H. M. S. Pinafore ; Or, The Lass that Loved a Sailor An Entirely Original Nautical Comic Opera, in Two Acts |
| 1. | ACT I. |
| 2. |
 | H. M. S. Pinafore ; Or, The Lass that Loved a Sailor |  |
ACT I.
Scene.—Quarter-deck of H.M.S. Pinafore. View of Portsmouth in distance. Sailors, led by Boatswain, discovered cleaning brasswork, splicing rope, etc.We sail the ocean blue,
And our saucy ship's a beauty;
We're sober men, and true,
And attentive to our duty.
When the balls whistle free o'er the bright blue sea,
We stand to our guns all day;
When at anchor we ride on the Portsmouth tide,
We have plenty of time to play.
Enter Little Buttercup, with large basket on her arm.
Recitative.
Hail, men-o'-war's men—safeguards of your nation,
Here is an end, at last, of all privation;
You've got your pay—spare all you can afford
To welcome Little Buttercup on board.
Aria.
For I'm called Little Buttercup, dear Little Buttercup,
Though I could never tell why,
But still I'm called Buttercup, poor Little Buttercup,
Sweet Little Buttercup, I.
I've snuff, and tobaccy, and excellent jacky;
I've scissors, and watches, and knives;
Of pretty young sweethearts and wives.
I've treacle and toffee and excellent coffee,
Soft tommy and succulent chops;
I've chickens and conies and pretty polonies,
And excellent peppermint drops.
Then buy of your Buttercup—dear Little Buttercup,
Sailors should never be shy;
So buy of your Buttercup—poor Little Buttercup,
Come, of your Buttercup buy!
Ay, Little Buttercup—and well called—for you're the
rosiest, the roundest, and the reddest beauty in all Spithead.
But.
Red, am I? and round—and rosy! Maybe, for I have
dissembled well! But hark ye, my merry friend—hast ever
thought that beneath a gay and frivolous exterior there may
lurk a cankerworm which is slowly but surely eating its way
into one's very heart?
Boat.
No, my lass, I can't say I've ever thought that.
Enter Dick Deadeye. He pushes through Sailors.
Dick.
I have thought it often.
(All recoil from him.)
But.
Yes, you look like it! What's the matter with the
man? Isn't he well?
Boat.
Don't take no heed of him; that's only poor Dick
Deadeye.
Dick.
I say—it's a beast of a name, ain't it—Dick Deadeye?
But.
It's not a nice name.
Dick.
I'm ugly too, ain't I?
But.
You are certainly plain.
Dick.
And I'm three-cornered too, ain't I?
But.
You are rather triangular.
Dick.
Ha! ha! That's it. I'm ugly, and they hate me for
it; for you all hate me, don't you?
Boat.
(crossing).
Well, Dick, we wouldn't go for to hurt any
fellow-creature's feelings, but you can't expect a chap with such
a name as Dick Deadeye to be a popular character—now, can
you?
Dick.
No.
Boat.
It's asking too much, ain't it?
Dick.
It is. From such a face and form as mine the noblest
sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved
imagination. It is human nature—I am resigned.
But.
(looking down hatchway).
But, tell me—who's the youth whose faltering feet
With difficulty bear him on his course?
Boat.
(crossing).
That is the smartest lad in all the fleet—
Ralph Rackstraw!
But.
Ha! that name! Remorse! remorse!
Enter Ralph from hatchway.
Madrigal.—Ralph.
The nightingale
Loved the pale moon's bright ray,
And told his tale
In his own melodious way!
He sang “Ah, well-a-day!”
All.
He sang “Ah, well-a-day!”
The lowly vale
For the mountain vainly sighed;
To his humble wail
The echoing hills replied.
They sang “Ah, well-a-day!”
All.
They sang “Ah, well-a-day!”
Recitative.
I know the value of a kindly chorus,
But choruses yield little consolation,
When we have pain and trouble too before us!
I love—and love, alas, above my station!
But.
(aside).
He loves—and loves a lass above his station!
All
(aside).
Yes, yes, the lass is much above his station!
Ballad.—Ralph.
A maiden fair to see,
The pearl of minstrelsy,
A bud of blushing beauty;
For whom proud nobles sigh,
And with each other vie,
To do her menial's duty.
All.
To do her menial's duty.
A suitor, lowly born,
With hopeless passion torn,
And poor beyond concealing,
At whose exalted shrine
A world of wealth is kneeling.
All.
A world of wealth is kneeling!
Unlearnèd he in aught
Save that which love has taught.
(For love had been his tutor)
Oh, pity, pity me—
Our captain's daughter she,
And I that lowly suitor!
All.
And he that lowly suitor!
[Exit Little Buttercup.
Boat.
Ah, my poor lad, you've climbed too high: our
worthy captain's child won't have nothin' to say to a poor chap
like you. Will she, lads?
Dick.
No, no, captains' daughters don't marry foremast
hands.
All
(recoiling from him).
Shame! shame!
Boat.
(crossing).
Dick Deadeye, them sentiments o'yourn
are a disgrace to our common natur'.
Ralph.
But it's a strange anomaly, that the daughter of a
man who hails from the quarter-deck may not love another
who lays out on the fore-yard arm. For a man is but a man,
whether he hoists his flag at the maintruck or his slacks on
the maindeck.
Dick.
Ah, it's a queer world!
Ralph.
Dick Deadeye, I have no desire to press hardly on
you, but such a revolutionary sentiment is enough to make an
honest sailor shudder.
Boat.
(who has gone on poop-deck, returns).
My lads, our
gallant captain has come on deck; let us greet him as so brave
an officer and so gallant a seaman deserves.
Recitative.
Capt.
My gallant crew, good morning.
All
(saluting).
Sir, good morning!
Capt.
I hope you're all well.
All
(as before).
Quite well; and you, sir?
Capt.
I am reasonable in health, and happy
To meet you all once more.
All
(as before).
You do us proud, sir!
Song.—Captain.
Capt.
I am the Captain of the Pinafore!
All.
And a right good captain, too!
You're very, very good,
And be it understood
I command a right good crew.
All.
We're very, very good,
And be it understood
He commands a right good crew.
Capt.
Though related to a peer,
I can hand, reef, and steer,
And ship a selvagee;
I am never known to quail
At the fury of a gale,
And I'm never, never sick at sea!
All.
What, never?
Capt.
No, never!
All.
What, never?
Capt.
Hardly ever!
All.
He's hardly ever sick at sea!
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!
Capt.
I do my best to satisfy you all—
All.
And with you we're quite content.
Capt.
You're exceedingly polite,
And I think it only right
To return the compliment.
All.
We're exceedingly polite,
And he thinks it's only right
To return the compliment.
Capt.
Bad language or abuse,
I never, never use,
Whatever the emergency;
Though, “bother it,” I may
Occasionally say,
I never use a big, big D---
All.
What, never?
Capt.
No, never!
All.
What, never?
Capt.
Hardly ever!
All.
Hardly ever swears a bit, big D---
Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,
For the well-bred Captain of the Pinafore!
[After song exeunt all but Captain.
Enter Little Buttercup.
Recitative.
But.
Sir, you are sad. The silent eloquence
Of yonder tear that trembles on your eyelash
Proclaims a sorrow far more deep than common;
Confide in me—fear not—I am a mother!
Capt.
Yes, Little Buttercup, I'm sad and sorry—
That ever blossomed on ancestral timber,
Is sought in marriage by Sir Joseph Porter,
Our Admiralty's First Lord, but for some reason,
She does not seem to tackle kindly to it.
But.
(with emotion).
Ah, poor Sir Joseph! Ah, I know too well
The anguish of a heart that loves but vainly!
But see, here comes your most attractive daughter.
I go—Farewell!
[Exit.
Capt.
(looking after her).
A plump and pleasing person!
Enter Josephine on poop. She comes down, twining some flowers which she carries in a small basket.
Ballad.—Josephine.
Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
Sad is the hour when sets the sun—
Dark is the night to earth's poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
Capt.
My child, I grieve to see that you are a prey to
melancholy. You should look your best to-day, for Sir Joseph
Porter, K.C.B., will be here this afternoon to claim your
promised hand.
Jos.
Ah, father, your words cut me to the quick. I can
esteem—reverence—venerate Sir Joseph, for he is a great and
good man; but oh, I cannot love him! My heart is already
given.
Capt.
(aside).
It is, then, as I feared.
(Aloud.)
Given?
And to whom? Not to some gilded lordling?
Jos.
No, father—the object of my love is no lordling. Oh,
pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board your own ship!
Capt.
Impossible!
Jos.
Yes, it is true—too true.
Capt.
A common sailor? Oh, fie!
Jos.
I blush for the weakness that allows me to cherish
such a passion. I hate myself when I think of the depth to
which I have stooped in permitting myself to think tenderly of
(Weeps.)
Capt.
Come, my child, let us talk this over. In a matter of
the heart I would not coerce my daughter—I attach but little
value to rank or wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere.
A man in that station may be brave and worthy, but
at every step he would commit solecisms that society would
never pardon.
Jos.
Oh, I have thought of this night and day. But fear
not, father. I have a heart, and therefore I love; but I am your
daughter, and therefore I am proud. Though I carry my love
with me to the tomb, he shall never, never know it.
Capt.
You are my daughter, after all. But see, Sir Joseph's
barge approaches, manned by twelve trusty oarsmen and
accompanied by the admiring crowd of female relatives that
attend him wherever he goes. Retire, my daughter, to your
cabin—take this, his photograph, with you—it may help to
bring you to a more reasonable frame of mind.
Jos.
My own thoughtful father.
[Exit Josephine.
Barcarolle
(without.)
Over the bright blue sea
Comes Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B.,
Wherever he may go
Bang-bang the loud nine-pounders go!
Shout o'er the bright blue sea
For Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B.
[During this the Crew have entered on tiptoe, listening attentively to the song.
Chorus of Sailors.
We sail the ocean blue,
And our saucy ship's a beauty;
We're sober men, and true,
And attentive to our duty.
We're smart and sober men,
And quite devoid of fe-ar,
In all the Royal N.
None are so smart as we are.
Enter Sir Joseph's Female Relatives. They dance round stage.
Rel.
Gaily tripping,
Lightly skipping,
Flock the maidens to the shipping.
Flags and guns and pennants dipping
All the ladies love the shipping.
Rel.
Sailors sprightly
Always rightly
Welcome ladies so politely.
Sail.
Ladies who can smile so brightly,
Sailors welcome most politely.
Enter Sir Joseph with Cousin Hebe.
Capt.
(from poop).
Now give three cheers, I'll lead the way.
All.
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurray!
(Repeat.)
Song.—Sir Joseph.
I am the monarch of the sea,
The Ruler of the Queen's Navee,
Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants.
Cousin H.
And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
Rel.
And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
Sir J.
When at anchor here I ride,
My bosom swells with pride,
And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts.
Cousin II.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
All.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
Sir J.
But when the breezes blow,
I generally go below,
And seek the seclusion that a cabin grants!
Cousin II.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
All.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
His sisters and his cousins,
Whom he reckons up by dozens,
And his aunts!
Song.—Sir Joseph.
As office boy to an attorney's firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
I polished up that handle so carefullee
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
Chorus.
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand—
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee.
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the pass examination at the Institute.
And that pass examination did so well for me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
That they took me into the partnership,
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen.
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
I thought so little, they rewarded me
By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule—
Stick close to your deck and never go to sea,
And you all may be Rulers of the Queen's Navee!
Sir J.
You've a remarkably fine crew, Captain Corcoran.
Capt.
It is a fine crew, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
(examining a very small midshipman).
A British
sailor is a splendid fellow, Captain Corcoran.
Capt.
A splendid fellow indeed, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
I hope you treat your crew kindly, Captain Corcoran.
Capt.
Indeed, I hope so, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
Never forget that they are the bulwarks of England's
greatness, Captain Corcoran.
Capt.
So I have always considered them, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
No bullying, I trust—no strong language of any
kind, eh?
Capt.
Oh, never, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
What, never?
Capt.
Hardly ever, Sir Joseph. They are an excellent crew,
and do their work thoroughly without it.
Sir J.
(reproving).
Don't patronize them, sir—pray, don't
patronize them.
Certainly not, Sir Joseph.
Sir J.
That you are their captain is an accident of birth. I
cannot permit these noble fellows to be patronized because an
accident of birth has placed you above them and them below
you.
Capt.
I am the last person to insult a British sailor, Sir
Joseph.
Sir J.
You are the last person who did, Captain Corcoran.
Desire that splendid seaman to step forward.
Capt.
Ralph Rackstraw, come here.
Sir J.
(sternly).
If what?
Capt.
I beg your pardon—
Sir J.
If you please.
Capt.
Oh yes, of course. If you please.
[Ralph steps forward.
Sir J.
You're a remarkably fine fellow.
Ralph.
Yes, your honour.
Sir J.
And a first-rate seaman, I'll be bound.
Ralph.
There's not a smarter topman in the navy, your
honour, though I say it who shouldn't.
Sir J.
Not at all. Proper self-respect, nothing more. Can
you dance a hornpipe?
Ralph.
No, your honour.
Sir J.
That's a pity: all sailors should dance hornpipes. I
will teach you one this evening, after dinner. Now, tell me—
don't be afraid—how does your captain treat you, eh?
Ralph.
A better captain don't walk the deck, your honour.
All.
Hear!
Sir J.
Good. I like to hear you speak well of your commanding
officer; I dare say he don't deserve it, but still it does
you credit. Can you sing?
Ralph.
I can hum a little, your honour.
Sir J.
Then hum this at your leisure.
(Giving him MS.
music.)
It is a song that I have composed for the use of the
Royal Navy. It is designed to encourage independence of
thought and action in the lower branches of the service, and
to teach the principle that a British sailor is any man's equal,
excepting mine. Now, Captain Corcoran, a word with you in
your cabin, on a tender and sentimental subject.
Capt.
Ay, ay, Sir Joseph. Boatswain, in commemoration of
this joyous occupation, see that extra grog is served out to the
ship's company at one bell.
Boat.
Beg pardon. If what, your honour?
Capt.
If what? I don't think I understand you.
Boat.
If you please, your honour.
What!
Sir J.
The gentleman is quite right. If you please.
Capt.
(stamping his foot impatiently).
If you please!
Sir J.
For I hold that on the seas
The expression, “If you please,”
A particularly gentlemanly tone implants.
Cousin H.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
All.
And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts!
[Exeunt Captain and Sir Joseph into cabin.
Boat.
Ah! Sir Joseph's a true gentleman: courteous and
considerate to the very humblest.
Ralph.
True, Boatswain; but we are not the very humblest.
Sir Joseph has explained our true position to us. As he says,
a British seaman is any man's equal excepting his; and if Sir
Joseph says that, is it not our duty to believe him?
All.
Well spoke! well spoke!
Dick.
You're on a wrong tack, and so is he. He means well,
but he don't know. When people have to obey other people's
orders, equality's out of the question.
All
(recoiling).
Horrible! horrible!
Boat.
Dick Deadeye, if you go for to infuriate this here ship's
company too far, I won't answer for being able to hold 'em in.
I'm shocked! that's what I am—shocked!
Ralph
(coming forward).
Messmates, my mind's made up.
I'll speak to the captain's daughter, and tell her, like an honest
man, of the honest love I have for her.
All.
Hurrah!
Ralph.
Is not my love as good as another's? Is not my
heart as true as another's? Have I not hands and eyes and
ears and limbs like another?
All.
Ay, ay.
Ralph.
True, I lack birth—
Boat.
You've a berth on board this very ship.
Ralph.
Well said—I had forgotten that. Messmates, what
do you say? do you approve my determination?
All.
We do.
Dick.
I don't.
Boat.
What is to be done with this here hopeless chap? Let
us sing him the song that Sir Joseph has kindly composed for
us. Perhaps it will bring this here miserable creetur to a
proper state of mind.
As free as a mountain bird!
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word.
His nose should pant and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.
Chorus.
His brow with scorn be wrung;
He never should bow down to a domineering frown,
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude! (Pose.)
Chorus.
[All strike attitude and then dance off to hornpipe down hatchway, excepting Ralph, who remains, leaning pensively against bulwark.
Enter Josephine from cabin.
Jos.
It is useless—Sir Joseph's attentions nauseate me. I
know that he is a truly great and good man, but to me he
seems tedious, fretful, and dictatorial. Yet his must be a mind
of no common order, or he would not dare to teach my dear
father to dance a hornpipe on the cabin table.
(Sees Ralph.)
Ralph Rackstraw!
(Overcome by emotion.)
Ralph.
Ay, lady—no other than poor Ralph Rackstraw!
Jos.
(aside).
How my head beats!
(Aloud.)
And why poor,
Ralph?
Ralph.
I am poor in the essence of happiness, lady—rich
only in never-ending unrest. In me there meet a combination
of antithetical elements which are at eternal war with one
another. Driven hither by objective influences—thither by
subjective emotions—wafted one moment into blazing day by
mocking hope—plunged the next into the Cimmerian darkness
of tangible despair, I am but a living ganglion of irreconcilable
antagonisms. I hope I make myself clear, lady?
Joss.
Perfectly.
(Aside.)
His simple eloquence goes to my
heart. Oh, if I dared—but no, the thought is madness!
Dismiss these foolish fancies, they torture you but
needlessly. Come, make one effort.
Ralph
(aside).
I will—one.
(Aloud.)
Josephine!
Jos.
(indignantly).
Sir!
Ralph.
Ay, even though Jove's armoury were launched at
the head of the audacious mortal whose lips, unhallowed by
relationship, dared to breathe that precious word, yet would
I breathe it once, and then perchance be silent evermore.
Josephine, in one brief breath I will concentrate the hopes, the
doubts, the anxious fears of six weary months. Josephine,
I am a British sailor, and I love you!
Jos.
Sir, this audacity!
(Aside.)
Oh, my heart, my heart!
(Aloud.)
This unwarrantable presumption on the part of a
common sailor!
(Aside.)
Common! oh, the irony of the word!
(Aloud.)
Oh, sir, you forget the disparity in our ranks.
Ralph.
I forget nothing, haughty lady. I love you desperately,
my life is in thy hand—I lay it at your feet! Give me
hope, and what I lack in education and polite accomplishments,
that I will endeavour to acquire. Drive me to despair, and in
death alone I shall look for consolation. I am proud, and
cannot stoop to implore. I have spoken, and I wait your
word!
Jos.
You shall not wait long. Your proffered love I haughtily
reject. Go, sir, and learn to cast your eyes on some village
maiden in your own poor rank—they should be lowered before
your captain's daughter!
Duet.—Josephine and Ralph.
Jos.
Refrain, audacious tar,
Your suit from pressing,
Remember what you are,
And whom addressing!
Proud lords to seek my hand
In throngs assemble,
The loftiest in the land
Bow down and tremble!
Aside.)
I'd laugh my rank to scorn
In union holy,
Were he more highly born
Or I more lowly!
Ralph.
Proud lady, have your way
Unfeeling beauty!
You speak and I obey,
It is my duty!
I am the lowliest tar
That sails the water.
My captain's daughter!
(Aside.)
My heart with anguish torn
Bows down before her,
She laughs my love to scorn,
Yet I adore her.
[Repeat refrain ensemble, then exit Josephine into cabin.
Recitative.—Ralph.
Can I survive this overbearing
Or live a life of mad despairing,
My proffered love despised, rejected?
No, no, it's not to be expected!
(Calling off.)
Messmates, ahoy!
Come here! Come here!
Enter Sailors, Hebe, and Relatives.
All.
Ay, ay, my boy,
What cheer, what cheer?
Now tell us, pray,
Without delay,
What does she say—
What cheer, what cheer?
Ralph
(to Cousin Hebe).
The maiden treats my suit with scorn,
Rejects my humble love, my lady;
She says I am ignobly born,
And cuts my hopes adrift, my lady.
All.
Oh, cruel one!
Dick.
She spurns your suit? Oho! Oho!
I told you so, I told you so.
Sail. and Rel.
Shall we/they submit? Are we/they but slaves?
Love comes alike to high and low—
Britannia's sailors rule the waves,
And shall they stoop to insult? No!
Dick.
You must submit, you are but slaves;
A lady she! Oho! Oho!
You lowly toilers of the waves,
She spurns you all—I told you so!
(Goes off.)
Ralph
(drawing a pistol).
My friends, my leave of life I'm taking,
For oh, for oh, my heart is breaking.
When I am gone, oh, prithee tell
The maid that, as I died, I loved her well!
(Loading it.)
All
(turning away, weeping).
Of life, alas! his leave he's taking,
For, ah! his faithful heart is breaking.
The maid that, as he died, he loved her well.
(During chorus he has loaded pistol.)
Ralph.
Be warned, my messmates all
Who love in rank above you—
For Josephine I fall!
(Puts pistol to his head. All the sailors stop their ears.)
Enter Josephine.
Jos.
Ah! stay your hand! I love you!
All.
Ah! stay your hand—she loves you!
Ralph
(incredulously).
Loves me?
Jos.
Loves you!
All.
Yes, yes—ah, yes—she loves you!
Ensemble.
Sailors and Relatives, and Josephine.
Oh, joy! oh, rapture unforeseen!
For now the sky is all serene;
The god of day—the orb of love,
Has hung his ensign high above,
The sky is all a-blaze.
With wooing words and loving song,
We'll chase the lagging hours along.
And if I find/we find the maiden coy,
I'll/We'll murmur forth decorous joy
In dreamy roundelays!
Dick Deadeye.
He thinks he's won his Josephine,
But though the sky is now serene,
A frowning thunderbolt above
May end their ill-assorted love
Which now is all a-blaze.
Our captain, ere the day is gone,
Will be extremely down upon
The wicked men who art employ
To make his Josephine his coy
In many various ways.
Jos.
This very night,
Hebe.
With bated breath
Ralph.
And muffled oar—
Jos.
Without a light,
Hebe.
As still as death,
Ralph.
We'll steal ashore.
A clergyman
Ralph.
Shall make us one
Boat.
At half-past ten,
Jos.
And then we can
Ralph.
Return, for none
Boat.
Can part us then!
All.
This very night, etc.
(Dick appears at hatchway.)
Dick.
Forbear, nor carry out the scheme you've planned,
She is a lady—you a foremast hand!
Remember, she's your gallant captain's daughter,
And you the meanest slave that crawls the water!
All.
Back, vermin, back,
Nor mock us!
Back, vermin, back,
You shock us!
Let's give three cheers for the sailor's bride
Who casts all thought of rank aside—
Who gives up house and fortune too
For the honest love of a sailor true!
For a British tar is a soaring soul
As free as a mountain bird!
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word!
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl,
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude. (Pose.)
(General Dance.)
| H. M. S. Pinafore ; Or, The Lass that Loved a Sailor | |