The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan

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ALL Thou art his own!
Alas! he claims thee as his bride.

ELSIE A suppliant at thy feet I fall;
Thine heart will yield to pity's call!

FAIRFAX Mine is a heart of massive rock,
Unmoved by sentimental shock!

ALL Thy husband he!

ELSIE [aside] 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!
Is thine, is thine, my own,
Is thine, for aye!

ELSIE [To FAIRFAX] Sir, I obey!
I am thy bride;
But ere the fatal hour
I said the say
That placed me in thy pow'r
Would I had died!
Sir, I obey!
I am thy bride!

[Looks up and recognizes FAIRFAX

Leonard!

FAIRFAX My own!

ELSIE Ah! [Embrace]

ELSIE &
FAIRFAX With happiness my soul is cloyed,
This is our joy-day unalloyed!

ALL Yes, yes!
With happiness their souls are cloyed,
This is their joy-day unalloyed!
With happiness their souls are cloyed,
This is their joy-day unalloyed,
Their joy-day unalloyed, unalloyed!

[Enter JACK POINT

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, O!

ALL Sing me your song, O!

POINT It is sung to the moon
By a love-lorn loon,
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's a 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.

ALL Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lack-a-day-dee!
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, O!

ALL What is your song, O!

ELSIE 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, peerly proud,
[optional-- nestling near,]
Who loved her lord, and who laughed aloud
[optional-- but 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!

ALL Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lack-a-day-dee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me--lack-a-day-dee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

Heighdy! heighdy!
Heighdy! heighdy!
Heighdy! heighdy!

[FAIRFAX embraces ELSIE as POINT falls insensible at their
feet.

CURTAIN
PATIENCE

or

Bunthorne's Bride

Book by
W.S. GILBERT

Music by
ARTHUR SULLIVAN

First produced at the Opera Comique, London,
on April 23, 1881.

PATIENCE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Officers of Dragoon Guards
COLONEL CALVERLEY Baritone
MAJOR MURGATROYD Baritone
LIEUT. THE DUKE OF DUNSTABLE Tenor

REGINALD BUNTHORNE (A Fleshly Poet) Light Baritone

ARCHIBALD GROSVENOR (An Idyllic Poet) Baritone

MR. BUNTHORNE'S SOLICITOR Non-singing

Rapturous Maidens
THE LADY ANGELA Mezzo-Soprano
THE LADY SAPHIR Mezzo-Soprano
THE LADY ELLA Soprano
THE LADY JANE Contralto

PATIENCE (A Dairy Maid) Soprano

Chorus of Rapturous MAIDENS and Officers of DRAGOON GUARDS

ACT I--Exterior of Castle Bunthorne

ACT II--A Glade

ACT I

[Scene: Exterior of Castle Bunthorne, the gateway to which is
seen, R.U.E., and is approached by a drawbridge over a moat.
A rocky eminence R. with steps down to the stage. In front
of it, a rustic bench, on which ANGELA is seated, with ELLA
on her left. Young Ladies wearing aesthetic draperies are
grouped about the stage from R. to L.C., SAPHIR being near
the L. end of the group. The Ladies play on lutes, etc., as
they sing, and all are in the last stage of despair.]

No. 1. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Opening Chorus and Solos)
Maidens, Angela, and Ella

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
Twenty love-sick maidens we,
And we die for love of thee!
Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!

ANGELA Love feeds on hope, they say, or love will die;

MAIDENS Ah, miserie!

ANGELA Yet my love lives, although no hope have I!

MAIDENS Ah, miserie!

ANGELA Alas, poor heart, go hide thyself away,
To weeping concords tune thy roundelay!
Ah, miserie!

MAIDENS All our love is all for one,
Yet that love he heedeth not,
He is coy and cares for none,
Sad and sorry is our lot!
Ah, miserie!

ELLA Go, breaking heart,
Go, dream of love requited!
Go, foolish heart,
Go, dream of lovers plighted;
Go, madcap heart,
Go, dream of never waking;
And in thy dream
Forget that thou art breaking!

MAIDENS Ah, miserie!

ELLA Forget that thou art breaking!

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still.
Ah, miserie!

ANGELA There is a strange magic in this love of ours! Rivals as
we all are in the affections of our Reginald, the very
hopelessness of our love is a bond that binds us to one another!

SAPHIR Jealousy is merged in misery. While he, the very
cynosure of our eyes and hearts, remains icy insensible -- what
have we to strive for?

ELLA The love of maidens is, to him, as interesting as the
taxes!

SAPHIR Would that it were! He pays his taxes.

ANGELA And cherishes the receipts!

[Enter LADY JANE, L.U.E.]

SAPHIR Happy receipts! [All sigh heavily]

JANE [L.C., suddenly] Fools! [They start, and turn to her]

ANGELA I beg your pardon?

JANE Fools and blind! The man loves -- wildly loves!

ANGELA But whom? None of us!

JANE No, none of us. His weird fancy has lighted, for the
nonce, on Patience, the village milkmaid!

SAPHIR On Patience? Oh, it cannot be!

JANE Bah! But yesterday I caught him in her dairy, eating fresh
butter with a tablespoon. Today he is not well!

SAPHIR But Patience boasts that she has never loved -- that love
is, to her, a sealed book! Oh, he cannot be serious!

JANE `Tis but a fleeting fancy -- `twill quickly wear away.
[aside, coming down-stage] Oh, Reginald, if you but knew what a
wealth of golden love is waiting for you, stored up in this
rugged old bosom of mine, the milkmaid's triumph would be short
indeed!

[PATIENCE appears on an eminence, R. She looks down with pity on
the despondent Ladies.]

No. 2. Still brooding on their mad infatuation!
(Recitative)
Patience, Saphir, Angela, and Maidens

PATIENCE Still brooding on their mad infatuation!
I thank thee, Love, thou comest not to me!
Far happier I, free from thy ministration,
Than dukes or duchesses who love can be!

SAPHIR [looking up] `Tis Patience -- happy girl! Loved by a
poet!

PATIENCE Your pardon, ladies. I intrude upon you! [Going]

ANGELA Nay, pretty child, come hither. [PATIENCE descends.] Is
it true that you have never loved?

PATIENCE Most true indeed.

SOPRANOS Most marvelous!

ALTOS And most deplorable!

I cannot tell what this love may be
(Solo)
Patience

PATIENCE I cannot tell what this love may be
[L.C.] That cometh to all but not to me.
It cannot be kind as they'd imply,
Or why do these ladies sigh?

It cannot be joy and rapture deep,
Or why do these gentle ladies weep?
It cannot be blissful as `tis said,
Or why are their eyes so wondrous red?

Though ev'rywhere true love I see
A-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
While they sit sighing night and day.

PATIENCE ALL

For I am blithe and I am gay, Yes, she is blithe and she is
gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and
them and me, she is gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt them, Yes, she is blithe and
and me, and she is gay,
Fal la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie! Ah, miserie!

[She dances across R. and back to R.C.]

PATIENCE If love is a thorn, they show no wit
Who foolishly hug and foster it.
If love is a weed, how simple they
Who gather it, day by day!

If love is a nettle that makes you smart,
Then why do you wear it next your heart?
And if it be none of these, say I,
Ah, why do you sit and sob and sigh?

Though ev'rywhere true love I see
A-coming to all, but not to me,
I cannot tell what this love may be!
For I am blithe and I am gay,
While they sit sighing night and day.

PATIENCE ALL

For I am blithe and I Yes, she is blithe and she is
am gay, gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and she is
them and me, gay,
Think of the gulf `twixt Yes, she is blithe and she is
them and me, gay,
Fal la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
la la la la la la la la la la la la,
and miserie! Ah, miserie!

ANGELA Ah, Patience, if you have never loved, you have never
known true happiness! [All sigh.]

PATIENCE [C.] But the truly happy always seem to have so much on
their minds. The truly happy never seem quite well.

JANE [coming L.C.] There is a transcendentality of delirium --
an acute accentuation of supremest ecstasy -- which the earthy
might easily mistake for indigestion. But it is not indigestion
-- it is aesthetic transfiguration! [to the others.] Enough of
babble. Come!

PATIENCE [stopping her as she turns to go up C.] But stay, I
have some news for you. The 35th Dragoon Guards have halted in
the village, and are even now on their way to this very spot.

ANGELA The 35th Dragoon Guards!

SAPHIR They are fleshly men, of full habit!

ELLA We care nothing for Dragoon Guards!

PATIENCE But, bless me, you were all engaged to them a year ago!

SAPHIR A year ago!

ANGELA My poor child, you don't understand these things. A year
ago they were very well in our eyes, but since then our tastes
have been etherealized, our perceptions exalted. [to the others]
Come, it is time to lift up our voices in morning carol to our
Reginald. Let us to his door!

[ANGELA leading, the Ladies go off, two and two, Jane last, over
the drawbridge into the castle, singing refrain of "Twenty
love-sick maidens", and, as before, accompanying themselves
on harps, etc.]

No. 2a. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Chorus)
Maidens

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Twenty love-sick maidens still!
Ah, miserie!

[PATIENCE watches them in surprise, and, with a gesture of
complete bafflement, climbs the rock and goes off the way
she entered.]

[The officers of the DRAGOON GUARDS enter, R., led by the MAJOR.
They form their line across the front of the stage.]

No. 3. The soldiers of our Queen
(Chorus and Solo)
Dragoons and Colonel

DRAGOONS The soldiers of our Queen
Are linked in friendly tether;
Upon the battle scene
They fight the foe together.

There ev'ry mother's son
Prepared to fight and fall is;
The enemy of one
The enemy of all is!
The enemy of one
The enemy of all is!

[On an order from the MAJOR they fall back.]

[Enter the COLONEL. All salute.]

COLONEL If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
[C.] Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,

DRAGOONS [saluting] Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

COLONEL Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune.

DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

COLONEL The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the Victory--
Genius of Bismarck devising a plan--
The humour of Fielding (which sounds contradictory)--
Coolness of Paget about to trepan--
The science of Jullien, the eminent musico--
Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne--
The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault--
Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man--
The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery--
Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray--
Victor Emmanuel -- peak-haunting Peveril--
Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell--
Tupper and Tennyson -- Daniel Defoe--
Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot! Ah!

DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

COLONEL DRAGOONS

Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon,
that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon,
Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon,
pipkin or crucible-- a Heavy Dragoon,
Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon,
and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon,
And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum!
is the residuum!

COLONEL If you want a receipt for this soldier-like paragon,
Get at the wealth of the Czar (if you can)--
The family pride of a Spaniard from Aragon--
Force of Mephisto pronouncing a ban--
A smack of Lord Waterford, reckless and rollicky--
Swagger of Roderick, heading his clan--
The keen penetration of Paddington Pollaky--
Grace of an Odalisque on a divan--
The genius strategic of Caesar or Hannibal--
Skill of Sir Garnet in thrashing a cannibal--
Flavour of Hamlet -- the Stranger, a touch of him--
Little of Manfred (but not very much of him)--
Beadle of Burlington -- Richardson's show--
Mister Micawber and Madame Tussaud! Ah!

DRAGOONS Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

COLONEL DRAGOONS

Take of these elements all A Heavy Dragoon,
that is fusible a Heavy Dragoon,
Melt them all down in a A Heavy Dragoon,
pipkin or crucible-- a Heavy Dragoon,
Set them to simmer, A Heavy Dragoon,
and take off the scum, a Heavy Dragoon,
And a Heavy Dragoon Is the residuum!
is the residuum!

COLONEL Well, here we are once more on the scene of our former
triumphs. But where's the Duke?

[Enter DUKE, listlessly, and in low spirits.]

DUKE Here I am! [Sighs.]

COLONEL Come, cheer up, don't give way!

DUKE Oh, for that, I'm as cheerful as a poor devil can be
expected to be who has the misfortune to be a Duke, with a
thousand a day!

MAJOR Humph! Most men would envy you!

DUKE Envy me? Tell me, Major, are you fond of toffee?

MAJOR Very!

COLONEL We are all fond of toffee.

ALL We are!

DUKE Yes, and toffee in moderation is a capital thing. But to
live on toffee -- toffee for breakfast, toffee for dinner, toffee
for tea -- to have it supposed that you care for nothing but
toffee, and that you would consider yourself insulted if anything
but toffee were offered to you -- how would you like that?

COLONEL I can quite believe that, under those circumstances,
even toffee would become monotonous.

DUKE For "toffee" read flattery, adulation, and abject
deference, carried to such a pitch that I began, at last, to
think that man was born bent at an angle of forty-five degrees!
Great heavens, what is there to adulate in me? Am I particularly
intelligent, or remarkably studious, or excruciatingly witty, or
unusually accomplished, or exceptionally virtuous?

COLONEL You're about as commonplace a young man as ever I saw.

ALL You are!

DUKE Exactly! That's it exactly! That describes me to a T!
Thank you all very much! [Shakes hands with the Colonel] Well,
I couldn't stand it any longer, so I joined this second-class
cavalry regiment. In the army, thought I, I shall be
occasionally snubbed, perhaps even bullied, who knows? The
thought was rapture, and here I am.

COLONEL [looking off] Yes, and here are the ladies!

DUKE But who is the gentleman with the long hair?

COLONEL I don't know.

DUKE He seems popular!

COLONEL He does seem popular!

[The DRAGOONS back up R., watching the entrance of the Ladies.
BUNTHORNE enters, L.U.E., followed by the Ladies, two and
two, playing on harps as before. He is composing a poem,
and is quite absorbed. He sees no one, but walks across the
stage, followed by the Ladies, who take no notice of the
DRAGOONS -- to the surprise and indignation of those
officers.]

[Bunthorne, the Ladies following, comes slowly down L. and then
crosses the stage to R.]

No. 4. In a doleful train
(Chorus and Solos)
Maidens, Ella, Angela, Saphir, Dragoons, and Bunthorne

MAIDENS In a doleful train
Two and two we walk all day--
For we love in vain!
None so sorrowful as they
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alackaday!
Woe is me, alackaday!

DRAGOONS Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this
preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity -- explain it if you
can.
Instead of rushing eagerly to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this melancholy literary man.
Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan;
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

[Bunthorne, C.]

ANGELA [R. of BUNTHORNE] Mystic poet, hear our prayer,
Twenty love-sick maidens we--
Young and wealthy, dark and fair,
All of county family.
And we die for love of thee--
Twenty love-sick maidens we!

MAIDENS Yes, we die for love of thee--
Twenty love-sick maidens we!

BUNTHORNE [crossing to L.] Though my book I seem to scan
In a rapt ecstatic way,
Like a literary man
Who despises female clay,
I hear plainly all they say,
Twenty love-sick maidens they!

[BUNTHORNE crosses to C.]

DRAGOONS [to each other] He hears plainly all they say,
Twenty love-sick maidens they!

SAPHIR [L. of BUNTHORNE] Though so excellently wise,
For a moment mortal be,
Deign to raise thy purple eyes
From thy heart-drawn poesy.
Twenty lovesick maidens see--
Each is kneeling on her knee!

[All kneel.]

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens see--
Each is kneeling on her knee!

BUNTHORNE [going R.] Though, as I remarked before,
Any one convinced would be
That some transcendental lore
Is monopolizing me,
Round the corner I can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!

DRAGOONS Round the corner he can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!

Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity -- ridiculous!
preposterous!
Explain it if you can.

MAIDENS DRAGOONS

In a doleful train Now is not this ridiculous,
Two and two we walk all day, and is not this preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity--
None so sorrowful as they explain it if you can.

For we love in vain! Instead of rushing eagerly
None so sorrowful as they to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this
melancholy literary man.

Who can only sigh and say, Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us,
Flirting with a fan;

Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us,
fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for
a military man!

Woe is me, alackaday! They're actually sneering at us,
fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for
a military man!

Twenty love-sick maidens we, Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?
They all prefer this melancholy
literary man.

And we die for love of thee! Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?
They all prefer this melancholy,
Yes, we die for love of thee! melancholy literary man.
Now is not this ridiculous,
and is not this preposterous?

COLONEL [R.C.] Angela! what is the meaning of this?

ANGELA [C.] Oh, sir, leave us; our minds are but ill-tuned to
light love-talk.

MAJOR [L.C.] But what in the world has come over you all?

JANE [L.C.] Bunthorne! He has come over us. He has come among
us, and he has idealized us.

DUKE Has he succeeded in idealizing you?

JANE He has!

DUKE Good old Bunthorne!

JANE My eyes are open; I droop despairingly; I am soulfully
intense; I am limp and I cling!

[During this BUNTHORNE is seen in all the agonies of composition.
The Ladies are watching him intently as he writhes. At last
he hits on the word he wants and writes it down. A general
sense of relief.]