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SONGS, &c. IN THE COMET: OR HE WOULD BE A PHILOSOPHER. A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS. AS PERFORMED BY THE OLD AMERICAN COMPANY, NEW-YORK.
WRITTEN BY WM. MILNS. THE MUSIC BY J. HEWITT.
NEW-YORK: Printed for the AUTHOR and sold by C. SMITH, Bookseller, No. 51 Maiden-Lane.
( Copy-right secured according to Act of Congress) 1797.
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
- PLOTWELL, MR. HODGKINSON,
- SIR CREDULOUS TESTY, MR. JOHNSON,
- BELMONT, MR. TYLER,
- STITCH. MR. LEE.
WOMEN.
- EMILY, MRS. JOHNSON,
- LADY CANDOUR, MRS. SEYMOUR,
- JENNY, MRS. HODGKINSON.
SERVANTS, &c.
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SONGS, &c.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
JENNY.
IF a Chambermaid's mistress is blest with a lover,
And the Chambermaid can but her secrets discover,
What are wages or vails in comparison pray?
One secret's worth more than her whole yearly pay.
Hark, hark, Miss I hear,
Your guardian draw near,
To the lovers, dear me, how alarming;
Then the secret to tell,
In a whisper—well, well,
Sure in life there is nothing so charming.
If a jealous old dotard's my master, what then—
Sure a chambermaid knows the weak side of old men,
I'd cajole him—alarm him—and pocket his purse,
Then laughing, exclaim, Sir its well its no worse.
Hark, hark, Sir I hear,
Your rival draw near,
To the husband, dear me, how alarming,
Then the secret, &c. &c.
To serve an old virgin alone I'm afraid,
The Devil's no match for a crabbed old maid;
But a widow, young, gay, rich and pretty, odds dickings,
No place to a maid, Miss, produces such pickings,
Hark, hark, ma'am, I hear,
Your lover draw near;
To her fluttering heart how alarming.
Then the secret, &c. &c.
[...]
[Page 6]
ACT I. SCENE III.
SIR CREDULOUS.
A Woman is a riddle, Sirs, beyond a man's expounding.
A smooth and pursing streamlet now, and now a sea past sounding;
To-day array'd in dimples which the graces, Sirs, might borrow,
With sighs and tears o'erwhelm'd, or in hystories, Sirs, to-morrow.
Oh, dear oh—scolding—wheedling—screaming—whining, oh, dear-oh.
Early in the morning she so sweet spoken and mild is,
At night such a virago, Sirs, no mad cat half so wild is;
The hen-peck'd booby who just now had left his rib a snarling,
Is met a minute after with—my love—my dearest darling.
Oh, dear-oh—&c.
While virgins they so sickle are, no lovers e'er can please them,
When wives, they grow such vixens that no husband can appease them;
If old maids, lack-a-day, good Sirs, how gladly we forsake them,
And if they should be widows, pray who'll dare to under-take them.
Oh, dear-oh—&c.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
BELMONT.
SOON as Aurora's rosy hand
Night's humid curtain drew,
My Heaven of bliss was hand in hand,
To range the meads with you.
[Page 7]
To catch description's sweetest phrase,
When in some fragrant bower,
You trac'd gay Nature's frolic ways,
Thro' blossom, bud and flower.
Then watch the mantling flash that play'd
In many a crimson freak,
While sportive Love, in smiles array'd,
Sat dimpling on your cheek.
Or in some grove's romantic shade,
My greedy ear has stole
The tender accents which betray'd
The softness of your soul.
My faultering lips while thus I' gaze,
With rapt'rous eyes on you,
Accustom'd but to sound your praise,
Refuse to bid adieu.
ACT II. SCENE II.
PLOTWELL.
MY dear Miss you're quite in the wrong,
By Learning you never can rise;
Attend, and I'll prove by my song,
The heel, not the head wins the prize.
No your genuine wit;
Pray Miss look at me,
Is scrap'd from the Kit,
With your fiddle—de—dee.
Fiddle de—faddle de—faddle de—fiddle de,
Kickity—wickity—wickity—kickity:
One—two—Bend Miss—three
Chassee—more lis'm—o
Caper—Jumpissimo
Bravo—Bravissimo
Excellentissimo.
Fiddle de—faddle de—faddle de—fiddle de
Kickity—wickity—wickity—kickity
Fiddle de—faddle de dee.
[Page 8]
The Pedant is cramm'd full of lore,
Greek and Latin have stuff'd up his head;
To Parnassus pray how can he soar,
When his pinions are feather'd with lead.
No your genuine wit, &c. &c.
Your Dryden's, your Homer's in brief,
Most authors of wonderful fame,
Led a life of starvation and grief,
And died, e'er they purchas'd a name.
No your genuine wit, &c. &c.
Your posthumous honours pray give,
To warm the cold clay circled head;
Give me but my fame while I live,
Contented I'll die when I'm dead.
No your genuine wit, &c. &c.
ACT II. SCENE III. LADY CANDOUR AND SIR CREDULOUS. DUET.
1.
Sir Cred.
ZOUNDS Madam, I'm not in a passion,
You may fret Ma'am, who cares,
And give yourself airs,
But damme if I'm in a passion.
Lady.
Dear Brother, no doubt you are wonderful cool.
Sir Cred.
That's as much as to say I'm a hot headed fool:
Zounds Madam take care.
Lady.
See—see now—see there
You'll say now you're not in a passion.
Sir Cred.
Dam me Ma'am, if I'm in a passion.
Zounds Madam take care.
Lady.
See,—see now,—see there.
Sir Cred.
Blood and oons Ma'am, I'm not in a passion.
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2.
Sir Cred.
Since Learning and wit are in fashion
Dutch, Hebrew and Greek
I'll constantly speak.
Lady.
Well dear Brother, don't be in a passion,
You may puzzle your brains for ought that I care.
Sir Cred.
I'll ransack each Sun, Moon, Earth, Planet and Star.
Lady
See—see now—see there.
Sir Cred.
Zounds madam take care.
Lady.
You'll say now you're not in a passion.
Sir Cred.
Dam me Ma'am, if I'm in a passion;
Zounds Madam take care.
Lady.
See—see now—see there.
Sir Cred.
Death and fury I'm not in a passion.
3.
Lady.
Dear sir, you must surely be joking.
Sir Cred.
You'd make a Priest swear
I vow and declare,
Sure no woman was e'er so provoking.
Lady.
When you've studied dear Brother, the Poets and Sages,
Sir Cred.
Darts, daggers and flames!
Lady.
See—see now—see how he rages;
Sir Cred.
Zounds Madam take care.
Lady.
See—see now—see there,
You'll say now you're not in a passion.
Sir Cred.
Dam—me Ma'am if I'm in a passion,
Zounds madam take care.
Lady
See—see now—see there.
Sir Cred.
Fire and furies I'm not in a passion.
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ACT III.
SCENE I.
JENNY.
SOME folks are born with no more brains
Than just enough to count their Gains;
But I Sir—do ye mind me—I,
Can toss my head and look as high
As any Lady of them all.
My carriage rattling thro' the street,
I not my head at all I meet,
How do you do Sir—Miss your TA,
Remember me to your Mama:
To night I'll see her at the Ball.
From store to store away I swing,
Sure shopping is a charming thing:
My Lady—there's your new trimm'd gown,
You set the fashions for the town.
I draw my purse strings with an air;
You'll send
them muslins home to day,
They'll go my Lady right away:
John, put this Lace into the coach,
Why dont the stupid dolt approach?
A step, your Ladyship take care.
ACT III.
PLOTWELL.
TO my club at the sign of St. Crispin I steer,
Every day when I shut up my shop,
And the newspapers read o'er my pot and segar,
Till the rest of the members in drop—
There's Tom the Glazier,
Will the Brazier,
Jack the Nailor,
Stitch the Taylor,
And Cant the Clerk to sing Amen,
[Page 9] And make us all begin again.
And how do you do, my
[...]ight fellow, says I—
O, my tough
Bit of stuff.
Then say this, that and t'other,
At the word of command,
Each his pot in his hand.
We sing here's to you, brother,
And here's to you, brother,
Till our pots, Sir, they quickly run dry.
Then we sing, roar and smoke, a fig for debate,
We damn all political news;
Leave dull blockheads, says I, still to cobble the state,
I'll sing, smoke and cobble my shoes—
With Tom the Glazier, &c.
When my day's work is done to my club I'll repair,
While or money or credit I've got,
And my toast it shall be, here's confusion to care,
While I've health, a segar, and a pot.
With Tom the Glazier, &c.
ACT III.
SIR CREDULOUS.
SURE women were made to imbitter our lives,
Cajole us while single and rule us when wives,
With one whim or other they constantly teaze us:
They'd think it a sin I believe should they please us.
A woman enrag'd, no poor devil can cool her,
Oh! who'd be plagu'd with a petticoat ruler.
The rib which from Adam while sleeping was torn,
Will still be a thorn in man's side I'll be sworn;
When we Sir, are loving, their pride is exulting,
And as we grow humble they grow more insulting.
A woman, &c.
[Page 10] If they wheedle or smile you're fairly undone,
They're more changeable far than the horns of the moon,
Now they're this and then that, some deep plot still laying,
Their pleasure is mischief, their business betraying.
A woman, &c.
ACT IV.
PLOTWELL.
TO seem a proficient in learning and knowledge,
As wise as an owl, or the head of a college,
I'll tattle my prosody—gabble my notes o'er,
Till bellowing syntax, shall make Sir, my throat sore:
Then for Latin—to be pat in,
And to speak it smooth as sattin,
I'll verbs and nouns and crambo sounds,
Confound Sir, and prattle in plenty;
Surprise the block, with hic haec hoc,
With Tityre—tu patulae,
And make him cry, A prodigy!
When I bellow out—As in praesenti.
As to history, science and such sort of stuff, Sir,
Dispell all your doubts, for I've knowledge enough, Sir;
I have natural wit, without logic or study,
To puzzle a noddle whose brains are so muddy.
I'll puss my cheek—'twill found like Greek—
A foreign lingo—I will speak—
Cry, hos, he, ho—and ho, he, to,
As loud as a trio of asses;
Then quickly justle, quae genus,
With propria quae maribus,
And when he stares and pricks his ears,
Bellow, Poluphloisboio Thalasses.
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ACT IV. SCENE II.
LADY CANDOUR.
PHILOSOPHY's charms and wit's sparkling ray,
May soften the passions and banish dismay;
But the bosom by Love's fickle tyranny crost,
Confesses no joys but the joys it has lost.
Fond mothers may caution and grey beards may preach,
Their stale frosty maxims the heart cannot reach;
For the bosom which once the soft passion has known,
All other enjoyments will quickly disown.
Yet be not discourag'd—the remedy's near,
The breast warm'd by virtue, fond hope still shall cheer;
Love's grief is but transient, and sorrow when past,
Makes room for delight, which unfully'd may last.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
BELMONT.
BUSY mortals while hunting the pleasures of life,
Squander peace, time and health, for noise bustle and strife,
He never can hope sweet contentment to find,
Who barters for trifles the peace of his mind;
Riches, ever, we know, must be coupled with care,
And fame is a shadow still fleeter than air.
Who felicity covets—true love must embrace,
For of all other blessings—love holds the first place.
The beggar's scant pittance more comfort affords,
Than the gold of the miser who starves o'er his hoards.
Ambition is joyless—by fears still opprest.
And the hero exchanges, for tumult, his rest;
The ribband and star are disguises we know,
Too thin to conceal the sharp ranklings of woe.
Who felicity covers—true love must embrace.
For of all other blessings—love holds the chief place.
[Page 12] Trace nature through ocean, air, meadow or grove,
What season so gay as the season of love;
the scaly inhabitants sport in the main,
The birds sweetly carrol love's soft winning strain,
Each slow'r spreads its treasure warm Phoebus to greet,
And the Bee from the blossom sucks freely its sweet.
Who felicity covers—true love must embrace,
For of all other blessings—love holds the first place.
ACT V. SCENE II.
LADY CANDOUR.
ALAS! what havoc absence makes,
When love's alarm, the bosom shakes;
What is glory, wealth or power,
Dazzling pageants of an hour;
Should disappointment barb the dart,
With which love wounds the virgin heart;
Ah! what can Friendship's anxious care,
Attempt to soothe the sighing fair.
But if love is a blessing, we
Should bear its pangs with constancy;
Perhaps the piercing transient smart,
For greater bliss prepares the heart;
Should Love's delay such bliss insure,
We'll bear the grief, to taste the cure;
And then may Friendship's anxious care,
Attempt to soothe the sighing fair.
JENNY.
WHEN at my Toilette seated,
Attended by my maid;
Touch after much repeated,
My patches
[...] laid;
[Page 13] Some rouge, my girl,
Again—that's well,
Another touch
Now here a patch.
Such charms I find in Dress Miss that,
It makes my heart go—pit, pit, pat,
Feel how it jumps
Hark!—How it thumps,
Feel how it goes Miss pit, pit, pat.
So sweetly dress'd my hair is,
With feathers nicely plac'd,
I'm call'd the Queen of Fairies
With Pearls and Jewels grac'd,
My muff and glove
Oh! how I love;
To flirt my fan
"You faucy man;"
Such charms are in coquetting that, &c. &c.
Then quick I drive away miss,
Coxcombs and fools to teaze,
When in the stage box they Miss,
Are striving me to please,
Your glass ma'am pray,
Sir what's the play
Then gape and stare;
And call my chair,
Such charms are in coquetting that, &c. &c.
FINALE.
Sir Cred, Bell Plot, Jenny, Lady, Can.
CHORUS.
AFTER pleasure and happiness we, Sir,
To hunt are undoubtedly free Sir,
And tho' we should stray,
All a different way,
Ask of all which is right?—such says—"Me, Sir."
BELMONT.
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Now sir Credulous you will agree sir,
Since you see an example in me sir,
That love's silken bands
Should tie willing hands;
From such fetters, who'd wish to be free sir.
CHORUS.
After pleasure, &c.
PLOTWELL.
No henpecking help mate for me sir,
My motto is fiddle de—dee sir,
Give me but the pelf,
I'll take care of my self;
And the devil may marry for me sir.
CHORUS.
After pleasure, &c.
JENNY.
A man's oath tho' he swear on his knee sir,
Is as false as the wind and the sea sir,
And I am afraid
I shall die an old maid;
Since no one takes pity on me sir.
CHORUS.
After pleasure, &c.
LADY CANDOUR
Tho' in some things we differ I see sir,
In this I am sure we agree sir,
To solicit our friends,
To lend us their hands,
And send us all hence full of glee sir.
CHORUS.
Tho' in some things, &c.
FINIS.