University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Inside of a Cottage.
Enter Distaffina.
Dis.
This morn, as sleeping in my bed I lay,
I dreamt (and morning dreams come true, they say),
I dreamt a cunning man my fortune told,
And soon the pots and pans were turn'd to gold!
Then I resolv'd to cut a mighty dash;
But, lo! ere I could turn them into cash,
Another cunning man my heart betray'd,
Stole all away, and left my debts unpaid.
[Enter Artaxominous.
And pray, sir, who are you I'd wish to know?

Art.
Perfection's self! O smooth that angry brow!
For love of thee I've wander'd thro' the town,
And here have come to offer half a crown.

Dis.
Fellow! your paltry offer I despise;
The great Bombastes' love alone I prize.

Art.
He's but a Gen'ral—damsel, I'm a King;

Dis.
O Sir! that makes it quite another thing.

Art.
And think not, maiden, I could e'er design
A sum so trifling for such charms as thine.
No! the half crown that ting'd thy cheeks with red,
And bade fierce anger o'er thy beauties spread,
Was meant that thou shouldst share my throne and bed.

Dis.
(aside)
My dream is out, and I shall soon behold
The pots and pans all turn to shining gold.

Art.
Here on my knees, (those knees which ne'er till now
To man or maid in suppliance bent), I vow
Still to remain, till you my hopes fulfil,
Fixt as the Monument on Fish-street hill.

Dis.
And thus I swear, as I bestow my hand,
As long as e'er the Monument shall stand,
So long I'm your's—

Art.
Are then my wishes crown'd?

Dis.
La! Sir, I'd not say no for twenty pound:
Let silly maids for love their favours yield,
Rich ones for me—a king against the field.
SONG, Distaffina.—Paddy's Wedding.

Art.
So Orpheus sung of old, or poets lie,
And as the Brutes were charm'd, e'en so am I.
Rosy-cheek'd maid, henceforth my only queen,
Full soon shalt thou in royal robes be seen;
And through my realm I'll issue this decree,
None shall appear of taller growth than thee:
Painters no other face pourtray—each sign
O'er alehouse hung shall change its head for thine.
Poets shall cancel their unpublish'd lays,
And none presume to write but in thy praise.

[Distaffina produces a bottle and glass.
Dis.
And may I then, without offending, crave
My love to taste of this, the best I have?

Art.
Were it the vilest liquor upon earth,
Thy touch would render it of matchless worth;
Dear shall the gift be held that comes from you;
Best proof of love, [drinks]
'tis full proof Hodges too:
Through all my veins I feel a genial glow,
It fires my soul—

Bom.
(within)
Ho, Distaffina, ho!

Art.
Heard you that voice?

Dis.
O yes, 'tis what's his name,
The General; send him packing as he came.

Art.
And is it he? and doth he hither come?
Ah me! my guilty conscience strikes me dumb:
Where shall I go? say, whither shall I fly?
Hide me, oh hide me, from his injur'd eye!

Dis.
Why, sure you're not alarm'd at such a thing!
He's but a Gen'ral, and you're a King.

[Artax. secretes himself in a closet.
Enter Bombastes.
Bom.
Lov'd Distaffina! now by my scars I vow,
Scars got—I haven't time to tell you how;
By all the risks my fearless heart hath run,
Risks of all shapes from bludgeon, sword, and gun,
Steel traps, the patrole, bailiff shrewd, and dun;
By the great bunch of laurels on my brow,
Ne'er did thy charms exceed their present glow!
O let me greet thee with a loving kiss—
Hell and the devil!—say who's hat is this?

Dis.
Why help your silly brains, that's not a hat.

Bom.
No hat?

Dis.
Suppose it is, why what of that?
A hat can do no harm without a head!

Bom.
Whoe'er it fits, this hour I doom him dead;
Alive from hence the caitiff shall not stir—
[discovers the King.
Your most obedient, humble servant, sir.

Art.
O General, O!—

Bom.
My much-loved master, O!
What means all this?

Art.
Indeed I hardly know—

Dis.
You hardly know!—a very pretty joke,
If kingly promises so soon are broke!
Arn't I to be a Queen, and dress so fine?

Art.
I do repent me of the foul design;
To thee my brave Bombastes I restore
Pure Distaffina, and will never more
Through lane or street with lawless passion rove,
But give to Griskinissa all my love.

Bom.
No, no, I'll love no more; let him who can
Fancy the maid who fancies ev'ry man.
In some lone place I'll find a gloomy cave,
There my own hands shall dig a spacious grave,
Then all unseen I'll lay me down and die,
Since woman's constancy is—all my eye.

TRIO.—O Lady Fair!
Dis.
O cruel man! where are you going?
Sad are my wants, my rent is owing.

Bom.
I go, I go, all comfort scorning;
Some death I'll die before the morning.

Dis.
Heigh O, Heigh O! sad is that warning:
O do not die before the morning!

Art.
I'll follow him, all danger scorning;
He shall not die before the morning.

Bom.
I go, I go, &c.

Dis.
Heigh O, Heigh O, &c.

Art.
I'll follow him, &c.

[Exeunt.