ACT I.
CHORUS.—
Officers.
LET the voice of triumph riſe,
To hail with ſongs of joy this happy morn;
On conqueſt's purple pinions borne,
The martial ſound ſhall reach the ſkies.
Where the ſun points his ſloping ray,
The burniſh'd helm and ſpear with tranſient gleam,
Glittering to the orient beam,
With brighter radiance gild the day.
[2]CHORUS.—Officers.
When glory invites us,
No danger alarms,
When honour excites us,
No pleaſure has charms;
Tho' beauty enthralls us,
Her raptures we fly,
When bright glory calls us
To conquer or die.
His country requiring, nor wit, wine, nor love,
The heart of a ſoldier from honour can move.
Tho' beauty may charm him, his bold deeds proclaim,
Who ſighs for his nymph, yet will bleed for his fame.
SONG.—
Lucy.
WHEN hope to raiſe the drooping heart,
With flattering proſpects points the ſcene,
Weak is the bliſs ſhe can impart,
For hope is ever mix'd with pain.
II.
Around the couch with roſes ſpread,
Where the ſweet nymph reclines her head;
Still her pale ſiſters doubt and fear,
With trembling pinions flutter near.
[3]SONG.—
Maria.
YET know that pity's tender ſighs
Can this ſoften'd boſom ſwell,
For when one faithful lover dies,
Thus I ring his knell:
Farewell, farewell,
Ding, ding, dong, bell.
But when another ſwain appears,
Doom'd to fill the vacant place,
I dry my eyes, for conſtant tears
Serve but to ſpoil the face.
SONG—
Lucy.
HARK ye, my dear, but don't tell,
Tho' my Daddy may try to perſuade,
La, la, la, la!
I'll never lead apes in hell,
La, la, la, la!
As I muſt if I die an old maid.
[4]II.
Coy maids oft' frown and deny,
When the youth of their hearts ſpeak his mind;
Yet maids they wiſh not to die,
La, la, la, la!
And that truth perhaps ſhortly you'll find.
SONG—
Farquahar.
IN Carlow town there liv'd a maid,
More fair than flowers at day-break;
Their vows contending lovers paid,
But none of marriage dar'd ſpeak.
Still with a ſigh,
'Twas Oh, I die!
Each day my paſſion's ſtronger:
When ſprightly Nancy ſtraight would ſay,
You'll die, dear ſir, the Iriſh way,
To live a little longer.
II.
At length grown jealous, Venus cries,
This pride is paſt all bearing;
And ſtraight ſent Mars down from the ſkies
In form of Captain Daring.
[5]Firſt with a ſigh,
He cried I die—
The god found paſſion ſtronger:
And ſprightly Nancy ſtill did ſay,
You'll die, dear ſir, the Iriſh way,
To live a little longer.
III.
At length, like ſoldier bold he preſs'd,
And quickly ſaw by Nancy
The ſnow was thaw'd all in her breaſt,
A ſoldier caught her fancy:
With downcaſt eye,
She breath'd a ſigh,
Her paſſions ſtill grew ſtronger;
'Till Nancy was oblig'd to ſay,
I'll die myſelf the Iriſh way,
To live a little longer.
SONG.—
Saib.
SWEET is the blackbird's whiſtled note,
Sweet the thruſh's mellow ſong;
While the wood-lark's liquid throat
Pours the warbled ſtrain along,
Sweet the muſic of the vocal grove,
Sweeter the voice of her I love.
[6]SONG.—
Suſan.
PRAY what has a promiſe in it,
If the heart be not ſincere?
Bubble of the preſent minute,
Melting ſoon in empty air.
II.
Men ſtill ſtrive to over-reach us,
When we cheat the ſilly elves;
Since we practiſe, what they teach us,
Let them only blame themſelves.
SONG.—
Gregory.
KEEP off if you vex a woman,
'Till ſhe gives her paſſion vent;
In her fury ſhe ſpares no man,
But her tongue goes click and clack;
Click, click, clack; and ticka, ticke, tack,
'Till her rage in noiſe is ſpent.
II.
Women, when the fidgets ſeize 'em,
Ride one like a founder'd nag:
They are gentle, 'till you teize 'em;
Then their tongue goes, click and clack;
Click, click, clack; and ticka, ticke, tack,
'Till it can no longer wag.
[7]SONG.—
Saib.
FLATTERING hope, no more deceive [...],
Wherefore will you haunt thy breaſt?
Fond deluder, leave, Oh, leave me,
I can never more be bleſt.
II.
Ah! Sweet Syren, lull no more
My ſenſes with thy magic ſtrain;
The fancied dream of bliſs is o'er,
And now I wake to real pain.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
[8]SONG.—
Saib.
A Breaſt cold to love, is no where to be found,
The grave and the gay all alike feel the wound;
In vain the ſweet poiſon we'd ſhun, or we'd hide,
It ebbs and it flows in the heart like a tide.
Oh love, ſooth my heart.
II.
Doubt and fear are the guards that ſtill wait upon love,
In abſence what pains two fond boſoms muſt prove!
But the moment the cloud is remov'd from the ſight,
It's a whole year of ſunſhine, for one ſingle night.
Oh love, ſooth my heart.
II.
The ſun o'er our heads, that in glory now ſhines,
Ripes the di'mond and gold, in rich India's ſweet mines;
But a gem lights the boſom of her I adore,
Which will ſparkle when di'monds and gold are no more.
Oh love, ſooth my heart.
[9]SONG.—
Howitzer.
WOMEN's tongues in motion,
Are reſtleſs as the ocean;
For when their clack
Begins to crack,
No mortal can the blow ſhun.
II.
Female truth's a fable,
The widow in her fable
Ne'er ſighs in bed,
For huſbands dead,
But thoſe alive and able.
III.
Woman's heart's a riddle,
With men they toil and fiddle;
Then here they ſkip,
And there they trip
Like geeſe upon a griddle.
IV.
Maids when with lads they ſpark it,
Wou'd ſtill the golden mark hit:
The faireſt toaſt
Aſks, who bids moſt,
Like cattle brought to market.
[10]DUETT.—Suſan and Gregory.
Greg.
SUSAN, will you love me?
Suſ.
No, no, no.
Surely you have impudence, all impu⯑pudence exceeding.
Greg.
You muſt kiſs me, Suſan,
Suſ.
No, no, no.
Marry ſet you up, Sir, I prithee let me go,
Think not that one of my breeding
Ever will deſcend ſo low.
Greg.
Stay my dear, you muſt not go,
Come this anger's all pretending;
Sure I know you, love me.
Suſ.
No, no, no.
You'll ſee Mr. Simpleton what it will end in.
Greg.
Let us kiſs and friends then.
Suſ.
No, no, no,
Never, never, Lord how can you teaze a body ſo?
SONG.—
Suſan.
Wherefore languiſh,
Pale with anguiſh?
Tho' ſhe ſwears ſhe'll ne'er be kind,
Don't believe her,
Maids are ever
Gently forc'd to change their mind.
[11]II.
Then take courage,
Mind not her rage,
Tho' ſhe frowning anſwer no!
If ſhe's tender,
She'll ſurrender,
If ſhe's tough, e'en let her go.
SONG, (Drill) and CHORUS.
COME hither, all ye lads,
Who lead unhappy lives,
Whom bailiffs hunt, or duns moleſt,
Or ſcolding wives.
To the ſtandard all advancing,
Drink in plenty, ſinging dancing;
The drum calls away,
My lads no longer ſtay.
To the ſtandard &c.
II
All ye to cruel maſters
Bound in ſervile chains,
Who make you work
Like Jew or Turk,
And ſtarve you for your pains.
To the ſtandard, &c.
[12]SONG.—
Rifle.
MERRILY rolls the ſoldiers life;
Come, my brave boys, all fill your glaſſes;
Joy ſucceeds to toil and ſtrife,
Fill to the brim a health to our laſſes.
While jovial thus we laugh and ſing,
The circling hours new pleaſures bring:
Merrily, merrily, frolic and play,
And ſport the cares of life away.
Laughs.
SONG.—
Gregory.
THO' to eating and ſleeping a ſtranger,
He gives me no thanks but a blow or a kick,
Ty'd up like a dog in a manger;
But my collar I've ſlipt and I'll play him a trick:
His houſe but a cage is,
His beggarly wages,
Sour crout and ſauſages,
I pitch to old Nick.
[13]II.
Tho' I work like a mule or a neger,
Till my heart like my coat to tatters is rent;
My viſage pale, hollow and meagre,
My ſtomach and guts ſtill doom'd to keep lent:
Tho' toiling and drudging,
Yet ſour and in dudgeon,
The croſs old curmudgeon
Is never content.
SONG.—
Suſan.
THO' now you ſaucy and proud are,
You ſot, too late you'll find,
When food for ball and powder,
You've left your brains behind.
You fool, when hunger pinches,
You'll rot and die by inches,
Glad for a morſel to beg,
Tho' now you ſaucy and proud are,
Propp'd on a wooden leg!
[14]SONG.—
Gregory.
ZOUNDS! do not lay ſo hard on!
Pox take you all; unhand me, oh!
Good ſir, I aſk your pardon,
I'll do as you command me, oh!
Hold, hold, ſir,
Behold, ſir,
My ſides all black and blue are grown;
Your ferkins,
And jerkins,
Would wear me ſoon to ſkin and bone.
You've beat me to a jelly,
My heart with thoſe diſaſters
Is ſunk into my belly.
Hold, hold, &c.
[15]SONG.—
Maria.
'TWAS not his ſhape or air,
So ſmart and debonair,
That ſtole my heart away;
Wit, or ſpeaking eyes,
Vows, or melting ſighs,
'Twas ſomething, I knew not what;
'Twas neither this or that;
Something I cannot ſay.
SONG.—
Farquar.
OH, chide not, my charmer, nor think me a rover,
A Soldier, of courſe, is a general lover;
With a row dow, ſtand clear all,
Ye beauties, both high and low;
Oh, in love ſtill I muſt fall,
Sweet creatures, where'er I go.
[16]II.
One day I bow down to the toaſts of the city,
And next am in love with a bar-maid, if ptetty.
With a row dow, &c
III.
Thoſe eyes, and thoſe lips like two ripe budding roſes,
To temptation ſtill my heart it expoſes.
With a row dow, &c.
IV.
I meet beauties like you, and my fancy they bother,
And make me adore your ſweet ſelf in another.
With a row dow, &c.
SONG.—
Saib.
FROM tree to tree, from flow'r to flow'r,
The inconſtant Zephyr ſtrays;
Not e'en the ſweeteſt roſe has pow'r
To fix his wand'ring breeze.
[17]II.
The faithful ſtream that round yon hill
Its winding current leads,
In Its firſt channel murmurs ſtill,
Nor roves to diſtant meads.
III.
Ah, heedleſs youth, behold in theſe
The emblems of our flame;
Thine, rover, is the wand'ring breeze,
And mine the faithful ſtream.
DUETT.—
Lucy and Saib.
IF you would know what pain it is to part,
Aſk, aſk, this bleeding heart,
That almoſt breaks when I muſt leave thee!
To you I'll ſtill prove true till death,
And then I'll ſpend my lateſt breath
In ſighs, my love, that I muſt leave thee.
END OF ACT SECOND.
ACT III.
[18]SONG.—
Sulphur.
FAR hence away
Baniſh care and ſorrow;
Laugh and ſing to-day,
Death may come to-morrow;
Let's drink then while we may,
'Tis wine that makes us briſk and gay.
CHORUS.
'Tis wine, &c.
II.
Far. Should Cupid's dart
Your lover wound and teaze you,
From the cruel ſmart
No power on earth can eaſe you,
'Till Bacchus aid impart;
'Tis wine that chears and warms the heart.
CHORUS.
[19]III.
Flag. No bliſs ſincere
The gods on earth have granted;
Love brings deſpair,
And wealth by care is haunted.
True pleaſure would you ſhare,
In wine are joys unmix'd with care.
CHORUS.
SONG.—
Lucy.
THE dawn its pure bluſhes ſpreads over the ground,
While nature breathes freſh all the fragrance around,
The goldfinch and linnet ſing blythe from the thorn,
And the lark ſweetly carols his hymn to the morn.
II.
But the goldfinch and linnet now warble in vain,
And joyleſs to me is the ſun-gilded plain;
Nor the ſweet breathing morn, nor the ſongs of the grove,
Can ſoothe the fond boſom that's tortur'd by love.
[20]QUARTETTO.
Farquar, Saib, Lucy, Maria.
WITH mirth and good humour, a dance, and a ſong,
Let the eve like the morn glide with pleaſure along,
And night from our boſoms all cares ſhall remove,
But the ſweeteſt of cares, the ſoft tumults of love.
SONG.—
Rifle.
IF you wou'd learn to be a ſoldier,
Cock your hat fiercely and march wiih a bold air,
Fill all your thoughts with bloodſhed and battle,
And make the air ring when your firelocks you rattle.
CHORUS.
II.
Squeeze back your ſhoulders, and thruſt out your craw, Sir,
And ſtrut to and fro like a ſtately jack-daw, Sir,
Look well all around you and cry to each ſtranger,
Anſwer, "who goes there?" or your life is in danger.
CHORUS.
[21]AIR.—Gregory. (The words by Mr. O'Keeffe.)
YE ſerving-men both great and ſmall,
Of high and low degree,
As I ſtand here ſee my downfall,
And warning take by me.
Too late I find that to my coſt,
Preferment all is vain,
I willingly reſign my poſt,
To get my place again!
With a cut, ſlaſh, daſh, and a gravy ſop,
Hob, nob,
Tingle, gingle,
Then to waſh the way down with a chirping drop.
II
Men I muſt kill with my firelock,
Who ne'er a man cou'd lick,
And never kill'd but once a cock,
And that was with my ſtick.
To ſuch I ne'er wou'd turn my back,
So much I'll ſafely boaſt,
No drum need beat to the attack,
Of either boil'd or roaſt.
With a cut, &c.
[22]III.
You ne'er ſhall ſay, away I ran
In ſuch a glorious work;
I am a valiant trencher-man—
My weapons, knife and fork.
A ruſh I care not for the French;
What's Tippoo Saib to me?
Sweet Suſan come, kind roſy wench!
My captain you ſhall be.
With a cut, &c.
SONG.—
Gregory.
I NOW am a ſlave and a tool,
Afraid of the ſtick and the rod;
No ſchool-boy e'er trembled at ſchool
As I do at Corporal Squad.
II.
I thought him as great as the King,
When he gave me a ſhilling, ecod!
But ſoon I will caper and ſing,
And Old Nick may take Corporal Squad.
[23]FINALE.
PEACE, mild peace, on ſeraphs wings,
Wafted o'er the diſtant main,
Every bliſs propitious brings,
Pleaſure ſporting in her train.
War and frantic diſcord ceaſe,
Ceaſe to ſpread deſtruction round;
Drums redouble, trumpets ſound,
To the welcome voice of peace.
THE END.