University of Virginia Library

Scene First.

—The Brazen Castle of the Enchantress Kalyba.
Enter the Demoniac Household and Guards of the Enchantress, and lastly Kalyba.
Chorus
—March in “La Tentation.”
March—march—march!
Hither come all who take Kalyba's wages!
Cloven foot guards and infernal young pages.
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily march!
Blow your long horns
And make your serpents clamorous—clamorous!
Batter your drums
And flourish your cymbals so gay!
Spite of her scorns
Of Kalyba still amorous, amorous!
Ormandine comes!
In state, a kind visit to pay!

Ormandine enters in a car drawn by Fiery Dragons.
Kal.
Welcome, great Ormandine! and say, what is it
Procures us, sir, the honour of this visit?
Seek you to solve some problem in our art,
Or such assistance as I can impart?
Or finding you had half-an-hour to spare,
Did you drive hither, just for change of air?

Orman.
The potent Kalyba is far too wise
To ask such questions, and require replies.
She knows the motive of my coming well,
And what events the hostile stars foretell;
Or else the scandal's true that I have heard,
And love has made her blind!

Kal.
Love! How absurd!
What will the idle gossips whisper next?
No—for your visit this is a pretext,
By jealousy inspired—come, disgorge
Your spleen in two words.

Orman.
So I will—St. George!

Kal.
Of course; if cause so plain I could not see,
Accounted blind I should deserve to be!
And now, supposing all you've heard be true,
Permit me to inquire—what's that to you?

Orman.
Ungrateful Kalyba! what is't to me?
Think'st thou, unmoved, thy ruin I could see?
Is it not written in the starry skies
That Seven Champions shall in Europe rise,
Whose valiant deeds shall sweep the earth of evil,
And one of them play, with yourself, the devil?

Kal.
It is—and need I tell you what I've done?
Have I not kidnapped every mother's son?
Did I not from their cradles have them caught up,
And here in solitary dungeons brought up,
Spell-bound, their weary lives away to pass,
In chains of adamant and walls of brass?

Orman.
Save one—who roams within your castle free—

Kal.
Within, I grant; but still my captive he,
As fast as either of the other six.

Orman.
No, you are his—and in an awkward fix,
You'll find yourself, as sure as you stand there,
If of that deep young dog you don't take care!

Kal.
Fear not—such care of him I mean to take,
That you shall not a victim of him make.
So, from your double face pull off the vizard,
And stand confessed, a jealous-pated wizard!
Who hates, because I love the beauteous boy,
And would your rival, not my foe, destroy.

Orman.
I tell you danger in the stars I've read—

Kal.
Add to your information, “Queen Anne's dead!”
Trot back to Tartary, most sage Manchoo,
Such is my counsel, in return to you.
I'm truly grateful for your friendly warning,
And wish you—very heartily—good morning!

Orman.
Farewell, for ever, Kalyba! I see
You'll catch a Tartar, but 'twill not be me!

(music—Exeunt Ormandine, Guards, &c.)
Kal.
No doubt he meant that speech to be pathetic.
That Tartar is, to me, tartar emetic!
Let him once more but dare to interfere,
And I will send him off with, in his ear,
The most gigantic flea that ever skipped,
Or, like a syllabub, may I be whipped!
Now to refresh my spirits with the sight
Of my young hero, who so longs to fight;
I must for him a box of soldiers find,
To pitch into, whenever he's inclined.
(uproar without)
Heyday! who's kicking up that dreadful row?
Somebody's pitching into some one now!
Speak! who is being pounded in a mortar?

Page.
It's Master George, madam, punching the porter!

Kal.
The porter! what, a giant?

Page.
He don't care—
He'd punch Old Nick himself, if he were there!

(Giant looks over the wall, crying)
Giant,
Ow! If you please I won't stop in my place,
If that young scamp's to go it at this pace,
Because I said the gate he mustn't pass,
He up and called me a great stupid ass.
And when I tried to push him back, ecod, he
Knocked almost all the breath out of my body.

(cries)
Kal.
(aside)
The brave young rogue! Well, there, don't make that noise!
The lad has spirit, and boys will be boys!
But 'twasn't pretty of him, I admit—
Go back, sir, to your lodge—I'll see to it!

Giant.
Mind, ma'am, if you can't make him more compliant,
You'll please to find yourself another giant.

Kal.
Begone!
(Exit Giant, grumbling)
One would suppose, to hear that sot,
There was no other giant to be got!
I know of twenty, taller, stouter, near
To whom that porter would but seem small beer!
Tell Master George to come to me.

Enter St. George.
St. Geo.
Behold him.

Kal.
What eyes he has—I've not the heart to scold him.

St. Geo.
Now, what d'ye want me for?

Kal.
One moment, dear—
My pet is too impetuous, I fear—
You've struck my porter—

St. Geo.
Well, then, why did he
Prevent my going out, the world to see?

Kal.
He had my orders, love, and did his duty.

St. Geo.
I don't care! see if I don't spoil his beauty.
Just let him wait till I grow up, that's all,
And won't I serve him out!

Kal.
You'll make me call
My spirits up, to bind you over, boy,
To keep the peace,

St. Geo.
Your spirits I'll destroy,
War, war, no peace! I'll be a soldier—

Kal.
Stay—

St. Geo.
St. George for England! forward! charge! hooray!

Kal.
Be a good boy, and Kalyba but stay with,
And you shall have a sword and shield to play with.

St. Geo.
A helmet too?

Kal.
A beautiful and bright one.

St. Geo.
With crimson feathers—I won't shew a white one!

Kal.
Enter my armoury—choose what you will.
(aside)
Arm'd, I've no doubt, he'll look more killing still.

(waves her wand—The gates at back open and discover the armoury)
St. Geo.
Oh, what a jolly lot of swords and lances,
And all the things one reads of in romances;
Here is a suit, that seems just made to suit me!

Kal.
(aside)
And you're a beau Love made I'm sure to shoot me!
Without my leave, he's with my heart levanted,
The witch bewitched, th'enchantress quite enchanted.
(aloud to him)
Too captivating captive, I surrender
At indiscretion. Lo, to thee I tender
My magic wand—use all its wondrous powers,
Reign paramount within these brazen towers,
Let pleasure hold here a perpetual orgie,
For Kalyba, and her sweet Georgy Porgy!

St. Geo.
Insidious sorceress, against your charms
I'm armed in proof, though a mere child in arms!
For noble deeds ordained, a youth precocious,
Long have I marked, and loathed your wiles atrocious!
First will I use my power to set free
My six companions in captivity.
Equipped for battle, gallant friends, appear.

(waves wand—Flourish—Enter the other Six Champions in complete armour)
Kal.
Furies and fire, I've made a blunder here!
Give me my wand again, vile traitor!

St. Geo.
Never!
You've cut this wicked stick of yours for ever,
And so will I, as soon as I have done with it!
But first I'll have a famous bit of fun with it.
Your hour has come, and I know what's o'clock;
Thus to their base I make your turrets rock!
(the Castle changes to rocks—St. George touches a portion and a chasm appears)
Between us, you'll observe, there is a split;
Do me the favour to walk into it.
You ne'er meant these good knights should see the day!
Good night to you, ma'am; turnabout's fair play!
Kalyba enters the rock, which closes on her.
So that account is closed! (to St. Patrick)
My brave young Paddy,
Your hand! (to St. Andrew)
and yours, my bonnie Highland laddie,
(to St. David)
My dauntless David, and my trusty Tony, (to St. James)

My Spanish don, (to St. Denis)
and my gay Gallic crony,
Your hands! May all our nations thus be found,
Link'd in true friendship, whilst the world goes round.
But come, there's business for us all to do;
And more, perhaps, than we can well get through.
There never was a time when gallant knights
Were more required to set the world to rights!
Monsters of all sorts are abroad, in heaps,
From monster meetings down to monster sweeps—
Giant oppressors upon foreign shores,
Horrible brutes, and most prodigious bores,
Rapacious harpies, who on minors prey,
Syrens, who sing the souls of men away!
Fatal delusions, moral and political,
That vex the Globe, and make the Times more critical.
Go forth, then, Champions, over land and water,
Defend the right, and give the wrong no quarter!
Air—St. George—“Lucia di Lammermoor.”
Each to his task, and be renowned in story!
St. George for England, to increase her glory!

(Exit)
St. And.
Andrew for Scotland, to swell her Exchequer!

(Exit)
St. Dav.
David for Wales—to look after Rebecca!

(Exit)
St. Den.
Denis for France—who's had some awkward rubs,
From the wild men, who sway terrific clubs.

(Exit)
St. Ant.
And Anthony for Italy—I hope
To find some Romans left, if not a Pope!

(Exit)
St. James.
St. James for Spain—intriguers vile to banish,
Spaniards who feel for nothing but the Spanish!

(Exit)
St. Pat.
St. Patrick then for Ireland, I suppose,
But what's to be done with it—Heaven knows!

(Exit)