MUSIC LIB. ML 50 S95Y41 1911 ^1 SULLIVAN A A = = AS — o SSS o oS — — OS = X OH 2 = 33 ^^2 rn 1 1 — a = o 8 = = J> 6^ ^_ 00 30 5 = = > — 33 ^= -< 6 = = -n 71 — 1— g3 4 — THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES g^-r-n^rt ft 'ThtVd.ttif U- THE Y EOMEN OF THE fi UARD ; OR, THE MERRY MAN AND HIS MAID. BY W. S. Gilbert AND Arthur Sullivan. PRICE ONE SHILLING NET. CHAPPELL & CO., Ltd., 50, NEW BOND STREET, LONDON, W. 1. NEW YOKK — SYDNEY. All Rights Urider the Copyright Act, 19x1, and the International Copyright Conventions are reserved. Applications for the right of performing the above Opera, including the use of band parts, must tw made to Rupert D'Oyly Carte, Savoy Hotel, London, W.C.a- n DaaaDaaaDaDaaoaaaaaDnDaDnannaDnaDaaaac Popular Comic Operas BY W. S. GILBERT & ARTHUR SULLIVAN The Mikado — The Gondoliers — The Pirates of Penzance — Iolanthe — Patience The Yeomen of the Guard Princess Ida — The Grand Duke — # Trial by Jury — Ruddigore — Utopia, Limited m Haddon Hall By Sydmby Grundy and Arthur Sullivan Ivanhoe By Julian Sturgis and Arthur Sullivan 8 The above can be had as follows — Vocal Score, complete, price 7/- net Vocal Fcore, oomplete (bound), price 10/6 net U Pianoforte Solo, complete, price 4/- net Libretto, price 1/- net n Separate Songs and Dance Music, prioe 2/- net each Pianoforte Selection, price 2/6 net D □ * Vocal Score, 4/- net: Pianoforte Solo, 3/- net B CHAPPELL & CO. Ltd., «■ N ^ W B ? N R D K *"««*■ "SEES w ' ' And may be obtained of all Music StIUri DunnoonnnooonnQUDnunuunDDUDnnjDiooiooooi THE YEOMEN OF THE GDARD ; OR, THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID. BY W. S. GILBERT AND ARTHUR SULLIVAN. PRICE ONE SHILLING NET. London GHAPPELL & CO. Ltd., 50, New Bond Street, W.l NEW YORK — SYDNEY *21571 All Rights under the Copyright Act, 1911, and the International Copyright Conventions are reserved. Applications for the right of performing the above Opera, including the use of band parts, must be made to Rupert D' Oyly Carte, Savoy Hotel, London, W.C.2. THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD; OR, THE MERRY MAN AND HIS MAID. IDramatis personam Sir Richard Cholmondeley (Lieutenant of the Tower) Colonel Fairfax (under sentence of death) Sergeant Meryll (of the Yeomen of the Guard) Leonard Meryll (his Son) Jack Point (a Strolling Jester) . Wilfred Shadbolt (Head Jailer and Assistant Tormentor) The Headsman First Yeoman Second First Citizen Second ., Elsie Maynard (a Strolling Singer) Phoebe Meryll (Sergeant MerylVs Daughter) Dame Carruthers (Housekeeper to the Tower) Kate (her Niece) Chorus of Yeomen of the Guard, Gentlemen, Citizens, &c. Scene. — Tower Green. Date. — 16th Century. * Nlusic USUI* llty THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD; OR, THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID. ACT I. Scene — Tower Green. Phcebe discovered spinning. SONG.— Phcebe. When maiden loves, she sits and sighs, She wanders to and fro ; Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes, And to all questions she replies, With a sad " heigho ! " 'Tis but a little word—" heigho ! " So soft, 'tis scarcely heard — " heigho ! ' An idle breath — Yet life and death May hang upon a maid's " heigho ! " When maiden loves, she mopes apart, As owl mopes on a tree ; • Although she keenly feels the smart, She cannot tell what ails her heart, With its sad " Ah me ! " 'Tis but a foolish sigh—" Ah me 1 " Born but to droop and die — " Ah me ! " Yet all the sense Of eloquence Lies hidden in a maid's " Ah me ! ' (weeps). Enter Wilfred. Wil. Mistress Meryll ! Phce. (looking up). Eh ! Oh ! it's you, is it ? You may go away, if you like. Because I don't want you, you know. Wil. Haven't you anything to say to me ? 3074^58 Phce. Oh yes ! Are the birds all caged ? The wild beasts all littered down ? All the locks, chains, bolts, and bars in good order 1 Is the Little Ease sufficiently uncomfortable ? The racks, pincers, and thumbscrews all ready for work ? Ugh ! you brute ! Wil. These allusions to my professional duties are in doubtful taste. I didn't become a head-jailer because I like head-jailing. I didn't become an assistant-tormentor because I like assistant - tormenting. We can't all be sorcerers, you know. (Phcebe annoyed.) Ah ! you brought that upon yourself. Phce. Colonel Fairfax is not a sorcerer. He's a man of science and an alchemist. Wil. Well, whatever he is, he won't be one long, for he's to be beheaded to-day for dealings with the devil. His master nearly had him last night, when the fire broke out in the Beauchamp Tower. Phce. Oh ! how I wish he had escaped in the confusion ! But take care ; there's still time for a reply to his petition for mercy. Wil. Ah ! I'm content to chance that. This evening at half- ' past-seven — ah ! Phce. You're a cruel monster to speak so unfeelingly of the death of a young and handsome soldier. Wil. Young and handsome ! How do you know he's young and handsome ? Phce. Because I've seen him every day for weeks past taking his exercise on the Beauchamp Tower. Wil. Curse him ! Phce. There, I believe you're jealous of him, now. Jealous of a man I've never spoken to I Jealous of a poor soul who's to die in an hour ! Wil. I am ! I'm jealous of everybody and everything. I'm jealous of the very words I speak to you — because they reach your ears — and I mustn't go near 'em ! Phce. How unjust you are ! Jealous of the words you speak to me ! Why, you know as well as I do that I don't even like them. Wil. You used to like 'em. Phce. I used to pretend I liked them. It was mere politeness to comparative strangers. [Exit Phcebe, loiih spinning wheel. Wil. I don't believe you know what jealousy is ! I don't believe you know how it eats into a man's heart — and disorders his digestion — and tarns his interior into boiling lead. Oh, you are a heartless jade to trifle with the delicate organization of the human interior ! [Exit Wilfred. Enter crowd of Men and Women, folio/red by Yeomen of the Guard. CHORUS (as Yeomen march on). Tower Warders, Under orders, Gallant pikemen, valiant sworders ! Brave in bearing, Foemen scaring, In their bygone days of daring ! Ne'er a stranger There to danger — Each was o'er the world a ranger ; To the story Of our glory Each a bold contributory ! CHORUS OF YEOMEN. In the autumn of our life, Here at rest in ample clover, We rejoice in telling over Our impetuous May and June. In the evening of our day, With the sun of life declining, We recall without repining All the heat of bygone noon. SOLO — 2nd Yeoman. This the autumn of our life, This the evening of our day ; Weary we of battle strife, Weary we of mortal fray. But our year is not so spent, And our days are not so faded, But that we with one consent, Were our loved land invaded, Still would face a foreign foe, As in days of long ago. Chorus. Still would face a foreign foe, As in days of long ago. Yeomen. People. Tower Warders, Under orders, etc. This the autumn of our life, &c. [Exeunt Crowd. Manent Yeomen. Enter Dame Carruthers. Dame. A good-day to you ! 2nd Yeoman. Good-day, Dame Carruthers. Busy to-day ? 6 Dame. Busy, aye ! the fire in the Beauchamp last night has given me work enough. A dozen poor prisoners — Richard Colfax, Sir Martin Byfleet, Colonel Fairfax, Warren the preacher-poet, and half- a-score others — all packed into one small cell, not six feet square. Poor Colonel Fairfax, who's to die to-day, is to be removed to No. 14 in the Cold Harbour that he may have his last hour alone with his confessor ; and I've to see to that. 2nd Yeo. Poor gentleman ! He'll die bravely. I fought under him two years since, and he valued his life as it were a feather ! Phoe. He's the bravest, the handsomest, and the best young gentleman in England ! He twice saved my father's life ; and it's a cruel thing, a wicked thing, and a barbarous thing that so gallant a hero should lose his head — for it's the handsomest head in England ! Dame. For dealings with the devil. Aye ! if all were beheaded who dealt with him, there 'd be busy doings on Tower Green. Phce. You know very well that Colonel Fairfax is a student of alchemy — nothing more, and nothing less ; but this wicked Tower, like a cruel giant in a fairy-tale, must be fed with blood, and that blood must be the best and bravest in England, or it's not good enough for the old Blunderbore. Ugh ! Dame. Silence, you silly girl ; you know not what you say. I was born in the old keep, and I've grown grey in it, and, pleaso God, I shall die and be buried in it ; and there's not a stone in its walls that is not as dear to me as my own right hand. SONG, WITH CHORUS.— Dame Carrttthers and Yeomen. When our gallant Norman foes Made our merry land their own, And the Saxons from the Conqueror were flying, At his bidding it arose, In its panoply of stone, A sentinel unliving and undying. Insensible, I trow, As a sentinel should be, Though a queen to save her head should come a-suing, There's a legend on its brow That is eloquent to me, And it tells of duty done and duty doing. " The screw may twist and the rack may turn, And men may bleed and men may burn, O'er London town and its golden hoard I keep my silent watch and ward ! " Chorus. The screw may twist, &c. Within its wall of rock The flower of the brave Have perished with a constancy unshaken. From the dungeon to the block, From the scaffold to the grave, Is a journey many gallant hearts have taken. And the wicked flames may hiss Round the heroes who have fought For conscience and for home in all its beauty, But the grim old fortalice Takes little heed of aught That comes not in the measure of its duty. 11 The screw may twist and the rack may turn, And men may bleed and men may burn. O'er London town and its golden hoard I keep my silent watch and ward ! " Chokus. The screw may twist, &c. [Exeunt all but Phcebe. Enter Sergeant Meryll. Phoe. Father ! Has no reprieve arrived for the poor gentleman? Mer. No, my lass ; but there's one hope yet. Thy brother Leonard, who, as a reward for his valour in saving his standard and cutting his way through fifty foes who would have hanged him, has been appointed a Yeoman of the Guard, will arrive this morning ; and as he comes straight from Windsor, where the Court is, it may be — it may be — that he will bring the expected reprieve with him. Ph(E. Oh, that he may ! Mer. Amen to that ! For the Colonel twice saved my life, and I'd give the rest of my life to save his ! And wilt thou not be glad to welcome thy brave brother, with the fame of whose exploits all England is a-ringing ? Phce. Aye, truly, if he brings the reprieve. Mer. And not otherwise ? Phce. Well, he's a brave fellow indeed, and I love brave men. Mer. All brave men ? Phce. Most of them, I verily believe ! But I hope Leonard will not be too strict with me — they say he is a very dragon of virtue and circumspection ! Now, my dear old father is kindness itself, and Mer. And leaves thee pretty well to thine own ways, eh ? Well, I've no fears for thee ; thou hast a feather-brain, but thou'rt a good lass. Phce. Yes, that's all very well, but if Leonard is going to tell me that I may not do this and I may not do that, and I must not talk to this one, or walk with that one, but go through the world with my lips pursed up and my eyes cast down, like a poor nun who has renounced mankind — why, as I have not renounced mankind, and don't mean to renounce mankind, I won't have it — there ! Mer. Nay, he'll not check thee more than is good for thee, Phoebe ! He's a brave fellow, and bravest among brave fellows, and yet it seems but yesterday that he robbed the Lieutenant's orchard. Enter Leonard Meryll. Leon. Father ! Mer. Leonard ! my brave boy ! I'm right glad to see thee, and so is Phoebe ! Phce. Aye — hast thou brought Colonel Fairfax's reprieve ? Leon. Nay, I have here a despatch for the Lieutenant, but no reprieve for the Colonel ! Phce. Poor gentleman ! poor gentleman ! Leon- Aye, I would I had brought better news. I'd give my right hand — nay, my body — my life, to save his ! Mer. Dost thou speak in earnest, my lad ? Leon. Aye, father — I'm no braggart. Did he not save thy life ? and am I not his foster-brother ? Mer. Then hearken to me. Thou hast come to join the Yeomen of the Guard ! Leon. Well ? Mer. None has seen thee but ourselves ? Leon. And a sentry, who took but scant notice of me. Mer. Now to prove thy words. Give me the despatch, and get thee hence at once ! Here is money, and I'll send thee more. Lie hidden for a space, and let no one know. I'll convey a suit of Yeoman's uniform to the Colonel's cell- — he shall shave off his beard, so that none shall know him, and I'll own him as my son, the brave Leonard Meryll, who saved his flag and cut his way through fifty foes who thirsted for his life. He will be welcomed without question by my brother-yeomen, I'll warrant that. Now, how to get access to the Colonel's cell? (To Phcbbe.) The key is with thy sour-faced admirer, Wilfred Shadbolt. Phce. (demurely). I think — I say, I think — I can get anything I want from Wilfred. I think — mind I say, I think — you may leave that to me. Mer. Then get thee hence at once, lad — and bless thee for this sacrifice. Phce. And take my blessing, too, dear, dear Leonard ! Leon. And thine, eh ? Humph ! Thy love is new-born ; wrap it up carefully, lest it take cold and die. 9 TRIO. — Phcebe, Leonard, Meryll. Phce. Alas ! I waver to and fro ! Dark danger hangs upon the deed ! All. Dark danger hangs upon the deed ! Leon. The scheme is rash and well may fail, But ours are not the hearts that quail — The hands that shrink, the cheeks that pale In hours of need ! All. No, ours are not the hearts that quail, The hands that shrink, the cheeks that pale In hours of need ! Mer. The air I breathe to him I owe : My life is his — I count it naught ! Phce. and Leon. That life is his — so count it naught ! Mer. And shall I reckon risks I run When services are to be done To save the life of such an one ? Unworthy thought ! Pegs, and Leon. And shall we reckon risks we run To save the life of such an one 1 All. Unworthy thought ! We may succeed — who can foretell ? May heaven help our hope — farewell ! (Leonard embraces Meryll and Phcebe, and then exit.) Phoebe weeping. Mer. Nay, lass, be of good cheer, we may save him yet. Phce. Oh ! see, father — they bring the poor gentleman from the Beauchamp ! Oh, father ! his hour is not yet come ? Mer. No, no, — they lead him to the Cold Harbour Tower to await his end in solitude. But softly — the Lieutenant approaches ! He should not see thee weep. ** Enter Fairfax, guarded. The Lieutenant enters, meeting him. Lieut. Halt ! Colonel Fairfax, my old friend, we meet but sadly. Fair. Sir, I greet you with all good-will ; and I thank you for the zealous care with which you have guarded me from the pestilent dangers which threaten human life; outside. In this happy little community, Death, when he conies, doth so in punctual and business- like fashion ; and, like a courtly gentleman, giveth due notice of his advent, that one may not be taken unawares. Lieut. Sir, you bear this bravely, as a brave man should. Fair. Why, sir, it is no light boon to die swiftly and surely at a given hour and in a given fashion ! Truth to tell, 1 would gladly 10 have my life ; but if that may not be, I have the next best thing to it, which is death. Believe me, sir, my lot is not so much amiss ! Phge. (aside to Meryll). Oh, father, father, I cannot bear it ! Mer. My poor lass ! Fair. Nay, pretty one, why weepest thou ? Come, be com- forted. Such a life as mine is not worth weeping for. (Sees Meryll) Sergeant Meryll, is it not 1 (To Lieut.) May I greet my old friend. (Shakes Meryll's hand.) Why, man, what's all this ? Thou and I have faced the grim old king a dozen times, and never has his majesty come to me in such goodly fashion. Keep a stout heart, good fellow — we are soldiers, and we know how to die, thou and I. Take my word for it, it is easier to die well than to live well — for. in sooth, I have tried both. BALLAD. — Fairfax. Is life a boon ? If so, it must befall That Death, whene'er he call, Must call too soon. Though fourscore years he give, Yet one would pray to live Another moon ! What kind of plaint have I, Who perish in July ? I might have had to die, Perchance, in June ! Is life a thorn % Then count it not a whit ! Man is well done with it ; Soon as he's born He should all means essay To put the plague away ; And I, war-worn, Poor captured fugitive, M}^ life most gladly give — I might have had to live Another morn ! [At the end, Phcebe is led off, weeping, by Meryll. Fair. And now, Sir Richard, I have a boon to beg. I am in this strait for no better reason than because my kinsman, Sir Clarence Poltwhistle, one of the Secretaries of State, has charged me with sorcery, in order that he may succeed to my estate, which devolves to him provided I die unmarried. Lieut. As thou wilt most surely do. 11 Fair. Nay, as I will most surely not do, by your worship's grace ! I have a mind to thwart this good cousin of mine. Lieut. How ? Fair. By marrying forthwith, to be sure ! Lieut. But heaven ha' mercy, whom wouldst thou marry ? Fair. Nay, I am indifferent on that score. Coming Death hath made of me a true and chivalrous knight, who holds all womankind in such esteem that the oldest, and the meanest, and the worst favoured of them is good enough for him. So, my good Lieutenant, if thou wouldst serve a poor soldier who has but an hour to live, find me the first that comes — my confessor shall marry us, and her dower shall be my dishonoured name and a hundred crowns to boot. No such poor dower for an hour of matrimony ! Lieut. A strange request. I doubt that I should be warranted in granting it. Fair. There never was a marriage fraught with so little of evil to the contracting parties. In an hour she'll be a widow, and I — a bachelor again for aught I know ! Lieut. Well, I will see what can be done, for I hold thy kinsman in abhorrence for the scurvy trick he has played thee. Fair. A thousand thanks, good sir ; we meet again on this spot in an hour or so. I shall be a bridegroom then, and your worship will wish me joy. Till then, farewell. (To guard) — I am ready, good fellows. [Exit with Guard into Cold Harbour Tower. Lieut. He is a brave fellow, and it is a pity that he should die. Now, how to find him a bride at such short notice ? Well, the task should be easy ! [Exit. Enter Jack Point and Elsie Maynard, pursued by a crowd of men and women. Point and Elsie are much terrified ; Point, however, assuming an appearance of self-possession. CHORUS. Here's a man of jollity, Jibe, joke, jollify ! Give us of your quality, Come fool, follify ! If you vapour vapidly, River runneth rapidly, Into it we fling Bird who doesn't sing ! Give us an experiment In the art of merriment ; Into it we throw Cock who doesn't crow ! 12 Banish your timidity, And with all rapidity Give us quip and quiddity — Willy-nilly, ! River none can mollify ; — Into it we throw Fool who doesn't follify, Cock who doesn't crow ! Point (alarmed). My masters, I pray you bear with us, and we will satisfy you, for we are merry folk who would make all merry as ourselves. For, look you, there is humour in all things, and the truest philosophy is that which teaches us to find it and to make the most of it. Elsie (struggling with one of the crowd). Hands off, I say, un- mannerly fellow ! Point (to 1st Citizen). Ha ! Didst thou hear her say, " Hands off" ? First Cit. Aye, I heard her say it, and I felt her do it ! What then ? Point. Thou dost not see the humour of that ? First Cit. Nay, if I do, hang me ! Point. Thou dost not ? Now observe. She said " Hands off ! " Whose hands ? Thine. Off whom ? Off her. Why ? Because she is a woman. Now had she not been a woman, thine hands had not been set upon her at all. So the reason for the laying on of hands is the reason for the taking off of hands, and herein is contra- diction contradicted ! It is the very marriage of pro with con ; and no such lopsided union either, as times go, for pro is not more unlike con than man is unlike woman — yet men and women marry every day with none to say, " Oh, the pity of it ! " but I and fools like me ! Now wherewithal shall we please you ? We can rhyme you couplet, triolet, quatrain, sonnet, rondolet, ballade, what you will. Or we can dance you saraband, gondolet, carole, pimpernel, or Jumping Joan. Elsie. Let us give them the singing farce of the Merryman and his Maid — therein is song and dance too. All. Aye, the Merryman and his Maid ! DUET.— Elsie and Point. Point. I have a song to sing, ! Elsie. Sing me your song, ! Point. It is sung to the moon By a love-lorn loon, Who fled from the mocking throng, O ! It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, 13 Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye. Heighdy ! heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye. Elsie. I have a song to sing, ! Point. What is your song, ? Elsie. It is sung with the ring Of the songs maids sing Who love with a love life-long, ! It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud, Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Heighdy ! heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! He sipped no sup, &c. Point. I have a song to sing, ! Elsie. Sing me your song, O ! Point. It is sung to the knell Of a churchyard bell, And a doleful dirge, ding dong, ! It's a song of a popinjay, bravely born, Who turned up his noble nose with scorn At the humble merrymaid, peerly proud Who loved a lord, and who laughed aloud At the moan of the merryman, moping mum Whose soul was sad, and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Heighdy ! heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! He sipped no sup, &c. Elsie I have a song to sing, ! Point. Sing me your song, ! Elsie. It is sung with a sigh And a tear in the eye, For it tells of a righted wrong, ! It's a song of the merrymaid, once so gay, Who turned on her heel and tripped away 14 From the peacock popinjay, bravely born, Who turned up his noble nose with scorn At the humble heart that he did not prize : So she begged on her knees, with downcast eyes, For the love of» the merry man, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Both Heighdy ! heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! His pains were o'er, and he sighed no more, For he lived in the love of a ladye ! 1st Cit. Well sung and well danced ! 2nd Cit. A kiss for that, pretty maid ! All. Aye, a kiss all round. Elsie (drawing dagger). Best beware ! I am armed ! Point. Back, sirs — back ! This is going too far. 2nd Cit. Thou dost not see the humour of it, eh ? Yet there is humour in all things — even in this. (Trying to kiss her.) Elsie. Help ! help ! Enter Lieutenant with guard. Crowd falls back. Lieut. What is this pother ? Elsie. Sir, we sang to these folk, and they would have repaid us with gross courtesy, but for your honour's coming. Lieut, (to Mob). Away with ye ! Clear the rabble. (Guards push crowd off, and go off with them.) Now, my girl, who are you, and .what do you here ? Elsie. May it please you, sir, we are two strolling players, Jack Point and I, Elsie Maynard, at your worship's service. We go from fair to fair, singing, and dancing, and playing brief interludes ; and so we make a poor living. Lieut. You two, eh ? Are ye man and wife ? Point. No, sir ; for though I'm a fool, there is a limit to my folly. Her mother, old Bridget Maynard, travels with us (for Elsie is a good girl), but the old woman is a-bed with fever, and we havo come here to pick up some silver, to buy an electuary for her. Lieut. Hark ye, my girl ! Your mother is ill ? Elsie. Sorely ill, sir. Lieut. And needs good food, and many things that thou canst not buy ? 15 Elsie. Alas ! sir, it is too true. Lieut. Wouldst thou earn an hundred crowns ? Elsie. An hundred crowns ! They might save her life ! Lieut. Then listen ! A worthy but unhappy gentleman is to be beheaded in an hour on this very spot. For sufficient reasons, he desires to marry before he dies, and he hath asked me to find him a wife. Wilt thou be that wife ? Elsie. The wife of a man I have never seen ! Point. Why, sir, look you. I am concerned in this ; for though I am not yet wedded to Elsie Maynard, time works wonders, and there's no knowing what may be in store for us. Have we your worship's word for it that this gentleman will die to-day ? Lieut. Nothing is more certain, I grieve to say. Point. And that the maiden will be allowed to depart the very instant the ceremony is at an end ? Lieut. The very instant. I pledge my honour that it shall be so. Point. An hundred crowns ? Lieut. An hundred crowns ! Point. For my part, I consent. It is for Elsie to speak. TRIO. — Elsie, Point, and Lieutenant. Lieut. How say you, maiden, will you wed A man about to lose his head ? For half an hour You'll be a wife, And then the dower Is yours for life. A headless bridegroom why refuse ? If truth the poets tell, Most bridegrooms, ere they marry, lose Both head and heart as well ! Elsie. A strange proposal you reveal, It almost makes my senses reel. Alas ! I'm very poor indeed, And such a sum I sorely need. My mother, sir, is like to die, This money life may bring, Bear this in mind, I pray, if I Consent to do this thing ! 16 Point. Though as a general rule of life I don't allow my promised wife, My lovely bride that is to be, To marry anyone but me, Yet if the fee is promptly paid, And he, in well earned grave, Within the hour is duly laid, Objection I will waive ! Yes, objection I will waive ! All. Temptation, oh temptation, Were we, I pray, intended To shun, whate'er our station, Your fascinations splendid ; Or fall, whene'er we view you, Head over heels into you ! Temptation, oh temptation, &c. (During this, the Lieutenant has whispered to Wilfred, who has entered. Wilfred binds Elsie's eyes with a kerchief, and leads her into the Cold Harbour Tower.) Lieut. And so, good fellow, you are a jester ? Point. Aye, sir, and, like some of my jests, out of place. Lieut. I have a vacancy for such an one. Tell me, what are your qualifications for such a post ? Point. Marry, sir, I have a pretty wit. I can rhyme you extempore ; I can convulse you with quip and conundrum ; I have the lighter philosophies at my tongue's tip ; I can be merry, wise, quaint, grim, and sardonic, one by one, or all at once ; I have a pretty turn for anecdote ; I know all the jests — ancient and modern — past, present, and to come ; I can riddle you from dawn of day to set of sun, and, if that content you not, well on to midnight and the small hours. Oh, sir, a pretty wit, I warrant you— a pretty, pretty wit ! RECITATIVE AND SONG.— Point. I've jibe and joke And quip and crank For lowly folk And men of rank. I ply my craft And know no fear, But aim my shaft At prince or peer. At peer or prince— at prince or peer, I aim my shaft and know no fear ! 17 I've wisdom from the East and from the West, That's subject to no academic rule ; You may find it in the jeering of a jest, Or distil it from the folly of a fool. I can teach you with a quip, if I've a mind ; I can trick you into learning with a laugh ; Oh winnow all my folly, and you'll find A grain or two of truth among the chaff ! I can set a braggart quailing with a quip, The upstart I can wither with a whim ; He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip, But his laughter has an echo that is grim ! When they're offered to the world in merry guise, Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will — For he who'd make his fellow-creatures wise Should always gild the philosophic pill ! Lieut. And how came you to leave your last employ ? Point. Why, sir, it was in this wise. My Lord was the Archbishop of Canterbury, and it was considered that one of my jokes was unsuited to His Grace's family circle. In truth I ventured to ask a poor riddle, sir— W T herein lay the difference between His Grace and poor Jack Point ? His Grace was pleased to give it up, sir. And thereupon I told him that whereas His Grace was paid £10,000 a year for being good, poor Jack Point was good — ■ for nothing. 'Twas but a harmless jest, but it offended His Grace, who whipped me and set me in the stocks for a scurril rogue, and so we parted. I had as lief not take post again with the dignified clergy. Lieut. But I trust you are very careful not to give offence. I have daughters. Point. Sir, my jests are most carefully selected, and anything objectionable is expunged. If your honour pleases, I will try them first on your honour's chaplain. Lieut. Can you give me an example ? Say that I had sat me down hurriedly on something sharp ? Point. Sir, I should say that you had sat down on the spur of the moment. Lieut. Humph ! I don't think much of that. Is that the best you can do ? Point. It has always been much admired, sir, but we will try again. Lieut. Well then, I am at dinner, and the joint of meat is but half cooked. Point. Why then, sir, I should say — that what is underdone cannot be helped. 18 Lieut. I see. I think that manner of thing would be somewhat irritating. Point. At first, sir, perhaps ; but use is everything, and you would come in time to like it. Lieut. We will suppose that I caught you kissing the kitchen wench under my very nose. Point. Under her very nose, good sir — not under yours ! That is where / would kiss her. Do you take me ? Oh, sir, a pretty wit — a pretty, pretty wit ! Lieut. The maiden comes. Follow me, friend, and we will discuss this matter at length in my library. Point. I am your worship's servant. That is to say, I trust I soon shall be. But, before proceeding to a more serious topic, can you tell me, sir, why a cook's brain-pan is like an overwound clock ? Lieut. A truce to this fooling — follow me. Point. Just my luck ; my best conundrum wasted ! [Exeunt. Enter Elsie from Tower, led by Wilfked, who removes the bandage from her eyes, and exit. RECITATIVE AND SONG.— Elsie. 'Tis done ! I am a bride ! Oh, little ring, That bearest in thy circle all the gladness That lovers hope for, and that poets sing, What bringest thou to me but gold and sadness ? A bridegroom all unknown, save in this wise, To-day he dies ! To-day, alas, he dies ! Though tear and long-drawn sigh 111 fit a bride, No sadder wife than I The whole world wide ! Ah me ! Ah me ! Yet maids there be Who would consent to lose The very rose of youth, The flower of life, To be, in honest truth, A wedded wife, No matter whose ! Ah me ! what profit we, O maids that sigh, Though gold, though gold should live If wedded love must die ? 19 Ere half an hour has rang, A widow 1 ! Ah heaven, he is too young, Too brave to die I Ah me ! Ah me ! Yet wives there 1be So weary worn, I trow, That they would scarce complain, So that they could In half an hour attain To widowhood, No matter how ! O weary wives Who widowhood would win, Rejoice that ye have time To weary in. [Exit Elsie as Wilfred re-enters. WrL. (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 Phcebe with Meryll. Meryll remains in the background, unobserved by Wilfred. Phce. (aside). Wilfred — and alone ! WrL. Now what could he have wanted with her ? That's what puzzles me ! Phce. (aside). Now to get the keys from him. (Aloud.) Wilfred — has no reprieve arrived ? Wil. None. Thine adored Fairfax is to die. Phce. Nay, thou knowest that I have naught but pity for the poor condemned gentleman. Wll. I know that he who is about to die is more to thee than I, who am alive and well. Phce. Why, that were out of reason, dear Wilfred. Do they not say that a live ass is better than a dead lion ? No, I don't mean that ! Wil. Oh, they say that, do they ? Phce. 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 ! Wil. Oh, yes ; as an assistant tormenter. Phce. Nay, as a wit, as a humorist, as a most philosophic commentator on the vanity of human resolution 20 (Phcebe slyly takes bunch of keys from Wilfred's waistband, and hands them to Meryll, who enters the Tower, unnoticed by Wilfred.) Wil. Truly, I have seen great resolution give way under my persuasive methods forking 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. Phce. (with a grimace). Thou art a most light-hearted and delightful companion, Master Wilfred. Thine anecdotes of the torture-chamber are the prettiest hearing. Wil. I'm a pleasant fellow an I choose. I believe I am the merriest dog that barks. Ah, we might be passing happy together — Phce. Perhaps. I do not know. Wil. For thou wouldst make a most tender and loving wife. Phce. 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. Wil. 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 cheery, 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 ! Phce. (with a grimace). It is a pretty picture — but I scarcely know. It cometh so unexpectedly — and yet — and yet — were I thy bride — Wil. Aye ! — wert thou my bride — ? Phce. Oh, how I would love thee ! SONG.— Phcebe. 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 ! 21 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 Phcebe. Wil. No, thou'rt not — not yet ! But, Lord, how she woo'd me ! 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 assault, 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 woo me, if she die for it ! [Exit Wilfred. Enter Meryll, cautiously, from Tower. 22 Mer. (looking after them). The deed is, so far, safely accom- plished. The slyboots, how she wheedled him ! What a helples3 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. Fair. My good and kind friend, thou runnest a grave risk for me ! Mer. Tut, sir, no risk. I'll warrant none here will recognise you. You make a brave Yeoman, sir ! So — this ruff is too high ; so — and the sword should hang thus. Here is your halbert, sir ; carry it thus. The Yeomen come. Now remember, you are my brave son, Leonard Meryll. Fair. If I may not bear mine own name, there is none other I would bear so readily. Mer. Now, sir, put a bold face on it ; for they come. FINALE.— ACT I. Enter Yeomen of the Guard. Chorus. Oh, Sergeant Meryll, is it true — The welcome news we read in orders ? Thy son, whose deeds of derring-do Are echoed all the country through, Has come to join the Tower Warders ? If so, we come to meet him, That we may fitly greet him, And welcome his arrival here With shout on shout and cheer on cheer. Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! RECITATIVE.— Sergeant Meryll. Ye Tower Warders, nursed in war's alarms, Suckled on gunpowder and weaned on glory, Behold my son, whose all-subduing arms Have formed the theme of many a song and story ! Forgive his aged father's pride ; nor jeer His aged father's sympathetic tear ! (Pretending to weep.) CHORUS. Leonard Meryll ! Leonard Meryll ! Dauntless he in time of peril ! 23 Man of power, Knighthood's llower, Welcome to the grim old Tower, To the Tower, welcome thou ! RECITATIVE .—Fairfax. Forbear, my friends, and spare me this ovation, I have small claim to such consideration ; The tales that of my prowess are narrated Have been prodigiously exaggerated ! CHORUS. 'Tis ever thus 1 Wherever valour true is found, True modesty will there abound. 1st Yeoman. Chorus. 2nd Yeoman. Chorus. Fair, (aside). (Aloud.) Chorus. COUPLETS. Didst thou not, oh, Leonard Meryll ! Standard lost in last campaign, Rescue it at deadly peril — Bear it safely back again ? Leonard Meryll, at his peril, Bore it safely back again ! Didst thou not, when prisoner taken. And debarred from all escape, Face, with gallant heart unshaken, Death in most appalling shape ? Leonard Meryll faced his peril, Death in most appalling shape ! Truly I was to be pitied, Having but an hour to live, I reluctantly submitted, I had no alternative ! Oh ! the tales that are narrated Of my deeds of derring-do Have been much exaggerated, Very much exaggerated, Scarce a word of them is true ! They are not exaggerated, &c. Enter Phoebe. She rushes to Fairfax. Enter Wilfred. RECITATIVE. Phce. Leonard ! Fair, (puzzled). I beg your pardon « 24 Phce. Don't you know me ? I'm little Phoebe ! Fair, (still puzzled). Phcebe ? Is this Phoebe ? What! little Phoebe ? (Aside.) Who the deuce may she be ? It can't be Phcebe, surely ? Wil. Yes, 'tis Phoebe— Your sister Phoebe ! Your own little sister ! All Aye, he speaks the truth ; Tis Phoebe ! Fair, (pretending to recognise her). Sister Phoebe ! Phce. Oh, my brother ! Fair. Why, how you've grown ! I did not recognise you ! Phce. So many years ! Oh, my brother ! Fair. Oh, my sister ! Wil. Aye, hug him, girl ! There are three thou mayst hug — Thy father and thy brother and — myself ! Fair. Thyself, forsooth ? And who art thou thyself ? Wil. Good sir, we are betrothed. (Fairfax turns enquiringly to Phcebe.) Phce. Or more or less — But rather less than more ! Wil. To thy fond care I do commend thy sister. Be to her An ever-watchful guardian — eagle-eyed ! And when she feels (as sometimes she does feel) Disposed to indiscriminate caress, Be thou at hand to take those favours from her ! All. Be thou at hand to take those favours from her ! Phce. Yes, yes. Be thou at hand to take those favours from me ! TRIO. — Wilfred, Fairfax, and Phcebe. Wil. To thy fraternal care Thy sister I commend ; From every lurking snare Thy lovely charge defend : And to achieve this end, Oh ! grant, I pray, this boon — She shall not quit thy sight : From morn to afternoon — From afternoon to night — From seven o'clock to two — From two to eventide — From dim twilight to 'leven at night She shall not quit thy side ! All. From morn to afternoon, &c. 25 Phce. So amiable I've grown, So innocent as well, That if I'm left alone The consequences fell No mortal can foretell. So grant, I pray, this boon— I shall not quit thy sight : From morn to afternoon — From afternoon to night — From seven o'clock to two — From two to eventide — From dim twilight to 'leven at night I shall not quit thy side. All. From morn to afternoon, &c. Fair. With brotherly readiness, For my fair sister's sake, At once I answer " Yes " — That task I undertake — My word I never break. I freely grant that boon, And I'll repeat my plight. From morn to afternoon — (kiss) From afternoon to night — (kiss) From seven o'clock to two — (kiss) From two to evening meal — (kiss) From dim twilight to 'leven at night That compact I will seal. (kiss) All. From morn to afternoon, &c. (The bell of St. Peter's begins to toll. Exit Wilfred. The crowd enters; the block is brought on to the stage, and the headsman takes his place. The Yeomen of the Guard form up. The Lieutenant enters and takes his place, and tells off Fairfax and two others to bring the prisoner to execution. Fairfax, and two Yeomen exeunt to Tower.) CHORUS (to tolling accompaniment). The prisoner comes to meet his doom ; The block, the headsman, and the tomb. The funeral bell begins to toll — M iy Heaven have mercy on his soul ! SOLO. — Elsie, with Chorus. Oh, Mercy, thou whose smile has shone So many a captive heart upon ; Of all immured within these walls, To-day the very worthiest falls ! 26 Enter Fairfax and two other Yeomen from Tower in great excitement. Fair. My lord ! I know not how to tell The news I bear ! I and my comrades sought the prisoner's cell — He is not there ! All. He is not there ! They sought the prisoner's cell — he is not there ! TRIO. — Fairfax and Two Yeomen. As escort for the prisoner We sought his cell, in duty bound ; The double gratings open were, No prisoner at all we found ! We hunted high, we hunted low, We hunted here, we hunted there — The man we sought with anxious care Had vanished into empty air ! [Exit Lieutenant. Girls. Now, by my troth, the news is fair, The man has vanished into air ! All. As escort for the prisoner They sought his cell in duty bound, &c. Enter Wilfred, followed by Lieutenant. Lieut. Astounding news ! The prisoner fled ! (To Wilfred.) Thy life shall forfeit be instead ! (Wilfred is arrested.) Wilfred. My lord, I did not set him free, I hate the man — my rival he ! (Wilfred is taken away.) Meryll. The prisoner gone — I'm all agape ! Who could have helped him to escape ? Phcebe. Indeed I can't imagine who ! I've no idea at all — have you ? Enter Jack Point. Dame. Of his escape no traces lurk Enchantment must have been at work ! Elsie (aside to Point). What have I done ! Oh, woe is me ! , I am his wife, and he is free ! 27 Point. Oh, woe is you ? Your anguish sink ! Oh, woe is me, I rather think ! Oh, woe is me, I rather think ! Yes, woe is me, I rather think ! Whatever betide You are his bride, And I am left Alone — bereft ! Yes, woe is me, I rather think ! Yes, woe is me, I rather think ! ENSEMBLE. — Lieutenant and Chorus. All frenzied with despairs ,, >rave, The grave is cheated of its due. Who is the misbegotten knave Who hath contrived this deed to do ? Let search be made throughout the land, Or< > vindictive anger dread — run \ m y/ &' A thousand marks to him< j,,, >hand Who brings him here, alive or dead. At the end, Elsie faints in Fairfax's arms ; all the Yeomen and populace rush off the stage in different directions, to hunt for the fugitive, leaving only the Headsman on the stage, and Elsie insensible in Fairfax's arms.) £no of Act I. 28 ACT II. Scene. — The same. — Moonlight. Two days have elapsed. Women and Yeomen of the Guard discovered. CHORUS. Women. Night has spread her pall once more, And the prisoner still is free : Open is his dungeon door, Useless his dungeon key ! He has shaken off his yoke — How, no mortal man can tell ! Shame on loutish jailer -folk — Shame on sleepy sentinel ! Enter Dame Carruthers and Katb. SOLO.— Dame Carruthers. Warders are ye ? Whom do ye ward ? Bolt, bar, and key, Shackle and cord, Fetter and chain, Dungeon of stone, All are in vain — Prisoner's flown ! Spite of ye all, he is free — he is free ! Whom do ye ward l . Pretty warders are ye I Chorus of Women. Pretty warders are ye, &c. CHORUS. Yeomen. Up and down, and in and out, Here and there, and round about ; Every chamber, every house, Every chink that holds a mouse, Every crevice in the keep, Where a beetle black could creep, Every outlet, every drain, Have we searched, but all in vain. Women. Warders are ye ? Whom do ye ward ? &c. [Exeunt all. 29 Enter Jack Point, in low spirits, reading from a huge volume. Point (reads). " The Merrie Jestes of Hugh Ambrose. No. 7863. The Poor Wit and the Rich Councillor. A certayne poor wit, being an-hungered, did meet a well-fed councillor. ' Marry, fool,' Quoth the councillor, 'whither away ? ' 'In truth,' said the poor wag, ' in that I have eaten naught these two dayes, I do wither away, and that right rapidly ! ' The councillor laughed hugely, and gave him a sausage." Humph ! The councillor was easier to please than my new master the Lieutenant. I would like to take post under that councillor. Ah ! 'tis but melancholy mumming when poor heartbroken, jilted Jack Point must needs turn t< Hugh Ambrose for original light humour ! Enter Wilfred, also in low spirits. Wil. (sighing). Ah, Master Point ! Point (changing his manner). Ha ! friend jailer ! Jailer that wast — jailer that never shalt be more ! Jailer that jailed not, or that jailed, if jail he did, so unjailerly that 'twas but jerry- jailing, or jailing in joke — though no joke to him who, by unjailerlike jailing, did so jeopardise his jailership. Come, take heart, smile, laugh, wink, twinkle, thou tormentor that tormentest none — thou rackei that rackest not — thou pincher out of place — come, take heart, and be merry, as I am I— (aside, dolefully) — as I am ! Wil. Aye, it's well for thee to laugh. Thou hast a good post, and hast cause to be merry. Point (bitterly). Cause ? Have we not all cause ? Is not the world a big butt of humour, into which all who will may drive a gimlet ? See, I am a salaried wit ; and is there aught in nature more ridiculous ? A poor, dull, heart-broken man, who must needs be merry, or he will be whipped ; who must rejoice, lest he starve ; who must jest you, jibe you, quip you, crank you, wrack you, riddle you, from hour to hour, from day to day, from year to year, lest he dwindle, perish, starve, pine, and die ! Why, when there's naught else to laugh at, I laugh at myself till I ache for it ! Wil. Yet I have often thought that a jester's calling would suit me to a hair. Point. Thee ? Would suit thee, thou death's head and cross- bones ? Wil. Aye, I have a pretty wit — a light, airy, joysome wit, spiced with anecdotes of prison cells and the torture chamber. Oh, a very delicate wit ! I have tried it on many a prisoner, and there have been some who smiled. Now it is not easy to make a prisoner smile. And it should not be difficult to be a good jester, seeing that thou art one. Point. Difficult ? Nothing easier. Nothing easier. Attend, and I will prove it to thee ' 30 SONG.— Point. Oh ! a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon, If you listen to popular rumour ; From the morn to the night he's so joyous and bright, And he bubbles with wit and good humour ! He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose and in verse ; Yet though people forgive his transgression, There are one or two rules that all family fools Must observe, if they love their profession. There are one or two rules, Half a dozen, may be, That all family fools, Of whatever degree, Must observe, if they love their profession. H you wish to succeed as a jester, you'll need To consider each person's auricular : What is all right for B would quite scandalise C (For C is so very particular) ; And D may be dull, and E's very thick skull Is as empty of brains as a ladle ; While F is F sharp, and will cry with a carp, That he's known your best joke from his cradle ! When your humour they flout, You can't let yourself go ; And it does put you out When a person says, " Oh, I have known that old joke from my cradle ! " If your master is surly, from getting up early (And tempers are short in the morning), An inopportune joke is enough to provoke Him to give you, at once, a month's warning. Then if you refrain, he is at you again. For he likes to get value for money ; He'll ask then and there, with an insolent stare, ' If you know that you're paid to be fumry ? ' It adds to the task Of a merryman's place, When your principal asks, With a scowl on his face, If you know that you're paid to be funny ? Comes a Bishop, maybe, Or a solemn D.D. — Oh, beware of his anger provoking ! Better not pull his hair — don't stick pins in his chair ; He don't understand practical joking. 31 If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, You may get a bland smile from these sages ; But should they, by chance, be imported from France, Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages ! It's a general rule, Though your zeal it may quench, If the family fool Tells a joke that's too French, Half-a-crown is stopped out of his wages ! Though your head it may rack with a bilious attack, And your senses with toothache you're losing, Don't be mopy and flat — they don't fine you for that, If you're properly quaint and amusing ! Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day, And took with her your trifle of money ; Bless your heart, they don't mind — they're exceedingly kind — They don't blame you — as long as you're funny ! It's a comfort to feel If your partner should flit, Though you suffer a deal, They don't mind it a bit — They don't blame you — so long as you're funny ! Point. And so thou wouldst be a jester, eh ? Wil. Aye ! Point. Now, listen ! My sweetheart, Elsie Maynard, was secretly wed to this Fairfax half an hour ere he escaped. Wil. She did well. Point. She did nothing of the kind, so hold thy peace and perpend. Now, while he liveth she is dead to me and I to her, and so, my jibes and jokes notwithstanding, I am the saddest and the sorriest dog in England ! Wil. Thou art a very dull dog indeed. Point. Now, if thou wilt swear that thou didst shoot this Fairfax while he was trying to swim across the river — it needs but the discharge of an arquebus on a dark night — and that he sank and was seen no more, I'll make thee the very Archbishop of jesters, and that in two days' time ! Now, what sayest thou ? Wil. I am to lie ? Point. Heartily. But thy lie must be a lie of circumstance, which I will support with the testimony of eyes, ears, and tongue. Wil. And thou wilt qualify me as a jester ? Point. As a jester among jesters. I will teach thee all my original songs, my self-constructed riddles, my own ingenious paradoxes ; nay, more, I will reveal to thee the source whence I get them. Now, what sayest thou ? 32 WrL. Why, if it be but a lie thou wantest of me, I hold it cheap enough, and I say yes, it is a bargain ! DUET. — Point and Wilfred. Both. Point. WlL. Both. Both. Point. WrL. Both. Hereupon we're both agreed, All that we two Do agree to WV11 secure by solemn deed, To prevent all Error mental. I on Elsie am to call With a story Grim and gory ; How this Fairfax died, and all I declare to You're to swear to Tell a tale of cock and bull, Of convincing detail full Tale tremendous, ■ Heaven defend us ! What a tale of cock and bull ! In return forsoul is cloyed — This< , ^ >joy-day unalloyed ! 47 All. Yes, yes, with happiness her soul is cloyed ! This is her jcy-day unalloyed ! Flourish. Enter Lieutenant. Lieut. Hold, pretty one ! I bring to thee News — good or ill, it is for thee to say. Thy husband lives — and he is free, And conies to claim his bride this very day ! Elsie. No ! no ! recall those words — it cannot be ! ENSEMBLE. Kate and Chorus. Oh day of terror ! Day of tears ! Who is the man who, in his pride, Claims thee as his bride ? Lieut. .Meryll and Wilfred. Come, dry those unbecoming tears, Most joyful tidings greet thine ears. The man to whom thou art allied Appears to claim thee as his bride. Dame Carruthers and Phcebe Oh day of terror ! Day of tears ! The man to whom thou»art allied Appears to claim thee as his bride. Elsie. Oh, Leonard, come thou to my side, And claim me as thy loving bride ! Oh day of terror ! Day of tears 1 All. Thou Elsie. Fair. All. Elsie (aside). Flourish. Enter Colonel Fairfax, handsomely dressed, and attended by other Gentlemen. Fair, (sternly). All thought of Leonard Meryll set aside, Thou art mine own ! I claim thee as my bride, art his own ! Alas ! he claims thee as his bride. A suppliant at thy feet I fall ; Thine heart will yield to pity's call ! Mine is a heart of massive rock, Unmoved by sentimental shock ! Thy husband he !. Leonard, my loved one — come to me. They bear me hence away ! But though they take me far from thee, My heart is thine for aye ! My bruised heart, My broken heart, Is thine, my own, for aye ! (To Fairfax) Sir, I obey, I am thy bride ; But ere the fatal hour I said the say That placed me in thy power, Would I had died ! Sir, I obey ! I am thy bride ! 48 (Looks up and recognises Fairfax.) Leonard ! Fair. Elsie. Elsie and Fair. All. My own ! Ah ! (Embrace.) {With happiness.. my soul is cloyed, This is our joy-day unalloyed ! Yes, yes ! With happiness their souls are cloyed, This is their joy-day unalloyed ! Enter Jack Point. Point All. Point Oh, thoughtless crew ! Ye know not what ye do ! Attend to me, and shed a tear or two — For I have a song to sing, ! Sing me your song, ! It is sung to the moon By a love-lorn ioon, Who fled from the mocking throng, ! It's the song of a merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum, Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Heighdy ! Heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb. As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! I have a song to sing, O ! What is your song, O ? It is sung with the ring Of the songs maids sing Who love with a love life-long, O ! It's the song of a merrymaid, nestling near, Who loved her lord — but who dropped a tear At the moan of the merryman, moping mum, Whose soul was sad and whose glance was glum Who sipped no sup and who craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Heighdy ! Heighdy ! Misery me, lackadaydee ! He sipped no sup and he craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye ! Fairfax embraces Elsie as Point falls insensible at their feet. Curtain. All. Elsie All. Elsie All. Henderson & Spalding Lid., Sylvan Grove, S.E.15. nDaaaaaaanananaaanaDnnnDnnaanDDnDGCDDDt: = THE MIKADO OR THE TOWN OF 1ITIPU WRITTEN BY W. S. GILBERT COMPOSED BY ARTHUR SULLIVAN VOCAL SCORE PIANOFORTE SOLO VOCAL SCORE (Bound in Cloth) LIBRETTO 88 THE SUN WHOSE RAY3 A WANDERING MINSTREL I. (In D and P) WILLOW, TIT-WILLOW HEARTS DO NOT BREAK THE MIKADO'S 80NQ THEY NEVER WOULD BE MIS8ED BRIGHTLY DAWNS OUR WEDDINQ DAY. BRIGHTLY DAWNS OUR WEDDINQ DAY. THREE LITTLE MAIDS FROM SCHOOL THREE LITTLE MAIDS FROM SCHOOL. (Madrigal) (Quartet, Octavo) (Trio) (Trio, Octavo) VAL8E (Solo or Duet) LANoERS (Solo or Duet) ... QUADRILLES (Solo or Duet) POLKA Arranged by P. BuCALOSSi Arranged by P. BuCALOSSi Arranged by P. Bucalossi Arranged by P. BuCALOSSi WINTERBOTTOM'S PIANOFORTE SELECTION WARWICK WILLIAMS' PIANOFORTE SELECTION KUHE'S FANTASIA. (Solo or Duet) BOYTON SMITH'S FANTA3IA SMALLWOOD'S FANTA8IA HENRY FARMER'S VIOLIN AND PIANOFORTE SELECTION WARWICK WILLIAMS' SELECTION AND WINTERBOTTOM'S SELECTION For Full and Small Orchestra and Military Band VALSE, LANCERS, QUADRILLES, AND POLKA. Orchestra For Full and Small CHAPPELL & CO. Ltd. »• ^Xr. 87, stZ on ' Xl jpoprrrijaDDrrrTrYi^^ M0i7i &// naaaananaanancxinaannnaaaDnDannaDaDaDDD" THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD OR THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID WRITTEN BY 5ft®?$? COMPOSED BY W. S. GILBERT ^" ARTHUR SULLIVAN H □ D VOCAL SCORE PIANOFORTE SOLO VOCAL SCORE (Bound in Cloth) LIBRETTO ss WHEN MAIDEN LOVEI WERE I THY BRIDE ^ 18 LIFE A BOON? FREE FROM HiS FETTERS I HAVE A 80NQ TO SING, Duet) STRANGE ADVENTURE (Quartet) (Cheap Edition for Choral Societies) VAL8E (Solo or Duet) Arranged by P. Btjcat.0891 LANCER8 (Solo or Duet) Arranged by P. Bucalomi QUADRJLLE8 (Solo or Duet) ... Arranged by P. Bucaxossi H & a D 0. GODFREY'S (JUNR.) PIANOFORTE SELECTION (Solo or Duet). KUHE'8 FANTASiA FOR THE PIANOFORTE (Solo or Duet). BOYTON SMsTH'S fANTASSA FOR THE PIANOFORTE. 8M All WOO' 8 FANTA3 A FOR THE PIANOFORTE. HENRY FARMER'S FANTASIA FOR VIOLIN AND PIANOFORTE. SELECTION FOR VIOLIN SOLO. CHAS. GODFREY'S (JUHR.) SELECTION. For Poll and Small Orchestra and Military Band. VALSE, LANCERS AND QUADRILLE. For Full and Small Orchestra. ruADDCii a. rf\ i«.j ». new bond st»b«t, t.ondon. W.I LnArrLLL