University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene.—A glade. In the centre a small sheet of water. Jane is discovered leaning on a violoncello, upon which she presently accompanies herself.
Jane.

The fickle crew have deserted Reginald and sworn
allegiance to his rival, and all, forsooth, because he has glanced
with passing favour on a puling milkmaid! Fools! Of that
fancy he will soon weary—and then I, who alone am faithful
to him, shall reap my reward. But do not dally too long,
Reginald, for my charms are ripe, Reginald, and already they
are decaying. Better secure me ere I have gone too far?

Recitative.—Jane.
[Exit Jane.

Enter Grosvenor, followed by Maidens, two and two, each playing on an archaic instrument, as in Act I. He is reading abstractedly, as Bunthorne did in Act I., and pays no attention to them.
Chorus of Maidens.
Turn, oh, turn, in this direction,
Shed, oh, shed a gentle smile,
With a glance of sad perfection
Our poor fainting hearts beguile!
On such eyes as maidens cherish
Let thy fond adorers gaze,
Or incontinently perish,
In their all consuming rays!

[He sits—they group around him.
Gros.
(aside).

The old old tale. How rapturously these
maidens love me, and how hopelessly! Oh, Patience, Patience,
with the love of thee in my heart, what have I for these
poor mad maidens but an unvalued pity? Alas, they will
die of hopeless love for me, as I shall die of hopeless love for
thee!

Ang.

Sir, will it please you read to us? (Kneels.)

Gros.
(sighing).

Yes, child, if you will. What shall I
read?

Ang.

One of your own poems.

Gros.

One of my own poems? Better not, my child. They
will not cure thee of thy love.

Ella.

Mr. Bunthorne used to read us a poem of his own
every day.

Saph.

And, to do him justice, he read them extremely
well.

Gros.

Oh, did he so? Well, who am I that I should take
upon myself to withhold my gifts from you? What am I but
a trustee? Here is a decalet—a pure and simple thing, a very
daisy—a babe might understand it. To appreciate it it is not
necessary to think of anything at all.

Ang.

Let us think of nothing at all!

Grosvenor
recites.
Gentle Jane was as good as gold,
She always did as she was told.
She never spoke when her mouth was full,
Or caught blue-bottles their legs to pull;
Or spilt plum jam on her nice new frock,
Or put white mice in the eight-day clock,
Or vivisected her last new doll,
Or fostered a passion for alcohol.
And when she grew up she was given in marriage
To a first-class earl who keeps his carriage!

Gros.

I believe I am right in saying that there is not one
word in that decalet which is calculated to bring the blush of
shame to the cheek of modesty.

Ang.

Not one; it is purity itself.

Gros.

Here's another.

Teasing Tom was a very bad boy;
A great big squirt was his favourite toy;
He put live shrimps in his father's boots,
And sewed up the sleeves of his Sunday suits;
He punched his poor little sisters' heads,
And cayenne-peppered their four-post beds;
He plastered their hair with cobbler's wax,
And dropped hot halfpennies down their backs.
The consequence was he was lost totally,
And married a girl in the corps de bally!

Ang.

Marked you how grandly—how relentlessly—the
damning catalogue of crime strode on, till Retribution, like a
poisëd hawk, came swooping down upon the Wrong-Doer. Oh,
it was terrible!

Ella.

Oh, sir, you are indeed a true poet, for you touch our
hearts, and they go out to you!

Gros.
(aside).

This is simply cloying. (Aloud.)
Ladies, I
am sorry to distress you, but you have been following me about
ever since Monday, and this is Saturday. I should like the
usual half-holiday, and if you will kindly allow me to close
early to-day, I shall take it as a personal favour.

Saph.

Oh, sir, do not send us from you!

Gros.

Poor, poor girls! It is best to speak plainly. I know
that I am loved by you, but I never can love you in return, for
my heart is fixed elsewhere! Remember the fable of the
Magnet and the Churn!

Ang.
(wildly).

But we don't know the fable of the Magnet
and the Churn!

Gros.

Don't you? Then I will sing it to you.

Song.—Grosvenor.
A magnet hung in a hardware shop,
And all around was a loving crop
Of scissors and needles, nails and knives,
Offering love for all their lives;
But for iron the magnet felt no whim,
Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him,
From needles and nails and knives he'd turn,
For he'd set his love on a Silver Churn!

All.
A Silver Churn!

Gros.
A Silver Churn!
His most æsthetic,
Very magnetic
Fancy took this turn—
“If I can wheedle
A knife or needle,
Why not a Silver Churn?”

Chor.
His most æsthetic, etc.

Gros.
And Iron and Steel expressed surprise,
The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,
The pen-knives felt “shut up,” no doubt,
The scissors declared themselves “cut out,
The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said,
While every nail went off its head,
And hither and thither began to roam,
Till a hammer came up—and drove them home.

All.
It drove them home?

Gros.
It drove them home;
While this magnetic
Peripatetic
Lover he lived to learn,
By no endeavour,
Can magnet ever
Attract a Silver Churn!

All.
While this magnetic, etc.

[They go off in low spirits, gazing back at him from time to time.
Gros.

At last they are gone! What is this mysterious
fascination that I seem to exercise over all I come across. A
curse on my fatal beauty, for I am sick of conquests!

Patience appears.
Pa.

Archibald!

Gros.
(turns and sees her).

Patience!

Pa.

I have escaped with difficulty from my Reginald.
I wanted to see you so much that I might ask you if you still
love me as fondly as ever?

Gros.

Love you? If the devotion of a lifetime— (Seizes her hand.)

Pa.
(indignantly).

Hold! Unhand me, or I scream. (He releases her.)

If you are a gentleman, pray remember that I
am another's! (Very tenderly.)
But you do love me, don't
you?

Gros.

Madly, hopelessly, despairingly!

Pa.

That's right! I can never be yours; but that's right!

Gros.

And you love this Bunthorne?

Pa.

With a heart-whole ecstasy that withers, and scorches,
and burns, and stings! (Sadly.)
It is my duty.

Gros.

Admirable girl! But you are not happy with him?

Pa.

Happy? I am miserable beyond description!

Gros.

That's right! I never can be yours; but that's right!

Pa.

But go now—I see dear Reginald approaching. Farewell,

well, dear Archibald, I cannot tell you how happy it has made
me to know that you still love me.

Gros.

Ah, if I only dared— (Advances towards her.)

Pa.

Sir! This language to one who is promised to another!
(Tenderly.)
Oh, Archibald, think of me sometimes, for my
heart is breaking! He is so unkind to me, and you would be
so loving!

Gros.

Loving! (Advances towards her.)

Pa.

Advance one step, and as I am a good and pure woman,
I scream! (Tenderly.)
Farewell, Archibald! (Sternly.)
Stop
there! (Tenderly.)
Think of me sometimes! (Angrily.)

Advance at your peril! Once more, adieu!

[Grosvenor sighs, gazes sorrowfully at her, sighs deeply, and exit. She bursts into tears.
Enter Bunthorne, followed by Jane. He is moody and preoccupied.
Jane
sings.
In a melancholy train,
One and one I walk all day;
Pity those who love in vain—
None so sorrowful as they,
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alack a-day!

Bun.
(seeing Patience).

Crying, eh? What are you crying
about?

Pa.

I've only been thinking how dearly I love you!

Bun.

Love me! Bah!

Jane.

Love him! Bah!

Bun.
(to Jane).

Don't you interfere.

Jane.

He always crushes me!

Pa.
(going to him).

What is the matter, dear Reginald? If
you have any sorrow, tell it to me, that I may share it with
you. (Sighing.)
It is my duty!

Bun.
(snappishly).

Whom were you talking with, just now?

Pa.

With dear Archibald.

Bun.
(furiously).

With dear Archibald! Upon my honour,
this is too much!

Jane.

A great deal too much!

Bun.
(angrily to Jane).

Do be quiet!

Jane.

Crushed again!

Pa.

I think he is the noblest, purest, and most perfect being
I have ever met. But I don't love him. It is true that he
is devotedly attached to me, but indeed I don't love him.

Whenever he grows affectionate, I scream. It is my duty!
(Sighing).

Bun.

I dare say!

Jane.

So do I. I dare say!

Pa.

Why, how could I love him and love you too? You
can't love two people at once!

Bun.

I don't believe you know what love is!

Pa.
(sighing).

Yes, I do! There was a happy time when
I didn't, but a bitter experience has taught me!

Ballad.—Patience.

[At the end of ballad, exit Patience, weeping.
Bun.

Everything has gone wrong with me since that smug-faced
idiot came here. Before that I was admired; I may say,
loved.

Jane.

Too mild. Adored!

Bun.

Do let a poet soliloquize! The damozels used to follow
me wherever I went; now they all follow him!

Jane.

Not all! I am still faithful to you.

Bun.

Yes, and a pretty damozel you are!

Jane.

No, not pretty. Massive. Cheer up! I will never
leave you, I swear it!

Bun.

Oh, thank you! I know what it is; it's his confounded

mildness. They find me too highly spiced, if you
please! And no doubt I am highly spiced.

Jane.

Not for my taste!

Bun.
(savagely).

No; but I am for theirs. But I can be as
mild as he. If they want insipidity, they shall have it. I'll
meet this fellow on his own ground and beat him on it.

Jane.

You shall. And I will help you.

Bun.

You will? Jane, there's a good deal of good in you,
after all!

Duet.—Bunthorne and Jane.
Jane.
So go to him and say to him, with compliment ironical—

Bun.
Sing “Hey to you—
Good day to you”—
And that's what I shall say!

Jane.
“Your style is much too sanctified—your cut is too canonical—”

Bun.
Sing “Bah to you—
Ha! ha! to you”—
And that's what I shall say!

Jane.
“I was the beau ideal of the morbid young æsthetical—
To doubt my inspiration was regarded as heretical—
Until you cut me out with your placidity emetical.”

Bun.
Sing “Booh to you—
Pooh, pooh, to you”—
And that's what I shall say!

Both.
Sing “Hey to you, good day to you”—
Sing “Bah to you, ha! ha! to you”
Sing “Booh to you, pooh, pooh”—
And that's what you/I shall say!

Bun.
I'll tell him that unless he will consent to be more jocular—

Jane.
Say “Booh to you—
Pooh, pooh, to you”
And that's what you should say!

Bun.
To cut his curly hair, and stick an eye-glass in his ocular—

Jane.
Sing “Bah to you—
Ha! ha! to you”—
And that's what you should say!

Bun.
To stuff his conversation full of quibble and of quiddity,
To dine on chops and roly-poly pudding with avidity—
He'd better clear away with all convenient rapidity.

Jane.
Sing “Hey to you—
Good day to you”—
And that's what you should say!

Both.
Sing “Booh to you—pooh, pooh, to you,”
Sing “Bah to you—ha! ha! to you,”
Sing “Hey to you—good day to you—”
And that's what I/you shall say!

[Exeunt Jane and Bunthorne together
[Enter Duke, Colonel, and Major. They have abandoned their uniforms, and are dressed and made up in imitation of Æsthetics. They have long hair, and other outward signs of attachment to the brotherhood. As they sing they walk in stiff, constrained, and angular attitudes—a grotesque exaggeration of the attitudes adopted by Bunthorne and the young Ladies in Act I.
Trio.
Duke, Colonel, and Major.

Col.
(attitude).

Yes, it's quite clear that our only chance of
making a lasting impression on these young ladies is to
become as æsthetic as they are.

Maj.
(attitude).

No doubt. The only question is how far
we've succeeded in doing so. I don't know why, but I've an
idea that this is not quite right.

Duke
(attitude).

I don't like it. I never did. I don't see
what it means. I do it, but I don't like it.

Col.

My good friend, the question is not whether we like it,
but whether they do. They understand these things—we don't.
Now, I shouldn't be surprised if this is effective enough—at a
distance.

Maj.

I can't help thinking we're a little stiff at it. It would
be extremely awkward if we were to be “struck” so!

Col.

I don't think we shall be struck so. Perhaps we're a
little awkward at first—but everything must have a beginning.
Oh, here they come! 'Tention!

They strike fresh attitudes, as Ang. and Saphir enter.
Ang.
(seeing them).

Oh, Saphir—see—see! The immortal
fire has descended on them, and they are of the Inner Brotherhood
—perceptively intense and consummately utter! (The Officers have some difficulty in maintaining their constrained attitudes.)

Saph.
(in admiration).

How Botticellian! How Fra
Angelican! Oh, Art! I thank thee for this boon!

Col.
(apologetically).

I'm afraid we're not quite right.

Ang.

Not supremely, perhaps, but, oh, so all-but! (To Saphir.)

Oh, Saphir, are they not quite too all-but?

Saph.

They are indeed jolly utter.

Maj.
(in agony).

What do the Inner Brotherhood usually
recommend for cramp?

Col.

Ladies, we will not deceive you. We are doing this at
some personal inconvenience with a view of expressing the extremity
of our devotion to you. We trust that it is not without
its effect.

Ang.

We will not deny that we are much moved by this
proof of your attachment.

Saph.

Yes, your conversion to the principles of Æsthetic Art
in its highest development has touched us deeply.

Ang.

And if Mr. Grosvenor should remain obdurate—

Saph.

Which we have every reason to believe he will—

Maj.
(aside, in agony).

I wish they'd make haste.

Ang.

We are not prepared to say that our yearning hearts
will not go out to you.

Col.
(as giving a word of command).

By sections of threes
—Rapture! (All strike a fresh attitude, expressive of æsthetic rapture.)

Saph.

Oh, it's extremely good—for beginners it's admirable.

Maj.

The only question is, who will take who?

Saph.

Oh, the Duke choose first, as a matter of course.

Duke.

Oh, I couldn't think of it—you are really too
good!

Col.

Nothing of the kind. You are a great matrimonial fish,
and it's only fair that each of these ladies should have a chance
of hooking you.

Duke.

It's perfectly simple. Observe, suppose you choose
Angela, I take Saphir, Major takes nobody. Suppose you
choose Saphir, Major takes Angela, I take nobody. Suppose
you choose neither, I take Angela, Major takes Saphir. Clear
as day!

Quintette.
Duke, Colonel, Major, Angela, and Saphir.
Duke
(taking Saphir).
If Saphir I choose to marry,
I shall be fixed up for life;
Then the Colonel need not tarry,
Angela can be his wife.

[Handing Angela to Colonel.
[Duke dances with Saphir, Colonel with Angela, Major dances alone.
Major
(dancing alone).
In that case unprecedented,
Single I shall live and die—
I shall have to be contented
With their heartfelt sympathy!

All
(dancing as before).
He will have to be contented
With our heartfelt sympathy!

Duke
(taking Angela).
If on Angy I determine,
At my wedding she'll appear,
Decked in diamond and ermine,
Major then can take Saphir!

[Handing Saphir to Major.
[Duke dances with Angela, Major with Saphir, Colonel dances alone.
Colonel
(dancing).
In that case unprecedented,
Single I shall live and die,
I shall have to be contented
With their heartfelt sympathy!

All
(dancing as before).
He will have to be contented
With our heartfelt sympathy!

Duke
(taking both Angela and Saphir).
After some debate internal,
If on neither I decide,
Saphir then can take the Colonel,
[Handing Saphir to Colonel.
Angy be the Major's bride!

[Handing Angela to Major.
[Colonel dances with Saphir, Major with Angela, Duke dances alone.
Duke
(dancing).
In that case unprecedented,
Single I must live and die,
I shall have to be contented
With their heartfelt sympathy!

All
(dancing as before).
He will have to live contented
With our heartfelt sympathy!

[At the end, Duke, Colonel, and Major, and two Girls dance off arm in arm.
Enter Grosvenor.
Gros.

It is very pleasant to be alone. It is pleasant to be
able to gaze at leisure upon those features which all others may
gaze upon at their good will! (Looking at his reflection in hand-mirror.)

Ah! I am a very Narcissus!

Enter Bunthorne, moodily.
Bun.

It's no use, I can't live without admiration! Since
Grosvenor came here, insipidity has been at a premium. Ah,
he is there!

Gros.

Ah, Bunthorne, come here—look! Very graceful,
isn't it?

Bun.
(taking hand-mirror).

Yes, it is graceful.

Gros.
(re-taking hand-mirror).

Oh! good gracious not that
—this—

Bun.

You don't mean that. Bah! I am in no mood for
trifling.

Gros.

And what is amiss?

Bun.

Ever since you came here, you have entirely monopolized
the attentions of the young ladies. I don't like it, sir!

Gros.

My dear sir, how can I help it? They are the plague
of my life. My dear Mr. Bunthorne, with your personal disadvantages,
you can have no idea of the inconvenience of being
madly loved, at first sight, by every woman you meet.

Bun.

Sir, until you came here I was adored!

Gros.

Exactly—until I came here. That's my grievance.
I cut everybody out! I assure you, if you could only suggest
some means whereby, consistently with my duty to society, I
could escape these inconvenient attentions, you would earn my
everlasting gratitude.

Bun.

I will do so at once. However popular it may be

with the world at large, your personal appearance is highly
objectionable to me.

Gros.

It is? (Shaking his hand.)
Oh, thank you, thank
you! How can I express my gratitude?

Bun.

By making a complete change at once. Your conversation
must henceforth be perfectly matter-of-fact. You must
cut your hair, and have a back parting. In appearance and
costume you must be absolutely commonplace.

Gros.
(decidedly).

No. Pardon me, that's impossible.

Bun.

Take care. When I am thwarted I am very terrible.

Gros.

I can't help that. I am a man with a mission. And
that mission must be fulfilled.

Bun.

I don't think you quite appreciate the consequences of
thwarting me.

Gros.

I don't care what they are.

Bun.

Suppose—I won't go so far as to say that I will do it
—but suppose for one moment, I were to curse you? (Grosvenor quails.)

Ah! Very well. Take care.

Gros.

But surely you would never do that? (In great alarm.)

Bun.

I don't know. It would be an extreme measure, no
doubt. Still—

Gros.
(wildly).

But you would not do it—I am sure you
would not. (Throwing himself at Bunthorne's knees, and clinging to him.)

Oh, reflect, reflect! You had a mother
once.

Bun.

Never!

Gros.

Then you had an aunt! (Bunthorne affected.)
Ah!
I see you had! By the memory of that aunt, I implore you
to pause ere you resort to this last fearful expedient. Oh, Mr.
Bunthorne, reflect, reflect! (Weeping.)

Bun.
(aside, after a struggle with himself).

I must not allow
myself to be unmanned! (Aloud.)
It is useless. Consent at
once, or may a nephew's curse—

Gros.

Hold. Are you absolutely resolved?

Bun.

Absolutely.

Gros.

Will nothing shake you?

Bun.

Nothing. I am adamant.

Gros.

Very good. (Rising.)
Then I yield.

Bun.

Ha! You swear it?

Gros.

I do. Cheerfully. I have long wished for a reasonable
pretext for such a change as you suggest. It has come at
last. I do it on compulsion!

Bun.

Victory! I triumph!

Duet.—Bunthorne and Grosvenor
Bun.

Both.
A most intense young man, etc.

Gros.

Bun.
A Japanese young man—
A blue-and-white young man—
Francesca di Rimini, miminy, piminy,
Je-ne-sais-quoi young man.

Gros.
A Chancery Lane young man—
A Somerset House young man—
A very delectable, highly respectable,
Threepenny-bus young man!

Bun.
A pallid and thin young man—
A haggard and lank young man—
A greenery-yallery, Grosvenor Gallery,
Foot-in-the-grave young man!

Gros.
A Sewell and Cross young man—
A Howell and James young man—
A pushing young particle—“What's the next article”—
Waterloo House young man!

Ensemble.
Bun.
Conceive me, if you can,
A crotchety, cracked young man,
An ultra-poetical, super-æsthetical,
Out-of-the-way young man!

Gros.
Conceive me, if you can,
A matter-of-fact young man,
An alphabetical, arithmetical,
Everyday young man!

[At the end, Grosvenor dances off. Bunthorne remains.
Bun.

It is all right! I have committed my last act of ill-nature,
and henceforth I'm a reformed character.

[Dances about stage, humming refrain of last air.
Enter Patience. She gazes in astonishment at him.
Pa.

Reginald! Dancing! And—what in the world is the
matter with you?

Bun.

Patience, I'm a changed man. Hitherto, I've been
gloomy, moody, fitful—uncertain in temper, and selfish in
disposition—

Pa.

You have indeed! (Sighing.)

Bun.

All that is changed. I have reformed. I have
modelled myself upon Mr. Grosvenor. Henceforth I am mildly
cheerful. My conversation will blend amusement with instruction.
I shall still be æsthetic; but my æstheticism will
be of the most pastoral kind.

Pa.

Oh, Reginald! Is all this true?

Bun.

Quite true. Observe how amiable I am. (Assuming a fixed smile.)

Pa.

But, Reginald, how long will this last?

Bun.

With occasional intervals for rest and refreshment, as
long as I do.

Pa.

Oh, Reginald, I'm so happy! (In his arms.)
Oh, dear,
dear Reginald, I cannot express the joy I feel at this change.
It will no longer be a duty to love you, but a pleasure—a
rapture, an ecstasy!

Bun.

My darling!

Pa.

But—oh, horror! (Recoiling from him.)

Bun.

What's the matter?

Pa.

Is it quite certain that you have absolutely reformed—
that you are henceforth a perfect being—utterly free from
defect of any kind?

Bun.

It is quite certain. I have sworn it!

Pa.

Then I never can be yours!

Bun.

Why not?

Pa.

Love, to be pure, must be absolutely unselfish, and there
can be nothing unselfish in loving so perfect a being as you
have now become!

Bun.

But, stop a bit, I don't want to reform—I'll relapse—
I'll be as I was—

Pa.

No; love should purify—it should never debase.

Bun.

But, I assure you, I—interrupted!

Enter Grosvenor, followed by all the young Ladies, who are followed by chorus of Dragoons. He has had his hair cut, and is dressed in an ordinary suit of dittos and a pot hat. They all dance cheerfully round the stage in marked contrast to their former languor.
Chorus—Grosvenor and Ladies.
Gros.
I'm a Waterloo House young man,
A Sewell and Cross young man,
A steady and stolid-y, jolly Bank-holiday,
Everyday young man.

Ladies.
We're Swears and Wells young girls,
We're Madame Louise young girls,
We're prettily pattering, cheerily chattering,
Everyday young girls.

Gros.
I'm a Waterloo House young man!

Girls.
We're Swears and Wells young girls!

Gros.
I'm a Sewell and Cross young man!

Girls.
We're Madam Louise young girls!

Gros.
I'm a steady and stolid-y, jolly Bank-holiday,
Everyday young man!

Ladies.
We're prettily pattering, cheerily chattering,
Everyday young girls!

Bun.

Angela—Ella—Saphir—what—what does this mean?

Ang.

It means that Archibald the All-right cannot be
wrong; and if the All-right chooses to discard æstheticism, it
proves that æstheticism ought to be discarded.

Pa.

Oh, Archibald! Archibald! I'm shocked—surprised—
horrified!

Gros.

I can't help it. I'm not a free agent. I do it on
compulsion.

Pa.

This is terrible. Go! I shall never set eyes on you
again. But—oh, joy!

Gros.

What is the matter?

Pa.

Is it quite, quite certain that you will always be a
commonplace young man?

Gros.

Always—I've sworn it.

Pa.

Why, then, there's nothing to prevent my loving you
with all the fervour at my command!

Gros.

Why, that's true.

Pa.

My Archibald!

Gros.

My Patience! (They embrace.)

Bun.

Crushed again!

Enter Jane.
Jane
(who is still æsthetic).

Cheer up! I am still here. I
have never left you, and I never will!

Bun.

Thank you, Jane. After all, there is no denying it,
you're a fine figure of a woman!

Jane.

My Reginald!

Bun.

My Jane!

Flourish. Enter Colonel, Duke, and Major.
Col.

Ladies, the Duke has at length determined to select a
bride! (General excitement.)

Duke.

I have a great gift to bestow. Approach, such of you
as are truly lovely. (All come forward, bashfully, except Jane and Patience.)

In personal beauty you have all that is
necessary to make a woman happy. In common fairness, I
think I ought to choose the only one among you who has the
misfortune to be distinctly plain. (Girls retire disappointed.)

Jane!

Jane
(leaving Bunthorne's arms).

Duke! (Jane and Duke embrace. Bunthorne is utterly disgusted.)

Bun.

Crushed again!

Finale.
Duke.
After much debate internal
I on Lady Jane decide,
Saphir now may take the Colonel,
Angy be the Major's bride!

[Saphir pairs off with Colonel, Angela with the Major, Ella with Solicitor.
Bun.
In that case unprecedented,
Single I must live and die,
I shall have to be contented
With a tulip or lily!

[Takes a lily from button-hole, and gazes affectionately at it.
All.
He will have to be contented
With a tulip or lily!

All.
Greatly pleased with one another,
To get married we decide,
Each of us will wed the other,
Nobody be Bunthorne's Bride!

Dance.
Curtain.