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6
SCENE II.
An Apartment in the Palace—Enter the King, to soft music.King.
Whether first nature, or long course of drinking,
Has made me doat on brandy, I've been thinking;
By punch inspir'd, the minutes quickly roll,
It suits the jovial habit of my soul!
But, ah! I feel a sort of flutt'ring here,
I'm rather comical, and somewhat queer:
See, Poggylina comes: ye Pow'rs above!
I shouldn't be surpriz'd if I'm in love.
Enter Poggylina.
Poggy.
Your Majesty will pardon this intrusion.
King.
What charming modesty! what sweet confusion!
I'll tell her of my passion, try to carry her,
And should the Queen pop off—egad I'll marry her!
Fair Poggylina, upon such a thing dumb
I cannot be; my heart's a little kingdom
Wherein you reign;—in short, to drop all metaphor,
You've gain'd my love, which you shall be the better for.
Poggy.
Be still, my heart!
King.
I've that within, sweet wench,
Which not the Lunnun Water-works can quench;
A raging fire, that burns me to a coal:—
Mine is a desp'rate case, upon my soul!
AIR—King.
(Tune—“O no, my Love! no!”)
What beautiful vision before me is bright'ning!
My soul is in flames, and I glow with desire;
Those eyes, so bewitching, are flashes of lightning,
To set both my heart and my kingdom on fire.
My soul is in flames, and I glow with desire;
Those eyes, so bewitching, are flashes of lightning,
To set both my heart and my kingdom on fire.
Then smile on my passion, nor cruelly mock it;
Behold a poor King on his marrowbones fall!
Here, take ev'ry farden I have in my pocket,
My Crown, Star and Garter, my Sceptre and all!
Behold a poor King on his marrowbones fall!
Here, take ev'ry farden I have in my pocket,
My Crown, Star and Garter, my Sceptre and all!
7
I can hold out no longer—don't deceive me,
For I shall cry my eyes out if you leave me.
King.
When I prove false, may pride forsake the flirt,
Lawyers hate fees, and poets wear a shirt;
On cabbage-stalks may honeysuckles grow—
Enter Scaramoucho from behind.
Scara.
The King with Poggylina; there's a go!
Poggy.
And when I run your Majesty my rigs,
May monkies play at cards, and sapient pigs,
Like Toby, give their Converzationes,
To entertain their fashionable cronies.
King.
Of this enough:—we'll some refreshment try;
My joy is hungry, and my love is dry.
Poggy.
A good proposal! let us in to lunch.
King.
And wet our whistles with a glass of punch.
[Exeunt King and Poggylina.
Scaramoucho comes forward.
Scara.
I'll turn a rebel ere to-morrow's sun;
The odds are in my favour, ten to one!
I will dethrone this Monarch, trounce the jade,
False Poggylina—dammee, who's afraid?
AIR.—Scaramoucho.
(Tune—“The Dandy, O!”)
[Exit.
I'm a soldier ready made, and fighting is my trade,
At rank and file, retreat and charge, quite handy, O;
To Mars I am bound 'prentice, I kill my foes by twenties,
And live on smoke, fire, gunpowder, and brandy, O!
At rank and file, retreat and charge, quite handy, O;
To Mars I am bound 'prentice, I kill my foes by twenties,
And live on smoke, fire, gunpowder, and brandy, O!
When standing with my hat off, I look like Hetman Platoff,
Or some fierce, powder'd, whisker'd, German grandee, O;
Geramb or Scheffenhausen, or wonderful Munchausen,
Or Blucher, that old redoubtable dandy, O.
Or some fierce, powder'd, whisker'd, German grandee, O;
Geramb or Scheffenhausen, or wonderful Munchausen,
Or Blucher, that old redoubtable dandy, O.
Then, King, 'twixt you and I, I'd have you mind your eye,
For, 'pon my word, I do not understand ye, O!
And Poggylina you your coquetry shall rue,
When I mill that royal lad o' wax, your dandy, O.
For, 'pon my word, I do not understand ye, O!
And Poggylina you your coquetry shall rue,
When I mill that royal lad o' wax, your dandy, O.
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