BALLAD—JULIA.

How would I play this part— The Grand Duke's Bride? All rancour in my heart I'd duly hide— I'd drive it from my recollection And 'whelm you with a mock affection, Well calculated to defy detection— That's how I'd play this part— The Grand Duke's Bride.

With many a winsome smile I'd witch and woo; With gay and girlish guile I'd frenzy you— I'd madden you with my caressing, Like turtle, her first love confessing— That it was "mock", no mortal would be guessing, With so much winsome wile I'd witch and woo!

Did any other maid With you succeed, I'd pinch the forward jade— I would indeed! With jealous frenzy agitated (Which would, of course, be simulated), I'd make her wish she'd never been created— Did any other maid With you succeed!

And should there come to me, Some summers hence, In all the childish glee Of innocence, Fair babes, aglow with beauty vernal, My heart would bound with joy diurnal! This sweet display of sympathy maternal, Well, that would also be A mere pretence!

My histrionic art Though you deride, That's how I'd play that part— The Grand Duke's Bride!

ENSEMBLE. ERNEST. JULIA. Oh joy! when two glowing young My boy, when two glowing hearts, young hearts

From the rise of the curtain, From the rise of the curtain, Thus throw themselves into their Thus throw themselves into their parts, parts, Success is most certain! Success is most certain! If the role you're prepared to endow The role I'm prepared to endow With such delicate touches, With most delicate touch- es, By the heaven above us, I vow By the heaven above us, I vow You shall be my Grand Duchess! I will be your Grand Duchess!



(Dance.)

Enter all the Chorus with LUDWIG, NOTARY, and LISA—all greatly agitated.

EXCITED CHORUS.

My goodness me! What shall we do? Why, what a dreadful situation! (To LUD.) It's all your fault, you booby you—you lump of indiscrimination! I'm sure I don't know where to go—it's put me into such a tetter— But this at all events I know—the sooner we are off, the better!

ERN. What means this agitato? What d'ye seek? As your Grand Duke elect I bid you speak!

SONG—LUDWIG.

Ten minutes since I met a chap Who bowed an easy salutation— Thinks I, "This gentleman, mayhap, Belongs to our Association." But, on the whole, Uncertain yet, A sausage-roll I took and eat— That chap replied (I don't embellish) By eating three with obvious relish.

CHORUS (angrily). Why, gracious powers, No chum of ours Could eat three sausage-rolls with relish!

LUD. Quite reassured, I let him know Our plot—each incident explaining; That stranger chuckled much, as though He thought me highly entertaining. I told him all, Both bad and good; I bade him call— He said he would: I added much—the more I muckled, The more that chuckling chummy chuckled!

ALL (angrily). A bat could see He couldn't be A chum of ours if he chuckled!

LUD. Well, as I bowed to his applause, Down dropped he with hysteric bellow— And that seemed right enough, because I am a devilish funny fellow. Then suddenly, As still he squealed, It flashed on me That I'd revealed Our plot, with all details effective, To Grand Duke Rudolph's own detective!

ALL. What folly fell, To go and tell Our plot to any one's detective!

CHORUS.

(Attacking LUDWIG.) You booby dense— You oaf immense, With no pretence To common sense! A stupid muff Who's made of stuff Not worth a puff Of candle-snuff!

Pack up at once and off we go, unless we're anxious to exhibit Our fairy forms all in a row, strung up upon the Castle gibbet!

[Exeunt Chorus. Manent LUDWIG, LISA, ERNEST, JULIA, and NOTARY. JULIA. Well, a nice mess you've got us into! There's an end of our precious plot! All up—pop—fizzle—bang—done for! LUD. Yes, but—ha! ha!—fancy my choosing the Grand Duke's private detective, of all men, to make a confidant of! When you come to think of it, it's really devilish funny! ERN. (angrily). When you come to think of it, it's extremely injudicious to admit into a conspiracy every pudding-headed baboon who presents himself! LUD. Yes—I should never do that. If I were chairman of this gang, I should hesitate to enrol any baboon who couldn't produce satisfactory credentials from his last Zoological Gardens. LISA. Ludwig is far from being a baboon. Poor boy, he could not help giving us away—it's his trusting nature—he was deceived. JULIA (furiously). His trusting nature! (To LUDWIG.) Oh, I should like to talk to you in my own language for five minutes—only five minutes! I know some good, strong, energetic English remarks that would shrivel your trusting nature into raisins—only you wouldn't understand them! LUD. Here we perceive one of the disadvantages of a neglected education! ERN. (to JULIA). And I suppose you'll never be my Grand Duchess now! JULIA. Grand Duchess? My good friend, if you don't produce the piece how can I play the part? ERN. True. (To LUDWIG.) You see what you've done. LUD. But, my dear sir, you don't seem to understand that the man ate three sausage-rolls. Keep that fact steadily before you. Three large sausage-rolls. JULIA. Bah!—Lots of people eat sausage-rolls who are not conspirators. LUD. Then they shouldn't. It's bad form. It's not the game. When one of the Human Family proposes to eat a sausage-roll, it is his duty to ask himself, "Am I a conspirator?" And if, on examination, he finds that he is not a conspirator, he is bound in honour to select some other form of refreshment. LISA. Of course he is. One should always play the game. (To NOTARY, who has been smiling placidly through this.) What are you grinning at, you greedy old man? NOT. Nothing—don't mind me. It is always amusing to the legal mind to see a parcel of laymen bothering themselves about a matter which to a trained lawyer presents no difficulty whatever. ALL. No difficulty! NOT. None whatever! The way out of it is quite simple. ALL. Simple? NOT. Certainly! Now attend. In the first place, you two men fight a Statutory Duel. ERN. A Statutory Duel? JULIA. A Stat-tat-tatutory Duel! Ach! what a crack-jaw language this German is! LUD. Never heard of such a thing. NOT. It is true that the practice has fallen into abeyance through disuse. But all the laws of Pfennig Halbpfennig run for a hundred years, when they die a natural death, unless, in the meantime, they have been revived for another century. The Act that institutes the Statutory Duel was passed a hundred years ago, and as it has never been revived, it expires to-morrow. So you're just in time. JULIA. But what is the use of talking to us about Statutory Duels when we none of us know what a Statutory Duel is? NOT. Don't you? Then I'll explain.

SONG—NOTARY.

About a century since, The code of the duello To sudden death For want of breath Sent many a strapping fellow. The then presiding Prince (Who useless bloodshed hated), He passed an Act, Short and compact, Which may be briefly stated. Unlike the complicated laws A Parliamentary draftsman draws, It may be briefly stated.

ALL. We know that complicated laws, Such as a legal draftsman draws, Cannot be briefly stated.

NOT. By this ingenious law, If any two shall quarrel, They may not fight With falchions bright (Which seemed to him immoral); But each a card shall draw, And he who draws the lowest Shall (so 'twas said) Be thenceforth dead— In fact, a legal "ghoest" (When exigence of rhyme compels, Orthography forgoes her spells, And "ghost" is written "ghoest").

ALL (aside) With what an emphasis he dwells Upon "orthography" and "spells"! That kind of fun's the lowest.

NOT. When off the loser's popped (By pleasing legal fiction), And friend and foe Have wept their woe In counterfeit affliction, The winner must adopt The loser's poor relations— Discharge his debts, Pay all his bets, And take his obligations.

In short, to briefly sum the case, The winner takes the loser's place, With all its obligations.

ALL. How neatly lawyers state a case! The winner takes the loser's place, With all its obligations!

LUD. I see. The man who draws the lowest card— NOT. Dies, ipso facto, a social death. He loses all his civil rights—his identity disappears—the Revising Barrister expunges his name from the list of voters, and the winner takes his place, whatever it may be, discharges all his functions, and adopts all his responsibilities. ERN. This is all very well, as far as it goes, but it only protects one of us. What's to become of the survivor? LUD. Yes, that's an interesting point, because I might be the survivor. NOT. The survivor goes at once to the Grand Duke, and, in a burst of remorse, denounces the dead man as the moving spirit of the plot. He is accepted as King's evidence, and, as a matter of course, receives a free pardon. To-morrow, when the law expires, the dead man will, ipso facto, come to life again—the Revising Barrister will restore his name to the list of voters, and he will resume all his obligations as though nothing unusual had happened. JULIA. When he will be at once arrested, tried, and executed on the evidence of the informer! Candidly, my friend, I don't think much of your plot! NOT. Dear, dear, dear, the ignorance of the laity! My good young lady, it is a beautiful maxim of our glorious Constitution that a man can only die once. Death expunges crime, and when he comes to life again, it will be with a clean slate. ERN. It's really very ingenious. LUD. (to NOTARY). My dear sir, we owe you our lives! LISA (aside to LUDWIG). May I kiss him? LUD. Certainly not: you're a big girl now. (To ERNEST.) Well, miscreant, are you prepared to meet me on the field of honour? ERN. At once. By Jove, what a couple of fire-eaters we are! LISA. Ludwig doesn't know what fear is. LUD. Oh, I don't mind this sort of duel! ERN. It's not like a duel with swords. I hate a duel with swords. It's not the blade I mind—it's the blood. LUD. And I hate a duel with pistols. It's not the ball I mind—it's the bang. NOT. Altogether it is a great improvement on the old method of giving satisfaction.

QUINTET. LUDWIG, LISA, NOTARY, ERNEST, JULIA.

Strange the views some people hold! Two young fellows quarrel— Then they fight, for both are bold— Rage of both is uncontrolled— Both are stretched out, stark and cold! Prithee, where's the moral? Ding dong! Ding dong! There's an end to further action, And this barbarous transaction Is described as "satisfaction"! Ha! ha! ha! ha! satisfaction! Ding dong! Ding dong! Each is laid in churchyard mould— Strange the views some people hold!

Better than the method old, Which was coarse and cruel, Is the plan that we've extolled. Sing thy virtues manifold (Better than refined gold), Statutory Duel! Sing song! Sing song!

Sword or pistol neither uses— Playing card he lightly chooses, And the loser simply loses! Ha! ha! ha! ha! simply loses. Sing song! Sing song! Some prefer the churchyard mould! Strange the views some people hold!

NOT. (offering a card to ERNEST). Now take a card and gaily sing How little you care for Fortune's rubs—

ERN. (drawing a card). Hurrah, hurrah!—I've drawn a King:

ALL. He's drawn a King! He's drawn a King! Sing Hearts and Diamonds, Spades and Clubs!

ALL (dancing). He's drawn a King! How strange a thing! An excellent card—his chance it aids— Sing Hearts and Diamonds, Spades and Clubs— Sing Diamonds, Hearts and Clubs and Spades!

NOT. (to LUDWIG). Now take a card with heart of grace— (Whatever our fate, let's play our parts).

LUD. (drawing card). Hurrah, hurrah!—I've drawn an Ace!

ALL. He's drawn an Ace! He's drawn an Ace! Sing Clubs and Diamonds, Spades and Hearts!

ALL (dancing). He's drawn an Ace! Observe his face— Such very good fortune falls to few— Sing Clubs and Diamonds, Spades and Hearts— Sing Clubs, Spades, Hearts and Diamonds too!

NOT. That both these maids may keep their troth, And never misfortune them befall, I'll hold 'em as trustee for both—

ALL. He'll hold 'em both! He'll hold 'em both! Sing Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades and all!

ALL (dancing). By joint decree As {our/your} trustee This Notary {we/you} will now instal— In custody let him keep {their/our} hearts, Sing Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades and all!

[Dance and exeunt LUDWIG, ERNEST, and NOTARY with the two Girls.

March. Enter the seven Chamberlains of the GRAND DUKE RUDOLPH.

CHORUS OF CHAMBERLAINS.

The good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig, Though, in his own opinion, very very big, In point of fact he's nothing but a miserable prig Is the good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig!

Though quite contemptible, as every one agrees, We must dissemble if we want our bread and cheese, So hail him in a chorus, with enthusiasm big, The good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig!

Enter the GRAND DUKE RUDOLPH. He is meanly and miserably dressed in old and patched clothes, but blazes with a profusion of orders and decorations. He is very weak and ill, from low living.

SONG—RUDOLPH.

A pattern to professors of monarchical autonomy, I don't indulge in levity or compromising bonhomie, But dignified formality, consistent with economy, Above all other virtues I particularly prize. I never join in merriment—I don't see joke or jape any— I never tolerate familiarity in shape any— This, joined with an extravagant respect for tuppence-ha'penny, A keynote to my character sufficiently supplies.

(Speaking.) Observe. (To Chamberlains.) My snuff-box!

(The snuff-box is passed with much ceremony from the Junior Chamberlain, through all the others, until it is presented by the Senior Chamberlain to RUDOLPH, who uses it.)

That incident a keynote to my character supplies.

RUD. I weigh out tea and sugar with precision mathematical— Instead of beer, a penny each—my orders are emphatical— (Extravagance unpardonable, any more than that I call), But, on the other hand, my Ducal dignity to keep— All Courtly ceremonial—to put it comprehensively— I rigidly insist upon (but not, I hope, offensively) Whenever ceremonial can be practised inexpensively— And, when you come to think of it, it's really very cheap!

(Speaking.) Observe. (To Chamberlains.) My handkerchief!

(Handkerchief is handed by Junior Chamberlain to the next in order, and so on until it reaches RUDOLPH, who is much inconvenienced by the delay.)

It's sometimes inconvenient, but it's always very cheap!

RUD. My Lord Chamberlain, as you are aware, my marriage with the wealthy Baroness von Krakenfeldt will take place to-morrow, and you will be good enough to see that the rejoicings are on a scale of unusual liberality. Pass that on. (Chamberlain whispers to Vice-Chamberlain, who whispers to the next, and so on.) The sports will begin with a Wedding Breakfast Bee. The leading pastry-cooks of the town will be invited to compete, and the winner will not only enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his breakfast devoured by the Grand Ducal pair, but he will also be entitled to have the Arms of Pfennig Halbpfennig tattoo'd between his shoulder-blades. The Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. All the public fountains of Speisesaal will run with Gingerbierheim and Currantweinmilch at the public expense. The Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. At night, everybody will illuminate; and as I have no desire to tax the public funds unduly, this will be done at the inhabitants' private expense. The Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. All my Grand Ducal subjects will wear new clothes, and the Sub-Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will collect the usual commission on all sales. Wedding presents (which, on this occasion, should be on a scale of extraordinary magnificence) will be received at the Palace at any hour of the twenty-four, and the Temporary Sub-Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will sit up all night for this purpose. The entire population will be commanded to enjoy themselves, and with this view the Acting Temporary Sub-Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will sing comic songs in the Market-place from noon to nightfall. Finally, we have composed a Wedding Anthem, with which the entire population are required to provide themselves. It can be obtained from our Grand Ducal publishers at the usual discount price, and all the Chamberlains will be expected to push the sale. (Chamberlains bow and exeunt). I don't feel at all comfortable. I hope I'm not doing a foolish thing in getting married. After all, it's a poor heart that never rejoices, and this wedding of mine is the first little treat I've allowed myself since my christening. Besides, Caroline's income is very considerable, and as her ideas of economy are quite on a par with mine, it ought to turn out well. Bless her tough old heart, she's a mean little darling! Oh, here she is, punctual to her appointment!

Enter BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT.

BAR. Rudolph! Why, what's the matter? RUD. Why, I'm not quite myself, my pet. I'm a little worried and upset. I want a tonic. It's the low diet, I think. I am afraid, after all, I shall have to take the bull by the horns and have an egg with my breakfast. BAR. I shouldn't do anything rash, dear. Begin with a jujube. (Gives him one.) RUD. (about to eat it, but changes his mind). I'll keep it for supper. (He sits by her and tries to put his arm round her waist.) BAR. Rudolph, don't! What in the world are you thinking of? RUD. I was thinking of embracing you, my sugarplum. Just as a little cheap treat. BAR. What, here? In public? Really, you appear to have no sense of delicacy. RUD. No sense of delicacy, Bon-bon! BAR. No. I can't make you out. When you courted me, all your courting was done publicly in the Marketplace. When you proposed to me, you proposed in the Market-place. And now that we're engaged you seem to desire that our first tte- occur in the Marketplace! Surely you've a room in your Palace—with blinds—that would do? RUD. But, my own, I can't help myself. I'm bound by my own decree. BAR. Your own decree? RUD. Yes. You see, all the houses that give on the Market-place belong to me, but the drains (which date back to the reign of Charlemagne) want attending to, and the houses wouldn't let—so, with a view to increasing the value of the property, I decreed that all love-episodes between affectionate couples should take place, in public, on this spot, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, when the band doesn't play. BAR. Bless me, what a happy idea! So moral too! And have you found it answer? RUD. Answer? The rents have gone up fifty per cent, and the sale of opera-glasses (which is a Grand Ducal monopoly) has received an extraordinary stimulus! So, under the circumstances, would you allow me to put my arm round your waist? As a source of income. Just once! BAR. But it's so very embarrassing. Think of the opera-glasses! RUD. My good girl, that's just what I am thinking of. Hang it all, we must give them something for their money! What's that? BAR. (unfolding paper, which contains a large letter, which she hands to him). It's a letter which your detective asked me to hand to you. I wrapped it up in yesterday's paper to keep it clean. RUD. Oh, it's only his report! That'll keep. But, I say, you've never been and bought a newspaper? BAR. My dear Rudolph, do you think I'm mad? It came wrapped round my breakfast. RUD. (relieved). I thought you were not the sort of girl to go and buy a newspaper! Well, as we've got it, we may as well read it. What does it say? BAR. Why—dear me—here's your biography! "Our Detested Despot!" RUD. Yes—I fancy that refers to me. BAR. And it says—Oh, it can't be! RUD. What can't be? BAR. Why, it says that although you're going to marry me to-morrow, you were betrothed in infancy to the Princess of Monte Carlo! RUD. Oh yes—that's quite right. Didn't I mention it? BAR. Mention it! You never said a word about it! RUD. Well, it doesn't matter, because, you see, it's practically off. BAR. Practically off? RUD. Yes. By the terms of the contract the betrothal is void unless the Princess marries before she is of age. Now, her father, the Prince, is stony-broke, and hasn't left his house for years for fear of arrest. Over and over again he has implored me to come to him to be married-but in vain. Over and over again he has implored me to advance him the money to enable the Princess to come to me—but in vain. I am very young, but not as young as that; and as the Princess comes of age at two tomorrow, why at two to-morrow I'm a free man, so I appointed that hour for our wedding, as I shall like to have as much marriage as I can get for my money. BAR. I see. Of course, if the married state is a happy state, it's a pity to waste any of it. RUD. Why, every hour we delayed I should lose a lot of you and you'd lose a lot of me! BAR. My thoughtful darling! Oh, Rudolph, we ought to be very happy! RUD. If I'm not, it'll be my first bad investment. Still, there is such a thing as a slump even in Matrimonials. BAR. I often picture us in the long, cold, dark December evenings, sitting close to each other and singing impassioned duets to keep us warm, and thinking of all the lovely things we could afford to buy if we chose, and, at the same time, planning out our lives in a spirit of the most rigid and exacting economy! RUD. It's a most beautiful and touching picture of connubial bliss in its highest and most rarefied development!

DUET—BARONESS and RUDOLPH.

BAR. As o'er our penny roll we sing, It is not reprehensive To think what joys our wealth would bring Were we disposed to do the thing Upon a scale extensive. There's rich mock-turtle—thick and clear—

RUD. (confidentially). Perhaps we'll have it once a year!

BAR. (delighted). You are an open-handed dear!

RUD. Though, mind you, it's expensive.

BAR. No doubt it is expensive.

BOTH. How fleeting are the glutton's joys! With fish and fowl he lightly toys,

RUD. And pays for such expensive tricks Sometimes as much as two-and-six!

BAR. As two-and-six?

RUD. As two-and-six—

BOTH. Sometimes as much as two-and-six!

BAR. It gives him no advantage, mind— For you and he have only dined, And you remain when once it's down A better man by half-a-crown.

RUD. By half-a-crown?

BAR. By half-a-crown.

BOTH. Yes, two-and-six is half-a-crown. Then let us be modestly merry, And rejoice with a derry down derry. For to laugh and to sing No extravagance bring— It's a joy economical, very!

BAR. Although as you're of course aware (I never tried to hide it) I moisten my insipid fare With water—which I can't abear—

RUD. Nor I—I can't abide it.

BAR. This pleasing fact our souls will cheer, With fifty thousand pounds a year We could indulge in table beer!

RUD. Get out!

BAR. We could—I've tried it!

RUD. Yes, yes, of course you've tried it!

BOTH. Oh, he who has an income clear Of fifty thousand pounds a year—

BAR. Can purchase all his fancy loves Conspicuous hats—

RUD. Two shilling gloves—

BAR. (doubtfully). Two-shilling gloves?

RUD. (positively). Two-shilling gloves—

BOTH. Yes, think of that, two-shilling gloves!

BAR. Cheap shoes and ties of gaudy hue, And Waterbury watches, too— And think that he could buy the lot Were he a donkey—

RUD. Which he's not!

BAR. Oh no, he's not!

RUD. Oh no, he's not!

BOTH (dancing). That kind of donkey he is not! Then let us be modestly merry, And rejoice with a derry down derry. For to laugh and to sing Is a rational thing- It's a joy economical, very! [Exit BARONESS.

RUD. Oh, now for my detective's report. (Opens letter.) What's this! Another conspiracy! A conspiracy to depose me! And my private detective was so convulsed with laughter at the notion of a conspirator selecting him for a confidant that he was physically unable to arrest the malefactor! Why, it'll come off! This comes of engaging a detective with a keen sense of the ridiculous! For the future I'll employ none but Scotchmen. And the plot is to explode to-morrow! My wedding day! Oh, Caroline, Caroline! (Weeps.) This is perfectly frightful! What's to be done? I don't know! I ought to keep cool and think, but you can't think when your veins are full of hot soda-water, and your brain's fizzing like a firework, and all your faculties are jumbled in a perfect whirlpool of tumblication! And I'm going to be ill! I know I am! I've been living too low, and I'm going to be very ill indeed!

SONG—RUDOLPH.

When you find you're a broken-down critter, Who is all of a trimmle and twitter, With your palate unpleasantly bitter, As if you'd just eaten a pill— When your legs are as thin as dividers, And you're plagued with unruly insiders, And your spine is all creepy with spiders, And you're highly gamboge in the gill— When you've got a beehive in your head, And a sewing machine in each ear, And you feel that you've eaten your bed, And you've got a bad headache down here— When such facts are about, And these symptoms you find In your body or crown— Well, you'd better look out, You may make up your mind You had better lie down!

When your lips are all smeary—like tallow, And your tongue is decidedly yallow, With a pint of warm oil in your swallow, And a pound of tin-tacks in your chest— When you're down in the mouth with the vapours, And all over your Morris wall-papers Black-beetles are cutting their capers, And crawly things never at rest— When you doubt if your head is your own, And you jump when an open door slams— Then you've got to a state which is known To the medical world as "jim-jams" If such symptoms you find In your body or head, They're not easy to quell— You may make up your mind You are better in bed, For you're not at all well!

(Sinks exhausted and weeping at foot of well.)

Enter LUDWIG.

LUD. Now for my confession and full pardon. They told me the Grand Duke was dancing duets in the Market-place, but I don't see him. (Sees RUDOLPH.) Hallo! Who's this? (Aside.) Why, it is the Grand Duke! RUD. (sobbing). Who are you, sir, who presume to address me in person? If you've anything to communicate, you must fling yourself at the feet of my Acting Temporary Sub-Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain, who will fling himself at the feet of his immediate superior, and so on, with successive foot-flingings through the various grades—your communication will, in course of time, come to my august knowledge. LUD. But when I inform your Highness that in me you see the most unhappy, the most unfortunate, the most completely miserable man in your whole dominion— RUD. (still sobbing). You the most miserable man in my whole dominion? How can you have the face to stand there and say such a thing? Why, look at me! Look at me! (Bursts into tears.) LUD. Well, I wouldn't be a cry-baby. RUD. A cry-baby? If you had just been told that you were going to be deposed to-morrow, and perhaps blown up with dynamite for all I know, wouldn't you be a cry-baby? I do declare if I could only hit upon some cheap and painless method of putting an end to an existence which has become insupportable, I would unhesitatingly adopt it! LUD. You would? (Aside.) I see a magnificent way out of this! By Jupiter, I'll try it! (Aloud.) Are you, by any chance, in earnest? RUD. In earnest? Why, look at me! LUD. If you are really in earnest—if you really desire to escape scot-free from this impending—this unspeakably horrible catastrophe—without trouble, danger, pain, or expense—why not resort to a Statutory Duel? RUD. A Statutory Duel? LUD. Yes. The Act is still in force, but it will expire to-morrow afternoon. You fight—you lose—you are dead for a day. To-morrow, when the Act expires, you will come to life again and resume your Grand Duchy as though nothing had happened. In the meantime, the explosion will have taken place and the survivor will have had to bear the brunt of it. RUD. Yes, that's all very well, but who'll be fool enough to be the survivor? LUD. (kneeling). Actuated by an overwhelming sense of attachment to your Grand Ducal person, I unhesitatingly offer myself as the victim of your subjects' fury. RUD. You do? Well, really that's very handsome. I daresay being blown up is not nearly as unpleasant as one would think. LUD. Oh, yes it is. It mixes one up, awfully! RUD. But suppose I were to lose? LUD. Oh, that's easily arranged. (Producing cards.) I'll put an Ace up my sleeve—you'll put a King up yours. When the drawing takes place, I shall seem to draw the higher card and you the lower. And there you are! RUD. Oh, but that's cheating. LUD. So it is. I never thought of that. (Going.) RUD. (hastily). Not that I mind. But I say—you won't take an unfair advantage of your day of office? You won't go tipping people, or squandering my little savings in fireworks, or any nonsense of that sort? LUD. I am hurt—really hurt—by the suggestion. RUD. You—you wouldn't like to put down a deposit, perhaps? LUD. No. I don't think I should like to put down a deposit. RUD. Or give a guarantee? LUD. A guarantee would be equally open to objection. RUD. It would be more regular. Very well, I suppose you must have your own way. LUD. Good. I say—we must have a devil of a quarrel! RUD. Oh, a devil of a quarrel! LUD. Just to give colour to the thing. Shall I give you a sound thrashing before all the people? Say the word—it's no trouble. RUD. No, I think not, though it would be very convincing and it's extremely good and thoughtful of you to suggest it. Still, a devil of a quarrel! LUD. Oh, a devil of a quarrel! RUD. No half measures. Big words—strong language—rude remarks. Oh, a devil of a quarrel! LUD. Now the question is, how shall we summon the people? RUD. Oh, there's no difficulty about that. Bless your heart, they've been staring at us through those windows for the last half-hour!

FINALE.

RUD. Come hither, all you people— When you hear the fearful news, All the pretty women weep'll, Men will shiver in their shoes.

LUD. And they'll all cry "Lord, defend us!" When they learn the fact tremendous That to give this man his gruel In a Statutory Duel—

BOTH. This plebeian man of shoddy— This contemptible nobody— Your Grand Duke does not refuse!

(During this, Chorus of men and women have entered, all trembling with apprehension under the impression that they are to be arrested for their complicity in the conspiracy.)

CHORUS.

With faltering feet, And our muscles in a quiver, Our fate we meet With our feelings all unstrung! If our plot complete He has managed to diskiver, There is no retreat— We shall certainly be hung!

RUD. (aside to LUDWIG). Now you begin and pitch it strong—walk into me abusively—

LUD. (aside to RUDOLPH). I've several epithets that I've reserved for you exclusively. A choice selection I have here when you are ready to begin.

RUD. Now you begin

LUD. No, you begin—

RUD. No, you begin—

LUD. No, you begin!

CHORUS (trembling). Has it happed as we expected? Is our little plot detected?

DUET—RUDOLPH and LUDWIG

RUD. (furiously). Big bombs, small bombs, great guns and little ones! Put him in a pillory! Rack him with artillery!

LUD. (furiously). Long swords, short swords, tough swords and brittle ones! Fright him into fits! Blow him into bits!

RUD. You muff, sir!

LUD. You lout, sir!

RUD. Enough, sir!

LUD. Get out, sir! (Pushes him.)

RUD. A hit, sir?

LUD. Take that, sir! (Slaps him.)

RUD. It's tit, sir,

LUD. For tat, sir!

CHORUS (appalled). When two doughty heroes thunder, All the world is lost in wonder; When such men their temper lose, Awful are the words they use!

LUD. Tall snobs, small snobs, rich snobs and needy ones!

RUD. (jostling him). Whom are you alluding to?

LUD. (jostling him). Where are you intruding to?

RUD. Fat snobs, thin snobs, swell snobs and seedy ones!

LUD. I rather think you err. To whom do you refer?

RUD. To you, sir!

LUD. To me, sir?

RUD. I do, sir!

LUD. We'll see, sir!

RUD. I jeer, sir! (Makes a face at LUDWIG.) Grimace, sir!

LUD. Look here, sir— (Makes a face at RUDOLPH.) A face, sir!

CHORUS (appalled). When two heroes, once pacific, Quarrel, the effect's terrific! What a horrible grimace! What a paralysing face!

ALL. Big bombs, small bombs, etc.

LUD. and RUD. (recit.). He has insulted me, and, in a breath, This day we fight a duel to the death!

NOT. (checking them). You mean, of course, by duel (verbum sat.), A Statutory Duel.

ALL. Why, what's that?

NOT. According to established legal uses, A card apiece each bold disputant chooses— Dead as a doornail is the dog who loses— The winner steps into the dead man's shoeses!

ALL. The winner steps into the dead man's shoeses!

RUD. and Lud. Agreed! Agreed!

RUD. Come, come—the pack!

LUD. (producing one). Behold it here!

RUD. I'm on the rack!

LUD. I quake with fear!

(NOTARY offers card to LUDWIG.)

LUD. First draw to you!

RUD. If that's the case, Behold the King! (Drawing card from his sleeve.)

LUD. (same business). Behold the Ace!

CHORUS. Hurrah, hurrah! Our Ludwig's won And wicked Rudolph's course is run— So Ludwig will as Grand Duke reign Till Rudolph comes to life again—

RUD. Which will occur to-morrow! I come to life to-morrow!

GRET. (with mocking curtsey). My Lord Grand Duke, farewell! A pleasant journey, very, To your convenient cell In yonder cemetery!

LISA (curtseying). Though malcontents abuse you, We're much distressed to lose you! You were, when you were living, So liberal, so forgiving!

BERTHA. So merciful, so gentle! So highly ormamental!

OLGA. And now that you've departed, You leave us broken-hearted!

ALL (pretending to weep). Yes, truly, truly, truly, truly— Truly broken-hearted! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Mocking him.)

RUD. (furious). Rapscallions, in penitential fires, You'll rue the ribaldry that from you falls! To-morrow afternoon the law expires. And then—look out for squalls! [Exit RUDOLPH, amid general ridicule.

CHORUS. Give thanks, give thanks to wayward fate— By mystic fortune's sway, Our Ludwig guides the helm of State For one delightful day!

(To LUDWIG.) We hail you, sir! We greet you, sir! Regale you, sir! We treat you, sir! Our ruler be By fate's decree For one delightful day!

NOT. You've done it neatly! Pity that your powers Are limited to four-and-twenty hours!

LUD. No matter, though the time will quickly run, In hours twenty-four much may be done!

SONG—LUDWIG.

Oh, a Monarch who boasts intellectual graces Can do, if he likes, a good deal in a day— He can put all his friends in conspicuous places, With plenty to eat and with nothing to pay! You'll tell me, no doubt, with unpleasant grimaces, To-morrow, deprived of your ribbons and laces, You'll get your dismissal—with very long faces— But wait! on that topic I've something to say! (Dancing.) I've something to say—I've something to say—I've something to say! Oh, our rule shall be merry—I'm not an ascetic— And while the sun shines we will get up our hay— By a pushing young Monarch, of turn energetic, A very great deal may be done in a day!

CHORUS. Oh, his rule will be merry, etc.

(During this, LUDWIG whispers to NOTARY, who writes.)

For instance, this measure (his ancestor drew it), (alluding to NOTARY) This law against duels—to-morrow will die— The Duke will revive, and you'll certainly rue it— He'll give you "what for" and he'll let you know why! But in twenty-four hours there's time to renew it— With a century's life I've the right to imbue it— It's easy to do—and, by Jingo, I'll do it!

(Signing paper, which NOTARY presents.)

It's done! Till I perish your Monarch am I! Your Monarch am I—your Monarch am I—your Monarch am I! Though I do not pretend to be very prophetic, I fancy I know what you're going to say— By a pushing young Monarch, of turn energetic, A very great deal may be done in a day!

ALL (astonished). Oh, it's simply uncanny, his power prophetic— It's perfectly right—we were going to say, By a pushing, etc.

Enter JULIA, at back.

LUD. (recit.). This very afternoon—at two (about)— The Court appointments will be given out. To each and all (for that was the condition) According to professional position!

ALL. Hurrah!

JULIA (coming forward). According to professional position?

LUD. According to professional position!

JULIA Then, horror!

ALL. Why, what's the matter? What's the matter? What's the matter?

SONG—JULIA. (LISA clinging to her.) Ah, pity me, my comrades true, Who love, as well I know you do, This gentle child, To me so fondly dear!

ALL. Why, what's the matter?

JULIA Our sister love so true and deep From many an eye unused to weep Hath oft beguiled The coy reluctant tear!

ALL. Why, what's the matter?

JULIA Each sympathetic heart 'twill bruise When you have heard the frightful news (O will it not?) That I must now impart!

ALL. Why, what's the matter?

JULIA. Her love for him is all in all! Ah, cursed fate! that it should fall Unto my lot To break my darling's heart!

ALL. Why, what's the matter?

LUD. What means our Julia by those fateful looks? Please do not keep us all on tenter-hooks- Now, what's the matter?

JULIA. Our duty, if we're wise, We never shun. This Spartan rule applies To every one. In theatres, as in life, Each has her line— This part—the Grand Duke's wife (Oh agony!) is mine! A maxim new I do not start— The canons of dramatic art Decree that this repulsive part (The Grand Duke's wife) Is mine!

ALL. Oh, that's the matter!

LISA (appalled, to LUDWIG). Can that be so?

LUD. I do not know— But time will show If that be so.

CHORUS. Can that be so? etc.

LISA (recit.). Be merciful!

DUET—LISA and JULIA.

LISA. Oh, listen to me, dear— I love him only, darling! Remember, oh, my pet, On him my heart is set This kindness do me, dear- Nor leave me lonely, darling! Be merciful, my pet, Our love do not forget!

JULIA. Now don't be foolish, dear— You couldn't play it, darling! It's "leading business", pet And you're but a soubrette. So don't be mulish, dear- Although I say it, darling, It's not your line, my pet— I play that part, you bet! I play that part— I play that part, you bet!

(LISA overwhelmed with grief.)

NOT. The lady's right. Though Julia's engagement Was for the stage meant— It certainly frees Ludwig from his Connubial promise. Though marriage contracts—or whate'er you call 'em— Are very solemn, Dramatic contracts (which you all adore so) Are even more so!

ALL. That's very true! Though marriage contracts, etc.

SONG—LISA.

The die is cast, My hope has perished! Farewell, O Past, Too bright to last, Yet fondly cherished! My light has fled, My hope is dead, Its doom is spoken— My day is night, My wrong is right In all men's sight— My heart is broken! [Exit weeping.

LUD. (recit.). Poor child, where will she go? What will she do?

JULIA. That isn't in your part, you know.

LUD. (sighing). Quite true! (With an effort.) Depressing topics we'll not touch upon— Let us begin as we are going on! For this will be a jolly Court, for little and for big!

ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!

LUD. From morn to night our lives shall be as merry as a grig!

ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!

LUD. All state and ceremony we'll eternally abolish— We don't mean to insist upon unnecessary polish— And, on the whole, I rather think you'll find our rule tollolish! ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!

JULIA. But stay—your new-made Court Without a courtly coat is— We shall require Some Court attire, And at a moment's notice. In clothes of common sort Your courtiers must not grovel— Your new noblesse Must have a dress Original and novel!

LUD. Old Athens we'll exhume! The necessary dresses, Correct and true And all brand-new, The company possesses: Henceforth our Court costume Shall live in song and story, For we'll upraise The dead old days Of Athens in her glory!

ALL. Yes, let's upraise The dead old days Of Athens in her glory!

ALL. Agreed! Agreed! For this will be a jolly Court for little and for big! etc

(They carry LUDWIG round stage and deposit him on the ironwork of well. JULIA stands by him, and the rest group round them.)

END OF ACT I.



ACT II.

(THE NEXT MORNING.)

SCENE.—Entrance Hall of the Grand Ducal Palace.

Enter a procession of the members of the theatrical company (now dressed in the costumes of Troilus and Cressida), carrying garlands, playing on pipes, citharae, and cymbals, and heralding the return of LUDWIG and JULIA from the marriage ceremony, which has just taken place.

CHORUS.

As before you we defile, Eloia! Eloia! Pray you, gentles, do not smile If we shout, in classic style, Eloia! Ludwig and his Julia true Wedded are each other to— So we sing, till all is blue, Eloia! Eloia! Opoponax! Eloia!

Wreaths of bay and ivy twine, Eloia! Eloia! Fill the bowl with Lesbian wine, And to revelry incline— Eloia!

For as gaily we pass on Probably we shall, anon, Sing a Diergeticon— Eloia! Eloia! Opoponax! Eloia!

RECIT.—LUDWIG.

Your loyalty our Ducal heartstrings touches: Allow me to present your new Grand Duchess. Should she offend, you'll graciously excuse her— And kindly recollect I didn't choose her!

SONG—LUDWIG.

At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best, For the company possesses all the necessary dresses And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the rest. We've a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic) Who respond to the choreut of that cultivated age, And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster Would accept as the choregus of the early Attic stage. This return to classic ages is considered in their wages, Which are always calculated by the day or by the week— And I'll pay 'em (if they'll back me) all in oboloi and drachm, Which they'll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that are Greek!

(Confidentially to audience.) At this juncture I may mention That this erudition sham Is but classical pretension, The result of steady "cram.": Periphrastic methods spurning, To this audience discerning I admit this show of learning Is the fruit of steady "cram."!

CHORUS. Periphrastic methods, etc.

In the period Socratic every dining-room was Attic (Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy kind), There they'd satisfy their thirst on a recherche cold {Greek word} Which is what they called their lunch—and so may you if you're inclined. As they gradually got on, they'd {four Greek words) (Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious drink). But they mixed their wine with water—which I'm sure they didn't oughter— And we modern Saxons know a trick worth two of that, I think! Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances) Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the Licenser of Plays, Corybantian maniac kick—Dionysiac or Bacchic— And the Dithyrambic revels of those undecorous days.

(Confidentially to audience.) And perhaps I'd better mention, Lest alarming you I am, That it isn't our intention To perform a Dithyramb— It displays a lot of stocking, Which is always very shocking, And of course I'm only mocking At the prevalence of "cram"!

CHORUS. It displays a lot, etc.

Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of that nation Which are not in strict accordance with the habits of our day, And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify, Or Mrs. Grundy, p'r'aps, may have a word or two to say. For they hadn't macintoshes or umbrellas or goloshes— And a shower with their dresses must have played the very deuce, And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of sneezing, For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they didn't know the use. They wore little underclothing—scarcely anything—or nothing— And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent in design— Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the "altogether" And it's there, I rather fancy, I shall have to draw the line!

(Confidentially to audience.) And again I wish to mention That this erudition sham Is but classical pretension, The result of steady "cram." Yet my classic lore aggressive (If you'll pardon the possessive) Is exceedingly impressive When you're passing an exam.

CHORUS. Yet his classic lore, etc.

[Exeunt Chorus. Manent LUDWIG, JULIA, and LISA.

LUD. (recit.). Yes, Ludwig and his Julia are mated! For when an obscure comedian, whom the law backs, To sovereign rank is promptly elevated, He takes it with its incidental drawbacks! So Julia and I are duly mated!

(LISA, through this, has expressed intense distress at having to surrender LUDWIG.)

SONG—LISA.

Take care of him—he's much too good to live, With him you must be very gentle: Poor fellow, he's so highly sensitive, And O, so sentimental! Be sure you never let him sit up late In chilly open air conversing— Poor darling, he's extremely delicate, And wants a deal of nursing!

LUD. I want a deal of nursing!

LISA. And O, remember this— When he is cross with pain, A flower and a kiss— A simple flower—a tender kiss Will bring him round again!

His moods you must assiduously watch: When he succumbs to sorrow tragic, Some hardbake or a bit of butter-scotch Will work on him like magic. To contradict a character so rich In trusting love were simple blindness— He's one of those exalted natures which Will only yield to kindness!

LUD. I only yield to kindness!

LISA. And O, the bygone bliss! And O, the present pain! That flower and that kiss— That simple flower—that tender kiss I ne'er shall give again!

[Exit, weeping.

JULIA. And now that everybody has gone, and we're happily and comfortably married, I want to have a few words with my new-born husband. LUD. (aside). Yes, I expect you'll often have a few words with your new-born husband! (Aloud.) Well, what is it? JULIA. Why, I've been thinking that as you and I have to play our parts for life, it is most essential that we should come to a definite understanding as to how they shall be rendered. Now, I've been considering how I can make the most of the Grand Duchess. LUD. Have you? Well, if you'll take my advice, you'll make a very fine part of it. JULIA. Why, that's quite my idea. LUD. I shouldn't make it one of your hoity-toity vixenish viragoes. JULIA. You think not? LUD. Oh, I'm quite clear about that. I should make her a tender, gentle, submissive, affectionate (but not too affectionate) child-wife—timidly anxious to coil herself into her husband's heart, but kept in check by an awestruck reverence for his exalted intellectual qualities and his majestic personal appearance. JULIA. Oh, that is your idea of a good part? LUD. Yes—a wife who regards her husband's slightest wish as an inflexible law, and who ventures but rarely into his august presence, unless (which would happen seldom) he should summon her to appear before him. A crushed, despairing violet, whose blighted existence would culminate (all too soon) in a lonely and pathetic death-scene! A fine part, my dear. JULIA. Yes. There's a good deal to be said for your view of it. Now there are some actresses whom it would fit like a glove. LUD. (aside). I wish I'd married one of 'em! JULIA. But, you see, I must consider my temperament. For instance, my temperament would demand some strong scenes of justifiable jealousy. LUD. Oh, there's no difficulty about that. You shall have them. JULIA. With a lovely but detested rival— LUD. Oh, I'll provide the rival. JULIA. Whom I should stab—stab—stab! LUD. Oh, I wouldn't stab her. It's been done to death. I should treat her with a silent and contemptuous disdain, and delicately withdraw from a position which, to one of your sensitive nature, would be absolutely untenable. Dear me, I can see you delicately withdrawing, up centre and off! JULIA. Can you? LUD. Yes. It's a fine situation—and in your hands, full of quiet pathos!

DUET—LUDWIG and JULIA.

LUD. Now Julia, come, Consider it from This dainty point of view— A timid tender Feminine gender, Prompt to coyly coo— Yet silence seeking, Seldom speaking Till she's spoken to— A comfy, cosy, Rosy-posy Innocent ingenoo! The part you're suited to— (To give the deuce her due) A sweet (O, jiminy!) Miminy-piminy, Innocent ingenoo!

ENSEMBLE.

LUD. JULIA.

The part you're suited to— I'm much obliged to you, (To give the deuce her due) I don't think that would do— A sweet (O, jiminy!) To play (O, jiminy!) Miminy-piminy, Miminy-piminy, Innocent ingenoo! Innocent ingenoo!

JULIA. You forget my special magic (In a high dramatic sense) Lies in situations tragic— Undeniably intense. As I've justified promotion In the histrionic art, I'll submit to you my notion Of a first-rate part.

LUD. Well, let us see your notion Of a first-rate part.

JULIA (dramatically). I have a rival! Frenzy-thrilled, I find you both together! My heart stands still—with horror chilled—- Hard as the millstone nether! Then softly, slyly, snaily, snaky— Crawly, creepy, quaily, quaky— I track her on her homeward way, As panther tracks her fated prey!

(Furiously.) I fly at her soft white throat— The lily-white laughing leman! On her agonized gaze I gloat With the glee of a dancing demon! My rival she—I have no doubt of her—- So I hold on—till the breath is out of her! —till the breath is out of her!

And then—Remorse! Remorse! O cold unpleasant corse, Avaunt! Avaunt! That lifeless form I gaze upon— That face, still warm But weirdly wan— Those eyes of glass I contemplate— And then, alas! Too late—too late! I find she is—your Aunt! (Shuddering.) Remorse! Remorse!

Then, mad—mad—mad! With fancies wild—chimerical— Now sorrowful—silent—sad— Now hullaballoo hysterical! Ha! ha! ha! ha! But whether I'm sad or whether I'm glad, Mad! mad! mad! mad!

This calls for the resources of a high-class art, And satisfies my notion of a first-rate part!

[Exit JULIA

Enter all the Chorus, hurriedly, and in great excitement.

CHORUS.

Your Highness, there's a party at the door— Your Highness, at the door there is a party— She says that we expect her, But we do not recollect her, For we never saw her countenance before!

With rage and indignation she is rife, Because our welcome wasn't very hearty— She's as sulky as a super, And she's swearing like a trooper, O, you never heard such language in your life!

Enter BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT, in a fury.

BAR. With fury indescribable I burn! With rage I'm nearly ready to explode! There'll be grief and tribulation when I learn To whom this slight unbearable is owed! For whatever may be due I'll pay it double— There'll be terror indescribable and trouble! With a hurly-burly and a hubble-bubble I'll pay you for this pretty episode!

ALL. Oh, whatever may be due she'll pay it double!— It's very good of her to take the trouble— But we don't know what she means by "hubble-bubble"— No doubt it's an expression la mode.

BAR. (to LUDWIG). Do you know who I am?

LUD. (examining her). I don't; Your countenance I can't fix, my dear.

BAR. This proves I'm not a sham. (Showing pocket-handkerchief.)

LUD. (examining it). It won't; It only says "Krakenfeldt, Six," my dear.

BAR. Express your grief profound!

LUD. I shan't! This tone I never allow, my love.

BAR. Rudolph at once produce!

LUD. I can't; He isn't at home just now, my love.

BAR. (astonished). He isn't at home just now!

ALL. He isn't at home just now, (Dancing derisively.) He has an appointment particular, very- You'll find him, I think, in the town cemetery; And that's how we come to be making so merry, For he isn't at home just now!

BAR. But bless my heart and soul alive, it's impudence personified! I've come here to be matrimonially matrimonified!

LUD. For any disappointment I am sorry unaffectedly, But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly—

ALL (sobbing). Tol the riddle lol! Tol the riddle lol! Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol lol lay! (Then laughing wildly.) Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol lol lay!

BAR. But this is most unexpected. He was well enough at a quarter to twelve yesterday. LUD. Yes. He died at half-past eleven. BAR. Bless me, how very sudden! LUD. It was sudden. BAR. But what in the world am I to do? I was to have been married to him to-day!

ALL (singing and dancing). For any disappointment we are sorry unaffectedly, But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly— Tol the riddle lol!

BAR. Is this Court Mourning or a Fancy Ball? LUD. Well, it's a delicate combination of both effects. It is intended to express inconsolable grief for the decease of the late Duke and ebullient joy at the accession of his successor. I am his successor. Permit me to present you to my Grand Duchess. (Indicating JULIA.) BAR. Your Grand Duchess? Oh, your Highness! (Curtseying profoundly.) JULIA (sneering at her). Old frump! BAR. Humph! A recent creation, probably? LUD. We were married only half an hour ago. BAR. Exactly. I thought she seemed new to the position. JULIA. Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but I flatter myself I can do justice to any part on the very shortest notice. BAR. My dear, under the circumstances you are doing admirably—and you'll improve with practice. It's so difficult to be a lady when one isn't born to it. JULIA (in a rage, to LUDWIG). Am I to stand this? Am I not to be allowed to pull her to pieces? LUD. (aside to JULIA). No, no—it isn't Greek. Be a violet, I beg. BAR. And now tell me all about this distressing circumstance. How did the Grand Duke die? LUD. He perished nobly—in a Statutory Duel. BAR. In a Statutory Duel? But that's only a civil death!—and the Act expires to-night, and then he will come to life again! LUD. Well, no. Anxious to inaugurate my reign by conferring some inestimable boon on my people, I signalized this occasion by reviving the law for another hundred years. BAR. For another hundred years? Then set the merry joybells ringing! Let festive epithalamia resound through these ancient halls! Cut the satisfying sandwich—broach the exhilarating Marsala—and let us rejoice to-day, if we never rejoice again! LUD. But I don't think I quite understand. We have already rejoiced a good deal. BAR. Happy man, you little reck of the extent of the good things you are in for. When you killed Rudolph you adopted all his overwhelming responsibilities. Know then that I, Caroline von Krakenfeldt, am the most overwhelming of them all! LUD. But stop, stop—I've just been married to somebody else! JULIA. Yes, ma'am, to somebody else, ma'am! Do you understand, ma'am? To somebody else! BAR. Do keep this young woman quiet; she fidgets me! JULIA. Fidgets you! LUD. (aside to JULIA). Be a violet—a crushed, despairing violet. JULIA. Do you suppose I intend to give up a magnificent part without a struggle? LUD. My good girl, she has the law on her side. Let us both bear this calamity with resignation. If you must struggle, go away and struggle in the seclusion of your chamber.

SONG—BARONESS and CHORUS.

Now away to the wedding we go, So summon the charioteers— No kind of reluctance they show To embark on their married careers. Though Julia's emotion may flow For the rest of her maidenly years, ALL. To the wedding we eagerly go, So summon the charioteers!

Now away, etc.

(All dance off to wedding except JULIA.)

RECIT.—JULIA.

So ends my dream—so fades my vision fair! Of hope no gleam—distraction and despair! My cherished dream, the Ducal throne to share That aim supreme has vanished into air!

SONG—JULIA.

Broken every promise plighted— All is darksome—all is dreary. Every new-born hope is blighted! Sad and sorry—weak and weary Death the Friend or Death the Foe, Shall I call upon thee? No! I will go on living, though Sad and sorry—weak and weary!

No, no! Let the bygone go by! No good ever came of repining: If to-day there are clouds o'er the sky, To-morrow the sun may be shining! To-morrow, be kind, To-morrow, to me! With loyalty blind I curtsey to thee! To-day is a day of illusion and sorrow, So viva To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow! God save you, To-morrow! Your servant, To-morrow! God save you, To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow!

[Exit JULIA. Enter ERNEST.

ERN. It's of no use—I can't wait any longer. At any risk I must gratify my urgent desire to know what is going on. (Looking off.) Why, what's that? Surely I see a wedding procession winding down the hill, dressed in my Troilus and Cressida costumes! That's Ludwig's doing! I see how it is—he found the time hang heavy on his hands, and is amusing himself by getting married to Lisa. No—it can't be to Lisa, for here she is!

Enter LISA.

LISA (not seeing him). I really cannot stand seeing my Ludwig married twice in one day to somebody else! ERN. Lisa! (LISA sees him, and stands as if transfixed with horror.). ERN. Come here—don't be a little fool—I want you. (LISA suddenly turns and bolts off.) ERN. Why, what's the matter with the little donkey? One would think she saw a ghost! But if he's not marrying Lisa, whom is he marrying? (Suddenly.) Julia! (Much overcome.) I see it all! The scoundrel! He had to adopt all my responsibilities, and he's shabbily taken advantage of the situation to marry the girl I'm engaged to! But no, it can't be Julia, for here she is!

Enter JULIA. JULIA (not seeing him). I've made up my mind. I won't stand it! I'll send in my notice at once! ERN. Julia! Oh, what a relief!

(JULIA gazes at him as if transfixed.)

ERN. Then you've not married Ludwig? You are still true to me?

(JULIA turns and bolts in grotesque horror. ERNEST follows and stops her.)

ERN. Don't run away! Listen to me. Are you all crazy? JULIA (in affected terror). What would you with me, spectre? Oh, ain't his eyes sepulchral! And ain't his voice hollow! What are you doing out of your tomb at this time of day—apparition? ERN. I do wish I could make you girls understand that I'm only technically dead, and that physically I'm as much alive as ever I was in my life! JULIA. Oh, but it's an awful thing to be haunted by a technical bogy! ERN. You won't be haunted much longer. The law must be on its last legs, and in a few hours I shall come to life again—resume all my social and civil functions, and claim my darling as my blushing bride! JULIA. Oh—then you haven't heard? ERN. My love, I've heard nothing. How could I? There are no daily papers where I come from. JULIA. Why, Ludwig challenged Rudolph and won, and now he's Grand Duke, and he's revived the law for another century! ERN. What! But you're not serious—you're only joking! JULIA. My good sir, I'm a light-hearted girl, but I don't chaff bogies. ERN. Well, that's the meanest dodge I ever heard of! JULIA. Shabby trick, I call it. ERN. But you don't mean to say that you're going to cry off! JULIA. I really can't afford to wait until your time is up. You know, I've always set my face against long engagements. ERN. Then defy the law and marry me now. We will fly to your native country, and I'll play broken-English in London as you play broken-German here! JULIA. No. These legal technicalities cannot be defied. Situated as you are, you have no power to make me your wife. At best you could only make me your widow. ERN. Then be my widow—my little, dainty, winning, winsome widow! JULIA. Now what would be the good of that? Why, you goose, I should marry again within a month!

DUET—ERNEST and JULIA.

ERN. If the light of love's lingering ember Has faded in gloom, You cannot neglect, O remember, A voice from the tomb! That stern supernatural diction Should act as a solemn restriction, Although by a mere legal fiction A voice from the tomb!

JULIA (in affected terror). I own that that utterance chills me— It withers my bloom! With awful emotion it thrills me— That voice from the tomb! Oh, spectre, won't anything lay thee? Though pained to deny or gainsay thee, In this case I cannot obey thee, Thou voice from the tomb!

(Dancing.) So, spectre, appalling, I bid you good-day— Perhaps you'll be calling When passing this way. Your bogydom scorning, And all your love-lorning, I bid you good-morning, I bid you good-day.

ERN. (furious). My offer recalling, Your words I obey— Your fate is appalling, And full of dismay. To pay for this scorning I give you fair warning I'll haunt you each morning, Each night, and each day!

(Repeat Ensemble, and exeunt in opposite directions.)

Re-enter the Wedding Procession dancing.

CHORUS.

Now bridegroom and bride let us toast In a magnum of merry champagne— Let us make of this moment the most, We may not be so lucky again. So drink to our sovereign host And his highly intelligent reign— His health and his bride's let us toast In a magnum of merry champagne!

SONG—BARONESS with CHORUS.

I once gave an evening party (A sandwich and cut-orange ball), But my guests had such appetites hearty That I couldn't enjoy it, enjoy it at all. I made a heroic endeavour To look unconcerned, but in vain, And I vow'd that I never—oh never Would ask anybody again! But there's a distinction decided—- A difference truly immense— When the wine that you drink is provided, provided, At somebody else's expense. So bumpers—aye, ever so many— The cost we may safely ignore! For the wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!

CHORUS. So bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.

Come, bumpers—aye, ever so many— And then, if you will, many more! This wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry, Pommry seventy-four! Old wine is a true panacea For ev'ry conceivable ill, When you cherish the soothing idea That somebody else pays the bill! Old wine is a pleasure that's hollow When at your own table you sit, For you're thinking each mouthful you swallow Has cost you, has cost you a threepenny-bit! So bumpers—aye, ever so many— And then, if you will, many more! This wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!

CHORUS. So, bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.

(March heard.)

LUD. (recit.). Why, who is this approaching, Upon our joy encroaching? Some rascal come a-poaching Who's heard that wine we're broaching?

ALL. Who may this be? Who may this be? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Enter HERALD.

HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo, From Mediterranean water, Has come here to bestow On you his beautiful daughter. They've paid off all they owe, As every statesman oughter— That Prince of Monte Carlo And his be-eautiful daughter!

CHORUS. The Prince of Monte Carlo, etc.

HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo, Who is so very partickler, Has heard that you're also For ceremony a stickler— Therefore he lets you know By word of mouth auric'lar— (That Prince of Monte Carlo Who is so very particklar)—

CHORUS. The Prince of Monte Carlo, etc.

HER. That Prince of Monte Carlo, From Mediterranean water, Has come here to bestow On you his be-eautiful daughter!

LUD. (recit.). His Highness we know not—nor the locality In which is situate his Principality; But, as he guesses by some odd fatality, This is the shop for cut and dried formality! Let him appear— He'll find that we're Remarkable for cut and dried formality.

(Reprise of March. Exit HERALD. LUDWIG beckons his Court.)

LUD. I have a plan—I'll tell you all the plot of it— He wants formality—he shall have a lot of it! (Whispers to them, through symphony.) Conceal yourselves, and when I give the cue, Spring out on him—you all know what to do! (All conceal themselves behind the draperies that enclose the stage.)

Pompous March. Enter the PRINCE and PRINCESS OF MONTE CARLO, attended by six theatrical-looking nobles and the Court Costumier.

DUET—Prince and PRINCESS.

PRINCE. We're rigged out in magnificent array (Our own clothes are much gloomier) In costumes which we've hired by the day From a very well-known costumier.

COST. (bowing). I am the well-known costumier.

PRINCESS. With a brilliant staff a Prince should make a show (It's a rule that never varies), So we've engaged from the Theatre Monaco Six supernumeraries.

NOBLES. We're the supernumeraries.

ALL. At a salary immense, Quite regardless of expense, Six supernumeraries!

PRINCE. They do not speak, for they break our grammar's laws, And their language is lamentable— And they never take off their gloves, because Their nails are not presentable.

NOBLES. Our nails are not presentable!

PRINCESS. To account for their shortcomings manifest We explain, in a whisper bated, They are wealthy members of the brewing interest To the Peerage elevated.

NOBLES. To the Peerage elevated.

ALL. They're/We're very, very rich, And accordingly, as sich, To the Peerage elevated.

PRINCE. Well, my dear, here we are at last—just in time to compel Duke Rudolph to fulfil the terms of his marriage contract. Another hour and we should have been too late. PRINCESS. Yes, papa, and if you hadn't fortunately discovered a means of making an income by honest industry, we should never have got here at all. PRINCE. Very true. Confined for the last two years within the precincts of my palace by an obdurate bootmaker who held a warrant for my arrest, I devoted my enforced leisure to a study of the doctrine of chances—mainly with the view of ascertaining whether there was the remotest chance of my ever going out for a walk again—and this led to the discovery of a singularly fascinating little round game which I have called Roulette, and by which, in one sitting, I won no less than five thousand francs! My first act was to pay my bootmaker—my second, to engage a good useful working set of second-hand nobles—and my third, to hurry you off to Pfennig Halbpfennig as fast as a train de luxe could carry us! PRINCESS. Yes, and a pretty job-lot of second-hand nobles you've scraped together! PRINCE (doubtfully). Pretty, you think? Humph! I don't know. I should say tol-lol, my love—only tol-lol. They are not wholly satisfactory. There is a certain air of unreality about them—they are not convincing. COST. But, my goot friend, vhat can you expect for eighteenpence a day! PRINCE. Now take this Peer, for instance. What the deuce do you call him? COST. Him? Oh, he's a swell—he's the Duke of Riviera. PRINCE. Oh, he's a Duke, is he? Well, that's no reason why he should look so confoundedly haughty. (To Noble.) Be affable, sir! (Noble takes attitude of affability.) That's better. (Passing to another.) Now, who's this with his moustache coming off? COST. Vhy; you're Viscount Mentone, ain't you? NOBLE. Blest if I know. (Turning up sword-belt.) It's wrote here—yes, Viscount Mentone. COST. Then vhy don't you say so? 'Old yerself up—you ain't carryin' sandwich boards now. (Adjusts his moustache.) PRINCE. Now, once for all, you Peers—when His Highness arrives, don't stand like sticks, but appear to take an intelligent and sympathetic interest in what is going on. You needn't say anything, but let your gestures be in accordance with the spirit of the conversation. Now take the word from me. Affability! (attitude). Submission! (attitude). Surprise! (attitude). Shame! (attitude). Grief! (attitude). Joy! (attitude). That's better! You can do it if you like! PRINCESS. But, papa, where in the world is the Court? There is positively no one here to receive us! I can't help feeling that Rudolph wants to get out of it because I'm poor. He's a miserly little wretch—that's what he is. PRINCE. Well, I shouldn't go so far as to say that. I should rather describe him as an enthusiastic collector of coins—of the realm—and we must not be too hard upon a numismatist if he feels a certain disinclination to part with some of his really very valuable specimens. It's a pretty hobby: I've often thought I should like to collect some coins myself. PRINCESS. Papa, I'm sure there's some one behind that curtain. I saw it move! PRINCE. Then no doubt they are coming. Now mind, you Peers—haughty affability combined with a sense of what is due to your exalted ranks, or I'll fine you half a franc each—upon my soul I will!

(Gong. The curtains fly back and the Court are discovered. They give a wild yell and rush on to the stage dancing wildly, with PRINCE, PRINCESS, and Nobles, who are taken by surprise at first, but eventually join in a reckless dance. At the end all fall down exhausted.)

LUD. There, what do you think of that? That's our official ceremonial for the reception of visitors of the very highest distinction. PRINCE (puzzled). It's very quaint—very curious indeed. Prettily footed, too. Prettily footed. LUD. Would you like to see how we say "good-bye" to visitors of distinction? That ceremony is also performed with the foot. PRINCE. Really, this tone—ah, but perhaps you have not completely grasped the situation? LUD. Not altogether. PRINCE. Ah, then I'll give you a lead over. (Significantly:) I am the father of the Princess of Monte Carlo. Doesn't that convey any idea to the Grand Ducal mind? LUD. (stolidly). Nothing definite. PRINCE (aside). H'm—very odd! Never mind—try again! (Aloud.) This is the daughter of the Prince of Monte Carlo. Do you take? LUD. (still puzzled). No—not yet. Go on—don't give it up—I dare say it will come presently. PRINCE. Very odd—never mind—try again. (With sly significance.) Twenty years ago! Little doddle doddle! Two little doddle doddles! Happy father—hers and yours. Proud mother—yours and hers! Hah! Now you take? I see you do! I see you do! LUD. Nothing is more annoying than to feel that you're not equal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation. I wish he'd say something intelligible. PRINCE. You didn't expect me? LUD. (jumping at it). No, no. I grasp that—thank you very much. (Shaking hands with him.) No, I did not expect you! PRINCE. I thought not. But ha! ha! at last I have escaped from my enforced restraint. (General movement of alarm.) (To crowd who are stealing off.) No, no—you misunderstand me. I mean I've paid my debts! ALL. Oh! (They return.) PRINCESS (affectionately). But, my darling, I'm afraid that even now you don't quite realize who I am! (Embracing him.) BARONESS. Why, you forward little hussy, how dare you? (Takes her away from LUDWIG.) LUD. You mustn't do that, my dear—never in the presence of the Grand Duchess, I beg! PRINCESS (weeping). Oh, papa, he's got a Grand Duchess! LUD. A Grand Duchess! My good girl, I've got three Grand Duchesses! PRINCESS. Well, I'm sure! Papa, let's go away—this is not a respectable Court. PRINCE. All these Grand Dukes have their little fancies, my love. This potentate appears to be collecting wives. It's a pretty hobby—I should like to collect a few myself. This (admiring BARONESS) is a charming specimen—an antique, I should say—of the early Merovingian period, if I'm not mistaken; and here's another—a Scotch lady, I think (alluding to JULIA), and (alluding to LISA) a little one thrown in. Two half-quarterns and a makeweight! (To LUDWIG.) Have you such a thing as a catalogue of the Museum? PRINCESS. But I cannot permit Rudolph to keep a museum— LUD. Rudolph? Get along with you, I'm not Rudolph! Rudolph died yesterday! PRINCE and PRINCESS. What! LUD. Quite suddenly—of—of—a cardiac affection. PRINCE and PRINCESS. Of a cardiac affection! LUD. Yes, a pack-of-cardiac affection. He fought a Statutory Duel with me and lost, and I took over all his engagements—including this imperfectly preserved old lady, to whom he has been engaged for the last three weeks. PRINCESS. Three weeks! But I've been engaged to him for the last twenty years! BARONESS, LISA, and JULIA. Twenty years! PRINCE (aside). It's all right, my love—they can't get over that. (Aloud.) He's yours—take him, and hold him as tight as you can! PRINCESS. My own! (Embracing LUDWIG.) LUD. Here's another!—the fourth in four-and-twenty hours! Would anybody else like to marry me? You, ma'am—or you—anybody! I'm getting used to it! BARONESS. But let me tell you, ma'am— JULIA. Why, you impudent little hussy— LISA. Oh, here's another—here's another! (Weeping.) PRINCESS. Poor ladies, I'm very sorry for you all; but, you see, I've a prior claim. Come, away we go—there's not a moment to be lost!

CHORUS (as they dance towards exit).

Away to the wedding we'll go To summon the charioteers, No kind of reluctance we show To embark on our married careers—

(At this moment RUDOLPH, ERNEST, and NOTARY appear. All kneel in astonishment.)

RECITATIVE.

RUD., Ern., and NOT. Forbear! This may not be! Frustrated are your plans! With paramount decree The Law forbids the banns!

ALL. The Law forbids the banns! LUD. Not a bit of it! I've revived the law for another century! RUD. You didn't revive it! You couldn't revive it! You—you are an impostor, sir—a tuppenny rogue, sir! You—you never were, and in all human probability never will be—Grand Duke of Pfennig Anything! ALL. What!!! RUD. Never—never, never! (Aside.) Oh, my internal economy! LUD. That's absurd, you know. I fought the Grand Duke. He drew a King, and I drew an Ace. He perished in inconceivable agonies on the spot. Now, as that's settled, we'll go on with the wedding. RUD. It—it isn't settled. You—you can't. I—I—(to NOTARY). Oh, tell him—tell him! I can't! NOT. Well, the fact is, there's been a little mistake here. On reference to the Act that regulates Statutory Duels, I find it is expressly laid down that the Ace shall count invariably as lowest! ALL. As lowest! RUD. (breathlessly). As lowest—lowest—lowest! So you're the ghoest—ghoest—ghoest! (Aside.) Oh, what is the matter with me inside here! ERN. Well, Julia, as it seems that the law hasn't been revived—and as, consequently, I shall come to life in about three minutes—(consulting his watch)— JULIA. My objection falls to the ground. (Resignedly.) Very well! PRINCESS. And am I to understand that I was on the point of marrying a dead man without knowing it? (To RUDOLPH, who revives.) Oh, my love, what a narrow escape I've had! RUD. Oh—you are the Princess of Monte Carlo, and you've turned up just in time! Well, you're an attractive little girl, you know, but you're as poor as a rat! (They retire up together.) LISA. That's all very well, but what is to become of me? (To LUDWIG.) If you're a dead man—(Clock strikes three.) LUD. But I'm not. Time's up—the Act has expired—I've come to life—the parson is still in attendance, and we'll all be married directly. ALL. Hurrah!

FINALE.

Happy couples, lightly treading, Castle chapel will be quite full! Each shall have a pretty wedding, As, of course, is only rightful, Though the brides be fair or frightful. Contradiction little dreading, This will be a day delightful— Each shall have a pretty wedding! Such a pretty, pretty wedding! Such a pretty wedding!

(All dance off to get married as the curtain falls.)

THE END



H.M.S. PINAFORE

OR, THE LASS THAT LOVED A SAILOR

Libretto by William S. Gilbert

Music by Sir Arthur Sullivan

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THE RT.HON SIR JOSEPH PORTER, K.C.B. (First Lord of the Admiralty). CAPTAIN CORCORAN (Commanding H.M.S. Pinafore). TOM TUCKER (Midshipmite). RALPH RAKESTRAW (Able Seaman). DICK DEADEYE (Able Seaman). BILL BOBSTAY (Boatswain's Mate). BOB BECKET (Carpenter's Mate). JOSEPHINE (the Captain's Daughter). HEBE (Sir Joseph Porter's First Cousin). MRS. CRIPPS (LITTLE BUTTERCUP) (A Portsmouth Bumboat Woman). First Lord's Sisters, his Cousins, his Aunts, Sailors, Marines, etc.

Scene: QUARTER-DECK OF H.M.S. PINAFORE, OFF PORTSMOUTH

ACT I.—Noon. ACT II.—Night

First produced at the Opera Comique on May 25, 1878.



ACT I

SCENE—Quarter-deck of H.M.S. Pinafore. Sailors, led by BOATSWAIN, discovered cleaning brasswork, splicing rope, etc.

CHORUS

We sail the ocean blue, And our saucy ship's a beauty; We're sober men and true, And attentive to our duty. When the balls whistle free O'er the bright blue sea, We stand to our guns all day; When at anchor we ride On the Portsmouth tide, We have plenty of time to play.

Enter LITTLE BUTTERCUP, with large basket on her arm

RECITATIVE

Hail, men-o'-war's men-safeguards of your nation Here is an end, at last, of all privation; You've got your play—spare all you can afford To welcome Little Buttercup on board.

ARIA

For I'm called Little Buttercup—dear Little Buttercup, Though I could never tell why, But still I'm called Buttercup—poor little Buttercup, Sweet Little Buttercup I!

I've snuff and tobaccy, and excellent jacky, I've scissors, and watches, and knives I've ribbons and laces to set off the faces Of pretty young sweethearts and wives.

I've treacle and toffee, I've tea and I've coffee, Soft tommy and succulent chops; I've chickens and conies, and pretty polonies, And excellent peppermint drops.

Then buy of your Buttercup—dear Little Buttercup; Sailors should never be shy; So, buy of your Buttercup—poor Little Buttercup; Come, of your Buttercup buy!

BOAT. Aye, Little Buttercup—and well called—for you're the rosiest, the roundest, and the reddest beauty in all Spithead. BUT. Red, am I? and round—and rosy! Maybe, for I have dissembled well! But hark ye, my merry friend—hast ever thought that beneath a gay and frivolous exterior there may lurk a canker-worm which is slowly but surely eating its way into one's very heart?

BOAT. No, my lass, I can't say I've ever thought that.

Enter DICK DEADEYE. He pushes through sailors, and comes down

DICK. I have thought it often. (All recoil from him.) BUT. Yes, you look like it! What's the matter with the man? Isn't he well? BOAT. Don't take no heed of him; that's only poor Dick Deadeye. DICK. I say—it's a beast of a name, ain't it—Dick Deadeye? BUT. It's not a nice name. DICK. I'm ugly too, ain't I? BUT. You are certainly plain. DICK. And I'm three-cornered too, ain't I? BUT. You are rather triangular. DICK. Ha! ha! That's it. I'm ugly, and they hate me for it; for you all hate me, don't you? ALL. We do! DICK. There! BOAT. Well, Dick, we wouldn't go for to hurt any fellow creature's feelings, but you can't expect a chap with such a name as Dick Deadeye to be a popular character—now can you? DICK. No. BOAT. It's asking too much, ain't it? DICK. It is. From such a face and form as mine the noblest sentiments sound like the black utterances of a depraved imagination It is human nature—I am resigned.

RECITATIVE

BUT. (looking down hatchway). But, tell me—who's the youth whose faltering feet With difficulty bear him on his course? BOAT. That is the smartest lad in all the fleet— Ralph Rackstraw! BUT. Ha! That name! Remorse! remorse!

Enter RALPH from hatchway

MADRIGAL—RALPH

The Nightingale Sighed for the moon's bright ray And told his tale In his own melodious way! He sang "Ah, well-a-day!"

ALL. He sang "Ah, well-a-day!" The lowly vale For the mountain vainly sighed, To his humble wail The echoing hills replied. They sang "Ah, well-a-day!"

All. They sang "Ah, well-a-day!"

RECITATIVE

I know the value of a kindly chorus, But choruses yield little consolation When we have pain and sorrow too before us! I love—and love, alas, above my station!

BUT. (aside). He loves—and loves a lass above his station! ALL (aside). Yes, yes, the lass is much above his station!

Exit LITTLE BUTTERCUP

BALLAD — RALPH

A maiden fair to see, The pearl of minstrelsy, A bud of blushing beauty; For whom proud nobles sigh, And with each other vie To do her menial's duty. ALL. To do her menial's duty.

A suitor, lowly born, With hopeless passion torn, And poor beyond denying, Has dared for her to pine At whose exalted shrine A world of wealth is sighing. ALL. A world of wealth is sighing.

Unlearned he in aught Save that which love has taught (For love had been his tutor); Oh, pity, pity me— Our captain's daughter she, And I that lowly suitor! ALL. And he that lowly suitor!

BOAT. Ah, my poor lad, you've climbed too high: our worthy captain's child won't have nothin' to say to a poor chap like you. Will she, lads? ALL. No, no. DICK. No, no, captains' daughters don't marry foremast hands. ALL (recoiling from him). Shame! shame! BOAT. Dick Deadeye, them sentiments o' yourn are a disgrace to our common natur'. RALPH, But it's a strange anomaly, that the daughter of a man who hails from the quarter-deck may not love another who lays out on the fore-yard arm. For a man is but a man, whether he hoists his flag at the main-truck or his slacks on the main-deck. DICK. Ah, it's a queer world! RALPH. Dick Deadeye, I have no desire to press hardly on you, but such a revolutionary sentiment is enough to make an honest sailor shudder. BOAT. My lads, our gallant captain has come on deck; let us greet him as so brave an officer and so gallant a seaman deserves.

Enter CAPTAIN CORCORAN

RECITATIVE

CAPT. My gallant crew, good morning. ALL (saluting). Sir, good morning! CAPT. I hope you're all quite well. ALL(as before). Quite well; and you, sir? CAPT. I am in reasonable health, and happy To meet you all once more. ALL (as before). You do us proud, sir!

SONG—CAPTAIN

CAPT. I am the Captain of the Pinafore; ALL. And a right good captain, tool You're very, very good, And be it understood, I command a right good crew, ALL. We're very, very good, And be it understood, He commands a right good crew. CAPT. Though related to a peer, I can hand, reef, and steer, And ship a selvagee; I am never known to quail At the furry of a gale, And I'm never, never sick at sea! ALL. What, never? CAPT. No, never! ALL. What, never? CAPT. Hardly ever! ALL. He's hardly ever sick at seal Then give three cheers, and one cheer more, For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!

CAPT. I do my best to satisfy you all— ALL. And with you we're quite content. CAPT. You're exceedingly polite, And I think it only right To return the compliment. ALL. We're exceedingly polite, And he thinks it's only right To return the compliment. CAPT. Bad language or abuse, I never, never use, Whatever the emergency; Though "Bother it" I may Occasionally say, I never use a big, big D— ALL. What, never? CAPT. No, never! ALL. What, never? CAPT. Hardly ever! ALL. Hardly ever swears a big, big D— Then give three cheers, and one cheer more, For the well-bred Captain of the Pinafore! [After song exeunt all but CAPTAIN]

Enter LITTLE BUTTERCUP

RECITATIVE

BUT. Sir, you are sad! The silent eloquence Of yonder tear that trembles on your eyelash Proclaims a sorrow far more deep than common; Confide in me—fear not—I am a mother!

CAPT. Yes, Little Buttercup, I'm sad and sorry— My daughter, Josephine, the fairest flower That ever blossomed on ancestral timber, Is sought in marriage by Sir Joseph Porter, Our Admiralty's First Lord, but for some reason She does not seem to tackle kindly to it.

BUT, (with emotion). Ah, poor Sir Joseph! Ah, I know too well The anguish of a heart that loves but vainly! But see, here comes your most attractive daughter. I go—Farewell! [Exit.

CAPT. (looking after her). A plump and pleasing person! [Exit.

Enter JOSEPHINE, twining some flowers which she carries in a small basket

BALLAD JOSEPHINE

Sorry her lot who loves too well, Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly, Sad are the sighs that own the spell, Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly; Heavy the sorrow that bows the head When love is alive and hope is dead!

Sad is the hour when sets the sun— Dark is the night to earth's poor daughters, When to the ark the wearied one Flies from the empty waste of waters! Heavy the sorrow that bows the head When love is alive and hope is dead!

Enter CAPTAIN

CAPT. My child, I grieve to see that you are a prey to melancholy. You should look your best to-day, for Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., will be here this afternoon to claim your promised hand. JOS. Ah, father, your words cut me to the quick. I can esteem— reverence—venerate Sir Joseph, for he is a great and good man; but oh, I cannot love him! My heart is already given. CAPT. (aside). It is then as I feared. (Aloud.) Given? And to whom? Not to some gilded lordling? JOS. No, father—the object of my love is no lordling. Oh, pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board your own ship! CAPT. Impossible! JOS. Yes, it is true. CAPT. A common sailor? Oh fie! JOS. I blush for the weakness that allows me to cherish such a passion. I hate myself when I think of the depth to which I have stooped in permitting myself to think tenderly of one so ignobly born, but I love him! I love him! I love him! (Weeps.) CAPT. Come, my child, let us talk this over. In a matter of the heart I would not coerce my daughter—I attach but little value to rank or wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere. A man in that station may be brave and worthy, but at every step he would commit solecisms that society would never pardon. JOS. Oh, I have thought of this night and day. But fear not, father, I have a heart, and therefore I love; but I am your daughter, and therefore I am proud. Though I carry my love with me to the tomb, he shall never, never know it. CAPT. You are my daughter after all. But see, Sir Joseph's barge approaches, manned by twelve trusty oarsmen and accompanied by the admiring crowd of sisters, cousins, and aunts that attend him wherever he goes. Retire, my daughter, to your cabin—take this, his photograph, with you—it may help to bring you to a more reasonable frame of mind. JOS. My own thoughtful father!

[Exit JOSEPHINE. CAPTAIN remains and ascends the poop-deck.

BARCAROLLE. (invisible)

Over the bright blue sea Comes Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B., Wherever he may go Bang-bang the loud nine-pounders go! Shout o'er the bright blue sea For Sir Joseph Porter, K.C.B.

[During this the Crew have entered on tiptoe, listening attentive to the song.

CHORUS OF SAILORS

Sir Joseph's barge is seen, And its crowd of blushing beauties, We hope he'll find us clean, And attentive to our duties. We sail, we sail the ocean blue, And our saucy ship's a beauty. We're sober, sober men and true And attentive to our duty. We're smart and sober men, And quite devoid of fe-ar, In all the Royal N. None are so smart as we are.

Enter SIR JOSEPH'S FEMALE RELATIVES

(They dance round stage)

REL. Gaily tripping, Lightly skipping, Flock the maidens to the shipping. SAILORS. Flags and guns and pennants dipping! All the ladies love the shipping. REL. Sailors sprightly Always rightly Welcome ladies so politely. SAILORS. Ladies who can smile so brightly, Sailors welcome most politely. CAPT. (from poop). Now give three cheers, I'll lead the way ALL. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurray!

Enter SIR JOSEPH with COUSIN HEBE

SONG—SIR JOSEPH

I am the monarch of the sea, The ruler of the Queen's Navee, Whose praise Great Britain loudly chants. COUSIN HEBE. And we are his sisters, and his cousins and his aunts! REL. And we are his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! SIR JOSEPH. When at anchor here I ride, My bosom swells with pride, And I snap my fingers at a foeman's taunts; COUSIN HEBE. And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! ALL. And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! SIR JOSEPH. But when the breezes blow, I generally go below, And seek the seclusion that a cabin grants; COUSIN HEBE. And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! ALL. And so do his sisters, and his cousins, and his aunts! His sisters and his cousins, Whom he reckons up by dozens, And his aunts!