The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan Part 142

Ah me! what profit we, O maids that sigh, Though gold, though gold should live If wedded love must die?

Ere half an hour has rung, A widow I!

Ah, heaven, he is too young, Too brave to die!

Ah me! Ah me!

Yet wives there be So weary worn, I trow, That they would scarce complain, So that they could In half an hour attain To widowhood, No matter how!

No matter how!

O weary wives Who widowhood would win, Rejoice, rejoice, that ye have time To weary in.

O weary wives Who widowhood would win, Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, that ye have time O weary, weary wives, rejoice!

[Exit ELSIE as WILFRED re-enters.

WILFRED [looking after ELSIE] 'Tis an odd freak for a dying man and his confessor to be closeted alone with a strange singing girl. I would fain have espied them, but they stopped up the keyhole. My keyhole!

[Enter PHOEBE with SERGEANT MERYLL. MERYLL remains in the background, un.o.bserved by WILFRED.

PHOEBE [aside] Wilfred-- and alone!

WILFRED Now what could he have wanted with her? That's what puzzles me!

PHOEBE [aside] Now to get the keys from him.

[Aloud] Wilfred-- has no reprieve arrived?

WILFRED None. Thine adored Fairfax is to die.

PHOEBE Nay, thou knowest that I have naught but pity for the poor condemned gentleman.

WILFRED I know that he who is about to die is more to thee than I, who am alive and well.

PHOEBE Why, that were out of reason, dear Wilfred. Do they not say that a live a.s.s is better than a dead lion?

No, I didn't mean that!

WILFRED Oh, they say that, do they?

PHOEBE It's unpardonably rude of them, but I believe they put it in that way. Not that it applies to thee, who art clever beyond all telling!

WILFRED Oh yes, as an a.s.sistant-tormentor.

PHOEBE Nay, as a wit, as a humorist, as a most philosophic commentator on the vanity of human resolution.

[PHOEBE slyly takes bunch of keys from WILFRED's waistband and hands them to MERYLL, who enters the Tower, unnoticed by WILFRED.

WILFRED Truly, I have seen great resolution give way under my persuasive methods [working with a small thumbscrew].

In the nice regulation of a thumbscrew-- in the hundredth part of a single revolution lieth all the difference between stony reticence and a torrent of impulsive unbosoming that the pen can scarcely follow.

Ha! ha! I am a mad wag.

PHOEBE [with a grimace] Thou art a most light-hearted and delightful companion, Master Wilfred. Thine anecdotes of the torture-chamber are the prettiest hearing.

WILFRED I'm a pleasant fellow an' I choose. I believe I am the merriest dog that barks. Ah, we might be pa.s.sing happy together--

PHOEBE Perhaps. I do not know.

WILFRED For thou wouldst make a most tender and loving wife.

PHOEBE Aye, to one whom I really loved. For there is a wealth of love within this little heart-- saving up for-- I wonder whom? Now, of all the world of men, I wonder whom? To think that he whom I am to wed is now alive and somewhere! Perhaps far away, perhaps close at hand! And I know him not! It seemeth that I am wasting time in not knowing him.

WILFRED Now say that it is I-- nay! suppose it for the nonce.

Say that we are wed-- suppose it only-- say that thou art my very bride, and I thy cherry, joyous, bright, frolicsome husband-- and that, the day's work being done, and the prisoners stored away for the night, thou and I are alone together-- with a long, long evening before us!

PHOEBE [with a grimace] It is a pretty picture-- but I scarcely know. It cometh so unexpectedly-- and yet--and yet-- were I thy bride--

WILFRED Aye!-- wert thou my bride--?

PHOEBE Oh, how I would love thee!

No. 11. Were I thy bride (SONG) Phoebe

PHOEBE Were I thy bride, Then all the world beside Were not too wide To hold my wealth of love-- Were I thy bride!

Upon thy breast My loving head would rest, As on her nest The tender turtle dove-- Were I thy bride!

This heart of mine Would be one heart with thine, And in that shrine Our happiness would dwell-- Were I thy bride!

And all day long Our lives should be a song: No grief, no wrong Should make my heart rebel-- Were I thy bride!

The silvery flute, The melancholy lute, Were night-owl's hoot To my low-whispered coo-- Were I thy bride!

The skylark's trill Were but discordance shrill To the soft thrill Of wooing as I'd woo-- Were I thy bride!

[MERYLL re-enters; gives keys to PHOEBE, who replaces them at WILFRED's girdle, unnoticed by him. Exit MERYLL.

The rose's sigh Were as a carrion's cry To lullaby Such as I'd sing to thee, Were I thy bride!

A feather's press Were leaden heaviness to my caress.

But then, of course, you see, I'm not thy bride.

[Exit PHOEBE

WILFRED No, thou'rt not-- not yet! But, Lord, how she woo'd; I should be no mean judge of wooing, seeing that I have been more hotly woo'd than most men. I have been woo'd by maid, widow, and wife. I have been woo'd boldly, timidly, tearfully, shyly-- by direct a.s.sault, by suggestion, by implication, by inference, and by innuendo. But this wooing is not of the common order; it is the wooing of one who must needs me, if she die for it!

[Exit WILFRED. Enter SERGEANT MERRILL, cautiously, from Tower.

MERYLL [looking after them] The deed is, so far, safely accomplished. The slyboots, how she wheedled him! What a helpless ninny is a love-sick man! He is but as a lute in a woman's hands-- she plays upon him whatever tune she will. But the Colonel comes. I' faith, he's just in time, for the Yeomen parade here for his execution in two minutes!

[Enter FAIRFAX, without beard and moustache, and dressed in Yeoman's uniform.