 | Theseus and Ariadne ; or, The Marriage of Bacchus |  |
ACT II.
Scene First
—A Grotto on the Sea-shore in the Island of Naxos.Enter Dædalus.
Dæd.
Well, there's nothing like wings—as you'd find, if you wore 'em.
Here am I, in the island of Naxos before 'em.
Although, ere I started, they'd cleared out of dock,
I'm sure a full hour—“by Shrewsbury clock.”
That precious young scamp, Master Cupid, would go with them,
And, one way or other, he'll tamper, I know, with them.
Here they come, sure enough, in the captain's own gig,
With Cupid for coxswain—and there! dash my wig!
If the rogue isn't poor Ariadne diverting,
While Theseus with Phœdra is shamefully flirting!
And then the young villain says—oh, dear! he never
Was guilty of treason! Well, well, if I ever!
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Only there'll be a pretty row presently here,
And how to ward off, or to heal the dissension,
Is something beyond e'en my powers of invention.
Enter Cupid.
Dæd.
So, my fine fellow, you're at your old game.
Cupid.
What game?
Dæd.
Cross-purposes! oh, fie for shame!
To think of shooting Phœdra!
Cupid.
You be shot!
Dæd.
I'm much obliged to you—I'd rather not.
Cupid.
If she be wounded, 'twas by accident;
My bow was not at all on mischief bent.
Dæd.
I wish for her beau I could say as much.
Cupid.
Besides, I told her not the string to touch.
Dæd.
Because you know she'd then be sure to do it.
You're a nice boy—I don't think—but you'll rue it.
And so will Theseus for his vile ingratitude,
Fifty degrees out of all decent latitude.
Cupid.
Ingratitude to whom?
Dæd.
His life-preserver!
Fair Ariadne, who with so much fervour
Loves him. But I will give her warning.
Cupid.
You!
You'll stop the piece, remember, if you do!
Dæd.
The piece!
Cupid.
Of course; such inconsiderate chatter
Would end the plot.
Dæd.
Ah, that's another matter.
Duo—Dædalus and Cupid—“Clari.”
Dæd.
Little Love, you're a mischievous boy,
And every one's peace you destroy.
I would take you, you wicked chap you!
If I were your mother, and slap you.
And every one's peace you destroy.
I would take you, you wicked chap you!
If I were your mother, and slap you.
Cupid and Dæd.
Fal lal de ral, &c.
Cupid.
'Tis false, there is no mischief in me,
But all the world wishes to win me,
And when by their own fault they lose me,
They think they can't too much abuse me.
But all the world wishes to win me,
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They think they can't too much abuse me.
Cupid and Dæd.
Tra lal de ral, &c.
(Exeunt)
Enter Theseus, Ariadne, and Phœdra.
Thes.
Sweet Ariadne, I am sure you're weary.
Suppose you take a nap?
Ariad.
No, thank you, deary.
Phœd.
I'm sure you'd better—I'll watch whilst you sleep.
Thes.
And I with Phœdra company will keep.
In this deep cave, (crosses to grotto)
dug by no mortal hand,
I'll spread my paletôt for you on the sand,
My carpet bag shall that dear head sustain—
Phœd.
My victorine shall be your counterpane.
Ariad.
Well—I will do as kindly you advise,
For a few moments I'll just shut my eyes.
Thes.
(aside)
If to my conduct you'd do so for life,
I couldn't wish for a more charming wife.
But after marriage, any bet I'll make,
The woman will be always wide awake.
Duo—Theseus and Ariadne—“Lullaby.”
Ariad.
Thes.
Thes.
Ariad.
Softly slumbering near the ocean,
Ariadne now will lie;
Whilst her love with fond devotion,
Soothes her with a lullaby.
Lullaby, lullaby, &c.
Ariadne now will lie;
Whilst her love with fond devotion,
Soothes her with a lullaby.
Lullaby, lullaby, &c.
Thes.
Softly slumbering near the ocean;
Ariadne now will lie;
Having not the slightest notion,
Of the dodge I mean to try.
Lullaby, lullaby, &c.
Ariadne now will lie;
Having not the slightest notion,
Of the dodge I mean to try.
Lullaby, lullaby, &c.
(aside)
She's fast already—I must not be slow.
(drawing Phœdra to the front of the stage)
I've much to say to you.
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You don't say so!
Thes.
Hush!—you can guess why hither I have brought her.
Phœd.
You said you must put in to wood and water,
And she'd rest here to-night.
Thes.
And when go hence?
Phœd.
To-morrow—as she purposes.
Thes.
Nonsense!
Oh, never shall the sun that morrow see.
Phœd.
What can you mean? Is this our home to be?
Thes.
Thy face, my Phœdra, I've but in to look,
And find that it much better suits my book,
Than Ariadne's.
Phœd.
Oh, fie! you can't mean it;
Or if you do, I wish you'd never seen it.
Thes.
From the first moment that you met my sight,
I felt that it was over with me quite!
Your image took the place of her's my heart in,
You're fair as day—she's dark as Day and Martin.
Phœd.
Remember, 'tis my sister you are blacking;
I ought to brush, but feel the power is lacking.
Thes.
Oh, brush with me, and you shall shine in Greece,
At Athens' highly-polished Court!
Phœd.
Ah, cease
To tempt me with this flummery and frippery,
Young men, all over Greece, must needs be slippery.
Besides you haven't known me long enough
To love me.
Thes.
Long enough to love you—stuff!
Love's not a flower in a garden plot,
That must be watered with a watering pot,
That long preparing for a blow out you see,
That takes its time to blossom, like Miss Lucy.
A nod—a wink—a fresh eye—or a new lip,
And in a jiffey—there you are, my tulip!
Air—Theseus—“Come o'er the Sea.”
Love's not a flower in a garden plot,
That must be watered with a watering pot,
That long preparing for a blow out you see,
That takes its time to blossom, like Miss Lucy.
A nod—a wink—a fresh eye—or a new lip,
And in a jiffey—there you are, my tulip!
Come o'er the sea,
Pretty Miss Phœ,
Ariadne leave to doze,
You are my prize,
Your lovely eyes,
Out of joint have put her nose.
I'll hang or drown if with me you start not.
My blessing thou art, I'm blest if thou art not.
So come o'er to Ce-
—cropia, with me.
Ariadne leave to doze.
You are my prize,
Your lovely eyes
Out of joint have put her nose.
Some may think me
Rather too free,
Talking in this kind of tone.
“Hang him,” they'll say,
“That's just his way,
He never will leave the girls alone.”
But I can prove that I now have done so.
For in this island I surely leave one so.
Then come o'er, &c
Pretty Miss Phœ,
Ariadne leave to doze,
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Your lovely eyes,
Out of joint have put her nose.
I'll hang or drown if with me you start not.
My blessing thou art, I'm blest if thou art not.
So come o'er to Ce-
—cropia, with me.
Ariadne leave to doze.
You are my prize,
Your lovely eyes
Out of joint have put her nose.
Some may think me
Rather too free,
Talking in this kind of tone.
“Hang him,” they'll say,
“That's just his way,
He never will leave the girls alone.”
But I can prove that I now have done so.
For in this island I surely leave one so.
Then come o'er, &c
Phœd.
It is no use 'gainst love and fate to strive!
Sweet Theseus!—I am yours—so look alive.
For Athens quickly get your sails unfurled,
I'll follow thee, my love, throughout the world.
Unhappy sister!—you'll be much offended,
To find I've run away with your intended.
But search through history, and I suspect
You'll find it's classical—though not correct!
Thes.
Adieu—adieu!—my bride that's not to be—
I leave you my paletôt and sac-de-nuit.
To other climates my own trunk I bear,
And give the sack to one I well can spare!
Air—Theseus—“The Minstrel Boy.”
I leave you my paletôt and sac-de-nuit.
To other climates my own trunk I bear,
And give the sack to one I well can spare!
Your Grecian boy to his bark is gone,
When you wake you'll be puzzled to find him;
To his father's court he has cut and run,
And has left his baggage behind him;
And says, “Who likes may marry thee,
But I'm for no such slavery,
For love has ne'er such charms for me
As when spiced with a little bit of knavery.”
When you wake you'll be puzzled to find him;
To his father's court he has cut and run,
And has left his baggage behind him;
And says, “Who likes may marry thee,
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For love has ne'er such charms for me
As when spiced with a little bit of knavery.”
(Exit with Phœdra)
Enter Dædalus.
Dæd.
Alas, I told you so! and there! by Jupiter!
The rogue has hoisted at the fore the Blue Peter.
Up goes the anchor—the ship's under weigh.
When Ariadne wakes what will she say?
In this dark cavern left alone to dwell,
As in a dungeon!—what a shocking cell!
Now o'er one half the the world nature seems dead,
And wicked dreams confuse the sleeper's head.
I'd one just now—left me in trepidation,
A most astonishing conglomeration.
Song—Dædalus.
The rogue has hoisted at the fore the Blue Peter.
Up goes the anchor—the ship's under weigh.
When Ariadne wakes what will she say?
In this dark cavern left alone to dwell,
As in a dungeon!—what a shocking cell!
Now o'er one half the the world nature seems dead,
And wicked dreams confuse the sleeper's head.
I'd one just now—left me in trepidation,
A most astonishing conglomeration.
I'm still in a flutter—I scarcely can utter
The words to my tongue that come dancing—come dancing,
I've had such a dream that I'm sure it must seem
To incredulous ears like romancing—romancing.
No doubt it was brought on by that Madame Wharton,
Who muddled me quite with her models—her models;
Or Madame Tussaud, who in wax-work can shew
Of all possible people the noddles—the noddles.
The words to my tongue that come dancing—come dancing,
I've had such a dream that I'm sure it must seem
To incredulous ears like romancing—romancing.
No doubt it was brought on by that Madame Wharton,
Who muddled me quite with her models—her models;
Or Madame Tussaud, who in wax-work can shew
Of all possible people the noddles—the noddles.
I dreamt I was walking with Homer, and talking
The very best Greek I was able—was able.
When Guy, Earl of Warwick, with Johnson and Garrick,
Would dance a Scotch reel on the table—the table.
Then Hannibal, rising, declared 'twas surprising
That gentlemen made such a riot—a riot,
And sent in a bustle to beg Lord John Russell
Would hasten and make 'em all quiet—all quiet.
The very best Greek I was able—was able.
When Guy, Earl of Warwick, with Johnson and Garrick,
Would dance a Scotch reel on the table—the table.
Then Hannibal, rising, declared 'twas surprising
That gentlemen made such a riot—a riot,
And sent in a bustle to beg Lord John Russell
Would hasten and make 'em all quiet—all quiet.
He came and found Cato at cribbage with Plato.
And Zimmerman playing the fiddle—the fiddle.
And snatching a rapier from Admiral Napier,
Ran Peter the Great through the middle—the middle.
Then up jump'd Alboni, and looked at Belzoni,
Who sat by her side like a mummy—a mummy.
But pious Æneas said, “This mustn't be, as
I never play whist with a dummy—a dummy.”
And Zimmerman playing the fiddle—the fiddle.
And snatching a rapier from Admiral Napier,
Ran Peter the Great through the middle—the middle.
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Who sat by her side like a mummy—a mummy.
But pious Æneas said, “This mustn't be, as
I never play whist with a dummy—a dummy.”
I am almost perplexed to say what I saw next,
But I think it was Poniatowski—atowski,
Who was driving Nell Gwynne with Commissioner Lin,
Over Waterloo Bridge in a drosky—a drosky.
When Sardanapalus, who thought fit to hail us,
Remarked it was very cold weather—cold weather!
And flinging his jasey at Prince Esterhazy,
They both began waltzing together—together.
But I think it was Poniatowski—atowski,
Who was driving Nell Gwynne with Commissioner Lin,
Over Waterloo Bridge in a drosky—a drosky.
When Sardanapalus, who thought fit to hail us,
Remarked it was very cold weather—cold weather!
And flinging his jasey at Prince Esterhazy,
They both began waltzing together—together.
The news next was spread that Queen Dido was dead,
And Alderman Gibbs in a huff, sir—a huff, sir,
Had seized Lola Montes, at Fribourg and Pontet's,
For feeding her bull-dog with snuff, sir—with snuff, sir.
Whilst Bunn in a hurry ran off to the Surrey,
And clapped Abdel-Kader in irons—in irons,
And engaged Julius Cæsar to play Adelgiza
To Widdicomb's Lady of Lyons—of Lyons.
And Alderman Gibbs in a huff, sir—a huff, sir,
Had seized Lola Montes, at Fribourg and Pontet's,
For feeding her bull-dog with snuff, sir—with snuff, sir.
Whilst Bunn in a hurry ran off to the Surrey,
And clapped Abdel-Kader in irons—in irons,
And engaged Julius Cæsar to play Adelgiza
To Widdicomb's Lady of Lyons—of Lyons.
I caught up a candle, and whispered to Handel,
There must be an end of the matter—the matter,
When bang through the skylight, came down upon my light,
Lord Brougham, with a deuce of a clatter—a clatter.
In terror I woke, crying, “This is no joke,”
And jumped smack out of bed, like King Priam—King Priam.
And I've but to remark, if you're still in the dark,
That you're not a bit worse off than I am—than I am.
There must be an end of the matter—the matter,
When bang through the skylight, came down upon my light,
Lord Brougham, with a deuce of a clatter—a clatter.
In terror I woke, crying, “This is no joke,”
And jumped smack out of bed, like King Priam—King Priam.
And I've but to remark, if you're still in the dark,
That you're not a bit worse off than I am—than I am.
Ariad.
(within)
My Theseus!
Dæd.
Her voice! here'll be a shindy!
Ariad.
Phœdra! it's very dark, and very windy.
Enter Ariadne.
Why have you left me here without a light?
I've had the nightmare, and I'm in a fright.
Methought my Theseus was beset with thieves.
I grasped his arms—they were but his coat sleeves.
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(aside)
Alas! he's laughing in his sleeve at you!
Ariad.
Where are you, Theseus? Answer me! pray do!
Dæd.
(aside)
He's got enough to answer for—that's plain.
Ariad.
Diana! take a rise out of the main;
That by thy beams my spouse I may discover,
Rise, gentle moon, and light me to my lover!
Air—Ariadne—“Rise, Gentle Moon.”
That by thy beams my spouse I may discover,
Rise, gentle moon, and light me to my lover!
I just laid down here beside the broad billow,
A coat for my bed, and a bag for my pillow—
He's hurried off—he's hurried off, where I cannot discover—
Rise, gentle moon, and light me to my lover.
(the moon rises, Diana seated in it, who sings second verse)
A coat for my bed, and a bag for my pillow—
He's hurried off—he's hurried off, where I cannot discover—
Rise, gentle moon, and light me to my lover.
Would that my light could shew something to soothe thee;
Lighter than me has his conduct been to thee!
With another girl he the blue sea rows over—
Light is the loss, sure, of so light a lover,
Gentle maid.
Lighter than me has his conduct been to thee!
With another girl he the blue sea rows over—
Light is the loss, sure, of so light a lover,
Gentle maid.
Ariad.
Fled with another! me, his wife, forsaking!
Dæd.
(aside)
“The devil's in the moon for mischief-making.”
Ariad.
Theseus, return! perfidious as unkind;
You've left both bag and baggage here behind!
Ho! change your course—it's anything but proper;
What ship ahoy! for love's sake back her! stop her!
Dæd.
(aside)
I pity her with all my heart, poor soul!
Ariad.
Ah! I will stick his paletôt on a pole,
And wave it from yon mountain's scraggy summit.
(Exit)
Dæd.
'Twill be no go, though very strong she'll come it.
Enter Cupid.
(to Cupid)
The woman's wits you'll certainly unsettle;
Of fish, you must own, here's a pretty kettle.
Cupid.
Fish! there's as good fish always in the sea
As you take out of it—leave all to me.
Whom love has wounded, love alone can cure;
I've got a spouse for her.
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Don't make too sure;
A mate has no charms for one so check-mated.
Cupid.
Oh, by my friend she'll be intoxicated.
Dæd.
What! will he out of Theseus take the shine?
Cupid.
Completely; spirit, sparkling—form, divine!
Dæd.
Rich?
Cupid.
There's no saying sometimes what he's worth.
Dæd.
And powerful?
Cupid.
So pow'rful few on earth.
Dæd.
Well, if you can bring such a match about—
Cupid.
Can! why, with Love can there be any doubt?
Dæd.
You're mighty clever in your own opinion.
Cupid.
Clever! who does not bow to my dominion?
What can I not do? and where am I not?
You know what's said of me by Walter Scott.
In peace: love tunes a pipe Sweet as Gardoni;
In war: he mounts a horse, à la Franconi!
In courts of crownèd heads he is the crony;
In hamlets dances like a Taglioni!
Love rules the court, the camp, the railway-station,
And gods above, and men of every nation!
For heaven is love, and love is—
Dæd.
Botheration!
Don't stand here making such a long oration,
But introduce me to your friend.
Cupid.
With pleasure!
I only fear you'll like him beyond measure.
Air—Cupid—“Il Segreto.”
I only fear you'll like him beyond measure.
A rare master he is of the revels,
And the sworn foe of all the blue devils;
He the wonderful secret possesses
Of assuaging all earthly distresses.
He can dry up the salt tear of sorrow,
Leave the grumbler no last word to say.
Make the poor man forget that to-morrow
Will be (sure as it comes) quarter day!
Could he but tell him where he might borrow,
The cash he is called on to pay!
And the sworn foe of all the blue devils;
He the wonderful secret possesses
Of assuaging all earthly distresses.
He can dry up the salt tear of sorrow,
Leave the grumbler no last word to say.
Make the poor man forget that to-morrow
Will be (sure as it comes) quarter day!
Could he but tell him where he might borrow,
The cash he is called on to pay!
While you thus by his aid lose your trouble,
Every pleasure you sometimes see double;
And though cynics are found who abuse him,
He hurts none but those who misuse him.
With his drops I have known him soothe pain, sir,
Which hydropathy couldn't allay,
And a friend with a very bad sprain, sir,
In a polka send whirling away!
But I won't say he didn't complain, sir,
Of the headache he had the next day.
Every pleasure you sometimes see double;
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He hurts none but those who misuse him.
With his drops I have known him soothe pain, sir,
Which hydropathy couldn't allay,
And a friend with a very bad sprain, sir,
In a polka send whirling away!
But I won't say he didn't complain, sir,
Of the headache he had the next day.
(Exeunt)
Scene Second.
—A Mountain Top.Enter Ariadne, with a paletôt on the top of a pole.
Ariad.
'Tis all in vain—his ship is nearly hull-down,
And I am left to die upon this dull down.
O, wilder than the wildest of wild men are!
More savage than the savagest hyena!
Oh, perjured wretch, to cut off in your cutter,
And leave me here with neither bread nor butter!
Oh, had I but a boat to row to Crete in!
Yet there a foe my father I should meet in!
Isle of the hundred cities, which was my nurse,
Fair Crete, where Jupiter was once at dry nurse!
Beloved cliffs, where as an infant lone
I walked your chalks, before I walked my own.
Why did I leave you for a faithless sinner,
Who but for me had been a monster's dinner?
Oh, worse than monster to leave me in trouble!
Talk of the Minotaur as being double!
You who could thus a trusting maid trepan,
Are more a brute, and less a gentleman!
Recitative and Air—Ariadne—“Il Pirata.”
And I am left to die upon this dull down.
O, wilder than the wildest of wild men are!
More savage than the savagest hyena!
Oh, perjured wretch, to cut off in your cutter,
And leave me here with neither bread nor butter!
Oh, had I but a boat to row to Crete in!
Yet there a foe my father I should meet in!
Isle of the hundred cities, which was my nurse,
Fair Crete, where Jupiter was once at dry nurse!
Beloved cliffs, where as an infant lone
I walked your chalks, before I walked my own.
Why did I leave you for a faithless sinner,
Who but for me had been a monster's dinner?
Oh, worse than monster to leave me in trouble!
Talk of the Minotaur as being double!
You who could thus a trusting maid trepan,
Are more a brute, and less a gentleman!
He's gone—he's mizzled—the wretch I saved from slaughter;
He's bolted with my sister—to Greece, across the water;
Though he vow'd he'd to me stick—like bricks and mortar!
Who'd have thought, scarce one day arter
He swore I was his deary,
Upon this coast so dreary,
He'd cut me—he'd cut me to the core!
But soon I'll seek my tomb—ah!
And that false-hearted gent—he
May when too late repent—he
Can find but the bones of his rib on the shore.
The bones of his rib on the shore.
He's bolted with my sister—to Greece, across the water;
Though he vow'd he'd to me stick—like bricks and mortar!
Who'd have thought, scarce one day arter
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Upon this coast so dreary,
He'd cut me—he'd cut me to the core!
But soon I'll seek my tomb—ah!
And that false-hearted gent—he
May when too late repent—he
Can find but the bones of his rib on the shore.
The bones of his rib on the shore.
(Exit)
Scene Third.
—The Vines, before the Temple of Bacchus. Grand March and triumphant entry of Bacchus, returning from the Indian War.Bac.
Here, from the Indian War, return'd victorious,
I mean to get particularly glorious.
Put up my tigers, and fill up the bowls,
We'll make a day of it, my jolly souls.
A fig for Mars! If contests there must be,
This is the field, and these the arms for me!
Pleased, I discharge my pistol for a flask,
Put off my helm, and get upon my cask.
Blow gunpowder and shot, in every shape!
And pour me in a shower of my own grape!
“Ultima ratio regum” is all fun.
No reason like the raisin' of the sun!
There, in close order, hang the tempting masses,
And so—“Up lads and at 'em”—charge your glasses.
(music—The Bacchanals, &c., gather the grapes, and press them into the goblets)
Air and Chorus—Bacchus, &c.—“Der Freischutz.”
Bac.
Up and at 'em, lads and lasses!
To their muzzles charge your glasses.
Drink and shout “Victoria!”
Hip, hip, hip—hurrah, hurrah!
Bacchus leads you! ha, ha, ha!
To their muzzles charge your glasses.
Drink and shout “Victoria!”
Hip, hip, hip—hurrah, hurrah!
Bacchus leads you! ha, ha, ha!
Chorus.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Bravo, Bacchus!—ha, ha, ha!
Bravo, Bacchus!—ha, ha, ha!
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Talk of chloroform and æther!
Balm for pain I fancy neither—
Here's the true Panace-a
In this goblet! Æther?—Psha!
Wine for ever!—Ha, ha, ha!
Balm for pain I fancy neither—
Here's the true Panace-a
In this goblet! Æther?—Psha!
Wine for ever!—Ha, ha, ha!
Chorus.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Bravo, Bacchus!—ha, ha, ha!
Bravo, Bacchus!—ha, ha, ha!
(Bacchus sits on a barrel at the table, on which are cups and tankards, placed for him by Satyrs)
Ballet.
Enter Cupid and Dædalus.
Cupid.
There sits the bridegroom.
Dæd.
He astride the tun?
Why zounds!—that must be Bacchus!
Cupid.
Ay—the son
Of Semele, who flared up so for Jove.
What do you think of him?
Dæd.
His port I love!
Cupid.
I'll introduce you. (advancing)
Bacchus, how d'ye do?
Bac.
Cupid, my boy! who thought of seeing you!
Cupid.
Why, love and wine give zest to one another.
Bac.
You're right. I'm glad to see you. How's your mother?
Cupid.
Complains of cold.
Bac.
No doubt—with seas between us,
We all know without Bacchus “frigit Venus.”
Her better health! (drinks)
You'll join us?
Cupid.
I intend.
I took the liberty to bring a friend.
(presenting Dædalus)
Bac.
The more the merrier! Sit down, my good man.
My foster dad, Silenus—my friend, Pan.
(introducing them to Dædalus)
Wine here! your health!
Cupid.
(aside to Dædalus)
He's set in for a soaking.
Bac.
Here's pipe—and baccy—if you're fond of smoking
Dæd.
You're very kind—permit me to refuse.
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Yonder's the sort of Bacchæ I should choose.
(pointing to Bacchantes)
Bac.
Come—bumpers round! No day-lights—let's be cozy!
(dances)
A song—a dance!—Ho, music! Play up, Nosy!
(to Dædalus)
Now, Mr. What-d'ye-call, I call on you
To sing a song or tell a story.
Cupid.
Do!
Dæd.
Me!—sing!—I can't.
Cupid.
You can sing very well;
And heaven knows what a story you can tell!
Dæd.
You mean about—
Cupid.
Of course— (aside to him)
It's just the season.
You try with rhyme, and I will try with reason.
Bac.
Now—silence!—Sir, for you we're all attention!
Dæd.
Well—it's a fact I am about to mention.
So you'll excuse the real names. To scandal
I should be sorry to afford a handle.
The hero—of a great nob—is the nobby son—
Bac.
Oh, call him anything you please—Jack Robi'son!
Dæd.
Jack Robi'son? Oh, well, with all my heart.
Bac.
Come, fire away! Pan, pitch the note—now start!
Song—Dædalus—“Jack Robinson.”
The perils and dangers of the voyage past,
The ship in port here arrived at last.
The captain of her he was a rayther fast
Young fellow of the name of Jack Robi'son.
He brought with him a fine young woman ashore,
Who had got him out of a mess before;
And was now his messmate because he swore
That he'd make her, honour bright, Mrs. Robi'son.
The ship in port here arrived at last.
The captain of her he was a rayther fast
Young fellow of the name of Jack Robi'son.
He brought with him a fine young woman ashore,
Who had got him out of a mess before;
And was now his messmate because he swore
That he'd make her, honour bright, Mrs. Robi'son.
But this young woman's sister was with 'em, d'ye see,
And the captain, he says to her, “My dear,” says he,
“Shall we cut and run together?” and, by Jingo, she
Said “yes!” instead of “no!” to Jack Robi'son.
So away they went together aboard the ship,
And were soon under sail—and over his flip,
“There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip!”
Says this precious young rip, Jack Robi'son.
And the captain, he says to her, “My dear,” says he,
“Shall we cut and run together?” and, by Jingo, she
Said “yes!” instead of “no!” to Jack Robi'son.
So away they went together aboard the ship,
And were soon under sail—and over his flip,
“There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip!”
Says this precious young rip, Jack Robi'son.
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Now, poor Mrs. Jack, she had laid her down,
In the arms of Morpheus her cares to drown,
Not dreaming she was done so uncommonly brown
By her good-for-nothing sister and Jack Robi'son.
But when she woke up, as night did fall,
You may guess there was soon a pretty squall;
“My eyes!” says she, “why, I can't see Jack at all!”
And she screeched and she shouted, “Hoy! Jack Robi'son!”
In the arms of Morpheus her cares to drown,
Not dreaming she was done so uncommonly brown
By her good-for-nothing sister and Jack Robi'son.
But when she woke up, as night did fall,
You may guess there was soon a pretty squall;
“My eyes!” says she, “why, I can't see Jack at all!”
And she screeched and she shouted, “Hoy! Jack Robi'son!”
Then the tell-tale moon arose to state
That Jack was off; for he couldn't wait!
“Why, you don't mean to say, that he's got another mate?”
“Indeed I do,” says the moon to Mrs. Robi'son.
“The wretch,” says she, “while you were a-bed,
With somebody else has somewhere fled;
And you'll read in some newspaper as how you are dead!”
“Why, I've not been dead at all!” says Mrs. Robi'son.
That Jack was off; for he couldn't wait!
“Why, you don't mean to say, that he's got another mate?”
“Indeed I do,” says the moon to Mrs. Robi'son.
“The wretch,” says she, “while you were a-bed,
With somebody else has somewhere fled;
And you'll read in some newspaper as how you are dead!”
“Why, I've not been dead at all!” says Mrs. Robi'son.
Then she met a man, and she says, “I say!
Mayhap you can tell which road they went away?
It was somewhere here about.” The man said, “Nay—
Indeed I cannot!” to Mrs. Jack Robi'son.
“But to fret and stew about it now is all in vain;
So you'd better take and go to Holland, France, or Spain,
For it arn't of any use your running after him again,
As he's got another Mrs. Jack Robi'son.”
Mayhap you can tell which road they went away?
It was somewhere here about.” The man said, “Nay—
Indeed I cannot!” to Mrs. Jack Robi'son.
“But to fret and stew about it now is all in vain;
So you'd better take and go to Holland, France, or Spain,
For it arn't of any use your running after him again,
As he's got another Mrs. Jack Robi'son.”
Then the poor creature sank down upon the grass,
And she wrung her hands and she cried, “Alas!
That ever I should come to such a shocking pass,
To be sold by such a fellow as Jack Robi'son!”
Now, young ladies, all take warning by her fate, I pray,
And don't believe a word what the young chaps say;
But insist on being married in the regular way,
Or they'll be off before you can say “Jack Robi'son.”
And she wrung her hands and she cried, “Alas!
That ever I should come to such a shocking pass,
To be sold by such a fellow as Jack Robi'son!”
Now, young ladies, all take warning by her fate, I pray,
And don't believe a word what the young chaps say;
But insist on being married in the regular way,
Or they'll be off before you can say “Jack Robi'son.”
Bac.
The saddest story that I ever heard.
Dæd.
True, every bit of it—upon my word.
Cupid.
It happened here, upon this very island.
Dæd.
This very day—
Bac.
A lady left on my land!—
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Without a friend—or penny in her purse
To buy a drop of comfort!
Bac.
How?—My curse
Upon the villain! Leave the girl to sink
For want of cash to buy a drop of drink!
And whilst we're swimming in good claret here,
She may be driven to a watery bier!
Run!—those that can—and seek her out, poor soul!
We'll drown her sorrows in our own deep bowl!
I'd run myself—but don't much think I could.
(Exeunt several Bacchante)
Dæd.
Kind Bacchus, who shall say that wine's not good?
Cupid.
I say, (to Bacchus)
why don't you marry?
Bac.
Well, some day,
When I am very drunk, perhaps I may.
Dæd.
(aside)
He's not far off, then, a united state.
Cupid.
Why till you're very tipsy should you wait,
Before you enter on a married life?
Bac.
Because—I think—to venture on a wife
One must be much in love—or much in liquor.
Cupid.
Well, much in love you scarcely could be quicker.
Re-enter the Bacchante, bearing Ariadne—Cupid shoots Bacchus.
There, what d'ye say to that?
Bac.
Oh, the deuce take you!
Cupid.
If now you're not in love, nothing can make you.
Bac.
I'm shot right through the heart! A goddess, surely!
Cupid.
Ought to be one—
Dæd.
How are you?
Bac.
Very poorly.
Cupid.
You have no wound but what her smiles can heal.
Ariad.
Ogygian Bacchus, at thy feet I kneel.
Bac.
Rise, madam. Queen of such a world of charms,
We here salute you with presented arms!
This gentleman has told us your sad story,
To cheer your heart we should esteem a glory.
I whining hate, though God of Wine I am,
Your real pain I'll drown in floods of cham.
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An action, worthy sir, of generous wine.
Bac.
Fair dame, I cannot make you more divine;
But if you'll condescend my throne to share,
You never more shall know a worldly care.
Ariad.
Alas! but won't the wicked world be thinking
That I was crossed in love, and took to drinking?
Bac.
Let the world wag, and don't you be a sappy,
For what's the odds, as long as you are happy!
Ariad.
May I believe you?—I've been once so sold!
Bac.
“In vino veritas;” the priest behold!
I've my own license—here's the ring, you gipsy!
Ariad.
Then here's my hand.
Bac.
With joy I now am tipsy!
Ariad.
But Theseus—
Bac.
The Jack who left his Jill—
Cupid.
Oh, he has had a precious trip down hill!
The scene opens at the back, and discovers
Scene Fourth.
—The Infernal Regions—Theseus is seen seated on a rock.See where in Tartarus 'twixt pitchy Styx
And fiery Phlegethon, he's in a fix.
Stuck to a stone, which as his heart is hard,
For such inconstancy a fit reward.
Dæd.
To earth he couldn't e'en his tricks confine,
But stole down stairs to flirt with Proserpine;
But grim King Pluto found what he was arter,
And so in Tartarus he caught a Tartar!
Air—Theseus—“Sitting on a Rail.”
Old Charon rowed me o'er the Styx,
But Pluto caught me at my tricks—
And Justice Minos did me fix,
In this infernal jail.
Sitting on a rail of rocks I weep and wail!
Will no one be my bail? O, pity my sad tale!
For Proserpine I angled, but
She wouldn't bite, the cunning slut!
The Styx I'd cross'd, I couldn't cut—
259
Sitting on a rail of rocks I weep and wail!
If I old Scratch
Could only catch—
I'd pull him by the tail!
Bac.
It serves you right.
Thes.
I'm not the only goose
Who for a woman has gone to the deuce!
Where Orpheus sought Eurydice's well known.
Dæd.
Yes, but the wife he went for was his own.
You sought another's—that's the rock you split on.
Thes.
But this is such a horrid rock to sit on.
Love, intercede for me, I do implore.
Cupid.
Well, will you never act so any more?
Thes.
I can't say that; because if all goes right,
I hope to act the same to-morrow night.
Cupid.
You would come out again—like Don Giovanni?
Thes.
Yes, if I could but get permission—can I?
Cupid.
Try. You're at liberty upon parole.
Thes.
(rising, and advancing)
Ladies and—
Bac.
Stop, I haven't said the whole
Of what I've got to say.
Thes.
Let me conclude it.
Our play is done—if you have kindly view'd it,
Your praise will shed a lustre round the name
Of Ariadne and her fickle flame;
Which may for many a merry evening shine,
And like her starry crown (which hands divine
Hung in the skies—the wandering seaman's mark)
Into safe harbour guide our little bark.
Do you protect, whatever ills attack us,
We ask no better friends than you to Bacchus!
The scene changes, and discovers the constellation of the Crown of Ariadne.
Finale—Chorus—“The Eclipse Polka.”
Chorus.
Join your hands and theirs,
Banish all our cares—
Pass the wine,
And don't decline
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Bacchus 'twould delight,
Bumpers ev'ry night
Here to view,
For filled by you
Our cup of joy, indeed, is bright.
Thes.
E'en that most inconstant swain,
Theseus, never more would range.
Of your favour justly vain,
He ne'er wishes for a change.
Ariad.
Placed amongst the starry skies
Ariadne's crown may shine,
But the crown for which she sighs,
Is the wreath your hands entwine.
Chorus.
Join your hands, &c.
CURTAIN.
| Theseus and Ariadne ; or, The Marriage of Bacchus | |