 | Cymon and Iphigenia |  |
Scene Seventh.
—Chamber in Urganda's Palace.Enter Urganda and Fatima.
Urg.
Yes!—no!—forbear to answer in this fashion!
I cannot brook such trifling with my passion!
Why don't you speak? can you not answer?
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Yes!
Urg.
Go on then,
Fat.
No!
Urg.
What does the girl possess?
In one word, trait'ress, hast thou seen my foe?
Fat.
Yes!
Urg.
Ha! her name, this instant, woman!
Fat.
No!
Urg.
No! dost not fear my rage?
Fat.
Yes!
Urg.
Quickly tell
Her name, then!
Fat.
No!
Urg.
Art thou beneath some spell?
Fat.
Yes! yes!
Urg.
'Tis Merlin!
Fat.
Yes!
Urg.
Too true my guess!
My rival—is she very handsome?
Fat.
Yes.
Urg.
How handsome? handsomer than I or you?
Fat.
Yes! no!
Urg.
Away! you torture me—you do!
Since so imperfectly you can but speak,
Be dumb completely!
(Fatima makes a movement of horror and rage, but cannot utter a sound)
Oh! where shall I seek
For consolation this vile earth above,
Foiled as I am in vengeance and in love!
Enter Dorus.
How now! who breaks in thus, on my despair?
By all the fiends, my misery thou shalt share!
Dorus.
Mercy! most mighty and malignant Queen!
No!—mighty and magnanimous, I mean!
Ascribe it not, I pray, to my audacity,
I come in my official capacity,
My duty as a loyal magistrate—
We've seized a traitor to your royal state.
Urg.
Cymon!
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Not Cymon—for a cogent reason—
But an accomplice in the act of treason.
A girl, named Sylvia.
Urg.
Sylvia! Ha! is she
The Creature!—
(to Fatima, who makes signs, she cannot speak at all)
Pshaw—no matter—let me see!
This Sylvia.
Dorus.
Forward with the culprit there!
Enter Daphne and Phœbe with Sylvia.
Urg.
Yes, yes! I feel it is the fatal fair!
The cause of all my woe! Confess thou art
The wretched girl who stole my Cymon's heart?
Syl.
I am the happy maid beloved by Cymon.
Dorus.
The hardened hussy doats her horrid crime on!
What punishment is such offence awaiting?
Something exceedingly excruciating!
The rack—or, perhaps, breaking on the wheel!
Urg.
No! she shall live worse tortures still to feel,
Such as Urganda's heart e'en now devour!
Come, Demon of Despair! in thy black tower—
April appears.
Apr.
Black tower!—Pooh, pooh! I hate all dismal scenes.
Urg.
Thou'rt not Despair!
Apr.
I don't know what it means.
Thro' storm and shine I gaily drive my tandem,
My motto ever was, “Nil Desperandum!”
However dull before—when I appear,
I usually see smiles through every tier.
D'ye think I'd stand Despair's eternal drizzle?
No! let mirth reign, and melancholy mizzle,
April the First is now Lord of Misrule.
Urg.
Then I am nothing!
Apr.
Yes, an April Fool;
Don't be offended—peep fool at your brothers;
Would in the world we ne'er saw any others.
But while poor April Fools one day appear,
More solemn blockheads lord it through the year.
If any such be here—for mercy's sake,
From a poor fool a word of wisdom take!
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And keep for Folly only All-fools'-day.
The scene changes to the Bower of Paphos, the Abode of Love among the Roses—Cymon discovered in centre—Enter Merlin, with all the Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Song—April—Tully.
When a dame will hunting go
With two strings to her bow,
She finds them very often like two stools;
And if one fine morning seen
Flopped upon the ground between,
Gets laughed at worse than simple April Fools.
With two strings to her bow,
She finds them very often like two stools;
And if one fine morning seen
Flopped upon the ground between,
Gets laughed at worse than simple April Fools.
The Justice, who looks big,
With his wisdom, in his wig,
And is ever by his passions made a tool;
If any such there be,
Let me ask you, isn't he
A great deal worse than any April Fool?
With his wisdom, in his wig,
And is ever by his passions made a tool;
If any such there be,
Let me ask you, isn't he
A great deal worse than any April Fool?
Would that ev'ry meddling jade,
Who of mischief makes a trade,
And whose tongue no mortal power could ever rule—
Could, when all agog to chatter,
And her betters to bespatter,
Be dumb-founded, like this busy April Fool.
Who of mischief makes a trade,
And whose tongue no mortal power could ever rule—
Could, when all agog to chatter,
And her betters to bespatter,
Be dumb-founded, like this busy April Fool.
The boy, at the first blush,
Who would into wedlock rush,
With a girl, perhaps, but yesterday at school;
Never heeding that to “Matrimony”
Prudence would rhyme “Patrimony,”
May wish he'd only been an April Fool.
Who would into wedlock rush,
With a girl, perhaps, but yesterday at school;
Never heeding that to “Matrimony”
Prudence would rhyme “Patrimony,”
May wish he'd only been an April Fool.
So, now, we'll ask young Hymen,
To splice Iphigene and Cymon,
According to the good old-fashioned rules;
And trust our calculation,
On your usual approbation,
Will not prove us all-together April Fools.
To splice Iphigene and Cymon,
According to the good old-fashioned rules;
And trust our calculation,
On your usual approbation,
Will not prove us all-together April Fools.
Tableau.
CURTAIN.
| Cymon and Iphigenia | |