I. SCENE. The fishing village of Rederring (in Cornwall). Rose Maybud's cottage is seen L…

I. SCENE. The fishing village of Rederring (in Cornwall). Rose Maybud's cottage is seen L

Enter Chorus of Bridesmaids. They range themselves in front of Rose's cottage.

CHORUS OF BRIDESMAIDS.

Fair is Rose as bright May-day; Soft is Rose as the warm west-wind; Sweet is Rose as the new-mown hay— Rose is 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 Can't long remain unclaimed. Hour by hour and day by day, Several months have passed away, Though she's the fairest flower that blows, No one has married Rose!

CHORUS.

Rose, all glowing With virgin blushes, say— Is anybody going To marry you to-day?

ZORAH. Hour by hour and day by day, Months have passed away.

CHORUS. Fair is Rose as bright Mayday, etc.

(Enter Dame Hannah, from cottage.)

HANNAH. Nay, gentle maidens, you sing well but vainly, for Rose is still heart-free, and looks but coldly upon her many suitors. ZORAH. 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.

Sir Rupert Murgatroyd His leisure and his riches He ruthlessly employed In persecuting witches. With fear he'd make them quake— He'd duck them in his lake— He'd break their bones With sticks and stones, And burn them at the stake!

CHORUS. This sport he much enjoyed, Did Rupert Murgatroyd— No sense of shame Or pity came To Rupert Murgatroyd!

Once, on the village green, 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:

"Each lord of Ruddigore, 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!"

The prophecy came true: 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 false teeth for pretty little Ruth Rowbottom, and a pound 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 hereaway 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 naught 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 naught!

BALLAD—ROSE.

If somebody there chanced to be Who loved me in a manner true, My heart would point him out to me, And I would point him out to you. (Referring But here it says of those who point— to book.) Their manners must be out of joint— You may not point— You must not point— It's manners out of joint, to point!

Ah! 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. (Referring But whispering, I've somewhere met, to book.) Is contrary to etiquette: Where can it be (Searching book.) Now let me see—(Finding reference.) Yes, yes! It's contrary to etiquette!

(Showing it to Dame Hannah.)

If any well-bred youth I knew, Polite and gentle, neat and trim, Then I would hint as much to you, And you could hint as much to him. (Referring But here it says, in plainest print, to book.) "It's most unladylike to hint"— You may not hint, You must not hint— It says you mustn't hint, in print!

Ah! And if I loved him through and through— (True love and not a passing whim), Then I could speak of it to you, And you could speak of it to him. (Referring But here I find it doesn't do to book.) To speak until you're spoken to. Where can it be? (Searching book.) Now let me see—(Finding reference.) Yes, yes! "Don't speak until you're spoken to!" (Exit Dame 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.)

ROBIN. 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. Aye, sorely! 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. ROB. 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 were the maid I should fan 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!

BOTH. 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! (Exeunt together.)

(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!

(Enter Richard. The girls welcome him as he greets old acquaintances.)

BALLAD—RICHARD.

I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop, 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.

CHORUS. 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 with a cheer, Which paralysed the Parley-voo, D'ye see? Which paralysed the Parley-voo!

CHORUS. Which paralysed the Parley-voo, D'ye see? Which paralysed the Parley-voo!

Then our Captain he up and he says, says he, "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!"

CHORUS. 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? While she's only a poor Parley-voo!"

CHORUS. While she's only a Parley-voo, D'ye see? While she's only a poor Parley-voo!'

So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze 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!

CHORUS. 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!

CHORUS. Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, D'ye see? Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!

(HORNPIPE.) (Exeunt Chorus.)

(Enter Robin.)

ROB. Richard! RICH. Robin! ROB. My beloved foster-brother, and very dearest friend, welcome home again after ten long years at sea! It is such deeds as yours 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 forestay—aye, and a barrowknight 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. Aye, 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 old impostor! My dear fellow, I'd give my right arm for one tenth of your modest assurance!

SONG—ROBIN.

My boy, you may take it from me, 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!

Now take, for example, my case: 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.

As a poet, I'm tender and quaint— 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.

(Exit Robin.)

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! (Enter Rose—he is much struck by her.) 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 Nelson! By the Flag of Old England, I can't look at her unmoved. ROSE. Sir, you are agitated— RICH. Aye, aye, my lass, well said! I am agitated, true enough!—took flat aback, 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, 'tain't 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 not permit too many familiarities." (Aloud.) 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,

BOTH. 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, Hall the Bridegroom—hail the Bride! Let the nuptial knot be tied: In fair phrases Hymn their praises, Hail the Bridegroom—hall the Bride?

ROB. Well—what news? Have you spoken to her? RICH. Aye, 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! etc.

ROSE (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 makes 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 may be 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! RICH. (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 character, and that when he's excited he uses language that 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 may be 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! (Rich. 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. (Rich. 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, and 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." It don't pretend to shape my acts 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 L., and Richard, weeping, R.)

(Enter Mad Margaret. She is wildly dressed in picturesque tatters, and is an obvious caricature of theatrical madness.)

SCENA—MARGARET.

Cheerily carols the lark Over the cot. Merrily whistles the clerk Scratching a blot. But the lark And the clerk, I remark, Comfort me not!

Over the ripening peach Buzzes the bee. Splash on the billowy beach Tumbles the sea. But the peach And the beach They are each Nothing to me! And why? Who am I? Daft Madge! Crazy Meg! Mad Margaret! Poor Peg! He! he! he! he! (chuckling).

Mad, I? Yes, very! But why? Mystery! Don't call! Whisht! whisht! No crime— 'Tis only That I'm Love-lonely! That's all!

BALLAD—MARGARET.

To a garden full of posies 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!

In a nest of weeds and nettles 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 a-breaking, 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! They sing a brave song in our parts—it runs somewhat thus: (Sings.)

"The cat and the dog and the little puppee 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. Aye! 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.

Welcome, gentry, For your entry Sets our tender hearts a-beating. Men of station, Admiration Prompts this unaffected greeting. Hearty greeting offer we!

CHORUS OF BUCKS AND BLADES.

When thoroughly tired Of being admired, By ladies of gentle degree—degree, With flattery sated, High-flown and inflated, Away from the city we flee—we flee! From charms intramural To prettiness rural The sudden transition Is simply Elysian, So come, Amaryllis, 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 this 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!

ENSEMBLE.

BRIDESMAIDS. BUCKS AND BLADES.

So welcome gentry, etc. When thoroughly tired, etc.

(Enter Sir Despard Murgatroyd.)

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 of a little child! But what is a poor baronet to do, when a 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. Aye, 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. Aye, 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? RICH. 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.)

(Enter Chorus of Bridesmaids and Bucks.)

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 beams 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.

ALL. Smiling summer beams upon her, etc.

(Enter Robin, attended by Richard and Old Adam, meeting Rose, attended by Zorah and Dame Hannah. Rose and Robin embrace.)

MADRIGAL. ROSE, DAME HANNAH, RICHARD, OLD ADAM with CHORUS.

ROSE. When 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! QUARTET. It is sad when summer goes, Fa la! MEN. Autumn's gold—Fah lal la! Winter's grey—Fah lal la! QUARTET. Winter still is far away— Fa la!

CHORUS. Leaves in autumn fade and fall, Winter is the end of all. Spring and summer teem with glee: Spring and summer, then, for me! Fa la!

HANNAH. 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! QUARTET. Spring and summer never cloy. Fa la!

MEN. Autumn,toil—Fal lal la! Winter, rest—Fal lal la! QUARTET. Winter, after all, is best— Fal la!

CHORUS. Spring and summer pleasure you, Autumn, aye, and winter too— Every season has its cheer, Life is lovely all the year! Fa 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! His rightful title I have long enjoyed: I claim him as Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd!

CHORUS. O wonder! ROSE (wildly). Deny the falsehood, Robin, as you should, It is a plot! ROB. I would, if conscientiously I could, But I cannot! CHORUS. Ah, base one! Ah, base one!

SOLO—ROBIN.

As pure and blameless peasant, I cannot, I regret, Deny a truth unpleasant, I am that Baronet!

CHORUS. He is that Baronet!

ROBIN. But when completely rated Bad Baronet am I, That I am what he's stated I'll recklessly deny!

CHORUS. He'll recklessly deny!

ROB. When I'm a bad Bart. I will tell taradiddles! CHORUS. He'll tell taradiddles when he's a bad Bart. ROB. I'll play a bad part on the falsest of fiddles. CHORUS. On very false fiddles he'll play a bad part! ROB. But until that takes place I must be conscientious— CHORUS. He'll be conscientious until that takes place. ROB. Then adieu with good grace to my morals sententious! CHORUS. To morals sententious adieu with good grace!

ZOR. Who is the wretch who hath betrayed thee? Let him stand forth! RICH. (coming forward). 'Twas I! ALL. Die, traitor! RICH. Hold! my conscience made me! Withhold your wrath!

SOLO—RICHARD.

Within this breast there beats a heart 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).

Farewell! Thou hadst my heart— 'Twas quickly won! But now we part— Thy face I shun! Farewell!

Go bend the knee At Vice's shrine, Of life with me All hope resign. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!

(To Sir Despard.) Take me—I am thy bride!

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; Every day will bring some joy 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 baronetting, And means to repent!

TRIO—HANNAH, ADAM, and ZORAH.

Oh, happy the blossom That blooms on the lea, Likewise the opossum 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 a deed! And wretched the letter That no one can read! But very much better 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.)

END OF ACT I

ACT II Scene.—Picture Gallery in Ruddigore Castle. The walls are covered with full-length portraits of the Baronets of Ruddigore from the time of James I.—the first being that of Sir Rupert, alluded to in the legend; the last, that of the last deceased Baronet, Sir Roderic.

Enter Robin and Adam melodramatically. They are greatly altered in appearance, Robin wearing the haggard aspect of a guilty roue; Adam, that of the wicked steward to such a man.

DUET—ROBIN and ADAM.

ROB. I once was as meek as a new-born lamb, I'm now Sir Murgatroyd—ha! ha! With greater precision (Without the elision), Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd—ha! ha!

ADAM. And I, who was once his valley-de-sham, As steward I'm now employed—ha! ha! The dickens may take him— I'll never forsake him! As steward I'm now employed—ha! ha!

ADDITIONAL SONG (Omitted after opening night.)

ROB. My face is the index to my mind, All venom and spleen and gall—ha! ha! Or, properly speaking, It soon will be reeking, With venom and spleen and gall—ha! ha!

ADAM. My name from Adam Goodheart you'll find I've changed to Gideon Crawle—ha! ha! For bad Bart's steward Whose heart is much too hard Is always Gideon Crawle—ha! ha!

BOTH. How dreadful when an innocent heart Becomes, perforce, a bad young Bart., And still more hard on old Adam, His former faithful valley-de-sham!

ROB. This is a painful state of things, old Adam!

ADAM. Painful, indeed! Ah, my poor master, when I swore that, come what would, I would serve you in all things for ever, I little thought to what a pass it would bring me! The confidential adviser to the greatest villain unhung! Now, sir, to business. What crime do you propose to commit to-day? ROB. How should I know? As my confidential adviser, it's your duty to suggest something. ADAM. Sir, I loathe the life you are leading, but a good old man's oath is paramount, and I obey. Richard Dauntless is here with pretty Rose Maybud, to ask your consent to their marriage. Poison their beer. ROB. No—not that—I know I'm a bad Bart., but I'm not as bad a Bart. as all that. ADAM. Well, there you are, you see! It's no use my making suggestions if you don't adopt them. ROB. (melodramatically). How would it be, do you think, were I to lure him here with cunning wile—bind him with good stout rope to yonder post—and then, by making hideous faces at him, curdle the heart-blood in his arteries, and freeze the very marrow in his bones? How say you, Adam, is not the scheme well planned? ADAM. It would be simply rude—nothing more. But soft—they come!

(Adam and Robin retire up as Richard and Rose enter, preceded by Chorus of Bridesmaids.)

DUET—RICHARD and ROSE.

RICH. Happily coupled are we, You see— I am a jolly Jack Tar, My star, And you are the fairest, The richest and rarest Of innocent lasses you are, By far— Of innocent lasses you are! Fanned by a favouring gale, You'll sail Over life's treacherous sea With me, And as for bad weather, We'll brave it together, And you shall creep under my lee, My wee! And you shall creep under my lee! For you are such a smart little craft— Such a neat little, sweet little craft, Such a bright little, tight little, Slight little, light little, Trim little, prim little craft!

CHORUS. For she is such, etc.

ROSE. My hopes will be blighted, I fear, My dear; In a month you'll be going to sea, Quite free, And all of my wishes You'll throw to the fishes As though they were never to be; Poor me! As though they were never to be. And I shall be left all alone To moan, And weep at your cruel deceit, Complete; While you'll be asserting Your freedom by flirting With every woman you meet, You cheat—Ah! With every woman you meet! Ah!

Though I am such a smart little craft— Such a neat little, sweet little craft, Such a bright little, tight little, Slight little, light little, Trim little, prim little craft!

CHORUS. Though she is such, etc.

(Enter Robin.)

ROB. Soho! pretty one—in my power at last, eh? Know ye not that I have those within my call who, at my lightest bidding, would immure ye in an uncomfortable dungeon? (Calling.) What ho! within there! RICH. Hold—we are prepared for this (producing a Union Jack). Here is a flag that none dare defy (all kneel), and while this glorious rag floats over Rose Maybud's head, the man does not live who would dare to lay unlicensed hand upon her! ROB. Foiled—and by a Union Jack! But a time will come, and then—- ROSE. Nay, let me plead with him. (To Robin.) Sir Ruthven, have pity. In my book of etiquette the case of a maiden about to be wedded to one who unexpectedly turns out to be a baronet with a curse on him is not considered. Time was when you loved me madly. Prove that this was no selfish love by according your consent to my marriage with one who, if he be not you yourself, is the next best thing—your dearest friend!

BALLAD—ROSE.

In bygone days I had thy love— Thou hadst my heart. But Fate, all human vows above, Our lives did part! By the old love thou hadst for me— By the fond heart that beat for thee— By joys that never now can be, Grant thou my prayer!

ALL (kneeling). Grant thou her prayer!

ROB. (recitative). Take her—I yield!

ALL. (recitative). Oh, rapture! (All rising.)

CHORUS. Away to the parson we go— Say we're solicitous very That he will turn two into one— Singing hey, derry down derry!

RICH. For she is such a smart little craft- ROSE. Such a neat little, sweet little craft— RICH. Such a bright little- ROSE. Tight little- RICH. Slight little- ROSE. Light little- BOTH. Trim little, prim little craft!

CHORUS. For she is such a smart little craft, etc.

(Exeunt all but Robin.)

ROB. For a week I have fulfilled my accursed doom! I have duly committed a crime a day! Not a great crime, I trust, but still, in the eyes of one as strictly regulated as I used to be, a crime. But will my ghostly ancestors be satisfied with what I have done, or will they regard it as an unworthy subterfuge? (Addressing Pictures.) Oh, my forefathers, wallowers in blood, there came at last a day when, sick of crime, you, each and every, vowed to sin no more, and so, in agony, called welcome Death to free you from your cloying guiltiness. Let the sweet psalm of that repentant hour soften your long-dead hearts, and tune your souls to mercy on your poor posterity! (Kneeling).

(The stage darkens for a moment. It becomes light again, and the Pictures are seen to have become animated.)

CHORUS OF FAMILY PORTRAITS.

Painted emblems of a race, All accurst in days of yore, Each from his accustomed place Steps into the world once more.

(The Pictures step from their frames and march round the stage.)

Baronet of Ruddigore, Last of our accursed line, Down upon the oaken floor— Down upon those knees of thine.

Coward, poltroon, shaker, squeamer, Blockhead, sluggard, dullard, dreamer, Shirker, shuffler, crawler, creeper, Sniffler, snuffler, wailer, weeper, Earthworm, maggot, tadpole, weevil! Set upon thy course of evil, Lest the King of Spectre-land Set on thee his grisly hand!

(The Spectre of Sir Roderic descends from his frame.)

SIR ROD. Beware! beware! beware! ROB. Gaunt vision, who art thou That thus, with icy glare And stern relentless brow, Appearest, who knows how?

SIR ROD. I am the spectre of the late Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, Who comes to warn thee that thy fate Thou canst not now avoid.

ROB. Alas, poor ghost!

SIR ROD. The pity you Express for nothing goes: We spectres are a jollier crew Than you, perhaps, suppose!

CHORUS. We spectres are a jollier crew Than you, perhaps, suppose!

SONG—SIR RODERIC.

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies— When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectres' holiday—then is the ghosts' high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha! Then is the ghosts' high-noon!

As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie low on the fen, From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones that once were women and men, And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends too soon, For cockcrow limits our holiday—the dead of the night's high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha! The dead of the night's high-noon!

And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds takes flight, With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim "good-night"; Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its jolliest tune, And ushers in our next high holiday—the dead of the night's high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha! The dead of the night's high-noon! Ha! ha! ha! ha!

ROB. I recognize you now—you are the picture that hangs at the end of the gallery. SIR ROD. In a bad light. I am. ROB. Are you considered a good likeness? SIR ROD. Pretty well. Flattering. ROB. Because as a work of art you are poor. SIR ROD. I am crude in colour, but I have only been painted ten years. In a couple of centuries I shall be an Old Master, and then you will be sorry you spoke lightly of me. ROB. And may I ask why you have left your frames? SIR ROD. It is our duty to see that our successors commit their daily crimes in a conscientious and workmanlike fashion. It is our duty to remind you that you are evading the conditions under which you are permitted to exist. ROB. Really, I don't know what you'd have. I've only been a bad baronet a week, and I've committed a crime punctually every day. SIR ROD. Let us inquire into this. Monday? ROB. Monday was a Bank Holiday. SIR ROD. True. Tuesday? ROB. On Tuesday I made a false income-tax return. ALL. Ha! ha! 1ST GHOST. That's nothing. 2ND GHOST. Nothing at all. 3RD GHOST. Everybody does that. 4TH GHOST. It's expected of you. SIR ROD. Wednesday? ROB. (melodramatically). On Wednesday I forged a will. SIR ROD. Whose will? ROB. My own. SIR ROD. My good sir, you can't forge your own will! ROB. Can't I, though! I like that! I did! Besides, if a man can't forge his own will, whose will can he forge? 1ST GHOST. There's something in that. 2ND GHOST. Yes, it seems reasonable. 3RD GHOST. At first sight it does. 4TH GHOST. Fallacy somewhere, I fancy! ROB. A man can do what he likes with his own! SIR ROD. I suppose he can. ROB. Well, then, he can forge his own will, stoopid! On Thursday I shot a fox. 1ST GHOST. Hear, hear! SIR ROD. That's better (addressing Ghosts). Pass the fox, I think? (They assent.) Yes, pass the fox. Friday? ROB. On Friday I forged a cheque. SIR ROD. Whose cheque? ROB. Old Adam's. SIR ROD. But Old Adam hasn't a banker. ROB. I didn't say I forged his banker—I said I forged his cheque. On Saturday I disinherited my only son. SIR ROD. But you haven't got a son. ROB. No—not yet. I disinherited him in advance, to save time. You see—by this arrangement—he'll be born ready disinherited. SIR ROD. I see. But I don't think you can do that. ROB. My good sir, if I can't disinherit my own unborn son, whose unborn son can I disinherit? SIR ROD. Humph! These arguments sound very well, but I can't help thinking that, if they were reduced to syllogistic form, they wouldn't hold water. Now quite understand us. We are foggy, but we don't permit our fogginess to be presumed upon. Unless you undertake to—well, suppose we say, carry off a lady? (Addressing Ghosts.) Those who are in favour of his carrying off a lady? (All hold up their hands except a Bishop.) Those of the contrary opinion? (Bishop holds up his hands.) Oh, you're never satisfied! Yes, unless you undertake to carry off a lady at once—I don't care what lady—any lady—choose your lady—you perish in inconceivable agonies. ROB. Carry off a lady? Certainly not, on any account. I've the greatest respect for ladies, and I wouldn't do anything of the kind for worlds! No, no. I'm not that kind of baronet, I assure you! If that's all you've got to say, you'd better go back to your frames. SIR ROD. Very good—then let the agonies commence.

(Ghosts make passes. Robin begins to writhe in agony.)

ROB. Oh! Oh! Don't do that! I can't stand it! SIR ROD. Painful, isn't it? It gets worse by degrees. ROB. Oh—Oh! Stop a bit! Stop it, will you? I want to speak.

(Sir Roderic makes signs to Ghosts, who resume their attitudes.)

SIR ROD. Better? ROB. Yes—better now! Whew! SIR ROD. Well, do you consent? ROB. But it's such an ungentlemanly thing to do! SIR ROD. As you please. (To Ghosts.) Carry on! ROB. Stop—I can't stand it! I agree! I promise! It shall be done! SIR ROD. To-day? ROB. To-day! SIR ROD. At once? ROB. At once! I retract! I apologize! I had no idea it was anything like that!

CHORUS.

He yields! He answers to our call! We do not ask for more. A sturdy fellow, after all, This latest Ruddigore! All perish in unheard-of woe Who dare our wills defy; We want your pardon, ere we go, For having agonized you so— So pardon us— So pardon us— So pardon us— Or die!

ROB. I pardon you! I pardon you!

ALL. He pardons us- Hurrah!

(The Ghosts return to their frames.)

CHORUS. Painted emblems of a race, All accurst in days of yore, Each to his accustomed place Steps unwillingly once more!

(By this time the Ghosts have changed to pictures again. Robin is overcome by emotion.)

(Enter Adam.)

ADAM. My poor master, you are not well— ROB. Old Adam, it won't do—I've seen 'em—all my ancestors—they're just gone. They say that I must do something desperate at once, or perish in horrible agonies. Go—go to yonder village—carry off a maiden—bring her here at once—any one—I don't care which— ADAM. But— ROB. Not a word, but obey! Fly! (Exeunt Adam)

RECIT. and SONG—ROBIN.

Away, Remorse! Compunction, hence!. Go, Moral Force! Go, Penitence! To Virtue's plea A long farewell— Propriety, I ring your knell! Come, guiltiness of deadliest hue! Come, desperate deeds of derring-do!

Henceforth all the crimes that I find in the Times. I've promised to perpetrate daily; To-morrow I start with a petrified heart, On a regular course of Old Bailey. There's confidence tricking, bad coin, pocket-picking, And several other disgraces— There's postage-stamp prigging, and then thimble-rigging, The three-card delusion at races! Oh! A baronet's rank is exceedingly nice, But the title's uncommonly dear at the price!

Ye well-to-do squires, who live in the shires, Where petty distinctions are vital, Who found Athenaeums and local museums, With a view to a baronet's title— Ye butchers and bakers and candlestick makers Who sneer at all things that are tradey— Whose middle-class lives are embarrassed by wives Who long to parade as "My Lady", Oh! allow me to offer a word of advice, The title's uncommonly dear at the price!

Ye supple M.P.'s who go down on your knees, Your precious identity sinking, And vote black or white as your leaders indite (Which saves you the trouble of thinking), For your country's good fame, her repute, or her shame, You don't care the snuff of a candle— But you're paid for your game when you're told that your name Will be graced by a baronet's handle— Oh! Allow me to give you a word of advice— The title's uncommonly dear at the price! (Exit Robin.)

(Enter Despard and Margaret. They are both dressed in sober black of formal cut, and present a strong contrast to their appearance in Act I.)

DUET.

DES. I once was a very abandoned person— MAR. Making the most of evil chances. DES. Nobody could conceive a worse 'un— MAR. Even in all the old romances. DES. I blush for my wild extravagances, But be so kind To bear in mind, MAR. We were the victims of circumstances! (Dance.) That is one of our blameless dances.

MAR. I was once an exceedingly odd young lady— DES. Suffering much from spleen and vapours. MAR. Clergymen thought my conduct shady— DES. She didn't spend much upon linen-drapers. MAR. It certainly entertained the gapers. My ways were strange Beyond all range— DES. Paragraphs got into all the papers. (Dance.)

DES. We only cut respectable capers.

DES. I've given up all my wild proceedings. MAR. My taste for a wandering life is waning. DES. Now I'm a dab at penny readings. MAR. They are not remarkably entertaining. DES. A moderate livelihood we're gaining. MAR. In fact we rule A National School. DES. The duties are dull, but I'm not complaining. (Dance.)

This sort of thing takes a deal of training!

DES. We have been married a week. MAR. One happy, happy week! DES. Our new life— MAR. Is delightful indeed! DES. So calm! MAR. So unimpassioned! (Wildly). Master, all this I owe to you! See, I am no longer wild and untidy. My hair is combed. My face is washed. My boots fit! DES. Margaret, don't. Pray restrain yourself. Remember, you are now a district visitor. MAR. A gentle district visitor! DES. You are orderly, methodical, neat; you have your emotions well under control. MAR. I have! (Wildly). Master, when I think of all you have done for me, I fall at your feet. I embrace your ankles. I hug your knees! (Doing so.) DES. Hush. This is not well. This is calculated to provoke remark. Be composed, I beg! MAR. Ah! you are angry with poor little Mad Margaret! DES. No, not angry; but a district visitor should learn to eschew melodrama. Visit the poor, by all means, and give them tea and barley-water, but don't do it as if you were administering a bowl of deadly nightshade. It upsets them. Then when you nurse sick people, and find them not as well as could be expected, why go into hysterics? MAR. Why not? DES. Because it's too jumpy for a sick-room. MAR. How strange! Oh, Master! Master!—how shall I express the all-absorbing gratitude that—(about to throw herself at his feet). DES. Now! (Warningly). MAR. Yes, I know, dear—it shan't occur again. (He is seated—she sits on the ground by him.) Shall I tell you one of poor Mad Margaret's odd thoughts? Well, then, when I am lying awake at night, and the pale moonlight streams through the latticed casement, strange fancies crowd upon my poor mad brain, and I sometimes think that if we could hit upon some word for you to use whenever I am about to relapse—some word that teems with hidden meaning—like "Basingstoke"—it might recall me to my saner self. For, after all, I am only Mad Margaret! Daft Meg! Poor Meg! He! he! he! DES. Poor child, she wanders! But soft—some one comes—Margaret—pray recollect yourself—Basingstoke, I beg! Margaret, if you don't Basingstoke at once, I shall be seriously angry. MAR. (recovering herself). Basingstoke it is! DES. Then make it so.

(Enter Robin. He starts on seeing them.)

ROB. Despard! And his young wife! This visit is unexpected. MAR. Shall I fly at him? Shall I tear him limb from limb? Shall I rend him asunder? Say but the word and— DES. Basingstoke! MAR. (suddenly demure). Basingstoke it is! DES. (aside). Then make it so. (Aloud.) My brother—I call you brother still, despite your horrible profligacy—we have come to urge you to abandon the evil courses to which you have committed yourself, and at any cost to become a pure and blameless ratepayer. ROB. But I've done no wrong yet. MAR. (wildly). No wrong! He has done no wrong! Did you hear that! DES. Basingstoke! MAR. (recovering herself). Basingstoke it is! DES. My brother—I still call you brother, you observe—you forget that you have been, in the eye of the law, a Bad Baronet of Ruddigore for ten years—and you are therefore responsible—in the eye of the law—for all the misdeeds committed by the unhappy gentleman who occupied your place. ROB. I see! Bless my heart, I never thought of that! Was I very bad? DES. Awful. Wasn't he? (To Margaret). ROB. And I've been going on like this for how long? DES. Ten years! Think of all the atrocities you have committed—by attorney as it were—during that period. Remember how you trifled with this poor child's affections—how you raised her hopes on high (don't cry, my love—Basingstoke, you know), only to trample them in the dust when they were at the very zenith of their fullness. Oh fie, sir, fie—she trusted you! ROB. Did she? What a scoundrel I must have been! There, there—don't cry, my dear (to Margaret, who is sobbing on Robin's breast), it's all right now. Birmingham, you know—Birmingham— MAR. (sobbing). It's Ba—Ba—Basingstoke! ROB. Basingstoke! Of course it is—Basingstoke. MAR. Then make it so! ROB. There, there—it's all right—he's married you now—that is, I've married you (turning to Despard)—I say, which of us has married her? DES. Oh, I've married her. ROB. (aside). Oh, I'm glad of that. (To Margaret.) Yes, he's married you now (passing her over to Despard), and anything more disreputable than my conduct seems to have been I've never even heard of. But my mind is made up—I will defy my ancestors. I will refuse to obey their behests, thus, by courting death, atone in some degree for the infamy of my career! MAR. I knew it—I knew it—God bless you—(Hysterically). DES. Basingstoke! MAR. Basingstoke it is! (Recovers herself.)

PATTER-TRIO. ROBIN, DESPARD, and MARGARET.

ROB. My eyes are fully open to my awful situation— I shall go at once to Roderic and make him an oration. I shall tell him I've recovered my forgotten moral senses, And I don't care twopence-halfpenny for any consequences. Now I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger, But a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger, And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter, But I've got to die tomorrow, so it really doesn't matter!

DES. So it really doesn't matter—

MAR. So it really doesn't matter—

ALL. So it really doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

MAR. If were not a little mad and generally silly I should give you my advice upon the subject, willy-nilly; I should show you in a moment how to grapple with the question, And you'd really be astonished at the force of my suggestion. On the subject I shall write you a most valuable letter, Full of excellent suggestions when I feel a little better, But at present I'm afraid I am as mad as any hatter, So I'll keep 'em to myself, for my opinion doesn't matter!

DES. Her opinion doesn't matter—

ROB. Her opinion doesn't matter—

ALL. Her opinion doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

DES. If I had been so lucky as to have a steady brother Who could talk to me as we are talking now to one another— Who could give me good advice when he discovered I was erring (Which is just the very favour which on you I am conferring), My story would have made a rather interesting idyll, And I might have lived and died a very decent indiwiddle. This particularly rapid, unintelligible patter Isn't generally heard, and if it is it doesn't matter!

ROB. If it is it doesn't matter—

MAR. If it is it doesn't matter—

ALL. If it is it doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

(Exeunt Despard and Margaret.)

(Enter Adam.)

ADAM (guiltily). Master—the deed is done! ROB. What deed? ADAM. She is here—alone, unprotected— ROB. Who? ADAM. The maiden. I've carried her off—I had a hard task, for she fought like a tiger-cat! ROB. Great heaven, I had forgotten her! I had hoped to have died unspotted by crime, but I am foiled again—and by a tiger-cat! Produce her—and leave us!

(Adam introduces Dame Hannah, very much excited, and exits.)

ROB. Dame Hannah! This is—this is not what I expected. HAN. Well, sir, and what would you with me? Oh, you have begun bravely—bravely indeed! Unappalled by the calm dignity of blameless womanhood, your minion has torn me from my spotless home, and dragged me, blindfold and shrieking, through hedges, over stiles, and across a very difficult country, and left me, helpless and trembling, at your mercy! Yet not helpless, coward sir, for approach one step—nay, but the twentieth part of one poor inch—and this poniard (produces a very small dagger) shall teach ye what it is to lay unholy hands on old Stephen Trusty's daughter! ROB. Madam, I am extremely sorry for this. It is not at all what I intended—anything more correct—more deeply respectful than my intentions towards you, it would be impossible for any one—however particular—to desire. HAN. Bah, I am not to be tricked by smooth words, hypocrite! But be warned in time, for there are, without, a hundred gallant hearts whose trusty blades would hack him limb from limb who dared to lay unholy hands on old Stephen Trusty's daughter! ROB. And this is what it is to embark upon a career of unlicensed pleasure!

(Dame Hannah, who has taken a formidable dagger from one of the armed figures, throws her small dagger to Robin.)

HAN. Harkye, miscreant, you have secured me, and I am your poor prisoner; but if you think I cannot take care of myself you are very much mistaken. Now then, it's one to one, and let the best man win!

(Making for him.)

ROB. (in an agony of terror). Don't! don't look at me like that! I can't bear it! Roderic! Uncle! Save me!

(Sir Roderic enters, from his picture. He comes down the stage.)

ROD. What is the matter? Have you carried her off? ROB. I have—she is there—look at her—she terrifies me! ROD. (looking at Hannah). Little Nannikin! HAN. (amazed). Roddy-doddy! ROD. My own old love! Why, how came you here? HAN. This brute—he carried me off! Bodily! But I'll show him! (about to rush at Robin). ROD. Stop! (To Rob.) What do you mean by carrying off this lady? Are you aware that once upon a time she was engaged to be married to me? I'm very angry—very angry indeed. ROB. Now I hope this will be a lesson to you in future not to— ROD. Hold your tongue, sir. ROB. Yes, uncle. ROD. Have you given him any encouragement? HAN. (to Rob.). Have I given you any encouragement? Frankly now, have I? ROB. No. Frankly, you have not. Anything more scrupulously correct than your conduct, it would be impossible to desire. ROD. You go away. ROB. Yes, uncle. (Exit Robin.) ROD. This is a strange meeting after so many years! HAN. Very. I thought you were dead. ROD. I am. I died ten years ago. HAN. And are you pretty comfortable? ROD. Pretty well—that is—yes, pretty well. HAN. You don't deserve to be, for I loved you all the while, dear; and it made me dreadfully unhappy to hear of all your goings-on, you bad, bad boy!

BALLAD—DAME HANNAH.

There grew a little flower 'Neath a great oak tree: When the tempest 'gan to lower Little heeded she: No need had she to cower, For she dreaded not its power— She was happy in the bower Of her great oak tree! Sing hey, Lackaday! Let the tears fall free For the pretty little flower And the great oak tree!

BOTH. Sing hey, Lackaday! etc.

When she found that he was fickle, Was that great oak tree, She was in a pretty pickle, As she well might be— But his gallantries were mickle, For Death followed with his sickle, And her tears began to trickle For her great oak tree! Sing hey, Lackaday! etc.

BOTH. Sing hey, Lackaday! etc.

Said she, "He loved me never, Did that great oak tree, But I'm neither rich nor clever, And so why should he? But though fate our fortunes sever, To be constant I'll endeavour, Aye, for ever and for ever, To my great oak tree!' Sing hey, Lackaday! etc.

BOTH. Sing hey, Lackaday! etc.

(Falls weeping on Sir Roderic's bosom.)

(Enter Robin, excitedly, followed by all the characters and Chorus of Bridesmaids.)

ROB. Stop a bit—both of you. ROD. This intrusion is unmannerly. HAN. I'm surprised at you. ROB. I can't stop to apologize—an idea has just occurred to me. A Baronet of Ruddigore can only die through refusing to commit his daily crime. ROD. No doubt. ROB. Therefore, to refuse to commit a daily crime is tantamount to suicide! ROD. It would seem so. ROB. But suicide is, itself, a crime—and so, by your own showing, you ought never to have died at all! ROD. I see—I understand! Then I'm practically alive! ROB. Undoubtedly! (Sir Roderic embraces Dame Hannah.) Rose, when you believed that I was a simple farmer, I believe you loved me? ROSE. Madly, passionately! ROB. But when I became a bad baronet, you very properly loved Richard instead? ROSE. Passionately, madly! ROB. But if I should turn out not to be a bad baronet after all, how would you love me then? ROSE. Madly, passionately! ROB. As before? ROSE. Why, of course. ROB. My darling! (They embrace.) RICH. Here, I say, belay! ROSE. Oh, sir, belay, if it's absolutely necessary! ROB. Belay? Certainly not!

FINALE

ROB. Having been a wicked baronet a week Once again a modest livelihood I seek. Agricultural employment Is to me a keen enjoyment, For I'm naturally diffident and meek!

ROSE. When a man has been a naughty baronet, And expresses deep repentance and regret, You should help him, if you're able, Like the mousie in the fable, That's the teaching of my Book of Etiquette.

CHORUS. That's the teaching in her Book of Etiquette.

RICH. If you ask me why I do not pipe my eye, Like an honest British sailor, I reply, That with Zorah for my missis, There'll be bread and cheese and kisses, Which is just the sort of ration I enjye!

CHORUS. Which is just the sort of ration you enjye!

DES. and MAR. Prompted by a keen desire to evoke All the blessed calm of matrimony's yoke, We shall toddle off tomorrow, From this scene of sin and sorrow, For to settle in the town of Basingstoke!

ALL. For happy the lily That's 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!

CURTAIN

THE SORCERER Libretto by William S. Gilbert Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Sir Marmaduke Pointdextre, an Elderly Baronet

Alexis, of the Grenadier Guards—His Son

Dr. Daly, Vicar of Ploverleigh

John Wellington Wells, of J. W. Wells & Co., Family Sorcerers

Lady Sangazure, a Lady of Ancient Lineage

Aline, Her Daughter—betrothed to Alexis

Mrs. Partlet, a Pew-Opener

Constance, her Daughter

Chorus of Villagers

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

I. Grounds of Sir Marmaduke's Mansion, Mid-day

(Twelve hours are supposed to elapse between Acts I and II)

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

I. SCENE—Exterior of Sir Marmaduke's Elizabethan Mansion, mid-day

CHORUS OF VILLAGERS

Ring forth, ye bells, With clarion sound— Forget your knells, For joys abound. Forget your notes Of mournful lay, And from your throats Pour joy to-day.

For to-day young Alexis—young Alexis Pointdextre Is betrothed to Aline—to Aline Sangazure, And that pride of his sex is—of his sex is to be next her At the feast on the green—on the green, oh, be sure!

Ring forth, ye bells etc. (Exeunt the men into house.)

(Enter Mrs. Partlet with Constance, her daughter)

RECITATIVE

MRS. P. Constance, my daughter, why this strange depression? The village rings with seasonable joy, Because the young and amiable Alexis, Heir to the great Sir Marmaduke Pointdextre, Is plighted to Aline, the only daughter Of Annabella, Lady Sangazure. You, you alone are sad and out of spirits; What is the reason? Speak, my daughter, speak!

CON. Oh, mother, do not ask! If my complexion From red to white should change in quick succession, And then from white to red, oh, take no notice! If my poor limbs should tremble with emotion, Pay no attention, mother—it is nothing! If long and deep-drawn sighs I chance to utter, Oh, heed them not, their cause must ne'er be known!

Mrs. Partlet motions to Chorus to leave her with Constance. Exeunt ladies of Chorus.

ARIA—CONSTANCE

When he is here, I sigh with pleasure— When he is gone, I sigh with grief. My hopeless fear No soul can measure— His love alone Can give my aching heart relief!

When he is cold, I weep for sorrow— When he is kind, I weep for joy. My grief untold Knows no to-morrow— My woe can find No hope, no solace, no alloy!

MRS. P. Come, tell me all about it! Do not fear— I, too, have loved; but that was long ago! Who is the object of your young affections? CONST. Hush, mother! He is here! (Looking off)

Enter Dr. Daly. He is pensive and does not see them

MRS. P. (amazed) Our reverend vicar! CONST. Oh, pity me, my heart is almost broken! MRS. P. My child, be comforted. To such an union I shall not offer any opposition. Take him—he's yours! May you and he be happy! CONST. But, mother dear, he is not yours to give! MRS. P. That's true, indeed! CONST. He might object! MRS. P. He might. But come—take heart—I'll probe him on the subject. Be comforted—leave this affair to me. (They withdraw.)

RECITATIVE—DR. DALY

The air is charged with amatory numbers— Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays. Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers The aching memory of the old, old days?

BALLAD

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted. Time was when we walked ever hand in hand. A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted, None better-loved than I in all the land! Time was, when maidens of the noblest station, Forsaking even military men, Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration— Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!

Had I a headache? sighed the maids assembled; Had I a cold? welled forth the silent tear; Did I look pale? then half a parish trembled; And when I coughed all thought the end was near! I had no care—no jealous doubts hung o'er me— For I was loved beyond all other men. Fled gilded dukes and belted earls before me— Ah me, I was a pale young curate them!

(At the conclusion of the ballad, Mrs. Partlet comes forward with Constance.)

MRS. P. Good day, reverend sir. DR. D. Ah, good Mrs. Partlet, I am glad to see you. And your little daughter, Constance! Why, she is quite a little woman, I declare! CONST. (aside) Oh, mother, I cannot speak to him! MRS. P. Yes, reverend sir, she is nearly eighteen, and as good a girl as ever stepped. (Aside to Dr. Daly) Ah, sir, I'm afraid I shall soon lose her! DR. D. (aside to Mrs. Partlet) Dear me, you pain me very much. Is she delicate? MRS. P. Oh no, sir—I don't mean that—but young girls look to get married. DR. D. Oh, I take you. To be sure. But there's plenty of time for that. Four or five years hence, Mrs. Partlet, four or five years hence. But when the time does come, I shall have much pleasure in marrying her myself— CONST. (aside) Oh, mother! DR. D. To some strapping young fellow in her own rank of life. CONST. (in tears) He does not love me! MRS. P. I have often wondered, reverend sir (if you'll excuse the liberty), that you have never married. DR. D. (aside) Be still, my fluttering heart! MRS. P. A clergyman's wife does so much good in a village. besides that, you are not as young as you were, and before very long you will want somebody to nurse you, and look after your little comforts. DR. D. Mrs. Partlet, there is much truth in what you say. I am indeed getting on in years, and a helpmate would cheer my declining days. Time was when it might have been; but I have left it too long—I am an old fogy, now, am I not, my dear? (to Constance)—a very old fogy, indeed. Ha! ha! No, Mrs. Partlet, my mind is quite made up. I shall live and die a solitary old bachelor. CONST. Oh, mother, mother! (Sobs on Mrs. Partlet's bosom) MRS. P. Come, come, dear one, don't fret. At a more fitting time we will try again—we will try again. (Exeunt Mrs. Partlet and Constance.)

DR. D. (looking after them) Poor little girl! I'm afraid she has something on her mind. She is rather comely. Time was when this old heart would have throbbed in double-time at the sight of such a fairy form! But tush! I am puling! Here comes the young Alexis with his proud and happy father. Let me dry this tell-tale tear!

Enter Sir Marmaduke and Alexis

RECITATIVE

DR. D. Sir Marmaduke—my dear young friend, Alexis— On this most happy, most auspicious plighting— Permit me as a true old friend to tender My best, my very best congratulations! SIR M. Sir, you are most obleeging! ALEX. Dr. Daly My dear old tutor, and my valued pastor, I thank you from the bottom of my heart! (Spoken through music) DR. D. May fortune bless you! may the middle distance Of your young life be pleasant as the foreground— The joyous foreground! and, when you have reached it, May that which now is the far-off horizon (But which will then become the middle distance), In fruitful promise be exceeded only By that which will have opened, in the meantime, Into a new and glorious horizon! SIR M. Dear Sir, that is an excellent example Of an old school of stately compliment To which I have, through life, been much addicted. Will you obleege me with a copy of it, In clerkly manuscript, that I myself May use it on appropriate occasions? DR. D. Sir, you shall have a fairly-written copy Ere Sol has sunk into his western slumbers! (Exit Dr. Daly)

SIR M. (to Alexis, who is in a reverie) Come, come, my son—your fiancee will be here in five minutes. Rouse yourself to receive her. ALEXIS Oh rapture! SIR M. Yes, you are a fortunate young fellow, and I will not disguise from you that this union with the House of Sangazure realizes my fondest wishes. Aline is rich, and she comes of a sufficiently old family, for she is the seven thousand and thirty-seventh in direct descent from Helen of Troy. True, there was a blot on the escutcheon of that lady—that affair with Paris—but where is the family, other than my own, in which there is no flaw? You are a lucky fellow, sir—a very lucky fellow! ALEXIS Father, I am welling over with limpid joy! No sicklying taint of sorrow overlies the lucid lake of liquid love, upon which, hand in hand, Aline and I are to float into eternity! SIR M. Alexis, I desire that of your love for this young lady you do not speak so openly. You are always singing ballads in praise of her beauty, and you expect the very menials who wait behind your chair to chorus your ecstasies. It is not delicate. ALEXIS Father, a man who loves as I love— SIR M. Pooh pooh, sir! fifty years ago I madly loved your future mother-in-law, the Lady Sangazure, and I have reason to believe that she returned my love. But were we guilty of the indelicacy of publicly rushing into each other's arms, exclaiming—

"Oh, my adored one!" "Beloved boy!" "Ecstatic rapture!" "Unmingled joy!"

which seems to be the modern fashion of love-making? No! it was "Madam, I trust you are in the enjoyment of good health"—"Sir, you are vastly polite, I protest I am mighty well"—and so forth. Much more delicate—much more respectful. But see—Aline approaches—let us retire, that she may compose herself for the interesting ceremony in which she is to play so important a part. (Exeunt Sir Marmaduke and Alexis.)

(Enter Aline on terrace, preceded by Chorus of Girls.)

CHORUS OF GIRLS

With heart and with voice Let us welcome this mating: To the youth of her choice, With a heart palpitating, Comes the lovely Aline!

May their love never cloy! May their bliss me unbounded! With a halo of joy May their lives be surrounded! Heaven bless our Aline!

RECITATIVE—ALINE.

My kindly friends, I thank you for this greeting And as you wish me every earthly joy, I trust your wishes may have quick fulfillment!

ARIA—ALINE.

Oh, happy young heart! Comes thy young lord a-wooing With joy in his eyes, And pride in his breast— Make much of thy prize, For he is the best That ever came a-suing. Yet—yet we must part, Young heart! Yet—yet we must part!

Oh, merry young heart, Bright are the days of thy wooing! But happier far The days untried— No sorrow can mar, When love has tied The knot there's no undoing. Then, never to part, Young heart! Then, never to part!

Enter Lady Sangazure

RECITATIVE—LADY S.

My child, I join in these congratulations: Heed not the tear that dims this aged eye! Old memories crowd upon me. Though I sorrow, 'Tis for myself, Aline, and not for thee!

Enter Alexis, preceded by Chorus of Men

CHORUS OF MEN AND WOMEN

With heart and with voice Let us welcome this mating; To the maid of his choice, With a heart palpitating, Comes Alexis, the brave!.

(Sir Marmaduke enters. Lady Sangazure and he exhibit signs of strong emotion at the sight of each other which they endeavor to repress. Alexis and Aline rush into each other's arms.)

RECITATIVE

ALEXIS Oh, my adored one!

ALINE Beloved boy!

ALEXIS Ecstatic rapture!

ALINE Unmingled joy! (They retire up.)

DUET—SIR MARMADUKE and LADY SANGAZURE

SIR M. (with stately courtesy) Welcome joy, adieu to sadness! As Aurora gilds the day, So those eyes, twin orbs of gladness, Chase the clouds of care away. Irresistible incentive Bids me humbly kiss your hand; I'm your service most attentive— Most attentive to command!

(Aside with frantic vehemence) Wild with adoration! Mad with fascination! To indulge my lamentation No occasion do I miss! Goaded to distraction By maddening inaction, I find some satisfaction In apostophe like this: "Sangazure immortal, "Sangazure divine, "Welcome to my portal, "Angel, oh be mine!"

(Aloud with much ceremony) Irresistible incentive Bids me humbly kiss your hand; I'm your servant most attentive— Most attentive to command!

LADY S. Sir, I thank you most politely For your grateful courtesee; Compliment more true and knightly Never yet was paid to me! Chivalry is an ingredient Sadly lacking in our land— Sir, I am your most obedient, Most obedient to command!

(Aside and with great vehemence) Wild with adoration! Mad with fascination! To indulge my lamentation No occasion do I miss! Goaded to distraction By maddening inaction, I find some satisfaction In apostophe like this: "Marmaduke immortal, "Marmaduke divine, "Take me to thy portal, "Loved one, oh be mine!"

(Aloud with much ceremony) Chivalry is an ingredient Sadly lacking in our land; Sir, I am your most obedient, Most obedient to command!

(During this the Notary has entered, with marriage contract.)

RECITATIVE—NOTARY

All is prepared for sealing and for signing, The contract has been drafted as agreed; Approach the table, oh, ye lovers pining, With hand and seal come execute the deed!

(Alexis and Aline advance and sign, Alexis supported by Sir Marmaduke, Aline by her Mother.)

CHORUS

See they sign, without a quiver, it— Then to seal proceed. They deliver it—they deliver it As their Act and Deed! ALEX. I deliver it—I deliver it As my Act and Deed!. ALINE. I deliver it—I deliver it. As my Act and Deed!

CHO. With heart and with voice Let us welcome this mating; Leave them here to rejoice, With true love palpitating, Alexis the brave, And the lovely Aline! (Exeunt all but Alexis and Aline.)

ALEXIS At last we are alone! My darling, you are now irrevocably betrothed to me. Are you not very, very happy? ALINE Oh, Alexis, can you doubt it? Do I not love you beyond all on earth, and am I not beloved in return? Is not true love, faithfully given and faithfully returned, the source of every earthly joy? ALEXIS Of that there can be no doubt. Oh, that the world could be persuaded of the truth of that maxim! Oh, that the world would break down the artificial barriers of rank, wealth, education, age, beauty, habits, taste, and temper, and recognize the glorious principle, that in marriage alone is to be found the panacea for every ill! ALINE Continue to preach that sweet doctrine, and you will succeed, oh, evangel of true happiness! ALEXIS I hope so, but as yet the cause progresses but slowly. Still I have made some converts to the principle, that men and women should be coupled in matrimony without distinction of rank. I have lectured on the subject at Mechanics' Institutes, and the mechanics were unanimous in favour of my views. I have preached in workhouses, beershops, and Lunatic Asylums, and I have been received with enthusiasm. I have addressed navvies on the advantages that would accrue to them if they married wealthy ladies of rank, and not a navvy dissented! ALINE Noble fellows! And yet there are those who hold that the uneducated classes are not open to argument! And what do the countesses say? ALEXIS Why, at present, it can't be denied, the aristocracy hold aloof. ALINE Ah, the working man is the true Intelligence after all! ALEXIS He is a noble creature when he is quite sober. Yes, Aline, true happiness comes of true love, and true love should be independent of external influences. It should live upon itself and by itself—in itself love should live for love alone!

BALLAD—ALEXIS

Love feeds on many kinds of food, I know, Some love for rank, some for duty: Some give their hearts away for empty show, And others for youth and beauty. To love for money all the world is prone: Some love themselves, and live all lonely: Give me the love that loves for love alone— I love that love—I love it only!

What man for any other joy can thirst, Whose loving wife adores him duly? Want, misery, and care may do their worst, If loving woman loves you truly. A lover's thoughts are ever with his own— None truly loved is ever lonely: Give me the love that loves for love alone— I love that love—I love it only!

ALINE Oh, Alexis, those are noble principles! ALEXIS Yes, Aline, and I am going to take a desperate step in support of them. Have you ever heard of the firm of J. W. Wells & Co., the old-established Family Sorcerers in St. Mary Axe? ALINE I have seen their advertisement. ALEXIS They have invented a philtre, which, if report may be believed, is simply infallible. I intend to distribute it through the village, and within half an hour of my doing so there will not be an adult in the place who will not have learnt the secret of pure and lasting happiness. What do you say to that? ALINE Well, dear, of course a filter is a very useful thing in a house; but still I don't quite see that it is the sort of thing that places its possessor on the very pinnacle of earthly joy. ALEXIS Aline, you misunderstand me. I didn't say a filter—I said a philtre. ALINE (alarmed) You don't mean a love-potion? ALEXIS On the contrary—I do mean a love potion. ALINE Oh, Alexis! I don't think it would be right. I don't indeed. And then—a real magician! Oh, it would be downright wicked. ALEXIS Aline, is it, or is it not, a laudable object to steep the whole village up to its lips in love, and to couple them in matrimony without distinction of age, rank, or fortune? ALINE Unquestionably, but— ALEXIS Then unpleasant as it must be to have recourse to supernatural aid, I must nevertheless pocket my aversion, in deference to the great and good end I have in view. (Calling) Hercules.

(Enter a Page from tent)

PAGE Yes, sir. ALEXIS Is Mr. Wells there? PAGE He's in the tent, sir—refreshing. ALEXIS Ask him to be so good as to step this way. PAGE Yes, sir. (Exit Page) ALINE Oh, but, Alexis! A real Sorcerer! Oh, I shall be frightened to death! ALEXIS I trust my Aline will not yield to fear while the strong right arm of her Alexis is here to protect her. ALINE It's nonsense, dear, to talk of your protecting me with your strong right arm, in face of the fact that this Family Sorcerer could change me into a guinea-pig before you could turn round. ALEXIS He could change you into a guinea-pig, no doubt, but it is most unlikely that he would take such a liberty. It's a most respectable firm, and I am sure he would never be guilty of so untradesmanlike an act.

(Enter Mr. Wells from tent)

WELLS Good day, sir. (Aline much terrified.) ALEXIS Good day—I believe you are a Sorcerer. WELLS Yes, sir, we practice Necromancy in all its branches. We've a choice assortment of wishing-caps, divining-rods, amulets, charms, and counter-charms. We can cast you a nativity at a low figure, and we have a horoscope at three-and-six that we can guarantee. Our Abudah chests, each containing a patent Hag who comes out and prophesies disasters, with spring complete, are strongly recommended. Our Aladdin lamps are very chaste, and our Prophetic Tablets, foretelling everything—from a change of Ministry down to a rise in Unified—are much enquired for. Our penny Curse—one of the cheapest things in the trade—is considered infallible. We have some very superior Blessings, too, but they're very little asked for. We've only sold one since Christmas—to a gentleman who bought it to send to his mother-in-law—but it turned out that he was afflicted in the head, and it's been returned on our hands. But our sale of penny Curses, especially on Saturday nights, is tremendous. We can't turn 'em out fast enough.

SONG—MR. WELLS

Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells, I'm a dealer in magic and spells, In blessings and curses And ever-filled purses, In prophecies, witches, and knells. If you want a proud foe to "make tracks"— If you'd melt a rich uncle in wax— You've but to look in On the resident Djinn, Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

We've a first-class assortment of magic; And for raising a posthumous shade With effects that are comic or tragic, There's no cheaper house in the trade. Love-philtre—we've quantities of it; And for knowledge if any one burns, We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet Who brings us unbounded returns:

For he can prophesy With a wink of his eye, Peep with security Into futurity, Sum up your history, Clear up a mystery, Humour proclivity For a nativity—for a nativity; With mirrors so magical, Tetrapods tragical, Bogies spectacular, Answers oracular, Facts astronomical, Solemn or comical, And, if you want it, he Makes a reduction on taking a quantity! Oh!

If any one anything lacks, He'll find it all ready in stacks, If he'll only look in On the resident Djinn, Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

He can raise you hosts Of ghosts, And that without reflectors; And creepy things With wings, And gaunt and grisly spectres. He can fill you crowds Of shrouds, And horrify you vastly; He can rack your brains With chains, And gibberings grim and ghastly.

And then, if you plan it, he Changes organity, With an urbanity, Full of Satanity, Vexes humanity With an inanity Fatal to vanity— Driving your foes to the verge of insanity!

Barring tautology, In demonology, 'Lectro-biology, Mystic nosology, Spirit philology, High-class astrology, Such is his knowledge, he Isn't the man to require an apology!

Oh! My name is John Wellington Wells, I'm a dealer in magic and spells, In blessings and curses And ever-filled purses, In prophecies, witches, and knells.

If any one anything lacks, He'll find it all ready in stacks, If he'll only look in On the resident Djinn, Number seventy, Simmery Axe!

ALEXIS I have sent for you to consult you on a very important matter. I believe you advertise a Patent Oxy-Hydrogen Love-at-first-sight Philtre? WELLS Sir, it is our leading article. (Producing a phial.) ALEXIS Now I want to know if you can confidently guarantee it as possessing all the qualities you claim for it in your advertisement? WELLS Sir, we are not in the habit of puffing our goods. Ours is an old-established house with a large family connection, and every assurance held out in the advertisement is fully realized. (Hurt) ALINE (aside) Oh, Alexis, don't offend him! He'll change us into something dreadful—I know he will! ALEXIS I am anxious from purely philanthropical motives to distribute this philtre, secretly, among the inhabitants of this village. I shall of course require a quantity. How do you sell it? WELLS In buying a quantity, sir, we should strongly advise your taking it in the wood, and drawing it off as you happen to want it. We have it in four-and-a-half and nine gallon casks—also in pipes and hogsheads for laying down, and we deduct 10 per cent from prompt cash. ALEXIS I should mention that I am a Member of the Army and

Navy Stores. WELLS In that case we deduct 25 percent. ALEXIS Aline, the villagers will assemble to carouse in a few minutes. Go and fetch the tea-pot. ALINE But, Alexis— ALEXIS My dear, you must obey me, if you please. Go and fetch the teapot. ALINE (going) I'm sure Dr. Daly would disapprove of it!

(Exit Aline.) ALEXIS And how soon does it take effect? WELLS In twelve hours. Whoever drinks of it loses consciousness for that period, and on waking falls in love, as a matter of course, with the first lady he meets who has also tasted it, and his affection is at once returned. One trial will prove the fact. Enter Aline with large tea-pot

ALEXIS Good: then, Mr. Wells, I shall feel obliged if you will at once pour as much philtre into this teapot as will suffice to affect the whole village. ALINE But bless me, Alexis, many of the villages are married people! WELLS Madam, this philtre is compounded on the strictest principles. On married people it has no effect whatever. But are you quite sure that you have nerve enough to carry you through the fearful ordeal? ALEXIS In the good cause I fear nothing. WELLS Very good, then, we will proceed at once to the Incantation. The stage grows dark.

INCANTATION

WELLS. Sprites of earth and air— Fiends of flame and fire— Demon souls, Come here in shoals, This dreaded deed inspire! Appear, appear, appear.

MALE VOICES. Good master, we are here!

WELLS. Noisome hags of night— Imps of deadly shade— Pallid ghosts, Arise in hosts, And lend me all your aid. Appear, appear, appear!

FEMALE VOICES. Good master, we are here!

ALEXIS. (aside) Hark, they assemble, These fiends of the night! ALINE. (aside) Oh Alexis, I tremble, Seek safety in flight! ARIA - ALINE

Let us fly to a far-off land, Where peace and plenty dwell— Where the sigh of the silver strand Is echoed in every shell To the joy that land will give, On the wings of Love we'll fly; In innocence, there to live— In innocence there to die!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS.

Too late—too late It may not be! That happy fate Is not for (me/thee)!

ALEXIS, ALINE, and MR. W.

Too late—too late, That may not be! That happy fate, Is not for thee!

MR. WELLS

Now shrivelled hags, with poison bags, Discharge your loathsome loads! Spit flame and fire, unholy choir! Belch forth your venom, toads! Ye demons fell, with yelp and yell, Shed curses far afield— Ye fiends of night, your filthy blight In noisome plenty yield!

WELLS (pouring phial into tea-pot—flash) Number One! CHORUS It is done! WELLS (same business) Number Two! (flash) CHORUS One too few! WELLS Number Three! (flash) CHORUS Set us free! Set us free-our work is done Ha! ha! ha! Set us free—our course is run! Ha! ha! ha!

ALINE AND ALEXIS (aside)

Let us fly to a far-off land, Where peace and plenty dwell— Where the sigh of the silver strand Is echoed in every shell. CHORUS OF FIENDS.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!

(Stage grows light. Mr. Wells beckons villagers. Enter villagers and all the dramatis personae, dancing joyously. Mrs. Partlet and Mr. Wells then distribute tea-cups.)

CHORUS.

Now to the banquet we press; Now for the eggs, the ham; Now for the mustard and cress, Now for the strawberry jam!

Now for the tea of our host, Now for the rollicking bun, Now for the muffin and toast, Now for the gay Sally Lunn!

WOMEN. The eggs and the ham, and the strawberry jam!

MEN. The rollicking bun, and the gay Sally Lunn! The rollicking, rollicking bun!

RECITATIVE—SIR MARMADUKE

Be happy all—the feast is spread before ye; Fear nothing, but enjoy yourselves, I pray! Eat, aye, and drink—be merry, I implore ye, For once let thoughtless Folly rule the day.

TEA-CUP BRINDISI

Eat, drink, and be gay, Banish all worry and sorrow, Laugh gaily to-day, Weep, if you're sorry, to-morrow! Come, pass the cup around— I will go bail for the liquor; It's strong, I'll be bound, For it was brewed by the vicar!

CHORUS.

None so knowing as he At brewing a jorum of tea, Ha! ha! A pretty stiff jorum of tea.

TRIO—WELLS, ALINE, and ALEXIS. (aside)

See—see—they drink— All thoughts unheeding, The tea-cups clink, They are exceeding! Their hearts will melt In half-an-hour— Then will be felt The potions power!

(During this verse Constance has brought a small tea-pot, kettle, caddy, and cosy to Dr. Daly. He makes tea scientifically.)

BRINDISI, 2nd Verse—DR. DALY (with the tea-pot)

Pain, trouble, and care, Misery, heart-ache, and worry, Quick, out of your lair! Get you gone in a hurry! Toil, sorrow, and plot, Fly away quicker and quicker— Three spoons in the pot— That is the brew of your vicar!

CHORUS

None so cunning as he At brewing a jorum of tea, Ha! ha! A pretty stiff jorum of tea!

ENSEMBLE—ALEXIS and ALINE (aside)

Oh love, true love—unworldly, abiding! Source of all pleasure—true fountain of joy,— Oh love, true love—divinely confiding, Exquisite treasure that knows no alloy,— Oh love, true love, rich harvest of gladness, Peace-bearing tillage—great garner of bliss,— Oh love, true love, look down on our sadness — Dwell in this village—oh, hear us in this!

(It becomes evident by the strange conduct of the characters that the charm is working. All rub their eyes, and stagger about the stage as if under the influence of a narcotic.)

TUTTI (aside) ALEXIS, MR. WELLS and ALINE

Oh, marvellous illusion! A marvellous illusion! Oh, terrible surprise! A terrible surprise What is this strange confusion Excites a strange confusion That veils my aching eyes? Within their aching eyes— I must regain my senses, They must regain their senses, Restoring Reason's law, Restoring Reason's law, Or fearful inferences Or fearful inferences Society will draw! Society will draw!

(Those who have partaken of the philtre struggle in vain against its effects, and, at the end of the chorus, fall insensible on the stage.)

END OF ACT I

ACT II Scene—Exterior of Sir Marmaduke's mansion by moonlight. All the peasantry are discovered asleep on the ground, as at the end of Act I.

Enter Mr. Wells, on tiptoe, followed by Alexis and Aline. Mr. Wells carries a dark lantern.

TRIO—ALEXIS, ALINE, and MR. WELLS

'Tis twelve, I think, And at this mystic hour The magic drink Should manifest its power. Oh, slumbering forms, How little ye have guessed That fire that warms Each apathetic breast!

ALEX. But stay, my father is not here!

ALINE. And pray where is my mother dear?

MR. WELLS. I did not think it meet to see A dame of lengthy pedigree, A Baronet and K.C.B. A Doctor of Divinity, And that respectable Q.C., All fast asleep, al-fresco-ly, And so I had them taken home And put to bed respectably! I trust my conduct meets your approbation.

ALEX. Sir, you have acted with discrimination, And shown more delicate appreciation Than we expect of persons of your station.

MR. WELLS. But stay—they waken one by one — The spell has worked—the deed is done! I would suggest that we retire While Love, the Housemaid, lights her kitchen fire!

(Exeunt Mr. Wells, Alexis and Aline, on tiptoe, as the villagers stretch their arms, yawn, rub their eyes, and sit up.)

MEN. Why, where be oi, and what be oi a doin', A sleepin' out, just when the dews du rise? GIRLS. Why, that's the very way your health to ruin, And don't seem quite respectable likewise! MEN. (staring at girls) Eh, that's you! Only think o' that now! GIRLS. (coyly) What may you be at, now? Tell me, du! MEN. (admiringly) Eh, what a nose, And eh, what eyes, miss! Lips like a rose, And cheeks likewise, miss! GIRLS. (coyly) Oi tell you true, Which I've never done, sir, Oi loike you As I never loiked none, sir! ALL. Eh, but oi du loike you! MEN. If you'll marry me, I'll dig for you and rake for you! GIRLS. If you'll marry be, I'll scrub for you and bake for you! MEN. If you'll marry me, all others I'll forsake for you! ALL. All this will I du, if you marry me! GIRLS. If you'll marry me, I'll cook for you and brew for you! MEN. If you'll marry me, I've guineas not a few for you! GIRLS. If you'll marry me, I'll take you in and du for you! ALL. All this will I du, if you'll marry me! Eh, but I do loike you!

Country Dance

(At end of dance, enter Constance in tears, leading Notary, who carries an ear-trumpet)

Aria—CONSTANCE

Dear friends, take pity on my lot, My cup is not of nectar! I long have loved—as who would not?— Our kind and reverend rector. Long years ago my love began So sweetly—yet so sadly— But when I saw this plain old man, Away my old affection ran— I found I loved him madly. Oh!

(To Notary) You very, very plain old man, I love, I love you madly! CHORUS. You very, very plain old man, She loves, she loves you madly! NOTARY. I am a very deaf old man, And hear you very badly!

CONST. I know not why I love him so; It is enchantment, surely! He's dry and snuffy, deaf and slow Ill-tempered, weak and poorly! He's ugly, and absurdly dressed, And sixty-seven nearly, He's everything that I detest, But if the truth must be confessed, I love him very dearly! Oh!

(To Notary) You're everything that I detest, But still I love you dearly!

CHORUS. You've everything that girls detest, But still she loves you dearly!

NOTARY. I caught that line, but for the rest, I did not hear it clearly!

(During this verse Aline and Alexis have entered at back unobserved.)

ALINE AND ALEXIS

ALEX Oh joy! oh joy! The charm works well, And all are now united.

ALINE. The blind young boy Obeys the spell, And troth they all have plighted!

ENSEMBLE

Aline & Alexis Constance Notary

Oh joy! oh joy! Oh, bitter joy! Oh joy! oh joy! The charm works well, No words can tell No words can tell And all are now united! How my poor heart My state of mind The blind young boy is blighted! delighted. Obeys the spell, They'll soon employ They'll soon employ A marriage bell, A marriage bell, Their troth they all To say that we're To say that we're have plighted. united. united. True happiness I do confess True happiness Reigns everywhere, A sorrow rare Reigns everywhere And dwells with both My humbled spirit And dwells with both the sexes. vexes. the sexes, And all will bless And none will bless And all will bless The thoughtful care Example rare Example rare Of their beloved Of their beloved Of their beloved Alexis! Alexis! Alexis! (All, except Alexis and Aline, exeunt lovingly.)

ALINE How joyful they all seem in their new-found happiness! The whole village has paired off in the happiest manner. And yet not a match has been made that the hollow world would not consider ill-advised! ALEXIS But we are wiser—far wiser—than the world. Observe the good that will become of these ill-assorted unions. The miserly wife will check the reckless expenditure of her too frivolous consort, the wealthy husband will shower innumerable bonnets on his penniless bride, and the young and lively spouse will cheer the declining days of her aged partner with comic songs unceasing! ALINE What a delightful prospect for him! ALEXIS But one thing remains to be done, that my happiness may be complete. We must drink the philtre ourselves, that I may be assured of your love for ever and ever. ALINE Oh, Alexis, do you doubt me? Is it necessary that such love as ours should be secured by artificial means? Oh, no, no, no! ALEXIS My dear Aline, time works terrible changes, and I want to place our love beyond the chance of change. ALINE Alexis, it is already far beyond that chance. Have faith in me, for my love can never, never change! ALEXIS Then you absolutely refuse? ALINE I do. If you cannot trust me, you have no right to love me—no right to be loved by me. ALEXIS Enough, Aline, I shall know how to interpret this refusal.

BALLAD—ALEXIS

Thou hast the power thy vaunted love To sanctify, all doubt above, Despite the gathering shade: To make that love of thine so sure That, come what may, it must endure Till time itself shall fade. They love is but a flower That fades within the hour! If such thy love, oh, shame! Call it by other name— It is not love!

Thine is the power and thine alone, To place me on so proud a throne That kings might envy me! A priceless throne of love untold, More rare than orient pearl and gold. But no! Thou wouldst be free! Such love is like the ray That dies within the day: If such thy love, oh, shame! Call it by other name— It is not love!

Enter Dr. Daly.

DR. D. (musing) It is singular—it is very singular. It has overthrown all my calculations. It is distinctly opposed to the doctrine of averages. I cannot understand it. ALINE Dear Dr. Daly, what has puzzled you? DR. D. My dear, this village has not hitherto been addicted to marrying and giving in marriage. Hitherto the youths of this village have not been enterprising, and the maidens have been distinctly coy. Judge then of my surprise when I tell you that the whole village came to me in a body just now, and implored me to join them in matrimony with as little delay as possible. Even your excellent father has hinted to me that before very long it is not unlikely that he may also change his condition. ALINE Oh, Alexis—do you hear that? Are you not delighted? ALEXIS Yes, I confess that a union between your mother and my father would be a happy circumstance indeed. (Crossing to Dr. Daly) My dear sir—the news that you bring us is very gratifying. DR. D. Yes—still, in my eyes, it has its melancholy side.

This universal marrying recalls the happy days—now, alas, gone forever—when I myself might have—but tush! I am puling. I am too old to marry—and yet, within the last half-hour, I have greatly yearned for companionship. I never remarked it before, but the young maidens of this village are very comely. So likewise are the middle-aged. Also the elderly. All are comely—and (with a deep sigh) all are engaged! ALINE Here comes your father.

Enter Sir Marmaduke with Mrs. Partlet, arm-in-arm

ALINE and ALEXIS (aside). Mrs. Partlet! SIR M. Dr. Daly, give me joy. Alexis, my dear boy, you will, I am sure, be pleased to hear that my declining days are not unlikely to be solaced by the companionship of this good, virtuous, and amiable woman. ALEXIS (rather taken aback) My dear father, this is not altogether what I expected. I am certainly taken somewhat by surprise. Still it can hardly be necessary to assure you that any wife of yours is a mother of mine. (Aside to Aline.) It is not quite what I could have wished. MRS. P. (crossing to Alexis) Oh, sir, I entreat your forgiveness. I am aware that socially I am not everything that could be desired, nor am I blessed with an abundance of worldly goods, but I can at least confer on your estimable father the great and priceless dowry of a true, tender, and lovin' 'art! ALEXIS (coldly) I do not question it. After all, a faithful love is the true source of every earthly joy. SIR M. I knew that my boy would not blame his poor father for acting on the impulse of a heart that has never yet misled him. Zorah is not perhaps what the world calls beautiful— DR. D. Still she is comely—distinctly comely. (Sighs) ALINE Zorah is very good, and very clean, and honest, and quite, quite sober in her habits: and that is worth far more than beauty, dear Sir Marmaduke. DR. D. Yes; beauty will fade and perish, but personal cleanliness is practically undying, for it can be renewed whenever it discovers symptoms of decay. My dear Sir Marmaduke, I heartily congratulate you. (Sighs)

QUINTETTE

ALEXIS, ALINE, SIR MARMADUKE, ZORAH, and DR. DALY

ALEXIS. I rejoice that it's decided, Happy now will be his life, For my father is provided With a true and tender wife. She will tend him, nurse him, mend him, Air his linen, dry his tears; Bless the thoughtful fate that send him Such a wife to soothe his years!

ALINE. No young giddy thoughtless maiden, Full of graces, airs, and jeers— But a sober widow, laden With the weight of fifty years!

SIR M. No high-born exacting beauty Blazing like a jewelled sun— But a wife who'll do her duty, As that duty should be done!

MRS. P. I'm no saucy minx and giddy— Hussies such as them abound— But a clean and tidy widdy Well be-known for miles around!

DR.D. All the village now have mated, All are happy as can be— I to live alone am fated: No one's left to marry me!

ENSEMBLE. She will tend him etc.

(Exeunt Sir Marmaduke, Mrs. Partlet, and Aline, with Alexis. Dr. Daly looks after them sentimentally, then exits with a sigh.)

Enter Mr. Wells

RECITATIVE—MR. WELLS

Oh, I have wrought much evil with my spells! And ill I can't undo! This is too bad of you, J. W. Wells— What wrong have they done you? And see—another love-lorn lady comes— Alas, poor stricken dame! A gentle pensiveness her life benumbs— And mine, alone, the blame!

Lady Sangazure enters. She is very melancholy

LADY S. Alas, ah me! and well-a-day! I sigh for love, and well I may, For I am very old and grey. But stay!

(Sees Mr. Wells, and becomes fascinated by him.)

RECITATIVE

LADY S. What is this fairy form I see before me? MR. W. Oh horrible!—She's going to adore me! This last catastrophe is overpowering! LADY S. Why do you glare at one with visage lowering? For pity's sake recoil not thus from me! MR. W. My lady leave me—this may never be!

DUET—LADY SANGAZURE and MR. WELLS

MR. W. Hate me! I drop my H's—have through life! LADY S. Love me! I'll drop them too! MR. W. Hate me! I always eat peas with a knife! LADY S. Love me! I'll eat like you! MR. W. Hate me! I spend the day at Rosherville! LADY S. Love me! that joy I'll share! MR. W. Hate me! I often roll down One Tree Hill! LADY S. Love me! I'll join you there!

LADY S. Love me! My prejudices I will drop! MR. W. Hate me! that's not enough! LADY S. Love me! I'll come and help you in the shop! MR. W. Hate me! the life is rough! LADY S. Love me! my grammar I will all forswear! MR. W. Hate me! abjure my lot! LADY S. Love me! I'll stick sunflowers in my hair! MR. W. Hate me! they'll suit you not!

RECITATIVE—MR. WELLS

At what I am going to say be not enraged— I may not love you—for I am engaged! LADY S. (horrified) Engaged! MR. W. Engaged! To a maiden fair, With bright brown hair, And a sweet and simple smile, Who waits for me By the sounding sea, On a South Pacific isle. MR. W. (aside) A lie! No maiden waits me there! LADY S. (mournfully) She has bright brown hair; MR. W. (aside) A lie! No maiden smiles on me! LADY S. (mournfully) By the sounding sea!

ENSEMBLE

LADY SANGAZURE MR. W.

Oh agony, rage, despair! Oh, agony, rage, despair! The maiden has bright brown hair, Oh, where will this end—oh, where? And mine is as white as snow! I should like very much to know! False man, it will be your fault, It will certainly be my fault, If I go to my family vault, If she goes to her family vault, And bury my life-long woe! To bury her life-long woe!

BOTH. The family vault—the family vault. It will certainly be (your/my) fault. If (I go/she goes) to (my/her) family vault, To bury (my/her) life-long woe!

(Exit Lady Sangazure, in great anguish, accompanied by Mr. Wells.)

Enter Aline, Recitative

Alexis! Doubt me not, my loved one! See, Thine uttered will is sovereign law to me! All fear—all thought of ill I cast away! It is may darling's will, and I obey! (She drinks the philtre.)

The fearful deed is done, My love is near! I go to meet my own In trembling fear! If o'er us aught of ill Should cast a shade, It was my darling's will, And I obeyed!

(As Aline is going off, she meets Dr. Daly, entering pensively. He is playing on a flageolet. Under the influence of the spell she at once becomes strangely fascinated by him, and exhibits every symptom of being hopelessly in love with him.)

SONG—DR. DALY

Oh, my voice is sad and low And with timid step I go— For with load of love o'er laden I enquire of every maiden, "Will you wed me, little lady? Will you share my cottage shady?" Little lady answers "No! Thank you for your kindly proffer— Good your heart, and full your coffer; Yet I must decline your offer— I'm engaged to So-and-so!" So-and-so! So-and-so! (flageolet solo) She's engaged to So-and-so! What a rogue young hearts to pillage; What a worker on Love's tillage! Every maiden in the village Is engage to So-and-so! So-and-so! So-and-so! (flageolet solo) All engaged to So-and-so!

(At the end of the song Dr. Daly sees Aline, and, under the influence of the potion, falls in love with her.)

ENSEMBLE—ALINE and DR. DALY.

Oh, joyous boon! oh, mad delight; Oh, sun and moon! oh, day and night! Rejoice, rejoice with me! Proclaim our joy, ye birds above— Yet brooklets, murmur forth our love, In choral ecstasy: ALINE. Oh, joyous boon! DR. D. Oh, mad delight! ALINE. Oh, sun and moon! DR. D. Oh, day and night! BOTH. Ye birds, and brooks, and fruitful trees, With choral joy, delight the breeze— Rejoice, rejoice with me!

Enter Alexis

ALEXIS (with rapture). Aline my only love, my happiness! The philtre—you have tasted it? ALINE (with confusion). Yes! Yes! ALEXIS Oh, joy, mine, mine for ever, and for aye!

(Embraces her.) ALINE Alexis, don't do that—you must not!

(Dr. Daly interposes between them)

ALEXIS (amazed). Why?

DUET—ALINE and DR. DALY

ALINE. Alas! that lovers thus should meet: Oh, pity, pity me! Oh, charge me not with cold deceit; Oh, pity, pity me! You bade me drink—with trembling awe I drank, and, by the potion's law, I loved the very first I saw! Oh, pity, pity, me!

DR. D. My dear young friend, consoled be— We pity, pity you. In this I'm not an agent free— We pity, pity you. Some most extraordinary spell O'er us has cast its magic fell— The consequence I need not tell. We pity, pit you.

ENSEMBLE

Some most extraordinary spell O'er (us/them) has cast its magic fell— The consequence (we/they) need not tell. (We/They) pity, pity (thee!/me).

ALEXIS (furiously) False one, begone—I spurn thee, To thy new lover turn thee! Thy perfidy all men shall know, ALINE. (wildly) I could not help it! ALEXIS (calling off) Come one, come all! DR. D. We could not help it! ALEXIS (calling off) Obey my call! ALINE (wildly) I could not help it! ALEXIS (calling off) Come hither, run! DR. D. We could not help it! ALEXIS (calling off) Come, every one!

Enter all the characters except Lady Sangazure and Mr. Wells

CHORUS

Oh, what is the matter, and what is the clatter? He's glowering at her, and threatens a blow! Oh, why does he batter the girl he did flatter? And why does the latter recoil from him so?

RECITATIVE—ALEXIS

Prepare for sad surprises— My love Aline despises! No thought of sorrow shames her— Another lover claims her! Be his, false girl, for better or for worse— But, ere you leave me, may a lover's curse—

DR. D. (coming forward) Hold! Be just. This poor child drank the philtre at your instance. She hurried off to meet you—but, most unhappily, she met me instead. As you had administered the potion to both of us, the result was inevitable. But fear nothing from me—I will be no man's rival. I shall quit the country at once—and bury my sorrow in the congenial gloom of a Colonial Bishopric. ALEXIS My excellent old friend! (Taking his hand—then turning to Mr. Wells, who has entered with Lady Sangazure.) Oh, Mr. Wells, what, what is to be done? WELLS I do not know—and yet—there is one means by which this spell may be removed. ALEXIS Name it—oh, name it! WELLS Or you or I must yield up his life to Ahrimanes. I would rather it were you. I should have no hesitation in sacrificing my own life to spare yours, but we take stock next week, and it would not be fair on the Co. ALEXIS True. Well, I am ready! ALINE No, no—Alexis—it must not be! Mr. Wells, if he must die that all may be restored to their old loves, what is to become of me? I should be left out in the cold, with no love to be restored to! WELLS True—I did not think of that. (To the others) My friends, I appeal to you, and I will leave the decision in your hands.

FINALE

MR. W. Or I or he Must die! Which shall it be? Reply! SIR M. Die thou! Thou art the cause of all offending! DR. D. Die thou! Yield to this decree unbending! ALL. Die thou! MR. W. So be it! I submit! My fate is sealed. To public execration thus I yield!

(Falls on trap)

Be happy all—leave me to my despair— I go—it matters not with whom—or where!

(Gong)

(All quit their present partners, and rejoin their old lovers. Sir Marmaduke leaves Mrs. Partlet, and goes to Lady Sangazure. Aline leaves Dr. Daly, and goes to Alexis. Dr. Daly leaves Aline, and goes to Constance. Notary leaves Constance, and goes to Mrs. Partlet. All the Chorus makes a corresponding change.)

ALL

GENTLEMEN. Oh, my adored one! LADIES. Unmingled joy! GENTLEMEN. Ecstatic rapture! LADIES. Beloved boy!

(They embrace)

SIR M. Come to my mansion, all of you! At least We'll crown our rapture with another feast!

ENSEMBLE

SIR MARMADUKE, LADY SANGAZURE, ALEXIS, and ALINE

Now to the banquet we press— Now for the eggs and the ham— Now for the mustard and cress— Now for the strawberry jam!

CHORUS Now to the banquet, etc.

DR. DALY, CONSTANCE, NOTARY, and MRS. PARTLET

Now for the tea of our host— Now for the rollicking bun— Now for the muffin and toast— Now for the gay Sally Lunn!

CHORUS. Now for the tea, etc.

(General Dance)

(During the symphony Mr. Wells sinks through the trap, amid red fire.)

CURTAIN

THESPIS OR

THE GODS GROWN OLD Libretto by William S. Gilbert Music by Arthur S. Sullivan DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GODS

Jupiter, Aged Diety Apollo, Aged Diety Mars, Aged Diety Diana, Aged Diety Mercury

THESPIANS

Thespis Sillimon Timidon Tipseion Preposteros Stupidas Sparkeion Nicemis Pretteia Daphne Cymon

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