University of Virginia Library

Scene First.

—Interior of the Alderman's Warehouse— every description of grocery, &c., displayed in tins, jars, &c—placards with “Try the Royal Blacking,” “Sea Moss Farine,” &c.—fire-place, old-fashioned, L., at which are Mrs. Callipash and Rosemarye, the Cat sitting before them—R. and L. of C. door in flat two high desks, at which Fitzbabbage, L., and Philpott, R., are busy— the Alderman between them, reading out items.
(All repeat—Fitzbabbage and Philpott beat their desks to the air—Cat dances)
Alder.
Come! stick to work; let's have no idling here.
Accounts of late have got into arrear;
Things have been going wrong.

Phil.
It's all Dick's fault!
The little vagabond's not worth his salt!

Rose.
He is! (rises)


Mrs. C.
You hold your tongue! Who bade you speak?
The rascal has been idling all the week.

(Fitzbabbage and Philpott lean over to each other seriously)
Fitz. and Phil.
'Tis well! ha, ha!

Alder.
Come, will you stick to books.

Fitz.
I always do.

Alder.
There, none of your black looks!
By idling the 'prentice mind's debased.
Sticking to business shows you're thorough paste!

Fitz.
I never get a holiday!

Phil.
Too bad!

Alder.
I never took a holiday, my lad,
And see what I've become—a man of power!
Stick to accounts; that's your true ledger hour!

Mrs. C.
I wonder where Dick is!

Rose.
No doubt you do.
Of course he's been invisible to you!
But I have seen him.

Mrs. C.
(rising—crosses C.)
Husband, did you hear?

Alder.
This is a very awkward business, dear.
You know of my designs for our wild daughter;
Sir Highbury de Barne in marriage sought her.

Mrs. C.
That were alliance worthy of our race.
To love this 'prentice lad were dire disgrace!
He ought to be put down.

Alder.
What's to be done?

Mrs. C.
He shall be put down, too!

Fitz.
(at desk)
And carry one.

Alder.
What is this insolence, or insurrection?
Let's see your books.

Phil.
Now for a grand inspection!

Fitz.
(flinging books)
There! Day book, ledger, afternoon book, night book.

Alder.
Of course you hand me any but the right book.
(rummaging)
What's this? (takes out paper)
“To her I love! Oh, sweetest maid!
“Forget that I am chained to irksome trade.
“Let me, though not remarkable for looks,
“Open a long account in your good books.—
“Fitzbabbage.” So! this way you waste your time!

Rose.
No doubt he thinks that gibberish sublime.

Alder.
If I had dreamt of this, how I'd have thumped you!

Fitz.
You'd hardly credit that was an impromptu!
The little touch upon accounts is mine.
The local colouring, in fact, is fine.

Alder.
Pitch into him at once, together!

Fitz.
No!
Division says four into one won't go.
Respect arithmetic!

Phil.
(down R.)
He had you there!

Alder.
Enough of this. Retire to your chair.

Mrs. C.
And let me see you lift your eyes this way,
And out you go before another day.
(to Rose)
Your pretty face has caused neglect of late.

Fitz.
Ah, me! Oh, tyrant, love! (catches Alderman's eye)
and six is hate!

Alder.
(to Philpott)
Let's look to you now.

Phil.
Right you are, old fellow!

Alder.
(reads)
“Item—To soap, two pounds of finest yellow;
“Soda”—hum!—“starch—” (sees paper)
Can I believe my eyes?

Phil.
(R., snatching)
That's mine, I say!

Rose.
Another sweet surprise!

Alder.
“To her I love! Oh! fairest maid on earth,
“Forget your bloated father and your birth,
“And fly with him who—” Well, upon my word!

Mrs. C.
The lads are both distraught!

Rose.
It's too absurd!

Phil.
Forgive a bursting heart!

Alder.
My cane, I say!

Fitz.
You broke it on my back, sir, yesterday.

(slipping cane up his back)
Alder.
Go; buy another.

Fitz.
Waste's the worst of sins;
It's needle-ess to go to such ex-pins.

(trumpet outside)
Alder.
This is a fearful blow!

Mrs. C.
I know it well.

Phil.
Sir Highbury de Barne—that tip-top swell!

Alder.
It is! it is! Quick! Get into your places,
And please assume your serious City faces.

Enter Sir Highbury de Barne and Pages, L. C.—he walks affectedly to Rosemarye.
Concerted Piece.—“Down amongst the Coals.”
Sir H.
(C.)
Allow me on my visit, dear,
My best respects to pay.

Alder.
(R. C.)
The honour, sir, you do us here,
Sheds lustre on this day!

Phil.
(R.)
There's not a bit of hope for us,
Were both cut out I see.

Sir H.
Oh, what a blessed chance for you,
To be allied to me!


Estimable souls! estimable souls!
Oh, by George, it is a lark, falling in with such a spark!
Estimable souls! estimable souls!
Such a swell, a real tip-top shiner!

Chorus repeat.
Mrs. C.
(L. C.)
The sentiments you entertain are flattering, I'm sure.

Rose.
(L.)
But corresponding feelings don't from me, at least, secure.

Fitz.
(L.)
Oh, pity us poor 'prentices, who're worked beyond our keep—
Who live on broken meats and do within the cellar sleep.


Down amongst the coals! (business)

Oh, by George, it's not a lark, all alone and in the dark;
Down amongst the coals! (business)

Working like a slave or any miner!

Repeat ensemble.
Alder.
Pray take a chair. I hope you'll stop a bit.

Sir H.
Thank you, I'd rather stand, most worthy cit.

Alder.
This honour, good Sir Knight—

Sir H.
Oh! shut up—do!
(to Rose)
I've only come to have a word with you.
(to Mrs. Callipash)
Good dame, to hear my suit I pray you bid her;
She's single—I should so like to be wid her!

Rose.
(L. C.)
A wife's a clog; a prey to feud and strife.

Sir H.
(C.)
You're not a clog; you'll be a patten wife.
I love you deeply.

Alder.
(R. C.)
Oh, you little goose, ye!

Sir H.
Accept this rose! (Rose throws it down)


Alder.
(picking it up)
Rose, she does re-fuschia!

Sir H.
'Tis but a nosegay, such attentions daily-are,
Don't mind the croakers; let no fear azalia!
My hand, my fortune, at your feet I place here.
Give my hope's no drop, for it is a case here!

Rose.
What flowery language!

Fitz.
Yes, the latest caper,
Purloined verbatim from a lady's paper.

Sir H.
(to Alderman)
She's precious chilly, for so young a thing!

Fitz.
Chilly! She always was an icicle sing!

Alder.
Embrace her. She's worth winning for your pains.

Fitz.
Embrace her! The blood cuddles in my veins.

Mrs. C.
She's usually a dove.

Sir H.
And yet, you see,
She doesn't quail at pigeon into me.

Phil., Fitz.
(at desks)
Ha, ha! that's deuced good!

Sir H.
What means this clatter?

Alder.
A little playfulness is all the matter.

Phil.
(R.)
You swells absorb so much from us poor folk,
We've nothing left to take—except a joke.

Alder.
Well said!

Sir H.
What?

Alder.
Humph!

Mrs. C.
I hope you're not affronted.

Alder.
I said humph!

Sir H.
Yes, I took that, sir, for grunted.
He's an old bore, but my extensive charity
Leads me to overlook pig-culiarity.
(aside)
The girl is charming! but her situation!
I'm sinking from, not rising in, my station.
Marry beneath me! Conscience whispers “What?”
If she's not bred to it, I'd butter not!
Something must turn the scale.

(bells heard playing without)
Rose.
The bells of Bow,
Appealing to these senses, say—

Dick Whittington appears at door, L. C.
Dick.
(C.)
Hallo!

Rose.
(L.)
My dearest Dick! (Cat runs to him)


Alder.
(R.)
So you've returned, I say!

Dick.
I hope I'm not in anybody's way.
It seems a rather delicate occasion.

Alder.
Consider that you've lost your situation.

Dick.
Reflecting on its worth, I needn't mind it;
I only pity the poor chaps that find it.

Mrs. C.
(L.)
An ill wind blows you here.

Alder.
That's understood;
It must be a nil wind that blows no good!

Sir H.
(R. C.)
Who is this vulgar person?

Dick.
Noble swell,
I'm called Dick Whittington, so please you.

Sir H.
Well!
Why don't you go? Shall I employ my pages?

Dick.
Excuse me! there's a small arrear of wages!
I look sharp after money, as you see;
I think you'd do the same, Sir Highbury.
Yet none have seen, sir—no, not one civilian—
The colour of your gold, and you've a million!

Sir H.
Insolent! (drawing—Cat flys at Sir Highbury)


Dick.
There! to fight you're not a bit worth!
I know you're Armstrong, sir; but what's your wit worth!
A pretty man, who, as the rumour tells,
Was knighted by mistake for some one else!

Alder.
Oh, this is rank rebellion!

Sir H.
Artful dodger!
Why, he's a radical, this little lodger!

Dick.
No, I've no taste for all you preach to us—
I'm no apprentice!

Fitz.
He refers to us!

Phil.
He do; and so—revenge!

Fitz.
That's what I say.
Let's plot how. (Cat scratches his hand)
I shall kill that cat some day!

Dick.
You've told me that if I give up this shirking,
And conscientiously will stick to working,
From being 'prentice I shall be a master;
And in my trade degressing fast and faster,
Sink to an alderman, a sheriff, too,
With other Civic dignities in view,
And be, as others have been, I'm aware,
Successively degraded to Lord Mayor.

Alder.
And what I said was true.

Rose.
You'll do it eas'ly.

Sir H.
You hear?

Dick.
What! I become Lord Mayor?

Fitz.
(at desk)
Oh, Besley!

(slips under desk)
Dick.
I've no ambition for the Civic crown.

Sir H.
It's evident this chap wants Dakin down;
Against me he tries to turn the laugh. (goes up C.)


Dick.
You see, he hides his scorn, sir, in his chaff!

Fitz.
(aside to Sir Highbury)
Give us a trifle, and we'll see you through it. (getting on seat)


Sir H.
Well, since you know it, go it, blow it—do it!

Mrs. C.
Don't mind the girl, or anything she'll say;
Retire within—we'll fix the wedding day.

Phil.
That's business, if you like! Did you hear that?

Fitz.
Revenge approaches now! (Cat scratches his ear)
Confound that cat!

Concerted Piece.—“Jockey to the Fair.”
Sir H.
(R. C.)
It's plain this lad is in the way.

Alder.
(R.)
The same thing I was about to say.

Dick.
(L.)
The dickens I mean with 'em all to play,
And lead 'em a rig so rare!

Fitz.
(R.)
To wed our Rose is his intent.

Phil.
(R.)
O, shan't I be glad when off he's sent!

Mrs. C.
(L. C.)
Upon this match I'm firmly bent.

Alder.
Then come and draw up the settlement!

Sir H.
We'll see things right and square!

Ensemble.
It's not every day a swell so gay
Weds such a maiden fair!

Dick.
Cheer up and smile, my lovely Rose!
Things ar'n't so bad as you suppose!

Rose.
(L.)
He's only a snob—for all his clothes!

Sir H.
Permit me to say, “Take care!”

Alder.
The wedding nothing shall prevent.

Fitz.
A pity the chap is only a gent!

Phil.
The way Dick's done is mag-ni-fi-cent!

Alder.
Then come and draw up the settlement! &c.

(Dance off door, R.—Exeunt Sir Highbury, Alderman, Mrs. Callipash, Rosemarye, Fitzbabbage, and Philpott—Cat upsets Fitzbabbage at exit— Dick solus)
Dick.
So this is all my dream, my speculation,
Houseless and turned out of my situation;
Fool that I was to heed that story old
Which says that London streets are paved with gold—
Weak offspring of some mad poetic head—
For I have found them paved with guilt instead.
(bells)
What are those wild bells ringing all day long,
Singing some senseless see-saw civic song?
“Turn again, Whittington!” clangs through the air,
“Whittington, thrice of London town Lord Mayor.”
Perish the thought—to live that life were low
Where money only makes the Mayor to go.
My faithful Thomas! look into these eyes!
This very day your merry playmate flies.
You weep, the sort of thing I might expect,
A flood of tears, Tom, from this cat erect.
I'm going, Thomas. (knock)
Hark! I heard some knocks.
Come in, whoe'er you are!—So open, locks!

Enter Mysterious Mariner, door, L. C.
Mariner.
(R.)
Ha! (crosses to L. then to R., followed by Cat)


Dick.
(C.)
I beg pardon, do you wish to see—

Mariner.
I only have a wish to se-cresy.
Do you sell poison?

Dick.
Well, sir, we retail
All patent medicines.

Mariner.
How thin and pale,
And like—but no—your name, sir?

Dick.
About town—
(I must be cautious)—I am known as Brown.

Mariner.
Great heavens!—what, Brown—ha, ha! it cannot be!
But yet the name familiar seems to me.
In happier days, perhaps;—but come, enough!
(recovering)
I want a large consignment of such stuff,
As causes amongst rats a large mortality.
It must be of the very strongest quality,
(wildly)
For I—but no, have you the things in store?
You shrink from serving me—you'd fain know more.
This is my history. (crosses, L., and back to R.)
You'd not suppose,
From my appearance, and outlandish clo'es,
I am a Londoner—hush, not a word.

Dick.
Excuse me, this is awfully absurd,
Pray state your business with all proper fitness.

Mariner.
A moment. It were better we'd a witness.
Hist, Muley! (crosses, L.)


Enter Muley, door C., and Rose, R.
Dick.
(R.)
Rose, my darling, just in time,
Observe this Ethiopian pantomine.

(Muley does an extraordinary salaam)
Concerted Piece.—“Hokey Pokey, Chief.”
Mariner.
(L.)
From foreign lands, you see, I hail,
My cheek is like the tan,
Yet once I was as pale as ale,
Or any Christian man.

Muley.
(C.)
But conquered by his cruel spite,
He sailed to banish grief;
And so became to my delight,
Our Hokey Pokey Chief!

Mariner.
They would have named him/me Hikey Pikey,
Hokey Pokey Choo;
But the honour he/I rejected, like an English native true.

Repeat chorus, ensemble.
Dick.
(R. C.)
I thought you were a Turk indeed,
Your garb proclaims you such;
But with your story pray proceed,
It interests me much!

Mariner.
To tell you I'm a Christian soul,
Is to this heart relief;
Though fortune made me, past control,
A Hokey Pokey Chief!

Muley.
They might have called him Hikey Pikey,
Hokey Pokey Choo!
But he thought of this city, and decided 'twas a pity,
And told 'em it wouldn't do! (repeat ensemble)


Mariner.
That is my history.

Muley.
This is the case.
Him was a native of dis beastly place!
Him was Lord Mayor.

Rose.
(R.)
What's that?

Mariner.
(crosses, C.)
Alas, too true!
Some years ago before the world knew you,
I gained the Civic chair; but short of pelf,
Meant to establish by fair means myself;
No pageant or expensive show I'd try,
But went to Guildhall in a one-horse fly.

Dick.
Why, you were mad! you should have made pretence,
Ex-pounding it by shillings and ex-pence.

Rose.
No drums and trumpets, and no men in armour?

Mariner.
Nought but my one-horse fly, indeed, my charmer.

Muley.
Dis man am mad! (Dick runs to R.)
Amongst de minstrel races
Dey'd starve unless dey chuse to black deir faces.

Dick.
Proceed, good lunatic!

Mariner.
I tried this on,
But in a month I found my credit gone;
So in a ship I fled to foreign parts.

Muley.
An' dere he vanquished all our simple hearts.
He's now our king.

Dick.
A king!

Muley.
A reg'lar clipper.

Mariner.
At present, though, my business is a skipper.
The country's over-run with mice, (Cat at fire runs to Dick, R.)
and so
I come to buy this poison 'ere I go!

Dick.
(crosses C.)
Give me a passage in your ship; you'll see!
I and my cat will set your country free.

Mariner.
A bargain.

Rose.
And leave me?

Muley.
Dat putty gal!

Rose.
If you go—I go too!

Dick.
My love, you shall!
Can you find room for us? We're little folks.

Mariner.
Of course, I can.

Muley.
Dis am de best of jokes.

Dick.
When do you sail?

Mariner.
This afternoon.

Dick.
We fly. (bells heard without)

Those bells again! It is my destiny!
(Dick and Rose run behind counter, L.)
Music, hurry—Enter the rest of the Characters.
Some tapioca? thank you—one and three!

Rose.
(L.)
Screw of tobacco, two-pence!

Sir H.
(R. C.)
There you see!
Those two together.

Alder.
(R., furiously)
On 'em I shall drop.

Rose.
I'm only serving, father, in the shop.

Alder.
Be off, you rascal!

Dick.
(L.)
Mind, at three, precisely.

Mariner.
(L.)
Believe me, Brown.

Dick.
We've squared this business nicely.

Concerted Piece.—“Doctor's Boy.”
Dick.
(L. C.)
I've made up my mind, sir, and off I shall go,
Where no one but four little people shall know.

Sir H.
(R. C.)
I told you before this would sure be the case;
This comes of your keeping such cads in the place.

Phil.
(R.)
Attending to bus'ness we call a good thing.

Fitz.
(R.)
The smallest of gains will a competence bring.

Alder.
(R.)
At once you're dismissed, and you're hopes get a drop,
So take your farewell of the grocer's shop!
Oh!

Dick.
Tea, tapioca, tobacco and spice,
Tidman's sea salt, ginger, treacle and rice,
Starch, maccaroni, Peruvian bark,
To live with a grocer's a jolly fine lark.

Chorus repeat.
Mariner.
(L.)
A mariner bound for the ocean to-day,
Has only a very few moments to stay.

Muley.
(L. C.)
And though a poor nigger I fancy that few
Object to my buying a twopenny screw.

Mrs. C.
(R.)
Let's finish the business.

Fitz.
A row for a crown!

Alder.
He wants taking up.

Phil.
No, he wants taking down!

Sir H.
He's done for at last, and I reap a rich crop,
As soon as he's quit of the grocer's shop,
Oh!

Dick.
Tea, tapioca, &c.

(all dance off door, L. C.)