 | The Golden Branch |  |
Scene Second.
—A Pastoral Landscape.In front, a beech tree, under which Quiver, in shepherd's attire, is seated, playing on a pipe—Prince Peerless, in the costume of the Shepherd seen in the painted window, is reclining on a bank on the opposite side, guarding his sheep.
Trans.
Beneath the shade yon beechen boughs diffuse,
See Tityrus invokes his sylvan muse,
While youthful Corydon recounts his love,
And for his Phillis fills with sighs the grove.
Princess.
O sir, in mercy tell me, who is Phillis?
Trans.
Yourself.
Princess.
Oh! joy.
Trans.
(to Suivanta)
And you are Amaryllis
Till further notice. Take good heed of that,
Nor from the bag emancipate the cat
Until I bid you. Foes are mischief brewing—
Love without prudence leads too oft to ruin.
(Exit Transimenus)
Princess.
He goes.
Suiv.
And don't say when he'll come again.
Princess.
And leaves us here alone—
Suiv.
With two young men!
Princess.
Who won't leave us alone, perhaps—let's run—
Suiv.
It's too late. They have seen us. (aside)
Oh, what fun!
210
And see where yonder stretched upon the grass
The very shepherd we saw in the glass!
Princess.
Where are we in the name of all the Magi?
Prince.
(addressing Quiver)
“Tityre tu patulœ recubans sub tegmine fagi”—
Princess.
Suivanta! Hark, what language does he speak?
Suiv.
It may be Latin, but to me it's Greek.
Prince and Quiver rise, and advance towards the Ladies; the Prince salutes the Princess, and they retire in conversation, whilst Suivanta addresses Quiver.
Suiv.
Pray, shepherd, can you play upon this pipe!
Quiv.
In course I can.
Suiv.
Then play me “Cherry Ripe.”
Quiv.
What's “Cherry Ripe?”
Suiv.
A song I'm partial to.
Quiv.
Then sing it me—as I can't play it you.
Air—Suivanta—“Cherry Ripe.”
Cherry ripe, cherry ripe—ripe, I cry,
That's the ballad you should buy,
Herrick's sparkling poetry,
Horn's true English melody.
Let the belle of London balls,
Dream she “dwelt in marble halls.”
Let the husband she would get,
Hope they “may be happy yet;”
But cherry ripe, cherry ripe, still I cry,
'Twas a spell, in years gone by.
Must it yield the prize of song
“To “Lucy Neal,” or “Lucy Long?”
No—though Yankees black to view,
May be cherry colour too.
“Old Dan Tucker,” with “Jim Crow,”
To old Virginny back shall go—
And cherry ripe, cherry ripe, still to me,
Shall the sweetest ballad be.
Prince and Princess return—The Prince and Quiver advance and offer garlards, the Prince to the Princess, and Quiver to Suivanta.
211
Prince and Quiv.
Fairest Nymph, all nymphs excelling,
Take this wreath, my passion telling.
Beauty such as thine compelling
Every shepherd's heart to love.
Princess and Suiv.
Gentle swain, the wreath you're weaving,
Pray excuse me from receiving.
Men, alas, there's no believing,
Faithless they too often prove!
Prince and Quiv.
Say, by what name may I address you?
Princess.
Phillis—
Prince.
A goddess I should guess you.
Suiv.
Mine, sir, is Amaryllis.
Quiv.
Bless you!
I never saw your like before.
Prince.
Corydon here the shepherds name me.
Quiv.
“Tityrus dear” the nymphs proclaim me.
Both.
But you alone could thus inflame me.
The lovely Phillis I adore!
Sweet Amaryllis I adore!
Gavotte.
Princess.
Oh! Amaryllis, love has set my heart on fire!
Suiv.
Oh! Phillis, I as deep am in the mire!
Princess.
In quite a fearful fashion for Corydon it burns!
Suiv.
And mine the tender passion of Tityrus returns.
Princess.
Young Corydon without a rival reigns, reigns, reigns!
Suiv.
Sweet Tityrus the sweetest is of swains, swains, swains!
Enter Queen Benignanta, meeting Prince Transimenus, each attended by Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Chorus—“Acis and Galatea.”
O! the pleasures of the plains,
Happy nymphs and happy swains.
Benignanta! Transimenus!
Joy with them for ever reigns.
212
(Exeunt omnes)
Re-enter Princess, followed by Prince Peerless.
Prince.
Too lovely maid, ah! wherefore dost thou fly me?
Princess.
Sweet shepherd, if you please, don't come a-nigh me.
Prince.
What from her Corydon can Philis fear?
Princess.
Making herself too cheap, and him too dear!
Besides, no longer ought I here to stay.
“The curfew sounds the knell of parting day,
The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea,”
And there are yet no lodgings found for me.
Prince.
I have a lodging in Lamb's Conduit Street,
Genteelly furnished, small, but very neat.
To occupy it, if you'll but consent,
I'll never ask you for a farthing's rent.
Princess.
Lodge at a bachelor's! You don't expect
I should do anything so incorrect.
If you were married—
Prince.
'Tis my wish to be,
If lovely Phillis will but marry me.
Princess.
Alas! fond shepherd, I am not of age,
And a stern father did my hand engage
To one of a much higher rank than you.
Prince.
I question that, sweet maid, if all you knew.
Princess.
What! are you not the shepherd that you look?
Prince.
Oh, yes, I am a shepherd (aside)
with a hook!
But in Arcadia princes tend their sheep.
Princess.
Are you a prince?
Prince.
Dear Phillis, can you keep
A secret?
Princess.
(aside)
O, how shall I keep my own?
Prince.
I am a prince, and yet may claim a throne,
Which with my Phillis I would gladly share.
Princess.
Then, shepherd, know I also am—
Trans.
(appearing amongst the trees)
Beware!
Prince.
What voice was that?
Princess.
A friendly warning to me.
For breach of promise somebody might sue me.
213
Do, there's a dear, good-natured, little man!
Air—Prince—“La Barcarole.”
O stay, my blushing beauty,
Let love thy steps enchain,
And beg of cruel duty
That she will call again.
No black sheep of a lover
To fleece my lamb am I!
Some love for me discover,
Oh, try! Oh, try! Oh, try!
Let love thy steps enchain,
And beg of cruel duty
That she will call again.
No black sheep of a lover
To fleece my lamb am I!
Some love for me discover,
Oh, try! Oh, try! Oh, try!
On some fine summer morning,
If I must hope give o'er,
You'll find, I give you warning,
My death laid at your door.
And if at your bedside leering,
Some night a ghost you spy,
Don't be surprised at hearing
'Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I!
If I must hope give o'er,
You'll find, I give you warning,
My death laid at your door.
And if at your bedside leering,
Some night a ghost you spy,
Don't be surprised at hearing
'Tis I, 'tis I, 'tis I!
(Exeunt Prince and Princess)
Enter Quiver and Suivanta.
Quiv.
To Amaryllis love compels my way,
My grazing sheep up Gray's Inn Lane may stray.
Suiv.
You'll lose a lamb while you are following me.
Quiv.
I'm a lost mutton since I gazed on thee!
Suiv.
Am I a bell-wether to lead you so?
Quiv.
You are my belle, whether I will or no!
Suiv.
Go, cast an eye upon your sheep, man, do!
Quiv.
No, let me stay, and cast sheep's eyes at you—
The fairest ewe—the lamb that I would fold
In these fond arms.
Suiv.
Shepherd, you grow too bold.
Quiv.
My passion's growing every moment stronger.
I can't and won't live single any longer.
O, Amaryllis, on your shepherd look,
Mine you must be by hook, love, or by crook.
Regard your Tityrus without a titter,
And say where would you find a husband fitter.
214
(aside)
A husband?—that deserves consideration.
And yet, to wed a person of his station—
How to refuse him? It is very hard—
If he were but a captain of the guard!
Duet—“The Swiss Girl.”
Quiv.
Oh! hear me, pretty miss!
Come tend the flocks with me,
We'll cut a shine amongst
These boors of Arcady!
Suiv.
No, no, strange doubts my bosom fill—
Though simple maid, I'm not so green
To follow thee—at least, until
The ring and license I have seen.
Quiv.
Oh, come with me, I'll wed you there,
'Pon honour, bright and fair.
Suiv.
No, no, no,—I'm very well here,
Contented, sir, to stay.
I never trust men's honours.
So I wish you, sir, good day!
La, la, la, &c,
Quiv.
Oh! hear me, pretty miss!
Both.
La, li, ut, li, ut!
Quiv.
My cottage shall be thine,
At Shepherd's Bush 'tis found
With kitchen garden, paddock green,
No end of pleasure ground!
Suiv.
No, no, I'd rather single live,
Than wed a man almost unknown:
And find, when I'd no more to give,
I dared not call my soul my own!
Quiv.
Say yes; your slave I'll be with pride,
Oh, say thou'lt be my bride!
Suiv.
No, no, no, I'm very well so,
Contented here I'll stay,
And ever free and happy,
Sing and drive old care away.
La, la, la, &c.
Quiv.
Oh, say thou'lt be my bride!
La, la, la, &c,
(Exit Suivanta)
215
I die, and death shall finish all my pain!
Enter Prince, hastily.
Prince.
Where's Phillis? I have sought for her in vain!
Speak, wretch, I'm sure thou knowest.
Quiv.
Who, sir? I, sir?
You might as well have asked me “Where's Eliza!”
Prince.
Run! Fly! Haste, seek her, over hill, through grove.
I've lost myself—if I have lost my love!
Air—Prince—“Through the Wood.”
I've lost myself—if I have lost my love!
Through the wood! through the wood follow, and mind you,
Hunt, hoop, and holloa! dash forward pell-mell.
Run as if Old Nick himself were behind you,
For if you don't find her I'll wallop you well.
Look in at “The Barleymow”—call at “The Rose;”
Into the cells of the station-house peep.
Weary with looking for lodgings, who knows
The rural police may have caught her—asleep!
Through the wood, &c.
Hunt, hoop, and holloa! dash forward pell-mell.
Run as if Old Nick himself were behind you,
For if you don't find her I'll wallop you well.
Look in at “The Barleymow”—call at “The Rose;”
Into the cells of the station-house peep.
Weary with looking for lodgings, who knows
The rural police may have caught her—asleep!
Through the wood, &c.
(Exeunt Prince and Quiver)
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