University of Virginia Library

THE SYRACUSIAN GOSSIPS.

FROM THEOCRITUS. IDYLL. XV.

[An Interlude in Three Acts.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• GORGO,
• EUNOE,
• PRAXINOE,
• OLD WOMAN,
• MAN,
• STRANGER,
• GREEK SINGING-GIRL.

ACT THE FIRST.

Scene, Praxinoe's House, in the Suburbs of Alexandria.
GORGO, PRAXINOE, EUNOE.
GORGO.
My dear little girl, is Praxinoe at home?

EUNOE.
She is—but how late, Mrs. Gorgo, you come!

PRAXINOE.
Indeed! I thought, madam her head would ne'er push in—
But, Eunoe, see for a chair and a cushion.

EUNOE.
I have—

PRAXINOE.
Pray sit down—

GORGO.
What a terrible din!
What a pother! 'tis well I escap'd in whole skin!
What a brave heart have I! to pass so many folks
That clatter'd in sandals, and jostled in cloaks!
And coaches—you cannot imagine the throng!
I'm quite out of breath—and the way is so long!

PRAXINOE.
Too true: 'tis the fault of my plaguy old soul!
And here must we live, and put up with a hole.
What a desart! To vex me he tries all he can;
He was ever a strange unaccountable man!
He knew I could almost have died for the loss
Of your chat—but my schemes 'tis his pleasure to cross.

GORGO.
[Pointing to the child.]
Hush, madam—observe him—how earnest his eye—
Don't talk of your husband, when Zopy is by.

PRAXINOE.
I don't mean your papa, my sweet little jewel!

GORGO.
But he understands—no—papa's not so cruel.

PRAXINOE.
This fellow then (we may disguise it, you know,
And talk of the thing as if some time ago)
This block of a fellow once happen'd to stop,
To buy me some nitre and paint at a shop;
When, for nitre, he purchas'd bay-salt; and, for rouge,
The long-lubber gawky bought yellow gambouge.

GORGO.
Lord! mine is as bad! you could hardly have thought,
For five fleeces like dogs-hair, and dear in a groat,
That he squander'd away seven drachms! the sweet honey!
Well might it be said, he was fleec'd of his money!
But come, take your cloak—to Adonis we haste—
And fasten your robe with its clasps to your waist;
Our queen is preparing a sight so divine—

PRAXINOE.
Aye—all things, besure, with fine people are fine!
But describe to me these preparations, so novel
To me, who am coop'd in this lone little hovel.

GORGO.
'Tis high time to go; and we'll talk at our leisure.

PRAXINOE.
Bring water: come quickly, you slut! What a pleasure
These cats must enjoy on the down of a bed!
Go, drive them away: but, you statue of lead,
First bring me the water: See—see how you fill!
Enough!—And how dare you so carelessly spill
Such a flood on my gown? Well, I'm wash'd—God be blest!
Here, hussey—and give me the key of my chest.

GORGO.
Your robe—let me see—I protest, 'tis not clumsy:
Pray what did it cost? Nay, it vastly becomes ye.

PRAXINOE.
Don't ask me—it cost two good pounds and a crown;
And my life I'd near into the bargain laid down.

GORGO.
No waste of your time or your money, however.

PRAXINOE.
True, Gorgo: Come bring me my scarf, and be clever
In putting it on—and see there my umbrella.
But as for my Zopy, the dear little fellow—
You cannot go with us; the horses will bite;
You may cry—but the goblin will come in the night:
Cry on, if you please, sir; you shall not get hurt—
Yet, girl, pray endeavour the child to divert!
Bolt the door; but first call in the house-dog to watch;
And see you don't lift, while I'm absent, the latch.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE SECOND.

Scene, the Street at Alexandria.
PRAXINOE, GORGO, OLD WOMAN, MAN, &c.
PRAXINOE.
Good Heav'ns! what a tide! how or when shall we stem it?
The street is as full as the bank of an emmet!
O Ptolemy, great are the deeds thou hast done,
Since thy father hath left, for Olympus, the throne!
A thief or a robber how seldom we meet;
Tho' pickpockets formerly crouded the street!
—Heavens! what shall we do? The war-horses advance.
Friend! do not ride over me! See how they prance!
That terrible bay how he rears! let's be gone—
Come, Eunoe—the rider, I'm sure, will be thrown.
Thank Heaven that my boy is at home—let us haste—

GORGO.
Cheer up, dear Praxinoe—the danger is past.

PRAXINOE.
Well—now I begin to recover my fright—
From a child I've been ready to faint at the sight
Of an horse or an adder—But let's keep our ground—
The mob from all quarters is thronging around.

Enter old woman.
GORGO.
From the hall, mother?

OLD WOMAN.
Yes.

GORGO.
Can we press, thro' the swarm, in?

OLD WOMAN.
That's a point which the trial can only determine.
He only, my daughter, who tries, can enjoy—
By trying, the Greeks became masters of Troy.

[Exit.
GORGO.
The crone! what a learned, oracular exit!
Sure women have knowlege—but love to perplex it!
So high is their soaring sagacity carried—
They can tell you, how Jove to his Juno was married.
Praxinoe! see what a croud at the gate!

PRAXINOE.
Immense! but 'tis troublesome, Gorgo, to wait!
Come, give me your hand! and thou, Eunoe, stick
(Take care not to lose her) to Madam Eutyck!
Let us enter together! Good God! what a gap!
My spring-silk has met with a horrid mishap!
And my scarf in a moment—Oh! oh! Sir—forbear—
And may Jupiter bless you—

MAN.
Dear madam, my care
Be assur'd—

PRAXINOE.
How they thrust! I am sure I am hurt!

MAN.
Good madam! cheer up, we are riding in port!

PRAXINOE.
And there may you ride, sir, this year and the next—
Still Eunoe's terribly jostled and vext!
Struggle stoutly, my girl!—Very well! as he cried—
“We're all in!”—when he lock'd himself up with his bride.

[Scene closes.

ACT THE THIRD.

Scene, the Hall of the Palace.
GORGO, PRAXINOE, STRANGER, GREEK SINGING-GIRL.
GORGO.
Praxinoe! see the rich-tapestried room!
How exquisite! sure it was wrought in the loom
Of the gods!

PRAXINOE.
And how striking! how bold the designs!
No pencil could draw such elaborate lines!
Minerva! they rise above critical strictures!
For what animation enlightens the pictures!
Man's indeed a wise animal! See how they move—
Nay, start from the hangings: they cannot be wove!
But look on yon' figure: how charming he lies!
All silver the couch, and so vivid the dyes
Of his young downy beard—'tis not hard to discover
The features of Venus's beautiful lover.

STRANGER.
Cease—cease—idle dames, your impertinent tattle!
As hoarse and as broad as the pigeons ye prattle.

GORGO.
Indeed! who are you? Tho' we talk, shall you curb us?
Seek those who will listen, nor dare to disturb us!
Dost think Syracusians will tamely knock under,
That can trace to the city of Corinth their founder?
No, Master Officious! 'Tis seldom you hear of one
A slave, that's descended from mighty Bellerophon.
And as to our tongue, you've no reason to teaze us:
'Tis our own mother language of Peloponnesus.

PRAXINOE.
We have husbands, beside, that will bluster and cuff!
One tyrant, besure, is in conscience enough.

GORGO.
Hush—hush—my dear life! She's preparing the song:
The sweet little Grecian! How still is the throng!
She'll excel pensive Sperchis! See—see her prepare
With a languish so soft—so delicious an air!
So meltingly plaintive her musical tone is—
But hark!—She's beginning the death of Adonis. [OMITTED]
How sweetly she sings! Lord! how much she must know!
Happy minstrel! But bless me, 'tis high time to go.
Should my husband return before dinner is ready,
With his blustering vagaries my head would be giddy.
Adieu, then, at present, my sweetest Adonis!
And again may you meet such a crowd of your cronies!