Midas: an English burletta. As it is performed, at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden.

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [frontispiece]

- [titlepage]

- To the READER.

- Dramatis Personae.

- ACT I.

- ACT II.

- ACT III.

MIDAS.

FINIS.

MIDAS: AN English Burletta.

[Price Eighteen-pence.]

MIDAS; AN English Burletta.

As it is performed, at the THEATRE-ROYAL, IN COVENT-GARDEN.

LONDON: Printed, for G. KEARSLY, W. GRIFFIN, J. COOTE, T. LOWNDS, and W. NICOLE.

M DCC LXIV.

To the READER.

THE Editor of the following piece thinks proper to observe, that the first idea of it was conceived, and the plan in some measure executed by a gentleman in Dublin, for the private entertainment of some persons of distinction in that kingdom, at a time, when Italian Burlettas were blended with the exhibitions of the Theatre, and almost triumphed over the best productions in our language. The public spirit of those, for whom it was originally intended, prevailed upon the author to enlarge his design. Accordingly, MIDAS adventured on the stage, and met with uncommon success for a series of nights. The Editor begs leave to add a word concerning the stile which prevails in the following scenes. They are written in the true spirit of the mock-heroic. BURLESQUE, in all times, from the stage of ATHENS down to the DRAGON OF WANTLEY, has been esteemed one of the provinces of the Drama. It's humour principally consists in making dignified personages raise in our minds trite and ordinary ideas, or else in giving to trivial objects a serious air of gravity and importance.

It would be impertinent to point out instances in either way of composition; but thus much was deemed necessary that no one should look for another sort of entertainment than was here intended. The public, with their usual candour, will consider the particular scope of this piece, and will decide nothing till they have heard the musick, to which it is adapted. Should MIDAS in the representation be found to have merit, and indeed, excellence in its kind; the generous critick will allow the author that degree of applause, which his talents seem to deserve.

Dramatis Personae.

- Jupiter, Mr. Legg.

- Juno, Mrs. Stephens.

- Apollo, Mr. Mattocks.

- Momus, Mr. Dibden.

- Mercury, Mr. Baker.

- Pan, Mr. Dunstall.

Mutes.

- Mars,

- Vulcan,

- Venus,

- Minerva, &c, &c.

MORTALS.

- Midas, Mr. Shuter.

- Damaetas, Mr. Fawcett.

- Sileno, Mr. Beard.

- Mysis, Miss Poitier.

- Daphne, Miss Miller.

- Nysa, Miss Hallam.

- Oracle, Mr.Wayle

SCENE, first on mount Olympus, afterwards on the pastures of Lydia.

ACT I.

The curtain rising discovers the Heathen Deities, seated amidst the clouds, in full council: they address Jupiter in chorus, accompanied by all the instruments.

AIR I. King of Prussia's March. Chorus of all the Gods.

JOVE, in his chair,

Of the sky Lor'd-May'r

With his nods

Men and Gods

Keeps in awe,

When he winks

Heaven shrinks,

When he speaks

Hell squeaks

Earth's globe is but his taw.

Cock of the school

He bears despotic rule,

His word

Tho' absurd

Must be law.

Even fate

Tho' so great,

Must not prate,

His bald pate

Jove would cuff,

He's so bluff,

For a straw.

Cow'd deities

Like mice, in cheese

To stir must cease,

Nor gnaw.

RECITATIVE, accompanied.

Jup (rising.)

Immortals, you have heard your plaintive sovereign

And Culprit Sol's high crimes. Shall we who govern

Brook spies upon us? Shall Apollo trample

On our commands? we'll make him an example.

As for you, Juno, curb your prying temper, or

We'll make you to your cost, know,—we're your emperor,

Your husband—when the jealous Gad-bee twitches,

Swallow your spittle—Jove will wear the breeches.

AIR II. To its own tune.

To happy ignorance

Connubial peace is owing:

'Tis a curse to be too knowing

Best let things take their chance.

A busy curiosity

Produces endless evils,

It turns the Gods felicity

To sharpest pangs of devils,

Supplying food to jealousy.

RECITATIVE.

Juno (aside.)

What new rape is toward? To sixes and sevens,

This tyrant, for it's sake, will jumble the heavens.

I'll take the law. (to Jup.) My proctor, with a summons

Shall cite you, sir, t'appear at Doctor's Commons.

Jup.

Let him—but first I'll chase from Heaven yon varlet,

Juno.

What, for detecting you and your vile harlot?

Fine scheme! banish the Sun! drive out Apollo!

That you, of lawless love, deep draughts may swallow.

You'll then not need, thou grand monarque of Horners,

Skulk with your misses into holes and corners.

AIR III. Shaan Bwee.

Think not lewd Jove

Thus to wrong my chaste love,

For spite of your rakehelly godhead

By day, and by night,

Juno will have her right

Nor be, of dues nuptial, defrauded.

I'll ferrit the haunts

Of your female gallants,

In vain you in darkness enclose them,

Your favourite jades,

I'll plunge to the shades,

Or into cows metamorphose them.

RECITATIVE.

Jup.

Peace termagant, I swear by Styx—our thunder

Shall hurl him to the earth.

Momus.

Sire, we knock under.

Ha, ha, ha, (Aside) O jest most precious!

'Twill serve a thousand years hence to refresh us.

I say, down with him, Jove—exert your puissance,

Morbleu, the puppy's grown a public nuisance,

Ay, ay, short work—put out the light, and then—

AIR V. There was a jovial Beggar.

No difference of character,

Vice, virtue—idle dreams!

For lewd, or chaste, or foul, or fair,

Must then be only names,

When a sporting all may go, may go, may go, &c.

Screen'd from the husband's jealous eyes,

All love, all free as air,

No wanton need to fear surprize

Oh what a life were there!

When a sporting, &c.

Then hey for trumps, for matadores

And rare sansprendre voles,

Old maids will fly, when past amours,

To dear quadrille by shoals.

And a gambling, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Jove.

O brave, we nod his doom!

Apollo.

Hold, hold, have patience

Papa—No bowels far your own relations!

RECIT. accompanied.

What can this hurly-burly, this helter-skelter mean?

Jove looks confounded surly!—Chaos is come again.

AIR VI. To It's own tune.

Be by your friends advised,

Too harsh, too hasty dad!

Maugre your bolts, and wise head,

The world will think you mad.

What worse can Bacchus teach men,

His roaring bucks, when drunk,

Then break the lamps, beat watchmen

And stagger to some punk.

RECITATIVE.

Jup.

You saucy scoundrel—there sir—come Disorder,

Down Phoebus, down to earth, we'll hear no farther.

RECIT. accompanied.

Roll, thunders, roll, blue lightnings flash around him,

The blab shall find our sky can do without him.

Thunder and lightning. Jupiter darts a bolt at him, he falls.—Jupiter re-assumes his throne, and the Gods all ascend together, singing the initial chorus. Jove in his chair, &c.

SCENE A Champaign country with a distant village; violent storm of thunder and lightning. Shepherds sleeping in the field are rouzed by it and run away frighted. One leaves his cloak, hat, and guittar behind him. Apollo is seen whirling in the air, as cast from heav'n; he falls to earth, with a rude shock, and lies for a while, stunn'd: at length he begins to move, rises, advances, and looking upward, speaks.

RECIT. accompanied.

Apol.

Zooks! what a crush! a pretty decent tumble!

Kind usage, Mr. Jove—sweet sir—your humble.

Well, down, I am;—no bones broke—tho' sorely pepper'd!

Here doom'd to stay.—What can I do?—turn shepherd.

Puts on the cloak, &c.

A lucky thought.—In this disguise, Apollo

No more but Pol, the swain, some flock I'll follow.

Nor doubt I, with my voice, guittar, and person,

Among the nymphs to kick up some diversion.

AIR VII. Hang me if I marry.

With fun, my disgrace I'll parry

While here on earth, I tarry,

With the nymphs, in my way,

I'll kiss and play,

But hang me if I marry—hang me if I marry

With the nymphs, &c.

Let the sky go to wreck, and miscarry,

Without my luminary,

Pol here will stay,

To kiss and play

To toy, but never marry—toy, but never marry.

Pol here will stay, &c. &c.

Enter SILENO.

RECITATIVE.

Sileno.

Whom have we here! a sightly clown!—and sturdy!

Hum—plays, I see, upon the hurdy-gurdy.

Seems out of place—a stranger,—all in tatters,

I'll hire him—he'll divert my wife and daughters.

—Whence, and what art thou boy?

Pol.

An orphan lad, Sir;

Pol is my name;—a shepherd once my dad, Sir;

I'th upper parts here—tho' not born to serving.

I'll now take on, for, faith, I'm almost starving.

Selino.

You've drawn a prize i'th' lottery.—So have I too;

Why,— I'm the master you could best apply to.

AIR VIII. To it's own tune.

Since you mean to hire for service

Come with me, you jolly dog,

You can help to bring home harvest,

Tend the sheep, and feed the hog.

Fa la la.

With three crowns, your standing wages,

You shall daintily be fed;

Bacon, beans, salt beef and cabbage,

Butter, milk, and oaten-bread.

Fa la la.

Come strike hands, you'll live in clover,

When we get you once at home,

And when daily labour's over

We'll all dance to your strum, strum.

Fa la la.

RECITATIVE.

Pol. (aside.)

From Nectar, and Ambrosia, 'tis coarse diet;

When I was well, why could I not be quiet.

(After a pause takes Sileno by the hand and sings to the foregoing air.)

Done, strike hands, I take your offer,

Farther on, I may fare worse,

Zooks, I can no longer suffer,

Hungry guts, and empty purse.

Fa la la.

DUETTO. Air continued.

Sil.

Do, strike hands; 'tis kind I offer,

Pol.

I strike hands, and take your offer,

Sil.

Farther seeking you'll fare worse,

Pol.

Farther on I may fare worse,

Sil.

Pity such a lad, should suffer,

Pol.

Zooks, I can no longer suffer,

Sil.

Hungry guts, and empty purse.

Pol.

Hungry guts, and empty purse.

Fa la la

Exeunt, dancing, and singing the chorus.

SILENO's Farm-House.

Daphne and Nysa, discover'd running,—their spinning-wheels over turned.

Both.

Ha, ha, ha!

Daph.

But Nysa, how goes on squire Midas' courtship?

Nys.

Your sweet Damaetas, pimp to his great worship

Brought me from him a purse;—but the conditions—

—I've cur'd him, I believe, of such commissions.

Daph.

The moon-calf! this must blast him with my father.

Nys.

Right. So we'er rid of the two frights together.

AIR IX. If 'tis joy to wound a Lover.

If the swain we sigh for press us,

Oh how pleasing 'tis to please!

If the fright we loath address us

How delightful 'tis to teize.

RECITATIVE.

Daph.

Arch Monkey, hang me if I thought 'twas in you.

Well Ny—work you your Squire—as for my Ninny—

If he shan't curse—then call me driv'ling Gipsey—

The hour that first on Daph he cast a sheep's eye.

AIR X. Mirleton.

If I cannot plague the lubber,

Now I have him in my crib,

If, when he begins to blubber,

I can't soothe or laugh, or fib,

Doom'd for life, I may be,

To play with my baby,

And to wear a slabb'ring bib.

Both.

Ha! ha! ha!—Ha! ha! ha!

Mysis enters hastily.

RECITATIVE,

Mys.

Hey-day! what mare's nest's found?—For ever grinning:

Ye rantipoles—is't thus you mind your spinning.

AIR XI. Three Sheep-skins.

Girls are known

To mischief prone;

If ever they be idle,

Who would rear

Two daughters fair,

Must hold a steady bridle:

For here they skip,

And there they trip,

And this and that way sidle.

For here they skip, &c.

Giddy Maids,

Poor silly jades,

All after men are gadding;

They flirt Pall mall,

Their train to swell,

To coxcomb, coxcomb adding

To ev'ry fop

They're Cock-a-hoop,

And set their mother's madding.

To ev'ry fop, &c.

Enter Sileno introducing Pol.

RECITATIVE.

Sil.

Now, dame, and girls, no more let's hear you grumble

At too hard toil:—I chanc'd, just now, to stumble,

On this stout drudge,—and hir'd him—fit for labour.

To'm lad—then he can play and sing and caper.

Mys.

He shall not stay—unknown to me to hire him,

A lath!

Sil.

Nay there you're out,—no toil can tire him.

Mys. (putting Pol. from Daph.)

Gad's me! your distance, scare-crow! cursed civil!

Beggars once mounted, gallop to the devil.

Gaffer, (to Sil.) your blunders every hour surprize one:

This washy clout a drudge!—ah, thou'rt a wise one.

Fine rubbish to bring home, a strolling thrummer!

(to Pol.) What art thou good for? speak, thou ragged mummer.

Nys.

Mother, for shame—

Mys.

Peace, saucebox, or I'll maul you.

Pol.

Goody, my strength and parts you under value.

For his and your work, I am brisk and handy.

Daph.

A sad cheat else—

Mys.

What you, you jacka-dandy.

Pol. (aside)

Our Gammer, sure, has tipt her 〈◊〉 of stingo!

Am I Apollo, and must bear this lingo?

AIR XII. A tune in Queen Mab.

Pray goody, please to moderate the rancour of your tongue:

Why flash those sparks of fury from your eyes?

Remember, when the judgement's weak, the prejudice is strong.

A stranger why will you despise?

Ply me

Try me

Prove, e'er you deny me,

If you cast me

Off, you blast me

Never more to rise.

Pray, goody, please, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Mys.

Sirrah, this insolence deserves a drubbing.

Nys.

With what sweet temper he bears all her snubbing (aside)

Sil.

Oons, no more words—go boy, and get your dinner.

Exit Pol.

Fye, why so cross grain'd to a young beginner?

to Mys.

Nys.

So modest!

Daph.

So genteel!

Sil. (to Mys.)

Not pert, nor lumpish.

Mys.

Would he were hang'd!

Nys. and Daph.

La! mother, why so frumpish?

AIR XIII. To the tune of, Non, Non, volette n'est paint trompeuse.

Nys.

Mama, how can you be so ill-natured,

To the gentle handsome swain?

Daph.

To a lad, so limb'd, so feature'd,

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain,

Sure 'tis cruel &c.

Mys.

Girls, for you my fears perplex me

I'm alarm'd on your account:

Syl.

Wife, in vain you tieze and vex me,

I will rule depend upon't.

Nys.

Ah! ah!

Daph.

Mama!

Nys. and Daph.

Mama, how can you be so illnatur'd,

Ah, ah, to a lad so limb'd, so featured?

Nys. and Daph.

To the gentle, handsome swain

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain,

Nys. and Daph.

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain,

To the gentle, handsome swain.

Mys.

Girls, for you my fears perplex me,

I'm alarm'd on your accounts.

Sil.

Wife in vain you tieze and vex me

I will rule depend upon't.

Nys., Mys.

Mama

Psha! Pshaw!

Daph., Sil.

Papa

Ah! ah!

Daph., Sil., Nys.

Mama, how can yon be so ill-natured,

Psha, psha, you must not be so ill-natur'd;

Ah, ah, to a lad so limb'd, so featur'd,

Daph., Sil., Nys., Mys.

To the gentle, handsome swain,

He's a gentle, handsome swain,

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain,

T'is my pleasure to give pain.

Daph., Sil., Nys., Mys.

Sure 'tis cruel to give pain,

He's a gentle, handsome swain

To the gentle handsome swain.

To your odious, fav'rite swain.

Exeunt.

Squire Midas discovered in his parlour, smoaking his pipe, lolling in an easy chair. Damaetas waiting at a respectful distance.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Nysa, you say, refus'd the guineas British.

Dam.

Ah! please your worship—she is wond'rous skittish.

Out, pimp, said she,—take back to him who sent it, That trash—

Mid.

Death!—scorn'd!—the minx shall sore repent it.

Dam.

She scorns you—

Mid.

But when you told her what I meant to settle—

Dam.

She flounc'd, you'd swear her tongue was of bell-metal.

Mid.

I'll have her, cost what 'twill, odsbods—I'll force her—

Dam.

The halter—

Mid.

As for madam, I'll divorce her.—

Dam.

The bishop's court—lard help your paper noddle!

Did she not give the slip to young Sir Dawdle?

Her sitter Daphne too, a curse upon her,

Uses me worse, than Nisa does your honour.

Mid.

Some favour'd lout incog our bliss opposes,

Dam.

Ay, Pol, the hind, puts out of joint our noses.

AIR XIV. Fanny's fairer than a flower.

Wretched he, whose pain or pleasure

Hangs on faithless woman's mind;

Such the merchant's state, whose treasure

Swims the sport of tide and wind.

Female likings are unsteady

As the veering weather-cock.

Miss, for new addresses ready

Shifts her lover, like her smock.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

I've heard of that Pol's tricks,—of his sly tampering

To fling poor Pan, but I'll soon send him scampering.

An upstart!—rival me!—by George, I'll pheaze him.

Dam.

Sir, he bewitches every girl that sees him.

Mid.

'Sblood, I'll commit him—drive him to the gallows!

Where is old Pan?

Dam.

Tipling, Sir, at th' ale-house.

Mid.

Run, fetch him—we shall hit on some expedient—

To rout this Pol.

Dam.

I fly, (going returns) Sir, your obedient.

Exit.

RECIT. accompanied.

Mid.

What boots my being Squire

Justice of Peace, and Quorum?

Church-warden—knight o'th' shire,

And Custos Rotulorum?

If saucy little Nysa's heart rebellious,

My squireship slights, and hanckers after fellows?

AIR XV. To a French tune, A la Santé du Pere d'Oleron.

Shall a paltry clown, not fit to wipe my shoes

Dare my amours to cross?

Shall a peasant minx, when justice Midas wooes

Her nose up at him toss?

No, I'll kidnap—then possess her.

I'll sell her Pol a slave, get mundungus in exchange,

So glut to the height of pleasure,

My love and my revenge.

No, I'll kidnap, &c.

Exit.

SCENE An Alehouse.

Pan is discovered sitting at a table, with a tankard, pipes, and tobacco before him, his bagpipes lying by him.

AIR XVI. Sheelagh na Guig.

Pan.

Jupiter wenches and drinks,

He rules the roast in the sky,

Yet he's a fool if he thinks

That he's as happy as I.

Juno rates him

And grates him,

And leads his highness a weary life;

I have my lass

And my glass,

And strole a batchelor's merry life.

Let him fluster

And bluster,

Yet cringe to his harridan's furbella;

To my fair tulips

I glew lips,

And clink the cannikin here below.

Jupiter wenches, &c.

Enter DAMAETAS.

RECITATIVE.

Dam.

There sits the old soaker—his pate troubling little

How the world wags—so he gets drink and vittle:

Hoa, master Pan!—Gad you've trod on a thistle!

You may pack up your all, sir, and go whistle.

The wenches have turn'd tail—to yon buck-ranter,

Tickled by his guittar—they scorn your chanter.

AIR XVII. Tune in Pant. of Fortunatus

All around the maypole how they trot,

Hot

Pot,

And good ale have got;

Routing,

Shouting,

At you flouting.

Fleering,

Jeering,

And what not:

All around the maypole, &c.

There is old Sileno frisks like a mad

Lad,

Glad

To see us sad,

Cap'ring,

Vap'ring,

While Pol, scraping,

Coaxes

The doxies

As he did the dad.

All around the maypole, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Pan.

O blood, and guts! What, dare the tinkler scurvy

Intrude, to turn my wenches topsy turvy?

A fop! chouse me out of my choice trol-lops,

I'll smash his trim guittar—about his chaps.

AIR XVIII. My wife's a galloping, &c.

Shall he run away with the lasses

By his trills, and his slurs, and his graces,

From me who at fairs, and horse-races,

Have pip'd to the laird of the clan.

A fribble!—If I can but catch him

I'll pummel—I'll pinch, and I'll scratch him,

I warrant I'll make him not match him

Self as a musician with Pan.

RECITATIVE.

Dam.

Keep yourself cool, good master Pan—this courage

Is thrown away—Pol's a mere chip in Porridge;

Softly and fair—

Pan.

You're right;—our Squire, when mellow,

'Tis he shall do't—he's a rough, hect'ring fellow.

Dam.

Why he sent me for you—He, with kicks o'th' crupper,

Will make Pol dance—He'll gi'n salt eel to's supper.

Pan.

Step you before—I'll but just pay my reck'ning

And in a crack attend his worship's beck'ning.

Exit Dam.

He throws some pieces on the table, and departing is met by

MYSIS, entering hastily.

Mys.

O Pan! the devil to pay—both my sluts frantic!

Both in their tantrums, for yon cap'ring antick.

Rivals forsooth!

Pan.

What, for a straggling goatherd!

Mys

For this fine piece of work—thanks to my dotard.

AIR XIX. Sheelagh na Guiragh.

Sure I shall run with vexation distracted,

To see my purposes thus counter-acted!

This way, or that way, or which way soever,

All things run contrary to my endeavour.

Daughters projecting

Their ruin and shame,

Fathers neglecting

The care of their fame,

Nursing in bosom a treacherous viper;

Here's a fine dance—but 'tis he pays the piper:.

RECITATIVE.

But I'll go seek 'em all—and if I find 'em,

I'll drive 'em—as if Old Nick were behind 'em.

Going

Pan.

Soa, soa,—don't flounce;

Avast—disguise your fury.

Pol we shall trounce.

Midas is judge and jury.

AIR XX. Tune, Planxty Johnston.

When at your foe

A mortal blow

You aim,

Your scheme

Let him not know.

To gain your end

You must pretend,

Sincerely

And dearly,

To be his friend,

'Till be cease of your love to be doubtful.

Your game to play,

The sailors say

Look one, but row another way.

The dean, to fish up

Lawn sleeves, and be bishop

Says no, to the mitre that would fill his wish up▪

And pussey

Can counterfeit sleeping,

When mousey

Steals tip-a-toe creeping;

Then winking,

And blinking,

She catches,

Dispatches,

And swallows him up at a mouthful.

RECITATIVE.

Mys.

Out on't, I'll act above-board—I'll ne'er flatter,

Not I—I scorn it—tell me no such matter.

My gossips all would loll their tongues,

To see me with my vengeance trifle.

Pan.

Ay, but to pay him home those wrongs,

Your transports you must stifle.

Mys.

Srifle!—dye first! shall Mysis stoop to crawling!

No—by my will—these hands should stretch him sprawling.

Pan.

You do but put him on his guard by bawling

AIR. XXI. Duett. Gavott in Overt. Otho.

This rash frenzy

Foils, not mends you.

How you splutter!

Check this clutter:

Hust—don't utter

Threats, or mutter.

If he trips,

Success attend ye

Fair words butter

No parsnips.

Mys.

Grov'ling spirit!

I can't bear it.

Can a mother,

Without pother

Her rage smother

When girls both are

By his wiles

Debauch'd, or near it▪

Can she cloath her

Face with smiles.

Pan.

Spite loquacious

Makes foes cautious.

Mys.

Mean submission

Meets derision.

Pan.

Beldam froward!

Mys.

Sneaking coward!

Pan

In surprize

The triumph lies.

Mys.

I despise

Such low disguise.

Ribornello.

Together.

Nay let's trick him,

Sooth, then hick him.

Wait,

Wait,

Wait, nor mutter.

Ruin utter

Smooth, but pat

Unaware shall stick him,

And i'th' the gutter

Lay him flat.

Zooks I'll twinge him,

I'll unhinge him.

Tumult, splutter,

Coil, and clutter.

Wait,

Nor mutter.

Strait, vile brat

Shall crush, shall swinge him.

And i'th' gutter

Lay him flat.

Dance of Satyrs, Fauns, and Dryads.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

An old grove, in the midst, the old oracular oak by it self, its boughs decorated with votive wreaths. Enter Sileno alone, a garland in his hand. He seems struck with religious horror at the gloomy solitude. During the symphony he advances timorously, and hangs his garland on a branch:

RECIT. accompanied.

Sil.

Hail, mystic oak!—zooks what a taking

Am I now in!—oh, how I shiver!

I'm in an ague—ha! the very shaking

Of the leaves, throws me all over int'a quaking,—

My wife! I'll ne'er forgive her—

I'm wet as in a river—

Ah! ha! there—what was't gave me a twitch?

It must have been a witch,

Or something diabolic.

Oh, 'tis a foolish frolic.

(Thunder and lightning—Sileno retires trembling to a corner of the stage, and there falls on his knees with hands uplifted.)

Duett. AIR I. To its own tune.

Sil.

Wond'rous timber, who can'st hear,

All our questions without ear.

Ora.

Without ear.

Sil.

And make answer without tongue.

Ora.

Without tongue.

Sil.

Yet known never to be wrong.

Ora.

Yet known never to be wrong.

Sil.

Now awful silence break,

And to the purpose speak.

Ora.

Speak.

Sil.

Is my dame mov'd by the devil

That she can't to Pol be civil?

Ora.

To Pol be civil.

Sil.

Say, what means the shrewish fripp'ry

Dinn'ng still that girls are slipp'ry?

Ora.

Girls are slipp'ry.

Sil.

Dupes shall we all by Pol be made.

Ora.

All by Pol be made.

Sil.

If I don't discard the lad.

Ora.

Don't discard the lad.

AIR II. Newmarket.

Sil.

Oh fye, wooden Oracle, fye for shame

To let me go back as wife as I came.

Exit.

SCENE. A Wood. A wood, and lawn near Sileno's farm, flocks grazing at a distance,—a tender slow symphony. Enter Daphne, walks about melancholic and silent; at length lays herself down on a bank absorbed in meditation. Nysa watching her.

RECITATIVE.

Nysa.

O ho'! is it so—Miss Daphne in the dumps,

Mum—snugs the word—I'll lead her such a dance

Shall make her stir her stumps.

To all her secret haunts,

Like her shadow, I'll follow and watch her:

And, faith, mamma shall hear on't if I catch her.

AIR III. From tree to tree.

To blast a rival's happiness

We ev'ry art employ:

And scarcely can our own success,

Convey a purer joy.

A kind of victory we feel,

If she no triumph gain

Deny'd a real bliss, we steal

False pleasure from her pain.

RECIT. partly accompanied.

(Daphne rises, and comes forward musing)

Daph.

La! how my heart goes pit-a-pat what thumping

E'er since my father brought us home this bumpkin.

Heigho!—heigho!—yet why

Mope thus and sigh?

Has not the fellow eyes as well as I?

Gad's heart o' grace I'll pluck up;

Throw myself in his way and pump him,

Appear less starch'd and stuck up.

Then let him guess my meaning by my mumping.

AIR IV. To a French tune, Quand on Scait aimer et plair.

He's as tight a lad to see to,

As e'er stept in leather shoe

And, what's better, he'll love me too,

And to him I'll prove true blue.

Tho' my sister casts a Hawk's eye

I defy what she can do.

He o'er looked the little Doxy,

I'm the girl he means to woo.

He's as tight, &c.

Hither I stole out to meet him,

He'll, no doubt, my steps pursue,

If the youth prove true, I'll fit him;

If he's false,—I'll fit him too.

If he's false, &c.

He's as tight, &c.

(End with the first strain.)

RECITATIVE.

Enter Pol.

Pol.

Think o' the devil—'tis said,

He's at your shoulder—

This wench was running in my head,

And pop—behold her.

Such fair occasions are not met with often,

What if I touch the tender vein,

And whine some melting, plaintive strain

Her heart to soften.

(kneels to her) AIR V. When on the dear bosom lying.

Lovely nymph asswage my anguish;

At your feet a tender swain

Prays you will not let him languish,

One kind look would ease his pain.

Did you know the lad who courts you

He not long needs sue in vain;

Prince of song, of dance of sports—you

Scarce will meet his like again.

Did you know, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Daph.

Sir; you're such an oglio,

Of perfection in folio,

No damsel can resist you:

Your face so attractive,

Limbs so supple and active,

That by this light,

At the first sight,

I could have run and kiss'd you.

AIR VI. The priest in his boots.

If you can caper, as well as you modulate,

With the addition of that pretty face,

Pan, who was held by our shepherds a God o' late;

Will be kick'd out, and you set in his place.

His beard so frowsy, his gestures so awkward are

And his bag-pipe has so drowsy a drone,

That if they find you, as I did, no backwarder,

You may count an all the girls as your own.

RECITATIVE.

Pol.

I ask but you—and yours I'll be for ever.

Daph.

How can I trust?

Pol.

You may, you must.

Daph.

Vows are brittle,

You'll prove fickle.

Pol.

I'll die first.

Daph.

That's clever.

Pol.

D' you think I'll range:

Against all change,

Your charms are my heart's armour.

Mys. (from within)

Pol, Pol, make haste, come hither.

Pol.

Death, what a time to call,

Oh! not your old lungs of leather.

B'ye Daph.

Daph.

B'ye Pol.

Pol.

My charmer.

AIR VII. An Italian tune of Pescetti.

Neatest,

Compleatest

And sweetest

Dear Fubsy.

This is

A crisis,

When Mysis

Cross snubs I

Could brave and stay;

Yet your

Food nature

Kind creature,

Her malice

Guessing,

Our blessing.

Suppressing

Might gaul us,

Therefore away.

(During the symphony, they take a tender leave and part) Exit. Pol.

Nysa bursts from her lurking place.

RECITATIVE.

Nys.

Marry come up, forsooth,

I'st me, you forward vixen,

You choose to play your tricks on?

And could your liquorish tooth

Find none but my sweetheart to fix on?

Daph.

Marry come up a gain.

Indeed! my dirty cousin!

Have you a right to every swain?

Nys.

Ay, tho' a dozen.

AIR VIII. Bobbing Joan. DUETTO.

I.

Daph.

My minikin miss,—do you fancy that Pol

Can ever be caught by an infant's dol?

Nys.

Can you, miss Maypole, suppose he will fall

In love with the gyantess of Guild-hall?

Daph.

Pigmy elf

Nys.

Colossus itself.

Both.

You will lie 'till your mouldy upon the shelf.

Pigmy elf, &c.

II.

Daph.

You stump o'th' gutter, you hop o' my thumb,

A husband for you must from Lilliput come,

Nys.

You stalking steeple, you gawky stag,

Your husband must come from Brobdignag.

Daph.

Sour grapes,

Nys.

Lead Apes,

Both.

I'll humble your vanity mistress Trapes.

III.

Daph.

Miss your assurance

Nys.

And miss, your high airs

Daph.

Is past all indurance

Nys.

Are at their last pray'rs.

Daph.

No more of those freedoms miss Nysa, I beg,

Nys.

Miss Daphne's, conceit must be lower'd a peg.

Daph., Nys.

Poor spite!

Pride hurt!

Daph., Nys.

Liver white!

Rare sport!

Daph., Nys.

Do, shew your teeth, spitfire, do, but you can't bite.

This haughtiness soon will he laid in the dirt,

Poor spite! &c.

Pride hurt, &c.

Exit, Daph.

RECIT. accompanied.

Nys.

Good lack! what is come o'er me?

I'm all bewitched, untwisted.

Ah! Cupid, thou'rt a wizard

Thy spells are not to be resisted.

Alas, Daphne, has step'd before me!

Envy and love, devour me.

Pol, doats upon her phiz hard

'Tis that, 'tis that sticks in my gizzard.

Midas appears now twenty times more hideous

Ah, Nysa, what resource?—a cloyster.

Death alive—yet thither must I run,

And turn nun.

Lest hurried by love prodigious

Or lur'd by hope insidious,

I be by Pol undone,

As you'd undo an oyster.

AIR IX. A French. tune, Assis sur l'Herbertte.

In those greasy old tatters

His charms brighter shine;

Then his guittar he clatters

With tinkling divine:

But, my sister;

Ah! he kist her,

And me he pass'd by;

I'm jealous

Of the fellow's

Bad taste and blind eye.

I'm jealous, &c.

Going out, is met by MIDAS, entering.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Turn, tygress, turn; nay fly not—

I have thee at a why not.

How comes it, little Nysa,

That heart to me so icy

Should be to Pol like tinder

Burnt up t'a very cinder?

Nys.

Sir, to my virtue ever steady,

Firm as a rock

I scorn your shock,

But why this attack?

A mistress can you lack

Who have a wife already?

Mid.

Ay there's the curse—but she is old and sickly;

And would my Nysa grant the favour quickly,

Would she yield now—I swear by the Old Harry

The moment madam's coffin'd—Her I'll marry.

AIR X. The Lottery.

O what pleasures will abound

When my wife is laid in ground

Oh what pleasures, &c.—

Let earth cover her

We'll dance over her

When my wife's laid in the ground.

Let earth, &c.

Oh how happy should I be

Would little Nysa pig with me.

Oh how happy, &c.

How I'd mumble her,

Touze and tumble her

Would little Nysa pig with me.

How I'd mumble, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Nysa.

Young birds alone are caught with chaff,

But think not, squire, this farce on

Me e're shall pass;

At your base scheme I laugh,

E'er I fall to, the grace

Shall be pronounced by the parson.

Mid.

Yet take my vows.—

Nys.

I would not take your bond, sir,—

Mid.

Half my estate—

Nys.

No, nor the whole,—my fond sir.

AIR XI. A Pantomime Tune.

Ne'er will I be left i'th' lurch,

Cease your bribes and wooing:

'Till I'm made a bride i'th' church

I'll keep man from doing.

What are riches

And soft speeches?

Baits and fetches,

To bewitch us:

When you've won us

And undone us,

Cloy'd you shun us

Frowning on us

For our easy cooing.

Can your palace, plate or coach,

Can your diamonds glitt'ring

Bridle the tongue of foul reproach?

Gibers will be titt'ring.

Then poor stumbler,

How't must humble her

(If a sumbler

She lets mumble her)

When, in her hearing,

Whisp'ring, sneering,

Chatt'ring, swearing,

Hissing, tearing,

Gall'ry, box and pitt ring.

Exit

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Well, master Pol I'll tickle,

For him, at least, I have a rod in pickle:

When he's in limbo

Not thus our hoity toity miss

Will stick her arms a kimbo.

AIR XII. Lary Grogan.

If into your hen yard

The treacherous Reynard

Steals slily, your poultry to ravage, to ravage.

With gun you attack him,

With beagles you track him,

All's fair to destroy the fell savage, fell savage.

So Pol, who comes picking

Up my tender chicken

No means do I scruple to banish, to banish.

With pow'r I'll o'erbear him,

With fraud I'll ensnare him

By hook, or by crook he shall vanish, shall vanish.

Going out, he is met by PAN.

RECITATIVE.

Pan.

So squire, well met.—I flew to know your business.

Mid.

Why, Pan, this Pol we must bring down on his knees.

Pan.

That were a feat indeed!—a feat to brag on.

Mid.

Let's home—we'll there concert it o'er 〈◊〉 flagon.

I'll make him skip—

Pan.

As St. George did the dragon.

AIR XIII. Tune in Fortunatus.

Mid.

Strip him,

Whip him.

Let his shoulder feel your lash on't.

Clip him,

Rip him,

Folly now to he compassionate.

If such a little dapper,

Pert, saucy whippersnapper,

Sileno's understrapper,

Slily

Simp'ring,

Whimp'ring,

Of your dear Nysa beguile ye—

Sniv'ling,

Driv'ling,

Will but disgrace and defile ye•

Vigour,

Rigour,

Hurry,

Flurry,

Are the measures fittest for ye.

My plots private

You'll connive at;

Thus we gain the point we drive at

Or by covert

Practices, or ouvert.

Exeunt.

SCENE a Room in SILENO'S House. Daphne discovered at work.

Enter DAMAETAS, who sees her not.

RECIT. accompanied.

Dam.

Heigho! my very heart will burst asunder,

What star malign was I born under!

A muckworm herd

To me preferr'd,

O blood and thunder!

[Sees Daph.]

Ha, Daph, alone!—To silence

I'm aw'd—The Devil's in it.

Have at her—Here goes—.

Should she consent—who knows,

This may be the critical minute;

For ever lost a while hence!

Egad, I'm all agog on't.

Seize Time by the forelock,

E'en make a hog, or a dog on't;

The bolder push, the more luck.

RECITATIVE.

Daph.

Who sent for you, you hoddy doddy?

Dam. (aside)

There, now, how cross!— (to her)

Nobody.

I came o'myself, as usual,

The question to pop.

Daph.

Get you gone, you milk-sop;

What, after my refusal!

Dam.

Ah Daphne, you stop the breath o' me;

Hussey, you'll be the death o' me.

Ah, why, dear girl, why take up with that beggar,

And use your own Damaetas like a neger?

AIR XIV. Tune, Nanny of the Hill,

Since first those eyes enslav'd my heart

In size I'm wasted half—

My looks betray my inward smart,

Ah cruel, cruel Daph.

Ah cruel! ah cruel! ah cruel, cruel Daph.

Inhuman maid, my sighs you scout,

My tears but make you laugh,

Yet at first sight, an upstart lout

Has nabb'd my fickle Daph.

Ah fickle! ah fickle! ah fickle, fickle Daph.

How can you on my courtship frown,

My wealth despise as chaff,

Yet suffer such a clumsy clown

To win and tickle Daph.

To win and tickle, to win and tickle Daph.

RECITATIVE.

Daph.

You purse-proud bag of lies,

Who gave you leave my actions

Thus saucily to scrutinize

And load with base detractions?

Farther a field I weet you

Quick, bundle up your packet,

For fear this beggar meet you

And thrash your jacket.

AIR XV. A French tune. Tourteulle.

Yes; your wealth I hold at nought,

Daphne's heart shall ne'er be bought;

Ne'er to church haste

Basely purchas'd

By a rich ninny;

Who, to keep her chaste,

Would lock her up like his guinea.

In your pain my pleasure is,

Jealous dolt, I hate your phiz,

Hissing gander

My Philander

Scorns your aspersion;

Pitiful slander

Renders you more my aversion.

Exit.

RECITATIVE.

Dam. (whistles)

Hey toss! Sh'as paid me soundly!

A swinging rap o'th' knuckles.

Well, to these honeysuckles

He's a meer oaf who truckles.

For miss the more he buckles

To, and will on ground lye,

The more curvetts and chuckles.

AIR XVI. Farewel the Hills and Vallies.

By whining

Pining

Sighing

Coquetts are never won,

But, fright 'em

Spite 'em

Slight 'em

Into your arm's they run.

A coward,

How hard

Toward

His foe it is to push!

Restrain him

Rein him

Train him,

He's mad on death to rush.

Exit.

SCENE Sileno's Garden.

Enter Sileno and Mysis.

RECITATIVE.

Sil.

Why—is the devil in you Gammer.

Have I no refuge from your clamour?

Mys.

Was ever wife so basely treated?

So cross'd, so gaul'd, so fretted!

O Gods! I shall run crazy

Mad, mad!

Sil.

No March-hare madder,

Do, lambkin give it vent,—'twill ease you;

And make your heart the gladder.

AIR XVII. When that I was a little tiny Boy.

When gathering clouds obscure the sky

With a crish, crash,

Flish and flash,

The thunders rowl, and the lightnings fly;

Then rain—and all is lullaby.

So when a vixen's passions swell

Tongue all ire,

Eyes on fire,

Bosom rent by fiends of hell,

At length tears stream—and all is well.

RECITATIVE.

Mys.

Well!—I'll be even with that spark yet.

Of fish a dainty kettle

You have drest—you numscul beetle;

You've brought your hogs to a fair market.

Sil.

Why!—I'm all i'th' dark yet.

Mys.

Know then thou peerless blockhead,

Your scoundrel, would he were choaked,

With his quips, and his quillets

And running his rigs

With both your daughters has intrigues

Nay here, read but these billets—

Sil.

Psha! put them in your pocket

Did not the sacred oak,

Mys.

I mock it—

Sil.

Swear to me, on his conscience

That by Pol's means—

Mys.

His means!—what nonsense!—

But I've a plot shall make you rue,

And keep the house too hot for you;

Don't be surpriz'd, if on the sudden,

Your minion give the crow a pudding

Soon mounted in the air, if

You chance to see the cudden

A caper cut before the sheriff.

AIR XVIII. To an Italian Opera tune.

The wolf that slaughter'd finds her whelps,

With bowlings fills the forest,

Their murtherer tracks with shrillest yelps,

All food neglecting or rest.

So my revenge shall Pol pursue,

I'll closely watch his waters;

'Tll at the gallows tree he rue

The wrongs he did my daughters.

Exit.

Enter (to Sil.) Pol.

Sil.

Gad's bud, I dread her vengeance

An angry woman to destroy

What she hates, would employ

The devil, and all his emgines.

sees Pol.

Pol, here's a storm a brewing.

Old Pan, and our Mysis

Are hatching devices

To perpetrate your ruin.

Pol.

Alas, what have I done—poor stranger!

Won't you protect me, sir, from danger?

Sil.

Tut, they shall find I ken 'em,

And on themselves can turn their venom,

Exit.

Pol.

Poor fools! how weak, how shallow

Are all your plots against Apollo.

These clowns I pity—but my spleen 'twill pamper

Midas and Pan to hamper,

Their projects to quash

And their pride to abash,

When all my rays burst on them with one flash.

How I shall laugh, when huddled in a clu•ter,

They stare, gaping like stuck pigs at my lustre.

AIR XIX. When Faries dance round on the grass.

When fairies dance round on the grass

And revel to night's awful noon,

Each elf with his tight little lass

Trips to the pale light of the moon,

If't chance that the grey dawn of day

Peep in on their frolicks too soon,

In fright they all scuttle away,

And follow the glimpse of the moon.

(As he is going off, enter Daphne on one side, Nysa on the other, both run to him.)

RECITATIVE.

Daph.

O Pol! the fat's all in the fire!

Nys.

Such banging

In store for us.

Daph.

For you no less than hanging.

Pol.

The devil there is!—what means this sad haranguing?

Daph.

Fly, false deluder.

Nys.

Quick, take leg, deceitful—

Pol.

Take leg, and quit my girls! that were ungrateful.

AIR XX. To it's own tune.

My heart so o'er flow'th,

With love for you both,

That it cannot find room for fear,

Not the halter

Can alter

The passion that's rooted here.

Daphne and Nysa together.

Daph.

I scorn and detest

Double love in one breast

Nys.

Such love is a jest

In vain you protest.

Daph.

Such a love is not worth my care

Nys.

For your vows are false as air.

Daph.

Ay go dangle

I could mangle.

Nys., Pol.

Oh how I burn!

Yes, to tyburn,

Don't suspect me,

Or reject me.

Daph.

What heart without shedding a tear,

Nys., Pol.

I'd escort you with pleasure my dear,

What gallows so bad as despair.

Why won't you believe me,

Daph.

You want to deceive me.

Nys.

Your falshood shall ne'er again grieve me.

Pol.

Take my word, and my oath,

Daph.

You fool us

Cajole us,

Nys.

We'll shew you

We know you

Pol.

Believe me

That at night I will satisfy both.

That at night I will satisfy both.

Daph., Nys.

How, will you at night satisfy both?

No, you never can satisfy both.

Exeunt severally.

Dance of Nymphs and Swains.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

During the symphony, Mercury descends, and walks to and fro, tolling a bell, at intervals, as a public cryer; at the close, in broken air, he publishes the following advertisements.

AIR I.

Merc.

O yes, O yes, O yes, this is to give notice.

Lost, or mislaid

Or stol'n, or stray'd,

From the regions over head,

Or reel'd down to earth, when maudlin,

A finical

Coxcombical

Pert, smock-fac'd, young godling;

He deals

In spells,

And fortunes tells,

Goes snacks

With quacks,

And trades

With jades,

Prying

Spying,

Pratt'ling

Tatt'ling

Up stairs, down stairs ratt'ling.

His carotty locks

As red as a fox;

As a switch tall and thin

Ne'er a rag to his skin,

And answers to the name of Apollo.

Enter Pol.

RECITATIVE.

Pol.

Hush ribald cur, this bawling

Unless you wish a mawling!

Heaven's, what a sink of slander your foul throat is!

Mer.

Oh are you there, master Apollo?

My elbow itch'd; I guess'd at what would follow.

Pol.

Sirrah, you are a rogue beneath my notice.

AIR II. Kiss me fast my mother's coming.

Fine times, when each little

Pimping, upstart court lick-spittle

Worth disgrac'd dares hack and whittle

Shafts of malice throwing.

See the game cock's crest with mud upon't;

Strait the dunghill breed grows proud upon't,

Each bare beak

It's spleen will wreak,

All clapping wings, and crowing.

RECITATIVE.

Mer.

Come come, let's buss, and friends.

Pol.

Not 'till I curry your mungril hide.

Merc.

Poo, let's shake hands, my hurry

Barr'd compliments.—Pray, pray, 'twas joke—I'm sorry.

Jove's in a raging fume, a pelting chafe!

Oh! 'tis such fun, would make even Pluto laugh!

Pol.

Do, let me know't.—I long, for his late kindness

To have him on the hip.

Merc.

Hark then.—His highness,

Safe as he thought himself from your inquires,

Sruck up an assignation with Miss Iris:

Juno o'er heard it all—

Pol.

—So had them track'd,

I do suppose, and caught them in the fact.

Merc.

Ah, madam's an old hand:—she better judging,

Lock'd Iris up, and slipt into her lodging;

Lay snug—far'd well—ne'er cried, roast meat, but chuckled,

While old Twangdillo dub'd himself a cuckold.

AIR III. Nancy Dawson.

The Gods were all call'd in to see

How fond a husband Jove could be:

He strom'd; she laughed, yet, rouguishly

Pretended to conceal it.

His fury rose to such a pitch,

He call'd her lewd, case-harden'd witch,

Swore, to his girls he'd stick like pitch,

And wench in open day-light.

RECITATIVE.

Pol.

Oh I shall burst!—a pious resolution!

Means he to put it strait in execution?

Merc.

Now, now; your pardon's sign'd; on double wages

You're to light up, and run, your usual stages:

So mount your box, old geeho, I advise you

Resume your task diurnal,

He threatens t' advertise you

In every weekly Journal.

Pol.

Well, I've a wench, or two—you understand me—

And a drole counter plot some knaves to catch,

Which in a trice, I will dispatch,

And then he may command me.

AIR IV. DUETTO.

Pol.

A monarch may huff,

A senate may rage

In edicts too bluff,

In speeches so sage!

The minister glib

While he gives himself

Thinks how he may crib

For his private affairs.

Merc.

These fatal mistakes

Call aloud for redress;

Consider few rakes

Would their own ribs caress.

A wife in the dark

Only squanders her charms,

Who, 'stead of her spark,

Finds her spouse in her arms.

Pol.

But I'll display

And soon set to rights

In open day

Such unfair bites.

Cuckolds then will know their friends,

And, in like coin may make amends.

Merc.

When our great sir, shall

Once fix the mode,

Horns universal

Will spread abroad,

And cuckoo that word of fear,

Familiar grow to marry'd ear.

Pol and Mercury together.

Pol.

But I'll display

Merc.

When our great sir

Pol.

And soon set to rights

Merc.

Shall once fix the mode

Pol.

In open day

Merc.

Horns univer-

Pol.

Such unfair bites

Mer.

-Sal will spread abroad

Pol.

Cuckolds then will know their friends

Merc.

And cuckoo that word of fear,

Pol.

And, in like coin may make amends

Merc.

Familiar grow, to marry'd ear.

Mercury re-ascends, and Pol Exit.

SCENE Midas's Parlour. Midas, Mysis, and Pan, discovered in consultation over a large bowl of punch, pipes and tobacco.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Come, Pan, your toast.—

Pan.

Here goes, our noble Umpire,

Mys.

And Pol's defeat—I'll pledge it in a bumper.

Mid.

Hang him, in every scheme that whelp has cross'd us.

Mys.

Sure he's the devil himself

Pan.

Or doctor Faustus.

Mys.

Ah! Squire—for Pan wou'd you but stoutly stickle,

This Pol would soon be in a wretched pickle.

Pan.

You reason right—

Mid.

His toby I shall tickle

Mys.

Look, Squire, I've sold my butter, here it's price is

At your command, do but this jobb for Mysis.

Count 'em.—Six guineas and an old jacobus

Keep Pan, and shame that scape-grace coram no•us.

AIR V. Baaltiorough.

Mark what I say you'll repent if

Conscience's qualms you attend to;

You a great shire's representative

And not one job for a friend do?

Rouze up, nor thus your grave noddle shake,

〈◊〉 off this tatterdemallion,

We'll stick to Pan, his party take,

For Pol's a paltry rascallion.

RECITATIVE.

Pan. (aside)

The justice in quandary!—Gad, we have him.—

Gammer, Pol's pipe is out; brandy can't save him.

Mid.

Goody, as 'tis your request,

I pocket this here stuff,

And, as for that there peasant,

Trust me, I'll work his buff.

At the musical struggle

I'll bully and juggle,

My award's

Your sure card,

Blood, he shall fly his country—that's enough.

AIR VI. To its own Tune.

If in the courts your suit depend,

Or a cause you'd fain do hurt in,

Be sure you make the judge your friend

By a tip behind the curtain.

Then decree goes

Plump against your foes,

Tho' before it seem'd uncertain.

RECITATIVE.

Pan.

Well said, my lad of wax—since you're so mettled

I'll have one tryal with this fop—that's settled.

A word i' your ear—You'll find it no hard matter,

When she'as lost Pol, to nab our crony's daughter.

AIR VII. Ligurum Cuss.

As soon as her doating piece fairly is sped,

Do you make your push, and a stout one:

For now she has got a sweetheart in her head,

She'll never be easy without one;

Rever'd by the shepherds, caress'd by the nymphs,

No dread or remorse shall come o'er us,

At sessions, in spite of the law and its imps,

We'll kick the whole country before us.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Ha! ha! sit down, and make an end o'th' tankard,

I have no head for business till I've drank hard.

Pan.

Nor have my brains guts in them till they're addle,

When I'm most rocky I best sit my saddle.

Mys.

I always chuck a priming at the tap, or

A cogue of Nantzy, just to oil my clapper.

Mid.

Well come, let's take one bouze, and roar a catch,

Then part to our affairs.—

Pan.

A match.

Mys.

A catch.

AIR VIII. A Catch. Cold and Raw.

Mid.

Master Pol

And his toll-de roll-loll,

I'll buffet away from our plain, sir;

Pan.

And I'll assist

Your worship's fist

With all my might and main, sir;

Mys.

And I'll have a thump,

Tho' he is so plump,

And makes such a woundy racket.

Mid.

I'll bluff,

Pan.

I'll rough,

Mys.

I'll huff,

Mid.

I'll cuff,

Omn.

And I warrant we pepper his jackett.

Cho.

I'll bluff, &c.

Mid.

For all his cheats

And wenching feats

He shall rue on his knees 'em,

Or skip, by goles,

As high as Paul's,

Like ugly witch en besom;

Arraign'd he shall be

Of treason to me!

Pan.

And I with my davy will back it;

I'll swear,

Mid.

I'll snare,

Mys.

I'll tear.

Omn.

O rare!

And I'll warrant we pepper his jacket.

Chor. I'll swear, I'll snare, &c.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE Discovers Sileno and Damaetas in warm argument, on the lawn before Midas's house.

RECITATIVE.

Sil.

My Daphne a wife for thee! the squire's base Pandar!

To the plantations sooner would I send her.

Dam.

Sir, your good wife approv'd my offers.

Sil.

Name her not, Hag of Endor,

What knew she of thee but by thy coffers?

Dam.

And shall this ditch-born whelp, this jackanapes.

By dint of congees and scrapes—

Sil.

These are thy slanders and that canker'd hag's.—

Dam.

A thing made up of pilfer'd rags—

Sil.

Richer than thou with all thy brags

Of flocks, and herds, and money bags.

AIR X. DUETTO.

If a rival thy character draw

In perfection he'll find cut flaw,

With black he will paint

Make a devil of a saint

And change to an Owl a Maccaw.

Dam.

Can a father pretend to be wise

Who his friend's good advice will despise?

Who, when danger is nigh,

Throws his spectacles by

And blinks thro' a green girl's eyes?

Sil.

Your an impudent pimp and a grub,

Dam.

You are fool'd by a beggarly scrub;

Your betters you snub.

Sil.

Who will lend me a club,

This insolent fellow to drub?

Your an impudent pimp and a grub,

Dam.

Your cajol'd by a beggarly scrub

Sil.

Who will rot in a powdering tub,

Dam.

Whom the prince of impostor's I dub;

Sil.

A guinea for a club,

Dam.

Your bald pate you'll rub

Sil.

This muckworm to drub

Dam.

When you find that your cub

Sil.

Rub off, sirrah, rub, sirrah, rub.

Dam.

Is debauch'd by a whip'd syllabub.

Enter Mysis attended by Dapne and Nysa.

RECITATIVE.

Mys.

Soh!—you attend the tryal,—we shall drive hence

Your vagabond—

Sil.

I smoke your foul contrivance

Daph.

Ah Ny, our fate depends upon this issue—

Nys Daph.

—for your sake, my claim I here forgo.

And with your Pol, much joy I wish you.

Daph.

O, gemini, say'st thou me so?

Dear creature let me kiss you.

Nys.

Let's kneel, and beg his stay, papa will back us.

Daph.

Mama will storm,

Nys.

What then, she can but whack us.

AIR XI. Quintetto. Viens que I'Examine-a-

Daph.

Mother, sure you never

Will endeavour

To dissever

From my favour

So sweet a swain,

None so clever

E'er trod the plain.

Nys.

Father, hopes you gave her,

Don't deceive her;

Can you leave her

Sunk for ever

In pining care,

Haste and save her

From black despair.

Daph.

Think of his charming grace

His voice, shape, and face;

Nys.

Hearts alarming;

Daph.

Bosoms warming

With his soft lay:

Nys.

He's so charming

Ah, let him stay.

Both.

He's so charming, &c.

Mys.

Sluts, are you lost to shame?

Sil.

Wife, wife, be more tame.

Mys.

This is madness!

Sil.

Sober sadness!

Mys.

I with gladness

Cou'd see him swing,

For his badness,

Sil.

'Tis no such thing.

Dam.

Must Pan resign, to this fop, his employment?

Must, I, to him, yield of Daph. the enjoyment?

Mys.

Ne'er while a tongue I brandish,

Fop outlandish,

Daph.

shall blandish.

Dam.

Will you reject my income

Herds and clinkum.

Sil.

Rot and sink 'em

Dam.

Midas must judge

Mys.

And Pol must fly

Sil.

Zounds, Pol shan't budge,

Mys.

You lye

Dam.

You lye

Mys., Dam., Sil.

You lye, you lye.

Nys.

Pan's drone is fit for wild rocks and bleak mountains

Daph.

Pol's lyre suits best our cool groves and clear fountains.

Nys.

Pol is young and merry

Daph.

Light and airy

Sil.

As a fairy

Nys.

Pan is old and rusty

Daph.

Stiff and fusty

Sil.

Sowre and musty

Daph.

Can you banish Pol?

Nys.

No, no, no, no.

Let Pan fall

Daph.

Ay, let him go.

Nys., Daph., Sil.

Ay, let him go.

Mys.

Must Pan resign, to this fop, his employment?

Nys.

Pan 's drone is fit for wild rocks and bleak mountains

Dam.

Must I to Pol, yield of Daph. the enjoyment?

Daph.

Pol 's lyre suits best our cool groves and clear fountains.

Mys.

Ne'er while a tongue I brandish

Daph.

Pol is young and merry

Nys.

Pan is old and rusty.

Mys.

Fop outlandish

Daph.

Light and airy

Nys.

Stiff and fusty

Mys.

Daph shall blandish

Daph.

As a fairy

Nys.

Sour, and crusty

Dam.

Will you reject my income?

Mys.

Herds and clincum

Nys.

Never think e'm

Sil.

Rot and sink 'em

Daph.

Can you banish Pol?

Mys.

Midas must judge,

Nys.

No, no.

Dam.

And Pol must fly

Daph.

Pray let Pan fall,

Sil.

Zounds, Pol shan't budge

Nys.

Ay let him go

Mys.

You lye, you lye

Nys.

Yes, he shall go

Daph.

Ay, let him go

Sil.

Blood, Pan shall go

Dam.

Poor Pan! poor I!

Mys.

You lye, you lye.

Midas comes forth enrag'd, attended by a crowd of Nymphs and Swains.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Peace ho! is hell broke loose? what means this jawing?

Under my very nose this clapper clawing!

AIR XII. Kettle Bender.

What the devil's here to do

Ye logger heads, and gypsies?

Sirrah you, and hussey you

And each of you tipsey is.

But I'll sure pull down your pride as

A gun, or as I'm justice Midas.

CHORUS All.

O Tremendous justice Midas,

Who shall oppose wise justice Midas

All fall prostrate.

Mid.

I'm given to understand that your all in a pother here

Disputing whether Pan or Pol, shall play to you another year.

Dare you think your clumsey lungs so proper to decide as

The delicate ears of justice Midas?

Cho.

O Tremendous, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Soh! you allow it then—Ye mobbish rabble?

Enter Pol. and Pan. severally.

Oh, here comes Pol, and Pan—now stint your gabble.

Fetch my great chair—I'll quickly end this squabble.

AIR XIII. To it's own tune.

Now I'm seated

I'll be treated,

Like the sophi on his throne

In my presence

Scoundrel peasants,

Shall not call their souls their own.

My behest is

He who best is

Shall be fix'd musician chief,

Ne'er the loser,

Shall shew his nose here

But be transported like a thief.

Cho.

O Tremendous, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Dam.

Masters, will you abide by this condition,

Pan.

I ask no better

Pol.

—I am all submission.

Pan.

Strik up, sweet Sir,

Pol.

—Sir, I attend your leisure

Mid.

Pan, take the lead,

Pan.

—Since 'tis your worship's pleasure.

AIR XIV.

A pox of your pother about this or that,

Your shrieking or squeaking sharp or a flat;

I'm sharp by my bumpers, you're flat, master Pol,

So here goes a set-to at Toll de roll loll.

When Beauty her pack of poor lovers would hamper,

And after miss Will o' the Wisp the fools scamper,

Ding dong, in sing song, they the lady extol;

Pray what's all this fuss for, but—Toll de roll, &c.

Mankind are a medley—a chance-medley race,

All start in full cry to give dame Fortune chace;

There's catch as catch can, hit or miss Luck is all,

And Luck's the best tune of life's Toll lol de roll.

I've done, please your worship, 'tis rather too long,

I only meant life is but an old song;

The world's but a tragedy, comedy, droll,

Where all act the scene of Toll loll de rol lol.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

By jingo, well perform'd for one of his age;

How, hang dog, don't you blush to shew your visage?

Pol.

Why, master Midas, for that matter,

'Tis enough to dash one,

To hear the arbitrator,

In such unseemly fashion

One of the candidates bespatter

With so much partial passion.

Midas falls asleep. AIR XV.

Ah, happy hours, how fleeting

Ye danc'd on down away;

When my foft vows repeating

At Daphne's feet I lay.

But, from her charms when sunder'd,

As Midas' frowns presage,

Each hour will seem an hundred,

Each day appear an age.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

Silence—this just decree all, at your peril

Obedient hear,—else I shall use you very ill.

The DECREE.

Pan shall remain.

Pol quit the plain.

Chorus,

Oh tremendous, &c.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

All bow with me to mighty Pan—enthrone him.—

No pouting—and with festal chorus crown him!—

[The crowd forms two ranks beside the chair, and join in the chorus, whilst Midas crowns him with bays.] CHORUS.

See triumphant sits the bard

Crown'd with bays, his due reward.

Exil'd Pol shall wander far,

Exil'd twang his faint guittar,

While, with ecchoing shouts of praise

We the bagpipe's glory raise.

RECITATIVE.

Mid.

'Tis well!—what keeps you here—you ragamuffin?

Go trudge—or do you wait for a good cuffing?

RECIT. accompanied.

Pol.

Now, listen all—The wrath of Jove, for rapine,

Corruption, lust, pride, fraud, there's no escaping.

Tremble, thou wretch—Thou'st stretch'd thy utmost tether,

Thou, and thy tools shall go to pot together.

AIR XVII. To various Tunes.

Dunce, I did but sham,

For Apollo I am,

God of music and king of Parnass:

Thy scurvy decree

For Pan, against me,

I reward with the ears of an ass.

Grand CHORUS.

Mid.

Detected, baulk'd, and small,

On our marrow bones we fall.

Mys.

Detected, baulk'd, and small,

On our marrow bones we fall.

Dam.

Detected, baulk'd, and small,

On our marrow bones we fall.

Mys.

Be merciful,

Alas, alas!

Dam.

Be pitiful,

Alas, alas!

Mid.

Forgive us, mighty Sol,

Alas, alas!

Pol.

Thou a Billingsgate quean, to Mys.

Thou a pandar obscene to Dam.

With, strumpets and bailiffs shall class.

Thou, driven from man to Mid.

Shalt wander with Pan,

He a stinking old goat, thou an ass, an ass, &c.

Mid., Mys., Dam.

Alas! Alas!

Daph.

Now my heart's cur'd of folly.

Nys.

—Be jolly.

Sil.

The Oracle's word

For millions should pass.

Mysis is well parted,

Daph.

And the pimp carted,

Nys.

Squire. Midas converted

Into an ass, O the dull ass!

Daph., Sil., Mys., Dam., Apollo. All together, but to several airs, while Midas joins in chorus, braying like an ass.

Into an ass, laugh at the ass!

Into an ass, a real ass!

What a sad ass,

Alas, alas!

Be thou an ass.

Apol.

Be thou squire—his estate to Sil.

To thee I translate.

To you his strong chests, wicked mass, to Daph. & Nysa.

Live happy, while I,

Recall'd to the sky,

Make all the Gods laugh at Midas.

Apol., Dam., Mid., Mys., Daph., Nys., Sil. Together, to several airs.

All the Gods laugh at Midas.

Ascends in the Sun.

Alas, Alas! Exit.

[Goes about braying like an ass]

What a sad pass—Ah, poor Midas.

Chang'd to an ass—Well bray'd Midas.

Well bray'd Midas; manifest ass.

Laugh at the ass; laugh at the ass.

GRAND CHORUS.

Daph., Sil., Nys. Together, with the other nymphs and swains.

To the bright God of day

Let us dance, sing, and play,

Clap hands every lad with his 'lass.

Daph.

Now criticks lye snug,

Not a hiss, groan, or shrug,

Remember the fate of Midas, Midas,

Remember the fate of Midas.

CHORUS.

Now criticks lye snug, &c.

Information about this book

Title statement

Midas: an English burletta. As it is performed, at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden.

O'Hara, Kane, 1714?-1782.

Publication

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4277

ID [isbn10]

1106012763

ID [isbn13]

9781106012760

ID [TCP]

K048303.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314233131

ID [ECLL]

0772300200

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Midas: an English burletta. As it is performed, at the Theatre-Royal, in Covent-Garden., O'Hara, Kane, 1714?-1782.. [8],66p.,plate ; 8⁰. London :: printed, for G. Kearsly, W. Griffin, J. Coote, T. Lownds, and W. Nicoll,. 1764.. [Anonymous. By Kane O'Hara.] [With a half-title bearing the price.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT53744.] [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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