University of Virginia Library

MASQUERADE

A spacious Hall, with Side-chambers adorned and prepared for a Masquerade.
Characters Introduced.—Garden-Girls, Gardener, Mother and Daughter, Woodcutters, &c. Pulchinelloes, Parasites, Drunkard, Satirical Poet, The Graces, The Fates, The Furies, Hope, Fear, Prudence, Zoilo-Thersites, Knabe Lenker, Plutus, Starveling, Women, Fauns, Satyrs, Gnomes, Giants, Nymphs, Pan.
Enter Herald.
Herald.

Enter Garden-girls, some adorned with artificial flowers; some with bouquets in their hands.
Garden-girls.
(Song, accompanied by mandolins.)

Herald
(to the Garden-girls).
Let us see the laden baskets,
Balanced on your heads that rest;
Show the fair flowers—bud and blossom—
Each select what suits him best.
Let a garden, as by magic,
Walks and arbours, meet the eyes:
Crowds will throng round the fair merchants,
And the lovely merchandise.

Garden-girls.
'Tis a pleasant mart. No higgling,
No dispute for prices here;
In a few short words expressive,
What each offers will appear.

Olive-branch
(with fruit).
I no flower its blossoms envy;
I with none will have dispute;
Peaceful, and of peace the emblem,
Marrow of the land my fruit.
Oh! that, this day, it were mine
The brightest, fairest brow to twine.

Wheat-wreath
(golden).
Gifts of Ceres form my chaplet,
Brown with the maturing sun.
Crown of Life! be still the Useful
And the Ornamental one.

Fancy Chaplet.
Flowers of mosses, many-coloured,
Mimics of the mallow grey—
Nothing half so bright in nature—
Are the fashion of the day.

Fancy Bouquet.
These—their family and tribe—
No Theophrastus could describe:
Some have little love for these,
But there are whom they will please.
Flowers to beauty dedicated,
Chaplets through the tresses plaited;
Or delightedly that rest
Near the fond heart, on the soft breast.

Challenge.
Let your motley fancies blossom
In the fashion of the hour;
In strange guise be shaped and moulded.
Be they such as Nature never,
In her wildest freaks, unfolded—
Green stalks—bells of golden glimmer
From the flowing tresses shimmer;
But we—

Rose-buds.
Love to lurk unseen.
Happy finder! he for whom
We a sweet surprise have been,
Breathing fresh in dewy bloom.
When the summer comes again—
And the rose-bud kindles then
Into blushes—who of men
But must yield him to the charm?
Can of love his heart disarm?
Lovely flower! and love's own emblem!
Timid promise—rich revealing!
Rose! Of all in Flora's kingdom
Dear to eye, and heart, and feeling!

[The Garden-girls arrange their goods under the green leafy walks. Gardener enters with Garden-boys, who arrange themselves as a Chorus.
Gardener.
(Song, accompanied by Theorbos.)
(To the Garden-girls.)

[Amid alternate song, accompanied with guitars and theorbos, both choruses proceed to arrange their goods so as to set them off to advantage.
Enter Mother and Daughter.
Mother.

[Girls, playfellows young, and beautiful, enter and join in loud confidential chatting. Fishermen and Birdcatchers now enter with nets, lines, and limed twigs and other tackle, and join the group of girls. Alternate attempts to win, catch, escape, and hold fast, give opportunity for most agreeable dialogues.
Enter Wood-cutters, Charcoal-burners, &c., violently and roughly.
Woodcutters.
Room! make room! we want and crave it;
Want but room—and we must have it.
Trees we fell—down come they crashing;
Bear them with us—crushing, smashing.
What we wish, is to impress on
All and each the true old lesson—
If the coarse and clumsy hand
Kept not working in the land;
If there were not such as we are,
Could the world have such as ye are?
Ye are the chosen;
Yet do not forget it,
That ye would be frozen,
If we had not sweated.

Enter Pulchinelloes and Parasites.
Pulchinelloes
(stupidly, almost like fools).
Ye are the born fools,
Toiling and trudging;
Nature hath made you
With bent back, for drudging.
We are the clever:
Nothing whatever,
That you call lumber,
Our backs to encumber.
All our pleasure,
Easy leisure;
All our traps,
Flaps and caps:
Hose and jackets, and such tight wear—
No great burthen is such light ware;
Slim foot, then, in thin pantoufle,
Through the court we shift and shuffle.
We are met in market-places,
Painted masks upon our faces.
At street corners we stand gaping—
There, like cocks, keep flapping, clapping
Wings as 'twere; and, thus set going,
Take to clattering and crowing—
Together three or four of us
Will step aside—like eels we glide—
And nobody sees more of us,
Till, by and bye, up starts a brother,
And we crow out to one another.
Praise us, blame us—try to shame us—
What care we? Ye cannot tame us.

Parasites
(flattering and fawning on the Woodcutters, Charcoal-burners, &c.).

Enter A Drunken Man (scarce conscious).
Drunken Man.
(These lines repeated by Chorus.)
(Chorus.)
(Chorus.)
(Chorus.)

[Herald announces different poets, court and ritter singers, tender and enthusiastic. In the pressure of rival poets, none will let another be heard. One sneaks by, and contrives to say a few words.
Satirist.
In my character of Poet
How my spirits it would cheer,
Dared I say or sing a something
Nobody would wish to hear.

[The Night and Churchyard poets send apologies, as they are engaged in an interesting conversation with a newly-arisen vampire, from which they anticipate the developement of a new school of poetry. The Herald is compelled to admit their excuse, and calls up the Greek Mythology, which, though in modern masks, loses neither character nor charms.
Enter The Graces.
Aglaia.
The charm of manners we bid live
In life. With graceful kindness give.

Hegemone.
And gracefully be still received
The granted wish—the want relieved.

Euphrosyne.
And graceful be the tone subdued,
And homefelt charm of Gratitude.

Enter The Parcæ.
Atropos.

Clotho.

Lachesis.

Enter The Furies.
Herald.

Alecto.

Megæra.

Tisiphone.

Enter The Group described in the following speech.
Herald.
Now, may it please you, stand back one and all:
Make way for another group! Those whom I see
Differ in character and in degree—
Aye, and in kind—from all the maskers here.
See, pressing hitherward, what would appear
A mountain: variegated carpets fall
Adown its flanks, and it moves on in pride—
A head, with large long teeth, and serpentine
Proboscis wreathed. Their secret they would hide;
But it will open to this key of mine.
A graceful lady, sitting on the neck,
Wields a thin wand that mighty bulk to guide,
And bend all his brute motions to her will.
Archly smiles she, as tho' at her own skill
Amused and happy, holding him in check.
The other stands high up: a glory there
Encircles that grand form—a light divine,
Too dazzling for this eye of mine to dare.
Two noble women—one at either side—
Are chained; and one is trembling, as in fear,
And one moves gracefully with joyous cheer;
And one would break the chain she loathes to wear.
One looks, in bondage, as though she were free:
Let them, in turn, each tell us who they be.

Fear.

Hope.
If the masking of the night,
Sisters dear, be a delight;
Yet, be sure to-morrow's coming
Will bring with it joy more bright
Than your gayest masking, mumming.
Oh! for the uncertain haze
Of the torches' glimmering blaze,
That the cheerful day-break glow
Over all its light would throw!
Then, at our own will, would we,
Now in groups, and now alone,
Or with one—some dearest one—
Roam thro' lawn and meadow free;
Rest at leisure, roam at pleasure,
And in life that knows no care,
All things to our will replying,
No repulse, and no denying,
Wander, welcomed everywhere:
Doubting not there still must be
To be found some region blest—
Happy home of all that's best.

Prudence.

Enter Zoilo-Thersites.
Zoilo-Thersites.
Ho! ho! this is the very place for me,
To set all right, for you're all wrong I see.
What I may think of small game is small matter.
See! the fair lady, up there; I'll be at her.
Oh! yes; be sure it is no other than
The dame Victoria. Well, if I'm a man,
She, with the two white wings, cocked up there, thinks
Herself an eagle—and that east and west,
And north and south, and every point between them,
Are hers,—of her wide empire are but links:
All things are hers, if she has only seen them;
Aye, aye, the lust of empire has its charms.
They praise her; aye, they praise her. I protest
That to praise anything sets me in arms.
What's low I would lift up, what's high make low;
What's crooked I'd make straight; not only so,
But make straight crooked. I was, from my birth,
One who saw always all things wrong on earth.
The round earth! Why should it be round? Aye, there
Matters require reform—I'd have it square.

Herald.
Aye, ragged rascal! thou shalt not escape
The good staff's welcome on thy crooked nape.
Aye, turn and writhe, and wind and wheel away,
And crawling, lick the dust. Begone! I say.
Strange how the fellow, with his broken hump,
Whirls on the floor—the round, rough, loathsome lump.
The porcupine—no head, or arms, or leg.
How the thing puffs!—'tis very like an egg.
Look there! it swells, it lengthens, bursts asunder;
And a twin birth behold!—a double wonder!—
Adder and bat: through dust the one you track,
And one up to the roof is flitting black.
They're making their way out to meet again,
And reunite—oh! save me from the twain.

[Zoilo-Thersites disappears as described.
Murmurs of the Crowd.
‘Up! up! another dance comes on’—
‘Not I, indeed: would we were gone!
Felt you how the spectres breathe
From above and from beneath?
A thrilling whizzed along the root
Of my hair.’—‘It crawled along my foot.
But no one's hurt.’ ‘Well, well—all's right;
But we have had such a fright.
All the fun, any way, is ended:
This was what the brute intended.’

[The Herald sees a group approaching, which he describes before they are seen by the general company.
Herald.
Since first I took upon myself the task
To play the herald's part, at mime or mask,
I always watched the doors, that nothing might
Find entrance in, that could in any way
Disturb, even for a moment, the delight
That in a theatre, on holiday,
You have in truth a title to expect.
I waver not, I yield not, have no fear;
I keep the door well watched and guarded here.
But through the window spectres may glide in,
From tricks of magic. Even could I detect
Such tricks, I have no power to keep you free.
I cannot but acknowledge that about
The dwarf was something to create grave doubt;
But now in pour the spectres, in full stream,
Resistless. Who each figure is, and what
The characters assumed are, it would seem
The herald's fitting duty to explain.
But here to try would be an effort vain:
I cannot tell you, for I know it not.
Here there is mystery beyond my reach.
Here you must help me; here, you, too, must teach.
See you a roll and rustling through the crowd?
A gallant team of four—a splendid car—
Sweeps swiftly hitherward. It glitters far.
It doth not part the crowd, nor doth there seem
Tumult or pressure round that glorious team.
In coloured light on moves it far and fast,
And wandering stars of fire are from it cast,
As from a magic lantern. How it speeds
Hither! and with the roar of a strong blast.
Make way for it!—I shudder, and—

[The car described by the Herald now appears on the stage.
Knabe Lenker
(Boy Charioteer).
Halt, steeds!
Stay your wings! stay! and feel the accustomed rein;
Restrain yourselves: be still when I restrain;
Rush on when I inspire; respect the ground
On which we are! Look everywhere around!
Circle on circle—how spectators throng.
Up, herald! up! and ere we speed along,
And are far out of sight, be it your aim
To paint and to present us each by name,
As suits your office. Allegories be
The matters that you trade in—such are we.

Herald.
I do not know your name, but I
Would venture on description.

Lenker.
Try!

Herald.
First, looking at you, I admit
You have youth—and beauty goes with it.
'Twixt man and boy; the fair beholder
Thinks you'll look better, too, when older.
You seem to me one, upon whom to gaze
May give them danger in the future days—
A dear deceiver from your very birth.

Lenker.
Prettily said. Go on; make it appear
How far the riddle of this acted mirth
Your skill can solve—your comment let us hear.

Herald.
The eyes' swart fire—the jewelled band that presses
With starry glow the midnight of thy tresses—
The graceful, showy, ornamental gown,
That from the shoulders to the sock falls down
In glittering tissue, and the glowing fringe
That streams along the sides with purple tinge—
Your person from a girl's one scarce would know;
But the girls think of it, for weal or woe:
They have already given you, it may be,
Some little lessons in the A B C.

Lenker.
The splendid figure on the chariot throne!
Give us your notion of who it may be.

Herald.
The King in every look of his is shown;
And opulent, I guess, and mild is he:
Who win his favour they from care are free—
May rest them at their ease. His active eyes
Spy out their wants, his lavish hand supplies:
The liberal hand is more than house or land.

Lenker.
Your vague description will not help us much.
You may improve your sketch with little trouble:
Add in another and another touch.

Herald.
Noble he is! No words can paint the Noble!
A hale moon face, full mouth, and cheeks that glow
Under the diamonded turban's snow;
A sumptuous robe, that falls with easy flow;
And in his gestures, and his graceful mien,
The calm of long-accustomed sway is seen.

Lenker.
'Tis Plutus! god of wealth. In happy hour
Come on a visit to the Emperor,
In all his pomp and prodigality.
I fancy he'll be very welcome now.

Herald.
But of yourself tell us the What and How.

Lenker.
I am Profusion—I am Poesy.
I am the Poet who feels his true power,
And is himself, indeed, but in the hour
When he on the regardless world hath thrown,
With lavish hand, the wealth, peculiarly his own.
And I am rich—am rich immeasurably:
Plutus alone in riches equals me.
Thro' me his banquets charm, his dances live:
That which they could not else have had, I give.

Herald.
The bragging tone sits gracefully on you;
But show us something of what you can do.

Lenker.
I do but snap my fingers and around
The car are sparks and lightning-flashes found
[Snaps his fingers.
Here goes a string of pearls, and here
Are golden clasps for neck and ear;
Comblet and crown the next snap brings,
And gems of price in costliest rings;
And flamelets here and there I throw,
In the fond hope that some may glow.

Herald.
How they crowd, and grasp, and snatch at
Everything that they can catch at!
They'll crush his life out. Toy and trinket
He flings to them. Only think it—
All snatch at them, gem and jewel,
As in dreams; but, oh, how cruel!
As I live 'tis but a juggle.
After a poor devil's struggle
For a gem—and he has got it—
For a ring—and he has caught it—
When he thinks he has a treasure,
It takes wings at its own pleasure.
Pearl-strings snap, the beads are falling—
Beetles in the hand are crawling.
Flung impatiently away,
Humming round his head they play.
Another clutches for his prize
A very swarm of butterflies,
That flutter off capriciously;
I'd almost say maliciously.
Scamp! to have promised them so much,
And put them off with rubbish such.

Lenker.
The Herald's business is of masks to tell,
But not to penetrate below the shell
Into the essence. This is not your right
Or proper province: it asks sharper sight.
From all discussions I would keep me free.
Master, to thee I turn, and ask of thee (turning to Plutus)—

Hast thou not given me full dominion o'er
The glorious team, the tempest-footed four?
Do I not, at thy will, their motions sway?
Am I not where thy impulse points the way?
Was it not mine to rush on daring wing
Triumphantly along the Chariot-ring,
And home to thee the palm of victory bring?
And, in War's splendid game, the conqueror's meed
When did I seek for thee, and not succeed?
The laurel-wreath, that shines thy brows above,
Was it not I with mind and hand that wove?

Plutus.
Gladly—oh! would that all the world could hear it—
Do I proclaim thee spirit of my spirit;
To aid my wishes still thy wishes fly;
Richer thou art—oh! far more rich than I!
The green bough and thy wreath, I value them
More—'twill delight thee—than my diadem.
Thou art—let all men know it—my best treasure:
Thou art my son, in whom my soul hath pleasure.

Lenker
(to the crowd).
The choicest gifts I have to give—
See! I've scattered them around—
Are the flamelets fugitive,
That for a little moment shed
Their fire on this or that one's head;
From one to one away they bound;
O'er this brow halo-like they sit,
From that in restless brilliance flit:
A light loose blaze of flickering gauze
That dies before we know it was.
Alas! how seldom will the light,
Shed anywhere, rise high or bright;
With many a one burned out before
They know—it fades—falls—is no more.

Clacking of Women.
Look at the crouching rascal on
The carriage roof—a charlatan—
Hans Merryman—poor Jack; but very
Far now looks Merryman from merry.
Hunger and thirst have bared his jaw-bones;
None ever saw such sorry raw bones.
Pinch him! there's nothing here to pinch:
Skin and bone—if he's flesh he'll flinch.

Starveling.
Off! touch me not, vile women! Ye
Have never a good word for me.
Until my lady was too grand
To house-affairs to give a hand;
Too grand to answer every call,
Work hard, and have an eye to all;
Things went on well. No room for doubt—
All running in and nothing out.
I kept the key of chest and strong box:
But I am always in the wrong-box.
You scoffed such poor economist,
And called me Lady Stingy-fist.
Oh! yes, I always am to blame,
Old screw and skin-flint then my name.
But now the woman has grown daring—
No thought of stinting or of sparing;
No, nor of paying. Think of paying,
With wants increasing—means decaying!
Her good man scarce can walk the streets—
In debt to every one he meets.
And all that she can filch, she flings
Away on dress or junketings.
She drinks more wine—aye, too, and better—
With the young rascals that beset her.
New wants are every day arising—
Old times are gone. Is it surprising,
That thirst for gold, no more your peevish vice
Of pinch-gut parsimonious Avarice,
Puffs itself out—puts on Man's mask? In me,
Lo! the new Science of Economy!

Ringleader of the Women.
With dragons let the old drake grabble;
Skin-flint with Flint-skin grin and gabble:
Why with them keep up a struggle?
Is not all a lie—a juggle?
The men—were they not bad enough?—
Are stung to madness by this stuff.

Mass of Women.
At him! At his dragons made of
Pasteboard! What are you afraid of?
Nothing here but lie, cheat, trick:
Wizard! juggler! heretic!
Destined shortly to exhibit
At the stake, or on the gibbet.

Herald.
Peace! or my staff the coast will clear;
Yet is my help scarce wanting here.
See you how, in their wrath, the monsters raise
Their scales, and each his double wings displays?
Their jaws breathe fire, and the crowd flies apace:
I thank the dragons, they have cleared the place.

[Plutus steps from the car.
Herald.

Plutus
(to Lenker).
It was a heavy burden. Thou art free:
Away to thine own sphere. Away with thee!
Thy place—thy true place—is not here, among
A wild, ree-raw, self-willed, tumultuous throng,
Together here in mad confusion hurled.
There, where the clear eye sees in calm the clear;
There, where the good, the beautiful is dear;
Where the pure impulse of the heart alone
Doth guide thee, and thou art indeed thine own.
In solitude: oh! there create thy world.

Lenker.
Dear to myself as envoy true of thine,
I love thee; for thy nature, too, is mine.
Fulness is ever where thou dost remain,
And where I am men feel it glorious gain;
And many a one will all his life debate—
‘To thee, to me, shall he be dedicate?’
Thine may at will lie down and rest. For those
Who follow me there never is repose.
Nor sleep my acts in secret and in shade:
Do I but breathe, my presence is betrayed.
Farewell! I seek the joy you give full fain;
But whisper low, and I am here again.

[Exit as he came.
Plutus.
Now for the imprisoned treasures of the box!
Just with the herald's rod I touch the locks.
'Tis open! Look you here: in brazen kettles
It boils out—golden streams—and now it settles,
And stiffens into chains, crowns, trinkets, rings.
And now it bubbles and boils up again:
Seizing on, melting, swallowing all the things
It had created.

Alternate Cry of Crowd.
Look! look there! how fast 'tis going:
Bubbling, boiling, over-flowing.
Gushing streams of many colours;
Golden cups, and minted dollars;
Ducats, ducats following
See the monster swallowing!
Now of rouleaus flings a heap up,
And I feel my bosom leap up;
Now the cauldron's boiling over,
And the ground all round 'twill cover.
All of which we have been dreaming—
All for which we have been scheming—
'Tis your own—'tis but to snatch it;
Yours, if only you can catch it.
Snatch it! catch it! seize the offer,
While we carry off the coffer!

Herald.
The fools! what are they at? What do you mean?
Know you not that all this is but a scene
In a masquerade? You've spoiled the evening's play.
Think you that men their money give away,
And money's worth, so lightly? Counters would,
To throw about among you, be too good.
Clowns! they imagine that a show, forsooth,
Should at the same time be the plain coarse truth.
Truth! why your whole life is a lie. The True—
What meaning, rascals, could it have for you?
Up, thou, that mummest thee in Plutus' part—
Thou that the hero of our revels art—
Sweep the field clear of these scoundrels.

Plutus.
Aye, your wand
Will do the work: entrust it to my hand.
The road—I promise you that this will keep it
Clear. See! the wand, into the fire I dip it.
Now, then, for it, maskers—now of yourselves take care.
How it does crackle!—with what lightning glare
It flashes out! And now the wand is lit,
And everyone who ventures too near it
Will be singed and scorched.
I say, take care of your skins:
Be warned in time, my circuit now begins.

Scream and Crush.
‘How he does whisk the rod about!’
‘'Tis over with us all, no doubt.’
‘Back! back! I say.’ ‘I'll keep my place.’
‘The fire-spray flashed into my face.’
‘Ha! but 'twas heavy,—that hot mace.’
‘Back, there! back! back, Maskers! vile pack!’
‘Back, stupid rascals! back, I say!’
‘Aye, had I wings to fly away.’

Plutus.
The circle's wider now, and all is right;
None singed or scorched, tho' all pushed back in fright:
Yet, to secure some order, it were well
Round us to draw a cord invisible.

Herald.
You have done wonders; forced back to the ranks
These noisy mutineers: accept my thanks.

Plutus.
There still is need of patience, noble friend;
Signs many tumults manifold portend.

Starveling.
Now, with this charmed ring round me, at my ease
I may deal with the ladies as I please.
There's something comic in their forward paces—
They always so crowd up to the front places;
Where anything is to be seen worth seeing,
At mask or merry-make, they're sure of being,
With eager lips and eyes;—are young and lusty,
The jades—and I'm not altogether rusty.
A pretty girl's a pretty girl, do you see?
And let me tell you is not lost on me.
To-day 'twill cost me nothing: I'll do lover.
Words in the crowd can scarce be made intelligible
To the quickest ear; but could we not discover
A language of expression much more eligible?
I have been pondering o'er it this some time,
And think that I could play a pantomime.
Gestures—hand—foot—significant shrug of shoulders—
To reach the eyes of the crowd would scarcely answer;
I've something else to show, that all beholders
Will recognise at once. I'm no romancer.
Gold—pliant gold—I'll mould it. The moist clay
Takes any shape—and everywhere makes way.

Herald.
What is the fool at? The lank fool! can it
Be that this hunger-bitten thing has wit?
He is in an odd humour. See! the gold
Under his hand into a paste is rolled.
He kneads it—presses it: the red soft ball
He shapes, reshapes, leaves shapeless after all.
He turns him to the women. At the sight
They scream, and, if they could, would take to flight.
Disgust is in their glances; but for ill
The rascal is at his devices still.
With him to scoff down decency is quite
A matter of amusement and delight.
To suffer this in silence were disgrace:
Give me the staff to drive him from the place.

Plutus.
The danger from without he does not see.
His mad pranks let him play out at his will;
They'll soon be over, for Necessity,
Strong as is Law, than Law is stronger still.

[Enter Fauns, Satyrs, Gnomes, Nymphs, &c., attendants on Pan, and announcing his approach.
Tumult and Song.
The savage host comes suddenly
From wooded vale, from mountain high—
Worshipping their mighty Pan—
With a resistless cry!
They know that which to none but them is known:
Straight to the empty circle sweep they on.

Plutus.
I recognise you and your mighty Pan.
A daring step to take, a rash bold thing;
I know what is not known to every man,
And open as I ought this narrow ring.
Oh! may the issue favourable be!
Whither this strange step leads they do not see.
The world may gaze on wonders unforeseen
To spring to life from what to-night has been.

Wild Song.
Ye, in holiday array,
Decked with gaud and glitter gay,
See, where rough they come and rude—
The powerful, active, strong-built brood—
With rapid run, with active spring,
Leaping light into the ring.

Fauns.
The Fauns, a merry group, in pleasant dance,
With oak-leaf wreath on their crisp curls, advance.
A fine sharp-pointed ear up presses,
To meet the curly tresses.
A stumpy little nose, a broad flat face,
Are no bad passports to a lady's grace.
In dances, from the paw of the young faun
The fairest lady's hand is not withdrawn.

Satyr.
The goat-foot Satyr now hops in,
With shrunk leg—sinewy and thin.
He, chamois-like, from mountain height,
Looks round him with a proud delight.
In the keen air breathes freedom—life;
Despises homestead, child, and wife,
Who in the valley's depth contrive,
'Mid steam and smoke, to keep alive,
Nor envy him his world on high—
His solitudes of cliff and sky.

Gnomes.
And now trips in a tiny band;
Not two and two, or hand in hand.
With lamplet bright, in mossy dress,
In intermingling lines we press.
Each mannikin on his own labours
Intent, nor thinking of his neighbours.
Thus hither, thither, in and out,
Like shiny ants, we run about.
A kindly crew, a thrifty race;
Our haunt, the poor man's dwelling-place;
Chirurgeons of the rocks well known,
Our skill in mountain practice shown.
We cup and bleed the hills; we drain
Of its best wealth the mineral vein;
Fling liberally the metals out:
‘Cheer up! cheer up!’ our joyous shout.
Benevolent is our intent,
And good is still to good men meant.
The good man's friend; yet from the earth
We drag into the light of day
The gold for which men steal and slay,
And woman gives her soul away.
Nor, thanks to us, shall iron brand
Be wanting to the proud man's hand,
Who murders wholesale. Take man's life,
Or steal, or take another's wife:
Break these commandments three, the rest
Will soon be slighted or transgressed.
We grieve not: we are clear of blame,
Guiltless and calm. Be thou the same!

Giants.
Here come the wild men, fierce and fell—
Among the Hartzberg heights that dwell:
Tumultuously down they throng,
In nature's naked vigour strong;
The pine-stem in each rough right hand;
Below the waist a padded band,
A leafy screen above the knees:
The Pope hath life-guards none like these.

Nymphs in Choir
(surrounding the great Pan, who now appears).

Deputation of Gnomes
(to the great Pan).

Plutus.
Keep cool! for strange things are about to be;
But what will come, let's bear it cheerfully.
You're not a man without some self-control,
An incident comes on that well may try it—
Stiffly will this age and the next deny it:
Set it down truly in your protocol.

Herald
(laying his hand on the staff which Plutus holds).

Plutus.