 | Whittington, Junior, And His Sensation Cat |  |
Scene Fifth.
—Interior of the Emperor's Palace. A grand Oriental Chamber, highly decorated.(Ballet.)
Enter Sir Highbury, Alderman, Fitzbabbage, Philpott and Mrs. Callipash, guarded.
Alder.
(L. C.)
Why have you brought us here?
Mrs. C.
(L.)
Oh, woeful day!
Sir H.
(C.)
Why did I ever cut the City, pray?
I, who've been bol'string up myself as fast,
That I should die by bow string, now, at last.
Phil.
(R.)
What's to become of me?
Fitz.
(R.)
Don't make a fuss.
(to Alderman)
The law holds you responsible for us.
Alder.
To think at my age I should run such rigs,
Who used to prune myself upon my figs.
Mrs. C.
Whose tea and sugar was above all praisin'.
Alder.
And boasted I was worth a plum with raisin.
An honest victualler—a tradesman thorough—
The happiest Alderman in all the Borough.
And now my joy receives this sudden drop.
Phil.
And nobody at home to mind the shop.
Mrs. C.
You've nothing got to grumble at in sooth,
I'm cut off in the flower of my youth.
Sir H.
Yes, flour of brimstone.
Mrs. C.
What?
Alder.
(aside)
That truth I feel.
Brimstone, she's made me sulphur a good deal!
If I'd known this I'd seen them further first!
(flourish drums)
Phil.
They come!
Mrs. C.
They do.
Fitz.
And now to know the worst.
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Alder.
(L.)
Can I believe my eyes!
Sir H.
(L.)
That chap the king?
Fitz.
(R.)
And Dick!
Phil.
(R.)
And Rose!
Mrs. C.
(L.)
The artful little thing.
Alder.
I'll give it you!
Muley.
(C.)
Hush, silence, if you please!
Fitz.
I feel so awful shaky in the knees.
Ozok.
Stand forward, Alderman.
(on throne, R.)
Sir H.
A moment pray;
As knight, I claim precedence,
Ozok.
I'm the Dey!
This is your daughter, friend?
Alder.
I don't the case shun!
I claim the hussy without hussytation.
Dick.
(C.)
But what if I refuse? It may be stated,
That Prince of Tunis I've been now created.
Address your former 'prentice then with loyalty,
And show a due respect to his New Royalty.
Remember, friend, that I'm advanced in power,
And here I reign!
Fitz.
Dick, reigning!
Phil.
Well, I'm show'r!
Sir H.
What does the girl say? If she has got a voice,
Let her at once state, if she's here by choice.
Alder.
Good!
Mrs. C.
That's well put.
Phil.
Come, give your answer quick.
Rose.
Unhesitatingly, I stick to Dick.
Alder.
He may not marry with a subject bride.
Dick.
An act can put that obstacle aside.
Fitz.
Why about royalty make all this bother?
Let 'em be married, since they love each other.
Sir H.
But I object—I urge a prior claim!
Phil.
And so do I!
Dick.
The case is just the same.
(to Alderman)
I'm not wild now, so pray you do not frown;
After this bridal I shall saddle down.
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A miserable orphan—no one's son—
A cad—a pauper! poor Dick Whittington.
Ozok.
What? (rising)
Muley.
Say dat name again.
Omnes.
Dick Whittington!
Ozok.
(rises)
Excuse hysterics—'tis my long lost son!
(wild embrace)
Sir H.
Oh, nonsense—bosh!
Alder.
Well, I give in perforce.
Sir H.
This is my usual luck, of course.
Why, for her sharpest stings does fortune choose me?
Ha, ha! 'tis well—no matter—friends, excuse me.
The time has come when I'll disclose my ills.
Know then—on second thoughts, though, see small bills.
Dick.
This blest denouement bids my troubles cease.
Rose.
Accounts too for the title of the piece.
Mrs. C.
To think that he should get the best of that.
Alder.
Excuse the wild remark—but where's the Cat?
Dick.
Ay, where's my faithful Tom?
Mrs. C.
My Tommy, rather.
Dick.
Who's gained me both a fortune and a father.
Flourish.—Enter Cat, L. C., leading a large Rat—he bows to throne—applause.
Tommy! your conduct gives me highest pleasure;
Remove your prey, and kill him at your leisure.
So you give in?
Enter Guard hurriedly with card, L. C.
Muley.
Hallo, here comes a guard!
Fitz.
Message from England by a postal card.
Alder.
No doubt my business in the City's undone.
Dick.
The Aldermen and Livery of London.
Sir H.
(snatching)
Hearing that you are idle, and not clever.
Phil.
(snatching)
Offer the Civic chair to you?
Dick.
Me, never!
That hateful subject, never mention pray,
'Twas to escape this, that I ran away.
Fitz.
This novelty the office quite sublimes.
Sir H.
You shall be made Lord Mayor they say three times.
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Shall make a name to run through history's range.
Phil.
And have your statue placed by the Exchange.
Alder.
Consent, and let's get home!
Dick.
And leave my dad,
When he's just found,
Ozok.
I follow you, my lad.
I'll only wait to levy a new duty,
And cut to England with the foreign booty.
Muley.
And me, your foreign booty, your right hand.
Fitz.
Make him black drummer to the City band.
Dick.
Sir Highbury, nay, never fret nor pout,
There's good fish in the sea as e'er came out.
Sir H.
Of course I'm jilted and in aggravation,
I get a maxim for my consolation.
Dick.
What must be, must; it seems I'm to be great,
So yield at once to history and fate.
Don't on this nonsense waste a witticism,
When all burlesque's one great anachronism.
In spite of all complaints from serious sources,
We still pursue, you see, our fearful courses;
But pray forbear, whatever you may feel,
To break a butterfly upon a wheel.
Our object being, view it as you choose,
Not to degrade, but solely to amuse.
Finale—“Whittington Galop.”
Sir H.
Now our mad burlesque has ending,
Smile upon our nonsense, pray,
With some sentiment befriending.
Dick.
Cheer us as we go our way.
Though we're weak and foolish, very,
View us with indulgent eyes;
All our hope's to make you merry,
Not at all to make you wise.
(chorus, repeat ensemble)
Curtain.
| Whittington, Junior, And His Sensation Cat | |