The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan

W >> William Schwenk Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan >> The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46

BALLAD--ROSE.

In bygone days I had thy love--
Thou hadst my heart.
But Fate, all human vows above,
Our lives did part!
By the old love thou hadst for me--
By the fond heart that beat for thee--
By joys that never now can be,
Grant thou my prayer!

ALL (kneeling). Grant thou her prayer!

ROB. (recitative). Take her--I yield!

ALL. (recitative). Oh, rapture! (All rising.)

CHORUS. Away to the parson we go--
Say we're solicitous very
That he will turn two into one--
Singing hey, derry down derry!

RICH. For she is such a smart little craft-
ROSE. Such a neat little, sweet little craft--
RICH. Such a bright little-
ROSE. Tight little-
RICH. Slight little-
ROSE. Light little-
BOTH. Trim little, prim little craft!

CHORUS. For she is such a smart little craft, etc.

(Exeunt all but Robin.)

ROB. For a week I have fulfilled my accursed doom! I have
duly committed a crime a day! Not a great crime, I trust, but
still, in the eyes of one as strictly regulated as I used to be,
a crime. But will my ghostly ancestors be satisfied with what I
have done, or will they regard it as an unworthy subterfuge?
(Addressing Pictures.) Oh, my forefathers, wallowers in blood,
there came at last a day when, sick of crime, you, each and
every, vowed to sin no more, and so, in agony, called welcome
Death to free you from your cloying guiltiness. Let the sweet
psalm of that repentant hour soften your long-dead hearts, and
tune your souls to mercy on your poor posterity! (Kneeling).

(The stage darkens for a moment. It becomes light again, and the
Pictures are seen to have become animated.)

CHORUS OF FAMILY PORTRAITS.

Painted emblems of a race,
All accurst in days of yore,
Each from his accustomed place
Steps into the world once more.

(The Pictures step from their frames and march round the stage.)

Baronet of Ruddigore,
Last of our accursed line,
Down upon the oaken floor--
Down upon those knees of thine.

Coward, poltroon, shaker, squeamer,
Blockhead, sluggard, dullard, dreamer,
Shirker, shuffler, crawler, creeper,
Sniffler, snuffler, wailer, weeper,
Earthworm, maggot, tadpole, weevil!
Set upon thy course of evil,
Lest the King of Spectre-land
Set on thee his grisly hand!

(The Spectre of Sir Roderic descends from his frame.)

SIR ROD. Beware! beware! beware!
ROB. Gaunt vision, who art thou
That thus, with icy glare
And stern relentless brow,
Appearest, who knows how?

SIR ROD. I am the spectre of the late
Sir Roderic Murgatroyd,
Who comes to warn thee that thy fate
Thou canst not now avoid.

ROB. Alas, poor ghost!

SIR ROD. The pity you
Express for nothing goes:
We spectres are a jollier crew
Than you, perhaps, suppose!

CHORUS. We spectres are a jollier crew
Than you, perhaps, suppose!

SONG--SIR RODERIC.

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in
the moonlight flies,
And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight
skies--
When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs
bay at the moon,
Then is the spectres' holiday--then is the ghosts' high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha!
Then is the ghosts' high-noon!

As the sob of the breeze sweeps over the trees, and the mists lie
low on the fen,
From grey tomb-stones are gathered the bones that once were women
and men,
And away they go, with a mop and a mow, to the revel that ends
too soon,
For cockcrow limits our holiday--the dead of the night's
high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha!
The dead of the night's high-noon!

And then each ghost with his ladye-toast to their churchyard beds
takes flight,
With a kiss, perhaps, on her lantern chaps, and a grisly grim
"good-night";
Till the welcome knell of the midnight bell rings forth its
jolliest tune,
And ushers in our next high holiday--the dead of the night's
high-noon!

CHORUS. Ha! ha!
The dead of the night's high-noon!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!

ROB. I recognize you now--you are the picture that hangs at
the end of the gallery.
SIR ROD. In a bad light. I am.
ROB. Are you considered a good likeness?
SIR ROD. Pretty well. Flattering.
ROB. Because as a work of art you are poor.
SIR ROD. I am crude in colour, but I have only been painted
ten years. In a couple of centuries I shall be an Old Master,
and then you will be sorry you spoke lightly of me.
ROB. And may I ask why you have left your frames?
SIR ROD. It is our duty to see that our successors commit
their daily crimes in a conscientious and workmanlike fashion.
It is our duty to remind you that you are evading the conditions
under which you are permitted to exist.
ROB. Really, I don't know what you'd have. I've only been
a bad baronet a week, and I've committed a crime punctually every
day.
SIR ROD. Let us inquire into this. Monday?
ROB. Monday was a Bank Holiday.
SIR ROD. True. Tuesday?
ROB. On Tuesday I made a false income-tax return.
ALL. Ha! ha!
1ST GHOST. That's nothing.
2ND GHOST. Nothing at all.
3RD GHOST. Everybody does that.
4TH GHOST. It's expected of you.
SIR ROD. Wednesday?
ROB. (melodramatically). On Wednesday I forged a will.
SIR ROD. Whose will?
ROB. My own.
SIR ROD. My good sir, you can't forge your own will!
ROB. Can't I, though! I like that! I did! Besides, if a
man can't forge his own will, whose will can he forge?
1ST GHOST. There's something in that.
2ND GHOST. Yes, it seems reasonable.
3RD GHOST. At first sight it does.
4TH GHOST. Fallacy somewhere, I fancy!
ROB. A man can do what he likes with his own!
SIR ROD. I suppose he can.
ROB. Well, then, he can forge his own will, stoopid! On
Thursday I shot a fox.
1ST GHOST. Hear, hear!
SIR ROD. That's better (addressing Ghosts). Pass the fox,
I think? (They assent.) Yes, pass the fox. Friday?
ROB. On Friday I forged a cheque.
SIR ROD. Whose cheque?
ROB. Old Adam's.
SIR ROD. But Old Adam hasn't a banker.
ROB. I didn't say I forged his banker--I said I forged his
cheque. On Saturday I disinherited my only son.
SIR ROD. But you haven't got a son.
ROB. No--not yet. I disinherited him in advance, to save
time. You see--by this arrangement--he'll be born ready
disinherited.
SIR ROD. I see. But I don't think you can do that.
ROB. My good sir, if I can't disinherit my own unborn son,
whose unborn son can I disinherit?
SIR ROD. Humph! These arguments sound very well, but I
can't help thinking that, if they were reduced to syllogistic
form, they wouldn't hold water. Now quite understand us. We are
foggy, but we don't permit our fogginess to be presumed upon.
Unless you undertake to--well, suppose we say, carry off a lady?
(Addressing Ghosts.) Those who are in favour of his carrying off
a lady? (All hold up their hands except a Bishop.) Those of the
contrary opinion? (Bishop holds up his hands.) Oh, you're never
satisfied! Yes, unless you undertake to carry off a lady at
once--I don't care what lady--any lady--choose your lady--you
perish in inconceivable agonies.
ROB. Carry off a lady? Certainly not, on any account.
I've the greatest respect for ladies, and I wouldn't do anything
of the kind for worlds! No, no. I'm not that kind of baronet, I
assure you! If that's all you've got to say, you'd better go
back to your frames.
SIR ROD. Very good--then let the agonies commence.

(Ghosts make passes. Robin begins to writhe in agony.)

ROB. Oh! Oh! Don't do that! I can't stand it!
SIR ROD. Painful, isn't it? It gets worse by degrees.
ROB. Oh--Oh! Stop a bit! Stop it, will you? I want to
speak.

(Sir Roderic makes signs to Ghosts, who resume their attitudes.)

SIR ROD. Better?
ROB. Yes--better now! Whew!
SIR ROD. Well, do you consent?
ROB. But it's such an ungentlemanly thing to do!
SIR ROD. As you please. (To Ghosts.) Carry on!
ROB. Stop--I can't stand it! I agree! I promise! It
shall be done!
SIR ROD. To-day?
ROB. To-day!
SIR ROD. At once?
ROB. At once! I retract! I apologize! I had no idea it
was anything like that!

CHORUS.

He yields! He answers to our call!
We do not ask for more.
A sturdy fellow, after all,
This latest Ruddigore!
All perish in unheard-of woe
Who dare our wills defy;
We want your pardon, ere we go,
For having agonized you so--
So pardon us--
So pardon us--
So pardon us--
Or die!

ROB. I pardon you!
I pardon you!

ALL. He pardons us-
Hurrah!

(The Ghosts return to their frames.)

CHORUS. Painted emblems of a race,
All accurst in days of yore,
Each to his accustomed place
Steps unwillingly once more!

(By this time the Ghosts have changed to pictures again. Robin
is overcome by emotion.)

(Enter Adam.)

ADAM. My poor master, you are not well--
ROB. Old Adam, it won't do--I've seen 'em--all my
ancestors--they're just gone. They say that I must do something
desperate at once, or perish in horrible agonies. Go--go to
yonder village--carry off a maiden--bring her here at once--any
one--I don't care which--
ADAM. But--
ROB. Not a word, but obey! Fly!
(Exeunt Adam)

RECIT. and SONG--ROBIN.

Away, Remorse!
Compunction, hence!.
Go, Moral Force!
Go, Penitence!
To Virtue's plea
A long farewell--
Propriety,
I ring your knell!
Come, guiltiness of deadliest hue!
Come, desperate deeds of derring-do!

Henceforth all the crimes that I find in the Times.
I've promised to perpetrate daily;
To-morrow I start with a petrified heart,
On a regular course of Old Bailey.
There's confidence tricking, bad coin, pocket-picking,
And several other disgraces--
There's postage-stamp prigging, and then thimble-rigging,
The three-card delusion at races!
Oh! A baronet's rank is exceedingly nice,
But the title's uncommonly dear at the price!

Ye well-to-do squires, who live in the shires,
Where petty distinctions are vital,
Who found Athenaeums and local museums,
With a view to a baronet's title--
Ye butchers and bakers and candlestick makers
Who sneer at all things that are tradey--
Whose middle-class lives are embarrassed by wives
Who long to parade as "My Lady",
Oh! allow me to offer a word of advice,
The title's uncommonly dear at the price!

Ye supple M.P.'s who go down on your knees,
Your precious identity sinking,
And vote black or white as your leaders indite
(Which saves you the trouble of thinking),
For your country's good fame, her repute, or her shame,
You don't care the snuff of a candle--
But you're paid for your game when you're told that your name
Will be graced by a baronet's handle--
Oh! Allow me to give you a word of advice--
The title's uncommonly dear at the price!
(Exit Robin.)

(Enter Despard and Margaret. They are both dressed in sober black
of formal cut, and present a strong contrast to their
appearance in Act I.)

DUET.

DES. I once was a very abandoned person--
MAR. Making the most of evil chances.
DES. Nobody could conceive a worse 'un--
MAR. Even in all the old romances.
DES. I blush for my wild extravagances,
But be so kind
To bear in mind,
MAR. We were the victims of circumstances!
(Dance.)
That is one of our blameless dances.

MAR. I was once an exceedingly odd young lady--
DES. Suffering much from spleen and vapours.
MAR. Clergymen thought my conduct shady--
DES. She didn't spend much upon linen-drapers.
MAR. It certainly entertained the gapers.
My ways were strange
Beyond all range--
DES. Paragraphs got into all the papers.
(Dance.)

DES. We only cut respectable capers.

DES. I've given up all my wild proceedings.
MAR. My taste for a wandering life is waning.
DES. Now I'm a dab at penny readings.
MAR. They are not remarkably entertaining.
DES. A moderate livelihood we're gaining.
MAR. In fact we rule
A National School.
DES. The duties are dull, but I'm not complaining.
(Dance.)

This sort of thing takes a deal of training!

DES. We have been married a week.
MAR. One happy, happy week!
DES. Our new life--
MAR. Is delightful indeed!
DES. So calm!
MAR. So unimpassioned! (Wildly). Master, all this I owe
to you! See, I am no longer wild and untidy. My hair is combed.
My face is washed. My boots fit!
DES. Margaret, don't. Pray restrain yourself. Remember,
you are now a district visitor.
MAR. A gentle district visitor!
DES. You are orderly, methodical, neat; you have your
emotions well under control.
MAR. I have! (Wildly). Master, when I think of all you
have done for me, I fall at your feet. I embrace your ankles. I
hug your knees! (Doing so.)
DES. Hush. This is not well. This is calculated to
provoke remark. Be composed, I beg!
MAR. Ah! you are angry with poor little Mad Margaret!
DES. No, not angry; but a district visitor should learn to
eschew melodrama. Visit the poor, by all means, and give them
tea and barley-water, but don't do it as if you were
administering a bowl of deadly nightshade. It upsets them. Then
when you nurse sick people, and find them not as well as could be
expected, why go into hysterics?
MAR. Why not?
DES. Because it's too jumpy for a sick-room.
MAR. How strange! Oh, Master! Master!--how shall I express
the all-absorbing gratitude that--(about to throw herself at his
feet).
DES. Now! (Warningly).
MAR. Yes, I know, dear--it shan't occur again. (He is
seated--she sits on the ground by him.) Shall I tell you one of
poor Mad Margaret's odd thoughts? Well, then, when I am lying
awake at night, and the pale moonlight streams through the
latticed casement, strange fancies crowd upon my poor mad brain,
and I sometimes think that if we could hit upon some word for you
to use whenever I am about to relapse--some word that teems with
hidden meaning--like "Basingstoke"--it might recall me to my
saner self. For, after all, I am only Mad Margaret! Daft Meg!
Poor Meg! He! he! he!
DES. Poor child, she wanders! But soft--some one
comes--Margaret--pray recollect yourself--Basingstoke, I beg!
Margaret, if you don't Basingstoke at once, I shall be seriously
angry.
MAR. (recovering herself). Basingstoke it is!
DES. Then make it so.

(Enter Robin. He starts on seeing them.)

ROB. Despard! And his young wife! This visit is
unexpected.
MAR. Shall I fly at him? Shall I tear him limb from limb?
Shall I rend him asunder? Say but the word and--
DES. Basingstoke!
MAR. (suddenly demure). Basingstoke it is!
DES. (aside). Then make it so. (Aloud.) My brother--I
call you brother still, despite your horrible profligacy--we have
come to urge you to abandon the evil courses to which you have
committed yourself, and at any cost to become a pure and
blameless ratepayer.
ROB. But I've done no wrong yet.
MAR. (wildly). No wrong! He has done no wrong! Did you
hear that!
DES. Basingstoke!
MAR. (recovering herself). Basingstoke it is!
DES. My brother--I still call you brother, you observe--you
forget that you have been, in the eye of the law, a Bad Baronet
of Ruddigore for ten years--and you are therefore responsible--in
the eye of the law--for all the misdeeds committed by the unhappy
gentleman who occupied your place.
ROB. I see! Bless my heart, I never thought of that! Was
I very bad?
DES. Awful. Wasn't he? (To Margaret).
ROB. And I've been going on like this for how long?
DES. Ten years! Think of all the atrocities you have
committed--by attorney as it were--during that period. Remember
how you trifled with this poor child's affections--how you raised
her hopes on high (don't cry, my love--Basingstoke, you know),
only to trample them in the dust when they were at the very
zenith of their fullness. Oh fie, sir, fie--she trusted you!
ROB. Did she? What a scoundrel I must have been! There,
there--don't cry, my dear (to Margaret, who is sobbing on Robin's
breast), it's all right now. Birmingham, you know--Birmingham--
MAR. (sobbing). It's Ba--Ba--Basingstoke!
ROB. Basingstoke! Of course it is--Basingstoke.
MAR. Then make it so!
ROB. There, there--it's all right--he's married you
now--that is, I've married you (turning to Despard)--I say, which
of us has married her?
DES. Oh, I've married her.
ROB. (aside). Oh, I'm glad of that. (To Margaret.) Yes,
he's married you now (passing her over to Despard), and anything
more disreputable than my conduct seems to have been I've never
even heard of. But my mind is made up--I will defy my ancestors.
I will refuse to obey their behests, thus, by courting death,
atone in some degree for the infamy of my career!
MAR. I knew it--I knew it--God bless
you--(Hysterically).
DES. Basingstoke!
MAR. Basingstoke it is! (Recovers herself.)

PATTER-TRIO.
ROBIN, DESPARD, and MARGARET.

ROB. My eyes are fully open to my awful situation--
I shall go at once to Roderic and make him an oration.
I shall tell him I've recovered my forgotten moral senses,
And I don't care twopence-halfpenny for any consequences.
Now I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger,
But a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger,
And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter,
But I've got to die tomorrow, so it really doesn't matter!

DES. So it really doesn't matter--

MAR. So it really doesn't matter--

ALL. So it really doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!

MAR. If were not a little mad and generally silly
I should give you my advice upon the subject, willy-nilly;
I should show you in a moment how to grapple with the
question,
And you'd really be astonished at the force of my
suggestion.
On the subject I shall write you a most valuable letter,
Full of excellent suggestions when I feel a little better,
But at present I'm afraid I am as mad as any hatter,
So I'll keep 'em to myself, for my opinion doesn't matter!

DES. Her opinion doesn't matter--

ROB. Her opinion doesn't matter--

ALL. Her opinion doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter,
matter!

DES. If I had been so lucky as to have a steady brother
Who could talk to me as we are talking now to one another--
Who could give me good advice when he discovered I was
erring
(Which is just the very favour which on you I am
conferring),
My story would have made a rather interesting idyll,
And I might have lived and died a very decent indiwiddle.
This particularly rapid, unintelligible patter
Isn't generally heard, and if it is it doesn't matter!

ROB. If it is it doesn't matter--

MAR. If it is it doesn't matter--

ALL. If it is it doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter,
matter!

(Exeunt Despard and Margaret.)

(Enter Adam.)

ADAM (guiltily). Master--the deed is done!
ROB. What deed?
ADAM. She is here--alone, unprotected--
ROB. Who?
ADAM. The maiden. I've carried her off--I had a hard task,
for she fought like a tiger-cat!
ROB. Great heaven, I had forgotten her! I had hoped to
have died unspotted by crime, but I am foiled again--and by a
tiger-cat! Produce her--and leave us!

(Adam introduces Dame Hannah, very much excited, and exits.)

ROB. Dame Hannah! This is--this is not what I expected.
HAN. Well, sir, and what would you with me? Oh, you have
begun bravely--bravely indeed! Unappalled by the calm dignity of
blameless womanhood, your minion has torn me from my spotless
home, and dragged me, blindfold and shrieking, through hedges,
over stiles, and across a very difficult country, and left me,
helpless and trembling, at your mercy! Yet not helpless, coward
sir, for approach one step--nay, but the twentieth part of one
poor inch--and this poniard (produces a very small dagger) shall
teach ye what it is to lay unholy hands on old Stephen Trusty's
daughter!
ROB. Madam, I am extremely sorry for this. It is not at
all what I intended--anything more correct--more deeply
respectful than my intentions towards you, it would be impossible
for any one--however particular--to desire.
HAN. Bah, I am not to be tricked by smooth words,
hypocrite! But be warned in time, for there are, without, a
hundred gallant hearts whose trusty blades would hack him limb
from limb who dared to lay unholy hands on old Stephen Trusty's
daughter!
ROB. And this is what it is to embark upon a career of
unlicensed pleasure!

(Dame Hannah, who has taken a formidable dagger from one of the
armed figures, throws her small dagger to Robin.)

HAN. Harkye, miscreant, you have secured me, and I am your
poor prisoner; but if you think I cannot take care of myself you
are very much mistaken. Now then, it's one to one, and let the
best man win!

(Making for him.)

ROB. (in an agony of terror). Don't! don't look at me like
that! I can't bear it! Roderic! Uncle! Save me!

(Sir Roderic enters, from his picture. He comes down the stage.)

ROD. What is the matter? Have you carried her off?
ROB. I have--she is there--look at her--she terrifies me!
ROD. (looking at Hannah). Little Nannikin!
HAN. (amazed). Roddy-doddy!
ROD. My own old love! Why, how came you here?
HAN. This brute--he carried me off! Bodily! But I'll show
him! (about to rush at Robin).
ROD. Stop! (To Rob.) What do you mean by carrying off
this lady? Are you aware that once upon a time she was engaged
to be married to me? I'm very angry--very angry indeed.
ROB. Now I hope this will be a lesson to you in future not
to--
ROD. Hold your tongue, sir.
ROB. Yes, uncle.
ROD. Have you given him any encouragement?
HAN. (to Rob.). Have I given you any encouragement?
Frankly now, have I?
ROB. No. Frankly, you have not. Anything more
scrupulously correct than your conduct, it would be impossible to
desire.
ROD. You go away.
ROB. Yes, uncle. (Exit Robin.)
ROD. This is a strange meeting after so many years!
HAN. Very. I thought you were dead.
ROD. I am. I died ten years ago.
HAN. And are you pretty comfortable?
ROD. Pretty well--that is--yes, pretty well.
HAN. You don't deserve to be, for I loved you all the
while, dear; and it made me dreadfully unhappy to hear of all
your goings-on, you bad, bad boy!