The Second Calender ; And The Queen of Beauty, who had the Fight with the Genie an Extravaganza, in Two Acts |
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| 2. | SCENE II. |
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 | The Second Calender ; And The Queen of Beauty, who had the Fight with the Genie |  |
SCENE II.
—An impenetrable forest. Flats in 2nd grooves enclose the first scene; at the same time the rock piece R. is moved out, and discovers a large tree, to which Prince Agib is bound by strong ropes, and is struggling violently.Agib.
Help! Murder! Thieves! Come, somebody Holloa!
Police! That cry's but little use, I know;
Help! Murder! Thieves! Holloa! It seems I should
Holloa some time before I'm out o'th'wood.
Holloa!
Enter Codja, L., the woodcutter, with axe and bill-hook.
Codja.
Now, then!—What shindy, may I ask,
Summons the child of labour from his task?
Agib.
(Struggling violently.)
Cut.
Codja.
(Going.)
Certainly.
Agib.
No! Cut away, fool!
Codja.
(Going.)
Good!
Exactly what I came for—cut my wood.
Agib.
Ass! Cut away these cords and let me go,
You shall be handsomely rewarded.
Codja.
Oh!
In that case could an honest heart do less
Than help a fellow-creature in distress;
Know that the peasant's heart as nobly throbs
As those beneath the broider'd vests of nobs,
And proudly as the silk-clad sons of Lucre
Stands the poor woodman in his lowly Blucher.
(Thumps his breast à la stage countryman.)
Agib.
I recognize you by your moral clamour,
The virtuous peasant of domestic drama.
Codja.
The toil-worn cottager—
(Thumping his breast and not heeding Agib.)
Agib.
Well, that's enough—
Codja.
Though humbly clad—
Agib.
All fustian and mere stuff!
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“Woodman, spare that Tree.”
Woodman, set me free,
Stop not to scrape or bow;
Release me from this tree,
Or else there'll be a row;
For hours I've had to stand
Bound tightly to this spot:
Then, Woodman, lend a hand,
Just axe this blessed knot.
Woodman, set me free,
Stop not to scrape or bow;
Release me from this tree,
Or else there'll be a row;
For hours I've had to stand
Bound tightly to this spot:
Then, Woodman, lend a hand,
Just axe this blessed knot.
GRAND SCENA. (Codja.)
Air, with variations, “In my Cottage.”
In my cottage near a wood,
Just as I sat down to dine,
There's a cove, said I, with good
Lungs a kicking up a shine;
In distress he seems, and we
May come in for something good;
This was what occurred to me
In my cottage near a wood.
[Codja cuts the cords and releases Agib.
Agib.
(Shaking himself.)
Thanks!
Codja.
Is that all?
Agib.
Not half. I'll pay my debts!
[Feeling his pockets.
Alas! how stupid of me—no assets!
My friend, I owe you much, would I could pay
Your services with gold—
Codja.
Don't name it, pray;
Think you the lowly woodman had in view
The filthy dross named gold!—No!—Silver 'll do.
Agib.
Alas! my friend, who steals my purse steals trash:
'Twas mine—'tis his—had he but left the cash!
But he who filches from me all my tin—
In short, you understand the mess I'm in:
Robb'd by a set of good-for-nothing tramps,
Who tied me to that tree—
Codja.
I know the scamps;
The long reports of whose burglarious crimes
Fill, ev'ry morning, pages of the Times;
Who keep our wives awake all night with fear—
Disturbing drowsy husbands with “My dear!
Get up and take the poker—Hark! what's that?”
And won't believe that anything's the cat;
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And goes to the expense of iron shutters;
Who're suffered recklessly to break the peace,
Because the county won't pay for police.
Agib.
For what they took from me they've dearly paid,
Sixteen low ruffians lower still I laid,
Sliced their thick heads off, which you'll own was good cutting.
Codja.
Their heads! You must have served your time to wood cutting.
Agib.
Zooks! p'rhaps at that I might some skill employ;
I must do something! (to Codja.)
Please d'you want a boy?
'Cause if you do just speak, and I'm your man.
Codja.
What can you do?
Agib.
I drove a caravan
This morning.
Codja.
Pickford's?
Agib.
Nothing half so low.
Slaves, camels, horses, elephants, you know—
All which were from me by the robbers riven,
And now to seek a livelihood I'm driven.
Codja.
Ah! you won't suit.
Agib.
I'd serve you well—sincerely;
I ask no wages—food and lodging merely.
Codja.
(Suddenly changing his tone.)
When did a tale of sorrow fail to touch
The humble peasant's heart? (Aside.)
He can't eat much.
Agreed! begin at once.
Agib.
With right good will.
Codja.
(Giving him a bill hook.)
Just put your hand please to this little bill,
And this (giving him a hatchet)
; and now, about your business caper,
While the poor woodman goes to read the paper.
[Exit 2 E. L.
Agib.
This, for a sovereign, is no small change,
“But now a king—now thus,” 'tis passing strange;
Too far away from home and friends to write,
Stripp'd of my ev'ry sous—a pretty plight!
And in a foeman's land, where, if found out,
Our royal hash is settled, past a doubt.
Well! at Dame Fortune let's not make wry faces,
'Twere p'raps as well if more folks in high places,
Just now and then, were sentenced to endure
A taste or two of Labour and the Poor!
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“Old Ned.”
Air, “Through the Wood.”
Oh! I once was a king, and my word was said
To be law to the high and the low;
Now I've got no crown on the top of my head—
The place where the crown ought to go;
Then break up the cabinet, and oh! oh! oh!
Knock up the council and bureau;
There's naught but hard work for me, instead
Of the games that I once used to go.
To be law to the high and the low;
Now I've got no crown on the top of my head—
The place where the crown ought to go;
Then break up the cabinet, and oh! oh! oh!
Knock up the council and bureau;
There's naught but hard work for me, instead
Of the games that I once used to go.
My civil list was long as the Anaconda snake,
Now I've got no guards for to fee,
I have no parliament the laws for to make,
So I have let the government be,
Then break up the cabinet, &c.
Now I've got no guards for to fee,
I have no parliament the laws for to make,
So I have let the government be,
Then break up the cabinet, &c.
Here goes!
(looking at the tree to which he was bound.)
To you, old friend, I owe a grudge,
And, though you look so big, I'll make you budge;
Though not quite Ajax, or Professor Keller,
I always was esteem'd a famous feller.
[Commences chopping tree, singing to his work
To you, old friend, I owe a grudge,
And, though you look so big, I'll make you budge;
Though not quite Ajax, or Professor Keller,
I always was esteem'd a famous feller.
Air, “Through the Wood.”
Through the wood, through the wood, dinners to find me,
Bury the hatchet, pitch into it well;
I leave ev'ry thought of my kingship behind me,
And merge in the woodman each trace of the swell.
Hew the wood, hew the wood, dinners to find me,
Work like a nigger is what I propose;
Through the wood, through the wood, look not behind me,
But follow my nose and my bus'ness. Here goes.
(Chopping.)
Follow, follow, something 'twill find me;
Follow, follow, care leave behind me.
Bury the hatchet, pitch into it well;
I leave ev'ry thought of my kingship behind me,
And merge in the woodman each trace of the swell.
Hew the wood, hew the wood, dinners to find me,
Work like a nigger is what I propose;
Through the wood, through the wood, look not behind me,
But follow my nose and my bus'ness. Here goes.
(Chopping.)
Follow, follow, something 'twill find me;
Follow, follow, care leave behind me.
[As he finishes his song he strikes the tree a violent blow, breaking in the trunk, and disclosing a large hollow space. The axe slips out of his hand and disappears into the tree.
Agib.
Well, come! privations serve to show us kings
The rottenness and hollowness of things;
Why, where's the axe? (looking into tree.)
If that's gone, I shall catch it;
Peace won't ensue from burying the hatchet.
[Looking down the tree.
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Such trees as these, all I can say is, rot 'em;
Here, master! governor! this is a bore!
Enter Codja, yawning.
Codja.
Methought I heard a voice cry “Sleep no more!”
I dreamt the malt-tax banish'd, beer was cheap;
“If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.”
Agib.
(Rousing him.)
Oh, master! such remarkable adventures!
Just look at your apprentice's indentures.
[Pointing to the hole in the tree.
The hatchet's gone—lost!
Codja.
Where?
Agib.
Down there!
Codja.
Come, own it;
You haven't lost it, boy—you've been and thrown it.
Agib.
Not so—it's tumbled down that dark and fell pit;
But, if you please, I really couldn't help it.
But see, a winding staircase circles round
This gloomy well—I'll find it, I'll be bound.
[Going to descend.
Codja.
Let well alone, or else by some ill luck it
Might chance that, in that well, you'd kick the bucket.
Listen to me, boy. In such spots as these,
Made beautiful by streamlets, rocks, and trees,
The headstrong tourist, ravish'd and delighted
By nature's charms, oft feels himself invited
To enter some enchanting glen or pass,
Thinking it free to all men, when, alas!
Breathing out flames of bitterness and wrath,
Some very scaly dragon stops his path,
By whom all claims to “Right of Way” are jilted,
Nor can you hurt the snake, though “Scotch'd and kilted.”
Agib
(brandishing the billhook).
Death to such monsters!
Thou my mettle piercest,
I'll run a tilt—aye, Glen Tilt—with the fiercest.
SONG.
“Cam' ye by Athol.”
Care ye for Athol's braw lads wi' their philibegs,
Tartans, and kilts, which but cover them barely?
Down with the carles who of way would our right blockade,
Closing the mountains and passes unfairly.
Cheerly! cheerly! who would not follow me,
Claims such as those to upset, though kept warily.
Really! really! though the earth swallow me,
Death to the Highland hearts grudging so charily.
Care ye for Athol's braw lads wi' their philibegs,
Tartans, and kilts, which but cover them barely?
Down with the carles who of way would our right blockade,
Closing the mountains and passes unfairly.
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Claims such as those to upset, though kept warily.
Really! really! though the earth swallow me,
Death to the Highland hearts grudging so charily.
[He descends the tree.
SONG.—Codja.
“The brave old oak.”
It's rum for an oak,
For a brave old oak,
That has stood in the greenwood long,
To be lined all round
With a patent iron-bound
Sort of fire-proof staircase strong.
For a brave old oak,
That has stood in the greenwood long,
To be lined all round
With a patent iron-bound
Sort of fire-proof staircase strong.
I'd forfeit a brown,
If to venture down
Through its winding ways I durst.
Still I argue as how,
In case of a row,
I'm all right—as the boy's gone first.
[Approaching the tree valiantly.
If to venture down
Through its winding ways I durst.
Still I argue as how,
In case of a row,
I'm all right—as the boy's gone first.
Then, here's to the oak,
To the brave old oak.
To the brave old oak.
[The orchestra supplies the rest. Codja approaches the tree, exhibiting, in pantomime, alternately great courage and great trepidation, ultimately going down, and finishing the tune by singing “I'm gone!” as he disappears.
| The Second Calender ; And The Queen of Beauty, who had the Fight with the Genie | |