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THE TRAVELLERS IN SWITZERLAND. A COMIC OPERA, IN THREE ACTS: AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
By Mr. BATE DUDLEY.
The curious Wanderer left afar to roam, Sighs for that comfort which he left at home.
LONDON. Printed for J. DEBRETT, opposite Burlington-House, Piccadilly. 1794.
MY DEAR SIR,
THE TRAVELLERS in their Dramatic Tour through SWITZERLAND, have derived so considerable a share of their celebrity from your judicious guidance—and their Author owes so much to your zealous friend|ship on all occasions, that it were impossible to inscribe this OPERA to any other person than yourself, with|out violating those feelings, which have so invariably represented you, as the object of his regard, and esteem.
I am, dear Sir, Very faithfully yours, H. B. DUDLEY.
Bradwell Lodge, March 20, 1794.
THE STORY on which the following DRAMA is founded, however defective, is not borrowed—Various curtailments, and transpositions of Scenes, have unavoidably deranged the unities of the Piece, for the convenience of Stage represen|tation. Several of the AIRS, and all the CHORUSES having been written to compiled Music, the critical reader will make a suitable indulgence for some irregular, and uncouth numbers, which he will necessarily meet with.
The AUTHOR has too high a sense of the zealous exer|tions of his whole DRAMATIS PERSONAE, to make any distinction in that general tribute of thanks, which he gratefully pays to their united merit. To Mr. SHIELD, he is indebted on this occasion, for every thing that friend|ship, and professional talent, could contribute.—
The Passages omitted on the Stage, are marked with inverted Commas.
Swiss Soldiery, Shepherds, &c. &c.
SEPTETTO—I.
Daniel.HOUSE! Landlord! Landlady! I say.Landlord.Qui va la?Landlady.My Lor Anglois!Daniel.So I am, and yet you'll find Greater folks than me behind.
DUO—
CAZELLE and JULIA.Such distresses never move Minds, that purely live on love.
Having nothing to eat, I perceive, is one of the luxuries we get by travelling into foreign parts!
Take care of the baggage, Cazelle, and see that the trunk with my family arms upon it, is particularly secured.
Oui Madame.
The honest fellow,
What, news have you picked up, Daniel? are there any people of rank, or old families beside myself, on the road?
Not that I know of, my Lady; I've only heard of two surprizing things; one is, that young 'Squire Dalton, passed this way a few weeks ago, on his travels.
That is strange, indeed!
But the other is much more wonder|ful.
What can that be?
Why, my Lady, a fine bewitched Castle, only two leagues off! now, that in my notion, is a sight, worth going all the world over to see!
Poh! this nonsense of witches and enchanted castles, will one day or other turn your brain, Daniel.
Oh, what a noble sight an en|chanted castle must be!
Such a pair of ridiculous lovers, as Dalton and Miss Somerville, romance itself has never recorded—both quarrelling with each other on a punctilio of false pride, when neither of their families have so much as a pedigre to be proud of—though, I think, we heard enough of her antient Chateau, which she went abroad to take possession of.
Julia and Sir Leinster seem inclined to breakfast on a prospect; they have discovered a distant country through the telescope, which she contends, is the cliffs of Dover; while Sir Lein|ster, to be a match for her in geography, declares it to be the Mangerton mountains, near the lake of Killarney.
Now I must conjure you, Mr. Sidney, to lay aside your coarse jokes, and to deport yourself for the remainder of the tour, as may become the dignity of my family in a fo|reign clime.
You know, my Lady Philippa, that the ruling object of my life, is to make you happy.
For shame, Mr. Sidney! pray let me ask, in what single instance have you shewn it? name one!
Compose yourself, my dear, and I will—Did I not forbid our neighbour, young Dorimond, my house, because the poor fellow could not prove his descent from one of the twelve Caesars?
Don't name the upstart in my pre|sence—a creature without a coat of arms to his family.
But having honour and private worth, I should have given him up with reluctance, tho' he had been without a coat to his back.
I think, Mr. Sidney, you might pay a little more respect to the memory of my ancestors.
Come, come, my Lady Philippa, ••et us drop this subject, or you'll worry yourself
about the antiquity of your ancestors, till you grow as old as the best of 'em!
Very well, Sir,—vastly well!
Have I ever uttered a single e|monstrance on our carriage being overloaded with your quarterings, and scutcheons, like a country hearse?
I see through your cruel design, Sir,—you intend to break my heart in a foreign country.
And did not I take the advertise|ment for your Swiss valet to the newspaper with my own hands, and procure you one to attend upon my person, with whiskers as long as a pole cat?
Go on, Sir! go on! dishonour me through life, and when I am no more, persevere in your barbarity, and let no family trophies fol|low me to my tomb!
Oh, my dear Lady Philippa!
AIR II.—Mr. SIDNEY.
WHEN convinc'd by the deep sounding boum, That in earnest you seek your long home, For trifles I then will not cavil; But resign'd to my fate, I'll direct that in state, On this journey you proudly may travel. With a bim! boum! bell!At your death, since you wish it, my dear, All your honors of birth may appear, For Heralds your arms shall reveal O! Hang your a'chment up high, To tell all who pass by, That my duck has got—quies in Caelo. With a bim! boum! bell!
Oh, you monster of a man! you would bury me alive! get me a glass of Eau de Cologne, or I shall faint!
Here's a letter, I fancy for your Ladyship, with a coat of arms on it, as big as a waterman's badge.
So then, go which way I will, I am crossed at every turn, by some new fangled no|tions of false grandeur!
And horned too, I suppose, to compleat the impression of modern heraldry.
From some illustrious personage, my life on't!
Yes, my Lady; I'm sure by what his servant says, he's a foreign Lord at the least.
And yet its rather singular, that he should not know my name!
"A Mesdames—Mesdames Angloises."
"Comte Friponi—les belles Angloises—his de|voirs in person—and chaperon them through Geneva and its environs"Delightful! Fri|poni? That's surely a very old name.
Yes, my Lady, one of the antient families, no doubt which the deluge had not time
to sweep away. This must be the fellow that I saw in close conference with our Swiss.
Notwithstanding your sneers, Mr. Sydney, I shall not, you perceive be entirely deserted in your absence, if you should pursue your commercial scheme to Strasburg—who's there? does the Courier wait?
Yes, my Lady.
Give me the port feiulle, that I may write an answer immediately.
Travel, so far from correcting, seems but to increase her romantic malady! This artificial weakness bears down all the amiable qualities of her nature; and the infa|tuation, if not checked, will descend, I fear even to the unaffected Julia! serious remon|strance has been of no avail; the force of ri|dicule is my last resource, and the object is too valuable, to leave the most painful experi|ment untried for its recovery.
What the devil, Mr. Sidney, have you done to my Lady Philippa this morning? yesterday, she graciously told me, she could find no blot in my 'scutcheon—now, this mi|nute, she whisked as spitefully by me, as a bullet from a cross bow!
Come come, stand my friend with Miss Julia, and tell her once for all how clever, a husband I'll make her!
Look ye, Sir Leinster, as old friends, dont let you and I talk seriously when we can
avoid it.
Julia has declared never to favour the addresses of any one, without my approba|tion; in no case therefore but that of extreme necessity, shall a father's authority controul her inclination.
The future happiness of her life will probably depend on her own choice—let the man of her heart, then win her, and wear her, say I.
My dear fellow, give me your hand, and is that what you say? Win her and wear her! Oh! say no more, only leave me alone for that.
AIR III. — Sir LEINSTER M'LOGHLIN.
TO win, and to wear a sweet creature, Is always Sir Leinster's delight; The first thing he dreams in the morning, The last that awakes him at night. He's tight when he slips from his pillow, As a ship that is just out of dock; Tho' at dusk with a skinful of Claret, He's apt to run foul of a rock, Sing smaghler oo smack smhilat smothar; How funny this taste is of mine, Oh! I learnt it from father and mother, To love pretty women and wine!
Well, Mr. Sidney, we can part with you now as soon as you please, for Count Friponi in his note, has recommended to me an English guide, who lives just at the foot of the mountain—tho' he knows but little of the man himself, he is reckoned the cleverest creature in the world, who can tell us every body, and every thing.
An English guide recommended to you by a foreign Count?—there must be some mischief on foot!
Yes; and dont you think this an act of great courtesy, and condescension in a man of high family?
Without doubt my everlasting love.
What are you prosing about?
I'm thinking, my Lady Philippa, that in my absence, is it not possible that you may thus subject yourself to some imposition?
Imposition! I know you deem me a weak creature! shew me the man, Mr. Sidney, that can impose upon me.
Its worth the experiment at all events.
Poh! what signifies expence when the honour of a family is concerned! the larger the suite, you know, the more dignified! be|sides, he'll be a better interpreter than Cazelle, the Swiss, who is far too reserved.
I should be sorry to withhold my consent, even in—
Your consent? now, Mr. Sidney, you have made it an object of too much im|portance for me to dispense with—so have him I will, and there's an end of it.
Then all I have to do, is, I sup|pose, as usual, to acquiesce?
To be sure.
Well said, my Lady Philippa!
the probable rascalities of the Count, who, from what I can learn of our landlord, is little better than a desperado after all—This same Guide, intended no doubt for some secret service of that fashionable impostor, may, with a little dexterity, be managed, so as to answer a better purpose of mine
—I shall satisfy myself at least, whe|ther the regard she pays to other opinions in preference to mine, be a turn towards natural depravity, or merely the coquettish folly of family pride. If only the affection of vice, she may yet be shamed out of it—should it prove worse, the painful alternative my own honour must suggest.
Who knows but I may be received as her guide by stratagem, tho' refused it thro' life on the score of long tried af|fection
—I remember to have enacted Davus before the grave dons of Westminster, with to|lerable success.
—How shall I manage my voice? but there can be no great difficulty in that; for Lady Philippa has paid too little regard to its natural key, to be struck with it under any disguise it may now assume.
AIR IV.
EVER let me shun the danger Absence is ordain'd to prove; Where the mind to pride a stranger, Blends Indifference with love!
Oh, ye hoary mountains, say, That surround me night and day, How elate have I, 'ere now, Sought with hope your proudest brow Aloft in air! Then—sad reverse of scene! How soon alas have been Low at your feet with pale despair!
Dear ma'am, why should we despair? I hope we are not doomed to live alone for ever!
This completes the first year of my self-banishment from an object which I find is still dearer to me even than my country! How devoted is that affection, which neither time can alter, nor distance remove! In vain have I en|deavoured to reproach my own heart, for per|mitting me to fly from all it values! Oh, Dalton! if I still beheld thee at the feet of another, my pride would take the same alarm, and again in|form thee, that I must dispense with those ad|dresses, which I owed more to my fortune than my person. Had I wronged him by a groundless suspicion, he could not have withdrawn himself with that cold respect, without attempting the smallest explanation of his conduct. Though my mind approves the sacrifice it has made, it cannot recollect it with indifference.
Dalton will betray a womanly weakness to others, and a want of resolution to myself—It must not be
DUETT V.
Ner.DEAR ma'am, I've such a sight for you One fit for any queen! Oh! run the sweetest man to view Your eyes have ever seen!Miss Som.Oh fie! no, no, no, noNer.Now I pray don't say no, no, no, noNer.Along the lake I saw him stray, Where tempests oft begin; Poor soul he may have lost his way. Oh! let us ask him in!Miss Som.Oh fie! no, no, no, no!Ner.Now I pray, don't say no, no, no, no!
Why not? he seems a countryman of our own, and may tell us all the news of dear England!
Prythee, Nerinda, do not trifle with me—I have addressed a pacquet to my agent—you must see it safely delivered to the mulateer when he next passes the mountains.
He looked a charming man from the turret! and as I happen to have the key of the abbey gate, I'll take a nearer peep at him pre|sently, if I die for't! Heigho!
Heyday, Nerinda, why that deep sigh?
In pity, ma'am, that two such crea|tures as you and I, should be so unhandsomely concealed from the world.
Oh, I know the world a little bet|ter than you, and believe me, that unprotected woman is never so happy as in seclusion.
Well now, I don't think, that ever I should have found that out.
Bred a recluse, Nerinda, don't you prefer the peaceful freedom of this mansion, to the dull austerities of a convent?
Oh, dear ma'am, the nunnery was cer|tainly the most sprightly thing of the two! for there, one had the privilege of peeping at a man through the grate, on a red-letter day; but as to this dreary castle of your great grandfather's, nothing human will approach it! the shepherds run away from us, for fear of being bewitched; and the last time Margery went to market, they were about to swim her, poor soul, for a wizard!
Come, a truce to raillery.
You know that I have imposed upon myself this penance, and the prejudices of the world shall not move me from my resolve.
If you, Nerinda, feel it a restraint any longer to remain with me, I will gladly endeavour to provide you a situation more suitable to the natural gaiety of your temper!
O dear, ma'am, indeed I did but joke—I would not quit you for the whole world—I was more anxious to shorten your serious moments, I assure you, than my own.
Amiable girl!
However, ma'am, its necessary that something should be done with the other part of your household, for I left it in a state little short of mutiny: but here comes a pair of them to speak for themselves.
Well, pray what are your com|plaints?
Not for want of good living, my Lady, for no one roasts, or boils every day better than our Margery!
Nor for more wages—for and please your Ladyship, I am sure we are as well paid, as fed!
What is it then you want?
Why, if I may be zo bold as to speak my mind, Madge and I here, have laid our heads together for sometime in this dismal country, and begin to think, we should like to taste what true liberty is in our own!
And is this really the case, Mar|gery?
And please you my Lady, Robin has promised to make me his lawful spouse, as soon as we set foot in old England again!
Poor creature! and that's the way she would secure her liberty?
Well; but Margery, can't you con|trive to be married here?
Yes, ma'am, in a botching kind of a way—but if the knot was to come azunder, and let her down in her old days, I should never forgive myself!
AIR VII. — QUARTETTO. — MARGERY, ROBIN, NERINDA, and Miss SOMERVILLE.
Marg.THUS on my bended knees I pray!All.Ah, well-a-day!Robin.Madge is in a melting mood!Marg.Let him cheer my latter days;Robin.Hear her, ma'am, she never prays But for zomething very good!Nerinda.Now for some most doleful ditty,Marg.He's the only man I prize!Miss Som.How the creature moves my pity!Robin.Drown me not, those sloe-black eyes.Miss Som. and Nerinda.Cease your sorrow, and arise.Robin.Stop your flood gates, wipe your eyes.
As your affections seem mutual, at the end of three months, your further services shall be dispensed with, and a passport procured for your conveyance to England.
Heaven bless you, and send your Ladyship a good husband in your turn, and that speedily!
How happy you have made 'em!
Drop another curtsy, do'e, Madge, and now live in hopes, a little longer like a rea|sonable woman.
Heaven be praised, your father has taken his departure for Strasburgh.
You must excuse me, my Lady, if I cannot rejoice at the loss of his society.
No great loss, child; for now I can see good company, without the fear of being checked by the coarseness of his English jokes
—Let me expect, Julia, that before the men you are properly reserved; and if you see me con|descend occasionally to be a little more gracious to them, you should consider who I am, and that you child, in the line of precedence, are only the daughter of Mr. Sidney.
A distinction, my Lady, sufficiently honourable in my mind, I can assure you.
In a word, no more love fits!
You must know I expect an immediate visit from a Count Friponi, who is said to be rather a polished creature.
Probably he may.
With a something so easy in his address, and familiar at first sight, that I thought it necessary to put you on your guard—besides, should you think to find a wealthy admirer on the Continent, which was probably your fa|ther's object in coming abroad, you'll both be much disappointed, believe me!
AIR VIII —
JULIA.JOY sparkles in the roving eye, That seeks for treasure o'er the deep, No billow then can beat too high, No restless gale too boldly sweep.But what lorn maid, alas! will boast, The spreading sail, or willing wind. That wafts her from her native coast. To leave her fondest hope behind.
The mules are put to the carriages, my Lady, and it's only four leagues to Geneva—oh, I'd like to have forgot; here's an odd kind of man with only one eye, who says he came by your Ladyship's order.
By my order? oh then, it must be the English guide that the Count recom|mended—shew him in: he is just in time to go along with us.
You are the person recommended to be our guide?
How had you the misfortune to lose an eye?
Merely by intense study, illustrious Lady.
What might that study be?
The Heraldry of antient Greece.
How fortunate to meet with so illumined a creature! why you must have seen better days!
I have indeed, my Lady; and am lineally descended from the first race of Picts, who made, you know, no small figure in the world, before cloaths came into fashion!
Take care of this person, Daniel, he's a clever creature, and has known better days.
Take care of my little stock of linen!
Now I look at him again, I can plainly perceive the man of consequence in him.
Lopez is my travelling name, my Lady.
Well, then, Lopez, you may now recite the curiosities that are most worthy our seeing.
It's well I picked up a slice or two of the marvellous, along with my new jacket.
No, we have not.
No? why, one of them wears his snowy nightcap two thousand toises above the common clouds.
Phew!
That must be nobly tremendous!
On our right about a league and a half, stands—the enchanted castle of the moun|tains.
Who is the possessor?
Indeed!
Yes my Lady—But I must request you to be on your guard, as he is unwilling to acknowledge this part of his domain, from
the awful family circumstance which led to his present celebrity.
What family circumstance? pro|ceed!
About a century and a half ago, a Knight of Charlemagne, one of the Comte's illustrious progenitors, was slain there, within the antient Hall of Arms, in a tilting match, gallantly defending the honour of his fair mistress. Immediately on hearing this, she threw herself headlong from the lofty battlements, and falling upon the foot of the Drawbridge, heroicly dashed her lovely self to atoms!
Poor soul!
She acted, indeed, like an antient woman of honour.
At four periods in the year, about twilight, she has since been seen to pass through the illumined Hall, sometimes in white, at others in blue and fire.
Bless me—blue and fire!
But who inhabits it now?
Two ladies, who had quarrelled with the world, are said to have got there, but for what purpose is not known.
I am all impatience to behold the Hall of Arms.
I can shew your Ladyship that, and the castle throughout, without the Comte's de|licacy being hurt by the knowledge of it.
Oh, it will be well worth your seeing my Lady—Suppose I was to go forward myself, and enquire a little about it first?
I don't think that would be amiss, Daniel; and bring me some further account of it to Geneva. But be careful, for curiosity, you know, has always been your particular failing; so take care Daniel, that it does not run you into too much danger.
Oh, never fear me, my Lady, for spirits and wizzards you know, were always my delight from a child. What a comical world it is that we odd folks live in! nothing delights my curiosity so much as a touch of the marvel|lous! now and then it fancies a bit of the doleful! tho' a little simple mirth after all it finds the easiest of digestion.
AIR IX.
JOY and grief are too many for poor little Dan. In his mind they kick up such a pother; So the one I serve truly as well as I can, And by some friendly proxy do suit to the other! For light is my heart, and merry, With a high up! not with your low down derry.See these eye-lids were made for no snivelling Elf; But light feather'd to twinkle with glee; When I'm merry, I manage to laugh with myself, And when sad, why this flask kindly weeps for poor me. For light is my heart, and merry, With a high up! not with your low down derry.
Let me turn from the distressing scenes of memory, to those of nature, so beauti|fully ranged around me—how unruffled is this expanse of water!
AIR X.
ELEMENT of liquid beauty, Mirror chaste as op'ning day, How enchanting is your duty, Graceful nature to display! Like the face of that fair creature, Born for man's supreme delight, Thou art deck'd with every feature, That can captivate the sight!
How contradictory are all the accounts I can col|lect! my retreat in this trusty creature's hut, will at least enable me to avoid the Sidney family, who would only trifle with my distress. And yet I would gladly learn the better fate of Do|rimond and his Julia, in whose cause I have so severely suffered.—Though I have at length found out the solitary abode of my crue fugitive, how can I approach it, while her last words weigh so heavily on my heart?
Her wealth the object of my address, while the person of another engaged my affection! 'twas a charge, which my pride can never condescend to refute—had she been inferior to me in for|tune,
a single prejudice of her mind against me, my whole life should have been devoted to remove.
—But here comes my honest fisher|man, whose busy scenes afford me some amuse|ment.
AIR XI—GLEE.
OH! say, ye happy mountaineers, who lead a life secure, How little do you reckon on the hardships we endure; While on the lake, poor fishermen for bread are doom'd to go, Dark or light, Day or night, Where tempestuous winds do blow, And the billows break below!Our element's the water, on which we work amain, The stars our only pilots, to steer us home again; But on the beach re-landed, we feel our spirits flow, And on shore, Heed no more How tempestuous winds do blow, Or the billows break below!
Come, lads, bustle, bustle, and I'll be with you by the time you've shot the big|gest trowl in the bay.
Torment us how she may—woman, dear woman, must still be the solace of our lives!
As the only lady in company, that com|pliment must belong to me—
I must first learn how to do justice to so charming a creature! but say, my pretty one, who are you? and how came so lovely an English woman in these rude mountains?
Well, how delightful it is, to hear our native tongue, now and then so charmingly spoken!
Where do you inhabit?
Hard by! I saw you from our battle|ments, straying, as I thought, in a melancholy mood; so I ran to ask you, if you stood in need of any thing.
Charitable soul! she certainly be|longs to the castle!
Pray, Sir, inform me,—how left you our native country?
Bearing herself still proudly, as be|comes the first of nations; and solicitous, like you, to succour those around her in distress! but you'll allow me to attend you back—I've a thou|sand things to say to you!
Oh no, that can't be—we keep a very strict house, I assure you! And yet he seems a good creature, that might assist me in comfort|ing my poor lady!
Not long since I passed near it!
Then, if you must know, two spinsters of us inhabit it.
Indeed! the companion, no doubt, of my Louisa
One facinated by the spells of her own mind, from which I would fain relieve her—and
the other escaped from a convent—and as you see, not exactly calculated for such solitary confine|ment.
But your companion—is she an En|glishwoman, and as charming as yourself?
Every way my superior, I assure you—but you must not be too particular at present—a thought has just struck me, that you might per|haps assist me in rallying her out of this self cap|tivity.
By all means! command me this in|stant!
Oh no! not quite so violently: for I can only gain you admittance by an innocent stratagem—but indeed, how dare I confide in a stranger?
Why should you doubt me?
That's true; for you are an English|man, and the service I require of you, is the kind relief of a woman!
Then let me fly with you this moment.
I tell you, that's impossible; but should I happen to see you a little before sun-set where the view opens from the castle to the Glacieres, there, if my courage fail me not, I may, perhaps haps, give you further instructions, till then, adieu!
I'll certainly attend you—But surely you will not leave me thus uninformed, to return to solitude?
AIR XII.—
NERINDA.SINCE you ask me, I'll honestly tell you the truth, Flesh and blood cannot bear such restraint in their youth! I should like this same solitude, better, I own, Was it not that I hate to be sighing alone! For then poor Heigho! is but labour in vain, Because one can't get a Heigho back again!
The Comte come with my lady, and she ask Mademoiselle for you—I beg pardon—but I hope you not forget, that de foreign Comtes are never the most honourable lover.
You are determined, I find Cazelle, to make me every hour more your debtor.
Oh, Miss, you honour too great my humble fidelité.
Come hither, Cazelle—I owe you much more than this small tribute of gratitude for my preservation.
Oh, no, Miss
Noble minded creature!
My transport had nearly betrayed me.
There is something in the mild manners of this faithful Cazelle, which indicates, that fortune has been unmindful of his deserts—his kind attention to my safety, brings to my mind the painful recollection of the friend, if nothing more, I lost, in Dorimond!
AIR XIII.
Oh love, declare! dear friendship, say, Why, why shou'd memory impart, A bliss, or sorrow pass'd away, To cheat, alas, the silly heart?On plighted vows—on transports dwell, Such, memory, alone impart, From thy record these fondly tell, And kindly cheat the silly heart!
Ah, ma chere Dame; comme vous aime!
Rise, Comte, I intreat you!
How I you adore!
I must not allow even of this travelling familiarity.
Nor I, or we shall make the grand tour too soon.
Rise, Comte, I conjure you!
How can I rise, without your fair hand?
Mercy, how the man alarm'd me!
Lopez, how can you be so dam a fool?
Mademoiselle come dis way? Oh, vous avez ràison.
My doubts increase, if not my dangers—but being undiscovered, I am in a fair way of satisfying the one, tho' I may not prevent the other! at all events I shall rescue my child from the contagion of such travelling examples.
Oh, here she comes—Julia, child, you have kept us waiting for you.
I intreat your pardon Lady Philippa.
Let me introduce you to the Comte Friponi, the head of one of the most antient houses in the circle—she has a mauvaise honte, you'll perceive, Comte, which travel will in time correct.
Certainment
Ma foi! elle est assez jolie! Upon my word, how can I know which is Madame, and which is Mademoiselle?
You are right, Comte, for she's sometimes taken for my elder sister.
En verité! I'm not at all surprize!
But you shou'd know, Monsieur le Comte, that I was a very young and silly girl indeed, when I condescended to give my hand to Julia's father.
I'll just step and finish my dispatches, and return to you immediate|ly.
Bon! Now I make de littel love to Miss.
AIR XIV. DUET.
Comte.Ma belle! ma jolie Reine!Julia.What is it, sir, you mean Let me go!Comte.Oh, no, no!Julia.Release me, sauciest of men!Comte.How shall I catch a you again?Julia.Hence from me fly—Comte.Crudela! you will make a me die!Julia.What care I?Comte.But ah! morblieu! I'd rather live, ma chere, pour vous.
Dat is ver drole! But she have de bonne fortune—so, de next time I run wid her away sans ceemonie! Till one of de dear creature come back, what will I do pour passer le temps?
Ridiculous child! Now your affec|tation carries you as far the other way!
He is a man of high birth; so that if he had been hurried into an indiscretion, it wou'd not have been with a subordinate branch of the family.
To be driven from the man I love, and obliged to solicit protection of another in the absence of my father, from the wretch I hate, is a destiny severe indeed!
What delightful music.
Une petite serenade, I command pour passer le temps!
How extremely well bred.
A packet my lady, from England.
What a charming bustle will travel afford!
Oh, de travaille! Oui! It is le plus jolie chose du monde.
Come Julia, you promised to throw aside your English ennui.
True Madam! But how hard to feign a merriment to which the heart's a stranger!
AIR XV. QUINTETTE.
The cross road of life, which all mortals pursue, MERRY TRAVELLERS only with comfort pass thro'; They stoop but to gather its pleasantest flowers, Then gaily trip on with the light-footed hours.
THERE goes the Comte's rascally spy—our guide, plotting every possible mischief against the peace of a worthy man! had Mr. Sidney's family no other claims on my service, I am bound to protect it in his absence, even by the common duties of humanity! Never yet have I alarmed her delicacy by an abrupt avowal of my passion. Had I revealed myself when I snatched her from the waves, I might have misinterpreted her emo|tions of gratitude, for those of love! Oh no! my mind must first receive some better assurance that her absent Dorimond still lives in her regard.
I begin to think this confounded curiosity of mine, will carry me a little too far! If I shou'd be surpriz'd in these lonely moun|tains, what wou'd become of me?
Hey day, what have we here? Troth, and so it is—one of the Shepherd's hurdy-gurdies, with
which he charms his mountain lasses. I'll see if it will say a soft thing or two to me
Ecod, but their fellows are along with them! I've heard these long whisker'd sparks are now and then given to jealousy! I'll hide up a little!
I'm sure I heard him near this glen—which way can he have taken?
Davio!
Come, come, my pretty lass, you are rather supriz'd at my skill—but that's nothing to what I can do.
AIR XVI.
SHEPHERDESS.Came you near yon mountain glade, By the track the mules have made? Path to me for ever dear, Trodden by my Muleteer!
No, I did not meet any such tramper; but you are in luck, my little grass-hopper, in popping upon the cleverer fellow of the two! come, can't I do as well?
Ah! no!
Bless your little innocent heart, then if that's the case, I wont distress you by tarrying—I'll look for him as I go on, and if I find him, be sure I'll send him to you.
La! where did you get that savoyard?
Found it on the green-sward here!
Lay it down again directly, for fear you shou'd be seen with it.
Seen with it—why?
It belongs to the shepherd who keeps the watch this day on the mountain—the tune to which it is set, calls them altogether, and if they caught you laughing at them, they'd punish you, by shutting you up in one of the caves.
Lord a' mercy! you don't say so?
Yes; you'll see it on your left when you have pass'd this Mountain.
Well, that's lucky however—but are you certain it's bewitched?
So my grandmother says—but I'm sure I don't know: two or three of our Shepherds have been there on a Sunday, and they never got any harm—good b'ye!
Well then—good bye!
AIR XVII. DANIEL.
Does this look like the face DAN, Betwixt me and you; Wou'd that Daniel disgrace man, Antiquity knew, Whom no sense of danger could ever subdue? Little DAN will not flinch, He's a man ev'ry inch, To his name-sake of old he will ever prove true, Whom a Den full of Lions cou'd never subdue!
Ah, ah! mon ami, Lopez, you must help me to make de love to de dear ladies Ang|loises.
What, both, your honor?
Oui, both to be sure. You make Madame in love wid the antiquitè of mon famille;
and Madamoiselle in love aussi, wid my youth and bon esprit!
To be sure—he will do what I com|mand.
I thought so—ingrate, thus to cancel the obligations I owed him.
The confederates I see, are met in knavish council.
Here, mon ami, take de l'argent comp|tant, and if you do my business tres bien, by gar I vill enrichè vous for life.
So—the compact of villainy is fully ratified.
Now am I in the high road to prefer|ment, or the devil's in't! But it was rather short sighted in me to enter on such a service with only one eye, which required all the vigilance of him, who in wiser times, cou'd hardly make shift with a hundred.
I cannot with-hold my indignation any longer.
AIR XVIII. CAZELLE, LOPEZ, and Sir LEINSTER.
Cazelle, and Lopez.Alternately.Come, Sir, you're a rank impostor; Well I know what you're about, And the villainies you foster. Sirrah, have I found you out?
Why, now, as fellow servants shou'd you take the trouble of going to loggerheads, when I've a little snug quarrel ready made to your hands? Here it is
Win her, and wear her—oh, to be sure and I won't do that.
What can all this mean?
Some new family mischief on foot, my life on't!
Come, as neither of you can write, I'll read this to myself, that you may both under|stand it, d'ye see together.
Mr. Count
The Count!
Faith, and you have both made a good guess of it;—
Your's to command, LEINSTER M'LAUGHLIN.
Now do you perceive that this same Count—
But who has he insulted, Sir?
Ay, pray, Sir, only tell us that.
Why, who shou'd it be, to be sure, but the dear little Julia her own sweet self?
Miss Julia?
In what manner? my agitation, I fear will discover me.
Only by his impertinent familiarities, and proposing to the sweet soul to run off with him, and leave me, d'ye see Sir Leinster, dis|consolate behind.
Consummate scoundrel!
Oh, if that be all, Sir, her own good sense and honor will protect her.
To be sure and I won't
"win her and wear her."Here—which of you two lacquies will take—
I fly vid de letter, Sir!
No, your honor, pray entrust it to me—this is not the kind of correspondence that the Swiss usually conveys to the Count.
Well—see that he has it speedily be|twixt you, while I get my little Wogdons ready. I hope this same Cypress Grove is a snug place—that if one of us shou'd happen to be kilt, he may not bother the other, with a hue and cry after the survivor.
But how you know de Comte, Sir, as you never see him?
Oh, let me alone for that—I think I have travell'd far enough to find out a rascal in any part of the world—and how to punish him into the bargain.
Monsieur guide—tell me—for vhat I see de Comte give you dat money just now?
To make your mouth water for a share of it—look ye, Mr. Swiss, our suspicions of each
other, if ill founded, may now be removed—by entrusting you with this letter I prove at least that I have no desire to screen a villain.
This is more mysterious than all the rest.
Convince me by the punctual delivery of it, that you are equally faithful, and we shall soon come to a better understanding, my life on't.
Were it not for that purse of money, I shou'd think it possible, that this fellow might still be honest—but I begin to suspect every thing around me.—Hitherto I have avoided discovery! To be banished the family as a friend, and recalled into it as a domestic, are transitions which fortune in the height of her caprice, does not often dis|play. Yet the service is still hazardous, for with my dialect, I must continue to disguise those feel|ings also, which the presence of her I love so na|turally inspires!—Poor Dalton! harder still is his fate, to loose his own mistress in the kind en|deavour to secure mine! When in compassion to my natural diffidence, he was prevailed upon to convey my sentiments of affection to JULIA, I little thought it could afford to Miss Somerville the slightest ground, for jealousy or suspicion. Had I seen her before so abrupt a departure to shut herself in a family castle on the Continent, I might have convinced her at least, that Dalton's interviews with my Julia, were merely to pro|mote the addresses of his friend.
AIR XIX. CAZELL.
His vows to Julia, lovely maid, Where all from passion free; Whate'er he look'd, whate'er he said, In friendship 'twas for me.A sense of honour, would reprove A thought that wrongly press'd, And check the selfish sigh of love, Ere it escap'd his breast.
Yes, yes! this must be it! chuck full of wizards and hobgoblins I'll warrant it—and there's the drawbridge, upon which the poor knight's mistress dash'd her pretty self to pieces!—I wish my lady had come along with me, for my courage, like my wit, always appears to most advantage in good company! I thought I heard one of the rusty casements grate on the hinges!
Who's there?
Only one come to ask how you are, coop'd up in this dismal place?
Pack off! or I must unmuzzle the wolf-dog at you!
I'd rather hear your own sweet voice—pray come down, good Sir, and prattle here.
Nothing—no—it don't signify! these are hard times, when a poor fellow like myself, can't get a friend to lend him a hand with a stoop of old wine.
Old wine!—I ha been tasting a little good stuff myself, in our cellar—but I dont like tippling alone—zo ztop—and I'll ztep softly down to you.
I guess'd this must fetch him, if any thing cou'd.
What a tremendous draw-bridge!
I thought you were zorely grieved about zomewhat!
So I am.
Then dont'e take it to heart too much—but leave a little for me to grieve along with'e!
With all the pleasure in life—
Ecod, it's a clever notion sure enough!
Come, now to business—I've a message of compliment to your castle.
Lord love'e, we never receive any mes|sages, or compliments.—Mum! dont'e talk quite so loud.
Now shall I hear all about it!
It's more than my life's worth!
Indeed! now the more frighten'd I am, the more do I want to see the inside of this castle.
I be zworn to zecrecy!
The devil you are! in a spell, I suppose, with a circle made round you with charcoal?
AIR XX.—DUET.—DANIEL and ROBIN.
Daniel.Fellow-servant, come, here's to you!(drinks)Robin.Thank you—and much good may't do you. That's bravely quaft!Daniel.Come, mend your draught!Both.'Tis the stuff with which wise men from old Noah's flood Have enliven'd their hearts, by enriching their blood.Robin.Is this sack, or not, I query?Daniel.No—'tis generous Canary.Duo.Come drain the skin, boy, fill the wicker, Fill it nimbly—drain it quicker! What a pity that wine, with a bright sparkling face, Shou'd not smile on poor servants when turn'd out of place.
Yes! now I have done it with a ven|geance! for I have made him speechless, by way of getting the secret out of him! if I go
back without some account of this place, I shall neither satisfy my lady's curiosity, nor my own.
—what a pity; what a pity
—the devil take his pity!—the cunning rogue must be one of the mountain banditti! he's got my key of the drawbridge, and, as zure as I'm alive, let the gang in while I was a little dizzey! mercy on us, what mun I do? Why the Swiss guards be quartered not far off—zo I'll run and vetch some of them, and they'll match'n for it, I warrant'e!
How punctual I am—only a quarter of an hour before my own appointment—To be sure, and it's not a mark of very ill breeding to keep a jontleman waiting in an affair of honour! but, Sir Leinster, you may as well, my dear, be getting things in readiness, and take out your little family.
Let the guard be relieved regularly, that the peace of the city may be duly preserved.
The two dearest friends in the whole creation could not wish to fight at a prettier distance!
What man is this playing such anticks?
Oh! and are you come at last? I thought you did not intend to let me see your odd face again.
I am mistaken, if ever I saw your's be|fore.
That's all one—the fewer words, you know, the better—so you may stick yourself up at once by my cane, if you please.
This must be some man deranged in his mind!
Oh, if you prefer it a pace or two nearer its all one to Sir Leinster.
Armed! this poor creature may en|danger his own life, if not that of others—what ho!
Secure this unfortunate man, but treat him with lenity, till you hear further from me.
Seize me! for what? oh, you pro|digious coward! this is a new fashion'd way of giving a jontleman satisfaction indeed!
Peace!
Only wait a moment, and see if I don't wing him at least.
AIR XXI.—TRIO and CHORUS.
Soldiers.This traitor to the guard house take, For he has lost his reason, 'Tis thus their wits low knaves forsake, To dabble in high treason. We'll all his sly manoeuvres mark! Now march away, the precious spark, For hark! the roll call! hark!(drum heard without.Sir Leins.Unhand me varlets, what d'ye mean? I'm sure yourselves are crazy! Och, let me but that coward cane, 'Twill make me mighty easy.
I have no grand inclination pour le combat!
Sir Leinster not here? this fellow's triumph will be insupportable.
Eh Bien! vere be votre maitre?
I come, Monsieur, from—
No Sir—no apologé will do—my honor will have de satisfaction instament.
And that damn'd Swiss of ours to be his second after all!
But Monsieur a little patience.
No Sir—I will have no littel patience.
What a furious dog this turns out! why, where the devil is Sir Leinster? he has mis|taken the place—I'll run and see for him.
I vill proclaim votre maitre un grand poltroon—if he no come, vy he not send some
depute?—I fight le diable himself, if he send to me!
"Malbrook il va ton guerra!"
Den Sir accept de humble endeavour of de servant to appease you.
Quelle outrage! fight vid de Valet and de Swiss—no Sir—I no condescend to kill à you en veritè!—
Pitiful evasion! behold the man who is now oppos'd to you and see, if in any lineament of his face, you can read dishonour!
Oh miserable—un diable Anglois!
Come, Sir—
Ay, ay! Why, here's a new turn to the game.
No wonder that the assailant of a woman's honor shou'd want the spirit to defend his own.
Well done, our Swiss! he's an honest fellow after all!
You wear in that hat a military emblem, which you must no longer disgrace—give it to me.
Cette pettite ribbon la? Oh, wid all mon coeur!
One thing more—depart this city im|mediately—if you are found within a league of it an hour hence, your disgrace shall be the more exemplary.
Eh! surely that voice is familiar to my ear!
La capitulation—let me considere!
beaucoup de l'argent—why not, I set off to recon|noitre dis ver moment?
Come, Sir—
Monsieur, to do you de obligation, I shall go a la campagne avec beaucoup de plaisir! and so, bon jour, mon ami! you have got my little ribbon—you are von comical man upon my honor.
My honest fellow, give me your hand.
Why de man stare so amaze?
My indignation, I own, has got the better of my prudence; but as I now begin to think I have done you injustice, by suspecting you to be in league with this contemptible count—I'll atone for it by owning to you, that I am not what I seem, but—an unfortunate Englishman in disguise.
Indeed? How my bosom labours to acknowledge him for one of my own!
Not so—tho' no one can revere that wor|thy man more than myself—I have attended them in this disguise with fear and trembling.
For what?
Lest I should lose all that makes life desirable, in his lovely daughter!
I shrewdly suspect then, that you love her, good Sir!
Adore her! now have I imparted to you the dearest secret of my heart. Should you at|tempt to betray me, you shall not survive it.
That's one way of making a man keep a secret sure enough! but depend on me, Sir—and accept of a little advice into the bargain. Lose no more time in your distant adoration—tell the young lady that you must, and will have her, and she has too great a regard for truth, I am sure, to let so clever a Gentleman as you break his word.
No poor sinner ever suffered more in his pilgrimage of conscience, than I in this penance of unrequited love.
AIR XXII.
Heavily drag the dull hours along, Every hope disappearing; Where, for a comfort, alas, shall I turn, Or look for a ray that is cheering. How unrelentling, how cruel of fate, Hearts so entwin'd to sever; Why have I trac'd out her distant abode, When gone is her love for ever? Oh, how enraptur'd I've dwelt on her smiles, Smiles which so oft' have reliev'd me! And on her vows so tenderly made, Vows, which alas! have deceiv'd me! How unrelenting, how cruel, &c.
But a truce to this fruitless complainng.—Where, I wonder, is my Mountain Nymph? The time of her appointment is near—But what fantastical being have we here?
Ah! ah! un bon Garcon. Bon jour, mon ami!
Pray, Sir, to what accident may I ascribe the honour of this visit?
For what I come here? Oh, I shall tell you dans un moment.—I am de Comte Friponi, who was just oblige to fly from Geneve pour un little affaire d'honeur.
Something of the duel kind, I presume?
Oui; a littel rencontre! Une belle Angloise, she attract with ma personé, and mon canto bello
Very flattering, no doubt!
Ver flattere to be sure: But her Lover, bien impoli, resent it! call a me out! and I was so malheureuse to run him thro' de body.
Ah mio core, &c.
Killed him?
Oui; dead at my feet! But dat is not all; de pauvre Lady herself die for love of me at dis ver moment!
Quick work, indeed, with both sexes. I suppose, Sir, you never fail?
Oh nevere! Jamais! nevere.
AIR XXIII. COMTE,
For de vomen, I've de plan, Sir, Oh to charm dem—I'm de man, Sir! Den I do—vid such an air, Ev'ry ting beyond compare! Be she Spanish, Or Danish,
Or Russian, Or Prussian, Florentine, Algerine, American, Belgican, Corsican, Mexican, Holander, Polander, Venetian, Grecian, Portuguese, Or pretty, prattling Piedmontese; O, de sweet and lovely creature, I adore her every feature! Each soft word of love I utter, Set her little heart to flutter: Vid de kiss—her lip so hush is. Ven I ogle—den she blushes: If she hear my canto bello Den she cry—Oh charming fellow! Mara, Banti, Pachierotti, Billingtoni, sweet Manghotti, Little David, great Marchesi, Never give such note to please ye! Giornovichi, or Giardini, Bold Pasquali, or Nardini, Corporalli or Viotti, Paissiello or Mingotti. Sarti, Bruni, Boccherini, Heydn, Pleyel, San Martini, Gret••ry, Ditters, fat Jomelli, Bach, Clementi, or Corelli, Crosdil wid de rapid bow, Hautboy Parke, or Florio,
Cannot make so pretty strain To relieve de lover's pain! But should rival come to fight me. (draws his sword.)Sa! Sa! to pink him it delight me; Angelo, D'Eon, La Piere, Fam'd St. George, or Lindamere, Flanconade I push so neat, Dead I lay him at my feet.(returns his sword.)Den return, like gallant fellow, To de girl wid canto bello! Viganoni, Morichelli, Lovetini, Faranelli, Alligranti, Gabrielli, Cressentini, Rubenelli, Never warble so complete! Mara never sing wid voice fo sweet, Cramer never play de bow so neat!
Oh dear, as sure as I am alive there are two of them; and that's more than I bargain'd for! But one seems a Frenchman.
How am I to get rid of this fellow?
What can there be in an Englishman, that makes him so superior a creature all the world over? When a countryman's by, there's no danger, so I'll e'en venture. Good day, gentlemen.
Ah ma chere—Vous etes belle comme.—
By gar, une jolie dame of de Castle! Ah! ma foi I make her let me in by love, which is so mcuh better than de force.
Hark ye, Sir, I have the vanity to think that this visit was not intended for you;
and therefore to avoid giving you the trouble, either of killing another unhappy lady, or running me through the body, I must request the favour of you to retire.
Well, how charming it is to be made so much of!
Retire? Sir, I must know what you mean by retire.
Well, Sir, to oblige you I will retire. I take my conge. But by gar, I must know a little more of this petit rendezvous to oblige myself.
Now, my pretty incognita, for the remainder of your history.
No, not a tittle of intelligence respecting the strength or weakness of our garrison, till you are on actual service. In the mean time can you venture to confide in me?
Most fully.
I may put it in your power then, to do an act with which your heart can never reproach you.
Command me in what way you please.
And me so too—if it be de way I like.
Be near the Ivy Turret then, about Sun|set, where I will endeavour to meet you.
I will certainly attend you.
AIR XXIII. NERISSA, DALTON, and COMTE. TRIO.
Ner.As soon as Moon-beams bright, Lead Faries, and Elves a gadding, And dazzle lovers sight, 'Till all their wits are madding, Will you appear, Our roof to cheer, And set our hearts a gladding?Yes, yes! yes, yes, Oh, yes, and set, &c.Dalton.Beneath the lamp of night, While fairy tribes are playing, And by its witching light Love's whisperers are straying; I will appear, In hopes to cheer, And set your hearts a gladding.Yes, yes! yes, yes! Oh yes! and set, &c.Ner.Be secretDalton.Be watchful I implore you.Comte.Or I'll be dere before you.(aside)All.This coming night Shall give delight, When all around is still! Then I, And I, Will gladly fly, My promise to fulfill.Ner.Remember!Dalton.Remember!Comte.Remember!Ner. and Dalton.Your promise to fulfill!Comte.My promise to fulfill!
It's astonishing how much I'm made of in my new character: but this is not the first time that the servant has been pre|ferr'd to his master! Where I shall find my friend, Sir Leinster, I know not; for no sooner had I procured his liberty, than out he sallied after the Count, in search of a fresh adventure. Now for this fam'd Castle, which Lady Phi|lippa, still thinking it the Count's, is so impa|tient to behold: no improper scene for an appeal to her pride, from the detection of an impostor: there my day's experiments will terminate; should they fail in the reformation of a wife, they will enable me at least to secure, in honest Dorimond, the happiness of my child.
I have collected the few flowers this country wou'd afford; scanty as they are, I can trace among them, emblems of my own misery with those of Julia's charms! yet I dare not pre|sent them in my own person. To live in this per|petual anxiety, fearful of alarming her by my discovery, yet dreading to lose her for ever, is
that alternate wretchedness I cannot endure! But she comes this way, and seemingly more pensive than before!
This excursion to the Castle is no doubt intended to expose me to some new mortification.
Oh Cazell, is it you?
I have bring de flowers, Miss, you ask for.
Lay them on the table, Cazell. I shall soon recover my spirits!
AIR XXIV.—
CAZELL.Twin roses you've archly contriv'd, To display all your charms on your face, For fragrance you knew was deriv'd, From the bosom you're destin'd to grace.Here is "Love lies a bleeding" behind, But of "Heart's ease," no bud did I view, In my search, not a sprig cou'd I find, Or else I had cull'd it for you.Rude clime; 'twas in vain to explore, For a bouquet of nature in thee, Where Flora, alas! is no more, Than a poor humble stranger like me!
Oh! Dorimond!—is it possible?
What is all this?
We are undone!
Heyday, why here's another knee scene—Mr. Whiskers is now at his devotions!
One hope remains
No bad hit for a young one!
What can she possibly mean?
But what is it he wishes?
If I don't lend a hand, it's all over with them, I see.
Oh, now I understand him per|fectly—and do not disapprove the creature's humility—
Admirable invention!
Well, then, you have no great reason to fear, young man, after preferring your suit with so much decorum.
Nor are you lessened in my esteem, Cazell, for this mark of your attachment to the family.
My life is devote to your service!
And who young spark, may you thank for it?
Have you no tidings of the Count, Lopez?
None, my lady—that you'll like to hear at present.
He has not withdrawn himself, I hope, in chagrin, at the coolness of my reception? Hearing of my intended visit to the castle, who knows but he may be gone thither, to prepare for our reception?
Nothing more likely, my lady!
You, Lopez, who understand the necessary appendages to a woman of fashion, would not advise me to neglect so elegant a chaperon, would you?
Oh, by no means!
Take this letter then, and deliver it immediately to the Count, if he remains in Ge|neva—It only appoints an explanatory rendez|vous at the castle, to convince him, I meant not to treat him with disrespect:
I am at last, in the high road to family honours, or the devil's in it!
The Parisians, you know, Lopez—apropos, you speak french like a native, no doubt?
There, I fear, she'll have me.
AIR XXV—LOPEZ.
The soul of wit is brevity, As all the antients tell us; So, men of fewest words must be The wittiest of fellows.Then why multiply words when a couple will do, Like Manger, And Changer, So glibly to carry one all the world thro'!Two words will any bargain strike, 'Twixt all inclin'd to barter; Except with women, who dislike To lose the prattling charter.Then why multiply words, &c.
I have cooped myself up these three hours, in this dismal wing of the castle, and now only venture out like a bat at dusk, for a mouth|ful of fresh air! This cursed curiosity of mine, I fear, will bring me to an untimely end!—here may I be hang'd like a scarecrow out of the watch tower, or rolled down the battlements by a pair of witches in a butt full of spiked nails! All my hope is, that some good christian will come this way before it's quite dark to relieve me—Where have I got my unfortunate self?
footstep! this has shewn many a nob in its time, perhaps now it may contrive to hide one.
Oh, that my scheme may succeed! assisted by this honest Englishman—who knows but I may prevail upon Miss Somerville to return to England—at any rate the attempt must be|guile her of some sad moments, and that will make me happy—But what shall I call him? cousin? oh no, that won't do—for methinks one might have no great objection to be nearer re|lated to him! I would fain put on my best looks, so I'll e'en take a peep how my bonnet sits
AIR XXVI.—NERINDA.
Dull reflector of odd faces, I'll no more converse with you, Give me back, my smiles and graces, Or, pray give me something new.If by magic or skill, brittle shewman, You wou'd tickle the heart of a woman, The secret to you I'll discover: When she looks for a grace, You must shew her the face Of a man—to convert to a lover.Wou'd you win her to good nature, And her frowns lay on the shelf; Only give her back a creature, More bewitching than herself.If by magic, &c,
Now, for pity's sake, miss, don't be so violent! I'm more frightened than you, a thou|sand times over, and yet you don't hear me cry out!
Tell me, this instant, who, and what are you?
An out of the way kind of travelling gentleman—whose curiosity, as you may see, now and then gets him into a scrape.
Oh dear ma'am! what's the matter?
Secure this ruffian, who by some means has broke in with an intent to murder us all, and plunder the castle!
My poor, dear Robin! look! see!
And so he has sure enough—mur|dered poor Robin, and got on his very cloaths!
Convey him instantly to the dungeon, till I learn your lady's pleasure.
Only hear me, fair lady—as I hope for mercy!—
My dearest Robin—then they have not killed thee quite!
Oh, you treacherous knave! only bear witness, he's got my jacket on at this very moment.
If I had known, I would not have been in your coat for a hundred ducats.
Where have you been, Robin?
Ay, where?
I hardly knowz where I'a been—or what I 'a been about!—that rogue, there, gave me zweet poizon in a skin of wine, and I 'a been azleep—or out of my zenses ever zince.
Oh, the merciless villain!
He be one of the mountain banditti, and the rest of the gang will zoon be after 'n!—he stripped me o' my coat, and the key of the drawbridge in a whif—and I cou'd only get back to 'e Margery, by swimming over the moat like a water-rat—but there be they a coming, will teach'n better, I'll warrante.
Indeed, and indeed, I'm as innocent as—
Away with him, and confine him closely till further orders.
Though the affections of Miss Somerville may have been estranged from me, by the casual in|heritance of these domains, I feel, as I approach yon castle, that my heart must still pay a con|stant homage to its cruel possessor.—How digni|fied its turrets rise, graceful even in decay!—Time was, a chief no doubt it boasted, whose sun of glory smiled on ages past;—whether his vir|tues have descended with his name, the moulder|ing mansion seems to question.
* 35.1AIR XXVII.
Say, Fame, What is there in a titled name! Or what in birth To give hereditary worth, That fleeting shadow of a noble pile, On which the beams of honour proudly smile! Let not around Thy clarion breathe its sacred sound, Unless to fire, Inspire The son to emulate a glorious sire!
If d'ye zee I'd know'd there was but only he, I zhould not have thought it worth while to vetch so many zoldiers for one rogue. Certain, howzever, I've placed the whole tribe of the Switz guards at the foot of the mountain.—But, mum, Robin, not a zyllable about the zoldier volk, for fear my lady shou'd be angry.
And what does the ruffian say for himself, Robin?
Why, an' please you, my lady, he zays but little—but as I took a peep at'n thro' the iron lattice, he zeem'd to pay it away wi' thinking!
I hope you let him want for no|thing?
'Oh, no my lady; I took'n two ribs of roast beef, and a zlice of baked pudding myzelf—but the zulky toad woud 'na feed.'
'Poor wretch—perhaps he may be unwell.'
'Unwell?—oh, he's a rum little chap!—but he shall give me my dry coat back again, howzever—When I clapp'd the beef down on the ztool before 'n, what now, my lady, do you think the cunning rogue zaid?—Iz thiz the way you treat your ztate prizoners, zays he—virzt and voremozt to take away their ztomachs, and then to zet good cheer before 'n?'
'Well, Nerinda!'
'He'll confess nothing, ma'am, but that curiosity compell'd him to play this de|vice upon Robin.'
'Yez, gad rat 'n!'
'Of what country is he?'
'I believe he's an Englishman.'
'Some poor frantic wanderer—enquire of him further, and anon I'll see him myself.'
'Lord, my lady, hez as cunning a little villain, with a tongue—'
'As nimble as your own. Come, fol|low me.'
'Calm is this parting scene of na|ture—how soft her whispers of repose! Even the voice of sorrow now is still, save from that love|lorn bird, whose strains I hear.'
AIR XXVIII—Miss SOMERVILLE.
Still let thy plaintive numbers flow, Sweet bird of solitude and night, And I will join the song of woe, Until the morn's returning light.With thee I'll shun the world's relief, Woo sorrow only to my breast, And press, for luxury of grief, The thorn, that will not let it rest!
Oh dear, ma'am, a body of armed men, no doubt the whole gang, are halted towards the west tower.
Impossible! and in a country so fam'd for peace and freedom?
Indeed, and indeed its true!
Tho' few in number, let our do|mestics then instantly arm!
But what shall we do with our pri|soner?
Order him in the front of the bat|tlement, as a fit sacrifice to the lawless rage of his confederates. Let us even forget the weak|ness of our sex, and arm ourselves, Nerinda.
Oh dear, ma'am, you wont pretend to fight: what can such helpless creatures as we do?
Wonders, in a just cause! at least, Nerinda, we can expose to abhorrence that sa|vage licentiousness, which even women are com|pell'd to resist.
'How unfortunate, as well as alarm|ing—for this is the very time I was to admit
my good natured mountain acquaintance:—and why not even now, when we stand more in need of a gallant man than ever!'
'De place of rendezvous—it was luck I meet la petite fille de chambre!—At|tendez—ven I go in—keep close to my per|son, for fear of me surprize.'
'We'll follow your honour close, rely upon it.'
'For why she not appear?—prenez garde—voila, le diable Anglois!'
AIR XXIX.
Love may lead my steps astray; Where, ah where's ma jolie fille? Come, and safely point the way, Wont you? Yes, I'm sure you will! Venez donc ma jolie fille!Let me not in vain implore, Hither fly, ma jolie fille, Open then the garden door, Wont you?—yes I'm sure you will, Venez donc ma jolie fille!
This is strange! I must have mistaken the gate, for why should she deceive me?
AIR XXXI—CHORUS.
Cazell, Lopez, Dalton, & Robin.Yield, cruel monsters! vengeance dread! Which way can the rest be fled?Miss Som.(within)Calmly I to fate resign!Cazell, &c.Hear the wailing voice to woe.Soldiers.Advance! 'tis a soldier's duty. To save, not to plunder beauty, Where e'er he's doom'd to go.Miss Som.(within)Take this wretched life of mine!Comte, and others.[on Staircase.Let us out before it's night.Robin,(aside them)That I will not by this light.All.When 'tis woman that inspires us, Valour, Honor, Glory, fires us.Cazell, and others.Hear the lovely sufferers cry?Comte, &c.[within.Let us once more daylight spy?Robin.[Aside to 'em.Hold your tongues and quiet lye.Soldiers, &c.Knaves, if here we cannot view you, O'er the Mountains we'll pursue you.Comte, &c.[within.Let us once more daylight spy?Robin.[Aside to 'em.Hold your tongues once more say I.Soldiers, &c.Since the ruffians wont appear, March on!Miss Somerville.Behold your victim here![Throwing open the door, discovers herself.
Miss Somerville!
Impossible! and arm'd against my life?—
Oh no! led hither by our better stars to defend the person of her, who too unkindly fled from his protection!
Am I to believe those senses which have so cruelly deceived me?
Why, dear heart, my Lady, this is the strange Gentleman that wou'd a vit for dear life to defend you.
And do I find in Dalton my gallant defender?
Advance!
Now dont'e fight no more about my blunders; for I vancy they be all vriends and neighbours, except a few rogues that I a' got snug in a corner.
Why, are not these our rude assail|ants whom I saw from the Battlement?
We are guards of the Republic, Lady, marched here to preserve it's peace, and the pro|perty of this Castle.
All this is wond'rous strange!
How came I thus deceived?
Why, my lady, it was all along o' I! for when that comical chap stript me, and got the key of the drawbridge, I took'n for one o' the Mountain robbers that I dreamt on last Sunday, who like a rogue, meant to let in all his com|rades; zo what did I, but run and vetch these honest zoldier gentry to zave you from murder, or mayhap zomewhat worse.
Your zeal rather outran your discre|tion.
But it was faithfully intended.
Come, Charles, attend me now in search of a most amiable, and affectionate com|panion.
What doings does he mean?
I suppose, Miss, de rejoice, and fire|work we hear just now.
Fireworks! I am sorry he in|formed them of my coming, I should like to have been received incog; without any particular regard to my rank or distinction! but come, which is the entrée, Daniel?
Stop a little, my lady, and in the midst of the bustle; I'll try to step down, and let you all in, if I die for it!
Surely the fellow's mad, Lopez.
Oh, no, only bewitched, I suppose, like the rest of the castle.
Oh! it was all my unfortunate doing! I found out my mistake, just time, enough to fly and force my poor lady, out of their barbarous reach for a moment! Beset by a host without, and assail'd by ruffians within, what hope I of protecting her further?
Softly, comrade! here she is, and luckily all alone!
Why then, no ceremony.
No uproar, madam, I charge you, to disturb the peace of the mansion.
What is it you would have?
The pleasure of conveying you, and all your valuables into our mountain for protection, fair lady of the castle, that's all!
Lady of the castle! indeed, indeed! gentlemen, you are much mistaken—I am only an humble domestic, and therefore every way unworthy of the honour you intend me!
This instant then, shew us where she is, and all her treasure.
Something less than that, gentlemen, I hope will appease you?
No—dispatch!
Eh bien, ma petite guide! vite! vite! my mules are at de gate to car votre maitresse, yourself, and all your treasure to mon chatteau!
But, Sir, as I had the honour to in|troduce you, indulge me at least in one small request!
Oh, certainment qu'est que ca?
Only, Sir, as they are of such conside|rable value, that you will have the goodness to take charge of my poor lady's jewels your|self!
Assurement! and de lady aussi, if she be prett comme vous!
Up this staircase of the tower, is an an|tichamber to the right—there, alas! too soon you'll find her!
Wid de jewels, and beaucoup de l'ar|gent?
Alas! all!
Bon! come, you shew de way allons!
Not a word, I entreat you, Sir, that you were directed by me.
There, monster, I have out generall'd you for the present, however; where now is my faithful countryman?
Oh, Robin! I'm glad you're come!
Flesh and blood cannot hold out this way much longer!
Courage, man, I have secured three of the ring leaders within here!
But pray ye madam Nerinda, how did you contrive to nab them so nicely?
Why, as they stumbled up the old dark staircase, in search of my lady and her jewels, I turned the bolt, and have them all safe together.
Ecod you nick'd 'em there for once, howzever.
Now you must guard the door, without saying one word to any body about it, till I re|turn with succour.
But how mun I manage to keep three such desperate toads, only under two bolts? I'll try my best howzever, till you get more help.
Ay, do, my honest Robin.
Ecod, then it's lucky enough I've just let in the Zwiss Guard; come now what will, my Lady cannot blame me for vetching 'em, for there's a Banditti zure enough, in the Castle now, or the devil's in't.
Which way could the ruffians fly?
Now dont'e come no nigher, or I mun down wi ye!
Why, how is all this?
Where are the suffering captives?
Can't—I be zet, d'ye zee, as guard over 'en; zo neither vriend nor voe shall let 'en out! besides you're but a youngster, and they'd be too many for you all to nothing.
Ah! ah! she no come to Monsieur Anglois! now I try my canto bello!
AIR XXX.—CHORUS.
Serj.The Castle quick surrender, Ye horde of Mountaineers; Or else our arms shall raze it By storm around your ears.Miss Som.Of pride you can't disarm me; So hence, ye ruffian crew! No summons shall alarm me! Nor tyrant force subdue.(EXIT.Serj.Are you for war?Dan.No—peace my trade is.Serj.Then will you yield?Dan.Nay, ask the ladies.Serj.Your walls we must batter down.
I'm glad they're all marched off to the other side of the castle! I'll stay here and take breath a little! I only turned my back on the cowardly dogs for a minute, and spank they had me in an awkward place.
There—she's at it again pell mell?
Yes, yes, we are right enough—for see your ladyship's trusty courier on the bat|tlement.
Looking out to announce our ar|rival! I hope we are not too late, Daniel?
Oh! no, my Lady, you're time enough to have a share of it. Here have been warm doings, I promise you!
Now, Mr. Serjeant, only be you zo good as to mount guard a little at this door—and I'll vetch you a bottle or two of old English stingo to whet your whiskers with!—'after that we'll rummage the stair-case, when madam Nerinda comes, and zee whether we a got vriends, or foes there; vor we've been at such cross purposes o' late, that I don't know which they may turn out after all.'—One thing now, however's zertain—that my lady's old zweet heart be come to vetch her home—zo I'll go and let our Madge out of the cellar, and bid her pack up her duds for Old England!
AIR XXXII.
Across the briny zeas I'll zteer, And back to Taunton Dean, To tell the little huzzies there, The zights that I ha zeen! Oh rare be the doings of Taunton Dean! O rare, &c.When I zet out for voreign parts, Poor zouls, how they did cry! I thought they wou'd ha' broke their hearts, They were zo fond o'I! O sad were the doings of Taunton Dean! O sad, &c.If they could cry when I were gone In grief for zuch a boy. Why zure, when I goes back a mon They'll cry again for joy! Oh rare be the doings of Taunton Dean! Oh rare, &c.My zunday zpouse poor Madge I'll make, As vree as vlow'rs in May, And from the little jades I'll take A wife for every day! O rare then the doings of Taunton Dean! Oh rare, &c.
You have told me many strange things to be sure, child; but respecting the feudal inheritance of this castle, I fancy I know a little more than you. Indeed, how you became its resident at all, is matter of great surprize to me.
To receive your ladyship within its walls on any terms, is an honour I little ex|pected.
'I always said that you and Dal|ton wou'd come together; and a very decent alliance for two young families on both sides—you cou'd not deceive me, child.'
'No, Lady Philippa; I fear that I have been too busily employed in deceiving myself.'
and honourably died!
Fit scene for a more humble KNIGHT of Love, to claim the hand of her—for whom he fondly lives!
I'm all amazement! Dorimond!
Dear madam, allow me to declare, that tho' I knew not of Dorimond's disguise, my heart, adopting his sentiments, naturally tri|umphs in its success!
'Oh, your ladyship will excuse it all, when you observe, that the rogue, Dori|mond, has deceived even me, his best friend, by the metamorphosis.—Now Louisa, I trust you behold Miss Sidney in her real character.'
I do—as a rival created only by own suspicions.
Who waits? where is my guide, Lopez!
I left him, my lady, in the court|yard, paying due respect to the Count Friponi.
The Comte?—oh, I'm rejoiced that he is arrived!
'What, my chaunting, woman-kil|ling hero?'
'Why, do you know this vaunting braggart, Charles?'
'Perfectly!'
But where is he? I'm impatient to welcome his arrival.
He's in his own apartments, my lady, but rather in a dishabille.
I'm sorry this wretch is return'd to torment us.
What can all this mean?
Why, ma'am, the plain matter of fact is, that like other great men, some of the Count's enterprizes have miscarried: his last de|sign was to dispossess you of this castle; but fail|ing in this attempt, he has modesty enough, as a freebooter, to put up with one of its dun|geons!
The leader of the banditti!
The Count disgraced, and in a dungeon? Oh, that Mr. Sidney were returned!
On what errand, my lady?
In search of Mr. Sidney, the only person in whom I can safely confide.
A single wish of your's restores him back to happiness, as well as sight!—
I am petrified, astonished, and every way deceived.
Not so my Lady Philippa, if I have at last but the good fortune to prove—the man to your mind!
Mr. Sidney!
My dear father in faithful Lopez!
'Where's the wonder, Lady Phi|lippa, that I, an old friend, should have pro|cured you a more trusty guide than your new fashion'd acquaintance?'
And can it be possible, Sir?
Yes, your fellow-servant in dis|guise.—But once or twice, young spark, we had nearly been too cunning for each other.
'You have contrived Sir, to hit off an admirable character in this travelling mas|querade.'
'The shaft of ridicule has reached me. I perceive but too late, that to persist, even in a family prejudice, is unworthy of a great, or a good mind.'
'
heart must have long disclaim'd! This billet, which I confess to have perused, has removed all my serious apprehensions. I return it, therefore, as an harmless, tho' unguarded do|cument of fashionable levity.'
Twice has this gallant adventurer saved our only child: join with me then, Lady Philippa, in bestowing her hand upon him, and thus secure the faithful services of an honest fel|low thro' life.
Most chearfully.
How shall I ever repay—
Not by long speeches, Dorimond—You have won her by no feats of ancestry, but your own natural deserts; if she prove a blessing therefore, long may you live to wear it.
Oh! Mr. Sidney, you have taught me at length to feel, that to contribute to the happiness of those around us, is far more honour|able than all the pomp that heraldry can boast.
'Then have I neither toil'd, nor travell'd in vain!'
I perceive you generally contrive that Sir Leinster shou'd be front rank, where there's a prison; and always in the rear, when there's either love, or fair fighting! But I'm in luck that the Comte has got his deserts, tho' I have lost mine! And what a mighty pretty siege you have had, where you've mann'd all your works with women!
O yes, Sir, I've heard of all your pranks, and find I am the only sufferer, by keeping my own countenance.
All shall be explained, Sir Leinster, to your satisfaction.
But its time we muster our little garrison, to get a return of our missing, and wounded.
Where is poor Daniel?
Having properly disposed of the ruf|fianly Comte, who basely surprized me, I thought in my duty to administer the best comfort in my power to one, who has suffered a little too se|verely from his own curiosity, and my mistake.
You have an odd way here of re|warding merit, that's certain; for you open your gates to a banditti, and throw your best friends, neck and heels into a dungeon!
'And is this your arch valet, that put us all in such a fright?'
'The very same; and as inoffensive a creature as ever breath'd.'
'What a rare thing my curiosity has prov'd to all except myself! It was rather hard, after escaping the canister-shot of these ladies tongues, to be stuck upon the battlements, to be pelted with double-round, and grape!'
'Poor creature!'
Where are you wounded, Daniel?
Not where its likely to disfigure me much, my lady—being as it were—in a place a little out of sight!
We'll find the means of a speedy cure; but you don't seem to recollect your old friends, Dan?
But here, Dalton, I owe more than I can express.
I am much her debtor also; for she was the guiding star, that led me, a disconsolate wanderer, to this spot.
'Is that so, Nerinda?'
'Nearly, Ma'am, and one time or other, perhaps you may do me as good a turn.'
'The day seems to have been devoted to strange mysteries, and as the night is too far advanc'd to allow of your departure, I trust the new possessor of this castle will allow me to give you welcome.'
Most welcome all! for thus our lovely hostess bids me say; and though we have no feats of chivalry to boast, we may, at least, as good|natured travellers, amuse ourselves with recount|ing our various adventures.
But when you do that, you'll re|member, if you please, to forget mine.
First accept my open recantation! for here do I renounce the vain parade, and follies of false grandeur, convinced, that the just distinc|tions of honourable rank, are best supported by their own intrinsic merit!
Then am I raised to the enviable dig|nity of a happy man. Come, you young destined brides, ere you set out on your nuptial travels, will you deign to accept of a hint from one, who has gone this crooked road before you?
Certainly, Sir.
Oh, with pleasure!
Then build not too much on convert|ing a man into a husband, unless you can conde|scend at the same time—to create that husband your GUIDE thro' life!
FINALE.
AIR XXXIII.—
CHORUS.—Now let us seek our native coast, Where friends we hope will meet us; As Travellers we then may boast, If they but kindly greet us.QUARTETTO.—DALTON, DORIMOND, MISS SOMERVILLE, and JULIA.Let others travel worlds around For pleasure if they choose it; The road to happiness we've found, And hope no more to lose it.CHORUS.Now let us seek, &c.NERINDA.To follow close your steps thro' life, You know, dear Ma'am, I meant it; So shou'd I follow as a wise, I'm sure I shan't repent it.CHORUS.—Now let us seek, &c.DANIEL.Come, little Dan, 'twixt you and me, Your trip may well content ye; You've lost your curiosity, And that is gain in plenty.CHORUS.Now let us seek, &c.MR. SIDNEY.By travel I've regain'd a wife, Tho' I was forc'd to snare her; So, for the remnant of my life, I hope to win, and wear her.FULL CHORUS,Now let us seek our native coast, Where friends we hope will meet us; As Travellers we then may boast, If they but kindly greet us!
This AIR has been transposed to the last scene of the OPERA in the stage representation.