The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan Part 44

PHYL. Then free me, pray; be mine the blame; Forget your craze And go your ways In Friends.h.i.+p's name!

ALL. Oh, many a man, in Friends.h.i.+p's name, Has yielded fortune, rank, and fame!

But no one yet, in the world so wide, Has yielded up a promised bride!

WILLIS. Accept, O Friends.h.i.+p, all the same,

ALL. This sacrifice to thy dear name!

(Exeunt Lord Mountararat and Lord Tolloller, lovingly, in one direction, and Phyllis in another. Exit Sentry.)

(Enter Lord Chancellor, very miserable.)

RECITATIVE--LORD CHANCELLOR.

Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest: Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul enc.u.mbers: Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest, And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!

SONG--LORD CHANCELLOR.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache, and repose is taboo'd by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in, without impropriety; For your brain is on fire--the bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to plunder you: First your counterpane goes, and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you; Then the blanketing tickles--you feel like mixed pickles--so terribly sharp is the p.r.i.c.king, And you're hot, and you're cross, and you tumble and toss till there's nothing 'twixt you and the ticking.

Then the bedclothes all creep to the ground in a heap, and you pick 'em all up in a tangle; Next your pillow resigns and politely declines to remain at its usual angle!

Well, you get some repose in the form of a doze, with hot eye-b.a.l.l.s and head ever aching.

But your slumbering teems with such horrible dreams that you'd very much better be waking; For you dream you are crossing the Channel, and tossing about in a steamer from Harwich-- Which is something between a large bathing machine and a very small second-cla.s.s carriage-- And you're giving a treat (penny ice and cold meat) to a party of friends and relations-- They're a ravenous horde--and they all came on board at Sloane Square and South Kensington Stations.

And bound on that journey you find your attorney (who started that morning from Devon); He's a bit undersized, and you don't feel surprised when he tells you he's only eleven.

Well, you're driving like mad with this singular lad (by the by, the s.h.i.+p's now a four-wheeler), And you're playing round games, and he calls you bad names when you tell him that "ties pay the dealer"; But this you can't stand, so you throw up your hand, and you find you're as cold as an icicle, In your s.h.i.+rt and your socks (the black silk with gold clocks), crossing Salisbury Plain on a bicycle: And he and the crew are on bicycles too--which they've somehow or other invested in-- And he's telling the tars all the particulars of a company he's interested in-- It's a scheme of devices, to get at low prices all goods from cough mixtures to cables (Which tickled the sailors), by treating retailers as though they were all vegetables-- You get a good spadesman to plant a small tradesman (first take off his boots with a boot-tree), And his legs will take root, and his fingers will shoot, and they'll blossom and bud like a fruit-tree-- From the greengrocer tree you get grapes and green pea, cauliflower, pineapple, and cranberries, While the pastrycook plant cherry brandy will grant, apple puffs, and three corners, and Banburys-- The shares are a penny, and ever so many are taken by Rothschild and Baring, And just as a few are allotted to you, you awake with a shudder despairing-- You're a regular wreck, with a crick in your neck, and no wonder you snore, for your head's on the floor, and you've needles and pins from your soles to your s.h.i.+ns, and your flesh is a-creep, for your left leg's asleep, and you've cramp in your toes, and a fly on your nose, and some fluff in your lung, and a feverish tongue, and a thirst that's intense, and a general sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover; But the darkness has pa.s.sed, and it's daylight at last, and the night has been long--ditto ditto my song--and thank goodness they're both of them over!

(Lord Chancellor falls exhausted on a seat.)

(Enter Lords Mountararat and Tolloller.)

LORD MOUNT. I am much distressed to see your Lords.h.i.+p in this condition.

LORD CH. Ah, my Lords, it is seldom that a Lord Chancellor has reason to envy the position of another, but I am free to confess that I would rather be two Earls engaged to Phyllis than any other half-dozen n.o.blemen upon the face of the globe.

LORD TOLL. (without enthusiasm). Yes. It's an enviable position when you're the only one.

LORD MOUNT. Oh yes, no doubt--most enviable. At the same time, seeing you thus, we naturally say to ourselves, "This is very sad. His Lords.h.i.+p is const.i.tutionally as blithe as a bird--he trills upon the bench like a thing of song and gladness. His series of judgements in F sharp minor, given andante in six-eight time, are among the most remarkable effects ever produced in a Court of Chancery. He is, perhaps, the only living instance of a judge whose decrees have received the honour of a double encore.

How can we bring ourselves to do that which will deprive the Court of Chancery of one of its most attractive features?"

LORD CH. I feel the force of your remarks, but I am here in two capacities, and they clash, my Lords, they clas.h.!.+ I deeply grieve to say that in declining to entertain my last application to myself, I presumed to address myself in terms which render it impossible for me ever to apply to myself again. It was a most painful scene, my Lords--most painful!

LORD TOLL. This is what it is to have two capacities! Let us be thankful that we are persons of no capacity whatever.

LORD MOUNT. Come, come. Remember you are a very just and kindly old gentleman, and you need have no hesitation in approaching yourself, so that you do so respectfully and with a proper show of deference.

LORD CH. Do you really think so?

LORD MOUNT. I do.

LORD CH. Well, I will nerve myself to another effort, and, if that fails, I resign myself to my fate!

TRIO--LORD CHANCELLOR, LORDS MOUNTARARAT and TOLLOLLER.

LORD MOUNT. If you go in You're sure to win-- Yours will be the charming maidie: Be your law The ancient saw, "Faint heart never won fair lady!"

ALL. Never, never, never, Faint heart never won fair lady!

Every journey has an end-- When at the worst affairs will mend-- Dark the dawn when day is nigh-- Hustle your horse and don't say die!

LORD TOLL. He who s.h.i.+es At such a prize Is not worth a maravedi, Be so kind To bear in mind-- Faint heart never won fair lady!

ALL. Never, never, never, Faint heart never won fair lady!

While the sun s.h.i.+nes make your hay-- Where a will is, there's a way-- Beard the lion in his lair-- None but the brave deserve the fair!

LORD CH. I'll take heart And make a start-- Though I fear the prospect's shady-- Much I'd spend To gain my end-- Faint heart never won fair lady!

ALL. Never, never, never, Faint heart never won fair lady!

Nothing venture, nothing win-- Blood is thick, but water's thin-- In for a penny, in for a pound-- It's Love that makes the world go round!

(Dance, and exeunt arm-in-arm together.)

(Enter Strephon, in very low spirits.)

[The following song was deleted from production]

Fold your flapping wings, Soaring legislature.

Stoop to little things, Stoop to human nature.

Never need to roam members patriotic.

Let's begin at home, Crime is no exotic.

Bitter is your bane Terrible your trials Dingy Drury Lane Soapless Seven Dials.

Take a tipsy lout Gathered from the gutter, Hustle him about, Strap him to a shutter.

What am I but he, Washed at hours stated.

Fed on filagree, Clothed and educated He's a mark of scorn I might be another If I had been born Of a tipsy mother.

Take a wretched thief, Through the city sneaking.

Pocket handkerchief Ever, ever seeking.

What is he but I Robbed of all my chances Picking pockets by force of circ.u.mstances I might be as bad, As unlucky, rather, If I'd only had, f.a.gin for a father.

STREPH. I suppose one ought to enjoy oneself in Parliament, when one leads both Parties, as I do! But I'm miserable, poor, broken-hearted fool that I am! Oh Phyllis, Phyllis!--

(Enter Phyllis.) PHYL. Yes.

STREPH. (surprised). Phyllis! But I suppose I should say "My Lady." I have not yet been informed which t.i.tle your ladys.h.i.+p has pleased to select?

PHYL. I--I haven't quite decided. You see, I have no mother to advise me!

STREPH. No. I have.

PHYL. Yes; a young mother.

STREPH. Not very--a couple of centuries or so.

PHYL. Oh! She wears well.

STREPH. She does. She's a fairy.

PHYL. I beg your pardon--a what?

STREPH. Oh, I've no longer any reason to conceal the fact--she's a fairy.

PHYL. A fairy! Well, but--that would account for a good many things! Then--I suppose you're a fairy?

STREPH. I'm half a fairy.

PHYL. Which half?

STREPH. The upper half--down to the waistcoat.

PHYL. Dear me! (Prodding him with her fingers.) There is nothing to show it!

STREPH. Don't do that.

PHYL. But why didn't you tell me this before?

STREPH. I thought you would take a dislike to me. But as it's all off, you may as well know the truth--I'm only half a mortal!

PHYL. (crying). But I'd rather have half a mortal I do love, than half a dozen I don't!

STREPH. Oh, I think not--go to your half-dozen.

PHYL. (crying). It's only two! and I hate 'em! Please forgive me!