæ.
Don't raise a blister!
Her brother though is helpless to assist her.
(aside)
A statement which is not precisely true,
But anything to save her, friend, from you.

(goes up, C., ready to come down, L. C.)
Nydia.
You love Ioné? (All my hopes gone wrong!)

Sall.
His admiration's been the topic long.

Diom.
The envy and the wonder of the city!

Nydia.
The Grecian swell! I've heard she's awful pretty.

Glau.
My present then to her you're meant to be.

Nydia.
(aside, R. C.)
This is a cheerful bit of news to me.
I could rebel, plot, scandalise, combine,
Do anything, to make his heart but mine.
E'en to the very meanest tricks I'd fly—
Can no one help me? (Arbaces pinches her)
Ah!

Arba.
(L. C.)
Don't bellow!—I!

Apæ.
He's up to something wicked, I'm in fear,
I must go over there and over-hear!

(goes from C. at back to L. C. and listens)
Arba.
You love this Glaucus?

Nydia.
Spare my blushes, do.

Arba.
I will, whene'er the article's in view.
You'd spite the fair Ioné?

Nydia.
Spite her? “Fair!”
Wait till you see how I'll turn out her hair.
Mislay her new frisettes, her dyes out-pour,
And spill her best complexion on the floor;
Show up where Nature ends, and Art begins,
In awkward places plant the sharpest pins,
Let Glaucus, who don't guess how I despise her,
In her most unbecoming dress surprise her;
Say how the women follow him, and—

Arba.
(rejoiced)
Good!
You'll do exactly as a rival should.
We're friends. I'll help you; let your wits recover!
I have a mighty secret here. (takes her down, R. C.)
I love her!

(turning L., sees Apæcides listening—looks contemptuously at him, and retires up C. with Nydia)
Apæ.
(aside)
Here is a pretty plot! this priest of Isis,
Don't seem to put the screw upon his vices.
But I'll destroy each dodge, and little gay-lure
And make his finest feats a fearful failure!
Yes! he shall prove his boasting's been too fast,
And settle what's my prosody at last!
Ha, ha!

Glau.
(who has been speaking to Diomed and Sallust)
We're wasting all this lovely day.
Here come the animals again. Good day!
Enter Burbo, L., Lydon and Gladiators, R.
Look, Sallust! where the fair Ioné passes!
Before her charms, the lictors veil their fasces!
My love!

Sall.
My friend!

Arba.
(My heart! That's turned Stonehenge!)

Burb.
My eyes! (L.)


Nydia.
My rival!

Apæ.
Ha, ha! my revenge!

Concerted Piece, “Billy Johnson's Ball.”
Glau.
(R.)
Come away, too long we've tarried,
You're wasting all the day;
When a chap wants to be married,
He shouldn't so delay.

Nydia.
(R. C.)
This sweet anticipation, I,
By some means will prevent.

Arba.
Better feign a light and gushing air
And throw him off the scent.
(innocently)
Lar, dar de dar, and doodle, doodle, diddle,
(savagely)
I'll run him through the middle,
This affected indiwiddle.
He's lots of pals, the pearl of gals, which last is worst of all.
This sort of swell, would get on well, at Billy Johnson's Ball!

Glau.
I can see my sweet Ioné, (looking off)

She is waiting there for me!

Sall.
(L. C.)
And I'll bet you all a pony,
That a match 'twill surely be!

Apæ
(aside)
My secret indignation I will with a smile conceal,
In an airy manner hide from all, the sufferings I feel.
With lar, dar de dar, and doodle, doodle, diddle,
Arbaces is a riddle!
My heart is on the griddle.
Just like the “Bells” where conscience tells the story after all,
I'll bust his fame, I'll spoil his game, and bid his nonsense fall!

Chorus repeat last four lines.
Nydia and Glaucus dance a solo, then Arbaces and Apæcides. They exeunt L. 1. E., leaving Burbo, Sallust, and others to be closed in.