University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—THE DROPPING WELL OF KNARESBOROUGH, AND ABODE OF OLD MOTHER SHIPTON, BY MOONLIGHT.
Lively Music, as Curtain rises, to Ballet of Bewitched Broomsticks.
Mother Shipton enters, from the abode.
Mother S.
Hold! cease this Terpsichorean agitation;
I soon will find you better occupation.
Can't you stand here for half an hour, without
Each jumping up and jigging it about?
Behave like broomsticks used to good society,
With every besom should be some propriety.
[They incline themselves reverentially.
There, I am not angry; oft in stormy weather,
My faithful brooms, we have swept the air together.
You have borne with me, and 'twould be hard, it's true,
If, just for once, I couldn't bear with you.
Whose turn comes next to take a midnight ride?
[A Broom advances.
Well, go and get yourself rubbed down inside.
[Exit Broom.
As for the rest, disperse till I require you,
And don't dance any more till I desire you.
[Exeunt Brooms.
Away, I say. Their noise and botherations
Have put me out in all my calculations,—
My almanac prophetic, which, you see,
Tells everybody all that's going to be.
Stop, let me see, June—Ju—by the bye,
What on earth ought to happen in July?
[Takes out tablet.
What's to come next? Now, something that surprises.
Mother Bunch ascends through trap, unseen by Mother Shipton.
[Writing.]
About this time, we hear of sudden rises;
Something comes up that will attract attention.
There—now, what sort of weather shall I mention?

Mother B.
Ho, Shipton! what, in reverie immersed?
You recollect my wager.

Mother S.
[Still Writing.]
Fair at first.

Mother B.
About its not being paid, I'm rather nettled.
I'm getting—

Mother S.
Warmer.

Mother B.
Mind it's—

Mother S.
Still unsettled.

Mother B.
Furious with rage, I scarce can keep it under—
I'm in a passion—

Mother S.
Heat prevails, with thunder.

Mother B.
How long must I be, madam, thus detained here?
[Striking stage with crutch.]
You recollect our bet?

Mother S.
[Turning round and seeing her.]
About the rain, dear?

Mother B.
Rain, dear, indeed—that's very fine. A spell
Forgotten made me drop in.

Mother S.
Drop in! Well?

Mother B.
Don't you remember, once upon a time,
There lived a Queen who had a son?

Mother S.
Yes, I'm
Aware of that, and on his back a hunch;
And at his birth presided Mother Bunch.

Mother B.
I recollect, too, that there lived a King,
Who had a daughter—well, not quite the thing;
So silly, that the simplest words she tripped on,
And at her birth presided Mother Shipton.

Mother S.
Well, we bestowed the only gifts we could;
The young Princess I rendered handsome.

Mother B.
Good.
And I Prince Riquet blessed with sense and wit.

Mother S.
[Aside.]
And never left yourself the smallest bit.

Mother B.
You can't have quite forgotten, that same day,
A certain wager that you chose to lay?

Mother S.
A certain wager if I made, I win it;
I couldn't recollect it just this minute.
But now, as you have lost, of course I do.

Mother B.
Not quite so fast, the loser must be you.
Prince or Princess, the ugly or the handsome,
The wager ran—whichever first should chance some—
I say, should chance some lover first to get;
Decided which—

Mother S.
[Indignantly.]
Witch?

Mother B.
Which should win the bet.
Now, my Prince has found one to love him.

Mother S.
Sure!

Mother B.
She owned it, and the Prince himself before.

Mother S.
Before the Prince—she won't, and so you'll find,
So own it, when she sees the Prince behind.

Mother B.
Behold, a letter she has written since.

Mother S.
Proofs before letters, if you'd sell the Prince.

Mother B.
Well, come and satisfy yourself—wilt go?
'Tis but a paltry hundred leagues or so.

Mother S.
You rush all eagerly to meet your doom, ma'am.

Mother B.
[Ironically.]
Perhaps you can't walk?

Mother S.
Walk! don't I keep a broom, ma'am?

Mother B.
The offer is a fair one.

Mother S.
Well, agreed.
Off for the fair one! Forth, my fiery steed.
[Broomstick appears.
There's room for two outside, if you don't mind
Sitting a little closer up behind;
Though, I predict a time there'll be no room
For two of our sex upon one birch broom.
I prophesy that there will come—

Mother B.
Come, go;
Besides the bet, you are losing time, you know.

Mother S.
True, time is money—but, I prophesy—
There—just this once—that London, by and bye,
Will grow so large that—listen—

Mother B.
I attend to it.

Mother S.
So large, that I can see—

Mother B.
[Aside, and impatiently.]
There'll be no end to it.

Mother S.
O'er houses will run wires called telegraphic;
That underneath the streets will run the traffic;
That everywhere a bridge will span the stream;
That a Policeman will a wonder seem;
That a great Exhibition—

Mother B.
Don't, you elf,
Make a great exhibition of yourself,
But come away at once. That ought to bring her to.

Mrs. S.
It's very hard one can't predict a thing or two.

Hurried Music.—A rush of Villagers on each side.
1st V.
Here's Mother Shipton! seize her, burn her, drown her!

2nd V.
My wife she's made a subject for the crowner.

1st V.
She's killed my cattle, though a horse shoe's nailed.

2nd V.
And all my crops this summer somehow failed.

Mother S.
That's your return for all the good I've done.
Well, from this well, I'll soon repay each one:
Take this, and this, and by this rapid action,
Each petty rogue's in fact a petrefaction.

Music.—Hurry—Mother Shipton sprinkles them with water from the Dropping Well, and they become petrified, in their various attitudes of attack—Villagers are drawn off as the scene changes, and Mother Bunch and Mother Shipton are seen ascending on the same Broomstick.