University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Banks of the Hebrus—On one side, a temple dedicated to Bacchus—on the other a grotto.
Enter Fauns, Satyrs, and Bacchantes, with Pan drawn by Satyrs, and Silenus riding on an ass—Priests of Bacchus and Musicians, forming a grand Bacchanalian procession to the air of “Come jolly Bacchus.”
Sil.
Come, let's begin our orgies! Here's the place,
The fairest temple Bacchus owns in Thrace;
The Bunch of Grapes! kept by a jolly priest;
Good entertainment here for man and beast;
Put up your panthers, and set out the table,
And let's get drunk as fast as we are able.

Pan.
Why, you are drunk already, old Silenus.

Sil.
It's no such thing—I'm only Bacchi plenus;
Full of the god! possessed—Io—Iacche!
Blow your pipes, Pan. I'll blow a pipe of backy,
And finish with a pipe of rich Canary.
My pretty Pan! my great Pan of the dairy!

Chorus
—“Masaniello.”
O come, and worship at the shrine
Of Bacchus, god of rosy wine.
Let Phœbus drink the pearly dews,
The “early purl” of these purlieus.
Our society
Scorns sobriety.
“Mountain dew,”
Perhaps might do,
But we champagne
Prefer to drain,
And don't complain
Of Clos Vougot.

Pan.
(approaching the grotto)
Thou sweet retreat from Sol's meridian fire—
What's here? A mortal sleeping on a lyre!

(starting back as he discovers Orpheus asleep in the grotto)
1st Bac.
Who can he be?

Pan.
O, 'tis the mad musician,
Who lately made to Pluto a petition
To give him back his wife.

Sil.
His wife! Dear me,
How very, very mad the man must be!

1st Bac.
D'ye think he'll bite?

Sil.
Psha, stuff! D'ye think he'll drink?

Pan.
Stand back—he seems about to wake, I think.

Orpheus starts up, and rushes forward from grotto.
Orph.
Give me another wife. Tune up my lyre.
Have mercy, Pluto! Ah, my brain's on fire!
I am a lunatic for lack of thee!
Mad as a March hare! O, ma chère amie!
(sings)
Air—“How should I your true love know?”

Sil.
He's beastly drunk!

Pan.
Pshaw, man, he's only crazy—

Sil.
Then shave his head, and make him wear a jazy.

Song—Orpheus—“To morrow is St. Valentine's Day.”
Set a beggar on horseback and then you know,
Where he'll ride to very well;
I went to beg for my wife, and so
I rode in a boat to—

Air—“O no, we never,” &c.
[Orpheus]
O no, we never mention it,
At least to ears polite;
'Twould give St. James's Square a fit
And shock Pall Mall outright;
And yet in said St. James's Square,
And also in Pall Mall,
There are some places, I declare,
Would very like it spell.

Pan.
“There's matter in this madness”—Well you went
Down stairs, you say, and pray with what intent?

Air—Orpheus—“Kitty Clover.”
I went to inquire of Mr. Pluto—O, O, O, O, O! &c.—
If he'd let my dearest Eurydice go—O, O, O, O! &c.!
He set his own fiddler to play against me,
But his fiddle to mine was all fiddle-de-dee;
Oh, oh, the poor scraper, I bother'd him so—O, O, O, O, &c.—
He broke in a violint taking his bow—O, O, O, O, &c.

Air—“With lowly suit.”
[Orpheus]
I won my darling with a ditty,
But I looked back, and that was pity!

Air—“French Air.”
[Orpheus]
For husbands of fashion should always be
Blind to such little unmeaning flirtations,
In such situations to hear or to see,
Is not only silly, but horribly low!
So, know when down stairs you go,
High life above is like high life below!

Pan.
This nothing's more than matter; but I say,
When you were down stairs, pray what did you play?

Orph.
I played the devil, as I will with you,
You nasty, smoking, sotting, soaking crew!

Pan.
Abuse the rites of Bacchus! mad or not,
Sure as my name is Pan, you go to pot!

Orph.
(strikes his lyre, and all seem entranced)
Air—Orpheus—“Voulez-vous danser?”

During this air the trees have become animated—a lion and a panther enter waltzing—the mountains rock in the distance and the Temple of Bacchus tumbles to pieces, the columns and statues dancing round Orpheus, while Pan, Silenus, and all the Bacchantes, &c., foot it in their own despite.
Chorus—Pan, Silenus, &c.—Waltz in “Der Freyschutz.”
Rot the fellow's play!
Take his lute away.
Must we waltz all day?
Will you stop, I say?
He's St. Vitus, sure!
Nought his dance can cure;
Must we thus endure
Till we drop?
Tear him limb from limb
Let his crazy pate
Down the river swim,
For his head the fate,
Who has set the sound-
est could here be found,
Spinning round and round,
Like a top!
Rot the fellow's play, &c.

They succeed at last in snatching the lyre from Orpheus, whom they then seize, and drag off furiously—they then re-enter, with fragments of his dress, and laurel wreath, and the head of Orpheus is presently seen floating down the river.
Head.
Eurydice! Eurydice! Eurydice!

(Head disappears)
Pan.
He's torn to bits, yet swears he isn't dead.
He seems to have a singing in his head.

Music—“Glorious Apollo.”
Pan.
By Jove, here comes Apollo!
As sure as fate he's heard the fellow holloa.
I'm off.

(Exit)
Sil.
(tumbling from his donkey)
And so am I.

Apollo descends in the car of the sun.
Music—“Now Phœbus sinketh.”
Apol.
Well may you run!
Is this the way you serve the Sun's own son

All.
Forgive us, mighty Phœbus!

Apol.
Orpheus, rise!
Put on your head, and with me seek the skies.
Orpheus re-appears.
And as some instrument you'll there require,
I'll make a constellation of your lyre.

(flings the lyre into the sky, where it appears amidst the other constellations, which have, during the foregoing lines, gradually descended)
Orph.
Thanks, dear papa! that's very kind and clever
But must I leave Eurydice for ever?
Surely your Phaeton has room for three.
You must—you shall release Eurydice!
Indeed, unless you do, I can't go there,
And for this weighty reason. Did I care,
(drawing him aside)
Ever so little as a wife about her—
There's a finale can't be sung without her.

Apol.
Oh! then indeed, when music's in the case,
All other things, of course, with me, give place,
So, Uncle Pluto!

Pluto pops his head through the stage.
Plu.
Well, how now? what is it?

Apol.
Arn't it about the time your queen should visit
Her mother, Ceres, and for six months stay
Upon Olympus?

Plu.
Yes, the very day.

Apol.
Then let Eurydice attend upon her
As mistress of the robes, or Dame of Honour.

Plu.
Why, I suppose I must, Sol, if you press it;
Not that I'm much averse to't—I confess it;
For, to speak truth, she does make such a riot
Below, the very Fates can't work in quiet.
But what will Jove say, if I let her out?

Apol.
Leave him to me.

Plu.
But is there any doubt
Of sanction from some more important powers?
Will they this treaty ratify of ours?
They may decree Orpheus himself shall fall,
And then his wife need not come up at all.

Orph.
Oh, I'll ask that! for they're more used to me.
Befriend poor Orpheus and Eurydice!
It all depends upon your smile or frown—
Whether she shall come up, or I go down.
Alarm has rendered even Pluto civil!
He fears lest you should raise the very devil!
His judges must be guided by your jury.
His furies quake, lest they should rouse your fury.
His fates are trembling now to learn their own.
Please to be pleased, and make your pleasures known,
And for the sake of old “Olympic Revels,”
Condemn not to the shades Olympic Devils.
(the Audience applaud of course)
(to Pluto)
There's your permit—seek Proserpine, and tell her,
That she may move the spirit from the cellar.

Proserpine rises with Eurydice.
Finale—“Go to the Devil and shake yourselves.”
Eury.
When you're dull, and wish merry to make yourselves,

Pros.
At this fountain of mirth you may slake yourselves.

Apol.
When sleepy come hither and wake yourselves.

Plu.
When cold it's a good place to bake yourselves.

Orph.
And since home at eleven you take yourselves,
It can never be said that you rake yourselves;
In all cases, then, hither betake yourselves,
And out of the blue devils shake yourselves.

Chorus.
And since home at eleven, &c.