University of Virginia Library

Scene Seventh.

—A Cavern on the Sea Shore.
Enter Haridan.
Har.
To ask a question which itself explains,
“What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?”
It means, alas! that I, great Haridan,
Who for five hundred years have hated man,
Have fallen into a trap by Cupid baited,
And am by my own captive captivated.
Yes, that sly knave of hearts has gone and sold mine
To that too handsome King of every Gold Mine.
The instant his sweet phiz I clapped my eyes on
They drank in a full cup of—not “cold pison,”
And I determined off at once to carry him,
And here, by my own special licence, marry him.
But though I've got him safe 'neath lock and key,
The job is now to make him marry me.
I've tried to frighten him—which surely you
Would say the sight of me's enough to do:
But no,—nor look nor menace can alarm him;
I must by greater charms essay to charm him.
My friend the Dwarf upon my rival Allfair
Has just now played a trick she mightn't call fair!
But which, I think, is all fair in fair time,
And it has given me a hint sublime.
I'll turn his tableau into a reality,
And be the belle of that beau-ideality.
Music—She changes to the Beauty in the vision of the previous scene.
After five hundred years, it's hard and strange
One's face and habits all at once to change.
“De gustibus non disputandum est;”
But I prefer my old ones, I protest.
Though there be harridans I know in plenty
Would give the world to make themselves look twenty;
And use as much paint as would fill a cart,
To snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.
Now on my prisoner to try my spell;
(waves her hand)
This is for him another sort of sell.
Music—The rock opens and discovers Meliodorus chained in a hole of it.
(feigning surprise)
What do I see? King Meliodorus here?

Mel.
A fine young woman! How d'ye do, my dear?

Har.
I'm pretty well, I thank you. How are you, sir?

Mel.
Oh, bored to death by a vile old Medusa.

Har.
(aside)
The monster!

Mel.
But pray tell me, who are you
Who seem to know me, and to look me through?

Har.
A nymph—the owner of a neighbouring grotto.

Mel.
A fairer one was never drawn by Watteau!
With face so lovely and with form so airy—

Har.
You could love me, then, though you can't the Fairy?

Mel.
Oh, couldn't I?

Har.
And will you?

Mel.
No, I won't.

Har.
Dost mock me, cruel monarch?

Mel.
No, I don't;
But my affections were engaged before,
Or you're the sort of girl I could adore.

Har.
You could? Then do, and I will ever stay with you;
Or, if you would prefer it, run away with you.
I fear you think me bold.

Mel.
No; I might say
A little fast—if you would run away.
But chained as I am to this rocky shelf,
I am too much a fast young man myself.

Har.
Love me, and I will change each horrid fetter
To links of roses, which would look much better.
I am a spirit of no common sort;
A slap-up brougham and pair you'll find I sport;
I have a brilliant bow'r in Belgrave Square,
In every first-rate company a share,
A free admission to all sorts of sights,
An opera-box alternate Thursday nights
On the grand tier—a stall to see the ballets,
A season ticket for the Crystal Palace.
No bill shall bother you—no business bore,
No nothing never trouble you no more.

Mel.
I'm very sorry, but you must excuse me.

Har.
Have you the heart, barbarian, to refuse me?

Mel.
(aside)
I'm of a nature not at all suspicious,
But in her eye there's something rather vicious.

Har.
(aside)
My rage to smother I am scarcely able.

Mel.
(aside)
I look down towards her feet,—but that's a fable!
No, 'tisn't—there they are—a frightful pair!

Har.
(aside)
At what on earth does the young villain stare?
Confusion! all my hopes a fatal blow to!
My transformation wasn't made in toto!
I quite forgot in those infernal laws
About my feet there is some horrid clause.
But though I couldn't change their shape or skin,
I might have found “que'que chose” to put 'em in.

Mel.
To catch me this is some perfidious plan.
If not Old Harry, you're old Harridan!

Har.
Well, you are right—the latter one of them it is,
Whom love has driven to these strange extremities!

Mel.
(aside)
By rating her, her wrath I shall but waken;
A little gammon yet may save my bacon.
(aloud)
Madam, I own appearances are more
In favour of you than they were before;
Your beauty now is absolute perfection.
Give me a little more time for reflection:
And, what would give me much more satisfaction,
A little greater liberty of action.
I must, if I'm to make another match meant,
Get over this unfortunate attachment.
My feelings then might undergo revulsion—
No mortal man can love upon compulsion.

Har.
If I could hope to warm that heart so icy—

Mel.
Well, now you've made yourself to look so spicy,
If I were free—Egad! I wouldn't swear.

Har.
Well, as an earnest of my favour—there!
Music—His chains fall off, and the back of the cavern opens, discovering the ocean.
Go, take a turn on my Marine Parade;
Of your escape I'm not the least afraid:
No craft of any sort in sight can heave,
Much less approach the shore without my leave,
So wild I've made the sea about these caves,
Even Britannia couldn't rule the waves!

Mel.
My gratitude at least for this is owing.

Har.
Farewell!

(Exit)
Mel.
Farewell—and thank you much for—going.
Oh, all ye ocean gods and little fishes
That ever swam in brine or smoked in dishes!—
Pity the sorrows of a poor land lubber
Who more than any whale has cause for blubber;
Whose anguish no cod-liver oil can cure!
Who flounders in a net he can't endure;
Whose soul's so sad, he wishes he were dead
As any herring that was ever red;
In brief, whose misery is metaphorical
In every sense that can be piscatorical!
If you've of Justice but a single scale,
If there's among ye one who with a tale
Like mine, to pity I've the power to move—
If ever oyster yet were crossed in love,
Let but that native to my rescue rise,
Nor here in vain hear me apostrophize!
Song—Meliodorus.
There's something coming now indeed to pass!
A lady—with a comb and looking-glass!

Music—Syrena appears in the water.
Duet—Syrena and Meliodorus—“Oberon.”
Syren.
Moved by all the salt tears you have shed,
I turned out of my coral bed,
And to the surface of ocean fair
Came without staying to comb my hair;
So I must beg that excuse you will
My calling upon you en déshabille;
And while in ev'ry sad key you sing,
Permit me my dripping locks to wring.

Mel.
No apology, pray, to me;
I'm too happy a friend to see.
If an excuse you could need, fair lass,
You'll find one, I'm sure, in your looking-glass.
One so form'd to enchant each eye,
On no other form need stand, sure-ly.
So unfold to a captive King
The name you bear, and the tale you bring.

Syren.
My name, sir, is Syrena—I'm a mermaid;
You know Queen Amphitrite, I am her maid
Of honour. She has yielded to your wish,
Expressed in sounds that frightened all the fish;
I come to offer you a passage free
To the Dwarf's Castle, where Allfair you'll see.

Mel.
A tempting offer if your story's true.
It seems all fair above board, miss, with you;
But if beneath it you're another cheat—
Excuse me if I ask to see your feet.

Syren.
I have no feet; but here's at least a foot
Of what I wear by way of substitute;
I came to serve you as a faithful friend,
And promise you I have no other end.

Mel.
Forgive me, pray; this final explanation
Puts to my doubts a perfect termination.
Yet to go with you I am half afraid,
I am a mere man—you are a mermaid:
And I have read, in books the most instructive,
That syrens are uncommonly seductive.

Syren.
I wouldn't so much wrong your Princess sweet.
I'm a mermaid of honour, I repeat.
Take this enchanted sword—its brilliant blade
Is of a single yellow diamond made;
Your dwarfish rival has a skin so tough,
No weapon save this one, can pink his buff.
Stick to your point with this—you need care none for,
But mark—if once you drop it you are done for!
Come, time is precious—jump up!

Mel.
Jump up—where?

Syren.
Why here, of course, and hold fast by my hair.

Mel.
I'm quite ashamed!

(steps on the end of her tail)
Syren.
Pshaw! say when you are ready.
Are you all right behind?

Mel.
Yes; go on—steady!

(music—Exeunt)