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Penelope

A Dramatic Opera
  
  
  
  

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SCENE VI.
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40

SCENE VI.

Ulysses and Telemachus enter.
Ulys.
You've hear'd enough: You are prepar'd you say.

[To Telemachus.
Tel.
I am. Egad, this is a happy Day.

[Shruging his Shoulders.
They come forward, and Telemachus speaks to Penelope.
Tel.
Mother, if you're at Leisure to be seen,
Here's an old Soldier, that has serv'd the Queen,
In Flanders; one who knew my Father well,
And of him many wond'rous Things can tell.


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Pen.
Rising.
If, honest Man, you my Ulysses know,
Where did you see him, and how long ago?
But tell no Lys, if you my Friendship wish.

Ulys.
Ah! Madam, does a Beggar know his Dish?
Yes, we were Comrades all the War in Spain,
And then in Flanders many a long Campaign.
We shar'd our Dangers, and we shar'd our Bed;
One Pocket serv'd Us, and one Table fed.
These Eyes can witness what his Arms atchiev'd,
What of a Serjeant scarce can be believ'd!
Such Acts, as had our Gazetteer but known,
His Paper had been fill'd with them alone.

Pen.
The War concluded, whither did he roam,
And what has kept him from his Wife, and Home?
O! tell Me what did the dear Man befall;
For I'm on Tiptoe till I hear it all.


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Ulys.
At Rotterdam, the Devil damn the Place,
Was where I last beheld my Comrade's Face;
One Circe there, a Witch that deals in Gin,
By magic Spells had drawn the Serjeant in.

Pen.
What do I hear? Curse on the dirty Punk;
Then ev'ry Night with her I war'nt he's drunk.
Rather than hear'd it wou'd I'd lost my Life:
And has Ulysses then forgot his Wife!

[She weeps.
Ulys.
Have Patience, when he once has broke her Charms,
Nothing can long detain him from your Arms.
Think him not false, for, if I know him right,
Of You he thinks by Day, and dreams by Night.
I've hear'd him cry, amidst a thousand Men,
O! happy! happy! cou'd I see my Pen!

Pen.
Then I'm reviv'd indeed, if he is true.—
He was, I think, bating his Age, like You.


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Ulys.
Turning away.
O! how I long! but must not yet reveal.—

Pen.
Following him.
Come, you have Something that you wou'd conceal.
Walk in with Me, and drink a Cup of Ale,
And there pursue the Remnant of your Tale.

SONG V.
[Pen.]
How great is the Anguish,
To pine, and to languish,
For an absent Swain,
For an absent Swain!

Ulys.
The greater the Pleasure,
When you meet your Treasure,
Not to part again.


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Both.
How sweet is the Pleasure,
To possess our Treasure,
After all our Pain!

[They go out.