The Songs, &c. in the Cabinet of fancy: or evening exhibition As it is performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-market [by G. A. Stevens] |
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| [1]. | [FIRST PART] |
| [I]. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | 2. |
| 3. |
 | The Songs, &c. in the Cabinet of fancy: or evening exhibition |  |
[1]. [FIRST PART]
RECITATIVE.
[Arise, and bid adieu to care]
Arise, and bid adieu to care,Speak my words, and banish fear;
In this magic wand reside
Fancy's frolics, pow'r and pride.
Lightly touch then Satire's ground,
Scatter all my follies round;
Come, come quick the rites prepare,
Speak my words, and banish fear.
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AIR.
[IN Pantomimes sure all allow]
[I]
IN Pantomimes sure all allowHobgoblins may assist the shew;
To help a new-contriv'd vagary,
Suppose me, sir, your sylph or fairy.
II
The world is now extravagancy,And sure delight in me, Miss Fancy;
Old dame Invention sends me here,
In statu quo—see—I appear!
III
As whim, if not well taken, teizes,Just so as jest or fancy pleases,
Pray damp not this odd undertaking,
But smile at Fancy's merry-making.
AIR II.
[THE world's a stage, as Authors say]
[I]
THE world's a stage, as Authors say,This world's a stage, and life a play;
Some play by rote, and some by rule,
Some act the knave, some play the fool.
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II
At childish fairs the round-abouts,The ups and downs, the ins and outs,
The trumpet's sound, and trump'ry gay things,
Are emblems o'th' passion's play-things.
III
The world's a fair of shew and noise,And traps for o'ergrown girls or boys;
The juggler, Hope, deceives the senses,
But bubble, Life, must pay expences.
AIR III.
[COME to our chearful springs—then come]
[I]
COME to our chearful springs—then come,Mortals, obey our friendly call;
We'll send you smiling wand'rers home,
With temperance, and health to all.
II
See from our vale a fountain rise;For you in balmy streams it rolls:
Money ye need not bring—that prize
For wine and oil—it loaths our souls.
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III
Hearken to us with pleasing care,And freely taste substantial food;
The sweetness of our cottage share,
And say our coarse repast is good.
AIR IV.
[KEEP your distance, and pray do not dare]
KEEP your distance, and pray do not dareTo touch me with your paws of a Bear;
In temper you're mulish,
In feature you're foolish;
From your reading I nought can discover—
With another guess lass,
Perhaps you may pass—
I'll ne'er have a book for a lover.
AIR V.
[Send me some post, I'm fit for place]
Send me some post, I'm fit for place,And I'll have done with riot:
May heav'n grant the great ones grace,
But let me dine in quiet!
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AIR VI.
[I'LL sing you a song, and I'll sing all about it]
[I]
I'LL sing you a song, and I'll sing all about it,Or in tune, or out on't, you need not to doubt it:
My tune is—Tol lol, de rol lol.
What's under, or in't, wit may take it or rout it,
Perhaps has a meaning, perhaps is without it;
It may be thought smart—but that won't be a wonder;
It may be a single, or double entendre.
So—Tol de rol lol, lol de rol.
II
There are scurvy compounds of bon ton and fine taste;Putrefactions to wit—and sense running to waste.
Like a reptile, poor Humour now crawls on the earth,
And Laughter, 'pon honour, is afraid of its birth.
Tol de rol lol.
III
I have laugh'd at Old Nick,Gave the Devil a kick;
Punch, his arguments who could withstand?
Who would dare to oppose,
Why I pluck'd by the nose,
So had wit, sir, at each finger's end.
Tol de rol lol.
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IV
The town's a raree-show, some say,A rare shew for projectors,
What pity 'tis we spoil the play
For want of better actors!
But sometimes in, and sometimes out,
'Tis so upon all stages;
Folks will not mind what they're about,
But only mind the wages.
Tol de rol lol.
V
As to Shakespear and Purcell, why you may allowThey were well enough once—but they will not do now.
Ben Jonson was clever, just clever, that's all;
But Harlequin now, faith, is quite—tol de rol.
Sing tantarara, tol lol.
VI
I'll excel in Bon Ton, as Genius and Critic,And be quite the thing, sir, “Immense Scientific;”
On all exhibitions give sentence by guess,
With shrugs, and stol'n phrases, that nonsense express.
Sing tantarara, tol lol.
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VII
If Merit dare speak, and he's known to be poor,Knock him down with a bett, then my triumph's secure;
For money's the thing, the grand thing that procures
Full work for the wits, when she forms connoisseurs.
Sing tantarara, tol lol.
VIII
But enough has been said, and enough has been sung;Remember, dear friends, keep good watch o'er your tongue.
I have no more to say—to an end I am come;
My rhymes are all out, so I'll dance and be mum.
Sing tantarara, tol lol.
Sing tantarara, mum, mum.
End of the First Part.
| The Songs, &c. in the Cabinet of fancy: or evening exhibition | |