 | Sylvia |  |
Scene V.
Behold poor Andrea again!
Hither the wily fiends decoyed him;
Being too simple to avoid 'em.
Whatever more beseems ye know,
The characters themselves will show.
Grumiel.
Well, brain-spinner!
What fly is this fine web of thine to catch?
But when the arm lacks power.—Deeds! deeds! deeds!
'Tis sleight of hand that suits me best!
Momiel.
Tall soul!—
Where'er he comes are blows, and blows enough;
But then he gets them; that he calls his courage!
If courage were esteemed by what it bears
No Pantaloon was ever half so valiant,
For he stands kicks like compliments; and bangs
Too hard for Punchinello's wooden cheek,
He takes like fan-taps, ladies' punishment!—
I'll no such courage!
Grumiel.
Well? what mutter'st thou?
Momiel.
Let me work on, I tell thee, or thou'lt rue it:
Spoil me this scheme and I'll undo thy doings!—
Come hither, block!
[To Andrea.
Stoop down, and hold thy head
Under this weed I wring: the juice of it
Dropt in the winding channel of thine ear
Will reach the brain, and like a chymic drug
Precipitate the thick and muddy film
That now hangs dully, as a cloud in air,
Between the light and sense. Be thou again
The natural fool we found thee, but no more!
Andrea.
Thank ye, most considerate gentlemen!
Momiel.
Peace, gabbler!—Look at thy feet!
Andrea.
O marvellous!
Momiel.
Stoop o'er this green reflector, and behold
Within its shivering mirror, what thou art.
Wilt bend, and kiss thine image?
Andrea.
That is not me! Eh?—let me feel!—'Tis true!—O lack! O transmigration! Why my own father, wise as he is, would not know me again!—When did these sprouts put forth?—I am furnished like a twoyear old buffalo!—they will slay me shortly for my hide and horns!—There is enough upon my head to set up a dozen dealers in tortoise-shell combs and knife-handles:—Ears too, into which you might thrust your hands like hedging-gloves!—O lamentable! lamentable!
Grumiel.
Knock him o'the head!
Momiel.
No!—Listen, thou wretch:
Our art which has deformed thee, can re-form
Thy disenthralment from this bestial shape.
Wilt thou, on promise to be re-made man—
Andrea.
I will!—Turn out your Ogres and your Green Dragons; I'll put them to flight like crows!—Where be these Anthropophagi?—Show 'em to me!—Any thing but the Old Lady of Babylon herself, I'll undertake for; and even with her too, I would venture to cross a horn!—Give me a cudgel, if you love me! and let me be doing—
Grumiel.
(Strikes him.)
There!—is't not a tough one? eh?
Andrea.
This is giving me the cudgel with a vengeance!—He is an orator, I suppose, and speaks to the feelings! an indelible-impression-leaver, hang him!
Momiel.
Wilt not have done?
I'll crack thy neck if thou speak'st one more word!—
List what I say: Follow this creeping stream
And it will lead thee to a hut, where live
An old dame and her daughter. Live, I say,
Though now I guess thou 'lt find the younger one
Laid on a flowery bier, with doleful clowns
Trooping around it. Her thou must contrive
To bear off hitherward; and fetch her safe
To where I will appoint. Do this but featly
To thy old shape. What answer? Is't agreed?
Andrea.
Say no more!—I will carry her off as a lion does a lamb. What! did I not belong to the honourable fraternity of conveyancers? Did I not lie, for a whole summer, among the Lazzaroni, on the steps of the Transport Office, at Naples? She shall be translated hither as softly as a bishop to a new benefice; as dexterously as if I had served an apprenticeship to an undertaker, or been purveyor to an anatomist. There are, to be sure, sweeter occupations under the moon than body-snatching; but the old proverb sanctifies it, on this occasion, for “Needs must”—the rest might be personal— Mum!
Momiel.
Come, we will show thee where we'll take our stand,
To watch thy enterprise, and see the issue,
That we may give, receiving; or perchance,
If need be, to rush out and help thy weakness.
Follow the clue I gave thee: we'll be near.
[Exeunt.
| Sylvia | |