Willikind and Hys Dinah: TEI edition

Willikind and Hys DinahAn original pathetic and heart-rending tragedy. In Three Sad Scenes.By J. STIRLING COYNE,Author of The Hope of the Family, Box and Cox Married and Settled, My Wife’s Daughter, Binks the Bagman, How to Settle Accounts with your Laundress, Did you ever send your Wife to Camberwell, A Duel in the Dark, Leo the Terrible, Mrs. Bunbury’s Spoons, The Water Witches, An Unprotected Female, The Pas de Fascination.&c., &c.THOMAS HAILES LACY, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, LONDON.

First Performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, on Thursday, March 16, 1854.

An Original, Pathetic, and Heart-rending Tragedy, very Mirthful to behold, in which is disclosed the Doleful Life and Dismal Death of a Pair of True Lovers—as also the Melancholy Wooing and Sad Undoing of a Gay and Galliant Lord, entitled

WILLIKIND ANO HYS DINAH.From an unique MS. lately discovered amongst the waste papers of a retired Cheesemonger, and now given for the delight of the Public and the profit—it is hoped—of the Lessee.

By J. STIRLING COYNE.

With entirely New Scenery, by Messrs. W. CALLCOTT and Morris.

The Medley Overture and Music (introducing several Ancient “ Ryghte Merrie Ditties,” and the “ Willikind Polka”), composed, selected, and arranged by Edward Fitzwilliam. *

CHARACTERS. The Stern Parient Mr. H. Corri Willikind Miss Louisa Howard The Galliant Lord Pellmelle Mr Buckstone Dinah Mrs Fitzwilliam The Tender Parient Mrs. Caulfield Dorothy Miss F. Woulds The Lyttel Page Master W. Morris Maydes And Menials Misses Brown, Jones, And Robinson, And Messrs. Edwards, Weathersby And Ellar.

ORDER OF THE SCENERY.

Scene 1—THE FRONT GARDING—Callcott.

Scene 2—INTERIOR OF THE Stern PARIENT’S DWELLING—Morris.

Scene, 3—THE BACK GARDING—Callcott.

Costume—Period of the Reign of James I.

Willikind and his Dinah.

In presenting this Doleful Tragedy for the first time on the Stage of any Theatre, it is believed that a few particulars relative to its literary history will neither prove unimportant nor uninteresting. The play itself, which has been recently discovered amongst the papers of a retired Cheesemonger, belongs apparently to the Elizabethan period ; a supposition rendered more probable by a Latin inscription on the fly-leaf, which, though nearly obliterated by time, may be decyphered thus:—"Mihi et Betti Martini," signifying, doubtless, the names of the joint Authors as Myself and Elizabeth Martin names which, though not familiar, perhaps, to the students of our early dramatic history, are yet of no rare occurrence in popular literature. As the most indefatigable researches in the British Museum have failed to bring to light any quarto or folio edition of “Ye Tragicalle Hystorie of Willikind and his Dinah, with ye manner of theyre love-makynge, ye cruelle Parent’s enmitie, and theyre most pittiful ends,” there is reason to believe that it was never printed, and, consequently, it is fair to assume that it was never published. The original story on which the plot was based seems equally to have baffled the investigation of those who sought to trace the legend to its primitive source. An anonymous writer in a work dated 1583, and entitled “A Paradise of Curious Conceits and Daintie Devices,” alludes to a similar story, in which a Parent refuses consent to a Daughter’s Marriage. The name of Willikind, however, seems unknown in the Parish Registers before 1602, when it figures in an entry, which would seem to show that a person of that name then existed; but whether it was the same individual—there is now no possible method of ascertaining.—Dinah, or Dian-ah—the interjection “ah!” having been palpably appended to the first syllable to express the melancholy nature of her career,—has been often made the subject of reference by the lyrists of Ethiopia, but there is no reason for supposing that they could throw any light on the present history. Under these circumstances, as it appears that no information can be gained by pursuing the inquiry any further, it seems to be most advisable to desist from the attempt, and the curious in these etymological, genealogical, and archaeological researches are, therefore, confidently referred to the Tragedy itself, which will be found to embrace all the particulars hitherto unknown and unrecorded.

Willikind and hys Dinah

SCENE I.—"The Front Garding" of the Rich Merchant's Mansion, at Hackney. At the back a high clipped hedge enclosing the garden. A large scroll-work iron gate in centre of the hedge with two stone piers, surmounted by statues of grotesque lions. Through the gate is seen a road and country landscape. The front of the Merchant's Mansion (R.H.) with practicable door, and window above opening on a balcony. The garden is laid out in grass plats, gravelled walks, and parterres—box-wood trees clipped into fantastical forms ; a rustic seat, watering pot, garden roller. A water-butt painted green, at comer of garden next the house, U. B., a pair of green library steps beside the water-butt. Time, sunrise. The Barcarole, from Masaniello, played on a flageolet by Willikind at a distance, and gradually approaching; the sparrows on all sides twitter an accompaniment to the music. Willikind then appears outside the gate (c.), looks over, and sings. Air—"Willikind and his Dinah." Wil. " Here lives the rich merchant, I know very well, Who has for a daughter an unkimmin fine young gal; Her name it is Dinah, just sixteen years old, With a very large fortin in silver and gold. Singe-ing too-ral-li, too-ral-li." She sleeps! alone my Dinah sleeps Upon her couch of down. Oh, happy couch! Oh, downy couch! and far more downier maid ! Perchance she snores! and, snoring, dreams of me, Her Willikind. But soft! the morning breaks. And rises like a baker in the (y)east ; While, through the blanket of the night, his rays Like streaks upon a Ribston pippin shine. (a dog barks) The dogs begin to bark, (a cock crows)the cocks to crow; (sparrows twitter) The smoke-dried sparrows, twittering in the hedge. Proclaim that Nature’s wide awake:—why, then, I’ll wake my Dinah with a tender strain. Plays "Away with Melancholy," on his flageolet; the sparrows, as before, twittering an accompaniment. At the close of the air, Dinah opens upper window, (R.) and comes on the balcony in her morning wrapper. Din. Dear Willikind, was thine the strain ? Wil. It was. Din. Oh, gentle lark! what lark has made you leave Your nest, to warble at my parent’s gate? Wil. ’Twas all along of you and love. Last night I could not sleep: and long before ’twas time To take the shutters down, I left my flock. My onlyflock, in bed, and from your parent’s shop In Little Britain flew on Cupid’s wing. To flutter at these cruel bars, that bar me from Those arms. Oh, barb’rous barrier ! oh, rude And ruthless railings, reckless of my raps! Din. Just play that melting air again; yet stay, I’d better pitch you first the proper key. ’Tis here, upon this bunch—(undoes a key from a bunch which she carries)Say, canst thou catch ? Wil. Ask thine own heart. Thou knowest how I’ve caught Thy smallest meaning through thy slightest wink; Thou also know’st how, once upon a time— Casting thy careful parent’s day-book up,— My custom always of an afternoon— Thou hanging o’er my shoulder—all the while I popped and carried kisses, till I made A blunder in the tottle of the whole :— Oh! ask thy father how I caught it then. Din. Enough ! There, take, and turn it, in the lock— But softly, mind—while I put on my frock. (she throws him the key over the hedge, and retires into the house. Willikind picks up the key) Wil. Hooray! hooray! By Jove, a lucky throw. And now by single entry in I go. (unlocks the garden gate and enters) Oh! what a spot for love and syllabub ! A little paradise—with Dinah—where The air breathes milder, and the flow’rs blow bigger, The sky looks brighter and the green grass greener; Ev’n I feel softer than my wont; and so, To Echo’s ear my feelings I’ll confide. Thus tragic lovers pour their fancies forth. And operatic tenors who disdain To keep the noiseless tenor of their way, Vociferate their secret thoughts in song. SONG—Willikind. Air—Drops of Brandy. A merchant in London there dwells, Whose profit two hundred per cent, is, Derived from whatever he sells, And I am this merchant’s apprentice. From me you must here understand, A fortune he made by his trickery, Putting in sugar the sand, And popping in coffee the chicory. Thus getting on with avidity, Soon was a fortune supplied o’. But how it was made with rapidity, No one knows better than I do. At Hoxton this villa he bought. He could not get one that was nigherer. To which his fair daughter he brought; And I am that daughter’s admierer. We’ve long been attached, she and I— To see her, O how my heart flutters up! And sometimes we meet on the sly, At night when I’ve put the shop shutters up. Nothing is done by timidity, Always awake I am wide o’, A fortune ain’t got by stupidity— None knows that better than I do. But soft, my Dinah comes. That step is her’s ; More light than footfall of the cautious cat, When cream she seeks upon the dairy shelf. Enter Dinah from house R. He embraces her. Oh, Dinah, lovely Dinah, tell me true, Is this thy angel form—and no mistake ? Din. All that is left to love and thee. Wil. Why, then, Let Chaos come and turn this solid globe Like that at Leicester-square—right inside out; Let bridges run beneath the muddy Thames, Let boiling kettles on the highway snort, Let people fly,—to monster bladders tied, Let messages by lightning be conveyed, Let beauteous Smithfield be removed ; and, oh ! Let there be never more a Lord Mayor's show ! Let everything most terrible befal—. I love my Dinah, and I scorn them all. Din. Oh, Blarney—rather— Wil. Did you say, Blarney ? Recal that hateful word, or by the powers Of twelve Attorneys roll’d in one—I’ll do Some desperate deed of slaughter on myself— I’ll cut my thread of life with dagger keen, Or quench my spirit in yon water butt. Din. You can’t—the butt’s as empty as your head. Wil. Then to some dreary dismal shore I’ll go, Whose sullen savage rocks have never heard “Pop goes the Weasel,” or “The Low-back’d Car,” Or hurdy gurdy, or an organ ground. There, like a lonely ’ermit in an ‘ut— Pale ale my drink—walnuts my only food— I’ll waste life’s taper—to its latest snuff; Since Dinah—cruel Dinah, proves unkind. (weeps pathetically and, convulsively) Farewell! I fly! I go ! I go! (going) Din. No. No! (the bells of Bow are heard at a distance) Hark to the bells of Bow—they seem to say As once they did to Whittington—"don’t go.” (Chaunts)“Turn again Willikind—thrice Lord Mayor of London town.” Wil. Prophetic maid ! And am I still belov’d ? Din. Better than apple tart, or gooseb’ry fool— Better than holidays away from school— Better than kisses—stay—no, kissing's out. Wil. I beg your pardon, kissing’s in. (kisses her)Don’t pout ’Tis but the gentle pressure from without. Din. Nay, leave me now. Think, Little Britain calls, And commerce bids thee gird thy apron on ; Think of the sugar that should now be weighed. Wil. I know no sugar but from Dinah’s lips. Din. . Think of the fragrant spices on the shelves. Wil.. They equal not the fragrance of thy breath— One trial will suffice to prove the fact—(kisses her) Din. Think of the tea that may be even now Requir’d to cheer the washerwoman’s board. Wil. Oh, more than tea they words exhilirate. (they walk to and fro, she leaning on his arm) Oh, Dinah, would’st thou learn the home to which My love would bear thee—listen. "Tis a house Two stories high, with gardens back and front, Where barrel organs play the live long day: And when ’tis dusk, a friendly gas lamp near Will fling a golden radiance on our walls. At nine o’clock the pleasant cry of " beer! ” First distant, then approaching will be heard, To break the silence with its frothy tones ; And ever and anon some friend shall call To play a rubber of congenial whist— Three handed whist—and thou, as thou wert wont, Shalt take the dummy. Dost thou like the picture ? Din. Oh ! plain or coloured in this style—by those Dear lips—’tis beautiful—most beautiful! (a sneeze in house, R.) Wil. (starts) What’s that ? a sound—that sounded like a sound ; Yet scarce a sound, although a sound it seemed ! (another sneeze in house) You heard it then ? it came upon my ear, Like hollow echo of some yawning grave, In which a new-made ghost had caught a cold. (a louder sneeze in house) Din. Oh, Heaven ! It is my Parient’s sneeze—begone ! Wil. Then must I go ! Fond Cupid wills me stay, But stronger prudence pulls the other way. Din. (at gate) Oh, misery—oh, fatal fate—what’s here ? The lock’s a Chubb, it opens with a spring; And like a precious noodle you have left The key outside. Wil. Oh, Chubb! Oh, Chubb ! This is of all the most unkindest rub ! You’ve shot me with your cruel bolt—for why; I fain would bolt—but bolted—here must lie. Din. Oh, happy thought. Oh, Willikind—the butt ! Wil. But what ? Din. The water butt, where you may lie As snug as kernel in a hazel nut— Though never nut so sweet a kernel had. Wil. Oh, butt! I thank thee for this service, but— Din. No but, but in—Each moment you delay Is fraught with hideous peril to your bones. Trio—Dinah, Willikind, and Sneeze—Tippitywitchet. Wil. The water butt is handy, But then the damp is such— If you’ve a little brandy, I shouldn’t mind it much. (Sneeze in house) Atchew! Dinah. Beware! (Sneeze in house) Atchew ! Dinah. Take care! He’s coming now this way. (Sneeze in house) Atchew! Dinah. Prepare! (Sneeze in house) Atchew ! Dinah. In there. He might seek for you all the day. Dinah places a pair of steps and Willikind gets into the water-butt occasionally showing his head during the following scene Enter the Stern Parient and Tender Parient from the house R, the former has an open letter in his hand. Song.—Stern Parient. Air.—The Vicar and Moses. Zounds, madam, my wife, Though I love you, my life! My will shall be law in this house. So whatever you say, Mind you quickly obey, For a lion I am—you a mouse. Ri fol de roll, loll de roll lay. Din. (C.) What means this heat ? Stern P. (L.) Our usual morning tiff. Ten. P. Your father grows more cruel every day. Stern P. On this point I’m resolved. This letter, child Arriv’d last night, when thou hads't gone to rest. Rare news it brings—a husband comes to woo. Din. To parley woo ? Stern P. To woo thee for his bride. A noble youth, both galli-ant and gay, This very morning comes. Din. (leaning on her mother) Support me, ma! Stern P. Support thee, will he ? Aye, and bravely too ! Trust me, his wife will have a glorious time; Horses and servants at command, and silks To rustle in at church! why, girl, thou'lt be The envy of the Poultry! Din. (aside) When I am his duck ! Stern P. His wealth, to be emphatic, is untold. Din. (aside) And so I hope will be his love. Stern P. Away— And dress yourself in gorgeous'array ! Give to thy charms unfettered scope, and let The stay-maker and Nature do the rest (goes up) (Dinah whimpers and employs her cambric) Ten. Par. Why, silly girl—what dost thou whimpering there, When you should dance for joy ? —the man’s a lord. And you will be a lady! Song.— Tender Parient. Air.— Robinson Crusoe. So, if Dinah you choose Such a chance to refuse. And then turn your back upon Cupid; I really must say, In a plain sort of way, Your conduct’s remarkably stupid:— But I cannot think how you can do so, You can’t such an offer refuse so; Unless, I’m afraid, You’d become an old maid, And live like a feminine Crusoe. Stern Parient (unable to restrain his anger, rushes down R. to front) Come, cut it short—my blood begins to chafe: Was ever father so by daughter cross’d ? Was ever man so mild as I—provok’d To use that right—to every Briton dear, That ancient right—for which our father’s bled. No matter where—for which our mother’s fought, No matter when—the glorious right to swear When we’ve a mind ? . Song.—Air—“A Master I have, and I am his Man." A daughter I have, and I am her pa, Wretched, unfortunate man! A daughter I have, and I am her pa, And I had much rather I wasn’t by far. With her vixen vexing, dad perplexing— Upsetting everything, higgledy, piggledy. Wretched, unfortunate man. Concerted Piece.—Air—“ The Crown Diamonds” Stern P. But ere I go! I swear that no—entreaty shall make me forego; Upon him, so —your hand bestow—or else become my deadliest foe. Both Parients. Oh, scene of wo—unmatch’d below— A Parient’s hopes to overthrow! Oh, well may so—severe a blow—now cause , my tears to overflow! Dinah and Wil. (in the butt) {I/She} could explain now did she choose, The reason {she does|why I} thus refuse; Oh, what a subject for the views Of the Illustrated London News! Parients Yes, ere we go, &c. Exeunt Parients into house indignantly. Dinah. Come forth, my Willikind—come forth, my love! And let us mingle our sad tears in one Descending shower. Wil. (who has got out of butt) Until our streaming eyes— Twin waterspouts become, (they come down and weep pathetically and parenthetically) Din. "Tis sweet, methinks. To taste this double luxury of woe; Give me thy handkerchief, and you take mine. And, when, in days to come, we wring from each These parting drops, that witness to our love, Oh, then remember me, as I’ll remember thee. (they exchange handkerchiefs despairingly) Wil. And now farewell! Farewell! the busy shop in which I served. From morn ’till eve, your father’s customers; Farewell! the apron that I wore so long; Farewell! the black Souchong and Hyson green : The fragrant Mocha, and the luscious fig; The currants, raisins, and the sugar candy ; Farewell! this fellow’s occupation’s gone! Din. Where would'st thou go, rash youth ? Wil. To sea! Din. But what to see ? Wil. To see the sea, and be A British Tar! to wave the flag that brav'd A thousand years the battle and the breeze. Din. Oh, pitch that tar for ever from thy mind, Misguided boy; what would you do at sea ? You never learn'd to swim, and don’t know how To dive. Wil. Yet divers reasons have I for to go. My fate cries out, “ All hands ahoy I” I feel Already half seas over. Duett. Air.—"College Hornpipe.” Wil. No matter what you say, I am going off to sea, Though the rolling of the vessel with my system don’t agree; I’ll try as hard as any one, a sailor boy to be. And dance a naval hornpipe like Jack Robinson. Din. I shall never know a happiness when you’re away, Wretchedly unhappy I shall feel all day. Wil. But my occupation’s gone, as the man says in the play: So I’m off to sea, ere you could say, Jack Robinson. They dance the College Hornpipe tenderly. At the end of the performance the gate bell rings energetically. They suddenly stop, and Dinah exits precipitately into the mansion R, while Willikind conceals himself mysteriously among the shrubs L. Gate centre opens, and the Lyttel Page enters briskly; at the same time two Menials enter from mansion pompously. Page. The key was in the lock, so I made bold, To enter, Sirs. 1st Menial. Haw! 2nd Menial. Haw! 1st Men. Your business, pray ? Page. My master’s coming here. 1st Men. Haw! 2nd Men. Haw! 1st Men. And who's your master, pray? Page. The Lord Pellmelle. 1st Men. Ooh! (bowing profoundly) 2nd Men. Ooh ! (bowing profoundly) 1st Men. (calling into house) The Lord Pellmelle's arrived. The Stern Parient, followed by the Tender Parient, rush flurriedly from the Mansion R. Stern P. What’s that I hear—the Galliant--Lord Pellmelle- My son-in-law that is to—was to be. [— Music—" A frog he would a wooing go' The Lord Pellmelle, both "Galliant and gay" enters mounted on a very tall basket horse. He is dressed in the height of the extravagant fashion of the time. His carpet-bag and hat-box are slung behind him on the horse's back. The horse entering slowly, marks the time of the music with his feet, as at Astley's. Business, while the Galliant on horseback enters the garden. Two more Servants rush out of the house. The Stern Parient bows, and the Tender Parient curtseys profoundly all the while—the Servants bowing obsequiously. The Galliant acknowledges these demonstrations with prodigious courtesey. notwithstanding the skittishness of his steed, who treacherously tries to kick the Stern Parient. During this the following is sung:— Concerted Piece.—Air from " Robert the Devil," This way, this way, noble stranger, Welcome to our mansion here ; Pray dismount, there may be danger— You don’t feel secure, I fear. Stern P. Help, somebody, or I shall lose my son-in-law! Galliant. Make haste! I’m getting nervous—mind ! he kicks. Two Servants place the step-ladder for Galliant, who dismounts, Willikind gesticulates furiously and pugilistically at the Galliant, from his concealment. The Servants carry into the mansion his carpet bag and hat box. The Galliant’s steed kicks one of the Servants, and knocks him prostrate. Stern P. Welcome, my Lord! Tender P. Right heartily, forsooth ! How does your lordship ? Gal. Fresh as paint, by Jove! And you are looking round and sound, old girl. Tender P. Oh, Lud! your ludship flatters. Stern P. Will it please Your lordship enter my poor cabin ? There’s A banquet toward—a leg of mutton boiled, With caper sauce, and trimmings corresponding. Gal. Talk not of mutton, nor of caper sauce— I came to feast upon my Dinah’s charms ! Her heavenly charms! (her fortune is—how much ?) Stern P. Ten thousand pounds ! Gal. To gaze upon her eyes, Celestial blue!—(in cash, I think you said ?) Stern P. Hard cash, my Lord. Gal. Whose lustre mocks the stars ! To hear her tuneful voice—(your houses, lands. And tenements descend to her—when you Have kicked the mortal bucket ?) Stern P. All, my Lord. Gal. Conduct me to my love, or else this heart Will from my burning busting buzzum bound. Lead on, old trump, and I will follow suit. Ensemble, as before, with Willikind concealed amongst ' the shrubs. Wil. This way, this way, there is danger, I’m not quite secure, I fear ; I should like to give that stranger Something for his private ear. Exeunt into mansion, the Stern Parient followed by the Galliant, with the Tender Parient leaning on his arm. Servants after, Willikind gesticulating as they go off,

SCENE II.—A handsome oak pannelled Chamber, with a bay window painted on flat. Servants enter hurriedly L. carrying the bag, hat-boXi and umbrella of the Galliant; they cross and go off R. then enter L. Stern Parient prodigiously excited. Stern P. What, rascals ! rogues! what no one here to pay Fit reverence to my lord!—what, Dorothy ! A pack of lazy dogs !—-what, Dorothy! Who gorge and sleep—and on an ale house bench Wear out their yellow plush—and sot and smoke— Or play at skittles—base and vulgar game— For pints of beer—what, Dorothy, I say ! Enter Dorothy R. . Dor. La! did your worship please to call ? Stern P. Go straight And bid my daughter that she hasten down To meet the Lord Pellmelle, that Galliant peer. Who, even now, on door-mat in the hall, Brushes, with anxious care, the dust away That lies upon his boots. The Servants are heard succesivey announcing “The Lord Pellmelle.” Each announcement appearing nearer than the preceding, until it reaches the Servant outside the door L., who, duly impressed with the importance of his mission, rushes in with his hair erect, and announces hysterically "The Lord Pellmelle.” Stern P. Away! Enter The Galliant L. with the Tender Parient on on his arm. Gal. Well, here we are, old gunpowder! Stern P. My Lord, Confused and unaccustomed as I am To speak at parish meetings—yet I’ll say What never has been said, perhaps, before: This is the proudest moment of my life. Gal. Hear, hear, and cheers!—But where's your daughter ? where The beauteous Dinah ? Tender P. (crosses to R.) Here, my Lord, she comes. Enter Dinah in gorgeous array, b.,followed by Dorothy. Song — Tender Parient. Air —The young May Moon. My daughter here, you see, my Lord, Your Lady I hope she’ll be, my Lord! Your Lordship’s eye Will at once descry The image she is—of me, my Lord. Gal. Ah! lovely vision—(aside)of ten thousand pounds! Consols are in her step,—in every look Exchequer bills, and long annuities! Oh, golden prize !— Oh, Californian lump Of loveliness, 'tis thou alone must mend The bilerof my fortunes, burst too soon By keeping up the steam. Dinah. (apart to Tender Parient) Is this the thing You’ve brought to be my lord ? Oh, day and night— Oh! night and day! but he looks wond'rous fast. Stern P. Dinah, my dear, this here’s the noble Lord— Gal. Old pump, shut up. I’ll introduce myself. My name’s Pellmelle—upon the Holborn hills My father keeps his chaise—and horses twain; His constant care was to bolt fast his door And keep his comely son—myself—at home; For I had heard of Cremorne, and I longed To dance the polka with some willing maid ; But what I wanted, that my Sire denied. The moon rose up one night, and so did I— . How we got back to bed, I cannot say; But I remember! e’er the night was o’er, Strange horrid fancies filled my reeling brain, Of pavements sliding from beneath my feet, Of lamp-posts dancing madly down the road. Of grim policemen, taking up themselves, Of ballet girls and sherry cobblers—eyes, Black, blue, and green—ham sandwiches and gents At early coffee stalls, with smoke and song Conglomerate. Last scene of all That ends this strange eventful history, (crosses to L.) Was shocking thirstiness and sheer oblivion, Dinah. With such a lot, my lot I’ll never cast. Song—Dinah. Air—“Carry me to Ole Virginny' I want a young and handsome man, My husband for to be; Who’ll stay at home and mind his wife, And little fami—lee. But hewould raking go at night, Till three o’clock or four; So carry him back, he won’t suit And do not bring he more. Chorus. Oh, carry him back, and do not bring he; Donot bring he more. Oh, carry, &c. Stern P. (apart to Tender Parient) She’ll change her mind—’twas thus, my dear, you swore Never to make me happy. Tender P. And I’ve kept my word. Stern P. (as before) By Jove! you have. But let us leave them now ! All exeunt, except Dinah and Galliant. Gal. Come forth, my Lyttel Page. Enter Lyttel Page, R. who carrier the lap-dog. (taking the lap-dog from the Lyttel Page) Thrice gentle * maid, this gift to thee I bring— Smallest of poodles, tied by slightest string; , To be your follower as Iwould be If I your faithful puppy-dog could be. Din. Puppies, my Lord, are not admitted here. Gal. Slave of thy will! For thy sake I’ll shave off My tip and my moustachios—quit my club, And play no more at loo unlimited— . Throw my cigar-case to the winds—destroy My betting book—and at the Opera Give up my stall and take a box for thee: All this I’ll do—nay, more—my latch-key, dear, To ev’ry fast young man will I resign— Forego the vocal revel of the night, And sit with thee at home, like furry cat, Bv the domestic hearth—and ne’er refuse Off mutton cold alternate days to dine. Din. Say, would’st thou have me speak my firm resolve ? Gal. Nay, sing it, rather—I've an ear for music. Din. Listen then to me! SONG, Dinah. Air—"To all you Ladies now on Land." ’Tis very well a lady’s hand To claim thus as a right. But first I’d have you understand You’re in an awkward plight. For I have got a lovyer true, And that there lovyer isn’t you. Both. With a fal, lai, la, &c. So now I’ve told you all that there. To go you may begin ; As you may see, I doesn’t care For you a single pin; For I love the finger small of he More than I love your whole bod-ee. Both. With a fal, lai, la, &c. Enter Menial (R.) solemnly. Men. My lord, the banquet waits. Gal. We’ll come anon. Exit Menial, R. (aside)I have an appetite that bids me on, And see what gastronomic art can do. Perchance, as ancient legends wisely tell, Pudding may something mollify my love. You’ll take my arm I Din. Excuse me if I don’t. In fact, I’ve got to speak, if you must know, A short soliloquy, before I go. Gal. In ev’ry tragedy the heroine does so. Music—"Roast Beef of Old England' to which the Galliant exits R. bowing repeatedly to Dinah. Din. And now I am alone ! My mind’s made up To die or not to die. The question then, Whether ’tis better do it after supper, Or do it not at all—don’t matter much. But I remember—there's a kitchen dresser, Upon whose highest shelf my mother keeps A black suspicious bottle, on whose side In letters blacker than its black contents, Is written—"Pison!” and with that I’ll do A deed of dreadful note. SONG. Air—"The night before Larry was stretched" When the cloth is removed, and “ The Queen " Is proposed by papa, with “ God bless her!” I’ll slip from the table unseen. And that bottle I’ll steal from the dresser: Then to the back garding I’ll go, And, when the bright moon is a'risin'. Where turnips and cabbages grow, I’ll swallow a cup of " cold pison,” And die in my white satin gown. Ri-tiddy-dum-tiddy dum di, tum-ti-rum-ti-iddity, &c. Exit Dinah, L., dancing suicidically.

Scene III. The Back Garding of the Stern Parient's Mansion. A garden wall, practicable R.; the back of the mansion, L. A broad gravel walk up centre of garden. Cabbages planted in rows from the front towards the back of the stage on L. of c. walk; peas growing similarly in rows on R. of walk. At back, trees and bushes, R. and L. Back door of mansion practicable, 2 E. L. Willikind, in a sailor's dress, is seen mounting the wall from the outside; he gets on the wall and sings. SONG. Air—" Over the water to Charlie." Over the mortar and over the stiles— Over the walls to my Dinah; Over the hedges, for one of her smiles. While her father is over his wine-a. (drops into garden and comes down) With me the green ivy that clings to the tree Is but by comparison fickle; And the fondest of cabbages, sometimes, like me, May find they have got in a pickle. With love’s light wing have I popped o’er these walls; And, spite of spring guns, traps, and springes dire, And broken bottles, that make garden walls Unpleasant to the feelings, have I come To bid farewell to Dinah, ere I go To brave the dangers of the Chelsea reach— First mate aboard “ the Daisy,” steamer, bound For Battersea. Come forth! my life! my love ! And shame the moon that shines so sweetly o’er The distant turnip tops. Meanwhile, I think, I’ll stroll the garden round ; and, as I stroll, I'll study Johnson’s Dictionary—work Divine!—for love and tender lovers made. Takes a dictionary from his pocket, and walking slowly up garden, c. disappears, L.u.e. Then enter Dinah, in white muslin, with a long train, and her hair dishevelled; Dorothy following and carrying a basket containing a champagne bottle labelled "Pison". A plate of Wenham ice, a large teacup, and a spoon are also in the basket, and scroll. Din. Oh, hapless maiden!—dark and desperate day— Ah, woe is me!—to be beloved by two, And only able to be wed by one. So felt, no doubt, the warbling Wagner, when, By managers of rival Op'ra's wooed, To give up one or other being loath, She stopp’d the strife, and stopp’d away from both. Come hither, wench. Hast thou the bottle brought ? Doro. I’ve got it here (shows bottle) Din. Likewise the Wenham ice ? Doro. ’Tis here, (shows plate of ice) Din. Then set the basket down. And, when That I am gone, keep thou my blue silk gown, My gloves, both kid and silk; and eke my boots— The boots I wore upon that happy day I went to Greenwich Fair with Willikind. Farewell! Put down the pillow—there, between The cabbage rows—and, Dorothy, if e’er Thou hast a lover—a policeman—when He sits at supper by thy kitchen fire, And thou dost help him to the nicest bits, Oh! tell him my sad fate ; and say, beside, My latest words were—(deeply affected)Give me the bottle, child. No more—begone, and leave me now Exit Dorothy into mansion L., weeping. ’Tis well! ’Tis very well! (pours liquor out of the bottle into cup, puts in a lump of ice, and stirs it with the spoon. Come, gentle potion, thou my portion be, With thee my heavy woes I’ll end. (drinks)Good night! ’Tis dark already, though the moon be bright. She sits between the rows of cabbages, puts on a night-cap, pins a placard to her breast, on which is written in large characters, Died by Pison and lies down with her head on the pillow to slow music "Corsican Brothers" — Then enter from the mansion, L., the Galliant a little the worse,—or rather the better, for liquor. SONG. Air—"Some one in the house with Dinah" I’ve been looking o’er the house for Dinah; I’ve been looking for her high and low; Whatever has become of Dinah No one seems at all to know. It is the pace—it is the pace that kills. The air’s refreshing with the rich perfume Of cauliflowers—’twill clear my head, perhaps. That with the old boy’s port has somehow got Obfuscate! Willikind appears at further end of walk, C., and comes down slowly, reading; the Galliant, L., perceives him. Ha I what form is that I see With solemn stride advancing ? Can it be The weakness of my nerves, or potency Of that last bottle ? Hold ! I charge thee speak, Or be for ever dumb! Wil. What ship, ahoy ? Gal. Pooh ! a vulgar mortal ! Fellow, what’s your name ? Air—"Saucy Arethusa" Wil. (sings) I am a sailor, stout and bold, Whose heart is cast in honor’s mould, (and) My name is Willikind, as I've been told, And now, pray, what is your’s. Sir ? Gal. Inferior tar! I am the Lord Pellmelle ! Wil. What! splice my jib—-and starboard helm—avast! Pellmelle—my rival—and my hated foe! Pell. Thy rival ? base, ignoble slave! This hour Shall be thy last, unless thou here dost swear To cease thy suit, and yield the maid to me! (draws his sword) Wil. What, yield my Dinah to a lubber ? No ! Sooner shall yonder moon yield toasted cheese— Those turnips lobster sauce—and these young peas Yield apple dumplings hot; or sooner still Shall tigers yield their young—- or cats their skins; Lawyers their fees—or woman yield her will! Ere I will yield thy love. Pell. (in a fencing attitude) Then yield the ghost. Wil. I am unarmed, but I defy thy rage. Pell. I’ll make thee food for ducks. Wil. Speaking of ducks. Reminds me of green peas. Oh, happy thought! The peas—the stakes! I have a weapon here. (pulls a stake from a row of peas, R.c.) A better never crack’d an empty skull. Come on, proud peer, and do your best and worst! For know, I’ve set my life upon a stake. And will stand the hazard of a chop. (They fight ferociously, until the peer, taking advantage of Willikind stopping to take a quid of tobacco from his box, makes a treacherous lunge at him) Pell. This to thy heart, base tar. Wil. (jumps aside and avoids the thrust.) Son of a gun! Would’st strike a British seaman thus ? take that. And let it be for this a quid pro quo. (he throws his tobacco box at the Galliant, who is stunned by it) Gal. Hold, hold ! I’ve had enough; I’m ready now To die—and save you further trouble. (he staggers) Wil. So! Gal. The chance was thine. Oh, Willikind, good bye. Now fades the glimm’ring landscape on the sight— As Gray—the poet Gray—one day may say. I never felt so groggy. Hold ! before I start I’ll give you a safe tip-—be sure You back Cockchafer for the Derby, (aside) If He does, he’s sold. Ha! ha! ha! I die ! (falls on the gravel walk, c. and dies) Wil. His die is cast. And now to seek my love. What do I see! my Dinah on the ground ? Oh, ground, what lovely burthen dost thou bear! (touches her) What, dead and damp ! Ah, very damp, my girl. This scroll which tells by pison she has died— This cup—this bottle—and this Wenham ice ! (takes the bottle and smells to it) Hah! British brandy ! Fatal draught, indeed ! And if a man did need a poison now, This is the sort of stuff to do for him ! There’s still a little left—enough for me! What wretched cards are in the hands of Fate! As when at cribbage we count up our game And see a pair before us, we observe, That’s good for two ! (puts ice in the cup) Now, Wenham,do thy work ! (drinks)A go; and all is told! (falls and dies between the rows of peas, R.) As Willikind falls the house dog barks inside; then enter from the mansion, L., the Stern Parient and Tender Parient, followed by Dorothy, the Lyttel Page, and Servants, carrying lights and sticks—dog continues barking. Stern P. Search well the garding round and seize the rogues! Silence that dreadful dog !—they’re come to steal My early strawberries—try every bush, And if you find a rascal knock him down. The Tender Parient, the Stern Parient, and Dorothy. discover at the same instant the bodies of Dinah, Willikind, and the Galliant ; they start back melodramatically. Tender P. (L. C.) Alack, alack I oh, night most black! what do I see ? Our daughter dead, and pale as dimi-tee ! Stern P. (C.) And here our son-in-law, that ought to be The Galliant gay Pellmelle—as dead as she ! Dorothy. (R.) And here young Willikind! beloved by me! Although I never told my love to he. Stern P. Three deaths at once! Tender P. Three flowers at once cut off. Three lovely flowers. Stern P. Oh, triple, treble woe !—I see it all, And know the worst ! Tender P. And I! Dorothy. And I! Stern P. Well, then, Since we do know what we do know, and all We know is nothing, we’ll resolve to know No further (cuckoo clock strikes twelve in house) Stern P. Ha ! what bell is that ? Tender P. It is The cuckoo clock, behind the kitchen door. Striking the midnight hour. Stern P. (becoming rapidly insane)Ha, ha! ho, ho ! My blood begins to freeze—my brain to burn! Cuckoo, cuckoo!—my daughter’s dead, sweet bird! I killed my pretty Dinah and her love. "Tis twelve o’clock—and time to be abed. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! Tender P. Alack, indeed! The little wit he ever had is gone; And I am not one whit less mad than he; ' And so the ancient proverb well declares: "Misfortune comes not singly, but in pairs.” Stern P. Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! Past twelve o’clock! Gal. (rising) Past twelve ? Why, then, ’tis time for ghosts to rise and walk. Din. (rising) I’m quite of your opinion. Wil. (rising) So am I. Gal. Come, let’s be off. then. Din. That’s not comme il faut We’ve something got to sing before we go. Stern P. Let justice first our anxious thoughts engage, Such justice as we find upon the stage But no where else.— Young Willikind, my son, Dinah is yours to have and hold. (leads Dinah to Willikind) Wil. What fun! . Gal. If that’s the case will some one tell What’s to become of me, The Lord Pellmelle ? Din. Best ask our friends with whom our future rests. Gal. (to audience) Come, tell us you forgive our harmless jests. And as we’ve died to please you, kindly give Us leave to try and please you while we live. Air—"British Grenadiers." Din. So now we’re dead There’s more no more to be said. But to bury us decent-lee; In a spot where the damp Won’t give us the cramp, In the nearest cemeteree. Din. Ye maidens all, both gay and grave, Pray mind whom ye set eyes on. And if your love you cannot have, Don’t go and have cold pison. Wil. And now, before we leave this place, I’ve a last request to make; That’s a song to write about our case, Some gent will undertake. Gal. And if our ends Have pleased our friends With thanks for their courtesee ; We’ll rise each night, For their delight, And repeat our tragi-dee. Chorus. And if {their|our} ends, &c. The Characters arrange in couples—a Medley Polka is danced. CURTAIN.

COSTUMES. Stern Parient —Cloak, doublet, and wide trunks, stockings and shoes, bald wig. Galliant —Extravagant suit of the period, ruff, high riding boots, round hat and feather. Willikind —Blue cloth doublet, full trunks, blue hose, shoes. 2nd. dress—Blue jerkin and petticoat trowsers. Tender Parient. — Long body, stomacher, hoop and full skirts of the time. Dinah, 1st.—White morning wrapper. 2nd.—Neat dress. 3rd.—Gold tissue dress, beads and jewels, 4th.— White muslin with a very long train. Servants —Plain dresses of the time, the hair cut close, moustachoes and heard worn.

In representation omit the first verse of the Finale.