University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene First.

—A Bower of Roses, not by Bendemeer's stream.
Zephyrs discovered sleeping.
Enter a Zephyr to the “Gavotte de Vestris.”
Zeph.
How's this? what still asleep, my rosy posies?
Come ope your eyes and blow your little noses.
Not a leaf stirring yet—why gracious powers,
Are you aware the time of day, my flowers?
Have you forgotten that your Queen proposes
This day to ope the Parliament of roses!

Chorus—Zephyrs—“Der Freischutz”—“Bridesmaids' Chorus.”
Sweet Zephyr, don't make such a breeze,
We're rather late this morning,
But don't be angry, if you please,
We shan't be long adorning;
Sleep, you know, will sometimes thus enthral us,
You should earlier call us.

Music—The Queen of the Roses appears.
Zeph.
Behold your sovereign! Silence, all and each,
To hear her Majesty's most flow'ry speech.

Queen.
My Buds and Blossoms, I rejoice to say,
That I continue to receive each day
Assurances from all the foreign flowers
Of their good will towards these happy bowers.
I have concluded, on the best foundations,
A treaty with the King of the Carnations,
And trust ere long to lay the leaves before you.
I'm sorry now to be obliged to bore you
On an old subject, but, for your digestion
At Easter, we must have an Easter question—
And on my faithful Roses I depend
To bring the matter to a happy end.
The facts are these—a youth of royal race,
Of noble mind and matchless shape and face,
Has been transformed by a malicious fairy
Into an ugly monster, huge and hairy
And must remain a downright beast outside,
'Till some fair maid consents to be his bride.
My Buds and Blossoms, you will take that measure,
Of course, which best may work your sovereign's pleasure—
Which is, that through a Rose's mediation
The Prince may be restored to form and station.
Ere nightfall, I expect you'll break the spell,
And so, my Buds and Blossoms, fare ye well.

Chorus
—“Coal Black Rose.”
Queen of Roses, we'll take care
To lay before this honourable house the affair;
If we can get two acts pass'd, without its being nettled,
The beast will be re-formed, and the Easter question settled!
No rose here that blows,
Will vote against a measure, ma'am, that you propose.

(Tableau and the scene closes)

Scene Second.

—Interior of “Pump's Folly.”
Enter Marrygolda and Dressalinda.
Mar.
Oh, sister! sister! times have altered sadly,
To think we should live poorly—

Dres.
And dress badly!

Mar.
We who have banqueted in fair Guildhall,

Dres.
We who have opened Easter Monday's ball—

Mar.
The daughters of Sir Aldgate Pump, Lord Mayor
Of London once—

Dres.
And now, though past the chair,
A knight and alderman, who might again
Wear o'er the velvet gown the golden chain,
Had not malicious Fortune, at one blow,
Ruined the famous firm of Pump and Co.

Mar.
Out on the jade! could she none else have fix'd on
To banish from Threadneedle Street to Brixton?
Sad change from merriment to melancholy,
From lordly Mansion House to poor “Pump's Folly.”

Dres.
It makes me mad to hear our sister Beauty
Say we should be content, and prate of duty,
And resignation, and that sort of stuff—
She thinks a grogram gown is fine enough.

Mar.
And so it is for her to scrub the floor in,
To cook the dinner, or to ope the door in.
That's all she's fit for—with her wax doll's face,
What matters what she thinks in any case!
We are her elders, and her betters too,
And need more ornament than she can do.

Dres.
Here comes papa—and in a mighty hurry!

Enter Sir Aldgate Pump hastily, in great agitation, with an open letter in his hand.
Sir A.
Oh, Gog and Magog!

Mar.
Bless me, what a flurry
You seem in, sir! Is anything amiss?
Or have you heard good news?

Sir A.
Girls, come and kiss
Your happy father. Pumps are up! Behold
This precious letter. List, whilst I unfold
The glorious tidings. Fortune, in her sport,
Has brought the good ship “Polly” into port.

Dres.
The bark you thought was lost on some vile rock—

Sir A.
Is safe in Plymouth Sound.

Mar.
You're sure, sir.

Sir A.
Cock!

Dres.
Why she was thought the richest of your fleet.

Sir A.
Her cargo's worth would buy all Lombard Street.

Mar.
Then we again in gilded coach shall ride.

Dres.
And wear the richest clothes in all Cheapside.

Sir A.
Again a roaring trade on 'Change I'll drive!
But I must hence with speed, so look alive—
Where is my youngest hope, my Beauty fair?

Mar.
I'm sure, pa, I don't know.

Dres.
And I don't care!

Beau.
(sings without)
“Gondolier, row, row.”

Sir A.
Hark that's her voice? as any bell 'tis clear.

Mar.
I'm sick of that eternal “Gondolier.”

Enter Beauty, singing.
Air—Beauty—“Gondolier Row”—Lover.
Gondolier, row, row,
Gondolier, row, row;
'Tis a pretty air,
I do declare.
But it haunts a body so,
Gondolier, row, row,
Gondolier, row, row;
At work or play,
By night or day,
I sing it where'er I go.

Beau.
Good morning, sir.

Sir A.
Rejoice, my child, for know,
The “Polly's” safe in port.

Beau.
You don't say so?

Sir A.
Read! you can read?

Beau.
Both print and written hand.

Sir A.
Accomplished creature! And can understand
What you do read?

Beau.
Affirm that quite I wouldn't,
Because, at times, e'en those who write it couldn't.

Sir A.
Where's my ex-clerk and faithful drudge, John Quill?

Enter John Quill.
John.
Here, master. I am your remainder still.

Sir A.
Run to the “Goat in Boots.”

John.
Yes, master—Dot
And carry one—

(going)
Sir A.
Stop! you've not heard for what.
Order a chaise and four—and mind, John, you
Must travel with me—

John.
Dot and carry two.
(Exit John)

Sir A.
Rot your arithmetic, and stir your stumps—
This is a glorious day, girl, for the Pumps!

Beau.
Where go you, father?

Sir A.
To the ship, my dear.
To land her cargo, and the Customs clear.

Dres.
You'll bring some present home, I hope, for me.

Sir A.
With all my heart, my love—what shall it be?

Dres.
Oh, any trifle that falls in your way—
A hundred guinea shawl suppose we say.

Sir A.
A hundred—humph—but then your sisters too.

Mar.
Oh, sir, I wouldn't think of asking you
To buy a shawl for me—that were too rash—
I'll take a hundred guineas, sir, in cash.

Sir A.
Considerate child! But first, love, I must net 'em;
In the meanwhile, I'll wish that you may get 'em.
But what says Beauty? Is my pet so happy
That she's no boon to ask of her own pappy?
You've heard the choice of your two sisters here,
One's for mere cash, the other for Cashmere.
What says my duck?

Beau.
(aside)
If nothing, I suppose
They'll call me proud. (aloud)
Well, bring me, sir, a rose.

Sir A.
A rose!

Beau.
Yes—in our little garden here
There is not one at this time of the year.
And I'm so fond of roses.

Dres., Mar.
Well, if ever!

Sir A.
Only a flower! Nonsense, child; endeavour
To think of something else.

Beau.
No, sir; 'twill be
Enough to prove that you have thought of me
When far away.

Dres., Mar.
(sneeringly)
Sweet sentimental soul!

Sir A.
I'll bring one though I search from pole to pole
To find it.

Re-enter John Quill.
John.
Sir, they've brought over the shay.

Sir A.
Brought over! brought it to the door you'd say.

John.
Yes, sir.

Sir A.
Are all my things well packed behind?

John.
I've added up, sir, all that I can find,
And here is the grand total.

(shewing a small parcel)
Sir A.
A small stock, it
Won't take much room up—put it in your pocket.
And now, farewell, my darlings! Behave pretty,
I'll come back and astonish all the city!

Quintette—“The Fox jumped over”—“Guy Mannering,” Bishop.
John.
I've just looked over the garden gate,
And sorry am to observe it snows!

Sir A.
O-ho! does it so, John? I'll wrap up my pate;
One last embrace, and away we goes.

Beau.
Wrap, father, wrap this round your chest;
The day's caught cold, I do protest.
For, ah! you hear,—it blows, it snows.

Sir A.
One last embrace, and away we goes.

Dres.
Beaux will swarm—

John.
Multiplication—

Mar.
Cash be plenty—

John.
Sweet addition—

Sir A.
Now, without more conversation,
Here at once we part—

John.
Division.

Exeunt Sir Aldgate, John Quill, Dressalinda, and Marrygolda.
Beau.
Song—Air—“Susannah don't you cry”—Nigger Melody.
(Exit Beauty)

Scene Third.

—A Forest—Snow storm—Crash without.
Sir A.
(without)
Holloa! confusion! help! holloa!
John Quill!

John Quill enters with Sir Aldgate.
John.
Here, master!

Sir A.
Mercy on us, what a spill!
The leaders shied at that confounded drover.

John.
Fours in a ditch, go once, sir, and two over.

Sir A.
“Go once,” indeed—a very pretty go—
And fancy too, a heavy fall in snow!
As the Scotch gentleman says in the play,
“What wood is this before us?”

John.
I can't say.

Sir A.
It isn't Birnam, that's as clear as light.

John.
Why, no, it's more like Freez'em, to my sight.

Sir A.
John, we are in a pretty situation!

John.
I'm out completely in my calculation.

Sir A.
Fate seems determined, John, to use me queerly,
The chaise is broken all to shivers nearly.

John.
I shouldn't mind the shivering of the shay,
If we could keep from shivering here all day.

Sir A.
Is there no friendly power to shield or spare
A knight and alderman who's been Lord Mayor.
Protecting Genius, to my rescue fly.

John.
Law! you've no more a genius, sir, than I.

Sir A.
The deuce I haven't! See, my prayer is heard
By some kind spirit—never mind the word.
Scene gradually changes, the snow melting from the trees, and the forest opening and shewing a beautiful garden with a magnificent castle in the background.
The sky is clearing, it has left off snowing—
The wood is “all a growing, all a blowing;”
And yonder I behold a castle fair,
Such as I've built too often in the air.

John.
Oh, Bonnycastle! Sir, I ask your pardon,
Your genius has cast up a lovely garden,
With beds of roses, and with bowers of myrtle,
Where the fond turtle—

Sir A.
Oh, don't mention turtle!
I'm famished, and would give I know not what,
For a good quart from Birch's, smoking hot.
(a table rises, with a basin of soup on it)
Amazement! at my wish a basin see!

John.
Oh, master, wish again a pint for me!

(a smaller basin appears on the table)
Sir A.
'Tis there!

John.
Now was't because I wished, or you?
Perhaps I've got a little genius, too;
I'll try—a nice French roll, sir, if you please;
(a basket with bread rises)
Now that I call getting one's bread with ease,
And that's what geniuses don't often do.

Sir A.
This is the best bred one I ever knew.
Delicious soup!

John.
I say, good master mine,
Suppose we both wish for a little wine.

Sir A.
With all my heart.

John.
What shall it be? Champagne?

Sir A.
Stop! punch with turtle—punch à la Romaine.
(the punch rises, they drink)
Perfect!

John.
I should say quite. Some more to eat?

Sir A.
A slice of venison now, would be a treat.
(the soup is replaced by a silver dish, with a lamp under it, and filled with hashed venison)
A better hash ne'er smoked upon a table.

John.
If this were told they'd count it a mere fable.

Sir A.
Now if you'd fancy some superior sherry?

John.
Bless you, I do.
(a decanter replaces the punch; Sir Aldgate drinks)
Is it superior?

Sir A.
(setting down his glass)
Very!
(rises)
John, I feel all the better for my lunch.

John.
My head is none the better for that punch.

Sir A.
Come, let us try if we can find our way.

John.
Dy'e think, sir, there is anything to pay?

Sir A.
I don't know, but I won't wish for the bill.

John.
No, don't; the gentleman might take it ill.
Which is the way out? I can't tell, can you?
My eyes are multiplying all by two.

Sir A.
I say, John, Beauty asked me for a rose;
I'll take her one of these.

John.
Yes, do.

Sir A.
Here goes.

Duet—Sir Aldgate and John—“I know a bank”—Bishop.
I see a bank whereon a fine one blows;
It can't be wrong to pluck it, I suppose;
When 'tis by Beauty seen, if we get home to-night,
So fond of flowers, she'll dance, sir, with delight.

(Sir Aldgate gathers a rose; thunder, lightning, &c.)
Enter the Beast with an enormous club.
Air and Chorus—“Garde à vous”—“La Fiancée,” Auber.
Beast.
Tremble you! tremble you!
Who dare to pluck my roses,
I tear ye limb from limb, and with your bones the churchyard strew.
Tremble you! tremble you! tremble you!
On turtle soup and punch, rogues,
You've made a hearty lunch, rogues,
Now I will lunch on you, lunch on you, lunch on you.

Chorus
. (behind the scenes)
On turtle soup, &c.

Beast.
Is this your gratitude for lunching gratis?
Trespass on my preserves! Ohe jam satis!
But I will have your bones ground into dust,
And make a pie of you with your own crust.

Sir A.
Mercy, great king of clubs! one moment pause.

Beast.
Well, take a rule, then, rascals, to shew cause,
Why I should not beat with this oaken plant,
The brains of both out—

John.
Brains from one you can't.

Sir A.
Air—Sir Aldgate—“Under the Rose”—“Love in a Village.”

Beast.
I don't believe a word of this affair.

Sir A.
As I'm an alderman, and have been Mayor,
You may depend on the account I give.

John.
As I'm a liveryman, who hopes to live,
If you examine his account, you'll find it
Correct.

Beast.
Your promise, then, and oath to bind it,
That you will bring that daughter here to die
Instead of you—

Sir A.
To die! Oh, my!

John.
Oh, cry!

Beast.
Come, make your mind up quickly, you or she?
Decide! It's immaterial quite to me.

Sir A.
My lord!—

Beast.
I'm not a lord, sir; I'm a beast.

Sir A.
You wouldn't have us call you one, at least?

Beast.
I would—I like the truth—I'm a plain creature.

John.
The plainest that I ever saw, in feature.

Beast.
Is it a bargain? Speak, I wait to strike it.

Sir A.
I'll go and ask my daughter if she'd like it.

Beast.
Of course, man, that's exactly what I meant;
I wouldn't eat her without her consent.

Sir A.
If I object, then, sir, you won't eat me?

Beast.
Oh! that's another matter quite, you see!
Come, swear you will return in either case.

Sir A.
I do!

Beast.
By what?

Sir A.
The city sword and mace!

Beast.
'Tis well; away! I shall expect you back
In half-an-hour—

Sir A.
In half-an-hour! Good lack!
How far are we from home?

Beast.
Four leagues and more,
But here's an omnibus goes past your door,
And only stops to take up and set down.

A car on which is written “Time flies, No stoppages,” with a Zephyr for a driver, and another for a Cad, appears at the back of the stage.
Cad.
Now, sir, Bank? city! Bank! going up to town?

Sir A.
(getting in, followed by John)
Pump's Folly,
Brixton.

Beast.
With the speed of light!
(to Cad)
In half an hour?

(to Sir Aldgate)
Sir A.
Certainly!

Cad.
All right!

(they fly off—Exit Beast)

Scene Fourth.

—Interior of Cottage (as before).
Enter Dressalinda, Marrygolda, and Beauty.
Air—Marrygolda—“'Tis really very strange.”
'Tis really very strange.
But people say, on 'Change,
That some ill-natured folks
Have dared papa to hoax,
And that in Plymouth Sound
No “Polly's” to be found.
'Tis really very strange,
But that's the news on 'Change.
They also say, on 'Change,
What's even still more strange,
That Beauty's above par;
And we at discount are!
Now if this should be true,
Oh dear, what shall we do?
'Tis really very strange,
But that's the news on 'Change.

Dres.
Hark! there's the gate bell! why, who can it be?

Mar.
Beauty! how now? why don't you run and see?

Beau.
I'm going, sister.

(Exit)
Dres.
Going!—stir, then, stir!
She really wants a maid to wait on her.

Mar.
What has she done to-day?

Dres.
Her work—no more.

Mar.
The lazy hussy!

Re-enter Beauty.
Dres.
Well, who's at the door?

Beau.
My father! in his habit as he started.

Mar.
Can it be possible?

Dres.
The dear departed!

Enter Sir Aldgate and John Quill.
Mar.
Returned so soon!

John.
Returned, like a bad penny.

Dres.
You've got my shawl?

Sir A.
No, for I've not seen any.

Mar.
The money, sir, for me, at least, you've brought.

Sir A.
I've seen no money—

John.
Dot and carry nought.

Dres.
No shawl!

Mar.
No money! what a horrid bore.

Sir A.
I've brought a rose for beauty—nothing more.

Beau.
Oh, thanks! I hope it has not cost you dear?

Sir A.
Only my life, my love.

Beau.
What's this I hear?

Sir A.
“Forlorn, deserted, melancholy, slow,”
(For we'd been overturned, love, in the snow)
We wandered, like two large babes in the wood,
Except that no cock robins brought us food,
When, lo, a splendid mansion rose to sight,
Which, talk of Robins, George alone could write
A true description of—Meand'ring streams,
Perennial bowers that mocked the poets' dreams;
Surpassing all that ere that great magician
“Submitted” yet “to public competition!”
Nor was the eye alone allowed to feed,
Turtle and punch were furnished us with speed.
Nothing to pay—Turtle without a bill,
And Punch that made a Judy of John Quill.
John, tell the rest, for out I cannot bring it.

John.
I haven't heart to say it, sir.

Beau.
Then sing it.

John.
I'll try—perhaps the air may do you good.

Beau.
I shouldn't wonder really if it would.

Air—John Quill—“I have plucked the fairest flower.”
He thought of Beauty's flower,
And he popp'd into a bower,
And he pluck'd the fairest rose
That he found beneath his nose;
But scarce had he done so,
When a monster, black as crow,
Like an arrow from a bow,
Flew out and cried, “Holloa!
Here's a very pretty go, a very pretty go,
You rascals, Oh!
You have spoiled my flower-show,
And to pot you both shall go
In a squab pie, oh!”
Then we fell upon our knees,
And we said, “Sir, if you please,
We did not mean to offend,
'Twas to please a lady friend.”
On which he answered “Oh!
If indeed the truth be so,
You'll be good enough to go,
And just let that lady know
She must pay for Pump and Co.,
Pay for Pump and Co.”
'Twas a horrid blow,
And it made us very low,
And we've come to let you know,
With a sad heigho!

Beau.
The horrid brute!

Mar.
How could you be so silly?

Dres.
What was he like?

John.
The Black Bear, Piccadilly.

Sir A.
(to Beauty)
To cut my story short, or you, or I
Must for the brute be made into squab pie.

Beau.
Oh horror! make a squab pie of my father!
I'd rather—oh, I don't know what I'd rather.

Mar.
I hope, Miss Beauty, you are satisfied.

Dres.
Your rose has proved a nice thorn in your side.

Mar.
Our father's death will lie, miss, at your door.

Beau.
Never! I'll die a hundred deaths before.

Sir A.
My noble child!

John.
The very Queen of Trumps!

Sir A.
Oh fate! come to the succour of the Pumps!
Let not the flower of our ancient race
Be made into a pie before my face.

John.
“Time flies!”—you told the omnibus to call
As it went back.

Dres.
This time do get my shawl.

Mar.
And if you can but bring me fifty pounds,
Or only five-and-twenty, sir—

Sir A.
Odd zounds!
Is this a time about such trash to tease,
When your poor sister—

Enter Cad.
Cad.
Now, sir, if you please.

Beau.
Farewell, dear sisters, I forgive you both.
Go, father.

Sir A.
And fare worse—oh, cruel oath!

John.
Don't cast up hope, dear master, fate may save her
And strike a balance yet, sir, in our favour.

Quintette—“Mild as the Moonbeams”—“Artaxerxes.”
[Dressalinda, Marrygolda, Beauty, Sir Aldgate, John Quill]
To death, per omnibus, poor Beauty goes,
And all because her pa just plucked a rose.
Mild as the moon, when a cream-cheese she resembles,
And sweet as sugar-plums, Birch's best.

Scene Fifth.

—Saloon in the Palace of the Beast—A banquet set out.
Enter Beast.
Beast.
Air—“My love is like a red, red rose.”
(retires)

Enter Sir Aldgate, Beauty, and John Quill.
Sir A.
Well, here we are.

Beau.
It is a lovely place
To live in.

John.
Yes, but that's another case—
You've come to die.

Beau.
That makes it rather duller.

Sir A.
A horse, my dear, of quite another colour.

John.
There's dinner ready; take a mouthful, will you?

Sir A.
They'd fatten you, it seems, before they kill you.

Beau.
The thought quite takes my appetite away.

John.
Master, you'll pick a morsel? do, sir, pray.

Sir A.
I couldn't touch a bit, 'twould make me ill;
There isn't any turtle, is there, Quill?

John.
Plenty, both calipash and calipee.

Sir A.
Indeed! Well, if I must, I must.

Beau.
Ah me!
I'm getting nervous. (noise within)
Ugh! what's that?

John.
The Beast—
The—the—that is—the founder of the feast.

Enter Beast.
Beast.
Madam, you're welcome; won't you take a seat?

Beau.
I come, sir, to be eaten, not to eat.

Beast.
And come you, madam, of your own accord?
Answer me truly.

Beau.
Yes, indeed, my lord.

Beast.
Don't call me lord, I beg. I told your father
My title is “The Beast.”

Beau.
Well, if you'd rather—

Beast.
But now to business. I'm o'erjoyed to know
You came here willingly. Pump, you may go!

Concerted Piece—“Begone, dull Care.”
Beast.

Sir A.

(Exeunt Sir Aldgate and John Quill)
Beast.
Now, madam, we're alone, dismiss your fear,
I trust to make you very happy here;
Although I feel that I could eat you up,
I'd rather with you breakfast, dine, and sup,
If you'll permit me, but I won't intrude;
You'll find, I hope, my outside only rude;
I beg you'll make yourself at home completely.

Beau.
I never thought a beast could speak so sweetly!

Beast.
You find me very hideous, I'm afraid.

Beau.
Why, I—

Beast.
Oh, speak out, call a spade a spade!
I like to hear the truth, whate'er it be.

Beau.
Indeed! Oh there, then, we shall both agree!

Beast.
Did you e'er see aught like me?

Beau.
Yes, the what-d'ye-call
They once had at the Surrey Zoological.

Beast.
The what-d'ye-call! and was that like me?

Beau.
Very.
A great baboon—they called him “Happy Jerry!”

Beast.
Were I your “Jerry,” I should “happy” be.
Oh! could I fancy you could fancy me.

Beau.
My Jerry! nay, in that light, truth to speak,
There's more of “Bruin” in your looks than “Sneak.”

Beast.
This candour's quite enchanting! Matchless fair,
“Your eyes are loadstars, and your tongue's sweet air,
More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear;”
Allow me to take wine with you.

Beau.
Oh dear!

Air—Beast—“Drink to me only.”
Drink to me only with your eyes,
If you object to wine;
But if you'll taste this claret cup,
I think you'll own 'tis fine.
But drink to me only with your eyes,
If you object to wine.

Beast.
'Tis late, and you need rest—I will retire;
Pray call for anything you may desire!
Behold your room.
(over the door of a room appear, in letters of gold, the words, “Beauty's Apartment”)
You'll find a wardrobe there,
With every sort of dress you'd like to wear.
Costumes from every land, North, South, West, East.

Beau.
Delightful!

Beast.
Good-night, Beauty!

Beau.
Good-night, Beast!
(Exit Beast)
Well, I declare! a very civil brute!
If manners make the man, beyond dispute
He must be one, though he don't look the part.
He seems a perfect gentleman at heart,
And one that, cruelly, no girl would e'er cut;
If he'd just shave his beard, and have his hair cut;
Come, downy sleep, a balm from thee I'll borrow,
And look at all these fine affairs to-morrow.

Beauty flings herself on the couch and falls asleep; the Hall is immediately filled with Spirits of the Rose and Zephyrs, the Queen of the Roses in the midst.
Queen.
Beauty, you've been a good girl, and I'll see
That you're rewarded as you ought to be;
Dance round her couch, ye flowers and spirits bright,
And give her pleasant dreams and slumbers light.

(Dance—Tableau)