 | Ruddigore ; Or, The Witch's Curse |  |
ACT I.
Scene.—The fishing village of Rederring (in Cornwall). Rose Maybud's cottage is seenEnter Chorus of Bridesmaids. They range themselves in front of Rose's cottage.
Fair is Rose as the bright May-day;
Soft is Rose as the warm west-wind;
Sweet is Rose as the new-mown hay—
Rose is the queen of maiden-kind!
Rose, all glowing
With virgin blushes, say—
Is anybody going
To marry you to-day?
Solo.—Zorah.
Every day, as the days roll on,
Bridesmaids' garb we gaily don,
Sure that a maid so fairly famed
Won't very long remain unclaimed.
Hour by hour, and day by day,
Several months have passed away.
And though she's the fairest flower that blows,
Nobody yet has married Rose!
Chorus.
Rose, all glowing
With virgin blushes say—
Is anybody going
To marry you to-day?
Han.
Nay, gentle maidens, you sing well but vainly, for
Rose is still heart-free, and looks but coldly upon her many
suitors.
Zor.
It's very disappointing. Every young man in the
village is in love with her, but they are appalled by her
beauty and modesty, and won't declare themselves; so, until
she makes her own choice, there's no chance for anybody
else.
Ruth.
This is, perhaps, the only village in the world that
possesses an endowed corps of professional bridesmaids who are
bound to be on duty every day from ten to four—and it is at
least six months since our services were required. The pious
charity by which we exist is practically wasted!
Zor.
We shall be disendowed—that will be the end of it!
Dame Hannah—you're a nice old person—you could marry if
you liked. There's old Adam—Robin's faithful servant—he
loves you with all the frenzy of a boy of fourteen.
Han.
Nay—that may never be, for I am pledged!
All.
To whom?
Han.
To an eternal maidenhood! Many years ago I was
betrothed to a god-like youth who woo'd me under an assumed
name. But on the very day upon which our wedding was to
have been celebrated, I discovered that he was no other than
Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, one of the bad Baronets of Ruddigore,
and the uncle of the man who now bears that title. As a son
of that accursed race he was no husband for an honest girl,
so, madly as I loved him, I left him then and there. He died
but ten years since, but I never saw him again.
Zor.
But why should you not marry a bad Baronet of
Ruddigore?
Ruth.
All baronets are bad; but was he worse than other
baronets?
Han.
My child, he was accursed.
Zor.
But who cursed him? Not you, I trust!
Han.
The curse is on all his line, and has been ever since
the time of Sir Rupert, the first Baronet. Listen, and you
shall hear the legend.
Legend.—Hannah.
His leisure and his riches
He ruthlessly employed
In persecuting witches.
With fear he'd make them quake—
He'd break their bones
With sticks and stones,
And burn them at the stake!
Chorus.
Did Rupert Murgatroyd—
No sense of shame
Or pity came
To Rupert Murgatroyd!
A palsied hag he roasted,
And what took place, I ween,
Shook his composure boasted;
For, as the torture grim
Seized on each withered limb,
The writhing dame,
'Mid fire and flame,
Yelled forth this curse on him:—
Despite his best endeavour,
Shall do one crime, or more,
Once, every day, for ever!
This doom he can't defy
However he may try,
For should he stay
His hand, that day
In torture he shall die!”
Each heir who held the title
Had, every day, to do
Some crime of import vital;
Until, with guilt o'erplied,
“I'll sin no more!” he cried,
And on the day
He said that say,
In agony he died!
Chorus.
And thus, with sinning cloyed,
Has died each Murgatroyd,
And so shall fall,
Both one and all,
Each coming Murgatroyd!
[Exeunt Chorus of Bridesmaids.
Enter Rose Maybud from cottage, with small basket on her arm.
Han.
Whither away, dear Rose? On some errand of charity,
as is thy wont?
Rose.
A few gifts, dear aunt, for deserving villagers. Lo,
here is some peppermint rock for old gaffer Gadderby, a set of
snuff for the poor orphan girl on the hill.
Han.
Ah, Rose, pity that so much goodness should not help
to make some gallant youth happy for life! Rose, why dost
thou harden that little heart of thine? Is there none here-away
whom thou couldst love?
Rose.
And if there were such an one, verily it would ill
become me to tell him so.
Han.
Nay, dear one, where true love is, there is little need
of prim formality.
Rose.
Hush, dear aunt, for thy words pain me sorely. Hung
in a plated dish-cover to the knocker of the workhouse door,
with nought that I could call mine own, save a change of baby-linen
and a book of etiquette, little wonder if I have always
regarded that work as a voice from a parent's tomb. This
hallowed volume
(producing a book of etiquette)
, composed, if I
may believe the title-page, by no less an authority than the
wife of a Lord Mayor, has been, through life, my guide and
monitor. By its solemn precepts I have learnt to test the
moral worth of all who approach me. The man who bites his
bread, or eats peas with a knife, I look upon as a lost creature,
and he who has not acquired the proper way of entering and
leaving a room is the object of my pitying horror. There are
those in this village who bite their nails, dear aunt, and nearly
all are wont to use their pocket-combs in public places. In
truth I could pursue this painful theme much further, but
behold, I have said enough.
Han.
But is there not one among them who is faultless, in
thine eyes? For example—young Robin. He combines the
manners of a Marquis with the morals of a Methodist. Couldst
thou not love him?
Rose.
And even if I could, how should I confess it unto him?
For lo, he is shy, and sayeth nought!
Who loved me in a manner true,
My heart would point him out to me,
And I would point him out to you.
(Referring to book.)
But here it says of those who point,
Their manners must be out of joint—
You may not point—
You must not point—
It's manners out of joint, to point!
Had I the love of such as he,
Some quiet spot he'd take me to,
Then he could whisper it to me,
And I could whisper it to you;
But whispering, I've somewhere met,
Is contrary to etiquette:
Where can it be? (Searching book.)
Now let me see— (Finding reference.)
Yes, Yes!
It's contrary to etiquette!
Polite and gentle, neat and trim,
Then I would hint as much to you,
And you could hint as much to him.
(Referring to book.)
But here it says, in plainest print,
“It's most unladylike to hint”—
You may not hint,
You must not hint—
It says you mustn't hint, in print!
And if I loved him through and through—
Then I could speak of it to you,
And you could speak of it to him.
But here I find it doesn't do
To speak until you're spoken to.
(Referring to book.)
Where can it be? (Searching book.)
Now let me see— (Finding reference.)
“Don't speak until you're spoken to”!
[Exit Hannah.
Rose.
Poor aunt! Little did the good soul think, when she
breathed the hallowed name of Robin, that he would do even
as well as another. But he resembleth all the youths in
this village, in that he is unduly bashful in my presence,
and lo, it is hard to bring him to the point. But soft, he is
here!
[Rose is about to go when Robin enters and calls her.
Rob.
Mistress Rose!
Rose
(surprised).
Master Robin!
Rob.
I wished to say that—it is fine.
Rose.
It is passing fine.
Rob.
But we do want rain.
Rose.
Ay, solely! Is that all?
Rob.
(sighing).
That is all.
Rose.
Good day, Master Robin!
Rob.
Good day, Mistress Rose!
(Both going—both stop.)
Rose.
I crave pardon, I—
Rob.
I beg pardon, I—
Rose.
You were about to say?
Rob.
I would fain consult you.
Rose.
Truly?
Rob.
It is about a friend.
Rose.
In truth I have a friend myself.
Indeed? I mean, of course—
Rose.
And I would fain consult you—
Rob.
(anxiously).
About him?
Rose
(prudishly).
About her.
Rob.
(relieved).
Let us consult one another.
Duet.—Robin and Rose.
Rob.
I know a youth who loves a little maid—
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid—
(Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
Rose.
I know a maid who loves a gallant youth,
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
She cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth—
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
Rob.
Poor little man!
Rose.
Poor little maid!
Rob.
Poor little man!
Rose.
Poor little maid!
Both.
Now, tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the young man/maiden do?
Rob.
He cannot eat and he cannot sleep—
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail—for to weep
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
Rose.
She's very thin and she's very pale—
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep—for to wail—
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
Rob.
Poor little maid!
Rose.
Poor little man!
Rob.
Poor little maid!
Rose.
Poor little man!
Both.
Now, tell me pray, and tell me true,
What in the world should the young man/maiden do?
Rose.
If I were the youth I should offer her my name—
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
Rob.
If I were the maid I should feed his honest flame—
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
Rose.
If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day—
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Rob.
If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way—
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
Rose.
Poor little man!
Rob.
Poor little maid!
Rose.
Poor little man!
Rob.
Poor little maid!
I thank you, miss,/sir, for your counsel true;
I'll tell that youth/maid what he/she ought to do!
[Exit Rose.
Rob.
Poor child! I sometimes think that if she wasn't quite
so particular I might venture—but no, no—even then I should
be unworthy of her!
[He sits desponding.
Enter Old Adam.
Adam.
My kind master is sad! Dear Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd—
Rob.
Hush! As you love me, breathe not that hated name.
Twenty years ago, in horror at the prospect of inheriting that
hideous title, and with it the ban that compels all who succeed
to the baronetcy to commit at least one deadly crime per day,
for life, I fled my home, and concealed myself in this innocent
village under the name of Robin Oakapple. My younger
brother, Despard, believing me to be dead, succeeded to the
title and its attendant curse. For twenty years I have been
dead and buried. Don't dig me up now.
Adam.
Dear master, it shall be as you wish, for have I not
sworn to obey you for ever in all things? Yet, as we are here
alone, and as I belong to that particular description of good old
man to whom the truth is a refreshing novelty, let me call you
by your own right title once more!
(Robin assents.)
Sir
Ruthven Murgatroyd! Baronet! Of Ruddigore! Whew!
It's like eight hours at the seaside!
Rob.
My poor old friend! Would there were more like you!
Adam.
Would there were indeed! But I bring you good
tidings. Your foster-brother, Richard, has returned from sea—
his ship the Tom-Tit rides yonder at anchor, and he himself is
even now in this very village!
Rob.
My beloved foster-brother? No, no—it cannot be!
Adam.
It is even so—and see, he comes this way!
Enter Chorus of Bridesmaids.
Chorus.
From the briny sea
Comes young Richard, all victorious!
Valorous is he—
His achievements all are glorious!
Let the welkin ring
With the news we bring
Sing it—shout it—
Tell about it—
Safe and sound returneth he!
All victorious from the sea!
Ballad.—Richard.
And, off Cape Finistere,
A merchantman we see,
A Frenchman, going free,
So we made for the bold Mounseer.
D'ye see?
We made for the bold Mounseer.
But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports,
And fires with a thirty-two!
It come uncommon near,
But we answered a cheer,
Which paralyzed the Parly-voo,
D'ye see?
Which paralyzed the Parly-voo!
“That chap we need not fear,—
We can take her, if we like,
She is sartin for to strike,
For she's only a darned Mounseer,
D'ye see?
She's only a darned Mounseer!
But to fight a French fal-lal—it's like hittin' of a gal—
It's a lubberly thing for to do;
For we, with all our faults,
Why, we're sturdy British salts,
While she's only a Parley-voo,
D'ye see?
A miserable Parley-voo!”
As we gives a compassionating cheer;
Froggee answers with a shout
As he sees us go about,
Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer,
D'ye see?
Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!
And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek
(Which is what them furriners do),
And they blessed their lucky stars
We were hardy British tars
Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo,
D'ye see?
Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!
[Exeunt Chorus, as Robin comes forward.
Rob.
Richard!
Rich.
Robin!
Rob.
My beloved foster-brother, and very dearest friend.
deeds as you have just described that cause our flag to be loved
and dreaded throughout the civilized world!
Rich.
Why, lord love ye, Rob, that's but a trifle to what we
have done in the way of sparing life. I believe I may say,
without exaggeration, that the marciful little Tom-Tit has
spared more French frigates than any craft afloat! But 'taint
for a British seaman to brag, so I'll just stow my jawin' tackle
and belay.
(Robin sighs.)
But 'vast heavin', messmate, what's
brought you all a-cockbill?
Rob.
Alas, Dick, I love Rose Maybud, and love in vain!
Rich.
You love in vain? Come, that's too good! Why
you're a fine strapping muscular young fellow—tall and strong
as a to'-gall'n-m'st—taut as a fore-stay—ay, and a barrow-knight
to boot, if all had their rights!
Rob.
Hush, Richard—not a word about my true rank, which
none here suspect. Yes, I know well enough that few men are
better calculated to win a woman's heart than I. I'm a fine
fellow, Dick, and worthy any woman's love—happy the girl
who gets me, say I. But I'm timid, Dick; shy, nervous,
modest, retiring, diffident, and I cannot tell her, Dick, I
cannot tell her! Ah, you've no idea what a poor opinion I
have of myself, and how little I deserve it.
Rich.
Robin, do you call to mind how, years ago, we swore
that, come what might, we would always act upon our hearts'
dictates?
Rob.
Ay, Dick, and I've always kept that oath. In doubt,
difficulty, and danger, I've always asked my heart what I should
do, and it has never failed me.
Rich.
Right! Let your heart be your compass, with a clear
conscience for your binnacle light, and you'll sail ten knots on
a bowline, clear of shoals, rocks, and quicksands! Well now,
what does my heart say in this here difficult situation? Why,
it says, “Dick,” it says—(it calls me “Dick” acos it's known
me from a babby)—“Dick,” it says, “you ain't shy—you ain't
modest—speak you up for him as is!” Robin, my lad, just
you lay me alongside, and when she's becalmed under my lee,
I'll spin her a yarn that shall sarve to fish you two together
for life!
Rob.
Will you do this thing for me? Can you, do you
think? Yes.
(Feeling his pulse.)
There's no false modesty
about you. Your, what I would call bumptious self-assertiveness
(I mean the expression in its complimentary sense), has
already made you a bos'n's mate, and it will make an admiral
of you in time, if you work it properly, you dear, incompetent
tenth of your modest assurance!
Song.—Robin.
That, of all the afflictions accurst
With which a man's saddled
And hampered and addled,
A diffident nature's the worst.
Though clever as clever can be—
A Crichton of early romance—
You must stir it and stump it,
And blow your own trumpet,
Or, trust me, you haven't a chance,
If you wish in the world to advance,
Your merits you're bound to enhance,
You must stir it and stump it,
And blow your own trumpet,
Or, trust me, you haven't a chance!
I've a bright intellectual brain—
In all London city
There's no one so witty—
I've thought so again and again.
I've a highly intelligent face—
My features cannot be denied—
But, whatever I try, sir,
I fail in—and why, sir?
I'm modesty personified!
If you wish in the world to advance, etc.
I've passion and fervour and grace—
From Ovid and Horace
To Swinburne and Morris,
They all of them take a back place.
Then I sing and I play and I paint:
Though none are accomplished as I,
To say so were treason:
You ask me the reason?
I'm diffident, modest, and shy!
If you wish in the world to advance, etc.
Rich.
(looking after him).
Ah, it's a thousand pities he's
such a poor opinion of himself, for a finer fellow don't walk!
Well, I'll do my best for him. “Plead for him as though it
was for your own father”—that's what my heart's a remarkin'
to me just now. But, here she comes! Steady! Steady it is!
By the Port Admiral, but she's a tight little craft! Come,
come, she's not for you, Dick, and yet—she's fit to marry Lord
unmoved.
Rose.
Sir, you are agitated.
Rich.
Ay, ay, my lass, well said! I am agitated, true
enough!—took flat a back, my girl; but 'tis naught—'twill pass.
(Aside.)
This here heart of mine's a dictatin' to me like anythink.
Question is, have I a right to disregard its promptings?
Rose.
Can I do aught to relieve thine anguish, for it seemeth
to me that thou art in sore trouble? This apple—
(Offering
a damaged apple.)
Rich.
(looking at it and returning it).
No, my lass, 'taint
that. I'm—I'm took flat aback—I never see anything like you
in all my born days. Parbuckle me, if you ain't the loveliest
gal I've ever set eyes on. There—I can't say fairer than that,
can I?
Rose.
No.
(Aside.)
The question is, is it meet that an utter
stranger should thus express himself?
(Refers to book.)
Yes,
—“Always speak the truth.”
Rich.
I'd no thoughts of sayin' this here to you on my own
account, for, truth to tell, I was chartered by another; but
when I see you my heart it up and it says, says it, “This is
the very lass for you, Dick—speak up to her, Dick,” it says
—(it calls me Dick acos we was at school together)—“tell her
all, Dick,” it says, “never sail under false colours—it's mean!”
That's what my heart tells me to say, and in my rough,
common-sailor fashion, I've said it, and I'm a-waiting for your
reply. I'm a tremblin', miss. Lookye here.
(Holding out his
hand.)
That's narvousness!
Rose
(aside).
Now, how should a maiden deal with such an
one?
(Consults book.)
“Keep no one in unnecessary suspense.”
(Aloud.)
Behold, I will not keep you in unnecessary suspense.
(Refers to book.)
“In accepting an offer of marriage, do so with
apparent hesitation.”
(Aloud.)
I take you, but with a certain
show of reluctance.
(Refers to book.)
“Avoid any appearance
of eagerness.”
(Aloud.)
Though you will bear in mind that I
am far from anxious to do so.
(Refers to book.)
“A little show
of emotion will not be misplaced!”
(Aloud.)
Pardon this tear!
(Wipes her eye.)
Rich.
Rose, you've made me the happiest blue-jacket in
England! I wouldn't change places with the Admiral of the
Fleet, no matter who he's a huggin' of at this present moment!
But, axin' your pardon, miss
(wiping his lips with his hand)
,
might I be permitted to salute the flag I'm a-goin' to sail
under?
Rose
(referring to book).
“An engaged young lady should
Once! (Richard kisses her.)
Duet.—Richard and Rose.
Rich.
The battle's roar is over,
O my love!
Embrace thy tender lover,
O my love!
From tempests' welter,
From war's alarms,
O give me shelter
Within those arms!
Thy smile alluring,
All heart-ache curing,
Gives peace enduring,
O my love!
Rose.
If heart both true and tender,
O my love!
A life-love can engender,
O my love!
A truce to sighing
And tears of brine,
For joy undying
Shall aye be mine,
And thou and I, love,
Shall live and die, love,
Without a sigh, love—
My own, my love!
Enter Robin, with Chorus of Bridesmaids.
Chorus.
If well his suit has sped,
Oh, may they soon be wed!
Oh, tell us, tell us, pray,
What doth the maiden say?
In singing are we justified,
“Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride”?
Rob.
Well—what news? Have you spoken to her?
Rich.
Ay, my lad, I have—so to speak—spoke her.
Rob.
And she refuses?
Rich.
Why, no, I can't truly say she do.
Rob.
Then she accepts! My darling!
(Embraces her.)
Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
Let the nuptial knot be tied:
In fair phrases
Hymn their praises,
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
(aside, referring to her book).
Now, what should a
maiden do when she is embraced by the wrong gentleman?
Rich.
Belay, my lad, belay. You don't understand.
Rose.
Oh, sir, belay, I beseech you!
Rich.
You see, it's like this: she accepts—but it's me!
Rob.
You!
[Richard embraces Rose.
Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
When the nuptial knot is tied
Rob.
(interrupting angrily).
Hold your tongues, will you!
Now then, what does this mean?
Rich.
My poor lad, my heart grieves for thee; but it's like
this: the moment I see her, and just as I was a-goin' to
mention your name, my heart it up and it says, says it, “Dick,
you've fell in love with her yourself,” it says. “Be honest and
sailor-like—don't skulk under false colours—speak up,” it says,
“take her, you dog, and with her my blessin'!”
Bridesmaids.
“Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!”
Rob.
Will you be quiet! Go away!
(Chorus make faces
at him and exeunt.)
Vulgar girls!
Rich.
What could I do? I'm bound to obey my heart's
dictates.
Rob.
Of course—no doubt. It's quite right—I don't mind—
that is, not particularly—only it's—it is disappointing, you
know.
Rose
(to Robin).
Oh, but, sir, I knew not that thou didst
seek me in wedlock, or in very truth I should not have
hearkened unto this man, for behold, he is but a lowly mariner,
and very poor withal, whereas thou art a tiller of the land, and
thou hast fat oxen, and many sheep and swine, a considerable
dairy farm, and much corn and oil!
Rich.
That's true, my lass; but it's done now, ain't it, Rob?
Rose.
Still it maybe that I should not be happy in thy love.
I am passing young, and little able to judge. Moreover, as to
thy character I know naught!
Rob.
Nay, Rose, I'll answer for that. Dick has won thy love
fairly. Broken-hearted as I am, I'll stand up for Dick through
thick and thin!
Dick
(with emotion).
Thankye, messmate! that's well said.
That's spoken honest. Thankye, Rob!
(Grasps his hand.)
Rose.
Yet methinks I have heard that sailors are but worldly
men, and little prone to lead serious and thoughtful lives!
Rob.
And what then? Admit that Dick is not a steady
would make your hair curl.—Grant that—he does. It's the
truth, and I'm not going to deny it. But look at his good
qualities. He's as nimble as a pony, and his hornpipe is the
talk of the fleet!
Rich.
Thankye, Rob! That's well spoken. Thankye Rob!
Rose.
But it maybe that he drinketh strong waters which do
bemuse a man, and make him even as the wild beasts of the
desert!
Rob.
Well, suppose he does, and I don't say he don't, for
rum's his bane, and ever has been. He does drink—I won't
deny it. But what of that Look at his arms—tattooed to
the shoulder!
(Dick rolls up his sleeves.)
No, no—I won't hear
a word against Dick!
Rose.
But they say that mariners are but rarely true to those
whom they profess to love!
Rob.
Granted—granted—and I don't say that Dick isn't as
bad as any of 'em.
(Dick chuckles.)
You are, you know you
are, you dog! a devil of a fellow—a regular out-and-out
Lothario! But what then? You can't have everything, and
a better hand at turning-in a dead-eye don't walk a deck!
And what an accomplishment that is in a family man! No,
no—not a word against Dick. I'll stick up for him through
thick and thin!
Rich.
Thankye, Rob, thankye. You're a true friend. I've
acted accordin' to my heart's dictates, and such orders as them
no man should disobey.
Ensemble.—Richard, Robin, Rose.
In sailing o'er life's ocean wide
Your heart should be your only guide;
With summer sea and favouring wind
Yourself in port you'll surely find.
Solo.—Richard.
My heart says, “To this maiden strike—
She's captured you.
She's just the sort of girl you like—
You know you do.
If other man her heart should gain,
I shall resign.”
That's what it says to me quite plain,
This heart of mine.
Solo.—Robin.
My heart says, “You've a prosperous lot.
With acres wide;
You mean to settle all you've got
Upon your bride.
By word or sign;
It merely states these simple facts,
This heart of mine!
Solo.—Rose.
Ten minutes since my heart said “white”—
It now says “black.”
It then said “left”—it now says “right”—
Hearts often tack.
I must obey its latest strain—
You tell me so.
[To Richard.
But should it change its mind again,
I'll let you know.
[Turning from Richard to Robin who embraces her.
Ensemble.
In sailing o'er life's ocean wide
No doubt the heart should be your guide,
But it is awkward when you find
A heart that does not know its mind!
[Exeunt Robin with Rose and Richard, weeping.
Enter Mad Margaret. She is wildly dressed in picturesque tatters, and is an obvious caricacture of theatrical madness.
Scena.—Margaret.
Over the cot.
Merrily whistles the clerk
Scratching a blot.
But the lark
And the clerk,
I remark,
Comfort me not!
Buzzes the bee.
Splash on the billowy beach
Tumbles the sea.
But the peach
And the beach
They are each
Nothing to me!
Who am I?
Daft Madge! Crazy Meg!
Mad Margaret! Poor Peg!
He! he! he! he! he! (Chuckling.)
Yes, very!
But why?
Mystery!
Don't call!
Whisht! whisht!
'Tis only
That I'm
Love—lonely!
That's all!
Whisht! whisht!
Ballad.
Cometh one to gather flowers,
And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless heads,
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting—never doubting
That for Cytherean posies
He would gather aught but roses!
Lay a violet, half-hidden,
Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals,
Though she lived alone, apart.
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas, the cruel awaking
Set her little heart abreaking,
For he gathered for his posies
Only roses—only roses!
[Bursts into tears.
Enter Rose.
Rose.
A maiden, and in tears? Can I do aught to soften
thy sorrow? This apple—
(Offering apple.)
Mar.
(examines it and rejects it).
No!
(Mysteriously.)
Tell
me, are you mad?
Rose.
I? No! That is, I think not.
Mar.
That's well! Then you don't love Sir Despard
Murgatroyd? All mad girls love him. I love him. I'm poor
Mad Margaret—Crazy Meg—Poor Peg! He! he! he! he!
(Chuckling.)
Rose.
Thou lovest the bad Baronet of Ruddigore? Oh, horrible
—too horrible?
Mar.
You pity me? Then be my mother! The squirrel
had a mother; but she drank, and the squirrel fled! Hush!
thus:— (Sings.)
Sat down in a—down in a—in a—”
I forget what they sat down in, but so the song goes! Listen—
I've come to pinch her!
Rose.
Mercy, whom!
Mar.
You mean “who.”
Rose.
Nay! it is the accusative after the verb.
Mar.
True.
(Whispers melodramatically.)
I have come to
pinch Rose Maybud!
Rose
(aside, alarmed).
Rose Maybud!
Mar.
Ay! I love him—he loved me once. But that's all
gone. Fisht! He gave me an Italian glance—thus—
(Business.)
—and made me his. He will give her an Italian glance, and
make her his. But it shall not be, for I'll stamp on her—stamp
on her—stamp on her! Did you ever kill anybody? No?
Why not? Listen—I killed a fly this morning! It buzzed,
and I wouldn't have it. So it died—pop! So shall she!
Rose.
But behold, I am Rose Maybud, and I would fain not
die “pop.”
Mar.
You are Rose Maybud!
Rose.
Yes, sweet Rose Maybud!
Mar.
Strange! They told me she was beautiful! And he
loves you! No, no! If I thought that, I would treat you as
the auctioneer and land-agent treated the lady-bird—I would
rend you asunder!
Rose.
Nay, be pacified, for behold I am pledged to another,
and lo, we are to be wedded this very day!
Mar.
Swear me that! Come to a Commissioner and let me
have it on affidavit! I once made an affidavit—but it died—
it died—it died! But see, they come—Sir Despard and his
evil crew! Hide, hide—they are all mad—quite mad!
Rose.
What makes you think that?
Mar.
Hush! They sing choruses in public. That's mad
enough, I think! Go—hide away, or they will seize you.
Hush! Quite softly—quite, quite softly!
[Exeunt together, on tiptoe.
Enter Chorus of Bucks and Blades, heralded by Chorus of Bridesmaids.
Chorus of Bridesmaids.
For your entry
Sets our tender hearts a-beating.
Admiration
Prompts this unaffected greeting.
Hearty greeting offer we!
Easy breeding—
Just the thing our hearts to pillage—
Cheers us, charms us,
Quite disarms us:
Welcome, welcome, to our village;
To our village welcome be!
Chorus of Bucks and Blades.
Of being admired
By ladies of gentle degree—degree,
With flattery sated,
High-flown and inflated,
Away from the city we flee—we flee!
To prettiness rural
The sudden transition
Is simply Elysian,
So come, Almaryllis,
Come, Chloe and Phyllis,
Your slaves, for the moment, are we
All.
From charms intramural, etc.
Chorus of Bridesmaids.
The sons of the tillage
Who dwell in the village
Are people of lowly degree—degree.
Though honest and active
They're most unattractive,
And awkward as awkward can be—can be.
They're clumsy clodhoppers
With axes and choppers,
And shepherds and ploughmen,
And drovers and cowmen,
And hedgers and reapers,
And carters and keepers,
But never a lover for me!
All.
They're clumsy clodhoppers, etc.
All.
So welcome, gentry
For your/our entry
Sets our/their tender hearts a-beating, etc.
Song and Chorus.—Sir Despard.
Sir D.
Oh, why am I moody and sad?
Ch.
Can't guess!
Sir D.
And why am I guiltily mad?
Ch.
Confess!
Sir D.
Because I am thoroughly bad!
Ch.
Oh yes—
Sir D.
You'll see it at once in my face.
Oh, why am I husky and hoarse?
Ch.
Ah, why?
Sir D.
It's the workings of conscience, of course.
Ch.
Fie, fie!
Sir D.
And huskiness stands for remorse,
Ch.
Oh my!
Sir D.
At least it does so in my case!
Sir D.
When in crime one is fully employed—
Ch.
Like you—
Sir D.
Your expression gets warped and destroyed:
Ch.
It do.
Sir D.
It's a penalty none can avoid;
Ch.
How true!
Sir D.
I once was a nice-looking youth;
But like stone from a strong catapult—
Ch.
(explaining to each other).
A trice—
Sir D.
I rushed at my terrible cult—
Ch.
(explaining to each other).
That's vice—
Sir D.
Observe the unpleasant result!
Ch.
Not nice.
Sir D.
Indeed I am telling the truth!
Sir D.
Oh, innocent, happy though poor!
Ch.
That's we—
Sir D.
If I had been virtuous, I'm sure—
Ch.
Like me—
Sir D.
I should be as nice-looking as you're!
Ch.
May be.
Sir D.
You are very nice-looking indeed!
Oh, innocents, listen in time—
Ch.
We doe,
Sir D.
Avoid an existence of crime—
Ch.
Just so—
Sir D.
Or you'll be as ugly as I'm—
Ch.
(loudly).
No! No!
Sir D.
And now, if you please, we'll proceed.
[All the Girls express their horror of Sir Despard. As he approaches them they fly from him, terror-stricken, leaving him alone on the stage.
Sir D.
Poor children, how they loathe me—me whose hands
are certainly steeped in infamy, but whose heart is as the heart
whole picture-gallery of ancestors step down from their frames
and threaten him with an excruciating death, if he hesitate
to commit his daily crime? But, ha! ha! I am even with
them! (Mysteriously.)
I get my crime over the first thing in
the morning, and then, ha! ha! for the rest of the day I do
good—I do good—I do good! (Melodramatically.)
Two days
since, I stole a child and built an orphan asylum. Yesterday
I robbed a bank and endowed a bishopric. To-day I carry
off Rose Maybud, and atone with a cathedral! This is what
it is to be the sport and toy of a Picture Gallery! But I
will be bitterly revenged upon them! I will give them all
to the Nation, and nobody shall ever look upon their faces
again!
Enter Richard.
Rich.
Ax your honour's pardon, but—
Sir D.
Ha! observed! And by a mariner! What would
you with me, fellow?
Rich.
Your honour, I'm a poor man-o'-war's man, becalmed
in the doldrums.
Sir D.
I don't know them.
Rich.
And I make bold to ax your honour's advice. Does
your honour know what it is to have a heart?
Sir D.
My honour knows what it is to have a complete
apparatus for conducting the circulation of the blood through
the veins and arteries of the human body.
Rich.
Ay, but has your honour a heart that ups and looks
you in the face, and gives you quarter-deck orders that it's life
and death to disobey?
Sir D.
I have not a heart of that description, but I have a
Picture Gallery that presumes to take that liberty.
Rich.
Well, your honour, it's like this. Your honour had an
elder brother—
Sir D.
It had.
Rich.
Who should have inherited your title and, with it, its
cuss.
Sir D.
Ay; but he died. Oh, Ruthven!
Rich.
He didn't.
Sir D.
He did not?
Rich.
He didn't. On the contrary, he lives in this here very
village, under the name of Robin Oakapple, and he's a-going to
marry Rose Maybud this very day.
Sir D.
Ruthven alive, and going to marry Rose Maybud
Can this be possible?
Now the question I was going to ask your honour is—
ought I to tell your honour this?
Sir D.
I don't know. It's a delicate point. I think you
ought. Mind, I'm not sure, but I think so.
Rich.
That's what my heart says. It says, “Dick,” it says
(it calls me Dick acos it's entitled to take that liberty)—“that
there young gal would recoil from him if she knowed what he
really were. Ought you to stand off and on, and let this young
gal take this false step and never fire a shot across her bows to
bring her to? No,” it says, “you did not ought.” And I won't
ought, accordin'.
Sir D.
Then you really feel yourself at liberty to tell me that
my elder brother lives—that I may charge him with his cruel
deceit, and transfer to his shoulders the hideous thraldom under
which I have laboured for so many years! Free—free at last!
Free to live a blameless life, and to die beloved and regretted by
all who knew me!
Duet.—Sir Despard and Richard.
Rich.
You understand?
Sir D.
I think I do;
With vigour unshaken
This step shall be taken.
It's neatly planned.
Rich.
I think so too;
I'll readily bet it
You'll never regret it!
Both.
For duty, duty must be done;
The rule applies to every one,
And painful though that duty be,
To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee!
Sir D.
The bridegroom comes—
Rich.
Likewise the bride—
The maidens are very
Elated and merry;
They are her chums.
Sir D.
To lash their pride
Were almost a pity,
The pretty committee!
Both.
But duty, duty must be done,
The rule applies to every one,
And painful though that duty be,
To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee!
[Exeunt Richard and Sir Despard.
Chorus of Bridesmaids.
Hail the bride of seventeen summers;
In fair phrases
Hymn her praises;
Lift your song on high, all comers.
She rejoices
In your voices.
Smiling summer bears upon her,
Shedding every blessing on her:
Maidens, greet her—
Kindly treat her
You may all be brides some day!
Chorus of Bucks.
Hail the bridegroom who advances,
Agitated,
Yet elated.
He's in easy circumstances,
Young and lusty,
True and trusty:
Happiness untold awaits them
When the parson consecrates them;
People near them,
Loudly cheer them—
You'll be bridegrooms some fine day!
Enter Robin, attended by Richard and Old Adam, meeting Rose, attended by Zorah and Dame Hannah. Rose and Robin embrace.
Madrigal.
Rose.
Where the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding-day—
Life is love in merry May!
Girls.
Spring is green—Fal lal la!
Summer's rose—Fal lal la!
All.
It is sad when summer goes,
Fal la!
Men.
Autumn's gold gold—Fal lal la!
Winter's gray—Fal lal la!
All.
Fal la!
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the spring-time seed is sown:
In the summer grass is mown:
In the autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Girls.
Spring is hope—Fal lal la!
Summer's joy—Fal lal la!
All.
Spring and summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Men.
Autumn, toil—Fal lal la!
Winter, rest—Fal lal la!
All.
Winter, after all, is best—
Fal la!
All.
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter too—
Every season has its cheer
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
Gavotte.
After Gavotte, enter Sir Despard.
Sir D.
Hold, bride and bridegroom, ere you wed each other,
I claim young Robin as my elder brother!
Rob.
(aside).
Ah, lost one!
Sir D.
His rightful title I have long enjoyed:
I claim him as Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd!
Rose.
(wildly).
Deny the falsehood, Robin, as you should.
It is a plot!
Rob.
I would, if conscientiously I could,
But I cannot!
All.
Ah, base one!
Solo.—Robin.
As pure and blameless peasant,
I cannot, I regret,
Deny a truth unpleasant,
I am that Baronet!
All.
He is that Baronet!
But when completely rated
Bad baronet am I,
That I am what he's stated
I'll recklessly deny!
All.
He'll recklessly deny!
Rob.
When I'm a bad bart. I will tell taradiddles!
All.
He'll tell taradiddles when he's a bad bart.
Rob.
I'll play a bad part on the falsest of fiddles.
All.
On very false fiddles he'll play a bad part!
Rob.
But until that takes place I must be conscientious—
All.
He'll be conscientious until that takes place.
Rob.
Then adieu with good grace to my morals sententious
All.
To morals sententious adieu with good grace!
Zor.
Who is the wretch who hath betrayed thee?
Let him stand forth!
(coming forward).
'Twas I!
All.
Die, traitor!
Rich.
Withhold your wrath!
Whose voice can't be gainsaid.
It bade me thy true rank impart,
And I at once obeyed.
I knew 'twould blight thy budding fate—
I knew 'twould cause thee anguish great—
But did I therefore hesitate?
No! I at once obeyed!
All.
Acclaim him who, when his true heart
Bade him young Robin's rank impart,
Immediately obeyed!
Solo.—Rose (addressing Robin).
Thou hadst my heart—
'Twas quickly won!
But now we part—
Thy face I shun!
Farewell!
At Vice's shrine,
Of life with me
All hope resign.
Farewell!
(To Sir Despard.)
Take me—I am thy bride!
Hurrah!
Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
When the nuptial knot is tied;
Every day will bring some joy
That can never, never cloy!
Enter Margaret, who listens.
Sir D.
Excuse me, I'm a virtuous person now—
Rose.
That's why I wed you!
Sir D.
And I to Margaret must keep my vow!
Mar.
Have I misread you?
Oh, joy! with newly kindled rapture warmed,
I kneel before you!
[Kneels.
Sir D.
I once disliked you; now that I've reformed,
How I adore you!
[They embrace.
Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
When the nuptial knot is tied;
That can never, never cloy!
Rose.
Richard, of him I love bereft,
Through thy design,
Thou art the only one that's left,
So I am thine!
[They embrace.
Bridesmaids.
Hail the Bridegroom—hail the Bride!
Let the nuptial knot be tied!
Duet.—Rose and Richard.
Oh, happy the lily
When kissed by the bee;
And, sipping tranquilly,
Quite happy is he;
And happy the filly
That neighs in her pride;
But happier than any
A pound to a penny,
A lover is, when he
Embraces his bride!
Duet.—Sir Despard and Margaret.
Oh, happy the flowers
That blossom in June,
And happy the bowers
That gain by the boon,
But happier by hours
The man of descent,
Who, folly regretting,
Is bent on forgetting
His bad baroneting,
And means to repent!
Trio.—Hannah, Adam, and Zorah.
Oh, happy the blossom
That blooms on the lea,
Likewise the opossom
That sits on a tree,
But when you come across 'em,
They cannot compare,
With those who are treading
The dance at a wedding,
While people are spreading
The best of good fare!
Solo.—Robin.
Oh, wretched the debtor
Who's signing the deed!
And wretched the letter
That no one can read!
Their lot it must be
Than that of the person
I'm making this verse on,
Whose head there's a curse on—
Alluding to me!
Repeat Ensemble with Chorus.
Dance.
[At the end of the dance Robin falls senseless on the stage. Picture.
| Ruddigore ; Or, The Witch's Curse | |