University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Prometheus' workshop.
Prometheus
discovered reading letters.
“King Tereus is out of subjects sadly,
Prometheus really treats him very badly,
He promised him a gross without delay.”
Why, zounds! he had a gross the other day;
He thinks men made as easily as hay.
Let's see what t'other wants—“A batch of peers,
Two China courtiers, and twelve grenadiers;
The grenadiers may be of delf, but higher
Than the last lot, and able to stand fire.
The others, as the battle's heat increases,
Bounce, break, and fly into a thousand pieces.”
Of course, the fool—does he expect such new men,
Will stand and be shot at like Waterloo men?
It isn't my fault, if they don't last longer,
I've got no English stuff to make 'em stronger.
But what a roaring trade I'm driving, burn me!
But I can scarcely tell which way to turn me.
What ho, there.
Enter Servant.
Lay the cloth, it's time to sup.

Serv.
There's Mercury below, sir.

Prom.
Shew him up.

(Exit Servant)
Enter Mercury and Pandora.
Air—Mercury—“Giovinetti.”
Jove in etiquette's face boldly flying,
Its dictates defying,
Condescends first to bid war be stayed;
On your future good conduct relying,
Your genius espying,
He sends you this fair ready maid.
Since clay you are clever at moulding,
A model like this still beholding,
Will surely, your talents unfolding,
Soon bring to perfection your trade.

Prom.
Sir, your good news delights me beyond measure,
I shall esteem the lady quite a treasure.
Of course, you know that making men my trade is.
I've got no clay that's fine enough for ladies.
And at the first glance of that witching dame,
I felt within my heart a raging flame,
Much hotter than the one from Jove I stole;
You smile, ma'am, but it's true, upon my soul.

Mer.
She's yours, sir, if you like her—so good bye,
I must away as fast as I can fly.

(Exit)
Prom.
Farewell—remember me to all up stairs.
Now, welcome pleasure, and begone my cares,
Earth will seem heaven, while we together range it.
Tell me your name, that I may haste and change it.

Air—Pandora—Tyrolienne—“Guillaume Tell.”
My only name is Pandora—a—a—a—a, &c.
This morn I came from Mount Etna—a—a—a—a, &c.
By Jove I am sent to be,
Your chère amie, and so d'ye see,
I'll have you if you'll have me,
Etcetera—a—a—a—a, &c.
My only name is Pandora—a—a—a—a, &c.
I've travelled far,
On cloudy car,—a—a—a—a, &c.
I have no pa—a—a—a—a,
I have no ma—a—a—a—a—a,
No friend or relation
To get me a situation,
So have some consideration,
For poor Pandora!

Prom.
Consideration! No, I won't consider
A single moment; I'm the highest bidder
Against the world. Great Jupiter's decree,
And Vulcan's hammer, knocked you down to me.
Thy lot of love is mine, thou rosy rogue,
The greatest bargain in fate's catalogue.

Pan.
You'll wed me, then?

Prom.
Can'st doubt it? I but go
To give some orders to my clerks below,
And back I'll hasten, like the travelled dove,
To sup on wild ducks with my dearest love.

Pan.
But may I trust you? You vile men betray so.

Prom.
Upon my honour, madam! By my say so!

Duet—Prometheus and Pandora—“Rise Gentle Moon.”
Prom.
Ere I go down to make out a small bill—O,
Promise to wed you I certainly will—O.
But cookey hurries on the table to cover;
Stay then, and sup on wild ducks with thy lover,
Gentle maid, gentle maid, stay and sup with thy lover.

Pan.
While in such terms you continue to woo me,
Sweeter than supper will you be unto me.
Let the wild ducks still, the red cook growl over,
Thou art the duck of all ducks for a lover!
Gentle youth, gentle youth, thou'rt a duck of a lover!

Prom.
But have you not some luggage with you, dear?

Pan.
Only one little box—behold it here.

Prom.
How, nothing else? Nought coming by the carrier?
(aside)
Oh, what a fool I was to say I'd marry her.
(aloud)
Can you your wardrobe in that small trunk pack?

Pan.
Oh, no. My wardrobe, sir, is on my back.

Prom.
What? then, may be, your fortune's in that case?

Pan.
You're wrong again, my fortune's in my face.

Prom.
What! did the shabby Thunderer send you down
Without a change of dress, or half-a-crown?
(aside)
A precious business, neither goods nor money;
Confound it—I've the comb without the honey.
Well, I can't help myself, so needn't try;
She's taken in now—and 'gad, so am I.
(aloud)
Stay and amuse yourself, since here you are;
If you feel heavy, there's a “light guitar.”

(Exit)
Pan.
Alone, by Jingo! Now I'll have a peep
At this same box of mine, before I sleep,
Not that I'm curious—no—it isn't that,
But I must have a peep, and will, that's flat.
Air—Pandora—“Gentle Zitella,” Brigand.
(speaking)
Perhaps it's snuff! upon the truth I've fixed, sure!
(smelling to it)
It's “Lundyfoots,” I think—or “Prince's mixture.”
I'm half afraid—yet wherefore should I flinch?
If it be snuff, 'twill serve me at a pinch;
It can but make me sneeze—egad, I'll try!
If I don't see what's in it I shall die.
And did Jove think me such a simple flat?
Hoax me with snuff! No. no—I'm up to that.
Air (resumed).
Now then to see the play! Oh, lucky elf,
I've got a private box all to myself!

Music.—Opens the box—crash without—thunder—clouds fill the stage, and Fiends of every description issue from it tumultuously.
Enter Prometheus.
Air—Prometheus—“Bonnie Laddie! Highland Laddie!”
Here's a pretty kettle of fish,
Oh, Pandora, fie, Pandora!
All my earthenware they'll dish,
Oh, Pandora, fie, Pandora!
Would that we had never met,
Oh, Pandora, fie, Pandora!
I shall be in the gazette,
Oh, Pandora, fie, Pandora!

(Scene changes)
Thunder.—Jupiter, Juno, and all the Deities appear; Prometheus and Pandora kneel.
Jup.
Air—Jupiter—“Dunce I did but sham,” Midas.

(A vulture descends and fastens on the side of Prometheus)
All the Deities.
Oh, spare them, mighty Jove.

Jup.
Peace and knock under!
It's eight o'clock, rogues, and I've got my thunder.

Min.
Hold—hold, papa, your anger please abate;
Wisdom can sometimes pluck the thorns from fate.
(to Pandora)
Look in the box—nor to despair give scope.

Pan.
Heyday! what's this, pray, at the bottom?

Hope rises out of the box.
Hope.
Air—Hope—“Hope told a Flattering Tale.”

Jup.
(to Pandora and Prometheus)
You're pardon'd. Go to Mrs. Hope, and thank her;
Grief disappears, wherever she casts anchor.

Prom.
Ay, and that grief from all may disappear,
(to the Audience)
Hope humbly begs she may cast anchor here.

Pan.
Smile, ye kind gods, on our Olympic Revels;
Ye gay gallants, come, banish my blue devils,
Let not my grapes be sour as the fox's,
But fill with patrons all Pandora's boxes.

Finale—“Think not, lewd Jove,” Midas.
Pan.
Ye belles and ye beaux,
Who adorn our low rows
Ye gods, who preside in the high ones;
Ye critics, who sit
All so snug in the pit,—
An assemblage of clever and sly ones!
Let the smile of content
On our efforts be bent;
Hope anxiously waits an encora;
In the fate-dooming scale,
Oh! let mercy prevail,
And be kind to poor little Pandora.

Prom.
Prometheus, poor elf,
Manufacturer of delf
Men,—begs you'll still allow him to make 'em.
Your favours impart
To each crockery heart,
For your anger will certainly break 'em.

Jup.
Even Hope must despair,
If her hope be baulk'd there,
Where most she implores an encora;
Then follow Jove's lead,
And let Hope intercede
For Prometheus and little Pandora.