Penelope :: :: University of Virginia Library

Penelope

A Dramatic Opera

Mottley, John (1692-1750)

PENELOPE.

PROLOGUE. Spoke by Mr. PHOENIX.

ACT II.

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ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Scene changes, and discovers Ulysses, like a Beggar, in the Street, looking up for the Sign.
Ulys.

Yes, if my Eyes deceive me not, I see
The royal Head, conspicuous in the Tree:
Hail royal Suff'rer! Hail O! bless'd Domain!
And shall Ulysses have his Pen again?
O! Soul rejoice! O! Bosom banish Care!
As Fame reports, she is as chaste as fair:
I've heard her Story from a neighb'ring Friend;
But why delay I to pursue my End?
My Regimentals cover'd, this Disguise
Unknown shall keep me to my Penne's Eyes;
And this right Hand, that has a Halbert bore,
Shall crave an Alms at its own Master's Door.

SONG I.

1

O! pity the Heros of Six pence a Day,
In War, or in Peace, how unhappy their Lives!
Compel'd they are often by want of their Pay,
To wheedle, to pilfer, and let out their Wives.
When disbanded the Wretches to their Sorrow find true,
That again, and again, they may plead for their Due,
But are trusted by none, and reliev'd but by few.

[He knocks at the Door.

O! Pity an old Soldier's woeful Plight!

SCENE II.

Dol enters.
Dol.
Hey-days! a Beggar out so late at Night!
You want to hide yourself, and pick the Locks;
Be gone, or we shall have you in the Stocks.

'Tis this we owe to such a standing Crew
Of Rogues in Red, who know not what to do
In Times of Peace, but thus to beg, or steal:
Wou'd I cou'd manage once the publick Weal!

Ulys.
Alas! young Woman, by your Looks, I see
You never knew what 'twas to want like Me;
But let me tell you, take it not amiss,
I once have kept a House as good as this.

Dol.

You kept, you robb'd, a House; 'tis all a Flam.
Don't tell Me what I was, but what I am.

SONG II.

1

How idle the Notion of Birth and of Blood!
Ev'ry House is but bad if its Purse is not good:
Tho' all are descended you know from old Adam,
Yet poor goody Poverty ne'er was call'd Madam.
Derry, down, down, &c.

Ulys.
Ah!

[Shaking his Head,

Dol.
What, no farther yet; be gone, I say,
Or I shall make you: where's our Dog? Hey Tray.

SCENE III.

Telemachus enters.
Tel.
Poor Man! have you no Bowels, Dol, nor Grace?
Perhaps my Father's now in such a Case.
Go mind your Guests.
[Dol goes out.

SCENE IV.

See, poor old Soul! he crys;
He almost draws the Tears from Tele's Eyes.
[Aside.
Come honest Man, don't mind that saucy Whore;
Here, take this Half-penny; I wish 'twas more.

Ulys.
Ye Gods, what Words can now express my Joy,
To see such early Virtues in my Boy!
[Aside.
O! Telemach!

Tel.
He knows my Name, do y' see!
He certainly a Cunningman must be;
I'll try him.
[Aside.
What's my Mother's Name?

Ulys.
'Tis Pen;
And mine Ulysses, happyest now of Men!
I am thy Sire.

Tel.
I'm sure that cannot be.

Ulys.
I am thy Father, I, my Son, am he.
By this Embrace—

Tel.
How shall I surely know?

Ulys.
You have, my Son, a Mole upon your Toe.

Tel.
That's true.

Ulys.

And farther, to suppress your Fear,
See the King's Coat, 'tis the King's Coat I wear.

He unbuttons his Beggar's Coat, and shews his Regimentals.

I am a Serjeant still, no Beggar I,
But thus I come your Mother's Faith to try;
And next to rout the Scoundrels hence who woo her:
Be secret for a While; and guide Me to her.

Tel.
SONG III.

1

O! Mother, O! Mother, no longer complain,
Nor in your Distress bite the Sheets all in vain,
My Father, my Father's come to you again.
Which no Body can deny.

SCENE V.

Scene changes, and discovers Penelope alone reading; with a Pen, and Ink, by her.
Pen.

Shou'd this, Ulysses, greet Thee from thy Wife,
Write not, but come, if you wou'd save her Life.
One Day goes by, and Nothing sees but Grief,
Another comes, and brings Me no Relief;
Both Day and Night, I feel a Lover's Pain,
And pray to Heav'n to bring my Man again.
Whoever comes, and tells of Thee a Tale,
Is sure to strike Me for a Pot of Ale.

[She lays down the Letter.

SONG IV.

1

Ye Winds be kind, and waft him to Me,
Whose Sight alone can heal my Smart,
In vain, in vain, these Scoundrels woo Me,
To rob Ulysses of my Heart.

2

Perhaps, alas! press'd far away, he
Now groans beneath the Musquet's Load;
But in his March where'er he may be
I wou'd partake the tedious Road.

3

O'er thirsty Plains, or snowy Mountains,
With him an humble Slave I'd go,
To quench his Thirst I'd seek the Fountains,
Or chafe his Limbs o'er Hills of Snow.

4

But, O! O! O! O! O! O! O! O!
By Hunger forc'd to be a Thief,
He to the Wreck, perhaps, must go, go,
While here his Wife will dy with Grief.

SCENE VI.

Ulysses and Telemachus enter.
Ulys.
You've hear'd enough: You are prepar'd you say.

[To Telemachus.
Tel.
I am. Egad, this is a happy Day.

[Shruging his Shoulders.
They come forward, and Telemachus speaks to Penelope.
Tel.
Mother, if you're at Leisure to be seen,
Here's an old Soldier, that has serv'd the Queen,
In Flanders; one who knew my Father well,
And of him many wond'rous Things can tell.

Pen.
Rising.
If, honest Man, you my Ulysses know,
Where did you see him, and how long ago?
But tell no Lys, if you my Friendship wish.

Ulys.
Ah! Madam, does a Beggar know his Dish?
Yes, we were Comrades all the War in Spain,
And then in Flanders many a long Campaign.
We shar'd our Dangers, and we shar'd our Bed;
One Pocket serv'd Us, and one Table fed.
These Eyes can witness what his Arms atchiev'd,
What of a Serjeant scarce can be believ'd!
Such Acts, as had our Gazetteer but known,
His Paper had been fill'd with them alone.

Pen.
The War concluded, whither did he roam,
And what has kept him from his Wife, and Home?
O! tell Me what did the dear Man befall;
For I'm on Tiptoe till I hear it all.

Ulys.
At Rotterdam, the Devil damn the Place,
Was where I last beheld my Comrade's Face;
One Circe there, a Witch that deals in Gin,
By magic Spells had drawn the Serjeant in.

Pen.
What do I hear? Curse on the dirty Punk;
Then ev'ry Night with her I war'nt he's drunk.
Rather than hear'd it wou'd I'd lost my Life:
And has Ulysses then forgot his Wife!

[She weeps.
Ulys.
Have Patience, when he once has broke her Charms,
Nothing can long detain him from your Arms.
Think him not false, for, if I know him right,
Of You he thinks by Day, and dreams by Night.
I've hear'd him cry, amidst a thousand Men,
O! happy! happy! cou'd I see my Pen!

Pen.
Then I'm reviv'd indeed, if he is true.—
He was, I think, bating his Age, like You.

Ulys.
Turning away.
O! how I long! but must not yet reveal.—

Pen.
Following him.

Come, you have Something that you wou'd conceal.
Walk in with Me, and drink a Cup of Ale,
And there pursue the Remnant of your Tale.

SONG V.
[Pen.]

How great is the Anguish,
To pine, and to languish,
For an absent Swain,
For an absent Swain!

Ulys.

The greater the Pleasure,
When you meet your Treasure,
Not to part again.

Both.

How sweet is the Pleasure,
To possess our Treasure,
After all our Pain!

[They go out.