[]THE TRAGEDY OF Chrononhotonthologos: BEING The moſt Tragical Tragedy, that ever was Tragediz'd by any Company of TRAGEDIANS.
Written by BENJAMIN BOUNCE, Eſq
Qui capit ille facit.
LONDON: Printed for J. Shuckburgh, and L. Gilliver, in Fleet-Street, J. Jackſon, in Pall-Mall; and ſold by A. Dodd, without Temple-Bar, and F. Nutt, at the Royal-Exchange. [Price Six Pence.]
PROLOGUE.
[]Spoken by Mr. W. MILLS.
TO Night our comic MUSE the Buskin wears,
And gives her ſelf no ſmall Romantic Airs;
Struts in Heroics, and in pompous Verſe,
Does the minutest Incidents rehearſe;
In Ridicule's ſtrict Retroſpect diſplays,
The Poetaſters of theſe modern Days:
When the big bellowing Bombast rends our Ears,
Which ſtript of Sound, quite void of Senſe appears:
Or when the Fiddle Faddle Numbers flow,
Serenely dull, Elaborately low:
Either Extreme, when vain Pretenders take,
The Actor ſuffers for the Author's ſake.
The quite tir'd Audience loſe whole Hours, yet pay
To go un-pleas'd and un-improv'd away:
This being our Scheme, we hope you will excuſe
The wild Excurſion of the wanton Muſe;
Who out of Frolic wears a mimic Mask,
And ſets herſelf ſo whimſical a Task:
'Tis meant to pleaſe, but if it ſhould offend,
It's very ſhort, and ſoon will have an End.
Dramatis Perſonae.
[]- Chrononhotonthologos, King of Queerumania,
- Mr. Winſtone.
- Bombardinion, his General,
- Mr. Ridout.
- Aldiborontiphoſcophornio, Courtier.
- Mr. Croſs.
- Rigdum Funnidos, Courtier.
- Mr. Oates.
- Captain of the Guards,
- Mr. Woodburn.
- Doctor,
- Mr. Gray.
- Cook,
- Mr. H. Tench.
- King of the Fidlers,
- Mr. Davis.
- King of the Antipodes,
- Mr. Jannot.
- Dumb, Maſter of the Ceremonies,
- Mr. Gray.
- Signor Scacciatinello,
- Maſter. Arne.
- Signora Sicarina,
- Miſs Jones.
- Eadladinida, Queen of Queerumania,
- Mrs. Shireburne.
- Tatlanthe, her Favourite,
- Mrs. Charke.
- Two Ladies of the Court,
- Venus,
- Mrs. Clark.
- Cupid,
- Maſter. Arne.
SCENE Queerumania.
The Tunes of ye Songs.
[]See Venus does attend thee.
(My Dilding my Dolding.)
[...]
Take this Magic Wand in Hand.
(Dance o'er the Lady Lee.)
[...]
Are you a Widow or are you a Wife.
(Gilly flower Gentle Roſemary.)
[...]
Marriage may become a Curſe.
(Swedes March.)
[...]
[] THE TRAGEDY OF Chrononhotonthologos, &c.
SCENE, An Antichamber in the Palace.
Enter RIGDUM-FUNNIDOS, and Aldiborontiphoſcophornio.
Rigdum-Funnidos.
ALdiborontiphoſcophornio!
Where left you Chrononhotonthologos?
Aldiborontiphoſcophornio.
Fatigu'd with the tremendous Toils of War,
Within his Tent, on downy Couch ſuccumbent,
Himſelf he unfatigues with gentle Slumbers;
Lull'd by the chearful Trumpets gladſome Clangor,
The Noiſe of Drums and Thunder of Artillery,
He ſleeps Supine amidſt the Din of War:
[10]And yet 'tis not definitively Sleep;
Rather a kind of Doze, a waking Slumber,
That ſheds a Stupefaction o'er his Senſes;
For now He nods and ſnores; anon he ſtarts,
Then nods and ſnores again: If this be Sleep,
Tell me, ye Gods! what mortal Man's awake!
What ſays my Friend to this?
Rigdum-Funnidos.
—Say! I ſay he ſleeps Dog-ſleep, what a Plague wou'd you have me ſay?
Aldiboronti.
O impious Thought! O curſt Inſinuation!
As if great Chrononhotonthologos
To Animals deteſtable and vile,
Had ought the leaſt Similitude!
Rigdum.
My dear Friend! you entirely miſapprehend me; I did not call the King, Dog by Craft, I was only going to tell you the Soldiers have juſt re⯑ceiv'd their Pay, and are all as drunk as ſo ma⯑ny Swabbers.
Aldiboronti.
Give Orders inſtantly, that no more Money
Be iſſued to the Troops: Mean time, my Friend!
Let all the Baths be fill'd with Seas of Coffee,
To ſtupify their Souls into Sobriety.
Rigdum.
I fancy you had better baniſh the Sutlers, and blow the Geneva Casks to the Devil.
[...]
[13]Have burſt the ſolid Entrails of the Earth.
Guſhing ſuch Cataracts of Forces forth,
This World is too incopious to contain 'em:
Armies, on Armies, march in Form ſtupendous;
Not like our Earthly Legions, Rank by Rank,
[...] Teer o'er Teer, high pil'd from Earth to Heaven:
[...] lazing Bullet, Bigger than the Sun,
[...] from a huge and monſtrous Culverin,
Has laid your Royal Citadel in Aſhes.
King.
Peace Coward! were they wedg'd like Golden Ingots,
[...] pent ſo cloſe, as to admit no Vacuum.
One look from Chrononhotonthologos
Shall ſcare them into Nothing. Rigdum Funnidos,
Bid Bombardinion draw his Legions forth,
And meet us in the Plains of Queerumania.
This very now ourſelves ſhall there conjoin him;
Mean Time, bid all the Prieſts prepare their Temples
For Rites of Triumph: Let the Singing Singers.
With vocal Voices, moſt Vociferous,
In ſweet Vociferation, out vociferize
Ev'n Sound itſelf; So be it as we have order'd.
Exeunt.
SCENE a magnificent Apartment.
Enter Queen Fadladinida, Tatlanthe, and two Ladies.
Queen.
—Day's Curtain drawn, the Morn begins to riſe,
And waking Nature rubs her ſleepy Eyes.
[14]The pretty little fleecy bleating Flocks,
In Baa'as harmonious warble thro' the Rocks:
Night gathers up her Shades in ſable Shrouds,
And whiſpering Oziers rattle to the Clouds.
What think you, Ladies, if [...] we kill,
At Baſſet, Ombre, Pi [...]quet or Quadrille.
Titlanthe
—Your Majeſty was pleas'd to order Tea.
Queen.
—My Mind is alter'd Bring ſome Ratafia.
They are ſerv'd round with a Dram.
I have a famous Fidler ſent from France,
Bid him come in, What think ye of a Dance?
Enter King of the Fidlers.
—Thus to your Majeſty ſays the ſuppliant Muſe:
Wou'd you a Solo, or Sonata chuſe
Or bold Concerto, or ſoft Siciliana,
Alla Franceſe overo in Guſto Romano?
When you Command, 'tis done as ſoon as ſpoke.
Queen.
A civil Fellow!—play us the Black Joak.
Queen and Ladies Dance the Black Joak,
So much for Dancing; now lets reſt a while.
Bring in the Tea-Things, does the Kettle boil?
Tatlanthe.
—The Water bubbles and the Tea-Cups skip.
Through eager Hope to kiſs your Royal Lip.
Tea brought in.
Queen.
—Come Ladies, will you pleaſe to chuſe your Tea;
Or Green Imperial, or Pekoe Bohea?
1ſt Lady.
[15]—Never, no, never ſure on Earth was ſeen,
So gracious, ſweet and affable a Queen.
2d Lady.
—She is an Angel.
1ſt Lady.
—She's a Goddeſs rather.
Tatlanthe.
She's Angel, Queen, and Goddeſs altogether.
Queen.
—Away! you Flatter me.
1ſt Lady.
—We don't indeed,
Your Merit does our Praiſe by far exceed.
Queen.
—You make me bluſh: Pray help me to a Fan.
1ſt Lady.
—That Bluſh becomes you.
Tatlanthe.
—Wou'd I were a Man.
Queen.
[...]'ll hear no more of this as I'm a Sinner.
Enter Dumb Maſter of the Ceremonies, makes Signs of Eating.
Dear me! that's true, I never thought of Dinner:
But 'twill be over Ladies very ſoon,
Mean time, my Friend, play t'other little Tune.
Muſick plays, they all Dance off.
[16]SCENE Another Apartment.
Enter Rigdum Funnidos and Aldiboronti, &c.
Rigdum
—'Egad we're in the wrong Box! Who the Devil wou'd have thought that this ſame Chro⯑nonhotonthologos ſhou'd beat that mortal ſight of Tippodeans; why, there's not a Mother's Child of 'em to be ſeen. 'Egad they footed it away as faſt as their Hands cou'd carry 'em; but they have left their King behind 'em, we have him ſafe, that's one Comfort.
Aldibo.
—Would he were ſtill at ampleſt Liberty.
For, O! my deareſt Rigdum Funnidos,
I have a Riddle to unriddle to thee,
Shall make thee ſtare thy ſelf into a Statue.
Our Queen's in Love with this Antipodean.
Rigdum Fun.
—The Devil ſhe his? Well, I ſee Miſchie is going forward with a Vengeance.
Aldibo.
But lo! the Conqueror comes all crown'd with Conqueſt.
A ſolemn Triumph graces his Return:
Let's graſp the Forelock of this apt Occaſion.
To greet the Victor, is his Flow of Glory.
A Grand Triumph.
[17]Enter King in Triumph, &c. met by Rigdum and Aldiboronti.
Aldiboronti.
—All hail! to Chrononhotonthologos,
Thrice trebly welcome to your Loyal Subjects
My ſelf and faithful Rigdum Funnidos
[...] in a Labyrinth of Love and Loyalty,
Intreat you to inſpect our inmoſt Souls,
And read in them what Tongue can never utter.
King.
—Aldiborontiphoſcophornio,
To thee and gentle Rigdum Funnidos;
Our Gratulations flow in Streams unbounded:
Our bounty's Debtor to your Loyalty,
Which ſhall with Int'reſt be repaid, e'er long,
But where's our Queen? where's Fadladinida;
She ſhould be foremoſt in this gladſome Train,
To grace our Triumph; but I ſee ſhe ſlights me,
This haughty Queen ſhall be no longer mine,
I'll have a ſweet and gentle Concubine.
Rigdum,
(aſide.)
—Now my dear ſweet Phoſcophorny, for a ſwing⯑ing Lye to bring the Queen off: and I'll run with it this Minute to her, that we may be all in a Story.
(They whiſper importantly, and Rigdum Fun⯑nidos goes out.)
Aldiboronti.
—Speak not, great Chrononhotonthologos,
In Accents ſo injuriouſly ſevere
Of Fadladinida, your faithful Queen:
[18]By me ſhe ſends an Embaſſy of Love,
Sweet Blandiſhments and kind Congratulations;
But, cannot, O! ſhe cannot come Her ſelf.
King.
—Our Rage is turn'd to Fear: What ails the Queen?
Aldiboronti.
A ſudden Diarrhaea's rapid Force,
So ſtimulates the Periſttaltic Motion,
That all conclude her Royal Life in danger.
King.
Bid the Phyſicians of the Earth aſſemble,
In Conſultation ſolemn and ſedate:
More to corroborate their ſage Reſolves,
Call from their Graves the Learned Men of old:
Galen, Hipocrates, and Paracelſus;
Doctors, Apothecaries, Surgeons, Chymiſts,
All! all! attend and ſee they bring their Med'cines,
Whole Magazines of gallipotted Noſtrums.
Materializ'd in Pharmaceutic Order.
The Man that cures our Queen ſhall have our Em⯑pire.
(Exeunt Omnes.)
Enter Talanthe, and Queen.
Queen.
—Hey ho! my Heart.
Tatlanthe.
—What ails my gracious Queen?
Queen.
[19]—O would to Venus I had never ſeen
Tatlanthe.
—Seen what, my Royal Miſtreſs!
Queen.
—Too! too much.
Tatlanthe.
—Did it affright you,
Queen.
—No, 'tis nothing ſuch.
Tatlanthe.
—What was it, Madam?
Queen.
—Really I don't know.
Tatlanthe.
—It muſt be ſomething!
Queen.
—No;
Tatlanthe.
—Or, nothing;
Queen.
—No.
—O, my Tatlanthe, have you never ſeen?
Tatlanthe.
—Can I gueſs what, unleſs you tell? my Queen!
Queen.
[20]—The King I mean.
Tatlanthe.
—Juſt now return'd from War:
He rides like Mars in his Triumphal Car.
Conqueſt precedes with Laurels in his Hand,
Behind him Fame does on her Tripos ſtand
Her Golden Trump ſhrill thro' the Air ſhe ſounds,
Which rends the Earth, and thence to Heaven re⯑bounds.
Trophies and Spoils innumerable grace,
This Triumph which all Triumphs does deface:
Haſte then, great Qucen! your Hero thus to meet,
Who longs to lay His Laurels at your Feet.
Queen.
—Art mad, Tatlanthe, I meant no ſuch thing,
Your Talk's diſtaſteful.
Tatlanthe.
—Didn't you name the King?
Queen.
—I did, Tatlanthe, but it was not thine,
The charming King, I mean, is only mine.
Tatlanthe.
—Who elſe, who elſe, but ſuch a charming Fair
In Chrononhotonthologos ſhould ſhare:
The Queen of Beauty, and the God of Arms,
In him and you united blend their Charms.
Oh! had you ſeen him, how he dealt out Death,
And at one ſtroke robb'd Thouſands of their Breath.
While on the Slaughter'd Heaps himſelf did riſe,
In Pyramids of Conqueſt to the Skies;
[21]The Gods all hail'd, and fain would have him ſtay;
But your bright Charms have call'd him thence a⯑away.
Queen.
—This does my utmoſt Indignation raiſe,
You are too pertly Laviſh in his Praiſe;
Leave me for ever!
Tatlanthe.
(Kneeling.)
—O what ſhall I ſay?
Do not, great Queen, your Anger thus diſplay,
O frown me dead, let me not live to hear
My gracious Queen, and Miſtreſs ſo ſevere;
I've made ſome horrible Miſtake, no doubt,
Oh! tell me what it is!
Queen.
No, find it out.
Tatlanthe.
—No, I will never leave you, here I'll grow,
'Till you ſome Token of Forgiveneſs ſhow:
O all ye Powers above, come down, come down!
And from her Brow diſpel that angry Frown.
Queen.
—Tatlanthe riſe, you have prevail'd at laſt,
Offend no more, and I'll excuſe what's paſt.
Tatlanthe,
(aſide.)
Why what a Fool was I not to perceive her Paſſion for the topſy turvy King, the Gentleman that carries his Head where his Pocket ſhould be; but I muſt tack about I ſee.
[22]To the Queen.
Excuſe me, gracious Madam! if my Heart
Bears Sympathy with yours in ev'ry Part;
With you alike, I ſorrow, and rejoice,
Approve your Paſſion, and commend your Choice,
The Captive King.
Queen.
—That's he! that's he! that's he!
I'd die ten Thouſand Deaths to ſet him free:
Oh! my Tatlanthe! have you ſeen his Face:
His Air, his Shape, his Mein, with what a Grace;
Quite upſide down, in a new way he ſtands,
How prettily he foots it with his Hands!
Well, I muſt have him if I Live or die,
To Priſon, and his Charming Arms I ſly.
(Exeunt.)
SCENE a Priſon.
The King of the Antipodes diſcover'd ſleeping on a Couch.
Enter Queen.
Is this a Place, Oh! all ye Gods above,
This a Reception for the Man I love?
See in what charming Attitude he ſleeps,
While Nature's Self at his Confinement weeps.
Riſe, Lovely Monarch! ſee your Friend appear,
No Chrononhotonthologos is here;
Command your Freedom, by this ſacred Ring,
Then command me; what ſay's my charming King.
[23]She puts the Ring in his Mouth; he makes an odd Kind of Noiſe.
Ah! wretched Queen! how hapleſs is thy Lot,
To love a Man that underſtands thee not!
O lovely Venus, Goddeſs all Divine;
And gentle Cupid, that ſweet Son of thine.
Aſſiſt, aſſiſt me, with your ſacred Art,
And teach me to obtain this Stranger's Heart.
Venus deſcends in her Chariot with Cupid, and Sings.
See Venus does attend thee
My Dilding, my Dolding,
Love's Goddeſs will befriend thee,
Lilly bright and ſhinee.
With Pity and Compaſſion,
My Dilding, my Dolding,
She ſees thy tender Paſſion,
Lilly, &c.
Da Capo.
Air Changes.
To thee I yeld my Pow'r divine,
Dance over the Lady Lee,
Demand what e'er thou wilt, 'tis thine,
My gay Lady.
Take this magic Wand in Hand,
Dance, &c.
All the World's at thy Command,
My gay, &c.
Da Capo.
Cupid ſings.
Are you a Widow, or are you a Wife,
Gilly Flow'r, gentle Roſemary.
Or are you a Maiden, ſo fair and ſo bright,
As the Dew that flies over the Mulberry Tree.
Queen.
Would I were a Widow, as I am a Wife,
Gilly Flow'r, &c.
For I'm to my Sorrow a Maiden as bright,
As the Dew, &c.
Cupid.
You ſhall be a Widow before it is Night,
Gilly Flow'r, &c.
No longer a Maiden, ſo fair and ſo bright,
As the Dew, &c.
Two jolly Young Husbands your Perſon ſhall ſhare,
Gilly Flow'r, &c.
And twenty fine Babies your Body ſhall bear,
As the Dew, &c.
Queen.
O thanks Mr. Cupid! for this your good News,
Gilly Flow'r, &c.
What Woman alive would ſuch Offers refuſe,
While the Dew, &c.
Venus and Cupid re-aſcend.
[25]SCENE Bombardinions Tent.
King, and Bombardinion at a Banquet.
Bomb.
This Honour, Royal Sir! ſo royalizes
The Royalty of your moſt Royal Actions,
The Dumb can only utter forth your Praiſe,
For we who ſpeak, want Words to tell our Meaning.
Here! fill the Goblet with Phalernian Wine,
And while our Monarch drinks, bid the ſhrill Trumpet
Tell all the Gods that we propine their Healths.
Trumpets ſound.
King.
—Hold Bombardinion, I eſteem it fit,
With ſo much Wine, to eat a little Bit.
Bomb.
[...]ee that the Table inſtantly be ſpread,
[...]ith all that Art and Nature can produce.
[...]raverſe from Pole to Pole; ſail round the World,
[...]ring every Eatable that can be eat:
[...]he King ſhall eat, tho' all Mankind be ſtarv'd.
Cook.
And it pleaſe your Honour, there's ſome cold [...]rk in the Pantry, I'll haſh it for his Majeſty [...] a Minute.
Exit in a Hurry.
King.
[26]Haſh'd Pork! ſhall Chrononhotonthologos
Be fed with Swine's Fleſh, and at ſecond Hand?
Now, by the Gods! Thou doſt inſult us, General!
Bomb.
The Gods can witneſs, that I little thought
Your Majeſty, to Pork, had ſuch averſion.
King
Away thou Traytor! Doſt thou mock thy Maſter?
Strikes him.
Bomb.
A Blow! Shall Bombardinion take a Blow?
Bluſh! Bluſh thou Sun! ſtart back thou rapid Ocean:
Hills! Vales! Seas! Mountains! all commixing crumble,
And into Chaos pulverize the World:
For Bombardinion has receiv'd a Blow,
And
Chrononhotonthologos ſhall Die.
Draws.
King.
What means the Traytor?
Draws.
Bomb.
—Traytor in thy Teeth,
Thus I defy Thee!
They fight, he kills the King
Ha! What have I done?
Go, call a Coach, and let a Coach be call'd,
And let the Man that calls it be the Caller;
[27]And, in his calling, let him nothing call,
But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a Coach-ye Gods!
Exit Raving.
Returns with a Doctor.
—How fares your Majeſty?
Doctor.
My Lord he's Dead.
Bomb.
Ha! Dead! impoſſible! it cannot be;
I'd not believe it tho' himſelf ſhould Swear it.
Go join his Body to his Soul again,
Or, by this Hand, thy Soul ſhall quit thy Body.
Doctor.
My Lord, he is paſt the power of Phyſick,
His Soul has left this World.
Bomb.
Then go to to'ther World and fetch it back.
Kills him.
And if I find thou trifleſt with me there,
I'll chace thy Shade through Myriads of Orbs,
And drive thee far beyond the Verge of Nature.
Ha!—Call'ſt thou Chrononhotonthologos?
I come! your Faithful Bombardinion comes:
He comes in Worlds unknown to make new Wars
And gain thee Empires, num'rous as the Stars.
Kills himſelf.
Enter Queen and others.
Aldiboron.
—O horrid! horrible, and horrid'ſt horror!
Our King, our General: Our Doctor dead.
[28]All dead! Stone dead, irrecoverably dead!
Oh!—
All Groan a Tragedy Groan.
Queen.
My Husband dead! Ye Gods, what is't you mean,
To make a Widow of a Virgin Queen?
For, to my great Misfortune, he, poor King,
Has left me ſo, and that's a wretched Thing.
To Tatlanthe
Tatlanthe.
Why then, dear Madam! make no farther Pother,
Were I your Majeſty, I'd try another.
Queen.
I think 'tis beſt to follow thy Advice.
Simp'ring.
Tatlanthe.
I'll fit you with a Husband in a Trice:
Here's Ridgum Funnidos, a proper Man,
If any one can pleaſe a Queen, he can.
Rigdum. Fun.
Ay, that I can, and pleaſe your Majeſty; ſo Ce⯑remonies apart. Let's proceed to Buſineſs.
Kiſſes the Queen.
Queen.
Oh! but the Mourning takes up all my Care:
I'm at a Loſs what colour'd Weeds to wear.
Rigdum Fun.
Never talk of Mourning, Madam,
One Ounce of Mirth is worth a Pound of Sorrow,
Let's bed to Night and then we'll wed to Morrow.
I'll make thee a great Man, my little
Phoſco⯑phony. To Aldi. aſide.
Aldibo.
[29]I ſcorn thy Bounty, I'll be King, or nothing.
Draw Miſcreant! Draw!
Rigdum runs behind the Queen.
Queen.
Well, Gentlemen, to make the Matter eaſy,
I'll have you both, and that, I hope, will pleaſe ye.
Takes each by the Hand.
And now, Tatlanthe thou art all my care:
Where ſhall I find thee ſuch another Pair.
Pity, that one has ſerv'd ſo long, ſo well,
Shou'd die a Virgin, and lead Apes in Hell.
Chuſe for your ſelf, dear Girl, our Empire round,
Your Portion is Twelve Hundred Thouſand Pound.
Tatlanthe.
Thanks to your Majeſty, give me the Money,
Let me alone to find myſelf a Honey.
Tatlanthe Sings.
Marriage may become a Curſe,
Husbands may but teaze me;
So, for better or for worſe,
No Man e'er ſhall ſeize me.
Changing, Ranging at my Pleaſure,
Men in Plenty for my Treaſure.
I myſelf, will keep the Purſe,
And pay them as they pleaſe me.
Queen Sings.
Troth, my Girl, thou'rt in the Right,
And thy Scheme I'll borrow;
'Tis a Thought that's new and bright,
Wedlock brings but Sorrow.
To Aldi. and Rigd.
Gentlemen! I'm not for Marriage,
But, according to your Carriage,
As you both behave to Night,
You ſhall be paid to Morrow.
FINIS.
Appendix A EPILOGUE,
[]Spoken by Mrs SHIREBURNE.
CUSTOM commands that I ſhould ſomething ſay
In Favour of the Poet, and the Play:
Criticks! on you, our Author does depend,
Be you his Champions, and his Cauſe defend;
You know his Drift, if wrongheads ſhould miſplace it;
I'm bid to ſay, Qui capit ille facit.
Whate'er you pleaſe to cenſure or correct,
We ſhall amend with Pleaſure and Reſpect:
But to our Failings, ſome Indulgence give,
And with one gen'rous Plaudit, bid us live.