University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Chamber—Queen Katalinda sitting in a pensive manner, with her Maids of Honour—Two Fiddlers attending.
Queen.
If music be the food of love, I crave,
Good Gentlemen, the favour of a stave!
[They play.
That melancholy strain to heav'n would carry me:
Play something soothing—“Nobody's coming to Marry Me.”

[They play “Nobody's coming to Marry Me.”
Enter King.
King.
Zounds! here's a pretty dust! a precious frolic!
Madam, is this the way you cure the cholic?

Queen.
That air, methinks, it had a dying fall!

King.
Base Catgut Scrapers! Devil take ye all!
[Kicks them out.
Avaunt, and quit my sight! and you, too, ladies;
I want to tell the Queen that she a jade is.

[Exeunt Mopsa and Poggylina.
DUET.—King and Queen.
(Tune—“Madam Fig's Gala.”)
King.
Come, Queen, you had better be quiet,
A truce to your airs and your graces;
Don't breed in my palace a riot,
Or I'll soon let you know whose the place is.

Queen.
I laugh at your threats full of spite,
And them you shall see I'll be kind for;
So, if you are willing to fight,
Come, let us see what you've a mind for.
Rum ti, &c. &c.

King.
Here's a virago! here's a shrew, beshrew me!
Her pipe's so dev'lish shrill, it quite goes thro' me.

Queen.
You've grown a downright savage.

King.
Don't provoke me!

Queen.
A Hottentot, by Jingo!

King.
Rage will choak me!
Soon, Madam, I will better manners teach you,
Our Chancellor, Lord Wigsby, shall impeach you:
The bus'ness shall be done as soon as said;
You'll look quite comical without your head.

Queen.
I scorn your boasting threats, whate'er your rigs be,
I'll more than prove a match for you and Wigsby;
I know your pranks, I'm up to all your tricks:
Does Poggylina still your passion fix?

King.
(Aside)
I'm smok'd! I must dissemble.—Poggylina
Has neither beauty, modesty, nor rhino;
I hate the wench—she's no more like my love,
Than a Pea-hen is like a Turtle-dove;
A Cat a King, a Lord a Country Bumpkin;
A Frog a Fly, a Pine-apple a Pumpkin!

Queen.
Celestial sounds! O let them mount the sky,
And tell the Gods and Goddesses on high,
Bacchus, Apollo, Jupiter, and Juno,
The happiness, my Liege, that I and you know:
Passion, avaunt!—no more I'll taste the cup
Of jealousy:—let's kiss, and make it up.

King.
Agreed— (Aside.)
We Monarchs, when our wives are civil,
Must sometimes hold the candle to the Devil!

DUET.—King and Queen.
(Tune.—“Over the Water to Charley.”)
Queen.
My Daisy, my Darling, give over this snarling,
I did not intend to ill use you;

King.
To chide me was cruel; come, kiss me, my Jewel:

Queen.
Here goes, for I cannot refuse you.
In the best govern'd houses, some wives by their spouses
Will never submit to be check'd, Love;
And a dust now and then with the dearest of men—

King.
Is what married folks must expect, Love.

[Enter a Herald with his Wig awry.
King.
Soul of a Grasshopper! wherefore those alarms?

Herald.
My Leige, brave Scaramoucho, is in arms;
He vows destruction, swears he'll have your life, or
Your Crown:—his Force, two Drummers and a Fifer;
Some ten or twenty Soldiers ta'en at random,
With a blind Sergeant Major to command 'em.

King.
Presumptuous slave! hie to my royal stud,
And saddle Dobbin, that rare bit of blood!
Fetch me my patent blunderbuss and spurs,
That I may punish these rebellious curs;
And, as for Scaramoucho, woe betide him!
My soul is up in arms;—I long to hide him!

[Exeunt King and Herald.
Queen.
Ah! cruel fate!
[Enter Scaramoucho, disguised.
What means that martial figure?
'Tis Scaramoucho's form, though rather bigger.
[He throws off his disguise.
'Tis he! 'tis he!—I die—I swoon—I faint!

Scara.
She's dead as mutton—dammee if she an't!

[Re-enter the King, unperceived.
King.
What noise was that? ha, ha! confound her mewing!
Here's a fine dish of cuckoldom a brewing!
To watch their pranks, my Kingship I'll deposit
Ods blazes, squibs, and crackers! in this closet.

[Goes into the closet.
Scara.
Look up, my Love.

Queen.
I'm something better now—
O Scaramoucho, here's a pretty row!
But ere we talk of bus'ness, answer, Dear,
This question,—how the devil came you here?

Scara.
In this disguise, the outposts of the town
I pass'd, and tipp'd the sentinels a crown;
Next at the palace gate I bargain'd hard,
It cost me one pound one to bribe the guard—
But quickly let us fly—deuce take this reck'ning!
Sly Cupid sits upon your shoulder beck'ning.

Queen.
I fear you gammon me.

Scara.
Hear this, great Mars,
Juno and Jupiter, Sun, Moon and Stars!
When Aldgate-pump shall stand in Paul's church-yard,
And the King's Sceptre be a Tailor's Yard;
When London-bridge shall come to Waterloo,
Men walk on four legs, donkies walk on two;
When in Fleet-ditch we catch Newcastle salmon,
Then, Katalinda, you may say I gammon.

DUET.—Queen and Scaramoucho.
(Tune.—“When I was an Infant, the Gossips would say.”)
Scara.
Please your Majesty, let us away,
Come, my Sweeting,
Drums are beating,
Cupid mocks our dull delay;
So march along with your soldier.

Queen.
You'll persuade me, do what I can,
How I could blush if I had my fan!
O, what sport
Will be at the court
When they hear that the Queen run away with a Man!

Both.
All the world and his wife will be there,
Jilting, vapouring,
Grinning, capering,
How the Lords and Ladies will stare,
And envy me/you and my/your soldier.

[Exeunt Queen and Scaramoucho, Maids of Honour following.
King comes forward from the Closet.
King.
There needs no further proof—the murder's out!
My horns begin to grow—I feel 'em sprout!
To be, or not to be—aye, that's a puzzler!
My Queen, heav'n bless her mug! has grown a guzzler:
If I could pour within her royal throttle
Of Cordial Balm of Gilead half a bottle,
'Twould do her bus'ness without fear or risk;
Then hey for Poggylina and a frisk!
AIR.—King.

Enter Doctor Bolus.
Bolus.
(Aside)
The King is in a passion, singing solus.

King.
Thrice welcome to my presence, Doctor Bolus!

Bolus.
(Aside)
His tone is alter'd—this some artful lure is.

King.
The Queen—perdition seize her—hell and furies!
Death, fire and faggots! for my torment sent is.

Bolus.
My Leige, you're mad—that is, non compos mentis.

King.
Enough to drive one mad, to make a sot o'me.

Bolus.
We must phlebotomize.

King.
O hang Phlebotomy!
Doctor, your ear—Gadzooks, you're mighty pale!
You wear a wig—and thereby hangs a tale—
[lays hold of Bolus's pigtail.
You deal in physic—I abhor my Queen—
You're up to snuff—can fathom what I mean—
To men of your discernment, verbum sat—
So, Bolus, you must finish her—that's flat.

DUET.—King and Doctor Bolus.
(Tune—“O what a monstrous gay day.”)
King.
O what a merry contrivance!
The Queen shall go off in a huff;
All her bad humours we'll drive hence,
For she shall have physic enough!

Bolus.
Bolus, cathartic, elixir,
Snug in her liquor I'll drop;
If 'tis your pleasure I'll mix her
All the contents of my shop.

Both.
Then hey for the pestle and mortar!
And hey for th' infallible pills!
No plan on earth can be shorter
To cure our good Queen of her ills.

[Exeunt.