A new musical interlude, called The election: As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- THE ELECTION. A MUSICAL INTERLUDE.

FINIS.

A NEW MUSICAL INTERLUDE, CALLED THE ELECTION. AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

LONDON: Printed for W. GRIFFIN, at Garrick's Head, No. 6, Catharine street, Strand. M,DCC,LXXIV. [Price 6d.]

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE following Trifle is the Production of a hasty Hour; and tho' evidently calculated to amuse at this Juncture, yet the Author flatters himself it breathes throughout that Freedom and Indepency which is ever so grateful to us all, tempered with that Loyalty and Harmony which is so necessary to promote the general Happiness.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

JOHN,

Mr. BANNISTER.

RICHARD,

Mr. VERNON.

TRUSTY,

Mr. DAVIES.

SALLY,

Mrs. WRIGHTEN.

WIFE,

Mrs. LOVE.

THE ELECTION. A MUSICAL INTERLUDE.

SCENE. A Baker's Shop.

Enter JOHN and his WIFE.

JOHN.

I Tell thee, Moll, this canting will not do;

I'll sell my loaves, but not my conscience too.

Shall I be perjur'd, Wife, and damn my soul

To get a guinea for a penny roll?

RONDEAU.

Honest John no bribe can charm,

His heart is like his oven, warm:

Tho' poor as Job,

He will not rob,

Nor sell his truth to fill his fob.

T•••• and hirelings, I'd black-ball 'em!

For to let such rascals set,

Is as bad as using allum,

Or as selling bread short weight.

Tho' I oft am mealy-handed,

I am not mealy-mouth'd likewise;

For a knave I'll not be branded,

But declare without disguise.

Honest John no bribe, &c.

What because my out-side's dusty,

Must my mind be dirty too?

They, perhaps, will find me crusty,

Who now think me soft as dough.

I nor mind their balls nor feasting,

Nor their specious promise heed;

What's the bread without the yeast in?

What's the word without the deed?

WIFE.

Lord! Johnny now, why make you such a fuss?

What's truth and conscience to such folk as us?

Nor one nor t'other will, as I'm a sinner,

E'er give us credit for a Sunday's dinner.

Sir Courtly says, if you'll but vote for him,

He'll fill our pockets to the very brim.

JOHN.

I tell thee No;—he's one of those, they say,

Who's ever ready to talk any way;

Loud as a bull, or mute as any mouse,

A dial, or a larum, in the house:

All smiles and treachery, all bows and lies;

In fact, a complication of disguise.

'Squire Trusty is my man, who, just and true,

Butters his bread just as a man shou'd do.

WIFE.

He can't say bo to a goose;—don't vote for such.

JOHN.

Better to say too little, than too much.

Our parson talks well, but experience teaches,

He seldom practises the good he preaches:

The 'Squire's an honest cock—

WIFE.

And so are we,

And we may starve upon our honesty.

Sir Courtly'll get an act to bake on Sundays,

Then we may live genteel, and keep St. Mondays:

Besides, his friend young Richard loves our Sally;

Sure, for her sake, you'll not stand shilly shally.

Who knows but we may hold our heads up soon;

Who knows when you—

JOHN.

Who knows when you'll have done!

WIFE.

Why, hubby, all the world are mending now,

And live as grand as Lords.

JOHN.

The Lord knows how.

WIFE.

There's Patch the glazier, who, they say's no fool,

Sends both his daughters to the boarding-school;

And neighbour Squab, the sexton's wife, I see

Wears a silk gown, and drinks the best green tea.

This is the time to make us all for ever;

Grow rich at an election hub—or never.

SONG.

If in life you desire to have credit and weight,

To be fear'd by the rich, and caress'd by the great,

Your vote and your int'rest will raise you to note,

If for int'rest you tender your int'rest and vote.

Would you hang on the arm of my Lord, or his Grace,

And familiarly ask for a pension, or place,

To your int'rest he'll promise his life to devote,

If you'll promise him both your int'rest and vote.

This engages the minds of the great and the small,

Of our friendships and loves is the basis of all;

Each talent, each virtue, each gift he has got,

Who can boast Borough int'rest, and proffers his vote.

JOHN.

Sad doctrine this, but be it mine to prove

We have not quite forgot our country's love:

To venal honours let me ne'er aspire,

But in my station tend my humble fire;

On no vain schemes of false ambition bent,

My pride, Integrity—my wealth, Content.

SONG.

Whilst happy in my native land,

I boast my counry's charter,

I'll never basely lend my hand

Her liberties to barter.

The noble mind is not at all

By poverty degraded;

'Tis guilt alone can make us fall,

And well I am persuaded,

Each free-born Briton's song should be,

" Or give me Death or Liberty!"

Tho' small the pow'r which fortune grants,

And few the gifts she sends us,

The lordly hireling often wants

That freedom which defends us.

By law secur'd from lawless strife,

Our house is our castellum:

Thus bless'd with all that's dear in life,

For lucre shall we sell 'em?

No; ev'ry Briton's song shou'd be,

" Or give me Death or Liberty!"

[Exit.

Enter SALLY.

Well, mother, say—will Mr. Richard's friend

Succeed, and shall we gain our end?

If father would but for Sir Courtly vote,

He swore to marry me without a groat.

WIFE.

Ah! child, your hopes and mine are wholly over,

I've lost my fancied greatness, you your lover:

Spite of all I cou'd say, your father's gone

To give his vote for Trusty—we're undone!

Condemn'd, thro' life, to be the slave and sloven,

We must eat raspins still, and draw the oven.

SALLY.

Ah! cruel fortune! must I then despair,

And lose the only youth that's worth my care!

Then all my dreams of happiness are flown;

Still must I wear this linsey-woolsey gown!

Still without curtains sleep upon the floor,

And rival the Miss Patches now no more.

SONG.

Adieu to silks and satins,

To love and peace adieu!

Each day in homely pattens,

I still must bake and brew.

Each morn at early rising,

Must twirl the hated mop,

And ev'ry thought disguising,

Attend my father's shop.

Adieu, &c.

WIFE.

Here comes young Mr. Richard—I'm afraid—

Heart-broken—I shall die.—

SALLY.

And I a maid—

RICHARD.

Welcome my lovely Sally;—why so sad?

Beauty and youth shou'd be for ever glad.

WIFE.

Yes, but our friends will one and all forsake us,

And now we've nothing left but this poor bake-house.

My husband voted wrong.

RICHARD.

He acted right.

True to his Trust, his conduct seems more bright:

Unaw'd, unbiass'd, he preserves his fame,

Would every Englishman could say the same:—

Sir Courtly was my friend, to him I owe

The little fortune which I offer now,

To aid his cause with warmth, to take his part,

Duty and Gratitude impell'd my heart;

But Gratitude nor Duty bid condemn

That Honour which so often springs from them.

Your father's merit sets him up to view,

And more enhances my esteem for you.

SONG.

Ah! let it ne'er with truth be said,

That public Virtue droops her head;

That English Faith should luckless prove,

Or cross one English Virgin's love.

If in my Sally's youthful heart,

Her Richard e'er may claim a part,

This happy hour shall smiling prove

That Honour firmly fixes Love.

Enter JOHN.

Well friends, the poll is over—all is done,

Sir Courtly has thrown up, and we have won.

(To Richard) I wish I could have granted your request,

But Conscience bade me vote as I thought best.

RICHARD.

Pray no excuses—we may yet be friends:

Give me your daughter, and our quarrel ends:

Happy to win the favour, if I can,

And boast th' alliance of so just a man.

JOHN.

Take her, she's freely your's, and may you find

For want of fortune, treasures in her mind.—

But other subjects claim the present hour;

When conqu'ring Freedom tramples abject pow'r;

E'er now the Sons of Liberty rejoice,

And chearful hail the Hero of their choice.

QUARTETTO.
JOHN and CHORUS.

Come, then, let us hasten all,

To greet the glorious festival.

JOHN solo.

For what to a Briton so grateful can be,

As the triumph of Freedom and Virtue to see?—

CHORUS.

Come, then, let us, &c.

WIFE.

Since my daughter will be married,

What care I who has miscarried.—

CHORUS.

Come, then, let us, &c.

DUET. RICHARD and SALLY.

With joy my freedom I resign,

To call my lovely Sally mine,

And she, thro' every scene of life,

Will prove the fond and faithful wife.

SONG and CHORUS. (A shouting, &c. is heard repeatedly.)

Hark, hark, hark!—the loud huzza!

Come, come, come, come come away:

Let each Briton now be gay,

This is Britain's holiday!

[Exeunt.

The Scene draws, and discovers the principal street of a market-town crouded with people of all denominations; the Member is chaired, and brought to the Front of the Stage.

CHORUS.

Trusty for ever!

(TRUSTY bowing)

I thank ye for your favour;

And 'tis my resolution,

To guard the Constitution.

CHORUS.

Trusty for ever, &c.

TRUSTY.

I thank ye for your favour,

To you I will resign,

Your pleasure shall be mine.

CHORUS.

Trusty for ever, &c.

TRUSTY.

I thank ye for your favour,

Thro' life I will support the interest of the nation,

Still bound by inclination,

To this noble Corporation.

CHORUS.

Trusty for ever—huzza! &c.

TRUSTY.

I thank you for your favour—huzza! &c.

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Title statement

A new musical interlude, called The election: As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

Andrews, Miles Peter, d. 1814.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3615

ID [isbn10]

1106006143

ID [isbn13]

9781106006141

ID [TCP]

K021512.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3310780877

ID [ECLL]

0227100700

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Source

— A new musical interlude, called The election: As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane., Andrews, Miles Peter, d. 1814.. [4],13,[1]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for W. Griffin,. 1774.. [Anonymous. By Miles Peter Andrews.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT2452.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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