University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE, a Grove.
Parthenope seated under a Tree, with attendant Nymphs.
Chorus of Nymphs.
Zephyr , Zephyr, hither bring,
On thy gay, fantastic wing,
All the garish bloom of spring.
“Breathe thy sweets throughout this clime,
“Wreathe the brow of wrinkled Time;
“Deck the Graces, deck the Hours,
“With thy sweetest, fairest flow'rs.”
Zephyr, Zephyr, hither bring
All the garish bloom of spring.

Enter Zephyrus.
Parthenope.
Welcome, sweet Youth! whose ready offices
The Syren Sisters of these flow'ry shores
Have ever prov'd, when e'er our voices fail'd.
Know, from the sea-girt isle of England's Prince,
I have such tidings apt, minute, receiv'd
Of a fair vessel, freighted to these seas;
The gaudiest of the isle; with tackle trim,
And ensigns of such gay and silken sort,
That all the Breezes of the pressing air
Contend to court, and wave her streamers wide.
Within this bark a Youth of noble kind,
Gallant, and gay, of gentle nature too,
Tends on the smiles of a most beauteous Dame,
At whose angelic birth the Graces strove
To blend the lily with the blushing rose;
And did endow with qualities so rare,
That Nature bless'd her for her favorite child.
This peerless Pair now voyage to our shore,
Whom I would willingly with us detain;
And shou'd our voices but allure their ears,
Wilt thou, kind Zephyr, fan them to this strand,
That dulcet melody may not be vain?

Zephyr.
Sweet, gentle, favorite, fair Parthenope,
Thy ever ready, faithful servant, I.
AIR. Zephyr.

Parthenope.
Now to your station in the airy void,
And let your ready actions prove your zeal.

[Exit Zephyr.
Parthenope.
Their fate is seal'd; nor the dank God of sea
Shall save their fall, with all his boasted powers.
But for such guests, 'tis meet we should prepare
Retreat, refreshment, and each sylvan food:
Flora's white fingers shall entwine their bower,
And choicest garlands weave to press their brows.

Enter Zephyrus.
The ship, Parthenope, is now in view,
And proudly skims adown the glassy tide:
Her gallant rigging courts the panting gale,
Which often fails her bleached, flapping sails;
Her colours careless hang upon their staff,
And twist and curl, as amorous of their state:
“The tawny sailors loll upon the yards,
“And eat with greedy eyes the pendent fruits
“That tempting hang, fair tempters of their touch.”
Hence, now upon the promontory's brink,
From whose stupendous, beetling, dizzy top,
In sweetest melody to human ear,
Warble your fascinating tunes so strong,
That sphere-form'd Spirits from their sailing clouds
May stoop—and own the harmony divine.

Parthenope.
Light Zephyr, move upon thy gauzy wings,
Nor finest butterflies more trim and gay;
And to the jasper rock I'll bend my steps,
And tune my dulcet ditty to thy gale.
[Exit Zephyr.
AIR. Parthenope.

SCENE, a Plain with one Oak-tree.
Enter the Spirit of a Druid—mantled in the Habit.
Close to the borders of the milky way
My crystal temple's rais'd; whence I espied,
At very distant ken, a stately ship,
Luckless becalm'd upon this Syren shore—
But I, the watchful friend of England's weal,
(Whilom a Druid of the British race)
Tend on the heroes of that glorious isle.
But when Mischance, with subtle, hood-wink'd art,
O'ertakes the steps of Innocence and Love,
Swift as the meteors of the vaulted sky
I dart, and gleam from Heav'n to be their guide.
But, hark! I hear the dashing of the surge
Upon the stony beach portending storm,
[a noise of the sea
Prepar'd by this fell Sorceress for their fall.
Now, list! the Syrens tune their fatal concert!

[Sound of the Organ at a distance, with this Chorus.]

Stay, gentle Voyagers, where ever bound,
Or to the heathen, or the holy ground

Druid.
Hark to the silver tongue of Chantress sweet,
If in one ear all Nature's sense compris'd,
Such melody would speak her full attention!
I must be here unseen—for known—a guest unwelcome.

[Exit.
SCENE discovers a Promontory hanging over a Flood; a Ship gently sailing near the Land. The three Sirens—one with a Lyre, the other with a Flute, accompanying Parthenope —The Vessel approaching as she sings.
AIR. Parthenope.
Stay, gentle Voyagers, where ever bound,
Or to the heathen, or the holy ground!
Here let Pleasure's voice prevail,
Slack awhile the anxious sail;
Joys and raptures the most pure,
Fill the circle of each hour;
Incantation's magic wand,
Wreathes in smiles the flow'ry land.

Chorus,
joined by many Female Voices—as surrounding the Shores.
Women, Music, Wit, and Wine,
Woo ye to their festive shrine!

The Syrens advance with the Gods of the Winds.
Parthenope.
What is this virtue, that I plead in vain?
But such contempt shall meet with bitter meed.
Now, blustering Gods, untie the Libyan winds,
And scatter havock on the flinty shore;
Spare not a plank of the proud, freighted bark,
Nor hurt one hair of her fair Passengers.

AIR. Boreas.
Arise, ye stormy gusts, and squalls prevail,
Now patter rain, and patter hail;
Make spired steeples totter, tear up trees,
And curl the billows of the briny seas.
Ye forked, pointed lightnings, dart and flash;
Ye spitting waves, the welkin wash;
Ye mutt'ring hollow thunders, burst and growl;
Ye sweeping tempests, big with thunder, howl;
Arise, arise, nor ought your force controul.

CHORUS.
Parthenope, Zephyr, Libs and Boreas.
Billows with contorted heads,
Leave your murkey salt sea beds:
Dash along the rocky shore,
[Thunder, lightning, and rain]
Thunders, mutter—surges, roar.

[Exeunt.
SCENE, a Shipwreck after a Storm.
Enter Tom Traverse, George Gale, Frank Forecastle, and other Mariners, whimsically habited in some of the Officers Clothes.
Tom.

I say, Shipmates, this has been but a very scurvy
touch of ours: the gale was up before we could belay a rope;
and the masts were by the board before we could cry
peccavi.

Geo.

Since I could crack a biscuit, the wind never
piped such a reel to my understanding.

Frank.

It is shaking a leg to a rum tune. There she
is, smack-smooth; and the good folks of this shore—who
I suppose are all Smugglers—may pick her up in hand-baskets.
I wonder what I put on the Captain's apparel for.

Tom.

To get respect, to be sure—and to be the first
taken up; for the people on shore strive hard to save a Gold
Coat—when a poor Blue Jacket may sink and be lost.

Geo.

Right, boy Tom; by that stroke I was taken up
when the Prince George was burnt:—for when the Admiral
threw off his wardrobe, I put on his rigging—and the fine

golden figure I made in the water, struck their eyes—and
they whip'd me into the boat before I could say Jack Robinson.
Dam'me—they will save an Admiral, and let a
whole ship's crew duck for it—Sailors and common Jacks
are but Men—but your Admirals are a sort of stuff quite
out of the way—ay, boy, rigging is a fine thing—what,
have no more hands paddled to shore but us?

Frank.

No—many a fine fellow took in a full allowance
of salt water. If crying became my eye scuppers, I
should be apt to shed two tears for the loss of our noble
Commander, but 'tis a womanish action—so I'll swab it up.

Geo.

Aye, Boys—there was a Man of Men—he was the
poor Sailor's friend:—he chear'd the brave and sick, and
laid the Cat on the right back.

Tom.

I saw him sink, struggling to save his pretty, pretty
Wife:—she was the daintiest thing that ever eat white biscuit:
—her miseries might have charm'd a shark to have given
her a tow to shore; but drowning, boys, is common to all.
If there is no help for such heavenly workmanship—what
chance hath poor merry fat Meg, my Lady's slipper—and
yet, methinks, Meg would tilt light as an empty gin-cagg.

Geo.

No, no, she would leak fore and aft: Meg was
scuttled, and not made for deep water; she will make a fine
dish for a Dolphin.

Tom.

Special water souchie for a shark: well, make
her merry; sighing is but windy diet, and we have lately
had enough of that.

Frank.

Shipmates, I am all aback about this same land
that we are cast on. Had I not seen Gib and Apes Hill,
I had sworn by the shaking of the Country, that we had
fetch'd the old Romanados at Lisbon.

Tom.

Frank, boy, prove thy words; for a little vino
blanco now, and a salt Sardinia, would righteously close

the hatchway of my stomach. By my troth, I believe we
are in for Silly and Ribdy: some knave of a Roman saint
owed little England a grudge—and therefore moor'd us in
misfortune for ever.

Frank.

Had I this laced jacket at Gosport, I would
dissolve it all into gin and bitters.

Geo.

Zounds! who wants Bitters? we have had a full
allowance of them: the Sweets of the Voyage are in my
chest—a roll of tobacco, and two silver watches of Levi the
red Jew. This sea hath a deep stomach, it gives nothing
back.

Frank.

Nothing! do you call this nothing, when Mrs.
Megg hath no farther occasion for sins? Here she comes,
dripping like a Mermaid.

Enter Margery.
Megg.

O that I had never seen the day when my sweet
young mistress ventur'd on this voy'ge!—What do I see?
Sailors of our ship? Is it a dream, or do I rave? Tom,
George, Frank—O, what a change!—where are we? what
outlandish people have we got amongst? for I am puzzled
to tell whether they are fish or flesh: they have faces like
Women, and tails like Whales. My Lord Botany, with
whom I lived a year, had not such a creature in his whole
collection.

Geo.

She has not yet got rid of the salt water she shipp'd:
poor lady, she raves—she wants the Society to recover her by
gentle rubbings. Mellifluous Margery, thou art as stark
mad, as a lovesick lady in Bedlam. Women with fishes tails!
—ha, ha, ha— [laughs.]

Megg.

O Frank, if I could once more hook my racks
in the range of a good Gentleman's kitchen, you should never
more make me, like roast meat, the turn-about sport of the

Jack Fortune. O the luxury of an English kitchen! Servants
don't know the blessings of a plentiful House; if they did,
they would never risk the variety of a good larder, for the
empty chance of seeing foreign parts—Ah, my poor Mistress!
she was fair as the breast of a chicken; and my
Master, the Captain, was as gentle as a Turkey-pout.

Frank.

Yes, and I suppose the Canibals of this Country
have picked their bones.

Megg.

The good Gods forbid!

Geo.

But see—a ghost—a ghost—a ghost—here is Snivel,
the Jack of the bread-room—who used to act as clerk, and
stave it through his nose to the congregation. His prayers
have sav'd him to be hang'd.

Enter Sam Snivel.
Tom.

Snivel, my walking Psalm-book!—I am not sorry
to shake thee by the daddle—but could we have had the
contents of the Steward room, we would have dispens'd
with thy drowning: a hard biscuit, and two ounces of
Cheshire cheese—had been a better thing than a Methodist
hymn.

Snivel.

O ye profane bibbers! will ye never think of
saving your poor souls?

Geo.

Ay, Boy—but our bodies first. I am in no hurry
for the long voyage—it is going beyond Cape Hope—and
I and Margery mean to double Cape Horn first.

Snivel.

What is the body, but trash?

Tom.

Trash! I think it is a pretty piece of summer
fruit—fit to divert the bright black eye of a fair merry
maiden—Snivel, how did'st thou save thy self, Boy?

Snivel.

By good works.

Geo.

But sawest thou this collection of rarities—that
this Lady dreams about?

Snivel.

Yea and verily—strange creatures—made up of
fish and man.

Geo.

Why, Boys, we have made a fine voyage of this at
last—this country beats all the round-about trips to Outahitee.
This island will make our fortunes—we shall bring
home monsters enough to puzzle all the Butterfly Gentlemen
of the kingdom.

Tom.

This is a fine time of Exploration—I sailed to the
north pole—and saw the sun figure away all night—without
putting on his cap—but it was a cold voyage.

Frank.

And you writ as cold an account of it, Tom,
when you came home.

Tom.

But our journal shall be kept by Snivel—and he
will lard it with good doctrines—and leave out your tawdry
tales which have made all the grey-beards of the town—
plan expeditions to the Indian Areoy.

Snivel.

Purity is my path, and a ready pen is my pride.

Frank.

Let him be our secretary, and mark our log.

Geo.

I am much out in my reckoning, if he will not
be a log of a secretary.

Tom.

That is mutiny against the King's sovereignty—
and Frank Forecastle our Captain.

Frank.

I command peace, distinction, and respect; and
now I declare myself lord and captain of this monstrous
island: and since Meg is the only thing of her sex, I'll
take her as my mistress: for all great men keep mistresses—

Margery.

Why, Gentlemen, this is an absolute force
upon Virtue and Conscience—and against all English law—
no, no, Margery Mayflower will never submit to be a
prostitute—though you would make her an Empress:—no,
I'll be won fairly and honourably—or not at all.

Snivel.

Pious creature—virtuous distress!

Frank.

Then, let this be a further consideration: so, my
Queen, my Oberea, that is to be—let us hence in search of

adventures, and pick up monsters, leaves, shells, and feathers
to plume all the Ladies, and wing all the fine Gentlemen.

AIR. Forecastle.
Though shipwreck'd on a coast unknown,
From Sweet-heart far, and Wife;
Is there a Sailor that will own
He cares a fig for life?
For let the world wag as it will,
Our courage never fails us still.
Fal, la, la, la.

Traverse.
Let plodding Landmen now repine,
And brood o'er ill-got wealth;
We chearful cross each distant line,
Nor value ought but health:
Riches we never keep in view,
Our purse is—India and Peru.
Fal, la, &c.

Gale.
Let Lubbers snivel, grieve and pine,
No cares belong the Tar;
His fortune never can decline,
While there's or trade, or war;
He shakes his Trowsers in the wind;
He tacks, and leaves his cares behind.
Fal, la, &c.

Margery.
Once more my beating heart's at ease,
And thank the steady plank,
Which bore me o'er the roaring seas,
To thee, my faithful Frank.
More true the needle shall not prove,
Than I unto my Sailor's love.
Fal, la, &c.

Forecastle.
Inconstancy is all we fear,
In women, and in wind;
But give us gales that do not veer,
And Lasses fair and kind;
Then who can match the gallant Tar,
Whose Glory's women, wine and war!

[Exeunt.
SCENE a Grove.
Enter Captain Grenade.
“The strange adventures of my ship-wreck'd fortunes
“Puzzle my senses, and confound my mind.
“I've heard of Witches riddles, old Dames tales,
“Hags prophecies, and the dreams of Nurses;
“But what this motley voyage hath produc'd,
“Out-strips the stories of the Fairy Land,
“Beggars romance—and windmill Chivalry.
“O Fortune! cruel, hoodwink'd and unkind,
“That finds the vicious, and o'erlooks the good,
“Why am I made the chequer'd bounding Ball
“Of thy false Tennis Court, where thou do'st play
“With iron hands, and mak'st Misfortune jest?
“O must I ever feel thy adverse stroke,
“And by severest blows rebound to Fame!”
Alas, Cornelia, thine's a cruel lot!
Where hovers, peerless Saint, thy heavenly form?
Such matchless modesty—surpassing worth,
Might have lull'd storms, and smooth'd the lashing surge:
“A voice so tuneful might a Dolphin win
“To list thy ditty, and approve thy plaint;
“For sure a breath so dulcet in its song
“Might plane the surface of the salt-sea rude,
“And charm some finny Pilot of the main,
“To steer thy dripping feet to some kind shore.”
Shall I, a Wretch, escape the gulphing flood,
Nor the meek eye of Charity look down,
To save a sister angel, good as fair?
AIR. Grenade.

AIR. By Parthenope in the Grove.
What hapless mortal now complains,
In such melodious, plaintive strains,
Of Beauty, Love and Life?
Who immortality would gain,
And fix with Goddesses his reign,
Must yield the mortal Wife.

Captain.
Never, O never, from my grief-struck mind,
Shall her dear Image be eras'd and torn:
Never, O never, on my ear and sense
Shall her persuasive melody decline.

Enter Parthenope.
Parthenope.
Fond mortal, cease thy exclamations vain.
Can'st thou, with all thy soothing blandishments,
Call back the Tenant Soul that's flitted from its house?
Then cease, and by attention know and learn,
That I, the Goddess of this festive shore,
Command the scissars and the vital thread;
The Earth, the Skies, the garish Sun and Moon;
Love, hope, health, life and immortality.

Captain.
Then thou must love what's likest to thy self.—
She was so truly pure, that unsunn'd snow,
New winnow'd by the drifting morning gale,
Was not more spotless than her chastity.
She was a paragon of peerless show,
The brightest mirror of the angel mind.
Say, doth Cornelia live?

Parthenope.
She doth, the tender tenant of my care.

Captain.
Blest Providence—if thou art she—
Ye golden groves of this Hesperian isle,
Be vocal with the joy—and Nature gladden—

Parthenope.
Be not too credulous!
The greatest, wisest, bravest, goodliest men
Have been deceiv'd, neglected, and forgotten;
“The frame, the texture of the female mind,
“Takes, like the heated wax, each new impression,
“And where, too oft, the fool imprints his seal.—
“Variety is women's tawdry God.
“To him they kneel, they dress, and make devotion:
“And such the appetite of such variety,
“That women, shap'd like cherubs of the sky,
“Have turn'd, disgusted with a feast of sense,
“And gorg'd their eagre lusts upon a fool.
“Fools are their favorites; their windy, empty
“Natures, suit best with female frippery.”
But be thou firm of mind, nobly prepar'd
To stand the bursting of a storm more fell
Than all the wrecks of merchandize and wealth.
Can'st thou, thrice luckless mortal! bear to see
This pictur'd piece of fragile fantasy,
Whereon the rankest fop may daub his likeness—
Canst thou!

Captain.
By heaven I can!

Parthenope.
Then follow me, and thou shalt ken, what words
Will not describe. But be thou firm of soul,
When thou shalt see this velvet wanton
Hang on the neck of one, thy meanest scorn;
And feeding on the nonsense of his tongue,
As if her appetite increas'd by hearing.

Captain.
Yes—tho' my very veins shall curdle too,
And this warm mass congeal to endless ice.

Parthenope.
Well, thou rememb'rest, Youth—the time's not long—
The pert, trim Stripling, whom thy bounty rear'd:
Thou his first friend, and he thy fellest foe.
“But mark, through sublunary life, thou'lt find
“The specious friend, the Cuckoo of the nest
“Which sucks the princely eggs, and drops his own
“For other birds to hatch, to rear, and wing.

Captain.
“Blast him, ye Gods! and in one livid flash
“Of your superior ire—blight Infidelity.”

Parthenope.
“This very unsubstantial Lath of Manhood,
“To thee inferior as the stripling Weed,
“Which the Briarean branches of the Oak
“Protect and save from Winter's ruffian blast,
“Hath play'd the truant with thy virtuous Wife.

Captain.
Know then, that Virtue, when ethereal pure,
Gathers new strength and lustre from assaults.
She needs no shield; Angels her livery wear,
And bend obedient to her courteous smile.

Parthenope.
Time will evince—
Now, honour'd Stranger, shalt thou see my power,
And ere I lead thee to the blighted bud,
Where the fell canker-worm hath made his feast,
The various fantasies our Island breeds
Shall maze in mimic measure for thy sport.
AIR. Parthenope.

[Various grotesque Figures appear and dance; then retire.]