 | Theseus and Ariadne ; or, The Marriage of Bacchus |  |
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ACT I.
Scene First.
—The Sea-shore.Enter Dædalus.
Dæd.
My gentle Public, one word in your ear:—
I come incog.—for I have much to fear.
In former times my name was very famous;
I'm Dædalus—the son of Eupulamus.
To me mechanics owe one half their tools,
Their axes, wedges, wimbles, levels, rules.
Don't be alarmed, though what I say is true,
I came not here to make a tool of you.
I only think it right the fact to mention.
The sails of ships were also my invention;
And one day, for a freak, by dint of stitches,
I made myself this pair of satin—which is
A novelty in dress—the Greeks can't bear 'em,
But times may come when e'en our wives will wear 'em!
And, amongst other very useful things,
I made myself this pretty pair of wings;
By means of which I 'scaped a king tyrannical,
Who found my genius for him too mechanical.
I mean old Minos here—the King of Crete,
Whom for a hundred pounds I wouldn't meet—
Except in this disguise—in which I doubt
If my own mother would know I was out.
But here I am—'tis fit that you should know it,
At the request of the poor trembling poet,
Just to explain in the old classic way,
The more intricate portions of his play.
For of the labyrinth you'll here inspect,
I was the celebrated architect;
And if unguided through its winding ways,
You might be all left really in a maze!
So at great risk—for Minos would for certain
Hang, if he caught me here behind the curtain—
I of our story just the heads will through go,
And from your memories rub the classical erugo.
Song—“I remember, I remember.”
I come incog.—for I have much to fear.
In former times my name was very famous;
I'm Dædalus—the son of Eupulamus.
To me mechanics owe one half their tools,
Their axes, wedges, wimbles, levels, rules.
Don't be alarmed, though what I say is true,
I came not here to make a tool of you.
I only think it right the fact to mention.
The sails of ships were also my invention;
And one day, for a freak, by dint of stitches,
I made myself this pair of satin—which is
A novelty in dress—the Greeks can't bear 'em,
But times may come when e'en our wives will wear 'em!
And, amongst other very useful things,
I made myself this pretty pair of wings;
By means of which I 'scaped a king tyrannical,
Who found my genius for him too mechanical.
I mean old Minos here—the King of Crete,
Whom for a hundred pounds I wouldn't meet—
Except in this disguise—in which I doubt
If my own mother would know I was out.
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At the request of the poor trembling poet,
Just to explain in the old classic way,
The more intricate portions of his play.
For of the labyrinth you'll here inspect,
I was the celebrated architect;
And if unguided through its winding ways,
You might be all left really in a maze!
So at great risk—for Minos would for certain
Hang, if he caught me here behind the curtain—
I of our story just the heads will through go,
And from your memories rub the classical erugo.
You remember, you remember, when you read Ovidius Naso,
A second Minos ruled in Crete, who had his cruel way so,
That on such terms he forced the poor Athenians to treat,
The major part, with all their heart, wished he was minus Crete.
You remember, you remember'd this at school, you will allow.
If you don't—pray just remember that you don't forget it now.
A second Minos ruled in Crete, who had his cruel way so,
That on such terms he forced the poor Athenians to treat,
The major part, with all their heart, wished he was minus Crete.
You remember, you remember'd this at school, you will allow.
If you don't—pray just remember that you don't forget it now.
You remember a fine labyrinth I built him for his sport—
You may have seen one if you've been as far as Hampton Court.
A monster he kept in it, who was called the Minotaur,
And half a man and half a bull, was reckoned quite a bore.
You remember, oh, I'm sure you do, all this you'd to translate,
From Ovid's Metamorphoses, in Fable 2, Book 8.
You may have seen one if you've been as far as Hampton Court.
A monster he kept in it, who was called the Minotaur,
And half a man and half a bull, was reckoned quite a bore.
You remember, oh, I'm sure you do, all this you'd to translate,
From Ovid's Metamorphoses, in Fable 2, Book 8.
You remember the Athenians then, to such despair Fate drove 'em,
That they agreed each year to feed this “semi virumque bovem.”
Seven fine young men, seven nice young maids, 'twas quite enough to tire 'em—
Consigned per annum to the jaws of this “semi bovemque virum.”
You remember the quotation—'tis from Ovid as before,
You'll find it in his Art of Love, Book 2, verse 24.
(a ship appears in sight)
That they agreed each year to feed this “semi virumque bovem.”
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Consigned per annum to the jaws of this “semi bovemque virum.”
You remember the quotation—'tis from Ovid as before,
You'll find it in his Art of Love, Book 2, verse 24.
Well—there's the ship put up for sale, that passes the next lot,
And in it comes young Theseus—but stop, here begins the plot,
And Minos on the pier appears to see the victims land.
Whence arise misunderstandings, which I hope you'll understand.
For remember, I've remembered thus far to remember you,
If you don't, you must remember—I can't find you memory too.
And in it comes young Theseus—but stop, here begins the plot,
And Minos on the pier appears to see the victims land.
Whence arise misunderstandings, which I hope you'll understand.
For remember, I've remembered thus far to remember you,
If you don't, you must remember—I can't find you memory too.
The scene moves, and the coast of Crete, with Pharos, Seaport, Palace, and other buildings, gradually appears; the quay crowded with People, Guards, &c.—Minos seated, surrounded by his Court—At the same time the ship, which has passed over the back of the stage, enters the harbour, and Theseus, with six other Grecian Youths and seven Grecian Girls, is landed in charge of an Officer.
Chorus
—“Lombardi.”
On our shore see the victims are landing
Athens sends us her tribute again.
For his food
To the monster her sons over-handing
In return for Androgeus slain.
Very good.
Of our customs no doubt they are haters,
Thus in bond to be seen hurts their pride,
And though envying e'en our tide waiters.
They had rather be waiters untied,
So they would.
Officer.
Oh, son of great Lycastes! hail and reign!
To feed your monster, Athens once again
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Seven lovely virgins, warranted most tender,
And seven nice young men—for a small party,
On whom, no doubt, he'll make a dinner hearty!
Minos.
Let him alone for that—he'll soon begin it;
These will be eaten boys in half a minute;
And these dear little ducks be pretty pickings—
Thes.
Before they're hatched 'tis wrong to count one's chickens.
Minos.
Whose voice was that? What slave is so facetious?
Officer.
So please your Majesty, it's Master Theseus.
Minos.
Who's he when he's at home? So much presumption
Argues a lamentable lack of gumption.
Officer.
Dread King, he is the son of old Egeus,
By Ethra, daughter of the sage Pittheus,
Who from great Pelops—
Minos.
Bother Pelops!—say
How fell the lot on this young fellow, eh?
Thes.
It didn't fall—I came a volunteer!
Minos.
A volunteer! There must be something queer,
I should imagine, in his upper story.
(to Theseus)
On what fool's errand cam'st thou hither?
Thes.
Glory!
Minos.
An errand many a fool before has run of;
And one that I have ceased to see the fun of.
When a young soldier, I had just your view of it,
But an old soldier knows a trick worth two of it!
Answer distinctly, what was it brought you here—
What did you come for to go for to do here?
Thes.
Relieve from this poll-tax a groaning nation,
And in Greek bonds defeat your speculation.
Minos.
Indeed!—and how?
Thes.
By literally taking
The bull by the horns; my life 'gainst his beef staking.
Minos.
To use a common phrase, I am afraid
'Twill be the greatest beefsteak you e'er made;
But you shall have a speedy opportunity
Of trying—and if you 'scape with impunity—
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The other Minos may be—you know where.
Thes.
My brave companions—partners of my toil,
My feelings and my fame!—The sport I'll spoil
Of this inhuman bull in human shape,
And get you all out of this ugly scrape.
With this good arm I'll bravely tussle for you;
“There's life in a mussel!”—and here's muscle for you!
Minos.
Off to the station-house with every sinner,
Until the monster rings his bell for dinner!
Until the monster rings his bell for dinner!
Air—Minos—“Non piu andrai.”
I've no doubt you're a famous bull-baiter,
But no man ever made a bull greater.
Say “Good-bye” to your pater and mater,
For you'll never see them any more;
Taken to the monster's station
For his special mastication.
Though you may be very brave, I
Think you will soon cry “peccavi;”
Introduced to the Minotaur, he
Will assuage your thirst for glory.
Now upon the horns a fixture,
Of this man and Oxford mixture,
Now in air ungraceful sprawling,
Now to earth a jelly falling,
Till having beaten hollow you,
And finding more to follow you,
He'll condescend to swallow you,
As the Red Cow did Tom Thumb!
But no man ever made a bull greater.
Say “Good-bye” to your pater and mater,
For you'll never see them any more;
Taken to the monster's station
For his special mastication.
Though you may be very brave, I
Think you will soon cry “peccavi;”
Introduced to the Minotaur, he
Will assuage your thirst for glory.
Now upon the horns a fixture,
Of this man and Oxford mixture,
Now in air ungraceful sprawling,
Now to earth a jelly falling,
Till having beaten hollow you,
And finding more to follow you,
He'll condescend to swallow you,
As the Red Cow did Tom Thumb!
Chorus.
“Go,” my boy, “where glory waits you,”Since for glory here you come!
(Exeunt Minos, Guards, &c., Theseus, Captives, and Officers)
Enter Dædalus.
Dæd.
(advancing)
I'm sure it greatly would distress the ladies
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To a bull's-horn gallop—or make a feast
For any such a monstrous nasty beast.
But there's a friend at Court, or I'm mistaken,
Who'll go the total hog to save his bacon.
Fair Ariadne—the King's eldest daughter,
Was at her window, and by Jove he's caught her.
Enter Cupid.
Cupid.
No, Master Dædalus—'twas not by Jove.
Dæd.
Discovered!
Cupid.
Don't be frightened—'tis but Love,
Who, though called blind, sees all disguises through.
Dæd.
It is young Love!—Old fellow, how d'ye do?
You won't betray me?
Cupid.
When was love a traitor?
Dæd.
Oh! when?—I like that!—
Cupid.
Sir, I am a hater
Of anything like treason. Love is Truth.
If man be false am I to blame, forsooth?
'Tis Fancy, and not Love, that makes him so.
Dæd.
Well, there's no arguing with Love, I know.
But what of Theseus?
Cupid.
Why this, you stupid!
'Twas not by Jove he caught the wench—but Cupid.
He is a great pet with my mother, Venus,
And to protect him we are bound, between us.
I count upon your aid.
Dæd.
On mine!—the deuce!
But, if you think that I can be of use—
Cupid.
Lo! Ariadne comes with her fair sister.
Dæd.
But—
Cupid.
No buts. Love's despotic!
(retires)
Enter Ariadne and Phœdra.
Ariad.
(to Dædalus)
Here!—you Mister—
I don't know what's your name—you in the cloak
Dæd.
I beg your pardon, I believe you spoke?
Ariad.
And rightly you believe—I spoke to you.
Oh, tell me, and in pity tell me true!
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Walked off in custody along the Strand?
Dæd.
His Royal Highness the Prince Theseus!
Ariad.
Alas! his fate has rendered most uneasy us.
Is there no way to snatch him from the danger?
Forgive me—I'm aware you're quite a stranger—
But there is something in your voice and mien,
Which I have never heard, and never seen
Before.
Dæd.
If quite a stranger—pray, how could you?
Phœd.
You wouldn't lend a hand to help us—would you?
Dæd.
Do you an interest also in him take?
Phœd.
I do—but only for my sister's sake.
Behold the scalding tears her cheeks that blister!
I'm not a sister, would I not assist her!
Ariad.
Harkye—you needn't mention it again;
Of mighty Minos we're the daughters twain!
And any price you'll put upon your aid,
Down on the nail with pleasure shall be paid.
Dæd.
To business, then. You are in love—
Ariad.
I own it.
My heart is gone; fate sent that boy to bone it!
Quartette—“A Life by the Galley Fire”—Ariadne, Phœdra, Dædalus, and Cupid.
Ariadne.
Oh! love in my breast a fire
Is lighting with passion wild,
That youth in the Grecian attire
Exactly suits this child.
He looks such a smart young lad,
And he cast on me such an eye,
That I really think I should go mad,
If the dear little fellow should die.
Oh! love in my breast a fire, &c.
Phœdra, Dædalus, and Cupid.
Oh! love in her breast a fire
Is lighting with passion wild,
That youth in the Grecian attire
Exactly suits this child,
Yes, suits, just suits,
Exactly suits this child.
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You couldn't meet a counsellor more meet,
To lend a hand at any dext'rous feat,
A most inventive genius I possess.
Ariad.
By your direction, then, prove your address.
Phœd.
If of the labyrinth we had a plan—
Dæd.
To give you that I am the very man.
For—'twixt ourselves—I made it—
Both.
Made it!—you?
Ariad.
This is indeed important news—if true.
Dæd.
Upon my honour!—You are still incredulous.
But, sure as you're alive, ma'am, I am Dædalus.
Phœd.
Oh, Jupiter! what wonders come to pass!
You Dædalus!
Dæd.
I had been dead—alas!
But for these wings, which bore me through the skies.
But—àpropos of wings—time also flies,
And therefore we must seize him by the forelock;
Here is a key will open any door-lock,
Bramah—or Chubb; next for the youth's inspection,
Here of the labyrinth, the ground-plan and section.
Also a ball of cotton-twist, which through
Its winding ways will serve him for a clue.
And last—this blade, with which, if he have pluck, he
May first the bull's throat cut, and then his lucky.
Quartette—“The Boatman Dance”—Ariadne, Phœdra, Cupid, and Dædalus.
Ariad, Phœd.
With joy we'll dance, with joy we'll sing,
The brute if he can over fling.
Cupid, Dæd.
I never knew a pretty girl in my life,
But she wished to be a hero's wife.
Solo—Ariadne.
Give him but a chance,
O give but a chance, O.
He'll take a sight
At the bull to-night,
And go home with his pals in the morning.
All.
Oh! Oh! away he'll row,
Going down the river in his galley, O.
Closed in by
Ariad, Phœd.
With joy we'll dance, with joy we'll sing,
The brute if he can over fling.
Cupid, Dæd.
I never knew a pretty girl in my life,
But she wished to be a hero's wife.
Solo—Ariadne.
Give him but a chance,
O give but a chance, O.
He'll take a sight
At the bull to-night,
And go home with his pals in the morning.
All.
Oh! Oh! away he'll row,
Going down the river in his galley, O.
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Scene Second.
—A Prison—Enter Theseus.Thes.
How long, I wonder, in this horrid limbo,
Shall I be left to stand with arms a-kimbo.
(noise of a key turning in lock)
The door opens, and Ariadne appears at it.
They come to lead me to my fate, no doubt.
Ariad.
Are you at home?
Thes.
Would I could say I'm out.
Ariad.
You shall say so, whate'er the consequences.
Thes.
“Mine eyes are made the fools of my other senses,
Or else worth all the rest!”—I'll bet a pony
You are the girl I saw in the balcony.
Ariad.
I am, and daughter of the King of Creta.
Thes.
In Creta never was a cretur sweeter!
A flood of rapture through my system rushes!
Say, is it love that brought you?
Ariad.
Spare my blushes.
Thes.
No; I could not spare anything so pretty.
Ariad.
I pity you, and love's akin to pity;
And I will save you from the monster's jaws.
Thes.
Ha! in your will honour has stuck her clause.
I cannot profit by the kind bequest.
I've sworn to die, or ransom all the rest.
Ariad.
But if I brought you means the rest to ransom?
Thes.
That would be like yourself—uncommon handsome.
Ariad.
Take then these articles—mind you don't lose 'em.
And follow me! I'll tell you how to use 'em.
Yet stay—one moment—for my heart is beating,
To think this may be our last time of meeting.
Air—Ariadne—“Jeannette and Jeannot.”
And follow me! I'll tell you how to use 'em.
Yet stay—one moment—for my heart is beating,
To think this may be our last time of meeting.
You'll be going far away when the monster you've upset,
And toco from my father I instead of yam shall get,
But still I'll think of you, love, wherever you may go.
Can you look me in the face, and say the same? No, no!
When you've killed the Minotaur, and no longer need my aid,
You'll pretty soon forget the fine speeches that you made.
With some lady on your arm, that you left the other side,
You'll be marching off to church with her, and making her your bride.
And toco from my father I instead of yam shall get,
But still I'll think of you, love, wherever you may go.
Can you look me in the face, and say the same? No, no!
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You'll pretty soon forget the fine speeches that you made.
With some lady on your arm, that you left the other side,
You'll be marching off to church with her, and making her your bride.
Thes.
By all the gods to whom I am related;
By Neptune, who was once my father stated;
By Venus, who has always called me her man;
By mighty Hercules, my cousin-german;
By Phœbus, to whose shrine I dragged for sticking
The Bull of Marathon alive and kicking;
I swear, if out of this scrape you can get me,
To make you Mrs. Theseus—if you'll let me.
Air—Theseus—“Cheer up, my own Jeannette.”
By Neptune, who was once my father stated;
By Venus, who has always called me her man;
By mighty Hercules, my cousin-german;
By Phœbus, to whose shrine I dragged for sticking
The Bull of Marathon alive and kicking;
I swear, if out of this scrape you can get me,
To make you Mrs. Theseus—if you'll let me.
Cheer up—cheer up—if I'm not ate
By this mad bull, we'll go
To Athens, dear, across the sea,
And there be spliced, you know.
And surely you need not be told
To bear this truth in mind,—
That if we go together,
You cannot be left behind.
By this mad bull, we'll go
To Athens, dear, across the sea,
And there be spliced, you know.
And surely you need not be told
To bear this truth in mind,—
That if we go together,
You cannot be left behind.
There's not a girl on Grecian land,
That ever I have seen,
Could cut out you, my pretty pet,
So kind as you have been.
Nor should I care a button,
Had fate cast the lot on me,
To be the monster's dinner, love,
If my desert you'd be.
That ever I have seen,
Could cut out you, my pretty pet,
So kind as you have been.
Nor should I care a button,
Had fate cast the lot on me,
To be the monster's dinner, love,
If my desert you'd be.
Ariad.
(aside)
Methinks this gentleman protests too much.
But sure he'll keep his word, if he be such.
Oh, yes—to doubt the darling were a sin.
(aloud)
Come! To the labyrinth! Go in and win!
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Then we together will live, will die,
Hymen's sweet bonds our hearts so tight in!
First fighting boldly, then fighting shy.
Taking French leave our bark so light in.
Roused is my/his Grecian mettle
The tough bull's hide to tan.
Soon he/I the hash will settle
Of this wild Oxon man.
(Exeunt)
Scene Third.
—The Labyrinth.Enter Theseus, with the clue.
Thes.
Thus far into the middle of the maze,
Through thousand doors and thousand winding ways,
I have marched on without impediment,
And cool as if to go in peace to bed I meant,
Instead of battle with a monster dread,
My life, I may say, hanging on a thread.
So on we goes again—to fear a stranger!
With such a clue I cotton to the danger.
But here, I take it, does the monster dwell,
I'll take the liberty to pull his bell.
If at my ring he will but ope the lock,
I warrant you he'll answer to my knock.
(rings)
The Minotaur appears at gate of building.
Mino.
Holloa! what's all this row about, I wonder!
Thes.
I've come to call you out.
Mino.
Lightning and thunder!
A chap like you tug at my tintinabulum,
And that, too, just when I'm in want of pabulum!
Run, you young dog, before I masticate you.
Thes.
I'll run at you like a bull-dog and bait you!
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Prepare to get the soundest of all swingeings!
Beneath my blows this spot you shall expire on,
Though your ox-hide may be oxide of iron!
Mino.
By ox-eyed Juno! this is past belief!
Come on!—you'll not require two rounds of beef.
Thes.
I thirst for glory—so look out, Bull-calf,
For I shall pitch into your half-and-half!
Mino.
If you pitch—I can toss, as you shall find.
Thes.
Calve's-head, I win—ox-tail you lose—behind!
Duo—Theseus and Minotaur—“Haydn's Surprise.”
Mino.
You another tale shall tell,
These two horns shall sound your kneel,
And toss you up, my precious swell,
Therefore mind your fool's eye!
These two horns shall sound your kneel,
And toss you up, my precious swell,
Therefore mind your fool's eye!
Thes.
Short your ox-tail I will cut
And stave in your occiput.
Spite of horns you'll be my butt,
So, sir, mind your bull's eye!
And stave in your occiput.
Spite of horns you'll be my butt,
So, sir, mind your bull's eye!
(Exeunt fighting)
Enter Ariadne.
Ariad.
By this time the decisive blow is struck!
Either the monster is by Theseus stuck,
Or I have lost my stake in this sad broil;
Anxiety—thou work'st me to an oil!
So stood “Eliza on the wood-crowned height,”
“O'er Minden's plains, spectatress of the fight,”
With this exception—there's no height for me
To stand on—so the fight I cannot see,
Air—Ariadne—“My Skiff is on the Shore.”
Either the monster is by Theseus stuck,
Or I have lost my stake in this sad broil;
Anxiety—thou work'st me to an oil!
So stood “Eliza on the wood-crowned height,”
“O'er Minden's plains, spectatress of the fight,”
With this exception—there's no height for me
To stand on—so the fight I cannot see,
I'm going to sea with my gallant Theseus,
Down among the Greeks in the Peloponnesus,
Happy there we'll be, so fond and gay,
Courting till the break of day.
Tra, la, la.
Down among the Greeks in the Peloponnesus,
Happy there we'll be, so fond and gay,
Courting till the break of day.
Tra, la, la.
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Our galley's off the shore, there on the sea,
Oh! kill the Minotaur, and come with me;
And as we paddle on, my song shall be,
None love you better than Ariadne.
Tra, la, la.
Oh! kill the Minotaur, and come with me;
And as we paddle on, my song shall be,
None love you better than Ariadne.
Tra, la, la.
Enter Theseus.
Thes.
The tyrannous and blustering bull is dead.
And we are free and easy on that head.
Ariad.
Victorious and unhurt! oh, joy of joys!
Thes.
Release the other Grecian girls and boys,
And let us bolt.
Ariad.
To that I'll be no bar—
But where is Phœdra?
Enter Phœdra.
Phœd.
Here!
Ariad.
Oh! there you are.
My sister— (introducing her to Theseus)
with us we must carry her too.
Thes.
(crosses to Phœdra)
If you insist on it—I'll marry her too.
Ariad.
By no means! we will find a spouse in Greece for her.
Thes.
(aside)
So young—so fair! my heart will have no peace for her!
(aloud)
Come!
Enter Dædalus.
Dæd.
Stop!
Thes.
For what?
Dæd.
For me.
Thes.
For you!
Ariad.
Oh, true!
This is the gentleman lent me the clue.
Thes.
Indeed! it served me many a good turn,
And he deserves the others. May I learn
Your pleasure, sir?
(crosses to Dædalus)
Dæd.
For Athens you'll set sail,
But in so long a run, your wind may fail;
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Instead of wind.
Thes.
Steam?
Dæd.
No.
Thes.
What then?
Dæd.
A screw,
Which through the water will with speed propel you.
Thes.
Zounds! Neptune won't much like that, I can tell you;
He's not so fond of steam his kingdom through driving,
And I suspect he'll never stand your screw-driving.
Dæd.
Let him with Eolus no tempests brew;
If either grumbles, just put on the screw.
Behold!
Enter Captives.
From prison I have let your crew loose;
On board—ere Minos dreams there is a screw loose.
(music—Exeunt Theseus, Ariadne, Phœdra, and Captives)
Enter Cupid.
Duet—Dædalus and Cupid—“Billy Taylor.”
Dæd.
Master Theseus is a brisk young fellow,
Full of mirth and full of glee,
But his mind I can discover—
He'll with Phœdra make too free.
Cupid.
Fiddle, diddle, dee!
“Make too free.”
Dæd.
Ri tol de riddle lol—well, you'll see!
He will break his first engagement,
All along of that wench so sly.
But if it gets wind, his wife 'll dust his jacket
When she discovers his treachery.
Cupid.
Fiddle, diddle di!
“Treachery!”
Dæd.
Ri tol de riddle lol—won't she cry!
Yes! when the poor creature she comes for to know of it.
She'll very much upbraid him for what he has done.
243
On half pay, that comes under her thumb.
Cupid.
Fiddle, diddle dum,
“Under her thumb!”
Dæd.
Well, that rhyme is rather rum!
Cupid.
Well, I'm their bowswain—so here goes, my boy,
To pipe all handy winds and waves ahoy!
(waves his bow and exits)
The scene changes, gradually discovering the Sea-shore—Group of Nymphs, Nereids, Tritons, &c., and the Galley under weigh, with Theseus, Ariadne, Phœdra, and Cupid on board—Grand Tableau, and
Has everybody forgotten the “Enfield Speaker?”—N.B. This is not the Eliza whose whereabouts was a matter of so much curiosity in 1847.
END OF ACT FIRST.
| Theseus and Ariadne ; or, The Marriage of Bacchus | |