 | Doctor Bolus |  |
SCENE VI.
A Dungeon—Scaramoucho sitting in a melancholy Posture, with Pipes, Tobacco, a Bottle and a Glass upon a Table before him.Scara.
O Scaramoucho, wretchedest of dogs!
You've to a precious market brought your hogs!
Alack! my heart is swelling with a big tale
Of woe—let's see, I'll try a little pig-tail,
[Takes some tobacco.
Which the Queen sent me, with this fond request,
That I would drink her health in Hodges' best.
Sweet Love! may this cup be my poison, if
I do not pledge thee! [drinks]
Faith, 'tis plaguy stiff!
“My spirits flag—I'll sing, to ease my pain,
“A musical and melancholy strain.
AIR.—Scaramoucho.
(Tune—“The Thorn.”)
“From a pot of mild ale my dear Susan requested
“A swig, for the damsel was dry;
“When I cried, My sweet Belle, come and drink, for you're welcome,
“But don't think of giving the pot a black eye.
“A swig, for the damsel was dry;
“When I cried, My sweet Belle, come and drink, for you're welcome,
“But don't think of giving the pot a black eye.
“Then she took up the ale, toss'd it off like a new one,
“And held up the vessel on high:
“O, I cried, my sweet Susan, 'tis hard thus to use one;
“Hang me, but you've given the pot a black eye.”
“And held up the vessel on high:
“O, I cried, my sweet Susan, 'tis hard thus to use one;
“Hang me, but you've given the pot a black eye.”
16
Gaoler.
“An excellent good song! 'tis surely his'n, or
[Pointing to Scaramoucho.
“I'm much mistaken.” You are merry, Pris'ner.
Scara.
(Aside.)
The Gaoler! to come over him I'll try.
Your errand? Is't to summons me to die?
You're married, friend! Ah, me! I smell a rat.
Gaoler.
There needs no ghost rise up to tell me that!
Scara.
What children have you? for the love of heav'n,
Let me not die in ignorance!
Gaoler.
Eleven!
Scara.
You love them dearly: I have children, too!
Fifteen, or twenty, which is more than you.
You weep—although a Turnkey, you're a man.
Gaoler.
I can't help crying, dammee if I can!
Scara.
Here, take this purse, 'twill purchase my release.
[Gives his purse.
Gaoler.
Three dollars, and an eighteen-penny piece!
Scara.
Now, Katalinda, to thine arms I'll rush!
Gaoler.
There is no time for talking; let us brush.
[Exeunt.
| Doctor Bolus | |