Fire and water!: A comic opera: in two acts. Performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market. By Miles Peter Andrews.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- ADVERTISEMENT.

- DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

- ACT I.

- SCENE I.

- SCENE, The Street.

- SCENE III.

- SCENE IV.

- ACT II.

- SCENE The Port.

- SCENE II.

- SCENE III.

FIRE AND WATER! &c.

THE END.

FIRE AND WATER! A COMIC OPERA: IN TWO ACTS. PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN THE HAY-MARKET.

BY MILES PETER ANDREWS.

DUBLIN: PRINTED BY JAMES AND RICHARD BYRN, No 18, SYCAMORE-ALLEY, FOR THE COMPANY OF BOOKSELLERS. M.DCC.LXXX.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THIS Piece, however singular it may appear, was actually written, and delivered to the Manager, long before any of the late Disturbances.

The flattering Reception which this little Opera, so trifling, and so temporary, has met with from the Public, must chiefly be attributed to the friendly Care and Attention of Mr. Coleman, and the exerted Abilities of all the Performers.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Launch, A Store-keeper at the Dock-yard,

Mr. BANNISTER.

Tremor, Mayor of the Town.

Mr. WILSON,

Frederick, his Son, a Midshipman,

Mr. DUBELLAMY.

Sulphur,

Mr. GARDNER.

San Benito, a Spanish Jesuit,

Mr. BLISSETT.

Firebrand,

Mr. BARRETT.

Fripon, a French Adventurer,

Mr. WEWITZER.

Ambuscade, a Fencing-master,

Mr. EDWIN.

WOMEN.

Commode, a French Millener,

Mrs. WEBB.

Nancy, daughter to Launch,

Miss HARPER.

- Workmen, Soldiers, &c. &c. &c.

SCENE, Portsmouth.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A View of Portsmouth Dock; the Flat Scene representing Ships on the Stocks; Artificers at Work in their various Employments.—Nancy discovered at her Father's Door on one Side near the Front, making Lace. Launch is seen walking about among the Men.

CHORUS.

CHEAR, my lads, and work away,

Joyous, jolly, brisk and gay;

Freely toiling through the day,

Chear, my lads, and work away.

Launch, advancing from his house.

Hark! the hammer's welcome sound,

Ev'ry stroke,

British oak,

Makes the British heart rebound.

[Exit.

Nancy, at work.

With what joy my thread I'd seize,

With what joy my fingers wear,

Could I thus with so much ease

Weave a net to hold my dear!

Winds and waves now bear him far,

Far from Nancy doom'd to rove;

Where amidst the din of war,

He perhaps forgets his love.

Launch, re-entering.

Hark! the hammer strikes again;

Ev'ry blow

Britain's foe

Hears re-echo'd o'er the main.

Chorus repeated.

Chear, my lads, &c. &c. &c.

Launch.

(to some of the workmen who advance) That's right, my boys, always sing while you work; a song, in my mind, makes labour easy, in spite of mine and his Majesty's enemies.

1st Workman.

So it had need, master Launch; for we have enough of it: these cursed French Monsieurs find us constant employment.

Launch.

True; but the harder you are drove now, the faster we shall drive them by-and-by.— (Bell rings) Come, come, get to your dinners: I fancy your stomachs have struck twelve. You must recollect too, my lads, that you are hereby insuring the defence of your country against mine and his Majesty's enemies.

2d Workman.

Damn your and his Majesty's enemies—for my part I don't care a chip for 'em, and I dare say we shall give them such a welcome if they do come, as will make them wish they had staid in their own country—tho'f I'm told it's a bitter bad one.

Launch.

Why that's the reason they are so desirous to visit ours. But lose no time, my lads; I expect our chief lord down every instant, and as he is a great friend to harmony, I beg we may have no discord.

1st Work.

How can we help it, master Launch, when our wives are always complaining?—it's unpossible to keep them in tune, for we hav'n't time to wind them up.

Launch.

But consider, I'm a man of consequence, principal store-keeper to his Majesty's yard, here at Portsmouth, and know all the King's secrets; and let me tell you, if the French should come, they'll take your wives away from you: think of that.

1st Work.

Why if that's all they'll take away, there's no such great matter; because why, we know the worst of it; and I am told as how the French are civil enough to every body's wives but their own.

[Exit 1st Workman.

2d Workman.

Yes, yes, if that's the worst, there's no harm done; but damn 'em, I was afraid for my religion; I was afraid they would have taken away our religion and left us their own, and be damned to them.

[Exit.

Launch.

(to his daughter) Come here, Nancy, you look gloomy, child. I hope you are not afraid of the French taking you away?

Nancy.

(advancing) No, papa, I have no such fears, I assure you; but can you wonder at my being pensive, when one I hold so dear is now encount'ring the dangers of the sea, or the attacks of the enemy?

Launch.

I'll tell you what, child; I'm a man of consequence, and I could wish you to think no more of that midshipman, that Frederick; so mark my words, I'm a man of consequence.

Nancy.

But, my dear papa, what objection can you possibly have? Isn't he son to his worship the Mayor; and of equal consequence with ourselves?

Launch.

Why there now is one part of my objection—quaking, tottering, neighbour Tremor, equal to a man of my consequence, who am the King's Officer for life, and respected by all his Majesty's workmen! whereas the Mayor, as you call him, is only worshipped by vagrants, and loses his honour in a twelvemonth.

Nancy.

But, sir—

Launch.

Besides, isn't he a republican tallowchandler, who sells candles to the mob, and forces us to light up for liberty? and am not I on the other side the question? and don't wish to have any hand in such stuff.

Nancy.

Stuff, papa!

Launch.

Yes, child, kitchen-stuff, fit only for such fellows to deal in.

Nancy.

But sure, sir, my Frederick is not to answer for his father's folly; he is himself a slave to no party; and is he not bravely venturing his life in the service of his King?

Launch.

But what would you think if he should return from that service with only half an eye, and a couple of wooden legs peeping through his pocketholes?

Nancy

Why love him the better, for preferring his country's welfare to his own safety—What would the world say if the daughters of England withheld their tenderness from those who most deserved it?

SONG.

Sure 'twould make a dismal story,

If, when honour leads him on,

Love should slight the cause of glory,

Or disdain its wounded son.

If, his country's rights defending,

He should some disaster prove,

Pity with affection blending,

Will but more increase my love.

Launch.

Well, child, I like your spirit; but you know I have somebody else in my eye, who agrees to every thing I say, and thinks just as I do about mine and his Majesty's enemies—my friend Ambuscade I mean, a man after my own heart.

Nancy.

He may be after your heart, papa, but he's very opposite to mine—a capering, strutting, impudent fencing master, always teizing one to death with scraps of old songs—I neither like his looks nor his manners—in short, sir, I wish you don't find him impose upon you very materially.

Launch.

Impose upon me, child—a man of my consequence! Yes, I should like that amazingly—upon me, indeed, who have the care of his Majesty's Royal Dock, and know all the state secrets!

Nancy.

Yes, sir, and that I take it is the reason of his seeming attachment, that he may get some knowledge of you.

Launch.

Get knowledge out of me! No, damn me, I defy him to get knowledge out of me!—nobody would ever imagine that I knew any thing.

Nancy.

But let me beg of you to listen to my Frederick; consider, sir, good men are scarce.

Launch.

Then, learn to be content, girl—you have got one good man already for your father, hav'n't you? would you have a couple to your own share, you unconscionable baggage?

Nancy.

Dear sir, you are entirely out of the question; but isn't it very natural for a young girl to wish to be settled? and—

Launch.

To be sure it is, and so you shall; but the men have something else to think of now; the country's up in arms at present, therefore let me intreat you to keep your's quiet for a time.

SONG.

When we sound and we thump it,

The Drum and the Trumpet,

When Britain for vengeance and victory tries,

Do you think that our youth,

To indulge a colt's tooth,

Will abandon their truth,

And their country forsooth,

To mine and his Majesty's Enemies?

When our statesmen and heroes,

Like Caesars and Neros,

Have carried our arms and our fame to the skies,

Then, my girl, if your mind

Is for wedlock inclin'd,

You may say something kind

To all that you find,

But mine and his Majesty's enemies.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, The Street.

Enter Tremor, looking cautiously about him.

All's safe, I think—yes—Icod, this French invasion puts one into such a panic, that one hardly dare to peep one's head out—one's functions are all in a quake—scarce eat and drink as we used to do—not a feast in the town hall these two months—dripping will be very scarce. What noise is that! (starts) oh! nobody—then, as I'm his Right Worshipful the Mayor, the French would be very glad to catch me, no doubt; well, what a dangerous thing it is to be in power! I should certainly be thrown into the Bastile, they would take no ransom for such a precious captive—no—zounds! what noise is that?

Enter Frederick.

Lord, who have we here? (retiring to the side of the stage)

Fred.

Hah! my father! what can be the matter with him?

Trem.

Oh dear, sir! I beg pardon for being a little surpriz'd—but, pray, good, kind sir, what news from—what is it you, you dog? how came you from sea?

Fred.

In an open boat, sir; and just landed this instant.

Trem.

Why, you hav'nt deserted from the ship's crew, have you? I hope you were not afraid, for I hate fear as much as I do the French; don't disgrace your family, Frederick; I hope you'll shine as much as your father has done.

Fred.

Never doubt it, sir; I, like the rest of my countrymen, only wish the French would lay aside their running fights, and try a few broadsides with us; and we'll convince them an Englishman's heart, like his climate, though often overcast, will soon clear again, and shew the world a glorious day.

Trem.

Give me your hand—well son, you are a fine long-six; I'm glad to see you burn so fierce—I knew you were cast in a good mould; but I hate fear.

Fred.

And so do I too—tho' I bring rather alarming news—the combin'd fleet is actually in the channel—I was order'd on shore on purpose to give you information.

Trem.

Zounds, you don't say so! O lud, what shall I do:—what shall I do!

Fred.

And they are bearing down as fast as they can.

Trem.

Dear me! dear me! and I shall be laid hold of first for being in power; and who knows but my very friends may turn against me—attacked in my own mansion house, I may be knocked down by my own mace-bearer, or run through the body with my-own sword of state.

Fred.

Don't be so alarm'd, sir; you should think of putting the place in a state of defence.

Trem.

So I will—O gracious, what a situation! Well, I will put the town in a state of defence—Zounds! I'll embody the whole corporation—and, to encourage them, order them two gallons of porter with an allowance of bread and cheese, and a pint of wine for the officers.—Don't you think they will make a good stand?

Fred.

Doubtless, sir, if you don't go to fisly-cuffs yourselves—you should never smite one another, because it gives the public an opportunity of having so many strokes at you.

Trem.

Ha! ha! ha! a good hit i'faith—but mum—you know we must not touch up the great, whatever we think. However, if some folks above, had done some things below, why some things would not have been so middling.

Fred.

Don't deceive yourself, my dear father; believe me, every nerve of Britain is exerted; nor need we fear while our veteran commanders feel all the fire of youth; and our infant prince the intrepidity of manhood.

SONG.

The hardy sons of Britain's isle,

Undaunted yield their breath;

And chear their country with a smile,

In danger and in death.

When peace with soften'd brow invites,

And ev'ry hour's serene;

They seek fair virtue's calm delights,

And court the tranquil scene.

When hostile troops invade their shores,

They move in dread aray;

Resentment all its fury pours,

And terror marks their way.

Trem.

Well, I'm alive again—there's nothing like a good heart; and now for the French— (shout without) lord, what's that noise?

Fred.

It's only the shout of the sailors in the harbour.

Trem.

Is that all? I was afraid the enemy was already landed; but I'm glad they're not come yet, because—it gives one time for preparation, to shew that—one is not afraid of them.

SONG.

If ever they venture to land on our coast.

Myself I will march to attack 'em;

And soon they shall learn to know who rules the roast;

Odzooks how we'll cut 'em and hack em!

[Drum beats] Lord bless me! they're coming,

Good heaven preserve us!

This piping and drumming

Has made me so nervous!

Come, son, let's retire and fall into the rear—

How I long to be at 'em! you know I hate fear;

[Drum beats] Oh dear,

I hate fear,

Oh dear, &c.

[Exeunt]

SCENE III.

A Chamber belonging to Sulphur, various Implements, dark Lanthorns, electrical Apparatus, &c. &c. &c. Sulphur sitting at a Table in a Night-gown and Fur Cap, Papers, Plans, &c. &c.

Here I am safely lodged without much fear of being discovered; well (looking at a plan) this electrical stroke, as the doctor said, will most likely shake all Europe; but I can't help, however, feeling some qualms in endeavouring to destroy my old native country; but have not I more obligations to my new one? Am not I sent here as a conductor charged with matter of the first consequence?—Well, Firebrand—

Enter Firebrand, all besmeared with powder, in a dirty apron.

Is the wild-fire, and all the combustible stuff ready?

Fire.

Yes, yes, master Sulphur, San Benito may take 'em when he pleases: they are all ready to light.

Sulph.

Then extinguish yourself, good Firebrand.

Fire.

I'm out, master.

[Exit Firebrand.

Sulph.

O that fellow is a man of my own kidney, fire is his element; a perfect salamander. Before he was transported he had burnt down two Methodist Meeting-houses to prevent bigotry; three prisons, to promote the liberty of the subject; and half a dozen of his own apartments, to save trouble of moving furniture. In another year he would have broke all the Fire-offices in town.

Enter San Benito, muffled in a cloak, which he throws aside, and discovers the dress of a Catholic Priest.

San. Ben.

Well, my dear Sulphur, is every thing prepared for execution?

Sulph.

All is ready, thank heaven, my good father San Banito.

San Ben.

That's right, that's right—for, from certain intelligence, I hear the French are to land this afternoon, and I hope ere to-morrow to see the Dock-yard in a blaze.

Sulph.

That will be a bright prospect, indeed! but have you secured the families in our interest, whose consciences you manage?

San Benito.

Why not entirely, the Catholicks are grown more squeamish—and will do nothing now to hurt their country for conscience sake.

Sulph.

How I hate such unconscientious dogs!

San Ben.

I have indeed prevailed over a married lady of some distinction to favour our plot, by giving her absolution for past, and indulgence for future intrigues; but the husband, though a good Catholic, cannot be persuaded that he shall live better under any other government.

Sulph.

Why the man's no fool—damn his sense!

San Benito.

One thing, however, I have obtained; he has promised me not to drive his cattle up 'till he can't help it.

Sulph.

Why that is something to be sure; for the French will bring very voracious appetites from sea. But have you been able to do any good at the camps?

San Ben.

Not much there—they are so cursed loyal to their country, that I believe they wish for nothing better than an opportunity of dying in its defence.

Sulph.

Pray heaven they may! but have you brought nobody over to your cause?

San Ben.

Yes, a few—I have secured twenty Jacobite drummers, five disaffected suttlers, fifty raw recruits, and all the contractors to a man.

Sulph.

How did you manage that?

San Ben.

By promising them the Pope's contract for salt fish every Lent season.

Sulph.

Well done, father, that was securing their interest, by encouraging their principle; but, could you not have prevail'd upon them to poison the bread? that would have done the business at once.

San Ben.

So it would; but I thought it of no great consequence.

Sulph.

How so?

San Ben.

Because they say it's half poison already.

Sulph.

P'sha! this doing things by •…alves, master Jesuit, is doing nothing.

San Ben.

(taking fire) Nothing, do you call it! hav'n't I made my sanctity the means of introducing me into families in order to betray their confidence—have not I—

Sulph.

Nonsense; what signifies your sanctity? it's not the fashion here—the appearance of it, indeed, was necessary among the saints at Boston—but—

San Ben.

But—but what, sir!—have not I expos'd my person for your sake? hav'n't I written seditious paragraphs in the News Papers, for these three months past, in order to divide the people—the only way the English ever can fall.

Sulph.

Trifles!

San Ben.

Hav'n't I kept in pay all the foreign servants in town, in order to betray their master's secrets? S'blood, did not my hair-dresser bring over the heads of a plot in Papillotes?

Sulph.

Well, my good father, to serve your own purposes.

San Ben.

Your's Mr. Sulphur; to carry on your infernal schemes for a set of fellows who have neither gratitude nor recollection.

Sulph.

False, by the Congress!

San Ben.

Congress! senators in woollen night-caps and flannel petticoats—and generals from shop-boards, green-stalls and night cellars.

Sulph.

Oh heavens! what defamation!

San Ben.

A set of hypocrites—who are sending out emissaries to embroil the whole world.

Sulph.

(seizing him by the collar) Zounds, you dog, I'll warm you, however, I'll make Europe feel America, I will (shakes him, they struggle)

Enter Firebrand, who runs in between them with two large lighted matches which he holds to both their faces.

Fireb.

Why, masters, you are both in a flame!

Enter Ambuscade, at the other door, singing and lunging, dressed as a fencing master, with a foil, &c.

Ambus.

Ha! ha! (lunging) taking fire, gentlemen, before your time! what an inflammable group! you look like the pope, the devil and the pretender, on a bonfire night: be so good, Mr. Lucifer, as to leave us in the dark. (Exit Firebrand) Wound me in the sword arm! but this is a whimsical way to begin by cutting your own throats instead of other people's; fie, for shame! "Let the tempest of war". (singing) ha! ha! (lunging)

Sulph.

Why, he should not abuse the congress; he knows it is a sore part; can I help it if the members have not learned to dance?

San Ben.

And he should not undervalue my services; are we not all embarked in the same cause?

Ambus.

So, you are disputing about your gentility, are you? a very pretty employment for a mongrel American and a discarded Jesuit. "The priest calls the Lawyer a cheat." Can't you be content to impose upon mankind, and laugh at 'em too as I do? "For why should we quarrel for riches?" ah—ah! (Fencing).

Sulph.

Well but, Mr. Ambuscade, how stand your affairs with old Launch—Have you play'd upon the weakness of his girl, my little merry one?

Ambus.

What, kiss and tell, my Buck of Brimstone! Hit me in the flanconade if I do—We Frenchmen (for you know I was born in Paris, tho' I don't choose to own it) we Frenchmen, I say, are form'd for intrigue.

For we've nothing more to do

But to swear we will be true,

And then we may kiss, but mum, mum, mum.

Ha! hah!—Sa, sa! (lunging.)

San Ben.

'Psha! pox take love; have you got us admission into the dock yard and store-houses? can our plan be put in execution?

Ambus.

All will be ready at the time appointed; the consequential old fool, Launch, and I, are hand and glove, as thick as mustard.

Sulph.

Then be sure to bite him hard.

San Ben.

Certainly; always strike when the bosom is open?

Ambus.

Never fear me; ha! ha! certain of my mark, open or shut; but be sure you be upon your guard, gentlemen; recollect that great man, John the Painter, and yet he was hang'd (sings) "My Gilderoy was a bonny boy,"—he was hang'd too.

Sulph.

A great man, Heaven knows! John was a pretty fellow: if he had not been so indiscreet as to commit a few burglaries, he would have merited canonization.

San Ben.

If you are so nice, master Sulphur, I'm afraid few of your countrymen will obtain that honour.

Sulph.

No more of your sarcasms, good father—If I live, I'll hang that Jesuit (aside)

Ambus.

Come, come, we must join against the common foe, or we shall ruin the cause; you are just like the English, always quarrelling with their enemies, or each other—"Kiss curse you, curse kiss you, and fight." (sings) Ha! ha! (lunging) can't you follow my example? are we not going to fire the whole town; and do not I appear as happy as if I was going to make all the world so?

San Ben.

True; but quarrelling, you know, is your profession.

Ambus.

Yes, but there's nothing I dislike so much, for all that.

SONG.

Though I practise the science of arms,

Yet, trust me, I think it an evil;

And fighting, for me, has such charms,

That I'd rather shake hands with the devil. (shakes hands with both)

I aim the blow

At friend and foe;

But still I look pleas'd all the while;

I hit my mark,

Secure, in the dark;

Retire and advance,

Sing, caper and prance,

And stab all the world with a smile.

Toll lol de rol, &c. &c.

[Ex. arm in arm]

SCENE IV.

A View of Portsmouth Rampart, with a great Gun or two in the back Scene. The Sea behind. Nancy and Frederick discovered sitting.

SONG. Fred.

To win my Nancy's early love,

(For soon my flame burst forth)

In Honour's field I anxious strove

To give it humble worth;

The poor desert she deign'd to prize,

Approv'd my well-meant toil;

Chear'd my return with glist'ning eyes,

And paid me with a smile.

Nancy.

(rising after the Song) Ah, my dear Frederick, you see your power over me; but I am so overjoyed to behold you returned safe from the enemy, that I can't help expressing my tenderness.

Fred.

And believe me, my charming Nancy, when in pursuit of that enemy, your idea would intrude itself, and sometimes steal away my attention from duty: but to remove every future apprehension, give me your hand without delay.

Nancy.

So I would instantly, my dear Frederick, if we could only obtain my father's concurrence to place us a little above want; for I cannot persuade myself, in return for your affection, to bring a beggar to your arms.

BALLAD.

For thee all the hardships of life I could bear,

And brave the attacks of misfortune and care;

But care and misfortune my mind would subdue,

If the friend of my heart would partake of them too.

Had Fate from its bounty propitiously lent

Enough but to furnish the cot of Content,

The dictates of Love in that cot I'd pursue,

For the friend of my heart would partake of it too.

But Nancy, with nought but her truth to endear,

With nothing to lend to Distress but a tear,

Can ne'er look for comfort with ruin in view,

And the friend of her heart to partake of it too.

Fred.

The more I admire the generosity of your temper, the more I regret your resolution. But how are you certain, my dear girl, your father will not consent to our union?

Nancy.

I am convinced he will not, not only from his inveteracy to yours, but from his unaccountable attachment to Ambuscade, who cajoles him just as he pleases.

Fred.

Well then, let him keep his consent and his fortune to himself: while my country wants a seaman, or I have an arm to lift in her defence, we can never want a support.

Nancy.

But let us not be rash, my Frederick! if we could but convince him that this Ambuscade was some designing fellow, which I shrewdly suspect he is, much might be done.

Fred.

You are right.

Nancy.

They say he is a Frenchman; I have seen two strange persons frequently in his company, and I cannot but think he has some bad intentions, which he endeavours to conceal under the appearance of gaiety.

Fred.

True, I'll watch his motions, and probably—

Nancy.

Hush! hush! here he comes; step behind there, quick, and you'll probably hear more.— (Frederick hides himself behind one of the great guns.

Enter Ambuscade.

Ha! ha! what alone, my little love?—"Despairing beside the clear stream"—You English girls are so fond of solitude, that you are always flying from society.

Nancy.

No, sir, I fly from nothing but impertinence, which I detest.

Ambus.

So do I too. "None but the brave deserve the fair." (Sings.) Ha! ha!—however, tho' I do hate impertinence, you look so charmingly to-day, that I must kiss your fair hands—Disarm me but I must—O I hate impertinence (Offers to kiss her.

Nancy.

Sir, I must insist on your taking none of these liberties.

Ambus.

How! an English girl, and find fault with liberty! why it is a rebellion against your constitution.

Nancy.

So it may, sir; but should I find myself inclined to make use of the freedom of my birth-right, you may assure yourself I shall not do it with a Frenchman.

Ambus.

A Frenchman! how came you to think of that? Do I carry any appearance of a Frenchman about me?

Nancy.

Yes, the undeniable marks of your country—a fair outside, and a false heart.

Ambus.

Ha! ha! ha! easy and familiar—but that's a certain sign of love. Well, it's always the same—sure of success wherever I go.

" With his Veni, Vidi, Vici, came,

" And he conquer'd the world with his row-dow-dow."

I knew you could not refuse me; observe my figure, this foot, this leg, the whole person irresistible; a salmigundy of perfections which no one tune can equal; so I beg leave to celebrate them in a musical olio.

Cast, my love, thine eyes around,

See the conqu'ring hero comes!

Sound the trumpet, beat the drums;

Blow high, blow low,

No flower that blows

Is like this rose;

Hark forward! huzza, tally-ho!

If 'tis joy to wound a lover,

How much more to give him ease!

Dearest creature,

Of all nature,

O how pleasing 'tis to please!

He's ay kissing, kissing me,

Careless, airy, gay and free.

By my sighs you may discover—the heavy hours—

Here's my watch, and you may view it,

Fal de ral.

Then come pretty maid,

Nay don't be afraid,

And we'll strew the way over with flowers.

Robberi, bobberi, ribberi, bibberi, bino.

Nancy.

Mighty fine! but, at present, I wish you would take yourself away.

Ambus.

Do you so? sure miss, you are not hankering after that sea-lubber, Frederick? oh! if he was but here! but he's now 〈◊〉 for powder abroad.

Fred.

(behind) You'll probably find him too hard for your digestion at home. (aside)

Ambus.

Of one thing, miss, you may assure yourself that I shall never be jealous; my jealousy shall sleep in the scabbard, and that's a necessary quality in a husband now-a-days.

Nancy.

Husband! in the name of heaven!

Ambus.

Yes, my sweet chicken, I am in love with you up to the hilts; and your father must give his consent soon, or I shall fall to without saying grace.

((Attempts to kiss her, they struggle.)

Fred.

(Coming forward) Hands off! keep your distance, fellow.

Ambus.

Distance! zounds, 'tis Frederick himself!

Fred.

What are you muttering there? come sir, to the right about, march.

Ambus.

To the right about, march! I don't understand that; you and I must have a little trial of skill. I dare say he knows nothing of fencing (aside)

Fred.

With all my heart, I am ready for you. (draws)

Enter Tremor, running in a great fright.

Nancy.

(running off.) Help! murder! oh heavens! seize that Frenchman.

Trem.

(falling on his knees between the combatants, not daring to look up) Oh Lord! what, Frenchmen! are they come? O dear, sweet Monseer, spare my life, and I'll give you all the light I am able; but, indeed, I am nobody—I am not mayor of the town I assure you. (During this time the combatants drop their swords and begin to laugh) Ay, good Mr. Frenchmen, laugh at me; pray do—

Enter Launch, hastily.

Launch.

Why, what is all this disturbance about? who the devil have we here? what, master Tremor, don't you know your own son?

Trem.

(rising) Why, what? where? when? how? is that you, Frederick? well, thank heaven I deceived the French, by telling 'em I was a man of no consequence.

Launch.

(pushing him by) And whoever said you was?—no, you must look to somebody else for that.

Ambus.

That's right, master Launch; let them feel you trust it home to them, ha! ha!

Fred.

(mimicking him) I hope we shall trust it home to you soon—ha! ha!—

Enter 1st Soldier, with Chorus, in Light-Infantry Dress.

To arms, gentlemen! the combined fleets are coming down upon us; your worship is expected in the town hall.

Trem.

Arms! O Lud! I know nothing of arms.

Launch.

Then you had better take to your legs I think.

Ambus.

But he seeems so frighten'd that he has scarce got a leg to take to—

Trem.

Frighten'd? do you know whom you speak to? I'm tbe mayor of the place.

Ambus.

Stab me to the quick, but you denied it just now.

Trem.

O dear! I deny? not for the world—I deny nothing; and I confess nothing.

Launch.

Yes, you do both: you confess yourself a coward, and then deny that you're afraid,

Fred.

Come, sir, courage; the French, as open enemies, are not to be dreaded; I only fear 'em when they come under the character of friends; what say you, Mr. Ambuscade?

Ambus.

I am like his worship: I deny nothing, and I confess nothing.

Fred.

Well, gentlemen, let private differences subside; while we can wield a sword, our country has a right to it; and now is the time to show that intrepidity and valour which have always adorned the English annals.

Launch.

That's right, and then a fig for mine and his majesty's enemies.

SONG and CHORUS. Launch.

'Tis honour impels us

The foe to defy;

And liberty tells us

To conquer or die.

The double, double, double beat,

Of the thundering drum,

Cries hark! The foe's come,

Charge, charge, for we scorn to retreat.

Exeunt.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE The Port.

Enter Ambuscade.

I Have been watching this half hour, but all to no purpose. Stab me! if I don't believe the French admiral's taste is only for contemplation—Oh! this taking places in perspective will never do for me! so I'll e'en look about me and take care of myself. If I could but find some person of creditable appearance to vouch for my consequence a little, I should soon get old Launch's consent to marry his daughter, and live comfortably upon his fortune all the rest of my life—At least as long as it would hold out—But stay,—this is not betraying my enemies according to my bribe—Psha! what signifies that? its betraying my friends according to my conscience; and that method will introduce me into much better company. (Fripon sings without.) But hush! who have we here? I'll observe 'em (Retires.)

Enter Fripon and Commode in travelling dresses.

Frip.

Bien arrivé, Madame Commode.

Com.

Ma foi, ver well indeed, and vat is best, have escape de observation of our creditors á Londres, graces á Dieu! dis invasion will pay all the French debt in England at von stroke.

Frip.

And by gar, we take de example from our own country; when de debt gro trop grand, we beg not to pay it at all. Heh! my dear madame Commode? he! he! he! (laughs.)

Com.

Oui, oui, oui, mon cher Fripon, he! he! but it is not because we are poor; no, tanks to my sense and the folly of my customers! I have realise von little fortune dat vilenable us to retire to de banks of de Seine, aux environs de Paris, for de rest of our days, my dear Fripon!

SONG.

Wid song and story idle

De foe we always l•ll,

And in a silken bridle

We lead •…out Jean Bull;

But if no more de ballad

Can make de tale belief,

Den hey for soup and Sallad,

Adieu, Adieu, Roas beef.

Since you and me togeder

De die of fortune cog,

We'll fly to sunshine weader,

And quit de English fog;

For when no more de ballad

Can make de tale belief,

Den hey for soup and sallad,

Adieu, adieu, roas beef.

Frip.

Oh! the Englis for mi money, or bi gar me for deirs! Yes, yes, that shop of your's was von coup de maitre! Les jolies fillies for de gentlemen; and de smuggled good for de ladi!

Com.

Ah, dere vas smuggled good vidout nombre, and some ver prit too—all light commodité a-la-mode.

Frip.

By gar de ladi a-la-mode know where to put the smuggled good! He! he! he! he!

Com.

Oui, oui, de branch contraband for them to deal in.

Frip.

And for deir husbands to wear, he! madame!

Com.

Bien arrangé, enverité mon cher Fripon, we have made our fortune in good time—de Englis will soon begin to ope deir eye.

Frip.

Pardonnez moi, voila le contraire; have I not pass for de Grand Seigneur de Marquis François, vid out being suspected? am I not arrivé in my own carosse, and at de expence of my creditors? have I not keep les domestiques and give no wage? les grands apartments, and pay no rent? exactement like a man of qualité, vidout being suspect?

Com.

Yes, I know you never pay at all.

Ambus.

(coming forward) Good sir, who never pay at all, your most obedient.

Frip.

Je n'ai pas l'honneur de vous connoitre, good sir.

Ambus.

No!

Frip.

No, mon ami, so allez vous en, good sir!

Ambus.

What then, have you really forgotten your old friend Ambuscade, who was fellow-apprentice with you in Fleet-ditch, at the sign of the Bob-Major, and that used to dine with you every day at the Twopenny Ordinary, where they chain down the knives and forks?

Frip.

Oh ma foi, I remember my dear friend very well; I canno escape de chain (aside.) Let me present you to Madame Commode (introducing him)

Ambus.

Yes, I remember Madame Commode too, when she kept the boarding school for young misses, at the sign of the Three Chickens.

Frip.

Oh taissez vouz done: don't you speak of the shicken, madame vil faint! But what do you do here, mounsieur Ambuscade?

Ambus.

I thrust in cart and tierce—I teach the practice of arms to gentlemen! Ha! ha! (lunging)

Frip.

And to de ladi too—ha! ha! (mimicking him.

Amb.

Very probably, for, I am going to be marrie!

Com.

Bien probable indeed, mounsieur Ambuscade.

Amb.

But there is a small rub in the way.

Frip.

Rub! what be dat rub?

Amb.

Why the lady's father is a little particular, and wants to know something about my family.

Frip.

Votre famille! ah diable! c'est manvaise ça,

Amb.

Why yes; but if you and Madame Commode would take upon you to recollect that it was not mauvaise, why I would take upon me to forget the Bob-major, the Three Chickens, and the Twopenny Ordinary.

Frip.

Oh den I vil recollect whatever you please, and Madame vil have de complaisance to swear it.

Com.

Sans doute! any thing to oblige my old friends.

Ambus.

Well, then, step with me, and I'll give you your instructions as we go.

Com.

De tout mon coeur! but, Monsieur Ambuscade, not one word of the shicken.

Ambus.

Not for the world, my dear dame Partlet, believe me, I am no such dove.

RONDEAU.
Fripon.

O Jean Anglais! O Jean Anglais! how kind you've always been,

To see us come with open arms, and let us take you in!

O Jean Anglais, &c.

Com.

We pass ourselves for what we please, your confidence betray;

And when we can no longer pass, we pass ourselves away

O Jean Anglais, &c.

Ambus.

We manage, from our emptiness, our pockets well to load;

Then cram you with all sorts of stuff, and swear it is the mode;

You take our fashions and our words, we only take your pence;

And furnish you with all you want, unless 'tis common sense.

O Jean Anglais, &c.

(They dance off hand in hand)

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Launch's House. Enter Launch, Nancy following.

Launch.

I'll tell you what, child,—I'll hear no more; do you think I'll encourage these quarrels about you? a pretty employment, truly, if government should know of it!

Nancy.

But, my dear father, I assure you they are totally against my wish; and if you would but be convinced—

Launch.

Convinc'd, indeed! no, child—his majesty's servants are not so easily convinced. I suppose, now, you can't love when I desire it; or let it alone when I bid you?

Nancy.

Indeed, sir, I cannot.

Launch.

Very dutiful, indeed, but all authority is now at an end; and a father is of no consequence at all.

Nancy.

Did I ever disobey any of your commands, sir, except in permitting my Frederick to hold a place in my heart?

Launch.

Aye—but you should turn him out of that place, if it does not suit your interest; that's the way with people of consequence; but who have we here?

Enter Messenger.

Is your name Launch?

Launch.

No.

Mess.

No! what is it then?

Launch.

Mr. Launch.

Mess.

Then here's a letter for you, Mr. Launch.

Launch.

Whom does it come from?

Mess.

I can't tell, Mr. Launch.

Launch.

Then take yourself back again.

Mess.

Yes, Mr. Launch. (Exit)

Launch.

Let's see what the jackanapes has brought. (Reads.)

Renown'd Sir,

I am superlatively happy in having the honor of having an opportunity to prove to you that I am a man of some consequence: I shall have the honour to introduce to you two foreign persons of great distinction, who will give ample evidence to my character and connections, and propose myself the honor of laying myself and them at your feet immediately.

I have the honor to be, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. Ferdinand Ambuscade.

Zounds! what a number of honors and et cetera's! But this is the way your great men always write to keep up appearances—because honor and et cetera imply every thing, and mean nothing—Gadso, child, the company are to be here immediately; so run and order some glasses, and wine, and cakes to be laid in the—no, now I think of it, we'll sit out in the garden as I intended—these outlandish people are used to live in the open air.

Nancy.

I dare say they are.

Launch.

Then, go and see that every thing is ready.

[Exit Nancy.

But won't it look odd in me tho' to entertain foreigners at these times? No, not in the least; all people of consequence do the same. French ways and French plays are quite the fashion now-a-days.

SONG.

If business or pleasure you want with my lord,

The Swiss or the Frenchman is ready;

Or would you with Madam put in for a word,

He too has a key for my lady:

Is peace to be made?

Monsieur must be paid,

Or 'gainst you he'll surely denounce ill;

In love or in war,

He'll out-trick you far,

And shine in the cabinet council.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Garden, an Arbor and Seats, Table, Bowl of Punch, &c.

Enter Ambuscade, Fripon and Commode, Launch and Nancy meeting them,—servant waiting.

Launch.

Here they come—Well, Mr. Ambuscade, I suppose these are the people of consequence you wrote to me about.

Ambus.

Yes, sir,—This is the Marchioness de Grenouille.

Launch.

Mrs. Marchionness, I am proud to see you!

Ambus.

This is the Marquis de Crapaud.

Launch.

You are welcome, Mr. Marquis de Croppo; come, take your seats: and now, gentlemen, fill about. Will your Marquiship be so good, now you have wet your whistle, to let us hear how they chant in your country.

Frip.

De tout mon coeur: allons.

FRENCH SONG.

Guillot près de sa Guillemette,

Guillemette près de Guillot,

Grelottoient tous dieux tête à tête,

Transi de froid, comme des sots;

Mais l'Amour, qui ne pas si bête

Leur dit, vous etes bien nigaud,

Pauvre Guillot et Guillemette,

Que ne brulez vous un fagôt?

Launch.

Excellent! why it's fine as the opera, and as easy to be understood. We can sing a little in England— (sings.)—

For we always are ready, boys.

Ambus.

Bravo, bravo, Mr. Launch—"O the roast beef of Old England!" that's another good song.

Com

Very fine indeed—ma for mounsieur Launch sing like de Nightingale!

Frip.

Oh je vous assure me Lor Launch il chant comme un ange.

Launch.

My Lord Launch! bless us, how polite and sensible the French Noblemen are! (aside.)

Ambus.

But now, Mr. Launch, I hope you are satisfied about my family; ha! ha! and all that; ha! ha! the account!—

Nancy.

There is no occasion, sir, to begin that subject.

Launch.

Indeed but there is—descended, I think you say from—

Frip.

De Valets de Place a ver antient famille a Paris, and always introduce to de Englis, de moment dey arrive.

Launch.

Really! the Valets de Place very respectable indeed.

Frip.

And his uncle was grand Trateur to the King.

Launch.

What's that? Traitor to the King?

Ambus.

Oh no! not Traitor; he means he was oeconomical, and furnished the King's table by contract.

Launch.

Oh, what treator to the King! that's another thing.

Ambus.

Well, my sweet miss Nancy, then we are to be happy without more ceremony?

And I will love you all the day,

Ev'ry night we'll kiss and—

Nancy.

Indeed, sir, but we never shall.

Launch.

Come, come, child, I have given Mr. Ambuscade my promise; so give him your hand without further trouble. (All rise.)

Ambus.

(aside) This is as it should be. I wish I had not forgot that letter tho'; however, they'll be hanged, I shall be married, and all will be settled, and my poor rival too.

Enter Frederick, who comes forward, Sulphur, and San Benito guarded. Frederick touches ambuscade upon the shoulder, who scarce looks round.

Ambus.

Aye, aye, I see you; you may go back again, it's all over with you.

Fred.

(turning him round) Over with you, you mean; look there if you please!

Ambus.

Hell and the devil!

San Ben.

And purgatory into the bargain.

Fred.

I am extremely sorry, Mr. Launch, to be the messenger of ill news; but I fear your imprudence has brought you under the power of the law.

Launch.

Under the power of the law! why I am a King's officer, and above it.

Enter Tremor, running in.

Trem.

Gracious me, where are the incendiaries? Yes, yes, I thought how it would end with people of consequence.

Launch.

Bless me, Mr. Mayor, what end are you talking of?

Trem.

A rope's end, master Launch; such treachery in office, such colleaguing with foreigners! but I'll darken your day-light; I'll never let his Majesty's friends be his enemies again!

Launch.

Why what does all this mean?

Fred.

The story is too long. Suffice it to say, that I found those wretches in the very act of setting fire to the store-houses; and this singing, capering rascal in particular, they accuse of procuring admission for them by an express order from you.

Trem.

Aye, I have it under his own hand; here is the infernal scroll; (taking out a letter) I shou'dn't wonder if it was to flash in his face!

Launch.

Under my hand! let's look at it!—no more my hand than the King of Prussia's—it's all a plot of mine and his Majesty's enemies.

Fred.

(lays hold of Ambus.) Come, sir, before you leave this place, do one piece of justice at least; inform us how you came by that scroll?

Ambus.

No matter! "Then farewel my trim-built wherry."

Frip.

By gar I am ashame of his company.

Com.

Et moi aussi; I am ver much asham'd indeed; (offers to go.)

Enter Officer.

Off.

O Mr. rascal, (to Frippon) are you here? so I have found you then at last?

Frip.

Ay, you speak to dis gentleman—did not he speak to you, sir?

Ambus.

No, sir, I believe he means you.

'Tis true, sir, 'tis you, sir, you look so very blue, sir.

Launch.

Zounds! do you know whom you are speaking to? This is a French Marquis, a man of consequence, the Marquis de Croppo.

Off.

Aye, it's no, consequence to me, and therefore I shall take the liberty of securing him and this lady; I suppose she's a lady of fashion. Will your ladyship please to go with me? I beg pardon, gentlemen, but I have an information.

Fred.

Will you, sir, sign a warrant for their commitment?

Trem

O dear not I, while they are so near me; they'll singe the very paper. Take 'em away, and I'll sign as many as you please.

Fred.

Well then remove them.

Sulph

(advancing) Good Mr Mayor, one word.

Trem.

Zounds don't come near me for the world. He's a train of gunpowder, a walking firework!

San Ben.

(on the other side) Pray, sir, be informed—

Trem

I shall be blown up—I shall be blown up!

Ambus.

(passing up to him in front) Come, sir, hear reason.

Fripon.

Monsieur le Mayeur, ecoutez un petit moment.

Trem.

Zounds! don't stand here talking me out of my senses. Get along, and be hang'd; that's the best exit you can make.

Fripon.

(as he goes out) Hang! by gar I no like hang.

[They are taken off.

Ambus.

(as he goes out) This is the mo•… •…ust I ever had in my life; I shall never be able to parry cart—ah! pretty Jack; "My Gilderoy was a bonny boy," he was hang'd too, I told y•u before; but, "Since I must swing, &c"

[Exit

Trem.

(when they are gone) Thank Heaven! I am now easy—

Launch.

(after they are gone) I shall never love foreigners again as long as I live—come, neighbour (to Tremor) give me your hand: you and I have often disagreed, but that's over; your son is a brave fellow, and will, I dare say, in a short time, be a man of consequence; and if my girl is a sufficient recompence, take her, there she is.

Fred.

I am more than rewarded.

Launch.

Well, then, for once, I am right; let party subside; the common enemy without, should unite every one at home

Trem.

So it should; but I'm glad we have got rid of the French, for all that.

Fred.

'Psha! my dear father, never fear the French; they may talk of invading us, but, believe me, they will never do it effectually but with their vices.

Launch.

You are right; there, indeed, mine and his majesty's enemies succeed but too well; but, come, here's prosperity to the British arms wherever they are carried; and I hope (for the punishment of France and Spain) they will soon be joined with those of America.

VAUDEVILLE.
Fred. (with a bowl in his hand.)

Pass the chearful bowl around,

Mirth is still with firmness found;

Valour shall go forth to war,

Drawn in Hope's triumphant car.

Launch.

All the danger England knows,

Springs from dark insidious foes;

Britain, bravely, will defy,

And beat her open enemy.

Pass the chearful bowl, &c.

Nancy.

Love shall round the victor's brows

Twine the wreath that fame bestows;

And with beauty's grateful dow'r,

Bless the hero's softer hour.

Love shall round, &c.

Tremor.

Light up smiles in every town,

Let old Care be melted down;

Burn with ardor, and command

All the fat that's in the land.

Last CHORUS.

Pass the chearful bowl around,

Mirth is still with firmness found;

And our troops sustain'd by you [To the audience.

Hope to be triumphant too.

Information about this book

Title statement

Fire and water!: A comic opera: in two acts. Performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market. By Miles Peter Andrews.

Andrews, Miles Peter, d. 1814.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/5113

ID [isbn10]

1106021126

ID [isbn13]

9781106021120

ID [TCP]

K101007.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3314546237

ID [ECLL]

0835900200

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Source

— Fire and water!: A comic opera: in two acts. Performed at the Theatre-Royal in the Hay-Market. By Miles Peter Andrews., Andrews, Miles Peter, d. 1814.. 36p. ; 12⁰. Dublin :: printed by James and Richard Byrn, for the Company of booksellers,. 1780.. [A variant has p. 36 misnumbered 63.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT126671.] [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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