ROSE (to Robin).Oh, but, sir, I knew not that thou didst seek me in wedlock, or in very truth I should not have hearkened unto this man, for behold, he is but a lowly mariner, and very poor withal, whereas thou art a tiller of the land, and thou hast fat oxen, and many sheep and swine, a considerable dairy farm and much corn and oil!
RICH.That's true, my lass, but it's done now, ain't it, Rob?
ROSE.Still it may be that I should not be happy in thy love.I am passing young and little able to judge.Moreover, as to thy character I know naught!
ROB.Nay, Rose, I'll answer for that.**** has won thy love fairly.Broken-hearted as I am, I'll stand up for **** through thick and thin!
RICH.(with emotion).Thankye, messmate! that's well said.
That's spoken honest.Thankye, Rob! (Grasps his hand.)ROSE.Yet methinks I have heard that sailors are but worldly men, and little prone to lead serious and thoughtful lives!
ROB.And what then? Admit that **** is not a steady character, and that when he's excited he uses language that would make your hair curl.Grant that--he does.It's the truth, and I'm not going to deny it.But look at his good qualities.He's as nimble as a pony, and his hornpipe is the talk of the fleet!
RICH.Thankye, Rob! That's well spoken.Thankye, Rob!
ROSE.But it may be that he drinketh strong waters which do bemuse a man, and make him even as the wild beasts of the desert!
ROB.Well, suppose he does, and I don't say he don't, for rum's his bane, and ever has been.He does drink--I won't deny it.But what of that? Look at his arms--tattooed to the shoulder! (Rich.rolls up his sleeves.) No, no--I won't hear a word against ****!
ROSE.But they say that mariners are but rarely true to those whom they profess to love!
ROB.Granted--granted--and I don't say that **** isn't as bad as any of 'em.(Rich.chuckles.) You are, you know you are, you dog! a devil of a fellow--a regular out-and-out Lothario!
But what then? You can't have everything, and a better hand at turning-in a dead-eye don't walk a deck! And what an accomplishment that is in a family man! No, no--not a word against ****.I'll stick up for him through thick and thin!
RICH.Thankye, Rob, thankye.You're a true friend.I've acted accordin' to my heart's dictates, and such orders as them no man should disobey.
ENSEMBLE--RICHARD, ROBIN, and ROSE.
In sailing o'er life's ocean wide Your heart should be your only guide;With summer sea and favouring wind, Yourself in port you'll surely find.
SOLO--RICHARD.
My heart says, "To this maiden strike--
She's captured you.
She's just the sort of girl you like--
You know you do.
If other man her heart should gain, I shall resign."That's what it says to me quite plain, This heart of mine.
SOLO--ROBIN.
My heart says, "You've a prosperous lot, With acres wide;You mean to settle all you've got Upon your bride."It don't pretend to shape my acts By word or sign;It merely states these ****** facts, This heart of mine!
SOLO--ROSE.
Ten minutes since my heart said "white"--It now says "black".
It then said "left"--it now says "right"--Hearts often tack.
I must obey its latest strain--
You tell me so.(To Richard.)
But should it change its mind again, I'll let you know.
(Turning from Richard to Robin, who embraces her.)ENSEMBLE.
In sailing o'er life's ocean wide No doubt the heart should be your guide;But it is awkward when you find A heart that does not know its mind!
(Exeunt Robin with Rose L., and Richard, weeping, R.)(Enter Mad Margaret.She is wildly dressed in picturesque tatters, and is an obvious caricature of theatrical madness.)SCENA--MARGARET.
Cheerily carols the lark Over the cot.
Merrily whistles the clerk Scratching a blot.
But the lark And the clerk, I remark, Comfort me not!
Over the ripening peach Buzzes the bee.
Splash on the billowy beach Tumbles the sea.
But the peach And the beach They are each Nothing to me!
And why?
Who am I?
Daft Madge! Crazy Meg!
Mad Margaret! Poor Peg!
He! he! he! he! (chuckling).
Mad, I?
Yes, very!
But why?
Mystery!
Don't call!
Whisht! whisht!
No crime--
'Tis only That I'm Love-lonely!
That's all!
BALLAD--MARGARET.
To a garden full of posies Cometh one to gather flowers, And he wanders through its bowers Toying with the wanton roses, Who, uprising from their beds, Hold on high their shameless heads With their pretty lips a-pouting, Never doubting--never doubting That for Cytherean posies He would gather aught but roses!
In a nest of weeds and nettles Lay a violet, half-hidden, Hoping that his glance unbidden Yet might fall upon her petals.
Though she lived alone, apart, Hope lay nestling at her heart, But, alas, the cruel awaking Set her little heart a-breaking, For he gathered for his posies Only roses--only roses!
(Bursts into tears.)
(Enter Rose.)
ROSE.A maiden, and in tears? Can I do aught to soften thy sorrow? This apple--(offering apple).
MAR.(Examines it and rejects it.) No! (Mysteriously.)Tell me, are you mad?
ROSE.I? No! That is, I think not.
MAR.That's well! Then you don't love Sir Despard Murgatroyd? All mad girls love him.I love him.I'm poor Mad Margaret--Crazy Meg--Poor Peg! He! he! he! he! (chuckling).
ROSE.Thou lovest the bad Baronet of Ruddigore? Oh, horrible--too horrible!
MAR.You pity me? Then be my mother! The squirrel had a mother, but she drank and the squirrel fled! Hush! They sing a brave song in our parts--it runs somewhat thus: (Sings.)"The cat and the dog and the little puppee Sat down in a--down in a--in a----I forget what they sat down in, but so the song goes!
Listen--I've come to pinch her!
ROSE.Mercy, whom?
MAR.You mean "who".
ROSE.Nay! it is the accusative after the verb.
MAR.True.(Whispers melodramatically.) I have come to pinch Rose Maybud!
ROSE.(Aside, alarmed.) Rose Maybud!
MAR.Aye! I love him--he loved me once.But that's all gone, fisht! He gave me an Italian glance--thus (business)--and made me his.He will give her an Italian glance, and make her his.But it shall not be, for I'll stamp on her--stamp on her--stamp on her! Did you ever kill anybody? No? Why not?
