A peep behind the curtain: or, the new rehearsal. As it is now performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Stage.

Enter AUTHOR, Sir TOBY, Lady and Miss FUZ, PATENT, &c.

AUTHOR.

What, we have lost Sir Macaroni! no great matter, for he was half asleep all the time he was here—very little better than a caput mortuum—Now, Ladies, and Gentlemen, of the jury, take your places—Hiss and clap, condemn or applaud me as your taste directs you, and Apollo and the Nine send me a good deliverance.

Lady FUZ.

We'll go into the front boxes—What is the mat∣ter with you, Fanny?—You had rather be at your inconstant Moon than hear Mr. Glib's wit.

Miss FANNY.

I never was happier in all my life, mama.

[sighs.

What will become of me?

[Aside.

Sir TOBY.

I shall be very critical, Mr. Author.

Lady FUZ.

Pray are we to have a Prologue, Mr. Glib? We positively must have a Prologue.

AUTHOR.

Most certainly—entre nous—I have desir'd the Manager to write me one—which has so flatter'd him, that I shall be able to do any thing with him—

[Aside to Lady Fuz.]

I know 'em all from the Patentees, down to the waiting fellows in green coats—

Sir TOBY.

You are very happy in your acquaintance, Sir.

Lady FUZ.

I wish some of the Stage folks wou'd shew me round to the boxes—Who's there?

Enter JOHNSTON.

JOHNSTON.

I'll conduct your Ladyship round, if you please.

Lady FUZ.

Thank you, Mr. Johnston—Remember my box the first night—and don't forget Clive's benefit.

JOHNSTON.

I won't, my Lady.

Lady FUZ.

Come, now for it, Glib—I shall have both my ears open, and I hope Sir Toby will do as much by his Eyes—Come, Fanny, my dear, this way.

[Exit Lady Fuz, &c.

Miss FANNY.

I'll go my own way for the first time; now my spirits are up again—I have slipt my leading strings, and if, dear Mr. Wilson's bays and postilions keep

pace with my fancy, my papa and mama must run a little faster than they do to overtake me.

[Exit Miss Fuz.

Enter PROMPTER.

AUTHOR.

I hope, Mr. Hopkins, that no body has got se∣cretly into the house; I wou'd have none but friends at the first Rehearsal.

[Looking round the house.

PROMPTER.

You see the house is quite clear, Sir.

AUTHOR.

I wou'd not have the town have the least idea of my performance before hand—I wou'd open a mask'd battery of entertainment upon the public.

PROMPTER.

You'll surprise 'em, I believe, Sir!

AUTHOR.

Pray be so good as to ring down the curtain, that we may rehearse in form—So, so, so—very well; and now I'll say a word or two to the

[curtain drops.]

Gentlemen in the Orchestra—Gentlemen,

[to the orchestra.]

I shall take it as a particular fa∣vour, if you wou'd be careful of your pianos and fortès; they are the light and shade, and without 'em music is all noise, and singing nothing but bawling.—

MUSICIAN, [from the Orchestra.]

I don't quite understand this movement—Is it allegro, Sir?

AUTHOR.

Allegro, spiritoso!—Flash, flash, fire! my friends—you gentlemen haut-boys, take particu∣lar

care of your little solos—You bassoons, sup∣port 'em, con gusto, not too powerfully, mind a delicacy of feeling in your second movement—Make yourselves ready, Gentlemen—Shoulder your fiddles—Cock your bows—And the moment I vanish, fire away, crash—I leave my fame in your hands—My Lady—Sir Toby, are you got round?—O very well; I see you—Don't forget a cordial now and then for the poor Author.

[Speaking to the Audience, and making a sign of clapping.

[During the Burletta, Glib, the Author, goes out and comes in several times upon the Stage, and speaks occasionally to the performers, as his fancy prompts him, in order to enliven the action, and give a proper comic spirit to the performance.]

OVERTURE TO THE BURLETTA OF ORPHEUS.

The Curtain rises to soft Musick after the Overture, and discovers ORPHEUS asleep upon a Couch with his Lyre near him—after the Symphony—

RECITATIVE accompanied.

ORPHEUS (dreaming.)

I COME—I go—I must—I will.

(half awake.)

Bless me!—Where am I?—Here I'm still—

(quite awake.)

Tho' dead, she haunts me still, my wife! In death my torment, as in life; By day, by night, whene'er she catches Poor me asleep—she thumps and scratches; No more she cries with Harlot's revel, But fetch me, ORPHEUS, from the Devil.

AIR.

I.

Tho' she scolded all day, and all night did the same, Tho' she was too rampant, and I was too tame; Tho' shriller her notes than the ear-piercing fife, I must and I will go to hell for my wife.

II.

As the sailor can't rest, if the winds are too still, As the miller sleeps best by the clack of his mill, So I was most happy in tumult and strife; I must and I will go to hell for my wife.

[Going out.]

Enter RHODOPE.

Recit.

Your wife, you Driv'ler!—is it so? But I'll play hell before you go.

ORPHEUS (aside.)

Recit.

With fear and shame my cheeks are scarlet; I've prais'd my Wife, before my Harlot.

RHODOPE.

Recit.

Go, fetch your wife, thou simple man; What keep us both?—is that your plan? And dar'st thou, ORPHEUS, think of two? When one's too much by one for you.

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

My mind is fix'd—in vain this strife; To hell I go to fetch my wife.—

(Going Rhodope holds him.)

AIR.

RHODOPE (In tears.)

Is this your affection, Your vows and protection, To bring back your Wife to your house, When she knows what I am, As a wolf the poor lamb, As a cat she will mumble the mouse.

ORPHEUS.

Air and Recit.

Pray cease your pathetic, And I'll be prophetic, Two ladies at once in my house; Two cats they will be, And mumble poor me: The poor married man is the mouse.

RHODOPE.

Recit.

Yet hear me, ORPHEUS, can you be, So vulgar as to part with me, And fetch your wife?—am I forsaken? O give me back what you have taken! In vain I rave, my fate deplore, A ruin'd maid, is maid no more; Your Love alone is reparation, Give me but that, and this for Reputation.

(Snaps her fingers)

AIR.

I.

When ORPHEUS you Were kind and true, Of joy I had my fill, Now ORPHEUS roves, And faithless proves, Alas! the bitter pill!

II.

As from the bogs, The wounded frogs, Call'd out, I call to thee; O naughty boy, To you 'tis joy, Alas! 'tis death to me.

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

In vain are all your sobs, and sighs, In vain the rhet'rick of your eyes; To wind and rain my heart is rock; The more you cry—the more I'm block.

RHODOPE.

Recit.

Since my best weapon, crying fails, I'll try my tongue, and then my nails.

AIR.

Mount if you will, and reach the sky, Quick as light'ning would I fly, And there would give you battle; Like the thunder I would rattle.

Seek if you will the shades below, Thither, thither will I go, Your faithless heart appall! My rage no bounds shall know— Revenge my bosom stings, And jealousy has wings, To rise above 'em all!

[ORPHEUS snatches up the Lyre.]

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

This is my weapon, don't advance, I'll make you sleep, or make you dance.

AIR.

One med'cine cures the gout, Another cures a cold, This can drive your passions out, Nay even cure a Scold. Have you gout or vapours, I in sleep, Your senses steep, Or make your legs cut capers.

DUETTO. (accompanied with the Lyre.)

RHOD.

I cannot have my swing,

ORPH.

Ting, ting, ting.

RHOD.

My tongue has lost its twang,

ORPH.

Tang, tang, tang.

RHOD.

My eyes begin to twinkle,

ORPH.

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

RHOD.

My hands dingle dangle,

ORPH.

Tangle, tangle, tangle.

RHOD.

My spirits sink,

ORPH.

Tink, tink, tink.

RHOD.

Alas my tongue,

ORPH.

Ting, tang, tong.

RHOD.

Now 'tis all o'er, I can no more, But-go-to-sleep—and—sno-o-re.

[Sinks by Degrees upon a Couch, and falls asleep.]

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

'Tis done, I'm free, And now for thee, Euridice! Behold what's seldom seen in life, I leave my mistress for my wife.

Who's there?

(Calls a servant, who peeps in)

Come in—nay never peep; The danger's o'er—she's fast asleep, Do not too soon her fary rouse, I go to hell—to fetch my spouse.

AIR. (Repeated.)

Tho' she scolded all day, and all night did the same, Tho' she was too rampant, and I was too tame; Tho' shriller her notes than the ear-piercing fife, I must and I will go to hell for my wife.

[Exit singing.

Scene changes to a mountainous Country, Cows, Sheep, Goats, &c.

After a short Symphony,

Enter ORPHEUS,

Playing upon his Lyre.

AIR.

Thou dear companion of my life, My friend, my mistress and my wife, Much dearer than all three; Should they be faithless and deceive me, Thy Grand Specific can relieve me, All med'cines are in thee, Thou veritable Beaume de Vie!

RECITATIVE.

Now wake my Lyre, to sprightlier strains, Inspire with joy both beasts, and swains, Give us no soporific potion, But Notes shall set the fields in motion.

AIR.

Breathe no ditty, Soft and pretty, Charming female tongues to sleep; Goats shall flaunt it, Cows currant it, Shepherds frisk it with their sheep!

Enter OLD SHEPHERD with others.

Recit.

Stop, stop your noise you fiddling fool, We want not here a Dancing School.

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

Shepherd be cool, forbear this vap'ring, Or this* 25.1 shall set you all a cap'ring.

OLD SHEPHERD.

Recit.

Touch it again, and I shall strait, Beat time with this† 26.1 upon your pate.

ORPHEUS.

Recit.

I dare you all, your threats, your blows, Come one and all we now are foes.

OLD SHEPHERD.

Recit.

Zounds! what's the matter with my toes?

(Begins to dance.)

OLD SHEPHERD.

AIR.

From top to toe, Above, below, The tingling runs about me; I feel it here, I feel it there, Within me, and without me.

ORPHEUS.

Air.

From top to toe, Above, below, The Charm shall run about you; Now tingle here, Now tingle there, Within you, and without you.

OLD SHEPHERD.

Air.

O cut those strings, Those tickling things Of that same cursed Scraper;

Chorus of SHEPHERDS.

We're dancing too, And we like you, Can only cut a caper.

ORPHEUS.

Air.

They cut the strings, Those foolish things, They cannot hurt the Scraper! They're dancing too, And they like you, Can only cut a caper.

Chorus of SHEPHERDS.

We're dancing too, And we like you, Can only cut a caper.

OLD SHEPHERD.

Air.

As I'm alive, I'm sixty-five, And that's no age for dancing; I'm past the game, O fie, for shame, Old men should not be prancing: O cut the strings, Those tickling things, Of that fame cursed Scraper;

Chorus of SHEPHERDS.

We're dancing too, And we like you, Can only cut a caper.

ORPHEUS.

Air.

They cut the strings, Those foolish things, They cannot hurt the Scraper; They're dancing too, And they like you, Can only cut a caper.

CHORUS.

We're dancing too, And we like you, Can only cut a caper.

[ORPHEUS leads out the Shepherds in a grand Chorus of singing and dancing, and the Beasts following them.]

AUTHOR.

Here's a scene, Lady Fuz!—If this won't do, what the devil will, tal, lal, lal, lal—

[dancing.

Thank you, Gentlemen,

[to the orchestra.]

admir∣ably well done, indeed—I'll kiss you all round over as much punch as the double bass will hold.

Enter PATENT.

There, Mr. Manager, is an end of an Act—Every beast upon his hind-legs!—I did intend that houses and trees (according to the old story) shou'd have join'd in the dance, but it would have crouded the stage too much.

PATENT.

Full enough as it is, Mr. Glib.

Lady FUZ without.

—Let me come,—let me come, I say!

AUTHOR.

D'ye hear, d'ye hear! her ladyship's in raptures I find;—I knew I shou'd touch her.

Enter Lady FUZ.

Lady FUZ.

These are fine doings, fine doings, Mr. Glib.—

AUTHOR.

And a fine effect they will have, my lady; par∣ticularly the dancing off of the Beasts.—

Lady FUZ.

Yes, yes, they have danc'd off, but they shall dance back again, take my word for it.

[walks about.

AUTHOR.

My dear lady, and so they shall—don't be un∣easy—they shall dance back again directly—here Prompter—I intended to have the Scene over again—I cou'd it forever.

Lady FUZ.

Was this your plot, Mr. Glib? Or your con∣trivance, Mr. Manager?

PATENT.

Madam!

AUTHOR.

No, upon my soul, 'tis all my own contri∣vance, not a thought stole from Ancient, or Mo∣dern; all my own plot.

Lady FUZ.

Call my servants—I'll have a Post-chaise direct∣ly—I see your guilt by your vain endeavours to hide it—this is the most bare-fac'd impudence!

AUTHOR.

Impudence!—may I die if I know an indecent expression in the whole piece!

PATENT.

Your passion, madam, runs away with you—I don't understand you.

Lady FUZ.

No Sir,—'tis one of your Stage-players has run away with my daughter;—and I'll be reveng'd on you all;—I'll shut up your house.

PATENT.

This must be enquir'd into.

[Exit Patent.

AUTHOR.

What, did Miss Fuz run away without seeing Orpheus?

Lady FUZ.

Don't say a word more, thou blockhead.

AUTHOR.

I am dumb—but no blockhead.

Enter Sir TOBY, in Confusion.

Sir TOBY.

What is all this;—what is it all about!

Lady FUZ.

Why, it is all your fault, Sir Toby—had not you been asleep, she cou'd never have been stolan from your side.

Sir TOBY.

How do you know she is stolen? Enquire first, my Lady, and be in a passion afterwards.

Lady FUZ.

I know she's gone; I saw her with a young fel∣low—he was upon his knees, swearing by the moon—let us have a Post-chaise, Sir Toby, di∣rectly, and follow 'em.

Sir TOBY.

Let us dine first, my dear, and I'll go wherever you please.

Lady FUZ.

Dine, dine! Did you ever hear the like? you have no more feeling, Sir Toby, than your Peri∣wig.—I shall go distracted—the greatest curse of a poor woman, is to have a flighty daughter, and a sleepy husband.—

[Exit Lady Fuz.

Sir TOBY.

And the greatest curse of a poor man, to have every body flighty in his family but himself.

[Exit.

Enter PATENT.

PATENT.

'Tis true, Mr. Glib,—the young Lady is gone off, but with nobody that belongs to us—'tis a dreadful affair!

AUTHOR.

So it is faith, to spoil my Rehearsal—I think it was very ungenteel of her to chuse this morning for her pranks; tho' she might make free with her father and mother, she shou'd have more man∣ners than to treat me so;—I'll tell her as much when I see her.—The second Act shall be ready for you next week.—I depend upon you for a prologue—your genius.—

PATENT.

You are too polite, Mr. Glib—have you an Epilogue?

AUTHOR.

I have a kind of Address here, by way of Epi∣logue, to the town—I suppose it to be spoken by myself, as the Author—who have you can repre∣sent me?—no easy task, let me tell you,—he must be a little smart, degageè, and not want assurance.

PATENT.

Smart, degageè, and not want assurance—King is the very man.

AUTHOR.

Thank, thank you, dear Mr. Patent,—the very man—is he in the house! I wou'd read it to him.

PATENT.

O no!—since the audience receiv'd him in Lin∣co, he is practising musick, whenever he is not wanted here.

AUTHOR.

I have heard as much; and that he continually sets his family's teeth on edge, with scraping upon the fiddle.—Conceit, conceit, Mr. Patent, is the ruin of 'em all.—I could wish, when he speaks this Address, that he wou'd be more easy in his carriage, and not have that damn'd jerk in his bow, that he generally treats us with.

PATENT.

I'll hint as much to him.

AUTHOR.

This is my conception of the matter;—Bow your body gently, turn your head semicircularly, on one side and the other; and smiling, thus agreeably begin;

All Fable is figure—I your bard will maintain it, And least you don't know it, 'tis fit I explain it: The Lyre of our Orpheus, means your approbation; Which frees the poor Poet from care and vexation: Shou'd want make his mistress too keen to dispute, Your smiles fill his pockets—and Madam is mute: Shou'd his wife, that's himself, for they two, are but one; Be in hell, that's in debt, and the money all gone;

Your favour brings comfort, at once cures the evil, For 'scaping Bum Builiffs, is 'scaping the devil. Nay, Cerberus▪ Criticks their fury will drop, For such barking monsters, your smiles are a sop: But how to explain what you most will require, That Cows, Sheep, and Calves, shou'd dance after the lyre, Without your kind favour, how scanty each meal! But with it comes dancing Beef, Mutton, and Veal. For sing it, or say it, this truth we all see, Your applause will be ever the true Beaume de Vie.

Notes

• * 25.1

  His Lyre.
• † 26.1

  His Crook.