University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
  

 1. 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
ACT IV.
 5. 


336

ACT IV.

SCENE, a wheat field, the back unreap'd;—in the front some standing sheaves.

A reaper, and woman binder, at the foot of one of the sheaves, at dinner. Bread, cheese, and a gallon cag, before them.

Harlequin, in dumb courtship, appears suddenly fond of the woman, who expresses contempt, and throws cheese-parings at him.


The man, at length, rises, angry.
Air XVI.
Clown

[1.]

What wou'd you have friend—What is't, you mean?
You'd best gang your ways—and leave us, aloan:
Sure! 'tis a proudness, not often seen,
To hinder a poor man—from kissing his oan.

2.

Dorcas, and I, here, meant you no harm—
Your fine, 'broider'd coatd'ant make me afeard:
Folks in the country, keep foot, and arm,
Enow, to secure 'em from soon being scear'd.

3.

Nay—tho'—by hap now, Dorcas had been
Betray'd here, aloan—I'll tell you one thing:
She had been able—shin against shin,
To give you, at least, friend, as good as you bring.

Harlequin cajoles the reaper, seems to beg pardon of the girl; and grows exceedingly civil: this, reconciling the


337

Clown, he takes the cag, to drink to Harlequin; and they shake hands: but, while the reaper has the cag at his mouth, Harlequin strikes it, with his wand, and it rises over the countryman's head, falls down, about him, in shape of a great barrel; and sinks, with him, under the stage. —The girl, in grief for the loss of her lover, is addressed, with great airs of gallantry, by Harlequin, who, to entertain, and divert her melancholy, touches the wheat-sheaves with his wand: upon which, they move, divide, and fall into measure; forming a kind of hop, and thump, dance, in which they go off the stage, at different openings.

Harlequin, persisting in his amorous airs, the girl, growing more and more angry, at length falls upon him, and beats him.

After breaking out of her hands, he waves his wand, with great indignation, and seeming resentment. It thunders: at which, he looks frighted, and amazed, as expecting a different consequence.

There arise, to him, instead of spirits, Merlin and Columbine.


She reproaches him, in the following air.
Air XVII.
Col.
Ah! false, inconstant man! was this your passion?
You change, by nature, all; and love, for fashion!
Your light, uncertain, hearts, are always roving:
And, women, still, are lost, by truth in loving.
Cou'd I have thought, so soon, to see you changing!
Farewel, fond hope of faith!—Man lives, for ranging.

Harlequin, in his surprize, having dropt his wand, Merlin kicks it away, and sets his foot upon it.
Air XVIII.
Merl.

[1.]

Tremble, at thy fate, deceiver!
Hope no more, to 'scape the pain
Thou, who, cou'dst so lightly, leave her,
Ne'er deserv'st to please, again.

338

2.

Go, prepare—the vengeance waits thee.
Which thy fortune late out-ran:
None will pity, now she hates thee;
None befriend the perjur'd man.

At the end of the songs, it thunders again; and the scene is changed, in a moment, into the prospect of a rolling sea, surrounded with cliffs, steep rocks, and precipices: at sight whereof, Harlequin runs off the stage.

Furies rise out of the sea, with tridents in their hands: and are sent out by Merlin, in pursuit of Harlequin. They hunt him up and down, round the house, and behind the tops of the rocks, sometimes seen and sometimes not, while Merlin below, sings the following chace, to the sound of a French horn.


Air XIX.
Merl.
Up, and down, o'er the hills, from the rock to the vale,
Pursue him, affright him, o'ertake him—away:
Let the sound of the horn wing your speed, as you scale,
And drive you upon him, like tempests of hail!
Hunt away, hunt away:
See! the light of the day
Seems to double its brightness, and points out the way!

At the close of this song, one of the Furies enters in front, above the cliffs, with Harlequin sticking on the points of his trident; and plunges him into the sea, in face of the audience—The dashing of water, heard, at fall of the figure.
 

Sung with a gesture of throwing out the foot, like a wrestler.