 | The Fair One with the Golden Locks |  |
235
Scene First.
—The King's Palace.Guards and Trumpeters discovered—Enter Chamberlain and Courtiers, through arch.
Chorus
—“Anna Bolena.”
Silence, ye trumps, the King's in the dumps,
His project, alas, has miscarried;
The Ambassador sent returns as he went,
The lady declines to be married.
To passion fond she won't respond—
To all his love can show
The Royal Fair with Golden Hair
Politely answers “No.”
Vis.
Yes, noble friends, the news is sad as may be,
Our mighty King is crying like a baby.
His nerves have had the cruellest of shocks—
Rejected by the Fair with Golden Locks.
He comes; prepare to shew your loyal griefs,
If not by tears, at least by handkerchiefs.
Let every soldier draw out his bandanna,
And bear't before him in a decent manner.
Cap.
Draw kerchiefs!
(Soldiers do so)
Present kerchiefs!
(they hold them to their eyes)
Steady there!
Eyes wet! long faces! Smile, men, if you dare.
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Cap.
Recover kerchiefs!
(Soldiers return handkerchiefs to their pockets)
King.
Refuse my hand! it passes all belief.
Give me another pocket handkerchief.
(Page supplies him)
Count.
Sire, something still more wondrous did she do;
She actually refused your presents, too.
King.
What, all my presents!—all my pretty things!
The diamond necklace and the turquoise rings!
The ermine tippet and the Cashmere shawl!
Did you say all! Howell and James! what all!
She can't be woman!
Count.
Bear it like a man!
King.
I
Would do so; but if I cannot how can I?
I cannot but remember such things cost
A precious lump of money—and that's lost.
Count.
This should to anger, sire, convert your grief.
King.
Give me another pocket handkerchief.
(Page supplies him)
For I must play the woman with mine eyes—
Count.
Sire, it will much your Majesty surprise
To hear who plays the braggart with his tongue.
King.
Ha, who?
Count.
Your Minstrel.
King.
Graceful!
Count.
Yes; the young
Gentleman hints, had he been sent to plead
Your cause he should have won the fair.
King.
Indeed!
By which he means to say that he's so clever,
And so insinuating, she could never
Have had the heart to say him nay—is't so?
Count.
'Tis very like it, sire.
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The puppy! go,
Bid him attend us instantly.
(Exeunt Officer and Guards)
I'll make
The ballad-monger in his shoes to shake!
Vis.
(aside)
Bravo! I owed the coxcomb an old spite.
Count.
(aside)
Twenty to one against the favourite.
King.
The knave, too long in the King's favour basking,
Now fancies he could have a queen for asking.
The piping bull-finch! he expect to win her!
I'm so enraged that—I could eat my dinner,
If it were ready. Squibs and crackers! where
Tarries this tuneful traitor?
Enter Graceful, guarded.
Ho! you're there!
Duet—King and Graceful—“Fanny Gray.”
King.
Well, well, sir, so you've come at last, you might have come before;
D'ye know, sir, I've the greatest mind to turn you out of door?
I understand you've dared to say, had you come for to go
To court the Fair with Golden Hair, she ne'er had answered “No!”
D'ye know, sir, I've the greatest mind to turn you out of door?
I understand you've dared to say, had you come for to go
To court the Fair with Golden Hair, she ne'er had answered “No!”
Grace.
Most royal sir, put off that frown, and don't begin to scold;
The ambassador you sent to her was ugly, cross, and old.
I only said I knew a way the Fair One's heart to catch,
And make her glow like tinder at the thoughts of such a match!
The ambassador you sent to her was ugly, cross, and old.
I only said I knew a way the Fair One's heart to catch,
And make her glow like tinder at the thoughts of such a match!
King.
You think 'tis but to make your bow, with grace take off your hat,
And she must straight enchanted be—but, sir, I smell a rat!
You would yourself make love to her—you see I'm up to snuff—
And marry her if she'd have you—I'm told you're rogue enough.
And she must straight enchanted be—but, sir, I smell a rat!
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And marry her if she'd have you—I'm told you're rogue enough.
Grace.
Most royal sir, you've in your temper got a pain, I see;
You jealous!—and of such a little humble lad as me.
Make love to her! of course I would—as proxy for my King,
And marry her—by proxy, too—
You jealous!—and of such a little humble lad as me.
Make love to her! of course I would—as proxy for my King,
And marry her—by proxy, too—
King.
By proxy—ha! that's quite another thing!
King.
This puts the matter in another light.
Grace.
I knew your Majesty would do me right.
It may be nothing but a boyish dream,
But I should make your merits, sir, the theme!
Which I may say, without the least presumption,
Require but to be known.
King.
The boy has gumption.
(to Minister)
You didn't set my merits forth, I fear.
Count.
Pardon me, sire.
King.
But not enough, that's clear.
Count.
Indeed I took the liberty to mention
All I could think of.
King.
Have you no invention?
Grace.
Sire, it requires but memory in your case.
King.
(aside)
Really the boy said that, now, with a grace.
I've a great mind to let the youngster go
And try his luck. (aloud)
Well, my young friend, and so
You positively think you should succeed?
Grace.
Upon my honour, sire, I do indeed.
King.
But you'd want fitting out, too, I presume,
And I've been forking out, and to some tune.
Grace.
Not I; just as you see me I would speed hence;
I only ask your letters, sire, of credence.
King.
Good Graceful, you shall have them in a crack.
Grace.
Then for a pound, I bring the lady back.
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I'll call a four-wheel'd cab, sir,
And tip the man a crown,
And at the fair one's palace gate
Just bid him set me down;
I'll not attempt to charm her sight
With diamond, pearl, or gold,
But praise your person, worth, and sense
While I a note can hold.
Yes, thus I'll play and chaunt my part,
And so your trumpet sound;
And though she have a marble heart
I'll melt it, for a pound.
And tip the man a crown,
And at the fair one's palace gate
Just bid him set me down;
I'll not attempt to charm her sight
With diamond, pearl, or gold,
But praise your person, worth, and sense
While I a note can hold.
Yes, thus I'll play and chaunt my part,
And so your trumpet sound;
And though she have a marble heart
I'll melt it, for a pound.
I pledge my word of honour,
To chase your fond alarms,
Like Grisi in the “Peri,”
She shall leap into your arms
And howsoe'er it may seem strange,
And some may think me bold,
The fair my cab brings back shall be
The one with locks of gold.
For I will play and chaunt my part,
And so your trumpet sound;
And though she have a marble heart,
I'll melt it, for a pound.
To chase your fond alarms,
Like Grisi in the “Peri,”
She shall leap into your arms
And howsoe'er it may seem strange,
And some may think me bold,
The fair my cab brings back shall be
The one with locks of gold.
For I will play and chaunt my part,
And so your trumpet sound;
And though she have a marble heart,
I'll melt it, for a pound.
During this song the King sends off one of the Pages, who returns with writing materials—the King writes, using the Chamberlain's back for a table.
King.
Take your credentials, but with them take heed,
I'll make a Count of you if you succeed;
But if you fail, I swear, by my veracity,
I'll make you then account for your audacity.
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Recitative—King and Graceful.
King.
Go, boy, and that in safety you may wend,
A patent safety cab I recommend.
Grace.
To me your counsels ever are commands!
I fly!
(Exit)
King.
Away—Joy go with you and sixpence!
King.
Go, boy, and that in safety you may wend,
A patent safety cab I recommend.
Grace.
To me your counsels ever are commands!
I fly!
(Exit)
King.
Away—Joy go with you and sixpence!
Andante—“Son of Freedom.”—“Norma.”
King.
Lucidora! so long invited,
Shall we never, never here behold thee dining?
Thy adorer's desert still slighted,
Must he ever o'er his lonely wine be whining?
Chamberlain and Chorus
(sotto voce).
With Master Graceful awhile dissemble,
But anon the rogue shall tremble.
King.
Still must grief be my heart devouring—
Thou, to gall my pride assaying;
My sweet temper refusal souring,
As the thunder—as the thunder sours the beer.
(Agitato)
But no, Hope takes a sight at Fear,
And laughs to scorn the Wizard—
Graceful, I feel, will stick at naught,
And nothing but a merry thought
Shall now stick in my gizzard.
[King]
King.
Lucidora! so long invited,
Shall we never, never here behold thee dining?
Thy adorer's desert still slighted,
Must he ever o'er his lonely wine be whining?
Chamberlain and Chorus
(sotto voce).
With Master Graceful awhile dissemble,
But anon the rogue shall tremble.
King.
Still must grief be my heart devouring—
Thou, to gall my pride assaying;
My sweet temper refusal souring,
As the thunder—as the thunder sours the beer.
(Agitato)
But no, Hope takes a sight at Fear,
And laughs to scorn the Wizard—
Graceful, I feel, will stick at naught,
And nothing but a merry thought
Shall now stick in my gizzard.
(Con Spirito)—“The Minstrel Boy.”
My Minstrel Boy for a cab is gone,
In the ranks no doubt he'll find one;
A Patent Safety I like, I own,
Where the driver sits behind one.
But be the cab of any sort,
So to the fair it conveys him—
And if but here he makes her appear,
To the peerage we will raise him!
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[King]
So talk no more of sorrow,
And think no more of care,
We'll hope to see to-morrow
The Fair with Golden Hair.
To wed King Lachrymoso,
And dry the loyal tears—
With a tow row row row row row row
Of his gallant Halberdiers.
Chorus.
So talk no more. &c.
(Exeunt)
| The Fair One with the Golden Locks | |