 | Cymon and Iphigenia |  |
Scene Fourth.
—The Palace (as before).Enter Urganda and Fatima.
Urg.
Whither, my love—oh! whither art thou gone?
I left him fast asleep here—and alone.
What may this mean?
Fat.
'Tis difficult to guess,
And scarce can be accounted for unless
We could imagine—
Urg.
What? in mercy, say!
Fat.
That when he woke—he rose and walked away.
Urg.
It must be so—oh, fate! it is too clear!
For had he not been gone, he'd still been here!
And though to own it seems an impropriety,
His absence causes me extreme anxiety.
Fat.
His absence causes me no thought unpleasant,
He is so very absent when he's present.
But, pardon me, one trifling observation—
Will not your art afford you information?
I thought a great enchantress, ma'am, like you,
Knew everything that any one could do.
Urg.
A vulgar error—chase it from your mind;
Consult the Fairy Library—you'll find,
Like common mortals, we oft see but queerly,
In matters which concern ourselves most nearly;
And something, lately, has so dimm'd my sight,
I cannot even read the stars aright.
64
'Tis love, no doubt—the envious little elf,
Would blind the world, because he's blind himself.
But here is Cymon coming, madam.
Urg.
Oh!
The darling! what is it he's doing, though?
He seems transported! how he laughs and skips!
And what is it he presses to his lips?
My nosegay! oh! at last my spells have caught him,
And positively to his senses brought him.
Fat.
Or else he's gone out of them still more sadly.
Urg.
Let's be invisible, and listen!
Fat.
Gladly!
(Urganda touches Fatima with her wand)
Enter Cymon with Iphigenia's bouquet.
Cym.
Oh! thou dear nosegay—gazing thus on thee,
The lovely giver still, methinks, I see!
Urg.
“The lovely giver!”—Fatima, dost hear?
That must be I!
Fat.
To me, that's not so clear.
Urg.
Ha!—
Fat.
No offence!—but are those flowers the same
You gave him, madam?
Urg.
Fatima!—for shame!
How can you doubt?
Fat.
I really don't know how—
But I do doubt, and very much, I vow!
Cym.
Never—oh! never with it will I part!
Where shall I hide it?—here—yes, next my heart!
For its divine enchantress wildly panting!
Urg.
“Divine enchantress!”—what more proof is wanting?
Fat.
Nothing—but of the nosegay, just one view—
Something's changed him!—I think, the nosegay, too.
Urg.
Absurd!—but not a doubt shall long remain—
(advancing)
Cymon!
Cym.
(starting, and aside)
Urganda! (aloud)
How d'ye do again?
Urg.
Pray, who were you conversing with, just now?
Cym.
Nobody!
Urg.
Nay, I'm sure you will allow
That you were talking!
65
Talking! oh—yes, true—
'Twas to myself, you know; I often do.
Fat.
(aside)
Evasion! oh! 'tis plain enough then, he
Is not the innocent he used to be.
Urg.
But what was that you hid within your vest?
Cym.
Nothing!
Fat.
(aside)
A downright fib, I do protest.
Cymon no longer is the simple youth,
Who could speak nothing but the simple truth!
Urg.
Was't nothing—that recalled to you the donor?
Cym.
Nothing, indeed.
Urg.
Oh! Cymon!
Cym.
'Pon my honour!
Fat.
(aside)
Upon his honour!—he improves a-pace!
Impossible to lie with better grace!
Urg.
Come, don't be bashful, Cymon, there's a dear!
It is a nosegay, which you treasure here.
Cym.
A nosegay! well—and what then if it be!
Urg.
Why, it is mine, I fancy—shew it me.
Cym.
What, give a thing, and take a thing—you couldn't!
Urg.
Take it from you? oh! no—for worlds I wouldn't!
If it be mine.
Cym.
Nor would I yeld the prize,
For countless worlds!
Urg.
What fire is in his eyes!
What fervour in his language—he's in love!
Fat.
With somebody, no doubt, his ears above.
Urg.
With somebody!—why thus my soul alarm?
Who but Urganda, here, his heart could warm?
Fat.
(aside)
Hem! I have heard a question more polite,
But to reply might not become me quite.
Urg.
Shew me those flowers!
Cym.
No!
Urg.
Ha! boy, beware!
Cym.
Pshaw! what a fuss you make about it—there!
Now, are you satisfied?
Urg.
It is not mine!
Fat.
I told you so! The enchantress so divine,
Is not Urganda!
66
Fiends and tortures! say,
Ungrateful youth! who gave you that bouquet?
Cym.
A person!
Urg.
Male or female?
Cym.
I can't tell—
How should I know?
Fat.
Oh, come! that's mighty well,
But won't do now.
Urg.
(aside)
From head to foot I tremble
With rage and jealousy! but I'll dissemble,
Until I learn at whom the blow to strike.
(aloud)
Well, Cymon, I'm not angry! If you like
This nosegay better than mine, keep it, pray.
Fat.
Only you needn't have thrown her's away
On such an ugly creature!
Cym.
Ugly creature!
She is perfection, both in form and feature!
Fat.
Oh! she is, is she? but you do not know!
If she's a male or female! so! so! so!
Good Master Simpleton, in what direction
Chanced you to meet this pattern of perfection?
Cym.
I'll tell you nothing more about her, though
I die for it!
Urg.
Leave him alone! Heigho!
This is the work of Merlin, or of fate—
Howe'er it be, I cannot Cymon hate!
But let my rival of my wrath beware!
Fat.
First, you must find her out—
Urg.
Be that your care.
Fat.
(aside)
So, I must find out everything, I see!
In that case I'm the witch, I think—not she!
(to Urganda)
To set about it, then, without delay,
Suppose you give him a half-holiday;
He's certain to go seek his fair enslaver,
And I will watch him.
Urg.
You'll do me a favour!
(aloud to Cymon)
Cymon, this morn, you said you wished to go
Somewhere—though where, you didn't seem to know.
Are you desirous still abroad to range?
Cym.
I must say I should like a little change.
67
You gave me, last week, a young linnet,
Shut up in a fine golden cage,
Yet, how sad the poor thing was within it,
Oh, how it did flutter and rage!
Then he mop'd and he pin'd
That his wings were confin'd,
'Till I opened the door of his den!
Then so merry was he,
And because he was free,
He came to his cage back again.
Shut up in a fine golden cage,
Yet, how sad the poor thing was within it,
Oh, how it did flutter and rage!
Then he mop'd and he pin'd
That his wings were confin'd,
'Till I opened the door of his den!
Then so merry was he,
And because he was free,
He came to his cage back again.
Fat.
Make verses, too! and sings 'em! oh! in short,
The fever's of the most malignant sort!
Urg.
And would you fly back, if I let you out?
Cym.
Of that how can you entertain a doubt?
Fat.
(aside)
That's what I call a questionable answer.
Urg.
Well, from this moment, you are a free man, sir—
Go where you please—return to, or desert me,
And break my heart!
Cym.
No! don't! you really hurt me!
Urg.
(to Cymon)
Au revoir! (aside to Fatima)
Now, wench, prove yourself a clever one.
(Exit)
Fat.
This is a wild goose chase, if there was ever one!
Air—Cymon.
Oh, liberty! liberty! liberty!
Dear happy liberty!
Nothing like thee,
So merry and free.
My linnet and I,
Away we will fly,
To liberty! liberty! liberty!
(Exit, followed by Fatima)
Enter April.
Apr.
Urganda's move is rather artful-dodgical
Though seeming simple and ornithological;
68
And then she lets out Cymon for a lark;
There is a little bird that tells me, though,
Urganda will, with some one, pluck a crow;
And here she comes to call her fiends together.
You know the proverb, “Birds of the same feather;”
But don't be frightened—matters right to bring,
I shall be always on—or at the wing.
(Exit)
Enter Urganda.
Urg.
Oh! now the truth of Merlin's words I've found,
For Cymon's cure is poor Urganda's wound!
But though I feel my power o'er Cymon flown,
And Merlin's mightier spell am forced to own,
Am I in magic art a bankrupt quite?
Is this the mere stick that it seems to sight?
Must I alone be doom'd to love in vain?
No! all Arcadia shall partake my pain.
If yet one fiend this wand of mine obeys,
Arise, and set each bosom in a blaze.
(music—Revenge rises)
Let all who see my hated rival burn
With passion; and be each despised in turn—
Until to madness stung, they seize and tear
Piecemeal the common cause of our despair.
Music—the stage darkens—thunder and lightning— Jealousy, Hatred, and Despair arise, and exeunt, led by Revenge—Exit Urganda.
Re-enter April.
Apr.
Thunder and lightning! well, the kettle of her wrath has completely over-boiled!
I forget who remarked that there was “no fury like a woman foiled!”
But I haven't the slightest doubt of the truth of the observation,
And I think we're about to receive of it a remarkable corroboration.
She's evidently going to play up old gooseberry in Arcadia, and set this peaceable nation
Quarrelling in a way that was never seen, even in the Hall of Conciliation.
Air—April—“Bow, wow, wow.”
I forget who remarked that there was “no fury like a woman foiled!”
But I haven't the slightest doubt of the truth of the observation,
And I think we're about to receive of it a remarkable corroboration.
69
Quarrelling in a way that was never seen, even in the Hall of Conciliation.
Arcadia's known full-well, of course, to every ignoramus,
For mountains and for mutton, it was always reckon'd famous,
Not Verdigris is greener than this verdant spot of Greece, sir.
Whose people worship Pan and piping, poetry and peace, sir,
Row, Row, Row, never was there heard in it a Row, Row, Row.
For mountains and for mutton, it was always reckon'd famous,
Not Verdigris is greener than this verdant spot of Greece, sir.
Whose people worship Pan and piping, poetry and peace, sir,
Row, Row, Row, never was there heard in it a Row, Row, Row.
A little while they yet will smile and dance to pipes and tabors,
But soon they'll be for blowing up and banging all their neighbours;
Free trade in sheep's eyes ruin will all true home-made affection,
And unprotected females clamour loudly for protection.
Row, Row, Row, won't they make about it a fine Row, Row, Row.
But soon they'll be for blowing up and banging all their neighbours;
Free trade in sheep's eyes ruin will all true home-made affection,
And unprotected females clamour loudly for protection.
Row, Row, Row, won't they make about it a fine Row, Row, Row.
Now after pretty Sylvia we shall running every fellow see,
Each shepherd will be mad with love, each shepherdess with jealousy;
For in her nosegay vengeance popped a magical anemone
Which will turn into a bear garden this model Agapemone.
Row, Row, Row, what a shame to make in it a Row, Row, Row.
Each shepherd will be mad with love, each shepherdess with jealousy;
For in her nosegay vengeance popped a magical anemone
Which will turn into a bear garden this model Agapemone.
Row, Row, Row, what a shame to make in it a Row, Row, Row.
That spirits should be in the world so very bad and frantic,
To rise and revolutionise a region so romantic,
And drive the Sovereign Lady of this land of love and lamb, sir,
To say for all her loyal flock, she doesn't care a—Ram, sir.
Row, Row, Row, what a sin to make herein a Row, Row, Row.
To rise and revolutionise a region so romantic,
And drive the Sovereign Lady of this land of love and lamb, sir,
To say for all her loyal flock, she doesn't care a—Ram, sir.
Row, Row, Row, what a sin to make herein a Row, Row, Row.
(Exit)
| Cymon and Iphigenia | |