University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene.—Market place of Elsinore. The townspeople (led by Mats Munck, the Syndic) are assembled to congratulute Erling Sykke on the completion of the statue of the Prince Regent of Denmark, which occupies the centre of the stage. Colours flying, bells ringing, cannon firing, and general symptoms of rejoicing.
[Exit Christina.
Erl.

That's a typical instance of feminine perversity—doesn't
fall in love with me, which would be rational enough, but with
the senseless inanimate work of my hands! My dear fellow
(addressing statue)
, I little thought, when I cut you out, that
in course of time you'd return the compliment!

Enter Tortenssen.
Tor.

Erling, congratulate me! I've just received my patent
of appointment as Personal Physician to His Majesty King
Christian. I have let my house, sold my practice, and I start
for Copenhagen this day week!

Erl.

My dear friend, I'm overjoyed. I'm in daily expectation
of a Royal command to take up my office as Sculptor Extraordinary
to the Royal Family—and we'll travel together. Of
course you've heard that I've been promised a Countship?

Tor.

And I am to be created a Baron!

Erl.

You don't say so! To think that we two, who have
toiled in obscurity from boyhood for a bare subsistence, should

both be raised at the same moment to such social and professional
distinction!

Tor.

It seems incredible! It can't be—but, no—that's out
of the question.

Erl.

What can't be?

Tor.

It can't be one of Governor Griffenfeld's practical jokes?

Erl.

My dear fellow, don't suggest such a thing. It would
be too cruel—why, it would be our ruin!

Tor.

But he is cruel. When a scheme for a practical joke
enters his head he sticks at nothing in its accomplishment.
Why, he has caused the very soldiers of the garrison—war-worn
veterans as they are—to be drilled as ballet-girls, and to
perform all their evolutions to dance steps, simply in order
to make them ridiculous in the eyes of the girls they're
engaged to!

Erl.

He's a malicious devil enough, but he would hardly
venture to play pranks in the name of his Sovereign. Besides,
there's the statue—a commission from the King.

Tor.

True. By the way, I suppose it is a commission from
the King? That's not one of his Excellency's practical jokes?

Erl.

Nonsense! Now, does that look like a practical joke?
Why, I'm to get ten thousand rix-dollars for it! Now, as you
know, I love his daughter Nanna devotedly, and she has
hitherto treated me with contempt, because, as she says, I'm a
mere tuppenny-halfpenny stone-cutter. Of course, that's only
her humorous way of putting it.

Tor.

And I adore Thora, who has always treated my pretensions
with derision, because, as she says, I'm only a pitiful
pill-roller. That's her epigrammatic way of expressing it.

Erl.

But now that our positions are so immensely improved,
surely we might renew our proposals with every prospect of
success!

Tor.

The very idea that occurred to me! My incomparable
Thora—

Erl.

Your what!

Tor.

My incomparable Thora—

Erl.

Ah—exactly! But—don't think me inquisitive—why
don't you think Nanna incomparable?

Tor.

Why, my dear fellow, if for no other reason, because
you do.

Erl.

What an obstinate dog you must be to refuse to consider
her the divinest creature in the world, because I do! And you
call yourself my friend!

Tor.

Well, but really—

Erl.

It's most unjust to the poor girl.

Tor.

But if I loved Nanna you'd call me out.

Erl.

What, you—call you out? Call out my old friend
because he was of the same way of thinking as myself?—no!

Tor.

But suppose I were successful?

Erl.

Ah, but you wouldn't be. That is a contingency that
we need not consider. Now do give up Thora and love Nanna
—do, to oblige me.

Tor.

Do you want everybody to love Nanna?

Erl.

Of course I do. What I want is that all the world shall
go mad over her, and that I shall be triumphant. Surely that's
an intelligible position! Now mark:—

Song.—Erling.

Enter Nanna and Thora.
Nanna
(pretending not to see Erling and Tortenssen).

And they're so clever, said I—such talented young men—so
extraordinarily good-looking, too—and so kind to their poor old
mothers!

Thora.

And now that they're going to be raised to the
peerage they'll have nothing to say to a couple of middle-class
nobodies like us! (Suddenly.)
Oh my goodness, here they
are! Oh what have I said!

Duet.—Nanna and Thora.
Thora.
Oh my goodness, here's the nobility!

Nanna.
Gracious me, how very embarrassing!

Thora.
We're such every day gentility—
Bless me, how exceedingly harassing!

Nanna.
Pray, you pardon us!
Don't be hard on us!

Thora.
Most confusing your regard on us!

Both.
Never was I so dazed, I think!
Into the ground I'd like to sink!

Thora.
Can't you see they're high society?

Nanna.
Don't they sneer like people of quality?

Thora.
If we seem to lack propriety,
Pray forgive our silly frivolity!

Nanna.
Treat with charity
Our vulgarity—

Thora.
'Twixt us there's so much disparity

Both.
Very superior persons, you!
Gracious goodness, what shall we do?

Erl.

Then, Miss Nanna, you've heard of our good fortune?

Nanna.

Indeed I have! I'm quite uncomfortable in the
presence of such grandees!

Thora.

We're so unaccustomed to aristocratic circles that
really we hardly know how we ought to address you!

Tor.

Oh, we haven't been ennobled yet.

Thora.

Haven't you really? Come, that makes conversation
easier. Still, a Personal Physician to the King—

Nanna.

And a Sculptor Extraordinary to the Royal Family—

Thora.

And we're only the daughters of an obscure provincial
Governor! Oh, really I think we'd better go. It's so much
wiser to keep to one's own rank in life!

Erl.

Miss Nanna, pray be reassured; we have no desire to
presume on our promotion. Indeed, you overrate our importance.

Thora.

It seems impossible. I really think we'd better go.

Tor.

No, don't do that. Be quite unembarrassed—entirely at
your ease, and try to imagine that we are nobody in particular.

Thora.

Oh, but that demands a tremendous effort of the
imagination. Still, I'll try (tries)
.

Tor.

Have you got it?

Thora.

Not yet, but I won't be beaten. I'll try again (tries again)
.

Nanna
(trying).

Oh, I shall never do it! Did you say
nobody in particular?

Erl.

Just a couple of mere everyday, commonplace professional
men.

Nanna.

Well, it can't be done—that's all! It's ridiculous
to expect it.

Erl.
(aside).

Now's my time, I think! (Aloud.)
Miss
Nanna, as you know, we have both loved you and your sister—
and we've often told you so, and you snubbed us, and we
deserved it. But now that we are well off, and Court personages,
and going to be ennobled, we venture to—to—

Nanna.

Not to offer us your hands. No—don't say that—
don't turn our heads and give us ideas above our station!

Thora.

Oh! (crying out)
. Oh, I've got an idea above my
station! Oh, it's all the way up there, ever so high!

[Pointing up.
The Others
(looking up).

Where? Where?

Thora.

Bal-loon! Ha! ha! ha!

Erl.

I do believe you are laughing at us!

Thora
(to Nanna).

Oh, aren't the nobility shrewd?

Nanna.

And isn't the aristocracy quick at grasping a
situation?

Thora.

But come, we'll be serious. Are you really in earnest
when you make us this intoxicating offer?

Tor.

Absolutely.

Erl.

More serious than we ever were in our lives.

Nanna.

Very good, that's business, and I'll tell you what
we'll do.

Quartett.—Nanna, Thora, Erling, and Tortenssen.
Nanna.
If all is as you say—
If honour and wealth and glory
Of every sort
Are your's—

Thora.
In short,
If you're not telling a story—

Nanna.
If you are a Count some day—

Thora.
A Baron if you're created—
And all turns out
Beyond all doubt
Precisely as you've stated—

Nanna.
Court sculptor and a peer,
With eversomuch a year,
Precisely as you've stated—

Thora.
Physician to the King
With honours and everything,
Precisely as you've stated—

Nanna and Thora.
Then I will be your bride—

Erl. and Tor.
Oh joy!

Nanna and Thora.
And I your bride will be!

Erl. and Tor.
Then let us make merry.
It's evident, very,
That day we soon shall see—

Nanna and Thora.
When you are qualified—

Erl. and Tor.
Oh joy!

Nanna and Thora.
To marry you we agree!

Erl. and Tor.
Oh happy decision!
Oh vision Elysian!
That day we soon shall see!

Erl.
Compared with our own
All others are inkiness!

Tor.
They are, alone,
Two visions of pinkiness!

Erl.
Pinkiness, veiled
With ivory pellicle—

Tor.
Everywhere hailed
As simply angelical!

Nanna.
That isn't true,
Ridiculous chatterer!

Thora.
Go along, do,
Unscrupulous flatterer!

Nanna.
Only a sweet
Individuality!

Thora.
Dainty and neat,
But merely mortality!

Erl. and Tor.
Merely mortality? Merely mortality?
With such a bewitching individuality?

Nanna and Thora.
Merely two pretty young ladies of quality,
Piquante and pleasant—but merely mortality!

All.
Then I/you will be my bride—oh joy!
And I your/you my bride will be! &c.

[Dance and exeunt Erling and Tortenssen.
Nanna.

Oh, Thora! (laughing.)

Thora.

Oh, Nanna! (laughing.)

Nanna.

They believe it all!

Thora.

Every word!

Nanna.

What geese!

Thora.

Personal Physician to the King!

Nanna.

Sculptor Extraordinary to the Royal Family!

Thora.

It serves them right for presuming to aspire to our
affections. It was papa's idea! Oh, it's a grand thing to have
a father who will condescend to play practical jokes on the very
meanest rather than allow the family dignity to be insulted.

Nanna.

Dear papa! He has such humour!

Thora.

So much invention!

Nanna.

Such an uncontrollable flow of animal spirits!

Thora.

Such a gentle, harmless, refined, and utterly inoffensive
notion of fun! Here he comes, attended by his guard—
all drilled as ballet-girls. Now there's a happy idea!

Nanna.

Delightful! Dear papa is never so happy as when
he is making dignified people ridiculous!

Enter Chorus of Girls, led by Elsa.
Chorus.
Here are warriors all ablaze,
Sabre and epaulettes, ha! ha!
All of them ordered to spend their days
Practising minuets, ha! ha!
Never was seen such tawdry trickery,
Soldiers, tough as oak or hickory,
Turned to votaries of Terpsichore,
Mincing marionettes, ha! ha!
Never was seen in soldier's training
Spectacle half so entertaining!
Never was seen such tuppenny trickery—
Soldiers, tough as the oak or hickory,
Turned to votaries of Terpsichore,
Mincing marionettes, ha! ha!

Enter Soldiers dancing, led by Harold and followed by Blanca.
Har.
Though I'm a soldier, all pugnacity,
Into your presence I'm made to come
In the contemptible capacity
Of a confounded teetotum!

Chorus of Soldiers.
In the contemptible capacity
Of a confounded teetotum.

Har.
Although the Governor's jokes are numerous,
This is a joke we fail to see—
If this is the Governor's fun so humorous,
Bother the Governor's fun, say we!

Chorus of Soldiers.
If this is the Governor's fun so humorous,
Bother the Governor's fun, say we!

Har.
Oh you may laugh at our dancing-schoolery—
It's all very well, it amuses you,
But how would you like this dashed tomfoolery
Every day from ten to two?

Chorus of Soldiers.
How would you like this dashed tomfoolery
Every day from ten to two?

Har.
(to Soldiers).

You can halt for a moment. The
Governor's stopped to make a butter slide on the Syndic's
doorstep. (Soldiers halt—to Blanca.)
It's a little unkind to
laugh at us, Blanca, for you know we can't help it—from
10 to 2.

Blan.

It's a little unkind to complain of our laughing at
you, for you know we can't help it—from 10 to 2.

Elsa.

We can none of us help it—you're all so ridiculous!

Har.

I think my betrothed wife might sympathize with the
absurdity of my position. I think all our betrothed wives
might sympathize with the absurdity of all our positions.

Elsa.

We sympathize with you as hard as we can, after 2.
We can't do it before 2, because we're laughing all the time.

Blan.

From 2 to 10 you're men, and we're engaged to you.
From 10 to 2 you're hoppedegigs, and it's off.

Elsa.

That exactly describes it.

Har.

Yes, but at that rate we shall never get any forrarder.
Besides, who knows what may happen from 10 to 2? You
might get engaged to somebody else—to the Sergeant-Major, for
instance—he's always fooling around you.

Blan.

Well, of course we don't want to waste our mornings;
but even if I were engaged to him from 10 to 2, I should always
be true to you from 2 to 10.

Har.

It's not enough. It's incomplete.

Elsa.

Take care, the Governor's coming.

Har.

Oh, confound it—off we go again!

[Soldiers resume dancing.
Enter Governor Griffenfeld. He has a pound of butter in his hand.
Grif.
(to Soldiers).

Ah, my fine fellows, still at it? Got
your second wind? That's right—capital exercise! Nothing
like it. Here, you can eat this—I've done with it. Giving butter to Harold.)

The Syndic went down like a shot!

Har.
(dancing).

I beg your Excellency's pardon, but—may
we halt for a moment? We've danced for nearly three miles
up-hill, and it's a hot day, and we're feeling a little faint.

Grif.

Always craving for some unreasonable indulgence!
Selfish dogs, all of you! Well, you may halt for five minutes.

Har.

Thank you very much. (To Soldiers.)
Selfish dogs—
Halt! (They halt.)

Grif.

Anything else?

Har.

Well, I have a request to make. The fact is, the troops
do feel the humiliation of being drilled like ballet-girls.

Grif.

Bless my heart, you surprise me! Don't they like
ballet-girls?

Har.

Oh, they're very fond of ballet-girls, but they don't want
to be ballet-girls, because when you are a ballet-girl, you don't
seem to care so much about ballet-girls as you do when—when
you're something quite different.

Grif.

But don't your men see how much amusement they
create? Can't they see that all the girls are laughing at them?
Have they no sense of humour?

Har.

Oh, they've a distinct sense of humour; but to enjoy
this sort of thing completely you want to see it from a distance.
You see it from a distance, and it ought to be devilish funny;
but we are close to it—in fact, we are it—and when you are it,
you don't seem to care so much about it, as you do when—when
you are something quite different. The fact is, the point of a
joke is like the point of a needle—hold the needle sideways and
it's plain enough, but when it is directed straight at you—well,
it's not always very easy to see the point of it.

Grif.

Nonsense! I can see a joke plain enough even when
I'm its victim. Take my unfortunate love affair—

Har.

Ah, ridiculous business that!

[Soldiers laugh.
Grif.

No comments, sir!

Har.
(to Soldiers).

No comments, gentlemen!

Grif.

Take my unfortunate love affair. The late Governor,
when I was only his deputy, was about to be married to an
elderly lady of a singularly explosive disposition. They simply
doted on each other. Now when you see two old donkeys
simply doting on each other, your course is obvious—you set
to work—

Har.

To wheedle the old lady—

Grif.

Away from the old gentleman.

Har.

Ha! ha! you little rogue!

[Harold digs Griffenfeld in the ribs.
Grif.

Don't do that, sir!

Har.
(to Soldiers).

Don't do that, gentlemen!

Grif.

Well, after some respectful attentions, she accepted me
in this letter (producing a letter)
in which she stipulated that
the matter should be kept a profound secret until an excuse
could be found for sending the old gentleman about his business.
But, as luck would have it, the Governor died suddenly and I
succeeded him, before I had time to explain that it was only my
fun—

Har. and Soldiers.

Ha! ha! (Suddenly serious)
—I beg
your pardon—I don't know what they're laughing at.

Grif.

And so there I was—regularly trapped into a ridiculous
engagement, which I can't for the life of me see my way out of.
The situation is most unpleasant—most unpleasant. But do you
suppose I don't see the fun of it? Why, I can't think of it
without going into convulsions! Ha! ha!

Har. and Soldiers.

Ha! ha! ha!

Grif.

She's sixty!

Har. and Soldiers.

Ha! ha! ha!

Grif.

Wears a wig!

Har. and Soldiers.

Ha! ha! ha!

Grif.

Don't overdo it, sir!

Har.

Don't overdo it, gentlemen!

Grif.

That's quite enough. It's a very good joke, but not as
good a joke as all that. Impudent puppies!—be off with you.

Har.
(to Soldiers).

Impudent puppies!—inwards turn—
Chassez!

[Harold and soldiers dance off, followed by girls laughing and chattering.
Grif.

Upon my word, there's no such thing as gratitude. I
do all I can to make my soldiers amusing—I place them in all
kinds of ridiculous situations—I make them a source of entertainment
to a whole township of attractive girls, and instead of
being pleased and grateful for the attention, they growl like so
many sore-eared bears!

Enter Dame Cortlandt skittishly, with a folded note in her hand.
Dame.

Why, here's my little man after all! I've been
looking for him everywhere. Why does he hide himself away
from his loving Hecla?

Grif.

Eh? Oh, it's you, is it? (She puts her arm round his neck.)

Don't do that—you rumple me. What have you got
there?

Dame.

It's a note, you jealous boy! Not for you—oh dear
no! It's a pretty little pink and white billet doux addressed to
a pretty little pink and white gentleman, begging him to make
an appointment to meet a pretty little pink and white lady, all
alone! That's me! Now what do you think of that?

Grif.

Well, if you ask me, I don't think he'll come.

Dame.

Oh yes, he will! He'll come fast enough. But
there—it's cruel to keep my pet in suspense—

Grif.

God bless me, you don't suppose I care whom you
meet!

Dame
(suddenly furious).

What's that? Say that again!
Once more! Come, out with it!

Grif.
(alarmed).

I say that I've such perfect confidence in
your moral character that I don't trouble myself to inquire whom
you make appointments with.

Dame
(relieved).

Oh, was that all? But you shouldn't upset
me, George. Within this fragile body two tremendous powers
are in perpetual antagonism—a Diabolical Temper and an Iron

Will. At first it didn't seem to be any affair of mine, and I
determined to let them fight it out among themselves; but
this internal conflict of irresistible forces is very wearing,
George, and I begin to wish they'd settle it one way or the
other.

Grif.

Oh, what's the odds?

Dame
(temper rising).

About seven to two on the Temper
just now, George. (Struggling to repress it.)
No, the Will
triumphs! (Playfully.)
Now, shall I tell my little man who
it is?

[Placing her arm round his neck.
Grif.

Oh, bother! Don't go on like that! You're too old!

Dame
(suddenly furious).

Eh? What was that? Too old!
I'm too old! Oh, hold me down—hold me down! Bottle me
up, and tie down the cork, or I shall go mad! mad! mad!

Grif.

Don't go on like that—it's so jumpy!

Dame
(struggling with herself).

You—you said I was too
old!

Grif.

Well, I'm too old. You're not, but I am. Can't you
take a joke? Can't anybody take a joke?

Dame.

You were not in earnest?

Grif.

Earnest! Am I ever in earnest?

Dame
(with an effort).

All right, dear—don't be afraid—it's
down again! Well, then, this is a letter requesting Master
Mats Munck, the Syndic, to take my instructions for drawing
up the settlements with a view to my forthcoming marriage.
But I sha'n't tell you how I'm going to deal with my property.
That will be a little surprise for you during the honeymoon.

Grif.
(aside).

A letter to the Syndic? The very thing! It
may help me to carry out my plot for compromising her with
him. (Aloud.)
Give it to me. I shall see him presently, and
I'll hand it to him.

Dame.

To be sure I will. (Giving it to him.)
And now about
the date.

Grif.

What date?

Dame.

Why, the date of our marriage, you ardent creature!

Grif.

Oh, yes!—come and sit down, and we'll talk it over.
(She sits at his feet.)
There—like that. Cosy, isn't it?

Dame
(shyly).

Oh, George!

Grif.

Now suppose—I only say suppose, you know—

Dame.

Yes—like a fairy tale.

Grif.

Exactly—like a fairy tale. Now suppose that one fine
morning you discovered that all this lovemaking of mine was
only one of my practical jokes! Ha! ha! ha!

Dame.

Ha! ha! ha! (working herself up into a rage)
. Stop
a bit! stop a bit! They're fighting it out.

Grif.
(earnestly).

Two to one on the Will! Two to one on
the Will!

Dame.

Wins easy, George! It's all right again. Go on,
dear.

Grif.

No, but really now, what would you say if you found
out, quite unexpectedly, that I wasn't in earnest, and that I only
proposed to you because—because somebody bet me I wouldn't?

Dame
(working herself up).

Bet you you wouldn't—bet
you you wouldn't! What would I do—what would I do—
what would I do?

Grif.

Now don't go on like that! It's most unpleasant. I
don't think you know how creepy you are when you do that.
Oh, lord, she's off again!

Duet.—Governor and Dame Cortlandt.
Dame.

Now what would I do if you proved untrue, and the suit you
pressed were an idle jest, and the conjugal yoke a brainless joke,
and if marry your darling you couldn't?

Grif.
Yes, what would you do if I proved untrue,
And if marry my darling I couldn't?

Dame.

What would I say if you owned some day that, a wager to
win, you had taken me in, and the fact disclosed that you just
proposed because somebody bet you you wouldn't?

Grif.
If I owned some day that I sung that lay,
Because somebody bet me I wouldn't?

Dame.

Why, the trembling rock from an earthquake's shock, and
the ocean's roar on the rock-bound shore, and the hell-babe's
scream were a peaceful dream, to the terrible broth of my
brewing;

The tiger's gnash, and the cut-throat's gash, and the foeman's clash,
and the thunder-crash of eternal smash were unmeaning trash,
compared with my hullaballooing!

Ensemble.
Governor.
(aside).
It might, perhaps, be rather rash
The truth upon her mind to flash
If an earthquake's shock were idle trash
Compared with her hullaballooing!

Dame.
Take care, you'll find it rather rash
My matrimonial hopes to dash,
For an earthquake's shock were idle trash
Compared with my hullaballooing!

Dame.

Like grey screech-owl (that hideous fowl) in a midnight cowl
I'd slink and prowl till a horrible howl and a tiger's growl had
told the world I'd found you!

With object fell and a yelp and yell, on Vengeance' wing at my foe
I'd spring, and face to face in a close embrace I'd wind my arms
around you!

Your heart I'd tear from its loathsome lair—I'd pluck out your eyes,
and your tongue likewise—and limb from limb, with a growling grim,
I'd rend him who pooh poohs me!

(Recovering herself.)
Excuse me, please—when people tease, by slow
degrees I kick up a breeze which you can't appease—it's quite a
disease—I'll go and lie down—excuse me!

[Exit Dame Cortlandt.

Grif.

This is getting a little too hot to be pleasant. But
this letter to the Syndic is simply providential. It's exactly
what I wanted to make my innocent little plot complete (tears it up)
.
Now where are those two girls of mine? They ought
to be back by this time. (Enter Nanna and Thora.)
Oh,
here you are! Well, have you seen the Syndic?

Nanna.

Yes, and we've carried out all your instructions.

Grif.

Good girls.

Nanna.

We told him that we had the best possible reason to
know that the wealthy old lady was particularly well disposed
towards him, and that a declaration from him would receive
polite and immediate attention.

Thora.

So the silly old gentleman went off his head with joy
—did extraordinary things with the office-stool, and at once
wrote his declaration, and gave to us to deliver (produces it)
.
Here it is.

Grif.

Thank you (giving her the letter which he formerly received from Dame Cortlandt)
.
The old lady's reply.

Thora.

What, already?

Nanna.

Wonderful invention, steam!

Grif.

Hush! (Aside to them.)
It's the very letter in which
she accepted me under seal of secrecy, when I was only Deputy
Governor!

Nanna.

Oh, you sly old papa!

Grif.

Ha! ha! ha! It will do for him just as well as it did
for me. And it will make him so happy!

Trio.—Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora.
All.
Oh what a fund of joy jocund lies hid in harmless hoaxes!
What keen enjoyment springs
From cheap and simple things!
What deep delight from sources trite inventive humour coaxes,
That pain and trouble brew
For every one but you!

Grif.
Gunpowder placed inside its waist improves a mild Havanah,
Its unexpected flash
Burns eyebrows and moustache.

Nanna.
When people dine no kind of wine beats ipecacuanha,
But common-sense suggests
You keep it for your guests—

Thora.
Then naught annoys the organ boys like throwing red-hot coppers,

Nanna.
And much amusement bides
In common butter-slides:

Grif.
And stringy snares across the stairs cause unexpected croppers.

Thora.
Coal scuttles, recollect,
Produce the same effect.

Grif.
A man possessed
Of common-sense
Need not invest
At great expense—

Nanna.
It does not call
For pocket deep,

Thora.
These jokes are all
Extremely cheap.

All.
If you commence with eighteenpence—it's all you'll have to pay;
You may command a pleasant and a most instructive day.

Grif.
A good spring gun breeds endless fun, and makes men jump like rockets—

Thora.
And turnip-heads on posts
Make very decent ghosts.

Grif.
Then hornets sting like anything, when placed in waistcoat pockets—

Nanna.
Burnt cork and walnut juice
Are not without their use.

Grif.
No fun compares with easy chairs whose seats are stuffed with needles—

Thora.
Live shrimps their patience tax
When put down people's backs—

Grif.
Surprising, too, what one can do with a pint of fat black-beetles—

Nanna.
And treacle on a chair
Will make a Quaker swear!

Thora.
Then sharp tin tacks
And pocket squirts—

Grif.
And cobbler's wax
For ladies' skirts—

Nanna.
And slimy slugs
On bedroom floors—

Grif.
And water jugs
On open doors—

All.
Prepared with these cheap properties, amusing tricks to play,
Upon a friend a man may spend a most delightful day!

[Exeunt.
Enter two Officers, who look cautiously round.
1st Off.

Is the coast clear?

2nd Off.

Quite—there's no one in sight.

[First Officer beckons off. Enter the Regent dressed picturesquely as a tattered vagabond. Both Officers bow deferentially.
Reg.

Who were those who left as you arrived?

1st Off.

The Governor Griffenfeld, your Royal Highness, and
his two daughters.

Reg.

The fellow whose disgraceful practical jokes are the
subject of such general complaint?

2nd Off.

The same, sir.

Reg.

Well, the expostulations of the townspeople have reached
us in shoals, and we are resolved to judge for ourselves as to their
truth or falsehood. For the purpose of our present disguise,
we are Nils Egilsson—a strolling player—a vagabond—and as
such you may describe me if any question as to my identity
should arise. You can leave me now, but hold yourselves in
readiness in case of emergency.

1st Off.

As your Royal Highness pleases.

[Officers bow and exeunt.
Reg.

Whom have we here? (looking at statue)
. Oho! my
princely self, eh? Upon my word, fairly good for a provincial
town. In truth, a very public-spirited thing to have done.
Governor Griffenfeld must have inspired this—upon my word,
my heart softens towards the little scoundrel. But no—on
second thoughts, he would have commissioned a caricature.
(Enter Christina with her guitar.)
Who is this? A dainty
maiden indeed!

Chris.
(not seeing him).

It is a strange fascination that
draws me hither! I have yet three principal streets, two
squares, and the Castle Green to sing to—and they are all sure
pay.— (Puts down her guitar.)
Then how comes it that I find
myself, every half hour, instinctively drifting towards the
Market-place. It is not market-day, and there's nobody here
except— (looking at statue)
and if I sing to him he does not
hear me, and if I talk to him I must needs talk for two. As
thus: Good-morrow, my Lord. “Ah, Christina—hast thou
done well to-day?” But indifferent well, my lord Prince, for I
have taken naught and given all! “That were idly done,
Christina. What hast thou given, and to whom?” My heart,
my lord Prince, and to your Highness, for look you, I love you
passing well—even I, who never loved a living man! “Somewhat
unmaidenly, this avowal—is it not, Christina?” It may
seem so, my lord. “Thou shouldst have waited until I gave
some sign.” I might have waited long, my lord, for your
Highness is strangely reticent; and I might have peaked,
pined, dwindled, drooped, and died in the waiting. “That
were pitiful indeed, Christina.” I thank your lordship. Will
you hear a poor ballad, my lord? “If it be fairly sung,
Christina, and not too long.” It is not long, my lord, and I

will sing it with all my poor skill, so it shall please you. “Well,
tune up, Christina—but I have no small change.” I thank your
Highness; I sing to you, not for your money, but for your love.
The song runneth thus;— (sees Regent, who comes forward, offering her the guitar)

Oh, sir!

Chris.

Ah!

[Looks at statue, then at Regent, and shows signs of terror.
Reg.

Why, what is amiss with thee?

Chris.

Sir, I am frightened! I thought at first—but I am a
silly fool! I ask your pardon; but—you are so strangely like
the Regent's statue, that, for the moment, I—oh, who are you?

Reg.

I am Nils Egilsson—a strolling player—a flotsam and
jetsam on the world's tide—tossed hither and thither as the wild
waves will; but come good, come ill, always at the service of
all pretty maids who need my offices.

Chris.

Then—you are not a prince?

Reg.

Not a prince? Oh, but I am a prince—very often!
Every prince in turn from Nebuchadnezzar down to Louis the
Sixteenth, when an engagement offers. A trifle out of repair
just now, but even your theatrical princes have their vicissitudes,
and Elsinore is not stage-struck. But times may mend, and
who knows but that I shall yet play Hamlet on his native
battlements?

Chris.

Still, a real Prince—

Reg.

Is not to be envied, take my word for it. Why, the
very fact that he can't show his nose out of doors without an
everlasting accompaniment of National Anthem is enough to
make him turn Revolutionist, and cry aloud for his own downfall!

Song.—Regent.

Chris.

It is pleasant to know that we are of kindred lot, for
if you are a strolling player, why I am but a poor ballad-singer,
and our callings have much in common. I am at my ease now,
but at first—you will laugh at me, I know—I almost thought
I was speaking to the Regent himself!

Reg.

I have been given to understand that there is a certain
resemblance.

Chris.

It is marvellous! Do you know his Highness, sir?

[Anxiously.
Reg.

Well, I can scarcely say. We have never met, face to
face.

Chris.
(disappointed).

Then you do not know him.

Reg.

Very good—then I do not know him: but—I know his
tailor.

Chris.

His tailor?

Reg.

Yes. I frequently see his tailor, and his tailor tells me,
in strictest confidence, that (impressively)
his Highness is at least
three inches more round the waist than he is here represented
to be! So be prepared for a disappointment!

Chris.
(laughing).

Why, sir, I believe there is nothing in
this wide world that concerns me less than the measure of his
Highness's waist! Such a trifle weighs but little with me.

Reg.
(aside).

It weighs a good deal with me! (Aloud.)
And
do you pass much time in the society of his Highness's effigy?

Chris.

Why, in truth, much more than is prudent.

Reg.

Oh, he won't hurt you—I should say that you were quite
safe with him. But beware of the Regent himself, for men say
that he is a terrible Turk!

Chris.

The Regent, sir, is nought to me. Yet, to speak truly,
I am loth to believe that there can be aught but good in one
whom that statue so strongly resembles!

Reg.

Then—I may take it that you do not believe there is
much of evil in me?

Chris.
(confused).

Why, sir—in truth—nay, this is scarcely
fair dealing. I spake not of yourself, but of the Regent.

Reg.

And I so strongly resemble him!

Chris.

I think, sir, I will go.

Reg.

Nay, be not angry with me for drawing so pleasant a
conclusion from premisses of your own making! (Tenderly.)
I
would fain hope that you are not angry with me.

Chris.

Nay, sir, I am not angry. I spake foolishly, and I am
well served. But I have tarried too long; I have to go to the
Castle Green—I am to sing there.

Reg.

Why, I am likewise bound thither, for I have to see
the Governor. (Tenderly.)
Who knows but that we may meet
again!

Chris.
(moved).

It is very like. (Recovering herself.)
But the
day is speeding, and I have to sing for my supper. So fare you
well, Master—!

Reg.

Nils Egilsson. (Kissing her hand.)

Chris.
(dreamily).

Nils Egilsson: I shall not forget that
name, be very sure!

[Exit Christina.
Reg.

Well, as a bachelor heir-apparent, I've had a tolerably
comprehensive experience of young ladies; but of all the maids
I ever met, this is the fairest, the most winning, and the most
original! What a refreshing experience! It's like the breath
of the hay-field after a season of hot ball-rooms! We shall meet
again, my pretty ballad-singer, unless I greatly err. And now
to encounter this precious Governor.

Enter Governor Griffenfeld.
Grif.

The Syndic has received his charmer's letter, and he's
on the tip-toe of expectation and delight. I shall get rid of her
—I shall get rid of her!

Reg.

Not knowing the lady, but speaking on general principles,
I should say that you couldn't do better.

Grif.

Hallo, sir, who are you who presume to convert into a
duologue that which was intended for a soliloquy?

Reg.

I'm Nils Egilsson—strolling player—sadly out of repair,
and greatly in need of a handsome salary, paid weekly in
advance.

Grif.

A professional rogue, eh?

Reg.

Well—a technical rogue—much as a lawyer is a technical
gentleman—that is to say, by Act of Parliament.

Grif.

You pipe to a sharp note, sir. We keep a cage for

such gaol-birds as you. (Aside.)
Where have I seen this fellow's
face?

Reg.

Well, I think I sing best behind bars.

Grif.
(aside).

Where have I seen this fellow's face?

Reg.

Surely you're not the Governor?

Grif.

Yes, sir, I am the Governor of this Province.

Reg.

A thousand pardons! I took you for the borough constable.
A hasty conclusion based upon a commendable absence
of that superficial polish which the vulgar are but too apt to
associate with the conception of a gentleman. The Governor!
(Bowing.)
A worshipful gentleman, I'll be sworn, appearances
notwithstanding. A thousand pardons!

Grif.
(who, during this speech, has been studying the Regent's face).

I have it! It's the statue! Why, he's marvellously
like it! (Aloud.)
Hark ye, sirrah! you are an actor, you
say?

Reg.

A poor actor.

Grif.

Ready at a moment's notice to play any part that may
be entrusted to you? Kings, princes, and so forth?

Reg.

Why, I'm famous for my kings. There's an air of
aristocratic impudence about me—you may have remarked it—
which is eminently suited to your monarchs of genteel comedy.
My tyrants, too, are much admired. “What, bearded to our
face, and by a very boy? The moat is dry—load him with
chains, and stifle him in its reeking mud! Ha! ha! I will
be obeyed!”

Grif.

Yes—that's not good, you know. Rather amateurish,
I should say. Played a long engagement in the Theatre Royal
Back Drawing Room, I should imagine. By the way, have you
ever heard it remarked that you bear a close resemblance to a
very dignified personage?

Reg.

Eh? Oh, you mean the man who mends boots on the
quay. That's very likely—he's my aunt.

Grif.

The man who mends fiddlesticks!

Reg.

I don't think I know him.

Grif.

No, sir—not to the man who mends boots—to no less
a person than the Prince Regent of Denmark.

Reg.

The Prince Regent?

Grif.

There he is. He's a common-looking fellow, and you
are singularly like him.

[Pointing to statue.
Reg.

You flatter me, I'm sure (looking at statue)
. Well,
some fellows have the deuce's own luck. Here is a man—the
heir to a throne—caressed, courted, and flattered by the highest
in the land—pampered with every luxury that the ingenuity of
the devil or man can devise—and, hang me! if, in addition to

all this, he isn't exactly like me! It's enough to turn the
fellow's head!

Grif.

He's an ugly fellow, sir, and so are you. Therein lies
the chief resemblance. Now attend to me. If you will consent
to personate His Highness for twenty-four hours, acting exactly
as I shall prescribe to you, you shall have—well, you shall
have five golden Freidrichs!

Reg.

Five golden Freidrichs!

Grif.

Then you consent?

Reg.

Consent? What is there that I wouldn't consent to
for five golden Freidrichs? But my dress—it's a convenient
outfit for summer weather; but not, I should say, what the
Regent of Denmark would wear—except, perhaps, in the bosom
of his family after the cares of State are over for the day.

Grif.

I've provided for that. The sculptor of that statue
borrowed a left-off suit of the Regent's from His Highness's
valet—for artistic purposes. It's now at the Castle, packed up,
ready to be returned. I should say it would fit you to a nicety.

Reg.
(aside).

I've not the least doubt of it. When am I to begin?

Grif.

To-morrow morning. It'll be great fun!

Reg.

It will be a tremendous joke.

Grif.

So original! With such possibilities! Fancy—a sham
Regent dispensing sham wealth and sham honours untold on all
my sham friends—and then their disappointment when they
discover that it's only my fun!

Reg.

Ha! ha! I'm longing to begin!

[During the last few lines Christina has entered. She listens, concealed behind statue.
Duet.—Regent and Griffenfeld.
Reg.
I've grasped your scheme, if I may say as much without intrusion:
As Regent-Prince I must ennoble all without exclusion,
And scatter honours all around in liberal profusion—
Then you'll step in and with a word, dispel the fond illusion!

Grif.
Then I'll step in—

Reg.
Then you'll step in—

Grif.
And with a word—

Reg.
And with a word—
Then you'll step in and, with a word, dispel the fond illusion!

Grif.
(excitedly).
Exactly so! exactly so! exactly so! exactly so!
For understand what I require—
Give every man his heart's desire,
Then I'll explain the ins and out—
In half an hour or thereabouts!

Both.
Then I'll/you'll explain the inns and outs—
In half an hour or thereabouts!
Ensemble.
Oh, human joy at best is brief—
Alas, too soon it's turned to grief!
So it's our duty, you'll allow,
Our fellow creatures to endow
With happiness complete and vast—

Reg.
Although that happiness may last—

Grif.
Although that happiness may last—

Both.
But half an hour or thereabouts!
But half an hour—
But half an hour—
But half an hour or thereabouts!

[Exit Griffenfeld.
Chris.
(coming forward from behind statue).
I overheard!

Reg.

Chris.
With all devotion beautiful,
I'll favour your expedient—
I'll be your very dutiful—
I'll be your most obedient—
You'll find me all docility,
You miracle of slyness, you!
I'll curtsey with humility,
And always “Royal Highness” you!
I won't forget—I won't forget—
I'll always “Royal Highness” you!
Ensemble.
Oh, never was seen
Such a pearl of a Prince,
With his/my dignified mien
He is/I am sure to convince:
In his/my gracious address
There is Royalty shown—
And a baby could guess
He's/I'm the heir to a throne!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!—Ha! ha! ha! ha!
Oh a baby could guess he's the heir to a throne!

[Exit in opposite directions.
Enter the Syndic, with Dame Cortlandt's letter in his hand.
Syn.

It's a singular thing, but I never yet proposed to a very
unattractive old lady without being immediately accepted.
Now here is an unattractive old lady—about to be married to no
less a personage than the Governor of this Province, and I have
only to beckon to her, and down comes the confiding old dove
with no further thought about the Governor, except to stipulate
that her change of intention shall be kept a secret from him for
the present! Here comes the old dear, true to the appointment
of her own making. How—how rich she looks, to be sure!

Enter Dame Cortlandt.
Dame
(bashfully).

Master Munck—I—I ventured to send
you a letter this morning.

Syn.

A most delightful letter, and one that, believe me, I
shall prize while I live!

Dame
(surprised).

You are vastly obliging! (Aside.)
Collecting
autographs, I suppose. (Aloud.)
Now, you will understand
that, for the reasons explained in my letter, I am most
anxious that the subject of our conversation shall be kept a
profound secret.

Syn.

Madam, I will be most careful. You—you are the
discreetest little gipsy in Denmark!

Dame.

Sir!

Syn.

Quite right—can't be too cautious, even between ourselves.
I quite grasp the idea.

Dame
(aside).

He is singularly effusive for a confidential
family lawyer! (Aloud.)
I daresay that you are aware that I
am well to do.

Syn.

Well, I certainly have heard that Dame Cortlandt is
a lady of some means—but oh, she does her lover a grave
injustice if she imagines that he allowed a mercenary consideration
to influence him.

Dame
(surprised).

Why, of course I know that!

Syn.

Such a dainty, tight, trim, bewitching little rogue requires
no—

Dame
(suddenly furious).

Eh? What's that? I'm a little
rogue! This man presumes to tell me that I am a little rogue!

Syn.

But, my dear lady—

Dame.

Don't speak—they're fighting it out—they're fighting
it out!

Syn.

Bless my heart, how very interesting!

Dame
(having swallowed her anger—severely).

It's all right,
Master Munck, and, for the moment, the Tempter is floored,
but don't try that again. Perhaps—perhaps we had better
discuss my affairs at another time—when you have slept it off,
whatever it is.

Syn.

No, don't go—let me gaze a little longer on— (Dame about to break out.)

I didn't say it! I didn't say it! I
stopped in time!

Dame
(aside).

He's very eccentric for a confidential family
lawyer! (Aloud.)
I wish you to take instructions about the
settlements on the occasion of— (bashfully)
my forthcoming
marriage.

Syn.

My dear lady!

[Takes out note-book.
Dame.

There are my two freehold farms, the three houses in
Dentheim, and twelve thousand rix dollars in Government
securities. I wish to settle all this, absolutely, on my dear
husband.

Syn.

What, all!!!

Dame.

Every penny.

Syn.

Dearest! (Dame about to break out again. Syndic checks himself.)

I didn't say it! I didn't say it! I thought
it, but I didn't say it!

Duet.—Dame and Syndic.
Dame.
Now all that we've agreed upon, O—
And all that's passed between us—
No human soul must know,
Be he a friend or foe.

Syn.
You lean no broken reed upon, O—
In Courts of Law and Venus
(I've practised much in both)
I'm always on my oath!

Dame.
What always?

Syn.
Always!

Dame.
Always?

Syn.
Always!
Always on my oath!
You'll find I am
Discreetly dumb,
So trust me, ma'am—

Dame.
The word is mum—

Syn.
Of all I know
I'll give no clue,
You little ro—
guey poguey, you!
You little roguey poguey!

Dame
(indignantly).
Sir!

Syn.
You little roguey poguey!

Dame.
Sir!!

Syn.
You roguey poguey, roguey poguey, roguey poguey!

Dame.
Sir!!!

Ensemble.
Dame
(aside).
Although of men's vulgarity, O—
I'm no unfair inquisitor,
I hate familiarity, O—
In a family solicitor!

Syndic
(aside).
If called upon in charity, O—
To justify my visitor,
I'll quote my popularity, O—
As a family solicitor.

Both.
As a family, family, family, family—
A family solicitor!

Dame.
Your tone is not professional, O—
It's neither grave nor courtly:
Such lack of common-sense
Inspires no confidence.

Syn.
By gradual steps progressional, O—
I'll reach the haven shortly;
But till that moment sweet
I'll never be indiscreet.

Dame.
What never?

Syn.
Never!

Dame.
Never?

Syn.
Never!
Never be indiscreet!
(Dancing.)
Those lips command,
And I obey,
Though close at hand,
The joyous day
When I may sip
Their honey dew—
You little pip—
sy wipsy you!
You little pipsy wipsy!

Dame.
Sir!

Syn.
You little pipsy wipsy!

Dame.
Sir!!

Syn.
You pipsy wipsy, pipsy wipsy, pipsy wipsy!

Dame.
Sir!!!

Ensemble.
Dame
(aside).
What sentiments transgressional! O—
It's bad, I've understood, for them,
When gentlemen professional, O—
Take more than is quite good for them!

Syndic
(aside).
These gradual steps progressional, O—
Wait any time I would for them—
When gentlemen professional, O—
Gain widows rich, it's good for them!

Both.
When gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen—
Take more than is good for them!
Widows gain, it's good for them!

[Exeunt separately.
Enter Erling Sykke, with large unopened official letter in his hand.
Erl.

At last—the reply to my letter announcing to His
Majesty the completion of the statue! Every hope and every
fear of my life lies within the four corners of this document.
What may it not contain? Perhaps an order on the King's
Treasurer for my ten thousand rix-dollars! Perhaps my
appointment as Court Sculptor! Perhaps even my patent of
Countship! I tremble so that I can scarcely open it!

[Nanna has entered at the back. She creeps up to him with suppressed fun in her face.
Nanna.

Oh, what a big letter! Whom is it from, and what's
it all about?

Erl.

Nanna, this letter is to seal your destiny and mine—so,
as you are as much concerned with it as I am, I think we
ought to open it together. It's—it's from the King's private
secretary!

Nanna.

Oh, do be quick and let's see what's in it!

Erl.

You open it—I can't! (Giving her the letter.)

Nanna.

I can. Now then—one! two! three!

[Nanna opens it.
Erl.

Read—read!

Nanna
(looking at it).

Oh! I don't think you'll like it. Oh!
I'm sure you won't like it! (Reads.)
“Sir—In reply to a letter
in which you announce the completion of a statue of His Royal
Highness Prince Frederick, alleged by you to have been commissioned
by His Majesty, I have to inform you that His Majesty
knows nothing about it.”

Erl.
(stunned).

Knows nothing about it!

Nanna.

There seems to be some mistake.

Erl.

Some mistake! Why, what do you mean?

Nanna.

Why that, at the first blush, it bears the appearance
of being one of dear papa's practical jokes.

Erl.

But it's ruin! Absolute ruin! Why, I spent every
penny I possessed on the marble alone!

Nanna.

I'm so sorry!

Erl.

Sorry! I can't realize it! It stuns me! It's too cruel—
too cruel! And the promise you made me—

Nanna.

Oh, the promise! Ye—es—the conditional
promise.

Erl.

Don't tell me that was a hoax too! Give me some hope
to cling to! I can bear it all if you'll only tell me that you
won't discard me!

Nanna.

Really, it's extremely awkward; but one must be a
little prudent. I'm a very expensive young lady, and as it
seems that you have no immediate prospect of being able to
maintain an establishment, it would be really criminal on my
part to involve you in further embarrassments.

[Erling sinks helplessly on pedestal of statue, and buries his head in his hands.
Song.—Nanna.
[Exit Nanna.

Erl.

Cruel, cold calculating girl! What on earth am I to do?
Ruin and desolation stare me in the face!

Enter Tortenssen in great excitement, with an open letter in his hand.
Tor.

Erling! I am tricked, swindled, undone! I have just
received a letter from the King's secretary to say that my
appointment is a hoax! I've sold my local practice, let my
house, and Thora repudiates me with indignation and contempt!

Erl.

Again the Governor's doing! I, also, have just learnt
that the commission for the Regent's statue is a heartless
fabrication, and I, too, am ruined—utterly and completely
ruined!

Tor.

My poor Erling!

Erl.

But this is no time for idle regrets. A term must be
put to this scoundrel's practices. We will call the people
together, tell them of the infamous trick that has been played
upon us, and then away to Copenhagen to lay the whole matter
before the Regent himself!

Tor.

We will, we will!

Finale.
Erl. and Tor.
Come hither, every one,
Come hither, all!
Let every mother's son
Obey our call!
Come hither in your might,
In stern parade,
And learn the deadly slight
Upon you played!

During this the Chorus, Christina, Harold, and Blanca have entered.
All.
Why, who the deuce has dared to play
A trick, at Elsinore, to-day?
Come, tell us quick,
This scurvy trick,
Why, who the deuce has dared to play?

Erl.
(passionately).
That statue—who commissioned it?

All.
The King!

Erl.
And on that spot positioned it?

All.
The King!
Court sculptor who created me,
And told me rank awaited me,
Which pleased you and elated me?

All.
The King!

Tor.
(furiously).
Who raised me from obscurity?

All.
The King!

Tor.
And gilded my futurity?

All.
The King!

Tor.
Physician who appointed me?
With baron's rank anointed me,
Till foolish pride disjointed me?

All.
The King!
The King he did and said it all,
He did this noble thing!
Give him the fame and credit all,
His Majesty the King!
God save the King!
Hurrah!

Erl.
A lie! No monarch honoured you by honouring us,
Or for that cursed statue gave commission;
No monarch with perception generous,
Appointed Tortenssen his Court Physician!
No royal sunlight on our labours shone—
You have been cheated, tricked, and played upon!

All.
We have been cheated, tricked, and played upon?
Oh, shame!
Who is the culprit? We've no time for trifling!
With choking indignation we are stifling!

Enter Dame Cortlandt in a towering rage, followed by Syndic, who tries in vain to appease her.
Dame.
The truth's revealed, the mystery dispelled—
The culprit is—the Governor Griffenfeld!
He doesn't confine to lowly folks
His base barbarian dealings,
But dares to play his practical jokes
Upon my tenderest feelings!
Assuming that for you I glowed (to Syndic)
,
You Syndical mountebank, you!
He— (symptoms of an approaching outbreak)
.

All.
Pray be careful or you'll explode!

Dame
(with an effort).
I'm keeping it under, thank you!

All.
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
She's keeping it under! thank you!

Dame.
Henceforth I vow, with hate intense,
To crush that Governor pagan!
Whatever the cost, at my expense,
We'll go to Copenhagen.
There to the Regent we'll complain,
In volleys of vocal thunder—

[Further symptoms of an outbreak.
All.
Now steady, or you'll be off again!

Dame
(with an effort).
All right, I'm keeping it under!

All.
Brava! Brava! Brava! Brava!
Dame Cortlandt's keeping it under!

Enter Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora.
All.
Ah!
Here's the monkey undiscerning,
Who, all thought of mercy spurning,
Dares with men of light and learning
Thus to play the pranksome fool!
Launch at him our loudest thunder—
Tear him limb from limb asunder!
Long enough we've suffered under
His detested monkey-rule!

Grif.
What means this uproar which my comfort shatters!
Explain, I beg! Are ye March hares, or hatters?

Dame.
No madmen we—but matters not to mince,
To Copenhagen we depart,
With rage and fury in each heart,
To interview our sovereign Regent-Prince!

Grif.
The Regent?

All.
Aye, the Regent!

Grif.
Not so loud.
Be pacified, I beg, excited crowd!
This state of indignation do not foment—
The Regent's here, in Elsinore, at this moment!

All.
The Regent here!

Grif, Nanna, and Thora.
In Elsinore at this moment!

Trio.—Governor, Nanna, and Thora.
After a travelling troublesome,
Quit of the Court and the quality—
Weary of bobbery bubblesome—
Weary of party and polity,
Full of a jolly jocosity,
Out of the pale of propriety—
Hating the pride of pomposity—
Sick of that sort of society,
Regent is resting his brain
Here is our little domain!
(repeat)
Seeking a time of tranquillity,
Free from all fear of formality,
Finds it in jolly gentility
Here in this lovely locality—
Doffing all duty and dignity
(Follies that fidget him fearfully),
Vows that our merry malignity
Favours his chirrupping cheerfully—
Vows he'll again and again
Visit our little domain!

(repeat)
All.
Seeking a time of tranquillity, etc.

[Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora dancing through this.
Chorus.
This is our chance to explain—
Tell of our sorrow and pain!

Sextet.
Erling, Tortenssen, Syndic, Harold, Christina, and Dame Cortlandt.
Har.
This is our opportunity—
It may not come again.

Grif., Nanna, and Thora
(in affected terror).
No, no!

Er.
To lay bare with impunity
Our misery and pain.

Grif., Nanna, and Thora
(in affected terror).
No, no!

Tort.
We'll beg, with due severity,
His speedy punishment.

Grif., Nanna, and Thora
(in affected terror).
No, no!

The Six.
And that with all celerity
To gaol he might be sent!

Grif., Nanna, and Thora
(in affected terror).
No, no!
No, no! not that; avert our doom!
Why it would be our ruin!
Can you resist when we assume
This attitude to sue in. (Kneeling—repeat.)


All.
Yes, yes!
Ha, ha!
Yes, yes!
Ha, ha!
We can resist though you assume
That attitude to sue in!
Laughing derisively at Griffenfeld and Daughters.
Ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha!

Grif. and Daughters
(as if crying).
Ho, ho! ho, ho! &c.

Grif.
Oh, pray have mercy! Do not pour
Upon a hapless Governor,
Who trades a rather devious path,
The vials of your mighty wrath!

Nanna and Thora.
Oh, pray you be magnanimous,
'Twill ruin him and ruin us—
In sheer good humour it was done—
Oh, haven't you any sense of fun?

All Three.
Oh, haven't you any sense of fun?
Oh, haven't you any sense of fun? (pretending to cry.)


Thora.
Ah, don't be hard on one whose passion ruling
Was, from his birth, a taste for April fooling!

All Three.
Ah, don't be hard, &c.

Erl. and Tor.
Go, traitress, go!
Of such a foe
I scorn the vain appeal.
With rage I fume!
Your father's doom
This day the Prince shall seal.
In vain you cry,
And sob and sigh,
In vain you kneel, I say!

Grif., Nanna, and Thora.
Oh, pity me, pity me, pity me, pity me,
Pity me, pity me, pray!

Chorus.
Of all that's mean
And vile, I ween,
In an underhand way,
Epitome-pitome-pitome-pitome-pitome-pitome they!

Ensemble.
All
(except Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora).
Shall we endure this outrage, say?
Are we but toys to serve his whim?
Is he on heartstrings thus to play,
As may, perchance, seem good to him?

Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora
(aside).
When a Governor triumphs through quibble and quiddity,
He may employ with a cheerful avidity,
Any amount of tol-lol-the-rol liddity,
Tol-the-rol, lol-the-rol, lol-the-rol-lay.

All.
To the Regent, away!

Grif., Nanna, and Thora.
Tol-the-rol-the-rol-lay!

All.
To the Regent, away!

Grif., Nanna, and Thora.
Tol-the-rol-the-rol-lay!

All.
To the Regent—the Regent—the Regent, away!

Grif., Nanna, and Thora.
Tol-the-rol-the-rol, lol-the-rol, lol-the-rol-lay!

[All rush off furiously, except Christina, who remains laughing up stage, and Griffenfeld, Nanna, and Thora, who sink, exhausted with laughter, on seat at foot of statue.