Chapter 1

OVERTURE—PASTORALE

MAN SPEAKER.

FAST by that shore where Thames’ translucent stream Reflects new glories on his breast, Where, splendid as the youthful poet’s dream, He forms a scene beyond Elysium blest— Where sculptur’d elegance and native grace 5 Unite to stamp the beauties of the place, While sweetly blending still are seen The wavy lawn, the sloping green— While novelty, with cautious cunning, Through ev’ry maze of fancy running, 10 From China borrows aid to deck the scene— There, sorrowing by the river’s glassy bed, Forlorn, a rural bard complain’d, All whom Augusta’s bounty fed, All whom her clemency sustain’d; 15 The good old sire, unconscious of decay, The modest matron, clad in homespun gray, The military boy, the orphan’d maid, The shatter’d veteran, now first dismay’d; These sadly join beside the murmuring deep, 20 And, as they view The towers of Kew, Call on their mistress—now no more—and weep.

CHORUS.—AFFETTUOSO.—LARGO.

Ye shady walks, ye waving greens, Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes— 25 Let all your echoes now deplore That she who form’d your beauties is no more.

MAN SPEAKER.

First of the train the patient rustic came, Whose callous hand had form’d the scene, Bending at once with sorrow and with age, 30 With many a tear and many a sigh between; ‘And where,’ he cried, ‘shall now my babes have bread, Or how shall age support its feeble fire? No lord will take me now, my vigour fled, Nor can my strength perform what they require; 35 Each grudging master keeps the labourer bare— A sleek and idle race is all their care. My noble mistress thought not so: Her bounty, like the morning dew, Unseen, though constant, used to flow; 40 And as my strength decay’d, her bounty grew.’

WOMAN SPEAKER.

In decent dress, and coarsely clean, The pious matron next was seen— Clasp’d in her hand a godly book was borne, By use and daily meditation worn; 45 That decent dress, this holy guide, Augusta’s care had well supplied. ‘And ah!’ she cries, all woe-begone, ‘What now remains for me? Oh! where shall weeping want repair, 50 To ask for charity? Too late in life for me to ask, And shame prevents the deed, And tardy, tardy are the times To succour, should I need. 55 But all my wants, before I spoke, Were to my Mistress known; She still reliev’d, nor sought my praise, Contented with her own. But ev’ry day her name I’ll bless, 60 My morning prayer, my evening song, I’ll praise her while my life shall last, A life that cannot last me long.’

SONG. BY A WOMAN.

Each day, each hour, her name I’ll bless— My morning and my evening song; 65 And when in death my vows shall cease, My children shall the note prolong.

MAN SPEAKER.

The hardy veteran after struck the sight, Scarr’d, mangled, maim’d in every part, Lopp’d of his limbs in many a gallant fight, 70 In nought entire—except his heart. Mute for a while, and sullenly distress’d, At last the impetuous sorrow fir’d his breast. ‘Wild is the whirlwind rolling O’er Afric’s sandy plain, 75 And wild the tempest howling Along the billow’d main: But every danger felt before— The raging deep, the whirlwind’s roar— Less dreadful struck me with dismay, 80 Than what I feel this fatal day. Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave, Oswego’s dreary shores shall be my grave; I’ll seek that less inhospitable coast, And lay my body where my limbs were lost.’ 85

SONG. BY A MAN.—BASSO. SPIRITOSO.

Old Edward’s sons, unknown to yield, Shall crowd from Crecy’s laurell’d field, To do thy memory right; For thine and Britain’s wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel, 90 And wish the avenging fight.

WOMAN SPEAKER.

In innocence and youth complaining, Next appear’d a lovely maid, Affliction o’er each feature reigning, Kindly came in beauty’s aid; 95 Every grace that grief dispenses, Every glance that warms the soul, In sweet succession charmed the senses, While pity harmonized the whole. ‘The garland of beauty’—’tis thus she would say— 100 ‘No more shall my crook or my temples adorn, I’ll not wear a garland—Augusta’s away, I’ll not wear a garland until she return; But alas! that return I never shall see, The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim, 105 There promised a lover to come—but, O me! ’Twas death,—’twas the death of my mistress that came. But ever, for ever, her image shall last, I’ll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom; On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, 110 And the new-blossomed thorn shall whiten her tomb.’

SONG. BY A WOMAN.—PASTORALE.

With garlands of beauty the queen of the May No more will her crook or her temples adorn; For who’d wear a garland when she is away, When she is remov’d, and shall never return. 115

On the grave of Augusta these garlands be plac’d, We’ll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the new-blossom’d thorn shall whiten her tomb.

CHORUS.—ALTRO MODO.

On the grave of Augusta this garland be plac’d, 120 We’ll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.

SONG

FROM ‘SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER’

LET school-masters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives ‘genus’ a better discerning. Let them brag of their heathenish gods, 5 Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians: Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods, They’re all but a parcel of Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

When Methodist preachers come down A-preaching that drinking is sinful, 10 I’ll wager the rascals a crown They always preach best with a skinful. But when you come down with your pence, For a slice of their scurvy religion, I’ll leave it to all men of sense, 15 But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about, And let us be merry and clever; Our hearts and our liquors are stout; Here’s the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever. 20 Let some cry up woodcock or hare, Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; But of all the birds in the air, Here’s a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

EPILOGUE TO ‘SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER’

WELL, having stoop’d to conquer with success, And gain’d a husband without aid from dress, Still, as a Bar-maid, I could wish it too, As I have conquer’d him, to conquer you: And let me say, for all your resolution, 5 That pretty Bar-maids have done execution. Our life is all a play, compos’d to please, ‘We have our exits and our entrances.’ The First Act shows the simple country maid, Harmless and young, of ev’ry thing afraid; 10 Blushes when hir’d, and, with unmeaning action, ‘I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.’ Her Second Act displays a livelier scene— Th’ unblushing Bar-maid of a country inn, Who whisks about the house, at market caters, 15 Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars, The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. On ’Squires and Cits she there displays her arts, And on the gridiron broils her lovers’ hearts: 20 And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, Even Common-Councilmen forget to eat. The Fourth Act shows her wedded to the ’Squire, And Madam now begins to hold it higher; Pretends to taste, at Operas cries _caro_, 25 And quits her _Nancy Dawson_, for _Che faro_, Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride, Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside; Ogles and leers with artificial skill, ’Till having lost in age the power to kill, 30 She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille. Such, through our lives, the eventful history— The Fifth and Last Act still remains for me. The Bar-maid now for your protection prays. Turns Female Barrister, and pleads for Bayes. 35