University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene First.

—Beauty's Boudoir in the Palace of the Beast.
Enter Beauty, richly attired, with a rose in her hand.
Air—Beauty—“Jim along Josey.”

Enter Beast.
Beast.
Good morning, fairest Beauty; how d'ye do?

Beau.
I'm pretty well, I thank you; how are you?

Beast.
Dying for love; I couldn't sleep all night
For thinking of you.

Beau.
Oh! you're too polite.
I've had a nice nap, and such pleasant dreams;
I've got a fairy friend at court, it seems;
With loves and graces, all in flowers and wings,
She came last night, and said such pretty things.

Beast.
You feel quite happy then?

Beau.
Oh, no, not quite!

Beast.
Say, what can make you so?

Beau.
Dear Beast, a sight
Of my poor father; I'm afraid he's ill.
Will you oblige me?

Beast.
Certainly I will;
Look in that glass, my charming fair—“Veluti
In Speculum!”—Behold him there, my Beauty.

Music—The glass expands, and shews the inside of the cottage, with Sir Aldgate Pump, John Quill, Dressalinda, and Marrygolda, in a tableau vivant.
Beau.
Oh, dear! he's looking very sad and poorly;
Could you just let me hear his voice, sir?

Beast.
Surely.
(music—waves his hand)

Sir Aldgate Pump
sings without.
Oh! where, and oh! where, is my darling Beauty gone?
She's gone to fight the French, for King George upon his throne!
And it's oh! in my heart, I wish she was safe at home.

(tableau closes)
Beau.
His mind seems wand'ring!

Beast.
What he calls his mind.

Beau.
Well, if not very wise, he's very kind,
And loves me dearly. Let me go, I pray,
And comfort him—

Beast.
How?

Beau.
Just to spend the day;
I will return ere Sol sinks in the deep.

Beast.
I dare say. Catch a weasel fast asleep.

Beau.
You doubt my word! I thought you more gallant.

Beast.
Ask for aught else; but that I cannot grant.

Beau.
Then you don't love me, as you say you do.

Beast.
Not love you! Oh, my wig and whiskers! who
Ere loved so well as I—

Beau.
There's no believing
You brutes of men,—you're always so deceiving.

Beast.
(aside)
I am a beast indeed, to make her cry;
Who pipes so sweet should never pipe her eye.

Beau.
My pa will die, and you will be the cause;
My fate is in your hands.

Beast.
Ah!

(he looks at her and remains silent)
Beau.
(looking at his hands)
Awful pause!

Beast.
You won't come back again—I know you won't.

Beau.
I wish I may be shot, then, if I don't.

Beast.
You'll be the death of me, mind, if you stay
One moment after sunset—

Beau.
Trust me, pray!

Beast.
Upon your mercy, then, myself I fling,
And so, to prove my love, behold this ring!
Don't start—it's not a wedding one—

Beau.
I vow
You make me feel—I—really—don't know how.

Beast.
The moment that this ring your finger's fixed on,
Hey, presto, pass, you'll find yourself at Brixton!
And vice versa—pull it off—you'll be
As quick as thought—at home, love, to a tea.

Beau.
Oh, give it me—I long its power to try.

Beast.
One chaste embrace before you say good-bye!

Duet—“Tancredi.”
Beau.
Embrace you? oh dear no!

Beast.
Ah, say, aren't you content to pare, here, my heart, pray, to the core?
Remember, I do this to please you, all else is naught to me now.

Beau.
Well, to appease you, though 'tis strange, I'll not say no.

(he embraces her)
Beast.
Oh! say you'll marry me, I
Can't bear it any more;
Say “yes,” and all men shall see I
Can, for you, the world throw o'er.

Beau.
I'll tell you some other day,
When I come back, not before;
Don't press me now, dear sir, I pray,
I tremble, oh! dear me, all o'er.
No, no, not now, I tremble, oh dear me, all o'er,
Let me go now, sir—to Brixton, to Brixton.

Beast.
To Brixton, to Brixton.

Both.
The ring but once fixed on
You find yourself there / I find myself there.

Beast.
Go, then, away, now, to see thy father.

Both.
Spite o'the distance you'll/I'll soon trip it o'er,
The ring will lead her/me to Brixton speed her/me
And in a jiffy she'll/I'll be at the door.

(Beauty puts on the ring—Exit Beast)
Sudden change to The Cottage (as before).
Beau.
This beats the railroad out and out, I vow.
This is a way to ring the changes now.
Here come my sisters—how surprised they'll be.

Enter Dressalinda, Marrygolda, and John Quill.
All.
(scream)
Oh!

Dres.
Mercy on us!

Mar.
What is this we see?

Beau.
Dear sisters, don't you know me?

All.
Oh! a ghost!

Beau.
No, no! No spirit from the Stygian coast—
I am your real flesh and blood relation—
So pray subdue this needless consternation!

Dres., Mar.
Beauty alive!

John.
Fate up again has cast her,
And made all right. Here, master! master! master!

(runs out)
Mar.
I'm all amazement! how did this befall?
Hasn't the Beast, then, ate you after all?

Dres.
Has he consented back his prey to render?
Were you too tough? or has he been too tender?

Beau.
Where is my father? let me calm his fears,
And then I'll tell you all about it, dears.

Mar.
He was half crazy—now he'll be quite wild.

Enter Sir Aldgate and John Quill.
Sir A.
Where is my poppet—where's my precious child?

John.
There she is, “all alive, oh!” like the eels!

Sir A.
Oh, who can tell what a fond father feels,
When—

Dres.
La, papa, pray don't be so pathetic,
To me such stuff is worse than an emetic.

Sir A.
Well, anything, child, for a quiet life.

Mar.
Come, tell us all—are you the monster's wife?
Or is he dead, and left you his sole heiress?

Dres.
You're drest as fine as any Lady Mayoress!

Beau.
I am not married—and he isn't dead.

Sir A.
But from the monster have you naught to dread?

Beau.
If he kills me, 'twill be with kindness merely—
He's all attention—vows he loves me dearly—
Would marry me to-morrow, if I chose,
And gives me everything you can suppose.

Mar.
He's rich?

Beau.
As Crœsus.

Sir A.
Crœsus? Oh! I know,
He was Lord Mayor of Greece, some time ago.

Dres.
And wears fine robes?

Beau.
A bear skin—

Dres., Mar.
How improper!

John.
A, B, E, A, R—Bear-skin—a rough wrapper—
A sort of pilot-coat.

Beau.
Just so—but here
I've brought you what you wished for, sisters dear;
There is your shawl, and there your hundred guineas.

Both.
Oh, thank you!

Dres.
(aside)
Sister, we've been two great ninnies!
If you or I had volunteered to go,
We should have had all this good luck, you know.

Mar.
(aside)
To mar her triumph let us yet endeavour,
I hate the odious creature worse than ever.

Sir A.
The fellow lives in fine style, I must say—
Turtle for dinner, no doubt, every day.
Gad, if I thought he'd hold his horrid jaw,
I shouldn't much mind being papa-in-law—
That's if you'd have him, child, not else, I vow.

Beau.
But as your ship's come home, you're wealthy now.

Sir A.
Oh, no! 'twas all a hoax about the “Polly,”
No matter, you're alive, so let's be jolly!
You are my treasure, as my Lady Crackeye
Said once—

Beau.
You mean the mother of the Gracchi.

Sir A.
Crackeye or Grackeye, it's all one. Let's see
What we've for dinner—

Beau.
I go back to tea,
Remember that!

Sir A.
Go back?

John.
Not come to stay?

Beau.
Oh, no, I only came to spend the day:
I must return ere sunset, or the Beast
Will ne'er forgive me.

Dres.
(aside to Marrygolda)
There's one chance, at least.
We'll try and make her overstay the hour.
And then the Beast will surely her devour!

Sir A.
Come all, then, let's be merry while we can.

John.
If you're for fun, you know, sir, I'm your man.

Glee—“Come stain your cheeks.”

Ladies.
Pray don't get tipsy.

Sir A., John.
Only merry.

(Exeunt Sir Aldgate, John Quill, and Beauty)
Dres.
Press her to take some negus—then you brew it,
And pop a little poppy juice into it.

Mar.
I take your hint—I'll dose her, never doubt it.
(Exit Marrygolda)

Dres.
What fun! She'll make a precious fuss about it.
Air—“On the Banks of Allan Water.”

Re-enter Marrygolda.
Mar.
I've done the deed, and hither comes the gipsy.

Dres.
Where's father?

Mar.
He and John have got quite tipsy.

Dres.
The sun is setting now—as red brick.

Mar.
Don't let her see it! Draw the curtains, quick!

Re-enter Beauty.
Beau.
Sister, I feel so sleepy, you can't think.

Mar.
(aside)
It works! it works!
(Exit Marrygolda)

Dres.
(aside)
“The drink, Hamlet, the drink!”

Beau.
How goes the time?

Dres.
Oh, it's quite early yet;
We'll tell you when the sun's about to set,
So if you'd like to take a nap—

Beau.
Methinks
I'd give the world for only forty winks.

Dres.
Then why not take them in that easy chair?

Beau.
If I was sure you'd wake me—

Dres.
We'll take care.

Beau.
No, no, I'll drive this drowsiness away.

Dres.
At any rate, sit down, dear, while you stay.

Beau.
I'm sure 'tis time—I must be going—going—

(falls asleep)
Dres.
You're gone, my dear, and see, the west is glowing
With the last rays of sunset—sleep, sleep sound;
I'd not disturb you for a hundred pound!
(Exit Dressalinda)

The scene opens at the back and the Beast appears.
Air—Beast—“All is lost now”—“Sonnambula,” Bellini.
All is lost now—Oh, for me the sun is set for ever—
This poor heart in future never
One hope of bliss can see.
Go, ungrateful.
Counted on your word I had, miss,
Your behaviour's very bad, miss,
It has made me nearly mad, miss,
Quite unhappy, as you may see.
With all confidence appealing,
To any man of feeling,
I'd ask, is this fair dealing?
No! you've used me, madam, really very ill.
Though my looks might fail to charm you,
Though they rather might alarm you,
Yet I promis'd not to harm you;
Yes, false one, yes; and I'll keep my promise still.

The scene closes; Beauty seems exceedingly disturbed in her sleep; enter John and Sir Aldgate, both tipsy, John carrying a candle.
Sir A.
John, take care how you go; you'll drop that candle.

John.
Never you mind, old Pump! here, where's your handle?

Sir A.
John, is this language to a late Lord Mayor?
Where is my Beauty?

John.
(holds the candle to him)
You may well ask “where?”
Not in your face,—it's ugly as a nigger's;
Nor in your form, if I'm a judge of figures!

Sir A.
John! I discharge you.

John.
What! subtract your brains?
Take me from you, and, prithee, what remains?
A dry old pump!

Sir A.
Well, well, you'll change this tone!

John.
“Well.—” Pump, be quiet, and let well alone;
If you don't know when you've got a good man,
I know when I've got a good master!

(Music, con sordini—Beauty rises in her sleep, and stands up in the chair)
Sir A.
(starting)
Can
I trust my sight—back, John, at distance keep,
Here's beauty, bolt upright, and in her sleep!

John.
Perhaps she's dead, and that's her ghost that's walking!

Sir A.
Horrible thought! No! hush! I hear her talking!

Beauty descends from the chair in imitation of Amina in the “Sonnambula”—the Two Sisters enter, and are stopped by a sign from Sir Aldgate Pump.
Concerted Piece—“Sonnambula.”
All.
Bless us, and save us, where is she going now?
(Beauty steps from the chair upon the table)
Over the table. (she kicks a book off)
Oh, criky!
She'll tumble, by jingo!
(Beauty steps off to another chair, and then to a stool, and then to the ground)
No, no; she's all right.

(Beauty approaches the front of the stage)
Beau.
Don't cry, Beast; I'll come back.

Sir A.
D'ye hear that, John?

Beau.
'Tis tea time; Molly, put the kettle on.

All.
Hear her! how she's dreaming,—speaking of tea.

Beau.
Yes, I have lost him; and yet I am not guilty.

All.
Oh, listen!

Beau.
The ring he gave me, alas! he'll now take from me.
He'll never let me come out to tea more.

All.
She wakes!

Beau.
Where am I? Ar'n't it very late?
I've overslept myself, as sure as fate.
It's dark as pitch! Oh, dear! what's to be done?
There's nothing left me but to cut and run.

Sir A.
Dear daughter—

Beau.
Don't detain me, sir, good-bye
To all—off goes my ring, and off go I!

(she pulls her ring from her finger—Sir Aldgate, John, Dressalinda, and Marrygolda, sink through the stage, and leave Beauty in the centre of—

Scene Third.

—A Grotto in the Gardens of the Beast's Palace—Moonlight.
Beau.
Bless me, I don't know where on earth I've got to.
Oh, yonder is the palace, this the grotto.
But where's it's master, good as he is grim?
Oh, I've forgotten to remember him.
He'll say—Where are you, Beast, come out to play,
The moon is shining here as bright as day;
Come with a hoop, if you won't with a call!
(the Leader plays a note or two on his violin)
“That strain again, it had a dying fall,”
And mocked his voice, sweet as a special pleader's.
(Leader taps on his desk)
Was that his tap? No, it was but the Leader's;
Oh, Mr. Hughes! can you my doubts dispel,
And tell me he is safe,—and that all's well?

Beau.
It's very kind of you my heart to cheer,
But till I find him all's not well, I fear!
(sees the Beast lying motionless in a grotto)
O Gemini! what's here! Who's this I see,
Stretched in a state of funeral bier! 'Tis he!
Alas! though I broke mine, he's kept his word,
His must have been the dying fall I heard!
He gave me up—perhaps drank poisoned tea!
And perished—all along of love for me!
Oh, now, indeed, I feel, as 'tis my duty,
That I have been the Beast, and he the Beauty!
Oh, were he but alive again—to pop
The question, I would have him in a—

The Queen of the Roses appears.
Queen.
Stop!
Is it a bargain? Would you really wed
The Beast, if I could prove he wasn't dead?

Beau.
The lady that I saw once in my sleep?

Queen.
Precisely. Beauty, will you this time keep
Your word, and wed the poor Beast that lies by me,
If I revive him?

Beau.
Will I? just you try me.

Queen.
Enough! Behold him in his native land,
A prince—and yet your servant to command!

The Beast disappears as the scene changes, and discovers Prince Azor upon his throne, surrounded by a brilliant Court, Guards, Banners, &c.
The Prince descends, and kneels to Beauty.
Beau.
What! can this be the Beast?

Queen.
Why this surprise?
'Tis love hath so improved him in your eyes!
Where the mind's noble, and the heart sincere,
Defects of person quickly disappear;
While vice, to those who have been taught to hate her,
Would make, as soon, Hyperion seem a Satyr.

Finale—Chorus—“Cinderella.”
In light tripping measure,
Surrounded by pleasure,
We now to our own rosy bowers will fly,
Which care and sorrow dare not come nigh.