 | Thespis ; Or, The Gods Grown Old |  |
ACT II.
Scene.—The same scene as in Act I., with the exception that in place of the ruins that filled the foreground of the stage, the interior of a magnificent temple is seen, showing the background of the scene of Act I., through the columns of the portico at the back. High throne L. U. E. Low seats below it.All the substitue gods and goddesses (that is to say, Thespians) are discovered grouped in picturesque attitudes about the stage, eating, drinking, and smoking, and singing the following verses:—
Of all symposia,
The best by half,
Upon Olympus, here, await us,
We eat Ambrosia,
And nectar quaff—
It cheers but don't inebriate us.
We know the fallacies
Of human food,
So please to pass Olympian rosy,
We built up palaces,
Where ruins stood,
And find them much more snug and cosy.
Solo.—Sillimon.
To work and think, my dear,
Up here, would be,
The height of conscientious folly,
So eat and drink, my dear,
I like to see,
Young people gay—young people jolly.
Olympian food, my love,
I'll lay long odds,
Will please your lips—those rosy portals,
What is the good, my love
Of being gods,
If we must work like common mortals?
Chorus.
Of all symposia, &c.
Bless their little hearts, I can refuse them nothing.
As the Olympian stage-manager I ought to be strict with them
and make them do their duty, but I can't. Bless their little
hearts, when I see the pretty little craft come sailing up to me
with a wheedling smile on their pretty little figure-heads, I
can't turn my back on 'em. I'm all bow, though I'm sure I try
to be stern!
Prett.
You certainly are a dear old thing.
Sill.
She says I'm a dear old thing! Deputy Venus says I'm
a dear old thing!
Nice.
It's her affectionate habit to describe everybody in those
terms. I am more particular, but still even I am bound to
admit that you are certainly a very dear old thing.
Sill.
Deputy Venus says I'm a dear old thing, and deputy
Diana, who is much more particular, endorses it! Who could
be severe with such deputy divinities?
Prett.
Do you know, I'm going to ask you a favour.
Sill.
Venus is going to ask me a favour!
Prett.
You see, I am Venus.
Sill.
No one who saw your face would doubt it.
Nice.
(aside).
No one who knew her character would.
Prett.
Well Venus, you know, is married to Mars.
Sill.
To Vulcan, my dear, to Vulcan. The exact connubial
relation of the different gods and goddesses is a point on which
we must be extremely particular.
Prett.
I beg your pardon—Venus is married to Mars.
Nice.
If she isn't married to Mars, she ought to be.
Sill.
Then that decides it—call it married to Mars.
Prett.
Married to Vulcan or married to Mars, what does it
signify?
Sill.
My dear, it's a matter on which I have no personal
feeling whatever.
Prett.
So that she is married to some one!
Sill.
Exactly! so that she is married to some one. Call it
married to Mars.
Prett.
Now here's my difficulty. Presumptios takes the
place of Mars, and Presumptios is my father!
Sill.
Then why object to Vulcan?
Prett.
Because Vulcan is my grandfather!
Sill.
But, my dear, what an objection! You are playing a
part till the real gods return. That's all! Whether you are
supposed to be married to your father—or your grandfather,
what does it matter? This passion for realism is the curse of
the stage!
Prett.
That's all very well, but I can't throw myself into a
make love to my father. It interferes with my conception of
the characters. It spoils the part.
Sill.
Well, well, I'll see what can be done.
(Exit Pretteia
L. U. E.)
That's always the way with beginners, they've no
imaginative power. A true artist ought to be superior to such
considerations.
(Nicemis comes down R.)
Well, Nicemis—I
should say Diana—what's wrong with you? Don't you like
your part?
Nice.
Oh, immensely! It's great fun.
Sill.
Don't you find it lonely out by yourself all night?
Nice.
Oh, but I'm not alone all night!
Sill.
But—I don't want to ask any injudicious questions—
but who accompanies you?
Nice.
Who? why Sparkeion, of course.
Sill.
Sparkeion? Well, but Sparkeion is Phœbus Apollo.
(Enter Sparkeion)
He's the Sun, you know.
Nice.
Of course he is; I should catch my death of cold, in the
night air, if he didn't accompany me.
Sp.
My dear Sillimon, it would never do for a young lady to
be out alone all night. It wouldn't be respectable.
Sill.
There's a good deal of truth in that. But still—the
Sun—at night—I don't like the idea. The original Diana
always went out alone.
Nice.
I hope the original Diana is no rule for me. After all,
what does it matter?
Sill.
To be sure—what does it matter?
Sp.
The sun at night, or in the daytime!
Sill.
So that he shines. That's all that's necessary.
(Exit
Nicemis
R. U. E.)
But poor Daphne, what will she say to this?
Sp.
Oh, Daphne can console herself; young ladies soon get
over this sort of thing. Did you never hear of the young lady
who was engaged to Cousin Robin?
Sill.
Never.
Sp.
Then I'll sing it to you.
Sat on Cousin Robin's knee,
Thought in form and face and limb,
Nobody could rival him.
He was brave and she was fair.
Truth, they made a pretty pair.
Happy little maiden, she—
Happy maid of Arcadee!
Happily enough, until,
After, say, a month or two,
Robin did as Robins do.
Weary of his lover's play,
Jilted her and went away.
Wretched little maiden, she—
Wretched maid of Arcadee!
There she sat her down and wept,
Maiden wept as maidens will—
Grew so thin and pale—until
Cousin Richard came to woo!
Then again the roses grew!
Happy little maiden, she—
Happy maid of Arcadee!
[Exit Sparkeion.
Sill.
Well, Mercury, my boy, you've had a year's experience
of us here. How do we do it? I think we're rather an improvement
on the original gods—don't you?
Mer.
Well, you see, there's a good deal to be said on both
sides of the question; you are certainly younger than the
original gods, and, therefore, more active. On the other hand,
they are certainly older than you, and have, therefore, more
experience. On the whole I prefer you, because your mistakes
amuse me.
The deputy deities all are at fault;
They splutter and splash like a pig in a puddle,
And dickens a one of 'em's earning his salt.
For Thespis as Jove is a terrible blunder,
Too nervous and timid—too easy and weak—
Whenever he's called on to lighten or thunder,
The thought of it keeps him awake for a week!
When left in the dark he will quiver and quail;
And Vulcan has arms that would snap like a carrot,
Before he could drive in a tenpenny nail!
Then Venus's freckles are very repelling.
And Venus should not have a squint in her eyes;
The learned Minerva is weak in her spelling,
And scatters her h's all over the skies.
Can't make up his mind to let anyone die—
The Times has a paragraph ever recurring,
“Remarkable instance of longevity.”
On some it has come as a serious onus,
To others it's quite an advantage—in short,
While ev'ry Life Office declares a big bonus,
The poor undertakers are all in the court!
To make men and women impartially smart,
Will only shoot at pretty young ladies,
And never takes aim at a bachelor's heart.
The results of this freak—or whatever you term it—
Should cover the wicked young scamp with disgrace,
While ev'ry young man is as shy as a hermit,
Young ladies are popping all over the place!
When skilfully handled, are certain to fall,
But, alas! that determined young bachelor Hymen
Refuses to wed anybody at all!
He swears that Love's flame is the vilest of arsons,
And looks upon marriage as quite a mistake;
Now, what in the world's to become of the parsons,
And what of the artist who sugars the cake?
The state of the case is exceedingly sad;
If Thespis's people go on as they're going,
Olympus will certainly go to the bad!
From Jupiter downwards there isn't a dab in it,
All of 'em quibble and shuffle and shirk;
A premier in Downing Street, forming a Cabinet,
Couldn't find people less fit for their work!
Enter Thespis, L. U. E.
Thes.
Sillimon, you can retire.
Sill.
Sir, I—
Thes.
Don't pretend you can't when I say you can. I've seen
you do it—go!
(Exit Sillimon bowing extravagantly, Thespis
imitates him.)
Well, Mercury, I've been in power one year
to-day.
Mer.
One year to-day. How do you like ruling the
world?
Thes.
Like it! Why it's as straightforward as possible.
Why there hasn't been a hitch of any kind since we came up
here. Lor! The airs you gods and goddesses give yourselves
are perfectly sickening. Why it's mere child's play!
Mer.
Very simple, isn't it?
Thes.
Simple? Why I could do it on my head?
Mer.
Ah—I daresay you will do it on your head very
soon.
Thes.
What do you mean by that, Mercury?
Mer.
I mean that when you've turned the world quite topsy-turvey
you won't know whether you're standing on your head
or your heels.
Thes.
Well, but, Mercury, it's all right at present.
Oh yes—as far as we know.
Thes.
Well, but, you know, we know as much as anybody
knows; you know, I believe, that the world's still going on.
Mer.
Yes—as far as we can judge—much as usual.
Thes.
Well, then, give the Father of the Drama his due,
Mercury. Don't be envious of the father of the Drama.
Thes.
Well, but you see you leave so much to accident.
Mer.
Well, Mercury, if I do, it's my principle. I am an easy
man, and I like to make things as pleasant as possible. What
did I do the day we took office? Why I called the company
together and I said to them: “Here we are, you know, gods and
goddesses, no mistake about it, the real thing. Well, we have
certain duties to discharge, let's discharge them intelligently.
Don't let us be hampered by routine and red tape and precedent,
let's set the original gods an example, and put a liberal
interpretation on our duties. If it occurs to any one to try
an experiment in his own department, let him try it, if he fails
there's no harm done, if he succeeds it is a distinct gain to
society. Take it easy,” I said, “and at the same time, make
experiments. Don't hurry your work, do it slowly, and do it well.”
And here we are after a twelvemonth, and not a single complaint
or a single petition has reached me.
Mer.
No—not yet.
Thes.
What do you mean by “no, not yet”?
Mer.
Well, you see, you don't understand these things. All
the petitions that are addressed by men to Jupiter pass through
my hands, and it's my duty to collect them and present them
once a year.
Thes.
Oh, only once a year?
Mer.
Only once a year.
Thes.
And the year is up—?
Mer.
To-day.
Thes.
Oh, then I suppose there are some complaints?
Mer.
Yes, there are some.
Thes.
(disturbed).
Oh. Perhaps there are a good many?
Mer.
There are a good many.
Thes.
Oh. Perhaps there are a thundering lot?
Mer.
There are a thundering lot.
Thes.
(very much disturbed).
Oh!
Mer.
You see you've been taking it so very easy—and so
have most of your company.
Thes.
Oh, who has been taking it easy?
Mer.
Well, all except those who have been trying experiments.
Thes.
Well but I suppose the experiments are ingenious?
Yes; they are ingenious, but on the whole ill-judged.
But it's time to go and summon your court.
Thes.
What for?
Mer.
To hear the complaints. In five minutes they will be
here.
[Exit.
Thes.
(very uneasy).
I don't know how it is, but there is
something in that young man's manner that suggests that the
Father of the Gods has been taking it too easy. Perhaps it
would have been better if I hadn't given my company so much
scope. I wonder what they've been doing. I think I will
curtail their discretion, though none of them appear to have
much of the article. It seems a pity to deprive 'em of what little
they have.
Enter Daphne, weeping.
Thes.
Now then, Daphne, what's the matter with you?
Daphne.
Well, you know how disgracefully Sparkeion—
Thes.
(correcting her).
Apollo—
Daphne.
Apollo, then—has treated me. He promised to
marry me years ago, and now he's married to Nicemis.
Thes.
Now look here. I can't go into that. You're in
Olympus now and must behave accordingly. Drop your
Daphne—assume your Calliope.
Dap.
Quite so. That's it!
[Mysteriously.
Thes.
Oh—that is it?
[Puzzled.
Dap.
That is it, Thespis. I am Calliope, the Muse of Fame.
Very good. This morning I was in the Olympian library, and
I took down the only book there. Here it is.
Thes.
(taking it).
Lemprière's Classical Dictionary. The
Olympian Peerage.
Dap.
Open it at Apollo.
Thes.
(opens it).
It is done.
Dap.
Read.
Thes.
“Apollo was several times married, among others to
Issa, Bolina, Coronis, Chymene, Cyrene, Chione, Acacallis, and
Calliope.”
Dap.
And Calliope.
Thes.
(musing).
Ha! I didn't know he was married to
them.
Dap.
(severely).
Sir! This is the Family Edition.
Thes.
Quite so.
Dap.
You couldn't expect a lady to read any other?
Thes.
On no consideration. But in the original version—
Dap.
I go by the Family Edition.
Thes.
Then by the Family Edition, Apollo is your husband.
Nice.
Apollo your husband? He is my husband.
Dap.
I beg your pardon. He is my husband.
Nice.
Apollo is Sparkeion, and he's married to me.
Dap.
Sparkeion is Apollo, and he's married to me.
Nice.
He's my husband.
Dap.
He's your brother.
Thes.
Look here, Apollo, whose husband are you? Don't
let's have any row about it; whose husband are you?
Sp.
Upon my honour I don't know. I'm in a very delicate
position, but I'll fall in with any arrangement Thespis may
propose.
Dap.
I've just found out that he's my husband, and yet he
goes out every evening with that “thing”!
Thes.
Perhaps he's trying an experiment.
Dap.
I don't like my husband to make such experiments.
The question is, who are we all and what is our relation to each
other.
Quartette.
Sp.
You're Diana, I'm Apollo—
And Calliope is she.
Dap.
He's you're brother.
Nice.
You're another.
He has fairly married me,
Dap.
By the rules of this fair spot
I'm his wife, and you are not—
Sp. and Dap.
By the rules of this fair spot,
I'm/She's his wife, and you are not.
Nice.
By this golden wedding ring,
I'm his wife, and you're a “thing.”
Dap., Nice, and Sp.
By this golden wedding ring,
I'm/She's his wife, and you're a “thing.”
All.
Please will some one kindly tell us,
Who are our respective kin?
All of us/them are very jealous,
Neither of us/them will give in.
Nice.
He's my husband I declare,
I espoused him properlee.
Sp.
That is true, for I was there,
And I saw her marry me.
Dap.
He's you're brother—I'm his wife,
If we go by Lempriére,
Sp.
So she is, upon my life,
Really that seems very fair.
Nice.
You're my husband and no other.
That is true enough I swear,
Dap.
I'm his wife, and your his brother,
Sp.
If we go by Lempriére.
Nice.
It will surely be unfair,
To decide by Lempriére.
(crying)
Daph.
I will surely be quite fair,
To decide by Lempriére,
Sp. and Thes.
How you settle I don't care,
Leave it all to Lempriére.
(spoken)
The Verdict.
As Sparkeion is Apollo
Up in this Olympian clime,
Why, Nicemis, it will follow,
He's her husband, for the time—
(indicating Daphne)
When Sparkeion turns to mortal,
Join once more the sons of men,
He may take you to his portal
(indicating Nicemis)
He will be your husband then.
That oh that is my decision,
'Cording to my mental vision.
Put an end to all collison,
That oh that is my decision.
My decision—my decision,
All.
That oh that is his decision,
His decision—his decision! &c.
Exeunt Thes., Nice., Spark., and Daphne, Spark with Daphne, Nicemis weeping with Thespis).
Mysterious Music. Enter Jupiter, Apollo, and Mars, from below, at the back of stage. All wear cloaks as disguise and all are masked.
Recit.
Oh rage and fury! Oh shame and sorrow!
We'll be resuming our ranks to-morrow,
Since from Olympus we have departed,
We've been distracted and brokenhearted,
Oh wicked Thespis! Oh villain scurvy;
Through him Olympus is topsy turvy!
Compelled to silence to grin and bear it!
He's caused our sorrow, and he shall share it.
Where is the monster! Avenge his blunders,
He has awakened Olympian thunders.
Enter Mercury.
Jup.
(recit).
Oh Monster!
Ap.
(recit).
Oh Monster!
Mars
(recit).
Oh Monster!
Mer.
(in great terror).
Please sir, what have I done sir?
What did we leave you behind for?
Mer.
Please sir that's the question I asked for when you went
away.
Jup.
Was it not that Thespis might consult you whenever he
was in a difficulty?
Mer.
Well, here I've been, ready to be consulted, chockful of
reliable information—running over with celestial maxims—
advice gratis ten to four—after twelve ring the night bell in
cases of emergency.
Jup.
And hasn't he consulted you?
Mer.
Not he—he disagrees with me about everything.
Jup.
He must have misunderstood me. I told him to consult
you whenever he was in a fix.
Mer.
He must have thought you said insult. Why whenever
I opened my mouth he jumps down my throat. It isn't
pleasant to have a fellow constantly jumping down your throat
—especially when he always disagrees with you. It's just the
sort of thing I can't digest.
Jup.
(in a rage).
Send him here I'll talk to him.
Enter Thespis. He is much terrified.
Jup.
(recit.).
Oh Monster!
Ap.
(recit.).
Oh Monster!
Mars
(recit.).
Oh Monster!
Thespis sings in great terror, which he endeavours to conceal.
Jup.
Well Sir, the year is up to-day.
Ap.
And a nice mess you've made of it.
Mars.
You've deranged the whole scheme of society.
Thes.
(aside.)
There's going to be a row!
(Aloud and very
familiarly.)
My dear boy—I do assure you—
Jup.
(in recit.).
Be respectful!
Ap.
(in recit.).
Be respectful!
Mars
(in recit.).
Be respectful!
Thes.
I don't know what you allude to. With the exception
of getting our scene-painter to “run up” this temple, because
we found the ruins draughty, we haven't touched a thing.
Jup.
(in recit.).
Oh story teller!
Ap.
(in recit.).
Oh story teller!
Mars
(in recit.).
Oh story teller!
Enter Thespians.
Thes.
My dear fellows, you're distressing yourselves unnecessarily.
The court of Olympus is about to assemble to listen to
the complaints of the year, if any. But there are none, or next
to none. Let the Olympians assemble!
[Thespis takes chair. Jup., Ap. and Mars sit below him.
Thes.
Ladies and gentlemen. It seems that it is usual for
the gods to assemble once a year to listen to mortal petitions.
It doesn't seem to me to be a good plan, as work is liable to
accumulate; but as I'm particularly anxious not to interfere
with Olympian precedent, but to allow everything to go on as
it has always been accustomed to go—why, we'll say no more
about it.
(Aside.)
But how shall I account for your presence?
Jup.
Say we are gentlemen of the press.
Thes.
That all our proceedings may be perfectly open and
above-board I have communicated with the most influential
members of the Athenian press, and I beg to introduce to your
notice three of its most distinguished members. They bear
marks emblematic of the anonymous character of modern
journalism.
(Business of introduction. Thespis very uneasy.)
Now then, if you're all ready we will begin.
Mer.
(brings tremendous bundles of petitions).
Here is the
agenda.
Thes.
What's that. The petitions?
Mer.
Some of them.
(Opens one and reads.)
Ah, I thought
there'd be a row about it.
Thes.
Why, what's wrong now?
Mer.
Why, it's been a foggy Friday in November for the last
six months and the Athenians are tired of it.
Thes.
There's no pleasing some people. This craving for
perpetual change is the curse of the country. Friday's a very
nice day.
Mer.
So it is, but a Friday six months long!—it gets
monotonous.
Jup., Ap. and Mars
(in recit. rising.)
It's perfectly ridiculous.
Thes.
(calling them).
It shall be arranged. Cymon!
Cymon
(as Time with the usual attributes).
Sir!
Thes.
(introducing him to Three Gods).
Allow me—Father
Time—rather young at present but even Time must have a
beginning. In course of Time, Time will grow older. Now
then, Father Time, what's this about a wet Friday in November
for the last six months?
Cym.
Well, the fact is, I've been trying an experiment.
Seven days in the week is an awkward number. It can't be
halved. Two's into seven won't go.
Thes.
(tries it on his fingers).
Quite so—quite so.
Cym.
So I abolished Saturday.
Oh but—
[Rising.
Thes.
Do be quiet. He's a very intelligent young man and
knows what he is about. So you abolished Saturday. And
how did you find it answer?
Cym.
Admirably.
Thes.
You hear? He found it answer admirably.
Cym.
Yes, only Sunday refused to take its place.
Thes.
Sunday refused to take its place?
Cym.
Sunday comes after Saturday—Sunday won't go on
duty after Friday, Sunday's principles are very strict. That's
where my experiment sticks.
Thes.
Well, but why November? come, why November?
Cym.
December can't begin till November has finished.
November can't finish because he's abolished Saturday. There
again my experiment sticks.
Thes.
Well, but why wet? Come now, why wet?
Cym.
Ah, that is your fault. You turned on the rain six
months ago, and you forgot to turn it off again.
Jup., Mars and Ap.
(rising—recitative).
Oh this is
monstrous!
All.
Order, order.
Thes.
Gentlemen, pray be seated.
(To the others.)
The liberty
of the press, one can't help it.
(To the three gods.)
It is easily
settled. Athens has had a wet Friday in November for the
last six months. Let them have a blazing Tuesday in July for
the next twelve.
Jup., Mars and Ap.
But—
All.
Order, order.
Thes.
Now then, the next article.
Mer.
Here's a petition from the Peace Society. They complain
that there are no more battles.
Mars
(springing up).
What!
Thes.
Quiet there! Good dog—soho; Timidon!
Tim
(as Mars).
Here.
Thes.
What's this about there being no battles?
Tim.
I've abolished battles; it's an experiment.
Mars
(springing up).
Oh come, I say—
Thes.
Quiet then!
(To Tim.)
Abolished battles?
Tim.
Yes, you told us on taking office to remember two
things, to try experiments and to take it easy. I found I couldn't
take it easy while there are any battles to attend to, so I tried
the experiment and abolished battles. And then I took it easy.
The Peace Society ought to be very much obliged to me.
Thes.
Obliged to you! Why, confound it! since battles have
been abolished war is universal.
War universal?
Thes.
To be sure it is! Now that nations can't fight, no
two of 'em are on speaking terms. The dread of fighting was
the only thing that kept them civil to each other. Let battles
be restored and peace reign supreme.
Mer.
(reads).
Here's a petition from the associated wine
merchants of Mytilene.
Thes.
Well, what's wrong with the associated wine merchants
of Mytilene? Are there no grapes this year?
Mer.
Plenty of grapes; more than usual.
Thes.
(to the gods).
You observe, there is no deception;
there are more than usual.
Mer.
There are plenty of grapes, only they are full of ginger
beer.
Three Gods.
Oh, come I say.
[Rising, they are put down by Thespis.
Thes.
Eh? what.
(Much alarmed.)
Bacchus?
Tips.
(as Bacchus).
Here!
Thes.
There seems to be something unusual with the grapes
of Mytilene; they only grow ginger beer.
Tips.
And a very good thing too.
Thes.
It's very nice in it's way, but it is not what one looks
for from grapes.
Tips.
Beloved master, a week before we came up here, you
insisted on my taking the pledge. By so doing you rescued
me from my otherwise inevitable misery. I cannot express my
thanks. Embrace me!
[Attempts to embrace him.
Thes.
Get out, don't be a fool. Look here, you know you're
the god of wine.
Tips.
I am.
Thes.
(very angry.)
Well, do you consider it consistent with
your duty as the god of wine to make the grapes yield nothing
but ginger beer?
Tips.
Do you consider it consistent with my duty as a total
abstainer, to grow anything stronger than ginger beer?
Thes.
But your duty as the god of wine—
Tips.
In every respect in which my duty as the god of
wine can be discharged consistently with my duty as a total
abstainer, I will discharge it. But when the functions clash,
everything must give way to the pledge. My preserver!
[Attempts to embrace him.
Thes.
Don't be a confounded fool! This can be arranged.
We can't give over the wine this year, but at least we can
improve the ginger beer. Let all the ginger beer be extracted
from it immediately.
(aside).
We can't stand this,
We can't stand this,
It's much too strong,
We can't stand this.
It would be wrong,
Extremely wrong,
If we stood this,
If we stand this,
If we stand this,
We can't stand this.
Dap., Spark., Nice.
Great Jove, this interference,
Is more than we can stand;
Of them make a clearance,
With your majestic hand.
Jove.
This cool audacity, it beats us hollow
(removing mask)
I'm Jupiter!
Mars.
I'm Mars!
Ap.
I'm Apollo!
Enter Diana and all the other gods and goddesses.
All.
(kneeling with their foreheads on the ground).
Jupiter, Mars and Apollo,
Have quitted the dwellings of men;
The other gods quickly will follow,
And what will become of us then.
Oh, pardon us, Jove and Apollo,
Pardon us, Jupiter, Mars;
Oh, see us in misery wallow,
Cursing our terrible stars.
Enter other gods.
Chorus and Ballet.
All the Thespians.
Let us remain, we beg of you pleadingly!
Three Gods.
Let them remain, they beg of us pleadingly!
Thes.
Life on Olympus suits us exceedingly.
Gods.
Life on Olympus suits them exceedingly.
Thes.
Let us remain, we pray in humility!
Gods.
Let 'em remain, they pray in humility.
Thes.
If we have shown some little ability.
Gods.
If they have shown some little ability.
Let us remain, etc.
Jupiter.
Enough, your reign is ended;
Upon this sacred hill
Let him be apprehended,
And learn our awful will.
Away to earth, contemptible comedians,
And hear our curse, before we set you free;
You shall all be eminent tragedians,
Whom no one ever goes to see!
All.
We go to earth, contemptible comedians,
We hear his curse before he sets us free,
We shall all be eminent tragedians,
Whom no one ever ever goes to see!
Whom no one—
Sp.
Whom no one—
Thes.
Whom no one—
All.
Ever, ever goes to see.
[The Thespians are driven away by the gods, who group themselves in attitudes of triumph.
Thes.
Now, here you see the arrant folly
Of doing your best to make things jolly.
I've ruled the world like a chap in his senses,
Observe the terrible consequences.
Great Jupiter, whom nothing pleases,
Splutters and swears, and kicks up breezes,
And sends us home in a mood avengin',
In double quick time, like a railroad engine.
And this he does without compunction,
Because I have discharged with unction
A highly complicated function,
Complying with his own injuncton.
Fol, lol, lay.
Chorus.
All this he does, etc.
[The gods drive the Thespians away. The Thespians prepare to descend the mountain as the curtain falls.
| Thespis ; Or, The Gods Grown Old | |