 | Cymon and Iphigenia |  |
70
Scene Fifth.
—Sylvan Landscape.Enter Phœbe and Daphne.
Phœ.
What, to be thus deserted by all the village beaux,
And see them flirting with another, just beneath my nose;
I can't bear it, and I won't—so it don't signify talking,
Out of Arcadia, somehow, soon the gipsy I'll be walking.
Daph.
Yet, in justice to poor Sylvia, the rival you complain of,
You'll own she never yet returned the love a single swain of.
She cannot help their loving her.
Phœ.
No more than I can hating
A wench whom all the shepherds find so vastly captivating!
Daph.
Not all—my Damon's true to me as ever!
Phœ.
Or you'd be just as savage.
Daph.
Dear—no—never!
Linco.
sings without.
Care flies from the lad that is merry,
Whose heart is as sound,
And cheeks are as round,
As round and as red as a cherry.
Daph.
But here comes Linco, who makes game of everything romantic,
And pokes his fun at love-sick souls, until he drives them frantic.
On you, in such a mood, he's sure his mockery to vent all—
So do, my dear, just try and sink the sentimental.
Enter Linco.
Lin.
What, my girls of ten thousand! I was, but this moment, Cupid defying,
And here are you two, sent in the nick, my courage to be trying;
But I'm above temptation—or, if you please, below it.
When the boy in the buff jerkin aims at me, I just say, “go it!”
And down I duck, and over me the harmless arrow goes fleeting,
And you never saw an archer look so ridiculous, even at an archery meeting.
(sings)
And here are you two, sent in the nick, my courage to be trying;
But I'm above temptation—or, if you please, below it.
When the boy in the buff jerkin aims at me, I just say, “go it!”
71
And you never saw an archer look so ridiculous, even at an archery meeting.
Air—Linco.
I laugh and I sing,
I am blithsome and free,
The rogue's little sting,
It can never reach me.
With a fal la la la.
I am blithsome and free,
The rogue's little sting,
It can never reach me.
With a fal la la la.
My skin is so tough,
Or so blinking is he,
He can't pierce my buff,
Or he misses poor me.
With a fal la la la.
Or so blinking is he,
He can't pierce my buff,
Or he misses poor me.
With a fal la la la.
Phœ.
Ever thus, Linco, flaunting at love as few do.
Lin.
Why, gad-a-mercy, girls, would you have me do as you do?
Walk with my arms across, amongst the willows heighoing,
You'll never catch a shepherd so—I thought you much more knowing.
(sings)
Walk with my arms across, amongst the willows heighoing,
You'll never catch a shepherd so—I thought you much more knowing.
Oh! never be dull,
By the sad willow tree;
Of mirth be brimful,
And run over like me.
With a fal la la la.
By the sad willow tree;
Of mirth be brimful,
And run over like me.
With a fal la la la.
Why don't you copy Sylvia, who cares a pin for none of 'em,
And, as a matter of course, is followed by every one of them.
And, as a matter of course, is followed by every one of them.
Daph.
Nay, don't imagine, I beg, that I sigh the hours away so;
I am as happy as Phœbe is wretched.
Lin.
You don't say so!
Good lack, I'm sorry for it.
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Sorry that I am happy?
Lin.
Oh! no! prodigious glad!
Phœ.
That I am wretched, Sappy!
Lin.
No! no! prodigious sorry for that, and prodigious glad of the other!
Daph.
Out on thee! scoffer, away!
Phœ.
With vexation I shall smother!
Daph.
Nay, for my part I care not! for no man's loss would I cry,
Lin.
Well said! Then Sylvia may take your shepherd without a sigh!
Daph,
My shepherd! what means the fool?
Phœ.
Her shepherd! oh! prithee tell us!
Lin.
Nay, nothing which could make so sage a damsel jealous,
But some one I saw with Sylvia this morning, and betwixt you and me and the post,
I heartily hope it was Damon! for, if not, it must have been his ghost.
Daph.
My Damon?
Lin.
Your Damon that was, and Sylvia's Damon that would be
If she had no objection.
Daph,
Oh! the wretch! if it should be!
Phœ.
Her Damon, as false as the rest! I declare it's delightful!
Daph.
Oh! you can laugh now, can you? I hate folks who are so spiteful!
Phœ.
Yet, in justice to poor Sylvia, as you observed so lately,
She cannot help his loving her.
Daph.
The case is altered greatly,
Couldn't she be content to carry her vile game on
With every other swain, except my Damon!
I'll have vengeance on the minx—to justice I'll denounce her,
My old lover, Squire Dorus, he shall quickly trounce her.
(Exit)
Phœ.
Well, really, when one's heart is breaking with vexation,
To see one's friend in the same distress, is a wond'rous consolation!
(Exit)
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Ha! ha! ha! upon Miss Daphne I turned the tables rarely,
I never throw a chance away of paying the sex off fairly;
Oh! that sensible men should be led by the nose, in downright donkey fashion,
By what the poets have been pleased to call “the tender passion!”
Why “tender” I could never guess—except it be that oft folks
Who tumble into it turn out particularly soft folks;
Here comes the girl who's set the shepherds all a-madding.
What can they see that after her they should be ever gadding?
Enter Iphigenia, with Cymon's bouquet.
Iph.
The more I look upon this sweet bouquet,
The more I feel love's power.
Lin.
Holloa! heyday!
What's happened to me, in the name of wonder?
I never felt so odd before—some spell I'm surely under.
I long to speak to her, yet scarcely dare.
Iph.
I wander pensive, without knowing where;
I speak—not knowing what—to whom—or why!
And see but Cymon—but for Cymon sigh!
Air—Iphigenia.
I speak—not knowing what—to whom—or why!
And see but Cymon—but for Cymon sigh!
Oh! why should we sorrow, if Love be no sin?
Let smiles of content shew our rapture within:
This love has so rais'd me, I now tread in air!
He's sure sent from heav'n to lighten my care!
Each shepherdess views me with scorn and disdain;
Each shepherd pursues me, but all is in vain:
No more will I sorrow, no longer despair,
He's sure sent from heaven to lighten my care!
Let smiles of content shew our rapture within:
This love has so rais'd me, I now tread in air!
He's sure sent from heav'n to lighten my care!
Each shepherdess views me with scorn and disdain;
Each shepherd pursues me, but all is in vain:
No more will I sorrow, no longer despair,
He's sure sent from heaven to lighten my care!
Lin.
(advancing)
Sylvia! sweet Sylvia!
Iph.
(aside)
Linco! and so near me!
Oh! lud! I hope he didn't overhear me!
Lin.
Pity me, most enchanting shepherdess.
74
What is the matter?
Lin.
I'm afraid to guess!
But I've a sort of horrible suspicion,
That I shall die, if you're not my physician.
Iph.
Die? of what, shepherd?
Lin.
Love!
Iph.
For whom?
Lin.
For you!
Iph.
Love!—nonsense, Linco!
Lin.
Once I thought so too—
But now—I don't know whether it's the weather—
Or you—or what—but I feel altogether
Transformed!—oh! give me hope!
Iph.
(aside)
Like all the rest!
And Linco, who at love so used to jest!
Lin.
You will—you do—say not that you're engaged!
Iph.
(aside)
If I do say so he'll be quite enraged!
Ah! by good luck, here comes my poor old mother!
She's deaf with one ear, and can't hear with t'other.
(aloud)
Linco, for answer I can but refer
You to my mother.
Lin.
May I speak to her?
Iph.
You may.
Lin.
And if my suit she kindly hear—
Iph.
(aside)
'Twill be what she's not done for many a year.
Lin.
You will consent?
Iph.
I cannot answer flat—
But nothing would surprise me after that.
Enter Dorcas.
Trio—Dorcas, Linco, and Iphigenia—Bishop.
Dorc.
Full of doubt and full of fear,
Sylvia, I have hobbled here;
Tell me, dearest daughter, pray,
Where have you been all the day?
Iph.
Dearest mother, lend an ear.
(aside)
Linco cannot make her hear.
Lin.
Calm my doubts, and ease my fear—
I love her—Goody, do you hear?
Sylvia—Goody—do you hear?
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Eh?
Iph.
Dearest mother—
Dorc.
Eh?
I have been half dead with fright,
I thought you'd not come home to-night.
Lin.
Goody!
Dorc.
Eh?
Lin.
Fair Sylvia—
Dorc.
Eh?
Lin.
Oh! I give it up, 'tis clear,
Thunder couldn't make her hear!
Iph.
(aside)
He will give it up, 'tis clear,
Linco cannot make her hear.
(Exit Iphigenia)
Lin.
I give it up—Let's try what signs will do,
Dorc.
Sylvia—yes, she's gone home, and so will you.
No! oh, you're going to dance—well, as you please.
Good lad! he asks my blessing on his knees.
Thou hast it, Linco.
Lin.
Oh! it's of no use!
Dorc.
Thou art an honest lad,
Lin.
Go to the deuce!
(Exit)
Dorc.
And so respectful; would all were like you;
I shouldn't tremble then at seventy-two.
Air—Dorcas.
I shouldn't tremble then at seventy-two.
When I was young, though now I'm old,
The men were kind and true;
But now they're grown so false and bold,
What can a woman do?
Now what can a woman do?
For men are truly
So unruly,
I tremble at seventy-two.
The men were kind and true;
But now they're grown so false and bold,
What can a woman do?
Now what can a woman do?
For men are truly
So unruly,
I tremble at seventy-two.
When I was fair, though now so so,
No hearts were given to rove;
Our pulses beat nor fast nor slow,
But all was faith and love.
Now what can a woman do?
For men are truly
So unruly,
I tremble at seventy-two.
No hearts were given to rove;
Our pulses beat nor fast nor slow,
But all was faith and love.
Now what can a woman do?
For men are truly
So unruly,
I tremble at seventy-two.
(Exit)
| Cymon and Iphigenia | |