THE ROVERS; OR, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT.
[_]
Verse has been extracted from
prose drama.
PROLOGUE.
Too long the triumphs of our early times,
With Civil Discord and with Regal crimes,
Have stain'd these boards; while Shakespeare's pen has shown
Thoughts, manners, men, to modern days unknown.
Too long have Rome and Athens been the rage;
[Applause.
And classic Buskins soil'd a British stage.
To-night our bard, who scorns pedantic rules,
His plot has borrow'd from the German schools;
The German schools—where no dull maxims bind
The bold expansion of th' electric mind.
Fix'd to no period, circled by no space,
He leaps the flaming bounds of time and place:
Round the dark confines of the Forest raves,
With gentle
Robbers stocks his gloomy caves;
Tells how bad Ministers are shocking things,
And reigning Dukes are just like tyrant Kings;
How to two swains one nymph her vows may give,
And how two damsels with one lover live!
Delicious scenes!—such scenes our
bard displays,
Which, crown'd with German, sue for British, praise.
Slow are the steeds, that through Germania's roads
With hempen rein the slumbering post-boy goads;
Slow is the slumbering post-boy, who proceeds
Through deep sands floundering, on these tardy steeds;
More slow, more tedious, from his husky throat
Twangs through the twisted horn the struggling note.
These truths confess'd—Oh! yet, ye travell'd few,
Germania's
plays with eyes unjaundiced view!
View and approve!—though in each passage fine
The faint Translation mock the genuine line,
Though the nice ear the erring sight belie,
For U twice dotted is pronounced like I;
[Applause.
Yet oft the scene shall nature's fire impart,
Warm from the breast, and glowing to the heart!
Ye travell'd few, attend!—On you our bard
Builds his fond hope! Do you his genius guard!
[Applause.
Nor let succeeding generations say
A British audience
damn'd a German play!
[Loud and continued applauses.
SONG.
BY ROGERO.
I
Whene'er with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen,—
—niversity of Gottingen.
[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes his eyes; gazing
tenderly at it, he proceeds—
II
Sweet kerchief, check'd with heavenly blue,
Which once my love sat knotting in!—
Alas! Matilda
then was true!
At least I thought so at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
[At the repetition of this line Rogero clanks his chains in cadence.
III
Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew
Her neat post-waggon trotting in!
Ye bore Matilda from my view;
Forlorn I languish'd at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
IV
This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in,
My years are many—they were few
When first I entered at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
V
There first for thee my passion grew,
Sweet! sweet Matilda Pottingen!
Thou wast the daughter of my tu—
—tor, law professor at the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
VI
Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu,
That kings and priests are plotting in:
Here doom'd to starve on water gru—
—el, never shall I see the U—
—niversity of Gottingen—
—niversity of Gottingen.
[Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow]
RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED.
Casimere.
Hist! hist! nor let the airs that blow
From night's cold lungs our purpose know!
Puddingfield.
Let Silence, mother of the dumb,
Beefington.
Press on each lip her palsied thumb!
Waiter.
Let Privacy, allied to Sin,
That loves to haunt the tranquil inn—
Grenadier.
And Conscience start, when she shall view,
Troubadour.
The mighty deed we mean to do!
GENERAL CHORUS
—Con spirito.
Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands,
Swear to save a shackled hero!
See where yon abbey frowning stands!
Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero!
Casimere.
Thrall'd in a monkish tyrant's fetters
Shall great Rogero hopeless lie?
Young Pot.
In my pocket I have letters,
Saying, “Help me, or I die!”
