 | The choice spirits feast |  |
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PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Comus.
Amidst this gay Circle, bright beam's the fair Race,
Each Form's rich with Gesture, each Gesture with Grace;
Love laughs in their Looks: Youth blooms in each Cheek,
Sense speaks when they smile, and Wit smiles when they speak.
Gay dress'd Daughters of Beauty, ye Sons of True Taste,
This Evening accept of a Choice Spirits Feast.
Each Form's rich with Gesture, each Gesture with Grace;
Love laughs in their Looks: Youth blooms in each Cheek,
Sense speaks when they smile, and Wit smiles when they speak.
Gay dress'd Daughters of Beauty, ye Sons of True Taste,
This Evening accept of a Choice Spirits Feast.
I've call'd them together, this Sett I've selected,
By Comus this Evening Collation's directed;
Great Bacchus the gay God of Bumper's my Sire,
Great Bacchus the Fuel and Life of Love's Fire;
Who bestows on the Lover Assurance to try,
And drowns in the Lady all Force to deny.
From him I'm descended, and thus spoke my Father,
Go; call the chief Sons of True Humour together.
Let Harmony usher the Things they shall say,
Be Laughter attendant, and Wit prompt the Play;
But banish low Quibble, and Sing-song impure,
Poor personal Satire, Entendres obscure.
Let not Ribaldry dare to offend the chaste Ear,
Nor Dullness, tho' even in Op'ra, appear;
Let Mirth by the Side of plain Sense take her Place,
And the Comic Muse smile undebauch'd by Grimace;
Do not stamp the Buffoon on the Sterling of Nature,
But the Sense of each Song be express'd in each Feature.
'Twas thus he commanded, I this had to say,
Come, Lads, let me see you know how to obey;
Ye social, harmonious Choice Spirits begin,
A Moment be silent, ye Fair, while they sing.
By Comus this Evening Collation's directed;
Great Bacchus the gay God of Bumper's my Sire,
Great Bacchus the Fuel and Life of Love's Fire;
Who bestows on the Lover Assurance to try,
And drowns in the Lady all Force to deny.
From him I'm descended, and thus spoke my Father,
Go; call the chief Sons of True Humour together.
Let Harmony usher the Things they shall say,
Be Laughter attendant, and Wit prompt the Play;
But banish low Quibble, and Sing-song impure,
Poor personal Satire, Entendres obscure.
Let not Ribaldry dare to offend the chaste Ear,
Nor Dullness, tho' even in Op'ra, appear;
Let Mirth by the Side of plain Sense take her Place,
And the Comic Muse smile undebauch'd by Grimace;
Do not stamp the Buffoon on the Sterling of Nature,
But the Sense of each Song be express'd in each Feature.
'Twas thus he commanded, I this had to say,
Come, Lads, let me see you know how to obey;
Ye social, harmonious Choice Spirits begin,
A Moment be silent, ye Fair, while they sing.
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The Choice Spirits Feast.
1. [FIRST PART.]
RECITATIVE.
Twas at a Ven'son Feast, at Cricket won,
By Lightfoot's nimble Son:
Asleep in Jocky State
The Groom-like Squire sate,
Nodding in Elbow-chair.
His Brother Bucks were plac'd around,
Their Heads with unseam'd Hunting Caps were bound,
So should each Sportsman for the Chace be crown'd.
By Lightfoot's nimble Son:
Asleep in Jocky State
The Groom-like Squire sate,
Nodding in Elbow-chair.
His Brother Bucks were plac'd around,
Their Heads with unseam'd Hunting Caps were bound,
So should each Sportsman for the Chace be crown'd.
Hark! the Horn sounds, away, away,
Aurora ushers in the Day;
The op'ning Hounds uncoupled view,
With deep-hung Dewlaps dash the Dew;
With swelling Notes and Head held back,
See the unharbour'd Stag burst thro' the Brake;
Aurora ushers in the Day;
The op'ning Hounds uncoupled view,
With deep-hung Dewlaps dash the Dew;
With swelling Notes and Head held back,
See the unharbour'd Stag burst thro' the Brake;
The high-bred Horse shakes his air-waving Mane,
Stamps o'er the sounding Earth, and scours along the plain.
Stamps o'er the sounding Earth, and scours along the plain.
DUETT.
“When Phœbus the Tops of the Hills does adorn, &c.’4
RECITATIVE.
The list'ning Croud admir'd the Song, Horn ton'd,
Bravo! Bravissimo! they shout around;
Below, the Drawers Bravo back rebound.
Bravo! Bravissimo! they shout around;
Below, the Drawers Bravo back rebound.
Scar'd with the Noise, young Buck awakes,
And stares at all his Brother Rakes;
Then rubs his Eyes, asks what's o'Clock?
Startled, he hears the Watchman knock.
And stares at all his Brother Rakes;
Then rubs his Eyes, asks what's o'Clock?
Startled, he hears the Watchman knock.
Now Silence thrice was call'd, and thrice 'twas broke,
When in a Fury thus young Lightfoot spoke:
Bring up the Watchman, seize the vile Invader;
Then up they dragg'd the Midnight Serenader.
When, lo! the Figure of Old Time appears,
His Face was furrow'd with five thousand Years.
Down his smooth Skull a single Lock was hung,
And feebly coughing, thus the Glutton sung:
When in a Fury thus young Lightfoot spoke:
Bring up the Watchman, seize the vile Invader;
Then up they dragg'd the Midnight Serenader.
When, lo! the Figure of Old Time appears,
His Face was furrow'd with five thousand Years.
Down his smooth Skull a single Lock was hung,
And feebly coughing, thus the Glutton sung:
SONG.
My Friends pray break up now you've Time,
You'll repent if in vain you are told;
Oh, why will not Bucks in their Prime,
Consider they are to grow old?
You'll repent if in vain you are told;
Oh, why will not Bucks in their Prime,
Consider they are to grow old?
When the pale Face of Winter appears,
And each late blossom'd Tree tops with Snow,
Thus our Heads, thinly spread with white Hairs,
Life's last wintry Evening will show.
And each late blossom'd Tree tops with Snow,
Thus our Heads, thinly spread with white Hairs,
Life's last wintry Evening will show.
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Like the Maim'd from long dreadful Campaigns
You are mark'd, by Debauch, full of Scars,
Sunken Eyes, feeble Hams, bloodless Veins,
Palsy shaking, and seiz'd by Catarrhs:
You are mark'd, by Debauch, full of Scars,
Sunken Eyes, feeble Hams, bloodless Veins,
Palsy shaking, and seiz'd by Catarrhs:
Then Toothless ye mump, and ye moan,
Your shrivel'd Cheeks twisting about,
Ye mumble, ye grumble, and groan,
Then die as a Candle goes out.
Your shrivel'd Cheeks twisting about,
Ye mumble, ye grumble, and groan,
Then die as a Candle goes out.
RECITATIVE.
As when the rising Tempest rushing roars,Sweeps off the Harvest, shakes the sounding shores;
Red Lightnings flash, Seas bellow, Thunder growls,
The uproar reaching to the Trembling Poles.
Waves, Winds, Rocks, Rain, Ships, Sands and Clouds contend,
And Shrieks and Swearing the wide welking rend.
In dreadfull Din thus rose the Drunken Crew,
Pipes, Glasses, Bottles, Punch Bowls, Flasks o'erthrew;
They gagg'd the Preacher, dash'd him to the ground,
And in a Pipe of Claret, Time was drown'd.
Huzza young Lightfoot cry'd, while in our prime,
Claret can always kill the bugbear Time.
CHORUS.
The many rend the Room with loud Applause,So Time was drown'd, and drinking won the Cause.
End of the First Part.
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2. SECOND PART.
RECITATIVE.
The Praise of Drinking, then the choicest Spirit sung.SONG.
Come my Bucks, let to-night be devoted to drinking,
To-morrow's too soon to be troubled with thinking.
No more shall Time preach, nor no more shall we hear it,
For he's drown'd as he ought in a Hogshead of Claret.
To-morrow's too soon to be troubled with thinking.
No more shall Time preach, nor no more shall we hear it,
For he's drown'd as he ought in a Hogshead of Claret.
Now Time is no more, or no more can forbid us,
Of that troublesome Guest a Choice Spirit has rid us;
Yet if Time shou'd be wanting for any Design,
Henceforth he is found in a Hogshead of Wine.
Of that troublesome Guest a Choice Spirit has rid us;
Yet if Time shou'd be wanting for any Design,
Henceforth he is found in a Hogshead of Wine.
Since Time is confin'd to our Wine let us think
By this Rule we are sure of our time when we drink.
Come, my Bucks, let your Glasses with Bumpers be prim'd,
Now we're certain our Drinking is always well tim'd.
By this Rule we are sure of our time when we drink.
Come, my Bucks, let your Glasses with Bumpers be prim'd,
Now we're certain our Drinking is always well tim'd.
RECITATIVE.
Now the Heart-raising Horn at Distance blew,Swift to the Chace, away the Sportsmen flew:
Shouting they rend the Air, each Hill resounds,
Loud neigh the Steeds, and louder ope the Hounds,
From babbling Eccho back the Noise rebounds.
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And hunted every Chace again,
And Cover thrice he broke; and thrice he slew the Slain.
SONG.
I
Here was a Hare kill'd, and there a Fox fell;Here a Leap took wou'd startle a Cæsar;
There they unharbour'd, and there rung his Knell,
And here it was hit off, hark forward to Teizer.
Then they their Bumpers above-head advancing,
All fell to singing and then fell to dancing.
II
Wonder and Plunder, shrill Thunder and Sue,Blueman and Trueman, with Ringwood and Rowler;
Sweetlips the Babbler, and Tulip so true,
With Darling and Starling, and Tattler and Trowler.
These were the Hounds he hoop'd and he hollow'd
While all the rest reeling with Tolderoll follow'd.
RECITATIVE.
Long ago,E're better Music Britons learn'd to know,
Our British Bards. from whom Choice Spirits come,
Thus rudely garnish'd out each Harvest-home:
Sung Chevy-Chace, and Robin Hood;
Or Corn grows now were Troy Town stood.
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SONG.
No Senesino then was known,Cuzzoni or Faustina;
No Farinelli charm'd the Town,
Nor Comic Nicolina.
But Salt-Box Bang, and Jews-Harp Twang,
With Hurdy Gurdy Grunting,
While others did sing to the Bladder and String,
Like Hogs in high Winds hunting.
RECITATIVE.
Ye social Sons! Ye Lady-loving Race!
Who taste with Transport Love's unfeign'd Embrace;
Who mingle o'er the Wit-enlivening Bowl,
The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.
No more let Dulness in a Foreign Tongue
Taint your true Tastes, nor give up Sense for Song.
Who taste with Transport Love's unfeign'd Embrace;
Who mingle o'er the Wit-enlivening Bowl,
The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul.
No more let Dulness in a Foreign Tongue
Taint your true Tastes, nor give up Sense for Song.
Beautys of Britain, ye fair female Race,
Whose Words are Music, and whose Motions Grace:
Joy of all Hearts, Wish of admiring Eyes,
Heav'n's last, best Gift, and Love's luxurious Prize.
Forgive and favour these our rude Essays,
And patronize our rustic Roundelays.
Whose Words are Music, and whose Motions Grace:
Joy of all Hearts, Wish of admiring Eyes,
Heav'n's last, best Gift, and Love's luxurious Prize.
Forgive and favour these our rude Essays,
And patronize our rustic Roundelays.
SONG.
Prithee leave off this dull Panegyric, my Dear,
The Ladys have wished the Choice Spirits to hear,
To divert them this Night in Borlace we appear.
The Ladys have wished the Choice Spirits to hear,
To divert them this Night in Borlace we appear.
Since Singing's the Taste, let us have a Duetta,
Between us we'll make what you call a Burletta,
He shall do the Old Man, and you do Spiletta.
Between us we'll make what you call a Burletta,
He shall do the Old Man, and you do Spiletta.
RECITATIVE.
I've got a Cold, indeed I'm very hoarse,
I fear with singing, Sir—to make it worse.
Yet still I'll strive, nay work like any Negro,
From slow Adagio, up to quick Allegro,
Then change from Forte to the soft Piano;
That I will be,
Si Signor Si,
Indeed a Bon Compagno.
Come, my dear Daughter, come, Miss Nicolina,
I must compose a new Burletta Grinna,
And with my Fingers play the Symphonina.
I fear with singing, Sir—to make it worse.
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From slow Adagio, up to quick Allegro,
Then change from Forte to the soft Piano;
That I will be,
Si Signor Si,
Indeed a Bon Compagno.
Come, my dear Daughter, come, Miss Nicolina,
I must compose a new Burletta Grinna,
And with my Fingers play the Symphonina.
'Tis Dinner-time, I find, my dear Signora;
Go fetch some Steaks, Va—fetch some Steaks, Encora;
While I make Unison of these Stoccato's,
Boil me some Broth, and roast some nice Potatos.
Go fetch some Steaks, Va—fetch some Steaks, Encora;
While I make Unison of these Stoccato's,
Boil me some Broth, and roast some nice Potatos.
SONG.
Volti Largo mi Affetto,Subito Andante.
RECITATIVE.
Put some Greens in Cabbage Netto,And make some Soup Sante.
SONG.
Non Troppo n' Affectuoso,Tace primo Violin.
RECITATIVE.
The Broth will be but so so,If you don't put Oatmeal in.
Thirds, Fifths and Eighths, a Half's above a Quarter,
A Minum's long, a Quaver is much shorter;
Before you lay the Cloth, go get a Pint of Porter.
SONG.
She.Pray, Papa, pray pardon moy,
Son Confusa, ah ma foy.
He.
Fetch some Drink.
She.
Indeed not I, indeed not I, indeed not I.
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You're ill bred, Miss.
She.
That's a Lye.
He.
Gallop, Trollop,
Va Vivace, Va Vivace,
Trollop, Gallop.
She.
Tace Ta.
He.
Le Diable.
She.
Bribble Brabble Barboncina.
He.
Cara Spillatta.
She.
Foolatta.
He.
Le Diable.
She.
Bribble Brabble Piccicina.
He.
Cara Spilatta.
She.
Foolatta Ca.
SONG.
Thus with Jargon they juggle us out of our Money,
With Cara da Capo encore abandoni,
Each Phrase must be fine, it's Nouvelle we are sure on't,
Nouvelle let it be and let us hear no more on't.
With Cara da Capo encore abandoni,
Each Phrase must be fine, it's Nouvelle we are sure on't,
Nouvelle let it be and let us hear no more on't.
Be not Britons misled by a Song or a Dance,
Nor your Fathers forget, they're remember'd in France;
Shall Capers, Concertos, Coupees, Serenadas,
Demolish the Men that demolish'd Armadas.
Nor your Fathers forget, they're remember'd in France;
Shall Capers, Concertos, Coupees, Serenadas,
Demolish the Men that demolish'd Armadas.
The Black Prince and his Father at Poicters and Cressy,
Compos'd some rough Music made Monsieurs uneasy,
King Henry the Fifth too at Agincourts Rout,
Led them up such a Dance that he put them all out.
Compos'd some rough Music made Monsieurs uneasy,
King Henry the Fifth too at Agincourts Rout,
Led them up such a Dance that he put them all out.
To play us a Concert, Spain sent an Armada,
To return it, Drake gave them a Sea Serenada;
This Music was copy'd by Warren and Anson,
Which made the French cry Diable Angleterre Chanson.
To return it, Drake gave them a Sea Serenada;
This Music was copy'd by Warren and Anson,
Which made the French cry Diable Angleterre Chanson.
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Singers, Fiddlers, and Dancers, when first they come here,
Out of Feathers and Flesh, just like Woodcocks appear;
But plump'd by our plenty, they're puff'd into pride,
Give a Beggar a Horse: we know where he'll ride.
Out of Feathers and Flesh, just like Woodcocks appear;
But plump'd by our plenty, they're puff'd into pride,
Give a Beggar a Horse: we know where he'll ride.
Let them Walk, Trot, or Gallop, but send them from hence,
Nor to sound my dear Countrymen sacrifice sense,
Our Wit is invaded, resist now or never,
And defend Common Sense, and Old England for ever.
Nor to sound my dear Countrymen sacrifice sense,
Our Wit is invaded, resist now or never,
And defend Common Sense, and Old England for ever.
SONG.
The last Song and General Chorus.
Of Love Wit and Wine, our Songs we'll raise,
The tripple Alliance we're boasting;
With Wit we can celebrate Beauty's praise,
With Wine we those Beauty's are Toasting.
To Portugals paint or Operas Air,
We never will be in debt Ah!
Pure white and red Blooms in the Face of our Fair,
And Wit has Eclips'd the Burletta.
The tripple Alliance we're boasting;
With Wit we can celebrate Beauty's praise,
With Wine we those Beauty's are Toasting.
To Portugals paint or Operas Air,
We never will be in debt Ah!
Pure white and red Blooms in the Face of our Fair,
And Wit has Eclips'd the Burletta.
Then in Chorus join,
To Love Wit and Wine;
And sound them forth Clever,
To those Men of Taste,
Who on Love Wit feast,
Of Old England, Old England,
Huzza Old England for ever.
To Love Wit and Wine;
And sound them forth Clever,
To those Men of Taste,
Who on Love Wit feast,
Of Old England, Old England,
Huzza Old England for ever.
FINIS.
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EPILOGUE.
When first on the Stage a new Tragedy's shown,
With Prologue and Pageant 'tis palm'd on the Town,
All be buskin'd the Hero, by Licence poetic,
Shews Attitude, Emphasis, Passion Theatric,
According to Law, Magna Charta Dramatic.
With Prologue and Pageant 'tis palm'd on the Town,
All be buskin'd the Hero, by Licence poetic,
Shews Attitude, Emphasis, Passion Theatric,
According to Law, Magna Charta Dramatic.
To read what is wrote in that Law I advise ye,
Vide Shakespear's Reports, Primus Actus Elizæ.
Vide Shakespear's Reports, Primus Actus Elizæ.
Then enters the Epilogue Lady to show forth,
Makes a Curtsy all round, cry's your Servant, and so forth.
For the Town must have Farce after Tragedy follow;
As Children take Sugar when Physic they swallow.
The Curtain then drops, and the Lady Trips off.
The Moral is this, All the World's but a Laugh.
For the Space Time has fill'd 'twixt the Cradle and Coffin,
Let us think as we please, is fit only to laugh in.
Makes a Curtsy all round, cry's your Servant, and so forth.
For the Town must have Farce after Tragedy follow;
As Children take Sugar when Physic they swallow.
The Curtain then drops, and the Lady Trips off.
The Moral is this, All the World's but a Laugh.
For the Space Time has fill'd 'twixt the Cradle and Coffin,
Let us think as we please, is fit only to laugh in.
But here is the Riddle, tho' Laughing's the Test,
The Touchstone distinguishing Man from a Beast:
Yet to know how to laugh, and to laugh in right Season,
Is an Art that can only be taught by right Reason.
Some fancy they laugh, tho' they don't know for what;
Some Men we laugh with, and some Men we laugh at.
The self-fancy'd Wisemen, in Consequence great,
Wou'd not laugh for the World—it takes off from their State.
While Romp-loving Virgins are loud in their Mirth,
And Squires and Aldermen roar the Laugh forth.
Old Maids who to Chastity Martyrs become,
And Canker-like gnaw the sweet Bud of Mirth's Bloom.
Like long-lain-by Armour, they're rusty with Scorn;
As Wine too long kept, will to Vinegar turn.
In Men 'tis the same; they may set up for Science,
And Cynical dare to set laugh at Defiance:
Their Learning, their Reason, their Wisdom they show,
Yet one half Hour's Laugh's beyond all that they know.
The Touchstone distinguishing Man from a Beast:
Yet to know how to laugh, and to laugh in right Season,
Is an Art that can only be taught by right Reason.
Some fancy they laugh, tho' they don't know for what;
Some Men we laugh with, and some Men we laugh at.
The self-fancy'd Wisemen, in Consequence great,
Wou'd not laugh for the World—it takes off from their State.
While Romp-loving Virgins are loud in their Mirth,
And Squires and Aldermen roar the Laugh forth.
Old Maids who to Chastity Martyrs become,
And Canker-like gnaw the sweet Bud of Mirth's Bloom.
Like long-lain-by Armour, they're rusty with Scorn;
As Wine too long kept, will to Vinegar turn.
In Men 'tis the same; they may set up for Science,
And Cynical dare to set laugh at Defiance:
Their Learning, their Reason, their Wisdom they show,
Yet one half Hour's Laugh's beyond all that they know.
To help that laugh on we've open'd our Feast,
If we've pleas'd, or if not, on this we must rest:
But if you laugh with us you then crown the Jest.
If we've pleas'd, or if not, on this we must rest:
But if you laugh with us you then crown the Jest.
| The choice spirits feast | |