 | The Syrens |  |
ACT II.
SCENE a Pavilion.Enter Phil Pendant.
Phil.
This is the spot of Comfits and Courtesans, tipsy
dance and jollity. May these delicate, fashionable
bones of mine be pick'd by Canibals, if ever I wish to risk
a tooth more against the flint of a hard biscuit! This is the
Elysium of the old Dons of yore; spring without end, and
love without allay; the finest Garden of Girls I ever saw,
and Wenches that take no cash. So, my good Lords Commissioners
of the Admiralty, farewell! and, ye most honourable
Gentlemen of the Navy-board, adieu! That
ideal phantom, Preferment—I give it to the carrying
Gale: it is an eternal renovation of hope, with an everlasting
disappointment. Here will I fix my rendezvous,
and hoist the colours of Cupid, where I will only press
sweet Girls. No wonder, that old palab'ring dotard, the
Justice of Peace of Ithaca,
stopp'd up the ears of his attentive
Sailors with wax, when he pass'd this delicious
shore: the sage old fox was convinced they would leave his
ragged rock, and be ready emigrants to a richer soil. He
that stops my ears must stop my vitals. Farewell, ye Dryads
of Deptferd! and ye Nereids of Gosport! I have
done making love to eye-brows, and praising of knotting.
May I try experiments under water, nor rise more, if I
quit this Harbour of Delight, without compulsion! I have
been waited on by four of the most willing velvet Nymphs
O—
what heaves in sight now?—some smitten Goddess in pursuit
of my person. I am the true north—the pretty tremblers
point to—ah! here she comes before the wind.
Enter Doris, a buskin'd Nymph in Grecian habit.
Doris.
Well, amiable, merry mortal—art thou yet
cloy'd with nectar, the rosy lips of Goddesses? or art thou
inclin'd once more to risk mortality to agues, gouts, the
tooth-ache, and the heart-ache?
Phil.
No, most courteous creature—I am content with
Deification. I will never give up this clear sky, for the
hanging-days before Christmas; nor risk the loss of a leg,
or an eye, for the reward of Greenwich. With thee, my
pretty Passion-flower, I'll clip, and twine—drink Ambrosia
in Scotch pints, and roll on beds of roses—to eternity.
Doris.
Sensible fellow! But will not some dainty
damsel sigh away hours on the pebbled beach—and commission
every breeze with vows to thee?
Phil.
Yes, the wenches may; poor girls! I pity them:
—but, Doris, it is not my fault that I am charming—
I have not comfort for them all—Besides, their manners are
heavy and dull—I was never design'd for the company, or
converse, of mere mortals:—I hate their pets, their whimperings,
and passions. Break me by Court-martial for a
Coward—if ever I relish'd the earthly ladies—I hate their
phlegm, their pouts, and Plebeian jealousies.
Doris.
But do you know that We have jealousies, and
the Ladies of the skies make their Lords ears ring with their
injuries?
Phil.
Egad, I pity some of my London friends—for
they had no other hope in crossing the Styx, but to get rid
of this pestilence. But, dear die-away Doris, I am invulnerable
—all the flirts of your Coterie cannot make me
nimble Nymph of Negligence, and let us wander to some
myrtle grove, and by the margin of some murmuring rill
make mortal love, in the language of immortals. I feel
myself pleasant—full of alacrity—very jocund—and fit to
entertain a Goddess. Pray, little Doris, do the sky-ladies
condescend to admire a good leg? [shewing his own.]
Doris.
O yes, dear Captain, and a bright eye—a strait
shape—a round face—a set of white teeth—a small foot—
and a lily hand
[he notices the parts as she speaks.]
Phil.
Then I'm at home—for I have the requisites to be
Master of the Ceremonies to the whole Pantheon. Now,
prithee, little Doris, which of my good qualities first reach'd
thy tender heart? Come, come, pretty heathen, be candid
—nor blush to own the courteous captivation; for thou
hast an eye—which darts through the soul of man like a
sun-beam through a window.
Doris.
May I answer this heroic question by another?
Phil.
No, no, no—no mental reservation—plain truth
best becomes your ethereal Ladyship.
Doris.
Why, then, if I must speak—with thy juvenile
activity.
Phil.
This is a damn'd sensible angel.
[Aside]
Doris.
Now, where did the bolt I shot first hit thee?
Phil.
O 'tis undefineable—a universal incantation! the
philter gallop'd through my veins—like a monk's poison
through a rich Jew. Torture me to death with bad rhime,
if I thought you very great folks above stairs were half so
fashionable. I always—
Doris.
[appears suddenly disordered]
I am all perturbation
and confusion!—my senses are agitated—and swim
in rapid circles round my brain.
Immortal Madam! this savours monstrously of one
of our City fainting fits—'tis a perfect vertigo of love. I was
ever a very devil about the senses of the sex.
Doris.
A power superior approaches.
Phil.
Let her come—Phil's her man—I have always
been used to the first company.
Doris.
I must withdraw—lead me to Arethusa's fountain.
Phil.
Dear Doris, from the top of Olympus to Hampstead
Hill, I am bella amorosa Deltobosa—thy slave and
Chittesbey.
[Exit, leading Doris.
SCENE, a Wood of Cypress.
Enter Parthenope, and Zephyr. Parthenope sings; and to the Syren's call, Witches, Wizards, and Fairies come forward.
AIR.
That sip the spangled morning dew,
That in the blue-bell's cup repose,
And drink the essence of the rose,
Attend my call!
That ride upon the frisking air,
Put on your kirtles, wind your spells,
Come from the bogs, heaths, woods, and dells;
Come all, come all.
[Enter Wizards, Witches, and Fairies to the Song.—A] leading Witch and Fairy stand forward.
Tadpole.
Here, righteous Mistress, here behold
Your beldam Tadpole—true and bold.
Here your peering Fairy see,
Flos, your favorite gay and free,
To attend and lackey thee.
Parthenope.
Your kindness I'll reward with due attention.
[To the Witch.]
Now from thy frost-chop'd fingers let me take
That potent herb, nourish'd in ice and fire
On Hecla's top, which thou didst steal of yore
For uses serious, noxious, and malign.
Tadpole.
Here, Goddess, here receive thy Witch's charm.
Parthenope.
First, frolic Fairy of the moon-shine race,
Who rides the humble-bee from flower to flower,
And guides him with the threads of gossamer,
Pleas'd with his bumbling tune, and drone sonorous;
Now bring thy dainty med'cinal gum,
Which the fierce turban'd Turk guards with proud Janissaries,
For uses secret, powerful, and benign.
Fairy.
Here, lovely Goddess, pride of Fairy-land,
Here, take the aromatic Gilead balm,
Which, over mountains, seas, and forests drear,
Your Fairy slave convey'd on three sweet honey-bees.
Parthenope.
'Tis well—Arch Pippin—
And now retire in antic measures light,
Nor spare your revels—or your tiny jokes,
But frisk in tipsy joy, and jocund mirth.
[Exeunt dancing.
Where sleeping you will find a peerless pair;
And with those dainty viands I've prepar'd
Mix up those charms of certain, potent quality,
A stirring philter of that powerful sort,
As to create, so rarely known to man, a mutual love;
Of such a doating, and adoring kind,
That ev'ry other object will be loath'd.
This, my last task, pray carefully perform,
And then thy range shall be the boundless atmosphere.
Zephyr.
The very lightest feather of my wings,
Shall spread, obedient to thy courteous will.
[Exit.
Parthenope.
Now shall this haughty, gallant Chief be mine—he comes!—
Enter Grenade.
Parthenope.
Art thou convinc'd by what I've shown and said?
That she is false, all Faith and Truth cry loud;
And Echo, to the common, kissing air,
Hath babbled forth the tale incontinent.
Renounce the Trifle—and with thy lightest breath
Puff off afar the tawdry, moulted feather,
And reign the sov'reign of this placid clime.—
Captain.
Oh Goddess! know, the natives of my isle
Boast of one virtue undefil'd and pure,
A virtue sacred to the Gods themselves:
'Tis Honour, manly Honour—
Shall I, who boast one glimpse of that bright beam,
Give up the object of my soul's delight,
Let in that jaundic'd monster Jealousy;
Who, with his dim and yellow eyes, askance
Sees faintly, falsely, and all truth deforms?—
Parthenope.
What would'st thou more—rash unbeliever!
Grenade.
'Tis not the trivial scene which thou hast shown,
Will warp my love, or strain my good opinion:
If she is false (as I believe her not)
Let the harsh sentence issue from her lips;
And if such language can defile and stain
A mouth so very sweet, a tongue so pure;
Let Nature blush to see her work so false,
And all Creation shudder at her fall.
Parthenope.
Then be it so—but while thou art invisible to them,
Let keen Attention listen to the sound,
And drink the poison from the Serpent's tongue.
SCENE changes to a Bower in an Orange Grove, wherein Carlos and Cornelia are seated; Zephyr standing by them.
Parthenope.
Thanks, gentle Zephyr!
Well hast thou now perform'd thy magic task.
[Exit Zeph.
Cornelia.
And wilt thou, gentle Carlos, ever love Cornelia?
Carlos.
Dear as the life-drops of my beating heart.
Then this is Heav'n, and thou'rt the God of it.
[Starting from her seat, and advancing to the front of the Stage.]
Carlos.
And fair Cornelia is the reigning Goddess.
Cornelia.
Transporting thought! Elysium all is mine.
Carlos.
Most truly thine, for thou creat'st it here.
Grenade.
Alas! how lost and fallen!—I'm scorch'd with rage and injury.
[Aside.
Cornelia.
Beneath this sunny clime of classic sweets,
Wherein the pulse of Love beats high with joy,
Where lavish Nature flings her gifts around,
Here let us fix our amorous empire;
And reign the glory of this isle of Love.
Carlos.
It shall be so; and thou my Guardian Queen.
Here Cupid's silken standard shall unfurl,
Pencil'd with lovers knots, and flourish'd bows,
Wherein the milky turtle-doves shall bill,
And one gold dart transfix two constant hearts.
AIR. Carlos.
Pleasures court us to this island,
Faithless seas may tempt in vain,
Bows and knots of love shall bind me,
Fair Cornelia's faithful swain.
Cornelia.
O transporting, sweet idea!
Courteous Cupid, God of Love,
Realize imagination,
And thy Vot'ries pray'rs approve.
[Exeunt.
Well, mortal! is all my information false?
Grenade.
“O fortify thy crystal empire, Reason,
“Lest Madness, like a whirlwind, enter there,
“And burst the brittle globe of human sense.
Parthenope.
No more, no more, but from thy ductile mind
Her faded picture throw.
Grenade.
Ye Gods! she was the fabric of your hands,
The fairest Temple of the Virtues worship.
Whilom we were the praise of hill and dale;
So fond a pair ne'er clipp'd in Hymen's bands;
The young, the old, were lavish on the theme,
And ever painted us the happy twain.
Ye Nightingales, who've listed to our loves,
And with responses sweet replied again,
O fly your sylvan haunts, for fear the tale
May bring to mind your Philomela's woe,
And quite untune your melody of song.
For years I nurs'd her in this faithful breast,
And lov'd her to such fond distraction too,
That I grew jealous of the busy breeze
Which breath'd his kisses on her vermeil cheek.
AIR. Grenade.
And chaste as Diana believ'd:
I thought myself bless'd with the prize;
Ah! well a day! I was deceiv'd.
She was Nature's surpassing design;
I call'd her my treasure of wealth,
Ye Gods, when her heart was not mine!
Parthenope.
Let not misfortune canker up thy mind,
Nor make invention curious for ill thought;
But wing with me to mirth and wanton smiles.
Grenade.
There are no smiles for me.—
“Night, ebon Goddess, chase the glaring Sun,
“And throw thy sooty scarf o'er all the world,
“That darkness may envelop the foul deed,
“Nor Nature shudder for her darling child.
Oh, let me tear his sturdy ingrate limbs,
And give them to the vultures of the air!
But for the fair Cornelia—bless her!
[Exeunt.
Enter Gale, drunk.
Gale.
This is the little tu quoque of Delights—Why
have I been beating the Sea to peas porridge for thirty
years, when I might have hung up my hammock here, with
a Madam, as gay as a Privateer? This weathers all your
Tenians and Bolobolas
to the Devil.—I have a Seraglio
here, as white as the inside of an Oyster shell—I'll never
debase my Dignity with any Charcoal Gentlewoman again.
Now, if I can marry the Queen of this Land, the Gales
will be the first Family in the world; and the two and
thirty Winds shall be commission'd to bear abroad my Name
and Fame. Here will I hoist the standard of Liberty; for
Enter Traverse, Forecastle, and Snivel.
Forc.
You, George Gale, come my Kiddy, fill and
stand on—there is the old ship, boy, rigg'd again a tanto—
topmasts up, colours flying, and tilting on the wave, light
as a cork buoy.
Gale.
Let her tilt, let her ride,—little Gale is not so
soon taken in—Did not I see her bilge? Did I not see her
part stem and stern?
Snivel.
True, thou intoxicated sinner! but she is
restored to perfection.
Gale.
Canst thou splice a broken biscuit?
Snivel.
Purity and Truth will do every thing.
Gale.
No, they won't, they will never move me from
this Isle—If they do, may Spitzbergen be my Winter
quarters, whale my diet, train oil my liquor, and tar and
feathers my jacket. I'll never heave my anchor a cock-bill
again. Dam'me, little George wont swing like a
monkey in a hammock any longer. Frank, boy, thou
may'st take my chest and bedding, and my pewter buckles—
Red Moll at Plymouth, grappled my silver ones.—Tom,
thou may'st have my tobacco-box—and Snivel, he may have
as much of my psalm-book, as the mice and the cock
roaches have left.—As for my Will and Power, that's of
no dash; the nimble-finger'd Clerks of the Pay-Office will
take care of my wages, with a long R---
[marks it on the
Stage with his stick.]
Enter Grenade and the Druid Spirit.
Grenade.
Most reverend Spirit, is not this all delusion?
Druid.
No, gallant Chief, it is the solemn truth.
The Syren Sorceress of this Fairy shore
Or billows, rocks, or winds, or quick-sands dire.
Know then, she practis'd on thy lovely Wife
Her philter'd arts—but I've dissolv'd her spells,
And here behold the beauteous weeping Saint.
Enter Cornelia hastily, and Carlos.
Cornelia.
O, my lov'd Friend, long lost, and torn away,
Come to my faithful arms, and rivet here!
Grenade.
My Love! my Life! my dear restor'd Cornelia!
Thrice happy they, who hail the golden morn,
After a night of agonizing dreams.
Cornelia.
Sage, honour'd Father, all my Pray'rs shall rise
In cordial truth and gratitude to thee.
[to the Druid.
Druid.
Virtues and charms like thine, excelling Dame,
Will meet the hand of Heav'n, in adverse hour;
But still my task's not done.
Now will I hence upon the turgid Main,
Smooth all its waves, and invocate the Gods
To prosper every future voyage of your Life,
And wing your vessel to its destin'd port.
[Exit.
AIR. Cornelia.
From him we love, for whom we sue;
To cares, to sighs, to tears, a prey,
And yet to Love, to Virtue true:
The beating heart is lull'd to rest.
Her Mate, he guards the brittle store:
What griefs the while invade his breast,
For fear she may return no more!
But when restor'd, he spreads his wings,
And jocund on the tree-top sings.
Grenade.
Most gen'rous Youth, and oh! my faithful Friend,
Here shall our little griefs lose all their pains;
These drops of sours, mix'd in a sea of sweets,
Cannot imbitter more our future days.
Gale
(advancing.)
My Noble Captain, I wish as how your Honour would
be about to give me my discharge, for if I quit this harbour
of Nosegays, I shall turn life a-lee for ever—Man and boy,
I have been to Sea thirty years, my noble Commander;
and 'tis the only time I ever found a kind landlady, that
gave Grog at the mast, without any reckoning to pay.
Cornel.
Honest Gale, be content with thy Captain's
fortune, which I will engage shall be a certain means to
improve thine.
Grenade.
Come, my good Friends, and Brother Sailors all,
Our white-cliff'd Isle, that's girdled by the main,
Surpasses far the frippery of this shore,
For manly Honour, female Virtue fam'd,
With which the world rings loud from West to East.
Enter Pendant, and Sailors.
Forec.
Clear the gang-way—Make a lane for the Lieutenant,
I say.
Captain Grenade, and my most courteous Lady
Cornelia, welcome as planks to sinking mariners. I wish
the old Gentleman, with his legerdemain tricks, had
taken lodgings in a whale's belly, 'till he had been thrown
up at Whitehall stairs, for the mob to gaze at, before he
had interrupted me in the most rapturous reverie of my
life.
Forc.
Why, master Phil, did you intend to bilk Madam
Arabella, at Portsmouth, with a fore-top-sail?
Pend.
No, I admire her monstrously—but it is my
marine maxim to always leave my love in the port where I
leave my lady.—Therefore, my barge of beauty, my dearest
Doris, and these salubrious climes, adieu.—My pleasures,
though ever so pleasing, shall ever yield to Virtue, and the
service of my Country. Carlos, you were on the turnpike
road to Paradise, had not the barbed Conjuror put a
Pantomine cheat upon you.
Car.
I never wish, Phil, to purchase Happiness at the
expence of female Honour.
AIR.
Cornelia.
List, ye jovial Tars, to Reason,
List to Honour, list to Arms;
Ye have Souls unknown to Treason,
Ye're but wreck'd by Syren's charms.
Carlos.
Beauteous Maidens will reward ye,
Fire your Souls to noble feats;
Honour's shield will ever guard ye,
And from Rocks protect your Fleets.
Beauteous Girls may woo and warble,
I to them will ever heel;
We are flesh and blood, not marble,
Sailors will for Beauty feel.
Grenade.
Turn upon the Syren's charms;
Then ye will be fam'd in story,
And command the World in Arms.
Storms, nor Foes, my Sailors fear;
They but wait your approbations,
You're the stars by which we steer.
CHORUS.
Freed from Spells and Incantations,
Storms, nor Foes, my Sailors fear;
They but wait your approbations,
You're the stars by which we steer.
| The Syrens | |